#ANYWAY i think about that statistic of how many people fail at their new years resolution and it makes me feel like i have rabies

[depresseddepot]

weird thing about me is that I am so serious about new year's resolutions that the last week of december feels like I'm in one of those "preparing for war" montages (but in a good way)

[illuminopseudonymous]

From Calliope on Cohost

Folks in the thread know this obviously, but as a comment, yeah, this is basically the point of the book. Though, I'd say it's not Gnosticism as much as just, you know, the monotheist God. There's a reason the book begins by quoting Paradise Lost.

Less glibly, there are a lot of different ways to read Victor's guilt -- and in fact this is why I roll my eyes at the people who make fun of "well Frankenstein is the doctor's name." It is important, for a few reasons. The first is that the Creature doesn't have a name. Like, that's important. Second, it's the Creature -- the book itself never calls him a monster, very carefully avoiding loaded words for him. He has the chance to interrogate his creator and find that creator lacking.

You see similar vibes in Moby-Dick; like the first few passages where Ishmael says God is a poor craftsman because his creation -- the human body -- fails so often.

Anyway, reading Victor's guilt. I taught Frankenstein for several years, and I usually did three different broad readings. There are obviously more.

The first was religious, as above: Victor is a God, a creator of life. I wish I'd known more about Agrippa at the time, because now that I do I'd like to be able to teach more on how it's Agrippa that inspires Victor, and how it's as much alchemy as necromancy that he performs. But in general, it's Paradise Lost, a poem the Romantics loved very much: Lucifer and Adam both crying out that they did not ask to be born, nor to be saddled with unreachable responsibilities.

The second reading is feminist: Victor is a parent, and the Creature his child, except Victor is the only parent, which means he must be read as feminine -- and the book codes him in this way often. This is important because now we can read the book as a portrait of post-partum depression: Victor is sick and senseless after the Creature's birth, and is freaked out by the sight of his creation in a way similar to how many people who give birth can feel ambivalent feelings towards their new child as the depression sets in. We have these terms now, and they didn't then, but Mary Shelley may have had the experience for herself, and given the statistics, she probably knew someone who did.

This reading is even more complex because while Victor is still guilty, he's understandable: he's sick, hallucinating, half-starved; when he reacts to the Creature and accidentally pushes it away, he doesn't know what he's doing, really. However, after that one moment we can sympathize with, we see Victor close up shop and go home as though nothing happened -- as though he isn't now responsible for a life. And, of course, he's alone. There's no support structure to help him, so in that way, the world around Victor is equally culpable (which we see as it fails to aid the Creature in similar ways).

The final reading is queer: if Victor is coded as feminine at times, given the book's date of composition, that means we can read him as queer, not necessarily (or not singly) as a stand-in for women (1818 gender binaries, not only women have babies, so on). This is a very strong contender, because Victor is 100% in love with his best dude friend, Henry Clerval.

You know all the sorta kidding but not really readings of the second Downey Sherlock Holmes, that say Holmes and Watson are going on honeymoon and Holmes literally throws the woman out the window to take her place? Yeah, so Victor does that.

He's been "in love with" Elizabeth, a young woman his family took in, since he was a child. I mean, they were the same age, she wasn't a young woman when he was a child. Anyway, they're engaged, and he's been putting the wedding off to, first, make the Creature, and second, to recover. But when the time comes, he declares it's time to get married, takes a deep breath, and... travels Europe with Henry (who, I should note, took care of Victor when he was convalescing). This reads very easily as a man who thinks he "ought" to be straight but who isn't, who in all the good faith he can muster keeps trying to marry a woman he genuinely does love -- just not like that.

This becomes important to the Creature's story in two ways. First, Victor tells Walton that he chose each body part of the Creature with care, and that each part was perfect, beautiful and perfect. The Creature asks for a wife, so they can go off together away from humans and start a family. This means, and I don't want to put to fine a point on it, that the Creature can fuck, which means Victor carefully and lovingly chose a penis to put on the Creature, one he felt was beautiful and perfect.

Secondly, let's loop back to the Creature's request: a wife. Victor agrees, actually, and there's a grimly comical note where he travels Europe with Henry while carrying around a suitcase full of body parts he's taken from graveyards, which somehow never rot. He builds the lady Creature, she's finished, but in the mysterious process he uses to vivify her, to give her life, he stops, and in an excess of disgust he tears the body limb from limb and swears he'll never do it.

I don't want to expand this already-long post further with references, but Kristeva's theory of abjectness is important here, that feeling of having drunk rotten milk, that the horror is both external and internal. Victor's visceral disgust can't be adequately explained by his rational statements -- which mostly boil down to his belief the Creature is evil and that allowing him to propagate would end humanity. We can't believe that because those thoughts do not cause that disgust. That level of bodily hatred emerges from somewhere else.

This drifts us even further from Victor as the villain, because, now, we can hardly blame Victor for being closeted and irrational when confronted with the things that disgust him that he believes he must accept. But, always, underpinning everything, is the simple fact that Victor made a life and then abandoned it.

The thing is that there's not really any villain in Frankenstein. Victor is as much a victim as the Creature, but -- and this is important -- Victor has the agency that the Creature lacks, because he, Victor, is responsible for both the Creature's very existence and his own abject status. Remember he was basically forcing himself into marrying a woman he grew up with; he felt like he was marrying his sister.

And always remember, too, that this story is filtered, several times: Victor is recounting it all to Walton, a jackass leading an expedition to the North Pole who got his ship stuck almost immediately, and who is very likely going to die. The book is actually Walton's letters to his sister. Walton and Victor both mention feeling a sense of kinship, one to the other -- and unlike, say, finding the Northwest Passage or circumnavigating the globe, there's not a lot of conceivable use to going to the North Pole. Especially as Walton isn't a scientist, he's just a rich goober. He wants to be the first there so he can say he's the first there.

We're supposed to roll our eyes at Walton, see him get closer to Victor, and realize these two are fools. And then, hopefully, we remember that Walton dragged an entire ship's crew out into this ice to die, just as Victor ruined his own life, Elizabeth's life, and the Creature's.

In sympathizing more with Victor, we actually come to dislike him more. He is no longer a villain but a fool, doing things because he can, and failing entirely to think of the consequences.

And that's why, to me at least, it's important to differentiate the book's dark mirror held up to Christianity from what we know of Gnosticism: the demiurgos is often cast as a villain, but with there being no discernible reason for existence itself, the buck must be passed further on. According to the book, God, the monotheistic One, itself, is a fool leading innocent people, Creatures and sailors, into a lonely death in a field of ice.

I don't actually think Shelley believed that, at least not when she first wrote the book. She may very well have indulged in those thoughts later, as her husband and children all died one by one, and the 1837 edition of Frankenstein is notable for how the revisions make things more dire, more depressing, and more inevitable. The 1818 edition hinges more on accident, offering the possibility of better outcomes. But the book itself, as a gothic novel, unsettles exactly insofar as it questions one of the core beliefs of cultural monotheism: God is good, and God made the world, and the world is therefore good. Perhaps it's neither good nor bad, but a Creature made in a moment with no thought for anything beyond wondering whether it's possible.

[madwoman14]

What really gets me about associating "Nothing New" with Rory is that it really hits upon the idea that Rory feels like she has to achieve greatness to be worthy of love or even her existence. She can't just be "moderately successful." Going to "college" in general isn't enough- it has to be Harvard or Yale or she's failed. She can't have an ordinary career doing office work or working for some small-time paper (which don't really exist anymore anyway)- she has to have her name in prestigious publications like the New Yorker or the Times. And I think all too often people assume that means she thinks she's "too good" for lesser things, but honestly I think it has more to do with this anxiety that constantly haunts her: that being "good enough" isn't good enough. She has to be "brilliant" and "impressive" or else feel like she's letting her family down and she doesn't deserve to live. And I think it would kill Lorelai to know that she unintentionally made her daughter feel that way, but she does. No matter that Emily told her way back in Season 1 that her existence "isn't a disappointment," the implicit undercurrent in all the family arguments has always been that Rory's existence has ruined their family, and Rory has always felt desperate to make up for it.

OH YEAH- i can’t remember what fic i read this in but it was like Lorelai couldn’t let herself become a teen pregnancy statistic, so all the pressure was on Rory whether Lorelai noticed it or not. But Nothing New was written after two major success, where Taylor was probably feeling the apprehension of just “a success” where she loses her novel status, and she feels like she is going to disappoint everyone and society will just discard her like she’s seen happen before. Rory feels the same way when she can’t just go to college, she HAS to go to one of the Ivies, which was why Chilton acceptance was so important to all of them because it guaranteed her path to Harvard. And if she didn’t go to Harvard after all that money and effort in Chilton?? That only made things worst. You’re so right with the way people hate on her for “looking down on jobs” but when that much pressures on you, you have to shoot for the moon, landing among the stars means nothing. Her “I have to be great or nothing” thinking certainly made it harder for her to bounce back, partly because she’s never had to?? Also can we talk about the fact that the pressure to become a top journalist has been on since she was four??? When I was four, my life ambition was to be a Barbie ngl (still working toward it btw). Even now, I know only a handful of people who work in the same field they entered their first year of college with, so imagine how claustrophobic it would have been to stick to your inner 4 year old self’s dream. But she was never allowed to explore, her goals couldn’t be dynamic and that’s why she struggled to reach them. We saw the way Lorelai reacted when Rory applied to other colleges. (honestly who applies to just one college, don’t do it kids that is the worst idea ever), so Rory could never try to change her goal she was set upon since she was four. We also see this during the conversation of Teach Me Tonight where she says something like “I’ve been talking about this for like ever and it would be really embarrassing if I couldn’t do it” when Jess questions if its right with her. There we see her motivation, yeah to travel the world, but like she needs to do it. I think that Rory sees the way her mother is humiliated and hurt, and she will not let that happen, so she has to succeed brilliantly, she has to be someone enough so that society leaves her mother alone and Rory isn’t just a mistake anymore. Honestly to me its surprising that Rory didn’t breakdown earlier with pressure from Lorelai, Emily Richard, and mostly herself. Also they way I read this ask so many times because I was certain you heard all the thoughts in brain?? this ask was so superbly written and i thank you so much for the food for thought.   

Also the fact that the line  How can a person know everything At eighteen but nothing at twenty-two? lines up perfectly with Rory just amazes me. \

AHHHHHHHHHHHHHH SPIRALLING NOW!

[yelenasdog]

the pillowtalk of a pessimist (spencer reid x fem reader)

genre: fluff with a millisecond of angst

summary: pillowtalk takes an interesting turn for spencer at the mention of the harsh realities of his work.

words: 1.3k, she’s a shorty.

warnings: nsfw themes (nothing smutty, it’s just implied and also directly stated that they slept together), typical criminal minds violence + death, and maybe cursing? idk. 

a/n: btw this isn’t the fic i was ranting on about that i’m writing, she’s still in the works. also! this could be an x oc or anybody bc i didn’t use y/n if you would prefer to read it as such.

🂦∙🂦∙🂦

A pale stream of moonlight shone through the open window of apartment 23, the home of Doctor Spencer Reid. It illuminated a small section of his bedroom, specifically on one of his many floor to ceiling bookshelves, a beacon of knowledge that was there 24/7 for the taking.

The gold engravings on the spines of his many reads shimmered, a beautiful contrast to the dark mahogany the shelf was made out of.

The room smelled like a mixture of his cologne, her perfume (Chanel no. 5, specifically), and the results of their previous affairs that lingered in the crisp air of the night.

She took a deep breath, settling down further into the white duvet, pulling it over her bosom in response to the chilly temperature. The dark green walls of the room welcomed and calmed her, overwhelming the girl with a wave of serenity that could only be brought to her by him.

He quickly took note of her unsteady breathing and shift in position, immediately jumping to action. He pulled her closer by her shoulders with his strong arms, eliciting a squeal from her and a chuckle from him, more so at her reaction than the move itself.

Her head laid on his bare chest, her hair splayed out with half of it residing on his pillow, the other half on his bicep. She could have appeared to be an angel, although in his eyes, she truly was.

She rested her hand on the left side of his chest over his heart, her fingernail ghosting shapes on his tanned skin. Circles, squiggly lines, even abstract faces.

“How do you do it?”

Her voice was quiet, barely above a whisper. If his hearing wasn’t so acute, he was sure he would have missed it. This would have saddened the genius greatly, as he valued everything she had to say with a burning ferocity, and even one word lost would be a shame.

“What?”

He was confused by the nature of the question, attempting to search every corner of his brilliant brain for what she might have been referencing. Was it an equation? No, she hated math. Perhaps the way he so effortlessly could play any instrument because yet again, math. He decided that couldn’t be the subject at question either, she played better than he did, glorious melodies flowed from her fingertips. So the doctor was truly stumped.

The answer was simpler than he had imagined.

“Your job.”

With those doe eyes he was so fond of, she looked up, meeting his own glance.

If the term “heart eyes” was able to be personified, Spencer would be the guy to personify it whenever his eyes landed on the one in front of him.

“What do you mean? I get up in the morning, drink some coffee, and get to it.”

She giggled, but the sound he loved so much ceased with her pout.

“That’s not what I mean, Spence. How do you go on everyday, seeing body after body,” she trailed off, obviously distraught. Spencer wrapped his large hand tighter around her, placing his chin on her hairline.

“How do you consistently manage to look at these victims, these people, with lives that they never got to finish living-“ A tear slipped down her cheek, she bit her bottom lip, tasting her own salty droplets on her tongue. She sniffled, burying her head further in his neck with what he presumed was shame.

“And not break down when you do.” Her voice was muffled, but the emotions she felt were evident nonetheless.

He took a moment to carefully articulate an appropriate response. The gears in his mind turned ever so diligently, finding a solution to dry her tears.

“It’s not much different than what I initially said. I get up in the morning, drink some coffee.”

He pushed a hair away from her face, admiring her distinct features as he often did. She looked up, moving her left hand to trace his sharp jaw as he sat in thought.

“And I realize that these people that are now dead, are a part of the hundreds, of throusands, of millions of people that die every year. It’s a part of life, what gives it meaning.”

She gave a dry, humourless laugh.

“What, you don’t have a specific statistic for that?”

“Oh, I do, but I don’t think you want to hear it.” He tilted his head, weighing the option of disclosing the information but deciding against it.

“But the bottom line is, they have families. Families that are grieving, and hurting, and needing answers and justice. I cannot do my job and give them the closure they deserve if I’m staying focused on my own emotions and delving deep into who the victims were, rather than how to catch those responsible for hurting them.”

She moved on to her back, stilling managing to keep her eye contact with Spencer.

“But you’re a profiler! That’s what you do! You’re supposed to, what did you call it, ‘delve deep’ into who they are.”

“Pretty girl, are you trying to tell the one with 3 doctorates how to do his job?”

She rolled her eyes, lazily throwing a hand on his neck, right behind his ear. She ran it back and forth, savoring the intimate moment.

“Yeah, yeah. Shut up, Agent.” She taunted, poorly trying (and failing) to agitate Spencer. She had a hunch (that was more true than either of them would let on) that it wasn’t possible for her to do so, and he found himself proving it to be correct.

“I just had to learn to let the family do what they had to do so that I could do the same.”

The girl’s tone softened as she spoke, staring at the popcorn ceiling.

“I guess so. I’m just too empathetic, my heart is too pure.” She joked, a feathery laugh falling past both of their lips.

“Of course. I would expect nothing less.” He teased back, enjoying the dynamic they both held in the tender moment.

“You amaze me.” She muttered, leaning in, analyzing him and his ruffled post-sex hair, his gorgeously long lashes, and his light 5 o’clock shadow that donned his chin.

He huffed quietly, doing the exact same thing, minus the scruff of course.

“I could say the same to you, pretty girl.”

Their lips connected once again, in a different manner than the feverish and needy kiss from before.

This time, it was a union of two individuals, allowing themselves to mould together in a way only the two of them could. It was slower and sweeter, with more feeling poured into their lips while they moved in sync.

“M’ tired.”

“Yeah? You wanna go to sleep, bubs?”

She grinned as she snuggled into his arms, her exhausted eyes fluttering to a close.

“Bubs, huh? That’s new.”

A worried frown made its way onto his face as he rushed to cover up his previous words.

“D-do you not like it? I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable-“

“Spence.”

He stopped, looking over her for any microexpressions, only seeing positive signs. That wasn’t technically profiling, right? He hoped he would be in the clear if she ever was to find out.

“I love it, baby. Say it again.”

“Bubs?”

“Mhm. Say it again.” She sounded with content. He smirked, a proud feeling infiltrating his body, causing him to puff up his chest in the slightest way.

“Goodnight, bubs.”

He reached up, his paranoia forcing him to close the window above him, despite being a more than qualified FBI agent with a revolver safely tucked away in the top drawer of his night stand that never quite was shut all the way.

It was just the pessimist in him.

She wrapped around his figure, intertwining his form with her own.

“Sleep well, Spence.”

He felt happy with her, happier than he had been in a long time. He relished in that, allowing it to lull him to a well needed rest.

But what could he say, she just brought out the optimist in him.

🂦∙🂦∙🂦

hj posting at a time that isn’t 3 am?????? unheard of. also i may or may not have pulled an all nighter to write whatever tf this is bc my ex posted something with his new gf and i felt pathetic LMAO. anyway, i hope your day is fabulous, go drink some water and remember things are what you make of them and it’s all about intent! love you, xx hj.

[moeyy-writes]

Second Chance

Zak Bagans x Fem!Reader

Warnings: angst, arguing (nothing violent), mention of break-ups, happy ending (with fluff!). Oh, and a super cheesy, silly title. Let me know if I’m missing anything.

Word Count: 3.3k

My Master List

Zak lifted his head as a purple glimmer caught his eye. The room around him was loud, and the lights were flashing in a nauseatingly rapid rhythm. Why the hell did Aaron drag him to a place like this, especially when they had a lockdown the next night? He should be resting and reserving his strength, not wasting his time in some random Vegas nightclub.

It’s a good distraction, Aaron had told him. Although the music wasn’t bad, it wasn’t exactly Zak’s scene. Not anymore, anyway. He preferred less people, and more intimate conversation.

But, right now, he was mentally thanking his best friend for dragging him to this god-awful place as his eyes lifted to a familiar face in not-so-familiar clothing.

“Y/N?” He greeted you, his eyes scanning up and down your glittery purple dress. The deep cut accented your curves better than anything he had seen, and the length was shorter than he ever imagined you wearing.

Not that he was complaining one bit. You looked beautiful.

“Uh, hiya Zak.” You glanced around. “What the hell are you doing here?”

There was no way in hell Zak was there on purpose. He hated places like that, you knew that. But, you remembered seeing Aaron a few minutes earlier, which meant the other paranormal investigator wasn’t far behind.

It had been two weeks since the two of you had talked, and a day less since you had resigned from the show. The last time you talked to the blue-eyed lead investigator, he had admitted to you that he had more than platonic feelings for you. So, you ran.

It wasn’t that you didn’t share those feelings. No, it was quite the opposite. You had been harboring feelings for the older man for at least the past year, probably longer. But, there was no way he truly felt the same way. You knew Zak wasn’t the kind of person to stick around in a relationship for long, and you didn’t want to be the latest victim.

Zak glanced around, as if he was desperately searching for his partner in crime. But, the older friend was nowhere to be found. So, he relaxed his shoulders and locked his gaze on yours.

“Aaron dragged me here as a ‘distraction’. I guess that failed miserably, thank god.” He smiled sweetly, then his expression turned serious. “I’ve been calling you for days. I left voicemails. We thought something bad happened to you.”

You rolled your eyes and sighed. You didn’t want to be there either. Honestly, you had no idea why you were there. Distraction was the best word you could come up with. You were hoping to pick up someone to keep your mind off the man you wanted, but knew you could never have.

“Well, I’m alive, and I’m probably not going to be in town for much longer. I took a job in California. My condo there is going to be about a third the size and the same price as the one I have here, but it looks like a nice area.” You peered away, unable to look him directly in the eye. But, even in your peripheral vision, you could see the pain on his face.

“You’re moving? Wow. I guess I never saw that coming.” His voice was softer, almost hard to hear against the pounding music. His shoulders sank more in defeat, making your stomach ache. You knew he felt something for you, but it wouldn’t last. He’d get over you just as fast as the others you had seen come and go.

“Yeah, it’s a good gig. It’s with a news station outside of Sacramento. I’ll be editing their videos before they air.” Zak’s eyes remained wide and painful. You had been friends for years and had been on the show for about half a decade. So, it was obviously a shock to him when you resigned. It was a shock for everyone.

Billy, Aaron, and Jay had also left you multiple voicemails asking where you were and if you were okay. Hell, even Dakota reached out to see what was going on. You knew they loved you and cared, but you weren’t one for goodbyes, and you definitely didn’t want to think about Zak anymore.

“Y/N, we miss you. The last investigation wasn’t the same without you.” He stared down at his feet. “You didn’t even give an explanation. We thought you were in some kind of trouble.”

You narrowed your gaze. “Zak, don’t be stupid. You know exactly why I left.” Your body tensed. Was he really that naïve? Or was he in denial?

“What?” You rolled your eyes.

“Zak, what was our last conversation about?” You crossed your arms over your chest. He wasn’t this dumb. He wasn’t dumb at all. Sure, he had a dorky sense of humor, but he was brilliant. He had to know what was really going on.

His eyes widened again, this time in realization. “Wait, you left because I told you that I love you?” Bingo.

“Zak, do you know how many women I’ve heard you say that to, just for you to toss them to the curb within a few months? You haven’t had the best track record over the years I’ve known you.” You sighed in frustration. “You love ‘em and leave ‘em pretty quickly. I didn’t want to be another statistic.”

Zak slammed his back into the cement wall behind him. His gaze left you, hazing over with an emotion you couldn’t quite recognize. His tight, black shirt hugged his chest as he crossed his arms.

“You think I picked you as a target or something? Y/N, I wouldn’t have told you I loved you after five years if I didn’t mean it! I wouldn’t risk our entire friendship over something like that!” Zak’s chest heaved as his voice got louder. “I know I’ve had several girlfriends since I’ve met you, and I know none of them ever turned out to be much of anything. But, I didn’t know them for more than a week before things progressed. I didn’t have the time to get to know them like I know you.”

You clenched your teeth as you listened to his words. Oh, so he loved you because he knew you long enough to realize you weren’t after his money and fame? Great.

“Zak, why the fucking hell didn’t you say anything before? You’ve had five years to realize your feelings for me, to say something. We’ve traveled all over the country together for years, and we live within four miles of each other. Why are you just saying something now?” You could feel the frustration, and heartbreak, washing over you.

“Because it didn’t seem like you were going to be the one to say it.” You blinked as you took a half-step back.

“Excuse me?”

Zak smirked, pissing you off even more. “You think I didn’t notice they way you looked at me when you thought I wasn’t looking? Or how your hand lingered on my shoulder a little too long while we looked over evidence at Nerve? Y/N, I’m not blind.”

Shit. Shit, fuck, damn. He wasn’t blind at all. And, you were sure that the others saw it too. You had flirted with him for as long as you could remember, to the point that it became second nature.

“I didn’t say anything for the same reason I left. I didn’t want to be another Zak Bagans statistic.”

Zak unfolded his arms and stared at you. His eyes were dark, but not with anger, but pain. He tilted his head ever so slightly as he took a step forward.

“Y/N, do you really think I’m that much of a monster? After all of these years, spending weeks at a time with each other, do you really think that I’m incapable of loving someone?” Your heart was about to pound out of your chest. No, you didn’t think he was a monster. Hell, you loved him for how caring and kind he was to everyone around him. He may have carried a cocky, bad-boy persona, but he was really a complete marshmallow under those muscles.

“I don’t think that. I just saw a pattern and didn’t want to be a part of it.” Zak just nodded at your words, leaning back against the wall. You could see his thoughts forming behind his eyes. His face was surprisingly soft, considering his obvious anger.

Zak nodded as he sighed. “Y/N, do you know what the problem was with those other girls?” He let out a sigh. “They weren’t you—”

“Oh, don’t give me that cliché crap, Zak.” You rolled your eyes, unable to contain a frustrated chuckle.

“I mean it. I know it sounds cheesy, but you know me. That’s my humor. And, that’s my entire point. You know me, my humor, and almost everything that swims around in my weirdo brain. And, for a while, I think that scared me. But, now I know that’s something special. You get me like those other girls didn’t. I mean, you know me in ways most other people in my life don’t.”

He wasn’t wrong. When he needed someone to talk to, and Aaron was busy, he called you. He knew you’d give him an ear at three in the morning and would help him with just about anything. And, until now, it was a two-way street. He was there for you whenever you needed someone.

And that was what set you apart from the others. You bothered to know him. You quickly realized that he reached out to you even when he was in a relationship. He didn’t go to whoever he was dating at the time because they didn’t listen like you did.

They didn’t care like you did.

“Fuck,” you muttered. “Zak, I—” Tears threatened in your eyes. It was you who was blind all this time. And now you had pushed away the man you loved when he said he loved you back.

You turned away from him, squeezing your eyes shut. Who cared if your mascara was waterproof or not? You didn’t care what you looked like, or where you were anymore. All you could think about was the pain in your chest.

“I’m sorry, Zak. I have to go—”

“No! I’m not letting you walk away again. Y/N, I know you didn’t mean to hurt me. I get it. I know what you saw.” Zak reached out, gently taking you upper arm.

“It’s what I didn’t see that’s killing me now,” you muttered, nearly drowned out by the music.

Zak turned you back towards him, smiling sweetly at you. “I know. I get it. I think we both do.” He glanced around the packed room. “How about we take a step outside so we don’t lose our voices,” he suggested with his award-winning smile.

It was his softness that sent you over the edge. You let the tears fall as they nodded, allowing your best friend to lead you out of that bustling club and onto the quieter, cooler sidewalk outside.

It took you a few minutes to form another coherent thought; your mind was reeling. Zak wasn’t the monster, you were. Not that you actually thought he was a monster, but this whole situation made you feel like the biggest nightmare of a person one could ever think up. You had to just run from a scary situation instead of being a grown ass woman and expressing your fears. You had been able to openly talk about all sorts of emotions on the show when you were with the guys. But, when it came to actual adult emotions, you ran.

Very mature.

And now you probably skewed the way Zak thought of you for the worse, and there was probably no coming back.

Zak leaned down in attempt to meet your tear-filled gaze. “Y/N, tell me what you’re feeling right now.” You sucked in a whimper and squeezed your eyes shut, letting a new stream of tears free.

“I feel like a fucking idiot. I feel like I royally screwed up and I’ve ruined something I wanted for years, but never thought could happen. I-I don’t know. I don’t know what to think now.” Your voice trembled. You were tired of trying to look tough. It was too exhausting.

“You aren’t an idiot. You were scared, and you weren’t seeing the whole picture. I get that. And I forgive you, not that I really think that I need to forgive you for anything.” His hand cupped your cheek and lifted your head up. “This whole thing was a huge misunderstanding.”

“Definitely. I’m so sorry I wasn’t there when you needed me most, Zak. I did what those other girls did when you needed someone. I’m so sorry—”

“No, don’t be. I told you, Y/N, I understand. Fear makes us do stupid thing. Out of everyone in the world, I know you know that.” He sucked in a long breath, then let out a shaky sigh. “I love you, Y/N. I do. I don’t just throw those words around. I love you so much, and I have for a long time. If you want to move to California, I get it.”

Shit. Fucking shitty fuck. You clenched your teeth. What the hell have you done?

“I—well—not really. Shit, Z, I really fucked up.” Your mind raced as your breathing quickened. Your head started to feel funny, but you tried to keep yourself grounded. “I mean, I haven’t sold my condo yet, and I can withdraw from my offer on the one in Sacramento. And I can decline the job. But, I left the show. I don’t have a job anymore.” Your words came out in panicked breaths as your hands clenched into fists.

Zak smirked. “Well, if you do want to stick around, I think I can pull a few strings and get you your old job back. I mean, we haven’t replaced you or anything. It’s not like we could if we tried.” You nodded slowly, taking everything in.

“Zak, I’m so sorry,” you muttered as you reached out, wrapping your arms around his shoulders. His arms quickly supported your waist, cradling you against his chest. He gently rubbed circles with one hand on your back.

“Hey, shhh, it’s okay. Y/N, it’s alright.” You nodded against his chest, repeating the mantra in your head. After a few minutes, you started to believe it. Everything was going to be okay. You were there, and you just happened to run into Zak that night. Not that you were much of a believer in fate, but that had to mean something.

After a while, you pulled away from him. You peered up at him, fully aware that you had proven your mascara was less that waterproof.

“I’m sorry Zak.” You nibbled nervously on your lower lip.

He just shook his head. “I know, Y/N. You don’t need to keep saying it. I told you, I forgive you, not that I blame you for anything.” He reached head hand out. “So, are you staying after all?”

You nodded. “Yeah, I’m staying.” Zak’s smile stretched across his lips.

“Good. And what about us?” Your heart raced like it did just a few weeks ago, when he admitted his feelings for you. But, you sure as fuck weren’t going to run this time.

“I love you too, Zak. You already know that. I know I’ve done a piss-poor job of showing that over the last few weeks. I have some catching up to do.” You finally smiled under the drying tears. Zak chuckled, shaking his head.

“Bullshit. You’ve done enough over the years. No catch up needed, just a little Dijon mustard.” You blinked for a moment, then busted into laughter. He could never pass up a pun, no matter the circumstance.

“Oh my god, Zak,” you chuckled. “Really? Now?” You couldn’t stop laughing, which only made him smile wider.

“Hey, I made you smile. I call that a win.” He wrapped his arms around you again, causing your heart to speed up yet again. This time, you welcomed the feeling, loving the way you felt at home in his arms.

You glanced up at Zak and sighed. “Well, I guess there is no point in either of us being here, huh? I mean, I look like a fucking mess, and well, I guess my original plan is no longer happening.” Zak raised in eyebrow and huffed a laugh.

“Wait, what was your original plan?” His face tensed as he came to a realization. “Never mind, I don’t want to know. Either way, you look stunning.” You blushed under the streams of black mascara you were sure were plaguing your face.

“Thanks, Zak.”

You glanced around, eyeing the door as people came and went around you. You had totally forgotten about Aaron. Had Zak driven there with him? Or was Zak Aaron’s ride home?

“I hope Aaron is okay in there,” you mentioned casually, not wanting to sound too nosy. Zak’s eyes widened.

“Oh, man. He probably thinks I either went home with someone or got lost. Probably the latter.” Zak reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone. His screen was littered with notifications, probably from Aaron. Zak rolled his eyes. “Yep, he thinks I’m lost.” You both laughed.

“Did he drive you here? Is he okay to drive home?” Zak shook his head.

“Nah, we got a cab. He’s probably loaded. We should fine him before he hurts himself.” Zak and you rolled your eyes in sync, then laughed. He was probably right, there was no way Aaron and alcohol were ever a good mix, especially when he was alone.

“Good idea.” You took Zak’s arm and made your way for the door.

Zak paused a few steps from the door. “Did you drive here?” You shook your head. “Do you want to ride with us? We can go back to my place for a while and just, I dunno, do something boring. If you want to talk more, we can do that. Or, we can just watch a movie or whatever. I just know that I don’t like being alone after emotional situations like this, and I know you’re the same way.” He placed his hand over yours, which rested softly on his arm. “No pressure.”

He knew you all too well.

“Yeah, that actually sounds great. I wouldn’t mind a movie in your fancy shmancy theater.” You grinned as Zak chuckled.

“Deal. I don’t know what my inventory situation is on popcorn, but we’ll survive.” You nodded in agreement, then went to take a step towards the door, but Zak gently stopped you. You turned to him, raising a brow.

“Zak?” He just smiled at you for a moment.

“One more thing.” You should have seen this coming. He reached out and took your jaw gently in his other hand, then leaned in, pressing his lips to yours.

You gasped as you made contact, but quickly eased into it. He lingered, letting out a low laugh, before pulling away. You followed him as he leaned back, not wanting to separate just yet.

“I’ve been wanting to do that for a long time,” Zak whispered. You rolled your eyes and shoved his chest. He truly was the king of cliches.

“Oh my god, you cheeseball! One serious moment is all I ask of you!” you teased, before taking his arm again.

“You’ll get one of those at some point, hopefully.” You rolled your eyes for the millionth time.

“Way to keep me on my toes, handsome,” you retorted. Then, you followed him back into the club in search of your friend.

Thanks for reading! Feedback is appreciated! <3

[everybodyscupoftea]

the art of making a move at a kegger

jj x reader

word count: 2877

warnings: drinking, cursing, and towards the end almost sexual content but not actually

synopsis: harboring feelings for jj + getting drunk doesn’t always equal the smoothest of times but it all works out in the end

requested by @maybebanks​ really hope you like it!

JJ wasn’t on your radar until he slept through three quizzes in a row during your 8:00 a.m. English freshman year. He sat across from you, and you thought he was pretty cute, even when he started showing up wearing Pike letters. Which coincidentally is when he started falling asleep during quizzes.

One morning, when the professor left the room and you were packing your backpack, you heard JJ clear his throat. You glanced up, unsure if it was for you or not, and caught him smiling at you sheepishly.

“Hey,” he mumbled, running a hand through his unruly hair, “I was wondering if you had the readings for Thursday, I lost the syllabus.”

You pulled out your planner, “Yeah, it’s Act 3 of Hamlet and a part from the textbook on dramatic irony, pages 176-179.”

He quickly jotted it down on the corner of his notebook and smiled tiredly at you, “Thanks so much, I can’t keep failing these fucking quizzes, my grade is cheeks right now.”

“Is everything okay?” you cautiously asked, you didn’t want to push but you were a little concerned about the cute boy.

He sighed and ran his hand through his hair again, “Hazing shit, they’re making the new pledges stay up. I haven’t slept a full night in two weeks.”

“That’s, uh,” you weren’t really sure what to say, “not okay?” You settled on.

With a shrug, he tugged his backpack up and pushed in his chair, “Yeah, well, I guess it comes with being a legacy.” And then he was gone.

After that first interaction, you and JJ chatted every so often. Sometimes you’d let him cheat off your quizzes because they were pointless anyway and sometimes, you’d ask your professor to repeat one of the questions so he could get a second chance to answer if he was running late.

The last day of the semester he brought you coffee, “I just wanted to thank you for everything this semester, and I was hoping I could get your number so we can keep in touch.”

The next semester you had two classes together, much to your shock. When the two of you started to hang out outside of class to study for statistics, you learned some stuff about him. He was from the Outer Banks and he had a rough childhood. He was also receiving the Pell Grant so school was totally paid for, his only expense was the frat.

You also learned that the two of you were the same major and had to take all of the same courses, so the two of you decided to try and register for some of the same classes. It didn’t always work out, you had priority scheduling as a note taker for at least one class every semester and sometimes when JJ went to schedule, your section was already full. But sometimes it did work out.

Either way, the two of you always studied together. You used to go back and forth between apartments, one week was yours and one was JJ’s, until he moved into the frat house and no work was meant to be done in those walls. That atmosphere was conducive to parties only, something else JJ loved.

One afternoon, fall of your sophomore year, JJ balled up a piece of paper and threw it at you. It bounced off your forehead landed in your open coffee cup, and you looked up and glared at him, “Was that necessary?”

He gave you an innocent look, “Do you have plans next weekend?”

“I mean, we have a test the next Monday so I’ll probably be studying.”

JJ took the last sip of his coffee, “I have a formal and I need a date, wanna go?”

“Not particularly,” you responded with a shrug.

“No strings attached,” JJ told you, “promise. My friend from home, Kie, normally comes with me, but she has her own shit to do, and me and you get along. If you don’t go, I’ll have to take a stranger and then I’ll be bored.”

You’d been to some of the parties his frat threw, you knew he wouldn’t really be bored all night, he just didn’t want to have to actually work to get a date. Not that he’d have to work hard, his good looks would pretty much guarantee him a date. But you were a little intrigued, so you agreed.

“Great,” he told you, clapping his hands, “let me know what color your dress is and I’ll get a matching tie.”

“Fancy,” you told him with a smile.

“Kie loves matching, she’ll be proud,” JJ responded, and it made you really curious about Kie and the rest of his friends, but you didn’t ask.

Eventually you would get to meet them. JJ invited you to go home with him for spring break and he showed you around the Outer Banks, took you surfing, and threw a party that almost rivaled the ones his frat normally threw. Meeting his friends was nice, but really getting to know JJ was nicer. That’s when you started to complicate the ‘no strings attached’ deal, you felt yourself catching feelings.

By the time senior year rolled around, you were the most tired you’ve ever been. School was hard, having a job while doing school was harder and your social life was suffering. You still hung out with JJ a lot, mostly to study or to unwind and just watch TV, but he was really the only person you spent time with on a regular basis other than your coworkers.

Late on a Saturday afternoon, you were already in your pajamas, studying for an anatomy test, when there was a knock at your apartment door. Startled, you wrapped the blanket you were sitting under tightly around your shoulders and cautiously walked to the door. Peering through the peephole, you saw JJ standing there, looking at something on his phone.

You threw the door open, “What are you doing here?”

He looked up and smiled, “I’m here to kidnap you.”

“What?” you asked blankly, not really in the mood.

JJ pushed his way past you and sat on a barstool before answering, “Don’t think I haven’t noticed how miserable you’ve been lately. When’s the last time you went out?”

And, God, when was the last time you’d done something fun? You sighed, “Fuck, I don’t know, like maybe a month ago when we went to that basketball game.”

With a hum, JJ stood up, “Get dressed, Pike’s throwing a kegger tonight.”

You didn’t even think twice before tossing the blanket onto the couch and going to your closet to find something to wear. JJ turned the TV on while you got fully dressed, minus makeup. Peeking your head out, you caught JJ’s attention, “Can I do my makeup at the house?”

He nodded, “Yeah. You almost ready because I’ve gotta pick up the keg soon?”

“Let’s go.”

JJ locked the door behind you and the two of you walked to his truck. The music blasted as soon as he cranked it up and he turned it down with a sheepish smile, “My bad, the song playing when I got here was a banger.”

Plugging your phone in, you put on the collaborative playlist you and JJ made together. He turned it back up a little and peeled out of the parking lot to the nearest liquor store where his frat normally got their kegs.

You bought cups at the convenience store next door while JJ loaded the keg into his truck, and a few pods because you were low and JJ was almost always out. JJ was leaning against the truck when you met him back in the shared parking lot, and he handed you a Twisted Tea, “For accompanying me on this adventure, madam.”

“Thank you, kind sir,” you responded, cracking it open and took a deep sip before climbing back into the truck to head to the frat house.

JJ left you to finish getting ready while he helped everyone set up for the party. You joined him eventually, having finished your first drink, and helped lock all bedroom doors and put all valuables away.

By the time people started arriving you were happily tipsy, hanging onto JJ while he talked to some of his friends, sipping beer slowly out of your assigned cup at the house. You were over there enough that you’d claimed one of your own and all the other guys that lived there respected it for the most part.

The party started to pick up and one of JJ’s frat brothers called you over to attempt a keg stand. You’d always wanted to try but never had, so you handed JJ your cup and kicked your feet up, trusting the two guys were ready to catch you. They did and someone put the spout into your mouth.

A crowd gathered around you and started counting loudly. You made it all the way to a minute before kicking to be let down. Slowly the two guys lowered your feet and your vision swam while beer bubbled in your throat. You almost choked but managed to swallow while everyone cheered around you. JJ wrapped an arm around your shoulder, “Not bad for a first time!”

He topped your cup off and guided you away. You cleared your throat, “Thought I was gonna puke for a second there.”

“You turned a little green when you first came down, how you feeling now though?”

“Feeling fantastic,” you told him earnestly, swaying in place.

JJ chuckled, grabbing your shoulders, “You got plans tomorrow?”

“Anatomy.”

“So that’s a no, I won’t cut you off then.”

“Don’t cut me off, please,” you told him seriously, trying to focus on his face.

He gave you a little two finger salute, “Aye aye madam.”

You lost track of how many drinks you had as the night went on. Sometime during the night, JJ disappeared and came back with something besides beer for you which was really nice and you thanked him with a kiss on the cheek. He just laughed and squeezed your shoulder before going off to talk to someone else.

When the party started winding down, you attempted to find the Uber app on your phone to call a ride home. JJ tapped your shoulder, startling you, and in your clumsy, intoxicated state, you dropped your phone. It slid out of your eyesight and you glared at him, “Pick it up, J.”

“What are you doing?” he asked, amused.

“Goin home, party’s over.”

“Why don’t you just stay here?”

“Can’t make it up the stairs,” you told him seriously.

JJ raised his eyebrows, “You live on the second floor of your apartment building, at least here you have me to help you up the stairs.”

He had you there. So, you nodded and he took you to the kitchen for a clean cup. JJ filled it with water and made you drink two before leading you to the stairs. You lifted your foot to put it on the first step and almost fell over. JJ reached out but you shushed him, as if his silence would help you focus more on not falling over.

On the second try, you managed to climb up one step and immediately shuffled close to the wall so you could lean your whole body against it for balance while attempting to climb. It was a really slow process, but you were too stubborn to ask for help, and JJ knew better than to try to help you when you were feeling stubborn.

JJ stayed one step below you to help in case you started to fall backwards. Eventually you made it all the way up and immediately forgot which door led to his room. Huffing a laugh, JJ grabbed your wrist and led you to the second one on the left.

You sat down on the bed and went pretty much boneless at the comfort of finally not being on your feet.

“Fucks sake, dude,” JJ muttered, pushing you up into a sitting position.

“No,” you whined, fighting to lay back down.

It wasn’t hard for JJ to keep you sitting up, “You’re going to be so pissed if you wake up in your clothes with makeup on, you need to change and get ready for bed.”

He was right again, but you didn’t have the comprehension level to remember how to do that so you shrugged in response. JJ sighed and helped you kick your shoes off before going to get you a change of clothes from his drawers. You somehow managed to get your shirt off and your shorts unbuttoned, but he had to help you get the new shirt on and change shorts.

The guy JJ shared a bathroom with’s girlfriend left makeup wipes and JJ helped you get all your makeup off. You kept making faces to be difficult because you liked the furrow between his eyebrows as he tried to focus on being gentle.

“I will intentionally poke you in the eyeball if you do not stop,” he warned.

Pouting, you poked his cheek, “Don’t bully me, I’m drunk.”

He threw the wipe away and looked at you exasperatedly, “Brush your teeth, your breath smells like a liquor store.”

Giggling, you grabbed your spare toothbrush from the drawer next to his and sloppily started brushing your teeth. JJ was standing behind you and leaning on you, trapping you between the counter and his body so you didn’t fall over or sway.

The bright bathroom lights plus the water were clearing your brain a little, but you were still gone and not really able to focus on anything for more than a few seconds at a time. You leaned back to feel his chest moving as he brushed his teeth and giggled at the feeling.

JJ sighed again and gently nudged you out of the way to spit and rinse in the sink and you followed suit, having forgotten to do so yourself. You followed him out of the bathroom and grabbed his hand as he led you back to his room.

From what you could remember, JJ slept on the left, so you climbed into the right side of his bed and stretched out comfortably. He crawled in behind you a few minutes later, and you turned around to look at him. He had a small smile on his face as he looked back at you and reached up to push a piece of hair that had fallen in your eyes out of the way.

Suddenly, you were overcome by the urge that you’d been fighting for over a year and you leaned forward to kiss him. He froze and you almost regretted it until he started kissing you back.

You stayed like that for what felt like hours but could’ve only been minutes until he rolled the two of you over so you were on your back and he was hovering over you. Your lips were only separated for a few seconds before he was kissing you again, more deeply than before.

Sighing into the kiss, you brought a hand up to his head and ran your fingers through his hair. He groaned lightly at the feeling and you felt a hand creeping up your thigh. Before it could get too far, you nudged his shoulders back to catch your breath. He kept stroking your thigh and you shifted, “Hey, can we wait maybe?”

“Wait for what?” JJ asked you, confused.

“To fuck,” you told him bluntly.

JJ huffed out a surprised laugh, “Oh, uh, yeah definitely.”

You grinned at him sheepishly, “Sorry, you’re my best friend and if we’re going to do this, I want to be sober and you know, really ready.”

“Right, yeah, I totally get it,” he reassured you, dropping back down next to you.

You sighed as he wrapped his arm around you again. Lifting your head, you let it rest on one of his biceps and drank in his facial features. He held onto one of your hands and played with your fingers, not looking at you directly.

“I’m sorry,” you told him, feeling a little uncertain.

JJ looked at you, furrow back between his eyebrows but a little different than before, “I’m the one who should be saying sorry.”

“What?” you asked, feeling the urge to press the wrinkle until it went away.

“For forcing myself onto you,” JJ mumbled.

Suddenly it felt like you couldn’t keep up with the conversation, “Wait what?”

He wouldn’t meet your eyes again, so you lifted his chin until the two of you were almost nose to nose. JJ shut his eyes, “You’re really drunk, I shouldn’t have ever returned the kiss because you might regret it in the morning.”

“No, I really do like you JJ, I just,” you paused, trying to find the right words, “I just want it to be special, I guess,” you trailed off, hoping it made sense.

JJ smiled gently and pressed a soft kiss to your forehead, “We can talk about it tomorrow, yeah?”

With a giant yawn, you nodded and the last thing you remember is him running a hand through your hair and tangling your legs together.

[staticscreenwriting]

The loneliest time of the year || Part one

Part 1 of 4

Summary: With a broken heart and the fear of having failed as a father, Frankie returns to his parents house for Christmas. What is supposed to be the most wonderful time of the year feels quite lonely. Though when an old friend shows up unexpectedly with her young son in tow, Frankie’s Christmas seems to gain a little more happiness. Can they help each other fight the ghosts of their pasts and overcome their fears ? A/N: This is part of my 12 days of Christmas / Advent special. Every sunday leading up to Christmas you will get another part. That’s 4 parts in total. Likes, reblogs, comments are all much appreciated. 

[additional note: I am German. Sometimes I get the tense wrong or make mistakes. I am useless when it comes to punctuation. Go easy on me, please.]

Christmas time is the most depressing time of the year. Seriously, you can look that up. There’s a bunch of statistics about it and essays using long fancy words.

It’s a time that makes you so acutely aware of how lonely you actually are. And then you’re left to reflect on all the reasons why and that’s just fucking depressing. 

Frankie maneuvers his car along the streets of his hometown, a light dusting of snow covers the ground and the trees to his left and right have long sharp icicles hanging from their branches like the sharp teeth of an imaginary monster that lives under your bed. 

He passes by the old movie theatre, the 7/11, the diner where he got his first kiss, the red brick building that was once a printing house but has been turned into a Starbucks for some reason, and the public library that he used to volunteer at when he was in high school. There are ghosts in all the windows looking back at him. Ghosts of the boy he used to be and the memories he thought long forgotten.

This wasn’t the plan. He’s not supposed to be here. Or maybe he is. Maybe this is exactly what he deserves. To come crawling back home to mom and dad because the future he had tried so hard to build for himself came crumbling down on him in a matter of moments. And all of it is entirely his own fucking fault. If only he wasn’t such a damn mess.

“I'll have a blue Christmas without you

I'll be so blue just thinking about you.”

“Ah fuck off, Elvis!”

He turns off the radio and is left with just the quiet and his thoughts until the little blue house at the end of a cul-de-sac comes into view. This house has seen many versions of Frankie. Highs and lows. He wonders if he even knows the person he is anymore. 

Across the street sits a park and then another little house, this is one red and the shutters are white and the paint is chipping. It used to sit empty for a while but there’s a car in the driveway and light coming from inside. Maybe he was wrong, maybe he isn’t the only one that changed, maybe the town did a little bit of changing too. 

His mom is a hugger, always has been. Still is. At least that hasn’t changed. She has him wrapped in a warm big hug as soon as he gets out of the car. She smells the same way she did when he was a little boy. Like lavender and fresh cotton and warmth. His mom, Frankie thinks, has the ability to talk faster than anyone else he knows. Even faster than Pope when he’s drunk. She bombards him with information about various distant relatives and has him caught up on the last several years of their lives before his dad even manages to get to the door. 

His dad looks older than the last time Frankie has seen him, but not in a fragile way. Age doesn’t make his dad look sickly or weak, it just makes him look wise. He’s got lines etched into the skin around his lips, from all the laughter and the smiles. Every adventure, every memory, it’s all there in his face and Frankie admires that so much. With every day passing he himself just looks sadder and more worn out. 

“Darling, let him come inside. It’s freezing out here.”

Ever since he was little, Frankie knew that what his parents have was special. There was so much love in the way they talked with each other. It exuded from every word. From every look. They were a package deal. One could simply not be without the other. It’s something he knew most of his family members were envious of. Hell, he himself was envious of it. 

“Hey Pops, good to see you.”

His dad wraps him in a hug as he steps into the warm house. His dad isn’t a hugger, he’s more stoic and calm but that doesn’t make him any less loving. There was never a day in his life, that Frankie ever doubted his father’s love for him. It’s just that he’s not the most physically affectionate guy, and that’s fine. When he does give out hugs, they are the best.

“Did the Murphy’s house get sold then?” Frankie questions, motioning over his shoulder towards the little red house. The couple who lived there, Margaret and Edwin, were lovely. They were the kind of old people that others just adore. Always a smile on their faces, always greeting you with the most infectious of good moods. They were already old when Frankie was a kid, but they were the kind of people you’d expect to live forever. Though death doesn’t care for any of that and eventually it came for them too. The house went to their only son, a man that always intrigued Frankie. Michael was a photographer and always on the road looking for a new adventure. He was his parents' age but there was a youth about him that made him look much younger. He always seemed like more of a friend or older brother to his daughter than a father. 

His daughter. (Y/N) and Frankie weren’t friends. Not really. For that, they didn’t spend nearly enough time with each other. But whenever she would come around and spend the summers at her grandparents' place, Frankie and her would gravitate towards each other. There was an undeniable attraction, a magnetic pull. She always had the most exciting stories and for a teenage boy, there was nothing more exciting than a pretty girl with adventure in her veins.

He hasn’t seen her for a long time though, eventually, she went off to college and he joined the military. She came around less and less and then when first Edwin and then Margaret died, the house stayed quiet and lonely. Last time he saw (Y/N) was when he randomly ran into her at a bar but even that must’ve been at least 10, maybe 12 years ago.

“Oh no. Their son, Michael, do you remember him?”

“Sure.”

“He had a bad accident. Can’t work no more, needs a lot of help. You know what he was like, always on the road never really having a place he called home. Other than this house. So him and his daughter are back here. Do you remember her?“

“ (Y/N), yeah.”

“She’s moved back too. Gave up her entire life to help her father. Poor thing now works at the diner waiting tables for a living all the while taking care of Michael and her young son.”

“She has a kid?”

A sting of pain runs through his heart. Big brown eyes stare up at him in his mind, eyes that look so much like his. Eyes he couldn’t wait to see sparkling from joy on Christmas morning. Eyes he ain’t allowed to look into anytime soon.

“Yes, a little boy. Leo, he’s 7 years old. So well behaved and smart. Such a lovely little boy.”

A warm mug of coffee is thrust into Frankie’s hand as his father guides him to sit down on the big couch in the living room that’s been there ever since he was a kid. 

“We invited them to come around for Christmas Eve dinner which reminds me that I still need to get a present for the boy.”

“Darling, it’s December 5th we still got time.”

Despite his heart laying in shambles by his feet, being around his parents sends a warmth through Frankie. It’s so familiar and comforting to be here. Maybe this isn’t all bad. Maybe this is exactly what he needs. 

On the first day of Christmas my true love gave to me: One sweet reunion.

Frankie sits on his old bed in his old room. There are fewer posters there and the wall that used to be painted a dark blue is now a soft peach color. The old dark wood furniture has been replaced by white cupboards and two beds, both white too. An adult-sized bed for him and a toddler bed for Rosie. Little butterfly decals decorate the walls and soft pink curtains hang before the window. This is more Rosie’s room that’s his now, only she isn’t here to see it. 

A knock on the door shakes him from his daydream. Voices echo through the halls and up the stairs. Voices he doesn’t recognize but by the tone in his mother’s words, he can tell they’re friendly faces.

“So we thought maybe we could borrow your car.”

Frankie sees her before she sees him. Had he not knows she was in town, maybe he wouldn’t have recognized her. (Y/N) looks older. Not old. Just more mature. She must be in her 30s now. Grown into her body. A mother.

“Of course dear, Frankie can help you get the tree if you want. We still need one ourselves anyway. Two birds one stone.”

“Frankie is home?” 

(Y/N)’s voice shines with a glimmer of hope. 

“I am.”

A smile spreads on her face, and that one he recognizes so well. It’s equal parts mischievous and warm. Familiar and comforting. Sassy and soft. 

“Oh man, it’s so good to see you. It’s been some time, huh ?”

“Sure has,” he replies and the two of them share a quick hug. She’s cold from the air outside and smells like winter and snow. Her hair is hidden beneath a beanie and her fingers are kept warm by some fluffy blue mittens. She’s adorable. So fucking adorable.

“So, you want help getting your Christmas tree?” Frankie asks as she pulls away, missing the softness she brought.

“Well actually I was just asking to use your dad’s car but since you’re here, would you mind helping out ?”

“ Course not! We need a tree anyway and I’ll have you know, I’m great at finding the best Christmas trees.”

“That so?”

“Sure is.”

Another big smile spreads on (Y/N)’s lips. “Okay cool. Let me know when you’re ready. Leo and I are free all day.”

“That’s right, you have a kid now.”

There’s an infinite sense of pride that washes over her face. He knows the feeling, sees it in his own mother when she talks about him. Feels it in his heart when he thinks of Rosie.

“Frankie has a baby too, little girl.”

His mother means well. Doesn’t matter though, the mention of her still sends a pant of pain through him. Right to his heart and then it spreads slowly but surely to the rest of his body. Like an ice pick melting slowly.

“You do? Oh, I can’t wait to meet her.”

His heart breaks. Shatters. Crumbles. 

“She’s uh — she’s with her mom for Christmas.” And pretty much any other day too.

“Huh, well I guess you’ll just have to tell me all about her then. “ 

He appreciates this. Her not asking but just taking the situation for what it is. Questions ask for answers he can’t give, doesn’t want to give.

“I can do that.”

“Okay great. Let me bother you no longer, just come knock on our door when you’re ready. You know where I live.”

With a wave and a smile, she makes her exit and steps back into the cold. Snow now falling in big white flakes from the skies, like big bubbles of soap. Like star fragments.

“She’s such a nice young woman, I wish life was a bit more gentle on her. “ his mom spoke up from beside Frankie. 

“Yeah. Yeah, me too mom. Me too.”

When he steps out of the house a few hours later, the ground is already covered in a thick coat of fluffy snow. His boots leave deep prints in the pristine white blanket. 

Across the street, he can hear a melody of laughter flowing through the air before two figures jump out from behind the house, wrapped in warm clothes, throwing snowballs at each other.

“Mom you’re cheating!” The young boy, Leo calls out, laughter ringing along with his words.

“No way! Nu-uh.”

“Yu-uh! “

The exchange puts a smile on Frankie’s face. It reminds him of his own childhood. When the world didn’t feel like it was working against him. When it was kind. When things were easy. When he was happy.

Realizing neither of the two has spotted him yet, Frankie squats down and gathers some snow in his glove covered hands. In a swift motion, he pulls his arm back and throws the snow in (Y/N)’s direction hitting her right in between her shoulders. 

“Hey!”

There’s a second where anger and confusion reign over her face and then she realizes it’s Frankie who threw the snowball and it melts into warmth and mischief.

“I’ll get you back for that, dude. “

“That a threat?”

“Nah, it’s a promise.”

The boy regards them with careful curiosity. 

“Leo, come here. This is my friend Frankie.”

To be quite honest, Frankie hadn’t really considered himself a friend of (Y/N) but to hear her introduce him as such felt real nice. He had friends, good friends, brothers even. Pope and the Millers knew him like the knee themselves but this was different. This was home.

“Frankie, this is my son Leo.”

The boy is all (Y/N). Same smile, same eyes. Like a copy and paste.

“Hey, Leo, nice to meet you.”

The boy gives him a shy wave. “Hi.”

“You guys ready to get some Christmas trees?” Frankie asked, looking from (Y/N) to Leo and back to her. The excitement on their faces makes him feel a little giddy. 

Back when he was a kid, buying a tree was one of his favorite things to do during Christmas season. His dad always used to wake him up real early so they could be one of the first people at the Christmas tree sale. They’d stay for hours looking for the perfect tree. Now perfect didn’t mean it had to be actually immaculate. Perfect meant perfect for them. Sometimes they’d decide to find the fastest one or the one with the biggest hole. One time they found one with a bird's nest still inside. 

Those were the good times and Frankie, knowing now how harsh life can be, will never take them for granted.

On the second day of Christmas my true love gave to me: Two perfectly imperfect Christmas trees.

“Too big.”

“Too small.”

“I can literally count the branches on one hand.”

(Y/N), Frankie realizes as they look at what feels like the 12 millionth tree, is very particular when it comes to her Christmas trees. 

“Mom, can we just pick one? They’re all good!” Leo chimes up as his mother dismisses yet another tree for being too skinny.

“I just want it to be perfect. When I was a little girl my dad and I were always traveling and when we’d come to my grandparents for Christmas they’d have this big beautiful tree every year. I want my dad to have that again.”

There’s more there, he can tell. By the way, her voice shakes slightly and the determination and chaos raging in her eyes. Frankie has yet to find out what exactly happened to her dad, what kind of accident he got in. But it’s not really a conversation starter now, is it?

Leo’s eyes meet Frankie's, a clear message traveling between them. A silent understanding. 

“Look (Y/N) how about we let you roam this place in peace until you’ve found the perfect tree and Leo and I go see if we can find one for my parents? “

Leo nods his head in enthusiastic approval. A smile playing on his lips that is so strikingly similar to the one Frankie has seen so many times on the boy's mother.

“You sure?”

“Yeah, two of us are gonna find a perfectly imperfect tree for my folks and you go find the tree of your dreams. Just call if you need us, okay?”

She takes a breath, lets out a sigh. “Okay sounds good. Leo?”

“Sounds good to me too, mom.”

“Okay. Well, you boys have fun then.”

As she rounds the corner in search of the tree straight from a Christmas fairytale, Frankie turns to Leo who regards him with a guarded kindness.

“Thank you. “

“ For what? “ Frankie asks and raises his eyebrow in confusion.

“ For not making fun of my mommy. She’s so worried about grandpa, sometimes she goes a bit crazy.” 

“ Nah she’s not crazy. She just wants to make everyone happy. Why would I make fun of her? Did someone make fun of her? “ 

It sends a flash of anger through him, the idea that someone might ridicule her for caring too much. If anything it’s what makes her so endearing. The world could do with more people like her. People who care. Deeply. 

“ She talked to my daddy on the phone yesterday. I think he made fun of her. She cried. “ 

“ That’s — that’s not nice.” 

Leo shrugs his shoulders in a way that seems casual but weary. As if he’s so used to it. Geez, the kid is 7. This isn’t something he should be used to.

“ Dad is not a nice person. Mama always says he’s busy and that he wants to see me but I don’t think that’s right. I think mama just doesn’t want me to be sad. I think daddy doesn’t really want to see me. Don’t think he loves me. But that’s okay mama loves me so much that’s enough. “

Leo’s words sent small cracks to Frankie’s heart and it’s quite hard not to let it crumble entirely. He’s never known what it feels like to be unloved by those that are meant to love you most. His parents adored him, still do. Even when he doesn’t deserve it. He can’t even begin to understand how much that must hurt. How devastating it must be, especially to a 7-year-old. 

And yet Leo looks so — at peace. Like it bothers him sure, but it’s no big deal really.

Because he is loved either way. By (Y/N).

“ You’re a cool kid, you know that? “ Frankie asks and pats the young boy’s back in a friendly manner.

“ Mom says so. “ 

“ Well, she’s completely right. You really are. Now, you wanna help me find a tree? “ 

Leo nods enthusiastically.

“ Okay cool, but I’ll have to tell you how it works. “ 

“ We don’t just look for one we like?”

“ Oh no, you see the Morales family has a very specific tradition. Each year my dad and I go looking for a special tree. “ 

“ A special one? “ 

“ Mmmh. We always think of something special and then try to find a tree that fits that special thing. One time we tried to find the tallest tree on the lot or the widest or the skinniest. “

“ So what are we looking for this year? “

“ How abouuut … we look for one that has two tops? “ 

A giggle falls from Leo’s lips. “ That’s silly, that’s not a thing. “ 

“ Sure it is. You wanna go look for it? “ 

“ Yeah.”

There are big trees and small ones. Ones in shades of greens and some that look almost blue. There are fat ones with lots of branches and skinny ones that look like they’ve seen better days. None of them have two peaks though — until … 

“ Frankie, look !” 

His small, glove-covered hand is outstretched, pointing towards a tree before him. It’s a big tree, wide too. It’s blueish green color shines through the white haze of the winter's day. 

And true to Leo’s words, the stem of the tree goes halfway up before it diverges into two different branches. Two tops.

“ That one’s perfect! “

“ He’s special! “ 

“ He is special. Good job, kid. “ 

The two share a high 5 as a laugh sounds from behind them.

“ I see you boys are getting along well. “ (Y/N) says as she approaches the two of them, placing a kiss on her son’s head as she reaches him.

“ We found a special tree, mom.”

“ Did you? Well so did I, it’s perfect. “ 

Her eyes wander towards Frankie’s and for a second it’s only the two of them there, veiled in shared understanding, a silent thank you. 

“ I’m glad you found your tree, (Y/N). “ 

“ I’m glad you two had fun. Now hooow about we get those trees home and set up? “ 

“ Can we have hot cocoa at home, momma? “ 

“ Duh. Of course. You can’t decorate a Christmas tree without a good hot cup of cocoa.” 

The softness in her voice, the pure adoration she holds for this boy, it makes Frankie think back to Leo’s words about his father and about (Y/N). About how she loves him enough for the both of them. And he can see it, clear as day. Her love for Leo. 

Those two, he thinks, don’t need anyone. Especially not someone who doesn’t treat them with the love and respect they deserve. Those two are their own warmth, their own little universe. And it’s enough. It’s plenty. Everyone who’s allowed to be a part of their little world should be grateful because it’s a good world. It’s gentle and kind. 

“ Alright you two, let’s get those trees home. “ Frankie pipes up and for a moment he is part of their little universe too. And it’s wonderful. He doesn’t wanna let go of this feeling. How anyone ever could is entirely beyond him.

On the third day of Christmas my true love gave to me: Three mugs of cocoa.

Bobby Helms’ voice echoes through the room accompanied by the soothing crack of a vinyl record. It’s an old one, one (Y/N) has found in a box of her grandparent’s stuff. Jingle Bell rock fills the air with a sense of excitement and wonder only a good old Christmas song can bring.

There are 3 cups of cocoa on the table, one of them in a Star Wars mug. It all feels warm and cozy. Homey. And for the first time since he’s back, Frankie doesn’t feel out of place. He doesn’t feel like a stranger watching through the window into someone else's life. Someone familiar. Someone he once knew. Someone he once was.

Right now he feels like he’s right where he’s meant to be. With friends who chose him. A family that lets him into their lives and willingly shares a piece of their kindness and warmth and magic with him. Not because they are bound to him by blood, by shared trauma. Just because they like him, as he is.

(Y/N) and Frankie sit on the old leather couch that’s been there in this same living room for so many years. One that has seen different versions of (Y/N). Some of him too.

In the corner of the room, across from the big window leading out into a snowy dreamland, stands a perfect Christmas tree. (Y/N)’s perfect tree. It’s decked out in lights and ornaments and tinsel. Leo hops around the tree, adding yet more ornaments here and more tinsel there, a big smile on his face the entire time.

And as she watches her son relish in the pure unfiltered joy only a child really knows, (Y/N) smiles too. Because sometimes this is what it means to be happy, seeing your loved ones smiling. 

“ Thank you, Frankie. “ she says, eyes still locked on her son. 

“ For what? “ 

It’s the second time that day that he is being thanked and for what? For being there? Really he hasn’t done much. This is what friends do, isn’t it? What they should do. Help each other out. Be there for one another. 

“ For playing along with my crazy antics. I know it’s just a tree but I just want this Christmas to be — to be good. For me and for Leo and for my dad. We haven’t had the best year and I just want to make this perfect for us. Or as perfect as possible. Thanks for not letting me see how annoying I was back at the tree sale. “

Frankie shakes his head dismissively. “ You weren’t being annoying. I get it, don’t worry. Leo, he uh — he said something similar to me earlier. Said his dad made fun of you? Made you cry. “ 

(Y/N) lets out a scoff, curls her lips in an unamused smirk. “ Derek’s a — “ her eyes trail towards her son who pays the two adults no mind “ — he’s such a dick. Always has been. But he was suave and he had a motorcycle and I just kind of fell for his bad-boy charms. He’s unreliable though and a goddamn child. When I told him about Leo he bailed on us. Sometimes he tries to be a dad, whenever he gets one of his moods and feels like he needs to turn his life around. Those don’t last very long though. He sends birthday gifts and Christmas presents and he calls every once in a while but — well his interest in Leo isn’t all that big. “ 

“ What an asshole. Why’d he make you cry? “ 

“ Ugh, it wasn’t really any particular thing, just an amalgamation of so many. He was making me feel stupid because of the tree thing. He was being dismissive of my feelings. He didn’t want to talk to Leo. It was just his entire mood that day that once again made me realize why I ended things with him in the first place. And it isn’t fair. It really isn’t. That I have to work twice as hard to be a good parent because I have to fill both roles and he gets off scot-free. Not even a guilty conscience. How am I ever gonna be able to play both roles and play them well? How can I do that? I feel like I am failing already. “ 

“ Are you kidding me? “ Frankie says and softly nudges her shoulder with his “ You’re a great mother. You’re fun, you’re loving. What else could Leo want? (Y/N) you are doing an incredible job, trust me. Little mistakes you make that might seem big to you, they really don’t matter to Leo. Not now and especially not in the long run. He’s gonna remember the good times. The snowball fights and the hot cocoa and the tree decorating. Those are the little moments that will become memories. “ 

“ You think so ? “ 

“ I know so. It’s what I remember about my childhood. And it’s uh — it’s what Leo told me. He said that his dad might not be around but that it doesn’t matter because you love him twice as much. Said that’s plenty enough. The boy loves you. You’re a wonderful mom. “

He forbids his mind from going to that dark corner where he’s banished all his own fears. Those that whisper to him in quiet moments. About how his shortcomings, his mistakes, his faults, how all of that will stain his relationship with Rosie. His ability to be a good father. 

Lord knows he wishes his daughter was here now. Maybe not in this exact moment, a toddler really ain’t much help when setting up a tree. But here. In his arms. With him. During Christmas time. He fears that she never will be. That the times he gets to see her will become few and far between. That he will one day only be a distant memory to her because he ain’t ever given the chance to make any good ones with her.

His heart aches from how much he misses his little girl at that moment. But he has to remind himself not to wallow in it. Because once he goes there, lets himself fall into this big black hole of grief and of missing and of fear, there’s no coming back.

So he looks back at the people around him, at their soft smiles and the Christmas lights reflected in their eyes. Shining with happiness. Shining with joy.

And as the snow falls softly outside, he tries to focus on the warmth in this room. The warmth from the fire and from the hearts so soft and so filled with love. 

Because he’d rather get lost in a beautiful dream than the sad reality of his fears. 

[solitvdcs]

* kathryn newton, cis female + she/her | you know zoey simon-archer, right? they’re twenty-three, and they’ve lived in irving for, like, eight years? well, their spotify wrapped says they listened to a little wicked by valerie broussard like, a million times this year, which makes sense ‘cause they’ve got that whole black clothes and black coffee, dark under eye circles barely covered with concealer, might put a hex on you thing going on. i just checked and their birthday is august 10, so they’re a leo, which is unsurprising, all things considered.

TRIGGER WARNING: CHILD ABANDONMENT

basic info

full name: zoey tallulah simon-archer

birth date: august 10, 1997

pronouns: she/her

hometown: boston, massachusetts

sexuality: bisexual

height: 5’1”

eye color: blue

hair color: blonde

build: slim

tattoos: one of her younger siblings doodled on her arm and she said ok i see u and made it permanent

piercings: basically every piercing you can get on your ears split between both (no piercing is in the same spot except maybe the earlobes, she thrives on the chaos), septum

style: if it’s black and shapeless then yes

favorite color: black

favorite food: whatever she can find in the house while scavenging at 3am

zodiac: leo sun, scorpio moon, capricorn rising

mbti: istp

hogwarts house: ravenclaw

enneagram: type 4 wing 5

temperament: choleric/sanguine

alignment: chaotic neutral

bio bullet points

CHILD ABANDONEMENT TW it’s unclear how zoey came into this world, but what we do know is that she was dropped off on the doorstep of a fire station before her birth mom disappeared into the night. no note, no keepsakes, just two week old zoey wrapped in a nondescript blanket that was probably the one the hospital wrapped her in. the rest of her childhood was a blur of failed adoptions and shitty foster homes across the country (east coast especially), leaving her with no ability to fully connect with anyone and, okay, maybe a mild anger problem. rage blackouts weren’t uncommon, but in one foster home they had an old nintendo 64 and she learned to channel her anger through video games instead END TW

along came the archers, a lesbian couple that already had twelve other children. zoey was fifteen already and had fully expected to age out of the system and end up another statistic. for a good year after the adoption was finalized, zoey still didn’t trust that they wouldn’t send her back, so she acted out. she wanted to give them an excuse and get it over with, but her tactics went unnoticed in a cheaper by the dozen-esque household. her new moms couldn’t give her the attention she craved with so many bodies, but her older siblings stepped up and tried to make her comfortable. it sort of worked, but being smack dab in the middle of so many kids meant she faded into the background more often than not

at school, she thrived without trying, a natural aptitude for math and science and mechanics landing her a place on the robotics team, but because her many siblings had already made names for themselves, the archer name was almost like a curse for her. she didn’t want to be known as another archer adoptee, so she went by the name she’d carried with her from birth: simon. zoey simon could be her own person, whoever the fuck that was

one day, the robotics coach brought in their old computer for anyone who wanted to tinker around with it, and wanting an excuse to stay out as long as possible, zoey jumped on the opportunity. over the course of the semester (with the coach’s guidance) she took apart and put it back together again, upgrading it with some donated parts from a local electronics store. the best part? coach let her keep the computer after she was done

obligatory at some point she cheated on frankie with both sutter and ziggy ✌️😗

anyway we’re onto college, where she got hella scholarships and grants for being a girlboss and ended up at university of michigan, studying mechanical engineering. money was still tight, though, so she spent her first year trying to balance studies and a part time job at the local superstore, but her mental health and grades started suffering to the point that she almost lost her scholarships for her second semester. Between semesters, over a night of video games with her roommate, she offhandedly suggested zoey start live streaming her playthroughs. it may not make all that much, but a few viewers and subs would be better than nothing

but oh boy did she do better than a few viewers and subs

using a digital rendering of a random avatar and a voice modulator, psychozomatic was born, and they blew up. popular streamers started inviting her to their servers, and she made enough to cover all of her extra costs and then some — she graduated summa cum laude because of streaming, but she couldn’t stop after graduation; she was doing something she loved and getting paid for it. that’s what people always hoped for in a job, right? so after graduation, she fabricated a job to her friends and family to explain the income, moved into her own apartment with a soundproofed second bedroom (that she kept under lock and key for whenever anyone came over) and kept up the facade. it’s been five years and nobody even knows she’s a girl — female streamers get so much shit, she’s not sure she ever wants to do a face reveal. she’s perfectly content for the time being having everyone think “zo” stands for “lorenzo” or “vincenzo” or whatever, and being a faceless streamer means she gets the weird blend of notoriety and anonymity that she craved her whole life

personality wise, zoey is a mash-up of deadpan humor and snark. she’s never been good at face-to-face communication, which is why streaming works so well for her. she’s never known how to flirt and has been known to tie someone’s shoelaces together in an attempt to get their attention, which has obviously not worked out for her. once showed a person she thought was cute the computer she built and well...they were impressed but nothing came out of it. she’s probably a lost cause, but she can just play a dating simulator if she’s that lonely

is big on first person shooter games — the main reason she keeps her identity hidden, because people get nasty in those lobbies. also absolutely loves horror games, currently doing a playthrough of resident evil village on her stream

wanted connections

fans of her stream !!! obviously they wouldn’t know it’s her but it’ll still give her a lil smile and maybe even a blush if she hears someone talking about “zo”

other gamers she’s played with ???

people she met in the foster system

someone who has a crush on her and she has no idea bc she can’t read people (and vice versa)

friends of her siblings that had no idea she was one of them (i’m mean to her bt i think it wld be funny)

i’ve been working on this intro for like a week this is all i got pls take it and run <3

[abybweisse]

I've seen a thread on ig about how Undertaker was probably never Claudia's lover, and I know you kinda ship them or at least are a believer of the UT=Cedric theory, I kinda am too and I tried not to be bias while reading that post but I feel like their points were rlly weak. Here are some points that tried to debunk UTxClaudia: 1. Cedric canonly has a birth and a death date which means he is human (lol).

2.Because UT was already a shinigami when he met Clau, we need to ask ourselves some questions: Why should a shinigami be able to have children? Since the shinigami duty is a punishment for those who commited suicide. Being able to live a nice life, have kids and interfere with human affairs and lives does not respect those facts.

3. Isn't it weird for him to fall in love with someone that was born 24 yrs after he came to the human world?

4. UT expressed strong feelings toward all the other mourning lockets and Vincent especially. Why would Claudia be more important than the rest of them?

Idk but when I read this I went ??? a bit cause I dont think it rlly debunks anything :/.. or maybe I cant see it that way cause I'm a fan of the theory/ship. However I wanted to see the side of a theorist/ an analytical pov, so what do u think?

Thanks for thinking of me! 😊

Only two things boggle my mind, here:

How that person thought their arguments debunked anything in the world, and

How you managed to send such a long ask in one message....

Anyway, I’ve received asks like this before, but it’s usually from people who think more like that thread on ig. You can try searching my blog with some of the tags on this post, like #cedric k. ros—, etc. But let me see if I can pull up something that gets to the heart of this ask....

....Um, it’s really spread out over way too many posts for me to grab that many links. Anyway, a search for “cedric k ros” brought up a ton of posts generally on this topic.

Also, my beliefs have changed somewhat over the years. I wonder how old that ig thread is, since we’ve learned a lot more canon information on Undertaker and the Phantomhive family since I first joined the discussion of Undertaker’s true identity. So, I’ll address each part of your ask here and now.

Cedric has a canon birthdate and death date, so he must be human. Well, it means he must have once been human, but it doesn’t mean he’s a mere human now. Besides, the years of his birth and death are rather conveniently covered up by a speech bubble. The rest of his last name, too. Go check out all my #cedric of rotherwood posts. Cedric might have lived and died centuries ago, might have become a reaper long ago, too.

Shinigami having kids breaks the rules. Reapers being able to have children could actually be part of their punishment... if my theory is correct that reapers are reborn as a form of karmic reincarnation. That would mean reapers are born to biologically female reapers, who definitely do exist; there just don’t appear to be as many of them, which fits suicide statistics. A reaper having children with a human goes against reaper rules, since they are not supposed to meddle in human affairs... just collect souls. Technically, they don’t even judge the souls, they just follow a protocol to verify it’s that person’s time to die. This doesn’t mean it’s impossible; it just does, in fact, mean Undertaker is breaking reaper rules. But he’s obviously doing that anyway. Why not break all of them? 🤨 Edit: There’s a good reason for him to want to have children with human females (not even necessarily just one), for the very reason that it skirts around this punishment of making more reapers with reaper females. Reapers like Undertaker, who might be mating with humans, can cause the reaper organization to become even more understaffed over time. That’s something else I have mentioned before in my theory about them being reborn. There could even be a backlog of souls from suicide victims that are waiting around for new reaper bodies to be placed into. And the way Ronald flirts with females both in the reaper realm and the human realm suggests that Undertaker isn’t the only one who might be spreading around his reaper genes... changing the very nature of humanity over the generations.

It’s weird that Undertaker would fall in love with a human within however many years of deserting his post. Not weird at all, plus we don’t know whether love is the only thing that might have brought them together. Also, 24 years is merely a guess... and not a very good one. 136649 tried to destroy reaper HQ ~70years before 1889, so around 1819. The year these three things historically happened: 1. Queen Victoria was born, 2. Prince Albert was born, and 3. (Sir) Walter Scott introduced the world to Cedric of Rotherwood in Ivanhoe. He even invented that name, Cedric. Undertaker says he hadn’t been called a reaper in about 50years. That suggests two things: 1. He not only failed to destroy the HQ, but he also might have been captured, punished, and returned to his work as a reaper until he finally deserted about 20years later, and 2. If he didn’t actually manage to escape until around 1839 or thereabouts, then Cloudia/Claudia was just a kid at the time. Undertaker might have become involved in the Phantomhive family’s “work” before she became watchdog; he might have been an informant to her father, for example.

Why should he care more about Cloudia/Claudia than the other people on the lockets or Vincent? If he loved her, and if she bore his children, then it would explain this quite easily. Who wouldn’t cry over the death of their child? These other six people represented by the other lockets must also have been particularly dear to him, for various possible reasons. But he seems to focus the most on her locket. It’s also placed directly in the center of the chain; they are not in order of death dates. (In fact, their last initials create a pretty cool set of notes, with Phantomhive becoming an F or an F# [F sharp]. Please see #lockets’ melody and #leitmotif posts that date as far back as 2016). And more recently, her locket (and her locket alone) has become a symbol of Undertaker in series merchandise. Them having been lovers would explain it pretty well, I should think! And, if I’m right that “136649” means he became the 49th registered reaper of 1366, then Cloudia/Claudia died (was killed) not just on a Friday the 13th... but also 500 years after Undertaker was registered as a reaper.

Thanks for this ask, and please check out the tags below for more information.

[lycanhood]

Thoughts on Motherland: Fort Salem (So Far)

Hey so I know I may be a little behind on this one, but I’ve finally binge-watched Motherland: Fort Salem and I’ve had alot swirling around in my head about it for the last few days. This is a little bit of a review and a little bit of rant, but there will be SPOILERS ahead which I’ll try to mark accordingly. 

I think the concept for this show is so fucking cool. Really and truly, alternate history in which the witches of Salem made a deal with the Massachusetts Bay Colony to form a military and fight the New World’s wars in exchange for mercy from extermination essentially. So they form a Witch Army. And Army of Witches!! That’s fucking cool. It is. Sadly, I think the concept may be entirely too cool for Freeform. 

By that I mean to say that this super cool and entirely edgy idea is just too heady for Freeform to do properly. This idea belongs on HBO or Netflix, because those networks thrive on subject matter like Motherland: Fort Salem. (Sidenote: wtf is it called that? Just name the show ‘Fort Salem’. That kinda tells us everything we need to know about the premise right there in two word. Adding ‘Motherland’ in there just makes it too long and oddly Russian.)

There are just alot of little things about this show that kept it from realizing what I felt could have been some pretty amazing potential. I’ll try to organize those little things as best I can. But the one big problem I had while watching this was that the best thing about this show is it’s alternate history premise isn’t given enough attention.

What I mean is...I’m interested in the show, because I’m interested in what the world (what America) might have looked like if we had a military operated by supernaturally powered women for the past 300+ years. And Fort Salem just doggedly refuses to actually show me that world. The show doesn’t like to explain itself or really explore what it means to be a woman (witch or otherwise) in this alternative America. Most of the show takes place on Fort Salem, a military headquarters of sorts that is mostly strife with political games, attack strategies, training drills, and odd rituals. I have so many questions about this world: Are non-witch women treated differently due to the fact that their country is run and protected by women? There’s a female president in this timeline, so that’s certainly a possibility. If there are male witches as well, why don’t they fight in the same army as the female witches? And since they don’t fight in the main army, what is their mysterious role in this world? We see them making weapons and babies, that’s about it. In 1x5 “Bellweather Season”, the unit goes to a wedding which celebrates a 5 year contract of marriage between the couple. What’s up with that? Why only 5 years? Are they expected to have a child during this time period? if they do have a child are they expected to stay together longer than the 5 years? How many times are the male witches expected to get married? How many children are expected or allowed? Because this show is full of only-children which is statistically different from our own reality. How long are wicthes expected to serve in the military? They’re entire lives? We don’t see any female witches living as civilians at any age (other than Tally’s mother due to tragic circumstances). 

What is the source of the witches powers exactly? They’re abilities are sonic/auditory in nature, usually requiring the use of their vocal cords. Why? How? There are brief moments where it seems like sound is less necessary like when Raelle heals, or when the witches use Linking to connect to one another. There is also the use of herbs/drugs to fly, that doesn’t seem to require sound at all. 

We’re told the female witches get some kind of power-up or energy boost from having sex (or perhaps just feeding off the sexually energy?) with the male witches. Hence, the Beltane orgy ceremony in episode 1x04. What’s up with that? Does this power-boast only come from sex with male witches or would sex with human men do just as well? Would human men have a less potent effect? And is the power-boost depended on heterosexuality? Because throughout Raelle & Scylla’s sexually relationship no such power-up is ever mentioned. 

See so many questions, that the show simply doesn’t feel the need to answer. I understand the desire to avoid bogging down a show with exposition. But their are ways to do exposition right and in interesting ways. Exposition is sometimes necessary, because the more the audience knows about this world, the more rich and detailed, and so close to real is is to them, the more likely they are to be invested in it. 

And make no mistake the world and my curiosity about it is what kept me watching. 

For much of this first season, the characters don’t have any room to become people. I don’t dislike these characters, but they have yet to really bloom into more than archetypes (Abigail: the legacy, the leader, the overachiever. Tally: the innocent, the hopeful, the lynchpin. And Raelle: the rebel, the cynic, the shitbird)

Alot of time in the early episodes were spent following the same formulate. Raelle runs off, ditching training to go wander around and finds Scylla. Abigail and Tally follow after her, because they need her to do well in training because they pass or fail as a unit. I can not even tell you how many times Raelle causally ditches training, gets caught, gets told how much trouble she’s in, and then doesn’t actually face any consequences at all. She has to do guard duty overnight once. And that was just for being late, not even all the times she leaves in the middle or doesn’t show up for training at all!

I just wish this show focused on different beats in the pulse of this story, and made more of an effort explore this world and these characters through the lens of 3 young women who have just been essentially drafted into the military. Instead of skipping all that training I wish I could have seen so much more of it! That would have been a fantastic way to explain this world’s magic system to the audience! It’s built-in easy action-paced exposition right there! That the show just has no interest in. 

And at last, I’ll talk about the show’s main romantic pair, Raelle x Scylla. Sigh. I’m not hardcore against this pairing. I’m really not. But I am frustrated with the way the writers chose to unfold their relationship. We find out early on that Scylla is an agent of the Spree (big bad witchy terrorists), and I hate that. Because then they try to make me ship Raelle x Scylla even though I already know that shit is going to end in pain and betrayal. I cam’t ship something that I already know is built on lies, dude. I just can’t. That could have been a big awesome emotionally reveal in the later half of the season, instead of the dreadful thing I was anticipating from basically the very beginning. I’m as big a fan of enemies-to-lovers as anyone, but not like this. It’s more fun when both parties know they’re enemies, you know what I mean?

Anyway, I know it’s easy to point at the writers/devlopers and say “Man, I would have done this so differently...” but in Fort Salem’s case it’s my biggest take away.

Even from the very first opening scene, where the Spree (Scylla herself) commits a frightening and ruthless act of terrorism at the mall. Okay, big bad introduction for the Spree there. But how about introducing the audience to the world of this alternate history first? Use that awesome premise. Do a cold open, Salem, Mass 1692 Sarah Adler is about to be hanged as a witch until she opens her mouth and changes the world forever. Show me that. Set the stage of history. The villains could have come later. They always do.

All in all, I don’t hate this show ( I know this may have turned out more rant than review, but...) I was just really disappointed by the execution of a premise I felt had great potential. But, it’s not necesarily too late. Season two can still course correct and pull us into this world outside the fort’s walls, and manage to bring the characters into their own as they find their way back to one another. I’ll keep watching, because if this show did anything for me, it made me curious. 

[babbushka]

hi this might be weird to ask but i don't have anyone to ask that i'm comfortable with. i'm having a crisis but feel free to ignore it, i don't want to be a burden. um i went to college for a year and a half, only because the people around wanted me to and i spend most of my life doing things that people told me to. after i had gotten a really bad grade and was told if i failed again, i'll be kicked out of the college. anyway with that i got worried and wasn't really liking my program. 1/2

i didn't really know what to do with myself and just accepted what was asked of me. i secretly took a semester off in january 2021 but i'm going back this semester which i'm dreading it. i didn't do anything relevant the time i took off of college. so i feel like even if i didn't go this semester, i probably won't do anything with myself either. i'm just so confused and lost and don't know what to do... you feel like someone you give great advices and idk sorry if this is a bother xx 2/2

Hello my dear anon, you're not a burden or a bother, please don't worry about that. I'm more than happy to give my thoughts on this, but I hope you know that at the end of the day, you have to do what you believe is best for you in this current situation.

I'm going to put this under a cut because it's long, but I hope that you (or anyone in a similar situation) find it helpful in any way. Sending you love!

Firstly, I want to just say that I personally don't believe that traditional american 4-year college is the right thing for everyone. I feel like society puts so many expectations on us to perform well academically, without giving us the time or the resources to really excel. That being said, I do believe that when you have the right resources, you can excel.

I'd like to give a very quick personal example, if I may: when my brother was much younger, he was designated gifted, so in third grade they put him in the gifted class. However in fourth grade, they put him in a non-gifted class, and he failed every single subject miserably, like literally got Fs in every subject (this was because he refused to do work he had already done the grade before). The school refused to allow him to do other work, and he spent most of his time sitting in a corner.

Once my moms found out about that, they took him out of that school, put him into a different school where they actually recognized he needed a different curriculum, and on his next report card he got A+s and now he's in a masters program for mathematics and statistical analysis.

The reason I bring this up, is because I think that in so many cases, we sometimes feel like just because we're in one situation, we're going to be stuck there forever. And this is 100% not the case. You have the power to change the course of your academic life, if you are so unhappy with the way it's going.

If your program is causing you stress, it might really help to see what other programs are offered at your school and if your already earned credits will transfer.

If the school itself isn't giving you the help or the structure you need, look into transferring somewhere else, whether that be a community college, a trade or vocational school, an online university, whatever is going to help you the most.

I know people who were engineers before switching to fine arts, I know people who were sculptors before switching to education, I know people who are just trying to power through and get an AA or a BA in liberal arts just so that all the time, money, and energy that have already been spent don't go to waste. It is never too late to change your course. And even if you do arrive at the conclusion that formal continued education is not right for you, there are so many other directions in life that you can take. You have time to discover them, I promise.

I personally have always loved academia, but I know first hand how much of a crisis this feeling of not knowing what to do can be. Ultimately (and this may seem counter-productive) I think you have to really listen to what you need. It could be as simple as changing your perspective by entering a new program, but it could also be realizing that traditional college isn't right for you.

At the end of the day, I know that it's very easy to want to give up, but I don't think that's fair to you. I think that you owe it to yourself to see what changes you can make so that the past year and a half haven't been for nothing. Talk to the people at your college, talk to your professors and advisors -- you're already paying for them to help you. I think that you'd be surprised to know that there are so many choices and opportunities, once you figure out where the real problem lies, and can work forward from there.

I hope that everything works out for you my dear anon, and again, I'm sending you all my love.

[proper-goodnight]

Detroit: New Beginnings

Summary: It has been one year since the androids claimed their rights to freedom after the revolution, and one year since Connor has decided to stay on the force at the DPD. The duo are currently working on a case involving androids going missing while Connor grapples with what he almost did to Markus at the peace rally and fearing Amanda’s inevitable return.

Pairing: N/A

Warnings: Violence, Strong Language

A New Start: Partners (01)

Detroit Police Dept.

August 30, 2039

12:30 P.M.

Tuesday

Chris abandoned his wife’s pastries on the counter in the break room.

Over the years, it had become an unspoken rule to not berate him for the fact that Hank could count the people that were brave enough to try his wife’s newest lifestyle kick for that week on one hand. 

For all of the employees on the force, that wasn’t a lot. He didn’t need any special probability and statistics program to figure that out. 

But, it wasn’t like Hank hadn’t tried. He had, but only once--and couldn’t keep a straight face or control his gag reflex enough to even think about trying it again. Their outward appearance had been what threw him for a loop initially; being made of enough random herbs and healthy shit couldn’t sway the uncanny resemblance between it and actual shit and no amount of Chris promising such couldn’t and would never convince him otherwise.

While Hank may have never cared about what he put in his body, he was still not ignorant enough to test whether or not his tolerance extended to something beyond alcohol or cigarettes. Some days, Connor’s habit of sticking evidence in his mouth suddenly didn’t sound so fucking revolting. 

God, if the kid heard him say that…

In that same area of the precinct, a loud continuous whirring of a coffee machine grinded endlessly. DPD staff shuffled around it eagerly awaiting its cycle to complete, and Gavin had ingested just enough caffeine to erupt into his usual cacophony of loud remarks and comments about fuck-all that morning. 

Of course the prick couldn’t grant them reprieve for even a few minutes. 

Hank supposed if he didn’t then the fucker was either late or… late. It wasn’t like he ever called off.

No, they couldn’t be that lucky.

“No fucking way!” And to complete the morning, here Hank was with a deafening insistence in his tone that left little room to argue over Connor’s suggestion for the umpteenth time that morning. “I have had enough birthdays! I am getting too damn old for this shit!”

In response, Connor looked contemplative, but even more so, unsatisfied with his decision.

Typical Tuesday.

Sitting hunched over his desk, Hank sifted through piles of papers for his tablet. It furthered his incessant personal reminding that he should probably take a few minutes and clear his desk of all of his personal clutter--all of the memorabilia piling up over the years was beginning to make finding anything nigh to impossible, another indication made clear when he bumped a couple of pens to the floor with his elbow. 

Cursing, he dismissed it to the abyss below his desk, staring at the screen with faux concentration. The contrast between their work stations was proving more apparent as the days went on, Connor’s completely clean of surface clutter and retaining a fresh sheen despite having claimed it a little over a year ago.

Besides the mess, the spinning yellow circle glaring at him just outside of his peripherals held his focus, having more recently recognized it as a sign of the android’s thinking--thought processing. Whatever. 

Connor’s brows were furrowed, eyes fixed on him as if deciding in some sort of situational software that he had of some other option that would help move their conversation into a more positive direction, something that would somehow change it in his favor. He wasn’t getting anywhere, and Hank wasn’t going to take any bait. 

The android’s lips parted to speak, but Hank was already turning away, grumbling incoherently under his breath. 

And nothing that he would reiterate unless Fowler was going to lecture him about playing nice with his co-workers. Again.

Perched on the only unoccupied corner of his desk, arms crossed over a broad chest, Connor worked a tick in his jaw. If androids had actually possessed the need to breathe--and their biocomponents that simulated breathing were actually functional for that sole purpose--the asshole may have just sighed. For the briefest of an instance, he caught his partner’s stoic expression, tight-lipped and silently asking for some sort of agreement between the pair.

It wasn’t offered.

“I have been researching human cultural practices and I thought that maybe--”

“Drop it. You want to celebrate, then do it for yourself why don’t ya? Celebrate your one year since deviating. That’s in a couple of months.”

Connor almost looked thoughtful, features folding over in confusion as he worked through some sort of response. Hank’s celebration into an even older age was many in the long list of arguments that the two seemed to have, but it was also one of the only topics that Connor seemed ever insistent to talk about that didn’t revolve around a case.

That made it unavoidable.

Goddammit. 

“I don’t think that qualifies as the same thing, Lieutenant.”

“Take my word for it. Let’s just go over the case.” To further his point, he swept his hand over the case files that had piled up on his desk the last couple of weeks. One large unorganized mess of manila folders and reports. “If Jeffrey dumps any more shit about it on my desk, I’m going to resign it.” It was a harmless jab in an effort to get Connor motivated, anything involving the words case or leads never failed to catch his attention.

Connor straightening from his rare hunched posture proved that fact rang true. 

Even after finally closing the deviancy case. 

The conversation, begrudgingly, wasn’t done though. It would be brought up again eventually. Unless the kid forgot or got distracted with something else.

Who the fuck was he kidding?

Connor never forgot. He didn’t possess the ability to forget. Maybe his stubborn nature could be argued with but in the last year or so being his partner, it was something that Hank faced with raw aggression and chose to avoid. 

“Could’ve originated from the peace rally.” Hank went on, rubbing at his chin with faux concentration at the various folders opened up in front of him. He didn’t think any of them were relevant to their current case anyway. “The dates between that and the first android incident are pretty damn close together. Then again, maybe it’s just a weird coincidence.” The words unfolded into a low mutter under his breath, slumping back against his chair. 

He spinned to the side to assess the clutter, a quick sweeping gaze over the mess and he retrieved the file that they needed and extended it to the android. 

Connor’s eyes had followed every movement, and Hank assumed he was judging his lack of organization. 

At least he kept his mouth shut if he was.

“Two guys were sent to the hospital last night.” Hank went on.

“According to the reports from Officer Miller, they were walking home from a Red Ice Anonymous meeting.” Connor confirmed.

Of course he’d kept up to date.

“They were jumped. He went to ask them some questions, bust aside from a brief statement, we ain’t getting much out of ‘em right now.” While he spoke, Connor flicked through it with practiced precision while simultaneously picking it apart. For what he already didn’t know, and Hank didn’t figure that was a lot. 

And while it would be denied for the rest of Hank’s life, he would never admit that he was even somewhat jealous of Connor. If humans possessed the ability to see anyone’s information by a quick scan or retaining an entire casework of information in a few seconds, the meeting and getting-to-know-you shit of social relationships would be made easier by miles. Then again, he didn’t need any superior programming to know that his time would be better spent at home with Sumo. 

“According to their file, Mr. Greene and Mr. Nicholson did in fact have a Red Ice history in the past.” 

“That bit checks out with what Chris managed to get from ‘em at least. Not the worst druggies I’ve had the pleasure of dealing with.” A smirk pulled at one edge of his lips. If they were the worst of the worst, his job would have been a lot easier and most cases would be an opened and closed one. 

“Possession and usage that earned them a few months jail time.” Connor confirmed, turning a suddenly quizzical gaze in his direction, dipping his chin. His brows pinched. “Wasn’t Detective Reed assigned all cases involving Red Ice?” The mention of their most eccentric detective was enough to pull a look of discomfort from the android. 

Maybe it was the ill memory of the beating that he’d been forced to give him in the evidence room last year. Either way, Hank swore that Connor had some kind of satisfaction from it. He didn’t think so. 

The bloody nose that he had given Perkins however? Fucking classic! 

“He is, but there was Thirium found at the scene. No fingerprints on the weapon that was likely used in the attack. We’re looking at another Carlos Ortiz case except we can push an android through a fair trial now.” 

Connor closed the case folder in his lap, his fingers plucking gingerly at the corner. That spinning yellow circle glared accusingly. “If the claims of their whereabouts are in fact correct, then I think that our best course of action is to question them ourselves. Maybe they can recall more when the shock period has passed. Distinct characteristics, how many androids there were in total, even.”

“Not to bust your balls kid, but we can’t scan a serial number like you can. Not to mention all of you androids have the same face. There’s no record of them ever owning an android, but…” Hank threw up his hands in surrender. “Maybe there’s a past history we don't know about. We’ll follow another lead over the next few days,” he decided. “See if they can’t give us anything else by the end of the week.”

With that, Hank breathed out a long-winded sigh and pinched the bridge of his nose, squeezing his eyes shut as though fighting off a headache. Connor was a headache enough, the case being the migraine. He waved his free hand over his desk. “Take your pick. God knows we’ve got plenty.” A pained laugh slipped past his lips, almost incredulous. Borderline sympathetic. 

For them.

Propping his elbow on the chair’s armrest, he leaned his head against a curled fist. His partner’s gaze was distant, even as Hank tried to meet it with a vague curiosity of his own. 

He waited.

“What are you thinking, Connor?” No response was offered, that same accusatory yellow glaring at Hank just out of the corner of his eye. 

Connor’s features folded, looking to an empty space at his right. Upon further inspection, Hank noted that nothing was there, looking between the two confirming the assumption that he was in some far off place elsewhere. An abrupt snap of his fingers in front of Connor’s nose brought him back. He raised his eyebrows, tilted his head. “Nothing. Nothing relative to our case.”

“Any other time you’re pulling leads out of your ass.” The remark was followed by an exaggerated sigh. His eyes rolled to the side. “This is the first time that you don’t wanna input your opinion? Finally hit a damn wall with enough dead leads, didn’t ya?”

A slight tug pulled at one edge of Connor’s mouth, working a tick underneath a rigid jawline. “Hilarious, Lieutenant.” He mumbled.

“It was a pretty damn good joke in my opinion." With a dismissive hand gesture--a quick slice of his hand through the air--he reached across his desk to retrieve one stack of case files. It didn't account for the other large piles but hell, it was a start. 

“That is a personal opinion.”

“What the fuck ever.” Running a shaky hand through his hair--something else that Connor blamed on Hank's poor diet--his gaze never left him, flicking over his rigid form with a blatant curiosity. "We should go talk to Markus. There’s a good chance that he would know somethin'?" 

And then Connor moved from his perch. Carefully--stiffly was a better way of putting it--around the edge of the desk. Long precise fingers fumbled for the coin in his pocket. It rolled across his knuckles, coming to a complete stop as it was flicked into the opposite palm. Hesitation made the movement rigid, not as fluent as it normally would be. A tick worked itself underneath a rigid jawline. Connor didn't look at him, and instead passed by to his own desk. 

"You haven't seen him since the peace rally," Hank prodded. "I think it's about time we paid him a visit, don't you?" 

"I don't know," He answered in what was almost a whisper, voice low. Unsure. "I've assessed the database's files and all of the reports involving our missing androids. I have only come to the conclusion that older models, or new deviants are being reported disappearing from Jericho. That and it's still limited to Detroit and only a few surrounding cities.” He shrugged. “So far." 

Connor shook his head in defeat. "My most recent solution was to send a scan parts to Cyberlife, but-"

"All of the missing reports we’ve managed to solve end with the android self destructing and destroying their systems," Hank finished for him. "That and its considered murder with your rights. Can't just go pulling apart an android and not expect to get your ass busted." 

"I do not know if an exception can be made for some kind of malfunction. I could probe its memory, but there is no evidence as to how that would affect my own systems." 

"Keeping you at a distance makes the shit harder." Hank agreed, and other than nodding in response, Connor offered no comment. "Until we can figure out if it can be spread, there isn’t much that you can do." 

"Why don't you take your chances and see what the hell happens?" An all too familiar and unapologetically arrogant voice drew closer to their desks. Gavin came to a full stop at their desks, arms folded over his chest with a smirk that never ceased to infuriate him. Both of them, he assumed.

He grimaced. 

Fucking asshole.

"Fuck off, Reed. Don't you have your own case?" Hank grumbled, an edge to his tone that Gavin brushed off a condescending smirk.

"Unlike you and the plastic prick, I've actually made headway." Gavin boasted, his interest in Hank diverted to Connor who watched passively. Most of the time he acted as if Gavin was gum under his shoe that he could scrape on the sidewalk and be done with. Like he couldn't be bothered even when he had a gun in his face and death threats on his name. Hank had been guilty of that look once.

Gavin was full of shit, but Hank wouldn't put anything past him. Even now.

"Hey plastic," Gavin halted in front of the android, squaring up his shoulders. The situation would have been alarming if the difference in height wasn't so obvious. Reed had to look up to address him and Connor responded by raising his eyebrows, tilting his head to the right. 

"Hello, Detective Reed."

"I thought that after the walking toasters were suddenly recognized as people you would leave. A detective android prototype hunting androids is still doing the exact same damn thing." He sneered. 

"I assessed that it would be appropriate to remain in the android crimes department to further offer my assistance to the DPD." His hands folded in front of him, meeting Gavin's eyes with that usual infuriatingly neutral expression. The little twitch in Connor's facial features gave him away however, signaling his annoyance at the detective's harsh jobs.

Gavin didn't see it, but Hank knew him well enough that it was impossible to miss. 

"Yet you're still wearing your Cyberlife threads. I'd almost think that you liked hunting 'em down. Does it give you a sick thrill, prick?" 

"Reed!" Hank interjected, rising stiffly from his desk chair. "That's enough."

"I believe that wearing my uniform shows more professionalism than a leather jacket and a relentlessly hostile attitude, Detective." Connor's brows raised and relaxed sequentially, a slight and subtle twitch pulling at one corner of his mouth. 

"The hell did you just say to me, tin can?" Gavin leaned forward, hand clenching at his side into a fist that he pulled back and took aim on the android. 

"I said that's enough!" Hank barked, shoving himself in between them. 

Gavin was shoved back a few steps.

Connor didn't budge. 

"Back off! Can't you ignore him for five fucking minutes?" 

"Fuck," An enraged gaze flicked between Hank and Connor. Gavin snarled in frustration, one hand slipping seamlessly into the pockets of his jacket, the other pointing an accusing finger in the android's direction like it hadn't been the detective that had approached them with the intention of starting shit. 

Hank scoffed. 

"I'll never so much as tolerate the plastic asshole. The day there are two of him is the day I put in my resignation." One last threatening glare was thrown their way, the threat released into a spat. Before either could comment, Gavin was storming off, cursing incoherently under his breath. 

Surprisingly it had gone better than most of the other times. Hank would have admitted that. 

Evidently, every altercation passed by Connor without a second thought. Hell, maybe not even a first. The evidence room incident remained the only time that the android actually retaliated on him. That being that he needed to in order to accomplish his mission. 

Still, he caught Connor's expression as Gavin was leaving. He watched him through distrusting slits, LED flashing yellow for a split second before correcting itself. His jaw was tense, something dark stirring within him, something troubled that Hank didn't quite recognize. It was only when Hank actually decided to speak that Connor finally looked at him, eyes softening into something more calm, relaxed. Normal. 

"Let's go ask Markus some questions. Any idea where he might be?" In a gesture of reassurance that didn't quite reach him, Hank placed a hand on his shoulder.

"Markus has been overseeing the conversion and stock of dormant androids at the remaining Cyberlife stores. We can pull up those that have yet to be listed as maintenance and distribution centers and start there." And as if nothing had changed, as if the threat from the DPD's most eccentric detective had already been forgotten--at least it would have been if he wasn't squirming underneath a clenched jaw--the task of talking to Markus seemed to unnerve him more. Talking to the deviant leader was a task that Connor was less inclined to do over listening to Reed berating him every chance he got. 

The observation was a question for later, and truthfully Hank didn't anticipate an answer. 

Connor stepped back to allow him through first, Hank's hand slipping from his shoulder to dangle uselessly at his side instead. Expression falling flat, he waved him through. "After you, Lieutenant."

[zo2paintedlady]

LGBTQ+ Novels/Memoirs

Here is the book list from my LIS 618 class. The links will bring you to their Goodreads pages.

The 57 Bus by Dashka Slater (2017) *based on a true story* "One teenager in a skirt. One teenager with a lighter. One moment that changes both of their lives forever. If it weren't for the 57 bus, Sasha and Richard never would have met. Both were high school students from Oakland, California, one of the most diverse cities in the country, but they inhabited different worlds. Sasha, a white teen, lived in the middle-class foothills and attended a small private school. Richard, a black teen, lived in the crime-plagued flatlands and attended a large public one. Each day, their paths overlapped for a mere eight minutes. But one afternoon on the bus ride home from school, a single reckless act left Sasha severely burned, and Richard charged with two hate crimes and facing life imprisonment. The case garnered international attention, thrusting both teenagers into the spotlight."

Aristotle and Dante Discover the Secrets of the Universe by Benjamin Saenz (2012) "Aristotle is an angry teen with a brother in prison. Dante is a know-it-all who has an unusual way of looking at the world. When the two meet at the swimming pool, they seem to have nothing in common. But as the loners start spending time together, they discover that they share a special friendship--the kind that changes lives and lasts a lifetime. And it is through this friendship that Ari and Dante will learn the most important truths about themselves and the kind of people they want to be."

The Art of Being Normal by Lisa Williamson (2016) "Two boys. Two secrets. David Piper has always been an outsider. His parents think he’s gay. The school bully thinks he’s a freak. Only his two best friends know the real truth – David wants to be a girl. On the first day at his new school Leo Denton has one goal – to be invisible. Attracting the attention of the most beautiful girl in year eleven is definitely not part of that plan. When Leo stands up for David in a fight, an unlikely friendship forms. But things are about to get messy. Because at Eden Park School secrets have a funny habit of not staying secret for long…"

Felix Ever After by Kacen Callender (2020) "Felix Love has never been in love—and, yes, he’s painfully aware of the irony. He desperately wants to know what it’s like and why it seems so easy for everyone but him to find someone. What’s worse is that, even though he is proud of his identity, Felix also secretly fears that he’s one marginalization too many—Black, queer, and transgender—to ever get his own happily-ever-after. When an anonymous student begins sending him transphobic messages—after publicly posting Felix’s deadname alongside images of him before he transitioned—Felix comes up with a plan for revenge. What he didn’t count on: his catfish scenario landing him in a quasi–love triangle...."

Gender Queer by Maia Kobabe (2019) "In 2014, Maia Kobabe, who uses e/em/eir pronouns, thought that a comic of reading statistics would be the last autobiographical comic e would ever write. At the time, it was the only thing e felt comfortable with strangers knowing about em. Now, Gender Queer is here. Maia's intensely cathartic autobiography charts eir journey of self-identity, which includes the mortification and confusion of adolescent crushes, grappling with how to come out to family and society, bonding with friends over erotic gay fanfiction, and facing the trauma of pap smears. Started as a way to explain to eir family what it means to be nonbinary and asexual, Gender Queer is more than a personal story: it is a useful and touching guide on gender identity--what it means and how to think about it--for advocates, friends, and humans everywhere."

I Wish You All the Best by Mason Deaver (2019) "When Ben De Backer comes out to their parents as nonbinary, they're thrown out of their house and forced to move in with their estranged older sister, Hannah, and her husband, Thomas, whom Ben has never even met. Struggling with an anxiety disorder compounded by their parents' rejection, they come out only to Hannah, Thomas, and their therapist and try to keep a low profile in a new school. But Ben's attempts to survive the last half of senior year unnoticed are thwarted when Nathan Allan, a funny and charismatic student, decides to take Ben under his wing. As Ben and Nathan's friendship grows, their feelings for each other begin to change, and what started as a disastrous turn of events looks like it might just be a chance to start a happier new life."

Little & Lion by Brandy Colbert (2017) "When Suzette comes home to Los Angeles from her boarding school in New England, she isn't sure if she'll ever want to go back. L.A. is where her friends and family are (along with her crush, Emil). And her stepbrother, Lionel, who has been diagnosed with bipolar disorder, needs her emotional support. But as she settles into her old life, Suzette finds herself falling for someone new...the same girl her brother is in love with. When Lionel's disorder spirals out of control, Suzette is forced to confront her past mistakes and find a way to help her brother before he hurts himself--or worse."

The Music of What Happens by Bill Konigsberg (2019) "IMax: Chill. Sports. Video games. Gay and not a big deal, not to him, not to his mom, not to his buddies. And a secret: An encounter with an older kid that makes it hard to breathe, one that he doesn't want to think about, ever. Jordan: The opposite of chill. Poetry. His "wives" and the Chandler Mall. Never been kissed and searching for Mr. Right, who probably won't like him anyway. And a secret: A spiraling out of control mother, and the knowledge that he's the only one who can keep the family from falling apart. Throw in a rickety, 1980s-era food truck called Coq Au Vinny. Add in prickly pears, cloud eggs, and a murky idea of what's considered locally sourced and organic. Place it all in Mesa, Arizona, in June, where the temp regularly hits 114. And top it off with a touch of undeniable chemistry between utter opposites."

Odd One Out by Nic Stone (2018) "Courtney "Coop" Cooper Dumped. Again. And normally I wouldn't mind. But right now, my best friend and source of solace, Jupiter Sanchez, is ignoring me to text some girl.  Rae Evelyn Chin I assumed "new girl" would be synonymous with "pariah," but Jupiter and Courtney make me feel like I'm right where I belong. I also want to kiss him. And her. Which is . . . perplexing.  Jupiter Charity-Sanchez The only thing worse than losing the girl you love to a boy is losing her to your boy. That means losing him, too. I have to make a move. . . . One story. Three sides. No easy answers."

Ramona Blue by Julie Murphy (2017) "'Ramona was only five years old when Hurricane Katrina changed her life forever. Since then, it’s been Ramona and her family against the world. Standing over six feet tall with unmistakable blue hair, Ramona is sure of three things: she likes girls, she’s fiercely devoted to her family, and she knows she’s destined for something bigger than the trailer she calls home in Eulogy, Mississippi. But juggling multiple jobs, her flaky mom, and her well-meaning but ineffectual dad forces her to be the adult of the family. Now, with her sister, Hattie, pregnant, responsibility weighs more heavily than ever."

Rethinking Normal by Katie Rain Hill (2014) "Have you ever worried that you'd never be able to live up to your parents' expectations? Have you ever imagined that life would be better if you were just invisible? Have you ever thought you would do anything--anything--to make the teasing stop? Katie Hill had and it nearly tore her apart. Katie never felt comfortable in her own skin. She realized very young that a serious mistake had been made; she was a girl who had been born in the body of a boy. Suffocating under her peers' bullying and the mounting pressure to be "normal," Katie tried to take her life at the age of eight years old. After several other failed attempts, she finally understood that "Katie"--the girl trapped within her--was determined to live."

They Both Die at the End by Adam Silvera (2017) "On September 5, a little after midnight, Death-Cast calls Mateo Torrez and Rufus Emeterio to give them some bad news: They’re going to die today. Mateo and Rufus are total strangers, but, for different reasons, they’re both looking to make a new friend on their End Day. The good news: There’s an app for that. It’s called the Last Friend, and through it, Rufus and Mateo are about to meet up for one last great adventure—to live a lifetime in a single day."

Two Boys Kissing by David Levithan (2013) "New York Times bestselling author David Levithan tells the based-on-true-events story of Harry and Craig, two 17-year-olds who are about to take part in a 32-hour marathon of kissing to set a new Guinness World Record—all of which is narrated by a Greek Chorus of the generation of gay men lost to AIDS. While the two increasingly dehydrated and sleep-deprived boys are locking lips, they become a focal point in the lives of other teen boys dealing with languishing long-term relationships, coming out, navigating gender identity, and falling deeper into the digital rabbit hole of gay hookup sites—all while the kissing former couple tries to figure out their own feelings for each other."

We are the Ants by Shaun David Hutchinson (2016) "Henry Denton has spent years being periodically abducted by aliens. Then the aliens give him an ultimatum: The world will end in 144 days, and all Henry has to do to stop it is push a big red button. Only he isn’t sure he wants to. After all, life hasn’t been great for Henry. His mom is a struggling waitress held together by a thin layer of cigarette smoke. His brother is a jobless dropout who just knocked someone up. His grandmother is slowly losing herself to Alzheimer’s. And Henry is still dealing with the grief of his boyfriend’s suicide last year. Wiping the slate clean sounds like a pretty good choice to him. But Henry is a scientist first, and facing the question thoroughly and logically, he begins to look for pros and cons: in the bully who is his perpetual one-night stand, in the best friend who betrayed him, in the brilliant and mysterious boy who walked into the wrong class. Weighing the pain and the joy that surrounds him, Henry is left with the ultimate choice: push the button and save the planet and everyone on it…or let the world—and his pain—be destroyed forever."

You Should See Me in a Crown by Leah Johnson (2020) "Liz Lighty has always believed she's too black, too poor, too awkward to shine in her small, rich, prom-obsessed midwestern town. But it's okay -- Liz has a plan that will get her out of Campbell, Indiana, forever: attend the uber-elite Pennington College, play in their world-famous orchestra, and become a doctor. But when the financial aid she was counting on unexpectedly falls through, Liz's plans come crashing down . . . until she's reminded of her school's scholarship for prom king and queen. There's nothing Liz wants to do less than endure a gauntlet of social media trolls, catty competitors, and humiliating public events, but despite her devastating fear of the spotlight she's willing to do whatever it takes to get to Pennington. The only thing that makes it halfway bearable is the new girl in school, Mack. She's smart, funny, and just as much of an outsider as Liz. But Mack is also in the running for queen. Will falling for the competition keep Liz from her dreams . . . or make them come true?"

[jed-thomas]

Debt and Unreality at a British University

Most of the time, when journalists or researchers ask students in Britain about their “concerns” and their “experience”, they’re not looking for answers like: ‘I don’t feel real.’ Because, well, what do you do with that?

A friend of mine sat on a stiff leather couch in the hallway, tiredly scrolling. She’d just clocked out. For nine grand, we were getting about 7 hours of teaching a week. The rest of the time, of course, was supposed to be devoted to reading all the material we’d be discussing in seminars or attending lectures on. But she was working part-time at a Pizza Express. The maintenance loans only stretch so far, especially with rent around here. And you have to catch a bus to get to campus. Lots of us, our parents helped out. But if the ‘rents can’t or won’t pay, you’re a little stuffed.

In 2019, it was reported that over half of young people are now attending university. These figures represent the fulfilment of a target set by Tony Blair at a Labour Party conference in 1999, during his first term as Prime Minister. In July of the year before, Blair’s parliament passed the Teaching and Higher Education Act, introducing tuition fees for universities across the UK. In 1990, around 25% of young people stayed in some form of full-time education beyond the age of 18. Today, most young Britons will have experienced the presumption that they’re a university student and frequently, the expectation.

Yesterday, the University of Warwick’s official Twitter account shared a link to a blog post on how to ‘relieve intense stress in 60-seconds.’ The post was written by a current student.

In 1962, towards the end of Harold Macmillan’s Conservative premiership, “ordinarily resident” students were exempted from tuition fees and made eligible for a means-tested maintenance grant. Shortly after the Teaching and Higher Education Act of 1998, maintenance grants were replaced with loans. In 2004, the cap on tuition fees rose to £3,000 and by 2010, it had risen to its current rate of around £9,000. There were protests over that last increase, of course. The protests were in 2010 and I went to university in 2017. I now owe the British government around £27,000 for tuition and around £10,000 for maintenance. If you’re going this year, you’ll end up owing roughly the same - more, if your family earns less than mine.

You hear things. “Oh, they’re antidepressants.” A friend with a weird flatmate who never leaves their room. Oddly intense desperation eking out of drunk students from some corner of a smoking-area. Vaguely recognisable names and their time of death. “Honestly, just couldn’t be bothered to get up.” An acquaintance from your course drops out and moves back home. Barely concealed frustration in your professor’s tone, hushed rants in faculty corridors. And you notice other things. Admissions of 'suicidal ideation' and life-crises on a FaceBook page which is supposed to be about students sending anonymous messages of romantic interest. Sarcastic tweets about ‘mental health dogs’ and ‘mindfulness seminars’ have become cliché. A routinely empty chair in your seminar room. Strained eyes staring into the middle-ground, silence attending the teacher’s question. Dysfunction as normality. Your diagnosis in your bio next to where you go to uni.

In 2014, it was reported that one in seven full-time students also work full-time. The same report put the proportion of full-time students working part-time at a third. A number of reasons were given as to why they were doing this. I wonder, when they look at their bank accounts, or their accommodation, or their text on sociology, on Latin American history, on virology, existentialism, do they feel they have a handle on things? "I’m a full-time barista, full-time student." "Hello, I’m an impossibility."

For students, the British university is an experiment in unreality. Am I a customer or a pupil? Am I demanding a service from a business or being educated by my elders for my own good? Will it be my fault for selecting a ‘non-applicable’ degree or their fault for selling it to me? Everything is optional, even when it isn’t. You spend all week pouring over the text but feel embarrassed to correct or question the people who clearly didn’t because the professor doesn’t: “Don’t worry if you haven’t done the reading.” Next time, you just put in a sentence or two to fill one of the many silences, improvising off of what others have said, pretending you read whatever it was. Then, of course, coursework is set assessing your knowledge of the curriculum. You spend a couple of days stressed out, hoping to turn your lack of knowledge into a scholarly tone of caution and hedged bets. You go to a careers fair, a student union election, a party, a debate. Nothing sticks, tomorrow is the same day. Your teachers are devotees of a faith but you have to fill the ranks of their picket against the Church. The protestors mass, fill the campus with tension and noise, and then, in a couple of weeks, you’re sitting in the same seminar room with the same professor doing the same thing. You have to think surprisingly hard to remember that past, fugitive now in an opaque present. The only thing that changes is that a few new buildings emerge from their shells of scaffolding. When you miss almost five weeks, there is an email or two. One time, because of your chronic truancy, you get some mark or something, some strike against your name. Nothing happens. In fact, you find it incredibly hard to even find the place where that warning is actually recorded, displayed. You graduate with a First.

Recently, there has been a steady trickle of data, news items, and reports, gradually exposing the rate of suicide in higher education in the UK. It came to a head last week, as a Conservative peer, Lord Lucas, called for a bill which would give British universities a duty of care in the mental health outcomes of their students. Lord Lucas’ plea represents the mainstream of a movement by aggrieved parents of young people who took their lives whilst at university. One of these young people was Benjamin Murray, a 19-year-old in his first year studying English Literature at Bristol University. Shortly before falling to his death, Murray was told by the university that he would have to leave. A local newspaper reports that, according to sources at the university, his attendance was ‘sporadic’ and he had ‘failed to hand in expected work’. Discussing interactions he had with Murray which revealed that the undergraduate was suffering with an anxiety disorder, senior tutor Ben Gunter remarks that: 'A large number of students we see have varying levels of anxiety.’

I mean, look at it this way. You’re saddled with a debt, a sizeable debt. It makes you nervous just looking at all the zeroes. But this moment of selling your soul was planned, it was expected from the beginning. And there are voices all around you that keep coming up and whispering in your ear. It’s just a tax on spending after education. No-one’s expecting you to pay it back. It all gets forgiven when you hit 40. What’s a person to do in that situation? The same government that portrayed the national debt as an existential threat is the same government that turns around and says: Don’t worry. Does debt matter or doesn’t it? Is this real or isn’t it?

People are screaming, again. It's 5:35 in the afternoon. Earliest you’ve heard it this week. They’re really drunk. Or on something. You’re only dimly aware of it, really. It’s ubiquitous, it’s ambiance. Dimly, you wonder if they realise how loud they are being, how obvious their public intoxication is. You perk up when you recognise a few voices. People on your course - you’ve got an essay due tomorrow at noon. Down the ages, goes the cliché, students are drunk and reckless with deadlines. But you’ve been wondering whether it really matters if you get a 1:1 instead of a 2:1. Don’t they inflate the numbers, anyway? And besides, it's experience that matters on a CV, everyone’s got a degree these days. I’d just be another idiot with a 1:1. Your flatmate drunkenly knocks on your door and you seriously consider going back on your refusal to go out tonight.

A survey of undergraduates in seven universities in England reportedly found very high rates of dangerous drinking, with 41% identified as ‘hazardous drinkers’. It also considers that one in five students were likely to be diagnosable as alcoholic.

Every weekend students give in to the unreality. I know what you're thinking. Of course, young people have always experimented with substances, acted like they were invulnerable, ignored consequences. But many of the young people before us were unfamiliar with this level of unreality, this level of confusion. So the recklessness intensifies in those claustrophobic spaces that remain open to us.

I have deadlines, right now. A few days to go. I’ve been looking at the news, all the statistics on internships and jobs falling through for graduates and young people, in general. The worst hit. I’ve been talking to my friends, moaning about the job hunt, the rejections and the no-replies. Anecdotes tumble down the grape-vine of graduates from respected universities not even being able to get a part-time job at a supermarket because of the number of applicants or whatever. A couple of my friends are intermitting due to mental health problems. When I was home, before the most recent lockdown, a number of my friends and I worked at a pub. I’m back at uni and they’re still there. Class of 2020, all of us. Of course, they like it, it’s fine. But where do we go from here?

Don’t ask me, mate, I’ve got deadlines.

[jeyned]

heya everyone ! i wrote a really long intro / backstory which i’ve linked below, but in case you’re lazy like me i’ve also put a little tl;dr under the cut with the cliffs notes. there’s also a bunch of plot ideas in case anyone is interested ! like this, drop me and IM, or message me on discord ( do you like yuice ?#6373 ) if you want to plot !

⤷ the courts offer bread and salt to jeyne whent née lannister of house whent. many say that the twenty - seven year old ruling lady of harrenhal is known to be lively and insightful, though ill tongues whisper that she is condescending and selfish when her name is uttered , one is reminded of a pretty smile hiding bloodied teeth; the hiss and raised hackles of a cat that thinks itself a lion; a languid and velvety darkness; heartbeat made of war drums. may she be blessed and protected in this war of crowns. ( fc: caitlin stasey )

full backstory   /   statistics page   /   development tag .

              trigger warnings for ; death & murder, illness, forced marriage, misogyny & misogynistic slurs (1), war.

basics.

name.  jeyne whent née lannister. nicknames.  the little lioness. age.  twenty-seven. traits.  + clever, intrepid, lively, protective, insightful, tasteful.          - hypocritical, cruel, condescending, proud, selfish, spiteful. titles.  ruling lady of harrenhal, heir apparent to lannisport. loyalty.  [ lana del rey vc ] money, power, and glory. also the starks of winterfell, i guess.

tl ; dr .

jeyne is the youngest child and only daughter of the lord of lannisport and his wife. well - raised, courtesied, if admittedly spoiled. even as a little girl she plays pretend at being a king. her father teaches her what words like wartime and loyalty and ambition mean ; the sacrifices she must make for their family name, for gold and glory.

the ironborn raids come to the shores of the westerlands and both her brothers are sent to fight. the younger dies first ; there is no body to bury. her mother falls ill with something they can only call grief.

jeyne is married not long after, a rose in bloom at nineteen. when she first hears, she weeps and begs and rages. her father reminds her of her duty, of the joy it would bring her ailing mother. jeyne knows then what must be done, and plans.

when her first husband dies just shy of two years into their marriage, jeyne is irreproachable. he dies in winter, already ill ; goes to sleep coughing and doesn’t wake up. jeyne isn’t even in the castle when it happens, although unfounded rumors fly of witchery and murder. 

nine months pass, and she plays the part of mourning widow exceptionally well. it helps her mummer’s farce that news comes from the war : her remaining brother is dead now too, and her mother’s health is failing. without her brothers, she’s the ostensible heir to lannisport ; her father’s displeasure with this is made quite clear to her. he even suggests she isn’t his ; bearing too many of her mother’s features, not enough of his.

she is remarried quickly to lord lucas whent, without a fraction of the pomp and circumstance of her first wedding ; now a widow, with a reputation tarnished by unproven but incessant whispers, the newest match is rushed, necessary but insignificant. she doesn’t cry or beg this time, just goes coldly.

she hates him before she even meets him, hates the harrenhal the moment she sets eyes on it, hates the cold and the rain and the gloom of the castle and its people. spends all her considerable energies complaining and making life generally miserable for anyone around. 

word arrives that her mother has died ; her father remarries quickly in the hopes of a new male heir, and draws in his nephews and nieces. weighing his options. jeyne prays to the stranger to take them all. 

she resents the lot of them ; her father for using and betraying her, her brother and mothers for leaving her, the ironborn for killing her brothers, the starks for suing for peace and making their deaths worthless, her husband merely for existing. mostly, though, she resents herself, not clever enough to find a way out of the cages she’s been locked in.

plots.

enemies.  the very best plot type and you cannot convince me otherwise. gimme intimately plotted hate-your-guts-smile-to-your-face frenemies who overthink everything the other says and press each others buttons incessantly. gimme ‘our houses have fought each other and i blame your family for this or that’. gimme petty jealousies and annoyances and people too much like her for them to get along. gimme people who think she’s a traitorous, murdering bastard and a whore to boot, and aren’t even wrong to think so.

close friends.  i don’t imagine she has a lot of these ; those not deterred by her reputation often are dissuaded by her personality. still i love the idea of her having a few lords or ladies with whom she gets along quite well, the kind of people you only need to meet briefly to know you understand each other. can be from pretty much anywhere ; stuck at harrenhal i imagine jeyne to be an avid letter-writer. 

cousins.  i’m also considering sending in a wc for this, but gimme all the family plots ! could be paternal cousins, potential contenders for inheriting lannisport, & probably childhood companions. could also be maternal cousins ! i listed her mom as being a westerling but i’m more than happy to change that to another house for plot reasons, it doesn’t really matter ! her father could’ve also had sisters who married into other houses, there’s lots of options.

failed betrothals.  i can imagine her father made a lot of offers, both when she was first getting married and after she was widowed. and i can imagine a lot of reasons why someone might reject that ; she’s a lannister, she’s not .... great as a person and her reputation isn’t phenomenal either. after the death of her first husband, too, i can imagine her prospects were pretty slim. still, the lannisters are ambitious and would have sought out as good as match as they could have. 

family of her late husband.  yea, i specifically didn’t pick a house for her first husband to be from because i wanted to leave ‘em open for other applicants but also because i wanted to leave it open in case it’s a plot anyone would like to take up ! most of the story around that is also very vague so as to fit with pretty much any ideas/plots someone has going on. would be really fun, tho ; possibly they can even have been co-conspirators and this person inherited jeyne’s late husband’s title and lands ? or they absolutely hate jeyne and think she’s a murderer which .... she very well might be.

sister in law.  the widow of jeyne’s older brother, irwyn ; i hc that they had a daughter but tbh that’s just flavor text and i am open to changing pretty much anything i’ve got going on. i may send in a wc for this at some point too ? anyway, whether she stayed at lannisport or returned to her family home or anything, idk. seems like an unlikely connection to get picked up but it’s definitely out there if it happens to fit for someone.

brothers’ connections.  again kind of vague ? would probably work best for men from the northern kingdom who may have known them or trained with them, or else fought alongside them against the ironborn. could also be ladies with pretty much any kind of attachment to either of them idk ; jeyne doesn’t have a whole lot of family left so this is my way of trying to have connections thru her family anyway.

childhood friends.  idk how many characters from the westerlands there are around rn, but bring them to me pls. would love some childhood friends for jeyne ; whether they fell out of touch, or still write each other monthly letters. them being a ward at lannisport, or jeyne being a ward at theirs for a time is also a neat option ! 

allies.  not quite friends, but potential partners whose ambitions align with hers. she has connections to the wealth of lannisport and the might and strategic position of harrenhal ( though harrenhal is truly weaker than she’d ever admit ) and honestly would support just about anyone if it meant she got lannisport. she’s power hungry what can i say ? 

former flings / secret lovers.  firstly these can be of any gender as jeyne is ... peak evil bisexual tbh. yes i’m queercoding my villain and i think that’s very sexy of me. these are also just pretty vague ideas, and absolutely do not need to be particularly romantic ; they could have had a more lengthy affair or just hooked up at a wedding or a tourney or something. 

travellers.  both lannisport and harrenhal are pretty common places to pass through. on a sea journey on the western coast one is likely to stop by lannisport, and harrenhal stands practically at the center of westeros, which is a fun opportunity for jeyne & your muse to have met even if they live very far way or are unlikely to have met in other ways ! especially considering harrenhal’s size it’s a good stop over for travellers with a larger retinue. idk i just want an excuse to plot with everyone.

[forextradingperformance]

Forex Trading: Reaching Forward

The magnificence of Forex exchanging is that it tends to be a surge of pay for you and your family. The distress of exchanging is discovering that it's anything but as simple as individuals say it is.

Truly, Forex exchanging, alongside other exchanging approaches, have brought agony and proportions of destitution into numerous people groups' lives. At a first look, exchanging appears to be useful and for some, winds up being destructive. From a first look, exchanging looks encouraging however for some, winds up difficult. From the start, it gives off an impression of being a make easy money marvels however for some, shows as a get-poor-fast fiasco.

On the off chance that that is your experience, you are in good company and I might want to introduce a fix to this fiasco. The fix is information. "Individuals are obliterated for absence of information." Chances are, you didn't become rich short-term exchanging Forex. In the event that you quit, exchanging, and read this article before you lose your cash.

You can want to be a fighter in any case, without information and preparing your going to get taken out. You can watch "Master of The Rings" and need to know how to blade battle in any case, in the event that you are not prepared by a talented fighter, bid farewell to your fingers. Bid farewell to your toes too so far as that is concerned. The equivalent is valid with Forex Trading. We see Joe Smo make half each month. We see Dr. Smellfungus get more cash-flow in one exchange than we have made in one life time. We see George Soros make 1 Billion Dollars on a Great British Pound short. Seeing doesn't enable you to accomplish until you add information and preparing to the condition.See here forex statistics

We have all committed errors exchanging. That doesn't mean we should surrender. Anyone can be a weakling and many are. It's the little greater part that push on past the status quot and accomplish significance. Is it conceivable? Indeed. Anyway, what do I do? Get up, dust off your shoulders, GET EDUCATED, and attempt once more.

In the Bible, the book of Proverbs says "Excitement without information isn't acceptable; anxiety will get you into difficulty." Oh, so obvious! A significant number of you have fizzled on the grounds that you got amped up for Forex, figured you could handle the business sectors without schooling, attempted, bombed pitiably, and surrendered. You had excitement! That is magnificent! Before you make a move however, blend your eagerness in with information.

It's anything but's an excited six-year-old who just watched his first NASCAR race with his Dad. In the wake of seeing the bright metallic machines called "race vehicles" fly at paces of 200 miles each hour around an oval molded field, the youthful person gets a thought. He ponders internally: "Self, that would be fun, I've seen father drive, we should check this thing out." He is valiant, abundant, and prepared to overcome the roads. He gets in the vehicle, fires it up, his eyes are pretty much as wide as b-balls, and to him he is thinking "I'm going to have a great time". The fact of the matter is the exact inverse. Fortunately, at that point the Dad comes and makes all the difference from what might have been a ghastly calamity. When we hear we can bring in cash exchanging Forex, our eyes get as large as balls, we are prepared to vanquish the business sectors, overcome the world, make our speedy million however, do you by any chance understand what you are doing?

What's happening with you?

Leave me alone the "Father" briefly here. Peruser, you may have to change down a couple of gears. Truly, put your vehicle in leave. Escape your vehicle, and go to class, plunk down, and learn. Get some information before you lose your cash. You may have won a couple of enormous exchanges and now think Forex is the simplest thing on the planet. WATCH OUT, you may lose the entirety of that and the sky is the limit from there in the event that you are not instructed. For a large number of us, winning has not been the situation. Father said "don't place your hand in the fire", you did in any case, and you have been scorched. Presently you know not to return your hand to the fire.

Ordinarily we fizzle since we didn't have information, we didn't have an arrangement in any case. In the event that you neglect to design, you are intending to come up short. Allow me to say that once again, IF YOU FAIL TO PLAN, YOU ARE PLANNING TO FAIL. On the off chance that you approach Forex exchanging as an easy money scam, be ready to get helpless fast, on the grounds that Forex exchanging isn't a pyramid scheme.

The details are out and say that 95% of Forex dealers are losing cash. That isn't unexpected to me due to what I clarified previously. It's anything but a shock that you have been losing cash. If it's not too much trouble, comprehend that even after you have a demonstrated arrangement, there will be months where you lose cash. This is exchanging, not a mystically cash tree. Many have been indoctrinated by Forex advertisers and their items. A portion of these are genuine, many are not. On the off chance that you see a framework that says, "You will make half each month ensured", RUN and RUN FAST. In the event that you attempt it and it works, if it's not too much trouble, advise me so I can utilize it. Odds are, it is trash.

In this way, you have understood your present status of misery. Since you understand you need assistance, we should discuss instruction.

You needn't bother with a MBA or PHD to exchange Forex. The excellence of Forex is that you can bring in cash without proper training and it very well may be a flood of pay for you and your family. I might want to recommend that there is a cycle to turning into a Forex merchant. It includes training.

You don't simply get up one morning and have a disclosure that you are a Forex merchant. No, no, no. On the off chance that my PCP revealed to me that he didn't go to class, and that he just woke up one morning and wound up in a specialists outfit, I would snicker, shout, and perhaps run for my life.

There is potential for you!

Two Key Educational Principles

1. Understanding

To exploit the business sectors, we need to comprehend the business sectors. Comprehend that day exchanging may not be for a fledgling. Comprehend that basics assume a critical part in market development. Realize that the market can pattern or reach and you can observe what heading it is at present moving.

It is in every case great to have your establishment set up. Your basic comprehension of the market is the thing that will keep you grounded during the tempests of losing and the festivals of winning. A few dealers don't see even the actual rudiments of the Forex market. In the Forex market, monetary forms are exchanging against one another, news occasions, and public financial approach influences the money esteems. These are rudiments yet how about we get them set up before we attempt to fabricate a record. Being a house without an establishment is inept.

2. Accomplishment

Since we have information, we have something to work with! How about we apply it. With 4 Trillion dollars of liquidity in the Forex market, you can certainly bring a portion of that money home. We should perceive how. First we need an arrangement.

Objectives and Plans

This is enjoyable! Objectives are wonderful! The sky is limit. We should define a few objectives to be intentional in our exchanging. Objectives like "$30,000 in 10 years to pay for my little girls school", "$5,000 this year", "25% ROI this year". You get the thought. Objectives will go about as water marks in your exchanging. "OK, I made it to this level, we should continue onward." Goals will likewise inspire you in your difficult stretches. Continue to press in to arrive at those objectives.

Objectives are extraordinary put we need an arrangement to contact them. An objective without an arrangement is a dream. Most Forex merchants are living in dream land. They see piles of hundred-dollar-notes to them yet all the while have cash dropping out of their pockets. Wake up, smell the espresso, and get an arrangement.

An exchanging plan is your blue print to progress. It is the thing that will get you from direct A toward point B. On the off chance that I live in New York and need to get to Mexico City, I better have a few bearings. That is a 2,500+ mile drive with a ton of freedoms to get lost. I need an arrangement or I'm wanting to fizzle. In the event that you have a guide, and you make an off-base turn, not no joking matter. You can take a gander at the guide, see where you are and get back on course. In the event that you have no guide, you can end up thrashing, and freezing erratically in perilous territory.