#but like. it's whatever. worse things have happened

[dameronology]

complex (logan)

summary: honestly i was just listening to complex by katie macleod and i started typing and this is what happened, it's only 800 words but hey-ho.

warnings: arguments, so much swearing, logan is kind of a dick

Your residual anger hung thick in the air like heat in the summer.

Your apartment was full of signs—little reminders of your argument, tiny clues to point to the hurt in your chest. The blankets on the sofa were still tangled from where Logan had slept there last night. There were two empty bottles of whisky beside a smashed plate on the coffee table, matched with angry claw marks where he'd made the wooden structure his victim. Most obviously, you and the man you loved stood on each end of the room and the argument, chests heaving from shouting and fists balled up with rage. 

"I fucking hate you," you declared.

"No, you don't," Logan deadpanned, "you hate me right now, but really, you love me."

"Don't," you paused, taking a deep breath, "don't tell me how to feel."

"But you're allowed to tell me how to feel, huh?" he challenged.

There was another strangled sigh in your mouth. You couldn't keep sighing. You needed to come up with something new. Yelling had never been your thing. Maybe Logan's, but not yours. He hadn't even yelled for this entire fight. There had been heated exchanges, sure, but even in his most frustrated moments, he hadn't dared raise his voice. He had that much self-control.

"I can't look at you," your eyes fell to the floor.

Logan let out a snort. "Can't look at me, huh? Can't look me in the eye?"

This whole thing had started because the furry fucking moron had said something stupid. Then, he'd made it even worse when you'd pointed it out. It was like Logan had brought himself a proverbial shovel and was rewarding himself by digging a hole. He was ten feet down, and he couldn't see anything, save if he looked up and saw you glancing down at him with bleary eyes in his self-sustained grave. You could have reached down your hand to help him out but it was too far.

"Fuck. You."

Your chest heaved as you shoved past him, shoulders hitting his with a thud. Logan had barely even processed what had happened before the bedroom door slammed in his face. The force caused a picture on the shelf beside it to fall, the glass smashing into three separate pieces. He leant down to pick it up, turning the frame over. It was a picture of you at Coney Island two years ago; the wind was blowing your hair back, faced pressed to Logan's as he scowled. They were sweeter times.

Logan glanced up at the ceiling - or the sky, whatever the closest thing is.

"Whoever the fuck is up, that's not fucking funny."

He stopped at the door.

To say his heart broke when he heard you crying on the other side would be an understatement. There was a lot of sounds that Logan hated; his ring tone, his alarm sound in the morning, Wade Wilson's voice...but above all, the sound of you crying felt like a punch to the throat. It was even worse for him to know that he was the one who caused it.

Logan didn't stop before he opened the door. He booted it, body crossing the room in seconds to meet you at the bed. You were curled up, hugging his pillow to your chest and crying into yours.

He fell to his knees beside you, warm hands pulling your arms away from your face and towards him instead. A pair of strong arms came to wrap around you and in seconds, you were pressed to his chest.

"Oh, sweetheart," he murmured, "don't cry. Please don't cry. Punch me, slap me, fuckin' kill me if you want but please don't cry."

A little sob escaped your throat. "You're so frustrating."

"I know," Logan gave you a small smile, "christ, I know. And I am so fucking sorry."

He re-centred you on the bed, organising the pillows so that they were behind you. The mattress dipped beside you as he climbed under the covers, pulling you back into his side. You were still glaring at him, still refusing to throw you a ladder down his special grave.

"I let my anger get the best of me sometimes," Logan said, "maybe I don't shout at you or get angry the way I do at other people, but it...it manifests in more fucked up ways, I think. I like arguing. I love riling people up. I don't like doing that to you, though."

"You did, though."

"I know, sweetheart, I know," he murmured. "I'm trying my best. I know my best is absolute bullshit but...I am trying."

You tangled your fingers with his, giving his hand a squeeze. "I know. It's okay if you want to keep trying."

Logan softly smiled, pressing a kiss to your forehead. "I love you."

"I love you too."

[a-student-out-of-time]

An Important Reminder In Trying Times

Hey everyone, Mod Bubbles here.

I know that I've said over and over that I don't like talking about politics on here, but I really feel the need to say this:

This Is Not The End.

I understand things probably seem really bleak right now. A lot of people are going to be hurt by this, and the sheer amount of fearmongering and worst case scenarios are inescapable. But the country and the world are not going to change overnight. To be honest, it may not change very much at all in the next four years. I'm not a political scientist, so I can't tell you that for sure. There's a lot to be concerned about.

What I can tell you, as a student of history, is this: not only have we survived this once, we have survived this every time.

Think about it this way: every single tyrant, every single right-wing representative, every single emperor and colonial power, every corporate scumbag and power-hungry lunatic. No matter how many of them have ever come to power, held onto power, and tried to make themselves seem invincible, not a single one has ever held back humanity's progress and not a single one has proven to be invincible.

There were countries throughout history, especially in the 20th century, that fell under brutal dictatorships and saw countless lives lost. Did the people just give up and accept it? Fuck no they didn't. They fought back. Many of them lived to see democracy restored to their lands in their lifetimes, or fought to see it restored in their children's.

From Europe to Latin America, while many countries still have their issues, they endured and their people have survived. Their governments were not invincible, just as none ever have been.

Regardless of the outcome of this election, the world will go on. People will not just roll over and accept whatever horrible things happen, the fight will continue and we will do everything in our power to carry on as we always have. We'll carry on to achieve bigger and better things.

Let me also be clear: if you feel the need to cry, please cry. If you're afraid, don't pretend you're not. If you're angry, allow yourself to feel that anger. But if you're seriously contemplating giving up or hurting yourself, please don't.

You may hear all this news and ask yourself, "Bubbles, what's the point? What can I do about all this?" I've felt that way too, I have for a long time. I understand completely. It's scary and overwhelming, but I'll tell you exactly what you can do to fight against that: you can be kind.

Do you want to know where the most tangible change in the world begins? It's never at the top. It begins with people like us on a communal level, where we reach out to help others. Whether that means we help our neighbors, our friends, or any strangers we can.

Going out of your way to start fights, looking for someone to blame based on the flimsiest justifications, and just being cruel because you're angry, those aren't how you change anything. Those just add to the problem.

Here's just some ideas on what you can do instead:

Get away from the news, stop doomscrolling, mute doomers, and turn the TV and news apps off. This will get you out of a negative feedback loop that'll make you feel worse and more powerless, which is what they're designed to do in order to maximize traffic.

Remember to eat, sleep, brush your teeth, take a shower, take your meds, and do everything else you need to do to stay healthy.

If you or someone else really feel like leaving the country for your own safety is best, you can still work do so. But please don't convince yourself that if you can't, it's over.

Give back to people as much as you can. Show the people in your life who support you that you care, and that all that they do for you matters.

Donate to good causes you believe in.

Stand up to bullshit whenever you see it.

Do not give up on your dreams and ambitions. One bad leader does not mean your future automatically ends. Stop worrying about any potential apocalypse in the future, because you can do that even on the best days, and instead work toward a future that you CAN achieve.

There's this pervasive and very inaccurate idea that it's only the president who gets to enforce policies on the country. This ignores governors, the House of Representatives, Congress, mayors, and the countless other leaders involved. And it ignores you.

You do not have to spend the next 3 years and 364 days doing nothing but feeling miserable. In fact, that's the last thing you should do. Fear and despair are the weapons they wield, and they only have as much power as you allow them to have over you.

If your view of politics is that you just have to vote for the "right one" and then everything will be utopian, or that if people vote for the wrong one" then we're headed for a terrible dystopian nightmare, I have to tell you that that is incredibly reductionist and also very dumb. I can also tell you from personal experience that it's not them who make the real changes where it's needed.

A friend sent me a video that really opened my eyes on this situation: Adam Conover, the guy behind Adam Ruins Everything, said he's not worried about all this. Why? Because he and some friends were able, through their own power, to make real positive changes in their community. They were able to bring homelessness down in their district by over 38% through their own efforts.

And he's right that, as a silver lining to all this, it made more Americans than ever take a stand against all the horrible shit they were seeing and get involved with solutions.

Speaking from my own experiences as well, when Hurricane Helene devastated my area, it wasn't the politicians who came and repaired roads and power lines, it wasn't them who brought in food and supplies to everyone, and it wasn't them who worked tirelessly to save people still in need. It was everyone in our local communities.

The people at the top have never really cared about anything more than your money and your vote, but the people around you care more than you may believe they would. Hell, even strangers on the internet care more than you'd believe.

Now, even if you've made it this far, you may be wondering "What about when he starts outlawing and banning things?" To that, I say look at Prohibition and see how well that went. Politicians have only ever operated under the idea that banning something will make it go away, and it always does the exact opposite. And if you're still worried, you can get involved with organizations that fight to support these things being available and regulated.

But by now, you may also be wondering "What if I can't get involved? What if I'm too young or I don't have the money, or my parents won't let me?"

Then just be kind.

Stop looking for enemies to blame. Don't martyr yourself for some nebulous cause or the idea that your suffering increasing means the rest of the suffering in the world will go down. Don't torture yourself by telling yourself that you didn't do enough.

Show compassion, show support, show love and genuine care toward people who need it, including yourself.

"But there's so many shitty people in this country and the world, why should I-" Stop thinking that way. This isn't about them, this is about you and how you can make a difference. There will probably always be shitheads and power-hungry morons, but that does not negate the fact that you can choose to be different. You can choose to be kind.

Kindness is a sword that you have to learn how to wield. Wield it responsibly and use it to help others. No matter how small or insignificant it may be, YOU DO MAKE A DIFFERENCE.

I say all this as a 29-year-old who spent most of his life feeling scared and miserable about so many current events, convincing myself I'm useless and selfish because I was worried about so much and I hated myself for all of it. And I've decide I'm not going to do that anymore.

During the last right-wing era, I managed to help build a whole community out of my love for Danganronpa. I created friendships, relationships, and there are people alive right now because I chose to do so. Because I chose to use that community for kindness. I want to keep building from there by going into streaming and reaching out to more people.

I won't lie to you and say that I'm not scared, because I am. But I'm also not going to let fear change who I am. I want us all to be better to ourselves and others, because that is how you defeat hate. It starts with you.

And if you're still concerned, let me share with you a quote from The Great Dictator, a movie made in 1940, when World War II wasn't even at its height yet:

To those who can hear me, I say - do not despair. The misery that is now upon us is but the passing of greed - the bitterness of men who fear the way of human progress. The hate of men will pass, and dictators die, and the power they took from the people will return to the people. And so long as men die, liberty will never perish…

Please take care of yourselves out there, everyone. We'll get through this, just as we always have.

[pep-the-artemis]

This is Cyn slander ):<

Uzi what did you expect a child to do after you went trick or treating with them and then left the sweets in mouth grippers reach of the little guy?

Sure she needs to learn self restraint and sharing but she is a child. Before this she was forced to live in the microcosm of a god where the concept of rules and society has no meaning to her since there was no tangible way to enforce such expectations.

Also who leaves a child awake unattended? Im aware children can wake up once it's past bedtime but not if sufficiently tuckered out. Surely on Halloween of all days, Cyn should be exhausted after trick or treating along with all the other festive events and eating a hearty meal because she is a child.

And that's another thing, Uzi, you're telling me that Cyn, a child smaller than a monster can was hungry enough to eat an entire supply of sweets? Did you forget to feed her because it sure seems like it and on Halloween of all days.

While yes Uzi, Cyn did do a naughty, it cannot be stressed enough how this was 100% facilitated and abetted by your failures as Cyns to be sister in law and carer at the time.

And another thing, your reaction to this whole situation is totally wrong. You should always first act to remedy the immediate problem before taking actions to prevent further problems and your immediate problem isn't Cyn being mischievous, it's N having a breakdown. Whatever punishment you think is justified for Cyn can wait, first give support to N because right now all you're doing is creating a hostile environment making Ns crisis worse.

Also, you're first instinct was to attempt to choke Cyn?! Child abuse ain't cute sis and even if you knew it wouldn't harm over even make her feel pain, Cyn used to be an unharmable entity and it's real important that Cyn needs to learn that that's no longer the case and she can very much get hurt and that's a bad thing. Not to mention what would happen if she tries imitating this behaviour with someone without any regeneration.

I think a timeout is in order for both you and Cyn so together you can learn that actions have consequences.

Justice for Cyn.

THIEF.

HAPPY HALLOWEEN GAMERS 🎃 👻😱🎉🎉

[sweetsaladpainterranch]

The Rival (Chapter 4)

(Summary: Alastor sought to possess one of the only does in Pentagram City for the rut season, however, you wanted a mate, not a master. But what happens when a handsome new buck shows up one day and tries to capture your attention away from the Radio Demon. Who will you choose?)

<Be aware that there are mentions of Sexual Abuse and slight gore in this chapter>

***

You could see nothing. Where once there was a seemingly paralyzed Alastor standing in front of a smirking James, there was now a swirling vortex of alive blackness that had completely overtaken the two men. You and Husk could only watch helplessly from the back porch as the fate of the duel was decided privately, but…Alastor couldn’t actually lose, right?

“Fuck, I didn’t think the boss would actually pull out the spectral tunnel!”, Husk mumbled, “ain’t seen that smoky bitch in almost a decade.”

“Guys!?”, A distraught Charlie and an irate Vaggie suddenly appeared and shouted from the back door, “WHAT THE FUCK IS HAPPENING?? WHY IS THE SKY OVER THE HOTEL COMPLETELY BLACK?!” You thought the princess might actually have a panic attack if she didn’t start breathing as she continued to take in her back garden. She looked towards you and Husk questioningly and you shamefully replayed the morning’s events beginning with Alastor catching you making out with the newest tenant and ending with the swirling black void being the product of the buck’s fight.

“You’ve got to stop them, Charlie!”, you stepped towards the princess with imploring eyes and shook her by the shoulders, “They’re going to kill each other!”

Vaggie quickly moved your hands away so that the shaken princess could stabilize herself and hand off her red suit jacket. Rolling up the sleeves of her dress shirt and muttering something about not taking shit from other demons or some nonsense, Charlie strutted off in the direction of her hotelier’s spectral twister with a determined expression. However, before your, now demonic-looking leader, reached the terrifying shadow manifestation it disappeared completely and left only an undisturbed Alastor holding up a very tired, but otherwise unscathed, looking James.

…

A day later things had already changed dramatically at the Hazbin Hotel. Firstly, you had expected Alastor to jump at the chance that his win over James granted him and take you deep within his bayou den. However, he simply declared that he was no longer worthy of being your mate and asked for the opportunity to prove himself to you (whatever that meant), while you found yourself nearly overcome with heavy emotions.

Also, at the same time, an incredible amount of sexual frustration coursed through you from being left at the start of your heat with no one to sate you, but this could actually be what you’ve been longing for. A mate instead of a seasonal sex buddy.

Secondly, James left without a single word to you and left that same afternoon. Only taking what little he had brought with him and swiftly exiting (running) through the large front doors without looking back. He refused to answer any of the questions or affirmations Charlie hurled at him in a desperate attempt to calm her retreating tenant, but he merely offered a small apology for the trouble and a gruff “thanks” for the hospitality. You also noticed a slightly sweet, yet familiar, aroma emanating from him, though you just couldn’t place where you knew that floral scent from.

What the fuck? He could have at least given you some sort of explanation after causing so much trouble!

Who knew what Alastor could’ve meant about being “worthy”. All you could do was retire to your hotel room for the time being as you prayed that he would take pity on you and relieve this fever upon your soul. Every passing hour became worse and worse as your entire body felt like it might burn up in your bed and you felt sweat soak your nightshirt. You knew better than to either change your sheets or keep on anything but a shirt as they’ll only get dampened again by your heat’s fluids. Who knows how far into your season you were now, you had already lost track of time and could only weakly reach out for the emergency rations, that you noticed had kept restocking themselves magically at your bedside, to eat and drink enough to balance out the energy you were burning trying to conquer your lust on your own. Though, no amount of self-initiated orgasms, with or without a vibrator, helped to quench your demonic biology’s demand to be bred by a buck.

And not just any buck. YOUR BUCK.

You whimpered pitifully as your foggy mind wandered to where your mate, the one male who was strong enough to trigger your heat, went off to and cried when the thought of his slight rejection again sounded within your ears. What if he had chosen another? Not likely since you were the only doe you knew of in all of time you’d fallen into Hell, but you were exhausted, and logic wasn’t a concern as you were soon sure that he must be fucking another through her own season.

Dammit! Why was a female’s heat so much worse than a male’s?!

Both Alastor and James seemed to be at least able to stroll around their daily lives normally a few days, even a week or so, into their seasons with barely any problem. Then a depressing thought made itself known. Was it because you weren’t strong enough to control your body? Was that what Alastor thought too? Was that why James suddenly left without a word? That must be it! Your fragile mind agreed. They must be disgusted with how you were far too weak to wrangle either of them during their fight and now they knew you had become a poor, wanton slut. A fat tear slipped out of your clenched-shut eyelids as you accepted that you would be alone in this torture for however long your heat decided to drag on. The fever must have finally become too much because you were cast adrift within a fitful sleep of nightmares… and your Alastor.

…

Alastor stood tall, holding out his felled opponent’s, still beating heart, in front of his inwardly crushed face and wet eyes as the tornado of his shadows raged around them in time with his own growing fury.

“No? Well then, how about a… deal?”, the Radio Demon purred out excitedly and thought his smile might actually cut his face in half if it got any bigger. He continued with his proposal, “You see, my good man, my spectral companion picked up some rather racy gossip while he was housed within you about your human life.”

James could only express himself through pained gasps and wet grunts in response as he barely held onto consciousness through Alastor’s monologue, but pleasant memories of his past reared themselves in his mind. The sunlit days spent on his farm with his barn animals and dogs, running church bake sales with his mother-in-law, and enjoying a beer in the quiet stillness before visiting his wife and the others in the rabbit hutch. 

A cruel cackle brought his attention back to the blood-soaked present. Alastor’s voice was almost casual, “I, of all people, understand how living in the rural country provides a certain amount of privacy and how being a member of the local congregation affords the shield of social standing.” Alastor shrugged his shoulders as if he were talking to Mimsy about the good old days up top, however, he straightened himself up and squeezed the frail, pink heart in his large palm. 

With a sudden snarl, the Radio Demon morphed his expression into something absolutely frightening, even for a demon, and leaned forward in disgust once again, “I saw how you kidnapped those girls from the surrounding towns. How you raped them like the filthy animal you are and sold the children you stole from them to those traffickers.”

“Not even your own wife was safe from your perverted nature and you lowered her into the role of one of your…rabbits…once she found out the total brutality of your crimes and tried to go to the police.”, Alastor spat with extreme distaste, “I of all men belong in Hell, but I simply cannot stomach those who show no measure of respect for the fairer sex among us.”

Another tight squeeze of the reindeer’s heart calmed the deer’s ever-expanding anger towards the brute and the thought of making it into a stress ball tickled him so that he doubled over with manic laughter. Wiping a tear away from his eye, Alastor once again focused on James and the silent pleas within his victim’s eyes.

“Let’s begin, shall we?”, Alastor purred, “My proposal is that, in exchange for your life, you will feel the same pain that you caused your victims.” His voice lowered and grew colder once more, “The fate that you had planned for my darling doe when you first set your putrid eyes on her in town. To snatch her away to use for yourself and…profit on… from the other males in town.” His shadow hissed from its position amongst the other specters in the vortex at the thought of such torture having been planned for you and its master continued.

“However, you had smelled me on her but were confident in your newfound demonic abilities so you took advantage of the princess’s good graces, something you will thank her for, and decided to take your chances with whatever was awaiting you. Yet we now see how that worked out for you. HA!” Alastor’s antlers elongated as his rage once again built up at the thought of James laying a finger on your perfect skin and he held out his hand, “Either accept this deal and embrace the suffering of those women or I will simply consume your soul, and you will serve me like every other disrespectful wretch that dared to cross me.” He gestured around the void and only then did James notice the eternally wailing faces that made up the walls of the dark funnel. All howling and clawing and climbing over each other in their agony.

James inhaled with all the effort he could muster and dropped his hand as best he could into Alastor’s as a flash of bright green flashed out between them and engulfed the dying reindeer. The only sensation that James could process was the burning of his flesh that seemed to last years and he couldn’t even hear his own screams over Alastor’s victorious laughing, but, before he knew it, the agony had been replaced by an odd feeling in his core. The defeated reindeer remained on his knees as he quickly patted down his jaw and chest to make sure everything was in place and he noticed that he didn’t even have a rip in his flannel shirt nor a scratch to be found on his skin. If not for the cold sensation of the heavy chain wrapped around his thick neck, James could almost put the entire afternoon up to a bad dream.

“What did you do to me?”, he demanded shakily as Alastor roughly hauled him up to his feet by the arm and merely smiled normally, “I suggest you keep our agreement to yourself if you wish to live long enough to find out. Now!”, Clapped the Radio Demon, ”we have guests to humor.”

Alastor could feel Charlie’s demonic energy approaching his position and, after straightening up his already somehow pristine appearance, dispersed the spectral tornado and grinned widely at the incoming princess. “Charlie! Good to see you my dear!”, he began stepping forward with James in tow and slapped the reindeer’s shoulder playfully in response to Vaggie’s flying accusations of a fight.

“Merely having a productive chat, Vagatha, and we required a bit of privacy from the peanut gallery.”, he shrugged leaving Charlie to check a silent James for injuries, “After all, isn’t our fearless leader always preaching communication over confrontation? Just ask the old boy, himself, if you don’t believe me.”  Everyone looked towards James for confirmation, including Alastor over his shoulder, however, he only nodded once and quickly made his way inside the hotel. Noticeably walking a bit lopsided, the reindeer completely sidestepped you as much as he could without so much as a glance. Good. Alastor thought and he knew the beta male felt his red gaze as it burned into the back of his retreating head.

While James disappeared within the building the air suddenly felt like it was knocked out of Alastor’s chest and had to subtly stabilize himself with his cane as the heavily sweet musk of your heat finally assaulted his senses. To his delight, you seemed just as enraptured by his scent and barely acknowledged James’s leave or even Charlie and Vaggie running past you after the beaten reindeer. He could see that your face was flushed, your hands fidgeted over the constricting clothes you wore, and your breathing picked up in anticipation with each step he took in your direction. Oh, how he wished he could take his animal mind’s advice and just take you right there where you waited for him on the porch. His spoils of war so to speak.

But…that’s not how this season is going to go, Alastor told himself and tried to take a deep breath to clear the biological fog. That only made the member in his slacks twitch more aggressively, though, as he accidentally took a big gulp of your pheromones and stopped in his tracks before coming too close. You looked at him in confusion and your ears flopped over a bit when you leaned your head over in a silent question. He knew what images were flashing in your mind, but he needed to get control of this situation if anything was going to change.

“Darling, I-”, he began tensely and straightened his shoulders, “I have come to understand that I have wronged you these many seasons that you have spent by my side and I cannot stand for it to continue any longer. I cannot harm my beloved doe anymore and-“, he swallowed thickly to finish as you crept towards him slowly, “and I must admit that I no longer feel that I am worthy of your affection.”

He noticed how your ears slipped back onto your head as the realization of what he was saying churned in your mind (as best it could at the moment), however, Alastor nearly jumped you again as he took in your pouting lips while you pressed yourself against him and inhaled.

The blood was quickly leaving his head to travel south, and He was losing the battle of logic fast so he gripped your shoulders with a huff of effort and gently moved you back from him. Looking into your clouded eyes, he never felt like The Radio Demon and, rather, knew himself as simply a buck gazing towards his mate. A mate he has not treated fairly as she had him and that fact cut him to the soul, but he would redeem himself! Though, not in the way that Charlie would approve of.

Alastor, beginning to massage your slight shoulders, requested, “I’m asking for the chance to prove myself to be the superior choice for, not just this season, but for every season to come as well.” He knelt and took your hand before staring silently up into your face in suspense; knowing full well that you could simply deny him and find whomever you wanted …and he’d have to let you. Despite his misgivings, you merely nodded your head once and teared up just a bit as if you’d been waiting for his confession for years. Perhaps you had. He stood tall before you with newfound determination for his mission and promised to return to your side as soon as it was finished properly.

The Radio Demon immediately leaned forward to kiss your forehead tenderly and melted into the shadows with a vicious smile to locate his newest (unwilling) partner in crime.

***

This one is the longest chapter I've done yet, but I kinda hate it 😅 It's important because it introduces the lead into the last chapter and our motivation to root against James, but I just can't seem to like it (idk if that even makes sense lol), This is the first time I've tried to write that kind of villain story. What did you think?

-S.S.P.R.

@Xalygatorx, @songbirdpond, @bitter-rabittt, @sakuraluna2468, @cinnamon-galaxies, @speedycoffeedelight, @diffidentphantom, @wtf-why-do-i-gotta-do-this, @eris-norwega, @anngray1369, @ladyadrasteia666, @wends, @prime-in-time-and-space, @supeersimpeer, @sirens-and-moonflowers, @type-ink, @fantasyhopperhea, @martinys-world, @apad-ravya, @galaxywolf3, @thoughfullovercreator, @Boogiemansbitch, @helluva-simper, @alastorsgirl48, @ohmylovewhereartthou-blog, @need-a-life-or-grass, @michi-keinz, @milkissesx, @ari42, @valerie-is-in-the-cupboard, @lil-glum, @amariskygal, @strawberryoverlord1893, @cherry-cola-100, @noellebellq, @lettuce-frog16, @junieshohoho, @phoephan-123, @dreamraven13@sweet-radio @littlebluefishtail @ohmylovewhereartthou-blog ,@vxllys ,@chibistar45 ,@sadlilghostt

[ecklekecle]

HEADCANON i think Regulus was a happy baby compared to Sirius. Like, imagine this, i think Sirius was the type of baby who would cry non-stop, no matter what his parents did, he would cry and whine and do what babies do yk, and was just a difficult baby to take care of in general, but Regulus on the other hand was a happy, giggling, smiling baby. And like, this dynamic would continue into when they were kids. Regulus would find Sirius hilarious, and would follow him around everywhere. Regulus would probably have one of those really contagious laughs that are like, you know when kids laugh? and they're giggling and can't breathe, it's like that. And I feel like Sirius would always be causing trouble, but not because he hates his parents, not yet anyway, but because as an older sibling, he likes to show Regulus that he's cool and he wants Regulus to look up to him.

Now when Sirius goes to Hogwarts, Regulus laughs less cause their no more happiness in the house, but it's back when Sirius comes back of course, and tell's Regulus all the things that happened. But once Regulus goes to hogwarts (and gets sorted into slytherin) they start talking less, even at home. Sirius starts rebelling more, and Regulus starts to keep more to himself, mental health definitely getting worse. Even around his friends he never lets himself go and laugh like he used to, they only get a chuckle or two, and thats on his good days. And during his school years, before getting the dark mark, he would just continue to shield himself from others, creating a cold personaity for himself to keep others away, though his friends knew the "real" him. But as his parents got worse, and Sirius left home for the Potter's, he got worse mentally and physically as he kept himself safe from his parents.

When he gets the dark mark, and he's finally alone and spiralling, he just lets out a hysterical laugh and there's no more of the childhood innocence and no more joy in the laugh, it's just filled with anguish as he as he tries to hold back tears annd sobs by laughing. yeah And then he yk dies

But to add to this imagine all their relatives knowing Regulus and his laugh and like, their cousins loved making little Regulus laugh and while Sirius was the moody one yk But in hogwarts everyone knows Sirius Black. He's charismatic and whatever but everyone questions how he's even related to Regulus. If they didn't look so alike, no one would even guess they were related.

I guess there could be a happier side to this (if ur a jegulus fan), as he and james start to talk adn get moore serious yk. even tho Regulus won't admit it, James makes him laugh. With James, Regulus can relax and laugh like a child again, and it sounds just as it did when he was younger, filled with joy and the childhood innocence he thought he had lost. And then he reconnects with his brother and they all live happily ever after the end :0

someone's probably already talked about this but i thought it would be interesting especially since younger regulus contrasts older regulus, and vice vera with sirius but also sirius and regulus contrasts each other. parallels or whatever i might just be using words to seem smart lol the black brother just make me sick i love them sm this idea just came to my head as i once again procrastinated studying but luckily exams are over now so yippee?

[andhumanslovedstories]

Well. Turns out she didn’t win.

I was talking to my mom on the phone this morning after my shift, and she was like, “seriously, how are YOU doing,” and I thought about this patient I worked with last night. Not even my patient, I was just answering his bed alarm while his nurse was dealing with a situation she couldn’t leave. I go to the room, and this guy is trying to get out of bed by crawling over the railings. He’s delirious, he’s confused, he’s super hard to understand, and he’s got that look you get when you’ve been very sick for a long time in a really specific way. Basically the kind of patient where you walk in the room and know that on top of whatever else brought them to the hospital, they’re also withdrawing from meth or fentanyl or both. And he super was, oh my god, this guy was withdrawing hard.

So me and a CNA, god bless her, we get him up to the bathroom like he’s trying to do and then we get him back to bed. He climbs in the wrong way, his head is pressed against the foot of the bed, he’s saying over and over that he wants something to drink, and I say to him, “while the CNA is getting you that drink, can I sit you up and get you more comfortable? Is that okay?”

And he shouts in my face, “NO, IT’S NOT FUCKING OKAY,” with this look of pure anger. It’s genuinely frightening to be stared down by someone and to know that if something goes wrong, they’re gonna try to hurt you. And I’m like “okay cool,” and I step back because he’s a spooked horse ready to kick. The CNA gets that drink, and while she helps him with that, I get him his scheduled meds that will help his withdrawal. When I come back, the patient is back in bed properly, tucked in comfortable, as the CNA holds a carton of milk so he can drink it through a straw.

That patient stayed agitated for the whole time I worked with him, but he never got violent. And he never looked at me again that way he had. He stayed pissed, but we got him to be pissed at the situation, not us, and then we worked to fix the situation.

I think about all the ways that could have gone. Stuff like that happens all the time where the margin between violent and not violent is so thin, and so determined by the smallest things. There’s a very plausible world where I got punched or the CNA got kicked and then the patient got drugged or restrained, and everyone in the situation is worse off than they’d been before. There’s a very plausible world where he didn’t get the care he needed because I was scared of him. That didn’t happen. I’m not saying we absolutely crushed it, he definitely was still in a bad way by the time I had to leave, but no one got hurt and he got his medicine and his nurse got to finish dealing with her completely unrelated emergency before she had to come deal with this potential new one.

That’s what I thought about when Mom asked me how I was doing, and I thought this Terry Pratchett quote that had been bouncing around my head all night: “You do the job that’s in front of you.” So that’s how I’m doing. Whatever all that means, that’s how I’m doing.

I am not closely following the election results tonight, but I am occasionally seeing flashes of them out of the corner of my eye. The most obvious sign that things aren’t going well right now is the complete lack of celebrating on my dash. I know what tumblr looks like when it’s happy. Maybe I’ll go to bed tonight and see something different in the morning. I hope to god that is the case. But I’m thinking about the way I’m thinking right now, and I want to get some stuff down before the future kicks in.

In 2016 I was in a period of my life I affectionately refer to as as my fuckup era. I wasn’t even fucking up really. More just chilling out and falling short of the vague expectations I’d had about what I was supposed to be doing after I graduated college. While my friends from college rented apartments in the city and got jobs that didn’t supply you with a uniform shirt, I lived at home and worked as a barista at a fancy movie theater. That’s a real job you can do for almost five years. I didn’t have a clue what the back half of my twenties should look like. The only long term plan I had in my life was moving out west with my best friend, and my plan for finding a job once I was out there was basically to cross my fingers and hope.

Those days weren’t bad on the whole, but it felt like I was not actually living a life so much as I was goofing off in the waiting room. Sometimes that felt embarrassing, sometimes it felt fun, and sometimes it felt like I was completely pointless to the world.

On 2016’s Election Day, I went to bed early. After watching the votes come in, I needed the night to be over. I woke in a world that felt different than it had been the night before—not just in the actuality of who would be president but down to its foundations. I realized for the first time how much hope I’d had in human nature because now I didn’t feel it anymore. It’s almost silly when I think about it—so many horrible things had already happened that year, people had done horrible things as long as there have been people, and I didn’t think I was naive to that—but something clicked into place that morning.

It felt the same way my world had changed a year earlier, in 2015 during my last semester of college. My college victory lap felt like a prolonged downward spiral. Very early in the morning on a Monday, after pulling an all-nighter and overwhelmed by self-loathing that I could not just motivate myself to work on a paper that had been my only thought all weekend, I self-harmed for the first time in a way that was impossible to pretend it was anything else. Earlier that weekend, I’d tried staving off the urges drawing or writing on my arm, something that did (and does) usually work. I’d written this quote in silver sharpie on my forearm: “Good is not a thing you are. It's a thing you do.”

I picked that quote from the Ms. Marvel comics and liked the words so much, I thought that I wouldn’t be willing to purposefully mess it up by hurting myself there. Didn’t work. They just made me feel more ashamed of myself as I did it.

That was the worst I had ever felt. Then, on the Friday of that week, a friend of mine was senselessly, brutally murdered.

It doesn’t feel now like there was ever a time before her death. My memoir class is now where I wrote about her. My favorite professor is now the one who held me as I cried. My final thesis, the culmination of my history degree, never got finished and certainly never got polished. I turned it what I had and got an A minus. Sometimes I think of rereading that paper to see if that’s the grade it actually deserved. We hadn’t been the closest friends, but my name was still on the email admin sent to professors, listing students who might be emotionally affected by this tragic event. Grace’s murder hangs over every memory I have with her and everything she ever touched. It feels like its own type of obliteration to leave her reduced to her death.

Grace wanted to be a lawyer because she believed in justice and also liked arguing. She could be rude when she wasn’t interested in what you were saying. When you caught her attention, you felt like the most fascinating person in the room. She was so proud of being Jewish. I watched her become proud of being gay. She was so universally friendly that it took me a year to realize that she actually liked specifically me. She had a somewhat silly laugh and an astonishingly luminous smile.

I thought less of the world and the people in it because of how she died. Trump’s election in 2016 felt like that.

After he won, I left stasis. From November through December, I thought harder about my future than I ever had before. Who did I want to be? What did I most value? What did I think was worth protecting? What work wouldn’t kill me to do? At one point, in presumably a fit of madness, I thought, “what if I got into politics.” Epiphany eventually hit me. By the time of Trump’s inauguration, I was already enrolled at community college, getting my pre-reqs for nursing school.

Now it’s election night again, eight years later. I live on the west coast with my best friend, in a house that we bought together. I work as a nurse in a hospital in a city where there are homeless encampments off every highway and someone begging for change on every corner. Meanwhile, there’s Palestine. Meanwhile there’s Sudan. Meanwhile refugees drown in the sea and border patrol shoots jugs of water. Even hurricanes have human cruelty now.

I don’t think people are inherently good or the universe inherently kind. But I am very good at tricking myself into thinking it for a little while, and when I do, I can remember the a specific feeling from Friday of my senior year, from that morning in November— how fucking hard the disappointment hit me because I had expected people to be better than this. It makes me want to be better than that.

I believe, and hope that I always will, that we can make a better world. I don’t know what it looks like, but I think I will see it in my lifetime. Those of us who can believe such things owe a bit of that naïveté to the world—not to excuse atrocities or think them impossible but to believe that we can stop them at all. You have to have a couple people sprinkled around who are genuinely shocked when people do bad things. It’s not that the pessimists are wrong, but you need the occasional counterbalance. I want to be a reasonable cynic’s pleasant surprise.

Every shift, I interact with people at their lowest and worst. I see the direct pipeline from pain to anger to violence, and how fragile that pipeline can be. So many situations can be changed by things as small as a warm blanket or a kind word. Violence can be quite easy to avert. Crises can be quite simply to resolve. Even when I know that whatever I do that shift will not change the circumstances of a person’s life, I think that what I do that shift still matters.

I’m lying in bed, writing this post instead of looking at the news. I wonder how tonight will change me. Been thinking about what I’ll do if Trump wins. Been thinking about how whatever I think I need to do under Trump will still need to be done if Harris clutches out a victory. I guess this is a pessimist’s optimism: to a degree the election doesn’t matter. Good is not a thing you are. It is a thing you do. Our better world will always take a lot of work.

But please god please, why can’t it be just a little easier to do it?

[merakiui]

Hey hey I saw ur post with skulli and NNN.

Just wanted to throw in that in the Victorian Period it was normal for Maids to give young masters a Handjob to help them sleep soooo do whatever you want with that info. 🤷🏼‍♀️

Hope you have a nice day / night!

Ps: Love your content 💕

I had to research this a bit more because it's so wild it's almost untrue but also not completely outside the realm of possibility for that time period, but it really is a thing that happened. :O but also,, they couldn't have just used the tried and true bedtime story method instead??? 🤨 the traditions and thought process of olde really are fascinating.

Apparently, they also employed chambermaids who would complete normal household chores and duties (cleaning, laundry, etc), but they were also meant to be there as sexual relief for either the head of the house or the older boys in the family. Imagine being there as Skully's maid (and personal pussy). One minute you're doing his laundry or cleaning up in his bedroom and the next you're having to take your master's cock in your virgin pussy,, losing your virginity together in the hall..... orz no love (or so you think), just a lustful obligation to be fulfilled.

Now of course I need to apply this strange cultural moment to young master Skully who refuses to take a wife because he's still clinging to those stories of romance and true love from his childhood. But also because he's been in love with his personal nanny/maid since forever and stubbornly refuses to fall for anyone else. T_T he's at that age now where he should have been married and have had kids by now, but he's so awkward and not so charming when he's actually facing his potential suitors in the flesh. It's much easier to exchange letters, he thinks, but also no one understands him. >:/

Something something Skully who maybe has the most macabre nightmares and can never sleep, and nothing seems to help. So you're there to lull him to sleep with a handjob every night. Hehe maybe even getting down on your knees to wrap your lips around the head of his cock and he's a sputtering, blushing mess, insisting: "T-There's no need to go that far—!!!" But how else is the young master supposed to sleep unburdened by night terrors if he isn't completely, thoroughly satisfied? Waaa maybe even unbuttoning your dress and pulling your apron away to give him a titjob. Poor Skully who cums all over your face and he's so sorry, please forgive him, oh, he's an awful mess, please don't be cross with him, etc etc. >:) he cares about you so much,, maybe more than any master has ever cared for a servant before, but you're so much more than that to him. He wants you to be his wife so badly. T^T

He's so spoiled that now he can't sleep unless he's holding you in his arms (clinging like a koala) and his dick is kept warm in your snug, soft pussy. <3 this is not helping his crush on you,, if anything it only makes it so much worse. >_<

[taddymason]

if you ever write that rant about the administration and post it PLEEEASE tag me in it i'd love to read your thoughts about whatever they have going on over there

TRUST ME, I'VE BEEN WANTING TO MAKE A POST TALKING ABOUT HOW THE ADMINISTRATION IS THE WORST PLACE JAY COULD HAVE WOKE UP IN AFTER THE MERGE!! yes, it's even worse than imperium

SO- I feel like we focus a lot on the comedic aspect of agents being incompetent, but for me it falls back on negligence, which is the same reason why Jay is the way he is as a manager. It's not that Jay doesn't have the skills to be a good manager, far from it, he could be doing a really good job, if he had his memories I'm pretty sure he'd be doing the same thing he did in prime empire and would oppose that whole shitty system.

But no. Like I said, it's not incompetence, it's that jay just doesn't care. His actions have no consequences that he can see, and I'm sure that every other department head in that place is equally or even more negligent and just doesn't care when things go wrong. It's a small world where everyone is seen as a tool to get the job done day in and day out, with no purpose other than that.

I also like how it all ties back into the fact that the Administration is in the Realm of Madness of all places. Doc said in a tweet that they were inspired by The Trial, and it shows because it also gives a good idea of ​​how absurd and distressing this whole system must have been for Jay when he woke up. It’s made to be a pointless maze. And it’s the worst kingdom for someone like him to wake up in, because the worst thing that could happen to him after, yk, losing all trace of his identity is starting over in a place where no one would care about that. Which also interestingly ties into Jay's alienation and inability to develop his own identity within this society. And as a consequence he obviously ends up becoming a shitty person in the process, because if he cares to go back and think about everything he's lost, he'd probably go crazy because everyone acts there like it doesn't matter.

I know we have like uh- two scenes from agent walker and this rant is actually mostly inspired by reading The Trial, but god, I wish we got more of jay living in the administration because it's a place that contradicts everything he's learned throughout the show, that contradicts what unlocked his true potential and I'm just saying it would be so interesting to see how he's had to develop this selfless shit personality to survive there. And I really would have loved to see how he goes from suddenly rejecting all the stability and security of the administration to escape, but whatever

Ye I'm not normal about the administration and agent walker, in case the 60k fic of jay living there didn't make that obvious

[themainspoon]

God, imagine starting your campaign so strongly with the whole calling conservatives weird thing only to then manage to fumble the entire rest of it so goddamn hard.

Like, your opponent was a senile rapist who, by being criminally charged, basically handed you the "prosecutor VS criminal" angle on a silver platter, and you just KNOW the average person would have eaten that shit up. You also could have had almost every single progressive and left leaning voter ready to suck it up and vote for you, and instead of playing to them and using them and their desperate desire for meaningful change to strengthen your campaign, you courted the centre right at every opportunity instead.

You alienated a group who would have 100% been willing to bat for you in favour of vowing to continue supporting a genocide and continuing to ignore the struggles of queer people (especially trans people), all to try and gain the respect and support of a group of people who will never respect or support you.

While the results aren't final yet, we can kind of see where this is going, I hope I'm wrong about that, because the greater evil is always worse than the lesser evil, but here's my take on the situation:

This is the result of a bad campaign, the dems could have had an easy slam dunk here, and yet they fucked it up monumentally. This is the point where people start looking for scapegoats to blame, like the tiny number of vocal internet communists and anarchists who chose to abstain because they didn't want to support genocide. I think their choice is extremely understandable, and I will not fault them for their convictions. Also, they're such a small group that they probably wouldn't have mattered anyway. I've also seen statistics that suggest that black men's voting patterns have changed slightly, and I need to say that it doesn't matter how hurt you feel about whatever happens, if you even think about blaming an ethnic group for what happens you're a racist fuckwit, and you need to shut the fuck up.

Do not fall back on scapegoats, blame your candidate for being unable to convince people to vote for them, not the people who were unconvinced. You cannot rely on people feeling obligated to get voted in, thinking you can is hubris.

[oatmealdaydreams]

Black Hole Fantasy: I'm pulling in the driveway, I'm turning off the car

Let me know if ya wanna be added on or taken off the general taglist!

Part 1

Inspired By Works: the Shifter Stan AU made by @the-east-art! Check out her stuff, it's super good. Shout out to East!

Pairing: Stan Pines & Ford Pines, gen

Warnings: Homelessness, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse

Summary: After reconciling, Stan answers what he can while Ford asks questions about his shifting abilities. Most of them are expected from his nerdy brother: how certain shifts work, what kind of limits there are, what the deal is with partial shifts, and all that. But then Ford asks about how he found out about his abilities, and…and Stan debates if it’s a good idea telling his brother about his time driving in Mount Tammany.  Stan cannot lie to Ford without him seeing right through it, anyway.

Notes: Wrote a majority of this today (as of posting) because I damn well know a lot of us need some comfort right now.

[Masterlist] | ao3 link

[read under the cut]

Stan expected this. It’s Ford, he’s gonna be all nerdy and ask questions and wanna know more about things he doesn’t understand so he can understand them. He expected this. 

As soon as the question leaves Ford’s mouth, he can tell it probably isn’t the best thing to ask, for whatever reason that may be, because Stan tenses in his seat and his gaze darts away from his brother. 

Stan expected this. It’s Ford, he’s gonna be all nerdy and ask questions and wanna know more about things he doesn’t understand so he can understand them. He expected this. 

The younger twins are due to arrive within the next week or so for another summer. Stan’s surprised their parents are letting back to Gravity Falls—depending on what they told their parents—but he’s not complaining. He grew attached to those chaotic gremlins rather quickly. They’re family, after all. Stan knows he’s got a weak spot for ‘em. Ford gives him shit about it sometimes when he’s being all stubborn and grumpy. It doesn’t come from a place of hypocrisy, though. Ford’s just as bad as Stan is when it comes to their niblings, and he most often admits it.

The time sailing across the vast seas on the Stan O’ War II with Ford helped with remembering things. Stan had remembered most of his life—the important bits, at least. There were still holes in his recollection here and there, still are, but important memories stuck before the rest of it. The fact that he had a twin brother named Stanford, his niblings, most of what he’s done while in Gravity Falls, the entire Portal Situation, and almost everything that has to deal with a certain triangular dream demon. When he has relapses, Ford is always there to help him remember and support him until the memories come back. Childhood can be a bit blurry sometimes. He doesn’t quite remember much about their father, but Ford reassures him that he’s not someone to worry about; Stan trusts Ford. That, and the way Ford’s eyes darken every time he mentions him…well, he can piece things together on his own. Some people aren’t worth remembering. That’s okay. 

One of the periods in his life he struggles to remember much of is the ten years before he arrived in Gravity Falls. Ford doesn’t know much about them, either. When a memory from then resurfaces, it can be…really shitty. Sometimes, when a relapse happens and it involves something from his years being homeless, it gets a lot harder to calm Stan down. Especially since all the memories he’s remembered from then so far have been what his niblings would call ‘unfairly traumatic’. Stan knows by now where he got all his survival skills, at least. 

There are a few memories from when he first got on the streets that aren’t so bad. A few failed attempts at cheap products that got him banned in some places. He vaguely remembers his Stan Vac, the whole not-rash-causing rash-causing bandaids, little things like those. His leaky towels that made stains worse. 

His drive up through Mount Tammany. 

Stan remembers a particular night from that. Getting banned from New Jersey and trying his luck in the next state over. Dark nights where the skies were perfect for stargazing if he’d only let himself stay still for a few minutes. But then again, staying still for even a second on the road is the kinda thing that gets ya killed. So. He can always stargaze now, though. Ford always watched the stars when they got the chance at sea. Maybe they can do that again, now, in a place that doesn’t involve a surprising constant of sea-bound critters out ta get their asses. 

The fucking point: he remembers sitting in his car on the roadside, alone, in the middle of nowhere up on a mountain, getting all teary over his stupid fucking hands. He’d shifted them by accident, and suddenly six fingers replaced five. Missing Ford did that kinda shit, he supposes. Intertwining a five-fingered hand with a six-fingered one nearly broke him. Stan can punch a pterodactyl in its damn face, but he’s weak when it comes to his family. To his brother. 

Stan hopes Ford never finds out about it. He hopes he does find out about it. It’s a complicated mess of things. 

They sit in the chairs in the living room. Some rerun of an earlier Ducktective episode plays at low volume, perfect for background noise. Ford noticeably has a notepad and a blue-inked pen out on his lap. Stan’s counting down the seconds it takes for his brother to ask whatever questions he has on his mind. It only takes about thirty seconds for him to burst. A new record, really. 

“Can I ask you a few questions about your shifting?” Ford’s eyes twinkle like the fucking stars. 

Stan shrugs, genuinely open to it, “Sure, why not.” 

Ford’s excited little smile is plenty of reward for agreeing to this. He knows if he said no, Ford would back off. He’d be a bit disappointed, yeah, but he’d back off. Brothers are like that, y’know. 

His brother readies himself with his pen and all, eagerness leaking off him like some weird mist or something. 

“How can you shift into a mermaid but not into a partial fish shift?”

“It’s not that simple, Poindexter. There’re limits to it.”

The sound of a gliding pen across paper, “I suppose that makes sense. Even with Shifty, he had to learn through visualization before he could shift into something. Perhaps you mimic in a similar fashion,” There's a brief pause as Ford writes another note. “What are the limitations?”

“Well,” Stan grunts out a sigh, “for one, shifts hafta be made of the same base stuff that humans are. Size is another thing. Can’t shift inta somethin’ too small or too large. And, uh, partial shifts are their own thing, not very sustainable. ‘S why I gotta shift into a full merfolk instead ‘a partial fish.”

Ford nods along to his brother, scribbling notes hastily as he talks. There’s a sense of ease that blankets the air between them. Lounging in the tv room, talking, listening, just hanging out with each other. When was the last time they did shit like this? When was the last time it started to feel easy? Maybe it’s because he’s answerin’ the things that he does know about his shifting abilities, but a warmth blossoms in Stan’s chest at the realization of how much it reminds him of being kids. Yappin’ with each other. No arguin’ or nothin’, just…yappin’. It’s nice. 

“Wait, so—” a readjust of Poindexter’s glasses, “Then how come you’ve shifted into partial cat eyes or…ah, the partial bear shift the kids told me about?” 

“It ain’t sustainable, so it doesn’t last long,” Stan tries, though he’s pretty sure he just explained the partial shift thing. “Wouldn’t wanna randomly shift underwater, y’know? And fish shifts are always a bitch to shift in and outta.” 

“Ah, I see. Why are fish—”

“The gills, nerd. Breathing’s all different an’ shit.”

“Oh, well, nevermind then.”

Stan snorts at him, and Ford playfully rolls his eyes. He writes a few more notes down. Stan taps his fingers on the arm of his chair, lightly drumming out a tuneless rhythm. A companionable silence fills the room, and for once, he doesn’t feel the need to replace it with some sort of sound. Probably because he’s already making noise with his tappin’, but still. It’s like a gentle inhale of fresh pine air, drifting around them. It’s calm. It’s as quiet as any ambience can be. It’s peaceful. 

And it only lasts for a few minutes, thankfully, because Stan might’ve started tappin’ with two hands instead of one if it went on for too long. It’s still silence, after all. Nothing good has come with complete silence.

“Given what you’ve explained…how does your shifting work?” and this question has the stars in Ford’s eyes turning into spotlights that gleam onto Stan. 

Stanley clicks, shrugging, “Tch, I don’t know.”

Ford glances up from his notepad, pen stilling, “What?”

“I don’t know how it works, Six.”

“How can you not know how it works? It’s your shifting!”

“I’ve been busy.”

“But you just explained—”

“I know some things, just not everything!”

“How—wait, okay. What were you so busy with that you didn’t explore your shifting more?”

The peaceful air thins. There’s a slight pressure, tension, something that threatens to smother them if they don’t tread this carefully. A choking hazard. 

Stan scoffs, a biting voice, “Jeez, Six, do ya not remember bein’ shoved into a massive fuckin’ portal? And I thought I was the amnesiac.”

He winces as soon as he says it. That was a bit harsher than he intended, honestly. It’s in the past. Sure, there’re still some shit they gotta work out, but now wasn’t the time. Why is he always biting like a wounded feral dog when it comes to shit like that? What is he, a beaten hound? 

Ford goes sheepish, “Oh, right…”

It’s awkward. The tense air simmers like New Mexico’s summer heat. It blazes underneath the first layer of their skin. It fizzles and crackles and makes both of the older twins fidget in their seats. Stan shifts his weight in his chair, and his finger-tappin’ gets quicker. 

Ford clears his throat, “Right, well, I—thank you, Stanley.” 

A small, fond smile tugs at the corner of his mouth. Warmth fills his chest like waves of the ocean, his heart sighing pleasant beats. Ford’s said it a number of times while they were sailing. Some nights, when the beer was cold and the stars were glistening across the vast seas, they figured out talkin’ about shit. Not everything, no, not even some of the things they probably should, but they were still important things they needed to talk about. The portal was one of them. At least, some of it. The parts that Stan remembered in flashes. Memory of its entirety came back before they returned to Gravity Falls, but he digresses. They talked about some shit, and Ford made a point of saying ‘thank you’ a lot more. He still does it. 

The tense air dissipates a significant amount, easing, calming, gentle.

“Yeah, whatever, Poindexter,” Stan waves it off, but he couldn’t wipe the little smile on his face if he tried. “What else ya got, huh?”

Ford shares his own little smile, glancing down briefly at his notes, “Well, let’s see…oh! How did you initially find out about your shifting?”

And the tense air returns with a sharp bite. 

As soon as the question leaves Ford’s mouth, he can tell it probably isn’t the best thing to ask, for whatever reason that may be, because Stan tenses in his seat and his gaze darts away from his brother. 

“Of course, if you don’t remember it,” Ford adds quickly, “Just the earliest you can remember.”

Stan considers what to do here. He’s been given an out. He can just give the easy excuse that he doesn’t remember. It wouldn’t be too far a lie, what, with how fickle his memory from that far back can be. It’s still a lie, though. He does remember that night driving through Mount Tammany. Although it may not be his first experience with his new-found shifting abilities, it is one of the earliest. It would be around the time he first found out, anyway. 

And he’d promised Ford on the boat that he’d try and talk to him. They both did. They made that promise. Stan is tired of breaking things. He won’t break a promise to Ford, especially now that they’re on much better terms. He can’t risk fucking this peace up. It’s too precious now. There’s been too much work and hard nights and shed tears they’ll never comment on. Stan won’t break it for anything. 

He sighs, refusing to face Ford while he does this. 

“It ain’t much. Just a drive through the mountains,” he forewarns, “Nothin’ pretty, nothin’ ugly.” 

Ford’s eyes widen in momentary surprise, as if he’d expected Stan to take the out. He shakes it off, leaning in slightly. An eager listener. A nod to show he understands. 

Alright, we’re fuckin’ doin’ this, Stan thinks. 

A gruffer sigh, “Just been banned from Jersey, I think. A few failed business ventures or whatever, and I was drivin’ up through Mount Tammany.”

Stan ignores whatever Ford’s reaction is to him being banned from their home state. He can’t handle reactions if he’s gonna commit to this. Grabbing a half-drank can of Pitt Cola, givin’ something for his hands to do. Idle hands ain’t gonna do good. He can’t risk havin’ idle hands that reach for violence and excuses. This ain’t the time for it. Not now, not now. 

He swallows, continuing, “It’s dark, probably in the middle of the night. Got used ta drivin’ in late hours so much I don’t think it made a difference.” 

The scene itself starts to unravel in front of his mind’s eye. He can almost see it, hear it, smell it. He keeps talking. 

“Mind kept driftin’, so I had ta pull over. I was wonderin’ about…people. Where they were, how’d they been, all that. Guess they really got to me, heh.” 

Ford doesn’t need to ask who he’s referring to. This one, he knows. He knows what Stan is like when he talks about missing Ford. It’s one ‘a those times. 

“Not even twenty yet, y’know. Still young enough to have a weak stomach about things. I couldn’t keep drivin’ all those curves up in the mountains like that, else I was gonna crash or somethin’. I pull over.”

Stan has to pause for a moment, swallowing again. He tries not to get lost in the memory. He fidgets with the can in his hand, thumbing across its smooth surface. Remind himself where he is. Remember he’s in a chair next to his brother, and not breakin’ at the sight of holding a five-fingered hand and a six-fingered one together. Five plus six is eleven. It’d only been ten years when he saw Ford next after that, but it sure felt like eleven centuries with the way they’d changed. 

No longer lookin’ like each other. Both scared outta their minds and desperate. They’re twins; but back then, they’d been strangers that shared a last name. Not even that. Stan’s used many names throughout the years. He’s worn many faces, too. Droppin’ his shift for the first time in years, just to see his brother, had been a lot more unsettling than he thought it’d be. 

Right, explain’ Mount Tammany. 

Stan shakes his head lightly, ignoring his lingering thoughts of triangular portals. 

“I felt the extra fingers before I saw ‘em,” a hitch of breath besides Stan, but he continues through it, “Six fingers on each hand. The last I recall, I wasn’t the one with hands like that. Turns out I shifted ‘em without thinking.” 

Stan does that sometimes. In moments of heightened emotion—distress, usually—his body decides to kick into gear without askin’ Stan first and shifts itself into whatever it deems necessary to survive the situation. He heard Wendy explain it as a trauma response once. She’d been taking this psychology class to avoid some shitty required course that had a shitty teacher. She’s smart. Gonna do some pretty great shit one day, that kid. Badass enough as it is, really. What highschooler can say they’ve survived the literal apocalypse without referrin’ to a video game? 

“I was already a weak mess at that point,” Stan hesitates, thumbing the can in his hand again. Quiet noises come from Ford’s chair, and he tries to write it off as squeaky furniture. “I, uh…shifted one hand back, and…intertwined them. ‘Bout broke me. I was already fucked-up with drivin’ in the middle of the night, anyway. Y’know, lackin’ sleep and all. That shit.”

Stan cannot look in Ford’s direction after he’s finished. He keeps fiddling with the Pitt can in his hand. His other hand drums a tuneless rhythm on the arm of his chair. He can’t have idle hands. They reach for things. Reaching for Ford might not be a good idea right now. Hey, at least Stan’s actually thinkin’ for once in his damn life. Mabel’s childlike optimism is rubbin’ off ‘a him. 

The quiet noises include a sniffle, and Stan feels something in his chest crack like a statue about to fall off a breaking cliff. Something’s about to break and fall into the churnin’ waters below. The sea can be just as much of a hell as it can be a comfort. Life’s like that, he supposes. Your greatest comfort can be your easiest weak point. 

They sit there, not talking, not looking at each other, hardly making a sound. It’s a fragile air. It’s a thin glass sheet. They’ve had practice on the Stan ‘O War II with learning how to navigate moments like these, but this? This is something else. This is about an earlier memory of being kicked out from home. This is about when Stan learned he was just as anomalous as his brother. This is about one of the first times Stan lost a little hope. This is different. It’s fragile, and Stan’s never been good with fragile things. He breaks what he touches. He doesn’t know how to touch this without cracking the glass like a hammer to a stained glass window. 

Neither of them breathe for a moment. 

How the hell do you navigate a conversation like this? How did it turn into thinly-veiled raw emotion with the steadiness of a paper house? The pivot from your average sibling bickering and stupid smiles to something made of a deck of flimsy cards. A sharp pivot. A sudden pivot. Where did the fragility come from? 

Ford, surprisingly, is the one to break the stained-glass window. 

“Lee,” his voice is thicker, choking, full of hitching breaths and sniffling that becomes all the more noticeable with the uneasy silence. 

Stan can’t help but turn to his brother as soon as that nickname is uttered. There’s a lump in his throat at the sight of Ford’s red-rimmed eyes behind the guise of his blocky glasses. He doesn’t have it in him to swallow it down. 

Okay, they’re doing this. Great. This is fine. 

“Six,” Stan responds, and he sounds just as bad as Ford.

He ignores the prickling droplets in his eyes. 

“You—when did—” words come tumbling out of Ford’s mouth like foreign concepts of another dimension. 

“It’s fine, Poindexter,” an attempt at waving things off, even with how messy their voices are right now, because he cannot stand seeing his brother look so distressed.

“It’s not fine, Stanley.”

“...It’s not.”

“You were banned from Jersey?”

Starting there, okay.

“‘S what happens when yer products are a total sham.” 

“I–yes, I get that, I just…I saw the commercials. Thought you figured it out, and  not…”

“You saw the commercials?”

A pause, “Ah, well, yes. It was the only time I ever saw you.” 

Something about that twists a heart or two. Neither of them can tell if it’s their own or each other’s. It doesn’t matter, really. It twists all the same. 

“You went through Mount Tammany?” Ford continues. 

“Headed towards Pennsylvania. Business opportunities and all that.”

“Ah.”

“Yeah.”

Moses, they’re pushing towards seventy and still this awkward? What are they, pre-teens?

“Can you show me?” Ford is so quiet that Stan almost doesn’t hear him.

“Uh, what?”

“Just—you said you shifted into six fingers, so…” the shrug he gives is a little unlike him, but this entire conversation is a little unlike them. Too many emotions going ‘round in a circus display of some spin-top toy. 

Well…not exactly where Stan thought this conversation would go, but it’s not a bad direction. Just show his brother that he can have six-fingered hands like he does. He’s done it before. It’s not the shift that holds a heavy weight behind it, but it’s the reason Ford’s even asking. He’s not gonna point out that Ford’s already seen him with similar hands before. 

Stan tears a hole in the paper house, and he nods. 

Ford watches with a gaze of…something. Careful curiosity is in there somewhere. Along with whatever else is racin’ through his damn head. Lots of things today, huh?

Stan doesn’t need to concentrate as much as he usually does with partial shifts. This one is something he’s practiced and done so often that it’s instinctual. In fact, he glances down and notices one of his hands already has six fingers. He shifts the other to match. Ford stares. He fidgets with his own six-fingered hands. They twitch like they wanna reach out. Stan feels that echo in his knuckles, his joints, the bones of his wrists and hands and even in his sockets. 

Stan slowly reaches out first. 

Ford spares a darting glance at his face, and he meets him halfway. 

They hold hands. 

The very much not-there-at-all tears glide down Stan’s face. Ford’s sniffling again as his breath hitches again. Quiet sounds flitter around the room. Little sounds. Sounds they won’t admit to making because that means admitting to crying over holding hands, and they sure as hell ain’t gonna do that. Doing that means facing the truth of how heavy it feels. Holding hands with your brother isn’t supposed to be heavy. He’s seen Mabel and Dipper hold each other’s hands, and they certainly don’t get weepy over it. Not that Stan would dare to make fun outta them if they did, no, he rather shift in and out of bein’ a fish a million times before he even thinks about doin’ such a thing. 

Ford squeezes, and Stan squeezes back. 

A deck of flimsy cards topples over and scatters across the floor in a whirlwind of sad old men and old wounds. 

Little birds keep close together for winter. 

A sparrow holds his brother’s hand, and it brings more comfort than he’d thought possible. Maybe the scared teen that drove through Mount Tammany heals a little. Maybe the lost kid that cried over his hands while stranded alone in his car starts to smile again. 

A small, teary smile tugs at the corner of Stan’s mouth.

Taglist: @lost-in-thought-20 @thegoldenduckie @not-sure-what-im-feeling

[milverton]

I watch Jake Broe's update videos on the war in Ukraine pretty religiously, so I wanted to share what he had to say in his latest video because I at least felt a little better about this whole new trumpocalypse fiasco after hearing some of the points he made.

Here's his tweet that summarises what he says in the video, but I would recommend still watching the whole thing! (I've bolded the main points)

Okay! We all needed a day to reflect on what happened and I have good news and bad news for Ukraine about Trump returning to the US Presidency.

Let's start with the bad news for Ukraine…

Trump could end all US military cooperation

Trump could lift all sanctions on Russia

Trump could return all frozen assets to Russia

Yes, that is all very bad, but there might be good news.

First, Trump is always transactional. It does not matter if Russia was helping Trump or not in the past, Trump does not feel like he owes anyone anything for past favors. If Trump ever gives something up, then he will want something in return at the same time.

Russia will make demands that Trump is happy to accommodate, but only if Russia agrees to something that makes Trump look good. If Russia refuses, then Trump will rapidly escalate against Russia out of spite. American weapons in Ukrainian hands have already killed hundreds of thousands of Russian soldiers. Putin might refuse any kind of transactional deal with Trump. Nobody knows what either Trump or Putin will do. Trump could inadvertently destabilize Russia without even meaning to.

Second, Trump does not take over until January 20th, which means we know for a fact that Russia is not going to use a nuclear weapon before Trump returns to office. Russia is not going to start a nuclear war if they think Trump will give them favorable terms. Meaning there is no risk of escalation management the next two months. Take the gloves off!

For the next two months Ukraine should be given permission to hit whatever they want with whatever is given to them anywhere on Russian territory. Additionally, Biden now is forced to rush deliver and allocate the rest of America's available funds allocated by Congress to Ukraine this winter.

If instead Harris was re-elected and MAGA controlled Congress, military aid would have ended anyways and Biden would have tried to stretch these funds out until next summer. Biden can't do that now. So Ukraine is actually going to get a huge boost in military aid right away.

Third, even though I do not think Trump cares at all about Ukraine, he does care about his own image and legacy. He is never running for office ever again, but he loves to be loved by his supporters. He does not want to look weak and if Ukraine refuses to a negotiated capitulation and instead fights on without US help, these are going to be top headlines daily (maybe the fall of Kharkiv or the fall of Odesa) and this will make Trump look weak. He hates that. These would be images that would look worse for America than the US withdrawal of Afghanistan.

Forth, Trump hates Iran. Trump fiercely supports Israel and Iran is currently trying to destroy Israel. If Trump takes any military action against Iran (or looks the other way when Israel does) this could weaken or cripple one of Russia's most important allies. Harris was never going to do anything about Iran. Trump might actually cripple Iran and their Russian allied proxies in the Middle East.

Fifth, Trump loves the idea of cheap oil. He might actually find ways (cutting regulations, building more pipes, granting access to more public lands) that brings the global price of oil down so much that this ends up bankrupting Russia faster. That is not Trump's goal, but he might accidentally do it.

Sixth, Europe might finally militarily wake up once Trump stops answering their phone calls. Europe has the population and the economic power to support Ukraine and defeat the Russians without America's help. This is Europe's moment. They can't use America as an excuse anymore for holding them back.

Lastly… this is crazy, but Trump's economic plan of tariffs and trade wars might actually trigger a massive recession in the United States. When the US goes into recession, this almost always triggers a global recession. We realistically need an economic collapse of Russia to defeat them and Trump might accidentally cause this without even wanting to.

It is all weird to think about. But we just do not know what will happen or what the state of the war will be three months from now. It is a complete mystery to everyone, including the Russians.

Keep supporting Ukraine. Russia will be defeated.

[chaotic-goodsir]

I'm not from the US, and I'm absolutely not trying to ignore the severity of the election results so far, for Americans or for the rest of the world. It freaks me the fuck out that people like him can get into positions of power. But there are still so many caring, decent, honest, accepting people in the world, and the more of those people we have, the better.

So if the US election results are scaring you, wherever you are in the world, please don't give up hope. Maybe you'll need to make a plan for your safety, but for now, if doomscrolling is only making you feel worse, it's okay to give yourself a break. Remind yourself of all the things worth carrying on for, whatever happens.

You are needed and the world is better for your existence. If we don't want hateful idiots like him to get their way, then we all need to stay alive.

[asgardian--angels]

I don't talk about this much but I'm just going to say it now.

there's something uniquely vile about being the daughter of a father who is a trump supporter. and not just a casual supporter, a full drank-the-kool-aid moon-landing-was-fake deep red neonazi maga crackpot. because I had to watch that change happen over the last decade. my father, an intelligent, introspective scientist, whose brain has essentially turned to mush and critical thinking skills shriveled up and died thanks to that orange rapist.

He has always loved me, supported me to be whatever I want to be, given me the most opportunities he could in life. He taught me to be kind, and forgiving, and to remember that we are all in this together. And now, while still claiming to feel that way, he vehemently, and viciously, spews hateful rhetoric and vitriol against women, against climate change, against democrats, against all the things I am, against the field of study I've dedicated my life, my soul to. We can no longer even have a regular conversation because all he does all day is sit online and watch trump rallies, listen to 'patriot' podcasts, and troll people on forums. He has nothing else to talk about, and cannot be negotiated with. Him and I used to love having sparring matches of wit, picking topics to debate in good faith. Now, any hint of a challenge and he becomes enraged, petty, and belittling. He somehow maintains this hypocritic fallacy in his mind that he is a good person, that he does everything to make my life better, and that humankind must come together to make a better future. Just, not *those* people, I guess, not them or them or them who aren't even people to him.

And I must occupy some gray area in his mind, Schrodinger's political prisoner. Because even though he knows I am a democrat, that I am a woman who will be affected by these laws, that I study climate change in the work that he supposedly supports, I must not be to him, one of 'those' people. I'm not like 'those' democrats, 'those' women, 'those' climate change cronies. Except when I am, because if we argue, if we discuss policy at all, I am just a girl, under his roof, and I have no idea what I'm talking about - because I'm young, because women aren't capable of understanding His greatness, because Elite Academia has brainwashed me into being a liberal. That my mom and I are ganging up on him, constantly, to paint him as the villain when he's only the victim. He's going to elect the man who will save us all, whether we want it or not. Our say doesn't matter, because we just don't understand.

I miss the father I knew. He was always petty, always ready to poke and prod - he hurt my feelings plenty, but I could deal with it. But I felt he was genuinely good at his core, that he tried his best. Now, I don't know him. I don't recognize him anymore. I've imagined so many times what I would say to him if I could give a speech, or write a letter, where he could not talk back and just had to listen. I don't know if I'll ever get that chance, or take it. But I know he has truly no idea how hurt and betrayed I am, and he wouldn't believe me if I told him. He knows no shame, and he does not apologize.

I'm not looking forward to spending the winter at home with him every day for two months. I don't see how I can look him in the eye. And how dare he look me in the eye after fucking me over.

I love my father, no matter what, and that's why it hurts me so badly to see him change into a stranger, and wonder if there was anything more I could have done to change his mind before this transformation completed. Knowing that it's not my responsibility to argue with him to try and make him see reason when he's too far gone and all it does is make me feel like shit, and yet.

I'm sorry to everyone who may relate to this within their own families. It's probably going to get worse. These men will feel empowered to speak their minds and force you to hear it. They try to provoke you, just so they can say you're hysterical or overreact as women do, when you get reasonably upset. Know that you're not alone in this, Trump has truly torn families apart in ways that I don't think will ever heal.

[ofmermaidstories]

the australian government is trying to legislate kids under sixteen off of social media. so, if you are aussie and under sixteen, you won’t be allowed to have a sm account on sites like twitter, tiktok, facebook, youtube—and more.

i know our relationship with minors, as fic writers who write for other adults, is rocky at best. the rise in self-censoring and shame-based attitudes among readers in general is helping to kill any and all artistic curiosity in the next generation, which in turn makes it actively hard to be in shared, online fan spaces. it’s easy to blame the kids, but at its heart i think this is an active adult failure. our younger generations have gotten the raw end of the deal, in many ways; one of them being allowed to grow up alongside of material that they should’ve never had free access to, not without guided parenting.

And that’s the thing. the answer isn’t banning them. the legislation involved means that social media companies will be the ones to face the penalties (the fines) if minors break the new laws. which means—what? censorship gets even worse, in an effort to be even more kid friendly? Government-interest friendly? this talk started happening in the thick of the pro-palestine marches, as the movement was trickling into universities and highschools. And okay, let’s say it’s not that—what else could this be about? could it maybe have something to do with the fact that the australian government wants to implement a Digital ID nation wide?

"This one is for the mums and dads,” Albo, Anthony Albanese, our prime minister and prime dickhead, says in the announcement. “They, like me, are worried sick about the safety of our kids online. I want Australian families to know that the government has your back.”

But this isn’t about protecting kids. At the very best, they’re selling it as a scapegoat—like, oh! Haha, now you can just tell the kids it’s illegal!! It completely ignores the reality that people have to parent these humans. Like, it’s giving people, at best, an excuse to continue being lazy. They don’t have to sit down with their kids and the things they’re engaging with, anymore—because they’re banned from it! Instead having conversations about the media they encounter, it’s okay! You don’t need to worry about that anymore! The australian government wants to pretend this is about protecting kids from predators or online bullying, instead of parents confronting the fact they’ve created little assholes with unfettered access to tools to harass people with, or let their kids walk into traps because they haven’t taught them basic internet safety.

I have mixed feelings. Like any other (reasonable) adult, I worry about what kind of effects this much freedom to this much knowledge and drivel and personality can do to someone younger, someone who hasn’t like—had to learn how to make their way through a world where people are messy and a little weird and sometimes outright unlikable, but you have to still be professional about it, you know? I worry about things like micro-trends running the fun and excitement of digging in and finding some niche fashion that becomes your personality. I worry about status symbols like the right makeup and fitness pants and waterbottles getting popular too fast, and then cycling out just as quickly and creating a pace that kids without means can’t participate in as fast. I worry about podcasts run by sigma-pus males or whatever, tradwives selling glamour under the pretense of housework, like, so much of it. But these are all things that you as a parent have to negate!!! Like. You can’t just ban kids from the internet and then expect them to be normal about things whenever they’re allowed back—you have to teach them to be, to handle it. You have to teach them!!

I am saying this as an adult. An adult who likes adult things, and likes them in an open, easily-accessible space. An adult who would actively benefit from minor-free social media. There are things as an adult creator that I wanna talk about, or write about, in ways that aren’t always age-appropriate (or at all!!) for a younger audience. And look—my personal view has always been that as a fanfic writer, my responsibility to you guys (adults and sneaky-little-minors alike!!) has always been to warn appropriately on or in the fics themselves. That’s it. You get the warning labels on the tin, and you decide what to do with that afterwards. It’s not always perfect because I’m not perfect. I will make mistakes. I might not tag for something specific that ends up being a trigger for you. But the thing with fanfiction and fanfic communities is that we generally have to trust each other. I might miss a warning, but you have to trust that that mistake wasn’t a deliberate effort to hurt you. I have to trust that you guys know your own boundaries and will engage—or not!!—accordingly. I opt to treat my space here, my blog, as an open-one. Because it is! It’s a public blog LOL. If you have a tumblr account, then you have access to it! So, I try to treat this space like a public conversation in a café, or a foodcourt. Maybe I slip a raunchy little book over the table to you, and we make one or two rude jokes, or otherwise a stray rando catches the tail-end of a more serious conversation—but it’s all things I would be comfortable (enough) discussing with someone in a space where maybe I don’t know everyone involved, you know? I benefit from the knowledge that oh well, at least I don’t have to worry about local kids getting on here. 💀 But—I hate that for them!! Do I trust younger readers? Not always!!! I worry that they’ll get caught in the wrong feedback loop, that they don’t like, investigate claims or challenge information for themselves, that they’ve never had to! And hey, to be completely fair, I don’t always trust proper adult readers with that either LMFAOOO, but the point is that kids get more grace and more worry from me because they are still actively learning to be apart of things, of communities. And I think banning them from that is ultimately a mistake. To protect someone you have to teach them what to look out for, how to engage safely, how to trust themselves. And that’s not what’s going to be achieved here. This social media ban is a useless bandaid in the face of bigger problems (housing crisis, inflation, the AUKUS submarine thing i don’t even want to talk about it its stupid) that the government is waving around to distract everyone with. And it’s working. Because people would rather sit there and scroll on facebook, or whatever, instagram, instead of actively parenting.

[mooshkat]

anyways i refuse to accept that that's the final end of them so. here.

Two hours later, Buck finds himself on Tommy's doorsteps. There's still a pit in the bottom of his stomach, it hasn't left since the words "I guess I did." left Tommy's mouth, but now he's moved on to upset. He's angry and he's not going to let one of the best things that happened to him go without a fight.

He knocks on the door, harsher than he normally would, and doesn't have to wait long before his–before Tommy answers it.

"What–Evan!" Tommy says, startled as Buck pushes past him and barges into his house. Buck glances at him and finds him with puffy, red eyes and tear tracks on his cheeks. It makes him just a little bit more hopeful that Tommy isn't as over them as he initially thought.

"I heard what you said and I get you're scared, Tommy, but no. No, you don't get to end things like that. Not after going through the last six months acting like it was meant to mean something because it did. To me."

Buck stands in the middle of the living room, arms crossed tight over his chest. He becomes hyperaware of just how much their lives have intertwined over the last six months; bits of him are scattered all over Tommy's house, in the clothes he's left behind and the pictures pinned to the fridge that holds his keto snacks. The same kind of pieces that Tommy has at his loft as well.

"Okay, so what if you're my first boyfriend? That doesn't make how I feel about you mean any less. I don't–I don't need to go out there and find another guy I like until he's 'the one'. I like you and I don't need to explore my options, or whatever. It kind of makes it feel like you think I'm just experimenting with being bisexual, and that's not what this is. I'm not using you as some exciting new thing."

Tommy sighs and scrubs a hand down his face, his shoulders drooping. "No, Evan, I'm sorry. That's not what I meant."

"Good. Good." Buck nods, deflating a little bit. "I'm sorry you've had shitty experiences in the past, Tommy, but I'm not those people. I-I asked you to move in with me tonight because I could see a life with you, Tommy. I want you in my life."

He takes a deep breath, "You talk about being scared of having your heart broken by me? You broke mine tonight. I've been afraid to say it because I always–always–get in too deep faster than my partners, but I...I love you. I love you, Thomas Kinard, and I want a life with you. Please don't let your fear stop you from having that."

Tommy doesn't say anything. He stares at Buck, eyes wide, and doesn't open his mouth.

The pit in his stomach gets worse. The hope he had is fracturing apart and splintering into raw embarrassment instead, and maybe this was a stupid idea, wasn't it? It was a bad idea to refuse Tommy's boundaries and come barging into his home to yell at him.

"Oh. Yeah, okay. Sorry, this was stupid." He was stupid thinking someone would actually want to stay for once. "Sorry. Forget I ever came over, and I'll–I'll leave your stuff at Harbor later."

He ducks his head and tries to squeeze past Tommy so he can leave before he gets sick.

A hand wraps around his wrist and stops him. He doesn't want to risk it and see it in Tommy's eyes that they are truly done for, but he stops and glances up at Tommy anyway.

"I'm sorry," Tommy says, and fresh tears pool in his eyes. "I'm sorry I let old habits kick up and let fear run my life. I'm not really the best at talking about things, am I? If–If you'll stay, I want to tell you about it. I shouldn't have left the way I did, but I want you to understand why."

Buck pulls his wrist free from Tommy's grasp and for a split second, he sees the fear and hurt in his eyes, before Buck grabs his hand and squeezes it. "Okay. Let's talk. And...please don't ever call me Buck again."

[demigod-shenanigans]

Jason, Piper and Leo trying to play one of these elementary school jump rope games on the Argo 2

I was trying to figure out how to write this as a snippet however it’s been ages since I myself have last done a jump rope game and it turns out I have no idea what I’m doing so I hope it’s okay in headcanon/summary form instead! The good news is that way it’s gonna be a bit longer which I hope will be nice :)

-This is most definitely happening on the way from Camp Half-Blood to New Rome. Everyone’s got a lot of nervous energy and there is so much riding on all this and also Leo and Piper are about to meet Jason’s first family/former friends for the first time and everyone is stressed about it!

-Piper initially suggests it as a way for them to distract themselves and get some excess energy out. Leo is immediately down. Jason is just confused because he’s never done jump rope games before and asks if it’s a training exercise. Piper and Leo just stare at him

-Alternatively, if Jason is just pacing/wanting to be alone for a bit pre getting to New Rome, maybe Leo and Piper are doing it on their own at first (potentially like a Buddy Jumping thing where they both hold one end of the rope and try to jump synchronized. They’re very bad at it) and Jason eventually walks in on this and just stands there being all ????

-I think they have children’s games in New Rome to be clear I just don’t think jump rope is that common (also even if it was, Jason probably wouldn’t remember it due to the whole wiped memories incident combined with him being a child soldier/terminal workaholic)

-Either way, Leo promptly declares it’s his and Piper’s Sacred Duty to teach Jason jump rope games until they get to New Rome to help distract him

-Also for the record they’re not using an actual jump rope. Someone would have had to pack that and no one did. They’re using whatever kind of workshop rope Leo’s tool belt gave them when prompted.

-Piper and Leo swing for a bit and at first they’re really baffled that Jason seems to be way too good at this for someone who’s never done it before, until one of them is like hang on and suddenly notices Jason is just. Floating slightly above the ground so that’s why he has no trouble avoiding the swinging rope

-Jason does not understand what he’s doing wrong since he thought the point was just to avoid the rope. They explain it again and Jason is like “oh okay so it’s like a leg exercise thing I get it now” Leo has his head in his hands going “it’s not a training exercise dude it’s just for fun!”

-Jason is way worse now and also comments at least once that actually this isn’t even fun but he does kind of enjoy it and also just appreciates the distraction (he does totally still think of it as a sort of training exercise but honestly that probably just means he enjoys it more for that reason. Not that he’ll admit that to Leo and Piper tho)

-When Piper and Jason swing the rope for Leo, Leo keeps insisting that Jason use the winds to make the rope go faster because he’s good at this and wants to show off. It does not end well. Piper actually does better than Leo and he is very grumpy about it

-By the end of this whole thing they’re all in a heap on the floor tangled in the rope but they’re also laughing so that was totally worth it