#and my ADHD knows it will be a thousand little steps before I get to the dope image I know I have in mind

[naushtheaspiringauthor]

~Starstruck~

Actress! y/n x Lewis Pullman

A/N- Hihihi! The idea for a character who’s an actress and has like a thousand hobbies (partially because of her adhd lol) had been nagging at my brain for months so I finally took a break from daydreaming about it and actually wrote something. This isn’t the kind of stuff I usually like (which is gut wrenching angst) so I hope it doesn’t suck. And if u do like it, lemme know if you’d want to read more of this character and lewie Warnings- reader is dumb asf Pairing- Lewis Pullman x reader Word count- 3,122 (i got a little carried away sorry)

Interviewer: "So how did you two first meet?" 

You: "Well it was more of a starstruck moment," you let out a slow chuckle as you recalled the memory.

Interviewer; “That sounds interesting! What was it like-“ he asks. “Were you two fans of each other before meeting? What was the reaction?”.

Lewis; "Um no actually" he chuckles.

 "You see, I was the one who was starstruck when I saw her, and she-" he passes you a glance. "She had no idea who I was," he laughs.

You rub a hand behind your neck, still embarrassed by that.

Interviewer; "Really?" He widens his eyes.  "You didn't know who he was?" he asks you.

You began shaking your head, "Yeah actually I had no idea who he was when he first spoke to me," you let out a loose chuckle.

***

It was a quiet afternoon in Milan. The rain was pouring in gentle waves, bringing an unprecedented relief in the middle of summer. 

You'd gone there with your best friend, for a change of scenery.

You were sitting in the small diner, looking out at the clouds gathered above out of the window. 

"So you'd be getting back to LA next week?" Your friend, asked, as she sat down in front of you. 

The booth was secluded, at the last corner of the diner that wasn't too filled, nor too empty.

"Yeah" you sighed, pressing a hand to your eyelids. "Being in Germany for four months straight in all that cold” you sighed. “ Turns out it can really take a toll on all the mental peace,” you let out a dry chuckle.

You raised your elbows to rest your head on your hands. 

"That's exactly why I insisted you come along with me" she pushed a plate towards you.

The aroma of the freshly made blueberry pancakes made your mouth water. "You know," your friend took a bite of her food, chewing in the middle of her sentences. "so that you could get a break from all that, you know?"  She raised her shoulder.

"Plus there’s way less of all that paparazzi stuff going on here,".

"Yeah" you agreed, lifting your fork to your mouth. "That's one of the biggest reasons why I'm grateful to be here". 

"Plus, it's nice here," you smiled, as you looked out the window. "The weather- it’s great, less crowds of people, less of the- " you lifted a shoulder. "what's that phrase you always use?" you cocked your head to a side.

"Fear of being perceived," she reminded you.

"Yeah that” you pointed a finger. 

"Less of the fear of being perceived", you lifted a corner of your mouth. "My only regret is that we couldn't stay here longer" your graze grew distant.

"Yeah" your friend nodded in agreement. Life always gets in the way" she pursed her lips.

You give her a distant nod.

Just then you hear the diner bell ring as you shift your focus back on the window. 

A slow, quiet breeze was blowing now, making the trees sway, as if they were dancing to a familiar, beloved melody.

A man walked in your general direction and sat down in the booth opposite to yours. 

By the time you were done with your meal, the rain had slowed down. 

The heavy rumble of the rain had slowed down to a soft, quiet patter of raindrops. 

You handed the check to the waitress who offered you a kind smile and told you to ‘have a nice day’ in a way that made you believe she’d actually meant it.

"You too" you offered her a smile before the two of you stepped outside.

You didn't see him approaching at first, didn't hear the sound of his footsteps, not until he called out your name. 

You paused your conversation, and turned around.

A few loose strands of your hair clung to the skin near your eyes. 

You saw him then, really saw him, as he strode towards you.

 You saw the few waves of his light brown hair that fell near his eyes, but he paid no attention to them. 

You noticed the soft blues of his eyes, eyes that looked like the calm that an ocean attained after a long, fiery storm, eyes that felt like a gentle breeze after a long, harsh summer. 

"Yes?" You asked, brushing away the strands of hair away from your face. 

"Hi" he gave you a small wave as the corners of his mouth slowly lifted up.

"Hi" you waved back in response, your expression matching his. 

"I-I'm," he stammered, as if he was struggling to find the right words. "I'm a huge fan of your works and I admire- the work you do"  he smiled as he explained.

You widened your eyes briefly in surprise, "Thank you" you smiled. "That means a lot, really" You nodded.

"Of course," he raised his shoulders. "I- I'm Lewis" he pointed a hand towards himself. 

"Hi Lewis, pleasure to meet you" you offered him a hand, unsure of what else to do.

He blinked a few times, opened his mouth briefly then closed it back again, "You too" he shook your hand.

A barrier of awkward silence hung between the two of you. 

You stood with a small smile on your face, confused as to why he didn't make any further attempts to converstane, nor did he ask for any pictures, or anything, like an actual fan would.

Instead he stood with anticipation in his eyes.

It was your friend who broke the silence, "Y/n" she said firmly.

You assumed she was asking you to get going.

 "Alright I'll-" you pointed a thumb towards the street. 

"Yeah- yeah of course" the man, Lewis chuckled as he ran a hand through his hair.

Without another word, you began walking ahead.

After merely taking a few steps, your friend spoke up. "Dude!" She practically shrieked. 

"What?" you yelled out in confusion.

"Did you not-" she looked at you with eyes widened comically big. "Did you not recognize who that was!?" she asked.

"Who-that?" you looked back at the man who was walking away in the opposite direction. "No?" you offered helplessly.

"Oh my god" she pressed her hands to her forehead as she groaned. "Dude, that was Lewis Pullman!" she declared.

You blinked hard a couple of times, then looked back at her with a furrowed brow, "Who?" you asked, extremely confused by the girl’s overly exaggerated reaction.

"Wha-" she parted her lips. "Bill Pullman's son!? The drummer from Attaboy??" she elaborated. 

It as then only that the rusted old gears of your brain began to shift into place. "Oh" you realised.

"Yeah 'oh'" she mimicked you. 

“OH!" You yelled. "SHIIIIT" you cursed, mouth hung open in disbelief.

"Good riddance" she pressed a hand to her forehead, slowly shaking her head.

"I am such an idiot" you declared.

"Yep" she pursed her lips. "Yeah you are” she clicked her tongue.

"Shit I-" you pointed a finger in the backwards direction. "I- I gotta go back and like- apologise or something" you waved your arms in the air.

"God!" your friend pressed a hand to her face, slowly shaking her head in disbelief.

“Well, go on now, what are you waiting for?” she raised a hand in question.

“What like, right now?” you hesitated. 

“No just wait 4 to 5 business does” she gave you a blank stare. “Yes! Now!” she jerked her hand.

“Jeez” you raised your hands up in defense before quickly bolting in the opposite direction.

“Hey Lewis, wait!" you called out from behind as you ran towards him, the edges of your coat bellowing in the wind.

He whipped his head around as he stopped in his tracks.

 He widened his eyes, his lips parted in confusion as you approached him.

"Hi sorry" you stopped in front of him, breathless from running as you spoke.

"Yeah?" he asked, shock clearly registered on his face. "Is- is everything alright?" he asked, concern soon spreading over his features.

"Hi", you offered him a smile as you took a moment to catch your breath. "I'm- I am so sorry" you began. "I had no idea who you were," you explained.

“I mean I know who you are, I'm a big fan to be honest and that's like, not just to make up or anything" you rambled as your friend came walking at a normal pace towards the two of you.

"It's just I really- do like your work" You waved your hands frantically as you continued to explain. 

"It's just that I'm not very good at placing faces and names together like I know a person by their face and I know their name but I don't seem to realise it's the same person with that name, you know?" you let out a nervous chuckle. "You know what I mean?" you asked, helplessly.

“Yeah," Lewis nodded as he slowly began to chuckle. “I get what you mean". 

"And it's completely alright don't worry" he reassured. 

"I just thought you weren't interested in socializing on vacation, that's what I assume you're here for?" he leaned his head forward.

"Yeah" you nodded.

 "We're just here to take a little break from work" you motioned at your friend who smiled at Lewis as she introduced herself.

"And no no, it's really not like I didn't want to talk to you" you hurriedly offered  an explanation. "I was just-" you let out a nervous chuckle. "A little confused" you scratched the back of your neck in embarrassment. 

"Well, we can talk right now if you'd like that," Lewis offered, a small smile forming on his face.

"Yeah sure, of course," you agreed.

"Alright, great" he chuck grinned. "I was just going to explore the area a bit”.

"Would you guys like to come along?" he asked you and your friend.

"Yeah, sure that sounds nice" you smiled as you agreed. You turned to your friend "Would you-" you began.

But she quickly cut you off, "No no you guys go ahead I need to head back to the hotel” she pointed her thumb.  “I just realized I forgot my wallet there”.

"Alright" you nodded, confused because you saw her take it out a while ago. 

 But you chose to ignore her response and began to tread forward with Lewis.

"So what are you here for?" you asked him.

"Oh me?” he raised his eyebrows. “Same reason as you actually” he put his hands in his pockets.

“I was near the city for work and I had a couple days until my flight so I figured, hey” he raised his shoulders.

“Why not see the city? Explore?” he gave a sideways nod. 

You nodded, “Oh that's nice” you smiled.

“What about you?” he turned to you. “Like, why’d you guys choose to come to Milan for vacation?”.

"Oh my friend-" you pointed to the direction your friend had just ran off to. "She’d been planning to come here for a long time now and pretty much forced me to come" you explained.

“Ah” he nodded along.

 "She said, and I quote,” you pulled out your hands from your pockets to make air quotes “'it’s better for me to come along than to rot in bed throughout my entire break’".

Lewis chuckled at the sentence. “Well, how’s your experience of being here so far?” he asked.

“Hmm, well it has been pretty good” you pouted. “Plus, it’s nice here,” you lifted a shoulder.

Lewis smiled as he nodded along, "Yeah it really is nice here". 

“Not too loud, not too quiet” he tilted his head.

“Exactly” you pointed a finger.

After walking for a while, he turned his head towards you. "Where’d you wanna go today? Is there anything specific you had in mind?" he asked.

You looked at him, lips parted in surprise. "Oh" 

"Uh” you fixed your gaze sideways. “Oh yeah" you remembered. 

“I actually wanted to visit a couple bookstores but justy hadn't gotten around to it yet" you confessed.

"Oh that's perfect!" he flashed a bright smile. "We can…” he waved a hand. “Go right now if you want?" he leaned his head towards you, a smile on his face.

"Really?" your eyes widened at his response. "like you'd want to go?"

"I mean, it's completely alright if you wanna do something else or just like-go someplace else" you quickly added.

"No no, " He explained. "I'd love to go, really" he smiled as he nodded.

"Oh" you parted your lips. "Yay" a small grin escaped your lips.

***

You walked through the quiet streets, talking to Lewis Pullman of all people . And much to your surprise, he genuinely seemed to be interested in whatever you had to say.

"What do you do during breaks? " he asked as the two of you strode forward. “Like whenever you're not working".

“Hmm?” you furrowed your brows in question. “Oh well like my friend stated, I pretty much rot in bed all day" you pursed your lips.

 A small laugh escaped his lips.

"And on days I have like, a sudden burst of energy and motivation" you continued. "I  try to learn a song on the piano or sing something," you explained. "Or like, write probably” you lifted a shoulder.

He stopped walking and turned to you with a wide-eyed gaze, “You play piano and write?" he exclaimed. "That's really unexpected".

You stopped,a pout formed on your lips,, "Why's that surprising?" you cocked your head to a side. 

His expression quickly turned terfied, stopping "Oh no no I mean as in- cuz I haven't really" he waved his arms frantically as ye attempted to explain. "It's just cuz I haven’t really heard you mention that anywhere before and  so" he attempted to explain. "It's- it’s not like I don't think you can do it " he stammered.

"Oh it's alright I get what you were trying to say" you nodded reasurringly.

"And don’t worry I'm not offended" you let out a chuckle.

"Oh, that's -that's a relief" he breathed.

His lips formed a smile as his gaze met yours.

You returned his expression.

"What do you play?" he asked as you continued walking.

"I used to learn classical pieces back when I started," you began. 

"But now I just play the songs I like or I try to compose stuff" you gave a tilt of your head. 

"Oh wow” he parted his lips, as he nodded along.

"Do you play anything else?" he asked.

"It's piano mostly" you waved a hand. "But I can play pretty much anything that involves keys" you lifted a shoulder. "though I'll try to learn something else when I have the time for it".

"You play the drums, right?” you pointed a finger at him.

He blinked rapidly, "Yeah" he slowly nodded. "How'd you know?" he asked.

"Oh I’ve heard you play, you know for your band" you smiled.

He parted his lips and looked back at you with a wide-eyed gaze, "You know my band?" he asked.

"Yeah of course" you chuckled as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. 

"I love your band and the style of music you guys make" your smile was  wide now, as if it was no longer restrained, no longer calculated. 

"Oh I-" he pursed his lips briefly. "Thank you," he beamed.

“You mentioned you write?” he leaned towards you. 

”Yeah” you agreed.

”What do you write?” he asked.

“Anything that comes to mind really,” you shrugged. “Poems, short stories..” you cocked your head as you counted on your fingers.

“I’ve recently started writing screenplays too”.

“Wow” Lewis raised his eyebrows. “You're really talented " he began grinning.

You pursed your lips briefly, "Thanks" your lips formed a smile as you tucked your hair behind your ear.

You spent the whole of your afternoon walking through the streets of Milan. You’d visited bookstores, a quiet cafe, and had even gone to a nearby lake.

This was not how you'd expected your day to turn out in the slightest.

He listened to every word you spoke with deep interest, as if the words you spoke were lines from a holy scripture, as if they were a melody he'd only just heard, but had quickly begun to love.

He looked into your eyes as if he was observing them, taking in every little detail that your irises withheld, as if he wanted to preserve the memory of them, as if he was too afraid to forget even the tiniest detail.

By the time the sun had begun to set, you both decided it was time to part ways, though you didn't quite wish to.

"Oh where are you staying by the way?" Lewis asked you, before you both got up from the bench. 

You explained the address of the hotel.

"What about you?" you asked.

He gave you the details of his whereabouts. “It’s actually pretty close to where you are,” he added. 

"Woah so we could just walk to each other’s hotels anytime” you chuckled, brushing a few strands of hair away from your face. .

"Maybe you'd like to meet up another day?" he suggested. "Before you leave" he asked, hesitation lingering in his voice.

You looked at him for a moment, the anticipation in his perfect blue irises, something inside you made you be certain of your response, "Yeah of course" you smiled. "I'd love to," you nodded.

"Perfect" he beamed at your response. “Do you want to…” he waved a hand. “Exchange numbers maybe?” he asked.

“Oh okay yeah” you  nodded. “Sure” you offered a smile.

“Thanks” he ran a hand through his hair.

“Would it be okay if” he raised a shoulder. “I walk you back to your hotel?” he asked.

You blinked, slightly taken aback by his offer. But you quickly nodded, “I-oh thank you sure of course" you rambled.

That was the day you'd first met Lewis Pullman, but it wouldn't be the last.

You'd felt a pull towards him, a strange feeling in your heart, one that you hadn't stopped feeling since.

 Your heart still speeds up the same way whenever you meet his gaze, your breath still catches halfway when he says your name in his honey-coated voice.

 You still love him as much as you had, the very first day you met. Despite not even knowing who he was at first.

***

"You know if you come to think of it" Lewis points a finger at you as he rests his legs on the coffee table.

You turn to him, attention still halfway on the movie. "Hmm?"

"If it hadn't been for y/f/n,  we wouldn’t be here right now,” He points out.

You furrow your brows in confusion, unable to comprehend his words. 

Your gaze softens as you realize what he meant.  “Yeahhhhh” you stretched out the word, nodding slowly. 

[holyblonded]

feel no pain | alexia putellas

pairings: alexia putellas x sister!reader

summary: after being publicly called out, alexia finally tries to redeem herself and mend your relationship

universe: bear’s/cloud nine universe

warnings: this whole series is just angsty tbh

notes: usually i really look over for grammar mistakes but i have no more adhd meds so its going to have to wait. on the bright side, the lack of adhd meds helped me finish this!

It had been a week since the barbecue. A week since you said the words that, no matter how many times Alexia replayed them, still made her chest crack open like a fault line.

“I’m actually done this time.”

That sentence hadn’t left her head. Neither had the rest of that night.

She hadn’t meant to eavesdrop. She’d only stepped outside to get some air after Olga stormed off. After Olga’s words landed like gut punches she couldn’t defend herself from. But then she heard you. Through the open window, in the dim orange glow of the patio light. She heard everything.

"No more crying boohoo for her, no more saving seats, no more texts, nothing. I'm not going to waste any more time or tears on a person who has made it obvious she doesn't care for me." Your voice wasn’t loud, but it was steady. Brutal in its finality. Alexia had always known how to read a tone, and this wasn’t anger. It was grief with the funeral already held. You had buried her.

Alba had been crying. Softly, but uncontrollably. Eli looked like someone had kicked her in the gut.

And then the voice from the phone. Calm, grounding, and most of all gentle. “I understand you, Bear. But I need you to take a deep breath for me.”

Alexia flinched. Bear. She hadn’t heard anyone say that out loud in god knows how long. She was the one who gave you that name. When you were little and grumpy and always stomping around the house in your puffy winter jacket. Mi Osita. Her little polar bear. She’d thought it was hers… and now someone else said it. Someone who knew how to make you breathe again.

You quieted at the voice. You relaxed. Not for her. Not for your sister. But for JuJu, who didn’t even have to be in the same room to get you to slow your heart rate.

“You’re doing great, Bear. Can you give the phone to Alba or Eli so they can tell me the full story?”

You passed the phone like you’d done it a thousand times before. Your hands still trembling. And when Alba reached for your face to ground you, Alexia saw it—the way you melted into her hands like a child desperate to feel safe. “Calm down, Osita,” Alba whispered, her voice catching. “Sigan mis respiraciones.” (Follow my breaths)

You followed. Inhale. Exhale.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t protect you,” Alba whispered again.

That was the part that gutted Alexia. Worse than anything she’d heard you say. Protect you. From her… from your own sister.

Now, back on the training pitch at Ciutat Esportiva, Alexia felt like she was moving underwater. Everything was too loud and too quiet all at once. Her touches were off. Her passes too soft. Every time she ran, her legs betrayed her.

“Ale,” Irene said gently, jogging beside her as they finished a rondo. “You good?”

Alexia nodded without meeting her eyes. “Fine.”

“You sure?” Irene asked again, tone more direct this time. “You’ve been off all week. Want to talk?”

“I said I’m fine,” Alexia snapped, sharper than intended. She didn’t look back as she jogged toward her water bottle, wiping sweat off her brow like it might erase the tension building under her skin.

Irene stayed put for a beat, then sighed and let her go.

The break came, and just as Alexia finally started to breathe, Vicky bounded over, Salma and Sydney right behind her, grinning like they’d just walked out of a movie premiere.

“Oh my God,” Vicky said, beaming. “Did you see the new Gatorade promo? Your sister’s flavor? It’s actually so good.”

“She gave me a case!” Salma chimed in. “Persimmon Rush. Who even thinks of that? It’s fire.”

Sydney laughed, nudging Alexia lightly. “She said it was inspired by JuJu’s favorite fruit in an interview. They’re so corny. I love them.”

Vicky nodded, face lit up with that kind of bright, infectious admiration. “She’s seriously killing it. Like, I knew she was good, but she’s becoming an icon. That new Nike line? Crazy.”

“Did you see the TikTok with the mini Bear doing the Putellas 1080 on a trampoline?” Sydney added. “Half the Olympic team stitched it. Bear reposted it with the caption ‘She stuck the landing better than me.’ She’s hilarious.”

They laughed and glowed, while all Alexia could do was smile. Tight, tired, and hollow.

Because she knew how cool you were. How brilliant. How rare. She’d known it since the first time she saw you land a spin in the backyard with no pads on, just grit and a scraped chin.

But she hadn’t been there for any of it. She hadn’t reposted the Nike line. Hadn’t congratulated you on the Gatorade deal. Hadn’t even watched the full run that won you Olympic gold.

And now? Now, she had to hear about your victories from her teammates. Her teammates who had somehow become your fans.

“I think she’s gonna win another one,” Salma said, thoughtful. “Like another gold. She’s built different.”

“She’s been through hell. That injury was tough,” Vicky murmured. “And she’s still the best.”

Alexia nodded again, but it was just muscle memory now. Her throat had closed. Her stomach churned.

She didn’t say anything. Because what could she say? I missed it. I chose silence. I let someone else become her safe place.

They kept chatting, buzzing, praising you, and all Alexia could think about was how you used to save her a seat at your high school showcases. How you used to wait by the tunnel after her matches, holding signs in the stands. How you used to run into her arms yelling, “Did you see me? Did you see me?”

You didn’t ask that anymore. Now, you had someone else waiting at the finish line. Now, someone else called you Bear. And Alexia, she had only herself to blame.

It’s been a week since the barbecue. A week since you said I’m done. A week since you told her, told the entire family, that you were finished chasing shadows. Since Eli cried. Since Alba whispered ‘I’m sorry I couldn’t protect you.’ Since you saw the look on Alexia’s face crack for the first time in years—confusion, then denial, then something that almost looked like guilt.

But you didn’t wait around for it to turn into anything real. Because you’re done.

Now, it’s the beginning of a new semester. You’re back at USC, off campus now. Finally moved into the apartment you and JuJu signed the lease for in last semester. It’s cozy, tucked just behind the campus hub, with one master bedroom, a guest bedroom, and two and a half bedrooms, floor-to-ceiling windows, and exactly one miniature couch that you had custom made for Deuce the Frenchie.

Deuce, for all his snorting, grumbling, muscled-up glory, is 100% your dog now. He sleeps in your bed, waits in your side of the bathroom, and barks at JuJu when she tries to steal your hoodie (her hoodie back) or play fights with you. She pretends to be annoyed, but secretly, she loves it. Loves that the three of you feel like a little world. A little family. One that shows up for each other.

Your apartment has become the official hangout spot for half of USC Athletics. Someone from the basketball team is always on the balcony, someone from the snow team always raiding the fridge. The whiteboard in the kitchen is always full of tournament dates and new potential smoothie combinations. The music is always loud. The air smells like fresh laundry, eucalyptus, and a hint of saffron. And your bedroom—you and JuJu’s bedroom—is a safe place now. No ice packs. No meds. Just you, JuJu, and Deuce, grunting in his sleep between you.

Life is good. No—life is great.

And then comes the preseason media panel. You’re not cleared to compete yet, but the university still asks you to speak—Olympic gold medalist, comeback kid, viral trick inventor, snowboarding’s darling. You don’t mind. You’ve done panels before. You know how to smile on cue. You put on your team jacket, Persimmon Rush patch stitched into the arm, adjust your gold ‘J12’ necklace to fall perfectly, and take your seat under the lights.

The first few questions are easy.

How’s the knee?

“Strong. We’re ahead of schedule.”

How’s it feel to be back on campus?

“Warmer than Switzerland. Colder than Spain.”

What’s your goal for the season?

“Land clean. And have fun.”

Then comes the question about Alexia.

The reporter phrases it casually, like it’s a throwaway. “Your sister Alexia is having a great start to her season with Barcelona. Do you two still keep in touch?”

You smile, thin and practiced. “We’re both busy, but I always hope she’s doing well.”

The next reporter presses it, just slightly,

“Any chance we’ll see her cheering you on this year?”

You nod vaguely. “She’s got a packed schedule. We’ll see.”

And then comes the third one. The one that makes your throat dry. That makes your hands curl slightly in your lap.

“Would you say you come from a competitive family? You are the sister of an incredible soccer player.”

You laugh. Just once. Sharp and low. Then you smile again, but it’s not sweet. It’s bitter. Bone-dry. “Some compete,” you say, voice like glass, “and some disappear. Flip a coin.”

There’s a beat of stunned silence. A quiet, surprised chuckle from your coach, who steps in quickly, “Let’s move to the next question—maybe about NIL deals or community outreach…”

But it’s too late. The quote is already out there. By the time you get home that night, the clip has gone everywhere.

JuJu’s curled up on the couch in one of your hoodies, legs under a blanket, Deuce snoring at her feet, SportsCenter on mute and an NBA game running on her iPad. She looks up the second she hears the door unlock.

“Hey, Bear,” she says, her voice warm, familiar, soft.

You don’t even answer. Just drop your bag to the floor, shuffle toward the couch, and throw yourself directly into her arms.

She catches you instantly, wrapping her arms around your back, and lets you bury your face in her neck.

“You saw it,” you mumble, already groaning.

“I did,” she says. “TikTok says three million views. Instagram… I stopped counting. ESPN is having a field day.”

You groan louder. “I knew it. I knew I shouldn’t’ve said anything. I was tired. I was sore. And I hate those chairs—they’re always built for people with normal knees. No athlete has normal knees.”

JuJu hums and chuckles at your last statement, but doest’t argue. Just runs her fingers through your hair.

For a while, it’s quiet. The only sounds are the low buzz of the TV, the soft flick of her nails against your scalp, the way your breathing starts to slow in the circle of her arms.

Then she says, quietly, “Do you want to talk about it?”

You don’t answer right away. Because you do. But it’s hard. It always is. Talking about her.

“I didn’t mean to say it like that,” you whisper eventually. “I was just tired. I’m always tired when it comes to her. I didn’t want to make a scene.”

JuJu brushes her thumb across your jaw.

“You didn’t make a scene,” she says. “You told the truth.”

You lift your head. Meet her eyes.

And then it spills. Quietly. Like a cut reopening.

“I used to lie for her,” you whisper. “All the time. In interviews. To my teammates. Even to my coaches. I used to say, ‘We’re just busy,’ or, ‘We’re super close, just private.’ I thought if I kept saying it out loud, it’d eventually be true.”

JuJu doesn’t speak. Just listens.

“And then I stopped lying,” you go on. “And it got worse. The silence. The distance. The way she only remembered me when there were cameras. Or when someone asked. Or when it benefited her.”

Your voice shakes. “And I hate that I still care. I hate that I still check her stories. That I still wonder if she saw mine. I hate that part of me still hopes she’ll text.”

JuJu pulls you in tighter.

You bury your face in her hoodie again. “I don’t want to want her. I just want to be over it. Over her.”

A beat. And then JuJu whispers, “You will be.”

“How?”

She pulls back just enough to look at you, eyes warm, sure.

“Because you’re already doing it. Every day. With every medal, every rep, every laugh, every new beginning. You’re healing. And she can’t take that from you.”

You nod. Tears sliding down now.

“And if you ever get tired again,” JuJu says, kissing your forehead, “you can borrow some of my strength. I’ve got plenty.”

You laugh through your tears. “That’s so corny.”

She grins. “Shut up, you love it.”

“I really do.”

And just like that, you exhale. For the first time since the barbecue, your chest feels light again.

You don’t exactly know what started it. Maybe it was the long day. Maybe it was your sore knee. Maybe it was the emotional whiplash of the preseason panel and a flood of DMs afterward, all asking some variation of “But how are things with Alexia now?” Or maybe it was just the damn box sitting on your kitchen counter.

You’re standing there, soaked from the rain, half out of your hoodie. Deuce, equally soaked, at your side staring at the package like it barked at him first.

JuJu walks in, towel slung around her neck, fresh from lifting. She pauses in the doorway, taking in the scene. Her drenched girlfriend, her drenched, judgmental dog, and the (surprisingly dry) unopened package.

“Okay, what’s going on?” she says, amused. “You and Deuce look like you’re about to interrogate that box.”

You exhale slowly. “It was waiting for me at the training center.”

JuJu frowns and walks over. “USC Athletics delivered it to you?”

You nod. “They said it was dropped off earlier this week. No note. Just my name. But… it’s from her.”

JuJu tilts her head. “From your sister?”

You nod again, tighter this time. “She sent it there because Alba wouldn’t give her my address.”

JuJu’s face hardens just a little. “Okay. That’s… weird.”

“It’s so weird,” you mutter. “It’s awkward. It’s pathetic. I don’t even know what she wants me to do with it.”

JuJu puts a hand on the counter beside yours. “Want me to open it?”

“No.”

There’s a long pause. The box sits there between you and her like it knows what it’s about to do. Eventually, JuJu gives you a pep talk. Gentle, loving, steady. And somehow, you find yourself opening the flap. Inside is a jersey… her jersey. The new Barça kit. Signed. Folded perfectly. No note. No message. Just a signature across the number.

You stare at it. Your breath catches in your throat. “She signed it,” you whisper, stunned. “Like… like I’m a fan.”

JuJu steps closer. “That’s not—”

“This is something you give a Make-A-Wish kid,” you snap, voice cracking, “not your sister.”

You stumble back from the counter, chest heaving, and collapse onto the floor. The tile is cold. Your whole body shakes. It’s too much.

JuJu drops down next to you in a heartbeat, arms circling your shoulders. “Breathe, Bear. Breathe.”

But you’re already breaking. Sobbing into her chest, your hands balled into fists.

“She doesn’t get it,” you cry. “She never gets it. This isn’t an apology. It’s an autograph.”

JuJu holds you tighter, and you feel her press a kiss to your forehead.

“She’s trying in the only way she knows how,” she murmurs, “but it’s not the way you need.”

You don’t respond. You just cry harder.

Three days later, Alba sends you a screenshot. Alexia’s story.

A throwback photo of the two of you as kids. You’re maybe seven so she’s eighteen.

She’s holding your hand. You’re both in matching Barça shirts. It was the day she signed her senior contract with Barcelona.

No tag. No caption. Just the image.

“She posted this today,” Alba texts. “I think it’s her way of reaching out.”

You stare at it. You don’t respond. You don’t repost it. You don’t like it. You don’t message her. You check your Instagram and see she’s followed you again. You don’t follow back.

You’re done mistaking crumbs for love. You’re done hoping passive efforts mean anything.

She can follow you all she wants. It doesn’t mean she’s behind you. Not anymore.

Your comeback becomes official on a cloudy Thursday afternoon in early March. You’ve known for weeks, it’s been a slow buildup of PT milestones, check-ups, internal sign-offs, but now it’s public. The Royal Spanish Winter Sports Federation posts a sleek announcement:

“She’s back. Olympic gold medalist and reigning X Games champion “La Ossa” returns to snow competition. Cleared. Competing. Chasing another title at X Games.”

You don’t even plan on posting anything. But your Nike rep texts you and your agent says, “It’s good for the brand.” So you do.

It’s not dramatic, just a photo. You in your new snow gear, goggles pulled up to your forehead, board propped under your arm, a tiny scar from childhood visible under your reflective goggles.

The caption reads: “Let’s ride.”

It takes only six minutes to go viral. Your phone explodes. DMs, tags, texts from journalists, retweets from sports outlets. RFEA puts you on their story, and ESPN picks up the post before lunch.

But it’s not just them. Your teammates from USC and Spain post it. So do JuJu’s teammates—her basketball girls, her trainers, even her media intern. They tag it with bear emojis and write things like “Let’s go legend” and “She’s really HIM.”

JuJu reposts it with a caption that just says: “She never left.” And then adds an Instagram Story of you holding Deuce like a baby with: “She’s still taking this deadbeat dog with her tho.”

And then there’s Alba, who posts a three-photo carousel. One of you snowboarding as a kid, one of you holding your gold medal in Beijing, and the final one, taken just months ago, of you walking unassisted out of the rehab clinic. Her caption says, “My baby girl. You were always coming back.”

You almost cry at that one… almost.

But what catches you off guard are the reposts that start rolling in from players you didn’t expect. Irene Paredes. Marta Torrejón. Aitana. Then the newer ones. Vicky López tags you and writes, “My role model.” Salma reposts with a flex emoji and says, “The real GOAT.” Sydney reposts a story from your X Games run last year, the one you landed that impossible frontside 1080, and just types, “Insane.” Even Jana reposts with a simple “Welcome back, Bear 🐻” Even though you’ve only met her once or twice at a Barça women’s dinner. And then the headlines start rolling in. ESPN España. MARCA. Mundo Deportivo.

“The Return of a Champion: La Ossa’s Road to Redemption.”

“Two Sisters, One Legacy: The Putellas Bloodline Reigns Supreme. La Ossa and La Reina.”

“Snow and Grass: The Putellas Dynasty Across Sports.”

You stare at that last one and feel something curl bitter and sharp in your stomach. Dynasty. Legacy. Bloodline.

You read the headline again. Your name next to hers. The sister who ignored your injury. Who gave you a signed jersey like a fan. The one who said in Vogue that she didn’t really follow snowboarding.

And before you can think twice, you go on your story. Black background. White text.

“I’m not sharing a headline with someone who won’t even say my name.”

You hit post. Your phone lights up again. People screenshot it. Fans repost it. One TikTok about it hits a million views by the next day.

You don’t care. You’re not here to make peace. Not anymore.

You don’t hear from her directly, not at first. Until the voicemails start.

She doesn’t text. She doesn’t DM. She doesn’t email. Just these shaky, stumbling voicemails. Sent in the middle of the night. Always under a minute.

You don’t listen to the first one. Or the second. Or the third.

But then there’s a day. A day where practice sucks. Where you push yourself too hard. Where your coach says, “Do it again,” and it slices through your chest. Where JuJu’s gone for an away game in Arizona and Deuce keeps bringing you his toy like you’re supposed to fix everything.

You make it home. You shower, only manage to eat three spoonfuls of plain, cold rice before get in bed with Deuce tucked against your ribs and finally, you press play.

Alexia’s voice crackles into your ears. She sounds… tired. Smaller than you’ve ever heard her. “I know you don’t want to hear from me. I wouldn’t either. But I—I’m proud of you, Mi osita. I always was. I just didn’t know how to love you right. I thought keeping my distance was… safe. For you. For me. But it was cowardly. I know that now. I missed everything and that’s on me. Not you. It was never you. I love you, Osita.”

You lie there, still as stone. The voicemail ends. The silence afterward is suffocating. You don’t move.

Then, slowly, your face crumples. Your hands come up to your mouth and you sob. Silent, wracking, body-breaking sobs. The kind that make your chest ache and your spine tremble. You curl in on yourself like it’ll help. Like it’ll make the past easier to hold.

Deuce shifts, curling tighter into you, licking the tears that slide down your chin, not having the strength to push him away. But you don’t call back—you can’t call back.

Because apologies don’t erase absences. And love doesn’t fix the damage when it’s said too late.

She left you in the dark for too long. And you’re only now learning how to find the light without her.

Alexia opens the door expecting warmth. She’s always expected that from her mother, even when she didn’t deserve it. Even now, with the gaping silence between her and her sister, she thinks that maybe Eli has come to soothe it over. To tell her it’ll be fine, that time will patch it all up. That Bear is dramatic. That she’ll come around.

But one look at Eli’s face tells her otherwise.

She doesn’t step forward. She doesn’t kiss her cheek. She doesn’t carry a tray of leftover tarta de Santiago or hum in that way that used to mean comfort. No. Today, she looks like a woman on a mission. Sharp, stern, and most of all tired.

And Alexia suddenly feels ten years old again, like she’s about to get scolded for breaking something fragile.

“¿Quieres pasar?” Alexia asks hesitantly, moving aside. (Do you want to pass?)

Eli nods once, then walks in. They sit on opposite sides of the room. The silence is heavy. It buzzes in Alexia’s ears. She fidgets, unsure whether to offer tea or brace for a storm.

Eli doesn’t make her wait long. “You know,” she begins, her voice quiet but laced with steel, “she used to sleep on the floor with your jersey.”

Alexia’s stomach drops.

“She was younger. Maybe nine? Ten? She’d fold it like it was sacred. Wouldn’t even let me wash it. Just hugged it like it was a lifeline.”

Alexia closes her eyes, pain blooming in her chest.

Eli leans forward, eyes fixed. “Now she sleeps beside a girl who loves her better than you ever did.”

It lands like a punch to the gut. Alexia’s breath catches. Her mouth opens but she has no defense, no shield, no way to soften the truth. She stares at the floor, shame settling on her shoulders like a second skin.

“I’m trying,” she says finally. “I’m trying to fix it. I’ve been sending things. I followed her again. I left her voicemails. I posted that photo…”

“Do you think that’s enough?” Eli cuts in, her voice rising—not loud, but sharp like glass. “Do you think that erases everything? The birthdays you forgot? The interviews where you pretended she didn’t exist? The months you let go by without so much as a text?”

“I didn’t know what to say,” Alexia whispers, her voice cracking. “I didn’t know how to fix it.”

“You don’t,” Eli says. “That’s the point.”

Alexia looks up, eyes shining. “I want her back. I want to be her sister again. I know I messed up. I know I hurt her. But I miss her. I miss—” her voice breaks. “I miss the way she used to look at me. Like I was someone worth being proud of.”

Eli’s face softens just slightly, but she doesn’t let up.

“You need to understand something, hija. You don’t get to decide when you want to be a sister. She’s not a porch light waiting to be turned on whenever you finally feel like coming home.”

Alexia blinks fast, trying to keep the tears at bay.

“She is fire,” Eli continues, firm now, eyes burning. “And you left her in the cold.”

Alexia looks away. Her hands tremble in her lap. She presses her palms together like maybe she can keep herself from falling apart.

“She has overcome more than you know,” Eli says, softer now, but no less fierce. “That injury nearly broke her. The press wanted her to be you. Everyone wanted her to fail so they could say she was a mistake. But she didn’t break. She rose. She is rising. She has a girlfriend who adores her, teammates who protect her, and friends who know her heart better than you ever bothered to learn. I am part of the blame. Staying silent for so long, letting her hurt that long.”

Alexia says nothing. She can’t. Her throat is tight. Her vision blurs. All she can think of is the sound of your voice in the conversation she wasn’t meant to hear. “No more saving seats. No more texts. I’m not wasting another tear on her.”

Eli stands. “You want to fix this?” she says. “Give her space. Don’t corner her. Don’t use the press. Don’t make passive attempts and call them effort.”

Alexia wipes her eyes quickly, silently.

Eli steps toward the door, then pauses. “She doesn’t hate you, Alexia. That’s what makes it worse. She still loves you. Deep down. But she doesn’t trust you with that love anymore. And you’re going to have to earn it back inch by inch.” She opens the door, then turns over her shoulder. “And if you can’t do that with patience and humility, don’t do it at all.”

Alexia stands in the quiet of her apartment, her jersey still folded on the couch, a photo of you both as children face-down on her desk. She walks over, picks it up, stares at the grainy image. Your little body wrapped in her arms, eyes wide, grin lopsided. She clutches the frame to her chest and finally cries. Not for what she’s lost. But for what she gave away.

Alexia sits in the dark of her apartment, shoulders curled in like she’s trying to protect herself from the weight of her own guilt. She has a Champions League game is in two days, but she can’t focus. Every time she closes her eyes, she doesn’t see the pitch. She sees you. She sees the version of you that no longer looks at her like she hung the stars. Reminding her of the fact that it wasn’t always like this. It used to be you and her against the world.

Fourteen-year-old Alexia chased a giggling toddler across the backyard.

You were three, cheeks flushed with excitement, oversized Barça kit practically swallowing your tiny frame. You’d just managed to tap the ball past her and into the miniature goal she set up earlier that day, a feat you celebrated like you’d just won the World Cup.

“I scored! I scored, Lexi!” you shouted, arms raised like a superhero.

She laughed, pure, delighted laughter that echoed through the warm Mollet air. “You did, Osita! Golazo!”

You ran in circles, mimicking her own goal celebrations. She caught you mid-lap, scooping you into the air, spinning you around while you shrieked with joy.

“Lexi, I’m flying!”

“Of course you are, Bear. You’re unstoppable.”

She held you close after that spin, your forehead pressed against hers. Your curls were wild. Your grin was missing two baby teeth. She kissed your nose.

Back then, you were her shadow. Her little bear. She used to call you that every day—Osita when you were sweet, Bear when you had your little temper tantrums. She taught you to dribble before you could spell your name. You wore her old cleats like they were glass slippers. You loved her like she was the sun.

Two years later. You were five. A small pink bike with tassels sat on the front driveway, glinting in the afternoon light.

Alexia knelt beside it, one hand steadying the handlebars, the other resting on your helmeted head.

“I don’t want to fall,” you said softly, eyes wide and uncertain.

“You won’t,” she promised. “Because I’ll be right here.”

“You’re sure?”

She held out her pinky. “I promise. Pinky promise.”

You wrapped yours around hers. “With the kiss,” you whispered.

She smiled and leaned in, kissed your knuckle. “Con el beso.” (With the kiss)

Then you climbed on, wobbled, and cried out as the bike tilted. But she was there. Always there.

Her hands gripped the back of your seat as you steadied. She ran beside you the entire way down the street, breathless and beaming when you made it to the end without falling.

“I did it, Lexi! I did it!”

“You did,” she laughed, pulling you into her arms, heart thudding with pride. “I told you I’d be there.”

And you whispered into her ear, small and soft and certain, “Never leave me, okay?”

She squeezed you tighter. “Never.”

Then came the night everything changed.

You were seven. The house was quiet, painfully so. The kind of quiet that follows death like a shadow. Your father had passed two weeks ago, and though people still dropped off flowers and food, the visits had slowed. The once warm dishes were cold now. The grief was heavier.

Alexia was in her room when she heard the knock.

“Lexi?” your voice was barely audible.

She opened the door to find you in your pajamas, clutching a stuffed polar bear, tears lining your lower lashes.

“Osita,” she whispered, heart crumbling. “What’s the matter?”

“I can’t sleep,” you said. “I miss Papi.”

Alexia dropped to her knees and pulled you in. You didn’t sob. You were past sobbing. This grief was quieter, deeper. The kind that lived in your bones.

She carried you to her bed, tucked you beneath her blanket, pressed her forehead to yours.

“He’s watching over us,” she whispered. “Always. You know that, right?”

“Like a guardian angel?” you asked.

“Exactly,” she said, brushing your hair from your eyes.

You sniffled. “Do you think he’d be proud of me?”

Alexia’s voice cracked. “He’s already proud, Bear. So proud.”

Then came your whisper. “Will you always be here for me?”

She didn’t hesitate. “Yes. Always.”

“Promise?”

She held out her pinky, lips trembling. “Pinky promise.”

You linked yours with hers. “With a kiss.”

She kissed it, sealing it. And in the darkness, you finally slept.

Now. Alexia stares at her own reflection in the dark window of her apartment. Her eyes are bloodshot. Her heart is shattered. She broke every promise. She wasn’t there. Not when you moved into college. Not when you stood on that podium, medal around your neck, tears in your eyes as the national anthem played. Not when you tore your ACL. Not when you called her name through silence and she didn’t answer.

She let the press get between you. Let pride stand where love used to be. She let the idea of who she thought you should be ruin the chance to celebrate who you became.

And now, she has voicemails you won’t answer, throwback photos you don’t repost, a sister who used to sleep beside her—who now barely breathes in the same world.

“She’s not a porch light waiting to be turned on,” Eli had said. “She is fire. And you left her in the cold.”

Alexia curls her knees to her chest. She thinks of the jersey she sent—the stupid, signed jersey that felt more like a pity gift than anything meaningful. She didn’t mean it that way. She just…she didn’t know what to send. So she defaulted to distance, to impersonality, because getting too close meant reckoning with the years she spent failing you.

She remembers that voicemail she left. “I know you don’t want to hear from me. But I’m proud of you. I always was. I just didn’t know how to love you right.”

But the silence that followed said everything. Because love too late isn’t love at all. It’s regret. And Alexia Putellas has never known failure quite like this. Not on the pitch. Not in the spotlight. Only here, in the wreckage of a promise sealed with a kiss and a pinky. Only here, in the silence you left behind.

The event is loud, polished, over-produced in the way all Nike events are. Flashing lights, pristine backdrops, branded hydration stations and photo ops and camera crews lingering near every smiling athlete like moths to flame. You’re used to it now. Used to the attention, the posture, the grace required of you. You’re here for a good cause. You’re also here because your contract says you have to be.

JuJu’s off giving an interview on the far side of the room, charming the press in her calm, confident way. You can hear her laugh from where you stand, and it grounds you like it always does. She’s why you came. She’s why you stayed. She’s why you haven’t collapsed under the weight of everything else.

You’re idly sipping from a sparkling water bottle, scrolling through your phone to avoid small talk, when something shifts. You feel it before you see it—a sharp, gut-deep twinge like a storm moving in. You look up.

Alexia is across the room. She looks different. Not in the way time changes a person, but in the way regret lives on the face. There’s no smugness in her. No arrogance. Her shoulders are tight. Her expression is subdued, worn down by the ache she’s been carrying. Her usual command of a room is gone. She doesn’t glow here.

She looks… human. Small, almost. And heartbreakingly quiet.

She’s standing beside a Nike rep, but she’s not talking. She’s just watching you. Carefully. Softly. Not like she’s owed anything. Not like she expects a reunion or a smile. Just like someone who’s been hungry for your face and has finally found it in the wild.

You lock eyes. Time stops yet the room spins. The crowd fades and the music dulls.

Your chest tightens instantly. There’s a second—a flicker—where something in you wants to go to her. Wants to walk over, like you used to when you were little and got scared in a crowd. Like the part of you that will always remember her piggyback rides and pinky promises and the way her arms felt like home.

But then, you remember everything else. Every silence. Every unanswered text. Every birthday missed. Every time she talked about you like you were a stranger. Every passive attempt to fix something she shattered.

You remember her interview. “We don’t talk much.”

You remember the jersey. No note. Just a signature. Like she was sending memorabilia, not reaching for a sister.

You remember the voicemail. The one you listened to when you were raw and hurting and alone. The one that said ‘I didn’t know how to love you right.’

She nods. It’s small. Barely there. Not a plea. Not an apology. Just… an offering. A gesture that says I see you.

Your throat closes. You almost nod back…almost.

But then you take a breath and step away. One foot in front of the other. Back straight. Chin up.

You don’t look back. Because love, once, might have pulled you toward her. But you’ve learned that survival sometimes means walking away from the people who made the fire feel like home just so they could burn you in it.

It takes everything in you not to cry.

Alexia watches you go. Her hands tighten into fists at her sides, then slowly unclench. She doesn’t chase after you. She doesn’t make a scene. Maybe once, she would’ve tried to save face, spin it, make you the one who couldn’t forgive. But not now.

Now, she just stands there, watching the space you leave behind. Like she’s realizing all over again that the worst part of losing you wasn’t the fall out—it was knowing she was the one who let you fall.

And that this time? You didn’t even ask her to catch you.

[ashyjingles]

jason grace headcanons

as requested by @sacrifical-lamb-core

ive been known to enjoy some more feral leaning jason grace but this is more of an authoritative take on his personality if you will. feel free to add to or dispute anything i have here!! this is all kind of a jumbled mess of first-come-first-serve deal in my head and i have yet to go through and weed any out

he has problems with authority. not outwardly; in fact, to everyone else, he’s the picture perfect kid who follows all of the rules. but that’s because he’s terrified of what would happen if he stepped out of line. he grew up with lupa, who was incredibly harsh to ensure survival in her pups. and then when he got to the legion, all of the officers were required to uphold the law. jason saw what happened to people who stepped the line, and the results were never pretty. (in son of neptune they mentione tying someone in a bag with weasels and throwing them in the little tiber for fuck’s sake) he grew scared to even TOE the line. 

because of the previous hc, he’s scared of kids. he knows how rambunctious they get, and he knows that if it came down to it, he would have to punish them and follow through on it by necessity. its what all his predecessors did after all. but he doesn't want to harm them. hes always had that soft spot for the new and/or younger kids. so he’s not scared of kids themselves, he’s scared of being the one to give them consequences to their potential actions. he leaves that to someone else with more guts

the previous two leave him with a lot of cognitive dissonance that he never really gets over. he’s an incredibly empathetic person and no matter how much he tries he can never really stop that feeling of regret when he has to punish someone who clearly regrets their actions. but give them an inch and they'll take a mile. he has major problems with dissociation where he removes his sense of self from the scenario and lets his logical processing take over without any emotion. reyna has had to pull him back from it a few too many times.

between the dissociation, magical amnesia, adhd, and constant brain damage, that boy has one of the worst memories youve ever seen

he really likes steak. specifically rare steak. (wolf!jason truther…)

he can see electrical currents! and can. see? wind currents. its more of a knowing the wind currents are there without thinking about them rather than a visual thing though. its how despite his poor eyesight he was an excellent fighter before he got the glasses

jason has really sharp canines! so does thalia! they get it from their mom, who filed her own canines down for a softer appearance and would have done the same to her kids once they were old enough for that type of dental work. 

jason is left handed, but because of military-style training early on it was forcibly trained out of him either because nobody realized he was left-handed or because they looked down on left-handedness for the sake of unanimity in the formations on the field. he just thinks hes naturally ambidextrous

gay. mlm. boy kisser for certain that man does NOT like girls. he treated reyna and piper the exact same despite one of them being his girlfriend (and treated reyna in a way where she thought he might have liked her back) because he treats them both in accordance to his emotions toward them: ie, he likes both platonically, which is why theres no difference. he just cant tell.

he fucking LOVES mint. says brushing his teeth and chugging a cold glass of water makes his mouth feel like being up in the air and 15 thousand feet with the wind in face.

he’s half asian! beryl grace is asian (i usually go with either thai or vietnamese) and usually i just went with wasian but then the show came out and now i go with blasian. or maybe beryl grace is wasian? whatever the case, i always pictured him and thalia as having some sort of asian descent.

hes really good at archery. dont tell anyone its just him controlling the winds though

hes such a dog person oh my god

his eyes light up like circuits/lightning when he uses his powers. specifically his lightning powers. 

jason doesnt have dyslexia but he does have dyscalculia. like, really bad dyscalculia. but he still greatly prefers reading in latin!

jason hated reading for the longest time because they didnt have any books purely for enjoyment on base. in new rome itself they had bookstores with plenty of books. (they were mostly classics because they didnt have too much contact with the rest of the world, but they were more than just military reports or old historic scrolls you needed express permission to even breath on) but when he discovers newer books he finds himself really liking them! though his favourite genre is definitely classics, and when someone breaks the news to him that he couldve had these books the entire time hes devastated

when he was younger he was better at latin than english because most kids who arrive at camp jupiter know english already and theyre well equipped at teaching people latin, but not english. they had to send him to a school off base/in new rome for younger kids to learn some more rudimentary skills

it was under juno’s orders that he lived on base. she wanted him to be as prepared as possible for his future, which meant starting his training bright and early. otherwise he probably would have spent some time in camp jupiter as a normal kid until he could at least, oh i dunno, read and write. tie his shoes. eat with cutlery. take a bath by himself.

if jason had been there long enough without the swap ever happening, when he stepped down from praetor (not for another longggg few years) he would have done law in new rome. 

if post swap jason grace had the opportunity to do law in new rome, he would have pushed for rules regarding kids safety. of course, if another jason case were to happen nobody would have been able to deny a god(dess) but jason was never a normal case, was he?

can you tell i like lawyer!jason

less of a headcanon more of commentary on his character but as strong of a character as he was, camp half blood taught him how to have a back bone. in rome he was incredibly disciplined and had no trouble ordering other people around, but it was always in accordance with new rome’s laws. camp half blood taught him how to abide by his own moral principles rather than ones that someone else gave to him. (after all, new rome was about unity while chb was about individuality.) 

he honestly really likes his work as pontifex maximus. it fulfills his inner desire to be doing the ‘right’ thing by rome’s standards (especially because the title is highly revered) while giving him the room to express his creative desires, which is something that he had never been able to do. its also not at the cost of someone else, which usually ended up happening when he was upholding the law as praetor

this one works in contrast or in tandem with my previous bullet on his sexuality (specifically the comment on how he treated piper and reyna): he knew that reyna had a crush on him. he didnt know why he couldnt feel the same. queer culture wasnt really a thing in the modern world for the time it took place, and i dont imagine new rome was any more progressive. he didnt understand lots of things about his sexuality at the time. he didnt know that not liking girls might have been an option, and that he didnt have to like reyna back. so he tried his best to convince himself into having feelings for her, which led to reyna thinking they were reciprocated. once he met piper, that confusion happened all over again and even without his memories he found himself repeating the process

his favourite is blue like the sky, and ironically his and thalia’s eyes

thalias eyes are slightly darker than jason’s. more grey as well. jason’s are the brightest fucking blue youve ever seen. think the clearest, sunniest day youve ever seen, and it still doesnt hold a candle to his eyes. thalias are more like the sky before a storm.

jason can feel (along with see as given by previous bullet) electrical currents. he could feel someone switching a light switch from half a mile away if he thought about it

hes constantly brimming with static electricity and WILL shock everything he touches. a handshake? you get shocked. he tries to open a car door? literal sparks. as a kid he had to wear electricity resistant gloves because he didnt have a hold on it and it became dangerous because when his emotions are heightened, so are his powers. if he gets angry or excited or sad the air around him smells like ozone, and sometimes you can even see the sparks

cows really like him. straight up adore him. theyre his favourite animal!

he smells like ink, ozone, and something metallic. some people say blood, but hazel says its something like copper or nickel

[mrghostrat]

i was hoping to stream this afternoon but i woke with my shoulders hurting so bad that i have absolutely zero capacity for anything. to the point where i experienced my first autistic rumbles in the supermarket 🥸 but i have adhd meds now so maybe we can try tomorrow.

zita's suspected i'm on the spectrum for a little while now, but i've always been on the fence about it. there's a lot i don't relate to. but most of that is bc i have so much learned behaviour, and i mask really well. when i try to break down how i think for autism diagnostic quizzes, my gut reactions DO fit the bill, but they are so so so buried under 30 years of life experience that feels like it comes naturally.

but i am an introvert. an extreme introvert. even while living alone with my best friend, who i get on perfectly with and feel zero need to mask around, i still need to excuse myself and be left alone in my room from 10pm at LEAST.

so i only really unmask when i'm dead alone. even though i dont feel like i'm putting up any kind of front around of zita, i still do, automatically. the only time i see myself completely bare is when i'm alone and it's silent and there is absolutely nothing challenging my comfort.

sooooo hoooooo boy waking up in pain, with zero capacity to even finish a thought, still empty of ADHD medication because of the fuckin manufacturing shortage (thankfully today's trip into town was to finally pick some up! but that wasn't until noon), i got to see a side of myself i don't know if i've ever actually seen before? maybe as a kid but i can't remember specifically that far back?

i've been short tempered and overwhelmed and exposed to sensory nightmares whilst home alone before, but it's usually so quick bc i'm at HOME and i can adjust the situation and i never think much of it. i felt like a bluescreen at that supermarket today, popping in for less than 10 things across 3 aisles.

it was so busy. there were so many people. i felt dread just to walk through it, so aware of my own body and the space i had to inhabit. but par for the course so far. what was less par for the course was having to stop and look at my list every 3 steps, unable to put together a course of action in my head: chicken is on the far left, so we grab that first and get broccoli on our way to the soup aisle. but the broccoli is right there. do i grab that first, go get the chicken, but then double back from where i just came? i might get myself some bananas too, how do i fit that into my path—

i had to keep stopping and looking at my list because every item i thought of made me forget the previous one i just looked at. eventually got fed up with myself and went to the closest thing and started there, regardless of whether i'd have to double back or not. that's what trips me when i take these quizzes n shit. i can get over the hump and do the task in the end, so that must mean i'm totally allistic! no autism here.

i remember thinking "jesus christ this is bad" when i was on my way to get zita's soup (if you've read this far, thank you and kisses to you, pls send some loving vibes to zita by reading her fic i just reblogged, bc she's got a cold and is miserable today) so i was kinda aware i was having a bad sensory day. as expected: there were a lot of people there, and i was in pain. but i just short circuited looking at soup. zita gave me the brand name and soup type of 3 cans she wanted. and i went to the aisle i've been to a thousand times, found the brand, and just stared. it was all stew. all chunky brothy things with bits in. not a single creamy soup in sight, so, the soup must be somewhere else.

i came to that conclusion immediately but i couldn't. process it? or like, what to do with that information. the soup is somewhere else. OR IS IT? keep looking at this shelf to make sure, your eyes are tired, you might've missed it. there's like 20 different cans of campbells here, just keep reading them left to right until soup appears. still no soup? read them again, you might've missed it. maybe campbell's is out of soup? read every other brand here until you Don't see soup, then you can walk away and try somewhere else. but if you don't see any soup, read it again because you might've missed it.

thankfully it took all of 30 fuckin seconds for a store employee who was shelving next to me to see my glazed fuckin stare and ask if i needed a hand with anything. and i stammered through some "haha my silly eyes today!! haha thanks! sorry, thank you!" as she happily pointed like 3 metres down the aisle for me, while my internal monologue immediately raged like "wtf why would they put the soup that far away but also barely far away at all, what's the point, bad design 😡"

got soup. check list: packet of gravy. zita told me the gravy was in the same section as the soup. it was not. i walked up and down that aisle five times and there was no gravy. i just. i had completely forgotten how to problem solve. it was the strangest, most frustrating experience. like i was looking at an empty word document in my brain, with a little flashing cursor and everything, so i knew it hadn't frozen over. it was just empty.

i even had the thought "just walk up and down the aisles until you find gravy; you have to do this all the time" and even had ideas of which aisles to start with. but my brain said no. we're not going to walk around aimlessly, even if we have a neat little structure and path to follow. we were told (by myself, too) this would be a quick in out trip, pluck the known items off the shelf and beeline straight for the checkout. so meandering down aisles was for some reason non negotiable. i wasn't in a rush. i had nothing to do today. i barely even felt a rush to get out of there, as busy as it was. it just wasn't an option.

so rather than start solving that problem i just jumped to the next thing on the list. strepsils. text to ask what kind she wants, have a whine about my broken brain, ask if she knows where the gravy is. remember when i pass the hair brushes that i broke my hairbrush this morning and need a new one!! oh and i've been wanting new hairclips too. look at me picking a new hairbrush and poking through the hairclips for one that i know will feel comfortable against my scalp, i'm not autistic because i can change my plans and make decisions on the fly.

oops didn't mean for this post to be an entire play by play of my thoughts through this extremely bland grocery shop. i cannot believe how long i stood there choosing soup. the line at the self checkout was so long and i felt the dread kick up again. barely/silently whispered "oh god" to myself when i realised the line, but repeated it about 20 times to feel the tap of my tongue against the roof of my mouth before i realised i was doing it. stop that, don't mutter to yourself. but i'm standing still in a line and there's nothing left to (ineffectually) problem solve, so the second i stop i notice a weird little slice in the plastic around the trolley handle that i can't stop flicking my thumbnail against.

OK. we need to stim. heard, chef. just click your piercing ffs. your mouth might look weird when you do it but at least everyone can see you're just clicking your teeth against your piercing, rather than talking to yourself or damaging public property.

something made a noise, can't even remember if it was a child or a trolley or what, some loud sharp single high pitched screech a few metres away, and i jolted so hard i thought i felt like i was going to throw up. finally think, fucking hell i'm autistic today. my back hurts. which is making my head hurt. i want to go home and take my vyvanse.

[urlocallesbiab]

wip snippet game!

rules: tagger gives a word, then for each letter of that word you share an excerpt from your WIPs that start with that letter.

@bookwhimses tagged me (thank you, dearest!) with the word TAILS

i, meanwhile, tag @agent-p-writes, @lavinialost, @sacred-algae, and @clockworkcheetah with the words SHARK or KITTY (pick the one you like!) also, if you see this post and want to participate in the game, consider yourself tagged by me :3

bookwhimses said, when tagging me:

(i know you have wips [eyes emoji] [heart emoji])

my friend, i have SO MANY of them goddamn wips, it's not even funny. lird help me! so, here goes:

T:

[from "Seattle Skies, Montana Blues: A Fool's Guide To First Dates" — the multichap farina slowburn about farah eating shit at dating apps and refusing to acknowledge her feeling for tina, while tina refuses to acknowledge her adhd or the desire to move out of her hometown. it's a year and three quarters old, and i still haven't finished ch1...]

The word ‘family’ is like sand on her teeth when she thinks it. Tina doesn't have one of her own, and her folks are growing older and more disappointed with each year; Jacob did, but he's gone now, and so are, in a way, his widow and kids, two thousand miles and two time zones away. Their old house stands still, hollow-eyed, like an empty nest, holding the anxiety of loneliness and dying out that hovers over the rest of the Tevetinos. Clock's ticking, time's flowing, and Tina is draining it away. She is not cut out for long-term relationships: her strategy is to kiss, bone, and bounce, before she could be discovered for the fuck-up that she is. It's not much, but it served her well over the years, given her some party stories to tell and some nights to remember. That's enough — that should be enough, because anything more is too hard to hold in her hands, too heavy.

A:

[from "The novel, horrible taste of consequences" — a narumitsu reunion fic set in the beginning of the 7 year gap, "in which Phoenix Wright loses control of the situation, makes everybody cry, gets engaged, and adopts a child, not necessarily in that order." the first draft is from 2020!]

An utterly unfamiliar girl greets Miles. For a short, bewildered moment he wonders if, in his delirium, he's gotten the apartment number wrong. "Is, uh… Is Phoenix Wright home?” “Aw!” She bows, little arm flying out, then springs back up and swivels away, announcing in a gameshow host's voice into the apartment at large, “A visitor for Mr. Wright!” The visitor stills, taken aback. It feels like a farce, like he's being pranked, or winning a lottery, or all that at once. From the other room, Phoenix laments. “Trucy, how many times do I have to tell you? Don't open the door,” he steps out, shaking his head in disapproval, “to strangers…” He trails off. Miles looks at him.

I:

[from "The mage, the astronomer, the warrior, and a shooting star" - a "yuri on ice" fairy tale au. it's about the half-human royal mage, victor, losing himself in his quest for power, and the first receiver of his magic, yuuri, saving him. the first draft is 8 fucking years old!]

It was a sight to behold, both gorgeous and dangerous, and it attracted many fools and even more rumors over the years. A story had it that once, a magician, mad with love, caught a flying nymph into his arms, and held on so tight that it became his wife; some say he died shortly thereafter, but a child of the union survived him; some say, none of this happened, for nymphs are only spirits. Fools say nothing, and come see for themselves. That night, Yuuri saw: it was a figure like no other. It burned hot and moved fast, dancing joyously and shining loudly; he could not tear his eyes away. The stars it sowed were warm and honeyed, like sun-shards; too big to rise and too thick to melt, these embers scattered wide across the lake and shore. One got into Yuuri’s eyes, and he was blinded; another — into his heart, and he hardly noticed it.

L:

[from "take it easy / floor it / stop / begin" — the rimster gay chicken wip that's nearly a year old and hasn't seen much progress in that time]

Lister's not having any of his bullshit. "About what happened, man!"  "What happened?" Rimmer manages most innocently. He doesn't stoop so low as to bat his eyelashes, but it sure feels close to it. Lister feels close to bursting a vein.  He snaps, "The game! The gay chicken!" Something shifts like a landslide. Rimmer pushes past him in one violent movement: whole body stiff, forceful, face distorted. It's a sharp, vitriolic expression, one that hasn’t been directed at Lister in some time — not truly, not like this. For a confused, terrible moment, Lister's lungs freeze like he's falling. He didn't actually expect Rimmer to act with hatred towards him. Rimmer always does, and Lister never quite expects it.

S:

[from "Naked in Seattle" — a faranda smut one-shot about a casual one-night stand between girl best friends, set somewhere in the middle of SS,MB. started this one half a year ago…]

She makes her way over, strangely steady: moving as if in slow motion, every step cinematic, deliberate. She lowers herself onto the bed by Farah’s knees, putting a hand right next to hers, but not touching — inviting to touch.  “Is this going to be your first time with a girl?” she asks.  “My first time,” Farah amends. “In general.” Amanda's eyes — warm, brown, beautiful — widen just a bit in worry. “Will it be alright? That it's not going to be… well, as special as it could. I know it can be a big deal for some people. I don't wanna ask too much from you,” she speaks earnestly. For all her easy-going attitude, she always cares a lot.  Farah closes the distance between their hands, fingers interlocking. “Yes, I think. When I find ‘the one’, whoever it is — it should be enough to just feel loved by her, and to love her back. I don't want to keep myself for someone, to wait for no reason. I am,” her voice falters, “tired of waiting.”

among other wips, i have:

a kurlish pre-romance wip that i was supposed to post for the big bang 2023, but still haven't finished (shame on me)

a languishing gattaca vincent/eugene semi-fix-it fic that hasn't seen new words since july 2024

a jotatak fic that i had *technically* started back in 2018, didn't finish, have rewritten into english, and then didn't finish that version either...

a couple of snippets for the sequel to the sequel to "hands off" (i gotta write the first sequel first, i think)

a big old worldbuilding thing for a original story that grew out of jotakak fanfic that is going incredibly slowly

and a few other drafts that are neither works in progress nor finished works: - the "once upon a time in hollywood" cliff/rick fuck-and-cry snippet; - the imaginary dirk au that has only 500 words of prose that might not end up canon to the fic; - the alt!hugo au that has a bunch of snippets but nearly zero plot, so i've no idea what to do with it; - a rough first draft / outline for the sequel to "birdwatching"; - the outline for a "i shan't spoil it by naming it" todd-centric fic that hasn't seen any progress in a year, let alone any actual prose; - the android dirk au that's a couple of years old, has a *very* confusing and shabby plot, and lives entirely in my telegram saved messages; - and probably some other stuff that i chucked somewhere and forgot about

woe is me!!!!!

also, tagging @gallantrejoinder — not for the game itself, because you've already done it, but just because i know you'd love to take a look at the rimster and farina stuff :3

[exmo-dropout]

Ok I’m also exmo and I feel like we should be moots no pressure but anyways i’d love to know more about your deconstruction. I know logically that the doctrine is bullshit, but I have a hard time reconciling those feelings with my feelings towards Joseph smith specifically. Like we were raised to believe that he was this perfect amazing man and I just can’t reconcile those feelings of praise with the idea that he is a liar. I still wonder every day what really happened in the sacred grove. Do you think he was just lying willfully, or that maybe he hallucinated? Idk I just agonize over this question every day and I would love to know your thoughts.

Hi Drunk Giraffe! I think we are moots. This is one of my sideblogs, so I follow from @fan-enby-anonymous

Thank you for your question and sorry if this takes me a little while to answer. I want to give this a good response so I’m trying to type it up in google docs, but I’m also at work so I’ll probably get pulled back and forth a fair amount. This also got longer than I expected it to and probably isn’t very good, so sorry about that.

I think I know how you feel. We were taught the stories of prophets who wanted to do what was right for people, who wanted to do their best; who were empowered to do so and who helped people and loved them. And, I think I’ve grieved them. I think I grieved for the version of Joseph Smith I was taught as a child. I wanted him to be real, and I discovered he wasn’t; and it felt like losing someone who loved me, who I loved. And, I really needed people who loved me; especially while I was living through a crisis of faith, a crisis of identity.

We lost a community. I think that’s the hardest part of all of this. If being a cult survivor was just saying “oops, I was wrong,” and getting to move on from there, it wouldn’t be so bad. But, you lose your entire support network at the same time.

I hate myself, most days, for what I used to be, for the things I believed, and the harm I caused to other people. And, I want to hate everyone else I knew who was the same. But, I love a lot of them, and I lost them. And, now, there are so few people in my life who understand what that experience was like. This is lonely and terrifying and unfair. And, it’s losing the people that really makes that feeling stick.

I don’t know what your experiences up to this point have been like. For me, the realization that the church is false went hand in hand with the realization that I had grown up in a very abusive environment. I was raised to believe that a lot of people were perfect men, and none of them were. Most of them were hurting me; and even the people who weren’t actively trying to hurt me were still just human beings.

There’s no such thing as a perfect person. And, I think that’s an important first thought to have; an important first step. Whatever else Joseph Smith might have been, he wasn’t perfect, because nobody is.

As far as what kind of person I think Joseph Smith was, I think that he had a well-documented desire for fame, money, and power, which he was willing to hurt and mislead people for; and he was far from unique in using Christianity as a tool with which to do so. He believed himself to be superior to other people, because he was a white man living in America; and there were thousands of other people who thought the exact same way. A lot of them used the ways that Christian doctrine encourages faith above all else, adherence to structural patriarchy, and duty before self to cement their beliefs and their positions in society. And, their sons and their sons and their sons kept doing it, and they're still doing it.

I’m not the expert on church history a lot of much smarter exmos become. As the blog title suggests, I failed out of college, and I’m still fighting with the ADHD swiss cheese brain most of the time. But, from what I can remember: Joseph Smith spent a lot of his early life acting as a treasure hunter by claiming to have magical visions of where artifacts would be, and was (of course) a complete charlatan and got into a lot of debt. He gave three contradictory accounts of the “First Vision” before settling on what we’re now familiar with. And, a lot of the early sections of the Book of Mormon were adapted from a historical fiction novel that was popular at the time. He used his position of power to sexually abuse women and children. And, that's just the shit they don't tell you about. There's also the whole “Book of Lehi” fiasco and the “translation” via two rocks or “translation” via sticking his face in a hat bullshit that we actually did have to learn about in Sunday school.

(I'm going to endeavor to link sources for everything at the bottom.)

I look at all this - and I don't think that anything happened in the Sacred Grove. I think he made it up to make himself look good to people, because it made him feel good. And, after a while, it bought him money and power and sex. But, even if he started to believe his own lies after a while, or if he was a deeply ill man who hallucinated conversations with God and convinced other people they were real, or if God really did appear to him, I don't think it matters.

Even if Joseph Smith was a real prophet, I wouldn't go back. Even if someone could show me undeniable proof of God or if I met him myself, I wouldn't go back. They don’t matter anymore in the face of what their organization has done.

The church participated in genocide against Native American tribes. The church opposed the civil rights movement for decades. The church raises the suicide rates for queer youth. It funds conservative lobbyists, hordes wealth, and protects and empowers sexual abusers. I don’t care how powerful the people who created it were, or what virtues they had, or how good their intentions were, or what virtues they had. Not anymore. These are the material effects of what they created; just a fraction of them. The well-being of the people who are here, living, right now have to matter more to me now than the theoretical motivations of a man who I’ll never meet and a God who may or may not have empowered him.

Fuck them. They’re hurting people. They hurt me.

And, that’s easy enough to say, once you’ve let yourself stop denying it and minimizing it and putting it out of your mind. But, it doesn’t take the hurt away. I know it still hurts. I know I still miss it, sometimes. I know there’s a selfish part of me that wishes I didn’t know what I know, because maybe I’d be happier if I could still live my life believing that the world was simple and small and it all mattered very little compared to what was to come. I don’t know if that ever goes away entirely.

I heard grief described once like a stone in your chest. When it first comes, it’s so large, it presses against you all of the time. Your heart can’t beat, and you can’t breathe, and nothing matters except the pain. It feels like it will never go away. But, overtime, the stone gets smaller. You can breathe again, slowly. You start to remember what other things feel like. You start to live again. And, if you can just keep living, eventually you’ll have more days where you don’t hurt than days when you do. The stone will keep shrinking, until there are days that you forget that it’s there. But, it lives with you now. It shifts and changes with you. And, there will still be days when it knocks against your ribs, and it still hurts.

Grief never leaves you, because it replaces something in you. I got it back for the love I gave away; and I can’t not have loved, it already happened. I loved Joseph Smith. I loved the church. I loved my community. I loved my friends. I loved my parents.

There is so much that I’ll never have because I gave it away for the sake of the church. I’ll never have a childhood free from the fear of apocalypse or the fear of stepping too far out of line. I’ll never have the hours, the days, the years, I spent stepping in to take on the “women’s work” that should never have been thrust at the feet of a child. I’ll never have the years worth of change slipped into birthday and Christmas cards, given away as tithing and fast offerings. I’ll never have a high school romance. I’ll never come out to my parents. I’ll never have a wedding with my family. My grandpa will never know my real name.

I have wasted my love and my hope and my goodness on people who will never care about me, and I don’t want to give them anymore. I don’t want to give them my grief too. I think what helped me, a little bit, was to let that grief rest with someone else.

My family was Irish, before all of this. Joseph Smith and Brigham Young would arrange for mission trips to Ireland, where people were told that joining the fold would mean they would be given land in America, which could mean money and food for families who were suffering. When they came to America, they would work for or be married off to the men of the church. My youth group watched a musical the church put on about it in Nauvoo, once.

I think about my ancestors, who weren’t brainwashed yet, all of the time. My however-many-times great grandmother was sex-trafficked here because the men I was raised to worship lied to her. I want my grief to be for her. I want to live the life she should have had, one day. I want to think about the people who might have loved me, and the people who love me now, and the people I’m going to meet one day, instead of the people I already know never will. I am not going to uplift the men who hurt me and millions of others like me, anymore. I don’t want to let my pain belong to them.

I can’t make it not hurt. I don’t think anybody can. I think the stone will always be there. And, I don’t know who you should think about. But, I know there’s someone, somewhere, who deserves your love and your grief and your dedication more than Joseph Smith and more than his church. We don’t have to agonize over a person who wasn’t real anymore. We can love somebody else.

~

As promised, doing my best to cite my sources. This is some very cursory research. I had my first “oh shit” moments somewhere around 10 years ago at this point, so it’s been a little while since I’ve been actively looking into church history and the like. And I have a migraine right now, so I’m mostly skimming. I’m just about done looking at my laptop.

I don’t remember the speaker who originally presented the grief as a stone metaphor. Hopefully if anybody actually reads this, someone will recognise it. Pretty sure it was on NPR.

Joseph Smith’s early years with witchcraft/occultism. - Was Joseph Smith involved in witchcraft, magic and the occult? | Latter-day Answers (Looks like a pretty good overview of significant events and quotes from letters. Seems to veer off into “this is bad because magic is a sin” territory in places, as opposed to “this dude is a liar whose story kept changing and everyone knew it,” so grain of salt and all that.

Comparing versions of the “First Vision” - Comparison of 9 First Vision Accounts (Jesus, I was wrong, there’s apparently 9. Biggest point of contention seems to be the whole non-trinitarian debate. The earliest accounts have Smith speaking to god, then later on he says he saw god and jesus appear as two people, which most christian sects consider incorrect.)

The Book of Mormon and The Late War Looks like the book that would later inspire the Book of Mormon was called The Late War. Very thorough comparison.

List of Joseph Smith's wives - Wikipedia Wikipedia has a list of all of Joseph Smith’s wives, and a handy graph with all of their ages in comparison to his. Makes me want to vomit.

Native American people and Mormonism - Wikipedia Wikipedia also has a pretty extensive article on the church’s relationship with Native American peoples. Here’s a couple notable quotes. “Young officially legalized Native American slavery in the Utah Territory in 1852,[10]: 272  and within a decade over 400 Native American children were purchased and used as a vital source of labor in Mormon homes until slavery was banned by the federal government in 1865.[11] Within 50 years of Mormon settlement under Young and his successors John Taylor then Wilford Woodruff, the Native American population in what is now Utah was decimated by 86%,[10]: 273  and made up only 1.6% of Utah's population in 1890.[12]: 112 ” “In the 20th century, the church operated the Indian Placement Program from 1954 to 1996, with its peak during the 1960s and 1970s.[13] The number of Native North American adherents of Mormonism grew to 45,000 by 1977.[14] During this time church leaders continued to teach that the skin color of Native Americans was a result of a curse from God and that through following church teachings their skin color would be lightened.[17] In the 21st century these teachings, along with those against interracial marriage were officially renounced for the first time in 2013.[18][19][20]”

The church officially denounced interracial marriage until 2013. 2013!

What was the church like during the civil rights movement? : r/exmormon

Top reply contains this quote: “The man who is generally recognized as the leader of the so-called civil rights movement today in America is a man who has lectured at a Communists training school, who has solicited funds through Communist sources, who hired a Communist as a top-level aide, who has affiliated with Communist fronts, who is often praised in the Communist press and who unquestionably parallels the Communist line. This same man advocates the breaking of the law and has been described by J. Edgar Hoover as ‘the most notorious liar in the country.’ . . .

”Would anyone deny that the President [Lyndon Johnson], the chief law enforcer in the United States, belies his position by playing gracious host to the late Martin L. King who has preached disobedience to laws which in his opinion are unjust?”

(Ezra Taft Benson, “It Can Happen Here,” in “An Enemy Hath Done This,” Jerreld L. Newquist, comp. [Salt Lake City, Utah: Parliament Publishers, 1969], pp. 103, 310)

Conference reports of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints : The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints : Free Download, Borrow, and Streaming : Internet Archive - Internet Archive had a record of October 1967’s General Conference, plenty of similar sentiments.

A lot of news sources still call Joseph Smith an abolitionist, he was not: Mormon Handbook - Mormon LDS Racism

LGBTQ Mormon suicides - Wikipedia Here’s Wikipedia’s article on Mormonism and Queer Suicide. “A 2016 empirical study found a correlation between the percentage of members of Mormonism's largest denomination, the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints (LDS Church), in a U.S. state and the suicide rates of that state, stating the reason was due to the church's stance on same-sex sexual relations.” And, here’s that study. 4902.indb

Church of Jesus Christ/Latter Day Saints Lobbying Profile • OpenSecrets - OpenSecrets has an overview of some of the church’s lobbying budget.

And, a deleted account replied to this post on reddit Does the Mormon church have political power? : r/exmormon with several links on the church’s lobbying and political influence

https://apnews.com/article/0838527d26264a92980f3abeaf334f08 

https://www.mrm.org/utah-politics 

https://bhroberts.org/records/0NxX33-XhvVnb/scholarly_overview_of_churchs_political_influence 

https://projects.propublica.org/represent/lobbying/301025003 

https://www.buzzfeednews.com/article/mckaycoppins/from-the-mormon-church-a-light-lobbying-touch 

https://www.fox13now.com/2016/08/18/former-lds-church-lobbyist-joins-board-of-support-group-for-lgbt-mormons 

List of wealthiest religious organizations - Wikipedia The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints has a reported net worth of $293 billion... self explanatory 

Here’s an article about how the Mormon church tries to silence survivors of CSA - Mormon church helps keep child sex abuse cases hidden from scrutiny | AP News

Here’s a database of Mormon sexual abuse reports - FLOODLIT - Mormon sexual abuse database

And, anecdotally, when I searched for these I got three ads for lawsuits against the church for sexual abuse and retaliation after reporting abuse, but I’m not going to link them here since I can’t personally attest to how reputable any of them are.

I'm not gonna dox myself by naming them, but my grandparents were super into family history, naturally, and we do know who were the first folks on my dad's side to immigrate to America. They went on a mission before my grandpa died and ended up visiting the last graves our family had in Ireland. I'm going to visit one day too and apologize.

I think I’m going to go to bed now. I can’t look at these any more.

[poetry-protest-pornography]

Hi. I'm little nervous to do this but I might be autistic. I was born with a speech disability so if I'm right it woild make since I haven't been diagnosed before. I'm a college student and I'm just starting to feel ...off. Different. Today my ears was ringing in the student union and it wasn't even that loud. Which have happen before, but not like this. This is my third year in college, I change major for this years just to see if I would stop feeling like this, but I haven't. I'm only a month and a half in my new major, but a part of me want to quit. A really part of ms. But another part of me is scared because if I do want to quit how do I tell my Mom this? I'm just not sure. Feel free to ignore this if I said too much.

Firstly, please don't worry about having "said too much" to me, or to anyone that you're asking for reassurance. You're allowed to take up space, and to ask for help.

It is possible you're autistic -- sensory processing problems, like the ringing in your ears are common in people with autism, ADHD, and some other types of neurodivergence -- and i would encourage you to reach out to your doctor, or to the medical and/or counseling center on campus. A diagnosis is a huge step towards being able to accept yourself and to figure out how to best move through the world.

That "looking for a place" feeling could be a part of other mental health struggles, it is also part of being a college student (but is definitely compounded by things like depression, anxiety, autism and ADHD; please don't take that statement as a dismissal of your struggles)

Changing your major to try to find a place you fit, and feel comfortable is a really good move; it takes a lot of self reflection and compassion, and you should be proud of making that move.

I might encourage you to give the new major at least this first semester, to see if you settle in -- maybe join the club if your major has one, or just any club that piques your interest. Having a group of people that you can talk to about a shared interest, or complain about work loads in specific classes makes the college experience a lot more fun.

Of course, if you're really miserable where you are, don't force yourself to continue on a path that's making you miserable.

Your school may have an option that lets you withdraw without a penalty while you work with a counselor to get a proper diagnosis, with figuring out what you want to do in school, and help you work through that "belonging" feeling. They should also have advisors and career counselors who can talk to you about your options within and outside of your major.

As for telling your mom, I didn't know what kind of relationship you have with her, but as a mom, I would hope that she would listen to you and support you through whatever steps to feeling better are ahead of you. (At the very least, not wasting thousands of dollars for classes you don't want to take or are actively making you miserable is a good thing)

I hope that this was helpful, at least a little. I hope that pushing through that nervousness to send this was worthwhile. And I hope that you're able to find the help that you need and a place for yourself in your school that feels right for you.

Take care, sweetheart, and if you want to send me an update when you figure it out, I'll be here to listen then, too.

[marthespot]

Mar the Spot

I haven't done this in a while, so bear with me; the brain doesn't work like it used to, and some of the ways that it does work are not in ways that I want it to be working. A long time ago, I wrote by the Bradbury Prescription, but it's been fifteen years since I felt the need to set down my day with structure and to explore what I thought and felt about it. It's eminently and inarguably more proper to do so in an untargeted - though technically public - form than it is to make someone's eyes glaze over in texts or DMs, and since the need appears to exist, here I am. The name I used for hundreds of thousands of words isn't present in Google results anymore, because it's a series of locked pages on a low-traffic blogging site that was only the second or third most popular blogging site available, even fifteen years ago. Looking at the other people currently using it, I'm glad it's not mine anymore; they don't look like good literary neighbors. I've been drinking heavily for eight years, now, ever since she showed me three positive pregnancy tests. I wouldn't give back the time I've spent parenting, and I can't imagine life without my child, but it was very much a thing that I assumed there would be some discussion about before a pregnancy occurred. Instead, ADHD appears to have caused some skips in birth control pill dosing. Since then, it was pregnancy, partial miscarriage (it may have been twins, originally?), marriage, home ownership on short notice with all of the attendant and still-parading maintenance issues that you could expect from a home built in 1912 and being sold as part of an acrimonious divorce by the landlord-owners, and so, so much. Parenting has been better the longer it goes on. It was both incredibly difficult and incredibly unfulfilling when the child was an infant, because they were functionally a very loud plant that rapidly excreted waste substances. The most helpful thing that anyone told me when we had a newborn was a person helping on a meal train, who walked in with the food, looked and the baby, and said "Aw, it's been so long since I've had one that they're almost cute again!" I have no idea how single parents survive at any phase, but particularly with a newborn.

For several years after infancy, it seems like every time your child Levels Up in terms of ability, all they've really done is unlocked a new way for them to cause severe damage to their own skull or internal organs. Everything dangerous looks delicious, every hard corner is right at head level, and with any luck, YOUR child will also have the gleeful obsession with pulling safety covers off of things that want very much to go Bonk on little heads.

And then, at long last, words start to come. and you start getting to talk to an extremely low-resolution edition of the human that you hope you'll get to continue getting to know and helping out for the rest of your life. It's not that you couldn't get to know them prior, but that it was more difficult to know exactly what they thought of things; you'd know they didn't like a food or an experience, but not the specifics of what it was like on their end of things.

They spend the pandemic isolated from other people, as is not unusual for children their age, and it didn't seem to bother them much, presumably because they weren't old enough to remember things being particularly different. Mom and Dad were always around, thanks to dad's switch to telework, and we were always glued to screens because that's what there was to do in pandemic isolation, so it didn't seem like much of a hardship until it started getting to be time to start school.

They sobbed on the way to their first day, but bucked up and bravely stepped out of the car at drop off, still crying. They forced a smile and gave a tiny-thumbed Thumbs Up gesture before trudging away with that huge-looking backpack. All the frustrating of coping with what I see as an over-response to the simple process of going somewhere that Mom and Dad aren't bled away, and I cried a bit, myself, because .. well, they were temporarily not there, and that'd never been the case in their entire life.

The first year of school was a constant, sleep-deprived nightmare. Our child had never been substantially sick, and none of us had so much as a cold for the two years we spent almost completely isolated and N95'd on the occasion that we actually had to go somewhere; drop that immune system into kindergarten and you have the recipe for some respiratory wildness. They woke up coughing at least once or twice, almost every night; woke up coughing and crying hard enough to throw up maybe once or twice a week, all school year.

Funny story, looking back at the nightmare, is that they were finally diagnosed with asthma at the tail end of kindergarten and given an albuterol inhaler, which shut down the worst of the coughing. Corticosteroids, prescribed later, eventually made for a dramatic improvement in lung function and an equally dramatic reduction in coughing. Even while sleeping! Even while sick!

I recently went sober after those years of drinking because the cumulative unhappiness with the states of my body and my mind, along with the presumed impact on my life expectancy, finally coupled with a conversation that I couldn't keep up with while hung over to push me over the edge and just quit. And that conversational buddy has continued - as good ones do - to make me think, whether deliberately or inadvertently; since I don't think they should be punished for that with the unexpected unleashing of literary floodgates, again .. here I am.

[skruffie]

my 2023 recap cannot be done without 2019-2022

under the cut because it's long

I had a briefer and more closed off summary about this on FB because I didn't want to raise alarm over things that I don't experience any more, but truly by the end of 2021 when I say my confidence was shattered I mean it. I didn't describe how when I started at the grocery store I was not just hypervigilant but absolutely paranoid about any hint of worker and labor violations. I went through the boilerplate agreement with a fine-toothed comb and spent 11 months doing the most physically taxing job I've had just to bring in some sort of income. I left that job at $15.75/hr.

The grocery store was where I had to rehabilitate my ability to say no, to call out of work when I felt sick, and just have some sort of money flow so we could still eat. Everyone always raved about how because it was employee-owned they'd be able to cash in their stocks after 6 years or after retirement and be set for life, and then those same coworkers would come though my line to pay for their groceries using EBT because none of us were paid enough.

I am still never going to forget my first month in optical, almost to the date when I was hired, when we were all at one of the new stores working at the soft-opening (called the family and friends event). Essentially before the grand opening they will invite employees to bring in their friends and family for free eye exams and then they'd get a 75% coupon for eyeglasses that was valid for that event only. It was a little chaotic, kind of corny at times with the typical corporate "team building" icebreakers, but then at the end of the day the manager for that store called me out specifically for the job well done. He said that I was a natural at running the floor and I even looked up at him and everyone and went "Me?" because I was in disbelief. I tried to give him a thank you and express my gratitude but the moment I said that I came into this industry with my self confidence at it's lowest I burst into tears. Oops.

At the state government, I was always craving more one on one interaction. I wanted my work to feel like it actually meant something instead of just typing numbers into an archaic case management system that was never designed to accommodate our payments. I think it's natural for people to want to help others but that job was such an extreme mismatch of my personality and personal values that I felt like a ghost. The grocery store experience doesn't mean anything to me, good or bad, because it was merely the rehab. The company I'm with right now is retail optical and I know that as I continue to grow I am going to move on from this place, but I'm trying to stretch my legs and breathe. I'm devouring information and trying to learn as much as I can, and I have an account set up with the Department of Health when I finally start my apprenticeship.

2019-2021 broke me into a thousand pieces. 2022 was the beginning of my recovery, and 2023 was the year where I began to finally match my old pace. I feel intense sorrow thinking about the countless panic attacks and crying breakdowns I had alone at my desk. On FB I didn't tell everyone how at one point it got so bad that I called a crisis line--not because I was suicidal but because I couldn't calm down--and then I accidentally HUNG UP on the poor guy trying to help me. I cried harder and called back and by some miracle got matched with the same person. I didn't describe how my boss' boss had only verbally reassured me it was Just A Coincidence they extended my probation period for productivity issues after I went through the reasonable accommodation process. At my job, I don't need reasonable accommodations for my ADHD because this job is where I am able to utilize my strengths and actually thrive. My ADHD hasn't gone away, but it is instead now fuel for the work that I do rather than something I am fighting with every step of the way.

I'm going to be a little superstitious with this next thing I'm going to write because I worry that giving too much detail would then spoil what I uh... manifested? But I will say this: where I am at currently is exactly every single thing that I asked the universe for, down to my work hours and salary. There is something bittersweet knowing that my plans for 2024 will eventually lead me to move on from where I'm at, but I wouldn't have even gotten there in the first place if my boss hadn't offered me a better job than the one I applied for. I know I'm not as open about my witchiness on my main blog but I will say that I never quite grasped the point of "manifesting" because it feels like it's just a few steps away from the prosperity gospel, but like... I had the epiphany on a slow day at work after we all finished what we needed to do. Our assistant manager was reading a book and I was sitting up at the desk with my sketchbook drawing. I took a moment to look at where I was and what I was doing and realized this was everything I asked for.

I am going into 2024 full of immense gratitude and some cautious excitement for what comes next.

Back in 2008, my grandpa gave me a copy of the book The Last Lecture by Randy Pausch and Jeffrey Zaslow. If you haven't read it, it was something like a memoir of Randy's life and how he interprets the way he achieved his childhood dreams, especially as he was grappling with terminal cancer. He gave a lecture at a university, framed as his last lecture while he was alive, on the very topic of childhood dreams and revealed on the last slide that the lecture was not for those students but for his own children he was leaving behind. At 18 I didn't have the capacity to understand that sometimes childhood dreams do shift and change over time--that the images of ourselves we see as adults may not come to fruition or if they do they may not be what we expect--but here now at almost 34 years old I think I get it. A long time ago I let go of trying to turn my passion for art into a career because I was starting to see the writing on the wall. If I turned art into a career, I would lose my passion for it. I opted instead to try to find a career that would leave me feeling fulfilled and also have enough emotional capacity at the end of the day to come home to my artwork.

And here I am, bringing my sketchbook to work for slow days.

[miqojak]

When you really want to take pictures, but your ADHD starts listing all the tedious set-up involved for the photo-shoot you want (setting up the outfit, and the props, the lighting, the angle), and then also reminds you that you haven't made up your mind on a backdrop yet, but if you go to Yorha you'll only have your carbie to pose with, and you'll be swapping which prop it's pretending to be, and there's two kinds of poses you have in mind, which means doing all the lighting and shader stuff a couple times over - and that's the most tedious part, even when 75% of a shader is how I like it... I inevitably spend ages having to tweak it to my liking (and get my border of preference set up just right...which is annoying to do every single time, though I am getting faster at finding what I want.).

And then my ADHD is like 'that is so many steps right?'

[the1975attheirverybest]

Hi 👋🏾

I have spoken to you (everyone…?) in a minute so how are you? Just a little concept: what do you think matty would do if his partner/best friend had something like adhd or asd and became over stimulated? Maybe in like a party or out at dinner? That happens to me a lot so I was curious as to what you think :)

-🥳

Ooohhhh, I think he’s said he probably has ADHD and the only reason he hasn’t been diagnosed professionally is because “you probably couldn’t get me to stay in the chair long enough to get a diagnosis” that way years ago though. So I wonder if that’s changed?

With or without diagnosis/ treatment, I think he would be extremely understanding and sympathetic. Especially if those are things he’s felt before, and even more so, if the conversation has come up. Like if his partner or friend has told him that this is something that happens to them/ how they feel about it. He’d make a mental note to be extra cautious in highly stimulating environments and stuff. So, like, if you were at some dinner somewhere new and different, with a lot of people. Maybe the guys, their partners, but also friends of friends and folks from the label, etc. and everyone’s kinda talking so there are several conversations going at once, and waiters going back and forth and maybe some people are trying to make polite chitchat with her or get to know her, and it’s just a lot.

At first, Matty is pulled into some conversation between George and the equipment dude. Which makes him momentarily forget that these kinds of situations can be stressful for her. Then he glances over to ask if she wants her wine refilled or if needs anything, and sees from the look on her face, that everything’s overwhelming.

He gently touches her back. “Hey, you alright?”

He’s whispering, but she feels a bit weird that anyone/ everyone can see them and she doesn’t want her facial expression or anything to indicate that she doesn’t like being here. So, she’s annoyed that they’re even having this conversation. She tries to shut it down really quickly. Brushing him off. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m fine.”

He tries to ask her again, but she’s not having it. She feels silly that she can’t self-regulate and get her mind and body to calm down. And, on top of that, she feels guilty for concerning Matty in front of everyone he knows and cares about. She doesn’t want him to have to constantly think about her on a night like this.

“Excuse me, Darling. Come with me?” He takes her hand in his firmly, not giving her a chance to squirm away.

She sees him whisper something to George about needing to step away for a bit.

Once they’re alone in a secluded corner of the restaurant, he asks her again. “Listen, if this is all too much, we can just leave.”

“No, no! Please! I don’t wanna have to go around and explain to everyone-“

“Explain? You don’t need to explain. Say the word and we’ll leave, right now!”

“Matty, don’t be ridiculous.”

“Look into my eyes right now. I’m dead serious. Do I not look serious?”

She watches him, and he does, in fact, look serious.

“But that’s rude. I don’t wanna just disappear. Don’t want to hurt peoples feelings.”

“Literally who would care? What, George? George loves you. You love him. You’re always going on about how he’s like your brother. What? Adam and Carly? The parents who have a million things to worry about and will probably call their sitter a thousand times in the next half hour because they can’t chill? Or Jamie? Ross? Literally who would be mad at you?”

“Won’t they be mad at YOU?”

“The people whose opinion matters to me will understand. A friend of a friend who tagged along for a free dinner? Fuck no. I don’t care. Let’s get you home. You can relax. Unwind. Get a break from all this stuff. Yeah? Let’s go. George will hold onto our coats and stuff.”

[jayankles]

It Started with a Missing Thor.

Pairing: Benny Miller x Reader

Word Count: 1152

Request: Quick question, so would you do a request for Benny and a short, shy reader with adhd and a dog? I’ve been obsessed with him and dogs, and I have ADHD and can be super shy and insecure.

Summary: Short attention span is never fun. Overthinking is never fun. Falling flat on your ass is never fun. But the blonde man in the soft sweater and the backwards cap is someone who helps you look for your lost dog and so much more. 

‘I don’t give you attention for two seconds and you’re already running off?’ You think to yourself as you run after your dog calling out for him.

“Thor! Come back!” 

Noticing your surroundings, you sink back into yourself, feeling the other people in the park staring at you and judging you for your lack of control over your dog. The aptly named golden retriever decided that he didn’t want to listen to your cries of his name over and over. 

Jogging after him, you forget about the wet mud beneath your boots, that is until you are slipping and sliding chasing after him. Oh god, if you weren’t careful you were going to fall on your butt or your face; neither one was good in front of all these other people in the park. You would have fallen over too, if it wasn’t for the man that moved quickly in front of you and wrapped his arm around your waist to pull you back on the concrete pathway.

“You need help, little one?” You were too busy looking up into his blue eyes to notice anything else. Even the next words to come out of his mouth. Fuck. 

“I’m- I’m sorry, what?” You blinked up at him, fingers subconsciously splaying over his arms to balance yourself.

“You were chasing someone, something. Saw you starting to fall, figured you could use some help from an experienced searcher.”

“You mean you lose your dog all the time, too?” You say, clearing your throat and taking a step back, out of his grip but not before your hand slid over the comfortable material of his sweatshirt. “I like your hoodie, by the way, it’s very soft.” You really wanted to ask where he got it from.

“No, my brother purposefully ditched me in the store to make out with one of his many female companions. I always ended up finding him pretty quick. You know, after the first six times you get used to it and discover all the hiding places. And thank you for noticing, I had to search a lot of stores for the right fabric, this one isn’t itchy at all.”

“Shit, my dog. Thanks for saving me the humiliation of falling on my butt.”

“I promise it’s no problem. Let’s go get your dog back.”

“You wanna help me still?”

“I said I would, didn’t I?”

The truth was you couldn’t remember, your mind was racing a thousand miles a minute, all you could think about was his eyes, and his hoodie but then when you looked up again you saw the backwards cap that he had on and that was pretty much it. The man in front of you was a huge turn on and you couldn’t stop thinking about kissing him. Nope. That was wrong. He was a stranger. But a nice stranger who just wanted to help.

“What’s your dog’s name?”

“Oh, yes, right. Thor, his name is Thor.” You click your fingers together and waggle your pointer finger at him, grateful for the reminder of your troublesome runaway dog. “Speaking of names, could I know yours? I mean, get yours? If that’s okay, but if I’m being honest I’m not very good at remembering names so you may have to remind me a couple of times to keep it fresh in my mind. It’s just to thank you, nothing else.” What are you going on about? Why can’t you stop talking to this stranger, prattling on about whatever had popped in your mind, you hated when you couldn’t control yourself. “Sorry. This is about my dog, you don’t need to give me your name, that's obviously up to you if you want to tell me or not.”

His tongue flicked over his teeth between his top lip, before he pressed his teeth into his lower lip to stifle a smile. It wasn’t working. He couldn’t contain the happy gesture. Not that you had noticed, you had distracted yourself from the man that you had just made a fool of yourself in front of. 

“Benny.” He called just loud enough for you to hear over your calls for your dog’s name.

“Y/N. It’s nice to meet you, Benny. And thank you for helping me. I appreciate it.”

*

“Hey, Buddy.” Benny enters the house, immediately dropping to his knees to greet the golden retriever with hard pats to his rump and rough, playful strokes to the side of his neck.

“Always the dog first.” You whisper to yourself, leaning over the island as Benny closes the door behind him.

“That would be incorrect, my sweet girl. Dog first, fiancé from then on out, always. Unless, you know, you got a little fighter in there? Because if one day that happens, I’m gonna use your body as a shield to protect us.” Benny smirks at you as he skates across the island to get to you. “You know, I’m kidding, right? It’ll be my brother.” 

You mirror his smirk, turning it into a toothy grin as you rise from your slumped place and turn. Benny in front of you in no time. “I highly doubt that but thank you for adding me to the list. Even if it’s taking bullets for you. Not sure that I would enjoy that experience but yeah.” 

He helps you jump onto the counter, legs subconsciously spreading to allow him to step in between them. Benny does so. Eagerly. 

He presses his lips to the crown of your head, lovingly touching his forehead against you. There would have been a time where you would have worried about whether your forehead was a little too sweaty, or if there was a reason that Benny hadn’t automatically kissed your lips when he came home and found you. But you had come to realise that when he laid his forehead upon his it was him winding down from a difficult or exhausting day that he had. Most of those days included a pummelling to the head and various other places of his body.

“Thanks for coming back in one piece. I definitely prefer you that way.” You said, words barely above a whisper to not try and ruin the moment. In no rush, you reach out to hold onto Benny’s bandaged hand. “Hope the other guy looks worse.”

“Nah, the other girl kicked my ass.” 

“Well then, I bet you deserved it.” You close your eyes, taking in the moment. You wished you could stay like this with him forever but the counter wasn’t all that comfortable and you would much prefer the comfort of Benny’s arm. “Wanna curl up on the couch and watch classic Disney movies?”

“As long as it includes Jungle Book, Peter Pan and Robin Hood, I’m in.”

“I restocked the snack cabinet, too. So we’re good to go.”

“My god, I love you.”

“I should hope so. Because I love you, too.”

Feedback is gold and appreciated

[jaskierswolf]

Weight on My Shoulders

A very self-indulgent prequel to my not so kinky soulmate AU (Tumblr/AO3).

Any references to events or messages involving my own darling soulmate @geraltrogerericduhautebellegarde is purely coincidental. I promise we are much more needy than this.

Ship: Geraskier (pre-romantic)

CW: Far too much pining, mentions of anxiety, long distance friendships

_____

Jaskier pouted as he wrapped himself up in his weighted blanket and duvet. Even with the additional weight he was struggling to sleep properly, but it did help. What would really help was a hug from his soulmate, but that was off the table. Geralt was a bazillion lightyears away, all the way in America, and Jaskier was stuck in miserable, grey England. They’d been talking online for two years, and the distance wasn’t getting any easier. If anything it was getting worse, and Jaskier wasn’t sure how much more he could take of it.

“Jask, you’re falling asleep, love,” Geralt hummed from the too bright screen that was lighting up his room. “Go to bed.”

“I’m in bed,” Jaskier huffed.

“Go to sleep, we can talk more in the morning.”

Jaskier whined, sinking further into his blanket burrito. “But I have work again tomorrow, I don’t want to sleep. I want to talk to you. I love you.”

“I love you too,” Geralt sighed, smiling warmly at him through the screen, “But I will be here when you wake, I promise.”

“I’d rather you be here with me.”

It was pathetic. Jaskier knew it was pathetic, but he just felt a warmth in his chest, a ghost of Geralt’s arms around him.

“I’m always here” Geralt hummed in his mind.

Jaskier leaned into Geralt’s mental embrace, letting himself soak in the glow of his soulmate’s warmth. He was struggling to keep his eyes open which didn’t really matter but he only had a few hours each day to video call his soulmate and he hated wasting any of them. It had been worse the last few days. Essi and Pris had announced they were going to honeymoon in New York, and whilst they wouldn’t see Geralt, they would be a whole lot closer than Jaskier had ever been. He’d even considered asking to tag along in their suitcases so he could afford the trip to the States.

He just missed Geralt so fucking much.

“I love you,” he mumbled again, wiping the tears from his eyes that he hadn’t even realised had formed. “I love you more than Dandelion.”

He tried to laugh but it sounded weak to his own ears. Dandelion was a musician, just like he was hoping to be, a beautiful tall elegant man with gorgeous long blond curls, and a laugh that could outshine a thousand suns. He was also Jaskier’s celebrity crush and inspiration. Jaskier had been obsessed since he was sixteen, secretly hoping that Dandelion was his soulmate. Not much had changed since meeting Geralt in his dreams. He was still completely obsessed with the musician, only his daydreams tended to include Geralt as well, a fact that his soulmate thankfully found endearing.

“Wow,” Geralt chuckled, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “That’s high praise.”

“It’s true! I would renounce my love of Dandelion for mere seconds in your arms,” Jaskier insisted, “and then I would never let you go and you’d be stuck with me.”

“It would be hard to work with a Jaskier in my arms.”

Jaskier scoffed, rubbing his eyes. “You’ll manage.”

“Sleep, Jask,” Geralt’s words were a low hum, added weight to his blanket and Jaskier could feel himself slipping. He supposed it was only a matter of time really, it was nearly midnight and Jaskier had to get up at an ungodly hour for work. “For me.”

And really that was just unfair. Geralt knew that Jaskier would do anything for him. He was just that desperate for attention, although despite his slightly less dramatic personality, Geralt could be equally needy, if you knew how to read him.

“That’s cheating,” Jaskier whined.

“I never said I play fair.”

“Betrayed by my own soulmate,” Jaskier pouted as Geralt hung up the call and his tiny little bedroom fell into darkness. Without the light of his phone, Jaskier was fighting a losing battle. “I love you, dear heart.”

“I love you too, a lot. Too much.”

Jaskier scoffed, turning to hug his pillow. “Never too much, never enough. Goodnight, my love”

“Night, Jask.”

_______

When he awoke the next morning, Jaskier had a notification on his phone. It wasn’t unusual. Geralt often left him little messages, pictures of Roach, or things that had reminded him of Jaskier throughout the day. Sometimes, if Jaskier was lucky, Geralt would leave him gifs of Dandelion, and on even rarer occasions, awkward selfies that were never flattering despite Geralt’s godlike appearance. Jaskier treasured every single one. But no, that morning he had a more unusual notification.

It was from Lambert.

They’d talked a couple of times, mostly in a group chat whenever Geralt wanted to include Jaskier on family film night or playing games online, which Jaskier was shockingly terrible at, especially the shooting games the boys preferred. Lambert had never DM’d Jaskier before though. There had never been an occasion to, so why bother?

So Jaskier was feeling more than a little anxious about clicking on the message.

“Geralt?” he tested, although he was pretty positive that his soulmate was asleep. Geralt would usually at least say good morning when he was awake, but there had been nothing but silence through their soulbond.

It came as no surprise when Geralt didn’t answer.

His phone buzzed again in his hand, another message from Lambert.

“Bollocks,” Jaskier groaned, sitting up in bed so he could find his glasses. They were buried under his blanket and looking a little bent out of shape but that was nothing new.

L - Guess who’s coming to England on a business trip!

Jaskier’s heart jumped and hope soared through his body, a flutter of wings in his chest as his pulse raced, only to be destroyed in the next second.

L - It’s not Geralt, shit. I should have started with that.

- It’s me.

- I’m coming to England. Found out this morning. All expenses paid. - I’ll be in London for a week, if you want to meet up?

Jaskier stared at his phone. He was excited, of course he was but he couldn’t help the ache in his heart. His friend was coming to England. Geralt’s family was coming to England. That was one step closer to meeting his soulmate in person, but it wasn’t far enough. He felt like shit. Guilt tore through him. Lambert was clearly excited about his news and yet all Jaskier could think of was how he wasn’t Geralt.

Maybe he could give Lambert something to take back to Geralt. They’d sent letters and parcels back and forth but it would be different like this, and he should be excited. He should be over the fucking moon.

And truth be told, if he hadn’t felt so incredibly needy already he probably would have been more excited, but his heart was feeling fragile. Jaskier had spent the last week or so wondering if Geralt loved him back in a romantic way, or whether they would just be the dearest of friends. Whatever it was, Jaskier would be fine. That’s how soulbonds worked. They would be perfect for one another, platonically or romantically but Jaskier fell hard and fast.

Surely Geralt would love him back in the same way, right?

Jaskier was too afraid to ask at this point. He just kept saying “I love you” and hoping that Geralt would hear the truth. Neither of them had spoken about dating other people, but Jaskier knew there was no hope for him. Perhaps the odd fling, but he’d tried that once and without the connection he had with Geralt, he just wasn’t really into it.

He sighed dramatically and picked up his phone.

J - That’s fucking brilliant!!

He added a stream of emojis for good luck.

J - and all expenses paid for?! Drinks are on you, darling x

L - You should be so lucky.

- Pay for your own drink you cheapskate.

Jaskier squinted at the screen, pushing his fringe from his face. His tongue flicked out to lick his lips, and he ignored the dryness in his throat. Logically, he knew he should get up and get some water but his bed was comfy and he didn’t quite want to face the day yet, especially as Geralt was asleep. Things just felt heavier when Geralt was asleep.

He sighed again and tapped out a message.

J - Can you sneak Geralt in your suitcase?

- I’ll pay for the luggage fee <3

Lambert started typing immediately and Jaskier waited with bated breath. It had been a joke but there was always a chance that Lambert would be allowed a plus one… right?

L - I’m afraid not

- I’m sorry. I know you want to meet.

- Geralt is just as upset. The bastard hasn’t spoken to me all day.

Jaskier couldn’t help but laugh at that. He’d sensed something had been bothering his soulmate, especially when Geralt was the one to insist they video-called before Jaskier went to bed, but it was nice to hear that he wasn’t the only one being pathetic and unreasonably grumpy. Sometimes it felt like Jaskier felt everything and Geralt was just putting up with him because he didn’t have much choice. In his heart, Jaskier knew that wasn’t true, that Geralt just showed his love in a more sedate manner.

Opposites really do attract.

He sighed and switched chats, typing out a quick message to his soulmate.

J - I miss you. I love you. I will be unbearably needy today. Sorry!

Flipping his phone to the camera app, Jaskier snapped a quick selfie. He looked like a mess of stubble, glasses and ratty hair… but Geralt never seemed to mind.

J - Isn’t your soulmate the best?

- Love me?

- I love you

- I already said that but it’s true.

Jaskier cursed and threw his phone onto the end of the bed before remembering that he hadn’t answered Lambert yet. He pouted and scrambled to find his phone again, struggling against the weight of his blanket. The blanket did wonders for his ADHD but it could be a pain in the arse to move sometimes. Reluctantly, he switched back to Lambert’s chat.

J - I can’t wait to show you around! Ooh we could go to the natural history museum, I’m sure some of the stuffed animals look just like you! Or maybe a show!

L - Not sure how much I’’ll be able to hang out, but we’ll have to get a photo to show Geralt.

- He’ll probably be jealous.

- But he’ll manage.

Jaskier rolled his eyes. Siblings could be the worst. He’d never really gotten on well with his own sisters but he could imagine having Lambert for a brother would be a hundred times worse. Still, he smiled at his phone. Geralt would be jealous. Geralt wanted to meet him. That was a good thing, no matter how much Jaskier pined to see his soulmate over Lambert.

This was a start.

One day.

They would meet one day, and then Jaskier would never have to let him go. He just had to be patient… for now.

[gingerrocketeer]

Piltover's Finest Anniversary

So I did a thing.... I wrote my first fanfic. I have had this knocking around my head since I finished the series for the 3rd time. My ADHD addled brain is craving more of these 2 so it is making up its own stuff. There is a very smutty part 2 to this that I decided to leave for another time, I am not sure I have the resolve to write the level detail that is created by my hyperfantasia (which I love) I am sure that people would appreciate it, but let me know if you want to see it. lol.

---

Part 1

Vi finished tucking the end of her wrap near her elbow and looked at Caitlyn. "I would still rather you didn't go. Our reservation is for 6." Vi felt the energy buzzing under her skin, she needed to do something other than laze about in bed. "It's not even 4 o'clock yet. It'll just be a quick run, and then I'll be back. We'll have plenty of time to get ready together." Caitlyn pouted, she had said no to going with Vi, and Vi knew that Caitlyn had wanted their first anniversary to be spent doing nothing except eating and burning off that food under the covers, but Vi had never been to this part of Ruinterra, she wanted to explore, she wanted to see what it was like. She had begged to go look around that morning, but she had been 'persuaded' to stay in bed rather. "I'll make it up to you tonight." Caitlyn raised an eyebrow at Vi, and pursed her lips. "You most certainly will, but there will be hell to pay if you are late. And we will discuss you wearing the tie when you get back." Vi's excitement exploded within her. Her grin made it almost all the way to her ears. "Thanks cupcake. I won't be late. And about the tie, I always feel like an asshole when I'm in a tie." Vi didn't wait for the rebuttal, but rather bounded out the door, trying not to run in the hallways. The city was bigger than she could have ever imagined was possible. She ran past buildings bigger than the Piltover Council Building, that looked older than the oldest parts of Zaun. It felt like she was making good time, so she slowed up a bit to catch her breath, it was then that she saw it. The biggest church she had ever seen, the windows were a thousand shattered pieces of colored glass. Who ever had built that and which ever God it was for; they had a lot of money. Ogling the building Vi didn't see the steps, and lost her footing, but her reflexes were sharp enough that she launched herself off the foot still on the ground and looked for a landing spot before tucking her body up and rolling through the air, she landed solidly, and took a deep breath. Impressed by her own recovery. Still marveling at her landing she felt a tug on her sleeve, a boy who looked to not be a teen yet had the fabric in his fingers. Not many people could sneak up on her, but the sight of him didn't alarm her. He looked like she had at that age. "You" he pointed at Vi, English was clearly not his first language. He searched for the word to use. "Eeer, bounce?" Vi worked out that he meant parkour. She nodded, she wondered where this interaction would lead. The boy pointed across the square at a group of teens throwing themselves onto and off of walls and stair cases. Vi followed the boy and leaned against a railing watching the teenagers have fun. It made her nostalgic for times with Mylo and Clagger and little Powder. Vi watched without shame, thrilled to have found a piece of culture that was the same across Ruinterra. The boy that had led her over appeared next to her, interrupting her reverie, he was balancing like an acrobat on the railing. He pointed at a girl about his height who had just landed an incredible backflip. "That's my sister." Vi felt like she had been invited into a very private moment among friends. She smiled broadly looking at the boy. "She's very good." He nodded and disappeared, moments later Vi saw him jump off a ledge and barrel sideways through the air and land with a roll, his form was a little awkward, but he had guts. His 'family' laughed at him but applauded. At the other end of the square the church bell tower tolled the hour. Vi looked up at the gargantuan clock that adorned the building and saw that it was 5pm. She also realized that she was well and truly lost, with only a vague idea of how to get back to the hotel. Without saying anything she waved to the young boy and ran, trying to remember how she had ended up at the square. Her feet pounded against the pavement, hearing Caitlyn's voice in her head. There was going to be hell to pay, she had said she wanted to get a drink at the bar half an hour before their

dinner reservations. Vi was definitely going to be late. After looping through streets that looked vaguely familiar, by some miracle she spotted the building she was looking for. She crossed the street without looking and skidded to a stop as she entered the lobby. She was breathing hard. She had no way of knowing how long it had taken her to find her way back, but she had a feeling she was going to be in trouble. The chime of the elevator drew her attention and she stood upright as Caitlyn stepped off the elevator. Her expression was thunder as they made eye contact from across the lobby. Caitlyn stepped back and held the elevator open. Vi hurried, but knew not to run, she tried desperately not to make eye contact. Caitlyn's posture told her that she was using all her years of elocution training to keep the anger from showing through, her breathing was flat and even. Caitlyn held the key card out to Vi as she crossed into the elevator. Vi took hold of it, still not making eye contact, but Caitlyn didn't let it go. Vi swallowed slowly as she braced herself for the repercussions of her tardiness. Vi noticed that Caitlyn had had her nails done to match her new dress. Vi also noticed the gentle floral scent of Caitlyn's favorite perfume. When she finally found the courage to look into her partner's eyes they were as dark as her dress. The fury that was in no way visible outwardly radiated from her gaze like heat from the sun. Vi wanted to apologize, wanted to say so many things, but she didn't get a chance. Caitlyn exited the elevator still holding the key card. "I don't like to be kept waiting." She let the card go and Vi heard her heals on the marble lobby as the doors closed. She knew she had fucked up seriously. Caitlyn only ever used that tone when speaking to suspects or disobedient subordinates. Vi took off her hoodie and undid her hand wraps as she rode up to their floor. She watched the numbers count up, and when the doors opened and she was sure no one was in front of them she bolted. Tearing down the corridor to the room. She put the key card in backward on the first try, then dropped it and fumbled it, finally opening the door. Caitlyn had laid her suit out on the bed and had her dress shoes polished. Vi toed her shoes off in the bathroom and turned the shower on before she stripped down, putting her clothes in a neat pile on the floor. The water was almost too hot, but she didn't have time to fiddle with the knob to get the perfect temperature. She soaped up and rinsed off before it became unbearable, she was sure to rinse the sweat out of her hair. He skin was pink and tender as she dried her self, the towel voluptuously soft against her skin. Caitlyn had laid her perfume and hair wax out next to the basin. On top of her hair wax was her wedding band. She let out an exasperated sigh, chastising herself. "This woman is too good for me!" She sprayed the spicy musky perfume onto her sternum, she could never figure out where else it was supposed to go. Her ring went on next and she tamed her hair and combed into the style that Caitlyn liked her to when they went to high society events. In the bedroom she fought her underwear and socks onto her still damp body, before dressing and slipping her feet into her shoes. She would have to tie the laces in the elevator. Under her suit on the bed was a tie that Caitlyn had picked out, it was already tied, and with a deep sigh Vi slid it over her head, careful not to mess up her hair. She was proud of herself, she was ready to go in over 5 minutes. A quick glance in the mirror to be sure she looked presentable she left the room. Pocketing the key card as she closed the door. She hoped she wouldn't have to wait long for the elevator. She considered taking the stairs, but didn't want to ruffle herself getting to the dining room. And elderly couple was waiting for the elevator when she trotted toward it, the doors chimed and they began to shuffle in. In the politest way she knew, she shouted for them to hold the door. They smiled at her as she hurried aboard. She

breathlessly said thanks as she bent to tie her shoes. "You look very handsome my dear." The elderly lady smiled at Vi as she stood and straightened her jacket and fixed her hair. "Thanks. I'm late for dinner with my wife." The elderly man chuckled kindly. "It's never a good idea to keep your wife waiting," he looked loving down at his wife, "after 47 years I have learned that it can cause trouble." Vi saw the lady squeeze her husband's hand, her smile a little wider. "A little groveling fixes most faux pas." Vi let out a nervous chuckle. "I'll remember that. Thanks." The doors were about to open, and the elderly lady put her hand on Vi forearm. "Holdup dear, your tie is skew." Vi politely waited as the woman fussed and fixed her tie for her. "There you go. Go charm her." They waited for Vi to exit before them, and she said another thank you over her shoulder. She wanted to run, but knew better of it. Her shoes made a sharp tap tapping as she hurried toward the bar. The clock above the door told her to was quarter to 6. She saw Caitlyn as she entered the bar, she sat at a table near a corner, her one leg dangling from the bar stool, as she politely held her hands in her lap. Her dress hugged in all the right places, but was modest enough that it was elegant. The color complimented Caitlyn's hair color perfectly. Vi's heart skipped just looking at her. No matter what happened or had happened the sight of this woman stirred something in Vi's soul that was deep and had been left to wither for much of her life. There was a man talking to Caitlyn, she did not look to be enjoying the conversation. Her gaze drifted from his face, and met Vi at the door. In that instant Vi felt her heart swell, and she wanted to be the only 2 people in the bar, so that she could hold her and have her cuddle against her. Vi stood to her full height, which admittedly wasn't very much, and strode confidently toward Caitlyn. She stepped around the gentleman, and placing her left hand on the table, her wedding band prominent, in a silly display of partnership, she lent in for a kiss. "I am so sorry I am late." She tried to get the emotion she felt, at making Caitlyn wait, to come through in her voice. Caitlyn offered her her cheek. Shit, Vi had really blown it. She turned her attention to the man that was still talking he was clearly trying to woo Caitlyn, but was also clearly a few drinks in over his head. "Hey buddy," Vi tried to be as polite and charming as possible, she really wanted to punch his lights out. "I think it's time for you to go." He looked at Vi as if it was the first time noticing her, he opened and closed his mouth a few times like a fish gasping for air, before huffing a "whatever" under his breath and staggered back to the bar. Vi took the seat he had been leaning on and sucked in a deep breath as she looked Caitlyn in the eye. "You look exceptional tonight." Caitlyn narrowed her eyes at Vi, her jaw sticking out, she slid her tongue over her front teeth, as if contemplating her response. Vi pleaded with her eyes. She truly was sorry. She had worn the tie, and rightly felt like an asshole. "I see you found the tie I picked out for you." Vi nodded and looked down at it. it was black, but there was a shimmery fabric woven into the black in a paisley design. It was feminine, but not girlie in the traditional sense. It was also as elegant as the burgundy colored suit that Caitlyn had had made for Vi. Vi didn't know what to say, and found herself awkwardly looking down at her suit. The color and the feel of the threads were like nothing Vi had ever owned growing up. She felt fancy. As if to save them a waiter appeared to tell them that their table was available. Caitlyn said thank you and they stood to follow the waiter. Caitlyn in heals was almost a full head taller than Vi. She waited to fall in step behind Caitlyn, watching her body sashay as she walked. Vi placed her hand in the small of Caitlyn's back as they followed the waiter between tables. Caitlyn reached behind her and took Vi's

hand, she gave it a gentle squeeze. Vi let out the breath she had been holding. Caitlyn had learned well from her mother how to chill people to the bone with a look. Vi would more happily face off against a giant than weather the wrath of a Kirraman woman. The waiter led them onto the terrace that overlooked a swath of the city. Vi could see the steeple of the church she had found earlier. The sun hadn't set yet, but was getting low in the sky. The colors were breathtaking. Vi felt a gentle tug on her hand and realized that she had stopped moving to take in the scenery. She mumbled sorry and started moving again, unable to tear her eyes from the view. Their table was against the railing, and the waiter pulled Caitlyn's chair out for her, Vi waited for him to leave before she took her own seat across from her. The late afternoon light brought out the brighter shades of blue in Caitlyn's hair and deepened the shades of indigo, her eyes too seemed to glow. The anger that had been there earlier was gone, and when Vi looked she realized that Caitlyn was watching her as she was enraptured by the cityscape. Vi felt her cheeks flush. "What? Do I look ok? I did the hair thing you like. Thank you for laying everything out for me before you left. I am so incredibly sorry that I lost track of time. I totally fucked up, and understand that I let you down." Caitlyn put her hand on top of Vi's as it balled up into a fist. It silenced her, and her hand relaxed. "You look perfect. That suit looks better on you in this light than I could have ever imagined." Caitlyn eyebrow rose, and she tried to hide a naughty smile. "It will look even better on the floor later though." Vi blushed all the way to her ears, and she moved her hand atop of Caitlyn's and rubbed her fingers along the inside of her wrist. The waiter who had given them a moment to settle reappeared to offer them a drink. Cailyn who spoke the local language ordered a local wine, and asked about house specials and ordered food for both her and Vi, as Vi sat captivated by the magic of the dinner that Caitlyn had planned for them. There was a comfortable silence between them after the waiter walked away. Vi broke it, looking Caitlyn square in the eye. "I now understand why you didn't want me to be late. This sunset is magnificent." Caitlyn grinned broadly looking very proud of herself. Vi didn't want to be anywhere else in the world. " Happy anniversary, I love you Cupcake."

[gildedbarbarian]

They failed me in a thousand ways, but I don’t think this was one of them. I never said anything, after all, didn’t have the vocabulary for my experiences or the worldliness to understand the real tragedy of what had happened. I, as all children do, lacked the perspective to understand the frailty of what I lost. Of what was taken from me. That part, I really can’t fault them for. I’m sure there were signs because there always are. But childhood trauma and ADHD present similarly at younger ages, and while it wasn’t a possibility anyone considered until a lot later in my life, the fact that that line is blurred in a Chicken or the Egg type of scenario isn’t something that escapes me. Maybe I just hid it well. Maybe I shoved it so far underneath the bed that it became part of the foundation. Maybe it wormed its way into my bone marrow. 

The victims of their failure pile up around me, and the older I get, the more work I do, the more I find. It’s sort of like an archeological excavation dig, I imagine. You know something’s there, but you’re not sure what or how much or how deep it goes. In my case, the trenches are full to the brim. It almost feels like I can’t throw a stone without finding one of them, purely on accident. Some days, it feels like I’m one bad touch away from being buried alive in their numbers. Suffocated by the weight of my own tragedy, smothered out of existence by it. 

I found another. A few days ago, a term was hurled at me by someone who will never know my name, and true to form, it bounced off of one. I’d never seen her before. Well, I guess that’s not strictly true. She’s been in the corner of my vision for as long as I can remember, arms always outstretched, always asking for help. I don’t know if I just stopped seeing her or if I started to ignore her or if she really just faded out for a while. Got lost in the crowd of other victims that were much, much more palatable than she is. 

She’s not theirs, but she is someone’s. Mine, in every way that matters, but also foreign in a way that I don’t know if I’ll ever have the vocabulary for, even if I ingested the whole of Webster’s with a healthy side of Oxford’s. Too small to be a threat, too soft to be a weapon, too young to self-advocate, she’s everything I hate about childhood. I’ve been told that the only way she’ll get better is if I acknowledge her, bring her in close and offer her the shelter that no one else ever did. There isn’t a day that passes where that seems feasible, and sometimes I think she’ll haunt me like a sickly Victorian ghost until I make it to my grave. 

That’s not something I’m proud of. 

I feel a little bit like I’m choking. As if this ode to my pain is stuck in my throat like a peppermint down the wrong pipe. Like that time I choked on a Granny candy in first grade and could feel the imprint of it in my airway for the rest of the day. I didn’t ask for help then, either. In a tragically artistic, gothic sort of color, I’m jealous of women like Mary Shelley. Women who took the pain the world gave them and made something horrendous, something splendid, something gilded and remembered out of it. Women who hold a mirror up to the world through their fiction, who can change minds through the sort of smoke and mirrors and sleight of hand that makes it hard to realize what’s happening at all. I don’t think that will ever be me. 

I, it seems, am hopelessly cursed to write non-fiction. The mirror I hold up is not gilded or polished. It is smudged and stained and cracked. The kind of mirror where you can’t see what’s directly behind you, but you can see four different shades of your own face. Fragmented. Jilted. Wrecked. No one will look at my mirror and call it beautiful. Instead, they will look into it and see infinity in reverse. Every step that got them where they are now. The ugly, bitter, harsh truth. Or at least, that’s my hope. Horrifying, isn’t it? 

It wouldn’t be the first time.

- what do a mirror and a ghost have to say to one another? (c.a.d.)

[gay-ghosts-committing-crimes]

Two Best Friends Going to the Thrift Store!! (They Don’t Kiss)

AO3 link is here

Summary: Bobby and Flynn decide that watching people get their nails painted isn't fun, so they figure that shopping is the only answer.

Warnings: swearing and a sickening amount of platonic friendship

Words: 1,472

taglist, just ask to be added or removed: @barrel-of-cat-mituna @completekeefitztrash @tiergan-andrin-alenefar @lemontarto @hershis-kotlc @genesiscaveat @everything-else-and-mars @juline-dizznee @chaotic-basics @an-absolute-travesty @classyfunnyquotesmuffin7 @iamstealingyourgenderaswespeak @itstiger720 @introvertedscarecrow @sunset-telepath @an-idiot-in-a-trenchcoat @cowboypossume @anaccidentwaitingtohappen @sofia-not-sophie @fire-sapphics @dr-alan-grant-blog-blog @real-smooth @juline-dizznee @it-tastes-like-lizard

Flynn groaned from where she lay sprawled out on Julie's bed.

"I'm bored," They complained, idly picking at the covers, "I'm too gay and adhd for this."

Bobby agreed from his spot on a beanbag. "Don't get me wrong, I love the vibes, and if anyone can pull off red nail polish, it's Reg, but watching nails get done? Not my version of a hot girl summer."

Julie rolled her eyes at them and continued painstakingly painting Reggie's thumbnail, making sure it was completely even before responding.

"First of all Flynn, don't pick at the blankets, your nails are still drying, second of all, Bobbin, you are literally nonbinary. You don't get a hot girl summer."

Bobby clutched dramatically at their  chest, purposefully deepening his voice and pouting.

"Jules! The pain- who knew you were the gatekeeping girlboss of the Molina family? That's so transphobic." They paused, clearly waiting for someone to stand up for him. No one did.

"Fine, I see how it is. It's because I'm amab, isn't it? If Luke and Alex were here, they would let me have a hot girl summer."

Reggie piped up, "They probably wouldn't. Luke would be on Julie's side, and Alex would either agree with Willie, or if they weren't here, say something sarcastic about how you haven't earned a hot girl summer."

Bobby huffed, flipping over on the bean bag so he was basically upside down, and made a face at Reggie, who only smiled and shrugged, his cheeks lightly pink.

Flynn laughed but didn't disagree, and Bobby glared at them before flipping them off and haughtily crossing their arms. She only cackled more and he gave up, scoffing under his breath.

Julie hummed quietly under her breath as she worked, and Flynn made various noises to stim in an effort to not ruin her nails, but otherwise the small group fell quiet.

Finally Bobby couldn't handle the silence and pushed themself up, stretching and ruffling Reggie's hair before grabbing Flynn around the waist and lifting them up onto his shoulder, ignoring her protests about being careful of her nails, and heading for the door.

"Flynn and I will be back, we've got hot he/they and she/they shit to do." Flynn grumbled from where they were thrown over his shoulder, complaining about how they treated her like a rag doll, but didn't put up a fight to leaving. After all, she had been bored too.

"Alright half-pint, where to?" Bobby gingerly set her down once they made it outside, this time noticeably more careful about their nails, and she gave a nod of thanks.

"I'd pinch you for calling me that, but my nails are still drying," She glared disapprovingly at him, but they only gave a cheeky smile and started walking, leaving her to follow. 

"I think there's a new thrift store we could check out; I've been meaning to get some nice platform shoes."

Bobby nodded in understanding and plucked at their black shirt, which they had cropped himself "I've been wanting a new crop top or two," They replied.

Flynn checked out their outfit and raised her eyebrows approvingly. Bobby was sporting his black crop top, a pair of red high-waisted cut-off shorts, and black combat boots with rainbow laces. Their hair was loose, and he had black winged eyeliner to finish off the look.

"You can't really go wrong with a crop top," She agreed, and he grinned in response.

"Thanks half-pint." They went to rub his knuckles on her head, but laughed and pulled away when they threatened him with being called a CisHet™.

"Hey hey!" He gestured placatingly as he laughed, "No need to be harsh!"

She rolled their eyes, but gave a soft smile and bumped their shoulders together.

They slung their arm over her shoulder and started walking again.

~~

The thrift shop was mostly empty of people when the friends got there, but the selection was good and they both enjoyed searching the racks and showing off the random treasures they found tucked away, like a pair of boots that would have been a near perfect match of the combat boots Bobby was wearing, except for the fact that they were a beautiful floral pattern, and an adorable button up with sunflowers and bees that Flynn found between an atrocious neon orange jean jacket, and cute quarter-zip jacket with handmade embroidery on it.

Bobby paused their search for the Perfect Crop Top to hold a teal dress against his chest, and raised an eyebrow at Flynn.

"Well, what do you think? Figure this would convince Julie that I deserve my very own hot girl summer?"

Flynn snorted and shook her head, grabbing a garish purple dress with more frills than square inches, and handed it to him.

"Try this," They smirked, "You'd have the hottest girl summer of us all. Might even catch yourself a man in that outfit."

He stopped as if considering, and then regretfully shook their head, "I couldn't. There's only one person I'd want to catch, and I wouldn't want to make anyone feel bad by being the hottest in the group." He winked and bit his lip to make the fuck-boy face, to which Flynn responded by slugging them in the arm.

"Never, and I mean never, do that at me again, and also? I literally exist. I'm the hottest of the friend group. We all know this." She posed for a second and then turned back to the dresses, eyeing them up and down and smiled to themself.

"'Only one person'," They teased, partially pulling out a sequined pink dress and wrinkling their nose before glancing back at Bobby, "Please, you are head over HEELS for him. I'm surprised you haven't made a move yet honestly."

She grabbed a lavender sundress and held it up for his approval.

"Cute, I like it for you. And it's not "surprising" that I haven't made a move. I'm just... being patient. Besides little miss disaster lesbian, you haven't stopped pining over Carrie in years, and you haven't even asked her out once!! at least I've done more than that."

Flynn spun on him, "What?! You didn't tell me?!?!?"

"Wait wait wait, it wasn't anything big!" Bobby held up their hands and took a step back, "We were all up until like, four in the morning, and high on lack of sleep and all that, and I said we should all go on a double date. Luke pouted because he didn't want to go without Julie, and Alex was already asleep, so it was just me and Reggie.

"I guess now that I think about it, it was kind of a date? But like, a platonic one." They shrugged and turned back to searching the racks of clothes, but Flynn wouldn't let go of it so easily.

"So you're telling me you went on a date, with your crush, alone, and you think he doesn't like you back?! Are you fucking kidding me?? Oooh, pretty!"

They paused their rant momentarily when a cute pair of pants caught her eye, and she held them up to see how they looked. Flynn put them back and shook her head.

"Anyways, he's as much in love with you as you are with him. And. I'm getting these sunglasses because fuck you, that's why." 

Bobby rolled his eyes, "I wasn't going to tell you not to, but aight. And he might like me back. It's not like-" They waved their hands vaguely, "- like Luke and Jules." 

They were practically made for each other, and it was never a question about whether or not they liked each other back. They just. Did. 

"With Reggie it's different. He's been through a lot Flynn, and I'd die alone a thousand times before hurting him. I just don't know if he feels the same about me."

They were both quiet for a bit, flipping through hangers and assorted shoes. It wasn't an awkward silence, just a thoughtful one, and Bobby was grateful that Flynn was able to tease and annoy, but ultimately listen and offer advice too. They were a good friend, and Bobby wouldn't trade it for the world.

After a while they went to check out, the cashier offering them a smile and polite goodbye when Flynn pushed open the door, warm air flowing around them as they began the walk back to Julie's house. 

"Hey Bobbers?"

"Yeah half-pint?"

"I don't think the boys, or you, would ever let you come close to hurting Reggie. And by the way? He tooootally likes you back."

"Yeah?" He gave a grateful smile.

"Yeah."

"Thanks half-pint." They laughed when she flicked them, and pulled her into a hug before linking their arms and singing a song under his breath.

It was a good day to have friends like his.