#and it needs to be discussed more i think

[sundemonlord]

I think people are going to need to start having real discussions

Real quick and real smart

About how and why people become radicalized

St. Luigi is a folk-hero example of radicalization

Radical feminists are an exclusionist and bigoted example

..

But back to how/why

Because life is shitty.

Monsters, victims, heroes, and mixes of them (or more)

ARE NOT CREATED IN A FUCKING VACUUM

Experiences are radicalizing people

That's always what it is

"What makes a person do unspeakable things?"

Love.

Hate.

Fear.

Shame.

Anger.

Hope.

What direction you go depends on how/why you were radicalized and how you deal with it.

As a disabled trans man of color?

Being ignored, seen as a predator, seen as creepy, etc is a part of ALL of those minority experiences that are innate to me

Characteristics I was born with that I can't control being used against me (whether they're good or bad or neutral)

That's radicalized me.

Yet this experience itself doesn't exist in a vacuum

As a trans man I have seen things a cis man or woman wouldn't.

But some they would.

Likewise, with race, disability, gender expression etc

Anyway: acting like men "just suck" all be themselves? That's fucked. Everyone is shitty to different degrees and we're not the same.

A lot of yall aren't dealing with your shit and it shows by how you expect us to play along with it

The same sort of reductionist nonsense we've been trying to evolve away from

[baphometsss]

We need to talk about spirit hand!Inquisitor

I've been trying to put this into words for a while but it's really tricky to explain. I'm gonna try anyway bc I feel like it's an important discussion to have

First though, a disclaimer: I'm not physically disabled. Everything I'm about to say is based on me trying to relate through my own experiences of mental illness, the experiences of a disabled family member who uses a prosthetic leg, and research into how to write disabled characters properly in my own personal projects (thanks to cripplecharacters blog for helping me understand it better!) So, you know, you can take it or leave it--and please feel free to add your own experiences! This isn't a call out post or anything, I'm just trying to put my thoughts into words and start a conversation in good faith

The problem with fanworks where the inquisitor's wooden prosthetic is replaced by a magic/spirit hand is that it falls into a really tiresome trope where the character has the limb replaced with a magical prosthetic that essentially nixes the disability entirely. It's called the Cool Robot Arm or Perfect Prosthetic trope and it plays into disability erasure in a big way. This is pretty frustrating when you know having a limb amputated is a big deal that comes with a lot of pain and long-term effects, even if the amputation procedure itself was free of complications. Prosthetics are also basically a whole thing of their own, but suffice to say they also come with their risks and problems as well.

The thing with representation is that it needs to reflect real life experiences if its going to approach anything good or meaningful. Video games like Dragon Age often attempt to do this, but they also often miss the mark. I know a lot of disabled (and able-bodied) people want to see better representation of disability in media, but when that fails, we have the opportunity to do better in our fanworks. It feels like a lot DAI/DATV fanworks jump into the magical prosthetic trope far too easily and without very much thought for how it negatively impacts that representation. The Inquisitor becomes disabled through losing their left hand, and that would be a complicated journey for them. This is not a part of their character that can be written away without losing a huge part of their story--regardless of how we role-play them.

For me personally, I try to balance it out by being realistic about both the prosthetic, the spirit hand, and the remaining limb. For example, prosthetics rub and cause blisters and other skin conditions. They can be bulky and heavy and cause musculoskeletal problems. Residual limb pain is thing and can be chronic and debilitating. Learning to use a prosthetic usually requires physical therapy, and some people just prefer not to use prosthetics at all, or only some of the time or for specific tasks. Much of the discourse around prosthetics is focused on making them indistinguishable from a natural limb, when practicality and comfort should really be the focus and not this ableist idea that differently limbed people should want a prosthetic that looks identical to the one that was lost. There are so many potential stories that can be written about this experience, yet we almost never see any of them. My mage Inquisitor has a spirit hand, but she doesn't use it much because it's difficult to maintain both that and use offensive magic in battle, and she doesn't have the mental energy to use it 100% of the time. It's also not that easy to use, even when she does have the energy. She only really uses it occasionally anyway (usually to make random shapes with it to amuse other people) and prefers her prosthetic.

To put it another way--consider how deaf/HoH people who get cochlear implants often continue to use sign language afterwards anyway, even if the procedure was successful. This is because a. it's their first language, which means verbal language is a new language to them and b. gaining hearing after a long period without it can be extremely difficult to adjust to. It can be overwhelming and even painful. The point is that just because aids and treatments exist, it doesn't mean that they're a one size fits all and each individual person will have their own journey in figuring it out. That's one of the things we should be writing about, rather than just nixing it away with a magic limb because it's the easier route and it doesn't require us to consider writing outside of our own experiences. And don't get me wrong, I get that it's scary. You don't wanna upset people with your writing or make them feel even more alienated. But you have to start somewhere and be willing to listen to criticism if you're going to get better.

Furthermore: ableism for sure exists in Thedas. Can you imagine how that would affect the Inquisitor? How they'd adjust from being revered as the Herald of Andraste with a divine mark on their hand to being almost killed by it? How their political enemies would use their disability against them? How they would be affected emotionally by having to deal with that ableism potentially for the first time? Would they find community among other veterans who have become disabled through conflict? Or would they isolate themselves and carry the burden alone? Would they experience mental health issues because of it? These are all examples of how ableism affects real people. Of course, none of this is negated by the spirit hand, but it's something I've seen very little attention given in fanworks.

For me personally, I also try to think of this through my own experiences of mental illness. I have chronic depression/Dysthymia, which is not exactly the same as clinical depression. It follows similar patterns to other mood disorders like Bipolar Disorder in that it's cyclical; my baseline is being moderately depressed, and then every 2 or 3 months I will go into 'double depression' which is where I experience an intensification of symptoms that mimic going into an initial depressed state, while aggravating the symptoms I already have. It's hard to explain it, but suffice to say, it requires me to take medication to control it. I don't like it, but it's the way my brain is wired up and I've been told by multiple professionals that I will always have to take medication for it (antidepressants and antipsychotics, although I don't take the antipsychotics atm). This medication causes a variety of annoying side effects that I have to accept as a trade off so I don't regress too far.

This is just one of the mental health conditions I have to contend with, but it's one that probably effects my life the most. I know it's not comparable to amputation or other physical disabilities and I'm not trying to say it is. But I use it to understand writing for disabled characters by, in conjunction with my research, empathising, by thinking of how much it would bother me if someone wrote about my life and did everything they could to ignore this very prominent part of who I am. I would have to ask why they were so keen to ignore it. Dysthymia doesn't define me, it's not something I'm 'proud' of per se, but it does affect a big part of my life; I've struggled with it every day since I was 10 or 11--so of course it's shaped who I am. I use it to imagine how frustrating it would be if someone tried to cover up or negate this part of me and then dressed it up with something like... idk. Magical anti-depression goggles or something, or worse still decided to make my story all about the goggles. It would make me feel like I wasn't a person with experiences worth writing about, that I would be fine if it weren't for this illness I undeniably have and can't help having. That my illness is akin to a personality flaw--an ableist assumption that Dysthymia sufferers in particular have to deal with, because it's a depression that does not go away and people think it's just our personality rather than an illness.

I personally found these posts x x x really helpful in figuring out how to write my inquisitor. Tbh cripplecharacters is invaluable anyway, especially their 'magic aids' tag for writing Inky. I really strongly recommend that you read them before writing about your inquisitor's prosthetic and their perspective on losing their arm. Listening to actual disabled people when writing disabled characters is the most important part of the process and it'll only make your work better. You really have nothing to lose by doing it.

Like I said, I'm not trying to call anyone out. I have most likely missed the mark just in writing this post, because it's not my personal experience. I do think the spirit hand is a cool concept. It's just not a quick fix and writing about it needs to be done more consciously than I think most people do.

[ylangelegy]

unknown / nth ⭐ minghao x reader.

your boyfriend gives you a language lesson before bed.

★ minghao x translator/interpreter!reader a.k.a the lost in translation couple ★ word count: 1.9k ★ genre/warnings: established relationship, fluff, conversation about mandarin (my reference). takes place post-lost in translation! not entirely necessary to have read the fic prior to this. title is from hozier's song of the same name. not proofread. ★ footnotes: minghao did a brief weibo live and i've been missing lost in translation for quite some time now, so i jammed this out really quick 🚬🦆 may write more for/about this couple in the near future, so take this as the first of many! ♡

“I think Cold Love really represents me well. It’s probably because I’m an INFJ.”

You press your palm to your mouth to stifle your laugh. Minghao doesn’t react visibly, but his hand waves at you off-camera. A wordless reminder of Be nice. 

The two of you are across the room from each other— him, perched on the couch of his hotel room, while you’re already tucked in bed. Minghao had promised his fans a quick Weibo live to discuss his most recent EP, leaving you to your own devices for the next hour or so. 

You didn’t mind. It was one of life’s simple joys, listening to your boyfriend talk. 

He spends the next thirty minutes or so discussing his creative process and answering fans’ questions. You don’t bother him, knowing you’ll have all the time in the world later to tease him for some of his remarks. Like his indignance at growing taller or his jabs at his age. 

As you busy yourself with mindlessly scrolling through your phone, you relish in the familiar sound of Minghao’s Mandarin. It’s probably your favorite version of white noise, really. The mellow tone of his voice contrasts the rapid, sharp way that he speaks. Despite being well-acquainted with the language, there are still some words that elude you. You make a mental note to ask Minghao about them later. 

Less than an hour has passed before you hear Minghao beginning to wind down. “Good luck on all of your exams. To the people working, keep working hard! Make lots of money,” he says hurriedly. “And good luck with love, too. I hope you all find someone who loves you back so you can experience all sorts of feelings.” 

He’s never been the type to drag out his goodbyes, so you’re not surprised when— after a final heart sign and wave to the camera— Minghao is finally clocking out of his live. 

Immediately, he slumps back onto the couch like the whole thing had drained him. Sure, lives weren’t necessarily one-sided, but he did have to hard carry when it came to the talking part of the affair. You flash him a sympathetic smile as you sit up in bed. 

“Done, xīngān?” you call out. 

Minghao doesn’t respond right away. You don’t hold it against him. He sometimes needed a moment, needed a minute or two to pull himself together. 

After staring at the ceiling for what feels like forever, Minghao lets out a shuddering exhale. “Done,” he responds, and he’s moving before you can register it. 

He gets to his feet and crosses the room in a few, quick strides. Once he gets to the bed, he wastes no time in reaching for you. His knees sink in the mattress; his hands dart out. 

You let out a slight squeal when Minghao tugs you into him. 

“Sorry,” he says, not sounding very sorry at all. This had been a premeditated act. You can tell in the way his arms immediately snake around your waist. 

You let out a defeated sigh against his chest, but make no move to pull away. “Tired?” you ask, your hands resting on the small of his back as you return his embrace. 

He hums a quiet ‘mhm’. “I’m not built for this anymore, xīngān,” he whines. 

The two of you know that’s a bold-faced lie. Still, you indulge your sulking boyfriend lest he begin to pout even harder. “My poor baby,” you coo, running your hands up and down Minghao’s back in a show of comforting him. “Gonna blame it on being an introvert?” 

“Shut up.” 

You let out a small laugh. You can’t see it, but you swear you can feel the curve of Minghao’s smile as he presses a chaste kiss to the top of your head. 

“Thank you for being here,” he says after a moment of comfortable silence. “It means a lot.” 

A part of you wants to insist that it’s nothing. It’s not every day that you can steal away to his hotel room, though. In between your own work of interpreting for the boys and working on subtitles for videos, there’s also the added layer of keeping your relationship on the down low. 

Tonight, Minghao had just tried to asked. Texted a couple of hours ago that he wanted to see you. And you could never really deny him anything, not even on your best days. 

“Anything for you,” you respond as you stroke the short hair at his nape. 

Minghao buries his face in the crook of your neck, his smiling mouth warm as he mumbles against your skin. “Don’t give me that much power,” he warns. “I’ll abuse it.” 

You chuckle. “I don’t doubt that.” 

The two of you lapse into another bout of quiet. This had always been your way, even back when the two of you were friends: Comfortable silences, unspoken agreements. Your new relationship had only given you two the carte blanche to be a little more touchy during your shared moments of peace. 

You’re fairly sure that Minghao has fallen asleep when he speaks up again. “How do you think I did?”

“With the live?” 

“No, with cuddling. Yes, with the live.” 

“Ask nicely.”

“Please?” 

You put Minghao out of his misery by returning his earlier gesture— leaving a quick kiss, this time to the line of his jaw. “Stellar as usual,” you reassure him. “I didn’t pick up on everything, though.” 

“That’s new.” Minghao shifts around on the bed until he can prop himself up on one elbow. He rests his chin in his hand but doesn’t stray too far. He stays hovering over you, his free arm remaining around your waist. 

He goes on to goad, “Your Mandarin must be getting rusty.”

You can’t help but roll your eyes, shooting him a half-hearted glare. “How can it be rusty,” you retort, slipping into the language as if to prove a point. “When you’re always insisting that we use it?” 

No matter how many times that you speak to him in his mother tongue, Minghao always seems momentarily startled. The surprise always fades into affection, evident in the fond way that he gazes down at you. 

He matches your code switch without missing a beat. “I’ve told you, haven’t I? I love it when you speak Mandarin,” he says, punctuating his words with a quick pinch to your side. 

You swat his hand; he giggles down at you.

“Which parts did you miss out on?” he asks. 

It takes you a moment to recall the terms and phrases you’d wanted to question him about. “撒娇?” you ask, the unfamiliar word sounding almost hesitant on your tongue. Sājiāo.

A thoughtful ‘ahhh’ escapes Minghao. “Think of it like aegyo,” he offers delicately. “It’s— often in the setting of a relationship. Acting cute to be endearing.” 

“Like when you gripe about me not responding fast enough.” 

“Examples aren’t necessary,” he says wryly. “But, yes. Like that.” 

You flash Minghao a grin before snuggling a little closer to him, entangling your legs. The added touch makes his expression softens in the way it only ever does when it’s you. 

“Anything else?” he prompts. 

It’s not everyday that Minghao gets to play the ‘teacher’ role in your relationship. In the beginning, you had been his Korean tutor. In the longer run, you had helped him translate and transpose words that he couldn’t reach. Every so often, you would run to him for some Mandarin help, and you could tell that he relished in the shift in dynamic. 

The thought pushes you to keep asking, even though the words are inconsequential. “You used the term 暖男,” you note. “What was that one?” 

“Nuǎnnán,” he echoes, correcting your intonation. You repeat the word as he said it, and he gives a small smile of approval.

“It’s our version of ‘nice guy’,” he explains. “But it’s rooted a lot in culture. A nuǎnnán is a man who can be considered inherently warm-hearted in an otherwise patriarchal society. And no—” Minghao’s tone takes on a more chiding quality when he sees you about to interrupt. “Do not try to call me a nuǎnnán.” 

You jut out your lower lip slightly. “Why not?” 

The arm that Minghao had around your waist rises, just enough so he can tap the tip of your scrunched nose. “Don’t pull out sājiāo on me,” he scolds. 

It’s not necessary for you to act cute. Your boyfriend would be endeared by you either way. 

You chuckle at being caught, and Minghao’s sternness mellows. “One last.” You hold up a finger as you try to nail the phrase that had first caught your attention. “裸婚?” 

There’s a flicker of surprise on Minghao’s expression. “That was from a fan making a joke,” he warns before repeating the word himself. “Luǒhūn translates to— hear me out, okay?— ‘naked marriage’.” 

The sight of your raised eyebrow draws a sharp laugh from Minghao. “It’s another one of those cultural things,” he says. 

When he doesn’t add onto his words, you shoot him an incredulous look. 

“What?” he asks with feigned innocence.

“That’s it?” you prod. “You’re not going to explain what ‘naked marriage’ means?” 

“You have access to the internet, don’t you?” 

“Xīngān.” 

“That’s me.” 

At Minghao’s continued evasion, you merely huff and give up. It’s getting late, anyway, and he has to be up early in the morning for sound check. Come tomorrow, you’ll have to slip away before anyone can come looking for either of you. The boys aren’t privy to your relationship yet, and God forbid any of the other staff find out.

“Fine,” you say, unable to resist the urge to just be a little haughty. “Let’s go to sleep.” 

Minghao is undeterred by your contempt. If anything, it only makes him smile a little wider, gives him an excuse to pull you into his chest. He goes to cradle the back of your head, his fingers playing with the strands of your hair. 

You lean into his touch, burying your face into the front of his shirt. There it is again. Those few, precious moments where the two of you can just bask in each other’s presence. 

The silence stretches on this time. You’re properly drowsy by the time Minghao speaks up, his words quiet as he mumbles them against your shoulder. 

“No house, no car, no fancy ring,” he murmurs, his tone contemplative and sleepy. “Luǒhūn.” 

“A naked marriage,” you respond mid-yawn. 

“Mhm.”

“Nothing but love.” 

“You got it.” 

The conversation feels like it’s teetering on the verge of something consequential, something of value. But with the two of you already halfway asleep in each other's arms, there’s not much you can do besides exchange some light pecks and mumbled words.

“I think I’d want at least a house before getting married,” you say. “Or, like, an apartment.”

“What, you wouldn’t live out on the streets with me?” he teases lowly. 

Your eyes flutter close. “You would have to convince me,” you shoot back. 

Minghao responds with a lingering kiss to your forehead. 

“How long will it take to convince you?” 

It’s a little too early in your relationship for the topic of marriage to be seriously brought up. It’s fun to dream about, though. To talk about in hushed tones, to toy with in Minghao’s mother tongue. 

To imagine a time where this might be your every night— falling asleep in each other’s arms. 

“Might take you years and years,” you answer, a giggle rising from the back of your throat. 

Minghao’s arms shake as he laughs. His lips stay on your head, almost like he can’t bear to peel away from you for a minute too long. 

“I don’t mind,” he says as the two of you begin to succumb to sleep. 

The last thing you hear is his affectionate, soft promise of, “I’ll start working on convincing you, xīngān.” 

[warblogs17282]

Sinsmas is coming out today! So let's quickly discuss what we know about the episode right now.

Vivzie's Bluesky Thread:

Things we learn from this thread:

There will be quite a long wait until the start of season three, but we will have closer releases of episodes, considering that the team wants to commit to a more traditional release. This also has double confirmed that season three has 15 episodes. Season three will also be 'bigger and better'.

We will be getting shorts during the wait until season three, I assume it'll be like last time where we get a short every single month.

And of course, we gotta prepare ourselves to go out with a BANG!

Sam Haft calls the episode 'PACKED!', meaning yet again we're in for a ride and a half, that's for sure.

Yea, all the confirmation I need that Octavia's song is going to absolutely destroy us all emotionally when we hear it, SAM HAFT WHAT DOES THIS MEAN, WHAT DOES THIS MEA-

Brandon's Instagram Story:

Transcript:

"I'm so anxious for the new helluva boss episode to drop. I went back and I've been rereading the script over and over and over and I don't read."

So we also have Brandon fanning the flames of our anxious waiting as well.

Right as I was in the middle of writing this post Vivzie said that she was doing the final checks on the episode, and that she's in constant awe of what the artists at Spindlehorse are capable of.

The sneak peek gif:

We see a sinner at the I.M.P office, and it looks like the entire I.M.P crew is going on a mission somewhere where it appears to be snowing and naturally has all of the Christmas decorations up as well.

Although I will admit, it kinda strikes me as weird that they'd just leave a sinner completely alone within the building, unless, of course, that there is someone else within the building, with the most likely candidate for that being Stolas, but that's just a theory I'm spitballing here. It does also raise the question of 'where the hell is Stolas during this scene anyways?'

Onto the other not-so-new things, it was confirmed by Sallie May's VA that she is appearing this episode. (The 'next month' is supposed to be 'this month', I think she said at a panel after the first short that she'd be appearing again before this year ends.)

The trailer scenes:

This scene where Stolas appears to be getting attacked by someone while Blitz protects him with some kind of sword, with the floor appearing to suggest that this takes place outside of formerly Stolas' palace, said attacker has been commonly theorized to either be Andrealphus or Paimon.

We see a frozen over version of formerly Stolas' palace in the background, considering the events of Mastermind it now appears like Andrealphus is defending the palace against whatever it is that he's looking at, not a hostile takeover that we assumed it would be initially.

We see Octavia during this scene, everything about this shot seems to suggest that Octavia is getting a song of her own this episode, with this further getting backed up by Sam Haft's response to "Sam what heartbreaking song did you write this time."

It's also very likely that the conflict between Stolas and Octavia reaches it's boiling point this episode, considering that Octavia says "You never loved mother and you don't love me. You love him!" at some point during the episode.

Finally, in the helluva 2022 trailer, we see a shot of Andrealphus (I think this is a beta design of him or something), standing in front of what looks like formerly Stolas' palace, with a bunch of what looks like ice in the background, placing this shot after Mastermind, meaning that this shot also takes place sometime during Sinsmas, if this scene wasn't scrapped.

[chancloud8]

CHAPTER 1

series masterlist

Pairing: OT8 x reader

Word Count: 3,9k

Tags: Intro, bodyguard!ot8, idol!reader

Summery: Meeting your new bodyguards doesn't go as smoothly as everyone hoped..

‘I don’t need a group of bodyguards,’ you repeat for what feels like the hundredth time. 

Your manager Yoona doesn’t even look at you anymore and you fight the urge to stamp your feet like a little child to get her attention. You won’t stoop that low though, so instead you place your hands on your hips and glare at the woman who’s been by your side since you debuted about two years ago. 

‘We’re not having this discussion again, y/n,’ Yoona says, her eyes still fixed on her phone screen. ‘Your popularity is growing by the day, you’ve received multiple death threats in the last few months and in case you forgot, last week someone tried to break into your home.’ 

Your shoulders deflate and your hands fall down beside your body. You can’t really argue with that, but you’ve grown so accustomed to having Faris at your side as your one and only bodyguard, that the thought of eight men taking his place makes you shiver. Who the hell needed eight freaking bodyguards? You weren’t a princess for fuck’s sake. 

Yoona finally looks at you then. ‘It’s very important to us to keep you safe, darling. I know it will be an adjustment, but you’ll get used to it.’ 

‘But eight?’ you argue, trying once more. ‘Do I really need eight men following my every move?’ 

‘That’s why we’re placing some of them around you with other jobs as well, kind of like undercover bodyguards,’ Yoona smiles at you like that makes it any better. 

You slump down in the chair across from Yoona and frown at her. What could bodyguards possibly go undercover as in your team? Woman, sure, no problem, but a muscled man? They’d stand out immediately. 

‘What do you mean?’ you ask carefully, not sure if you even want to know. 

‘They all have multiple skill sets, but we decided on adding three of them as your dancers and one will probably step in as a personal assistant of sorts,’ Yoona explains, her eyes once more on her phone screen. 

‘Why?’ you blurt out. ‘I don’t even need new dancers? We’re not firing anyone are we?’ 

You were perfectly happy with your team as it was and it would kill you to let any of them go because Yoona decided you needed eight freaking men to watch you. 

Yoona sighed and put down her phone. ‘We’re not firing anyone, but Dohyun is still recovering from his injury and Ju-won has asked for a few months off to visit his family. As for why, it will allow them to be around you more casually.’ 

Damnit. That actually made sense. 

‘And you’re sure they can dance?’ you ask, already knowing the answer. Yoona would never suggest something like this if they couldn’t. 

‘Yes, y/n, they can dance. I think you’ll be impressed actually.’ 

That makes you curious. Yoona isn’t easily impressed, so if she thinks you’ll approve, they must be good. Maybe you should give them a chance, or just be such a brat they run away screaming. 

‘Fine,’ you sigh. ‘When will I meet them?’ 

Yoona looks at her watch and your eyes widen at the movement. She wouldn’t do this to you, would she? 

‘They’ll be here in an hour to meet you,’ Yoona says and you let out a relieved breath. ‘You better be back here by then or I will let one of them drag you here by your ear.’ 

‘Bossy much,’ you whisper, but you don’t really mean it. You luckily have a very good relationship with your manager and even though she drives you up a wall sometimes, you know she has your best interest at heart. 

Yoona rolls her eyes at you and waves her hand at the door. ‘Go be bratty somewhere else, I’ll see you in an hour.’ 

You bark out a laugh and jump up from the chair. ‘As you wish, my Queen,’ you say, doing a little courtesy. 

Your current bodyguard Faris is waiting for you in the hallway, a smile on his handsome face as he spots you. 

‘Good talk?’ he asks, following one step behind you. 

‘You knew about this, didn’t you?’ you ask, glaring at him over your shoulder. 

‘I’m the one who recommended them actually,’ Faris says and only his quick reflexes stop him from walking straight into your back as you stop walking immediately at his words. 

‘What?’ you turn around to frown at him. ‘Why would you do that to me?’ 

Faris raises his eyebrows and stares down at you with a knowing look, his arms crossing over his chest. 

‘Fine,’ you roll your eyes at him. ‘I know why, Yoona was so kind to remind me, but I still don’t get why it has to be eight.’ 

‘It might seem excessive to you Nabi,’ Faris says, addressing you with your stage name which he knows usually softens you. ‘But you don’t see all that we see and trust me when I say that once you’re on tour, you’ll be happy to have them by your side. It gets crazy out there.’ 

‘I know that, but undercover bodyguards?’ you make a face. ‘I’m not royalty.’ 

Faris chuckles and with a gentle push on your shoulder, he guides you further through the hallway and towards the studio you were working at before Yoona called you to her office. It was one of the things you really liked about your agency. Nearly everything you needed was in the same building. 

‘You may as well be and I trust Chan and his guys to keep you safe,’ Faris says as he holds a door open for you. 

‘So you really know them?’ you ask, sitting down at the desk you were working at before. Your laptop is still open on the editing program you work with and there are multiple notebooks, paper coffee cups and empty candy wrappers spread all around it. ‘Did you work with them before?’ 

‘I trained 3RACHA actually,’ Faris nods. ‘Chan and I had multiple gigs together after that and I’ve only heard good things about the others as well. I’m confident I’m leaving you in good hands.’ 

‘You shouldn’t be leaving me at all,’ you groan, throwing your head back against your chair. ‘But I understand and I hope that when I have a husband one day, he'll do the same for me.’ 

Faris just smiles at that and gets comfortable on the couch facing the door. He knows better than to get into this conversation with you again. Last time you ended up facetiming his wife in tears and he ended up having to calm down two crying women. 

‘Wait, did you just say sriracha?’ you sit up in your chair when your brain suddenly realizes what he had just said. ‘As in the hot sauce?’

‘No, I said 3RACHA, that’s what they called themselves back then,’ Faris replies, glancing at you. ‘I think they made music together in their free time, before they started their own company.’ 

Huh. Interesting. Why on earth would they go from making music together to becoming bodyguards? 

‘So all eight of them made music together?’ you ask curiously. 

‘No, just Chan, Jisung and Changbin. I think they mostly rapped, but if you’re interested in knowing more, you can always ask. It could break the ice when you meet them,’ Faris suggests, winking at you. 

‘I’ll pass, I don’t want them to think I’m happy about this arrangement,’ you murmur, turning your chair so your back is to Faris. ‘Will you tell me when it’s time to go?’ 

‘Don’t I always?’ he chuckles. 

You flip him off without looking and put on your headphones. Time to edit some more music. 

****

You’re so engrossed in your music, that it takes Faris multiple tries to get you to put down your headphones. He even goes as far as opening the blinds to let the light in, making you whimper and flinch by the intrusion of it. 

‘Alright, alright,’ you yell, your eyes scrunched close. ‘I beg for mercy, I’ll come with you.’ 

Faris laughs and closes the blinds, once again developing the room in darkness, just how you like it. He has scolded you many times before about how bad it is for your eyes to squint at your screen in a dark room, but you rarely listen to him about it. 

‘If you think about telling my new watch dogs this trick of yours, I’ll haunt you,’ you warn Faris when the two of you walk towards Yoona’s office. 

Faris makes a movement with his hands as if he’s zipping his lips closed and you nod happily at him, trusting him to keep his word. 

‘How late are we?’ you ask, having forgotten your phone in the studio when Faris basically dragged you out by your arm. 

‘About five minutes too early,’ he smiles proudly. 

Of fucking course. He’s been working with you for two years so he knows all your annoying traits by now, including having a habit of being late because you simply forget the time when you’re working. 

‘What will I do without you,’ you pout at him, ignoring the nervous butterflies in your stomach as you near Yoona’s office. 

‘You’ll be just fine, Nabi,’ Faris says and you’re not sure if he means it as a reply to what you just said or as a reassurance before meeting your new team of bodyguards. 

Taking a deep breath, you turn towards Faris. ‘How do I look?’ 

‘I thought you didn’t care?’ he grins, but he reaches out to flatten a few wild strands of your hair. 

You blow him a kiss, put on a straight face and turn around to knock on the door before pushing it open. The first thing you’re greeted with is the silhouette of 4 men standing with their back to you. Each of them have broad muscular shoulders that are clearly visible under the black suit jacket they’re wearing, the fabric straining like they’re wearing a size too small. 

The man on the right turns around when you enter and you nearly gasp at his beauty. His hair is styled to show a little v of his forehead and the black strands nearly reach his eyes. Jesus. He could be a model if he wanted too. He raises his eyebrows at you when you just stare at him for a moment, before he nudges the man next to him. 

‘Are you fucking kidding me,’ you mutter under your breathe when the other man turns around and piercing eyes meet yours. 

Of course he’s beautiful as well. What the hell was Yoona thinking? 

‘Ah, Y/N, there you are,’ Yoona says when she notices you. ‘On time, even.’ 

You roll your eyes and stroll forward to her desk, ignoring the four men as you make your way around them. In that little moment you forget there’s supposed to be more of them and when you turn to stand next to Yoona and see the chairs in front of her desk filled with four more gorgeous men, you nearly stumble. 

Yoona grins at you and you narrow your eyes at the woman. 

‘You think this is funny, don’t you?’ you grumble at her. ‘Where did you even find them? heaven?’ 

One of the men snorts before trying to cover it up with a cough. 

‘Don’t mind her gentleman, she’s in a mood today,’ Yoona smiles. 

‘I wonder why,’ you mutter, sending a fake smile in the direction of the bodyguards. 

‘That’s alright, it must be a lot to take in,’ one of them says with such a deep voice that your eyes widen. 

It must look comical, cause the same man that snorted earlier, lets out a giggle. ‘Don’t worry, Miss, it’s how everyone reacts to first hearing Felix’s voice,’ 

You want to focus on him calling you Miss, but the urge to see which face belongs to the deep voice is stronger.

‘Who’s Felix?’ you ask, your eyes searching the men in front of you. 

‘I am,’ the only blonde man of the group says, lifting his hand to show you where he is. He’s absolutely stunning with freckles sprinkled over his nose and cheeks. 

‘Holy shit, is that your real voice?’ you ask without thinking, slapping your hand in front of your mouth as soon as the words come out. 

He laughs and a few of the other men chuckle as well. 

‘It is, sometimes it gets even deeper,’ he says. 

‘Yeah, Lix actually has like three different voices,’ the man who called you Miss grins. 

It’s getting annoying not to know his name, but you don’t want to ask and seem interested. Luckily one of the men at the back seems to read your mind somehow. 

‘Why don’t we all introduce ourselves, my name is Bang Chan, but you can call me Chan. I’m the leader and head of your security team as of now. So if you experience any problems with our service in any way, I’m the one you can come to.’ 

‘Noted,’ you mumble, ignoring Yoona’s glare at your rudeness. 

So that’s Chan. Faris forgot to mention how beautiful his trainee was and you were so going to punch his arm for that later. 

‘I’m Lee Minho,’ the one with the piercing stare says. ‘I’ll be joining your dance team.’ 

Fuck. Of course he is. 

‘So will I,’ Felix smiles. ‘Lee Felix.’

‘And me, Hwang Hyunjin,’ the man closest to you winks. 

Great. They were absolutely going to kill you. In more ways than one. 

Biting your lip you wait for the last four to introduce themselves and pray to all the gods that Miss guy is going to be your assistant. He already feels like the most easy going out of all eight and if you need to work with one of them closely, you’d rather it be him than anyone else. 

‘Kim Seungmin, I’ll be one of your bodyguards’ the one who noticed you first says, his eyes flicking up and down your body as if he’s calculating how much of a flight risk you are. 

Oh just you wait and see buddy. 

‘I’m Yang Jeongin, but you can call me Innie or Ayen,’ the very cute man in front of Seungmin smiles and you nearly smile back at him. 

Finally the man you’ve been waiting for speaks up. ‘I’m Han Jisung, your new assistant.’ 

You cheer in your head, keeping a straight face as you look at the last man. He’s definitely the most buff of them all, his biceps really testing the fabric of his suit jacket. 

‘And I’m Seo Changbin, also part of your daily bodyguard squad.’ 

‘You’re all way too beautiful to be bodyguards,’ you say, crossing your arms with a frown while tapping your foot on the ground. 

Yoona makes a noise beside you and you don’t dare to look at her. She’ll definitely lecture you later, but this is all on her anyways. 

‘Worried your fans will fawn over us?’ Jisung jokes, winking at you. 

Your lips tip up in a tiny smile, but you quickly straighten your face. It was going to be hard to be a brat to them, but you were nothing if you weren’t stubborn. You’re not going to just warm up to them because they were hot and funny. Nope. Not going to happen. 

‘More like you’d be too busy worrying about your good looks to protect me,’ you say, raising your eyebrows at them. 

‘Aren’t you a ray of sunshine,’ Minho grumbles, placing his hand on Jisung’s shoulder as if to comfort him. ‘You won’t have to worry about that, looking this good doesn’t cost us much.’

You open your mouth to reply, but Yoona gets up and goes to stand next to you. 

‘That’s enough Y/N,’ she hisses before smiling her million dollar smile to the men. ‘As you can see Y/N hasn’t really warmed up to the idea of having this many eyes on her all the time.’ 

‘Don’t you have that all the time though,’ Seungmin says directly to you. 

You glare at him. ‘That’s not the same. 

He just shrugs. ‘We don’t want anything from you like your fans or stalkers. We’re not here to be your friends, we’re just here to keep you safe. That’s all that should matter.’ 

His words hit you harder than they should and you can’t help but flinch. The idol life isn't great for maintaining friendships and since you weren’t in a group, the only people you really had around you to talk to were your bodyguard Faris, Yoona and your dancers. You didn’t have a best friend, or even really friends in general, not since high school ended. 

‘Min!’ Chan calls out, glaring at the man. 

You square your shoulders and tilt your head, putting another fake smile on your face. ‘It’s fine, he’s right isn’t he.’ 

‘No, he’s not,’ Chan shakes his head. ‘Listen-’ 

‘It’s fine,’ you repeat, interrupting him. ‘How about I’ll show Jisung his office and we can go over the schedule for next week?’ 

Chan frowns down at you, sharing a look with Jisung and Yoona, but then he nods. You give him a nod back in thanks and without looking at any of the other guys you make a beeline for the door, hoping Jisung will follow you. 

‘Well, that went great,’ you hear someone say before you step outside. 

Faris frowns when he sees the look on your face, but he doesn’t say anything and falls into step behind you like he always does. It’s one of the things you love about him, he always knows when to not ask questions. You can hear him and Jisung quietly talking behind you, but you don’t mind, they know each other after all. 

‘Well, here we are,’ you say, opening the door of the small office area next to the studio you usually work at. ‘You can arrange everything how you like and if you need anything you can ask Yoona.’ 

‘I wasn’t expecting an office,’ Jisung smiles at you, stepping inside the room to take a look. 

It’s not much. Just a desk with a comfortable chair and a computer, a two person couch and in the corner there’s a bookcase that so far only houses a cactus, your first three albums and a box with documents your last assistant left behind. 

‘Of course you get an office, can’t have you shacking up with me in the studio,’ you say, trying to joke with him. 

‘Hey, about what Seungmin said,’ Jisung starts, sitting down in his desk chair and twirling around. ‘He’s just very serious about his job, he didn’t really mean the part about us not being your friends.’ 

‘It’s fine,’ you shrug. ‘You’re not really meant to be my friends anyways, you’re hired to protect me.’ 

‘Yeah, you don’t look too happy about that. Why is that?’ Jisung asks and he sounds genuinely curious. ‘I mean, sure we’re a whole lot, but isn’t it nice to know you’ll be safe?’ 

‘Safe? Yes. Watched by eight, I repeat, eight men? No thank you, I don’t need that.’ 

Jisung tilts his head and purses his lips in thought, like he’s actually trying to see this from your side. ‘I get it, I do, I’ve lived with most of them for the last few years and like I said, we can be a lot.’ 

‘But?’ you ask, falling down on the couch in front of Jisung’s new desk. ‘I feel there’s a but there.’ 

‘You really have no idea, do you?’ Jisung leans his chin on his palm as he looks at you. ‘We’ve seen the threats Y/N, we’ve seen the video’s of handsy fans, we’ve seen the footage of that dude trying to break into your house. It’s a miracle really that nothing has happened to you so far with only Faris by your side.’ 

‘He’s right, Nabi,’ Faris says from his spot by the door. 

‘Okay, maybe more than one bodyguard would be better,’ you say slowly. ‘But eight? I still think it’s a bit much, especially the undercover bit.’ 

Jisung shrugs and leans back in his chair, folding his hands behind his head. ‘Maybe so, but at least you’ll know you will be safe.’ 

‘I guess,’ you mumble. 

‘Wanna go over the schedule for next week with me?’ Jisung asks. ‘Get your mind off all this for a bit?’ 

You jump up from the couch immediately and walk around the desk to stand next to him while he starts up the computer. 

****

About half an hour later you’re fairly confident Jisung will make a good assistant. He’s written down your interviews and gigs for the coming month and made a list of all the things he wanted to take care of before that. It was cute how he wanted to do it right. 

‘Knock, knock,’ a voice called out from the door and when you looked up you saw Chan and Changbin hugging Faris. 

‘How’s it going here?’ Chan smiles at you as he walks inside, his hands in his pocket. He probably tried to come off less intimidating like that, but it didn’t really work. 

‘Fine,’ you say, looking at the computer screen again. 

If you kept your eyes on him you’d probably drool all over your favorite studio outfit. That man was way too fine. 

‘It’s going great, Channie,’ Jisung says. ‘We’ve been getting along perfectly without the ice kings here.’ 

‘Don’t let them hear you call them that,’ Chan chuckles, moving to sit on the couch. ‘I hope we’ll be able to make this work, Y/N. I take great pride in my work and I’ll do anything I can to make you feel comfortable around us.’ 

Ugh. Why did he have to be so kind too? 

‘Thank you,’ you mutter, your eyes still on the screen. 

‘We’ll promise not to impose your privacy too much when we move in, but–’ 

Your head snaps up to look at him then and from the corner of your eyes you notice Jisung covering his face with his hands. 

‘What did you just say?’ you ask, standing up. ‘Please tell me I didn’t just hear you say the words moving in?’ 

‘Uhm,’ Chan tilts his head in confusion. ‘I thought you knew?’ 

‘Knew. What?’ you growl, your fingers balling up in fists. 

‘Oh boy,’ Jisung whispers and you turn to glare at him. 

‘You knew about this?’ 

‘Uhm, we all did? And we figured so would you,’ he shrugs, looking at you with big innocent eyes. 

You close your eyes, not at all immune to those brown doe eyes. If you keep looking at him you will stop being angry and you can’t do that. Not now. 

‘If somebody doesn’t tell me very soon what exactly this thing I’m supposed to know is, I will scream,’ you clench your jaw and take a shaky breath. 

This can’t be happening. They are not moving into your house with you. Yoona won’t do that to you, not after your talk this morning. Right? You close your eyes in frustration, already knowing the answer to your own question. She will. 

‘Such a drama queen,’ a new voice speaks up from the door and when you turn your head, already seeing red, you see Minho smirking at you. 

Changbin and Faris look concerned and when you look back at Chan, he actually looks like he’s pitying you. Fuck. 

‘Just say it already.’

‘Well, we’re supposed to move into your new house with you,’ Chan says, confirming it. 

Oh hell no. 

a/n: eeeeeeekkk I'm so excited for this series you have no idea!! I wasn't going to upload till tomorrow, but @staylovesmiley made me flip a coin and here I am at midnight, feeding you the first chapter.

Please let me know your thoughts <3

taglist: @jaeminie-cricket @jeonginsbaee @staylovesmiley @newbbystay @cashtonsbetch @mariahxrrera @kaleigh-2002 @silencionyx @smileykiddie08 @my-neurodivergent-world @yaorzu-blog @yoongiismylove2018 @staytinyluv @bookswillfindyouaway @queen-thiccness @notastraykid @ateez-atiny380 @estella-novella @furfoxsake22 @hyunjinhoexxx @insomnjen @hannahisnotblue @vivilovesuu @velvetmoonlght @skz8love @eastjonowhere @stellmeiv @bookishcaptain @flylis @deadpool15 @0325ale @thatgirlangelb @iknow-uknow-leeknow @nchhuhi @shycreationdreamland @readr1221 @beewilko

[revelboo]

after the holidays, my friend and I are going back downtown, buying a couple Blokees each, and having a lil get together where we assemble them

you did this. you made me go broke.

<3

But they’re just little guys 😆 18+ 🌶️

Gravity Pt 11

Optimus x Reader

• Rolling onto his side, he hooks an arm around you and pulls you back into him. Palm flattening against you, finding the beat of your heart as he relaxes again. At the back of his processor, there’s concern over what he’d done that he’s going to have to deal with. Worry about what the rest of the Autobots will think about this. About what he’s done with you. There’s no regret, but there’s going to be consequences. If nothing else, dealing with the fallout from the others figuring out this is a possibility. “Should have guessed you were a cuddler,” you say, voice sleepy. If you don’t want to be held, you keep it to yourself at least.

• Blissfully boneless, you idly play with the servos of the hand splayed possessively on you. “We should discuss what happened,” he says, that deep voice so serious. And he’s a worrier, too, apparently. Ready to ruin the afterglow by overthinking it. Wiggling your hips back against him where his big frame is curled around you, he makes a deep rumbling noise in response. Especially when you pull his hand down and urge him to cup you. Feel him vent raggedly against you to stir your hair as his servos get on board with your plan and stroke you.

• “What happened was amazing,” you say, voice husky as you hold his hand where you want it and move against him, undulating against his hand and his spike as it stirs. “Doesn’t need to be anything deeper than sex.” Knows you’re right, but those words still hurt. Clearly drawing a line that he desperately wants to cross. Warning him that you don’t want more from him. Just this. And he could play along, let you warm his berth and let it be as simple as that, but it’s not what he wants. Wants you to talk to him, open up and share with him. Wants to know your secrets and you. Wants so much more than just a warm, willing body under his.

• “It could be, though. More.” That deep voice rumbles through you as he spears a servo inside you, stroking deep. Hips moving against you, his spike rubbing against you to tease you both. “It could mean something.” And it’s sweet, the big guy a hopeless, but utterly unrealistic, romantic. Where does he really think this can go? White picket fences and kids? Even if he was human, you’d accepted a long time ago that those dreams aren’t meant for people like you. That they can only hurt you. So no. Your body he can have, your heart isn’t up for grabs.

• Gripping his wrist as he strokes you with a servo, you toss your head back against him. Can hear your breathing change, those soft little hitching moans. “I don’t need anything but this.” Those words cut him, all jagged edges biting into his spark. Denying him. Pressing his face against the back of your neck as you rock yourself against his servos, he lets that ache hollow him out. Because if this is all of you allowed him, he’ll take it even if it kills him. You don’t have to love him, don’t even have to care for him beyond your need to find pleasure in his arms. He’ll still hold you, try to coax you and maybe eventually it might be more. Has to believe that or he can’t stand it. To believe you might grow to care about him even if it’s not for a long time.

Previous

[funhouse-mirror-barbie]

I may go into more detail about “Sinsmas” later, but I did want to talk about what I considered to be the one scene/sequence that I thought was very well done and that I truly enjoyed—Octavia’s song, “I Will Be Okay”.

(Song/Character Discussion below)

Octavia’s song is almost everything I could have asked for. A somber echo of Stolas’ song from season 1, Octavia’s I Will Be Okay, finally, finally, gives Octavia a voice and the chance to express her grief over her father’s abandonment.

For the first time in the series, there’s no one to tell Octavia that she should give her dad some slack or that she should forgive him. She’s finally allowed to be upset, to fully mourn her relationship with Stolas and to get mad about what happened. She’s finally allowed to start working towards accepting the ways Stolas’ neglected her, and begin healing from that pain and trauma.

Octavia’s experience is both terribly heart-wrenching and, in the most painful way, freeing. The lyrics reflect that perfectly, with Octavia acknowledging that while she’s not okay now because of everything Stolas put her through, she WILL be okay, and will grow into her own person without him.

The song is a direct response to Stolas’. Octavia is answering him, saying “Yes, I will be okay. Not because of anything that you were supposed to or failed to provide me as a father, but because I will forge my own path, and in doing so will heal from the pain you caused me.”

It’s a bittersweet song about finding the strength to cut contact with someone you loved who has repeatedly failed you in the worst ways, and who isn’t going to change.

I do have one “criticism” for this song and sequence, not because anything from it was poorly done, but because, in my opinion, the song’s visuals could have been even better.

The following scene was in the original storyboards for “I Will Be Okay”, and was changed in the final episode:

I think the decision to change the visuals for these lyrics in the song was a mistake. Please don’t get me wrong, the animation in this entire episode was fantastic, my critiques of Helluva Boss are almost never about the animation.

But the above sequence just has so much more emotional weight to me. It’s the visualization of Octavia realizing she can’t rely on Stolas, that she has to look to herself for comfort.

Octavia taking her younger self from her neglectful father’s arms, symbolizing that she’s accepted that Stolas cannot be depended on and that she’ll have to take care of herself now, is such a powerful image.

It really is a shame to me that they cut this scene, because I think it fully encapsulates everything Octavia has been through in such a simple and effective way. I think the scene really loses something by cutting this visual.

With all of that said though, Octavia’s song, and the scene where she FINALLY calls Stolas out for his behavior were very cathartic for me. I know that the scene’s intent was most likely to make us empathize with Stolas for losing his daughter, but I found myself empathizing only with Octavia, and hoping that she gets the time she needs to heal.

I would love it if the show actually let her decide whether or not she wants Stolas back in her life, but given the way HB’s writers portray women, I worry that it’s likely some big event will happen that “reveals” Stella to be awful, and Octavia will forgive Stolas just like that, and will probably end up apologizing to him instead (like in “Seeing Stars”)

Anyway, just like Octavia being the only good thing in Stolas’ life, “I Will Be Okay” was, in my opinion, the only good thing in “Sinsmas”. (well that and Octavia calling Stolas out)

[mecachrome]

#i wish it weren't taboo to talk about how 814 are literally just an audhd couple... could discuss this for days. does anyone want to

actually yes i would like nothing more this is lowkey all i think about sometimes

HLSDKFHLH i was about to publish my own post but now i feel enabled to write a Longer Response 🧡 thank u guys

2 me 814 is Girl who is so classically adhd it's comical (overt hyperfixations + poor executive function + basically arfid + time blindness) coexists beautifully with Misunderstood autistic girl (too straightforward for other people + pretended to be a car as a child + sensory issues through the roof + consciously masking in every interview) while everyone loses their minds because they should Hate Each Other and be at each other's throats??! and yet they don't because their neurodivergent swag transcends petty team politics 💗

like honestly i think they interact easily because they're both weird & particular in their own ways but their priorities are ultimately the same so why would any of that matter you know? and they try to accommodate each other when they're able to even if it's little things like oscar not eating salmon around lando anymore lol 😭 (i say this as audhd guy with extreme sensory issues and many other Problems and Issues... that is in fact romanze to me. also little stuff like the No Name Drop? moment because yes it's small in the grand scheme of things but to me it's special because it's like... THEIR inside joke and oscar is proving he does enjoy it and cares about maintaining it :') and then when lando was feeling down post-race in brazil he pulled out landinho all on his own <3)

like this is so random but i was just rewatching the logan sexed bit earlier and it's so funny how oscar is just like ??? WHAT. and somewhat annoyed at being grilled about it because in his head he's thinking "it's literally just a show title why are you Willfully Misunderstanding me idg why that's so funny to you are you 5." but with lando there's so much less... idk laughing At each other as if there's some big joke one person is missing out on and more just giggling together because oscar thinks every little thing lando says is funny and because they're equally charmed by each other's particularities. like oscar doesn't mind that lando is super fidgety and respects that he has Depths (saying that lando is a mix of sarcastic/dry, excitable, and serious) while lando has joked that oscar is somewhat robotic before but obviously still revels in wheedling genuine reactions out of him :') like you can see from how they get caught up in their little world while in parc fermé or doing their f1 media duties that they're capable of just focusing on Each Other without a care in the world for other people and they aren't talking just to have content for the cameras...

and like again the whole point of f1 is that it's a media circuit that needs overextended drama to survive as a consumable product but in the end neither of them care to sustain these artificial demands because it's just antithetical to their personalities and how their brains operate... their job is literally just car 🏎

also another thing is how people talk about 814 always twinning but what adds even more dimension to it is basically oscar admitting and being conscious of his mirroring lando's expressions 😭 and the fact that he's always choosing him for interview questions/copying his answers during games! like i think it's sooo compelling that oscar unintentionally latched onto lando as a young teenager in the uk and never really strayed from that because you have a very expressive, larger-than-life lando who is prone to being misrepresented because people don't really understand the manifestation of adhd and then level-headed oscar who is also poorly read because he doesn't express himself "conventionally" taking one look at lando and being like Hmmm yes. i'll mold myself after that. and lando being so happy and open to that dynamic 🧡 does it not move u

[railingsofsorrow]

Back To Normalcy

[JJ Maybank x reader]

summary: JJ often caught your unfocused gaze drifting to a random corner, lost inside your head. After Morocco, he noticed that a lot.

pairing: jj maybank x f!reader

w.c: 2.8K

warnings/content: near death experiences (flashbacks); obx4 ending is discussed (as in graphic descriptions of what happened so be aware); jj being the best whipped boyfriend; PTSD is hinted; hurt/comfort (trust me, no one dies); paragraphs in italics are flashbacks.

A/N: this is kind of a fix-it and it is set after the pogues find the blue crown. it will have discrepancies regarding canon cause I didn't watch obx4 part 2. bear with me. I'm editing this in the middle of class lol. merry christmas to those who celebrate and a happy new years!!!

navi

masterpost

obx masterlist

request me something

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

“So it's like... We gotta think of everything. Yeah, we found it, but we gotta—”

“... Have a solid plan, yeah, Pope.” John B cut him off, earning a glare which made the edge of his lips quirk up in amusement. If there was one thing the Pogues had fun in doing, that thing was annoying Pope Heyward. It was just too easy. “Sorry, sorry.” The Routledge boy raised his arms, pretending to surrender but the grin in his mouth betrayed him. John B never felt the will to smile more than he did in that moment. He had his friends. His family. With him. Safe and sound. Finally. Everyone in one piece. Barely. . . And back home. What more could he ask for?

What more could any of them ask for, really?

You tuned out the conversation for the tenth time that night. You loved bonfires. Especially the ones where your friends organized, where you felt at home around their stupid jokes and drunk laughter.

But you couldn't focus tonight. Somehow you always ended up right back in the scalding sand of Morocco, blood sipping through your fingers as tried desperately to stop it. Your screams of agony even though you weren't the one stabbed echoed through your brain like you had worked hard to memorize it.

You'd rather it had been you, actually. No doubt about that.

The soft nudge in your leg made you step out of the infusion of bad memories your head had conjured up. As your eyes adjusted to the bonfire's flames, you noticed all your friends staring at you in expectancy.

“What?”

Instead of the nudge, you felt cold fingers come in contact with your thigh and you almost flinched at the coldness — that coldness — before you caught the beer bottle in his hand. With a gentle squeeze to your thigh, JJ brought you back to Earth.

“I was just tellin' them here,” he began, leaving his beer aside to scoot closer. “how I'm gonna kidnap you to South America any moment now.”

“Hey.” You forced your breathing to slow down. He didn't need you freaking out now, he needed you to be on your best sane behavior, that's what JJ needed. He needed you. “Jay? Baby, take a deep breath, it's alright.”

“He, um...” JJ's shaky hands reached yours and you shook your head when his fingers curled around your bloody ones in his stomach. “I can't— You—”

“I'm here. It's okay. It's gonna be okay, yeah? You just, you just have to keep breathing. Slowly, like me? Okay?”

Where was everybody?

“And how are you gonna do that?” You forced out, taking a long sip of your beer in a foolish attempt of drowning the memories in your head.

Sarah let out a snicker and Cleo's thick accent scolded somebody but you couldn't bring yourself to the present moment. No, you were still fucking there.

“Pope!” You bellowed now unable to control the shakiness of your hands as they tried to stop the blood. So much blood. So much blood. Why? “John B! Where is— Kiara! Baby, hey, hey!” You used one of your hands to grab his cheek, tilting his head to look at you, his half-lidded eyes showed you how weak he was. You didn't care that his pretty face was smeared with your bloody hands, you had to make him stay awake. “JJ? JJ!”

He blinked with difficulty, gazing up at you. “Hi...” And he had the decency to smile. He smiled! How can someone who has been stabbed smile and it takes your breath away the same away? You never thought you'd see his last smile and you shouldn't even be thinking of that because you both are young and have a whole life ahead of you so why would you be thinking of your boyfriend's last smile?

“Hey.” You cried out. “J, you gotta stay awake for me, okay? I'm getting help. You just have to—”

“I love you.”

Certainly, your whole body froze right at that second. That hadn't been the first time he said it, no. JJ made sure to let you know he loved you thousands of times ever since he said the three little words for the first time. And every time he said it, you felt the warmth of his arms around you, his sunbathed skin against yours and the softness of his lips curling in his favorite spot on your neck after a long day.

That's what “I love you” means when JJ says it.

Except now there was no warmth because he felt cold. Everything regarding him was cold. The kind of coldness a boy with the sun in his smile shouldn't have. There was no smile, not the same smile, at least. There was no life because your favorite boy was saying goodbye and that's what his words meant this time.

Coming back to the bonfire was almost as if a bucket of cold water had been splashed in your face. Your friends had vanished. Nobody was around but you.

“Hey.”

. . . And JJ.

You should've thought he wouldn't have left you alone.

“Hey,” you offered him a half-assed smile. “Where's everyone?”

“Inside.” He mentioned towards the house with a jerk of his head before turning back to you. His cerulean eyes studied your frame for a bit before he let out a sigh, standing up and outstretching a hand in your direction.

You stared at it and him with a raise of your brow. A question.

There was nothing JJ hated more than waiting. So, he didn't wait. He lowered fully to kiss your lips since you were sitting down, enjoying the way they parted in surprise. Stealthily, he wrapped an arm behind your back and beneath your knees and before you could react he pulled you up as if you weighted a penny.

“Jesse James Maybank!”

Oh, he was well aware he was in deep shit when you say that but hell, he missed having a reaction from you that was something other than forced smiles and blank stares.

JJ often caught your unfocused gaze drifting to a random corner, lost inside your head. After Morocco, he noticed that a lot.

“Not the government name, babe.”

“Dude, put me down.”

A gasp. “And now I've been called dude what has this world become!”

He halted near the water, after walking across the beach for a few long minutes with you in his arms. You just stopped fighting, slapping his butt at every step he took.

“You think it's the drums or somethin'?”

“Could be.”

As he sent a look of disapproval your way once he placed you down on your feet, it pulled a laugh out of you.

His fingers — no longer cold — cupped your cheeks and brought you closer. “Do it again.”

“Do what?”

His eyes carried that glint of pure joy mixed with the ocean blue that would get you hypnotized. You just didn't know why this time.

“Your laugh. Haven't heard it in so long.”

Oh.

“That's not true.” You held his wrists just to feel the warmth of his skin when he began caressing your cheeks.

JJ hummed, the sound a gentle protest against your claim. He's come a long way to know your little tells, so he wasn't not easily fooled. With a glance in your way, he knew the hidden meanings.

“Uh, yeah. It is, babe.”

You pulled your hair behind your ears, burying your toes in the sand as you racked your brain to seek an excuse that would work to get you out of that conversation. Any excuse would do, really. But you feared you used all of them since you came back from Morocco. And he knew that.

“Are you ready to talk about it?”

Your throat bobbed as you swallowed down with difficulty.

“Are you?”

“That's not what I asked.”

You finally glanced up, finding him staring forward at the waves, almost distracted. No, not almost. The look in his eyes, you recognize in yourself when drifted back to two weeks ago and the horror took over your mind. It didn't only happen to the two of you, you remember that every time you caught John B outside in the middle of the night, arms behind his head as he stared at nowhere in particular. Or Sarah, when she would crawl up into your bed saying she missed you but you knew exactly what she meant by that. Or Cleo. Oftentimes you needed to force something out of her given everything she went through otherwise she would shove it all in and then never share. Or Pope, because he lost a lot and yes he would never say he hated the whole chasing gold adventure or Poguelandia but he missed safety and a time when you didn't have to worry about danger at your every corner. He's getting used to peace a little more now. Or Kiara, the girl who was a fighter through and through and would choose her friends over anyone in the world, but she needed reassurance once in a while and you all would coddle her a little when you knew it was time for it.

The look.

They all had it. They all suffered through stuff that made them carry it.

And not talking about it made it worse, you told Cleo that once, but since when did you ever take your own advice?

“Yeah, well, Jayj.” You begin, crossing your arms over your chest as the wind picked up. “It happened to you, not to me. It's you who should be ready to talk about it, not me.”

“I remember the blood in your hands, my blood,” JJ still didn't look at you. He was ready to talk about it, not ready-ready but he could accept what happened. That he almost wasn't here. “I remember your voice asking—pleading for me to not close my eyes—”

“Stop.”

JJ finally turned to you, his lips tugging downwards with sadness. “See? It's you who can't talk about it.”

“You almost died in my arms and you expect me to just accept that as if it was a common occurrence?!” It came out as an accusation but in reality you didn't really blame him. He had no fault whatsoever in being stabbed and almost dying. The fault relayed only on the person who caused this torture on all of you. “I can't...” Your voice cracked with newfound emotion. “I can't imagine living in a world where you're not in it, JJ.”

Before he could speak, you cut him off. The dam had broke and now everything you had been hold it in was going to be unleashed.

“You told me you loved me and then you... You stopped breathing.”

He blinked, brows furrowing in thought. JJ knew there was some things he couldn't entirely recall that day, but he didn't remember that.

“I love you.”

If his heartbeat was faint before, now it was non-existent and if felt like the weight of the world had crumbled down on you.

“Open your eyes,” you begged, grabbing his cheeks as a cry of pain left your lips. He was cold. His eyelids shut as if he was sleeping. He was calm. “JJ, open your eyes!” And that's when you felt something touch your shoulder, different hands and voices beside you. All you could focus was on him. “No, c'mon. Jay. Jay? I didn't—” you held his head to your chest, fully sobbing. It was like your heart was being ripped apart. “I didn't say it back.”

Even if she had told him she loved him as many times before, she hadn't say it one last time in time.

You flinched slightly when you were pulled into a pair of arms, fingers reaching the back of your neck to gently press you against a chest. A beating heart welcomed your ears and you didn't realize you were crying until the sobs must've echoed the entire beach.

“I'm sorry, I don't— I don't remember that.”

Your cries were muffled by his shirt. “It wasn't your fault,” you said, your chest tight. “I wish it hadn't gotten to that point cause it was... Fuck.”

JJ tightened his arms around your shoulders, burying his face into your neck. He was still clearly shaken up by what happened, reasonably so. But seeing you like that... He would've take back every decision he made that took your group to that moment just so you wouldn't have to go through that.

He complained when you pulled back a little, drying your tears to glance up at him. Your lips stretching into a timid smile. A real one.

“I'm glad you're okay.” You said with a nod, exhaling as the fog diminished significantly. “I'm happy. But I'm so deeply sorry that I couldn't do more. That I almost let you—”

“Hey, no, no.” JJ was quick to interrupt your train of thought, grabbing your shoulders. “Do not even go there, alright? Absolutely not. Don't even— babe.” He leaned down to connect your foreheads. “You saved my life. All of you. You really think I'd be fine with going... wherever that I wouldn't be able to annoy the shit out of you? I mean— ow!”

You glared at him after punching his forearm though you weren't upset as soon as he gave you his disarming grin that turned your legs to Jell-O.

“You told me you can't imagine living in a world where I'm not in it, right? Well.” JJ brought your hands to his lips, kissing your knuckles as his blue eyes full of life studied you in a serious manner. “I happen to absolutely not want to live in a world without in it either...” He tugged you closer. “It would be boring as hell and that's why I would probably, I don't know, crawl out of whatever grave I was in to tickle your feet during the night.”

“Fuck off.” You groaned with a laugh and he shut you up with a kiss, his hand crawling up on your back to press your closer.

“I can't live without your sounds,” he kissed the edge of your mouth, then moved towards your jaw. “Any of them. I can't live without your smile or seeing your lashes fluttering before you wake up. Or without seeing you when you're pissed at me and you pout the entire time, it just makes me want to kiss you but I know it would earn me a punch in the neck.”

“Yeah it would.”

He chuckled, lifting you so you could wrap your legs around his middle. He held the back of your thighs, thumbs running through your smooth skin.

“Hey.” He said softly, bumping his nose with yours as the waves crashed a few feet away, butting in on your moment. “I love you. And I'm gonna stay in your life for as long as you let me. There will be no stupid rushed goodbyes or near-death experiences that will stop that, alright?” He smiled when you nodded, pressing your lips to his. “Yeah.” He started kissing your whole face then just to listen to the inevitable sound of your laugh again. He could never get tired of it. JJ would crawl out of hell just to hear that sound for the rest of his life.

“And about that South America trip—”

“I'm in.” You said, resting your chin on his shoulder, fingertips scratching his scalp as you stared at the sea. “You can kidnap me to wherever you want.”

His excited laughter echoed in your ears like your favourite song chiming in during a stormy night.

“Oh we're gonna have so much fun.” JJ started rambling on his way back to the house, you in his arms because he refused to put you down. “I'm finally teaching you how to surf! And we can visit all the beaches in Brazil, 'm gonna show you some pictures, it'll be amazin', baby, you'll see.”

“I can't wait.” You mumbled with a kiss to his temple. “Are you just gonna carry me around or...”

“Yes.” He pecked your lips, hands squeezing your waist lightly which earned a proper curse out of you and his usual untamed laugh that you were crazy about. “Just stay put and look pretty.”

You rolled your eyes, wrapping both arms around his neck and didn't complain. Why would you? You had your favorite boy holding you in his arms, rambling about your future plans to South America on his way to your place. You had nothing to complain about.

You just had to get used to getting back to normalcy.

━━━━━━━━━

taglist: @hoeshissworld

[specialagentartemis]

I’ve increasingly seen the take that Gurathin, being the only one of the PresAux group originally from the CR, understands SecUnits better than the others and understands corporate greed and underhandedness and violence better than his idealist space socialist leftist colleagues… which always rings odd to me, because it’s well established that Mensah and Pin-Lee understand what they’re dealing with as intelligent, savvy professionals!

Mensah is the Planetary Administrator of Preservation; she is very nearly the President of the Whole Planet. It’s hard to believe she could get there and be regarded as a good leader of a small planet with neither military nor economic power in the galaxy and remain unaware of how the Corporation Rim works and how to deal with them to keep her polity safe. The company executives presented Murderbot to Mensah directly in their pitch for why the team needed to take a SecUnit; her multiple objections to this indicate that she does, in fact, know how unethical (and likely dangerous) SecUnits are.

Pin-Lee, meanwhile, is a corporate lawyer; she’s described as CombatUnit-like, and based on the fact that she went not only with this scientific survey but also with Mensah at the end of Network Effect on this short-notice and desperate chase across the galaxy, seems to be the go-to person to deal with off-world legal issues. Murderbot notes early on that being under the Company’s surveillance seemed to affect her more than the others. It’s pretty reasonable to assume that’s because she knows what shit companies put in their contracts, and what they do.

They aren’t naïve leftists who don’t understand how the Real World works, they are well-too-aware of the abuses and surveillance and callousness of companies!

(Ratthi watches Sanctuary Moon, evidently a CR production—Preservation aren’t isolationists. The whole Preservation backstory is of a community’s escape from callous, profit-driven corporate abandonment of their grandparents’ generation to die. I would think Preservation people would be, as a society, aware and very wary of CR corporations.)

Their trust they place in Murderbot in All System Red is very likely influenced by Preservation’s cultural values of dignity, support, freedom, responsibility to each other, bot citizenship, all that good stuff—but it’s certainly not blindly, naïvely unaware of alternative possible perspectives. And that’s why it’s powerful: they’re making a conscious choice, measuring its actions and its rights as a person against the propaganda and fear, that Murderbot deserves that respect and dignity and freedom and trust as a person and not just as an arm of untrustworthy corporations.

(And like. Also the fact that “Gurathin is from the CR” is not explicitly canon, either. We don’t know where he’s from originally; the CR is a reasonable interpretation, certainly, it fits the facts, but it’s still an interpretation that fans have to make rather than actually being text. And I think in these discussions that ought to be remembered too. )

[scartale-an-undertale-au]

So... I see this a decade after i decided to simply... Stop instigating conversations because i felt like im simply burdening others with my presence and that they actually felt annoyed having to hear from me and wished i wouldnt send messages.

The thing is that none of them ever approached me afterwards. When we saw each other after a while we would be ecstatic but there was a wall between us already and i dont know if its simply life going on and us being very different than back then, or that they truly didnt see me the same as i saw them (as my besties).

One time i met one of them (this one specifically was my best friend from first grade until twelve basically) on the street and i see that she's married and walking with her husband. Turns out the wedding was that sunday and i wasnt even notified of it happening or of the engagement. I wasnt mad about not being invited, but i was hurt for not even being notified! She then turned to her husband and said that im a friend of her from high school.

Its been a decade from high school so i can see why she said that, but that hurt me so badly that the moment i waved them goodbye and they disappeared around a corner, i collapsed and just sobbed. I was so heartbroken. It seemed that i was the only one who still thought of her as my old school's bestie or had thought of including her in any future milestones simply because she was so important to me.

So i dont know how i feel about this post. I understand where you guys are coming from and its in good intentions, but the main issue is that many kids who become the sole instigators were never shown that they can be vulnerable in front of their friends about this matter. It felt like its your duty and how you contribute to the group. And when it became harder and harder, the friends never questioned why you pulled away or asked for your wellbeing. It turned into a situation when you feel more like a nuisance than a leader.

Fortunately, i have now friends who instigate so much more than me and i keep telling them how i appreciate it and apologise for how terrible i am at texting back and that its never because i dont want them to text me. Its simply because texting or answering messages had become so hard for me and so mentally taxing i sometimes shut down when i see messages i need to reply to.

So rambling aside, as much as i appreciate your sentiment, i think a different approach would be helpful.

My approach (which is not better or worse, just a different approach) is to get comfortable with a 'friends for one day' reality. I go so many times to so many places and meet so many amazing people, we always say we'll contact one another and keep in touch and then never contact one another again, and that's alright.

You have to be comfortable with being friends without focusing on the 'keeping the friendship going' let people come and go. Those who truly want to stick around will stick around, and they usually have a much deeper connection with you that isnt dependant on who instigates the conversations.

My friends are those that mostly text in memes and reels since we dont see each other often. And i do the same in return. Its easier and relays so much more. We have proper conversations here and there, but our actual interactions happen physically. And they instigate meetups much more than i do and i always make sure that they know that i appreciate it. One of my friends and i also have some differences in opinions, so we have some long discussions.

I also have a friend who i dont text to at all but invites me to shabbat meals once in a while and i come over and its like no time had passed. I invite her back for bbq or shabbat as well, but thats also once in a blue moon.

Another friend is across the ocean so its mostly photos and small comments and talks about our lives and since the war began, she keeps checking if im alive and well.

Another friend is also across the ocean and we mostly speak about our realities of being jews or squeal over her precious daughter or make plans for when she finally comes to Israel.

So my friends arent part of one group but many branches of different aspects of my life. I would say i have around seven/eight of them that arent my current co workers (work friendship is also temporary and i accept that fully and enjoy our time together) and im truly blessed because i had let go of the desperate need to keep my friends together.

So please dont call us a bitch for not willing to talk about it. And we're certainly not mini community leaders, we're just people who are friends with those that never cared about reaching out first or affirming our friendship in any kind of way. Its not fair to put the expectations of reaching out onto the one who constantly did that. Friends who truly want to keep up a friendship will attempt to do so when they see that the other side isnt as present as previously.

Sorry im all over the place, im on my phone and its harder to articulate on it

every now and then the internet decides it should revamp the ole “stop texting first and see how many friends you lose” when in reality you could literally just communicate that u feel bad that ur the only one texting first

[fujosh1dreamer]

Guess we're talking about millie being preggo I originally didn't want to discuss this, I wanna talk about stolitz lol. Unfortunately I forgot this fanbase is filled with misogynistic scum, so let's talk about millie.

First off, she didn't cheat, she's not having an affair, she didn't get assaulted, and she's not selling her body for money.

It's stupid that I have to say any of that, but if any of those statements are things you genuinely believe you need to take you're misogynistic beliefs and shove them and afterwards get away from my page.

You know what is going on with her... she's found out she's pregnant which is not always a happy thing, nor should it be. Having children uproots your entire life, and changes everything. The way people think about you and the way people see themselves.

We have already established multiple times that millie is a character that only sees value in her strength and abilities.

Now, let's get into the moments in the episode and the things that are foreshadowing the pregnancy reveal. If people perceive the only sign as the one where she is throwing up and when she lashes out at moxxie there's more. When the client comes in a blitz initially declines the offer both moxxie and millie too absorbed into sinsmas wrath to notice the reason why. Moxxie even laughs and goes "really?" They're not paying attention, which is actually out of character for millie (ie hormones) millie is usually really on point and supportive when it comes to Blitz and his emotional needs.

After she throws up, we get this small moment at the window where she's not even looking at the scene. She's no feeling well she wants to get out of the cold, and we can also see the concern in moxxie as he looks at her.

Then there's this moment and it works well to reestablish that millie loves her job, and it also works to show she's no all there emotionally. Everyone including moxxie her husband is walking away, but millie wasn't in that moment that everyone one else had. So she's confused and upset, which is understandable.

This results in her lashing out again.

She insults moxxie, and of course immediately apologizes, and she doesn't even know why she responded that way. Millie is usually pretty well in control with the exception of seeing Chaz and later in happy campers (which was justified) and ghostf*ckers (also justified) are the only times she gets upset and lashes out.

Moxxie once again is not upset he's just concerned, he knows something is wrong, he just doesn't know what it is.

Want to take this moment before the in episode reveal to talk about how hard it is to rewatch these two scenes knowing that millie is preggos. The stress is real omg.

Next this scene of millie deciding to use guns is also interesting because it might be setting up for season 3. If millie keeps this a secret for a long time in season 3 I can see her doing more long range killings in the future. At least until she decides what's she's going to do.

I love that she decided to talk to her sister, and I also love the small detail of their mom being the first to notice something is off.

This is a hard transition for millie because she loves the life she lives, and she loves her husband. We hear her say in ghostfers that's she's happy, we've also seen their lives be uprooted already. Now millie feels like after finally finding stability things are ruined again.

[lyslsstuff]

carcar pregnancy announcement to the Sainz family | fluff | 914 words based on this reblog by @pitchcom :

edit : I made a monumental mistake, you will never know what it is now.

Carlos had always been a little apprehensive when it came to delivering important news to his family, particularly to his father. He loved his dad, of course, but their relationship hadn’t always been smooth sailing. The first few years of his career had been especially rocky—misunderstandings, miscommunications, and the pressure of expectations often left them at odds.

But things had changed. Slowly, they’d found common ground. Conversations became less tense, moments of laughter more frequent, and they learned to truly understand each other. Still, Carlos knew that his father had a way of delivering his thoughts bluntly, even when he meant well. It was a quality Carlos both admired and dreaded, especially now. Because this news? This wasn’t like anything they’d discussed before.

Carlos wasn’t sure how his father would react. Would he be happy? Confused? Angry? The possibilities weighed on him like a storm cloud.

But Oscar, his ever-reliable boyfriend, was there to weather the storm by his side.

The couple had flown to Madrid to celebrate Christmas with Carlos’s family. The festive air in the Sainz household was as warm and welcoming as ever. Senior and the rest of the family greeted them with open arms, all smiles and chatter. They were especially delighted to see Oscar again, though they couldn't resist teasing him mercilessly. His terrible Spanish accent, his quiet demeanor, even his choice of clothes—all were fair game for Carlos’s mother and sisters.

Carlos, of course, was ready to step in whenever Oscar needed him. A comforting hand on his shoulder, a sharp remark to deflect the teasing—it was clear to everyone how protective he was of his boyfriend. Oscar didn’t seem to mind the attention much, though, and often laughed along with the jokes.

But beneath the laughter and joy, Carlos’s mind was elsewhere. The news he needed to share loomed over him like a shadow. The words were trapped in his throat, refusing to come out. He felt a familiar wave of doubt. How could he even begin to tell them?

That evening, after everyone had gone to bed, Carlos sat curled up on the couch with Oscar. He leaned his head against Oscar’s shoulder, feeling the weight of his unspoken secret pressing down on him.

Oscar, ever perceptive, stroked Carlos’s back soothingly. “You’ve been quiet all day,” he murmured. “Thinking about how to tell them?”

Carlos nodded, biting his lip. “I just... I don’t know how to say it. What if they don’t take it well?”

Oscar kissed the top of his head, a small smile playing on his lips. “I’ve got an idea. Trust me, it’s brilliant.”

Carlos raised an eyebrow. “Brilliant, huh? What kind of brilliant?”

“You’ll see,” Oscar teased, grinning. “You’ll be impressed, I promise.”

Carlos chuckled softly, leaning in to kiss him. Whatever Oscar had planned, he trusted him completely.

Christmas dinner was a lively affair, as always. The Sainz family gathered around the table, enjoying Reyes’s impeccable cooking and the festive decorations that filled the room. The atmosphere was joyful, filled with laughter and the clinking of glasses.

Carlos tried to focus on the moment, but his nerves wouldn’t let him. The news he was carrying felt like a weight in his chest, growing heavier with every passing minute. Beside him, Oscar reached under the table and gave his hand a reassuring squeeze. Carlos turned to him, startled, only to see Oscar wink before standing up from his seat.

The chatter at the table quieted as everyone turned to look at him. Oscar held a small box in his hands as he walked over to Senior, who eyed him with curiosity.

“Mister Sainz,” Oscar began. “I know it’s not Christmas just yet, but I wanted to give you an early gift.”

Senior raised an eyebrow, glancing at the small box Oscar extended toward him. “An early gift?” he repeated, clearly intrigued. “Well, let’s see what this is about.”

He carefully untied the ribbon and opened the box. Carlos’s heart was pounding so hard he was sure everyone could hear it. What had Oscar done? What was in that box? Please, he silently begged, let it not be something ridiculous—

Senior reached into the box and pulled out a pair of tiny, baby-sized socks. His expression shifted from confusion to surprise, his eyebrows knitting together as he stared at the miniature socks in his hand.

The room fell silent. Everyone was looking at Senior, then at Carlos and Oscar, waiting for an explanation. Carlos swallowed hard, feeling a mixture of fear and excitement.

“You’re—” Senior began, turning to Carlos, who was still seated, his cheeks flushed. “You’re really—?”

"I am," Carlos nodded, his voice slightly shaky. "You’re going to be a grandfather.”

The room erupted into chaos. Carlos’s mother let out a delighted squeal, rushing over to hug him. His sisters followed suit, bombarding him with questions and congratulations. Senior stood, pulling Carlos into a tight embrace.

“This,” he said, holding Carlos close, “is the best Christmas gift I’ve ever received.”

Carlos felt a wave of relief wash over him. The fear, the doubt, all of it melted away as he was surrounded by the love and joy of his family. He glanced at Oscar, who was watching the scene unfold with a fond smile.

Carlos reached for his hand, squeezing it tightly. He didn’t know what he’d done to deserve Oscar—or the happiness they were about to share—but he was endlessly grateful.

[gossipgurlingursht]

I don’t care what her career looks like, and I don’t think that should be relevant to the discussion.

Just to be clear, this question isn't about AOC in particular, it's about who we want to be in government. And understanding what a hypothetical career in politics would look like is absolutely relevant.

If you want more young people getting involved, you need to ask what it will look like for them when they consider a potential career in politics. If you can get elected to Congress at 30 and then are term-limited to, say, 10 years...

Then you've just spent some of your prime career-building years in a dead end position. No other political position is going to pay as well.

Except, of course, lobbying.

I understand the drive for wanting term limits, but the implications of that are that you're supercharging the lobbying industry by creating a constant pipeline of govt insiders, *and* a constant flow of new politicians who have less experience & will be more susceptible to their former colleagues lobbying them.

[cece693]

Hello! Could you write something about how Hannibal(Hannibal NBC) fell in love with a reader(preferably male, but female is okay too!)who is also a surgeon? Perhaps they could cross paths while working on the investigation of one of the cases? And what if the reader is cold, distant and paranoid, the one who keeps everyone at arm's length. I just absolutely LOVE this parallel between Hannibal and Franklin, because Hannibal would probably be "the Franklin" in this situation. It's okay if you're uncomfortable or don't want to write it! Have a nice day!🌸🌸🌸

Give Me Attention (Hannibal Lecter x M! Reader)

Hi, I absolutely love the request because it strays so far from what Hannibal is (and believe me, I did take advantage to write a needy and pathetic Hannibal who's down for the reader.) So this might not be the most realistic but it's fun! Hope you enjoy it.

tags: down bad Hannibal, Hannibal finds reader endearing, even if they're rude, open ending??

You always prided yourself on your surgical precision, the clean lines of your incisions, the careful stitching that spoke of a quiet dedication to your craft. But the work before you now—the dissected realities of crime scenes rather than the sanitized sterility of an operating room—was a grotesque mockery of your life’s work. When Jack Crawford had approached you, his eyes weary and voice heavy with unspoken desperation, you had felt compelled to help, drawn in by the promise of stopping a monster. Little did you know, you’d be working alongside one.

Dr. Hannibal Lecter was an enigma wrapped in a facade of impeccable suits and polite smiles. From the moment you met, his gaze lingered too long, his questions probing too deeply. You wanted a professional relationship, nothing more. Yet, Hannibal seemed determined to weave himself into the very fabric of your life.

“Dr. Lecter, I appreciate your insights, but I'm quite capable of drawing my own conclusions,” you said, after he had offered yet another piercing analysis of a body you were examining. Your tone was polite but distant, an invisible barrier you continually reinforced.

“Of course, my apologies. I find our collaboration most enlightening,” Hannibal responded, his voice smooth, betraying no hint of offense. “Perhaps we could discuss our theories over dinner? I believe a change of scenery could prove invigorating.”

You paused, the scalpel in your hand hovering above cold flesh. “That won’t be necessary, Doctor. I prefer to keep my work at work.” You didn’t miss the brief shadow that crossed his face before his polite smile returned.

“As you wish.”

Despite your refusals, Hannibal’s attempts at friendship only escalated. It started with chance encounters. You’d see him at the coffee shop where you grabbed your morning espresso, a polite nod exchanged, nothing more. Then it was the bookstore you frequented on quiet Sundays, Hannibal browsing the aisles, a thoughtful expression as he picked through titles you’d just glanced at minutes before.

But it wasn’t just public spaces. It was recommendations left on your desk, notes about books or wines he thought you’d enjoy, reservations made at restaurants you’d mentioned offhandedly during meetings. It was becoming too much, his presence too suffocating.

One evening, as you were leaving Quantico, you found him waiting by your car. The parking lot was nearly empty, the streetlights casting long shadows. “Dr. Lecter, this is becoming inappropriate,” you said, your tone sharper than before.

“My intentions are purely of a friendly nature,” he explained, stepping closer. “I find your mind fascinating. It’s not often I meet someone whose intellect I admire as much.”

“You need to stop this,” you insisted. “Whatever you think is happening between us, it isn’t. I'm not interested in becoming your friend nor do I find you interesting. Now, leave me alone." You hissed, unlocking your car and sliding inside before he could respond.

Hannibal stood silently, the sharp sting of your words cutting through the cold air between you. He watched as you slid into your car, his expression unreadable, a mask of calm painted over the tumult inside him. For a moment, he remained motionless, the weight of rejection settling heavily on his shoulders.

As your car's headlights flickered on, casting long shadows on the pavement, Hannibal's thoughts churned. Rejection was an unfamiliar and unwelcome guest in his life, one he was not prepared to entertain graciously. His eyes narrowed slightly as he watched you drive away, the tail lights blurring into the growing dusk.

In the solitude of the empty parking lot, Hannibal allowed himself a rare moment of vulnerability. "Not interested," the words echoed in his mind, a stark contrast to the usual praises and desires he elicited in others. His interest in you had been genuine, profound even, transcending the usual boundaries that defined his relationships. You were a challenge, a riddle wrapped in the enigma of your own moral and professional fortitude, and he had failed to unravel you.

Turning slowly, Hannibal walked back to his own vehicle, his steps measured, the grace of his movements belying the turmoil within. As he drove home, the streets empty and bathed in the glow of streetlights, he contemplated your words.

"Leave me alone." The finality of it should have been a deterrent, a clear signal to cease and desist. But Hannibal Lecter was not a man deterred by the conventional responses of others. To him, every human interaction was a complex dance of wills and desires, and he was a master choreographer.

In the quiet of his kitchen, Hannibal poured himself a glass of Chianti, the rich red liquid swirling in the glass, a dark mirror to his thoughts. He pondered the nuances of your rejection, searching for a sliver of meaning or a crack in your armor. Was there truly no interest? Or was it a defense mechanism, a wall built to keep the world—and perhaps him—decidedly out?

"You do find me interesting," he murmured to himself, the words a whisper against the clink of the glass. "You must. The mind like yours cannot help but be intrigued by the anomalies of human behavior, and I," he paused, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth, "am certainly an anomaly."

Resolved, Hannibal set his glass down. Your rejection, while clear and stinging, was but another layer of the complexity that made you so fascinating. He would give you space, for now, to contemplate and perhaps to miss the dance of intellects that had begun to form between you. Patience, after all, was a virtue he possessed in abundance.

Tomorrow, Hannibal would return to Quantico, his demeanor unchanged, polite and professional. He would respect your wishes, maintaining a distance. But he would watch, and wait, and perhaps, in time, you would see that the dance was far from over. The game, as they say, was afoot, and Hannibal Lecter was never one to walk away from a challenge, especially not one as intriguing as you.

[tuesdayiminlove]

imperfect for you

rockstar!eddie x fem!waitress!reader

summary: it's hard, in the early stages, to grasp who exactly it is you're dating, and if you're worth the time in the end. good thing he doesn't see anything else but you.

author's note: inspired by the ariana grande song. i can't listen to it without thinking of eddie. this is just a small blurb, but lmk if u wanna see more of them and maybe i'll turn this into a mini series :)

word count: 1.6k

Working the closing shift at the diner is a peaceful predicament. 

But one hand, a yawn escapes your lips as the clock ticks by abnormally slow, the large arrow pointing to the number eleven. You lean against the counter, organizing salt and pepper shakers in a deliberate rhythm—making sure not to disrupt the quiet peace you have made in your little bubble. 

On the other hand, it’s nice to watch the sun fall  from the steamy, glass windows from Carly’s Diner, the red and blue hues reflecting from the freshly wiped tabled that still remain sticky after being rubbed clean. When the customers thin out, it gives time for you to rest your feet and sigh in f=relief once the rush is over. The line cooks in the back even manage to sneak in a burger or two for you to munch on in between taking customers’ orders. 

Every once in a while, you look back out into the dark.

The parking lot is empty except for a few cars of the cooks, Sandra’s beat-up chevy, and Martin’s Bug (who is still nursing a coffee this late into the day). The clock may be ticking more towards the early hours of the day, but your mind persists in waiting for that one specific car to pull quietly into the lot.

You hear your last name get called quietly from the kitchen. You turn to see Jim staring at you. “You’re off the clock,” he adds gruffly, not giving you enough to answer before swinging the door to the kitchen shut to get back to his own work.

A sigh escapes your lips, either in relief or disappointment—you didn’t know. The clock had been ticking for hours, but it’s as if nothing has changed besides your energy levels. You throw one last glance toward the window, the rain tapping faintly against the glass, as if it might somehow bring him in. But the door stays shut, the place still, except for the quiet hum of the freezer full of cake slices and the low radio speakers, playing a song you've heard too many times tonight.

You make your way to the back of the diner, unbuttoning your cotton uniform as you pass through the kitchen, listening to the cooks all conversing over the broken fan (you thank god that you are rarely obligated to be in the back during shifts).

The locker filled with your things swings open. You toss your shirt inside, because you just washed it and didn’t see a need to bring it back home. You put on your hoodie and bring the ends to the tip of your fingertips, shivering at the cold.

“Goodnight, boys,” you call out to the rest of the cooks, they give you their own waves in return, soft smiles adorning their lips before they go back to arguing over the possibilities of installing an AC in Jim’s office (they’ve been discussing this for months—you think they should just bite the paycheck and do it already). You peek out of the window of the kitchen door to see if anyone else had walked in while you were changing.

That’s when you see him.

Sitting on one of the barstools, jet black curls fanning the tops of his forehead closing in on his eyes. You used to be afraid of his smirk, unknowing of whether or not actual feelings laid under the surface of it. But now, you know for sure: under everything is a man who is looking at home.

“I can’t get a free coffee anymore, can I?” he says, gesturing to the hoodie and jeans that you adorn instead of the regular uniform.

You roll your eyes. “It’s too late for coffee,” you say softly, voice small and guarded. Instead of following his initial orders, you reach underneath the counter to pull out a chamomile tea bag, and a white mug. You feel eyes on you as you put a kettle of water on the stove, watching the water flow before it’ll begin to simmer. “I was worried you got held back,” you add. I was worried that I wouldn’t see you tonight. Your eyes flicker to him, but you quickly look away. I miss you. Our lives are too different, do you feel that sometimes? I get sad waiting.

You aren’t sure if Eddie can sense the tension the way you can. It’s hard to stomach that he was just out there, surrounded by people who adore him, living his life while you run around the diner taking orders, waiting for the day to end in hopes of seeing you. Maybe he was late because he didn’t want to show up tonight altogether. Those anxious thoughts are the things that swirl in your mind while you and Eddie coexist in the same universe, but completely different planets. For him to be here tonight feels like some cosmic rearrangement: planets moving out of orbit to ensure that you two are in the same place or not. You don’t know if that should be considered natural or not. 

As if sensing the energy from within you, he leans closer to the counter. “I would’ve come here if this place was completely locked up and you were the only one inside,” he jokes lightheartedly, but something stirs in your stomach at the truthfulness he holds in his tone. “Is that what goes on in that head of yours?”

The kettle whines, giving you an excuse not to answer. You shut off the stove and pour the steaming water into the mug, followed by the tea bag as you use a spoon to begin mixing the contents. You pull sugar from the side of the counter and count two teaspoons, exactly how you knew he liked it. “This’ll help you sleep tonight,” you say, putting it in front of him. “No more coffee past five.”

He smiles, eyes following yours in a desperate attempt to hold your gaze for as long as possible. He always does that; says he’s obsessed with your eyes. You recall the times once or twice where you stared deeply at yourself in the mirror to desperately see what he sees. Maybe his songwriting heart is writing prose upon prose as the seconds pass by, trying to capture a truth that cannot fully be put into words. You watch with a little smile as he takes the cup in between his lips. “Thank you, bug. C’mon,” he motions at the barstool beside him and you follow, leaving your way to the opposite of the counter and taking your spot beside him. He drinks quickly, taking your hand in between his as he takes big gulps as if trying to finish it all at once. “Let’s go, yeah?”

Keeping your hand in his, he stands up and begins walking to the exit, leaving you to trail behind faithfully. The bell above the door rings softly as you both step out of the diner. The cool night air bites at your skin and you find yourself edging closer to Eddie. He trades holding your hand to wrapping his arm around your shoulders, pulling you closer to catch some of his warmth. His footsteps are soft on the sidewalk, and your feet match him at a perfect pace, as if your minds moved in sync with each other. The planets are orbiting as they should.

He stops beside the passenger side car, hands in his pockets, and glances over at you. The neon from the diner’s sign glows faintly on his face, but his eyes are still all warm for you. He pulls the keys from his pocket and unlocks the car before opening the door for you.

“Ah–shit,” he mutters lowly, peering into his passenger seat. You peer in from behind him to see that his guitar is sat where he gestured you. You watch as he delicately takes the instrument, and lightly passes it off to the backseat. He wipes his hands dramatically, motioning at the now empty seat. “For you, bug.” You giggle. “Thanks.” 

Eddie’s car smells like a mix of vanilla and weed—a combined scent you’ve slowly come to associate with him and the comfort he carried. Who would’ve thought?

You see, dating Eddie is a peaceful predicament.

On one hand, you find it hard to believe that you have to share him with thousands of other people. His profession isn’t a topic of conversation you shy away from, but it isn’t every day you go into an in-depth conversation on how he spends most of his nights onstage, riffing on his guitar as his forehead catches a sweat from the velocity of his words spilling onto a microphone. You don’t talk about the crowd, the endless sea of people who show up to see him—just to watch, just to bask in the glow of his presence, while you get to experience it all for free.

Sometimes (if you were to ask Eddie, it’s more like all the time), you get anxious about how fast his life moves.Fast enough to match the rhythm of his mind, always racing ahead, always chasing the next thing. You, however, were all calculated and anxious, words only slipping after serious consideration.

But on the other hand, no one else holds your hand as they drive down the streetlight-filled roads to your apartment. No one else kisses each fingertip while you recount your draining day that is arguably less fast-paced than his, but he never interjects to say that. He never points out the insecurities she holds for being so different from him; mentally if not physically. Instead, he reassures you without a conversation needing to be had.

You lay your head against the passenger window and stare at his side profile, paying attention to the street though you know that his mind is elsewhere.

(You.)