#God I need to work on that but Movie Maker is being a bit of a bitch to me rn ngl

[mumms-the-word]

Yet another Veilguard update with the usual good, the bad, the ugly, and the me freaking out about minor references and callbacks haha

This one is very long sorry

So since the last update I have done as much side content as possible before heading to the Hossberg Wetlands and later Weisshaupt (which I just completed last night) which included, briefly, unlocking all of the solas regrets murals

And uh WOW was that whole deep dive a doozy. I definitely should have spaced out the murals over time rather than movie-marathoned them back to back. But the things I learned about Solas…it��s insanity

In a good way

In a really horrifying way

I loved that our theories about Solas being a spirit of Wisdom first were confirmed, and I lost my mind over the fact that the first elves were spirits who gained physical bodies by taking Titan blood (aka lyrium). And the fact that Solas CREATED THE BLIGHT by essentially making the Titans Tranquil?? And that’s why Dwarves don’t dream????

Losing my mind. Solas what have you DONE.

I still ahev to process it all haha but I do have a few thoughts

So far, I wish there was more engagement with these elements and the Chant of Light. The companions react and say that these reveals basically dismantle Andrastianism but the Chant has several allegorical parallels to what, apparently, really happened. The Maker’s first children were spirits, and all that…so I kind of wish the Chantry had a bigger presence in the game with more reactivity

But that’s a post for another day. For now, I reloaded back to only 3 murals unlocked so the team only knows the story up to Solas creating the Veil. I’ll rewatch the others later.

I got worried about being locked out of stuff so I went ahead and did as much side content as I could with a couple of exceptions. Turns out, I probably didn’t need to do that and it would have made more sense narratively if I hadn’t. More on that in a minute

The Siege of Weisshaupt mission was SO GOOD!! Like…the main missions are really where this game shines, I think. I have gripes with some of the companion conversations, but in the actual story missions, the action, the intensity, all of it is so good. And I thought Ghilan’nain turning her archdemon into a many-headed hydra creature was *chefs kiss* so cool. I love fighting big/unique stuff like that!

All that said the follow up scene with the team at the table leaves…a lot to be desired

Listen, DA games pride themselves on bringing together a team of companions that players adore and fall in love with. Naturally we enjoy helping out our companions because we like them. We don’t have to be told to help them because we just generally do that…and if we don’t then, rip, suffer the consequences

So I got a bit annoyed when the scene suddenly turned to a very overt “fix our problems” narrative

I don’t know, that feels so…forced to me. Varric literally tells me I have to solve everyone’s problems. Which is like…I was going to! Because they’re my friends! But being straight up told like “hey you have to solve everyone’s problems and stop their distractions or this team isn’t going to function” is like…I’m sorry are we adults or aren’t we? Why am I being told to babysit the team? Can you guys not pursue these distractions on your own rather than wait for me to give you permission? Did we all forget that two gods are out there rampaging? That they’re strong enough to destroy a fortress that stood against the blight and various conflicts for over 900 years? That they haven’t stopped and show no signs of stopping anytime soon?

But no, by all means, tell me in very obvious terms that my job is now to reconcile all your differences before I face the gods again. That doesn’t feel very handed at all.

Let me be clear. I love to help my companion. I love the idea that you build a team that works well because you have shaped them via your leadership skills. I love the idea that your team works well because you have invested in them. That’s really the heart of any DA game—gather your team, earn their loyalty, and see how well the friends you’ve made along the way assist you in the big battles to come.

But…that scene around the kitchen table could have been so much better, so much more nuanced, and far less “Solve their problems.”

To me, that scene should have been everyone fighting, calling out everyone’s distractions and mistakes, and essentially devolving into outright arguments over the table until Rook yells at everyone to shut up. Everyone is mad, everyone is upset. And then maybe the companions are like “sorry Rook, listen, I have a lot on my mind. I’m still going to help with the Big Problem but I’m also going to pursue this Other Thing whether you like it or not.” No suggestion that it’s now your problem to solve, but a heavy hint that it might get done more quickly if you help (which also gives you room to be an ass and not help). In this scenario, everyone ends up being very disgruntled with you, but you still have your hint that you need to pursue companion questlines if you want to see their cool abilities or special items or get them to be a Hero of the Veilguard or whatever…but that’s just my opinion

Basically I wanted subtly and tension. So much more tension.

What we got instead was a couple of annoyed comments and then Emmrich being like “oh dear we’re all distracted by the things that bother us” and everyone offering up distractions that, yes, need to be resolved…but it’s very easy to be like “hey bud the Hand of Glory and the Nadas Dirthalen can wait until the gods aren’t threatening to destroy the world I think.”

It’s not the worst scene in the world, but it could have been reframed better. Either frame it as “Sorry Rook but none of these factions trust you enough to aid you in the fight, you have to prove yourself to them” (and loop in the companion questlines that way) or show your team literally unraveling because they can’t get along or agree with you—now you see the evidence of what you need to fix, and nobody has to outright tell you to “solve everyone’s distractions.” It’s just implied. Because you saw them fighting. A lot.

Like duh I knew I’d have to resolve everyone’s problems if I want them to like me or stick around! That’s just what I’ve come to expect from RPG games like this. It’s an expectation of the genre. But I don’t want to be told that’s my job now. If anything it triggers my contrarian nature and now I want to see what bad ending I get when I don’t listen to the game’s extremely heavy push for me to deal with everyone’s issues

I won’t, but I’m tempted

I just…wanted it to be better. I want see everyone bitching at each other until everyone leaves in a huff and Rook just sits at the table, head in their hands like “oh my god everyone hates me and they hate each other and we’re going to die if everyone can’t get their shit together”

Then maybe Varric sits down next to them and goes, “Hey kid, did I ever tell you about the time Hawke tried to convince a Rivaini pirate, a weird abomination, a Dalish blood mage, a stiff-necked captain of the guard, a broody elf who glowed in the dark, and a few other friends besides to all agree to fight as a team to stop a qunari invasion in Kirkwall? It worked, more or less. By the end of the night, everyone had worked together enough to end up with one dead Arishok and an entire city’s gratitude.”

Maybe Rook looks up and says, “And how’d they manage that little miracle? Without everyone trying to kill each other in the process.”

And maybe Varric smiles and shrugs. “They had their differences, trust me. Half the time you couldn’t put two of them in a room together without a fight breaking out. But they all believed in one thing. They believed in Hawke.”

Then maybe there’s a pause, as he lets Rook consider that for a moment, before he stands up and says, “It’s a good bedtime story, in any case. I’ll let you sleep on it.”

Sigh. It just would have been cool…

Now in all fairness the scene felt even clunkier because I had actively been doing side quests and helping out my friends so it was like…it felt weird to have this implication that I’m not already helping them. It makes me think I shouldn’t do any of their side quests until after the Siege of Weisshaupt but who knows

I keep pendulum swinging back and forth between moments of brilliance and moments that leave me baffled and wondering who made some of these narrative/writing calls. I don’t hate the game by any stretch of the imagination. Like I said the Siege of Weisshaupt was amazing! And I loved the callbacks to precious games! You should have seen me live reacting and screaming about codexes in the Weisshaupt library haha But it’s like whiplash when something that good is followed up by a scene that feels excessively more hamfisted in comparison.

Anyway I am very busy this weekend and dunno when I’ll get to write another update soooo if you’re following for more, hope to give you more updates in the near-ish future!

[jadevine]

An online friend sent me this video on Nov 10, and I immediately started taking notes on it, lol.

There is nothing better/worse than a white dude learning about arnis and getting So Fascinated by it. Thank the gods that he has a Filipino friend.

The first few minutes are generally a solid if brief history: Eskrima/kalis/arnis started as a commoner’s art with no official “system,” aside from being practical, deadly, and using a variety of weapons.

Spain came around and forbid blade usage, hence the transition into the now-famous sticks. Speaking of which, Filipinos killed Magellan using the bladed version of eskrima. Like… A LOT of Filipinos. Magellan and 49 Spaniards just rolled up to a full army of 1,500 natives and assumed, “Well, we have guns, so we’ll be fiiiiiiiiiiine!” Fuck around and find out, colonizer.

The thing that jumped out at me was the comment about eskrima being “hidden in dance and play,” which is likely referring to two things: The maglalatik dance is specifically a war dance. I don’t know if that’s “hidden,” so much as “this is literally supposed to be practice for young men to learn how to fight, and for seasoned fighters to keep in shape.”

The other might be the common old wives’ tale saying that kalis fighters practiced to music. This is something that I’ve only seen done 1) for performances/displays where no actual fighting was going on, or 2) to pull foreigners’ legs about secret Pinoy techniques. Some people call it “cheesy,” and I personally think some guys saw Pinoys sparring to their workout playlist (or the historical equivalent), and they thought we did that all the time.

Like, nobody minds if a white guy spars with “Eye Of The Tiger” blasting because maybe he just likes working out to music, but when a Filipino guy/group spars with eskrima to their favorite beats, suddenly it’s a “time-honored tradition?” I haven’t seen any dance-battlers mentioned in the Boxer Codex or other records, so until someone has evidence, I won’t say it’s historical.

Regarding the hands-on stuff: I feel like they intentionally skipped the most boring stuff, either so the video would be more exciting, or to just fuck with poor Martin. Like, they handed this poor man a stick right off the bat and started him out with hitting stuff and sparring? Where is the training montage??? Was all of it cut???

Also, here’s an intersection with “real fights aren’t nearly as long as the movies pretend” and “fighters are not necessarily good video-makers:” The spars lasted all of five seconds each, and it was mostly to “the first one who lands a hit wins.” This is okay when it’s clearly in good fun, but it’s also not very educational and it tips a little bit into “TELLING people how awesome eskrima is” instead of “SHOWING people how awesome it is.”

Martin does not look like he learned any footwork, either, but he says he knows boxing! The sport that people literally compare eskrima’s footwork to the most often!

Maybe this is my entertaining/acting side coming out, but if you’re planning a video well in advance, with someone that you know is not trained in this field, and an indirect purpose of this is to spread knowledge of your country’s national sport/combat-style, I feel like you need to set aside a couple hours for a crash-course of “here’s how to do X, Y, and Z,” while the actual students and teachers are doing fancy stuff. You can film however much you need, and then CUT however much you need to fit the time-limit.

The video would have greatly been helped if they kept a training montage that lasted twenty or thirty seconds--it would be much more involved than what the video seems to have done, by just tossing a new guy a stick and messing around with him.

General impression: An easy to digest taste of eskrima, like Cup-O-Noodles / instant ramen, or whatever your country’s version of “cheap and easy food” is. Not bad for what it is, but you’ll need something meatier after a couple of hours.

[diskmess]

Brainbloodvolume

(CONTENT WARNING for animal death)

THE (RE)DISCOVERY

I’m only twenty-eight years old, and I’m going gray. I think it’s because I spend roughly fourteen hours every day being worried. It’s certainly not for a lack of trying to manage the worry. I’m constantly scolding myself, trying to center my attention on something life-giving instead. This, of course, gives birth to new worries: I worry that I will become the worry. It usually becomes me. 

If stuck is what you say Well, that is what you've made

In eighth grade, when I was about thirteen years old, I listened to Brainbloodvolume in its entirety at least once a week. It was the last album I needed to collect from Ned’s Atomic Dustbin, my favorite band at the time. They were a watershed influence for me as a young bass player.

I initially discovered them in my late uncle’s CD collection. He was about as old as I am now when he died. My dad ended up with his CDs in a tray. I’d occasionally pull out some dusty piece and give it a spin. I once happened to spin The Neds' debut album, God Fodder, and the opening track floored me. I played it back several times. I brought it in to my guitar teacher because I needed to know what made the guitar sound so springy. He told me that a guitar wasn’t making that sound, it was a bass. I checked the liner notes: there were, in fact, two bassists. The trajectory of my life as an occasional bass player was changed forever. 

I eventually collected all of their albums on CD. I have no doubt that I was their biggest fan in the entire United States. I also doubt that anyone else within a two-hundred mile radius of me was listening to them in 2008. The people who know them are usually some flavor of British and deep in their fifties by now. They might be about as gray as I’m going to be in my thirties.

As I brushed my teeth one morning, staring at my gray hairs in the mirror, songs from Brainbloodvolume kept popping into my head. I decided to listen to it on my way to work.

I wondered if anyone had uploaded the album to YouTube. When I searched for it, I was shocked: I did. I uploaded it fourteen years ago, in dog-ass quality. I couldn’t believe it was still there. I forgot I ever uploaded it.

I played my old dog-ass CD rip, filtered through Windows Movie Maker, through YouTube circa 2009, and again through NewPipe in 2024, atrociously artifacting its way through my car speakers and into my ears. I drove.

I saw a bird fall over on the other side of the road. It flapped its wings pathetically against the pavement, spinning in circles. I knew it was going to die. A car was going to hit it. I pulled into a nearby parking lot so I could turn around. I had hoped I could scoop the bird off the road before it got run over.

A man sitting on a bench in the lot started throwing up without even a hint of shame. He simply opened his mouth and let it flow out. When he finished, he crossed his arms, closed his eyes and returned to listening to music on his Beats by Dr. Dre. By the time I turned around, three cars had passed in the direction of the bird.

I pulled out of the parking lot and saw roadkill in my rear-view. I went to work.

THE EXPLORATION

See what you find digging in the dirt —

Any exploration is really just an exploration of the past. I will not attempt to prove this. I will barely elaborate. Hell, I’m just going to be honest: I don’t think I believe this, even a little bit. I am fresh off listening to this album for (God only knows) the 357th time in my entire life, maybe the 20th time in my adult life. That, back there, is the sentence that fell out of me the second my hands touched the keyboard.

I am going to pretend it’s true, just for the next little while. I’d like to invite you to do the same. You can say no.

Any exploration is really just an exploration of the past:

I drag my feet through the mystery muck that the Me of yesterday left behind. It’s a rotten legacy. Only the Present Me knows what I really need. Past Me has to burden himself with procuring those things. He has to go out through all the muck and break his legs looking for something good, and he probably won’t find it, and he’ll probably have to turn around and walk all the way back, and by then he'll have his hands full of new muck. It’s a rotten legacy, but I can’t be upset.

Let’s explore.

I am about thirteen years old. I am approximately four hours into a nine-hour bus ride to Boston for a school outbound trip. I grab my portable CD player. I flip through an enormous stack of jewel cases in my backpack and pop in Brainbloodvolume. This is my first time hearing the album in its entirety. I saved it just for this trip — my favorite band’s final album. The opening track contains a soft, quiet opening that was not present in the music video for the song. I’m floored. Of course I’m floored.

There is a sudden jump in volume as soon as the real song begins. I don’t see it coming. I jolt upright and scramble for the volume, my face burning red in embarrassment. I see a chaperone motion for me to turn it down. It was audible outside of my headphones.

I spend the next forty minutes or so in deep concentration. I stare at the ceiling because I do not want to look at my neighbor. I do not close my eyes because I do not want to look like I am asleep. I do not close my eyes because I want to look like I am listening to music, and that is what’s special about me. I do not close my eyes because I know that everyone is looking at me and deciding whether or not I am worth anything at all, and I know that I will accept their decision no matter what, so I look awake, and I look awake because I am enjoying my different, secret little music more differently and secretly than everyone else, and I play the bass and I write songs and one day I will be a little famous but not too famous because I don’t want to be “mainstream” or “sell out,” and when I look awake while listening to my different and secret music, You, You who is looking at me right now, will be able to tell that I love music very much and that it’s my destiny to make music, and God will know it, and it’ll be okay when I go off losing my homework and daydreaming during class and screwing up at home and doing a terrible job at the family business, because You saw me then and understood that I’m Just Not Built For This Stuff, but I have music, and one day I’ll be past This Stuff and beaming my great terrible beacon right in the eyes of everyone else who’s Just Not Built For This Stuff, and they’ll know that they can get through it because I got through it.

A bump in the road causes my CD to skip at the climax of the last track. After the album ends, I turn to a teacher who I think is maybe one of the “cool ones.” I remark mildly on the frustration of my CD skipping. I want someone to ask what I was listening to. I want to be seen. I anticipate the teacher’s response.

“Ah. Bummer.”

He turns away. Years later he gets fired for being a pedophile.

Years later I know some things differently. I am going gray. I do not care if I am seen or not. I grow no fruit from any wisdom, and I do not imagine handing it down to some younger and gone version of me.

It’ll be okay.

One day I will see Me in the corner of my rear-view mirror, shrinking away as I get to work, and I'll understand that I’m Just Not Built For This Stuff, but it’ll be okay because I have

[sketchy-rosewitch]

Somethin’ Stupid: Bo Sinclair x male!reader

Warnings: homophobia, angst, nickname usage.

A/N: And to your right you’ll see “ The Hardest Sinclair Confess your Love to” :) I started writing this one before Vincent’s and finished it after ;) go meeee

“So, my house tonight?” You look over at your classmate, he smirks and nods.

“Sure, we’ll meet at the front, gotta drop my keys off to Vincent.”

You’d known Bo from a distance your whole life, always watching and observing him and his twin from afar. Mom and dad always told you to be careful with boys like him. They’d get you into a lot of trouble and up until your sophomore year you agreed with them. Bo always started fights, he was always threatening someone or making sure they regret everything they said and then some.

He was a complete dick to everyone. Even people he deemed his friends.

You always avoided him until he became unavoidable your sophomore year, when he was sat right next to you for being a trouble maker.

You thought you’d been cursed or some shit. Bo was always thought to be dumb, that he made his brother do the work and he sat around waiting for the answers.

Well, that wasn’t a true, not even a bit. Bo had engaged more with you than any of the partners you had in the past. He communicated, joked, did his work. Everything you needed in a partner.

So like Bo and Vincent you two became inseparable.

-

“Nah Sarah’s just always a bitch. Tried to say some shit to my brother last week cause she was walking too slow in the halls and Vincent went to pass her. It’s been how many fuckin’ years? Still don’t know how to walk in the halls.”

You chuckle as you write down what you and Bo are gonna say for your history presentation.

“You should see Amanda and Jack. They walk slow and if they aren’t walking they’re all this.” You jokingly stick your tongue out and fake making out with the air. Bo let’s out a laugh you’re sure all of Ambrose could hear, his laugh is absolutely contagious. Not even a second later you’re laughing too.

“Oh god yeah. Should see them at parties, holy shit you’d think they’re exhibitionists or some shit.” Bo scrunched his nose, you squint and raise a brow.

“What’s an exhibitionist?”

Bo drops his face and you swear your see him blushing. He coughs awkwardly. “You really wanna know?” He asks, you nod.

“If I didn’t wanna know I wouldn’t ask. I mean I’m guessing it’s something to do with sex.”

“Yeah, they like, get off on havin’ sex in public. Fuckin’ each other, fingerin, suckin’ dick. All that.”

You nod your head, officially grasping the word.

“Where the hell do you learn these words Bo?” You slightly joke as go back to your work.

Bo shrugs. “Books.”

You stop again.

“Really?”

You knew Bo was actually extremely smart, he just never seemed like the type to have time for books, especially with him job shadowing at the gas station more it just seemed like he had his head in the hood of a car more than in a book.

“Yes, and stop looking at me like that I find time. Usually when I’m about to go to bed.” Bo shoves you lightly, your pencil runs across your note card and you frown.

“You’re rewriting this one.” You say.

“I absolutely am not, I have to finish writin’ down things on our poster. Your fault anyways for thinkin’ I don’t read.”

Your lips purse and you shove him back. He laughs and you two continue working on your project.

-

Dinner had already passed and now you and Bo were sitting in your room watching a movie on the TV your parents spoiled you with for your birthday.

“You gotta college picked out yet?”

You shrug. Bo’s been on you more than your parents about college. Saying how far you could go and how you’re more than smart enough for it. “Just waitin’ on acceptance letters s’all.”

“Least you got a few you applied to. You better send letters and call when you go.”

You look over at Bo and smirk. “What? Are you gonna miss me or somethin’?”

Bo looks away. “Don’t make me talk about my feelin’s I ain’t good at that.”

You let out a laugh tilting your head against your mattress and shake your head.

“I guess I’ll just have to admit I’ll miss you then. Unless…” You trail off, your heart clenches a little at the thought.

“Unless?” Bo moves his face in your view, looking at your face as it’s lost in thought. You look back at your friend laying on his stomach.

“You wanna come with me? I mean everyone needs a mechanic! We could be roommates and you could work for someone then end up opening your own shop, I can graduate from computer sciences and do what the hell I’ll do with that! Can move to a house too cause God knows if I’ll ever get a wife, maybe you will though you seem like you would and-“

Bo puts his hand on your shoulder, he smiles, but something about it is off and your stomach curdles. You wanna puke up tonight’s supper.

“Let’s slow down a bit yeah? You don’t need me going out there with you, wherever the hell you’ll be- don’t say you will cause it ain’t true. Also I gotta take care of Vincent and Lester, you know my Ma ain’t doin’ too well, especially after Victor past. I would wanna go with you more than anything but I can’t. I’m sure John is gonna give me the mechanic shop too after he retires. Don’t think that I don’t care for you after all this cause I do and everything you said sounds amazing, I just can’t leave and I don’t want you stayin’ either. Your life doesn’t revolve around me and I’m trying not to be selfish and wanting you to stay.”

You frown and look down at your hands, Bo takes his hand off your shoulder and gets up, the bed groaning as he stands. He moves around the bed and to your side, sitting with his knees bent and arms on them, playing with his dad’s ring.

“Bo.”

You two look each other in your eyes, your mouth opens, then closes. You can just say it. You’ll say it and get it over with. You basically already confessed. But he rejected you and he’ll reject you again. He’ll probably make fun of you. Think of you as an idiot and you’ll be embarrassed. He’ll tell someone and it’ll spread around and everyone will look at you in disgust, you’ll be ridiculed and hanged. Your corpse kicked around.

“Blue?”

Your eyes focus back in on him. “I love you.”

Your voice can’t go above a whisper, it’ll falter and break. Bo keeps staring, he won’t stop staring, why won’t he stop. Say something fucker. Anything, so you know your fate.

“Why?” His eyes are glassy. “Why do you say things like this? You’re gonna make it so much damn harder when you leave. Don’t you understand that?”

You look down but Bo is quick to take your face in his hands. “Don’t look away from me Blue. You said it and now you’re gonna deal with it.” Bo leans in, kissing your lips. You kiss back and wrap your arms around his neck.

“I’m gonna come back for you Bo. I’m gonna call you every day until I come back and your brothers can come with us too and we’ll live in some big house in buttfuck no where and we can be us.”

Tears escape your eyes and Bo quickly tries to wipe them away.

“Sounds like a plan. Then no one has to know.” Bo holds out his pinky

You take your pinky with his.

“No one has to know.”

[whatyourusherthinks]

Land of Bad Review

Oh lord it's my first one of these. So, fun fact about me, I don't like anything that glorifies war. Never really got into Call of Duty, don't watch military movies usually, never even had gun toys as a kids. (Thank you Mom and Dad.) Like don't get me wrong, I respect our troops and veterans because God knows I can't do what they do, but the Military Industrial Complex is bad. I don't feel shame in saying that. One of my earliest memories is my parents taking me and my sisters to DC and all of us participating in an anti-Iraqi War protest. Fun times. This, along with the fact that our theater got no marketing and it's starring Russell Crowe and the two Hemsworth brothers that aren't Chris meant I was not looking forward to this movie at all.

What's This Movie About?

Liam Hemsworth is a rookie air force soldier who gets sent on a black ops mission to recover a CIA asset in the Philippines, but when his crew is seemingly killed he needs to travel across the jungle to reach an evacuation point.

What I Like.

Russell Crowe plays an air force drone pilot that is only a captain despite being active duty for a long time because he disrespects authority and while he starts as a massive jerk, I kinda liked his character by the end. There is a scene where he's trying to motivate and calm down Liam by just talking to him about banal stuff and it felt like something actual military personnel would do. I also kinda liked the ending. It was pretty tense and the speech Crowe gives is appropriately dramatic. The movie didn't didn't kill off the black guy, so good job of doing the minimal effort to fight back against racist allegations people like me are going to lob at the movie.

What I Didn't Like.

So I'm not gonna go off too much about the stuff I didn't like that just comes prepackaged as a movie about the US military. Obviously this movie gives a pretty glowing look at the US's bang bangs and woosh booms, and is also a ton of white guys killing foreigners. I find all that distasteful but if you saw the poster than you'd pretty much know exactly what you're getting. The problems I want to focus on is twofold.

One, The message of the movie is... well I could charitably call it confused. The main thematic conflict in the movie is about the new gadgets and tech that the military uses (like drones) versus just shooting guys face to face. It seems to favor the fighting up close approach, but not only is the guy making the face-to-face argument the team's SNIPER (Yeah, real face-to-face combat there), but the cartoonishly evil villain has the exact same points as him. Also, the drones in the movie are basically just the eagles from Lord of the Rings except they blow up bad guys instead of carrying the characters. Liam makes a point that using the drones helps put less lives at risk, but the sniper dismisses it because they're still killing people. Not only was that not his fucking point, but it was honestly insane to me that the movie just straight up admitted that it didn't care about minimizing loss of human life. Did you know the US military bankrolls movies and lends out hardware to so film makers can have authentic planes and weapons on set? The only real stipulation is that the movie has to have the US military framed in a positive light, showing off how effective and nice they are. That's why there are so many US gun wank propaganda movies, even in places where it shouldn't be like the Michael Bay Transformer movies. My point is that the US military saw the script of this movie, and went, "Sure, have all our tech and shoot on our bases and here's a bunch of money." So even the US military is tacitly admitting they don't care about minimizing casualties! (Whoops I said I wasn't gonna go off about this.)

Two, the camera work during the action scenes is awful. Does anyone like shaky cam? I know a little bit adds realism, but so many action movies look like the camera workers are trying to work through a seizure. You can't fucking see anything that is happening! At least there wasn't so many quick cuts in this movie, but it was still slightly nauseating to watch. You all know why action movies actually do shaky cam and quick cuts, right? It's to hide the fact that they are stitching together like thirty different takes into one fight. I don't want to take away from the hard work the actors and stuntmen do to create these modern scenes, but is this actually easier or better than just attempting to an entire fight choreography in mostly one take? I dunno, something to chew on.

Final Summation.

If you can ignore the under seated politics that all military movies have, the movie is just fine. If you get an erection watching guys in camo shooting gibbering non-white people, you'll have a goddamn ball. I, however, hate that shit so I'm going to hope the trend of no tickets being sold to this garbage continues.

[ec-makes-stuff]

Non looping GIF for the intro of a Jump in the Cacc animatic I’m working on.

[pappydaddy]

Oblivious (r.b.)

A/N: Another request down! This one is another Robin request. It's a bit longer than the last one I posted, but it's a bit dry unfortunately. I tried to make it like my other longer fics, but I just felt like this is was meant to be this length. I threw in a funny scene in the end. Anywho, I hope you like it lovely anon💛, I really tried to do your request justice (I loved it btw).

P.S: Not proofread yet. I'm gonna go over all my fics in these upcoming fics to proofread and I will do this fic then

TV Show/Movie: Stranger Things

Pairing: Robin Buckley x Fem!Byers!Reader

Stranger Things/Robin Taglist: N/A

Requested

Warnings: Fluff, a parent being obvious, getting caught getting hot and heavy the backseat. Pretty short in length.

Note: Not proofread yet. I'm gonna go over all my fics in these upcoming fics to proofread and I will do this fic then

masterlist | taglist | wips | navigation - my gif -

The cool night breeze rolled in through Y/N Byers’ open window as she and Robin laid in her bed. Late Summer nights spent in bed with her girlfriend were Y/N’s favourite. Having their legs tangled together, their arms holding each other close as they lightly traced random shapes on each other. It was true bliss in her eyes. “You think your mom is back with the movie yet?” Robin broke the comfortable silence with a whisper. Y/N shrugged, pulling her hand away from where it was playing with Robin’s short hair.

“We would have heard her car so probably not,” She answered, shifting as she propped her elbow up. Robin automatically rolled onto her back, gazing up at Y/N with big blue eyes that sparkled in the silver moonlight, the sounds of frogs and crickets filling the silent room again as they enjoyed the company of each other. “Steve is probably taking forever to lock up the store and she’s probably waiting for him to leave so we don’t start without him.” She hypothesized, looking down at Robin again.

Robin hummed, nodding as she pictured Steve fumbling around with his keys, trying each one to figure out which one locked the store door. “He can never remember which key goes to what. We should get him a label maker so he can label them.” She suggested making Y/N snort out a laugh, flopping on her back, untangling themselves from each other completely.

“Are we really going to be that couple that gives friends stationary for presents,” She asked, lulled her head to the side to gaze at Robin who shrugged, pulling a face that asked her why they couldn’t be. “Because those couples are the boring couple that never get invited to any parties people actually want to have fun at.” She answered Robin’s silent question.”

“Fair point.” Robin agreed just as Y/N’s bedroom door opened. The two girls pulled themselves up, looking at the door as Joyce popped her head in.

“Sorry to interrupt girls night, but Steve is here with the movies and I got the snacks, come on out to the living room.” She told them, leaving the door open as she disappeared down the hall, getting Jonathan from his room. Silently, the girls rolled off Y/N’s bed and shuffled out into the living room, being greeted by Steve and Will placing bowls of chips and popcorn on the coffee table that already had a display of soda and water sitting on it.

“Hey, Dingus,” Robin greets Steve as she brushed past him to sit on the couch. “Will.” She nodded at the younger boy, slapping hands with him in a greeting as he sat beside her.

“Hi, Robin.” Steve breathed out, taking a seat in the armchair, cracking open a can of soda, taking a drink. Y/N stepped over his sprawled-out legs, plunking herself down on the other side of Robin, her feet kicking up to rest on her lap comfortably.

“Where are the other kids?” Y/N wondered, looking over her shoulder at Steve as he sat his open soda down, popping a piece of popcorn in his mouth.

“Dustin is sick, Max is busy being grounded, Lucas is sulking being Max is grounded, and Mike is at a family dinner with his grandparents,” Steve listed off the location of each kid easily. Making Robin laugh. “What?” Steve asked with furrowed brows as he grabbed a chip, crunching on it instantly before wiping his hands on his jeans, bouncing his knee.

“Oh nothing, it’s just that you’re such a mom.” Robin made fun of him, her hands resting on Y/N’s ankles as Joyce walked back in with Jonathan in tow looking like he just woke up from a nap, the pair sitting on the other couch.

“So, Steve,” Joyce started, reaching for two sodas, handing one to Jonathan. Robin reached over, collecting three and placed them in her lap. “What movie is first?” She asked as Y/N and Will each plucked a can from Robin’s lap, opening them at the same time, both cans hissing loudly.

“Have no idea, let Will pick-”

“Rawhead Rex!” Will interrupted excitedly, shocking Joyce since she obviously hadn’t picked that one up.

“Wiliam Byers, did you pick that up without me knowing?”

“No, please, I don’t like scary movies!” Joyce and Y/N said at the same time.

“Which is exactly why I didn’t pick any scary movies, mister.” Joyce told Will in a semi-scolding manner.

“Don’t worry, Y/N, I’ll protect you from the scary movie.” Robin looked over at her, her tone somewhat teasingly. Joyce cooed at this, tilting her head slightly.

“Aw, you two are so cute together,” She sighed longingly. “Wish I had had someone like that in high school.”

____

“I’m heading out for a date mom,” Y/N announced as she walked down the hall from her room, slinging her purse over her shoulder. Joyce opened her bedroom door, popping her head out just as Y/N was about to walk past, scarring her daughter. “Jesus mom,” She exclaimed, her hand flying to her chest as her heart tried to calm down. “You scared me! I thought you were in the kitchen!”

“Sorry dear,” She apologized, opening her door all the way and stepping out of her room all dressed up. Y/N furrowed her brows at her mom’s appearance. She was awfully dressy for a night home alone. Parting her lips as she followed her mother into the living room, she went to say something but Joyce interrupted. “You said you were going on a date, but I don’t see a car.” She pointed out as she looked out the window.

“I’m actually driving tonight.” Y/N explained before opening her mouth the ask her mother about her plans for the night.

“How progressive,” Joyce smiled, turning to face her daughter again, clasping her hands together. “I love a good feminist moment, you have fun on your date and tell me all about it when you get home.”

“So I can have the car,” Y/N asked tentatively. She had assumed that her mother would take the night to relax as this would be the first night in years she has to be home alone. Joyce nodded, looking at her daughter oddly as she tossed the car keys towards her from the bowl by the door. “You don’t have plans? You seem like you do.” Y/N pressed, not wanting to ruin her mother’s plans.

“Oh, I do have plans, I have a date.” Joyce confirmed as if it was nothing. Y/N sputtered, taken aback by this information and how nonchalantly her mother just disclosed it. She watched her mother walk into the kitchen as if it was any other day.

“If you have a date then you need the car, I’ll figure out how to work around not having a car right now-” Y/N rushed into the kitchen behind her, holding the keys out to Joyce who shook her head, pushing her hand away and cutting her off.

“No, I don’t need the car, he’s picking me up here, you go on your date with the car and have fun!” Joyce told her, grabbing Y/N’s shoulders and forcing her to turn around.

“But, this is your first date since Bob died. Do you want me to stay home in case you need to bail? What if something goes wrong and you can’t reach me or Hopper? What if this guy is secretly a mad scientist connected to the Upside Down? What if he’s just a horrible person-” Y/N rambled, fighting against her mother’s hold as she pushed her towards the door.

“Trust me, Y/N,” Joyce started, opening the front door as Y/N continued to ramble off scenarios that could possibly go wrong. “None of that is going to be an issue. I know this guy, you know this guy. He is perfectly safe and I will be fine. Besides, this isn’t even our first date.”

“Mom-” She tried to say something but was cut off by her own mother all but pushing her out of the house. She let out a shriek, stumbling along the porch.

“Go on your date, Y/N and don’t come back until your date is finished.” Joyce warned, closing and locking the front door. Her face was glaring at Y/N through one of the small windows at the top of their door, almost daring her not to go on the date. Huffing, Y/N turned on her heel and headed off to the car.

____

Joyce’s mysterious date had been pushed into the back of Y/N’s mind the second she saw Robin open her front door. Now, it wasn’t even a thought in her head, all her mind could focus on was the way she felt as Robin’s lips traced down her neck, pecking and sucking as they went. Airy moans left her mouth as she squirmed under her girlfriend, her nearly bare back rubbing against the cold backseat of the car. “Oh god-” She whimpered as Robin’s lips travelled lower, dancing dangerously along the cup of her bra, her fingertips just barely slipping under the underwire. “Oh god!” She gasped when her eyes fluttered open after seeing the flash of red and blue hues on her eyelids.

“Am I making you feel good, baby?” Robin pulled her lips from Y/N breast, looking up at her flirtatiously thinking her exclamation was from pleasure, not fear. Her face fell when she noted the wideness of Y/N’s eyes and flashing lights reflecting off her glistening face.

“That’s fucking Hopper,” Y/N hissed as they both scrambled to sit up, Y/N’s arms crossed over her bra-clad chest. They both tried to squint through the fogged-up back windshield, seeing two figures getting out of the car, the beam of a flashlight clicking on. “Shit, where is my shirt?” She panicked, looking around until Robin threw it at her.

“Duck,” Robin pushed Y/N and herself down as the beam of the flashlight swept over the back window. Grunting, Y/N tried to wiggle around and pull the shirt over her head as Robin watched the beam of light. “He’s looking in the woods, let’s crawl out the front seats!” Robin ushered her, letting her crawl over the console first.

“Something tells me we’re not gonna make it to the front seat,” Y/N trailed off as her eyes squinted at the brightness of the flashlight pointed right at her through the driver’s side window. “Hi, Hop,” She smiled, waving awkwardly. In response, Hopper simply pulled the backseat door open, revealing Joyce standing there, looking confused. “Mom, what are you doing here? I thought you were out on a date?” Y/N froze, her knee digging uncomfortably into the middle console.

“I am on my date, we were heading to the restaurant after the movie when we saw the car looking abandoned.” Joyce explained.

“Your date was with Hopper? You’re dating Hopper?” Y/N asked, shocked as she crawled out of the backseat, Robin following closely.

“You didn’t know that?” Robin asked her as if it was obvious.

“No!”

“Your date was with Robin?” Joyce ignored the two girls, her brows furrowed.

“You didn’t know they were dating?” Hopper looked at Joyce as he pointed his finger at the pair.

“No idea.” Joyce shook her head.

“You two are really oblivious. Everyone knew both of these things,” Hopper informed them with a laugh, earning two glares from Y/N and Joyce. “Well, anyway, we’ve got a reservation-”

“Wait,” Joyce interrupted him. “I thought you guys were just friends-” Joyce pointed to Y/N and Robin who both shrugged sheepishly. “Why didn’t you tell me?” She asked her daughter, slightly embarrassed for not realizing and a bit let down that she didn’t tell her.

“I thought you knew.”

“Well, now that I do know, I want to get to know Robin as your girlfriend so would you guys like to accompany us to our dinner reservations?” Joyce asked, her eyes wide as she hoped her daughter would say yes. She always knew that she liked girls, but she had no idea they were dating.

“Only if I get to drill Hopper with questions to make sure he’s good enough for you.” Y/N playfully glared at Hopper, narrowing her eyes at him.

“Deal.” Joyce nodded firmly.

[l-wannabe-l]

Short Circuit

Chapter 1: First Impressions

During the events of T2 John's half-sister, Aria catches the attention of the T-1000. Having failed a second time Skynet starts targeting the people who will one day fight beside John.

T-1000/Austin x OC

This first chapter will follow the movie but it will start diverging soon. I'm still new to fanfic writing so feel free to leave a comment.

It was gone.

Not in my closet or my drawers or under the bed.

It was gone.

The little money maker that I made and the little brat took it. I grab my cardigan and make my way out into the hallway. He's probably made it to the mall already (and he didn't even think to invite me), spending money that's not his. I mean it's not mine either but that's not the part I'm upset about. Knowing the way he drives on his bike I'll be lucky if the atm card is still working when I get it back. As I looked for my keys, they were RIGHT HERE I SWEAR, the doorbell rings. Seeing as it's not my house I don't go to answer. I hear the door open accompanied by a tired sigh.

Todd must've gotten it.

"Are you the legal guardian of John Connor?'

That's never a good question. I take a peek around the corner to glance at the man at the door. The first thing I notice is that he's wearing a police uniform. Yup, not good.

"That's right, officer. What's he done now?" A very valid question that the officer ignores as he seems to scan the house, pausing briefly as he spots me before turning his attention back to Todd.

"Could I speak with him please?"

"Could if he were here. Took off on his bike this morning so he could be anywhere." Todd answers with a shrug, clearly not giving two shits as Janelle joins him at the door.

"Do you have a photograph of John?"

"Yeah sure, hold on." She turns to grab her wallet and sees me hiding behind the corner. She looks at me expectedly probably thinking I know what's going on. I just shake my head. Like I would tell her even if I did know.

"You gonna tell me what this is about?" Todd tries asking again as Janelle rejoins them, handing off the picture.

"Just need to ask him a few questions. He's a good-looking boy. Do you mind if I keep this picture?" He asks as he studies the image.

"No, go on. There was a guy here this morning looking for him too." Janelle offers. This gets the officer's attention as I see him still and look back up. This surprises me too as I wasn't here in the morning and my foster parents apparently didn't think to tell me about some stranger looking for my little brother.

"Yeah, a big guy on a bike. That got something to do with this?" Todd adds. Dear God John, who are you getting involved with? The officer pauses for a moment before responding.

"No. I wouldn't worry about him. Thanks for your cooperation." He takes one last glance up in my direction. Our eyes meet. Only for a second before he's gone. But it's long enough to send a chill down my spine. Police officer or not that man is dangerous and he's heading straight for John. When John fails to answer his phone, that I got him by the way, I hurry to find my keys and make my way outside. The cop had left. He'll have to ask around to find John which should buy me some time.

It's a bit of a distance to get to the mall and the traffic of a Saturday afternoon doesn't help but I make it. I head towards the arcade on the second floor but have to backtrack around a corner when I spot the officer from earlier talking to some kids.

Christ, he works fast. This man really takes his job seriously.

The kids seem not to know anything as the man continues on and out of sight… in the direction of the arcade. DAMN IT. I hurry after hoping he'd walk past it which he does. I slow down to look through the windows hoping to catch a glimpse of John.

"Excuse me, have you seen…"

Stopped by the entrance I turn to look at the speaker realizing too late my mistake as I'm face to face with the very man I was avoiding. Because of the close proximity, I notice he's tall, and with a square jaw, bright blue eyes, and soft-looking light brown hair, he's handsome too. This is bad for me, because tall and handsome have gotten me in trouble before and I will not let it do so again. But he's staring, obviously recognizing me from not even an hour ago, so I blurt out the first thing that comes to mind.

"Lo siento señor no hablo ingles."

His brow furrowed in confusion which I take as my cue to leave. So with an "Adios!" I duck into the arcade, send a quick thank you to my high school Spanish classes, and hide behind the first big machine I find. From there I see him enter the arcade looking left and right, scanning as he did earlier, before turning to a pair of girls by a pinball machine. I turn away to go find John eventually finding him playing Afterburner.

"JOHN!"

"AAHH!"

"A cop is looking for you, what did you do?" He spares me a glance before returning to his game.

"... Is this because I took the card machine? Listen Aria, I'm sorry but mine broke."

"I am pissed about that but no."

"Is it cause I didn't invite you? In my defense, you weren't home."

"John..." I begin when Tim, John's buddy, slides up to us.

"John, hey there's this cop scoping for you, check it out." That got his attention, and let me be upset for a second as he takes a look around Tim and the machine to see the officer questioning another kid who points in our direction. John grabs his backpack, I grab John and we both head towards the employee door briefly looking back to see the officer pushing kids aside to catch up. I open the door and push John ahead of me, both of us running.

"So you'll listen to Tim but not to me?"

"Tim never messed with me about surprise police inspections." Ever since we were young mom drilled into us that the police were bad news and, like the caring and protective big sister that I am, I decided to add to this training. Suffice to say John tends to double guess me now and then.

"That's fair." Turning the corner we surprise a worker who yells at us and who we ignore as we push through the exit doors. That's when we turn to see a large man in a leather jacket and sunglasses and I freeze up as he opens the box to pull out a shotgun the roses he was carrying crushed beneath him as he advances. John pulls me back the way we came, the man following as we try the other doors.

Locked.

Trapped.

I chance a glance back to see he’s caught up with us. Another look forward reveals the officer appearing through the doorway, with a glare almost as menacing as the gun. I hear a click and a look back shows the shotgun has been leveled at us.

“Get down.”

What?

"ARIA!"

Lucky for me John has the good sense to listen to the man as he ducks down pulling me with him. I cover him as gunshots ring above us. I look up to see the officer blasted back a few inches, silver wounds appearing where red ones should be. The man in leather grabs us, spinning to cover us as the cop starts emptying his clip at us. I hear the poor employee from earlier scream in pain as he gets caught in the crossfire.

John and I scream, fear gripping us.

The bullet fire pauses for a moment giving our (definitely not) human shield the opportunity to bust open the door to our left and push us in. He turns away just in time for the officer to finish reloading but is undeterred by the bullets finding a home in his torso as he continues his march forward. He levels his own gun, shotgun shells flying as he blasts one after another pushing the smaller man back until he falls and our savior is allowed to reload. As he does so the silver gaps fill in and the man rises from where he lay grabbing the gun and catching the bigger man off guard as he tries and fails to gain back control. So instead he moves to grab the cop but is instead thrown into one wall then another. Cement and plaster alike collapsing in their struggle until they both disappear through a wall.

Despite the obvious difference in size, the larger man is the one being thrown around like a ragdoll which spells bad news for us. So I grab John again, pulling him behind me as I head towards the door that leads to a staircase. We head down until we reach ground level, the parking lot, we run over to John’s bike, an old thing that was mine before I handed it down when I got a new one. Trying to start it up now I remember why I upgraded.

“John, your bike is a hunk of junk!”

“It was your bike first! Just start it already!” The engine finally starts running just as the doors burst open. The cop racing after us on foot as we speed off.

[write-orflight]

Like Real People Do Chapter 7

*Gif not mine*

Masterlist

Rating: M

Words: 2.2k

Warnings: Kinda NSFW not smut tho

Request: OPEN/CLOSED

A.N: Kinda short chapter but we only have 2 Chapters and an Epilogue left. Thanks for reading. Message to be on taglist, much love Cia

Chapter 7: I will not ask you where you came from, I will not ask you, neither should you 

“You’ve gotta hold it like a pencil.” You laugh, trying to explain chopsticks to Spencer as you sit at your kitchen table eating the Thai food you mentioned beforehand. Spencer just seemed to grip the chopstick tighter, you laugh.“Spencer, you write all the time. Is that how you hold a pencil? Here.” You say, placing your hand over his, maneuvering his hand to hold the chopsticks properly. He looks up at you and smiles before leaning in to kiss you again. You don’t think you could ever grow tired of that. “What was that for?”

“Nothing.” He shrugs. “It’s just nice to kiss you whenever I think about it now.” You watch him struggle again before taking pity on him and handing him a fork. He looks at you with gratitude. 

“When?” You ask. “Did you think about it,  I mean.”

He blows a breath, thinking. “Every time? Or the first time?” 

Knowing Spencer probably could name every single time he’s thought about kissing you, you laugh. “Let’s start with the first time.” 

“The first case we worked together. The bus driver.” He says. “You looked so excited when you figured it out, you were practically flailing your arms. I wanted to kiss you so bad, but of course I had just met you days prior, so it wouldn’t have been appropriate.” He laughs. “What about you?”

“The first time I wanted to kiss you?” You ask, he nods. “Probably the Milwaukee case last winter. When you talked down that gunman with no weapon, no vest. I also wanted to punch the lights out of you.” You both laugh. “But you really had me worried and guess when I saw you were safe it was all I could think about doing.” 

“Why didn’t you?” 

“Well, why didn’t you?” You shoot back. 

“I told you, I didn’t know you then.” 

“Well, I also didn’t know you well back then.” You sigh. “Plus, I always thought you were extremely out of my league, you still are.” 

Spencer snorts, you slap his arm. “I’m being serious, you were extremely smart and attractive and I’m not so I never thought anything would come of this.” You shrug. Spencer grips your hand tightly. 

“Hey, look at me.” He says, you meet his eyes and you’re suddenly hit with a look that could only be described as complete admiration. “You are the single most beautiful, talented and intelligent girl I know. If anyone’s out of anyone’s league, it’s the other way around, trust me.” 

You hum, thinking. “Yea, I don’t think so.” 

“I’ll have to prove it to you then.” He says, smiling, looking at you like you personally put every star in the sky.   

“I’ll hold you to that.” 

---------------------------------------------------------------

Spencer spends everyday for the next 4 months proving you wrong. 

Your second “official” date was at the planetarium after you told Spencer offhandedly one day that you didn’t know much about stars other than your astrological sign. He then surprises you early one Saturday morning rushing you to get dressed so you don’t have to deal with the crowds. You end up in an empty theater as he whispers his own facts to you about the constellations completely ignoring the tour guide. 

He takes you on several dates like that. To museums, art galleries, the two of you even watch that 5 hour movie he loves so much though you end up falling asleep hour 2, you couldn’t help it. 

You decide to keep it secret from the team for the first couple of months, just to see it was something you both still wanted. Since the two of you spent so much time together before you were dating, it was like nothing’s changed. Garcia still ends up finding out around month three, during your monthly Doctor Who rewatches. You had sent Spencer to the kitchen to get a bottle of wine when he calls out to you. 

“Babe, where’s your corkscrew?” 

Without thinking, you automatically answer back “In the drawer below the coffee maker.” You go to start the next episode when you look up to see Garcia staring at you like you grew a second skull. 

“What’s wrong?” You ask, genuinely confused. 

“Babe???” She says, incredulously. Spencer is out of the kitchen, watching the two of you in the doorway. “Babe?!?” She asked again, Spencer realized his mistake, looking at you awkwardly, a clear I fucked up, you have to fix it face. You sigh, putting your forehead in your hand. Despite him technically being a genius, you were dating an idiot. 

“Garcia—“ you start.  

“How long?” She says, stumbling slightly. 

“How long what?” You ask, hoping playing dumb will get you out of it. It doesn’t as she just levels you with a stern look. Or as stern as Penelope Garcia can get. “3  months.” You sigh. 

“3 Months?!” Suddenly Garcia is pulling you into a hug, waving her arm frantically behind your back for Spencer to join you, which of course he does. “Oh my sweet sweet summer children, Why didn’t you tell me?!”She pulls from you, hitting you both in the arm instantly. 

You rub your arm. “We just wanted to keep it under wraps for a while, to see if it was something we both wanted.” 

“And is it?” She asks. 

You look at Spencer only to see him looking directly back into your eyes, smiling. “Yea it is.” You say. “Garcia, I know you don’t like keeping secrets but can you not tell anyone. We wanted to wait to tell everyone.” 

Garcia blows a breath. “For you, my dove, I will try. Now I was promised wine and Doctor Who and I still haven't gotten either.” 

With that you fill her glass and the three of you spend the night watching Doctor Who and eating pizza. At some point of the night, Spencer’s arm ends up around you. You scout closer to him so you can lay your head on his chest. Suddenly, you see a camera flash. 

“Garcia!” You yell. 

“Relax, I won’t show anyone. This’ll be for me, you guys are just so cute!”   

You roll your eyes, laying back on Spencer. You can’t help but smile at the feel of his light chuckle. 

--------------------------------------------------------------------

Sex doesn’t come up despite your best wishes. You can tell Spencer’s holding back, trying to respect you and you appreciated that, you really do. 

But God, you want him. 

There’s been times where you think you’re going to get there. Like last month, he had come over to watch a movie which ended up just being an excuse to just make out. You didn’t think you could ever get tired of kissing Spencer. Most of the time, his kisses were sweet, filled with admiration. But sometimes they were heated with passion and want behind them. You liked both, loved both even, but if you had to pick a favorite it’d be the lather. You’ve never felt as desired as you do when you’re with Spencer. 

His tongue swiped along your bottom lip, you opened your mouth giving him permission. You’re rewarded with a small moan as he tries to move as close to you as your small couch will allow. You’re suddenly hit with a bright idea and push him back so you could crawl on top of him, straddling his waist. You pull back slightly to look at him, making sure this was ok. He looks at you shocked for a moment, you guys have never done anything this far. That shock breaks though the second you lean back into him, his hands going instantly to your waist. You move in closer, running your hands through his hair as his tongue rejoins your mouth. You moan, tugging slightly at the roots earning you a groan, his hands sliding under your shirt gripping your waist tighter. As lean forward to kiss along his jaw you can’t help but become hyper aware of a certain predicament he was having. Deciding to test the waters, you start grinding your hips on him slightly. 

“Fuck.” he moans quietly, his grip on your bare waist suddenly becoming tighter. Spencer hardly ever cursed, not even when he was mad. Very much unlike you who cursed like a sailor at any minor inconvenience. So hearing the expletive, especially in a situation like this, was enough to turn you into a faucet. The two of you went on like this a bit, your hands on his jaw, not even being shy about your grinding now. You needed him to know just how bad you wanted this, how bad you wanted him. Eventually, his hands slide out your shirt settling on your lower waist to stop you. You pull back to look at him confused. 

“We’ve got to stop.” He says, sitting you up a little bit so you weren’t completely seated completely on top of him. 

“Why?” You all but whine. You didn’t mean to sound like a child but you were genuinely curious. He chuckles lightly at you before kissing your cheek and moving you so you were seated next to him, still cuddled under his arm. His attention turned fully back towards the movie, neither of you had been paying attention to prior. 

------------------------------------------------

And if working with him was hard before, it’s proven itself to be unbearable these past months. Now that you knew what it was like to be with Spencer, thoughts about it seemed to cloud your brain on a daily basis. And it seemed like he was mocking you with it lately. With the rolled up sleeves of his button up and the skinny ties it seemed like he was intentionally trying to break you. 

Right now, you were in a small town off the coast of Oregan, listening to Reid explain the geographical profile he’d come up with for the Unsub. You try to listen, you really do but your focus keeps going to his forearms and hands. You knew you like his hands before but now that you knew what they felt like it was hard to focus on anything else. That combined with the rapid words coming out of his mouth and the hair he’d recently been growing out (something you didn’t know you were into but could definitely now confirm you were) were sending you spiraling. 

“Y/N.” You suddenly heard Hotch call. You looked around to see everyone looking at you, expecting an answer to a question you did not hear. 

You clear your throat awkwardly. “What was your question again?” 

“I asked why you think the Unsub is a flight risk.” JJ says. “Are you ok? You seem off.” 

Everyone’s eyes is on you again, this time Spencer included. He’s narrowing his eyes at you now. You can tell he’s reading you like a book, trying to hide the smirk on his face. He knows. You think to yourself. 

“I’m fine.” You clear your throat. “Based one the geographical profile, I think the Unsub is from this town and is very familiar with the water. Possibly from a fishing family, which is why I think he has a boat and will try to make a run for it tonight. Especially since the news announced we’re here.” You point out. “I actually don’t believe we have much time.” 

“Alright, Reid, Prentiss and Rossi check his house. Y/L/N, Morgan and I will head down to the Marina. Dismissed.” 

You go to grab everything you need before leaving (vest, gun, etc.) when Spencer approaches you. 

“And you thought I wouldn’t be able to focus on work when we got together?” He says, smirking. 

“Shut up.” You mumble. Before you can turn away from him, he grabs your wrist pulling you into a tight, passionate kiss. 

“Please be careful.” He says looking into your eye. 

“I always am, Spen.” You smile. 

-------------------------------------------------------

You, Hotch and Morgan Are silent driving to the Marina but that wasn’t unusual that was how it usually is with you three, especially with stakes like this. Hotch assigns the both of you quadrants to search and you split apart. You’re walking your quadrant when you hear a snapping sound. You turn and see the unsub untying a boat. 

“FBI! Don’t move.” You scream after him. He sees you turns to his boat that’s started to drift further and further away in the high tide before he starts booking it down the dock. You run after to him. 

“Unsub is on the southeastern dock! Requesting Backup.” You scream in your radio before focusing your full attention on running full speed after the man you’d been searching for for days. He’s looking behind himself every so often to see you gaining on him but you’re still not fast enough to get him before you jumps off the end of the dock, swimming fast towards his boat. 

“Shit!” You yell. You hear hotch and Morgan’s steps running behind you before you make the split decision. 

You throw off your vest, radio and gun on the dock next to you before careening off the dock into the icy cold oregonian waters.          

Taglist: @haylaansmi​     @yoruebeautiful​ @kianagilder-blog​ @l0ve-0f-my-life​ @bihoeofmanyfandoms @dreamer7black​ @baby-banana​ @drreidshands​ @blameitonthenight21​ @slyskyeey​ @liaabsurd​ @di-essere-amato​ @oliviamaerose​ @nightlygiggless​

[doctorthreephds]

Synapses: Part 3

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Reader

WC: 4.8k

TW: Mentions of death and drugs--specifically from the episode Demonology

A/N: Hey! Just a forewarning, the forensic techniques in this are complete speculation from what I know and they are probably not accurate at all. 

Summary: After starting your new job and getting closer to Spencer, you find yourself having your first fight with your new friend when the anniversary of your mother’s death approaches. 

Masterlist

Taglist: @obsssedwithjustaboutanything​ @green-intervention​ @eevee0722​

Starting your new job was hard, like all things, but enjoyable. The first few days were learning the ropes and the area and you often came home exhausted, tired from a long day’s work in a lab you were unfamiliar with. The little things were what kept you going. Every day, you made an effort to eat lunch with your father--leftovers or food to go from a nearby restaurant or deli. When your father went away on his case, you spent time with Penelope in her bat cave. It was fun to hang out with her, spouting comedic rhetoric whenever someone called her for advice.

“Please don’t eat near the merchandise, baby, it’s my money maker,” she states, typing away at the speed of light as someone rings in. “Information highway speaking, you’re on speaker with me and the good doctor.”

You snort and let out a small laugh as you silently dig into your takeout box of chow mein.

“The good doctor? I thought that was me,” you hear Spencer speak up from the phone and smile, lifting your chopsticks to your mouth.  

“You’ve been replaced, Dr. Reid. Sorry!” you say before taking another bite of the noodles.

“What are you doing--”

“Stay on track, boy genius. What do you need from me?” Penelope asks and you zone out, not wanting to listen into the details of the gruesome murders they were investigating. While your job sometimes involved dead bodies, you were in fact eating lunch and wanted to keep your lunch down for the rest of the day. After they were finished, you could hear them wrapping up and you inserted a final goodbye.

“Bye Spencer! I’ll see you soon,” you state as the phone beeps to signal that the call has ended. 

“See him soon?” Penelope spins around as she fiddles with a pink pen with a puffball on the end that almost matches the pink blush on your face. 

“I mean I’ll see him when the case ends,” you mumble and toss your takeout box into her trash, taking a sip from your water bottle.

“Hm, I’m sure that’s what you meant,” she smiles and turns back to her computer, typing something up. “If you need any info on him, I can tell you anything you want to know, sweets.”

“I’m not gonna do that, it’s an invasion of privacy,” you stand and check your watch, it’s about time for you to get back to work. “But if anything comes up, I’ll let you know.”

Other times, when your father was too busy to entertain you, you would eat with the others--or more specifically, Spencer. Travelling up to the sixth floor, you check to see if Spencer is anywhere nearby. When you deduce that he is nowhere near, his plush office chair becomes your new home as you open up your bag and grab the tupperware full of salad while you wait for his arrival. Opening the small container, you poke at the leaves with your fork and make a face when you see that they’re soggy and limp.

“Have a salad today?” he asks as you look at the sad lettuce in your small tupperware container. 

“Yeah. Although, it doesn’t look very appetizing,” you state and put it down on his desk, looking up at the cup of coffee in his hand that looked far more delicious than the monstrosity that was sad salad. 

“Did you know that salad comes from the latin word ‘herba salta’ which means ‘salted herbs,’ so perhaps you don’t have enough salt on your herbs,” he states and you bark out a laugh, shaking your head as you close the container and put it away. 

“Any more salt and my blood pressure’s gonna be at risk. Wanna grab lunch at the deli?” you ask and stand. He nods as the two of you exit the bullpen, taking the elevator down.

This was your schedule, and you loved it. It didn’t take that long for you to build a good relationship with everyone, constantly checking in on their lives outside of Quantico. Emily was doing well with Sergio, Henry was growing at a rate that JJ couldn’t comprehend, Penelope was still going out with Kevin, and you and Spencer were often found hanging out on the weekends when he wasn’t called away for a case. 

You found it odd how easily you took to Spencer, how his fun facts were always there to brighten up every conversation and his constant pursuit of knowledge was admirable. He took you to his favorite bookstore as well as his favorite used bookstore that he frequented in hopes of finding first editions and original copies. He also would take you to his favorite park, the one that he went to so that he could play chess and he would always win. It wasn’t always about him, though, you loved taking him to go see new movies as opposed to the older and foreign ones that he enjoyed. The two of you also committed to trying new foods together. With his sensory issues and your picky nature, you both embarked on a journey to eat new foods in hopes of finding something new and delicious.

While your new found friendship was almost perfect in the way that you committed yourselves, it too could not come without ups and downs. The first bump came when you helped consult on an unofficial case, something that had happened with Emily’s close friends. It was only a few days before the anniversary for your mother’s death and you were running on fumes.

“Hello?” you ask sharply, pouring over several reports that were due soon. Your temper was short today and you just wanted to go home.

“Hey it’s Spencer. Are you okay?” he asks and you sigh, rubbing your temples in frustration.

“Yeah, I’m fine. What do you need?” you sit back in your chair and take a sip of your coffee, attempting to quell your anxieties while he speaks.

“I’m not at Quantico right now, I’m at a victim’s house. His name is Thomas Valentine and he died of dehydration but Emily believes there’s foul play. I’ll have Garcia send over his tox reports along with Matthew Benton’s to see if the pathologist missed anything. We’re on our way back so feel free to meet us upstairs when we debrief,” he says and you nod, writing down the information on a stray post-it note so that you don’t forget. “By the way, your dad says ‘hi.’”

“Tell him I say ‘hi’ back. I’ll meet you upstairs,” you state and hang up the phone, sighing as you run your hands through your hair to release some nervous energy. It was only a few more days and you would be on your day off, it was only a few days until you would be able to visit your mom again.

Just as if she heard it from five floors up, you receive an email from Penelope with the toxicology reports from both victims. A quick skim shows that there is a lack of intense scrutiny due to the simple cause of death. But, if Emily and Spencer believe otherwise then it was in your best interest to assume so as well. Looking into Matthew Benton’s report, there was evidence of long-term methamphetamine abuse which could contribute to the death but nothing out of the ordinary. It was only midday and you were running out of steam but your friends needed you so you had to pull it together.

After printing out all the information you have and stashing it in a folder, you make your way up to the bullpen and watch people rushing around. The busyness and chatter made you a bit woozy but the sight of Spencer helped to ground out a bit. 

“Are you sure you’re okay? You don’t have to be here,” he frowns as he sees you approach and you shake your head.

“I’m fine, I just want to help out in any way I can,” you mumble and move past him toward the conference room where almost everyone was gathered. Once Hotch arrived, they began to pour over details and possibilities within this pseudo-case. 

Listening intently, you take note of the evidence as it is laid out for you, the scuff marks under the bed, the missionary church in Spain that the two victims had visited, the idea that each family had been highly religious. Years of going to church in France and D.C. were being brought back in an instant. 

“That sounds like an exorcism,” you blurt out and look up to see everyone staring at you. It was odd to hold their attention but you nestled down in your chair and continued to listen. 

“Look, I know the Bible just as well as anyone, but I also know there’s nothing more open to behavioral interpretation than religion,” Derek comments.

“Meaning what?” Emily asks, shaking her head.

“I think it’s dangerous for us to wanna find a connection between these deaths,” he states.

“Wait, was Thomas’ wife religious?” Emily frowns and looks around at your father. 

“She was concerned that he had been cursing God,” your father recalls as Spencer dives into an inference. 

“Exorcism ritual can take days to complete. It’s possible the stress induced could cause a heart attack, especially in someone with a history of drug abuse,” he explains and looks at you. 

“Definitely, drugs leave marks on your body that are irreversible unless you completely stop. It makes an impact on your hair growth, your skin, your heart, so it’s completely plausible. And it could explain how someone died of dehydration,” the facts fly so fast through your head as you try to connect the dots while you speak, your head spinning. Even a couple minutes in the conference room was overwhelming, you couldn’t imagine doing this all the time.  

“Guys, look, I’m willing to say that we might have an unsub who ritualizes killings as if they were exorcisms, maybe. But, right now, we don’t even know if we have a crime yet,” Derek voices his concerns and you slowly nod, thinking about how you could help to clear up any room for error. It was possible if you were able to look at the bodies and examine them that you may have the ability to try and see if there were any other traces of possible deadly substances. 

“Morgan’s right. We need to step back. Let me talk to someone before I have us all telling ghost stories,” your father suggests and everyone appears to take this as time to cool off and rethink any possibilities, standing and leaving the room to follow their own leads. Dread settles in your chest as you sit in the chair, looking down at the folder to find any piece of information that could help you come to a conclusion but the words were flying around in your head and you felt too sluggish to do anything. 

“Do you think that you can get me the victim’s clothing? Perhaps something was done to them topically that would explain their deaths further,” you stand and sigh, already dreading going back to your reports. 

“Yeah, sure. It’ll be our lunch break,” he says and smiles. While his smiles usually have the power to brighten your entire day, your sour mood only extinguished any fire of joy inside your body.

“I have too much to do, just go on without me,” you respond and begin walking out of the conference room. You can already feel Spencer’s pestering bubbling up and wanting to know what’s wrong but you didn’t have the heart to tell him.

“Are you sure? Studies have shown that taking breaks help boost blood flow and information retention--”

“I’m sure, Spencer,” you snap and continue walking toward the elevators before he reaches out and grabs your arm to stop you.

“What’s going on? Are you mad at me?” he asks.

“God, I’m fine Spencer! Stop babying me, you’re not my dad,” all the emotion that had been building up in the morning spilled out in anger and your heart shattered to see Spencer so confused and sad. “I’m sorry.”

Stepping into the elevator, you press the button to go down and watch the doors close in front of you, not looking anywhere in the direction of Spencer. The fluorescent lights above you suddenly look far too bright and tears well in your eyes. What would your mother say if she could see you now? Would she be disappointed? Would she be angry? A vibration in your pocket breaks you out of the self-loathing spiral.

From Dad (12:24PM):

I think you just about broke this kid’s heart.

To Dad (12:25PM):

I didn’t mean to. It’s just so close.

From Dad: (12:25PM):

Just tell him. He’ll understand.

To Dad (12:26PM):

I know. I love you.

As you sit at your desk and stare at the papers, your mind moves on autopilot to complete the rest of your tasks. With only two cups of coffee in your system, your head was starting to hurt and your focus was fizzing but when Spencer came back with a couple bags full of clothing to be processed, the guilt overpowered any feeling of fatigue.

“I brought the evidence. Just send the report to Garcia,” he states and drops the bag off at your desk before turning to leave. 

“Hey, Spencer?” he turns to look at you, his eyes narrowed as you speak. “I’m really sorry. I’m not feeling well.”

“I could have told you that, and I’m not even a medical doctor,” he mutters and sighs. The air between you is stale and you want to speak, but don’t know what to say.

“Do you want to stay and help me process the evidence? It’ll only take a little bit,” you ask, your voice small. He appears to ponder the thought before nodding and you smile, standing and taking the evidence over to one of your machines. This was where you thrived. While you worked in silence, it was comforting to have Spencer around, even if the two of you were still on rocky ground. 

You first started with isolating the fabric and the substances on the clothing. From there, you take them and test what they are to see if there are foreign substances that may have contributed to the deaths of Matthew Benton and Thomas Valentine. Processing goes quickly and you print out the report, frowning at the traces of nerve agent on the clothing.

“There’s sarin on their clothing,” you tell him and hand over the papers for him to read through. 

“Thanks,” he mutters and stands to leave. 

“Are we okay?” you ask him, watching him turn as you wrap your arms around your torso in a comforting way, warming your hands from the cold lab.

“Obviously not, if you’re not telling me something,” he puts down the folder and comes up to you, reaching out to take your hands. It was a bit of a shock, considering the fact that you knew he hated touching hands, but it was progress and it made your heart melt to think that he would feel safe enough to do so. “I know something’s wrong and I want to help you, but you’re not being honest with me.” 

“I just haven’t eaten, Spence. And I’m under the weather, which doesn’t help. I promise that I’ll be okay,” you tell him, staring up into his eyes and speaking with as much truth as you can. But it wasn’t convincing enough and he pulls away as if you just burned him.

“I guess you don’t trust me, then,” he mumbles and turns around, picking up the folder and getting into the elevator. As the doors close, he stares back at you like he was disappointed and it completely broke you. Fat tears roll down your cheeks as your chest bubbles with anxiety and sorrow. You find a seat at your desk and desperately try to wipe the tears away, breathing in deeply to calm yourself down. You were still at work and you still had work to do. 

Quickly, you dive back into your reports, writing them up as quickly as possible and pushing Spencer to the back of your mind. Before you know it, the end of the day comes and you’re out of the building and on the metro at record speed. The vibration of the wheels rolling over the tracks lulls you into a sense of security, distracting you from the pangs in your stomach. Without the distraction of work, your mind was able to wander.

Was it fair for you to hide this from Spencer? Why did you? Why did you need to keep this secret so badly?

Perhaps it was the years of being on your own after her death or the fact that showing sadness was opening yourself up to vulnerability and connection that you feared. Perhaps it was both, you didn’t have many friends in grad school and only talked to your dad once every blue moon. The thought of being a burden was unbearable, but losing Spencer was unfathomable. You could deal with a little bit of vulnerability if it meant getting your friend back. 

Your legs guide you home once you reach your stop and you reheat some rice and add some soy sauce to make something that is edible and that you can keep down without issue. After eating, you shower and head to bed, falling asleep the second that you hit the pillow. 

The next day, your alarm jars you out of a dreamless sleep, shaking you from a night that felt far too short. Your entire body was fatigued and your brain was a mess, but it was your last day at work before you got the day off. As you got ready and out the door, your phone was blowing up with information sent by Penelope and Emily. There was another death and they needed you to analyze the clothing of the third victim to confirm that nerve agent was being used to kill these men. 

One you reach the office, you sit down and begin writing as you await the evidence. If you worked quick enough and finished the reports, you would be able to go home early. The fog in your brain makes it hard to focus as you work on more write ups, the words barely forming sentences, but you force yourself to persevere through lunch. Late in the afternoon, Spencer appears again with the evidence bag you need to process.

“Just send the report to Penelope when you’re done,” he states and turns back around to get into the elevator but you stand and pipe up.

“Can we talk?” you ask, hoping and praying that he would let you speak. 

“I don’t know, can we? Because you seemed pretty adamant about keeping secrets from me last time we tried to talk,” he mumbles as he turns to look at you, his eyes dark and full of storm clouds. 

“I’m sorry,” you begin, trying to find the right words so that your thoughts form coherent sentences. “I’m bad at talking about what’s plaguing me. I’ve been alone for a long time, and I’m sorry. It’s not an excuse, I know, but it’s a start.”

You want to say ‘I’m sorry’ over and over, but it wasn’t an explanation and he deserved at least that.

“Tomorrow is the anniversary of my mother’s death,” his frown almost vanishes from his face as you speak which makes you feel a hint of encouragement to keep talking. “And I’ve always dealt with it alone. Maybe because I don’t let myself handle it any other way, but I hope that you’re able to understand. I’m sorry, Spencer.”

Staring down at the ground, you will the tears to stay in your eyes so that you can keep up some image of togetherness, but they fall as quickly as they form. Suddenly his arms are wrapped around you and you let out a breath you didn’t even know you were holding. This was him accepting your apology and you suddenly felt like you could breathe. You worm your arms around his torso and pull him close, allowing yourself to take in all of him. The smell of his cologne, the feeling of muscles as they squeeze you tight, the fact that his hands were intertwined behind your back and his head was settled on top of yours. 

“I’m sorry too,” he mumbles and you pull away slightly to look up at him. “You didn’t have to tell me that.”

He pauses as he also stumbles over his words.

“But, I’m glad you did.”

You let out a sigh and hug him tight again, wanting to memorize the way his arms felt around you. After another long hug, you pull away and wipe your nose, shaking your head as you look over at the evidence bag. 

“I’m sorry, Patrick. I’ll get to processing your clothes now,” you mumble and let out a light laugh as you wash your hands and ready the evidence, processing the substances on his clothing. Beside you, Spencer leans against the wall and watches silently. It’s a bit nerve wracking to have someone watching you the way that he does, with bright eyes and attentive body language, but you do your best to explain it to him as the machine brings up the results. 

“Nerve agent, it’s sarin,” you turn to him. “Go tell them.”

He nods and picks up the newly printed report.

“I’ll come get you afterward,” he promises. “We can ride the train together.”

“There’s no need, I’m going home now. Just text me,” you smile up at him as he nods and takes your hand, squeezing it one last time before leaving.

You feel lighter now, like you lifted a rock off your chest. It was a burden, keeping secrets, but now you could feel a little bit better. After writing up all the procedural stuff on how you processed the evidence, you pack your bag and head to the metro. When you’re on the train, you get a text from Spencer telling him that they caught the priest and he was being deported back to Italy. 

To Spencer (7:45PM):

I’m glad.

From Spencer (8:01PM):

Do you want me to come over?

To Spencer (8:02PM):

No, it’s okay. I’ll be okay.

When you finally arrive at your stop, you easily find your way home. There was still sadness lingering, it was getting to be that time, but you had Spencer and that was enough. Getting home and getting to bed is a quick ordeal after you eat something and drink way too much wine to try and drown your sorrows and quiet your mind. The same days every year, you take a couple off so that you can mourn the loss of your mother and visit her grave. It was almost like a way to pretend that she was alive, even if just for a day. You had a lot to tell her after everything that’s happened, but it still didn’t help the fact that she was gone forever. 

Waking up the next morning is rough, it feels like a train plowed into you after a night of tears shed and one too many glasses of wine as you reminisced. Looking at your phone on this bright Friday morning, you see that you’ve managed to sleep in pretty significantly, but at least it was still technically morning. Waiting for you are a text from your father and a text from Spencer.

From Dad (6:00AM): 

Chin up, tesoro. Your mother loved you very much, she would be proud of everything you accomplished. 

From Spencer (7:02AM):

Do you want to get dinner after work?

From Spencer (7:34AM):

Where are you?

From Spencer (8:01AM):

Let me know what I can do.

The blanket of isolation took over you as you slowly began your morning routine, slowly being the key word. While Spencer knew, you didn’t know what to do now. This was uncharted territory for you and while you knew you weren’t alone, you had also never mourned with another person besides time spent at your mother’s funeral. Perhaps another year, another time. He was only just your friend. 

After you throw on comfy clothes and brush your teeth, you put your hair up so that it’s out of your face and eat some cereal--something easy and virtually effortless. Once you finish, you make a mental note of what you’re going to pick up at the store before heading to the cemetery to spend time with your mom. Throwing on a coat and slinging your bag over your shoulder, you punch in the security code and open the door to see Spencer there.

“Spencer? What are you doing here, it’s only like two,” you frown and close your apartment door behind you, locking it with your keys.

“I finished up all my paperwork so I took a half day and I wanted to cheer you up,” he states as you look up at him. “Maybe we can watch some Star Wars or that vampire movie you always talk about.”

“I’m going to visit my mom,” you tell him.

“Oh, sorry, I’ll go then,” he says and begins to turn and walk away but you pipe up before he can get too far.

“Why don’t you come with me?” you ask. He was already here and he wanted to help you feel better. His presence alone was grounding, reminding you of what you had and not of what you lost. 

“Are you sure?” he asks and you nod, walking up next to him.

“She would have loved you,” you almost reach out and take his hand before you realize what you’re about to do. “Can--Can I hold your hand?”

You’re almost positive he’s going to say no. After all, you know he has issues with germs and sensory issues, the day before being a special occasion because you had broken down crying in front of him. But, when he nods and holds out his hand, you feel your heart flutter. The two of you make your way downstairs in a comfortable silence and the warmth of Spencer’s hand in yours is comforting. As you exit the elevator and make your way out onto the street, the cold D.C. air is refreshing.

Together you walk to the local grocery store to grab some food and flowers, daffodils, which were your mother’s favorite. After, you ride the metro down near the cemetery. This whole time, the presence of Spencer is enough to distract you from the ever present cloud looming over your head, but when you finally walk through the cemetery’s gate, all hell breaks loose. 

When Spencer hears you sob, he instantly wraps his arms around you. The floodgates open and you softly sob into his chest, your arms wrapped around him in a vice. Your heart hurts, you miss your mother. She should have been alive to see all the accomplishments, to see your wedding and your second graduation. It’s times like these where you wonder if anything could have been done, if you could have seen the symptoms sooner or if you could have found another doctor, but your father always reminds you that you did everything in your power to help her and that she would have been proud of the person you were today. 

Once your sobs subside, you sniffle and pull away to wipe your nose. 

“Sorry for crying on you,” you huff out a small laugh and try to wipe away some of the snot that got on him while you cried.

“It’s okay, I understand,” he says and you sit down on the blanket, Spencer sitting next to you and helping to lay out the food. 

“Hey mom,” your voice breaks a little and you clear your throat before turning to Spencer. “This is Spencer and he works with dad. He’s my best friend.”

You smile at him as he turns and waves at her headstone. The notion is so heartwarming that you feel the tears rise up again.

“Hi Ms. Montgomery, your daughter is one of the best people I know,” he says as you begin to eat cheese and crackers from the charcuterie board.

“He works in the same building I do, I got the job at Quantico. I know that FBI agents and you don’t mix very well but I enjoy my job and they have all these new machines for me to play with,” you lay your head on Spencer’s shoulder and continue talking as he wraps an arm around you instinctively. As the two of you sit there and pick at the food, continuing to talk about your mom and your fondest memories, there’s a part of you that wishes it could be like this always. Maybe you didn’t have to always hide your sadness and spend it in isolation. And just maybe, there was always a rainbow after a storm.

[snowwhitelass]

Sam Heughan: "Any Actor Would Never Say They're Not Interested In James Bond"

The 'Outlander' actor on those 007 rumours, not understanding 'Tenet', and the time he thought Andy McNab was about to kill him

By

Tom Nicholson

09/03/2021

We didn’t bring up James Bond. Sam Heughan did. For the record: he’s flattered, interested, coy and sceptical, in roughly that order. His new film does feel like a none-too-subtle hint that he could be comfortable behind the wheel of an Aston though.

SAS: Red Notice is a Big Action Flick based on Andy McNab’s novel of the same name. In which the very McNab-ishly emotion-free Special Forces operative Tom Buckingham, played by Heughan, has to sort out a bunch of mercenaries who’ve taken a trainful of hostages in the Channel Tunnel while rooting out corruption at the heart of the British establishment.

Buckingham is part Bruce Wayne (independently wealthy, dead parents, sage butler), part John McClane (trapped in a terrorist siege), and, yes, a bit of MI6’s least consistently secretive secret agent too (love of country, mild psychopathy). He is, at least, aware that the ease with which he throttles, stabs and grenade-launchers his way through life might indicate that there’s something wrong with him.

“And I think we can all relate to that, you know, we all have these feelings.” Heughan says over Zoom. He pauses. “[I’m] not saying we all think we're psychopaths. But, you know, it's a man who's slightly lost.”

Over lockdown Heughan’s been busy with work and very slowly learning the piano – “I think I've got up to ‘When The Saints Go Marching In’” – and waiting to hear about the next series of Outlander, his day job and the root of his considerable and vociferous personal fanbase. 

“We're shooting season six. And hopefully, there'll be some news soon, about next season – a possible next season. So we'll see about that. But yeah, I don't know. I think as long as people enjoy it, and we enjoy making it then yeah, long may it live.”

Is it unsettling hanging out with someone who describes themselves as a psychopath?

I found myself at one point in this sort of cave, we were doing some tactical training in Leeds, there was no one there but me and him and we had some weapons with us. I just thought, 'Oh, my God, what am I doing here?' Like, I'm with a guy who's a trained killer, who is a self-professed psychopath. Like, what if he just doesn't like me? What if he thinks I'm not good enough? And he just, that's it, you're gone [Heughan imitates gunfire.] But it was really fascinating because he is the most gregarious, charming, outgoing, intelligent man – by studying him I realised that's how to play him.

Are action heroes necessarily psychopaths?

Somebody asked me earlier, "Is James Bond a psychopath?" There are a lot of high functioning, 'good' psychopaths, as we call them, in the military, but also lawyers, doctors, surgeons – people that have to be in these high stress situations that need to be logical, and not allow their emotions to take them over. It might be a learned behaviour, or it might be something they've been born with, but in a stressful situation they can turn down their empathy, they can turn up their logical thinking, or whatever it is. If they need to be charming, like maybe James Bond, you know, he could be more charming. It's very much about them being able to just manipulate their emotions and turn them on and turn them off. That's what Andy did: he was doing these studies with Oxford University and they had a heart rate monitor on him and checking all of his biometrics. They were showing him a lot of very graphic images and videos, and they saw his heart rate go up, and then just flatline. There's almost like something in his brain just switches off and he can just be totally fine.

You mentioned Bond there, so I’m going to ask the question: is it something you’re interested in?

I think any actor would never say they're not interested. Of course, you'd be interested. I mean, it is all rumours, and sometimes you think, should I, should we even talk about it? Because you don't want to jinx it. I'm sure the people, whoever runs [Bond] – you know, Barbara Broccoli and Eon and all that – they must be sick of it; people sort of throwing their hat into the ring. But yeah, he's a great character, and would be certainly be a fascinating character study and place to kick off. But I think in SAS we have our own authentic note based on real life scenarios, we have our authentic character, so I'd love to explore this one more.

In the past you’ve talked about wanting Scottish independence. Where are you at with that now?

I’m firstly very proud to be British, but certainly seeing the way that that Scotland has been surviving and been very well led, and also the way that the democratic system is set up; that Scotland, despite [being] promised that if we voted to stay in the UK, we would stay in Europe, and then we weren't, we were pulled out of it. The majority of Scotland wanted to stay in Europe, and I think it's important for us to work together with our European neighbours, and to be part of that. It's a time to remain open to other countries, rather than sort of closing our borders off. I think it's also dangerous to have actors sprouting their politics, but that's my personal opinion. I think it's a great country, Scotland, and I certainly would love to see it thrive and do well.

Most people who see SAS: Red Notice are going to see it at home. How’ve you been coping without cinemas and theatres?

I do miss them a great deal and theatre as well. Obviously, [as] an actor they're where I grew up and I would love to see them open again. After the first lockdown, I managed to get to the cinema a couple of times. I love that sort of shared experience, when you're with other people and you're not talking to them but there is this feeling when you're in a theatre or cinema [that] you're having a shared experience.

What did you see?

I saw Tenet and I saw On The Rocks with Bill Murray. Two very different movies.

What did you make of Tenet? Did you understand it?

Honestly as an experience, no, I didn't enjoy it. Watching it as a movie maker, I was in awe of how incredible it was. The action sequences are just stunning and I read about how they did the fight scenes – you know, in SAS, we have some great action sequences and I know how long that takes and how hard it is, so for them to then learn it backwards is ridiculous. But yeah, I was confused, to be honest. Still am.

Have you picked up anything over lockdown you’ve not had time for before?

I actually started teaching myself piano. I got a keyboard and I haven't touched it for about a month but I was enjoying it. I think we've all baked soda bread and drunk alcohol and read books and watched movies. I think now it feels like the spring is almost around the corner, I'm ready to get back outdoors and I really can't wait to get back out into the mountains, especially in Scotland, go hiking and stuff.

Best hike in Scotland?

There’s so many but I'll say an unknown but really beautiful ridge walk – and I love a ridge because you know they curve right the way around – is the Ballachulish ridge. It's a little known ridge, but it's stunning.

SAS: Red Notice is available only on Sky Cinema from 12 March

https://www.esquire.com/uk/culture/a35760811/sam-heughan-interview-james-bond/

[omniswords]

Chronicles of a Parisian Dumbass 16

oh gosh, i'm so sorry for the late update!! i promise i'm still working on this, little by little. i am on vacation next week, so maybe i'll get the chance to really put some work in.

in any case, enjoy today's update c:

okay, so who the hell was gonna tell me that CBG’s designed a whole-ass album cover for my favorite artist of all time?

scratch that. who was gonna tell me she designed my FAVORITE album cover for my FAVORITE artist of all time?

Bubbles, as it turns out, has known Marinette Dupain-Cheng since he was four years old. Went to school with her and everything. So that’s another scoop to the shit Luka’s landed himself in. He still isn’t sure what gave him greater whiplash: finding out about that connection, or finding her name in the fine print of Jagged stone’s album credits. He also isn’t sure whether it’s a good thing that Nino mentions little else, and especially dodges the question of if it’s even cool to actually admit to having a gigantic crush on Marinette Dupain-Cheng, or whether he’s just wasting his time.

Cool.

Cool, cool, cool.

(Luka is most definitely not cool.)

Especially for those freeze-frames of time that he wonders, to his own horror, if Bubbles has been Adrien Agreste all this time.

It takes him the better part of an hour of pacing and fidgeting with his guitar pick to realize that no, he hasn’t been casually messaging a fashion mogul’s son who also just so happened to be Marinette’s own gigantic crush. He doesn’t seem like the type to use “dude” in everyday conversation, and for another thing, it didn't exactly like up with what Marinette had said about them knowing each other in middle school.

One day, Luka swears, he’s going to take this anxiety thing out back and have it meet its maker.

Even if, maybe, he sort of is its maker.

(Okay, maybe he's going to take his brain out back, because he's definitely not responsible for that.)

But he figures, once that initial panic and urge to scream into his pillow wear off, that it might be a cool talking point between him and Marinette. One that, for once, doesn’t have much to do with either of their jobs. Or with how tongue-tied he gets around her because she just won’t stop being so pretty. Not that that’s a problem; both his sister and his mother would have his head for ever thinking that way, and even then, Rose would tell them to get in line. Something about how they didn’t raise him this way, even if two of them didn’t even raise him at all.

Luka waits a couple of days before stopping by the bakery again; it gives them both some breathing room and the time for those postcards to be finished and printed. He thinks about it a lot. The postcards. The effort. Marinette, too, but in his quietly flustered opinion, he thinks that’s a given. He doesn’t get the chance to come until close to closing time again because of his delivery shift; he just hopes they don’t mind too much. He braces himself the whole ride over for whatever may be coming: another friendly crack about napoleons and pear tarts, the beauty of the postcards, maybe even another offer of kindness if Marinette’s pattern is anything to go by.

The one thing Luka doesn’t brace himself for—which, of course, is the one thing that ends up happening—is the door propped open, and the music drifting out through the crack. And he can’t even revel in the fact that it’s one of his favorite songs playing, because…

Because Marinette is dancing. Rag in one hand, spray bottle in the other. No, it’s not like, a flawlessly choreographed routine or anything. It’s more like a mix of what Rose does during their down time when she has too much energy and nowhere to put it, and what Juleka does when she’s trying to find the rhythm of a new song. It’s blissfully unaware, and beautiful, and it feels like home, and Luka can’t stop staring.

He doesn’t mean to. He knows he shouldn’t. It’s just… he can’t remember ever seeing a moment when she was simply “Marinette, “instead of “Marinette Dupain-Cheng, Friend to Practically Everybody.” or “Marinette Dupain-Cheng, Daughter of the Owners of The Best Bakery In Paris.” or even “Marinette, the Girl Behind the Counter with the Sketchbook Full of Secrets and the connections to Jagged Fucking Stone.”

Okay, maybe he’s been watching a couple too many fantasy movies lately.

And he definitely needs to look away, like, right now, because she does this thing with her hips that makes his brain forget how to function for a second, and he needs his brain to function in every sense of the phrase, and God fucking damn it, Marinette Dupain-Cheng is hot and he’s not supposed to think that she’s hot—

And she’s looking at him. Frozen. right as he’s about to get off his bike and knock.

And, like the total idiot he can only manage to be at the worst possible times, he trips. Over his bike. And faceplants, right in front of Marinette Dupain-Cheng.

He’s somewhere between waiting for death to take him, and thanking his Ma for always getting on him about wearing a helmet, and wondering if he really was so stupid that his first instinct was to run, when the bell over the bakery door rings like mad. Someone cries out his name, and the music cuts, and there’s a skitter of footsteps on concrete. When he comes to himself and starts to sit up, he finds himself face-to-face with Marinette, who's kneeling beside him and already scanning him for any injuries.

The first thing she says, with her hand in her hair, is, “Oh, God. She’s gonna kill me.”

The first thing he says, with a wince, is, “Yikes.”

It’s then that the pain sinks in, dull and searing and throbbing all at once, as if punishing him for choosing to say that, of all things. He sits up a bit more, pain chasing up his spine and stinging his palms; his knee is badly scraped and starting to swell, he realizes once he gets a good look at the rest of him. He can’t tell yet, whether Juleka would call this karma or kismet. All he can think is that at least his jeans were already ripped.

“Can…” Marinette swallows hard, but otherwise she’s entirely unfazed. “Can you stand? Put weight on it? Oh God, oh my God, she’s actually gonna kill me.”

“I…” Cautiously, Luka tries to get to his feet, and Marinette makes space for him. All it takes is one step for a jolt of pain to shoot up his leg, and he staggers and clutches the closest streetlamp, nearly tripping over his bike again in the process. “Shit,” is all he can bite out after drawing his breath in through his teeth and holding onto it for too long. He lets it out, little by little, and his grip on the lamppost loosens. “It’s okay, I’m—I can just walk my bike to the metro station, and—”

It’s like she isn’t even listening to him; she’s looking around the bike, evidently searching for something. Finally, she finds it—his bike lock—and after it and the bakery door are secure, she coaxes his arm around her shoulder. It’s almost comical, because he’s got a good thirty centimeters on her, but it hurts too much to laugh. Or, apparently, to stammer in protest when she leads him through the side door and up the stairs to her apartment.

Oh, no. Oh, no, no, no. Seeing her in her pajamas was enough of an invasion of her privacy. But seeing the inside of her literal, actual home? Oh, no. No way.

“You’re hurt,” she says simply, as if she’s read his mind; her voice is trembling, the way voices do when they know they shouldn’t. “It’d be against like, everything I am as a person if I just let you leave.” She only lets go of him to unlock the door, and only then does it occur to him that, for a few moments that should have been blissful, they were side-by-side, and in some places skin-to-skin.

Mr. Dupain gives them a funny, almost unreadable look when Marinette opens the door. One look at Luka’s leg seems to answer any questions he might have had, and effortlessly he helps Luka to the couch while Marinette disappears into the bathroom. “You know,” he jokes under his breath, “When I imagined someone falling for my daughter, I didn’t mean literally.”

Luka’s face goes hot. “I didn’t—I’m not—”

Whatever he wants to say falls on deaf ears, and Mr. Dupain makes himself scarce as soon as Marinette emerges from the bathroom. Even as she lifts his leg onto the coffee table, Luka swears he can feel those kind, quietly insistent eyes burning holes into him all the way from the kitchen. He doesn’t get to think much more about what Mr. Dupain might have meant, or what he would have said to refute it, because Marinette is pressing an alcohol pad to the scrapes, and it stings like a motherfucker—which is probably a good thing for more reasons than one.

“You don’t have to do this,” he says weakly, because somewhere along the way, I don’t deserve it got stuck in his throat and refused to come out.

Marinette gives him a look. He can’t quite figure out what it means. “Yeah. I do.”

“Nah.” He readjusts, braces himself for the second sting of the ointment and the bandages. “I kinda deserved it. Jules would call it karma, I guess.”

There she goes again, wincing at the mere mention of Juleka. Or maybe… maybe it’s something else. Without a word, she gets up and disappears into the kitchen, and he spends her whole absence wondering what he said or did. He’s only relieved when she returns with a bag of frozen corn and a shrug as if to say, It’s all we had. She presses the bag to his knee, breathing deep in time with him, or maybe in hopes that his breathing will start to match hers. Then she speaks, and her voice wavers.

“Why would you ever think,” she murmurs, “that you deserve any pain?”

Luka opens his mouth. Shuts it. Opens and shuts again. This time, at least for a while, the words don’t even make it to his throat. Eventually, all he can spit out is, “I was. Watching. You.”

“I know,” Marinette says, turning as pink as her shorts. “I saw.”

That’s the one thing he can appreciate: she doesn’t try to downplay it or say it was dumb. Even now, she’s unapologetic, and direct, and God, maybe he’s just fallen a little more. “I shouldn’t have,” he says. “I was gonna knock, I was…” He shifts again, his knee still in her gentle grasp, and flinches. “I just… wanted to see your postcards.”

I just wanted to see you.

“Marinette.” His lips tingle just from saying her name, and his stomach is churning. “Who… who’s gonna kill you?”

This time, Marinette goes scarlet; it would look about as pretty as literally every other color and pattern she wears if she didn’t seem so… mortified. “I’ll go get one of—the postcards,” she says—stammers, more like—and as she’s heading upstairs she calls out, “Papa, he can’t walk. Can we drive him home?”

From the kitchen, Mr. Dupain winks.

1 Photo Attached

RIP lol

and no, i’m not talking about my jeans. those were already like that.

but also. 😬 oh boy.

[starrynite7114]

Headcanon: Art Day

A/N: A headacanon! This idea was given to me by @carlaangel86​ and @justahopelessssromantic​ . We were watching some Tiktoks and well, here it is. Hope you all enjoy this update!

Laughter and Snapshots will be posted next!

Hope you guys had a good week!

Masterlist

Request tagged list: @justahopelessssromantic​ : @ifoundmyhappythought​ : @carlaangel86​ : @woahitslucyylu​ : @encounterthepast​ : @enamoured-x​ : @thewarriorprincessxo​ : @briana-mishell24​ : @bribri-82​ : @chibsytelford​ : @agirllovespasta​ : @twistnet​ : @everyhowlmarksthedead​ : @trulysuccubus​ : @jadert15​ : @sammskellington​ : @cind-in-real-life​ :  @claytoncardenasbabymama​ : @sadeyesgf​ : @thickemadame​ : @summertimesadnesswithadashofsass​ : @gemini0410​ : @elcococruz​ : @samcrobae​ : @sesamepancakes​​ : @iambabyharry​ : @blackmissfrizzle​ : @soamayansfangirl​ : @1-800-imagines​​ : @phoenixhalliwell​​ : @lady-pswrld​​ : @dazzledamazon​​  : @getyourcrayoncas​​ : @fvckthisbxtchup​​ : @lukealvxz​​ : @scuzmunkie​​ : @lilac-tea-time​​ : @danie1432​​ : @cocotheclown​​ : @soaronmywings​​ : @my-rosegold-soul​​ : @buttercup812​​ : @itskiranbitch​​ : @angelreyesgirl​​ : @sheeshgivemeabreak​​ : @vicmackeybullshxt​​ : @bigcreatorwombatdreamer​​ : @khyharah​​ : @strawberrywritings​​ : @cherry-icetea​​ : @fuzzy-jellyfish​​ : @losolvidad0s​​ : @brownsugarcoffy​​ : @courtrae89​​ : @prdsdjarin​​ : @blessedboo​​ : @marvelmaree​​ : @enamouravecleslivresetlechocolat​​ : @behindmyeyes-insidemyhead​​ : @thesandbeneathmytoes​​ : @dark-twisted-and-mechanical-mind​​ : @maddie-georges​​ : 

If you would like to be added to the tag list, please let me know!

CREDITS TO THE ORIGINAL GIF MAKER!

You and Angel have had a good quarantine so far.

Meaning you two didn’t kill one another and actually enjoyed one another’s company. 

Maybe the reason you two have yet to kill one another was due to the fact Angel locking himself in the third bedroom in your house, painting. 

Which you two recently purchased at the end of last year and now, you two were able to renovate as you two had planned. 

With the quarantine, your days were spent either painting a room, placing the hardwood floors in the kitchen and living room, or changing the cabinets in the kitchen. 

Overall, it’s been a productive first two months of quarantine

Now, the Santo Padre head was seeping in and you were not a happy camper. 

Though, another reason quarantine didn’t make you two hate one another, was because you and Angel love being in each other’s company. 

You two appreciated the days you two have together since you were always at work and he was always on a run. 

Living apart the first three, living together the last three, six years together in total, you and Angel knew how to avoid killing one another. 

Also, it helped that you were a respiratory therapist and worked almost six days a week. They tried to push you for more hours, but there was so much your body could take. 

Now, after being on for six, you were off for four. 

On your first day, you were nursing a margarite that Angel made for you while you watched a 90s Romcom on Netflix while he was in his art room.

You loved coming in Angel’s art room since his masterpieces gave you glimpses of how he was feeling.

When the whole thing with EZ went down? Everything was dark, upsetting, but you knew he had to let it out. 

It lasted for a few months, but eventually the colors came back. 

You didn’t know how to help him, you knew Angel was hurting then, but the best thing to do for him was to be here and you were. 

Angel never changed towards you, he was always silly, loving, and your Angel. 

But you knew he missed his family as well.

Your glad EZ manned up and spoke to Angel. 

You were in your room, waiting for glasses to break, but you didn’t hear anything. When you came out after EZ left, Angel held you, sleeping on the couch that night. 

And you also loved the artwork you inspired for Angel. 

It always made you smile shyly at him when he would tell you about the artwork you inspired him to do.

They were vibrant, so full of life. They varied as well.

Some were sketches of you that you knew he was doing since he asked you to model for him.

Others were candid sketches he took of you. Some of them you don’t even remember him doing since there was no sketchbook in his hand then.

“It’s from memory baby, EZ isn’t the only one with photographic memory. Though, you’re the most prominent image in my mind, it isn’t hard.”

You would blush and kiss him. 

Angel was too sweet for his own good. 

He didn’t draw often since the club took him away often.

So when he could, he dedicated a day for his artwork

And today was that day. 

While you enjoyed your margarita, Angel was enjoying his beer in his room. 

You wanted to take a peek since he’s been in there since eight this morning and it was already one in the afternoon. 

You figured you should think of making lunch soon, but you weren’t hungry since you and Angel had a big breakfast. 

“Babe!” You called out to Angel who left his door slightly ajar in case you needed him. 

“Yeah?” He answered.

“You hungry?”

There was no response and just as you were about to get up, you felt Angel hold your shoulders down and kiss you. 

“Jesus Christ Angel!” You placed your hand on your chest. 

He sat down next to you, your shirt was now dirty with the paint he was using. 

“Babe, you got my shirt dirty.” You pouted, not really caring, but you loved to give Angel flack every once in a while.

“You mean my shirt?” He teased.

“We’re partners, what’s yours is mine and what’s mine is yours.” You paused. “Except for the GT, that’s all mine.”

Angel laughed. “I swear, you love that car more than me.”

“No, of course not,” you looked at him. “Maybe just a little bit, but you’re still the number person to me.” 

Angel rolled his eyes. “Yeah okay.” He looked at what you were watching before taking a sip of your margarita. “Are you hungry?”

“Not really, but I know you’re a bottomless pit.” 

“I’m not that hungry yet, we can swing by Pop’s store and get a few steaks.”

“We do need some meat, we might as well stock up so we don’t have to go out again.”

“Great idea.” Angel kissed your cheek. “But, before we go, can we do something real quick?”

“Sure.” 

He took your hand and pulled you up. You two made your way towards his art room where there was a plastic table at the center and a LunaBean in the middle. You looked over at Angel who smiled at you.

“Oh god, are you sculpting me again?” 

Angel chuckled. “No, and you literally we’re not complaining the two times we did.”

“Angel, we ended up fucking both times.”

“Like I said, no complaints.”

You laughed. 

You stopped in front of the table, Angel letting go of your hand so he could stand across from you. 

Looking inside the bucket, your nose scrunched up at the mixture below. You weren’t sure what the material was, but it was light pink in color. 

“Um, I’m not sure I want to know what we’re going to do.” You eyed him suspiciously.

Angel chuckled. “Come mi corazon, you trust me?” 

“Um, that’s a hit or miss.” You stuck out your tongue playfully. “Alright, I do, what are we doing baby?”

You love being a part of Angel’s art process. It wasn’t rare you were able to do it, but you were glad you could do it now. 

“Give me your hand.” You gave him your left hand, his right hand intertwining with yours. He dipped your hands inside the bucket till it was on the bottom. “Stay still.” He instructed you.

For five minutes, you and Angel remained still, Angel watching your hands, while you watched him. He was a perfectionist with his art. Everything else, he was laid back, but when it came to art, he was a perfectionist. 

He pulled your hands out, wiping your hands, he handed the cloth to you so he could pour the casting stone mix inside. Once he filled it, he placed the second bucket down and smiled at you.

“Let’s go.”

“Is that supposed to create a mold?”

“Maybe, you kind of moved, so you might have fucked it up.” He teased. 

“You’re so lucky I love you.” 

You two went to Carniceria Reyes, and kept your social distancing as instructed along with your mask. You missed Felipe and the stories he told you about Angel.

How much of a pain of the ass Angel was, but how he was such a sweet kid who always looked out of his younger brother. 

He also told you how much Angel loved drawing more than he did sports, but Angel also liked popularity and art wouldn’t win girls over.

EZ was at the store helping their father as well. 

It’s been a rough year between EZ and Angel, but you were glad that things were better.

“So, am I getting a quarantine niece or nephew?” EZ called out before you two exited the story.

You blushed while Angel just laughed, wrapping his arm around your shoulders. 

When you two arrived home, Angel put the groceries you two decided to get since you two were out anyway. 

You sat back down on the couch, resuming your movie.

Angel eventually joined you and soon, you two fell asleep. 

Angel woke up first, watching you as you slept. His favorite sketches of you were of ones while you were sleeping. You looked so peaceful and carefree. 

He carefully maneuvered you, so he could lay your head on the pillow. 

Once he was certain you wouldn’t wake up, he took his sketchbook, sat on the armchair and began to sketch you. 

A few hours later, you woke up to Angel banging around the kitchen. 

“Babe, if you were trying to wake me up, you’ve succeeded.”

“Good, dinner is ready.”

Angel was a tremendous cook and one of the things you two picked up whenever you were off work was cooking together. It was definitely fun. 

And you may or may not have started painting with Angel, though, he was a strict teacher, sort of. 

You two always ended up naked. 

After dinner, you washed the dishes as Angel busied himself in his art room again. 

His art ventures were usually an all day thing, so you were surprised you two even went out.

But with quarantine, he had more opportunity to work on his art. 

He always told you, art was a process, so you never went inside his room unless there was an emergency.

When you were done, you sat back on the couch and browsed through your phone, seeing what you missed in the social media world while you were asleep. 

“Mi dulce, can you come over here?” You heard Angel call for you.

“Sure babe.” 

You entered the room and found Angel standing beside the plastic table. You joined him, looking down at the molding of your hands together. 

“Babe, this looks amazing.” You studied the molding. Your hands were perfectly intertwined, the details were absolutely amazing. 

You then noticed there was a sketching of you in front of it. Curiously, you picked it up.

You took in the details, always in awe of Angel’s work. 

You loved it when he shared his work with you whenever he finished.

Self-esteem issues were a bitch, but every time you saw a piece Angel did of you, you felt like the most beautiful woman in the world.

Turning it over, there was a note behind it. 

‘Every time I look at you, I’m reminded of our meeting at the carniceria years ago. How you gave me that shy smile, tucking your hair behind your ear, thanking me for the suggestions I made. I began to look forward to your visits, trying to work at my pops’ shop as often as I could just so I could get a glimpse of you. After our first date, I knew this was it for me, which was fucking insane. These past six years have been the happiest I’ve been since my mother passed away. I’m not really certain what I did to deserve your presence, but I’m thankful every day. We’ve had our ups and down, but this quarantine made me realize that you’re the person I want to spend the rest of my life with, especially since you haven’t killed me. I love you, mi vida, mi alma, mi sol, mi todo, will you marry me?’

You looked over at Angel, and he was on his knee, a black velvet box in his hand. 

“Will you marry me, Y/N?” He asked, the nervousness clearly evident on his face. 

“Yes, I’ll marry you.” 

Angel stood up, picked you up and kissed you. You wrapped your arms around him, pulling away so you could bury your face on the crook of his neck.

You couldn’t believe it, it was finally happening. Angel proposed to you. 

Placing you back down on the floor, you smiled up at him, looking back down at your left hand. 

“Fuck, babe, I can’t believe it.” 

“You better, because once this quarantine is done, we’re getting married.”

You laughed.

“Guess we gotta make a new molding once we’re married.” 

“No babe, this can be our memorabilia of the day we got engaged.” 

Angel took one of his thin brushes, writing the date on your hand molding. 

“This is the beginning of our forever.”

Angel smiled. “It’s been us since the first day we met at the carniceria.” He softly began kissing your neck, making you moan. “What do you say we end this day like how we always do during art days?”

You two always ended Angel’s art days with sex. 

You never asked questions, you were a willing participant.

And you were a willing participant again. 

[mst3kproject]

The Phantom from 10 000 Leagues

I found this movie online while looking for From Hell It Came (which I haven’t yet found – someday I will and then you’ll all be sorry) and it looked bad, so I checked out the details.  Turns out it stars Kent Taylor from The Crawling Hand, Cathy Downs from The Amazing Colossal Man, and was written by Lou Rusoff, who was behind It Conquered the World, The She-Creature, and… oh god, he also wrote Ghost of Dragstrip Hollow.  This is gonna suck goat nads.  I must watch it right away.

You shouldn’t picture me groaning when I write stuff like that, by the way.  You should picture me giggling like a maniac and rubbing my hands together with glee.

A monster is killing people at sea near an incredibly bleak and depressing California college town, and the bodies and wrecked boats it leaves in its wake are scorched by radioactivity! Washington sends Agent Grant to find out what’s going on, and he soon discovers that the Pacific College of Oceanography is positively overflowing with suspicious characters.  There’s the reclusive and paranoid Professor King, who is working on weird experiments in his locked laboratory.  There’s King’s assistant George, who follows him around and hides in the bushes to watch what he’s doing.  King’s secretary Ethel blames the professor for the death of her son and wants revenge, and George’s girlfriend Wanda is a foreign agent.  Not to mention the visiting Dr. Stevens, a radiation expert with an unsettling habit of turning up just in time to discover the bodies.  Someone among this motley crew has created a sea monster… and someone else is planning to sell it to the highest bidder!

You know how some movies save their monsters until the last minute, in order to build suspense?  Or because what we imagine is always scarier than what we actually see?  Or because the monster sucks and they’re ashamed of it?  Or some combination of the above?

Phantom from 10 000 Leagues is not one of those movies.  Before we’re even a full minute into it, the monster has appeared on screen in all its ridiculous glory.  Stevens calls it a hideous beast that defies description but I think I can make an attempt.  It looks sort of like the lovechild of a saber-toothed tiger and the Horror of Party Beach.  There’s a ridge down its head and back like an iguana and a poorly-camouflaged window in its neck so the dude inside can see what he’s doing.  The whole costume is also rather buoyant, and the actor is having to work hard to stay underwater.  Sadly, this beast remains lurking in the depths and never shambles out onto the beach to menace sunbathers, which is the only thing it would have needed to make it a perfect bad movie monster.

The creature is not the only nuclear threat in this movie… or even the silliest one!  During an investigatory dive, Stevens discovers a glowing patch on the seafloor which he says represents an ‘activated’ uranium deposit with the potential to form a naturally-occurring death ray!  We finally get to see this in action when stock footage of a ship passes over it – and turns into a different ship that immediately blows up! I’m just sad this only happens once. The glowing stone itself is represented by a mirror with a light shining on it in underwater shots, and by the reflection of the sun when seen from the surface.

So the effects are not special and make an already silly threat even more hilarious.  What about the story?  Like all cheap monster movies, the focus of The Phantom from 10 000 Leagues is not the creature killing people but the investigation into it.  There’s a large number of potential monster-makers here, which could have made the movie a bit messy – but by the time the words The End appear, we know who all these people are, how they’re involved, and what they hope to accomplish.  Even the women are given distinct motivations and personalities, although those fall neatly into the ‘maiden, mother and whore’ tropes I’ve discussed in the past. The dialogue is not exactly subtle, but it seems like I can’t wholly blame Lou Rousoff for Ghost of Dragstrip Hollow.

It’s also nice that, despite the preponderance of White Men In Suits (Stevens and Grant both walk along the beach in suits and ties at all hours of the day and night), the characters all look different enough that I can tell them apart!  None of the cast are great actors, with a lot of stilted or awkward line deliveries, but then, a lot of the things they’re saying are completely ridiculous, so I probably can’t lay that entirely at their feet.

Unfortunately, the plot of Phantom From 10 000 Leagues is rather unfocused, and like so many of these films it’s not sure who its main character is.  It seems like either Agent Grant or Dr. Stevens, who are each conducting some kind of investigation into the goings-on, ought to be the protagonist… but both are introduced in contexts that make them seem potentially suspicious.  Dr. Stevens is actually significantly more suspicious than Grant, because when he first turns up he gives a fake name, and later proves to have actually performed experiments with mutating sea life in the past.  Yet for much of the movie, it’s Stevens we’re watching, as he cozies up to Professor King and flirts with King’s daughter Lois.  He actually gets far more screen time than Grant, with the latter sometimes being out of the movie for long enough that the audience kind of forgets he’s there.

Stevens and Lois’ love story is, as is probably inevitable for a movie of this kind, completely bland.  Kent Taylor and Cathy Downs have no appreciable spark between them, and one gets the uncomfortable impression that he’s about twice her age. The movie never offers even an approximate age for either character, but Lois is still unmarried and living with her father, which in the 1950s suggests she’s in her early twenties.  King describes Stevens as a ‘young man’ but between his appearance and his impressive academic credentials he’s obviously not, and when I looked up the actors I learned that Taylor was forty-eight when The Phantom from 10 000 Leagues was made, while Downs was twenty-nine.  That’s… well, they’re both adults, but he’s still old enough to be her father, and the younger we assume they both are, the worse the two decade gap gets.

Once we actually get to know the characters, the solution to the mysteries is fairly obvious, but this lets us spend some actual time with these men and find out what they think about the situation.  Stevens, who’s been down this road before, wants these terrible experiments to stop before any more people get hurt.  King, hearing about it for the first time, is more excited about what he might be able to learn by building on Stevens’ work. This represents an interesting inversion because if you’ll recall, King is supposed to be significantly older than Stevens (though actor Michael Whelan was actually born only five years before Taylor).

Usually knowledge and wisdom are both associated with age.  This is a very old trope and has some fairly sound logic behind it: the elderly have had longer to learn and to experience.  In Phantom from 10 000 Leagues, however, we have the older Professor King excited by the ground-breaking discoveries made by a younger scientist and wanting to learn more about them, even when the (supposedly) younger Stevens warns him about Tampering in God’s Domain.  Each assumes the role their ages might make us expect of the other.

This is reflected in their respective fields: depending on how you define it, oceanography is as old as mankind.  Humanity has been mapping the seas for as long as we’ve known how to sail across them, and marveling at the monsters we pull from its depths for as long as we’ve been catching fish.  That is the Professor King’s domain. Stevens, on the other hand, is a specifically nuclear scientist. Nuclear physics technically begins with the discovery of radioactivity in the 1890’s, but it seemed like a new and scary field in the 1950s, as the development of atomic weapons forced scientists to take a closer look at the phenomenon’s effect on living tissues. To King, who is an expert in another field, the possibilities of this relatively new work outweigh the potential consequences.

As sloppy and poorly-made as Phantom from 10 000 Leagues can be, this contrast between Stevens and King does make it a movie with something to say.  It of course has the standard moral for a fifties atomic monster piece, about paths science is not meant to tread, but it also wants us to think about that connection between age and wisdom.  On the one hand, King’s interest in Stevens’ work tells us that you’re never too old to learn something new.  On the other, just because somebody is young doesn’t mean they have nothing to teach. If King had taken in Stevens’ wisdom along with his knowledge, a lot of suffering need not have happened.

Even if you’re not into that, the crappy monster, the bad acting, the ridiculous science, and all the sneaking around and backstabbing that goes on makes Phantom from 10 000 Leagues plenty of fun watch.  It’s much like Beginning of the End in that it ticks all the MST3K boxes, while remaining coherent enough that you can enjoy the actual story along with the badness.

[hobbitsetal]

HOBBS I wanna hear your opinions on the entertainment debate pls

Ahahahaha this brings me joy because @throwaninkpot said the same thing! Ask and you shall receive ;)

So. The entertainment debate. Is it sinful for Christians to consume media, particularly media that is not Christian, or indeed contains offensive content? Harry Potter is a popular target. Pokemon and Dungeons and Dragons had their day in the cross-hairs.

What I’ve seen floating around on Tumblr leapfrogs from “this media contains something I think is antithetical to Biblical teaching” to “THIS IS NOT 500% GOD ALL THE TIME SO IT IS SINNNNN.”

As a writer of poetry and fantasy, I cannot convey to you how immature I find this view. As a Christian raised with a healthy understanding of Christian liberty, I cannot convey to you how disgustingly legalistic this view is. But I am absolutely going to try, because this is important and I have seen beloved friends badgered and bullied into questioning harmless pastimes by these anti-gospel gatekeepers.

First and most key, I do not care what you’re watching, your salvation is not contingent on nor indicated by your media consumption. Your salvation is contingent on the love of God and indicated by Christ’s redemptive work and the work of the Holy Spirit.

Romans 10:9-10 outlines the requirement for salvation nicely: “If you confess with your mouth that Jesus is Lord and believe in your heart that God raised him from the dead, you will be saved. For with the heart one believes and is justified, and with the mouth one confesses and is saved.”

There ya go. If you’re watching Game of Thrones, that doesn’t revoke your Christian card. It doesn’t un-sacrifice Christ.

But mentioning Game of Thrones does beg the question, are there things Christians should not watch? I say yes, and Ephesians and Philippians say yes!

“Now this I say and testify in the Lord, that you must no longer walk as the Gentiles do, in the futility of their minds. They are darkened in their understanding, alienated from the life of God because of the ignorance that is in them, due to their hardness of heart. They have become callous and have given themselves up to sensuality, greedy to practice every kind of impurity. But that is not the way you learned Christ!— assuming that you have heard about him and were taught in him, as the truth is in Jesus, to put off your old self, which belongs to your former manner of life and is corrupt through deceitful desires, and to be renewed in the spirit of your minds, and to put on the new self, created after the likeness of God in true righteousness and holiness.”

“Let no corrupting talk come out of your mouths, but only such as is good for building up, as fits the occasion, that it may give grace to those who hear.”

“Finally, brothers, whatever is true, whatever is honorable, whatever is just, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is commendable, if there is any excellence, if there is anything worthy of praise, think about these things.”

That’s a giant block of text, so let’s break it down a bit. Before we are saved, sin doesn’t bother us. Sexually explicit materials, foul language, violence, depravity of every kind--we might personally not love it, but there’s no deep-seated moral argument against it.

After we have been saved, the Holy Spirit convicts us and reveals to us through Scripture how God wants us to live. Sex is holy and should be treated as an important thing. Foul language doesn’t build others up, so we shouldn’t use it. Violence is not loving, so we should not be violent.

How does this relate to media?

I would argue that it relates differently for different people, but that the effect of the media you consume on your spiritual life and your relationships with others is your best gauge.

I knew a young man who was deeply affected by music, so he was careful to listen to Christian artists lest he be tempted into sin by immoral lyrics. I don’t have that problem. I can listen to a song and not think more deeply about it than whether it’s a fun beat.

What about books? I do need to be careful here. Some people can read books with suggestive content and skip past those scenes, without temptation or without their imaginations being led astray. I can’t. So I don’t read romance novels. I would not glorify God with this.

TV shows, art, and movies are all similar: how do they affect you personally? I stopped watching the Battlestar Galactica reboot because the language and sexual content convicted me. But I watched The Witcher with my husband--partly because I’m at a different stage in my life and what stumbled me as a single adult is no longer as problematic now that I’m married, and partly because the subtle pro-life themes and the themes of good and evil and objective right and wrong outweigh the objectionable content.

Romans 14, to me, speaks most clearly to this:

“One person esteems one day as better than another, while another esteems all days alike. Each one should be fully convinced in his own mind. The one who observes the day, observes it in honor of the Lord. The one who eats, eats in honor of the Lord, since he gives thanks to God, while the one who abstains, abstains in honor of the Lord and gives thanks to God. For none of us lives to himself, and none of us dies to himself. For if we live, we live to the Lord, and if we die, we die to the Lord. So then, whether we live or whether we die, we are the Lord’s. For to this end Christ died and lived again, that he might be Lord both of the dead and of the living.”

I would not watch certain movies with certain family members, but I would with others. This is not hypocrisy because I don’t pretend that I don’t watch those movies; I make a choice to respect my family’s consciences when they differ from mine.

Were some friends to express dismay that I play Dungeons and Dragons or read Harry Potter, I would explain to them why I’m comfortable with that media, but I wouldn’t shove it in their faces.

~~~

This is dreadfully long already, but I can’t just stop with explaining our liberty in Christ to enjoy media and art.

We are made in the image of God. God is the Great Artist, the Supreme Storyteller, the Maker of Music. We were made to create art, to tell stories, to make music! This is part of how we glorify God! This is what we will spend eternity doing! Do you think Tolkien has stopped writing because he’s in Heaven? or Lewis?

And what is the greatest joy of a creator but sharing? God created us to share Himself with us--not out of need, for He needs nothing, but out of joy and the fullness of His Divine nature! And we, who are needy and who are made to be social in reflection of the Trinity, how much more do we want to share and rejoice in sharing!

As a writer, I love having people read what I write. And conversely, I love hearing my friends’ music and seeing their art.

Those who consume media are taking their rightful place as Audience. Those who create media are taking their rightful place as Sub-Creator.

And those who claim that media is sinful are cramming God into a pitifully tiny box and trying to limit human experience to the blandest existence possible. God did not craft sunsets and constellations and the whole of human history for us to look at each other and say, “Better not enjoy this, it’s probably sinful.”

As Martin Luther allegedly said, “Beer is proof God loves us.”

Enjoy stories. It’s what God created us to do.

[emmy-writes-sometimes]

Dreams

After a dream about you, your co-star Chris has been avoiding you. When you confront him about why he’s avoiding you, he tells you something surprising.

-

           Chris shot awake, gross and sweating, and he was so fast that the dog beside him barked, thinking there was an intruder of some kind. Chris sighed, his hand moving in the darkness to calm down the panting dog.

           “Sorry, buddy,” Chris said to the dog. He rolled over to look at the time - 5:24 AM. He only had a few minutes before his alarm, but he was going to have to take an extra long, very cold shower. He’d had dreams like this before, but not over a co-star. Not over someone he wasn’t dating. Not over someone, well, you. He thought you were pretty, of course, he thought you were gorgeous. He thought you were one of the sweetest people he’s ever met. He thought there might be something there, but dear God, he’d never thought about something so intensely that he needed a cold shower at 5:30 in the morning. He had to see you in a couple of hours, too, and the scene you were shooting had you wearing clothes that made him feel… He wasn’t going to finish thinking about you.

           He went on about his morning, trying to get the image of you doing those things to him and with him, but it was hard. It was especially hard when he got in his car and smelled your perfume from where you’d gone to lunch the day before. It was sweet, like you, and reminded him of your delicate hands and your smile and, oh, really, Chris? he thought. Get yourself together. You’re working together, not having sex, so stop thinking about it. He turned on his 80’s playlist as loud as his Bluetooth would go and tried to forget about it, at least until he got to set.

           Your car was already there, probably because you spent way more time in hair and makeup than he did, and he mentally prepared himself to see you before he walked into the trailer. You were sitting there, getting your hair done, scrolling through your phone as your favorite Cranberries song filled the trailer. You were wearing a t-shirt that was far too big on you and a pair of athletic shorts that were just a little bit too short, and Chris could already feel himself going into shock.

           “Hey!” You said to him, giving him a smile. “I got the coffee you suggested.” He smiled.

           “Really? Do you like it?”

           “Oh, it’s fantastic.” He laughed and his makeup artist came up to him, grumbling him about his hair. Usually the two of you carried conversations across the room, laughing so loudly that people had to tell you that it was too early to be like that, but today he was quiet. He stuck his AirPods in and said he was listening to an audiobook, and your heart sank a little bit. Lately he’d been giving you little hints that he liked you, which was fantastic because you liked him too. But the sudden silence made you a little sad. He was one of your best friends, and considering that you had almost every scene together, you figured that he would be a little more friendly. But you understood. He went through days where he just needed to focus on himself or on something else so he didn’t get burned out, so you just let him be.

           You were the first one ready, and you gave him a little smile when you were getting ready to go to wardrobe. He only gave it back halfway, and it made you a little sad. You touched his shoulder on the way out, since the trailer was so narrow, and walked out into the sunlight.

           “Was it just me or was he acting weird?” You asked your hair stylist, who was going to help you fix your hair after putting your costume on.

           “Oh, he was acting weird,” she responded. “Definitely.”

           “Glad I’m not the only one who thinks so. I wonder if I did something to piss him off. He was fine after lunch yesterday, and he responded to the Tik Tok I sent him. So I don’t know if I just pissed him off or what.”

           “I’m sure you didn’t. He probably just likes you. Guys are mean when they like you.” You rolled your eyes.

           “My mom says the same thing. It’s usually just ‘cause they’re assholes. I just don’t know what I did,” you sighed. You reached the wardrobe trailer and went to put your costume on, quite honestly forgetting all about Chris, at least for a few minutes. You dreaded seeing him on set again, just because you didn’t know what the hell was going on.

           “Alright, we did this scene a few weeks ago, we have our fight choreographers on, we have doubles in the event that one of you gets hurt, just let us know if you need it,” the director said to you and Chris as you took your marks. The red electrical tape had you just a foot away from Chris, who wasn’t looking at you. At all.

           “Chris?” You asked, elbowing him slightly to get his attention. “Marks.”

           “Right,” he muttered. He wasn’t looking at you, still, and you were beginning to get frustrated.

           “We’re going in three...” The director started counting down from three and you moved your hands to where they needed to be. Your character was punching and Chris’s was blocking, and even though it was a few days ago you still remembered everything. You did what you were supposed to do, at least you thought you were doing what you were supposed to, but evidently not because they called cut. You sighed, tightening the ponytail a little.

           “Chris, you’re not on the mark, try and get a little closer, you can ignore the marks for now while we’re getting most of these!” Chris took the direction, and when he looked at you there was something weird about it. Like he was annoyed at your very presence. You huffed right as the cameras started rolling, doing a second take. They called cut because this time you weren’t on the mark. You must have done it five or six more times, just the one shot, which was way more than you usually had to do.

           “Why are you acting so weird?” You asked Chris as they decided to set up another angle. You held your pose so that could see everything properly, but you were glaring at Chris like you wanted an answer. Because you did want an answer.

           “No idea what you’re talkin’ about, sweetheart,” Chris grumbled back.

           “That! That’s exactly what I mean!” You said, holding your arms out like it would make him realize how stupid he was being. “Why are you acting like an asshole?”

           “Maybe I am an asshole, did you ever think of that?”

           “We’ve been working together for six months and you haven’t even come off as one once, so unless you’re going through some severe personality changes, you’re acting like an ass. Did I say something?” He blocked your punch when the director called action, and as soon as they cut the shot you were moving on to the next step. This was where your characters were supposed to give up fighting and kiss each other, but you had a feeling that wasn’t going to happen, at least willingly.

           “No,” he responded with a shrug. You did the next shot in only a couple of takes, and now it was time for the kiss. You had never had a problem doing them before, mostly because usually you weren’t in a position as weird as this one, and you weren’t fighting with your co-star. But, then again, up until that morning, everything between you and Chris had been fine.

           “Just tell me what I fucking did!” You said loudly, pushing him away from you. His damn cologne didn’t allow you to breathe, no matter how much you wanted to breathe it and only it.

           “Alright, what’s going on, you two?” The director asked. He left his chair and walked over to the two of you as the crew resumed setting the shot up again. “Really. Come on. You’ve never had a problem.”

           “Ask him,” you responded, arms crossed, “because whatever it is it’s his problem. I’m just trying to get this scene done.”

           “Oh, of course you’d fuckin’ say that,” Chris said as he rolled his eyes. His Boston accent came out loud and proud, like it did when he was drunk or angry.

           “Okay, both of you! You’re fighting like kids!”

           “He started it,” you explained. “I don’t even know what’s going on and I’m asking him.” Your director sighed, pinching his fingers at the bridge of his nose. He looked at you and then Chris, who was standing there, arms crossed, looking smug as hell.

           “You two need to work this out for yourselves. Take an hour break and be back here after lunch. If the two of you aren’t worked out, I’ll call your doubles in. And you know what that means?”

           “Re-shoots?” You asked. He nodded.

           “Re-shoots. Now go, and don’t come back here if you’re going to act like kids. You’re like my twelve year-olds, God.” You started walking away and grabbed onto Chris’s arm. Some part of him wanted to come with you because he didn’t resist. If he didn’t want to come, he wouldn’t have moved, and you would have been knocked onto the floor. You brought him out to the parking lot, but he didn’t stop walking. He walked into his trailer, sighing, and shut the door behind him. You rolled your eyes, knocking, and he opened the door.

           “You’re being such a diva,” you said. “Chris, why are you acting like such a fucking-”

           “Just a bad day,” he sighed.

           “That’s a lie.”

           “No, it’s not.” His voice was so defensive that you could tell he was lying. “Fine. You’re pretty.”

           “What? I mean, I’m flattered, but what?” He sighed.

           “Not how that should’ve come out. I think you’re really pretty, and evidently, so does my body.”

           “What?” You were even more confused and tugged at your hair, trying to make sense of what he was saying. “Stop being so cryptic!”

           “I had a sex dream about you, okay?!” He exclaimed, so loudly that someone outside the trailer could probably have heard. Your first reaction shouldn’t have been to laugh, but it was. And then he was looking at you and he was actually blushing.

           “Okay,” you said, “so are you going to explain further?”

           “Why would I do that?”

           “Because you brought it up.” You crossed your arms and sat down on the bench seat. He walked over to his coffee maker, probably to get another cup. “Chris, it’s fine. Just tell me.”

           “We were doing, well, things, as us, not like in the movie, like, seriously, and you were calling me sir, and…”

           “Chris.”

           “It’s not as gross as it sounds. I mean, actually, it was, but it means that I like you because I do and I don’t know what to do about it, so I had a fucking sex dream instead of telling you I like you, so now we’re stuck in this mess and I feel like I’m going to get hard every time I look at you!” He was speaking so quickly that you could barely understand what he was saying. You sighed.

           “You should’ve told me you liked me,” you responded.

           “Well, I’m dumb.”

           “Yeah, you are kind of a meathead. I like you too, and this could’ve been much easier if you’d just said it out loud. Because now I’m imagining things I’m not sure I want to imagine.”

           “Ouch.” That was the first smile he’d given you all day.

           “I didn’t mean it like that.”

           “Or did you?” You stood up and crossed the small trailer to him, making him turn to look at you. He had the coffee carafe in his hand and put it down to look at you.

           “What I’m saying is that I’m not so sure I would hate doing those things you were describing. But I’d really like it if we could, like, go on a date first or something. Maybe lunch?” Chris nodded, swallowing, and looked into your eyes.

           “I’m sorry for acting like that. I just didn’t know how to handle it. Lunch sounds good.”

           “I’ll meet you back here in five?” He nodded. You started to walk out of the trailer, but you turned toward him. Your had your eyes on the place that you probably shouldn’t, and smirked. “By the way, I usually say Daddy, not sir.”

           “Oh, come on!” You walked out of the trailer, grinning.

A/N: I LOVED writing this! It was borderline 18+, but I think I was crafty enough to avoid that! 

Taglist (if you’d like to be added, send me a message!): @an-adventureland, @firstangeldragonranch, @ssebstann, @winterreader-nowwriter