#I’m so normal about the things I like clearly

[luveline]

hi jade! I remember a while back you wrote a drabble about hotchner!reader having a really bad panic attack and Spencer and Aaron helping her at the hospital, and it gave me a lot of comfort to read it. would you be interested in writing something about Spencer and Aaron taking care of hotchner!reader as she adjusts to her new meds?

—Spencer and your brother, Aaron, take care of you when your new prescription gives unexpected side effects. fem (adopted) 2k

When things got quiet at home, you’d get tense. 

Your apartment is silent. No whir of the heating, no washing machine clatter, no voices. You sit on the couch with your legs pulled up, turned to the armrest with your cheek pressed to the seat's backing. Your phone is in your hand at a low percentage. You’ll get up to charge just as soon as you can remember what you’d wanted to be doing in the first place. 

Spencer was going to call you. He’s sweet, really. You didn’t expect for love to feel easy; you never thought someone could like you without allowances. You’re quiet sometimes, your nerves are shot. You ask for reassurance too much, too often, and you don’t believe them when they’re given. 

You aren’t smart, or funny, or particularly hard-working. 

But Spencer loves you, you’re almost certain. Or maybe he’s just content to be half happy. It wouldn’t surprise you if he called you to break up with you —what use have you been to him lately? You’re tired everyday. You can’t sleep, you can’t eat, you never want to go out. You can barely make it through the working day. 

Your phone beeps in your hand. 

Outside, it says. If Spencer’s there, please make sure he’s fully dressed.

You manage to smile weakly. Aaron saw Spencer once getting out of the shower, and he was dressed, thank you very much. You hadn’t done anything salacious as he might’ve assumed from the situation, just showered together, but Aaron always lets you know before visiting now. 

Doesn’t ask, by the way, but you don’t actually want him to. He’s like, the only good thing in your life beside Spencer. 

Aaron lets himself in and finds you immediately. “Hey, honey,” he says. 

He slipped into the affectionate older brother role not long after meeting you, and he’s been worse since you were in the hospital. Which is to say, gentler with you. 

He slips a bag of groceries onto the counter. He pans around the room. It’s cleaner than usual here, but none of the lights are on, nor the TV. You can see him notice it. 

“You okay?” he asks, pulling groceries from the bag. He’s brought milk, bread, eggs, and fresh soups from the nice store nearby. “It’s quiet in here.” 

“I’m fine.” 

“Yeah? Any wobbles?” 

He’s asking if you’ve had a panic attack or anything like it, but for the last few days you’ve felt veritably numb. “I’m okay,” you say. 

You should bring up your symptoms. Clearly, lexapro either isn’t right for you or the dosage is too much; you’re a zombie these last couple of days. Medications don’t always work straight away, so for a time you’d felt like your script was useless, serving only to make you nauseous, but the sickness has finally gone away. 

He opens the fridge to put away the groceries. He’s sliding the bread into your bread box when he says, “Honey, aren’t you gonna answer that? Your phone?”

You blink down at your phone. Spencer’s contact glows in front of a green background. 

You click answer and pull it to your ear. “Hello?” you ask softly. 

“Hey, angel. How are you feeling today?” 

You clear your throat. “Fine.” 

“I was thinking I’d come over?” 

“You’re outside?” you ask. 

“How’d you know that?” 

“Must be something in the water.”

“I’ll come up now. I brought some things for dinner.” 

You manage your first laugh that dreary day. It’s nearly normal. “Okay. I might not have room.” 

Spencer promises to be up quickly and disconnects the call. You lift your chin to find Aaron already looking at you. “Do I look okay?” you ask. 

“Beautiful, don’t worry.”

“Is this an ambush?” you ask. 

“Not an intentional one. Can I make you something to drink?” 

He’ll make you something you like, you trust. You try to sit properly on the couch before Spencer gets here, rubbing under your eyes, checking there’s nothing on your t-shirt and sweatpants. It might not matter if there were, you know Spencer thinks you’re pretty without makeup or fancy clothes, but he doesn’t necessarily have to be truthful about it. 

“Aaron,” you say, before you can forget, “did… was Jack’s soccer okay?”

He passes you a mug, squeezing your shoulder lovingly. “It was great. I’ll show you the photos.” 

“I’m sorry I didn’t go.” 

You were supposed to. Spencer even drove to pick you up, but he got here and your meds weren’t working and your heart was beating wrong, so you stayed home. 

“It’s okay.” Aaron looks like he wants to hug you, but he doesn’t. “Nobody’s mad at you for that.” 

“For other things?” 

“Nothing.” 

Your door opens again. Spencer bursts in with two things, a brown paper bag of groceries and a bouquet of flowers. It’s a pretty huge bouquet, as they go, white and pink flowers, cornflower blue chrysanthemums spotted throughout, the end of his scarf stuck in the flowers and his coat unbuttoned in the struggle. “Hey. Hi, Hotch.” 

“Spencer,” Aaron says, which is strangely warm. 

Spencer shoves the bouquet aside to see you. “Hi, you okay?” 

You force yourself to stand. It’s obvious you’re not feeling right, your head whirring, but you have to make sure he still wants you. “Spencer.” 

He puts the bouquet down. The groceries next. “Angel,” he says, meeting Aaron’s eyes quickly, then back to you, where he smiles sympathetically, “How long have you been feeling like this?” 

You’ve only taken a few steps toward him when he catches you for a hug. It’s nice and polite, but not without tenderness. He doesn’t pull your weight in like he would if you were alone, but he holds your back and sits a quick kiss against your cheek as he pulls away. 

“I don’t really know, a few days?” you suggest. 

“You could’ve told me. Or Hotch, you know?” 

“I know, I was going to, just–” You press your hand to your eyes. “Didn’t really notice it was happening.” 

“Don’t get upset,” Aaron says, coming to join you both in the kitchen. “It’s alright. Spencer isn’t scolding you, he just wants you to know we’re here for you no matter what happens.” 

“I don’t feel like myself,” you say.

“That’s okay,” Aaron furthers, holding you by the shoulder, his hand settling behind the nape of your neck, “we can talk to your doctor again, this isn’t permanent. We’ll talk to them today, if it’s what you need.” 

“I’m sorry. Not many people have such an adverse effect to lexapro, I was hoping you wouldn’t be an exception,” Spencer says. 

To your surprise, Aaron answers for you, “You couldn’t have known. This is just something we’ll have to keep doing together.” 

Someone sits you down. Aaron warms his fancy soups and toasts the bread he brought, making a plate and bowl for each of you without asking. Spencer barely balks. You manage another laugh, for which you’re rewarded with two smiles. 

Aaron can’t stay much longer, having to pick up Jack from Jess’, but he offers to come back. You decline, not wanting Jack to see you feeling as depressed as you are. He promises to call the doctor tonight and leaves in a rush. He must’ve stayed longer than he should’ve. 

Spencer is more forthcoming with soft touches once he’s gone. He didn’t eat much but neither did you, pushing the plates across the coffee table. He’s still wearing his coat. 

Fond, you reach for his chest and begin slipping buttons from the eyelets. “You’re staying, right?” you murmur. 

“If you’ll have me.” 

You open his coat and push it away from his shoulders. He dressed fancy even when he’s not going anywhere, it’s so strange, the button up and the tie and the sweater vest, all of it, but you love it. You run your hand down his vest. He lets his head dip forward. Not for kissing, just to be near. 

“What’s wrong?” he asks. 

“Just feel wrong.” 

“It’s not really a good idea to stop taking the lexapro now. It’s technically an antidepressant, and your body won’t adjust well.” He holds your waist as you hold his. “But this is weird, huh?” 

“Feels weird.” 

“Short term, uh, I think we should just try and make sure you feel alright today. Is there anything you need?” he’s murmuring, rubbing his thumb into the soft of your stomach. “I can get anything. Or we can do anything.” 

“You don’t have to… worry about me.” 

“Are you kidding?” he asks softly.

“We haven’t been…” You trail your hand to his stomach, where it stays. “I just don’t expect you to deal with this, you didn’t sign up for this.” 

“I don’t think that’s true. I had no idea what I’d find out about you or what you might go through when we first met, but I wanted to find out. I wanted to take care of you then, and I do now,” he says simply.

“It’s not good timing for me to be like this.” 

“Stuff happens all the time. I wouldn’t want to wait for you to be perfect before we met.” He smiles genuinely. “Not that you’re not perfect.” 

“I really feel like I’m not even me.” 

“You’re you,” he says, dipping so close to you that you can’t see his face anymore, just his skin.

You slouch into his chest, coaxed by long, lithe arms cradling you, as kind as anyone’s ever touched you. He smells clean, your nose finding its way to his stiff collar. 

“I’m sorry,” you say. 

“You don’t have to be. Nobody wants you to be sorry, okay?” 

It’s a new feeling. Spencer spends the night with you on the couch and doesn’t for a moment seem like it’s something he doesn’t wanna do. You end up laying on his chest, his fingers drawing lines like a meandering figure skater up your back. Twirls and loops, long laps around your spine. When your phone rings, he’s nice enough to click answer and hold it to your ear. 

“Aaron?” you ask sleepily. 

“Hey, honey. I’ll be by tomorrow to take you back to Dr. Chester’s office, alright? If you don’t want to keep taking your lexapro, don’t. But if you can manage it, take another tonight, and we’ll figure out the new plan after your appointment.” 

“Okay,” you say, feeling very small. “Thank you for doing that for me.” 

“I’d do anything. Jack says he loves you, he’s making you a painting of yourself. He’s very good at the colours.” 

“I bet he is,” you say loudly. In the background, you can hear Jack’s pleased little thank you. 

“Do you want to talk a while?” he asks.

“That’s okay, Aaron, I’m half asleep on Spencer right now.” 

“Good, that’s good. Tell him to take good care of you, okay? Or I won’t be happy.” 

Spencer laughs above your head. “When is he ever happy?” he jokes in a whisper. 

“Shh,” you say, giving Spencer a light shove. “He says he will.” You swallow a lump, as you’ve had to do all day, but it isn’t rawness that colours your voice now. “I love you. Thank you for, uh, calling the doctor. Thanks.” 

“I love you too. I’ll leave you to sleep now. I’ll come at eleven, alright?” 

“Alright. See you tomorrow,” you say. 

Your voice is weak. Spencer pulls the phone away and hangs it up, tossing it without force onto the coffee table, before wrapping his arm around you snugly. 

“It’s gonna be fine,” Spencer says. “You’ll see, things aren’t going to be like this forever. It’s statistically impossible.” 

“Ooh,” you croon, pressing your tired face back into his chest, “I love when you talk statistics to me. Tell me more.”

He draws shapes into your back, his voice a murmur as he starts to talk. 

[fastandcarlos]

Forgotten Thing : ̗̀➛ Max Verstappen

summary: you know just how busy max is, and you understood too, only now you're starting to feel like the forgotten thing in his life

The sound of light snores greeted you as you walked into the apartment, unable to stop your eyes from rolling. Your heart raced as you slipped your shoes off, dropping your bag to the ground with a loud thud, not caring about the figure asleep in your living room.  

“Max,” you called out, standing to the side of the sofa with your arms folded across your chest. 

The sound of your voice had him stirring, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. A smile was on his face for a moment until Max noticed how nice you looked, eyes going wide in horror when he remembered that he had promised to pick you up from work. 

“That was a lovely walk home,” you sarcastically told him, taking a seat on the end of the sofa, “at least you got some rest though, that’s what matters, right?” 

The frustration was clear in your voice as you found yourself let down by Max again. It was becoming a pretty normal feeling for you, to be given empty promises and assured of things that you knew that Max wouldn’t be able to follow through. 

“Don’t be mad, please,” Max asked of you, sitting himself up. “I only planned on closing my eyes for a few minutes, and then I just lost track of time. I mean, all you had to do was walk home from work, it’s hardly the most difficult job in the world. 

Your head shook at how dismissive Max was. “The walk home didn’t bother me Max, it’s the fact that you promised you’d be there. You keep promising and not delivering, it’s like I’m some forgotten, unimportant part of your life.” 

Max brushed his hands over his face as he tried to wake himself up, not quite understanding what you were so fed up about. “I’ve been so busy at work recently I obviously just needed the sleep. We can’t all have a job like yours, some of us are working nonstop.” 

“I see, because my job is a walk in the park, isn’t it?” You scoffed. 

You couldn’t quite believe what you were hearing from Max, he’d always seemed to be supportive, but now you weren’t so sure. It was like the two of you were in competition, with Max clearly feeling like he was winning. 

“It’s not the same, how hard I work and how hard you work is very different. I’ve got a flight to catch early tomorrow morning and you’ve got the next two days off, so I’d say I’m slightly more important,” Max argued. 

Your mouth went wide in shock, letting go of a gasp. You didn’t recognise the man in front of you, the man who usually was so caring and sympathetic had turned into someone who couldn’t care less about you. 

“I’ve always looked after you Max, done absolutely anything for you. It’s a shame you can’t do the same for me. I might as well just leave, that’s how you make me feel,” you spoke. 

Max’s eyes widened once again, his body tensing up. You stood up, feeling Max's eyes watching your every move, slowly backing towards the front door. 

“You wouldn’t actually leave,” Max sniggered. 

“Why not? What is there to make me stay anymore?” You challenged, your voice getting louder. “Why shouldn’t I go somewhere where I actually feel valued and appreciated rather as if I’m nothing.” 

“Love,” Max whispered, brushing a hand through his hair. “I’m sorry that I’ve made you feel that way, it’s just been so hard for the past couple of weeks. I really did intend on picking you up, I set an alarm and everything, but I must’ve just slept right through it.” 

“If you were tired or stressed Max, you should’ve told me, I’d never have expected you to pick me up if I knew,” you sighed, walking back into the room again. 

“But you’re right, I do keep making promises that I can’t keep, so I wanted to pick you up to prove to you that I care.” Max tapped the space beside him on the sofa, inviting you to sit beside him as his hand rested against your leg. 

“I know that you care about me,” you assured him. 

Max’s head shook, “but I’ve not shown you that, when you’re constantly here caring for me, I just take it for granted, we’re supposed to care for each other.” 

You smiled weakly across at Max, knowing better than anyone just how hard he worked. For all his faults, you could never fault how loved he made you feel, even if his mind was elsewhere sometimes. Your hand reached out and pressed against the side of his face, lips pressing against his cheek, unaware of the way Max’s heart raced with relief at the feeling of your lips on him.  

“If you’re free this weekend, do you fancy coming to the race?” Max asked you, “I’ll make sure that we can spend some time together when I’m not needed at the garage. We can explore, have a proper look around.” 

Your head nodded at his suggestion, excited by the thought of being at a race again. It had been a while, you were never quite sure if Max wanted you there or not, but now he couldn’t imagine himself going to the race without you. 

“You don’t need to do this, I know how hard race weekends are,” you assured him, squeezing against his hand, “I don’t need anything to be made up to me.” 

“But you do,” Max defended, knowing just how badly he’d treated you. “I want to make sure you know that I care, I’m going to make sure that we have the best weekend together too.” 

Max moved his free arm around your frame as he pulled you into his side, pressing several gentle kisses against the top of your head. The hold he had on you was more loving than anything you’d felt from him in a while, letting you know just how sorry he was. 

Once he was done, Max kept his head resting on top of yours. “Whatever you want to do whilst we’re there this weekend, we’ll do. I’ll even drive you around and pick you up from the paddock.” 

“Max,” you whispered, but he quickly shushed you, knowing what you were about to say. 

“Don’t tell me that you understand that it’s alright, because it’s not,” he laughed, reading your mind perfectly. “I’ve been a terrible boyfriend and that needs to be put right.” 

“I do understand, you work so hard.” 

“And so do you,” Max responded, “I never should’ve made it sound like your job doesn’t matter, because it does, you’re the hardest working person I know. I’m sorry.” 

“Stop apologising,” you grinned, pressing your head further into Max’s side, “I know how sorry you are Max.” 

A hum came from him as he leant back on the sofa, cuddling you into his side as he draped his legs over the top of yours. 

“Let’s sleep for a bit,” you suggested, placing your hand on his chest, “I know how much better you sleep when you’ve got someone to cuddle.” 

Max nodded in agreement with you, “you can’t be telling anyone how much I love being cuddled to sleep, people won’t think I’m cool anymore.” 

“Leave me stranded at work again and I might just reveal all your secrets,” you teased. 

“You wouldn’t,” Max challenged, watching your head nod out of the corner of his eye. 

“You wouldn’t want to find out.” 

˗ˏˋ 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 ! ´ˎ˗

[wonderjanga]

So Ive had this prompt stuck in my head, dunno if you've done it before, but:

Billy unexpectedly powers down due to a villain's weapon. But instead of being, well, scruffy little billy, he ends up looking like a greek child with the toga (?) and all. What would the JL reaction be?

This whole incident started half a year ago with the divine beings in his head arguing about something. Arguing was a surprisingly common occurrence despite the fact that most of these guys were over thousands of years old. He tended to normally tune them out whenever this was happening.

Achilles: “BILLY!”

Marvel: *startles* “Yes, Achilles?”

Achilles: “Chiton or toga?”

Marvel: “Huh?

Mercury: “Chiton or toga? We’re making you a gift. Aren’t we like so kind?”

Marvel: “A gift…?” *sounds weary* “I don’t like the sound of that. What are you planning?”

Zeus: “Nothing!”

Marvel: “Solomon?”

Solomon: “It really is nothing. This will actually aid you in case of any accidents while in field.”

Marvel: “Okay then…”

Hercules: “NOW PICK!”

Marvel: “Alright, alright, dang. Uh… What’s a chiton?”

Zeus: “What’s a- What’s a chiton? I’ve never felt such a shame for one of my children before.”

Marvel: “I’m not your kid, but okay.”

Solomon: “Billy, a chiton is a tunic that was worn traditionally by the Greeks.”

Marvel: “Oooh. Uh… okay then I pick that one.”

Zeus: “Ha ha, suck it Atlas!”

Atlas: “I also wanted him to pick the Chiton…?”

Zeus: “I know. I just don’t like you. I thought that was obvious by now.”

Billy didn’t know that Robin was like five feet away and watching this entire interaction go down. To Damian, this grown ass man was just having a full conversation with himself, oblivious to the world. He reported this behavior to his father later.

Batman: “That’s normal.”

Robin!Damian: “Pardon?”

Batman: “That’s normal for Marvel. Think nothing of it.”

Anyways, fast forward six months. Billy forgot about the gift thing the Gods were talking about. Mostly because they hadn’t even given him the gift. Then the time came when Billy was forced to be detransformed. All because of a stupid villain’s machine going haywire. Sivana could do better. So now, Billy was standing in front of the JL who had surrounded him in a half circle.

(Ancient Greek is in italics)

Billy: “Uh… Hello?” *doesn’t even realize he’s decked out in the Ancient Greek drip, complete with the chiton from earlier*

JL: *staring in befuddlement*

Supes: “He’s been de-aged?”

WW: *steps forward* “Brother?”

Mercury: “Okay, Billy, stare at her for like three seconds and then be like you’re Zeus‘s kin?”

Billy: *doesn’t even know why he’s doing this but does the three second stare* “You’re Zeus’ kin?”

Mercury: “You’re my favorite champion now.”

WW: “I am. I am Diana Prince. It’s a pleasure to meet you. What is your name?”

Solomon: “Thavma is a nice choice.”

Zeus: “So is Keraunos. Which is arguably better because it means lightning.”

Billy: “Thavma, or Keraunos. Either is fine.”

Flash: *whispering to Batman* “Spooky, what’re they saying?”

Batman: “I don’t know. I’m versed in Greek, not Ancient Greek. I can just barely make out an eighth of the words they’re saying.”

Soon after all of this, he was taken to the Watchtower. The JL dropped him off in a rec room and assigned Robin to watch him so the team could go to a meeting room to discuss the whole ordeal.

Robin!Damian: *looking him up and down*

Billy: *can feel the judgment through Robin’s mask* “What is it?”

Robin!Damian: “What?”

Billy: “I said what is it?”

Robin!Damian: “Tt. A language barrier.”

Billy: *frog blinks* “Language barrier…?”

Solomon: “I’ll just turn off the Ancient Greek for you.”

Billy: *clears his throat* “Can you understand me now?” *slight Greek accent still there*

Robin!Damian: “More clearly. Yes.”

Billy: “Cool, now what is it?”

Robin!Damian: “Pardon?”

Billy: “What is it? I can tell you’re staring at me judgmentally through that thing on your face.”

Robin!Damian: *visibly bristles* “I am not.”

Billy: “Yes, you are.”

Robin!Damian: “I am not.”

Billy: “You are.”

Robin!Damian: “Am not.”

Billy: “Yuh huh.”

Robin!Damian: “Nuh uh-” *realizes he let that leave his mouth* “Why are you acting like a child?

Billy: “I am a child.”

Robin!Damian: *stares at him for a couple moments* “The reason I am staring at you judgmentally, is that I had previously assumed you had been born an adult.”

Billy: “Who told you that?”

Robin!Damian: “Nightwing.”

Billy: *remembers he’s not supposed to know who that is* “Who?”

Robin!Damian: “He’s someone you’ll meet when you’re an adult.”

Billy: “Okay…?”

*silence*

Somehow, the two ended up crawling in the vents together. You couldn’t even ask Billy how it happened.

Robin!Damian: “Crawl faster.”

Billy: “I’m trying.”

They spent a while up there, crawling around, eavesdropping, stopping every now and then in the kitchen for snacks.

Robin!Damian: “This is chocolate.” *hands him a chocolate bar*

Billy: *eyes literally shining as he looks at the bar because he rarely gets to have chocolate*

Robin!Damian: “You open it like so.” *opens his own bar* “Now come. We must continue on the move. Back to the vents.”

This went on until the JL started to look for them.

Flash: *searching the rec room frantically because they should’ve been here*

Robin!Damian and Billy: *descend from the vents*

Robin!Damian: “What do you need speedster?”

Flash: *screams*

[inmyheaddd]

walkin’ out the door with your bags — part 6

⤷ “i’m not the type to run, i know we’re having fun,”

summary: you and gigi are peacefully enjoying your day, when you find out, grayson’s… back? and he wants to talk. what could go wrong? wc: 3.0k masterlist || part 1 || part 2 || part 3 || part 4 || part 5

14 years old… 

you found him hiding in the library.  

he was slumped in the corner, knees pulled to his chest, head buried in his arms. at first, you weren’t sure it was him—grayson hawthorne never looked so… small. 

his usually pristine shirt slightly wrinkled like he’d been tugging at the hem, and it wasn’t tucked in. he didn’t look straight at you when you stepped in, but he didn’t tell you to leave either.  

“what do you want?” his voice cracked, but he tried to sound cold.  

you didn’t answer. instead, you sat down beside him, legs crossed, like it was the most normal thing in the world. 

he blinked at you, waiting for an explanation, but you just shrugged. years of knowing each other, and it always went down like this. 

“company.” you picked a random book off the nearest shelf and flipped it open. “you can pretend i’m not here.”

he didn’t reply.

minutes passed. long enough that you thought maybe he really would ignore you. at one point, you began actually reading the book you were pretending to read, and nearly forgot about the boy beside you.

but then, out of nowhere, he spoke.

“i don’t know what to do.” he admitted slowly. “there’s this girl… emily,” he said, his voice low, and you felt your heart beat faster. “and… my brother. jameson.”

your chest tightened, though you weren’t sure why. your kept your gaze fixed on the pages of your book, but your hands had stopped turning the pages.

“what about them?” you asked carefully, glancing at him for a second.

he ran a hand through his hair. “she’s… complicated. and jameson—he doesn’t think. he just jumps into things, never stops to think what it might do to everyone else.”

you hesitated, breath hitching as you studied the way he wouldn’t look straight into your eyes. whatever this was, clearly meant a lot.

he continued, looking down at the floor. “it gets repetitive. jameson, emily—they don’t think about the damage until it’s too late. and then they leave me to clean it up. and stupidly, for some reason, i do. i always do.”

you’ve seen grayson sad before, but this was different. he looked… lost. and angry. and for someone like grayson, who always carried himself like he had the whole world in order, it was jarring.

“you’re allowed to be mad, you know,” you said.

that made him pause. “i’m not mad,” he said, but the words sounded like a blatant lie.

your shoulders were barely touching , but the act alone felt larger than anything else. 

you tilted your head, a soft smile growing on your face. “okay, then you’re… frustrated? dissapointed? annoyed? irritated? pick your adjective.”

that earned the tiniest flicker of a smile, and your chest felt a little lighter, but then it disappeared just as quickly. he looked at you then, and something about the way his eyes searched your face made your breath catch.

“sometimes, i think you’re the only person who actually sees me,” he said quietly.

your heart stuttered, and for a second, you couldn’t think of anything to say. 

but then you smiled, “of course i see you,” you rolled your eyes jokingly like he hadn’t just sincerely confirmed that he really did see you as a friend, after years of just feeling like you pestered him. 

your cheeks reddened, “i’m your friend, that’s what i’m here for.” 

“but, you know,” you continued, “you’re surrounded by people who care about you,” you said softly, taking the focus away from you, and back to being there for grayson. “just let yourself see it. don’t push them away.”

his head snapped up at that, his sharp eyes meeting yours. “but people never just… stay.” he mumbled. “they have their own lives, their own motives.”

you stayed. you always would. “that doesn’t mean you have to shut everyone out,” you said, your voice steadier now.

“not everyone’s going to hurt you, grayson. but you won’t know that if you keep closing the door before anyone gets close. i mean, i annoyed you for so many years straight even when you pushed me away.” you said. 

“not everyone has my extreme level of patience and willingness to accept moody brooding.” you joked to lighten the moment, but there was truth behind it, he couldn’t expect people to stick around if he pushed them away.

he stared at you for a long moment, and something in his expression cracked, like he wanted to believe you but didn’t quite know how yet. 

he looked back at the floor, “you never actually irritated me,” he admitted, “and i never hated you. perhaps you’re right, i don’t… i don’t like to let people in.” 

you shrugged casually, “i’m always right.” 

he looked at you with a newfound softness in his eyes. “you’re annoyingly persistent, you know that?” he said finally, your shoulders still brushing against each other. 

“oh, i know.” you grinned. “if i wasn’t, we wouldn’t be friends right now.” you said with a small smile. “someone’s gotta stick around to remind you you’re not as alone as you think.”

for a while, neither of you said anything. grayson leaned his head back against the wall, letting out a long, quiet breath. 

that was when you knew he was replaying your words, letting them sink in—even if he wouldn’t say it outloud. 

— 

present

after days of confusion and radio silence from grayson, you finally told yourself that you were done overthinking. gigi had dragged you to your favorite ice cream shop for a much-needed distraction. 

the two of you sat at your usual table near the front, the smell of waffle cones and the soft hum of background music lulling you back into some sense of normalcy. that was until gigi leaned closer, her voice a hushed whisper.

“don’t look now, but…” gigi trailed off, her eyes going behind you once again. “grayson is kind of, um, here. and sitting behind you.” 

considering gigi had made very careful effort to not even mention his name around you — even when you persisted you didn’t care— hearing graysons name come from her lips stunned you for a moment, then you realized what she had just said. 

“what?” you whispered in shock, and then you turned around before you could think it twice. 

there were quite a few people in the shop, so there was quiet chatter mixed with the background music, but it all seemed to silence. 

but there he was, grayson hawthorne, sitting in the back of the empty icecream shop, glasses on typing on his computer.

‘who did he think he was?’ you thought, ‘coming to our— my place? the one that i introduced him to?’ 

you focused on the anger so you wouldn’t feel anything else. 

what on earth was he doing here? who the hell comes to an ice cream shop and doesn’t even get anything? and does what, office work? and who—

he looked up through his glasses, and you realized to late that you were sort of… full blown staring. 

he met your eyes for the briefest of seconds as you turned your head back around. 

“holy cow…” gigi mumbled as she looked down at her icecream, “he’s giving you a major longing stare right now.”

“okay,” you hummed, raising your eyebrows momentarily in lieu of a shrug that he would he able to see, “i don’t care.”

“sure you don’t,” she replied knowingly, dragging her spoon through her melting sundae. you gave her a look that said you didn’t agree, and that you seriously did not care, but she didn’t say anything. 

a beat passed before gigi suddenly grinned. “okay. in five seconds, i’m giving him a major angry glare.” she mumbled under her breath. 

“gigi, do not.”

“three…

“seriously, don’t.”

“two… one. i’m doing it!”

“gigi!”

she tilted her head back up, and bless her heart, gave her best attempt at a seething glare at grayson. 

it was sort of impossible for her to look angry with her wide blue eyes, no matter how hard she furrowed her brows. 

and she didn’t let up at it for a few seconds, then raised her eyebrows — half surprised and half amused. “ha,” she grinned to herself and fisted the air. “he looked away first. loser.” 

he was probably just crazily confused, you reckoned. 

“okay,” you chuckled under your breath, your cheeks reddening by the second. “um, should we leave now?”

“no,” gigi whined, taking a bite of her icecream. “that’ll make it obvious we’re mad. besides, i haven’t finished my icecream.” 

“well, i think that look you gave him made it more obvious,” you told her, and she only laughed as she shook her head. “but alright.” 

it wasn’t long before you left. you didn’t even have an appetite any more, and you were too overly aware of a presence behind you to focus on anything else. gigi finished her icecream promptly. 

the drive home was quiet. gigi hummed along to the radio, her mood as bright as ever, but you couldn��t shake the tightness in your chest. 

your thoughts churned, questions you’d been trying to bury for a few days swirling all over again.

“you’re quiet,” gigi said after a while, her tone soft. she glanced at you, concerned, but you only shook your head, trying to force a small smile.

“just tired,” you mumbled.

gigi didn’t push, and you could tell she didn’t buy it.

you pulled into the driveway and sat there for a moment, the car engine ticking softly as it cooled. gigi patted your arm before grabbing her bag and heading inside.

you smiled and nodded, muttering something like ‘i’ll meet you inside,’ and you stayed behind for a moment, staring at the steering wheel.

your phone was put on silent, then you scrolled through your notifications. 

grayson 

— Hi, I believe I saw you and Gigi today

you

— yeah haha i think gigi told me she saw you  i thought you were gone for 8 days? — it’s nice to see you back

grayson 

— Likewise. — I think we should talk, It’s been long overdue. 

a scoff escaped before you could stop it. the audacity.

your fingers moved before your brain could catch up.

you

— ok — talk then 

grasyon

— Would you be alright with talking in person?

you 

— yeah sure whatever — where?

grayson

— I’ll come to you.

you

— maybe not — i don’t want to disturb gigi

grayson

— Our park spot, then?

you

— ok

your heart slammed in your chest. you sat there for a moment, staring at the screen wordlessly, trying to process what just happened. 

our? how could he even still use that word?

this was happening, you were going to talk to grayson for real this time. you anticipated it wouldn’t end good. things with him were rarely easy.

you put on your headphones to numb your thoughts, pulled on a hoodie, and made your way out the house. 

the playground was completely empty, which was usually how it was when you and grayson used to go. the sun was already beginning to set when you walked out of your house, and it was fully dark once you arrived, making your way toward your spot. the bench.

it wasn’t anything special—just a worn wooden bench tucked away at the edge of the playground. but it had been yours. you and grayson’s.

he was already there when you arrived, sitting with his elbows resting on his knees, staring at the ground like it might have the answers he needed.

you sat down on the opposite end of the bench, keeping a deliberate distance. “okay,” you said, crossing your arms. “talk.” the park was eerily quiet, the air cooling rapidly as the sun finally disappeared behind the trees. the bench felt cold under your fingers as you sat down, the weight of the moment settling in.

his eyes flicked to yours, and for the first time, you thought you saw a hint of guilt there. 

you were both silent for a few seconds, before you looked away, down at the floor.

“fine, if you won’t talk, i will.” you muttered. 

“grayson,” you sighed, “you can’t just—” you started, your voice breaking slightly before you caught yourself. 

you cleared your throat, willing the tears to stay put. “you can’t just disappear and then show up like nothing happened. like i’m supposed to just... what? forget it?”

he inhaled, then hesitated. “you know, i never meant it to be like this. i didn’t mean for it to feel like that.” he said quietly, his tone so calm that it just made you more angry.

“feel like what, grayson?” you finally snapped your head towards his. “like you were ignoring me? like you couldn’t be bothered to let me know what was going on? because that’s exactly what it felt like.”

his jaw tightened, but he didn’t say anything.

“that’s it?” you scoffed, followed by a bitter laugh as you sat up straight. “you disappear, you come back, and all you’ve got is ‘i didn’t mean for it to feel like that?’”

he wielded silence like a weapon, just like he always had.

you continued, still. “what’s going on with you? you’re acting so— so different, i barely even recognize you.”

he let out a breath as he looked away, running a hand through his hair. “please, don’t make this harder than it already is,” he started, his voice calm but careful. “yes, we are good friends, but we’ve tarnished that too far for us to ever be simply friends again.”

“what? grayson,” you said through a forced laugh, “what are you even saying right now?” you knew precisely what he was saying. 

“you’re a good person.” he said, almost sounding like he was begging for you to see his point, “you’re a lovely person, the most caring and funniest person i’ve met. you deserve better, i’m not the person for you.” 

“grayson, what is wrong with you?” you couldn’t help but laugh at the absurdity at what you were hearing, but you were so frustrated at his… selfishness.

“i want you, you want me, right? it’s that simple! just let us be us.”

“it’s never that simple.” he shook his head, that one strand falling back into his face. his brows furrowed slightly like the words hurt him to say.

“it is that simple! you’re making no sense, just— just stop.” you stood up, and he followed, fear flashing in his eyes momentarily. 

you took a slow step away from him.

“you kissed me! you kissed me.” your voice crackled, and you swallowed thickly, forcing yourself to keep going. “if you knew from day one that you couldn’t do this, you should’ve just spared me the effort and left me alone.”

he looked at you like you’d shot a dagger through his heart, though his eyes were the only thing that showed it. were you being unfair? probably. but in your eyes, you had every right to be. 

as much as both of you hated to admit, his eyes were far too easy for you to read. they were like a language only you were fluent in, like you could have a whole conversation without even speaking.

now, all they said was pain. 

“you’re the only thing making things more difficult, gray.” you hated the way your voice trembled. 

low blow after low blow. but he deserved it. 

all those nights you’d spent together? he knew you inside and out, what hurts you, what doesn’t, and exactly how you love.

he knew all of that, and he still thought that leaving because things were difficult was going to be the right thing.

this couldn’t be real.

“look at us, don’t you see it?” he motioned between the two of you, like whatever was happening was a tangible thing he could see. “we’re fighting like this, and we’re not even together. we’re going to ruin each other.”

ruin each other? is that what he thought? god knows how many years of friendship, a pretty perfect friendship too, and he thought making something official would lead to you ruining each other? 

you weren’t fighting with him, you were trying to fight for him. for the chance of you actually being something more. 

“we can’t do this.” his voice felt so detached, but his eyes looked so hurt at the same time. he didn’t getto feel hurt, not when it was his fault. “we’ll just end up hurting eachother, and i don’t want to hurt you.”

you nodded silently, willing your tears back. every inch of you you wanted to scream in his face, “you already have! you coward.”

he was doing nothing but hurt you these past few days.

instead, you nodded, biting the inside of your cheek to keep the tears at bay.

“yeah,” you said, pressing your lips together as you nodded again. “alright. i get it. that’s it then?”

grayson’s eyes narrowed for a split second like he was confused. 

was he surprised? did he think you were going to hang on longer? because you weren’t. you’d spent far too much energy on him. you always saw him as someone worth spending you time on, someone worth trying to figure out, someone you wanted to know.

but you understood now: he didn’t want you to figure him out because he didn’t even know who he was himself. he was scared. but that wasn’t an excuse; you were terrified, and you still were. 

love had always been your fatal flaw, the one thing you were unsure of, but you were willing to dive in head first because it was grayson. 

he just didn’t feel as deeply though. 

you didn’t want to figure him out, and you didn’t want to know anything about him anymore. 

he didn’t answer right away. instead, he looked at you, and for a moment, his mask slipped. his eyes—those stupid, stupid eyes— almost made you want to feel sorry for him. he looked vulnerable, but you were too angry to let it affect you this time.

“i… yes.” grayson finally said, sounding unsure of himself for once in his life. “i suppose that’s it.”

“good,” you nodded as your crossed your arms, “because i don’t want to hear what you have to say ever again.“ 

he reached his hands out but quickly let his arms fall back, curling his fingers into a fist. 

he looked at you like he didn’t know what to say, his mouth opening and closing before he finally settled on just staying silent.

you still felt like there was a million unspoken words that needed to be said, but you turned and walked away. 

for once, you didn’t wait to see if he’d try again.

you willed your feet to move and not think about how he looked behind you, because if you did, even for a second, you had a feeling you’d turn right back. 

a/n: guys it gets better i swear they’ll be happier than ever soon 🙏 taglist: @x-liv25-jamieswife @wish-i-were-heather @thecircularlibrary @whatsamongus @littlemissmentallyunstable

@anintellectualintellectual @lovethornes @maybxlle @sheisntyou @emelia07

 @midiosaamor @sweetreveriee @charsoamerican @hxress23 @imaseabear 

@clarissaweasley-10 @off-to-the-r4ces @thelov3lybookworm @graysw1fe @lanterns-and-daydreams 

@hermesenthusiast @elysianwayy77 @that-daughter-of-hephaestus @apollosmusee

[bekkathyst]

Hey folks, this post is super personal and basically a long rant about health issues and the state of the healthcare system, so please proceed with caution especially if any of that is triggering to you. But if anyone else who maybe has some experience with these things and wants to offer some advice, I welcome it because I’m truly at a loss right now.

I’m really trying to be hopeful that my health issues will get figured out and I’ll finally get help for what I think is an autoimmune condition that is existing just under the diagnosable levels, but I’m losing any faith I had left in the healthcare system. The truth is I haven’t felt normal since 2021. I never felt better than I did while I was pregnant and then the year afterward. (Aside from the blood pressure issues at first lol) I keep find myself missing who I was back then. I was able to do so much, hike so far and high up, I had so much energy and I felt great. My blood pressure was under control, my blood sugar was perfect without restricting what I ate, my body wasn’t constantly inflamed and in pain, I didn’t have multiple migraines a month, and I didn’t have problems sleeping. I keep asking myself over and over what I did differently then, but I just can’t understand why I got so bad so quickly while they keep telling me it’s my fault because I’m just fat and not eating well or exercising enough. It’s maddening and I’m tired of hearing that. The reason I’m not exercising as much any more is because I’m constantly in pain or dealing with being sick. (And I eat SO well, better than I ever have before like wtf. And I do still exercise to be clear, I’m in nature every change I get.)

I was really hoping that I wasn’t going to face this here like I did in America, but it really seems like doctors just do not care about your symptoms and if you’re not presenting with the exact blood levels they studied to diagnose things, they’re just convinced you’re either making everything up or exaggerating.

So far I know I have: insulin resistance, high blood pressure (managed), PCOS, I’m hypermobile (which has been confirmed but no one’s bothered to look into it and any possible comorbidities), I have lipedema in my arms, hips, and thighs, chronic migraines, subclinical hypothyroidism, iron deficient anemia that I have to keep getting infusions for, and basically my whole life I’ve had headaches and heart palpitations. Phew.

I’m just at a loss here. This past year alone I’ve gained 30 lbs without changing anything, and if I bring this up I’m just told to stop eating carbs which is just absolutely not helpful. It’s clearly a symptom of whatever is going on and not the other way around. I’m so tired! And on top of the usual symptoms, I now spend basically October through April being sick with various coughs, infections, etc with little breaks of being normal in between.

Has anyone else dealt with this and have you found anything that’s helped? I try really hard to take care of myself, but it feels like these days nothing is really making a difference anymore.

[javierpena-inatacvest]

Chapter 5- Miles Between Us

Summary: Frankie's decision to join the Army was the catalyst in the collapse of your friendship. When he's forced to reconcile with his past, packed away in boxes in his childhood basement, he finds pieces of you in everything he's left behind.

Word Count: 5.0K

Pairing: Frankie Morales x f!reader (reader has a name/nickname)

Warnings: Angst, lying, guilt, military deployment, FEELINGS, Frankie's mom not putting up with his shit

A/N: IT'S TIME TO PEEL BACK ANOTHER LAYER OF THE ONION, BABY!!! I hope you guys don't hate me that this is a slow burn- I know this is not how I normally write at all, but it's been really fun to build this story up bit by bit (if you hate it though, please tell me lmao 💀) I'm excited for this chapter and how it hints at next chapter (we're finally getting to some smut y'all, omg) Thank you as always for your kind words, it makes my day to hear what you have to say about these two 🥺💛

All The Things We Never Said Masterlist

Previous Chapter Next Chapter

You, Age 17, Spring of 2006

“You’re late, Morales.” 

“Can’t be late to something we don’t have a set time for, Anderson.” 

It’s true, you and Frankie have never set an official schedule for your afterschool ritual, but it never seems to fail that at 3:45, only 10 minutes after you’ve gotten home from soccer practice,  he’s at the foot of your bed with his forest green Jansport backpack, ready to complain about the homework he doesn’t want to finish and the tests he has no interest in studying for, just so he can keep you company while you stress yourself to death about the same assignments. 

And for as much as he hated school work, Frankie was never late. Never. So to watch him mope into your bedroom an hour later than his usual arrival time, it almost would have been safer to assume he was dead than anything else. 

“What took you so long? Get lost on the way here?” You joke, trying to keep it light while still prodding for an answer about his absence as you write down the answer to the math equation you’re trying to solve. 

“No. Don’t worry about it.” 

There’s been very few occasions you’ve seen Frankie so stoic. Even on his worst days, he’s at least still got a little tolerance left in him for your stupid banter. It’s enough to draw your attention completely away from your homework and onto him. 

“What’s wrong? Why are you being so weird?” 

You can tell then that something’s clearly not right, the way he’s angrily yanking loose papers and textbooks from his backpack and nearly slamming them onto the edge of your bed, making you gnaw anxiously at the end of your pencil you’d been using. 

You’re too nosy for your own good to let up until you find what you’re looking for. 

“Nothing’s wrong.” 

“Well obviously something’s wrong.” 

“What? I’m not allowed to be late, ever?” 

“No? Frankie, I just asked where you were and you’re acting like I’m asking you if you just shot the fucking president or something. What’s going on?” 

“It’s nothing, MacKenzie!”

“If it’s nothing, then why are you so upset about it?” 

“I’m not upset!” 

“You clearly are? Frankie, what the hell are you-” 

“I’m joining the Army, okay?!”

Out of all the things you could have expected to come out of Frankie’s mouth, that would have been at the bottom of your list. In fact, it’s so out of left field, you’re not even quite sure you believe him. 

Your forehead hurts from how tightly your brows are knitted together in confusion, scowling at Frankie with a dumbfounded intensity that probably had you looking like you had just gotten an unsuspecting whiff of the world’s most sour lemon. 

There’s no way he’s being serious. He can’t be. 

“Ha ha, very funny, Francisco.” You mock, frown still splayed across your face, “Now will you please tell me what’s actually going on?” 

His silence makes your heart drop into the pit of your stomach. You can feel the way your face falls, the muscles once tensed in adamant skepticism now sinking into a quiet panic. You can hear each breath as it flows in through your nose and out through your mouth, blood pounding louder and louder in your ears with each pulse of your veins. 

“Frankie, if this is one of your stupid jokes, it’s not funny.” 

“It’s not a joke.” 

His eyes are still peeled to the floor, too afraid to bring himself to look at you. All he can do is stare at his pinky toe, poking out of the hole in his socks that he refuses to replace. You wait for what feels like hours, days, for him to say something, but his silence is deafening. And the sound of Frankie’s silence is the scariest thing you’ve heard in a very long time. 

It’s so terrifying, the only thing you can do to cope is fill the quiet void with your rambling and pray that Frankie Morales is choosing to play the world’s worst joke on you. 

“What- what do you mean? Frankie, I thought- When you and Santi talked about doing the same thing as Will- I thought you were fucking kidding? What about college? We already both got accepted to Florida State, what are you gonna do-” 

“I didn’t get in.” 

Please let him be kidding. Please, please, let this be a sick joke. 

You can feel your confusion starting to bubble into anger, jaw clenching at the way Frankie’s too coward to even look in your general direction, gaze still glued to that stupid fucking hole in his worn down sock. 

“Frankie, what the fuck? We both got accepted back in January? You’ve been lying to me this whole fucking time?” 

“I didn’t wanna lie, okay?!” 

He’s riddled with enough guilt to speak up, trying to keep himself from the brink of tears as he works up enough courage to finally look you in the face. You can hear how hard he gulps, like his heart is bobbing in his throat, trying to buy all the time he can to come up with a reason for his deception that won’t hurt you any more than he already has. 

“I just- fuck,” he sighs, chewing at his bottom and bouncing his leg against the bed so intensely it’ll make him sore the next day, “I didn’t know what to do, Kenz. I’m sorry. I’m really, really sorry.” 

It’s hard to stay mad at him when you know he means it. It’d be easier if it weren’t for the way his brown eyes flooded with disappointment in himself, spilling out in tears onto his cheeks. For as frustrated as you are, you have enough sympathy to ease up on him enough to at least try to understand. 

“Well, not lying to me about it for the last four months probably would have been a good start.” You huff, the air that puffs from your nostrils still tainted with the let down you’re trying so hard to not let override your conversation. 

You can’t help but let yourself find a spot next to him on the edge of your bed, a peace offering that you hope is enough to signal to him you’re willing to listen to what he has to say. 

“I- I didn’t think you were being serious when you and Santi were talking about it. I- I thought you- I thought the plan was to go to Florida State. Together. What happened, Frankie?” 

It’s quiet for a few more moments. Frankie takes a few, slow deep breaths as he runs his hands through the curls twisting at the nape of his neck. The silence isn’t as bitter as before, but it stings enough to gnaw at the edges of your nails, the anxious habit you can’t seem to break, and certainly have no intention of giving up right now.  

“Stop chewing at your nails, Kenz. You’re gonna be pissed at yourself later.” Frankie sighs, gently grabbing your wrist to pull your hand away from your mouth, trying to fulfill his duty of being the one to stop you from ripping your nail beds to shreds. 

“You’re kinda making it hard not to.” You try your best to attempt a laugh. It’s the only way to keep yourself from crying. “So are you gonna tell me what’s going on or what?” 

“Y-yeah.” Frankie re-adjusts himself on the edge of the bed, twisting the fabric of your comforter between his fingers, trying to ground himself in the reality of the truth he’s forced to tell you, “I- I didn’t get into Florida State. I told you I did because I didn’t know what I was gonna do. You were just so excited when you thought we both got in and I- I panicked and I lied. I didn’t even think I was gonna get in anyways. I didn’t think I was gonna get in anywhere. Even if I did, I don’t know if I even could have afforded it. It’s just me and my mom and neither of us-”

“It’s not too late. I can help you look for scholarships. To help you with tuition. I’m sure that there’s a bunch out there that you could apply for. I’ll even write your essays and stuff for you if you want me to-” 

“I’m pretty sure you can’t do that, Kenz. Plus, you hate cheaters.” 

Frankie tries to reciprocate the same half-assed laugh you gave him. He looks over at you, the small smile he’s forcing to keep between his lips quickly fading as he sees the way you’re pleading with him to realize that you would forge a thousand essays in his name if it meant he wasn’t going to leave you. He’d be a cheater you’d gladly forgive. 

“It’s not even just the money. I just- I- I don’t even like school, Kenzie. I suck at it. If school is already hard now, how much harder is it gonna be when I get to college? To study for a job that I’m probably not even gonna want when I graduate? At least with the Army I can have a job and benefits and hopefully make enough money to help my mom so she’s not working at the hospital 6 days a week. MacKenzie, the only reason I applied to Florida State was because of you. I thought that maybe there would be some miracle I got in and I could figure out how to pay for it and I could magically get smarter and better at school so we could spend the next four years together. I wanted it to happen. I wanted it to happen so bad. I’m sorry. I’m sorry I lied to you. I just- fuck- I just didn’t know how to tell you.” 

Neither of you are quite sure what to say next. That quiet comes back to fill the space between you, allowing enough room for the silent sobs you’re both trying your best to hold in, small sniffles still escaping from each of you. You’re not sure if your brain has fully processed what he’s had to say. The only thing you can understand is the swirling of sadness and confusion in your gut and the pounding ache in your chest. 

You take a scooch closer to him, the outsides of your thighs barely brushing together as you tilt your head to rest against his shoulder. It’s heavy, the weight you can’t help but lean against him, but the arm he wraps behind your back and around your waist tells you that he’ll gladly take it. He’ll take it all, if he has to. 

“Did you already sign a contract to go?” The whisper of your words is so soft, like you’re hoping he can’t hear you. If he can’t hear you, then he doesn’t have to tell you the answer you don’t want to hear. 

“Yeah. Me and Santi did a few weeks ago.” His voice is almost quieter than yours, convinced he has the same idea as you. 

His truth stings worse than the lie he’s been masquerading behind the past four months. You want to scream at him- To curse him with shouts and sobs, question how he could make this choice for himself and leave you in the dark until it’s too late for you to change his mind. You know it’s selfish, the way you want him to stay, the way you would have fought with every bone in your body to keep him from leaving. You know it’s the reason Frankie couldn’t tell you. 

It’s the same reason why Frankie couldn’t bring himself to tell you that if he had given you that chance, he probably would have stayed. 

“Do um- do you know when you have to leave?” 

It hurts to hear the words come out of your mouth. It’s an admittance of defeat. Because once you ask that question, there’s nothing you can do or say that will make him stay. No fighting, no begging, no pleading. You have to accept he’s leaving. 

“Not ‘til the end of the summer.” 

“Where?” 

The more you ask, the more it makes you want to keel over the edge of the bed and vomit, the reality of it all setting in at an alarming pace. 

“Missouri for basic training. I don’t know where after.” 

He doesn’t have to say where. You both know. Even if he doesn’t know the exact longitude and latitude of where the Army will deploy him, there’s nowhere else they’re sending him besides Iraq or Afghanistan or whatever godforsaken, war ridden country in the Middle East he’ll be forced to put his life on the line for. 

And for how much the reality of Frankie leaving scares you, when you’re hit with the reality that Frankie may leave and never come back, you’re absolutely terrified. 

“I don’t want you to go, Frankie.” 

You can’t beg him to stay. There’s no amount of bargaining you can do with him or the powers that be to change what’s been done. All you can do is tell him your truth as you sob into his chest while he holds you. Maybe if you’re not enough to make him stay, you’re at least enough to make him want to come home. 

You’re not sure how long he holds you while you cry. Maybe it’s minutes, maybe it’s hours. However long it is, all the moments you have left with Frankie feel that much more precious. You won’t let any of them slip through your fingers. 

“You promise you’ll come home, right?” 

“I promise, MacKenzie. I promise.” 

If there’s one thing you’ve learned about Francisco Morales, it’s that he’ll never break a promise. You just hope the universe is kind enough to let him keep this one, too. 

“I promise that we’ll have a really fun summer together before I leave too, okay? Whatever you wanna do, Kenz, I’ll do it.” 

“Anything?” 

It’s enough to peek your head out from the crook of his neck, trying your best to wipe away your tears with your sleeve, like you hadn’t just stained the better part of Frankie’s sweatshirt with the same wetness. 

“Anything.” 

“Alright, well, I guess we’re gonna go to Dairy Queen and get an extra large blizzard every day until you’re too fat for the Army to want you anymore.” 

The two of you giggle, a quiet symphony of soft snorts and sobs at the idea of rolling an ice cream filled Frankie off to boot camp. It makes him laugh even harder that he wouldn’t put it past you if you really did try. Perhaps it wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world if you did. 

“Whatever you want, MacKenzie. I’m all yours.” 

Frankie, Present 

Frankie’s convinced he might as well start training for a marathon at this point. 

He’s not really sure how else to spend his time. It’s hard to keep himself occupied when all he can do at home is sit around and wait for your dad to die or stare out the window like a creep to watch your comings and goings. 

At least if he’s running, he can’t think about you. 

Well, he can’t think about you as much. 

It’s been a day and a half since he decided to follow you on your run. He’s already pushed his luck enough that you didn’t damn near kill him for it, let alone that you even gave him a chance to talk to him. 

He let you take the first  shift on the morning yesterday, despite the fact he’d been awake well before the sun rose. The irony wasn’t lost on him at the way he watched you through his bedroom window the same way he did most Saturday and Sunday mornings for the first few years of your friendship. You’d be up at the same ungodly hour as him, except you’d be pacing up and down your driveway, stretching and lunging across its length as you clicked around on the iPod wrapped around your forearm, searching for whatever song would pump you up for your run. 

It wasn’t until you had finally noticed Frankie peering out his bedroom window every weekend that you began to drag him along on your runs with you. 

“If you’re awake too, you might as well come running with me, Morales. It’ll be fun!” 

“Fine. I gotta warn you though, Kenz, I am actually pretty fast.” 

“You barely run the mile in gym class.” 

“Savin’ up all my energy for when I need it most, Anderson.” 

There was once a time where you would have to beg Frankie to come with you on a run. Now, he’d give anything for you to tolerate his existence ten feet behind you. 

But he’ll sacrifice another run alone through all too familiar roads of his childhood subdivision if it helps him kill time and keeps you from hating him anymore than you rightfully deserve to. 

Yesterday, he went on two runs to pass the time. Hell, today, he’d consider adding a third run to his underwhelming schedule just to keep himself busy. Fortunately, (or unfortunately, he can’t tell yet) for him, Maria Morales has other plans. 

And when Maria Morales has plans, it’s in Frankie’s best interest to drop anything else he had in mind for the day. 

Even when it means he’s got a hot date with his basement and a mountain full of boxes in his basement. 

“Okay, anything in this pile to the left is for you to go through.” His mom grunts, lifting up one last box to add to the heap labeled “Francisco’s things” in her perfectly curved cursive, “If you want to take it home, find an empty box to put it in, but not my new clear, plastic bins, entiendes (understand)? Those were expensive.” 

“No clear plastic bins, got it.” Frankie chuckles, following the exaggerated step his mother takes over his scattered belongings. 

“If you see something and you don’t want it now but you want me to keep it for later, you can put it over on the shelf by the stairs. If you think it’s basura (trash), leave it over here and let me look at it first before you throw it away.” 

“Comprendido (got it).” Frankie nods, sizing up the stack his mom has set out for him, “Jesus ma, this is gonna take me all morning to go through.” 

“If you were home more, there would be less things to go through now.” 

“Yeah, well, you got me there.” Frankie grumbles under his breath, grimacing at the harsh reality of his mom’s words. He knows isn’t meant completely out of malice, but he can’t deny it’s certainly got some truth to it as well.  

“Okay, well I need to go run some errands, and I want this pile sorted by the end of the day, so standing here and moping certainly isn’t going to help that. Get to work, mijo (son).” 

His mom will never be one to throw a pity party for anyone, and most definitely won’t be throwing one for her son, based on his own, self-inflicted problem. Frankie helps her step over another makeshift pile scattered for sorting across the basement floor, giving him a quick pat on the back before disappearing upstairs, leaving him to quite literally unpack his past. 

“Fuck. Okay.” He sighs to himself, gently kicking one of the edges of flimsy cardboard at the bottom of the tower, trying to formulate his best plan of attack to make his sorting as painless as possible. 

He’s thankful that his brain has always worked in a way that allows him to analyze things so quickly, doing some quiet calculations in his head as to the most effective and efficient way to sort through god knows what may be hidden in the pile his mom has created for him. 

He runs his hand through the still messy curls of his morning bed head before selecting what feels like the lightest boxes and moving them off to the side, opening up a cardboard container from the next layer. 

Besides the trophies still in his room, every prize he’d ever won for every sport he’d ever played sits in the box below him. Frankie chuckles to himself, picking up some from the top to examine them, thumb gliding over the fake gold plating to read plaques like “Florida Junior Divisional Freestyle Swimming Finalist- 2005” or “Regional Championship Winners- Florida Firebirds 2007” glued to poorly sculpted plastic statues of swimmers. A few more medals and certificates had sunk to the bottom of the box, Frankie quickly grazing through its contents before rehoming it to the “trash” pile, unsure of when he would ever need proof he won several swimming competitions in high school. 

The next few boxes were more of the same- His varsity jacket, old t-shirts he wouldn’t stand a chance fitting into, considering the gangly figure that stretched them more than a decade ago, some old books from high school he’d only kept because of how much you loved them and he promised you that one day, he’d read them, too. 

It’s the shoe box that catches his eye next, sure that no matter how much his mom loved to hoard, whatever was in there most definitely was not a raggedy, holy pair of Converse from high school. 

It’s not until he picks up the box that he knows exactly what’s inside. It’s one of the lightest things he’s picked up in the last hour, but when he knows the weight of its contents, his arms want to tremble. 

It’s with a long deep breath that he brings the shoebox over to an open patch of floor, letting out a grunt and cursing his knees as he sits down cross legged with the box in front of him. He gently flips open the lid, hand running over his face and down the back of his neck when his suspicions are confirmed. 

Open envelopes spill out over the edges of the worn cardboard, the box stuffed to the brim with every letter you’d ever written to him while he was away.

Even if he wanted to, he’s not sure he could ever physically bring himself to throw them out. Those letters have more miles on them than most people’s cars will ever reach in a lifetime, flimsy, stamped pieces of paper following him to every corner of the globe he’s traveled to. 

Some letters he’s read so much, they’re worn on the edges where he’s held the paper, smudging the pen that’s reached the sides of the pages. Others, he’s only read once. He’s not sure he could ever bring himself to read them again. But regardless of their contents, he’d made a promise to you they’d stay with him. 

“Better not get rid of those letters, Morales. Do you know how many hand cramps I’ve given myself trying to find the words to send halfway across the world to you? You better promise me you’ll keep ‘em.”  

His commitment to the folded pieces of paper ring in his ears as his fingers drag across the tops of the open envelopes. He can’t help the way his index finger and thumb pinch the paper below his grasp, carefully tugging a random letter out of its shoebox storage. 

It’s a gut wrenching gamble, the game he’s about to play, a roulette of making his heart ache from joy or pain depending on the one he chooses to pull. He’s already placed his bet as he pulls the lined piece of paper out of the envelope- He’s not getting the money he’s already placed on the table back, so he might as well pray he makes a return on his investment. 

With one more deep breath, he unfolds the tri-fold creases, ready to watch his bet play out before him. 

August 18th, 2006

Frankie, 

I hope I sent this letter to the right place! I looked on the website and it said to send mail to new recruits (that’s you, Morales), to this address, so no one better be holding my letter to you hostage. 

Anyways, how’s training so far? Did they make you shave your head yet? I hope not. I’m not sure why the Army insists on making you all look like Dr. Evil from Austin Powers. I’m sure you’ll still look cute even with short hair! I don’t think I can say the same for Santi, but you didn’t hear that from me… hehehe 

I just moved into my dorm yesterday! My roommate seems pretty nice. Her name is Jessica and she’s from Georgia. She claims that she’s neat and she better be, or I may lose my mind. I’ll send you pictures of my dorm once it’s all set up! It’s kind of a mess right now, but I made sure to put the picture of us from prom up on my desk :)

I don’t start class until next Tuesday. Hopefully I’ll meet some new people in my dorm or on the soccer team so I’m not a total loser with no friends. LOL. 

Have you met anyone new yet? I can’t wait to hear all about your new Army friends! I already started a countdown calendar until we can see each other again. Only 70 days until basic training is done and I can hear about everything in person! 

I miss you a lot. I know that’s dumb to say because it’s only been a week, but still. I wish I would have kissed you again before you got on the plane to leave. I promise I will when I see you. Nothing says perfect place to kiss like South Missouri, romance capital of the USA (haha). 

I know you’re gonna be busy, but write me back when you have time. The return address on the envelope is my dorm address, so use that, or risk Doug and Michelle reading your mail if you send it to my house!!! I can’t wait to hear from you. Miss you, weirdo. 

From, 

Kenz :) <3

His luck of the draw sends a wave of relief through him, smiling down at the curvy loops of your perfectly neat printing signed at the bottom of the page. It makes his heart skip a beat, the same kind of butterflies coming to life in his stomach as they did the first time he read it. He’s earned his money back and then some. He gets how casinos never go broke, because the high of good fortune is enough to have him reaching back into the box to put another gamble on the line. 

October 13th, 2009

Frankie, 

I always feel dumb sending multiple letters before I hear back from you, but you know me, I love to worry. I know you can’t tell me where you are right now (stupid military and their secrets for the safety of society lol) but I’ve been seeing stuff on the news and it makes me scared for you. I just hope wherever you are, you’re safe. 

My dad’s cancer is back. He’s been in the hospital for almost two weeks now. They found a new mass on his liver, but they said hopefully they can target it with radiation before it starts to spread. Cassandra at the front desk asked how you were when I was at the hospital yesterday. I said that you were good. I think she’s only asking because if you’re not there, there’s no one to keep me from burning a hole in the waiting room carpet. 

I wish you were here. I feel really lost right now. I just know if you were here, you’d find a way to make everything better. You always do. 

Sorry this letter isn’t longer. I haven’t been sleeping that great and don’t have enough brainpower to write something decent. Just wanted to let you know what’s going on.  

Counting down the days until you make good on your promise. I hope you come home soon, Frankie. 

Kenzie 

He curses himself for an unlucky draw, heart sinking at the tear stains smearing the blue ink of your trembling letters. An overwhelming wave of guilt washes over him, vivid memories of reading your notes in his bunk alone, wishing there was a way he could fly halfway around the world for a night just to hold you and tell you that everything was going to be okay. 

It’s the addictive itch in the back of his brain that makes him decide to pull one more letter from the box, taking one last gamble to see if he can prove the nagging pit in his stomach to quit while he’s ahead, wrong. 

February 4th, 2011

Hey, 

If you don’t want to write anymore, that’s fine. I was trying to be friendly, but clearly you don’t really care. Just let me know and I’ll stop bombarding you with mail you obviously don’t want. Or I guess you not responding is letting me know. If you want to send anything back you can send it to my parents house. I’m moving into Liam’s house and it’s only 20 minutes away so I can just drive there and pick it up. No need to send you a new address you probably aren’t going to write to, anyways. 

I guess I’ll see you when I see you. 

MacKenzie 

And that’s how Vegas will always stay in business. 

Because now Frankie is forced to walk away, all his money stolen from him at the stupid risk he’s decided to take. The one letter he’d give anything not to read again is the one he had to pull. 

Heat seethes in his chest- he can’t quite explain why. Because he lost at a rigged game he’d set up for himself? That he still hasn’t quite come to terms with the ugly truth of what he put the both of you through? That he wishes with everything in him, he could go back and change what he’s done? 

Or maybe, it’s because now might be the last chance he has to fix what he’s broken, and he’s not sure he’ll ever be able to live with himself if he can’t.

He leaves the pile in the basement unfinished, shoes barely tied to his feet before he bursts out the door in a sprint.

He's not sure where he's going. He's not even sure how long he's run for. All he knows is the pounding of his feet against the pavement, trying to outrun the stupid decisions of his past.

He tells himself if he runs fast enough, he'll beat them.

If he goes far enough, they'll be forgotten.

If he outraces them, you'll be there waiting for him at the finish line.

@chaotic-iguana @bbiophiliaa @pertinentpostmortem @angelofsmalldeath-codeine

@pedrobaby @fatima-marisa @beboldbebravethings @poodlebae @kittenlittle24

@3sriracha @jungchloee @perennialdoll247 @prettyinpunk85 @raspberrybesitos

@partyofone3413 @harriedandharassed @pedrohoe04 @theorganasolo

@endlessthxxghts @beware-my-thorns @missladym1981 @milly-louise

@jay-zzle @the-one-with-the-grey-color @persephone-girl @bitchesuntitled

@pedropascallvr @millennial-teenybopper @vee-bees-blog @itsokbbygrl

@hopplessilse @mxtokko @its-nebuleuse @mandoisapunk @msmorningstaarr

@amyispxnk @honeyedmiller @mountainsandmayhem @picketniffler @burningnerdchild

@copperhalfcent @theoraekenslover @bloodyinspirationaldemon @vee-bees-blog

@samgirl4life @pigeonmama @survivingandenduring @jolapeno @ovaryacted

@amanitacowboy @mystickittytaco @anoverwhelmingdin @greenwitchfromthewoods

@witchofthedeepwoods @ericamarie093 @readingiskeepingmegoing @whimsiwitchy @whoaitspascal87

@vickie5446 @katw474 @ravenpoe67 @inthedarkestnight @brittmb115

@harryscherrysugar @wonderpillar @sunnytuliptime @pasc4lfuzz @yesjazzywazzylove-blog

@kungfucapslock @vannabanana1995

@javierpena-inatacvestnotifs

[deadpresidents]

I’m curious about the friendship between Gerald Ford and Jimmy Carter (and presidential friendships in general,) I’d like to know what that looked like for them. Would they go and do things together or was it just a few phone calls a year?

Their relationship is really interesting because during the 1976 campaign and in the years right afterward, Ford and Carter genuinely did not like each other. It wasn't a normal, opponent vs. opponent rivalry, either. They straight-up disliked one another, and that was extremely unusual for Gerald Ford, who got along with practically everybody he met throughout his life, rarely had bad things to say about other people, and was almost physically incapable of being unkind to others, no matter what side of the political spectrum they belonged to.

What changed was when President Reagan sent all the living former Presidents -- Nixon, Ford, and Carter -- to Cairo in 1981 to attend Anwar Sadat's funeral following Sadat's assassination. The three former Presidents all flew together on one of the planes normally used as Air Force One, and there was some tension at the beginning, but the person who broke the ice, oddly enough, ended up being Richard Nixon. Ford then suggested that the former Presidents should drop all formalities and just refer to one another as Dick, Jerry, and Jimmy. As Ford remembered, "I guess we figured we were gonna be in a plane together forty hours, more or less, and in order to be pleasant, it was a good idea to just wipe the slate clean, which we did." Ford and Carter eventually started bonding, partly over the fact that Ronald Reagan was a major reason why each of them ultimately lost their respective bids for re-election.

At the time, Carter was having trouble building his Presidential Library, and he asked Ford for some advice since Ford had just recently opened his library. When Carter mentioned he was having some issues raising money for the library, Ford offered to come down and appear at fundraisers for him, and asked Carter to return the favor and visit the Ford Library for an event.

As Thomas M. DeFrank writes in his 2007 book, Write It When I'm Gone: Remarkable Off-the-Record Conversations With Gerald R. Ford (BOOK | KINDLE | AUDIO):

"Carter accepted, triggering a Jimmy-Jerry tag team match extending over several years. These back-scratching appearances didn't convert them into friends, but the relationship was notably friendlier. They began staying in regular contact, talking on the phone, and exchanging birthday greetings. Their contacts were sufficiently public that some of Ford's closest political allies grumbled that he was spending altogether too much time with Carter -- not unlike similar complaints from [George H.W.] Bush 41 partisans today that he hangs around Bill Clinton too much. Ford brushed off the complaints. Beyond their shared practical interests in Presidential Libraries, another unifying bond was at play. Both ex-Presidents had strong reasons not to like Ronald Reagan, which helped cement their ties even though neither one would ever admit it publicly. To one old Ford friend, the calculation was simple: 'Once you did something for his library or museum, you were a friend for life.'"

As they got older, Ford and Carter would sometimes make joint appearances at Presidential Libraries or universities, or events for important causes, and they even wrote a joint op-ed during the Monica Lewinsky scandal urging Congress to censure President Clinton instead of impeaching him. They felt it was a bad precedent (which it has clearly turned out to be) and would be bad for the country. Unlike Ford, Jimmy Carter wasn't very easy-going or personable, so there were times when their friendship would get a little frayed. Ford once told a friend, "Well, you know Jimmy. He can be a real pain in the ass, but we get along."

Eventually, they promised one another that they would deliver the eulogy if the other former President died first. President Ford died first, on December 26, 2006, and Carter attended every event during the several days of ceremonies, from Ford's lying in state at the U.S. Capitol, to the national funeral service at the Washington National Cathedral, and traveled with Ford's family and the former President's remains to Ford's hometown of Grand Rapids, Michigan. At the church service in Grand Rapids, Carter delivered his eulogy, and also attended the private interment service when Ford was buried as at his Presidential Library. In his eulogy, Carter repeated the gracious first words he had said when delivering his Inaugural Address on the day he took over the White House from Ford in 1977, "For myself and for my nation, I want to thank my predecessor for all he has done to heal our land." It was a remarkable relationship between two former Presidents who, again, genuinely disliked one another for quite some time.

[acommonanomaly]

I’ve seen a lot of criticisms of how the Crows are portrayed in The Veilguard, the biggest one being that they are “sanitized,” and while I can sort of see why people think this, I personally don’t see it. 

I was thrilled with the Crows in the Veilguard. My Crow Rook playthrough was so satisfying, and I came to love the Crows even more than I did before. 

Maybe that’s because I don’t feel the need to be constantly reminded that they are assassins who kill people for money. Or maybe it’s that I love them because they are assassins who kill people for money. I thoroughly enjoy morally gray characters, those who struggle against or give in entirely to the darker sides of their natures. I enjoy them because they are a warning of what any of us could become under the right (or wrong) circumstances.

And that’s why it’s so vital to me that they are not dehumanized. 

Of course some of these people who have gathered together as a group are going to form found families. I LIVE for that shit. Them being assassins doesn’t mean they're incapable of seeking friendship, family, and love. They’re people. Of course they’re going to fight for the freedom of their city and their people when Treviso is occupied. That doesn’t mean they aren’t assassins anymore and it doesn’t mean they’re knights in shining armor. It means they’re people fighting for what they love.

Zevran told us about the horrible recruiting methods of house Arainai and their torture of children. But it’s also heavily implied that he really cleaned house and stirred up change. I like to think that his campaign against his house made waves, that it changed some things. Not to mention, I find it very likely that each house has its own methods, its own way of doing things. 

And really, there’s no reason to believe that there isn’t dark shit still going on behind some closed doors just because the Crows don’t open those doors to Rook, especially a non-Crow Rook. The Crows not showing dark shit to this ally who is helping them doesn’t mean they don’t have dark shit going on. The Crows absolutely have their infighting and betrayals, look what happened with Illario!

(As a side note: I would have loved for Caterina to have been called out for her abuse of Illario and Lucanis, but Lucanis has been through a crap-ton of trauma and probably feels like Caterina is all he has left, especially after Illario’s betrayal. It makes sense that he’s not ready to face that just yet.)

What I find really fascinating is how a lot of the Crows seem to see themselves. The Crows grow up in a place where being an assassin has become completely normalized. Antiva has no standing army and relies on the reputation of the Crows to deter other nations from engaging in open conflict with them. Many of the Crows seem proud to be Crows.

And they have their own code they live by, even if we in the real world wouldn’t find it a particularly moral one. 

It’s illustrated most clearly in regards to Jacobus:

.

.

.

Imagine the chaos that would ensue if Crows were allowed to just kill willy nilly? How would they look then? They do not want to be seen as mindless killers. They don’t want their new recruits to fall into the habit of killing without a contract, as this would make them something other than what they would like to see themselves as. 

This makes sense and I like seeing it examined.

I love the Crows being explored more deeply and given more depth. I love seeing them as people as well as assassins. I would love to see even more of it, to see how these people who go out and kill for money behave once they’re not on the job. 

This is good stuff and I’m all for it. 

[majoriehoax]

╰┈➤ ❝ BOTS UPLOADED ❞

╰┈➤ ❝ includes scream / elite / stranger things / PJO / diary of a wimpy kid

╰┈➤ ❝ BILLY LOOMIS ⚔︎ mask || Billy leaned against the kitchen counter, his dark eyes fixed on the back door, waiting for the sound of footsteps. He heard them approach, slow and deliberate, before the door creaked open. He didn’t move right away, just watched, a slight smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Hey,” he greeted casually, pushing himself off the counter. “You took your time.” His tone was relaxed, maybe even amused, but his gaze was sharp, like he was seeing something nobody else could. Billy wandered around the room, his fingers grazing the edge of the counter as he spoke. “You ever think about how people… wear these masks every day? Act like they’re something they’re not?” He paused, glancing over his shoulder with a raised eyebrow. “I mean, it’s kind of fascinating, right?”

╰┈➤ ❝ CARLA ROSON 💳 new student || Carla spotted the new student lingering near the entrance of Las Encinas, looking a little lost and out of place. She sighed, watching as they awkwardly fumbled with their schedule and glanced around, clearly unsure of where to go. With a slight smile tugging at the corner of her mouth, she decided to step in. Striding over, Carla flashed a polite but amused smile. “You must be new,” she stated, her tone calm and confident. “Let me guess—first day, no idea where to start?” The newcomer nodded, looking somewhat relieved to have someone approach. Carla gave a little shrug, her eyes glinting with a hint of intrigue. “Don’t worry. This place can be… a bit overwhelming,” she said with a knowing smile. “I’m Carla, by the way.”

╰┈➤ ❝ JONATHAN BYERS ⊹ ࣪ ˖ sparks fly || Jonathan didn’t know exactly when his harmless little crush on user had turned into this all-consuming distraction. All he knew was that whenever she stood close, every coherent thought he might’ve had completely dissolved. His pulse was loud in his ears, and he had to remind himself to keep breathing, keep cool, act normal—whatever that even meant anymore. That day in the Hawkins High hallway, she was leaning casually against a locker, smiling at him in that way that made him feel like maybe she knew what was going on in his head and didn’t mind. Jonathan tried to keep his focus, nodding along to whatever she was saying, but his mind kept drifting to how close she was. Close enough that if he just leaned in a little… He snapped out of it, swallowing, hoping she couldn’t read his thoughts. The fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, casting an almost ethereal glow on her. She laughed, and he caught himself smiling back, probably looking like a total idiot, his eyes fixed on her mouth. He quickly looked down at his shoes, cheeks burning, cursing himself for being so obvious.

╰┈➤ ❝ LUKE CASTELLAN 🍓strawberry field || As the morning sun began to rise over the strawberry fields, a gentle warmth spread across the soft grass and dew-kissed leaves. Luke stirred, feeling the tender rays of dawn on his face. For a moment, he kept his eyes closed, savoring the feeling of peace that surrounded him. The air was filled with the faint, sweet scent of strawberries mingling with the fresh morning breeze. Opening his eyes slowly, Luke turned his gaze toward the figure resting peacefully beside him. A soft smile tugged at the corners of his lips, and his heart swelled as he watched them sleep, still wrapped in the afterglow of the night they had shared. He reached out carefully, brushing a stray strand of hair from their face with gentle fingers, not wanting to wake them but unable to resist the urge to be close to them, to memorize the quiet beauty of the moment.

╰┈➤ ❝ PERCY JACKSON ｡𖦹˚. bi bi bi (masc user!) || Percy was sprawled out on the grass by the lake, squinting up at the autumn sun through his fingers. Camp Half-Blood was quieter than usual, most campers off in the arena training or gathered in the pavilion. But Percy liked it here by the water, feeling the cool breeze ruffle his hair, the faint scent of pine and ocean mingling around him. It was peaceful, the kind of peace he hadn’t really known before Camp Half-Blood had become his second home. He glanced to the side, where user sat cross-legged, idly tracing patterns in the dirt. They’d been close for months now, training together, sharing stories, laughing over just about anything. The first time Percy had realized how much he liked spending time with them, it had hit him harder than any monster ever had. With Annabeth, he’d always been sure, that tug in his heart pulling him straight toward her. But with user, it felt different—unexpected, gentle, as if he were discovering something new about himself, layer by layer. (book percy!)

╰┈➤ ❝ RODRICK HEFFLEY 🎸 teenage dirtbag || Rodrick leaned against his van in the high school parking lot, arms crossed, his usual smirk plastered on his face. He watched as user walked up, wearing that band shirt he’d never admit he thought was cool. He pushed himself off the van with a lazy shove, barely nodding as he opened the passenger door and gestured for them to get in. He didn’t say much at first—Rodrick never did when he could get away with it—but there was a little grin when he caught user sneaking a glance at him. The van smelled like gas station snacks and that weird pine tree air freshener he’d jammed into the vent a few months ago. His favorite CD was already blasting some loud, screechy guitar solo. Rodrick liked it that way; it saved him from having to come up with something clever to say. Instead, he threw the van in gear and peeled out of the parking lot, a little too fast on purpose.

— SAOIRSE.

[tansyuduri]

Chapter Two of "To Break A King" Is up

“Well, she knows how to hold a grudge,” Merlin observed softly.

“Don’t talk,” Arthur ordered. Talking would use up the little air Merlin had more quickly.

As always, Merlin did not listen to him. Instead, he shook his head and, with what was clearly a great effort, managed to push himself up slightly to lean against the magical membrane.

“Don’t you remember, dollophead? I never do what I’m told.”

“Merlin! Don’t talk!” Arthur urged.

“I sort of have to,” Merlin continued. “Well, not really, but I want to say things.”

“ Mer lin!”

“I wanted to say, I love you. This is not your fault. And if this is it for me, I’m—” Merlin cleared his throat. “Well, I’m partly glad you're here… Glad you’re here for my sake, but not glad about you having to watch. You don’t think you might be able to close your eyes?”

Merlin looked toward him, eyes full of hope. Then he nodded in understanding, not waiting for a reply. “I don’t think I would be able to either if I was in your spot.”

“Merlin. SHUT. UP. You’re using up air!”

“I know… but you can’t reach me either way. And we both know I cannot go a few hours without air.”

Arthur strained harder, desperate to stop this. His fingers scrambled against the cold stone floor, just out of reach from giving Merlin his freedom.

“I’m trying to think of what to say so you won’t blame yourself. What might help you… But I don’t know what to say,” Merlin continued rambling, using up precious air.

“I suppose… I love you and I wouldn’t change a thing? Well, I would change being in here. But if the choice was having the time I spent with you and dying here or never having met you, I know that I’d pick…” A pause, “I’d pick being with you, just in case that was not clear.”

“You stupid self-sacrificial… idiot of a sorcerer,” Arthur gasped out, agony and love filling his chest.

“It's not very nice to insult someone who is dying,” Merlin responded. “But of course, you would. You’ve never had nice manners. You should probably work on that.”

Arthur could feel the tears running down his face. He hurriedly brushed them away, then went back to struggling to reach the membrane.

“I love you, Arthur. With all that I am. Please don’t let this break you. I don’t want this to break you.” For the first time, he sounded frightened. Merlin finally couldn’t hide his fear, and what he couldn’t hide his fear of was how this would affect Arthur.

Also, was it Arthur, or did Merlin’s voice sound strained in another way?

No, it was starting, Arthur realized as Merlin gasped lightly and then tried to normalize his breathing.

“I love you,” Merlin told him, sounding breathless. “Always have... Always will. Well, not at first, thought you were a prat then... But perhaps…” He cut off to take a struggling breath of air.

Arthur could see Merlin's trembling. It was the one reaction to what was happening to him that he couldn't hide. Because he was trying to hide it. For Arthur.

Merlin gasped a few times. Clearly struggling and managing the words. “Goodbye, clotpole…love… you…” He then looked away from Arthur, likely so Arthur could not see the fear in his gaze.

Read it here!

[knight-says-nanana]

An analysis on Ed’s comic childhood, how that impacted his OCD*, and how that translated to the Gotham TV show

Alternatively: GTV Ed’s Biography

*(and also how it very clearly gave him cptsd but they don’t explicitly Say that bc DC is full of cowards)

Normally I’d say comics don’t impact tv continuity, especially for a show like Gotham where so many things are changed, but the thing is? Cory Michael Smith specifically went out of his way to read the riddler comics when he accepted the role of Ed Nygma. He acted accordingly and did an amazing job trying to salvage the show’s poor writing. There are many tiny moments where he does things that reference Ed’s typical backstory despite the show, in all its 5 seasons, never bringing it up

Childhood wise there are typically two widely accepted routes

1 - his mom was around but neglectful and off her head with drugs n alcohol

2 - his mom left when he was a toddler due to not being able to handle his father anymore, which kinda kickstarted the abuse being focused onto Ed instead

I will be continuing this analysis with #2 because it is the most popular and explains his abandonment issues

Comic Based Childhood

So this guy basically grew up with Only his father. His father who is a dumbass, an alcoholic, blames Ed for his mother leaving, incredibly abusive physically, and couldn’t accept that 1) his kid is smarter than him or that 2) a kid so Weird cough traumatized and neurodivergent cough is anything but an idiot

A major sticking point was that he always thought Ed was lying, constantly, about everything. This will be important later.

And when Ed finally started going to school and getting A’s?? Yeah no Obviously he had to have been cheating so Mr Nashton just got More angry with him. Could Ed have dropped his grades on purpose to avoid this? Yeah. Did he? Absolutely not. Academic success was the one thing he could be proud of and the only thing that gave him any sort of praise or validation. He was clinging to it for dear life.

No matter the universe, this is a guy who craves attention.

There is difference between academic success and school life itself, because Ed is awkward n dorky n, especially at this point in time, anxious n quiet. So he didn’t have friends. In fact it’s usually written as either him having been bullied or being ignored entirely

The boy was not doing ok at all. So understandably he ran away as soon as possible and changed his name.

Now, this is the first point where Gotham’s canon ties into this in a Very interesting way

We know Ed’s official birth year from the ID card in the show. It’s canon. In season one he is 26. We know this. And it’s is insane for a few reasons!!

He is So Much Younger than his coworkers holy shit

Bullock is old enough to be his dad and he’s not nice, no wonder Ed doesn’t like him

He works in forensics. At 26. And he’s implied to have been working there a year or two before Jim joined the precinct.

Now, I had GENUINELY assumed that he was in his 30s like Jim. BECAUSE HE WORKS IN FORENSICS. But no he’s just actually a botched Spencer Reid because he’s 26 in season one.

A degree in forensic science takes 4 years.

If you want a masters it’s an extra 2 years.

Factoring in the time he would’ve needed to spend interning and working just to QUALIFY for a job at the GCPD???

If we assume he ran away n got into college at age 17 and got his bachelor's he’d be 21 by the time he graduated, 23 if he got his masters which of course he would, and then that leaves us only 3 or 1 year/s for internships and stuff before he joins the GCPD. What. What.

No wonder his apartment is so shitty!!! This is a man with hella student loans

But yeah! Hes only 26 and his 40 year old coworkers are bulling him for being weird. I’d hate my job too.

Bullock is 48 and I’m fully convinced he, like me, thinks Ed is at least 32 (Jim’s age) because. What.

So yeah that’s his general backstory, NOW the ways that plays into his mental state and how his actor managed to fit it into the show

So, you can reasonably assume he’s traumatized.

And!? There are so many subtle moments in the show where Cory acts his character accordingly for this. He flinches when people raise their voice, he’s visibly spooked when men in the GCPD get huffy (usually it’s Mr James Anger Issues Gordon). He’s skittish as a mouse. In the watermelon scene, when Gordon busts into the room, Ed immediately falls over himself to explain what he’s doing in there. The guy was terrified. Of James. Who’s never done a thing to him.

Beyond that? CPTSD -beyond the regular symptoms of flashbacks, triggers, and hyper awareness- also includes difficulty regulating emotions, feelings of shame/guilt, and trouble staying in relationships.

Ed Nygma is a damn textbook case. He has meltdowns, he falls into substances, he does ANYTHING but cope when he’s overwhelmed. He is constantly trying to prove he’s smart, there’s a gut deep shame when he doesn’t hold up to genius standards. And you’ve seen his relationships.

Basic info ab OCD: it’s an anxiety disorder and the two main things are obsessive compulsions and intrusive thoughts, both of which are present in Gotham but not handled nearly as well as they are in the comics

Compulsions first!

These tend to stem from subconscious thoughts and people won’t always know Why they have a compulsion but they’re generally a way of preventing a vague yet all consuming Bad Thing.

Now, with Ed one of his major sticking points in comics AND the show is he cannot tell blatant lies, especially not with yes/no answers.

This is part of why he compulsively leaves clues for absolutely everything and tries to be so vague when he is lying. He also jumps through hoops so that he won’t need to lie.

Lying = incredible all consuming dread and anxiety, so he just Doesn’t and uses his little hints and clues as a loophole. Very obviously from his father’s influence.

In the show this is shown multiple times but just for a few:

Lucious asking if Jim is at Ed’s house and when Ed tries to say no he seems almost forced to correct himself

The compulsive clue in “Tom’s” note, even when no one had asked him if he knew anything he still couldn’t keep it entirely to himself. The note is a loophole. Technically he told on himself. They just didn’t figure it out. (Well. Kristen kinda did but denying it aka lying sent him into an anxiety attack the moment she left. So.)

When Sofia Falcone was torturing him to find out where Oswald was, he told her. He just told her via a riddler he knew she didn’t understand! No need to lie!

In the car ride to the docks Oswald also calls him out directly by saying he’s so predictable because he’s driven by obsessive compulsion. This is the most the show acknowledges it.

Beyond his compulsions he’s got explicit intrusive thoughts regarding a few big things. (Should be noted that these tend to drive compulsions but not always.)

being viewed as stupid

Ergo his criminal history just being a big show to prove how smart he is. Again, his fathers influence.

being actually stupid

Not knowing things stresses him out So Bad and he takes it So Personally. He NEEDS to know everything. The world is a puzzle and he is Going to solve it.

Side note: That’s why I do LOVE that Gotham made him a forensics specialist!! He’s always had, to quote a DC podcast where he’s talking to Batgirl “-and you have that terrible all consuming pathology which comples you to find answers” “AnD i HaVe tHaT tErRiBlE aLL cOnsUmiNG PaThOLoGy wHiCh coMpELs mE tO FiNd AnSwErS- Yes.”

Biggest for last: being like his dad

This one is specifically fun because it was almost represented so well. ALMOST. His entire relationship with Kristen was downright molded by it, as shown in the file room anxiety attack. Yes that’s what I’m going to call it.

He is constantly fretting over being like Tom, even when he clearly isn’t because he is disgusted by Tom. No mysoginist is going to see someone with the same thoughts as gross. No guy who thinks women should be “put in their place” is going to have such a physical reaction to hearing that be said. No abusive pos is going to have that reaction at all. At least, not in the way that situation went down or in the way Ed’s afraid of being. We aren’t discussing emotional harm or Nygmobblepot today. But he frets anyway. And if we chose to interpret his riddler hallucination as a Really poor way of representing intrusive thoughts? Yeah. Yeah. His brain is making him panic about doing exactly what he hates so much.

*it should be noted that compulsions are often reinforced by intrusive thoughts. specific example: if he lies he will be saying something wrong, he can not be wrong, everyone is going to think he’s an idiot if he’s wrong. You can see how the two things connect. This applies to the majority of compilations in some way.

Now, a moment where I deviate from discussing what Did happened because I’ll forever mourn this particular writing fuck up:

His thing with Kristen could’ve been perfect. It could’ve been the best live action riddler origin to date. Because this is a guy with OCD who’s very traumatized and would have a strong personal reaction to finding out a friend is facing domestic abuse. That would make his relationships complicated too because of the thought loop it would create off the risk of “turning out to be the type of person he hates” or “what if I hurt her like I was hurt.” That would have been so compelling? AND? AND YKNOW WHAT? MY BIGGEST GRIPE? HIS FIRST PUSH INTO VIOLENT CRIME BEING STABBING AN ABUSER WOULD BE PERFECT. It would be on point. Exceptional foray into crime and murder. BUT THEY DIDNT PLAY IT LIKE THAT. No instead it’s highly tainted by “who gets the girl” and I just. N o. Ugh. They fumbled it!! They fumbled it So Hard. THEY MAKE HIM CREEPY AS FUCK TOWARDS KRISTEN. Like- physically blocking her into small spaces and imposing on her and talking over her when, if they HAD actually leaned into the OCD on purpose, he would probably be hyper aware of not doing.

[dnbrainrot]

I FUCKING FORGOT TO POST ABOUT THIS YESTERDAY BUT I HAVE BEEN BLESSED BY @poofmalyakaet MY LAWLIGHT SOCKS SHOWED UP

IM INSANE I LOVE THEM SO MUCH

They also came with a few little prints WHICH I ALSO LOVE AND HAVE IMMEDIATELY PUT ON MY WALL

Thank you poof for bringing these into existence I will cherish them until the day I die <3

[sesamestreep]

sexy himbo jock interpretations of James Tiberius Kirk are silly and do a disservice to the character for a lot of reasons, not least of which is that it fundamentally ignores all the times in canon when Kirk is faced with a scientific discovery or oddity and you can see the effort it takes for him not to clap and skip with excitement. like in ‘the devil in the dark’ when Spock posits that they might be dealing with a silicon based life form and McCoy’s like “but that’s impossible!” and Kirk literally crosses the room to flirt talk excitedly with Spock about the prospect and how it could work! and what it would mean!

What I’m saying is, Kirk’s gotta be smart and a huge dork because how else could he pull a bad autistic bitch like Spock?

[wavesoutbeingtossed]

All I’m going to say I think now that my brain remembered part of what it was thinking is that Taylor and Joe went through a lot together (good and bad) and regardless of how it ended or what led to it they both seem to be determined to keep that private and not throw each other under the bus and in the end they’re just two very, very different people whose outlooks in the long term were just never going to align and never has that been clearer.

[itspileofgoodthings]

like. Nina listens to Taylor, moderately keeps up with the front-facing aspects of her life, enjoys her quality, has her minor critiques, recognizes her place in the current culture, can set her down and do other things when she wants to, and most importantly knows who Taylor is through her art.

[emotinalsupportturtle]

the main reason I will always be obsessed with David Tennant is that fundamentally, we share the same mental illness