#He's also been reading some dodgy stuff online I think

[probablybadrpgideas]

The reason the Call of Cthulhu verse is so horrifying is that Azathoth is having a nightmare :( Get him some calming tea and tell him a nice story to make everything much nicer.

[monte-charlo]

Hey I'm new to F1 and I was wondering why you don't like max? He seems chill to me but not sure if I'm missing something

So anon firstly, welcome to the madness that is being an f1 fan, its more heartbreak than anything else but it beats the epic highs and lows of highschool football so ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

(if you are a mv0 fan and you decide to press keep reading and you then get upset, thats on you, learn to curate your online experiences)

So Max: I'll preface this by saying tl:dr last season was a farce. his win was orchestrated to stop lewis getting his 8th wdc because they hate a black man being the bigger than the sport itself, and he is a human error champion that doesn't have the self-awareness to realise it.

I have to admit, I disliked him from his start in f1. You know how some people just rub you up the wrong way? I also absolutely despise red bull because thats just how sport works so it was an instant NO for me. Then strike two was the way people talked about him when he started, waxing lyrical as if he was gods gift to mankind, and i just never saw it?? He was (and is) overly an aggressive, dangerous and very angry driver, but seems to get away with his temper tantrums and dodgy moves all the time. People call Lewis crymilton but have you heard max on the radio when things aren’t going his way?

Then over the years there has been a heap of off track stuff. Max has said some pretty horrific things, misogynistic, ableist and racist remarks that get brushed aside as a 'cultural' thing. sorry dutchies but i don't think thats the cultural aspects you want to be defending. Also his dad is his greatest role model and the person he looks up to as if he isn’t a convicted woman abuser and just general scum. he was also super abusive to max growing up, but he gets praised for that because people romanticise child abuse as the thing that turned max in to the driver he is today, sad really because theyre basically saying he wouldn't be where he is today if he had grown up in a loving and supportive household

And lastly, my country has a complicated history with the dutch to start with so he was probably never going to be my favourite even if it wasnt for all the above.

i just don't fuck with him, sorry, but if you like him and find him chill, by all means support him, thats the beauty of getting to chose your faves (but you probably dont want to follow me then, because i will continue hating on the human error champ lol)

[ghastmaskzombie]

let me tell you a story. it’s a story about anime.

long ago, bro went through a period i can only describe as his First Great Summer of Anime. he spent every waking hour streaming anime from dodgy sites. everything he could find. he was probably about fourteen at the time, and discovering a whole new medium for the first time, so obviously there were some things of questionable quality in there. last month* he told about an awful show that he watched a whole season of, desperately hoping it would get better, because the opening was just that good. but there were also some of the great classics in there.

i was almost entirely unaware of this at the time. i didn’t really know what anime was yet. i only knew it from bad dubs like cardcaptors and yu-gi-oh, or western cartoons cashing in on the craze like kappa mikey and hi hi puffy amiyumi. and i didn’t really know where the line was. i just didn’t know how much bigger the medium of animation was in japan. and i was kind of off in my own little world in those days, anyway.

so when he would tell me about the stuff he was watching, my response was always to politely nod and say something like ‘that’s nice, bro.’ at least, i hope it was. it would be now. i might have been a rude bitch back then. but there is one show i remember from that time, although i didn’t for a lot of years. i think i saw a clip of it over his shoulder once. two robots were throwing galaxies at each other. it looked absurd and stupid. bro told me some things about 'spiral energy' that didn’t make any sense to me. i didn’t really care. so i didn’t really remember.

years passed. slowly, i came over to the weeb side. some of it was revisiting old nostalgia, with the proper, subbed** version this time. some of it was the overlap between my obsession with webcomics and bro’s interest in reading manga online. most of it was just cultural osmosis facilitating the inevitable.

i watched promare with my father when it hit theatres. it’s crazy how it came to that but that’s a story for another time. anyway, after seeing all those jokes about the return of someone called ‘kamina’ online, i decided to finally look into an old-ish show that i’d heard a lot about, called gurren lagann. bro heartily encouraged me to do so. it seemed important to him for some reason.

the show started with an obvious hero, obviously at a point late in the narrative, standing on the deck of a spacecraft and saying ‘if all the lights in the sky are our enemies, we’ll still keep fighting to the end.’ and then it stepped back to the beginning of the story.

drills were a recurring theme. spiral designs kept recurring in meaningful places. there was a lot of mech fighting. the heroes got another, even bigger mech, and then yet another mech, bigger still. their power grew exponentially, driven by a mysterious energy that came directly from their fighting spirit. not even halfway through the series, they came to what by all rights should have been the final battle, for the freedom of all of humanity. i wondered how much further they could go. and in that moment i remembered.

i cried, just a bit, during the (actual) final battle of gurren lagann. i won’t pretend its message was deep, or subtle, or bold. but what it said, it said beautifully. it was moving for the same reason that a sweet song in a language you don’t speak is moving. it didn’t matter what the words were. it spoke in the language of raw emotion, of determination and unyielding hope, of last stands and last chances. and in that moment, i understood.

it had already been years since i had anything but adoration for anime, but only with that show did i understand why it had all mattered so much to bro back then. for is it not written, “seeing, contrary to popular wisdom, isn’t believing. it’s where belief stops, because it isn’t needed anymore”? bro doesn’t let media move him like i do. but i know he felt awe and wonder, for much the same reasons i felt all the things i felt. and he was with me as i watched it, to see how it struck me, to experience it for the first time again through me, to see me make that connection to him across the years... truly, the greatest thing i could ever say of a work of fiction is that it connected me to something real.

i don’t really remember where i was going with this. i may have passed it and kept going. but i think i’m satisfied with where i ended up.

*q **i have a neutral stance on subs vs. dubs (this is not the same as having no stance). i watch dubs all the time. but trust me, there were some bad dubs back then.

[incoherentbabblings]

An Endless Hope (1/9)

After a horrendous blizzard falls over Gotham, Tim undergoes a sharp change in character before disappearing. Upon discovering what has become of him, Stephanie sets off on a solo journey in a magic realm to bring him home, meeting some faces which seems awfully familiar along the way.

New fic time! Archive Of Our Own Link Click Click!

“Can’t believe he’s gonna be forty-five.”

“I know, right?”

“Bruce’ll be an old man soon.”

Tim tutted, herding Stephanie down an aisle with the metal cart he was pushing. “Don’t tell him that.”

Stephanie scoffed. “What? Has he got a younger clone of himself in a giant egg somewhere ready to pop when someone utters those words?”

Tim stopped pushing the cart, turned ninety degrees, and gave Steph an indescribable look.

“I was being sarcastic, Tim.”

Tim said nothing, then slowly rotated back to push the empty cart, Stephanie trailing behind.

They’d gone to the garden centre because Stephanie was willing to look everywhere and anywhere for inspiration for Bruce’s upcoming birthday. Tim, ever dutiful, followed along. It was a rubbish time of year to go to a garden centre – late January – as the entire place was filled with on sale Christmas decorations and half dead flowers that would no doubt complete their journey to the grave if buried in the frigid soil. The poor choice of plants was reflected in the number of customers, of which there were maybe three others trailing up and down the greenhouse aisles.

“I guess that’s not fair,” Stephanie continued to voice to the relative silence, only the distant tinny music and the dodgy wheel squeaking as they rolled along filled the lulls in conversation. “That would make Alfred positively decrepit.”

“And that he is not.” Tim said very firmly.

“No…Oooh?” Stephanie became distracted. “Oh, Tim look at these!”

Heaving the cart round the corner after her with an almighty sigh, he found her standing next to small potted flowering plants. Stephanie was pilfering through them, looking for particular colours.

Tim peered at one of the little cards slotted in the soil and chortled.

“Roses? Really? Steph I’m not sure roses are gonna cut it for Bruce’s forty-fifth.”

“Oh, don’t worry about that you big baboon—”

“’Scuse you.”

“– I’m looking at these for us, not him.”

Tim gazed at Stephanie. Stephanie, in her bright blue hand knitted beanie that she had made for herself over the Christmas break to distract from finals. Stephanie, in an oversized fluorescent plastic jacket (the kind that belonged in an early episode of Power Rangers) that somehow managed to make her look twice as wide than she truly was. Stephanie, with her flushed cheeks from the cold and little pearly teeth showing off in a big grin, golden hair bunched up into two pigtails that fell down her back.

Tim couldn’t help it; he melted a little at the sight of her.

“You’re staring.” She murmured, not looking away from her task.

Tim sucked on his teeth. “Maybe I want to. That allowed?”

“Sure. You have my permission.”

“Gracious.”

Tim pecked her on the cheek, causing Stephanie to laugh like a snorting pig. With a little happy noise, she found the two plants she wanted. One lilac and one deep red bunch. They didn’t look like ordinary roses to Tim, not like the kind you would pick up from a convenience store in a small bundle for an anniversary. No, these roses were flatter and broader, and he could see a number of buds on both sets of plants.

“I want these.” Stephanie said. “Help me pick two nice boxes to put them in?”

“Do we have space on the windowsill?”

They didn’t have a garden. Not truly. Though Tim’s apartment did allow roof access, it was not really the place to be growing a little garden. They also didn’t really have a balcony to fill with plant pots. Places for greenery were limited in their home.

“They’ll fit.”

Tim nodded, and she sat them down in the cart. A moments silence passed, and she pouted.

Sighing, Tim breathed, “What is it?”

“Ask me why I want them.”

Nodding with his entire torso, Tim moved off, heading towards glazed plant pots and boxes.

“Why do you want them?”

“’Cause they’re pretty.” She skipped after him and saw as he ran his tongue along his teeth, amused at her glib nature. “Aaaaaand, I wanna do an experiment.”

“Experiment?”

“Yes. I gathered you like those.”

“Steph.” His tone was a gentle warning.

“’Kay, ‘kay. Sorry. I just thought…” She paused, tapping her nails against a terra cotta pot. The sound was nice to listen to. “Well, you know how people say you should live together before you get married? To make sure you can actually stand being around each other twenty-four-seven?”

Tim clenched his jaw and nodded. “Yes?”

Stephanie said nothing, gnawing her lip. Tim tried to comfort her, to reassure her, by smiling, but even he felt it come across more like a grimace. Setting the empty pot back down, Steph leaned over and selected two narrow glazed boxes, ones long and slim enough to slot on their windowsill.

“It’s the same with kids. You gotta do a test run first. A proper test run. And I don’t mean what I did when I was fifteen.” She laughed uncomfortably, then looked very sad. Tim went to grab her hand, but she snatched it back and snorted, bravado back in place. “It’s a challenge. We can’t have a kid until we can keep a pet –”

Tim couldn’t help it, he finally butt in, exclaiming, “Who said we’re having children?”

But Stephanie soldiered on, “—And we can’t keep a pet until we can look after a plant. Both of us.”

“I… I’m nineteen Steph. We can get a plant in ten years or so.”

Weird conversation.

Stephanie sighed, setting the plant pots in the cart. “I feel old. Much older than twenty sometimes.”

“We’ve been through more than what some people experience in a lifetime.”

She patted his cheek. “I guess so.”

“You can still be a kid.” Tim said later as they loaded up his car. No luck with finding anything for Bruce, but at least their living room windowsill would look nice. “There’s no timeline for this kind of stuff. Well, in your own head at least… society may side eye it but honestly –”

Stephanie slapped the trunk down with a loud slap and changed the subject. “I’ll think of something else. Don’t suppose he’d want a scarf or anything?”

“If you made him one Steph, I’d think he’d like that.”

“Huh.” They both got in the car, Tim in the driver’s seat, Stephanie googling nearby craft stores. “There’s a thought. I can pick up some nice wool round campus on Monday.”

Tim paused after he lit the ignition, eyebrows furrowed in thought. A moment passed, then he turned the car back off, and rotated to look Stephanie in the eye. Warily, she watched him.

“You mean it,” He asked, “about the whole plant thing?”

She growled, growing defensive. “I want to look after something and do it well. Sue me that it’s just starting off with a plant.”

“No, no. I get that. I mean do you not feel like a kid anymore?”

The bubbling anger melted away, and she cooed sympathetically. “Do you?”

“Did I ever?” Huffing, he tapped the steering wheel, then he looked distinctly guilt ridden. “No. That’s not fair. I did. Especially compared to you.”

“My childhood was mediocrely bad, Tim, but I did have one.” She tugged his earlobe. Tim frowned at her downplaying her pain, as always. It was impossible to get her to be serious about herself nowadays. Tim’s pain she took seriously. Cassandra’s pain she took seriously. Damian’s pain she took seriously. Her own pain though… “No comparing hurt. How does that help you or me?”

“I know, I know,” He conceded. Then he was silent, musing something still.

Stephanie’s hand moved from his ear to his jaw, cradling it. Lowering her tone, she asked,

“Where’s your head taken you?”

“I’m gonna be twenty this July.”

“Mhhmm! It’s a big one. The end of your teenage years.”

“I just… don’t know if we’ve got to do everything we should have done. I mean, so much of our adolescence was taken up with…” He trailed off. “And what makes an adult an adult anyway? I mean, look at Bruce.”

“I try not to.”

Tim actually giggled. “I just mean, he has the emotional maturity of a ten-year-old.” A sudden idea came to Tim, and he perked up in his usual manner once hit by his clever notions. “Hey, how about we travel over the summer?”

“What?”

Tim started the car back up and began the drive to his apartment on Park Row.

“It’s your final year at college, and you’ll be turning twenty-one in August. I’ve got my twentieth in July. Let’s do one last hurrah. Go to Disneyland.”

As they exited the parking lot Stephanie burst out laughing.

“Is that what childhood is? A trip to Disneyland?”

“No!” He exclaimed, face red. “No, that’s not what I meant… I just mean… I just mean…”

“Be selfish for a while. Forget all those responsibilities for a few weeks?”

“Yeah. You deserve that.” Breathing a sigh of relief, he smiled. Stephanie had a knack for cutting through to the bone of an issue. She understood what he was trying to say.

“So do you.” She smiled and tapped his cheek fondly, then settled in for the drive.

They got stuck for twenty minutes trying to cross from one island to another, but it didn’t bother either of them. Stephanie playfully being bad at singing at whatever nineteen eighties anthem came on over the radio. Tim knew she was just playing. She was as good a singer as she was a pianist – unpractised and a little clumsy – but it caused Tim to stop and watch every time. Her screeching to Take on Me was not her best effort, but it made Tim smile all the same.

She snatched the keys and rushed inside when they got back, leaving Tim to trundle behind her, balancing pots and flowers in his arms.

“I seriously have to look after this plant?” He moaned. With a grunt he got down on the floor by the window, setting everything out in place.

“Yes,” muttered Stephanie, throwing towels on the floor and reading instructions online of how to transfer plants from pot to pot. She had thought ahead – for once – and realised that maybe flinging dirt around would damage the living room rug.

Stephanie had moved into his apartment last August, about four months after they had returned to being a couple. For honest and goodness for real this time.

Dick and Babs had made many a teasing (but fond) comment. Cassandra and Duke had been happy, but largely unaffected by the decision. Damian had not been impressed. Jason really didn’t care.

Bruce had said nothing, which was somehow more worrying than his usual disapproving grunts.

So they had, for the most part, been left to it. Stephanie had swiftly turned the apartment (and the Nest) into as much her space as Tim’s. He didn’t mind, as she had a knack for clutter which made the town house feel less like a base and more like a home. Nothing made him feel more happy than coming home from Wayne Enterprises to see Steph sat on the floor, battered laptop on the coffee table, highlighted pages and mugs scattered everywhere, as she screwed up her face trying to write another essay on John Locke and Jean Jacques Rousseau’s theories on social contracts. The normality was an anchor, one he had so desperately needed in recent years.

Stephanie, meanwhile, had relished the chance to have her own space. To leave her mother had been hard, harder than she had realised at first, but it wasn’t like she wasn’t on the phone with her twice a week, and still compelled to attend scrabble night every Friday (Tim semi reluctantly in tow occasionally). She just hadn’t realised how difficult it would be to leave again. Even if it was, this time, under totally normal circumstances. Every kid has to move out, right? And it’s not like she’d never see her mother again, right? Stephanie’s mother was an adult, she could take care of herself. Steph wasn’t needed to watch her night and day.

But still, there were days when she craved her mother’s morning waffles, or warm shaky hugs.

Tim was a pretty good substitute though.

Speaking of, Tim crawled over to her, snuggle bug that he was, not so subtly looking for affection. He grabbed one of her pigtails and tugged the elastic off so he could braid her hair. She really had let it grow to a ridiculous length, long enough for Bruce and Babs both to chide her. One day it would get caught, or someone would grab it, or it would catch fire or something. The honest reason for letting it grow was…well it was embarrassing and shallow.

Steph sat quietly, letting Tim very carefully and methodically Dutch braid her hair, as she read. Even now, after several months reunited, she could tell he was still testing boundaries. Not just with what she was comfortable with, but also himself. Casual intimacy. Frightening stuff. Well, maybe for him. Steph adored the attention and giving attention in return. Tim’s affections were not to be tolerated, or even endured. They were something to enjoy and indulge in. They were something to grow obsessively fond over, especially after the dry spell of their late teen years. She had got it back and was not going to let it go again so easily.

So, she let him hold her hand whenever he reached for it. She let him lean against her during long hours of stakeout during patrol. She let him kiss her whenever he wanted. She wanted it too. Constantly. Like she was playing catch up with the last three years.

Tim finished one braid then shuffled around so he could start the second. Stephanie sat still until he finished his task, then signalled for him to pay attention as she moved her lilac roses into their new home. He observed carefully, as Tim never half-assed anything, then he cautiously began to pack fresh soil into his glazed box. Stephanie watched him and his concentrated face. Furrowed brows, chewed lips, unsure but steady fingers. Very slow. Very methodical. Textbook job.

He looked at her when he was done though, expectant of some sort of comment. Still desperate for approval.

“Good.” She said, raising her eyebrows. She sat the two boxes on the windowsill, slotting them into place. “Now don’t let it die.”

*****

“Before you all head out for the night, I believe you have some gifts that require opening Master Bruce.”

Bruce peered over the half-eaten slice of cake Alfred had baked yesterday evening and swallowed dryly.

“Right.”

Tim could tell Bruce was just a little disappointed at the showing for his birthday. He would never admit it, no, no, but still. Dick, Jason, and Babs’ absence was noted. They had been good though and posted their presents ahead of time. Well, Dick and Babs had. Jason had sent a card. Which was both more than he had done some years and less for others, so the family all took a card as a good thing. Babs had wrapped up a large basket of bat memorabilia that would unironically get usage up and downstairs.

Dick had forwarded a photo album. Bruce’s lower lip had wobbled (once) on the first page, then he did not look any further into the album and shut it. Probably would cry over it at four am later this morning bundled up in bed. Or at least that’s what Tim imagined he would do.

Cassandra had made an actual teapot during her day classes. It was very cute, albeit just a little lumpy. Damian had done a painting. Duke had bought a pair of nice cufflinks. Tim had been as subtle as a brick to a glass greenhouse and had bought two vouchers for a fishing trip. Bruce had noted to check his diary tomorrow, hearing the pleading in the present for alone time.

Stephanie rested her present reverently on the table in front of Bruce. He eyed it and her a little suspiciously, which Tim tried not to get offended over on Steph’s behalf. He knew she had worked stinking hard on the present. Harder than anything she had ever made for herself. Not as hard as the gloves she had made Tim late last year though. No, he had seen her cursing up a storm trying to get those black and red fingerless mittens right, but she had – just in time for Christmas.

Point was, Stephanie worked hard when she sewed/knitted/embroidered, and Tim hoped Bruce wouldn’t do anything too callous when he opened the gift.

She had indeed knitted a grey-blue zig zag patterned scarf. It was thick, warm, and long. She had carefully embroidered the edges with golden thread. It was nothing short of a labour of love.

Bruce saw this, did the thing where his lip quivered, and quietly thanked Stephanie.

“Happy Birthday!” She replied, smiling brightly.

“It’s very well made.”

“I tried.” She teased gently. Tim squeezed her hand.

“Can I see?” Duke asked, to which Bruce handed it over. Duke whistled. “Can I get one too?”

“Sure.” Stephanie shrugged, still grinning. “It will cost you though.”

“Aw, no fair.”

The wind picked up then, howling louder than it had all day. The windows of the manor creaked, and even in the dark, everyone could see the sudden blizzard that had begun.

“Snow?” Cass asked. “Since when?”

“The weather does that. It changes.” Duke noted with a shrug. Even so, he seemed to regret speaking the more the wind screamed.

“No. Not like this. Rain sure. Sleet sure. Not a blizzard.” Tim peered out the window. “That doesn’t come from nowhere.”

Tim watched as there was already a solid layer of ice on the floor, the snow less like fluffy crystals and more like hail. The skies above churned rolled up clouds. It was harsh and ugly.

“No way.” Duke murmured, seeing the weather deteriorate.

Stephanie did not miss Bruce silently sigh at his pile of presents, the physical proof of how fortunate his life had become in recent years, despite the sometimes oppressive setbacks. It was just a moment, then the Bat was in place.

“Let’s head out. This doesn’t look natural. Split up and hunt for causes. Manmade or otherwise. Help anyone who seems stranded.”

Damian finally piped up. “Are we splitting into pairs?”

He crept towards Stephanie. Without Dick in Gotham she remained the person he was most keen (if Damian could be such a thing) to work alongside. Bruce notwithstanding.

“Damian go with Duke. Cassandra with me. Stephanie and Tim.”

Well never mind.

Stephanie pinched Damian’s cheek, and he groaned and twitched away, running downstairs.

They all made their way to the cave, Alfred opening up the clock, when Stephanie looked back, seeing Tim was still stood, still as a statue, watching through the glass.

“Tim?” She called.

His right hand twitched, hanging limp next to his thigh, at the sound of her voice. Almost reluctantly, he replied,

“…Yeah?”

“Ready to go?”

She held out her hand for him to take, though he was still looking out the window. Slowly he turned at the hips, head remaining still, staring at the storm. When her hand found his, he shuddered, like the warmth of her fingers and palm shot straight through his arm and up through his chest and head. He finally whipped round to look at her and smiled tightly.

“Ready. Sorry.”

Stephanie said nothing and pulled him away from the window.

[leakedinlondon]

i cannot agree about CA being innocent. she literally had deleted Google searches like “fool proof suffocation” and extensive searches for chloroform on the day of the death. told the cops she had talked to Caylee the day she was reported missing, even though she was long dead, said she worked at Universal studios, and didn't admit the truth until she had failed to show them her desk. she told them Caylee had a nanny (whose name was literally Zanny, after Casey's drug of choice) that had taken and killed her. even if the cause of death was drowning like some people say, then why the duct tape? that for me cements the idea that this was not just negligence turned into a cover up. there was a lot of evidence kept out of the trial (like the Google searches) that I think really hurt the chances of her being convicted.

Aokay imma break this down point by point i’m not trying to be mean this is just my opinion and i find this case v interesting so pls don't take this as me attacking u or anything💖 this ended up very long so here’s a read more

The google searches

So basically I’m not under the impression the chloroform searches happened the same day Caylee died if I’m remembering correctly, what they did correlate with was a post her boyfriend made on Myspace (facebook maybe????) which was basically a meme that said ‘win her over with chloroform’. she sees the post, googles chloroform, then the immediate search she makes after this is ‘self defence’

the foolproof suffocation one is dodgy af and hard to defend, but if you look at the phone and online history of that day there are a few interesting points if we’re building a timeline.

Cindy leaves for work at 7am. We can assume at this point Caylee is alive.

Casey leaves her parents house by 4.11pm. we can assume by this point Caylee has died and her body has been dumped in the park.

but a lot happens between this

between 7.45am and 2.21pm there is constant activity on both Casey’s computer and phone, the most noteworthy of this activity being a phone call. It is important to note that one thing that is consistent through Casey’s browsing and phone history is that she was always using one or the other. She is on the phone with her best friend Amy from 1.44pm- 2.21pm, and after this, there is a gap in browsing history until 2.51pm when she makes the foolproof suffocation search (with suffocation being misspelled), and clicks on a website that deals with ways to commit suicide via suffocation. After this, there is no further gap in her browsing and phone history. She talks to a friend at 2.22pm (one minute after the suffocation google search) who describes the conversation as abnormal, and she is talking about having to find a new place to live. After this she talks to her dad on the phone, then proceeds to try and call a number of people, including her mother multiple time, her boyfriend and her ex boyfriend, all of which go unanswered. 

Based on the timeline we can assume that whatever occured happened prior to the 2.22pm phone call to her friend, and therefore also prior to the foolproof suffocation search. It is likely that this was in response to Caylee's death, and was more suicidal inclination than homicidal.  

Duct tape

So the thing with the duct tape isn't very nice but uhhh...... the Anthony family had a tradition that when burying pets they would wrap them in their favourite blanket, then a garbage bag, duct tape the garbage bag and dispose of the body. That’s how Caylee’s body was disposed of, and that’s why the duct tape was there. There’s also some spicy stuff surrounding the dude that found the body potentially moving it but that’s a whole other Thing that i won’t get into but he is DODGY.

Casey partying (the Xanex thing)  and the lying

Okay so like...... here’s the thing...... based on literally ALL of the character witness testimony Casey did. not. like clubbing. like at all. They described her as a homebody who did not like going out and an excellent mother who loved spending time with her kid, and when they did stuff together she would try and make them do things she could bring Caylee to. The only person who seemed to think she liked clubbing was her friend Amy who Casey had a history of saying shit too just to make her happy. an example is an instance where Amy wanted to move in with Casey, Casey said yes and acted like she was 100% down for despite the fact that she literally had no way to pay for it and just made excuses until Amy eventually gave up on it. This kind of things happened all the time with Amy. Amy said that Casey could never go out with her because either she couldn't find a babysitter (Cindy probably would have watched Caylee if asked lbr) or that she had to work. We know for a fact that Casey didn’t have a job. She literally just didn’t like going out and didn’t want to let Amy down so she lied to her. Which is was Casey did because she was a compulsive liar, and being a compulsive liar doesn’t make you a murder. I have a friend who’s a compulsive liar and when I catch her in lies she just keeps digging herself deeper and deeper until either she confesses to lying or I let it go, and this is EXACTLY what Casey does. 

Anyway so now we’ve established that Casey does not like partying we’re gonna have to address the partying she was doing while Caylee was missing. Now this entire point is kind of misleading. Casey did not party nearly as much as you think she did. Her time away from her parent's house until Caylee was reported missing is split into two sections, when she was living with her boyfriend, and when she was living with Amy.

 Her boyfriend worked at a nightclub (I cannot remember his exact position but it was high up enough that Casey used to help out a lot). The times she ’went clubbing’ while she was living with him she was essentially working. The infamous hot body contest? at her boyfriend's club. They didn’t have enough woman so she was asked to do it and she did. Most of the time there she spent managing the drink girls. She was not exactly partying.

The times she did go out clubbing was when she was living with Amy, she can’t say she can’t find a babysitter when she’s living with the girl and she knows full well her kids not there, and she can only use work as an excuse to many times, and we know she has issues saying no to Amy, so she goes clubbing. I could have missed it but i have no memory of Casey ever admitting to using Xanax recreationally, and that’s just speculation based on the name. 

Additionally, it should be noted that whenever Caylee was ‘at the nanny’ while Casey was at work, she was literally just hanging out with her kid all day. like we know she wasn’t at work because she didn’t have a job.

Proof of drowning

Honestly, I think we can agree that the most reliable family member is Cindy. George has some fkn issues that I'm not going to get into in this and Casey is Casey so yeah, Cindy’s the best there is.

And Cindy says some interesting shit that illudes to the fact that maybe Caylee did drown.

Firstly, it’s an established thing that when talking on the phone Casey would leave Caylee unattended (the phone call with Amy from 1.44pm- 2.21pm. This is likely when Caylee drowned based on the timeline.

We know that when Cindy got home from work that day she found the pool ladder down and she was not happy. She called George to berate him about it and commented on it to her coworkers the next day. 

Right after Caylee was reported missing and way before any growing had been mentioned Cindy called one of the detectives and expressed again how concerned she was about the pool ladder being left down, fearing that Caylee had drowned

Literally everyone involved in the case, including those outside of the Anthony family expressed that the pool was a major safety hazard that Caylee repetitively was trying to get into. she was obsessed with swimming. Casey’s boyfriend said on one occasion Caylee had attempted to run straight into the pool at his apartment upon arriving and Casey had to run after had and stop her from jumping in.

We know based on photos shown at the trial that Caylee was both able to open the sliding door to get outside, and that she was able to climb the pool ladder independently, which is why Cindy was so upset upon finding the pool ladder down.

[dammitadolfnomorecake]

Once Bitten, Twice Stupid prt.16

Keith was sitting on the front steps when Lance pulled into his driveway. Their meeting for a moment, before Pidge was leaning past him

“Get in, loser! We’re going out!”

Rubbing his ear, Lance didn’t appreciate Pidge’s loud voice abusing his eardrum

“I’m fine right here!”

“Don’t be like that. We’re going ghost hunting, get in the back!”

“Lance was going to drop me in town...”

“Why? Everything’s shut now apart from the bars. Stop being antisocial and come look for ghosts with us!”

That was how Keith ended up in the boot of Lance’s bronco. Lance could feel the tension from the driver’s seat, Pidge having climbed over into the back so she and Hunk could talk with Keith, who’d barely gotten two words in thanks to the pair of them trying their best to make him feel involved. Lance had seen it on Keith’s face when he’d pulled up. Keith looking up at him like he’d kicked him to the curb without good reason. If he stopped to think about it, Keith would fill that hole in the group that his eventual leaving with bring. Plus, Keith would be there to help Matt reconnect with his family whenever that eventually happened... A whole lot of roads seemed to be leading back to Keith, and Lance couldn’t put up stop signs fast enough.

Swinging by Pidge’s so she could collect her beloved camera, Lance stared up at the visitors centre before them. He’d had enough trouble last time they were here, and though there wouldn’t be any drunks this time, he was sure his friends would find a way to make trouble all over again

“‘Sup, Losers?! This is the Garrison Trio, coming at ya with a new video. Today we’re talking another look at arguably Garrison’s most haunted address! Yep, that’s right, your favourite visitors centre, and mine, it’s the old Garrison Hospital!”

Stuck in a silent “staring but not staring” battle with Keith watching Lance out the corner of his eye, he’d missed Pidge passing her camera off to Hunk so she could film her introduction

“Tonight we have our usual favourites, Me, Hunk, and Lance, but we also have a guest tagging along to see the work we do! Pan to Keith”

Hunk moved the camera, Keith not even noticing he’d been recorded. Lance had the feeling Keith wasn’t supposed to be being recorded. Anyone who saw his face online wouldn’t be able to forget him

“Yep! Our little trio has become a foursome! The awesome foursome. Now, if you click the link below this video you’ll be able to read up on the chilling history and the role the hospital played during world war three! Let’s just say, a lot of people died in a lot of not so lovely ways. Let’s head in!”

As Pidge took the camera from Hunk, Lance took her by the arm

“You can’t film Keith”

“What?”

“You can’t film him. It’s something to do with Shiro’s work. He works on things for the government, for like big bad multimillion dollar corporations that are up to dodgy things. I totally blanked on it, but Shiro will get in trouble”

Pidge raised an eyebrow

“I didn’t know you and Shiro were that tight”

“I was taking selfies and he caught me”

The lies hurt, but Keith’s face getting out their in there videos could bring trouble on all of them, not just Keith... Any vampires with a grudge would see their faces with his and they already knew where to come...

“Oh shit...”

Lance nodded, hoping his facial features portrayed the right emotions. Hunk was the one stole the role of genius from under Pidge’s nose

“I think you’ve got a dusk mask in the glove box from that colour run we didn’t end up doing... he could wear that?”

“Perfect. You two go ahead and I’ll get it. Don’t bring it up though, he’s super socially stunted”

Pidge fluttered her eyelashes

“Is someone getting protective of their “not boyfriend, boyfriend?””

“No, but you’ll have to get protective of that camera if you don’t stop bringing that up”

Pidge’s look turned to betrayal, then acceptance

“Fiiiiine. Do what you have to do. Hunk and I will go ahead. Come on, Hunk”

Rifling through his glovebox, Lance found the branded face mask. The colour run had two components to it, first you did a 5km walk/run, then in some weird kind of sales seasonal thing, there was a kind of sideshow at the end with live music, games, and seeing it was around Halloween, a corn maze and a haunted house. They’d paid, skipped the run, covertly let themselves into the corn maze, beaten that, then hit up the haunted house. Pidge deciding they all needed souvenirs, the mask being one of them... not that it was overly spooky. It was a simple black face mask with splatters of neon paint across the front, a few “teeth” on the right side and the fun run logo underneath. It was actually kind of “Keith”. Not that he was going there.

Keith had hung back as Pidge and Hunk unlocked the visitor centre and dealt with security. Forced to do the talking thing, Lance held the mask out to Keith who eyed it

“What’s that?”

“Pidge films these things”

“And?”

“And she puts them online. I didn’t think you’d want your face out there. If anyone saw the videos then you’d have your cover blown in further missions, making it harder for you to help the people who need help. I told Pidge that Shiro did covert work for the government so you needed to keep a low profile. I’m not sure she got it, but with Matt and Shiro being tight I think she was willing to let it slide. It hasn’t been worn, and it should cover most of your face. You can use my jacket too if you want, just keep the hood up”

Keith took the mask, staring down at as he tilted his neck. Lance automatically finding his eyes trying to find where he’d bitten the man. He’d never bitten anyone before so he didn’t know the trick of healing a bite to nothing. His own marks from turning were still there for the most part. Keith’s neck was smooth, Lance unable to see any blemishes. God! What was he doing...?! Nope... Fucking Keith

“Why are you doing this?”

“Because you got dragged along by my friends deciding they’re also your friends”

“I thought you said I was a useless hunter”

“No. I said you had anger issues, like right now you’re getting angry at me. Do you want my jacket or not?”

“No. This’ll be fine. She really believes, doesn’t she?”

“Yeah. That’s probably why Matt has kept his distance. She wants to be part of this world, and I’m not about to let that happen”

“So you sabotage her?”

“No. Most of what humans collect isn’t real or it’s reflections. I come along not only to show I support her and Hunk, but so nothing happens to either of them. There’s death in that place and I don’t want something bad to happen. I also don’t plan on telling her about Matt, you, or Shiro. It’s not fun lying, but it does keep them safe. If she ever finds out the truth, I know she’s going to be angry, and I’m prepared for that. You better come along, both my friends seem pretty keen on you, meaning if you hurt them, I will hunt you down myself”

“I’m not going to harm a human”

“Good. Keep it that way”

Pidge was already explaining various exhibits in the visitor centre when Lance and Keith slipped through the front door. A shudder rolled up Lance’s spine, earning him a jab in the side from Keith. What was Keith getting annoyed about? People shuddered all the time for no good reason

“What?”

“You shuddered”

“It happens”

“Don’t fob me off like that. There’s something here, isn’t there? Where is it?”

“Oh great, so vampires and werewolves aren’t enough for you now? You want to hunt ghosts to?”

What was Keith going to do? Stab it? The mental image of Keith stabbing a ghost was too funny, a snort of laughter escaping

“Look... if there’s something...”

“Relax. Yeah, there’s death here but I don’t want to see it. I don’t want to talk about it. I don’t want to acknowledge it’s presence”

“But you can see it?”

Lance shook his head. That’s what he had his trust glasses for

“Nope”

“You’re lying to me”

“I’m not lying. And keep your voice down, do you really want Pidge and Hunk to know about us?

Keith shot him an unimpressed look. Lance could have worded that better

“This isn’t over”

It could be, if Keith dropped the subject and kicked away like a bottle cap under the fridge that you couldn’t be bothered picking up, so it laid there undiscovered for another 6 months, when it and another dozen finally popped up to remind you how lazy you were about cleaning

“Oh, goody”

“Lance, come over here, you’re better at this side of things”

Lance rolled his eyes at Pidge. She was doing a bang up job making the visitors centre sound like the must visit spot as it was. Walking over to her, he eyed the shackles in the display case with disgust. He couldn’t really justify the shackling of mine broken soldiers, though some had to be chained down to prevent them from taking their own lives. He’d gone through a stage like that, not that anyone other than Coran knew. He’d had a mental breakdown with the stress of final exams the first time around. He knew too many answers and didn’t want to score a perfect score, that would have made him stand out too much. He aimed for above average on all his tests and exams, but sometimes he slipped up and got too perfect a score that drew everyone’s attention to him when all he wanted to do was blend in. He’d been beaten by a bunch of jealous classmates for his trouble, then broken down, taking himself to Coran who helped piece him back together again. Yeah, Coran would always be his go to guy

“Shackles...”

Letting the narrative of fear roll of his tongue, he talked about the deteriorated mental condition of the soldiers and how things worked when it came to getting them help and the legal issues faced by their families. Lance was kind of sure no one wanted to sit through this, because he was pretty sure he was the only one who nerded out over the law these days. Keith had moved to stand behind Hunk, who was filming, his arms were crossed, feet shoulder width apart, with an amused look on his face that Lance felt like punching.

“And thank you for that Lance, somehow you made all the legal stuff seem that much more boring than last time. Alrighty then, why don’t we go see if we can find us a ghost?”

Hunk was already skittering, letting out a squeak as Pidge motioned for him to follow her, leaving Lance to fall into step beside Keith. Great. He couldn’t just leave Keith in town once everything was over. Not with Hunk and Pidge on a mission to make the man their friend

“Are you usually like that?”

Lance had no idea what Keith meant. Sure, he might get a little technical, but it wouldn’t be the first time, nor the last

“Like what?”

“All technical? Doesn’t it turn viewers away? I mean, I don’t think they needed to know about the bylaws of Garrison”

“Oh, shut up. We don’t get many views as it is”

“You’ll get even less if you spend the whole time ranting”

“I wasn’t ranting, I was explaining. A soldiers mentality doesn’t end on the battlefield. Most of them never wanted to die. Most of them never wanted to wrapped up in war to begin with. They fought for us and for what they believed in, and as a whole, we failed them. If we don’t educated people on the past then there’s not much hope for the future”

“You, like, really believe in this, don’t you?”

“I believe in the belief people hold. If that’s what you mean?”

“I mean this legal thing... isn’t there anything else you’d rather be doing?”

“Like ripping families apart so I can feast on their children?”

Keith groaned at him, Lance internally smirking. Yeah, he remembered and wasn’t going to forget any time soon

“In my defence, your lot are mostly scum”

“And what about me? You listened in this morning”

“I... don’t want to talk about that”

“Why? Does it make me all that much harder to kill knowing I actually care about my clients?”

“As you rob them in fees”

Keith’s comment rubbed him the wrong way, Lance spitting in an angry whisper

“Yep. I’m so horrible that I charged a family a whole $50 for hours of my time. You on the other hand, if I charged at douche prices, would be paying me something like $10,000 for taking up so much of my damn time. I know I’m a monster, you can lay off with the damn mocking”

Starting to jog to catch up with Hunk and Pidge, Lance wanted to go home to bed. His arm was aching, as was his ankle. He hadn’t had the chance to drink since jumping out the window and his lack of routine was really getting to him. Catching up to him again, Keith decided he still wanted to talk

“Why law?”

“Why law, what?”

“You could have been anything”

“I could have, but I don’t think you’d understand”

“Try me”

“Well, I don’t want kids out there to suffer. I don’t want to see them caught up in fights that should stay between parents. I want to stand up for them. Yeah, go ahead and laugh. I’m lame and I know it”

“So your own childhood trauma pushed you down this path. What would you have done if you’d never made it into law?”

Lance didn’t miss the way his words had thrown been back at him. Shrugging it off, he wasn’t letting Keith under his skin

“I could have been a dancer. I did entertain the idea of being a hairdresser, but a vampire with scissors means risking a cut and an accidental turning. I like my job. Can’t say I don’t like the idea of yours, but it wouldn’t be my first choice of career choice”

“Will you two shut up? You’re scaring the ghosts away”

Lance’s eyes accidentally met Keith’s, both of them snorting and looking away from each other. If only they were, then they could all head home early

“Sorry, Pidge. Keith was telling me how scared he was”

“I did not!”

“Shhhh... didn’t you hear Pidge? Your big mouth is scaring the ghosts away”

“Mine? You won’t shut up”

“Both of you shut up, or you’re being sent outside to wait”

Hunk raised his hand

“Uh, can I go wait outside?”

“You’re the camera man, grow a back bone!”

Hunk gave Pidge a mock salute at her snap, which she flipped him off over. Lance made the motion of zipping of his mouth and throwing away the key. Keith gave a shrug. Apparently he didn’t hold a healthy fear of Pidge... well, that wouldn’t remain for long.

No. Keith barely lasted half an hour before he incurred Pidge’s wrath. Like a misbehaving school child, Keith was sent to sit at the top of the stairs, all because he accidentally tripped over the lip of the door frame. Pidge was sure she’d seen some kind of ghostly orb, sent fleeing by Keith’s stupidity. Making the mistake of snorting over Keith being taken down a peg, Lance was sent to sit beside Keith... both of them not looking at each other, to avoid bursting into laughter because being in a time out was ridiculous. There wasn’t anything there. The orb was a reflection of light from the camera, and that’s all that’d been to it. When Hunk moved, the reflected light disappeared, Keith didn’t deserve being yelled at... but fuck it hadn’t been funny.

[knovesstorytelling]

Murray Mysteries S1E1 Transcript

Episode 1. Mina Murray’s Particularly Powerful Podcast Preface 

Written by May Toudic

Mina: Welcome to Murray Mysteries.

[Theme music plays.]

Mina: Hi! Hello. 

Mina (chuckling nervously): Howdy, nope. 

[She groans.]

Mina: Welcome to this podcast. I’m Mina Murray. Blessed with an alliterative name since 1996. By day, I’m an unemployed twenty-something with a teaching degree. But by night, I, uh. I read books, watch true crime shows, and do jigsaw puzzles with my boyfriend.

[She laughs.]

Mina (pretending to be a sports announcer): And the crowd goes wild!

[She laughs more.]

Mina: Yeah, I know, I know. I sound uh, I sound boring. Honestly, I might be? You’re probably thinking “Everyone and their mother has a podcast nowadays. Why should I listen to this early-onset grandma talk about her life as an unemployed jigsaw puzzler?” If I were you, I probably wouldn’t want to listen to me either. BUT, but. I can be interesting, I promise. I love learning about psychology, and history, and criminology, and a lot of other things ending in -y and—

Mina (laughingly): I like sharing that knowledge too.

Mina: Trust me, I did not get a teaching degree because I love spending all my time with kids and teenagers. I did it because I want to make them better adults. And for every twenty brats there are, there is one who’s actually interested in learning stuff and listening to me rambling on about who came closest to catching Jack the Ripper. Weirdly, that primary school I did my placement in didn’t ask me back full time. Something about topics appropriate to discuss with six-year-olds? Their loss. Honestly, the kids loved it.

Mina: If that didn’t convince you, you should know I also hang out with way more interesting people than myself. My boyfriend, Jonathan, is a solicitor! Yeah, that doesn’t sound any better, but I swear he’s fun. He’s currently on a work trip to Transylvania, so clearly the job has benefits. He’s been sending me a lot of pictures of his food on the way to his client’s place and he said he was going to record his trip for my podcast’s travel segment. Didn’t have the heart to tell him that, uh, this trip’s the first one he’s been sent on in two years and we’re way too broke to fund our own travel segment.

Mina (thoughtfully): I guess we could do some very illegal camping in the nearest park and pretend the ducks are exotic wildlife.

Mina: Doesn’t that sound exciting. Well, beside budget Bear Grylls, I spend most of my time with my best friend and my flatmate, Lucy. Who’s probably the coolest person alive. She’s really hard to keep up with, in, like, the best way. Always has some kind of dodgy plan that will either turn out the best time of your life or a total disaster. No in-between. One time, she took me to this rave in an old, covered market where everyone was wearing vegetable costumes and they all played remixes of Play That Funky Music. I almost lost an eye to an asparagus, but man that was a fun night. Lucy met someone at the party and even ended up dating him for a bit. It didn’t last very long.

[Mina chuckles and clears her throat.]

Mina: The tomato costume should’ve been a … red flag?

[Mina starts giggling]

Mina: In my opinion.

[She giggles more.]

Mina: Sorry. I should be ashamed. Lucy made a pun jar for the flat and I have to put a quid in it every time I make a really bad one.

Mina (quietly): I won’t tell her about this one if you don’t,

Mina (normally): Oh! Oh, oh. I might’ve given her my login details, so there is a strong possibility she will hijack this podcast. Lucy, if you’re listening to this, don’t hijack the podcast?

[A door opens and shuts.]

Lucy (in the distance): Did I hear my name?

[Footsteps come closer.]

Lucy: You didn’t tell me you were recording.

Mina: You were out?

Lucy: Only for a bit! Did you wait until I was gone, you sneak!

Mina: I needed silence! And you were getting ready to the entire discography of Abba.

[Lucy chuckles.]

Mina: Didn’t you have a date?

Lucy: What? Um, no. Just drinks.

Mina: With someone who thought it was a date? Hmm?

Lucy: Maybe? So, what are you talking about?

Mina: You, actually.

Lucy: Oh, great choice of topic! Are you telling them about the—

Mina: —the veg party, yeah.

Lucy: That was a, that was a night.

[Lucy laughs.]

Lucy: I wonder how that tomato’s doing now.

Mina: No, no, don’t call the tomato.

Lucy: It’s just a call, it couldn’t hurt.

Mina: Lucy, what would Karamo say?

Lucy (in a nasally voice): You deserve better than a toxic relationship with some who doesn’t even know a fruit from a vegetable.

Mina: So, what are you going to do?

Lucy: Not call the tomato.

Mina: Good. Now, you’re either going to help me record this, or you’re going to get out of my room because you’re very distracting.

Lucy: I get that a lot. I’ll help you of course. What’s the next item on those little notes of yours?

Mina: Um, I was just about to tell them how we met.

Lucy: Oh, good! Now they can hear it from both points of view. A dual perspective, if you will.

Mina: You’re really milking that theatre degree there, aren’t you?

Lucy: Well, what else am I going to do with it?

Mina: Fair point.

[Lucy laughs.]

Mina: There’s really not much to the story.

[Lucy gasps.]

Lucy: Not much to it? It was a day for the ages. The origin story of our friendship. A platonic meeting of souls!

Mina: It was an eighties-themed pub quiz.

Lucy: Hey, pub quizzes are a magical thing. Anything can happen in a pub quiz. Case in point: meeting of souls.

Mina: So, it was the last day of freshers week. And I made myself go to this thing because I felt like I had missed out on all the university-mandated binge drinking.

Lucy: Mmhmm.

Mina: I went on a couple campus tours, a couple coffee crawls, but I couldn’t bring myself to talk to anyone there. Lucy, on the other hand, was there with a gaggle of glamorous people she’d managed to gather around her like moths to a very sparkly flame.

Lucy: I was wearing that holographic dress, wasn’t I? That was a good dress, I wonder what happened to it.

Mina: Um, you tore out the bit in the back in third year while trying to prove you could do the splits to that um, Brazilian exchange student.

Lucy: Oh. Yeah, I remember that. I think.

Mina: Anyway, I’m sitting there alone in a sticky booth, hoping for a miracle. And this glittering ball of charisma comes up and says “You look like you know stuff.”

Lucy: I’m very observant. You look smart and interesting and very sad and lonely. How could I resist?

Mina: You just wanted someone who was sad enough to have seen every John Hughes movie three times.

Lucy: Well joke’s on me because now I’ve seen them all too. And Molly Ringwald is an eternal icon.

Mina: Yeah, it turns out Lucy’s love of eighties music and my knowledge of history and cheesy movies made us pretty much unbeatable.

Lucy: Mmhmm.

Mina: We won a hundred-pound voucher and Lucy convinced everyone to get a mountain of pub food instead of drinks because she could tell I didn’t want any alcohol.

Lucy: I’m a very good friend. And the chilli chips at that place were amazing!

Mina: Oh, I miss those chilli chips. They piled so much cheese on those, you couldn’t see the chilli or the chips!

Lucy: Nothing will ever beat Jackie’s chips. But we could still order some from that new place tonight and eat while we pack.

Mina: Pack for what?

Lucy: Going on a trip?

Mina: No we’re not, I have stuff to do.

Lucy: Yes we are. My mum wants me to come home and visit and I am not leaving you here alone to brood over your long-lost love, far away across the sea. Come on, it’ll be fun! I promise to do one jigsaw puzzle for every party I drag you to.

Mina: I have to hunt for jobs, Lucy.

Lucy: You can do that online.

Mina: And be around in case they like, need an interview or something.

Lucy: It’s only a couple of hours on the train, you can commute.

Mina (consideringly): Did you say, one puzzle per party?

Lucy: Of less than three hundred pieces. I’m willing to comprise, but I haven’t completely given up on life yet.

Mina: There’s no talking you out of this, is there?

Lucy: Nope.

Mina: I’ll get my suitcase.

Lucy: Yes!

Mina: Goodbye listeners, if you don’t hear from me again, I’m probably being held hostage by one of Lucy’s quaint exes.

[Lucy laughs as the credits music begins to play.]

Credits: Murray Mysteries is a Knoves Storytelling production. This episode was written and produced by May Toudic and featured Drew Victorie as Mina Murray and Megan John as Lucy Westerna. Original music by Sophie Kay. Thank you for listening.

[tracle0]

hhhhhhhh entirely rambling for my own sake because I find putting things down properly can help my brain work, but I don’t want to spam my friend lmao it’s wip4 Mika-psychosis related stuff under the cut if you’re very curious

so first of all that’s probably the last time I’ll refer to it as wip4 cause I’m very settled on a title for it and will announce it soon, stay tuned

main issue I’m having at the moment; Mika’s psychosis, obviously. Which has been an ‘’issue’’ for a while, in quotation marks because as a Thing, it’s very much not an issue. I’m just very nervous about writing it. 

The way I write experiences that differ from my own is by trying to learn as much as I can about them, from people who go through those experiences. I’m white, so if I have a black/brown character as a POV character, I try not to make it about them being black/brown, but I also dot it in by drawing experience from black/brown friends I have irl and talk to, or from reading books by and about black/brown people. It’s not perfect, but it works. 

Psychosis, as every psychotic person and their mother can tell you, is hugely underrepresented in media. I’ve found a handful of YouTube channels that focus on being psychotic, which have been invaluable. I’ve also been trying to get boos by/about psychotic people, but it’s weirdly hard?? Every time I’ve ordered a book online it’s just Not Arrived which is v annoying 

All in all, that isn’t too much of a barrier. I have... a lot of research. It’s not perfect, but I have what I need to get a NaNo draft done ya know? 

The issue comes with what happen in the story that presents some. Iffy questions. 

Mika has psychosis as a result of genetic pre-disposition as well as over-use of their ability from a young age. These sort of issues occur in other characters; telekinetics who over-use their abiliy get artheritis quite commonly, heart conditions are common in over-eager empaths, things like that. Already I’m nervous that relating psychosis to real-world diseases and disabilities could be kinda :/ 

idk I work hard to not frame his psychosis as a Bad Thing. It’s just something he deals with. They greatly enjoy music, have a terribly brilliant sense of fashion, are a top tier runner, gets too heated about their dislike for Ratatouille and have pyschosis.

So beyond in-world reasons, there’s also in-world solutions, which is obviously a very dodgy place to go down. I think every disabled and mentally ill person I’ve ever interacted with on here has SHOUTED that you shouldn’t heal disabilities in fiction if you’re not disabled yourself. I’d feel terrible if I stripped Mika of their psychosis because of how little positive rep there is already yknow? 

But

There’s an in-world solution to their troubles. Which is not a ‘oh I can get rid of your symptoms’ because that’s not a thing that can occur!!! Not in their world. But their psychosis occured due to over-use of an ability they no longer use for fear of making their symptoms less manageable. He has a sytem that works now yknow?? So to tip that out of balance would greatly upset him.

So he’s presented with a solution to the ‘can’t use ability’ dilemma, which is basically relieving them of even having the choice to use their abiity at all. 

and I 

don’t know

if they’d take it

and I don’t know if it’d be Bad if they did take it. Mika would be left with their psychosis but without the stress of it getting worse due to manual fiddling. Which when I write it like that seems fine!! But it seems fine to me; a neurotypical (?? I need to see a doctor) writer with maybe not enough research to provide perfect representation yet.

I’m clarifying because I want to: Mika would experience symptoms of their psychosis. It would change as he grew older, as psychosis would for anyone who had it. But they wouldn’t be able to make the symptoms get worse through use of their ability. It could still get worse with time naturally. It could improve with time as well. But whatever happened, it wouldn’t be because of their ability. 

If they were to accept the offer presented to them.

The fakkin solution is write the story as best as I can and then hire a sensitivity reader, obviouly. I just over-think things and try and get them as good as I can in the first run-through. But these are questions I shouldn’t really be asking myself. I think. Presenting them? Is a good way to go. But this would be a v personal choice for him, and I don’t know if I’d feel comfortable presenting that as a question to a psychotic character/reader. 

But it’s???? Going to come up???? This relieving someone of the ability to use their ability is a major plot thing. Mika is smart. He’d go ‘hey wait if you can do it for X character, you could do it for me as well’ and would stew on it. 

Which, I guess, I could leave as a post-story question. Maybe it’s not bought up in the narrative at all, it’s just a fact that their ability could be smoothed off if they were to chose to do it. 

Maybe that’s the way to go; leave it a little bit open, a little bit of wiggle room, let readers think it through themselves

? 

yea

[bazzybelle]

Carry On Countdown - Day Seven

Notes: Right... confession time.. So, I posted this fic yesterday... But, I’ve been having a really difficult mental health week (lots of self-doubt, self-isolation, and weeping) and it all came to a head last night when I spiraled and deleted this story (my depression/anxiety/Imposter Syndrome demon caught up to me, I guess). I was also close to deleting all my other fics and potentially closing my account, but @fight-surrender and my amazing husband talked me down from the ledge so to speak. It was actually their support, along with the amazing kindness of @giishu that convinced me to repost my story... so here it is. 

Lyrics are inspired by “I Wanna Hold Your Hand” by The Beatles. However, I was inspired by the version from “Across The Universe”, sung by T.V. Carpio (Such a great movie and soundtrack). 

Thank you to @carryonsimoncarryonbaz for their writing support and amazing beta-reads. 

Also, this is the last story until the Angst prompt... I’m also gonna take it easy with my writing. Going back into it after 8 years of numbness and denying my passion hasn’t been easy and it’s beginning to take its toll on me. I have so many ideas, but I want to feel well enough in my head to be able to write them properly (in case you haven’t noticed, I like writing about healing and hopeful futures... kinda hard to do that if you’re spiraling). I’ve got a few more stories already prepared for the Countdown, but I’m not making any promises on writing for other prompts. 

TW: Extremely minimal (like blink and you’ll miss it) reference to drugs.

Day 7 Prompt: WLW

Title: I Wanna Hold Your Hand

________________________________________________________________

Please, say to me, you’ll let me hold your hand. Now, let me hold your hand. I wanna hold your hand. 

FIONA

The music here is bloody terrible.

So’s the alcohol. But what else can I expect from a dingy little pub in this dodgy area of the city? Besides, it isn’t the alcohol I’m here for, which is a shock, considering how much of it I drink. 

Nor am I here for this horrid music. I look at the stage and a skinny little whelp is crooning a pathetic rendition of a Pink Floyd song. Kid can’t be older than 18, of course he’s singing a Floyd song. I swear, you  listen to Dark Side of The Moon one time, and suddenly you think you know everything there is to know about music. 

Good Lord… he’s doing a Floyd medley. News flash, boyo, you cannot transition from Wish You Were Here to Another Brick in The Wall without raising a few eyebrows. 

He isn’t a bad looking bloke though. Shaggy brown hair, styled so it’s away from his eyes. He’s got a bit of a long, oval-shaped face, a little gaunt, but not too much. He reminds me of someone… Ah… George Harrison! He’s got a bit of a George Harrison vibe, I reckon. A part of me wants to snap a photo of him and ask Baz if he’d fancy him, but the last time I did that, he chewed my ear off for a week. 

Dramatic little shit. I’m only trying to help. He’s so edgy all the time. Baz is about to head into his final year at Watford and honestly, he needs to let loose and have a little fun, before the pressures of being a Pitch crushes him…

Maybe I’m being the dramatic shit...

I leave George Harrison to his crooning (Christ, he’s moved onto Money. Does he only know the popular Floyd songs? Tosser), and direct myself to the bar. The person I’m here to see greets me with a wide, toothy smile. 

“Well well, look who it is. How are you, love?” bellows Shannon Ryan (Shan for short). Shan is the annoyingly vivacious proprietor of the Golden Griffin Pub and Inn. She is all hair (bright, thick, ginger-red, with a generous amount of blond and strawberry-blond highlights, that falls in tight ringlets down her back) and little to no filter. She’s the kind of person that can decide in an instant if she’ll offer you a free pint, or if she’ll drag your sorry arse onto the curb. Most of the time, she’ll offer you the pint and a wink of her dark brown eyes. 

I give her a half smile and take a seat in front of her. Shan pours me a glass of Chivas (Bless her, she knows I love the stuff) and leans her elbows on the counter. I salute her and nod at George Harrison.

“Heads up Shan, if your lad starts playing Comfortably Numb, I may have to murder him with his own guitar.”

Shan playfully punches my shoulder. Normally, I’d retaliate with a knife to the throat, but I’m not nearly so… angry when Shan’s around. I can relax around her and allow myself to be a little playful. 

“Aw, come on now Prue, Mickey’s not that bad. A little rough around the edg-” She starts to laugh, because George Harrison’s begun to sing Comfortably Numb and I begin to crack my knuckles. Shan grabs my hands and gives them a pat. “Alright, very rough around the edges, but he’s a sweet kid.”

I met Shannon about 4 months ago. It was during one of my lower points. I had been on a wild bender, drinking, smoking up, everything. At some point, I lost all recollection of where I was and what was happening. I still don’t know how long I’d been out of my mind at that point, but I somehow ended up at Shan’s pub, trashed out and rambling nonsense. Shan took one look at me and she decided that she would give me a room and a bed, instead of throwing me out (a horrible decision, really). I woke up in an unknown room, in an unknown bed with her knocking on the door. 

I nearly killed her. 

Shan managed to calm me down and gave me some breakfast. Fat greasy bangers, perfectly poached eggs, fried tomatoes and back bacon. She had informed me that I had been out for quite a while. I remember feeling like a numpty had taken a beating to my head. She had offered to let me stay there so that I could recover from whatever was causing me distress. Instead of taking the hint and staying there, I gathered my belongings while she was gone and slipped out. That would have been the end of it, but I had returned a few days later to pay for my room and board. Shan refused to take my money, and instead asked that I pay her back by coming to see her from time to time. Originally, I was only supposed to come see her until the end of the month… But here we are, four months later and I still find myself wanting to come see her. 

Shan doesn’t know my real name (She knows me by my middle name, Prudence… I swear my family gets its kicks from naming their offspring ridiculous names), nor that I am a magician from a long line of magical aristocracy. She does not know that I am embroiled in the middle of a war that threatens to rip my world and my family apart. Maybe that sense of escapism is why I keep coming back here, why I keep flirting with this Normal pub owner. 

I turn back to her now. She is cleaning some of the dirty glasses that have been left on the bar counter. It’s a quiet evening tonight, not many patrons at the pub. Shan’s pub can gain a small gathering during the weekends, mostly young folks out on a crawl. Some tend to stay here on account of the atmosphere, and Shan’s personality. Tonight’s one of the quieter nights. I blame George Harrison mucking it up on the microphone.  

“Where do you find these characters, Shan?”

“Beats me. They sometimes just show up needing a spot. Mick’s been tossed out from his home, poor child. I give him a room, he works the bar. It all works out.”

Shan sometimes uses her rooms to shelter people who may need a place to stay. I wasn’t a special case for her. Any misfit or vagabond has a place to stay at Shan’s. I suppose that explains George Harrison, who has just finished his set and has exited the stage, thank Merlin for that. She’s now turned on her online music playlist, an eclectic mix of punk, classic rock, and current indie songs. It makes no bloody sense, but the patrons aren’t mad about it. 

“You’re too generous Shan.” She rolls her eyes and proceeds to serve some other patrons who have been waiting for her. Once George Harrison arrives behind the counter, she sends him off to prepare orders while she turns back to me. 

“And you, my dear friend, are far too cold. What brings you here tonight? Chasing one of your hoodlums, again?”

With the war brewing between the Old Families and the Mage, I have been tracking down members of the magical community who have been shunned and cast away by the Mage and his reforms. The Old Families believed that we could find some support amongst the masses who’ve been mistreated by Davy and his band of Merry Men. If I’m in the area, I’ll stop by the pub for a quick drink and a chat. 

Like I said, it’s been happening more often than not. 

Today is different. I am not here because I’m in the area. I felt the need to be here. Maybe it’s the bitter heat of August in London; Or maybe it’s the fact that it’s August 13th, the thirteenth anniversary (plus a day) of my sister’s death that brings me here. Normally, I’d be home, drinking myself into a stupor until enough time has passed where I don’t feel the grief anymore. I never allow myself to drink on the actual day of her death, because I’m too busy spending the day with Basil and Malcolm (Basil mostly), making sure that they’ve kept their heads in one place. I look out for my nephew first and once the day has passed, I go home and begin my process of drinking and mourning.

For some reason, I didn’t want to be home alone today. I don’t know what came over me, but I felt I needed to be here, at Shan’s pub. But I’ll never tell her that. So instead I put on my classic Pitch smooth face and smile slyly at her. 

“Who says I need a reason to be here? Maybe I just decided to come over.” Shan rolls her eyes at me. She faces me and leans over the counter, inches from my face. I have to look away, in case she notices the small blush creeping over my cheeks. I take another sip of my Chivas before looking at her once more. I tilt my head at her and smile. She places her hand on mine and pushes it down, until the glass is back on the counter.

“You’ve always got a reason, Prue. You don’t allow yourself to do anything simply because you want to.” Now, I roll my eyes at her. I down the remainder of my Chivas and slam the glass back down on the counter. I cross my arms over my chest and pull myself back from the counter. 

“Oh? And what exactly do I want?”

Shan also steps back from the counter. She’s got her hands on her hips and shrugs at me. She takes the bottle of Chivas and pours me another glass. 

“I am not nearly qualified enough to untangle the mess in your mind, Prue. I can only offer a listening ear and a reasonable amount of alcohol.” She leans back against the wall. I stare at her for a minute and take in how she looks in the pub’s dim light. Shan’s got incredibly light skin, but it isn’t entirely pale and the dim lighting in here is showcasing her pretty features. She’s wearing a black tank top under a dark purple vest that cuts just at her waist. She’s got on dark jeans and a light gold studded belt. Shan pulls her hair back into a very high, very messy bun at the top of her head. A few strands still hang loose and frame her face. I draw a shaky breath and take a sip of my scotch. I speak softly, more to the glass than to her. 

“My sister died. Yesterday has been 13 years since she died.” Shan relaxes her posture and approaches me again. I don’t shift my position at all. If she thinks she can get me to open up more than that, she’s wrong. I won’t come undone by a pretty girl with bright red hair. 

“You don’t want to be alone then?” Shan reaches for my hand. I don’t let her take it. I’m still focusing on my drink and the patterns of the wood grains on the counter. 

“I am perfectly fine to be alone Shan! I’ve been alone for many years, what’s another one?” I straighten my back even further, attempting to close off my walls. They had been slowly coming down as I spend more time with Shan, but thinking about yesterday, about Tasha, about the losses in my life, have caused me to build them back up with a more reinforced metal. 

Now, I’m here again, in front of Shannon, and the metal around my heart is starting to melt again. What power does this Normal have over me that she can make me feel this way? Shan exits from her side of the bar and she comes to sit down next to me. I want to turn away from her, but I can’t find it in me to do so. I’m running my fingers along the rim of the glass when I feel her tough, guitar-calloused hand lay on top of mine. I refuse to look her in the eyes. She gently places my hand on the counter and turns it over. I finally look at her as she clasps her hand in mine.

“What if you didn’t have to be alone?” Her deep brown eyes are staring right into my grey ones. I can feel my heartbeat beginning to pick up. My breathing becomes a little erratic. I have not felt this in such a long time. Not since my final year at Watford. Not since I had my heartbroken into pieces and decided to shut it down forever. I start to pull my hand away, but Shan holds it tight. I frown at her and glare at her a little bit. 

“People like me are meant to be alone.” I try to make my voice sound icy and intimidating. But, Merlin help me, it sounds breathless, like I’m chocking it out. I take a sharp inhale of breath through my nose. Shan, the fool that she is, reaches over and grabs my other hand, she gently turns my body towards her and leans a little closer to me. She speaks in a soft and calm voice. I almost miss what she says because of the music in the background. 

“You don’t have to be alone.”

She leans in closer to me. I feel a small flutter in the pit of my stomach. I want to lean into her as well, but something stops me. I can’t. I can’t. Not again. Never again. I pull away from her and jump out of my seat. I ignore the confused and saddened look on Shan’s face and I fumble in my bag for my wallet. 

“I have to go.”

Shan grabs my arm and tries to look at me again. I will not give her the satisfaction of seeing me coming undone. I will not let another person into my heart only for them to destroy it again. I can’t handle more pain and misery. 

“Wait… Prue I-” She’s going to beg me to stay, I don’t give her a chance to finish.

“Thank you, Shannon. I’ll see you soon.” I pull out some notes and slam them onto the counter. I yank my arm away from Shan’s grasp and stalk out of the pub, leaving her sorrowful brown eyes behind me. 

I am meant to be alone. I don’t need anyone, especially not some nobody Normal. Even if the same nobody Normal is currently holding a key to my heart. I go home, fully intent on drinking my conflicting feelings away.

________

Six weeks.

Basil’s been missing for six weeks and I haven’t had any luck in finding him. 

I have tried every bloody spell I could think of. I have poured over every single one of Natasha’s old books in that blasted library. I have even tried to contact some of the undesirables in my midst to see if any of them knew anything. None of them could tell me any information. Even though I threatened and screamed and even cast spells to force them to give me any information, none of them had any information to give me. 

I was losing my mind. I wanted nothing more to march into Watford myself and threaten the bloody Mage himself, or even that stupid snivelling little magling, Simon Snow. The only thing preventing me from torching the damn school was the fact that The Mage knew exactly where Baz was and he could decide to retaliate by hurting or even killing him. He was not above murder, the bastard. 

The latest call we got from the numpties had demanded wands from us. They must have been bloody joking. Malcolm, the fool, was already looking for spare wands. I called him a spineless idiot, and if he couldn’t see that this wasn’t about a simple ransom, well then he really was more feebleminded than I thought. I told him that my sister scraped the bottom of the barrel when she married a Grimm and stomped out of the manor. 

The bloody numpties were holding him near some water, so I drew up a map of potential spots where he could be hidden. I was not going to rest until I searched each and every one, no matter how long that took. 

I now find myself walking down a familiar dodgy street, towards a familiar pub. I have not been back since Shan grabbed my hand and I almost allowed her a piece of me. I decided that I would not go back there and risk anything more happening between Shan and myself. To go back would mean I would have to talk about what almost happened, and to do that would mean I would have to either lie to her or give into my feelings, neither option really appealing to me. Still, I need to start a fight. I need to yell at something and punch something. And the thought of Shannon throwing me out of her pub and her life because I caused a fight with her patrons is exactly what I need to revitalize myself on this search mission. 

I storm into the establishment and see a few confused clientele staring at me. I should pick out which unfortunate character will be my target, but my eyes wander to the bar. I want Shan to be watching. 

She isn’t there. But her pathetic little ward is. I march to the bar and before the weasel says anything, I grab his shirt sleeve and pull him over the bar counter. I roughly toss him to the floor. The boy yelps in surprise and lifts his hands up to protect his face. I am not done yet. I am about to lift him up, when someone grabs my arm. I spin around and I’m about to deck them, when I see her deep brown eyes. 

“PRUE! That’s enough!” Shan looks absolutely murderous with rage. I have never seen that look on her face before. I give her a cold hard stare and sneer at her. 

“Get. Your. Bloody. Hands. OFF. ME!” Shan returns my stare with a scowl of her own. She keeps her hand secured on my jacket and begins to drag me outside. 

“We’re going outside, NOW!” 

Well that was fast. I didn’t even get to have any fun. 

Shan shoves me outside and practically tosses me onto the floor. I am astounded by the strength she has, considering just how skinny she is. But she does this for a living. She’s had to toss out larger folks than myself. I dust off my jacket and straighten out my jeans before turning to Shan, who is still wearing a livid look on her face. Her hair, although braided, has a frizzy halo that surrounds it. I already regret coming here. 

“I like you, Prue. But I will not have you starting fights in my pub! Either you tell me what’s gotten into you, or you can kindly fuck off!” She points an accusing finger at me and then out towards the street. I should be honest with her, but I have a knack for self-destruction, so I push my luck.

“Oh fuck off Shan!” She steps back, shocked at first by my demeanor. But she then shakes her head and scoffs. She steps up to me and responds with a coldness of her own.

“If you insist! But this whole tough bitch attitude is getting bloody exhausting! Call me once you’ve calmed yourself” she says as she begins to walk away. I want to let her go back. I want to watch her leave and never see her again. But my damn head won’t let her leave. I call out before I have a chance to stop myself.

“My nephew’s missing...” Shan stops in her tracks. She turns to me, her furious face already changed to one of deep concern. “He’s been missing for nearly 6 weeks and I’m going out of my bloody mind!” 

She approaches me cautiously. I know she is still very angry with me and my actions. She asks me smoothly, “Have they demanded a ransom?” Shan knows well enough to not ask about law enforcement. With the type of charges she takes in, the reality is that law enforcement will typically make matters worse. 

I roll my eyes and answer her. “We don’t pay ransoms in my family!” 

Shan stares incredulously at me, “Are you daft? I don’t know what kind of business you’re running Prudence, but I think the life of your nephew is worth a ransom payment, yeah?”

“This isn’t about a ransom, Shannon! It’s something more! Oh forget it! I’m wasting time, I could be using to search under bridges or in sewers!” This was a mistake. I never should have come here. I turn my back to Shan and start to walk away. 

“Under bridges?” She asks me. I stop and turn back to her. 

“The kidnappers sounded like they were near running water when they called. Which, considering this bloody city, could be fucking anywhere!”

“Christ…” Shan starts to shake her head. She put her hand to her face, as if she was starting to ponder something. It is enough for me to march right back up to her.

“What is it!?”

“I thought he was being batty…” Shan delivers that line in such a thoughtful way that I almost want to be gentle with her. 

Almost. But Basil is missing and this is the first tiny morsel of a clue that I have had for six weeks. So I grab Shan’s shoulders and press her further.

“Who was?! What do you know Shan!?” She frowns at me and shrugs me off.

“Nothing, Prue! I volunteer at one of the homeless shelters in the city and one of our regulars was going on about how one of his favourite sleeping spots near the river was overrun with boulders. It looked like someone was trying to hide something there. The man’s a little mad. He claimed that some of the boulders were moving.”

Moving boulders?! Bloody fucking hell! That’s it! That’s fucking it! Six weeks, I’ve been going mad trying to find Basil, and all this time, the one place I should have been looking was amongst the vagabonds and the homeless. Christ, go figure I’d find my most important clue with Shannon fucking Ryan.  

“Where is he now!!?” I demand of her.  Maybe a little too harshly. I really couldn't care less if I hurt Shan’s feelings anymore. I need to find this drifter as soon as I can. 

“Prue! You can’t be-” Shan tries to calm me down, but I am not having it. I am so close to bringing my nephew home, I am not stopping now. I get up to her face and nearly shout at her.

“You tell me where he is now, Shannon, or I swear to Christ…” Shan shakes her head at me, but she caves in and sighs at me. 

“You are a lunatic, Prudence. But he’s most likely at Whitechapel. He’s been spending most of his time th- Prue!” I’m already walking away. I have all the information I need.

“I’ll see you later, Shan.” I say to her. Maybe if I survive this, I’ll come back and apologize for being a proper psychopath towards her. Maybe she’ll forgive me. For now, I have more important matters to attend to.

“Prue! Come back! You can’t do this alone!” 

That’s where you’re wrong Shannon. I’ve had to do everything on my own. It’s what I’m best at. I can still hear her shouting into the night, even though I am far from the pub at this point. 

“PRUDENCE!”

________

I am once more, back at the Golden Griffin. The pub has just closed for the night, but I know that Shan is still inside. She usually stays behind a few hours after closing time in order to clean up the place. I stand right in front of the door, taking a few moments to decide if I want to knock on her door, or if I should leave. I lift my fist to the window on the door. I’m about to knock when Shan’s head pops up from the side of the door. She looks surprised to see me at first, then… is that relief? She whips the door opened and pulls me inside. 

“Prudence…” she whispers to me. She holds my hand in hers. Merlin, what is she doing to me? I let go of her hand and stuff my hands into my jacket pockets. I clear my throat and start to talk.

“He was alive. I found him in time.”

“Your nephew. I’m so relieved to hear that.” She’s got her hand over her heart and she sighs in relief. Has she truly been worried this whole time? 

I feel guilty for not coming back sooner. But I had to make sure Baz was fine and then well, I wanted to start planning retribution for this attack on my family. I hadn’t realized that it was mid-November and I still had not gone to see Shan. 

And so, here I am. At 2AM on a Tuesday. At this pub once more, in front of this Normal. This Normal who is nobody important, from a nobody family. Yet, all I’m hoping is that she can forgive me for my foolishness. 

“You said I couldn’t do it alone. I did it alone. I found him, I got him back. I didn’t need anyone.” I just have to antagonize her, don’t I? I am a Pitch after all. Shan shakes her head, like she was ready for this to begin with an argument. 

“I’m happy for you Prue. Truly, I am.” She responds with an icy sarcasm. Her arms are crossed and she is leaning away from me. She isn’t up for having a go at me. I take a half-step towards her and offer an olive branch.

“My real name’s Fiona. Fiona Pitch.” Shan drops her hands to her hips. She gives me a cold stare and shakes her head. She then raises her hands slightly only to cross them again. She’s upset and I can’t say I blame her. I’ve only been lying to her for several months. 

“Fiona. Christ… Alright…”

“Prudence is my middle name. I didn’t know you.” I offer her an explanation. She rolls her eyes at that and continues to stare at me. 

“Fine, Fiona. What do you want from me?” She waves her arms and points to her chest. I furrow my eyebrows. I don’t know how to answer her question. I also don’t like how she calls me Fiona with disdain in her voice. As if she’s talking to someone she doesn’t know or care for. I suppose I deserve that. 

“I don’t need anyone. I’m perfectly fine to be on my own.” I take another half-step towards her. 

“What do you want from me, Fiona?” She asks me again. She is challenging me. Her voice, while still severe, is more inquisitive. She wants me to answer her, to let her in. To allow her another piece of me. 

I am not ready to answer her. Instead I continue to fight her and my own feelings. 

“I do not want another person coming into my life only to destroy it again!” I turn my head away from her as I expose a tiny piece of myself. Shan now steps forward. She is a breath away from me now. I want to touch her hair, her face, her hands. 

“What do you want from me, Fiona?” Her voice has now lost its edge, its icy tone. She is softer now, asking me to trust her. She reaches for my hand. I let her take it. I look down at our clasped hands, and I remember the last time she did this. I’m going to try and not run away again.  

“But then you held my hand… You held my hand. And you told me I didn’t have to be alone!”

“I did.” She says so sincerely. 

“And you helped me find my nephew.” I try to divert the conversation. I don’t know if I’m ready for this. Merlin help me, I am not ready for this. 

“I can’t take credit for that.” One of her hands has reached up to tuck a strand of my hair behind my ear.

“You helped me.”

“What do you want from me Fi-” She asks one last time. I feel her breath on my face. I give in.

This time, I am ready to answer her. 

I lean forward and kiss her. Her lips feel so soft, if a little chapped. Shan responds and returns my kiss. One of my hands has moved to the back of her head. I feel her thick soft curls in my hand. She has gripped my face in her hands. I feel her tilt her head and start softly nibbling on my bottom lip. I respond by lightly running my tongue over her teeth. I’ve wanted this for so long. Merlin knows why I’ve been denying it to myself. Our kiss breaks apart and Shan leans her head on the crook of my neck. 

“You. I want you, Shannon. Ever since you grabbed my hand and threw my world into bloody turmoil!” I whisper into her hair. She pulls away from me and looks at me as if I’m the most insane person in the world. She wouldn’t be wrong to assume that. I’m pretty sure there is a history of insanity within my family. 

“Well fuck, Prue… All you had to do was ask. But instead you ran away and acted like a bloody maniac. You could have talked to me, you know!” She shakes me lightly. 

“I bloody well could not!” I look away from her and shake my head. She wouldn’t understand. I am not the type of person who stands at the doorstep of a lover begging them to take them back or to love them. Even if I was, Shan’s life is wholesome and uncomplicated. All I am is one complication after another. She doesn’t need that in her life. 

“Why not? Help me understand you, Prue.” She’s grabbed my face again and she’s staring me down. Merlin help me, in the light, her eyes look like pools of honey. I grab her wrists tight. 

“I’m a bloody mess, Shan. I have no direction. I’m a disgrace to my family. A disgrace to my name.” Shan smiles at me. She runs her hands through my hair and I sigh. I’m a fucking mess. If my sister could see me now, she’d be so fucking disappointed. 

“You don’t have to be FIONA PITCH with me.” I snort sarcastically as she says my name with a snooty accent. “With me, you can be Prue. I like Prue a whole lot. She’s wild. She’s intense, but she’s got a good heart. She’s bloody gorgeous to.” With that, she grabs me by the back of my neck and pulls me into another deep kiss. My hands trail down to her hips and hold her in place. My thumbs tuck inside the hem of her jeans and run across her skin. It feels so soft. So perfect.  We pull away again and I laugh a little. 

“I can’t promise that I won’t run away or that I won’t be a complete maniac.”

“I can’t promise that I won’t kick your arse for being completely daft!” Shan flicks my white streak. 

“This could be a bloody disaster…” 

“Or not... Just don’t threaten my bartender again, or I may have to kill you.” She gives me a playfully wink, but I know she’s dead serious. I respond with a raised eyebrow and a tilt of my head. 

“I’d like to see you try.”

��With that, Shan cocks a half smile at me. She takes me by the hand and leads me away from the pub towards the stairs that lead to the Inn. She closes the lights as we walk up the stairs. 

I am not ready to give my heart to another person who could very well break it. But with Shan, I’m willing to risk it. 

Normal life be damned. 

And when I touch you, I feel happy inside. It’s such a feeling that my love, I can’t hide. 

[the-busy-ghost]

@margaretbeaufort​ said: I’d be happy to help out! I spend way to much time puzzling over headresses.

Thanks! Any insight at all would be a help- and it’s just a personal wondering thing not like an academic project or anything so an exact answer isn’t essential. Basically, I’ve been wondering what headdresses, specifically of normal noblewomen (lairdly to ducal level, less so royalty), might have looked like in late fifteenth and early sixteenth century Scotland (specifically between about 1430 and 1530, and aside from what little people have been able to extrapolate from the records about the rise of French hoods). Problem we have almost nothing to go on, especially artistically, since almost all Scottish painting from this period has been lost or destroyed, and the stuff that survives doesn’t tell you much about ordinary people (i.e., it’s royalty or biblical scenes where people are meant to look outlandish). And one tantalising quote from the Spanish ambassador Pedro de Ayala in 1498 where he claimed that, in his personal opinion, the headdress (as if there was only one which seems unlikely) in use in Scotland was particularly attractive:

“They dress much better than here (England), and especially as regards the head-dress, which is, I think, the handsomest in the world.” 

I suppose we could also scan the poetry of the period (Dunbar, Lindsay, e.t.c.) and see what they give us, like in Henryson’s (c.1460-1500) ‘Garmont of Gud Ladeis’:

“Of he honour suld be hir hud Upoun hir heid to weir. Garneist with govirnance so gud, Na demyng suld hir deir.” 

(”Of high honour should be her hood

Upon her head to wear

Garnished with governance so good,

No suspicion should harm her”)

and

“Hir belt suld be of benignitie Abowt hir middill meit, Hir mantill of humilitie To tholl bayth wind and weit. Hir hat suld be of fair having And hir tepat of trewth, Hir patelet of gud pansing, Hir hals ribbane of rewth.” 

(Her belt should be of kindness

About her middle meet,

Her mantle of humility

To withstand both wind and wet.

Her hat should be of fair bearing

And her tippet of truth

Her partlet of good thoughts,

Her neck ribbon of pity.” - Loose translations mine and not the best as done in a rush

And I know art is misleading anyway, but it’s sometimes the best way of visualising things. What we have is 1- the Trinity Altarpiece, from the 1470s, but that’s of a foreign queen (Margaret of Denmark) and it’s thought that the figures were painted in the Low Countries anyway and the faces made more accurate in Scotland; 2- for the years 1503-1541 paintings and copies of paintings of another foreign queen, the English Margaret Tudor (see page 9/301 in this article, and aside from this picture usually shown wearing French hoods in other, usually later copies of portaits,  the most famous being the seventeenth century portrait by Mytens, or depictions of her when she was young in England before 1503 (x)); and 3, later sixteenth century depictions of Scotswomen and French or English women in Scotland who show that court fashions in paintings at least seem to have kept pace with wider European fashion, but then court fashion is not exactly the ordinary person’s clothing. Nonetheless, even getting an idea of what court dress might have looked would be great, especially before 1530, since we have very little to go on. 

So I tried to think of any other ways we might be able to get an impression of how fashion might have looked, but, even though I know where to find sources as a Scottish history person, I wouldn’t necessarily be able to make head nor tail or those sources since I’m not well-up in fashion history- for example, I can read clothing and livery payments in the Treasurer’s accounts (one of the main surviving sources of royal expenditure) very easily since they’re in Scots and know something about what cloth might be favoured but I couldn’t put all the various pieces of what was purchased together in my head to form an idea of what it might look like without a lot of work.

 So I suppose there’s some early documentary sources like that- the Treasurer’s Accounts unfortunately does give an impression only for the elites, and are fragmentary, but we do have some clothing accounts for people like Margaret of Denmark (Queen of Scots, 1469-1486, the account is from 1473-4, but there’s only a few mentions relating to headdresses for things like kerchiefs in there), James III’s sister Margaret Stewart (lived quietly in Haddington), some of James IV’s mistresses like Janet Kennedy and Margaret Drummond and his illegitimate daughter Margaret Stewart, Lady Gordon (and her companions), ladies in waiting to Margaret Tudor (both her English ladies and Scotswomen who were given gifts of clothing when they attended on her) and other servants and women of the court. Most of the volumes of the Treasurer’s Accounts are available online for this period (x, x, x, x, x - thank you Victorian printing enthusiasts, and digitisation) as are the Exchequer Records, so I can always look them up whenever, and there’s also the occasional will or inventory or set of burgh or noble accounts for the period but they’re not always so accessible- the issue is that, while the Scots is easy enough to follow for me, I can’t always understand very well how the various pieces of clothing fit together- though main words used are generally ‘tippet’ and kerchief. (This may also be useful for obscure terms- the dictionary of old scots).

Either way they give quite an elite and partial view. Another way we might find images is in doodles at the side of important administrative documents and books (the Treasurer’s Accounts again has one or two), but it would take a long time to go through something like that.

 What I did wonder though is whether tomb effigies might be useful since we don’t have many paintings. I’m sure these could also be dodgy evidence, since they’re meant to present an Image to the viewer, and we don’t have many of them left either (and we have no monumental brasses of the period, which are such a great visual source in England) but they’re better than nothing.

Unfortunately not being in Scotland I can’t see many of them myself at the moment, and have to rely on sketches made by artists a century ago who seemed more interested in the men’s armour, but I did wonder about one (or several). Some, particularly of noblewomen who were married to lords of parliament and above, and especially those for the period 1200-1400 have headdresses that look very much like identifiable headdresses in use elsewhere in Europe. But some, for the fifteenth and early sixteenth centuries, and especially for women who were married to minor nobility and prominent townsmen, who were important in the regions, show a simpler piece of headgear like these:

John Houston- a Renfrewshire laird (not the same as a lord, but like minor landed gentry) who died around 1456- and his wife Agnes Campbell.

Gilbert Menzies of Pitfoddels (another laird) and his wife Marjory Liddel- Gilbert died c.1459). Were moved to St Nicholas Kirk, Aberdeen, so from the vicinity of the modern city.

Another one from St Nicholas Kirk, Aberdeen, John Collison (provost of the city c.1521) and his wife Margaret Setoun.

A slightly different but interesting one from Falkirk, a lord and lady callendar from the early sixteenth century. 

- Source for these

I can also remember seeing more in St Nicholas Kirk the one time I was there, with similar headdresses, a bit like this one of Elizabeth Keith on the Irvine of Drum tomb (c.1457) that someone has managed to get a picture of x, x, x.

SO! This long preamble aside (and my questions is more about these effigies, the preamble with literary and expenditure sources is just in case they might be useful), I’m wondering about this sort of simple headdress with the sort of padded ring and a veil underneath, and sometimes with this decorated stuff nearer the ears, if that’s what I’m seeing. It doesn’t look very unusual but it also isn’t what I’d really think of straight away when I think of late fifteenth century headgear- I’d have been thinking more stuff like this comparatively good example from Borthwick (mid-fifteenth century?), or this one of Beatrice Sinclair, Countess of Douglas (mid-fifteenth century- source), or even (for those at the highest end of society, countesses and queens and the like), something like what Margaret of Denmark is modelling in the Trinity Altarpiece, or one of those steep hennins and butterfly headdresses. But obviously these women are slightly lower on the social scale (though still important in their local areas and fit to associate with court if called to).

Firstly, is there ANY use at all in funeral effigies? Secondly, do you know of any good similar cases to these headdresses, since I’m assuming that something quite simple could have been in use among minor nobility and merchant classes across northern Europe? If not what kind of headdress would be worn by the wives of minor gentry and richer merchants in England, Scandinavia or the Low Countries, at least if they were dressed in their best clothes (i.e. for funeral monument, e.t.c.)? Thirdly, what would I call it (padded stuff and veil doesn’t really work)?  The first and last ones are also quite intriguing but the middle ones are more common among the ones I’ve seen. And lastly really, any other interesting insight you may have- I have to imagine they’re not particularly unique, but I’d like to know how widespread they would be and who would generally wear them (also if there are any images of them that aren’t worn away stone).

As I say though it’s quite a specific query but also not one I desperately need answered as it isn’t for like an academic reason, just my own ponderings. I’m going to need to start paying attention to merchants’ and minor gentry’s tombs and monumental brasses more outside of Scotland (though the ones I’ve seen in England so far are not like this and I can’t think of any I saw in the Netherlands, but they were generally of higher status figures).

Apologies for the long post, I think I needed to get it all off my chest. But as I say any knowledge (or if you just have related stuff you need to rant about and might be only tangentially related) would be much appreciated, no matter how small, if you have the time.

(Oh one last thing- if you happen to know what a tippet would look like when worn by a high-ranking late fifteenth century or sixteenth century noblewoman, I would love to know, because I’m thinking more thirteenth century liripipes worn by Robin Hood-esque yeomen every time it’s mentioned).

[hallodraws]

Our Confessions | Peter Parker x Male!Reader

Wordcount: 3,290

Genre: Male!Reader x Peter Parker/Spider-Man | Marvel/Insomniac’s Spider-Man (PS4) Christmas Special Summary: “You’re out trying to buy the perfect gift for your boyfriend, Peter. But when criminals step in to destroy Christmas for NYC, you’re caught in the middle of it. Lucky for you, there’s always Spider-Man.”

Warnings: mention of weapons

Author’s Notes: I know I’m late, but Christmas this year was exhausting. I had something ready for you guys two days ago but I wasn’t happy with it. So after some rewrites, I finally have something I’m proud of for you guys. For any new readers, this special is a direct continuation of the Thanksgiving story found right here. I hope you guys had a wonderful holiday, and if you’d like me to continue with this “Holiday Series” please let me know in the comments below. :)

You walk through the busy streets of Times Square, blanketed in a sea of lights and snow. It's December 21st, and the city is bustling with last-minute shoppers - yourself included. You spent the majority of the day walking from store to store, list in hand, checking off the various things you still had to get. It wasn't your fault you waited so long, at least not entirely. In your defense, you weren't so much shopping today as you were picking things up. God bless the internet; you were able to buy things online early, that way you could retrieve them at the store just in time for Christmas. After a few hours of walking, you finally made it to the last name on your list - Peter.

It's been about a month since you and him got together - all from a double confession at F.E.A.S.T on Thanksgiving. The memory of that day still warms your heart, even on this chilly late December evening. You and Pete officially began dating about a week after that. He took things slow, and that was okay. You didn't mind, because you've been there before (more times than you'd like to admit). You were just happy to have Peter look at you the way you've looked at him for so long.

You make your way into the watch shop, just a few blocks away from the hustle and bustle of the square. Peter was perfect - mostly. At times he was a bit dodgy, often late to dates, or even having to cancel plans altogether. But this little quip quickly became an inside joke between you two. There were no hard feelings, he was busy and so were you. You're both adults, and he always made up for it in the end. It even gave you the perfect idea for a gift

A few weeks back, you saw the most beautiful watch online. It was out of stock at the time, but luckily it's back just in time for Christmas. You thought to yourself how cute and meaningful it'd be to give him a watch. You joke about how now he'd never be late anymore, you'd laugh, and you'd kiss. Perfect Christmas. You find yourself smiling as you make your way to the counter.

"Why hello. Can I help you, sir?" The kind old man said from behind the glass casing, shimmering with dozens of gold and silver pieces.

"Yes, I'm (Y/N). I'm here to pick up an online order." You waste no time showing him the receipt you printed out earlier from home, as well as your ID to confirm identification. You've been doing this dance all day in so many stores; you knew it by heart by now.

"Oh yes!" He happily exclaimed, pulling a small black bag from just out of view, "My newest favorite from our collection. Is it a gift?"

"Yes, it is. For someone very special." You have a bit of a giggle to your voice. You can't help it.

"Well, I can guarantee they'll love it," He places the bag in your hand. You want to do a quick check, so you dig inside and open the box, eager to see it in person. You didn't think it was possible, but it looks even better than it did online. The way the gold accents sparkled against the matte black remind you of stars twinkling in the night sky. It was perfect in every way. You can feel your blood pumping, excitement brewing at the thought of Peter opening his gift. You just wanted to see him happy. It was too cheesy ever to say out loud, but seeing him smile really did make your day all the more special. With a grin still smeared across your face, you close the box and slip it back into the bag.

"Thank you so much," You give a soft wave to the clerk as you take your leave, "and have a wonderful holiday."

"You as well!" He returns the gesture as you exit back out the glass doors into the snowy air of New York City. All you'd have to do now is get home, wrap it up nicely, and give it to Peter Christmas day. To think, this would be your first Christmas as a couple. You were excited about it, but oddly also a little nervous. Peter said he has a surprise for you - something he wanted to tell you in person, alone. Dozens of ideas come into your head of what he has to say - some good, some bad. But he didn't seem concerned when he told you about it in the first place, so you try not to worry yourself.

You're too lost in your thoughts of Christmas morning with Peter that you didn't realize you made a left when you should have made a right. When you finally snap out of your head, you try to fix where you messed up - only getting yourself even deeper into unfamiliar territory. You reach for your phone in the depths of your winter jacket, hoping GPS will come to save the day. That's when you see your news app has a breaking report for the Time Square area.

"Krampus attacks NYC," you read aloud, "Reports of robberies by individuals garbed in Krampus themed attire are active in the area. Suspects have yet to be apprehended and appear to be armed and dangerous." You feel a lump in your throat form after reading the scrolling text on the marquee. You knew what Krampus looked like; honestly, after that 2015 film, everyone knew what the Anti-Santa-Goat-Man looked like. Horns, fur, claws - basically a weregoat in your eyes. While you loved creepy things like that, you had no intentions of ending up on Krampus's naughty list this year, so you decided home was your number one priority.

You didn't know it at that moment, but you were lost. Sure New York was your city, your home. But everything changes in winter. The buildings all look the same under the ice and snow. It didn't help your case now that it was getting late, the city falling under darkness as you made your way away from the main streets. You quickly remember your GPS app - unfortunately, not soon enough. By the time you click your home address, the last ounce of juice in your phone's battery zaps out, leaving you with a black screen and a deep dread.

You try to remain calm. At first, trying to retrace your steps - only to find the snow has covered them in little to no time at all. Your next step is to find a street with light. Light meant people and people meant safety. You keep telling yourself that, but after ten minutes of failure, the panic begins to set in. That's when you hear it - voices. You could hear laughing in the next alley. Without thinking, you hurry through the soft snow towards the sound, hoping you could borrow a phone to have Peter pick you up. At the very least, you could ask someone for directions.

But luck wasn't on your side. As you turn into the alley, you see two tall silhouettes - horned silhouettes. You're still, as if the cold city air has frozen you in place. You watch as the two things before you laugh to one another, their furry outfits blowing through the wind and their horns bouncing with each hearty laugh. You're able to make out the tiniest of lights by the masks' eyes - red LEDs to make them even more menacing. Slowly, you take one step back. Silent as you are, the two men take notice of you. But that's not what scares you. What sends the chill down your spine in the sound behind you - breathing.

Just over your shoulder, stands a third man. He too is outfitted with a horrifying mask, furry suit, and beaming red eyes of the iconic Christmas demon. You can hear his hoarse, labored breathing behind the silicone face. Suddenly, he speaks.

"Hand over the bag." The man growls in a low and breathy voice, his empty hand extended. It doesn't take long for the others to join.

"Please," you beg, "Just let me go, and I promise I--" But he doesn't let you finish, choosing instead to take the bag by force. His gloved hand squeezes the handle of the bag and pulls, but you cling to the bag itself, feeling your fingers dig into the sides. For a moment, you two stare at one another, the other two merely laughing at your feeble attempt to be tough. You can't see the mans face much, but his eyes peeking through the holes is enough to say it all. You’ve pissed him off.

Almost as if you each rehearsed it, you pull violently on the bag in unison, each of you tearing at it as if your lives depended on it. In mere seconds, the bag splits through the center. You watch as the small box inside tumbles to the snowy pavement. Without hesitating, you grab the box and sprint by the man. You don't turn around. Hell, you barely open your eyes. You just let your feet carry you as fast as they can.

"Please!" You call out into the night, "Somebody help!" You can hear your voice echoing off the brick walls of the alleyways. But you also hear something else - footsteps. You somehow find the courage to peer over your shoulder to see your attacker not far behind, joined now by his two cohorts. The sight of them all sent a chill down your spine, like something out of a nightmare - a child running from demons.

You're too lost in your head again, not focusing enough on your surroundings. You feel your body slam into a wall. It doesn't hurt (it must be the adrenaline), but you do feel the terror rise when you see nothing but brick blocking your path. You look in every direction - you've hit a dead end. You turn, and there they stand. Horned shadows drape across the brick as the city lights illuminate the men, their red lights the stuff of nightmares. You look down - three knives, one for each of them, glittering in the dark. You can hear them laugh as they step closer to you.

"looks like your outta luck, bud." One man chuckles from under his mask.

"Was all that running worth it?" Another speaks, twirling his weapon through his fingers.

"Please..." Is all you can say. You're not sure what you're even begging for at this point. You feel stupid, all this trouble for a dumb watch. You feel tears begin to well up in your eyes, knowing that whatever happens to you next is going to be painful - and it's all your fault. You clutch the box close to your chest, wishing you were with Peter.

"Hey, Goat-Jerks!" A voice calls out; the men stop in their tracks. You all look around the alley, frantically trying to find the source of the sound. Suddenly, a red and blue blur drops from above, sending one of the men firmly to the ground. As it rises, you see it's a man, adorned in a blue and red suit - a very familiar one.

"S-Spider-Man?" You mutter to yourself. He doesn't respond though, instead choosing to keep his attention on your attackers.

"C'mon. It's Christmas!" Spider-Man jokes as he shoots a web at the man beneath him, fastening him to the pavement. In a few short moments, a couple of swings from both sides, and a few web blasts from the hero's wrist - the men are glued to the alley, and you are safe.

"Yuri!" Your rescuer calls out, seemingly into thin air, "I got three of your Krampus jerks apprehended. Send some officers to come put these billy-goats back in their pen." You finally deduce he's communicating with someone. Once he finishes, he hurries to your side, placing both hands on your shoulders, "Are you alright?"

"I... Yes. I'm okay." You're still a little shaken, apparently quite visibly, because Spider-Man leans in, putting his hand on the back of your head.

"You sure? They didn't hurt you, right?" You feel your cheeks flush just a bit; hopefully, the cold air would be enough of a cover to hide it.

"Y-Yes. I'm sure."

"Good," His hand drops back to your shoulder, "Listen, it still might not be safe. Let's get you out of here, okay?"

"Okay, but what--" You try to ask him, but his strong arm around your waist stops your words dead in your throat.

"Hold onto me." He whispers. You continue to blush, but stay silent, doing just as he instructs. You lock your arms and fingers around his neck and together, you lift off the ground, slowly rising to match the height of the buildings around you. It's high, very high, but Spider-Man's grip on you makes you feel safe. You gently swing higher and higher, making your way from rooftop to rooftop. 

After a couple of minutes swinging, your surprised that you're not on the street - but on a rooftop. Spider-Man lets go of your waist, you look out over the side of the building, seeing thousands of windows and headlights twinkling like stars. You're left breathless at the sight (granted, it could've also been the altitude or the cold - but it was still beautiful none the less). You hear Spider-Man clear his throat behind you, so you turn to face him. What you see behind him practically knocks you back (thank goodness not actually, considering how high off the ground you were.)

There behind him sat a beautiful Christmas tree. It was huge, maybe ten feet tall. It was so bright that you don't understand how you could've missed it. It was practically a personal lighthouse for this street.

"This is... beautiful," Slowly you walk around the tree, enamored by the glitter and glow of all the lights, "My gosh, did you do this?"

"Yeah, wasn't all that hard," He chuckles to himself as he steps towards you, "It just took some time, some planning, and a lot of untangling."

"I'll bet! It looks incredible." You laugh. It did look incredible. The elegant way the lights draped around the tree, the dozens of blubs (all red and blue to match his suit) all perfectly spaced, the star at the top shining bright like a beacon - it looked like something out of a magazine.

"Good, it's for you." He was behind you now. You were so focused on the tree you barely heard him.

"I mean this must've taken--" and then it clicks, "Wait... what did you say?" You turned, the tree now illuminating you from the back. There stood the webbed warrior, twiddling his thumbs nervously.

"This is all for you. Granted, you weren't supposed to see it until Christmas." He repeated, this time a little quieter.

"I don't understand." You didn't. Did Spider-Man... have a crush on you? How could he? You've never met him. Besides, you had Peter. The idea of a superhero like Spider-Man thinking about you did tickle you inside, but the thought of Peter's warm smile and matching embrace was greater than any superpower. Lost in thought once more, you don't notice as he reaches for his mask.

"Please don't hate me..." He whispers behind his mask. You can hardly make out his words he's so quiet,

"Hate you? How could I--" The mask comes off - and you're silent. It feels like time is frozen and the world has grown quiet. There before you, clad in the same red and blue outfit you've come to see on the news every day - stands Peter Benjamin Parker. He squeezes the mask tightly in his hands, twisting it tighter and tighter with each second that passes without you saying anything. Finally, you find your voice again.

"P-Peter. You're... Spider-Man?" You don't know why you ask that. It's pretty obvious after all. But still, you needed to hear him say it.

"Yeah." He mutters, his brown eyes struggling to maintain contact with your own.

"I-I mean..." You try to formulate your thoughts, "I didn't..." but every thought that comes into your head creates another question, "I mean how? When?" You begin to wonder if you'll ever form coherent sentences again. But Peter ends your prattling by placing his hands in yours, still gripping the mask that now slips through your fingers as well.

"I've wanted to tell you for a long time." He's got a sadness in his eyes. It almost crushes you looking at him this way. The way his eyes glitter in the night make you feel that at any moment he could crumble to tears.

"I..." You try to speak, but Peter's hand squeezes. You decide to let him finish.

"I-I'm sorry I kept this a secret from you for so long," His hands slide up your arms until their at your shoulders, "I want you to know... it's not because I don't trust you. In fact, you're the person I trust the most."

"Pete..." You can feel his thumbs glide in little circles on your shoulders - something he only did when he was nervous. And just as you predicted, tears began to roll down his cheek.

"I just wanted to protect you but... It didn't feel right lying to you about this anymore," the tears sparkled from the lights of the tree, "I understand if you hate me... and if you don't want to be with me anymore--"

"Peter Benjamin Parker." You interrupted. He looks at you with shock, surprised by your little outburst. But all that sadness fades away when you place your lips on his cheek, kissing his tears away, "I could never hate you. Never."

"Y-You're not mad?" His voice breaks just a bit.

"I'm shocked, a bit confused, maybe a little anxious - but no, not mad." You take another look at him - a good hard look this time. His hair is a bit messy, some of it pushed to his forehead with sweat. His suit looks... amazing, but it has its minor flaws - scratches and imperfections here and there. You've known about Spider-Man for a long time now. He's a hero, a protector, and a good person above all else. Now that you think about it - that does sound like Pete.

"You saved me tonight, just like you've saved hundreds of others," You cup his face in your hand, "How could I hate someone who does all that?"

"(Y/N)..." Your name escapes his lips as the corners of his mouth turn into the smallest of smiles. You lean against him.

"No more secrets though, okay?" You hold him close, your head resting on his chest.

"No more secrets." He hugs you back, his gloved hand running through your hair.

"I'm not going to pretend I understand it all, and you have a lot of explaining to do," You squeeze around the small of his back, "I mean it, Pete. I want to know everything."

"I love you, (Y/N)." Peter lets out a soft laugh, his cheek pressing against the top of your head. Your heart skips a beat at those words.

"Pete, that's... the first time you said that to me."

"I-Is that okay?" You can hear the nervousness rise in his voice again. You laugh, bringing his face close to yours.

"Yes," You kiss him, your chapped lips breaking through the cold to connect with his. After a brief moment, you break away. "Because I love you too."

[lickstynine]

I’d love to read about kit getting super sick from too many laxatives , that ask really caught my eye. That’s such a specifically lousy tummyache. In an effort to relive one kind, he’s stuck with an (arguably worse) one

A/N: written with @ocsickficsideblog. We started this as a mindless thing before your ask came in, so it’s not like… great. I struggled with it some, cause for some reason, I struggle with Kit more than others in this sort of scenario. But scat stuff is never brilliant and plot-heavy, so enjoy while I’m buzzed enough to have the balls to post it.

Alistair knew Kit well enough to be able to tell when his cousin didn’t feel well. He also had a pretty good idea what was wrong when Kit wouldn’t say. Nonetheless, he couldn’t help worrying as they sat at the dinner table. Kit was shifting around uncomfortably, picking at his food more than really eating it.

“Kit…” Alistair ventured. The subject embarrassed him too, especially with Kit. It was easier with Julius, who’d just ask if you’d been to the loo recently if you casually mentioned a stomach ache. “You’re not eating.”

“I’m fine, Al. I’m just not hungry. That’s not a crime.” Kit had finally caved and taken some medicine earlier, and judging by the growing discomfort in his stomach, it was starting to take effect. His stomach was churning so loud he was afraid Alistair might hear; he was actually a bit queasy, and awful cramps kept shooting through his tummy.

“Are those…is it your stomach making that noise?”

Kit’s cheeks flamed with embarrassment. “I told you, I’m fine.”

“You need some pepto or something?” Alistair said, ignoring him.

“Pepto tastes vile.”

“Yeah, well, it’s medicine. They’re not known for taste.”

“I’m fine, Al. I’m going to go get some tea.” Kit mumbled, excusing himself from the table. Standing up made his stomach twist, and his face paled a bit. He took a deep breath before shuffling off to the kitchen.

Alistair followed him, still worried. “I know something is going on.”

“What’s going on is you won’t leave me alone.” Kit huffed. His stomach rumbled loudly again, and his face turned a ghastly white colour. He fought the urge to clamp a hand to his tummy, tensing where he stood.

“I can literally hear that’s not true.”

“It absolutely is. You’re standing here bothering me as we speak.” Kit’s voice was tight, and his stomach cramped sharply again, nearly making him cry out.

Alistair went to peer at Kit’s face. “Are you gonna puke? You’re a weird whitish-green colour.”

“No. Please, just give me some space.” Kit stepped as far back as his legs would allow before making a sharp detour around his cousin and down the hall.

“Kit?” He peered out the door, remaining in the kitchen even so. He thought he knew where Kit was going. The bathroom door was already slamming down the hall. Alistair kept his distance for a while, not wanting to embarrass Kit more than necessary.

It was a good twenty minutes later when Kit returned, looking more ill and wobbly than ever. He didn’t even bother returning to the table, flopping down on the couch instead. Alistair went to find him, going to check his forehead. Kit wasn’t warm, just clammy, and he instinctively pulled away.

“Chill out, I was just checking,” Alistair muttered.

“Sorry.” Kit had lost all energy to be grouchy. He was pale and limp on the couch, miserable and trembling.

“You want something for your tummy? I have Imodium,” Alistair said.

Kit shook his head. He couldn’t imagine that would react well with the medicine already wreaking havoc on his system.

“How about belly rubs?”

“Please don’t touch me.” Kit instinctively scooted away.

“Okay, calm down. I won’t touch,” Alistair said.

“Sorry, I just… sorry.” Kit sighed, curling up around his aching stomach. Alistair sat by him and stroked his hair instead, looking worried. Kit was only able to lie down for a little while before his stomach started stirring again. His face had gone grey, and he shifted on the couch.

“Bad again?” Alistair asked.

Kit nodded tersely. He forced himself to sit up, slow and careful and clutching his stomach. A cold sweat was dripping down his forehead. Alistair tried to help him up, looking terrified. “I hope it’s not serious…”

“I’m fine, really. Please don’t cling onto me.” Kit scrambled away down the hall. Alistair was a bit hurt, but he left Kit alone again. The older boy slammed the bathroom door, trying not to cry out as his stomach cramped. Alistair crept to the door and listened, too worried to just sit in the living room and wait. The sounds weren’t exactly nice - muffled, pained groans, and violent, gushing liquid.

“Jesus…” Alistair muttered to himself. Though he was mostly distracted, Kit’s sharp ears picked up the sound, and his voice was hysterical.

“AL! I told you to go away!”

“I’m worried about you!”

“Well if you really cared, you’d respect my dignity!” Kit wailed, dramatic as ever.

“Oh Kit, do shut up. We’ve literally been in the other’s shoes in this situation, and you were right outside too,” Alistair said.

Kit made an irritated noise - Alistair was right, but that didn’t make him happy. “What do want from me?”

“I want to make you’re alright! That sounds flipping painful.”

“So is being interrogated by my cousin while I’m on the loo!”

Alistair rolled his eyes. “I’ve known you since I was born. I’ve seen you on the loo before.”

“Not by my choice!”

“Look, how is your tummy?”

“Miserable, now go away.”

“I…I can’t.”

“What the hell do you mean you can’t? Are you glued to the door?” Kit asked.

“Because it sounds really bad and I’m worried about you.”

“It wouldn’t sound so bad if I weren’t also humiliated.” Kit groaned. Even he knew that wasn’t true, but it was still mortifying to know Alistair was listening as his stomach turned itself inside-out.

“Can I Come in?”

“No!” Kit wailed.

“But I want to help!” Alistair cried, exasperated.

“And I want to be miserable in peace!”

“Well, I’m either staying outside or coming inside.”

Kit groaned. “Go away!”

“Kit, you were out here writhing in pain, and with your fainting record I think I have a right to be worried!” Alistair called.

“I was not writhing!” Kit was struggling to bicker with the pain in his tummy. His voice was getting shriekier.

“Fuck, is it bad?”

“I’m fine!” It would’ve been more convincing if Kit’s voice hadn’t cracked.

“Oh god, Kit, please, let me help.”

“Why do you hate me?” It wasn’t a direct no, so much as a last-ditch plea to make Alistair leave.

“Shut up, drama queen. I’m here because I love you.”

Kit just groaned. He didn’t have the energy to argue any further. Alistair cracked open the bathroom door cautiously. Kit instinctively cringed, but he couldn’t exactly run away. He was pale and shaky, hunched over so severely his head was almost touching his knees. Alistair knelt because him, rubbing his back. “God, what brought this on?”

“Hell.” Kit mumbled uselessly.

“Did you eat something dodgy?”

“No, it’s not… It’s… medicine. Stupid thing works too bloody well.” Kit’s pasty cheeks were flaming red, and he wished a sewer monster would crawl out of the drain and swallow him so he could escape the conversation.

“Oh god… Did you take a laxative?” Alistair asked.

Kit didn’t think he could blush harder, but he nodded. “I didn’t want to. I’ve been feeling lousy for days…”

“How many did you take?”

“Not that many, I think. I don’t remember.” Kit was terrible about just haphazardly pouring pills into his hand and taking however many came out.

“Jesus… Well it sounds like too much.”

“Obviously.” Kit snapped, his voice tight as his stomach cramped again.

Alistair rubbed his lower back firmly. “Breathe through it.”

Kit groaned, hugging his knees as he hunched over. “I’m trying. It hurts.”

“I know. Laxatives suck.”

“You don’t have to stay here. You’ve checked on me.” Kit mumbled.

“I’m staying here.”

Kit sighed. “Of course you are.”

“I’m trying to help,” Alistair grumbled.

“I don’t need help.” Kit argued.

“Tough shit.” Alistair paused. He couldn’t help himself. “Or loose shit.”

“Get out!”

“Sorry sorry! Seriously, try to calm down and slow your breathing.”

“It’s hard to calm down when I’m miserable and humiliated.” Kit huffed.

“It’s just me,” Alistair said. “I’m not going to tell anyone or invite an audience.”

Kit sighed. “That’s so much better.” He muttered sarcastically.

“How’s your tummy?”

“Lousy.” Kit didn’t have that much in his system, it was mostly just painful cramps now.

“Can I rub it? Will that help?” Alistair asked.

“No. Please don’t.” Kit bit his lip, still far too sensitive for that to feel good.

“Okay. You know, I’m not going to do anything if you say no, Kit.”

“I know, sorry. I just… I hate this.”

“I know.” Alistair said. “I could give you an Imodium? It might help. Battle of the medications.”

Kit sighed deeply, burying his face in his hands. “I suppose.”

“Though maybe I should check online..? If you’ve been constipated, you may as well get it out.”

“For the love of god, whatever you want to do, shut up.” Kit groaned.

“Fine. I’m just trying to help.” Alistair huffed.

“I know. I know, I just… I hate talking about this.”

“Okay, sorry,” Alistair said.

Kit was quiet for a long moment, then finally spoke again. “Al?”

“Yeah?”

“Can you scoot closer? I’m cold…”

“Of course.” Alistair shifted over, wrapping his arms around Kit. The older boy leaned against him, weak and shivery. Alistair rubbed up and down Kit’s arms. “You’re freezing…”

“Yeah, the porcelain absorbed what little body heat I had.” Kit sighed.

“Wouldn’t take much.”

Kit sighed heavily, leaning on his cousin for a while before piping up. “I still feel horrible, but… I think I’m done.”

“Okay. Do you…need help with standing afterwards?” Alistair asked.

“I’ll be fine, but if you could find a blanket…”

“I’ll get right on it,” Alistair said, going to leave Kit to sort himself out.

As expected, once Alistair left, there was a flush, and the sink ran for a while. Eventually, Kit shuffled out of the bathroom, still sickly grey and wobbly. Alistair took him to the sofa, wrapping the heated blanket around his shoulders. Kit curled up, leaning on his cousin with a shaky sigh.

“Al?”

“Yeah?”

“Thanks.”

[jackjames-exe]

So 👏 Dan’s video

MY GODS THIS IS AN ENTIRE GAY EXPERIENCE WOW I RELATE AS HELL OOF

(This is an extremely long response and post, you don’t need to read it, I’m sorry. ALSO TRIGGER WARNINGS ARE IN THE TAGS)

This is just, an amazing thing to see him share and for him to tell us all of this and to accept himself and feel okay sharing...

It’s just amazing

I’m so proud of him, and I know a ton of people are sharing their opinions today and talking about it and your feed is filled with these,

But goshdangit THIS IS IMPORTANT AND SPECIAL AND I AM HAPPY FOR HIM OKAY?!

Like, guys Dan feels comfortable with himself and wants to share this despite how insane people can be and are online.

Do you understand how important this is?

For YEARS people have been attacking this man for his friendship with Phil and insisting they’re gay and together and that they HAVE to tell everyone, they just gotta

And making fanfiction and fanart and edits and obsessing OBSESSING over them and attacking them about this

And this man, this human being actually is sharing this with everyone

Like H O L Y SHIT

And he talks about internalized oppression and attempting suicide and depression and self hatred. Which is all really important and relatable to me, I know it seems like I don’t feel that (mainly internalized oppression) or that I look like I’m this amazing person who is really sure of himself and his gender and sexual identity.

But I’m not! Surprised? Sure you probably are a little bit with how much I advocate shit and like attack assholes (not a great thing to do, but it’s the best shield I can share for people who follow or find me, and it’s the only way they may stop) but I do experience a lot of internalized transphobia and panphobia and ace/aro phobia and all of those relating to me, hell even my depression and anxiety is dodgy and questionable to my stupid ass brain.

I think about suicide a lot, and I tell myself that I’m just messed up and that I might not be actually depressed or actually trans or pan or ace or aro because of some stupid thing someone said to me in my personal life or something I did. How I treated someone and shit.

Which is awful and should be addressed eventually with a therapist, yea.

But my point with sharing that is that it’s a common occurrence, but that doesn’t mean it isn’t a big deal or important. That doesn’t trivialize feeling such things and having those thoughts.

And Dan experiencing it is really important to be aware of. Not because he’s a precious bean who must be protected OHMYGOSHFLOWERCROWNSANDJOY

But because even the smallest bit of it and others attacking you (which he has experienced in spades, poor dude) can seriously mess someone up (yes it isn’t the way to prove someone is in the community, people can hate themselves for other stuff not everyone with depression and thoughts of suicide are queer) however it is a common thing in the community and I am here for anyone who wants to talk about it, and I’m proud of him for just saying all of this.

I am proud of Dan for sharing so much of his experience. So much of himself, it’s honestly insane.

Daniel, I know you don’t need this and probably won’t read it. But I accept you utterly and completely. You aren’t too old, no one is “too old” to share and realize their identity and it’s important that you gave yourself time to come to terms with most of this, at least a bit, if not fully.

You don’t need a label for yourself if you don’t feel comfortable with one and you don’t need to jump into our community to be queer, I only just had my first pride parade experience last year and I’m 20.

Regardless of your identity and whether or not you join the community, you still have a place in it.

So, welcome Dan.

[mxadrian779]

It really sucks when you find out someone you thought was a friend (or at least a good acquaintance) is actually a pretty trashy person.

Okay, let me build up the backstory. Almost seven years ago, I created a niche political page. I tended it alone for about a year before enlisting the help of a second admin. In comes this guy we'll call Richard. Richard and I got along decently. We shared a lot of thoughts and identities. I thought he helped me with the page considerably. He helped tend the page with me for about two years or so. We chatted a lot, and I really liked him. Then things start getting weird between us. Richard seems to start getting weird. There's stuff going on in his life, divorce and whatnot. I get a notice that the page we had was scheduled to be deleted within seven days. I loved my page; I certainly didn't schedule it for deletion. I ask Richard, who swears he didn't and blames his ex-husband, whom he insists must have hacked his account. I don't know who to believe, although I am certainly more suspicious of Richard than of his ex. I remove the deletion schedule, and bump Richard's page access down—basically, I took away his power and control over my page. Things are okay, kind of. The stuff Richard posts to the page is half decent and half questionable. Then he posts a swastika picture, a meme comparison of some current figure to a past Nazi figure with a swastika flag in the background. I wasn't aware of the post at the time; I was busy with school. I only heard of it when my stalker elsewhere online started circulating news of that post (my stalker watches every one of my online pages and presences) and calling me antisemitic—because of something I didn't post and wasn't even aware was posted! I immediately track down that post and remove it, and talk to Richard about it. He claims innocence and dodges the matter. I don't remember what else went on between us, but I certainly remember him being vague and dodgy about it, even after I told him what a shitty thing that was, and told him to at least consider the image that post projects. He didn't care.

(edit: looking back at my messages to him and finding a host of other problems that happened at once. I wanted to address them but he just ignored me. Transphobia, the swastika post, and he'd made some crude sexual posts, as well.)

 Now, I don't remember the exact timeline of events, but this was coming to a head about two years ago, when I was coming out of my transphobia. Richard had made a few transphobic posts on the page over its lifetime, which I didn't protest then. But then I started to see its shittiness and started deleting it all. I tried to open a discussion about it with him, like, “hey, what's up with this stuff?” kind of thing. Richard ignored me. A little later, I removed him from the page completely, which he didn't protest or maybe even notice. Richard was no longer an admin, but I spent the next few months cleaning up his messes and remaking the tone of the page. I tried to track down his old crappy posts and delete them. I know there must be many more, but they're buried beyond reach. I made it clear on the page that we are no longer to be transphobic, and that we are to be welcoming instead of mocking. I ran solo for a long time, afraid to enlist another admin and another Richard.

 A few years ago, before anything went sour, Richard decided we should have a group counterpart, which he created and added me as an admin. I was hardly active with it, though, more focused on the page part. I was last in the group three years ago—my last post. The group fell inactive and I stopped caring about it, especially when I started seeing what a richard Richard was.

Recently, this group came back to the fore when one of the other people Richard enlisted as an admin came back and started poking around. He took issue with what I had posted three years ago, and flew into all these weird accusations about it. He questioned my integrity and my identity, and said I shouldn't be an admin there. He especially didn't like when I told him I was transgender (he said something derogatory about me being a woman or something, so I countered). I private messaged Richard, and said, “What's going on with the group (i.e., this asshole)?” He replied that he'll handle it. I wish I took record of exactly what was said in the group by the other guy, but that wasn't on my mind. I'll finish this off with the transcript of our messages.

>me

>>him

 >Okay, what's going on with the group?

 >>I have no idea. [he] messaged me about your post im reading it now. But i dont particularly see anything controversial

 >It's so old xD I don't get the sudden action and the “I don't think you should be an admin”

 >>Think he just wants my attention...:P

Ill tend to him

I didnt know your not a woman

 >I'm female, but I don't identify as a woman.

 >>K well.. he says and I agree thats [accusation]

 >No, it isn't.

 >>And I was having such a pleasent day... haha

Drama queening over a dead group

 >Did

Did you just ban me?

 >>No y

 >I think [the other guy] removed me.

I can't access or even FIND the group.

 >>Dont worry about it. Were chatting ill take care of u in a min

And dont talk to him... shes just in a mood. This a mans job

 >? [I have no idea which of those was intended for me]

 >>Sigh... just let the men talk thats all you gotta do. RN

 >Uh, okay then, I'll let the penises talk.

 >>Lol

>> […]

>>Ok weve decided to reinvent the group and its gonna be male exclusive

 >Why??

 >>Because its a dead group anyway and if we reinvent it we can just say its been here for years. Also engage gay men in intellectual discussion and dialouge

Which isnt something woman are not typically interested in anyway

 >Only cismen are interested in intellectual discussion? Wow, seriously dude?

 >>Yeah actually. Its true. But ill let you know if theres something interesting going on in it :)

 >No, it actually isn't, and I didn't have you pegged as a sexist turd. Don't bother. I'm not interested in whatever Grindr knockoff you're going to turn the group into.

I can't believe you're doing this. We used to be a team. You wouldn't even have had the platform without me and the page, and you're just going to turn around and betray me like this?

 >>Its a dead group hun. Buisness comes first... also didnt need page platform for anything. Actually thats what killed it imo

Also no its not grinder. Its for intellectual dialouge and discussion.

We smoke cigars and drink brandy like men. And its a beaitiful thing

 And that's that. Richard is gone. I feel betrayed, but I don't know what I'm entitled to feel when I wasn't that close with him for the last few years anyway. He was married to a man and for all intents and purposes, he bills himself as gay, but he recently had a very strong and public relationship with a woman and got close to her son. Apparently that relationship is no more, and he still calls himself gay. Meanwhile, his page is full of questionable things. I haven't been keeping track of him, but he had recently started cropping up on my feed again. One of his posts said something to the effect of “the country went to crap when we gave women and minorities the vote” and it's just like WOW ARE YOU KIDDING ME. How was I EVER friends with this dude??

[lonelier-version-of-you]

OK so I was getting some drinks because it's Hot and saw Holby stuff in the tv mags. Took a look through them all. No pics bc I didn't want to look dodgy. Can't remember a lot because I was seeing read (Yes it's THAT bad I think). Do remember one had interviews with Jaye (Donna), Bob (Sacha) and Guy (your Henrik), will try to find which one. Other one was Rosie (Jac) and Alex (Fletch), that one made me see red. third I think was just vague spoilers? p1

The only unaimbiguously 'awww yay' thing I remember is Bob saying he was speaking to Rosie the other day and recounting how they both said that when they became best friends on the show as Sacha and Jac they became best friends in real life so he's thankful to the show for that. p2

Cannot stress enough how bad it all sounds. It's confirmed the finale is about Jac, although everyone gets their loose ends tied. So basically all the returns are connected to her (but we already knew that). It's really not clear if she lives or dies still but fucking Yikes at everything anyway because the interview with Alex focused entirely too uncomfortably on them both playing a couple in The Bill and really made me think they're going to go that way out of sheer laziness. p3

Hilariously Hugh has not yet been interviewed, I'm guessing the BBC are desperately trying to gag him until after next Tuesday lol. But I'm leaning to the either Jac dies, or Jac lives with issues and chooses Fletch. And I'm not even someone who ships her with anyone at all, I'm team #JacDoesn'tNeedNoOne, but even I feel like. wow. if they do that, why would you go out of your way to shit over such a longterm narrative and part of Jac's story by having her reject Joseph at the last chance????

p4 this is the issue I had with them reviving Flac at the last minute too, because it was ALWAYS going to lead to this -- why force a situation where you give last minute hope to BOTH ships, which means that either Flac is gonna be randoly revived only to be dashed again and shit on those shippers for no reason, or they're going to bring Joseph back to completely contradict Jac's entire romantic storyline on the show for the literal finale which is a disgusting way to treat those shippers too.

Yeah, I've seen all the TV mag articles. People on Twitter and the DS forums have been sharing them.

That bit from Bob about him and Rosie becoming best friends as Sacha and Jac did is really sweet. I also loved the bit from Jaye where she was saying the thing she'd enjoyed the most about playing Donna was the romances, and then she was like "I was going to say the men, but there have been women too!". Glad she remembers Donna's bi even if the show ignored it lmao. And Guy approving of Henruss, although we'd already seen that in the online interviews.

But yes, the finale sounds SO bad. I mean, we always knew it was going to be a letdown lmao, what isn't a letdown on modern Holby, they've managed to turn Henrik coming out into a letdown for goodness' sake. But it's still annoying to get the details and hear it sounds just as bad as we expected...

And the Rosie and Alex interview was definitely WAY too much about them playing a couple in The Bill. Ugh. I really do think we're headed for Flac now.

"Hugh has not yet been interviewed, I'm guessing the BBC are desperately trying to gag him until after next Tuesday lol" LMAOOOOO SFSFSFSFSFSFSFSF yeah. I am really interested to hear what he's gonna say about the show after it ends. It's refreshing how honest he's been about the downfall of the show.

But yeah, I think I would've preferred Jac to end up either single or with another woman (but again, their fucking Queer Quota means that was never going to happen because Henrik's already getting a same-gender romance), but if they were going to give her an endgame romance with a man... Joseph is just the obvious choice and the one that makes the most sense? If they have her reject him for Mr. I-Played-Your-Boyfriend-On-The-Bill-15-Years-Ago, I'm gonna scream.

God, the whole situation is just such a mess.

[financiallymint]

Why You Should Study What You Love

The combinationWhat you love and what you’re good at can be two different things (beer pong does not count). Ideally, we want a job that combines both, and that’s actually easier than you think. Can’t find one? Invent. Over at Nerd Fitness, Steve Kamb wanted to write about fitness but include all the ‘nerdy stuff’ in it too. He did a great job of it.I’m good at translating, and I enjoy writing fiction. Job idea: translating novels. I enjoy and am good at other things. What about you? What combinations do you think you could find? There are many job possibilities out there, you just have to try them out and see what works best for you (blogger is a great one too).Remember that it’s never too latePeople change careers at 30, 40 and 50. Remember that you will always have the option to change if you see what you are doing is not a viable option. Another reason why you should use university as an opportunity to explore: to expand your options.I started my degree with Accounting w/ Law because I knew I wanted to understand how people kept track of their money. I’m one semester in and I realise I really can’t do this for an entire year, so I’m changing course to International Business. My dream is to have my own business and I’m thinking that a degree in Business is a good start (without the drug dealing, of course).Remind yourself that you want life to be happy and fulfilling. So don’t be scared/hesitant to keep looking for the vocation which will bring you the highest degree of satisfaction.his post is inspired from Danny Dalah’s awesome music video: How to Pick A College Major.

his post is inspired from Danny Dalah’s awesome music video: How to Pick A College Major.

As you might have guessed, the moral behind the song/video is that you should study what you love because we’re all f*cked anyway. Although funny and with a sad element of truth to it, I thought I would explore several other reasons why you, as a college student, you should definitely study what you love in university.

The FIRST thing to note is that you should study what you love if you are willing to do two things:

Work hard

Have a Plan B

Studying what you love means working 10 times harder to achieve your goals. Yes, you may earn more with a Business degree than an Arts degree, but if you put in the work and the dedication, the money will come rolling (not to mention you’ll be enjoying it!). And I say have a Plan B simply in case Plan A doesn’t work out (plus you won’t be worrying as much). A Plan B could be studying another degree at the same time, gaining work experience, earning certificated, etc.

So if you’re in the process of choosing your degree or thinking of changing (been there done that), I want to give you a few reasons why studying what you love is your best choice in university.

Education is not a means to an end

Imagine what would have happened if all the great thinkers, authors and artists went to university to ‘get a secure job’ and ‘get enough income to pay the bills’. Imagine if we all just studied a secure subject and ended up in a secure job with secure paychecks? Life would get pretty boring in my opinion.

Education is so much more than a ‘means to get a job’. You don’t go to university just to receive a piece of paper at the end which might or might not get a job. You go to learn about life, to make connections, to learn about something that interests you.

Education is part of life, and college is where you get your foundations to explore as much as possible (yes even the dodgy stuff)

Many people argue that university is an investment, especially considering the huge costs, effort and time, and therefore one should hope to get the highest paid job possible. I do believe it is an investment, but the return should not be a job but an overall better life.

You put in this money, time and effort to properly explore what university offers for you, to take advantage of every opportunity. That ranges from trying different degrees, joining clubs, taking part in activities, making connections (Freshers week is a YES). You want to make most of the university life, not just the degree.

No guaranteed job

If you still haven’t watched Danny’s video, go watch it (which one are you? I’d say I’m either the dealer Business student or the Fine Arts History one). Getting a degree gave you a stable job and income 30 years ago, but not anymore.

Not only that, but in this day and age you can enter employment with pretty much any degree (hello English teachers). I got a job as a Digital Marketing assistant and guess what? I didn’t even have a degree (I was 18 lol).

Everyone gets degrees nowadays, so getting a Business and management Bachelor’s sadly won’t make you stand out from the crowd. So you have to do extra activities, gain some work experience, earn some achievements. By doing this you can study what you love and also gain some hands on experience to show how serious you are. Or you can also use this extra experience as a Plan B if you’re not feeling confident about your degree (for example: earning the TEFL certificate to teach English).

There are well-paid people in every field, and life is really too short to ignore an opportunity to work at what you love. Do you really imagine yourself doing something you dislike for the next 40 years? Not me.

Your happiness

I think it’s fair to say we all agree that a high salary does not correlate with high job satisfaction. And your job satisfaction is a genuinely important factor to consider when choosing your degree: will I be happy working at this? Will I do this for long? Will I feel fulfilled? If you’re not sure, get an internship or try it part-time.

If you end up in a job doing something you enjoy, you’ll be much more productive, willing to work and trying to produce better results. I can do wayy more hours of work now that I work online. Before, the 3 hours a day at a desk job nearly killed me. I know which one I’ll be choosing for the future.

But when I say happiness I don’t only mean your job satisfaction, I also mean your happiness at university. What will matter for the rest of your life is whether you had an inspiring, exciting and life-changing time at university, not the practicality of your degree. And studying something that truly interests you will only improve the experience.

The combination

What you love and what you’re good at can be two different things (beer pong does not count). Ideally, we want a job that combines both, and that’s actually easier than you think. Can’t find one? Invent. Over at Nerd Fitness, Steve Kamb wanted to write about fitness but include all the ‘nerdy stuff’ in it too. He did a great job of it.

I’m good at translating, and I enjoy writing fiction. Job idea: translating novels. I enjoy and am good at other things. What about you? What combinations do you think you could find? There are many job possibilities out there, you just have to try them out and see what works best for you (blogger is a great one too).

Remember that it’s never too late

People change careers at 30, 40 and 50. Remember that you will always have the option to change if you see what you are doing is not a viable option. Another reason why you should use university as an opportunity to explore: to expand your options.

I started my degree with Accounting w/ Law because I knew I wanted to understand how people kept track of their money. I’m one semester in and I realise I really can’t do this for an entire year, so I’m changing course to International Business. My dream is to have my own business and I’m thinking that a degree in Business is a good start (without the drug dealing, of course).

Remind yourself that you want life to be happy and fulfilling. So don’t be scared/hesitant to keep looking for the vocation which will bring you the highest degree of satisfaction.

Here at Financially Mint one of my goals is to show students how to take control of their money through good money habits, the right mentality and other tips. Another of my goals is to show students that life is not all about work. Life is not all about the 9 to 5 grind, about earning money just to pay the bills and complaining about your boss.

I want to show students how they can take control of their money in a way that gives them freedom, so that money doesn’t play such a huge part of their life. In the personal finance world, this is called financial independence or financial freedom: being able to do what you enjoy and not purely because of the money (although it will always play a small part).

A lot of awesome millennial personal finance bloggers talk about their lives changing at the ages of 30/40 as they fixed their finances, changed jobs, and pursued financial independence. But what if you could reach financial independence right out of college? What if you could focus the rest of your life doing what you enjoy, exploring the world and pursuing your ‘passion’? It’s not impossible and it’s not just a dream. In fact, you can get started now: by choosing a degree that you love.

A little side note: Danny made some AWESOME haikus about personal finance in college for me, and I thought it would be a cool idea to post them around my social media. There are 10 in total, and I’m going to be giving a cool $5 Amazon voucher to the first person who can find the 10 and email them all to me (it will be over the course of several days).

Here’s the first one!

If you can read this,

You can likely teach English,

Go forth and profit.

Read more like this over at Financially Mint