#BUT WE DON’T KNOW WHAT OTHER SHIT WILL HAPPEN

[savanir]

A sister's love

The justice league hurriedly responds to a call for backup at a little in the middle of nowhere place by the name of Amity Park. 

The situation had seemed so simple. 

A Star Sapphire had suddenly shown up on Earth which isn��t immediately cause for concern but she was unidentified, so a lantern was definitely going to have to look into it if only just to make sure that nothing bad was going on. There are two planet side green lanterns, Simon and Jessica. So they responded to handle the potential situation. 

Things rapidly spun out of control when they realized it wasn't just a Star Sapphire. 

"I hate to say this but we're gonna need backup" Simon tells Cyborg, "the Star Sapphire has brought something with her. My first guess was a white martian but..." The other one can do some manner of density shifting, and he can go invisible, but they know ways around that. Whatever this one is doing isn’t that though.

"Why isn't this working!?!" Comes Jessica's slightly panicked voice in the distance, "he keeps just going through my creations! dammit, think think Jess" She tried to contain him with a flamethrower construct but he just ignored it, like he’s seemingly ignoring everything else she’s throwing at him.

"Our constructs have zero effect on the other one, the alien, meta? man I don’t know he’s human shaped" 

"What is the situation other than the two hostiles?"

"Uh we got some government agents who are retreating because of the Star Sapphire wrecking their stuff. And the civilian people here seem to be falling under her influence, so she must be human. She's from here, she needs emotional connection to pull that stuff off."

The people are furious, the violet glow around them clearly indicates that the girl is using her ring to amp them up but if Simon didn’t know any better he’d say this was red lantern stuff.

Well there are more ways to whip people up into a frenzy, by hurting their loved ones for example.

There is a brief moment where it can be heard that Simon and Jessica try to get into a more advantageous position. 

Simon grunts, "dammit, those agents seemed to have weapons that actually worked on the other guy but the Star Sapphire used her violet constructs to shield him and destroy their guns and we've been struggling since" this whole situation stinks, he has a weird feeling about all of it.

"Simon this is really really bad, i can't keep restraining all these civilians, we're running out of energy fast!"

Cyborg tries to get a visual on the situation from his position in the Watchtower while he’s notifying any league affiliated heroes who are nearby and available. 

But all of a sudden he realizes there is just nothing, just a big lap of void where the two lanterns are supposed to be, there is no cctv footage, no cell towers, no internet connection. Just what the hell is going on here.

Then the audio transmission starts to violently crackle.

A new voice laced with static can suddenly be heard, "There you two are"

"Shit"

"Is the justice league coming yet? Are they finally going to do something?" the staticy voice continues.

"Stay back you-"

"Or maybe they still need more of a reason to act" 

The audio cuts out. 

"Jessica! Simon! Come in!" ... "Shit!" 

Cyborg finally gets a clear picture with the satellite cameras and now sees the entirety of Amity Park has been covered with a crystalized violet dome. It’s then that he remembers the story Hal told quite some time ago now about a Star Sapphire who managed to put a whole planet into love stasis.

They are gonna need more help with this one he thinks.

Meanwhile Jazz is still shakily trying to figure out how her new pink powers work, now that all the fighting is over (for now), the GIW forcefully expelled from Amity, and the two Justice league people captured and restrained.

Everything happened so fast, one moment the GIW had knocked out her brother and were forcefully taking him away and while she saw them drive off (she was pretty sure she was screaming) a pink thing just froze her in place, She was pretty sure someone said something about “great love in her heart” and then she was… well she was flying and- and there wasn’t really any time to question things then so she may have kinda gone and ripped into the van that had Danny.

She’s pretty sure she healed him, and then things just completely spiraled out of control from that point on. and now she’s here.

She’s pretty sure this is crazy villain behavior, she’s going to get put on some sort of watchlist and then she’ll never get to be a psychologist but it’s fine.

Her little brother is safe, that’s all that matters. And she will keep it that way.

[threeacttragedy]

Entry 4 – The One About the Red Bag of Chaos

One of the things that never ceases to amaze me about this fandom is that Whenever Something Good Happens it ALWAYS torpedoes into Something Bad Happening.

Every.

Single.

Time.

And, that’s why we can never have nice things.

Case in point: “Brb” and the elusive Red Bag.

On October 4, we were graced with Luke’s Instagram story of luggage with the caption “Brb.” His picture included two pieces of luggage, a small metal carryon case, and a red bag. The red bag was interesting because it appeared to be – let’s face it, we all stereotyped this into being – a woman’s tote bag of some leathery sort. Lukola Sleuths tracked Luke’s image down to the first-class lounge for British Airways. I mean, we even got a not-so-blurry reflection of Luke in the corner of the luggage. We should have been ecstatic, right? Luke had posted two days in a row (with the first post being the cutesy “Mean Girls” reference to October 3), and Nicola had been peppering the trail with Lukola-laced yumminess since early August. I mean, we should have been biting our nails in excitement waiting to see what Luke or Nicola posted next.

But, no, that’s not what happened.

Instead, hysteria struck fast and hard. Why? Because at some point in her relatively short life, Antonia had danced in front of a red bag at – oh my God, wait for it – an airport! Oh, how the Conscientiously Stupid seized this tidbit of outdated information to terrorize the Sincerely Ignorant straight into shark infested waters!

The problem with this plotline was that (a) the video of Antonia was old, possibly even a few years old; and (b) there was absolutely no evidence the red bag Antonia was dancing in front of even belonged to her! The argument that this was Antonia’s red bag was simply one being pushed by assholes who enjoyed riling up the weaker parts of the fandom. And, let me tell you, these assholes succeed every time.

But, what was dismissed and ignored was the fact Nicola had a red bag in the background of her June 15, 2024 Tatcha post. If you need to see it for yourself, the video is still up on her Instagram grid. In the video, there is a shelf full of handbags of all sizes, and on the bottom of that shelf is, what appears to be, a large red bag (we can deduce this by acknowledging (a) it is red; (b) it is on a shelf full of other bags; and (c) it appears so large it needs to be tucked into the shelf). Is it THE red bag? Who the fuck knows? That is not the point. The point is, it is a red bag of some sort, and this fact should have outweighed the argument that the red bag belonged to Antonia.

But, it didn’t?

Why?

Because the fandom enjoys hysteria?

No, I don’t think it does. I’ve spoken to too many people on the verge of a meltdown to believe they enjoy spiraling.

So, what is it that causes good things to go bad so quickly in this fandom?

In my opinion, the answer lies somewhere between (a) the fandom believing that Lukola is too good to be true; (b) the fandom questioning their own intelligence and intuition; and (c) the fandom doubting the two people at the heart of this ship – Luke and Nicola. It’s strange to me that we would rather trust online bullies pushing their own deranged narratives than trust, at the very least, ourselves.

Whenever a Conscientiously Stupid tries to derail you, or an adjacent (ugh, there’s that word I hate again) pops up trying to make waves, take a moment to take a deep breath, roll your eyes, and have a good laugh (because I’m not going to lie, some of the shit that gets put out there is laugh-out-loud funny). But, most importantly, trust yourself and your intelligence because, if you're still in this fandom, your deductive reasoning skills are a chef's kiss.

And, to finish this story about the elusive red bag, just remember that Nicola posted an amazingly happy picture of herself the day after Luke, on an airplane, in first class on Aerlingus, an affiliate of British Airways that shares its first-class lounge. If these weren’t coordinated posts, I may as well say, “Screw it all,” and go live on a deserted island. Alone. With no phone. And no mascara.

Oh, and let me just slip in here that the elusive red bag quite possibly made an intentional reappearance in Nicola’s October 11 Olaplex story. But, I’ll leave any further speculation about that for a different day.

[loulovingho]

I think I’m still just stuck on Oliver’s will they / won’t they wanting the audience to long for the relationship quote. As well as Tim quote about Buck figuring out who he is and who he wants. And Oliver’s quote about fighting to be together. I am still hopeful of the potential direction they can take this in. I do think this coming episode will be the make or break in a way. If we see villainizing Tommy (which I don’t think they will based on the way both Tim and Oliver sympathized his decision) then I think its over but if we see Chim and Maddie helping Buck to understand Tommy’s actions then I think there’s still a chance. Also to me having Chim and Maddie talk to him is very interesting. They were a couple that fought to be together, broke up and then found their way back to each other. Having them in the scenes with Buck post break up helps me to feel hopeful about the direction they’re going in tbh. I don’t think it will be resolved at all by the end of 8a. But I do think 08.08 may leave off with Buck deciding whether or not he wants to reach out.

Honestly, all the interviews are bullshit. That’s where I am now lol the actors never know wtf is going on. I think they’ve been told so many things and, like, 2 out of 20 have actually turned into something. There was a load of nothing with madney, henren, and mara. Tim had stated that Eddie would be a little left out while Buck and Tommy’s relationship grew and we got more scenes of Eddie with them than without. Buck struggled for like 10 seconds with whether or not he meant to hurt Gerrard, also nothing came from Gerrard taking him under his wing. The Ortiz storyline was meaningless, and Gerrard’s entire arc turned him into a joke. There was no “hurdle” in Buck and Tommy’s relationship, it was a fucking boulder that came through and splintered it into a million pieces.

Ryan even stated that Tim could change the script in an instant, so the actors have no idea what’s happening at any given time and neither does Tim apparently. I’m pretty sure he goes to ao3, randomly selects a fanfic with his eyes closed, then writes his scripts based off of said fic.

I know some people are being positive and saying Maddie and Chimney will help him see Tommy’s perspective, but I have absolutely no faith in the show or its writing whatsoever. I would not be surprised if we got a, “eh, Tommy’s always been distant. Always a runner and tough to crack. You dodged a bullet,” from Chimney. Not because I believe it’s actually something he’d say, but because the writing is so shit that they’d have him say it to further push Tommy out of the narrative. Then, idk, maybe Buck can go on his little fuck tour 🤷🏻‍♀️

[dadbodbuck]

WE'RE BREAKING UP

WHY WOULD YOU SAY THIS TO ME.

WHY WOULD YOU TYPE THIS WORDS WITH YOUR FINGERS AND THEN PRESS POST.

GET AWAY FROM ME

hi jack unfortunately we got married when you weren't looking so you have to pay for an attorney :/

anyway

Buck texts him I need to talk to you and Christopher knows it’s going to be a bad day. He was actually thinking about coming home over Thanksgiving break—it’s not as clean as going back over Christmas, but he misses Denny (who’s been telling him a lot about his cool new sister during their nightly meme exchange), and he misses his school friends (even if they’re exhausting to be around sometimes), and worst of all he misses his family. He misses his dad, he misses Buck. He even misses Tommy—despite only having met him a few times, he knows he’s been good for Buck and for his dad. 

He liked seeing his dad smiling so much when he first started hanging out with Tommy, before her. He liked the way Tommy talked to him like an adult with his own thoughts and opinions. He liked the way Tommy talked about Buck, even though it was kind of gross seeing a grown man swoon that much.

But then. I need to talk to you. And it all comes crumbling down around him. Buck even has the nerve to follow it up with Can I call you? like some sort of therapist or school administrator. Chris opts for a video call, because he’s not eighty years old, and when Buck picks up, his eyes are bloodshot, his face is pale, and he’s nestled in his bed like a stereotypical teenager girl after she gets dumped.

Oh. Oh no. “What,” Chris says, and he kind of regrets the video call now, because Buck flinches back like he’s been physically hit.

��Uh, hey!” Buck says, trying to recover and failing miserably. The smile he plasters on his face looks so forced it’s painful, “How’s Texas in November treating you?”

Chris looks at Buck and decides to play nice. Just a little. “Not that I’m not happy to see you, but you sounded like you had something important to talk about.”

“You’re right,” Buck sighs, “I’m procrastinating. I just wanted to let you know that Tommy and I have decided not to see each other anymore.”

And, yeah, Chris is pretty sure he knew this was coming, but it still makes him want to cry, or bite something, or throw his phone into the lake. “What happened?”

“Well—uh—Chris, I don’t—the details really aren’t important,” Buck says, with a wince, “What is important is that I love you, and your dad loves you, and just because Tommy won’t be around doesn’t mean you won’t have our support. I’m really sorry, bud. I know you liked him.”

It blindsides Chris, and he doesn’t know why. He should’ve seen this coming a mile away. He shouldn’t have gotten attached. He never should have sat down to watch The Batman with his dad and Tommy and stolen Tommy’s popcorn and talked shit on Buck’s taste in Star Wars Prequels. 

“What did you do?” Chris asks, feeling a startling rage building in his throat. It’s familiar, now. He doesn’t know how he knows, but he knows this is Buck’s fault. Buck looks like a dog that pissed on the carpet and is waiting for you to step on the wet spot.

Buck clears his throat, and visibly weighs truth and comfort in his mind. “I asked him to move in with me. It was—it was too fast—”

“You asked him to move in with you?” Chris balks, “He has a house!”

“I wasn’t thinking!” Buck hisses, “Listen, I know I fu—messed up. I’m sorry. You have no idea how sorry I am, Chris. But it—it was the best decision for both of us.”

“You’re lying,” Chris seethes, because he knows so, so intimately the look of an adult lying to protect his innocence. “He made you happy. He made dad happy.”

Buck looks away, chin trembling, and Chris feels bad for all of three seconds before the rage consumes every other feeling in his chest. “Call me back when you find someone who wants to stay. Otherwise, keep your love life away from me. And maybe you stay away from me too.”

Chris ends the call, and two seconds later Buck is ringing him again. Chris doesn’t pick up, just sets his phone on his desk and buries his face in his arms. He doesn’t want to cry. He did too much of that after he got to El Paso the first time. But he’s going to miss Tommy. He’s going to miss seeing his dad smile like that. He’s going to miss the dopey lovesick way Buck moved through the world.

When Chris finally composes himself, he sees two more missed video calls from Buck, and a string of texts:

Love you, buddy. Sorry you’re upset. Call later to talk? Or call your therapist?

I really am sorry. I thought Tommy was going to stay too.

Text me pls? So I know you’re ok

Chris texts back: im fine. we’ll be fine. i need some time and gets a response almost immediately.

OK. Take the time you need. Your dad says if you decide to come back and you’re still mad you won’t have to see me if you don’t want to

Chris, always being left behind, feels a sick surge of satisfaction at the prospect. He could be the one who leaves. He can cut his losses before they’re fatal, he can amputate the limb before it goes septic. He texts Buck a single k back and does not examine the way something in the back of his head tells him, quite viciously, that this isn’t the first time that Buck’s been left this week.

[charcubed]

I have soooooo much I want to write about Doctor Odyssey and if I keep waiting for the perfect moment to write something PROPERLY GOOD AND COMPREHENSIVE then I’m simply going to explode. So instead I’m going to write a messy little post on my phone when half asleep and try to keep it to one main topic.

Yeah yeah the throuple had a threesome (and I’m foaming at the mouth over it) but can we talk about the THEMES!!!!

This show is for crazy people (me specifically). Once again, I have a lot to say, but for now let me just focus on the wedding episode itself. That threesome is informed by the context of the rest of the episode in a way I simply CANNOT get over.

Let’s look at our passengers: the bride, groom, and best man. We find out all of them are being unfaithful to each other in various ways, miserable in their silence and unhealthy relationship dynamics. They all went to school together and were once close, but things went wrong somewhere along the way. The best man’s speech implies he has feelings for the groom, the groom is a sex addict who’s had multiple partners (possibly the best man included) because he feels trapped in a lie, and the bride and best man are having sex with each other. And none of them are communicating about it, and the groom who had preexisting mental health struggles commits suicide.

What happens to the three of them is a tragedy and it is absolutely a result of heteronormative monogamous culture. That culture was passed down from the bride’s mother to her too by example and societal influence.

I’m not exaggerating. It’s not subtle!!! At all!!! Everything explodes for those passengers because monogamy and repressing bisexuality wasn’t working for them.

They’re a dark mirror and cautionary tale. (Bonus points for how Avery’s sad backstory is that she was betrayed by her longtime friend / brief husband who cheated on her with a mutual friend as well, which is why she’s definitely hesitant about love now.)

By comparison, Avery and Max and Tristan have been avoiding some similar big pitfalls: they know they’re into each other and it’s not a secret, rivalries keep being squashed with effort, and no one is pressuring anyone to choose (so far).

This is what our beloved main characters have on their minds before what follows. And again, let’s not even get to the sex part yet… THE BUCKET LISTS!!! I’m losing my Goddamn marbles!!! The way all 3 of their lists intersect? Holy shit. Off the top of my head: Max and Tristan want to fall in love and have kids, Avery and Max want to see the world, Tristan and Avery have niche interests outside of medicine that they want to explore more… We were given itemized lists to show how the 3 of them balance and round each other out perfectly.

It’s not about any 2 of them because it won’t work with just any 2. It’s ALL THREE — just like all the framing and blocking of shots is consistently all 3, they walked down the wedding aisle all 3 together, the first sex scene for any of them that WE as the audience see on screen is all 3 of them together, a “bad threesome” is defined as 2 people getting too wrapped up in each other and the 3rd being an accidental outsider, we often see that if one duo gets a couple-y moment then the other duos get similar moments later as well, etc etc. Sorry. Let me not continue the summary list here and now so I don’t get too sidetracked but there’s A LOT.

But like, my current point? That wedding episode is a goldmine and the threesome explicitly happening doesn’t exist in a vacuum. Far from it. The themes are themeing in the whole show, of course, which is part of what I want to write about elsewhere at some point too: this show is repeatedly very deliberate about making sure heterosexuality or monogamy aren’t framed as the default or only correct options, and queerness is sprinkled everywhere. But this wedding episode specifically… the themes were nearly the ONLY PLOT. Nothing else — it’s basically only that, and it’s very focused. The failures of monogamy are on full display. And that’s why and how we get an explicit threesome right after it, which will lead us into how things will continue to develop for our trio.

Now, as for why the threesome happens so relatively quickly? My hot take on that is that general audiences can be stupid and so the creators wanted to put the throuple explicitly on screen fairly early to get people to start Noticing. Show them how the characters need to be together… and that sets us up for the possible angst and tension to follow as they have to accept it emotionally for themselves too. Now, as an audience member, you’ll more strongly know what to root for. You’ll know what’s right because you’ve seen it and you’ll want them to get back to that place, come what may. (If you’re not a puritan.)

It’s so fucking good. Insane silly show for insane people. Are we seeing the vision??? I need everyone to lock in.

This ramble is probably a disaster and I apologize for that but ohhhh man I had to put SOME words down so I wouldn’t explode. Suffice it to say I’m having a ball up in this bitch and I cannot believe this show exists. I couldn’t believe my eyes and my brain cells in the pilot, and I REALLY can’t believe them now.

What a time to be alive!!!!!! Polycule “love fest” on a cruise ship, baby!!! The world needs more love, all kinds of love, as the Captain says!!!! Onward to gay week!!!! LET’S SEE THOSE BI MEN KISS

[thewalrusespublicist]

omg can you speak more to your latest post about the reverse happening in 1980, I’ve never about the coherence of the narrative actually :O

Yeah an alternate universe would be crazzyy because our main narrator and star witness of the Beatles would be resident shit stirrer … John Lennon.

John

Fucking

Lennon.

The thing with Paul is that he’s kept to a pretty consistent narrative for the past 40 years or so: John broke up the Beatles cause he wanted to move on, army buddies, they loved each other etc. You can criticise it (I certainly do), but it’s coherent. It’s also one that has allowed John grace and promoted love and community as a core message, something that the other last surviving Beatle Ringo is more than happy to support. It works, we get it, it's a good message in many ways.

Whereas John … wooo boy. The only idea we have of what John would have been like is the 70s where he couldn’t even make a narratively coherent sentence.

If you take his comments and put them together, the Beatles break up was because the guys were blokes he got bored of but also the temple he loved too much but also a marriage that had to end but also a mistake in many ways. Simple, right?

And who was Paul again? Oh, well he was his closest friend ever but also someone he was never very close to and a genius but also artistically dead and yeah, he talks to him often but hasn’t spoken to him in a decade and could talk about him for days but also never thinks about him and is his dear one but also a straight and his ex-coworker who he didnt really work with much … wait no fiance/brother that he would do anything for. Whatever emotion John felt at that moment was his new forever truth/cope and that was the shit he was sticking to on record for those five minutes.

 And that’s John in normal factory mode. Now imagine the nuke that would be losing Paul, his Paul. Imagine every extreme feeling and every defense mechanism under the sun all going off at once and right in the interviewer's face like a deranged grief firework show. Then the added mess of Paul being seen as a saint and Paul the person not being there to reality check John’s view of him … chaos. On top of all that, if Yoko is right and John did contemplate an affair with Paul, you think he wouldn’t have spouted that at some point AMONGST OTHER THINGS WE DON’T KNOW ABOUT? 

Trying to work out the whole Beatles saga would be like trying to find Bigfoot but the compass is pointing in every direction and through several detours through an inexplicable amount of orgies, scandals and psychosexual drama.

 Who were the Beatles? God knows, apparently only the best band ever of bffs/coworkers who were so overrated and boring that John couldn’t wait to leave/never wanted to quit. Who the fuck was Paul McCartney? Duh, the most beautiful perfect wonderful genius man who had ever lived, one of the great loves of John’s life whose memory will stalk his dreams and waking hours until his dying day and has seances for on the reg. Oh he's also a sheep fucking devil who was hated and who intentionally and maliciously slept with half of London and wrote 'nogoodsongsshutup' in an evil plot to trick John to make music with him until Yoko freed him from his spell. What was their relationship? ????????? (okay maybe not everything would have changed lol but we would have so many more details on John’s side). There’d be no message from the Beatles tale, no story, no cohesion. Just a free-for-all pile of disparate tales of love, hate, treepanning and heartache to sift through.

In any case, I would love to see the madness that would be their version of Beatles tumblr.

[3584-tropical-fish]

@xenoliith thank you for asking and giving me an excuse to ramble more about this topic! Fair warning that this will probably go on several tangents

Also disclaimer that I am approaching this from a geology standpoint, as opposed to a hydrology or biology or any other standpoint, but also that all scientific fields are interconnected and to understand one you must have a grasp on all others! And also I am not yet an expert on this. We’re working on it though

Under the cut because this got. long.

Okay, so! Firstly: what classifies as a tidal river? I wasn’t actually certain on this, so I’m going to work with the definition provided by Wikipedia:

So a tidal river must be affected by the tides, and while it is not necessary for the salinity to be higher than your average freshwater river, having a higher salinity does add credence to any “tidal river” classification.

Let’s consider salinity first, because that’s something I have more of a grasp on. The average salinity of our oceans is 35ppt (parts per thousand), or 3.5%. For water to be classified as brackish (which is what you’d probably expect in a non-freshwater tidal river), the salinity must be within the 0.5-30ppt range, and anything less than that makes the body of water fresh. We know that the White Gull river — especially in its lower reaches but even further up river — hosts a variety of organisms that you’d typically see in an estuary (delta) environment, like crabs, shrimp, limpets, oysters, and barnacles, all of which are adapted for varying levels of salinity, but usually waters that fall into the brackish range. So I do think it’s safe to say that the white gull is a brackish river, perhaps not all the way to its headwaters but certainly incredibly — and unnaturally — far upstream (and, judging by this post, that’s what’s happening here. The Trawler-man and his angels are a pollutant that is increasing the salinity of the river, and making it act in ways it shouldn’t. Which I think is very important to keep in mind! As scientific as I want to be, there is still Weird Shit going on).

As for the tidal setting, I’m going to be referencing these three types:

As defined in the Wikipedia page from earlier, these different environments all have different tidal ranges (meaning: the distance between low tide and high tide, on average (since these fluctuate throughout the year)). We don’t know the measurable tidal range of the White Gull, so we’re going to have to reverse engineer that based on what we know about the environment. And, honestly? I think it’s a macrotidal environment. There is no mention of barrier islands, which may just be because no one mentioned them even if they are there, but if no one mentioned them, then I can’t prove that they exist. Macrotidal environments also result in large estuaries, wide tidal flats, and marshlands, which is fitting for the White Gull!

So what does this mean for the river as whole? How far do the tides reach upstream? Let’s consider that currently, the Chesapeake Bay’s tidal range is ~1m, meaning it has a much smaller tidal range than the white gull likely has, and making it microtidal.

Fun fact that I learned recently: the same tides that impact the Chesapeake Bay can also be seen in upstate New York. Now, those tides are nothing massive, they’re like. A millimeter. But my point is that tides affect most bodies of water, even by a little bit. And if the White Gull is macrotidal, it has ranges of >4m, which could probably reach and significantly impact a large portion of the river. How much exactly I can’t say, because I don’t know how long this river is, but I feel like it’s safe to say that they reach pretty far upriver. And considering how much they talk about the tides in the Parish? Undoubtedly this is a tidal river, even if the reason it’s a tidal river is Weird God Shit.

So to actually answer your question — I don’t think velocity matters! For one, it isn’t involved in the classification of tidal rivers, and for another, this was an outlying event; the river doesn’t usually move this fast. Which leads me into my tangential point about the discharge rate of this river!

So, I’m going to work in theoreticals, because we don’t have the data to determine the exact discharge rate (meaning: how much water passes through the river channel, in meters cubed per second) of this river. What we do know is velocity, that Q = uA (or, discharge equals flow velocity times cross-sectional area of the channel), and the continuity principle (that the discharge at the beginning of a channel must be the same as the discharge at the end (Qsub1 must equal Qsub2)

Up at the headwaters of the white gull, the river is shallow enough for Carpenter to walk in it, and is presumably not very wide. We can assume that, like most rivers, the river widens and deepens as you go downstream, and we know that eventually it widens into a delta. So, from the aquifer to the delta, there is a net increase in A. In order for Q to remain the same, that means u must decrease. This means that even though the river is moving very fast near the Grand Aquifer, by the time the floodwaters reach the lower delta and, eventually, the ocean, the velocity would have decreased significantly, depositing silt and clay all throughout the delta and overall appearing much calmer, and more easily influenced by flood tides (since, if there’s less energy pushing out into the sea, it will be easier for energy from the tides to push in and upriver).

This is true at all times, but as I said, this was a unique flooding event. Base flow (or, the discharge of the river on your typical day, when it’s not impacted by flooding) would be significantly less, and the river would overall flow much slower.

I don't really know how to conclude this, but I suppose I might as well go all in and propose my theory as to the general ecology and behavior of the White Gull River, because dear god have I thought way too much about it in order to write this. So, to start:

The White Gull starts high up in some mountainous/hilly terrain. There are likely several smaller tributaries that all lead into it, and they're all probably very small streams. Since they're in the mountains, they have steep slopes and very turbulent flows; they move fast and dredge up a lot of sediment, which they transport downstream.

When we get down into the flatlands, the river has the space to widen out and, importantly, meander. Hayward makes a joke about oxbow lakes, and I wouldn't be surprised if this was a river that had meandered enough to create a couple! This is also where Jon Ware's comment in the season 1 q&a about the Trawler-man's two mouths being a joke about cut banks and point bars comes into play: As the river meanders, it flings the water around bends, which increases the velocity and causes it to weather away more sediment. It deposits that sediment on the point bars, where the flow is slower.

Out here, the river is wide and deep, and it flows slowly. It's depositing all the sediment that it weathered away in the mountains and at the cut banks, and we're probably getting a fair amount of wetland formation as this sediment is deposited. Think early season 1, Marcel's Crossing and Roake's bungalow and the marshland Carpenter and Faulkner start in would probably all exist around this portion of the river.

At some point, we hit the Saint's Dam, which dramatically slows the flow velocity, causing a lot of sediment to be deposited behind the dam, which in the future may cause it to fail! If anyone in this universe cared enough, someone should probably be keeping an eye on that! On the other side of the dam, there's undoubtedly an increase in velocity because a lot of water is rushing through smaller apertures in the dam. This dredges up a lot more sediment, which is carried downstream, and eventually to the delta.

The delta is where all the fun stuff happens (I love estuaries so much, and this is it). The river widens out, slows down, and deposits a LOT of sand and silt and clay, which provides nutrients for the plants and animals living there. Also impacting the delta is a massive tidal range, so the marshes that are forming are dealing with a lot of saltwater incursion, sediment deposits from the ocean which are brought in by flood tides, and the expectation that there will be large swathes of land that are sometimes covered by brackish water, and sometimes not. This is the environment that the Trawler-man thrives in, this is where the crabs and the barnacles and the oysters thrive, and this is where Carpenter grew up.

From here, there's nowhere else to go but out to sea. Any sediment that wasn't yet deposited in the marshes is flung out into the ocean, where it will likely take a very long time to settle out (it's only clay by this point, and is incredibly small so would have a very long settling time). You may have some tidal flats forming at the very far end of the delta, and maybe there are plovers that live there. Maybe worms and more crabs burrowing into the earth, here accustomed to mostly saltwater.

And I think that's all I have to ramble about. I forgot that I really love river environments and the geology that leads to them and the animals that live in them, but hopefully you enjoyed my tangent :)

Not that anyone asked but looking at a.) the fact that Carpenter says that it’s clay being torn from the riverbank by the floodwaters of the White Gull and b.) The Hjulström Curve:

We can determine that the flow velocity of the White Gull River in TSV45 was approximately 150-300 cm/s.

What does this mean? Absolutely nothing, I’m going to be so honest. I just find this amusing

[nightxcreature]

Do You Wanna Touch Me?

18+ ONLY

Summary: Part Two to Hotblooded, Reader can't help herself. She needs Dean anyway she can get him.

Warnings: Smut, Masturbation, Spice, Dirty Talk

Pairing: Dean Winchester x reader

A/N: wow. I did not expect that last one to get so much love and attention! Thank you all for being so kind! This is only my second ? time writing smut, so I hope it meets your expectations. I may keep this one going for at least one more part if you guys are interested. :) As always, comments, reblogs, and likes are always appreciated!

do not copy and share my work anywhere, you don't have permission.

I had been trying to fall asleep for hours now, and yet here I lay, half naked and clinging to a pillow for dear life. The ingredients in my drink from earlier were still running their course through my system and had left me panting at the mere thought of Dean. I’d rid myself of my T-shirt before Sam had even left my room, heat emanating from my body at a rapid pace. Sam had awkwardly averted his gaze before locking me in and reminding me that I should feel better after I rest. And yet even hours later, I feel like I’ll die if I don’t see Dean soon, speak to him, touch him…

                I groan as I shift to snag my phone from the nightstand, my hips rolling deliciously against the pillow below me. Feral thoughts of the hunter a few doors down rack my brain and I quickly pull up his contact before pressing the call button. His ringtone echoes down the hall from where I assume he is in the library before he answers.

                “Hey, Darlin’,” His voice alone causes my heart to race, a gasp leaving my lips, “Are you okay?”

                I shuffle to straddle the pillow below me as he speaks, the worry for me in his voice sending me into a frenzy, “No. I need you.” I practically cry into the speaker, “Need you so bad.”

                He sighs deeply and I can hear papers shuffling in the background, “You should be asleep, Sweetheart.”

                “Can’t sleep.” I mumble, rolling my hips against the pillow as he speaks, “Can only think about you. I don’t think I’ll think of anything else ever again.”

                “I’m trying to find something to help make it easier for you, I’m sorry.” He whispers, papers shuffling again, “I promise, it’s got to wear off eventually.”

                I let out a frustrated sound, my bottom lip jutting out as I whine, “I’m going to die in here! I’m going to die from needing you so bad and you wont even come in here to help me.”

                “I can’t come help you, Baby. It’s not you that’s asking for this.” He whispers and I can hear the frustration in his voice. One part of me is yelling for me to shut up, to hang up the phone and go to bed, try to somehow go to sleep and forget this ever happened…but the other part of me is ravenous, feral for the man on the other end of the line, and she is not going to lose this battle without a fight.

                “It’s your job to help people, Dean.” I cry out, a low blow I know, but the desperation coursing through my veins won’t let up, “Are you really going to leave me here like this?”

                “Don’t do that.” He growls out, “I told you before that we could talk about this when you’re not drunk off some god-level fuck juice. I want to talk about this. I do want to help you, but I won’t go in that room.”

                His take-no-shit tone goes straight to my core, which I know is the exact opposite of what he’s looking for, but I can’t stop imagining the firm look on his face as he scolds me. My hips roll quicker, a ravenous feeling overtaking my thoughts, “Please keep talking.” I whisper as my eyes close. I hear his breathing hitch, but he doesn’t speak for a moment, and I bite my lip nervously. Did I make him upset? I don’t think I can live with myself if he’s upset with me, “I’m sorry, I didn’t-.”

                “Don’t apologize.” He cuts me off quickly, “What are you doing?”

                Embarrassment should flood my system, but the idea of being caught getting off to his voice just spurs me on. I lift off the pillow to roll my shorts down my legs and then position myself over it again, “What do you think I’m doing?” I whisper seductively into the speaker. Hoping, practically praying, that he knows and he’ll throw whatever righteousness he has left out the window to come help me reach my goal. Sweat pours down my forehead and a heaviness sits in my hips, I rut against the pillow again to try and alleviate the feeling, a small moan leaving my lips as I do.

                The rough sound of his chair sliding across the library floor and his heavy boots thudding as he walks stills me. I sit with bated breath listening to the sound through the phone, waiting to hear him outside my door, “Where are you going?”

                I hear him chuckle quietly before his voice finally graces my ear again, “Where do you think I’m going?” I hear his boots come to a stop, but no sound comes from the hallway in front of my room.

                I groan in frustration, rutting against the pillow isn’t bringing the amount of relief that my body needs and the thought of Dean not being here to help me brings a sinking feeling in my stomach, “Where are you?”

                A door clicks closed on his end before he speaks, “What are you wearing?” He whispers gruffly, sending a shock to my core. I stay quiet for a moment before he whispers a bit softer, “You told me to keep talking. I won’t come in that room with you, but I am going to help you. Now, what are you wearing?”

                Though he can’t see me, I nod quickly and glance down to my torso. Thankful for the black lace panty set cladding my body so I don’t have to lie…I don’t think I could lie to him right now, “My underwear.” I whisper, holding my breath while I wait for him to speak again, “It’s black and lacy and I think you’d really like it.”

                He groans quietly and I can hear him lay down on what I assume is his own bed, “I’d like to see that.”

                “Come here and you can.” My breathing is heavy, anticipation building throughout me as I beg him, “Please.”

                “Please? You gonna beg me, Sweetheart?” He whispers lowly, the teasing tone spurs me on and I roll my hips against the pillow again, moaning louder as I do. I hear him suck in a breath before he continues, “Tell me what you want me to do to you.”

“Touch me. Please, touch me.” I cry out, “I need you all over me.”

                He chuckles darkly, “I can’t right now, can I? But, you can.”

 At his words my hips stutter, I glance down at the pillow as I slide back toward my headboard, “You want me to…”

“Touch yourself, Baby. Where do you want my hands?” His voice is low as he instructs me and I dust the hand not holding my phone across my chest as I listen to his breathing, “Where do you want me to touch you?”

 “Everywhere. My chest, my legs, my….” I gasp as my fingertips rub over my clothed nipples; eyes still closed, I imagine his fingers being the ones ghosting across my frame.

I can practically hear the smile on his face when he speaks again, his voice quiet and heavy, “Yeah, I wanna touch you there, too. I can’t stop thinking about the things I want to do to you.”

“What else do you want to do to me?” I whisper, my hands making their way down my body at a slow pace. I play with the hem of my panties, imagining it’s his thick fingers there teasing me as he speaks slowly into my ear.

“I wanna spend all day between your legs, Baby. Wanna fuck you so good, you forget your name.” He whispers huskily, his breathing is heavier and I almost cum at the thought that he must be touching himself, too. I slide my hand into my panties and moan breathlessly at the feeling of relief that rushes my system. I circle my fingers around my opening, brushing my fingertips over the bud at the apex every so often

                “You drive me crazy,” I groan, throwing my head back against the headboard as I picture his face between my thighs and all the filthy noises he would be making while he eats me, “I need more. You make me so wet.”

                He curses into the speaker and I can hear his breathing quicken, “Take off your clothes.” The harshness in his voice causes my eyes to snap open and rushes me to strip bare faster than I ever have. I remain quiet as I lay alone, listening to his rapid breathing on the other end of the line, “You want me to fuck you, Baby?”

                I nod dumbly before realizing that he still can’t see me and quickly recover, “Yes.”

                “I want you on your hands and knees. Arch your back and touch yourself.” I nod again, rolling quickly to my hands and knees to do as he asks, “I can’t see you, Sweetheart. Are you listening to me?”

                “Yes, Sir.” I mumble as I rush to put the phone on speaker and roll my hips against my fingers, “I’m listening.”

                “Good girl.” He replies, chuckling as I moan at the name, “You like that?”

                “Yes. I love that.” I pant, rubbing faster against the bundle nerves between my thighs. My eyes roll back at the feeling and I try my best to focus on Dean’s voice as he continues to talk me through this.

                “All those little sounds your making are getting me so hard, Darlin’. I can’t stop thinking about how good you must feel, about how good I’d make you feel.” His husky whispers sends my imagination into overdrive as I raise up to sit on my heels. A single finger sinks into me and I moan out at the relief, “I’ve been thinking about being inside you all day. Whatever you want me to do to you, I’d do it. I want to be so deep inside you.”

                My eyes roll at his words, my breathing becoming heavier and I barely hear him when he asks, “You close, Sweetheart? Want me to make you cum?” The teasing lilt in his voice urging my hands to move quicker, my fingers rushing in and out of my opening like lightening. My toes curl and my vision goes blurry as the orgasm crashes into me suddenly. His name leaves my lips like a prayer as I come down and I hear him grunt, whispering my name quietly against the phone speaker.

                My breathing is heavy when I finally speak, “Thank you.”

                He chuckles awkwardly and I can imagine the way a blush covers his cheeks when he replies, “No need to thank me, Darlin’. I think I got just as much out of this as you did.”

                I laugh a little in response, feeling the hint of a blush rising in my own cheeks. The relief I feel is insurmountable and I can feel exhaustion taking over my body in exchange for the rabid horniness from earlier. “Do you think this is over? The potion, I mean.” I ask, waiting for the intense feeling of want to return.

                “Guess we’ll have to wait and see.” He mumbles, “If you need me again though, just call.”

                “Will do.” I reply, “We do have a lot to talk about when I’m feeling better though…”

                He laughs nervously before trying to hide it as a cough before agreeing, “Yeah, uh, we do.”

                “I’ll see you after my nap, Dean.” I answer with a slight smile, “And then we can see just how quickly I forget my name.”

                He snorts and I can hear the smirk in his voice, “Set a timer, Sweetheart, it won’t take long.”

______________________________________________________________

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[loveanddeepspice]

𝕋𝕖𝕞𝕡𝕥𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝔾𝕣𝕒𝕔𝕖

✞ synopsis:  you've come back to the small town you grew up in for a visit. though your relationship with the catholic church and faith in general have been strained since you were younger, you find yourself drawn back to the church... or more specifically... the new priest... you aren't ready to share your secret sin with him... but you may not be able to help yourself.

✞ pairing: sylus x curvy fem!reader

✞ rating:  18+ (minors do not engage)

✞ cw:  religion (catholicism), priest, lapsed faith, adultery, priest kink, suicidal mention, dead parent, sex, masturbation, drugs (marijuana), mentions of other drug use, drinking (more will be added when/if they arise)

✞ disclaimer: this fiction explores a romantic relationship between a lapsed Catholic and an unconventional priest. it is not designed to be inflammatory or critical. catholic authors were asked to participate in the process. we hope you enjoy it, but we know that these topics can be sensitive, so please skip this fiction if it will in any way offend you.

✞ chapter:  6 / ?

✞ co-authors:  redbriony, confuseddoughnut (they do not have tumblr)

✞ ao3 link:  here

✞ chapter synopsis: "the only way to get rid of temptation is to yield to it." - oscar wilde

✞ index: chapter 1 | chapter 2 | chapter 3 | chapter 4 | chapter 5| chapter 6

Please comment on this post if you want to be added to the tag list for updates!

Despite what happened, you would have done anything to face Father Sylus again. 

He was the type of person who radiated energy from within, dedication unlike anyone you had ever met - which could be a good or a bad thing. The thoughts became an obsession, all that seemed to fill your brain. The recollection of his touch made you sweat. It was the last thing you thought about before drifting off to sleep, the first thing you thought about when you woke, and the next few days stretched.  One thing was sure: you longed to see him again, if only for the courage to apologize.  But did you even have to apologize? He was the one who had kissed you first, right?  It was so unbelievably confusing. You’d talk yourself through circles; for once, no amount of sleeping seemed to help.  You weren’t even given the option to sleep it all off anyway or mellow properly in your self-pity. Upon learning of your ‘arrest’ from Talia, your father forced you out of the house that Sunday to go to church with him.  “What’s going on with you, Y/N?” Dad raised his eyebrows and frowned as he gripped the steering wheel, and you could tell he was trying hard not to get angry or frustrated. “I don’t know what’s gotten into you, hon. You came back, and you’re acting weird.  Can you just tell me what’s wrong?”  Shaking your head, you shrugged, trying your hardest to maintain eye contact on the door handle, ignoring your dad’s question and wishing he’d just leave you alone.  “You went from being happy to totally distraught since you moved out. What am I supposed to think here, huh?”  ‘Maybe everything went to total fucking shit,’ was what you wanted to say, and tried not to roll your eyes. Dad tried so hard to not act like the authoritarian or pushy father, especially after your mother had died. He was never like that. And it was because of that you figured it was time to be at least a little truthful.  “I quit my job. I don’t know what I’m going to do from here, but -” you said, “I just��needed some time to think things through.”  Your dad parked the car and turned to offer you a subtle smile. You were convincing enough, obviously. “Okay, fine. Work in the store until you figure it out. It’ll be like old times.” One hand gripped the steering wheel as he looked at you, almost seeming to peer into your brain as his eyes flicked ever so slightly. “So, uh, is this about your mom? I didn’t know you were still upset about that. I should’ve tried to talk to you more.”  You bit down your reply, feeling a bitter taste in the back of your throat, and willing it away.  “No, it isn’t. Just forget about it.”  A long sigh filled the small space as your father pressed his lips together. “Christ, I can’t be mad at you right now. I’ve always let you do what you want.”  This was strange, a particular ache settling inside and spreading to your limbs like an infection. Maybe it wouldn’t stop now that it had started. And the first instinct was to get away and run. Run and run and just get away.  “Hon, Y/N,” Your Dad’s voice was pleading, and you nearly missed it. “We can go talk to -”  “No!” You blurted, immediately regretting it, mortified at just the thought. How did you speak so fast? “No, it’s fine. Let’s just go inside. We’re gonna be late.”

You didn’t feel any better inside the church, but you weren’t expecting much to begin with. All you could do was suck it up and seat yourself beside your dad. It wasn’t crowded, but there were a few unfamiliar faces, so maybe not everyone would notice your fucked up mood. 

Everything felt surreal. You were sitting there in church with the sun streaming through the stained glass windows, and your gaze landed on the one depicting the Virgin Mary.

The word ethereal came to mind. 

Everything seemed like it would evaporate into thin air. Like if you moved too quickly, you’d wake up from one of those dreams that just turned out to be inside of another dream. 

And when a hush fell over the congregation, you had no choice but to look forward. No matter how your brain fizzes or your fingers tingle. You were forced to look at that handsome face in front of the church and feel the emotion well inside you. Something that felt different than embarrassment or frustration. 

Even from this distance, Father Sylus exudes that particular aura, daring to fill the whole church with its strength. You are once again reminded of how inescapable his presence is—not through belief or goodness, but something, someone who felt unearthly, even celestial, as absurd as it felt. 

Ethereal. Once again, with that pretty word. How could you even begin to explain it? It was so easy to feel some sort of bitterness, perhaps even selfishness. Who could blame you? Everything always seemed too simple when you looked at it from a distance. 

“Good morning,” He began, his voice taking on that strangely powerful, lilting cadence. He paused, hands clasping, and his posture was different. Shoulders broad, spine straight, chin lifted slightly. “I want to take a moment before we begin to discuss why we’re here.” 

You were drawn to his words, which had formed an invisible link to you. Maybe if you closed your eyes like you did at night, you could picture that night in the car. It felt foolish because you were certain your own thoughts were desperate. How stupid did it make you seem, trying to replay the sensation? A stupid crush. That is all you wanted it to amount to, even if looking into his fiery gaze had made you feel like you were melting.

“We’re here, in the house of the Lord. Why is this?” 

If a month’s insistence on chasing after a flame could be compared to anything -

 “Free will.” His tone picked up. “Through our actions, we make conscious decisions. As far as humankind is concerned, free will also makes us human.” 

Your breathing stilled. Something terrible seized your gut, a cramping feeling causing you to grit your teeth. 

“This is a sanctified place,” he continued, voice rich and filled with energy. “Within these walls, you should experience peace. Not conflict or anger. All are free here because it is with our actions that we build ourselves.”

How the hell did he manage this? The words continued spilling from his mouth, something pulling you further. And after a pause, his gaze filtered over the room again - and landed on you. 

Time was beginning to stand still, and you swore your face began to heat up. But, thankfully, the look didn’t linger on you, moving on as he cleared his throat. 

Well, fuck. 

There was only a tiny shift in expression, and perhaps you were the only one to notice how his pause seemed more lengthy than those before it. 

"We - uh.” Father Sylus made a show of glancing down at the notes before him and shuffling a few pages. “Sorry.” He cleared his throat again, a little louder this time. “What I mean to say is, with free will, we struggle against our urges and temptations. Sin beckons - uh,” another loud cough. He looked nervous. Vulnerable. In more ways than one. 

Father Sylus hastily pushed aside the pages, shoulders lifting in a deep breath before looking again at the people gathered. He straightened a little, and his powerful tone returned as he folded his hands neatly. “So, how do we resist? It can be hard to…admit one’s faults.” He let out a little huff of air, glancing down again. Then, he stepped away from the podium, stepping along the carpeted dais, hands clasped behind his back and thumbs tapping against each other. 

The congregation started shifting. A glance here and there, unable to guess what he would say next. Probably wondering why their priest was acting so…off. If you weren’t glued to your seat in, well, any number of the emotions you were feeling now - you would have high-tailed it out of there already. But instead, you were frozen in place, feeling like an outsider, feeling the shift in the air more than the others around you. 

“Take those feelings and multiply them by ten.” He stated, looking towards the back of the church at nothing in particular. It was as if he was somewhere only his mind knew. 

“Opportunity is often just an invitation to sin, yes. Free will is a man’s greatest power but also his biggest weakness. With that power comes responsibility. Satan doesn’t come dressed in a red cape and pointy horns in the middle of the night.” 

Oh God.

 There was a tense pause and stillness, and you wonder how you managed to sit here and listen. Those crimson eyes trailed around the room, but for another second, a brief and terrifying second, they burned into you.

“Satan comes as everything you’ve ever wished for.” He laughed, bitter and slightly hoarse. Then his eyes snapped forward again, unabashed. 

He coughed, cleared his throat again, and gestured with a finger above his head. “We all - well, we all think we can overcome any challenge. Big or small. Big and small.” Father Sylus let out a shaky exhale. “Um, the point is...The point is that the devil is ready to collect when you can’t. So, the point is that - uh,” His tone shifted to something smaller that made your insides tremble agonizingly. A breathless, tight sort of anxiousness that stole through your lungs and caused your heart rate to increase. It was impossible to deny that despite the words coming out of his mouth, you actually wanted to hear him continue. “Um, sometimes I think the hardest thing is that we are human, and we are weak.” 

Before he could even continue, his voice cracked. “I’m sorry.” He swallowed, grimacing, an anguish that you recognized. “Excuse me.” He looked like he might break, the wavering tension almost stifling the room, his expression almost tormented. 

“I’m sorry. Excuse me.” And with that, he disappeared into the back, leaving everyone shocked. 

Everyone except for you. 

“And that’s why I’m never going to church again.” You rolled your eyes as you leaned against one of the shelves in your dad’s store, looking over at Rafayel, who was leaning against the counter, making it his personal mission to get every last drop out of an iced coffee. “You should have seen the look on his face. What a fuck up.” 

Rafayel wrinkled his nose, looked around the otherwise empty store, and then glanced at his phone. “Yikes. Poor guy.” He sighed and tapped his foot on the floor. “Talia came home and said he had a migraine - but it’s even more hilarious that a near-public breakdown was because of you.” 

“My God, you are awful.” You frowned and stepped forward to lightly punch his arm, reaching out and catching his elbow with a grimace as he pretended to almost fall over. “That’s a horrible thing to say! You were the one who was practically encouraging me!” 

“I would never,” Rafayel huffed, clicking his tongue and shaking his head. “Anyway, it’s been almost a week now. You’re gonna have to suck it up and face him sooner or later.” With a firm nod, he shook off your hold and dusted his hand on the faded denim of his jeans, turning his attention back to his phone and shaking the ice in the cup he held. 

“How would I do that?” You asked. 

As if oblivious, Rafayel arched a brow and smiled tightly, peering at you over the edge of his phone. His tone was less-than-reassuring, sounding almost pitying. “No fucking idea.” 

You opened your mouth to argue but thought better of it as the shop door opened, just in time for the chilly afternoon to bring in your dad and Xavier. You took a deep breath at the sound of the bell and forced yourself to calm down.

As if on cue, Rafayel pushed himself away from the counter and looked in your direction. “Well, Y/N.” He said, tossing a wink in your direction that made you want to reach out and knock the silly grin off his face. “Good luck.” With that, he turned and walked out of the store with a shake of his head. 

Your dad mumbled something under his breath before tossing a wave a little too late and heading into the back of the small building. 

Unease had settled in your stomach at your friend's departure. You felt as if you had more to say, ask, or get a general idea of as you stared at the shop's door. You ran a hand over your tired face and sighed. 

“Hi,” Xavier gave you a careful, controlled smile as you turned toward his voice. “Need help with anything?�� 

You tried your best not to fidget or bite your lip. “No, but it’s nice of you to offer.” You shrugged and glanced away briefly. “Why? Got nothing else to do?” 

“Uh, I work here?” He blinked as he stepped forward. You could take in his softening facial features now that he was closer. His smile didn’t quite fade as he looked around the quiet shop. “Anyway - I um. I tried to call you last night? About dinner?” 

Tilting your head in confusion, you froze. Then, you processed the sentence. 

Dinner. Shit. 

“Oh! My phone went missing. I’m sure it’ll turn up soon or something. Wasn’t the nicest phone anyways,” you brushed some hair behind your ear. “I still can’t figure out how it disappeared!” You forced a laugh at your lie and shifted uncomfortably.

You’d completely forgotten about agreeing to go out with him. How fucking stupid were you? So caught up in the idea of -

“Well, uh, I didn’t plan much. So it’s okay, we can just do something another night. Right?” Xavier suggested, and you couldn’t tell if he had let it go so quickly or was suspicious about your behavior. 

Either way, you smiled, rationalizing with yourself for what felt like the millionth time that spending time with him would be a good thing. Any way to keep your mind distracted. Clearly, he still wanted to go out with you, and you certainly wouldn’t say no. After all, who could blame you for latching on anyone who showed the slightest interest? 

This would be a step in the right direction, right? Things would get better. They had to. No matter how weird it felt for you to think so. 

“That’s fine. Sorry, my head’s all over the place.” 

The worst part of it all was the sudden weight in your stomach, the ache in your chest that was becoming all too tiring. Something pushed you in the complete opposite direction of the young man in front of you, towards what you really wanted, and had no explanation for why you did. 

“Y/N?” Xavier spoke again and stepped closer, watching your expression with careful scrutiny, his hand reaching out to touch yours, giving you a new feeling of unease. “Hey, um, - you alright?” 

Your heart wrenched a little at the worry, and you wondered exactly how pathetic you appeared. “I think so. Can you take over? I gotta step out for a while.”

It grew colder as you walked along the sidewalk, sticking your hands inside your jacket pockets. Clouds gathered in the distance, inching their way towards the suburb. The air smelled fresher, as if it might snow lightly sometime at night. A breeze swept over the street, stirring pieces of your hair from its confines, and you briefly thought you should have remembered your scarf. 

Then, you came to a stop in front of the church. 

You looked down at your outfit, the jeans and the oversized blue sweater you had found in your mom's closet, when you couldn’t be bothered to do your own laundry. Perhaps she would give you strength, or at least enough willpower from wherever she was to give you the courage to turn right the fuck around and go back home.  She was always straightforward in that way, even without the drinking. If only you had taken after her in that aspect. 

For a moment, you almost turned to leave, giving yourself the opportunity to simply walk away and go home. However, after a few seconds of mental debate, you stepped along the worn walkway and up the steps, slipping your hand out of your pocket to place it on the worn wooden door. 

Somewhere in your mind was a glimmer of hope, the possibility of resolve.

Now that you had gathered whatever courage you had left, you took one last, bracing breath before pushing the door open. A jolt of energy speared up your arms, a buzzing sensation against your fingertips. Once you were inside, everything felt eerily silent. Almost too silent. But as the familiar warmth enveloped you, your body relaxed slightly as you shrugged off your jacket. 

The last light from the day was casting through the windows, and the interior was a muted, golden glow and soft orange. It felt warm in more ways than one. Despite the hushed nature of the building, energy thrummed within you. The atmosphere was inviting, but for some reason, you couldn’t quite muster the ability to step forward any further, feet stuck to the floor beneath you. It was ironic, yet in a way, expected; you felt like crying or throwing something, but maybe punching Father Sylus would give you the most satisfaction. 

The chapel seemed alien to you as you made your way further inside. 

Loneliness was all-consuming, a fear ever present and threatening in the back of your mind. You wondered why it hurt so much. And, you considered whether you have ever experienced a real connection in your life. You zeroed in on the cross beyond the rows of pews as if you could use it for answers. It glinted a little in the evening light that filtered through the stained glass. Your eyes felt dry as they fixed upon the illuminated wood, searching, listening, walking towards the front of the church like a mouse. 

“You think this is funny, don’t you?” You asked your question out loud. The silence of the building taunted you in return, and something constricted within your chest. The rush of it all was consuming, filling your every thought with hope and expectation. A breath sucked in, and you shook your head, blinking. Everything felt off, and you had no idea what your body was supposed to do with itself. “This is so fucked. You know, this is all…just so messed up,” you choked out the whisper and, with a small gasp, swallowed. The emotions swelled. Heavy and pounding and suddenly overwhelming. 

Who gave a shit? Nothing would change. 

But, maybe - 

Would God be willing? Could He lift the spell put on you that would continue to grow? 

“Mom is dead, and she’s not coming back.” The words spilled and dropped like shattered glass. “And, uh, it’s just like, that’s fucked up. Isn’t it? Please, it’s - well, I wish I knew, God damn it. Motherfucker!” You swore louder than you should have, not recognizing your own voice. A feeling that had no name gripped your heart. This was it. You were giving up. “Totally fucked up. And you go and make me do stupid shit? What kind of test is that?” 

Only silence answered. You wondered how you should feel. As angry as you were, it felt strange to voice it. Finally, saying the words brought unusual comfort, and it was too easy to admit everything now. “Yeah, yeah. You should really apologize, God. Lord. Jesus. Whatever.” 

“I’m sorry.” The voice that spoke back did not belong to you. Echoing off the walls and the stained glass, it sent a jolt up your spine, causing you to spin in its direction. Leaning against a doorframe was Father Sylus, looking down at the floor, that shameful expression resurfacing on his face. You witnessed the repentant facade as he lifted his head and looked at you. 

It felt like a flood rushed through you, coursing, washing away the anger, seeping into every cell, and filling you with something new. Warm and soft, somehow breaking you apart as it passed. Something indecipherable but true. 

Something almost wonderful and exhilarating. 

He looked like something you could draw. That raw, exposed sort of aura. 

That same warmth enveloped your heart, the comfort expanding across your chest. There was something profound and affectionate within his gaze and the sense that you had underestimated what was truly meant by the phrase ‘care and concern.’

It could have been a few seconds. Or minutes passed as you stood rooted to the spot. The beating of your heart seemed to echo in your ears. Blood pulsed through your veins, the silence around you growing louder. 

“For what?” You were almost afraid to speak up. 

“For whatever you’re feeling,” Father Sylus stated plainly. Then he straightened, and his look shifted, and for a split second, he stepped forward, only to pause with his fingers twitching at his sides. Maybe there was confusion flickering in his gaze. Or longing. But he still didn’t move from where he stood, as if unable to break the tension he had with himself. After a time, he studied your face and added, “For everything and for nothing.” 

After a moment of thought, you shook your head. “That’s vague.” 

“It’s all I’ve got.” Father Sylus ran a hand behind his neck, almost nervously, eyes shifting and gaze searching. Another pause lingered between you, and you blinked a few times. He opened and closed his mouth, finally settling on placing both his hands on his hips, inclining his head to look at the stained glass windows. “That…and guilt.” 

His admission seemed weighted, and his voice was heavy. You watched him take a step forward, then hesitate. 

In that second, there was a great leap in understanding. You understood that he would not look directly at you because it would break this sacred reverence between you and whatever else was going on within his mind. 

Maybe it’d always been a game, and perhaps you knew deep down that this would be his next move. The inevitable, silent communication. Slowly, you folded your shaky arms over your chest. The look that flashed in his eyes made you shudder. With a new boldness, you swallowed and whispered: “Why are you telling me this?” 

Exhaling hard, you weren’t sure whether to scream, laugh, or cry as you awaited your answer.

He swallowed, his dark gaze teeming like a fire in the low light, the red burning. His lip curled. “Because I feel like you can understand it. Why I feel this way.” 

A sick urge, sharp and needy, had you crossing the space between you, the air shaking and trembling as he finally took another stride forward. Your eyes traced over his face. Deep and pained and beautiful. His chest heaved. A strange, bittersweet satisfaction filled you. 

“I - I can’t stop thinking about -” you broke off, words quivering as you spoke. “Us. The other night - it keeps going through my head, what I said, and -” your voice was breaking again, the achy, miserable desperation settling in. 

You could tell he was holding his breath, hands now clenched into fists, gaze searching and uncertain. “I didn’t mean to deceive you.” The words hung heavy as he stepped closer, finally closing the distance between you, tilting your chin, and forcing you to look at him. The grip held you firmly, though his eyes remained gentle and pleading. “I want nothing more than to pray - beg for your forgiveness. Try and restore whatever trust I’ve betrayed - but in all truth, God, I -” 

Another thick swallow, and he paused, the corner of his mouth twisting. He squeezed your chin lightly as if in search of some answer. Then his hand fell to his side, his head turning to look at the cross behind the altar. Something burned beneath your ribs. 

“What is it?” You whispered, trembling with the effort of not spilling all your unresolved thoughts. “Tell me - tell me something, anything, or - or -” You stopped yourself, feeling a little pathetic at not being able to formulate the proper words. 

“My path was never exactly clear, but,” Father Sylus swallowed thickly, sounding more scared than ever. “Someone I loved when I was younger - she -” A long sigh escaped his lips. “We were each other's firsts and…We loved each other very much.” He exhaled again. His face creased into sadness, reminiscent and haunting. A sharp pain, almost. One that lingered from emotions held within. The truth was there, plain as day, naked, heartbroken, and fragile. “She died when she was eighteen.” 

Pain squeezed at you mercilessly, tight and almost bone-crunching. You stepped closer, your brain slowly putting it all together, realization hitting. Then your bottom lip trembles as you reach out, taking hold of his hand and squeezing it. “I’m sorry,” you manage to say after a moment, “that must have been -” Another pause, trying to settle your lungs into a steadier breathing pattern. 

He squeezed your hand, looking at you, catching your gaze and holding it, unwavering. “I went to her funeral in a church far bigger than this one with twice the congregation. And later that day, when they put her down into the ground, I listened to the Monsignor pray over her soul.” He looked away again, this time up at the beams in the ceiling. “And I really listened to what he was saying for the first time. And I don’t know why, I just suddenly felt…” He trailed off, and you moved your hand further up his arm, willing him to continue by pressing your fingertips gently into his forearm. 

He smiled at the ceiling, faint and apologetic. “I felt at peace. Everything clicked into place. As stupid as that sounds. It was like something I couldn’t understand but needed. And, well,” he shrugged. 

“At last, it finally made sense to me,” he muttered. “The power God holds over us was always right there.” Then he turned to face you, his fingers reaching and resting on your cheek, tracing the soft skin of your jaw. “And now, I stand before you - finding these feelings again, the first true connection I’ve felt in years. I don’t mean to doubt anything…but I don’t know how to...” 

He let his voice drift off before tucking your hair behind your ear, movements tender. You wondered what he could see in your expression. 

“How did she die?” You asked quietly as if the question would destroy something in the air, but you needed to ask it anyway. 

The corners of his mouth trembled as he stroked his thumb along your jawline, offering you a small, grim smile. “She was mad at something, drank herself sick. Decided a joy ride on a motorcycle might be a good idea,” he turned his gaze to the ceiling again, and it finally hit you that he kept doing that as a trick to keep himself from crying. “She lost control and swerved, hit a wall head-on. Died on impact. Stupid girl with the dumbest ideas. She used to talk about seeing if the world curved or if the stars continued forever. She was funny and smart - but not as smart as she should have been. Her blood alcohol level came back three times the legal limit.” 

“That’s horrible,” you breathed. The puzzle pieces were assembled together. A crash. Drunk. How similar it was to your mother. Only your mother hadn’t met death head-on. It was still one of those things that made you wonder; which would have been worse? The chance was so similar yet unique. Still, as Father Sylus spoke about it, you swore you felt the faint sorrow he must still carry within himself.

“Sylus, I’m -” 

“Don’t be sorry.” He said, finally regaining a certain poise about his face, somehow managing to look warm even at this moment, smiling very softly. 

At his words, you realized you were breathing harder than before, and it didn’t go unnoticed as he scanned your face. You didn’t know what was wrong with you; you felt an emotion you could no longer explain. He had experienced loss, same as you, just not in the same way. 

Father Sylus let out a dry snort. “It’s not a happy memory, but something good comes from pain. Distrust to trust. Fear to courage. Hatred to love. To an extent, those things make you understand and appreciate everything.” 

You nodded, unable to stop yourself from wrapping your arms around his middle, convincing yourself you would forget how to breathe if you didn’t. You embraced him because it felt like the right thing to do, the smoothness of his shirt beneath your fingertips. His hand ran up along your side until it rested on your neck's base, soft, gentle, and warm. He exhaled a little before resting his chin on the top of your head. 

As he held you, you realized that this was what you had wanted. This was what you had really been aching for. Everything shifted again, changing, rushing with a tangle of nerves and dizziness. Nothing else would settle more easily than being cradled right there, where you could breathe him in. 

“Hey, do you -” He leaned back, both hands cupping your face, tilting it to meet his own. It took him a moment to formulate his question. “I shouldn’t ask, but - do you still want me?” 

Of course you did. More than anything. 

But even then, you should have stepped away. Should have walked out without another word, back to whatever fucking regular life you thought you had. But with whatever strength you had left, you pushed everything aside and quietly said, “Yes.” 

He had pressed you against the wooden door of the office, pinning you in place after dragging you in there and shutting the door. Not that you really had any intention of going anywhere. Not with his lips moving against yours, the desperation sending sparks along your skin.  His tongue darted out, parting your lips and moving into your mouth. Hungry and forceful and tasting every inch.

“You know,” he said as he pulled back, taking a second to breathe, “It’s so hard to be good when you’re so…” He trailed off, leaving you to only imagine what he would say. 

No, you had no words or any logical thoughts, really. Perhaps this was the closest thing to heaven you’d ever feel, surely. And Father Sylus ran his hands down your sides, slow and possessive, grabbing fistfuls of your sweater and bunching it up. Heat began spreading throughout your body as his fingertips crept underneath and stoked along the sensitive skin. 

“Will you let me in?” He mumbled, his lips now on the underside of your jaw as his palms spanned across your stomach as if trying to map out every inch of exposed skin. The blood pounded in your veins, pulsing in rhythm with your heartbeat.

“If this is what it feels like to be tempted,” you mused, gasping as he sucked on the skin above your collarbone, gripping the front of his shirt. “I have already failed. Miserably.” 

Letting out a hot breath that sounded an awful lot like laughter, he pulled away, a smile stretching across his lips, amused. “I suppose you really have,” he chuckled. His hands gripped your hips and spun you around so you were against his desk. Then he ducked down to press more kisses along your throat. The shivers returned as he lifted your sweater over your head, tossing it aside with another wicked grin. And for the first time, you noticed the hint of a dimple in the corner of his mouth. 

After a moment, Father Sylus fumbled with the buttons of his shirt until that, too, was discarded, skin suddenly bare. The sight made you stop, observing for a moment. For the first time, your fingers reached out and touched the skin of his chest, moving over the muscles and across his stomach. You marveled at the way he flinched slightly, inhaling sharply at your touch. 

Everything felt…hot, heavy, and inappropriate in the best way. 

And before you knew it, his hands were running up along the bare skin of your stomach, a barely-there brush that made your breath hitch. Then his hands were behind your back, unhooking your bra as his lips found yours again, rough and fervent. As it was removed, there was not a second of delay before his hands cupped both of your breasts, squeezing and drawing his thumbs over your nipples. 

“You’re so beautiful,” his hands shifted, fingers resting along the waistband of your jeans. 

It was like every little action was becoming overwhelming, sending pulsing waves through every nerve, vein, and muscle. When he popped the button, slid the zipper, and slowly eased the jeans down, the pulsing only got stronger—dizzying with its intensity. It was challenging to focus on anything else that would make more sense. Your mind was clouded. 

“Wait,” you breathed, sitting on the desk, pulling the clip from your hair and tossing it to the floor, the waves tumbling out. His hands never left you, still roaming over every little centimeter of you they could get access to, “I -” 

It didn’t need to be said, whatever it was. Because a grin broke out across his lips. A bright, glorious grin as Father Sylus pressed another harsh kiss to your lips like he could swallow the words down.

Stepping closer, he maneuvered you onto your back, your legs dangling over the edge of the desk. The smooth, cool wood pressed against the length of your spine and shoulders as you heard something that sounded like a book fall somewhere behind you. He gripped the soft flesh of your thighs, blunt nails digging in. Breath hitching, your heart thumped at the roughness and passion of his movements. Something animalistic and unrestrained lay just beneath the surface, waiting, ready. 

“Let me,” he urged quietly, fingers winding over the lace underwear, dragging them down the length of your legs. Fingers stroked up again, curling and caressing your inner thighs, one hand finally reaching the place where you were already desperate, soaking wet, and aching to be touched. Without hesitation, a digit dipped, sliding along your slick folds and slipping in easily. The motion made you bite down on your tongue as his other hand ran along the underside of your knee, urging your leg up and apart. 

You felt the pad of his thumb gliding over the little bundle of nerves, back and forth in a way that made you groan. 

“You are,” his voice was low, almost a growl, and his teasing continued. “So gorgeous, laying there. I can’t stop looking at you.” One finger became two. Slick and hot as they moved into you, each stroke moving deeper. All too suddenly, his lips were crashing down against yours, kissing you hard and desperately as if set on devouring you whole. 

The only thing keeping you stable was grabbing his shoulder and his upper arm. The sudden rise of pressure rushed around you. His thumb slipped, pressing down a bit more on your clit, drawing another gasp from you, a sound that filled the room. Then he pulled his hand away, an invisible weight settling when the digits were gone, leaving you empty and still aching for more. 

“I’m on birth control,” you managed, eyes blinking rapidly as you processed that this, in fact, was actually about to happen. The fullness beneath your belly was spooling tighter, coiling. 

It was only a few seconds; that’s all it took for him to undo his belt buckle, his length freed. Straining, leaking, begging to be inside you. The size of it makes you swallow a certain anxious lump in your throat. 

“Please.” The word spilled out before you could stop it. The coil inside you grew more and more tense and throbbing. You needed it now; the consequences didn’t matter, nor did the guilt or shame. “Please.”

His breathing hitched as if a long controlled flame within had been ignited. One of his hands rested on your hip, the other hooking under your opposite knee, parting you further and steadying himself. The tip of his cock pressed at your center. You didn’t have any time to prepare because, at that very moment, he was pushing further, sliding into you inch by inch. 

The heat and fullness and pleasure coursed, trembling through you. 

“Sweetheart,” he breathed, face buried in the crook of your neck, but you could hear the grin in his tone, the soft desperation in his voice. “You, you -” but his breath choked off as he pushed all the way inside, the moan that ripped through him cracked and hoarse. 

It took you a moment to feel him fully, gasping for air and dazed beyond what was really necessary. Holding tight, you wrapped an arm around his neck, exhaling hard. The room became a haze around the two of you, the entire moment almost suspended, paused, put on hold. 

When he moved his hips again, you whimpered as he hit somewhere deep, and your pleasure spiked. 

“Fuck,” he whispered against your skin, raising himself just enough to look at you, eyes glinting with a certain fervor. A little dark, a little feral, something wildly possessive and hungry and yearning all at once. “Oh, fuck,” he hissed, gritting his teeth and closing his eyes. Another jolt shot through you. Another strong thrust, this one harder than the last, followed by another. And another. It took a minute for him to set a rhythm, but when he did - you were sure the air was being pushed from your lungs each time. 

You couldn’t do anything but hang on. His mouth met yours in a sloppy, forceful kiss. Gasping and shuddering, you tried not to shout at the next jolt. The constant grind fills you every time. Deeper and sharper. The steady, thrumming pleasure. Intense and focused, as if Father Sylus were on a mission. Searching for something. Finding each sweet spot with whatever desperate greed drove him. Like now that he’d had the taste of something forbidden, he wanted the best of it - anything you could offer. 

He shifted slightly, and before you knew it, he hooked your leg over his shoulder, the deep angle making you arch from the desk. 

One hand tangled in his hair, the other on his shoulder, gripping hard and pulling him closer, trying to keep him buried deep inside of you. The friction built, the pace driving forward and drawing the pressure up, leaving you malleable and aching for release. But somehow, wanting it to last as long as possible. 

When the pleasure spooled tighter and tighter, every breath came short, coming fast and shorter. Until finally with one long, breathy whimper of an exhale, release washed over you, crashing like a wave. His name slipped out of your mouth, some deep, instinctual part of your brain keeping you present enough to utter it, still pulsing around him, shaking. 

And that brought him there, a little broken sound falling from his lips. Hips snapping, driving just the slightest bit further until he groaned into the side of your neck, spilling inside you. After a moment, the stillness settled between the two of you, heavy and thick. There was no actual sound other than ragged breathing. 

You stared at the ceiling, trembling and a bit boneless, wholly dumbfounded and satisfied. Then, with every ounce of energy left, you sat up, placing a hand on his chest.

“You okay?” 

A rush flooded through you at his question, and you struggled to make sense - to be logical and reasonable. 

“Yeah,” you said quickly, “I just. I…” What was the right wording? You trailed off, eyes focused somewhere beyond him. Struggling, you kept your eyes away. How could you possibly articulate the warmth that had settled over you, the lift in your confusion that had been gnawing at you until this moment? How could you explain feelings that make no real sense? 

“I feel at peace.” A near whisper because your words made it tangible, whatever it was. And really, you did feel lighter. It was as if something weighing on your shoulders had lifted in a way that wasn’t just because of the act that had been performed. 

“Really?” A sharp inhale of his breath. 

You nodded, reaching out to hold his face and running your thumbs along his cheekbones. Father Sylus slowly returned the nod, a tentative but wonderful, hopeful smile quirking up his lips—something bright and genuine, untouched by bitterness or remorse.

Serenity had sunken in with a comforting familiarity. Settling inside, like the feeling of returning home. Like the truth had opened its door. Acceptance and serenity. Understanding. Clarity, even. The knowledge you weren’t as broken or faulty as you thought. 

A moment passed, no words spoken. Then, still breathless and maybe a bit disbelieving, Father Sylus reached out and traced a cross on your brow with his thumb. 

“Did you just -” You blinked, a bit indignant as you huffed. “Did you just…bless me?”

He looked a bit sheepish, hands resting on your shoulders, thumbs rubbing gentle circles along your collarbone. “Guess I did.” With a slight chuckle, he leaned forward and placed a chaste kiss on your forehead. 

Tag list: @celestialforce, @readerxyourbabe, @babyx91

[1toreyouapart]

The Lies We Tell

***FANFIC THAT INVOLVES REAL PEOPLE. 18+ ONLY. MDNI. DO NOT READ IF YOU DON’T LIKE FANFIC THAT INVOLVES REAL PEOPLE***

Summary that tells you nothing: Sometimes everything you ever wanted has been right there, within reach, all along.

CW/TW: Angst, fluff, swearing, friends to lovers, jealousy, smut, fingering, PinV, pet names, friends with benefits, more to come as I actually get things written out.

Masterlist

The Lies We Tell

There were so many different types of lies that he could spend hours talking about them. The cases for them and against them. In fact, him and Quinn had spent countless hours over the years talking about lying and how fucked it was to lie. Well, it was Quinn who held steadfast in that position. He'd always defended it being okay to lie sometimes. He never wanted to admit to her just how much lying he had been doing. Lied about just looking for a friend the night they met. About how he felt every time she went on another date. He even lied to her just last night. A lie by omission. Rather than telling her that he had been absolutely terrified he'd fucked everything up by kissing her, he instead fucked things up even more.

Sometimes the biggest lies, however, were the ones we told ourselves. He’d told himself he was fine being just a friend. Told himself that she was too good for him. That he wasn’t stupidly, irrevocably head over heels for her, and definitely just fine having her any way that he could. He’d be a dead man if she ever found out. Best to keep that part to himself.

The sound of her laughter filtered through to the kitchen from the backyard, reminding him of what the fuck he was doing. Dinner. Steaks. Pretending like everything was totally normal and he wasn’t the biggest fucking idiot in the world. Easy as pie. He actually never understood that saying. Making pie was hard as fuck.

With a tray full of raw steak in one hand, and a beer for Quinn in the other he stepped outside, squinting against the god awful sun. Quinn’s screech followed by a splash brought a smile to his lips. They definitely needed to talk soon. Before his two big fuck ups fucked up the rest of the house. They needed to clear the air a bit. And he needed to apologize for being an idiot and putting everything they had all built together on the line like he had. Definitely for ghosting her, too. That was fucked. Trying to pretend like he hadn’t kissed her and avoiding her after was absolutely fucked up of him to do to his best friend.

“So, you kissed her, huh?”

Nicholas’ voice next to him startled him. Had he really been that lost in thought he didn’t hear his brother walk over? The man was in flip flops for crying out loud.

“Jesus Christ, dude.” Noah shook his head, tossing the steaks on the grill. “How did you know?”

“I mean, we all kind of assumed something happened with you two. You being a cowardly piece of shit and avoiding her was a big clue. Huge, actually. But, uh, heard her yelling at you and saw her about to kick your fucking door in last night.”

Fuck. If he had heard that, what else had he heard?

“Yeah.” No sense in lying. He would know if he was anyway. They’d been best friends for so long they just referred to each other as brothers now.

“About fucking time. Watching you two dance around each other has been fucking torture, man.” Nicholas leveled him with a stern stare. Ah, fuck. Here came the big brother part. “Did you apologize for being a fucking asshole and ghosting her while actively living in the same house?”

“Yeah? No? Man, I don’t fucking know.”

Noah flipped the steaks, all but one. While they all preferred theirs pretty rare, she preferred an even medium. Something he had learned the first time he had cooked for her. Watching her go back into the kitchen to cook it just a little more was forever seared into his brain. The first time he had let her down. From that point forward he made sure he only ever made her food the exact way she liked it. She hadn’t even complained. Just asked if he minded if she cooked it just a little longer while thanking him for feeding her.

“Do it. Man up, Noah. I hate to say it, but if you fuck up this family we’ve all built brick by boring fucking brick, she gets me in the divorce. Don’t worry. I’ll visit on the weekends.”

Noah flipped Quinn’s steak, taking the others off the grill. He knew Nicholas wouldn’t actually just stop being his friend. It was all his way of letting him know he was fucking up. Which meant he had to be okay with just friends again. And he was. He really was.

Sometimes, the biggest lies are the ones we tell ourselves.

Tags: @collisionofyourkissmakesitsohard @mrscevans

[fxckn-sxck-fr]

omg hi if ur inbox is open can u give us a short blurb/your thoughts on or some kind of headcanon list for yan tim drake (romantic) bc ur interpretation of him is so yum🤤 i like how you rlly focus on more darker aspects of his character which i dont see a lot of ppl doing unfortunately bc the way he’s a complete FREAK LMFAO🫣🫣

𝐒𝐎𝐌𝐄 𝐘𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑𝐄 𝐓𝐈𝐌 𝐃𝐑𝐀𝐊𝐄 𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐔𝐆𝐇𝐓𝐒…

!!! GN reader, mentally ill Tim, psychotic Tim, just Tim, he’s a problem, manic/depressive episodes, violent tendencies, suicidal tendencies, stalking, kidnapping, obsessive behaviors, gross ways to show affection, slight insinuation of pervy Tim, blood, mutilation, harm to reader mentioned, self-harm, severed body parts, drugging, gaslighting.

YAAAAYYYYYYYYY, TIM DRAKE TIME!!!! This is so long overdue. I’ve been meaning to write for him, but… it just hasn’t happened yet. I hope the ideas will start flowing after I get some of this off my chest. I’ve been harboring so many miscellaneous Tim thoughts for a while.

(Y’all. The CW on this just kept getting longer and longer. My bad.)

First thing’s first, Tim is a fucking mess. There’s no way to know for sure which version of him you’re gonna get each day. Maybe he’s going through a manic episode, coming up with batshit crazy schemes and going on about things that don’t make sense. Maybe he’ll then swing into a depressive fit, where he can’t even bring himself to get up from the floor. Maybe he wakes up completely fine after an hour long nap, regretting whatever initial brash decisions he made. Maybe he quickly turns violent at the sound of knocking at his door. Maybe he wants to claw his own arteries out after trying to maintain a normal social interaction.

The possibilities are endless! Which makes him extremely dangerous.

If you’ve caught the eye of Tim Drake… yikes. Good luck. There’s a chance you don’t even know who he is before he inevitably kidnaps you (completely on a whim, no less). Maybe you’re a total stranger he saw on the street once, captivating him and causing him to spiral into a twisted obsession. While I’ll defend Tim against the fandom allegations until my lungs give out, I’ll admit: they’re on to something when it comes to stalker Tim. Bro definitely has pictures of you covering every square inch of his walls. And, yes, it’s to the point where they overlap each other.

Kidnapping can take anywhere between 3 days and 3 years. During that time, he may try to weasel his way into your life in an attempt to win you over... though we all know how well that would go. As I’ve mentioned before, he may be attractive, but he’s such an off-putting person. Just being around him is enough to give you the creeps. And it doesn’t help he’s completely unaware of how weird some behaviors are. Tim... honey… you can’t shamelessly stare at people with a startling grin like that. I know you’re thinking about how much you want to lick your darling-to-be’s neck, but it’s weird.

Whether he attempts to interact with you or not, one thing’s for sure: he’s stealing your shit. Clothes, toothbrushes, half-eaten food, straws, whatever he can get his hands on. Don’t ask what he does with it. You don’t wanna know. Tim is a neeeaaaasty freak, to the point where even he thinks to himself, “what the fuck is wrong with me” after he calms down from a fit.

Oh, speaking of guilt, Tim is filled with that shit. He may swing from various stages of instability, but there are moments where he’s perfectly fine. And those are the moments where he has to grapple with the consequences of his own actions. Those can range from slightly scaring someone to causing irreversible damage. There have been many times where he snapped out of some episode with blood dribbling down hands and chunks of skin under his fingernails. Who did he hurt? Could be someone else, could be himself, could be you. Who knows!!

Let’s actually get into his suicidal tendencies a bit. His arms and legs are covered in scratches and cuts. Now, this could be explained by his vigilante life, but it gets harder to justify when you get to the bite marks at angles that only make sense if they were self-inflicted. Oh, and also the carvings of your name. He does that a lot. It’s like you’re with him everywhere he goes!! And kind of on the same note, he wants you to have him with you as well!! This could come in the form of strips of skin, vials of blood, toes, an eye, an ear, a spleen… just whatever he’s willing to cut off or out of himself in the moment.

His suicidal tendencies are also connected to those moments of guilt I mentioned before. After calming down and realizing what he’s done, he may harm himself as some sort of penance; especially if he’s done something to you. Depending on how far he spirals from his guilt, he may actually enact “an eye for an eye” (perhaps in the most literal sense) to help make up for what he’s done. Who knows, maybe he’ll replace missing pieces of you with his own. Will it work? No idea. Maybe a skin graph or two, but let’s hope you don’t have to find things out in the more extreme cases.

I think it’s important to keep in mind that Tim Drake is just generally fucked-up. “Normal” Tim doesn’t mean “completely well-adjusted” Tim, it just means he’s not acting on some manic or brash decision. Normal Tim would be fine with chaining or drugging you if he’s justified it to himself. As long as he’s not causing active physical harm to you, he probably won’t see anything wrong with whatever he’s doing in the long run. It’s for your own good, okay? Don’t worry, he’s gone through the possibilities and failsafes. Nothing bad will happen to you!

Unfortunately, manic Tim does not go through the possibilities and failsafes. Well, he kind of does, but the logic is far from realistic and runs in total circles. Whereas drugging you has a rational (fucked up, but still rational) reason behind it — to keep you immobile — filling your ear canal with cement takes some mental gymnastics. Manic Tim doesn’t want you to listen to anyone else. Solution? You can’t hear through concrete, right? At that point, you’re at the mercy of his mood swing RNG. Let’s hope he calms down enough to take a step back and really think about this. Hmm… filling someone’s ears with cement… probably not healthy. Wow. Silly Tim! He let himself get carried away, didn’t he? Whoops! There are more logical ways to keep you from listening to anyone else.

That’s where manipulation comes in. I mean, come on. Y’all know who his mentor is, right? Stable Tim is wicked good at manipulation. Huh? He’s acting weird? Well, he didn’t want to say anything, but he was actually thinking the same thing about you. Yeah, you’ve been kind of off lately… is there something wrong? You sure? You know he’s there for you, right? Okay, just making sure. A gaslighting king when he’s in the right headspace for it. Too bad his psychotic aura gives him away; he’d probably be really good at keeping up appearances if he just got medicated or something.

So… yeah. Just some Tim thoughts. What a charmer, amiright? I don’t think this one’s salvageable. No amount of therapy could ever fix whatever Tim’s got going on. Just throw the whole damn guy away. Start over. Your only hope of escaping him is the chance of someone on the outside realizing what’s up. Here’s to hoping Tim gets institutionalized before he does something really bad!!

[foodtruckery]

ive returned because your writing haunts me and i need to dig into your brain about combat baby idk how deeply youve thought about like. the whole extent of this au so if im asking about stuff that you dont want to focus on for it forgive me but im so curious how do things go down with bill?? like hes still an issue here do they just try the unicorn hair and stan scams his way through (and ford is so shocked and lowkey turned on impressed they bang after) or with everything else happening does ford (stupid genius he is) just sort of forget bill can still enter stan's dreams even if hes got the metal plate and stans like "hey why am i dreaming about a dorito obsessed with your portal"

and im guessing ford would not be down to make his home a tourist trap so do you think stan would just help with the research? or would his insecurities about being dead weight to ford push him to try and find his own way of income?

and and what about the town?? do they have to awkwardly pretend theyre father and son or uncle and nephew or something? because sure they could pretend theyre not related but they still look pretty similar. ford just looks like an older, nerdier stan so i think that would be people's first assumption (ford seething quietly as susan flirts with stan. stan just thinks fords feeling uncomfortable in town because hes a hermit until theyre alone and they have a repeat of their highschool days with ford hissing in his ear and demanding to know what he was expecting to happen with susan. stan trying to answer but hes a little distracted at the time)

and also with ford being back would they ever run into fiddleford again? either him in his cult days or maybe already halfway to losing his mind. depending on where he is mentally im sure the interaction could be either pretty hostile or sympathetic

ive grabbed you by the ankles and am attempting to shake you upside down to try and empty your pockets for scraps of this au because it consumes me

-🐶

waaaaaah thanks for being patient with me friend! you know i ALWAYS love to see you with the big fuckin questions and ideas. and i have been THINKING about this one cause, tbh, i finished combat baby in a couple of days and went “GET OUT OF MY SIGHT” and threw it at y’all and did not think much about it after that! until i came over here and started chatting with y’all at least hahaha.

the bill issue is like a whole thing right? and i was definitely wondering how the time travel on one side but not the other might impact him/slow him down. but i also do think it’d be kind of fucking hilarious if stan starts dreaming about bill but like. doesn’t say anything and doesn’t even think it’s a big deal because. you know. they’re just weird dreams. and at this point, stan’s done enough drugs and been through the ringer with stress and shit that it doesn’t even occur to him to question having bizarre dreams about some little geometric freak trying to be nice to him. whaaat? a MATH SHAPE for fucking NERDS in a gay little sweater vest BOW TIE is COMPLIMENTING him in his dreams???

as far as stan’s concerned, his subconscious got REALLY hung up on the whole “ford said some nice shit to me while we were fucking” and just hasn’t let that go yet. which i think would also drive bill up the fucking wall. like stan would have been the harder nut to crack regardless, but to keep getting accused of being stan’s mental manifestation of his brother fucking praise kink???? (which of course invites the whole question of bill going fuck it, and just leaning into that, but i don’t think he’d be as adept that mimicking ford for stan as he was at mimicking stan for ford, so)

ngl, i do love the unicorn hair play, tho. fun fact! i have no idea if i’ll actually write it or not, but i’ve toyed with the idea of doing a role reversal with ford coming back out of the portal still in this 30’s and finding stan and everything else having moved forward 30 years. and the unicorn hair felt like a good way to potentially address the Bill Issue i was getting stopped up on there! but like. i also could absolutely see older!ford convincing stan to wear a collar necklace of unicorn hair to keep bill out of his head.

but i loooooove the idea of them getting mixed up with fiddleford’s cult shit. i don’t even know wtf i’d DO with that but conceptually i love it. cause they’re starting to keep an eye on the townspeople, right? and even if stan’s come up with some kinda story to explain there being kinda sorta two of them now, he wouldn’t know not to be outspoken about the other weird shit happening in town. y’know, on top of being some of the weird shit happening in town. something something, stan getting snatched like lazy susan did over the gnome incident, but ayyye that shit hits really fucking wrong when you’ve actually been kidnapped in the past already and had to chew your way out of a fucking car to get free. i think that’s be neat!!

and especially if we consider fidds being maybe already just shade too far gone, enough that running into stan or having him dragged into the cult would confuse the fuck out of him. because that’s stanford, right? it has to be, he’s coming in and out of stanford’s house, he looks like stanford with a few questionable fashion and hygiene choices — but then again, stanford hadn’t been in great shape the last time he’d shown his face outside of the cabin, either. but his hands are wrong. his hands are wrong and he can’t be stanford but then why does he look like him? easy solution: everybody gets their memory wiped.

something something, stan may not know where the fuck he is, but he knows coming to in a room full of shady guys he doesn’t recognize is either gonna end with him losing teeth or a little bit of dignity, and he’d like to hold on to his teeth a little longer.

[givekennyabreak]

Irreplaceable. (Kenny Liu x gn!reader)

Summary: A cop arrived along with Tabitha, and she thinks she owns the place; you think it's time to teach her how to be humble.

Rating: T

Warnings: whole lotta cursing, canon-compliant violence, spoilers for S3E8 of From, survivor's guilt, mourning, Acosta slander, reader is jealous but for a good reason, mentions of blood, mentions of gun. Acosta is her own warning.

Word count: 2.15k

Tabitha was back.

She went through the tree, got into a lighthouse, went outside and wound up back in town. She was hurt - scared, you could see the way she looked around with wide eyes at every waking moment.

You talked to her once; it didn't go far, though, as Jim arrived a couple minutes after you finally got the poor woman alone, telling you whatever went on in their life wasn't any of your business.

You flipped him off.

"If you ever need to talk," you told Tabitha, eyes as gentle as possible. "I'm at the station."

Not only did Tabitha come back, she brought in Victor's father with her (by accident, she said. Of course.). Henry, he said his name was, was a gentle man through and through. You could see how much he cared about Victor - the way he tried his best to be patient and reconnect with his son.

He never berated the man, listened to whatever he said with the utmost patience and always tried to remain calm, although you're all only human - he panics a few times, too.

He went to the goddamn caves with Victor.

If that isn’t love, you don’t know what is.

Victor, your first friend in this hellspace; one of the four people you trusted with your life - the other three, obviously, were Boyd, Donna, and Kenny.

The man was a gentle, misunderstood soul. If anyone asked you who was the person who wanted to leave this place the most, out of everyone, Victor would be your answer. He was used to it, yes - but he didn't like the place.

He was tired.

You were tired.

That's why you tried to help him as much as possible.

(Victor told you how he tried to remember what happened with Christopher and the townspeople at the beginning, but it didn't work - he was going to see Sara.

"Does it have to be her? Do we have to do this?"

"Yes."

"Dude, c’mon. She-"

"I know. But it’s gonna get scary, and she’s the scariest person in town."

You blinked up at him. He blinked back.

You sighed.

"Fine. But I'm taking a knife with me.")

Yet, there was a third party who got in town with the two good parts; and, as all is never well in this place, the woman was an absolute menace.

Acosta was her name - surname? Who knows -, a policewoman who refused to change out of her uniform, going around asking people invasive shit and managing to piss you off more times than you can count by berating Boyd, of all people.

Her last stunt was to come up to the station as you were talking to the sheriff about the kinds of food you managed to find with the last group of people who went foraging, demanding him to give her gun back.

She did so without even acknowledging your presence, trading insults back and forth while you watched the scene, flabbergasted; Boyd, tired of her shit, actually gave it back to her without the ammunition (this is why you trusted him so much), and she walked out of the station, without as much as a glance towards you.

"Am I invisible?"

Boyd sighed. "To her? Most people are."

And then - there went your last straw.

Just as you arrived at the diner, ready to give your boyfriend a tight, much needed hug, you caught sight of a blonde ponytail and blue uniform.

"Oh, hell no."

You swung open the inner door, and walked up to the stools just as Kenny poured hot water into a mug.

"Yeah, they… they do that sometimes." He said, as the jukebox played by itself (again.).

Acosta looked at him - really looked at him. “Is that something else you get comfortable with?” A pause. “Look, thanks for the tea.”

He looked down at the mug. “Uh, you didn't even...”

She stood up, body almost colliding with yours. “Excuse me.”

And then, Kenny looked up, eyes locking with yours. He brightened up immediately - his smile widened, and he put the pot back in its place, just to beckon you over with his free hands.

"Good morning, my love." You said, ducking under the opening to the back of the counter. When you straightened up, your boyfriend was already by your side, arms wrapped around your shoulders, drinking in your presence.

The blonde turned around, now staring at you, with furrowed brows and a scowl on her face.

“Mornin’.” He swooped down, lips connecting with yours in a chaste kiss. A sigh left your body, arms encasing around his shoulders, and you heard a scoff sound from behind, followed by the door opening and closing.

You stayed there for a couple of minutes, in each other’s arms, just enjoying the peace and quiet – the rarest thing to happen when in town. You nosed at Kenny’s throat and he inhaled deeply, red creeping up the side of his neck.

“I missed you.” You whispered. He stayed silent for a few seconds, squeezing you tighter.

“You saw me last night.”

You could hear the smile in his voice; this is it, you thought. This is a good change.

Kenny was hurting.

Kenny was mourning.

But the town – the people, didn’t give him the time he needed to go through this, so the best thing you could do to not see him fade away was stay by his side and not let him wither.

(You missed Tian-Chen, too.

She treated you like her own. She loved you, and you loved her.

She told you to stay with Jade and Victor that night.

You shouldn’t have.)

“It’s a few hours too much, still.” You replied, grinning.

Kenny let go of the embrace first, in favor of throwing away the – now – cold tea. "You're veeeery cheesy."

"This is how you love me, anyways."

"Yeah." He sighed, leaning back onto the counter, arms open again. He didn't need to ask - you gladly embraced him, arms around his waist this time, as he leaned down and hid his face near your collarbone.

"I do."

You stayed there for God knows how long, fingers carding through Kenny's soft, thick hair; humming a song you knew he loved, whispering about how your mornings went, and the dreams you had.

You both had given up on the house after Tian-Chen passed away, and Jim permeated the place with his presence (although you knew he meant no harm, the place was suffocating). Kenny moved into colony house, while you stayed at the station with Boyd. Victor would have no qualms about you moving there with him, seeing as he had the safest room in that place, but Henry was there with him, and you didn't mean to intrude.

The both of you left the diner together, hand-in-hand, ready to face the day ahead.

Shortly after, Boyd assigned you with the task of helping him around - there were more people now, and he could use some help figuring shit out. Ellis was panicking - something happened with Fatima -, and the man wanted to help his kid, so you left to do some of his own chores.

Night came.

You slept in the "archive room", a little nook used to store boxes in the station; Boyd had helped you get a bed in there, and that was good enough. There was one little window on the upper side of the room, and, even though you kept it tightly shut (you nailed it, as a precaution), the whispers and giggles still seeped into the space and made it harder for you to sleep.

The sun rose with a golden hue. The orange glow shone through the clear glass, straight onto your face; with a groan, you rose up from the mattress, stretching as your body slowly woke up.

Another day where you got up, did your shit and hoped for the best - except this time, there wasn't even any hope to begin with.

"Tillie's dead." Boyd told you as you got to colony house, a few minutes after him. "We don't know who did it, but it wasn't a creature."

Ellis fidgeted beside his dad; it looked like he wanted to say something, but held himself back.

"You okay, Ellis?" You asked, with furrowed brows. "Is Fatima okay?"

Ellis inhaled sharply. Boyd glanced at him, and back at you.

"She's fine." The young man replied, nodding his head. "Aside from the nausea, and the, uh. The other stuff."

The ultrasound issue.

"Oh. Make sure she's safe, okay?" You said, nodding at the sheriff. "'m going in."

Boyd shook his head no.

"Wait here, please. Kenny and Acosta are inside, questioning the folks."

A burning feeling made its way up the back of your neck, up to your cheeks and forehead - although it was commonly associated with red, you knew what this was: green.

Jealousy.

Now, you wouldn't consider yourself a jealous person in any way, no; but the lingering glances, the manner in which she scoffed with no shame at your affection, how she thought she was the crispiest fucking fry of the batch?

Oh, fuck no.

Boyd and Ellis rushed away while you steeped in your own anger. Not long after, you heard two sets of footsteps walk out of the house, and there they actually were - your boyfriend, and the blue-uniform menace.

Kenny had a troubled look on his face while Acosta - what the fuck was her name, again? - yapped away with no regard to his feelings; obviously, no one would walk on eggshells here when it came to other people's feelings, but this was too much.

"Was what that guy said about Sara and your dad true?"

Enough is enough.

"It's not that simple."

You trailed off behind the duo, your own brows furrowed and fists tightly closed as you breathed in and out slowly.

Do not fight her. Do not throw fists. Do not. Refrain.

"Okay, you didn't think it was worth mentioning the girl that already murdered two people?"

"Look, it's just, uh, she's different now, and Boyd trusts her."

"Who gives a shit what Boyd thinks, okay?"

"Hey!"

They stopped at your shout, turning around. Turns out you were closer than it seemed; four steps were all it took for you to walk up to her stupid face and swing a fist straight to her jaw.

Kenny yelped, rushing to your side as Acosta doubled over, hand cradling her face; wild, blue eyes stared into your own as she straightened up, raising her own fists. Your boyfriend tried to step in, but you walked around, pushing him behind your own body.

"Come on, hit me." You said, ready for a blow. She hesitated, and then - you spoke up. "You're walking around like you own this place. As if you're mightier than anyone who has been stuck here."

Kenny moved, but you lifted up your hand, placing it on his chest. "Hun, please. Sit this one out."

Acosta scoffed. You faced her, seeing the way she looked between you and Kenny.

"Yeah, we met here. Yes, we fell in love here, we got together here. Yes, this has become our routine. Do you think we wanted to be here? You think we chose to stay?" Her eyes softened. "No, we don't. But we're trying our fucking best to stay alive and sane, because that way, we can think and figure out how to escape."

Your fists shook, angry tears threatening to fall.

"You have no idea what it feels like to witness the people we love wither away and get lured in by those fucks by night. So, at least, try to be a little more considerate of these people's feelings, won't you?"

Kenny took one of your closed fists in his own hand, slowly opening it and lacing your fingers together.

"That way, you might be able to actually help someone." You finished, staring at her bruising jaw. "Sorry I punched you."

Acosta swallowed deeply, glancing between yourself and Kenny.

"I never thought about that." She said, eyes finally settling on your own. "I understand. Apology accepted."

Kenny squeezed your hand, leaning down to whisper in your ear.

"Well, that's better than nothing."

You held in a snort, bumping your shoulders together.

"Are you going to come with us?" She asked, tilting her head towards the forest.

You nodded your head. "Yeah. What did you guys find out?"

Just as she opened her mouth to answer, a shrill yell echoed through the place.

"Help!"

Ethan.

Everyone looked towards the boy, as Kenny rushed to ask him what happened.

Acosta looked at you, and nodded; the both of you ran, and you sure fucking hoped this was the beginning of a good teamwork.

[anonymous-archive]

lmao @ this reblog “calling me out” and then blocking me despite apparently beforehand nearly deciding not to quietly block & report me instead of that giant wall of useless text like… i honestly didn’t know how to react/respond initially other than “holy shit dude that’s crazy” and then laugh incredulously but here we go since i’m petty:

first, this is a burner blog i made a week ago maximum and it only has 5 posts (excluding this one) so i’m not sure what you think you’re accomplishing here since i could & would just make another one and repost it all again? i’m under the impression that what would actually happen is the original posts themselves as well as any reblogs get taken down rather than the overall blogs themselves, but if i’m wrong then see above lol.

second, my bad for trying to genuinely, helpfully inform you that unfortunately many others out there don’t have the capacity to realize that you are not an anti and/or won’t read the entire post before assuming. this in turn might hurt your own community since stolitz stans may want to protect themselves from even potentially reading something they consider hurtful and therefore not wasting time by risking it. in fact you just proved my point by reacting and attempting to keep yourself safe from, what, leaks that were hidden behind an active choice to click? i as an individual don’t care that you like that ship so i wasn’t here to harass you or whatever. i didn’t think anything of you for it, that’s not why i spoke up.

third, clearly some people don’t understand “don’t like, don’t engage/read/watch/etc.” especially if you already know the content will upset you! also this large & loud fandom has never learned to keep controversial things on the down-low and ignore it in order to avoid gaining too much attention and inadvertently advertising it to people who otherwise wouldn’t know, but what else can i expect when y’all worship your annoying lord and savior ayylmao? so congrats on opening up the chance for someone to stumble upon your unnecessarily massive post and wanting to take a peek! you can’t control your followers/lurkers so that would be hilarious!

by the way, if you somehow do end up finding what my other hellaverse-critical blog is then… okay that’s fine. it’s not very big and it’d be disappointing if attacked but not a big deal. like i said, it’s easy to move & remake. hate to tell the truth but you do not have the power you wish you had here.

[dropoutconfessions]

Everyone’s allowed to feel how they feel about K. You do not HAVE to like K. K is an imagination people and does not matter compared to reality people.

The actual problems that I think all this discourse is stemming from is a problem in not just fandom here but in fandom as a whole. It’s a problem of trends: Why is our attention so frequently held by the masculine and white? Why, when we expand the world and look into the interiority of side characters, is our focus so targeted on white men? Why are women so overlooked, why are people of color so often ignored?

This is a wider issue. A trickling down of real world racism affecting our little play spaces. And the problem is that an issue which appears in larger trends, an issue that is a general pattern of behavior, is not easy to fix. We can’t fix this by harassing individual people. We can’t fix this by ignoring it. We definitely can’t fix it by pretending like its a problem here and only here rather than everywhere.

I wouldn’t be so bitter about K and dislike of K if I wasn’t overly sensitive to the idea of POC and femme characters getting the short end of the stick. I wouldn’t be so apprehensive about SamEvan, which is a frankly adorable and lovely ship, if I could trust people in general to act right about black women. I wouldn’t be so mad when people call Jammer and his friends rude while ignoring anything Evan did if I hadn’t seen it as the start of a malicious pattern.

If I hadn’t been in fandoms where every single woman got called a Hideous Bitch and every single person of color was Secretly Evil then I wouldn’t even be posting this. If I hadn’t seen people latch onto men with three lines and refuse to even consider thinking about women with entire arcs, I wouldn’t care about the lack of K posts. It would just be opinion. But it’s not just opinion when it happens over and over again to the same kinds of characters every time.

I don’t think it’s that bad in the mismag fandom. I don’t WANT it to get that bad here. But I don’t know how else to stop it, so I type up little confessions, and I hope someone reads them and thinks about this shit a little bit before they post.

I think people should calm down and stop insulting each other. I think people should take a break, if they need one, from fandom. I think people should leave each other alone and quit passive aggressively throwing ‘shade’ at opinions they don’t like because there is NOTHING wrong with individual opinion. There IS something wrong with the pattern its a part of but you can’t blame a person for a pattern you see in them or else you’ll end up snapping at a monster that isn’t even there yet.

Most of what I want is for people to think about how they think. Nobody has to stop liking Evan (ofc) but it is and should be concerning that even in this relatively progressive space, I keep seeing the same patterns creep their subtle and insidious way into the things I love.

I think we can all do better than this. I think we can do much better. I think we deserve better, all of us, than all of this.

-

[kinardsevan]

I was totally genuine because I would love your stuff on 911 proper! They're dropping the ball with everything atm, which is so damn frustrating, considering the setup they gave themselves this spring.

Much love! 🤗

Glad for the clarification! ❤️❤️

I can totally understand your feelings. Mine aren’t far off. I waffle back and forth basically by the hour over whether this is all a tee-up and there’s real intention behind it, or whether they truly did give up the best thing that they’ve had in years.

One of my biggest struggles on it all and how it doesn’t make sense, is the active effort to include Tommy/Lou in the social media posts and ABCs use of him in ads as well. I understand that the networks opinion isn’t the end-all, be-all. But I just can’t coalesce all that’s been fed to us to this point, both from a story standpoint, and from the use of Lou/Tommy in the grander scheme at large. It doesn’t make any sense in the narrative, regardless of the ideals that some people have about him being a plot point or “entry level relationship”. One of the quotes I think back on is when Oliver said he wanted to see these two go through the struggles do in their first year of a relationship. That quote alone was one of the things (along with the intentional use of “Evan”) that said to me “people want this to be a short story, but these factors point to Tommy being around long-term”. It goes to the issue that Tommy does not see Evan as “Buck”, when we have already extrapolated that Buck is a mask. We’ve known that since season 3 when he told Bobby that putting on his uniform makes him feel like he can do anything, and “Buck” was a name he took on FOR work. It’s a dignification that creates separation for him from others. By relation, Evan can be as stripped bare and honest as he wants. This is why the use of his first name has always been important. Maddie can see him stripped down and bare, metaphorically speaking, because she knows his trauma. She’s his sister so she gets Evan rights. Eddie used his first name once with the will. In the same context as being stripped down, this was important because he wasn’t communicating with Buck from the standpoint of coworkers, but as a close friend telling him that he had made a decision about the safety and care of his child, should something happen to him. I can’t remember if we’ve ever seen Bobby use his first name, but this has always felt less important because of the father/son narrative.

We’ve seen Chimney throw around “Evan” in weird contexts, but I don’t think it’s a bad thing, so much as they have a unique relationship due to being coworkers, friends, and brothers simultaneously. I think that’s why anytime we hear him say “Evan”, it’s a bit of a play on fucking with him.

So when we cycle back to Tommy, who had only EVER called him Evan, using the name Buck is him forcing himself to create a separation. We also as a fanbase hear that and go “no, that’s wrong, it doesn’t sound right”.

At the end of the day, I cannot reason a fact to build all of this into a narrative (and I do mean ALL of it), include Lou in social media posts, have him be involved in interviews about the show… all to set it on fire 13 episodes after he returns. You’d have to have a damn good reason for doing so, like an actor wanting to leave or being so problematic that they need them gone. Now, a certain group would like for us to believe this, but we don’t have any actual proof of ANY of this narrative. That all said, we have to revert back to what we know and what we’ve been told. Which is confusing.

So. I’ve rambled again. And repeated myself in some contexts 😂 but I think I made my point? (If not I’ll obviously come up with more shit later 😂😂)