#he only regularly talked to like 3 people for years I feel like he needs this

[ibetittering]

Just realized I haven't posted any art in a while so have this

[mclacedes]

The Idea of You (LN4)

2. The Idea of Worthiness

summary: in which lando decides to make it up for ghostin you

previous ••• next

WARNINGS: it's pretty much all angst. in-depth described anxiety attack, anxious behaviour/mannerisms, description of depression and suicidal ideation, loneliness

wc: 3k

“but what if i can't do it?”

A/N: before anything else, i want to make it clear that my intention is NOT to trigger any kind of trauma in anyone with this. the reader has been warned of potential triggers. if you are going through some kind of psychological hardship, know that there are people who care and who worry <3 you are never 100% alone!

january 1st, 2024 — 3:30pm

you came home with a knot in your chest that seemed to tighten with every breath. the morning had been a blur, an awkward dance around lando’s mother as you searched for a polite excuse to leave.

of course you'd chosen the most simple and non-negotiable of lies: i need to spend some time with my relatives.

despite it being faintly true, you knew you'd spend the whole day with lando's family if the circumstances were different.

the night's words lingered in your mind as you walked out, wishing it could cover the truth: you couldn’t bear the thought of facing lando after what had happened—or rather, after what didn’t happen.

now, the silence in your own home was suffocating. you slumped onto the couch, your mind replaying the scene on a loop: lando's words, lando's reassurance, the way his lips had bruised yours, the heat of his breath so close, his hands on you, his hands in you, his fingers’ magic, and then... you wake up alone.

now, you knew lando felt the same, you knew that things could work out, you knew just the intensity of your feelings for him. but you also knew he hadn't texted you back all day and, seemingly, nobody knew where he was.

as his closest friend, you knew that he'd only have left that way if something really bad had happened.

what you didn't know though, was how bad it felt for him.

it had been a long time since lando had received the diagnosis. after years of wondering what was wrong with him and why he felt such a void within himself, he'd been told he had depression.

what they say is that treatment is easier when you have the right diagnosis, but that doesn't erase the fact that some days were infinitely more difficult than others—harder to get out of bed, harder to leave the house, to work, and singularly hard to live, specially because the latter is the last thing you want during a depressive episode.

he started going to therapy regularly when he was a minor, forced by his parents, but when he became an adult he left—said that talking about how horrible he felt wouldn't help, it would only make him feel worse.

and then the episodes gradually became worse as his life improve. for example, before arriving in F1, he oftentimes found himself fighting against the urge to simply end it all: the pain, the suffering, the disruption, the constant failed attempt at a better day, his very life.

even though he never attempted it, lando was caught contemplating the possibility of the end; he used to wonder how people would react when they heard "lando norris died, suicide", what it would be like if he wasn't here anymore.

“such a kind soul”

“such a beautiful boy”

“smart, funny”

“talented guy”

that's what people would say, in the best of cases.

in the worse of cases people wouldn't even notice he was gone.

well, following next to depression was anxiety.

lando’s anxiety was a constant undercurrent to his depression, feeding off it, amplifying it, tangling him further in a web of self-doubt. it was always there, an invisible weight pressing down, but some days it grew loud enough to silence every other part of him, like a swarm of thoughts buzzing incessantly, trapping him in a looping worry about everything and nothing all at once.

it started with racing—the very thing he loved was also the source of his most unrelenting fears. despite his undeniable talent and the acclaim he’d earned, the worry always crept in: what if i mess up? what if i’m not good enough? what if it’s all just a fluke, and one day everyone realizes i’m a fraud?

he dreaded that moment when the lights turned green, not because of the physical danger but because of the psychological toll—that split-second when any mistake, any misstep, could spiral out into a visible, unforgivable failure.

even beyond racing, the anxiety spilled into every facet of his life. he overthought every message he sent, every interaction, analyzing them for any hint of rejection, any confirmation of his worst fears. if he didn’t receive a response right away, his mind spun stories, convincing him he’d somehow upset the person or made a fool of himself.

and now, with you, it was worse. his feelings were tangled with worry and doubt; he feared you’d eventually see through his flaws, his bad days, his cracks, and walk away. the closeness you’d shared the night before terrified him. he wanted you desperately, yet that desire to let you in also exposed him to his greatest fear: that he would scare you away merely by the fact that he existed.

this anxiety could sometimes send him into a state of paralysis, leaving him unable to reach out, unable to bridge the gap even when he wanted nothing more than to feel your presence, to hear your voice. today was one of those days—the aftermath of a moment so perfect, so vulnerable, that his mind filled with a thousand worries. he couldn’t bring himself to message you, to even show you the rawness of his internal struggle. instead, he withdrew, waiting for the fog to clear enough for him to reach for you again.

but you had tried.

you: lando hey

you: i'm worried abt u

you: text me whenever u get the chance pls

you: i'm right here if you wanna talk”

there were another 20 texts of kindred nature from you in his phone—you spent the afternoon rewinding what had happened, wondering if there were any signs that he would do something to himself or… the devil god knows what.

you had barely moved or done anything at all since you had gotten home because lando still hadn’t texted back, and the worry in your chest was growing impossible to ignore.

you’d known him for years—long enough to see the shadows he kept hidden behind his easy smile. he had always brushed off the subject, deflecting it with humor or quick changes in conversation. but today, his silence was colder, sharper, more unsettling than usual.

hours had passed since you last saw him, and finally, you gave in and sent him a message, trying not to let the desperation seep through.

you: lando, i hope you’re alright. let me know when you’re home safe, ok?

the message delivered, but no ‘read’ receipt appeared. your heart sank, and as you stared at the screen, scenarios spun wildly in your mind.

lando was good at hiding. he knew how to pour himself into everything and everyone else, keeping busy, laughing, entertaining—until he couldn’t. when the episodes came, he retreated so far into himself that it was like trying to find someone in a pitch-black room.

you tried calling him. the line rang and rang, finally going to voicemail. your voice was barely a whisper as you left a message.

“lando… if you see this, please just… come home. or let me know you’re okay. i’m here, alright? no matter what, i’m here.”

when the call ended, the silence in your apartment felt just as cold as his void.

—

unbeknownst to you, he was okay.

at least that's what he said to max when he called saying cisca was worried about him. and thats what he said when he called his mom.

“i’m okay.”

but he knew there was nothing okay with him right now.

far away, in his silent retreat, a wave of coldness washed over him, and his breath coming in sharp, shallow gasps. that feeling in his chest was known: he was panicking.

it felt like the walls were closing in, a vice squeezing his chest tighter with every passing second. his hands trembled, fingers twitching as if searching for something to anchor him, to ground him in reality. he fought to keep his breathing steady, but the more he tried, the more elusive calm became. memories of your kiss haunted him—both a balm and a wound. how could something so beautiful leave him feeling so lost?

what if i’m not enough for her? he thought

a tight knot of fear formed in his stomach, mingling with the ache of longing. was he really ready for this? for you? for love? the questions spiraled, colliding with the weight of his own expectations and the pressure of his career. he couldn’t shake the sense that he was on the brink of something monumental, yet all he felt was the crushing weight of uncertainty.

the doubt crept in, fueled by echoes of his past, whispers of inadequacy that had followed him through the years. he recalled the stinging memories of being told he wasn’t good enough, of moments when his efforts felt like they never quite measured up. every trophy he’d won and every incredible milestone he had achieved done little to silence those voices. instead, they morphed into an insidious belief that no matter how hard he tried, he would always be a step behind, always falling short.

what if she hates me?

with you, the stakes felt impossibly high. what if he couldn’t be the partner you deserved? what if the pressure of the spotlight overwhelmed him and drove you away? those thoughts twisted in his gut, feeding the anxiety that swelled within him. he imagined you in a world where he wasn’t there, finding someone who could offer you the stability and unwavering support he feared he lacked. the very thought crushed him, deepening the ache in his chest, as it reminded him of all the times he had to fight for validation, only to come up empty-handed.

he was scared of what loving you meant, terrified of failing you, terrified of failing himself. the weight of it all felt unbearable, a heavy blanket of dread that threatened to suffocate him.

what if i fail her?

lando was too scared, too anxious. with every breath, his lungs ached, and with every tear that gathered in his eyes, he felt weaker. it was as if he were standing on the edge of a precipice, the ground crumbling beneath him, and the vast unknown loomed below—a place filled with possibilities but also with the risk of falling into darkness. he clenched his fists, nails digging into his palms, trying to ground himself as the rising tide of emotions threatened to pull him under.

every heartbeat felt like a reminder of his vulnerability, a painful pulse that echoed the uncertainty gnawing at his core. he couldn’t shake the feeling that he was teetering on the edge of something profound, yet all he could focus on was the suffocating fear of not being enough. the love he felt for you, so pure and intoxicating, was also a heavy burden, weighed down by his past failures and fears. the thought of letting you down, of not living up to the promise of what could be, sent chills racing down his spine.

she's too perfect, i'm a mess

as tears spilled over and streamed down his cheeks, he felt a mix of shame and desperation. lando had always prided himself on being strong, on facing challenges head-on, yet here he was—vulnerable and exposed, battling an internal storm that felt relentless. the very act of loving you felt like a gamble, one that he wasn't sure he was ready to take. would he be brave enough to step forward, to embrace the chaos of his heart, or would he retreat back into the safety of his own fears?

with every sob that escaped him, the overwhelming tide of emotion pulled him deeper, and he struggled to keep his head above water. the thought of calling you, of reaching out for the connection he craved, felt both necessary and terrifying. what if you saw him like this—raw, broken, and afraid? what if he could never find the words to explain what he felt, or worse, what if you saw him as nothing more than a disappointment?

what if she saw me for who i truly am?

taking a shaky breath, he reached for his phone thrown on the couch, sitting on it. his hands were still trembling as he dialed the only person, besides you, who he knew wouldn't judge, but understand him.

“hey, mate, how you doing?” max fewtrell greeted him with his usual easy grin, only for the smile to falter the second he took in lando’s state: tears streaked his face, his eyes swollen and red, his nose and cheeks raw from wiping at them. his lips, split and bloodied, told the story of how he’d been biting them all day. lando’s breath hitched in his throat, his words barely making it out.

“hey… mate, i—” he tried, but the lump in his throat choked him. lando couldn’t even speak.

“lando, what happened?” max said, his voice low and steady, concern etched across his face.

“i think i… i fucked things up with Y/N,” lando's voice cracked, desperation pouring from him as if his world was unraveling right there in front of max.

the sight in front of max sent a chill through his spine. lando's looks, disheveled, like he’d been pulling at it in frustration all day. his bright green eyes were dulled, sunken and rimmed with red. the bags beneath them were dark, a stark contrast against his pale skin. his hands trembled on his knees, unable to steady themselves. his chest heaved, like the panic was consuming him from the inside, leaving only a fragile shell of the person max had known for years.

lando wiped at his face, the back of his hand coming away wet. he shook his head, sinking deeper into the couch.

“we kissed, we slept together and i pushed her away, max. i—i could’ve stayed. i could’ve—” his breath caught again, ragged and uneven. “but i left with no explanation. i went up and left her there, max… i’m so stupid.” he cried out.

lando’s breath hitched, and he pressed the heels of his palms into his eyes, trying to stop the tears, but it was no use. his shoulders shook, and a sob escaped him, raw and unfiltered. he hadn’t felt this way in a long time—like he was too broken to be loved.

"max, i’m a mess," he whispered, his voice cracking. "i couldn’t stay, i couldn’t even look at her this morning because… because she deserves better. i mean, look at me," he gestured to himself, his hands trembling. “i’m fucked up, max. i couldn’t even say the words, couldn’t even be honest. how can i be with her when i don’t even know what’s going on in my own head?”

max’s brows furrowed, his face softening as he listened. lando looked like he was spiraling, and it hurt max to see his best friend like this—feeling like he didn’t deserve something good because he was caught in his own storm.

“lando, mate,” max started, carefully choosing his words, “you’re not as messed up as you think you are. yeah, you’ve got stuff going on, but that doesn’t mean you don’t deserve her, or that you don’t deserve to be happy. and running away from her because you think you’re too broken for her… that’s not the answer.”

lando shook his head, wiping at his eyes, his voice trembling as he spoke. “but i am broken, max. i don’t even know how to deal with my own shit, let alone someone else’s. she’s this… this amazing person, and i’m just… i’m just me. she deserves someone who has it all figured out, not someone who’s going to bolt the second things get real.”

max let out a breath, leaning forward a bit. “no one has it all figured out, lando. not me, not her, not anyone. she’s not expecting you to be perfect, she’s expecting you to be real with her. that’s all. and yeah, maybe you’re not in the best place right now, but you can’t let that be the reason you push her away.”

lando let the words sink in, but it didn’t ease the heaviness inside him. “i left because i thought… i thought i’d hurt her more by staying. i didn’t want her to see me like this. i didn’t want her to see how much of a mess i am.”

“but by leaving, you hurt her anyway,” max said gently. “because she cares about you. and if you care about her too, you’ve got to let her in, even if it’s messy, even if you don’t have all the answers. it’s okay to not have everything together, lando. it’s okay to be scared. but you can’t run from this.”

lando swallowed hard, staring at the floor, his fingers gripping the edge of the couch until his knuckles turned white. max was right. he had run—run because he didn’t think he was good enough, run because the idea of her seeing all his cracks terrified him.

“but what if i can’t do it? what if i let her down again?” lando’s voice was barely audible now, thick with doubt.

max’s expression softened even more. “then you figure it out, together. but you’ve got to give her the chance to make that choice. don’t decide for her that you’re not good enough. let her in. let her see you, even the parts you’re scared to show. that’s how you build something real.”

lando’s breath came in short, shallow bursts, his heart pounding in his chest. the thought of opening up like that—to be fully seen, in all his messiness, all his vulnerability—scared him more than any race ever had. but the thought of losing Y/N, of pushing her away because of his own fear… that scared him even more.

“yeah, sure,” lando whispered, his voice hoarse. “i need to talk to her. i need to fix this.”

max smiled softly, relief flickering in his eyes. “yeah, mate. you do.”

after bidding his best friend farewell, lando sat and tried to calm himself down by pressing his fingers with exposed raw flesh due to the fact he had gnawed at his own hands out of anxiety. he had to come up with something to make it up to you. he needed to.

TAGGINGS: @meglouise00 @rawr-123s-stuff

[dweeb-central]

yuu cooked too much ft. heartlabyul, floyd, malleus, & ruggie

guys i entered a fugue state & wrote angst?? hcs

mc is used to cooking for a big family & accidentally mistakes recipe proportions, leaving them w way too much food. scenarios of them asking diff twst boys if they'd want some, mentioning why. a bit downtrodden with no family to share it with...

trey, cater, riddle... are touched. trey & cater both have big families, & their eyes soften at the mention of yours. trey especially empathizes with you, before he began cooking and baking for the majority of his dorm he cooked & baked for his family. he identifies with the habits of buying groceries in bulk & the need to keep the house stocked with anything five or more people could ever need (just in case). cater's interested to see what kinds of foods you'll cook. make him something from your heritage! he'll magicam it <3 or just save the memory in a photograph if you'd prefer. he'd love to listen to you talk about recipes & regional preferences & tastes. that goes for riddle too! his mom kept him on a strict diet for his childhood, but now that he's got the opportunity he'd love to learn about your heritage & culture! as he grows more outgoing he's learned more about the cultures of his peers & he'd probably be one of the most qualified (& excited) to answer any questions or point out any similarities with twisted wonderland cultures.

floyd... blinks his big wide eyes once, twice, & then launches himself towards you to wrap his arms tight & pick up straight up off the ground. "awwww, shrimpy misses their troupe! shrimpy's aaalways welcome to bring me dinner! we can play house!! i'll be the dad, you'll be the mom, azul will be our baby, and jade... he can be the dog and go play outside or something." ('- , -) you better stop him before he gets ahead of himself. least likely of octavinelle to bother you about selling the recipe to azul ((he'll give you a cut of the profits!)). still makes you cook in the mostro lounge kitchen, but only because he wants you to grow to feel more at home with him & in an environment he's used to... that way when he gets serious about his & shrimpy's relationship....

the adeuce duo... both go... quiet, at the mention of your past. it wasn't something you avoided talking about when you were reminded of something relevant, or things you enjoyed or saw, but... you don't talk much about your family. they don't ask much about your family. deuce feels a twinge of guilt—he doesn't shy away from talking about his mom, & he loves her too dearly to be ashamed or shy. he wonders if they make you feel as loved as his does. ace wonders if he should ask you about them more often. he's not exactly shy about his own family, but he doesn't exactly ever seek to bring them up in idle conversation. he wonders what your siblings are like. they give each other a resolved look above your head when you're not looking, & now they regularly (as much as they can) come over for dinners at ramshackle! if you're comfortable with it, they invite all the first years too. you hope they feel as familiar & familial to you as you feel for them. they hope you know they do.

malleus... feels a twinge in the back of his throat—maybe behind his eyes? his truest friend feels alone, something he recognizes deeply. he hasn't lost anyone close to him like that—at least, he doesn't feel like it. his lonely was a different sort, where he's never really known family like you have. but, he considers, maybe no one at this school has had to sacrifice more than his prefect. he wonders what dinners were like with that many, & you tell him. the bickering, the debates, the movie nights & commentaries, the nights spent making s'mores(?) over the fireplace. he wants dinners like that with you. you invite him to.

ruggie... might invite you to spend some time over with his family. not immediately, no way, but the thought lingered in his head long enough for his throat to burn with the words (& his cheeks to burn in embarassment). in reality, he grins a big wide grin & laughs his mischeivous little laugh. "i'll NEVER say no to free food. feel free to keep it coming! shehehe." he ends up coming over to help you cook a few times a month. it's a good excuse to spend time with you over a dinner he knows was cooked with love.

i had to google what a group of shrimp is called lol. could've actually been troupe OR run OR colony. i wonder if it's ooc that floyd knows this.... i mean, he is a fish man, so 🤷

[roboticchibitan]

I remember when same sex marriage was legized in my state (3 years before obergefel vs Hodges which legalized it nationwide). It won by a very narrow margin.

People who had taken care of me when I was young, people who were like second parents to me, (along with half the other people I knew) were saying it was the end times because I could now get married. And I couldn't help but wonder... would those people have protected me, cared for me, let me play with their children, if they had known I would grow up to be queer?

I came out in 2011. I was lucky. My parents were accepting. My mom was clearly uncomfortable at first but she made it clear she loved me no matter what.

Except.

My dad didn't care if I was queer and assured me that didn't mean there was anything wrong with me (in a speech I didn't need to hear but I think he needed to say). But he still said "that's gay" and "that's faggy" anytime my little brother showed vulnerability.

And I was a lucky one. My father used homophobic slurs around me regularly. He turned the word gay into a slur with his homophobic mouth. And I was a lucky one.

When I came out publicly, my grandmother stopped speaking to me for a while. I'm lucky that she changed her mind. I'm lucky that my grandparents let me bring my girlfriend with me when I went to visit them in October. October of 2022 and I still consider myself lucky that my grandparents let my queer partner into their house. My other grandma likewise visited with us, and was polite and friendly, but she still refused to call my gf anything other than "your friend." Still lucky. Incredibly lucky.

People don't understand just how bad things were as much as ten years ago. When I came out at school, I was lucky. No one bullied me. No one shoved me into lockers or called me slurs. They all just stopped talking to me. I became invisible. I went to a small school. I was the only person who was out. Exactly one person talked to me the rest of the year. And I was a lucky one.

When I was in middle and highschool, the go to insult was "that's gay." I heard it constantly. Every day. Sometimes people said it to me to insult me, long before I even knew I was queer.

I was lucky because the worst that happened to me was social isolation and people using slurs around me or turning my identity into a slur. No one called ME faggy. No one beat me up behind the school bleachers. I was incredibly lucky.

I have experienced the word "gay" used as a slur far more than I ever heard the word "queer" used as a slur. Young "queer is a slur and only a slur" people need to know the world you live in is not the world the rest of us live in. Why is "queer" a slur but "gay" isn't? My homophobic father thought the word "gay" conveyed just as much offense and disgust as the word "faggot." So why is queer the horrible word that can never be reclaimed but people say "that's gay" as a compliment now? The loneliest I have ever felt was in a room full of teenagers who thought my identity was the height of insults. So why is gay fine but queer isn't?

I am a fat butch queer and I do not hide that. My shoes have a pride flag on them. I have a masculine haircut and wear men's clothes. I look queer.

And I am afraid. I dress like this anyway, because I want other queer folks to know I am a safe person. I dress how I do partially because I like it but also partially so any queer person in the room, no matter now closeted, can see me and feel a little bit safer. Because I will protect other queer people with my life if need be.

Because I am openly and visibly queer and live in a world where being queer can get you killed. Because it can. Gay bashings still happen. The alt right are getting bolder in their violence, and that includes homophobic/transphobic violence. There are organizations in the US that are actively pushing to make homosexuality punishable by death in Africa. They know they could never accomplish that here. But they would if they could. People want us dead.

Young people need to understand that. And they need to understand that the people who did the most work to free us from criminalization were queer. They identified as queer. And they weren't the perfect law abiding queers toeing the line of what's acceptible. Because being queer itself was illegal. You could end up on the sex offender registry for being gay. In fact, there are queer people who are STILL registered as sex offenders just because they were queer in 2001. Pride wasn't a permitted parade with wells Fargo floats. It was angry queers illegally marching down the streets, screaming "We're here. We're queer. Get used to it."

Being openly queer is a radical act. It is still a radical act.

I did not live through Windsor vs the united states, the referendum 74 debate, my father punishing my brother for being human with homophobic slurs, and the pearl clutching fearmongering about "the gay agenda" (that was a go to phrase for 2012 homophobes) for some LGBT kid to come at me with TERF bullshit they got off tiktok about how my identity is a slur and I'm a horrible person for using it.

I was a lucky one and I'm still saying "no, absolutely not" to this bullshit.

Queer is more inclusive. Queer accounts for any possible fluidity because people change. Identities change. Queer is there for people who know they're Something Different but are not sure of the details yet. Queer is intentionally vague. When you're young you want everyone to know exactly who you are but as you get older you realize actually my identity is none of your business. In fact, sometimes when you tell someone your identity, you're handing them a bludgeon for them to hurt you with.

If you have trans classmates, you do not understand the world the rest of us grew up in. Trans people were not a public topic. They were not even acknowledged as existing by most people. I didn't know what being trans was until I was like 17. I'm nonbinary now and consider myself trans 10 years later.

And I didn't even have it that bad. But you know what? It still sucked and it was still hard and I can't imagine what it was like to grow up a decade before I did. I had it easy compared to most people.

If you can jokingly say "that's gay" when someone expresses queer love, then you can fucking handle people using the word queer as their identity.

The infighting and policing each other has to stop. You're oppressing queer people with this bullshit. It does not matter what words queer people use to describe themselves when there are people actively killing us. What are you doing? For fucks sake look at the bigger picture. Direct all that rage at our oppressors and the people who mean us harm. Queer people and he/him lesbians and bi lesbians and people who use neo pronouns and whoever else is the discourse of the day do not deserve this kind of treatment. Punch a homophobe and maybe you'll feel better.

[metis-iphigenia]

DAMIAN WAYNE SCHOOL HEADCANONS because school opened like 2-3 weeks ago and i need to cope

•since he is 15 years old, he is in 10th grade(not letting dc pull a tim drake and make him the same age forever)

•he used to love chemistry in the 9th grade because the first subject was alchemy if i remember correctly(dc can pry the "al ghuls are alchemists" hc(canon) from my cold dead hands)

but he lost interest in chemistry quickly after the subject passed.

•his all time favourite classes are math and art. im just sure damian's type of person that doesnt separate math and art from eachother

•why art is his favourite is a given but his favourite is math because math is a class based on problem solving(and also because he can do math easily)

but yeah ik his classmates are very very annoyed whenever he says "math is easy"

•I imagine him arguing with his english teacher the most for some reason. there is no reason other than damian is a very educated kid about the english literature(literature in general) so either he doesnt care or he correct his teacher on literally everything.

•i feel like he would either do a very detail research about the book he read and write a very long essay, or make a very short one and not enough detailed. no in between(because he misunderstood his teachers when they said to "keep it short")

•he begged his father to let him take an exam that lets him skil grades based on his level but his father refused so now he takes advanced math etc.

•him and duke see eachother in the morning regularly(insomniac duke, and damian who wakes up at 5.30 is real) and they sit down to talk about random shit till 7 am mostly(duke explained him the fnaf lore and damian talked about creepypastas real)

•he texts with maps both on their way to their separate schools and make plans to meetup after school to just hang out

•damian usually reads or draws in most of the classes since he already knows everything they are teaching but when asked a question, he does yap a lot(dc should bring back yapper damian ngl)

•bathroom breakdowns were very real for 9th grade damian(literally canon event for everyone with social anxiety or people who get overstimulated at school)

•still bullied just doesnt care about it and insults them/messes with them back to get back at the bullies(it stops after him also messing with them)

•he loves playing football and volleyball but not with his teammates(ik hes #3 frat boy hater i just feel it) so he only gets along with 2 of his teammates. i imagine their personality as scott and stiles from teen wolf so yeah

•has one(1) friend and two(2) teammates he doesnt hate in total(girlfailure and girlsuccess damian youre real to me🙌😼)

also he got multiple friends outside of school anyways lmao bro is anything BUT anti-social(to me hes also the type to join his schools projects etc or debate teams)

•he always calls his mother when he makes it to school and whenever hes leaving it because talia worries and he wants ease her worries(ultimate mother daughter duo)

•after school he has a yap session with nika and they talk about everything that happened to them that day(yapper4yapper gravebird my beloved)

•him and stephanie rant about school daily and talk about how much they hate it(but they both wont drop out since steph wants that med school degree and damian also wants it in the future(med student sisterisms real))

•jon may be going to a journalism school(i think??) but hes still a science nerd so their study sessions always turns into an argument about an equation or a science problem

>>> so i think thats it!! please tell me your headcanons too and help me cope with school also because i love reading about hcs(esp thosr about damian) <<<<

[ladykailitha]

Sweet Surrender Part 4

Here we are guys, the end of the sequel of the summer Valentine fic. Thank you all who liked, commented, and reblogged this lovely story. I love seeing my regulars interact with their comments and tags. It's makes me so happy.

And if regularly do and haven't lately: I get it, it's not always easy to comment (whether as a comment or in the tags) on every part, just know I missed seeing them.

Sadly no prom-posal because they can't really go together-together, but Eddie did go over and ask in person. He's not a complete idiot.

This is my longest "chapter" I've written clocking out at 3700+ words because I refused to split it up further dammit!

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3

Damn it scheduled for 10pm not am but here we are just a few minutes late.

~

Eddie sat at the back of the class as he always did, trying to come up with ideas of what to do for prom. Because of course Steve said yes.

Steve’s eyes lit up and he swung Eddie around chanting, “Yes, yes, yes!” until the pair of them fell to the floor giggling like children.

They kissed and laughed until they couldn’t breathe.

Steve already had a suit, he really hadn’t grown that much since the funeral and just needed a nice cummerbund to make it school dance worthy. So he didn’t go with the Hellfire boys to get their tuxes.

Jeff had gone for a blue suit jacket with black pants and bow tie with a white button up. Gareth went for a double breasted black jacket and bow tie with matching pants. Brian had picked up a white jacket and bolo tie with black pants.

Eddie though?

Eddie had gone for a thin black neck tie and tight dress pants and then was going to wear his leather jacket over the top.

Steve was positively salivating at the thought.

They were sitting at the table discussing prom ideas when Nancy came up to Steve.

“Hey, do you have a date to prom?”

Steve and Eddie shared a concerned glance before Steve just shrugged.

“These guys didn’t get dates either,” he explained, “and offered to let me go with them as a group. Why? You asking?”

Nancy’s face twisted in disdain. “No, of course not. I’m not going to that meaningless high school mating ritual.”

Steve huffed out a laugh. “Jonathan didn’t want to go, huh?”

“He won’t let me pay.” She crossed her arms over her chest and stomped her foot.

Steve rolled his eyes and shared a glance with Eddie who shared his exasperation.

“What do you want, Nance?”

She pursed her lips and looked down at the floor. “I thought that if you had a date, then we could double and Jonathan wouldn’t feel pressured to spend a lot of money.”

Jeff and Brian looked at each other and then burst out laughing with Eddie joining in.

“Tell me you’ve never been poor without telling me you’ve never been poor,” Brian huffed out between gales of laughter. “Jesus H. Christ, he’s gonna feel even more pressure to spend a lot because he’s gonna see Stevie here go all out for his date and he’s going to get flustered and upset he can’t do the same for you then there’ll be huge fight, leaving you stranded at the prom waiting for Mommy Dearest to pick you.” He wiped away a tear of laughter.

Steve nodded and then half shrugged. “I’m with him on that one. It’s a guy thing. You’re out to wound his pride and you’re only going to catch hell for it.”

“Here’s a thought, Nancy Drew,” Eddie said with a menacing grin, “why not skip it and do it next year. At your actual senior prom since he’s so worried about it. Give him time to save up for it so he can do something nice for you and stop pushing people around.”

Nancy’s jaw dropped and she turned to Steve. “Are you just going to sit here and let him talk to me that way?”

Steve swirled in his chair to look up at her. “We aren’t dating, and he’s not wrong. Plus, I’ve been asked to prom by a couple of very forward girls and had hints broadly dropped that I should ask them to prom. Tammy Thompson was the worst of the lot. Talking about how a king should be with a proper queen or some shit like that. And I’ve turned them down because all of them want the Harrington charm and money and not me, also they’ll want sex or worse, to go steady and I just can’t handle that right now.”

He looked pointedly at her.

She frowned for a moment and then her eyes went wide and her mouth formed a silent ‘O’.

“Yeah,” he said, turning in his seat to out his back between them. “So you’ll pardon me if I don’t want to do you any favors.”

She slunk off back to the table with the rest of her friends and Jonathan.

Gareth shook his head. “The absolute nerve. Jesus Fucking Christ.”

Steve could only agree.

~

“Come on, man,” Gareth huffed, crossing his arms. “If we all pool our money we could rent a limo and show up in style.”

Steve threw back his head and laughed.

They were all sitting around Gareth’s garage making the final plans for prom.

“Dude, you could,” Steve agreed. “But those things take up at least three parking spots and you will have the rest of the student body hate your guts for all of time for it being in the way of everyone else.”

Gareth slunk further into the couch with a sneer. “It can’t be as bad as he’s making it out, he just doesn’t want us to have any fun.”

“That’s because you were a freshman when Tommy H. and Carol Perkins did it for junior prom last year,” Steve said, shaking his head. “They got so much shit for it, and it took Tommy bullying certain people to get it to stop.” He raised his hands. “Something I didn’t condone by the way.”

Jeff winced and shook his head. “Hard pass on being hated more than we already are.”

“I’m with Jeffy on this one Gare-bear,” Eddie said with a grimace. “Let’s take Mr. Romance’s advice on this one, yeah?”

“Fine!” Gareth growled. “But I refuse to get in the fuck ugly Bimmer of Steve’s and I’m not to be seen in these nice suits in Eddie’s van.”

“I never said we couldn’t rent a car,” Steve said reasonably, “just that we shouldn’t rent a limo.”

Suddenly the four other boys were leaning forward in their seats, looking at him in rapt interest.

“What did you have in mind, Stevie?” Eddie asked, slowly licking his upper lip.

“Who hasn’t had the dream of showing up to school in a shiny convertible?” Steve asked with a smirk. “It’ll be nicer than a limo, and most likely cheaper, too. And of course I bet we could get Eddie’s Uncle Wayne to rent it for us, with the little bribe that he gets to drive it around first.”

Eddie threw back his head and cackled. “That would work! He would love the little bribe, too.”

The other three boys looked at each other before Jeff said, “All in favor of getting nice convertible for prom?”

All the hands went up and Steve sat back, looking like that cat that got the cream.

~

Steve stayed over at Eddie’s the night before the dance. The plan was that after lunch, Steve would go home and get ready for the dance and then Eddie would pick everyone up for dinner then they would go to the dance.

Eddie had other plans, of course, but Steve didn’t know about those. Yet.

Around ten o’clock in the morning, with the two boys still tangled up in each others limbs there was honking of someone’s horn, followed by Wayne yelling at them to get the hell out of bed.

Steve and Eddie blinked bleary-eyed at each other for a moment before the fog of sleep cleared and they were on their feet in an instant. Steve threw on some sweats as Eddie yanked on a pair of jeans. They were out the door before Wayne could honk again.

He was leaning up a red 1984 Chrysler LeBaron five seater with white upholstery with the top down. His arms were crossed and had the biggest smile on his face.

“So what do you think, boys?” he said cocking his head to the side. “You think it’s fancy enough for that dance of yours?”

Eddie and Steve shared matching grins. They ran down the stairs in their bare feet up to Wayne and the car.

Steve was already running his hands over the body of the car. “Wayne, she gorgeous. She wasn’t too much was she?”

Wayne shook his head. “You boys’ money more than covered it for the night. I’ll return it tomorrow with a full tank of gas, no worries.”

Eddie hugged his uncle tightly. “Tonight is going to be the best night ever!”

Wayne hugged him back as Steve continued to admire the car.

“I wasn’t sure if you’d be able to find one that would fit all of us,” he breathed, “but fucking hell. It’s perfect Mr. Munson!”

“I’m glad you’re happy with it, Steve,” Wayne murmured as Eddie let go of him to follow Steve around the car. “Brian will probably have to sit in the front seat to be comfortable, but other than that, you’ll be golden.”

“Well, old man,” Eddie said after Steve and he looked over every inch of the car, “She’s all yours. Just bring her back by five so I can pick everyone else up.”

Wayne chuckled and opened the driver’s side door. “She really is a beaut, Ed. I can’t wait to let her unwind on the open road.”

Steve smiled and shook his head, knowing that he wanted to do the exact same thing. He followed Eddie into the trailer, a skip in his step.

Eddie made for the kitchen to starting making them breakfast and Steve sat down at the small table they had nearby.

“So we’re going out to eat at Enzo’s,” Steve murmured. “Which I really don’t want to know how Gareth pulled that off, considering everyone goes there for prom and getting reservations are vicious. It’s almost a blood sport.”

Eddie chuckled pulling out the eggs to scramble. “Gareth’s mom is friends with the owner and she always has a standing table there.”

“Well that’s a relief,” he said wiping his brow. “I thought he had murdered a couple of our fellow students for the privilege.”

“I love that it’s Gareth you think would be the murderer,” he called over his shoulder, “instead of anyone else coming with us tonight.”

Steve half shrugged and started counting them off on his fingers. “Brian is a staunch pacifist, Jeff gets sick at the sight of blood and you are so sweet that it’s impossible to believe that would harm anyone unless they started shit first.” He tapped his fingers on the surface of the table. “But Gareth is the quiet one and everyone knows that serial killers are the strong and silent types.”

Eddie poured the beaten egg mixture into the heated frying pan and began to stir it around.

“I guess that makes sense,” he said after a few moments. “I love your absolute faith in me, by the way. If there were any serial killings in this town, the mob would come after me first.”

Steve sighed. “True that. Unfortunately.”

Eddie scooped the cooked eggs onto two plates, bringing them over to the table with a couple of forks.

They settled down to eat. After a few minutes of silence Steve asked. “You thinking of doing anything after the dance? I know we haven’t really talked about what we’re doing after.”

Eddie got that soft secret smile that made the butterflies in Steve’s stomach take flight. “There might be a couple of things I might have in mind.”

Steve shook his head fondly. “And let me guess, it’s a surprise and I’m not supposed to know?”

“Yup!” Eddie replied with a grin. “No eat up, I have plans for this morning...” he wagged his eyebrows suggestively.

Steve started immediately shoving egg into his face to Eddie’s cackling glee.

~

To say Steve was nervous would be a fucking understatement. He’d never been picked up for prom before and not knowing when Eddie was going to show up only made his anxiety spike further.

It wasn’t that Steve didn’t know when Eddie was going to leave to start picking everyone up, it was that Steve was third after Brian and Gareth, who were first and second respectively.

In his hand was a corsage for Eddie. It was black rose wrapped in a silver ribbon. And he was doing everything in his power not to crush the clear, plastic box it was in.

There was a knock on the door and Steve’s face fell a little when he saw it was Gareth at the door.

“Wow,” Gareth snarked, “don’t look all excited and shit to see me or whatever.”

“I–I guess I was expecting Eddie...” Steve muttered. He shook his head and tossed the box on the table. “I’m ready to go.”

Gareth frowned a little bit and then his expression cleared when he saw what was in the box. “Oh hell no.” He held up a finger and dashed back to the car. He yanked Eddie out of the driver’s seat and toward Steve’s door.

As they neared Steve heard Gareth grumble, “You are not fucking this up already!”

Eddie opened his mouth to protest when he saw Steve at the door looking dejected. He snapped it shut with an audible click. He saw the box on the table and looked back at Steve.

“You got me flowers?” he breathed. He couldn’t believe it. He had told Steve that he was taking care of everything.

But he forgot one thing and the fact that Wayne hadn’t brought it up, meant that Steve had gotten it for him as a surprise but told Wayne to keep Eddie from buying one for himself.

Steve gulped down the lump in his throat. “It’s just a silly corsage. The other guys aren’t wearing one, so I’ll just tak–” he reached up to remove his own white rose corsage when Eddie put his hands over Steve’s.

“No, sweetheart,” Eddie murmured. “I screwed up. I was supposed to be wooing you tonight and I already misstepped. I should have come to the door to pick you up. That wasn’t fair to you.”

“It’s not a big deal,” he mumbled still trying to remove his corsage.

Eddie took his face in his hands and pressed their foreheads together. “Baby, it is. Because it’s important to you. So what we’re going to do is, you’re going to stop trying to remove yours so it doesn’t get ruined,” and immediately Steve’s hands dropped to Eddie’s waist. “Good boy, now the next thing you’re going to do is pin that pretty flower you got for me on my leather jacket and then we’ll go get Jeff, okay?”

Steve let out a shuddering breath and then nodded. Then with trembling hands he took the black rose out of the box and pulled out the pin that would be used to attach it to Eddie’s jacket lapel.

Eddie wrapped his hands gently around Steve’s quivering hands again, this time to calm him. “Take your time, Stevie.”

Steve took a deep breath and looked Eddie in the eyes.

“There you are, princess,” Eddie cooed at how much calmer he looked now. “If it helps, I can knock on the door and we can start over.”

Steve shook his head but took a step back. He brought Eddie’s lips to his and kissed him deeply. “This will just be some stupid story we tell our grandkids when we’re old and grey.”

Eddie burst out laughing. “Only a month in and you’re already planning our grandkids! And I thought I moved fast.”

“Nope!” Steve teased, kissing him again. “You move fast, I move faster.”

Eddie giggled as a more confident Steve pinned the corsage to his leather jacket. They walked out and got into the LeBaron. Steve hopped into the back seat with Gareth who grumbled under his breath.

“I told him he should have gone up there and not send someone else, but noooo,” he muttered darkly. “I’m a little squashmore who’s never gone on a date in my life, what would I know?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Eddie huffed. “Rub it in. And where oh font of wisdom did you gain such knowledge, hmm?”

Gareth erupted, throwing his arms in the air. “I watch movies!” he huffed as Eddie pulled out of the driveway. “My mom and brother love romantic comedies. The dude always goes to the door unless he’s meant to be the douchebag loser.”

Steve burst out laughing. “He’s got you there, Eds.”

“Mistake made,” Eddie said dryly, “lesson learned.”

They got to Jeff’s, who’s mother had gotten Brian, Gareth and her son all corsages. They all had a single red rose to match Eddie’s black and Steve’s white roses.

“Ooh,” Eddie murmured. “Uncle Wayne was playing the long game, wasn’t he? He told you not get me and Steve corsages because Steve had them covered, didn’t he?”

Mrs. Laurence shook her head, barely containing her smile. “Steve coordinated it with me and I filled your uncle in.”

Eddie shook his head fondly and took Steve’s hand.

She took pictures of everyone in the tuxes and then sent them off with a wave.

~

Dinner was amazing. Especially with Steve gently guiding them with which forks to use, the meal was delicious and company was even better.

Their waiter even commented that he wished him and his friends had thought about just getting dressed up anyway and going to prom as friends. It would have been better than them sitting at home eating pizza and feeling sorry for themselves.

Steve just smiled up at him as the rest of them filled him on the rest of their plans. Well... all but Eddie anyway.

They got to the dance and while Mrs. Click was absolutely fuming, she couldn’t bar their entry because there was nothing in the rules that said they had to bring dates and as long as they had their tickets, she had to let them in.

Eddie took great pleasure in smiling at her as they walked into the gym.

The theme was of course Sweethearts so the gym was decked out in hearts of every size and of every shade of pink and red imaginable.

Steve chuckled as Jeff and Brian gagged. Gareth smacked them upside their heads and went off in search of punch, the other two boys shuffling behind him.

Eddie and Steve stood at the entrance a moment.

Eddie rocked back and forth on the balls on his feet, shoving his hands in his pockets to hide how never he felt. “So what do you do at a dance when you can’t dance with the one you want to?”

Steve looked over at him and tilted his head. “Make yourself as big a menace as possible, of course.”

Eddie grinned as Steve grabbed his wrist and they melted into the crowd.

~

About an hour into it, Eddie led Steve away from all the loud music and sweltering mass of teenage bodies.

“Eddie!” Steve protested with a laugh. “Where are you taking me?”

Eddie just cackled and kept pulling him along. They got the drama room and Steve was amazed he could hear the music.

“How?” he whispered.

Eddie grinned again. “They have speakers in here from the gym. They’re usually turned off as some brave stage crew managed to figure out a way to stop it from streaming in so kids could practice their lines and shit and not have to listen to basketball scores, but I got someone to turn them on for us.”

Steve turned to him in shock. “Us?”

Eddie nodded and led Steve further into the drama room. It was decorated in fairy lights and sparkling hearts.

“Oh, Eds...” Steve breathed. “It’s beautiful.”

“I paid one of the drama kids to do this for me so I could surprise you,” he murmured.

Just then a soft love song came over the speakers and he held out his hand to Steve. “Dance with me.”

Steve let out a watery chuckle and folded into Eddie’s arms. They danced cheek to cheek to the music and were still dancing slowly when the song changed to something more upbeat.

“I was so worried I couldn’t dance with you up there,” he murmured into Eddie’s ear, “and then you went and found a way for us to do it down here instead. God, I love you so much, sunshine.”

They kissed and danced until the announcement came over the speakers that they were crowning the prom king and queen. They walked back to the gym hand in hand.

“I tried to get myself removed from the ballot,” Steve said softly just as they reached the doors. “I told them that I didn’t want even be here, but they refused. Said that I was nominated by someone else and only they could remove from the ballot. They wouldn’t even tell me who. But then you came along and I still don’t want to be prom king, but I figured at least being here with you would be worth the price of admission.”

Eddie smiled and kissed him gently. “I think you’d look pretty in a crown, darlin’.”

Steve let out a nervous giggle. “You would.”

They let go of their hands and walk back in.

Steve made prom king. Like everyone assumed he would. And even though Billy hadn’t been on the ballot he came in second place with a lot of write-ins. Steve suspected that Billy had actually won, but as he wasn’t on the ballot and the principal not wanting it to go to a thug like Billy Hargrove had cinched Steve’s bid for the crown.

Prom queen was Tammy Thompson. Which she obviously had insider knowledge of when she broadly hinted to him to take her to prom. She even hissed about him probably wishing he had taken her when he had the chance as to not leave her poor date standing there on the sidelines.

Steve just smiled and nodded and suffered through their dance.

Once it was all done, he handed the bouquet of flowers to Jeff, the sash to Gareth and the crown to Brian.

“You’ve got nothing left, baby,” Eddie murmured as they walked out of the gym and into the darkened halls of the high school.

He gave Eddie’s hand a quick squeeze. “No, Eds. I’ve got you.”

That night after they had done all their after dance activities, they would make love in the back of the LeBaron under the stars at the quarry after they had dropped everyone else off and in the morning after they waved off the LeBaron as Wayne drove it back to the rent shop, Steve would drag Eddie back into the shelter of the trailer and kiss him senseless.

But until then, they had each other and that was enough.

~

Also if you saw this yesterday NO NO YOU DID NOT!

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[shannonallaround]

ok but can we talk about Sonic's characterization in Murder of Sonic the Hedgehog for a minute?

Spoilers ahead

Sonic only appears in about a third of the Murder of Sonic game, but his characterization in there is one of my FAVORITE characterizations that I've seen in him in years. Yes, even slightly beating Frontiers (and I adore Frontiers, just for the record). Sonic here embodies all the things I love most in him. It's amazing. Here's a list of why he's great

He is unassuming.

From the very beginning of this game, Sonic is so humble. Like, actually humble.

When the conductor speaks with him and thanks him genuinely for fighting against Eggman, Sonic doesn't make a snarky face and be like "all in a day's work!" or something humble-braggy like that (which frankly is something I feel he would do in the comics). Instead, Sonic is surprised and genuinely expresses how it's no big deal and that he's just glad the conductor and his family are safe.

Sonic is just a guy who loves adventure. He's not trying to get attention or impress anybody—he's just happy people are safe and well. I love how that is shown here. He doesn't need to tell people how selfless and kind and good he is, he just is. Sonic doesn't need or want to tell people what he stands for. He doesn't care what others think. He doesn't think about his identity constantly; he just is. (In my opinion, people who feel the need to constantly tell you what their character is like rarely actually have the traits they describe. If they actually are those things, it will come out naturally in their speech and actions.) In this game, Sonic simply is. What is this, late 2000s Sonic?? It's amazing.

2. He is encouraging in a private way.

One of the biggest reasons Sonic felt off to me in Forces (even though I have a soft spot for that game) is because there, he constantly spouts off in a very public way stuff about friendship and not letting fear own you and how 'we can do anything if we stick together', etc. Sonic does believe all of those things, and he is definitely optimistic, but it's largely internal. It's instinctive. Sonic loves to encourage people around him, but he does it on an individual, one-on-one basis. He does this with Shahra in Secret Rings, with Merlina in Black Knight, regularly with Tails, and here with the main character when they get concerned about how they weren't assertive enough when they first felt Sonic was in danger.

Sonic doesn't just brush off the main character's concern either. He addresses and recognizes it for what it is, empathizing with them and helping them feel understood. Only after that does he recommend a way forward in his wonderful Sonic way, which encourages the main character and helps them find strength. It's so natural and it's awesome!

3. Sonic is selfless, also in an unassuming way.

When Sonic starts coming to, after briefly confirming Espio hit him with the dart (since Tails asked), Sonic instantly focuses on the safety of his friends.

He hasn't fully recovered yet at all and he IMMEDIATELY focuses on protecting his friends and it's AWESOME. He can't even fully speak at this point and just ajsahdfjadsjlajf. This aspect of Sonic is much more consistently done in the games and was beautifully done in Frontiers, so it's not nearly as big a deal here but I am still so happy about the consistency.

4. Sonic is SO AMAZING AND SWEET WITH HIS DEAR FRIEND AMY.

Need I say more? :)

This game was released as a joke, and yet it was incredible??? EVERYONE was so well characterized in this! I'm gonna be thinking about this game for a very long time.

If any of the creators see this, thank you so so SO much for making this game awesome! :D

[cirilla-fiona-riannon]

Make Me Feel Alive Episode 1

Gilbert von Obsidian's Birthday Story

This is simply a fan translation and is not intended as a replacement for the game. Expect grammatical errors.

As Christmas and the end of the year drew near, the chilly season brought a sense of excitement to everyone's hearts.

In the Obsidian Castle, a scene that unfolded regularly once a month continued to take place right before my eyes.

Gilbert: "Hey, Walter. Can't you stop using Emma so casually?"

Gilbert: "She threatened me with a 'no touching' order if I didn't come to the infirmary, you know?"

Gilbert, sitting on the bed and buttoning his shirt, turned his red eyes toward me, clearly sulking.

Gilbert: "I'll kill anyone who gets close to Emma."

Walter: "It's just a matter of you going for regular check-ups willingly."

Walter: "Relying on Roderich every single time to keep you in check also has its limits."

Gilbert: "Your check-ups are too frequent and troublesome."

Walter: "Your body needs a little more caution. You had a high fever just the other day."

Gilbert: "Even normal, healthy people get a fever sometimes."

Walter: "How many times do I have to tell you that you are prone to serious illnesses? And do you want to make your fiancée cry again?"

Gilbert: "Yeah, I want to make her cry. I want to make her cry a lot."

Emma: "Prince Gilbert."

The other day, when Gilbert seemed off, I touched his skin and felt a warmth that was completely opposite to his usual coldness. His breathing seemed abnormal, so I hurriedly went to call Walter.

(I was really worried, but he doesn't seem to care at all.)

Gilbert: "You're also exaggerating."

Emma: "I’m really worried about you."

Gilbert: "Poor thing."

(No use. He's clearly enjoying himself.)

Walter: "Roderich, your master is too evil."

Roderich: "Doctor, he is also your master."

Walter: "Damn it."

Gilbert: "Hm? What's that? You want a salary cut?"

Walter: "It's an honor to serve such a wonderful master like you!"

Gilbert: "Fufu, is that so?"

(I've been getting used to this atmosphere.)

Gilbert generally avoided unnecessary interactions with people.

However, he seemed to trust Roderich and Walter to some extent, and they often had lively and dangerous conversations like this.

(Right! Since Gilbert's associates are all here and his regular checkup is over, I think now is just the right time.)

Emma: "By the way, it's almost your birthday."

Emma: "How do you usually celebrate it?"

Walter & Roderich: "........."

Emma: "Um..."

(Huh? What's with this atmosphere?)

As soon as the topic of "birthday" was brought up, Walter, who was usually talkative, and Roderich, who silently watched the situation from the sidelines, both shut their mouths.

Their expressions held a tension that you couldn't just dismiss easily.

(Did I say something wrong?)

Emma: "Could it be that birthdays are not celebrated at Obsidian?"

Gilbert: "No, regular households do celebrate properly. Birthdays are special no matter which country you're in."

Emma: "Then, what's with this atmosphere?"

Emma: "You mentioned the other day that it was almost your birthday."

Gilbert: "Yeah, because I thought you'd be particular about such things."

(So it's not exactly taboo.)

Walter and Roderich both lowered their heads.

Only Gilbert continued to smile.

Gilbert: "My birthday is something celebrated by those who want to die."

Episode 1 ╎ Episode 2 ╎ Episode 3

[galedekarios]

also re: the last gale art i reblogged

when i have the spoons to do so, i'd also very much like to talk about gale and depression and him being high functioning. it's an extremely heavy topic, but i think it's one of those things - if not the thing - that resonated the most with me on a personal level while experiencing his story for the first time, and it still does now almost a year later.

his isolation, his deep loneliness, gale using his magic to create an escape for his mind when he felt there was none for his body and withdrawing from the circumstances surrounding him as much as he was still able to, while still feeling mystra's disappointment echoing through the weave the moment he tapped into it - which is something that we know from his origin playthrough hurts him more than anything else (in that case it's related to elminster, but i think we can draw the conclusion here as well).

gale's social circle slowly withering away, one by one, until it's not a circle anymore, but a pinhead. enough to only include tara now. and even with tara, we know he's expecting to become too much of a burden, too much of a hassle ("i feared she had abandoned me." he says in act 3, after his long time away). he's waiting for the other shoe to drop even with his own familiar. i'm sure he wished to have her by his side even when he rationally knew that she had to leave to find a cure - or to at least find means to stave off his condition. he fekt he couldn't burden the only immediate family he still has left: morena. afraid of shaming her, afraid of burdening her, afraid of putting her in danger.

despite all that, he manages to leave waterdeep, to seek a cure for himself, or at the least not present a danger to thousands of people around him, once he recognised he was no longer able to treat his condition.

and when we meet him there is almost no immediate trace of all that, he masks it with smiles and politeness and humour. he's friendly. affable. unflappable. he cooks, he fights, he reads, he's well kept, despite tara's nagging about eating regularly in gale's origin playthrough. you'd never know. you only get a sense of melancholy sometimes (his first camp scene, staring into the fire, unsure of what the tadpole means for him and, more importantly, the orb), when it's all too much and he hasn't calmed himself yet, hasn't quieted his mind fully ("i need to retrace my steps to a glade of calm and think").

what a difference a day makes.

(still, he's opening himself up a bit again, re-learning to live again, travelling with people he may have not met otherwise, some of whom have become his friends. it feels good to chat, it feels good to tell stories, to share knowledge and meals, and to not be alone.)

and even when it all comes crashing down around him in act 2, he receives mystra's orders with quiet acceptance and a smile. he thanks elminster. he's glad it was him. he deflects your concern and doesn't engage with the deeper meaning of what it means to do as he was asked. oh you know him, don't you. he's an optimist. it's all not so bad. at least his death will have meaning. at least he'll have forgiveness.

it's only much later that he lets himself acknowledge how scared truly is. terrified, he says. and even then, he marches on.

anyhow, excuse my disjointed rambling, i just have a lot of thoughts about it all.

[wooahaes]

an act of caring for others

pairing: non-idol!husband!s.coups x gn!reader

genre: fluff. married life au. grad student!cheol mentions.

word count: 1.0k~

warnings: food mentions. sappy loving domestic life <3

daisy's notes: hes just so husband shaped idk what to tell u

In your married life, you never expected to become the kind of couple who hosted dinner parties regularly. 

Maybe “regularly” wasn’t the best word for it. It wasn’t as though the two of you hosted these nights every month or anything. Simply put: you learned a couple things in your two years of marriage. One was that several of your grad student husband’s friends were crushed underneath the weight of classes and jobs (you, thankfully, only had a job to worry about). Two was that a few of his friends couldn’t cook to save their lives (Wonwoo and Soonyoung and sometimes Vernon…). And three: you genuinely, truly loved cooking for other people. This one wasn’t exactly new, though. Sure, you loved cooking for your now-husband while the two of you were dating (sometimes he’d help where he could, always in love with the domesticity of it), but you loved cooking for your friends and family, too. 

A little over a year ago, you had invited his friends over with this ‘bring a side dish or a dessert, but you don’t have to if you don’t want to’ tacked onto the message. Hell, you’d mentioned that they could bring a lunchbox if they’d like to take leftovers—but they’d have to settle things out themselves. It was during that first night that you really got to listen to a few of them talking about life. You and Seungcheol were pretty lucky to not have to worry too heavily about things, since your job paid pretty damn well and you both also had family to fall back onto. But Joshua had been talking about how he kinda missed being in the U.S. sometimes because his mom only visited so often, and when you heard Seungkwan talk about missing Jeju and his family…

Well. It tugged at your heartstrings enough to ask Seungcheol how he felt about maybe picking a day every few months so that most of his friends could come together for a meal. He’d agreed pretty easily, admitting his own concerns over people like Junhui and Minghao who didn’t have family here. So the two of you started hosting little dinners here and there, always for people who were feeling homesick. Sometimes that would mean Seungkwan would call you up and ask if he could join the two of you sometime, other times it was Jun saying he would come help make dinner and Minghao would bring wine. 

Other times were like today: you and Seungcheol waking up early on a day you didn’t have to work, and immediately getting started in the kitchen after you’d had breakfast. This time, Seungcheol would have to stop helping in order to study for a bit since he had a test tomorrow morning in one of his classes, but that was fine. It was the prepwork that was the most hell, in your opinion: endless chopping and whatnot. 

You couldn’t help but admire him now. He was standing near the fridge, glasses sliding down his nose as he studied a recipe book, hair half-pulled up. Sometimes you thought that you would marry him again if he asked you, no matter how silly that would be. 

“You’re staring again,” he hummed, smiling. 

“I’m admiring, thank you.” 

He chuckled, turning to kiss you as you came closer. “I’m doing the math in my head,” he said, turning back to the book. “I might have to run to the store for more of this…” He tapped at something on the page, although you didn’t really care to look. You were still admiring him. He noticed a second later, and smiled into another soft kiss. “I hate that you’ll have to do the majority of the work this time…”

“I don’t mind,” you said. “I care about you and your friends. You can’t help that you need to study,” you wrapped your arms around his shoulders. “You’re almost done, y’know?”

“I know,” he said, dragging out the word. His arms wrapped around your waist, drawing you in closer. “But you already do a lot for me. Other people would be annoyed—”

“And other people aren’t me, so I don’t care. You’re studying hard to get farther,” you said. “I wouldn’t have married you if I didn’t support you.” 

He smiled again, a charming look in his eyes as he gazed at you. Seungcheol was always so soft when he was near you, to the point where the tender look on his face was enough to make you cry on your wedding day. In turn, it made him cry, so you considered the two of you even. “I love you,” he said, soft as a promise. “Let me know if you change your mind and want Jun to come help. He said he didn’t mind—”

“It feels wrong to say yes,” you admitted. “I mean… We’re hosting. All the others need to do is show up.”

“Jun knows how many people we’re cooking for,” Seungcheol said. “There’s nothing wrong with needing help. Especially when I can’t help you.” 

With a sigh, you nodded. “I’ll think about it. Are you going to the store now?”

“Are you coming with me?”

Normally, you would… But duty called. You had things to keep working on. “Grab me something sweet?”

“I’ll be coming back—”

You swatted at his arm, but fell only deeper in love with the warm way he laughed at his own dumb joke. “Something chocolate, please,” you said. “We can share it if you want.” 

He stole one final kiss from you before he stepped away. “Whatever you want,” he promised. 

You purposefully waited until he was about to leave to call out to him. “I love you, too.” 

And, oh, that warm smile on his face made all of this work worth it. You would kiss that smile when the two of you went to bed tonight, exhausted from the long day and dinner that you had to put away any remains of when it was all said and done. And you would kiss that smile again tomorrow morning, just to remind him that you knew he could ace it.

taglist: @twancingyunhao @wonuziex @staranghae @synthetickitsune @weird-bookworm

[crazy-grrrl-on-the-computer]

Here I am back at it again with the Boueibu food analyses //bricked

I’ve been staring at the Melon Monster for years, trying to unpack what “the melon was just playing melon” and “melons are tops” meant because it’s definitely interesting wording, but nothing was coming up… until I came across a collection of articles and videos talking about the Yubari King Melon, a hybrid cantaloupe that has been specifically cultivated for its desired traits and is subsequently considered “the best melon” in Japan.

To be considered a top-grade melon, one must be perfectly round and have an exceptionally smooth rind. Upon harvest, part of the stem is left on top to add to its aesthetic appeal. [x]

Hmmmm don’t you look familiar!

As the Melon Monster alludes to, the Japanese fruit industry is an interesting rabbit hole to fall down, but this video offers a pretty good insight into the Yubari melon specifically.

According to this article, the Prince melon was developed in Japan and first sold in 1961, gaining immediate popularity in average households due to its low price. On the opposite end of the melon spectrum, the Yubari melon (developed in 1951) is exclusively grown in Yubari, Hokkaido and is so expensive it is considered a luxury fruit, which is in no small part due to its limited availability each year and sought after sweetness/aroma. Yubari melons are often given as gifts to show appreciation during the summer gift-giving season Ochugen and there are annual auctions where pairs of these melons regularly sell for millions of yen.

Furthermore, according to another article I found, the history of melons in Japan goes all the way back to the Makuwa (oriental melon), which Uriya gets his name from and which allegedly came to Japan during the Yayoi period (3rd century BC to 3rd century) via China. How prestigious! That certainly explains the choice of costume and no wonder the poor Melon Monster remarks that his existence is anachronistic when told by his peers that melon is just another fruit nowadays!

Here he is, trying his best to be a Yubari melon, cherry-picking what he thinks are his best and most interesting traits in an attempt to meet the expectations of others around him as someone with value, and the Battle Lovers immediately curb stomp every single one of his efforts by not only outsmarting him in the most effortless way possible (using the internet to solve his riddles and surviving his traps as though they were a children's obstacle course) but mistaking him for a common melon. The melon (Makuwa) was only playing melon… playing at something he could never hope to be… pretending that anyone could ever see value in him. But he is only an ordinary melon, so why would anyone go the extra mile for that?

[With this in mind, I feel like this monster must have sprung into existence as a result of a conversation about the popularity of melons similar to the origin of the Chikuwabu Monster (many thanks again to @intra-fiducia for the wonderful translations!! <3). XD]

On a side note, I wrote briefly about the paulownia box being a representation of how Uriya is trapped by his own anxieties and self-consciousness in his attempt to meet everyone’s expectations, but I didn’t realize that sometimes the gift of melon is delivered very cutely in one. So there’s an extra layer to that line about no longer needing to stay in one! Melon can be enjoyed in many forms and varieties, like the Battle Lovers said! He doesn’t have to be the best because the people who like melon pan, melon soda, and shaved ice will like him just the same for what he already is.

[josephquinnswhore]

Hi! I'm not sure if you're taking requests but i wanted to ask if you could write one with Pedro where they're dating but reader is not famous, she is actually a young artist that runs a small business on Instagram. And everyone is shocked that he's with her, but he is so proud of being her boyfriend and is VERY supportive of her both in private and in public. That's, thank you 😊💕

the actor and the artist - pedro pascal x artist! female reader

Summary: you’re hosting your first ever art show and the paparazzi make you wonder if you’re good enough.

Word Count: 1.4K

Content Warning: age gap relationship, insecure reader.

Note: I fking love this request @rosaliedepp *kisses your forehead* I hope you love it. 🫶🏼💜

You remember where you first started, selling your artwork on Etsy, your prices were so cheap they undermined the hours of hard work, pain, sweat and tears that went into them, still you only managed to sell 3 works in about 12 months, you were stumped. Feeling like you should just give up, like it was a lost cause and your art wasn’t really as good as you originally thought it was. Until it happened.

You thought it was a scam at first, these scammers were getting crafty these days and the Pedro Pascal, messaging you on Etsy wanting a custom piece? Come on, didn’t seem likely and you weren’t stupid. You remember asking him to DM you on Instagram, his offical page, giving the email your username on Insta and within minutes receiving a direct message from the Pedro Pascal’s offical Instagram page that at the time, had 2.4 million followers, the white tick surrounded by the blue circle was confirmation it was really him and not some bot, or scammer.

He had been generous in his compliments on your works, even suggested making a business Instagram account to gain more traction, within the hour of messaging he had placed an order and left a very generous tip, he had even followed you and kept in contact regularly upon the arrival of his artwork, you figured it was because he didn’t trust you after he had sent that much money.

It was the opposite of what you thought that kept him talking with you, he thought you were sweet, talented and had real potential and knew he could help you where you needed it; not lacking in talent but recognition. If people actually saw your artwork, people would buy them. And they did, once they saw that Pedro had uploaded an image of your artwork in his house, that he followed you, your page blew up overnight, and you had Pedro to thank for it.

Which leads you to the present, two years later and 12 months of you two officially being a couple, even though things were fairly ‘new’ for the two of you, people had suspected things had been going on for longer. People of course had said their two cents online and you opted to ignore it.

Here you were in the cold evening of New York City, in a gallery room that was cleared just for your artwork, which would be showcased then auctioned, you had heard some big names were invited, ones in which you were terrified to see, let alone meet.

“You doing okay sweetheart?” Pedro’s voice scared you, pulling you back to reality as the room was half filled with people, something you’d failed to notice in your dissociative state. You offer him a smile as he hands you a glass filled with champagne.

“A bit nervous, hoping this will help.” You take a sip, your red lipstick that matches your ruby red silk, spaghetti strap dress, smears on the rim of the glass, you clutch your purse as a last resort for stress relief, feeling the tension build as more people arrive.

“I’m shitting myself, what if they don’t sell, what if they don’t like it? What if they don’t like me?” Your rambling makes Pedro chuckle, he steps towards you, his matching burgundy suit presses against your dress clad skin. His free hand caresses your hand and your hair tickles his fingers as you lean into him.

“They’ll be stupid not to love you, or your artwork. You’ve got this sweetheart.” You look at the genuine look on his face and can’t help but fall in love all over again, this man was truly a blessing in your life.

“You’re right, I’m powerful and wonderful and a fucking great artist. To us baby.” You clink your glasses together before throwing your head back, swallowing the liquid for courage before walking to the stage that had a microphone and your most iconic artwork on the wall behind you.

You’re standing in front of dozens of well known celebrities, but the champagne gives you the courage to smile at them as they watch you with wondering eyes. “Thank you all so much for joint us this evening. It’s truly an honour to host this event and to have you all here. Just a reminder that 35% of all purchases goes to the highest sellers choice of charity.”

The group cheer as you welcome them, pleased by your selflessness to give away money to donate to charity, Pedro is standing by himself off to the left of the stage and you give him a sweet smile.

“I wouldn’t be here without my biggest supporter, he’s changed my life for the better. This is the biggest moment of my life and thank you all for joining me along on this journey. The auction begins in 15 minutes so please don’t go anywhere. Stay and enjoy as long as you like, have a wonderful evening everyone.”

The applause goes straight to your head, people clapping and cheering for you as you walk off the stage, meeting Pedro at his side and giving him a kiss on the cheek, he doesn’t mind that you leave a lip shaped lipstick stain on his skin.

The auction is intense, your latest piece was the biggest success, it was sold for $360,000. That to you, was insane, you had earned that much money on one artwork. The years of hardworking was finally coming to pay off, not to mention one charity of a buyers choice was going to have received a very hefty donation.

“I can’t fucking believe it, that was insane. Thank you so much for coming with me, I couldn’t have done it without you.” You muse as you’re locking up the store, Pedro blushes at your compliment. “You did this all yourself sweetheart, money can’t buy talent.”

You shiver as the cold air hits your bare shoulders, the skin forming goosebumps immediately, your teeth are chatting at the freezing temperatures, curing yourself for not bringing a jacket. Pedro takes off his suit jacket, leaving him in his long sleeve-white button up dress shirt as he wraps the jacket around you, the smell and warmth of him bring you back to reality. The warmth holds you in its grasp.

“You didn’t have to do that, thank you.” You look up at him, thankful for the kind gesture. “Of course I did sweetheart, let’s get you home.” The perfect moment between you was spoiled as you see and hear paparazzi come swarming and shouting in your direction, probably after seeing the event posted online.

“Hey Pedro Pascal! What’s it like dating someone not talented on your level? Is it because you want a normal life?” The man snaps pictures of you and Pedro together, holding hands and Pedro shielding you from the cameras as the flash is blinding you.

“She is more talented than me. She’s an incredible artist, not that I have to justify it. Please leave us alone we’re very tired.” Pedro takes your hand and you try to walk away to get to his car which was parked right outside of the gallery, was it a good idea, no. Was it convenient, yes.

“What’s it like dating someone significantly younger, do you think she’s dating you for the money?” Pedro opens your door and puts your seatbelt on for you, before shutting the door and turning to the men following him.

“She’s the most genuine person I’ve ever met, not that it’s any of your business. Goodnight.”

He turns and makes his way to the car, starting it and driving off away from the flashes that blinded his eyes only moments ago. He notices you’re quiet, too quiet.

“Are you okay?” He seemed to be asking that a lot lately.

“I don’t know. They’re just mean, I love you Pedro, I do. I just don’t know how you deal with that- it’s so invasive and just horrible the things they’re saying about me, about us.”

His hand rubs your bare knee as he drives, his eyes not leaving the road until he comes to a red light mere streets from your shared apartment, “don’t listen to a word they say. They’re just looking for a reaction. If you’re happy then we’re good. I know I’m the happiest I’ve ever been with you.”

“You always know the right things to say Pedro.”

“I gotta keep my girl happy, don’t I?” You can’t help but smile at the comment, he truly was a blessing.

[steddiehasmywholeheart]

Happily Ever After

(TW/CW for typical sexist thinking)

When Beauty and the Beast comes out in 1991, despite the fact that El is almost 20, she decides she wants to go and see it with her and her family. She adored The Little Mermaid, and after the Family Video days, going to the movies is still something her and the party like to do together. And Steve loves it, because he gets to watch cheesy romance storylines without taking shit for it.

But at the tender age of 24, not in a long-term relationship, and still haunted by his days in school, Beauty and the Beast hits Steve a little close to home. He sees himself in the Beast, wonders if he'll ever find love, if he'll ever stop being 'too much' for people (because sure, he doesn't have the Beast's temper, but he is too clingy, his exes - yes, all of them - made sure to tell him, and that's without all the other stuff).

And it's not like he's hopped into bed with every viable option in the years since they finally killed Vecna, either. He's really only had 3 relationships in that time, carefully vetted and deliberated upon before even starting the relationship, because he'd known then what it was like to have his heartbroken, and he was not in a rush to repeat that. Besides, his kids came first, and there was a lot of rebuilding to do. But despite everything, none of his girlfriends had lasted, not between the secrets of the Upside Down, the head trauma, the nightmares, and his 'cloying' nature.

He leaves the theatre with an ache in his chest, but tries to keep a smile on his face as they all pile into the nearest burger joint and talk about the movie and life in general. Only Eddie notices something's off, quirking an eyebrow at him. Steve, of course, waves him off with a poor excuse for a smile.

When it's time for them to all disperse, Steve drives straight to his current girlfriend's house as previously planned, not noticing the worried look Eddie shoots his way. Steve tries to hide his mood from his girlfriend, tries not to hug her for too long when she greets him at the door, knowing from much previous experience that girls don't like it when you're not the strong one, but he just can't shake the feeling that he's being torn apart from the inside out. He just can't help but think about how Belle was willing to change for the Beast; adjust her expectations, adapt her behaviour, be patient with him, and communicate instead of sending him weird, incomprehensible messages then get pissed when he doesn't understand. Why can't he have that? Is he even worthy of that? Why the fuck is it easier to justify redemption for a fictional beast than himself?

But his girlfriend sighs, unfooled, and won't leave him alone until he's honest about it because it's putting a damper on her night. And Steve, unprepared and entirely lost, just stammers out: 'I just... I want Disney love, you know?'

His girlfriend snorts at him, tells him Disney love doesn't exist, and that he just needs to be a man and get on with it.

Normally, Steve would force a laugh, tell her she's right, bury his feelings and try to do just that. But tonight? Tonight it breaks him. Before he knows what he's doing, he's up and muttering 'I don't think this is working' and gets straight back in his car, barely hearing her calling his name, confused and angry and exasperated. He doesn't notice where he's driving until he's already pulled up outside Eddie and Wayne's house, bought with the hush-money from the government.

He shuts off the engine and just sits there, debating what to do. The truth is, Eddie is just as much his best friend as Robin - even more so, sometimes, just in a different way Steve can't explain. Eddie always knows when he's upset, and knows exactly how to hug him - which he does, regularly. Eddie know when to steer him outside if it's too loud and going to trigger a migraine, and seems to know when he needs to eat, even though Eddie himself can barely keep himself fed. And Steve knows just when Eddie's going to get overstimulated and needs to be given something to focus on to calm him down, or when Eddie's had a bad night with nightmares, and needs someone to fall asleep with on the phone, just to know someone's there with him. He knows just when Eddie needs someone he can talk to about his new campaign, because everyone in work would complain so much if Eddie rambled on there. And Steve enjoys listening to him, so why wouldn't he encourage Eddie to speak to him?

They're best friends. And right now, he needs one of Eddie's hugs. It's just he's not normally so pathetically desperate when he turns up.

The decision is made for him when the front door opens and Eddie leans against the frame, a knowing smile on his face, practically screaming 'well, are you gonna come in or what?'. And even though he fights it, Steve can't stop the tears from welling as he gets out of the car and throws himself straight into Eddie's open arms.

"Whoa whoa, hey big boy, it's okay," Eddie soothes, bringing his arms around him and squeezing with just the right amount of pressure as sobs bubble up in Steve's throat.

"That's it, let it out," Eddie adds, and fuck does it make Steve melt.

Somehow - Steve really doesn't know how - Eddie gets the door closed and brings him to the sofa, manoeuvring him until Steve is curled up on his chest, face pressed into his neck, just safe and warm and whole in his arms, despite feeling so broken. And eventually, when Steve's calmed down enough to sniffle his way through an explanation, Eddie's warm hand in the centre of his back pulling too-honest word after too-honest word out of him, instead of laughing it off or being cagey as he normally would, Eddie's there, blowing out a breath, saying 'That sucks man,' and calling his girlfriend a bitch. Well, ex-girlfriend.

"She's not. Not really." Steve mumbles. "She's probably right, anyway. Disney love doesn't exist. I just- I just want someone that wants all of me, you know? Why show us that on screen if it doesn't exist in real life?"

"It does exist, man," Eddie says, but his tone is off. It's... sad, somehow. Like he's in pain. Steve blinks at him, and within seconds, a blush is covering Eddie's cheeks.

"Er, I just mean that it is out there, and you'll definitely find it," he says, tone now too bright and too enthusiastic.

".... But." Steve prompts.

"No, no buts. You can have it, and I'm sure you will!"

Steve tilts his head to the side. "Okay... so why did you sound.. like that?"

Eddie rakes his fingers through his hair - Steve never understood how his rings didn't catch in his curls.

"I, well, it's just that sometimes... the people who could love us like that have wanted to for a long time, and we've never noticed..."

Eddie's biting his lip, his voice trailing off into nothing, and legs practically vibrating with how fast he's tapping them. And Steve can't breathe.

"Eds?" he croaks.

"It just sucks that you're straight," Eddie forces out a laugh. "Because, assuming you'd be happy with a freak like me? I'd... gods Stevie, I'd give you everything."

Steve stares at him, at the bright pink of his cheeks, the deeper red of his lips (that are going to get darker if he keeps biting them like that), at the hair he's always been just a little bit obsessed with, and feels warmth and hope bloom where air should be.

"Eds... who says I'm straight?"

It's absolutely not what he expects to come out of his mouth. He'd never questioned his sexuality, even when Will and Mike finally got together. But now, how can he know he's anything but? It's like all the stars have magically aligned and suddenly, a new path has been made clear to him. The one he should have been on years ago.

Eddie's eyes snap to his, and Steve still cannot breathe, drowning in the hope, the fear, the devotion there. He wants to whimper. Almost does.

"Wh- what?"

Steve swallows. "For you, Eds? I'd be anything."

And it's different this time. Saying those words. He's used to them being a promise to become something he's not, to put everyone and their needs ahead of himself. But with Eddie, he knows he's never be taken advantage of like that. That Eddie would do exactly the same for him.

Eddie's hand cups his cheek, the callouses from his guitar sending tingles down Steve's spine, and Steve wants to cry all over again as Eddie whispers, hesitant and hopeful, "Be mine?"

Licking his lips, Steve swallows past his thumping heart.

"For forever, and happily ever after."

[scariusaquarius]

It's criminal I've never said it but I re-read those epileptic Reader/Leon headcanons you wrote regularly LMFAO they're a big comfort to me and I love how you characterize Leon <33 You're THE re4og Leon writer dare I say.

If headcanons are still open atm I was wondering if you're down to write some similar headcanons for Dean Winchester with an epileptic Reader? Tysm! (If you still write for him obviously, if not totally feel free to ignore this!)

Babe, i am ALWAYS writing for my boy, Dean Winchester heheh. I've just been a tad bit busy with writing my supernatural/transformers fic and irl that I haven't really been able to write much else!

Dean Winchester with an Epileptic Reader would include...

Let's remember that there are many different types of epilepsy and symptoms will display themselves differently. However, I will write about the general and most common type of epilepsy only this time. Let's get started<3

Tonic Clonic/Grand-mal seizures

Some people with epilepsy have been shown to have 'aura's before their seizures, which can be described as a feeling of euphoria or doom, deja vu, a loss of a sense (such as hearing or sight), or a gain of a sense (i.e. smelling food when there is none, hearing a ringing sound, etc).

Dean Winchester is somewhat of an aura for you: meaning, he knows when you're about to have a seizure before you do. I think it's been displayed throughout the series pretty well that Dean has a pretty wild sixth sense, and though we know Dean isn't psychic in any way, I think that he would learn your tells and pay attention to the signs of your seizures and warn you before you even realize what's happening.

Dean can be a bit of a worry-wart, but he's been a hunter for so long that he can react easily while under the pressure and adrenaline. So, if you have a seizure while Dean is around, you can be assured that he can take care of you.

He knows what to do when someone is having a seizure thanks to his years of medical knowledge due to his line of work, Sam, and research. So, rest-assured that Dean has your back when you don't.

Unless you are medicated and don't have as many seizures as you would while unmedicated, Dean is very reluctant to take you on hunts that are, in his terms, 'too dangerous'. Dean would probably only be comfortable with you being on simple hunts, like Salt 'N' Burns.

This doesn't mean that Dean thinks that you are weak, but he is trying to keep you safe in a way that he knows best, which means making you stay behind or only allowing you on simple, short hunts. The only time that Dean will call you onto a dangerous hunt is if he absolutely has no other option and needs backup.

Dean is very good at making sure that you take your medication and keeping track of how many you've taken for the day. He has an internal logbook in his head of when you've taken your meds and at what time.

If your seizures are extremely sudden, then I don't think Dean would be comfortable with you going on hunts at all. As much as it sucks, you are a liability and Dean doesn't want to take any risks.

When in the height of a seizure, Dean is very calm and will rub your arms, gently hold you close in a way that doesn't get in the way of the life-saving technique for seizures, and either talk or sing to you.

The first time that Dean encountered a seizure, he honestly thought you were being possessed :"") (that is, if you didn't tell him about your epilepsy at first). Sam was the one that knew what was happening and helped you through it while Dean worried his ass off beside you. (listen, i love him, but he can be a bit of an idiot sometimes.)

Dean isn't the greatest at time management unless it comes to hunts, but whenever he finds out about your epilepsy, he makes sure to write down when your doctors/neurology appointments are.

Dean will treat your epilepsy like it's a hunt in terms of research. He will spend hours researching about your diagnosis and how he can help you during a seizure.

do not expect him to not make seizure jokes because he will. He will stop if you say something to him about it, but he'll make a joke here and there. When you have to have an eeg though? He's cracking all of the terminator jokes.

I hope you enjoyed this! Thank you so much for the request, and I hope it was up to par with you

[am-i-the-asshole-official]

aita for not telling someone i know he’s being bullied?

⚠️ mentions of cancer + a suicide attempt

everyone mentioned here is in their 20s, with the youngest being 21 and the oldest being 28. none of the names used here are anyone’s actual names.

this is kind of a long story with a lot of moving parts and i can’t get into ALL of it so im trying to section JUST this off. basically i’ve had a group of friends for awhile. we met in a larger server and its a pretty big circle, so there is interpersonal drama aplenty. i stepped away from the bigger server and mainly maintained contact with 5-7 friends id made through a personal server and dm conversations.

one of the people in that server, erin (she/they) dm’d me to tell me they had to leave said personal server because they’d had a bit of an incident with 3 of the other members. they ended up telling me that they and the other 3 members had a group chat where they’d regularly talk shit about another person we know, bryce (he/him). apparently they all took something he said months ago WILDLY out of context to claim he’s a transmisogynist and therefore its fine that they bully him (this guy isn’t someone i’ve talked to very much since leaving but i do know him and we are on good terms. he can be a bit difficult to maintain conversations with but he very much is not a transmisogynist. also none of the people in this gc are transfem). like, they conspire in this group chat ways to make him feel bad. erin showed me some screenshots. its pretty textbook highschool mean girls behavior.

erin was also in this group chat and finally got fed up with them all and told them they need to stop trying to justify their actions. its pretty obvious bryce is not the bigot they’re saying he is and they’re just using that as an excuse to be cruel. the people in the group chat did not take that well so erin left and has also left any mutual servers they’re in with them.

she only told me all this because i offered to let her vent, but now im in kind of a rough spot morally. i think the correct thing to do here would be to let bryce know, but im being. kind of a coward about it.

this all may sound like im just throwing myself a pity party, but i am in a very, very bad spot right now. like i said, there was a ton of interpersonal drama in this group and i’ve been in the center of it before. it took a massive toll on me. so im not keen to get involved in drama in general, but also, mainly. i lost my best friend (minze, she/her) to cancer at the start of this year. i’ve known her since childhood and i’ve barely been able to function without her. we lived together. i still take care of her cat. we had the same birthday, and its coming up in a little over a week. i’ve been absolutely gutted knowing this is the first birthday ill spend without her in over a decade. i tried to kill myself a couple of weeks ago because i couldn’t bear the thought of it. i failed, obviously. and im fine at the moment but im definitely not perfectly well and im barely hanging on by a thread

i left the larger group because i couldn’t stand to be involved with everything going on. if i tell bryce about this group chat, i will be getting involved again. i dont think they know i know about it at this point but the only people who could tell him would be me and erin. even if i did it anonymously or asked him not to tell it would be incredibly easy to trace back to me. while im appalled to know my friends have been so viciously cruel to someone for no reason, since losing minze these people have been my only support network. they all knew minze, too. they’re some of the only people i can share memories of her with. i dont think i could process this grief alone

i know i need better friends but i don’t have them right now. i’ve sort of already got a strained relationship with some of them and i worry this could be the last straw and id just… lose them abruptly. and i know if that happened id put myself at risk again, because id be just as heavily suicidal but now with no one to confide in about it

bryce deserves to know. its the right thing to do, but it would cause me a dangerous amount of mental strain. but even though i say i don’t want to get involved i do feel, on some level, like i probably got involved the second i let erin even tell me about this. so i feel like im being a whiny dickhead and just making excuses but im just. im not willing to put myself through this again. not right now. aita?

What are these acronyms?

[astrangetorpedo]

Julien Baker on learning to articulate joy

by t. cole rachel 2/3/17

“I’m always afraid that the public will scorn songs about happiness out of a disbelief that it is genuine.”

Are you working on a record now? What’s happening?

I am, but I’m always working on songs no matter what. You can’t not be working on a project if writing is how you go about compartmentalizing your life. Everything that happens, every feeling that you have, becomes work. Since the end of 2015—and keeping in mind all the life changes that year occasioned—I was writing quite a bit. I saw a latent theme start to develop, and then I was like, “Oh, well let’s pursue this.” I now have a really good idea of what I want the next record to be conceptually. I think I can be more intentional with it in presentation, if not necessarily in construction. It’ll probably be sonically similar, because that’s the style in which I write.

The stillness of songwriting—knowing when to stop and just be still—is often the most difficult part of songwriting for me. Knowing when it’s enough. Sometimes I think, “Wow, wouldn’t it be cool if we had, like, a full string quartet and a horn section here, making this into an opera?” but then that doesn’t serve the song. You know? Lyrically, I think, it’s better to be thoughtful instead of just vomiting it out.

I’m about to do something dorky, so I apologize. One of my favorite quotes about creativity is from Wordsworth who says something like, “Poetry is the spontaneous overflow of emotions reflected upon in tranquility.” I think that really accurately represents the dichotomy of writing songs for me, especially with my particular writing style. It’s like, “All right, I have an emotion.” I’ll then go out to my garage and vomit out a song that’s essentially just me singing my feelings out loud. This time around I’m doing a lot more refining. Sprained Ankle was really, really raw. Which isn’t to say that’s always a bad thing—it suited that record and those songs—but this time around I’m happy to have more time with it.

That record seemed to come out of the blue and catch people by surprise. How does it feel to be making music with the knowledge that there is an audience now that is anticipating it? Does that change things?

I’ve heard myself say something in the past that isn’t totally precise, suggesting that I made Sprained Ankle only for me. Admittedly, it’s a very self-involved record that’s specific to my own experiences that I wrote as a tool, as a coping mechanism primarily, for what was happening in my life at that point. That’s how I’ve always used music. I grew up writing songs in punk bands and we would have the same conversation regularly, “Oh, this is going to be rad when we play it at a show!” You would imagine people singing along and yelling out the chorus. So you have something that you’re not only trying to say for yourself because you need to say it, but also that you’re saying to the world, even if the world in your schema is this small community... even if your audience is just a basement.

Now that I know the audience is a bit broader, I can’t help but think about that sometimes. Still, the best songs are the ones I just let happen. What is that Rilke quote? That he’s not a creator of art, he’s just a midwife to it? That’s how I like to feel. How I approach making songs isn’t totally different. Often it’s just when something difficult happens to me or I’m stressed out, I’ll just sit down and say whatever my fears are. I’ve been perpetually trying to come to terms with doing Sprained Ankle live for a year, because I’ve moved on from those specific experiences. The emotions, maybe, are evergreen in a sense because you’re always going to have fresh heartbreak at some point in your life. You’re going to have self-doubt, but it feels weird to still be singing about them years after the fact. One of the challenges about playing live has been finding new ways to apply old sentiments.

I always talk about the song “Good News.” I started to get really bothered that I was having conversations with people who listen to my music who said, “That song made me feel better!” but then I’m sitting up there screaming, “I ruin everything I do.” That’s not the kind of self-deprecating rhetoric or mentality that I want to promote. However, it’s also false to pretend like no one ever has these feelings, because people have those feelings all the time and that’s a very real thing. There’s a balance of not having an artifice of hope, but still writing songs that are honest about how I feel inside, which isn’t always great. I finally made a sort of concession with myself about it, so now before I play that song I’ll say, “This song is about when I thought I ruined everything, and now I’m trying to learn that that’s not true.”

It is cheesy and nine times out of ten I wince at myself on stage when I do it, but it’s like I have to do it in order to prove that it’s true, that I mean it. So, with these new songs—particularly the ones that were written about a relationship ending a year ago and I wrote over a year ago—I had to think about what it will mean to play them live and how that might feel. They are thematically appropriate for the record, which will be released in 2017, and obviously I’ve moved on and that’s an amicable situation right now, but it’s still a funny thing. I think I’ve been exploring the stigmatization around mental health and being open and honest about feelings, because that’s basically been my job. Everybody in this music scene is a little bit, I don’t want say “messed up” because that implies there’s something wrong with you, but we all feel a little messed up and maybe that’s why we do art.

I recently read this Alain de Botton book and it changed my life. He said that “Art is there for you when love stops being there for you.” I was like, “Oh my gosh, true.” Yeah, so being honest about those really dark things, like saying, “I feel disappointing, I feel like I’m nothing,” is important. I think about that when I start to censor myself. That was why I ended up leaving “Rejoice” on my previous record. Sometimes you need to inhabit an idea or a feeling in order to transcend it. The thing that you’re most afraid is the very thing you have to be bravest about divulging.

It seems like a more more popular human compulsion, particularly among songwriters, to document our own darkness than it is to articulate happiness. As someone who is known for writing beautifully sad songs, what do you make of that?

I remember a comment someone made about Ben Gibbard from Death Cab for Cutie: “Oh, he got happier and stopped writing good songs.” I was like, “What a grotesque thing to say.” How awful is it that our culture is geared in such a way. I think there’s inherent worth in all art and I never criticize the formal quality of art as long as there is genuine emotion there, but we’ll tolerate all kinds of cheesy heartbreak-related art just because of the subject matter. It’s much more difficult to pull off a joyful song. I’m always afraid that the public will scorn songs about happiness out of a disbelief that it is genuine. I’m interested in talking about joy, but it’s difficult and you don’t want to be clumsy with it. I think of it more as, “I have joy.” That’s a really complex thing to unpack. But I think articulating joy is important. I’m thinking of songs by people like the B-52s. There is this Australian artist called Alex Lahey who was a song where the chorus is just, “Let’s go out and have fun tonight.” It’s almost like you can hear the tongue-in-cheek irony of there’s mundanity in the grind of life and then this person is writing a song that’s just parodying a go-out-party song. It’s really cool.

It’s like it’s somehow less embarrassing to have an emotional meltdown in public than it is to be really honest about your happiness in a non-ironic way.

I think what’s so crazy is that for so many people I know—myself included—it’s this thing of when you’re acutely aware of the suffering of everything around you, it seems like happiness is a lack of decorum. Does that make sense?

For me, 2016 was a lot about learning, both good things and bad. I’m learning a lot about joy—joy as something different from happiness. Because happiness is a temporary space, an emotion, but joy, I think, is something different. It’s like a disposition that you choose to adopt. It’s all right to allow yourself that. I read a lot of philosophy, so I’m always thinking things like, “I want to be the platonic ideal of a human and do what is ethically asked of me by my existence.” Maybe that means not only writing sad songs. Maybe that means expressing joy. I’m still learning how to do that.

We went on a tour and I was reading Ethics by Bonhoeffer because I am a huge nerd and I was just like, “I’ll never be a good person.” Then one of my good friends was like, “Do you think God hates joy?” I was like, “No I don’t, I don’t think God hates joy.” She said, “So, if you have everything to be happy about, why won’t you display that as an image of hope instead of a depiction of suffering, because you can’t get on stage and talk about hope if you have no hope. You can’t go on stage and talk about joy as a destination—not just an unachievable goal—if you have no joy, so let yourself have joy.” You know how sometimes people say a simple explanation to you for something and you feel like a total idiot? I was just like, “I guess you’re right.”

I still struggle with anxiety. For the longest time on tour I would have panic attacks before almost every show. Performing is scary, and there’s a lot going on in there—”in there” being my brain. So while we were on tour in Australia it felt like I was always waiting for another shoe to drop, and when it didn’t I felt like I could just cherish the fact that I’m legitimately enjoying what is happening in my life and I’m excited to talk to people.

I can be a positive force. I can interact with people and I don’t look like a brooding crazy person. I’m smiling, I’m happy, and I’m getting to hug them. There was one show in particular where I was starting a song that there was a girl in the front of the stage who yelled out, “This is my song!” I thought it was funny because I’d only ever heard someone say that when they were at a bar and a song came on the jukebox, but I loved that she said that. I had this really cheesy thought like, “You know what? It is.” It’s not mine anymore. I was like, “It is your song, girl. This is for you. I hope you enjoy it.” She was stoked. Instead of feeling guilty that people like my music or feeling like I don’t deserve it or I haven’t earned it, I’m just happy that my job is that I stand on a stage and I look out on a whole bunch of eyeballs and we get to share this thing.

After the whirlwind success of Sprained Ankle, was it weird to finally be home again and working on music? My biggest fear is that anyone thinks that I’m anything other than amazed and grateful that I get to be a musician. Like, every day I wake up astonished by that. I think generally the amount of reward you get in your occupation mirrors the amount of sacrifice it requires. I needed to take some time to not be a ghost in my real life, to see my family and visit my partner, and just be radio silent for a while.

I write a lot on tour, which is weird because I used to think I couldn’t get into the right head space on tour to write songs, but then eventually touring just becomes your norm and I really have to be writing, so you just adapt. I’ll make little voice memos in the car and listen to them and write lyrics while I’m walking around. Once I got back home I rented this studio space and did a whole bunch of demos. We spent almost 12 hours in the studio every day. Hearing the demos outside of my head was really good for me. I’d been worrying myself by thinking, what if the new songs are too different? What if they are too much the same? What if everyone is disappointed? I felt the weight of expectation start to make me afraid that I couldn’t do it. I was, “It’s all going to be crap, everyone’s going to hate it.” Then once I got into the recording process things changed.

I was recording with my friend Calvin Lauber, who is in a band from Memphis called Pillow Talk. He’s in the scene and I’ve known him since I was 13 years old, and he happens to do recording and engineering as well as just play around in bands. It felt just so comfortable that I lost track of the hours and it was kind of like one of those moments, “Oh yeah, I love just the process of making art and I could stay here for another 12 hours just experimenting and, like, shaping this thing.” It brought me back to the reason why I ever did this in the first place. You have to be able to reconnect to the joy of making the thing that you make. It’s easy to get distracted from that.

I was so grateful that I felt comfortable enough to come back and make my music in Memphis. I moved back here at the beginning of the year to be closer to my family. I love my city. I have, like, Drake levels of love for my city. It felt good to be here. Once the demos were done and I was listening back to some of it, I had this weird feeling. I’m hyper-critical of my own work, which most artists probably are, but I had the strange sensation of thinking,“This is how it feels to be proud of something that I made.” I realized that as long as I am proud and I feel like I say what I want to with the narrative of this record, I am able to separate myself from being so concerned with, “What if people hate it?” Even if they hate it, I’ll still know that I’ve done my best. It’s all such a fifth grade classroom poster—Just Do Your Best!—but that’s truly the best and most profound advice.

Given the nature of your music, do people project a kind of “tortured artist” thing onto you? And how do you circumvent that?

When I’m on stage I try to think about things before I just rush in and say something silly... but I’m also quite silly. That being said, I’m not a Lorde or a Taylor Swift. I’m not someone who is playing stadiums and who has all these eyeballs on them. I don’t think I’m expected to be a role model. I’m not at that level. Still, people often take the slices of life represented in the songs and expand that to represent my total personhood. I think another task of mine is unifying Julien of life with Julien of the record, which often entails saying dorky, cheesy, positive things and making bad jokes on stage. Sometimes it goes over well, sometimes it’s like crickets in the audience and people are like, “What’s going on? This is too much of an emotional pendulum!” and they look freaked out. Then I just play my songs instead of making more lame jokes. I think merely by existing and refusing to give in to the persona of brooding tortured artist, you prove the point of you do not have to be sad all the time. You do not have to be defined by your sadness. I think about these things when I write songs and when I play live shows. I am trying to break the spell, in some way, that when you see someone up on stage singing sad songs that there is more to them than that. Sometimes you can’t help but be perceived as a kind of persona, but why not be a persona that’s actually realistic? I’d rather do that, instead of just posing over here in the window sill with my copy of Rilke and looking really bummed out. That isn’t me.

Recommended by Julien Baker:

Things that are inspiring to me right now...

The novel Gilead by Marilynne Robinson (a recommendation from the ever-wise Lucy Dacus)

The poetry of Beyza Ozer, a poet recommended by Morgan Martinez, editor of Hooligan Mag (an inspiring person in her own right)

The art of Kazuo Shiraga

The bands PWR BTTM and Camp Cope; their music, their social commentary, their unapologetic commitment to change through art, honestly just them as people, all of it

The paintings and zines of Ariel Baldwin, great pal/Memphis-native/Chicago-resident, makes some really provocative and powerful art about healing.

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