#They sound smart. The questions they ask are valid.

[hulloitsdani]

Okay so I started transcribing book 4 and I was going to save all my thoughts for the review post, but I HAVE to gush about this.

That’s delightfully not Alfonse.

Since I have written the past few books down, I can immediately compare and contrast how Alfonse and “Alfonse” talk. The differences are immediate. That little “Huh.” ended up striking me as odd, so I opened the search feature on the document and found that huh has only been uttered three times prior to this. Once by Sharena in book 1 and twice by Ylgr in book 2. Alfonse has never uttered a huh in his life, which means that’s a little Kiran speech pattern!!! Cool!!!

Kiran also tends to talk slower and meander a little in their sentences. So far, there has been an ellipses in nearly every “Alfonse” textbox. It’s because they’re thinking. They have a lot of new information to process on account of finding themselves in a brand new realm and Peony info dropping weird tidbits about how this place works with the unexpectedness of an elephant dropping from the sky. So, thanks to some multitasking, they seem to be picking their words as they say them, leading into fun little pauses. Also very cool! Then, in the line above in particular, they suddenly pick up the pace by letting off a series of rapid fire questions. Has to be cut off by Anna or they would have kept going. It does not feel like how Alfonse would question the situation at all— he’s usually very pointed and specific. This instead feels like the speed at which Kiran normally thinks. They’re pausing because they’re picking from the thirty questions their brain just asked.

Also!!! Look at that blunt ass hell “I’m sorry. I’m confused.” That’s two very modern sounding two-word sentences back to back. It’s absolutely not how Alfonse talks. No “my apologies” here their ass is confused!!!!

I don’t really got a point for this one folks, I just really like how fun Book 4 is on a reread. That’s my little guy officer! That’s the bastard that escalated FEH into a hyperfixation!!! Get them. Put them a container and give it a little shake.

[fanaticsnail]

Snail important question;

Of any line-up of characters of your choice-

Who do you think is attracted to competency,

Who is attracted to stupidity,

Who can go either way,

And who is attracted to both at the same time (imagine;

Reader: sorry I'm late I had to fight off two different ships

Them: is that how you got that bruise on your face?

Reader: oh... Actually, I wasn't looking and pulled a push door off its' hinges into my face

Them, kicking off their pants: god you're so fucking stupid, sit on my face

)

Also, I feel like there are different versions of competency and stupidity. Street smarts vs social obliviousness. Book smarts vs functionally illiterate. Strategic/battle smarts vs what-do-you-mean-flashing-the-enemy-isn't-a-valid-distraction?

(Zoro is completely math smart and dumb in every other way)

I could imagine Luffy would be attracted to hyper specific competency. If you're really into a specific thing and good at it and it's your dream he would absolutely love it even if it sounds like you're speaking gibberish to him. He wouldn't even think of it as weird - I mean, no more weird than any other dream he doesn't personally understand - he's certainly not the type to judge based on societal norms. You could talk his ear off about the reproductive habits of different animals and he wouldn't get why everyone else doesn't like to hear it when they're eating but hey more food for him.

Snail. Your asks always know how to get the better of me. Have a series of little drabbles, dear.

Competency, Stupidity, Duality

Masterlist here

Word Count: 410+, 510+, 580+

Synopsis: They can't help what attracted them to you. No matter what you did, they simply couldn't get enough of you. Their emotions finally catch up with them, and they confess their adoration for you.

Themes: variety x gn!reader, feelings, injury, mentions of battles, finally giving in, all different 'reader' inserts, confessions of love, kid x reader, zoro x reader, killer x reader, angst, fluff, sweetness.

Notes: I wasn't expecting to write this today, but I've been thinking about the big boys lately and I needed to give them some love. Something about trios lately.

Tag List: @sordidmusings @nerium-lil @feral-artistry @since-im-already-here @writingmysanity @indydonuts @gingernut1314 @i-am-vita @carrotsunshine @mfreedomstuff @daydreamer-in-training

Competency: Eustass Kid

When Eustass Kid noticed how quick and sharp you were to react in life or death circumstances, he was immediately smitten with you. Being a Straw-Hat, your ambitions and dreams were fostered by your playful captain as you sailed aboard the Thousand Sunny. Your ability to interact flawlessly by balancing the combined efforts of the three crews had him intrigued by your charisma. 

Fighting by your side was something he didn’t expect to affect him so much. The way you researched the strengths and weaknesses of all three crews sailing and fighting together was admirable. Asserting yourself by asking Law to push and pull you closer to the fight with the Ope-Ope no Mi ability, while fighting side-by-side with Massacre Soldier Killer in close quarters, had him left wordless.

After the battle finishes, he watched as you hastily aided your crew of their injuries while disregarding your own; putting others first while adding pressure to your hand-gash, hovering it over your head to slow the bleeding. He couldn’t get enough of you. 

He needed you to know how he felt about you, but being in the presence of Luffy and Law always seemed to bring out the more juvenile side of attitude. His simple attraction and infatuation with you had to be revealed to you in due time, but he couldn’t risk sounding like an idiot in front of you. He would have to simply wait until you were alone and unoccupied before he made his move to take care of you after taking care of others. 

Slowly approaching you as you sat down against the tangerine grove aboard the Thousand Sunny, his shadow shrouded your form and prompted you to gaze up into his scarred, sheepish face. Your smile caused his heart to beat harder and his head to swirl with a variety of "what-ifs". Gulping back his insecurities, he knelt down in front of you.

“Let me take care of that for you,” he offered with a soft smirk, “You’ve done so much for others, and I think your hand needs some seeing to.” 

“If you say so, Captain Kid,” you shrug, offering your injured hand delicately to him and listening to his every instruction as he treats you, “I wasn’t aware you had any medical training.” He straps your hand in a bandage, placing down the final ties before holding your injured hand in his.

“I don’t,” he shrugged with a smile atop his painted lips, “But I’ve lost an arm before, and I don’t want to see that happen to you.” 

“You’re-...” he stuttered over his words, gazing at your hand before softly drifting his tired eyes up, “...-You amaze me. Truly, amaze me.” You place your other hand on his, never once removing your eyes from his face as he offers you such kindness. 

“Thank you, sir,” you nod to him with a soft smile, “You amaze me, too.”

Stupidity: Roronoa Zoro

“Why would you do that?” Zoro roared at you, hovering his body over yours and caging your face-down body within a shield of his own. The gashes on your back were deep, your body weeping out the red essence and staining your clothes with it.

“C-Couldn’t risk yours,” you stuttered out with a soft smile, “H’was gonna g-get yours. Didn’t want you to wear the shame.” His eyes widened, filling with a steam of glossy tears that threatened to spill over the moment you stuttered out your confession. “That’s what you said, wasn’t it? Mark on the back is a swordsman’s greatest shame?” 

Drip. 

Drip.

Drip.

One after one, soft tears spilt down his cheeks and mixed with the fluids pooling at your back. He leaned down towards you, the heat of battle dying down with the swift, flaming kick of the blonde cook and giggling chuckles of your captain, Luffy. 

“You’re a fucking idiot,” he sniffed his sobs back as he leaned down to cage you, “Can’t you see? None of that fucking matters without you here.” He softly, tenderly moved you from your position on the floor to not disturb your wounds. He sat you up, cradling you against his broad chest and openly sobbed for you. 

“When you get better,” he growled into your shoulder, “I will repay you for this. I will pay my debt to you.” His sobs got more desperate, not halting in the slightest when Trafalgar D Water-Law approached the two of you in your embrace. 

“Let me get ‘em to the infirmary,” Law offered, gesturing for Bepo to ready the aid kit, “I’ll treat the wounds there-.” 

“-I won’t leave them,” Zoro barked over your shoulder, your soft smile tugging at your cheeks in your hazy daze. “Let me go with you, Traffy. I won’t say a damn word to distract you, on my honor.” Law nods, raising his hand and spreading his fingers and offers the two words to switch positions within the infirmary: “Room, Shambles.” 

As you drifted in and out of consciousness, you laughed each time Zoro chastised you for your stupidity. Echos of: “There were so many other things you could’ve done instead,” and “You stumbled into that blade like a moron and took that hit for me, idiot.” You giggled through the pain, barely feeling it as Law worked to stitch you together again. 

Upon regaining consciousness, you looked to your moss-haired crewmate and offered out your hand to his bicep. His head was bowed, arms crossed over his chest, and was assumed to be napping by your bedside. Feeling your touch, he was roused from his sleep and immediately leaned forward to bring his face beside yours. 

“You’re a fucking moron,” he huffed, smiling in a melancholy grin. You laughed at his insult, squeezing his muscle before retracting your hand. As you nearly drew it away to your side, he caught your hand and brought your palm up to his lips. 

“My fucking moron,” he confirmed, placing a soft kiss to your palm before using it to cup his face. “I love you.”

Duality: Massacre Soldier Killer

Staring up into your face while remaining silent, resting his masked face on the heel of his palm, he listened to your recount of a very specific childhood injury that left you with an interesting scar on your thigh. Killer’s eyes never left your face, his cheeks beginning to glow warm and vibrant beneath the shroud of his mask.

“So, let me get this straight,” Captain Eustass Kid held his hand in front of his face and gave it a gentle wave to halt your words, “That sick-looking scar wasn’t from any time you served with Luffy, but because you set off a fucking harpoon and speared yourself in the leg with it?” 

Killer felt himself swoon at the melody your laugh thrust into the atmosphere. He was ever thankful his blue and white mask disguised how much he was smiling beneath the shroud. 

“Yep,” you popped the ‘P’ afterwards, nodding in confirmation as you sat beside Usopp and drew your tankard up to your lips, “But I learnt from it, and it hasn’t happened since.” Killer sighed, his voice almost coming out in a soft moan to reveal his growing infatuation for you. Kid barked out a harsh gaggle of laughter, clapping you on the shoulder with his right hand and gestured for you to reveal it to them.

“Let me see it again, go on,” he chuckled, removing his hand and sitting back on his seat, “Use Killer’s thigh as a prop so we can see it properly. You don’t mind do you, big guy?” Killer absentmindedly and slowly shook his head, tapping his thigh twice with his hand for you to reveal your injury to the captain of the Victoria Punk, himself and your crewmate beside you. 

“Alright,” you shrugged, standing beside Usopp and Killer and gently placed your foot atop Killer’s thigh and began hiking up your shorts to your hip, “Feast your eyes, Captain.” Sure enough, an interesting looking scar was revealed on your inner thigh, clear as day and sure as the sea is salty. 

“Oh, fucking hells!” Kid gave you a hearty laugh, “You seeing this, big guy?” Kid turned his attention to his first mate, his smile only growing as he noticed the angle of Killer’s mask never left your face. Surprise was immediately thrust into Kid’s eyes, noticing the unwavering resolve in Killer’s posture. 

You turned your attention down to the silent and broody first-mate, your face puzzled and eyes searching his mask for any further thought or action. He slowly drew his hands up to clasp around your ankle and calf, holding it firmly as he leaned forward. 

“You’re perfect,” he offered in a breathy whisper, stroking your leg and gazing lovingly into your face, “Don’t let anyone ever tell you otherwise.” 

Your face flushed with a warmth at his words, eyes widening and looking down at his large hands as they held you so tenderly and delicately within his grasp. Smiling, you leaned forwards and placed your hand over his scarred left forearm with mischief in your eyes, asking him a simple question with a suggestive tone. 

“Like what you see then, big guy?” At your question, Usopp nearly choked on his drink. You had never been this bold before, and this came as a shock to your crew’s skilled sniper. He covered his choking with a soft cough, turning away with a downturned smile and stifling his growing laugh. 

“So much,” Killer confirmed, gently caressing your calf and looking up at you through half-hooded blonde lashes beneath his mask, “So, so much.”

[somesecretpie]

I am looking for a human host!

Are you bored?

Are you lonely and bored?

Do you have a lot of time on your hands?

Do you have hands?

I’m offering you a proposal, with potential financial compensation for your troubles. It may sound off putting at first blush, but hear me out. I am looking for a human host. And I mean a “willing” human host who might be willing to give up some of their time to help out an odd fellow that doesn’t have hands or blood.

Am I asking to control your body? Yes. Sometimes. You’ll still be there, but taking the backseat. Now you’re probably thinking “That sounds no fun! I don’t want to spend all my time riding shotgun.”

And that’s valid.

But you all spend about half of the day unconscious anyway. Your body is just there, doing nothing—a complete waste. As for me, I don’t sleep (haha), so we could have it so that during the day, I will graciously let you do fun human things, and at night, I’ll do whatever. And by whatever, I mean perfectly safe, perfectly reasonable activities.

I don’t drink, and I rarely go outside.

I enjoy baking, I look at pictures of birds online, I’ve been getting into neuroscience lately. Very interesting stuff. You’re all very interesting.

And maybe you’re still thinking “Hey now, I don’t want some random mind-controlling thingy hauling my body around in my sleep, “Weekend at Bernie’s Style” to which I say, you’re no fun and you’re not the kind of person I want to live with anyway.

“But I’m a light sleeper!” you say.

Don’t worry! I can isolate your somatosensory cortex so you can’t feel anything.

“But my family will think it’s weird!” you say.

Don’t worry! You don’t have to tell them.

Actually, I would prefer that you don’t tell anyone. Please.

And should anyone question me, I’m not bad at impressions. I’ll get really good at a “you” impression, it’ll be the first thing I do!

I know this all sounds very strange and potentially unpleasant, but remember the financial compensation that may or may not be happening. Hell, I’ll even do some of your chores if you like, while you sleep. You can wake up and the dishes will be done, laundry folded and coffee made. Doesn’t that sound nice? And then you open the fridge and oh, what’s this? Someone baked banana bread last night (that was me, I baked banana bread last night.)

Now I should say, I don’t have a lot of standards, I really don’t. But I do (unfortunately) have some, so let’s just get them out of the way before I waste your time.

Please do not contact me if you have any of the following:

- Anemia: Sorry, it’s just not going to work out. I can pay for iron supplements, but I can’t work miracles.

-A weak immune system: I don’t like getting sick, I’m sorry. It’s gross, sick people are gross. I mean I know it’s not your fault, but healthy folks only please.

-A strong immune system: Yes, I know what I just said, but I also don’t want to be attacked by your immune system. So maybe you’re not the picture of health, but you’re just kind of okay. I’m looking for someone who is just kind of okay.

-A penchant for alcohol: It makes me feel strange…

-A name that starts with a P: I’m not the greatest at “speaking.” It’s hard, moving air through your throat and moving your tongue and your mouth at the same time. You all do it so easy—can’t say I’m not envious! I’m the worst at making the “P” sound.

I intentionally avoid any "p word" in conversation, and get by well enough, but I’ll look pretty foolish if I’m cavorting about, pretending to be you, and I can’t even say your name!

Those are my standards, but really, other than that, I’ll take anyone.

I don’t care if you’re male or female or anything in between.

I don’t care if you’re gay.

I don’t care if you’re smart.

I don’t care if you don’t have a lawyer.

There are so many things that I don’t care about.

Now, I’ve specified all the ways in which I could compensate you and how our relationship will be not in any way problematic, but I want to stress that, above all things, I am looking for a friend.

Someone I can spend quiet evenings with.

If you want to hang out with me during the day, that’s great! I can give you fun hallucinations. Or you could have hallucinations the normal way, like by reading, like what you’re doing now. I love to read! I love doing funny voices. I wonder what you think I sound like?

I hope I sound nice.

And one of the best things about me is I’m very quiet. No one else will be able to hear me except you. I’ll be like your own personal friend that only you know. Like a secret friend. And you don’t even have to talk to me because I can read your thoughts.

I suppose I should tell you a bit more about myself, since you’re still reading.

I was born in the Everglades, I think. It’s been awhile.

But I remember being so cold…

And so alone...

But then I met this sweaty man in a colorful tee-shirt, with a camera, and half a granola bar, and with blood so hot.

So yeah, he was my first host, and I’ll admit, we weren’t the best of friends. It was a confusing time for both of us. I was confused. He was confused. What happened was really both of our faults, you could say…

He was a bird watcher, if I recall correctly. Just watched birds all the time. I thought it might have been out of jealousy—watching those little things flying around makes you feel kind of stuck. I felt stuck.

So I decided to be a bird for a while to see if it was really all it’s cracked up to be. Squished myself into the body of this lovely American crow. We settled down, built a nest, and laid several nice, healthy eggs with a man-bird by the name of “Richard Baxter.”

He was a very proud bird, very large. And he gave me so many wonderful gifts. Like children, and also small pieces of plastic.

I still have all of them.

The plastic, not the children.

I’d never been so happy, all these hormones had me consumed in the joy of motherhood, but the crow’s health was failing. I could not sustain myself—it’s pathetic little heart beat weaker and weaker.

I tried starving, I tried everything I could, I wanted to be a bird so bad. But it just wasn’t working out.

The bird stopped working.

The other crows held a funeral service for me, even though I was still alive. I tried to tell them, but I’m not good at speaking, you remember.

It was all just a big mess.

I haven't seen Baxter since, but I still think about him a lot.

Is that weird?

I’m totally over it though, haha.

After that incident, I got kind of depressed... I possessed a lot of trash animals—gulls, racoons, and salespeople. I did what I could to survive. That’s kind of where I am now.

I am currently living in Miami florida—been body surfing almost every day (haha). Right now I’m using a library computer and a librarian. She does not like being possessed, boy howdy are these fingers twitching. But you can thank her for my halfway decent grammar.

I’m tired of feeling like a parasite.

I want to try a different approach.

I want to be friends? Like with Richard Baxter except I also live in your brain and drink your blood sometimes. But I’ll make you bread in your sleep, so it’s okay.

It’s been really hard finding someone willing to put up with me.

I’ve tried everything.

So I thought I would put up an advertisement online, why not?

Can’t say the P word in real life, but you can hear it in your head loud enough I hope.

I know I kept saying that I would compensate you financially, but I’m going to be real with you, I don’t have much. I’ve got like twenty bucks, some small pieces of plastic and a book about...finance....

But I’m a real hoot! ;D

So,

(P)lease,

If you are interested, leave your comments below. I would love to get to know you :)

I need to go now, the library is closing soon, but I’ll get back as soon as I can.

[xas24]

PLEASE MAKE MORE GAVI FICS‼️‼️‼️ I beg

anything for you ~ pablo gavi

summary: after being stuck within her harsh pile of emotions, all y/n needs is her boyfriend to help her out before she falls in any further.

eyes on her paper, y/n starts doodling in the bent corners with a pen that barely even works anymore. her professors voice starts to tune out of her ears and suddenly she’s somewhere else, in another world where she has no worries, no feelings of sadness, no feeling overwhelmed, no stress.

her brows furrow as she thinks about the sinking feeling in her stomach every time she sits in this same lecture hall and stares at her notes. she’s surrounded by such smart students, intelligent, confident, consistent straight As.

that used to be her.

she doesn’t even know what happened, or when she started feeling so stupid, starting falling so behind.

her head is slumped into her palm, tired eyes scanning the small house she was faintly doodling onto her page. her motivation was lost somewhere within her, caged within the stress and anxiety and constant failure.

she doesn’t even realise when her professor calls her out amongst the other forty or so students in the lecture hall.

“miss y/n!” her head is thrown up and out of her little world as she looks at the front. she hears snickers infront of her but her eyes are glued to her professor in instant fear.

“can you answer the question at the bottom of page 8 please?” he asks her and her eyes drop to her work. page 8? fuck. she’s still on page 2.

shit. shit. shit.

she thickly swallows but doesn’t turn her page. it’s embarrassing enough she wasn’t even on the same question as everyone else, she doesn’t want her professor to call her out for it.

with her heart practically beating in her ears and the blood pooling at the surface of her cheeks, she looks at the bottom of the page she was already on then looks back up at the professor.

“sorry, sir, i don’t know the answer.” she lies. can he even hear her? did her voice even come out clearly? she doesn’t know.

he gives her a disappointed look and without saying anything, he turns to ask someone else.

her bottom lip is quivering and that sinking feeling in her stomach returns. she hears the same snickers again and her eyes snap to the sound: two boys in the row in front of her.

“it was the easiest question in the whole booklet.”

“no wonder she’s failing.”

their whispers and chuckles set it off; the tears that gather in her eyes and her palms that excessively start sweating. she subtly wipes them on her jeans but it doesn’t help. she tries to swallow the lump lodged in her throat but it doesn’t budge. she blinks but the tears just lean further to the brim.

defeated once again, she slumps in her seat. it’s always the same feeling, that disgusting and pathetic feeling of failure. when did she become like this? she was one of the top students in the whole class. people would ask her for help, they envied her.

when did those roles get reversed?

she quickly turned to page 8 and her eyes dropped to the last question at the bottom. it was one of the first topics they did in this semester, one of the topics she aced her exam in.

so why doesn’t she know the answer anymore? she knew it just about a year ago? a year ago where her constant craving for academic validation was being fed. she was receiving even better than the grades she wanted.

what happened? she keeps asking herself that question and now was getting sick of it always popping up in her mind. her fingers are shaking in her lap but she’s not doing anything about it. she can feel the panic arising in her body, surfacing with all the tears and agony and anxiety that it’s coupled itself with.

but she can’t do anything. she’s stuck. she’s back into that hole where she can’t think or speak or move and she doesn’t know how to escape it.

•••

it’s genuinely surprising when she sees her boyfriend sitting in her bedroom when she weakly makes her way into her apartment. everything was such a mess, but she didn’t have the energy within her to clean it up.

she couldn’t even find it within her to be embarrassed about the mess.

“y/n.” pablo breathes out when he finally lays his eyes on her, relief yet worry coating his features when he sees her disheveled expression.

y/n gives him a weak smile. she really tries to put some effort into it but she just can’t. she’s so tired. her bag drops off her shoulder and she shoves it into the corner of her room.

pablo watches, stood to the side as she saunters around her room, almost zombie-like. the last time he saw her was about a week and a half ago, before he had to leave for an away game.

he knows how stressed she’s been lately with university, how alone she may be feeling in her apartment, holed up within her books. what he didn’t know was how serious of a toll this stress and all this responsibility had actually taken on her.

pablo came back from his game two days ago but y/n couldn’t find it in her to visit him. she didn’t want him to see her in such a shitty state, didn’t want him to think that she was losing her will to even get out of bed every morning.

“you look tired, y/n, are you okay?” she hums in response as she takes a few steps into the bathroom connected to her room.

pablo sits on her bed parallel to the bathroom door. he’s a bit taken back by her reaction and her appearance. just a month ago, she was so excited to see him after his away game, showering him in kisses and giggles and hugs.

what happened? there was that question again and y/n just knew he was thinking it too.

she took her shirt off to change into a more comfortable one and pablo watched her movements - tired and slow.

“how was class?” he watches her shrug.

“it was okay.”

he sighs, “y/n, please.” she looks up at him once she’s done changing. the dark circles under her eyes are evident even from where he was sitting, and it worried him.

“talk to me. you don’t look too well, is it school?” he tries to make his voice as stern yet soft as possible.

y/ns eyes make contact with him and there comes that sinking feeling again. school. class. those words just seem to trigger that burdening emotion to rise at full speed, and her eyes start tearing up on their own. it seemed she didn’t have any control over her own body nowadays.

she feels guilty, immensely guilty.

he’s sitting there on her bed, asking her about how her time has been whilst he was away. she should be asking him those questions. she should be asking him about his thoughts on his game, what he did in his free time, how his teammates are doing.

hell, she didn’t even watch the game. she really tried to, but she remembers being so worn out that day that she fell asleep an hour before it even started.

she hates herself for that. such a shit girlfriend, she thinks to herself.

pablo notices her shift in expression. he instantly saw the tears that pooled in her eyes when she looked at him and quickly looked away. his hand reached out to grab her hand, cold and rough skin against his warm and smooth one.

he gently tugged her forward and let her sit next to him.

“what’s going on, hm? what’s got you so worn out and tired, sweetheart?” his voice is soft and it tugs at the strings of her heart.

the first tear slips and she doesn’t stop it. soon, they’re all freely falling down and all she can do is pathetically sniffle and let them fall.

pablos heart hurts to see her so frail and weak. it’s like his instinct just kicks in and he immediately pulls her into his body with a tight wrap of his arm around her waist. she falls into him and cries.

she cries and cries until she doesn’t have any tears left. he hates hearing her sniffle and gasp for breath, but he doesn’t say anything. he keeps his one hand on her back, soothingly rubbing up and down just the way he knew she liked, and the other hand in her hair to keep her against him.

her heart aches in agony and regret and pain and stress and sadness and loneliness and anxiety. her emotions burst out of her, the cage that’s been rattling in her heart for weeks now makes its way out and into pablos arms.

into his warm, familiar, loving arms that contrast to her shivering, fragile body.

pablo leaves kisses on her head, wanting nothing else but to calm her down. he lets her know he’s with her, she’s safe and secure with him, she’s not alone. he reassures her with a caress of his hand, a tender touch of his lips against her skin and feathery whispers into her hair.

it’s not long until y/n calms down. her breathing evens out and she feels much lighter as if all the weight of those piled up feelings from the last few weeks have been taken off her shoulders.

she thickly swallows past the lump in her throat and lifts her head from pablos chest. worriedly, he looks at her.

he gently brushes his thumbs against the wet streaks on her face, against her damp eyelashes and smooths her hair back from sticking to her skin. his big, brown eyes bore into hers as if asking if she’s okay.

y/n gives him a small nod and moves to sit up a bit.

“wanna talk to me now, hm?”

“i don’t even know where to begin, pablo.” her voice is weak and drained and pablo doesn’t let his twinge of cringe show when she calls him by his name and not one of the sweet nicknames they both share.

“you can start by telling me why you just cried your heart out. what’ve you been holding in, baby? are you stressed?” he warily asks her.

y/n shakily sighs and shakes her head, “i- don’t even know what’s going on myself, pablo. it’s all just been so hectic, going uni, studying non-stop, coming home and having to keep the place tidy as well, which clearly i haven’t done in quite a while.” her hand frustratedly comes up to gesture towards the pile of clothes scattered on the floor.

“i’m falling behind on everything. i’m failing, horribly, in school and i just can’t seem to find it in me to care about anything anymore.” pablo reaches up to wipe the small tear that escaped the side of her eye.

his palm rests against her cold cheek, bringing her some comfort she hadn’t had the opportunity of feeling for quite a while.

“why didn’t you tell me about any of this?”

“i didn’t want you to stress about me. this is my problem, not yours, pablo-”

“it is my problem. you’re my girlfriend, all your problems are my problems.” he cuts her off. “if you’re sad, come to me. if you’re stressed, come to me. whatever you want to talk about, cry about, you come to me, mi amor.”

“it hurts me that you didn’t tell me, because now i have to see you in such a bad state when i know i could’ve helped you in some way.”

“pablo- how could you have helped-”

“i could’ve! you know i’d do anything for you, if you needed help studying, or wanted some motivation, you know i’d help you and support you. i love you, y/n. that should say enough about the way i would’ve dropped anything if you needed me.”

she can feel the tears returning at his sweet words - the words she needed to hear for weeks now but she couldn’t find it in her to talk to him.

“i love you too.” she mumbles back, eyes dropping onto the bed in shame. shame that she ever thought he wouldn’t help her. shame that she ever doubted his love for her. shame that she thought she couldn’t talk to him.

he wasn’t only her boyfriend, he was her best friend. her best friend since they were kids - he knew her inside and out.

“i’m sorry, pablo.” her eyes start leaking once more and pablo shushes her, pulling her body into his once again. he holds her close, calming her down, kissing away her tears.

he couldn’t bare see her in this state anymore.

“i’m sorry i ever doubted you. i was lost- i didn’t know what to do.” she breathes out. her hand fists his shirt in her palm and she tucks her head further into his warmth, feeling deprived of his touch and his love and his scent. she keeps apologising and spitting out words she didn’t know why she was saying. pablo shushes her, kissing her to comfort her.

“whatever you need, querida, i’m always here for you. you want me to help you study? i’ll help you. you’re feeling lonely or sad or tired or hurt or whatever, i’m there.”

“i love you.” she whispers, clenching her eyes shut. he kisses her again and the relief that was instantly washing over her was fresh and warm and all she wanted was to be with him.

she had him. she’d always had him. she was lost in her mind and he was the only thing that could bring her back.

her unconditionally loving, caring boyfriend. she sees the little smile on his face, on those lips she loved kissing so much. she didn’t realise she was slightly smiling herself. how could she ever doubt his love when he always seemed to bring a smile onto her face, no matter what the situation.

“anything, y/n, anything for you.”

[nightcolorz]

The first season is very sexually charged with the objectification of Armand (Rashid), did you notice that too?

Literally the way Daniel and Louis discuss Armand in front of him, as if he is not in the room with them: his taste, weight (damn... Armand is literally a little shocked with his quiet “what?..”, Louis offers to try his blood, and it sounds ambiguous. If you don’t know the context, the question “would u like to sample” sounds with sexual overtones. Daniel refuses, citing medication. And all this time no one asks Armand what he wants. As if, if Daniel had agreed, Armand would have had no say in the matter. Like... Wow

YES OMGG!!!! Thank u for this ask, I think about this literally all the time. Obviously Armand is my favorite character so before s2 came out the only thing I rlly liked about amc iwtv was this specific aspect lol. (I rewatched the would u like to sample scene more then any scene in the first season). I actually had a theory before s2 came out that the reason they act like this with “rashid” is bcus Louis and Armand are doing this strange bdsm public humiliation thing that Louis is dictating as a form of spite against Armand for their shitty relationship, and Armand is participating bcus of his trauma that tells him he is meant to be in a sub dynamic like that, and boy I was wayyyy more right then I thought I would be.

I think the rashid thing was an incredibly genius way to both set up and foreshadow Louis and Armand’s dynamic, and to set up how Armand’s trauma functions before we even truly knew who Armand was. It’s honestly so smart.

I’ve always thought the way Louis treats and talks about Armand as rashid was fucked up 😭 and I’m so surprised and delighted to see my interpretation validated. Right it’s so objectifying and hard to watch, the way Daniel is clearly kind of participating is awful too (rent boy cough). Clearly Armand is not into it 😭. I don’t think him being uncomfortable was in some way part of the act.

my theory is that Louis and Armand’s relationship had become very hostile and cold pre interview (which prompts Louis to want to do the interview). And Armand is entirely against the idea of the interview and it rlly makes him stressed and upset and angry, bcus he is afraid of Louis uncovering memories and leaving him, he’s afraid of Louis publishing the book and being put in danger, he’s afraid of himself being put on display for ppl to read about, etc. Louis is rlly mad about Armand being so against smth that means a lot to him, so I image he tells him to just mf leave if he is so bothered by it. And Armand is immediately like NO NO NO ILL STAY, bcus Louis doing the interview without him there to supervise is just sm worse. And Armand is Like, I refuse to be on record that’s my one boundary. And Louis is like well I have just the idea actually, that would prevent u from being on record and allow u to snoop around and watch. Enter bdsm role play/stupid human disguise that is purely spite driven. Amazing show wtf

[crumblinggothicarchitecture]

I read your fake smart-girl coded Taylor Swift post. Ended up on my feed because it was tagged philosophy. It was long enough that I caught a few words and actually read it. Honestly thought it was satire until I read your answers to other people.

I do not care about TS. But I do care about philosophy. You have a degree in it ? Funny, I have one too. You've read Aristotle ? I did too. But did you read though ? Did you really get into philosophy, and heard what the people you, I'm sure, can quote really well, actually said ? Because what it looks like, is that you got a degree in philosophy, but did not get philosophy at all. What makes me say that ? Your attitude, and that paragraph :

"Also, for the record, I don't think Taylor Swift knows anything of substance about Aristotle. I, on the other hand, took a three-hour long oral exam over Aristotle's life work while out-of-my-mind-high on Dayquil and pain meds after a surgery. I got an "A", and, somehow, I lived through that, I doubt the validity of Swift's claims to know anything at all about philosophy. Especially, considering how all her songs are about as deep as a puddle. "

Sounds like you're here to show off, and to make yourself look like something, without having a clue what it means to have the inclination of a philosopher. Or you know what it means, and you've lost it somewhere along the way.

If you've studied philosophy, and actually took time to read and understand the words of philosophers, you know not one of them would condone your attitude, the way you use their names, the way you're making your arguments. Having an A for an exam on Aristotle does not guarantee that you'll be able to make good arguments for the rest of your life. Nor does it guarantee that you understand his work, or are good at philosophy. It just means that, at one point, on a very specific part of Aristotle's work, you had enough knowledge to be rewarded with a good mark. It stops there. It does not mean anything else. Even if it was for your master's thesis. Sure, you know more than TS about philosophy and she fakes knowledge in her songd, but is showing off your grade and putting yourself as the center point of your argumentation the best way to convey that message ? No. You're trying to put her down by putting yourself above others. To anyone with a sense of philosophy, it just looks like you're a student who never understood the works he/she read, and focused on grades and others' approbation instead.

You care about your degree ? Re-read the books and make use of your ability to understand them. Not as a way to show off, but as a way to lean into the attitude a philosopher might have.

You write posts using philosophy ? Make it palatable to others, and show its uses. Be humble. Same thing for literature. The people whose books you read, they want knowledge to be spread. Studying philosophy should have, at the very least, helped you see that. The degree you got is here to push you to continue doing what all previous philosophers and writers did before you got to read them. Otherwise, your degree serves no purpose, other than satisfying your ego. At least, that's how it looks in that post.

Anyway, it'd just be nicer if you used your degree to show the benefits of philosophy, rather than to stroke your ego. Think about Socrates for a while. He asks questions, he makes simple arguments, he rarely talks about himself, he wants others to learn. That's the idea. Not showing off. Not being an ass to a girl you've never met. But being open for discussion, and make sound arguments, for others as well as yourself. What was the point of you fixating on the misuse of 'soliloquy' ? What did it bring to others ? And your anger towards TS, why ? Why write a whole post about it, shove it in her fans' face, what's the point ? Did anyone get anything positive from that ? And why bring your degrees and grades into the mix ? Anyone can make an informed and sound argument, even without a degree. What did it give you to say all those things ?

Fyi, I was taught philosophy in France. I know people in America and the likes get taught philosophy differently than how its done here. Wouldn't be surprised if there was a cultural difference in the way we understand the discipline. I've got a master's degree in the subject, and six years of study under my belt, if that matters to you. Was top of my class also. And I've lived with a philosophy teacher for eight years, too. In case you try saying I have no place speaking about philosophy the way I do.

There is barely anyone who gives a damn about philosophy. You're one of the few who cared about it enoigh to study it. Make good use of your degree, and don't be an ass to others.

Let me give you a piece of my mind, because, honestly, my dear friend, what are you doing? 

Is this some kind of moral flex in which you prove to be the better person because you’ve never implied that there’s no way a certain person knows anything about Aristotle? You want to seem like the better person, because I took one single cheap-shot at Taylor Swift’s intelligence amid a full literary explanation as to why she is using a specific term wrong? Are you joking? You want to call into question my entire education? Because I said Taylor Swift is not as “deep-thinking” as she claims? Okay, yeah... you’re right I guess that makes my entire education invalid. My bad. I’ll go rip up my degrees.  

First of all, let’s address your arrogance. You write, “Sounds like you are trying to show off, and to make yourself look like something, without having a clue what to means to have an inclination as a philosopher” (para.4) in response to me saying Taylor Swift probably doesn’t know anything about Aristotle. Yeah, obviously that line is a quick jab at Taylor Swift. So, what? Am I writing an essay? No. Am I writing a journal article? No. Am I writing to a conference committee with a submission of my finest work? NOpe. I’m saying that I would bet money that I know more about Aristotle while suffering the effects of surgery-induced delirium. It’s not that deep. It’s not meant to be a deep, philosophical take on the nature of Taylor Swift’s work. I’m throwing a metaphorical tomato at her, while yelling “boooo.” So, what? You say, “Play nice.” No. Taylor Swift is not my student, nor my friend. I, thus, have no obligation to try to teach, guide, or help Taylor Swift understand anything. I’m not her philosophy teacher, and, you know what, I don’t think she cares about philosophy at all. You know why she name-dropped Aristotle? It rhymes with “full-throttle” and “Grand Theft Auto” (Swift “So High School”). I’m laughing at her so-called poetical lyricism. In the same breath, I’m judging her for relegating Aristotle to a cheap throw-away line in a dumb pop-song in which she sings about how her football boyfriend makes her feel like she’s 16 again. It’s so mind-numbing.

I’m sad. It’s not anger that compels me, but sadness and disappointment. I’ve been a fan for nearly 15 years and my original post came from lamentations about outgrowing an artist I once respected.  Granted, I might have been angry while writing that post (sue me about it).  

 I do respect Taylor Swift’s work enough to criticize it, however, do not twist my words to mean that as an attack on her personally. I do not wish harm to other human beings, yet it is worth noting that I talk in many other posts about my disgust towards her immoral actions. Even still, most of my posts about Taylor Swift are linguistic or literary criticisms meant to help me process this absolute let-down of an album. I’m also just practicing my literary criticism abilities (I start Grad School in like 2 months, so I’m trying to keep my skills sharp). It’s all low-stakes.  And, you’re mad at me? You think I’m being mean? Why? You think that I’m “being an ass to a girl [I’ve] never met”? (para. 8). Taylor Swift is not a girl, first of all, she is older than me and I’m a grown woman. She is way richer, and way more powerful too. What is your point? 

Let’s talk about the next line in question: “What is the point of you fixating on the misuse of ‘soliloquy’? What did it bring to others?” I’m fixating on the term soliloquy because Taylor Swift has been using this faux literary/ dark academia aesthetic to sell her records for years now. She’s wears “my coat” (if you catch my meaning). She’s using my real-life study as a way to sell shoddy, sloppy records. I’m going to call that out. Despite her using all the aesthetics of academia, she’s not intelligent enough to even just use the term soliloquy correctly. I noticed it right away, and so did many others. If she can’t even get small details correct about literature, why should I believe that she even knows anything about literature at all? It destroys her creditability. I’ve taught students the term ‘soliloquy” as high school kids. It’s not too much to ask for the biggest pop star in the world, and someone who claims the title of “good” writer, to teach herself what a soliloquy actually is before using it in a song just because it sounds similar to “sanctimonious.” If it’s wrong, she’s just wrong. She could have hired an editor. Now, I won’t go into the context of the line here, too much, but the whole line is her calling her audience a bunch of sanctimonious morons who are talking to themselves. (Is Taylor Swift playing nice enough for you? I wonder....)  

Let’s move on. 

Now, let’s talk about your concept of “inclination of a philosopher.” 

You are correct in saying that often teaching Philosophy varies remarkably from country to country. I was weaned on the analytic philosophy, whereas I believe the French are more continental. (Correct me if I am wrong.) So, the effect of this is that I am obviously quite blunt and fond of Aristotelian logic. Who doesn’t love a good syllogism? A funky little linguistic proof? Yes? Still, I must remind you that I wasn’t really making an argumentative point about actual philosophy in relation to Taylor Swift.  

To the crux of the issue, however, I must say that I was actually showing the inclination of philosophy by correcting the intrinsic flaws of the songs I disliked so much. What is philosophy if not the spirit of seeking truth and wisdom? Critique and analyzing poetical works often tie directly into the philosophical field of aesthetics wherein the goal is true, fruitful, understanding on how literary devices and aesthetic representation actually function. If anything is also in effort of seeking truth, surely, you see that critique and correction is? And asking for better workmanship? I was only mad, because mining Taylor Swift work for aesthetic meaning is like searching for Gold in a parking lot. : (  

Next point: “to anyone with a sense of philosophy, it just looks like you’re a student who never understood the works they read, and focused on grades and others’ approbation instead.” 

First of all, this is rude. You don’t know me. You read my honest, brief anger, that I managed to condense into a couple lines in one single tumblr post, and that gives you the audacity to say I’m a bad student who sought grades above all else? Yeahhhhhhhhhhhhhhh................. Okay, tell me why I spent hours in study rooms and sent countless emails begging for guidance through things I didn’t understand. Tell me why, I’ve stood in front of people and blatantly admitted that I did not understand the readings. Learning takes time, and there is no shame in taking your time. Grades are just letters. What matters is how the strength of what you learn impacts how you act in life. I’ve learned my lessons with all the ferocity of a child falling down a hill and running back up it again. I know my own intentions, and you don’t. I mentioned my "A" in the post really just to lend credibility, through professorial authority (lol), to the fact that I think Taylor Swift is fake smart.

Next: SocRaTeS? You're Joking! What is he doing here?

In an eternal quest for my own understanding, I often returned to Socrates. Did you not see my profile picture? Socrates is my homeboy. If ever I get to choose how to die, I will die like Socrates. Willingly, and with a full-bodied credulity of my own philosophical stances.  

You say, “Think about Socrates for a while. He asks questions, he makes simple arguments.” First, he does not make simple arguments. Is it not a syllogism? He writes full dialectical structures. This is some of the most complex stuff I have ever read. Let’s talk about why: Over the centuries, we’ve come to call it the Socratic method. This method includes discursive questions meant to make people question not only others on their reality but to question the most internal mechanisms of the mind. It asks them to think about why we believe or hold the beliefs that we do. He, famously, likens it to a child's development in the womb. The questions are meant as an external way to engage with mechanistic development of thought itself- thus we untangle the dangerous thread of rhetoric internal to our own rational minds. It’s a type of meta-analysis of the self-more than it a simple game of question and answer. Like children from the womb, according to Socrates, we must develop our rational minds too. And, above all else, the Socratic method seeks truth.  

Socrates would approve of my literary criticism of Taylor Swift, because I am using it to seek a higher truth. And, in some way, I am inversely questioning my own reasons for seeking what I do. I enjoy poems for a reason. I like to ask myself why I like what I do, and what meaning it brings through my unique perspective. (Applied to others as well, I love to hear from others). I critique Taylor Swift not because I hate her, but because I want to engage with the aesthetic qualities of the material world that elevate my ability to empathize, to think, to engage, to feel the world around me. I love art. I love reading, I want people to write with intelligence. You know then, the soul-crushing feeling of realizing an artist is actually bad. She rhymed Aristotle with Grand Thef Auto... Socrates himself would shudder. Socrates would also recognize that aesthetic quality ought to undergo critique and beauty interrelates to moral value. He was of the belief, and I dare say I believe it too, that beauty, aesthetic beauty, can be likened to moral value through the identification of ways in which it reveals the truth of our very souls. To him engaging with aesthetics is one way in which to reach out and connect the metaphysical to the material, in such awe-inspiring ways.

Ever been moved to tears by a painting? I have, but the question is WHY? That is why I critique literature, poetry, art... music. Whatever I can get my hands on really. I really want to find out, WHY? why was I crying in the Art Gallery, right next to the ice cream shop and everything.

 You are perhaps right that I could make more of an effort to explain my points, and also the "moral of the story" or what I hope other people will take away from what I wrote. I’m only ever critical of something if I care enough to either love it or wish it was better so that I could love it. To be honest, I didn't think anyone would read my silly vent post about Taylor Swift, but here we are. I could do better. I usually save my real efforts for my published work, though.

And you, my dearest colleague, are apparently spineless. If your conviction on philosophy is that we must all be kind and precious to each other for fear of causing offense, then I think your career will sink like a rock. Socrates was mean as hell, though not spiteful or malicious. He was mean in the sense of asking people to take a good, long hard look in the mirror. I would ask Taylor Swift to look in the mirror too, but she has a whole song about how she’s not going to do that (Anti-Hero). As you see, I hope that I am not spiteful either. But I do want people to be better and make better art. Socrates would say the same. I say what I say and I mean it. Because I am desperate for something true and beautiful and real. There is no one on earth above reproach. There is no school of philosophy which suggests passivity is tantamount to intelligence. I will not be passive.  

You say: “Make it palatable to others. Be humble” 

How’s this for palatable: No <3. Why diminish myself? Why should I obfuscate and dance around my own hard-won intellectual skill? Why should I dumb it down? It is not egotistical of me to use my own skillset. Does a doctor not save lives? Do they apologize for using their skills? Does a mechanic not do the same? Does the poet not also do the same? What of the critic?  

I can be humble, though. Humility is being self-aware enough to recognize that some might have a skillset more advanced than your own. I seek guidance and consistently challenge myself in academic endeavors. I can recognize the authority others have just as well as I can recognize my own authority. I will not, however, shrink down because you think I’m being too know-it-all-y.  

Humility does not require that I speak only when choking back apologies for the audacity I have to speak. I am not sorry. I spent the last 6 years of my life working on two degrees while working 3 jobs. It was hard. I’m proud of myself. If someone feels upset that I speak about the field of study I have fought to participate in, well, I genuinely don’t know what to tell them. Intellect is not a threat (to most). I would say, “if you have a question, ask it.” I actually am very friendly despite my sharp tongue. I am a teacher to my bones <3 and I love my job.  

Anyway, if I missed any of your points, misrepresented them, or offended you greatly- my inbox is always open. And I love a good, well-structured argument. However, next time can we talk about actual philosophy instead of you just attacking my character, thanks. <3 Obviously, I took offense. I think you meant to offend me though, for whatever reason. Really, I did go back and crack open a few books to write this, double check some things, so thank you.

Did you get your graduate degree in America? Would love to know. I am planning on getting another Master’s after I am done with this first one. I want to study aesthetics ( LOL).  

Ps. Why can’t people show off? I love when people have a talent that they aren’t afraid to share.

[greatqueenanna]

I will be updating the Frozen 3 news post soon, but wanted to throw in some thoughts regarding the new info.

So, firstly, I’m happy that the film is being delayed to 2027. That may sound shocking, but this is a big relief to me. The first two films both suffered from trying to meet a deadline, and the creators (this is probably more on the company though) refusing to delay and give themselves more time. Thus, both films have rushed elements.

It gives me hope that not only is the story being written into two films, but now they are giving themselves even more time to polish it. Especially concerning the sheer amount of story content that they want to explore— and it’s a lot.

I’ve condensed all of the questions brought on during the announcement into 5 major sections, all concerning a specific idea.

*Quick Edit* I moved the question about the Frozen Heart down from More Ahtohallan Lore to the Prince Hans section because that was always more associated with Hans, so I thought it would be more appropriate to have under that section instead.

First Major Plot Point — More Ahtohallan Lore

Why Ahtohallan has castle ruins inside of it.

The previous Fifth Spirit.

Where did the Spirits come from?

Second Major Plot Point — Elsa’s Powers

Why are her powers still growing?

Who gave her the powers?

How are her creations, like Olaf, alive?

Why doesn’t Anna have powers?

Third Major Plot Point — Arendelle Royalty

How is Anna doing as Queen?

Is Kristoff going to become King?

Are Anna and Kristoff interested in having kids?

Fourth Major Plot Point — Kristoff’s Past

Where are Kristoff’s parents?

How did Kristoff meet Sven?

Why is Sven still full of energy if he’s so old?

Fifth Major Plot Point — Prince Hans

What happened to Hans?

Who exactly is the Frozen Heart?

With all this in mind, on the concept art, not only do we see people in the castle above the sisters, we also see an ominous, viking-like shadow behind Anna and Elsa — meaning that if these are new characters, then that means that we have a giant cast at the moment.

Elsa

Anna

Kristoff

Sven

Olaf

Mattias

Yelena

Honeymaren

Ryder

Hans

Viking Shadow Guy

Castle People

Like….they’re doing the “Too much stuff, not enough space” thing again and I’m genuinely concerned haha. Thus, the delay and split into two films is a smart move. But why not just make a show? Like this screams series. Idk haha.

Also, there are a few things here that I actually thought were answered already — like, who gave Elsa her powers? Ahtohallan because of Iduna’s sacrifice. Why doesn’t Anna have powers? She’s the human side of the Fifth Spirit. But I suppose that F2 wasn’t exactly clear on these things, so maybe they want to better explore these ideas and clear up some misconceptions. Makes sense I suppose.

Also, the fact that they’re asking if Kristoff will be King or not is giving me some validation lol. I always said that Kristoff would be called a King and not Prince Consort and so far it looks like they’re considering the King title and not anything else. But we’ll see haha.

Now I’m curious what you guys think. Poll time.

[multifandomfanficss]

Home Is Wherever You Are P1

Adrian Chase/Vigilante x Reader

With a very heavy emphasis on platonic!Christopher Smith/Peacemaker

Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7

Adrian Chase Masterlist

Prompt: You jump in front of an explosive device to protect Adrian from the blast and end up getting separated from him with no way back.

Warnings: mentions of trafficking, mentions of child abuse, panic, meltdown, crying, divorce, mentions of August Smith, cannon typical Peacemaker violence and language

A/N: In July I started cooking up a new idea with the help of my friend @countlambula and what was originally meant to be a 2 parter moved to a 4 parter and somehow I ended with 7 parts?! Not quite sure how that happened! I’m very excited to share what I spent a huge part of my summer working on. I hope you guys enjoy!! Also despite the main ship being Adrian x Reader there is A LOT of platonic!Chris content in this fic so I really do hope Chris fans can read and enjoy this! I loved getting into the thick of Chris’ backstory for this! All of the 11th Street Kids have their own importance in this series, but it is very Adrian and Chris centric. Please enjoy!!

“I love you.” You sighed in relaxation, smiling as you were gently woken up by your boyfriend.

“Well somebody has to.” Adrian joked.

“Shut up!” You lightly hit him on the chest, laughing.

“Never.” He smiles, kissing you. You could look at his beautiful, infectious smile for hours. Your phones both buzz at the same time, an indication that it’s probably a text in the 11th Street Kids chat because you both got it.

“Didn’t we just get home from a mission?” You groan.

“There’s no time to rest for super badass super cool heroes, babe.” Adrian kisses you on the cheek quickly before getting out of bed.

“Okay, but if we have to pair up there is no way in hell I’m going with Chris again. Last time he told me I looked like his sexy babysitter growing up. Like who the fuck says that? Our lives aren’t some shitty porno and it’s almost like he doesn’t even give a fuck that we’re dating.” You sigh.

“Yeah he constantly tells me that you’re way out of my league. I think his exact words were I’m in little league and you’re on major leagues, but I don’t know. I was never on the bowling team.”

“I think he meant baseball, honey.” You smile at him, finding his little knowledge of sports cute.

“That might actually make more sense with his home run and base metaphors! It took me way too long to figure out what that shit meant. Why can’t people just say what they mean?” He questions.

“Because they’re trying too hard to sound smart. I think sometimes not saying things they actually mean, but understanding that’s not exactly what they meant makes them feel smarter. They don’t know lots of facts like you do and they definitely can’t come up with intricate strategies either.” You smile at him, taking his hand in yours. You watch his smile grow, but there’s something more behind his eyes. He seems moved.

“How do you always do that?” He asks.

“What?”

“How do you always make me feel so smart and validated?” He clarifies.

“Because you are smart. You’re a hell of a lot smarter than Chris and if anyone gave you a second and actually listened to you, they’d realize that. You helped save the world last year. There’s no way they could have done that without you. If it weren’t for you, Chris’ dad probably would have killed him that day, honestly.” As you speak Adrian starts to realize.

“I tried to tell Peacemaker about the gaps in the armor, but he didn’t listen.” He reminds you.

“Well that’s because he’s too deep in his own bullshit to see past it. He should have listened to you, but this isn’t just about him being stubborn. I don’t think most people would have noticed such a small detail like that. Give yourself some credit.” You kiss him again.

“You know you’re like everything to me right? I’ve never felt this way about a person before. Don’t get me wrong, I’ve had feelings for other people, but like…it’s like I just never fit in as a kid. I just kinda felt like an alien who crash landed here as a baby and I know I’m not, but I just didn’t feel human. You make me feel human.” He’s giving you that look he gives people when he’s worried he’s said something a little too out of pocket or strange.

“I get what you mean. It’s almost like we were made for each other. We’re each other’s rocks…wait does that sound too cheesy?” You look at him, blushing.

“No! I love rocks! I had a rock collection when I was a little kid!” You giggle at how cute he is.

“Me too! My mom would find rocks in the machine every time she did laundry because I would stuff my pockets!” You tell him and you both laugh. Then your phones go off again, interrupting your good morning. You sigh. “Harcourt’s gonna kill us if we’re late.” You kiss him one more time before getting out of bed and heading to the shower.

“Let her kill us.” He laughs, smirking, following you to the shower.

Several hours later you found yourself sneaking through a warehouse. You didn’t quite know what to expect, you just knew a lot of people had gone missing at the hands of this guy. You figured maybe they were being killed off or trafficked. If you knew what you know now maybe you would have done things differently. Maybe you wouldn’t have even done them at all. You wished you were at home with Adrian. Adrian. You may never see him again…

You were running after the guy when he pulled a grenade on you. Adrian had survived a grenade once, but you didn’t think he would survive again. You on the other hand were testing out new armor from ARGUS that could probably withstand the blast, so you did what anyone would do for the person they love the most. You pushed him out of the way. Your ears were ringing and everything was so bright. You think you hear Adrian and maybe some of your other teammates screaming your name, but you’re not sure. Suddenly you’re on the ground, but the ground is different… you try to open your eyes, but they’re still strained from the bright light and now you feel lightheaded and nauseous. You black out.

You wake up to arms shaking you.

“Adrian?” You question in a whiney tone. You open your eyes to find a construction worker looking over you.

“I don’t know who that is. What even happened to you?“ You blinked a couple times, moving around slowly, getting your bearings. “You’re in my construction site for the new factory warehouse that’s going up. What happened? Did you slip down the dirt mound and hit your head?”

“I- I must have…” Your voice trails off as you try to make sense of everything.

“This is going to be so much paperwork.” The worker sighs.

“I’m sorry… what town am I in?” You ask.

“Evergreen, Washington.”

“I don’t remember there being any big construction sites like this recently.” You try to think of any signs indicating any recent work sites.

“We just broke ground yesterday. I’m surprised you didn’t see it on the news.” The worker helps you up.

“I don’t tend to watch the news. My boyfriend thinks it’s depressing. I usually get my news elsewhere, but I’ve been a little busy to read up on it in the past few days.” You smile at the worker, thinking of Adrian.

“Like the newspaper?” He asks.

“No, online.”

“On what? You wait in line?”

“No… like the internet…” You give him a confused smile.

“Oh, I don’t mess with that new stuff. I don’t want robots in my house, stealing my information. You young people always just want things faster, faster, faster.” You tried to refrain from giving the man an odd look. He’s probably from one of the more rural areas. You knew how radically conservative Evergreen could be at first hand, having met Chris’ dad and been told stories of how he grew up. You were just happy Chris’ dad was dead. As awful as that sounds you’d hate to run into him.

“Yeah…” You give a nervous laugh. “Well thank you, but I should probably head out before your supervisor notices.” You quickly excuse yourself, walking down the street. You pulled out your phone, but had no service, so you put it away. That’s odd. Usually there’s dead zones in town, but you didn’t think it was this bad. As you walk down the street you see a beautiful vintage car parked by the side of the road. It’s in pretty good condition.

“I love your vintage car! What year is it?” You ask the woman getting out of it.

“What this clunker? I got it from my parents. It’s only an 81, but I guess it’s getting old now. It’s got tons of miles on it. They just got a new car, so they gave me their old one.” She says, locking her door.

“They didn’t wanna keep it?” You ask in shock.

“Why would they? It’s old.” You look at her in confusion before she excuses herself to walk into the grocery store. Guess some people just don’t know the value of collectibles.

Today has been fucking weird. How did you even end up in that construction site anyway? You must have gone for a walk this morning and fell in, but it’s a little alarming you don’t remember. You could walk home, but it’s just so far. You walk into a nearby corner store hopping they have wifi to connect to. You couldn’t call Adrian without service, but maybe if you could get wifi you could get him a message to come pick you up or you could order an Uber.

You walked into the building and made your way up to the counter. “Hi, do you have wifi here?” You ask.

“No, sorry we don’t sell that.” The teenage cashier dismisses you and goes back to the pad of paper they’re doodling on.

“Okay… do you know anywhere near here that has wifi?” You ask.

“I don’t even know what wifi is. I could call the hardware store and see if they have some.” They look at you like you’re the stupid one.

“What do you mean call the hardware store?”

“We have a phone behind the counter.”

“How do you not know what wifi is? Wireless internet?” You stare at them, losing your mind a bit.

“You think we have a computer here? This is Evergreen. Half the town is poor as shit. You’re not gonna find a computer in a gas station. Go to the library. They just got another one.” The teenager rolls their eyes at you.

“Can I at least use your phone?” You ask, trying to keep your patients with the idiot in front of you. How do they not know what wifi is?

“You have to use the pay phone next door. My boss said this is a business only phone.”

“The pay phone… What is this? 1985? I didn’t even know pay phones still existed.”

“Well some of us again can’t afford a cellphone. Not to mention, my mom says they fuck with your brain.” They roll their eyes again.

“It’s the 21st century who cares what their mother says? Practically everyone has a phone?” You give them a strange look.

“I don’t know what you smoked before you walked in here, but you’re still half a decade away from the 21st century.”

“What the fuck are you talking about?” You look at them dumbfounded before it all starts to register. The comments about the internet being new, no wifi, no cellphones, the vintage car. You feel your ears start to ring as your eyes begin to tear up. You feel like you’re underwater. You take off, booking it down several blocks. You’re out of breath and you have a cramp, but you don’t care. You keep running. You’re sweating, but you keep running. You can taste metal in your mouth, but you keep running. You keep going. You have to. Finally you reach it. You stand in front of the building, catching your breath as you watch people walk in and out of Henelotter Video. Your heart is in your throat.

“No…” You look at it and begin to cry in shock at what was once your headquarters… or you guess what will one day be… That day hasn’t come yet. You walk over to a newspaper box and grab a free local paper. You see the date says August 31st, 1994. Fuck. You drop the paper, rushing to the back of the building. You collapse on the ground against the back wall of a building that should feel more familiar to you than it is. You remember now. The grenade must have been some sort of weaponized time travel. The people weren’t being killed or trafficked. They were being displaced in time. You sob quietly, not trying to cause a scene. This wasn’t supposed to be this way.

You lean against the building staring out at the parking lot, the parking lot where you shared your first kiss with Adrian. You had just gotten back from a mission that he was a little too reckless on and you needed to tell him how you felt in case you never got the chance again. You look over at the dumpster, clean of the graffiti it will one day be littered with. That was the dumpster he was hiding behind when you first met him as Vigilante.

Adrian… You may never get to see your perfect boyfriend again. He was by no means actually perfect, but he was perfect to you. He was your personal version of perfect and you knew you’d never find anyone else like him again. Now you may never see him again…

You cry until it starts to grow dark. You wonder about what you’ll do. Anything you do could change the future. What if changing the future makes it so you never meet Adrian or what if you change something and it branches off into a different future and you get stuck away from him in a parallel universe? You’re not a time travel scientist. Anything could fucking happen! The only thing you do know is that you’re alone and it’s getting dark. If you’re getting your timeline right, Chris’ dad would be coming out soon with his awful fucking army and you knew if they tried to fight you, you wouldn’t be able to take all of them on your own. They rule the streets in these years. You pull out your wallet from your pocket to find you have enough money to at least go get dinner. Your debit card won’t work, but you have just enough cash. You head to Fennel Fields because you knew it would probably be the only consistent thing left in town. You just wanted something familiar.

As you’re seated, an overwhelmed waitress rushes past you saying “I’ll be right with you!”

“Take your time. I practically have all the time in the world… like 30 years of time…” You whisper the last part under your breath. The overworked waitress runs back to you and apologizes.

“Hi, my name is Diane. Can I get you something to drink?” You want to order a soda, but decide against it to save money.

“Uh… I guess water will have to be fine.”

“You don’t look so sure. It’s free refills.” She smiles at you.

“I- I’m okay…” You stutter, tired. You could really use the caffeine, but shouldn’t.

“Well if you could have any pop in the machine which one would you pick?” She asks.

“I’m really fine with water…” You laugh nervously.

“Just humor me.” She smiles at you.

“Uh…maybe a Diet Coke…” You smile shyly at her. She leaves and comes back with a Diet Coke.

“On the house.” She smiles at you again. Something about her is so comforting.

“Oh, no. I couldn’t possibly-“

“Take it. You look like you’ve had a long day. I know I have.” She smiles at you.

“You’re very kind.” You smile back, taking a sip, letting the cool bubbly liquid trickle down your throat, which is sore from crying.

“Now what are we doing for food?” She asks.

“Uh…I’m gonna be really honest with you. I know most restaurants won’t let you order a kids meal if you’re over 12, but I’m really tight on cash, so I was hoping to maybe get the chicken tenders and fries?” You try your luck and she gives you another comforting smile.

“Great choice. I’ll go have the kitchen whip it up.” She walks away without any other questions.

You stay and eat at the restaurant for a while. Even long after you’re done, you stay and enjoy more free refills just so you’re not out on the streets.

“You know we’re technically closed right?” Your waitress, Diane asks.

“Oh! I’m sorry. I’ll leave…” You start to collect your things as she begins to sit at your booth with a bin of silverware and some napkins.

“No, please stay. Mind if I join you?” She asks.

“Um…no.” You smile. “I don’t mind at all.” Truth be told you loved Diane. She had such a comfortable, familiar air around her. Even in all of this chaos, she felt like someone you could trust. She starts rolling silverware as you sip on your drink.

“So what’s your story? Are you running or were you kicked out?” She asks.

“What?” You look at her confused.

“You just look scared and tired and like you’re not quite sure what to do. It’s none of my business, but you just look like you need someone on your side is all.” She smiles again, hoping she didn’t overstep.

“Why were you so kind to me? I walked into this restaurant with thirteen dollars to my name and you didn’t even roll an eye at me.” You question her.

“Just doing what I think is right, I suppose. It’s been hard for me too lately. My husband just left, so I picked up this second job to make sure my kids will be alright.” You shoot her a sympathetic look.

“Um…kicked out…I guess….” You open up. Being exiled from your time period is sort of like being kicked out.

“Do you have anywhere to go?” She asks. You shake your head silently. She finishes rolling the last bit of silverware before standing up and putting the bin behind the counter nearby.

“Let’s go. I’m taking you home with me.” She smiles.

“Oh, no! I- I couldn’t possibly-“

“Yes, you can and you will. I’m a mother. I’m not going to let a young adult with nowhere to go and no money sleep on the streets.” She cuts you off. She couldn’t be too much older than you, but clearly motherhood had aged her.

“You don’t even know my name!” You protest.

“What’s your name?” She asks.

“Rey” You panicked. It was the first name to come to your head. You and Adrian had watched Star Wars yesterday.

“Well then, Rey, let’s go home.” She insists.

“I can’t just stay in your house. That’d be rude.” You continue to debate.

“Then work for me.” She says.

“What?” You question her.

“I’ve been wanting to hire a nanny, but haven’t been able to afford one. If you come stay at my place, while you’re there you could watch the boys when I’m at work and in return you would have a roof over your head and food to eat. It sounds like a win-win situation.” She proposes. It isn’t a bad idea. You worry doing just about anything else would have an insane impact on the timeline. How much could one family affect everything?

“Are you sure about this?” You ask.

“More than sure. There’s something about you. You just seem…right.” She tells you. You smile.

“Okay…let’s go home then I guess…” you say as you follow her out of the restaurant. On the drive home she tells you about her kids.

“I have two kids…officially…” She starts.

“What do you mean officially?” You ask as you watch the passing streetlights illuminate her face.

“Well my son’s friend is always over, so more often than not it’ll probably be three boys. I let him sleepover a lot even though he’s a handful because every time he sleeps at home he comes back the next day with bruises. I can’t do anything about it because…well…that’s just how the town is…I think if I said anything things would just get worse, so I keep my mouth shut and put out an extra table setting for supper.” Her hands tighten on the steering wheel as she speaks.

“That’s so awful. I’ll never be able to understand parents who do that to their kids.” You sigh.

“Me either. If anyone laid a finger on either of my boys I’d kill them.” Most moms would be exaggerating, but you saw fire behind her eyes. You knew she loved her kids and she wasn’t fucking around. When you get home and walk inside you see a toddler with tight brown curls running around the living room in nothing, but a diaper.

“Dorian?!” Diane yells through the house. She catches the giggling toddler who has food on his face.

“Dorian Gut Chase! I told you your brother had to be in bed by 8!” Diane starts to scold her son who could be heard from the other room playing video games. Oh fuck.

“I’m sorry. Can you please hold Adrian. I don’t want him getting into anything else before bed and it seems like Dorian and Chris are upstairs killing aliens on the Super Nintendo instead of watching him, which is why I need a nanny in the first place.” She shoves Adrian in your hands. Holy fuck.

“Hi.” You hold him stiffly in your hands.

“I’m Adrian! I’m three!” He tells you just about the only thing every toddler is trained to say upon meeting a new person, shoving 3 fingers in your face.

“I know.” You say back. That’s probably not what you’re supposed to tell a three year old when they introduce themselves, but it’s not like he’ll remember anyway. You’re too in shock to care.

“What’s- what’s- what is your name?” He asks, stuttering out the words, obviously new to keeping up conversations.

“Rey, could you bring Adrian upstairs to help get him ready for bed please?” Diane calls and you remember you told her your name was Rey. Fuck if only baby Adrian could catch the joke in all of this. This is so weird on so many levels.

“I’m Rey, I guess, and we’re going upstairs now.” You tell him.

“Is it bedtime?” He asks.

“Um yeah. You’re up a little late, bud.”

“It’s not late!” He protests in his squeaky voice.

“What makes you think it’s not late?” You ask, as you walk up the stairs.

“I’m not tired!” He says.

“What time do you think it is?” You ask.

“Um 2- 2- 27” He giggles.

“That’s not a time!” You laugh at him, pretending to almost drop him. He breaks out into a fit of giggles. You had almost forgotten who you were holding.

“You’re really good with him. It’s almost like you’re a natural. He’s usually not this happy with strangers. He loves you!” She says, pleasantly surprised. If only somebody else could see the irony in the situation. Freud would love to be a fly on the way during all of this.

“Oh…uh…thanks.” You smile, as Adrian situates himself in your arms, hugging you closely. You would do anything to have Adrian back. Well this is sort of Adrian, but… you wish you had the older version. You wanted your Adrian back.

“I’ll take him from here.” Diane offers. “Check out the guest room. It’s the one at the end of the hall.” She says, taking Adrian from you.

“Thank you. You’ve been really kind.” You smile at her.

“It’s no trouble. You’re doing me a favor.”

You bid your goodnights and head to the guest room. You sit on the bed and think for a moment. This is so fucked up on so many levels. Forget about how you could fuck up the timeline… How are you gonna fuck up your boyfriend?! Not to mention, what kind of fucking ethics are involved in nannying your future boyfriend? He’s fucking three! He’s impressionable! On one hand this is weird, but on the other hand it might be your smartest move. Free room, free food, and you know how Adrian, Gut, and Chris’ lives are supposed to play out, so maybe you can stick to the script of your own timeline a little easier. This might be the easiest way to change as little as possible. You sigh, flopping onto the bed. You pull out your phone. The battery is only half charged and you have no way of charging it, but you don’t care. You need him. You pull up a picture of him that you took this morning in the van on your way to the warehouse, as tears come to your eyes. You open your voicemails and play one he left for you the other day.

“Hey babe, it’s me. I’m just calling because I know you had a bad day today and I was thinking maybe I could bring takeout home from the restaurant and we could just have a movie night? I just wanted to know if you were feeling chicken parm or meatballs or if you wanted to just scratch dinners and have me bring home a pizza. Just call me back when you get this. I’m really proud of you- uh…not that I’m not always proud of you. I’m like totally proud of you all the time and I’m rambling again and this voicemail is about to be like 10 years long, so uh bye I love you.” As soon as the voicemail ended you played it again, letting your tears fall freely. After you’re sure everyone is asleep you sneak into toddler Adrian’s room to check on him. He’s fast asleep in his bed. You let your silent tears continue to fall. He starts to move in his sleep. He seems distraught like he could be having a nightmare.

“It’s okay. I’m gonna take really good care of you, just like how you always take really good care of me.” You put on a teary eyed smile, giving him a kiss on the top of his head and adjusting his fallen blanket to cover him better. He seems to look more comfortable now. He stays fast asleep as you sneak back to the guest room for the night.

[strawburry01]

That's Not Me

Summary: Reader and Angus listen to your record collection and bond over music and parent problems (it's not very deep)

word count: 2k

Authors Note: this is actually the first stuff I've ever put on tumblr and I've currently been working on this as I'm insanely doped up on wisdom teeth painkillers so sorry if it reads weird. I'm trying to start writing more in general n shit so you have any weirdly niche or specific scenarios or desires pls just shout em out (i see you, you're valid). ALSO: Walk with me here, you're telling me Angus Tully wouldn't be a big fan of the Beach Boys? I know this sad ass mfer would eat Pet Sounds up. It's a short album, do yourself a favor n listen to it (or at least check out the songs I took the blrubs from for this) cause it's some GOOD STUFF. That's all.

You stood over the lone dresser in your room. Your prized possession of a small record player balanced precariously on top of it with your stack of records spread out across the rest of the top. You’d been collecting records even since your first year at St. Mary’s, despite the rules against it that the sisters there tried to enforce at every opportunity.

But they had left you here, alone, at Barton so it’s not like they could complain about it now. Nobody was even here besides you, that odd Professor Hunham, the sweet chef Mary, and that Angus Tully boy. It had been a few days since the rest of the boys had been picked up in a helicopter, leaving the four of you to the echoing halls of the empty school. 

You plucked the new Fleetwood Mac album out of your pile and slipped it onto the turntable before placing the needle gently down onto the black vinyl. Stevie Nick’s smooth vocals began to tinny out of the small record as you tapped your foot to the song as you continued to rifle through your stack of records. 

Your parents had left you to stay at St. Mary’s for break as they were stuck on some business venture in Germany. A pro of these trips, they funded your buying habits in exchange for your passive agreement when it came to these sorts of holidays. You missed the days when you were so young they had to just drag you along everywhere they went. You felt like a real family then. Now it just felt like you were a burden to them- another person for them to give their money to. 

“Where’d you get that?” a voice asked from the doorway, startling you out of your thoughts. You quickly swing to the doorway, still gripping the empty sleeve of Fleetwood Mac. Luckily, or perhaps unluckily, it was just the lanky figure of Angus, eyeing you with his arms folded. 

“Ever heard of knocking, ya’ prick?” you said, rolling your eyes as you turned back to the music.

“Where’d you get the record player?” he asked again, taking a step into the room. You shrug, keeping your focus on the records and not Angus deciding to invite himself in.

“I stole it from the confiscation closet at St. Mary’s”.

“Really?” he said in shock, almost impressed.

“No, of course I bought it you weirdo” you laughed. He looked much less impressed. “I bought the record player with my own money from working at the pool over the summer, but my parents have given me money for most of these records” you explain, gesturing to the stack. Angus took a spot right next to you, his air of cigarettes and old book pages wafting by you. He stands silently as he begins looking at each record. For him previously having taken every chance for a smart-ass comment at your expense, his silence was a welcome change. For a few minutes the two of you just stood, side by side, flipping over albums and making hums of approval.

“You have Pet Sounds!” Angus said, perking up, as he picked up The Beach Boys album. You can’t help but look over at him. The corners of his mouth are actually pricked up for once, like he’s actually happy.

“You like the Beach Boys?” you asked. He glances over in your direction with his big brown eyes with an incredulous eyebrow raised, in disbelief you would question such things. You can’t help but feel your stomach flip. Honestly how dare someone so annoying be graced with such eyes.

“Why wouldn’t I? They’re really good” he said as he turned back to the album, “d’ya think you can play it?” he asked as he handed it over. You take the album and slide the vinyl out as you place it onto the tabletop. Angus takes a seat at the foot of your bed, his hands shoved into his jacket pockets.

“Make yourself at home” you sarcastically said as you started the record, before leaning against the dresser, facing the bed. He laughs.

“Such a generous host” he quips as Wouldn’t it Be Nice starts playing from the album. The song seems to zone him out as he stares into the wall behind you, gently nodding along to the music. 

Wouldn't it be nice if we were older? Then we wouldn't have to wait so long

“What are you still doing up?” you ask, breaking him out of his trance. It was almost midnight, and Hunham would certainly kill you both if he caught wind of you two conspiring. 

“What are you still doing up?” Angus retorted, “it’s not very St. Mary’s of you to be up late listening to such devilish music” he mocked, waggling his fingers in the air for effect. You can’t help but laugh. He loved acting like your hijinks were an act against God ever since you’d been moved over for the break, all just because you went to St. Mary’s. 

“Oh please, the sisters have started praying for my ears because I listen to anything with a guitar,” you say as you swat at him. “They found my single Johnny Cash album and made me clean the dishes for a week to learn…something”. Angus snorted at that and shook his head as the next song faded in from the speakers.

“How have you not gotten kicked out yet?” he asked, “it seems like you just hate it there”. You half heartedly shrug and sit on the corner of the bed he isn’t occupying, your legs graze each other before he quickly moves it closer to his side. You’d be lying if you said your breath didn’t catch in your throat a little. It was a weird experience- being stuck in such close quarters with someone for about a week now. You had both started throwing crumpled up notes to each other during the mandatory class/detention time Hunham prescribed to you both. Most of the notes were just complaining about the situation, how cold it was, how bad Hunham smelled, how hungry you were, how much you wished you were both anywhere else. You drew Angus back a beautiful stick-figure masterpiece of the two of you laying on a beach, although he got pretty mad at how dramatically messy you’d made his hair.

 He would never admit it, but he kept it and used it as a bookmark. 

“I do hate it, but my parents have moved heaven ‘n hell to keep me there, so I’ve kind of just given up on getting out” you said as you looked down at your feet, swinging back and forth above the floor. He silently nodded, sitting with it for a moment before adding.

“My parents are just waiting for me to mess up so they can send me away” he said quietly, suddenly having a vulnerable air about him. He’d never brought this up before to you. Sure he was a bit of a prick, but he didn’t deserve to get sent off to another school just for being annoying sometimes. He balled his fist in an anxious tic on his knee, and before you can stop yourself, your hand is on top of his fist to try and calm him, or be there for him, or just show him he’s not alone, or maybe you did just secretly want to hold his hand, somewhere deep down.

“It’ll be okay” you respond back, softly. You both freeze at your hand resting on top of his. Everything goes silent except Brian Wilson’s voice coming from the record.

Being here with you feels so right, We could live forever tonight, Let's not think about tomorrow

He slowly unfurls his fist and gently begins to entwine his fingers with yours, his hands are warm, and vaguely shaky, like he’s ready for you to pull away at a moment's notice and act like this was all him imagining it. You wait a second before you gently lean your head onto his shoulder, the scent of cigarettes strong from his jacket, and you can hear him inhale sharply before realizing you’re not leaving. 

“You don’t have to pity me y’know. I’m an asshole to everyone, I get what I deserve”

“Shut up Angus”

“Okay” he said with a small laugh as he absentmindedly moved his thumb back and forth on your hand for a while before breaking the silence, “d’ya want to, uhm,-” he says before tripping on his words and going silent again. You can’t help but laugh at him getting stuck on his words, truly a first for him. You nudge your head so you’re looking up at him from his shoulder. He stares intently ahead, as if avoiding your eyes. 

“Want to what? Kiss? Do I really have you this nervous?” you tease him which draws a quick reaction from him. He glares down at you before his face softens and he looks away again. 

“So what if you did” he scoffs and suddenly stands, letting your hand go as he heads to the door. 

“Angus wait I’m sorry I didn’t mean it like that-” you say, starting to apologize and follow after him as you stand up. The record skips with an unfortunate scratch before continuing to play. You grab the cuff of his jacket before he can leave.

They say I got brains but they ain't doing me no good, I wish they could

“Angus wait-” you say as you try to pull him back. He turns and suddenly your face is in his hands and his lips are on yours. Before you can react he pulls back and lets you go, leaving him standing in front of you, waiting for your move. 

“I’m going now” he says before turning again to leave the room, acting as if he didn’t just kiss you. You slide by him and slam the door in front of him before he can actually leave. Your back props the door shut as you face him, holding out an accusatory finger.

“No- you’re not just going to kiss me and leave and act like you didn’t just do that” you say, feigning some sense of authority as you look up at him, your finger in his face. His lips twinge upwards again before he goes serious again.

“Should I not have?” he asks, “you were the one who put the idea in my head” he said with a smirk. You jab your accusatory finger closer to his face as you try not to knee him in the crotch right then and there. 

You open your mouth to reply, but before any noise can come out there’s a knock on the door.

“Miss? Everything alright in there?” Hunham asks from the other side of the door. While you stare at Angus in petrified horror for the next few minutes, he can’t help but look rather satisfied with himself. 

“Oh everything’s just fine professor, thanks for your concern!” you answer back, faking a cheerful tone as your eyes never leave Angus’s face, who is failing to conceal his laughing behind his hand, watching you struggle to maintain your cool.

“Mr. Tully doesn’t happen to be in there with you, is he? I noticed his room was empty,” Hunham adds through the door. You stare at Angus’s dumb smirk on his face, scrunched to the side of his face, with his stupid brown eyes looking down at you with a mix of attraction, humor, and misfortune. You grab his jacket collar and pull his face to your level, before swiftly kissing him with the fervor only someone knowing how much trouble they’ll be in for doing so could have. You quickly let go of his jacket and swiftly nudge him back before looking his speechless figure up and down and swinging open the door. 

You fake a large toothy smile for Hunham as you hold your hands in front of you, mustering up any energy you had left for the performance of a lifetime.

“Just showing him my record collection sir. I didn’t realize the Barton boys had such a passion for the music arts” you say, looking over at Angus from over your shoulder to see if he was going to be any help in this. He of course wasn’t and just stayed quiet as he brushed past you to the hallway with Hunham.

“A lovely collection” he murmured in the hallway as he finally made eye contact with you from behind Hunham who shakes his head and sighs.

“I wish you two wouldn’t be slamming doors at midnight, but the music arts is an exciting and important endeavor. Off to bed though, say your goodnights,” he said, as he elbowed Angus, certainly not letting the two of them alone again.

“Night” Angus tells you with his smirk, putting his hands back into his pockets. 

“Goodnight Angus, perhaps we can continue our conversation later tomorrow” you say, leaning against the doorframe with your own smirk looking back at him. Hunham tuts Angus back down the hall but not before he quickly winks at you, and you can only laugh at it all.

[this-sapphic-paradise]

A continuation of this ask plus "what if Alicent saw Rhaenyra kiss Mysaria?"

"What troubles you, my queen?"

Alicent heard the voice as she was walking past a door on the long corridor she had been exploring that morning.

"Is it the dowager queen?"

The question made her pause. The accent of the speaker informed Alicent they were not from Westeros, and the feminine, conservative tone but daring words made it clear that whoever that happened to be was a smart woman.

Inching toward the open door, Alicent was careful to stay quiet and out of sight.

"No. Alicent’s presence here is a boon."

Alicent couldn't help the smile that spread on her lips upon hearing Rhaenyra reinforcing the idea that her presence in Dragonstone was welcomed, however, the second she was able to peek into the room, her smile faltered. Rhaenyra and a lean, brunette with olive skin were standing entirely too close for her liking.

"The Gods often like to hide tricks within their gifts."

Alicent clenched her jaw and balled her hands into fists so she would not pick at her nail beds. She knew most people in Dragonstone merely tolerated her presence, but what had she done to this particular woman to make her speak in such a way?

However, to Alicent’s surprise, Rhaenyra actually laughed—the sound airy, feather light, reverberating on the stone walls. It made Alicent’s hear skip a beat.

"Is there any reason why you wish to make me question the validity of her presence here?"

Rhaenyra was smiling and Alicent watched her take a step closer to the other woman. No, no, no. Alicent knew that smirk, she knew that mischievous stare. She had been on the receiving end of them many times in their youth to not know.

"Are my feelings so outrageous?" The woman asked, smiling back at Rhaenyra as she gently took the queen's hand in hers, drawing gentle patterns on the inner side of her wrist.

The moment was so tender, so intimate it brought tears to Alicent’s eyes, and still, she could not move away.

"What would those feelings be?" Rhaenyra asked quietly, gladly allowing the gentle caress of her wrist to continue.

"Hatred of her family..." Mysaria started, taking another step closer to her queen, bowing her head slightly so Rhaenyra would have to lean in to hear her as she said, "Jealousy of your wandering eyes..."

Alicent's breath hitched in her throat as she watched Rhaenyra place her free hand on Mysaria's waist and search her eyes while offering her that thrice-damned lopsided smile that Alicent always found so endearing.

"Do they not wander back to you?" She asked softly.

Mysaria smiled timidly and Alicent wanted to scream. She wanted to claw at her chest to set free the viper that had so clearly slipped under her skin and wrapped itself around her heart; but instead, all Alicent was able to do was clench her fists on her dress as she forced herself to keep on watching.

"I must confess I have grown unused to sharing," Mysaria said, fleetingly brushing her lips against Rhaenyra's. "But as long as they return to me..."

Rhaenyra grinned and, unwilling to endure her lady's teasing any longer, she leaned down and captured Mysaria's lips in what Alicent could only describe as the most loving and tender kiss she had ever witnessed with her own two eyes.

A sob wrecked through Alicent breaking the spell that had kept her in place. With tears streaming down her cheeks and an unbearable pain in her chest, she ran toward her chambers not caring to check if the queen and her concubine had caught sight of her fleeing.

"Did you hear that?" Rhaenyra asked, breaking the kiss in order to look about them.

Still entirely enamored by her queen, Mysaria guided Rhaenyra's chin back to her, saying, "I did not hear a thing, my queen, but there are certain sounds I'd like to hear you make."

Rhaenyra opened her mouth to speak, but all she could do was blink at Mysaria's brazen words.

Laughing and blushing, Rhaenyra shook her head. "We should take this discussion to my chambers, then."

Grinning, Mysaria led the way. "A most astute decision, my queen."

[nari-writes]

...........

The thing is, Tim doesn’t realise Kon doesn’t know his secret identity until Kon sighs, looks over at him longingly, and says, “Man. You’d be so good at this.”

“Good at what?” he asks, distracted by the plans he’s got spread out in front of him. Bruce wants an update on Lex’s new office, but Tim’s been trying to figure out why the old one has an extra hallway that seems to go nowhere. The last time Lex had a hallway that went ‘nowhere’, Tim and Bart had found a cloning lab.

“All the hero stuff, you know?” Kon says, and Tim blinks. He blinks again, trying to catch up while Kon keeps talking, “Like, you’re super smart, you’re super organised, and you’re totally obsessed with mysteries. You’d make a great Robin.”

“What?” Tim asks, feeling vaguely like he’s been shoved into a mirror dimension. But his undershirt is definitely half-hanging out of his laundry basket, and the R’s on the outside, so he can’t have been transported to an alternate dimension sometime within the last two minutes of conversation. Also, wait! he thinks to himself, he’s literally working on a plan to break into Lex’s building with Conner – why would he be doing that if he wasn’t-?

“Yeah!” Kon says, gaining enthusiasm at Tim’s bafflement, “Dude, you’re awesome. We could totally make a case. Where’s your computer? I bet I could get one of your powerpoints in front of Batman. Reasons why Tim Drake should be Robin, created by Superboy and validated by Young Justice.”

“Is it even my powerpoint if you’re going to take credit on making it?” Tim asks, and Kon waves off the question with one hand.

“Well, we can’t present a biased opinion,” Kon says, “and everyone in Gotham knows Robin’s the coolest, so if it was just from a civilian Batman may not take it seriously.”

Batman may not take it seriously, Tim’s brain repeats to itself, and then Tim has to stop himself from cracking up at the thought of Bruce sitting through a powerpoint on why his current Robin would make a ‘super cool’ Robin.

Presented by Superboy.

“Kon,” he says, unable to hide the laughter in his tone. Of course his friend is trying to joke - what other option is there? That Kon doesn't realise he's Robin? “What are you talking about? I can’t give Batman a presentation on why I should be Robin.”

Kon’s mouth twists in a mulish scowl. “Don’t,” he says, sounding more annoyed than Tim would’ve thought at such a joke, “You’re amazing, Tim. You would make an awesome Robin.”

“I know,” Tim says, and tries to ignore the flip in his stomach at how solemn Kon’s expression is, the way he’s serious about every word. It’s making his face feel hot, that Kon hasn’t immediately dropped the compliments, or paired them with an overly flirtatious wink. “Come on, dude, I get it. What bought this on?”

“It just- it’d be cool to hang out with you at the tower. Or do missions with you,” Kon mumbles and Tim stops entirely.

“Kon,” he says, because before it may have been a weird joke Kon was playing, some sort of ego-boost but he knows Kon well enough to read that expression, and- “Kon, I’m Robin. I can’t get Batman a presentation on why I deserve to have my own position.”

This time it’s Kon’s turn to look shell-shocked. “-what.”

“How did you not know?” Tim asks, feeling pained and also a little bit like a bad friend – had he inadvertently lied about something, made Kon think he and Robin were different people? Was he not clear enough when he’d introduced himself to Conner and Bart and Cassie, that weekend before Jason’s attack on the tower? Did Bart and Cassie also not know? Also, wait, back to his first thought of the day: “Why- why did you think I was helping you plan a break in to Lexcorp?”

“Lex sucks?” Kon says, the words an offering, and Tim squints at him.

“You think a normal civilian would help you commit crime?”

“What! How is this a crime?”

“This is literally breaking and entering! Technically, since I’m Bruce Wayne’s ward, it’d also be considered corporate sabotage.”

“It’s not a crime if the victim sucks,” Kon mutters bitterly, and Tim’s squint gets even more aggressive, brow furrowed.

“Kon. What was your explanation for how I knew you were Superboy?”

Kon shrugs, but his face has steadily been getting more and more closed off as his embarrassment deepens. “Dude, I said you were good at mysteries. I thought you just- figured it out. I wasn’t subtle the first time we met.”

“You didn’t have a name the first time we met!”

“What? Oh-” Kon says, “no, okay, the first time I met you as a civvy?”

"Huh?" Tim asks, and Kon cocks his head to the side.

"Yeah! Remember, it was the Mudders charity thing, and Superman and I volunteered in civvies but that girl got stuck in the mud pits so after I went to get her out you helped me hose off and said 'good job Superboy', and then I freaked out and you laughed at me."

"What," says Tim. He does remember that, but there's a key difference between his memory and Kon's- "you were in civvies?"

"Why did you think I kept showing up here as Superboy!" Kon says, this time his turn for exasperation.

"Because I told you my identity?!"

"You said your name was Alvin Draper! You wore contacts!"

"You have x-ray vision! I live with Batman!"

"Tim!" Kon yells, and it's not entirely angry but Kon's suddenly in his face, his hands wrapped around Tim's biceps. "Tim I didn't know! I just thought you were my cool civvy friend who figured out my identity while I was covered in mud and- and-"

Kon's suddenly beaming, and Tim has whiplash.

"Hi, Robin," Kon says, so soft that Tim's heart crawls up his throat with sticky fingers, his face burning. Is there a connection, between the blood rushing to his cheeks, and the migration of his pulse? He knows there's a connection between Kon's palms on his skin and the movement of his heart, at least, but this is-

"Yeah?" he says, and Kon's grin gets bigger.

"I am never ever letting you forget this."

[rrenzwrld]

secreto de amor VII

chapter 7! read chapter 6 here

“y/n~i need to talk to you.”

“you always need to talk to me. talk to your other friends.”

“don’t get smart with me. i just wanted to remind you about the business trip i’m going on. i leave next wednesday.” jean worked with a company that providing them with relaxing trips out of the country twice a year because they know how taxing the job can be.

“where you going this time?”

“it’s actually a cruise, going to the bahamas. i’ll be gone for two weeks tho, much longer than last time.”

“two weeks??” that caught your attention. you were used to jean and his trips but you’ve never been left alone for two weeks.

“i figured you don’t need a babysitter because you’re 18 but some people will swing by to check on you.”

“you tell—“

“yes i told mom and dad. they’ll come check on you and if you get scared just stay over there.”

“anything else i need to know?”

“nope, think that’s all. love you!” jean closed the door behind him. although it was only tuesday and he had about a week to prepare, it shouldn’t worry him about leaving you. he knew that you were a good kid, you don’t cause trouble , and you’re practically already independent apart from you living with him. so he didn’t know why he was feeling weird about all of this.

later on that day, you called tia to have your daily conversation and some interesting things were brought up.

“you said he said what now?”

“just reposting tweets n shit and relationships, talkin bout some ‘i’ll take my old bitch over a new bitch any day’” the dude in question was your ex you dated for two years until he cheated. he was your first and last boyfriend and luckily you hadn’t lost your virginity to him or else you’d be going mad even now.

“a weirdo for real. remind me why you follow him again?”

she shrugged. “to be nosy. give us something to talk about.”

“valid.”

“your brother still going on the trip thingy?”

“yeah, why?”

“just asking. don’t he always go around the same time?”

“yeah but i didn’t think you were paying attention. he’s gonna be gone for two weeks this time.”

“two weeks?? oh you’ll be dead before he gets back.”

“don’t say that! i can handle myself fine for two weeks.”

“you don’t even sound like you believe yourself. but look at the bright side,” you rolled your eyes as you already knew what would come next. “connie can come over without any interruptions and he’ll stay and keep you company, and then~” tia started clapping her hands and moaning.

you laughed. “i fucking hate you. i don’t even think about him like that, he 22.”

“so? older dick be the best dick.”

“i’m gonna hang up on you.”

“it’s okay if you wanna hang up on me to call your man.”

“i don’t have a man.”

“sure..”

next wednesday rolled around quicker than you thought and it didn’t seem real to you up until you saw your brother all packed up in suit and tie.

“why you dressed up? i thought you were going on the trip to relax.”

“there’s a meeting right before we board the plane.” you nodded as you watched your brother put on his dress shoes. “are you sure you’ll be okay? you’ll call or text if you need anything right?”

“yes, i’ll be okay. just have fun.”

“i already called everyone to let them know so some one would be there everyday to check on you. and don’t throw any parties or anything while i’m gone.”

“i’ll try not to.” you joked. but he knew you weren’t like that. the most you’d probably do is have tia sleep over or something and just the two of you do stupid shit in the comfort of your own home.

“well,” he started as you helped him load the last of his things in his car. “i love you, i’ll be back in two weeks. i’ll call and text everyday, just don’t die on me.” he laughed while he pulled you into a tight embrace

“i won’t die, promise.”

after the both of you struggled to let go, you bid him a formal farewell as you watched him back out the parking lot, “love you too, be safe!”

after all that, it was weird having the place to yourself but you’d just operate how you would normally do. the only difference was that jean wasn’t present and you had to get used to that. but as he said, over the two weeks, people came to check on you every day.

you had visits from your older stepbrother elliot snd his girlfriend, your mom, your stepdad, and even your biological dad who really just started speaking to you after your mom remarried. but family wasn’t the only people who were there for you. you had visits from sasha who you’d hang out with from time to time, and sleepovers with your friend tia. but one person you really should’ve saw coming was connie. but you didn’t know how you felt just yet.

“y/n~” you heard connie call out to you from your room but he stopped in the doorway when he made it. “your brother told me to—“

“check up on me?”

“yeah, but.. a little more than that.”

“what?”

“he gave me a key, see?” he held it up proudly but you were shocked and maybe a bit upset.

“when did he give you a key? and why?” connie walked into your room and sat at the chair by your desk.

“he wants me to check on you

everyday—“

“people do that already.”

“yeah but he wants me to check on you everyday.. for multiple times a day.”

“so i don’t have a choice.. but to see you everyday?”

“multiple times a day, yes.” he smiles. “but that makes it easier for us to get to know each other.”

“don’t you have things to do? like work or..?”

“yeah but i’ll just come here after.” you rolled your eyes. although jean suspected that connie was trying something with you, he still trusted connie to keep you safe if anything else.

“whatever.” you went back to whatever you were doing.

“right,” connie stood up to walk out the room. “and imma need your number or something.”

“to track me?”

“no, just to keep in contact with you. weirdo.” he laughed. you were the weirdo? you ended up putting your number in his phone and he put his number in yours. “i turned locations on by the way. i’ll be back, bye!” he left before you could even get on him about it.

[tonydaddingham]

✨ episode 1/2 - running commentary✨

- ok so im slightly disappointed that it's the eps i watched in the screening BUT IM DETERMINED TO LOVE IT ANYWAY SO WE REMAIN OPTIMISTIC AND WE MOVE~~

- angel crowley is so young and innocent my poor boy he's been through so much

- like now im watching it, it feels like putting it in a cinema was a Bad Choice and maybe that's why I didn't like it??? it feels way more authentic and cosy on tv

- im sorry but crowley sounds like such an old man in the park scene, "frozen peas... it's good for them too🙂"

- seriously this is so much more palatable on tv format i can't get over it

- OH MAGGIE I LOVE YOU

- aziraphale god bless ur little cotton socks

- god crowley's legs got me SWEATIN

- ugh crowleys hand in the cafe is so FRUITY

- lmao "purely selfish action" aziraphale is so self aware and I love it

- no im sorry but goob is the fucking star of the show you cannot change my mind but dialogue and delivery wise he is currently CARRYING

- Dartmoor mention had me creasing, that's literally on my doorstep

- aziraphale's bitchy ass face then he sits down in the backroom honestly watered my crops and healed nature

- okay im sorry but the dialogue is still a little off for me I won't lie💀

- beelzebub's accent is just 😘👌 perfect, but equally feel like they'd be perfect in a production of oliver

- god believe me i feel for nina but... I... do not like her, and they are NOT suited for each other at all

- I LEARNT MY PASSION IN THE GOOD OLD FASHIONED SCHOOL OF LOVER BOYS

- that dance is so low effort I'm sorry it should have been the macarena or cha cha slide

- crowley's bow tho is so hot he's so graceful he looks like a swan

- and yeah the refs to the other years that aziraphale did the dance is GIVING ME HEART PALPITATIONS ugh

- he and goob are like cats on a hot tin roof like IMMEDIATE hissing vibes

- lmao ok so that episode does end there then... such a weird ending im sorry but yeah let's fully retract the alternate episode theory (but @prime you need to hire me for s3 just a thought bc 👀)

- anyway ep2 I'm sorry but the angelic herald speech thing is cute and funny but also so cringe hmmm

- gabriel is lord farquaad ugh

- I HAVE TO REMEMBER THIS IS A COMEDY UGH but i miss the slightly serious undertones in s1 sob god I hope they come back later on

- UGH THE TURTLENECK🥵🥵🥵🥵🥵

- shax is mommy I don't make the rules

- I noted it in the screening but angel wings for earrings, Maggie????

- nice job on the lie aziraphale well done once again making excellent choices you're so smart and valid (utter moron)

- "SOUNDS A BIT UNLIKELY" LMAO GET FUCKED CROWLEY

- oh goob you really are going through it my bby I love u

- crowley's face after may god forgive you KILLS ME this scene is honestly the stand out one in both ep1 and ep2 if you ask me

- TY TY TY god bless u but you also make me so uncomfortable

- jobs youngest kid truly gives me life

- lmao the fact that aziraphale does actually recognise when crowley tempts him is hilarious tho bc he just conveniently disregards it by the bench scene in s1 hmmm character development or character regression WHO KNOWS

- ok no I'm sorry but the mukbang scene is so unnecessary and uncomfortable

- "whack the kids" honestly the best line of this scene imo, but upon reflection and rewatching it, crowley's demeanour is rather heartbreaking whilst he's reclined getting ratted

- FRANCES FRANCES FRANCES ✨💓

- 'but just to be able to ask the question' UGH CROWLEY STOP

- lmao shoemaking and obstetrics what a combo god bless

- THEY CAN ARRIVE AT ANY SIZE lmao and Michael is too sharp for their own good... but I do hate that gabriel is utterly inept, he came across as cruel and calculating if a little ignorant in s1 but not this comedically stupid

- "yes I bloody am" TY MY LOVE

- Michael sheen and David Tennant deserve nominations for the children swap scene alone, imo the strongest bit of acting in the ep im sorry 'you have my word as an angel' KILL ME

- why is nina obsessed with crowley, like I get it babes but also why

- THEY ARE SO MARRIED MT PARTNER AND I ARGUE OVER THE CAR ALWAYS "our car" LMAO 💀💀💀

- ✨✨✨IT WAS A NICE DAY, ALL THE DAYS HAD BEEN NICE✨✨✨

- ok the rock scene is so much more emotional on tv, so much better

OKAY RIGHT EP3 LETS HAVE ITTTTT

[julietasgf]

Can you elaborate more on your thoughts about jokes on Coriolanus having a type? Tbh I find endearing that he would have a soft spot for people with specific physical traits, like brown eyes, but that’s me choosing a more favorable (?) interpretation because I’m fond of him. I’m not blind to his canon character though, and I can definitely see how it can be interpreted as him fetishizing a specific kind of people…I don’t like it but I can 10000% see where you’re coming from, and like I say, I don’t mind the discussion :)

hello anon!! ty for the ask, and ofc I can!

warnings for this post: this post will contain discussions of racism, xenophobia and fetishization.

(before starting, I think it's valid to highlight two things: one is that ofc my opinion can be biased, because I don't like coriolanus. second is that my opinion is also influenced by some real life experiences, so it's very personal and it's completely understandable and valid if people don't share it or don't have the same vision over it!)

I feel like tbosas can be interpreted in various lenses (and ofc you can disagree with me at any point of this text), but particularly, when reading a work (specially a dystopic one), I prefer applying real life situations and comparisons. for tbosas, regarding coriolanus and his thoughts, the interpretation I usually go for is: coriolanus is racist and xenophobic. of course we can say that it comes a lot from his context, from his family, considering that his grandma says that district people only drink water because it doesn't rain blood (and though this is a line a lot of people remember, one less reminded of is the one about how she at first confuses mrs. plinth with a servant by the end of the book).

coriolanus is not favorable on district people, even more so than plenty of his capitol colleagues. and still, despite showing clearly his despise for them, we have two cases of him interacting and forming a close bond with two district people:

sejanus and lucy gray.

since this post is about fetishization, let's start with his relationship with lucy gray, since it's his canon love interest and in which we can see some of these signs manifestated.

the biggest difference between just having a type vs fetishizing someone (in specific, poc) is that fetishization comes from an idea that these people are not really people. they are ideas. they are attractive concepts. these are not real life persons with tastes, they are just a hot thought. fetishization takes root in dehumanization. and knowing this, here are some lines with how coriolanus refers to lucy gray:

"His filly in a race, his dog in a fight. The more he had treated her as something special, the more she’d become human."

"Here in the Capitol, it was a given that Lucy Gray belonged to him, as if she’d had no life before her name was called out at the reaping."

"A second-class citizen. Human, but bestial. Smart, perhaps, but not evolved. Part of a shapeless mass of unfortunate, barbaric creatures that hovered on the periphery of his consciousness."

coriolanus doesn't see lucy gray as human. he doesn't see people like lucy gray as human. and it's from that where the issue comes from: when feeling attracted to lucy gray, he likes the idea of her, and the idea of staying with her. in D12, in some parts, he comes close to even romanticize the thought of a "free" life with her (and of course, leaving aside the fact that she has a life herself, and that life is not wasy; it's once again the idea of the thing, and an idea that sounds almost "exotic" to him, because lucy gray is different from anything he has seen in the capitol).

(I also think it's important to highlight that fetishization has inherent roots in sexualization. coriolanus makes points in D12 about lucy gray's "questionable past" and the idea that it's implied she have done sex work before.)

now, let's talk about sejanus, the second district person coriolanus has a bond in the book. this is how coriolanus talks about sejanus and his family int he book:

"Ma might be pathetic, but she was something of an artist in the kitchen."

"The thought of blackmailing old Strabo Plinth had definite appeal."

"You could put a turnip in a ball gown and it would still beg to be mashed" (referring to the way ma plinth was dressed)

"Sejanus had already usurped his position, his inheritance, his clothes, his candy, his sandwiches, his privilege due a Snow."

"[...] well-fed district boy with the cloddish accent" (referring to sejanus)

"Coriolanus' first impulse had been to join his classmates' campaign to make the new kid's life a living hell." (referring to thinking about participating in the bullying of sejanus for him being district; coriolanus decided to ignore sejanus, but only because he thought it would be a waste his time bullying sejanus)

in specific, it strikes to me that coriolanus mocks district traditions. what he says about the death tradition of D2 is, word by word: "Primitive people with their primitive customs. How much bread had they wasted with this nonsense?"

I could go further in how coriolanus' intense hatred for the plinths and sejanus doesn't come mainly from a class struggle feeling, specially because coriolanus hangs out with other kids from the capitol and the academy (extremely rich and powerful kids), but he doesn't show the same intense hatred in the same way. however, this is a discussion for another time. the point now is exactly how despite coriolanus not seeing sejanus and his family as human beings... in D12, he still hangs out with sejanus. he still hugs him, and still goes out with him.

and in the moment sejanus acts just a bit out of how he expected him to (even after sejanus have been a good friend for him so many times in D12), coriolanus got him killed.

coriolanus hates district people. he sees them as primitive, he sees them as uncivilized, and still. still, he hangs out with them. he forms bonds with them, that, in the end, are just harmful for the people in question, because he doesn't see them as humans.

I searched just to be sure, but just like sejanus, lucy gray got no concrete book description besides her clothing + some small aspects (her having dark, curly hair, for example). sejanus being poc coded can be discussed (though I have strong opinions on this, and how I really think the plinths were meant to be poc immigrant coded, as there's a literal line in the book where someone says: "go back to two, then! who'd miss you?") but it's been pointed out so many times and by so many people how lucy gray is romani coded, and though I won't go deep into this because I'm not romani and it's not my place to speak on this topic specifically, this only highlights some of the stuff coriolanus says and thinks about her, considering the extremely harmful stereotypes and portrayals of romani women. this is the way coriolanus' grandma talks about her (reminding that lucy gray is just 16 years old):

"She's district. And, trust me, that one hasn't been a girl in a long time."

before heading to the end of this, it's important to say lucy gray doesn't identify herself as district. she identifies herself as covey, and it's one of the reasons on why coriolanus can handle "better" the thought of him falling for a girl that comes from the districts. more than once, he tries to make mental gymnastics to convince himself that lucy gray isn't district, she's different, she's special, she's an exception to the rule, therefore, it's okay for him to fall for her:

"She seemed to have no love for District 12, always separating herself from it, saying she was, what was it... Covey?"

again, all of these thoughts and views come from a very specific interpretation, and you're free to disagree with me, specially because I don't think collins intended to make a criticism on fetishization of poc. however, specially translating these to modern setting issues, I can't help but feel a bit offput by the thought that (considering a shipping context) coriolanus would clearly have a type, yes, but it comes from a very specific place, and it only causes harm to the ones he gets in relationships with.

again, anon, tysm for the ask! I hope I expressed my thoughts in an okay way (specially because english isn't my first language, so sorry for any typos or confusing expressions). again, this is just my opinion, and you're totally free to disagree! take care <3

[deadmomjokes]

as a teacher, hearing about the way you communicate so clearly and thoroughly with your child is so inspiring. I wish more people had resources on how to communicate with kids like you do.

I'm very bad at taking compliments, so I'll just say "Thank you" and also qualify that she makes it pretty easy. She's very smart and has always, from day one basically, needed to know the reasons behind everything. In other circumstances, she would probably be called "stubborn" or "defiant." But the thing is, I remember my own "stubbornness" growing up, and it was almost always the result of me not understanding why things were the way they were. From a young age, I hated with a burning passion the "Because I said so" thing. So I determined that I didn't want to do that when/if I had kids of my own.

My daughter is very bright and curious and makes that easy for me. Her "why" phase was/is pretty specific, which is helpful in keeping ahead of the frustration-induced rage-meltdowns. (Not all of them, of course, because some concepts are really hard to grasp even as an adult, let alone when you're 4 years old and everything Feels Too Big.)

But I also made a conscious effort to start practicing early, before she could talk or push back on a lot of stuff. It felt so weird and silly at first, but I basically narrated everything I did with/around her, and put a reason for it. So a trip to the store sounded like this:

"We made it to the store to get our groceries, so we have yummy food to eat. Let's go inside and get a buggy--that's where we'll put all the things we get, because we can't carry them all in just our hands. I'm going to put you in the buggy, too, right here in this seat, that way you can see what's going on but I have both my hands to push the buggy and grab the things we need. Here, look, some bananas! Let's get some of those because you love to eat them. Oh, no, sorry baby, we can't eat them right now. This stuff isn't ours until we pay for it at the very end-- that's the part with the beep-beeper and the bags. When we get home we can have some of the bananas, because then they are our bananas." Etc, etc, on and on.

People looked at me like I was nuts. It felt a little nuts at times, especially before she could respond verbally. But it worked. It built a habit for me to give a reason for why I'm doing things, or making her do things. More importantly, I feel like, it made me stop and question when I didn't have a good reason for my answers or behaviors. Like if she comes up and asks to blow bubbles outside, and I go, "No baby, not right now," she can be like "why not?" And I have to look at myself and my reasoning. Is it because I'm actually busy or we're genuinely about to do something else that precludes the 5 minutes it'd take to do bubbles? Or is it because I just don't feel like it? It's not fair for "I don't feel like it" to supersede her desires for connection and entertainment all the time. (Sometimes you're just worn out and don't have the bandwidth for it, and that's valid. Parents are people too! But it can't be all the time, yk?) So if I don't have a good reason why not, I let her know that I thought about it more and changed my mind, and off we go to blow bubbles.

I also heard the advice, idk where or when, that you need to practice on your children what you want from them. So if I want my child to be kind, I have to be kind to her, in ways that she can see and appreciate. If I want her to know it's okay to change your mind, I have to point out when that happens for me, like in the above bubbles example. If I want her to be a decent human being who respects others, is empathetic, appreciates the efforts of others, speaks kindly, thinks about how her actions impact those around her, etc... You get the idea. It starts with me. And I try to consciously remind myself of that fact.

It's not always easy, because kids aren't always rational (but to be fair, neither are adults lol). And what is rational to a 4 year old is not always the same as what is rational to me, the adult with almost 3 decades of experience more than her. So sometimes it's like explaining to the wind why it ought to blow in a different direction. But the longer I get to know her, the more I'm able to pick up on the way she sees things, her personal defaults, the way she talks around concepts she's not sure about, etc. It's part of what's cool about getting to be her parent. I get such a close-up view of this little person becoming a little person, and it makes me stop and think about things I have taken for granted for a long time.

I'm rambling again, but I have developed a lot of Strong Feelings about the way kids are treated and looked at in general, and a lot of determination to do better for the kids I get the privilege of loving.

[artiststarme]

What If Steve Were To Leave Hawkins? Part 4

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3

I wasn't originally going to write about Dustin's reaction but @doubleb11 gave me the idea. I hope it meets your expectations! We go back to Steve's POV in Chicago in the next part. Thank you again for everyone's nice comments!

~*~*~*~

It was no secret that Dustin was struggling. He tried to remain hopeful and upbeat but his insecurities made maintaining a positive attitude difficult. Why would Steve leave? He had promised that he would always be there for Dustin. But so had his deceased grandparents and his dad that left without so much as a goodbye. 

The common denominator had to be Dustin. He knew that he was too sarcastic, too smart to be relatable, and kind of annoying. But he thought Steve understood. He’s always had trouble connecting with people but he thought that Steve was a lifelong friend, an older brother, if you will, that would never drift away. Since the time Steve gave him poor dating advice while looking for Dart, they had been best friends. So why would he leave?

Looking back, he could see why Steve might have underestimated his own importance to the Party. All of its members were a bit emotionally repressed and didn’t know how to talk about their feelings. They all tended to show their love through acts of service or quality time instead of words of affirmation. They did show their love and he thought Steve understood their feelings. But still, if Steve needed verbal validation, he didn’t get any. And Dustin had been a bit too preoccupied talking to Suzie to spend time with him, instead using the excuse of needing a ride to get in his regular amount of ‘Steve-time’. Regardless of his reasons, he felt guilty and useless when it came to searching for the older boy. 

It had been a mere two days since they had all found out about Steve’s leave and it was already affecting Dustin. When he wasn’t pretending to be okay, throwing a tantrum, or worrying about Steve’s well-being, he was ignoring the glances cast in his direction by the other Party members. Eddie had given him a ride to Mike’s for DnD and had tried to ask how he was doing. Dustin pretended to not hear the question and thanked him for the ride. Lucas had asked him if Steve had reached out yet. No, why would he? Dustin probably caused him to leave. Max and El asked if he was alright since he was quieter than usual. No, stop talking to him. Mike and Will avoided asking him questions but their concerned gazes were just as annoying. He was fine. 

Who cares that his pseudo-older brother left without talking to him just like his deadbeat dad? Not him. 

Joyce gave him a ride home from Mike’s when she picked up Will. She assured him that Hopper was doing everything he could to find Steve and that they’d have him home in no time. Dustin couldn’t find it himself to believe her. He just thanked her for the ride and made his way inside. He just wanted a night alone without anyone checking on him or bringing up Steve.

His mom was waiting for him in the kitchen and gave him a gentle smile when he walked in. “How was your game, Dusty?”

Dustin sighed. He wasn't in the mood to talk but his mom wasn’t aware of the situation and she certainly didn’t deserve any of his snark. “Hi mom, it was fun. Will is DM’ing again and Eddie has been giving him pointers. He was ruthless today.”

She hummed and pinched his cheek when she handed him the plate she had saved him from dinner. “Oh goodness, I almost forgot! Your friend Steve called to talk to you. I told him that you were with Mike today. He didn’t leave a message but you might want to call him later, okay Dusty? He sounded a little strange.”

“STEVE CALLED?” Dustin practically screamed as he whipped around in his seat, the bread roll propelling from his hand into a kitchen cabinet. 

His mother looked slightly alarmed but also woefully accustomed to his flamboyant antics. “Yes, Dusty. Don’t throw food, what did that dinner roll ever do to you?”

Dustin’s eyes rolled hard. “I’m sorry. You said Steve called? What did he say? Was he okay? Was he in distress?”

“No, he sounded a bit tired but that’s our Steve. He just asked for you and didn’t have a message to leave once I told him you were out. He will probably call back sometime later tonight or tomorrow sometime.”

Dustin felt his eyes fill with tears and his bottom lip started to quiver. Steve had tried to talk to him and he wasn’t there. What if he was hurt or in danger and Dustin was too busy playing make-believe to take his call? He would never forgive himself.

“Dusty? Oh no, honey! What’s wrong? Why are you crying?” His mother fretted over him and her concern is what pushed him over the edge. 

Dustin burst into big, fat, ugly tears. He sobbed into his mother’s embrace and cried out his feelings of worry, sadness, and angered abandonment. His mom cooed over him and pet her hand through his unstyled curls until he found the strength to speak.

“Mom, Steve left. He just left Hawkins without telling anyone. He’s missing and we don’t know how to find him! And now he called and I wasn’t there! What if he’s hurt and he called me to help him? He left because I was a bad friend and now he’s gone! We can’t even find a way to bring him back.” Dustin wailed through sullied tears. 

Claudia whispered words of comfort and encouragement as she held her sad boy in her arms. “Dusty, he sounded fine. I’m sure he was just calling to check in on you and tell you where he is. I don’t know why he would leave so suddenly but I doubt it was because of you, Dusty.”

“No mom, it was me! He’s been distant and sad for weeks and I told the Party to give him space. Me! I said that. I told them to leave him alone and no one checked in on him. I never even told him what he meant to me. What if he never comes back, mom? He’ll never know how much we love him!”

Claudia was confused with this whole situation. She’s known Steve for nearly three years now and has been nothing but impressed by the older boy. He helped her care for her little Dusty while she was at work or her book clubs. Steve didn’t have a selfish bone in his body, always refusing to take her money for babysitting and relinquishing his free time to drive her admittedly needy son around. It doesn’t make any sense for Steve to abandon the kids he helped raise, the kids who counted on him a fair amount, to leave town out of nowhere. The young man that she knew would never knowingly cause such distress in her little Dusty or his friends. 

“Dusty, I think Steve is dealing with something beyond you or the rest of your friends. He might need some time to work on it but he will be back and he knows how much he means to you. Just give him time. He called today and the next time he calls, I’ll take a message. Alright? Everything will be fine.”

God, he hoped his mom was right about this. Dustin did feel better at her words but there was still a seed of doubt in his mind. Unfortunately, there was nothing else he could do about the situation until Hopper tracked Steve down or until Steve reached out again. For now, he would wait for his best friend to call again and alert the Party to give them the update. For now, he would have hope. 

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12 Part 13 Part 14 Part 15 Part 16 Part 17 Part 18 Part 19 Part 20: Epilogue

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