#from story to story it’s okay if it’s new just COMMIT have some authenticity

[blaque-honeyy]

*sigh* I have so much to say about The Bear S3.

I think s3 exists in this type of limbo where there are soo many things happening but none of it is really moving the story forward. My confusion lies in not knowing if this was intentional or not.

I feel dissatisfied, but I'm slightly okay with it (?) knowing that we were told some of these events were going to happen and it wouldn't be authentic if these problems were resolved within the season. Whether or not I remain okay with the events of this season depend on figuring out what the purpose of s3 was.

There is this parallax effect happening throughout the entire season: where Syd & Carmy start out AGREEING to go through this together but once Carmy starts slipping into old behaviors, their perspectives on how to get to that goal become different. Opening the restaurant was supposed to be a big point of unity and fulfillment for them but it has only created more distance and promoted an unequal power balance between them. They are stuck and it feels like chaos moving in slow motion.

The silence between them is so damn loud it's unbearable. Watching the individual descents of both characters is so rough and exposes the toxicity of trying to create something new without addressing unhealed wounds.

I think the restaurant is a toxic relationship for Sydney. She loves and admires Carmy so much, and doesn't want to walk away from something that she's put so much effort into, but there's only so much compromising you can do before you start losing yourself. Syd is rightfully scared that she will forever live in Carmy's shadow.

Carmy is spiraling, blinded by tunnel vision to reach "success", and has lost the fucking plot. It was so interesting to see flashbacks of his career and seeing how compassionate and nurturing his mentors were and instead of trying to embody that, Carmy, DEEP in his trauma, is actively imitating the one man he accuses of destroying his physical and mental health.

Of course he still cares about Sydney. He wants to make her happy, give her the star she wants. But in his obsession to gain that success, he has completely pushed her (and everybody else) aside. His mission to prove himself individually (based off insecurities around his competency as a chef/business owner & not being able to provide for his friends & family) has taken precedence over his commitment to her. As painful as this evolution of their relationship is, I do like the direction and I think it was handled pretty well.

Points of contention for me:

I couldn't give two shits about Claire–sorry. The fact that they retroactively added soo many scenes from when they were together seems contrived and looks like another bid to put another relationship above Syd & Carmy's. Neil telling Claire "you're the peace"???? DON'T PISS ME OFF.

Is this The Bear or The Fak Show? There were a lot of Faks introduced in this season and their banter seemed like it was created to fill in dead air. It was very annoying at some points. (John Cena was great though I can't say anything bad about that man.)

Adding too many tertiary characters. The Faks, the old employees of The Beef to help Ebra. Adding all these characters instead of fostering interactions between the core group.

This might be a hot take but they spent WAY too much time on Nat's pregnancy before the birth. Also, she had this baby and NOBODY but the Faks came to see her in the hospital?? BYE.

Things that I solidly liked:

T's episode! Her struggle with unemployment, losing hope, and then meeting Mikey was easily the most endearing moment of the season for me. Then watching her start to develop her own ideas and creativity in the kitchen was just 🤌🏾🤌🏾🤌🏾.

Again, although I'm team SydCarmy, I like this stage of their relationship. Exposing the flaws, and exploring ways they need to improve for themselves and for each other. I WANT Syd to leave The Bear because 1) it would be good for her health and to see how a good restaurant is supposed to operate 2) I firmly believe that will be the catalyst to making Carm get his shit together. I want him to PANIC. I want him to BEG. I want him to CRY. 😊

As you can see, the latter list is not long enough. There were plenty of things I didn't touch on but that would make this post 5x longer.

I can see how s3 could be the low point of the series. A lot of these episodes would be considered fillers in plenty of other television shows. I appreciate the change of pace but would like it more if it was handled better. And I'm mad that I have to wait a YEAR to get REAL story development after this.

[swiftieinlove91]

thank u taylor

hey taylor. hey tumblr.

this is my first tumblr account, and I made it because I know Taylor Swift lurks on here sometimes, and I hope this message finds her.

Taylor, I want to say thank you, and I didn't know of any way you might see it better than tumblr. You have been such a huge influence in my life - sometimes in ways I haven't always realized until years later. I remember the first time I heard one of your songs, and connected it to you, and realized I loved it. It was "Love Story," and my mom was driving me to Friendly's before school started that day to meet up with a bunch of fellow drama kids the morning of opening night of one of our plays (it was a tradition for us to meet for breakfast). I remember that the sky was a steely blue-grey, and that I was full of anticipation and nerves and hope for that night. I'd been homeschooled most of my life, and it was my first time joining in on this breakfast tradition. I hoped some of the other kids liked me. I had a crush on one of the stage crew boys. and Love Story came on the radio and something about it hit me in that moment - I was young, I was in love, I had hopes and fears and parents who I couldn't always count on to support me. your song affirmed and soothed all of that, and added to the young, naive, fragile, intense beauty of that moment.

later, i was in grad school and 1989 had just come out. i had the cd and it was the only thing i ever played in my car, just on repeat. from the joyfulness of "welcome to new york" (which i would play without fail every time i drove from grad school in maine to home to buffalo, NY, making sure to have it blasting at exactly the moment when I crossed into NY), the no-f's-given attitude of "shake it off," to the devastating, wrenching, cleansing sadness of "clean." I played that album so much that friends i carpooled with regularly inadvertently became swifties as a result of me driving them around xD

then, later, i was a young woman who had just ended an engagement, after a 6-year-long relationship that started when i was 19, in my mid-20s and feeling hot and vibrant and sexy and strong and powerful and untouchable for the first time ever. Reputation came out and i felt all the strong, sensual energy in every single song. It became the anthem to my being. you helped me, you showed me that it was possible and beautiful and completely okay to step into my power. i was single and i was living alone for the first time ever and i was so unsure and so scared but you helped me feel like i had power, and I would figure all those things out.

lover buoyed me as i tried to re-navigate love again after ending such a long and serious commitment. it provided both salve for the wounds, in terms of beautiful songs like "death by a thousand cuts," as well as hope for more and better, in songs like, of course, "lover."

and then the pandemic hit, and you literally saved my life. "folklore" and "evermore" were incredible, precious gifts. they felt so authentic - like less-planned, just loving gifts to your fans and the people who love you. they are what got me through 2020. i was living in Dakar, Senegal at the time the pandemic started, and in late march i was mandatorily evacuated by the US govt back to buffalo. i had nowhere to live, no car, no savings, no health insurance, no plan (my plan had been to continue to live and work abroad for a few years, then pursue a doctorate degree abroad). i watched everything i'd planned and worked so hard for fall apart in the matter of a week. and then folklore came along, and it helped soothe me, and helped me feel connected to everyone else in the world who was going through similar things - our lives and plans and dreams coming derailed by something none of us had planned for, could have possibly planned for.

this was also when i started to really reflect on myself and who i am (i had a lot of time lol). i finally felt free and strong and ready enough to step into my queer identity. i don't know if it was intentional or not, and i don't want to assume anything about your personal life, but songs like "seven" and "betty" and "august" helped me come into that truth about myself. again, i don't want to assume anything about you personally, but your songs helped me find and be okay with myself, and i want to thank you.

and then evermore was just icing on a gift-cake ;) i went through another really bad breakup in 2021, one that shook my perception of reality to its core. your songs kept me grounded.

and now, here we are, post-midnights. i met you there at midnight. i stayed up til 4 am on a worknight to listen to the full album, several times through, and then the bonus tracks. i SCREECHED at the beginning of "vigilante shit." i danced along to the full album. i cried during "question...?" and "sweet nothing."

in between all of this, for the last several years, I watch your "artist of the decade" performance and your live in paris performances from lover and your performance of "false god" on snl and your tiny desk concert and your interviews.

i don't know how you've managed to do it, but i feel like i've grown up with you, and i feel like every album you release is exactly what my heart needs at that moment in time. you've taught me so much about how to find oneself, how to overcome adversity with class and grace, how to tune out the haters, how to believe in myself and my power. thank you. thank you thank you thank you. your music and your words have been here with me throughout my life, buoying and affirming and teaching and loving and powerful. i am so incredibly grateful to be alive in a time and space where i've gotten to grow up alongside you, and so incredibly grateful that you have pushed through everything you have to be the shining light you are.

thank you, taylor <3

[trapangeles]

SdotFrmDaBlock Talks “New Money,” Winning The Liq Podcast Open Mic, and His Journey in L.A.’s Music Scene

Emerging from the streets of Los Angeles, SdotFrmDaBlock is making waves with his authentic sound and relatable lyrics. Recently, he took home the win at The Liq Podcast Open Mic and dropped his latest single, “New Money.” In this exclusive interview, SdotFrmDaBlock opens up about his journey, influences, and what’s next for his career.

The Thrill of Winning The Liq Podcast Open Mic

For SdotFrmDaBlock, participating in The Liq Podcast Open Mic was about more than the competition. “Honestly, I was doing it for the fun of music. Rather I won or not, it was the enjoyment behind it,” he shares. The platform gave him a chance to connect with new audiences and grow as an artist.

The Story Behind “New Money”

SdotFrmDaBlock’s single “New Money” stands out as one of his most impactful tracks. “I picked ‘New Money’ as my song to platform because it's one of my most influential songs that I get feedback from performing,” he explains. The track explores how people’s perceptions shift when they see you gaining success. “The main message is how people reflect on your life differently once they see some motion.”

The creative process for “New Money” was all about crafting something universally relatable. “This song was more about something everybody can relate and dance to, which is money and how money can impact,” he says. With its upbeat vibe and thoughtful lyrics, the track is designed to resonate while keeping the energy high.

Shaped by Life and L.A.

Growing up in L.A. has had a profound impact on SdotFrmDaBlock’s artistry. “I would feel like life experiences shape most of my lyrics,” he shares. His style, which he describes as “Street Lyrical Common Sense,” reflects both his personal journey and the realities of his environment.

The influence of Nipsey Hussle has also left a lasting mark on his approach. “As far as the business aspect of music and building a platform, I looked up to people like Nipsey Hussle. His movement taught me to own myself and everything I do,” SdotFrmDaBlock explains.

Lessons from The Liq Podcast

SdotFrmDaBlock’s time on The Liq Podcast Open Mic taught him the value of networking. “From my experience, I’ve always been independent and never really cared to reach out to other artists or podcasts. Liq Podcast just made me a little more open to networking in ways I probably wouldn't normally,” he reflects.

What’s Next for SdotFrmDaBlock

Looking ahead, SdotFrmDaBlock remains committed to consistency. “I drop a single or two every month and try to drop my projects every six to seven months to stay consistent,” he says. His team is also working on an out-of-state tour to expand his reach and gain more experience.

In the next few years, SdotFrmDaBlock envisions himself as one of the biggest L.A. artists in the world. “My consistency and dedication to what I’m doing will get me there. The main impact I want to have is to show people it’s okay to be the underdog sometimes and to just keep going.”

Stay Connected

Fans can keep up with SdotFrmDaBlock on all platforms under SdotFrmDaBlock. “Even my social medias and business emails are all under the same name,” he adds, making it easy to follow his journey and support his music.

Have you been spending all your money and time on making music and shooting videos, but still not getting any exposure? Tired of just spinning your wheels? You know to get exposure you need to get featured on blogs, radio stations, playlist, and get your music e-mail blasted out to the masses. Need help getting all that done? Then check out the Package we’ve made available for you below!

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[queer-ragnelle]

An Arthurian adaptation need not resemble its source when the creator cares about thoughtful storytelling and themes. This transcends medium and genre. I’m not a snob about “accuracy” so much as a stickler for adherence to the respect of one’s audience through sustained narrative quality.

Examples forthcoming.

Camelot 3000 comic is set in the far future. Everyone is reincarnated. Tristan is reborn as a woman, and has to overcome dysphoria and questioning of sexuality in order to properly embrace their new life with Isolde, another woman. Kay explains that he was unruly all those years ago to deflect criticism off of Arthur and direct it at himself, an attempt to subtly aid his brother in maintaining a positive public image. Guinevere is a military commander whose role in the love triangle remains intact aside from the ending. The fellowship of the Round Table are battling aliens while grappling with their new identities and personal journeys. It concludes after Arthur dies, and Guinevere reveals to Lancelot she is pregnant, but doesn’t know by who. He says he will love the baby regardless. So they escape their doomed fate of the medieval source.

Monty Python and The Holy Grail movie (and musical) takes one of Arthurian Legend’s darkest and most tragic stories and retells it as a comedy. Every trope is subverted to an extreme. King Arthur’s supremacy and the conventions of his story are constantly challenged. Serfs question the Divine Right of Kings and “didn’t vote for” Arthur. The Black Knight denies his inevitable defeat, suffering “but a flesh wound,” until he’s nothing more than a torso and a head. French sentries refuse Arthur’s appeals for entry and mock him from the battlement. Meanwhile Galahad endures the Castle of Maidens only through the help of a queer-coded Lancelot (which becomes explicit in the musical when he marries a man). Not only a complete reversal of their medieval roles, but conflict from Guinevere and Elaine is entirely absent (except in the musical which includes a character named Sir Galahad’s Mom). The group then faces the Bridge of Death. Lancelot contrasts his medieval counterpart yet again by answering a simple question and succeeding, OC Robin the Not-Quite-So-Brave-as-Sir-Lancelot fails an absurdly challenging one, followed by Galahad’s failure of another easy one. It ends with Arthur and Bedevere searching for Lancelot, and ultimately results in their arrest by the police.

High Noon Over Camelot is a folk album that retells the story as a dieselpunk western. The three Pendragons—sheriff Arthur, quick-draw Guinevere, and sharpshooter Lancelot—run Camelot as a polyamorous throuple. The love triangle conflict is turned on it’s head which opens the story up for exploration of side characters and their niches. Arthur’s daughter Morgause is not killed by the Ghouls (Saxons) as he thought but instead raised by them, eventually transitioning to Mordred. The Hanged Man, a robot named Merlin, gives three prophecies: Arthur’s son is alive, Gawain’s hatred of the Ghouls is unjust, and Galahad the preacher should sit in the Siege Perilous. Only Galahad heeds the prophecy. Driven mad by the power of the Siege Perilous, he has visions of the space station’s imminent danger, which can only be helped by restarting the GRAIL system on board. So the Pendragons depart with the Grail Knights, leaving behind Mordred and Gawain in charge of Camelot. Mordred tries and fails to pass a peace treaty between Ghouls and Camelot when a fight breaks out and Gawain goes berserk. A hopeless Mordred ends up abandoning his convictions and heads for the space station. He corners the Pendragons as they reach their goal, the Grail Knights having fallen to get them this far. Mordred kills Lancelot and Guinevere, wounds Arthur, then ejects him into space inside a life-pod. Lastly he crashes the station, killing everyone on board and himself.

The Knights of Breton Court is a trilogy by Maurice Broaddus that retells King Arthur’s story in a modern inner city American setting. Street hustler King attempts to reconcile a group of drug dealers, gangbangers, and well-meaning but lost street kids into a uniform front. All kinds of issues arise to comprise his vision, sometimes borne of character flaws within his crew and sometimes otherworldly forces. In some ways, this series could’ve stood to divert even further from the medieval literature that inspired it, as it suffers from the same pitfalls causing modern readers to drop antiquated literature. The meandering plot, inconsistent pacing, and multitude of characters can read nonsensically to someone unaccustomed to the style. The central thread, King [Arthur] and his goal, is sometimes lost. In trusting Broaddus, I think this criticism relates not to his ability as a writer, but can be traced and attributed Le Morte d’Arthur. Regardless, that’s neither here nor there. The point is that The Knights of Breton Court’s shortcomings are unrelated to its divergence from medieval sources. Although it’s not my favorite, it illustrates beautifully how far a novel can stray while keeping itself firmly under the retelling umbrella. The Indianapolis setting and reimagined personas for the knights is it’s greatest strength, but would be fundamentally broken if Broaddus had stripped it of its original essence. They are intrinsically linked. Also Kay is an unfriendly Rottweiler.

These examples offer thought provoking changes while utilizing the framework of existing characters and their established dynamics/traits to subvert or deepen the meaning behind them. For all the differences between the adaptations and their shared source material, it works, because the creators committed to the bit. This isn’t to say all retellings toe that line effectively.

Cursed is a novel and Netflix series written by Tom Wheeler, illustrated by Frank Miller, and produced by them both. Considering the amount of involvement these two had on both the book and series, it’s safe to assume their creative control was absolute, and each of these mediums fully realized their vision for the story. However, regarding Miller and Wheeler as storytellers with a vision implies they are creatives. It assumes a passion for the project, some semblance of personal expression through art, which is unsubstantiated by the artificial depth of significance displayed in Cursed. The series was green lit before the book even published, so that should give you an indication of the true motivations behind this retelling. It wasn’t made for the love of the source material realized through an artist’s unique perspective, but quickly drawn up and produced to capitalize on the joint products as much as possible.

I will spare everyone a long-winded review of this wretched book and show. They fulfill none of the promises made in the back cover blurb and series description. It’s an insult to the audience’s intelligence. But the point is, the Arthurian elements are not integral to the story, but rather recognizable set pieces and props artificially painted on like a brittle veneer. They exist solely to capitalize on what Miller and Wheeler hoped was an existing audience without the need to develop worthwhile story and attract an audience on their own merits. What they’ve done feels not like inspiration or transmutation, but appropriation of something they neither respect nor care to understand. That is the stipulation, for me, to garner enjoyment from a retelling, regardless of how far it strays from the sources it claims aspects from. An artist must comprehend their material, their muse, their emotional connection to the piece in order to properly manipulate and utilize it. Miller and Wheeler are not artists and their lake is a puddle.

[sapphicscholar]

Hacks 2.01 and 2.02 Thoughts

My long ass, incomplete thoughts on the first two Hacks episodes in no particular order, thrown under a show more to avoid spoiling anyone who’s not yet seen them!

1) I suspected that they’d keep the email reveal and moving on (ish, back to that soon) quick without protracted angst and silence and icing out given the 8-episode arc, some of the scenes I know are coming, and the fact that Ava and Deborah are very much at the heart of a show that I don’t suspect will have a million seasons. So the speed of story telling there made a lot of sense to me

2) No thoughts. Head empty. Only Deborah Vance singing in the car. 

3) Deborah’s delight in being on the road and the big rest stops and her lack of pretentiousness about certain things (shitty housing, cheap sunglasses) pleases me to no end. She might have a lot of distance (temporally, financially, emotionally) from her first tour, but there’s no brand new comic who hasn’t crashed in some grody fucking motels and comped rooms. She’s not some old money character who can’t deal (and some of her canon tastes feel true to this, too). It really sets her apart from a lot of the other rich/older/often meaner/more powerful halves of a lot of popular age gap, “ice queen” femslash ships in ways I think are fun to play with. It’s a different world! And the writers are owning that! 

4) The “Love = Trust” rock being the thing to break Ava’s lifelong commitment to deep self-preservation and urge her into total honesty--all for the love she feels for Deborah and the trust she wants to have bc it’s deserved and given with all the facts out on the table--is everything to me. Fucking everything.

5) I love the hints of growth we’re getting already: 

Deborah’s interactions with DJ and Aiden (and holy fuck, that pep talk was everything) - they’re not perfect, thank god, but with the IVF she’s not drilling down on positions that hurt DJ anymore like she did, for instance, with the prenup (and in a public setting no less), and she’s showing up for DJ and her husband in ways she hasn’t historically (like the D’Jewelry show where Ava went instead)

Deborah’s interactions with Ava in episode 1 - Deborah has her freak out, and it would have been so goddam easy to push Ava away, but she lets Ava in on the truth and the vulnerability. Even if it’s not a long glimpse (and she leaves immediately afterwords), she does it, and Ava didn’t even have to fight tooth and nail to drag it out of her. All Ava has to do is be her Ava-self and know enough about Deborah to show up and ask the right questions (which most people in Deborah’s life simply never think to do), and she’s already earned Deborah’s trust enough to get the truth that way

Ava’s pledge (that I am absolutely sure will be broken as part of a growth arc that feels authentic) to stop turning to all the things that drive her into the worst decisions like drugs and alcohol: this was a thing I was surprised not to see them talk about as a problem at all in S1 (except insofar as Ava was being juxtaposed with characters like George and DJ), so I’m actually really pleased that she’s able to connect the dots and not just chalk it up to a moment of hurt and grief (though it was, undeniably, that too), but also what she’d turned to in order to make it through the hurt and grief 

6) OKAY THE EMAIL AND LAWSUIT. (tl;dr: I actually appreciate how they did it, there were things in there I expected, and I think it has a lot of potential and already gives glimpses into a depth of intimacy I didn’t know if they’d show). Longer version: I personally expected an arc that would make visible (and fast-paced) the way Deborah’s anger and desire (broadly speaking, not at all just sexual) are being pitted against each other in the email fallout. She’s hurt and pissed, and she *knows* her first reaction historically would be to cut whatever fucker did that to her out of her life forever. But she also feels this deep--gut fucking deep--connection to Ava, and she genuinely believes that Ava is good at this and that she knows how to draw the best parts of Deborah out of her (which imo is fucking MASSIVE, esp contextualized with the interview she gave about Frank; it’s basically an implicit declaration of love once more). She doesn’t want to do this without Ava, so we’ve got this polarized response where she’s gonna be (possibly) nice to Ava as a person and definitely respect her as a writing partner and keep going forward with her on tour. But she’s also being as vindictive as ever and drawing a firm, deep line in the sand to everyone else around her (and to Ava) that makes clear that she will not tolerate this shit--she won’t tolerate being hurt and publicly humiliated again. 

Reading the email aloud: I know lots of folks hated this (understandable!). I personally think we needed it. I think Ava needed it. She needed to see the impact her words had and the harm they can do. The stupid tweet that set up the show’s premise was well-intentioned. This email was decidedly not. She needed to have that drawn forth in a way that was deeply painful precisely because it was devastating to someone she cares so fucking deeply for and about. (Also, I’m clearly a massive bitch, but my first thought was: oh this is hurtful but not cruel. I could have said way worse. Easy. So it didn’t land nearly so heavily as the stuff I was imagining could also be in there.) And we needed that full email out there in the world. Just a description of it or an admission of its existence would always leave the particulars hanging as the Chekhov’s gun that would necessarily be revealed at the worst possible time later down the line.

Lawsuit Ramifications: First off, I don’t think this will go all the way, as a preface. I think there are going to be small, intimate moments of coming back together and genuine forgiveness of the sort I believe Deborah straight up has. not. experienced. before. And I suspect eventually Deborah will withdraw the suit. BUT! One thing I’m genuinely curious about is how class is gonna play out here. I’m admittedly hyper sensitive to this stuff as someone who grew up working-class and teaches about class and representation (which also means I know how frequently it’s totally elided in US television as a kind of middle class monolith dominates but that’s a different post/rant). But we know Ava was sending money back to her parents in S1, which isn’t something any of my middle- or upper-class friends do. Maybe it was medical expenses, which theoretically have disappeared, but there’s a lot we don’t know about her dad’s situation at the end--did he make it to a hospital (leaving bills), was he working (lost income), does her mom work, do they own the house outright, etc. etc. Just like there’s a lot we don’t know about Ava’s financial situation--the LA townhouse bad deal possibly offset by rent from tenants, her salary, etc.! I’ll be watching to see how they grapple with it.

I have other thoughts that are more speculative about things to come in future episodes, but I know some folks want to keep what we have vs. what might be to come separate, so I won’t put them here!

[heywriters]

Do you have any ideas on how to decide which of your MCs have siblings and why? I’m aware that realistically not all MCs would be single children, but I’m struggling to find places or uses for them in the story.

Siblings! Why Characters Need Them

The biggest reason I feel characters need siblings is not just for realism's sake, but because siblings build character. Whatever your MC's personality, it was likely shaped by siblings. Siblings in most families are not accessories to each other's lives, but bear impact on them. As children, siblings are essentially a crash course in socializing with other humans---both positively and negatively. In many cases, siblings are more involved in one's upbringing, survival, and education than parents or other adults.

It helps to analyze your character inspiration. Where did your ideas for their personality come from? Are they based on real life people, and if so did those people have siblings? Do they have any insecurities, competitive traits, or familial attitudes that you don't have an explanation for?

I'll elaborate with general examples. Say your MC doesn't speak much and allows themself to be interrupted or talked over without fuss. This can imply they were not the dominant sibling and rarely got their way. Say your MC is always first to the dinner table or has to have the last word. This can imply they had many siblings or were the dominant sibling and struggled to get their way each day. Say your MC is protective of others, especially those younger than them or of the opposite sex, and always makes sure everyone has what they need and is feeling okay. This can imply they were the oldest or held much responsibility for their siblings and parented them. Early life with siblings often decides how people live as adults.

How your MCs feel about and interact with their siblings will inform the reader of their character. Remember, background siblings have lives too, and they can affect your MC. Say a sibling gets married, has a baby, loses a job, graduates college, gains money/influence, gets very sick, or commits a crime. These aspects of storytelling can temporarily alter your MC's attitude or pull them out of the story for a while, and that's good. They give readers a chance to see an MC in a new light while reminding them that they had a life before and currently beyond the main plot. That adds realism and more importantly authenticity.

There are alternatives to siblings if siblings don't fit in your story for some reason. Some only children are raised in a tight-knit friend group, maybe within their neighborhood, and pick up sibling habits that way. Others may not live with siblings, but they do spend ample time with cousins and other young relatives who treat each other like siblings.

Siblings don't always need a place in the story, they can simply be mentioned in passing. Their mere existence fills in backstory and helps readers relate to your characters. Siblings also serve as potential subplot or drama if needed, so they're good to keep in reserve.

I have a 'siblings' tag that links to other advice and anecdotes I've collected, so give that a shot!

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[botslayer]

Why (Almost) every member of The Seven is Sympathetic:

Yes I said “Almost” but I want to do this in descending order (With one exception, you’ll guess who quickly). What makes these characters human monsters despite their great power? The only ones I feel no sympathy for at any given point are Translucent and Shockwave. 

Okay they lock him in a cage and he really only wants to get out, but remember that he nearly killed some guy (Hughie) for trying to spy on them as he thought Hughie was a government spy. However, while in that cage, he mentions the idea that normal people are nothing to supes. I believe his exact words in once scene were “You’re nothing but a water balloon full of blood and meat.” So when he dies after bouts of bargaining and bribery, yeah. Fuck ‘im. Shockwave is on the extreme opposite end, he’s given virtually no characterization so his death is basically immaterial to the story and I have no clue what level of scumbag I’m supposed to infer he is.

He takes A-Train’s job (Which he can no longer do due to a medical complication). Big deal. He’s just some guy with super speed and a pawn for Homelander that gets taken out before he can do anything as far as the story goes. He looks cool but he’s a nothing character. (There is also Mister Marathon but we don’t know enough about him for anything relevant yet) The Deep, perhaps ironically this far up, is next.

The Deep has a couple of short scenes where I do sympathize. For example when he tries to help a supermarket lobster only for it to be killed, and then another where he invites a woman into his house. Said woman fingers his gill holes much to his protest and apparent pain while they have sex. Does he deserve that? No. But through all of that, and through joining the Church Of The Collective, he never learns the lesson he should have. He doesn’t actually appear to see what he did as wrong just that it’s inconvenienced him so thoroughly. Not to mention the fact that he’s technically committed bestiality (Albeit the sea life he communicates with seem to express roughly human level intelligence or something he understands as that at least which makes it... less bad, arguably.)  All the same, the irony of The Deep is that he’s a completely shallow person. He’d do what he did to Starlight again if he thought he could get away with it, you can’t change my mind. I think that’s kind of the point though. Given the shows writing, I really don’t think I’m supposed to give a crap if The Deep lives or dies. He’s done one authentically good thing in the whole show and that was at the very end of season 3 with someone else’s prompting. (Although I won’t spoil that) Next, we have Black Noir, The Seven’s resident ninja. Which I want now.

Black Noir is probably a little high up for some of your tastes but I will say that from Deep, it’s a pretty steep drop to Noir. This physically abused and mentally broken assassin is honestly one of my favorite characters even before we got his backstory. His old and new leaders in the teams he was/is in were/are both absolute tyrannical monsters and he’s blindly loyal to a company that likely sees him as little more than an asset. You almost wanna give the guy a hug. Even when he kills someone it’s stiff and robotic. Like he only does it because it’s what he knows how to do. We also know he has either imaginary friends as of season 3, or basically schizophrenic delusions of cartoon characters. One or the other. This still suggests his brain is completely fucked. Especially when you see a chunk of it fell out in Nicaragua.  Noir is ultimately a manifold victim of circumstance that slowly, over time, broke his mind, busted him up, and made him a monster, not because he simply is one, but because he was broken into one. Just like his most recent leader. But we’ll get to him. For now, Lamplighter.

Now, Lamplighter is a bad enough dude, but he feels an all-consuming, soul-crushing guilt. He feels nothing but pain for what he’s done, the thing that broke up The Boys before the show started, killing Grace Mallory’s grandkids. See, he might be a supe and was wrapped up in their wrong doing but he’s committed a great sin and knows its weight full well. His death in season 2 is a release. One that was unfortunate for The Boys but it was for peace. And it’s depressing but I’ll be damned if I don’t understand it and... Sympathize. Rest in peace, Lamplighter. Then there’s Maeve. 

Maeve is a bad person. I don’t care what people say. Maeve is a bad person. But the question we have to ask is “Why?” “Why do you leave a plane full of people to die?” “Why do you enable the monsters around you?” Because she wants to survive. You tell Homelander of all people “No.” You tell him he’s doing something wrong and to give a shit. If you don’t go along with it, you don’t know what he’ll do. And it’s the same with people like Translucent spying on people in the bathroom. She’s so surrounded by this evil by this corruption and forced to smile and wave and pretend she’s happy when she isn’t. She’s the strongest woman in the world and ultimately feels powerless against the corporate scumfucks she works for or Homelander or A-Train, whoever else. She might be able to do damage to the others but not on Noir’s watch, not on Homelander’s. Defineitely not on Vought’s.  She’s been cut off from the woman she loves for years, her approach to being a superhero is completely warped by what’s happened in her tenure, and the only person on God’s Green Earth willing to try and help her actually act on being a good person is Starlight. There’s a good person in Maeve trying to get out and Starlight helped or at least tried to but it’s a constant uphill battle against everything both of them are surrounded by. She gets a happy ending but the road to it is long and painful and honestly it isn’t entirely unearned even if I would have preferred her dying a hero’s death. Speaking of Starlight: HOMELANDER IS NEXT!

What hasn’t been said about Homelander? He’s a scumbag. He’s a manipulative, opportunistic, hateful, evil, egotistical, violent, sociopathic monster and needs to be stopped. But like with Maeve, the question is “Why?” Put Simply: He’s Superman without the Kents. He was denied something people need in their formative years. Love. He was affection and connection starved and taught to be the most effective weapon, not hero, possible. His super strength he only uses for relishing his horrible actions because his lasers do almost anything he needs quicker, even if it results in more collateral. That’s really not his concern because he was raised more or less not to give a shit. They gave a demigod a fullgod as a son and then denied either of them that bond and spoiled the god they made rotten, letting him think he could do whatever he wants.  Homelander, not entirely unlike Noir, is a victim of surroundings. We don’t know what kind of person he could have been if he just had a proper family or at least a father. Vogelbaum certainly wasn’t going to give it to him and he admits that was a mistake. Homelander’s story is a tragedy when you get right down to it. A kind, loving boy forced to endure what could only be called torture just to see what sort of powers he had and then unleashed upon the world with a constant desire to be loved and seen as a hero by the people he’s supposed to work to save and help lead further astray by a combination of the already fucked up superhero culture of the time and his warped psyche. We all want Homelander to die, I think. But I wish I could go back. That I could just help a screaming child get the life he deserved before he became the monster we all know. Up next, we have A-Train.

A-Train is a bad person... Or perhaps was. But do remember the pressure and threat he lives under every day. If he slows down from his records for even a few milliseconds, that’s a few milliseconds someone else can take and use to take his place in the spotlight. Something he, a character from at least an inferably low-money background probably doesn’t want to have happen despite Homelander forcing him to run V everywhere to make “Supervillains” or the idea that Homelander could just, apropos of nothing, decapitate him and face no consequences.  And now, given what happened in season 3, even though we know he’s killed more people than Robin and Popclaw, he knows why the things he’s done are wrong. He understands. He’s learned something approximating a lesson about what he’s put others through and is sorry. He understands at long last why what he’s done over the years is wrong, something he had to learn the hard way and he wants to make up for it all but doesn’t know how. At least he’s trying to use his platform for social issues. For whatever that’s worth. Now we come to the bottom layers, Starlight, Supersonic, and Blindspot.

Starlight, or Annie, is a character who kind of represents the average Superhero fan in my opinion. We see Superheroes as symbols of hope and justice. We see them as moral paragons who, while having flaws, let their good qualities shine through as much as possible not just because they’re good for everyone but because they, themselves, are good. They’re kind, caring, and maybe have just a pinch of an ego or show-offy tendencies.  However as the show goes on we understand how that image is maintained by Vought in this universe through fake exploits in movies, comics, and shows. We learn that Earth’s Most Mighty, The Seven, are almost all monsters of various different kinds the lot of them are managed by a single company that has its fingers in every pie at once. Annie, upon walking in and experiencing all of this first hand, has to adjust to it. She has to learn to play the corporate game which she already kind of does but only in theoretical ways she HAS to flex to stay afloat. She has to learn how to appeal to her supposed team mates and dance around all their bullshit, even Homelander’s. She gets everything she thought she wanted only for it to be a nightmare, and as it turns out, kind of forced on her by her mother.  Annie isn’t a bad person and is probably the best superhero in the show. She doesn’t do what she does because her ego is off the chart or because she’s driven by some abstract agenda. She genuinely wants to help and inspire people with a platform in The Seven. And to the show’s credit it’s not portrayed as a bad thing or superb naivety. She lives in a world of brainwashed people and is kind of one of them. She has to do bad things, even if she doesn’t want to. And that’s the kind of thing that you just feel for.  I don’t really have a segue, but Blindspot.

We don’t know anything about him. Okay, he’s basically Daredevil but other than that, virtually nothing. He’s a good dude though and kind of comes off as another Annie. Hopeful, aspirational, and genuinely wants to do what heroes are said to do and help people, stop criminals, that jargon. Then Homelander ruptures his eardrums. We don’t know what happened to him after that, if he bled out or got taken to some variant of medical area and is recovering but all the same Homelander stole a dream of a kind from him and left an entire secondary layer of crippling him. Blind-deaf people can get through life, yes, but he’s got one hell of a learning curve ahead if he survived and it’s all just a sad sight.  Just short of finally, Supersonic.

Supersoinc is a lightly developed character. He’s an old boyfriend of Starlight’s and we know for a fact he’s not a bad dude. He, like her and Blindspot, kind of embodies a sort of heroic idealism. He’s overcome a crippling drug addiction, he’s cleaned up his act and gotten back in the game, he’s openly displayed a trusting nature toward Starlight and a willingness to help fight Homelander, so much so he tried to recruit A-Train to the cause because he understood it was worth doing. He dies before the right thing can be done which is arguably worse than dying doing the right thing IMO. Now... The one you’ve all been dreading or perhaps sharpening various weapons and farm equipment edges for: Stormfront. 

I’m saying this now: I saved her for last because I know she’s a hard sell. She’s a fucking nazi. Like... There’s virtually nothing else to say. That alone is enough of a reason not to give a shit or relish when horrible things happen to her. She arguably deserves just about everything she gets, key word “arguably,” on that metric alone. Her loss of spotlight and platform and eventual death were good things... But hear me out. This woman was born into a country that had problems. In the years that followed she was indoctrinated into the prevalent, evil ideology, made into a god, and then she outlives... everyone. Her husband, her daughter, lord knows how many friends and other family members. Then she finds a new love, a man who embodies everything her rancid ideology wants. The strength. The power. The lovely blue eyes and blond hair. She’s found the perfect ideal and he’s into her. They’re in love. Homelander loves her so much he introduces her to his son who she tries to indoctrinate into her hateful world view and then that boy does so much damage to her body it’s unreal and her own healing factor can’t keep up with it and she’s left as major burn victim who’s slowly losing control of her body. Not only can she not physically be with the man she loves, she can’t wish a happy birthday anymore because her body is gradually failing her more and more. She can’t wheeze or even blink on command anymore until she kills herself being unable to deal with how, to her own ideological lens, pathetic she is now.  I struggle to feel no sympathy because that’s a lot of shit all at once. Again, happy she’s gone. The world of The Boys is a better place with out her. But just because she’s a terrible person, just because I find her to be awful... I still can't bring myself not to feel some sort of sorry for her. But she’s experiencing terrible, horrible things and I’ll be damned if those don’t engender some variant of empathy of sympathy. You may now flog me if you don’t agree with that stance. Anyway the point of this post was essentially just gushing about how I love this show. All of the characters are properly diverse and interesting even in their scummier behaviors. They know how to make them all uniquely scummy and sympathetic at once... All the ones that matter at least. 

[talatomaz]

beautiful | diana prince x fem!reader

a/n: happy new year !! this takes place during 1984 but before the actual plot of the movie happens. this is really long so sorry in advance

warnings: mentions of attempted assault. sexual references

word count: 3.4k

masterlist | request list | request rules

reader is a woc and works at the smithsonian as an antiques realtor. after they receive several artefacts specific to ancient mediterranean culture, she enlists the help of diana prince, a senior anthropologist. reader works closely with her and finds herself starting to develop feelings for her and one day, she’s saved by a mysterious female heroine and figures out diana is not all she claimed to be

i do not give you permission to repost or translate my fics on any platform - likes/reblogs are okay and are much appreciated

“Thank you.”

You smiled to the delivery boy as you showed him where to place the fragile artefacts the museum had just received. It was your job to evaluate whether they were of any value, and if so, whether it was more prudent for them to be sold to someone else or put on display for people to visit.

The moment you were left alone, you’d opened the smallest box in order to determine where these artefacts were from, more specifically, when. You picked up, what appeared to be, a device of some sorts, fit with several random gears. Evaluating the rust and corrosion, you noted on your clipboard that this may have been a Cypriot artefact from the early Bronze Age.

As you made your way through the other boxes, you were about a quarter of the way through when you noticed that all of these antiquities appeared to originate from the Mediterranean. And you knew the perfect person to help explain more about their culture to you.

You gently placed the artefact you were currently examining back in its respective box, locked your office door and made your way to the senior anthropologist who was an expert on the culture.

Lifting a closed fist, you lightly knocked on the door and waited patiently for the door to open, smiling at the person who stood in the door frame when it did.

“Afternoon Miss Prince, are you free for a quick chat?”

You didn’t know Diana Prince all that well, having only interacted on a number of occasions but each time you had, she was incredibly kind and friendly. She had been at the museum longer than you had and was one of the first people to introduce themselves to you and make you feel welcome.

Honestly, there wasn’t much that you knew about her.

She was an enigma.

In the broadest of terms, that was.

By definition, an enigma is someone who is mysterious and difficult to understand.

Now, whilst the brunette was definitely mysterious, she was, by no means, difficult to understand.

One look in her eyes and you immediately saw her for all that she was.

She may not have said more than 5 words to you, but her eyes told you a story. Someone who had gone through immense hurt but remained kind and bright, even in the darkest of times.

Her eyes were beautiful, as was the rest of her. Though that did seem like an oversimplification. She was a goddess, as if sculpted by the Gods themselves - how true that was, you didn’t know yet - and despite that, she never seemed to let her beauty be her one overriding factor. She was extremely smart and intelligent and so much more. Which was why you enlisted her help.

“Of course. Please take a seat.” She said, smiling when you did. “So, how can I help you, Miss L/N?”

“Please, call me y/n. Miss L/N makes me sound like my mother.” You joked.

“Well, then please call me Diana.” She replied in her accent that you couldn’t quite distinguish.

You nodded, “So I’ve just recently come into possession of some ancient artefacts. As you know, I’m required to estimate their value and decide what the museum should do with them. However, it seems that the artefacts I’ve currently examined, all appear to be specific to Mediterranean culture. Now considering you’re our resident expert on that, I figured-”

“That I could come and help you determine it’s authenticity and explain more about them.” Diana finished.

“Exactly. But if you’re too busy, I compl-”

“No, it’s okay.” She interrupted quickly. Clearing her throat, she continued, “I’d be happy to help. I’m glad you came to me, y/n.”

Your lips curved in a smile as you fought to keep the blush that would have certainly risen to your cheeks.

“Shall we?” You asked, standing up, about to head back to your office.

“Lead the way.”

***

For the next month or so, you found yourself working quite closely with the anthropologist, the Smithsonian board having told you both that they wanted you to help create a display for the artefacts to be put on show for the community. Though that meant more work for you, you were secretly grateful because, truth be told, you found yourself developing feelings for the brunette. But you never said a word, knowing she wouldn’t feel the same about you.

You were working late one night, about to leave, before you noticed the light that was on in one of the hallways. Apart from you, you knew that the only person who’d ever stay this late at the museum was Diana. Her, seemingly more committed to her job than you once realised.

Knocking on the door, you waited until you heard a quiet “come in” before entering the office room.

Neatly placed around the room were several boxes, more than likely filled with paperwork and published papers. Her navy leather sofa sat at the far end of the room with a coat draped over one of the arm rests. In front of you, was Diana’s desk. It was as tidy as the rest of the room, papers orderly placed at the ends of the desk, a small lamp placed at the corner and a computer which Diana had been typing on.

Her face softened into a smile when she saw you and she sat up against her chair.

“Hey, y/n. What’s up?”

“Not much. I was just about to head home but since I saw your light on, I figured I’d come by and say goodnight.”

“That’s sweet. Since you’re here, why don’t I walk you out? I was planning on going home myself.”

“Sounds good.”

She grabbed her coat from the sofa and put it on. After locking her door, she walked beside you towards the entrance of the museum.

“You know, it’s a beautiful night and it’s not that late either, why don’t we get dinner?”

You stopped in your path for a brief moment before continuing to walk.

She was asking you to dinner.

Holy shit.

You knew it wasn’t a date since you had had several dinners together whilst working at the artefacts.

But the idea that it could have been still excited you.

And terrified you.

“Yeah, I’d love to.”

You had eaten at this cute restaurant, sitting outdoors so you could both bask in the stars. You’d fallen into easy conversation with the brunette, never experiencing any awkwardness or uncomfortable silences. You talked about nothing and everything; every time you made her laugh, you couldn’t help but smile yourself because her laughter was genuine and brought warmth to you.

“I’ve enjoyed tonight, Diana.”

“Me too. I know you don’t get out much so I figured you deserved a break.”

“Hey! What do you mean ‘I don’t get out much’?” You said, feigning being offended while truthfully, you were failing to hide a laugh.

“I’m not judging. Just...making an observation.” Diana laughed.

“Hmm sure. Well, how about you? Are you out often?”

“No, not really.”

“Wow. Now look who’s not a social butterfly.” You joked.

“Yep, we’re just two peas in a pod, huh y/n?” Diana said, smirking when she saw a light blush of red on your cheeks.

***

After that night, you found yourself regularly going out to dinner with Diana and it was getting harder to hide how you felt.

Sometimes, you had a sliver of hope that she felt the same way because she would make excuses to touch you, whether it be gently brushing her hand against yours or stroking her hand against your arm.

But you immediately quelled those thoughts. There was no way someone as beautiful, sweet and smart as Diana would like you.

Shaking your head, as if to rid the thoughts from your mind once more, you walked through the alley that was a shortcut to your apartment.

Abruptly, you felt yourself pushed up against the brick wall, a knife against your throat. You fought the urge to scream, knowing any movement with the sharp blade that close to you would certainly result in bleeding.

“Good girl. Be quiet and don’t scream. Otherwise the next piece of trash left in this alley will be you.”

The moon allowed for you to get a better look at the man holding himself against you. You only saw his face, however, his mouth curved into a creepy smile, reminiscent of Dr Seuss’ The Grinch.

“You are a pretty one, aren’t you?” Even his voice felt slimy, bringing a look of disgust on your face.

“Fuck off.” You said, showing no fear. Oddly, you found yourself feeling calm. Some people may fight and others may flee. But of course, you taunt and curse.

“Oh, you’re going to be fun.”

You readied yourself for anything that may happen, waiting for the opportunity where the blade’s pressure would lighten, allowing you to kick this guy and run away.

But before you could, you felt all pressure against you immediately leave. Looking up, you caught a glimpse of a woman in armour pulling the man off you with, what appeared to be, a glowing yellow rope. The man still held within the rope, she jumped up on the roof and disappeared.

But not before the moonlight had provided some clarity as to who this mysterious figure was.

It was her eyes.

You had difficulty sleeping that night. It was not the attempted assault that had kept you up though, it was the woman who had saved you. You recognised her eyes but the more you thought about it, the more perplexed you became. There was no way Diana was whoever this woman was. But it was her eyes.

This back and forth continued til sunrise when you finally decided to push it from your mind. Yes, her eyes may have been familiar but you hadn’t seen her face nor heard her voice. And if, and when you did, you would then make an assumption as to who she was.

***

“Morning, y/n.”

You looked up to see Diana standing outside your office door, dressed in a simple pantsuit that she somehow made look glamorous.

“Morning, Diana.”

“How are you? Are you okay?”

You carefully noted the thinly veiled concern in her tone before answering.

“Yeah, of course. Why wouldn’t I be?” You asked, brow raised in question.

“No reason. Just wondering.” She cleared her throat. “I’ve just been finalising some things for the display tonight.”

Time had flown by and you were disheartened when you realised it meant the two of you wouldn’t be seeing each other as often; the two of you would go back to your own lives and separate work.

“Y/N?”

You blinked, having been broken from your thoughts when you saw real concern on her face.

“Yeah?”

“You went a bit dazed there for a moment. Are you sure you’re okay?” Her head tilted in question, her hand lifting to gently caress your arm.

“Yeah, sorry. Come on, let’s finish off this display.”

You had trouble focusing whilst you worked, eyes constantly glancing over at Diana, your mind wondering. You knew that even if she was who you thought she was, it had no effect on how you felt about her. She was still the same Diana that you knew.

Just...more badass than you’d first thought.

The two of you left the museum early evening so you could get ready for the gala the Smithsonian was putting on to show off their new Mediterranean display.

Whilst you had put quite a few antiques up for sale to various buyers and other museums, the large majority of them you had advised the board to keep; explaining how, in the long run, it’d prove more valuable.

You got dressed in a black dress that was hemmed below your knees, a low but classy ‘v’ cut shaped plunged neckline to reveal a small diamond necklace that matched with your earrings. You rarely wore makeup but tonight was an exception so your lips were painted a deep red that complemented your tanned skin and your hair was left free, light curls bouncing against your back.

Once you had arrived back at the Smithsonian, you made your way to your boss and the rest of the board who complimented yours and Diana’s work.

You looked around, wondering where the latter was.

As if summoned by sheer thought alone, Diana appeared beside you; her appearance leaving your throat dry. She was dressed in a long navy dress, a long slit in the side showing off her toned legs. She wore a gold bracelet around her wrist, her lips painted bright red, her curly hair surrounding her face.

“You look stunning, Diana.”

“Thank you. You look beautiful too.” Her smile reaching her eyes.

The next couple of hours were spent rotating around the guests and several investors who commended the both of you on your work whilst simultaneously making sizeable donations to the museum.

Truth be told, you hated this part of the gala. You believed that people should appreciate the art rather than wanting to line up their own pockets. It was the main reason you often avoided company events such as these but since tonight was something you’d organised, you needed to be there.

You were currently speaking with an older male whom you knew was an avid investor. Diana had been pulled aside by another investor who wanted to know more about a certain piece of art.

As you engaged in a polite conversation with the man, you felt a shift in his tone as he became more untoward with you. His words were slurring slightly, having consumed several glasses of champagne, and he starting to make inappropriate advances by grabbing your hand or saying wildly unprofessional things.

“Mr Woodbury, I appreciate your interest in me but I do not feel the same way and I’d appreciate it if you could stop with the advances.” You explained as politely as you could when, in reality, you were trying to hide your anger.

“Darling, you’re a pretty little thing and I could give you the night of your life.” He leered at you, leaning closer towards you.

A strong hand pushed him back, “she said ‘no’”

There was no need to even face the person enunciating each word; you knew exactly who that voice belonged to.

“Miss Prince, we’re having a private conversation.”

Diana stood beside you, her body turned so she faced the both of you.

“I suggest you leave before I have you removed from the building. And if you ever bother y/n again, I promise you, you will regret it. And a promise is unbreakable.”

The male withered under her stare and slithered away from view. You glanced up at Diana, who towered over you, even more so in her heels, and saw the controlled fury in her eyes.

The way the light of the room shone on her face and illuminated her eyes forced yourself in the memory of the night of your attempted assault.

The realisation hit you like a train.

This was the confirmation that you needed.

It was her.

“Y/N?”

You stared into her eyes, unable to tear yourself from her.

“Y/N?” Diana repeated, resting her hand against your cheek. The warmth of her skin against yours brought you back to reality.

“Y-You. I-”

You stumbled over your words, unable to string any words together to form a coherent sentence.

“Come with me.”

Not waiting for a response, Diana took your hand in hers and led you back to her office. She closed the door, locking it behind her and switching on her lamp so the room wasn’t completely dark.

You stood in front of her, still unsure of what to say.

“Y/N, you’ve been acting weird all day. What’s wrong?” She asked, her concern evident in her tone.

“You’re her.”

“I’m sorry?”

“Her. The one who saved me last night.”

You watched as Diana’s eyes flickered with panic. It was only for a brief moment and you wouldn’t have caught it if you weren’t looking.

Her mouth opened as if ready to disprove any of your thoughts before closing it again when she saw the look on your face.

“How did you know?” She sighed.

“Your eyes.”

“I’m sorry?” She repeated.

“Your eyes. They were the same. Since the moment I met you, the first thing I noticed were your eyes. The way they sparkled with kindness but I could still see the hurt behind it. They’re beautiful.” Your voice faltered as you finished speaking.

“Um, that was inappropriate. I shouldn’t have said that. I-I’ll go.”

As you were about to walk out of her office, she moved to block the door.

“Don’t go.” Her accent came out strong.

“Diana, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that. Look, I appreciate you working with me these past couple of months. It’s been a great help. We can just forget this happened and just go back to our lives.” You suggested, walking back to the centre of the room.

“What if I don’t want to?”

Her words came out in a low whisper, the huskiness of her voice sending a shiver down your spine.

“W-what?” You swallowed dryly.

“I said, what if I don’t want to forget?” She repeated, walking closer to you whilst you unconsciously backed away slowly until stopping when your back hit her desk.

“I’ve loved spending time with you, y/n. You’ve become extremely important to me. And seeing that guy trying to hit on you earlier angered me because you’re not his. You’re mine.”

Your eyes widened. Though you’d never seen this side of Diana before, you were extremely turned on; a warmth spreading through you.

Diana continued, smiling at the noticeable effect she had on you.

“I know you feel the same way. I see the way you look at me and the way you blush when I catch you staring. You know me. The other me. You’re beautiful and I like you, y/n. A lot.”

You licked your lips and then lightly bit your bottom lip, once again speechless. Never in a million years did you think she’d like you back.

You decided words weren’t going to be enough and instead, you gathered your courage, the alcohol helping you in that respect, and closed the distance between you.

It was a light kiss, practically a peck, just to test the waters as they say but it still felt right.

You pulled away and leaned back against the desk. There was a look in her eye that you couldn’t quite distinguish but before you had any time to dwell on it, Diana instantly kissed you back, this time with more fervour.

She lifted you onto the desk as if you weighed nothing and with her strength, you probably didn’t. Her hands gripped the sides of your waist, steadying you, as you opened your legs wider so she could move between them.

Your arms wrapped around her neck pulling her deeper into you. She tugged your bottom lip between her teeth, not hard enough to make you wince but definitely enough to make you moan.

You felt her smirk against your lips as her hands moved upwards from bracketing your hips to the side of your breasts. She continued the motion before kissing you one final time and reluctantly pulled away.

Your breath came out in a pant, trying to get as much oxygen back into your lungs as possible.

“That was-”

“Amazing.” Diana finished.

You still sat atop of her desk, not having enough energy to move as of yet, and you were sure your legs wouldn’t be able to hold you up either after that heavy make out session.

Diana rested her hands against your waist once more before tucking a strand of hair behind your ear and cupping your cheek.

How she went from being so full of passion and heat to being so gentle and sweet, you’d never know. You had a feeling she was going to keep you on your toes.

“As much as I didn’t want to stop, we still have people to see. What do you say we talk to a few more guests and then we can go back to my place and finish what we started?”

Diana asked, stroking your cheek with her thumb as her eyes twinkled with mischief.

“I’m never going to figure you out, am I?” You said light-heartedly, as you came to your feet.

Diana held your hand in hers and walked to the door,

“I don’t know. I’d say you know me pretty well already.”

[luna--reading]

[PICK A CARD] WHAT IS THE NEXT UNEXPECTED BLESSINGS COMING IN FOR YOU?

Hello lovelies~ ♡

This is a pick a card reading for “what is the next unexpected blessings coming in for you”. This is a timeless reading and you’re meant to see this right now! Please do find peace if it doesn’t resonate with you~ ♡

So take a few minutes to mediate on these 4 piles:

Left to right: 1 - 4

Once you’re ready, just scroll below to find the reading that you have chosen!

You can always leave a comment or simply like the post if it resonates with you, thank you so much~ ♡♡♡

Pile 1:

Tarot: The Star, The Fool

Oracle: A YEAR FROM NOW // FEELINGS – Emotions want to be felt. You really can’t surrender something until you deeply feel it. Allow me, dear Divine, to offer all emotions to You, feeling them fully so they no longer hold me captive! // TRUE LOLVE – Your wholeness and safety lie within, not from a partner. But this sovereignty actually leads to the deepest intimacy for you to stop using others. Let me stand on my own feet, dear Lord, and know True Love!

Okay, darling, I feel like this blessing or in fact, these blessings, that I see is going to come in continuously. It’s a continuous effort, I feel and I do feel that it’s going to be consistently flowing in for you within this one year. I do feel that there is a very strong love message here, so especially for those who are worried that you are not going to find a partner, or someone who is going to love you, the angels want you to know that yes, darling, you will get into a relationship. And I do see for most of you, it’s going to happen over the next 1 year. I do feel that this is someone that you’ve been manifesting, or it’s a wish fulfilment and I do feel that this new journey it’s going to be exciting and one that you’ve always been looking forward. The angels want you to know that you’ve been working on yourself, and they want to reward you with this major wish fulfilment, especially if love has been significantly on your mind. I do feel that this person is a true love and I do see a long-term commitment with this person. Be more patient, darling, is what I’m hearing. Over the next 1 year, you’ll start to see all of your manifestations coming together and that is because the angels are rewarding you for your hard work, so please continue working on yourself!

For another group of you, I’m also seeing a message of self-love. I feel like if right now, love is not something that you are looking for, then this blessing is that over the course of the next year, you’ll soon start to heal from past wounds and traumas, and love yourself again. Healing is going to take place over the next 1 year and I feel like you’ll find yourself back again so that you can start on this new journey. I do feel that you are asked to really get in touch with your own emotions and understand why you are feeling in a particular way. Only by understanding your true emotions, can you then allow yourself to heal from all of these past hurts and traumas. You are your greatest supporter, darling, and only by loving yourself first can you then attract the same energy back to you. Please start loving yourself more, darling, the angels have got your back and they are always here to protect and guide you!

Pile 2:

Tarot: King of Wands, Ace of Swords

Oracle: IF YOU BELIEVE // CREATIVE BLOCKS – If you are an artist of any kind, you can offer all work to the Divine, making it God’s alone. I offer this for the Highest Good to benefit the planet. Release me from any blocks and restrictions. May this serve all who need!

Okay, this is definitely my creative pile here! Darling, I feel like this blessing that is coming in for you is the surge of confidence in your own talents and gifts. Some of you may be an actual artist, a dancer, or just in any forms of creative fields. I’m also hearing motivational speakers for some reason. And I feel like maybe you feel like you’ve hit a road block recently, or just your talents and gifts don’t seem to flow as much as you would like it to. The angels want you to know that you have to have trust and faith in your own talents and gifts. I do feel that there is going to be an opportunity for you to shine again on stage, or in public, or just somewhere for you to allow your creative energy to flow again. But firstly, you have to regain that confidence again. You have to tell yourself that you belong on stage, in public, or even just through your daily work. You have to tell yourself that you are as talented and as gifted as others and you can definitely achieve your goals and dreams. I see you having that boost in confidence and allowing yourself to believe in yourself again. Darling, challenges and blockages are compulsory on our journey, but it’s how we overcome them to take in those important lessons. That energy is always within you, darling, but you’ve been fearful of allowing them to flow because of these challenges and blockages. Release those fears, darling, you are talented and gifted and everything will start to flow once you start believing in yourself!

Pile 3:

Tarot: 8 of Swords, 2 of Cups

Oracle: IT’S UP TO YOU // IMPATIENCE – My life is unfolding in Divine timing. All delays are beneficial. I’m always at the right place at the right time.

Now, darling, I feel like you might have been isolating yourself, or just wanting to be all alone recently, or even currently. There is this sense of you withdrawing from your social connections and just simply wanting to be alone. And I feel like this could be because of certain experiences that has resulted in you feeling like, you are being isolated from the rest. And it’s kind of like the energy of “I’ll isolate myself first before you can, so that it’s less hurtful to me that way”. You get what I’m trying to say? I feel like there’s a lot of unwanted thoughts that is causing you to create this barrier between you and your social connections and I feel like that could be due to anxiety or certain overthinking. Now, your thoughts and feelings are all valid, but I do feel that sometimes, you might be very stuck in your own thoughts and it’s just a downward spiral, resulting in this negativity that is around you right now. I do feel that you actually do have a lot of supportive, caring and loving relationships, connections around you, darling. But you aren’t seeing them, are you? I feel like if certain things didn’t unfold the way that you wanted it to (especially when it comes to social connections), you feel like people just don’t feel the same way as you do. So, this can be maybe a romantic interest and you thought that maybe that person doesn’t like you the way that you do. Or this can be a friend who maybe has rejected you on something and you feel like this person doesn’t treat this friendship the way that you do. But I feel like a lot of such rejections does have a story behind them. Maybe it’s not the right time, maybe this person doesn’t have the capability to do so, and so on. I feel like a lot of times, you tend to look at things from your perspective, because to you, you would do the same for others even if it isn’t the right time, or even if you don’t have the capability to do so. But darling, that is not healthy because firstly, you are not setting healthy boundaries for yourself and secondly, you should always put yourself first and not others. I feel like this period of “rejection” kinds of comes in as a lesson for you that you should always know how to set those healthy boundaries, and that only when you set those healthy boundaries, you can then attract the same energy back to you as well. You are not alone, darling, you do have a lot of people who are willing to support you. They love and care for you and those “rejections” from previously, they are here to protect you. Some things are not meant to happen, and maybe this is the angels’ way of telling you, you don’t have that capacity and capability to help everyone, it’s time to take a break. It’s time to free yourself from your negative thoughts and I feel like your blessing is that you’ll soon realise that you do have these people around you, but it’s really up to you if you’d accept this as a blessing into your life!

Pile 4:

PTarot: Knight of Pentacles, The High Priestess

Oracle: GET MORE INFORMATION // COMPANIONSHIP – When you fully bless and embrace your aloneness, you’re ready for the ones who are meant to be with you. May I welcome this solitude knowing it will open the way for all healthy relationships. // EMPOWERMENT – When you ask the Divine to take over, you get pulled into your own authentic power. It’s a force of inner love that WANTS your wholeness and magnificence. Unfold my true and radiant self, dear Lord!

Darling, I feel like there is some message or news that you’ve been waiting for and the blessing that is coming in for you will be this! I do feel that you’ve been working on something. This can be in regards to a work project, or an opportunity in the financial sector, or maybe even in regards to love and self-love. There is something that you’ve been putting in the work and effort and that I feel like as much as you trust the process, you might just feel that there is something that is still not revealed to you. Or you just feel that there is still certain information that is being hidden. I do feel that the angels want you to know that certain information that is being hidden from you now is to protect you and it’s just not the right time. And while there isn’t a clear timing of when this information is coming in for you, I do feel that it’s going to come in at the right time. And the angels want you to simply just trust in the process right now and continue working on this thing that you’ve been working on for so long. It’s really trusting that your angels have your back and that they are always here to protect and guide you.

I do feel that there is also this message of boosting of your self-confidence as a blessing for you. I feel like maybe you aren’t exactly seeing clear results or the results that you wanted in something that you’ve been working on and you are wondering if this is eventually going to work out. Angels want you to know that yes everything is going to work out and you have to trust in yourself. And empower yourself so that you can continue working on this thing that you’ve been working on for so long. These results are coming in slow but they are the most grounded and stable energies. Information, news, messages are all going to flow in for you soon darling, and most importantly, I see you taking back your power. Throwing away all fears and doubts, I see you being confident and empowered soon, darling!

[coldtomyflash]

OH MY STARS YOU’RE WRITING AGAIN?!???!!!??????? THIS MIGHT BE THE MOST EXCITING NEWS I’VE HAD THIS MONTH!!!!!!!! Igkdnhidksjdkpfkejs

A question, forgive me if it’s been asked before, is there *any* chance that you might write a sequel to got a melancholic temperament? I was doing a reread the other day and it was just so fosofiakdidkfkdkekfkdicjgkvobodkakfkgkvifidiekdkfivdiddicokspsgkckvoejanamfgogiejdgoocisisodcoxnaj

Ahem. Just casually curious 😎

❤️❤️❤️

Less like writing again and more like reading back over my old unfinished pieces and seeing if there's any that still spark joy or require only minimal effort to finish and post 😂😅

I've also been writing this whole time just for supernatural instead of coldflash but shhh let's pretend I never betrayed coldflash

A sequel for melancholic temperament?? I'm genuinely trying to imagine what the plot would be??

One of the things I'm weird about with my longer coldflash works is always trying to end on a note of finality, one that makes things feel relatively wrapped up (some of them even get epilogues lol). So it's hard to imagine a "what next" for me because the core conflict and plot points should, in theory, be resolved.

For melancholic temperament... Obviously the age regression is fixed, and Len and Barry are still in this new fresh space but they're both approaching it from mutual understanding, and Len is accepted by the Wests.

There's the Flash detractors as the maybe obvious narrative thread that's out there dangling, and Barry with Mick and the other Rogues could provide some narrative juice. That's the most of what I can think of though?

I like to write around a developing romance because I'm a sucker for it, but in a sequel case, it would be more an established relationship thing? which isn't my usual bag except for short fics. I like to resolve a narrative at the point at which we know the characters are affirmed in their commitment to each other, partly because I tend to see commitment as an "all in" thing, so the tension of "will these crazy kids overcome the odds to make it together" is dispelled.

(not that stories about falling out and getting back together aren't interesting -- I actually really enjoy them when done well -- it's just that that's not what I've aimed for with any of my coldflash works)

But unless the sequel was a heavily plot-centric work, there would need to be some coldflash relationship ups and downs. I'm not a fan of manufacturing drama and miscommunication among characters who ought to be somewhat reasonable human beings, so any strife would have to feel earned and authentic. And I'm not sure how I would go about that?? Sure it's all new and fresh and there's a lot of potential hiccups but at the end of Melancholic Temperament was supposed they were supposed to be in a place where we (the audience) were confident they'd weather whatever came next okay.

And while I could (and likely would have to) tie their ups and downs to the Flash detractors stuff, it feels (at present, without concrete ideas to anchor it) sort of laden-on? In a "Barry can't catch a break" sort of way?

I don't know, I'm genuinely trying to think it through but there's nothing concrete for me to latch on to as a vision for how it would take shape. I could see an unrelated story in a canon divergent setting specifically interested in the Flash detractors concept, examining meta protestors and stigma and the Flash's role as this dual symbol of justice and subjugation, but that would have more room to grow as a standalone than a sequel?

Did you have something in mind for what a sequel would include?

[study-van]

I think it’s a quite known fact that I somehow managed to get accepted to some universities abroad. I’ve been getting asks about tips on how to do it so here are some extremely basic ones. I might make a second post delving more into the fine details but this is a pretty neat overview. If you’ve further questions my asks/dms are always open!!

Keep your options open, even if you have set goal that you want like to be a student at a certain university, it is always best and wise to apply to not just apply to one university even if they are in different locations abroad. For example, if I didn’t apply to France this year even though I was sure I was going to the US, I wouldn’t have a school to attend...

Checking other students who study abroad posts or actually talking to them will give you a really good idea on what to expect too.

Be realistic and actually check schools websites!! Read carefully the academic requirements to figure out the probability of being accepted. If you don’t have a clear idea about the requirements, you can contact the department of international students or an adviser from the university.

Don’t get caught up with names, I know most students dream of attending “prestigious” schools that even their name make people go wow but they’re not your only option especially for med school. Finding a school that suits you the most is the most important. In France, I got accepted from Sorbonne but I won’t attend there because I don’t think I’ll be able to pass their year of Paces/Pass and Paris is way too expensive to live in on a budget... Check carefully the lessons, the schools academic environment, their facilities, read up on their academic staff, the work related opportunities they give you (internships etc), read what actual students have to say about schools, how do they treat their students in crisis situations etc, and try to find the most suitable school.

On the point of crisis management, seriously do check how they responded to the pandemic, it’s a great indicator of how much they care about their students. How did they manage the evacuation process? How are they planning on re opening? How was their response time? etc.

Okay, this will sound silly but do actually check the surrounding area of your school (the climate, the city, what you can do there on your free times, etc) If you’re moving abroad, you won’t just try to adapt to the school but also to a whole new country and city. Plus, you’ll be spending a looong time there, especially if you’re planning on studying medicine, it’s crucial that you like where the university is situated.

Make sure you know on which portal you’ll be applying for France and America, it was quite easy bc you apply to all the unis from the same website but I’ve seen from my friends who applied to the Netherlands, for each school you apply through their website and before the time comes up for applications it’s a good idea to check that website’s features.

Not going to lie, paperwork is hell and I wish I knew way before getting accepted that I’ll go the France so that I could’ve prepared everything calmly... All the documents have to be translated into the official language of the respective country and legally authenticated by a competent authority. Make sure you read carefully the documents that are required and prepare them as soon as possible. Doing this early offers you a great advantage. If you send the documents and something is wrong, you still have enough time to make the necessary changes.

Also visa application is quite literally hell, especially if you’re a non-EU resident... Submitting your visa application is just as important as submitting your applications. I think all the countries require you to start the school year off with a visa, which allows you to study in your chosen country. Visas and visa requirements vary by country, so be sure to do your research and contact the closest consulate/visa offices (like vfs in Turkey) if you have any questions.

Nearly all the schools expect a personal statement/motivation letter/etc. from you. I know you’ll be compelled to make yourself out to be this 100% perfect student but don’t do that, seriously. As an international student, when writing your personal statement, be sure to express your commitment to living and studying abroad. You have to take a moment and think about what drives you, what inspires you to spend your entire higher education career abroad, why this specific major is your calling, etc. Your future university wants to know how studying at their school matches your academic goals, and why you want to study there. (For America, they enjoy an essay that’s more like a story, your story but for France it was extremely professional and right to the point, no need for a flair)

Finally consider the financial aspect of it. I was prepared to go the US bc I really believed I’ll get scholarships and I did too, plus a scholarship from a Turkish NGO too. However, if you’re thinking of Europe, it’s seriously much, much more affordable. Firstly, your living expenses won’t be as high and there are many small job opportunities and national/local scholarships that you can get (for example Lauréat scholarship in France). Be sure to start researching/applying to scholarships beforehand.

[puddygeeks]

Hello! First of all, I hope you have a nice day and that the sun will shine and your flowers will bloom - in case you have any - and that life treats you kind. Second of all, I want to tell you thank you. I haven't spend much time on your blog (yet) BUT I've read all your one shots/imagines/whatever they're actually called from The 100 as well as all published chapters of Partners in Crime (I hope that's the title of your John Murphy WIP, I'm sorry but sometimes I confuse them...) and I sincerly love the story. I am even in love with your writing style. I guess you've been doing stuff like this for a long time already (that or you're a natural, maybe both ;)), but you have your own writing style, very unique but likeable. You don't dive into unnecessary detaills too much, but you manage to pick the right describtions in the right moments. Additionally, you masterd the ability of describing a character's emotions without naming the emotions, and you leave the reader yearning for more. You don't just simply give us the kiss at the best first moment, no, you make the characters (and us) work for it. Anticipation and patience are the keys! Additionally, I like that Cassidy is not the usual The 100 OC - she's not exceptionally strong or strong-willed. It's more like the opposide, yet very realistic. You know what I mean? She doesn't drop her very plausible behaviour right away just because her (possible) love interest appears out of nowhere. It's a slow character development just like it's supposed to be. Also, I like Murphy's wit. Absolutely sounds like Murphy from the show and yet it's refreshing. I think you manage to portray all characters very authentic and realistic and just as they are, not as OOCs. By the way, I got a question to your story: Did you read the books and that's where your plot comes from or did you just create your own plot within the original? Because I'm pretty sure at least the hunting trip from chapter 11 as well as Zoey are never mentioned in the show. If you did come up with it yourself, you got my deepest respect because that's a whole other class of fantasy/imagination/own creativity. Also, I just wanna let you know that it's okay to feel overwhelmed. It's okay to take a step back and maybe put some WIPs on hold or give up on them completely. After all, you're giving this to us for free while you give up your precious time to write it. You should do it for yourself, first and foremost, and not to please the audience. If you lose the interest or just don't feel motivated or whatever, it's alright to take a step back and handle your emotions. Do what YOU want to do and feel like doing. I'd be sad if you'd stop writing completely (and I'd be sad if you left Partners in Crime unfinished), but as I said before and will repeat as much as neccessary: Do what you want to do. We're in no position or right to force you into anything else. You should enjoy the process just as much as the finished product.

This being said, I still hope you have a nice, wonderful, sunny day and are being treated kind and with respect wherever you may be. I bet you're gonna hear something from me again. Thank you.

Oh my goodness, thank you so much for this! This honestly just brought me to tears. I’ve never had such a heartfelt and wonderful response to my writing, so thank you for taking the time to send this, especially now when I am feeling deflated.

I’ve actually been writing since I was little and always had a love for it, but only really committed to it in the last couple of years. I’m glad you love my style, it’s always evolving and I do try to always be open to learning so that means a lot. I always love the suspense of two characters falling in love, sometimes even more than when they finally get together! That’s probably why I’ve always fallen into the “slow burn” category of teasing my readers with lots of almost moments and making them wait forever before anything happens 😂

Cassidy is absolutely very different to most characters, even for me. Most of the time my OCs are very fiesty and overpowering, so it’s been interesting to write someone so timid. I’ve also had the best time developing her and Murphy’s relationship and figuring out how they compliment each other considering how opposite their personalities are.

It makes me so happy to hear that you feel the characters are in character, especially Murphy! Most of my editing is spent re-writing his dialogue to keep it as sharp witted as he is, so I’m so excited to hear that it works! I have my wonderful beta @cheriesbucky to thank for helping me to keep everyone in character. I will also mention that Zoey is actually her OC who she assists in writing for my story 😊

I’ve actually never read the books, but I might once I eventually finish the show. All of the new plots are original works of mine, based on the journey that I wanted Cassidy to take and also making her and Murphy’s relationship develop naturally, instead of being forced into the confines of the show. In fact, I can imagine that a lot of the story to come will be AU as although I would like to keep a lot of the major events that shape Murphy into the loveable cockroach that we all know, there are some things that don’t fit with my vision for the two of them.

I honestly try to stick to writing for myself. Fortunately I still have a lot of love for my 100 stories and OCs. It’s important for me to stick to my own vision for them, even if I don’t think that my readers will like some of the things they do or say. I feel like what makes my OCs interesting is that they are different from the majority and though I’m sure that is part of the reason that my readership is on the smaller side, I’d rather be true to them.

Thank you again for all of your kind words. I can’t adequately explain how much they have warmed my heart and motivated me. You’ve recharged my inspiration more than you can know. I’ll be writing another chapter of Partners In Crime tomorrow especially for you 🖤

Lots of love

Puds

[keepingupwithlinmanuel]

In The Heights' Lin-Manuel Miranda and cast break down new trailers and movie's long journey to screens

It’s been three years since the In The Heights cast spent a summer in Washington Heights filming the big screen adaptation of Lin-Manuel Miranda’s Broadway hit. In all it’s been almost 20 years since Miranda first envisioned a musical that represented the world he grew up in. “No one was was writing parts for people like him, so he wrote them,” In The Heights’ film director Jon M. Chu (Crazy Rich Asians) told reporters this weekend ahead of the release of two new trailers. “No one was writing parts for his community, so he wrote them.”

...

On adaption the beloved stage musical for the screen

Quiara Alegría Hudes: I want to take it as an opportunity for people who already know and love musical to discover even new things in it, as opposed to try to make the same experience. Keep the heart and soul and add to it, and go new and surprising places too, so that you can have an even deeper experience if you already know it. Lin-Manuel Miranda: I have to say, Jon, I think, dreamed bigger than any of us in terms of the size and scope of this. We spent our summer [of 2018] on 175th St. and Autobahn. You know, he was committed to the authenticity of being in that neighborhood.... And then also, when it comes to the production numbers, dreaming so big, I mean this is a big movie musical. I think we’re so used to asking for less—just to ask to oscupy space, as Latinos. Like, let us make our little movie. And Jon, every step of the way, was like, ‘No. This is a big movie. These guys have big dreams. We’re allowed to go that big. And I’m just so thrilled with what he did because I think it’s bigger than any of us ever dreamed.

On the universality of the story

Lin-Manuel Miranda: When we’re first generation kids and we come from somewhere else, we always wonder what it would be like if our parents had stayed. You know, those questions of home being real personal. Like, what does home meant to me? And every character is sort of answering it in a different way. For some people, home is somewhere else. For some people, home is the block there. And so, you know, that’s that’s worth singing about. That’s worth celebrating in a movie this size. Jon M Chu: I was so lucky to be invited into [Lin’s and Quiara’s] homes, literally—they’re all in Washington Heights. To meet the block, meet the people who they get their café con leche from, their piragua guy. All those things, I got to witness. And it reminded me, [as it did] when I saw the show on Broadway years and years ago, of my own upbringing—even though I was not from Washington Heights. I’m from the completely other side of the country, a Chinese family and a Chinese restaurant. I recognize all the love. I recognize the characters. I recognize the aunties and uncles who raise you and say, “I love you” by their food. And you have to decode everything that they’re putting on you from their own baggage, but then you have to pick up your own and make your own path. And I love that this story that they’ve created has no villain. It’s everyone’s internal struggle on the path they want to make to their future. And to me, that’s really what home is. This is not a destination. It’s the people around you on your journey, and everyone finds their own way and finds what home means to them in their own way. And all of that is okay.

...

On writing the female characters in the film

Quiara Alegría Hudes: It’s so fun and so thrilling. You know, growing up, the beauty standard I saw in magazines did not reflect the beauty standards I saw in abuela’s living room on the block, which had all different body types, all different hair textures, all different skin tones. And we would just celebrate it. And you would own it, who you were. I was it was the plucking, and the spraying, and everything. And it was also about just the spirit of celebration as you were getting ready or getting dressed, and the fun of that. And so, the opportunity to really say, “Well, here’s another notion of beauty that’s more expansive, and here’s how we take up space as we’re getting ready for the day.” It was so fun.

On making Carla and Daniela’s relationship a romantic one for the film

Stephanie Beatriz: Quiara and Jon really expanded on what Lin and Quiara originally created, and now they’re partners–and not just work partners but they’re life partners. And what was so gratifying to me, as a person who is queer, is to see this relationship in the film be sort of just part of the fabric of their community, and be normal, and be happy and functioning, and just part of the quilt that they’ve all created.

[katnissmellarkkk]

what about ~ general ~ #48?

Gravity

Heyyyyy, so uh, remember sending this? Well, sorry this took 100,000 years. And uh, sorry, this got so long imma break it up into three separate parts. Because, ya see, the prompt you sent sparked a three chapter growing back together story. And... your prompt, which was general #48 “I won’t hurt you”, actually doesn’t appear until the final chapter 🤦🏼‍♀️... we love an overwriter, right? 

Okay so anyways, hopefully part two will be out soon. And forgive this for not being my greatest writing ever. 

And thanks, love, for sending me a prompt to start with!

Peeta and I grow back together.

/

"How long are you going to waste those paints?" I tease wryly, announcing my presence as I lean against the doorframe.

Peeta doesn't even glance back at me, but I can see from my angle his expression turn sardonic. "Until this shade of green is exactly right."

I chuckle, coming further into the room—using extra caution to not startle him as he can be easily triggered when his mind is preoccupied elsewhere—and attempting to peer over his shoulder at the canvas.

It's covered with a cloth though and this time he turns to look at me before laughing softly. "Trying to sneak a peek?"

I glance at him, a little ruffled, before my eyes find my feet. "I didn't know it was supposed to be secret," I defend, for some reason feeling embarrassed by my curiosity.

Our dynamic is still tense some days. We haven't kissed since we were in the Capitol and that was only to fight off his hijacking. We haven't genuinely kissed, kissed because we wanted to, for nothing but our own simple pleasure, since the Quell, on the beach, the last night before we were separated.

Since before Peeta was taken by the Capitol. Since before he was hijacked.

But his memory is better now and the clouded, haunted look is long gone from his eyes. In it's place is the same brightness, the same instinctive kindness, the same gaze I used to see even in the worst of circumstances.

Still though, I don't always know what to say or not say. I don't know what our boundaries are now.

I know that his house and mine are always open to the other one. I don't have to knock or announce myself when I come over, and more times than not I return from hunting to find him situated at my kitchen table, waiting for me before cutting our breakfast bread.

I don't always know where our trauma ends and our friendship begins. I don't honestly know where we even stand anymore. From allies to friends to unconscious lovers to enemies and back, I get whiplash practically trying to decipher it, and I can't even imagine how much more confusing it must be for him, still after all this time.

He is more committed to that stupid over-the-phone therapy we've both had forced upon us though. He is committed like an old dog to a rotten bone to healing himself from the wounds Snow inflicted.

I'm about to find an excuse to leave the room, to more than likely leave his house altogether and go out to the woods, like I too often do when I'm at loss for words or things grow awkward, when his fingers touch under my chin. He gently lifts it up to meet his sky blue irises. "Come help me mix colors," he implores, his eyes enthusiastic and genuine.

I nod tentatively after a moment, following behind him, like a wide-eyed child. Like my sister used to follow behind me when we walked from the Seam to town and back.

He makes room for me at the table he's turned into his painting palette. On it resides papers upon papers, each covered with dozens of green variants.

"Peeta," I gap at him, my eyes getting wide. "How have you made all these shades?"

He scratches the back of his neck, blushing a little, and managing to get a moss color on his neck from the wet paint still situated on his fingertips.

I have the most insane urge to clean his neck off myself, to touch him there, as though a spot that's always displayed in plain sight could suddenly be so intimate.

I squash that desire so fast, I feel my temples pulse.

"I've been working on getting this color right for a few days now," he admits sheepishly.

I raise my eyebrow at him, a little more coy than I was only a minute ago. "A few days?"

"Okay, so it's been a couple of weeks."

I laugh then, really laugh, from the bottom of my stomach. It only last for a few seconds but it's such a rarity still that I ever feel that kind of unadulterated joy, and I choose to bask it for all it's worth.

It doesn't escape my notice though that I only ever have these rare moments in Peeta's vicinity. Not that I plan to openly share this—with anyone, really, but especially with him—but it's something I can't help but clock, even if just to myself.

Apparently I'm not the only one who finds my laugh significant, because when I look up at him again, Peeta is staring at me with a look of awe now shining in his gaze. A look I didn't realize until he was back in Twelve, until he was back mentally, until we had started on the memory book together, that he'd lost in his hijacking. It was a gaze I had seen in thousands of moments before, on the train, in the beds we shared at night, in the arenas, in my living room.

That shining look of awe in his eyes is just another thing I didn't realize how much I missed, how much it meant to me, until it returned. Another thing I didn't even realize Snow took away from me.

He breaks the silence between us again, his mouth turning up on one side, his eyes suddenly glazing over. For a moment I brace myself for a flashback, something that I have become accustomed to witnessing on a regular basis. He never loses his mind, he never snaps or thinks I'm a mutt or anything of the sort, but he'll grow quiet for a long moment and he'll clutch the underside of the table or the back of a close by chair, and shut his eyes until it's over.

But he isn't having a flashback now. Instead, his words are wistful and full of longing. "I miss hearing you laugh like that," he quietly says, unashamed. Like he's always said everything. Confidently, even when he wasn't.

I offer him a small smile in return before turning back to the paint covered table, segueing not as subtly as I wish. "Okay, so how am I supposed to help you make your ideal green color?" I turn to him and add in a teasing tone, "I'm not quite as experienced in frosting as you."

It has the desired effect and he comes to show me how to mix the paints properly, how to add in other colors to make a lighter or darker shade of green.

"So this is why the frosting on the cakes were always so intricate?" I ask after a couple of hours of us just blending paints together.

"Because I'm a perfectionist? No. Because I needed to get the cakes to sell quick enough that I wasn't forced to have the stale, crunchy ones for dinner. Over-the-top frosted cakes sells faster."

I shoot him a sad look at that. I always forget that while I had to work hard from a young age to bring food home to my family, Peeta got stuck with the leftovers no one from the entire district claimed.

Hours pass and I get so lost in mixing colors—okay, actually, I'm playing after a while, as Peeta continues to mix paints—that I don't realize until the sky outside turns dark that we skipped lunch and dinner.

"Peeta," I say, tugging at his arm with my now paint covered palm. "We have to eat."

He shakes his head though. "I've almost got the exact right shade."

I huff. "You need to feed yourself. Or else you'll pass out and I'll have to drag you to your bedroom and it'll be rough on us both."

"So it won't be any different than Sunday at Haymitch's?"

I laugh at that again, really laugh, and my stomach aches and cramps from the unused muscles waking back up after their long hibernation. "Come on," I urge.

"Katniss, I swear, I'm almost finished," he insists again, very solemnly. "Go get food from the bakery for both of us and I'll be done by the time you get back."

I let go of his arm, feeling myself deflate as I realize he's truly not budging. "I can't be the only one who goes to town with paint covered hands," I throw out there, as a last resort.

Without even looking away from the table, he adds, "and a paint covered face."

My brow furrows, confused, when he taps my nose with his wet finger. "Peeta!" I try to exclaim but it gets eaten up by my giggle, which is quickly overpowered by his.

"You told me once green was your favorite color!" He defends, holding up his hands.

I swipe my still wet sheets of paper off the table and fling them at him, effectively covering his cheek and the shoulder of his shirt in a soup of green.

"Oh, you aren't getting away with that," he promises and grabs me around the waist when I bolt for the door. "You couldn't even beat a man with one leg," he teases as he hoists me up and propels us both towards the wet paints again.

"Don't you dare," I threaten but my smile, one I can't repress, isn't letting me give the correct authenticity to my tone and in the end, he only smirks at my words.

A half hour later, I exit Peeta's house, having scrubbed my face the best I could in his bathroom sink. I only made the green fade from my cheeks and nose, not completely evaporate, and my neck is still strewed with flicks of the forresty shade.

My stained shirt is covered though as I pull on Peeta's jacket, having for once left mine in my own doorway, three houses down. Instead of going to fetch it, I choose take him up on the offer to borrow his, pretending it's about convenience and not because I like the way his smell of vanilla and cinnamon and something entirely his own lingers on all his clothing.

I use the key he gave me to the freshly rebuilt bakery and let myself in the backdoor, more so because that's where I'm most comfortable entering. Peeta's new bakery is almost identical in structure to the old one, and his mother would have never let me come in through the front, let alone trade my game over the counter instead of in the chilly back alleyway.

So many times I peaked inside the back, peered over the old baker's shoulder while he examined my squirrels. Majority of the times it was only to see the blazing hot oven, to fantasize about how it must feel to work with that kind of heat in the winter, to have heat so easily accessible at your fingertips that you can take it for granted. But sometimes it was also to catch a glimpse of what the inside must look like, my curiosity getting the best of me.

Being from the Seam, you so rarely had reason to enter a Merchant business. Being from the Seam, there was always a part of you that wondered what the other side of the community must live like.

Well, now I know. I have, really, since I became a victor and Peeta took me with him here on a seldom occasion to chat with his dad while he mother was gone.

I can't help but admire the handiwork of Thom and of many others in the community. They rebuilt the bakery—with assistance, both creatively and manually, from Peeta himself—in only a few months time and it looks like it was never decimated. The woodwork of the wall panels, the marble tile of the floor, the cream color of the walls.

It was like the old bakery, but made newer and fresher.

However, as I grab a loaf of bread and pastries—Peeta did say to get whatever I craved—I spot something out of the ordinary.

The walls visible to the customers in the front are reserved for Peeta to paint murals on, whenever he finds himself in the right mood to create whatever idea he has sitting inside his head. But the walls in the back are typically full of notes and lists and customer orders and—Peeta's own idea—thank you notes and cards from members of the community, who adore him even more now than they did before the war.

But all those things have been cleared away from a section of the wall space. There is a noticeably large blank space, right above the oven and counter, where no one else but Peeta will be able to view it.

It's maybe a little thing to be hung up on, but it strikes me as so strange I cannot stop thinking about it.

I choose to stop at the rebuilt Hob after I finish at the butcher's, offering Greasy Sae an extra pastry for her and her granddaughter.

She takes the offer with a sly look, handing me a container of soup to go with the bread.

"What?" I ask, unsettled a little by her glance, like she knows something I don't.

"I see someone's been painting," she just simply notes, gesturing with her chin to my green stained hand and wrist.

"Oh!" I catch on now. "Yeah, I was just helping Peeta."

The excuse doesn't seem to diminish the glint in her eyes. "Helping. Yeah, I'm sure."

I roll my eyes in her direction as I walk towards the door, calling out, "goodnight," evenly over my shoulder.

When I get back to Peeta's though, he isn't in his art studio. Instead he's in the kitchen, grabbing silverware and plates for us to eat. "Grab bowls too," I call as I plop our food down on his countertop. "Traded a pastry for some."

He shoots me a sardonic look now. "You know you don't have to trade for everything, right?"

"I like it more than spending money," I retort easily, slipping off his jacket. "I'm going to go scrub my hands in the bathroom again before we eat," I say, glancing at my still green digits.

"Well, hurry," he urges teasingly. "You have gotten me so used to eating things when they're fresh, I almost can't stand waiting anymore."

His hand playfully pushes on my back, propelling me towards to the stairs, and I have a hard time denying even to myself the thrill that runs through my body when him unexpectedly touches me.

I quickly wash and scrub as much paint off my palms and wrists as I can, drying hastily on the towel Effie definitely sent from the Capitol.

But I find myself with a sudden irrepressible urge, one not even the food downstairs or Peeta waiting can quench. As I pass by the art room, I see the painting he was so meticulously working on now sitting on his drying table, leaving the canvas empty.

I know I shouldn't invade his privacy but, after everything else we've been through, there isn't much he would keep from me.

At least, that's what I tell myself to rationalize my prying away as justifiable.

I walk to the table, as quietly as I do in the woods when hunting prey, as not to tip him off in case he is listening from the kitchen. I'm unprepared to offer my excuses for snooping to his face, despite the fact I can't picture him being too put out with me.

I am also utterly unprepared for the vision that awaits me in the now finished painting.

Laying flat on it's back, the painting stares directly up at me as I approach. The canvas displays a beautiful girl, with black hair and large grey eyes and a very endearing, bashful smile. There's a variety of flowers in her hair and in her hands she's holding a small bouquet of dandelions. There's a warm, glowing sunset behind her and a willow tree in the distance. It takes me a moment to realize, but her sweater is a dark shade of green, more pleasing to the eye than any leaf or shrub I've ever come across, even on the Victory Tour, in the most lovely botanical gardens the country had to offer.

The girl in the portrait is beautiful and shy and happy and you can see, even in a painting, that she doesn't enjoy having her image captured.

I have to blink six separate times before it finally registers that the girl is me. Her skin is a multitude of colors, varying shades from where something ate a part of her flesh away. But instead of that making her less attractive, it only serves in making her all the more stunning. Her skin is a gorgeous vision and I don't know how Peeta managed the impossible. I don't know how he managed to make me beautiful, but he did.

"Katniss?" I hear him call, and I jump at the sound of his voice ripping me out of the moment. His tone is light and playful, and I have to swipe my hand across my eyes to rid myself of the moisture that's leaked out before he sees. "You coming to dinner?" He asks from the bottom of the stairs and I give the lovely work of art one last look before I follow his voice, a rare, uncontrollable smile forming on my mouth as I shut the door behind me.

After everything else that's happened, only Peeta could make me feel like this.

/

A few weeks later.

I admire the bright yellow primroses, now in full bloom, the lightly blowing wind only complimenting their beauty and elegance instead of disturbing it.

I stare blankly at the flowers planted in my sister's honor. My sister who should be here now, should be stitching bleeding wounds and helping with the reconstruction of the town. My sister who should be admiring Peeta's frosted cakes and convincing me to dance with her in the living room by the fire. My sister who should have never been in the Capitol that day, should have been tucked away in Thirteen with our mother, should have never grown up as quickly as she was forced to or had her life stolen in a split second.

Peeta's fingers sift through my hair, unconsciously sensing the tension building in my body as I feel a rise of anger at all Coin and Snow took from me in the name of power.

I turn my head up to glance at him, craning my neck a little. I'm about to say something, I'm not sure what yet, but something to convey that I'm fine. Something to brush off what I assume are his concerns. But I'm surprised by what I see when I peer up. His face isn't what I expected.

Instead of concerned or curious, he's having his own sort of contemplation. Instead of even looking at me, he's staring up at the clear blue sky, watching the white puffs of clouds floating microscopically slow across the the way.

But his brow is furrowed and his mouth is turned down and he seems uncharacteristically miserable.

"What's wrong?" I ask, sitting up now. We'd been laying beside each other—maybe a little too close but neither of us seemed to mind—on the grass in my backyard, just trying to rest. We'd planned on working on new entries for the memory book today, but I hadn't slept at all last night and when he came over this morning to find me, still home and not in the woods, with my fingers pinching the bridge of my nose, it was him who'd suggested a day off, relaxing in the grass under the sun.

He barely glances at me now, not really acknowledging my inquiry. "Nothing," he states simply and his hand touches mine for the briefest of seconds before pulling away.

"No, tell me what's bothering you," I insist defiantly. I don't know if it's the crankiness from lack of sleep or if I'm just fed up with having words left unsaid between us, but I'm not backing down.

"Katniss, come on," he says exasperatedly and his tone irks me further.

Instead of snapping and saying something I may regret later, I just shake my head at him, pushing myself upwards and beginning the walk back to the house, with every intention of abandoning our afternoon plans of relaxation. "Okay, wait!" He calls in retaliation and I feel him stretch to grip my hand in his again, only this time not dropping it after only a moment.

I relent and move backwards, sitting down to face him cautiously. I'm not worried that he's going to snap or harm me, not even in the slightest, but I am worried that both of us in foul moods-with our minds that are already teetering just on the edge of sanity-will lead to a painful, heated argument.

The last thing I want is to fight with Peeta. As much as I hate to admit it, even to myself, I've come to rely far too heavily on his presence in my daily life. Driving him away is too agonizing to consider right now.

Peeta doesn't let go of my hand for a long beat and when he does, he does so in a slip so awkward it leaves me believing he didn't even realize he was still grasping it. "I was just thinking about Gale," he blurts out, his eyes wide and a little nervous.

I just stare at him though, waiting for him to elaborate. "You were thinking of Gale?" The name burns the inside of my mouth, the face of the person I once called my friend now only bringing the gut-wrenching image of my sister's last moments of life, as the bombs he potentially built floated from the sky down towards her and hundreds of other unexpecting children. "Wh-why were you thinking of Gale?" I press, my voice caught between shocked and angry.

But Peeta seems prepared for my strangled query. "I guess, I was thinking of every which way... I guess, I was really thinking of the possibility of Gale returning," he explains, and my blood turns to ice. My vision swirls at the very thought and I have to force myself to swallow as my throat suddenly feels very dry.

"Did you hear something I haven't? Do you know if he is coming back to Twelve?" I press as evenly as I can. It's fruitless though, as he shoots me a sympathetic—but still somewhat distracted—look.

"No," he promises, shaking his head. "No, I haven't heard anything about him. I'm just assuming that he will at some point-"

"Why?" I can't help but implore, my voice more aggravated than I intend.

Peeta gives me a look like the answer to my words is blatant. "Because this is is his home, Katniss. You're his home," he emphasizes.

"No," I instantly repel. "No, I'm not his home. Don't even say that. I-I'm not..." I can't seem to make the words come out intelligibility. Instead, I find myself choking on the sounds and syllables. "What even brought this on, Peeta? Why would you be thinking about this?"

At that, he shrugs and breaks his conflicted gaze away, leaving me boring deep into the side of his skull as if the answers I craved would be visible there. "I was happy," he offers quietly, after a long stretch of silence. "I was happy here with you and it got me thinking of all the ways this could be taken away from me."

Oh, I realize as his words hit me. Of course. Of course that's where his mind went. Because not so long ago, every single good thing in his life, from his family, to his home, to his freedom, to his sanity itself, were all viciously and mercilessly stolen. Of course Peeta has such little faith that anything good will last for him anymore.

Still though. To think of Gale as the thing to ruin our days together, our growing friendship, would almost be laughable if it wasn't so insane.

"Why him though?" I press, unable to comprehend his line of thinking. "Why did you think about him coming back?"

He shoots me the same look again, like he can't understand why I even have to ask. "Because that is one sure way you'd be done with me."

"What?" I exclaim, like he was speaking in a language I'd never heard before. "Why would that mean I'd be done with you?"

Now his expression turns downright exasperated and I feel like mine must match. "Because, Katniss. He's-he's..." He struggles with finding the proper wording again. Something that is so incredibly rare for Peeta Mellark that I don't even register it. "He's the one for you," he continues softly after a moment, no malice in his voice, just what he believes to be facts. "I knew that—I've always known that. Long before I knew much else about you, I knew that Gale and you were practically-"

"Peeta, stop," I cut off, maybe not soon enough. "Gale and me... no," I insist venomously. "No, he..." And if Peeta is struggling to speak, I'm know I'm obviously doomed right now. I take a breath and just stare into the blue pools in his eyes and force myself to speak, even if it's difficult, even if I'd rather be choking on a rusty nail right now. "I will never have anything to do with Gale again," I declare gently, doing my best to remain calm and steady.

Peeta shoots me a wary look and I suddenly have to question if he knows about Gale and the bombs. The question that can never be answered, the connection I'll never be able to prove or disprove, but know in my gut what the answer likely is.

He can't know, if he thinks there's a chance that I'd ever have any sort of relationship with Gale again.

"Peeta," I struggle to get out, feeling breathless before I've even began to utter any of it. "Gale is the one—or he might be the one, I don't know, I'll probably never know—who built or created or wha-"

But he's shaking his head rapidly, comprehension flickering across his face. "Katniss, I know," he says, and reaches out to squeeze my palm again. The unexpected touch sends a shock wave through my body but I'm too overwhelmed to really notice. "Haymitch told me about Gale's part in Prim's death."

I rip my hand away so fast, acting before thinking, betrayal spreading through my entire being before I have the chance to even process his words. "If you know that, why do you think I'd ever have anything to do with him again?"

Peeta is starting to really grind on my nerves with that incredulous look he keeps giving me. It's as if he cannot follow what I'm saying or thinks that I'm not seeing his side of the argument or something else that is quite obviously wrong.

How on earth could Peeta ever think that I would be able to look Gale in the eye after what he did? After what he might have done? Does the might of even make a difference? If there's any discrepancies between if he did or didn't murder Prim, how could I ever hold a conversation with him while that hangs between us? How could I meet his eyes and always be reminded I can never meet her's again? How could I ever trust someone like that, that made callous decisions in the heat of righteous anger? Someone who had no idea what it was like to be forced to murder and have it labeled a game. Someone who actively ignored the warnings of those who had? Who actively allowed himself to be used as a puppet for a radicalist who was no better than Snow himself?

Peeta's voice yanks me from my thoughts. "Because, Katniss," he starts gently, looking rather mournful, effectively softening my anger against him just a bit. "You forgave me. How am I any better?"

I just stare at him. "You couldn't help what you did, Peeta."

"Wasn't Gale used too? Just by Coin instead of Snow?"

"It's not the same thing."

"Why not?"

"You didn't possibly kill my sister. And God knows how many other kids," I finally say, the fight in my voice still hanging on.

"I almost killed you," he reminds me, as if I have forgotten.

"It's not the same thing, Peeta," I whisper again, my eyes more compelling, more insistent, than my voice now. He sees that, as he's gazing deeply into my steel colored irises.

He takes a deep breath, mulling over his words before speaking them aloud. I realize then he must have been thinking about this for a while. The concept disturbs me for some reason. Like he's been having this debate in his head without me and I'm late to the event. Like he was actively having this argument already and didn't think to even get my side of the story first. "What if Snow had programmed me to kill Prim instead of you? Then would you have forgiven me?"

I have to look away at that moment because I outright don't know what to say. Would I have been able to ever forgive him for it, for trying to murder my little sister while not in his right mind? Would I have been able to look past it, to see that he was used and abused and destroyed to get to me? Or would I have been so stuck on the idea of anything hurting Prim that all his trauma would have become background noise? Would Gale be the one here now, having this conversation with me, while I was denouncing Peeta's name?

I can't give him an answer and we swore not to lie to each other, in light of everything we've been through, so instead I turn my eyes up to look into the forlorn blue skies I've become so accustomed to and say the only thing I know is true. "I honestly don't know, Peeta."

He nods at that, almost immediately accepting my honestly. Almost like he anticipated those words from me. And he offers me a small smile before standing himself up off the grass and walking towards the backdoor to my house. "I'm going to head home for the day," he says quietly, with no resentment in his voice.

My heart sinks at his words, as some long stifled string inside of me wishes to attach onto him and hold him here with me. To refuse to let him leave until that forlorn edge evaporates from his gaze. But something more prevalent, more powerful, is also churning inside of me, something that cannot stand being withheld even for a day, and I find myself calling out his name against my better judgment.

"Peeta!" I exclaim urgently, my voice rocky and scratched.

He turns and looks at me, his eyes curious to what I could have to say. And I don't know what else to utter, but the truth. The misunderstanding I'm irrationally unsettled by, the misconception that I can't continue to let fester inside his head.

"Gale was never the one for me."

Peeta blinks in surprise at the blatant assertion. He opens up his mouth to speak several times, confusion marring his features, but nothing comes out.

And in case he somehow wants to rationalize my statement away, in case somewhere in his head the demon Snow planted is trying to squash any assurance my statement may inspire, I repeat myself again.

"Gale was never the one."

/

A month later.

"Haymitch, come on," I mutter, pushing my old mentor towards the front door. "Go home. Sleep off the alcohol."

The older man murmurs something equally unintelligible and also somehow still undoubtedly rude at me, shoving my hands away from his back, where I'm trying to aim him in the direction of the exit.

"The boy is much gentler," he snaps, swaying heavily with his vigorous words.

"We have always agreed that Peeta is superior to me. You can go to his house if you want him to tuck you in tonight."

Haymitch guffaws at that, out of his skull. "Now wouldn't that make you jealous?"

"Get out!"

"Night night, Sweetheart."

After he's gone, I lock the door in case he tries to come back, tries to raid my kitchen again or use my couch as a free bed.

Nothing is more freighting than thinking I'm alone in my house and then seeing a man sleeping in my living room, first thing in the morning.

As I head upstairs though, I realize what I just did. Giving Haymitch the idea to go to Peeta's house, to torture him with his inebriation like he does me, and I wonder if Peeta's angry with me now.

Not real, long lasting anger, of course. Just simple irritation. But still, as I change into my pajamas and brush out my braid, I wonder if I've now destroyed Peeta's night.

At first the idea of our mentor giving Peeta a hard time tonight still doesn't seem like a too terrible situation to me. Peeta's definitively the one that will put up with the tiresome antics of the old drunk until he can't any longer. He's the one who will be more likely to have mercy on a sloshed Haymitch and let himself lose sleep, too kind for his own good.

But then it hits me that when Peeta loses too much sleep, when his insomnia kicks in, or when commotion keeps him awake, he surely has a flashback the following day. Resting later into the day doesn't help either, as any disruption to his sleep schedule can really mess with him good.

I feel myself rush to the window across from my bed, peering out to look three houses down, to see if I can spot the paunchy old man heading in that direction.

I see nothing and no one. It's the black of night, in the middle of winter. No one else lives in what used to be Victor's Village, aside from us three. The road between our houses is cold and wet and entirely void.

Still, I try to squint, to see if I can make anything out over at Peeta's.

His light is off. That much I can tell. The light in his bedroom is turned off, the room is too dark to see into, porchlight is turned off, and all this indicates he's fast asleep, Haymitch went home to his own house and I have nothing to worry about.

However, something else catches me attention then. Peeta's window. It's open. Just like it used to be. Just like before the Quarter Quell. Even in the middle of winter, in the darkest part of the night, he's always kept his bedroom window open.

I tell myself it's paranoia, or it's neighborly kindness. But I decide to open my window as well, in case I hear Haymitch pounding on Peeta's door and disturbing him at an ungodly hour. In case I hear Haymitch causing a ruckus outside Peeta's house and I have to go get him before he causes any massive disturbance.

I tell myself it's because I feel guilt and not because I miss Peeta, even in my sleep.

Especially in my sleep.

I doze off, desperately forcing myself to believe that lie.

When I wake up three hours later, it's not because Haymitch is making noise. No, he hasn't made a peep that I could hear since I kicked him out.

No, I wake up because of a wholly unexpected cacophonous sound.

I wake up because Peeta is screaming.

Peeta is screaming loud, on top of his lungs, like someone is holding a knife or a gun to his throat at this very moment.

It's a sound I recognize instinctively. And not because it resembles the version of him that was rescued and brought to Thirteen.

No, I recognize the sound because it sounds eerily similar to the noises I make from nightmares of the same events, because of flashbacks of the same memories.

Most victors understand each other to varying degrees. We've all lived through literal hells, we've all had our trauma projected across the country, we've all been through horrible ordeals that almost no one else could ever empathize with.

However, most victors didn't win their games together. Most victors don't know what anyone else's personal nightmares are about. Most victors can't even imagine what any of the others are seeing, in any shadow of a dark room. In a the cobwebs of our minds that not even the most proficient doctor can clear. Most victors can't see the haunting reflection in the dark smeared glass that remains unique to each individual victor.

Except me and Peeta. Except us, the once Star-Crossed Lovers, the girl on fire and the baker's boy, the two mouthpieces of opposing sides of war.

The two of us understand each other on a level deeper than anyone else on the planet can even begin to imagine, and it's this fact that draws me thoughtlessly out of my bed at the sound of his cries, and over the threshold and down the street before I even realize what I'm doing. Before I can contemplate it and think my way out of doing it.

I pound on his door, turning my palm pink with the applied force. "Peeta?" I exclaim but all I hear in response is a gut-wrenching howl in pain. I worry for a moment that he's managed to injury himself somehow. That he's lost his prosthetic in his own frenzy and now is lying helpless on the ground.

I take a chance, pleading silently for the door to be unlocked as I turn the knob.

I'm not sure if I should be grateful that Peeta doesn't lock his doors before going to sleep—he doesn't even close his windows though, so how can I be surprised?—but for the moment I bask in the one lucky instance and make a mental note to yell at him tomorrow for it.

My tired, cold legs shoot up the stairs, racing towards his bedroom blindly through the darkness. "Peeta?" I call out again, quieter now than before, not wanting to give him a heart attack.

After all, an intruder, just about any intruder-even my own mother-appearing in my house in the dead of night, would probably knock me unconscious from the adrenaline overload that would surely overtake me.

Because unlike Peeta, I do lock my door—every single door in my house—at night, the image of anyone coming to hurt me while I'm asleep and at my most vulnerable too powerful for me to rationalize away.

But Peeta doesn't hear my voice now and even without any light, I easily locate his bedroom. Despite the fact I've never been in it before. That revelation occurs to me as I'm about to open the door.

Even in our closest and most sacred moments together, I never once set foot inside his bedroom. I'd barely even walked into his house prior to coming back to Twelve after the war. And when I did come here now, we typically stayed in the kitchen or art room for some reason.

All this races through the back of my mind as I push the door open and reveal Peeta, tangled up in his bed sheets, bare-chested and sleeping in only his pajama pants. His fingers clawing at the wall ferociously, his eyes wild as the deer I hunt, when they realize I'm there at the very last second before the arrow pierces their hearts.

"Peeta," I whisper now, my concern for what must have set him off overtaking any qualms I may still have. I try to tell myself to be careful and keep a safe distance, as I don't know if he's himself right now or if he's once again the loaded weapon Snow broke him down and turned him into.

But when he looks at me, his blue eyes wide and wet and terrified and awed, like he thinks I'm nothing but a dream, I can't make myself believe he's anyone but the boy who saved my life years ago. So many years ago now, it seems.

And when he whispers my name and blindly, instinctively, desperately, reaches for me, I just can't make myself stay away. Without hesitating, I lunge forward and for the first time since the Quarter Quell, I throw myself straight into his arms, like I belong there.

My arms wrap around his neck and I feel him pull my body to his, pulling me down against him, molding our two shaky forms together as one. He pulls my legs around his waist and wraps me in a hug so tight my ribs physically hurt and I can't even breathe.

I burrow my face into the skin of his throat, inhaling his scent in an unabashed, reckless act, and turn my cold cheek to lay against his rapid beating heart.

"I thought you were dead," is the first thing he whispers, as the tears still running down his face hit my forehead.

"I'm not," I promise, trying to make my voice convincing, even as I'm reeling by this sudden turn of events.

I never, in a million years, thought I'd ever end up in his arms like this again. This embrace, this comfort, is something else I truly believed Snow had stolen away from me.

"I dreamed you died," he whimpers again, like he didn't hear me.

"I'm here, Peeta. I heard you having a nightmare and I came. As fast as I could." I don't know why I feel the need to tell him this information, but when his trembling starts to lessen I feel slightly validated.

"I lost you," he whispers, his voice hoarse and broken.

"You couldn't lose me if you tried." The words come out without warning, and I'm glad somehow. I'm so tired of words being held back or dropped between us, of neither of us knowing what to say to the other. Of shoving down what we're both really feeling.

Even if right now may be the worst time for declarations, with Peeta exhausted and upset and visibly traumatized, I still feel relief spread all over my body, for having the guts to say what I'm thinking for once.

I see the wheels beginning to turn now, in his bloodshot, puffy eyes as he slowly begins to process the last couple of minutes that's brought us back into the position we held nightly only one year ago.

Has it really only been a year?

I expect then for him to recoil away from me, or apologize even, citing that he doesn't know what possibly came over him. But, to my surprise, he does none of that. Instead Peeta hugs me tighter to him, pulling up the covers he'd kicked away, effectively sheltering us beneath their protective warmth.

"Stay," he whispers into my hair, his arms shaking as they become a soothing balm around me, leaving me feeling safe in a way I refuse to ask for. Giving me back a refuge I considered all but gone. "Please, Katniss, stay with me?"

Without thinking twice, without giving myself a chance to second-guess the words, I whisper into his chest, exactly where I can feel his beating heart, "Always."

[harpyloon]

“how’d we get so deep from just talking about bubble tea?" / f.w

Pairing: Fred Weasley x fem!OC

Warnings: Angst, mentions of food... also fluffy and cute!

Summary: Fred Weasley and OC Female character fight about bubble tea and it gets kinda angsty but not too much

A/N: Was supposed to be a Fred x Reader thing but i'm not too confident with my 2nd person writing skills yet. Viktoria is my Fred Weasley simp friend 🤪 but she can also be you! 

Also wanted to incorporate a bit of how Hermione mentioned the twins slightly affecting Ron's confidence in canon HP. Testing out the waters so let me know what you think! Hope there wasn't too much angst on here.

WC: 2.4k+

This is for you @weasleyclaw​

Read on AO3

"What in Merlin's pants is this supposed to be?"

Viktoria giggled enthusiastically against a wide-rimmed straw stuck between her teeth, watching Fred Weasley's perplexed face as he struggled to ingest the contents in his mouth.

"Swallow," she commanded.

Fred quirked an eyebrow, pausing his chewing. "Well, that's what I sai—

He grunted as she took a swipe to his shin.

"Swallow," Viktoria said again, attempting a glare this time, but mirth was swimming around in her eyes.

Frowning and chewing with performative haste, Fred swallowed loudly and obediently (to Viktoria's delight) and stuck out his tongue like a good schoolboy, displaying an empty mouth.

She smiled cheekily, "Well? How is it?"

Instead of answering, Fred brought his wand out and pointed it to his tongue.

"Aguame—“

“NO, WHAT ARE YOU DOING?”

Viktoria snatched Fred’s wand immediately, sneaking frantic glances around and shoving it inside her coat.

“Are you mental?!” she whisper-yelled to her boyfriend who had a frown on his face.

“But I'm parched,” grumbled Fred as Viktoria pushed him towards a fairly deserted alley adjacent to the main street.

Covent Garden was bustling with Muggles. Seeing as Easter was fast approaching, boutiques were filled to the brim with shoppers queuing for last-minute holiday hauls, and everyone was out and about, basking in the spring breeze.

A good-looking pair of lovebirds sipping on matching bubble tea beverages, walking down James Street hand-in-hand was nothing close to unusual on a cheerful sunny day such as today. What would've been unusual was if one of the pair suddenly shot out cold, freshwater into his mouth from a wooden stick. That would've stirred some heads.

"You're parched?" Viktoria's eyes were wide and exasperated. "How many times do you have to pull something like that in the middle of a bloody Muggle street—"

"It was you who made me swallow it!" said Fred defensively.

She scoffed, "Oh please. You're being dramatic."

"Dramatic? These things taste like Dungbombs!" he waved his still-full cup of bubble tea, shoving it up his girlfriend's face as if it's committed some horrendous crime. Black little pearls were swimming around between Viktoria's eyes.

She shoves him off, offended.

"Excuse me? Dungbombs? Have you actually eaten Dungbombs?"

"Well, no, but these sure look like 'em."

Viktoria gasped.

"You did not," she glared threateningly at Fred.

"Also," his face frowned in disgust, "who—in their right mind—would put ice in tea? Barbaric is what this is!"

Viktoria's mood was getting fouler by the second. She had been excited. So incredibly excited to have Fred finally try one of her favorite drinks in the world. Her mother was a muggle, and her father a Curse Breaker—where the job came with travelling; when they had lived briefly in Thailand when she was thirteen, they couldn't get her to stop drinking bubble tea every single day.

"I can't believe you said that," she said.

"What? The truth?"

"The entire world doesn't drink tea the same way the British do, Fred!"

"Well too bad for them then! No one makes tea like Mum does."

"This is different. This is about trying something new!"

"Well, I don't want new!"

"UUUUUGRRRH."

With a loud groan, she snatched the cup being dangled in front of her face and stomped away angrily.

"HEY— Where are you going?" Fred called to her retreating back.

The good-looking pair of lovebirds were no longer a subject of longing stares as passersby dodged the now bitter-looking woman storming down the Muggle street, sipping from two cups of bubble tea simultaneously, her boyfriend running to keep up with her.

"Viktoria," Fred called out as reasonably projected as possible. They were making a scene and he knew it. He didn't mind the attention when he was being funny or when people stared at him and Viktoria hand-in-hand. He loved showing her off. Not like this though. Not when she was walking away from him.

"Viktoria," he was jogging next to her now, "slow down."

"Sod off and go drown in your Mum's tea, Fred Weasley," she growled without so much as a glance in his direction. "I hate you so much right now."

"Will you stop walking for one second?"

She brisked even faster.

"Okay, okay, I'm sor—," he dodged running into a stroller and an angry mother who chastised him. After apologizing profusely at the woman who was immediately charmed by the Weasley smile, he glanced up and saw that Viktoria was nowhere to be found.

"Shite."

Running down James Street, he paused through every alley, searching, passing by the boutiques they've previously visited earlier in the day. Skidding to a halt in front of the bubble tea shop, he entered and scanned the small space.

"Back for another already?"

The woman who had served them earlier was smiling at Fred behind the counter, "Original Bubble for your lady?"

"Uh," he was still panting, "er—no thank you, madame. I was wondering if—"

The woman laughed.

"Just one for her today then? That's a first. On her best days she can do three!" she seemed to laugh at a memory.

"Er—sorry?"

The woman shook her head in amusement, "Your little lady would swell her digestion herself if she could, only if it meant she could drink pints of these devils!" she gestured to the gallons of ready-made tea behind her. "It's a sight. She practically inhales it. I'm lactose-intolerant you see. Watching her, I live vicariously!"

The woman laughed again and pointed to a window in the corner of her shop, "Sits over on that cushion every Sunday when she's back from school."

Fred's breathing was calming down, but his heart was thumping faster.

"She nicked yours 'in't she?" she asked. "That why you're back for another?"

Eyes glued to the small corner booth by the window, Fred answered with a question, "She likes bubble tea then?"

"Likes?" the woman almost scoffed, "Darling, I could say she's a shop benefactor with the number of cuppas that girl downs! She told me once that our tea is the closest thing to those authentic ones you find in— where was that? Taiwan? Anyway—"

"Thailand," breathed Fred, and dread was closing in on him. Remorse slowly working its way to his erratic heart. "She—she lived there for a while. Told me all about the..."

The tea.

"I'll take you I swear," she told him as they walked up the stairs to the Gryffindor common room, "it's almost as good as the ones in Bangkok. NOT AS AMAZING, but good enough!"

Viktoria had moved to Hogwarts when they were in their fifth year, straight from Thailand; carrying stories of her Curse Breaker father, speaking fluent Gobbledegook in Charms that made her a Flitwick favorite, and going on and on about how the school kitchens didn't have black squishy pearls swimming in cold tea...

Sighing, Fred turned to the woman who was still beaming at him.

"One Original Bubble please."

 ✦ ✦ ✦ ✦

 Viktoria watched churchgoers walk past her from the bench where she sat near St. Paul's Chapel, nibbling on her straw mindlessly.

The two cups of bubble tea were long empty. Her stomach was rumbling quietly from the aggressive intake of lactose, and her foul mood dulled into a solemn ache.

She remembered when she was still back in Hogwarts a few days ago, packing for the Easter holidays. Recalling her long list of "must-dos" with Fred that she had planned out. This was their second holiday as a couple, after getting together right before Fred and George decided to drop out mid-year of their sixth. They wrote together all summer long, and she had spent the following Christmas at the Burrow.

With You-Know-Who back in the picture, nowhere was safe to spend anything these days. But a Muggle area gave a supposedly wider berth from danger. This was why the two had planned to meet her family this time, introduce Fred to her mum and dad, and bring him around Muggle London.

"She's lovely," he whispered in her ear as her mother stood up to refill all their bowls with her homemade Sheperd's Pie.

Viktoria smiled, "She is when she's full."

"Just like you then," said Fred with a smirk.

Her foot met his toe and he coughed out a sharp grunt.

"Say that again?"

"You are as lovely as your mother, my sweet," he mumbled back and gave a strained smile to her Curse Breaker father when he peered at them curiously.

"Lovely my big fat foot," Viktoria grumbled under her breath, poking the bottom of her empty cup with the straw aggressively. "Stupid, insensitive, red-headed git. Can't even pretend. Can't even try to pretend to like it. I'm supportive, aren't I? I even offer to be a guinea pig for the Wheezes. Remember when I grew a stubble because of that potion?" she was talking to her cup now, remembering being the human experiment for Magical Moustache Miracle Stubble Grow.

"AND (poke) TO THINK (poke) I WAS SO (even more aggressive poke) EXCITED!"

A straw-shaped hole peered up at her from the bottom of the cup.

"UGH, I don't even know why I'm mad!"

Someone cleared their throat gently behind her.

Huffing haughtily and knowing exactly who it was, Viktoria ignored the sound and continued to glare at the throng of Muggles walking past. She would not give in. She won't.

A long shadow loomed over her and sat on the bench, giving them a respectable amount of space in between.

The small square they were in was rumbling with activity. But there was nothing but silence in their own little bubble.

Sluuuurp.

She won't look. No. Spiting her, he is. Making fun. Always making fun—

SLUUUUUUUUUURP.

Chancing upon him at the corner of her eye, Viktoria saw Fred sipping on a cup of Original Bubble, frowning as he maneuvered his straw to catch the pearls that were swimming away.

"You don't have to do that."

Fred looked up, straw in mouth, "Well, how am I supposed to catch them then? Sneaky little gorgons—"

"No," sighed Viktoria, "I mean you don't have to drink that. I'm not forcing you to do anything you don't want to."

"You're not forcing me at a—"

"Cut it out, Fred."

Silence.

Children were running around nearby, feeding Pigeons with small pieces of bread from their lunch helpings. A little girl slipped. There were no tears though. She continued to roll around the pavement, shrieking with delight, to her mother's chagrin.

She heard him sigh beside her.

"I'm a git."

Silence.

"You kept going on about this all year last. Never stopped. It—it slipped my mind."

Silence.

"I'm a git and I deserve to be trolled."

Silence.

"I'm a filthy pile of dung and I subject myself to eating toadstools for the rest of my life."

"You are not eating toadstool," Viktoria glared at Fred who held his breath as she finally spoke. "I will not snog a toadstool eating wizard."

Fred's eyes turned misty, "You still wanna snog me?"

"When you're not being an absolute arse, I do."

Closing the gap between them the tiniest bit, Fred said, "I'm sorry, Viktoria."

It took a few breaths before she gave a defeated sigh, "This is stupid," she muttered. "This is stupid, I don't even know why I'm mad—"

"I do," interrupted Fred. "I know and I deserve it. I was a git. I wasn't paying attention and I was completely insensitive. You always," he was struggling, "you always feel things around you, even people. You read rooms clearly, you keep me in check. My mouth— I— I can't control it sometimes I— I say hurtful things to people I love without meaning them."

Viktoria was looking at him now, observing Fred's shameful downcasted eyes.

He blinked a couple of times before continuing, "Hermione confronted me once about it, about how the small things I say affected Ron loads. And I— I didn't want to believe her at first. Shrugged her off-quite rudely to be honest. But when I saw him play for Keeper I..."

There was a snitch-sized lump down Viktoria's throat and it was preventing any form of speech. She knew this. They had both sat down and talked about each other's flaws and hubris awhile back, after getting into a massive fight before Christmas at the Burrow. She was familiar with Fred's difficulty with words, his teasing getting too far at times. But he was good. She knew this as well. His affection coursed differently. And this was precisely why she loved him.

Words failing her, she grabbed his bubble teacup and took a long sip. His eyes held hers and she took his hand.

"Go on," she encouraged.

He took a deep breath, "Well, you know what happened. He was all over the place, Ron. Couldn't save a single Quaffle, quite unlike our matches in our backyard. George and I knew he was good. Merlin, even Ginny knew. But he wavered on the pitch. He didn't have the guts. And I had a lot to do with that."

Fred brought Viktoria's hand to his lips, "I'm doing better. You said so yourself," she gave him a teary smile, "but I— I slip and I'm sorry. I'll have more tact. I know it's the little words I overlook, and I'll work on that now. I swear I'll be more careful and— I just don't want to drive you away. You most of all."

Silently and without preamble, Viktoria stood. Fred blinked up at her, and from where she gazed, she saw the mist and remorse swimming all over his enchanting brown eyes.

"Oh, Fred Weasley," she smiled shyly down at him, brushing strands of red away from his forehead. "How'd we get so deep from just fighting about bubble tea?"

He gave a hearty guffaw, the signature Fred laughter that made her heart leap. "Because I'm a drama queen is why."

Pulling her to his lap, she settled on his chest, her head propped against his cheek.

"You're a good man, my Freddie," said Viktoria. His arms tighten around her. "You're the sweetest, most handsome, and you snog me so well."

Fred's laugh was contagious, his chest vibrating against her back. She grinned.

"And you were right. You are doing so well. I forgive you. And I'm sorry too."

She turned her head and rested it below his chin, her nose propped against his jaw, inhaling while her eyes fluttered shut. The sweet, gun-powdered scent of Fred Weasley. All bruised and perfect for her and her only.

"You know," started Fred, breaking their small silence as he stole a sip from the cup, "these aren't half bad."

Viktoria rolled her eyes, "Oh stop."

"I'm serious! I should've given them more teeth. I reckon it's all in the chew."

"Yeah?"

"Mhmm. We could make something out of this for Wheezes."

"No."

"Edible Dungbombs?"

Viktoria groaned.

Unbelievable.

[psycholojosh]

Six Lessons from My Coming Out Experiences

I have been pretty much been gay most of my life. When I was 7 years old, I had my first instance of same-sex "attraction" at a birthday party I attended that had a paired game involving a lot of running and contact. At 12, I decided to engage my self-identity more proactively. At 13, I had my first boy crush on my cute chinito classmate in freshman year. At 14, I admitted to myself that I "wasn't straight." And by 16 onwards, I was for sure a "Kinsey six" gay. And now, I am currently a 24-year-old gay man who is fussing about academics and making a living for himself in a world full of chaos, excitement, confusion, exploration, triumphs, and tribulations.

Knowing my authentic self had a lot of ups and downs, but these experiences gave me the sense of importance this liberation I feel today. Since we're all limited by our pandemic and I'm committed to exercising my journal writing and blogging, I wanted to share six out of the many lessons I've learned as a queer person.

This is for all you queer kids out there who are searching for themselves and fighting for the liberty of their identity.

First of all, why only six?

Why not ten? Or a hundred, if I say there are a lot?

Well, I could sit here in write about the many anecdotes that evidence my gayness. In fact, I could write a coming-of-age themed book about it now. But, the number six isn't really anything tied with superstition, yet it has its relevance. As hinted earlier, 'six' in Alfred Kinsey's 1948 scale (which measures homosexual feelings and behaviors) is a score that signifies total or utmost homosexuality. And, that's as sentimental and sexy as it gets (at least for me).

Without further ado, here they are...

Lesson 1: Explore, explore, explore!

My first coming out experience was to my then-gay, now-transwoman friend, Pao, in junior year of high school. Pao and I studied in an all-boys Catholic school, so you could just imagine the internal and external conundrum for us queers - closeted or out. We were very close and I considered her (I'm using her current preferred pronouns) to be one of my closest friends because we just get along in many ways and enjoy a lot of pop music and gay anthems together. Although, she had her own clique of queer friends from our batch which she would hang around with way more than myself. Likewise, I had my own barkada - it was all good.

On the week that I finally came out to myself, the first person I wanted to share my latest self-discovery was Pao. I told her about it on a school day after our classes ended. As people were leaving, I approached her and broke the news. Without alerting the straight (we assumed) guys around us, her eyes widened and a smile was shown.

"Ahh, okay!," she said, "So anong nararamdaman mo?" "Masaya. Pero, ano na ang sunod?"

She paused briefly and put her hand on my shoulder and said, "Basta i-explore mo lang yan. Explore ka lang!" A very brief exchange followed shortly of me asking questions and her answering them the way she knows how. Then, she gave me one more smile and a tug on my shoulders, before she picked up her things and left to go home.

I didn't appreciate this piece of advice until I reached college. Granted, high school was a different story with all the institutionalized stigma. I was fortunate to have broken out of that culture and into a university that has a more progressive view on queer identities. I found more acceptance and nonjudgment to be explorative. At 16, it was hard to know where to start.

There are many gateways we can approach a deeper getting-to-know with your queer self. One is being educated. In my freshman year in college, I attended many talks about SOGIE 101. Various experts and advocates have shown me the different dimension our sexualities are integrated. At the time, I knew I was cisgender. I was sure that boys were the sex I had attractions to. And - gosh, there were many ways I maximized my exploration on this, from crushes to casual things. Some regrettable, some enjoyable to remember.

However, my gender expression was what I initially had a struggle with. I wasn't sure if how I wanted to present myself in terms of the gender spectrum. While I knew I was secure about a more "masculine" expression, I often found comfort in being "feminine" as well. It wasn't until I had my therapy and my heart-to-heart with my mentor (a gay therapist, who's in the US now) that I realized that I can be both, and that it depended on who I was with -- such as our social behaviors.

What I am currently exploring further is my sexuality. Dating has been an eye-opener to me because it wasn't something my parents discussed with us as kids or teens. I learned through experience, which I'm sure a lot of queer kids do. But, being adventurous about your sexual and romantic exploration entails accountability and responsibility. I often had to do a lot of trial-and-error to establish my personal limits and boundaries clearly. What I found helpful was to talk to my fellow gay friends back in college. Our heart-to-heart talks seemed to have paid of well.

Exploration is the number one thing us, queers, have to enjoy most of all. After all, when the world is rid of queer-phobias and stigma, you only have yourself to find or make your happiness. As the saying goes, "The world is your oyster." I better hope that you and I find our own pearls. Trust me, as a 23-year old gay man, this is the best thing you will ever do for yourself.

Lesson 2: Coming out to others is not a requirement, but it sometimes helps.

I didn't realize the sensitivity of the coming out experiences of us, queers, until my first encounter back in high school. I'd like to first mention that my coming out to Pao - and subsequently to my closest friends, was brief yet liberating. As a young teen, I immediately thought that coming out was something 100% helpful, hence every queer person should do it. (I also had the mindset that the more people who out themselves strengthens our visibility and, therefore, our pride.)

Needless to say, the mindset that young me had was misguided...

Yes, coming out has its perks; but it also has its risks.

No, coming out isn't something that everyone should do.

Why is that?

When I got my first SOGIE 101 talk (courtesy of my history professor who invited a queer rights advocate), it was the very first time that i heard the words, "Coming out is not a requirement and should be a personal decision - no one else's."

Immediately, I realized past experiences that I witnessed or experienced that deviated from this notion... and ended up regretting some of them. The coming out process is truly personal. It definitely was for me. The process of wanting liberty to be myself - to shed my true rainbow colors in front of my chosen public's eye - was something internally developed. While not purely, it is not regularly motivated by the external rewards of performing the act. Even the definition of "liberation" is subjective. Some people may find that liberty is when they do other ways of integrating their queer identity. Even so, some people may or may not find coming out as important to that integration process.

After all, do straight people come out? Nope.

Will it harm anyone if you prefer not to verbalize your gender identity? I don't think so.

But should one ask one's gender identity anyway? How do we know where our fellow birds of the same feather would be? This was a simple question with a tricky answer. Asking someone's gender identity isn't something to be avoided. In fact, most queer people find the gesture affirming because it entails your own sensitivity to queer communities. But, you often find that queer people who answer this question more comfortably have come into terms with their gender. Conversely, those who have yet to do so, may not refuse to answer you or cloak their answer in heteronormativity. Queer people can and should choose who to come out to. No one else gets to take that opportunity away from them.

What I learned as I met more queer people in my life (or even those who are questioning) is to be more nonjudgmental. To craft a safe space, not only for yourself, but for other queer people around you. And you do that by being knowledgeable (or at least sensitive to) about the process of coming out, and to be respectful of another person's self-identity and decisions. Things like, "I'm here if you want to talk about personal things," is something I've said effectively to open up the conversation. But again, only do so when you know they are ready. In this way, you avoid being the douchebag of outing someone prematurely and uncomfortably. You offer them the respect as they deserve it.

So, my dear queer reader, don't come out unless you are ready to. Until you find a more personal and uplifting reason to do so.

Lesson 3: Your sexuality is only your business - not anyone else's.

In connection to the past lesson, this third one comes with both personal experience with mistakes and delving more into questions I have answered back in college.

The concept of sexuality is actually quite vast. For one, we understand this as an identity. On another, we also construe this as a pattern of acts - not necessarily related to sex or the like. How I understood it was well enough of both - an identity and an act - mainly because I believe that the concepts of actions and identities have an interrelationship. Sometimes, how we know ourselves is how we behave; and other times, we identify ourselves by how we view or label ourselves with. And there are two key things that this idea has brought out to me.

Firstly, when sexuality is yours, it is only yours to begin with. No one else owns it. No one else can shape it, command it, control it. Only you, just you. And the beauty of this is that this makes us feel more in touch with ourselves. Having a stronger sense of self is always helpful when we are searching for authenticity. And this subjectivity is what makes us rainbow unicorns unique. Even if we share commonalities in how we see ourselves as queer people, we often find that the spectrum has a spectrum of individuality within. Too profound? Well, that's how deep it gets, really.

But let's make things a bit more simpler. There are many ways we can own our sexuality. Some of us prefer to express it in certain ways we present or express ourselves, like clothing, language, or mannerisms. No matter how hyperfeminine, androgynous, or hypermasculine we choose to behave, the most important part of them all is the way we feel within. Do you feel good with how you express yourself? Do you find comfort speaking like that? And so on.

On the other hand, some other people explore their sexuality in their attractions, relationships, and sex. This, I think, is a subject for another article, but worthy of explanation here. Another fun thing about queer culture is that we pay neither reward nor ridicule to promiscuity. Most, if not all, believe that it's part of our human nature. And regardless how much of that instinct is expressed by you, you are still considered valid and worthy of celebration. In exploring this side of yourself, you have to ask yourself how much of this side of yourself do you think matters to you. Not everyone finds it to be so, while others find it completely important - and either is perfectly okay! There is no harm in experimenting on what define your sexuality. What matters is how you make your sexuality feel like you - as long as you remain safe and secure.

Secondly, as I have been hinting for the past paragraphs, comes the idea of accountability over what we own. I'll explain more in detail later, but for now, you have to understand that we are not beings simply living just to be. We also have our own responsibilities as human beings, let alone people who belong in our social or cultural spheres.

Moreover, your sexuality is your story to tell. How you want anyone, regardless of intimacy or closeness, would like to perceive you is totally up to you. No one else gains the right to have a say on what you think, do, or say with your body and mind - especially when it has to do with your true self. And regardless if you are queer or not, this should be the standard for everybody.

If and when you come out, understand by heart that you do it for yourself, by yourself, and with yourself. And whether or not you choose to do so, your celebration of yourself must be noted.

Lesson 4: We make or choose our family. And sometimes, they come to us too.

There have been only a few stories I have heard about that had happy coming out stories to their own nuclear families. Often, especially in the traditionally Filipino family, the outcome is being outcast. And there is a vast sea of stories that share common themes of challenges, successes, emotions, and realizations. Like I said, coming out is not a requirement. But if your goal is to liberate yourself for whatever reason or from whoever you think deserves to meet you for you, I cannot guarantee that you will not face challenges, both internally and externally.

In my personal experience, coming out to my family was calculated. I first came out to my brother in my family. I remember doing so over one of my depressive episodes. I wrote down on a piece of paper, "I'm gay," and showed it to him in tears during one of our arguments. While my brother was not necessarily affectionate, I appreciated his acceptance. My female cousin - younger than me - was the second to find out. It was smoother, and didn't take more than five minutes. And to no surprise, she celebrated it. But my mother and father had two different occasions but similar reactions.

"Ang sakit magka-anak na bakla. You need to be successful as Boy Abunda to be a gay person." (in tears)

"Oo, alam ko na! A teacher told me and a classmate [of yours] confirmed it!" (in an angry tone)

There's a whole lot of quotes I could relay, but I choose to focus on these two who came from either of them. You could probably guess which one is which. But two recurring themes here is how much we feel invalidated and that we have conditions set upon us. Hearing these words from them hurt like hell. I'm often a hard rock in emotionally laden situations, but not everyone can be like that. Being made small, unimportant, or even unworthy to be asked about yourself from the people who you once trusted for care creates a dent in our sense of self and individuality. And depending on a lot of things, some of us recover faster than others.

It has been better ever since I came out to my parents. I found that a lot of the times, they're just worried about how life or society would treat us for who we are. In my own way, I try to probe and investigate where they are with tolerance or, even better, acceptance. And I do my best to educate them on things they are still confused or ignorant of in the most polite way. I still love my parents - albeit with complexities. But, I'm fortunate to see (at least one of) them try.

But, if you find yourself not relating to this story, I understand! Not everyone has been fortunate with their own families. Which is why... the power of self-authenticity is we get to gravitate towards the people who we can call our own. A chosen family is better than none at all.

Finding your own chosen family shouldn't be too hard these days, but it will take a little bit of putting yourself out there. I didn't find my own queer niche until I came into college. Granted, the university I attended is a very progressive one, finding your queer friends isn't all too hard if you learn how to express yourself comfortably and - more importantly - ground yourself on self-love and self-appreciation. I met my first group of queer friends when I joined my college org and started doing projects. While we were in it for the work and the advocacy of the org, we all wanted to make friends and have a gay (pun intended) time.

For me, it didn't come out as ideal at the beginning. When I was still discovering my sexuality, I struggled with a lot of insecurities about my image, behavior, and self-worth that I forgot to enjoy things as they are, to enjoy relationships as they bloom. In turn, it made me feel ironically disconnected with the queer people in my community and left me feeling alone to some extent. But later on, I realized that people are there to love me and celebrate me - so why not I do so myself? Later on, I grew closer to my gay friends (and queer-allied friends). I found that they'll always be there for me flaws and all. Even now, while we're on our separate career paths, we still choose to seek each other out through thick or thin - especially in these trying times.

While a lot of us find ourselves to be the lone wolf surviving in the woods - you can't deny that it's a tough life to live. You have to find that emotional support and connection that can cultivate your queerness and help you become a better person in every way possible. And you can do that, with the people around you. Shake away any worries, feel comfortable in your own skin, and go meet the world around you!

Lesson 5: Embrace vulnerability, accountability, and authenticity.

One of my passions as a psychologist-in-training is to help queer people with their queer struggles. Part of the training is for us, trainee therapists, to understand the value of three things: experiencing vulnerability, upholding accountability, and being with authenticity. These three aspects cut across many emotional challenges that people face, regardless of gender identity. And as trainees, we usually have to deal with this ourselves before we even begin teaching this to our clients.

So far, the journey I've had in this was very rocky -- as it should. Many a time, I've been faced with different kinds of challenges as a queer person that affected my personal understanding, my relationships, and even my mental health. The thing that I had the most difficulty grasping is marrying vulnerability and accountability to 'walk' myself towards an authentic life I deem worth living. A lot of the time, I used to redirect blame for my negative emotions in response to challenges to anything - or even anyone - but myself. For example, I used to blame my upbringing in a broken family for the way I learned how to hide my gay-ness from the people closest to me, especially friends. But, I later realized that, just like embracing my choice to come out as gay to my family and friends, I must embrace the emotional experiences that arise from vulnerable moments. In this way, I learn how to understand myself a bit more especially when faced with challenges tied to my identity. Stigma from other people, self-stigma, self-loathing, insecurities, and envy of others who have a "better" queer life than mine. When I acknowledge how I feel as it is, I learn how to respond to the experience with a bit more compassion and effectiveness. Granted, there are matters in which the blame may be redirected elsewhere validly. Yet, we cannot always shake the feeling of taking ownership of our experiences -- regardless of how much agency we have in them. In fact, it might not be the healthiest thing to do.

Insofar as my training goes, I noticed that a lot of the queer clients I've taken under my wing (mostly gay young men) have expressed a similar notion: struggles that root themselves with the fear of embracing their vulnerable selves with accountability. When my queer clients tell me that they refuse to acknowledge the roles of their emotions, their choices, and even their self-concept, I often witness how much suffering they experience. Perhaps this suffering may be stemming from the impasse on a journey towards being "themselves." While I cannot claim any expertise in this matter just yet, I did observe how helping people realize that owning up to vulnerable experiences makes them less afraid to deal with the suffering that comes along with coming out, warranted or not. There is strength in being vulnerable just as there is liberation in accountability. What matters most, I believe, in helping people realize this is that they matter and their experiences -- from the most positive to the most negative -- are key to understanding the essence of living a fulfilling, authentic, queer life.

This process will be one of the most painful parts of the journey. But trust me... it will be the most necessary step into a life that you and I want for our queer selves. Just remember that you are not alone in this.

Lesson 6: Love yourself now more than ever.

I cannot stress this enough. While cliché is an appropriate term to use in this lesson, you can never deny the power of showing yourself the love you deserve from yourself. And I know what you're thinking, "How does one even learn how to do that anyway?" Good question.

There is no single answer to this because all of us are different. We've had our own journeys to get to where we are. What I think underlies a lot, if not all, of these experiences, is the amount of value we put on ourselves. However you wish to do that depends on you. But there are a couple questions you can ask yourself as you decide how you want to practice self-love:

Do I learn something new or enrich something I already knew about myself?

Does this act of self-love add to my value or keep my dignity intact?

Do I do this out of caring for myself as if I were selfless acting this onto others?

Do I feel liberated from my worries and self-doubts, even just by a little?

The more we say yes to each question shows how much our choice of acting in self-love reflects an authentic and liberating one.

Needless to say, a genuine and healthy kind of self-love is a "cure" to many problems we experience inward, We not only prevent ourselves from spiralling down on ourselves, but we also protect and build strength against the adversity of a cold, cruel world. We learn how to navigate through suffering as if it were an experience that's part of the ebb and flow.

Like the fifth lesson, I realized the importance of understanding your own self-worth. Queer people, I believe, are a universal gift. We make magic through our talents and beliefs. And we show compassion through our drive. In one conversation I had with my mentor sometime in 2019, one of the most painfully beautiful things about being queer is that there are things that only we know. Our unique experiences become a beacon for others. Let's keep practicing that through showing ourselves the right kind of love. Who knows, this may also lead you to finding the right love for yourself?

Wrapping it up...

Coming out is a journey. It's not like a light switch that turns off or on and is no in-between (unless you count the dim-lights setting). On this road ahead, we get to have encounters with different people who want to learn about who we are. It's just a matter of making space for them to walk beside us - especially those who choose to do so.

Happy Pride!