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this-is-tiny-mia · 4 months ago

Text

Sorry, wrong number (H.S. One Shot)

General Masterlist Summary: A wrong-number text leads to an unexpected connection between a you and a stranger. What starts as a playful exchange quickly becomes the highlight of their days, leaving you curious about the man behind the messages. A/n: I don't really know what i'm doing here, i just got inspired and i was bored, i'm clearly not a professional fanfic writer, but i hope at least someone enjoys it. (ALSO ENGLISH IT'S NOT MY FIRST LANGUAGE SO BARE WITH ME WITH GRAMMAR AND STUFF) Word count: 4.1k

Warnings: Not really, use of y/n, maybe slow burn, cliff hanger cause i don't know if it's good enough to continue it.

Friday, January 10th

"Hi! This is Y/N. I already sent the files you asked for last Friday, but I didn’t get any reply. Could you please confirm you received them? Have a nice day!"

…

Tuesday, January 14th

"Hi! This is Y/N again. I know you might be busy, but I just wanted to confirm if the files were okay. We also still have the last payment pending, so whenever you can, it’s fine! Have a nice day!"

Maybe it was too soon to think the client had run off with the files and didn’t want to pay, or maybe he was in trouble? Maybe he got mad that I texted his personal phone number? Anyway, it wasn’t unusual for clients to disappear, but this time, you were really looking forward to that last payment.

Your mom’s birthday was coming up, and you wanted to buy something nice for her for the first time—maybe even outdo your sister and prove you could buy her something special too. You were eager about it but tried to brush it off and focus on other clients who actually responded to emails and texts.

Then, your phone buzzed.

"Hey, I wasn’t going to answer these texts, but I’m pretty sure someone gave you the wrong number. I’m not waiting for files—sorry!"

"That explains a lot," you said to yourself, staring at your phone. Embarrassment crept in as you double-checked the number the client had sent in an earlier email. And there it was—one single digit off from the number you’d been texting. Still, why wasn’t the client answering their email?

Regardless, you had texted the wrong number and even asked for the final payment.

"Oh my god, I’m really, really sorry! I just double-checked, and yes, I made a mistake with the number. Again, I’m so sorry to bother you."

"It’s fine! Hope you find the real client and get your payment."

You facepalmed in your office and chuckled at yourself. It was embarrassing to think about the stranger receiving your out-of-context texts. Maybe they were busy too, and you’d just interrupted their day. Or maybe you were overthinking it.

After searching for that email again, you dialed the correct number carefully, double-checking each digit. Then you sent another message:

"Hi! This is Y/N. I already sent the files last week, but I didn’t get any reply. Could you please confirm you received them? Have a nice day!"

Minutes later, the client responded. He apologized for falling behind on things, said he’d been busy, but confirmed he had received the files and planned to make the payment the next day.

Thank God.

You were always busy—navigating the challenges of freelancing and the whole "being your own boss" thing. Sometimes it meant being not just the social media marketer but also the accountant, admin team, planner, and much more.

"Everything alright?" Gwen asked, chuckling as she glanced at you. "You look a little stressed."

"It’s been a couple of stressful days," you replied. "But I’ll survive. You know I always do," you added with a smile.

Gwen was the fashion designer you shared the downtown office with. She was more experienced than you and ran her signature shop below the office, filled with beautiful, unique pieces. Thankfully, she was always a helping hand when you got stuck with an Excel sheet or needed advice on balancing work and life.

The next day was more of the same. Mid-month meant analyzing how the brands were doing—were they selling? Were they stagnant? Was there a new trend going viral? Or an upcoming holiday to leverage?

Your phone buzzed, interrupting your focus.

"I hope this isn’t weird, but did you get the right number? Or the payment? It felt like I was left on a cliffhanger."

You smiled at the text from the stranger who had received your initial messages.

"Not weird at all! I’d be curious too. And yes, I got the right number, and I think he’s paying me today!"

"Well, I’m glad! I wasn’t going to sleep without knowing how it ended."

"I’ll update you as soon as the payment comes through! lol."

Maybe it was odd to have a conversation with a stranger, but they didn’t even know who you were, so what did it matter?

"Please do. 🙏🏻"

You thought of that viral story about the grandma who accidentally texted a stranger and ended up inviting him to Thanksgiving dinner. But in your boring life, nothing like that could ever happen. You weren’t particularly chatty or extroverted in real life, but since they didn’t know who you were, what was the harm?

——-

"Update: The payment came in!!"

"Thank God! I’m happy for you, and it’s not even my money."

"Well, thank you for answering. Otherwise, I’d still be texting you about my lost payment."

"My pleasure. Is it okay if I ask what your job is? I’m curious—it’s my first time being a wrong number!"

"Is it weird to be texting a stranger who randomly asks about my job?" you asked Gwen, showing her the texts.

"What does that even mean?" she asked, confused.

"Have a look at this," you said, sliding your phone over. Gwen read the texts and smirked.

"He doesn’t even know who you are. He knows your name, but how many Y/Ns are there in London?" she said, trying to calm your overdramatic thoughts. "Or you could make up a funny, dramatic life and have fun for a few days—tell him you work in a strip club!"

You laughed softly but were tempted by the idea of harmless fun. What real danger could come from simple texts? He was the one who started asking questions, after all.

"I’m a digital marketing specialist."

"Sounds cool. I could never."

"What do you do, then?" you asked boldly.

"I own a small brand."

He technically wasn’t lying, but it wasn’t the full truth either. Maybe it was too soon to reveal his real identity. If he even had contemplated that.

"'I own a small brand?' That’s it?" you muttered to yourself. Your life wasn’t that boring after all—or maybe it was, compared to his.

Recently, you've been haunted by questions about your career. Did you even love marketing? No. Did you know what you wanted to do? No.

Your phone buzzed again, pulling you out of your thoughts.

"My name is Harry, by the way. Seems fair to tell you since I know yours."

"Nice to meet you, Harry."

You smiled at your phone, a soft, involuntary expression that you quickly brushed off. It wasn’t like you were getting attached or anything; it was just amusing. A stranger texting you was definitely the most interesting thing to happen that week. But after that, it went quiet. The conversation stopped, and you figured it was just one of those random, fleeting interactions life throws at you. Something to laugh about later with friends.

Two days later, though, your phone buzzed again. You assumed it was your mom or a group chat notification—certainly not Harry

“How did the week end for you? Any other wrong numbers?”

You blinked at the screen, taken by surprise but also oddly pleased.

“It ended pretty busy, but thank God it’s over. And no, no more wrong numbers, lol.”

“So, any weekend plans?”

How was it that this stranger, Harry, was better at keeping a conversation going than any guy you'd actually dated? It felt natural, like he genuinely wanted to talk to you, and for once, you didn’t feel like retreating into vague one-word answers.

“Nope, a bit of a boring life here. You?”

“Yeah, same.”

Okay, that was definitely a lie.

Your life was painfully average. You worked to pay rent, paid rent to keep a roof over your head, and that was it. Sure, there were good days and bad ones, clients who made you want to tear your hair out, and others who gave you glowing feedback that kept you going. But lately, when anyone asked, “What’s new?” or “What have you been up to?” your mind went blank. The truth felt too dull to say out loud.

Your love life? Also on pause. You’d had a long-term boyfriend once, but when his ambitions veered wildly away from your own, it fell apart. You didn’t hold any hard feelings, but dating apps weren’t exactly your thing, either. Deep down, you clung to the hope that someone would randomly appear in your life, the way they do in rom-coms—chocolates, flowers, and all. But you’d stopped expecting it a long time ago.

So why was a stranger, with nothing more than a name and a few texts, suddenly the most exciting part of your week? Maybe it was the mystery. Or maybe, just maybe, it was because it made you feel like you’d stepped out of your routine.

“Is it weird that I just kept on texting you? I feel like it is,” he texted again.

“A bit, but I’m enjoying it so far. It’s kind of fun, actually.”

“Ok, thank God we’re both weirdos, then. Are you based in London?”

And just like that, the fun felt like it came to a halt. He was asking for your location now. Sure, London was massive—1,572 km² of sprawling city—but your anxiety immediately perked up. Was this crossing a line? Did he want to track you down or something?

But then, the little mischievous devil on your shoulder chimed in. Relax, it’s harmless fun. It’s not like you two are actually going to meet, or like he’s going to know your exact address just because you said you lived in London.

The devil wins.

“Yes, I’m in London. You?”

Your turn, Harry man, you thought. And then, as if on cue, your brain jumped onto a rollercoaster of wild thoughts. Wait, what if he’s a 50-year-old? Or worse—a 15-year-old hormonal teen?! You shook your head. No, no, he’s a brand owner, you reminded yourself.

Was this fear of the unknown creeping in? Or... was it just pure curiosity?

“Yes, around Notting Hill.”

You stared at your phone, a bit shocked. Did he really just tell you his neighborhood? Was this man never taught about the dangers of sharing personal details with strangers?

Says the girl who keeps answering his texts.

“Cool,” you panic-texted back, immediately cringing at how abrupt it sounded.

A second later, another message from him popped up:

“You don’t have to tell me your neighborhood. I know it’s probably TMI. Sorry if that made you uncomfortable.”

You blinked at the screen.

Wait, was he apologizing? For oversharing?

“It’s fine, but be careful, I might be a stalker. You never know 😉”

An emoji? Oh my god, did I just use an emoji?

You internally cringed, debating whether deleting the message was still an option. But his reply came quickly:

“I’m used to that.”

You stared at your phone, baffled. What? What does that even mean? Was he used to stalking people? Or being stalked? That didn’t even make sense. Had you missed some new meme or slang? Or was he just trying to sound cocky and mysterious? Either way, your brain was now racing, trying to decode mystery Harry man.

Harry, on the other hand, was staring at his phone, feeling a wave of nervousness wash over him. Shit, did that just give away who I am? He tried to reassure himself. Maybe not. It could pass as just a random response... right? But the doubt crept back in. Then again, if it’s just a random response, does that make me seem really weird? Ugh, why didn’t I think before typing? He sighed, running a hand through his hair as he waited for your reply, wondering if he’d managed to keep things casual—or accidentally made it more suspicious but as you never did he quickly types another thing

“Hey, can you help me with something?”

You stared at the message, your eyebrows furrowing. Whatever this is turning into, it’s really, REALLY weird, you thought. But at the same time, you couldn’t help but feel a bit thankful that he’d brushed off the whole stalking comment. Now he wanted help?

“I’m about to launch a new collection next month, and I need to choose four nail polish colors for a kit. Which ones would you pick?”

He sent a picture of a color sample sheet, words scribbled around it like, “Too bright?” “Love this one,” and “OUT.” The paper rested on a dark wood table, and you couldn’t help but notice his right hand in the frame, his nails painted in a sleek shade.

A man wearing nail polish? you thought, biting back a grin. What’s sexier than a guy with zero fragile masculinity?

STOP. Sexier? Seriously?

STOP. He’s a stranger.

“I would go with, the coral one at the top, the navy, the nude and the green”

“That’s literally what I was thinking. If they sell out it’s on you y/n”

“So I’ll be expecting a good commission then”

“Deal and thanks, by the way. For actually helping. I wasn’t sure you’d reply to that one.”

“No worries, it’s kind of nice having someone randomly text me about nail polish drama. Way better than client emails. Didn’t thought your business was about nail polishes though”

“Glad to be of service. Let me know if you ever need a second opinion on, I dunno, which shade of PowerPoint gray to use.”

“My saviour”

“That 's me. A true giver. Anyway, I’ll stop bothering you for now. But seriously, thanks again, Y/N.”

“No problem. Good luck with the collection!”

The conversation ends with more questions than answers about Harry—nail polishes? Why is this conversation flowing so effortlessly? It left you curious but not uneasy. Both of you felt like this wasn’t the last time you’d talk. It was a small, unexpected connection, one that neither of you was quite ready to let go of.

—-

Your mom’s birthday went on as planned. You were able to buy her a beautiful scarf from one of her favorite brands—pricey, yes, but it was your mom, so you didn’t mind splurging. And if you happened to overdo your sister this time? Well, that wasn’t the point, not entirely. But deep down, it felt good to prove to yourself that you could keep up, even if her success with her law firm always felt like a shadow hanging over you.

It had been five days since you and Harry last texted. It felt... normal. No stomach-wrecking nerves like the ones you got when talking to guys you were interested in. No overanalyzing if you’d been annoying, rude, or too eager. With Harry, it was different. Maybe it was because he was still mostly a stranger. Maybe because you weren’t trying to impress him. Or maybe because you knew deep down that, even if he didn’t reply again, it wouldn’t sting. At least for now.

After a few days of sporadic texting, Harry throws out an idea, the text that changed everything.

“Okay, hear me out: since we both don’t want to seem like stalkers, how about a deal? We get to ask one random question a day. Nothing creepy or too revealing. Just normal stuff. What do you think?”

You smirked at the screen. He’s trying to make it less weird? Bold of him to assume this isn’t already weird.

“Alright, but you go first”

“Fine. If you could live anywhere in the world, where would it be?”

“Somewhere coastal. Like Brighton, maybe? I need the sea to remind me I’m alive.”

“Interesting choice. I’d go somewhere quiet, but still close to a city. Like, Italy?”

You paused for a second, feeling a little silly. He chose a whole other country, and you’d barely ventured two and a half hours away from London. Still, it was a start.

The daily questions continued, evolving from a simple game into something that felt more like a natural rhythm. Each question peeled back another layer of this stranger you were beginning to know better, even without ever seeing his face. You learned that Harry loved tea but hated coffee—how do you even function?—and that his favorite season was autumn. He found out you adored thunderstorms and had an irrational fear of elevators, thanks to a terrifying incident years ago when an elevator you were in nearly dropped two floors.

It wasn’t just the questions, though. There were moments in between: a blurry photo of an office corner from Harry, captioned, “My life in chaos”; a street view of Downtown that you sent, carefully avoiding any landmarks near your home. Then there was the fluffy golden retriever he’d spotted on his way to work—he couldn’t resist sharing it with you.

Before bed each night, you’d find yourself thinking for at least twenty minutes, trying to decide what to ask next. The game didn’t feel like a game anymore. It was something else, something steady and comforting. For now, there was no pressure to meet or cross any lines—just two strangers finding small joys in their shared curiosity. But now it felt refreshing and even exciting whenever his or your question popped up on the phone.

It was a rare Sunday sunny afternoon in London, and you found yourself strolling down the street. The shops buzzed with life, tourists snapping photos, and locals hurrying along with their errands. You were looking forward to reach that particularly small ice cream shop you loved. That’s when you saw it—a storefront with sleek, funky decor and the words Pleasing printed elegantly across the window. You slowed your pace, curiosity pulling you closer. The display was stunning: a lineup of nail polishes in perfectly curated colors. Coral. Navy. Nude. Green.

Your heart skipped a beat.

No. It couldn’t be. This is just a coincidence.

You even felt silly for considering it. But for a moment, you just stood there, staring at the bottles neatly arranged under soft, flattering light. Your mind raced back to that conversation. Harry when he had asked for your opinion on nail polish colors. Coral, navy, nude, and green. The same exact shades in the window now.

It HAD to be a coincidence.

“Pleasing is huge…Harry is a huge pop star too” you thought to yourself, folding your arms as if to shield your thoughts from prying eyes. “There’s no way. It’s not like that Harry would just randomly text someone asking for nail polish advice. Or just to play a silly game of questions everyday”

But the seed of doubt was planted. Your phone buzzed in your pocket, breaking your trance. For a split second, you expected to see a message from him. But it was just a group chat notification—nothing exciting. You took a deep breath, willing your mind to behave. “Stop being ridiculous” you tought “He was probably just some regular guy with the same first name, with the same kind of business. Nothing more.”

Still, as you walked away from the shop, the memory of his texts lingered, trailing behind you like the shadow of a question you couldn’t quite answer. Was it possible? Could he have been the Harry all along? The thought was outrageous, yet your heart raced with the tiniest flicker of hope—or was it just pure curiosity? You slipped your phone out of your pocket, scrolling back through weeks of messages. One by one, you opened the pictures he had sent, your eyes scanning every corner, every detail, hoping for something—a slip-up, a clue, anything to confirm or dismiss the wild idea.

There was the photo of the nail polish color samples, laid out on a dark wooden table. You zoomed in on the edge of the frame. The faintest reflection of something metallic—jewelry? A ring? You’d noticed his hand before, polished nails and all, but now you studied it with new intent.

Then, there was the picture of a cat, curled up on a plush couch. The background caught your attention this time: the kind of sleek, minimalist decor that wouldn’t look out of place in a magazine. It could belong to anyone, really…but why did it suddenly seem so…familiar? Your finger hovered over the screen as you stared at his name in your contacts: Harry. Just Harry.

And yet, the thought wouldn’t leave you alone. You zoomed in on one last photo—the corner of his shoe peeking into the frame of a sunset he’d sent you. White Sambas. Completely ordinary. But the tiniest voice in the back of your mind whispered, or maybe not.

You locked your phone and shoved it back into your pocket, your cheeks burning as if someone had caught you red-handed in your amateur sleuthing. “Get a grip,” you thought. “Even if it was him, he’d never admit it. And honestly, why would he have time to text a stranger?”

Still, the idea danced at the edge of your thoughts, impossible to ignore. As you walked away from the Pleasing shop, a small, secret smile tugged at your lips. Even if it was crazy, the idea was kind of…fun.

The easy back-and-forth continued for days, it was like a month by now, his messages feeling less like texts from a stranger and more like snippets of a conversation with someone familiar. You felt lighter, laughing more often, and somehow the world didn’t seem quite as dull as it did a few weeks ago.

Then, one night, came a new question:

“If you could pick one place to meet a stranger for the first time, where would it be?”

Wait. Wait. Wait. Is this what I think it is?

Your heart jumped as you stared at the screen, the words blurring for a second. You thought for a moment, carefully choosing your response before typing: “A café. Casual, safe, easy to leave if they’re weird. Full of people, maybe near a police station if they’re a serial killer. You?”

His response came quicker than you expected.

“But if you could pick an estimated time to meet a stranger, how long would you wait to feel comfortable with it?”

You rolled your eyes, smiling despite yourself. “Nice try, Harry.”

“Goodnight, Tulip 🌷.”

Oh no. That wasn’t your stomach growling in hunger; those were butterflies. Actual, undeniable butterflies. Was it even possible to feel something for someone you had no idea what they looked like? What if he was totally different in person, the opposite of this charming, thoughtful guy behind the texts?

Harry had started calling you Tulip after you’d mentioned they were your favorite flowers, and somehow, it stuck. Now, every time he used it, it made you smile like a fool.

Maybe his question was just a throwaway comment, harmless banter before he said goodnight. Or... maybe it wasn’t.

----

One Friday morning, you found yourself buried in work at a café you liked to visit when you needed a break from your desk. The smell of freshly brewed coffee and the sound of quiet chatter helped you focus on a new project.You were mid-email when your phone buzzed.

“Today’s question: what’s your go-to coffee order?”

You smiled, grabbed your cup, and snapped a quick picture to attach to your reply. “An iced latte with oat milk. Drinking one right now.”

“Is that a café?”

“Yeah, it didn't feel like an office day today.”

Moments later, your phone buzzed again, and your stomach dropped.

“…I think I see you.”

Your heart stuttered. Wait. What? Your eyes flicked around the café with a mixture of curiosity and panic. Students were typing away on laptops, a few professionals were deep in email mode, and a couple laughed over their pastries at the next table. Everything seemed normal—except now you felt like you were being watched. You straightened in your seat, pretending to be calm while your mind raced. Another buzz.

“I don’t mean to freak you out, but… blue sweater, iced latte, corner seat by the window?”

Your stomach did a flip. That was definitely you. The serial killer theories came roaring back in your brain.

“Okay, very funny. That was just a lucky guess, wasn’t it?” You hit send, not sure if you wanted him to be joking or if you secretly hoped he was serious.

“No joke. I swear.”

Your hands trembled slightly as you set the phone down. You scanned the room more carefully now, eyes darting from one face to another. Was it the guy with the newspaper in the corner? The barista behind the counter? And then, you saw him.

A man near the door, half-hidden behind sunglasses and a black baseball cap, a scarf loosely wrapped around his neck, holding a cup. He was leaning casually against the wall, phone in hand.

Holy fucking shit. No. No way. Your brain scrambled for logic. This was just a dream, right? Some random coincidence. But your phone buzzed again, yanking you back into reality.

“Disappointed?”

Your breath hitched. He’d sent the text just as you watched him tap his phone. And when your screen lit up, he glanced up—right at you.

It wasn’t a coincidence.

It was him. Harry. Your Harry. and Everyone's Harry Styles.

PART 2!!

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#harry styles #harry edward styles #harry styles fanfic #harry styles fanfiction #harry fic #harry styles fic #harry styles x reader #harry styles one shot #hs fanfic #one shot harry styles #one shot #harry styles x y/n #harry styles fluff #harry styles writing

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ao3commentoftheday · 11 days ago

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I am having issues being nice to people in my ao3 comments. Most of the time people are perfectly lovely and I love having interactions with them. It's really important to me that when I'm on my writer tumblr instead of my main and on my ao3, I foster a kind and gentle community. I feel like that starts with me and that is the sort of environment I want to create.

Now, the problem is this fic I wrote. It's for a pretry big fandom and it got a lot of traction (like first page when sorting by hits while there are tens of thousands of fics) and it's been wild. Mostly great... except this one arc I wrote where character A, who is mentally ill and gets triggered into a spiral acts mentally ill, which negatively impacts people around him, including character B (it's a ship fic), who while not responsible is making it worse and making the active choice to stay, because he also has his own issues. The fic explores the aftermath of that as well, but for a few chapters it's just the downward spiral. And while it isn't all condoned, I give character A understanding due to the situation as well as a healing journey, wherein he apologizes and does better and makes up for it.

Sadly for me, character B is the fandom's favorite white boy, who is always the hurt victim in every situation and has no responsibility ever. So me also stating how character B is in part responsible forthe situation ending up getting as bad is a no go and people are very angry at me. On top of that, I based a lot of character A's struggles on my own, which makes it even less pleasant to get detailed comments about how he deserves to be beaten up for his actions and left by all his friends and family to stew in the guilt for the rest of forever all alone, less than fun.

I don't want to have to tell people about my own personal struggles and I am tired of explaining that it is a character arc and a nuanced and complex situation wherein multiple parties are at fault. And I have chronic have to reply even when I know ignoring it is better syndrome. At what point does it become acceptable to just be a fucking bitch to people?

First of all, lemme give you a hug 💗 It's never fun when people misunderstand your message and it's even worse when there's a personal element to it as well.

The way I see it, your comments section belongs to you. It's an extension of your fic and it's a place where every message left gets dropped into your inbox. If there's something you don't want to see in your comments section? Delete it. If there's someone who won't stop misinterpreting you/your characterization or someone who is being an asshat? Block them. Then delete their comment.

I know people get hung up on whether or not they should do that, but I'm here to tell you that if I didn't delete hate and block haters, this blog would have shut down in 2020, if not earlier. You need to take care of yourself, and if that means removing that part of your comments then so be it.

I also prefer to lead with empathy and understanding. I believe in giving people the benefit of the doubt. I work very hard at taking the best interpretation possible of scenarios that people write me about. But that doesn't mean I need to put up with hate or with willful ignorance or with snarky "ironic" dystopian takes on my attempts to be sincere and helpful. Those things all make it harder for me to continue this hobby I love, and therefore I delete and I block and I move on in the direction I'm going.

I definitely understand the desire to be a heinous bitch in response. I've even given into it a few times. But I also remember those times because I'm not proud of myself for losing my temper. I look back on them and wish that I hadn't chosen a good burn over my principles.

Don't share anything that you don't actually want to share with strangers on the internet. Don't keep comments around that make you feel bad. Put an author's note at the bottom of the chapter explaining what you're going for and letting readers know that you don't want comments like the ones you describe here - and delete them if they come in despite that.

Sometimes you just have to clean house, anon, and get rid of some of the cruft.

#asks and answers

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martian-astro10 · 7 months ago

Text

Astrology observations - Part 5 (use whole signs)

🌶️ I've noticed that Saturn in 8th house people always end up having to give their hard earned Money to their in-laws, like they're never able to keep it and if not in-laws then they end up losing it in some other way.

🍵 Saturn in 10th house people usually have a very bad relationship with their fathers, I know so many people with this and it's true for all of them (tbf, their fathers deserve it, so I don't blame them). Whenever i visit them, their father will start fighting even when I'm present 🥲 like some parents atleast pretend to be on good terms in front of others, but theirs do not.

🌶️ On the other hand, moon in 9th house people are usually very close to their father. He may not always be emotionally present in their lives but they still have this desire to prove their worth to him. But most people I know, who have this, actually love their dad and frequently spend time with him. It's cute.

🍵Mars/Sun in the 1st house people are some of the most ambitious individuals. I noticed that many billionaires have this. It doesn't mean that they're good at what they do, it's more like, they'll step over anyone to get what they want, can be greedy as well. If a person has sun AND mars in 1st..... don't mess with them, because they will RUIN your life.

🌶️ Jupiter in 2nd house people suck at financial management, these people are so talented and will do a great job, get paid a hefty amount, and then just lose all that money, I actually don't even know how they manage to do it, but they just do 😭. If you have this, please give your salary to someone more responsible and only then will you be able to become rich.

🍵3rd lord in 12th house people ALWAYS do better in life when they leave their birth land. Nothing goes their way as long as they stay where they were born, but once they move abroad, it's like, their whole personality changes (in a good way), they also start feeling more comfortable in expressing their talents.

🌶️ Sun in 2nd house people are REALLY good singers, I don't know about the celebrities, but we have so many amazing singers in our university and all of them have sun in 2nd house, the type depends on the sign. But all of them have such a beautiful voice.

🍵 Saturn in 2nd house people are the ones who act like the elder sibling even when they're the youngest or the only child. Idk how to explain it, but they just have the "oldest child" energy. They're very responsible and I know people with this, whose parents did not treat them in a good way and yet they do not hold a grudge, they're like "it's okay, they were also having problems of their own, so I get it, I know they actually love me" and it's.....kind of sad. But also, very inspiring in a way. They're also very very responsible with money. They know how hard it is to earn before they even start working themselves.

🌶️ Mars in 3rd...these people....first of all, if you're reading this, please learn to talk slowly bro. These people always be talking like they gonna miss out some shit 😭, like bro calm down. Also, they wanna argue ALL THE TIME. I have a friend with this and and she makes ME cry with how long she's able to argue, they will make you agree with them before they leave you alone. So now whenever she says something that I don't agree with, I just go "yeah, you're actually right" cuz I'm NOT taking risks.

🍵 Mercury in 3rd house people can be amazing journalists and writers. They really have this ability to make you FEEL things through their writing, especially if it's in a water sign. Can be very passionate about certain social causes as well. I know two people with this and both of them have a secret twitter and Tumblr account and they refuse to tell us the username. So, they like to fight for things, from behind the scenes and avoid spotlight.

#saturn in 8th house #saturn in 10th house #moon in 9th house #mars in 1st house #sun in 1st house #jupiter in 2nd house #3rd lord in 12th house #sun in 2nd house #saturn in 2nd house #mars in 3rd house #mercury in 3rd house #astrology observations #astrology #astroblr #astrology community #astrology content #astro notes #astro community

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gunstreet · 20 days ago

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Transferring an old twitter thread of mine here to make it easier to read: I had some dipshit straight Spock truther in my mentions, so in the group chat we were talking about the Hays Code and how Star Trek began before it was abolished in 1968.

By 1966 when it premiered, there was already a lot of pushback, but showrunners were still at the mercy of whatever studio was putting their work out there, and especially with something that was already pushing the envelope, the studio likely wouldn't let them get away with too much. So even if Roddenberry and/or the writers had wanted to make Spock's queerness more obvious, the studio would have shut it down. Star Trek got away with a LOT of the progressive/queercoded stuff they did by making it look innocuous to a casual viewer, but obvious to anyone watching closely. For example, in "City on the Edge of Forever", you have Jim saying how "let me help" is an even more powerful statement than "I love you", and then in the very NEXT episode Spock is saying "let me help" to Jim. But I digress. There's a lot in S3 that's less subtle overall. For example, there have always been instances where it’s implied that Jim seduced someone on mission in order to get information or gain trust (honeypotting), but the first time it’s really clear that sex occurred is in "Wink of an Eye" when we see him sitting on the bed putting his boots back on, and the woman at his dresser fixing her makeup. By this point, the Hays Code has been abolished in favour of the MPAA rating system. With that in mind, I want to talk about how all of Spock's mind melds with Jim occur in S3, which ran from late in 1968 to 1969.

We've seen Spock perform mind melds before, but not until "The Paradise Syndrome" do we see him do so with Jim. Context implies this is not only the first time we are shown it as viewers, but also the first time they've done it. Spock is visibly affected by Jim's mind, to the point that by the time he breaks the connection, he's disoriented, panting and limp. When McCoy asks if he's all right, he says, "His mind... he is... an extremely dynamic individual." You don't have to try very hard to view this as sexual. And we know that touching minds is a form of intimacy for Vulcans, because we've been shown and told this previously, in "The Enterprise Incident" when Spock and the Romulan Commander touch fingers rather than kiss in the human way, and in previous instances where Spock performs a mind meld.

The first time we as viewers are shown the meld is in S1, with "Dagger of the Mind". This one is presented as very mystical and witchy, with Spock explaining the act to McCoy, who looks on in sort of a terrified fascination as he melds with Dr van Gelder. But even here there is an energy to it that is very sensual. And in this, and other instances of Spock performing the meld before "The Paradise Syndrome", it's always very clear when he's totally in control of it and when he isn't. Melds are presented as emotionally draining for him, yes, in "Devil in the Dark" and "The Changeling", but it's not until his meld with Jim that we get the impression he was affected on a personal level. And we can believe at this point it's because he and Jim do have a very close relationship. It's been set up throughout the entire series! Of course having their minds join would affect him personally!

Even if it's simply a coincidence that this aligns with the abolition of the Hays code, this couldn't really have been shown earlier than it was, because they'd set up this incredibly meaningful and flirtatious relationship between Jim and Spock throughout the series. If they'd done what they did in "The Paradise Syndrome" in S1, there might not have been a S2! Can you imagine if the first meld we see were between Spock and Jim, after Spock goes on and on about the intimacy of mind melds and how it's a sacred act for Vulcans? After we've watched the two of them in episodes like "The Naked Time" and "The Enemy Within"? There's no way it couldn't be read as sexual, or at least deeply emotional. They had to first establish that Spock could perform a mind meld for many other reasons and purposes without it having a lasting effect on him.

By the time we reach "Turnabout Intruder", Spock needs only a second or two with his fingers on the face of Janice Lester to determine that it's Kirk's mind inside her body. The argument, of course, is that it would be obvious to anyone who was able to touch his mind that it was him and not Lester, but the surrounding context is also important. Just before the meld, Kirk says, "You are closer to the captain than anyone in the universe. You know his thoughts." This, again, on the surface, might read to a casual viewer as just the expected closeness of a captain and his devoted first officer. But the ease with which Kirk uses this particular choice of words indicates that Spock is by this point familiar with his literal thoughts via the mind melds they've shared (explicitly in "The Paradise Syndrome" and "Spectre of the Gun", and others perhaps not shown but implied by action or dialogue), and that Kirk feels comforted by this.

Spock is the only one who can truly see him in this incredibly vulnerable moment— what could be more intimate than that?

#star trek TOS #spirk #k/s #the premise #media history #star trek

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loveafterdeath-if · 2 months ago

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Yeah, similarly to what another anon said, I was kinda hoping for this to be a story about moving on after losing a lived one, specifically your partner, which I thought was a beautiful and heartbreaking concept, and while we did get that in the first few chapters, it feels like this plot twist kind of defeats the whole point.

Though, unlike the other anon, I personally will probably continue reading because I think you are an amazing writer and because I love Ekissa. The only thing that makes me not sure about continuing is that the situation is a bit awkward, makes me feel a bit uncomfortable, so I was wondering about how you were going to manage it? Because MCs moving on process obviously gets cut short, but for those of us who are gonna romance someone else, we still need to finish that process, and one important thing when moving on from an ex is time apart, especially for one you were grieving not so long ago. Otherwise old feelings, nostalgia and a lot of other emotions get mixed up and that would probably lead to confusion. (Sorry, for the long paragraph, just a bit worried about how this is gonna continue)

It's heavy spoiler territory, but I'll have to address this for anon. And it'll be a long-ass response, so be prepared,

You are right about one thing, the whole plot falls apart if El is alive, doesn't it? And like someone said in the LAD discord "why love after death then". They didn't phrase it exactly like that, but you know what I mean. The plot does start with El, but it won't end with them. Idk how to explain without giving away too much, lol

There are clues that El isn't really dead in the first chapters. The flowers MC receives, and now players know El was the one offering them. The doc and Athiel never talk about death when discussing El. MC doesn't have the right to go to the funeral or even see El's body. Even L being called by Juliet at the beginning will have its importance. They're small details, nothing too obvious, but they're here.

I'll be honest, sometimes when writing Athiel talking with MC, I struggled to remember El wasn't dead because I tried to make it look and feel like El was dead, so I drowned a bit in that department.

The characters might seem like a lot, but each has their own purpose, big or small. Some are a breath of fresh air for MC since they're not caught up in all the drama and can be objective. Others are here because they'll play an important role later. Then there are those who serve as reminders of the past with El (like the neighbors). And some are just like those background characters in anime; you don't even see their features because they're just there to serve a small purpose and keep the intrigue going. They come and go.

Sorry, I'm talking too much. So how I'll manage it, is by—and it's where it's gonna get tricky—make MC aware of it as soon as possible. There will be a reunion between MC and El. The tricky part is showing that El won't remember MC, no matter how much/if the MC tries to jog their memory.

The past El is dead; the memories won't come back, and if any fragments do resurface, El won't feel the love they once had. It's more like a ghost of memories; their body remember, but it's more mechanical than actual feelings. Like an old habit that won't go.

MC will have to grieve the old El anyway, even with them actually alive.

In El's route, it'll be all about falling in love again, getting them out of this toxic relationship with their mother, helping them learn to love themself again, and living with someone who is El but not the El you used to know. They have trauma, the confidence they once had is gone, they're insecure and they're more reserved than before.

Juliet is like, the first villain before introducing the final boss. What I wanted to do was weave two kinda plots in the same book because I didn't want to make two separate books. Love After Death is Love After Death for a reason. The plan is to make the players realize that El wasn't the focus of this book in the first place.

I hope there won't have any inconsistencies in this story, but if you find any plot holes, you're free to let me know, and I'll do my best to improve. It's only with advice and constructive critique that I can do so. I'm sure there are blind spots I won't see right away; I'm only human😭

#heavy spoilers #inbox #love after death #LAD-if

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for-a-longlongtime · 5 months ago

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To all the fans in the Pedro fandom who feel like they don't belong

I see you. We see you. You have a place here among all of us, and we want you to be here - we really do.

No, this isn't a Kumbaya post, I'm fuckin' for real.

To all the writers...

... who receive racist messages, death threats, are being told their reader insert isn't good enough, that this and this character wouldn't be with someone who looks and sounds like you, that you're not using the right words or that you misspelled something --

I am so fucking sorry people had the fuckin' gall to direct that hate at you, because you don't deserve it. You share your stories and characters with us, and they are adored and read and celebrated exactly for who they are - not despite of who they are.

To everybody who lurks, reads, but doesn't feel like they can participate...

... who see how their skin tone, language, identity, gender, body type, sexual orientation, culture, type of relationships, and so much more is underrepresented or actively treated with hostility --

I'm so fucking sorry, and I - as many of us - understand completely why you feel that way, because it's absolutely valid. But I promise it's not how the majority of people feel about you. I know that doesn't make up for shit, but I do want you to know that most of us care a lot.

Nobody should stay in an environment where they feel like they're not wanted, or where remarks are made carelessly without regard for how hurtful stereotypes are. But if this has ever happened to you, be it out of ignorance (or at times malice), please know - your presence matters.

To everybody who has ever felt insecure about their kinks or liking smut... ...please don't. Seriously. Your kinks are what they are and they are completely fine. Liking smut is fine. Liking Pedro characters in smutty fic is fine too. Kink exploration in fic should be a safe space and respected.

Don't shame others here, especially not as an anon. Yes, certain topics that writers address in fic may be challenging for you for a number of reasons, but guess what? You don't have to read it! You don't have to dissect *why* someone wrote that! Don't like smutty fic? Cool, so don't wade into fics marked as explicit. Don't like certain kinks? That's cool, just read the warnings and skip fic when it doesn't appeal to you. Sure you're entitled to your own opinions, but you do not need to air them out in public or trash an author because you didn't like how they wrote something.

To everybody in this fandom...

... especially those of us who are white, able-bodied, straight, cisgender, had formal education, are a native English speaker, and/or many of the other privileges that a lot of us carry in our backpack every day:

We need to do better. Please. For so many reasons.

We need to be aware of our blind spots, biases, the fact that at times everybody fucks up - because we live in a racist, homophobic capitalist patriarchy -, and that occasionally means admitting we were wrong. That we unintentionally said something that was hurtful and that we're sorry for hurting people with our words. That ignorance can slip so easily into words that we type, and that the only way. But own up to it and please don't pull the 'I'm sorry you feel hurt' card - no. Take actual responsibility. Particularly when underrepresented voices explained to you why something is wrong.

And please, call out your friends on things like this - especially if you're white/straight/cis. It's your responsibility to speak up because you're closer to them. White people should be the first to call out racism; it's not up to the people that already are on the receiving end of prejudice (or worse, hatred) to fight that battle.

Exclusion doesn't only happen if you're actively spreading hate - it also happens by not taking accountability for when you fuck up, or when you are erasing and ignoring identities. If the word 'representation' doesn't mean much to you, that's probably because you constantly see yourself reflected in the stories and people in society (that, in itself, is privilege too) - and hey, good for you! But there are many of us who that doesn't apply to in the same measure.

I've had many conversations lately about this with fellow queers as well as brown/black/Latinx folks, so I really wanted to post this. Not as virtue signaling or whatever the hell, but because I know a lot of people are seeing and reading things that are understandably make them reluctant to engage.

So hey, let's do better and look after folks in our community whether we directly engage with them or not. The amount of comments that are always gushing about 'I love how Pedro cares about others/is an ally!' is very disproportionate to seeing similar support expressed for creators and fellow fans. Let's also not forget he's a Chilean man, the son of socialist refugees, who has always actively been on the barricades for LGBTQIA+, rallies against white supremacy and the toxicity of patriarchy -- so if you appreciate his dedication to 'causes', lets apply that to the very real people in this fandom too. And fyi, this isn't just about a single instance or a single person - it's so much bigger than that, and we all know it.

(oh, and if you feel like I'm being a moralist about this - feel free to unfollow or block my ass. You do you! I don't care. I care about the people here who don't want the community harmed by anons who get their kicks from being a bully.)

#pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal fandom #pedro pascal

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sflow-er · 2 months ago

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"I think we who 'fit the norms' have a responsibility to understand those who live their lives differently. We need to know how to listen." Axel Åhman, Efter nio, 2020

One of the great things about discovering KAJ is that I have also fallen a tiny bit in love with Axel Åhman outside of the group. I mean, I haven't even had the chance to read his books yet, but the kinds of things I've seen him discuss in his writer and journalist role have already really endeared him to me.

It started with his documentary show Utanför boxen. Most specifically, episode 4, in which Axel talked to a nonbinary ace person, a sexologist, and two poly people (one of whom may have also been bi) about allonormativity, amatonormativity, and gender normativity. Even if those terms weren't used in the episode itself.

It's hard to even explain how happy it made me to see asexuality discussed in such an affirmative way on Finnish TV. Axel had even deduced on his own that the estimate of 1% of the world's population being ace was probably an understatement, which the sexologist and ace person confirmed for him. As someone who only discovered my aceness in my thirties, I really appreciated that being covered.

But perhaps even more than the ace side of things, I loved how Axel genuinely seemed to listen to his guests and wanted to learn from them.

"I'm starting to see how privileged I actually am as a straight man. Nobody questions me. Life is an open motorway before me. All I need to do is drive on; I won't be stopped at any red lights. Eri for example has to explain themself in several respects, basically every day. It's strong [of them] to be up to having that discussion every time."

This lesson on privilege clearly wasn't one Axel just learned for the show and forgot. He also repeated it in interviews conducted after his first book came out, such as the Efter nio clip linked at the top of this post and an interview with his alma mater's student paper.

Speaking of his first book, it's a short story collection with masculinity as the overarching theme. It's titled Klein; a dialectal variant of the word klen (meaning frail, weak, feeble or delicate), used to disparage men who don't conform to normative masculinity.

The interview in the student paper is by far not the only one where Axel has talked about how strict social norms weigh people down and how it should be okay for a man to be kle(i)n, but these snippets from said interview are still pretty illustrative.

In his stories, he examines behaviours connected to masculinity. Competition, rivalry and lifting oneself up by putting others down are some of the things Åhman highlights as problematic. [--] Åhman thinks there are definitely problematic sides to masculinity, and that a certain culture of machismo is still alive today.

"I think confidence has a lot to do with being a man. We are taught that we are allowed to take space, and nobody questions us when we do. We men are allowed to be more visible and audible." Åhman says he wasn't particularly good at playing instruments or singing when he first got on stage, but he still had the nerve to get up there and perform. He believes the bar is higher for girls to make it on to the stage than it is for boys. "It's stupid to raise a child into a specific gender role. I hope increased awareness can help solve that problem in the future."

When asked what he thinks of the phrase 'Boys will be boys', he says he finds it incredibly problematic. Boys are more seldom held accountable for their actions, and society makes excuses for them.

This thread of highlighting problematic aspects of masculinity doesn't end with Axel's book authorship, either. It even extends to the workplace comedy series Halln, which he wrote with Joel Rönn (and in which Jakob from KAJ starred alongside Joel).

The two guys vying for power at the company are both sexist in their own ways. Joel's character (Mikael) acts very overtly and anciently sexist, often treats graphic designer Emilia like his personal assistant, has even put up a "girl calendar" in the break room.

Next to Mikael, Jakob's character (Jona) seems like a very sweet and modern man, which he in many ways is! Yet he still doesn't listen to Emilia after asking her impressions on what could be improved at the company. He latches on to her mention of a ping pong table because he used to be a ping pong champion, but he completely disregards her wishes. When a romance develops between them, he decides that they will move together to his father's villa in Spain - and when she asks what she's supposed to do there, he says she can just chill by the pool until he comes home from work (!).

"Let me ask you this: where do you see yourself in five years?" "I don't know." "Exactly. You don't know. Do you know where I see you?" "Well?" "In Spain, with me."

There is simply no way Axel didn't have a hand in writing Jona like this. I can't wait to see what happens and whether the character experiences any growth if the show gets a second season.

And although I said at the start that this would be about Axel in other roles, I do have to end this appreciation post on a KAJ note. Namely, I watched an interview today that I hadn't seen before, where the host asked Axel, what message would KAJ stand for if they had to get political?

Axel answered that they already sort of did that with Gambämark. They started writing it in 2017, when a musical about a conservative village that walls itself off from the world felt very topical and political. They wanted to advocate for a more open [inclusive] society and "letting all the flowers bloom", so to speak.

To the question "are you feminists?", he replied, "Yes, I think so. We think so, even as we are three men and sometimes wonder if we would have got the same opportunities if we were three women."

#kaj #axel åhman #appreciation post #not yr

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thebluediner · 3 months ago

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Fluffy, sexy, funny, cute moments that shows Billie’s reaction every time reader changes her hair (i.e. boho braids, faux locs, sew in, wig, box braids, or knotless braids)

a/n: I've actually made this request to a writer and i don't remember them doing it so basically this is a " write the fanfic you wanna read" moment. Also for readers the pictures below are not a face claim but examples to those who may not know these hairstyles. I hope you like it anony

➺boho braids

you came back at about five pm back home after a long day at the salon. you were sat there for a couple of hours because when you think back you probably got there at nine am in the morning. you left billie eating breakfast on the counter with her bed hair still evident and sleep still hovering above her.

when you came through the door billie immediately jumped of the couch and charged towards the door to meet you. now billie wouldn't say she had low expectations but they weren't as high either so when she saw you her jaw dropped to the damn floor.

" baby what the hell you look so good" she said walking towards you her eyes tracing over your new hairstyle .shark and brutus were amazed too as they reached up to you wagging their tails.

"thank you my love " you blushed a huge smile forming as you looked down to the two dogs wanting your attention.

" no baby I don't think you understand me . you look like a goddess especially with these beads in, what?" billie exclaims still speechless before reaching out to hug you.

"I'm glad you think so baby but I'm so tired " you say returning her hug withyour face resting on her shoulder.

" ofcourse baby. do you want to go grab a shower while I dish out what I cooked for you ?" she asked her hands rubbing your back.

with a nod you pulled away from her walking away . billie's eyes ever left you though she was still starring as her sexy ass girlfriend.

➺ faux locs

you told billie you were going to get your hair done in new york before catching the flight but never showed her any picture of some sorts. what she did was send you money way over the amount you'd actually have to pay for your hair.

the act was completely unnecessary because you could afford it out of your own pocket but she insisted everytime you did your hair to pay so you sort of just let her do it now.

when you got off your plane you took your stuff and set out to find billie. there she was looking like a ninja. you laughed to yourself when you saw her she was dress not to be noticed but really she was doing the opposite she was actually eye catching.

she was facing down looking at her feet with her hands in her pocket like she they were something interesting. by the time you were infront of her that's when her head rose up and faced you.

her eyes reached your face but you could she how they quickly moved to your hair. it wasn't black this time it was some shade of brown going well with your sunkissed skin. you had added some blonde curled extension on the faux locs.

you thought she would like them since she liked the boho braids the last time.

"I miss you too baby " you say with sarcasm before setting your bags down and reaching out to embrace her.

"right, I'm sorry you just look stunning I think I malfunctioned" billie replies explaining herself making you let out a giggle at her words.

"you like it ? I added the curls for you " you admit watching her eyes sparkling a smile forming om her lips.

"I love it baby you look absolutely gorgeous it's a miracle my eyes are still intact with my sockets " she says planting a kiss on your cheek her hand caressing your cheek while her eyes admired you.

➺ sew in

billie was the one who dropped you at your appointment this morning. she had some meetings and interviews around the city but by the time she's done you'll be done too so she promised she'd pick you up right after.

when you got there the hairstylist was still busy with someone else and you didn't mind so you waited for them to finish while you busied yourself with your phone.

but the time you started there were no hassles because you had washed and moisturised your hair the day before. well to be honest you didn't do it alone .billie volunteered to help knowing it took way too long to wash it and she didn't want you getting tired because of it.

you let the hairstylist do her thing the entire time hoping for the best results.by the time she was done she took out her phone to film because she had an online platform that documented her clients.

coincidentally the moment she pressed record billie walked in through the door already smilling upon seeing you.

"damn I'm going to have to marry you soon if you keep getting this pretty mama" billie shamelessly compliments you but before she could pour her attention to you she greets your hairstylist and thanks her for " making my wife more beautiful " which makes you grin like a fool.

"god you're beautiful you know that ?" billie's asks her finger on your chin gently turning it to the side to see your hairstyle in another angle.

"the phones recording babe " you inform looking up at her actually blushing. when billie's register's this she looks at the phone placed on the tripod before laughing at how she didn't notice it before.

➺ wig

you were doing a shoot for your music video that was based around anime well more like a video game. so along with that you needed some wigs that matched the vibe.

you arrived on set pretty early on because you wanted to give your hairstylist who was also your best friend enough time to work on your hair. the wig you both chose was a blonde one that would be installed then curled and styled.

after a lot of talking and laughing your hair was done and all you had to do was to get to costume. you had migrated to your dressing room along with the stylist to get dressed up.

what you didn't know was that billie would pop in to check up in you let alone with finneas. so, when they showed up you were just exiting your dressing room and heading towards the main shoot.

"billie?" you called out in suprise. upon hearing your voice tshe flashed you with her charming smile before walking towards you.

"I didn't know you'd drop by " you said but by then her attention was all over your body and not exactly to what you're saying.

"what's up bro , cool costume" finneas greets you with a warm side hug mostly because you both are looking at billie weirdly with how fast she got quiet .

"thanks but is she okay ?" you asked gesturing at billie who's eyes traced your body watching her ears get more red.

" she's freaking out cause you look exactly like the anime girls she'd thirst over when she was a teen" finneas spilled which actually got billie to speak.

" I'd say fuck off but you're right, baby you're sexy I think I'm pregnant" Billie admitted all in one go making not only you laugh but also the people around y'all who are working on the set.

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prettymrswright · 4 months ago

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you don't even know

pairing: stem•riri ᢉ𐭩 black!fem•reader

background: you and riri have been in a situationship for longer than either of you'd like to admit. when one of you decides that you no longer want to play this game of tug-of-war, it creates a rift in your dynamic. this tension creates distance & avoidance between the two of you--moreso on her end. the 2 of you still attend an non-cancelable trip to Cayman Islands and revisit what led you here in the first place. contains: angsty fluff, dramaaaaa, smut(18+), mary jane, passion, strap!kink, n!pple!play, girl just--filth. taglist: @dejaonline @kisskourt @inmyheadimobsessed @saintwrld @sapphicvqmpires @koffeesfancy @naomis-daydream @euph0ricx0 @icespiceluvr

note: it has been.. forever and a day, hey y'all! been inspired + in the mood to write lately, so this is a cute re-introduction preview <3 there are many more ideas where that came from. writers & readers + ovulation week unite!!!

Walking over to the draped, gliding patio doors, you part the sheer, sangria-red drapes and clip them to their hooks, exposing all morning shadows with the early morning sunlight. You developed a keen morning routine to stabilize your state of mind, but somehow waking up on an island did half the work for you.

You step out onto the balcony, hot cup of ginger tea in hand, taking in the crisp, dawn air, and observe all the beauty around you. You were always swarmed in work, and as much as you loved what you did, it was nice to be away from it for a little bit.

You sat cross-legged on the balcony and placed your tea cup down beside you & took down the perfectly pearled j you rolled for yourself from behind your ear. Nothing paraded through your ear canals but the sound of the lighter flick & the breeze blowing the waters as you drew a long smoke and french inhaled.

As relaxed as you began to get, you were constantly disrupted by the rolling in your stomach, anxiety controlling the functions of your organs.

You & Riana Williams— this back and forth. You'd had enough. I mean, there wasn't anything stopping the two of you from being together. Well-- nothing but your fear. She was perfect. You never met someone who mirrored your energy, who charmed you, who encouraged you as much as she did. The answer seemed more than clear. Yet, any time the conversation of commitment arose, it'd be left fallen onto deaf ears.

You wanted to give her commitment--you wanted to be with her. But you couldn't help to wonder; How does she even know? That this--you-- were what she really wanted? That you'd even be what she expected of a girlfriend? You'd only been close to being in love one time, and when it ended, it almost destroyed you. So you stayed buried in your work. No idle time to have your mind running rampant.

You tried to explain over and over, in each way that you could. To get her to understand you were physically not sure if this was something you could take on. All it sounded like to her was excuses.

And it drew you apart. She started being cold, distant. Your sweet, sweet baby, slipping through your fingers like the sand grains that made up this beach in front of you. Not a smile, not a 'baby', nada. You deserved it. Though, no matter how much she kept guarded, you could see the hurt in her eyes. Not only did you no longer want to drag her along, but the thought of no longer having her in your life made you want to vomit.

You drew another pull, ghosting this time, and closed your eyes. You were here on this beautiful island, and the only thing that inhabited the cabin air was hard, cold tension. All you wanted was to hear her say your name. To kiss you softly. To rest her gentle touch on you--over you. The more you visualized, the more it felt real.

You open your eyes and are met with taps on the shoulder from the small girl, who you perceived to still be in slumber. You shuddered at the almost foreign-feeling contact.

"Hey." She shortly began. "Good morning. We gotta start getting dressed, everybody's heading down to the lobby."

Without awaiting your response or acknowledgement, she turns over her shoulder to go back inside.

You quietly sighed in emotional pain. If you were honest, you weren't up for being around a bunch of other couples today. You wanted to enjoy your trip, but at what cost. Your misery without Ri's normal over-attentiveness stripped all of your enthusiasm. You decided this was the end.

"Hey, can we talk?" You leaned up against the side of the balcony door frame, spliff still in hand, arms and ankles crossed. You actually didn't know how much more of this you could take.

Ri stopped in her tracks and turned around to face you, raising her eyebrows, awaiting whatever circle of a conversation the two of you were getting ready to get into this time.

"Wassup?" She asks, her voice decorated with nonchalance.

You began to fidget, fighting to construct the words to express how you felt. You didn't want to be insensitive to her feelings, but if you held in any more words, you were sure to begin to choke on them.

Her eyes, which were once dull and annoyed, begin to twinkle as she scanned your figure. Your curly ginger fro was wild all over, just how she liked it. Your grey crew-neck WKNDA University sweatshirt, custom cut by you, hung off your shoulder, exposing your golden brown skin and pretty collarbone. Your navy blue, spandex shorts hugged your hips and outlined your frame. And when she got back to your face--God, your gorgeous face-- her knees began to buckle. Your dark brown eyes, sheltered with such long, pretty eyelashes, your perfect, pouty lips, your heart-shaped head.

But seeing all your pretty features orchestrate into expressions of sadness, made her want to curse whoever created boundaries.

She wanted to say fuck it, and fall right back into you. But how could she then be taken seriously? She wanted to feel valued, like you wanted her, without question. She got being scared, but how could your fear precede your love, when she'd gladly risk crashing and burning if it meant she got to love you?

She wanted you to want her, to need her. Without anymore of her personal influence.

"I don't like this," you began.

"Don't like..?" Ri pretended to act clueless, just to really make you say exactly what you meant.

"This!" You move your pointer finger back and forth in-between you two. "This awkwardness, this--emptiness.."

She looks around at something to focus on before settling on the ground. It'd be easier to stand firm in her decisions without looking you in the eye.

"I don't know what to say." She says as a bone-chilling silence follows.

How could this be? You ALWAYS knew what to say.

"Say something," You plead. "Anything."

Her text-tone went off, a text-tone you had never heard before, making you furrow your eyebrows in intrigue. She raised her phone up to her gaze, her phone light highlighting her stern-features. She walked up to you without breaking eye-contact with her phone, taking the spliff out of your hand and drawing a pull. She exhaled the long smoke, sure to blow out of your direction and plainly replied,

"They're waiting downstairs."

She puts the smoke out on the cabin wall before turning to leave and dropping it in the ashtray on the kitchen island counter.

"Who was that, who just texted you?" You began to follow her. You had an idea of who it could be.

"Morgan." She replies, still attempting to leave.

You run past her and block the door.

"Are you serious?" You frantically scan her face, waiting for her to give you the punchline, though you knew it'd never come.

She looked away and your acrylic nailed fingers forced her jaw to turn and face you. She shuddered under the touch, jaw clenching in your hand.

Morgan was someone who’d been hanging around your friend group. A friend of a friend. A friend who’d been getting rather close to Riana, and whereas you don’t normally get jealous easily, you couldn’t help but to notice her holding more and more of her attention.

“Oh is that your girlfriend now?” You asked, semi-joking, semi-serious.

She dropped her head in reaction to a low belly chuckle. “No, she is not my girlfriend. And neither are you.”

Ouch. Fair.

“I know,” you back down, using your best attempts not to be a hypocrite. “You two just seem to be spending an awful amount of time together.”

She stepped closer to you, now backing you up into the wall.

“You gonna do something about it?” She says lowly, teasingly, staring directly through your pupils.

Your entire body heated up, simultaneously as any response you could’ve given froze and melted away in your brain.

Through a smirk, she scoffed. “Thought so. Now if you could excuse me,” She placed her hand on your waist in an attempt to move you out of her pathway, and a low moan involuntarily slipped out of your mouth.

“Baby..” You whined, grabbing her wrist. “Please.”

She borderline-snatched her hand away from you and took 2 swift steps back.

“See– that, why do you do that?” Ri shook her head as if she was trying to shake any lingering thought of you out.

“What am I doing?!” You threw your hands up in defeat, seemingly truly clueless.

“You keep drawing me into you and winding me back up, just so you can tell me you don’t want to be with me–” You cut her off, hoping to put this rumor to bed once and for all.

“I DO want to be with you, I’ve always wanted to be with you–” You step forward enough to replace the space she created.

“So why aren’t we together then, Y/N/N?” She asks, irritation lacing her voice.

Your eyes began quickly to fill up with tears as you felt your frustration and fear begin to rise to the top again.

“I’m just–scared,” You start fidgeting again, eyes shifting around the room.

“Scared of what?!” She threw her hands up, tired of hearing the same thing.

“I just don’t want to hurt you, I love you,” You say sincerely, the shakiness vibrating your vocal chords.

“Look at me, baby!” She 4-finger points to her chest, putting her vulnerability under the spotlight. The young engineer’s eyes begin to water and streak down her pretty, plump cheeks. “I’m already there. Hurting. Burning. For you.”

You knew it was selfish. To demand her attention, her affection, when you yourself told her she was free to do what she pleased. But it was only to let her know that she was not a caged animal and she was not your property. But you couldn’t help but to think you were making a mistake that would very soon–if not already– be irreversible.

Hearing her exclaim her feelings for you so passionately ignited something in you that you’d been avoiding for a long time. It was at that moment you realized that no amount of ‘safety’ would protect your heart from the pain you would experience being without her. If she could endure such ache and still have the space to be warm, gentle, and kind, you could too. After all, that is what you truly wanted.

“And I feel like I’m burning all by myself. I feel like I deserve more than that.” She swiftly wipes her tears and picks her things back up to head out.

You take her things out her hand and slip her opened button-down, down her shoulders.

“Stay,” You plead softly, slightly above a whisper.

“No, Y/N, I can’t keep doing this.” Verbally, she fought, but physically she was crumbling under your touch.

“I want to be with you.” You start.

“Y/N,” She begins, ready to dismiss it.

“I want to be committed to you. Only you. I was being foolish, I know this now.” You admit, chipping away at all walls you may have previously built.

Her glossy eyes looked at you with longing, wanting so badly to believe you.

“I’m burning, too.” Each word you spoke hooked onto the strings of her aching heart. “And I hate that I ever made you feel like I was ever watching from outside the furnace.”

And so she began to fall again. Into you, with no regard for precautionary function, as promised.

“I’m sorry,” You began to sob, and she held you close to her chest, softly hushing your cries.

Keeping one arm wrapped around your torso, she slid her other hand up the back of your head, grabbing a handful of your curly mane and pulling your head back, kissing you soft and deep. You shut your eyes, feeling a wave of relief and fulfillment wash over your body.

Her touch made tears flow more rapidly through your shut eyes. You moaned in each other’s mouth, the two of you yearning for one another’s embrace all the same.

She released her lips from yours, giving you traveling kisses down your neck, and around those collarbones she so-loved to see exposed. Quickly, your aching love began to alchemise into arousal. You wrapped your arms around her neck and without taking her lips off of you, she picks you up and places you around her hips, walking you over to the orange loveseat placed in the common area.

Sitting on the couch, she placed you straddling onto her lap, still attacking your skin with her lips, rolling her tongue all over you. One hand rested above your ass, the other hand wrapping around your neck like a necklace, pulling you in for another, slow, sloppy kiss. Your hips bucked in excitement, your erect nipples poking out of your thick sweatshirt.

She takes heed to the cues your body gives and pulls and slips your top up and over your head, exposing your small, perky breasts. She lets out a shaky breath at the sight of you, as if it was the first time. She took one of your erect nipples into her warm mouth, softly sucking, tugging, nibbling on it. Raising her pointer finger and thumb up to your parted mouth, she lubricates them with your saliva and rolls them around your other nipple.

“Mmm,” A soft moan escaped through your lips, feeling every sensation. She knew your body so well. So intentional with every move.

You held the back of her head as she made figure 8’s with her tongue, moving her with the motion. With a final tug, she popped the small button out of her mouth, a string of saliva connecting it and her lips. She scans your torso/chest one more time before bringing her gaze back up to your face, adorned with pleasure.

“You look so fucking good, ma.” Ri expressed fervently. You smiled brightly, studying her hungry facial expressions, knowing what the two of you had gotten yourselves into.

She reaches down and presses her thumb through the outside of your soaking shorts, which were now clinging to your center.

“Oh,” She breathed out in surprise. “This can’t all be from just now..”

“I missed you.” You confess, leaving a lingering stare into her eyes.

Her gaze softened up, in what felt like a bit of pity as well as guilt. She didn’t regret setting boundaries, but she felt she’d been a bit harsh. She hated being like that with you. It had been hard on her too. She didn’t truly intend to make you suffer.

“I hate fighting. I don’t want to fight anymore,” You told her, feeling the waves of your emotions start to gear back up.

“I know baby, I do too.” And there she went. Your sweetheart. Soft, gentle, sensitive–to you. I’m sorry for being a jerk.”

“You don’t have to apologize, you haven’t done anything wrong,” You assure her.

“I do.” She lays you on the couch and slides your bottoms off, spreading you open, exposing your glistening center. She teases you, kissing down your thighs, all around your labia majora, and minora, softly placing grazing kisses onto your clitoris.

Each kiss she places, you twitch underneath. Gasping at the contact of her lips and your soiled skin. Pinning your thighs back to your chest, she fully opens you up, making room for her to begin her devouring. She tongue kisses your clit, gently tugging at the end of each kiss.

You began to see stars, overwhelmed by bliss. You didn’t even care for head until she got to you. Each mouth movement from her felt like true, bodily worship. And even now, it was all the more intense. She was apologizing.

“Ri,” You drew her name out, back arching off of the soft surface where your body laid.

She moaned in bliss in your center, taking in all your sweet, sticky flavor.

“Yes, baby,” She rose to speak, and back into you she swam in the depths of your overflowing sea.

She was so sweet, so gracious. It drove you insane, how well she could send you into overdrive with her words alone, nevermind touch.

She hungrily rocked her flattened tongue against your soft spot, holding your legs in place still, gold-grandfather ring decorating her right hand, which was currently digging into the skin of your thighs. You gripped the plush couch so tight, your fingernails began to perforate the threads and fabrics. You lifted your head to watch her at work, and the sight of it was entirely too much to bear.

“Ooh, shit,” You cried out, attempting to close your legs, but her grip was far too strong. It was too much, and simultaneously you could not get enough.

“Mm, mm” She hummed, in a no, tone, inside of you. “I’m not finished.”

“I can’t,” You cried. If she went any longer, you’d combust.

“But you taste so good, princess.” She praised you. “Just a little more, please.” She pleaded, making you weak with her tone of eagerness. How could you deny her?

She continued to attack your clit, slyly slipping in two fingers, one of which carried that ring you loved to see her wear.

“Fuck!” Your cries continued as the genius doubled your sensation, slowly massaging your walls with her length. She pumped steadily into you, bringing out more of your liquid with each drawback. Before it could fully slide down your split, it was already into her mouth and flowing down her throat.

“Oh my god,” You breathed out watching the love of your life in all her raw, raunchy filth that you so deeply enjoyed. Grabbing a handful of her crisp, white undershirt, you pull her up to your lips and kiss her, transferring the taste of your pleasure off her lips and onto yours.

She smiled that gorgeous smile, wearing a look of pride, knowing how well of a job she had just done. Pulling away, she grabs her harness out of her bag, placed at the side of the couch, slips it on and tightens it to her hips.

Your eyes widen, with both fear and excitement. This was the one thing the two of you have never done. You were trying to keep sanity in the midst of your denial, and you knew that that would be the thing to end you.

But you were now at the deep end of the pool. And you were no longer concerned about consequences. You wanted the full immersive experience, as her girlfriend.

“Come here,” She instructed you, pulling you onto her lap once again.

You reached behind you and teased your aching hole with her length, slipping it in between your folds before slowly sliding down onto her.

“Mmmm,” You moaned out, feeling your insides become fully occupied, beginning to regret your decision. As usual, she read you immediately.

“You got it, baby.” She affirmed you, putting the battery in your back.

She grabbed a handful of your ass, carrying your weight slowly and sliding you up and down her shaft, adjusting you to her size.

“Ri, it’s so much,” Your eyes began to well up again.

“Look at me,” She demanded. You looked down at her face, decorated with pure passion and lust. “You need me to stop?”

You whimpered out in response, unable to sufficiently respond. She slid you down as far as possible, demanding your focus.

“Tell me what you want, Y/N.”

“No, don’t stop,” You begged. “I need you.” The more you got comfortable, the more you were in control. You began to bounce in her lap, arms extended past both her ears, over the backrest, leaning into her.

Her eyes widened at attention, bottom lip trapped by her top row of teeth, watching you bounce ferociously on her strap.

Watching you beg for her, yearn for her, how she desperately wanted all this time, had her sticking together. Her chest heaved up and down, watching you move, each hair follicle, each droplet of sweat. Hearing you scream, cry, plead for her touch, her attention was sending her straight into overdrive.

At the same time, it infuriated her. Why now? Why did she have to put you through the ringer, bring you to your boiling point, just to then bring you to your knees? Did she take you for a fool? Had you been one?

She bear-hugged you, pinning you, thrusting her hips up into you, knocking your g.

“Oh fuck, Ri, please,” You began your complaining.

“Shut up.” She spat, leaving you whining in defeat.

Each stroke felt personal. Like she was talking through you. Pure emotion— rage even. Frustration. She was frustrated. Fed up with you, and the way you act so clueless, like you had no idea how much of an effect you had on her.

Grinding into each other, you were scratching, pulling, biting, clawing at each other. You couldn’t get close enough. And it was clear Riana was taking her frustrations out on you. And it hurt so good.

“Baby, I’m sorry,” Slowing down your riding, you were back to longing for her forgiveness.

She sent a stinging smack up against your rear. “I don’t want to hear it.”

The more you rode, the more incoherent your responses became. You quickly realize it’d probably be better to stop responding, before you got into more trouble.

Your hands on her chest, she pulls your head back by your hair, still digging into you, her thumb circling your center.

You let it out a sizzling breath, fighting to conceal your noise.

“This what you wanted, right?” She taunted you. “Take it.”

“Uhhhh, Ohhh” Your moans began to stack and fall over each other, and began to cream onto the toy and all over her lap. You started to feel hazy and delirious, high off the fuck she was giving you.

You hoisted yourself up onto your feet and placed your hands on her knees to hold you up, spread open in front of her, riding out the rest of your high.

Caught off guard, low grunts escaped her lips, enticed by the way you turned up.

It was your turn to talk your shit.

“You feel so good inside me, mami, fuck,” The lewd thoughts begin to announce themselves. “I’m yours, I’m all yours.”

“Y/N,” She breathed out, watching you slide so swiftly into her, titties bouncing in a hypnotizing rhythm. “I’m so close. Don’t stop.”

“I can’t stop.” You spoke through grit teeth, purposefully overstimulating yourself. “IloveyouIloveyouIloveyou..”

“Cum with me,” She encourages you, and you oblige.

You arrive at the same time, passionately kissing once again, holding each other in what felt like a slip knot of an embrace. When you finally part, you take each other in, studying each movement, grateful to be back intertwined with one another again.

“You really did miss me, huh?” Riri taunts once again.

You don’t even mind her teasing. Anything to have your sweet baby back. You just softly smiled and replied,

“You don’t even know.”

#Spotify #riri williams #riri wiliams x reader #riri x y/n #black panther #fem x reader

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tackykachowch · 7 months ago

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I wanted to make this post really extensive, with a lot of screenshots etc, but I'm literally operating at 0% so forgive me this one time.

So, you all know how I'm constantly after season 2's blood because of how it butchered well...Everything, but especially my favorites Silco and Jinx. And what do you know, they even screwed up Silco's glass. Yes. A Glass. Let me explain.

Animators at Fortiche are real professionals, so they know that every object tells a story, so even small things like glasses or cups can tell us a story or let us understand the character better, or even reflect the whole meta of the show. Arcane season 1 really exceeded at this. Going through every scene of this season I noticed that Piltovans use elegant and neat glasses and cups, and the glasses that are particularly used by the councilors are made out of gold. While Zaunites drink from simple glasses without any ornaments, metal mugs or straight-up out of bottles. But there's this one single glass that's different from any other glass or cup in the ENTIRE season - Silco's glass (also Jinx's cup but I'm not gonna talk about it here).

It's made out of simple glass and is pretty bulky to give an association with Zaun, but also has golden ornaments to associate it with Piltover. This single glass perfectly encapsulates Silco as a character - a Zaunite who rejects living under the status quo and who strives to get his people opportunity and freedom Piltover has. Also it reflects his unique position in society - he operates the entirety of the Undercity, yet even this amount of power is barely enough to compete with Piltover. Silco represents the middle of the barrel, a fusion of both cities at their current states. Then, in ep9 it gets destroyed, foreshadowing Silco's death and destruction of the relative peace the two cities had until this time. It's perfect, no notes.

But theeeen we have season 2 *barely disguised rage*. In it we have my favorite flashback out of all of flashbacks ever, where we see- huh??

Silco's glass?? How did it get in there?? And there's THREE of them now???? This is surely some kind of mistake, right? Let's fast forward a bit- WHAT IS IT DOING IN A CAVE????

So, you want to tell me, that an object unique to Silco and Silco only, which perfectly represented his character and even played a minor narrative role, is in fact NOT unique and its destruction in the season 1 finale meant Literally Nothing???? WHAT??????

This is what I meant when I said that s2 jumped headstrong into the fanservice without the second thought about how it impacts the story and characters. You see, Silco now HAS to keep a glass from the times he, Vander and Felicia were friends. He HAS to keep a diary where he says how he admires Felicia, even though nothing indicated that someone inspired him or something of that sort in prior material. (UPD: Also, Silco is more of an idealistic character in the first place. He DOES care about people to some extent, but he always seemed to fight for the idea itself, and not some people in particular. So to give him this new unknown character as part of his primary motivation is....strange, to say the least. It's almost like writers want to make him more sympathetic hmmm). He HAS to keep a photo of the three of them and an "Our Love" record, because he's a sap like that and he lowed his fwiends so wewy much. We already knew Silco had a soft side because he kept things Jinx made for him, we already knew that he hadn't completely let go of the past because he kept Vander's knife. There's no point in adding all this garbage except make the audience go "awwww". It's disgusting and insulting.

But back to the glasses. It makes no sense that the three of them have the glasses and use them, because none of them have any amount of power yet. Moreover, Vander never has ANY Piltovian aesthetic in his design, and Felicia is literally a non-character, so what is exactly the reason to give her such an important object to begin with? I don't know a thing about her, except that she's arcane's most manic pixie girl ever and that by her sheer existence she ruined Silco and Vander's dynamic. Cool. And why would Silco keep the glass with him throughout all these years? And then openly drink out of it in his office? Is it supposed to mean that he carries on the dream the three of them had? But Vander openly rejected this dream, and the remnant of this is located in the very same office (Vander's knife). Orrr maybe um. Maybe. Ughhh. I can't. Think of anything. Hang on. Maaaybeeee it's ssssupposed to represent how Silco's fight for independence went back to the place it started in (The Last Drop)? Okay, maybe, whatever. But then again, what was the purpose of destroying his glass in season 1 ep9 if presumably the two other glasses are still intact? Except Silco dying it doesn't tell us anything, because it lost the previous weight it had in the narrative.

Then we fast forward again to my favorite episode out of all the episodes ever - s2 ep7. In it Silco appears only for a few seconds, but by God are these one of the most destructive few seconds for his character. First he comes to the scene with his flask in hand. A....weird thing to have in a BAR, but okay.

But then as he says the infamous line about forgiveness Vander hands him- oh. Uhhh...A. A Piltovan glass.

Not Silco's glass, or maybe some entirely new glass to represent Zaun's progress as a free nation, but a Piltiovan one. Okay. You were pretty obvious with the line here writers but I guess it wasn't enough.

S2 proceeds to be an insulting, disgusting mess in its every aspect and I will fight with it for the rest of my life.

#i hope this is coherent. i wanted to roll this post out as fast as possible because a few more days and i wouldn't have written it at all #silco arcane #arcane critical #arcane #arcane season 2 #i need the gif with silco beating up someone with legs telepathically play when people read my critical posts bc that's what i look like #when i write them

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beatrice-otter · 13 days ago

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Life in the Mid-Century US: a primer for fic writers

I read a lot of MASH fic recently, and while most of it was very good, there were also a ton of inaccuracies about what mid-century America was like. I'm not an expert, but at the same time, I did listen to my parents and grandparents when they talked about what life was like when they were younger. And also, I know what's changed within my lifetime (born in 1982), and quite a lot of things people today take for granted are actually new within my lifetime, and thus not around prior to the 1980s. Now, this is fanfic, and if you don't care about historical accuracy in your fic, that is a fine and valid choice and I salute you. If, however, you do want to at least try to avoid major gaffes, here are things I've noticed that people get wrong a lot:

Ms.

Nobody used "Ms." as an honorific prior to the 1970s, and it was highly political into the 1990s. Although the term was coined earlier, it was not part of the public consciousness until the publication of Ms. Magazine began in 1972. In the magazine's early years, when they called someone or answered the phone, they had to spell out the title of the magazine and explain it because nobody knew what it was. Before that, you were either a Miss (unmarried) or a Mrs. (married). There was no honorific for women that did not state your marital status. The magazine was highly influential, and people started knowing about and using "Ms.," but in the 70s and 80s, choosing to use it was a political choice, a way of asserting resistance to the dominant culture and adherence to feminist beliefs. I remember up through high school in the late 90s, depending on who you were talking to it could be a bit of a minefield, because "Ms." was very commonly used by then but some conservative women got offended if you used it, and some feminists got offended if you used Mrs/Miss.

Now, the thing is, while Ms. wasn't a formal title, people did not always articulate "Miss" and "Mrs." clearly. Depending on the dialect and situation (and whether or not you knew the marital status of the woman you were talking to) people might drawl or slur it so that it sounded like "Ms." But it was still meant as Miss or Mrs. And even if you pronounce Miss and Mrs. the same, you would write them as Miss and Mrs. unless you were doing really heavy-handed phonetically-written dialect. Like, "Gee, shucks, Miz Mailey, Ah don' reckon Ah kin do that." (In such heavy dialect, it would be spelled "Miz" and not Ms.)

Women's lives were restricted in many ways. Employers and schools were legally allowed to discriminate openly against women until the Civil Rights Act of 1964 (and after it they still discriminated, they just didn't advertise it in job listings). (Fun fact! The addition of "sex" as one of the categories you couldn't discriminate against was a late addition to the bill, designed to stop its passage, which fortunately didn't work.) In most places, women would have trouble opening a bank account in their own name without a man (usually a husband or father) to cosign for them until the 1970s.

There were a lot of places "good" women simply did not go, or didn't go alone. For example, before the 1960s, most women would not go to a bar. A club or dancehall or something upscale, sure, especially with a date or a group of friends. A bar … there were a lot of places where the majority of women in bars were working there, either as waitresses or as sex workers.

This doesn't mean that women didn't have fun; my grandmother spent the late 40s/early 50s dancing until 2 or 3 AM most Friday (and sometimes Saturday) nights. (Sometimes later.) She and a group of friends (men and women) would go to their local dance hall and dance until it closed, and then carpool to the nearest club that was still open, and sometimes to a third depending on how early the second one closed. She also spent a lot of time hanging out with friends at bowling alleys, drinking beer and bowling (this is how she met my grandfather). But I don't know if she ever set foot in a bar in her life, because for her generation, 'nice' women just didn't do that.

Travel:

Up through the 1960s, planes were the province of the rich and famous. Most people, when travelling long distances across America, would take a train or a bus or drive their own car. When travelling across the ocean, most people would take a passenger liner. Even very rich people and movie stars would take the train or ship instead of flying.

Long-distance car travel increased in the 50s and became more common. Among other things, the Interstates were built starting in 1956, making it much easier to navigate across the US when you went places you weren't personally familiar with.

Plane travel also increased, starting in the 1960s but exploding in the 1970s as the size and comfort of airplanes increased while the price per ticket dropped. Wide-body jets like the Boeing 747 could carry many more people per trip than earlier planes could, which meant a dramatic decrease in the price of tickets, which meant ordinary people could afford to fly places starting in the 1970s. The movie "Guess Who's Coming to Dinner?" came out in 1967, and in it a working-class couple flies from one end of California to the other on the spur of the moment. This is an astonishing novelty that is the standard topic of conversation they keep returning to when things get too fraught.

Car safety:

Cars were much different than today. Seatbelts did not come standard in most US cars until the 1960s, when the federal government required them. There was a series of ad campaigns starting in the 1960s encouraging people to buckle up. Even then, many people didn't actually use seatbelts, and when laws requiring people to wear their seatbelts started being enacted by states in the 1980s there was a lot of grumbling and pushback about "having to wear a seatbelt" being an unreasonable intrusion into peoples' lives.

I know a woman who was a poor single mother in the late 1970s. She had two kids, and drove a then-20-year-old car (i.e. made in the 1950s) that didn't have seatbelts. The two kids would sit in the front passenger seat next to her, and any time she had to jam on the brakes unexpectedly she would throw out her hand to catch them if they slid forward. I know this because this reflex got written deep in her brain and she will still sometimes throw out a hand if she has to brake suddenly.

Kids sat in the front seat all the time. Airbags didn't become standard in cars until the same safety-push in the 1980s that got states to require using a seatbelt! No airbags=no reason short people can't ride up front. If there was an adult passenger they got the front passenger seat and the kids were in the back, but if the only adult was the driver, the kids would usually sit in the front. You know what else became a Thing in the 1980s? Car seats for children! Because if you have to be buckled in, and you have a three-point safety belt, it's going to be dangerous for a small child, so you need a special seat for the child to protect them, and voila, the carseat was born.

On a less serious note, for the first half of the century cars were not equipped with a way to heat the cabin. There were a variety of aftermarket add-ons and optional features, of varying quality. GM was the first auto maker in the US to include a heater as a standard amenity in every car they made, starting in 1962. This expanded to all automakers in 1968 when federal safety standards started requiring windshield defrosting, which required a heater.

Money and credit:

Credit cards were not common until the 1980s. They existed before that, but most people didn't have them—they tended to be used by business executives and people like that, for the first several decades they existed. Instead, people paid most things by cash or check. It was fairly common for people to carry around large sums in cash for just that reason. Businesses could (and did) refuse to take a check for any reason, because just having a checkbook didn't mean you had the money in the bank to cover that purchase, and (unlike with a credit card) if you didn't have the money in your account, the bank wouldn't pay the store and the check would "bounce." Naturally, women, people of color, visibly queer people, and people from out of town were the most likely to get businesses just randomly deciding not to take their checks.

People without credit cards did still have access to credit, however! The most common type was store credit. That is, they would have an account with the store they were buying from and when the purchased something on credit they would then have a monthly bill to the store until it was paid off. Nicole Rudolph has a great video about the history of store credit and credit cards (focusing on how it affected women, specifically).

When people did have credit cards, they were a lot more cumbersome to use than today. There were no chips, and not even any magnetic stripes. The cards would be embossed with your name and credit card number, and the business would have a small metal and plastic device called an imprinter that the card would be fitted into. (The device would have a metal plate with the business name embossed on it.) A three-layer carbon-copy receipt would be filled out by hand, signed by the purchaser, and place on top of the card in the imprinter. Then the imprinting arm would be dragged across the top of the receipt and credit card, imprinting the name and number from the card (and the business's info) into the carbon paper of the receipt. The customer would get the top copy of the receipt, the business would keep a copy, and the last copy would be sent to the credit card company who would then pay the business. It was cumbersome, slow, and easily spoofed, which is why a lot of businesses just didn't bother to even take credit cards until the 80s.

Oh, and credit card companies, then as now, take a percentage of every purchase made with a credit card, which is another reason a lot of businesses were slow to accept them and would often have minimum charges. Also, if a business did take credit cards, they might not take all of them, because they had to have an account with the credit card company in question. By the 1980s Visa was the most common, and if a business only took one it would be that; American Express was a lot less common because they took a higher percentage of the purchase.

Alcohol:

American consumption of alcohol has changed over the decades. It was very common through the middle of the 20th Century for people to drink regularly, but less heavily. There were people who had a glass or two of spirits every night; it was common for homes to have a bar with alcohol in various types ready for consumption, though in many homes they didn't actually drink unless there was company. However, there was far less binge drinking. It happened, but it was less common. There was also far less understanding of alcoholism, and far less awareness of it. People that we would today understand as "functional alcoholics" were not really on the radar of society as having a problem. Addiction was seen primarily as a moral issue, not a social issue or a trauma issue or a medical issue. This is still true today, but less universally so.

There was also less awareness of "drunk driving" as a problem. Sure, people drove drunk and sometimes killed people (or themselves) by accident. But this was mostly accepted as a normal tragedy, and just part of life. Mothers Against Drunk Driving (MADD) was founded in 1980 and grew quickly to prominence in the 80s, with very effective advocacy, advertising, and consciousness-raising. This helped spur a national conversation about alcohol and driving that resulted in laws against drunk driving throughout the nation. The most effective slogan for changing behavior was "Friends Don't Let Friends Drive Drunk," (from the Ad Council, not MADD). See, the first thing that goes when you're drunk or high is judgment. People always think they're less impaired than they actually are, so asking people not to drive when they're drunk is futile, because even people who are absolutely hammered are going to think they're fine. Asking people to intervene in their friends' behavior was more effective, because people want to help and protect their friends and also tend to be more objective about other peoples' level of impairment than they are about their own.

Childcare:

Until the 1970s and the rise of women's lib, childcare centers and daycare centers were rare. Most middle-class and working-class mothers did not work outside the home; only poor mothers and lower-income working-class mothers did so. And they usually couldn't pay for childcare. So there wasn't a demand for daycare in the modern sense. When childcare was needed, it was usually provided by family members or neighbors (because most people had female relatives or neighbors who were home all day) or older children in the family.

There was a much more laissez-faire attitude to childrearing. Most parents expected kids to be out playing with friends all day from the time they were in elementary school. On days they weren't in school, kids might not even come home for meals, instead eating at whatever friend's house they were nearest when mealtime came around. Girls were more likely to be kept close to home so they could help with chores, but even girls were given a great deal of freedom. Most adults in the neighborhood would keep an eye out for the kids and intervene if they were doing something really bad or really dangerous, but for the most part the kids were left alone to play however they wanted. Sometimes this was a good thing (it allowed kids to develop independence, problem solving skills, and just generally figuring out how to live without their parents breathing down their necks) and sometimes it was a bad thing (if the kids got into danger over their heads, or if the parents used this as an excuse to neglect their children). Freedom to explore and learn and grow is great. Not being there to help when your kids really do need help is not.

CN: child abuse

Physical punishment was the norm, including using things like belts, wooden spoons, and fly swatters to spank children. This was not considered child abuse unless it was extreme, or if it left scars, or if the child was beaten anywhere other than the buttocks. Not everyone used physical punishment, but most did, and there was almost no awareness of other means of enforcing boundaries and modifying behavior. In the 70s research started coming out that hurting children as a form of "discipline" was not very effective and often caused long-term psychological damage. While some embraced this, most people did not. In the first place, it would require them to admit the damage they had from the "discipline" their parents inflicted on them, and also require them to admit that (despite meaning well) they were hurting their kids. In the second place, the advocates of no-physical-punishments didn't often have very good advice for how to enforce boundaries and discipline in children without hurting them. There was also a faction of young left-wing parents in the 1970s who had an extreme "anything goes!" approach to parenting, believing that setting any boundaries or expectations or structure was harmful for kids. They also did damage to their kids, because children need boundaries and structure both for protection and as a guide for growth. Unfortunately, they were an excuse for parents who believed in physical discipline to dismiss all the research as merely the product of people who believed children should not have boundaries or structure.

Communications:

Obviously, they didn't have the internet or cell phones! But even the way people used landlines was much different. In the early part of the 20th Century, most phones were on a "party line." That is, each street would have one phone line, and every home on the block (that had a phone) would share the same line. Only one house could be making a phone call at a time. Anybody on the block who picked up the phone and listened could hear whatever phone call was happening at that moment. While listening in on other peoples' conversations was considered rude, nosy people still did it. Each house would have a different pattern of rings so that you could tell by listening to the phone ring which house a particular call was for. They did this because it was a lot cheaper than each house having its own dedicated connection, especially in rural areas. This was standard up through the 1980s in many places. People who lived in cities often had individual lines in the 60s, but in rural areas party lines were not replaced until technology changes in the 80s automated a lot of things. The last party lines in the US were not replaced until the early 2000s. Income level also matters; even in the early days, wealthy people could pay to get private phone lines instead of party lines.

On a party line, you can never be 100% sure your phone conversation is not being overheard by a nosy neighbor. Usually, you could hear a click or other background noise when they picked up the phone, but not always; and if they got to the phone and picked it up before you did, there wasn't anything to hear. In addition, most houses had only one phone, installed in a central place where it was accessible to everyone. Even if your neighbors weren't listening in, the operator might be, if it was a slow day. As you can imagine, this meant that most people didn't even try to have private or confidential conversations over the phone. If you wanted to talk about something private, you did it in person or in a letter. (Tampering with a physical letter, once it has been handed over to the post office, is a federal crime.)

The other thing about phones before cell phones and the internet was that long distance was a big deal. Every phone call, before the automated telephone exchange became common in the 70s and 80s, required an operator to manually connect the call. Every town or local area had an exchange. (In cities, big enough buildings sometimes had their own operator.) If you were calling someone in another town—even the town next door!—that required more people. Your operator would call the operator in the town you were calling, and they would connect the call. It took time and people power, and that means money. Also, the further your call was going, the more time it took on the line. Before fiber-optic cables were developed, the number of calls any one line could handle at any one time was sharply limited. Scarce resources tend to cost more, and long-distance calls used up more resources. Calls were divided up into three categories: local, long-distance, and (later) international. Local calls were fairly cheap; you could talk on a local call for hours relatively inexpensively (although a long call might annoy the others in your house or on your party line, as it meant they couldn't send or receive calls).

Long distance calls were different. They were very expensive, and charged by the minute. And the earlier you go in the century, the lower the audio quality would be, and the harder and more expensive (and thus rare) they were. In his 1986 album "Graceland" Paul Simon has a song called "The Boy in the Bubble" which is all about the technological achievements of the 20th century (positive and negative) and their effects on people. The chorus starts "These are the days of miracle and wonder/This is the long distance call."

Usually, "local" meant your town and the towns nearest you (perhaps every town in your county) and "long distance" was everything outside of that. It was expensive enough that even middle and upper-middle-class people didn't call long-distance very often, and when they did, they certainly didn't stay on the line for long conversations. If you wanted to communicate with someone who lived far away, you wrote letters. The price of long distance calls decreased over time relative to the cost of living, but even in the 90s a long distance call was expensive enough that I always thought twice before placing one. (One of the major drivers for cell phone usage in the early 2000s was the fact that some cell phone plans charged the same for long distance as they did for local calls.) As for international calls, those were extremely expensive. Each individual long distance or international call would be a line item on your phone bill for the next month. But in all of this, remember that usually you got charged to make calls but not to receive them. That is, if you picked up the phone and dialed your friend in the next state over and talked for two minutes, the call would be on your phone bill, not your friend's phone bill.

If you wanted to call someone and you didn't have the money but they did, you could place a collect call. You would dial the operator and tell them you wanted to place a collect call, that is, a call where the charges were paid not by the person initiating the call but by the person who received it. This was more expensive than a regular call. The operator would connect the call, and ask the person if they wanted to accept the charges (that is, were they willing to pay for the call). If they said yes, the call went on their phone bill. If they said no, the operator ended the call and nobody paid for it. This meant that if you were poor and you needed to signal something, you could do it by placing a collect call that you knew was going to be rejected. So, for example, if you had an abusive husband and needed a friend to come pick you up in an emergency, you could arrange with them ahead of time that if you called collect they needed to come pick you up. In the days of in-person operators, you couldn't do this too often because they would notice. But once automated switchboards came into common use in the 1980s, you could use collect calls for lots of things on a regular basis. You'd place a collect call, the system would dial it, when the person picked up the system would ask you to say your name so they'd know who was calling and could decide whether to accept charges … but there wasn't a real person listening, so you could say something besides your name, as long as it was quick. Like, "Practice is over, time to come pick me up."

So what did you do if you were out and about and needed to make a call? Well, if you were at a friend's house or a business and the call was local, you might ask to use their phone. Or you could use a payphone! Payphones were common in urban areas, and they were coin operated. You could either pay for time as you went, or you could place a collect call. This is where the fake-collect-call to pass on messages was most useful.

Landline phones did not need a power cord. The cable that carried the audio sound also carried a small electric charge—it had to, in order to ring the bell in the phone so you would know when you were being called. This literally saved lives, because even when the power was out the phones still worked. Today the old-style analog audio cables are gone in the US. Even if you have an old-style phone that jacks into an old-style port, everything on the phone company's side is VOIP (Voice Over IP), which sends sound through the internet instead of dedicated phone lines. It's a lot cheaper this way, because they're only maintaining one set of cables. But it means that when the power goes out and the cell phone towers get overloaded (for instance, in a natural disaster), all phone service goes down … which did not happen in the 20th Century.

Leftist terms and concepts

Many of the terms and concepts common in liberal spaces these days did not even exist until the 1970s or 1980s and weren't really part of common consciousness until later. Intersectionalism? The term was coined by Dr. Kimberlé Crenshaw in the 1989 and was an obscure legal theory until the early 2000s. Colonialism was a little earlier, being first written about in the 1960s and popularized by Edward Said in his 1978 book Orientalism. But when I say "popularized" I don't mean that everybody knew what it was in the sense that we understand the term today, I mean "academic left-wing people in the 80s knew what it was."

Even the social-justice ideas that did exist tended not to be very well known outside of small activist communities. For the vast majority of Americans, there simply wasn't a way to access the communities and resources that talked about such ideas. Even if it got published, your local bookstore or library probably wouldn't carry it because it wouldn't sell well enough or be checked out often enough, and they certainly weren't putting it in newspapers and on television. The House Un-American Activities Committee (HUAC) had an extreme chilling effect, but even besides that, without the internet, it was just harder to connect and share information. That's why "consciousness-raising" was such a big thing in the 1960s, especially in feminist circles. Groups of people getting together and talking about problems that they had all experienced individually but which society decreed were "normal" or "right" or simply ignored. The idea was that people would go "oh, I didn't realize, but you're right, that is messed up!" and break out of the dominant cultural paradigm. But unless you were already leftist-leaning, and in an area that had a lot of leftists (like a big city or a college/university), you wouldn't have much access to such things.

So what, you may ask, did they know about? What would you expect the average person on the street (especially the average white person) to know? What signals that they are good/liberal in that context? The problem for the author who is trying to be historically accurate is that quite a lot of the rhetoric that is currently right-wing rhetoric on the subject of race and gender and sexuality was actually left-wing in the 60s and 70s. That's how far the conversation has moved.

If you have specific concepts or terms for various ideologies that you want your character to know, or you want to check what they would realistically have known about, the best place to check is Google Ngrams (books.google.com/ngrams/). Google Ngrams has the text of the vast majority of books published in the 20th Century in its database, and it will tell you how common a particular word (or series of words) were over time.

Ad Council

The Ad Council is an American non-profit founded in 1942 to produce, distribute, and promote public service announcements on behalf of other organizations (usually either charities, nongovernmental organizations, or the US Government). And they're really good at what they do; they have changed the conversation on a bunch of issues, over the years. Looking at a list of their influential campaigns can tell you a lot about public awareness of issues and what was going on culturally at any one time. Ad Council slogans include: "Only you can prevent forest fires!," "Friends don't let friends drive drunk," "Loose lips sink ships," "A mind is a terrible thing to waste" (encouraging people to give to scholarship funds), and many others. Some of their campaigns have been great forces for good. At other times, they've been a government propaganda machine. But they are a useful barometer of mainstream American awareness of various issues. Looking at the wiki page to see what campaigns they've run in various eras can give you an idea of what issues were in the public consciousness.

Like many public service announcements, the Ad Council doesn't usually pay for airtime on radio and TV. Instead, their pieces are given out to stations to use whenever they have unsold commercial time. So, for example, if there are eight commercial slots during a half-hour program, and the station only has seven commercials sold, they'll put in an Ad Council PSA for the eighth slot. This means the Ad Council doesn't control when their stuff is aired.

Entertainment

There were far fewer forms of entertainment at your finger tips. There were movies, radio, and television, of course, but there were far fewer channels. For television, nationwide there were three for-profit TV networks (ABC, NBC, CBS) and one non-profit network (PBS, launched in 1970). Each area would have local affiliate stations, which broadcast content from the network they belonged to, plus maybe a bit of original content if it was a big station. Most stations would have a half hour of nightly news twice an evening; later in the 20th century that changed to an hour long nightly news show. If you wanted any news more in-depth than what you could get in a half-hour broadcast, you read the newspaper.

There were books and albums, but the selection was far smaller unless you were in an area with enough population density to have specialty stores, or were ordering from a catalog. Unlike digital distribution, physical items take space to store and display and sell. Physical stores are limited in the amount of merchandise they can offer, and can't afford to keep anything in stock that will not sell reasonably quickly. Which means that it has to appeal to the broadest demographic. It doesn't matter if there are 100,000 people in the US who would be thrilled to buy a book with a certain theme if they are spread out evenly across the US, because there won't be enough of them in any one city to form the customer base for a store to cater to. Specialty printing presses did exist, which sold mostly by catalog and through niche shops in large cities, but there were far fewer than there are today. When a book or album came out, it would be in the stores for about a year, and then it would disappear, never to be seen again. Only extremely popular stuff would be reprinted, simply because of shelf space. If your favorite record broke or got scratched, you could probably only replace it if you were lucky enough to find one in a second-hand store.

Blue Laws

Most states had laws limiting what businesses could be open on Sundays. Most stores, for example, were not permitted to be open on Sundays. Restaurants and hotels, yes; shops and bars, no. For this reason, it was common in many areas for people to go visiting on Sunday afternoons—there wasn't much you could do besides go to your friends' houses and hang out. Blue laws started being repealed in the 80s; some are still on the books in some states.

Given the narrower range of entertainment options in general, and especially on Sundays, people spent a lot more time inviting friends over. Lots of people had standing card games, where a group of friends would meet regularly at someone's house for dinner and cards. Sometimes these groups would be mixed-gender, sometimes not. Mixed-gender card parties were usually in the evenings or on weekends, as were men's card parties, because men worked during the day. Women's card parties (at least for middle and upper class women) were usually during the day because they didn't work outside the home. A wide variety of games were played (bridge, poker, canasta, whist, pinochle, hearts, etc., etc.) but poker was usually reserved for male-only card games. Playing basic board games like Sorry and Life and Scrabble was also quite a common activity either for children or for the whole family.

Police

There was a certain ambivalence to the police in popular culture; the idea of cops as the "thin blue line" protecting Good People from "thugs" didn't become dominant until the 80s with the sharp rise in violence, drug use, and dogwhistle politics. This combined with the New Jim Crow efforts to criminalize people of color while valorizing police in the public consciousness. Prior to this point, cops were only sometimes portrayed positively in popular culture. There were good cops, bad cops, folksy-down-home cops, corrupt cops, lazy cops, a whole gamut. For every Dragnet (TV show about police detectives) there was a Smokey and the Bandit (movie about trucks/races and smuggling where cops are ineffective buffoon villains). They were not yet central to the culture wars.

In addition, US police forces had not yet begun their march to militarization and huge budgets. SWAT teams (Special Weapons and Tactics) were only created in the late 1960s in response to a series of sniping incidents against civilians. They were quite rare, initially, and only found in very large cities. They did not become part of the common consciousness until the 80s. Police did not begin to equip themselves with military surplus until after 9/11. A beat cop in the 50s would have a sidearm, and possibly a shotgun in the trunk of his car; the most backup he could call would be a squad of cops similarly armed (but he might not have a radio to call them with; he might have to stop and ask to use someone's phone). Obviously, a group of men with shotguns and handguns can do a lot of damage, but still less than the same group of men with body armor, riot shields, tear gas, and heavier weapons.

These are just a few of the things that have changed in the last fifty years. And, of course, I'm only one person and might have got things wrong. Let me know if you see things I missed.

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housemdork · 10 days ago

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house md rewatch: 2x17, "all in"

hit it, lady gaga. does it count as a poker face if you're talking over the phone, though?

and if i said this is my "three stories?" would that break your trust in me?

it doesn't do the same story work as 1x21, nor is it all that innovative in its presentation, and YES, it's a bit gimmicky, but i love her (2x17). next to 5x04, it's probably my most watched, which is why i was surprised when i realized i don't have a ton to say! one of 2x17's strengths is its directness/efficiency, so this recap may just read like a big appreciation post, more than anything else.

and what i want to appreciate first is how wonderful everyone looks :)

foreman is kinda real for that lol ^

second, i think someone told the writers' room what "haunting the narrative" meant when they started drafting this episode and they Ran with it. apart from reinforcing house's addiction to the puzzle and reaffirming his godhood along the way, i couldn't decipher much more about the old patient esther. the king james bible dictionary (lmfao) says that the name comes from the old persian word for star, "satarah," which could allude to a sort of northern star situation; something that house strives for. but it's also a stereotypical old people name, and house as god is actually deconstructed by the end of 2x17, so who knows.

at a textual level, what i liked the most about 2x17 was its self-awareness about its driving theme/allegory: gambling & games of chance is like diagnostics. audiences are fully down with the sickness atp, so to speak; this isn't news for us. but the kid patient ian and his parents are NOT down with this. every time the team unveils a new potential diagnosis, the parents try to roll with the punches but grow increasingly restless and distrustful of house. fair enough!

the team's stress mounts as ian begins tanking just like esther did twelve years ago, and right around the time that the party has about 2 hours to go, so does ian. their desperation turns to a numbers/instinct game, with house having a very Always Bet On Black moment with his repeated erdheim chester diagnosis. it ends in his favor; his celebration is very much that of a gambling addict, too. but remember this for later!

back to self-consciousness: house and wilson have a very interesting conversation when rehashing the esther saga from twelve years ago. wilson, because he's a theatre/literature/pop culture nerd (a man after my own heart), reasonably compares esther to house's own personal moby dick. house replies with a short tirade against metaphors:

"you do realize that the point of metaphors is to scare people from doing things by telling them that something much scarier is going to happen than what really will happen? god, i wish i had a metaphor to explain that better."

first, i have to laugh because house does nothing but use metaphors every chance he can to describe things from the mundane to the medically complex. but more importantly, here, house md is directly acknowledging the shakiness of the metaphor of gambling/doctors. its anticipating the audience's renewed anxiety - will my health be reduced to such a turbulent guessing game? - and maybe even taking a stab at repairing that anxiety. i think this is so clever!! i love manipulating and acknowledging the genre!

this discomfort translates to house, too, like i've alluded to above. esther really does haunt his narrative, and we've never seen him outwardly celebrating cracking a case like this one before. he himself is unwilling to admit to the gambling/doctoring dichotomy, either, because it would reinforce his fallibility. even when cuddy directly (and rightfully) attacks him for hijacking the case, he doesn't totally relent.

"sometimes you lose, house! you're not god!"

very, very true and important and telling!

house's fallibility isn't just thrown in his face via dialogue or inward self-doubt, however. it's obviously unusual for house specifically to be dressed so formally ever since the vogler/lab coat debacle. but as the case progresses, the pomp and circumstances of the poker tournament fall away. while the fellows don their lab coats and Doctor Gear, house strips down:

his second to last iteration is the sterile gown he wears while sitting next to ian with cuddy. i like how this transfers this motif to cuddy, too. they're both without their pretty poker night outfits, united in a cleanroom with concern. that happens a lot - the patient's urgency trumps their tension/pettiness. subtle but forever mounting moments of solidarity between them.

the revelation that it was, in fact, erdheim chester all along in ian and esther's cases superficially restores house's poker face. he's reclaimed that godhood card - on the surface. wilson delivers cuddy's same point in another instance of vulnerability like the cleanroom moment. this time, the text of 2x17 hands wilson the self-consciousness reins. he forces house to confront the immense gamble he won, and their resulting laughter is one the audience can join in:

in Every Way, this scene is stripped back. the hospital is actively disassembling the poker night decorations/paraphernalia. they aren't using poker chips anymore. their clothes are in equal states of disarray; i don't quite understand why wilson hung back for so long lol. and house's cigar is lit, whereas in the first poker game, it was a prop to irritate and see through wilson and cuddy's poker faces. now wilson can see through its literal smokescreen.

this is also the first time house/wilson and cigars makes landfall. i'm obsessed with this motif.

better yet, house doesn't call. he doesn't try to read wilson - he's too busy being read for filth himself. i truly love this scene, especially when you think about all the pseudo-marital problems they've been having lmfao.

finally, i need to address the Hudson Psychosexual Games of it all. they play THROUGH wilson. the trifecta is trifecta-ing. for now, this reads as an isolated incident, and showcases how well these 3 know each other. i like that it finally invites cuddy into the mix since she'll quickly become integral to house and wilson and all the rest in a way that's not fully realized yet. more than that, i like how she and house can see through the communication barrier. above all, however, i'm obsessed with the thrill wilson gets from the arrangement. freak. obviously there's more to come on this matter >:)

i just love this episode. 10/10. no notes. and look how happy he is that he won the tournament! never mind that he couldn't have done it without house's help! he beat burman, from business affairs! (i can recite his dialogue here from memory).

i'm gonna throw up.

#HE WON THE POKER TOURNAMENT. DO YOU HEAR ME #idk i feel like i don't have much of anything interesting to contribute here #just reiterating how baller 2x17 is #house md #malpractice md #greg house #james wilson #allison cameron #eric foreman #robert chase #lisa cuddy #house md rewatch #rewatch 1 #season 2 #also can you believe how far we're getting in season 2. wow.#one thing about me #i'm gonna link my other posts lol #i'm web weaving guys that's all fdhjflsdgds

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vanteguccir · 1 year ago

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ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤLAVENDER HAZE * MATT STURNIOLO

SUMMARY　::　where Y/N drowns amidst so much criticism and negative comments from the media regarding her relationship, but Matt is right by her side to bring her back to the surface and surround her in a lavender haze.

FEATURING　Matt Sturniolo x reader　REQUESTED?　no.

WARNINGS　::　mentions of hate, slightly angst.

AUTHOR'S NOTE　::　that is my work, I DON'T authorize any form of plagiarism; copy, "inspiration" or translation! | english isn't my first language, so I'm sorry if there's any grammar error.

A/N²　::　This fic was written for the Challenge for the writers 2024 made by @annamcdonalds67

Staring at the ceiling with you

Oh, you don't ever say too much

Y/N lay down next to Matt on the double bed that decorated the room. The soft gloom emanated from the corner lamp, painting the scene with orange tones. Their intertwined fingers on the mattress formed a comforting bond, a silent affirmation of each other's presence there. Together, they observed the ceiling as if they were tracing constellations on the white paint in their minds.

The silence that surrounded them was serene, and their synchronized breathing seemed to compose a soft song. Matt knew that sometimes words were unnecessary. There was no need to try to force empty conversations when each other's presence was enough.

Y/N's thoughts, however, were a whirlwind. The sudden exposure that accompanied her relationship with Matt - which they just had revealed to the public some months before - had left her overwhelmed, despite her boyfriend's advance warnings about what followed him with his career. As someone who preferred a low-key life, being dragged into the spotlight of fame was suddenly a big experience.

While her body was physically in the room, her mind felt the weight of these thoughts slowly crushing her. It was an internal battle to maintain sanity amid the media storm that surrounded them.

And you don't really read into

My melancholia

Matt, on his side, noticed the melancholy in Y/N's eyes and the way her brow was constantly frowning, but he respected her silence. He understood the pressure she faced; the crazed fans who used her words against herself and criticized every second of the videos she made a little appearance or was only mentioned, and his heart burned to be able to help her more, but he knew that trying to interpret her thoughts could only increase her distress, his own mind bringing him the mere memory of the episode from some night's before.

To the soft sound of popcorn crackling in the kitchen next door, Y/N anxiously waited for Matt on the made bed, wrapped in the comfort of the fluffy comforter. Her phone rested in her hands, and she slid her fingers across the screen to access her Instagram feed. A notification caught her attention, a tag on a photo posted by the boy.

With an anticipated smile, Y/N opened the post and found herself among the images of a photo dump posted a few hours ago. Her heart filled with warmth when she saw the picture of them together, the girl didn't know how to explain what she felt when she saw him post so openly about them, having gone through difficult situations in this regard in her previous relationship.

However, her smile faded when she swiped down and was met with an avalanche of comments. Thousands of cruel words and cutting criticisms flooded the massive list. Comments that questioned who she thought she was, insinuations that she wasn't good enough, and that Matt deserved someone better. Every word was a blow to her heart, a confirmation of all the fears and insecurities she had kept hidden inside.

Feeling crushed by the virtual pressure, a wave of anguish enveloped her. Tears began to blur her vision as she struggled to contain her overflowing emotions, not wanting to appear vulnerable in the situation, much less worry Matt.

Her head filled with questions, how could she compete with the unrealistic expectations of those who observed her life through a screen?

Minutes passed in a second for her, the sound of the door opening again echoed softly, Matt's figure entering the room following it, the tempting smell of popcorn floating in the air and a childish smile decorating his face. His smile fell instantly when he saw Y/N holding the phone tightly with one of her hands, tears rolling down her face while her other hand pressed her mouth, forcing away the sobs.

"Hey, hey, babe, what happened?" Matt ran over to her, his tone full of worry, leaving the bucket of popcorn on the bedside table and kneeling next to her on the bed.

Y/N sobs as she tries to explain, showing him the cruel comments that filled her entire screen, the device shaking slightly as a result of her trembling fingers.

Matt felt his heart break when he saw the suffering on Y/N's face and the ridiculous words in front of him. Him mind was divided between helping her or posting something obscene, full of insults, and totally guided from his emotional side.

The boy sighs, closing his eyes and wishing to take the bad things away from his girl before sitting properly next to her, wrapping her in his arms affectionately and bringing her head to his chest, sealing her hair line for long seconds.

"I'm so sorry, petal. I didn't know this was going to happen. I should have thought before posting..." He murmured, gently stroking her back as Y/N clings to him for comfort. "I'll figure it out, I promise."

I been under scrutiny (yeah, oh, yeah)

You handle it beautifully (yeah, oh, yeah)

All this shit is new to me (yeah, oh, yeah)

With that, it was known that Y/N was constantly under the relentless eyes of the fandom and obsessed fanpages, her every move being dissected and analyzed minutely by the voracious eyes of anonymous people. But that was the price to pay for dating a public figure.

While facing this incessant storm of unsolicited attention, she couldn't help but admire how Matt, despite his issues with anxiety and certain unnecessary comments left by people who called themselves fans, handled the problems of notoriety with admirable patience and calm.

He seemed so comfortable on camera alongside his brothers, so skilled at ignoring invasive situations that Y/N often found herself questioning how he did it. However, for her, this was all unfamiliar and intimidating territory, too new.

Although she passionately wanted to quickly adapt to this new lifestyle, as she had no plans to leave Matt, she also found herself racing toward an uncertain direction, trying to keep her sanity and identity intact amid the media chaos that surrounded her.

The couch enveloped them in a comfortable embrace as Y/N and Matt enjoyed the peace of the silent living room, the soft sound of a Disney movie echoing in the background. Matt's arms around Y/N were a sanctuary of calm, warming her body and bringing her a comfort that made her feel like she could sleep any moment. It was one of those rare moments when they could simply exist t the interference of the fast-paced world around them.

Matt, with a sigh of contentment, reached for his phone, curious to see how the car video they had posted a few minutes ago was doing, eager to see what the fans thought of the themes brought up.

Quickly, he opened the YouTube app and scrolled through the comments. Among a flood of compliments and kind words, however, some less favorable comments caught his attention. Some criticized the way he was quieter than usual, while others questioned why he was even part of the videos, as he had nothing to add.

Matt rolled his eyes in a dismissive gesture as he turned the screen of his phone towards Y/N, allowing her to read the comments that filled the space.

"Look at that." Matt said, exasperated. "These people have nothing better to do than criticize anything and everything. Immature teenagers who love to point out only negative things." He muttered, shaking his head in disbelief.

Locking the screen of his phone with a brusque gesture, he left it aside on the couch, refusing to let the negative comments ruin his moment of peace. The boy turned to Y/N again, his smile returning as if nothing had happened and wrapping his arms around her once more.

"Sorry about that, pretty girl." The brunette asked softly against her skin, burying his face in the curve of her shoulder. "Sometimes people just need to spread negativity to feel better about themselves. But let's not let that get to us, hm?" He lifted his head from where it was, smiling small at his girl before pressing small seals on the exposed skin of her shoulders and neck, eliciting loud laughter from the girl.

[...] All they keep asking me (all they keep asking me)

Is if I'm gonna be your bride

The only kind of girl they see (the only kind of girl they see)

Is a one-night or a wife

Post after post from the significant number of fans who adored them together claimed that they were "endgame", as they had been in a relationship for over a year and seemed to be going strong.

But the comments that followed were always like a punch to the gut for Y/N. Some argued that she was Matt's future bride, while others insinuated that she was just a "gold digger", there to take advantage of his fame and money, like a one night stand, before eventually leaving him.

Y/N's feelings fluctuated between anger and sadness. How dare they question her true feelings for Matt? How could they judge their relationship based on unfounded assumptions and speculation? They were only 20 years old, marriage was out of the question at that moment, and they both knew that this kind of thing is something planned and thought out together, never done for the emotion of the moment or to meet the needs of others.

A feeling of helplessness invaded her when she read those things, accompanied by a hint of doubt. Y/N felt deep pain due to the lack of trust and support from Matt's own fans. She had tried so hard to be a positive presence in his life, to love and support him unconditionally, and to make the people who meant the most to him and who brought him to the top really like her.

And now, she was faced with the cruelty of strangers who were ready to judge her without even truly knowing her.

I find it dizzying (yeah, oh, yeah)

They're bringing up my history (yeah, oh, yeah)

But you weren't even listening (yeah, oh, yeah)

Y/N felt constantly dizzy with everything that was happening around her. It was as if she was in the eye of a media hurricane, where waves of curiosity and intrusion were endlessly engulfing her. Even with her social networks private, she found herself inundated by a flood of fanatical fans, eager to discover even the smallest detail of her life.

The triplets' YouTube videos, in which she participated, were constant targets of investigation by fans. Every word, every gesture captured by the camera, was analyzed. And the boys' posts, where she occasionally appeared, were scoured thoroughly for any hint of her personal life.

The simple act of even appearing on a TikTok for a brief second was enough to trigger a new wave of speculation and conspiracy theories from fans. Y/N felt like she was looking over her shoulder every moment.

This growing fear began to affect her willingness to participate in the brothers' videos and appear on their social media. She retreated into the shadows, avoiding the curious eyes that surrounded her.

Meanwhile, Matt scrolled through his social media feed, the cruel and mean comments about Y/N flashed on his phone screen at every moment. "She only wants to hurt him", "She's only with him for the money", "She will run away at the first opportunity". The words penetrated like sharp knives, but he faced them with a calm expression.

He could feel the anger pulsing through his veins. The injustice of these accusations made him want to scream. But he forced himself to remain calm, to take a deep breath and remember what really mattered.

Matt knew Y/N better than he knew himself. He knew she wasn't a gold digger, that she wasn't with him out of interest or for any petty reason. He knew that she genuinely loved him, that they shared the same dreams and fears, joys, and sadness.

So he ignored the negative comments, the people who hid behind anonymous profiles to spread venom and hate. Sometimes, he even had the small pleasure of responding to these accusations with an ironic comment or a joke, knowing that, deep down, none of it mattered.

Because he trusted Y/N. He loved her more than anything in the world, and nothing could shake that unshakable trust he had in her.

[...] Talk your talk and go viral (oh, oh, oh)

I just need this love spiral (oh, oh, oh)

Get it off your chest (woah, woah, woah, woah)

Get it off my desk (get it off my desk)

Talk your talk and go viral (oh, oh, oh)

I just need this love spiral (oh, oh, oh)

Get it off your chest

Get it off my desk

But on the other side, the moments of exhaustion seemed to multiply for Y/N, like a lingering shadow that followed her with every step. Increasingly, she found herself sinking into a sea of cruel comments and venomous speculation from the media and fans.

Until a specific moment, where she finally understood that with Matt, she found the strength to fight it gradually. His arms wrapped around her with comforting warmth. His words of encouragement were like a balm to her soul. He supported her in every way possible, constantly reminding her of how much she was loved and valued and that nothing they said mattered.

Y/N slowly learned to filter the noise of the outside world, to block out the negative voices that tried to invade her mind. She no longer allowed the mean comments to get to her, choosing to ignore, block or mute them, allowing them to get everything they wanted off their chest and go viral using her name, and not giving a damn about it.

It was a gradual process, a journey of self-discovery and self-transformation. Y/N still had her moments of weakness, her doubts and fears, like in that moment. But with Matt by her side, she was able to cover her ears and eyes to them.

I feel the lavender haze creeping up on me

Surreal

I'm damned if I do give a damn what people say

No deal

The 1950s shit they want from me

I just wanna stay in that lavender haze

And despite all the bad things, being alone at that moment with Matt in their own haven was comforting. A lavender haze enveloped Y/N gently, like a warm lilac hug amidst the darkness of uncertainty, protecting her from external judgments.

In the comfort of their room, with Matt's presence beside her, she felt as if she could close her eyes and simply let herself be carried away by the constant flow of love she felt for the boy.

Despite the whirlwind of thoughts that danced in her mind along with vague memories of all the futile posts from pages that gossip about artists, demanding surreal things from her as if they had just come out of a time machine to the past, there, in that moment, she allowed herself to sink into the depths of this good feeling.

Matt's presence by her side was like a protective shield, pushing away all her fears and insecurities. His eyes, full of tenderness and understanding, met hers from time to time, conveying a silent message that he was there, ready to face any challenge alongside her. And there was nothing in the world that made him want to leave there.

With one smooth movement, Matt turned briefly to reach for the lavender air freshener that rested on the nightstand next to the bed. He activates the device with a delicate touch, releasing a fragrant mist that fills the room with the sweet scent of the flower. The soft, comforting scent envelops Y/N like a hug, calming her agitated mind and bringing an almost instantaneous feeling of serenity.

The mattress moved with Matt's movements, and he slowly turned around, now lying on his side and facing Y/N. His eyes met hers lovingly, and a smile played on his lips as he moved closer until their bodies were mere inches away.

"You still with me, sweetheart?" His voice was as soft as the cotton beneath their bodies, echoing off the walls that were surrounded by silence for long minutes.

"Uhm." Y/N murmured back, imitating him and turning so that she was lying on her side, facing him, the fog in her mind slowly dissipating.

With soft and delicate movements, Matt wrapped the girl in his arms, bringing her closer to his body, laying her head on his chest, the steady beat of his heart calming hers almost automatically.

"They don't matter, you know?"

Y/N felt a comforting warmth spread throughout her entire being upon hearing the brief and almost insignificant words, but that meant the world to her. She snuggled even closer to Matt, feeling his arms tighten around her waist where they held, allowing herself to sink into them like a safe haven from the storms of the outside world.

Matt lowered his head and gently kissed the top of his girl's head, breathing in the soft scent of lavender shampoo that emanated from her strands. Every touch was filled with love and devotion, a silent promise that he was there.

And so, cradled by the soft haze of love that surrounded them, Y/N and Matt surrendered to the present moment, the girl leaving behind all the worries and fears that haunted her, her heart begging to stay there forever.

I just wanna stay in that lavender haze

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whateverloomis · 9 months ago

Text

"Scream meets X" || Billy Loomis x Stu Macher x GN!AFAB reader 🔪🔞

PART 1

Here's part 4 babiiieees. This is a short one (because of writers block,) but it's nice and angsty. Hope you enjoy! As always, any suggestions or requests my ask box is open <33

Warnings: Character death (2 of them. I'm so sorry,) possessive Billy, reader cries a lot, Tatum has dumb blonde moment (lol,) gore, unedited

As you were approaching the cabin you were staying at, you crashed into someone. They steadied you and when you looked up it was Billy. Randy and Stu were looking for you along with him; "Where the fuck were you?!," Billy screamed and all you could do was hold onto him and cry.

"C'mon," he said and pulled you inside the cabin, walking into your room and closing the door behind him.

"YN, what the fuck was that?!," he questioned and you sobbed.

Billy closed his eyes and sighed, calming himself down just enough to hug you and comfort you.

"She... She said he'll kill me first," you managed to say and Billy pulled back, a confused expression on his face.

"What? Who said that?," he asked while studying your face.

"The old lady."

Billy shook his head and sat on the edge of the bed. He ran his hand through his hair and sighed before looking up at you. He was angry and confused. He needed answers or else he was going to lose every fiber of patience he had left and kill everyone in that goddamn farm house.

"Why would she say that... YN, why the fuck were you in that house?" He asked and you sighed, sitting on the edge of the window afterwards.

"I don't know, Billy I just... It was weird. I was walking around and I just... got curious? And I didn't even think about it before I was inside the house." You explained and Billy kept looking at you silently, waiting for the rest of the story. He wasn't going to say another word until he knew every detail and you knew as much.

"I was looking around and staring at all the photos along the wall. Then I saw a figure in the reflection of one of the glass frames and when I turned around it was her." You continued and Billy stopped you before you could continue; "Did she tell you her name?," he asked. You shook your head no and he signaled you to continue telling him what happened.

"So... She asked me if I wanted lemonade. It was weird, and for some reason I felt oddly welcomed so I followed her into the kitchen and drank th" - "I'm sorry, you drank the lemonade? What if that shit was poisoned or something, YN? What the fuck were you even thinking?!" Billy interrupted and you shrugged. You didn't have any explanations as to why you felt so calm at the moment.

"It wasn't poisoned! Oh my Gosh, listen. Nothing else happened until I was going to walk out of the house and she grabbed my wrist and pulled me towards her forcefully. I don't even know how a woman her age can be that strong! I freaked out and then she told me I was going to be killed first. That's all that happened I swear!" You finished and Billy closed his eyes, sighing.

"Okay, well... From now you're gonna tell me when and where you're going while we're staying here." Billy said seriously and you gasped in disbelief; "What? You don't trust me?!" You were losing your patience.

"It's not that, okay?! I don't want you to get hurt YN, these people are acting really weird and I'm not gonna let anything happen to you!" he said, possessiveness lacing his voice.

You were going to snap at him but the door opening abruptly interrupted you.

Stu barged in breathless with Tatum right behind him.

"Not now Stu!" Billy said and Tatum stepped in; "Hey! Quit arguing over dumb shit! Randy's missing!" she said and you instantly got worried.

"Wasn't he with you guys a few minutes ago?" Billy asked, annoyed.

"Yeah, then we went inside to look for you guys and before we knew it he was gone," Stu explained and you were visibly scared.

"We have to go look for him-" - "You're not going anywhere alone," Billy interrupted and you sighed. "Nobody said I'm going alone, Loomis!" - "Quit it! We'll split up. Me and Stu, you and Billy. Now, let's go before we end up killing each other," Tatum finished the heated conversation and everyone stepped out of the cabin to begin searching for Randy.

•

You searched nearly everywhere and there was no sign of Randy. Everywhere except for the barn.

Being honest, you didn't want to search in the barn. The place where you shot your big scene with Billy. Where you had your moment to shine with only your lover. It would crush you if one of your close friends were killed in that place...

"OH GOD, NO!" you shouted.

Billy ran towards you from the entrance, knife in hand ready to kill whoever crossed his path, except there wasn't anyone threatening, no... There was a dead Randy. A pitch fork right through his skull perfectly aligned with his eyes. His mouth was hanging open, a lingering quiet scream emitting from his limp body.

You were crushed. You didn't want to face the reality of it, but it was right there in front of you. Randy, dead in cold blood.

"Fuck..." Billy whispered and held you with your head against his chest, blocking your sight.

You ran out of the barn as quickly as possible to join Stu outside. Tatum was starting to walk in the woods with a flashlight but got startled at your loud sobbing. She ran over to you quickly and immediately knew what you'd seen.

"He's gone?," Tatum asked and hugged you tightly. Billy pulled Stu aside, just enough to not be heard by you and Tatum, but close enough to keep an eye on the both of you.

"We need to get rid of these fuckers. Run away like we planned and not look back." Billy told Stu, and his friend instantly agreed. He even seemed excited.

Billy and Stu couldn't go much longer without letting that darkness take over them and form a blood bath. This situation was a perfect excuse to do so and they sure as hell weren't going to miss the opportunity.

"Fuck yeah we do! You want me to get the masks?" Stu asked, ready to run back to the cabin but Billy stopped him; "Not yet dipshit, we can't expose ourselves like that." he said while pointing at you and Tatum. Stu opened his mouth forming an O in acknowledgement.

Before they could continue their discussion, Tatum shouted that she was going to continue her original plan of searching at the lake once again. You decided to go with her but before you left Billy grabbed your middle and whispered in your ear; "Stay where I can see you." You nodded in understanding and left with Tatum, flashlights in hand.

Once you were far enough, Billy sent Stu to look for their ghost masks. He kept watch of you as you walked in the woods.

•

You and Tatum walked in the woods far enough to see the lake but you stopped mid way; "Tate... What are we looking for, exactly? We already found Randy." - "Revenge." She said simply.

You were confused at her words. You didn't take Tatum as one to get physical when it came to confrontation, but then again maybe you were wrong.

"Revenge how? You wanna kill these people or something?" - "What?! No! Just give that old hag a piece of my mind! She's crazy! Maybe scare her a little before we call the cops..." She said.

You bit your lip in thought, slowing down as you realized it's not a good idea; "Tatum I don't think- Tate?"

She was gone.

You sighed in disbelief. This is how people get lost and found dead in horror movies.

As you were beginning to call her, you heard a loud gun shot. Crouching down to avoid getting spotted you saw the old couple walking along the pier with your friends dead body. Tears started to stream down your face as you saw them dump her body in the lake.

You were frozen for what seemed like minutes before you started to run back towards the cabin. Suddenly you crashed into someone and started to kick and punch at them before you realized it was Billy.

"Hey hey hey! YN! It's me!" He said, startled.

"They killed Tatum they kill-" - "They killed my Tatum?!" Stu came running from the cabin. You saw him holding something in his hand but couldn't make out what it was until he was right in front of you.

The ghostface masks.

Your eyes widened as you saw it. Billy took one from Stu's hand and placed it on yours. He had the softest most reassuring look you'd ever seen.

"How about we teach them a lesson?" He said, a smile slowly growing on his face.

You were angry, troubled, confused and upset at the loss of your best friends. At the thought of you possibly being next. About Billy and Stu being next. Adrenaline was coursing through your veins and it took over any rational thoughts and efore you knew it, the mask was in your hands.

You agreed.

Agreed to murder not one, but two people.

#billy loomis smut #billy loomis x reader #ghostface smut #ghostface x reader #ghostfacesmut #billy loomis x you #scream (1996)#stu macher smut #stu macher x billy loomis #stu matcher x reader #slasher x reader #slasher x you #slasher x y/n #slasher x final girl

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