#and i can usually at least kind of get what people are getting out of certain things
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when I want to run away (I drive off in my car) [bucktommy]
Chimney comes over with an armful of DVDs. Mandated brother-in-law break-up bonding time. Buck is pretty sure that isnât a thing, at least not the kind that Chimney seems to be suggesting with what are discernibly all romcom titles. Buck is pretty sure Chimney should be taking him out and getting him wasted and encouraging him to get laid, but then again heâs friends with Tommy too so there might be some allegiance at play here.
He groans when Chimney puts on Say Anything.
âWhat, you actually know a movie made before 2012?â
âTommy loves this one,â Buck replies. There had been a showing at repertory cinema in July and Tommy had dragged them both to escape the afternoon heat. It had been⊠sweet. There had maybe been three other people in the place who ignored them in the back row, making out like teenagers.
âYeah, heâs always been a secret softie,â Chimney says.
âIâd say you should be over at his place with these,â Buck continues, flipping through the titles. Love Actually. The Proposal. Crazy, Stupid, Love. âThese are actually his favorites. Wait, was I your second choice?â
âWhat? No,â Chimney says, but he sounds kind of cagey about it.
âHeâs probably too busy cliff diving or BASE jumping.â Buck drops the DVDs. âHe was the one who dumped me, remember? I donât think heâs too hung up to need a chick flick movie marathon.â
âNow that is not true. Secret softie, remember? Heâs hurting as much as Iâve ever seen, he just doesnât wear it on his sleeve like some people.â Chimney gives him a very pointed look. âI bet he stood outside your door a half hour after he left hoping youâd chase after him, feeling like a total idiot.â
Thatâs new. âDid he tell you that?â
Chimney shrugs. âMaybe not verbatim, but he may have let something slip in a moment of total weakness.â
Buck snorts. âSo, what are you doing over here with me and these then?â
âI was maybe hoping I could inspire you into some of your usual Buck heroics,â Chimney admits, then has the gall to look offended when Buck twists to stare at him, confused. âWhat? Iâm a meddler. I notoriously meddle. Câmon, he said some things he wishes he could take back, but maybe heâs not as confident as you give him credit for. Heâs a romcom guy. He could use a little woo-ing too, you know. Someone who makes him feel like heâs worth fighting for. A big gesture! Notânot moving in or anything, but justâyou see what Iâm saying here?â
Buck stares at young John Cusack paused on his TV screen and smiles to himself. âYeah, I think I might.â
He spends the rest of the day off his couch driving through half the pawn shops in Glendale before he finds himself, sun setting at his back, outside Tommyâs house. He parks between Tommyâs truck in the drive and walks down the sidewalk where Tommyâs kitchen window is lit up and open.
Tommy comes outside thirty seconds later to the sound of Peter Gabriel blasting out of the second hand stereo Buckâd finally found with an aux input at St. Vincent de Paulâs. His mouth twitches as he crosses his arms before he coughs and tucks his head down, briefly.
âReally?â He asks when he blinks back up at Buck, eyes wet like the last time Buck saw him: hope there, fleeting, wanting so badly to swim to the surface and stay. âWait, did you plug your phone into that thing?â
âYeah,â Buck says, loud enough over the music the whole neighborhood can probably hear him. âI donât know how to burn CDs.â
Tommyâs smile finally cracks through, and he nods before taking several careful steps across his dead lawn, feet bare, so he can get two tentative hands on Buckâs hips. âWell, if you want to come inside,â he says, âI can show you.â
#bucktommy#911 abc#tommy kinard đ€ me đ€ loving a good say anything moment#fix it fic#delaney writes
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Off rip I see you carry the energy of duality super heavy , You could be Bi sexual specifically or in general apart of The LGBTQIA+ community! people are shocked about what youâre attracted to if you choose to express that , itâs always a shock factor towards it.
(which you never understand) I can see people are generally shocked when they come across your energy being that you truly just give
âyou were made for meâ vibes
&
âMatch made in heaven energyâ
it's shocking to come across an energy like yours! (Mini 18+ warning ) For my Ladies, people love love your boobs its something about your chest area!! There can also be a tattoo that you have in the middle of your chest that's a staple and ultimately shocking once revealed. you can be real freaky pile 1 & those you were intimate with are still shocked to this day about how freaky you are. You just donât give that energy from the outside looking in. For a handful of you your ex is super shocked that you literally fell of the face of the planet , itâs like they had so much access when you were together but currently they are incredibly âshockedâ that you are a bit difficult to contact , They definitely feel surprised / confused that you arenât friends anymore. They at least thought you both would be cordial! You chose to fully separate which on your part was best & healthy for YOU.
You either seen them recently or will & they are/ Were SHOCKED to see you ! Like you look GOOOOD pile 1 you really ARE that BITCH , THAT GIRL , THAT MAN !!!
I purely channeled for this pile so you definitely have an
âOff the recordâ
vibe to you that shocks people.
Channeled song :
PERFECT - Dave East ft Chris Brown
444
You are so loyal and it can kind of be in insult if someone ever said to you in your face that they thought you wouldnât value loyalty in life. you are the ride or die friend & in retrospect your so protected in friendships definitely more than you think. For this pile you could truly be a âlonerâ , people are pretty shocked that you donât have a whole legion of friends!
People are also shocked to know you have the ability to not freak out if that makes sense , you can stay calm in the most intense situations and circumstances! You can literally just vibe out & that alone was birthed from all the hurdles and lessons you endured. You learned & mastered the art of not giving af and people find this not only shocking but attractive itâs like a gift you donât usually see in everyone. People are pretty shocked to find out that you have hella skeletons in your closet but you hide it so well & with you it doesnât present in a toxic manner.. you know your dark side . You donât just scream all your fuck ups out loud. If asked , potentially but on a General level yea its a NO!
I feel heavy Scorpio energy as well for this pile đŠ
I see a visual of a Strip club and a pole and I loveeee it ! So you may be heavily into the night life in your city , or you entertain professionally in your city but people are shocked to see you outside of certain environments! Unfortunately in this world people judge strictly off looks and it seems youâve been a victim of that at some point pretty heavily & your 360 is SHOCKING to people who knew & resonated with the âold youâ. People are shocked that you really put your mind to this and started to hustle for your own ! You got some individuals who are shocked that you are humble with your money , itâs like you could be shitting on bitches but youâre super humble about it. Thats shocking to those who felt like the old you would be âobnoxiousâ about your success! This pile gets MONEY And idk why people are in YALLs pockets, but thatâs so shocking to people Itâs scary. People want the formula babes ⊠itâs shocking but itâs the pure interest for me.
You could really pop your shit if you wanted to , And youâre super independent!! definitely keep beating the odds that arise against you while effortlesly shocking these h*** ;)
Random Side bar : The way you ride , you always shock whoever has the pleasure đđ
Yâall are such lovers im talking hopeless romantic and thatâs shocking to the outside world like you donât come off as that âtypeâ whatever that means ! Maybe you just arenât as mushy with those around you but when it comes to that one person or the person (s) you choose to trust your⊠a dream! Itâs Mesmerizing and shocking to those involved . This pile could be undeniably intuitive and thatâs a shock value to pretty much everyone you meet , you may not sense when your intuitive nature kicks in but itâs like watching something unfold exactly how you want , itâs so satisfying.
People are shocked that you turn hate or challenges into powerful trophyâs ! You are a true Transmutator you can pretty much bend a lot of things to your will , lol this can truly go a lot of ways but I can see you TRY to keep this asset as positive as possible
I can see people are usually shocked when you tell them the hobbies you're into , I can clearly hear "streaming "or "gaming" !
I also pick up on loving cosplay and itâs shocking when you like magically transform ! Itâs pretty cool :) đ§
Hope you enjoyed ;) đ
#pick a picture#spirituality#love#pick a card#pac reading#tarot daily#tarot reading#connection#culture#pick a pile#18+ tarot reading#18+ pick a card#pick a photo#tarotcommunity#channeled message#channeled reading#magic#pick a deck#pick an image#tumblr girls#lgbtqia
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Three paces into the hallway, brown wood floors and white walls, youâre met with a smiling family picture. Only, youâre not in it. Because, itâs not a picture of Peteâs family. Pete doesnât have a family. Pete Mitchell has a daughter from a one night stand with a married woman.
Uff đŹ
The nickname stings you. Your name isnât Mitchell because your biological father had wanted it to be. Itâs Mitchell solely because your motherâs husband knew you werenât his and would rather die before letting you take his name.
Damn
Your throat is thick with the knowledge that all you knew Maverick to be, is now all that heâll ever be. An absent father, a fantastic pilot, a lousy cook. A thousand more things that youâll never know.
To know that you don't know a lot and will never know more is rough...
Itâs been almost two years since you even set foot in this house last. If you had known that Maverick was going to be gone this soon⊠you sit and think to yourself about if you would have maybe visited more. Probably not.
Sometimes being honest to oneself is not easy
He stares down at the pizza between the two of you as he chews through a bite, brows drawn together slightly. He hates thin crust pizza â itâs the worst kind of pizza. But, when you had suggested it, he had agreed with a tight-lipped smile.
Hey, nobody slander thin crust there are far worse kind of pizza âđ»
âIâm sorry.â Bradley blurts out. You both look across at each other, equally surprised that he has spoken. ââŠFor what?â You ask quietly, lips tugging into a small frown. âIâm sorry that Iâm here and heâs not.â Heâs just got to say it. He knows you probably wouldnât bring it up on your own, but thereâs a big elephant in this room. Bradley knows what itâs like to sit in your spot, and not know how to talk about it.
God they are lowkey awkward together and neither of them just knows what to do with themselves đ„Ž
âWe werenât that close.â You tell him, like thatâs supposed to make him feel better. It doesnât. Itâs like a blow to the chest. Youâll never get the opportunity to fix things, because of him.
I feel like this maybe hurts Bradley more than her..
Your teeth press into the inside of your cheek. Maverick hadnât ever described Bradley as this nervous.
đ
Nothing. A couple of beers and a block of good German cheese.
I mean it could be worse lolđ€·đ»ââïž
âUh... No, not really.â After a routine training presentation at the very beginning of their attachment, Admiral Simpson had once become so agitated by Maverick that he snapped his own reading glasses in half. Mav got a good laugh out of it, at least.
At that I would have laughed too đ€
Itâs an easy answer, rolling off of your tongue with a shrug of your shoulders and a deflated sigh. âPeople usually put us in the same boat â if they donât like him, they donât like me.â
That's really shitty, especially knowing Mav's reputation đ„Ž
Thatâs something that he thinks he can understand. Thereâs not an instant dislike, but thereâs a pity that he finds in the eyes of people who once knew his father.Â
At that they really share a bit of similar fate
Her boots hit the ground, your lips parting slightly as you realise that sheâs headed right for you. Bradley feels your arm tug in his grip and turns his head, taking note of the way youâre trying to shrink behind him. Lynn is a hugger by nature, and she was a good friend of Mavâs for a long time. She means well, but Bradley isnât going to let her touch you when he can see how unnerved it makes you.
Good thinking Bradley, nothing worse than an unwanted hug by a stranger đ«Ł
You check back over your shoulder, glancing briefly at the man behind you, who has assumed his best bodyguard impression.Â
I'm sure he does đ€
âMiss Mitchell,â The admiral takes his seat on the other side of his desk once again. âI want to first express my deepest condolences. Your father was a good man, and a⊠extremely skilled pilot.â Bradley almost scoffs. Even now, Cyclone canât manage to compliment him.
It seems his feeling run deep đŹ
âButâ heâs dead.â You frown, rendering Cyclone suddenly quiet. âHeâs got to be. Itâs been a week. No food, no water, sub-zero temperature. Whatâs the point in looking?â Bradley grits his teeth. He looks across at you, the muscle in his jaw ticking. Thereâs nothing in your expression, no fear or sadness. Your father deserved more than that. âThe point is to bring him home.â He bites from your side, staring straight ahead at Cyclone.
This is rough... I get her questioning the process, it's not something that someone is usually confronted with..
Youâre biting at the inside of your cheek so hard that you must be tasting copper, picking at the seam of your jeans and breathing like youâre trying not to cry.
đ„șđ„șđ„ș
âIâ fuck. I donât want to be here. I-Iâ Iâm going to have to find a job, and Iâll have to call my mom, andâ and my friends, andââ âHey,â Bradley mumbles, resisting the instinct to throw his arms around you. His brows draw together as he reaches out and squeezes your bicep, bending his knees so he can catch your eye. âItâs alright. Iâll take care of it.â You know that heâs just trying to be nice, but really, youâre sick of nice. Itâs all that Maverick ever was and it left you with no idea of who he really is.
She has every right to be angry, upset and sad even if he really just ries to be nice, this is just not a good situation anyway and with the news of the investigation it just got SO MUCH worseđ„Ž
He nods, closing his mouth, swallowing dryly. Thinking of what he can, feasibly, take off of your plate for you. The idea sparks in him. âYou need a job. I can get you a job. Um, your friends, we can call them and bring them down for a weekend?â He squeezes again at your bicep, nodding his way through his plans, trying to will the tears in your eyes not to spill over.
I like that he is thinking practical!
âI donât want to go back to his house.â It comes out as a whimper, and really just reminds Bradley that youâre in the same position that he was when he was just a little younger than you. Itâs a scared kid type of feeling, being all alone in the world. Being in an empty house had made it even worse. He licks his lips and glances towards the skies, watching the sun pass behind a cloud. âYou could stay at my place, for a night or two.âÂ
Just a night or two, sure đđ€
Ashes, Ashes | One | Bradley Bradshaw x Reader
masterlist | prologue | next chapter
Synopsis: In which Maverick didnât make it home after the Uranium mission. Heâs missing, presumed dead. There are things that have to be done â someone has to take care of the house, the bills.
So, Maverickâs daughter is back in Fightertown for the first time since she was in elementary school. Thereâs a gaping hole in both of their lives now, and somehow, the worldâs supposed to just keep on turning without him.
Warnings: mitchell!reader, no physical descriptors other than the implication that Bradley is taller, no use of YN, age gap (23/33), smut, angst, hurt / comfort, mentions of character death, mourning, military inaccuracies. This entire fic and my blog is an 18+ space, minors do not interact. Do not repost.
âŠ
Crossing the threshold into Maverickâs home doesnât come naturally to either one of you. This place is something that you had both left behind. Outgrown. Itâs solely his. Itâs not your home and it has never been, until now. Now, youâre stuck here until things are figured out.
On that fourteen hour drive down to San Diego, you had a lot of time to think. How long is a person supposed to wait for a body to turn up before they go ahead and throw the funeral without it?
Three paces into the hallway, brown wood floors and white walls, youâre met with a smiling family picture. Only, youâre not in it.Â
Because, itâs not a picture of Peteâs family. Pete doesnât have a family. Pete Mitchell has a daughter from a one night stand with a married woman.
This picture is of a real family. Hung on the wall opposite the front door is a picture of Nick and Carole Bradshaw holding their infant son. Heâs bald and gummy. Theyâre grinning and showing him off like a prize trophy â so proud of him even though all he did in those days was drool and pee himself.Â
These days, their infant son is up to more important things. Their infant son grew to an upsettingly grand height and is carrying two of your bags in one hand behind you today.
âCâmon, Mitchell â these are heavy.â Bradley huffs softly from behind you, reminding you that youâre standing stationary and blocking his path.Â
The nickname stings you. Your name isnât Mitchell because your biological father had wanted it to be. Itâs Mitchell solely because your motherâs husband knew you werenât his and would rather die before letting you take his name.
You shrug your duffel bag closer to your body and turn left. Bradley huffs under the weight of your luggage from behind you, watching you walk your cute butt in completely the wrong direction. âWait, where are you going?â
Not struggling at all under the weight of your single duffel bag, you turn slowly to face him and frown slightly. âMy room.âÂ
You donât remember Bradley. Not in your own memories, anyway. You know he was around, youâve seen him in pictures but the image in your head doesnât match. Not quite right. Like puzzle pieces bent and forced together.
Heâs taller than he looked at his high school graduation, which sits pictured and framed above Mavâs mantle. Older, but thatâs to be expected. Up close, he looks more like his mother than his father. A slight bump in his nose and scars, nicely healed, but jagged and raised nonetheless dusted his cheek and his throat.Â
Even with all those differences, thereâs a familiarity to him that makes this all feel a little bit less suffocating.
Bradleyâs brows draw together. He gives a small nod in the direction of the spare room. âThatâs⊠I usually stayed in that room.â
âOh.â You hum. With Bradley being ten years your senior, the room was his long before it was yours. With him growing up so close by, it was probably his much more frequently than it was yours. Itâs not like you kept anything here anyway. Itâs just a guest room that you would occupy every now and again.
Thereâs a brief quiet between you.Â
âI just figured you could take the big room. âTil you get settled. Iâll go home once your car is fixed, if thatâs what you want.â Bradley adds on. That sad little look on your face is killing him.Â
The big room. The loft room upstairs. Youâre pretty sure that youâve never even been upstairs in this house.
âYouâre staying too?âÂ
Oh. Yeah. He hadnât addressed that point yet. Truthfully, he hadnât even been planning to stay. He hasnât even packed an overnight bag. But, from the second that you stepped out of the car and looked up at the house with that look on your face, he hadnât even considered leaving you here alone.
âJust âtil we get your car fixed,â He offers with a small shrug. âIâll be here to run you around until then.â
Like heâs doing this for your sake. Natasha has her own life to get back to and Bradley canât stand the thought of going back to his apartment alone.Â
âOkay,â You agree, turning to peer down the hall towards the spare room. Itâs nothing special â it really never felt like yours. âAlright, Iâll take Peteâs room.â
Pete. You call Maverick âPeteâ now.Â
Bradley just nods, shifting the weight of your bags and nodding for you to head for the stairs. All the floors in this house are tan oak. The entryway is now herringbone. With the help of a friend, Pete had done the entire thing himself.Â
Of course, as you walk silently across it, neither one of you would know that. Neither one of you was speaking to him last May, which was why he had needed a project in the first place.
Natashaâs outside on the phone. Bradleyâs footsteps thud on the wood of the stairs behind you, following you up. You stop at the top, leaving just enough room for Bradley to stand there behind you.
The door to Maverickâs room is open. His bed is made. Thereâs a book thrown on top of it, the spine cracked and used, the pages yellow from years out in the sun.
âNo way is he still trying to fucking finish War and Peace.â Bradley steps around you with your bags in his hands and heads straight for the book. Pete started this book before Bradley finished elementary school. Bradley twists and looks back at you. âHe always gets bored and stops reading, then forgets his page and starts again.â
Another slow nod. One foot in front of the other, your shoes along the tan oak floors. Your fingers trail the white walls. Maverick wouldnât have minded. This place was always messy before. Itâs not now.Â
This house is vacant and quiet, but itâs far from empty. Itâs filled to the brim, practically pulling apart at the seams with everything that Maverick was and planned to be. He was finishing War and Peace â he made it to chapter 253 this time; further than he had ever made it before.Â
Your throat is thick with the knowledge that all you knew Maverick to be, is now all that heâll ever be. An absent father, a fantastic pilot, a lousy cook. A thousand more things that youâll never know.
Four days of knowing, a fourteen hour drive down here, and itâs a book that stings like a cold slap to the face, reminding you of why exactly it is that youâre here.
Fire burns behind your eyes, blistering and stinging as Bradley sets your bags on the floor with a soft thud.
He turns with his attention completely on the book, his fingers extending towards the peeling cover of the paperback. His fingers curl around its weathered pages and he lifts it tenderly, examining the front at first.
Itâs too early to start this process bawling your eyes out, and you refuse to let Russian Literature be your downfall, again. That thick feeling sits in your throat like a stack of weights as you sit down on the end of Maverickâs bed. The mattress is soft, taking your weight without a squeak of complaint. Maybe he finally listened to you and got a bed that wasnât so harsh on his back.
Itâs been almost two years since you even set foot in this house last. If you had known that Maverick was going to be gone this soon⊠you sit and think to yourself about if you would have maybe visited more. Probably not.
âIâll change the sheets and stuff, then Iâll get out of your hair for a bit.â
Lifting your head, you blink at him. He has already started to pull back the comforter and strip the bottom sheet from the bed, awkwardly forcing you onto your feet again.Â
Mobile once more, you turn slowly to take in your surroundings. This is Maverickâs room. Itâs his house, you were prepared for that much â but this is his room. The last thing you want is to be alone in it all night.
âOh. Sure,â You nod, setting into motion to help take the sheets off. You watch him instead of what youâre doing.Â
Heâs so methodical about it, like none of this phases him at all. But then, youâve not seen how he has been for the past few days. âI was thinking of just ordering food tonight, since Iâm kinda tired â and Pete never had groceries. Would you want⊠to maybe join?â
âSure.â Bradley nods, tugging the pillows out of the cases. He glances up to you with a strictly polite, neutral smile. Quiet settles between the two of you until the bed is just a bare mattress and uncovered pillows.Â
Thereâs a moment of total stillness between the two of you. Your gaze flickers up, meeting his, and the realization settles between the two of you. Maverickâs favourite cologne was a French thing that some woman in the eighties had liked. Citrus in the shade of cypress wood. The scent fills the room like heâs standing between the two of you.
Bradley glances down at the white sheets in his hands. The snowy white peaks of those mountains, Maverickâs aircraft spiralling into them, engulfed in flames. In a sick way, Bradley hopes that he didnât manage to eject. At least then, it would have been instant. Maverick wouldnât have felt anything.
You watch his adamâs apple bob in his throat from the other side of the bed. The last you had heard, Mav and Bradley werenât on speaking terms. You wonder if this is as weird for him as it is for you.
âIâll put these in the washer. You can⊠unpack, or whatever.â He decides finally, already taking one step backwards, headed for the door. You stand there, blinking at him. Even with those steeped, broad shoulders, he makes it through the doorframe unscathed before he turns to check where heâs going.
He probably knows this house inside and out, just like he knew your dad. Once.Â
When it comes to wracking your brain and trying to remember Bradley Bradshaw, you canât ever come up with anything. Maybe a glimpse, here and there. A blue t-shirt with green stripes. His school backpack accidentally left in the backseat of Maverickâs convertible beside your shoddily installed car seat.Â
Truthfully, your experience with Bradley Bradshaw is limited. Heâs just as real to you as any of the other guys in the stories you grew up hearing about. Your very own Peter Pan is downstairs right now, trying to figure out Maverickâs ancient washing machine, just so that he doesnât have to stand up here and stare across at you.
He canât hide from you forever, though. Evening comes, and so does hunger.Â
He stares down at the pizza between the two of you as he chews through a bite, brows drawn together slightly. He hates thin crust pizza â itâs the worst kind of pizza. But, when you had suggested it, he had agreed with a tight-lipped smile.
Natasha has gone home. Itâs just the two of you. Sitting in this unchanged, all too familiar kitchen. Youâre barely unpacked. You set up a couple of things in Maverickâs bathroom, but it doesnât feel right to be in the big room upstairs. That wasnât ever your space to claim.
You chew absentmindedly at the bite you had taken. The TV in the living room is off. The record player is coated in a layer of thin dust already. Itâs dead quiet. The kitchen light is dim above your heads.
Thereâs a chip in the corner of the table on Bradleyâs side. Itâs there because Bradley was running through this kitchen when he was four years old and had tripped and knocked his front tooth out right here. His thumb trails the tiny mark, wondering how his teeth had ever been that small.
Wondering why you arenât angry with him, too.
Maverick had picked him up that day, turned him around and held Bradley while he cried, stemming the blood and quickly introducing the concept of the tooth fairy. He had done all that he could, and Bradley still found a way to resent him for what had happened to his own father.
Bradley hasnât ever done a thing for you. Except maybe pay for this pizza. And here you are, calm as can be.Â
The sauce base feels tangy and coppery, and the cheese makes him want to puke. He sets the slice down on his plate and wipes his hands on the paper towel beside him.
Finally, he lifts his head and looks at you. Your hair is up now, tucked out of your way after an afternoon of manual labour upstairs. Youâre wearing a stretched out old t-shirt. Bradley assumes you got it from a boyfriend.
Really, he doesnât think you look that much like your old man. He would really have to search for the resemblance. But, briefly, when you offer him a polite smile across the table, he knows that youâre Mavâs kid.
âIâm sorry.â Bradley blurts out. You both look across at each other, equally surprised that he has spoken.
ââŠFor what?â You ask quietly, lips tugging into a small frown.
âIâm sorry that Iâm here and heâs not.â Heâs just got to say it. He knows you probably wouldnât bring it up on your own, but thereâs a big elephant in this room. Bradley knows what itâs like to sit in your spot, and not know how to talk about it.
Itâs his fault that Maverick didnât make it home.
You stop chewing. That last bite sits in your mouth, doughy and dry all of a sudden. You stare across at him, awkwardly making yourself swallow down the last of your bite of pizza and picking up the paper towel to wipe at your mouth.
âWe werenât that close.â You tell him, like thatâs supposed to make him feel better. It doesnât. Itâs like a blow to the chest. Youâll never get the opportunity to fix things, because of him.
But, he knows what itâs like to be told how to grieve. He just dips his head and nods awkwardly. âRight.âÂ
âI got a call from an admiral the other day,â You pick up the slice of pizza and pick at its toppings. Thereâs no one here now to tell you not to play with your food. Mav never really cared anyway. Bradley watches you, unhungry. âInvited me down to Miramar. He said he was a friend of Mavâs and that he could talk me through⊠this whole thing. How it works.â You explain with a shrug.
Bradley rubs a hand over the neatly trimmed hair above his lip. It feels like he has swallowed a golf ball, sitting here like itâs normal to be discussing the measures.
He knows how it works. It wonât be as simple as it was with his own father. At least Maverick had afforded him something to bury. For you, thereâs nothing.
âIâll have to be there around eleven.âÂ
âSure,â Bradley nods, scratching at the back of his neck. His legs tingle with stiffness. Clearing his throat, he shifts in the little wooden chair and stretches, knocking his foot into yours under the table. âOh. Sorry. Iâm sorry.â
Your teeth press into the inside of your cheek. Maverick hadnât ever described Bradley as this nervous.
âItâs fine.â You hum, pushing back in your chair and standing up from the table. âWell, Iâve been up since like⊠four, so I might just hit the hay.â
âSure.â Bradley breathes out, hands braced on his thighs, eyes focussed on that tiny chip in the corner of the table. âYeah. Goodnight.â
The downstairs bedroom seemed bigger when he was a kid. The twin-sized bunks on the carrier feel bigger than the wooden-framed bed that Maverick put in here. Bradleyâs shoulder is practically hanging off the side, and the old frame creaks with each movement he makes.
Itâs not like he would be sleeping much anyway. When he closes his eyes, the only thing he can see is the fireball Maverickâs plane had turned into as it fell.
Bradleyâs hunched over the coffee pot by the time that you wake up. He hears you coming down the stairs and straightens up like he wasnât three seconds from throwing the stupid thing at the wall, clearing his throat and turning around.
It occurs to him that he should have put a shirt on. This isnât his place. Itâs yours, now, he guesses â either way, he hadnât considered making you uncomfortable. He folds his arms over his naked torso as you stroll into the kitchen, hair mussed and rubbing at your eyes.
Youâre wearing big socks and the same big t-shirt you had worn to eat the pizza last night. He canât tell if youâre wearing shorts or not.
âMorning,â He offers up, making you lift your gaze from busily tapping at your phone. Your gaze lands squarely on his navel â more so, how low his shorts sit on his hips and the way a soft trail of brown hair ventures from there to his bellybutton.Â
Blinking, you find his face.
âCoffee machineâs broken, we can stop somewhere on the way to base if you like.â He leans down a little bit, like an awkward teenager shrinking away from a family picture. You lock your gaze on his, trying not to glance back down at his muscles.Â
âOh. Thatâs not broken â if you hit it hard enough, itâll work.â You head right for him, fuzzy socks padding across the floor so softly that it really does startle him when you grab the copy of War and Peace that now sits on the kitchen counter, and slam the book right into the side of the coffee machine.
He whips around as the machine whirs to life. You set the book back down gently, and look up at him. He sets his jaw, brows knitted together, searching your face.
Maverick never taught Bradley anything like that. In fact â Bradley always, always was taught the opposite. You never take the easy way out; if somethingâs worth fixing, then you fix it right.
Then you, you on the other hand, beat the thing with the heaviest book you can find? He just doesnât get it.
âWell. Thanks.â He guesses, turning his bemused expression back to the brewing coffee.Â
He hadnât been expecting you to do that. Doesnât take a genius to figure that out, given the way heâs still glaring at the machine. That coffee pot is older than you are, and Mav never taught him that trick?
âSo this guy, the one who called me,â You skim your fingers along the cool granite countertop, just to have something to do, âHe was the guy calling the shots up there?â
Bradley blinks. He doesnât know how much you know about the way all of this works. He knew everything there is to know long before he ever enlisted, but that was because he wanted to know.
âUm,â Bradley grabs his mug and takes a step back for you to get yourself one. âHe was our mission command so, kind of. He gives orders â but, yâknow, everything happens fast, itâs⊠itâs hard to call the shots from back on the boat.âÂ
âDid he like Mav much?â You ask, head tucked inside the fridge door as you scan for anything to make your coffee a little less black. Nothing. A couple of beers and a block of good German cheese. You swing it shut with a resigned sigh, wondering if youâll be here long enough to need groceries.
The thought flashes across your mind â whatâll happen to this place when you leave it behind?
âUh... No, not really.â After a routine training presentation at the very beginning of their attachment, Admiral Simpson had once become so agitated by Maverick that he snapped his own reading glasses in half. Mav got a good laugh out of it, at least.
âGreat.â Agitation creeps into your tone as you curl your fingers around a plain white coffee mug. All of his kitchenware is plain white.Â
âWhat?â Bradley tilts his head, trying to catch a glimpse at the look on your face, stuck between whether youâre sad or pissed off.
Itâs an easy answer, rolling off of your tongue with a shrug of your shoulders and a deflated sigh. âPeople usually put us in the same boat â if they donât like him, they donât like me.â
Thatâs something that he thinks he can understand. Thereâs not an instant dislike, but thereâs a pity that he finds in the eyes of people who once knew his father.Â
He screws his mouth up, shaking his head and reaching for you without thought. His palm claps against your shoulder, platonic and soothing, but the first time he has touched you nonetheless. âIâll be there. He wonât say a thing.â
Glancing upward, while his palm lingers on your shoulder, your eyes flit across his features. He doesnât know quite what youâre searching for, or whether you find it. His fingers squeeze softly against your skin before the touch is gone all together.
You drink your coffees in parallel, both subtly miserable in your silence but comfortable in it anyway. Itâs difficult to prepare for a meeting like this â you donât have a clue of what to expect.Â
Bradley wears black jeans and boots with a plain white t-shirt, which convinces you not to wear the more formal dress you had thought youâd have to wear. You slip into his passenger seat in a skirt and Mary Janes.
He drives a loud, blue vintage Bronco. It sparkles inside and out, and makes your dusty old car look even worse.Â
Bradley settles behind the wheel to the sound of chilled seventies music, the radio turned low. He drives with three fingers curled around the bottom of the wheel and the other hand resting absently on the stick shift.
Even though he seems calm enough behind the wheel, you watch him chew at the inside of his cheek for the duration of the drive. Gears tick away inside his head. His knee only stops bouncing nervously when itâs time to press his foot against the pedal.
Heâs not as good at pretending as he thinks he is; you silently appreciate that he tries, either way.
Bradley, truthfully, spends the entire drive thinking about the last time he was face to face with Admiral Simpson. âSon, Iâm doing this for you.â He had sworn, face sullen, uttering the exact same words Pete Mitchell once had when delivering the words that had torn Bradley from him the first time.
Only, Admiral Simpson wasnât pulling Bradleyâs papers â he was just putting him on a month long bereavement leave. His protests had fallen on deaf ears once again, as they had fifteen years ago. Heâs now a week into that leave, but it feels like longer.
It turns out that when you cut sleep from the equation, everything feels a lot longer. In his own apartment, his routine has been getting up at 2am after hours of tossing and turning, going for a run all the way down to the docks, coming back and showering, then waiting for the sun to rise.
Last night, heâd been awake in that creaky old twin bed, struck by the realisation that if he spent all night tossing and turning â one, he might actually break the old bed frame, and two, the squeaking of it would definitely keep you up.Â
All it had taken was the focus of trying to sit still for so long to finally knock him out. It was the best that heâd slept since the mission.
He kind of hopes that itâll take him a while to figure out something to do with your car; at least that way heâll be able to sleep at night.Â
âYou ready?â His voice startles you from your daydream, the engine cutting out with a jingle of the keys as he stretches forwards in his seat to shove them into his pocket. âWeâre headed just over there.â
âYeah, letâs get this over with.â Youâre stepping down and swinging the heavy door shut before youâre taking your next breath, leaving him to catch up to you.Â
His long strides have him at your side before long, reaching ahead of you to pull open the glass door to the post headquarters.Â
This process has already been easier with him at your side. Heâd coolly handed over his service ID and greeted the guard at the gate by name, and he stops you from turning sharply down the wrong hallway with a soft bump of his shoulder against yours.
He catches your forearm as you try to blow right past the front desk, his grip loose but firm.Â
âRooster.â The woman behind the desk stands up sharply, looking sharp in her service khakis, her entire face creased with a deep worry. Sheâs older, maybe around Mavâs age. âI heard, Iâm so sorry.â
Rooster loosens his hold on your forearm, his lips flattening into a line. He stands up straight, his interaction with the woman nothing if not totally polite. His thumb trails across the bend of your wrist as he nods his head towards you.
âThank you,â He says softly, seemingly unaware of the way youâve stiffened in the presence of this woman. âWeâre, uh⊠weâre just here to see Cyclone, Lynn.â
Her warm, brown eyes whip towards you, widening. Recognition floods her features as she pieces together who you must be.Â
Her boots hit the ground, your lips parting slightly as you realise that sheâs headed right for you. Bradley feels your arm tug in his grip and turns his head, taking note of the way youâre trying to shrink behind him.
Lynn is a hugger by nature, and she was a good friend of Mavâs for a long time. She means well, but Bradley isnât going to let her touch you when he can see how unnerved it makes you.
âWeâre a little late. Iâll catch you at the O-Bar this weekend?â His fingers uncurl from your forearm and his palm falls flat between your shoulder blades, giving you a gentle nudge and silent permission to avoid her hug.
The woman stops and thereâs another polite, departing exchange between the two of them while you continue down the hall.
Bradley catches up to you as you rap your knuckles against the doorframe, fingers trembling when they come to settle back against your thighs.
âMiss Mitchell.â A chair scrapes along the tiled floor, Cycloneâs signature rumbling voice carrying out into the hallway. His boots tap across the ground, his face creased with sincerity and his hand outstretched when he notices Bradley standing behind you. âBradley Bradshaw.â
You check back over your shoulder, glancing briefly at the man behind you, who has assumed his best bodyguard impression.Â
Standing tall, his uniform crisp and his greying black hair combed neatly, Admiral Beau Simpson slips his palm into yours and shakes your hand curtly. The sunlight catches on his shining name badge, his face heavy with lines and sharp angles.
Letting your hand go, he then reaches to your right to shake Bradleyâs. Bradleyâs chest bumps your back as he leans into the handshake.
You step away from him, angling yourself closer to the doorframe. âHe just gave me a ride here. Is it okay if he comes in?â You answer.
âOf course,â Cyclone is far more polite to you than he has ever been to Bradley. âAnything you need. Please, take a seat.â
It feels a little bit wrong standing before his boss in jeans, and sitting before him. Everything about this feels a little bit wrong. Bradley rests his chin against his fist.
You sit in the chair beside him, shoving your trembling hands under your thighs, straightening up and trying to look as brave as you can.Â
It shouldnât be this stranger sitting beside you in this meeting â your mother should have come with you.
âMiss Mitchell,â The admiral takes his seat on the other side of his desk once again. âI want to first express my deepest condolences. Your father was a good man, and a⊠extremely skilled pilot.â
Bradley almost scoffs. Even now, Cyclone canât manage to compliment him.
âWe are forever grateful for his service, and the sacrifices he made on behalf of our country. I understand that this is an extremely difficult time, and Iâd just like to say that Iâm going to personally make sure that this process is as easy as it can possibly be.â
You blink at him. Jet engines rumble on outside of the window. People bustle on outside of the closed office door.
Cyclone glances towards Bradley.Â
âWhen a man is lost in action, our resolve is to initiate a search and rescue effort as soon as possible,â The admiral explains, leaving out the part where that search and rescue effort had been delayed by seventy-two hours after Mav disappeared. âWeâve been working tirelessly, and our efforts to locate your father are ongoing.â
Your brows knit together.
âButâ heâs dead.â You frown, rendering Cyclone suddenly quiet. âHeâs got to be. Itâs been a week. No food, no water, sub-zero temperature. Whatâs the point in looking?â
Bradley grits his teeth. He looks across at you, the muscle in his jaw ticking. Thereâs nothing in your expression, no fear or sadness. Your father deserved more than that.
âThe point is to bring him home.â He bites from your side, staring straight ahead at Cyclone.
You shoot him a look. When itâs clear that you arenât going to say anything else, Cyclone clears his throat to continue.Â
âMiss Mitchell, we do have to prepare ourselves for the other outcome. If recovery efforts are unsuccessful, in two weeks time, he will be listed as formally âMissing in Actionâ. If thatâs the case, we will honor him with a memorial service and all of his service records and personal effectsÂ
are delivered to you.â
You drag your teeth across your bottom lip, swallowing hard and giving a small nod of your head.
âOkay. Two weeks?â
âThis is going to be a longer process,â Cyclone warns you. Heâd heard that you had come down specially for this, and he doesnât want to mislead you about the time frame. âThe recovery mission, if unsuccessful, will be suspended in two weeksâ time. After that, weâd like you to be local for the investigation.â
âInvestigation?â
âOf ourselves. To ensure that the Navy had performed its due diligence, that kind of thing⊠Iâd expect us to be here for a good few months.â He explains.
After that, itâs like Bradley can see a switch flip for you.Â
Youâre biting at the inside of your cheek so hard that you must be tasting copper, picking at the seam of your jeans and breathing like youâre trying not to cry.
Heâs still confused when heâs all but chasing you across the parking lot, listening to you try to control your breathing.
âHey, hey, hey,â He tries, approaching you cautiously as you crowd yourself against the passenger side of his car. âItâs alright. Weâll get through it, itâs just a couple of months.â
âIâ fuck. I donât want to be here. I-Iâ Iâm going to have to find a job, and Iâll have to call my mom, andâ and my friends, andââ
âHey,â Bradley mumbles, resisting the instinct to throw his arms around you. His brows draw together as he reaches out and squeezes your bicep, bending his knees so he can catch your eye. âItâs alright. Iâll take care of it.â
You know that heâs just trying to be nice, but really, youâre sick of nice. Itâs all that Maverick ever was and it left you with no idea of who he really is. âOf what? Thereâs so much that I have toââ
He nods, closing his mouth, swallowing dryly. Thinking of what he can, feasibly, take off of your plate for you. The idea sparks in him.
âYou need a job. I can get you a job. Um, your friends, we can call them and bring them down for a weekend?â He squeezes again at your bicep, nodding his way through his plans, trying to will the tears in your eyes not to spill over.
You sniff, turning your gaze towards the ground. The lump in your throat burns and bobs as you try to swallow it away.Â
Mav really is never coming back.
âI donât want to go back to his house.â It comes out as a whimper, and really just reminds Bradley that youâre in the same position that he was when he was just a little younger than you. Itâs a scared kid type of feeling, being all alone in the world. Being in an empty house had made it even worse.
He licks his lips and glances towards the skies, watching the sun pass behind a cloud.Â
âYou could stay at my place, for a night or two.âÂ
âŠ
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Hopefully this doesn't come off as snarky, but I find it genuinely hilarious that every "big-name" Leona fan that I've seen seems to like him against their will lol. I've always had Leona as my favorite, so it's fun to see the journey other people go through to liking/appreciating him!
Look đŠ I canât speak for other L*ona likers (regardless of size, honestly; I'm a firm believer that one's level of internet fame isn't a factor in the devotion for a character) but for meâto quote Scarââmy words are a matter of pride.â And by confessing to (ick đ€ą) LIKING LION⊠itâs throwing all that pride out of a window. It seriously does feel like these feelings exist against my will.
I have a summary of my story to explain my relationship with the lion lore đ I call it a summary, but itâs still kind of longâ It's below the cut for those who are interested!
To begin with, the promotional materials didnât sell me on him. Everything about how he initially presentsâfrom his arrogance to his âtough/bad boyâ design (seriously, that biker-cowboy combo of his dorm uniform is SO ugly and shows way too much skin for my likingâŠ)âwas so unappealing to me. He seemed exactly like the kind of character and tropes I tend to dislike. The only âgoodâ thing I saw in him was his face (which, ironically, is what Vil says about him) and maybe his UM chant particularly the line where he demands you kneel before him. Then comes along book 2, which is easily the weakest of the main story and does a HUGE disservice to him, making L*ona seem a lot stupider than he actually is. At that point, I had basically written his entire character off. I claimed to all my Twst friends that there was nothing that would ever make me like him.
Around 2022, I decided to get involved in a round of EBG (Epic Bias Game) which is basically like a test of your will?? Youâre supposed to compete with your friends to see who can go for the longest without talking about or acknowledging their oshi (which includes not being able to react to fan works of them). As part of EBG, each participant was randomly assigned a ânew oshiâ to replace the usual one AND GUESS WHAT, I GOT HANDED L*ONA BY THE WHEEL OF FATE đ
One of my friends (who knew I hardcore hated him at the time) assured me that this would get me to change my mind. They even went out of their way to write a little story explaining how my OC was forced to spend more time with L*ona, which led me into writing interactions between them to build more of the lore. I managed to outlast the friend in EBG, but didnât win the entire game. I came out of it not really feeling super different about L*ona, but I think forcing myself to write about him extensively helped me gain a little more perspective on his character. I still didnât like him, but I at least appreciated his presence in the cast a little more.
AND THEN TWST HAD TO COME AND BASH ME OVER THE HEAD WITH L*ONA CONTENT⊠All the little vignettes and voice lines where other characters would talk about what a good leader he is (*glares at Epel, Jack, Ruggie, Savanaclaw mobs, etc.*), when he sarcastically claims to be a âdelicate princeâ or a âlost childâ, those moments where he sasses others, times when heâs able to use his charisma and/or intelligence to pull ahead, rare instances when he whips out his royal manners, him respecting women⊠But I think the turning point for me had to have been book 6 OTL GOOD LORD, BOOK 6 FUCKED ME UP đ Him using his UM in a creative way to turn falling glass shards into harmless sand? And strategically turning himself in?? Willingly ceding control of the dorm to Ruggie??? Telling everyone about Styxâs lore???? AND THE BEEF HE HAD WITH JAMIL BUT STILL GIVING HIM WISDOM AND ADVICE⊠Sometimes I still tear up thinking about how L*ona says âYouâre not like me,â to Jamil đ implying that part of the reason why L*ona guides others is because he has hope in their futures but not his own⊠(Iâm still salty that EN messed up this line by changing it to âIâm not like you,â which makes him come off as way more arrogant đŠ) Anyway, I blame book 6 for being the tipping point in my downward spiral đ IT GOT WORSE IN BOOK 7 WHEN HE STARTED SHOWING HE'S MOTIVATED TO ACTUALLY GRADUATE AND TAKES ON AN INTERNSHIP THAT COULD BENEFIT HIS COUNTRY... Special shoutout to the Club Wear card for being especially hot-- I did my best to hold out against the steady drip of content that called attention to his⊠positive traits⊠(Not that Iâm saying he doesnât have any; I mean this in that whenever his strengths as a character are brought up, they really get to me as someone who loves intelligent, mature/responsible types and âbig brotherâ figures OTL) BUT IT'S SO HARD WHEN TWST KEEPS PULLING STUFF LIKE THAT???
Then in 2024 came the stupid Lost in the Book with Nightmare Before Christmas event đ which finally introduced us to L*ona in full formal attire (MY WEAKNESS) and gave him the opportunity to be in the role of the "hero" and leader... and those Nightmare Suit vignettes đ Leona thinking about what it actually means to be "king"... Ugh, it was another strong showing of his character. I'm pretty sure it was this event that started the snowball of my friends (lovingly) bullying me about him and calling me a tsundere about it. Weirdly enough, a BUNCH of things started happening irl to push L*ona at me too. For example, my pet (who usually actively avoids or attacks Twst stuff) was actually eager to pose for a picture with a L*ona standee. In a group fan merch order, I had asked for the bonus Grim sticker but the artist (who had no idea about my complicated thoughts on L*ona) said they were out of the Grim sticker but they had L*ona stickers they could include instead. Most recently, I had just finished this last-minute artwork of Miss Raven eating pocky by herself to celebrate Pocky Day (11/11). Typically the fan art you'd see on this day would involve two characters playing the "Pocky Game" (in which the players try to eat a stick of pocky from either end; usually it's framed as romantic since meeting in the middle results in a kiss). However, I had chosen to do a solo Miss Raven art because I thought this suited her "I want to be taken seriously!" personality better. Well, guess what? I GOT A PACKAGE DELIVERY NOTIFICATION FOR THE TWST MERCH ORDER... WITH L*ONA IN IT đ Almost like he heard there was food meant for sharing and he came to claim it for himself... Like I literally did NOT choose for these things to happen to me, THEY HAPPENED ON THEIR OWN. I DON'T BELIEVE IN PREORDAINED EVENTS BUT THE UNIVERSE SURE IS WORKING IN STRANGE WAYS.
So now that the tables have turned, itâs really embarrassing. Everything is coming back to bite me in the butt⊠It truly feels like L*ona plotted this all along and was on the prowl, patiently waiting for me to get worn down before he pounces and delivers the final blow to my ego OTL Like, it's gotten to the point where many of my long-time friends in the Twst community are now joking that "It's over" for J word... ONE OF THEM EVEN TOLD ME IT FEELS LIKE I'M GETTING DIVORCED AND L*ONA IS THEIR NEW STEPDAD, HOW AM I SUPPSOED TO FEEL ABOUT HTHAT ??????????? ? ? ????? ? ??? ? ?? ?? ? ???? ?
But by the far the worst, the WORST part about everything here is that if L*ona were fully sentient, he would be so smug about recent developments đĄ It makes me SO mad thinking about how he'd look down on me with that hot smug rage-inducing smirk of his and make fun of me for eating my words so badly.
âWhat was that you said about hating my guts, herbivore? ⊠Hah, it's written all over your face--you're terrible at hiding your true feelings. You can just give in, you know. Tell me how much you worship me. How much you want me. You'll give in eventually one way or another--so why not make this easier for the both of us and save us the time of playing the wait game? I don't bite, promise." (<- a liar)
(Disclaimer: NOT MY MERCH; this is a L*ona Liker friendâs picture that theyâre letting me use as a reaction image đ
)
THIS IS FR MY OVERBLOT ORIGIN STORYâŠ
#twisted wonderland#twst#disney twisted wonderland#disney twst#Leona Kingscholar#NOT L*ONA ROT#notes from the writing raven#twst en#twisted wonderland en#book 6 spoilers#Savanaclaw#Epel Felmier#Ruggie Bucchi#Jack Howl#Jamil Viper#jp spoilers#Vil Schoenheit#book 7 spoilers#Jade Leech
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Ep 26 Commentary
Alrightyy I've mustered up what's left of my brain for a belated ep 26 commentary post. IRL responsibilities are getting a bit away from me so I wasn't able to spend as much time on this as usual; apologies if the haste shows through! Consider this more reaction than meta.
As always, spoilers under the cut:
A carry-over comment, but I really do appreciate the Li Lun/ZYC scene in ep 25 for how it solidified ZYC's resolve and reminded him of where his heart is, what he believes in, what he chooses to defend. Such a load-bearing and pivotal conversation for both characters in opposite directions of development. It also makes ZYC's return to the Bureau triumphant in a way, despite all the preceding trauma, despair, and hopelessness. WX embraces him in relief that he's safe and in comfort for what they've all just been through, and for us, it's doubly meaningful as a sort of homecoming after a confrontation that only we have witnessed. It's also interesting, the cutaway as they hug, the things we have been made privy to and the things that are kept private from us.
Ouuughh the lines voiced over as ZYZ and ZYC meet eyes for the first time since all that transpired in Tianxiang Pavilion. It gives such a deep sense of wordless understanding and intimacy. I'm reminded of when the show did that for Ranyi and Miss Qi's final lines.
As I mentioned previously, a lot of subtext became text in this episode, which was quite exciting (and also extremely adorable the way ZYC was like "I think I've said too much" /// afterwards). I didn't expect ZYC to convey his understanding of ZYZ to him so soon, but that really goes back to something I love about ZYC: that he doesn't really waste time expressing something once he's come to an emotional conclusion. Maybe there's something to be said there about how he knows, after the loss of his family, how important it is to say the words when you have them to the people in front of you while they're still here.
If ZYC's words and his tears offered to a catatonic ZYZ in ep 23 was an expression of star-crossed and conflicted love, this parallel scene is just an utterly unrestrained confession, the stars be damned.
Also, tbh I never found ZYC's reactions to ZYZ to be unfounded or unreasonable, even when misguided in the beginning (and necessarily so, given the narrative and premise) or at times harsh (which I also found much-needed for ZYZ to hear, and delivered with obvious sympathetic anguish). He was clearly reflecting and actively revising his own preconceived notions this entire time, feeling for ZYZ the whole way through, and I do think he's demonstrated realistically and impressively the full extent of empathy perhaps as far as it can possibly stretch without personally experiencing ZYZ's life himself and while still living and feeling for his own. But to see ZYC so ready to address his previous flaws, to admit them and correct them, to go beyond them and to reach out so plainly for ZYZ in front of him now that he has that personal experienceâthe relationship between them has transcended the initial set-up of two opposing characters meeting in the middle. The show has gone that extra step and made their perspectives one. And given that I didn't personally find that step to be narratively necessary, so to say, (as in, even without it there's not truly a narrative obstacle because I already believed ZYC loves ZYZ despite everything and we've already seen the lengths he'll go to not to kill ZYZ), it feels like a choice in every definition of the word. Like a development motivated by love all the way down.
WX gets the least traumatic cloak-draping scenes out of the three of them, thank god.
Oh shit I forgot about fixing the Wilderness I'm so glad they didn't lmao.
Ahhh the crossroads moment at a literal (kind of) crossroads right before entering the Bingyi Clan's forbidden area. ZYC suddenly wanting to go alone or back out, stuck weighing the danger to everyone's lives, who they can and can't save depending on his choices. It makes me think of what happens when we let intense love in and it comes with intense fear, makes us freeze up. Suddenly, the stakes are in sharp relief, and the courage to move forward isn't so simple anymore.
"äżźć„œäșïŒäœ äčć„æ»" ("Once it's fixed, don't die either.") Head in hands. ZYC's voice here, his expression, that desperation. Yeah I think this episode was so draining because of how all pretense is being stripped away and all that's left is ZYC's profound love for everyone, so raw and vulnerable that it hurts to watch, especially knowing he won't have it easy trying to keep everyone alive.
Kind of love how freely ZYC cries and says the vulnerable things in front of all his loved ones. Like. That's truly his family, his people, his heart.
ZYZ please. Imagine ZYC's grief without you. Please just stay.
Yay 12 seconds of angst-free bickering right before (as someone else called it) the trolley problem
Ok so, I'm not sure how common this interpretation/reading of the following scene is, but it's been rattling around in my head for a while now so I'm just gonna include it here. If y'all disagree, pls disregard! Basically, when ZYC first turned to PSJ and thanked her, I was terrified for a moment that he would ask her to stay. Because on one hand, ZYC would never, but on the other hand, imo there's a lot of (I think deliberate) ambiguity baked into the scene. In ZYC turning to PSJ right after we're told "one of your friends or all three of them," in him starting the series of goodbyes with the character he has the least onscreen development with, in the finality of what he says to her but also the lack of clarity on just who this is final for, in PSJ's expression and WX's reaction, in the dramatic turning away at the end. Like, until he turns away from her, I think there's room for interpretation on what he's decided to do, and as someone who's grown quite surprisingly invested in the ZYC-PSJ dynamic, I'm kind of morbidly interested in this reading of events.
What might be going through PSJ's head at ZYC's words, if at this moment she hasn't yet realized his self-sacrificial intent? Does she think she's going to be asked to stay? Does she assess the situation, conclude that she's the person ZYC is least close to and perhaps the one least able to contribute in whatever comes next as the only human here, and begin resigning herself to this outcome? Are the tears in her eyes the sole indication of her conflicted unwillingness to die here that makes it through because as he's talking, she's evaluated that this is the best possible scenario for them all (esp for WX) and will commit herself to his decision even if it also breaks her heart to be chosen this way?
I may be taking this and running a bit far with it, but I just think the ambiguity of this one brief moment can create such angsty implications between the lines (as if we needed more angst...) and despite their scarce onscreen interactions, I'm kind of a sucker for the "extremely noble (to the point of tragedy) knight choosing to acknowledge and follow and dedicate their silent loyalty to a leader they deeply respect" dynamic, even if it is understated with all the other relationships going on in this show. Given how reticent PSJ is, it makes a meaningful impact on me every time she displays concern for ZYC, so you know it crushed me to watch her desperately and irrationally (the most pragmatic of them all!) try to shoot at him with her arrows while knowing there's no way it'd work. The way she was the first to act, the sound of nothing but the ice and the stretch of the bowstring. I really do love their platonic bond much more than I expected to.
Oof. The freezing. I don't want to sound like a broken record but I loved TJR's acting here because I think it's so easy for this scene to look awkward as he's stuck facing forward and pretending to freeze haha. His microexpressions as he realizes ZYZ is behind him, as he tries to chase him away with his words, as he's probably burning from the inside out with all that ice. That last tear as his gaze turns hollow. A+
I also love ZYZ's lines about not believing he can't overcome ZYC's powers like yeah this is a newborn demon with no inner core and ice powers that he taught him lmao
Okay, that's a wrap for my thoughts on this ep! I was originally going to include ep 27 reactions here too, but seeing as this is getting a little long, maybe I'll roll 27 into my thoughts on ep 28? We shall see!
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Tbh I think it's still legit if you read and like Blue Lock for being so gay (at least subtextually), despite being misogynistic Kaneshiro seems to have sympathy for queer people to a certain degree. Besides the gay sidekick, As The Gods Will also has some other queer side characters (a lesbian, a trans girl, a few more hinted gay boys and a non-binary villain according to my memory) even though not all of them are well-written, the good ones are good. Specifically my most favorite is the gay sidekick Ushimitsu, he's actually a pretty well-rounded character with very strong role as a co-lead in ATGW 2, I never feel like he was disrespected in the story (rather I think he's obviously Kaneshiro's favorite), sure he's got an open ending that can be seen as tragic but it's actually in line of the whole theme of the story and I respect Kaneshiro to commit to writing it rather than just give a copout happy ending and it also proves his gay feelings as real & deep despite heartbreaking.
Now I wish Kaneshiro can have that same energy in writing Bachira as he's in a similar position to Ushimitsu in ATGW but somehow poor bee boy got pushed aside in bllk after U20 arc (probably in favor of more popular Isagi ship with Rin or Kaiser đ), I hope he makes good on the promise that Bachira will be a key character later in the series and this time since nobody will die in Bllk I hope Bachisagi will get a deserved happy ending.
well that's the thing, anon.
I feel bad for liking blue lock because it has such a misogynistic creator but it's hard not to cling to something so obviously queer friendly.
like honestly.
there's definitely Japanese media that's queer neutral or queer friendly but blue lock actually feels like it's always on the verge of just being properly queer.
it's not fanservice like free or yuri on ice. it legitimately feels as close to canon as it can get without changing genres. and I think the creator having queer characters in the past gives him some street cred.
i know what homophobia in a manga looks like. it's that awful rapist character from one punch man. this hyper masculine but also hyper feminine muscly man who sexually assaults other men.
it's tokyo ghoul having its only queer characters being pedophiles, rapists, and sex addicts/victims who get sexually assaulted until they're "corrected."
it's having no subtext at all and only ever using gay men as a one off joke and gay women as a fetish.
at least blue lock does seem to respect its characters enough that it takes their hinted at sexualities seriously.
it really doesn't go for the obvious "ewwwwww we're both guys" jokes. it's kept very ambiguous. it's subtle (except when it's not, lol).
the only character who really fits the usual offensive gay anime representation tropes is Shidou, but even him I wouldn't count as bad rep (as the closest to canonically gay character, aside from Bachira).
Shidou might be super flamboyant but he also gets to have the coolest fucking moments in the series. he's not just some pervert, he's a badass. he doesn't just flounder around like some useless weird loser who only exists to be the butt of a joke.
he loves to fight and play soccer and feel alive. he has the coolest aura in the series and everyone is constantly in awe of the ridiculous things he can do.
he's a proper villain, who's out of pocket and insane, but who's also intensely lovable and silly. and honestly portrayed pretty sympathetically. for all his faults, he can be very kind.
there's a lot of depth to him, and honestly, I think Blue Lock is pretty good at not doing anything to suggest oh hahaha homosexuality exists. isn't that funny
plus I think Bachira is canonically gay. we know he's canonically in love with Isagi.
kunigami and aiku are actually confirmed bisexual too.
Shidou and Sae were also highly suspect during u20, to the point where even homophobes cant deny they have something weird going on.
so to me... that's a lot of queer characters who are taken seriously and actually have characters outside of being a joke or a gag. they feel like real people. they have distinct personalities.
the bar is in hell, but it's more than most manga/anime manage.
so I have to give Kaneshiro credit. he's doing as much as he can, without overstepping the boundary I'm sure kodansha has set for him.
it's just a shame he's a sexist. also, I hope Kaneshiro grows a pair.
just have bachisagi get married in the last chapter you pussy.
let Shidou officiate!!!
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More rambling On the subject of TTRPGs as a disrespected artform.
Thereâs a bunch of reasons for this disrespect being present that I could get into but Iâm going to focus on the most relevant one to this topic: TTRPGs are helpless.
To explain what I mean Iâm going to make a comparison to video games, or at least action-adventure type video games. Those have a lot of similarity to âtradâ and âneo-tradâ TTRPGs, which are nominally the most popular style of TTRPG (even though it seems like half the player base would rather be playing something else but again another tangent). Both of these are usually about protagonists using abilities to avoid or defeat adversaries and avoid traps and progress through a series of hazardous areas.
Video games are not helpless. They can assert themselves on the player. When you lose in a video game and youâre like âAw no way, I didnât want that to happen!â The video game can say âNo, Mario fell in the pit, Master Chief got blown up by a grenade, Pac-man got caught by a ghost, you lose. According to the rules of the game, you have to try again from a checkpoint.â And you have to do it. The game forces you to start over.
In a TTRPG, if your guy gets killed and you object to that, the TTRPG can at most offer a weak textual protest as you or the game master flips the die over to a more favorable number.
Of course plenty of video games have cheat codes, hacks, mods, etc. that can remove that power from the video game to force you to follow the rules of the game, but not everyone has the knowledge or skills to use those, whereas everyone can flip a die over or just lie about the number. Plus, doing this is looked upon less favorably in the culture of video games than in the culture of ttrpgs. I mean, itâs in the name. âCheatâ codes. Youâre cheating.
If somebody brags about how they beat Elden Ring with no deaths but then you mention that you hacked the game to give your character infinite HP, people will go âhey wait a minute,â but if you brag about how your character was so badass when they defeated a hundred cultists at once in D&D5e, because the DM kept saying the cultists missed every time the rules say they shouldâve hit and you kept saying your character hits every time the rules say their attack should miss, nobody bats an eye. Itâs even more accepted and expected that a DMPC will materialize out of thin air to kill everything every time the party picks a fight they canât win.
Ultimately, a lot of the urge to cheat like this I think comes from the fact that people are introduced to neo-trad TTRPGs like D&D5e through critical role and also its playerbaseâs general fixation on pre-planned plots and heavily scripted scenes that rely on characters never dying(which was not invented by critical role but was heavily bolstered by them). The only way that these goals can be achieved is by cheating, since D&D5e really doesnât support that kind of thing, so they get into a habit of cheating. They get into the mindset that the rules donât matter and can only get in the way of their intended gameplay. Which is of course because their intended gameplay is not something D&D5e was made for.
Then gradually they trickle into other games besides D&D5e, and assume that those gamesâ rules donât matter either, completely deflecting and disregarding the experience that the designer intended players to have with their art. Or worse, they become TTRPG designers themselves, and write their own rules based on the assumption that the rules donât matter which not only results in shitty gameplay experiences for people who are trying to follow these thoughtlessly-written rules, but also further reinforces the infectious idea that TTRPG rules donât matter. But dude. TTRPGs arenât anything *but* rules. The rules text is the whole game. Saying the rules donât matter is like saying the paint on the canvas doesnât matter! Yes! It matters because those colors of paint in those places placed there intentionally by the artists are what makes it a painting and make up the whole experience of experiencing the painting!
So we have a huge demographic in the TTRPG fanbase that thinks that the very artform itself is, at best, valueless and at worst actively bad!
Reading comprehension check!
Things I did not say in this post:
âWe need to expel any particular demographic and never let them play.â (But maybe if they donât like our artform, they should try to find one more suited to their needs instead of twisting another artform into something else.)
âYouâre never allowed to adjust or homebrew a rule to fit the intentional gameplay experience youâre going for.â (But if you find yourself doing this all the time, either before you have even played the game normally, or constantly on the fly in most or all sessions, maybe you need to find a different game altogether.)
Exerpt from Eureka: Investigative Urban Fantasy. (with art by @theblackwarden )
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I really hate how my physical body looks so so so much. unfortunately there isn't much I can do about it.
#ive got fat genetics from both parents families going back generations and ive been trying to lose weight forever#my stupod body likes being fat i can excercise like crazy and eat barely anything and i wont lose anything#i was excercising 2+ hours a day before i got sick and it made me stronger but i.stayed fat. now that im sick im weak and still fat.#and im not the kind of fat anybody can find pretty. if i could somehow not be fat id be decent to look at my face isnt bad#my skin is bad though my skin sucks#in my eyes im disgusting#and its so messed up because i dont think other fat people are gross#but i hate how i look so much that i cant imagine anyone being okay with it#like no matter how kind and understanding and sweet i am to people its never gonna make up for the fact that my body is grossly ugly#and i cant blame anyone for not liking me i get it.#sorry#this is a problem i have#bacause i just usually pretend my body doesnt exist and i wear pretty loose fitting dresses that cover me completely so but#even though i am what i am#sometimes you happen to meet a nice person and they are polite and dont seem disgusted by your existance so then your traitorous brain t#thinks hey maybe this person would be willing to marry us someday if they got to know us. which is so silly becuz theres no way thatd ever#so it makes me sad when i should be happy that a nice person talked to me. yay good job successful friendlyness. but it has to remind me#that i had this expectation from when i was a kid that id marry somone and have at least 3 kids and love my kids and take care of them and#give them everything i needed when i was a kid. and of course that never happened. because i never dated anyone. because people dont just#magically get married out of nowhere. its stupid. so i keep trying to be okay with whatever. but i guess i never stopped wanting a family.#which we know im aroace now so. i need to stop. but my brain is always bothering me about this.#why can't i just accept that no one will ever love me. why cant i be happy that they dont?#ive got cats#someday i will have irl friends again#sorry i think everything would be so much easier if i was just#this isnt a problem with an easy solutiom#i guess im gonna try to do the useless excercises again because at least it will look like im trying even though nothing will change
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Iâm generally pretty good at accepting that there are many things some people might like in fiction that I donât, but I cannot wrap my mind around people writing aus where a certain demographic of people are systematically denied rights. I see it most often with ABO stuff or little/caregiver stuff, and itâs always like people are biologically born a certain way and get treated like second class citizens. Why do you want this. Like what is anyone getting out of writing this. I mean, this is just real life how people with disabilities are treated, and if you wanted to explore that, then you could just write about disabled people? Why are you creating this whole world where thereâs a new group of people who arenât allowed to have jobs or own property or whatever. What is the point.
#ive been seeing more and more fics like this#and i am firmly in the dldr crowd#ykinmkato#and i can usually at least kind of get what people are getting out of certain things#but i keep seeing these fic summaries and im just bewildered#and frankly wildly uncomfortable with the concept!#which again#im generally fine with people liking stuff i donât like#this one is just really bothering me#why do you want more oppression in the world
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Recent game related things .. hrmm...
#I do like the inconsistency of the first map. that is actually something older but that I re-found and added to my Game Reference stuff#so that when characters reference where they're from I can be accurate. I like that the whole map is kind of shifted up that way. Where the#actual south part doesnt even count as the south since its Too Far and Scary lol. and if you say you're from 'the north' thats basically#like.. one single continent. Though some people do make distinctions like 'north midlands' or etc. still. I like the ways that common#language isn't always precisely accurate like that. and thinking about why a culture would classify things a certain way or etc. etc.#The inventory page is so funny to me because it's literally just the BASe like.. sample layout just to make sure it works properly with 0#actual design into it. just colored rectangles thrown together in MS paint. but what if I like... left it like that.. what if all the other#art in the game and UI is like stylized and fully matching BUT the inventory/journal/etc. screens I just left as plain colored blocks#with random misalignments and black spots and etc gjhbhjj... It looks unfinished in a Funny Contrast way to me.#the wordcounts are just like... my past few days of writing.. I am still not getting 2200 words a day done or whatever I needed. I'm lucky#if it's even half of that .... tee hee.. :3c I do also keep having appointments and other things going on but..grrr...#The full map of the area is probably not necessary but I thought it would be more realisitc if people were able to reference things. Like i#you have people all living in a city area probably at some point someone might mention a neighboring city or some landmark nearby#or etc. so I thought having at least the basic names of what's around for reference would be sensible. A side character mentioning#'oh yeah I don't live here full time I just travel from Marisene sometimes' or whatever makes it seem more like a Real#Fleshed Out Place than people just making vague references like 'the river' or 'i come from a city nearby' or 'i went to a place somewhere#around here' or 'the other city' or etc. lol.. Especially since global cities/global areas are weird as they operate almost like an#independent country within their walls. so it's like a micro country inside of another country usually. just plopped down in some agreed#upon plot of land that won't be too disruptive to the main country around it. That could get very complex depending on the cultural and#political backdrop of where they're placed (though obviously they try to choose the 'easiest' areas possible for it). Asen is a very mild#country without much history of conflict or anything so it's fine. But still interesting that Sifeh and the entire branched out global area#border three other districts of Asen. Which means like 3 times the local representitives you'l have to negotiate with for some major change#or anything. I think one of the 'random characters you can find around the world and have short discussions with just to make the area#feel more populated and real even though theyre not actual important npcs' is going to be a guy who actually serves on the council that#handles running the global areas and he's like.. some perpetually exhausted middle aged elf running around with a clipboard or whatever#ANYWAY...... hrgh... still trying to write when I can....#I WISH so badly that I had the scope for a simple character creation menu and all character interactions would allot for the background#of your player character. And also to have a simple day night cycle where places in the world you explore/people you talk to during the day#have new options or dialogue at night.. BUT alas... I already am so behind on everything as is lol.. aughhh... T o T#As the worlds number one Needless Detail And Complexity Enjoyer i must dilligently prevent myself from adding additional complexity
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I've been going to concerts since I was 10 or so. My first concert was Avril Lavigne (yes, I am quite old). I found it extremely overstimulating, and have often found that after concerts or similar experiences I act a bit like I'm high. This is possibly the hyperactive adhd pouring out of me, but I think it's also the music as a 'special interest' thing. I read once about somehow who used to think they were super religious because when they were in church they'd feel so moved, but it was when they went to their first concert that they discovered that it was live music that did that to them, and for me that's exactly how I experience live music - it's an almost religious experience.
Some tips.
If you don't enjoy other people touching you, esp. strangers, get seated tickets. Often, everyone in seated tickets will get up and dance, but I find it more manageable to be around other humans when we have to maintain proper space from each other. You also do not have to get up if you don't want to. If you can't get seated tickets, lots of people stand at the back and watch from afar, and that's valid. You don't need to be in the crowd to have a good time. Do what makes you comfortable.
If you find loud music to be overstimulating, you can use any kind of earplugs/ear defenders. I have always been protective of my hearing (Covid gave me tinitus anyway, fml) so I have never once gone to a concert or movie or live event without ear plugs at minimum. No one has judged me, or even noticed it most likely. I used to force myself to go clubbing when I was a teenager, and I even wore earplugs then. I even wore them during my wedding, I got some cute gold ones from loops to match my jewelry, and I actually got compliments on them.
If exiting is stressful for you because of the crowds, you can find a safe space to wait until most people have left. Or, if you can bear it, you can leave 20 minutes before the show ends and skip the crowds. If you have a train to catch, see if there is a later one, or plan to leave early so you can make it. You can usually search on google to see how long a concert is, and if there is no available info you can contact the venue to see if they have the rough runtimes.
Smaller venues will be able to help you if you make them aware of your needs and let them help you. I went to see Dodie at the Roundhouse in London in like 2018 or so, and even though I was undiagnosed at the time, I knew I struggled with this type of thing. I let them know I had anxiety and needed some adjustments, and asked them what could they do to help? They switched the standing tickets I had purchased to seated. They had someone meet me at the back door, so I wouldn't have to queue. They showed me to my seat. They even let me have a pass so I could use a different, more private bathroom if I needed it, and showed me where it was. It was absolutely the best concert experience I've ever had, and it didn't cost me anything extra. If you don't ask, they won't be able to help you. If you do ask, and there's nothing they can do, at least you've tried.
However, it's also ok to not know what you need and to use your experiences to learn what you need going forward. I didn't know prior to seeing Dodie that I could ask for these things. I didn't know prior to clubbing that I hated clubbing. It's ok to have a hard time, but be kind to yourself about it, and let what helps help.
if you're autistic and worried about how a concert will go, this post is for you!
(no image credit since i took that pic w my crappy camera lol)
my first concert was last night, and this was my experience.
security
if you're UNDER 18, they'll write a big 'x' on both of your hands in sharpie to make sure you don't try to buy alcoholic beverages underaged.
if you're OVER 18, they'll check your ID, and if you're legally allowed to drink in that state, they'll give you a paper wristband. if not, they'll write a big 'x' on both of your hands in sharpie.
next, they'll check your tickets.
after that, they check your bags for weapons. don't worry, it's not completely emptying and going through it. they'll just shine a bluelight flashlight in it.
and lastly, they'll stamp a music note pattern on your right wrist, so the other staff can make sure you've paid to be there.
merch stores
i reccomend buying some to support the artist! the band i saw, cavetown, was doing a fundraiser to help families in palestine.
the size of the store will vary depending on how many products the artist has. not all of it will be on sale, but a pretty good amount.
the show
the band will be jumping around on stage the whole time, and the lights will be super bright. the audience and the music will be loud. for me, i love environments like this. but if you don't do well in them, i reccomend noise cancelling headphones.
the concert should last from 1-3 hours, depending on how long the opening and the encore (if there is one) is.
exiting
for me, this was the worst part.
everyone will be trying to get out at the same time. the hallway will be flooded with people.
once you get outside, you should be good to go!
i hope you have a great time!!!
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Honestly a lot of the time, it's not even about people having to agree with me, it's about needing to know that they actually heard and listened to what I had to say even if it didn't persuade them
Just... some basic indication that there's enough respect to give a shit about what I said, and also to make sure that they disagree because they actually disagree and not cause they just didn't bother listening
It's all I really ask
#I forgot what this was about part way through writing about it; but then I remembered it's about Ukraine#like I just need to know that you actually understand what's happening there and what people are going through#you want me to care about your thing? show me you have any any any grasp of what's going on in Ukraine#it's uh... it's too many friends where if I'm just honest... this is about them#people I adore but people where... I don't know if they ever even once listen to what I have to say#...though maybe it's better this way... at least if they just ignore me I can say they just don't understand what's going on#that they're just being fed lines by other people or don't care#...if... they... knew the shit Ukrainians go through and still didn't care... would be a lot harder to respect them#would take a certain level of callous to do that and... these are people I care about very much so#...but I don't know; eats at me... you know#...and even on less serious topics... boy I wish you'd ever listen to me#if it weren't for the fact you say you like me... I'd be pretty damn sure you can't fucking stand me and I do nothing but annoy you#...I don't know if you've... ever... listened to anything I've said on any subject#when you do; you usually correct me... even though; brilliant as you are... you're erm... not always right#I don't get it... I don't get you... every word I say seems to be wrong... I'm so stupid and you're so smart#and yet you get real upset when I want to die... so you must actually like me and our communication styles don't match up#thank god you never seem to read my tags... or... much of anything else I say#truthfully I'd follow you anywhere; and you can treat me any way you want#but man I don't think my thoughts or opinions matter to you even a little... I think I just exist to be your rubber duck#...that's how it feels anyway#but all that aside... just wish you'd listen to me on Ukraine cause it actually matters#this post started out about some other people too... and sure... I like them well enough; and they're maddeningly wrong#like sputnik levels or wrong#drives me nuts; like you're not stupid and you're not cruel so why do you act so stupid and cruel?... turn you brain on#but uh... I actually just don't care about them that much#where as you... I could put it into words... but I won't#it's just a shame... like forget any of the stuff about me; it's just you're so kind... wish you'd care about what's going on in Ukraine#...I gotta stop or I'll go on all night; and I'm already too tired#mm tag so i can find things later
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I gotta share the silliest thought I have whenever I see Tnii - because I'm older than what you have him placed at, so whenever I see any content of him, the brat in me is like "that's ONEE-sama to you!!!" And then I die inside a little every single time because it's a become a knee-jerk reaction at this point đ€Łđ€Ł (older, but TINY, everyone who sees me thinks I'm at least 5 years younger than I actually am LMAO).
HAHAHA awww thatâs so cute hehe (*/Ï) heâd fight you so hard on that though, would vehemently refuse to use such respectful honorifics with you + would punish you for even attempting to insist that he doesâhow unbelievably rude of you to even suggest it! touya-nii absolutely is the type to make/force you address him with honorifics, even if you are older than himâsome sort of misplaced, misguided ârespectâ thing; age means nothing here, he is the boss, and you will address him as such! and all that stuff (especially if you are physically smaller than him!!!).
#i too am very often mistaken for a high school student#15/16 is usually what people guess#and i'm like uhhh ._. i have been out of uni for quite a few years now#so i feel u on that#but also!!! the best part about self-insert fiction is you can kind of imagine it however you want to#like;;; i always imagine touya as *at least* five years older than me no matter what#i write readers in uni even tho i've been graduated for multiple yrs now just bcoz i loved being in uni so much#and i like to imagine myself in those scenarios etc! c:#i hope ur having a gr8 tuesday bb!!#pls stay safe out there n stay hydrated :3#clari gets mail
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I love my friends
#i think im just going to talk in the tags for a moment. got a lot on my mind#for starters. the fnaf movie comes out soon. really looking forward to that. think its gonna be awesome and amazing and I'm super excited!!!#secondly. waiting on funds so i can buy that mask i saw the other day and some Halloween candy from Walmart#i . want to do little goodie bags for the kids in my building. but im too scared to go up to their parents and ask candy preference and#allergy concerns. so. idk. maybe I'll just save it. I think it's a cute concept but it makes me feel like my mother.#she loved to do little gift things for people. but it was always people that didn't like her. i don't want to be that way#i know my value. i know my time and energy means something. i don't want to waste it on people who don't give a shit. ya know?#not saying the kids are those kinds of people. not what i mean. but just as an overall thing. i don't like being like her.#...yeah. i dunno. you get raised by one person your whole life. you pick up some of their characteristics#i can't sob without sounding like her. safe to say i am a little emotionally constipated. so i seek other means to relieve that feeling.#like yesterday when i threw up. i played it off like that was a blunder on my body. but i know what i did.#hey. at least it's not the other method. right?. .. yeah. okay. i know. not great either#but it hurts. and I'm so fucking sick and tired of crying over her. genuinely. it's exhausting crying all the time#but that's the only way I can get those emotions out#I've tried to do the counseling thing. but other things made that impossible. then i moved.#and i tried the grief thing but instead i just got a talking buddy? he helps me get out of the house yeah.#but we dont talk about her#... i dunno. I'm just here.#guess i waited long enough. now you get a mini secret. every time i make an i love my friends post. I'm reminding myself why I'm still going#I'm usually sitting around somewhere in my apartment (desk couch bed) crying. alone. thinking about you guys.#so uh. thank you.#i love you guys so much. and i don't know where I'd be without you#probably dead.#đ#vent
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LOVED YOU AT YOUR WORST - r.c series - ONE
pairings: ex!sweethearts; rafe x thornton!reader; rafe x sofia. chapter warnings: none (angst) chapter twoâ chapter three â chapter four
The bass from the speakers rattled the glass in your hand as you leaned against the porch railing, eyes scanning the backyard for himâRafe.
It had been a long month.
Longer than you thought it would be. Usually, when you and Rafe had your little âbreaks,â they lasted about a week, maybe two at most. It was always something stupid, a screaming match that ended with slammed doors and his truck peeling out of your driveway. But it never lasted. It couldnât. Youâd known each other too long, been through too much, and deep down, there was this unspoken truthâheâd always come back. Or, you would.
But this time was different.
This time, he wasnât calling or showing up at your window in the middle of the night, eyes tired and sorry, pulling you into his arms. The space between you had been growing wider since his dad died. And sure, maybe it was your fault for what you said after Wardâs deathâBut it was the truth.
Still, you hadnât expected him to shut you out completely. Two months. Two months of silence. And the only thing youâd heard about him since was through Ruthie, Topperâs new girlfriend, of all people. A random comment at Maseâs placeâsomething about how Rafe had been hanging around some pogue girl named Sofia.
Youâd rolled your eyes at that. Rafe? With some Pogue? Yeah, right. Youâd pretended not to care when she tossed it out like it was nothing
You werenât stupid.
Youâd always known Rafe wasnât the easiest guy to love. He was complicated, angry, recklessâbut so were you. And in some messed-up way, thatâs why you two worked. Or at least, why you thought you did. You were just as stubborn, just as damaged. But now, as you sipped your drink and looked around, something felt off. Your gut was tight, and that nagging feeling thatâd been growing restless under your skin since the breakup only grew stronger the longer you stood there.
You pushed yourself off the railing, discarding your drink on a table before moving through the crowd, past people you knew but didnât bother with. Your mind was set on one thingâRafe. You were done with the break. You had your space. Itâs time to get back together. It was never even really a question. It was just the way things worked with you two.
But then there was Ruthieâblocking your path, her wide smile dripping with the kind of smugness that set your teeth on edge. She looked like she was reveling in your misery and that little giggle she let out only made it worse.
"So glad you could make it!" she sang out, her voice too sweet, too bright. Her eyes flickered over you like she was sizing you up, taking stock of every inch of your perfectly put-together outfit.
You forced a smile, âYeah, well, wouldnât miss a party like this,â you said, keeping your tone casual.
You werenât in the mood for whatever game she was playing.
âOh, I just bet,â she replied, her smile growing wider. She stepped closer, her breath reeking of cheap wine, and you had to resist the urge to roll your eyes. Ruthie always drank too much at these things.
What the hell was her problem? She always acted like she knew something you didnât, like she held the keys to all the dirty little secrets in Kildare, and she loved dangling them in front of people just to watch them squirm.
âRuthie, I swear to Godââ you began, but she cut you off, her grin widening.
âOh, honey,â she cooed, her voice dripping with fake sympathy, âdonât get mad at me. Iâm just the messenger. You should really be talking to Rafe about this.â She took a step back, still smiling, and glanced over her shoulder. âHeâs around, you know. You can go find him yourself. See how cozy heâs gotten with her.â
You bit your tongue, jaw, forcing yourself to stay calm. She was trying to get under your skin, like the snake sheâd always been. You couldnât believe Top was lonely and horny enough to finally fall into her claws.
âThanks for the tip,â you gave her a tight lipped grimace, brushing past her, didnât try and wait for her reply.
You only caught glimpses of empty rooms along the way. You hadnât seen him since the break, and part of you didnât want to admit how much that messed you up. How much he messed you up. Your steps slowed as you neared the hall that led to the back of the house, the sound of voices filtering through the air. You recognized some, laughed at the drunken ramblings, until one voice cut through the noise. Rafeâs.
And then you heard hers. No fucking way.
You didnât stop. You couldnât. You told yourself you just needed to see him, just talk to him, tell him this break had gone on long enough, that you were done with the games. Thatâs when you heard it againâher laugh. It was light, flirtatious, the kind of laugh that made your stomach turn into a million different directions because you knew exactly what it meant.
She was there, with him.
You moved forward, the hallway barely lit as you reached the half-closed bathroom door. Your breath hitched, hands trembling as you peeked through the small crack, unable to stop yourself from looking.
There they were.
She was smiling, laughing softly at something heâd said, her fingers brushing through her hair as if she didnât have a care in the world. Your breath caught in your throat as you watched his hands move, tying the knot in her bikini with such gentle precision like heâd done it a thousand times. The kind of softness he used to have with you. And then he said it, his voice teasing, amused like this was some kind of inside joke between them.
"God, this is just landing right in my lap, isnât it?"
You froze.
He laughed quietly, his lips brushing against Sofiaâs shoulder as he tied the last knot, and the way he touched herâlike she was something to be savoredâsent a rush of pure, burning humiliation straight through your chest.
You stumbled back, your heart pounding in your ears as Rafeâs words repeated over and over in your head. Landing right in my lap. What the fuck was this?
Your heart clenched, vision blurring as what you were seeing slammed right into you. You backed away, your hand flying to your mouth to stop the sob from escaping. But it didnât help. Not even Ă little. The tears burned, and you turned quickly, practically running back through the house and out the door before anyone could see the humiliating mess you were becoming.
It was real. He moved on. In two fucking months.
Thatâs all it had taken for him to replace you. To be done with you. He was over you. Just like that.
After everything youâd been through together, after all the times you had to pull him out of his own darkness, after the nights spent in his arms when you thought you couldnât breathe because your whole family was goneâafter years of being his and him being yoursâhow the fuck could he move on when youâd been rotting away in self loathing for pushing him away?
Your head spun as you stumbled down the steps, out to the street where your car was parked. You couldnât breathe. Your breaths were coming out too fast, too shallow, and your hands were shaking so hard you had to press them against your knees to hold yourself up.
What the hell was wrong with you? You hadnât even had anything to drink.
But your stomach was rolling, twisting in knots so tight you could barely stand straight. You leaned against the side of your car, the cool metal grounding you to reality for a second before a wave of nausea hit, forcing you to double over and retch onto the pavement. Tears stung your eyes as you coughed, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand.
You felt dizzy, disgusted even, everything you thought you knew, everything you thought was yours, had been ripped out from under you.
Without a single warning. Not a text, not a stupid call, just pure indifference. No respect or regard for you. None of them. Everything youâd just seen replayed in your mindâRafe, her, the way he touched her like she meant something to him.
âLook whoâs still standing!â Topperâs voice. He was laughing as he strolled over, hands shoved in his pockets, that same carefree grin on his face that he always had at parties. âJesus, what did you have to drink? You look like youâve been hit by a truck.â
Normally, you might have had something to say back, maybe a fiery insult or a roll of your eyes. But right now, everything felt like too much. You couldnât say a word. You could barely breathe.
Your cousin stopped beside you, his grin dropping as he finally looked at you. âHey, whatâs wrong?â He leaned down, trying to catch your eyes. âYou good? You look kindaâ"
You cut him off, the question was heavy, like a lump lodged in your throat. âDid you know?â
He blinked, the confusion spreading across his face. âKnow what?â
You swallowed, your heart hammering in your chest as you forced the words out, your voice shaking. âAbout Rafe and Sofia.â
You hated saying her name.
Hated that youâd been forced to know it by heart. Topperâs smile dropped, his expression changing.
He didnât answer. He didnât have to, you knew him well enough to read his micro expressions. You clenched your fists, it felt like you were the only one in the island whoâd been let out of the secret.
Surely, your friends, your only family wouldâve told you something right? Itâs not like you were on a remote island away from them. Youâd spent the last month in New York, not in the fucking jungle. You visited occasionally. You were a call away.
âDid everyone fucking know?â
Topper exhaled slowly, rubbing the back of his neck. âLook, we didnât think it was serious. You know how it is with you twoâyouâve done this before. Played with other peopleâŠâ
Played with other people. Like you and Rafe were just some game, a revolving door of heartbreak and hookups. It didnât make sense. Youâd always known how it worked, understood how these things wentâsure, youâd had your minor flings, and heâd had his, but it was never real.
You stumbled back, feeling like you might collapse. âOh my God, Iâm going to be sick again.â
He reached out, obviously concerned since he hadnât seen you in this desperate state in years, âHey, hey, calm down. Look, itâs not like it means anything. Rafeâs justâheâs going through a lot with his dad dying, and he⊠heâs just messing around. You know how he gets.â
But the words did nothing to soothe you. They only made it worseâhow everyone knew. How theyâd all watched Rafe move on, while you were stuck, still reeling from the breakup, thinking heâd come back like he always did. And he was just out there, with her.
With someone else. You pressed a hand to your stomach, your head hurting. The idea of Sofia, of Rafe being with someone else in ways that only you knewâways that had always been yoursâmade you feel like you were being torn apart.
Topper was still talking, still trying to rationalize it, but his words were like static now, blending into the noise of the party behind you. âIt doesnât mean anything,â he was saying. âYou know how it goes. You always end up back together. Heâs just doing whatever to distract himself.â
That word. Distract himself. Like your entire relationship could be boiled down to thatâa series of distractions until you decided to come back to each other, to pick up the pieces and pretend everything was okay.
You could still remember the night your life changedâthe phone call, the horrible, gut-wrenching moment when you learned that your familyâs private plane had gone down. Your parents. Your sister. Gone. Just like that. And Rafe had been the one to pull you through it. He was the one who had held you as you cried so hard you thought you were going to die, who sat with you in silence when you couldnât bring yourself to speak, who stayed with you every single night because you were terrified to be alone in a haunted mansion that now felt like a mausoleum.
You had been seventeen, and losing them all at once had killed something inside of you. But he was there. He wasnât perfectâfar from itâbut he knew what it was like to grieve.
He knew loss. He understood. Because youâd been there for him two years earlier, when his mom lost her battle to cancer. You could still see the look in his eyes that dayâfourteen years old and already drowning in so much anger and sadness, like the world had ripped something essential out of him.
The way he cried at her funeral when he thought no one was watching, and youâd found him, sat beside him in the cold, letting him cry without saying a word. You hadnât started dating yet, hadnât crossed that line, but something had changed between you two in those moments.
A connection, a bond forged in shared pain, in the kind of trauma that no one else really got. Maybe that was why you were so obsessed with each other. Maybe it was fucked up, but you couldnât imagine anyone else understanding you the way Rafe did.
How could it all come down to this? To you standing here, feeling like the world was ending while he moved on, laughing and touching someone else like nothing you had ever been through mattered?
Was that it? Did that one moment, that one argument about Ward, erase everything youâd done for him?
All the times youâd been there, the way you had comforted him when he felt like his life was spiraling? You remembered exactly what youâd said a month after the funeral, when your boyfriend blamed everyone but Ward for his own death. "He wasnât a good person, baby. I know he was your dad, but you canât pretend like he didnât fuck you up."
You hadnât even said it to hurt him, not really. It was just the truth. Ward had been a terrible father, controlling and manipulative, and youâd spent years watching Rafe try to live up to some impossible standard, chasing his fatherâs approval like it would ever be enough. But that didnât make it easier for him to hear. You should have known better. You should have known how raw he was after losing his dad, how complicated his feelings were.
But instead, youâd been brutal. Honest, but brutal.
And now, two months later, here you wereâstaring at the empty street, wondering if youâd pushed him too far. If that one moment of honesty was enough to make him forget everything else. Now you were just the ex, the crazy one who didnât know when to keep her mouth shut.
âFuck, why did I say that?â you whispered to yourself, voice shaking. Why couldnât you have just let it go?
But then another clarity of anger took over you, pushing away the guilt that had been building inside. So youâd been too harsh about Ward. So youâd said what everyone else had been too scared to say. It wasnât like youâd been wrong. Ward had messed Rafe up.
Everyone knew it. He knew it, deep down.
You gritted your teeth, staring out at the dark street, the low hum of the party still buzzing faintly behind you. You were never going to get that picture out of your head. Like they hadnât just met, like you hadnât spent years learning how to calm Rafe when he spiraled, how to hold him together when he couldnât hold himself.
Your chest tightened again, a bitter taste rising in your throat.
You could still feel the weight of his head on your shoulder that night, years ago, when his mom passed. The silent sobs that shook his body, the way heâd held onto you. That was the real Rafeâthe one he hid from everyone else. The one who was lost and broken underneath all the anger. And youâd seen him, really seen him in ways no one else ever could. Not Sofia. Not anyone.
"Look, you're emotional, okay? I get it. Maybe it's that time of the month or something. You know how you always get when your hormones go crazy."
The words got to you, but not in the way he probably thought they would. At first, it pissed you off, like it always did when people tried to downplay your emotions. Everyone always said you felt too much. That you were out of control.
But thenâŠ
You stopped moving, blinking rapidly as his words spiraled around in your brain. âTime of the monthâ, he'd said.
Your heart started doing summersaults, your stomach dropping as the idea settled in. You grabbed your phone, hands trembling like leaves as you opened the calendar app. You scrolled, trying to think, trying to remember when youâd lastâŠfuck.
You hadnât had your period in⊠so long.
Almost two months. No. No, no, no. This couldnât be happening. It had to be some kind of fucked up joke.
You felt light-headed as you reached for your car again, your body shaking so badly you could barely stand against the door. "Shit."
How could you not have noticed?
Topper noticed the change in you instantly, his brow furrowing. "Whatâs wrong with you?" he asked, his tone softening a little. "You okay?"
You couldnât even form a sentence. Your brain was too full of what-ifs. Two months late.
You hadn't even thought about it until nowâeverything had taken so much space in your head that you hadn't noticed the most obvious sign. This wasnât possible. Your hand flew to your stomach, almost instinctively. You had no idea what to do with the panic creeping up your throat.
âShit,â You hissed, this time louder, trying to push the growing dread down. But it wouldn't go away.
He was still staring at you, âWhat? Whatâs going on? Youâre freaking me out.â
But you were already backing away, shaking your head, âIâI need to go,â You mumbled, barely hearing yourself.
Your cousin moved quickly to block your path as you tried to make your way toward the door. That kind of protective streak only made you want to shove past him even more.
"Youâre not driving in this state." he warned you, voice firm, his hands up like he was trying to physically stop you.
You just glared at him, âFucking watch me.â
He didnât budge. "You get in that car and I'm calling Rafe," he said, sounding dead serious.
You couldnât believe it. Your head was already spinning, and he was trying to guilt-trip you like this was some kind of helpful thing to do? You threw your hands up in frustration, voice rising, cracking. "Heâs too busy fucking Sofia. Knock yourself out."
The words felt like venom in your mouth, the bitterness rolling off your tongue. You didnât care how harsh they sounded. You didnât care about anything anymore except getting away from this suffocating stupid place. Before he could say anything else, you made your move. You pushed past him with all your strength, chest hurting with the urge to feel something other than this suffocating mess of emotions and confusion.
Your hands shook as you fumbled for your keys. You managed to unlock the door, sliding into the driverâs seat, the cool leather biting into your skin.
You needed to think. But all you could think about was that one, terrifying realization: you might be pregnant.
Your breath hitched, terror swirling around your chest. The calendar app was still open on your phone, the dates staring back at you like a flashing red warning sign, daring you to confront the truth youâd been ignoring. Two months. Two months without a period. And you hadnât even noticed. You pressed a hand to your stomach again, heart pounding as if it was trying to escape your chest. This couldnât be happening. Not now. Not like this.
You werenât thinking clearlyâshit, you werenât thinking at all, but you couldnât stay here. Not with Topper trying to baby you, not with him out there, living his best life like you didnât even exist.
You turned the key, the engine roaring to life, and just as you gripped the wheel, ready to peel out of the driveway, Topper bolted in front of the car, planting himself right there like some kind of human roadblock. Fucking idiot. His arms were stretched out wide, like he could somehow stop you by sheer willpower.
âYouâre not doing this, I swear to God, youâre not!â he yelled, his voice frantic, echoing off the dark street. He looked panicked, pleading even, like he was convinced youâd actually go through with it.
You gritted your teeth, eyes narrowing on him through the windshield. âTop, I swear, you have three seconds before I run you over.â
âAre you serious right now?â he yelled, his voice cracking with disbelief. But he didnât move. âYou think Iâm letting you drive like this? Youâre out of your fuckinâ mind!â
Your fingers gripping the wheel so hard it hurt. You werenât bluffing. You were too wound up, too out of control. The only thing keeping you from flooring him was the fact that, deep down, you knew your cousin didnât deserve it.
You just needed to get out of here.
âMove!â you screamed, âIâm not jokingâ, Topper. Get the fuck out of my way!â
His face twisted with frustration as he looked over his shoulder, something catching his attention. He started waving, yelling at someone, his voice cutting through the night, âRafe! Dude, get over here!â
Your brain stopped. It was like everything had been sucked out of you. Your hands froze on the wheel, your entire body locking up as you looked to your right and saw himâRafe. Right there in the yard.
And she was with him. He had his arm draped around her casually, like she belonged there.
Like he belonged there, just standing in the open, so stupidly comfortable in his new life. His head turned when he heard Topper call out, and your eyes locked for a less than a second. A moment too long. A moment that broke something inside you.
While Topper was distracted, his attention on Rafe, you made your move. You slammed your foot on the gas, tires screeching as the car lurched forward, swerving just enough to dodge Topperâs stunned figure. You heard him yell after you, but his voice faded into the background noise as you sped away.
You didnât look back. Not at Top, not at Rafe.
The only thing you could hear was the sound of your own heartbeat pounding in your ears, drowning out everything else. You hated this. Hated that you were crying. Hated that youâd let yourself get to this point.
âGod, what is wrong with me?â you muttered, your voice quavering as the words tumbled out. âWhy the fuck am I crying over him? I shouldnât be crying over him.â You slammed your palm against the steering wheel, angry, disgusted with yourself.
Youâd told yourself you were stronger than thisâthat after everything youâd been through, you didnât need him or anyone else. But here you were, falling apart like some pathetic excuse of a mess because of him. Because he had always been there, hadnât he? After the crash, after you lost everything, he was the one constant, the one person who kept you from completely losing it. Youâd relied on him so much. Too much.
âFuck,â you hissed, tears streaming down your face. Your throat burned as the memories came flooding back, memories of all the nights youâd spent together, of him holding you while you cried yourself to sleep, of the way heâd pulled you out of the gloom when you thought youâd never get back up again. You thought heâd always be that person for you, the one who understood your broken pieces because he had his own. Youâd always fit together perfectly.
You pulled into the parking lot of the nearest drugstore, your hands still shaking as you put the car in park. The tears had dried up on the drive over, replaced by a cold determination. You didnât want to be here. Didnât want to even think about what you were about to do.
The moment you stepped out of your car and into the harsh fluorescent lighting of the drugstore, you felt completely out of placeâlike a stranger in your own skin. You hadnât even thought about how ridiculous you mustâve looked until you caught your reflection in one of the storeâs glass windows. Your hair, still perfect from earlier, framed your face in soft waves, and your makeup was flawless, despite the crying. The designer dress you were wearingâsleek, red, and worth more than half the shit in this storeâwith its sticky floors and white lights, it made you feel like an alien. Like you didnât belong.
You caught the eyes of a couple of people loitering outside the entrance as you walked in, their stares lingering a little too long, murmuring to each other behind smirks. You knew they were talking about you. They always did, kook queen, overdressed, out of touch, bitch, whatever they wanted to call you.
The sliding doors let out a grating beep as you entered, and the air inside was stale and heavy, reeking of floor cleaner and cheap perfume. You adjusted your grip on your purse, strutting past the aisles with your head high even though everything inside you felt like it was falling apart.
You always did thisâdressed to kill, head up, like armor. But there was no real glamour in buying pregnancy tests from some random pharmacy in the middle of the night. No way to mask the deep, growing hysteria in your bones.
The girl behind the register clocked you the second you stepped up to the counter, her eyes dragging over your like she couldnât quite believe what she was seeing. You could almost hear her thoughts: What the hell is someone like you doing here?
You didnât even look at her. You just wanted to pay and leave without a scene. But of course, people always found a way to make things worse. She hesitated before scanning the tests, looking like she might say something. For her own good, you prayed she didnât.
You threw the money on the counter before she could open her mouth, two crisp hundreds on top of the total. The cash hit the counter with a sharp thwap and you gave her the bitchiest look you could muster. âTake it. Keep your fucking mouth shut.â
She swallowed hard, her hand trembling as she slid the bills into the register. You didnât care that she was young or nervous. You werenât here to make friends. You werenât here for anyoneâs sympathy. The extra money would make sure she didnât talk, that was all that mattered.
You walked out, your heels clicking against the linoleum, head high, even though every nerve in your body screamed for you to disappear. You slid into your truck, slamming the door shut, the silence finally hitting you. For all the designer clothes, the makeup, the moneyânone of it meant shit right now. You felt so small. So scared. Terribly lonely.
You sat there for what felt like forever, staring at the stupid bag in the passenger seat like it had the power to ruin your whole lifeâwhich, to be fair, it kind of did. You didnât know what the fuck you were going to do. Not about any of it.
Your foot tapped nervously against the floor mat, the sound too loud in the quiet car. The bag crinkled as you glanced at it again, your stomach twisting all over again. A bunch of pregnancy tests. How had it come to this?
Rafe. You squeezed your eyes shut, willing yourself not to think about him, not to picture his face when he found out. If he found out. Shit, what the hell was he going to do? He was with Sofia now, right? So was this going to ruin his life too? Did he even deserve to know?
It was probably nothing, you told yourself. Maybe the separation anxiety had gotten to you. Maybe your body was just fucked up from all the stress. Maybe your period was just late because youâd been so all over the place lately. There could be a million reasons. You didnât even want to think about what would happen if it wasnât nothing.
You didnât want to cry anymore. Not after all of this. Not over Rafe. Not over your life turning into some fucking soap opera you didnât even want to be a part of.
The second you were inside your house, the walls closed in around you. Your perfectly decorated placeâthe one youâd spent so much time making into a refuge, an escapeâit didnât feel like that anymore. Every designer pillow, every carefully chosen piece of art, mocking you.
Your phone buzzed in your bag, you reached for it. Of course, it was Rafe.
âI donât know what the fuck that was but save the fucking dramatics, okay?â
The nerve. The fucking nerve of him to act like he was the center of your universe, acting like you were some inconvenience. Months of silence and this was the first thing he decided to text you? Knowing how much you despised when people called you a drama queen? Fucking piece of shit.
Your fingers hovered over the screen, a thousand different responses running through your mind. You wanted to tell him to shove something up his ass. But you did the only thing that felt right in that moment.
You blocked him. You stared at your phone, half expecting it to buzz again, half dreading that it wouldnât. It was done. You cut him off, at least in that tiny, virtual way. You sat there for a minute, gripping the phone, trying to remember how to breathe.
This was supposed to feel empowering, right? You told yourself it would. That cutting him out would help you get back some control. But your mind wouldnât settle. Those damn pregnancy tests were sitting in the bag next to you.
You were tired.
Exhausted in a way that had nothing to do with how late it was or how emotionally spent you were. You kicked off your heels, letting them clatter against the hardwood floor as you sank into the plush couch. Your house felt cold and unwelcoming tonight. Like a showroom. No comfort to be found. Not here, not in the muted tones of beige and white. Not in the sleek lines of furniture that were supposed to exude elegance and sophistication.
Maybe tomorrow youâd feel differently.
Maybe youâd wake up with a clear head, ready to take the stupid tests. Maybe youâd be strong again like youâd been so many times before.
Tonight, you were just tired. You leaned back against the cushions, closing your eyes for a moment, willing the noise in your head to quiet down. Sleep. Thatâs what you needed. Just a few hours to clear your mind, and in the morning, youâd deal with everything.
All of this would go away.
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Mostly still talking about this to help normalize and de-stigmatize using accommodations like this as an adult bc I think sometimes we think oh I'm a grown ass adult that's not for me...but truthfully there's never a reason not to at least ask. I was talking to some friends and they were like, oh we did not know that was available for everyone!
We were at the Lehigh Valley Phantoms game at PPL Arena and they mentioned they have a sensory quiet space, which got me curious if the Wells Fargo also had sensory accommodations. I am not autistic and will not be discussing the various things going horribly wrong in my brain at all times but I have a tendency to try to pack too many games into one week and ends up completely hitting a wall by the end of the set of games and either vacate planet earth for several hours if not days or just like am so miserable the entire time that I'm unable to enjoy what's going on. And I'm not what one might call situationally aware but at this point in my life I'm usually able to be like, okay so if I got to three hockey games in three days and two of those games involve very long drives at night, including one on the NJ tollpike, I will probably be feeling a little wacked out by Monday. But I didn't want to miss any of the game if I didn't have to because tickets were expensive and I miss my Sharkies violently, so I went digging for more info.
The Farg's website said they had a whole sensory room for people who are feeling overwhelmed and said it was for everyone! So I went to check it out during first intermission because I was very much about to start experiencing full body horrors. I figure at worst they say it's for kids and I have to go find a quieter spot to dissociate in and just hope I get back on my feet before the second period (which I have done before and it was not. fun lol.) I found guest services and they just gave me a wrist band and directions. Everyone I had to interact with was very respectful and kind, if treating me a little bit like a ticking time bomb, but I think when you're in your 30s looking harrowed while advocating politely for yourself, it's really like oh this guy Needs it. There was a guest services person set up in front of the room and I'm guessing it's bc the room is on the suite level and they need to make sure it's like people who need to use the room for its intended purposes and not drunk adults goofing off. But it was very quiet and calm inside, I think they did some sound dampening and with a white noise machine + that deeply hilarious sensory wall and a bunch of fidget/stim-type stuff on the walls to play with as well as other toys on shelves. I was there bc I needed quiet space so I spent all of the time I was there sitting on the floor staring at an orange water feature on the wall, but I imagine for kids or adults who need fidget toys it's probably a dream.
Very calming in there and I did NOT miss the rest of the game or have to experience the horrors so it was a success overall! I missed three minutes of the second period just trying to get back to our seats but I'll take three minutes over 45 minutes, which has happened before lmao. I will almost certainly end up there again bc I will absolutely end up trying to pack 3 games in 5 days again at some point lol.
I don't really have a concluding thought, I think it's basically like...Just Ask...what's the worst they can do. I think most people following me are adults and porn bots so it's like, yes we can handle our shit but also if there are accommodations available that explicitly say they're open to everyone, just ask yk. At worst they say no and probably we have all ways of dealing with whatever we're going through or we just grit our teeth and white knuckle it through shrockey. But I feel like people pretty often do want to help you if they can so it never hurts to at least find out what's available.
And then I got this sick ass wristband giving me VIP access to a water feature lmao
I would do anything for the Sharks, including driving close to 4 hours round trip to tell Eetu MĂ€kiniemi, an ex-prospect, we love him and driving close to 3.5 hours round trip to Newark the next day to see the Sharks but I do think today is the day I end up seeing if they let adults who are not autistic into the sensory room to meditate at the Farg lmao
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