#FUCK MAKING ART DIFFICULT AND MATHEMATICAL!

[charrfie]

Who invented adobe products. I think we should kill them

[inkskinned]

you found out today that a phrase you have used before was coined by an abusive man. this felt like getting your teeth taken out. it made you sick and sad and tired, but not surprised.

bad people tell you to be careful when you talk badly of bad men, that it could "ruin" a life. you had your life ruined by a bad man, not that it ever matters to them. your real life having real consequences is not valued as highly as the potential of his future.

this has always been a frustrating little mathematics problem for you. you've missed school and had to call out sick at work and had panic attacks that lasted for weeks. it stole sleep and food and friends from you. you cried in public, fucked your relationships up. and the whole time: your present has never mattered so much as the great what if! of his future. like - one life (your life) is already ruined, should we really ruin two?

so you live with the consequences and he doesn't, and that's just like, something you need therapy for. you once discussed this with one of your friends over coffee. she chewed the wooden stirrer, looked off into the distance. "once i became a victim, everything that happens to me afterward is automatically less interesting in the eyes of the general public. it is always about him. he changed my identity. to survivor. to statistic. meanwhile this whole time - i am a person."

you learned in college that three out of five of your favorite artists and authors were actually abusive assholes. these days, you are no longer surprised. oh, is that what was happening behind closed doors? of course it was, he was a "genius," and she was just a girl. you are talking about him in art history, so obviously his career was absolutely ruined, for eternity. that's what happens, right? they strike your name from the record and refuse to remember you? nobody really knows her name, but hey. that's what you get for being close to celebrity.

you got into an argument about it, which was a bad argument, because it made you cry. he said what, you want us to just ignore all the things this man did because he made a few women uncomfortable? and you'd balled your fists up and choked on it. later, in bed, you agonized over the response you'd been trying to articulate but never found the right moment to deploy: you are ignoring what any person could do if they weren't being fucking abused. maybe her talents far exceeded his and she was just never allowed to fucking use them. maybe we only see genius in white men because they purposefully fucking squash and silence any other people with talent.

but you'd cried about it instead of saying that, because you are the cost. you are the talent and potential that he took. you used to be brave and smart and clever and unafraid. like a lich, he stole years of your life.

quiet on set made you sad and sick and tired, but not surprised. unfortunately, one of the things he said was true: an entire network of people allowed it to continue. this is not news to you, because you have seen entire networks of people make the same fucking excuses when the same thing or-worse happened to you. and your particular story isn't even in hollywood. it was just a guy. it was still difficult getting people to stand up for you.

you and your friend wait in line for your coffee. like a standup joke, one man turns to the other and says "can't wait for every bitch to come crawling out of the woodwork complaining about harassment. it's another metoo." and you think - oh, that's the network. your boss tucks her hair back and whispers that while your skirt is cute, you're giving the boys the wrong idea. that's the network. when you'd told your "friend" about what happened, she'd said oh you must have misunderstood, that would never happen. and that's the network.

you woke up this morning panting, because years later you still have panic attacks. oh, it's not a network, actually, it's a web. and you, little moth: are you still surprised you're caught in it?

[byebyebriar]

“You liked this before you knew it was AI so you must admit it’s good!”

No? I don’t have to like something if all the reasons I liked it are false?

I like art because of the effort that goes into it. It’s hard drawing perfect circles! Shading is difficult! Sculpting is incredibly easy to fuck up! I love being in awe of someone’s skill.

There is no awe for AI. I feel exactly as much awe at someone’s AI work as I do finding out they copy and pasted from a different artist. They put the same level of effort in after all.

Frankly, I give art a pass to suck because failure is necessary to improve. I know that the sloppy shading and messed up hands is somebody’s doing the terrifying step of putting their work out there for judgement. Who am I to throw stones?

AI has no such person. There is no beginner’s dreams to crush. So, yeah. I’m going to be way harder on a piece of art if I know that my stone is going to hit a computer chip and not flesh.

That’s not even getting into the removal of the conscience and sub-conscience! I don’t like art because it looks neat. I like it because someone wanted something enough to make it a reality!

I like finding the clues put into art! The Easter Eggs and hidden meanings! The satire of real people/politics and the artists slipping past censures because fuck the Hayes Code! Half the fun of art is wondering if the artists knew they were flying their freak flag or if it slipped out like an octopus.

The relationship to the art is half the piece and half the puppet master. AI generated shreds that relationship. The only context for the art is that this is the mathematical average of the prompt.

And…it’s fucking sad? Like, nobody chose the details. Nobody weighed their options (what does culture say about this flower? Is the main character too close to a real life person? Am I out of the color blue? Does the dragon slap?) and made a choice. It’s all just averages with some rules thrown in so porn and copywriter stuff didn’t pop up.

The image you got putting a prompt into Midjourney was always going to be that image. The reply you got from OpenAI was always going to be that reply.

There is no person. There is no free will creature making a choice. There is just the mathematical predictions that were always going to spit out that option because that’s all they can do.

So yeah, I’m going to continue to think AI generated content sucks. Give me the person using their free will and daring to try over it any day.

[vacantgodling]

🩹 for any of your ocs? and also 🎻 for any paramour oc because I'm curious about that world's music scene

hey!! thank you for asking :) — sorry this gets very long LMAO. tw for tagetes being an abusive piece of shit.

🎻 VIOLIN — does your oc play any instruments? what is their skill level (beginner/intermediate/advanced/virtuoso/etc)?

tagetes can play instruments however they refuse to—they’re one of those “i never do anything for free” and the idea of performing for someone else is SUPREMELY offensive and degrading to them personally lmao. they do often hire musicians and ask them to perform extremely complex versions of symphonies to flaunt that they can hire such talented performers, but also as a cruelty. they found a particularly difficult movement by some bigwig composer and asked for one of their harem girls who’s talented in violin to play it for them. every time she messed up she’d have to start over and she wasn’t allowed to stop until her fingers bled. yknow. cuz they’re so normal 😒

iberis can play the piano passably but he isn’t particularly musically inclined. he dabbled with the idea of learning violin because violin prowess has some research showing it’s association with mathematical proficiency and because he’s a scholar he liked the idea of that. but he never ends up having enough time; getting a doctorate and all.

narcissus has no talent for music whatsoever though she does greatly enjoy it. large orchestral performances or showings are some of her favorite kinds of balls to attend because they make her feel refined and she loves to get lost in the way music sounds. clematis gunn (the shitty father of all these assholes) spent a considerable amount of money on tutors on a number of different instruments however she’s just tone deaf, bless her.

hyacinthus was never taught any instruments, not even in his tenure of living with tagetes. hya would’ve refused regardless—he and tagetes are somewhat alike in the idea of performing for someone else is not ideal. hya, unlike tagetes though, does appreciate the arts—he’s just more fond of books and things he can do quietly on his own.

lavendula is the most musically gifted among the gunn family’s lot. she is proficient in “pretty” instruments as her mother calls them; flute, violin and harp. she doesn’t enjoy them as much as her other proficiencies but when asked she can perform rather well.

aloe has a lovely singing voice but he prefers to sing in temple choruses or praises for The Shepherd. he doesn’t usually engage with secular music.

in terms of lower class characters, music is very eclectic and more down to earth; working with what’s available and learning proficiency in that than any sort of formal training. i would say that terian is the most musically inclined of lower class characters because he can play the guitar and his voice has an amiable timber to it.

🩹 ADHESIVE BANDAGE — does your oc have any physical and/or mental disabilities?

i haven’t diagnosed many of my characters in the mental illness realm just bc it can get a bit dicey with the whole “representation” vs demonization debate and i’d rather not get into the weeds of that if i can avoid it sorry. i think the only character i have truly diagnosed for anything is jenna in the liminal space series because her being autistic is a very important part of her character. you can definitely see where some of my characters may or may not have certain dx’s but yknow. it’s more up for the reader to decide than for me to be forthcoming about.

though a good number of characters have ptsd tbh bc of the horrors.

physically disabilities wise, tcol has the most characters with disabilities just because as many of them are adventurers and fighting yknow. Creatures and the like, it can fuck ya up basically. off the top of my head:

eryn would be considered legally blind because she’s chaos touched in both eyes. it’s somewhat of a toph situation from atla where she has a sort of “sight” but not for just everyday stuff. she can essentially see the aura of chaos around things which is why/how she’s able to still be a ranger—a sight heavy class—she’s able to aim using the aura of chaos, which is something she teaches forte. it makes her shots more accurate and deadly tbh. i haven’t fully worked out how disabilities devices work in tcol yet (it’s on my tcol todo list but there’s so much worldbuilding on that thing i need to do LOL) but id imagine she has some sort of sight cane or something similar.

spoilers (but idc sorry), forte also becomes chaos touched in one eye after an Incident which leaves him partially blind in one eye and deaf in that ear on the side of the attack. he also develops a limp after this situation

karenza, from the same Incident also becomes physically disabled however i haven’t decided how quite yet lol

erebos (for this universe) has a skin condition where he is essentially albino; he was basically dead for 30 minutes due to a childhood accident and all the color drained out of him. he was able to be revived but he has a higher sensitivity to the sun and is immunocompromised for all intents and purposes. in a similar vein, helix, charissa, and altair have a similar condition but slightly Altered because of the special circumstances of their existence and the fact that they were able to be partially healed. after the fact it looks somewhat like vitiligo and the immune-issues are somewhat there in some ways i haven’t fully fleshed out how completely yet.

(spoilers idc sorry), erik loses an arm bc of a different Incident. like the whole thing unfortunately so. he does end up going to marthveil to see if he can get a prosthetic eventually.

aside from tcol i think the only other character i have that i can think of rn would be lennon from gothica bc spoilers idc but her legs get Fucked Up after the Big Incident with aurora and so she uses crutches and has a wheelchair later on in the second book.

[homoose]

Weird is Good

Summary: A story about two people tryna make it through the age of COVID-19 in a country where people are fucking dumb lmao. My hc is that Spencer would be like wtf at all these science-denying anti-maskers. Also, two teachers just tryna make it through quarantine and remote teaching in a one bedroom apartment (this is taking place during a mandatory leave/lecture cycle).

Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!reader

Category: fluff

Warnings/Includes: no warnings. reader is both a kindergarten teacher and a bruh girl with a pirate’s mouth. lots of Spencer x factz.

Word count: 3.1k

———

“We’re home for the next two weeks. ”

Spencer looked up from his desk to see Y/N kicking off her shoes, dropping her bag, and walking directly to the sink. “Starting when?”

“We get to go in on Monday to say goodbye to the kids and get any materials we might need. Then we’re home for two weeks. They’re calling it an early, extended spring break.” Y/N began her hand washing routine. As a kindergarten teacher, she’d always been a strict hand-washer. In the time of COVID, she had only become more zealous. She looked at Spencer. “Have you heard anything?”

“Since we’re so close to the end of the semester, the department head thinks they’ll try to finish out the year as normal.” He set down his pen. “I honestly don’t know. It will all depend on whether people follow the CDC guidelines. The spread of any virus is deducible mathematically, and SARS-COV2 is no different. Based on the outbreak in Italy prior to their lockdown, we can accurately describe its reproductive number, or Rt, to between 2.43 – 3.10.”

Y/N shut off the water and dried her hands on a paper towel. “In layman's terms, Dr. Reid.”

“The Rt tells how many people are infected by the contagious host,” he explained. “In the case of this strain, each infected person is infecting between two and three others. For comparison, the standard seasonal flu has an average Rt between 1.4 and 1.7.”

“So in other words, fucking yikes,” Y/N groaned. She moved to perch on the edge of Spencer’s desk.

“Indeed,” Spencer agreed. “We know how fast the flu can travel through an office or a classroom, so imagine if it was two times as transmissible. But it's also really important to understand that this number changes depending on the mitigations in place. Even prior to full lockdown, mask wearing and social distancing was somewhat common in Italy, so it’s likely the uncontrolled Rt is higher.”

“Jesus Christ.” Y/N scrubbed a hand over her face. “We’ll probably never go back.”

Spencer rubbed his hand up from her ankle to the inside of her knee. “The good news is there’s nothing special about this virus compared to others in terms of how it spreads— it’s just aerosols. So if everyone wears their mask, we’ll be able to keep the spread low.”

⧭⧭⧭

“It’s safe to say that everyone did not wear their fucking masks,” Y/N snapped. She watched from the couch as Mayor Bowser delivered the news that DC Public Schools would remain closed for the remainder of the year. “This is crazy. I mean, I knew it was coming because people in this country are absolute buffoons.” She looked at Spencer, fingers pressed to her temple. “But holy shit, are we ever going to be able to go outside again?”

“With schools and universities closed, people working remotely, and lockdown orders in place, the Rt in the US could stay low. But masks have to be worn at all times, and social distancing has to be strictly followed.” Spencer pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose. “I just— I can’t believe people are refusing to wear masks. The empirical, peer-reviewed data clearly shows—”

“This is ‘Murica, boy.” Y/N mocked. “Ain’t no tyrannical government gonna tell me what to do!” She rolled her eyes. “Trust me, your choice to abstain from social media is paying dividends to your sanity right now.”

Spencer looked truly dumbfounded, setting his newspaper down in his lap. “But that’s just it. It’s not just in social media circles.” He gestured to the article in front of him. “This economist just argued for ‘reopening’ the economy using the justification of herd immunity. Herd immunity can be a plausible option for less lethal diseases. But this virus is not like varicella—the chickenpox,” he clarified at Y/N’s raised eyebrow. He waved his hands around in exasperation. “Putting aside the fact that one facet of herd immunity is vaccinating as many people as possible, its success completely hinges on the Rt of a disease. If you model a population based on an Rt of 2.5, herd immunity wouldn’t be achieved until approximately sixty percent of the population has been infected. Consider that the US population is currently 328 million, and sixty percent of that is 196.8 million. The current mortality rate for SARS-COV2 is 3.06 percent. 196,800,000 multiplied by 0.0306 is 6,022,080. Over six million people would die. It's simple mathematics.”

Y/N let out an exasperated breath. “It used to be that simple math and facts were enough. Now you’ve got basement scientists who think they know better than actual, literal scientists who’ve spent their entire lives studying these things.” She ran a hand over her face and gestured at the news conference still playing. “How long do you think it’ll be before we’re both trying to teach from this tiny ass living room?”

⧭⧭⧭

“Goooooooood morning, kindergarten! It’s Friday, and no Friday is a bad Friday!” Spencer smiled. As he poured his first cup of coffee, he hummed along with Y/N and 23 six-year-olds as they sang their morning song. Observing fourteen days of remote kindergarten from across the living room had given Spencer a new appreciation for elementary school teachers, particularly Y/N. She sang, danced, conducted science experiments, held puppet shows, read stories, led art projects, and fielded questions for four hours a day— three hours less than when they were in the school building. He was exhausted by proxy.

But he was also grateful for the opportunity to watch Y/N in her element. Even though they were at home, she still got dressed every day in bright, patterned sweaters and dresses— her Ms. Frizzle attire, she’d told him once. She was able to channel her personality into a kid-friendly version that her students clearly adored, never afraid to be silly or strange to get their attention and keep them engaged during the long days. He worked from home whenever possible, strangely happy to have the background noise of kindergarten over his quiet university office.

...

“Okay, but where do I put the biiiiiiiiiiiig number?” Y/N made a wide gesture with her arms. “Ariah, where should I put it? In the big box, yes! But oh no, my small number needs a friend. My three is soooooo lonely!” Y/N drew her mouth into a pout. “DJ, how can I help my three not be so sad? You’re absolutely right, let’s put that two right next to him in our number bond.”

…

“I’ve been waitin’  for a girl to mute,” Y/N sang into the gold karaoke mic. “I said, muuuuuuuuuute, I’m blinded by loud sounds. No, I can’t hear the friend who’s tryin’ to talk.”

…

“Oh boy. Kev, honey, we can— we can see you. Kevin, Kevin, Kevin. We can see all of you. I can’t turn your camera off, buddy. You gotta— there we go.”

…

“Mute please, I need— I need everybody to mute, please. Oh my goodness where is that music coming from?” Y/N frantically searched for her index card with the picture of the mute icon, as the sounds of a highly inappropriate song blared through the computer speaker. “I know it’s so loud, guys. Why is my mute power gone?! This is why we need to make sure we keep our mute button on, kindergarten.”

…

“No sweetie, it’s not time to log off yet. I’m sorry, I know it’s such a long day. We have about an hour left. Do you guys wanna do a countdown? It’s the fin-al count-down! Do-do doo dooooo. Do-do-d-do-dooo…”

…

“Annnnnd, I should see all my friends on mute. William, hang on just a second. All my friends need to look at my picture, it’s an oval with a line through it… Okay, William, what did you bring to show us?” Y/N leaned toward the computer screen. “Grandma Kathy? O-oh, she’s— she’s in the—“ Y/N’s eyes widened. “Is that— is that an urn? Oh wow. Um, well, wow. It’s beautiful. Thank you so much for sharing that with us, William. Grandma Kathy, may she rest in peace.”

⧭⧭⧭

A week into Y/N teaching kindergarten from their living room, the university had announced its transition to online coursework for the remainder of the academic year. Spencer had to host his first zoom lecture, and he was absolutely dreading it.

“Spence, it’s going to be fine. It’s not like you’ve never been on a video conference,” Y/N assured him. She sat cross-legged on the couch, waiting for him to let her in to his practice zoom.

“Yeah, but I wasn’t running those meetings. I just showed up.” He squinted at the computer screen. “Are you in?”

Y/N barely resisted the urge to make a joke, knowing that Spencer probably wouldn’t appreciate the innuendo. “No, you have to admit me.”

“What do you mean? How do I do that?”

“There should be a box with a button that says admit.”

Spencer gestured at the computer. “Well there’s a bunch of boxes— which one should I be looking at?”

Y/N sighed and got up from the couch. “IQ of 187 and can’t find the box.”

Spencer dragged a hand through his hair. “I know I shouldn’t find this so difficult. I’m sorry you have to waste your time on this.”

“Hey, it was a joke.” Y/N grabbed his hand from where he was frustratedly pulling on his frazzled curls. “I’m sorry. That was mean and you’re already stressed enough.” She used her free hand to smooth his hair back into place. She scrunched her nose. “I love you and your limited technology skills. And honestly it’s kind of nice to have one thing I can actually teach you about.” She squeezed his hand, leaning over him to peer at his computer screen. “All right, let’s find that elusive admit button.”

When the day of his lecture rolled around, Spencer thanked all the atoms in the observable universe that Y/N had a break during his class. Within the first ten minutes, he’d managed to accidentally kick himself out of his own meeting and then somehow lose track of the screenshare button.

“No one can see me and I don’t know what happened to the screenshare option. It was there and now it’s just… gone,” he told Y/N.

She leaned over his desk, eyes tracking over the screen and mouse clicking around the desktop. “How in the world did you manage to block your camera?”

“I don’t know! I didn’t even touch it!” He pinched the bridge of his nose. “I don’t understand how it’s even possible to be this bad at this.”

Y/N bumped his knee with her own, pulling up his camera settings and preferences. “Relax. You can’t be good at everything. It’s a refreshing reminder that you’re a mere mortal like the rest of us.” With a few rapid clicks, Y/N unblocked his camera and located the screenshare bar. “There. Crisis averted. I’m just going to share your whole screen in case you want to toggle between application windows. So just be aware that they’ll be able to see everything. And then you just click here when you’re ready to stop sharing.”

When Y/N turned her head toward him to check that he understood, Spencer grabbed the side of her face and caught her lips in a kiss. Y/N smiled against his mouth, heart speeding up as he traced the seam of her mouth with his tongue.

“Um, Dr. Reid? Your um— your camera’s working now.”

Spencer nearly fell out of his chair, his cheeks about the color of the Leave Meeting icon. Y/N dropped her head, debating whether she wanted to laugh or let the earth open up and swallow her whole. She ultimately decided to compose herself, stepping back and giving a little wave to the sea of tiny, grinning zoom faces before slinking out of frame, miming sorry to one very mortified professor.

⧭⧭⧭

“Would you want to be our mystery reader next week?” Y/N asked, bookmarking the page of her novel and reclining back in bed. “You just have to pick a story to read. Oh, and think of four clues about your identity to give the kiddos.”

Spencer raised his eyebrow, continuing to read. “Any story?”

Y/N laughed. “Well they’re six, so maybe hold off on the Chaucer and Bradbury for now. A picture book would be preferable.”

“Did you know that the first picture book, Orbis Sensualium Pictus, or Visible World in Pictures, was published in 1658?” He looked up from his own book. “Czech educator John Amos Comenius wanted to create a book that would be accessible to children of all levels of ability. The educational theories he explored are actually still in practice in the field of early childhood education.” He turned toward her from his spot under the covers. “For example, when you have your students make a hissing sound and slither their arms when they produce the sound represented by the letter s? Comenius included an alphabet chart with various animal and human sounds representing each letter. He wanted to demonstrate that the incorporation of multiple senses could help increase learning.”

“I guess you don’t fix what isn’t broken,” Y/N mused. “300 years later, and we’re still using the same methods.”

“362, actually,” Spencer corrected.

She gave him a look. “Maybe we can save the Comenius for another time.”

“The genre of children’s literature encompasses some of the most profound and philosophical story telling of all time.” Spencer returned his attention to his reading.

“...So is that a yes?”

Spencer smiled. “I’ve got a book in mind.”

“And clues,” Y/N reminded him, snuggling down under the covers and reopening her book. “We need some fun clues, mystery reader.”

…

“Kindergarten, we have a very special mystery reader this week. Oh man, are you ready for the first clue? The mystery reader loves jell-o! Raise your little hand if you love jell-o, too. Okay, kindergarten, I see you! Lots of jell-o lovers in the house.”

…

“Okay, clue number two! Our mystery reader works as a community helper— remember we learned about all different kinds of community helpers; firefighters, nurses, police officers. But if the mystery reader could be anything, they’d want to be a cowboy! How cool is that?”

...

“Clue number three for our mystery reader!” Y/N sucked in a gasp. “You guys. The mystery reader can do magic. Oh my goodness, I am so excited for Friday,” she sing-songed. “Will they show us a trick? Hmmm, I don’t know. Maybe if you ask nicely.”

…

“Okay, my friends, the last clue. The mystery reader loves reading. They read every day, and they’ve been reading since 1983! Yes, that was a very long time ago.”

⧭⧭⧭

“Okay, any last guesses about who our mystery reader might be?” Y/N questioned.

“I think it’s your dad,” a little voice called out.

Spencer made a choking noise from where he sat, slightly off camera. Y/N laughed. “The mystery reader is decidedly not my dad, Keyshon. Remember I showed you guys the picture of him— my dad’s a farmer, so he’s kind of already a cowboy.” She clapped her hands together. “Okay, without further ado, drumroll please... Our mystery reader is…” Y/N pushed her desk chair out of frame to allow Spencer to roll in, holding her hands out. “Spencer!”

He gave a little wave, smoothing his hair, suddenly painfully self-aware and nervous about the opinions of two dozen six-year-olds. “Hi guys.”

“You’re the boy on Ms. Y/L/N’s phone.”

“Your hair is so fluffy!”

“Do you have a cowboy hat?”

“I like your sweater.”

“Can you really do magic?”

“What’s your favorite jell-o?”

“Whoa, okay, let’s remember our mute button,” Y/N, holding up her index card. “I promise you’ll get to ask Spencer all your questions after he reads the story.”

Spencer smiled at the excited faces beaming through the screen. “Yes, I’m on Ms. Y/L/N’s phone; I don’t own a cowboy hat, yet; yes, I really can do magic; and the red jell-o is my favorite.”

Y/N watched with interest as Spencer pulled out his book. He’d been secretive about his choice, so she was as curious as her students.

“This is one of my favorite stories. It’s written by Munro Leaf, and illustrated by Robert Lawson. It’s The Story of Ferdinand.” Spencer held the cover up to the camera. “Ferdinand is the bull here on the cover. This story was written in 1935, which was a long time ago! Okay are you ready?” Spencer looked out on a sea of thumbs up, turning the page to the beginning of the story. “Once upon a time in Spain, there was a bull, and his name was Ferdinand.”

Y/N smiled as she listened to Spencer read each page, recounting the story of the peaceful bull. He was an excellent storyteller, changing the inflection and expression of his voice to match each sentence. He held each page up for just the right amount of time, panning it so her students could see each detail of the black and white pictures. He added his own wonderings and exclamations here and there, and her students were decidedly enthralled. Her heart ached at how comfortable he was, how natural this was for him. She rested her chin in her hand, trying to keep her mind in the present— ignoring the persistent little mental image of Spencer as a dad.

“So they had to take Ferdinand home. And for all I know, he is sitting there still, under his favorite cork tree, smelling the flowers just quietly. He is very happy… And that’s The Story of Ferdinand.” Spencer closed the book with a soft smile. “I love this story. Ferdinand is a very special bull. What do you think makes him so special?”

“Ferdinand didn’t fight,” a little voice piped up.

“Yes!” Spencer agreed. “He practiced pacifism in the face of the persistent, ingrained militarism of his country’s culture.”

Y/N placed a hand on Spencer’s knee and gave a quick squeeze. “Right, Ferdinand chose not to fight, even though everybody else he knew wanted to.” Y/N winked at him before turning back to the screen full of kids. “All his friends thought he was kind of weird, but he just really wanted to hang out in the shade and smell the flowers, huh? Sounds pretty good to me.”

“He wasn’t bothered that the other bulls thought he was strange for wanting to be peaceful,” Spencer added. “Sometimes being different can be a good thing. The Story of Ferdinand reminds me that it’s okay to be yourself, even if other people think you’re weird.” His eyes met Y/N’s. “Because there will always be people who love and appreciate you for who you are.”

[writingwithacupoftea]

Just need my big brother

Summary: After a busy day at work, Y/N Shelby realises that maybe she does still need her big brother after all.

Word Count: 1562

A/N: This is the first piece of writing that I’ve ever shared online! Hope you enjoy it!

It had been a long day, and Y/N Shelby was exhausted.

Y/N was one of the few of the Shelby clan who had succeeded in gaining an education.  Although the war had made it difficult, Y/N had brought it upon herself to push on at double speed to teach herself reading, writing and arithmetic.  Not only did she want to help out at the betting shop, she also wanted to make her brothers proud when they returned (when they return, she often had to remind herself), especially Tommy.

Polly often commented on the similarities between Y/N and Tommy, and it was obvious to anyone that saw them together that they were each other's favourite sibling.  By the age of 18, Polly had been proven right (as usual) - not only did Y/N possess her beloved elder brother's way with words, but she was also had his confidence and intelligence.  One thing that the women were sure on, however, was that Tommy's mathematical abilities came nowhere near to Y/N's. She was a miracle worker when it came to numbers and could understand the figures like no one else in the company.

When the boys returned a year later, expecting to see their little sister waiting excitedly at the train station for them with plaits in her hair, exactly the same as when they left her, they were astonished to learn that she was out on business.

In fact, the first that they saw of her after four long years was her yelling at a group of blinders in Tommy's old office at the shop, who were staring at the floor and shuffling their feet in embarrassment.  Y/N Shelby was quite a different person to the one that the brothers had left behind, but she suited it well, they thought.  However, her overjoyed reaction upon seeing her brothers proved that maybe there was a portion of the old Y/N left.

And that point was going to be proven to Tommy once again tonight.

Tommy had always been especially protective over Y/N, and after overcoming his shock at seeing her reformed character had been furious that she had become so involved with both sides of the business: even though he barely showed it, he was terrified that something would happen to his baby sister, and Y/N knew that.  His overprotectiveness could be annoying, but she always knew that it came from a place of love.  Anyway, she always got her way with him in the end.  And so, after many arguments and family meetings, it was agreed that she could continue her work within the business.  Tommy couldn't deny that she was talented at what she did, and was beyond proud of his little sister (but of course the great Thomas Shelby struggled to say it in so many words).

Now, several months later, Y/N stumbled into the Shelby residence, exhausted.  She loved her work and pored all of her energy into it, but today had got to her.  Pushing on, however, she set out to find Tommy.  Y/N had just finished in a meeting, and knew that Tommy liked to know the details as soon as possible, despite her desire to collapse on her bed with a glass of gin.

To her complete and utter shock, Tommy was not in his office, as she would honestly usually expect him to be at ten o'clock at night.  Nor was he in the kitchen, and she knew that he wasn't at the Garrison as she'd popped in there before heading back.

Surely Thomas Shelby wasn't having an early night?

Slowly, Y/N made her way up the stairs and towards her elder brother's bedroom, where a light was shining through under the door frame. She knocked gently and after hearing him say "Come in," she pushed the door open.

Y/N was greeted with a sight that she hadn't born witness to in a long time: Tommy laid on his bed and smoking a cigarette, with his hair messy and simply wearing his undershirt and trousers, suspenders hanging loosely by his side.  His eyes softened as he saw his sister, and for once Y/N only saw her brother.  Not Thomas Shelby, her boss, just her big brother who she adored.

"Hello, sweetheart," Tommy said. "I was wondering when you would get back, I was starting to worry." He raised his eyebrows, silently posing a question which she understood perfectly.  Over the years the pair had mastered the art of communicating without words.

"Well you don't look like you were," Y/N replied with a mischievous tone in her voice, smirking slightly, causing Tommy to send her 'a look'.  "I'm fine, Tommy.  Mr Addison just didn't want to end his meeting with me, I was starting to think I was destined to never leave that office" she continued with a sigh, making her way over to him.  Her last sentence caused Tommy to tense, and he sat up straighter.

"Why, what happened?" A million different nightmarish possibilities began plaguing his thoughts, and he started to assess his little sister to see if there was even a single hair out of place.  Tommy was still firmly against Y/N attending meetings with potential clients and partners alone, however today had left him with no choice but to let her do so.  Whilst he had been busy himself, he had frequently found his thoughts straying to his sister.

Y/N put her coat on the back of Tommy's chair and placed her bag next to it.  "Nothing like what's running through your head at the moment, Tommy, I promise.  Just a few comments and looks, nothing I can't handle." Tommy wore a disapproving look, but this shifted to one of concern when he saw the dark circles under his sister's eyes.  She sat on the edge of his bed and laid her head on his knees (it was an uncomfortable position for her, but Y/N was honestly too tired to care).  "Do you mind if we go over the meeting in the morning? I made some notes, I'm just exhausted now."

"Of course, darling." It was spoken with such softness that Y/N turned her head to look at her brother, who had a gentle smile on his face.  He knew how hard his sister worked, and if he could he'd try and get her to slow down, but after several failed attempts to do so in the past Tommy realised that there was no point in wasting his breath.

But when he saw the glimmer of tears in Y/N's eyes, he knew that she'd probably pushed herself a bit too far this time.  In a rare display of vulnerability, Y/N whispered: "Right now, I just need my big brother," and Tommy's heart melted as she rested her head once again on his legs.

"Come here," Tommy said, stubbing out his cigarette and opening his arms up.  Without a moment's hesitation, Y/N clambered up onto the bed next to him and instantly relaxed into her brother's embrace.

The position wasn't exactly unfamiliar – before the war, Y/N had always come running to the middle brother when she had a nightmare, or couldn't get to sleep, or when she missed him and just wanted to say hello, the list of reasons was endless.  She had relied on him so much, and Tommy had never been able to complain, not when his friends would make fun of him for it or if she interrupted his time with Greta.  Y/N Mae Shelby was the complete and utter light of his life, and she still was.  Since the war, however, Y/N had become far more independent.  Not that that was a bad thing, Tommy thought, but he can't help but admit that he sometimes misses her simply being his little sister.  She'd grown up too fast for his liking.  But then again, she was a young woman now and not a child.

So Tommy cherished moments like these, his little angel curled up safely in his arms, just like the old days.

He placed a kiss on her forehead and rubbed his hand up and down her arm comfortingly, and in return she just squeezed him tighter and snuggled even more into his side.

"I know you don't exactly need me anymore, but I'll always make room for you, sweet girl," Tommy mumbled into Y/N's hair.  "And I'm proud of you.  So fucking proud.  You don't need to prove anything to me or push yourself this hard to show your worth.  Don't think I could run this business without you now." The siblings chuckled, though Y/N's was a watery one.  “Just try and look after yourself a bit more, eh?” As he felt her nod her head, a sense of relief washed over him.  He would always still keep an eye on her, it was his job as an elder brother, but he was happy to have finally got through to her.  Tommy placed another kiss on the top of his sister’s head.

"Love you, Tom." Y/N had said it so quietly that Tommy could’ve easily missed it.  But he never missed a thing when it came to his beloved sister, and his heart swelled at her statement.

"Love you more, sweetheart."

As she sighed contentedly, Y/N realised that, no matter what, she would always need her favourite big brother.  And nothing was going to change that any time soon.

[drakewalkerfantasy]

The Secret of Desire (Tatum x F!MC) NSFW

Summary: The Secret is the only way for them to be together. But how long will they be able to keep it until Madam President will find out the truth? And how easily it will be for them not forget about the rules in public? Couple of drinks in and the darkness… will it be possible for them to keep a secret? Or will they fall ones again in the arms of each other?

Words: 2990

Rating: NSFW/18+

Warning: drinking / body shots/ multiple orgasms/ orgasms till exhaustion / fingering / g-spot stimulation

Authors notes: I really hope you will enjoy this. Please let me know if still want to be tagged and what I can improve.

Sequel for The art of Foreign Affairs

Previous parts of The Secret of Foreign Affairs.

Part 1 Part 2

I love you. Still echoed through the room, while the silence hung between them. Tatum’s hand still wrapped around her waist. And his eyes locked on hers catching the myriad of emotions passing through them: from the shock of what he just said to something more, something genuine...

“What?” Asked Tatum his fingers brushed the strands of hair behind her ear, caressing her cheek. “Why are you looking at me like that? Like you trying to solve some difficult mathematical equation...”

“You... you said it...”

“Claire, it’s not like I said it for the first time. I did say it before,” chuckled Tatum at her expression.

“Yes, I know... I know. But the first time was when we were fighting. I know you meant it then, but it was said in the heat of the moment. You literally shouted them at me before you even realised what you were saying... And all other times you moaned the words,” smiled Claire sheepishly, while he simply listened to her words without interruption. “But this time... it’s... it’s different... like... like it was the most natural thing to say,” said Claire, cupping Tatum’s cheek and brushing her thumb over it. “Do you... do you really mean it?

“Claire, I always mean it.”

“Tate, I love you. And I always, always will mean it,” whispered Claire, pulling Tatum in for a kiss. Her hand curling around his tie. Her lips met his with a force, battling for dominance, until Tatum finally got control. His tongue forcing his way into Claire’s mouth curling around hers, while his hand grubbed Claire’s hip bringing her closer to him making her feel every inch of his hard length, while another hand weaved into her hair guiding her mouth to his in a fierce and messy kiss. Until they eventually pulled apart, both breathless, both gulping for air.

Claire’s hand still curled around his tie, her lips parted and only an inch away from his, so close... so temptingly close. And her chest rising and falling with the ragged breaths, before she finally pushed Tatum away from her with a coy smile. “It was nice... very... very nice... but I think someone has lost, and this someone is stealing and trying to distract me. Although I will admit that this is working,” murmured Claire, feeling how Tatum’s hard length nudged her in the belly. And her lips tingled from the memory of his powerful kisses. “But I insist on collecting my prize.”

“Are you sure,” tried Tatum, reluctantly letting Claire slide to the floor and stride to the table with tequila shots on it.

“Yes, but if you are not... I always can ask Blaine to do them with me... I bet he would be interested,” said Claire smiling, but before she could make another step or say anything else, she felt strong hands gripping her hips and tugging her back. She gasped when her back hit a firm chest and Tatum’s fingers dug firmly into her sides, making her feel every inch of his desire for her. His lips lowered to her ear, and the hot breath caressed the rim of it, when he started to speak.

“No way you are asking him,” he growled, tugging her even closer to his body and turning her to face him. “You.. will... NOT... ask... him," grunted Tatum, punctuating every word with a kiss. "But we will have only one shot each as you already had too much,” hissed he against her lips when her body wiggled in his arms brushing against his erection. “Oh fuck... keep doing that and we will have no bodyshots and will get undressed even faster,” he warned. His hand running up her back before getting lost in her hair. His lips crashing with hers in an explosive kiss. This time he wasn’t asking, demanding her lips to part for him before his tongue met hers, growling into their kiss. Hungry for her... craving her... it took him another minute or so to gain control and pull away. Both still feeling breathless, both panting heavily.

“You go first,” murmured Claire, pushing him slightly toward the pool table. Watching how his fingers deliberately slowly started to work on the buttons of his shirt before dropping it to the floor. His eyes not leaving Claire’s, catching a sign of desire flashing in her deep chocolate eyes, when he pulled himself up, lying down on the pool table. His gaze held Claire’s, while she slowly approached him with a lime wedge and a rim salt, pushing herself up on the pool table and kneeling beside Tatum. And he nearly growled, feeling how his hardened length jerked against the seam of his pants, when her dress bunched just below her ass.

His hands tensed trying to suppress the impulse to touch her, while her eyes roamed over his body, becoming a shade darker. Her teeth dug in her lower lip and her eyes caught the sight of protruding bulge in his trousers straining against the seam. With calculated slowness, she moved to sit between his legs. Her fingers tantalisingly ran against his thigh deliberately avoiding the throbbing length that begged for her attention. Her face hovering over his abs, only a view inches from the button of his pants. Her tongue running across his lower abs along the line of his trousers, hearing a strangled grunt leaving his throat. While her tongue traced a wet path over the hard plates of his stomach before finally sprinkling some of the rim salt on it.

Her fingers gently caressed the inner side of his thigh, making his blood rush heavily in his veins, growing even bigger from the burning desire to touch her. Needing... craving her touch. His abdomen muscles tensed in anticipation. Her hair brushing against his hardness, when she leaned closer to him and put a rind of lime in his mouth. Her hands carefully explored his chest as if for the first time, not able to get enough of him, never wanting to get enough of him.

Her heart racing while she straddled his hips sliding lower. Her eyes locked with his, leaning toward him with a softest most sensual sigh he ever heard. Her tongue sliding up and down the plateaus of his abs, carefully licking up every grain of salt. Her hand sliding along the seam of his zipper feeling every inch of his hardness throbbing and wanting her. Still unable to believe, after weeks of being with him, having him, tasting him, how good he felt, and how big he was... definitely bigger than average. Her fingers twitch with desire to undo the button on their way just above the zipper before hooking her fingers in the belt loops on the both sides using them as leverage to pull herself just a little bit up.

Her body brushing his, making him hiss in pleasure, while she leaned over him. Her gaze is dark and still on his when she quickly downed the shot of tequila, and tantalisingly slowly leaned closer to him. Her breath fanning against his lips, while she bit the lime in between his teeth, drowning out the taste of salt with the sour juice of a fruit. Claire’s lips brushing Tatum’s, kissing him softly. Her hand moving against his length through the thin material of his pants. Stroking him slowly. His hand reaching for the back of her head pulling her closer to him. His tongue seeking hers in a searing scorching kiss... desperate, not able to stop his hips from rising. Groaning.

“Claire...,” he moaned against her lips, moving, thrusting against her hand. The groans and grunts left his throat, while he felt how her lips moved lower, kissing him across the jaw. Tracing her lips over his neck. Sucking the soft skin just above the pulse point. And it felt like suddenly they forgot all about where they were or what they did... and the only thing that remained clear was the burning desire, this overpowering need to be with each other.

“Wait... wait...,” hissed Tatum when his dick jerked painfully against the fly of his pants, bringing him back to reality. “Stop,” he groaned, feeling like a complete idiot for stopping her, when her eyes flashed with confusion still dark from desire. Watching how her lips parted in a silent question puffy and rosy from the force of his kisses. “Now yours turn,” he husked, rolling her on her back.

His hands gently brushed the silky red dress. Feeling its electrifying touch under his fingers. His fingers hooking the straps of her sinful dress, dragging them down until it was finally pooled at her waist. The hoarse breathless curse leaving his throat, when she laid in all her glory in front of him. Her breasts, as if begging for his touch, rising and falling under his horny look. And his hands itched to touch her. His mouth fell open with a sigh before he leaned closer to her.

His gaze not let go of hers, while he trailed the tongue over her exposed abdomen, circling it over her navel before sprinkling some salt on Claire’s stomach. Making her gasp when his tongue dipped slightly into her navel. Carefully licking off the salt, working his tongue in long slow licks, raising higher until his lips were just a breath away from hers, and his body strained against her.

Slowly, without looking and not letting go of her gaze he reached for the shot quickly downing it all and placing it back with a thud before slumping his lips on hers. Not caring about the lime, but only for her lips sweet and earthy from tequila shots. His teeth grazed the wedge of the lime digging his teeth into the sour citrus fruit before spewing it out to the side.

His lips urging to Claire’s, crashing to hers in a passion. Kissing her, feeling her. His hands grazing the sides of her breasts, circling his fingers around her nipples, making her gasp and moan from his touches. His tongue seeking hers in a slow tantalising dance opposite from the way his body moved against hers. His moans - needy and desperate leaving his throat, while her hands traveled to the front of his pants squeezing him, stroking him. Her movements - as desperate as his, and her moans as needy. And when his lips left hers, it was only for a split second before he moved them to leave a wet trail across her jaw. Making her arch into his touch as if begging for more... needing more, while his lips traced lower and lower not leaving even a single inch of her skin unkissed.

His tongue trailing around her dark nipple, leaving a hot wet trace around both. One... than another. Sucking them both in turns into his mouth, while his hand purposefully moved along her ribs and to the hem of her dress, toying with it, watching Claire under his hooded eyelashes. Watching how her back arched while he kissed her soft skin, leaving little red marks where no one would see them but him. Watching how she gasped and moaned when he trailed his tongue against her sensitive spot, the one that made her tick and sigh in pleasure every time he kissed it. Watching how her body squirmed under his touch, when he ran his fingers lightly over her ticklish spot, the one he discovered the first night they were intimate, the first night when he tasted her for the first time. And oh my God how much he wanted to taste her now. How much he wanted to feel how utterly wet and his she was. And how much he wanted to make her scream, and sigh, and gasp his name, while he would lap at her juices. And oh my God how much he craved to do just so.

His tongue traced lower, while his hands grabbed the hem of her dress and pulled it up. Groaning, when he realised, that the panties were missing under her sinful dress. His eyes darkening, following her already glistening folds.

“God...,” he groaned. “If I only knew you have no underwear on you today,” he growled moving closer to her core. His eyes meeting hers, while she leaned on her forearms. Her face flushed, and her lips bruised. Her hair is a mess, and the red marks were already forming on her perfect tanned body.

“What would you do? Fuck me as soon as we got here? Or we would never get here?” She purred, her legs falling open even more when he nudged them gently with his broad shoulders.

“No...,” he replied with a smirk, slowly dragging his fingers through her wet folds and circling them around her hardened nub. His low husky voice and the way it washed over her, made her quiver under his touch and gaze. “I wouldn’t... what I would do... is to guard you even more. And would make sure that no one would ever lay a single finger on you unless this someone would want it to be broken... and then... then I would fuck you here... and then again in our car... and then again and again and again in your room.”

“Oh God, yes,” moaned Claire, her thighs quivering even more, when a sole finger sharply thrusted inside her. The thumb drawing tight circles around her nub. And she could swear by the way how he shifted, that she could feel that the bulge in his pants was already impossibly hard. The thought of pulling them open had her excitement doubled. Her mouth watered from the mere thought of having her lips wrapped around his big, thick dick, that curved slightly to the swollen tip. And to suck him as she sucked him off just a couple hours ago, on the way to the club. Kneeling on the dirty roadside away from the prying eyes. And oh my God... how much did she want him again just like that, rough and hard, but this time not holding back and with his eyes only on her, gentle and loving.

She felt how he leaned closer, his lips gently skimming over the side of her moist lips. His breath hot and raged on her centre, while his fingers smeared her juices around her folds before finally... finally following the trail his fingers made with his tongue. Licking a flat line around her folds before dragging it back through them, making her gasp his name.

“Tatum... please don't hold back. Please,” she murmured, her clouded eyes meeting his. Her voice hitching in her throat, when his mouth wrapped around her hard nub.

"Are you sure?" he asked hoarsely against her folds.

"Yes... Please... I need you... all.. of you," she gasped, feeling how a low growl reverberated through her body. Feeling how his fingers thrusted deep inside her more abruptly, curling just right against her sweet spot as if he knew exactly what she needed.

Her moans and gasps, becoming more erratic, and leaving her throat more often. His fingers delving into her wet folds, becoming slippery with her juices, while his tongue circled around her clit and his thumb rubbed short hard circles over it. His fingers thrusting harder and faster into her, grunting softly against her clit. The sound of it reverberated through her body, making her cry out in pleasure. Her shouts grew louder and louder, echoing off the draped walls. Both forgetting about everything surrounding them. Both too far gone to even care. Both not holding back anymore.

“Oh God, oh my God, oh yes. ah... ah... ah... oh... Just don’t stop... Don’t you dare stop... Please, don’t stop,” gasped… pleaded Claire again and again in a rasped voice, balancing on the brink of an orgasm. Until suddenly it all became too much. The sensation of his fingers so deep inside her, rubbing tight circles against her sweet spot, curling them against it just so right... just so perfect. The feeling of his tongue lapping at her juices with a growls hitting her straight to her core, before circling it around her clit. The thrill of his rough stubble brushing lightly over her folds. And all of that at the same time sent her spiralling over the edge... fast and furious. Making her come apart with a cry.

The orgasm, crashing through her, sending wave after wave of pleasure coursing through her body, while Tatum’s fingers continued to thrust into her, drinking her nectar, sending another impetuous orgasm to ripple through her body. This time three times more powerful than before. Her slick pussy pulsing around his fingers buried deep inside her, while he quickly rose above her, catching her lips in a kiss to drown out another cry that was ready to leave her lips. Her vision, becoming blurry and unfocused until the world went dark.

She didn’t know how much time had passed if any, and the next thing she was aware of was Tatum’s soft kiss to her temple and his soothing voice in her ear with notes of concern laced through it.

“Are you okay? You were out for the moment... Was it too much?” he asked breathlessly, meeting her dizzy gaze and lazy smile. She still could feel how the aftershock was rolling over her. Feeling his hardened flesh throbbing against her thigh.

“I’m good... actually... better than good. It was... WOW,” she laughed breathlessly, cupping the back of his neck and pulling him for a sweet languid kiss before falling back on the pool table in exhausted pleasure with her eyes falling closed. She could hear the movements next to her and a rustling of his clothes. And then the next thing she felt was a pair of strong hands wrapping around her and picking her up in a bridal style, but at this point she was too exhausted to even protest peacefully falling asleep.

Tagging: @choices-bound @jamespotterthefirst @mercury84choices @k2624 @thefrenchiemama @choicesreal @starrystarrytrouble @boneandfur @walkerswhiskeygirl @ao719

[thetiredbiwrites]

And then...

Dad!Tony x Son!Reader

(mentions of Uncle Rhodey)

Anon: // hello can you do angsty tony x Son reader. Tony and reader has strained relationship and they we're not in good terms, Tony prefer Peter than his son but it got change when both of them got kidnapped, they been together for a few days and slowly they reconciled. Soon they got save by the avengers but the Son Reader notice that one kidnapper pulled a weapon to Tony then R save his father, he got shot then Tony is scared to see his son dying. Its up to you the ending. ☺

A/N: Thank you for the Tony request 🤗🤗 Hope this is ok! (I love dad!Tony, I think he’d be so good...even though this fic is on a different note🤔😂)

Warnings: Cliff hanger end. It was getting pretty long and I wanted to upload something before bed (which also means it hasn’t been checked but oh well, I’ll re-read it tomorrow) BUT I do plan on doing a part 2 :)

(Also swearing, just always assume swearing)

Words: 3100+

Tony’s relationship with his son had always been strained. Ever since he was practically dumped on his doorstep at 4 years old.

Tony had no prior knowledge that he has a kid, none of the women he’s been with had ever even told him they were pregnant. But if he was being honest with himself, it didn’t surprise him. With the way he got around it was bound to happen eventually.

He just wished he’d known from the beginning.

Having a 4 year old left in his care with no warning put him in a whole new territory he was completely unprepared for.

A baby gives you time to prepare and are essentially a ‘blank slate’ at birth. A 4 year old has experiences, like and dislikes, routines, a connection to someone who abandons them with a stranger…

At the time, Tony was still a playboy, out at events and travelling a lot. As well as CEO of a company manufacturing weapons for the military. He didn’t have time for a child. To break through recently arisen trust and abandonment issues and build a relationship.

He cared about his son. Always made sure he had everything he needed or wanted, a good education and was in good health. But forming personal, emotional connections can’t be done with money, and Tony could barley cope with his own true emotions.

It quickly became clear that they did not share talents or interest in maths, sciences or mechanics. His son struggled especially with maths and Tony initially really did try to help, finally thinking something was in his element and he could bond.

But elementary (followed by middle and high) maths was so simple and automatic for Tony’s brain that he found it difficult to slow down and explain the process to the young boy.

He hired a tutor in his place.

That’s not to say Tony expected or needed his son to be a genius in the same subjects as him. He didn’t need his son to follow him (or his father) to be worthy of his time. But it would have made it easier.

Instead, his son excelled in English and arts, and was amazing in the kitchen. He loved to write stories, create pictures to accompany them and experimenting with new recipes.

Unfortunately, Tony did not excel in these areas, thus distancing them further.

At least he wasn’t taking after his father though. He didn’t force his son into one path or degrade him. No forcing him to grow up, giving him alcohol at a ridiculously young age or sending him away to be completely alone.

Tony often wondered himself if he’d have taken the path he did if his father hadn’t pushed him. If he’d be the same person without the verbal abuse and constant neglect of his father.

He wasn’t blind to his emotional distance and lack of bond to his son. Or to the connection the boy had to both Rhodey and Pepper. He could see that his son was connect to the two people he trusted the most and he was glad.

When Rhodey was available, being in the air force meant he wasn’t always around, he made sure to take the boy out, go to school events and even read his stories, giving feedback and support.

Pepper made herself available if he ever needed to talk and was always willing to taste test.

Even Happy was around to take him where he needed to go, training in the gym and joke with.

So even if the young boy didn’t have a relationship with his father, he had adults around to support and love him and help him through life.

It didn’t stop him wishing he did have a relationship to his father though.

 While MIA in Afghanistan, Tony realised he wanted to try harder to build a relationship to his nearly teenaged son.

It didn’t happen.

He returned home and completely changed his company, which required a lot of time. His guilt also led in him to putting on that damn suit and trying to save the world.

And then he nearly died from palladium poisoning.

And then New York was attacked by aliens and the avengers were formed.

And then Tony had PTSD; anxiety, panic attacks and nightmares.

And then ‘terrorists’ blew up their house and nearly killed Happy and Pepper.

And then murderous robots.

And then the avengers broke up.

And then Tony worked with the UN to amend the accords and set up more help and cleaning crews. Back to lots of travelling.

And then…

And then… Peter.

It never eased up and his son turned 18.

His son made excuses over the years. He genuinely was busy and obviously struggled with relationships. Maybe he’s just not paternal? You can’t blame someone for trying to save lives either.

Of course he was aware it isn’t all on Tony, he could have tried harder to bond with his father as well.

But then Peter came along.

Scientifically and mathematically gifted Peter.

Superhero Peter.

Enthusiastic, smart and funny 15 year old Peter.

And then Tony had the time.

He made the time.

For Peter.

To talk to him. Help with his homework and superheroing.

Teaching him. Training him.

They spent a lot of time in the workshop and lab.

Tony was always so interested in what Peter had to say. Whether is was about science or mechanics, school, spider-man or even teenage romance.

It came so easily and naturally to Tony.

He had the time.

Even the team had noticed this relationship and dubbed them ‘Iron-Dad and Spider-Son’.

That hurt.

The time he overheard Clint comment, ‘why couldn’t we have had dad-Tony this whole time?’ really stung.

Tony’s been a dad, to a son, the entire time he’s known the avengers.

He didn’t hate Peter though. It’s not his fault and he’s actually perfectly nice. But to see his father so easily bond with another kid in a short time made him realise that he’d never get that father-son relationship.

Tony is paternal. Just not for him.

--

His eyes fluttered open, the ground cold against his face.

Wait, ground? What-

A groan passed his lips as he sat up, pressing a hand to the side of his head where pain radiated.

He blinked the fuzziness from his eyes, trying to remember how he got there, but the last thing he could recall was leaving the Stark Industries event after supporting Pepper.

The room was dull and very basic. With stone walls and floor, no windows, one dim light and two metal framed beds so rusty they would probably break under his weight.

As he glanced back down to the ground, he noticed another body in the room. They were still slumped on the ground and back to him.

Scrambling across the floor, he pushed on the mans shoulder to lay in on his back and see his face.

Dad?

Quickly he checked for a pulse and when he was satisfied with the regular thumping, he moved away, letting out a sigh of relief.

With his back to the wall, arms resting on his bent knees, he waited.

It was only a short while later when Tony began to wake. Groaning and sitting up in the same manner his son had moments earlier.

“Oh God, what the hell-where am I?” He mumbled, clearly unaware he wasn’t alone.

“I was hoping you’d know the answer”

Tony’s head snapped over at the grumbled voice to see his son.

“Y/N. What- what are you doing here?”

“hell if I know. Can’t imagine why anyone would take me. I generally don’t piss people off and I’m neither an Avenger or a tech genius.”

“Maybe they mistook you for me” Tony joke, completely oblivious to his sons disinterested and cold tone.

He shuffled back to lean against the opposite wall as his son scoffed.

“Sorry kid, you got the Stark looks.”

“Yeah, that’s all I got” the young man mumbled, leaning his head back on the wall, closing his eyes.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing.”

Silence fell between them until the door opened.

The two men rose to their feet as two armed guards entered the room, a third following with a tray of unappealing food and bottled water.

Neither Stark was acknowledged as the tray was placed on one of the beds and they turned to leave. They even ignored Tony’s incessant questioning and cocky attitude.

His son stayed silent, taking on of the bottles as he sat back on the floor, still not ready to trust the beds.

“Could they just answer a simple question? They got to have a fucking reason for this.”

“Whatever it is I wish they’d just hurry up with it.”

“What, are you bored? Got places to be?” Tony asked, before taking his seat back on the floor.

“Yes, actually. I have an interview Monday and I’m not ready.”

“An interview? What for?”

“Like you actually care.”

“Hey, that’s not-“ Tony began to object but his son looked over at him and cut him off.

“Unless it’s about Peter or Superhero shit, you don’t want to know. You haven’t magically become interested, you just don’t like the silence and unfortunately I’m the only one here. You never cared about what was actually happening in my life before, why start now?”

Tony stared at his son in shock. It’s hard to make The Tony Stark speechless, but right now he had no words at all.

As his son dropped his head back to the wall, looking away from him, Tony couldn’t take his eyes off his son.

Thoughts ran through his head as he examined his son, becoming aware of how little he really did know.

-When did he get so tall? Not tall-tall though, definitely the Stark gene at work there.

-That suit makes him look so grown up, even if those a-holes took our jackets and shoes. Why did they take our shoes? No. Not important. Focus.

-I care about my son. Come on Tony, think. Something.

-School? Crap, when did I last even read a report card? He’s always aced English. Didn’t he do band? No, shit, that was Peter. Goddamnit, is he right?

“You’re 18.”

“Well done. You want a medal?”

“Is the interview for college?”

His son still didn’t move, wouldn’t even look at him.

“Please, Y/N. I-I know I’ve not really been… present in your life. But I do care about you.”

“Do you?” His eyes burned long repressed anger and Tony prepared himself for everything that was coming. He knew he’d deserve it too.

“You gave up so easily. It was too hard to bond with your idiot son, a shy kid who couldn’t understand simple maths. You’d rather be with women and go to parties, and the company always came first. All you did was throw money at things. For year I was fine with it, you using money to help me. I had more than more. It was clear you struggled with relationships of any kind and I was just dumped on you with no warning. It was fine because I had Rhodey, Pepper and Happy. They were there to talk to, they taught me things and supported me, Rhodey would go to school events whenever he could. I just figured maybe you’re not a paternal person. Then you became Iron Man and started saving the world and I can’t be mad about that.”

Tony stayed silent and watched as his son stood up, running a hand through his hair as he began to pace.

“Then you met Harley and kept in touch with him. You upgraded his garage into a high-tech lab. But he did help you save Pepper and the President so I guess you owed him and I didn’t let it bother me. It wasn’t until Peter came along that I noticed that you are one of the most naturally paternal people I know. You became his father figure, took him in so quickly, bonding immediately. If he needed help, you were there. He wanted to talk, you listened. Whether it’s out being Iron Man and Spider-man, training him, helping him with his school work or just locking yourselves in the workshop for hours building new shit. You’re always there for him. He witters on about some stupid crush for 25 minutes and you hang on every word. But you couldn’t do that for me?! What, did I need to be a genius at maths?! Interested in building extravagant technology?! Would you have noticed me then? You know, you went to Peter’s science show last month but you’ve never been to any of my school events. It was always Rhodey, Pepper and Happy a couple times, or no-one. But never you.”

The young man stared at his father, chest heaving, eyes burning as he held back tears. Yet Tony said nothing. He couldn’t take his eyes off his son. Lips parted and eyes glistening with unshed tears, he just sat, no words coming out.

“Yeah I’m 18 any yeah it’s a college interview. I graduate in a few weeks, Rhodey’s going. I’ve already been accepted to a couple colleges. Only a few months and I can leave.”

He didn’t give Tony a chance to respond as he risked the bed, laying down and facing the wall as he focused on bringing his breathing back to normal.

Behind him, his father watched on as tears fell down his face, guilt taking over his whole being.

Neither of them spoke for the rest of the night. While his son eventually fell asleep, Tony stayed on the floor, thinking through everything his son told him and looking back over the years.

The following morning, two guard came in and took Tony away.

They brought him back a few hours later, unharmed. The younger Stark watched as Tony worried his bottom lip and fussed with his clothes. He noted the troubled look on his father’s face and it was clear that whatever the kidnappers told him wasn’t good at all.

But he remained silent.

Eventually Tony settled, sitting on the floor again. But the two still didn’t speak for a few more hours.

“I’m sorry,” Tony finally broke through the silence and tense atmosphere of the confined space.

His son remained silent but his eyes moved up to look at him. This was enough of an acknowledgement that he was listening and so Tony continued.

“You might not believe that, but I am. I don’t know why it was so hard or why it was so easy with Peter. I didn’t- It wasn’t intentional, I didn’t even realise.”

The young Stark kept his eyes on his father but his face stayed blank and lips sealed.

“And you know, just because maths and science subjects didn’t come naturally to you doesn’t mean you’re an idiot. I’ve never once thought you were. I know the Stark name has become so tied to them, mechanics, advanced technology and engineering… but it doesn’t mean you’re not…good enough? Because you don’t follow that. I never thought you should have been, it didn’t-didn’t disappoint me or anything. But you were always so talented in arts, you wrote the most amazing stories and a complete natural in the kitchen. Things I’m not so great at. It just made it harder for me to figure out how to connect. I didn’t know where to start.”

A small smile flashed across his face, eyes glazed as he recalled the past.

“Y’know, I loved those stories about the uh, the dragons that live on your shoulder. I’d find drawings and paintings of them all over the house, and it was a big house!”

Across from him, his son’s head raised a little higher, eyebrows subtly furrowing and looked at the soft expression on his father’s face. He had no idea Tony even know about those.

“I should have been there, tried harder. There’s no excuse for that. But I have always cared. You were just so talented in things I didn’t understand. Then I saw how close you and Rhodey became and-“

Tony let out a sigh, looking away from his son.

“You were left with me, an egotistical ass and a- a playboy. I didn’t think I deserved you. You deserved someone better. Someone emotionally available and mature. Someone to help you grow into an amazing person and progress your talents. Someone like Rhodey. He deserved you and you him. He was -and is- better for you. You were loved and supported by him, and then Pepper and Happy, so I – I thought you’d be ok. That you wouldn’t need me.”

Once again it was all quiet in the small room. This time Tony wouldn’t look at his son, but he couldn’t take his eyes off his father.

“I did need you.”

His voice was raspy as he admitted this to not only Tony but himself.

“Rhodey’s the best. I love him. Couldn’t have asked for a better Uncle. But that’s what he is; my Uncle. You were supposed to be my Dad. I shouldn’t have had a father figure when my father was right there. You were so cool, before and after becoming Iron Man. You made everything around you seem like fun. I didn’t understand the tech crap but- I’m an artist. I can, and did, design things. It’s not all on you, I didn’t make it easy.”

“You were a kid, it is on me. But, maybe- When we get out of here I’ll do better. I want to be an active part in your life. I also understand if it’s too late though.”

“It’s not. It’ll take time but, I’d like that. Rhodey might get jealous though.”

A huffed laugh slipped past Tony’s lips as they spread into a smile on his face when his son cracked a grin.

They continued to talk into the night, about school, which colleges and courses, friends and dating. Once they started they couldn’t stop.

It is hard to shut up a Stark.

They were laughing about one of Tony’s stories of his time in MIT with Rhodey when an explosion shook the room.

The men stood up and faced the door as the sounds of fighting and yelling grew nearer. A smirk spread on Tony’s face as he recognised the noises of his teammates.

It wasn’t long before the door was broken down and Captain America stood in it’s place.

“Bout damn time. Did you stop for coffee?”

“Yeah, yeah, tin man. You’re welcome.” Hawkeye quipped as they walked down the halls.

Rhodey broke through to get to his nephew’s side, checking him over and ensuring he was ok.

Tony led the group to the main room. The kidnappers had access to files and tech that would be too dangerous to leave.

As Tony wiped everything, quips flowing between him and his teammates, none of them noticed the man sneak in through another door.

The younger Stark moved before his brain could even process what was happening, placing himself between his father and the gun that was raised to his back.

*bang*

[foodcourtdetective]

Sleeping with Other People AU: Chapter One: First Time

summary: Dr. Spencer Reid runs into his first time Y/N after a car chase gone bad. They decide not to complicate their friendship by not sleeping together, but it proves to be harder than they think as they slowly fall terribly in love with each other. 

tags: sleeping with other people au, first time, virgin!spencer reid, slow burn, college!spencer reid but only in chapter 1, friends to lovers, TENSION, sexual themes, commitment issues, brief mention of cannibalism but it’s praying mantises calm down armie hammer

A/N: I have 12 parts planned out so please don’t let this flop girlies and non-binary buddies

word count 1.8k

AO3 x

May 13, 1999. Spencer Reid would not attempt to remember a day as unremarkable as this one. Sure, Mozart's first opera premiered, and the Bezalel Art School opened on the other May 13ths of history. But this particular date was in the midst of his finals. He was trying to work through a particularly difficult physics calculation when suddenly—

"HEYYYYYYYY!!! SOBEVICH??? YOU HERE, BUD???" The banging on his door, paired with an intoxicated feminine screeching, was incessant. Reid scoffed, maintaining focus on the task at hand. If you divide x by—

"MATTTTTHEEWWWW??!! COME GET Y'ALL'S JUICE!!" In response, he slammed the pencil down. A little shouting and banging wouldn't typically break his concentration that quickly. However, certain variables (a lack of sleep, other commotion in the dorms prior, not to mention a certain someone not responding to his AOL messages for over 48 hours) had brought him to the edge faster than a cliff diver. Rolling up the sleeves of his sweater and pushing up his glasses on the bridge of his nose, Reid stormed up to his door and yanked it open.

"Heyyyyy wait a second... youuuuuu aren't Matty boyyyyy!" The nuisance in question wasn't his type at all. Her hair was too black and choppy, her eyes too dark with liner smudged everywhere, and her skirt was basically a napkin over her lap that highlighted her purple panties that were visible to anyone with eyes. Her painted lips twisted into a pout as she looked him up in down with interest. Before he could speak, RA Gideon turned the corner of the hallway and, spotting his target, picked up his pace.

"YOU! Young lady, you're not supposed to enter a dorm without getting signed in!" The girl snapped her gaze away from Reid to roll her eyes and drunkenly face the RA.

"I'm heeere! Can't someone else sign in for me?? I'm waiting for a friennnnd!" Gideon's face darkened with barely veiled annoyance, looking over to Reid.

"Is this girl bothering you? I can call campus police to escort her—"

"N-no! It's fine! She's here to see my roommate Matthew." Reid grabbed the clipboard out and scribbled down the details, looking frantically at the girl for her name.

"Y/N L/N aaaand NERDDD BOY are besties!!" She slurred in response. Gideon huffed as he scanned Reid's face carefully.

"Are you sure, Reid? She's your responsibility if anything happens." The student nodded once in reply, muttering thanks as he handed over the clipboard. Taking Y/N by the wrist, Reid pulled her into his room. He shut the door behind them with urgency but was careful not to slam it. Y/N scratched her bare knee lethargically, accidentally flashing him further.

"Alllrighty, here you look a little cold," he squeaked, awkwardly averting his eyes and turning his attention to his dresser to grab her a Cal Tech sweater his mom made him before she had to leave home. Y/N stumbled, leaning on the bed for stability as she took her heels off. As she did so, she took notice of the two beds pushed together.

"Does Matty even live here?? The beds are holding hands?" Reid managed a pitiful laugh as he tossed her the sweater. Pulling a face, she pulled it on. He gulped, noticing the hem barely skimmed her thighs. At least the purple is put away. Realizing he had caused a long pause in the terrible attempt at conversation, Reid quickly looked away from Y/N again.

"N-no, he lives with his boyfriend at Baker." Y/N's eyes widened, her lip trembling a little bit in shock as she hugged herself with the too-big sleeves.

"Dammmn, I shoulda known a brainiac like that was a bisexual. Didn't peg him for playing so hard to get otherwise."

"Did he try to flirt with you? Because he's basically married to Adam and not to mention the stereotype of bisexuals cheating-"

"is inaccurate and offensive blah blah blah I know, I am one... Nah, I was just hoping that being more forward would seal the deal! But I would never purposefully try to hook up with someone taken... and you're no longer listening to me," Y/N cut off her rambling as he had gravitated helplessly towards his brick of a computer with a glowing screen. He chewed on his lip thoughtlessly, only looking up when he felt Y/N's exasperated gaze on him.

"Sorry, I-I've been waiting for a message..." Y/N scuffled over beside him, her bare feet sticking slightly to the wood floor. Reid winced as she leaned across him to rest her hands beside the keyboard. He tried to move out of her way, but she ended up with her back pressed against him. Don't be embarrassing. Digits of Pi GO! 3.1415926—

"Oh, I know Jennifer! We went to East Allegheny. Fucking smoke show, but she has this praying mantis vibe," she said matter of factly. Reid's mouth gaped open and closed.

"A-what vibe?"

"You know... how they fuck! With the—"

"Female praying mantis engaging in cannibalistic mating behavior, biting off the head or legs of her mate and eating them. I've heard of it, but you should know that that behavior occurs in less than 30 percent of all mating sessions in the wild." As Reid rattled on, he slowly became aware of her piercing eyes on him and the warmth of her back. He sucked in a breath, cutting himself off from going further.

"Wow! Guess you weren't really studying! I'm sorry I interrupted your terrible Thursday evening," she quipped, gesturing to the now-abandoned physics equation. He hurried to close the notebook, tucking it away in his desk as he began to sweat.

"Oh, that! That wasn't studying! I was calculating to calm down." Reid somehow didn't expect the not-unfriendly laugh to erupt in front of him. She bent down to brace herself on her upper thighs as she guffawed, unintentionally pulling the sweater up from the back. Without thinking, he pulled it down for her dignity, but she grabbed his wrist tightly as he completed the action and locked eyes with him.

"What are you, a physicist?" She asked playfully. He gulped again as Y/N watched the movement of his prominent Adam's apple.

"N-not really. I'm working on my chemistry and mathematics masters right now, but I finished my physics MA last semester." She whistled in response, impressed.

"They LET you have that many?? Wait..." Her heated eye contact wavered, flicking up and down his body.

"There's no way! You're only like sixteen!"

"I'm EIGHT-teen! And yeah, I signed a waiver saying that MIT is not responsible for any poor grades or drops in my mental state," he winced as his voice cracked on his age.

"Guess what they say about MIT being smarted than BU kids is right! My med-track major could never be as flexible as yours, virgin," Y/N quipped, cheekily checking out the dark flush of crimson on his cheeks as he pulled away from her grip, facing the wall in frustration of two different types.

"WH-WHY! Why would you-"

"Spence, you're waiting by the computer for a direct message!" Reid sputtered in response, the nickname he had signed off as in her mouth sounded both so wrong and so right as he adjusted his stance to hide an unfortunate situation going on downstairs. Y/N rolled her eyes again as Reid suddenly realized that he loved the color of her eyes more than any color he had ever seen in his life, including Jennifer's. After a long, not uncomfortable, silence, Y/N made a step toward him, suddenly hesitant.

"Don't get your sweater all wrinkled! I'm a virgin too. That's why I came— you better fix that expression on your face, kid!" Reid realized that his shock had painted his face too clearly, flapping his hands frantically as he watched her face drop. The visible vulnerability struck a nerve within him; he didn't know if it was good or bad. As she turned back to the computer, he touched her shoulder in an attempt to get her to look at him.

"NO! No! Not in a bad way! Just individuals who are sexually confident in their self-image with a certain presentation tend to have already completed the act!" Y/N scoffed, rolling her shoulder to get away as if it burned her.

"PLEASE! Now who's engaging in the stereotypes, genius?"

"I'm sorry! You're just too beaut-attract-hot..." Reid kept cutting himself off in an attempt to quantify her looks properly. Y/N chuckled to herself, charmed as she finally looked to watch him fluster himself to try to rectify the insult.

"It's okay... You don't have to say anything. I mean, I couldn't even get Matthew fucking Sobevich to fuck me. As the guest TA, he managed to make four of my classmates pass out within the hour." She cast her eyes downward, fiddling with the loose string on the sweater near the sleeve. Reid swallowed, stepping closer to her. He bent his knees, basically in a squat, to try to get eye contact.

"You deserve better than Matt. I mean, look at you!" He gestured awkwardly at her whole body before framing her face with his fingertips. Y/N finally looked at him, the inner workings of her thoughts almost visible in her eyes as she straightened her gaze to bring him standing up. She cautiously brought her hand up to his chest, right over his heart.

"Well, if you want to date someone like JJ... you might want some experience... We could-- let's get it out of the way!" Y/N carefully explained her idea, her fingers walking up to brush against his Adam's apple. Reid shivered, pulling away to retreat toward his bed, almost involuntarily giving in to her plan.

"I-this was all supposed to be very romantic!! And-and now you've gone and just fucked it up!!" He squealed, watching as Y/N crossed her arms to take off his sweater from the bottom. She came over to sit on the bed, thoughtfully taking a second to let him gather himself before curling her index finger under his chin to get him to look at her.

"You are going to drive some girl crazy someday. With your long, Kurt Cobain hair and that infuriating mouth of yours," Y/N whispered sincerely, moving her finger to trace up his jaw and to hook under his glasses. Reid's breathing hitched, but he kept his gaze on her as she pulled his glasses off and gently put them on the nightstand.

"Say the word, and I'll stop. Say you don't want this, and we won't," Y/N continued, her other hand shaking on his knee as she inched closer to him. As she closed her eyes, Reid closed the gap between them, the hiss of heavy breathing from his nose the only noise in the room. She responded immediately, wrapping her fingers in his hair as they fell against the bed. Suddenly, May 13, 1999, wasn't so unremarkable after all.

[starsbythepocketful12]

headcanons cause i’m in flarrie hours

they are THE couple when it comes to halloween costumes

all their outfits for big events (parties, gigs where dirty candy and/or jatp perform) are coordinated

carrie my femme queen & flynn my nonbinary lesbian darling

go to protests & marches together

flynn lends carrie books by her favorite Black female authors & carrie lends her books by her favorite sapphic poets

they make playlists about each other but the other doesn’t know they do it (julie & kayla are the only ones permitted to know of the existence of these playlists & have been sworn to secrecy, though julie has a strong suspicion carrie also makes playlists about flynn and vice versa)

have a joint pinterest account for their wedding moodboard

carrie adopted a tiger cub and named it flynn for their three month anniversary

they go to the mall together every other weekend and shop, which they both love to do and when they get home they always model the new outfits they bought

flynn squeals every time they see a dog in public and always runs over and asks if they can pet it and carrie always watches her with such a fond look that the owner almost always makes a comment on what a lovely couple they are or asks how long they’ve been together (something that has actually been happening since even before they were dating, and back then you can imagine the flustered ness it caused)

flynn often comes to watch dirty candy rehearsals, cheer them on, make sure they’re staying hydrated/taking snack breaks and that carrie’s not overworking herself

carrie is the first person that flynn tells she wants to DJ professionally and carrie gets her her first gig

eventually flynn gets into producing as well and ends up making a track for carrie, who writes lyrics to it and it becomes dirty candy’s most successful song to date

carrie says i love you first one saturday afternoon while they’re watching a movie on flynn’s computer in her room. flynn laughs at a joke and carrie looks over at her, her beautiful, incredible girlfriend, and simply can’t resist the urge to say it

flynn’s shocked into silence so carrie panics and leaves and doesn’t answer flynn’s messages

that night flynn shows up at the wilson mansion and throws rocks at carrie’s window until she comes out

flynn is upset with carrie for running out and ghosting her and carrie’s trying to defend herself so they argue but then flynn interrupts carrie by kissing her and breathlessly saying, “i love you.” carrie kisses her and not another word on it is said

carrie steals flynn’s hats

they’re not really PDA-y, they just happen to engage in a lot of unconscious, casual affection, like flynn often absentmindedly intertwines their pinkies and carrie doesn’t realize her arm is around flynn’s shoulders until she’s doing it

even after months of dating will still flirt like they’re in their enemies who are secretly very attracted to e/o era

flynn really loves art, particularly murals, so she drags carrie to a lot of gallery openings and museums

at one point when flynn’s going through a hard time carrie enlists all their friends for help making a giant mural full of drawings of things that make her happy

flynn happy cries when she sees it and is pretty much always seen hugging carrie for the rest of that night

only really cuddle when one (or both) of them is sleepy, though flynn does often sit on carrie’s lap

before starting to date, carrie would tease flynn for having stuffed animals during their sleepovers at flynn’s until they started dating and flynn started spending more time at carrie’s and flynn discovers that her girlfriend’s a little hypocrite

flynn has a younger sister and brother (sister is six, brother is four) and they absolutely ADORE carrie and think she’s the coolest and carrie thinks they’re the cutest

flynn’s like no they’re little demons and carrie’s says who says demons can’t be cute? you once called me a demon right, and im cute, aren’t i? and flynn rolls her eyes and fights back a smile

flynn also has a college aged older sister who she looks up to a lot, like that’s her hero and absolute role model, so naturally carrie’s terrified to meet her, and though she tries to appear intimidating at first, she can’t keep up the act for long and starts being friendly with carrie pretty much right away

one day they’re supposed to go on a date but carrie’s sick and forgot to text flynn telling her not to come so flynn shows up at her house but stays anyway to look after her

flynn reads to her and makes her soup

trevor & flynn play video games while carrie naps

flynn makes jewelry in her free time and consults carrie for her thoughts on every piece (in junior year she starts selling them at school & turns out to be quite the entrepreneur)

they have an inside joke about cosmo and wanda

a couple of the dirty candy members sometimes jokingly flirt with flynn and are like “watch out! we’re gonna steal your girl!” and carrie gets possessive and apologizes for it pretty quickly but flynn thinks it’s hot so it works out pretty well

will watch bad rom coms to make fun of straight people and throw popcorn at the screen when they get together

pet/nick names: care, baby, babe, love, (from carrie to flynn who shuts down upon hearing it) honey, (flynn to carrie, who becomes very giddy the first time flynn says it in a text message) sweetheart

if you couldn’t tell before they ofc have an enemies to friends to lovers arc

move in together after graduating, neither planning on going to college (julie goes to berkeley and nick some other place in california where they have lacrosse cause that’s the sport he plays right) and their parents think it’ll be a disaster but it actually goes really well

the first couple of weeks they fight more, all petty arguments mostly out of the stress of moving, but they always talk it out

it doesn’t take long for them to be happy they’re living together and feel really glad they took that step

two years after graduating flynn gives her a promise ring

carrie cries her eyes out and replies “of fucking course, you dumb fuck” when flynn asks if she’ll take it

ten years later carrie’s a successful pop star/choreographer & flynn’s a record breaking producer/DJ and they’re about to buy a house when they realize they never got married

it’s just a moment where they’re relaxing together on the couch and suddenly are like. oh

and proceed to burst out laughing

it’s a small ceremony, thrown together in just three weeks

carrie wears a short, light pink dress with a heart cutout in the back that would probably be more suited for a high school sophomore’s spring fling but no one cares

flynn wears a suit, and is walked down the aisle by her older sister

they both tear up upon seeing each other and sob through the vows (the traditional pre written ones, they wrote vows for each other but they recite them to the other when they’re alone, so it’s something special only they can share)

julie & kayla are the maids of honor, nick and alex are the best men

julie & luke’s five year old hernando is the ring bearer & alex and willie’s three year old umi is the flower child

trevor, flynn’s older sister and parents cry

even flynn’s now teenage younger siblings, who as of late have often been stereotypically cynical and moody shed tears

jatp perform at the reception (they have also become a hit band at this point)

when they get back from the honeymoon the first thing they do is get a dog

they adopt a golden doodle rescue named stella

a couple years later they start talking about kids and look into getting a sperm donor

because they love being competitive they do little games to decide who will be the one to carry the baby

it’s all jokes though, they decided at the start of the process that it would be flynn for the first kid and carrie for the second

but then SURPRISE flynn has twins

a boy and a girl named tyler and ollie (who’s who i won’t tell you cause fuck gender)

they don’t even talk about carrie getting pregnant now cause they’re busy with the babies and trying to manage their careers but one night, when the kids are eight, and flynn has just flopped onto the couch with a dramatic sigh after putting them to bed, carrie puts down her kindle and quietly says that she wants another kid.

they talk for hours because while flynn wants another kid too, when you’re both celebrities with demanding jobs and people constantly trying to peer into your life, that decision involves even more factors

they decide to have another kid and carrie chooses to take a step back from her career for now-she’ll return to it eventually but for now she wants to be able to just be a parent without worrying about work and not have to deal with the guilt that comes with working when she feels like she should be being a parent

though the kids have always been their main priority and they have done quite well dividing their time between work and being with them, and have done decently shielding them from the public eye (majority of the pictures of ollie & tyler that the public has are blurry candids, and the few high quality ones are from when they were three and they no longer look like that anyway so it’s all good)

it’s a harder process for carrie to get pregnant as she’s almost 40 and flynn was 31 when she had tyler and ollie

but it happens though they’re careful about choosing the sperm donor-even briefly consider asking reggie or nick-because with this kind of thing there’s always the risk that other parent could track down where their kid ended up and want to be a part of that kid’s life later on which is uber complicated for many reasons so they get those scary possibilities out of the way by just finding someone who they know wants to be in the child’s life

preston choi, a thai & korean american mathematics professor ends up being their guy

he’s immensely genuine, sweet, respectful, polite, and gentlemanly

when he came out at fifteen his parents kicked him out of the house

it was a long and difficult journey but they’re in a decent place now

but it’s not the family he wants to have and he’s tried but has yet to find a partner

but doesn’t want to wait to have kids so here he is, more than happy to co parent with flynn and carrie

so that’s what they do! tyler and ollie become big siblings to miles wilson-choi on december 10th, 2044

miles grows up in the most multicultural home ever, being fluent in 4 languages (English, AAVE, Spanish thanks to their tia julie, Korean, and Thai) all their life

tyler & ollie welcome preston and miles into the family with open arms, as well as the addition of korean and thai cuisine to the already amazing dinner tables they had of soul and caribbean food

when miles is seven carrie goes back to work full time, with preston’s assurance that he’s got this when her and flynn are busy and tyler and ollie (who are now fifteen) promising they’ll help out as well

at that point the long awaited julie and the phantoms/carrie and flynn wilson collaboration FINALLY happens

flynn wins her 28th grammy for it, leaving her tied with beyoncé for most grammys won by any woman ever (its julie’s 14th, luke’s 6th, and carrie’s 12th, and the band’s collective 10th cause alex never did any solo projects and reggie released one country album but it didn’t win any grammys rip though it was nominated for 2 CMAs)

[i-anoobis-i]

I don’t understand why the school system has to be so stressful. It’s not like I’ll learn more with the 20 page homework you’ve given me...especially when it’s the holidays, I’m not gonna sit here and write the hw the only 6 days I have to relax. Personally I’m struggling a lot with school cuz I can’t remember things easily, my teachers aren’t good, it’s too stressful and unnecessaryly difficult sometimes, I can’t focus, I can’t even read a whole sentence without forgetting the beginning of it, my attention span is the same as a gold fish and sometimes when I read it doesn’t make sense in my head. Like— I read the sentence 4 times and it’s like I’m reading it in a different language also the spacing out a lot doesn’t help in any way. Then there’s the impatient teachers with all these assignments for which we have a day or two to hand them in. And then their excuse is “If we don’t give y’all any homework how are we supposed to give you grades??” or “stop complaining we’re also busy and tired” WELL MISS GURL if you didn’t give us this much hw you would also have free time cuz there wouldn’t be so much shit for you to grade😐also it is harder for the students, especially the ones with the “you must know it all” parents or grandparents. For me it’s my grandma, since she’s studied mathematics and has been a teacher and a principal she expects me to be good at everything. And WHEW LET ME TELL YOU I’m gay I can’t do math tf, no genuinely I’ve never been good at math and I’ll never be, I’m an arts person and it’ll stay that way. Also I think I might have adhd but I don’t wanna self diagnose so I’ll have to eventually check that out... ANYWAY MY POINT IS— I know it’s hard and stressful but it’s not worth it to actually stress this much, just take a lil bit off and it’ll all be over eventually. Take care of yourself, guys! And fuck the education system :))

[simsexpo]

Callum Cockburn for @everfallsims Double Shot At Love

First things first, it’s COH-burn. Not COCK-burn. 

𝙱𝚁𝙾 - 𝙻𝙾𝚅𝙴𝚂 𝙾𝚄𝚃𝙳𝙾𝙾𝚁𝚂 - 𝙿𝙴𝚁𝙵𝙴𝙲𝚃𝙸𝙾𝙽𝙸𝚂𝚃

31 years old

From a small fishing village on the western coast of Scotland, Callum is the embodiment of the of the fiery Highland lad many a Scottish girl have fallen for. An avid soccer -- ahem, football -- fan, proficient in the art of banter, and always ready to down a pint, a good time with him is guaranteed. Don’t let his breezy nature fool you, though; with his mathematical brain and high standards, Callum has a perfectionist streak a mile wide... and not only in the work that he does, but the women he dates, too!

More info on Callum below the cut!

Callum Cockburn was born and raised in the town of Kinnaroch on Scotland’s stormy western coast. His mother a local tailor and father a fisherman, his childhood certainly wasn’t posh, but who needs the newest toys when you have the great Scottish countryside to explore? Callum grew up riding his bike for miles to visit the crumbling ruins of castles that dotted the landscape around him. So began his passion for architecture, a passion he pursued until it led him to a cushy job at an architectural firm in Bridgeport. Today, he helps design buildings from San Myshuno to Windenburg, and everywhere in between. 

Despite his work taking him far from home, he makes it back to Kinnaroch often to visit his mom (mum?), dad, older sister, younger brother, aunts, uncles, cousins, grandparents... well, it’s pretty obvious the Cockburn clan has deep roots in the area.

With his 6′4 frame and massive shoulders, he can shield you from the bone-chilling Scottish wind; with his scratchy yet undeniably-toasty woolen sweaters, he can keep you nice and warm!

As an architect, Callum possesses great technical know-how, and math comes second nature to him. He takes immense pride in the work he does, never accepting less than his absolute best. Unfortunately, he expects this same level of perfection from most other things in life, and often finds that most things fail to measure up. To him, romance is like building a skyscraper; it’s built of straightforward components with a stable, predictable end result. This isn’t to say that he can’t have fun (in fact, he has lots of it), but anything that deviates from the traditional trajectory of a relationship can throw him for a loop. When he first left Scotland, he split with his then-girlfriend because the stresses of a long-distance relationship simply proved too unfamiliar and difficult for him to navigate. 

Conversely, when all is going according to the blueprints in his head, you won’t find a sweeter man; he’s the kind of guy who carries you up to bed instead of waking you up. He gets along with nearly everyone, and as a great conversationalist, there’s hardly ever a dull moment. He’s got an infectious sense of humor, and his ribaldry always stops just short of the proverbial line. With his simple upbringing, he’s very much a man-of-the-people -- he has little tolerance for pretensions of superiority, and is inherently suspicious of, even standoffish towards anyone who appears to be fabulously wealthy. He’s a man, not a boy, and rolls his eyes at the needless bravado and machismo that some guys consider an essential part of the courting process. He has virtually no temper to speak of, another side effect of his disdain for unpredictability; he’s the cool and steady presence we all need sometimes.

Some more fun facts about Callum:

Friends and family just call him Cal

He enjoys taking long, long walks, particularly when he’s back in Kinnaroch

His favorite architectural styles are Scots Baronial, Contemporary, and Victorian (he will talk endlessly about this so please don’t get him started)

Like a true Scotsman, he typically doesn’t wear underwear with his kilt

When he told his parents he was auditioning for Double Shot At Love, his dad said “Double Shot? Whit the fuck are ye on aboot” and his mom said “Yer bum’s oot the windae, Cal!”

Has a clear-enough Scottish accent that becomes almost unintelligible when he’s back home

Can probably outdrink you

Favorite food is smoked salmon

His family has a highland cow named David

Gets way too invested in soccer/football, and knows his way around a ball himself

Distantly related to the Stewarts, who trace their ancestry to only a few towns over from Kinnaroch; he has never met them and really couldn’t care less

Thinks his singing voice is a lot better than it actually is (but he’s got an accent so it’s okay)

Has made peace with the fact that no one outside of Scotland will be able to read or speak his last name without thinking of male genitalia

Prized possession is a watch he inherited from his grandfather 

Saves more than he spends

Is a Capricorn

Callum has his heart set on Evani; he appreciates her similarly-perfectionistic nature, her high standards, and logical disposition. Will he finally meet the woman who meets all his criteria, or will he be forced to find out that love isn’t always as clear as a Scottish stream?

Private DL if chosen! x

[thistangledbrain]

Autism Awareness/Acceptance Month

Day 5!

“Special Interests”

Have a quiet Autie in your life? That won’t last long if you tap into their special interest. We can’t shut UP when we find someone who’s genuinely curious about what lights us up.

Every older Autie I know has at least one special interest, sometimes several.

Mine? Dogs. Primarily.

And I mean EVERYTHING dog, but starting with behavior. Then in no particular order, health/genetics, various breeds and their traits, training....literally everything. Even the genes that define coat color & pattern, and what physical genetics are tied to behavior (if you’re curious about that, start with the Russian studies about domesticated foxes and what happened to their red coats, the more tame they became). It was horses when I was younger, but I soon moved to dogs when getting into my late teens (more affordable and accessible I guess lol). And if I don’t know the answer to your questions, we find out together, because I *need* to know, too. 😉 I can talk dogs with you literally all day and never get bored...which helps socially, too (I’ve mentioned that most of my closest friends are dog people) - I have a larger network of friends than most other auties I know, and it’s because of a shared passion for all things dog. 
Then there’s the sciences, but particularly quantum & theoretical physics. I. Fucking. Love. Physics. LOVE IT. Unfortunately, my brain hits a wall with more advanced mathematics, so I can’t “do” physics on the level I want to. Luckily for me, my oldest son is also pretty obsessed with it, and he is now pursuing a degree in physics....so when he comes home, we sit down with his notes and he breaks it down for me (the language behind the experiment or action). I have pictures of his notes saved on my phone, for simply the silly reason that I like the patterns of the math (it’s the “universal language”, if you didn’t know), and like to daydream about understanding it. (He struggles with the math as well...we are both HEAVILY right brained...but he manages.) If there’s a documentary out there about physics (plus many lectures), I’ve probably seen it multiple times. Idk why quantum physics in particular interests me...maybe because it’s almost like magic. ☺️ Quantum entanglement fascinates me, and the theory that things aren’t what they are unless/until you observe them...I can get stuck absolutely obsessing over these things.

Nature/animals are the big background special interest that the specifics tie into, though (and this ranges from astrophysics to the life cycle and structure of an ant colony - and even human psychology). Concerning observable animal/plant nature though (and this is a big one for me), Sir David Attenborough is my hero lol- no one else answers the questions I have, and opens up the natural world for me, like that dude. It was Mutual of Omaha’s nature shows when I was a kid, now it’s him. Sorry not sorry, but a doc on the secret life of plants is *fucking riveting* to me. Science is my JAM! 😆 I am happy to recommend any docs to any other fellow science nerds (Through the Wormhole, The Elegant Universe, and Cosmos are all MUST SEE - if you’re a nature nerd, of course Blue Planet, Our Planet, Life...gosh. So many great series). When I get on a science kick, I get the same feelings I get when I’ve tapped into a difficult dog’s psyche, and we start to figure things out. It’s an absolute thrilling obsession, and I am very restless until all my “why/how” is answered. It’s never enough - I never know enough, and I never will.

It’s also an area where my perpetual 2-3 year old is consistently mostly satisfied. I mean that’s the whole scientific community in a nutshell LOL! “WHY?” “HOW?!” When I was a kid, I’d have to write down all my questions that weren’t answered by our Encyclopedias, and wait till the weekly library trip to find the answers I sought. Now, I have a smartphone and Google LOL....and I cannot even begin to describe how consciously thankful I am for that quick access to answers!! Questions will *eat me alive* sometimes, so answering them in a timely fashion is sooooo satisfying 😆

I guess I’m a bit of an artist/creative personality. I’m unhappy when I don’t have space to create....but that space is pretty damn large, because I’m into almost all of it (you can’t exactly fit a miter and bandsaw into your apartment studio, so I’m very grateful I have the space for the power tools LOL...)

From building things to fabric crafts, I love it all. I get way burned out if one of those things become a “job”, though (ehh except being paid as a regular employee of a historic renovation construction firm LOL) - something I HAVE to do. Then it’s not enjoyable anymore. I had started down a path of marketable creations, and they were in high demand...but then it became something I HAD to do for money, instead of wanting to do for enjoyment - and I haven’t touched that particular craft in 8 years or more now (which frustrates people, because I was good at it). 🤷🏻‍♀️ That’s one of those things I really can’t help. My oldest son seems to be sort of similar....he’s commissioned several pieces (and secured his first few at a VERY young age), but he also tends to get a little frustrated when he’s expected to create something, instead of the urge naturally striking him. The whole beauty and satisfaction from art - for me anyway - stems from pure imagination without constraints. When you’re doing something to please someone, it ceases being art, and turns into just...a skilled task you completed. That’s how I look at it, anyway. So even though I could actually make my art into a career (at least supplementary income), it ceases to be enjoyable for me *at all*, unless I’m creating something for someone who means a lot to me. That, and I really just prefer to give my stuff as gifts. It makes me feel good to see people light up with joy over what I’ve made for them, whatever it was. (I also do a shitload of remote training with people and their dogs, for free. I point folks towards the trainers I respect if they need extensive in person work, but lots of folks don’t have several hundred bucks to sink into understanding their dogs better...so...I just help where I can, now. I think it *used to* frustrate my husband, but he absolutely understands now & is cool with it.)

Oh. And rocks and minerals. I’m an obsessive rockhound LOL - and a cousin is a geologist, so he can break down how and why each is so unique, how it formed & why, etc. I’m actually currently converting a large yard sale antique wardrobe into a piece that can showcase Sir Tommy on one side, and my extensive rock and mineral collection on the other (waaaay not extensive enough, but you might be surprised how expensive quality specimens are. Take moldavite for example...fascinating thing...little chip of it about the size of your pinky nail will run you $20 +, because it’s rare. And yes I am fascinated by the metaphysical value attached to these minerals, and why that’s even a thing.) The way minerals form - let’s cite Aragonite as an example - just captivates me.

So I guess those are my main special interests! If you have a *young* Autie in your life, try to expose them to various things. To find a “special interest” is to find a way to ground ourselves. Special interests are a bit different than...well, I’m not sure what words work for stim interests that you can escape into for NT’s, but it’s less of an interest, and more of an obsession for us. It consumes us.

So anyway, EVERY Autie has a special interest. It could be science, it could be gaming (that’s a big one with lots of males, and not a small one for Autie women either, because it’s an escape you actually have to engage your brain in) or computers; it could be mathematics or art. It could be animals and nature. But eventually (for those of you with wee Auties), Your Pet Autie ™️ will find something that they absolutely obsess over & gets them excited to share their knowledge or creations with you. I encourage parents of auties to help them explore the world and find their niche. It helps us navigate your world, and find a way to be at home in it. It also gives us something to fixate on other than our bumbling attempts at fitting in to a world not built for us.

Circling back - if you know an autistic in your life that you want an “in” to get to know, start with their special interest. (Of course we recognize when you’re doing it just for the merits, versus when you actually want to learn something from us, but we appreciate both, really. It gives us a chance to ...idk. Feel important, maybe. At least that’s what it is to me, and my boys. We love to feel needed for our knowledge!)

Special interests are truly your “in” to an Autie, regardless of what their subject is.

So that’s MY take on the special interests. What lights your beloved Autie up?

[taylortruther]

The lines that confuse me are “isn’t it romantic that my elegies eulogize me” and “and tell me what are my Wordsworth” and her muse. Is it joe? Music? Sorry I’m not like into poetry so some of the lyrics don’t make as much sense to me

THIS IS REALLY LONG, SORRY. 

is it romantic how all my elegies eulogize me?

in the elegies line, she is basically asking: is it romantic* that all of my past work is like a lamentation for my death? - because her work was sold in an act of betrayal so serious that she feels like it killed her (which she explained in MTR), and because she is a different person than she used to be. 

*but taylor is not describing romantic in the lovey-dovey sense, but in the artistic sense. romanticism was an 18th century art and literary movement or philosophy that... basically focused on nature, isolation, self-reflection, and individuality. it sought to evoke a strong emotional response from the viewer/reader. 

it’s important to understand this in context: it followed the enlightenment, which was a movement that focused on reason and logic above all else. it was a period of huge scientific/mathematical/logical and philosophical advancement in europe. it was the beginning of a lot of schools of science, like zoology, biology, physics, etc. for example, john locke, who is one of the grandfathers of western political theory (you may know his “social contract” theory), was an enlightenment philosopher. isaac newton was an enlightenment scientist who discovered gravity and the laws of motion. 

that said, romanticism broke away from the enlightenment’s highly rational philosophies, and emphasized emotions, sensitivity, nature, and your own individual experience in the world rather than just logic/reason. it was also kind of a return to spirituality and death as a philosophical adventure, whereas the enlightenment really focused on science as a way to break away from religion. 

it is also worth noting that we have sensitive artists like wordsworth (more below) who wrote about communion of man/nature and deeper personal understanding... but we also have artists like mary shelley, who wrote about the darker, monstrous nature of humanity, and the danger of nature or fucking with nature. kind of a ‘romanticizing’ of darkness. 

SO... taylor is saying that her songs, which are about her emotional experiences and journey from young woman to adult, are like eulogies. they’re like songs for her funeral, or memorializing who she was and no longer is. 

--- 

i've come too far to watch some namedropping sleaze tell me what are my words worth

this is a play on words. the sleaze is scooter, who bought her masters from scott borchetta - and bragged about it to the world. and this is taylor saying she’s too successful, hardworking, and proud to let him buy her catalog (putting a price tag on what, to her, is priceless) in peace. 

but it is also a reference to William Wordsworth, who is one of the most well-known poets of the era. he ushered in the romanticism era. wordsworth wrote about nature, and the importance of man’s relationship with nature, and also about his understanding of the human mind. he also lived in the lakes in relative isolation (with his sister, and fellow poet samuel coleridge), which is the setting of the song. 

it is also worth noting that throughout 1813-1820, wordsworth was criticized mercilessly for basically being a sellout. prior to that, he was criticized harshly for being inaccessible due to outdated and difficult language in his poetry. so, i wonder if taylor related to that as well, although his reputation eventually recovered before his death in 1850. 

--- 

but not without my muse 

basically... she wants to live in isolation and peace in nature, but not total isolation. she’s only leaving the world behind, but she’s bringing her muse, which could be her lover, but could be a broader concept of art. she’s leaving the public... but not her art or inspirations. 

---

taylor has said this album came about because of her thoughts and feelings about isolation. i think this album is reflective, emotional, and sensitive - perhaps not strictly autobiographical, but it’s not what she was going for. she wanted to express pretty specific emotions, and, privately, has been trying to find peace in isolation (from COVID, but also in isolating herself as a celebrity from the public). 

[thetumblingstones]

Trickery in Plain Sight

#I I

In the collection of notes that was later collated into the Economic and Philosophic Manuscripts of 1844, Marx points to the inevitable emasculation that the worker is to experience in a capitalistic system due the presence of division of labour. The intense competition between the workers, given their excess supply, leads to a state in which the price of labour is as low as it can get (since if one labourer were to reject the price of his wage another desperate one would be waiting next in line to hop in and accept that price of wage). Now, given how specialised labour is, the worker can only work in this industry or domain. He doesn't have the skills necessary to be accepted some place else, given how divided labour is in various kinds of specialisations.

One can see this having implications in our own world in terms of how varied jobs are in our society and, more importantly, how difficult it is for one to work in another field altogether. That would be "jumping lanes", as they call it. In fact, this is most strikingly seen in cases where a human once valuable becomes suddenly dispensable with the invention of a machine which can do the same job. Even though the man has spent a major part of his life trying to learn the skills required, he is nowhere near as efficient (and thus cost-effective) as a machine. So he loses his job while at the same time not having the required skills to compete against others in a totally new field.

I want to take this one step further. Jobs are not the only feature spelled out under the dictum of division of labour, is it? It's not like men and women pop out of wombs and wander unwittingly into offices, choosing a job position to start their careers, is it? No, it obviously begins much earlier. Maybe it begins with the choice of a course we are compelled to make under the undergraduate system? It's a good indicator but surely not the beginning. Maybe it begins with the "stream" we have got to choose, any one of the strictly demarcated "Science", "Commerce" or "Arts", in 10th grade. Again, that's a good indication but sure as hell not the beginning. What about the the covert nudgings that our "third parents", i.e. our teachers, undertake in "hey daughter, you are good in mathematics. How about you focus on getting into a Science Junior College" one-to-one sitdown while they, in retrospect, suspiciously brush away your seemingly inconsequential poem? That would also explain subtle hierarchy between the so-called streams, wouldn't it? Since by the dictum of division of labour, specialising in a "low demand" artistic field would be a risky venture in comparison to a "high demand" and consequently "well paying" jobs in the sciences, wouldn't it?

So you got to choose, choose before you even get a real sense of what's out there, what's possible. Is then education even anymore a matter of expanding a child's mind to the wonders of this world and the wonders she can unlock with her unbridled spirit of curiosity? No! Seems instead that it's instead about creating the next class of men and women who can take whatever unfair choices that are thrown at their faces while they mould themselves along into the perfect cog for a system to juice it all up for it's own motives, namely creating profits by sapping the spirit out of the very humanity that was born with us. And to the people who talk about the lack of efficiency that would ensue had there not been any division of labour, think of the Leonardo Da Vincis of the world who, through their curiosities in multiple fields, were able to contribute so immensely. Think about Einsteins, who not only proposed the Special Theory of Relativity 1905 but also played violins in his spare time. Think of the Hedy Lamars, who on the one hand played leading roles in Hollywood productions but on the other was pivotal in the invention of the technology of wi-fi. These are the men and women who fell through the cracks of a system that has more and more over the years asked us to make life-altering decisions at an age where one should only be shown all the colors of the rainbow, all the sounds of music, all the true wonders that one can not even dream of.

And to all the people who say yeah you can be who you want to once you are a ragged old disheveled man having lost the game to society's masochistic rituals, I say fuck you. Not everyone's life can be fulfilled by your flaccid Colonel Sanders myth. The least you can do is not feed false hopes as one is about to fall into the valley of modern life.

[thepapergirlandthespiegelman]

Harry Potter and the Methods of Rationality: Initial impressions

Titles can be deceiving.

CW: child abuse, childhood trauma, mental illness, depression, anxiety

I think I can recall hearing about Harry Potter and the Methods of Rationality at some point in the fairly distant past, though I can’t be sure. What I can say with relative certainty is that if I did encounter it, I probably wasn’t very likely to read it. I probably assumed that HPMOR was one of those obnoxiously misguided and pedantic critiques of fiction by scientists who neither know how to utilize suspension of disbelief, nor understand the basic nature of symbolism. At best, I might have imagined it to be a piece attempting to discover or construct a coherent logic from the magic within the Harry Potter universe, just for the pure amusement value, the absurdity of attempting to apply logic to that which defies it. I could see the appeal of that, but probably not 122 chapters worth of it.

After actually reading the first ten chapters of HPMOR, however, I can say that my first guess was incorrect, and my second guess was insufficient. HPMOR does capitalize on that humorous absurdity, but that’s hardly the core of the story.

One major reason for my misperceptions was a lack of familiarity with the difference between science and rationality. In layspeak, we often use these terms near interchangeably, and while they do go hand-in-hand to some extent, they’re not the same. Science is a method of obtaining knowledge. Rationality is an approach to living life, which dictates utilizing philosophy and science to obtain desired outcomes. You can be a scientist and be completely irrational, which actually reflects back on my initial concern; there are some scientists who will attempt to use the theory and language of science to denigrate works of art, completely ignoring the point of art.

HPMOR itself deals with this problem, not only the conflation of science with rationality, but the conflation of science and rationality and aptitude and general intelligence. The very first chapter highlights how AU Harry’s (Harry James Potter-Evans-Verres, HJPEV for short) father is a professor, knowledgeable about science, presumably quite intelligent, and yet behaves incredibly irrationally. Rather than attempting to settle the dispute about the existence of magic objectively, he refuses to entertain the idea on principle, saying, “Magic is just about the most unscientific thing there is!”

And here’s where the real story begins to unfold. What makes HPMOR hit hard, at least for me, is not the discussion of science and rationality in the abstract, or even the very useful, illustrative scenarios, but the emotional struggle of trying to be a rational person in an irrational world, especially when you’re a child. In so many ways, HPMOR is a story about the trauma of growing up as a so-called “gifted” child. Almost every chapter that I read was painfully reminiscent of my own childhood:

Seeing my parents speculate and argue endlessly over things that could be proven;

Attempting to reason with them only to be shut down;

Having my value in their eyes dependent on their perception of my intelligence and academic performance, being praised for when I was perceived to have succeeded in these matters, while at the same time having my perspective completely ignored when it came to anything that mattered;

Being mocked relentlessly for things I did when I was younger, ignoring the incredibly rapid growth that defines childhood;

Constantly feeling as though, as HJPEV puts it, I was being treated as “subhuman,” my feelings, thoughts, and opinions all invalid because of my age;

Feeling so, so frustrated that the people who were supposed to protect me were so absurdly, ridiculously, unfairly, woefully, tragically ill-equipped to do so.

I became hopelessly isolated from my parents, and my self-esteem became self-degrading. Being told over and over again how what I felt or thought didn’t matter because I was only a child made me doubt and disrespect my own emotions and doubt my very sanity. I don’t think that my parents meant to gaslight me, but that’s exactly what they did. For years, and years, and years, and it hurts. so. much. It...I cannot express how much it hurts.

And I am left with all of this damage, these lines of irrationality programmed into my brain, this obsessive need to to be perceived as intelligent in order to believe that I could be loved, in order to merely function, this irrationality that I hate so much because it hurt me so much is now encoded into my very being and it fills me with existential horror to this day.

It was difficult for me to get through as much of HPMOR as I did, and I genuinely wonder if it would be detrimental to my mental health to go on. It triggers both the suffering that comes with remembering past trauma as well as the compulsions that have resulted from that trauma. Hearing HJPEV list all the books he’s read sends a bolt of anxiety down my spine, knowing that I will never measure up to people like him, I will never have read enough, I will never be smart enough, I will never...be...enough—

Enough. I know when to stop torturing myself.

I was shocked to see how quickly HPMOR itself comes to the conclusion that what HJPEV has endured is a form of child abuse. It took me years to become comfortable using the words “abuse” and “trauma” to describe my experiences, and HPMOR introduces the word “abuse” in Chapter 6! I give HPMOR’s McGonagall much less credit than HJPEV does, but even so, it’s kind of astonishing to me to see an adult pick up on the existence of abuse in a so-called gifted child, even in fiction. I find myself wondering how I might have turned out differently if I had had someone like McGonagall in my life, or someone better than McGonagall in my life, who had told me in no uncertain terms, “What is happening to you is abuse, it is not okay, it is not your fault, and while I’m unable to legally extricate you from your unfortunate circumstances, I will do everything in my power to protect you.”

Because that didn’t happen. No one told me that I was abused or damaged. They told me that I was “smart,” “gifted,” “advanced,” or “mature”; and if they noticed anything odd about my behavior, it was because I was just “quiet,” “shy,” “introverted,” or “diligent.”

I also find myself wondering if I might have been a little different if I had read HPMOR when I first had the chance. But then again, I don’t know if I would have understood it as I do now, after years of studying psychology and working to heal myself.

God, seeing it all laid out so starkly, things I worked years to understand, in a few short chapters of someone’s fucking fanfiction*...I sure do feel like an idiot.

But then, this whole conversation has primed me to feel those feelings.

I must not undervalue myself. I am not playing that game. That game is the problem.

One thing does irritate me, though. Putting aside my misconceptions about HMPOR specifically, there’s this huge barrier to entry to the rationalist community in general. I think people perceive (correctly, as far as I can tell) that it is a community of highly intelligent people, who are highly skilled in STEM disciplines, particularly math. The one friend who could have introduced me to all this was someone who I saw as hopelessly more intelligent than I, and that perceived disparity made it incredibly difficult to approach him even as I admired him, envied him, and desperately needed the things that he could teach me. (I don’t know what things were like on his end. I still don’t.)

We’ve already seen that someone can be highly intelligent and completely irrational. I wish we could take that logic a step further and really make clear that rationality is not something that requires high intelligence. As with learning anything, intelligence helps, but intelligence can’t be a prerequisite for this skillset, because literally everyone should have it. I guess this might be controversial, but so far as I can tell, rationality is just the best way to go through life. And of course, knowing the best way to move forward is especially critical for those of us leaving behind dark pasts.

For fuck’s sake, this doesn’t have anything to do with quarks or discrete math or machine learning. It has everything to do with reducing human suffering.

And I wish...I really wish that there was a way to share this world with my friends. The only reason that I made it here is that I’ve constantly existed on the borderline, wavering around the threshold of what is broadly considered intelligent, attempting mastery of both STEM and humanities, science and art. As much as I doubt and denigrate myself, I am able, if I really want to, under certain favorable circumstances, to convince myself that I belong here. Not all of my friends have the same privilege. I have friends who have lived their whole lives believing that they just aren’t that smart, or that they aren’t any good at math or science. Maybe they decided early on that that stuff wasn’t for them, or maybe they tried and felt like they failed. I know that, for many people, academic language is frustrating, triggering, or otherwise completely inaccessible. I know that many people will find HJPEV absolutely insufferable and most of what he says incomprehensible.

And I’m really not sure what to do about that. I’ve not sure how to convince people that striving for rationality is both possible and worthwhile for everyone, and if I do convince them, I’m not sure what to actually show them that will make any sense to them.

I don’t know. Maybe it does have a bit to do with math. Because a lot of what I get from rationality, I can get from other places, be that art or psychology or witchcraft, but the stuff that is unique does tend to be the mathematical and statistical thinking. And philosophical thinking, academic thinking. Talking about things with precision...That’s always been my problem with trying to translate the academic into ordinary speech, it feels like all the precision is being lost. To be precise, you need unique words, and unique words tend to be obscure, and people find obscure words upsetting.

Obviously, this isn’t a problem I’m going to solve in this blog post. But it’s something to think about.

So, I guess that’s my review of the first ten chapters of HPMOR, if you can call it that. If one of the purposes of fiction is to unlock a bizarrely intense cocktail of existential horror and unadulterated wrath deriving from the wrongs of one’s childhood—and I certainly believe it is—then HPMOR succeeds spectacularly.

*Edited to add: In my unfortunate compulsion to drag myself down, I often drag down other things or people too. I shouldn’t trivialize the value of fanfiction. And, quite honestly, I really shouldn’t be surprised that it could be a source of profound insight. After all, writing fanfiction has been one of my own ways to cope with and sort through my emotions and illnesses for a long, long time.