#I still cry with the beer metaphor

[hidefan]

Hey, remember the Netflix show Smiley? In which a nerdy, lonely romcom lover with a sweet tooth falls for a younger, muscly guy who is tired of casual sex and wants something real?

And they talk about the red string of fate?

And after sleeping together they both want more with the other but are unable to communicate their feelings well so they drift apart? But they still think about the other all the time?

And look!

[SPOILERS]

And then they try to move on but there's lots of misunderstandings, and jealousy, and mutual pining, and dramatic declarations of love, and every romcom cliché ever? And dating other people is futile?

And one thinks that he can't have the other the way he truly wants?

And the other one tries to accept that this is what always happens, that everytime he meets someone he thinks this time is going to be different until it's not? But this time he has so many feelings he just wants to TRY? Because the red string brought them together?

And they ultimately decide that there's no point in thinking things can go bad, they can just be together?

TIIIIIIIIIIIM I hope this is what you are doing!!! I can even forgive Buck and Tommy dating other people if it's to show how they can't stop loving the other.

Let's just hope their story is a romcom after all and not a fucking tragedy.

[jxstsxgx]

𝙸 𝙰𝙼? | 𝚂𝚃𝙴𝚅𝙴 𝙷𝙰𝚁𝚁𝙸𝙽𝙶𝚃𝙾𝙽

Pairings: Drunk! Steve x Reader

Word Count: 2, 272 words

Summary: Steve drinks himself into a dramatic spiral over his unrequited love for his best friend, you. You’re absolutely no help. Mostly because you’re too busy laughing at his dramatic little love confession meltdown.

Contains: Hangover recovery, mentions of drunk behavior, soft teasing, reader absolutely clowning Steve for his antics, Steve being the most dramatic sap ever, sweet kisses and fluffy ending.

A/N: Honestly just wanted to write hungover Steve being confused and needy, lmao.

masterlist |

Steve Harrington was, by all accounts, tragically wasted.

He had his face half-buried into Robin’s hoodie, one shoe missing, and was currently narrating his heartbreak like a sad poet with too much lip gloss on his mouth.

“She doesn’t love me,” he mumbled.

Robin exhaled slowly. “You don’t know that.”

“Yes I do! She’s too perfect for me. Too sunshiney. Too good.” He sniffed loudly. “She needs a guy with a jawline and like... a motorcycle.”

Eddie sat cross legged across the room, lazily flipping through a magazine and sipping a beer. “You have a jawline.”

“Not a good one,” Steve said dramatically. “Not a jawline she’d marry.”

Robin leaned her head back against the couch and mouthed, I’m going to scream.

Steve, for his part, kept rambling. “She’s probably out right now. With that guy. You know, the one. The guy with the forearms.”

“Steve,” Robin said slowly. “She’s not seeing anyone else.”

“She better not be,” he said, very seriously. “Because I’d duel him. Like swords. Or nunchucks. Do people still do that?”

Eddie blinked. “Have you ever held a sword?”

“Metaphorically, yes.”

Robin sat forward. “Okay. Steve. Listen. She's-”

“I mean, we’re best friends, right? But like best best friends. Like, if we were in a movie, it’d be the part where I stare at her in the rain and whisper something dumb like, ‘It’s always been you,’ and she forgives me for being a total dumbass and then we make out.”

Eddie snorted. “Jesus Christ.”

Robin tried again. “Steve. Let me just say-”

“I can’t tell her, okay?” he shouted, as if someone had objected. “It would ruin everything. She’d laugh or... or worse. She’d pity me. And she deserves someone who’s, like, emotionally stable and... doesn’t cry at the end of The Neverending Story."

Eddie opened his mouth. “Dude, you’re-”

“I know!” Steve wailed. “I’m her idiot best friend. Her go to guy. The guy who shows up with fries and lets her rant about her stupid coworker and doesn’t kiss her even when he really, really wants to.”

Robin slapped her hands on her knees. “Steve. Shut up for two seconds-”

“She doesn’t need to know I’m in love with her. Okay? She’s got a good thing going. Probably dating some art history major who reads poetry in French. I’ll just stay out of it.”

Eddie looked at Robin.

Robin looked at Eddie.

Both of them looked at Steve.

Then they got up, dragged and forced him into Eddie’s van.

You opened your door in a tank top and pajama pants, rubbing sleep from your eyes. “Steve?”

He blinked at you like you were a hallucination. “You’re home.”

“Yeah? It’s midnight. What’s going on?”

Robin shoved him gently forward. “Go on, Romeo.��

Steve stumbled inside, dazed. You reached for his hand instinctively. He gripped it like a lifeline.

“I came to say,” he began, very seriously, “that I love you.”

You paused. “Okay…”

“I know you’re taken,” he sighed. “And that’s fine. You deserve that. You deserve flowers and matching playlists and forehead kisses.”

“Steve-”

“No, it’s okay. I just had to say it once. So I don’t die with it inside me.”

You blinked.

Behind him, Robin and Eddie silently waved at you. Robin gestured wildly to say something. Eddie mimed a heart and pointed between the two of you.

“Steve,” you said softly. “Look at me.”

He did, watery eyed and flushed.

“You’re my boyfriend, dummy.”

He blinked.

Then blinked again.

“…Oh,” he said.

You smiled. “Yeah.”

A beat.

“I am?” he asked, voice cracking with confusion and wonder.

“You’ve been my boyfriend for like, six months.”

He looked behind him slowly at Robin and Eddie, who both gave simultaneous we tried shrugs.

Steve turned back to you, face flushed red and stunned into silence.

"I am." He says, sheepishly and now giggling.

Steve woke up with the grace of a corpse dragged from the lake.

Groaning, he blinked into your ceiling, one arm flopped over his face, one leg shoved halfway off the bed, your pillow missing entirely from under his head.

“Kill me,” he rasped.

You were already up. In the kitchen, making coffee, humming something cheerful. Too cheerful.

He frowned into the sunlight slanting through your curtains.

Why were you humming?

You were never that happy before 10 a.m.

His stomach dropped.

You walked into the room holding a mug, your sleep shirt oversized and your smile borderline evil.

“Good morning, Romeo.”

Steve narrowed his eyes. “Why do you look like you’re up to something?”

You sat beside him on the edge of the bed, handed him the coffee like you hadn’t been waiting to destroy him with it.

“No reason. Just wanted to see how my boyfriend’s head was doing.”

Steve winced, sipping carefully. “Feels like there’s a demon in it. One with a tiny drum set.”

You patted his hair. “Well, at least you weren’t dramatic or anything.”

“Don’t mess with me right now. My brain is literal soup.”

You shrugged. “Sure. I mean, Robin and Eddie dragged you to me like you were Frodo with the One Ring. And you did tell me you’d duel my imaginary boyfriend with nunchucks.”

Steve slowly turned to look at you, mortified. “...What.”

“Oh, and when they left, you cried. A little. About how I needed a man with a motorcycle.”

His face hit the pillow. “No.”

“And about your jawline.”

Steve groaned into the sheets. “Stop. Please. I’m too fragile.”

“I wish I recorded it,” you said, sighing. “Steve Harrington, prince of hair, heartbreaker of Hawkins sobbed because he thought he was ‘just the fries guy.’”

He peeked out from the blanket. “You’re enjoying this too much.”

“I earned this,” you said smugly. “Six months of going on dates, flirting, romantic drives, and homemade cookies, and my boyfriend forgot we were dating.”

“I was drunk!”

“You thought I had another boyfriend!”

“You said someone at work had nice forearms!”

“I was talking about a golden retriever named Max!”

Steve slumped, face pressed into your thigh. “I hate myself.”

You giggled, running your fingers through his hair. “It was kind of cute. You were very sincere. You said I deserved forehead kisses and little dates.”

He groaned again.

“And then you called me your sunshine girl and threatened to write a mixtape about your pain.”

“Okay,” Steve said, sitting up and wincing dramatically. “That’s enough. I’m cutting you off.”

You grinned, leaning in until your forehead touched his. “You’re lucky I love you.”

Steve huffed, cheeks pink. “Yeah. Lucky is one word for it.”

You kissed his cheek. Then the tip of his nose. Then his lips, soft and smiling.

And even with a hangover from hell, Steve smiled back.

“…Wait. Did I really say I’d use nunchucks?”

“Yup.”

“I don’t even own nunchucks…I take it back. I regret nothing.”

You laughed so hard, you nearly dropped your mug.

[undreaming-fanfiction]

Party Animal

Steve hated parties. And who could blame him? The infamous Halloween party of 1984 left more scars on his heart than he carried from all his other misadventures. Alcohol made people say thinks they buried deep inside, but then instead of owning up to them, they'd say "I was drunk", as if that was any excuse. So yes, Steve and parties didn't go together anymore.

And yet he stupidly decided to throw one anyway.

Look, they deserved it. All of them did - Eddie, Nancy, Robin, even Jonathan and Argyle, they all earned acting like actual teenagers for one evening. Steve wanted to see Eddie, now miraculously his boyfriend, just have fun, laugh, be silly. So a party it was.

It all went great - dancing, drinking, nibbling on mountains of Argyle's homemade pizza - but eventually they all got drunk. Not Steve, he just sipped one beer and kept an eye on everyone. Jonathan and Argyle were smoking outside, Nancy and Robin flirted in the most embarrassing way possible and Eddie...

Steve heard sniffling from the bathroom and his heart sank.

He didn't want to go there. He didn't want to be told that this was all a misunderstanding, that he pressured Eddie with his flirting, didn't want to hear he's bullshit again.

But no matter how terrified he was, he could never abandon Eddie. So he went in.

Eddie was leaning over the sink, wiping at his face and trying to control his breathing. "Shit..." he muttered and turned away from Steve. "Sorry, I...uh. I'll be there in a sec."

"Eddie..." It came out as a whisper. "Are...are you okay? Did I do something?"

Eddie just chuckled and pulled hair in front of his face. "Sure did," he mumbled.

And it made horrible sense to Steve. Of course he was the reason Eddie was crying. He couldn't help fucking up, he'd tried so hard to change but apparently it was 1984 all over again. So he took a deep breath and waited for the final blow.

"You're just perfect, Stevie."

Oh.

That wasn't what being broken up with sounded like. In fact, Eddie didn't seem angry at him at all. "...sorry?"

Eddie laughed, wet and high in his throat. "Like, you...you are too good to be true, you know? You throw a party for us and then you even don't drink so we're all cared for if anything happens? You...you give your best friend a green light to date your ex who shredded your heart to pieces? You invite the guy that your ex cheated on you with and his friend? You're just so good about it. And you're funny and so bitchy that I want to kiss you all the time. And I just...I love you so much, you know? And I've never felt that way about anyone and it's fucking scary, man."

Steve's racing thoughts came to a screching halt. Where he was too busy panicking and praying he'd still have time to fix whatever he did, now his brain settled on maybe I'm not getting broken up with? "So, uh..." he muttered as he watched Eddie try fix his eyeliner, "...there's, like, nothing wrong? Or maybe...do you want me to go slower? I know I can be a lot."

His boyfriend gave an incredulous laugh. There was no salvaging the eyeliner now, it was getting caught in Eddie's early crow feet, and Steve had never seen a more beautiful sight. "No, Steve. You're not a lot. In fact, you're just enough in every single way, but knowing that you're it for me, that good things can happen...it makes me terrified. I've never put all my drugs in a single lunchbox, or whatever metaphor you want to use for it, but with you I'm just throwing all the caution into the wind. And for the first time, I..." he stopped, chewing on his lip, "...I don't want to run away when I mess up. I want to stay, face the music and fix it. You're re-writing the Munson doctrine again and again and I just...I don't want you to settle for me, Steve. You are the whole package and I'm still cleaning all my messes. I guess today showed me that and I...yeah. Sorry about all this," he pointed at his tear-streaked face.

Eddie suddenly seemed so small, so insecure, and that wouldn't do. It woke Steve up from his frozen state and he took a step forward, cradling Eddie's face in his palms. "I'm not. Settling for you, that is." He was probably smudging the black even more, but Eddie would have been beautiful to him even fully covered in grime, and there were more important things to focus on. "Eddie, you keep talking about the Munson doctrine and being work in progress, but you don't see how you've thrown all the stuff I used to do out of the window, and I'm better for it. With you, I don't feel rushed, I don't have to perform or pretend. I can just live in the moment."

As he continued his speech, something strange started happening. Seeing people cry normally had a guaranteed effect on Steve - just one tear, quiet sob and he pushed his emotions down to be dealt with later or possibly never, someone needed him, and that was the priority. But now, staring at Eddie's wet eyes and shaky hands? He felt his own face crumbling and what better place to hide it than in Eddie's Metallica t-shirt. It smelled of cigarettes, pizza and the cheap laundry detergent that had come to mean home to Steve. "Sorry," he choked out. "Shit. I was...sorry, I'm supposed to be...you know. Consoling you. But I heard you crying and I thought...I..."

Eddie shook his head and tightened his grip on Steve's waist. "Oh Stevie. Whatever that pretty head of yours thought of, it's not happening. Unless it's kissing me, which duh, that's happening, if you want to of course, and staying with me to the point that you're sick of me."

Steve just whimpered into Eddie's shoulder, something that suspiciously sounded like "Now who's perfect, huh?"

His boyfriend just chuckled. "I guess that in a way, we both are. Maybe for each other?" If he'd aimed for self-deprecating tone, he failed. Instead, it was hopeful.

Steve didn't answer, but his embrace said it all.

They remained wrapped around each other for a long while, until Eddie whispered in Steve's ear: "how about we let the others celebrate on their own, hm? They won't be driving, their stuff is already in the guest bedrooms, and I hear your bed is wonderful this time of the year."

There was a muffled "yes" coming from Eddie's shoulder, and a few adjustments and "Good night!"s later, they found themselves in Steve's bedroom. Eddie managed to remove most of the rogue eyeliner, which was lucky. The time in the bathroom wasn't the last time he shed a tear that day, because as they were falling asleep, Steve said:

"You might be the first person who is dating the real me, and I'd like you to be the last one as well."

Tomorrow, he'd hold a funeral for the Munson doctrine. But today, he was going to wrap himself around Steve like a cuddly octopus and know that even if he doesn't manage to hold on tight the whole night, Steve would be there in the morning.

[the-most-humble-blog]

🛐 THE REAL PROTAGONIST WAS A DRUNK IN A TRAILER — AND HE SAVED THE F*CKING WORLD (A Blacksite Eulogy for Russell Casse, the Only Man Who Deserved Fireworks on July 4th)

You want to talk about heroes?

Not the sanitized TikTok military kids. Not the squeaky clean captains with million-dollar jawlines and scripted redemption arcs. I’m talking about a crop-dusting, beer-swigging, alien-abducted burnout who flew his last plane straight into God’s teeth — because nobody else f*cking would.

His name was Russell. F*cking. Casse. And you will put respect on it.

🧠 THE MEASURE OF A MAN? It’s not who he was at his cleanest. It’s who he was at his brokenest.

Russell Casse was mocked, alienated, ignored. He lost his wife. He lost his mind. He lost custody of public opinion the moment he said the words, “I was abducted.”

But when the aliens actually showed up — that so-called lunatic was the only one who already had the flight path drawn.

🛑 YOU MOCKED HIM FOR BEING A VICTIM Let’s call it what it was:

He served in Vietnam.

Got abducted.

Experimented on.

Left hollow by forces beyond comprehension.

And then America turned him into a punchline.

People didn’t just ignore him. They laughed. They whispered. They pointed. They pitied.

Until the skies cracked open and daddy was right the whole time.

🍺 HE WAS A DRUNK. SO WHAT? He still showed up. He still climbed in that cockpit. And when the fancy jets couldn’t finish the job? When every pilot with medals and IQs and magazine cover teeth ran out of ammo?

He flew straight into that alien’s colon and died like a warrior.

📡 WHAT HE REALLY REPRESENTED: Russell Casse is the walking metaphor for every man this country abuses and discards — until the chaos hits, and suddenly they need him.

They need the flawed one. The dirty one. The "unstable" one. The real one.

The guy who says, “Tell my kids I love them,” while flying a missile-less jet into an interstellar gaping death ray.

That’s not a death. That’s a sermon.

💥 THE REST OF Y’ALL GOT TO HUG YOUR KIDS Russell did not.

He died in flame. So you could kiss your daughter on the forehead. So Will Smith could light a cigar. So a president could give a speech.

But it was Russell Motherf*cking Casse who gave everything left when he had nothing left to give.

🧠 TL;DR He wasn’t the main character

He wasn’t on the posters

He wasn’t respected

But he was necessary

And he won the war

You salute Captain America. You tweet about Iron Man. But deep down? You’d have died without the crop duster with PTSD and a hangover.

💣 CALL TO ACTION: 🔁 Reblog this if you know America only survives because of men like Russell 🛩️ Save this post for the next time someone tells you broken men can’t be heroes 💥 Send it to anyone who still thinks “main character energy” is a hairstyle and not a body count 📡 Bookmark it so future generations know who actually saved the planet

⚖️ LEGAL DISCLAIMER:

This post is satire, historical memory reclamation, cultural eulogy, and unsanitized masculine mythos protected under literary commentary and spiritual war doctrine.

If you’re offended: Go cry in the cockpit you never had the balls to enter.

🛐

[lixies-favorite-cookie]

rewrite the ending in the scars of sea glass・l.f

—From the moment Felix saw you drawing your dreams in the sand, he knew you were a daughter of the seas, with frozen fingers and feelings like the tide. So when the waves rush overhead, he will place his soul upon your tongue so your hollow heart can finally feel the warmth of the sun.

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠・felix x mommy issues!reader 𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞𝐬・angst, smut, a collection of moments the two of you have ever wanted to say I love you 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐬・10k 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬・I tried to make this as gender-neutral as possible so if there are any pronouns let me know and I'll fix it :) The reader had mommy issues that are heavily described, manipulation, verbal abuse, references to physical abuse but it really isn't described, love bombing, alcoholism, references to blades and knives, self-harm is kind of mentioned but its a metaphor for how her love feels, an ungodly amount of crying, panic attacks, PIV sex, CONSENT, ngl this is just some passionate lovemaking, tears during sex, references to the princess bride the greatest love story of all time I will die on this hill, nothing else so far...

𝐚/𝐧・I have poured my heart and soul into this fic this was my beckon to live my hurt through the scenes of this story I hope that it heals you the way that it healed me

screenplay

❝ "In every lifetime?" you utter ❞

i. It is the wounds we hide from the light that beg most to be seen.

— For the first time at age twelve, stuck in sweat-caked sand, your heart formed the words I love you.

ii. I could find your soul in the sky because yours is the only one that smells like home.

— After a long night, caught in a bubble of beer, all you want to do is collapse. But what will you do if you're in the middle of school and the teacher just announced a test?

iii. There are so many things in the world that must first collapse before they are born; why do we not believe humans are the same way?

— You show up at Felix's house, broken and distraught. What will he do with your shattered heart?

iv. Just once, let him rewrite the story; just once, he promises you will never have to watch the same ending again.

— You were still friends, even as he fucks your pain away.

vi. She is only in your DNA.

— Well... I think we'll just leave this one a surprise.

❝ "In every lifetime." Even the earth knows he means forever ❞

Fair warning: I have written around 8k words of this, but I'm through the middle of iii., and I've already written iv. So, assuming the length of the rest plus any add-ins, it will be around 10k-11k. I have a terrible habit of changing my mind, so all of this is fit to change, though I doubt it will. Most likely, I'm just going to add more.

Okay, I hope you're excited to read it, and let me know if you want to be tagged!

[tinygardenhideout]

Studying is hard

Sebastian Sallow x Male!Reader

So this is my first fanfic I'm posting on Tumblr. I would really appreciate any constructive criticism.

Hope you enjoy!

"So..remind me, how do you brew Felix Felicis again?" Sebastian held his breath and spoke through gritted teeth, braceing himself for either a calm explanation or a torrent of insults and expletives.

Sebastian and Y/N had been studying for what felt like years at this point. There Potions N.E.W.T was coming up in two days, and it was all hands on deck in the Undercroft. A plush carpet had been laid on the wooden floor and cool lights hung from the ceiling, creating a light atmosphere in contrast to the usual dingyness of the space.

"Sebastian Sallow," Y/N took a deep breath and bit his tongue, not wanting to say something he would later regret, "let this be the last time I tell you or I swear on Godrics Heart, studying for your NEWTS will be the least of your worries."

Sebastian nodded, "Yep, understood." After two years of knowing each other and 10 months of dating, Sebastian knew when to pick his fights with Y/N.

"Good. Right then, for the fifth time, add Ashwinder eggs to a cauldron..."

In one ear, and very quickly out the other. Y/N's instructions became background noise as Sebastian stared into Y/N's jade eyes, it felt like ages since they last got intimate with each other. Of course, they had been spending time with each other, but Sebastian wanted more then just a butter beer after a long day and cuddles in the Undercroft, no, he wanted to be really intimate with Y/N, he wanted to kiss him until they were both gasping for air, he wanted to feel Y/Ns skin against his, he wanted to make him cry out with pleasure.

"...then stir slowly and- are you even listening to me?" Y/N said sharply

"Yeah, yeah, crush occamy egg shell and add to the mixture."

"Good, seems your finally getting the hang of it, then add a sprinkle..."

The urge to do something was bubbling up inside Sebastian like one of Garreths failed potions, the urge to push Y/N to the ground and kiss him was almost animalistic. But, as Y/N went on explaining the potion recipe (most of which Sebastian has already forgotten, again) he realised that now maybe wasn't the best time; the look of concentration on Y/N's face very clearly conveyed the fact he probably did not want to spend the next hour snogging Sebastian.

However, there was something Sebastian could do.

"...finally, say the incantation 'Felixsempra' over the cauldron in a clear voice. Got it this time?" Y/N tilted his head slightly as he looked at Sebastian, expecting an answer.

"Yes, I've got it, thanks." Replied Sebastian, dismissively.

"Say it back-"

"Y/N, listen.." Sebastian cut Y/N off mid sentence, the metaphorical cauldron had finally bubbled over and the boy could no longer contain himself, he needed Y/N to hear his words.

"You've bloody forgot it again, haven't you? I swear to-"

"I love you, Y/N. I really, really bloody love you." There. There it was.

Y/N lifted an eyebrow and tilted his head in confusion, "I.. should hope so, all things considered."

Sebastian sighed and shook his head. "No, no, not like that.. not like when we say it at night or when we're leaving each other. I really mean it, I love you."

Much to Sebastians chagrin, Y/N was still not following.

Sebastian crawled over to Y/N and took his hand, "After all you've seen me do, despite how stubborn and headstrong I can be, you've stuck with me. Even when Ominis, even when Anne had enough, you stayed with me, and loved me. So... I just wanted to tell you, that I love you."

Y/N's face softend at Sebastians surprise confession. Y/N knew better then anyone that Sebastian struggled showing affection, so to hear those words was... the feeling was indescribable.

"Seb, I..."

"I love you too."

[callizinc]

Not to be a hater, but while I understand why the majority of fans who ship coralena skip into the comfortably settled part of a relationship so they can make cute and fluffy fanart and fic surrounding the ship, I kinda wish more people didn't and just explored the "getting to know each other" phase because that would mean exploring the two fo them more as characters

Something that bothers me especially is that people make Coral too nice? Like when we first meet her she says things such as "am I required to talk to you" and "i guess if you're so desperate to talk to someone I can spit some words at your face", she is clearly uncomfortable and irritated with Ena, and perhaps she is that way with everyone seeing as she is new here and probably a little uncomfortable in her new place of employment, but that doesnt negate that she doesnt seem all that nice. She is, at best, somewhat polite, just enough to remain professional.

This isn't a condemnation of her character. It's a pretty reasonable attitude to have in her position, and it's one of the things I like about her, I just wish more people would take into account that Coral would not be comfortable with Ena right away and that they would have to build some level of professional trust between co-workers before they even become friends let alone romantic partners

But hey I'm aro what do I know

Also I like the themes of motherhood in the game and I do think the idea of Ena metaphorically giving birth as part of her job is fun and fucked up, however she would not be a good mother, if anything the circumstances she is in would prevent her from coming close to being a good mother, she would be baffled, irritated, confused and resentful of her child if the human board took a more conventional child like form

I saw some fanart of her poking a baby human board with a stick and that's the exact energy she would have

Anon this is such a beautiful ask to receive this is like Coming down the stairs on christmas day to look at a tree full of presents or whatever the hell else This was so. beautiful. Now I do not know if i have much to say myself because You truly said it all already, LOL The ask is just too fire, so just know. That this is so beautiful

I will say that sometimes i feel like I can count the amount of times i've seen like. In character Coral fan content on one hand . 😭 NOT LIKE THERE'S MUCH TO GO OFF SHE HAS LIKE 5 LINES BUT IT STILL FEELS REALLYYYYY DIRE OUT THERE LITERALLY ALL THE TIME 💀💀... SO I LOVE THIS ASK, And I think that's also a really true and thoughtful read on her character that i haven't really seen anywhere else :D!!!!

It also seems to me a case of Fandom Ignoring All Of Characters' Actual Personalities Literally At All To Make Ship Content. which in addition is synonymous with Fork Found In Kitchen. But i am also aro. And annoying. So what do i know either. Looks at you and shrugs

ANYWAY 😭. SAAAAY THAT. SAY THAT SHITTTTT!!!!!! YES.... YEEEESSSSS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! I just know, no, WE just know That If we ever encountered a world where she did not Abort That Thang She would be drinking beer on the couch while the child is taped to the wall like that one image. She would be going "Can y'all watch him while I go smoke" on an Instagram live.

I'm so tired of making women characters into picket fence mothers in fan content, Where is the fanart of Ena making children cry because she tried to speak to them once and they knew her vibes were so awful they just instantly burst into tears

[noacfapologyst]

birthday surprise — matty healy

(the birthday party: day two)

summary: even surrounded by people he loves and people he doesn't know at his birthday party, matty feels alone. by chance or by consequence, he finds a piece of his past that it stirs absolutely everything in the depths of his soul.

warnings: mention of alcohol, approach to loneliness, flashbacks of the past. cry on your birthday (guilty). open ending (maybe?)

wordcounter: 4,8k

Birthdays are one of the things Matty has enjoyed most since he was a kid. It's not just the fact of seeing all the people he wants in one place or the gifts he receives, although obviously that's also a plus for the basis, but the most important reason boils down to another: Matty has learned to celebrate being alive, to have a day, or a year more to live.

Maybe for the same reason, one of the environments Matty is best known for could be at parties. He always gathers endless crowds inside the walls of his house, always ends up being crazy between the amount of mess he has to clean up afterwards and the mess he has to take care of while they dance drunk on the tables and sing without being able to stop.

He has never considered himself a person of few friends, but he doesn't think he has a huge amount either because he's had to leave a lot of people behind. He has the necessary ones to be good with himself and with them, his presence does not suffocate them and they know how to understand him even when he cannot control himself and impulsivity controls him. But he's calm, he always is.

Of course, he now finds himself in a situation where many people entering his house are unknown to him because they are companions of his friends, or acquaintances of them. And God, Charli gathered a crowd in here. He recognizes them because he believes he went to high school with one or two, the few years he attended before deciding to miss an exam to go to a music festival.

Entities mix because he fails to recognize among low-profile, famous or just known people who have found out. In a way, it feels a bit like a party I'd throw if I was 18 and walked out of a Santbury's with several bottles in my hand and on my head. But it is not, because he is 35 and is in the middle of going through his thirties crisis.

Although now he deduces that none of it matters to him. He's much better than fine. He has gone from having the weight of a feather to getting stronger and seeing its fruits after many months without stopping at the gym. It has healed in all senses: broken heart, mental frailty, bad habits and addictions. Or at least in most of them, because he still smokes and still drinks alcohol, but at least now he equates it with something else and knows he can control it better. It's not entirely perfect, it could never be because that's metaphorically what the human being represents: a canvas that looks beautiful, beautiful and honest until you see the poorly made brushstrokes, over and over again until a result bulges.

"Hey, come to the kitchen." George awakens him from his thought with a touch. Matty leaves the beer can half-open on a shelf in the living hallway.

Then they arrive in the kitchen amidst a tumult of people that opens up in their path. The open backyard door is a plus because it's a good place to get some cold air and realize that he's lost a lot of stability and composure after several beers and a few more shots.

Ross is leaning on the recently acquired white marble countertop, as he opens a bottle of Don Perignon and the foam splashes over the top of the bottle. With quick movements, he pulls seven glasses from the shelf, and fills them to distribute later.

"Let's toast in honor of Matty, because it's his birthday and we love him. And we are incredibly proud of him." Ross cheers, while everyone raises their glasses. Charli applauds with the palms of his hands, and everyone knows that he has lost his mind. Matty smiles as much for that last act as for what his friend has just said, it's really an honest smile and full of feeling though he may not be able to prove it now.

Everyone toast, and then Carly pulls out of her purse a digital camera to capture the moment in eternity. They take a selfie together: George, Matty, Ross, Adam, Carly, Charli, and Chloe. Then there are some spontaneous ones between the four guys, the girls and one of each of them with Matty.

"Oh, my boys. I love all of you so much. You are the best on my life, really." It's finally Matty drinking the champagne out of his glass. Feel the golden bubbling liquid falling down your throat. "Thanks for everything you've done for me throught this years, forever."

When the conversation becomes that emotional tone that always happens on birthdays, it is also the moment when the bubble of intimacy breaks and everyone leaves that state.

"Hey I'm sorry, but there's not more ice." A woman's voice sounds from the frame of the kitchen, but Matty can't recognize her even when he looks at her with a frown.

"Oh! Now I'll bring more, thank you darling." Matty answers almost automatically as if he had given up control of his head. Actually the words are leaking out of her mouth but it's nothing too worrying yet, and she hopes it stays that way. "Some of you know who is?" He receives negative responses after the restlessness and sighs sillylyly laughing. "Thanks for all, friends."

A song by the Backstreets Boys begins to ring through the speaker in the living room and resonates between all the divisions of the house. Taking advantage of the commotion and celebration about it all he leaves the kitchen and disperses. Matty searches for a bag of ice from the fridge, breaks the wrapper with scissors and takes it to the main table where he places it in the fountain designed to keep the cold.

When he crosses the center of the dance floor, many people greet him and flatter him, giving him little shouts of love or complete sobriety, and more than one even asks him to dance for a few moments.

For a moment he manages to put away the idea of how he is the only one in his group of friends who has no one, which becomes more raw when he sees too many couples kissing on his couch, also generates a bit of disgust but he doesn't want to feel like a snob. He did the same thing and doesn't know when he stopped doing it but he understands the adrenaline generated by kissing someone when you're drunk and hot in public spaces, even if it's a pretty adolescebte attitude.

He takes his beer from where he left off and goes on. They have all built long-lasting relationships or are in the process, which makes sense for the age that passes.

He's okay with that, too. Yeah, logically, he´d like to have someone to dance together right now and then sneak out to enjoy a moment alone. Intertwining his hands with someone and having someone fixed to wake up with every morning while the smell of coffee runs through the room. He wants it the same way people who don't have it do, but he thinks he needs a break now.

Her last love attempts have gone overboard, and further down. They have simply come out disastrously and reject the idea that he wants to have for love: it all ends in silly discussions about mundane and monotonous everyday things that make up a ball that explodes, then everything weakens and the routine too tiresome. He wanted to live in the madness with which he used to live love in his 20s, where there was no fear of the future and only the expectation of living in the present.

Remember that frenzy of love when he was a teenager, when it is the purest love you contemplate inside you, when the barrier of who is going to judge you and the responsibilities are inhibited and you just go drunk with love walking down the streets arriving at the door with different flowers every day. He wants to love and get it right this time, obviously, but he doesn't want the person he leaves his legacy with abruptly taking away the magic of love Matty once had.

By the same token, he takes care of letting it flow. He's not waiting for anyone and he's hoping that things will just get better. She doesn't know if her future is to love someone and make it work, but she doesn't give up hope.

"I'm going to smoke, just in case." He says, when he sees Carly near him. He knows she's the one he can trust most because she's the most sober and the least alcoholic.

"Stay safe, Matty. Hope I won't have to look for you." She approaches him and kisses him on the cheek in an act of love, something like a motherly love. Even though she's only a little older than him, since she's with Adam she considers Matty to be completely special to her, and she loves him as much as she literally loves her children.

He says goodbye to her and walks to find the back door sneaking around. He looks the place and he see that there are really not so many people huddled together in the same place as they are scattered. The courtyard is huge, after the cement floor the grass extends along perhaps half a kilometer, where in the middle there is a swimming pool, and in the width there are some palm trees that accompany it. In the background there is a gate that leads to a construction connected to the house, but for which Matty is not responsible.

He looks for a place under the palm tree, the breeze that the leaves cause as they move embraces him at dawn. It's funny to him, he sneaks away just like he did all his life at these kinds of events, punctually on his birthday. He loves people and loves being with them, but at some point he needs to isolate himself from that same environment and have air to himself.

He fiddles with the lighter between his fingers passing it from hand to hand until he decides to pull a mentholed cigarette out of the pocket of his black leather bomber.

"Matty?" A whisper of the wind reaches his ears, although he does not know where it comes from, he acknowledges that there are not so many people who call themselves that.

He hears footsteps on freshly cut grass and hears crackling under his shoes. The only light out there comes from a curtain of lights hooked to the grill, so it's pretty dark.

But then a female presence appears in front of him. He really does nothing but admire her and for once his eyes run out of the cylinder he is about to light.

The two look into each other's eyes, Matty feels his whole life is passing before his eyes and is afraid he's having a concussion, or he's having a stroke. It doesn't make sense for her to be here in front of him after all these years.

"y/n?" He dares to ask. He doesn't have anyone around to confirm his presence there so he hopes he's not too drunk to hallucinate and hopes he's really on the physical plane. "I'm sorry, it's just…wow." Her tongue catches the words as her head runs a thousand miles after seeing her nod to get out of her trance.

"Isn't it?" With every word the past moves down the earth for both him and her. Too many, too many layers of memories that were left behind many years ago now threaten to float as if they could seep through the holes in the green ground.

There is a prolonged silence for a few seconds. Actually, nobody knows what to say because everything seems like a fantasy about to be pricked with a pin and nobody wants to go beyond that.

Matty's looking at her. She has always had that carefree but wrinkled profile and he recognizes her under the black dress sleeveless dress glued to her body and the hair cut on her shoulder, with the last minute scissors marks and something uneven. She complements it with high-cane boots, something like the ones she defined as her favorites too long ago. She still has that sparkle she had when she was a teenager, she's still incredibly beautiful without asking. He looks at her surprised that she's here, grateful to see her once more. He can't stop thinking about it, but she's really radiant.

She looks at him. He has changed a lot from the superficial, his hair is now almost shaved, only with hints of hair growing on his entrances. She doen't need to inquire to know that his fitness owes it to the gym, even under his jacket she can see how well marked are his muscles compared to the little skinny teenager she met a long time ago. The expression on his face did not change, if he looks into his eyes he still finds the frightened child because he does not know if things will turn out well, but also the child waiting for his mother after school to give her a hug. She has a white T-shirt that's stuck to her body and her tattoos are transparent. She looks at him impressed.

"Hey." He breaks the silence by speaking softly but with total softness. She smiles at him without showing her teeth and Matty feels something rising up her body. "What are you doing here?"

He is lying against a palm tree, she is standing nearby but neither wants to move into the position of the other, there is some barrier that prevents it and possibly it is discomfort.

"I'm the babysitter of my sister and her friends, they are your brother's friends." She anwers by returning the tone of calm. "In fact, I found out today."

"Wait, really?" He answers, and for a moment the atmosphere seems to disappear only because he is seeing everything through it. "But Louis is not there." He shrubs his shoulders.

"Yes, I noticed that. I guess he told the others in some nonsense conversation." She analyzes how he hasn't lit a cigarette since he arrived. "Are you going to turn it on or?"

Matty feels like a fool. "Do you continue smoking?" Ask without a second thought. He just wants to know what's in her life now. "Sorry, what about my maners, do you want one?

"No, but I'll share one just for the old times." She smiles at him again, and he mentally keeps the memory of how the burgundy color highlights the cheekbones of the white skin of the woman in front of him.

"Do you want to sit?"

"I'm alloweed to?" Matty is restless under such a formal tone and considers that the passage of the years now takes its points.

"Of course." Now he's the one smiling at her. "Are you still in the same job?

She laughs slowly, refuses with her head a bit apart. "God, no. I work in a notary's office now, but I'm more comfortable." She answers, he opens his lips in surprise, a whistle escapes from her lips. "May I suggest why are you here and not inside dancing with the others?" She asks with some shyness as she approaches to sit down, without doing so facing or beside him, as at an angle of seventy-five.

"Maybe you know the answer. It hasn't changed." He answerd and when he feels that he is drowning in too much of the past, he lights the cigarette. He pauses and takes a drag.

"You still get loneliness sometimes." She reasons, he nods with a look of pity and gave her the cigarette. "I really didntt know this was your house."

"It's quite different from the old porch, it doesn't have a loft with a balcony or red tiles either, but i like it." He sighs embracing the melancholy that escapes from his bone structure. "How did you get here?

"My friend was dizzy from so many people and then I lost her because of a child." She laughs wryly. "I started walking and then I reached the palm tree, and maybe I understood the host of the party."

"¿Yes?"

"How many people do you know whose birthday is April 8th, Matty?" She stares at him with direct intent. He flies in the nebula. She remembers her birthday.

"You still remember it." He has a smile that runs through his face from end to end, he feels satisfied with the interaction, whatever it takes. She leaves the cigar in her hand and the touch makes him shake.

Matty's head is about to fall apart. He himself sees how his vision becomes twofold, one leaving him in reality under the palm tree, and the other teleporting him 22 years ago to a rather similar place.

It's autumn, the leaves of the trees turn yellow and fall to the ground. There's a breeze but it's not cool or threatening, it's friendly. Matty's eighteen now, he's of age.

On the other side of the race to see who gets to the pile of leaves first, there's her. She's dressed as simple as if she'd just gotten up, the blue skinny jeans and a black shirt with a print of some band scratched by the number of times she's washed. They're both older, but running down the alleys of New Castle looks like they're 12 still.

The muddy shoes, their coats that shelter them both, her bracelet tied to his hand, the kiss on the cheek when greeting each other, the butterflies every time they look at each other. The celebration of walking, the adrenaline of winning the race to the leaves and rolling in them.

Matty abandons everything else, leaving behind the nightmares, his parents' parties and sleepless nights when he has her. He's happy with her, he feels protected and nothing can hurt him. He loves her, with all his heart. He's eighteen, newly grown, wears glasses that slip on the tip of his nose but make him look smart. It has some protruding pimples between the cheek and forehead, but in sunlight it still looks like a baby's skin, fragile to the touch.

He doesn't know when he fell so in love with her, he doesn't know when he found the connection and when it began to appear in his innermost dreams. He couldn't stop thinking about her and all her dreams, the dress she wore on her birthday, the hug after the holidays. Every touch gives Matty years to live, and although he's been a sad kid for most of his life, he'll always be grateful that she changed that.

"You are eighteen, you can run fast." She says in a competitive tone, without slowing down.

"I will win, idiot." He's self-proclaimed.

"And if you do, what will you get? A painful coronation as king of the leaves." She jokes and throws herself headfirst on the leaves of the ground. "I told you."

But Matty was willing to win.

"I already decided my prize." Vitorea approaching the leaves, diving into them.

"You didn't wi-"

Matty doesn't think about what's going on, he just lets the impulse take him further and control him. It may be his only chance, and it may ruin it, but he have to try before he let any more time pass.

She is in shock on the leaves when she feels the lips of Matty on top of hers. She doesn't understand what's happening, or if it's really happening. The only thing she remembers afterwards is feeling Matty's hand squeezing her cheek with soft caresses. He kisses as much as he can, and after a while she gets used to the movement.

They go on like this, without saying a word for many minutes. Their sequence and their need is to kiss until the lack of breath wakes them up, smile with their noses stuck and merge again. Maty tastes like mint and chocolate, so it's the flavor she'll love the most for the next two years. Teenagers at the height of their purest love.

"Didn't I tell you? I would win." Matty comments when both feel they have shared too much saliva, but he does not take his hand off her cheek.

The wind is blowing in both heads. They have never known love this way, and they will remember it so well for the years that this love lasts, and for a few more.

Actually, and though Matty doesn't know it yet, she, sitting in Matty's house, is thinking about the same fall of memories. She feels like she's about to die and the best years and moments of her life go by, they've always had that facility of telepathic connection without having to try. Also because, for a long time, it was the memory they most enjoyed in years.

Matty then sees, in his memories, everything he's longed for for so many years. Midnight getaways, intense kissing at nightclubs, family meals, she dressed in him on Sundays, family trips, snow wars with her kisses sunk in the snow. He sees fireworks now that he remembers her, how he was first in everything for her and how she has marked him even more than he can say.

After that comes the band, and even before and after the previous names. But he focuses on when the band is already confirmed as Drive Like i Do and then like 1975, he sees her sitting at the table listening to them rehearsing, he sees heer at the clubs drinking beer and screaming crazy when he comes out in his most misaligned ensemble.

Matty may never have said it like that, but the girl he fell in love with is part of the band just like them. Almost the entire first album has its muse, in each of the stanzas and in each of the notes of the compass. She has followed him for all these years, it has been his greatest point of inspiration and of genuine and re-created love. She has given him the best years when he was twenty, he has written the songs he enjoys most thanks to her.

But equally, to say that he hasn't forgotten her or that he's remembered her like that for fifteen years without seeing her since she left in her twenties, would be lying. He remembered her for years, but then he was no longer present in her mind.

She can't judge him. Maybe she waited longer, but she had to move on anyway.

But it's okay, they existed at the time they had what. They learned enough from each other to remember each other fondly.

"You think about that autumn too, didn't? "During all this trance, the connection has become stronger. The discomfort is ignored, and she ends up sitting next to him.

"You are inside my mind, literally." He laughs with his eyes full of glass. He just had a recession that knocked him down. "Yes, I thought about it."

"That autumn was the best of my life. The fucking golden time." She confesses, with the moon now fully reflecting her. He looks at her with a longing smile, he also misses feeling so complete. "I have loved you for so many years and I think I could do it for more."

She complains hugging herself. Matty leaves the previous state and now the alcohol seems to have lost its effect. He extends his hand to put it behind the brunette girl's back and draw her in. The woman's head rests on his chest.

"I have loved you too, you know? The first album is about you." He kisses her hair, but she can't help but cry. They are breaking up with each other next to them and that's why they prefer not to be seen. It's too strong for both. "I'm sorry."

"What do you mean?" She looks up. The brown eyes meet the eyes of the british man.

"I-I screwed up that June afternoon, and I carried the blame for many years. I've never really been able to apologize, and I know the last thing you got from me was a horrible argument. I'm sorry, it won't fix something so many years later, but it's sincere." He manages to loosen a gear that has been weighing on him for a long time. He finds serenity in the brightness of the moon, and though he knows he can't go back in time, when she intertwines his hands he thinks he hasn't gone too far.

"Thank you for that. I know it's your party, but you don't have to cry to the end." She kisses his cheek and wipes his tears with her fingernails painted dark red, then returns to his neck. She repents and prefers to sit in front of him. "But it was true, wasn't it? Did you fuck everybody in this town?" She asks, without any resentment or sense of judgment.

"You compromised me, honey." He nods nervously accompanied by a laugh. In fact, he's still crying, but he's feeling much better. More airy, more connected and more peaceful. "I missed the car and the argument."

The two laugh at each other, it's an atmosphere that has now become more comfortable than ever. She has got her makeup destroyed by tears and he is s getting water marks through the seams of his shirt.

"The end of that hallway was fateful." She ironizes it with a recharged energy that dances inside. It feels as if she is now the final part of a song that breaks the melody and raises the instruments to a higher level to close it in the greatest ecstasy. "Even so, maybe you were right a few years ago. You needed more than me." She points to itself and then points to the atmosphere.

"Sorry, I don't get it." He feels bewitched by her words, but is so deep inside that he can't even think about what she's saying.

He just knows she comes, again. He sees her crawling and crawling up to his lap. He's afraid that this will still be a bad trick in his head and that tomorrow she'll never have been here. She'll be in another country, with someone else, and without him. His heart pumps like it has seldom done.

He knows they're soul mates, or he used to know, and now he's reconfirming it. Now there's only one thing that separates them and one thing that could bring them together.

"You needed a cigarette, alcohol and a sad conversation." She finally answers, as she settles down to her mercy on his lap. Matty feels like he has a fever when he feels the back of her palm on his face. It's been floating for over 15 minutes. "As i do."

After this, it just happens.

After 15 years, they're kissing in Matty's backyard. The two cry in between, because they haven't recovered from the emotional delirium they just had, but the fireworks they once had at eighteen come back the second their lips touch.

He hasn't changed, Matty still smells like chocolate and mint. She neither, she tastes the same as always does, she still tastes well enough to satiate Matty. They remain exactly the same for each other and what they still need.

The kiss does not have a taste to be described by or a unique feeling. It is the taste of remembrance and reunion, of melancholy, of adolescence, it is pure nostalgia in its splendor. It tastes like sadness, the tears of the last time they argued, and in turn it tastes as the ice cream they ate holding hands in the park, the chocolate they always gave each other as a gift. It tastes as Christmas food and the summer breeze. It's all together in one, and that's why they don't bother to feel sorry for how the waterfalls in the eyes accumulate coming down later.

A kiss, that's all. Matty doesn't want to think, but he inevitably does and finds only two options.

Tomorrow you will both remember this and you will both retire by lowering your guard and remember it as a secret. There is no one around to prove the presence and existence of the woman he has there, no one has seen her and the easiest excuse is to say that he simply confused everything with someone else because of the amount of beer. Or they could tempt fate and stay there, they could heal the wound and they could try again to have the best they ever had.

But now, does it matter?

"Hey." She puts pressure on his hair. He opens his eyes feeling fuller and more human than ever. "Happy birthday, Matty. The birthday boy always needs a gift."

let me know what you think about it. my taglist is always open. 🤍

[thebrickinbrick]

Orestes Fasting and Pylades Drunk, Part 1

At length, by dint of mounting on each other’s backs, aiding themselves with the skeleton of the staircase, climbing up the walls, clinging to the ceiling, slashing away at the very brink of the trap-door, the last one who offered resistance, a score of assailants, soldiers, National Guardsmen, municipal guardsmen, in utter confusion, the majority disfigured by wounds in the face during that redoubtable ascent, blinded by blood, furious, rendered savage, made an irruption into the apartment on the first floor.

There they found only one man still on his feet, Enjolras. Without cartridges, without sword, he had nothing in his hand now but the barrel of his gun whose stock he had broken over the head of those who were entering. He had placed the billiard table between his assailants and himself; he had retreated into the corner of the room, and there, with haughty eye, and head borne high, with this stump of a weapon in his hand, he was still so alarming as to speedily create an empty space around him.

A cry arose:

“He is the leader! It was he who slew the artillery-man. It is well that he has placed himself there. Let him remain there. Let us shoot him down on the spot.”

“Shoot me,” said Enjolras.

And flinging away his bit of gun-barrel, and folding his arms, he offered his breast.

The audacity of a fine death always affects men. As soon as Enjolras folded his arms and accepted his end, the din of strife ceased in the room, and this chaos suddenly stilled into a sort of sepulchral solemnity. The menacing majesty of Enjolras disarmed and motionless, appeared to oppress this tumult, and this young man, haughty, bloody, and charming, who alone had not a wound, who was as indifferent as an invulnerable being, seemed, by the authority of his tranquil glance, to constrain this sinister rabble to kill him respectfully.

His beauty, at that moment augmented by his pride, was resplendent, and he was fresh and rosy after the fearful four and twenty hours which had just elapsed, as though he could no more be fatigued than wounded. It was of him, possibly, that a witness spoke afterwards, before the council of war: “There was an insurgent whom I heard called Apollo.” A National Guardsman who had taken aim at Enjolras, lowered his gun, saying: “It seems to me that I am about to shoot a flower.”

Twelve men formed into a squad in the corner opposite Enjolras, and silently made ready their guns.

Then a sergeant shouted:

“Take aim!”

An officer intervened.

“Wait.”

And addressing Enjolras:

“Do you wish to have your eyes bandaged?”

“No.”

“Was it you who killed the artillery sergeant?”

“Yes.”

Grantaire had waked up a few moments before.

Grantaire, it will be remembered, had been asleep ever since the preceding evening in the upper room of the wine-shop, seated on a chair and leaning on the table.

He realized in its fullest sense the old metaphor of “dead drunk.” The hideous potion of absinthe-porter and alcohol had thrown him into a lethargy. His table being small, and not suitable for the barricade, he had been left in possession of it. He was still in the same posture, with his breast bent over the table, his head lying flat on his arms, surrounded by glasses, beer-jugs and bottles. His was the overwhelming slumber of the torpid bear and the satiated leech. Nothing had had any effect upon it, neither the fusillade, nor the cannon-balls, nor the grape-shot which had made its way through the window into the room where he was. Nor the tremendous uproar of the assault.

He merely replied to the cannonade, now and then, by a snore. He seemed to be waiting there for a bullet which should spare him the trouble of waking. Many corpses were strewn around him; and, at the first glance, there was nothing to distinguish him from those profound sleepers of death.

Noise does not rouse a drunken man; silence awakens him. The fall of everything around him only augmented Grantaire’s prostration; the crumbling of all things was his lullaby. The sort of halt which the tumult underwent in the presence of Enjolras was a shock to this heavy slumber. It had the effect of a carriage going at full speed, which suddenly comes to a dead stop. The persons dozing within it wake up. Grantaire rose to his feet with a start, stretched out his arms, rubbed his eyes, stared, yawned, and understood.

[jahayla-writes]

Hits Different : Freddy Carter x Reader

Description: 2.5k wc (including lyrics) set to the tone of If This Was a Movie by Taylor Swift. Part 2/Freddy's POV of Catastrophic Blues. Angst, breakup, heartbreak, post-breakup, longing, sadness, etc.

Warnings: I advise you re-read (or read) part 1/Catastrophic Blues first! Other warnings: drinking, Angst, breakup, heartbreak, post-breakup, longing, sadness, vomiting, crying, etc.

Part 1 - Y/n's POV - Catastrophic Blues

Last night I heard my own heart beating

Sounded like footsteps on my stairs

Six months gone and I'm still reaching

Even though I know you're not there

Freddy groaned as he ran his hands down his face. Tonight was going to be another sleepless night. He’d been having far too many of those lately. Ever since the night he and y/n had broken up.

Freddy had found himself constantly clinging to the faintest of sounds in ignorant hope that maybe it was her. There was no reason for it to be. In fact, he should’ve been adjusted to the lack of her presence by now. Instead, it was like this dark void that he found himself drowning in day in and day out.

Freddy missed y/n like mad. He knew she wasn’t going to be around anymore. But, he couldn’t stop wishing she was. He couldn’t stop the way his breath would hitch every time he thought he’d caught a glimpse of her around town. She may not have any physical presence in his life anymore, but her metaphorical presence was felt heavily by him nonetheless.

I was playing back a thousand memories, baby

Thinking 'bout everything we've been through

Maybe I've been going back too much lately

When time stood still and I had you

Freddy wiped his damp face as he shut the photo album. He carefully set the album on his coffee table as he threw his head back against the couch cushions. He wasn’t sure why he was torturing himself like this. It wasn’t like he even needed to look back at the photos to remember his time with her.

Freddy nevertheless found himself pulling out the photo album at least once a week. He found himself flicking through the pages of him and y/n as he nursed a beer. He still had the memories of each moment that was photographed in the album. But, they felt like just that, memories. Memories that felt so far gone now that he needed to be sure they were real. Whereas the photos were physical evidence that their love was real and genuine. So no matter how painful it was, he’d willingly sit on his sofa at night to pore over the photos.

Come back, come back, come back to me like

You would, you would if this was a movie

Stand in the rain outside 'til I came out

Come back, come back, come back to me like

You could, you could if you just said you're sorry

I know that we could work it out somehow

The role Freddy was cast in for his latest projects felt almost painfully derisive. He was playing the role of a man who had been reunited with the love of his life. It was a brutal contrast to Freddy’s own life at the moment.

Freddy had been certainly that y/n was the love of his life. Quite frankly, he still was certain of that. Only, there wasn’t anything he could to do repair the damage and close the distance between them. While he accepted the part he’d played in them having reached this predicament, the fact remained that the ball was in her court now. She had to be the one to decide she wanted a life with him. He wouldn’t force her nor beg her to choose him.

As painful as what she’d said had been, Freddy knew they could make it through all of that. If only she wanted to. If only she was as heartbroken as he was over their relationship ending. Then they could work together to make it through to the happy life he envisioned for them.

But if this was a movie, you'd be here by now

As optimistic as Freddy was over the notion that he and y/n could work things out, he couldn’t ignore the evidence that she clearly didn’t agree. Despite considerable time having passed since the initial rush of emotions that night, she hadn’t come to apologize and say she wanted to work through it. She wasn’t here fighting for their relationship, for their love. Unlike the romance film he was working on, this wasn’t the set or plot of a movie, this was just reality.

I know people change and these things happen

But I remember how it was back then

Wrapped up in your arms and our friends were laughin'

'Cause nothing like this ever happened to them

“Mate, it’ll be alright,” Max, Freddy’s friend mumbled softly. He knew his friend wouldn’t believe him, but he hated seeing him this heartbroken over his breakup. He carefully took the photo out of Freddy’s hands and set it upside down on the table. “You guys wanted different things, you weren’t on the same page anymore, it happens”.

Freddy nodded solemnly. Max was right about one thing. Freddy wasn’t sure when he and y/n changed in a way that drove them apart; but, they had. However, Max was wrong about it being okay. It wasn’t alright. Not now. Nor would it be; ever. Despite the pain he was suffering, Freddy still swore she was the one. In fact, he’d argue that his anguish was merely a testament to that. It wouldn’t be hurting this bad, for this long, if y/n wasn’t the one for him. If only he’d been the one for her as well.

Now I'm pacing down the hall, chasing down your street

Flashback to the night when you said to me

"Nothing's gonna change, not for me and you"

Not before I knew how much I had to lose

Freddy sighed to himself as he slowly dragged his feet in defeat on his way back to his apartment. He’d ventured out to take a walk and hopefully clear his head. Or at least that’s what he’d say if anyone asked. Truthfully, he’d been secretly hoping that he’d catch at least a glimpse of y/n somewhere between his flat and the outside of their apartment building. His mind kept telling him it wanted to see her just once more. But, he knew even if he had run into her, it wouldn’t have been enough.

Freddy often thought back to the night before he’d cluelessly asked y/n to move in with him. He had been so naively happy and content. Her wrapped up in his arms as they cuddled after their date earlier that night. He hadn’t even contemplated y/n saying no, much less things ending between them because of it. He had no idea how much he had to lose. And by the time that he did, it was already too late.

Come back, come back, come back to me like

You would, you would if this was a movie

Stand in the rain outside 'til I came out

Come back, come back, come back to me like

You could, you could if you just said you're sorry

I know that we could work it out somehow

But if this was a movie you'd be here by now

What Freddy wouldn’t give for a chance to fix this pain. For a chance to take y/n back. For a chance for happiness and love to once again be the focal point of his life. For a chance for him and y/n to be together again. But he refused to push her into anything; especially something she didn’t want. And she’d made it clear she did not want this life with him.

It was crushing to hear y/n say he was suffocating her by wanting to live together. It was singing he wished to never risk being out through again. That being said, Freddy knew he’d take y/n back in an instant if she knocked on his door and apologized. It was all he needed. It didn’t have to be anything dramatic, he just needed to know how she felt. Her apology would be the sign Freddy would need to hear to know he wouldn’t be forcing her to do something she didn’t want. But the apology never came. And neither did y/n.

If you're out there

If you're somewhere

If you're moving on

I've been waiting for you

Ever since you've been gone

“I want her happy,” Freddy mumbled drunkenly. He took another swig of his beer and sighed loudly. “No matter what,” he clarified. He leaned his heavy head on the pub table. “Jus’, would like it to be with me,” he added with a frown.

Freddy’s brother Tom sighed sympathetically. “We don’t even know it was her,” he pointed out. “She could be feeling the same way as you mate. You don’t know she moved on”.

Freddy pursed his lips as he tried to think through the haziness in his mind. Perhaps Tom was right. Maybe the woman Henry thought was y/n wasn’t her after all. Maybe it was her but the guy she was spotted with was just a friend. Like Freddy himself was now. Actually, that’s not true. Freddy scoffed out loud at the cruel realization his mind was forcing upon him despite his drunken state. He wasn’t her friend. Not anymore. So if it was y/n Henry had seen earlier today on the metro, even if the man she was with was just a friend, that was more than what Freddy could say. More than what Freddy now was to the woman he loved. The woman he had envisioned waking up next to. The woman he hoped he’d find himself spending his future with.

I just want it back the way it was before

And I just want to see you back at my front door

And I say

Come back, come back, come back to me like

Freddy groaned as his older brother exasperatedly shoved his drunken body back down to the sofa. He’d yet again tried to make his way to the door so he could exit and go to y/n’s apartment. Just to talk. He just wanted things back the way they were before.

When he woke the next morning, Freddy was sure to thank Tom for stopping him from going over to y/n’s. While sober Freddy too wanted things back to the way they’d been, he didn’t want it being done like that. He needed to give her the space she’d asked for, the space she said she needed. He couldn’t go to her. As much as he might want to. If only y/n felt the same way and would come back to him on her own.

You would before you said it's not that easy

Before the fight, before I locked you out

But I take it all back now

Freddy regretted that night. Not just because he lost her. But because he hadn’t truly listened. Perhaps if he had, they could’ve escaped with just an argument instead of a breakup. Instead, when she tried to express herself, he hadn’t been truly listening; too caught up in his disappointment and hurt at the time. He hadn’t seen the signals that would’ve normally clued him in to the fact she was flustered and needed time to process things. If he could go back in time, he’d take it all back. More than anything he’d take back the way he’d reacted so defensively. He’d undo the damage he caused. He’d take back the way he reflexively stated that he agreed with the notion of breaking up. That he too thought they needed space. It wasn’t true then and it still wasn’t true now. If only he could take it all back.

Come back, come back, come back to me like

You would, you would if this was a movie

Stand in the rain outside 'til I came out

-

Is that the kind of ending you wanna see now?

Baby, what about the ending?

Oh-oh, I thought you'd be here by now, whoa-oh-oh, oh-oh, oh-oh

Thought you'd be here by now

Freddy had given up hope. If y/n was going to come back to him, she’d have done it by now. But instead, he once again found himself alone in his flat as he laid in bed and stared at the ceiling.

Maybe it was naive optimism fueled by seeing or acting in one too many movies… but Freddy could’ve sworn she’d have been here by now. That they’d have figured it out by now. He truly thought y/n would come back to him saying she wanted to give them another shot and he’d eagerly take her back and promise her however much space she desired.

But, this wasn’t a movie. This was real life. His life. And y/n wasn’t here. It didn’t matter how deeply he believed she would’ve been. It had been a seemingly long time since their breakup. Surely if she wanted to be with him, she’d have been here by now. But she wasn’t.

Freddy Carter Taglist: @ell0ra-br3kk3r @missdreamofendless @nikfigueiredo @b3kk3r-by-br3kk3r @alex-kazbrekkersimp @opheliaofficial07 @historynerd77 @el-de-phi @booklover2389 @whistle1whistle

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[foxes-that-run]

Cruel summer (and when was it)

Cruel Summer tells of an affair that ends with loving someone other than a significant other. When Cruel Summer went to #1 on 19 October 2033 Taylor released this top photo which is reminiscent of the Cannes Sunset referred to in Lover also.

Lyrics

[Verse 1] Fever dream high in the quiet of the night You know that I caught it (Oh yeah, you're right, I want it) Bad, bad boy, shiny toy with a price You know that I bought it (Oh yeah, you're right, I want it)

Middle of the night reminds us of Wish you would.

A bad boy is referred to in Blank Space and bad ones in End Game.

Shiny toy separates the muse of this song and paper rings where she sings “I like shiny things but I’ll marry you with paper rings”.

With a price refers the Haylor theme of paying a price

[Pre-Chorus] Killing me slow, out the window I'm always waiting for you to be waiting below Devils roll the dice, angels roll their eyes What doesn't kill me makes me want you more

Here the muse is the same as in Wish you would, Harry drove past her house at night, and style he picked her up during the night.

Taylor used Devil/angel about Harry before, in the intro to the thematically similar Trouble: “how can the devil be pulling you toward someone who looks so much like an angel when he smiles at you?” Here she takes chances having an affair. This line appeared in a game of the Lover video.

[Chorus] And it's new, the shape of your body It's blue, the feeling I've got And it's ooh, woah-oh It's a cruel summer It's cool, that's what I tell 'em No rules in breakable heaven But ooh, woah-oh It's a cruel summer with you

The shape of his body means different to her boyfriend. Harry also changed to low impact training post 1d and his body did change, but I hear it as a different person

Blue was the colour of the 1989 album, depression and Harry is called “sad boy” in Question…?

No rules, breakable heaven - their love is fragile and they make their own rule.

[Verse 2] Hang your head low in the glow of the vending machine I'm not dying (Oh yeah, you're right, I want it) We say that we'll just screw it up in these trying times We're not trying (Oh yeah, you're right, I want it)

vending machine glow places it in hotel

Another reference to buying (as in Fine Line) and that they are not trying to avoid being together, again similar to Fine Line

Screwing it up in trying times is reminiscent of Sign of the Times

[Pre-Chorus] So cut the headlights, summer's a knife I'm always waiting for you just to cut to the bone Devils roll the dice, angels roll their eyes And if I bleed, you'll be the last to know, oh

Style has cutting headlights to go undetected when picking her up

Summers a knife/cut to the bone tells us this person is someone with a history that she has feelings for. Willow has a similar line: “I’m like the water rough on the surface but you cut through like a knife”

If I bleed is saying she won’t share her feelings with the muse

It's a cruel summer with you [Bridge] I'm drunk in the back of the car And I cried like a baby comin' home from the bar (Oh) Said, "I'm fine," but it wasn't true I don't wanna keep secrets just to keep you And I snuck in through the garden gate Every night that summer just to seal my fate (Oh) And I scream, "For whatever it's worth I love you, ain't that the worst thing you ever heard?" He looks up, grinnin' like a devil

Taylor has pay the price, crying in the way home. “Get drunk but you’re still not my baby” from Death by a thousand cuts,

Keeping secrets and Sneaking in through the garden gate confirm this is an affair, the garden is in many Haylor songs.

The Garden Gate to me is a metaphor for sneaking around, not the front door but through the garden to not be seen. However I’ve also heard it could be a physical gate or may actually be a pub in Hampstead Health, it’s close to Harry’s house and where Joe and Taylor rented. Taylor was seen in Hampstead Heath several times. The beer garden and red brick wall look to me like the promo photos for Lover. If it is a literal location I still think its use in the song is to indicate being hidden and shifty.

“he looks so pretty” … similar to Style and "pretty face" in Slut!

“I love you ain’t that the worst thing you’ve heard” sounds like something said to/by a person who is not your significant other.

Why 2018 seems like the time period to me

29 January - Fine line written with similar meaning.

12 April - both in london, Harry chipper, on stage

11 March first medicine, ever, the crowd don’t say tasted 🥺

19 March - Harry cried in MMIH, he sang twice the Gotta get betters and no 'Cause nothing else will do' and left.

22 June - Harry teared up during Sweet Creature, and sang Still the One by Shauna Twain, setlist changes rare on that tour.

1 July - when Taylor in US he smiled on the same line and replaced 'running with the wolves' with 'running with you'.

July - Me! Video features Harry’s LOR US suits June - July. 

The next week, Harry’s shows were energetic, Medicine Saint Paul is here, grinning during Woman, speaking clearer in Dining table, Me! references his ‘enthusiasm’ during Medicine in California

4 July Taylor and Joe at Turks and Caicos, lots of photos

21 July Harry Camille break up announced

Falling, to be so lonely and Afterglow recorded by September 2018.

October 2018 Harry went to Tokyo and was still there when the Rep last show was there 21 November. Taylor played Haylor songs. HS wrote Little Freak. Then Taylor went to UK with Joe, HS stayed

[arialebenthal]

it's you i'm haunting

a playlist for harrowhark, with cover art here by deidameias. and yes, there are nine songs on purpose xo

Funeral Bell by PHILDEL "oh, i could pray, but it won't stop you leaving."

Make it Holy by The Staves "i could make you want me, make you need me, make you mine; i could make it holy, make it special, make it right."

Cherry Wine - Live By Hozier "and it's worth it, it's divine, i have this some of the time"

Metaphor by The Crane Wives "i keep my closet free of skeletons 'cause i'm much better at digging graves, but i always dig up bones in your sympathy."

Surrender by Bear Attack! "you're fading off into the grey, i'm listening, i'm giving everything to save, but you're giving me nothing"

Becoming All Alone by Regina Spektor "when i heard god call out my name, and he said, 'hey, let's grab a beer, it's awful late, we're both right here,' ... and i said 'why doesn't it get better with time?'"

Wretched by Bartees Strange "i need you back in my system... my life feels wrong without you. i can't be here lost and abandoned... i said to god what i said."

My Ego Dies At The End by Jensen McRae "i lost the girl i was over a winter... i could not cry for it, sank down to search the bottom of the river. leave my body and the water early, tried baptism but it felt like burning -"

Nine by Sleeping At Last "i have been sleepwalking since i was fourteen. still, i check my vital signs - choked up, i realize i've been less than half myself for more than half my life... but i'm just trying to find myself through someone else's eyes."

[plantfeed]

location: fanny's open mic night. status: closed for ella<;3 @laughstrack

they detest the performativity of open mic nights, where graduates in berets stand shoulder-to-shoulder with chin-stroking lecturers as they contemplate whether a nectarine can ever be a metaphor for a vulva. rory’s therapist says it’s ‘ good to put yourself out there ’ — probably in the secret hope that by becoming someone else’s problem, they’ll no longer have to deal with him, crying, hysterical, cross-legged on the roof of the triage centre in scrubs still covered in blood. they were supposed to end up in music, an electronic music EP out by now and a small but dedicated following on soundcloud. somewhere along the way they’d lost their path, ended up slaving away at bad track records to pay their way through a med school degree they're not sure they even want, selling vinyls that cost more than their daily pay to people who don't even understand chord progressions. thursdays are their day off. they get most of friday to recover from the mid-week, before the sound tech shift into the early hours of saturday morning begins, and then back to the MGH. so wednesday-night open mic becomes the melting pot where each week rory cuts a strip along his arm, bleeds out a poem, a song, a refrain written on his guitar, more often than not a haiku, the long hours mopping up other people’s guts watered down into a rhyming couplet about a climate change.          “ hi. me again, ”  comes their uneasy start, the self-conscious wave of his hand a half-apology for being there as rory takes to the stage, the mic unsteady in their grip.  “ uh, rory. for those of you who don’t know me… okay, this is a little different to my usual stuff, but i’m just gonna go for it… it’s a narrative poem i’ve been working on. it’s called winter with nilsen. ”  clearing their throat, they pull a scrappy lined piece of paper from the pocket of their corduroys and take a swig of liquid luck from the rim of a beer bottle, sticky resin where the label once stuck.  “ november, our bodies tight like toothpicks in a cigarette tin / you press your thumb against the hollow of my throat and i, losing my breath, losing my mind, disintegrate. i still hate the taste of praline — you told me once they made you think of dad, louisiana, a stranger in a pig pen who gave you tooth decay — it stuck like gum. longer than you did, at any rate. i reach for you / in dreams and grip the air, the lilac taste of… ” eyes snap up from the page, a prick at the back of their neck, and they lose their place on the page. there, by the jukebox, beside a journo grad in a gaudy bucket hat ; freya. rory swallows a gulp, averts his gaze, presses on.  “ the lilac taste of… ”  an attempt at continuing as if nothing’s happened disperses on rory’s tongue, a sudden claggy feeling, like all of the blood’s been sucked up into his ears.  “ sorry, i’m not… i don’t usually get stage fright. but it needs more workshopping. cynthia, do you wanna take over ? ”   it’s posed as a question, but really it’s a cry for help, thrusting the mic into the general direction of the open-mic emcee as they stumble down from the steps and out of the fire escape door to the smoking area, heartbeat throbbing like a metronome.

[transition-with-the-torah]

Yom Kippur 5785

I was wrong; there was a little break before Minḥa, so the livestream was split into two videos instead of one super long one. Did Rosh Hashanah seem long? Psh, Yom Kippur said, 'Hold my [metaphorical] beer.' Working back, it was three hours, six hours, and Kol Nidre was a smidge over three hours. It's not impossible to get through... Just A Lot.

It feels like a bit of an understatement. During the Yizkor area of the service, one of the rabbis read a poem --

Be'eri by Adi Blechman Sofer

Soon winter will be here, Weeping clouds will water the earth Making red carpets grow The anemone will flower first Yet no one will come to admire its beauty. The buttercup will bloom next But there will be no festival The poppy is last to bloom. Silence. No one is there. The protected flowers had already been plucked In the fall.

[Context: The Darom Adom festival celebrates the blooming of the red anemone along the Gaza/Israel border. There's also a red buttercup and poppy; "protected flowers" possibly landed more in the original Hebrew due to decades of wildflower conservation using that phrase.]

*gestures at not splitting past-I from now-I, and not feeling that uncovering a hidden 'true self' is honest to the parts of us that have improved already (or still need improving), and carrying seeds of our past self into the new year to nurture*

*points wordlessly at the dimming of the lights, so The Ark's light was the main source (combined with the kids having kid-safe lights on the bimah) during the last shofar blast*

*stares at the ceiling while another Leonard Cohen post mentioning 'That's how the light gets in' goes by on my Tumblr dash*

If I were experiencing the emotional dysregulation of not eating or drinking for Yom Kippur's fast, that would probably be Too Much, and I'd very likely have starting tearing up. Not that crying is a bad option here, but... Bit much.

[adaventuremuses]

Twenty Tav Questions Meme!

tagged by no one i saw this and yoinked it (also Spittle technically isn't a Tav, but she was created specifically for the BG3 universe originally)

I. what do they smell like at their freshest? (and/or after a tenday. your choice)

At her freshest, Spittle would still probably smell like dirt and the woods which is likely a far cry better than what she usually smells like.

II. what would their blood taste like to vampires?

Being thinking creatures, goblin blood is a little more desirable than animal blood but not by very much. Like their blood is very bottom-tier in terms of taste among thinking creatures. If we use Astarion's alcohol metaphor than it'd be like the cheapest beer imaginable that wasn't quite brewed correctly.

III. how would they kiss their LI?

Assuming someone got that far and managed to actually teach Spittle what love is (she's far more likely to have a casual or transactional relationship), it would depend on their height. If they're in the same general height as her, she'd grab their head, claws digging in, and land a big, fat wet smooch on their lips - not minding her sharp as nails teeth at all. If they're taller than she is, she's climbing them like the little gremlin she is, and then grabbing their head, likely pulling hair, and again - not minding her teeth at all. She'll have to be taught how to be gentle because she's never experienced gentle before.

IV. how do they sleep with their LI (what position, does one steal the blankets, is one too hot/cold, etc)?

Goblins sleep in a communal setting - usually packed like sardines - snoring, kicking at, and drooling on each other. Spittle wouldn't really understand cuddling (something else she'd have to learn, and she'd likely be tsundere about it), but she's used to sleeping close to someone. She'd probably lay on top of them in all sorts of awkward positions being the nuisance that she is.

V. what does their tent area look like? where do they prefer to pitch their tent (next to water, covered on three sides, etc)?

Spittle's tent would look very primitive, makeshift, and ramshackle. She'd likely have a small hoard of things she's stolen and looted spread out and displayed. She'd also have a small hoard of food, both displayed, and a secret stash. There'd also be a few books tossed here and there carelessly. She'd likely prefer to pitch her tent covered on three sides - being the paranoid, survivalist little goblin that she is.

VI. if they had a set of dnd dice, what would they look like?

Probably black with green spider veins or something really shiny and sparkly.

VII. do they collect anything (gems, bottles, keys, etc)?

Treasure (coins, gems, shiny things in general), Food, Knives, and Books

VIII. if either, are they part of the astarion/gale book club (magic & literature) or the wyll/shadowheart book club (trashy romance novels)?

This may seem surprising to some, but Spittle would be part of the Astarion/Gale book club. She has a keen interest in power especially, so books on magic would be of great interest to her. Spittle loves to bully, insult, and jeer, so you'd think making fun of trashy romance novels would be right up her alley, but no... Mostly, she just finds herself very confused by them because she has no understanding of romance.

IX. if they had to be put in a “get along shirt” with a companion, who would it be?

Probably the whole camp at some point. She's not very easy to get along with.

X. do they prefer speak with dead or speak with animals?

Spittle finds speaking with the dead kind of creepy. She's not scared (really!), but still - so weird. So, probably Speak with Animals. Though, I can also see her just being all "why are we speaking with our lunch?"

XI. what are their thoughts on clowns?

Goblins don't have clowns. They have jokes, sure. But clowns as they are with the make-up and funny clothes and whatnot? No. So, to Spittle, a clown is going to be a very foreign and curious thing to her. She'd like be happy to discover that so many people hate them and be maliciously gleeful in planning torments for them.

XII. their companions are gossiping about them behind their back! who is it and what are they saying?

Honestly, it could be anyone. As I said, Spittle is hard to get along with, and she's a goblin. She's a prime target for gossiping and wondering what's going on in that goblin brain of hers.

XIII. what makes them laugh? what does their laugh sound like?

The misery and embarrassment of others is a constant source of entertainment for Spittle. That's what makes her laugh. My voice claim for Spittle is Shelby Rabara (the voice of Peridot in Steven Universe) - so her laughter sounds a lot like Peridot's laughter.

XIV. do they have any inside jokes among their companions?

Maybe. Some of the companions seem to enjoy ribbing on each other, and I can see Spittle getting in on that action. But she often goes too far with it.

XV. what’s the description of their camp clothes in the inventory menu?

Spittle's campwear; covered in unmentionable and sometimes unidentifiable stains and tattered in several places, she could probably do with a new set of clothes

XVI. what’s the description of their underwear in the inventory menu?

Just an empty slot that says: "Were you expecting something to be here?"

XVII. how do they celebrate their birthday?

The concept of "birthday celebration" is entirely foreign to a goblin. Goblin parents usually don't even like their stinky, screaming brats. In a lot of tribes and camps (though, there may be some exceptions, Spittle is not privy to those exceptions), a baby goblin is "cared for" (given a chance to survive) until they're able to walk and then they're pretty much allowed to run wild, unsupervised, and not really cared for.

XVIII. what modern day tv show would they binge over a weekend? do they get their LI to watch with them?

Hmmm. I haven't watched it myself, but the premise for Orange is the New Black sounds like something Spittle would enjoy watching. Also, I can definitely see her enjoying reality TV just to make fun of it. And assuming she has an LI and hasn't scared them off, she'd probably enjoy the company.

XIX. do you have a playlist for your tav? if so, what’s the title + description

I don't have a very expansive knowledge of music, so no.

XX. if you were to try pickpocketing them, what would they be carrying?

Assuming you rolled that natural 20 (because goblins pickpocket and outright mug each other constantly, so she's paranoid af), she'd be carrying a small amount of change, a dagger, random food items, and a Pocket Standard Common Dictionary.

[boyakishantriage]

*slams empty beer can onto table.*

"ok. First and foremost. I told you, I ain't straight. It's not my problem that you appear to have the self control of fucking Zeus. I'm sorry me being in a dry spell for two months, drunk at a party kissing your lips, with tongue mind you, is the most action you've had in. What was it again... Three? No. Ten goddamn years on tinder, no. Wait. That's being generous. It's FORTY fucking years on tinder, and even when I bag you the sluttiest slag available. Cindy, you still need to return Dan's jacket or decide to pay him, it's been a week. You still couldn't find what way to get out of your pants."

"and another thing. Your bitch ass has been going, on and on about all kinds of scandals, conveniently three goddamn days minimum after I bring up points chewing you fucks you. But mate, only reason you go to Bunnings is because you keep buying fucking lightbulbs since you don't seem to understand what a metaphor is. And here's where you cut to another point, alcoholism."

*rubs face*

"firstly, mate, this is Australia. We're descended from convicts from the motherland, imported immigrants because the second son or daughters couldn't be fucked chipping in any kind of work. And also, your bitch ass drinks fucking lite beers since you appear incapable of downing anything less than a fucking standard Colbe."

[Translation: this bitch drinks a 7% beer the bitch takes, a whopping. 0.5%]

"and another thing. You've been going on on how much of a giga chad, and Alpha Male is. Mate, my cousin who barely knows how to fight yet alone punch beat yo sorry ass into crying like a bitch."

"she was terrifying."

"she was twelve."

*silence pause*

"But sure, let's fucking cut your argument to shreds while I'm at it. "aro and ace and shit ain't fucking LGBTQ!"

... Uhm, actually, it's LGBTQQIPA2SA. Before you bitch ass cries about how that's semantics, you leeched off your parents for twenty years. Suck me dick. Now, yes they fucking are. LGBT is a community built off people with their gender and or sexuality, y'know. Discussing and not being prejudiced about it.

And y'all know I couldn't give two shits about it, right? Like, BDSM's a side gig, don't touch that you stupid fuck, but like anal. Y'know it's weird as shit. But if it's behind closed doors and I don't hear your slut- Liam, you're gonna get an STD if you keep touching the dildo -slutty ass. Moaning through the goddamn walks CANDICE. Like, who gives a shit. M'kay?"

*walk across*

"... Well, yeah. But I don't think you're one to talk miss' years voices in your head."

"... And you are? Mr closet gay with a not a guy who's not my boyfriend who doesn't totally do him down and dirty all doggy style this goddamn morning? Because I've been bullying children a good two years before your bitch ass came into this community and screwed it over with your fucking cunt stink. And unlike Candice here, it weren't welcome."