#also!!! the love you have for the things you make!!! makes the experience richer!!!

[solarpunkpolliwog]

My hispanic community members are already being harassed IN PUBLIC just by your average Joe, and that's before policies kick in. The Dominican women I live next to are getting verbally assaulted, made fun of that Trump won, called heinous slurs, told them to "go back where they came from" in the middle of living their lives with no changes to the policies that protect us and in a blue state. It's super important and serious to ensure that we are doing what we can to protect more vulnerable populations in the face of massive suffering that will occur.

I think it's important for everyone, but especially for white people to force yourself outside of your baked-in community. Segregation still exists in our country, and very real policies and government actions made it possible for a lot of white people to live in almost literal bubbles away from bipoc people.

Find a nonprofit like a makerspace or a community that services the unhoused. Meet regularly with them (At least once a month, preferably more) for volunteer work or community meetings. Make sure you find a group that has more varieties of people in it. Are there less than 20% people that are bipoc? You need to find another group that represents more than white people.

Go to every regular meeting that they have. Ask questions about people's lives, overhear that someone needs something you have and offer it to them- build relationships with folks! It makes it possible for you to learn more about your community, how they are impacted differently than you, and make moves to protect them. It's also possible to have multiple intersected communities!

(I THINK that this is already well known, but just in case, I would also highly recommend combining that with only asking hard questions on the internet unless you do a check-in with someone very close about if those types of conversations are okay. If there are questions digging into bipoc people's experience that are potentially an invasion of their bodies, mind, or culture, ask the internet instead of them. Bipoc folks who are willing to examine those questions have already done the emotional labor to share their thoughts and you won't be forcing them to experience pain for your education without their consent.)

Intentional community building is not something we're trained to do. We're primarily trained to have neighbors, academic peers, and co-workers for friends. For me at least, it has sometimes been uncomfortable and terrifying, and I wanted to quit a couple of times, but it has made such a difference in how fulfilled I am by the connections I have. I get to ask myself questions about who I let into the varied spheres of my life, and I get to feel so much richer in how many people I get to interact and love in different ways.

All this to say, bipoc people and other vulnerable populations are in danger, and yes... Us lighter skinned queer folk who aren't in immediate hostile danger have a higher chance of being okay. I honestly am still grappling with not knowing exactly how bad the path our country is on, and not knowing if it could veer extremely badly or if we can band together enough to protect each other and make positive change. But for now, if we already have privileges, we need to unlearn how we've been trained to socialize, and be there for the people who need it most. I want to go beyond this, but if the only thing I do is hug my friend as she cries in my arms about how scared she is to survive even greater abuses from the world around her as an older Dominican immigrant, it will be worth it.

still a lot of "we'll survive, we did before" and not enough "here's how to prepare for the promised mass deportations and fight for people who may be facing racist policies come the new year" and "here is what we can do about how the climate may get worse in the coming years"

Like. Cool that you have confirmed that you as a white queer will probably be kind of okay. I need to see more about what we're going to be doing for people of color both in this country and outside of this country that are at risk of state brutalization, increasingly dangerous natural disasters, wars......

Too much placating. Not enough discussing plans of action.

Idk about y'all but I AM really afraid of the deportations that have been threatened, especially when the racism that pairs with it goes even beyond targeting illegal immigrants (which to be clear is still awful) but legal immigrants as well, and even people that white Americans think LOOK like they might be immigrants.

Get your shit together and start talking about what people of color need because right now we DESPERATELY need the help of white people, you are the ones who are safer in the face of the cops and ICE, you are the ones that the other racist white people will actually listen to when you cover for us. Please. If you've genuinely decided that you will be okay, then start getting out there for the people that definitely won't be.

[gonzos-audacity]

i dont really consider myself to be punk or grunge or goth or whatever. just a vague alternative soup. but ive never felt myself more comfortable or fitting into subculture than when i started realizing i did not have to spend a ton of money to 'look the part.'

a good 85% of my wardrobe is shit i got at thrift stores. i've started making my own jewelry. the base of my battle jacket (a sturdy, oversized denim jacket) i got for free cuz it was (accidentally) stolen. the only time i really shell out any decent money is for good shoes and handmade patches/jewelry from people on etsy.

diy can take time and resources but i guarantee the stuff you make will look far more "punk" than any pre-patched $200 jacket you buy on torrid. also its fun.

[tarotwithavi]

How will your future partner make you feel?

＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊

＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊

How to choose a pile?

Close your eyes and take a deep breath and ask the angels to show you the right pile for you and open your eyes. The first pile that catches your attention is the right pile for you.

Masterlist

Paid services : OPEN

THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR YOUR LOVE AND SUPPORT 💞🍓

＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*

Pile 1

They will make you feel as if all those lonely days were worth it, all the time you spent looking for love was worth it. They'll make you feel like you never have before. You'll be more confident in their presence, feeling as if you are the only woman/man in the entire universe. They'll make you feel so special that you may start wondering if your life is a dream. I see that you might get too attached to them, or they might get too attached to you, but either way, there is a sense of obsession. Being so infatuated with each other that you can't see anybody else. They'll make you realize that the time you spent alone was all for a better reason. The time you spent working on yourself was worth it. They'll make your stagnant life more enjoyable. I see that you may feel like you live a really boring life, but they'll make your life more interesting. You'll wake up every morning thinking about what will happen today, how your day will be, and what you will do together. They'll bring stability in your life and they'll make you feel heard and understood. They'll respect your boundaries and treat you the way you want to be treated. You'll feel as if you have won a lottery.

＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*

Pile 2

They'll make you feel understood. You might have been misunderstood your whole life, or people seem to outcast you for no reason. But with them, you'll feel at home. They'll know everything about you and understand you without you having to say anything, almost as if they can read your mind. They'll know exactly what you want or need. They'll always be there to support you and protect you no matter what happens. You'll feel like yourself in their presence, and you'll feel like you don't have to change yourself or be somebody you're not. You'll pay no attention to whatever somebody says anymore. You'll feel no pressure to hide parts of yourself. You'll have a lot of deep conversations with them, finally having somebody to talk about your interests with. You may have a lot of knowledge about stars, dinosaurs, or something unusual. And they'll listen to you. They'll also provide emotional stability by always being there for you. I see that you guys will work together on something.

＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*

Pile 3

Your future partner will make you feel incredibly passionate and alive, bringing a spark into your life that you might not have known was missing. They will make you feel beautiful, not just by complimenting your looks, but by making you feel valued and cherished for who you truly are. I see that they are really rich/financially stable so With them, you'll feel financially secure, as they support you in achieving your goals and creating a stable future together. They'll teach you so many new things, whether it's about the world, different cultures, or even about yourself, transforming your perspective in ways you never imagined. Most importantly, they'll change your perspective about life, helping you see things from different angles and inspiring you to grow and evolve into the best version of yourself. Their presence will transform your everyday experiences, making life richer and more meaningful. They'll make you feel more creative and passionate about your hobbies. I see that they may become your muse or vice versa.

＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*

[g1rld1ary]

you never disappointed me - part two

part one part two part three part four

➻ synopsis: luke castellan x aphrodite!reader ; percy and beckendorf's plan to set you up with luke is in motion, but you're extremely resistant to any advances (10 things I about you AU)

➻ word count: 3462

➻ warnings: swearing, ooc/kind of loser!luke, ooc silena, she/her pronouns used for reader, sexual innuendos

➻ thank u so much for all the love on part 1 I am such a happy gal!!!!! also, have my first day at uni tomorrow (so pls wish me luck) and sorry if updates slow down!

TAGLIST: @myxticmoon @wicca-void @leeknows-wife @thekittyxo-blog @number-onekidqueen @instabull

════ ⋆★⋆ ════

It turned out that getting you to go out with Luke was harder than he’d originally anticipated. Eager for the whole ordeal to be over and for him to be 50 dollars richer, he’d hopped down from his spot on a fallen log and hurried to meet you by the volleyball courts when your match ended. You, unaware of Luke’s agenda, were fanning your face to combat some of the sweat that had accumulated, quickly tightening the messy ponytail you’d tied. Luke watched you in your own world, unbothered by anybody watching you, unlike the rest of your siblings. Sucking in a quick breath for confidence he approached you.

“Hey there, girly,” He smiled, “How’re you doing?” You looked up at him, inquisitive for a moment but ultimately unimpressed.

“Sweating like a pig actually, and yourself?” You were barely looking at him, skulling an impressive amount of your water bottle quickly. He stared at you, not expecting to be dismissed so easily. He recovered smoothly, not prepared to give up so soon.

“You really know how to get a guy’s attention, huh?”

“My mission in life,” You shot him a cloying smile, now giving him your full attention, unable to help being slightly interested by his boldness. “But obviously I’ve struck your fancy, so you see it worked. The world makes sense again.” You‘d figured out his motives now and had no interest, so began the walk back to your cabin. He followed, much to your dismay. Couldn’t men ever take the hint?

“So I’ll pick you up Friday then?”

“Oh right, Friday, uh huh.” You kept your eyes ahead, dodging a few younger kids as Luke trailed after you, annoyingly optimistic still.

“The night I take you places you’ve never been before,” He said, and you looked at him in disbelief. The ego on this kid!

“Right, like the makeout clearing in the forest? Do you even know my name, Castellan?” Luke could tell that you were mocking him, but he still had high hopes.

“I know a lot more than you think.” He smiled then, a lopsided thing that would have been somewhat charming if you’d actually bothered to look. Instead you were already walking away, calling out a “Doubtful. Very doubtful,” over your shoulder as you picked up into a run, presumably to go tell Clarisse about the bizarre experience you just had. Luke watched you go, dumbstruck in the middle of camp.

Percy and Beckendorf watched the exchange from the porch of the Hephaestus cabin, the latter putting his head in his hands dramatically.

“We’re screwed,” He groaned and Percy winced slightly.

“I’m sure it’ll all be fine, dude. Luke has faced a lot worse than a teenage girl.”

When you sat at dinner that night, desperately avoiding the eye contact Luke seemed desperate on initiating, you almost told Silena about your bizarre day. You’d opened your mouth to start the story when you realised that she’d only be encouraged by Luke’s antics, pressuring you into going out with him for her own benefit and quickly shut it. She’d noticed your odd behaviour and searched for meaning in your face. Panicking for something to replace the conversation, you zeroed in on the necklace sitting nicely on top of her camp one.

“Where’d you get the pearls?” You asked, already dreading the answer. Silena only confirmed your fears, claiming them as your grandmother’s with a coy smile.

“So what? You’ve just been hiding them the last three years?” You were always closest with your grandmother, and you were sure she wouldn’t leave her favourite pearls for Silena over you.

“Daddy found them in a drawer just before summer.” Silena shrugged as if you weren’t sitting across from her, cheeks a blotchy red in your upset. “Besides, they look good on me.” Your hands itched to hit her as she tucked a strand of hair behind her ears, knowing exactly how much she was pissing you off.

“Trust me, they don’t,” You spat, quietly glad when Silena stalked off in a huff, amongst the first to leave the meal. You didn’t know how much longer you could argue with her before starting to cry, which you really didn’t want to do in front of the whole camp. You thought you were safe for the rest of the meal when Drew began speaking instead.

“You could try being nice sometimes, you know, people wouldn’t know what to think.” You rolled your eyes aggressively.

“You forget, I don’t care what people think,” You replied, taking in a spoonful of food.

“Yes you do. Everyone does. You know, with a new look you could have some serious potential.” You ignored her last statement.

“No, I don’t,” You emphasised, “You don’t always have to be who they want you to be.” You knew that wouldn’t impact Drew in the slightest, but you hoped it might resonate with some of your younger siblings — encourage them to nurture their internal beauty rather than accept the vain stereotype Aphrodite children were forced into. You pushed yourself out of the bench you were sitting on, needing a break from your insufferable siblings. As you dumped your dishes where they needed to be you saw Luke beginning to follow you and turned to make dead eye contact. Knowing you’d only scream at him (or worse) you gave him a dangerous look, accompanied with an almost imperceptible shake of your head. Not enough for anyone else to know you’d even acknowledged him, but enough to tell Luke to back off. He was smarter than you thought, as he held up his hands in a show of surrender, redirecting his action to innocently collect up his own dishes.

You may not have had any interest in knowing the boy, but you did appreciate that he knew when to back off. Or so you thought.

You were proven not-so-free from Luke Castellan the very next morning. It was the Aphrodite cabin’s day to check all the storerooms, and you’d volunteered to do the one which held all the weapons and armour near the sword fighting arena. You knew none of your siblings would come near if they could help it, mostly against weapons and the violence that surrounded the area, so you’d get a whole morning alone. It was peaceful attending to the chore, and you were allowed to use some of your Aphrodite eye for beauty. Of course, stacks of swords and assorted weapons could only be made so pretty, but you enjoyed organising them into neat rows, making it look as nice as possible — not that you would admit that to Silena or you’d be in her vanity chair receiving an unwelcome makeover in seconds.

You were just admiring your own sword, which you’d taken the time to polish while you were taking care of the others, when you felt a presence behind you. You didn’t react, assuming it was just some camper coming for a weapon, until he spoke.

“Nice sword, vintage hilt?” You tensed as Luke’s voice infiltrated your peace.

“Are you following me?” You disregarded his statement, an unimpressed frown present on your lips.

“I was training in the arena and needed to polish my sword. I saw you come in a while ago and not leave, I came to say hi,” He explained, and you raised an eyebrow. You weren’t friends, why would he come for a chat?

“Hi.” You promptly turned back to your task, shoving the cloth into the intricate designs of the hilt.

“Not a big talker, huh?” He persisted.

“Depends on the topic. My sword doesn’t exactly whip me into a verbal frenzy.” That wasn’t strictly true — the sword was a gift from your mother, with gold twisting around a blood red ruby in the centre of the hilt. After you’d made it clear that you weren’t going to just sit around during your time at camp she gifted you the sword, her way of saying that if you were going to fight, you should at least look good doing it. You’d had several conversations with Clarisse gushing over the intricacy of it, and profusely thanked Aphrodite for the gift in your offerings. You didn’t quite care to share this with Luke, being a relative stranger.

“You’re not afraid of me, are you?” He asked, and you were somewhat taken aback by the earnest tone of his voice.

“Afraid of you? Why would I be afraid of you?” You couldn’t help the incredulous laugh that crept into your sentence.

“Most people are.” He gestured subtly towards his scar — gnarled and twisted against his otherwise tanned skin. You put a hand on your hip, resigned to conversation now.

“Well, I’m not.”

“Ok, maybe you’re not afraid of me, but I’m sure you’ve thought about me naked.” You were pretty sure Luke was going for smooth or charming, but you thought in this moment he was entirely lame. The wink didn’t help his case.

“Am I that transparent? I want you, I need you. Oh baby, oh baby.” You put on your best Drew impression, nasally and whiny, before handing him the cloth he needed to polish his own sword and turning to leave. There, quickly approaching the door, was Ethan. Seeing you he put on a disgusting smirk and blocked the doorway, effectively caging you into the storeroom.

“Gods, what is it, asshole day?” You asked, not caring that both boys could very clearly hear you. “Do you mind?” You gestured to his blocking the exit. He simply looked down at you, clearly doing his best to appear sexy (and failing miserably).

“Not at all.” His stupid smirk was going to kill you, and not in the good way. You scoffed, giving him a last chance to get the fuck out of your way. Then, sparing a fraction of a glance back to Luke pretending to mind his own business, you slammed the hilt of your sword into his foot, wishing it was the blade instead. You watched him crumble to the ground, holding his foot with both hands.

“You bitch!” He yelled, voice cracking pathetically in the middle. You forced your smile to stay contained.

“Oops,” You feigned innocence, one hands covering your mouth strategically. “You might need some ambrosia for that…” With that you side-stepped him, eager to leave the situation. If you’d have looked back, you would have seen the gleeful, disbelieving smile on Luke’s face, probably the biggest one he’d worn in a while. Although he didn’t get the date he’d entered for, he was beginning to think you were a little more interesting than you let on.

“Did you just cripple Ethan?” Silena shrieked as you entered your cabin to grab your things. “He’s a model, you can’t do that! Has it escaped your notice that you’re completely psychotic?” You pretended to think for a moment, then shrugged nonchalantly.

“Guess your long walks on the beach are gonna have to wait,” You sighed dramatically, leaving Silena to wallow in her pity alone. It wasn’t like it was really your fault — if Ethan had learned how to respond to words or learn the meaning of ‘move’ he wouldn’t have gotten himself into that situation in the first place.

Meanwhile, Ethan and Luke were having a similarly emotional conversation after Luke had — very reluctantly — helped Ethan over to the infirmary to get his foot checked out.

“When I shell out fifty, I expect results.” Luke sighed, could this boy get any whinier?

“Yeah, I’m on it,” He said through gritted teeth, resisting the urge to hurt him.

“Watching that bitch obliterate my foot doesn’t count as a date. If you don’t get any, I don’t get any, so let’s get some,” Ethan said, running a hand through his ridiculously styled hair. Luke couldn’t believe his nerve. First of all, obliterated? He would be left with a bruise for a few days, if anything. Secondly, this whole things was Ethan’s idea, Luke had never given any indication wanting to ‘get some’, especially not with someone so clearly resisting his advances. Just as Ethan left, giving the Apollo girl treating him a douchebag smile, Luke hardened his resolve.

“I just upped my price,” He said, loving the way Ethan’s eyes widened like a cartoon character. “A hundred bucks a date, in advance.”

“Forget it,” Ethan grumbled, moving to leave again.

“Forget her sister then.” The two boys stared at each other, one significantly more amused than the other. Luke knew he had the upper hand in the dynamic, something he revelled in. Then, after the intimidation tactic clearly wasn’t having any effect, Ethan reached for his wallet, Luke admiring the crisp fifty he was handed.

“You better hope you’re as smooth as you think you are, Castellan.” Luke just watched him go, confident tilt of his head conveying his outlook on the situation.

Luke had taken his usual spot overseeing combat training, but his usual thoughts were long gone. Instead, he was entirely preoccupied with you. He didn’t know how to get you to go out with him when you could barely entertain a conversation, and he twirled his cigarette between his fingers as he pondered.

Percy and Beckendorf saw his internal conflicts, slowly moving closer to him under the guise of a very chaotic fight between the two. Finally Luke gave them attention, knowing Percy’s skills would never have him running all over the place like that. He raised an eyebrow, a sign for them to get on with whatever they were angling at.

“We know what you’re trying to do, for Beauregard,” Percy said, and Luke appeared almost startled.

“And we want to help,” Added Beckendorf helpfully, shying away when Luke’s eyes bore into his.

“And why would you do that?”

“Beckendorf here has a major crush on Silena—”

“Gods, what is it with this girl? Does she sweat nectar?” Beckendorf opened his mouth to protest when Percy spoke over him, knowing it would be more beneficial to let Luke lead.

“Look, I think we can both tell that Charlie’s love is pure, well-intentioned, better than, say, Ethan White?” Luke sighed, catching on.

“I’m in this for the cash, that’s it. Who Ethan wants to bang is of no interest to me.”

“There will be no banging!” Beckendorf cried as Percy pushed him behind. He was no use in a delicate situation like this.

“Ok, Luke, it’s just that we’re the masterminds behind this whole thing. We set it up so Beckendorf can get the girl — Ethan’s just a pawn.” Luke paid closer attention suddenly, intrigued by the chess match he’d been pulled into.

“So you two are gonna help me win her over?”

“We’ll do research, find out what she likes. We can be your guys on the inside.”

“In a strictly non-mission type of way,” Beckendorf added helpfully, nervous of the legends he’d heard about Luke’s failed quest. Luke chose to simply ignore that comment, and Percy filled the silence before he could get angry about it.

“Let’s just start here: the Apollo cabin is throwing a party on Friday night, it’s the perfect opportunity.”

“I’ll think about it,” Was all Luke said, a clear signal the conversation was over. Percy and Beckendorf returned to fighting, slightly more regulated now they had gotten what they’d wanted, and Luke brought the cigarette back up to his lips, new thoughts clouding his mind.

Meanwhile, Ethan had found Silena where she was known to hang out by the rocks near the lake. He was hovering next to her, providing snatches of shade as he performed pose after pose, claiming he had a modelling job lined up when he left for the year.

“So which do you like better?” He asked, moving his hands fractionally to the left of his chin.

“The second,” Silena giggled, tucking a strand of dark hair behind her ear. “It’s more… pensive.”

“Damn,” Ethan kicked the sand softly. “I was going for thoughtful. So, you going to the Apollo party on Friday?”

“Maybe.” She produced her best coy smile, looking up at him from behind her lashes.

“Good, ‘cause you know I’ll only bother if you’re there.” Silena smiled, getting up from her spot on the rock.

“Bye.” Her voice was airy in the way she knew drove boys mad. She walked away leaving Ethan wanting more, her specialty. You scoffed, catching the end of the exchange. You and Silena made momentary eye contact, tension thick between the two of you.

As Beckendorf approached Silena, fishing for more information about you, Ethan had caught you in his sights and wasn’t going to let you go so easily.

“You sister is so cute,” His voice infiltrated your bubble in a way that made you want to hit him so desperately. “Doesn’t have your bite though, a feisty woman is so sexy.” You knew he was just trying to get a rise out of you, but it was so close to working.

“Come any closer and I’ll show you just how feisty I can get,” You snapped, braid almost whacking him in the face as you turned to face him. You could have sworn Ethan looked afraid for a second before he covered it with bravado.

“One day you’re gonna realise that all of this hostility is just your sexual repression. Don’t worry, babe, I’ll be waiting with open arms… And legs.” You almost threw up.

“Gods, can’t you just leave me alone, asshole?” You yelled, trying to push past him to get anywhere else.

“C’mon, don’t be a prude,” He whined, and you were really close to taking him to the ground — not in the way he wanted.

“You heard the girl,” A voice called from behind you, and instantly Ethan took a step back. “She wants you to leave her alone.” Luke appeared behind you, a respectful distance away whilst still making his intentions clear. Ethan shrunk back into himself, making a lame excuse as to why he had to leave, hurriedly fleeing the beach. Reluctantly, you turned to face Luke.

“I’m not going out with you just for that,” You said plainly, daring him to try again.

“You think that low of me?” He laughed, dark eyes sparkling with mirth. You forced yourself not to notice. “I don’t have to want something from you to know that Ethan White isn’t worth your time.” It was your turn to be embarrassed at that, feeling slightly narcissistic for assuming that was the purpose of the conversation (it was, but Luke sure as hell wasn’t going to ruin his chances because you were in a mood, justified or otherwise).

“Oh.” You stared at his shoes. “Well, thanks, I guess.” You moved to leave but Luke stopped you, hand not quite touching your arm, unwilling to have it bitten off.

“So you do have a heart!” He joked, signature grin on his face. You wondered why you were seeing so much of it lately when he’d been so dour since his quest.

“Ha! You wish.”

“Don’t try to hide it, Beauregard, you’re warming up to me.”

“I’d sooner fuck Mister D,” You replied, actually taking your leave.

Luke watched you go, chewing his lip between his teeth. There was more to you than you let on, he was sure of it. He wouldn’t say it was any fondness, but he was starting to have a curiosity attaching itself to this scheme, and he knew that going out with you would satisfy it. He should have known having any personal stakes involved — sentimental or otherwise — would get dangerous.

Your own thoughts had barely budged on Luke. He was still a pain in your side and you figured you knew what kind of guy he was — not the type you had any interest in. Still, you couldn’t deny that you were appreciative he’d saved you from Ethan (and the inevitable washing up duty you’d be punished with when you beat him up), so maybe he wasn’t quite as despicable as you’d initially judged him to be. Close, though.

part three

[maddyjones2]

On not idolising creative people

In the wake of the various recent allegations involving Neil Gaiman, people have been both very sad that someone who they looked up to as an inspiration has, allegedly, turned out to be something less than entirely admirable, and are now looking to see who is now left that they can rotate into the spot of “the good dude,” i.e., that one successful creative guy who they think or at least hope isn’t hiding a cellar full of awful actions. One name I see brought up is mine, in ways ranging from “Well, at least we still have Scalzi,” to “Oh, God, please don’t let Scalzi be a fucking creep too.” Which, uhhhh, yeah? Thanks?

I have many thoughts about this and I’m going to try to make sense of them here, as much for myself as anyone else, so this may be messy and discursive and long (seriously, 3600 words, y’all), but, well, welcome to me. So, ordered by how these things come out of my head:

1. Stop Idolizing Creative People. Creative people are easy to idolize because they create the art you love, and that gives you permission to feel things, and to see yourself and your desires reflected in that art. That is a powerful thing, and from the outside, it can feel like magic, and that the people who do it are tapped into something otherworldly and admirable. Plus, they often get to have cool lives and get to know other cool creative people. They do things that are removed from the day-to-day aspect of a “normal” life, and they’ll even post about them on social media where you can see them. Sometimes, independent of their art directly, they’ll speak about their life, or life in general, and they’ll seem wise and considered and kind. I mean, what’s not to like?

But please consider that this is all an extremely mediated experience of this person. The art is the edited and massaged result of hours and days and weeks and months of work, into which the work of many others is also added. My novels originate from me, but it’s not just me in there, nor is the final form of the novel an accurate statement of who I am as a person, not least of all for the simple reason that I am not trying to tell my story in my novels. I’m creating fictional characters, and the world in which they make sense, for the purpose of the story.

Despite how it might look from the outside, this is not sorcery. It’s years of experience at a craft. It’s not magic, just work. A completed novel (or any other piece of art) won’t tell you much about the specific, day-to-day life and inclinations of the individual who made it, other than a general nod toward their competence, and the competence of their collaborators. Likewise what you see of their lives, even from the illusorily close vantage of social media, is deeply mediated. Lives always look admirable at a distance, when you can only see the lofty peaks and not the rubble at the base — especially when your attention by design is pointed at those lofty peaks. There’s much you don’t see and that you’re not meant to see. The vast majority of what you’re not meant to see isn’t nefarious. It’s just not your business.

Now, before I was a professional creative person, I was an entertainment journalist who spent years interviewing writers, directors, movie stars, musicians, authors and other creative folks. Since I’ve been on the other side of the rope, I’ve likewise met a huge range of creative people from all walks of life. Please believe me when I assure you that creative people are just people. Richer and/or more famous? Sometimes (less often than you might think, though). Prettier and/or more charismatic? Especially if they’re actors or pop stars, often yes! But at the end of the day they are just folks, and they run the whole range of how people are. By and large, the day-to-day experience of getting through their life is the same as yours. Outside of their own specific field of work, they don’t know any more about life, have no more facility for dealing with the world, and have just as few clues about what’s going on in their own head, as anyone else.

They’re just people. Whose work is making the stuff you like! And that’s great, but that’s not a substantive basis for idolizing them. It makes no more sense to idolize them than to idolize a baker who makes cookies you like, or the guy who comes and trims your hedges the way you want them to be trimmed, or the plumber who fixes your clogged drain. You can appreciate what they do, and even admire they skill they have. But holding them up as a life model might be a bit much. Which is the point! If you’re not willing to idolize a plumber, then you shouldn’t idolize a creative person.

(“But a plumber doesn’t make me feel like a creative person does,” you say, to which I say, are you sure about that? Because I will tell you what, when my sump pump stopped working and the plumber got in there, replaced the pump and started draining out my basement which had an inch of standing water in it, that man was the focus of all my emotions and was my goddamned hero that day. My plumber that day did more for me than easily 90% of the great art I’ve ever experienced.)

Enjoy the art creative people do. Enjoy the experience of them in the mediated version of them you get online and elsewhere, if such is your joy. But remember that the art is from the artist, not the artist themselves, and the version of their life you see is usually just the version they choose to show. There is so much you don’t see, and so much you’re not meant to see. At the end of the day, you don’t have all the information about who they are that you would need to make them your idol, or someone you might choose to, in some significant way, pattern some fraction of your life on. And anyway creative people aren’t any better at life than anyone else.

Which brings up the next point:

2. Fuck idols anyway! People are complicated and contradictory and you don’t know everything about them! You don’t know everything even about your parents or siblings or best friends or your partner! People are hypocrites and liars and fail to live up to their own standards for themselves, much less yours! Your version of them in your head will always be different than the version that actually exists in the world! Because you’re not them! Stop pretending people won’t be fuck ups! They will! Always!

This sounds more pessimistic about humans than perhaps it should be. When I say, for example, that people are hypocrites and liars, I don’t mean that people take every single opportunity to be hypocrites and liars. Most people are decent in the moment. But none of us — not one! — has always lived up to our own standard of behavior, and all of us have had the moment where, when confronted with a situation that would become an immense pain in the ass if we stuck to our guns, or demanded the inconvenient truth, decided to just bail instead, because the situation wasn’t worth the drama, or we had somewhere else to be, or whatever. We all choose battles and we all make the call in the moment, and sometimes the call is, fuck this, I’m out.

Every person you’ve ever admired has fucked up, sometimes really badly. Everyone you’ve ever looked up to has secrets, and it’s possible some of those secrets would materially change how you think about them, not always for the better. Everyone you’ve ever known has things about them you don’t know, many of which aren’t even secrets, they’re just things you don’t engage with in your day-to-day experience of them. Nevertheless it’s possible if you were aware of them, it would change how you feel about them, for better or for worse. And now let’s flip that around! You have things about you that even your best friends don’t know, and might be surprised to learn! You have secrets you don’t wish to share with the class! You have fucked up, and lied, and have been a hypocrite too!

You are, in short, a human, as is everyone you know and every one you will know (pets and gregarious wild animals excepted). And all humans are, charitably, a mess. This doesn’t mean there aren’t good people or even exemplary people out there, since there are, along with the ones that are, charitably, a real shit show. What I am saying is that even the good or exemplary people out there are a mess, have been morally compromised at some point in their lives, and have not lived up to their own standards for themselves, independent of anyone else’s standard for them.

One of the aspects of being an “idol,” I think, is that higher standard that other people expect of you — that in every situation where the aspect they idolize you for is in play, you will act in a manner that is right and correct by their standard, which of course you will likely not know about because you don’t actually know them (or often know that they exist). This is, by definition, an impossible standard to be held to — you didn’t agree to it, or to engage with it — and an impossible standard to hold other people to without their direct consultation. Every human made to be an idol is destined to fail at the job. You don’t even have to have feet of clay! You just didn’t know you were on a pedestal to begin with.

(This does not excuse shitty action. The fact people should not be idols in the first place is not exculpatory for the choices one makes on one’s own. If you’re sexually assaulting people, or being a racist or sexist or homophobe or other flavor of bigot, or using your situational power coercively (as just a few examples), then hell yes you are going to be called out on it. And to be clear, it is not unreasonable, to put it mildly, to expect people not to sexually assault other people, or not to denigrate other humans for being who they are, etc. But this only adds to the point about idols, now, doesn’t it. You don’t know what you don’t see, and you don’t know what you’re not seeing, until it is hauled out into the light one way or the other. If it is hauled out into the light at all.)

I don’t think anyone should idolize anyone, ever. It’s not great for them, and it’s not great for you, they probably didn’t ask to be idolized (and if they did, holy shit, fucking run), and in the end unless you’re so completely wrapped up in their lives that they have no secrets from you — which is never — you don’t know enough to make that call. People do it anyway, and then disappointment happens, but they shouldn’t have done it in the first place. Stop idolizing people. It’s not fair for anyone.

What to do instead? Enjoy their work, if they’re a creative person. Appreciate the kind and good aspects of their life that you can see, and the decent actions they undertake in public, with the knowledge that what you see of them is a mediated and elided version. Understand that we all have a different version of ourself for every person we meet, and that every person we meet has a different vision of ourselves in their head, and very often, those two versions are not the same. Like them, based on what you know of them! Love them, if it comes to that. And when and if you learn something new about them that you didn’t know before, let empathy guide you to a new understanding of them and what they mean to you.

And now, taking all of the above into consideration:

3. Absolutely 100% do not idolize me. I don’t deserve to be idolized because no one deserves to be idolized, but also, holy fuck, I do know me and I’m a mess. There have been lots of things in my life that I’ve done that have not been admirable or kind. I can be petty and shitty and competitive and cruel. I am lazy and inattentive and when I let things slide (which is often), I end up jammed up on my responsibilities, which makes me irritable and no fun to be around. I have a temper which goes from zero to sixty almost instantaneously; if I’m not actively paying attention to it, I can become a sudden, unreasonable rage monster, which is a burden to people I love, and I hate that fact about myself (pro tip: don’t travel with me, the rage monster comes out a lot then).

I can be controlling and demanding but I want other people to handle the details, i.e., executive asshole. I am strategic in a way that can be bloodless. When I’m insecure I brag a lot, which is unflattering. If you cross me, I won’t go out of my way to make your life miserable (that would require effort on my part), but I will absolutely enjoy when you take a literal or metaphorical tumble down the stairs. God knows I’ve enjoyed the failures of the people who have spoken ill of me, almost as much as I’ve enjoyed the fuming, spittling rage they’ve felt when I’ve succeeded. I spent years cultivating a snarky persona online and while that was fun (for me), I’m increasingly aware that when the tally is added up for Who Ruined the Internet, I’m not necessarily going to be where I want to be on that particular ledger.

And these are only the bad qualities of mine I wish to admit to you at the moment. There are others, I assure you.

So, yes: Who wants to idolize me now?

“But you seemed so nice when I chatted with you online/met you at the convention/saw you at that one place that one time.” Well, thank you, I’ve been in the public eye in one manner or another for three and a half decades now and I understand my assignment; my public persona is friendly and engaging and sociable and mostly fun to be with. It’s not a fake version of me — I am all those things! Honest! — but, again, it’s a mediated version of me designed not only to be a positive experience for the people who meet me but also to get my actually introverted ass through a whole day of events at a convention/festival/book tour/whatever. When I’m done I collapse into an introverted hole. When I came back from Worldcon this week, I slept for 15 hours the first day I was home. It wasn’t just because of jet lag or con crud.

I rather famously call my public face “performance monkey mode,” and likewise what I say about my (current) online mode is that I’m cosplaying as a better version of myself, one that is kinder than I used to be online, and more patient than I am in the real world. If you meet me when I am “off” then you will find that, again, these versions of me are me, just with some things dialed up and other things dialed down. But even that is still a different version of me than, say, the version of me which is at home (which is in fact extremely boring; that version of me doesn’t talk much and mostly stays in my office).

Many of you who have followed me over the years are familiar with me saying things like this, of course, and are likewise familiar with me pointing out that there are a number of things about my life that I don’t mention in public, for whatever reasons I choose. But it’s also true that I’ve been actively online for 30+ years now, and people feel reasonably confident that they have a good bead on me and that there’s not much about me that will surprise them or change their understanding of me. So to bring home the point there are indeed things you don’t know, allow me to surface just one previously unaired fun fact:

I have a concealed carry license.

(Or did; it expired this year and I didn’t renew it, because Ohio changed its laws so that you no longer need a permit to conceal carry in the state. These days in Ohio you can just wander about with a handgun stuffed down your trousers without training or licensing because that’s a real good idea, now, isn’t it. Nevertheless, the license is not necessary anymore so there was not much point in renewing it, although if the law had not changed, I probably would have renewed.)

Why did I have a concealed carry license? Well, ultimately that’s not important. The point is I had one. I didn’t talk about it before because, among other things, the point of a concealed carry license (to me, anyway) is that its existence is not meant to be known by anyone other than that great state of Ohio itself. I am aware, and this is a dramatic understatement, that I am not a person most people would expect to have had such a thing. That the fact I had one will cause a number of people to reconsider what they know about me, for better or for worse. Which is also my point. All y’all have just learned this thing about me! Think about all the other things you don’t know!

Oh, God, this is where Scalzi starts admitting to terrible, terrible things. No. I feel pretty confident I live a tolerably ethical life. Part of the reason for this is that I have what I think is a decent operating principle, which is: If I’m thinking of doing something, and Krissy called me right then and asked “what are you doing?” and I would be tempted to lie to her about it, then I don’t do that thing. Because Krissy is the most important person in my life, and I don’t want to lie to her about what I’m doing (I have lied to her exactly once. She knew instantly. I haven’t bothered lying to her since). This is not replacing Krissy’s ethics with my own; it’s me knowing whether by my own ethics, I would be ashamed to tell to her what I am up to. It works very well. As such, the Krissy Test is an operating principle I highly suggest to others, although I’d suggest replacing Krissy with whomever your life is most important to you.

Be that as it may, my ethics are not universal and some others might not find them sufficient, for whatever reason. I am well aware I still disappoint many people, and that there are people who find my life choices, known positions or public statements (or lack of them, as the case may be) problematic, or who simply wish I would be other than what I am. I can’t help them with this, but again, this is the point. Given the fact that I am a fallible human who has an entire stratum of his life not visible to the world — and the strata of his life that are visible cause significant numbers of people to be irritated and exasperated — is it not better just to not hold me up as an ideal person, or the “good dude,” much less an idol of any sort?

I mean, shit. What Would John Scalzi Do? Solidly half the time, I have no fucking idea. I have to think about it, whatever it is. I have to think about whether I know enough to do or say something about it. I have to decide whether it’s something I want to engage with at all, and whether my engagement with it is something that would be of value to anyone, me included. I have to decide whether engaging with it is worth the shit I will get for it. And then I have to figure out what it means that I am engaging with it, since like it or not I’m a Dude of Reasonable Significance in My Field. I try to be a decent human, when people are looking at me and especially when they are not. But I also know me, and all my flaws and weaknesses and compromises.

What Would John Scalzi Do? The best he can, in the moment. Is that sufficient? For me, yes, most of the time. Is that sufficient for you? That’s up to you.

The point to this all is that people are just a big fucking mess, including the ones you might for whatever reason find admirable. I am no different than anyone else, and you should not be under the illusion that I am anything other than a shambling collection of flaws embedded inside a human form, which also, in its defense, has some pretty excellent qualities as well. We’re all this way! You too!

And while I want you to like my work, and to enjoy the version of me that you see here and elsewhere, don’t put me, or any other person, on a pedestal. Pedestals are wobbly and and don’t give actual humans a lot of room to move. We will inevitably fall off. Keep us with our feet on the ground. That way, when we stumble, there’s a chance we can get back up, and keep going.

— JS

[startrekfangirl2233-writes]

Lens Flare

Jake 'Hangman' Seresin x Reader

Description: Over the past three months, your career has grown by leaps and bounds. Yet at the same time, you can't help feeling dissatisfied. A lot of your feelings stem from what you did the last time you saw him. Jake Seresin. Lieutenant Jake Seresin. It had been fun, in the hangar, under the dead of night - passionate and hot. So too had been the video you filmed and the pictures you'd snapped. But hindsight, well, maybe there is a reason why they say "Hindsight is Twenty-Twenty". Because Jake hasn't called, despite how badly you want him to. A new assignment in North Island might have the potential to change everything for Jake and our Shutterbug, including how they approach everything they hold dear.

Warnings: Once again, this is just some porn with plot. The feral plot bunnies ran away with me, I fear.

Word Count: 8502

A/N: Hiya everyone! I'm baaack! Enjoy this sequel to my fic Photo Finish. It's just as smutty and gorgeous as the last one!

This fic is brought to you all by the constant support of @horseshoegirl, @sarahsmi13s and @desert-fern. You're all my heroes and I love you to bits for keeping me from ditching this story before it even started! I couldn't have written it without you!

AO3: Cross-posted Here!

Wattpad: Cross-posted Here!

An old photography teacher of yours once told you never to submit photos with lens flares to any publication, magazine or contest. He considered lens flares the biggest mistake for a rookie photographer. He’d declared, quite adamantly in front of your entire class, using your pictures as examples, how lens flares made photos look cheap and low quality. Given his dislike of the trick of light, he’s also taught you a plethora of tricks to prevent them. Over the many, many years since you left his class, you’ve started to relax and deviate from the rigid rules of photography he once taught you. For a large portion of your career, you've been photographing subjects which cannot be posed in a studio, which helps. Every snick and whir of your camera feels like you are letting go of rules and embracing your art.

You’ve always heard wildlife photography has a tendency to relax photographers' attitudes. It’s a truth you’re very thankful you had the chance to experience. After all, there are no rules when it’s just you, your camera and what feels like the entire world a hair's-breadth away from your camera lens. It’s hard to be frustrated with the sun glancing across your camera lens when it highlights fox kits gamboling in dewy spring grass. Or elk on a frost-bitten winter morning with clouds of their breath dissipating into the clear air. Those pictures were once-in-a-lifetime shots, perfect in their imperfection and richer with the sparkling halos of light.

Being back in New York after years of traveling has made you appreciate the photographs you took even more. Now you feel like you can fully appreciate the wilderness in them. New York is wild in an entirely different way. It’s louder, greyer, more populous, yet just as vibrant. In New York, you’ve been able to capture human nature, snapping minuscule interactions between people who are always in a hurry and always moving. But you also have to work to make enough money to fund your passions. Not having to travel helped bring some stability to your passions. But of all of the things you thought you'd be photographing, fashion models and clothes were never an option. In a way, photographing fashion and fashion models is capturing another kind of wild animal in your lens sights. Models and designers are wholly proprietary and protective over what they consider theirs, whether their clothing or their aesthetic appearance. You’ve had to shoot and reshoot, as well as touch up your photos more than you've ever had to before. Of course, in this case, your primary objective is to make the models and the clothes they are wearing look otherworldly and incredible. 

At first, the thrill of doing something new was alluring and exciting. But after a year, trapped in New York City, doing the same thing and working with the same people day in and day out, you can’t help but miss wildlife photography. It's like a persistent ache below your breast bone, something calling you back to the life you lived before. You're missing traveling in arid deserts and verdant forests even more now. And then the US Navy came calling. Now, while you miss the wilderness, you think you might just miss something else, more.

It’s late, half-past three in the early hours of the morning, and you’re sitting out on the balcony attached to your overpriced shoebox of an apartment. You’ve found yourself sitting out here more and more as the summer heat turns into the cool of fall. Your balcony is so small there’s only room for a single chair, and your feet are propped up on the wrought iron railing. New York’s the city which never sleeps and the crackle and groan of the city resonates around you. Your oldest camera, a Canon you bought in college with the pennies and dollars you’d saved from tips earned from waitressing, sits on your lap. All night, you’ve been trying and failing to chase away how unsettled you’ve been feeling by peering through the viewfinder and trying to see things from a different perspective. 

But it hasn’t worked. You've been feeling discomfited of late, unsettled and restless. Maybe your listlessness has something to do with your next assignment. You can’t lie, not even to yourself no matter how hard you try. It has everything to do with your next assignment. You should be excited. You should be asleep, because at least if you were asleep, the time would pass sooner. For once, you will not be photographing a new designer collection. In the morning, you're flying to San Diego to take pictures at North Island Naval Base for a follow-up piece sanctioned by the US Navy. Your team is joining you, which should be a comfort, albeit slight and slim. There will be more planes to photograph and possibly shots you can take from within the cockpit or from up in the air.

It took three months to publish the article on the US Navy’s newest hotshot aviation squadron. There had been countless revisions and rounds of approval with the US Navy's Office of Public Relations to greenlight the endeavor. It's been exactly the same amount of time since you met the Dagger Squadron, too - only three months after you edited the photographs, focusing maybe a little too much on one face in particular. Three months after you took the biggest risk of your life, professionally and personally. Three months after you made a sex tape with a client. It doesn’t help that he was a memorable client, too - and how you haven’t been able to forget him.

It's only been two weeks since the magazine hit newsstands with your picture of the Daggers in all their finery near one of the jets on the front cover. Everywhere you go, it seems you see their faces - his face. Your phone has been ringing off the hook ever since. Everyone wants you to take professional portraits of their clients. But your phone has never had the voice you so desperately want to hear on the other end of the line. It's a nationally distributed magazine, after all, and like everything nowadays, published both physically and digitally. The magazine had also mailed special copies to each member of the squadron which was your subject. So he has to have seen it. So why hasn't he called? It's the one question on your mind. It may be the only question on your mind, but it's far from the only thought in your mind. 

Chances are, he doesn’t want to talk to you at all. After all, why would he want to?

You couldn't silence the thoughts if you tried - and you have tried, repeatedly. Getting drunk made you maudlin, going out had you seeing his face in every stranger’s and getting laid had made you wish you were with him rather than anyone else. Over and over again you’ve found yourself thinking about those last few moments with him, agonizing over every detail, from the kisses and touches to the last time you saw him. Maybe you hadn’t been entirely clear in your note to him. You can recall the note as if you wrote it yesterday, the note you'd affixed to the flash drive you handed him.

Sure, you told him to call you when he was in New York next. But really, you wanted him to call you, period. Or text you. Something, anything to show you’re lingering in his memory in the same way he lingers in yours. You thought your dalliance had been memorable enough. You hoped you were memorable enough. After all, it's not every day you let a man fuck you up against his jet and record it, forget a man you’ve known only for a few days. Maybe it’s a little silly how attached you’ve gotten to him, given the short time frame, after what should have been completely meaningless sex. 

But it’s not meaningless anymore, at least not to you, after how many times you've seen the video since you last saw him. Your camera hadn’t hidden a single thing when you made your little home movie all those nights ago. You’ve seen how his hands had been gentle, his eyes soft. Your entire countenance had been beckoning, beguiling in the throes of passion, needy in a way you’ve never let yourself be before with anyone else. He’s also spoiled you for any other man on the planet - or at least in New York. You haven’t hit the same heights since him, and a part of you is sure you never will again. And now you have to enter the lion’s den, venture right into enemy territory with your head held high and only a camera to shield your too-hungry gaze.

A thump on the railing drags you out of your reverie. Your neighbor’s escape-artist black cat makes himself at home on the railing, paws flexing as his tail lashes through the humid night air. Like you’re in a dream, you lift up the camera and peer through the viewfinder. Tonight, everything seems to be coming back to lens flares. The neon lights fracture in your camera lens, softening the visage of the cat on the railing, green eyes luminescent. With reflexes born of years of wildlife photography, partially stunted after nearly a year of fashion photography, you depress the shutter with a soft snick and a near-silent whir. What you’re left with is a long exposed image - neon lights blurring in the background as one shines behind the cat’s head. Even his fur is blurred, only green eyes in focus, piercing into your soul. It’s perfect, as expected, and you hope it’s an omen for the days to come while you’re in San Diego.

Green eyes, different from those of your neighbor’s cat, haunt you, even more, the following day as you pile out of one of the minivans the studio rented for you and your team, as well as all of your equipment, on the tarmac at North Island. The humid, sticky air stinks of jet fuel and salt water. The wind brushes past you, snatching at your hair and ripping your sun hat right off your head. It's hot as it brushes by, providing no relief to the insistent heat.

Your team just laughs as you chase, bedraggled and exhausted, after your hat. The wind pushes you towards the hangars at the end of the tarmac, colossal doors thrown open while rows of jets stand gleaming. For the first time, you think you understand why Jake is so in love with being up in the air in his jet, how close to the elements he must be with adrenaline coursing through his system. You raise the camera resting against your chest, leaving your hat to fly where it wants, because you have to capture this.

When your camera focuses, you start snapping with abandon, capturing the sun-drenched metal and heat waves rising off of the pavement.  You’re not sure what pictures the editors will select to go with the article the journalist is going to write. Regardless, you’re stealing the time to take some filler shots now, when it’s bright out still, and blindingly golden outside. Your team is far behind you, still clustered by the cars, as you trail between the shining metal hawks, cockpits closed and emblazoned with names and callsigns. Your heart stutters in your chest when you see his jet, the text dark and fresh, announcing he’s been promoted. So, he's still operating out of Naval Air Station North Island. 

Faintly, you can hear voices emanating from one of the open hangars, so you creep closer, your old Canon camera clutched to your chest like it can protect you. Twenty-four of the US Navy's best aviators are saturated in gold, settled in creaking plastic chairs. Jake’s at the podium, laser pointer in hand, completely relaxed as he talks about things you couldn’t understand if you tried. The light glints across his face, catching angelically on the burnished strands of his hair. A singular fluffy lock has broken free of his hair gel’s hold, trailing softly across his forehead. It makes your fingers ache to push it back into place. But you can’t, because you won’t interrupt or embarrass him. So you take pictures instead, breathlessly, silently, framing the aviators limned in gold like they’re deities waiting to go to war.

You’re not sure when it happens, but he sees you - bright green eyes colliding with yours, a nearly imperceptible frown creasing his brow before the skin smooths. He doesn’t look happy to see you. In a way, it makes sense. You were just a one-night stand, something sexy to indulge in - not someone he'd want to keep forever. The look lances through you, skewering you in place as the wind and sun stick your blouse to your back. He doesn’t acknowledge you but for one curiously blank look, and you’re mortified as you walk silently back to your crew, who are now grouped around the jets in awe.

As expected, Adam and Lea, your stylists extraordinaire, are already scribbling away. Lea's flicking through the tablet in her hands. If you were a betting woman, you'd bet good money they are already planning outfits to take advantage of the blue, gold and white theme of North Island.

“Hey, Boss!” Amy, your assistant, is nearly bouncing in place with her excitement. You're not sure how she's so energetic despite the heat and the hours of travel. “Our liaison should be joining us soon. They'll give us a tour of the base and then show us where we'll be setting up shop this week.”

She doesn’t notice how frozen your smile feels and how mechanic your nods are. All you can think about is Jake. He must have known, right? What are the chances he didn’t know you were coming to North Island to take more pictures? There must have been some briefing or notice informing the aviators why you're here. After all, you’re here to photograph the Dagger Squadron. Then why was his face so blank when he saw you earlier? Thinking about him is driving you crazy, but you're not sure you can stop. All you want is to know whether he could ever feel as strongly for you as you do for him.

When your liaison walks up ten minutes later, you’re pleasantly surprised to see you have not one liaison, but two. Neither of your Navy appointed liaisons is Jake, something which you should have expected, but you were still hoping for regardless. Lieutenant Commanders Trace and Floyd are smiling from ear-to-ear as they greet your team by name. Lea and Katie seem especially enthused at seeing the soft-spoken bespectacled WSO again. Lieutenant Commander Trace is her same unflappable, cool, collected self. Her presence and dry sense of humor has you in stitches as you and your team follow behind her like a herd of ducklings. There are familiar faces around what seems like every corner of the base. But none of the faces are the face you still want to see so desperately.

Jake Seresin shows up again as you’re oooh-ing and ahh-ing over the big hanger, burnished yellow, orange, red and pink in the light of the sun. You’ve got your camera up to your face, lips pursed in concentration, eyes squinting as you peer myopically through the viewfinder. It's his voice you hear first. Just hearing it, with the same rough timber, makes you remember what he told you, before you fell into his arms and headfirst into this situation with Jake Seresin.

God, baby. You killed me this morning. Wearing that pretty little skirt and those high heels. I wanted to bend you over and fuck you until you were leaking my cum.

It’s not a good sign, is it? How you’re unable to even look at his face without giving yourself away. The evidence of your feelings must be on your face, which feels uncomfortably hot. The heat is completely unrelated to San Diego's sky-high temperature and you shy away from eye-contact when you pivot and face the rest of your team, and the trio of Lieutenant Commanders. The sight of him hits you in your solar plexus, robbing your breath and leaving your palms uncomfortably clammy.

“Hi.” 

It’s a quiet greeting, your voice swallowed by the sight of him. It feels like your tongue is two times bigger than it should be in your mouth, unwieldy as you force it to move like you want it to. He doesn’t hear you, or even acknowledge you standing there waiting for him to notice you. Standing there, you finally realize how big a gulf there is between you and Lieutenant Commander Jake Seresin.

It's a sharp contrast. He's standing there in his khaki uniform crisp and new, blond hair dark at his temples from the shower he must have taken. In contrast, your shirt is covered in wrinkles, your hair is frizzy with flyaways escaping your braid and your worn jeans are butter soft but have definitely seen better days. He ignores you for the rest of the afternoon. It hurts, of course it does, when he doesn’t notice you in the same way you notice him. But you have a job to do. You can’t - you won’t - jeopardize your career for a man, not even a man as beautiful as he is.

The now-trio of Lieutenant Commanders shows you the Officer’s ready room, where you'll be setting up for the interviews. Each member of your team is also given a badge on a lanyard allowing you limited access to certain areas of base. Soon enough, you're left to survey the ready room and prepare your team for the days ahead.

“I know it's been a long day already for you all.” Your smile is a little wry as you continue, “It's been a long day for me too. All I want is to unwind and get out of these heels!”

You let the scattered chuckles from your team peter out before continuing.

“Before I can do so, we need to sync up on what we're going to be focusing on over the next few days.”

“First and foremost on our list? Getting pictures of the Daggers while they are being interviewed. The interviewer is an old friend of Admiral Kazansky's and will be spotlighting each of the Daggers. As a part of the interview, we will be expected to get photos of each member of the squadron in their flight suits, their khaki uniforms and their dress uniforms.”

You raise your hands up to stall any questions. “I'm aware this isn't exactly the type of photo shoot we're used to. Katie, you’ll be on hand to help with their make-up during the interview. We're keeping it light and subtle. For the interview photos, we want the aviator's uniforms and medals to shine.” 

“Seb and Kris - the two of you will be measuring the light levels in this room during various times of day and setting up artificial studio lights as necessary. I'll also need you both to check on the lighting situation in the big hangar we were in with the desks and the United States flag on the wall.”

“Adam and Lea, it may not sound like it yet, but I will need you both on your A-games. By special request of Admiral Mitchell, we've been asked to stage a beach bonfire. He wants this interview to echo the beginnings of this squadron. They became a team on the beach and now they are a family. I'm thinking we need cozy textiles and bright winter-toned colors. I'll leave the color palette to you both. All I ask is we have a cohesive palette for the squadron as a whole. As always, measurements for the aviators are included in this dossier. One of the minivans is yours. Our office in San Diego knows to expect you both.”

It doesn’t surprise you at all when Adam and Lea make a beeline for the doors as soon as you’re done with them. You’ve worked with them both long enough to know how they operate. They’ll be downtown and looking through the clothing on display before you can blink.

“Ames, while I run point with the admirals,  you'll be sourcing the beachfront we can use for the bonfire. I'm not sure who you'll need permission from, but there might be a bar owner who can give us permission.”

Before long, it feels like you're the only island of calm in the entirety of base. Seb and Kris wander in and out of the room, measuring the light and carting in and out lighting equipment. Even the teleconference you have with the Admirals, both of whom are in Hawaii, due to fly back in a couple of days, goes smoothly.

Over the next few days, you find yourself building on the rapport you created with 6 of the aviators in the Dagger squad in the following days. You also meet the other half of the Dagger Squad. But at the same time you are building a relationship with the other Daggers, it feels like you're losing the relationship you once had with Jake.

The only time you see him during the four days of interviews and pictures is when he is being interviewed. Even then, he spends more time chatting with Amy and Katie than you. Even when you address him directly, he's silent, content to play puppet to your puppet master and then disappearing to an area off base you don't have access to. It hurts, and you’re starting to get weird looks from the other Daggers. They’re all too polite, or too cognizant of their positions in the Navy to ask you any prying questions. At least, until the bonfire.

It hadn’t been difficult to organize at all, in the end. All Amy needed to do was speak to the proprietress of The Hard Deck, a little bar a few miles off base. Penny had been more than happy to hand over the usage of the beach outside her bar for the night. The combination of good food, even better alcohol, and of course, no interviews relaxed the Daggers enough for you to get the candid shots the magazine was looking for. Halos of light spark across your screen with each snap you take - lens flares sparking to life, again and again.

“Why aren’t you hanging out with Jake?”

The question makes you jump and nearly chuck your lens cap into the bonfire. You fumble awkwardly as you try to collect your composure.

“Lieutenant Commander Trace. What can I do for you?”

Your voice is a little shaky as you wheel around and face her.

“You don’t have to do anything for me!” She’s smiling at your discomfort, something wicked curling her lips. “And anyways, didn’t I tell you to call me Natasha three months ago?”

 You’re smiling despite yourself at her antics.

“It’s good to see you again, Natasha.”

“Forget about me. Why aren’t you talking to Jake?” 

You should have known she wouldn’t be able to let it go.

“Three months ago, you could barely keep your eyes off of him and the same was true of him. He went out of his way to chat you up every chance he got. And now? Something happened between the two of you after we all left the hangar, and now neither of you is talking. You were fine when you showed us the pictures the next day. But now?”

You shrug, lifting your camera up to snap another couple of pictures of the squadron having fun.

“Oh my god. I can’t with the two of you. Either you walk over there and talk to him, or I’m going to get him to talk to you!”

You grab her arm before she can march away.

“I can’t, Natasha.”

You try grabbing for her, but before you can, she’s already gone. His eyes cut over to yours the more she speaks, and you’re not sure you like the way he’s glancing over at you. Your heart is in your throat as he skirts around the bonfire and sidles up to you.

“What are you doing here? Natasha has this crazy idea you’re heads over heels for me, but the way you’ve been acting says differently. So what are you doing here?”

His voice is so quiet you can barely hear it over the crackling bonfire. His face doesn’t change its expression once the entire time he’s speaking to you, barring one tiny, blink-and-you-miss-it smirk. Once again, you have to thank Adam and Lea for their work because the Lieutenant Commander looks good enough to eat in his sweater and butter-soft jeans. But you know he's not happy to see you. The disappearing act he's been pulling ever since he saw you outside the hangar four days ago is proof.

“You know what I’m doing here, Jake.” 

“You're taking photos for another article. I know, I know.”

His smirk deepens, eyes twinkling maddeningly as he prowls closer to you.

“But between you and me, it’s just the official excuse, isn't it?” He tugs at a strand of your hair, reeling you closer to him. “But unofficially, I bet you want more of me. Maybe you want to make yourself another home movie? See my handprint on your ass cheeks again?”

His words have heat rising to your face, never mind how your skin already feels too toasty from how you've been huddling near the bonfire all night to keep yourself warm. Form-fitting dresses are not beachwear, especially not in late November. But you’re dressing to impress, wearing sharp blazers and business frocks. Add to the dress the camera and purse you’ve got over your shoulder, and you’re definitely not equipped for the beach.

“How do you know what I want?”

Your voice is thready and light, and your head spins the closer he gets to you. It's weird. You've been aching to have him this close to you all week, but now, when he is actually close to you again, you feel like it's too much, like he's too much. Every night in your hotel room, you've been coaching yourself to ignore him. You’ve had to in order to compartmentalize and be professional while on base. Yet, after only a few minutes in his presence, all your defenses are shredded like tissue paper.

“Because you're looking at me like this.”

Wafts of fragrant wood smoke drift by you and him as you stand mere inches away from each other. You can’t refute his statement. Not even a little bit, not even at all. You've never been able to mask your emotions, wearing your heart on your sleeve and your feelings in the pursed set of your mouth and the raise of your eyebrows. But you’re still not sure what you can say. If he’d propositioned you with the same vulnerable look in his eyes the first day you were in North Island, when he first saw you again, you would have folded like a cheap lawn chair. Then, you probably would have been more than content to pass on your expensive hotel room and make his lonely base apartment a little warmer. But he didn’t, and you’re not sure you can take the risk anymore.

Jake’s shoulders hunch, sinking into the impossibly soft cashmere of the sweater at your lack of response.

“I…” His smirk flattens, something like his Hangman mask taking its place. His shoulders never drop past his ears the longer you stand there with him at arm’s reach and pretend like you’re having a blast at this beach photoshoot turned bonfire party.

“I’ve read this all wrong, haven’t I?”

His sigh is gusty and almost too loud. “I was waiting for you to say something, because I’ve been dying to see you again. But then you ran away when you were taking pictures of the Top Gun class. Afterward, I - I didn’t know how to say I missed you, which is weird, I know. We only knew each other for a singular night.”

If your jaw isn’t on the floor already, you know it will be soon. Already, you’ve been getting too many questioning glances from your team and the Dagger Squadron. Then there is Natasha’s well-meaning meddling from a few minutes ago. Even the admirals have glanced over every once in a while at you and the normally cocky Lieutenant Commander standing in near silence. It’s not a conscious thought which has you whirling around in the silky sand and snagging a hand into his sleeve. You’re not sure why you’re doing it. All you know is if you’re having this out now, you need to have it out in private where it will not be injurious to your career or his.

Thankfully, Jake doesn't fight you as you pull him towards a corner of the parking lot. Your face feels flushed, and your chest heaves with panic at the thought someone could know what you and Jake did.

“I…” 

You cover his mouth with your hand, pretending the feeling of his skin on your hands doesn't burn, like you’re not completely aware of the masculine heat emanating from his skin. For several long moments, you stand in the shadows between two pick-up trucks in the parking lot. Each of your muscles is tense, waiting for someone to realize you've disappeared with Jake Seresin, of all people. You don’t want to think about the possibilities they were assuming. The prickling, uneasy sensation doesn't pass with the moments but does fade a little.

“What was that about, huh?”

You just glare in response.

“I thought it was better to have this conversation where we were less likely to be overheard, is all.” 

Your voice is prim, and your nose is tipped upward. It's obvious Jake doesn't feel the same way you do about this conversation, if he’s asking you questions like this.

“C'mon, sugar. If you wanted to let me down, you could have just said it by the bonfire. I promise I won't harass you.” His brow is furrowed as he thinks through all the implications of your statement. “Then or now.”

“I…” You fling your hands upwards, feeling this sudden urge to rage at the stars above you. How have things gotten so twisted? In your head and between you and Jake? 

“I don't want to let you down, Jake.”

You growl, then, because you know what you feel, but the words aren't coming out of your mouth the right way. He's patiently waiting for you to figure it out, lips pressed into a thin line, and green eyes scorching through you.

“I’m not rejecting you, Jake. When I came to North Island Naval Base and saw you standing in front of the lectern, I wanted you to smile when you saw me. I wanted some indication you felt the same way I did. I also wanted to kiss you, but it wouldn’t have helped then.”

You're smiling again, just a slight curve to your lips, a smile Jake is mirroring.

“Then you pretended I didn't exist. You pretended I was just someone you worked with before. Not someone who you were intimate with. Not someone whose life you changed with your stupid smile and your piercing eyes and your big, gentle hands. I…” 

To your embarrassment, you're sniffling and fighting back tears. “I didn't know why, or how to deal with it, so I just pushed back all my feelings. I pretended the same thing you did, and tried to ignore how much it hurt.”

“Fuck.” The quiet expletive echoes around you. “I messed this up, didn't I?”

He's pacing now, back and forth in front of you, shoes sliding through the gravel as he marches. He's ruffling his hair, face scrunched up in anguish at your words.

“I haven't been able to stop thinking about you. I've watched our video so many times, I know my favorite parts. Fuck, sweetheart, I even took the picture of your ass with my handprints on it with me when we were deployed a month ago. I was nearly given so many demerits because of how hot that picture is.”

Your heart seems like it’s going to burst out of your chest, beating as hard as it is. 

“So why didn’t you call?” The same plaintive, sad tone is in your voice again.

“What could I have said?” He’s finally stopped pacing back and forth at least. He flings his hands out from his hips “Sweetheart, I want you, I need you. I wish I could fly to New York right now to taste you again?”

You have to snicker at the sarcastic, sardonic note in his voice. 

“It’s a little melodramatic, but I would have taken it.” 

Just as quickly as you snicker, the laugh peters away into a gentle sigh. “All you had to do was tell me you missed me, Jake. All I wanted was for you to tell me you wanted to see me again.”

“Would it have mattered if I did?” 

He’s stepped closer again, close enough you can feel the heat of his skin against yours. One of his big hands cradles your jaw as he looms over you.

“I asked you a question, pretty girl.” There’s a smirk on his face as he ghosts his lips over yours.

“Why would my answer matter then?” You’re not sure where the sass is coming from, but it’s making Jake smirk even more. “Knowing the decision you made?”

Thankfully, you don’t have to think of a response with a brain wholly occupied by the man drawing you into his arms. You melt into the kiss like it's something visceral you've been missing. His hair still feels the same against the pads of your fingers, golden silk, as you wrap your arms around his neck. He still tastes like you remember, too, cinnamon and smoky spice intermingling on your tongue as he licks into your mouth. Your heart sings when he gently positions your camera so it isn’t crushed between the two of you.

You whimper when he pulls away, chasing after his mouth like you're addicted to it. He still kisses like he flies, you note dimly, thoughts far away. The car at your back is cool, the metal searing into your skin as the sun has long since set. But the cold temperature of the car has nothing on the man crowding you up against it. His eyes are lidded, gaze hot as he takes in the sight of you. The dual temperatures are enough to make you shudder.

“Look at you, darling.” His hands are just as hot as his gaze as he trails his hands down your sides. “A single kiss, and you’re aching for me.”

You can’t deny the effects this man has on you. In truth, the time for denial would have been some time before you made the movie at the hangar. You’re so far down this path there isn’t a way to turn back. 

“You want me just as much.” 

Your voice is quieter than the rush of the waves, yet loud enough you can see the impact as they hit his ears. He’s still just as fit as he was three months ago, all hard, hot muscle as he presses up against you, cedar and plum wafting through the air off his skin. You can feel the jut of him against your hip as he muscles you even further against the car, spreading you out like a meal he wants to eat. He transfixes you with a glare when he pulls away, even as he smirks at your breathy moan. You watch, eyes lidded, as he opens the truck door and sets your things on the broad seat. You’re panting with need when he comes back to you, body shivering as he leans into you again. His hands find their home against the curve of your waist, fingers still nimble as they focus on tracing your curves in a way which might be driving you just a little mad. You almost wish you were wearing a blouse and skirt again like last time, because at least then you could feel his hands spread across your ribcage, searing their heat into your bones.

You’re lost in him, utterly captivated by the way his tongue tangles with yours, the way he makes you moan. Unlike the rough, claiming kisses of your first sexual encounter with Jake Seresin, these kisses are tender and sweet. They’re searching and tasting, like he’s trying to learn what makes you tick and what makes you moan. In truth, it feels like he’s trying to take you apart only to put you together again. This time, you’re not sure you’ll ever be the same, forever changed by the man in your arms. 

“Fuck…” The word is an exhale pressed to your pulse-point, sticky, sweet, and blindingly hot. “Baby, let me take you somewhere other than this dusty, dirty parking lot. I think I really need to see you spread out on my bed this time.”

“Yes, please.” The words leave you in a strung out moan as you tug him closer, fisting your hands in his hair and sweater as you see fit. You’re past caring so long as he’s pressed so perfectly against you.

When he finally steps back from you, you’re gratified to see he looks just as rumpled and debauched as you feel. For a few moments, you stand there, drinking him in, hands aching to draw him close again, to touch him again. He takes your hand, entwining his fingers and yours. His hand dwarfs yours, skin slightly rough as his hand cradles yours. You let him lead you to the truck and help you in, because a part of you isn’t sure you’re going to be able to let him go even when you have to.

It’s silent, but for the sounds of the road as he starts his pickup, one hand never leaving its spot on your thigh. Your hands find the camera again, snapping with abandon the vista blurring past the windows and the man driving you. The streetlights halo through the lens view, speckling the pictures with circles of golden-butter light. It seems like time slips past in a slow trickle. You’re still looking through the camera when the engine cuts off, the sounds of the night trickling slowly back into your ears.

Jake’s eyes sear through you when you carefully gather your camera and bag up, legs shaky from that look alone as you step onto the pavement. His hand finds yours again, as you follow his broad back up a flight of stairs and through an unassuming white paneled front door. You’re surrounded by the cedar and plum of his cologne as you step in, the scent lightly drifting through the air. Jake crowds you against the door as soon as it closes, hands divesting you of your things even as his mouth slants over yours again. The heat sparking between you ignites again, a flame bursting to life in your chest, fed by the soft moans leaving his lips as you kiss him with wild abandon.

For much of the way to his bed, your eyes are closed. You trust Jake to lead you the right way, not to hurt you as you stumble and shudder your way through the apartment in his arms. His lips don’t leave yours once, moans ripping out of your mouth as he leaves you breathless. He’s far from quiet too, softly grunting when you tug on the hair at the nape of his neck, gasping open mouthed into yours as you rub at his bulge. Arousal bubbles in your veins, crashing over and through you. You squeal when he pushes you onto his bed, the mattress so firm it's almost hard as you bounce against it. Your hands shake as you fight with your clothes. Adrenalin makes you clumsy as you nudge your shoes off and fight futilely with the zipper at your back. Eventually you give up, choosing to lean back on your palms. When you look up, Jake’s staring down at you, eyes trailing from the curve of your mostly exposed legs up to your chest and back down again. He’s got his lower lips between his teeth, brow furrowed as he shrugs the sweater off.

Once again, you remind yourself to thank Lea for her work, because if you thought the shirt looked good buttoned up, it looks even better as it slips off his arms. He’s still wearing his dog tags, the silver chain glinting in the moonlight through the windows as he prowls over you.

“You’re still prettier than the pictures you take, baby.”

You feel like you are barely breathing as Jake licks into your mouth. The heat of his body grounds you, the points of contact just enough to tell you this is real.

“Breathe, beautiful.” His hands draw you up until you’re kneeling on the bed, your hands on his shoulders as you peer up into his eyes. Your resulting exhale is shaky as you drag in breaths with just enough oxygen to keep your head from spinning.

“Let’s get you out of this pretty dress, huh?”

“Jake.” His name falls out of your mouth like a prayer. His hands are practiced, sure as they drag the zipper down from the nape of your neck to the base of your spine. The fabric of your dress gapes forward until it’s around your waist.

Jake's eyes seem to glow in the moonlight as he takes in the simple black bra you're wearing, hands tender and hot as they drag over your bare skin, mouth wet and sharp as he drags his teeth across your collar bones.

“Mmm, baby.” His moan has you gasping, your body listing into his as he purrs the words into your skin. “I'm going to make you feel so good.”

When he lets go of you, your nipples are firm peaks in the cool air. When he removed your bra, you're not sure. All you know is you want him, desperately, urgently. Your panties feel like too much material as they cling to you, the gusset damp. Your hands are clumsy as you wrench the dress off, shaking as you peel your panties away from your skin, you flush as Jake's chuckles echo in your ears.

Divested of your clothes, you're faced with one of the prettiest sights of your life. Because, Jake’s standing there, with his belt unbuckled, and the jeans unbuttoned. His cock bulges out through the v-shaped opening, and your mouth waters as you look him over.

“God, Jake, please.” Your voice is a whine as you reach for him, fingers resting against his taut abdomen, back arched as you wait on all fours.

“I’ve got you baby.” 

His promises drip over your bare skin like hot and gentle summer rain. Your eyes close as he cups your jaw, the rustle of fabric foretelling his bare skin joining yours on the bed. You let him position you where he wants, drugged by the sensations of his big hands. You steal the opportunity to kiss him again, palms splayed over his pecs, and the cool chain of his dog tags brushing against your fingers. Falling into him is too easy. It’s just a series of kisses, a sweet tangle of tongues as you let him cradle you in his arms. Sparks of need, of want traverse your moon-stained skin, hips canting against his thigh in need.

“How long has it been since you’ve cum, sweetheart?” 

There’s amusement in his tone as you wrap your arms around his neck, breasts pillowed against his chest as you nudge his nose with your own.

“Just a couple of days ago.”

His chuckle makes you pout. 

“And how did you cum?”

He rolls you over, ghosting a kiss over your lips as he peers down at you. “Was it some guy you brought home? Who didn’t know how to make these pretty moans spill out of your mouth? Did he make you think of me the whole time?”

When you moan, it’s because he’s pressing into you, the stretch of him making your toes curl.

“N-no.” You screw your eyes up, trying to string the words together. “It was just me. With a vibrator, watching our video.”

“Fuck, there’s my good girl. Waiting for your Lieutenant Commander to make you scream, right?”

You’re so far beyond words all you can do is tug him down, fisting your hand in his hair until you can kiss him again. He’s just as eager to pull you in, hitching your legs up until they’re propped over his arms, keeping you spread open as he pistons his hips until you see stars. 

“Please, please, please.” 

You’re babbling, your orgasm crashing over you with each sharp thrust. Your moans intertwine with Jake’s guttural grunts as his hips stutter at their steady pace. It feels like you’ve been set on fire when you cum, pulsing waves of heat washing over your body. Jake’s shivering as he slumps over you, blanketing your body with his. His hair is sweat-damp as you card your fingers through the fluffy strands.

“Missed you, Jay.” 

“Missed you too, sweetheart.” The words are languid and soft, syrupy and sweet. 

It feels like you could fall in love with Lieutenant Commander Jake Seresin as he gathers you in his arms for what must be the hundredth time tonight to clean you up. Every glimpse of the man you see when he's not putting on his Hangman mask intrigues you more. There's a gentleness to him when he's like this, a secret softness shining past his imposing exterior. You want to know more. You have to know more. 

The realization of how little time you have left with Jake eviscerates you. Only two days left. Two days to love this man as much as you can. You can’t tell him how close you are to falling for him. Looking at his apartment, you have a feeling it would just scare him away. His apartment is almost austere, the off-white walls blending into the pale cream carpet on the floor. Everything is bare, with no pictures on the walls and no personality. It’s a trend throughout the entire space, everywhere but the bedroom. There's a cheery quilt at the foot of the bed. It's the only vibrant color in the apartment, the one thing which screams home.

“It's pathetic, isn't it?”  You jump at his words, gripping at the footboard of the bed in an effort to keep from falling.

“It's not pathetic, Jay. Just…” You turn, clad in the soft tee he'd pulled over you after the shower. “Just different than I expected.”

“I know what it looks like, sweetheart.” The same sad soft tone is in his voice again. “It looks like I don’t have any roots. Like I’m scared to let people in.”

He slides his arms around your waist, pressing a kiss on your shoulder, his golden hair dripping as he nuzzles into the crook of your neck. “Maybe that is the truth.” 

Your heart breaks a little at the soft surety in his voice, even as he does his best impression of a koala around you.

“Because like it or not, I’m going to leave one day. I’ll have to leave one day. Another deployment. Another mission. And chances are, I may not be coming home.”

You clutch at him tighter, because right now, you’re not sure you can think about him not being in San Diego the next time you’re here.

“I was okay with my reality.”

When you wrestle your way out of his grip, you’re maybe a little too rough, evidenced by the grimace on his face as you walk away. You’re not sure where you’re going but away has to be enough. You’re not sure you can face him after he’s said something like this. After all, here you are, ready to risk it all in a sultry cross-country romance, ready to give your heart to him, possibly years of your life to him. Then there he is, admitting so callously he might not be coming home one day.

You’re staring unseeingly at the stars when he slides his arms around you again.

“Are you okay, Shutterbug?” 

You lean back into him, because he feels perfect against you still.

“Shutterbug is new.” You’re trying to change the subject, because if he’s insistent about it, you’re going to explode.

“Nuh-uh.” His hands turn you around until you’re looking at him again. “Tell me what’s bothering you, pretty girl.”

“You’re so callous about how you’re ready to never come home again! Why would you say that to me, Jake? I’m ready to risk everything for you. A cross-country relationship, half here, half in New York or really, wherever it’s convenient for us to meet. If you’re not willing to do the same, then what is the point of what we just did?”

You’re choking back a sob as you stand in front of him. Your eyes are screwed closed, hands wringing the hem of the t-shirt clothing you. 

“Why does it matter that you missed me, and that I missed you?”

“It matters, because, sweetheart, you didn’t let me finish what I was going to say.”

Your arms wrap around his waist easily as he tugs you closer.

“I was going to say, I was okay never coming home before you. You’ve been running around in my head, the center of every thought, the subject of my every dream for three months. You kept me going when we were deployed, too. All I wanted was to come home safe so I could fly out to New York and see you again.”

“Now, at least I know I’ll be welcome when I come by.”

You’re smiling from ear to ear as you kiss the underside of his jaw.

“Yeah, you will be.”

You're still smiling as you walk into the Officer's Ready Room at North Island the next morning. You've got the same swagger you had in your step the first time you and Jake crashed together. Only this time, you have his phone number on your phone and the promise of a romantic dinner for two tonight. You'd be lying if you said you weren't still worried about the long distance relationship, spending half your life in New York and half here. But more than anything, you're ready for the challenge and excited to. At least you know who you're going home to - and, he knows who he is coming home to, as well.

Taglist:

@desert-fern @horseshoegirl @sarahsmi13s @teacupsandtopgun @dakotakazansky @roosterforme @beyondthesefourwalls @cherrycola27 @thedroneranger @a-reader-and-a-writer @hookslove1592 @mshistorylover @hangmanssunnies @kmc1989 @chaoticassidy

I DO NOT CONSENT TO HAVE MY WORK POSTED, TRANSLATED, OR PUBLISHED ON ANY SITES OTHER THAN ON AO3, ON WATTPAD, OR ON TUMBLR BY ME. IF YOU SEE MY WORKS ANYWHERE OTHER THAN AO3, ON WATTPAD, OR TUMBLR, THEN THEY HAVE BEEN POSTED WITHOUT MY PERMISSION AND I WILL BE WORKING TO TAKE THEM DOWN.

[togglesbloggle]

In Defense of Bad Things

'Bad' here meaning mostly 'amateur'; stuff made enthusiastically by people at an unprofessional level. Art with visible gaps between what the artist imagined and what they achieved, products of flawed craftsmanship. I suppose everybody can appreciate them to some extent, it's a rare parent that doesn't put up their kid's drawings on the fridge in one way or another. But it turns out to be a fully general skill you can cultivate, and the more I do, the more I'm glad I did.

Partly, it's the teacher thing; finding delight in amateur work is one of the ways to find delight in the process of learning. Cultivating a love of striving-qua-striving can help make you a force for good in the world, as people start to feel safe trying to do things when you're around, even when their efforts are wobbly. You get to participate a little more in the process of atoms spinning themselves into ideas, even when there aren't any illusions about whether you're helping cultivate some revolutionary genius in the field.

And partly it's a fabulous way to build community. By necessity, our professional-level skills tend to be at the service of other people, performed for economic benefit; that's kind of how you get professionally good at something in the first place. When we're acting for our own sake, and among friends, most of what we do with one another is amateurish. I only cook middling-okay, I can't hold a tune that well, I'll never be a speed runner for anything. If you can only enjoy singing from the hundred best singers in the whole world, manufactured and polished by major studios, then you and your friends will sit shoulder-to-shoulder and passively listen to music. But it's so much richer an experience to sit face-to-face, actually singing together, even badly; you expose yourself to so many new ways to appreciate and respect one another, building relationships on what you've accomplished and not just by witty criticism or liking the same things.

And partly it's because some of the most powerful and innovative artistic experiences are in high-churn environments with low expectations and low barriers to entry, if only because those catch the passionate and driven young people that have been otherwise overlooked by our systems. The golden age of webcomics meant that a ton of the actual art involved was pretty lousy, but it also produced work that people still talk about today. D&D began as a profoundly unpolished collection of handmade rulebooks sold at cons in a plastic baggie. By the time these products of enthusiastic amateurs filter themselves through various levels of popularity and absorb mainstream cash influx, they're often risk-averse and missing a lot of the bold spark that inspired their fans in the first place; others will simply never drift towards the mainstream at all. I'm not saying you should be the person who goes out to dig through the slush piles of the internet looking for overlooked art, unless you want to be-- but sometimes a work of actual staggering genius also happens to be a Supernatural fanfic by a first-time author who's a little hazy on commas, and if that's a dealbreaker, you're going to miss out on some profoundly valuable experiences.

And hiding behind all of these things is, like...

Our appreciation of beauty has an odd structure, right? When things are done very skillfully, by brilliant artists with years of training, we can usually appreciate those accomplishments. And when we're looking at nature without human influence, and especially when we think very deeply about natural processes and understand them in context, we often rediscover that sense of beauty. There's just this bizarre hole in the middle where we declare things 'ugly'; as if a little skill is worse than none at all.

I really don't trust that gap. It feels like a trick my brain is playing on me, you know? It has me suspicious that a lot of what I consider 'ugly' or 'bad' is not a very direct experience of the world at all, or an informed judgment. That it is, rather, a declaration of (self-, social-) identity; a desire to be seen as a person of good taste, or as somebody who does things well, or just more primitively as one of the monkeys who is in the good-stuff-tribe and not one of the monkeys who is in the bad-stuff-tribe.

[turtlesandfrogs]

Here's the actually* short notes for the course, "The Science of Well-Being" from Yale on coursera, which is available for free. Mostly focusing on the actionable steps.

Point the first: We/society at large is often wrong about what makes people happy/have a sense of well being. Unless you've been reading into motivation, happiness, flow, etc, already, in which case you're likely right on track.

We adapt to both good things and bad things, so neither one effects us as much as we think they will. Our brains adapt to, and filter out stimuli after a while. If we want to get the most enjoyment out of something/life, we should increase variety and take breaks. Like, drink a different kind of tea every day, or take breaks when listening to music. Also, practicing gratitude, savoring (pausing and intentionally appreciating the good moments in life), sharing experiences with others, and recalling past moments of joy. Also, you can practice negative visualization, when you on purpose think of how awful the world would be if you didn't have something that you do have.

A good job is one that allows you to practice your signature strengths and enter the flow state.

The income-increased happiness plateau is somewhere between $75k and $500k- but I found a recent article** after the comments to this effect, and "Yet is important to note that the relationship is weak, even if statistically robust. The correlation between average happiness and log(income) is 0.09 in the experience sampling data, for example, and the difference between the medians of happiness at household incomes of $15,000 and $250,000 is about five points on a 100-point scale. The flattening and accelerating patterns are even smaller modulations of a small effect. However, the emotional effects of other circumstances are also small. KD reported that the effect of an approximately four-fold difference in income is about equal to the effect of being a caregiver, twice as large as the effect of being married, about equal to the effect of a weekend, and less than a third as large as the effect of a headache." Which says to me I'm making the right move by going to a 4 day work week :P But seriously, that's great news.

We think in comparisons, and comparison is the thief of joy. You can reduce consumption of images of people who are richer, cooler, more skilled, etc than you, and that will help prevent mood deterioration. You can also reframe to compare to yourself in the past.

Being kind makes you and everyone involved happier. Buying things for others makes you happier than buying things for yourself. Giving to charity makes you happier if it builds social connection. (Why the focus on buying things to make you happier? Why not on actions you can take to make yourself or someone else happier? Probably because giving someone $20 is easier from a study's standpoint.)

Get 7 or more hours of sleep a day.

Move 30 minutes a day.

Meditate- look into mindfulness, loving kindness.

Social connection- doesn't have to be a romantic relationship! Just interacting with others, even strangers, makes us happier (still sounds fake to me, but I'm like a mega introvert). Spending time with people you like is good.

Having free time is important.

Create an environment that supports what ever change you're trying to make.

WOOP = Wish, Outcome, Obstacles, and Plan. "What's your wish for your goal? What's your best outcome? What are the obstacles? What's your if-then plan?" Really helps with actually accomplishing your goals.

*I realized I said short notes before, but then somehow that ended up being super long.

** Income and emotional well-being: A conflict resolved by Matthew A. Killingswortha, Daniel Kahnemanb, and Barbara Mellers

[rafaelsilvasource]

Husbands (we love typing that as much as you love reading it) T.K. (Ronen Rubinstein) and Carlos (Rafael L. Silva) are coming into the fifth and final season of 9-1-1: Lone Star (premiering Monday, September 23 on Fox) already dealing with the unsolved murder of the latter’s father. But there’s more drama to come.

Carlos’ obsession with that investigation is going to put their marriage to the test. T.K.’s half-brother, Jonah, is coming to Austin (which is sure to affect Rob Lowe‘s Owen as well). Below, co-showrunner Rashad Raisani previews that and more that’s ahead for the fan-favorite couple.

Carlos is investigating his father’s death. What can you preview about that investigation? That’s also going to involve Campbell (Parker Young), right?

The way we’ve been talking about Campbell and Carlos is that they’re like two brothers, the big brother and the little brother. Carlos comes along, and in Campbell’s mind, he got kind of a free pass because of who his dad, Gabriel Reyes, was, the legend, and to go to the front of the line and become a Texas Ranger. The first episode is about these two brothers both fighting for daddy’s love and daddy being Chief Bridges, their boss. But what’s gonna happen is they learn to respect each other and they’re gonna discover that they’re so much better when they work as a team and they really complement each other brilliantly, not just as investigators, but as characters and frankly to me, as actors. I think just they have a wonderful dynamic that only gets richer as the season goes forward.

Carlos’s father’s murder is a thing that Carlos is not giving that up. It is the central driving force in Carlos’ life. And there’s no way we’re going to end the series without giving that poor guy some answers. So there will be some answers at the end of the day on that.

The season description says that T.K. and Carlos’ marriage is put to the test because Carlos becomes obsessed with solving his father’s murder. What can you tease about how we see that play out and how tough things are gonna get in the middle of that for them? I do have faith that they’re gonna be okay by the end.

A big part for me about their marriage was I really wanted to treat it like a real marriage, and by that, I mean that even though these guys are so wonderful to each other and they’re so handsome, life isn’t perfect no matter who you are and everybody has real struggles that affect even great relationships. And the true strength of a relationship isn’t the absence of challenges and problems, it’s how you grapple with them and encounter them and if they make your relationship stronger or weaker.

And so for Carlos, this burden of his dad’s murder is going to sit there and take up a lot of oxygen in the room and T.K., who is an incredibly supportive husband, is gonna try and be patient and graceful and allow Carlos to have that space. But at a certain point, he’s got to advocate for them to have a future together, and that’s part of what you were talking about with Jonah. I like to think that little boy, in some ways, represents the future of their relationship and Gabriel’s murder represents the past of their relationship, and there’s gonna be a tension between those two things and that’s gonna be their central dynamic this year, is that one person is struggling to get answers in the past and the other person is struggling to move on and build a future, which I think is a very relatable human experience.

All of this makes me think about kids, and that has been a bit of an issue for them in the past. How does that come into play?

I think that’s another pressure point because Carlos was very upfront with T.K. about, “Hey, I’m not ready to have kids and I don’t know if I ever will be,” and then now that his dad’s been murdered, in his headspace, that’s the last thing that he’s got the bandwidth or the emotional energy to deal with. But like I said, T.K. is feeling like life is happening right now, like we don’t get moments back, and especially as a first responder, they see that you can’t take anything for granted. And circumstances are going to align that are going to [lead to] a situation where T.K. is like, I know that you were uncomfortable with taking this next step as a father, but I feel like it’s something powerful that I need to do, and to make that a crisis point for them as well.

I hope that the audience can see the argument from both of their points of view and just go, “S**t, I don’t know what to do. I don’t know what I would do either.” That’s what I hope because I feel like people have real problems that aren’t so simple as to say, well, he’s right, he’s wrong, whatever. We just wanted to put them through that.

[shall-we-die]

╔‌‌‌‌•°⚖༄•°══════════•⊰•°༄༚

{Quality}

What is their most dangerous/toxic attitude?

╞•⊰❖⊱•═══•༻🗡༺•═══•⊰❖⊱•╡

↬[Fandom]•⊰ {Obey me!}࿐

↬[Warnings]•⊰ {Angst}࿐

☰[Main list]•⊰ ────┈┈{0066}┈─╮

╭──────┈┈┈┈┈───────╯

╰┈➤Likes/Reblogs are appreciated࿐

╚•°⚖༄•°══════════•⊰•°༄༚‌‌‌

↬|Lucifer|

Lucifer's most dangerous/toxic behaviour would be how he deals with strong feelings of intense jealousy towards any of MC's interactions with other demon brothers. While he keeps his jealousy hidden under a confident and controlled demeanour, he has a tendency to subtly undermine their relationships with the other brothers, leading to strained dynamics within the group. He justifies this behaviour to himself as a means of "protecting" MC, but in reality, it stems from his own insecurity and deep-rooted fear of abandonment. Despite his intentions, this behaviour ends up creating more problems than solutions, leaving a trail of tension and discord in its wake.

┣━━━━━━━━━━━━━┅┅┅┄┄

↬|Mammon|

As the Avatar of Greed, Mammon's most dangerous and toxic behavior is his limitless greed and desire to be richer at any cost. This leads him to engage in unscrupulous and manipulative behavior to accumulate money, power, and possessions, manipulating others and destroying relationships in the process. However, it is important to note that behind Mammon's sinister actions are deep-seated insecurities and abandonment issues that stem from his experiences in his past. At his core, Mammon is a complex character that hides a fragile side.

┣━━━━━━━━━━━━━┅┅┅┄┄

↬|Leviathan|

Well, you see, Leviathan is a total otaku and a bit of a social misfit. Sometimes, when he's really really upset, he can get pretty aggressive and say some pretty cruel things. He can also get quite obsessive when he's passionate about something like a game or an anime. And let me tell you, he will *not* take any criticism about his favorite anime lightly! He can get pretty nasty when someone attacks his favorite characters. Just watch out when he starts making angry grunts and his tail starts lashing around.

┣━━━━━━━━━━━━━┅┅┅┄┄

↬|Satan|

His most dangerous toxicity trait is probably his lack of empathy. He enjoys seeing others suffer. He takes ake pleasure in pain, which is why he often provoke others to fight. This has led to many dangerous situations.

┣━━━━━━━━━━━━━┅┅┅┄┄

↬|Asmodeus|

There's a bunch of bad behavior with Asmodeus, considering his Avatar status. His most toxic behaviour being: that he tends to be quite possessive of those he loves and cares about, often being quite clingy and can sometimes get jealous whenever your attention is not focused on him. Although it is just how he is sometimes, it can get very tiring at times whenever you just want some space to yourself...

┣━━━━━━━━━━━━━┅┅┅┄┄

↬|Beelzebub|

Beel's most dangerous behavior is his excessive gluttony. His addiction to food makes him careless and willing to do almost anything for the sake of satisfying his hunger. He can go to great lengths to obtain food, even resorting to stealing or harming others in the process. Ultimately, Beel's dangerous behavior stems from his inability to control his impulses and desires. It can cause harm not only to himself but also to those around him.

┣━━━━━━━━━━━━━┅┅┅┄┄

↬|Belphegor|

Hmm... His most dangerous and toxic behavior is undoubtedly his tendency to push people away and to be extremely closed off emotionally and physically. If you tried to talk to him or get closer to him, he would push you away and shut down completely, making it impossible to get through to him. It's a defense mechanism he has developed to protect himself but it only ends up hurting others.

┣━━━━━━━━━━━━━┅┅┅┄┄

↬|Diavolo|

His tendency to underestimate others and act over-confident, leading to risky situations. His impulsiveness and tendency to make quick decisions without consulting his council, which could have serious consequences for the Devildom. His lack of empathy and care for the feelings of others, which has caused strained relationships with some of the other demon brothers.

┣━━━━━━━━━━━━━┅┅┅┄┄

↬|Barbatos|

The most dangerous/toxic behavior of Barbatos is likely his tendency to conceal information. As the Devildom's butler and advisor to its ruler, Barbatos possesses vast knowledge and a deep understanding of the realms and their inhabitants. However, his strategic nature may lead him to withhold crucial information from the MC, to protect them or keep them in the dark. This can create a lack of trust and understanding between them, which can become problematic and potentially harmful.

┣━━━━━━━━━━━━━┅┅┅┄┄

↬|Simeon|

One of his most dangerous and toxic behaviors is his tendency to place the needs and desires of others above his own. He often puts himself in positions where he sacrifices his own well-being and happiness for the sake of others. This leads to exhaustion and burnout, as he consistently neglects his own needs and feelings in order to help or please others. Over time, this behavior can cause him to feel resentment and bitterness towards the people he helps, creating a toxic cycle that negatively affects both parties.

┣━━━━━━━━━━━━━┅┅┅┄┄

↬|Solomon|

His most dangerous and toxic behavior has to be his tendency to prioritize his own interests and goals above all else. He believes that the ends justify the means and have no qualms about using any method necessary to achieve his objectives. This often leads him to use people as mere pawns or tools to further his goals, without any consideration for their well-being or feelings. He may even use manipulation or deception to get what he wants. Ultimately, his self-serving nature can lead to dangerous and toxic outcomes for those around him.

||[🅀uality]||

━●━━━━━━────────

     ⇆ㅤㅤ◁🄿ㅤㅤ❚❚ㅤㅤ🅁▷ㅤㅤ↻

[physalian]

Humanizing Your Characters (And Why You Should)

To humanize a character is not to contort an irredeemable villain into the warped funhouse mirror reflection of a hero in the last 30 seconds to gain “narrative subversion” points. To humanize is not to give said villain a tragic backstory that validates every bad choice they make in attempt to provide nuance where it does not deserve to be.

To humanize a character, villain or otherwise, is to make them flawed. Scuff them up, give them narrative birthmarks and scars and imperfections. Whether it’s your hero, their love interest, the comic relief, the mentor, the villain, the rival, these little narrative details serve to make all your literary babies better.

Why should you humanize your characters?

To do this means to write in details beyond those that service the plot, or the themes, or the motifs, morals, foreshadowing, or story. These might be (and usually are) entirely unimportant in the grand scheme of things. So, if I wrote lengthy diatribes on pacing and why every detail must matter, and character descriptions and thematic importance, why am I now suggesting go free-for-all on the fluff?

Just like real people have quirks and tics and beliefs and pet peeves that serve our no greater purpose, so should fictional people. Your average reader doesn’t have the foggiest idea what literary devices are beyond metaphor, simile foreshadowing, and anecdote, but they can tell when the author is using motif and theme and all the syntactical marvels because it reads that much richer, even if they can’t pinpoint why.

And, for shipping fodder, these tiny little details are what help your audience fall in love with the character. It doesn’t even have to be in a book – Taylor Swift (whether you like her or not) never fills her music with sexual innuendo or going clubbing. She tells stories filled with human details like dancing in the refrigerator light. People can simultaneously relate to these very specific and vivid experiences, and say “not that exactly, but man this reminds me of…” and that’s (part of) the reason her music is so popular.

What kinds of narratives need these details?

All of them. Visual media, audio, written, stage play. Now, to what degree and excess you apply these details depends on your tone, intended audience, and writing style. If your style of writing is introspection heavy, noir character drama, you might go pretty heavy on the character design.

But even if you’re writing a kids book with a scant few paragraphs of setting descriptors and internal narration, or you’re drawing a comic book – if you have characters you want people to care about, do this.

Animators, particularly, are very adept at humanizing non-human characters, because, unlike live acting, every single stroke of the pen is there with intent. They use their own reflections for facial references, record their own movements to draw a dance, and insert little bits of themselves into signature character poses so you know that *that* animator did this one.

How to humanize your characters.

I’m going to break this down into a couple sections: Costume/wardrobe, personality, beliefs/behavior/superstitions, haptics/proxemics/kinesics, and voice. They will all overlap and the sheer variety and possibilities are way too broad for me to capture every facet.

Costumes and Wardrobe

In the film Fellowship of the Ring, there’s a blink-and-you’ll-miss-it moment where, after Boromir is slain by the Uruk-Hai, Aragorn takes Boromir’s Gondorian vambraces to wear in his honor, and in honor of their shared country. He wears them the rest of the trilogy. The editing pays no extra attention to them beyond a split second of Aragorn tightening the straps, it never lingers on them, never reminds you that they’re there, but they kept it in nonetheless. His actor also included a hunting bow that didn't exist in the book because he's a roamer, a ranger, and needs to be able to feed himself, along with a couple other survival tools.

Aragorn wears plenty of other symbolic bits of costume – the light of the Evenstar we see constantly from Arwen, the Lothlorien green cloaks shared by the entire Fellowship, his re-forged sword and eventual full Gondorian regalia, but all those are Epic Movie Moments that serve a thematic purpose.

Taking the vambraces is just a small, otherwise insignificant character moment, a choice made for no other reason than that’s what this character would do. That’s what makes him human, not an archetype.

When you’re writing these details and can’t rely on sneaking them into films, you have to work a little harder to remind your audience that they exist, but not too often. A detail shifts from “human” to “plot point” when it starts to serve a purpose to the themes and story.

Inconsequentiality might be how a character ties, or doesn’t tie their shoelaces, because they just can’t be bothered so they remain permanent knots and tripping hazards. It might be a throw-away line about how they refuse to wear shorts and strictly stick to long pants because they don’t like showing off their legs. It might be perpetually greasy hair from constantly running their fingers through it with stress, or self-soothing. A necklace they fidget with, or a ring, a belt they never bother to replace even though they should, a pair of lucky socks.

Resist the urge to make it more meaningful than “this is just how they are”. If I’m using the untied shoelaces example – in Spiderverse, this became a part of the story’s themes, motifs, and foreshadowing, and doesn’t count. Which isn’t bad! It’s just not what I’m talking about.

Personality

In How to Train Your Dragon, Toothless does not speak. All his personality comes from how he moves, the noises he makes, and the expressions on his face. There’s moments, like in the finale, when his prosthetic has burned off and Hiccup tells him to hold on for a little bit longer, and you can clearly see on his face that he’s deeply uncertain about his ability to do so. It’s almost off the screen, another blink-and-you’ll-miss-it moment. Or the beat of hesitation before he lets Hiccup touch him in the Forbidden Friendship scene. Or the irritated noise he makes when he’s impatiently waiting for Hiccup to stop chatting with his dad because they have a giant dragon to murder. Or when he slaps Hiccup with his ear fin for flying them into a rock spire.

None of those details *needed* to exist to endear you to his character or to serve the scenes they’re in. The scenes would carry on just fine without them. He’s a fictional dragon, yes, but these details make him real.

Other personality tics you could include might be a character who gets frustrated with tedious things very quickly and starts making little inteligible curses under their breath. Or how they giggle when they’re excited and start bouncing on their toes. Maybe they have a tic where they snap their fingers when they’re concentrating, trying to will an idea into existence. Or they stick their tongue out while they work and get embarrassed when another character calls them on it. They roll around in their sleep, steal blankets, drool, leave dishes in the sink or are neurotic with how things must be organized. They have one CD in their car, and actually use that CD player instead of the phone jack or Bluetooth. They sing in the shower, while they cook, or while they do homework, no matter how grating their voice.

They like the smell of new shoes or Sharpies. They hate the texture of suede or velvet or sticky residues. They never pick their socks up. They hate the overhead light in their room and use 50 lamps instead. They hate turning into oncoming traffic or don’t trust their backup camera. They collect Funko Pops and insist there’s always room for more.

And about a million others.

Beliefs, Behaviors, and Superstitions

*If you happen to be writing a story where superstitions have merit, maybe skip this one.* Usually, inevitably, these evolve into character centerpieces and I can’t actually think of one off the top of my head that doesn’t become this beyond the ones we all know. A few comedic examples do come to mind:

The Magic Conch in “Club Spongebob” and the sea-bear-proof dirt circle in “The Camping Episode”

Dean Winchester’s fear and panic-driven actions in “Yellow Fever” and “Sam, Interrupted”

The references to the trolls that steal left-foot socks in How to Train Your Dragon

I’m not a fan of wasting time writing a religious character doing their religious thing when Plot Is Happening, but smaller things are what I’m talking about. Like them wearing a cross/rosary and touching it when they’re nervous. Having a specific off-beat prayer, saying, or expression because they don’t believe in cursing.

The classic ones like black cats, ladders, broken mirrors, salt, sidewalk cracks can all be funny. Athletes have plenty, too, and some of them, particularly in baseball culture, are a bit ridiculous. Not washing socks or uniforms, having a team idol they donate Double Bubble to and also rub their toes. A specific workout routine, diet, team morale dance.

Other things, too. A character who’s afraid to go back downstairs once the lights are off, or fear the basement or the backyard shed. Or they’re really put-off by this old family photo for no reason other than how glassy their eyes look and it’s creepy. They like crystals, dreamcatchers, star signs, tarot, or they absolutely do not under any circumstances.

They believe in all the tried and true ways of predicting the weather like a grizzled old sailor. They believe in ghosts, vampires, werewolves, witches, skinwalkers, doppelgangers, fairies. They talk to the cat statue in their kitchen and named it Fudge Pop. They whisper to the spirit that possessed the fridge so it stops making all that racket, and half the time, it works every time. They wear yellow for good luck or carry a rabbit’s foot. They’re not religious at all but still throw prayers out to whoever’s listening because, you know, just in case. They sit by their window sill and talk to the moon and the stars and pretend like they’re in a music video when they’re driving through the city in the rain.

Haptics, Proxemics, and Kinesics

These are, for all you non-communication and psych majors out there, touch and physical contact, how they move, and how they move around other people.

Behold, your shipping fodder.

Two shining examples of proxemics in action are the famous “close talker” episode of Seinfeld (of which every communication major has been subjected to) and Castiel’s not understanding of personal space (and human chronemic habits) in Supernatural.

These are how a character walks, if they’re flat-footed, clumsy, or tip-toers. If they make a racket or constantly spook the other characters. If they fidget or can’t sit still in a seat for five seconds, if they like to sit backwards or upside down. How they touch themselves, if they do a lot of self-soothing maneuvers (hugging themselves, rubbing their arms, touching their face, drawing their knees up, holding their neck, etc) or if they don’t do any self-soothing at all.

This is how they shake hands, if they dance while they cook or work. It’s how much space they let themselves take up, if they man-spread or keep their limbs in closer. How close they stand to others or how far. If they let themselves be touched at all, or if they always have their skin covered. If they always have their back to a wall,  or are always making sure they know where the nearest exit is. If they make grand gestures when they talk and give directions. If they flinch from pats on the back or raised hands. If they lean away from loud voices or project their own. If they use their height to their advantage when arguing, puff their chest, square their shoulders, put their hands on their hips, or point fingers in accusation.

If they touch other characters as they pass by. If they’re huggers or victims of falling asleep on or near their comrades. If they must sleep facing the door, or with something solid behind them. If they can sleep in the middle of a party wholly uncaring. If they sleepwalk, sleeptalk, migrate across the bed to cuddle whoever’s nearest with no idea they’re doing it.

If they like to be held or like to hold others. If they hate being picked up and slung around or are touch-starved for it. If they like their space and stick to it or are more than happy to share.

Do they walk with grace, head held high and back straight? Or are they hunched over, head hung, watching their feet? Are they meanderers or speed-walkers? Do they cross their arms in front or lace their hands behind them? Do they bow to authority or meet that gaze head on?

I have heard that Prince Zuko, in Last Airbender, is usually drawn sleeping with his bad ear down when he doesn’t feel safe, like on his warship or anywhere in the Fire Nation, or on the road. He’s drawn on his other side once he joins the Gaang. In Dead Man’s Chest, just before Davy Jones drives the Flying Dutchman under the waves, two tentacles curl up and around the brim of his hat to keep it from blowing off in the water.

When they fight, do they attack first, or defend first? Do they touch other characters’ hair? Share makeup, share clothes? Touch their faces with boops or bonks or nuzzles and eskimo kisses? Do they crack their knuckles and necks and knees?

Do they stare in baffled curiosity at all the other characters wholly comfortable in each other's spaces because they can’t, won’t, or don’t see the point in all this nonsense? Do they say they’re happy on the outside, but are betrayed by their body language?

Voice

Whether or not to write an accent is entirely up to you. Books like Their Eyes Were Watching God writes dialogue in a vernacular specific to its characters. Westerners and southerners tend to be written with the southern drawl or dialect, ripe with stereotypical contractions. Be advised, however, that in attempt to write an accent to give your character depth, you could be instead turning off your audience who doesn’t have energy to decipher what they’re saying, or you went and wrote a racist stereotype.

Voice isn’t just accent and dialect, nor is it how it sounds, which falls more solidly under useful character descriptions. Voice for the sake of humanizing your characters concerns how they talk, how they convey their thoughts, and how they become distinct from other characters in dialogue and narration.

If you’re writing a narrative that hops heads and don’t want to include a big banner to indicate who’s talking at any given time, this is where voice matters. It is, I think, the least appreciated of all the possible traits to pay attention to.

First person narrators have the most flexibility here because the audience is zero degrees removed from their first-hand experiences. Their personality comes through sharply in how they describe things and what they pay attention to.

But it’s also in what similes and metaphors they use. I read a book that had an average (allegedly straight) male narrator going off and describing colors with types of flowers, some I had to look up because I just don’t know those off the top of my head. My immediate thought was either this character is a poorly written gay, or he’s a florist. Neither (allegedly), the writer was just being too specific.

Do they have crutch words they use? like, um, actually, so…, uh

Or repeat exclamations specific to them? yikes, yowzers, jeepers, jinkies, zoinks, balls, beans, d’oh!

Or idioms they’re fond of? Like a bat out of hell. Snowball’s chance.

Do they stutter when they’re nervous? Do they lose their train of thought and bounce around, losing other characters in the process? Do they have a non-Christian god they pray to and say something other than “thank God”? Are they from another country, culture, time period, realm, or planet with their own gods, beliefs, and idioms?

When they describe settings, how flowery is the language? Would this grizzled war hero use flowery language? How would he or she describe the color pink, versus a PTA mom? Do they use only a generic “blue, green, red” or do they really pay attention with “aquamarine, teal, emerald, viridian, vermillion, rose, ruby”?

How do this character’s hobbies affect how well they can describe dance moves, painting styles, car models, music genres?

This mostly matters when you’re head-hopping and the voice of the narrator serves to be more distinct, otherwise, what’s the point of head-hopping? Just use third-person omniscient.

If you really want to go wild, give a specific narrator unique syntax. Maybe one character is the ghost of Oscar Wild with never-ending run-on sentences. Just be sure to not go too overboard and compromise the integrity of your story.

In the book A Lesson Before Dying, a somewhat illiterate, underprivileged and undereducated minor has been given a mentor, a teacher, before they face the death penalty. At the end of the book, you read all of the letters they wrote to their teacher. There’s misspellings everywhere, almost no punctuation, and long, rambling sentences.

It’s heartbreaking. The subject matter is heavy and horrible, yes, but it’s the choice to write with such poor English that has a much bigger impact than perfect MLA format.

How to implement these details

Most of these, in the written medium, need only show up once or twice before your audience notices and wonders why they’re there. Most fall squarely under character design, which falls under exposition, and should follow all the exposition guidelines.

These details exist to be random and fluffy, but they can’t exist randomly within the narrative. If you want to have your character be superstitious, pick a relevant time to include that superstition.

Others, like ongoing speech habits or movements, still don’t overuse, especially if they’re unique. A character might like to sit backwards in a chair, but if you mention that they’re doing it every single time they sit down, your audience will wonder what’s so important and if the character is unwell.

And, of course, you can let these traits become thematically important, like a superstition being central to their personality or backstory or motivation. These all serve the same purpose of making your character feel like a real person instead of just a “character”.

Just think about tossing in a few random details every now and then and see what happens. One tiny sentence can take a background character and make them candidates for the eventual fandom’s fan favorite. Details like these turn your work from “This a story, and these are the characters who tell it” into “these are my characters, and this is their story.”

[rillils]

how do explain stucky from the moment they met to where they are now (together in each others arms) to my friend who knows nothing about marvel

ohh this is a tough one, honey! i think i've got two options for you:

the short answer:

stucky is a compendium of all the best tropes out there, and i'm sure i'm gonna miss a few:

soulmates? check! star-crossed lovers? check! battle husbands? super check! mutual pining? check! 'and they were roommates'? check! best friends to lovers? check check check! long-lost lover comes back from the dead? fuck yeah, check! temporary amnesia? check! dude in distress trope? check! 'they will always find each other and choose each other in every lifetime'? also check! identity porn? extra check! saved by the power of love? you guessed it: check! slow burn or childhood sweethearts? you decide!!! did they share their first kiss when steve was 16, as per a popular fanon theory? did they only confess their feelings during the war? did they only get together much later, when bucky was healing in wakanda? you can pick literally ANY point in their timeline, and it will still make sense! they're all equally valid! you can even have multiple different headcanons at once, i mean who's gonna stop you??? all you have to do is join in the fun! 💕

the long AF answer, aka:

STEVE & BUCKY'S LOVE STORY, UNABRIDGED SOMEWHAT ABRIDGED, part 1/3

all right, let's set the scene:

imagine two young kids, let's call them steve and bucky. they meet, they immediately take to each other, they become instant besties! and as they grow up together, facing many hardships, their bond deepens. not only are they best friends; they are also each other's family. they take care of each other, and they both know they can always rely on one another in times of need.

when steve's mom (and only remaining relative) passes away, bucky reminds him that he's not as alone in this world as he thinks he is: bucky will always be by his side. bucky will always love him unconditionally, will always be there for him, for better or for worse, in sickness and in health, for richer and for poorer, and he wants steve to know that.

in fact, he asks steve to move in with him, thus offering steve both a literal and a metaphorical home.

and steve says yes!

SO. they are each other's home, they're living together, they're getting by all right. but then war breaks out, and eventually it reaches their little home as well: bucky is drafted, and steve, due to his many health issues, and despite his best intentions, can't follow the boy he loves onto the battlefield.

it's a very difficult time for them both - so much so that they can't even bring themselves to talk about it.

they have no choice but to say goodbye for now, knowing that they might never see each other again. but here's something you might not know yet about steve: he's the most reckless, most stubborn fucker america's ever seen. he's not gonna let this stop him!!! instead, he goes and gets a very sweet, kindly scientist to fucking experiment on him, because screw it, he's going to fight in this war if it's the last thing he does. and that's how he goes from Smol Steeb to Lorge Premium Steeb.

of course, things don't go exactly as he predicted, and steve is made to be the star of a war propaganda-fuelled musical kinda thingie, which he resents (but he looks fucking precious in his costume)

BUT! he does get closer to the actual battlefield. which is where he discovers that bucky has been captured by the enemy (!!!!!!!) and is most likely dead by now. but steve isn't willing to give up so easily! he'll believe bucky's dead when he sees it with his own eyes. so, he embarks on this suicide solo mission in the attempt to get bucky back, even if it means wandering on his own. into enemy territory. where he would be shot. on. sight. with no protection for his dumb ass except for a bunch of theater props!!! but such is the power of love, y'all.

against all odds, steve finds bucky very much still alive! and as soon as bucky recognizes him, even as confused as he is, he pulls out this beautiful, ecstatic, angelic-ass smile, like he's just seen god or he got high on some real good edibles or maybe both idk, like my man here was having a serious Religious Experience™ you guys

and i just wanna say, they could have totally kissed here and it would have made plenty of sense. but that's true of like 90% of their scenes in this franchise, so *shrugs*

ANYWAY steve takes bucky in his arms (well technically yes he does) and brings him to safety, and on their way there, bucky proves once more just how hard he meant that "with you til the end of the line" from before

afterwards, steve is finally given the chance to fight, just like he wanted.

bucky, on the other hand, could very well leave the war behind and go home; but when he learns that steve is staying, he chooses to stay too, and fight by his side. and he tells steve so in this very intimate, softspoken, delightfully suggestive conversation, which can be summed up like this:

and so they walk right back into the heart of the fight, only this time together, as they were always meant to be!

but. during an especially tricky mission, they're surprised by the enemy, and as a result, bucky falls to his death into a deep ravine.

steve is devastated. overwhelmed with guilt, grief and rage, he vows to bring down the people responsible for his loss, even if it costs him his own life.

and um, it kind of does? cost him his own life?

victorious after his last vis-a-vis with The Antagonist™, steve still chooses to sacrifice himself to prevent the catastrophe set into motion by the aforementioned Antagonist™. he's flying a jet over the frosty expanse of the atlantic, and you know, from the outside, you could easily argue that he could try to save himself. if he really wanted to. but with bucky dead, and the people responsible for all this pain, either dead or captured, it seems like all the will to fight is gone from steve; and so he plunges the jet straight into the ocean, and himself with it.

is this the end of their story?, you might ask.

the answer is: of course not!!!! the best is yet to come, babes!!!

EDIT: here is part 2

[secriden]

so i wonder if anyone else has thoughts about mame's choices regarding sky vs tongrak's stories and how she tackled the complexity of loving and being loved.

when i first heard about love sea, i saw a lot of people say that fortpeat were just re-cast as sky and prapai but with tongrak being older and richer than mahasamut. personally, i think that's a pretty reductionist view because mame explored the idea of being afraid to love and be loved from very different angles and perspective in these two stories.

i will give that there are some similarities on the surface - peat's character does that whole 'pretends to hate it but secretly loves it' thing; the cat-like 'push and pull' thing and fort's character is still a overly excited, loveable golden retriever of a human being with a strong sense of self; also both sky and tongrak have had experiences which make them both fearful of 'love'.

but i think while sky's main fear is being loved, tongrak's is very much a fear of loving.

like, sky's story is very... raw. it's an exposed nerve, tender and painful and present. sky's fear is so immediately tied to his trauma which he's still in the throes of. the betrayal he faced was from the one who claimed to love him and it's telling that sky's first flashback is not triggered by his feelings FOR prapai but by prapai expressing his 'love' for him. this trauma is intimate and physical and close, but that means that the start of his healing journey can begin because of an external force (prapai) giving him that safety but also physically removing the threat. when sky begins to feel safe again, he is able to begin healing.

in contrast: tongrak's trauma is relatively... hmmm, separated (? not the best word but...) on a physical level. it doesn't make it less or even less painful (or more, or more painful), but his fear of love largely stems from how he sees the people immediately around him being hurt by love. he's internalised the idea that love doesn't last. mahasamut starts confessing his feelings pretty early on; like episode 4 mahasamut straight up goes, 'well you can't stop me from loving you' and tongrak's disapproving but he's not triggered. what's the difference between this and episode 10, i think, is that tongrak's actively fighting his own awareness of his feelings for mahasamut. it's why his fight or flight response is triggered by vie calling him out about his feelings in episode 8 and also why he tries to force parameters back into their relationship (my take: i don't care if you love me but i won't love you) in episode 10. but it's also why his healing doesn't actually come from an external force - yes, vie kind of knocks him out of his depressed stupor by hiding the bracelet, but note that tongrak's has that breakdown realisation ('please come back, i'm sorry, i'm sorry, can't you please come back to me? i'm afraid you'll end up hating me (emphasis added) if you love me') before he has that chat with vie. he's already realised that the root of his fear of mahasamut's love isn't the love itself, but the fear that if he admits his own love for mahasamut, it will eventually get betrayed. it's also why even after he resolves that he wants to try at a relationship with mahasamut, he still can't say it. at this point, his father's a non-entity in terms of the fear of him going after his loved ones - he's already been proven a weakling and a coward and also they're physically on the island so removed from jak that it shouldn't be an immediate fear anymore. no; this struggle is completely internal and it's why we linger on his heartbreaking attempts to confess (also, love sea had some pacing issues but i'm so so grateful they took time to show this part; bless fort for insisting on it!). tongrak's afraid to love but he pushes and pushes himself, and finally breaks through and its entirely on his own terms because of his own strength.

i'm not saying sky's weaker for (in a sense) needing someone else to rescue him before he could heal, but i think it just speaks to mame really telling quite a different story of healing with tongrak.

like... have you ever thought you'd healed from something and then it comes back in an unexpected way but then your response to the trigger is also different? the pain is there but it's... at once deeper but also more distant? a deep pulse rather than a high pitched shriek? and the way you go about beginning this new phase of healing is also different? i think that's whats happening here.

it's fascinating how us humans can fear vulnerability in so many ways, so many forms, on so many levels but i think the lesson mame's stories tell is that sometimes it really is worth it to become vulnerable. not with everyone, and not all the time (goodness, that would be foolish). but also, keep holding onto hope. keep looking for that right person, keep being kind to yourself and others. know that it's ok if your healing feels different, if you didn't catch it some point in the past, its not too late.

you'll be ok.

[rahuratna]

HI!! I love your reasons on why Nanami speaks to you on a personal level sm!! It’s so interesting because you pointed out a different perspective I’ve never thought about before. The reason why I started liking Nanami was because of his journey of finding a sense of purpose. If I were to drop myself into the JJK verse and had the option to convince Nanami to stay as a sorcerer instead of a salaryman, I wouldn’t. Because then he wouldn’t have known if being a salaryman and, like you mentioned in some of your fics, having a simple and more ordinary lifestyle made him more fulfilled.

Then your insights on identity comes to play: no matter what you choose to do with life, it doesn’t completely define you because we also have to consider the emotions and experiences that make us human. What we never got to see was what Nanami did in his free time and, excluding the value/service he provided for others and the short clips from “Where our blue is”, what memories and experiences that made him happy and loved. That’s also why reading your works is so good and comforting 😭 😭

You also talked about lack of self-preservation which I think makes a lot of sense given the pressures Jujutsu society. For Nanami, I think he feels like there’s barely a choice in what he can do. Both being a salaryman and a jujutsu sorcerer means being “exploited” by the higher ups. As a salaryman, he was “making the rich richer,” and as a sorcerer, he and his peers were being sent out to risk their lives to kill curses instead of the powerful elders doing it themselves (particularly with his best friend’s death). The higher ups in society do not care or value his life because there will always be more sorcerers and salarymen to replace him in terms of the job. THATS WHY I LOVED WHEN YOU POINTED OUT THAT YOUR JOB DOESNT DEFINE YOUR IDENTITY AIDHNSJDNBDKS. I think that’s what might have influenced Nanami to have a lack of self-preservation like you said. Yes because being a sorcerer requires it, but also because the only semblance of meaning that society could provide him was providing value to the innocent and weak which ultimately costed his life.

IT MAKES ME SO SAD BECAUSE HE DESERVES THE MOST AND HES SO MUCH MORE THAN THAT *sob sob*… tysm for all the character analysis you do, it makes me so happy talking about it :) Please add on if you have any more thoughts 🫶 🫶

Firstly, this is what I love about writing fanfic. These conversations with fellow fans who appreciate the same things about the series and characters is just golden to me 💛💛. I'm so, so flattered and glad that my interpretation of Nanami provides these different perspectives and I love hearing your ideas on it too!

So, I really liked Nanami's character to begin with, but there was one particular scene, where he wipes away the tear of the transfigured human, that really made me sit up and take note.

When the show got into his background, I immediately picked up on how much he values others over himself. It ties in with what you said about how there could possibly have been a happier reality for him if he'd simply chosen the path of a 'normal' life. Maybe he could have eventually retired and lived that peaceful existence.

And this is where he truly becomes a tragic figure for me. I feel like the world he lived in would never have allowed that peace. His compassion, desire to protect and serve others and his strong beliefs always shine through. Jujutsu society favours the ruthless, the predators, the ones who can detach and operate without thinking too hard about the cost, like Mei Mei, for example.

Nanami is not an apex predator. He's very strong, but a foot soldier, and one who fully acknowledges his own weaknesses. While his compassion and heart make him a sterling human being, they don't grant him safety, or survival.

To reiterate what I said in my previous post, he does define himself by how well he can serve others. Which is his job.

You also pointed out something really important, which was that Nanami's search for purpose makes him so interesting. I think that the trauma he suffered from the death of his friend, along with possibly the survivor's guilt, is what actually led to him under-valuing himself like this, and also prioritizing the younger sorcerers. He thought so hard about his own purpose, but was also so blind to his own value as a human being, with qualities that made him so much more than JUST a salaryman, or JUST a sorcerer.

Yaga said something to Yuuji which always stuck with me; that in their world, being a sorcerer requires a certain level of insanity, an ability to detach yourself so that you can face the horror of the curses with reckless bravery.

Nanami had his own brand of insanity, one that allowed him to actually remain attached to the value of peoples' lives, to express kindness and compassion, and STILL go out there and face the dangers of his job with a straight back and steady heart. It wore him down terribly, but his powerful belief in his own principles allowed him to do his job, day after day.

That unique madness was what tore away any sense of self-preservation and self-value he had, but also served as one of the strongest inspirations to those who he left behind. Their value of him, their grief and their loss, speaks volumes about the man he was.

I love writing those same aspects you mentioned, the little things that give him happiness and pleasure, the healing and understanding of his own importance, the simplicity of his needs being met.

Cheers to plenty more fanfic! And always feel free to drop me your thoughts, even if you had a random 1 am musing! I love hearing them!

[gabessquishytum]

CW hospitals and medical stuff heyo! This is based partially off of my experience and therefore will probably be more on par with things in america.

Hob and Dream both get sent to the ER separately. Hob over a sport’s injury and Dream having some incredibly horrid insomnia issues. Hob and Dream sit next to each other coincidentally and unfortunately for Dream, Hob’s a talker. Dream is not even listening half convinced Hob’s lost it when they both suddenly notice an Elderly woman and her son come in, she is in a lot of pain and the son says he’ll be back to take a smoke break.

“he’s going to leave her here” Dream mutters the first time he’s spoken in the hour they’ve been there.

“No that’s horrible! Who would do that to their mother?” Hob asks

“people have problems, you don’t know about,”

hob hums thoughtfully,

“I’ll bet you twenty dollars her son comes back”

dream simply nods feeling he is about to become twenty dollars richer. When thirty minutes later the son comes back.

“yes,” Hob whispers “hope in humanity triumphs!”

Dream grumbles and starts digging through his purse.

“I was kidding, I don’t need the money, I’m Hob by the way”

“I know,” Dream says. “I also know you were born in 1989”

Hob is taken aback “how’d you know that?”

“you loudly proclaimed your date and birth when you were getting checked in”

“oh you cheeky bastard I like you,”

so for the next six hours that they are waiting they swap stories and make more bets. Hob finally gets a room and dream bemoans the fact that he forgot to ask for Hob’s number. Until… Dream gets his room and hey turns out he’s rooming with Hob!

“hey stranger,”

“Robert”

Dream sits down primly on his bed. Hob’s injury is fairly severe so he has to stay a few days, and so does Dream but Hob’s not exactly sure why, they’ve always got him hooked up to the vital machine but he doesn’t seem…sick? by day three Dream is defeated. “Hey Dream…what’s wrong?”

“they won’t let me go home, until I get a full eight hours,”

“oh…”

“I CANT sleep hob! I don’t know what’s wrong with me! Why can’t I do a basic human function like every other human being!” it then occurs to Hob that he’s never seen Dream sleep, Dream was awake when hob fell asleep and already up when Hob woke up. Hob assumed he slept while the other was sleeping but apparently not.

“you want to try something a tad bit unorthodox?” “I’ll do anything,” dream practically begs.

“wanna cuddle?”

“but I’m hooked up to the monitor and-“

“I’ll come to you,”

“but your foot”

“I’ll come to you”

Dream finally nods and Hob hobbles over to his bedside they managed to get themselves in an order where dream was laying on top of Hob’s chest.

“Comfy?” Hob asks, and Dream practically purrs like a cat. hob rubs his back with one hand and runs his fingers through his think dark black hair with the other and Dream? Dream falls asleep and stays asleep. the next morning Dream’s doctor comes in and is like “Did you mess with the monitor it says you got a full eight hours,”

“No sir, I simply found a natural remedy,”

Hob waves to the doctor, he’s back in his own bed.

the doctor still wants to monitor Dream for a few days to make sure it wasn’t a fluke. Eventually Hob decides to just stay in bed with Dream, it’s easier on his foot that way. and once the two have fully recovered after a few weeks, they go on their first of many dates.

-🦎 anon

Thank you for sending this!!! The dialogue you've added really made me melt, they're so sweet. I love the image of Hob, well, hobbling over to Dream with his broken foot. The doctor and the nurses on duty all pretend to be cross about breaking hospital rules, it's really not allowed, blah blah blah. But no one actually tells Hob to get out of Dream’s bed. They can see that he's curing their grumpiest (affectionate) and most horribly sleep deprived patient, and despite the rules they're not going to interfere with such clear progress.

The problem comes when both of them are discharged. Dream will no longer be able to sleep on top of Hob. But there is one solution - Hob could do with a bit of home help, with his foot still unusable. Dream immediately offers his services (he's a terrible nurse but he tries his best, bless him) in exchange for a solid 8 hours passed out with his head on Hob’s chest.

When they finally leave Hob’s flat for that long awaited date, Hob still has the cute hobbly walk, and Dream still has dark circles under his eyes. But they're MUCH better together. And yes, Dream is moving in to Hob’s place properly tomorrow <3

[codename-adler]

Oohhh a French speaking AFTG fan!

Can I ask what’s the general opinion on the Marseille accent? What do Canadians think of it? Is it fancy? Or rough?

ouhh what a question anon! i'm tagging @givemethedamnflowers so she can help me out too if u want to <3

also i don't speak for all Franco Canadians / Québécois. fiy. ya know.

as a Québécoise first and foremost (Canadian comes 2nd in how i view my identity), and as someone WHO HAS A MOREAU FROM MARSEILLES in my close family, i love the accent. to me it's somehow much less grating than the Parisian accent (not the international French accent, that one's ok) despite being much more pronounced and how do you say... quirky? not weird, but like it's definitely peculiar. special! i like it a lot. it also makes me love Jean Moreau even more because it adds character, an edge, another area of fondness. i personally think it's very easy to spot, but contrary to the north of France, it's easier to understand.

i would say the most northern accents are much rougher, more difficult to understand than Marseilles or Paris, also because of the disparity in colloquialisms and regional expressions. but i do love them so. Bourgogne?? Normandie?? oh how lovely. and then down down down down south, neighbor to Marseilles, l'Occitanie (a fave)!!! oh and la Corse!!! so so beautiful to me. music to my ears. maybe bc, as Québécoise, like i said, i feel a little kinship with those regions' accents, bc the Paris/Île-de-France spit upon our accents as shitty, ridiculous, "not real French" or generally make fun of us, like we're somehow less smart bc of the way we pronounce things and speak with our accent. in my experience! and trust me, i've had a lottttttt of 'em. so the little scene where Jean keeps being annoyed by Thea calling him 'Paris' when he's from Marseilles? ACCURATE & GOLDEN! made me smile.

that being said, as it has been discussed many many times in the fandom, characters like Neil, Kevin and Jean, and even Andrew and Nicky, have such wild backgrounds, with how much they move around geographically + their mixed heritage, that all of them must have unique accents you can't really pin down. Jean left Marseilles at 14, was homeschooled, then forced to learn Japanese then English, in West Virginia, from native Japanese speakers. he doesn't have the Marseilles slang, the refs; his French is stuck at that level and it can't progress, and he also probably loses a lot of it, breaking down over time. finding his words must be a a nightmare. imagine trying to translate a word that isn't even considered French nor translatable outside of Marseilles' region!!! also, how old were his parents? what generation of slang has he picked up by default? or was he, sadly, taught international French?

SO MANY QUESTIONS! UGH! aftg & languages, French specifically, give me a headache (and heartache) every time.

i would say, watch films and series! please! from every part of the Francophonie around the world! Belgium, Louisiana Cajun, Acadia, Québec, Marseilles, Niger... it's a beautiful language, despite his devastating shameful hand in colonization and racism. the way the people forced to learn and speak it to survive have all found ways to make it theirs in infinite ways that help the language evolve and become richer. French is as much theirs now, if not more. French is much more that than the Republic. French is not Paris.

thank you again anon for allowing me to go off on a tangent, and apologies if there are any mistakes, misinformation or harmful things. please let me know kindly and i'll own to it and correct anything that needs correcting!