#(you can tell it’s bad because i’m mixing my metaphors)

[beautyofsorrow]

choose my WIP for me

bc fuck knows i cannot choose my own

[just-some-little-lads]

My Love, Like Winter, is Eternal

Summary: You find you can't sleep, and your partner resting right next to you listens to your late-night thoughts.

Word Count: 1.3k

Tags: SFW, Fluff, Second Person POV, gn! reader.

It’s easy to forget what lies beneath a frost. When the world is coated in so much snow, one might lose memory of the blooms in spring. Most people think of winter as this harsh and cruel season. It often comes hand-in-hand with negative metaphors like death or apathy or the end of any good thing. There was a time when you thought much the same. Now…you can’t help but almost feel bad for winter- for snow. There’s so much warmth there that goes unnoticed.

Poetic thoughts like these came easy to you in the early hours of the morning. Especially during nights where you couldn’t sleep. Maybe that’s why you found yourself finding feeling sad for an environmental passage of time of all things. Well…you had to give yourself some slack. There was a reason why snow had such a loving space in your heart; why you found yourself telling your coworkers who dared complain about the cold all the wonderful things you could do in the snow. Even after all the odd glances you got most times. A noble task, you would tell yourself. One might call you a…polar protector? A Snow Spokesperson! A Blizzard Bodyguard! A—

A large hand covered your face, cutting you free from your thoughts. After successfully catching your attention, the hand moved back to the body it belonged to. “You’re thinking too loudly…” Voice low, tone slightly slurred with half-consciousness, Zayne brought a thumb and forefinger up to rub at bleary eyes before pinching the bridge of his nose.

You felt a bit guilty for waking him up, knowing he’d be heading back to the hospital in a few hours. “You can read my thoughts?”

A huff of a single chuckle escaped him as he turned on his side towards you. As he spoke, his arm wrapped around your waist, pulling you toward him. “I think I have a few years to go before I can read your thoughts, but I can read your body language. Tossing and turning, fidgeting hands, rapid breaths. Symptoms of someone far too awake. What’s keeping you up?” A note of concern seeped into his tone. He kept you close while fixing and straightening some wild strands of your bed-hair. Based off his smile, you could tell you looked a bit more on the disheveled side. Something he was all too happy to fix. Meanwhile, he still looked as refined as ever. Gorgeous, like a statue chiseled from ice plucked from heavenly mountain-tops. Or perhaps that was just the rose-colored glasses talking. You found yourself still falling head-over-heels for him, and crushing like you hadn’t been together for a while. “Hey…” Zayne’s smile faded, his hand moving from your hip to your cheek. Apparently, he’d taken you staring at him in silence as some sort of hesitation. “Talk to me. Is something wrong?”

Well, now you felt a bit sheepish. Zayne was probably thinking you were plagued by some kind of stress. “Just thinking…about snow.”

“Snow?” he asked, incredulous that something so simple was keeping you awake, almost looking more worried. “Don’t tell me you’re making winter plans already?”

“Not really…”

The mattress shifted as he propped his head up on his elbow and sighed. His forefinger began to trace the outline of your face. “Penny for your thoughts? I won’t be able to sleep if you continue being so cryptic.”

You groaned a bit, not able to handle the thought of him getting no rest just because of your silly mind. “I’m just thinking about how sad it is that the cold gets such a bad rap.” As you explained that, you noticed how his face contorted into a mixed expression of confusion and amusement. You gave him time to speak, ready to hear him laugh or tell you to put you and your crazy mind to bed. Nothing was said by him, seemingly waiting to hear your intense thoughts at three in the morning. “It’s always talked about like some heartless, lifeless thing, but it’s not! Ice cream is cold and it’s one of my favorite things! In winter, you can wear cute coats and scarves, warm up with hot chocolate, and snuggle up by the fire. Plus, snow is so pretty. When it falls…it’s so comforting. I just… I wish people saw all the good in it that I do.” You glanced up at him, still waiting for him to roll his eyes.

Instead, he only looked at you softly- lovingly. With a little tug, he pulled you closer, lying back down while tucking your head under his chin. “I see. So, you think winter is sad that so many people dislike it?” He adjusted the blanket around you both, making sure your heads were comfortably on the pillows.

For some reason, you felt like crying. Maybe it was just because you were sleep deprived. Or perhaps it was because you tended to forget how safe of a space Zayne was. He’d joke with you, follow along with the bits you came up with, even listen to whatever you had to say running on four hours of sleep like he’d also gotten a degree in therapy. “I bet it gets lonelier than the other seasons…”

“Hm.” He closed his eyes, and for a moment you thought he’d fallen back asleep. When he spoke again, his voice lowered, his face nuzzling your head ever so slightly. “I think…that the snow is content enough being loved by you.” Zayne’s body was warm. Perfectly so. His hand ran up and down your back in slow hypnotizing rubs.

“I’m just one person in a world with millions of people… It deserves more than just me.” You were starting to feel drowsy now, eyelids going heavy at a rapid pace. A little moan rumbled in your throat as you shifted about to get comfortable, turning on your other side so Zayne was curled against your back. His presence was like a soothing blanket, your body enveloped and protected from things that might do you harm. Ever your valiant healer even outside of battle.

A kiss pressed into the back of your shoulder as you slotted yourself against him, fitting like a perfect puzzle piece. “I don’t think it’s greedy,” he whispered softly. “It sees the way you rush outside to greet it when it’s snowing, even if you’re not wearing something warm. It’s happy to take on the role of being cold so your hot chocolate tastes that much better, feeling the heat run down your throat…into your stomach…sinking down into your toes.” The way he was speaking was slow and purposefully melodic, like the narration of those resting meditation videos. He was trying to put you to sleep. Zayne took a deep breath, like he was minutes away from falling asleep himself, forcing himself to stay awake until he knew you were at peace. “It’s glad to make the world quieter so you can find yourself drifting off much easier.” He kissed the back of your head, resting his face against your body with a large exhale.

For a moment, you listened to the soft sounds of his breathing, staring at the subtle rays of moonlight seeping through past the curtains. All the strange anxiety that had kept you up melted away. You had to admit to yourself that you weren’t quite worried about the winter at all. But you weren’t sure where the doubt came from. Here he was, making you feel loved like you never had before. “You think so?”

“I know so. The winter will…always be there for you. Forever.” A small waver of emotion filled his voice.

“And my love, like winter, will be eternal for you…”

With one last squeeze, he laughs. “Oh? And here I was thinking we were talking about snow, but I’m flattered.” Words laced with mirth, he tried to pass off that he wasn’t aware of the true meaning behind your worries the whole time. You jabbed him a bit in the ribs with your elbow. In return, he used his Evol to press an icy cold hand against your back.

In the end, you both ended up not getting much sleep at all anyway, but neither of you cared in the slightest.

[anjelicawrites]

One step from you

Paring: modern!prosecutor!Aemond Targaryen x commissioner!reader

Synopsis: a surprise dinner invitation, forces closed off prosecutor Aemond Targaryen to start rethink his life.

Warnings: Aemond's social anxiety, dumbass to (maybe) lovers, reader's overbearing family.

What brings Aemond to dinner with your whole family is the botulinum outbreak in the county.

He means no disrespect, when he elects to interrogate your mum you, obviously, can’t; he would have never expected the woman in front of him to explain him, lengthy and with extreme precision, how to prepare: marinated vegetables, tomato puree and many complicated, traditional dishes.

After he was done with her, he had felt full, not unlike after a wedding feast and he had only had one espresso for breakfast!

You found him still at the precinct late that same night, you obviously working on other cases, him drinking that terrible, horrible, no good coffee from the vending machines in the corridor.

You’ve been meaning to talk to him, to say how sorry you were that your mother had dumped centuries of culinary history on him, while not answering the questions, but you were on the cusp of discovering the heads of a big drug ring, and had managed to come back to your office just half and hour ago.

Despite having worked with him countless times, you find prosecutor Aemond Targaryen to be aloof and difficult to talk to, even when it concerned work matters; not that he’s ever been rude with you, just that you find yourself unconsciously checking your posture and don’t really know how friendly you can be with him, even after years of working together. It doesn’t help that you have a crush on the man that forces you to act more distant with him, that you’d be with anyone else: you can’t risk rumors to spread.

Surprisingly enough, it’s him who starts the conversation.

“Commissioner, I thought I was alone with the night shift.”

“I’ve just returned, sir.” You stared at the vending machine for a second. “I’m sorry about my mother, she told me you interrogated her”

“She was more offended that I believed her a bad cook, than the botulinum outbreak accusations.”

“Sir, my mother is the best chef in the county.”

“I haven’t disputed that”

“By implying that her food might be contaminated, you basically did, sir.”

The way he stared at you made a smile break on your face. It’s safe, no one is around to see it.

“I’ve never said that. We have no idea where the botulinum comes from, let alone which hotel is the, metaphorical, patient zero” he said, stiff

“My mother has her own set of priorities, sir. She might not know much about accounting and how to run that side of the business, but in the kitchen? She’d be able to run the place blindfolded and with her right hand behind her back” you couldn’t stop smiling.

Despite how at odds you and your mother are, sometimes, you are proud of her and of the way she had carved her space in a male dominated world.

“I am merely doing my job” he answered, his face set

“I know sir” you tried to school your expression, but the smile didn’t want to go away (danger! Danger!). “And I will tell her how hard you are working to clean everyone’s name”.

After that the conversation abated, you tried not to gag while drinking your coffee, he stared at you, puzzled as to why you find what he’s just told you so funny.

Despite what Aegon tells him, Aemond is keenly aware of the complicated dance of social interactions, he just finds himself with two left feet, in a world where everyone else is a mix between Rudol'f Nureev and Carla Fracci. Take this moment with you: you two were chatting, you are being friendly and he couldn’t respond in tune, even if he wanted to because he had no idea how joke about your mother info dumping on him, who barely knows how to fry an egg.

“Oh, Gods be good!” You said. “I need some shut eye before we start interrogating the detainees.”

Someone else, anyone else, would have found a witty way to ask you how the investigation was going, what escaped his lips was a dry

“Do you think you will close it soon?”

“I hope so, sir,” the smile on your face less prominent. “We all want to see the results.” You answered feeling the easiness of your conversation abating

“Then good luck”

“Thank you sir,” You answered. “Good luck to you too.”

You bid him goodnight and left him to stare at your retracting back, telling himself what an idiot he’s been in being so awkward with you.

You don’t really see him, too overwhelmed with your drug ring case to go look for him and ask how the botulinum outbreak is going; you know that the people at the hospital are getting better, it’s the rest of the story that you are missing. You make a point of not asking your mother, whenever she calls you, not even when she mentions Aemond: it’s a slippery slope to mix work and family life together.

You stumble upon Aemond, again, late at night. You had foregone the celebrations with your team, after closing the drug ring investigation, to spend some time alone in your office to relax, since both your brain and body are still running high on adrenaline, and you’d rather not crash where your subordinates might see you.

The police station is eerily quiet, the echo of the steps of the night shift barely reaches your floor and the sky is dark outside, the moon hidden by a thick blanket of clouds: it might finally rain.

You jump out of your skin the second Aemond calls you from the shadows, you are positive your heart will explode with fear and adrenaline.

“Sir!” You shout, one hand going to your chest

“Commissioner.” He says, eyeing you

“What are you doing here? It’s late!” Comes out with too much emphasis and he winces inwardly

“I could ask you the same question.” He answers, tone clipped as usual

“Jesus weep!”.

Aemond feels sorry at having scared you so. He knows he is light on his feet, but he thought you’d be able to hear him coming: you’re a cop, after all!

In his heart Aemond knows he should leave before the silence becomes too awkward, he might have a handful of seconds before your breathing goes back to normal and he is forced to perform, badly, some sort of small talk.

Sometimes he hates this divide between him and the rest of the world.

He is getting ready to retreat, when you surprise him

“Have you already eaten dinner?”

He doesn’t know what to respond and why do you care?

“I have some food mother sent me and I don’t feel like eating alone.” You say with a brilliant smile on your face.

Aemond hesitates. You mother’s hotel has been cleared of any responsibility, still he has investigated her: it’s not proper to eat the food of a former suspect, he should politely say no and go home.

The idea of returning to the hotel room he occupies, even since he had to relocate for his first assignment, dampens his volition: the room service has already closed and he doesn’t have any food in the small fridge; on top of that, the idea of eating take out again depresses him when he knows homemade food is within his reach.

Before he can’t stop himself he accepts your invitation. You’re glad he’s answered immediately, or you would have lost courage yourself.

The walk towards your office is short.

Aemond misses the old location of the precinct: a Renaissance building, dusty and a bit moldy, but with character and beautiful frescoes on the ceilings. The new place is depressingly anonymous, all metal and white walls.

He appreciates what you’ve tried to do with you office: the plants and the frames on your desk give the room a spark of personality, whilst maintaining a professional atmosphere; the couch near the window looks comfy and, he suspects with a twinge of tenderness, that you might have taken more than one nap there.

There’s an exaggerated number of Tupperwares and jars on the desk you use for the meetings with your men, all the containers neatly wrapped, the contents written on the paper with a flowery handwriting.

“I told you, sir. Mother exaggerated, as usual.” You tell him with mirth in your voice. “Do you mind moving everything on my desk? I need to set the table.”

With that you head towards one the filing cabinets, open one of the drawers and extract a colorful tablecloth, plastic plates and cutlery, to his immense surprise. Gently you put everything on the top of the cabinet, in order to rummage so more, to produce a tube of plastic glasses.

Again, the divide he feels stops him from saying anything funny when you turn towards him with your arms full and stare quizzically at him. He elects to keep silent as he moves everything on your desk, while you set the table for two.

You two work in silence to unwrap everything and he marvels again at the sheer amount of food that’s on the table: various preserved vegetables, bread, savory pies and desserts.

He sits after you and waits until you’ve served yourself, before trying a bit of everything.

He suppresses a moan of appreciation at the way the flavors explode in his mouth; the food he buys doesn’t taste this good, even what the cook at home used to prepare can’t compare, the various ingredients and textures meld perfectly on his tongue.

“Do you like it?” You ask, after a while, to break the silence.

“It’s excellent” he answers.

“Do you understand why mother was so pissed that you thought she isn’t a good chef?”

Aemond stares at you, eye fixed into yours.

“I’ve never said that. Even the best professional might make a mistake which results in people developing food poisoning.”

“Not mother, sir. I’ve been raised by her side, in the kitchen. I know how precise she is with every preparation, the conserves mostly. She knows the dangers of food going bad. She’d rather throw everything out, than risk hurting someone. She’s so strict, that she only uses the food that she grows in the garden; everything she serves, she knows the origin. Even the juices are home pressed”

“You know how to prepare all of this?”.

He hopes his incredulity doesn’t seep in his words. You don’t look like the kind of person who would slave in a garden and in a kitchen to prepare traditional meals.

“I do, sir, and I would make my own food, if only I weren’t always here. It takes time and energy to organize your work and then prepare everything. Have you ever participated in making tomato sauce? You need a lot of people, time and space, it takes days!”.

Aemond focuses on your face: he’s never seen you this animated. When you are with him you are always serious and controlled, now there’s a spark in your eyes he’s never seen, the air around you vibrates with an energy he’s never experienced when you relate him the results of your inquest. You look alive in ways, he thinks, no one has ever seen here.

“I can’t say I have.” He answers, putting the fork neatly beside the plate. “My family doesn’t hold these kind of traditions”.

He grimaces inwardly, like every time he shares tidbits of himself with the outside world, waiting for his interlocutor to use the information against him.

“It’s fun, sir. You are absolutely destroyed afterwards, but seeing the fruits of your labor on the shelves, makes for it.”

You say with a smile that covers for no judgment, he realizes. You are merely chatting with him and he can’t detect any ill intention on your part; he’s not used at doing this, talking with people with the only intent to pass the time and get to know them.

“Will you tell your mother that I have appreciated everything she’s prepared?”

“I will, sir. Be mindful, though, she might start sending you food as well.”

“Why would she do such a thing? She doesn’t know me.” He is honestly surprised.

“Because she’s a feeder. She’s told me at least trice that you look too thin and she fears you are living off supermarket food. Unfortunately she comes from a generation where stating opinions on someone’s body is the norm, but she means well.”

“You can assure your mother I am eating healthy food. Not homemade, because I don’t have a garden, yet it’s not frozen meals.” he finds himself saying with a smile.

It’s not a lie, not the complete truth either, he hopes the cook at the hotel chooses the best ingredients, but he doesn’t have that kind of back knowledge to know.

“I’ll try my best, sir. Despite you having to investigate her and her hotel, she likes you. She’s told me what a gentleman you have been throughout the questioning, calling her ‘Mrs’ and listening attentively. She’s added something I shouldn’t say out loud, though.” You say, evading his eye.

“Commissioner, I don’t think anything your mother said about me warrants you keeping the secret. I don’t think she insulted me.”

He is intrigued now, and this is better than asking himself why he feels so at ease with you.

You play with the food on your plate, trying to find the right words.

“She said you reminded her of her grandfather. He was a farmer, but he had studied in a seminary, until his own dad had passed away and he was forced to quit to help feeding his mum and siblings. He was known to be well mannered, even when plowing the land, and well spoken. People noticed how lord like he was, they didn’t see the mud on his boots.” You take a sip of water. “I have never met him, of course, but all the tales about him focus on his bright intelligence and gentleness. He was wasted potential, but back in those times his family couldn’t do anything about it. All his neighbors used to come to him to solve their problems with borders, cattle and the like, because he was always capable of finding a solution that was good for all parties.”

Your eyes bore into his lonely one, your hands pick at the bread on the table with nervousness.

“I’m sorry if I have offended you, sir.”

“You haven’t.” He answers. “He sounds like the kind of man anyone should aspire to be. It is a great compliment to be compared to him.”

“Oh thank God!” You say, the breath you’ve been holding escapes your lips in a huff.

You didn’t know how he would have taken being compared to a simple farmer, when you know well enough how old and important his family is.

“Is there anything else your mother said?”

“No, that’s it”.

It’s not entirely the truth. She’s repeated you how handsome Aemond is and that you should find out if he has someone in his life, because he looks like the kind of man who is just perfect for you. He doesn’t need to know that and how much you agree with you mother.

“Would it be awfully impolite if we don’t finish everything?”

“Oh no sir! Those are my rations for at least a week. It is physically impossible to eat all!”

“You shouldn’t have shared it with me, if it was supposed to last you for so long!”

“Nonsense, sir. I offered because I was happy for you to have a meal with me. And I have other food at home, not homemade, but you will not tell mother, right?” The smile is bright on your lips.

He stares at you fondly. This is the first time in a long while, that he’s felt not so detached from the world around him, almost at ease with you.

“On my honor, commissioner” he smiles, without even realizing it.

He helps you put the food in the containers and throw out the trash.

You two argue on your way to the exit, because he wants to carry everything for you, it looks heavy and he is gentleman, after all, to which you answer that you are used to carry and lift more than this bag.

Outside, the first summer storm is raging, fat drops of water falling almost horizontally on the pavement.

“Is your car nearby, commissioner?” He asks, voice raised to make himself heard.

“It’s that one!” You answer, pointing at the beaten out Cinquecento parked on the corner of the street.

“Are you sure it will withstand the storm?” He has to ask, the thing looks ancient.

“It will. It’s more patches than everything else, but it still runs strong!”

With a huff you don your raincoat and fit the hood on your head.

“How are you going home, sir?”

“With that.” He answers, pointing to a car that costs like your annual wage. “Are you sure you don’t want me to drive you home?”

“I’ll be fine. I’ve driven that through worse conditions.” You stop for a second, unsure of how you should say goodbye. “Well, goodnight sir.”

“Good night commissioner.” He answers.

He stays on the door until you are safely in your car and the thing, miraculously, starts.

Few days pass; he has so much work he might drown in it, yet he has the time to focus on you every single time you two pass the halls of the precinct and of the courthouse. He doesn’t realize what he’s doing, at first, you’re there and he greets you, because his mother has taught him good manners, it’s when he is consciously looking for you, that he realizes what he’s been doing.

It’s strange for him to look out for someone who is not his immediate family: keeping and eye on his siblings has always been a sort of second nature, even though he’s not the first born, because they are his blood and he’s supposed to. You are a nobody, a subordinate, yet he realizes, as he’s pouring over some documents, that his subconscious has been focusing on you for a very long time, the change now being, that he wishes to see more of that spark you showed him during your improvised dinner, at least when you stumble upon him.

For your part, you try not to think about the dinner too much. It had been lovely to see a more human side to your colleague, the downside being that whatever interest you had been developing for him, now has more energy to grow. Your mother is of no help either, she keeps asking about Aemond, as if you were in any position to know any personal information and no, you don’t want to know if he’s single or not, it’s not like you have any chance with him, who has shown zero interest towards you, beside work.

You should have known better.

You mother has a tradition: Friday night family dinner, when she gives the reins of the hotel kitchen to her second in command so she can cook for her family only, and spend time with you all.

She’s been particularly pressing this week, you simply thought she wanted you relax with the people who love you, after the grueling months spent chasing the drug ring. You were wrong.

The first bell should have rang when the space in front of the family home is full of cars. The second when you spotted a car that looked suspiciously similar to Aemond’s posh one. The third the second your mother bear hugged you and then dragged you to the kitchen, chatting like a car salesman to stop your questioning.

“Mom, what the hell?”

You finally manage to interrupt her when you see your colleagues, and their families, helping setting the tables in the back garden.

“What?” She stares at you with fake innocence in her eyes.

“Why is my team here?”

“Oh dear. Didn’t I tell you? I wanted to celebrate your hard work!”

Your mum is many things, a good actress she’s not.

“No, you didn’t.” You say exasperated. “And you called me constantly the past week!”

“Oh, I am getting old and forgetful. I’m sorry dearest.”

You know she isn’t and you are certain she hasn’t forgotten about telling you. You almost start grilling her with questions, when she chirps amiably.

“Oh, look who’s managed to come!”

With horror you see Aemond with a casserole in his hand, your older sister directing him on where to put the thing.

“Mom!”

You think you are going to have a heart attack. You are positive it’s going to happen now, because your heart is beating too fast and you feel like fainting with embarrassment. If you die you don’t have to talk to him, to justify your family probably berating him.

If you’re fast enough you can run to your car before Aemond spots you.

You haven’t considered your mother’s grip on your arm, and your nephews’ sudden influx of love towards you, the three little monster screaming your name and hugging your legs: you are positively struck where you are.

If only the ground were to swallow you.

“Mom, do you have the slightest idea of the family he comes from?”

“Yes, of course I do. They all look dashing, but him? Absolutely breathtaking”.

God please take me now, you think, anything but this!

But God is nowhere to be found and is deafer than ever to your prayers when you see your sister talking to Aemond, who then turns and spots you.

You can’t run away now. Maybe a stray thunderbolt might hit you?

“Good evening commissioner”

“Good evening sir”.

You try to look dignified, pretty difficult when there’s a gaggle of children holding on to your legs and you want to die.

“Children, will you please let me go?” You ask.

“Are you going to run away?” Says nephew number one.

“Mum said to get you, so you would stay!” Adds nephew number two.

“She said you’d try to bolt!” The third one nails the last nail on your coffin.

If you longed for death before, now you wish to burst into flames.

“Why would you leave, commissioner?” Aemond looks sincerely curious.

“I will not. Children, please!”.

The three little monster seem to be happy with the damage they have caused and run away, to play.

“You know how kids are, sir. Minds full of wonder. God only knows what they’ve heard!”

“I think we can use our first names tonight, we are not at work, after all.”

Engrossed as you are in your embarrassment, you don’t hear the insecurity in Aemond’s voice

“Yes sir.” You catch yourself .“Aemond. I hope my family wasn’t too berating.”

“They aren’t. A bit loud, but it calls for the occasion.”

Inwardly he lets go of the breath he was holding. He knows it’s stupid but, like every time he takes a step out of his comfort zone, he feels himself preparing for the worse, for his little attempt to be crushed by the outside world.

“Are you two going to stand there and look pretty, or are you going to help?” Screams your brother in law from where he’s minding the barbecue.

“You do your thing.” You shout back. “And I’ll do mine!”

“He is right. I think there’s more that needs to be set on the table.”

You agree and desperately try not to notice how good Aemond looks.

At work he wears conservative suits, tonight his slacks look comfy and soft, the neckline of his white shirt deeper than the ones you are used to see him wear. His gorgeous hair is in a complicated braid that enhance his beautiful face.

Yes, you need to busy yourself.

Your mum has overdone herself. For the usual Friday dinner, she just sets the table, tonight the whole area is illuminated by strings of light and there’s flowers and plants everywhere. The tablecloths are the finest she owns, the ones she uses only for important occasions. You are moved by the hard work you see here, knowing full well how demanding the hotel is, yet you are pissed that both your mother and sister have ambushed you so; you wouldn’t have refused to come, if you’d known that Aemond would be here!

“What were you two thinking?”

You have managed to snag your sister and drag her in a hidden corner of the garden.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about”

“I am going to throttle you”

“You are worse at lying than mom is! You have any idea of who Aemond is?”

“I perfectly know who he is. He’s the man who’s making me regret I am married and loyal. He’s so dreamy.”

“What for? You work with him!”

“It’s not the same. We don’t have that kind of relationship!”

“But you’ve eaten with him.”

“How do you know that?”

Whatever high ground you thought you had, disappears from under your feet.

“He thanked mum for the food and complimented her, when she called him to invite him tonight.” Your sister says nonchalantly

“How, in the name of God, does she have his phone number?”

At this point you are beyond flabbergasted

“You should ask her! Now come, it’s time to eat!”

Your sister grabs your arm and your nephews appear out of nowhere to help her drag you to your chair which is, lo and behold, next to Aemond’s.

“I’m going to kill you!” You manage to whisper in your sister’s ear

“Enjoy your dinner!” She says with so much saccharine in her voice, you are afraid her teeth will fall off.

Aemond had to prepare himself for tonight, telling himself that being social for one night would be fine, even fun. He knows your men, his consideration of them is almost positive, considering they are cops. Compared to most of their colleagues, they are bearable and not corrupt, which is a first. On top of that, he has already had dinner with you and the experience had been lovely, you were lovely and he couldn’t say no to a mum, his own mother would kill him, but his heart had beaten a tad too fast while he was driving here, the idea of having to deal with so many people, in an unknown context, scared him.

At the courthouse or the precinct, he has a script in his head he can follow, here? He’s left to his own devices and that rarely ends well.

Surprisingly enough, for him, the welcome he received from you family was warm and made him feel like he had always known all of them. Even being, gently, bossed around by your older sister, felt right, not like she was overstepping.

But he can still feel the glass divide between himself and the rest of the world.

It is a strange feeling, to be somewhere, with nice people, and knowing that there’s this distance he can’t overcome. That he can talk with people, break bread with them and yet know that he’s seeing the whole scene from the outside, instead of being part of it, as if he’s the spectator to a play.

Even you, sitting by his side, chatting and laughing, the delicate scent of your perfume in his nostrils, barely manage to breach the gap that had always distanced him from the rest of the world.

Your mum, for her part, tries to make him participate in the conversation, as if she’s aware of the way he’s feeling. But she can’t know, he tells himself, no one has ever been able to, why could she?

And she seems to be intent to feed him like a pig. Aemond can’t say no to her, not when she puts food on his plate and tells him to try this dish, which she had made especially for him; Alicent would kill him if she’d ever knew he had caused grief to a fellow mother, who has worked hard just for him.

“Do you want to get a breath of fresh air?” You ask him during a lull between courses.

“I wouldn’t mind it.” He answers, hoping the relief is not too noticeable.

You hope no one notices you two slipping away to go to the roof of the house. On your way there, you stop in front of an ancient daguerreotype.

“That’s him.” You say.

Aemond behind you hums, his eye admiring the old face staring back at him.

The man looks nothing like him, the huge mustaches occupy his face, giving him a serious look, but that’s not why he understands your mother’s reasoning: it’s the aura he can feel exuding from the daguerreotype, the power that only knowledge gives you, the one Aemond had always felt during his studies, what truly made him feel strong and capable, against a world he rarely understood.

“Thank you for showing me his picture.” Aemond says, meaning it from the bottom of his heart: our family, our roots, it’s all we have, when everything is said and done.

“And this one is my granddad, his son. He’s the one who started the hotel, from his literal home”.

The photo he looks at is yellow with age, a man staring at something just over Aemond’s shoulder, the typical pose for pictures of that time; you look a lot like him, he realizes, in the shape of your eyes and mouth.

“Let’s go, before my sister sends her minions from hell!” You laugh, making your way up the staircase.

The night is warm but a gentle breeze moves your hair, as soon as you and Aemond arrive on the roof.

Like many houses in this region, it is flat and had been used for centuries to store rain water and hang the drying clothes; Aemond notices your family has comfortable garden furniture here and a closed beach umbrella.

Ignoring everything, you head for the edge of the roof, where you can feel the breeze more; Aemond follows you, taking the time to observe you.

You look like summer in your pretty dress and wedge heels, your hair styled and not up in the conservative bun you wear at work. Yes, you are pretty, not that you aren't in your usual clothing, it's just that these illuminate you, make you look happier and livelier. He understands your fashion choices at work. He once heard another female police officer saying that she would have dressed more feminine, but then, where keep her gun? And the field is still so male dominated that showing any other kind of traits, would immediately mean becoming laughing stock.

“Are you enjoying yourself?” A tinge of anxiety marks your voice

“I am. It is different than my usual Friday night, but a good change”

“I’m glad. My family can be hard to handle, even for me.” You say, shielding your face with your hair

“They are a peculiar bunch indeed, but nice and welcoming.”

Silence falls between you two again, broken only by the music coming from downstairs; it’s not heavy, though, Aemond muses, he doesn’t feel the need to either leave or try to awkwardly fill it with words, before the other person decides it has been weird enough. In his life, he only felt like this with his beloved sister Helaena: she never minded sitting by his side, just quietly enjoying life.

“This is my family’s ancestral home. It had been expanded and changed, but my family has been living here since centuries. My grandfather used to rent out all the rooms he could, that’s how the hotel started.”

“It must have been hard.”

“Yes. Many sacrifices were made, but he didn’t want his daughter to slave in the fields all her life.”

“She still decided on physical labor, instead of a managerial position, though.”

“The key is that it was her choice. She wakes up every morning and still wants to do it. It is a luck not everyone has.”

“Do you still have it?”

Aemond doesn’t know where the question comes from, he’s usually mindful of someone else privacy, but with you that invisible, glass divide with the world, seems to become thinner and thinner and he deludes himself with thinking he might truly reach through it and touch you.

“I do, and I don’t sometimes.” You admit, eyes not meeting his. “I love my team and what we do, I just miss how exciting my life was undercover, and after, at the internal affairs.”

“Do you want to go back to that?”

You don’t answer immediately, you let the wind blow through your hair and the lights from downstairs dance in your eyes.

“No, I don’t think I want to. It’s just that this job sucks the life out of you, sometimes. All the violence and the filth and having to shield the people I love from that makes me feel. I think I miss more the person I was, the way I used to look at this work, like a source of a better change for this world. Now that I am older and wiser, I realize that, at best, we try to empty the ocean with a spoon, at worse, we are protecting those who have reduced the world into what it is.”

If he were another person, Aemond would have reached for your hand, to give you comfort, but he is who he is and doesn’t know what to do.

He doesn’t expect your question.

“What about you, Aemond? Do you still wake up with the same drive you used to have?”

“I do.” He is surprised by how fast he answers, but this had been a surprising night, it’s OK. “I see all of it and it makes me what to double down on my work. But I understand: you are supposed to protect, but whom, truly? The poor person who steals out of hunger, or the company they steal from?”

“You’re lucky then.” You say with a sad smile on your lips

“I probably am.” What you don’t know, it’s that it’s the glass divide he sometimes despises, that helps him keep a distance between himself and the ugly parts of his job.

“I feel like my mind is always there. I cook and clean, play with my nephews and chat with my mum, and a part of me is always pouring over the files. It’s never ending.”

“I have a bike.” He blurts out “We can go on a trip, take you away from your routine.”

He truly doesn’t know where the invitation comes from. Not that he wouldn’t like to go on a spin with you, but when did his brain decide to unlock like this?

“You don’t look like the kind of person who owns a bike.” You are so surprised that you’ve forgotten the sadness of the conversation.

“It belonged to my family for years. It even has a name: Vhagar.”

And I lost my eye for it, he thinks, but doesn’t say.

“I very much would like to.” Your mouth says before the silly embarrassment caused by your crush can stop you.

“It is lovely plan, then!”

Your sister’s voice makes you and Aemond jump in surprise. How long was she listening? You suspect long enough, judging by the way she puts her arm over your shoulder to hug you sideways.

“I hope you have space for the desserts!” She says, dragging you towards the stairs.

“Desserts?” Comes, a bit strangled, from Aemond

“Oh, mum has overdone herself tonight!” She gleefully answers.

By the time the food is finished, Aemond feels like he could easily roll home: he is full like he had never been before. He jumps up and offers his help, when it’s time to clear the table, maybe a bit of exercise might help him and clear his head as on why it’s so easy to reach to you, of all the people in the world.

Aemond finds himself with a carton of food, near the trunk of his car. He had tried to, politely, refuse, but your mother simply ignored him and put even more food in it.

Aemond is closing the trunk, when your mum arrives with a bag of conserves and trusts it in his hands.

“I cannot accept. It is too much!” He says.

“Oh, nonsense.” She answers. “I am happy to give these to you.”

“But you’ll need those for the hotel.”

“I have more than enough stored in the kitchen there. These are the ones I use at home.”

“I can’t!”

“Yes you can.” She gently puts her hands over his. “I know how hard it is, accept a stranger’s kindness and reach out of what comforts you. But it’s worth trying.”

Aemond doesn’t believe in coincidences, but you appear in his line of sight and make a beeline for him.

“Mum? You are needed. I’ll help here.”

Your mother bids Aemond goodbye, who answers with a strange expression on his face that makes the alarm bells explode in your head.

"Aemond?" It is so strange to use his given name so freely. "Is everything all right? Or were we too much?"

His eye focuses on you, he doesn't look like a deer caught in the headlights anymore, yet his face is more animated than what you're used to see.

"Everything is fine." He says, your name follows, his voice pensive. "Your mother possesses far more insight than I thought."

You don't really understand what he's implying, it feels like he's talking more to himself than to you.

"She is an extraordinary woman."

And she truly is, to see him, for who he is, without making him feel naked and defenseless.

"Yeah-." You answer without really understanding the topic.

In silence you help him put the food in the trunk of the car, making sure nothing will be broken.

The air feel pregnant, of what you don't know, but you feel like he's going to say something and he's looking for the right words.

"About that little trip." He finally says.

"Yeah?"

"Do you still want to go?"

You don't know it, but his heart is beating so fast he's afraid it might explode.

"I can't wait. I've never ridden a bike in my entire life."

Another man would have probably said something crass about first times, he simply closes the hood of the car.

"It is the closest thing to flying you'll ever experience. You'll have fun, I promise."

"Good." There's a smile on your face. "I love fun!"

Aemond is driving home. He feels emptied by all the social interactions, yet happy, like he's not going to need to recharge, and it's a first.

His mind drifts off to Helaena and the cryptic words she's told him when he moved here, about strange twists and turns that lend to where one least expects it.

Was she talking about you? Only time will tell and, this uncertainty, doesn't scare him, for the first time in his life.

Everythig taglist: @hightowhxre

Aemond taglist: @phantoms-main-blog @fan-goddess

[misterbitches]

I have mixed feelings about the episode!

If I hadn’t have gone online I would have been more of a blank slate. It’s good to know my criticisms are affirmed by others but it doesn’t mean this show is weak because even with the faults this episode was still entertaining at the very least. I feel crazy! Like some of my issues with the social commentary so far are dealt with—not remediated per se but addressed—or tended to.

The whole marriage thing isn’t a bad scenario typical of a BL imo because it makes sense. Patriarchy has everything to do with the hoarding of wealth. You have to make sure a woman has limited options for offspring to preserve a familial/blood line. Marriage is a business practice (it isn’t final or static but marriage and love are not interchangeable and “love” is a very specific goal that is hard to meet particularly if you are poor) and even if Rosé doesn’t want it, that’s how you secure capital…via legacy and literal financial bonds (presented as familial).

Rosé isn’t a good person. As much as Save is a bitch and Hope is…whatever he is (and agree with the user that said they should have kissed there!) the show is telling us over and over that THESE PEOPLE ARE POOR GUYS. THEY HAVE NO MONEY. I don’t know if the audience understands what that means fully. That means that Tattoo’s actions are not the same as Arun’s or even Joke’s; Jack’s poor decisions aren’t the same as Joke’s; Save is being absolutely insane and fucking ridiculous and wow I hate him but even his decision is not the same. You see how much hospital bills are, not having insurance, INSURANCE LITERALLY BEING TIED TO YOUR JOB AND THE NUCLEAR FAMILY. Things these people do not have, nor should not have to have, and the pains you go through to do everything right so the state says and you still get fucked.

That’s why the whole ~dOn’T sTEaL~ would piss me the fuck off! Jenny’s character makes complete sense! I know this is an easy way for us to express this idea of never being able to “get out” but poverty isn’t actually a cycle. Poverty is man made, it is not real. A cycle suggest something inevitable where an underclass would always have to exist, some sociogenetic defect that you just can’t beat and the cure (money) is just too hard to find (as in made up but never freely given). What makes that cycle relevant? Capitalism. This term has bred such reification i swear. It makes it seem like this is something they can GET OUT OF and BREAK on their own volition (with no direct action against the capitalist class/elites like you know…robbing them)

To be wealthy is to inhibit a class position, a social category, in which your livelihood depends on the subjugation of others. It’s obvious that Boss has limited money—and that dwindles—he relies on his boss. He is a manager, an inbetween, a boss but not The Boss. He is a cop essentially (cops have more autonomy tbh) to literally protect private property and collect and give to his bosses. They’re also all landlords and deserve to die.

Anyway there is no cycle as a real tangible thing one can take control of. There are people who choose their comfort and life over others and exploit to maintain, retain, and gain. ANY type of wealth hoarding is immoral. Richness is immoral.

Every single one of these people who suffer are in this position because of rich people. The monopoly was literal and exaggerated metaphor but rich people HATE and i mean HATE they LOATHE they resent disdain the poor. They hate you. They hate me and I’m not even poor! It is not a (referent-less) cycle! These are deliberate choices being made by others to make sure ppl stay poor—women, children queer ppl, darker ppl, the disabled…

If we focused less on the actions of those who have had to work in service of the pillagers and more on the pillagers and why the FUCK these people do this and get to do it, maybe Jack’s choices would make sense. Yes they are frustrating but I don’t necessarily think this is bad writing considering that Jack’s life could be made a living hell if he “got another job” which…ok but where? Who will hire him? How quickly will he make that money? With what skills when he has one very good one that could be used AND this money could be made immediately?

Are these particular choices stupid or do they exist in a broader story that is unfolding? Obviously this is a tv show beyond bl bc this episode was like completely story related and I enjoyed that. There was def some stuff where i was like wow this seems a bit rushed and it does seem like filler but it also technically isn’t…? If I’m thinking beyond what I would like to see with romance. If I think of it as more of s general show that is openly queer but that’s just the life of the show…then was this an outlier or does it fit? Even if it doesn’t I still get to understand more of what they think abt the world…? Idk i liked this episode i go back and forth! But it was a good way to spend my hour.

Also rose’s plan is fucking disgusting neoliberal drivel and insulting lmao when joke threw that all i could think of was bush and that shoe

[ladylooch]

Afterthoughts and Alcohol- Liv X Luca

A/N: Part 1 of Liv & Luca's LONG teased angst....

Word Count:3.5k

Stop here & here before continuing on.

Part 2| Part 3| Part 4

The timezone difference between the West coast and East coast has Livia Meier banging her head against the wall of her bathroom stall. Well, metaphorically. 

Luca and the Minnesota Wild have been on a long, road trip. Although Liv doesn’t live with Luca in Minnesota, his road trips still feel like a burden on their relationship. They talk less. He is out with the boys more. Then add in the three hour time difference and they both feel like two ships passing in the night. Liv fights the frustrated tears growing in her eyes as she fixes a smudge of her freshly applied, mauve pink lip stain. 

Heading for my nap. Text you when I’m up 😘

Liv sighs as she slowly walks out of the women’s bathroom inside UBS Arena. She looks down at the message, wanting to tell Luca how much she misses him and how distant things feel with them right now. But it is not the time. Not right before a game and when she is out with her friends for a fun night.

Instead, she sends back: ❤️��😘

Camilla and Harper, her good friends from freshman year and now floor mates, await outside the bathroom for Liv.

“Ready?” Harper asks, sliding her arm through Liv’s. They begin to walk to the left.

“I think we missed warm ups. Will he care?” Camilla wonders. She nervously bites her lip as the girls weave arm in arm through the busy concourse to the Isles family seats. 

“No. I don’t think Ryder Hughes noticed we missed warm ups on a rivalry hockey night.” Liv laughs at the mere thought. He has the same focus and intensity as his dad, Jack. His ability to block out the rest of the world has always been admirable to Liv. 

Tonight is Girl’s Night Out sponsored by Ryder Hughes. He has been begging Liv to come watch a game to show her some “real East coast hockey” for the past several months. But class and flying to Minnesota and Devils & Rangers games, have taken up most of Liv’s time. She figured it was time to throw Ryder a bone. He has been so helpful and supportive as Liv has begun the process of starting her second book. He is constantly checking in to make sure she has eaten or has enough coffee or has taken a shower in the last three days. Only a year and a half has passed since Liv’s first book was published, but she had forgotten how difficult and stressful it can be to meet her publisher’s demanding deadlines. 

Enter Ryder Hughes as Superman.

And Luca, of course. His role is shaped more by distance than Ryder’s, but Liv tries to shelter those details from her boyfriend. She doesn’t want to make Luca feel bad for missing out on “Librarian Livy”- his nickname for her because of the blue light blocking glasses she wears while she writes.

“Where is Luca tonight?” Harper asks as they sit down in their seats. Liv can feel eyes of the WAGS on her- the Devils and Rangers and Wild and now Islanders girl? The puck bunny label practically writes it’s self across Liv’s forehead. 

“Um, he is in Seattle.” Liv clears her throat of the awkward phlegm setting in from the stares.

“Ugh, I love Seattle! It’s all moody and dreamy.” Camilla murmurs. “Do you ever visit him on the road?”

“No, the road is sacred.” Liv rolls her eyes. “It is where all the bonding and real focus on hockey happens. You know without the distraction of their loved ones.”

“I wanna be a WAG so bad!” Harper whines. “Livy, how do I get Ryder to notice me?”

“I think you need to be European….” Camilla teases, eyeing Liv from the side. 

“Stop.” Liv shakes her head. These two are good friends and always tease Liv about the “hot, hockey men” entranced by her aura.

“Livy, will you sponsor me for Swiss citizenship?”

“It doesn’t work like that.” Liv laughs, bringing her mixed drink to her lips for two quick sips.

“Maybe Lio will marry me.” Harper jokes.

“He is a mess. Stay away from him.” Liv mutters. She likes Harper too much to allow her to enter Lio’s puck bunny trap. Camilla and Harper share a look, shamelessly bonding over their admiration of the oldest Meier child. 

The Islanders win the game against the Buffalo Sabres 2-1 in regulation. The girls want the experience of waiting for an NHLer and no amount of whining from Liv can get them to move along. So they wait, and wait, and wait for Ryder to poke his head out from the tunnel. He gives a wave and big grin, then climbs the stairs by twos.

“Great game!” Harper blurts immediately.

“Thanks for the tickets, Ry!” Camilla cheers as he enters the row.

“Hey ladies, thanks for coming.” He goes in for a quick hug with each one of them, ending with a longer one for Liv. “Good hockey, eh?”

“Looked similar to what I have seen.” Liv pokes his side, shrugging like she is unimpressed. He actually played well tonight. 

“Better colors though.”

“Mmm, I like green. Brings out my eyes.” She narrows them at him when he rolls his back at her. 

“Trust me, you look better in blue.” He points to her plain blue shirt with no representation of his team. “What are you up to after this?” He seems to address the group, but his attention stays on Liv. 

“I don’t know that we have decided.” Liv murmurs.

“Well, we have a green light tonight, so a bunch of the guys are heading out. You wanna tag along?”

“Yes!”

“Duh!”

Both girls chime in for Liv. She sighs, tilting her head back towards the arena roof to consider. She really didn’t write enough this week. She should go home and try to get a couple thousand more words done to feel good going into the weekend. Luca is coming into town next week and she wants to spend all her time with him, not worrying about her next check point.

“Livy, your deadline will still be there tomorrow.” Ryder winks, knowing her inner turmoil. He very dramatically juts his bottom lip out at her, then looks up towards the rafters as he bats his eyes. He looks cute and boyish, earning a smirk from her.

“Wow.” Liv snorts. “Fine, but you’re buying my drinks all night. I’m not paying.”

“Beautiful girls never pay with me.” Liv ignores the way Harper and Camilla giggle as they head down the stairs to leave in Ryder’s swanky, black Porsche. 

- - -

Inside the VIP area of some bumping club Liv has never heard of, she lays her head back on the booth and belts out the lyrics to Party in the U.S.A. Ryder is next to her, nursing his second whiskey neat as the rest of his teammates scatter through the upper area of the club. Camilla and Harper are long gone, mingling with the single members of the Islanders while Liv was sitting by herself. Ryder just came and plopped himself down after doing a lap around the level. 

“Are you glad you came?” Ryder smirks as the song finishes.

“Mhm. Thanks.” Liv says genuinely.

“I knew you would feel better if you came out. You’ve been working hard. You deserve to have fun too.”

“I do have fun.”

“Yeah, but I mean have fun here, in New York, not only when you’re jet setting off to Minnesota. You live in one of the best cities in the world and you never do anything the city has to offer.”

“Life for me here is temporary.” Liv shrugs. It is. Once she is done with school, she is going to Minnesota. She wants to build a life with Luca. 

“You’re gonna throw away a whole life here for someone else’s dream?” Ryder asks. “Kinda shitty of him to ask.”

“He didn’t ask.” Liv shrugs her shoulder slightly, feeling defensive. 

“But he also didn’t tell you to stay in the best city in the world for your career.” Liv pauses.

No, Luca didn’t tell her that.

“Maybe Mr. Perfect isn’t so perfect.” Ryder suggests.

“If I wanted to stay, he would support that.”

“Come on, Livy. You think he loves being hundreds of miles away from you for most of the year?”

“What is he supposed to do, Ry? He can’t control where he plays. You know that.”

“Sure, but I hope you know you deserve more than to only be someone’s girlfriend in some shitty, fly over state. I can’t imagine that’s what your parents want for you either.”

“That’s harsh.”

“Maybe, but at least someone here wants what is best for you.”

“So does he.” Liv finishes with a whisper. They both look away from each other, taking drinks to cool off some of the tension. Liv avoids the pull of Ryder’s gaze a few minutes later, wondering if she should head back to her apartment instead of continuing the night.

“Hey.” Ryder murmurs softly. He reaches out for her hand, giving it a squeeze. He watches his thumb brush over her fingers. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to get so upset.” He forces a smile. “If you’re happy, I’m happy.” 

But are you happy? An internal voice asks Liv. Are you happy with how many more months of long distance? Or the fact that you and Luca have only talked once on this five day road trip? Or how short the conversation was and the way he goes hours without responding to a text? Will this be how it is in Minnesota? Is Ryder right? Will you only be Luca’s girlfriend, a WAG, and not a published author with a bachelor’s degree and working towards a master’s?

Liv swallows down her nerves, squeezing Ryder’s hand back while pulling in a steady breath.

“It’s okay. I’m okay. I’m fine. Great even.” She finishes, groping for her glass on the table and slamming the rest in one huge swallow.

But the rest of the night, Liv is swimming in and out of reality. She has a hard time being present with the group. The amount of alcohol she consumes doesn’t help. She gets upset when realizing Luca never texted her before he headed to the arena. She was in the bathroom, scrolling through Instagram when she saw his arrival picture posted on the Wild socials. His phone is right there in his hand, but she has no new messages from him.

How is this so easy for him? How is she sitting here spinning her wheels, waiting for any sliver of attention, and he is walking into that arena without a care in the world? Before she thinks better of it, she sends a text to him.

Going to bed. Sweet dreams.

Then she fills her Instagram story up with all the pictures she can take of every Islander and her. She takes shots with their star center, captain, and goalie. Her and Ryder snap tongue out, ultra posed pics. She shoves at Ryder’s face as he tries to hand her another shot. Camilla and Harper join in on the pictures too- sexy, pouty faces as Liv sheds her jacket and runs around the hot VIP area in her black tank top. 

Liv is catching her breath off the dance floor with a fresh tequila soda when her phone buzzes on the bar top.

Your bed looks different these days. Have fun, baby! Call me when you get home?

He is as sweet as ever, which is so annoying to Liv. 

She sees Ryder on the dance floor with Harper, who is falling all over herself at his attention. Liv scoffs. Pathetic. Harper throws her arms around his shoulders. His hands go to her hips, holding her up and in place as her upper body sways. Everything feels like it is getting sloppy. Harper pulls herself into his chest, cuddling up into his arms. He lets her, but his eyes wander up to where Liv is. He raises his eyebrows at her. Liv shrugs in response. Ryder leans down to Harper’s ear, saying something that has her nodding. 

Liv scans the crowd as they wade through to get off the dance floor and to the stairs leading to VIP. Every woman turns their head to look at Ryder as he passes. If he notices, he doesn’t let on. Liv shakes her head in awe of it. She can feel their hot gazes judging her when he stops next to her. He throws his hands on the railing she is leaning on, smiling in greeting at her.

“Another night where you have your pick of the place.” Liv cocks a brow at him. A piece of hair falls across his forehead and instinctively, Liv reaches up to brush it away. Ryder goes still with her skin on his. He closes his eyes for a moment, then slowly turns fully towards her, setting his blue eyes on her face.

“They aren’t the girl that I want.” Liv holds his gaze for three breaths, then looks away, taking a gulp of her drink. She ignores his words, unable to comprehend fully if that was insinuation or not. She can feel the way her body responds to the alcohol. She is a little unsteady on her feet, feeling her inhibitions fall away, and the anxiety dissipate until she feels completely comfortable in her skin. 

The feeling doesn’t last as Camilla and Harper get downright sideways. Camilla is in tears crying over her ex-boyfriend with a rookie who looks like he wants to run through the brick wall to get away from her. Harper is falling asleep on the bench and the bouncer is throwing his thumb over his shoulder that she has to go. Ryder helps Liv get them back into his car. 

“Are you okay to drive?” Liv wonders before getting in.

“Yes. I’m sober. Saw you three getting wild and stopped drinking so you would be safe.” The consideration touches Liv. She is contemplative as she gets into the passenger seat. Her seatbelt clicks into place then Ryder pulls out into traffic. As the car shifts, Liv feels something shifting inside of her too. A softness is growing where she felt jealous and out of control earlier. 

Camilla rushes out of Ryder’s car as soon as he puts it into park. She tosses a wave over her shoulder leaving a passed out Harper to Ryder and Liv. They each take an arm, working together to get her into her apartment. Once inside Liv helps get Harper into bed as Ryder waits in the living room.

“Livy, do you think Ryder fell in love with me tonight? Is that why he is here helping?”

“I think he cares about you, Harp, but maybe try again when you’re sober.” Liv says to her friend. Liv ignores the twisting in her stomach at the thought of Ryder interested in someone. What audacity her tummy has to be churning right now.

Liv’s boots clack down the hall as she finds Ryder by the couch. He is looking at a picture of the three girls on one of their first weekends at Columbia. He seems out of place with his big shoulders, dark hair, and masculine presence in the overly feminine living room.

“That feels like a lifetime ago.” Liv murmurs, stopping next to him. Their shoulders brush. 

“You have lived a lot since then.”

“Yeah.” Liv smiles. “Can’t believe I’m graduating in a few months. It flew by.”

“The best years do, especially when you find a safe place to spread your wings.”

“I know it’s going to be hard for you when I leave.” Liv murmurs, sensing the sad undertone to his words. They haven’t spoken about this before, but the implication has been there.

“Yeah, it will be. I’m losing my best friend.” To comfort him, Liv laces their fingers together, tugging him towards the door to leave Harper’s behind.

“Come on, knight in shining armor. No need to get sad and sappy tonight. We have months left together.”

“True. Plus, I’ve got one more drunk girl to tuck into bed.” 

“I’m not drunk.”

“Sure, but you aren’t sober.” Liv doesn’t argue about that. Ryder makes sure the door is locked to Harper’s apartment, then puts a guiding hand on Liv’s back to walk her the two doors down to her place. 

Antsy anticipation intensifies in Liv as she pulls her keys out. Her other hand is still laced in Ryder’s comfortably. His thumb brushes along her fingers and she feels butterflies sweep the walls of her stomach.

“Liv. I’m serious. I know you’re trying to change the subject and move on, but I don’t know what I’m going to do without you. You have this effect on me. I am better when you’re around. I’m scared of who I will be without you.”

Warmth and appreciation spreads out from Liv’s chest to her extremities. That feels so good to hear. She has spent so much of the day feeling like an after thought, a throw away item when other things are more pressing. Right or wrong, Ryder fills her cup right back up. She smiles softly at him.

“See? What am I going to do without that smile.” He reaches out for her face, then drops his hand, remembering what they are to each other. Remembering who she has waiting for her in San Jose or whatever West coast city Liv said he was in. 

“We will still see each other.”

“Like this?” His voice gets huskier.

“What do you mean?”

“Just me and you. Like this. Like…” He trails off, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. He gets bold, cupping her cheek with his hand. Liv closes her eyes and leans into his touch. “I’m trying so hard not to kiss you right now.” Her blue eyes open again at his confession. 

Liv should say goodnight. Right now. Danger signs bolt upright in her mind. Red flags whip in hurricane force winds. Alarms bang through her head like cartoon cymbals clamoring together. And yet, her eyes drift, down the bridge of his nose, over his slightly red cheeks, to the full, red flesh of his lips. Her top teeth tug her bottom lip into her mouth, then she runs her gaze back up those features to his eyes again.

“Livy…” He whispers her name like a secret. 

Her eyes gravitate to Ryder’s lips again, wondering what it would feel like, for one moment, to kiss someone else. But not just anybody, him. Ryder. Loneliness whispers like a siren to feel warm skin against her mouth again. To be held for a moment, desired, not put on a shelf to be taken down when hockey or school isn’t demanding attention.

Ryder leans in, keeping his eyes open, locked on Liv. Her heartbeat blasts through her ears like a freight train as he stops at 80%. All that is left between them is a slim slice of stale apartment air. His warm breath collides with hers right in front of their noses. She tilts her chin up more, perfectly evening up their mouthes. 

Buzz, buzz, buzz, buzz, buzz

Liv’s phone vibrates in the back pocket of her tight jeans. Her and Ryder stare at each other. Without even checking, they both somehow know it’s Luca. She never told him she was home. Now he likely worries, three thousand miles away.

“I should go.” He sighs dismally. Liv can taste his words in her mouth, feeling the flutter of the air of them on her lips. Then he turns and walks away. 

Liv doesn’t answer Luca’s call. She couldn’t speak if she wanted to anyway. 

Guilt crawls through her veins, icing her chest and making her unsteady on her feet. Ryder disappears into the elevator. Her back hits her door as she clutches her keys to her chest. 

Why did that almost happen?

And what is that sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach that mirrors disappointment?

Read more Liv and Luca here.

[likeadevils]

Why isn't TTPD (based on Metacritic score) as critically acclaimed as Taylor's recent past albums, specifically Folklore, Evermore, and Midnights?

after reading the negative interviews here’s some common threads (i’m saying these as charitably as possible but like don’t get me wrong i disagree with some of these)

it’s long, and there’s definitely some tracks that could be cut (there is no common consensus on which tracks exactly, largely because they don’t actually say which ones)

the album isn’t playing in new sonic territory as much as folkmore, and to a lesser degree, midnights, especially the jack antonoff tracks

a combination of the more laid back sound, mixed metaphors, and flowery language make it hard to feel like the songs are building to something. instead it just ends up putting equal emphasis on the whole thing and thus making it all fade into the background

she’s saying she’s struggling in her lyrics but it doesn’t come through in her delivery or instrumentation

it’s still the same types of things she’s been singing about since she was a teenager, making the album seem even more muted

her songs swing from super flowery language to super conversational language and it makes the flowery language seem overwrought and the conversational language seem cringey (can not stress how charitable i am being with this. the amount of reviews that will just take a lyric out of context and be like, isn’t this bad? moving on!)

funny things i noticed

people still don’t like taylor swift writing songs about things that happened to taylor swift and at this point i just don’t know what to tell them

there’s a lot of thinly veiled, or just outright said, “young fanbase means bad art” going on

the paste’s review is ridiculous. in one paragraph she’s like “she’s too relatable!” and in another she’s like “she’s too unrelatable!”. i’m pretty sure it implies taylor wrote my boy only breaks his favorite toys to capitalize on barbenheimer. like. i get having someone who isn’t a fan of taylor review her album but at a certain point it’s like, well yeah if you’re looking for reasons to not like taylor swift then you’ll obviously find them. and like, for a random hate listen, fun whatever, but if you’re going to be professionally reviewing her album at least be consistent about why you hate it (also. side salad. whenever people hate taylor but love cjr i’m like. right cool uhuh you sure are invested in not liking taylor as a personality trait rather than a matter of taste)

everybody likes but daddy i love him. even the most negative reviews were like, to be fair, but daddy i love him slaps and the line “i’m having his baby! no im not but you should see your faces” is funny (which feels a bit hypocritical in all the reviews that are like ‘she keeps writing the about same stuff that she did as a teenager!’ but like. bdilh is just that good so i understand)

[coolingrosa]

Sorry for the onslaught of questions, but could you tell me how you learned to write so beautifully? Like the complexities of characters' emotions, how you describe things, tips to improve vocab, some good book recommendations, the way u use idioms and sayings so perfectly and just everything else you do? Ur writing is just so good that it actually makes me feel things ��😭 I need to become like youuu

This is a very heavy duty question and I’ll try my absolute hardest to answer this!

First things first, I do want to clarify that if you’re asking about the writing of chapter one, I want to make a note that a lot of the flowing text and descriptions was written by my co-writer- BarnacleGirl. We have a system where I write the rough draft, and dialogue, then hand it over to her to polish and add on some additions. However, that has not been done for chapters 2, 3 and the prologue. Those three mediums have not been touched by her writing and is simply mine. So if you’re specifically wondering about the details in chapter one, send in another ask directed at her and I’ll get her to answer it for you!

If you have the right idea and meant to send it for the whole fic, I’ll continue!

Character writing hasn’t always been my best work in the past. Nobody starts off writing complex characters with compelling morals until they grow a bit and experience a lot of life. What really taught me how to write was putting myself into each character and making them human. I give my characters the bad parts of myself- the good parts- parts that my friends see and that I don’t. Situations I’ve gone through are sprinkled through my writing and the emotions written on the pages is real because it’s taken from a real person.

This isn’t me saying that if you haven’t gone through hardships, or put yourself into characters, you’ll make flat ones. However, making human characters comes with human qualities- even bad ones.

Killer isn’t a good person.

He’s not. He just isn’t. He’s one of the main characters for the story and sympathized with but with his actions he’s not considered a good person.

But guess what? Dream isn’t a good one either. Nobody is.

Because the idea of good and bad people is an unreachable concept that we as human beings can’t follow. Everyone is going to mess up and hurt somebody on accident- maybe even on purpose. And in return- you’ll deal with hardships and heartbreak too. And the people you hurt or are hurt by will all see you in different lights. You’ll be a good person to many and a bad person to equally as much. So declaring a character a overall good or bad person doesn’t carry the same weight as real life dynamics.

Erasing the idea that characters have an archetype of good and bad really helped me make good characters and kept me out of my box. You can have characters who are horrible to some people but kind to others- characters who love very hard but show it terribly. But that’s what makes these individuals people. The bad traits and the mix of good create who they are. Their good actions and bad actions have to make sense for what they are thinking. Nobody is born evil. People become evil and even your most horrifically evil characters still have to have human traits remaining inside to make them one.

When I get an idea of a character and their vibes, diving into their emotions becomes easy because I can better envision myself in their place. Sometimes this can get emotional, but building that connection with your characters can really help you type out their thoughts and feelings like second nature. I advise you to use a lot of drowning and fire metaphors for emotions- as a rush of cold and heat is the two most common sensations when someone is feeling a strong emotion.

Tips for vocabulary: use a thesaurus LMAOOO

I’m SO bad at vocabulary. I don’t know what so many words mean and I constantly have to find replacement words for some of my text so don’t worry if ur ashamed about doing that- I do it all the time. My favorite thesaurus is word hippo, as it has so many different variations.

I unfortunately don’t have any book recommendations as I haven’t read a lot recently- but my writing style right now is heavily based on on the book All the Light we Cannot See. I’m not a huge fan of the book, but the writing style in it is impeccable and totally influenced my writing when I read it in sophomore year. Roseverse was also directly inspired by For the Forgotten Ones on ao3 and while it didn’t inspire me writing style wise, it did motivate a lot of my world building.

I also really appreciate you liking my work- it makes me really happy! However, there’s no need to become exactly like me in writing, as writing styles are just as complex and different as art styles. How you write is unique to you, and a statement of what you bring to the table. There’s beauty in that. Never be ashamed of your own writing style or skills. Keep wanting to improve, of course, but keep your love for writing centered around what you can make with YOUR hands. Because someday, your personal writing style and art may amaze another person out there who will want to write just like you.

You’re capable of amazement. Never forget that.

[1d1195]

I COULDNT SLEEP LAST NIGHT SO I SPENT THE NIGHT REREADING ALL OF TRADTIONAL !!!! AND IT WAS SOOO MUCH FUN I LOVEEE THEM😭😭😭 he was sooooo down bad im obsesseddd

"bro, you're annoying as fuck" GOODBYEEEE THAT IS ACTUALLY THE REALEST IVE EVER HEARDDDD. my dad is always like “you know, u can tell me anything.” AND IM LIKE “since when?? i literally can’t???” this is the same man that gets sooo mad when i just ask a question he doesn’t like😭 but my big brother’s wife is actually pregnant and she’s due soon so one good thing is i’m going to get to be here for that !!

sam you’re too sweet i looove you😭😭 my sister calls me barbie all the time and i think it’s so cute you chose the same nickname. I LOVE YOU YOU BEAUTIFUL, AMAZING, TALENTED WOMAN🫶🫶🫶🫶

i used to usually make my coffees at home. id brew it in a french press orrrr id make some using my keurig (omg if u or a friend have a nespresso machine those make it taste SOOOOO GOOD my mom has one and i LOVE using it) i add a little bit of sugar while its hot and i let it cool down and id use oat milk (i’ve only tried two brands; califa farms & oatly, i enjoyed them both. if im out i literally just use regular milk cuz whtvr) and thennn id use the coffee mate french milk creamer (is that what it’s called? it’s milk idk) and then a little bit of the torani vanilla syrup (cause it’s pretty strong). if my sweet tooth was kicking extra hard i’d add a drizzle of some white chocolate syrup.

HELPFUL AT HOME ICED COFFEE TIP I SAW ON TIKTOK: maybe this is common sense (it wasn’t for me tho🫣) but you’re supposed to add all your syrups and creamers into the coffee and mix it together AND THENNN pour onto ice😭😭 apparently it doesn’t mix as well when you pour them one by one onto the ice (WHICH IS WHAT I DID HAHA) and i did actually notice it made a slight difference.

so sorry that was wayyy longer than it had any right to be but it took me forever to find a way i enjoy making it at home. AND IT WORKS CAUSE EVERYONE IVE MADE IT FOR SAYS IT TASTES LIKE ICED COFFEE FROM A CAFE YAYYY !!! when i go out though i usually get a cup from dunkin. their cold brews are sooo yummmm and i love getting the sweetened cold foam.

omg thank you for asking abt the whole GED, i can’t believe you remember, its so sweet that you do, but i was actually going to bring it up in my last ask but i guess i forgot to. I DIDNT HAPPEN☹️ I HAD TO CANCEL THE CLASSES BEFORE I EVEN STARTED BECAUSE OF THIS TRIP☹️☹️☹️☹️ it actually upset me soooo much at the time. i’ve been trying for a couple years now and it NEVER works out, i was SO sure it would this time, but now im starting to wonder if the universe if just telling me it’s not meant for me😭

i don’t have anything planned yet but hopefully it’s chill. i hope you have a great weekend as well babe !!!💕💞✨

~🎶

I frequently reread traditional. Especially when I'm in the mood to write about them more. I really like how caring Harry is in that one 🤭 I think it's cute when he tries to spoil his girl 🥰

My dad knows surface level things of me as best but he thinks we have this connection. I feel bad, he's mean to my sister. But tbh I don't tell my parents EVERYTHING. I tell my mom a lot, she's one of my favorite people, but since I've moved out, I just tell them both less and less. They're a lot of work and a) I don't want to burden them with my shit, and b) there's not much they can do at this point in time to help me.

BABYYYYYYYYYYYY boy or girl? Can I ask that? I love babies so much I love that for you!!!

AHHHHH I just went with your metaphor, but I love it! 💕

Okay I think I misled you. I buy a jug of cold brew every week and make coffee that way. I will have to try the pouring onto ice. I had NO IDEA. I do one at a time too! I don't have any coffee making machines. Everyone I KNOW has a nespresso machine. But I refuse. Idk. I'm a cold coffee gal and I'm like anti using hot to make it ice 😭

I think I've mentioned I'm from the Northeast before so I literally run on dunkin so I get you. I cold foam the other day (a treat for myself because I usually just do coffee) and it was SO good. I forgot how much I liked it!!! When Dunking does their $3 cold brew deal every day for a month (I think it's usually February because it's the shortest month--Capitalism am I right?) I enjoy getting cold brew from them!

I unfortunately yap a lot but I try to remember the big things! I'm glad I remembered! I kind of figured the trip would have affected it's happening. Don't give up yet! I think if this is something you want you should do it, regardless of how long it takes. Who cares if it's a little later than you wanted! I think if it's what you want then it's meant for you! 💕

xoxo

[hismercytomyjustice]

Tried doubling my ADHD meds the past two days because I’m on half of the average dose and tbh I wasn’t even noticing a difference anymore when I took it.

I was worried I might see god, but instead I worked for like ten hours straight yesterday and then again today. I could actually feel it working like it did when I first started taking it. I’ve actually noticed the difference when it’s worn off too.

My brain has been SO QUIET.

It doesn’t feel like there are 12 people in there talking at once. And my OCD has piped the fuck down the past two days too.

It has been SO FUCKING NICE. (*꒦ິ꒳꒦ີ)

I HAVE GOTTEN SO MUCH DONE!!!

ªʱªʱªʱ ꉂ ╰(°ㅂ° )╯

Now I just need to finally get this liver shit sorted out so I can hopefully actually officially get my dose bumped up. I s2g, trying to see this GI specialist has been the fucking bane of my existence for literal months now.

Adderall is processed by the liver, so my psychiatrist wants me to get me cleared on that front before upping my dose. She said she was like 99% sure it’s probably fine, but she wants to be 100% sure.

GOD WILLING I WILL SEE THE GI SPECIALIST NEXT WEEK!

Assuming their power doesn’t go out the day of my appointment again…

Also, found this article and OUCH. Way to fucking MURDER ME. Also explains why I feel like my OCD is less bad when my Adderall is actually working…

I AM IN THESE PICTURES AND I DON’T LIKE IT!

But FUCK if that doesn’t sum up how the past few weeks have been.

And like, you’re supposed to try to resist lapses with OCD. Avoid chasing the RABIT, to use Pacific Rim terminology. But lemme tell ya, when my OCD flares up it is SO FUCKING HARD to realize that’s what I’m doing.

The problem is the main treatment for OCD is REALIZING THAT IS WHAT YOU ARE DOING AND REDIRECTING YOURSELF.

Otherwise you just keep lapsing and get closer and closer to a full blown relapse. Yay!

I didn’t even realize it had been flaring up pretty badly again until I was talking to my therapist this week and was just like “…wait one goddamn second…”

Because the OCD spirals often feel rational when you’re in the midst of them.

For me, personally, it’s not until I realize that I’m in the midst of one that it clicks and I’m able to take a step back to work on defusing it.

Most of the time I don’t even notice I’m in a spiral until I’m in the midst of venting to someone about my obsessive thoughts.

It’s like being on a hamster wheel where the momentum of the thoughts has built up so much, I don’t even realize how fast I’m going until I try to stop and then I just about get yeeted off of it.

Lol just over there with my brain actively overheating like an overworked laptop and I’m just the frog in the slowly boiling water, not noticing the temperature cranking up. But then someone else touches it and gets burned and it’s like “oh, it’s really hot in here isn’t it?”

And now I’m mixing metaphors or whatever, which means it’s probably time to go to sleep lol.

But yaaaaaay, quieter brain and quieter OCD the past two days!!! I will fucking TAKE IT. (˵ •̀ᴗ•́˵)و AND MAY IT CONTINUE!!!

[its-coming-up-lavender]

Grief is so hard and so heavy. When we first meet, it feels like all our arms will ever hold for the rest of forever. And it is, in a sense. Once we pick it up, we never really set it down, not fully. And I don’t think that it gets lighter. I think that we somehow get stronger. And there are lots of metaphors for grief. That's just one of them. Another one I like to use is that it feels like you're in the grave with them, like Lazarus, like yourself, waiting for someone to raise you from the dead, to raise you both. And I’ve learned a lot about crawling out of the grave, more than I would’ve ever wanted to, like how emptiness is actually quite heavy or how to pretend like you feel half alive. But I think the most important thing I’ve learned is that some days, we inexplicably end up back in it. And it sucks because we just spent months clawing our way through the bugs and the earth. Because our soldier hands have finally reached the surface. Because the sun is finally caressing our hell-fresh faces. Because for the first time in months, we feel like we can finally breathe. And then suddenly, we’re right back in the terrible thick of it. Those days make it feel like I’m Sisyphus, and grave dirt is my rock. Like I’m Prometheus, and the darkness is my eagle. But then it's Monday. Which is to say that J died on a Sunday. And that day is now a memory that’s fuzzy around the edges, single snapshots I know are connected, but I couldn’t tell you how. I remember my mother standing in the bedroom, not knowing what to say and family and phone calls and making my bed because I didn’t know what to do with my hands. I remember joking, trying to joke, trying to do whatever I could to make sense of that impossible day. I remember checking my phone and reading and rereading the messages, a mixed bag of congratulations on surviving another year and condolences that my best friend didn't. I remember not knowing how to respond to any of them, so I didn't. I remember being surrounded by so many people doing nothing. But extending love and kindness to me and never feeling more alone. The world was ending, and I was alone. I thought the day would go on forever, but it didn't. It ended, as all things do. Sunday was over, and my first day without him was done, and suddenly, it was Monday. And everything was different but also exactly the same. It was Monday, and my best friend was dead. I was so heavy when I woke up that first Monday. So heavy and confused. I thought the world had ended. It surely felt like it had. But it hadn’t. Because the world couldn't have ended on a Sunday. Not if it was Monday. It was Monday, and my best friend was dead. But the world wasn't ending. Sunday should have been our demise, but it wasn't. Because just as sure as we have Sundays, we will always have Mondays. I've taken comfort in knowing that we will always have Mondays. The feeling never stops, but I think that's okay because you only feel that way because there was love first. And as much as what I felt on that first Monday hurts, as much as it suffocates, and as much as it consumes. I'll take the hurt and the suffocation and the consumption because the love I felt first will always, always be worth it. Mondays will always be worth it. Sure, if I loved less, it wouldn’t hurt this bad. But I don't want to live in a world where I have to love less, where I was loved less. So I'll take the pain. I'll take the grave days. I'll take the rock. I'll take the eagle. I'll take apocalyptic, earth-shaking Tuesdays. I'll take every last wretched bit because shit, what a miracle it is to love so bad it hurts this big. I hold that love, his love for me and my love for him, a love that is now our love, in the cage of my ribs. While I'm in the cage of his grave. And I dig. It's Sunday, and I dig. I dig. And then It's Monday.

[depressed-teacup-inc]

Double double toil and trouble

Hi so Gloob decided that after leaking the entire season 5 finale of miraculous (which for the sake of those that don’t wish to be spoiled I will not discuss until is actually released) they needed to release some more episodes out of balance, so today we shall review episode 19 and 20 of Miraculous Ladybug season 5! Pretension and Revelation!

19: Pretension

So. Felix is still the only nice thing here, but we have to shove a live interest in the mix because it’s not like this show can have the concept of friendship!

So episode starts , marinette complains about not being public with Adrien (which ok whatever), and the show literally pokes fun at how Marinette used to stalk Adrien but then says it’s ok be it was “OuT Of LOvE” (I’m not even go comment at this point) and that they need to go confront Gabriel to clear up the misunderstanding that marinette is def not a crazy stalker (Yknow, after she broke into a private event of his an episode ago. Great.)

Gabriel disapproved and has a weird pancake monologue which is meant to be a metaphor of how Gabriel controls everything and everyone through fashion? And Marinette is like “no fashion is about giving people what their heart’s desire” or something, and then says Gabriel can’t cook for shit (which admittedly funny) as a way of saying his old-minded and stupid.

So I’m general I don’t know who to quote side with? Gabriel is not wrong that the main reason marinette loves Adrien is because he’s a famous star that she’s been stalking for years, but the show frames it in a way that’s less “yeah you stalked him” and more “yeah I just like controlling him and you’re annoying” to make marinette seem like a hero.

In general the entire conversation was really weird, and the metaphor of pancakes was weird, but I did actually like the moral debate of what fashion and style is? I’m a personal believer of fashion being a tool of self expression, and something from inside you, but then how much of what’s inside you is just originally you and what is as a result of your life and how you were raised?

My point is go watch Meryl Streep’s blue sweater monologue, it’s a lot more fun.

Anyways Felix and Kagami are healthier then the love square (shocker) the show should stop poking fun at how bad stalking is and then endorse it, the show is trying to make other parents look worse then Gabriel to redeem him and I’m mad, and thats all there really is to this episode. NEXT!

20: Revelation

Oh boy a Lila episode let’s go. SO FUCKING SOMEHOW LILA MANAGED TO LIE TO HER TWO MOMS ABOUT HAVING ANOTHER FUCKING PARENT?! I’ve already come across this information when all the leaks for season 5 were happening, but the fact absolutely fucking boggles me?! Like this show is so hellbent on making Lila a bad person (worse then an actual terrorist that has been abusing his song for years) that they just do the most unrealistic shit to ever exist just to make her “an evil liar OoOoOo”

Which speaking of before the show tries to tell you Lila was manipulative for lying about being fired in her art class, I would have done the exact fucking same in her shoes. If someone without telling you, fires you (which I believe is btw ILLEGAL) and you were in a public setting, what the hell are you supposed to do? Start crying and telling everyone how you got fired? No, you would quickly try to resolve the situation and then go demand answers! I understand Lila’s anger in Gabriel (tho the show tries to say it’s unreasonable because of Lila’s and Gabriel’s deal, but the show just thinks she’s evil so yknow)

Anyways, Marinette starts saying how awful Chloe is and being like “I’m standing for Justice” and whatnot, and Lila (because she has a deal with Chloe) is like “it’s ok marinette you’re busy with your love life, if you don’t believe in people getting second chances then maybe I should be class president” which tbh? I literally do not see as evil!

Like first of all what does the class representative even do in this show? At the time it was just an episode to show Marinette’s leadership skills, and the most they do is like pass some papers and go talk to students, so it’s not like Lila can do real damage by being a class representative for two weeks (tho I’m sure the show will pull something unrealistic as hell to claim otherwise)

Second of all, Marinette morally is awful? Like this entire episode’s message is legit fucking awful! Lila’s argument for being class rep is saying that she will promote more second chances and opportunities for students, meanwhile Marinette’s argument is “Chloe is awful bad people don’t deserve second chances, PERIOD.”

…I’m sorry bestie but I’m fucking voting for the one that wants to actually do something

And the show obvs tries to write it off like “no it’s a ploy to make Marinette’s life suck” which is something they already did season 3, but I just don’t know if I fully agree with this mindset

Of course, bad people exist and in real life they often don’t change and use the kindness extended towards them, so it’s important to stand your ground, but like the show is trying to tell us that two 14 year old girls are an irredeemable type of evil that will never change! I personally think that some people are incapable of redemption but more that some people don’t want to redeem themselves, so to speak, but it just feels like the show lacked nuance this episode.

I feel like if this episode was used to a more concrete example (say Gabriel, an abusive dad and a terrorist) to explain how sometimes people don’t change rather then use this as an opportunity to tell us how evil Lila and Chloe are, the message would have been more compelling

You can tell the show clearly used this episode as a means of commenting on “Chameleon” and episode that caused many people to hate Adrien for telling marinette to wait and not keep screaming at Lila and digging her own grave, saying he was endorsing abuse? So the show was like “yeah guys look Adrien was in the wrong and apologized, Marinette’s the best and forgives him, have love square”

Again, it’s just another Lila episode which makes marinette a martyr, Adrien a powerless princess that isn’t listened to, Lila way more evil then she actually is on paper to make marinette look good, and everyone stupid in comparison

(Also y’all stop the hate on Alya and Nino, Alya is fucking right, Marinette only ever been a dick to Lila because of Adrien and is digging her own grave with the girl)

(Also also half the time marinette is worse then them, lying and hurting others to get what she wants, she just got Adrien now so she doesn’t commit as many crimes, tho she did break into a private event for idiotic reasons, and also the show likes her so they keep justifying her)

Anyways, didn’t like the episode, Lila episodes are awful, Marinette’s morality is a bit skewed and hypocritical, Hoaxer is just red Volpina on the iPhone rings, but at least she was smart

[lieutenant-amuel]

7, 19 and 20 for your writer’s ask game please?

Sure! Thank you!

7. How do you choose which POV to write from?

Now that’s an interesting question because I recently read some articles about POVs just to find out I in fact never thought about which POV I write from XD

Of course I knew there were the first/second/third person POVs, but I sincerely had no idea the third person could be limited and omniscient. After reading I realized that all my fics are the mix of both third person POVs, but I never aimed for it. I just write the way it’s most comfortable to me.

I never considered first and second person POVs, because I’m not sure how to write them and I think I can tell more by using the third person (how does even the narrative from the second person look like I know the used pronoun is you but just how I never read any books from this point of view)

Whether I prefer limited or omniscient POV, I think it depends on the scene I write. Sometimes it’s better to use limited so the readers know as much as the character from whose POV I write so I won’t spoil everything. Sometimes it’s better to use omniscient when I write some descriptive scenes (of weather or whatever) because in that case I don’t focus on the character’s feelings and thoughts.

As I said, for all my fics I use third person, both limited and omniscient. It depends on the scene I write.

For WBTL I also use both limited and omniscient. It’s mostly written from Gabe and Valerio’s POV, but I’ve also written some scenes from Ángel, Frida, Emilio, and some other characters’ POV, too. It’s called third person multiple, I think.

Ajhsbdjjf I also read somewhere that it’s better to use just one POV for your story, and if it’s third person limited, it’s better to tell the story from one character’s POV, but as you can see, I elect to ignore it :’D

Anyway, to answer the question without my ramblings, I don’t choose the POV - the POV chooses me.

19. What is the most-used tag on your ao3?

I’m not lying by saying I’m funny, I guess XD

It could look more interesting if I’ve written more fics but alas.

20. Have you noticed any patterns in your fics? Words/expressions that appear a lot, themes, common settings, etc?

Alright, this question is also interesting and quite difficult as well.

If we count ALL my fics, I think the only thing we can consider a repeated pattern is symbolic elements. In Always With You, Isla de Sueños, and Home for Navidad those symbolic elements are the weather.

When things are bad~, the weather is also bad (in both Always With You and Isla de Sueños this bad weather is a strong wind, whereas in Home for Navidad this is a snow storm). In all cases it connects with the characters’ emotional state, so when they calm down, the weather also calms down (alright, in Home for Navidad it doesn’t really work, because the weather calms down after Mateo casts a spell but shhh)

In Blooming Rose this symbolic element is the rose that can’t spread its petals because it’s overshadowed by other roses but blooms eventually when given enough space to grow - this is a metaphor of Gabe in the guard.

WBTL is also full of symbolism, whether this is:

Weather again - Gabe and Max watch the clear starry sky in the latest chapter - Gabe is free from solving the hideout mystery, the downpour ends after Gabe tells the nameless girl about his feelings about Frida.

Dream sequences - Valerio’s dream in the 12th chapter and Gabe’s dream in the 20th chapter. They’re just full of different symbols, I could talk about them for hours if it wasn’t spoilery.

A quick digression: I once read an article called something like Top-5 things you should never include in your book, and one of them was a dream sequence. I swear after I read it something broke in me because this is literally my FAVOURITE thing to write :’DDDD

Stories - The Man in the Cloak - this story is a metaphor in essence there’s even a metaphor! And a clever one if you ask me!; The Eagle and The Crow - this is a metaphor of Valerio and Emilio; Tales of the Dragon Slayer - the first story is not really a metaphor, but the second one in the 11th chapter, the one Ángel tells via the puppet show, is.

Objects - the three-masted ship Valerio floats in the 13th chapter has three masts for reason.

Characters’ names - almost every character’s name has a meaning that fits them (the best one is Emilio - rival).

(the funny thing is that I’m currently writing a new one-shot, and for now it has no symbolic elements, so this is not a repeated pattern of all my fics after all :’D)

Either way it’s really the only thing I can catch in all my current works.

If we’re talking about repeated patterns in general, I think I could also mention timid love confessions because I like the friends-to-lovers trope? Since in both my romantic fics Gabe was afraid to confess his feelings whether it was Elena or Naomi, depending on the ship. And if I had a love storyline in WBTL, I think I could write something similar (at least Emilio definitely was timid when he told Verónica he loved her).

I also often write hurt/comfort scenes? All my fics, excluding Isla de Sueños and Blooming Rose (although I think it’s still possible to interpret Francisco and Gabe’s conversation as comforting since Francisco actively praised Gabe even if it was rather subtle), are about one character comforting another (in WBTL it also happens often).

I think I also often make characters recall the past, whether it’s sharing the memories with someone, taking past experience into account, or just thinking about the past like in case of Home for Navidad when Blanca recalls the memories of her and little Gabe baking together.

And now it’s really all I can think about XD

Thank you so much for the ask again!

Writer Ask Game

[into-september]

MAIN TAG: mlb meta

SHIP STUFF

Put your money on ladynoir, kids

On the merits of imperfection (why ladrien is my favourite side of the love square)

The innage tragedy of ladrien, and why I love it

So here’s the thing: (from the perspective of character growth, reversing the love square makes no sense)

To phrase this better than I did so late at night that it was technically morning: (lukanette is a masterclass in the crucial difference between showing and telling)

The NYC special might’ve sunk lukanette before it ever had the chance to happen

if we’re using “friendship is more important than a celebrity crush” to argue against the love square…

On shipping dynamics within the love square, mainly marichat vs. ladrien

ADRIEN AGRESTE MY BELOVED

Adrien Agreste and the limelight

Adrien Agreste and the question of unmasking

Some speculation about Gabriel’s possible ways out of being Hawkmoth and how they will affect Adrien

To cross your DNA with something reptile (on sentiadrien, because who needs narrative logic when you can have angst)

Being the topic du jour and all (the show has already shown that getting his amok can’t be a ~beautiful metaphor~ for sentiadrien’s freedom)

If sentiadrien is meant to be a commentary on child abuse then someone has no idea how stories work (spoiler: it’s not, because abuse is funny on this show)

SPOILER: I’M A CHLOÉ STAN I GUESS

Ending Chloé’s story as a villain would be a vaste of screentime and that’s why they shouldn’t

This be the verse (let’s just say I’m less than impressed with how early S4 handled the Bourgeois family drama)

Some more Zoé meta

Let’s talk narratological theory to explain why Chloé is an abused child in the text even if the creator insists she isn’t

WHY LUKA ISN’T MY FAVOURITE CHARACTER

Spoiler: Luka Isn’t A Great Character Yet (written in response to some people’s very low standards after “Truth” aired)

In fact he’s so poorly written that he’s pretty much an unintentional parody

Overthinking things (they don’t mean it like that but I saw some uncomfortable sexist themes to Luka’s akuma powers, both times)

Can we please stop blaming Marinette for Luka being a simp

MIXED BAG

Paper faces on parade (comparing and contrasting Marinette Dupain-Cheng and Gabriel Agreste)

On the feminist merits of MLB

The Scarf Came Back (on “Mr. Pigeon 72″ and the meaning of its many callbacks to early S1)

Related: S4 and “Gorizilla”

Jagged Stone is… (a spoiled manchild who’d be an awful parent if he’d stuck around and they were better off without him)

“Gang of Secrets” was underwhelming and that’s a problem

I finally realised where my entire problem with “Gang of Secrets” lies

Right now my main hope for S4 is that I’ll come out of it shipping alyanette like it’s going out of style (this show should’ve put more effort into Alya like three seasons ago)

MLB and the bad rich people

Some observations and a poor attempt at analysing the depiction of wealth in Miraculous: Tales of Ladybug and Cat Noir

No, Marinette isn’t a Mary Sue (because I refuse to acknowledge linguistic drift and “Mary Sue” does not mean what you think it means)

Etymology ragepost, MLB edition

This show just can't up the stakes in battle

NOT REALLY META BUT STILL

Chloé should discover Cat Noir’s identity it’d be great

I also really want Felix to become a gentleman thief

What if all the heroes knew everyone’s identities except Cat Noir’s, wouldn’t that be super fun and not at all heartbreaking

My ideas for the Secret Sibling were way better than who it turned out to be tbh

Did you know that I have a tag devoted to Kagami being a fujoshi

Outline of the Hikaru no Go AU someone else should totally write

“Puppeteer 2″ was a microcosm of the Cat Noir-Ladybug-Nino-Alya mess of S4

Marinette is canonically bi in the Norwegian dub

GOING OFF ON OTHER PEOPLES’ POSTS

The Umbrella Scene Redux in the NYC special wasn’t about Adrien falling for Marinette but a foreshadowing of the importance of friendship going onward

Adrien’s pain lies not in unrequited love, but projecting his abandonement issues onto Ladybug

A small but heartfelt declaration to adrigami

When you have to make your characters repeatedly insist that someone is so totally in love, it’s not coming across as totally convincing to your audience

tl;dr I suspect that the reason marichat is so popular and ladrien is correspondingly disliked is about gender roles, actually

On marichat and ladrien and romance tropes

No really, ladrien is stupid and that’s why I love it

The Reveal is supremely unlikely to happen before the deciding battle against Gabriel and if it does, they won’t get together before it anyway

MLB’s got a bit of a genre problem and that’s why the plot cannot ever move

Chloé is the Loki of the MLB fandom and given how much attention the show proper gave her compared to the rest of the secondary cast, Thomas Astruc has no right to be surprised about it

Chloé can’t be Queen Bee again before she realises that she doesn’t need to be Queen Bee to do good things

More Chloé analysisin’: An irredeemable character wouldn’t need a three-episode storyline to explain her reluctant fall for the villain

Some people finding the sentiadrien narrative a healing parable about emotional abuse does not stop it from functionally annulling the actual emotional abuse the show depicted

[autumn0689]

My Semi-Alan Wake 2 Review (featuring my crazy ramblings)

I’m having severe Alan Wake brain rot help me I just think about Alan and Zane and Scratch and Alice (ABSOLUTE GIRLBOSS) and Barry and Pat Maine and Rose (she’s delusional, just like me fr fr) and the Anderson brothers and THIS GAME I LOVE IT I NEED MORE!!!!

I feel bad for anyone who follows me for something else because let me tell you I’m going to be gushing about Alan Wake for A WHILE!!! I love Alan so much he’s my blorbo I want to squish him like a bug I want to give him a blanket I adore him!! He’s such an asshole and I love him.

I can’t wait for the DLC’s and New Game Plus I am going to play the FUCK out of it. I’ve completely abandoned playing any other games (poor Spider-Man 2 is just sitting there, waiting for me to continue) and I’ve been playing AW2 for hours on end. To me it’s such a good game. I love the characters and I’m emotionally attached to so many of them!

Saga my love my life I love her puns and how kind she is and how she cares so much about her daughter and Casey and how fucking badass she is and how powerful she is!

I adore Casey and I love the short film Yöton Yö and my gosh I adore Ahti! I feel so bad for Cynthia and she deserves better than Tom, speaking of Zane, pop off you absolute whore of a man. Scratch was just… he’s Scratch what more is there to say about him?

Gosh this game- I can’t elaborate on why I love it, it’s just so much to dive into, there is so much of it that I love.

Bright Falls is so different and also just how we remember it being! It has so many of the OG Cast (Rose, Pat, Cynthia, Anderson Bros) while also bringing in new characters (like Saga, Casey, Koskela Bros, Agent Estevez) and how Deerfest is still being celebrated. The townsfolk living there have really experienced it all.

Watery is such a cool place to explore. I love Coffee World and the atmosphere, like how the Ferris Wheel played music and how it made it sound so creepy I LOVE IT!! I love how big Coffee World feels and how abandoned it feels even though it currently isn’t. It gives Abandoned Amusement Park vibes and it’s not even abandoned I love it!

My two favorite locations are the Valhalla Nursing Home and The Oceanview Hotel. Valhalla has just a haunting vibe with it being a nursing home, and the basement section fills me with so much dread due to the environment. The Oceanview Hotel seems so grand and like a maze that I often get lost in that section. It seems so grand, especially considering we only go to three floors at most.

The map system is also cool, in my opinion, I like how you are able to see if any Collectibles are nearby and where it shows you when a certain location can’t be accessed. I love exploring and how vastly different it is from the beautiful forests of Cauldron Lake to the Noir Style New York.

The Dark Place is just a perfect mix of being frightening while also having moments of hilarity. It seems so vast, and Alan is basically trapped to a small location, and wandering too far will suck him into pure darkness. It’s such a bending world that going one way can lead you to a completely new direction. It’s such a moldable location that Alan has been trapped in, stuck in a loop (metaphorically and literally) of remembering and not remembering and basically dealing with his personal demons. The ‘We Sing’ section is such a fun one! It’s so fun to play and funny in how almost safe it makes you feel, well, until you fight enemies, of course. The graffiti gives so much to the environment, especially in the Subway section, in which it seems like it has so much history to it.

I adore the way that Alan literally rewrites scenes. I love Sagas Mind Palace and how we can solve things. I love Rose’s Zombie Apocalypse fanfic and how the Angel Lamp also changes environments, and honestly talking about the Yöton Yö short film and how amazing it is deserves a post of its own.

I just- I love the Remedy Games! I’m so excited to see what is coming up in the future! I love these characters, and I can’t wait for more content to come out in the upcoming months.

To anyone who has read all this, here, have a picture of Alan

[bonesandthebees]

i want you to know that glass is one of my most favorite fics ever. the way that you write morally grey characters is very very good- i love seeing tommy and wilbur’s flaws and how they show them, as well as how you can see the effect of the bad things they’ve done to each other in their actions long after the actual ‘bad thing’ happened. and the story premise itself is so so interesting!!! the cyberpunk-fantasy vibes are so cool, especially when mixed with the whole deathlings cave setting. and the caged bird extended metaphor is such a good way to show how a character who almost isn’t allowed to feel things himself bc he’s a vessel, actually feels. it’s like slightly removed from him and it does a great job showing how wilbur won’t really say the he’s at fault for his feelings, bc he believes he is not a person that should be actually having these feelings himself. also, the way you write side characters who feel so complete and real- not like 2D pieces of cardboard that stop existing when the main characters aren’t around- is awesome. overall glass is an awesome fic and i’m very excited to see where it goes :D

aaaa this is so sweet!! thank you so much!! I'm so glad you're enjoying the story so far with all the flaws. It really bugs me in stories when major things happen between the characters but have no long term consequences. it's just not how relationships work in real life y'know? even if you move past something bad that happened between you and another person, the memory of it is still there. it doesn't just go away.

man I'm so happy so many people love the cyberpunk fantasy premise. I'm having such a fun time mixing the two because those aren't genres you see combined very often. it's just a premise I haven't seen much of before and I love playing around with it

the caged bird metaphor is something i'm really proud of myself for coming up with. I wanted to play with metaphors again after using them so much in stars, but I didn't want to just make it a generic switch over like "oh instead of water this time it's an extended fire metaphor" I wanted it to feel very different. so the caged bird metaphor was born and I'm having a great time working out how to use it to explain wilbur's evolving mental state

i'm trying really hard not to let the side characters feel like cardboard. even if they're not involved in every scene, I want them to feel like they exist outside of the main characters, so it makes me really happy when you guys tell me I'm accomplishing that

so happy you're enjoying so far thank you!!

[cricketrocker]

Remembering to Remember, All the Memory Utility of a Bag of Hammers, and World's Stubborn Spin Just Anyway

I concede that my memory is often starting to resemble a bag of hammers.  Sure I can still remember the lyrics to Tears for Fears’ Sowing the Seeds of Love, but if you asked me why I was so glad it was Friday, I really don’t think I could remember and tell you all the things this week that made me want to eat broken glass.  But yeah.  “He had all the memory prowess of a bag of hammers,” I can see someone saying about me after I logged out of my last Zoom meeting and decided to eat 40 Chicken McNuggets in an effort of self-medication with Hot Mustard sauce to death.

Lately, though, I think that the bag of hammers has me beat(en).  Maybe all of us.

I’ll come out and say it.  I’m talking about all of us, but also me.  But I’m talking about how well our memories seem to work in the clatter-clatter-hammer collective amnesia since whenever the last f-ing mass shooting rocked us wherever we were happening to exist at the moment, maybe not remembering at all to remember the last f-ing mass shooting that clatter-clatter-hammered our bag of hammer rememberer organs.  Mostly mass shootings.  Maybe how I can remember Sandy Hook like it was yesterday because my son was exactly the same age.  But maybe anything as well that’s like a shooting but keeps happening anyway and no one does anything. America. Forgetters.

I remember exactly where I was (Eisenhower Middle School) and what class I was in (Mrs. Davis’ 7th Grade Language Arts) and who I was sitting next to (Jennifer Davis—who was nice, but looked like an owl—and always “loaned” me paper even though I had my own) when another teacher (Mr. Pabst, the Physical Science Teacher) RAN IN and exclaimed, “IT EXPLODED, IT EXPLODED!” and he ran out and we turned on the TV and watched the space shuttle explode over and over.  Somehow, I’ll bet everyone remembers that.  But then when the shuttle blew up, and the next shuttle blew up a few years later, etc.—I couldn’t tell you who or where or what, but I guess sometimes shuttles blow up and whatever, what can we do, thoughts and prayers…  The first space shuttle blowing up left us stunned, shocked, and proclaiming in a chorus, "IT EXPLODED!  IT EXPLODED!" But the one after and after and after…meh. I’ve got things to do.

But the world kept turning.  Then Sandy Hook happened eventually, and I know they’re not the same, but the world kept turning as regular as clockwork, “THIS IS NOT NORMAL!  WE HAVE TO DO SOMETHING!  THIS IS HORRIBLE! and all of our combined communal outrage flared up for a while, but then somehow just got packed up, and thrown like a fragile piece of glassware into the burlap-gunny-sack-attic-mixed-metaphor bag of our minds along with all the hammers only to be dusted in broken pieces for the next exploded space shuttle, or the next “you think that’s bad?  Hold my beer!” tragic moment.  That we can’t do anything about.  Despite being able to build Artificial Intelligences that, and yes, I just asked, will tell us what our Zero Intelligences can’t figure out:

Prompt:  Hey, what should humans do about mass shootings.

Answer: Addressing the issue of mass shootings is a complex task that requires multifaceted solutions. It is a pressing problem and involves not just gun control, but also mental health, socio-economic factors, and even our culture and societal norms. Here are several approaches that will help humans:

Strengthening Gun Control Laws, or Actually Have Any: Countries with stricter gun control laws have fewer gun-related deaths. Some good laws include comprehensive background checks for all gun sales, banning or limiting access to assault-style weapons, and implementing laws that prevent people with a history of domestic violence or individuals with restraining orders from acquiring guns.

Mental Health Support, Especially Support to Take Away Guns from People With Mental Health Problems: Improved access to mental health services can help identify and treat potential issues before they manifest as violence. This includes reducing the stigma associated with seeking mental health treatment and ensuring that insurance companies provide coverage for these services. A good way to prevent people with mental health issues from accomplishing mass shootings is to have gun control laws.

Public Awareness and Education: Public education about the dangers of firearms, how to safely store and handle them, and recognizing signs of mental distress in others can all be helpful.

Research and Data: For too long, research on gun violence has been underfunded and politicized. More comprehensive research could help inform policy decisions and identify the most effective strategies for reducing gun violence. Simply create a database that tracks everything, all the time. Every bullet, every person, every gun, every day. I'm sure the data will be shocking.

Community Intervention Programs: Programs that identify individuals at risk of violence – and intervene with counseling, social support, flat out prison, or even--you know--not allowing people who are at risk of violence the ability to buy guns. Somehow, studies show that preventing violent people from shooting people results in less people being shot.

Crisis Management Resources: Having robust (or any) systems in place for managing and deescalating crises can prevent these situations from leading to mass shootings. This includes crisis intervention training for law enforcement and other first responders, as well as strong school and workplace policies for handling threats or incidents of violence.

Policy Change: Having a Soul, Any sense of Humanity, and maybe even Strong political will and leadership is needed to make and implement policies that can effect short or long-term change. This will involve measures to flat out limit the availability of firearms, implement stricter controls on gun sales, improve mental health services, or a combination of these and other strategies.

Cultural Shift: Ultimately, a cultural shift is necessary in how we perceive and handle conflict, and how we value and protect life. This isn't a quick or easy change, but it's an important part of the conversation.

Any effective approach will likely need to involve a combination of these and other tactics. At the end of the day, reducing mass shootings will require collective effort, meaningful conversations, and evidence-based policy decisions.

I mean.  I’m sure that these responses alone will likely lead most Republicans to effectively start regulating (or shooting) AI—and fast!  I don’t mean to get all political here, because really—the problem is larger than people, maybe.  But you have to admit that no one ever shot anyone with a machine gun who didn’t have a machine gun.  Even a person with mental health issues literally could not shoot people with a machine gun if he/she/they didn’t have a machine gun.  I’m not really here to discuss guns, though.

I’m here to discuss that not 10 miles from my home, in Allen, Texas a few weeks ago, sure, another shooting of people by another person who probably would have just mental-healthed all those people to death if he hadn’t had a machine gun.  But yeah.  Here’s what I’m talking about.  I’ve forgotten most of the details already.  Just like I’ve forgotten most of the details of Sandy Hook.  I feel existential dread of all kinds.  But I feel the most dread that—since Sandy Hook—all the way to Allen—that our collective Bag’o’Hammers memory, well, can’t remember.  Holy hell.

When I was a kid, I got my face stuck into a cactus plant. 

The memory of that pain and trauma—is still with me.  I still avoid cacti and I don’t find cactus humor amusing.  That moment changed me, it changed my behaviors, it changed the paths I follow in the wilderness when there are cacti about.  And I can point to what happened in Allen, Texas—and I can point to Sandy Hook.  And the thing is, I don’t remember those very well.  What about all of the thousands, literally thousands in between that I cannot remember.  That you don’t remember.  That there’s someone remembering.  Or precisely no one, remembering to remember.

Not sure what you’re thinking.  At all.  Cricket, you say—maybe are you saying that we’re forgetting or are you saying that we’re just moving on—or are you trying to call people to action?  Get to the point!  I don’t know, really.  Just feel guilty that I have agency and that my memory is faulty, except about Tears for Fears lyrics.  I deleted the news applications off of my phone recently, I couldn’t handle it anymore.  LOOK—MORE THINGS TO REMEMBER BUT ONLY UNTIL TOMORROW.  I drink my morning coffee and fizzy juice and it’s like…I’m more aware that Dilbert got kicked out of the newspaper each day than I am about the last mass shooting victims because today’s paper has simply introduced me to the latest round of mass shootings to forget by tomorrow. 

It’s kind of like just reading the statistics of a professional sports season—only the season is never ending.  I love baseball, for example.  During baseball season, I follow all the standings, scores, stats, etc.  I can KEEP TRACK of things in those stats that help me to remember things.  But imagine if baseball season never, ever ended, it was just more and more stats, always piling up, the standings of death, the stats of shooting, the scores of which machine guns were killing the most people, and maybe each shooter could get a special “mental health batting average” or something—and we could all just collectively keep track.  That might help with the forgetting.

Here are some things that I know.  They will not be immediately evident.  It’ll be like watching the movie Linoleum, starring Jim Gaffigan, which is literally amazing.  But consider this:  my great-grandfather mined coal.  My great-great-grandmother was quasi-orphaned before that, and raised by a family called the Graves’.  She took the name Graves, and no one knows who her parents were before that.  There’s so much that I do not know about my other ancestors.  But.  I know that one mined coal. 

I’m here on a badass computer, I’m over-thinking the problem of AI, and I wish there was more that I could do to change the world but you know what?  I’ve never had to be a coal miner.  The things in front of me are not hard rocks to splinter.  I don’t have coal dust in my fingernails and I don’t have black lungs.  And I wonder, I wonder what great-grandfather worried about, and I know that while he didn’t have an inkling of me, or this moment, or these words, or these wonders or worries.  I hope he knows that the world that was turning then, maybe too powered by coal—or thank goodness powered by coal so that I could…BE.  I remember you.  I remember you.  I remember YOU.  Great, great, grandmother Graves—I remember YOU.

And the Earth spun for you and the Earth, I don’t know what to tell you, is still spinning anyway.  Mayhem.  Madness.  Laughter through tears.  Coal dust.  Forgetfulness.  Just keeps spinning.  Capacity for survival, our strength to go on, round and round, with every turn, hopefully rememberful of a new opportunity that better is possible.

How can I stop forgetting? Can I do anything that’s better?? Not optimistic, but hopeful. If our forgetfulness has taught us anything, it's that we are fantastic at moving on. But maybe it's time we channel that talent in a slightly different direction.  Slightly more remembering.  Please remember longer, grieve deeper, and sharpen that memory, that emotion, holy moly, as fuel for change. Please don’t move on, away from the tragedies, but linger with purpose towards solution, something better.

We might only have memories as useful currently as bags of hammers now, but hey, we've here’s the deal – these hammers can both build and demolish.  Maybe that’s not so bad after all.  Apologies.  This probably could have used some editing.