#anyway I’m being sentimental because once again I am

[reverie-starlight]

kenma for the soul <3

gn!reader, no physical descriptions. this was in my drafts for so long that I forgot abt it. based off of my own routine when I get a panic attack. I believe I wrote the bulk of this after one, actually.

warnings: depictions of a panic attack, my own personal coping methods (I swear they make sense in my head) and kenma being soft for you. this was edited at like 2 am so if there’s some mistakes… no there’s not.

it’ll pass.

you know that. you’ve known that for years, actually, yet somehow the sentiment doesn’t hold up in the moments you need it to the most.

kenma watches as you switch between sitting on the edge of the bed with him and pacing the length of your bedroom.

he really feels for you. he still gets panic attacks from time to time, after all, so he knows the basics of what you’re going through like the back of his hand.

he’s still trying to learn your specifics, though.

he’s observant and he’s strategic. with those skills, he’s gathered that you do not respond well to sitting still and taking deep breaths.

you continue pacing and wringing your fingers together, clenching and unclenching your fists and shaking your arms out (he recognizes this as literally trying to dispel the panic from your body).

he watches you closely, wanting to figure you out as soon as possible so he can utilize his strategic side and end your suffering. are you trying to tire yourself out? why is it that you don’t find the breathing exercises useful? why doesn’t sitting still and meditating benefit you?

oh… of course, why didn’t he think of that sooner?

you don’t like those coping methods because you see it as another opportunity to focus on your trigger. by trying to stop it, you just end up thinking about it more. they require you to be aware of every sensation in your body, but if you’re moving around a lot instead, it acts as a distraction.

so he’ll need to help you redirect your train of thought some more.

“babe,” he calls out quietly, not having the energy or willingness to be any louder at two in the morning.

you don’t stop pacing, but you look at him and nod to let him know you’re listening.

“let’s go to the kitchen.”

you blink as he gets up and takes your hand, leading you out of your bedroom. he hopes the change of scenery and mystery of what he has planned brings you out of your head a bit.

“kenma-“ you start, voice raw from the crying you did earlier.

“do you want to make cookies?”

you watch as he goes to the fridge and gets some water and ice cubes. (he read once that the ice can shock you out of panic and act as a good redirection strategy.)

you take the glass when he hands it to you and allow the chill of the ice ground you a bit.

your head feels clearer now. the panic had mostly subsided well before you were led out of the bedroom, but you had continued pacing anyway.

in your mind it makes sense- relaxing too soon, when it’s not quite gone, gives it the chance to come back and restart the cycle all over again. tiring yourself out and distracting yourself with the familiar movement patterns that helped stopped it in the first place…

it’s always worked for you.

and now, sitting up on the barstool by the kitchen island with kenma, you definitely feel the exhaustion.

so you shake your head. “no, I’m too tired, babe.”

he nods, successfully getting a read on your energy level. “okay,” he says. “drink your water, I can make toast for us.”

you blink at him. “why?”

he shrugs. “you must’ve worked up an appetite with all that walking, right? I got winded just watching you.”

you snort, surprisingly, and the corner of his mouth lifts up a bit. “I guess so… oh but kenma, I kept you up, you must be tired too.”

he gets the bread ready to put into the toaster and glances at you over his shoulder. “you do realize you’re dating someone who once streamed for twenty-four hours straight, right? one late night is nothing.”

you sip your water and hold an ice cube in your cheek, letting it melt. “still, I’m-“

“and don’t apologize. I know that’s what you were about to do.”

you sheepishly look down into your glass and let the silence linger until he presents you some buttered toast. “remember how I told you I used to get really bad panic attacks in high school? the ones I get now aren’t nearly as intense as those, but I do still know how draining they are,” he rips off a chunk of bread and feeds it to you. “it’s not too much to care for you, okay?“ he knows the feeling of being afraid to be a burden well, too, unfortunately.

you smile and knock your head against his as you chew. “thanks, kenma. I love you.”

there’s still a lot he has to learn for you, but he knows that if this were a video game, it’d be the easiest level he’d ever complete.

“love you too. now let’s finish this and get to bed.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

@dira333 some kenma :3

[leclsrc]

wait and see ✴︎ cl16

genre: enemies to lovers, fluff, angst barely, other drivers appear

word count: 2.5k

The grid recounts the evolution, nature, and many ups and downs of your and Charles' vague relationship.

auds here... req'd, this was p fun to write i hope u guys like it! :) short bec if it was any longer it wouldnt have been as nice to read i think? anyway... i love u guys. title from this.

Lando takes a seat. “Is this the thingy for…? Yeah? Okay. What am I supposed to do again?”

“Just describe the two of them.”

“Easy. She was always pissing him off.” He rubs his chin, lost in thought. “But… in a good way?”

—

“I told you a hundred times I didn’t want this to be the soundbite you published.” Charles chases after you, his footsteps quickening like a lost puppy as you wrestle your way into the media pen. “A hundred times, and you said okay, and you still published it. Che succede?”

You turn, crossing your arms over your torso. “Look. I said yes, but when I looked it over, nothing else you said was really worth it. It was all just repetitions of the same PR bullshit that makes you look good on camera.”

He rakes a hand through his hair, exhaling with frustration, watching his biting comment on Iñaki rack up hundreds of thousands of views. “This was not a good idea!” He repeats, the same sentiment he’s been telling you in the half-hour he’s known of this video’s publicity.

“But it happened.” You adjust your mic and gesture to Lando, who’s awkwardly waiting for the cameras to roll so you can start the post-FP2 interview and he can talk about his shit car. “I’m busy, so deal with it. Your fans will appreciate you not riding Ferrari’s dick all the time.”

Charles opens his mouth to argue, but shuts it, shoving his way back outside and into the motorhome so he can cooperate in damage control. He doesn’t admit it—to you, to Carlos, to anyone—but the PR that comes of it is more good than it is bad in the end. He doesn’t admit it because it means admitting you’re right, and God if that’s the last thing he’ll ever do.

—

“They were always butting heads,” George says, laughing as he soaks in the memories of it. “Always fighting over something. Anything. Whatever there was that could be disagreed on—they’d be disagreeing.”

—

It started harmlessly enough. Seb walked in with two swatches of color—a blue and a purple—and addressed the room with a light tone, asking what color would best suit the tablecloths at his wedding. And then, as it always did with you and Charles, chaos ensued.

“Blue suits green better.” You wave the blue in his face. “You’re busy thinking of red all the time so you don’t understand color theory.”

“It’s not about coordination! It’s about creating a highlight!” He gestures with his hands, aggressively gesticulating to try and get his point across. “Highlight!”

“Oh, bullshit! Blue!”

“Purple!”

“Are you crazy?!”

Across the room, Seb and George watch in mild horror at the two figures caught in a needlessly intense argument over colors at a wedding that isn’t even theirs.

An AlphaTauri engineer comes in to refill his coffee for the third time, finds the two of you still fighting and is genuinely stupefied. He turns to the two onlookers, asks, “Bridezilla, huh? Happened to me once, too. I swear the grooms always try to weasel their way in to seem more involved but their choices never make sense.”

“Oh, no. They, uh, they’re not together.” George clarifies quickly.

“They’re not?!” The engineer and Seb ask at the same time.

They all watch the argument, bemused, but secretly they all wonder just how correct George is.

—

“We have a saying in Spanish. Del amor al odio hay un paso. Neither of them will understand it—it’s in Spanish, obviously—but I think that applies to them. One minute you think they hate each other, and the next…” Carlos lets himself taper into silence, smiling softly.

—

Being around Charles feels like karmic retribution, a constant eternal push and pull. But it makes the both of you better, even if neither of you admit it in the end. You can’t really grasp why, or how it started—it might take ages if you do so much as try—but you’re content with letting things happen the way they do.

Or maybe you’re not. “You ruined my fucking broadcast, dickhead!”

You toss your earpiece at his chest, body welling up with annoyance. Your segment was being casted live until Charles insisted he take up your airtime to do whatever-the-fuck, you honestly don’t care. And yeah, sure, he’s way more relevant, but the less airtime you get, the less easily you get the exposure you need.

“It happened one time.” He sounds amused, and it patronizes you, sets you on fire. He clutches your earpiece to his chest and hands it back to you.

“Fuck you.” You tug it toward yourself, and suddenly you’re closer, noses almost touching. You step back, but it’s not enough. “You have no idea how much that mattered to me.”

His eyes flit toward your lips, your bodies melting together. “If it really did…” he says, inhaling, “you would’ve just ignored me.” And damn, he’s right.

Charles does not like you. He just knows you well. But then one might argue—isn’t that the same thing?

—

“They have trouble not calling the shots, is the thing,” Lewis offers. “So put them in a team, in a room together, and boom.”

—

“…We didn’t agree on this script.” You underline the problematic lines and toss it onto Charles’ lap from where you stand in front of the sofa. “You want your fans to hate you?”

“The questions were clumsy. I asked you to reword them, but you didn’t.”

“You didn’t ask, to be clear. You demanded.” You click your tongue.

Lewis is in the middle of posting on Roscoe’s Instagram account and manually making typos, but he looks up, interest piqued by the increasingly heated conversation.

“I asked,” Charles insists stubbornly. “Plus, this is a Ferrari segment. You get hired to write on Ferrari, you follow Ferrari.” He points to the yellow logo on his shirt. Ferrari, he mouths. Lewis stifles a chuckle at the sarcastic exchange.

“Jesus.” You reread the script. “Fine. I’ll reword this and this.”

“And that.” He points, tapping the paper.

“Only if you edit this and this. Oh, God, and this.”

“Fine. Wait, that?”

“Are you serious? It’s the corniest statement ever. Edit that or I edit nothing.”

“Okay, bossy.”

Lewis exits Instagram in favor of texting Seb to ask if you two are dating. The response he receives is equally unhelpful: Nobody knows mate.

—

“You know, for all the disagreeing they did, they actually agreed on so much of the same stuff. If they stopped fighting for two seconds they would agree on most things.” Alex muses. “But they never did, so. Or maybe a few times.”

—

Media is a tricky thing. It’s either on your side, or it isn’t.

And this weekend, Charles has drawn the short straw, subjected to bouts of backhanded journalists and tweets for his strategy during quali. You know this especially well—you’re media, for Christ’s sake—and you’ve seen your colleagues hound Charles for how he chose to tackle the session.

Alex is in the middle of a FaceTime call with Lily when he hears it. “Wait—I think they’re talking,” he says to his girlfriend when he hears you approach him, carefully maneuvering himself into optimal eavesdropping position.

“Is this the right thing to do?” Lily’s voice comes through like static.

“I know it’s wrong,” Alex confesses. “But—”

“No, I meant I can’t hear properly. Move the phone closer, you dick.”

So he does, and the two of them listen intently to your talk. You go first, a few shuffling footsteps and an adjustment of your media pass, then. “Will’s been all over you today.”

“Yeah,” comes Charles’ voice, tired if anything. “I, uh… I just hope I can understand where I went wrong and, uh. Well, uh.”

“No, I…” There’s heavy silence. “I think you did the right thing. You didn’t get pole, but it was a good strategy. Better than what was being proposed, anyway. I think that would’ve landed you at the back of the grid, to be honest.”

You both laugh. “Thanks,” he croaks.

“You did great. Don’t, um… don’t let them tell you otherwise. I’m proud of you.”

Alex never tells anybody what he heard. But it inspires many long-winded conversations with Lily about the nature of your relationship. Each time, though, they never arrive to a solid answer.

—

“Hey, listen. I always knew something was there with those two. They had the kind of dynamic you only find once in, like, a million instances.” Daniel says firmly. “But I also kept thinking… poor Charlotte.”

—

You’re half-sure Pierre was the one who bought you all shots. Or a quarter-sure. Okay, you’re not sure at all. Your mind’s cloudy, your inhibitions lowered, tongue loose and laugh contagious. Around the table everyone is laughing, some others have gotten up to dance, but you, Daniel, Lewis, and Charles are all conversing about work, albeit while drunk.

“Is… tequila… plant-based?” Lewis grimaces as he throws another shot back and you all laugh mindlessly.

“Danny,” you say, tapping his shoulder. “Any plans once you’re out of the paddock next season?”

“Ah,” he hums. “Self-discovery and a shit ton of shrooms.”

You all cheers to the epiphany, shots once again entering your system. “And a party again tomorrow!” Daniel adds half-jokingly, much to your delight. Charles, right beside you, throws an arm over your shoulder as he laughs. You’re unfazed.

Daniel’s gaze lingers on his arm a little too long, especially because your own hand reaches upward to wrap around his wrist, to make sure he doesn’t pull away. But you’re both drunk, he reasons. And plus, you can’t usually stand each other’s guts.

“I’ll pass, mate, if it happens,” Charles says, his tone clearly inebriated.

“You’re no fun,” you say lightly, laughing and turning to him. Your eyes are on the other’s, dark, lips almost touching as if you’ve forgotten Daniel and Lewis are even around (though the latter is as good as dead, honestly.)

“Invite Charlotte instead,” Daniel says with a smile, to try and test your reactions. “How long, now? Three months?”

You clear your throat, looking away with a faux smile.

“Oh. We’re not doing so well, to be honest.” Charles smiles, tight-lipped. He hopes Daniel doesn’t ask why. He can’t think of a lie quickly enough to cover how Charlotte told him I love you, Charles, but this is over. I hope you end up with her someday.

—

Seb takes some time to think about it. “Those two always fought. Everyone said that, didn’t they? All the time, disagreeing.” He hums. “I could tell very early, though, that they were also the only two who could truly understand the other. Figuratively, obviously—but as a result, also literally.”

“Elaborate?”

“When you understand someone that well, inside and out, you end up understanding everything they say.” Seb smiles. “That was them, I think.”

—

“It’s impossible to transcribe your interviews,” Will says to Charles. It’s that hour on the paddock where everyone’s waiting for the pre-race bustle to start, so small talk is what’s keeping them busy.

You’re reviewing a few clips from practice on your phone and Seb is chipping into the conversation, which has moved from Mick’s future to F1 into Sky Sports into this.

“What do you mean?” Charles asks.

“You’re always sliding in and out of your three languages!” The Englishman laughs. “I have to consult a native speaker of both Italian and French each time. And you’re always going I, I, I, or we, we, we… but hey, the fans dig it, innit?”

“I think I sound perfectly understandable.” Charles smiles. You’re still busy, unfocused on the conversation at present.

“Like, okay. Look at this.” Will retrieves his phone, opens his voice memos app, and plays one of the audio recordings there. It’s a scratchy one of Charles describing his quali session, and sure enough, even if he’s speaking straight English, the adrenaline and exhaustion have him sounding totally indecipherable.

We—we had gasjdhfhs and I, I, I… I think we need to rejshdhs and thijsjsh about the hsfhdh, yeah? And, and, uh, we ajhshajs. And

Will closes it. “Sebastian, can you tell me that said?”

He shrugs, amused. “Sorry, Charles. I genuinely can’t.”

“See?!” Will makes a voila motion. “Nobody understands this.”

“He said we had good traction and I think we need to recalibrate and think about the boxing strategy, yeah? And we need that mindset.” You’re still going over your phone, busy and not 100% invested. “You two just aren’t listening.”

Charles doesn’t take his eyes off you, or the smile off his face, the whole hour.

—

Pierre comes last, clearing his throat. He’s ready. He knows exactly what to say, so he says it. “Those two are fucking soulmates.”

—

It’s three-thirty when somebody knocks on your hotel room.

But your body still feels like it’s five in the evening, your brain’s stuck at two in the afternoon, and your sleep schedule thinks it’s nine in the morning, so you’re not asleep but instead rewriting notes from the weekend prior.

You’re horribly disoriented when you grab your pepper spray and unlatch the door, and even more disoriented when you see Charles on the other side of it.

“Am I crazy?” He asks, breathless, like he’s been waiting for you all his life. Maybe he has.

“You’re at my hotel room at three a.m., so… a bit.” You rub sleepiness and jetlag out of your eyes. “Charles, what’s going on?”

“I love you.” There it is. “It sounds so stupid. But I love you. And it’s almost—I can’t bear it. I woke up this morning? You, on my mind. Lights go off after a race? You. I go to sleep? You. It’s always you. And I know, I know it’s—I know, with Charlotte, and—but it’s true. I, I, I—I think about you every minute. And usually this happens accidentally. Nous sommes tous des idiots quand il s’agit d’amour... moi y compris.

“But this was… I knew I was falling in love and I let it happen. And so I thought, why keep waiting? Why let it drag on and on and fight over and over when I can just come and tell you how much I—and maybe, hopefully, see if you feel the same?”

He pants, tired from his clearly rambled and unplanned confession.

“I love you, too,” you say, struck. Oh God.

“Can I kiss you, then?”

“It’s may,” you breathe. “May I kiss you.”

“You may,” he whispers.

“Right now?”

“Anytime.”

“So now.”

“It’s now or next Tuesday,” he jokes.

“Now is… the best. Now would do.”

“Now would do.” So you cross the threshold and let him scoop you into his arms so he can well and truly kiss you.

—

“Is that all?” The interviewer asks Pierre. “Just… those words? We need a bit more for the article on this event.”

“Oh, yeah.” He gets up, straightens his tie. “Don’t worry. You’ll hear the rest during my best man speech.”

Del amor al odio hay un paso – From love to hate, there is one step.

Nous sommes tous des idiots quand il s'agit d'amour... moi y compris – We are all fools in love... me included.

[vaguely-concerned]

Ever since watching The Wire for the first time, my brain has doggedly kept working away at the Especially the lies of it all, and specifically at how much the structure beneath the different stories Garak tells contributes to the overall meaning of what he’s trying to say. While the contradicting narratives of course expertly obscure the factual circumstances of his getting exiled, using them also allows him to tell aspects and facets of the emotional truth I don’t think he ever could have, if he’d simply told the actual story of what happened. (It’s very Varric-core of him honestly.)

The first story — the ‘oh, you think you know me?’ story — says I have done things that would sicken you if you knew any detail of it. It’s clearly meant to scare Bashir away so he’ll leave him to die shamefully in peace already lol. But it’s also one of his (probably much-needed lbr) little lessons to Julian that are so frequent in the beginning, given while Garak still has some hold on himself — “Don’t be so quick to forgive me if you don’t even know what I’ve done; what would you do if this really were the sum total of what I am?” (And Julian seems to surprise him by going ‘Well, exactly the same thing, because no matter who you are I am a doctor. But I sort of take your point.’)

The second story — the letting the orphans go story — says I have failed to smother my soul in its cradle when it was required of me, and I regret that more than anything I’ve done. To my ears this is the one most shot through with active self-loathing too, which is interesting. He’s officially lost the control he’s been clinging to and it’s about to get ugly. His TL;DR is ‘Sentiment is the greatest weakness of all’, even all the way back here. (Which is the one lesson Julian steadfastly refuses to learn, which I think in turn does some serious rearrangement of Garak’s soul over the course of the show haha. Get uno reversed into the process of loving and being loved without shame asshole.)  This is also where he builds up to admitting to having any sort of need for companionship or closeness at all and — so much worse — that Julian’s role in his life actually has fulfilled some of that need, and he’s DRIPPING with defensive venom over it b/c well I get it Garak vulnerability is scary it can take a person like that. 

(I also feel there’s something honest and forbidden in ‘Suddenly the whole exercise seemed utterly meaningless’. I suspect ‘actually… why the fuck are we even doing this???’ is not a welcome sentiment in an Obsidian Order water cooler environment, no matter what you’re saying it about lmao. The very first seeds of him deconstructing the things he’s been taught about Cardassia and his work might be hinted at here, though they of course take a looong time to come to any real fruition.)   

The third story — the ‘Elim was my best friend’ story — says hey, remember that thing you said once, about how sometimes, you have to be loyal to yourself before you can be loyal to anything else? Well. guess what. I couldn’t even be that lmao. It also furthers that thread of being divided from yourself, split, that having ‘Elim’ as a separate person around in all versions of the story brings in. He’s in control of himself again, but he essentially hands his life and soul over to Julian to decide what should be done with them. 

I’ve done horrible things and it finally caught up with me, I’m getting what I deserve → I let sentiment master me and the fact that I’m too weak to do what’s needed of me shames me more than the evil I’ve done → I fucked up. I betrayed myself and everything I held to, all for nothing, and I have no one to blame for it but myself. But it’s very nice that you’re here anyway, Doctor. (Wow. I didn’t realize quite how isolated and lonely that last one was before right now. The way Tain has shaped him really has just… locked him completely into himself, huh.) We can also see a movement through from a completely professional context in the first story, to an intensely interpersonal and internal context in the last one — even his fake stories spiral in towards intimacy, which I think is what he longs for here even if he can’t quite like. Touch that without the stories as a buffer yet, it’s clearly like touching a hot stove for him to interact with it too directly. 

And you know what I find incredibly interesting the whole way through? Even on his deathbed, where he’s dying from the thing Tain had put in his head, he’s protecting Tain. He puts all the blame for where he is on himself (‘My future was limitless, until I threw it away’), even if he has to employ a strange twisty logic where he’s split himself into two to do it. Don’t get me wrong, Garak has done horrific things all on his own haha, but it’s notable that he almost isolates Tain from that. ‘Tain was the Obsidian Order. Not even the Central Command dared challenge him. And I was his right hand.’ Tain in Garak’s stories is this infallible implacable weirdly distant figure, even now. Indeed, as will make a lot of sense with the revelations further down the line, more than anything it seems the gaze of an abused child desperate for recognition looking up at an idealized (if not in any way nurturing) parent.‘He was retired at that point; he couldn't protect me’, Garak says, as if what he’d need protection from in the first place isn’t Tain himself lmao, as if Tain had no active part in any of this. He never lets blame touch Tain at all. At this stage he would rather consider himself a broken flawed tool than accept that the hands that have wrought and wielded him have ever had any fault in them. AND in the middle of it all, with plausible deniability, on death’s door and knocking meekly to be let in before he must finish the mortifying ordeal of being known and test the even more daunting possibility of being loved, Garak at the same time manages to drop the breadcrumb trail of clues to make it possible for Julian to find Tain if he so chooses and gets in the ‘sons of Tain’ thing too for future dramatic irony purposes. Truly he is the Michelangelo of lying. Every falsehood a multifaceted masterpiece. Elim ‘achieving a state of intertextuality in real life is possible if you work hard and believe in yourself’ Garak. I love him so much. 

I think all of this is why “I forgive you. For whatever it is you did,” works so well, because it too works on a structural level. It’s such a deceptively multilayered response — it has the syntax of a joke, in a way, and it is kind of funny even under the circumstances, but delivered with such earnest warmth and fondness. It’s both recognition and acceptance (forgiveness!). It’s saying ‘I finally understand enough of what you’re trying to tell me beneath and through all that, in whatever way you’re capable of, I see you’ and ‘my answer hasn’t changed (bitch)’. The forgiveness Julian offers here is complete — on principle, and out of personal feeling and empathy (only one of which Garak deigns to respond to during the second story, where he calls it ‘smug Federation sympathy’, placing it more completely on the principle side than it probably is. ‘Dude you’re my friend please don’t just lie down and die in a completely avoidable way on me, who else is going to not only tolerate but actually gleefully enjoy me being annoying as fuck over lunch’ seems to be the subtext that’s a lot harder to acknowledge and invite in for both of them. And yet Tain seems perfectly clear on the fact that Julian is Garak’s friend, which, y’know. Must be fun living with the knowledge that Tain has eyes everywhere looming over you every day haha guess you’d just have to tune that out.) 

Most of all — ’Don’t give up on me now, Doctor’... and he didn’t! He didn’t. Augh. Ow.

[lostintransist]

Liaison | Part 6 | Galas, Business, and Backroom Deals

Check out part one here. Up to chapter 34/38 on AO3.

Blinking hard at the computer didn’t change the fact the words had all become unreadable. You had started work at four am and hadn’t left your chair since. The phone showed 10:23 AM if you squinted. Pushing away from the computer you shuffled to the kitchen for a cup of coffee.

As the last of the liquid ability to keep going dripped into your cup Kate finds you.

“Ah, Liaison. I’m glad I found you. I’ve cleared your schedule for the day. Go and grab your bag.” Kate dressed simply in jeans and flannel.

“What do you even do here Kate?”

Kate smirked at your exhausted question. “I coordinate teams on the ground. While you line up jobs for the team now I keep them all moving to the goals once we work the jobs.”

“Why did you clear my schedule then?” You focus the majority of your energy on the task of moving your coffee to a to-go cup and adding the prescribed amount of creamer.

“Because you’ve been with us long enough that Shepherd and I agree you can start taking on the networking parties.” The grin Kate has wouldn’t look out of place on a crocodile.

“And if I don’t want to be the face of the 141?” You mumble the question into your coffee. Kate hears you anyway.

“Too bad, you’ll be getting a £50,000 yearly raise and a company card for expenses.”

Spit takes with hot coffee should lead to a fine for whoever made the coffee come out of your nose. You cough until you can breathe again.

“Now much is my raise?” You stare at Kate with wide eyes, mouth agape.

“You heard me. Now go and get your stuff we have a lot to get done today. I’ll wait for you in the lobby.”

Hurrying down the hall you pack up your computer and ensure your workspace is clear. Firing off a quick text to König you head back down the hall.

<I’m getting a raise, so that’s cool. But now I have to go to parties 🤮

A reply pops up on your screen before you can reach the lobby.

>I would rather shoot myself in the head.

<While I understand the sentiment I’m going to like the chance to drink while working.

When you move close enough to see the lobby you see Harold, face red and chin quivering, talking with Kate who leans over the high counter.

“You okay Harold?”

Kate spins around to look at you while Harold sits in his chair, head disappearing below the eye line.

“He got some bad news about his family, ready to go?” Kate replies for him. She ushers you through the front door. You look over your shoulder, seeing nothing amiss.

“Where are we headed first?” You climb into the right side of the car, still uncomfortable with UK cars despite being here a year.

“You are getting a makeover today. Facial, massage, hair colored, among other things and then we are going to get you several dresses. Your first party is on Friday. I will be going with you and introducing you to a few people. Word that you work for us won’t take long to get around. Most people there will already have your number in their phone, so adding a pretty face to the number should help us get more jobs.” Kate drove as she spoke, slipping into traffic with ease.

“Kitty is going to be your hair stylist, she also does makeup. She is good at keeping her mouth shut and because of that has some high-priority clientele. Lana is going to provide your massage and Tia is going to give you a facial. We will be done at their salon in about two hours, which will leave plenty of time to get some dresses and shoes. The ladies will work at the same time to get everything done in time.”

You take note of the names Kate mentions and write them down in a small notebook along with what each woman does. This had been your trick to keeping jobs and people straight as you learn about them. Writing them helps everything stick and allows you to update your spreadsheets.

Kate always struck you as someone who tried to be ‘one of the guys’. Being on a first-name basis with women who fell into more traditionally female-coded jobs felt out of character. You tuck the incongruence into your mental folder on Kate. She did manage the liaison position before you, and if you are forced to go to parties then Kate must have had as well. You wonder if you can get a suit along with the dresses you are slated for.

The turn into the parking structure takes you by surprise, the oh-shit handle becoming one with your hand. Kate drives a bit wild, nothing like the controlled sedation of Harold. Though, as you think on it she drives much better than most of the team. You end up in a car with them for one reason or another from time to time.

Riding the elevator in silence you notice, maybe for the first time that you had several inches on Kate. Her large presence and the fact you slouched in your chair most of the time had left you with the impression you stood at nearly the same height.

When the ding of the elevator alerted you to the arrival of the correct floor you catch sight of a beautiful woman with bright pink hair standing behind the counter.

“Hi, Kate! Is this your new liaison?”

You wave as Kate introduces you.

“And remind me what we are getting ready for today?”

“Galas, business, and backroom deals like always Kitty.”

They laughed as if this were a commonly shared joke.

The next two hours should have been calming. All of your knots are attacked and obliterated by Lana. You must keep a neutral face when Tia is working on removing layers of dead skin. Kitty gives you what she calls low lights. You have no idea what that means but once all the women step from the room you rush to clothe yourself. Kate enters the room without knocking as you are halfway through getting your jeans on.

“Do you have any nicer underwear?” she pulls a face at your cotton undies and plain t-shirt bra.

“No? I don’t need them.” You wiggle your pants over your hips and ass, buttoning them and grabbing your shirt.

“You will, I will add that to our list of items to pick up.”

“If no one will be seeing them then I don’t need them.”

“Not your call, plus the nice underwear makes the clothes sit better, I promise.”

“I can’t imagine you getting all fancy for parties like this.”

“Oh trust me,” a wry tone, “It was not a walk in the park for me.”

Once your shirt is settled back in place you follow Kate into the proper salon area. Kitty has you sit in her chair. She drapes a gown over your clothes and gives you a light trim with some shaping. Kitty talks with Kate for most of the visit.

“What is the feeling you are going for on Friday’s party?”

“Classy, we need to introduce her and let her settle in people’s minds as one of ours before we start making waves.”

“Okay, send me a picture once you have the dress picked out and I will work with my associate Emma to get everything ready. Since there will be two of you I will be needing help.”

Hair cut, face scrubbed, nails buffed and shined, thoroughly assaulted you follow Kate back to the elevator. Going down two floors you are interested to see a high-end shop. The woman dressed all in black greats Kate with an air of self-importance, glancing you over before dismissing you mentally.

You can do no more than try on a dress and present it to Kate and the mistress of the shop before you are ordered back to try on another. After the twelfth dress, you send a message to König. The picture you send him is flattering, the floor-length ballgown hugged your breasts and flowed down in an elegant A-line.

<You wanted to be a sniper right?

>Ja.

<Any chance you could arrange to take me out before I have to try one more gown?

>Nein. You are friend.

The only reply you can think to send is a picture of you flipping him the bird.

@nicroyal02

Part 5 | Part 7

Masterlist

[peachydarlingz]

-Memories of you- Finnick Odair

headers @attxnt @plutism @llil-liaa

Warnings: Major angst, implied character deaths.

Pairing: Finnick odair x f! reader

-

We were growing old together, of course we were dying.

We found time to talk about it, the sensitive stuff; And it always brought us closer.

Back in our twenties, we might’ve avoided the topic, finding time to ignore and argue about it instead. But when you’re old, wise and your days are spent mindlessly rocking back and forth holding hands, things become simpler, easier. Those harder conversations seem to flow naturally.

“Finn, when I die, can you hold my hand until I get to the other side?”

“How do you know I won’t go first?” Theres a jest in my voice, but I know she’s serious. Her health has been declining more and more recently. I just smile and squeeze her hand. “Of course, my blossom.”

And what a privilege it was to grow old by her side. After everything we had been through together, it was everything I wanted and more.

In my old age, years after my love died, I was often asked the question, “Will you remarry?” and I would always laugh, and it would always catch them off guard. But that’s a funny question to me; I couldn’t help but laugh, because when you’ve had everything, why would you want anything else?

But I loved that question too, because every time they’d ask, I get to talk about you.

“I remember how she could notice an arthritis flare up from the shift in the air, she knew me so well. It’s so rare that you’re connected with someone. So connected, that you can breathe their air and know what they’re feeling, exactly what they’re saying...” there’s a long pause.

“Anyways, when she would notice a flare up, she was always right by my side with a heating pad and a massage. “And I catch myself remembering what once was. “Someone who once soothed the deep pain she knew she could not heal… but would do anything to calm it. Any remedy or potion, because that’s love.” and those sentiments in our old life, and that silly question reminds me of a new memory my mind threatens to forget. but I know deep down, she is the last thing I’ll ever forget. That is something I’ll make sure of.

And every time, I am met with the same response to the same stupid question, silence.

I talk to the vision of you in my head, and I’ll often make that poor nurse pull out the photo album again. But I can’t help it, you look so beautiful in our wedding photo; Or the picture of you planting sage in the garden, just for me.

“Every morning when I’d get back from my morning swim, she would always have a fresh cup of sage tea and a hazelnut muffin waiting for me. Even on the days the bakery wasn’t open, and especially the holidays, she made sure to get extra.”

“That’s very sweet Mr. Odair, now let’s take your medicine.” And I’m pulled back into limbo again.

I seem to be rotting more and more after being the last one left. After you died, it seemed that old age and disease got our friends. You’ll be happy to know that the ‘Star-crossed lovers’ from district 12 died together from old age, just like we predicted they would. Suddenly I’m laughing to myself, remembering our conversations of the pair. Both of us agreeing that if one died, the other would soon follow from heartbreak, if they didn’t grow old together.

It seems like every little memory brings me back to her, even when I don’t mean to.

But maybe that’s my feeble mind’s attempt to keep its grasp on you.

I think the only reason I lived so long after you passed is because you’d be mad at me if I didn’t. And I would never want to upset my wife, even if it’s in the afterlife.

But once Johanna faded, it was just me left. Life just seemed a lot duller after that.

You would think being in the games, the war, all the death I’ve been through would make it easier, but somehow, it’s not. Each death just seemed to take more of the life out of me, and now, I’m the last one left. So, I lay here in this cold hospital bed drifting in and out of the labyrinth that is my mind.

From what I can gather when I’m conscious, I’m not doing too great. The doctors say I’ve forgotten how to do everything except drink water and mumble a few words. They say I can’t last long like this. But to be honest, I really don’t care. I just want to see you again.

“Pictures!!”

“Yes, Mr. Odair I’m getting the photo album, I promise.” That poor nurse, I hope she knows it’s appreciated.

When the nurse sits down next to me and starts flipping through the book, I feel grounded again. I’m looking at my favorite picture of you, how could I ever forget that memory?

We were on our honeymoon, and I just remember thinking, ‘Wow, that’s my wife.’.  I couldn’t help but snap a quick picture when you weren’t looking. Which, of course you didn’t like, but that’s exactly why I did it, and I’m so glad I did. I really do miss you.

I think the thing I miss the most about you is your smell. There was nothing else like it, because it was just so you. I could never replicate it even if I tried, and I did try.

It was the way she layered the complimenting scents after putting on her lotion. I’ve almost forgotten what it’s like. I crave for the day I get to crossover and embrace that euphoric feeling again.

I’m not scared to die; I’ve been close to death more times than I can count. But in a way, maybe I am scared. I’m scared that I won’t see you again. And maybe I shouldn’t have based my idea of the afterlife on you, but to me everything is based off you. It’s how I keep myself sane. Well, as sane as I can be.

I may not know the date, or really what I even look like in my now bedridden state, but I feel an overwhelming sense of peace and I can’t help but close my eyes and reflect on my life. My body feels heavy, I can truly say I wouldn’t trade my life for the world. The wrinkles on my face remind me of every smile and laugh I experienced and for a moment I’m ethereal.

But I guess I’ve really lost it, because I swear, I can smell the essence of you…

[drbased]

Does it ever make you ever feel depressed that men have more variation in IQ? That means even though there will always be more male idiots, there will also be more male geniuses. So women can excel in any field, but a man will almost always be the "best" in it. It just makes me feel inferior every time I think about it, way more than strength difference does. Not only that, but they also have higher variation in all types of brain structure. That would mean men are naturally more diverse, personality-wise.

Sometimes I get into these negative thought processes about stupid shit and it totally consumes me. This is my latest one... Please help

Hmm.

Well firstly, IQ is a completely fake concept designed specifically for eugenicist purposes. You can train for an IQ test, your score can change depending on the day, and your score doesn’t mean anything apart from how good you are at IQ tests. It’s not a measure of intelligence, and ‘intelligence’ isn’t real anyway - as in, there is no such quality of uniform intelligence. I think it stands to reason that the highest IQ scores will be from men, because the tests are constructed around a fundamentally male world-view and value system as well as a white one. And that is what depresses me more - that ‘intelligence’ is viewed as some innate quality that only oppressors can possess so they can prove that they deserve their place in a meritocracy. It’s like that controversy about men winning more at Jeopardy than women - the world is structured around male interests and values, so men achieve in mainstream contests and use that to retroactively justify the legitimacy of those values and interests in the culture.

I’m less interested in the concept of a man beating a woman at certain activities because of him being smarter than her, than I am about him beating her because he's socialised from a young age into enjoying and valuing those activities - but also often regardless of his actual performance, he's also by default assumed to be better and more competent than her purely because he's a man. Take for example that study where when they did blind auditions for orchestras, men still got in more than women, but when they put carpeting down so women's heels couldn't be heard, there was finally a more equal ratio of women getting in. Or those studies where identical CVs given out and names that are typical of women, black people etc. get seen as less competent than those with male and white names.

We don't live in a world where we can objectively measure men's 'natural' abilities at anything psychological. But we do live in a world where we know that women's skills are massively undervalued - women have all sorts of intelligences that make the world run round; we're excellent negotiators, we're less violent, we're great at remembering, we have greater compassion, we make good leaders, we are more responsible, we have greater tact, we are safer in the workplace, we're more conscious of social issues and the environment, etc. etc. And none of what we have is seen as 'intelligence'; in fact, quite the opposite - many of our intelligences are dismissed outright as sentimentality and pearl-clutching.

Once again, though, I don't believe these traits are uniform across all women, or that they're 'natural' to us, just as men's traits aren't 'natural' to them. In the nature-nurture debate, there are too many factors in nurture that can't be realistically measured - and I have a suspicion that for many, feminists included, simply saying that men and women naturally possess certain traits is an easier narrative to swallow, because for many women the fear exists that if men can be socialised to be better, then dismissing them as evil would be morally wrong. But I don't think people need to be intrinsically, ontologically evil for us to dismiss them as oppressors - I simply judge by behaviour, which is more measurable.

Going back to intelligence, I think it's also worth saying here that women are socialised into not recognised or appreciating our skills, and to partake in behaviours that psychologically hobble us. Take for example in that orchestra study - under a feminist lens, wearing heels is a form of hobbling that's both literal and psychological. The woman is performing a feminine ritual, wearing a physically debilitating item that submissively marks her as a woman. Not to say that she would be respected more if she was gnc, but I find it interesting how women accidentally lost their spot on the orchestra in the study because their performative clothing made them noisier and easier to recognise as women. And on top of that, we have stereotype threat - there was a study done where men and women were performing some sort of test, and in one half they were in normal clothes, and the second they were in swimwear. In the second one, women performed more poorly than they did in the first, and men saw no change. Once again, we have two inexorably interlinked factors at play, here - women's swimwear is not built for utility but rather to be sexy, and women's bodies are considered inherently sexual; that's not to say that if women were wearing men's swimwear they'd do better at the test, but rather women are socialised to be self-conscious of themselves but also expected to show more skin - we're expected to dumb ourselves down in the name of being sexy.

The upside in all of this is that the moment you recognise that these things aren't set in stone, and rather that these are all skills you can develop if you gain confidence in yourself, you develop a robust sense of self that you can be comfortable and happy with regardless of external measure of male-approved success. I, for example, found confidence in myself and my writing, and now I'm finding success and getting praise online by women on tumblr. It seems you're best finding yourself environments surrounded by other women, especially feminist-minded women who are consciously choosing to fight against established biases by valuing the skills of women that are undervalued by society. Devaluing male interests and achievements in your own head is something you can also do, and I once again recommend feminist spaces as an excellent opportunity to de-program (obligatory plug for my side blog @learningwomanhood where I do exactly that).

For me, the biggest wisdom to be gained from feminism is the psychological distancing yourself from male thought - the more things you reject that you once unthinkingly believed to be normal, the more you feel that you can truly be human, vibrant, unconstrained; and the more silly the whole enterprise of patriarchy looks. It's not nice that rejecting patriarchy means rejecting mainstream society, but the older you get the more you realise that you simply can't dwell on these things and instead have to do what benefits you within it; nobody is owed a perfect existence, and once you realise that you have to choose a life for yourself and choose to be happy with that, your life will be much more comfortable. In the end, life is all about the gestures of love you make to yourself and others. When you realise that it's your job to be your own best friend, you can carry that energy with you your whole life; you will be inpenetrable because all that matters to you, no matter what situation you're going through or what hell you're in, is that you made decisions that showed love to yourself. That could be considered a form of intelligence - perhaps wisdom itself is a form of intelligence that is devalued specifically because it's female-coded. But wisdom sounds like nothing until you internalise it - all the language in the world can't seem to really get to its essence until something inside you clicks and you understand it.

One thing I would like to say is that those negative thought processes you have are not stupid: they are a valuable part of your processing of the world and are worth attention. We have this cultural idea that with regards to mental health, the parts of us that are 'real' and 'valid' and 'truly us' are all the good parts, and the negative thought processes and patterns of behaviour are like cancerous tumours that need to be artifically removed. One of the best things I ever did for myself is to take myself seriously - because that's my prerogative, as myself and my own best friend. The only thing 'bad' thing about those thought processes is that they cause you distress; that's it. So, then, it's up to you to decide how much you want to indulge in them. I find the best way to really tackle unpleasant behavioural patterns is to simply do them shamelessly, because clearly a part of you wants to do them anyway; one of the first ways I got out of my depressive spirals was to decide that I was going to do all the depressive actions (stay in bed, eat junk food etc.) but simply embrace that those are things I want to do and not feel guilty or sad about it. That way, the depression hasn't consumed me and instead I have made a choice - I have reformed my relationship with myself as an active agent and a made a choice to show love for myself through the gesture of taking my desires seriously, not dismissing them as 'mentally ill'. I could go on but the point is that all of your head is necessarily you - as in, it doesn't come from anywhere else but you, and therefore all of it should be respected and valued. Mainstream society won't tell you that - there's always supposed to be a limit, there's always something that's 'unhealthy' in some sort of metaphysical sense, there's always a part of you that's supposed to be beholden to some external standard, that keeps you feeling insecure and needing validation. But there is no true objective measure of a healthy mind; the only thing that matters is if you're comfortable with yourself, and you can always make gestures of love to yourself regardless of your situation.

[citadelofswords]

interstitial infinity casino car: proximity is canon to infinity me, bolt upright a month and a half later: proximity is canon to infinity

shadow’s honestly a little surprised when it’s tails who finds him at the bar, three months after he gets off the train. usually when he disappears on these sorts of benders it’s sonic who comes after him and drags him back to civilization. “drew the short straw, did you?” shadow asks, because he’s still an asshole and no amount of time displaced therapy train is going to get that out of him.

“he’s out of town this week,” tails says flatly, and sits down next to him. “i don’t want to deal with the panic if he comes back and finds you gone again, even if it’s not permanent. this doesn’t have anything to do with you.”

shadow picks up his glass and toasts him sarcastically with it. “feeling’s mutual.”

“really? you had to come to this side of town?” the rest of the bar is empty, but brightly lit, like the inside of the casino. if shadow closes his eyes he can almost imagine he’s doing shots with audrey again. “not your usual dark and broody scene, is it?”

“maybe i’ve changed since last you saw me,” shadow says, and tails huffs.

“hardly likely,” he says. “unless you got therapy during those weeks you were gone—,” shadow’s hand closes over the glass so hard it cracks, and mercifully tails shuts up.

“you don’t know,” he says through gritted teeth, “what i got up to while i was gone.”

“well, no,” tails says, “because if you told anyone you told sonic, and sonic didn’t tell us. because he’s nice.”

“nice.” shigeo would have been nice like that. al, too, probably. he was certainly keeping secrets for audrey by the end there. shadow hadn’t told sonic anything about the train, but finds himself speaking anyway. “well let me tell you, tails. have you ever felt small. have you ever felt like the world around you was so. fucking. small. have you ever learned there is so much more to this goddamn existence. and then walked away from it?” shadow shakes his head. the tequila is leaking out from the cracked glass around his hand.

very quietly, tails says, “what happened?”

“i made some friends,” shadow says. he drinks the last of his tequila and sets the glass down. “and then i walked away from them to come back here. and i will never see them again. i can never see them again. and i don’t have.” he has nothing of them. just the memories, already beginning to fade from his mind. he tries to cling to them, but they’re already being overwritten by the dull monotony of being back here, in a world that once seemed so large and brilliant and now feels tiny and stifling.

he doesn’t want to get back onto the train. he really doesn’t. he likes being home. but it’s. some days it’s hard.

“i understand,” tails says.

“how the fuck could you possibly un—,” shadow begins to snap, turning to face tails, and stops abruptly when he sees the look on his face. the most serious he’s maybe ever seen tails look.

“i understand,” tails repeats. “maybe more than anyone else we know. and i’m sorry, shadow. i really am.” he takes a deep breath. “for what it’s worth, i’m sure they’re feeling the same way about you.”

they probably are, the sentimental fools. shadow still asks, “how can you be sure?”

tails just looks at him, and says, “because mine did.”

and then he turns, and signals to the bartender to get them a second round of drinks.

[quillyfied]

HEY GANG SO UH. Watched the episode twice, have absorbed a lot of fan speculation, and I think I’m ready to word vomit some gosh darned reactions. This episode spared my plot-side brain for the most part, which means the absolutely feral interpersonal character side FEASTED. Might have to rewatch the episode a third time to keep my brain on track so I’m not running all over the place like an overexcited chihuahua, oh no what a nightmare.

CALLED IT, SHORT ROBE IS APOLOGY TOUR AND FUCKING HATE SEX ENERGY OFF THE CHARTS. Also side note but can I live in Stolas’ backyard?? Also also GOSH HECK but the energy of this argument is just. It’s good? It’s so good, I love Stolas’ deadpan sassy energy, but also the genuine blows that land during this argument are so goddamn painful. Stolas insisting he’s uncomfortable and wants Blitzo to go: valid, fair, proud of him for voicing that. I just hate that that’s what it’s taking to really drive the point home that right now, despite everything else between them that they need to talk about, Blitzo is being the asshole for that, and establishing once again that Blitzo ignoring boundaries is one of his character flaws; luckily, this EXACT episode is also where we get to see him starting to acknowledge that he doesn’t like who he is and how he acts and wants to be different. But for the beginning of this episode especially, just in case we the audience forgot that Blitzo is an absolute asshole, we have to tee up how much of an asshole he can really be when he’s hurt and angry.

“I want to feel like I’m EARNING my way to Earth” Can we unpack that? Can we sit here for a goddamn second and unpack that??? Hang on have to peel my head out of my hands first because holy shit Blitzo. There are layers to that statement, to that sentiment. There’s the lack of self-worth and needing to be a self-made imp, and if his rich fuckbuddy just GIVES him this crystal without having Blitzo earn it in some way, he doesn’t deserve it and he doesn’t deserve his business. There’s the fact that Blitzo does want Stolas but this is the safest way for him to express that without being vulnerable. There’s the bid to return to the status quo, accompanied by “we don’t do words, we do sex.” There’s discomfort there, both with having the crystal no strings attached and with how things are between him and Stolas. It’s a lot.

So, small detour: I’ve been watching the Danny Motta reacts videos (not for everyone but I like them a lot) for the Hellaverse, and in his “I Was Wrong About Blitzo” livestream VOD from a few days ago, he says something about abuse victims and how they react to fights that’s kinda stuck with me when it comes to this episode. BIG disclaimer that I am not qualified or trained to talk about abusive relationships, I’m just repeating what I heard to make a point, and if this is wrong information, I would actually love to know that so I can fix it. Anyway. Paraphrasing, he said that a lot of abuse victims will get into a fight with their abusers and after the fact dismiss it as “oh, we were just angry” to try and rob the fight of its hurtful power as a coping mechanism, which can become maladaptive when in non-abusive relationships, because the abuse victim will be confused as to why they have to talk about something they’ve already written off as over and done and meaningless. Danny Motta applies this to the “Y?” text that Blitzo sends Stolas when Stolas asks if they need to talk about what happened at Ozzie’s, and now I’m applying it here to Blitzo saying “we just had a bad night.” This entire dynamic is happening because Blitzo’s damage and Stolas’ damage are crashing into each other head-on, and watching the pieces crumble is really cathartic in a way. This entire set of episodes where their Arrangement (shoutout to my GOmens girlies) falls apart is so painful but so necessary, because if the show is wanting to take Blitzo and Stolas to a place where they can both be better, not just for each other but for themselves and for what’s coming up in their lives very soon, there has to be the breakdown first.

Like Stolas being apathetic towards Blitzo’s fucky dirty talk, which puts Blitzo on the back foot. Frankly I’m waiting for an argument where they go “but I thought you LIKED when I—” “I cannot stand when you do that, I was faking it,” mainly bc I find that sort of argument very funny, but this might not be the place for one of those (and I can’t decide what I like more, Blitzo being honest about not being into Stolas’ dirty talk or Blitzo being honest about being REALLY into Stolas’ dirty talk, both sound plausible, but we have to get through this emotional hashing out first). ANYWAY. THE POINT. The point is that as much as these arguments and discussions hurt, they’re important. They’re clearing the air, getting the bullshit out from between them. And again, so much kudos and love for Stolas for being more vocal with his boundaries. Blitzo ignoring them is what he does, we know that, I’ve already said it once in this egregious mess of an essay, but it’s funny how in ignoring Stolas’ boundaries, he’s also getting his own pushed and broken—VERY NECESSARY, actually. Blitzo can’t be honest unless it’s being forced out of him somehow, and it’s Blitzo who’s heading the charge into crashing right through his own walls by refusing to back down from this fight.

There’s something really interesting too in the fact that we KNOW Blitzo knows he hates himself and doesn’t think he’s worthy of care, but he still has this very convincing, very loud bravado about his own sexual prowess. He’s very confident in himself as a lover. As a boyfriend, however…nah, he’s good, actually let him deflect immediately back to sex, which is easier and less emotional. It’s a nice complex touch for him. Like, the “love ‘em and leave ‘em” trope can get kinda tired, especially when there’s a string of vengeful exes behind it, but in a lot of ways it feels good for this to be another facet to Blitzo, if only because it’s accompanied by the fact that this character trait is often born from trauma and has more happening with it than is often explored in fluffier fiction. That’s not something I often see in comedies, actually.

BUT THAT CLAPBACK FROM STOLAS. “Oh, yes, relationships are boring…so what are you doing here, then?” BAM. YOU WANT POETRY, STOLS? BC YOU’RE PROVIDING. Goddamn. I love that owl man. Anyway. Blitzo immediately offering angry sex being the thing that pushes the next nugget of truth is AMAZING. Because first of all, Blitzo still being horny for Stolas but deflecting it as trying to prove that Stolas is horny for Blitzo, especially when they’re fighting, is just a delightfully twisty detail. Second, it’s digging into WHY Blitzo called Stolas a “rich pompous asshole,” giving Stolas context for that comment and further finally touching on how Blitzo has very real class disadvantage between them while also holding that against Stolas a little unfairly (comparing him to Striker is such a good move, because BLITZO HIMSELF has already realized that if he and Striker think alike on that subject…ew, that doesn’t feel good). On a wider class-based discrimination scale, Blitzo has every right to be suspicious and dismissive of Stolas’ wealth and station and the ways Stolas is socially and physically above him. On a more personal scale, it’s delicious to watch that crash head-on with the fact that Stolas has been TRYING SO HARD and SO PUBLICLY to get close to Blitzo, to make him happy, to spend some FUCKING time with him, and Stolas hasn’t been using his privilege in that way at all when it comes to Blitzo. The deal for the book was one they agreed on MUTUALLY; Stolas never withheld it from him even when things were uncertain after Ozzie’s. Stolas has bigotry and internalized misconceptions that he has to work on (and might even get to work on on-screen, if the trial episode goes how I think it will), but I think it means so much that Blitzo gets to HEAR that Stolas really doesn’t think he’s above Blitzo, that he doesn’t have a kink for getting dicked down by a rugged peasant, that Stolas doesn’t look down on Blitzo for being an imp the way Blitzo has needed to convince himself that Stolas does. THE GIRLIES ARE TALKING OKAY.

AND I CANNOT BELIEVE WITH MY OWN TWO EYES AND EARS THAT WE GOT AN ON-SCREEN CONFIRMATION THAT STOLAS HAD NO IDEA ABOUT THE HARVEST MOON ASSASSINATION ATTEMPT. I cannot believe it. I canNOT believe it. Holy crap the cows are coming home to roost and I think I got that saying wrong but I will not be changing it. If there’s any grander plot information in this episode, it would be this: Stolas learning of the first assassination attempt. If he gets the chance to think on that further beyond just the hurt that Blitzo never told him, he knows that Stella sent Striker the first time; it wouldn’t be a difficult logical leap to think Stella sent him the first time, too, and what that means, especially vis-à-vis divorce proceedings. Which now makes me wonder if there’s demonic law precedent for spousal assassinations being totally legal if infidelity is a factor. Did they have a prenup and can I see it please XD It might be the only leg Stolas has to stand on to defend himself legally, the fact that Stella hired an assassin to kill him TWICE. The abuse he endured is real, but there’s no way to prove it. There certainly are ways to definitively prove that Stella hired an assassin. The “Stolas and IMP are in deep legal shit” theory is more widespread than I thought, by the by, I NEED to get it condensed into one post before October.

ANYWAY.

I kinda hope that Blitzo gets to tell Stolas the things he’s said that have reinforced to Blitzo the idea that Stolas looks down on him, because that is one of the biggest legs that Blitzo has to stand on in this particular argument and I don’t much like the idea of it being taken out from under him because it’s chalked up to Blitzo’s own preexisting prejudice against royal demons. Because Stolas HAS made mistakes on that front, and while this episode is way more about the ways Blitzo screws up and wants to change, Stolas not being totally innocent in this breakup has been one of the key points of Full Moon and one the creator herself has confirmed. And Stolas getting to hear the ways he hurt Blitzo and getting to apologize and change would be SO HUGE, okay?? If this show isn’t gonna tackle the social issues it’s drawing on for drama and comedy alike, if it’s not going to meaningfully solve them Hell-wide, then can we at least solve them between Blitzo and Stolas? Like? Please???

Also. Way to make me a liar, Stolas, being all pissy that Blitzo didn’t come help you with Striker :P I do think that if Blitzo asserted that he was helping Loona and that was more important, it would have taken the conversation somewhere else, but this conversation wasn’t really about that anyway. It’s about how Blitzo and Stolas both truly did not think Stolas could get physically hurt, but in Blitzo’s case it just reinforced his belief in Stolas’ station above him, and in Stolas’ case it played into his romantic story fantasies of playing the damsel in distress without any real stakes. And this conversation is about Stolas being hurt at learning more in depth what Blitzo has been thinking and believing about him all this time, understanding where Blitzo’s coming from. Because Stolas got to spill his guts on Full Moon. It’s Blitzo’s turn. Once Stolas makes one more FUCKING thing clear, things that Blitzo would certainly have seen: how much Blitzo’s idea that Stolas is some uppity prince falls apart when you take Stolas’ very public affection into consideration. And I love Stolas for acknowledging that Blitzo doesn’t owe him anything, but what I so often don’t hear when people say “you don’t owe people shit” is what Stolas says, which is “you can’t just ignore all that.” Listen. Each situation is going to be different. But Stolas is 5000% correct in that his actions have been speaking pretty fucking loudly about where his feelings are, even if his words and the trappings of his station have fallen short (and don’t think that excuses Stolas for still not realizing the hypocrisy of sleeping with an imp even as he has imp servants whom he doesn’t necessarily always mistreat but doesn’t regard either). Blitzo doesn’t owe him love or sex or anything for Stolas offering these things, but even a “no fuck off” is acknowledging that Stolas is trying, that he fucking EXISTS. FUCK.

I know that there is some queer community banter about reclaiming slurs via jokes and memes, but I really do have to wonder what Blitzo’s goal was in both sending Stolas a bunch of “I smell a homosexual” horse memes and then here when he dismisses what Stolas is saying by calling it “the gayest thing he’s ever heard.” I, uh. Am not the target audience for that, I think? At the very least I don’t understand it beyond the tone and knowing that Blitzo is being mean with his words, but probably not the memes. Gonna have to wait for the discourse on that one, I guess. Also was animating that amount of spittle ABSOLUTELY necessary (I think maybe it was).

I also love how Stolas accidentally reverse-psychologies Blitzo into doing a whole apology tour, though. Because that is some classic “duck season/rabbit season” loony tunes shit. “I bet you’ve never apologized in your life” “FUCK YOU I’M THE BEST AT APOLOGIES I CAN APOLOGIZE SO HARD.” And I love that it’s BLITZO that finally says the quiet part out loud, who puts all the pieces together and lays it out nice and simple: he self-sabotages because he hates himself and doesn’t think he’s worthy of anyone’s love so he drives people away before they can care about him. He knows this about himself. He hates this about himself, too, but it keeps him safe. Except it’s not working now. He doesn’t want this, but it’s hard. Even when he’s screaming at Stolas that he can apologize to everyone so good, everyone BUT Stolas, he’s on the verge of tears, he’s shaking from anger, he’s seconds from melting down. He sees what he’s doing. He can’t stop himself from doing it.

But first, he has to uphold his pride and give a bunch of bullshit apologies with surprisingly thoughtful cheese and hot sauce baskets. Let’s watch the imp at work, shall we?

Because godDAMN this is a good comedy segment actually. Such a funny romp through all of Blitzo’s season 1 escapades (AND HOLY SHIT GET IT MRS. MAYBERRY, THAT’S THE FUNNIEST TWIST, HAPPY PRIDE EVERYONE). (Side note, how does Blitzo know where Martha lives? And he remembered her NAME, what the fuck. Does he actually keep tabs on former hits that wind up in Hell just so he can know to avoid them??). Don’t think I missed that Moxxie was on the top of that list, followed by the annoying kid from the pilot. And we go through season 1 almost perfectly: Martha from e1, Loo-Loo from e2, CHERUB from e4 (love the non-apology, keep that enmity alive), DHORKS from e6, HE FUCKING THROWS A BASKET INTO THE LOCKED UP FORMER DHORKS COMPOUND FULL OF ROTTING CORPSES, I HOWLED, the hot bouncer from e7. But interspersing all of that with the texts to Stolas he can’t send?? Fucking. OW.

THE GODDAMN FIZZBOT’S FACE ACTIVATED FUCK NO

Okay but WHY don’t I see more art of Blitzo in drag or in pretty dresses?? Canonically he’s been in more of them XD (listen I agree Stolas is so goddamn pretty and deserves to be in all the dresses but let’s throw Blitzo some love here once in a while)

“Looks like you missed some makeup there.” “Thanks, it’s my face.” I just. I need to lie down. I love Blitzo. He hasn’t even started the googly-eyes yet and I love him so much.

Oh, Stolas. I’ve never been to a house party like this and I don’t ever plan to, but I’ve been to enough social functions to know very well the feeling of sticking to a wall because you’re uncomfortable. I love that Verosika does her best to include him, too, welcomes him into this community she’s created. Also wait how the FUCK does everyone know Blitzo and Stolas broke up?? (Blaming a Fizz to Verosika pipeline somehow)

The demonic sacrifice to Stolas scene is so screamingly funny. It’s SO FUCKING FUNNY. I think it’s more funny because, like a lot of the gags in Full Moon, it’s a return of some of that s1 humor that I hadn’t really noticed was missing until it was suddenly back. We can thank Danny Motta for bringing that to my attention, too, but eh. I’m not bothered by it.

I also love that Stolas isn’t entirely comfortable being surrounded by evidence of people wanting to hurt Blitzo (through cathartic alternate means, anyway, though they are literal demons, so maybe in the actual way too). And later on, I love how it’s clear that most of these people don’t really want to hurt Blitzo, either, they’re just hurt themselves. Verosika is picking the pettiest method possible, but she’s doing a good thing here, making a support group for people in emotional distress.

Blitzo you don’t need to start keeping count, you need to start getting tested, because I’m legitimately worried for you. This isn’t slut shaming, this is just good health practices when you’ve fucked enough people to fill a mansion. What the fuck. This is JUST the hellborn population of exes, I imagine if we include sinners the number might be higher. Alright but also Dennis’ presence means he hasn’t actually actively fucked all the people here, right?? Right???? Anyway. It’s the fact that he remembers most if not all of them, too, enough to make specific apologies about things he did to them as he’s walking through them.

LEAVE DENNIS ALONE, HE DID NOTHING WRONG.

Stolas’ song. CHILLS. CHIIIIIILLS. I legit did not recognize Bryce’s voice during that, it’s so different from everything he’s sung before. But it’s so good. It’s EXACTLY what I thought it was going to be, too: not a tear-down anthem, not a belated defense, just Stolas singing about his pain. People who mistakenly think Stolas was shitting on Blitzo during this song can step up because I am very prepared to tell you how wrong you are. Someone in the tags had it right, this episode was practically spoonfeeding us all the subtext most of us had already guessed about the situation and characters, and yet people still didn’t get it. Sad. Anyway. The song. This beautiful anthem to the fuckedness of Stolas and Blitzo’s situation, and opening Blitzo’s eyes further to how his coping mechanisms to not get hurt in turn hurt Stolas pretty deeply. And just. Gosh hecking fucking darn, “I’m not a thief, you were mine to earn, but what if I came on too strong, what if I read this all wrong” FUCK. AND THEN THAT KID MONTAGE. RIGHT THERE. IN THE SAD FADEOUT AT THE END OF THE SONG. I JUST. I. HHHHHHHHHHHHH.

And then we come to the drunk conversation. Which. Again, on brand, doubtful that it would be these two trainwrecks if something weird wasn’t happening, but it’s so funny to us the audience to hear Blitzo make a comment about never seeing Stolas put it away like that before when we know that poor bird downs absinthe like it’s Gatorade when he’s upset. But. Even as they’re in a bad emotional place, even as they’re trying to clear the air, the casual intimacy and comfort they have around each other is really sweet. Wouldn’t be happening if Stolas wasn’t drunk, but still. Watching Blitzo take care of Stolas is always sweet. He just does it so deftly, like it’s second nature, that watching Blitzo fidget and hesitate to touch Stolas hurts all the more for knowing that he didn’t hesitate at all to catch Stolas when he was falling. I’m hoping it’s portents of what’s to come, in time, when they’ve both worked on themselves a bit. Or at least had a full clearing of the air. They get a good way into it this time, with Blitzo reiterating how he’s felt about Stolas and how inferior he feels and unlovable, and how much Stolas just wants to be cared about (with the implication that Blitzo didn’t make him feel that way), but that’s not the last conversation they need to have. The last one, I think, is when Blitzo will be able to admit out loud that even with all the shitty behavior and the casual classism and the fights and the apologies…he loves Stolas. He cares. He cares so much. And he’s so scared. Blitzo knows it. It’s the saying it that’s hard.

“Stolas, that’s…a rom-com.” He doesn’t even sound dismissive, he just sounds sad. Blitzo is so SAD that that’s what Stolas wants, because Blitzo doesn’t DO stuff like that, it’s not real, it’s cheesy and unrealistic and by Satan and Lucifer and Ozzie and whoever else I have to swear by, if we don’t get Blitzo pulling classic cheesy romcom moves in an attempt to really make Stolas feel special I’m going to TEAR MY HAIR OUT (and then write the fanfic). GIVE THE IMP A BOOM BOX.

But the way Stolas just stares at Blitzo, waiting for his input before he accepts the dance invitation from “Better Than Blitzo” Guy. The way Blitzo LETS HIM GO. I HATE IT BUT I LOVE IT AND IT HAD TO HAPPEN BUT IT HURTS.

AND NOW THE PART I’VE BEEN WAITING FOR MOST: BLITZO TALKING TO VEROSIKA. YEEEE

I love that it starts…kind of typical? Like, Blitzo went up there pretty quiet and reserved, calls her Ver (!!!!!!!), but once the back-and-forth very bitter arguing starts between them, he gets this grin on his face, like he’s glad to be back somewhere familiar. Before her lack of reaction just pokes that bear that’s been under his surface all day and he starts breaking down—the exact kind of breakdown he needs, the emotional one, the verbal five-gallon vomit of what’s actually inside of him and not just the bullshit he spews on the daily to distract others and protect himself. And it’s such a key piece of the Verosika puzzle, too, because this is how it went: Verosika said “I love you.” And Blitzo stole her car, left her to cover the hotel bill, ran three rings to Wrath, and maxed out her credit cards on shitty horse-riding lessons. Like. Wow. What the fuck, Blitzo. Which, given how catastrophically he felt he had to fuck that up…probably meant he loved her, too. Or even if he didn’t, even if he cared but didn’t care as much as she did, the fact that THAT’S what he did, rather than just ghosting her or breaking up over text or anything else a normal level of shitty? Like, what the fuck, Blitzo, I know you’re a trained clown and assassin but that’s brutal. And it’s an extreme example of how Blitzo responds to others being vulnerable by doing everything he can to cover up his own vulnerability, but between that and Blitzo thinking Stolas telling Blitzo he cares and wants Blitzo to stay is a new kind of sexual roleplay Stolas wants to try out…Blitzo doesn’t do measured responses. If there’s this many people still hurt by what he did to them and most of them were probably singular hookups, it really sheds some perspective on the scope of the problem. And the depth of what Blitzo means when he says he doesn’t want to be this way anymore.

“Why am I the bad guy just for sucking at relationships?” Look dude there’s sucking at relationships, and then there’s becoming a toxic black hole of self-hatred and self-destruction that takes out an entire city block with it when it detonates. And what Verosika says, too, how somehow she still feels bad for hating him—like HOOOOOLY SHIT. Paired up with Stolas pointing out that this many people wouldn’t hate Blitzo if they hadn’t cared about him so much first. Blitzo could RULE HELL if he could figure out how to properly weaponize that charisma XD On a more serious note, though, I think the examples are extreme partially because this is a comedy show and there is something very darkly funny about Blitzo’s nuclear response to affection, but also because if this show has been trying to do anything, it’s been exploring the depths of self-hatred and how that destroys everything around it, and if there’s one thing cartoons in particular are supposed to do, it’s exaggerate. The story is real. The details are fucked, but the feelings behind the story is so real. Verosika’s response is disproportionate but her pain is real. Stolas’ ballad is dramatic but his emotions are real. Blitzo’s trauma response is improbably destructive but the roots are real. Stories aren’t real; the emotions are. It’s what makes them meaningful.

Okay y’know every other time Viv has done the tongue thing, it’s read as really comedic to me, but this one was just…hot? Even with Blitzo’s world crumbling around him (TAKE THAT ASSHAT), with this new spike of jealousy in his chest, it’s really good to see Stolas getting to experience being wanted by people who aren’t Blitzo and KNOWING it. He’s wanted. He’s hot. People enjoy him and his company. GIVE HIM FRIENDS NEXT, PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE.

Giving Verosika some kind of closure about them, though. I imagine it’s pretty nice for her to see Blitzo so messed up emotionally, even if it isn’t over her, and to get a genuine apology from him. Like her song says, she’s not over it, but she’s over him, and she’s made a community of people to support each other and have fun, and that’s amazing, actually. Charlie would be so proud.

And, like. Verosika so gently telling Blitzo that it starts with sorry saying good for Stolas, hope he gets some dick…Blitzo was kinda already there, with letting Stolas go to go dance with the guy. But it feels healthier? Less “he said he doesn’t want me here because seeing me makes him feel bad, I make him feel bad, I shouldn’t touch him or burden him with my feelings because I’m not worth it”, more “he deserves this, he deserves to be happy with someone who isn’t afraid to show him how much he’s worth, I hope he’s happy.” There’s hope for him yet, folks. Good job, Blitzo. Nurse that broken heart and lay on that horn all you want to, babe, you did a good job. Let’s keep that momentum going. (Like to be clear he’s still very much feeling bad for how badly he treated everyone at that party as he’s walking out, but. There’s something about it that feels better, I can’t describe it. Less toxic and blaming everyone else, more cleanly miserable because he owns it’s his fault and he’s gonna try to change once he stops crying.)

Now to do what I’d be doing anyway this summer and wait for October, only this time I also get to wait for a new episode too!

[joshriku]

ages ago i asked for prompts on twitter and i think ava had requested cherik + bodyswap, and i forgot i wrote that til i found it looking at my files so i figured i'd also post it here ages later lol it's too short for ao3! but perfect length for tumblr.

-

“I don't know how you do it,” says Charles. 

His voice—it's Erik's, no doubt. Words coming from his mouth, his body. His body, that Charles is currently inhabiting. 

“Do what?” asks Erik, with—with his voice, God damn it. This whole situation is so strange. 

It's supposed to wear off in a few hours, said the other teachers. Just a mutant learning to control their powers, nothing else. But now Charles is Erik, and Erik is Charles, and it's been the most insanity-inducing hours of his life. They haven't left Charles' room, as they decided to spend this ordeal as quietly as possible: in bed, reading. 

“This. Alone with your thoughts,” Charles says. “I'm miserable. And overstimulated, even though I am not doing anything. It's…” 

So much. His skin is prickly, impossible to touch. He can sense the clock ticking—not just the one inside the mansion, but everyone's. Phones buzzing or vibrating. The kitchen. Jewelry. The televisions. The satellites. The cities further away. The core of the Earth—

Erik takes his hand. Charles takes a moment to note how different his own hand is, when he's being touched—this is not comforting. So many times he's held someone, held a student, tried to comfort them with a gesture. And now that he's being comforted by his body—God, he should never be close to people.

“Breathe in,” Erik tells him. “Narrow your focus to one thing. Try your wheelchair.”

It's such a big power. To narrow it to something so small like his wheelchair feels like an impossible task, but then he notices a little helping hand: it's sloppy and careless, but the undeniable sensation of a telepathic push. Erik’s not good at it—good God, how is he holding up with all those voices?—but he’s good enough to guide Charles to his objective.

His body slumps against the bed, once the world is reduced to just the wheelchair.

“How do you do it?” Charles repeats. “It’s so quiet. It’s so lonely. And this power—it’s too great, I’m afraid. How does your body not fall apart? How does your mind not fall apart? How do you—”

Erik cuts him off. “I am wondering the same thing about you, as we speak. There is so much noise. People cannot stop thinking, not even for one second. How do you not go insane?”

He supposes the same questions he asked have the same answer Charles would give Erik: you get used to it. You settle into it like a second skin, until one day you no longer get to think about it.

“You get used to it,” he says, although he knows Erik must have heard it, anyway. His grip on Charles’ telepathy isn’t that good—Charles presumes he doesn’t know how to leave his mind. Erik hums anyway. “I suppose it’s more impressive right now, to be in a body where—it’s truly yours. Mine, it feels like it shares a bit with every single person. I cannot stop myself from seeing through their lenses, even for a second. I guess being alone right now—truly and well alone, it just… makes me wonder. How you don’t go insane. How you talk to people, how you are such a good judge of character. I can only be one because of my powers, and even then, I can go so wrong.”

Erik raises an eyebrow in his direction. It’s so odd, looking at his face. Does Charles really look like this? No wonder he got into so many arguments. He’s rather annoyed at that face.

“Funny, again. I have been pondering that myself. If I could listen to every thought, every sentiment, and every motivation behind someone’s actions—well, perhaps I’d become a hermit. It takes incredible strength to do this. I admire you.”

Charles smiles a little. “I suppose we are both so exceptional,” he says. He squeezes Erik’s hand again, trying to focus on Erik’s body, wanting to be held by it instead. “Only a few more hours to go.”

“Maybe we won’t go insane in three hours,” Erik smiles back. “Who knows? We have got plenty of time.”

[sillystardew]

Hi! I’m really new to the Stardew fandom (just started playing this year) and am so smitten by Shane it’s ridiculous. I love the fluffy things you’ve written so far <3

Was wondering if you’d write something about the farmer repairing the holes in Shane’s jacket. Like sewing little chicken patches or patches of random fabric to fix the holes.

Could maybe extend the prompt to the other bachelors (farmer fixing something small of theirs that they use daily) but I’d be so satisfied with just Shane <3

Keep up the wonderful writing! I’d love to read your fic in AO3 when it’s out!

Ahh tysm! I’m really glad people are liking the things i write, it’s actually been helping me practice a lot more than i used to!!

It’s such a cute idea to be like “hey i can fix that for ya :)” and the romanceables just being so amazed that the farmer can do literally anything?? Anyway i did this with Shane, Elliott and Sam bc i love this prompt soooo much

Gender neutral reader 🦇

Shane

-Shane is a sucker for little details. He loves those iron-on patches (and definitely puts some of them on Jas’ clothes) but beyond that, he’s too afraid to mess his clothes up even further, so he kind of just leaves the rest of it alone.

-If you offer to sew up his Joja jacket, he’s a little hesitant. Its one of his number-one comfort items and he doesn’t want to risk it getting ruined, but the second you say you can probably also remove the joja logo, he’s on board.

-He specifically asks you not to mess with the holes in the pockets because he likes fiddling with them when he’s just standing around

-He assumed you would just sew the holes closed, but when he sees that you’ve also put little patches on it, he literally gasps

“is that a fucking junimo?”

-The Joja logo is replaced with a little chicken and he just kind of stares at it for a while

-Tbh he doesn’t wash it for a few weeks afterwards because he’s really scared the stitching will come undone and he doesn’t want to make you sew it up again

-He’s embarrassed because he feels like he shouldn’t be this excited over a beat up old jacket. Save this man

Sam

-Like shane, he loves iron-on patches. He probably doesn’t have a single jacket or hoodie that doesn’t have one or two. He doesn’t consider himself particularly outdoorsy, but he is a skater, so most of his clothes are pretty roughed up

-Idk if you guys have noticed but his jacket in the game is just as bad as Shanes, if not WORSE. How have these two managed to literally destroy their clothes. Is Joja forcing them to roll in gravel

-Anyway, he’s stoked when you offer to fix up his clothes. His mom pesters him about “looking at least a *little* presentable” so he’s just glad to finally be able to wear his jacket in peace

-He thinks it’s literally so cool. He’s dumbfounded. “Where did you learn how to do that????” Sam. Sammy. There are so many tutorials online

-He really wants to ask you if you know how to embroider something on his guitar strap but he’s too nervous

Elliott

-He looooves embroidery, and there’s something so wonderful about the sentimental value of sewing an old piece of clothing back to it’s original form

-He’s the type of guy to cry over those videos where people have their really old stuffed animals + blankets remade with the old material still inside

-A lot of his clothes are actually really old. He and Leah go thrifting in the city every once in a while (you CANNOT tell me those two don’t go to goodwill..) I think Leah and Emily are pretty good friends, so by extension, Emily has fixed a few of Elliott’s thrifting finds

-If you offer to fix up any scuffs you see or offer to embroider something he’s just like “you would do that?? For me???”

-He loves sentimental things like this so sometimes he’ll just run his fingers along the seam and smile like a dork to himself. He’s soooo *explodes*

[banannabethchase]

We Could Be a Sweet Team - also on AO3

~

Ayda has never had ice cream before, and Fig simply must fix that fact.

~

Fluff to combat the angst that is real life! I hope you enjoy :) Title from Ice Cream by New Young Pony Club

~

Fig yawns and rests her head on Ayda’s shoulder, doing her best to stay awake on the final stretch of the drive home. Today’s was a short drive, all things considered, but she’s still tired.

“Fig, if you continue to sleep on my shoulder, it will be difficult for me to drive.”

“I’m comfortable,” Fig mumbles. “You’re like a warm blanket or something.”

“One traditionally sleeps under blankets instead of on them, but the sentiment is charming.” She nods her head down to tap it against Fig’s head then lifts up.

“Fine,” Fig groans. “Are we there yet?”

“Momentarily, I would predict,” Ayda says. “I am excited to stop by Basrar’s for the first time.”

“You’ve had ice cream,” Fig says, snorting. “The magic doesn’t, like, make it special. It’s still just ice cream.”

Ayda is quiet for a moment, then more than a moment. It’s long enough that Fig feels…itchy.

“Ayda,” she says, as gently as she can get it, “you have had ice cream before, haven’t you?”

“I haven’t,” she says quietly.

“How have you never had ice cream before?!” Fig flails up and stares at her. “How are you an actual human – part human, at least, whatever – without ever having ice cream?!”

Ayda slows at the stop sign right before Basrar’s parking lot. “Fig, I grew up on a pirate island, raised by an aasimar. I incinerated almost anything I touched when I got too excited for the first four years of my life. Forgive me for being blunt, but I am a very intelligent person and I cannot find a path for success in that pattern for an ice cream trip.”

Fig settles into the passenger seat as Ayda parks. “Oh. Right.” She fights the urge to confirm once again. It seems impossible. “Are you okay?”

“Always, with you,” and Ayda is so sincere and so real it makes Fig’s heart hurt a little. She smiles to Fig, with something a little aching behind it. “Now, let’s go inside. I miss our friends.”

Fig smiles. “Me, too.”

Ayda, in her way, takes Fig’s hand and they walk in. Kristen is in the middle of a very emphatic sentence, arms thrown in the air, while Mary Ann looks on with blank half interest.

“Are you done?” Mary Ann asks.

Fig snickers as Kristen’s face burns almost as red as Ayda’s plumage. “Done?!” Kristen yells. “You think I’ll ever be done?”

“What’d we miss?” Fig asks, shoving at Fabian’s shoulder to scoot in.

“Kristen and Mary Ann are in an argument about the best sign a person is fit,” Mazey says, patting the space next to her for Fabian to scoot in more.

“I suggested a perfectly thrown aerial, but I was immediately yelled at,” Fabian says. He leans in and sips his milkshake. “Kristen said it has to be the amount you can lift, Mary Ann said weights are for bitches, and they’ve been yelling ever since.”

“It’s a bit disturbing,” Gorgug, with a truly haunted expression, says.

“You sure you don’t mean hot?” Fig asks. “Because I remember the last time she annoyed you.”

Gorgug flings ice cream at Fig, and Ayda reaches out to catch it in midair, turning it into milk and whipping it back around to hit Gorgug in the face. At least, it was supposed to. He shifts backward just enough and the now milk slaps Mary Ann in the side of the head.

“Oh, goodness,” Ayda says, flickers of flame dancing around her cheeks. “Hello. I am so sorry. That was supposed to hit Gorgug, as it was aimed for my paramour.” She bows. Fig thinks Ayda may be perfect. “Ayda Aguefort. My apologies.”

Mary Ann, as always, is completely undeterred. Fig wants to learn her ways. She tried once, but it ended with her stomping out of the room, furious. “It’s fine.” Mary Ann whips out a surprisingly long tongue and cleans the ice cream off. “It’s my ice cream, anyway. You’re the principal’s kid?”

Ayda nods and glances at Fig. “Yes. I’m Ayda Aguefort.”

“Cool,” Mary Ann says. “I’m Mary Ann. Do you like Quokki Pets?”

“Who?”

Mary Ann sighs. “Fig, nobody but you. It sucks.”

“I can’t get anybody else to understand how cool they are!” Fig says, sitting on the bench and patting for Ayda to sit on her lap. “Let me see your new ones.”

It had started as a straight up lie to make Mary Ann like them, but Fig had gotten into Quokki Pets just on a whim and it was the easiest way to keep in contact with people other than crystal messages when she and Ayda were off on their travels. Mary Ann would add details of what happened at school or games in the little blurbs of their Pet Chats, and Fig would find out all the little stuff nobody else thought to tell her. She misses the big things, like Kristen and Cassandra alone saving a hoard of possessed water genasi from a poorly controlled pharmaceutical waste dump and Fabian’s winning pass during Homecoming, but she also misses the little things. Hallariel’s weird pregnancy cravings. Adaine’s new bedroom setup. Gorgug’s Cloefca design. Mary Ann tells her all about it in the messages.

Fig had saved the one that said Fabian got pooped on by a pigeon today at practice and made it her phone background. It’s been there for months.

“Figueroth!” Basrar says, eyes sparkling. “It is good to see you again! It is not as fun with your friends without your shenanigans.”

“You say fun, but I think you mean chaotic, and I’m good with either.” She turns to Ayda. “What do you want?”

“I – don’t know?” Ayda looks at Basrar. “Which of your ice creams is best melted?”

Basrar’s expression shifts to one of alarm. “Fig, I do not understand –”

“Gimme the usual and one scoop of your five best sellers,” Fig decides.

“Fig,” Ayda says, and it’s almost charming how bad she is at whispering, “I don’t eat ice cream.”

“You didn’t eat ice cream,” Fig corrects. “I got this.” She frowns. “Wait. Stand up.”

Ayda looks baffled, but she does as Fig requests. Fig loves her. Basrar balances the five ice creams on his arms as they appear and sets them down on the already full table. Fig will make it work.  

“Okay, now sit.”

Ayda sits. Fig straddles her lap.

“Whoa, whoa,” Fabian says, hands up in front of him. “Keep that for the bedroom.”

“Don’t be stupid, Fabian,” Fig says, getting a spoonful of ice cream. “I’m giving her a new experience.”

“That does sound like something I’ve said in the bedroom,” Kristen says, almost wistfully.

“If you make me suffer the idea of Officer Kristen again, I’m creating another simulacrum and sending her to kill you.” Adaine looks dead serious, and Fig takes the moment of distraction to put the spoon to Ayda’s lips.

“Quick,” Fig murmurs. “Before it melts.”

Ayda leans in and takes the ice cream, eyes widening. “Oh!”

“No sex at the table!” Riz barks.

“If this is sex, we’ve been putting in way too much effort,” Mary Ann mutters. Gorgug chokes on his milkshake, Riz yelps in horror, and it gives Fig the chance to give Ayda another spoonful of ice cream. Her eyes flutter shut, almost transcendent. She smiles around the spoon. Fig feels victorious.

“There,” Fig says, finding herself a little breathless. “Now you’ve had ice cream. What do you think?”

Ayda opens her eyes slowly and gives Fig the sweetest smile the world could have ever dreamt of. “I think,” Ayda says, “I would love anything you gave me.”

Kristen starts making gagging sounds, which is pretty rich coming from somebody who used to pull handcuffs out of her backpack while looking for her lunch at school.

“Oh, can it,” Fig snaps. “Go text Tracker or have sex with corn or something.”

Ayda stares. “There’s sentient corn in Elmville?”

“No!” Kristen shrieks. “I do not have sex with corn!”

“She masturbates with corn,” Fig clarifies. “It’s the same concept.”

“I’m going to run into the woods,” Riz mutters, slinking into the seat. “Maybe rat city will be easier to handle.”

“Are you kidding?” Mazey asks. “They’re rodents. They probably talk about sex even more than them.”

“Let the record show I didn’t say anything about sex until Kristen mentioned Officer Kristen,” Fig says. She gives Ayda another bite, sure to keep the spoon in the cup of ice water next to her to cool it down between bites.

“Fabian mentioned sex first!” Kristen says. “You suck. Go be gay somewhere else.”

“We’ve been gay somewhere else for months,” Ayda says, grinning.

“Yeah, what a shitty welcome,” Fig says. She wiggles a little to get balanced, and there’s a tiny lick of flame that dances across Ayda’s cheeks. Just for the quickest flash of a second. “Haven’t any of you missed us?”

“We have,” Fabian says. “But now you’ve shoved a dirty spoon in my water, like, eight times, so the effect has worn off.”

They chat and eat ice cream and tip Basrar absurdly, until the group of them is walking down the street toward Mordred Manor, approaching familiar lights as the sun dips down below the horizon.

“We look like hooligans,” Riz says gleefully. “Watch out, world, the Bad Kids are stepping out.”

“That was the dorkiest thing you could have said,” Kristen says, not even looking up from her phone. She grins.

“I know that smile,” Fig says. “Are you texting Tracker?”

Kristen’s eyes flit over to Fig. “What? No. Who’s Tracker?”

“You are so stupid,” Adaine says fondly, resting her head on Kristen’s shoulder. “I adore you.”

“You’re no help,” Kristen grumbles. “Yes, I’m texting Tracker. We’re…trying the friends thing. Before anything gets too romantic again. Don’t want to rush into things this time.”

“Can’t relate.” Fig grabs Ayda and spins her into a dip, kissing her long enough that even Fabian starts awkwardly clearing his throat.

“I get you guys are, like, living together now, but this is a lot.”

Fig pulls away. “Mom!” She grabs Ayda by the hand and drags her up the steps of Mordred Manor, throwing herself into her mom’s arms in a way that she hasn’t done since she was very, very small.

“I guess absence does make the heart grow fonder,” Sandra Lynn chuckles. “Hey, sweetheart.” There’s a press of lips to the top of Fig’s head, even though she’s far taller than her mother now. “I missed you, too.”

Fig pulls back to see Ayda looking a little uncomfortable, a little awkward, until Sandra Lynn pulls her in for a hug.

“I’ll burn you!” Ayda half squawks.

“I have burn cream,” Sandra Lynn says. She holds Ayda close, and there’s no signs of panicked flame. Ayda looks relaxed.

The hug lasts long enough for the rest of the group to shuffle into the house, and it’s Ayda and Fig and her mom hanging out on the porch. It feels more natural than Fig could have expected. It feels easier than it has since before high school.

“I’m glad to have you back, even if it is just for a short time,” Sandra Lynn says, kissing Ayda’s forehead briefly then pulling away. “Ah. Forgot.”

Ayda, looking a little baffled, blinks. “Sorry. I run warm, as I am a bird of fire.”

“No need to apologize, kiddo,” Sandra Lynn says, and Fig’s not sure she’s ever loved her mom more. “Alright. Let’s head in. You all got ice cream already?”

Ayda lights up, and Fig’s heart does a really weird flippy thing that could easily be a severe medical illness she decides to ignore. “Fig gave me ice cream,” Ayda says, basically floating into the door. “Real ice cream. Still frozen!”

Sandra Lynn listens intently to Ayda speaking about the best ice cream she tried – the strawberry cheesecake was her winner – as they enter the living room. Gorgug looks completely disinterested as Fabian, Adaine, and Mary Ann appear to be in some sort of argument.

“I just suggested the Quokki Pets movie again because your ideas suck,” Mary Ann says, like she’s vaguely engaged in the conversation. There’s probably other things she’s more interested in than the move, as she’s seated in Gorgug’s lap, but Fig’s begun to think she just likes arguing.

“Stop insulting my movies!” Adaine yells. “It is not my fault you were all raised on Elmville trash! Get some taste!”

“I am not sitting through another one of your artsy fartsy movies that are all in fucking Elvish,” Fabian says. “And I speak Elvish! What about Gorgug?”

“I don’t really care what we watch,” Gorgug says, his hands around Mary Ann’s waist. She’s been good for him, Fig thinks. He looks relaxed. “But, um, something in a language I understand would be nice.”

Riz opens his mouth, almost definitely to suggest one of his weird history documentaries, when Kristen giggles. It’s unexpected enough that she wouldn’t be advocating for Imagine Me and You for the millionth time that the room goes silent and everybody looks at her. The silence seems to last long enough that she looks up. “What?” Her cheeks flush. “Yeah, okay, why is everybody staring at me?”

“Go fuck a corn,” Ayda says gleefully. It’s – it’s not quite what the moment called for, exactly, but Fig can’t help but burst into laughter at Kristen’s befuddlement. The rest of the room shifts from giggles to raucous laughter suddenly enough that Fig can dive to the TV and turn on her favorite movie. She knows well enough by now that it’ll be background noise within a few minutes.

Kristen throws herself across Fig and Adaine, resting her head in Ayda’s lap as they take over the couch while Riz perches on the top of the cushions behind Fig. Fabian and Mazey commandeer Jawbone’s recliner. Gorgug and Mary Ann stretch out on the floor with Boggy settling on Adaine’s knee, but close enough that Mary Ann can reach out to give him pats on the top if his round head. They talk and tease, and Fig realizes how much she’s missed this in the first semester she’s been away from Aguefort. She wipes at her eyes right before the dramatic ending of the movie. She would have gotten away with it if her elbow hadn’t bumped Kristen in the shoulder.

“Are you crying?” Kristen asks through a handful of popcorn Jawbone had brought in around the hour mark.

“No,” Fig says. “Shut up.”

“She is,” Ayda says, snuggling more into Fig’s side. “But it’s because she loves us all very much.”

“Not crying,” Fig lies.

“We missed you too, Fig.” Adaine bumps her head against Fig’s. “And we love you, too.”

“Sappy,” she squeaks. But she really never has felt so loved as she does right now.

[vaguely-concerned]

BEHOLD! The list of evidence for my bold claim that Pan and Freddie dislike each other ferociously on sight because they are, in some key ways and despite appearances, very similar people: 

- First instinct upon seeing Grace sad is to try to make her laugh to cheer her up. (See: Freddie’s very first lines in the game starting off as she means to go on, and about half the things Pan ever says or does lol. In the last scene with him before The Trial you can even tell him you’re there just because you wanted to talk to him and have something cheer you up.) General sources of levity and fun and play in Grace’s life if you seek them out. 

- They react with similar anxiety to the idea of Grace being really angry with them (Freddie’s surprised/dismayed “Why are you angry at me?!” in the red route of ‘I Can Teach You’, the millenia-old god of the wild hiding behind a tree for ten minutes because he thinks Grace might be about to yell at him lmao <3)

- Both of them seem to have similar interpersonal insecurities in general, judging by the enforced choice between them in ‘I Can Teach You’ (I love you both so much but oh my god. is this a constructive use of time or energy under the circumstances lol), softened and alleviated by the fact that at the end of the day the most important thing to either of them is that Grace is happy. It isn’t possessiveness, but there is an element of underlying ‘Hey. Hey I am your favorite right?? 🥺’ insecurity there that trips them both up to begin with. Once you play the game and go back to look at this scene again knowing everyone’s real motivations, they’re even coming from the same place deep down — genuine fear for Grace’s safety and wanting to help her. (Freddie uncomplicatedly out of love🥹, and Pan at that stage probably more out of a guilty sense of responsibility, though he does seem to take a shine to Grace herself pretty quickly as well. Also he demonstrably isn’t, uh. Completely wrong in saying Freddie’s involvement in this whole mess is likely to end in tears, even if he is being a real dick about it) 

- If you don’t choose either in ‘I Can Teach You’, they both show up within minutes of each other to watch Grace’s back in the Medusa quest anyway. One brain cell ping pong and no one notices because they keep trying to swat each other with the racquets whenever Grace glances away for a second

Sidenote but flirting with both of them one after the other in that quest is fucking hilarious, they’re just taking turns ‘Really? Right in front of my salad?’-ing directly at the camera (...listen I feel that there is a chance that as long as they kept Grace between them the whole time there could be a thing here. I think a possible universe out there where it happens at least once does exist if one cared to go seek it out. That’s all I’m saying.) 

- Seems a bit obvious but what else am I here for: both very drawn to Grace no matter what main trait you choose. Whether this is true vice versa is of course player-dependent, but it is one way you can play the game. 

- Incredibly similar defensive reactions to being picked on or sniped at (and no hesitation whatsoever in subjecting each other to exactly that immediately anyway haha) 

- A bit dark when you think about it, but they both express the sentiment that it would be better for them to step in and die if it means Grace lives. (Freddie very directly of course ;______; and then in ‘It’s time’, Pan in ‘The Trial’ and the little talk you have with him later in Athena’s office.)  

Matching ‘ride or die’ instincts once awoken, is what I’m getting at. Freddie gets extra points for sheer longevity and constancy, Pan gets extra points for getting there in a week. You’re both unhinged (affectionate) 

- They’re the only ones among the main cast wearing green, right? I think I’ve got that right? Well, Charon does too, I suppose, but he’s a bit more peripheral. (Persephone and Aphrodite wear blue-green, but that seems more associated with death and the underworld and the river of grief everyone keeps using as a metaphor throughout the game.) Somehow I find the idea/metaphor that once you get Pan out from under like three layers of bullshit he’s the same colour as Freddie (who is inarguably The symbol of devotion and steadfastness in this game no matter your choices) quite sweet. 

- Nerds. You know I am right. Slightly different kinds of nerd (Freddie is distinctly geek-flavoured and Pan collects rare books for sport sort of distinction), but still. Oh my god. Freddie should get the whole cast together to play D&D in the Reliquary post-game. It would be absolute carnage. It would be glorious hilarity. *GASP* no wait not the Reliquary, let’s go to the Underworld so Charon gets to play too. For the love of all that is good give this to me now please I need it 

- The only two people who think Freddie losing control of her powers and causing a dance number at a funeral is hilarious

In short this is a recognition of the self through the other (derogatory) situation for both of them and neither of them decides to take that with any dignity or grace (ahaha) in the slightest, I love them very much,  thank you and goodnight 

[doll-elvis]

How do ya feel about child bride? I think majority of people can't accept some of the things written about elvis and priscilla to be true 'cause it makes their whole world collapse as they see them as the perfect couple which they never really were

sorry just wanted to say I am scheduling asks by the hour today as I have been procrastinating in answering them, so I apologize in advance if I crowd your dashboards😭

anyways- thank you so much for the ask and I would really love to know what others have to say about this so please share your thoughts because I’m super curious myself 🤧

also there is truly nothing like reading Priscilla Presley’s “Elvis and me” and then reading Child Bride and having no idea to what believe anymore (which is exactly what I did and I had to read like 3 other books to make up my mind)

I do agree with your sentiment that Priscilla and Elvis’ relationship was not as perfect as some have been influenced to believe, and I don’t think the 2022 film helped that matter as the film very much had an agenda and that was to sell their love story… which was quite tumultuous at times

But I want to clarify that there is no doubt in my mind that they both loved each other very much and Priscilla was obviously incredibly special to Elvis. There really isn’t another woman he has been with that can say she has experienced something similar to what Priscilla experienced with him. She was with him the longest, she was the only one to get married to him, have his child, etc. etc. Priscilla was just unique in that regard, even if their relationship wasn’t perfect

Plus she is the only one that has ever gotten “It’s Midnight” dedicated to her by him and I feel like that really says something 👀

As for Child Bride… I have many issues with Child Bride, for starters, the name of the book and it’s implications. I was actually embarrassed to buy this book because of the title, and I’ve never read it in public because of it 🤧

My first issue is that Suzanne Finstad is an incredibly biased author, this book’s main purpose is to make Priscilla look bad and I’ve noticed Finstad even has misquoted a few people in order to do so

For example in Joe Esposito’s book this is how he tells this story

And then in Finstad’s book, this is how she misquotes him, to make Priscilla seem aggressive

My second issue with the book, and the biggest, is that Suzanne Finstad uses Currie Grant as her main source. If what he said is true, that he had intercourse with Priscilla prior to her meeting Elvis, then he is an admitted child r*pist

Priscilla said there was an attempt of an assault but has completely denied that she ever had intercourse with Currie Grant

Therefore this book is just the most uncomfortable case of “he said, she said”

Currie Grant and Priscilla Presley are the only ones who really know what happened between them, and therefore I don’t care to speculate on what actually happened and I’m especially not interested in hearing what Currie has to say because he’s just a disgusting man, and Suzanne Finstad is even worse for allowing him to have a platform

So because of that, I am just not interested in what Finstad has to write or say, I’ve only ever read Child Bride once and I haven’t picked it up again

I feel like there are so many other sources on Priscilla and Elvis’ relationship (for example the Memphis Mafia, Elvis’ other girlfriends, his stepbrothers etc. etc) that doesn’t involve a predator like Currie Grant being involved or an incredibly biased author… but anyways what do y’all think?

[do-you-have-a-flag]

little covid rant

one thing that’s really odd about getting covid for the first time 3 years into the pandemic is that i was very careful and did limit social interactions and wore masks indoors and literally would not have gotten it now if i didn’t take a once in a lifetime chance to see my favourite band for the first time like it’s a very clear thing to me that i could have caught covid at any time but the risks would have continued to be low if not for this ONE THING i did.

so aside from the hypothetical series of choices where i was very sad but healthy the fact is that it took about 2 years for me to really start to miss normal life and 3 years for me to miss Doing Activities

like after this i am going to go back to my recluse era because the world was not as cautious as i was and i don’t want to tempt increasing health risks from re-occuring infections so i don’t even have the bandaid rip of OH WELL CAUGHT COVID NOW IT’S NOT SCARY like no.... no this does suck and the potential impact of it is scary and i do not want to knowingly contribute to infecting others

and idk i’m just mad the world moved on because the more people act like the pandemic is over the more pressure there is to put your health at risk. I’m literally going to go back to staying home and going for walks and doing 1 (one) indoor activity with more than 2 people every 6 months while masked and getting booster shots when available

and i miss life in a big way, i really personally felt like i got the momentum knocked out from under me by graduating into a pandemic, it's not a unique sentiment but it's just very frustrating to see exactly how clear cut the price is for being a Normal Person right now. Either I can continue to try to get it together from home and struggle but stay healthy, or i can risk infection after infection and all the health issues that could result to work and go to events again.

it's vindicating to know how much my efforts to social distance and mask up DID WORK and frustrating that one of maybe 3 concessions to having fun i participated in over 3 entire years resulted in catching covid

like obviously i'm very fortunate and lucky and so on and so on but i still feel angry with how this pandemic was given up on on such a broad scale. did you know that for a while mid pandemic there was almost zero cases in my state? We managed that but because of all kinds of factors and prioritising profits over people after the second bigger wave people started acting like vaccination was the only thing needed.

I'm such a risk avoidant person generally and when i take on a situation i am not sure of i accept the consequences. I am now experiencing those consequences. I am not oh woe is me-ing the results i am just startled by the realisation that I was right to be so cautious all this time and that continuing to do so means continuing to actively chose to sacrifice opportunities over and over and over. because it feels like the world is not set up for me to thrive in it

maybe it's that i was too preoccupied with unrelated stress when everyone went through the existential terror of early covid, maybe it's because i never went through the stages of though that lead some people to go "everyone's going to get it anyway!" but as i creep towards recovering from this run of sickness and keep my fingers crossed for no long term side effects i have to figure out how to re-arrange what my outlook for the future is for as long as people act like an ongoing pandemic isn't happening

[sp1rit-realm]

₊‧꒰ა 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐕𝐄𝐍 ໒꒱ ‧₊˚ ⧿ 𝐦𝐚𝐭𝐜𝐡𝐮𝐩𝐬! 𝐭𝐞𝐥𝐥 𝐦𝐞 𝐚 𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐥𝐞 𝐚𝐛𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐬𝐞𝐥𝐟, 𝐚 𝐟𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐨𝐦, 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐢'𝐥𝐥 𝐦𝐚𝐭𝐜𝐡 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐮𝐩 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐨𝐧𝐞!

Happy 900!!!! Ummm Marauders maybe? but if you think someone else fits better I assure you I don’t mind.

Where to start, i’m pretty quiet, like very very soft spoken until im really comfortable in a room. Once I know someone I’m still quiet in volume but then i can talk for at least 15 minutes straight without losing my rhythm and i get very very animated, lots of facial expressions, too many hands waving around. I like reading but I can’t call myself a bookworm because I take too long to finish them and usually give up so i’m more of a book dragon. I love writing and art and being creative and I love to learn but i hate to be graded. My favorite color is burgundy and my favorite season is whatever one it currently is until the very end and i’m sick of it, then i like whichever one is coming next. I like to collect things and i’m way too sentimental. I like rain and leather jackets and i don’t know if you want any physical attributes but im short enough that literally everyone comments when i wear tall shoes (i have platform doc martins with a heel so it’s only like 4 inches which i guess is a lot over all but even then Im only up to like 5’6-‘7 barely) And my hair is stuck an almost auburn color because I dyed it dark plum/burgundy in november and now the final claws of goldish red are dug in and i don’t see it letting go, which is especially annoying because my roots are returning much lighter than i last remember but I’ve been dying my hair since at least last June so i don’t know what I really expected. I have identity crises over my hair at least every other week.

In terms of how I love people it’s very much however it works with that person. I like when people like to pay attention to me and look for me in a room and that kind of thing, I also really like to be held and have my hair played with,,,,i find dogs very relatable (but don’t let that sway your decision in anyway, do what your heart tells you)

I’m sure 900 people leads to a lot of asks, but i have no idea, so please take your time and don’t feel rushed or obligated at all. I am so proud of this milestone for you and i’m so proud of all the people coming to their senses to appreciate such a talented spirit like you 💖💖💖

HI MARA!!!!!! THANK U SO MUCH

if you mean marauders era in general, i say (drumroll please)

you and dorcas!

to me, her character is very laid back, but secretly she's so passionate. like, she pretends she doesn't care, but really secretly does. she would adore all the things you collect, and will listen to anything you have to say about them. she'd still have to lean down to kiss you. she would say, "really? new hair again, mara?" and then she would whisper to you, "it's cute, makes your eyes pop." because nobody can know that she adores anybody, until you become official. then, she can't stop talking about you. she will read books to you as you lay your head on her lap, hair being played with. she would dance with you in the rain. she would steal your jacket because it smells like you, and because it means everybody knows you're hers. she would sit and listen to you rant/ramble/infordump and watch lovingly as your mouth moves a mile a second and your tongue gets all twisted. she would hang up your art, proudly displaying it as to say: "yeah, my girlfriend? they're perfect, and talented, and beautiful, and look at this art they made." she would kick someone's teeth in for you, and she winks at you during her quidditch games, loving how much you blush; stark red in the sea of green.

[astrobei]

hi about to expose myself so hard for being nothing more than a giant sappy ball of sentiment and mush under a suni astrobi mask but ! apparently i’ve written over 250,000 words this year and that + all the positivity on the dash today has got me in a Mood okay!! (continue for proof of me being a Loser ⬇️)

ok yeah so according to my ao3 statistics i wrote over 250,000 words this year alone which is. that’s insane. especially considering i didn’t post anything until august so that’s EXTRA insane. you’re telling me i wrote 250,000 words in FOUR MONTHS? for reference, in all my past fandoms i wrote maybe one or two works and then dipped. mind you, the longest fic i wrote before this was 12k words. (yeah. i know.)

anyways!! not to be gross and mushy and weird on main but i just wanted to thank everyone who follows this blog or has read my writing ever for literally being the Best <3 if you asked january suni what she thought she’d be doing in december, writing fanfiction would not have been anywhere near her list of guesses. so much changed for me so fast this year and i started writing again over the summer as a form of escapism, but i never expected to be welcomed into a community so fast !! coming on here and talking to people has literally been life changing and i’ve made some of my best friends ever in my whole life through this website and i am so thankful for that 🫂 it honestly blows my mind whenever someone tells me they look up to my writing or that they find me intimidating or if they express shock at me following them back or anything like that because i’m just me !! just some gal who cringes writing kiss scenes and can write tens of thousands of words on her phone but not a laptop. for some reason. (?)

i know i would not have been nearly as inspired if i hadn’t met all of you and i literally cannot express how grateful i am for all the friends i’ve made here !! just know that if we’ve ever talked, even just once, or if we’re mutuals or even if you’re here reading this !! i appreciate you all so so much and i can’t wait to go into 2023 with you guys <333 and let’s see if we can hit 500k words next year 🥳🥳🥳