#but i've seen other folks mention it

[physical-manifestation-of-spite]

Let's be crystal clear. Queerbaiting is real. But it occurs when the creators intentionally hint at a queer relationship to lure in a queer audience to give them money, but never actually follow through on their heavy-handed implications of a queer relationship. Queerbaiting does not occur when the creator has been transparent from the very beginning that Malevolent is about friendship and platonic love, meant to work through the toxic masculinity they've lived throughout their entire life, and to express healthy platonic love (and sometimes unhealthy love) between two male-presenting characters. It is not queerbaiting when they emphatically tell each other that they love each other, because love isn't exclusively romantic, and while it is absolutely okay for people to ship them (and something that the creator is totally FINE with, btw), it is not okay to accuse the creator of lying about their relationship when he's been clear about it from the very beginning.

Friendship and platonic love is just as meaningful as romantic love and that's the whole point of Malevolent.

[wavernot4love]

thursrochester 7.16 wavernot4love lil recap

(the continuation of the tradition anyone who has ever scrolled upon my blog likely knew would be coming post-show)

- first of all. APPLICATION!!!! i can't not start this off with Her. my first time hearing her!!!! also, the spark/moment chanty part!!! i was too busy having the time of me life to film it but god that bit rocked

- i mentioned earlier today that the initial 5 song run on the setlist of workforce, cross out the eyes, signals, standing on the edge of summer, and jbny may kill me. i was right. thursdudes were out for blood with that one.

- speaking of thursdudes (thursday, the people) they very much knew what they were doing with the house music. in fear and faith (the song). a coheed deep cut i actually didn't know that immediately went into my dunesverse playlist. amen.

- smiley stage geoff will forever be my favorite thing. i do not say this in a borderline creepy uwu way i simply mean it's contagious and genuinely admirable. i love watching that dude do his thing

- that reminds me, definitely the smallest venue i've seen thursday in. which fits the theme of these shows. i really enjoyed that honestly, and i love how close you are to the stage at montage. with the exception of when i hopped in the pit on occasion, i was mostly around the second/third person from the front so it was awesome to just have that back and forth dynamic with geoff being right there all night.

- throwing it out there that i have no idea where this new tucker aesthetic came from (has it been a thing lately?) but i dig it (you can see him in the back of this pic, peep the all pink jumpsuit & pink "TR" tape)

- we got running from the rain!!! full circle moment since i haven't heard that since my first thursset, at adjacent last year. also fast to the end came back home. as she should.

- tim kasher. god bless. admittedly cursive have been sitting in my list of bands to get into so i did not actually Know anything, but i really like the guy and will have to peep his setlist so i know where 2 start. truly enjoyed his set.

- mercy union from nj were great as well. they mentioned growing up in nj they learned from thursday that the moment you walk into a show, nothing outside of it matters. that's how i certainly feel, and felt 2nite.

- my only sad things are 1. the epic crossover did not in fact happen (everyone cleared out really quickly after the show, it's not like folks were waiting for them or anything). someday. and 2. we didn't get at this velocity :-( but i will live

also i just feel the need to share before i go that i am Still Here street parked by the venue (white awning on the right) as i type this. This is where i type these things from. the party ended two hours ago but he's still very much here.

anyways, goodnight, i'm going 2 actually head home shortly, i can't wait for the next thursshow (and that crossover, whenever it does happen), as always, get out to the thursshow when it comes your way, and do stream

[parkeryangs]

i usually live and die by the . your coworkers are not your friends. and don't share 95% of stuff going on w me but my supervisor Actually Cares and has managed to wean out more personal info than probably everyone ive ever worked with lmao and shes. so sweet abt stuff :(

[erwinsvow]

little sad bitchy!reader moment: her and rafe are at the country club with topper and kelce and some other friends of rafe and one of the guys starts saying how she would be a horrible wife and mother (bc of the way she is) and she honestly is so hurt by it and i think she would almost try to change the way she is around rafe a little just so he wouldn’t think that about her…

sobbing thinking about it and listening to this (https://www.tiktok.com/t/ZTLX2Pdcv/)

hi my love this was so amazing and wonderful to write! im sorry its kinda long, hope you like it ♡

in all honestly, you stopped caring what people said about you a long time ago. you weren't the way you were because it was funny, or to get a reaction out of others. that was just the way you've always been, and there was nothing you hated more than letting people walk all over you and get away it.

that must be why the comebacks would fly out of your mouth before you could stop them, if you even wanted to stop them. why you never stopped to think twice about the people who didn't want to talk to you again or the boys who didn't want a second date.

you weren't easy to handle, not that you wanted to be, but you knew you weren't.

it seemed easy enough for rafe though.

he never seemed to wish that you'd bite your tongue or tell you to act differently, behave a certain way. no, he'd laugh and fire back something, or agree with you and say something you remember to add to your collection of insults.

rafe liked you as you were. that's why he fought so long and hard to get you, something that you didn't take lightly. you were committed, and the more days that went by, you found yourself softening up more and more with him.

rafe knew a side of you that a select few had ever seen, much less engaged with. you liked it this way, having a boyfriend you could be yourself around and be a little soft around.

until you overhear a boy at the club talking about you. in all your years of life, you've never let a boy make you feel upset, and you didn't want to start now. a comeback brews the second he mentions your name—of course it's the idiot one, the one whose parents pay for his grades and doesn't know anything besides losing at pong and scaring away girls—but it dies in your throat when you hear the words that follow.

"i mean i get it, she's hot, but i don't know how cameron puts up with her."

"what're you talking about? she's just like him," kelce says, and you feel briefly grateful for him.

"dude, she's a bitch. i've never heard one nice thing come out of her mouth. totally untamed. you can't bring a girl like that home to your folks, they'd hate her. especially his folks. and don't even mention long-term. imagine coming home after working all day and your girl is bitching at you? i mean, no offense but what kind of kids is she gonna raise?"

you hear laughter, and when your face feels wet, and you're confused for a moment. you look up at the ceiling, wondering if there's a leak, when your eyes flood again and more tears fall down.

crying, and that too over what one of rafe's friends said about you. this isn't like you. frankly, it's pathetic. those idiotic boys don't know the first thing about you or your relationship with rafe—they don't know the conversations you have and all the things you both agree on and the way he laughs when you fire back at him.

but somehow, feet leading you outside and to your car, fingers texting rafe some excuse for why you went home early, you end up letting it affect you.

rafe comes over the next morning—he texted you something but you didn't reply. worried for a moment about something you've never been concerned with before, you think a nicer girl would have texted him back right away, that you should have texted him back.

he doesn't knock, never does. your parents aren't home but he has your spare key, letting himself in and up to your room. he stops at the doorway, leaning against the frame.

"hey. what happened last night?" he asks it like he doesn't know what happened—which is good, you want it to stay that way. the thing you would have said yesterday bubbles up, coming to your lips. maybe if you'd gotten your head out of your ass, you'd see my text.

"wasn't feeling good. came home."

"you feelin' okay now?" he gets closer to you, and you look up at your boyfriend. i'd be fine but that asshole you already hate ruined my mood. will you run him over in your truck?

"better." you stop for a moment, you don't want him to think something's wrong. "how was your night?" he looks at you a little confused.

"it was fine. borin' without you. kelce asked where you went too."

"y'know i always liked kelce," you say, smiling again. you think you can get better at this.

rafe takes you out for lunch, and then you wanted to go shopping in the afternoon and get your nails done. it's a whole day, and you like spending it with him. you swallow down what your mind usually thinks and opt for being nice instead, polite questions and trepid commentary.

the waiter brings you the wrong drink—and though you're not so much of a bitch to hurl insults at teenager servers, you're normally annoyed enough to say something and get your correct drink. instead you sip it quietly, waiting for rafe to start the conversation. when you don't, he looks at you in that confused way again.

"you okay?"

"yeah. fine. you okay?"

if he thinks something's wrong, he doesn't say anything. at the mall, nothing looks how you want and even the things you like don't feel right. you'd let rafe buy you whatever you want, normally giving him a twirl in the dressing room and thanking him very sweetly.

"you want that dress?" rafe asks, his arm resting on a rack while you comb through mindlessly.

"no, it was too short."

"that's never been an issue before." ha-ha. pervert. looking up my skirt aren't you? knew you were desperately horny for me but this is down bad even for you.

"trying to dress better. and it'll be cold soon."

"hey, look at me." rafe uses his hands on your shoulders to turn you from the clothes, facing him. "you okay baby?"

fuck, you know you messed up. he only calls you that when he's being serious—the rest of the time it's princess, angel, sweetheart. all things that you are definitely not.

"i'm okay. i just don't want it. but thank you." you don't know it, but he thinks you're upset with him, spending the next hour in the nail salon racking his mind for the reason why.

your nails are fine, they look pretty enough. shorter than normal with a clean french manicure, you admire them from a distance. you suddenly feel like crying again, wondering why you didn't get the pink acrylics you like, rhinestones and bows and all the other things that were pretty to look at when you flipped people off.

in rafe's passenger seat after, you keep staring at your hands, feeling another tear slip down. rafe's not looking at you, he's looking ahead, still unsure what was going on.

"baby, if i did something you gotta tell me, i don't like seein' you like this-" when he turns his head to glance at you, you're looking back at him with your pouty face and wet cheeks—two things he's never seen before. "hey. what's wrong?"

you couldn't stop the downpour if you tried—tears falling quick and fast. you hate that anyone's seeing you like this, especially rafe.

rafe is nice to you, and you soften up around him. you didn't really realize that he softens up around you too. he wipes your tears away, keeps a hand on yours the whole time.

"can you talk to me? what's goin' on?"

"yesterday.. one of those guys said that i was a bitch-"

"which one? to your face? when? i'll fuckin' kill him-"

"no, he didn't know i was there. it's not that, i know i am. i don't care about that. he said that-" your voice cracks, something else you hate, that you don't want rafe hearing. "sorry. he said you couldn't bring me home. and that you would hate coming home to me-me being all mean. and that our kids would be mean too."

yes, you're mean. but rafe's mean too, and none of your friends have ever said anything like that about him. you like that he's mean, that he's like you—you think he's the closest thing to a soulmate you could ever find.

"don't fuckin' listen to any of them for a second, got it? they don't know anything."

"rafe, i-"

"no, seriously. they yap because i wasn't there to knock him out. and he says it when you're gone 'cause he knows you'd make him cry if you were there." you sniffle, though you already feel better.

"but i didn't. i started crying instead." you hate even thinking about it.

"s'okay, it happens. but don't believe a word of that shit. i wanna come home to you everyday. hear everything you say. i want all of it."

"really?" you ask him, wiping away your tears, appreciating the hand on your thigh and how sincerely he's looking at you. "i thought you'd be mean if i cried in front of you."

"it's hard enough to be mean to you."

"you're such a sap. should we go get ice cream and braid each others hair after this?" he laughs, and you laugh. "thanks rafey."

"no problem, kid."

"don't call me that." rafe groans, and you smile.

[xclowniex]

The left speaking out against elon musk for the nazi salute isn't because they suddenly care about antisemitism, it's because they view Nazi as this all encompassing term which covers any fascist or bigot instead of a specific flavour of judenhass fascist and bigot.

Like I've generally seen two responses from the left.

1. "This is a sign that America is going to become fascist" - with no mention of how this is affecting jews

2. "Omg please check in with your jewish friends" - written by someone who has spread blood libel whilst trying to disguise it as antizionism

And it's just really been a mixture of erasing the jew hate tied to Nazis and only thinking that the right can be antisemitic.

Like genuinely it is scary how jew hate is starting to be seen as like a secondary characteristic of Nazis rather than their primary belief. This bit also affects romani folk too as they're also having the anti romani rhetoric the Nazis held being pushed to the side too. And it's fucking gross that it's happening.

And it's been a trend for a while that leftists refuse to acknowledge antisemitism on the left and view it as a right-wing only bigotry.

But I and so many other jews see through it all. We see through the performative "uwu check on your jewish friends" spread by people who would gladly throw us to Nazis and we see through the lack of mention of how someone who is part of trumps government engaging in an antisemitic act in people talking about it.

You don't have to say the quiet part outloud, we already hear it loud and clear.

The true evil jewish power is being able to see through everyone's bs and their pussy footing around jew hate.

[the-indigo-symphony]

I don't think I'm gonna really say this better than the Jewish folks I've already seen talk about this, but I kinda feel obligated to on some level, so here we go

"Punch a Nazi" is all well and good, but over the past few years, I've seen lots of otherwise respectable and kind people drink the antisemitism juice until they become Nazis in all but recognized name. And I say "recognized name" because people have somehow forgotten that the core of Nazism is Jew-hatred, and not just being an extreme bigot (or even just a run-of-the-mill asshole), so people refuse to look at what's in front of them and name it (Nazism) for what it is. So many would rather use that serious, specific term as a general insult for anyone they disagree with online. Ignorance is bliss, after all, even if it means looking the other way as a mere mention of someone celebrating Hanukkah brings out accusations of blood libel from your fellow activists. (I'm not exaggerating with that example, btw, I've seen simple posts just about celebrating Hanukkah get filled with comments accusing the poster of supporting child murder. And a lot worse besides.)

If you want to punch a Nazi, if you're concerned about parallels to the years before the Holocaust... learn to recognize a Nazi before they get on national television and """throw their heart out to the crowd""". And perhaps more importantly, learn to keep yourself from going along with their shit for even an inch.

Listen to Jewish people. And when you do, be aware – there will be a part of you that is biased, that is antisemitic, and you have to pay attention to when it rears its head and you have to kill it where it stands. You have to listen to Jewish people, you have to have an open mind when you do it, you have to remember that you are not immune to subtly internalizing the idea that you, too, should be biased against a group that has been hated and scapegoated and lied about and cast as the root of all evil for centuries upon centuries.

The point of punching Nazis is to stop Nazism. And the first step to accomplishing that is keeping yourself from joining them because you didn't catch your bias becoming prejudice becoming discrimination becoming hatred becoming... any of the bullshit I've seen, any of the bullshit that Jewish people have had to put up with as antisemitism rises over the past few years.

No one is immune to propaganda. I know I'm certainly not. And none of the formerly respectable and kind people I've seen fall to hatred over the past few years were, either.

You want to be inclusive? You want to be accepting? You want to minimize harm and help bring about a brighter tomorrow?

Then make sure you stand alongside Jewish folk as you do it.

Name and kill the Nazi in your head before you go out punching the ones around you, or you may find yourself marching with them without a second thought.

[vantablackdraws]

that's honestly pretty valid! I can definitely see that (his face is kinda round-ish for a fox) Initially, I decided to go for a fox with Anji because of their known trickster imagery with the Kitsune (plus their loyalty!) along with their shapeshifting abilities too (plus a tiny fox getting up to no good with a big wolf just barely tolerating it is kinda fun in concept to me :D)

More 'o these two

[hiiragi7]

The plural community has a major problem with how it treats final fusion and systems who are fully fused.

If you ever wonder why you don't meet many fully fused systems in the community, part of it is because we are actively pushed out of the community.

People have been really shitty towards me ever since I hit final fusion in January. My friends who are fully fused have also experienced similar.

I feel like I can't talk about my experiences at all in a lot of spaces. When I do, I feel like I have to put in extra effort to word myself carefully, and even then it doesn't really help. It doesn't matter how much I say "everyone's experiences are different" or "this is how it is for me personally", people act weird towards me just because I am fully fused. I can't just talk about my experiences with my system like everyone else and it's really draining and frustrating.

People assume that because I am fully fused I will be pushy about fusion or even force fusion onto other systems. People say they are intimidated by me and don't want to talk to me because I am fully fused. People tell me about how horrible they think fusion is and how it's murder. People say they feel bad for fused systems because they think all fused systems are tricked into fusion and about how parts language is dehumanizing and abuse. People say I must hate myself or hate being a system because I chose final fusion. People say they don't believe in final fusion existing at all and that it's unhealthy to believe in it, that fused systems are just systems pretending to be singlets, and that we just need to deal with our internalized ableism and accept we're plural.

People even assume I'm "sysmed" because I am fully fused and use parts language. I have been vocally pro-endo the entire time I've been in system spaces. Hell, I myself am endogenic.

My very belonging in the plural community is constantly in question. I have witnessed numerous debates over the years about whether fully fused systems should be allowed in the community at all, or be allowed to talk about system experiences... because we "chose to be singlets". I've even seen people suggest that we are "appropriating" systemhood by talking about it because we are "no longer systems and have no right to talk about what being a system is like".

"No singlets should be allowed to talk about system experiences or be allowed in system communities, and that includes fully fused individuals" was and still is a major stance here on tumblr, as well as several discord servers I've been in.

I'm constantly expected to censor or completely not talk about my experiences at all because I am fully fused. Final fusion is on the blacklist for a lot of plural servers, and on tumblr a lot of folks get asked to trigger warn anything mentioning final fusion. This isn't something that really happens for any other form of DID recovery. This is specifically targeted at final fusion.

Yes, I understand that there are systems who are pressured to fuse and that it may be a triggering topic for these systems; at the same time, the plural community fosters a lot of fear and shame around final fusion by barring any talk of it and framing it as a negative thing, and it is rarely taken into consideration how triggering it is for many fully fused systems like myself to not be allowed to speak about our experiences and be treated like our existence needs to be hidden and censored, especially when we constantly see others talking very poorly of us and our experiences on top of that.

I get told I'm wrong about my own experiences as a fully fused system or about my thoughts on functional multiplicity and final fusion by systems who are neither fully fused nor functionally multiple, many of whom have never even spoken to a system who is or read about our experiences at all. People in the community are extremely black-and-white about it, and when I talk about how from my experience functional multiplicity and final fusion aren't actually a strict binary, people are very quick to tell me about how they're completely different experiences when they haven't even experienced it or even really know anything about it.

There's so much misinformation in the community about final fusion and it really fucking sucks.

It's so painful hearing my fully fused friends talk about how many of them have been chased out of the community or know folks who have been.

Plural community, be better for fused systems.

[viharbinger]

can i request a fred weasley x slytherin (maybe someone from black family) reader? thank u so much!!

๋࣭ ⭑ The Lion and the Snake

Pairings: Fred Weasley x Reader

plotline: reader is a Slytherin with a death eater family. You're kinda disconnected from them and gives valuable information to the order of the phoenix, letting you stay at Grimmauld Place— where the notorious troublemaker Fred Weasley is. not to mention his giant crush on you.

A/n: I would like to do Fred x reader from the black family but I can't because I think it's kinda weird I'm sorrey 😭

Warnings: mentions of blood and violence and also it's a bit rushed sorry I was writing until 5am and didn't even sleep plus it's a school night😭💔

Grimmauld Place was where you and Fred Weasley met each other for the first time. Surely as fellow Hogwarts students, you've met each other before once or twice, right? Nope! You were part of the Slytherin house and he was in Gryffindor and shared only one class together.

But you've definitely seen him before for sure, whenever he and his identical twin were getting detention or losing house points very loudly in class. Even when you've been ushered out of the library when it was starting to get late at night, you'd notice the twins sneaking off somewhere from their tower.

They'd never taken the initiative to talk to you, though, as they never really needed to. But Fred does notice the way you've been targeted for your family name. Even Malfoy and Pansy Parkinson might try to talk with you to join forces but you just ignore them everytime, earning some foul expressions in return.

Yet he can't seem to ignore the fact that you're breathtaking. He can't believe it himself that he's thinking of you in such a way.. And he definitely lingered his eyes on you a little too long one time during the Yule Ball. Eventually, he started asking people around what you're like, what you're up to if you left the class abruptly or who you went to the Yule Ball with— which was weeks ago.

He could never catch you alone though. You would somehow always blend into the crowd and disappear or just be too busy with something else to be talking to anyone.

Fast forward, you spent the last few months sharing information with your favourite teacher, Professor Lupin on some information about the death eaters' plans you heard from your family which granted you a spot in Grimmauld Place. Your family isn't exactly the kindest folk and will likely not even notice you gone for a whole summer.

Everything Fred's ever thought about you became old and he could learn everything about you all over again— properly.

"Fred, right?" That was probably the first time he's ever heard your voice. Well, the first time he's ever heard it clearly because he'd only ever hear you softly whisper questions to the teachers privately about upcoming tests. And he wouldn't lie... He liked your voice. He liked the way you said his name.

"The one and only." He jests, sticking a hand out for you to shake. You beamed up at him and proudly shake his hand. He had an eruption of butterflies all over his stomach there, but painfully ignored it.

"How come I've never met you in Hogwarts?" He questions, even though he perfectly knows why. The question colors your face into a darker hue, "Well, I just didn't really like talking to people." You shrugged.

"Not even me? I'm sure me and my brother have been quite the topic is every conversation these days." He boasts, to which you laugh at. "No.. I've just been a little busy with my own studies is all." A little busy? He's been trying to catch you at every opportunity! "Are you sure you're a Slytherin? Seems like you're an overachieving Ravenclaw to me." He teases, peering over the books you held up to your chest.

"I plan to do something big in the future." You smiled before walking off. That's definitely the most he's ever heard you say in one sitting. Has something changed you over the summer or what? Not that he doesn't like it of course.

Despite your efforts in telling the Order some truths and details, Molly wouldn't let you in on the meetings because you were too young. Like Harry, Fred and the rest of the group, they were frustrated about it!

๋࣭ ⭑

After a quidditch match between Slytherin and Gryffindor, Draco Malfoy couldn't keep it in himself to make fun of the Weasleys. He got a little too far and started insulting Molly and the aftermath of it wasn't pretty at all. Draco got beat up by George and Harry, Fred had to be restrained by his teammates, and Umbridge started being unfair again.

She took away Fred, George and Harry's brooms and positions in their quidditch team permanently. This earned a foul mood from Fred the entire week, which even got you concerned.

You finally got him to alone one day outside the Gryffindor tower when you were on your way down to the library. "Hello, Fred. Fancy a study with me at the library?" All of a sudden, his bad mood seemed to falter. But he hates the idea of studying now that he's realised his dreams, honestly— which was to open up the joke shop with George. Not to mention he was planning to cook up some more products to ruin Umbridge's day at the moment. But this was the first time you've ever invited him somewhere and he wasn't going to say no!

At the library, you sat side by side sharing a book, awfully close to each other. "I've heard you lost your broom and can't play for Gryffindor anymore. I'm sorry about that." You whispered, not looking up from the book. "Sorry for what? It just gives me more reason to need to ruin Umbridge's life." He grinned, completely forgetting about the book in front of him.

"I saw you earlier, you looked like you were throwing daggers behind Malfoy's head—" You were about to say but was cut off by his words. "Let's not talk about that right now. I want to know more about you." He says suddenly, earning an eyebrow raise from you.

"What do you want to know?" You eyed him carefully, earning a nervous feeling from him. "I just wanna know what my favourite Slytherin is up to these days." He shrugged casually. "I've been busy reading up on the syllabus lately and decided to watch your game a few days ago." You start off.

"Fred, you've got to do something about her! She's driving me mad! I could barely take enough from the other Slytherins, let alone her!" You suddenly exclaim before he could form up a response to the first thing you said. He's never heard you be so worked up over something, earning a sharp glare from Madame Pince the librarian.

"Okay, okay. I was planning to anyway. Just hold on, because me and George are gonna give her hell." He whispers to you, earning a lovely smile on your face which he wants permanently etched onto his mind. "Promise me that. I don't want to see Ron get his broom taken away either." You held up your pinky to him.

Ignoring the temperature rising in his face, he hooks his pinky around yours. "I'll do it for your sake so you don't end up in Azkaban for something worse." He jokes so you wouldn't notice how giddy that childish pinky promise got to him.

๋࣭ ⭑

Weeks go by and the school was taken over by Umbridge. Pansy Parkinson and Draco Malfoy were giving you a hard time everyday for some reason. One day, you spoke out of turn with Pansy when she started probing you on why you never talk to anyone, earning a hard slap on the face.

Then, came the blood out your nose. No amount of tissues could help you out then. As onlookers go by, Fred was walking around with George when he notices your never ending nose bleed. He ushers George away before you could look up at them, earning a smug look from the other twin.

"What happened? You alright there?" He immediately sits by you, patting your back. "Pansy." You grunted, keeping the tissues over your nose. "That slithering...!" He was about to stand up but you pulled him down.

"Shut up and help me. I know you can fix this, that's why you're here, right?" You glared at him, your innocent and shy facade seemed to be replaced by a true Slytherin at the moment.

"Oh. Right." He quickly pulls out a purple coloured sweet from his pockets and hands it over to you. A few seconds went by and the iron taste in your tongue and blood were finally fading. "Perhaps I didn't take care of myself properly these days to be bleeding this much over a slap..." You muttered, fidgeting the wrapper and tissues in your fingers.

"Maybe you should put down the books for a change. I know our exams are coming up but you could use a little relaxation." He smoothly slides his arm over your shoulder, inching closer to you. "Your product really worked! You must be really clever to be able to pull this off. Is this what your mum gets so worked up about at Grimmauld?" You exclaim, examining the wrapper closely.

Perhaps the praises he was getting from you was making his stomach do flips. He was up close and personal with you now, to tell you something over the noise of the students walking by.

"Well... Okay, I'll let you in on a little secret. I—" He was cut off by a magical force that pulled you and Fred apart. "Remember the rules, children!" Umbridge tuts with her wand out, and walks past you both with her loud heels echoing in the hallway.

That interaction certainly made you both blush a dark hue, even though you weren't about to do anything... Were you? "I'll be seeing you then. Thank you for... This." You stood up to clear the tension, waving the wrapper to show what you meant. "Oh, yeah. Don't worry about it." He plays it off as you walked away.

He sighs and brushes his hair and mentally curses that god awful Umbridge. Why did she have to come by just then?

๋࣭ ⭑

Fred and George just played the craziest prank on Umbridge. They disrupted the O.W.Ls with their charmed fireworks- beautiful fireworks. They have always said they wanted to do something outside of their academics, so they wouldn't really care if they were expelled.

Their act of bravery became legend, they were now even conversation expressions. Students were now pulling pranks on Umbridge as well and saying "I'm about to pull a Weasley!" It was really funny. But you never got to see the twins after that because you were still stuck in school with your nose in books, dreadfully waiting for the next holiday break to see them.

The most dreadful day for the Order came. Sirius Black passed away from the hands of Bellatrix Lestrange. And the announcement of Voldemort returning for good was grim. Everyone was dreadful and sad for weeks.

However, the opening of the Weasley's Wizard Wheezes brought smiles upon faces and yours too. You've finally got the chance to meet your favourite Weasley twin.

"Thought I'd never see you come by, L/n." Fred says, puffing out his chest to show off his new outfit. "Fred, this store is amazing! And you're looking dapper." You gasp, looking him up and down.

"Oh, you make me blush." He plays it off. "Can we have a chat? I think George can handle himself for a little bit, no?" You tugged on his sleeve, slowly pulling him towards the entrance. "You mean I can get away from him? Don't mind If I do." He laughs, looking at George for a moment before following you outside.

The outside of the store was depressing. Not many shops were open and the mood was different compared to the inside. Ever since the attacks from the death eaters and Voldemort, everyone's been too scared to be outside.

You hugged Fred tightly the moment you got him out. "I missed you. Why couldn't you wait to get expelled till it was our exams?" You whined, swaying him back and forth.

"If I knew you'd miss me this much, I wouldn't have done it." He pats your back, dropping his head onto yours. "I loved those fireworks you did, it was brilliant! Smart! And your store... I can't believe you're really making it out there." You gush, looking at the store.

"Yeah, well... Me and George just thought people needed a laugh these days." He shrugs it off like as if his insides aren't fluttering right now. Has the weeks that had gone by while he was gone made you even more gorgeous?

"I think you're amazing with what you do, Fred." You lowered your voice. Was it just him, or was the street getting really quiet, too? The proximity between the two of you was getting closer. "I just did what I thought was right." He pretends to not notice the warmth from your body being so close to him.

"I'm sorry but would you mind if we... Kissed?" He quickly says, clearly frustrated by how painful the tension was. "Not at all." You replied, your face just inches from his. And the gap closed.

You were kissing... You and Fred were kissing! You couldn't believe it yourself. You reckon it was the quiet street driving you mad to start kissing this troublemaker. Your left hand were clenching his hair, the other on his cheek. His was on either side of face, like as if you'll run away if he lets go. The kiss was so soft and sweet, he wanted more. But you had to let go when George called out for Fred to come back.

"I'm not done with you, yeah? I know you've graduated, so you can certainly come back here anytime. So.... Come back here, soon?" He looks at your eyes with so much love. "Why are you talking to me like I'm not already dating you?Of course I will." You joked, beaming up at him before slowly letting go of him.

For the rest of the day, Fred was buzzing with excitement and excitedly promoted products to his customers with even more enthusiasm. George thought he's lost his mind.

© This is my works please don't steal or copy.

Like and reblog to help a girl out!

[a-little-revolution]

oh shit i’m aware! :0 happy October!

what sort of society wide structural accommodations would you like to see in place to help/make more accessible for little people?

Aaaaah this ask is so old now I'm so sorry!! (Things can get lost among all the hate messages lol) But gosh so many things!!

• The first is step stools EVERYWHERE!!! Public access to step stools would solve most of the problems little people face with access. I'm talking bathrooms, service desks, cash registers, libraries, clothing stores - the list goes on! They could fold away for easy access, or blend in as universal design.

There's even these amazing fold up ones I've seen that get automatically tucked away to prevent tripping hazards:

The second is for grab bars such as these (see bellow) for easier toilet access to be more widespread. It's important that toilets remain the height parallel with the average wheelchair, but grab bars can make it much easier for shorter people to hoist.

Public bathroom/change room stalls that go close to/all the way to the floor! As a little person, the average stall door ends at my waist (sometimes higher) so I am not guaranteed privacy. I much prefer stalls with minimal viewing access. And as a trans person, stalls that are more private create added safety.

I would love for extended grabbing handles to be standard practice in vehicles!

These would make getting in and out of cars much easier for a little person, not to mention elderly folks, children, and other disabled people. Extra foldable steps in cars is also something I've seen and loved.

Adjustable foot hammocks on public desks and tables would be sooo goood! A big source of leg pain for me is that my legs are dangling in every chair I sit in, which cuts off circulation and semi-dislocates my loose joints. Some sort of ledge or hammock would solve this issue.

I'm sure there are many more but this is what comes to mind for now!

-Elliot (they/them)

[ddaz3d-and-cc0nfused]

could u pls write a fic about a plus sized reader noticing Spencer doesnt look at her alot so one morning she wears lingerie and a see through robe and she teases him until he just takes her on the couch?

༉‧₊˚. 𝐬𝐞𝐥𝐟 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐫𝐨𝐥 || 𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐫 𝐫𝐞𝐢𝐝

— pairing: spencer reid x plus size!reader

— summary: listen, it wasn't that you didn't love the domestic life with spencer, but god, you just really missed being touched (and penelope has a solution).

— warnings: uhh this is almost 3k of pwp firstly, penelope being the best wingwoman to ever exist, lingerie, teasing, unprotected sex, couch sex, vaginal sex, sub!spencer reid, dom!reader, kind of switch spencer and reader at the end, riding, heavy petting, subspace if you squint, mentions of oral sex (m and f rec), the reader is lowkey a freak (and penelope instigates it), clothed sex, the reader is dressed and spencer isn't, i held myself back from including a mommy kink, but that's the best you're getting from me, a lack of foreplay (be considerate folks), consent kink, praise kink.

— wc: 2817

⋆ a/n: HEY SO i really let this get away from me in the sense of this was meant to kind of be dom!spencer but i blinked and all of a 2k was written of sub!spencer so yikes!! but i really enjoyed writing this, it's been literally forever since i've written pwp so... here ya go!! i'm trying to be more organized with uploading because i really want to clear out my drafts before starting any new projects.

masterlist | AO3

“Pen, have you ever seen those TikToks where it’s like ‘he has a whole woman in his bed yet he’s playing World of Warcraft’ or some shit like that?” You ask the phone that’s tucked under your chin.

You’re in the middle of putting up laundry, but a feeling of unrest bubbled beneath your skin.

Penelope laughs, “And let me guess, that’s how you feel right now?” 

You sigh, looking down at the shirt that refuses to turn inside out. You throw it back in the hamper with a huff before grabbing a pair of – Spencer’s – jeans.

“I just – I’m not with Spencer for just sex, you know that, but it’s been like… forever since I’ve gotten any.” You can’t even listen to yourself talk.

“We’ve been in this like… domestic bliss stage, and while I love waking up to breakfast in bed and giggly showers, I’m horny and every time he does something so normal – something that shouldn’t even be considered sexy – I have to hold myself back from jumping his bones.” 

Penelope lets out a rather unattractive chortle, but she continues. “Listen sister, while I love the Boy Genius as much as the next person, he’s kinda dense. With all those brains, he’s rather hard-headed when it comes to romance.”

“I know, I know, and those are one of the reasons why I love him! The denseness is cute, but I’m starting to think I sabotaged myself.” You look down longingly at the MIT t-shirt. Spencer was away at the office right now, so that means whatever conversation you were having with the colorful woman on the other end was completely inappropriate.

“You know what I think?” She starts. “Oh God.” You sigh fondly. “Oh, hush! Don’t even act like my ideas aren’t good! Anyway… If there’s one thing I’ve learned from being quite the seductress myself, is that at the end of the day a man is a man, and they can be reduced down to their most primal instincts.”

“What are you saying?” You inquire curiously with furrowed eyebrows. “I’m saying that you gotta work with what ya mama gave ya! Men are dumb, they see a tit or a nice ass and they lose all cognitive function. So what I’m saying is to put on some lingerie and act like a little minx! Guys love it when you tease them and act like you don’t know what you’re doing! It’s about the chase, my fellow curvaceous protege.”

“So you’re saying to… seduce him?”  

“That’s exactly what I’m saying – Oh! Good morning sir! Yes, sorry, I’ll call you back when I’ve got the answer to what you need… yes okay bye-bye!” And with that, you’re left listening to the silence. 

You laugh, shaking your head in exasperation before taking a seat on the bed.

Seduce him, huh? The notion almost seems ridiculous, but it really isn’t that far fetched. You’ve had sex with Spencer before, you know how his brain works, what gets him needy and what parts of you turn him on. Maybe it’s not such a bad idea.

You don’t really own any lingerie, because for one, the material that’s supposedly the back of your underwear gets swallowed by your ass, and two, Spencer’s never complained about your granny panties. But hey, it doesn’t hurt to look right?

Okay, seduce Spencer Reid is a go.

Taking one last scrutinizing look in the bathroom mirror, you leave quietly, walking into the kitchen and pouring yourself a glass of coffee. Liquid courage as they say.

The light pink sheer robe hangs off of your ample form, the fuzz on the edge of your sleeves getting in your way and irritating you. God, if this doesn’t work, a woman by the name of Penelope Garcia is going to find herself six feet underground.

Spencer sat on the couch slipping his feet into a pair of mismatched socks – you’ve stopped trying to organize them a while ago – tucking them into his converse. He’s off today, probably having plans with the bookstore and the park before offering to make the both of you dinner. It’s endearing to say the least, but food is not something you're hungry for.

“So, what’s on the agenda for today?” You ask before taking a sip of your coffee. He hasn’t looked up, but you’re facing him now, your scantily clad body exposed by the thin satin of your white bra and underwear. A devil in disguise (you hope).

“Hmm, I was thinking about playing chess in the park for an hour or two before going to the bookstore. A new novel about quantum physics just came out, and even though it’ll probably be about stuff I already know, I’m always willing to look at it from a different perspec…” Spencer finally looked up, his sentence slurring a bit. “...tive.”

“Ah! That sounds exciting! I’ll text you what I want for dinner later if that’s okay? Or would you rather I go shopping with you?”

He blinks, his mouth hanging open intelligently, as though he’s still trying to process exactly what he’s seeing. “Yes. I mean no - I mean… I… what are you wearing?”

You spare a lazy look down, as though you had forgotten you even had the thing on.

“Oh this? It’s just really hot in the apartment today. So make sure you bring some sunscreen and a fan, yeah? Don’t want you getting a sunburn or having a heat stroke.”

“I - I’ve never seen that set before, is it new?” He stammers. You click your tongue as if you genuinely had to date the outfit back, when in reality the tags to the set itself sits pretty in the bathroom trash can. “I have no idea honestly, it looked comfortable though, so I just slipped it on. You don’t mind, right?”

“I… no. I don’t.”

You beam at him, “Perfect. Oh! Let me make you some coffee before you go, I know how hard it is for you to start your day without it.” 

You turn back around, and you could hear Spencer fruitlessly swallow a gasp. The back of your underwear might as well have been a piece of string, because your ass cheeks were basically eating the material. It was uncomfortable, but oh well, beauty is pain.

You smirk in victory, pulling out a medium sized thermos and pouring the rest of the liquid in it.

You didn’t hear him move, let alone walk behind you, but two large hands placed themselves respectively on your hips, the man tucking his face in the side of your neck. You shiver at the hot blow of air that escapes through his nose, and his grip on your skin turns a little tighter.

“What are you doing?” The question is mumbled, but you don’t miss it. “What does it look like? I’m making you coffee, silly.” He huffs. “No. I mean what are you doing to me?”

He presses forward, pushing his half hard cock between your cheeks. It was your turn to gasp, and you couldn’t help but put down the pot of coffee, pushing the now full thermos away to avoid any future hazards. 

You hold on to the edge of the counter, tilting your head further to the side to give the needy man more access. He takes the hint, peppering sweet, heated kisses on the sensitive skin of your throat. You shiver once more, sighing out a smile.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” You know lying is useless, especially with the way your voice sounded so breathless. “You know you’re a terrible liar.” It was a playful dig, and his palms had begun to move, pushing on your full stomach to put more of your weight on him.

“Hm, but you don’t know every single thing I have in the closet, now do you?” You remark, yelping when he nipped at your earlobe. “Ah, but that’s where you’re wrong and you know it.” You do. “Do I?”

“This is terrible foreplay.” He jokes and you giggle. “I’d say I’m doing a pretty good job, don’t you think?” You push your hips back and add a bit of friction onto his cock. He groans and you feel your pussy pulse.

“You always do a good job.” Spencer murmurs.

You’re turned around so you can face him, and you wish you could take a picture to savor the look on his face. He’s beet red, cheeks and ears flushed a beautiful hue that leaves a twinge of pride pooling in your stomach.

He cups your face, drawing you in for a long awaited kiss. 

You sigh into him, hands twisting at the sleeves of his cardigan to pull him closer. He lets you in exchange of pushing you against the counter until your lower back is digging uncomfortably into the marble.

“Where do you wanna go?” He finally breathes. You stare at him as if you were in a daze before processing his question with a blink. “Couch?” You ask. “Whatever you want.” He says before joining your lips together once more.

He walks the both of you backwards slowly, and he takes advantage of when your mouth parts in a moan as he flicks his tongue against the top of your lip. He tastes like toothpaste and you might be a little crazy to think that it makes him way sexier than it should.

Your eyes flutter open and you push him away with hands on his chest gently.

“Do you trust me?” You gasp.

“Of course.”

“Good.” You say with a smirk.

You make sure he’s close enough to the edge of the couch when you push him on it, quickly clambering onto his lap and settling your hands on his shoulders; his fall naturally to your waist and you grin.

“Hi.” You whisper quietly. “Hey.” He responds back just as hushed. “You can grab my ass, you know.” You tease and his eyes widen just slightly. “I…” You guide his palms to hold the meat of your ass and he grips.

“God.” It tumbles from his lips in a whimper and you fucking melt. 

“Sorry I’ve been such a tease today, Spencie.” You say sweetly with a fake pout. “I just needed you so bad and you’ve been so, so sweet to me, my sweet boy. I didn’t want to ruin it by asking you to fuck me stupid.”

“You wouldn’t have ruined it.” He corrects with a whine. You had begun to grind down on him and he gripped you tightly, helping you rut against him. “No?” You question. He shakes his head quickly, his hair bouncing along with the swings.

“No. ‘Would’ve done anything you asked.”

“Yeah?”

“Mhm.”

“So, if I asked you to let me suck your dick until I’ve sucked the soul out of you, would you have let me? How about if I asked you to eat my pussy for breakfast, huh? Would you have done it?”

“Yes, yes, God yes! I want to… I wanna do all those things so badly.” He groans, all but pawing at you now. 

“I bet you do,” You coo. “I guess I haven’t been the only one pent up. But that’s okay, because I’ve got you, yeah?”

“Yeah.” 

You smile, leaning in to give him a kiss before traveling downwards to his belt and wrangling it open. You popped open the buttons of his jeans, sliding back so you can tug them down his legs. 

“Up.” You command softly and he obliges. 

You’re faced with his hardened cock bulging from under his black underwear.

“Oh… is this for me?” You know you’re being mean when you drag your fingertips over the spot where precum has begun to pool, only putting slight pressure on it just to hear that sweet sound of his breath hitching.

“Yes – it’s all for you.” Spencer whines and throws his head back against the couch. “All for me? My goodness…” You trail off as you drag his underwear down his thighs. His cock springs up and bobbles against his clothed stomach.

“Can I –” He licks his lips, “Can I take my shirt off?”

“Of course, my love.” You were just about to ask him anyway.

As he rids himself of his top you get up for a split second to take his pants and underwear off fully. As you go to undress yourself, he stops you.

“W— wait… keep it on please.” 

“Oh? You wanna be nasty and pull my panties to the side, huh? Dirty dirty boy.” You tisk, but in reality you feel like you’re about to explode. “Is that okay?” You smile at his question. “More than okay.”

You climb back on top of him, doing exactly what you said and pulling the white satin to the side before gripping his dick, lining it up to your entrance. He holds you steady looking up at you with those big brown puppy dog eyes as you sink down.

The stretch stings because of the lack of foreplay, but you can’t find it within yourself to care as the pain shoots up your lower back and is already fraying at your pleasure filled nerves. 

“So… so good. God.” Spencer chokes. 

Your lips are rolled between your teeth, eyebrows furrowed in concentration. You heave out a breath when he sinks down to the hilt, and he just rubs soothing circles on your hips. The feeling helps to guide you as you loosen up, and when you do, you give him an experimental clench.

He groans of course and you smirk lazily.

“‘Gonna ride you now, ‘kay?” You murmur as you lift your hips up before slamming down. Spencer practically shouts when he re-enters you. “Fuck, fuck, fuck…” He’s a whimpering, cursing mess. “That feels good, baby?” You ask as you bounce. Spencer nods and fondness twists in your chest.

“You’re so tight. I think ‘m gonna pass out.” He says dramatically. You laugh, grabbing his hands and slipping them under your bra so they can cover your breasts. “Well, don’t pass out until we’ve cum, alright?”

He gives your breasts a reassuring squeeze. “Of course.” He huffs and you giggle again. The giggles die out though when you shift and his tip prods just right.

“Oh shit.” You curse but remain in the same place.

You ride him in abandon, the sound of skin meeting skin radiating out into the early morning air of the apartment. The sound is nasty and wet and it causes your head to swim. The buzz of mind numbing pleasure swims around in your gut, and you can almost grasp it.

“Spence I – I need more, can you…?” You moan out, your head tilting back. “Yeah, yeah, I got you, sweetheart.”

One hand leaves to rub furiously at your clit and your hips cant forward, sending you landing on his naked, sweat slicked chest. Your thighs burn and you rest for a moment, but Spencer doesn’t seem to match the same sentiment, because the other hand holds you by your hip in a grip that’s almost bruising. 

The fat is spilling through his fingers but he uses it as leverage as he now fucks up into you. You squeal, throwing your arms around his neck and tucking his face into yours. You mark him mindlessly, body trembling as you near your orgasm.

You can feel him twitch inside of you when he sets a pace, bringing you up and down in a way that indicates he’s nearing an end of his own.

“Together, okay?” You cry out, “‘Wanna cum together.”

“Okay, honey, okay.” 

He sets his feet on the floor and rubs harder at your sensitive bud, and the arousal that implodes inside of you is so blinding that you white out for a minute. Every one of your senses are overwhelmed, and you can hear him mewling into your ear before warmth paints your womb.

It’s silent in the apartment for a moment before you speak.

“I have to tell you a secret.” You whisper mindlessly, laying your cheek on a bony shoulder. “And what’s that?” He runs his fingers up and down your spine.

“This set is new.”

“I know honey, I saw the charge on my card.”

“What?!” You exclaim, pulling away from his body to search his hazy eyes with your wide ones.

“You forget I can see the bank statements.” Spencer says with a smile. “No, no. I – I didn’t mean to use your card.”

“You didn’t have to… I may have uh… may have slipped one into your wallet when you weren’t looking.” He admits sheepishly. You stare at a moment and then smile incredulously. “Did you… secretly sugar daddy me?”

“Oh God, please don’t call it that.” He says with a groan, leaning forward to bury his face in your chest.

“Yeah, yeah. Whatever sugar daddy.” You tease, running your fingers through his sweaty locks.

ೃ⁀➷ my lovely taglist!: @alina02 @louderfortheback @minervadashwood @their-love @fandomsarelifee @theendofthe70s @nomajdetective @mgg-theprettiestboy @phoenixblack89 @celtic-crossbow @hallecarey1 @bunnybabe-babydoll @dixonzzgirl @violettavirus @khxna

[frownyalfred]

Hi. I'm not a canon purist and enjoy some fanon content very much, but I do think people in the fandom should at least familiarize themselves with the canon content and source material. It's easier to break the "rules" so to speak and experiment with canon when you know what that actually is. I've noticed a lot of fans that are only familiar with fanon criticise content that doesn't line up with what they believe to be canon but isn't. The Red Hood for example. I've seen writers who portray him as the violent criminal he is in much of the canon be completely decimated by Jason fans who only know fanon and the retconned version of Red Hood and completely deny canon even exists and refuse to even glance at the comics. Transformative works are important and playing in the sandbox is for everyone but fandom literally cannot exist without canon. Canon is important and people can do whatever they want with it but they should respect it enough to at least look at it.

Hi anon, I'm going to hold your hand as I say this, and I will say it as gently as I can: This is still a form of canon purism.

We can absolutely agree that readers shouldn't berate or abuse writers for how they choose to portray characters in fic, whether that's a more canon-faithful characterization or a popular fanon version. If readers don't like how a character is portrayed, we should encourage them to hit the back button instead.

I want to draw your attention to some of the words you used in your ask above: "should" "respect" "decimated" etc. Those are some strong words to describe how you think people need to behave, in order to exist in fandom. Of course, there is no fandom without canon source material -- I'm not denying that. But with such a wide and varied canon, the DC fandom has examples of the Red Hood you mention above, AND the "retconned" version you also reference. Both are canon, as in actually, officially, canon. WFA is canon, and that Red Hood looks very different from the Red Hood you describe.

Now, I think your issue is that you enjoy a certain version of canon, and you're frustrated that the fandom doesn't also, as trends ebb and flow, enjoy that canon as much as you do. Again, I want to acknowledge that just because a certain version is popular, it doesn't give folks the right to berate authors for writing a different version. But again, I don't think that's what we're really talking about here. From your ask's tone, I think you're suggesting that people should, in order to participate in fandom, read that older canon, that different version, or as you say, "glance at it" before enjoying or writing the fanon version.

Guess what? They actually, really, really, don't have to. It sounds like you have some issues with judging your fellow fandom members who don't read what you do or reference certain canon. But the magic of this fandom is, you can enter it at any point. We're a big pool, and if someone's entry point is the Lego Batman movie and that's it, that's still valid.

Fandom stems from canon, yes, but I almost never hear people talk about movies, or web comics, or other media when they talk about "required reading." It's always a comic. I really wish people would reflect on that before suggesting it as the one true path to being a fan.

The other thing I don't see asks like these reference ever is the reality that sometimes a fandom outstrips its canon material, and that that's an eventuality in some spaces. Fanon interpretations become popular, and people write about those specific characterizations or scenarios. They ebb and flow, like I mentioned, and some are more canon-faithful than others. Some completely reject canon, and again -- it's still fandom. It doesn't make it better or worse than a more canon-faithful fic. It's just different.

I had a couple asks about this topic a few weeks ago, and I'm assuming you haven't read those or you likely wouldn't have sent me this ask. But in them, I discuss how sometimes we need to suck it up and be unhappy that canon-faithful fics aren't as popular in a fandom at a specific time, and stop punishing fellow fans for writing and enjoying those fics. And we really need to stop shitting on them publicly on Tumblr.

Because often, what you're really saying is that you wish more people would write more canon-faithful fics, and stop writing ones about fanon topics you don't enjoy or think are accurate. And to that, I again say, there is nothing you can or should do to change that behavior from others. If you want to read it, write it, enjoy it, etc, do it yourself. Build the comic-faithful community here, write fics and promote challenges, create a discord channel and discuss your "required reading" there.

We are all writing and reading fanfiction at the end of the day. It is a great equalizer in many ways. My silly Lego Batman fic is just as valid as a canon-faithful rewrite of a certain Batman issue. One is not better than the other, or more deserving of respect. You will never get me to admit otherwise on this blog.

tl;dr: people should absolutely not berate authors who choose to write canon-faithful characterizations. however, there are layers of judgement and disdain many DC comics canon-faithful authors/readers have for their fellow fans that I think we need to examine critically in order to coexist respectfully.

[rootedinrevisions]

Texas Orange

SUMMARY: Heavily based on the song "Tennesse Orange" by Megan Moroney. You're in the early stages of your relationship with Glen and he takes you to a Texas football game with him.

**This was my first time writing about Glen himself and not one of his characters. I really loved the idea and the song that inspired this fic, however think I may stick to writing his characters instead of him as a person in the future. **

WARNINGS: None

WORD COUNT: 5.4k

The Texas sun hangs low in the sky, casting a warm, golden light over the landscape as you and Glen drive through the winding roads of Austin. The truck hums steadily beneath you, the air conditioning a welcome relief from the sweltering heat outside.

You glance over at Glen, dressed in a black t-shirt with the orange Texas Longhorns symbol emblazoned on the chest, and a white Longhorns baseball cap turned backward on his head. His sunglasses shield his eyes from the bright light, and with one hand on the wheel, he holds your hand gently in the other. You glance over at him, and the corners of his mouth lift into a smile when he catches you looking at him.

"This is amazing," you say, taking in the sprawling hills and the way the cityscape rises in the distance. "I can't believe I've never been here before."

Glen chuckles, his voice low and smooth, the kind of sound that makes you feel instantly at ease. "I still can't believe that. Austin's pretty great. But, I mean, you grew up on the coast, right? Plenty of beauty there too."

You nod, your mind flashing back to memories of ocean breezes and sandy beaches, a world away from the vast, open skies of Texas. "Yeah, but it's different. I've never seen anything quite like this."

He grins, squeezing your hand gently. "You're gonna love it here. Plus, this is only the start. Wait till you see the stadium-it's a whole other world."

You laugh, feeling a mix of excitement and nerves bubble up inside you. "Speaking of the stadium, I've got to admit something. I've never actually been to a football game before. My family wasn't really into sports growing up."

Glen's eyebrows shoot up in surprise, but he quickly recovers with a teasing grin. "You've never been to a game? Well, that changes today. Texas football is like a religion around here. It's something you just have to experience.

"Hopefully I'll fit in okay," you say, half-joking. The thought of stepping into the massive stadium, surrounded by thousands of passionate fans, is both thrilling and a little daunting.

He chuckles, his voice warm with affection. "Don't worry, I'll be right there with you. We'll ease you into it. Plus, my folks are going to be so excited to meet you they're gonna forget about the game, at least for a minute."

The mention of his family makes your stomach flip. This is a big step, meeting his family, even if you've both been keeping things casual. There's a part of you that wonders if this trip is more than just a casual one for Glen.

"What are they like? Your family, I mean," you ask, trying to keep your tone light.

Glen's expression softens, a fond smile playing on his lips. "They're great. They'll love you, I promise. My mom might be a little overwhelming at first, but that's just because she cares so much. And my dad, well he's the quiet type, but once you get him talking about anything Texas-related, you won't be able to get him to stop."

You smile at the thought, feeling a bit more at ease. "They sound like a good bunch."

"They are," Glen says, his voice sincere. "And they're going to love you. How could they not?"

His words bring warmth to your chest, and you squeeze his hand in return. "I hope so."

As the two of you continue to drive further into Austin, Glen gives you a mini tour. He points out a few landmarks - his favorite taco place, the park where he used to hang out with friends, and a music venue where he once saw an incredible show. You listen, soaking in every detail, feeling a sense of connection to this place that Glen clearly loves so much.

"Here we are," Glen says as he pulls into a parking spot near the stadium. The massive structure looms ahead, a sea of burnt orange and white, alive with energy even from a distance.

You take a deep breath, a mixture of anticipation and nerves swirling inside you. "This is it, huh?"

"This is it," Glen confirms, turning to you with a smile that melts away any lingering doubts. "Ready?"

"As I'll ever be," you say, smiling back at him.

As you step out of Glen's truck, you notice that nearly everyone around you is decked out in burnt orange and white. Texas Longhorns hats, jerseys, and t-shirts, all show their pride. The sea of matching colors makes you acutely aware that you're the only one not wearing any team gear.

Glen steps around the truck to join you, noticing the way your eyes scan the crowd. He gives you a playful nudge with his elbow. "Feeling a little out of place?"

You laugh, shrugging slightly. "Just a bit. I think I missed the memo on the dress code."

Without missing a beat, Glen reaches up to the back of his head and pulls off the white Longhorns cap he's been wearing. He turns it around in his hands before stepping closer to you. "Here, you can wear this. Can't have you being the odd one out."

Before you can respond, he's already placing the cap on your head. His fingers brush against your hair as he adjusts the fit, making sure it sits just right. You tilt your head up at him, a small smile tugging at the corners of your lips. "How do I look?"

Glen takes a step back to admire his work, a slow smile spreading across his face. "You look great in Orange. Might even say you wear it better than I do."

You roll your eyes playfully, feeling a warmth spread through you at his words. "You might be biased."

"Maybe," he says with a grin, his eyes sparkling with affection. "But I'm also right."

As you walk towards the section of the parking lot reserved for tailgating, Glen drapes an arm over your shoulders, keeping you close. "Tell you what, we'll hit up the merch stand once we're inside. Gotta get you a t-shirt to complete the look."

"You don't have to do that," you start to protest, but Glen shakes his head.

"I want to," he insists, squeezing your shoulder lightly. "Consider it part of the full Texas football experience."

You smile up at him, feeling more at ease with every step. "Alright, but only if you help me pick it out."

"Deal," Glen says, leaning down to press a quick kiss to your temple before leading you into the sea of orange and white.

The aroma of sizzling barbecue fills the air as you and Glen approach the tailgating area. Rows of trucks and RVs are lined up in the parking lot, each decked out in burnt orange. Flags bearing the Texas Longhorns logo flutter in the breeze, and the sounds of laughter, music, and clinking bottles create a festive atmosphere.

Glen leads you through the crowd with a confident stride, his hand securely holding yours. As you near a large, lively group gathered around a grill, Glen spots his family and friends.

"There they are," he says, nodding towards the group. "Ready to meet everyone?"

You take a deep breath, feeling a mix of excitement and nerves. "Ready as I'll ever be."

Glen gives your hand a reassuring squeeze as you approach the group. His mom, Cyndy, is the first to spot the two of you, and her face lights up with a welcoming smile. She's a petite woman with a warm demeanor, her eyes crinkling at the corners as she waves you over.

"There you are!" Cyndy calls out, pulling Glen into a quick hug before turning her attention to you. "And you must be the one we've been hearing so much about. I'm Cyndy, it's so nice to finally meet you!"

You return her smile, instantly feeling at ease with her friendly nature. "It's great to meet you too. Glen's told me a lot about you."

"Oh, I'm sure he has," Cyndy says with a wink before pulling you into a hug. "Welcome, sweetheart."

Next, Glen's dad, Glen Sr., steps forward with a firm handshake and a nod. He's tall and broad-shouldered, with a quiet strength about him. "Good to have you here," he says simply, but the warmth in his tone is unmistakable.

Then, Glen's sisters Lauren and Leslie, each take their turn to greet you. Lauren gives you a friendly smile. "You're braver than I would be, meeting the whole crew at once like this. They can be a handful, but you'll be fine."

Leslie nudges Glen playfully. "You didn't warn her about us, did you?"

Glen laughs, shaking his head. "I figured I'd let you all speak for yourselves."

As you exchange pleasantries, more of Glen's friends and extended family members join in, introducing themselves and welcoming you with open arms. Someone hands you a cold drink, and before you know it, you're standing around a grill piled high with burgers, sausages, and all the fixings, soaking in the pre-game atmosphere.

The conversation quickly turns to stories about Glen's past. A few of his college buddies, each with a beer in hand, are eager to share some of their favorite memories.

"Remember that time Glen tried to impress a girl by riding a mechanical bull at that honky-tonk?" One of them starts, a grin spreading across his face.

"Oh, I remember!" Another chimes in. "He was so confident, strutted right up there like he was gonna show everyone how it's done. Lasted about five seconds before he got thrown off and landed flat on his back."

The group erupts in laughter, and even Glen can't help but chuckle at the memory. "Yeah, yeah, laugh it up," he says shaking his head. "At least I gave it a shot."

Cyndy leans in closer to you, a glint in her eye. "That's nothing compared to the time he and his sister decided to 'borrow' my car when they were kids. Thought they'd take a little joyride around the neighborhood...until they crashed it into a mailbox."

"Oh no!" You gasp, unable to suppress a laugh.

Lauren grins, shaking her head at the memory. "We were grounded for months. Glen thought he was so slick, but he didn't realize the mailbox he hit belonged to one of Dad's friends."

"Yep," Glen Sr adds with a rare smile, "and that's how they learned not to mess with my car."

The easy banter and lighthearted stories quickly dissolve any lingering nerves you have. Glen's family and friends are down-to-earth, welcoming you into their inner circle as if you've always been a part of it. The more they share, the more you see the depth of their bond and the way they care for each other.

As you take another bite of your burger, you look over at Glen, who's been watching you with a soft smile. "You doing okay?" he asks quietly, leaning in so only you can hear.

You nod, feeling completely at ease now. "Yeah, I'm doing great. Your family's wonderful."

His smile widens as he places a hand gently on your back. "I'm glad you think so. They're a little crazy, but they're mine."

"And now I guess I'm part of them too," you say with a playful grin.

Glen's eyes light up at your words, and he leans in to press a quick, affectionate kiss to your lips. "Yeah, I guess you are."

Just then, one of Glen's friends raises his drink and shouts "Hook 'em, Horns!" The entire group responds in unison, raising their hands in the iconic "Hook 'em Horns" gesture, with pinkies and index figures extended with the thumb tucked grasping the second and third fingers.

You try to mimic the gesture, but you don't quite cooperate. Glen catches your struggle and chuckles softly. "Here, let me help," he says, gently taking your hand in his.

With his warm fingers guiding yours, Glen carefully adjusts your hand, making sure your pinky and index fingers are extended and your thumb tucks the other fingers. His touch is gentle and precise, and you can't help but feel a little flutter in your chest as he concentrates on getting it just right.

"How's that?" you ask, looking up at him with a smile.

He gives your hand a final tweak before stepping back to admire his work. "Perfect," he says, his voice soft and affectionate. "Now you're officially part of the team."

You laugh, feeling a rush of warmth at his words. "Guess I really am one of you now."

The group continues to laugh and share stories as the sun begins to dip lower in the sky, casting a warm glow over the gathering. The pre-game atmosphere, filled with the sounds of sizzling food, clinking bottles, and cheerful banter, is everything you imagined - and more. With Glen's arm draped comfortably around your shoulders and the "Hook 'em Horns" gesture nailed down, you feel a sense of belonging that surprises you in the best possible way.

As the tailgate winds down and the anticipation for the game grows, Glen wraps his arm around your waist, guiding you through the throng of excited fans heading towards the stadium. The air is filled with the sounds of chanting, music, and the collective buzz of thousands of supporters, all eager for the big game.

"Ready for the full game day experience?" Glen asks, glancing over at you with a grin.

You nod, feeling a mixture of excitement and curiosity. "Definitely. Lead the way."

As you approach the entrance, Glen veers off towards a merchandise stand just inside the gate, keeping his promise to get you your very own Texas Longhorns shirt. The stand is awash with burnt orange and white, offering everything from t-shirts to hoodies, foam fingers, and even Longhorns-themed sunglasses.

"Okay, let's find you something," Glen says, scanning the racks of shirts. He picks out a simple, yet classic burnt orange t-shirt with the Texas Longhorns logo emblazoned across the front. Holding it up to you, he grins "How about this one?"

You take the shirt from him, feeling the soft fabric between your fingers. "It's perfect," you say, already imagining yourself fitting right in with the sea of orange in the stadium.

Glen pays for the shirt and then hands it back to you. "Go ahead and try it on. Let's see how it looks."

You pull the t-shirt over your white tank top, the bright orange contrasting perfectly with your outfit. As you smooth the fabric down, Glen steps back to admire the look.

"Hold on," he says, reaching for the white Texas Longhorns baseball cap he had been wearing earlier. With a playful grin, he gently places it back on your head, adjusting the brim so it sits just right. His fingers linger for a moment, tucking a stray strand of hair behind your ear.

You look up at him, a smile playing on your lips. "How do I look?"

Glen's gaze softens as he takes you in, a warm smile spreading across his face. "You look great," he says, his voice filled with genuine affection. "I think orange might be your color."

You laugh softly, feeling a blush creep up your cheeks. "Guess I'm officially part of the team now."

"Absolutely," Glen replies, leaning in to brush a quick kiss against your forehead. "Now, let's get to our seats."

With his arm comfortably draped around your shoulders, Glen guides you through the bustling concourse and up towards the exclusive box seats he reserved for you, his family, and close friends. As you walk, you can't help but notice a few heads turning, whispers following in your wake. It's clear that Glen's presence isn't going unnoticed.

But Glen seems unfazed by the attention, focused entirely on making sure you're comfortable and enjoying yourself. "Don't worry," he says, sensing your unease as you pass by a group of fans who seem to be debating whether or not to approach. "The suite will give us a bit of privacy. It's just us and the people we want to be with."

You give him a grateful smile, relieved at the thought of a more private space. "That sounds perfect."

When you reach the suite, a staff member opens the door, revealing a spacious, comfortable area with large windows offering an unobstructed view of the field. The room is decked out with cozy seating, a fully stocked fridge, and even a table spread with game day snacks.

Glen's family is already there, mingling and settling in, and they greet you warmly as you enter. You quickly realize that this box isn't just a place to watch the game - it's a space where you can relax, enjoy the company, and soak in the experience without any interruptions.

Glen guides you to a seat near the window, right next to him. As you take in the view of the field below, and the energy of the crowd that's starting to pile into the stadium, you feel a sense of excitement bubbling up.

"So, what do you think?" Glen asks, settling in beside you, his hand casually resting on your knee.

You turn to him, your smile reflecting the excitement you feel. "It's incredible."

Glen grins, clearly pleased. "I'm glad you're here," he says giving your knee a gentle squeeze. "Now, get ready for some real Texas football."

Suddenly, the lights dim, and the giant screen at the far end of the stadium flickers to life. The Texas Longhorns logo appears, and the crowd erupts into cheers. You glance over at Glen, who is grinning ear to ear, clearly caught up in the excitement.

"Here they come," he says, nodding towards the tunnel at the edge of the field.

The sound of drums fills the air as the Texas Longhorns marching band begins playing. The brass instruments gleam under the stadium lights and the rhythm of the drums pulses through the stands, making your heart beat a little faster.

As the band starts playing the school fight song, the crowd rises to their feet, the familiar tune echoing throughout the stadium. Glen stands up, pulling you to your feet with him. The sight is breathtaking - the sea of burnt orange, the flags waving proudly, and the booming voices of thousands of fans all joining together in the song.

Glen leans in close, his voice just above a whisper in your ear. "You've got to sing along, it's tradition."

You smile nervously, not sure what the words are, but Glen's enthusiasm is contagious. As the band reaches the chorus, Glen starts singing, his voice blending with the roar of the crowd. "Texas Fight! Texas Fight! And it's goodbye to A&M..."

You start to hum along to the words, your soft voice, almost drowned out by the thousands of others. But Glen's infection energy pulls you in. His eyes spark with excitement. "Louder!" he urges, his grin widening.

You laugh, feeling the last of your hesitation melt away as you throw yourself into the chant, clapping along with the beat and shouting the words with enthusiasm. Glen's pride is evident, and he can't hide his delight at seeing you get into the spirit of the game.

As the team bursts onto the field, the stadium erupts into a thunderous roar. The players, clad in their iconic burnt orange and white uniforms, charge out of the tunnel, the sight of them stirring a fresh wave of excitement into the crowd. The band crescendos into the final notes of the fight song, and the noise level reaches a fever pitch.

Glen wraps an arm around your shoulders, pulling you close as the team lines up on the field. "What do you think?" he asks, his voice barely audible over the noise.

You look up at him, your heart racing with the excitement of the moment. "It's amazing," you reply, your smile wide and genuine. "I can see why you love this so much."

As the players take their positions on the field, the atmosphere in the stadium becomes electric. The roar of the crowd swells, and you can feel the anticipation vibrating through the stands. You're fully immersed in the excitement, your earlier nerves replaced with growing enthusiasm as Glen points out different players and explains the significance of the game.

Just as you start to relax, the opening kickoff is moments away. You're leaning forward in your seat, eyes glued to the field when suddenly - BOOM!

The deafening sound of Smokey the Cannon firing catches you completely off guard. You jump in your seat, your heart racing as the shock of the blast reverberates through your chest.

Glen, noticing your startled reaction, can't help but chuckle. "Sorry, I should've warned you about that," he says, wrapping his arms around you in a comforting embrace. His laugh is warm and affectionate, and he pulls you close, resting his chin on your shoulder. "That's Smokey the Cannon. It fires off at every kickoff. Just part of the tradition."

You lean into his embrace, your initial fright quickly fading as you feel the steady rhythm of his heartbeat against your back. "I think I just aged a few years," you say with a laugh, trying to shake off the lingering adrenaline. "I wasn't expecting that at all."

Glen's grip tightens slightly, his way of reassuring you. "It's loud, but you'll get used to it," he says, his voice gentle and comforting in your ear. "Trust me, by the end of the game, you'll be waiting for it."

You turn your head to catch his eye, feeling a smile tug at the corners of your mouth. "I'll take your word for it," you reply, your nerves settling as you take comfort in his closeness.

The game kicks off, and the action on the field immediately draws you back in. As the players clash, the crowd erupts into cheers and groans, their energy contagious. Glen keeps you close, his arm draped over your shoulders, and you find yourself getting more and more caught up in the excitement of it all.

Throughout the game, Glen is right there, guiding you through the experience. He explains the rules as plays unfold, pointing out the strategy behind each move. "See how the quarterback is scanning the field?" he says at one point. "He's looking for an open receiver, someone who can catch the ball and make a run for it."

You nod, trying to absorb the information. "It's a lot more complicated than I thought," you admit, appreciating his patience.

Glen grins, his eyes twinkling with enthusiasm. "That's what makes it fun," he says. "Once you start to understand the strategy, it's like watching a chess match...only with a lot more action."

As the game progresses, you find yourself cheering along with the crowd, your earlier nerves completely forgotten. Glen's explanations help you feel more connected to the game, and his excitement is infectious. Each time something exciting happens on the field - a touchdown, a particularly good tackle - he turns to you with a grin, eager to share the moment.

"Did you see that?" he asks after a particularly impressive play, his eyes alight with excitement. "That's what they call a 'Hail Mary' - a long pass to try and score a touchdown when time's running out."

You nod, caught up in the moment. "I think I'm starting to get the hang of this," you say, feeling a sense of pride as you follow the flow of the game.

Glen leans in, his voice low and full of affection. "You're doing great," he says, his hand finding yours and giving it a gentle squeeze. "I'm glad you're here with me."

You smile up at him, the warmth of his words making your heart flutter. "Me too," you reply, feeling more at home in the stadium with each passing moment.

As the game continues, the two of you settle into a comfortable rhythm - Glen explaining plays, you cheering along with the crowd, and both of you enjoying the shared experience. It's a day filled with excitement, but also with moments of quiet connection, each one deepening the bond between you.

And by the time Smokey the Cannon fires off again, you barely flinch - too caught up in the thrill of the game and the warmth of Glen's presence beside you.

The final whistle blows and the stadium erupts in a sea of burnt orange and white. Texas has won, and the energy in the air is electric. Fans are cheering, hugging, and celebrating as the Longhorns players wave to the crowd before making their way off the field. You can't help but get caught up in the excitement, clapping along as the band strikes up the fight song one last time.

As the crowd begins to thin out, Glen helps you gather your things, and the two of you make your way out of the suite. The halls of the stadium are still buzzing with excitement, fans streaming toward the exits, chatting excitedly about the game. You notice a few people casting glances your way - recognition flickering in their eyes as they realize who Glen is.

You feel a flutter of nervousness in your chest as the looks become more frequent. The idea of being recognized, of suddenly being in the spotlight, is overwhelming. But before the anxiety can take hold, Glen reaches for your hand. His grip is firm, and reassuring, and he gives you a comforting smile.

"Don't worry," he murmurs, his thumb brushing over the back of your hand. "I'm right here."

His words and his touch soothe you, and you take a deep breath, focusing on the warmth of his hand in yours rather than the curious glances around you. Together, you navigate through the crowd, Glen's presence beside you acting as an anchor, keeping you steady.

As you step out into the cool evening air, the noise of the stadium fades behind you, replaced by the more distant sounds of fans celebrating in the parking lot. The crowd is thinning out, and the atmosphere feels less intense, allowing you to finally relax.

Glen leads you to his truck, and as you approach it, he glances over at you, his expression softening. "So...your first Texas game," he says as he opens the passenger door for you. "What did you think? Did it live up to the hype?"

Your smile, climbing into the truck and settling into the seat. "It really did," you reply, your tone reflecting the surprise in your voice. "I didn't think I'd get so caught up in it, but I did. The energy, the crowd, the way everyone was so passionate...it was contagious."

Glen closes the door and walks around to the driver's side, sliding into the seat beside you. He doesn't start the truck right away, instead turning slightly to face you, his gaze soft and warm.

"I'm really glad you came," he says, his voice sincere. "It means a lot to me to share this with you."

You feel your heart swell at his words, and you take a moment to let them sink in. "I'm glad I came too," you say softly, your eyes meeting his. "It's not something I ever imagined myself doing, but I'm really happy I did."

Glen reaches out and takes your hand again, his fingers intertwining with yours. "You were a great sport about everything," he says, a playful smile tugging at his lips. "Even when Smokey scared the life out of you."

You laugh, shaking your head at the memory. "I'll admit, that was a bit much," you say with a grin. "But honestly, the whole experience was incredible. I see now why it's such a big deal for you."

Glen's smile widens, and for a moment, the two of you simply sit there, hands clasped, sharing a quiet, meaningful silence. The excitement of the day is still buzzing in your veins, but there's also a deeper feeling - a sense of connection, of understanding, that goes beyond just the game.

"I'm really happy you're here with me," Glen says quietly, his voice carrying a weight of emotion. "This...it all means a lot more with you by my side."

His words hit you in a way you didn't expect, and you realize just how much this day, and this man, have come to mean to you. You squeeze his hand, feeling a warmth spread through you that has nothing to do with the game or the crowd, but everything to do with him.

"I'm happy to be here," you reply, your voice just as soft. "With you."

For a moment, the world outside the truck seems to fade away, leaving just the two of you in the stillness of the parking lot. It's a moment of quiet reflection, of mutual appreciation, and as you sit there, you realize that this experience has brought you closer to Glen in a way you hadn't anticipated.

Glen starts the engine, but before he shifts into gear, he leans over and presses a tender kiss to your lips. It's soft, sweet, and filled with unspoken emotion, a perfect ending to a day you'll never forget.

As he pulls away, you both smile at each other, the bond between you stronger than ever. As the truck rolls out of the parking lot, leaving the stadium behind, you feel a sense of contentment, knowing that this is just the beginning of something truly special.

The next morning sunlight filters through the curtains, casting a warm glow across your bedroom. You sit on the edge of your bed, phone in hand, absently twisting the brim of Glen's baseball cap between your fingers. The events of the previous day play on a loop in your mind - Glen's infectious enthusiasm, the electrifying atmosphere of the game, and the way he held your hand, guiding you through it all. A smile tugs at your lips as you remember the look in his eyes when he told you how much it meant to him to have you there.

But now, in the quiet of your room, the excitement of the game has given way to do something deeper - an unmistakable warmth in your chest, a feeling that's both exhilarating and a little terrifying. You realize that what started as casual dating has slowly grown into something more. And for the first time, you feel the need to talk to someone about it.

You take a deep breath and scroll through your contacts, landing on your mom's number. The familiar sound of the ringtone fills the room as you hold the phone to your ear, your heart beating a little faster with each passing second. Finally, you hear her voice on the other end, warm and welcoming as always.

"Hi, sweetie! How are you?" Your mom greets you, the sound of her voice instantly soothing some of your nerves.

"Hey, Mom," you reply, trying to keep your voice steady. "I'm good. Just...thinking about a lot of things."

Your mom chuckles softly. "Well, it sounds like you've got something on your mind. What's going on?"

You pause for a moment, gathering your thoughts before you begin. "I met somebody, and...he's really great, Mom. he's got these green eyes that I could just get lost in, and he's so sweet. He opens doors for me, he makes me laugh, and he...he doesn't make me cry." Your voice softens as you say the last part, a small admission of how different this feels from anything you've experienced before.

There's a brief silence on the other end, and then your mom speaks, her voice gentle. "He sounds wonderful, honey. Tell me more about him."

A smile spreads across your face as you think about Glen. "He's from Texas, not exactly where we're from, but...when I'm with him, he feels like home. He's got me doing things I never thought I'd do, like going to a football game." You laugh, still a little surprised at how much you enjoyed the experience.

Your mom laughs too, a mix of surprise and amusement in her tone. "A football game? You? Never thought I'd see the day."

"I know, right?" you reply, shaking your head at the memory. "He even gave me his hat to wear because I didn't have any Texas gear. And, Mom...I liked it. I really liked it."

There's a pause, and you can almost hear your mom's smile through the phone. "It sounds like you're really falling for this guy."

You bite your lip, the truth of her words sinking in. "I think I am," you admit, your voice barely above a whisper. "Mama...I like him a lot. I even learned the words to the Texas Fight Song."

Your mom's laughter rings through the phone, full of warmth and understanding. "It sounds like he's got you wrapped around his finger," she teases, but there's no judgment in her voice, only happiness for you.

"Maybe he does," you say, feeling a warmth spread through you at the thought. "But...it feels right, Mom. He feels right."

Your mom's voice softens, a hint of emotion creeping in. "I'm happy for you, sweetheart. Just take things one step at a time, and follow your heart."

You nod, even though she can't see you. "Thanks, Mom. I will."

As you end the call, you feel a sense of peace wash over you. Talking to your mom has helped you put things into perspective, and you realize that you're ready to see where things go with Glen, no matter where that may lead. The thought of him brings a smile to your face, and you can't help but feel a flutter of excitement at what the future might hold.

[omgshiftercat]

I have a friend whose ex, a minor celebrity in some circles, was abusive.

Shortly after she and some other women went public about it, there were some people who chimed in talking about other misdeeds of his.

Her ex was, and is, a loathsome waste of oxygen, and the words, "...who deserves every accusation leveled at him" would almost escape my lips...

...Except that some of the accusations people began throwing around because they (understandably) hated this guy weren't true.

This did not help my friend at all! It muddied the waters, and gave her awful ex ammunition for his claims that people were just out to get him, and were willing to make stuff up to smear him.

Switching gears: there's been a lot of discussion recently about how some brilliant and influential art has been created by objectively terrible people. Part of that discussion has been calling out people who say, "Their work always sucked," or "I never liked it." Not only are statements like this unhelpful, they provide cover for predators. If you insist that your tastes reflect your morality, you're giving yourself a huge blind spot, and making it easy to dismiss evidence of harm done by creators you happen to like.

This is one reason why I think exhibits like this one are important: they help teach that lesson.

Three notes on this: 1. by the time of that exhibition, Gill was long dead and therefore unable to profit from it.

2. This kind of thing isn't necessary for every artist, because not every creator does heinous things.

3. My friend's ex is nowhere near the artistic league of Eric Gill or any of the other creators I'll discuss.

Switching gears again...

If someone mentions a bespectacled British boy wizard with an owl familiar, in a modern setting with "secret world" magic, the name that springs to mind is most likely "Harry Potter", right?

But Timothy Hunter, from The Books of Magic, was published a full seven years before that. I was working in a bookstore when the novelizations for the BoM comics came out, and had to tell kids that no, this was not a HP rip-off.

I don't think the reverse was true, either: for one thing, The Books of Magic is set in the DC Universe, and I've never heard of JKR reading superhero comics. But also... sometimes completely separate creators will come up with strikingly similar ideas, utterly by coincidence. It's one reason why most authors tell fans NOT to send them ideas or fanfiction based on their work: there is rarely any good way to prove that you didn't steal a concept.

Now, obviously every creator is influenced by other people's works, and I completely agree that it's good to acknowledge that and to point fans towards your influences!

When Rowling began channeling her resources into making life worse for trans folk, I saw a lot of people saying, "Well, Harry Potter was just a mediocre rip-off of The Worst Witch anyway."

While I haven't read that series, I strongly doubt this claim. The idea of magic schools is older and more widespread than either of those series, and "British boarding school hijinks, but it's a magic school" was bound to be written more than once.

Now, some of you already know, and others have looked up, who originally wrote Tim Hunter. And... yeah, it's Neil Gaiman. *sigh*

In the last few days, I've seen some people saying, "The Sandman ripped off Tanith Lee's Tales from the Flat Earth." They cite a number of similarities: Azhrarn, the Lord of Darkness, is a pale-skinned, raven-haired Byronic figure with a sibling-like relationship to the Lord of Death and the Lord of Madness. Like the Endless, these beings are god-like, but specifically not gods. Apparently some people have mistaken fanart of Azhrarn for Morpheus. And Chuz, Prince Madness, has a bisected appearance, half his face horribly messed up, like the demoness Mazikeen.

But speaking as someone who was a fan of the late Tanith Lee years before I picked up an issue of The Sandman: I don't believe the latter was stolen from the former. Are there similarities? Yes, but they're superficial. If you've read both series, as I have, you'll know that the stories, settings, and characters are very different!

It's possible Gaiman was influenced by Lee's writing, and if so, I agree he should have acknowledged that. He did promote the work of other female creators, which is one reason why many of us thought he was "one of the good ones". But it's also entirely possible that these two authors independently came up with similar ideas.

When it comes right down to it, I think that statements like this -- "their best work was just a rip-off of something else" -- are just another variant of "their work always sucked".

It's often an easier accusation than "they've always been crap", because, as I said, writers come up with strikingly similar concepts all the time, and it's very hard to prove you didn't steal an idea. But it has the same problems, so -- barring the kind of case you could make with a college-level plagiarism-catching program -- I think it's best avoided.

Now, telling people, "Hey, are you sad about this creator turning out to be an awful person to whom you don't want to give any more money? Try this other person's work instead!" This is good! Let's have more of it!

Addendum 1: I think "separate the art from the artist" should mean, "you don't have to treat books already on your shelf as if they're suddenly coated in poison", not "I'm going to ignore this creator's actions and keep buying their products anyway."

Addendum 2: I just posted a version of this to Bluesky.

[virginiathegray]

I've seen people upset about the way some things/characters are handled/explained in DATV and I just want to remind everyone that characters are unreliable sometimes, they lie sometimes, and other times information is withheld from them intentionally. "Why does Morrigan not talk about Kieran?" Ignoring the fact that not every worldstate even HAS a Kieran, Morrigan does not know you like that and canonically the Orlesian court didn't even know she had a son despite living there for some time. Not to mention I doubt Morrigan wants to mention her kid who previously had a "god's soul" lest Rook and co. try involving him in their shenanigans somehow.

"Why doesn't Solas gush more over a romanced Lavellan when Rook brings her up? He hardly seems to care." He does not trust Rook whatsoever and knows that Rook is likely looking for leverage on him in exactly the same way he's looking for leverage on them. The fact that he can't bring himself to lie explicitly and say that she doesn't matter to him at all is, in my eyes, a testament to how much he DOES love a romanced Lavellan. (It could also be him feigning vulnerability to Rook for brownie points if you're a "Solas doesn't care about Lavellan" truther which is not my reading but to each their own)

"Why do the companions interpret Solas's regrets/Mythal/the lore the way they do? They're wrong!" They're people bringing their own baggage to what they've witnessed and have come to their own conclusions about who Solas is and what he's done. Those regrets, and Solas overall, are up for interpretation not just by us as the players but by the in-universe characters as well. And yes, this is something Dragon Age has done in every single game thus far.

I understand the fanservice potential in changing the writing around any of the above (+ all the other "writing bad" discourse I've seen) but if we take a second to immerse ourselves in Rook's reality here as opposed to ours, the player who has an intimate knowledge of the prior games and endless theories about the lore, a lot of things start making more sense. Sometimes characters are wrong! Sometimes they are guessing. Sometimes they're just straight up lying to you or concealing the truth. COULD it be poor writing? Yeah I mean sure. But I actually prefer not being spoon fed canon-accurate information by every character as though everyone's on the same page.

It's a little frustrating to see this take spread so widely while folks complain in the same breath that the writing was bad because we're told too much or all the NPCs are too much in agreement on things. Stories don't actually have to explain everything all the time! Theorizing to fill the gaps is not inherently a failure of the writing, sometimes it is, in fact, a feature. Especially in Dragon Age, where this has BEEN a theme across the series as a whole!

[vaspider]

You mentioned older folks have gendered social rules ingrained into them. How do you recommend explaining to them that social rules among younger gens have now changed, and what was polite is now seen as sexist if not done for men as well as women?

I usually start out by asking to confirm that's what's really bothering them, then affirm that it's really kind of them to want to be polite, before saying that these days it's best to either ask people how they'd like to be treated or to take a more neutral path.

That is:

"Are you asking me how to be polite to this person? Like, do you want to know if it's polite to follow the rules for how you know to treat a woman, or a man?"

If they confirm that's what they're really asking -- which honestly, they may not know that's what they're asking, and you maybe have to spend a minute or two on that -- then you can say, "Well, it's really cool that you're concerned about that. Generally, you can ask someone about specific things, if they'd like to be referred to with gendered terms - 'would you prefer miss, ma'am, sir, none of the above?' - and follow what they tell you, or you can go a neutral route."

I often call people 'friend' in real life where I was raised to say 'sir' or 'ma'am,' at least in situations where I don't know for sure a gendered term to use, and that usually goes over well. If someone gets upset by it, I apologize, explain the tactic -- 'Sorry, I was raised to say sir or ma'am, and I've started substituting 'friend' as a neutral term, I won't use it anymore with you' -- and move on. And because I do that, I can point out to people that this is what I do: "have you noticed that I ... ? This is because... " and that is sometimes a lightbulb moment for people.

These things don't always work, people are sometimes just weirdly obsessed with other people's genitals, and you can't reach everybody. But I think -- generally -- that if you assume the best of other people, and go in with the mindset that, hey, they probably just want to know how to be polite and nice and cool, then you're going to get a better result than assuming that this person has some weird hangup.

Most people really do just want to get along with other people, and if you try to assume that as long as you can, it works out better, you know?