#and I have no idea what they’re talking about

[crushpunky]

drew and actress!reader having crushes on each other for 10 minutes

masterlist | actress!reader masterlist

super cute idea based on a request and taking place before drew and y/n became a couple

when they were dancing behind the scenes…

The country club set was done up for Midsummer, the OBX cast scattered about in their finest attire for the elegant event. Between takes, Madelyn and Madison filmed a video touring around the set.

“We have this super nice bottle of champagne…” Madison said as Madelyn filmed her picking up a large and expensive bottle of alcohol. Madison jokingly raised it to her lips before sitting it back down on the table, Madelyn and her continuing their tour. As they stepped off the patio, they ended up in the middle of the dancefloor. There was no real music playing, extras chatting in their little groups, but two people in particular didn’t seem to care about the lack of music: y/n and Drew.

In the middle of all the actors, the two of them were spinning around and laughing. Drew grasped onto y/n’s waist with one hand, holding her hand lightly in the other as they sang some song they’d been listening to all morning,

“And this is the dancefloor, where y/n and Drew are… I think they’re dancing— I’m not really sure.” Madelyn said, furrowing her brow as Madelyn zoomed the camera in further with a giggle. Drew and y/n broke apart, breaking into the robot together and laughing until they gasped for air. The two of them collapsed into each other, grasping onto each other's arms in an attempt to keep their laughing forms upright.

when they answered interview questions like this…

The two of them sat on Zoom in opposite rooms of their shared apartments. Following the success of Outer Banks season one, countless outlets were vying to interview the young cast that was quickly rising to fame.

“So, out of everyone in the cast, who would you want to be stranded on a boat with?” The interviewer asked.

“Oh, y/n.” Drew said quickly, barely taking even a minute to think about it. Y/n’s eyes widened, trying her best to hide the flustered expression on her face.

“Yeah, I would pick y/n because she’s funny and resourceful. The two most important things when it comes to surviving.” Drew said with a chuckle, his eyes lingering on y/n’s video on his screen. He smiled gently, causing y/n to smile as well.

“I think I would pick Drew.” Y/n grinned. “He’s a good fisherman and he just seems like he knows how to survive in the middle of the ocean.”

At y/n’s response, Drew’s smile grew impossibly larger, a blushed pink rising to his cheeks.

when the cast teased drew…

Chase and Austin lounged on the couch in their apartment, watching as the comments on the live stream flew past.

“‘Where is Drew’?” Austin read. “That’s the question, guys, he said he was gonna be here 15 minutes ago.”

“He’s probably busy talking to y/n.” Chase muttered, causing Austin to try his best to stifle his laugh just as Drew walked in the front door.

“There he is! Starkey, the people have been waiting for you for ages!” Austin said, resting his arm on the back of the couch as he angled the camera towards Drew. He quickly kicked off his shoes before crossing the room.

“Sorry, sorry, I had to pick something up for y/n.” Drew said, stepping over the back of the couch before wedging himself between Austin and Chase. The two men leaned around Drew, catching each other's eyes with a cock of their eyebrows, casting knowing glances just in front of the oblivious Drew.

when the cast teased y/n…

“You guys have quite the hot cast, both in terms of popularity and in the looks department.” The interviewer said, raising her brows as the OBX girls broke into giggles over the video call. “What’s it like being surrounded by hot people every day?”

“It’s great, I mean… look at everyone. Definitely easy on the eyes.” Madelyn said, gesturing to the computer as Madison and y/n laughed again.

“With that being said, there’s gotta be some crushes amongst the cast, right?” The interviewer continued further. Y/n could feel her cheeks warm up, blinking quickly as she tried to focus on the totally fun and lighthearted question and not a question that nearly made her heart skip.

“We have our theories…” Madison nodded, biting back a smile.

“Oh yeah we definitely have theories.” Madison doubled down, giggling to herself. Y/n furrowed her brows slightly, trying her best to remember what “theory” the two of them were exactly referring to.

“We have theories?” Y/n asked, eyeing the camera suspiciously as Madison and Madelyn simply laughed in response.

“Well Madison and I think someone has a crush on you,” Madelyn teased. “But that’s for us to know and you to find out.”

when y/n made a cake for drew’s birthday…

The entire OBX cast sat around y/n and Drew’s kitchen table, freshly moved into their new apartment together. Drew sat at the head, a cheesy blue party hat resting atop his mop of hair. The talking that was filling the room quickly died down before breaking out into song as y/n stepped into frame.

In her hands sat a cake smeared in white and green frosting, topped with a dash of sprinkles and flickering candles. Their friends continued to sing around them, the words to “Happy Birthday” falling on deaf ears as Drew watched y/n walk towards him. His attention graced the cake for only a second before they focused on y/n, a concentrated expression on her face as she carefully carried the cake towards him. The flames of the candle cast beautiful shadows on her skin, highlighting each curve of her face.

Once she finally sat the cake down in front of Drew, her eyes flicked up to look at him. She hadn’t been expecting to meet Drew’s eyes, and let out a slight gasp before her lips fell into a wide grin. As the last notes of “Happy Birthday” played out, the cast burst into applause and hollers. Drew turned to his cake, blowing out the candles before turning his attention immediately back to y/n.

“Happy Birthday, Drew.” Y/n said quietly, patting his shoulder gently. Drew smiled up at her, a wide cheesy grin making its way across his face.

tagged: @slaylorrsliftt

[niyafics]

: •̩̩͙ ݁𖥔 ݁˖ 𝙨𝙥𝙤𝙞𝙡𝙚𝙙 ⋆｡°  •̩̩͙ ໋:🦁

chap1 : sweet talk frat!rich!paige bueckers x reader AU

˳ ⋅ ⊹ wc: 5k (*cries*)

˚ ⋅ ⊹ cw: alcohol (barley), swearing, LOWKEY EMO/LONER READER(i love opposites srry), estranged relationship with parents, golden retriever x black cat dynamic, an au things r diff obviously, the frat is made up lolol and not an established relationship either , lotsa building. angst(?), daddy issues(?). only proofread by me lolllll

˳ ⋅ ⊹ abt: after a long night of serving snobs you try to get a drink and a cute, hyper, frat girl home from college bails you out. now she won’t leave you alone.

˚ ⋅ ⊹(a/n): ty if u waited to read this, n srry if it sucks as always lolol. feel free to still use this idea btw!

ANOTHER exhausting night catering to posh assholes, and their colleagues. Some were easier to service. They screwed their face when you walked up, like you’d been interrupting a conversation, before bluntly repeating their orders, barley slow enough for you to hurriedly jot down.

They don’t thank you when you bring the food, they seldom look at you, like eye contact or a smile costs, and leave a fat tip that was probably change in their pocket.

Other times, it’s almost exactly the same. But, in place of the silence that showed they’re ‘better’, men the age of your parents, slipped a disgusting comment about your figure or an aggressively sexual invitation.

This long in the food industry, you were used to it. A forced laugh usually wards them off, and yet, it makes the evening drag. The 10 hours feels like 20. Your social battery is completely fried by the time you make it to your studio. Usually.

Certain nights, the tips stack so good, you have to reward yourself. This night in particular, you made the rest of your rent, and had fifty dollars extra to spend. Why not get a drink? It had been so long since you had alcohol warming your insides and cheeks. Since you had someone decent looking flirt with you face to face.

Your feet are throbbing after your shift, the money in your pocket keeps you motivated to get at least buzzed.

The bar you choose seems new, at least that’s what it’s listed as, nearby your place. Still cheap, but with a pathetic effort at millennial decorating. You wouldn’t see any of the richies you had to deal with at your job here, sucking their teeth at your chipped nail polish and beaten Vans. Throwing your apron in the backseat, you spray perfume to fight the smell of kitchen on you, and shake your hair free of its tie.

A chimes goes off, as you step inside, the place is almost empty. A middle aged couple play pool in a dim corner, and a few other groups or people spread out, leaving plenty room. Outdated music plays that clashes with the theme, so you get a feeling the decoration is just an effort to keep up with the times. You plop down in a stool at the bar with a grunt, sighing in relief, looking at the menu above, even though you were going to order the last drink you remember.

The bartender is a cute ginger, with freckles dotted on her face and down her arms. She glances over a few times with an apologetic smile, while an inebriated old man talks her ear off. You lift your hand to let her know to take her time, fiddling with a jar of toothpicks in front of you.

The bell echos at the front from behind you, and a rush of obnoxious conversation follows.

It was a warm summer night, and the suburban kids of the wealthy were home from school, but they usually drove through, to the overpriced clubs that suited them. You huffed an annoyed breath, taking a glance behind you. Everyone else’s head swiveled with yours. The children of the wound up business men you’d spent hours tolerating.

“This place stinks, like, actually..” One girl whispered. Two guys beside her laugh like hyenas.

“Yeah, good pick, Bueckers..” Another seethed sarcastically in disgust, with a string of chuckles following.

“Not too bad..” A tall blonde with her hair in a neat low bun pushed through and interjected. That must’ve been Bueckers. She turns to the group and gestures towards the pool table the couple had been playing at. You stared her down in her khaki shorts and pressed, short sleeve polo. Her friends dressed in similar preppy fashion. “Pool table’s cool.”

The couple of boys in outfits similar to hers groaned, moving towards it. The older couple was long gone, seemingly taking the group as a cue to leave. You were taking it as the same, still, you lingered. Your fingers dug into the leather of the back of the chair, looking at the lanky, yet toned, woman established as leader. A shorter girl, with brown hair, in an almost blinding white tennis skirt and jacket set, trailed behind, hooking her arm with Bueckers, as they walked over.

You identified her as the one that commented on the smell, she was right, but you still didn’t like her. A feeling bit at you that you pushed off as irritation, swiveling back around with a closed mouth scowl. The fiery haired bartenders’ kind green eyes met you, raising a brow.

“See someone you know?” She asked while drying a shot glass and setting it back on the rack behind the bar.

“No, thank god,” You joked, another whip of air pushing from your lips, relieving tension. “I’ll take a vodka and sprite, please.” She tilts her head knowingly, and begins to concoct it, while you reach into your pocket to pull out a twenty. Her hair whips back around with the drink and you’ve forgotten about the group. As she sets it down, a frown comes on her face at the sight of the bill. You’re raising your brow now.

“I forgot to tell you, card only, sorry…” The bartender bites her lip nervously, pointing to a sign behind her to back her up. Your shoulders slump, already knowing what your bank account looks like. A pang of disappointment stings your chest but you swallow it, and reach for your card anyways. You don’t know why. You already know it’ll decline. The sprite and vodka bubbles infront of you tauntingly.

“Put it on my tab.” A warm voice speaks up, and you feel a figure take the seat beside you, her long legs not fitting under the bar. They bump your thigh ever so slightly, as she swivels in boredom, facing you. Bueckers from earlier had came up to buy the first round. She shoots you a rosy lipped smirk, her blue eyes searching to meet yours for approval. You look down, putting the money back in your pocket instead, not feeding in. Her bottom lip purses out, brows stitching together so slightly, she probably thought you didn’t see it out the corner of your eye.

She slips a luxury brand wallet out her shorts, still looking at you when her slim fingers drag the thick black AmEx card across the granite bar, thick and shiny. If it wasn’t obvious before, it was now. Bueckers, (Paige Bueckers, as the AmEx said) was trying to show off. Her icy orbs don’t leave you. You sip from the stirring straw as the bartender takes the card away. “Thank you.” You finally say after she leaves.

“No problem, doll face,” Her confident smirk is back as she scans over your work clothes. You’re not insecure, you fear that she’s sizing you up. That she can see the coffee stain at the bottom of your department store t-shirt, and feels oh-so sorry for you. You take a secretly angry sip. “What are you doing here all alone?”

You roll your eyes so hard they might fall out, finally lifting to meet her stare with a reserved expression. It doesn’t deter Paige, it makes her chuckle instead, and for a second you can hear a hint of nervousness.

“Okay, stupid question, sorry..” Her head turns back to the bar with a blush spreading into her round cheeks. For a second, you smile too, feeling something you can’t place, for a stranger making a corny move at you. Probably from the cocktail. You shake your head trying to pull yourself out of it.

“It’s fine, I’m just getting a drink after work..” You answer, although you usually wouldn’t. Something about the way she drank you in, her eyes pleading for approval with her metal rectangle of riches. It wasn’t hungry or cold, it was more like ‘please like me’. You exchange names, even though you already knew hers.

The server is back over, looking at Paige expectantly for her order. She gets a round of beers, turning back to you.

“Well, if you’re not too tired, you should come play me in pool,” Paige plucks up her card, and each Corona set infront of her. Two in each hand, between her fingers, then carefully swiveling around and standing. “I’ll buy you another.” She winks.

You hold her gaze and your breath until she walks away. Tipsy from the sips due to low tolerance, you slump back into the seat.

You had gone back to the pool table, even though her friends made your stomach twist. Their judgmental looks phased into the background as you and Paige played, the 3 watching, talking amongst one another. She had a talent of making it seem like you were alone.

Paige ordered another drink for you as promised, but you both barely drank again after your first, focused on the generic pool table. On the interesting stranger in-front of you.

Paige had politely demonstrated. Guiding your arms with her own, both lurched over the table, her hunched over you. She has to explain something an extra time, when her hips bump into you, and you space out. Once you get the hang of it, you’re ahead by two, determined to get the 8ball first.

Paige threw her head back once she misses a hole again for the same ball. You can’t help but explode in giggles, covering half your face with your palm. Catching you anyway, she grins at you, a twinkle in her eye as she squints.

“Yeah, yeah, laugh it up, gorgeous.”

Her group watches you both banter, the short brunette coiling her face at you in the same way she did when the sticky stench of the bar hit her nose. You shoot an apologetic smile, awkwardly, even though you hadn’t done anything to her.

Paige ends up winning, with your head start, that you start to suspect was on purpose. Halfway expecting her to try to take you home, something heavy sets over you near the end of the night, asking if you wanted to leave with her. She was beautiful, seemed kind, and generous. Why not?

To your disappointment, and mostly curiosity, she gives the back of your hand a firm kiss instead, swapping numbers, wishing you a good night. You find yourselves turning to steal one more glance, walking to your cars, hers sleek and black with an engine the yelled as she veered away with her companions.

It started off with a simple ‘good morning’ and ‘good night’. You had full intentions of brushing her off after the bar. The two of you had shared a moment, that’s all, nothing would come from someone like that and someone like you.

Paige was persistent. She woke up around 2 when you’re enjoying your last hour of freedom before work, with offers to interrupt her precious rest and take you, pick you up, bring you lunch.

“I have to come in early.”

“I have to stay late.”

“I don’t have a lunch.”

You shot her down, only because you knew she wouldn’t be moved. Secretly, you didn’t want her to know where you worked. The mystery, and push of you was better than the reality, you figured. That you were taking an involuntary gap year from your dream school, you were paying out of pocket for. Refusing to take on too much debt, you saved to return. Friends suggested asking your parents, they weren’t offering, so why ask?

Paige was restless to meet again, you could tell from her invitations sprinkled in every conversation, the past few days. Never could you figure she’d show up to your job though.

You’d been thrilled to leave your shift. It wasn’t bad, it was slow, which is somewhat worse. The dark sports car from a few days ago would have been the farthest thing from your mind, if you didn’t see one so similar to it. Parked right next to your old Honda, in the nearly empty lot.

Your steps slowed and you stared, dumbfounded. The windows were tinted an illegal amount. It’s low rumbling is flicked off and exactly who you figure pops out from inside.

“My dad loves this restaurant.” Paige smiles, like you’re casually meeting here. You nod knowingly.

“Why do you know where I work?” A groan escapes you, trying to speak sternly, your small grin betraying you. The blondes smile stays put, tucking a few of loose curls behind her ear. She waits for you to step closer, to the open car door she’s leaning on with her elbows.

“Yeah, well, my friend said he’d seen you, when he was out to eat not too long ago,” She throws a shrug like the next part is the normal thing that anyone does. “You go to work at 3…they close at 11…I just kind of….” As she spoke it out loud, the pink from a few nights ago returned to her face, heavier now.

“That’s super creepy, you know?” You tease her. If she was anyone else. Heat spreads in your cheeks, shifting the weight on your feet, to distract from it. Still, her ego isn’t bruised.

“You don’t think that,” Said with a chuckle, like she knows it for certain. You’re about to shoot a rebuttal about how she’s basically a stalker. She doesn’t stop speaking. “On your next day off. Let me take you out.” Not said in the form of a question.

“Hm…” You hum, putting your finger to your chin. “I am off tomorrow, but I’m sure you knew that too.” Teasing her again.

“Maybe I do.” She throws her shoulder up with a sly expression. You raise a brow at her that she ignores. “We could go play tennis at the club, or I know a few restaurants. Way stricter dress codes than here, though…Do you have tennis skirts? How about heels? You don’t seem like you’d wear either of those. That’s fine, we can go shopping before we go..” Paige is rambling. Your arms slump in disbelief at how fast she’s talking, having a conversation with herself, almost.

“Or even better, we could make a whole day of the shopping. Then we go to dinner. Forget it, let’s just wait and I’ll get us floor seats to th-“

“Okay, wait!” You stop her before she makes up her mind to fly you out of the state. “This is super overwhelming. I will only go on one condition.”

Paige clings to your every word, finally quiet, her face flushed slightly with embarrassment for over talking.

“It has to be something normal. Something even I can afford.” Paige makes a face at you, like what she named off were tame settings for getting to know someone. You rub your tired face, and walk over to your car, the door creaks when you open it.

“Okay, okay!” She rushes over to you, closing it back, “Something normal. I’ll pick you up, and we can do that.” You tilt your head up at her, both of you soaking each other in for a moment.

“Unless, you’re only capable of lovebombing..” You narrow your eyes at her with a smirk. Paige bursts out laughing.

“It’s not lovebombing, if it doesn’t stop, though.” grinning so hard all her teeth are showing, you don’t realize you are too.

“Right.”

You find yourself dreading Paige seeing your unkept apartment building. At around the time she usually is just waking up, she’s parked outside. Paige doesn’t see you walking up, being too busy with texting you she’s outside for the third time in five minutes.

She has no witty line prepared when you slide into the passenger seat, finally not in your work clothes, or makeup hours old. Her mouth is just gaped open like an idiot, she shuts it, when you give her a weird look.

You smelled like a bakery, in shorts and a crop top to accommodate the weather, with no clue where you were going, only that it’s across town, presumably near where she grew up.

“You look really pretty,” the corner of her lip curls up. It feels awkward, you’re still flustered hearing it. Picking at your nails nervously, while your eyes wandered up her to meet her own pair. She was in denim shorts this time, with a plain T-shirt, white and blue Jordan’s. It looked different from how she dressed at the bar with her friends, you felt less underdressed than you thought you would. “Finally get to see you outside of work.” Paige head turns to you every so often, one hand on the wheel, her elbow leaning against the armrest.

“Thank you, you look good too..” You bite your lip, gazing out the window, as she breaks at a red light. Good was just putting it lightly. Two pieces of her hair braided in the front, the rest straightened past her shoulders. Mascara coated her long lashes, and silver jewelry accented her whole body.

It was real silver and diamonds, you guessed, from the way it glimmered against the light. You stare down her arm taking up most of the rest between you. It reaches down, grabbing your hand, locking fingers automatically. Her thumb rubs the back of your palm.

It’s a park that she pulls into the lot of. A ice cream truck is a few spaces down, with families and small children waiting in line. Paige holds her finger up to you, signaling you to wait there. You don’t question it, unbuckling your seatbelt, agreeing to stay put.

You watch her jog up to the back of the line through the rear view, in front of you the vast greenery, sprinkled with jungle gyms, walking trails, and benches. The park near your apartment had grass high up to your knees, this grass looked like it was trimmed daily.

You’re suddenly anxious to get out the car. Paige comes back, this time holding a coned ice cream and some in a Styrofoam cup with a spoon. She opens your door for you, then hands you the cone.

“Thanks.” You lick a side that was melting, and Paige sticks a spoonful in her mouth beaming, with a nod.

Both of you decide to sit down, and enjoy your frozen dairy in silence for a few minutes. Then you smile and speak.

“Not a fan of cones?” You ask her, taking a long lick. She watches your mouth for a second then gently comes back to reality.

“Too messy.” Paige replies, shaking her head like she’s trying to push a thought away.

“Of course, too messy.” A smile is etched into your face the whole time, barley faltering. Paige gets a feeling you’re teasing her.

“Yeah,” She turns towards you, leaning her elbow on the back of the bench. Another scoop is shoved into her mouth before she dramatically adds. “I only get cones when my butler is here to wipe my mouth, duh.” You shove her shoulder gently, both of you erupting into tiny chuckles.

Small talk drives you crazy, but as you do it with Paige, it warms you up. You even find yourself asking questions. She talks about playing basketball as a kid, all the way to high school. Paige mentions how her dad is essentially a business mogul for a marketing company, and expects her to follow suit. She had been doing well so far, amazing grades, joining the same fraternity, like he wanted her to. Omicron Tau Sigma.

Her apprenticeship at the company her father ran with his fraternity brothers started a week ago, and she didn’t seem worried. As she put it, their less than welcoming children that she was forced to acquaint with and host, was work enough. You figured those were the friends at the bar.

“Don’t get me wrong, they’re cool, and I have my moments where I’m worse.”

“Oh I’m sure..” You mumble between laps.

“Watch it.”

Before you know it, it’s your turn. You skip out on a lot of details, telling her a bit of your childhood, that you’re taking a gap year, and aren’t close to your parents. You didn’t have a pre planned multimillion dollar future, that didn’t have to be said.

“I don’t get you.” It’s so sudden, you don’t know how to respond., and you were used to being caught off guard.

“What’s there to get?” Paige nods, like she figured something out. You stare blankly until she further explains.

“You hate people. Or maybe you just seem that way. Either way, you’re closed off,” more vanilla into her mouth, as you’re starting to bite into the waffle cone. “You live alone, no mention of friends—“

“You’re very observant.” You nod thoughtfully.

“You’re very impossible.” Paige mumbles, finishing off her cup, and tossing it in the trash beside the seat.

“I just like being alone, what’s so special about it?” You look off at someone playing with their dog. “It’s the safest place to be. Depending on yourself, the only person who is reliable.” You cringe. It sounded edgy, yet, it was the truth, and you learned it the hard way.

Paige gives her full attention. Her hand crosses on-top of yours. For the first time, she looks sad for you.

“Safe doesn’t mean lonely. And all people aren’t the same.” A quick curl of her lip, lifts and falls from her face. You think about giving her a tough time. Shutting her down. Pushing those thoughts away, you quietly think about what she said, instead. She starts to talk again.

“You can, like…come over. Only if you want…. My place is right on the water.” Paige avoids your eyes, bracing your answer, a coolness to her voice that she seemingly flipped at will.

“Perfect place to throw my remains.” You roll your eyes at her, she wraps a arm around you suddenly, pulling you in.

“Good point.” She huffs, sarcastically, with a stupid grin, resting her chin on the top of your head. You jab her playfully.

You knew exactly the neighborhood she was talking about. With all the mini mansions, and huge pillars near the front doors, turned away from a private lakeshore. You passed it a few times. Your heart thumped thinking about being inside one. One where surely someone from her family would be.

Her rounded puppy eyes, and the look of willingness to follow you everywhere, had you agreeing before you truly scaled out the situation.

The driveway is so long you figured it burns gas just to drive up it. Big to match the massive house sitting beside it. Even her house stood out amongst others, there wasn’t anything traditional or welcoming about it. It was modern and cold, like a display home you didn’t want to mess up.

Paige snaps you out of your daze with the opening of your side. She takes your hand and guides you to the solid white doors. There’s a pin-pad above the silver knob that her fingers type so fast, you’re not sure exactly which number she’s pressing.

You’re staring wide eyed all around, anxiety making your heart drum in your ears. She hasn’t noticed the clamminess in your palm yet, thoughts of pulling it away before you faced whoever was inside stormed your mind. Walking in as friends already raises questions, you could only imagine the drilling questions reserved for Paiges’ partners.

Before you can make up your mind, she’s practically dragging you inside. Paige tosses her socks and shoes, you follow after her. The dark wood is warm under your feet. Heated floors. The interior design is just as minimalist as the outside. A few family portraits, and pictures of Paige at all ages, are blown up larger than you thought they could be, nestled on walls.

One wall, of the living room you get pulled through, to get outside, holds shelves of memorabilia. Framed jackets, paddles, shirts, brooches, several pictures of people in the same colors, trophies all consistent with a theme of gold and navy blue. A golden lion, with luscious mane, in the middle of every piece. You want to slow down and look, maybe even ask questions. You decide to ask when the time is right, considering how annoyed she’d been with explaining it earlier on the bench.

The glass slides open with a whoosh of air. Of course the backyard has been tended to, with lush grass, and intricate stone arrangements around the base of trees. Vibrant flowers are planted in rows around the balcony, between two trees, near the wooden stairs leading to the pier, there’s a hammock, chairs sprawled out nearby.

Walking briskly down the steps, Paige clasps your fingers with her own, guiding you down. She sits with a soft exhale making small waves with her feet in the water. You’re still mesmerized at seeing a lake so clear. You’d never leave this pier if you were her, you tell Paige. She responds with a dry, closed mouth laugh.

“You can have it. And everything that comes with it..” She looks down into the water, or her reflection, you can’t tell. Your eyes don’t leave her, when you sit down on the worn wood. Half your foot is in, and it’s warm, so you drop the other. Her thigh is flush with yours.

“Not having fun in the castle, princess?” You kick the water lightly, sucking in the fresh air deeply. She rests her head on your shoulder, suddenly, making you perk.

“Not really.”

A snarky remark is at the tip of your tongue, so you bite it. How could having everything handed to you, make you sulk in private? You thought, looking at a few fish swimming just below your toes.

“I know what you’re thinking.”

“No you don’t.” You reply quickly, thinking about something else instead just in case.

“Yeah, I do,” Her head lifts up to look at you. There’s a slight hurt behind it.

“Shut up,” You sigh, gently pulling the weight of her head back onto you. “It must be…hard to keep up with.” That’s the only way you can put it, to try and soothe her.

“No, it’s not,” She admits, the sun beating down on the both of you through the leaves of trees overhead. “It’s not like working 40 hours a week, and still barely making it, I know.” Your arm wraps around her.

“Your dad graduated from my dream school,” It blurts out of you like vomit. It was drumming in your mind when you saw a diploma with the signature seal to it, framed alongside the other accomplishments. The words don’t stop. “I’m struggling because, yes the pay sucks, and because I’m saving to go back.” You’re almost gritting your teeth at the confessions. Paige pulls away and you let her.

“Damn. Dream school?….Really?” A silence sets over, you not replying. Paige gets up, standing beside you, wet feet dragging water next to you. She holds her hand out, you look up at her for a moment, her hair reflecting to look gold and white. You finally take it, her pulling you to your feet, and slowly up the steps this time around.

Once you reach the grassy yard, Paige stops dead in her tracks, like a deer, barley breathing out. Your feet start to dry in the blades of grass, by the time Paige speaks. Well, whispers.

“Shit, they’re here..” She’s mumbles under her breath. You’re about to ask who but the hearty laugh of a group of older men comes from the living room. “I forgot that was tonight..” Paige pulls the both of you to the side of the house, by the drive way, your legs barely keep up without a jog. Her fingers tap the pin to a room that’s used for coats, shoes, bags, all amounting to the cost of a small house. Theres three steps up to a black door that Paige opens so slowly, it looks like it pains her. You squeeze her wrist, stopping her.

“What?” She whispers.

“Who are we running from?” You whisper back.

Paige doesn’t respond, letting you hear the chatter of now voices young and old. Then she raises a brow at you, her only answer, twisting back towards the entrance.

“Because of me?” Your voice cracks as you ask. Paige turns around sharply, taking your face in her hands, brows furrowed in seriousness, foreheads nearly pressed together.

“Never. Because. Of you.” Her hushed, stern, tone makes a feeling you don’t recognize in your stomach, flip the desert inside it. “Okay?” This part is soft, and so is her expression. You nod slowly, as if in a trance, not wanting her mouth to move away from yours.

Having to fight back the urge to clash lips, Paige quietly steers you into the kitchen, the door closing behind you with a click.

Her slim shoulders drop, like you’re finally safe, bare sets of damp feet padding to the refrigerator. It’s roomy, and untouched, with the same dark flooring from the living room, where deep voices still laugh and discuss amongst each other loudly. The marble island sits in the middle, between the stove and fridge. A TV is installed outside of the door she digs two seltzers out of.

She gestures for you to follow her. You’re frozen still. Eyes bulging out your skull, social anxiety causing a tremble through you, at the sight of the small group crowding in. It was the other three, one guy shorter, with a mullet, the other taller, skinner than Paige, and of course, the brunette. An evil smirk stretches across her lip fillers, letting you know nothing good will come from this interaction.

It wasn’t them you’d been worried about though, it was the man towering behind Paige, his arms crossed, features scrunched in a frown, similar to Paige’s own. Mr. Bueckers, it has to be.

The way she jumps, when she swivels away from you, makes you think she’s going to drop the cans, instead, she squeezes them until they dent on the sides.

“So nice of you to join us, Paige. With company too?” He lets out a low, unimpressed, whistle.

[walkawaytall]

A lot of us actually are very aware and we fully support y’all doing all of this.

The reason you may not hear us talking about it is because it’s currently a hypothetical, while we’re having to deal with a ton of stuff that’s already happened.

In the five weeks since Trump has been in office, the White House has issued over 250 proclamations of some kind. Some are serious, others aren’t. It’s a lot to sift through, and overwhelming citizens is the point.

Our president has been issuing illegal orders — some of which literally go against our Constitution — and courts have been slow to respond.

Elon Musk and his band of non-qualified programmers have been irresponsibly sifting through government spending allegedly to find fraud and waste, but since they’re not auditors and don’t know anything about the government, they’ve mainly just been sowing chaos and accessing citizens’ sensitive data for reasons no one quite understands. Like, they literally have fired people from two departments that they had to then backtrack because it turns out, oopsie, we really do need people who understand how our nukes work on the payroll.

The White House is removing news outlets from their press room that choose to still use “Gulf of Mexico” in their international publications because they’ve decided that calling that body of water anything other than the “Gulf of America” is “lying”.

Our representatives are constantly pushing bills that are blatant loyalty signals, like the proposition that would allow Trump to serve a third term (but, coincidentally, not Obama).

Our President is ignoring the checks placed on his office and actively consolidating power under his position that belongs to other branches of government.

We are calling our representatives multiple times a week about a number of things, but our attention can only be pulled in so many directions.

We know Canadians are pissed. And many of us are pissed, too. But we’re busy trying to put out a thousand fires; we can’t also focus on the possibility that the arsonist is toying with the idea of setting another, especially when this arsonist had a tendency to pull out a box of matches with no intent to light them just to freak people out.

I am really, really sorry that our leaders keep threatening this. Please know that many of us stand with y’all in doing what you need to do. We just may not be expressing it right now because there are so many active issues that need our immediate attention.

Americans have no idea just how pissed off Canadians are about Trump.

Like, the tariff thing got us mad, but the 51st state thing? It's got us seething.

Liberals, progressives, even most of the Conservatives are all united on this.

We're sharing lists of Canadian-owned alternatives to American brands.

We're cancelling tourist trips to the US (one lady in a news story said she cancelled a trip to Florida for six and doesn't regret losing $1,300 due to the cancellation).

And if we have to go to the US, such as the couple who's selling their California home? We're taking Canadian flights instead.

Some travel agencies have seen as much as a 40% decrease in bookings of flights from Canada to the US, and it's estimated it'll affect at least $2.1 billion dollars of the travel industry alone (not counting the tourism side of things like Disney trips and hotel bookings).

I've also heard of people from the Commonwealth cancelling trips to the US to visit Canada instead, and the same from people in Europe.

[st3f13ily]

Jealousy?? Yeah, Right

Summary: Two weeks have gone by since that day, and now Satoru's latest mission is over, he decided to make a new one! Operation: The art of (not) making you jealous!

Timeline: Teenage Arc (2006)

Dual pov

Previous | Gojo Satoru Masterlist | Next (soon!)

Your Perspective

You noticed it immediately.

The Gojo Satoru is weird.

Well, weirder than usual.

He is standing by the vending machine, leaning against it with all the grace of a soap opera playboy, talking to some random girl from who knows where. His arm is propped up against the machine like he’s in some kind of drama scene.

He laughs.

Loudly.

Obnoxiously.

As if the girl just told the funniest joke in the world.

She looks confused. You feel confused. The vending machine probably feels confused.

And then it click.

You know Gojo Satoru . You know how he operates. You know he likes to poke and prod at people until they snap just to amuse himself.

So it's probably one of his harmless pranks again, he is probably thinking something ridiculous right now.

And yet.

And yet.

Why does your stomach feel weird?

His glasses are pushed onto his head, revealing those ridiculously blue eyes, and they’re locked onto the girl with full intensity.

Your fingers twitch.

It's fine.

You don't care.

You don't care.

But he leans closer, 𝘁𝗼𝗼 𝗰𝗹𝗼𝘀𝗲. His hand rests against the vending machine, caging her like some shoujo manga protagonist.

What the!!

That's his signature move.

He actually do that to other girls also??

The worst part? that girl giggles, her cheek turning red.

Then your fingers clench into a fist.

This is stupid. You know it's stupid. You know him too well to fall for this nonsense. It's so obviously a trick, one of his dumb pranks, because every few seconds, his eyes dart toward you, checking for a reaction.

He's trying to make me jealous.

And gosh, it's working.

The realization makes your blood boil. Your heartbeat is loud in your ears, but your pride won’t let you just walk over there and call him out.

No.

You will not give him the satisfaction.

You turn on your heel, heading in the opposite direction.

You don’t care.

You don’t.

You don’t.

But the second you hear another giggle from that girl, your feet betray you and start marching straight toward him.

Gojo is mid-sentence, saying something ridiculous.

His attention snaps to you instantly. The girl looks between you both, suddenly nervous.

You don’t even look at her.

"What are you doing?" Your voice is sharp.

Gojo’s lips twitch, amusement flickering in his gaze. "Oh? Were you watching me, sweetheart?"

You knew that from the very start!! You even planned it, idiot!

You scoffed "Ha! No, of course not, I'm just trying to do this girl a favour."

He tilts his head. "Ooh~~ someone's a little grumpy"

You scoff, forcing yourself to get away. "Whatever. Do what you want." You turn to leave.

But then, because he’s an idiot, he says something that snaps the last thread of your patience.

"You’re not… jealous, are you?"

You freeze.

Slowly, you turn back around. "What?"

Gojo grins. "I mean, you are acting kinda—"

"I am not jealous," you snap, cutting him off immediately.

His grin widens. "Ohhh? Then why’d you come over here like you were about to rip me away from my lovely new friend?"

Your jaw clenches.

Your fingers twitch.

Gosh, you hate him.

You hate him so much.

You glare at him for another long second before huffing, spinning on your heel, and stomping away.

Gojo watches you go, grinning to himself. Then, without a second thought, he jogs after you, leaving the poor, confused girl behind.

"Wait up, jealous girl!"

"I SAID I’M NOT—"

"Let’s go get ice cream!"

"...I hate you."

"You love me."

You keep walking, gritting your teeth.

His Perspective

Ok, so—it probably wasn't the best idea.

In theory, it should’ve been flawless.

Step one: Flirt with some random girl in an over-the-top, ridiculous way.

Step two: Make sure you were watching.

Step three: Watch as you get adorably jealous and storm over to me, demanding my attention.

Easy, right?

𝘄𝗿𝗼𝗻𝗴.

Because now you’re standing across the courtyard, arms crossed, eyebrows twitching, and you look pissed.

And for the first time in my life, I’m actually kind of nervous.

I glance at the girl in front of me—uh, what’s-her-name again? Doesn’t matter. I barely hear what she’s saying because I’m too busy sneaking glances at you.

Are you watching closely?

Are you jealous yet?

Come on, react.

I lean against the vending machine, flashing my best smirk. "Wow, your hair is so shiny! Like... premium-grade sweets!"

The girl blinks. I blink. Somewhere in the distance, I think I hear Nanami sigh.

....Huh. It sounded way better in my head.

Crap. OK. Damage control.

I push my sunglasses onto my head and try again. "And your eyes! They’re like... uh, a limited-edition soda flavor! Super rare! A once-in-a-lifetime color!"

Silence.

The girl just let out a plain laugh.

I sneak another glance at you.

You’re still watching. But now—oh. Oh.

Your fingers are clenched into fists. Your shoulders are tense.

Your jaw is tight.

And—holy shit—are you actually jealous?

I fight the urge to grin. Oh, this is way better than I planned.

Then, suddenly—movement.

Your marching straight towards me! Oh crap.

"What are you doing?" You demanded, voice sharp. I barely processed two words because—wow you are close.

This is great!!

I smirk, tilting my head. "Oh? Were you watching me, sweetheart?"

You glare at me. Glare. At me.

And for some reason, it’s the hottest thing I’ve ever seen.

"Ha! No, of course not, I'm just trying to do this girl a favour."

Liar. This girl is completely fine. I think. She seems fine, but it seems like she wants to get out already.

"Ooh~~ someone a little grumpy"

Your fingers twitch, like you’re debating whether to punch me or strangle me. I kind of like both options. But then, you were about to leave. "Whatever, do what you want."

You’re leaving. And I can't help myself but just say it.

"You’re not… jealous, are you?"

You freeze.

Oh. Oh, this is gonna be fun.

You slowly turn back around, eyes sharp enough to kill a man. "What?"

I widen my grin. "I mean, you are acting kinda—

"I am not jealous." Ohhh, you’re so jealous.

I step closer, dropping my voice just a little. "Then why’d you come over here like you were about to rip me away from my lovely new friend?"

Your jaw clenches.

I’m pretty sure I’ve never seen you this close to exploding.

And gosh, it’s so cute.

Then suddenly, you huff, spin on your heel, and stomp away.

Wait.

Wait.

You’re leaving?

No, no, absolutely not.

Without a second thought, I ditch the random girl and jog after you.

"Wait up, jealous girl!"

"I SAID I’M NOT—"

"Let’s go get ice cream!"

You pause. I can feel you resisting. Then, without turning around, you mutter, "...I hate you."

I grin, catching up to bump my shoulder against yours.

"You love me."

You didn't tell me to leave. So, Yeah, I totally won.

[meyhew]

are we on trial? | a glimpse into the night before andrew testifies

Nausea squeezes his stomach like a noose and Aaron wills the tequila to slide down his throat instead of coming back out. Katelyn’s fingertips scratching soft patterns along his scalp is the only reason he succeeds. 

“You sure you don’t want to sleep?” 

She has asked this too many times now—first when Dan and Matt were still here, then when they left and Aaron picked a movie without looking from Matt’s endless collection, and again when he got up from the couch for more of Matt’s alcohol. On any other night Aaron would tell her to quit it, but tonight he can’t. Tonight the sound of her voice is the one thing keeping him tethered to some semblance of sanity, even if it is to ask the same question again and again. 

Aaron shakes his head in a silent no. He knows what sleep will bring. Red hands and scarred wrists, his brother sitting in a pool of blood, Aaron’s-reflection-Andrew trapped in a mirror touching his temple, the sound of Andrew’s maniacal laughter chasing him out of his own head until he thrashes awake in his bed. He’d rather spend the night wide awake putting poison in his body.

As though sensing where his thoughts have drifted to, Katelyn says, “Have you told him I won’t be there tomorrow?” 

“Not yet. He’s been in a foul mood.” 

They all have, which surprised him. He knows his teammates well enough by now to have expected their indignant anger, but he wasn’t expecting their sadness. Dan’s lack of focus or Allison’s bitchiness toned down—it has all left Aaron a little dazed. Even Neil has curbed his antagonism, though that shouldn’t be a shock considering his very loud opinion about the uselessness of the trial. It doesn’t do much to earn him Aaron’s respect, but for once at least their resentment isn’t directed at each other. Their glum faces are an unexpected balm, though Aaron would sooner slit his throat than admit it to them.  

Katelyn pries the bottle of tequila from his hand and puts it a safe distance away. She turns the TV off and the remote disappears somewhere in the now-dark room. 

“Any more, and you’ll be throwing up all morning,” she says, not unkindly. 

Aaron sighs. He knows she’s right; he bulldozed past his safe limits an hour ago. The couch they’re on is small, but making it to the bed right now seems impossible. He turns his face towards her and Katelyn welcomes his weight. There are moments when disbelief takes over rational thought, this being among them. How is this real for him? How does he get to have her? It feels to good to be true, like one of these days she’s going to realize how fucked up he is, how fucked up his life is, and she’s going to walk away from him like she should have months ago. Instead, she’s there everyday, an unwavering presence by his side. 

He kisses her exposed collarbone and Katelyn presses a hand to the back of his head, holding him close to her. Not that she needs to. Not that he wants to be anywhere but here. 

“I can come by the courthouse at the end,” Katelyn murmurs. “If you want me to, obviously. Go somewhere.” 

As tempting as the idea is, he knows it’s a bad one. Maria and Luther will be there. That cop from Oakland will be there. Andrew’s would-be mother will be there, the one Aaron shut the door on. The ghost of his own mother lingering in different bodies. He doesn’t want Katelyn to have to see them, not until she must. 

Are you protecting her or Andrew? 

“I’ll find you afterwards.” 

She doesn’t take offense to his rejection and Aaron loves her more than he did a moment ago. “Do you want to talk to him?” 

him him him him him

“He’s probably asleep.” Even as he says it, he knows it’s not true. And, really, what’s there to say? 

“You won’t know unless you try.” She fishes around for something and a moment later offers him his phone. 

Aaron shakes his head. 

Katelyn gently pushes him back. “Well, go. I’ll be right here.” 

For a moment that stretches out indefinitely, they gaze at each other with something unsaid hovering in the air between them. Then Aaron leans in for a kiss, a tether, and Katelyn opens her mouth to him without hesitation. Her hand is warm on his cheek when she shoves him lightly. 

“Baby, go.” 

Aaron’s legs feel leaden as he trudges out of his room and towards his brother’s. He bypasses the lock for the keys in his pocket. Andrew didn’t want Aaron to have a spare and Neil didn’t see the point, but Aaron had insisted. He couldn’t bring himself to say the words that had been clawing at his insides. Sometimes he still gets stuck in his useless body in that house in Columbia, locked out of a room his brother was bleeding in, laughing at his own pain. He knows it won’t happen again—it can’t happen again—yet the disconnect between his heart and his brain is unbearable. The words died within him, but it didn’t matter. Andrew understood his silent plea demand and dropped a key on his open textbook one afternoon. 

They have never talked about it and Aaron has never used the key. 

Now he pushes the door open to find Andrew sitting in the window. It’s such a familiar sight it draws Aaron up short. 

Andrew has to testify tomorrow—today—and he’s sitting cross-legged in the window with a cigarette dangling from his lips. He doesn’t turn at the sound of the door opening, doesn’t give any indication he even noticed it, and Aaron doesn’t need him to. He stands there without saying anything and Andrew keeps smoking. 

Is that how miserable I look right now? Aaron wonders. 

Andrew looks the same as he always does, or so it seems; the line of his spine is rigid, a light trembling to his hands Aaron can spot even from the doorway. His brother is not a person who shakes. 

“Stay or go,” comes Andrew’s voice. 

Aaron closes the door behind him and crosses his old room towards the window. He hops up to squeeze on the sill across from Andrew. 

“Where’s Neil?” 

Andrew doesn’t look his way. “Sleeping.” 

“So why aren’t you?” 

Eyes the same as Aaron’s slide his way. The fear, the rage, the irritation that’s been bubbling up underneath Aaron’s skin is nowhere to be seen in Andrew’s bored gaze. Aaron ignores his silent why aren’t you? and grabs the pack of cigarettes at Andrew’s knees. He waits for a warning, a hand to snatch it back from him, but nothing comes. Andrew lets him have his way and Aaron pushes a stick between his lips. 

Almost-reflections. Like looking at himself in clear lake water: a distorted, blurry, almost-image of himself. Where Aaron is wearing a white Palmetto crewneck, Andrew is in his signature all black getup, arm bands and all. Even now, even here. Not that Aaron wants to see the mangled skin on his twin’s arms. Every time he remembers it, he thinks, that could’ve been me. He saved me from ending up like him. 

He wonders if Andrew gets them, too. The bad dreams. It seems unlikely for his shield of a brother to be haunted in his dreams, but they are too alike. Case in point: sitting here speeding up their death instead of preparing for the reckoning tomorrow. Aaron really should stop smoking. It’s not a good look for him, but it’s an easy crutch. And it’s the only way he can sit with Andrew. 

“Katelyn’s not going to be there tomorrow,” he says. 

Andrew cuts him a vicious look. “She is not doing me a kindness. I do not need it.”  

“Jesus, Andrew. Who, then, if not you?” 

“The intricacies of her psyche are not my problem.”

“You could say thank you.” 

“Fuck you.” 

They don’t thank each other. Why should they? His blood is his blood is his blood. Sometimes Aaron wonders if they were put together in the hospital, the way many twins are paired up for skin to skin. Because they’re not used to being alone. Because they naturally reach out for each other. Because being pressed up chest to chest releases oxytocin. Did he and Andrew have that? Or were they separated before they even got to know each other’s smell? He wonders if that’s why there’s sometimes this empty pocket inside of him where nothing else seems to fit. 

He wants to ask what Andrew will say tomorrow. So many versions of the truth and only one that will matter to people: Aaron killed a man. Wouldn’t matter to them that his brother was lying on a bed with his pants at his ankles, blood streaming from his face. Wouldn’t matter to them that Andrew never asked for any of it. He was Andrew Minyard and they already knew the kind of man he was. Of course his brother would be the same. Of course they’re both the same. 

Aaron doesn’t ask. They don’t speak at all. But it helps Aaron to know that Andrew can’t sleep either. 

[entities-of-posts]

When I was little, I was terrified of space. Which was funny, because one of my favorite books was a constellations activity book. I think I just liked it for the Greek myths tied to the constellations. I still have it, I think, up in my room. It's the kind of thing you just don't have the heart to get rid of. But that's besides the point.

One time, in elementary school, we took a field trip to the little observatory in the high school. No telescope or anything, but it had one of those fancy, expensive, spherical projectors and a domed ceiling. I remember the red lighting around the rim of the ceiling, so that we could see our worksheets but it was still dark. Something about red light not really registering as bright light, and helping your eyes adjust to darkness? I dunno. Again, I'm getting off topic.

I don't really remember what the presentation was about, what the person said. I remember the wobbly seat that leaned back so you didn't strain your neck looking up. I remember the stars across the ceiling. I remember the person fast-forwarding the projection through the whole year, watching the constellations and planets move.

I felt so small. I was terrified. The universe is huge, and I'm just one little kid on one little planet. Would anything I do ever matter? Would anyone remember me? I was so scared, I felt sick to my stomach. I left the observatory feeling hollow.

And one time, my parents were watching Cosmos: A Spacetime Odyssey. Neil deGrasse Tyson was talking about the life cycle of stars, and how, in 5 billion years, the sun will run out of hydrogen, and for 3 billion years it will swell, swallowing Mercury, Venus, and Earth. I tried to tune it out, but I couldn't stop thinking about it. Why did it matter to me? I'd be gone by then. I shouldn't care what happens in billions of years. but the idea of the sun devouring its children, burning them up in its hunger and desperation…

There are little things, too. I'm afraid of heights, but only if they’re not contained. I have really strong call to the void - the urge to throw yourself off the edge. My school auditorium has a balcony, and when I was touring the campus for some class, the instinct was so strong I had to stand as far away from the railing as possible, and I still got dizzy. My knees were weak, I was shaking, the world was spinning. No one noticed.

Ironically, my most pleasant dreams are ones where I’m flying. The wind in my hair, the breathlessness. Tucking my wings in to dive, or fall, so fast I think I’ll hit the ground, and opening them at the last moment to skim just above the Earth, then soaring up into the clouds again…

But as far as space goes? I lived with that fear for years and years. But one day, maybe when I was 18 or something, I don’t remember, something just… changed. I was in a depressive episode, I think, and it was like 10pm. I was the only one awake in my house. Talking online wasn’t enough, I needed to get out of my head. So I just… went outside. There were no clouds. There was light pollution, sure, but I could see Orion’s belt, at least.

And just… Just sitting there, looking at the inky black of the sky, hearing the nightbirds and cicadas and crickets and distant traffic, I just… I don’t know. I finally felt like I was a part of it all. A small part, maybe, but an important part. A tapestry is nothing without all the little individual threads, and I was one of those threads. I could finally see that. And I could see the butterfly effect of my actions, my kindness, just my presence. Rippling out from me, to those I loved, to whomever they love, to people I’ve never met, people in other countries. I could see it all.

And I heard the universe sing. Every cell in my body, every atom under my feet and circling through my lungs, every star lightyears away. It was all singing, and I could finally hear it. And it was all just for me, just in that moment.

“You are part of me,” it said. “You will always be. Don’t forget that.”

And I, uh. I haven’t.

The Vast, perhaps more than any other Fear, weaves wonder and dread together beautifully. It’s just awe-striking, for better and worse.

[endiness]

@sugarrushsock Wow I’m so happy someone actually has all the receipts cuz every other post just seems like vague call out post with no substance. Also wildly the Henry cavill just seems to say whatever makes him look best at that moment. You’d think he’d have a better pr team

@cilianda1 His interviews are scripted all the time

@sugarrushsock They’re terrible at their job if that’s the case. The lack of consistency is alarming to say the least. Like stick to a story cuz they made this guy look stupid

Okay, just to address this, but Henry Cavill's PR was actually a lot more insidious than this post might make things seem. Because he really only fucked up and showed his hand a few times.

Like, out of +50 interviews for S2, it's only in (iirc) 3 interviews that he ever acknowledges anything about how he was the one cutting Geralt's lines — and even then, all of those interviews either happened at con panels, in interviews over ~10 mins long, and/or in foreign/non-english press — all of which are significantly less likely to be seen and reported on by the fandom and larger news outlets. But in all the rest of those +50 interviews? He was talking about how much he pushed for a more verbose Geralt whilst never acknowledging how HE'S the one responsible for that mess in the first place.

Same thing with him going on about how much he cares about adhering to the source material as if Lauren's vision of the show is somehow in opposition to that. He went on and on and on about that all throughout the press for S2, but it's only in a few interviews where he fucks up and actually gives the context for what he meant by "Lauren's vision" ie Yennefer and Ciri being just as important as Geralt is and the show heavily centering around women.

Or, like, in S1 interviews, he was perfectly fine with bringing up how he had no idea about the books until Lauren told him about them and he had no problem talking about how much he was inspired by the video games for his performance as Geralt. Then come S2 (after he'd gotten dunked on by reddit for his book inaccurate performance in S1) and he suddenly changed his tune, hardly mentioned the games as inspiring his performance again (or, really, at all), and started going on and on about the books.

Or even with him admitting to, basically, having only played the third game despite saying he's played all the games and everything — he only ever admitted that in maybe, like, 2 interviews all of which were in foreign/non-english press. Same thing with him admitting he only ever read through the series once — he only ever said that in one interview and it was at a +40 minute long con panel.

Or even this quote from S1 press where he admits to how he didn't actually prepare for the role or do any research:

"I asked my agent to put me on the spot and wanted to meet Lauren as soon as possible. I didn’t even need to prepare specially for the role. Because I breathe, I experience this universe every day. I’ve already had many opportunities to think about this character when I was playing the game. My preparation was already done before the casting even began!"

Like, where is that quote from? It's from an interview he did with a french magazine. So obviously not a lot of people saw it. Plus, the quote might sound… fine without context. But what is the context? He hadn't read any of the books and he had only ever really played the third game.

Like, adding it all up, it does look bad. Because it is lol. But the thing is, the vast, vast, vast majority of the fanbase never did this. It read or watched maybe one or two interviews he did here and there and only ever saw Henry Cavill talking about how much of a fan he is, how much he knows, how hard he pushed for a more book accurate Geralt, how important adhering to the source material is to him. But when you actually look into everything he's said, that's when his whole story really falls apart because none of it adds up or makes any sense.

Debunking misinformation about Netflix's The Witcher (Part 1)

[Part 1] [Part 2] [Part 3] [Part 4] [Part 5] [Part 6] [Part 7]

"Henry Cavill is a massive fan of the books and the games and he quit the show because the writers wouldn't stick to the books and he just cares about the source material so much."

Henry Cavill not only did not know that the books existed when he started pursuing the role of Geralt, but he actually thought that the books were based off of the video games (and he still didn't bother to read them) and he didn't learn that the games were actually based off the books until Lauren told him (even though the first thing in the game credits is that they're based off the books); as of 2021, he as only read the full series once — right before he was cast in 2018; while he has played TW3, he has only played a little of TW2 (and I've never found any evidence that he's played the first game); and he also has not played the DLC for TW3.

Henry Cavill also started heavily pushing the narrative that he's just such a massive fan of the books and how important adhering to the source material is to him during the press for S2 to deflect from how it was due to his acting choices of cutting Geralt's lines and either saying nothing or just grunting instead that Geralt's characterization — who is much more verbose in the books — was book inaccurate in S1:

He also lied about the situation and tried to act like Geralt was never originally written as being verbose and blamed the lack of dialogue on Yennefer and Ciri's prominence, which cannot be true as confirmed by Lauren:

And tried to act like the lines he was cutting weren't that important anyway so it wasn't really a big deal, which also cannot be true as confirmed by Joey:

He also started pushing the narrative that adhering to the source material is so important to him and it's 'tricky' to do that with Lauren's vision, but his definition of "Lauren's vision" is the show being an ensemble piece with Yennefer and Ciri at the forefront (like the books) and the show in general heavily centering around women (like the books):

So the idea of him caring so much about "book accuracy" is, in fact, not accurate to the books at all as his problems were the prominence of women in the show when Ciri is the main character of the main book series, which the show started adapting from S2 onwards (which is when Henry Cavill started to complain about wanting "book accuracy" in the first place), and when women are very prominent, central, key figures in the books and they often drive the plot forwards.

Lastly, S3 was the closest adaption of the books out of all the seasons so far, so the idea that he quit after S3 because the writers just weren't respecting the source material and the show wasn't following the books doesn't make any sense anyway.

"Henry Cavill is the only reason why the show was even close to the source material at all."

I've not only never seen any evidence of this, but if anything, I've seen the exact opposite: Henry Cavill was either directly responsible for or at least contributed in some way to a lot of things that went against the books or didn't happen in them.

As I already pointed out, he cut Geralt's lines in S1 and either said nothing or just grunted instead which is inaccurate to Geralt's characterization in the books. Here's another quote from Joey affirming that:

(Just to note: During the press for S1, he frequently talked about how the games inspired his performance as Geralt — sometimes talking about them even more than the books despite how the show is based off of the books, not the games — and it wasn't until S2 press that he suddenly changed his tune and started talking about how important adhering to the source material ie the books is to him. He also only started advocating for a more book accurate Geralt because he got dunked on by reddit for his book inaccurate performance in S1.)

He didn't want to play Geralt and Jaskier's friendship as directly as in the books and buddy-buddy with each other:

He didn't want to have any kind of conflict in Geralt and Ciri's relationship in S2 — at least on Geralt's side of things:

Nor play Geralt struggling with fatherhood at all — all of which led to the domino effect of Yennefer's betrayal:

Eskel's death (which in itself also led to things like Vesemir trying to create new witchers and Lambert's attitude toward Ciri):

And Voleth Meir being the big bad of the season:

He didn't want Geralt and Triss to even just platonically find comfort in each other in S2 — which is what happens in the books:

He nixed a sex scene between Geralt and Yennefer in S2 because he didn't think it'd be in character of them to have sex after reuniting which, uh, is absolutely in character of them:

While this is an incredibly inconsequential change, given the prevalence of this idea that Henry Cavill is such an ardent defender of the source material ie the books and how much he wanted the show to adhere to them, I do think it's important to note that he pushed for — and got — more signs into the show even though by his own admission that is more of a game thing than a book thing and he got it into the show for the explicit purpose of catering to game stans:

This is also another incredibly inconsequential change, but again, given how prevalent the idea of Henry Cavill pushing for perfect source accuracy is, I do just want to point out that he would wear his armor 24/7 to make it look worn down:

Even though it is canon in the books that Geralt will buy himself brand new clothes, so the idea that Geralt's clothing has to look worn down and can't be brand new is not actually book accurate.

"Lauren wanted to make Roach's death a joke."

Just to address this point specifically, Lauren wanted to make a meta reference about how all of Geralt's horses are named Roach. That in no way, shape, or form means that she wanted to make Roach's death into a joke or even that the scene had to be played comedically. This is what Lauren had to say about the subject and the 'joke' in question (which, js, actually fits the tone of the books more):

And as far as the "Henry Cavill is the only one who cared about the source material and he's the only reason why the show even stuck to the books at all" front goes... Henry Cavill did change the dialogue in this scene to a book quote/reference; however, the quote in question ("Enjoy your last walk across the meadow and through the mist. Be not afraid of her for she is your friend.") is not something that Geralt himself says and the line/scene from the books foreshadows Geralt's ending in them.

So, at least imo — especially taking into account the incredibly high standard the fandom has set for Henry Cavill as the #1 defender of the books — I don't think this change was actually book accurate especially given the narrative significance of that exchange in the books.

[gatorbites-imagines]

Hi! I hope you’re having a great day! 🌟 I absolutely love your blog and your writing—it’s always so creative and immersive. I was wondering if you could write a Reverse Flash (Eobard Thawne) imagine for me? Here’s my idea: - [ do you know the fanfic that you did about him and normal reader? Well, I thought you could write about the wedding reception or what when on during the wedding] No pressure, of course—I just think your writing style would bring this idea to life in the best way! Thank you so much for considering my request, and keep up the amazing work! 💖

Eobard Thawne x male reader

Headcanons

I’ve been sending out job applications, how’s everyone else doing? I actually know like, nothing about weddings. The one wedding ive been through was thrown together in like three weeks.

you can find the fic mentioned here

The wedding could go multiple ways. It could be a huge wedding that costs more money than you could ever imagine. Or it could be something small and personal.

I think it makes more sense if it was a smaller wedding. Because sure, Eobard could show off, but he also has like no one to invite from his side, and he knows you prefer things being down to earth and calm.

The only person really invited on his side is Barry and that’s because you invited him, claiming that being rivals for so long pretty much made them family.

Your family has always loved Eobard, even if he has his moments where his villainy shines through. They’re all as normal as you, and could care less about his evil deeds. Eobard helps them repair stuff around their houses, and chased off your cousin Linda’s evil abusive ex. That makes him good in their books.

I think Eobard has little idea how to really plan a wedding, especially with someone he loves as much as you. Good thing he’s got you, and your one cousin who’s a wedding planner who’s helping you guys’ plan as a wedding gift.

Your family is pretty damn big, and you got people in all fields. Theres your uncle Bill whos got a major catering business, and your younger cousin who has a band willing to play. Your aunt Jenna gets the flowers for cheap, and your uncle Michael and his husband Diego run a security company.

I can even see Eobard being close to uncomfortable with just how open and supportive your super normal family is. Your nieces and nephews love Eobard for many reasons, from his red hair to him teaching them self-defense.

If it wasn’t for you, Eobard would become a major bridezilla, or should I say groomzilla? He wants it to be perfect, from location, time, season of the year, everything. It needs to be just as you guys planned. You succeed in pulling him in before he starts spiraling most days.

I can imagine Eobard would want to wear a yellow suit, but you and your groomsmen and bridesmaids end up talking him out of it. Instead, he wears a black suit with a yellow, and you wear a white suit with a red tie.

You spend quite a lot of time talking him out of stress or anger when things don’t go right, or when he’s starting to get overwhelmed. Theres multiple times you have to talk him out of time travel to get what he thinks is best.

The wedding goes off with little issue. There is a moment where Eobard wants to be mad about Barry showing up. But at this point it’s more just because he’s so used to being evil when he sees Barry. It’s like a trained reaction.

Barry brings a gift of course, off the registry since he doesn’t really know you too well.

Your family assume that Barry is related to Eobard in some way since they have a “similar energy” around them. Barry gets along well with your family, and fits into the wedding guests easily.

Eobard will never admit it, even if your family get it on video, that he started crying when you guys were saying your vows. His vows aren’t long, but are meaningful to the two of you, and it’s obvious he’s trying his best to express those feelings to you verbally.

The rings you guys wear are probably made out of some material Eobard got his hands on. something that can’t be broken by him using his powers or in battle, and something that cant be copied by others since he’s possessive.

There is of course a large party afterwards, with lots of hugs and congratulations from everyone in attendance.

As your family are all over you, laughing and celebrating, Eobard pulls himself to the side for a breather. He loves you so much, but it can be so overwhelming sometimes to feel so normal and accepted, loved even.

Barry would saddle up beside him with a drink in each hand, so the two of them end up standing side by side as people dance, drink and eat.

Barry would express how happy he is for Eobard, that he found someone who matters so much to him. That Eobard looks so much happier and healthier than the last times he saw him. Eobard would grumble but flush, mumbling about how he’s obviously better because he has you.

In the end you guys celebrate to your heart’s content, and when the party is over you guys don’t go to a hotel. Instead, Eobard runs you guys’ home so you can cuddle in bed and just be together.

Theres not much reason to hold a honeymoon in the way most others do. If you guys want to go to another country, Eobard will just run you there. Instead, you take as long time off work as you can, so you guys can just be together and do whatever you want.

[honeypiehotchner]

The Gambit (Hotch x Fem!Reader) -- part twelve

I need y'all to know that I'm writing part 18 rn and it's getting GOOD I can't wait this fic is so fun to write and I'm so happy you guys are loving it as much as I'm loving writing it!!! 🤭💞

Warnings: once again they're...getting along? never fear they still argue though, things are...about to get crazy, (i hope we are picking up on the subtle moments of attraction bc they're only going to get worse xoxo)

After three days of straight paperwork — and one annoying HR meeting because someone from a different department must’ve heard you and Hotch arguing and decided to tattle — you’re going insane. You need something else to do besides sit in a chair staring at files all day, listening to Morgan and Reid bicker, and glaring at Hotch every time you catch him looking at you through his office window.

You’ve heard nothing new from the case in Alabama. Radio silence from the unsub. Radio silence from the police. Nothing new from the sketch Lila helped with, too. Nothing at all, with anything.

You’re going stir crazy. 

You need a new case to come in. Given what Strauss told you in that meeting, you expect a new case to come in any minute.

What you do not expect is to come back from lunch on the fourth day to find Strauss in Hotch’s office, or for them to be arguing. With the door open, for god’s sake, so everyone in departments three floors down can hear.

You don’t think before you haul ass up the stairs, especially not after you hear your own name in the midst of their poor attempts to not shout, turning everyone’s heads. Your mind immediately conjures up the worst case scenario: that they’re arguing about your father, about how Strauss let you seal that part of your file, and somehow Hotch found out that she let you, and now it’s all getting blown out of proportion.

You can’t make out the source of their arguing, though, because they’re just shouting nonsense at one another, bordering on insults. 

Jesus, is this what it sounds like to everyone else when you and Hotch argue?

Strauss and Hotch both stop bickering as soon as they spot you hovering in the doorway. You raise your eyebrows at them like a parent catching two siblings in the middle of an unnecessary fight — which isn’t that far off the mark.

“Ma’am,” you nod to Strauss. “Hotch,” you look over at him. “I heard my name. What’s going on?”

Strauss answers, turning toward you, “Richard Monroe has stopped cooperating with the authorities. He’s said he’ll cooperate again, but he wants to speak with you first.”

“No,” Hotch says firmly, one hand planted on his hip, his other hand pointing an accusatory finger in Strauss’s direction, then at you. “There is no reason for Richard to speak with her.”

“Why not?” you ask, trying to keep your tone on the calmer side, at least while Strauss is present. “If it’ll make him cooperate, I’ll talk with him.”

“Thank you,” Strauss says, relieved, before turning to give Hotch a lethal glare. “See? I told you you’re getting worked up over nothing, Aaron.”

“I’ll be fine,” you say, whether to assure yourself or Hotch, you have no idea. “It’s one conversation. It’s not like I haven’t spoken to him bef—”

“It’s not just one conversation,” Hotch fumes.

“Stop acting like I can’t handle this job,” you argue.

Hotch almost looks offended. “That’s not what I’m—” 

“I don’t care what it is,” Strauss shouts over the both of you. “Agent, you’ll speak with Richard tomorrow. I’ve already scheduled it, and I’ll forward you the details. Hotch, I’ll let them know you’ll be attending as well.”

“Excuse me?” Hotch says.

“What?” you blurt at the same time. “I don’t need him to come with me.”

“Well, you’re not allowed to go alone, and frankly, Aaron, if it bothers you so badly, you should go with her, as Unit Chief,” Strauss says, her phone ringing in her pocket halfway through her sentence. “I’m late for a meeting. This is settled. Understood?”

Hotch looks like he’d rather put his own foot up his ass until he tastes the sole of his shoe. “Understood.”

“Yes ma’am,” you nod, stepping aside to let Strauss leave. “Thank you.”

You don’t bother waiting for Hotch to speak before inviting yourself into his office all the way. It takes everything in you not to slam the door behind Strauss. He yanks the blinds closed with just as much anger, chest practically heaving. You’re surprised he didn’t rip them off the wall with the force.

“What the hell was that?” you hiss. These walls, no matter how much you wish they were, aren’t soundproof, and by now you’ve probably attracted the attention of the entire goddamn floor, let alone your nosy teammates who are returning from lunch.

“I might ask you the same thing,” Hotch fires back, rounding his desk. You know what he’s doing, trying to tower over you and intimidate you. It won’t work, not with you. He should know that by now. “Did you know about this?”

“About Richard Monroe being a manipulative piece of shit? Of course I’ve known— I’m not a fucking idiot, Hotch.”

“I never said you were! Stop putting words in my—” he curses, pinching the bridge of his nose before resting his hand on his hip. “I don’t want you speaking to him.”

“Why?”

“Do I need to remind you what happened in that interrogation room?” Hotch says, voice surprisingly calm for how angry you remember him being that day. “He recognized you and you won’t tell me why—”

“Because I don’t know why,” you shoot back. It’s the honest truth, even if there’s pieces of information you could share. But you don’t want to; you’re not ready. “And I don’t know why you don’t trust me, but it’s grating on my nerves, Hotch. You say I’m a valuable asset to this team, yet you’re acting like I’m not capable of speaking to an unsub that I've spoken to before — for an hour.”

His chest is heaving, but he doesn’t say a damn thing. He just keeps standing there, looking down at you, clenching his jaw.

“I’m going to speak with Richard Monroe tomorrow,” you say, standing nearly toe-to-toe with Hotch. “Whether or not you join me is entirely up to you. But if you’re just going to act like this, then,” you gesture between the two of you, shaking your head. “Don’t bother coming. I’ll get someone else to go with me. You can call out sick for all I fucking care.”

You storm out of his office then, slamming the door behind you so hard you’d be surprised if the window didn’t rattle.

You jump when you realize Rossi is standing in his office doorway, watching you.

“What?” you snap. You don’t mean to take the frustration out on him too, but it’s hard not to when he’s lurking like that. 

Rossi raises his eyebrows, backing into his office without another word. 

You can’t deal with this right now.

Hotch’s door opens behind you and you spin around, freezing when you’re face to face with him. His expression is as unreadable as it always is, but you know he’s pissed at you.

“I’m going home to rest up before tomorrow,” you say, making sure your tone conveys it not as a request but a statement of fact. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

Hotch nods once and that’s good enough for you, so you turn and head for your desk, gathering your things.

“I’ll see you guys tomorrow,” you say, flashing a tight smile to the rest of the team. “Bye.”

“Um…bye…?” Reid looks around to be sure everyone is as confused as he is. They are, but they all shrug, letting you leave.

Up the stairs, Hotch watches you go, knuckles white from where he’s gripping the railing. He shouldn’t have let you go so easily, but you both need to cool down, and if you’re really going to do this tomorrow, you need your rest. 

From beside him, Rossi pointedly clears his throat.

Hotch turns his head, following Rossi’s silent request to follow him into his office. He pushes the door closed behind him.

Hotch starts to pace, then stops in the middle of the room, lifting his arm and dropping it in a what the hell gesture. “She’s going to speak with Richard Monroe tomorrow.”

“I heard,” Dave smirks. “And you’re going with her?”

“I have no choice, do I?” Aaron replies, rubbing his forehead. “I’ll have to tell her tomorrow. If he says anything else about recognizing her—”

“Are you sure he wasn’t saying that just to get a rise out of her? She’s a new agent, she’s attractive—” Rossi cuts himself off when he sees Hotch’s glare. “You know what I mean.”

“Yes,” Hotch says. “I know.”

“She doesn’t know him, Aaron,” Dave says. “How would she? He’s a serial killer who’s been on the run—”

“He knows things about her childhood, Dave,” Hotch cries. “If he knows about the kidnapping, and her father, then who knows what else he’s heard— who knows what he’ll do—”

“Aaron,” Rossi shakes his head. “I know you want to help her, but you can’t protect her, and she can take care of herself.”

“I know she can,” Hotch says, dropping his hand in defeat. “I know.” You’ve been taking care of everything ever since he first met you. He knows you’re more than capable.

He just doesn’t want to find out what happens when you face something you can’t handle alone — and if he’s the one who lets you go at this alone, he wouldn’t be able to live with himself.

He can’t shake the gut feeling that you’re in way over your head and you don’t realize it. Because you don’t even know what you’re dealing with.

+++

You hardly sleep at all, so you’re in a piss poor mood the next morning, and you blame Hotch for it. Naturally.

So, of course, it also irritates the fuck out of you when you arrive at the office and there’s a coffee waiting on your desk. And an apologetic looking Unit Chief standing next to it, identical coffee cup in hand.

You toss your purse down in your chair, glaring at Hotch. “Are you in a better mood today?”

“Peace offering?” he says instead, gesturing to the coffee on your desk.

“Did you poison it?”

He stares at you tiredly.

You pick it up, keeping your eyes on him as you inhale the steam still rising from the hole in the lid. “What is it?”

“Your favorite,” he replies. “Thought it might make the drive easier.”

“Oh?” You smirk. “Am I driving?”

“No,” he scoffs — which oddly almost sounds like a laugh.

You snicker, bringing the cup to your lips. You don’t miss the way Hotch’s eyes follow the motion, or the way they get stuck on your lips before he averts them, like he senses he’s been caught.

It takes everything in you not to call him out on it. You settle for tasting your coffee and letting out a noise of surprise.

“What?” Hotch asks. “Is it wrong?”

“No, it’s good,” you reply quickly. “It’s right. Thanks.”

He nods once. “Good. Um, I’ll be in my office. We’ll leave in about an hour.”

“Sounds good to me,” you nod, raising your cup in cheers. “See you in a bit.”

Hotch heads up to his office without another word, leaving you with a whole world of confusion. 

He’s buying you coffee now? Seriously?

Thank god no one else was here to witness that. You’d never live that one down if Morgan heard all of it.

You shove your purse aside and sit down, putting your head in your hands. You take a deep breath, steadying yourself, continuing the long process of mentally preparing for speaking with Richard Monroe today.

“Long night?” 

You raise your head to glare at Morgan, but it holds no real heat. You’re too tired and you’re not even mad at him. “Don’t even get me started.”

His mouth forms an ‘o’ as inhales sharply. “That bad, huh?” He drops his bag next to his desk, instead coming over to prop himself on the edge of yours. “Talk to me.”

“Morgan,” you sigh, dropping your head back into your hands. “Not today, seriously.”

“What’s happening today?” he asks. “You never did say why you left so suddenly yesterday.”

You lift your head and glance toward Hotch’s office, slightly relieved to find his door closed and his head turned down toward paperwork on his desk. When you look back at Derek, he does the most not-subtle look over his shoulder at Hotch before looking back at you.

“No.”

You lean back, eyebrows furrowed. “No what?”

Morgan starts to grin. “You two finally get your shit together?”

“What are you talking about?”

“I see how it is,” Morgan chuckles, lightly tapping your shoulder. “Come on, tell me. Who made the first move?”

“Get off of my desk,” you say through gritted teeth, shoving his leg. “Nothing happened. I have to go speak to Richard Monroe today and Hotch is coming with—”

“What?” Morgan asks, incredulous. “Richard Monroe? Why him?”

“Because he’s not cooperating with the investigation anymore but says he will if he speaks to me first,” you explain like it’s nothing — because it is. “Strauss told me about it a couple weeks ago.”

“No,” Morgan shakes his head. “I don’t like the idea of this.”

You roll your eyes, grabbing your coffee. “Now you sound just like Hotch.”

“Good,” Morgan slides off your desk, shrugging. “‘Cause this doesn’t sound like a good idea. You had a panic attack after talking to him.”

You shake your head. “That’s not—”

“I know what those look like,” Morgan argues. “Whether or not that’s what you call them, that’s what they are.”

“Leave it alone,” you warn.

He holds up his hands in surrender. “Alright. Just— You know the drill. Call me if you need me. And try not to kill him,” he adds with a quick glance up to Hotch’s office.

“No promises,” you reply, tipping your coffee back.

+++

When Hotch comes down to the bullpen an hour later, you notice everyone’s eyes zeroing in on his coffee, then yours, taking note of the matching cups. Prentiss is first to raise her eyebrows at you. You give her a look that just says don’t. She says nothing, but her smirk tells you she’ll be messaging the group chat about it later.

“Ready?” Hotch asks.

“Yep,” you nod, grabbing your purse and standing. You offer a mock salute to the rest of your team. “See you on the other side.”

Morgan laughs, shaking his head at you. “Try not to kill each other. Please.”

You and Hotch roll your eyes at the same time, freezing when you catch the other doing it.

It takes a surprising amount of effort on your part to not smile.

You swipe your coffee off your desk, downing the last remaining drops as the two of you walk toward the exit. “Thanks for this again, by the way,” you say quietly, tossing your empty cup in the trash can in the hall. “You didn’t have to.”

“It’s not a problem,” he replies, tossing his as well while you hit the down arrow on the elevator.

The silence blankets you both inside the elevator as you stand as far apart as possible. Like you both know you need to cherish your personal space before you’re stuck in a car together for three straight hours — one way.

Since Hotch is driving, you head toward where you know his car will be in the parking deck. The spaces aren’t even assigned; he’s just a creature of habit. You, on the other hand, hardly ever park in the same spot. Hotch has always wondered why.

“If this radio turns on and starts playing some classical music bullshit, I’m going to be so disappointed in you, Hotchner,” you tease as you buckle yourself in.

Hotch says nothing as he turns the key in the ignition. A second later, The Beatles’s white album fills the car. Namely, the song “I Will”.

“Seriously?” you grin. “The white album?”

“What’s wrong with it?” he asks, immediately on the defensive.

“Nothing,” you hum, looking out the window. “I’m partial to Abbey Road.”

“Of course you would be.”

Your head whips toward him. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

He shrugs. “Nothing.”

If you didn’t know any better, you’d think he’s smiling. 

You narrow your eyes before turning your head, biting back your own smile for the second time this morning.

Maybe you are warming up to each other — slightly — or maybe it means nothing. 

Whatever it is, you don’t have time to think about it today. You have a serial killer who wants to speak with you, who somehow knows who you are despite you having never met him before, and the only explanation must have something to do with your father — who Hotch still knows nothing about.

[iggyshippingcorner]

working on something to post here that’s a bit odd, but I’m just so taken with it. it essentially boils down to “low level telepathy soulmate bullshit meant to torture robotnik specifically”. robotnik starts picking up subconscious thoughts from stone when they’re in the lab together and it leads to them kissing about it. how do i get from point A to point B? no idea!

included what i have so far under the cut in case anyone’s interested :D

*~~~~~~~~~~~~*

It starts with a whisper.

Touch me. Touch me.

Robotnik’s on hour 27 of his workday, and auditory hallucinations are fairly par for the course. As much as he likes to treat his body like a machine, there are still undeniable faults and quirks in his biological programming. And they are hallucinations, must be, because Stone is within eyesight and very unconscious, and the odd whispers are most certainly his voice. ( why exactly he is hallucinating stone’s voice saying such things is not something he wishes to look at directly, so he doesn’t. )

He does nothing about it. They’re easy enough to ignore, just barely audible and slipping between his own half-hearted mumblings as he finishes the final touches on the new prototype coming to life in his hands. Stone continues to sleep at his work station, slumped down onto his desk.

He’s doing that thing again where he lies so still and silent in his little corner that Robotnik half wonders if he’s even still alive, but he’s got Stone’s vitals up on a mostly unused holoscreen for monitoring, and he’s doing just fine. He ought to send the man home, but he’d just turn right back up at the lab with a head full of ideas about Robotnik’s own sleep schedule and health and what-have-you.

Touch me. Touch me.

He finishes the prototype right as the sun begins to rise again, and he pushes himself back away from his worktable, wheeled chair squeaking loudly in the otherwise silent lab. Stone jerks upright at the noise, vitals flashing briefly as he goes from deep slumber to wide awake alarmingly quickly. A slight gesture hides the vitals from view, dispelling the data as Stone stands from his desk and rejoins the land of the living with uncanny speed.

“Nice of you to rejoin us,” Robotnik drawls. “How was your beauty sleep?”

Stone’s only signs of having just woken up are the strands of hair coming free of his usual slicked back hairstyle and falling against his forehead, and the way he actually opens his mouth to answer the entirely hypothetical question. Robotnik cuts him off with a flapping hand before he can even begin. “Ababab— not interested. I need you to ready the indoor range for testing. This bad boy is finally ready for some hands on fieldwork.”

Stone lights up at the declaration, and he takes a couple cautious steps towards the worktables gathered at the centre of the lab floor. His eyes are all shiny and wide, filled with adoration that goes fully unhindered by his sudden awakening and apparent exhaustion. Robotnik magnanimously allows him closer, and then close enough to admire the prototype properly, knowing well what would come spilling out of his agent’s mouth.

You are magnificent. Incredible. A wonder to behold. I’m in awe of you, always, always.

“It’s amazing, doctor! Your work is magnificent, as always.”

Dual tones. Robotnik has to focus to parse the whispers, lurking just beneath Stone’s spoken words. They are so much more… they’re directed at him, in a way that Stone only rarely uses— sparing in his direct compliments after the incident with the incendiary grenade prototype that nearly demolished their entire working floor.

( look, it’d been a long day and Robotnik hadn’t expected such direct and effusive praise. he dropped the damn thing on accident and nearly lost both eyebrows AND his moustache. they don’t talk about it. )

He has to clamp down on every traitorous reaction his sleep-deprived body attempts to make in response to the perceived ego stroke. It’s not even real, for crying out loud! He allows himself a victory smirk at the real, verbal praise, however. It is rather incredible, isn’t it? “Of course it is, Stone. How could it be anything less?”

[vasilissadragomir]

no i see the vision completely and you wouldn’t even need to kill the love triangle outright!! just centering their friendship over the love/conflict with peeta would make so much of a difference.

and as i wrote this, i realized this is EXACTLY how the trilogy went from gale’s perspective.

like imagine if gale actually believed her when she said she was acting for the cameras because he could tell how uncomfortable she was in the cave. they’re best friends—he truly sees her and knows her. he knows how she thinks and, also, understands the strategy. he’s proud she’s doing what she can to survive, to come home to her family. to him. sure, he’s a bit miffed about The Kiss, but he’s already been surprised by katniss’ acting skills, so maybe she is better than he realized. and when she tells him it was all haymitch’s idea, he chooses to believe her.

and then six months of not talking to peeta confirms what he was already 99% sure of, that she’s not actually interested in peeta. so gale tries to be there for her and understand what the games were like. and her increasing affection MUST be a sign he’s getting it right, and not a result of her desperately clinging to the ONE thing at home that, at face value, hasn’t seemed to change, seeking what’s no longer there in the singular act of being out in the woods with him that used to bring her comfort, right?

and when he kisses her, it’s what he truly believes to be a ramp-up of what’s already been happening. so he’s confused when she doesn’t fall right into his arms, head over heels in love. and he’s even more confused when she goes on the victory tour and comes back with a newfound interest in peeta. then katniss is telling him that about snow’s threat, and the tension in the districts, and all the sudden he understands why she’s distracted from romance. why she’s not ready to pick up where they left off. but what he doesn’t get is why NOW she wants to run, when she never did before. now, when she has actual power and can use it to light the real spark of revolution and change the fate of the people of the districts. that’s bigger than any romance they may or may not have.

and yes, he knows she didn’t ask for that power, he knows the risks just as well as she does, but to not use it is unforgivable. but before he can process their latest divide, he’s been whipped, and she’s kissing him. and he knows she’s solidly picked him. but then the reading of the card happens, and they both know she’s going to die. and as he’s spending his few precious hours of free time training her, peeta, and haymitch for the games, he realizes she’s going to die not just because of snow, but because he’s training katniss on how to save peeta. he sees that, even if there was a chance she’d survive, she’d still pick peeta over herself. she’d rather die than come home to him again. and it’s especially devastating because, as he comes to know peeta, he understands why.

it’s all cut and dry until he watches peeta open the locket on the beach and sees his own face on the giant screen in the town square. peeta surely knows katniss intends to die for him to live, so why would he use gale to try and change her mind?

and then it clicks. peeta isn’t from the seam. he doesn’t understand owing. he doesn’t get that katniss cannot live while peeta dies. not just because she cares about him, but because she still owes him so much. so, from peeta’s perspective, it must mean she needs reminding of someone that she cares about more than peeta. and peeta thinks that’s gale. and because peeta has proven by his actions in both games that he has so little self-worth, gale knows for sure that peeta would happily die if it gave katniss a chance to live.

for a moment, he feels foolishly and selfishly hopeful that even his competitor for katniss’ heart thinks gale is her true love. but then he watches The Kiss Part II, and it all comes crashing down again. because in this moment where peeta expresses his vulnerability, his pain, she kisses him, just as she kissed gale after his whipping. which means that when she kissed gale, it was because he was in pain. except, when she kissed him, it wasn’t at all like how she’s kissing peeta right now. there’s a desperation in her actions on the beach that never existed with him. and he comes to the conclusion that while she initiates kisses with both of them because they’re in pain, she kisses peeta like that because she can’t survive without him. what he doesn’t know is if it’s because she owes him or because she loves him.

but he doesn’t have any time to figure it out because suddenly he has to save whoever he can from the annihilation of his town. he saves his family and hers, but he can’t get peeta’s. so now gale owes peeta, too. everyone has lost everyone and everything. he’s so blinded by the trauma and the anger and the hatred that something as frivolous as who katniss loves is entirely irrelevant. all that matters is that she gets out of the arena. and when he sees her, he’s so relieved that his best friend escaped again and so, so sad that he has to tell her that her home was destroyed that he just wants his friend. for her to be there for him like he tried to be there for her after her first games. to be there for him in a way she couldn’t be as he spent a whole year going into the mines all day every day and watching his family starve.

but peeta didn’t come with her. she goes into a state of psychosis, so she can’t be there for gale because she can’t even function herself. and he knows he’s right that she can’t survive without peeta. he’s so angry at the people who did this to her, who took his best friend and replaced her with a shell of a person, who destroyed his home and 90% of his community, that he’s prepared to do anything to end their power. he knows he can help, too. snares, traps, strategy. he was born for this. he’s been training for this his whole life. and finally, he’s being recognized for it, by none other than the leader of the rebellion.

katniss never wanted the power she got, but he did. not for selfish reasons. but because he knew he had it in him to change the world. and now, for the first time, he has some. for the first time, he’s not being told to quiet down or forget about his ideas, his beliefs, his feelings. the leader of the rebellion is not just entertaining, but validating his worldview. she values his opinions enough to use them. and he wants katniss to come back so bad so he can share this with her, like they used to in the woods. so they can be themselves again.

and slowly but surely, she does come back. they hunt, they talk, they eat. they argue, yes, more than ever, but she’s still not recovered and, well, neither is he. he’s accepted that she chose peeta, even though he hasn’t figured out if she chose him because she owes him or loves him. sure, there’s a sliver of hope that she chose peeta because she owes him, but it’s not that important right now, because at least he has his best friend. a best friend he can fight alongside for their freedom in district 8, just as he they always dreamed of.

until he doesn’t. because he goes to rescue peeta. mostly for her, but also for him, because of that damn sliver of hope. and a little for peeta, because he really is annoyingly likable. but when he returns wounded, he knows she’s in the hospital for peeta. when she looks at him, she’s seeing right through him. confirming he’s alive and nothing more.

so when she says she’s writing peeta off and is kissing him while they’re in 2, he knows she doesn’t mean it, even if she doesn’t realize it yet. because she’s reckless in a way she’s never really been before, and he knows her. he knows that the moment that peeta returned hijacked, she lost her will to live. she’d rather die than live on a planet where peeta, the real peeta, doesn’t exist. so he finally understands it doesn’t matter if she chose peeta because she owes him or because she loves him—either way, she can’t survive without him.

but he doesn’t really have the wherewithal to be hurt about anything romantic because of the look in her eyes when he proposes his plan for the nut. his brilliant plan that no one, none of the experienced adults, none of the victors, even, were able to come up with. the plan coin herself agreed with. because this plan, despite its efficacy, has irrevocably changed something between them. and yes, it’s been changing for a while, but not to this extent. the way she’s looking at him, as if he suggested killing a mountain full of innocent people, is not a look she’ll ever take back.

it takes watching the boulders tumble down the mountain, hearing the rumble of the avalanche, smelling the blood from the wounded, for him to see what she sees. his father, her father, condemned to a death in the mines to which they were shackled. these were not innocents, no, but they were people. people oppressed by the capitol, just like him. not quite as bad, much like the people from town in 12. but not taking tesserae didn’t spare them in the end, did it? his stomach is in knots, but coin assures him that it was for the good of the cause. and not just the cause, but for the majority of the people in district 2. so he decides to believe the ends justify the means.

they’re sent to fight. and at least he and katniss are on the same side. because he knows she’s there to kill snow. and while he’s there to win the war, his loyalties to his friend will always take precedent. especially since her goals and his happen to be aligned. but then peeta is sent to join their unit. and he knows that the only person who could have authorized that is coin. the very same person he’d followed down the path of trapping and killing a whole mountain full of miners.

at this point, gale knows the chance of katniss ending up with him are gone. it’s confirmed by her outburst, her anger, and ultimately, her kissing him outside the sewer. but he needs to salvage their friendship, because at this point the only other person he thought he could trust has made a choice that would unequivocally sentence katniss to death.

so the only thing left to do to keep their relationship alive is to do what is necessary to restore katniss’ will to live. which means helping peeta remember who he is. and to do that, peeta needs to know what’s real and what’s not real. especially about katniss herself. so, that night in tigris’ cellar, gale lays it out for him, clear as day. he explains katniss’ thought process so that peeta can understand her calculus. he knows it to be true because he knows her like he knows no one else. or at least he thought he did. because when he’s captured, she doesn’t shoot him.

when the second bomb explodes, he knows that everything he believed, everything he thought he knew, was wrong. he can tell because beetee feels the same. coin didn’t just use their brains. she weaponized their anger. gale wasn’t sure he was okay with that when he was trapping an enemy. but now, now that prim, someone he loved like his own sister, was in that pen, he knows it was all wrong. katniss had been right. and the thing that changed between the katniss in the woods the morning of her reaping and the katniss in this hospital bed in the president’s mansion was peeta. so when he tells her that the only thing he had going for him was protecting her family, he didn’t mean romantically. he means as a friend.

because gale realizes that even though he thought he couldn’t survive without katniss, the truth is that he can. he might love her now, but what he needs his own dandelion in the spring. so, once katniss does what must be done, he goes back to the place where he first felt the shift. the place where the mountain tumbled. his first arena. and there, he meets a girl. a girl with tan skin and soulful brown eyes. a girl who loves district 2 and its people and shows him the beauty in this place he hated enough for destroy. a girl who loves more than she hates. a girl who makes him want more than just to survival—she makes him want to live.

I know the love triangle represented Katniss choosing between war and peace but like. I would have loved Gale and Katniss just being besties. Best friends who could tell each other everything.katniss would get home from the victory tour giggling and kicking her feet about Peeta with Gale nodding as he listens to her yap. Gale telling Katniss the tea that happened while she was away. Katniss watching her best friend slowly get radicalized and manipulated by Coin.

Katniss's best friend, who she could tell anything to, being the one who caused Prim's death in the end.

[was-that-a-pun]

Fleshin out more background characters in my AU fic for later chapters like I have with Medic and Thomas and a recent cut content video gave me ideas for Scout the boogie bot and Izzy the bobby bearhug

Scout I've decided was an older kid in Playcare and was a close friend with Matthew before he was 'chosen'. They were similar ages, though Scout had been there longer and had lost her parents in a car accident she wasn't part of. It gave her a slightly better idea of what he was going through than most other kids did and tended to play backup to his leader role.

Neither ran into Kevin much just by chance, the little they did see of him he seemed fine to them although Matthew caught some other kids setting him up to get in trouble once and put a stop to it.

After Matthew was taken Izzy arrived, probably younger than Jack when she got there, and instantly clung to Scout as big sister. Scout returned in kind and goes out of her way to care for and dote on her.

Scout though was also 'chosen' a little more than a year after Matthew and Kevin were, Izzy had a hard time in Playcare for the few months before she was as 'chosen' as well because she couldn't connect with anyone else the same way.

Scout and Izzy are dumped into the workyard/general population at the same time and Izzy does not handle things well. Scout would know that sobbing anywhere and scrambles to comfort her and convince her of who she is and that Izzy isn't alone. Doey overhears and oh shit this is one of my friends.

They all end up in trouble/punished because Izzy can't calm down enough to work, Scout wont leave her side, and Doey wont let the guards touch either one of them. But afterwards it makes things a little easier because Matthew knows he can trust scout, which means Jack and Kevin learn to trust her and she becomes one of the main people he talk to about the whole confusing experience of being three kids turned into one.

Cut content lines under the readmore that inspired me

Scout: Izzy, have you done what I asked you to? Gathered all your things?

Izzy: Oh, yeah! I’ve got my journal and my crayons and my dollys and my-

Scout: Good. Good I just wanted to make sure

Izzy: You. Y-you sound sad -

Scout: No! No. Just thinking…

Izzy: Thinking about what?

Scout: About everything to come, about our part in it.

Izzy: Oh...okay. Are we still gonna play our game later? Y-you promised we would-

Scout: *chuckles* I remember kiddo, and a good scout knows to keep her promises.

Izzy: Yes!

Scout: But finish up your tasks first please! Then my time is all yours.

Izzy: Okay! I’ll get them done quick! Super quick! You wont even see me doing them!

Scout: That better mean they’re actually getting done though *sigh*

[misakiisstupid]

CONFIDENTIAL PSYCHOLOGICAL REPORT PATIENT: Richard "Dick" Grayson THERAPIST: Dr. Misaki Eto SESSION DATE: [REDACTED] FILE STATUS: TOP SECRET

SESSION NOTES:

[BEGIN TRANSCRIPT]

Dr. Misaki Eto enters the room with a cup of tea, placing it in front of Richard Grayson, who is sitting with a bright—albeit tired—smile.

Dr. Eto: "Alright, Richard. Before we begin, I should let you know that this is a safe space. You can talk about anything, no judgment. Also, I brought tea. Because, frankly, you look like you need it."

Grayson: chuckles "Oh, you have no idea." takes the tea gratefully "And you can call me Dick."

Dr. Eto: "Dick, then. So, tell me, what brings you here today? And if you say ‘Bruce made me,’ I will absolutely call him and tell him he needs therapy first."

Grayson: laughs, but it sounds a little too practiced "Well… technically, it wasn’t Bruce. It was a friend. They said I needed to ‘get my head checked out’ because I don’t know how to take a break. Which is ridiculous, by the way. I love breaks. Breaks are great."

Dr. Eto: raises an eyebrow "Uh-huh. And when was your last break?"

Grayson: sips his tea, eyes darting to the ceiling as if the answer is written there "...Does sleep count?"

Dr. Eto: "If you have to ask, then no. So, when was it?"

Grayson: "Define ‘break.’"

Dr. Eto: "Time where you are not working, fighting, solving other people’s problems, or emotionally carrying an entire group of people who do not understand the concept of processing their emotions properly."

Grayson: silence blinks sips tea

Dr. Eto: "Yeah, that’s what I thought."

Grayson: sighs, rubbing his face "Okay, okay. So maybe I don’t take breaks. But I like helping people. I can’t just… stop. What if someone needs me?"

Dr. Eto: "What if you need you?"

Grayson: pauses, clearly thrown off "...Well, damn."

Dr. Eto: "Yeah. Damn. That’s what I thought." leans forward "Dick, I’ve seen a lot of people like you. People who think that if they just keep moving, they won’t have to deal with all the weight they’re carrying. But let me ask you this: what happens when you finally stop?"

Grayson: "...I don’t know."

Dr. Eto: nods knowingly "That’s the problem, isn’t it? You don’t know because you never stop. You’re a high-functioning burnout case waiting to happen."

Grayson: huffs "Okay, that’s dramatic."

Dr. Eto: "Is it? You flinch when I bring up rest. You deflect with humor. You refuse to admit you’re exhausted because then you’d have to acknowledge that you need help. And if you do that, then what? You think everyone around you is going to fall apart?"

Grayson: "...Maybe."

Dr. Eto: "Alright, let’s do something fun. On a scale from ‘I’m doing great’ to ‘I cried in my car last week and pretended it was just allergies,’ how are you?"

Grayson: sips tea aggressively

Dr. Eto: nods "Got it. Not great."

Grayson: laughs softly "You’re good at this."

Dr. Eto: "You’re not the first person I’ve met who wears a smile like armor." leans back in chair "But here’s the thing, Dick. I don’t care how many people you help if you’re running yourself into the ground while doing it. If you burn out, if you collapse, who takes care of you?"

Grayson: quietly "...I don’t know."

Dr. Eto: softens "That’s what we need to fix. You deserve rest, Dick. You deserve to stop without feeling guilty about it."

Grayson: nods slowly "...That’s really hard for me."

Dr. Eto: "I know. Which is why I already made the decision for you."

Grayson: blinks "...What?"

Dr. Eto: "You’re taking a mandatory two-week break. Effective immediately. No work, no fighting crime, no carrying the emotional baggage of your entire family. Just rest."

Grayson: laughs, but in the way someone does when they’re hoping you’re joking "You can’t be serious."

Dr. Eto: "Dead serious. And to make sure you actually take this break, I’ve already written letters."

Grayson: "...Letters?"

Dr. Eto: "Letters. One to your work—because I know you have a job outside of whatever it is you actually do—one to your family, and one to whoever signs off on your daily self-sacrificial tendencies."

Grayson: stares "You did not."

Dr. Eto: smugly "Oh, I did. And if I hear that you are not taking this break, I will personally show up at your home and read them all aloud."

Grayson: mutters "This is an abuse of power."

Dr. Eto: "This is therapy."

Grayson: sighs, rubbing his temples "Okay, okay. You win. Two weeks."

Dr. Eto: smiles warmly "Good. Now, finish your tea. It’s supposed to help with stress."

Grayson: "Do you have one that helps with existential crises?"

Dr. Eto: grins "I’ll see what I can do."

[END TRANSCRIPT]

THERAPIST NOTES: Diagnosis: Overworked. Severely emotionally exhausted. Too good at pretending he’s fine.

Treatment Plan: Mandatory two-week break. Monitor stress levels. Introduce actual rest as a concept. Maybe trick him into hobbies that don’t involve saving people.

Letters Sent:

One to his very concerned workplace

One to his probably dysfunctional family

One to the man who may or may not be Batman

Conclusion: Richard Grayson is a chronic overachiever with a hero complex the size of Gotham. He is a genuinely good person who struggles to believe he deserves rest. For now, I will force him into taking a break. If he does not take it, I will personally track down the person who raised him and tell them to intervene.

…Though, something tells me that person is also in desperate need of therapy.

FILE STATUS: ACTIVE NEXT SESSION: TWO WEEKS (AFTER HE ACTUALLY RESTS)

[malicemizer]

Missing the show’s messaging is honestly my biggest gripe with this fandom. A lot of people seem to understand, generally, what A:TLA is about. And the show’s messaging, themes, and metaphors are a little more obvious. They’re a bit clearer. The show was intended for children, so that makes sense.

It then makes sense that Bryke (along with Joaquim Dos Santos, the guy honestly seems like a genius) would choose to make the metaphors a bit less obvious. In my opinion, TLOK tackles even more taboo and difficult-to-approach subjects than ATLA. The effects of colonization on populations at odds with each other forced to share space together, privilege, bad political actors with understandable and defendable messages, (implied, as we’ve talked about) sexual abuse, familial abuse that’s more insidious and covert than shown in ATLA, I could go on and on and on. These topics being so hard to make media meant to be digestible means that the metaphors are going to have to be a bit more abstract.

And I’m about to defend TLOK pretty hard here. It has its problems, its fumbled moments, issues with character development, I could name a lot of things I wish they did better, but of course these shows are supplemented by the comics and extra info sprinkled by the creators. BUT. I do not think the writing, as far as the plot goes, was nearly as bad as a lot of the fandom makes it out to be. I think anybody saying that just missed the point so hard that they mistook the idea of “show don’t tell” for bad writing.

paraphrased from a conversation I had on Bluesky but actually the more I think about it the more utterly insane it is that the major thing Korra is hated for is losing the past avatars. You want to know HOW she lost the past avatars? by trusting an older member of her own family who then proceeded to GRAPHICALLY violate her and destroy an actual part of her in front of her with utter glee - but Unalaq isn't denounced as even a creep and no thought is given to any of the themes behind such a scene, it's just "how could korra let this happen??!?!?!"

life imitates art i guess.

[thesongofthesiren]

I don’t know who needs to hear this, but I just want to say, as someone who used to wear acrylic nails for at least a decade, they are such a fucking sham.

Growing up I was always fed the idea that nails meant you didn’t have to do anything? Which was supposed to be considered a good thing? Like “teehee I don’t have to do anything I’m so spoiled” but they try hiding from you how fucking fun it is to actually do things.

Ever shoot a gun? Fucking phenomenal. Hit your target? Feels fantastic. That aside, being able to take a gun apart, study how it works, and put it back together? Absolutely amazing.

Ever use a fucking power saw? Power tools in general are invigorating. Built a whole work bench in the detached garage. Talk about something being actually empowering.

I had to stop playing piano because of my nails. Who chooses fake nails over literally getting to create art?! Crazy. I can’t believe once upon that time I actively made that choice.

Gardening? Couldn’t imagine trying to do that with nails. Getting dirt stuck in there for days? Would feel horrible. Feeling self conscious when you go to get them fixed because of how dirty they are. I forgot how much I loved playing in the dirt as a child. I love the smell of soil. It makes you feel more connected to the Earth. I talk to my plants, I read to my plants. I love my plants.

Book Nooks! They’re models you get to put together. Super small parts. Glue needed. So far put together a model greenhouse and a model library. Would literally be impossible with fake nails. You feel so accomplished when you’re done. Takes about 6-8 hours to do most of the time. There’s electrical you get to put together. Sometimes you’re twisting wires together trying to get the lights on lol. Love those things.

Getting to work with your hands feels great. It’s freeing. Fake nails completely strips you of that. When I had nails on I had problems simply trying to button a blouse…. that’s depressing to think about.

I know basically all radfems know of this. So this is more for the cryptos. The lurkers. The ones in the shadows who are curious. Who want to learn.

Im telling you. You don’t know what you’re missing.

[crooked-wasteland]

You probably wanna avoid interacting with Chai btw. They’re just a toxic person who condones doxxing and harassment based on ships. Only sending this as a warning in case you weren’t aware of the things they’ve done, a lot of their fans have been bullying critics and downplaying what they’ve done and said. I literally don’t trust any of their mutuals it’s all internet brainrot

Frankly, Anon, I think you and I have fundamentally different ideas of what Toxic is. For example, I think lying about someone simply because you don't like them is toxic.

Chai has always been a vocal advocate of letting people ship whatever they want in fiction for the last 2 years I have been following his social media. It is something so consistent, in fact, that I am entirely comfortable saying that portion of your post is a blatant lie.

Second, if there are fans of Chai, their actions are their own. Once again, Chai has always been very accepting of shipping whatever anyone wants to ship so long as they don't harm real people and animals. If so-called "fans" wish to act out, that isn't Chai's problem. Unlike Medrano, Chai has told his audience to not engage in that sort of behavior. So he has done his due diligence and is not responsible for the actions of others in my opinion.

I am not a friend of Chai, I have barely talked to him in fact. I personally follow him because he does have connections and information I use to form my thoughts on Spindlehorse and Medrano's character. Not based on Chai's opinions, but on the patterns of behavior Chai has been able to bring to light by knowing those who were directly involved with Medrano.

If you genuinely believe these falsehoods and are earnestly looking out for some stranger on the internet, then rest assured I hear you and am able to say with personal certainty that the information you have is simply incorrect.

But on the off chance that I am wrong, I do request you bring me evidence instead of making baseless accusations the next time you have a concern.