#i am almost certainly not going to have the time to do that

[vaspider]

Okay. This post keeps going around, so I'm going to repeat what I said the last time:

Yes, this would be bad. However, this is almost certainly a showboating bill. GovTracker, whose methodology you can read about under the 'About' section on their website, says this bill has approximately a 0% chance of being enacted.

Added 1/23/25: Since the last time I saw this post, they also added that they estimate it only has a 1% chance of even getting out of committee.

There's nothing wrong with, if your representative sits on one of the five different committees that this bill has been referred to, sending a message via ResistBot, calling, or shooting off an email, but I really am begging people not to get caught up in the legislative Gish Gallop that Republicans are going to subject everybody to. They are trying to wear you out. They are going to be throwing absolutely everything they can at the wall to see what sticks, and they are going to throw as many things as they can in the hopes that something slips through or that they tire everybody out.

Almost all of the bill's cosponsors have only been in Congress since 2023; none of them has been around longer than 2017, and I had never heard of most of them. That's not to say that people who I haven't heard of or people who haven't been in Congress very long can't accomplish things, but these are not people with a lot of institutional knowledge or cachet. As far as I can tell right now, they don't sit on any committees, either.

Added 1/23/25: Y'all. Come on, y'all.

This bill is literally just a title.

This bill has no fucking text.

You are freaking out about a literal headline with no article. There is no there there. This is a literal Nothing Bill. Come on.

You know how we say "read more than the headline"? Y'all really are gonna have to go further than that these days. The disinformation machine is gearing up, and it is here scare you and wear you down.

Do not run off after every stick Republicans throw. They are trying to wear you out. Expend your energy judiciously, and give shit like this the exact amount of energy it deserves.

None.

[yuechihua]

remember me as i am.

summary: When Harumasa asks for an unexpected favor, you accept, against your better judgement. The last thing you expected was to have to pretend to be his spouse at a doctor’s appointment.

notes: 4.5k words, author's notes, fake marriage, fake dating, ambiguous relationship/feelings, fluff with some light introspective sadness

“I need you to do me a favor.”

When Asaba Harumasa whispers those words to you across your shared desks at the Section Six office, hand cupped around his mouth for emphasis, eyes glittering with mischief, you can’t help but brace yourself for whatever ensuing trouble he’s going to drag you into.

“What’s the favor?” you respond evenly. “If it’s to convince Yanagi to accept your request for time off, I’m not going to do that.”

“It’s not that!” Harumasa insists. “But it’s about something that’s important for the well-being of Section Six.”

You glance around the room; Soukaku is doodling with crayons on some confidential reports, Miyabi has left for a meeting with the rest of the section chiefs (and you can guarantee that she isn’t paying any attention), and Yanagi is steadfastly working through a towering stack of papers on her desk, so high that you can barely make out the top of her head. No one is paying attention to the two of you.

“Well, what is it then?” you say, and Harumasa casts a furtive glance at Yanagi before leaning closer to you, bracing his elbow on your desk. He’s enjoying himself a little too much, you can’t help but feel, what with how his smile curls like a satisfied cat.

“We need to meet up on our day off, preferably in the morning and somewhere near Lumina Square,” he says conspiratorially. “It’s too risky to pull off here. But it’s important, partner, so make sure you’re not late.”

“If it’s something that’s important for Section Six,” you whisper, tilting your own head closer to the shell of his ear, “Maybe it’s something that we should bring up to the others. What is it? Some illicit venture into a Hollow? Should I call Phaenton, too?”

“There’s no need for all of that,” Harumasa says hastily. “You only need to bring yourself. Maybe a disguise,” he adds, “to avoid public notice. This is a confidential mission. I’m relying on you.”

You let out a small sigh. Visions of curling up on your couch tomorrow, browsing through books with a mug of warm, sweet tea vanish in front of your eyes. “Fine. I’ll be there. But you owe me for dragging me out on our only day off.”

“I’ll make it worth your time, I promise.” Harumasa has the audacity to wink at you, like you’ve agreed to some ridiculous, under-the-table deal. 

Maybe you have. It certainly feels like it when you drag yourself out of bed the next morning, donning sunglasses, a long, caramel-colored coat buttoned up to your neck, and pulling a hat low over your head to complete the look. You’re out the door and on the train to Lumina Square before ten minutes have passed.

You’re set to meet Harumasa at some nondescript corner of the square, an alley boxed in by towering buildings and mostly hidden from view. What does he have in store for you? Despite the playful attitude he had yesterday when asking you for help, there was also something serious underpinning his words, even as he tried to pass it off as a flight of fancy. Harumasa would never ask you for help unless it was something important. 

You’re certain that you’ll have to wait for Harumasa to show up a few minutes late, making some slap-fash excuse. To your surprise, he’s already waiting for you. You almost can’t recognize him at first. He’s forgone his usual headband; instead, he’s wearing a hoodie, a cap, and a facemask, slouching against the wall, staring aimlessly at the sky. 

“Harumasa?” you say.

At your voice, Harumasa immediately straightens, lifting himself off the wall. You can hear the smile in his voice, even if you can’t see it. “There you are!”

“You’re early,” you say. “I didn’t think you’d be here so soon.”

Harumasa slings a casual arm around your shoulder. “Well, I didn’t want to miss our date. But don’t let Yanagi know that I’m capable of showing up on time, okay?” 

“It’s not a date,” you say, lowering your sunglasses to give him an unimpressed stare, “It’s a mission. Or so you claim.”

“It is,” he says. “Come with me. I’ll show you our place of operations.”

Harumasa still has his arm around your shoulders, but you don’t shake him off as he leads you confidently through alleys and down back roads, avoiding the bustle of crowds in the main section of the city. The breeze is cool, the sunlight warm on your face againsr the winter’s chill.

Eventually, the two of you stop in front of a hospital, a towering construction of shining metal and glass reflecting squares of blue sky. People bustle in and out of the sliding front doors, letting out gusts of sharp, chemically scented air.

Harumasa is silent as he stares up at the building, his hat shading his eyes. You can’t make out his expression, but you lean your head on his shoulder, a brief, reassuring touch.

He seems to come back to himself, then, and Harumasa’s eyes crinkle at the corners as he resumes talking in a clear, casual voice, “So, this is where our mission is taking place. Here’s the gist of it: I need you to pretend to be my spouse.”

“What?”

“Come on,” he wheedles. “I’ve been avoiding coming here for a while, but they’re not taking my excuses anymore. And they wanted me to bring a family member over to verify some things.”

“You could have just said so from the beginning,” you say. “I was beginning to think you wanted us to infiltrate somewhere.”

“If you think about it, we technically are,” Harumasa muses. “Besides, isn’t it more fun if I tell you we’re on a mission, instead of just giving everything away? Also, this is necessary to Section Six; what are they going to do without their star Executive Officer?”

The arm around your shoulder is shaking imperceptibly; sometime during his words, his grip has tightened, just slightly, as if he’s clinging to you to keep from sliding down a cliff. The unspoken truths hover in the air: that you’re the only one in Section Six who knows about his Ether Regression Aptitude Syndrome, and that he can’t ask anyone else to help him for this.

“Why your spouse, though?” you say instead. “Why not just say I’m a distant relation? You could also just not specify what our relationship is.” 

“Because it’s more fun for me,” Harumasa replies. Typical.

Within the next few minutes, the two are checking in at the front desk after a brief wait, Harumasa wading through tedious paperwork and bureaucracy and health insurance forms with clipboards and pens that click more than necessary. 

“Make sure to tell the doctor I’m here with my spouse,” Harumasa emphasizes, tapping the clipboard with his pen. He slides his arm around you, drawing you closer to him, and you try to resist the urge to pull away and keep your face schooled in a neutral, pleasant expression.

“All right, Mr. Asaba,” the receptionist chirps. “He’ll be out to see you in a bit!”

The waiting room is filled with rows of yellow and white plastic chairs, carpeting worn by the tread of countless anxious patients, and stacks of old magazines on tables and televisions mounted on the walls playing a cheesy blockbuster with the voices muted. A bored child plays with the hospital’s block toys on the floor, his mother talks quietly into her phone in front of him, and an elderly man flips through a magazine, his cane resting on his lap.

You and Harumasa settle into your seats, side by side. In the space between, where your hands dangle, his knuckles brush against the back of your hand before he draws your hand into his. You can’t shake the feeling that you’ve somehow become his stress ball, something he needs to touch to ground himself. 

“Still holding up alright?” Harumasa whispers. “You cleared the first hurdle.”

“Maybe I should be asking you that,” you whisper back. “Are you okay?”

“I’m used to it.” At times like this, you wish you could see Harumasa’s mouth, because his eyes betray nothing. 

Still, when the receptionist finally calls out, “Asaba Harumasa, the doctor’s here to see you,” you don’t let go of Harumasa’s hand. The doctor is stocky and short, with tired, drooping eyes, and he frowns when he sees Harumasa.

The three of you start walking down the hall, the doctor setting a rapid pace as he lectures Harumasa. “You’ve been avoiding my calls for the past week. Do you know how hard it is to get in contact with you? Proper medical care requires consistency!”

“Sorry, sorry,” Harumasa says without sounding sorry at all, but he seems more focused on swinging your joined hands together like a child on a swing set. 

In the doctor’s office, the two of you are finally separated as Harumasa perches on the examination table. You’re sitting in a guest chair lined up against the wall across from him. The doctor moves through standard physical procedures with a deft, practiced hand. Harumasa follows along easily, thoughtlessly, as if these processes are second nature: the lights shining in his eyes, the blood pressure cuff around his arm, the routine questions. 

However, whenever the doctor is distracted recording results or marking down Harumasa’s answers, Harumasa will pull down his mask and make faces at you, to which you’ll respond with a roll of your eyes or your own exaggerated expressions of annoyance. 

“Have you been resting well?” the doctor asks sternly, turning back around just as the two of you quickly settle into more typical expressions. “You’re not pushing yourself at work, I hope?”

“I haven’t,” Harumasa says, with wide eyes. 

“Hmpth.” The doctor turns to you. “Well? Is he being truthful? As his spouse, I trust you’ll be honest for the sake of his health.” Behind the doctor’s back, Harumasa strikes you with an expression of mock disbelief, raising his eyebrows dramatically. It’s almost enough to make you laugh, but you control the tremor of your lips. 

“He hasn’t been pushing himself hard at all,” you say smoothly. “If anything, I think my husband has been resting a little too well.”

“All right. And your medications, Mr. Asaba? Have you been taking them properly?”

“Right as instructed, every morning and night,” Harumasa says. “My lovely spouse would know. They’ve seen me dutifully take all of them.”

“He has,” you verify. From what you know, anyways, Harumasa never misses a dosage. 

The doctor peppers Harumasa with more health-related questions and logs down all his answers. It’s over before you know it, and Harumasa leaps off the table as soon as the doctor puts away his clipboard. 

“I’ve missed you, cutie,” he says, throwing his arms around you like you haven’t seen him in months, snuggling up to you as the doctor watches with a weary expression. 

“The two of you get along well,” he says stoically.

“Oh, we do,” Harumasa chirps. 

“Make sure to make a follow-up appointment, Mr. Asaba. Your health appears stable, and your symptoms haven’t worsened.”

“I’ll make sure he does,” you supply, shooting a quick, withering glance at Harumasa, who only gives you a pleading expression in return. “He won’t be late to the next appointment.”

“I appreciate that, Mx…?” the doctor trails off questioningly.

“Mx. Asaba,” Harumasa interjects. “That’s their name.”

“That’s right,” you say. “Thank you for your time today.”

Harumasa wraps his arm around your waist, giving the doctor a lazy wave, and then the two of you are through the door, down the hall, and out of the hospital. Once you’re a street away, Harumasa finally speaks. 

“You were excellent there, Mx. Asaba,” Harumasa says. 

“Of course I was. Though you don’t need to call me that.”

“Why? I think it has a nice ring to it,” he muses. “Mx. Asaba and Mr. Asaba.”

“I was serious about what I said back there, you know,” you say. “You need to make your follow-up appointment soon. And you should try to show up to it on time.”

“You’re so strict. What if I need you to come with me again to feel better?”

“Then just tell me when, and where,” you say. “If you need me there, then I’ll be there, no matter what.” 

A brief flicker of surprise lights across his face, before it smooths out into his usual relaxed smile. “You’re soooo good to me, Mx. Asaba. Since you went out of your way today to help me with such a confidential mission, let me treat you to some food!” 

“I suppose that’s what a good spouse should do,” you say. 

Harumasa’s arm is still around your waist, but you can’t bring yourself to shake it off as he enthusiastically guides you to whatever restaurant he has in mind. His grip is casual, loose enough that you could shrug it off if you really want to. But if you do, then he’d never pull close to you like again.

Harumasa is attentive in that way. If you set a line, then he would never cross it. All his jokes feel like a casual calculation of the distance between the two of you. How far is he allowed to go? How much are you willing to put up with? What’s the boundary of your relationship? 

It’s like he’s waiting for rejection, offering you the chance to push away from him in a way that would make it easier for both of you. The way he touches you is akin to possession, but from a man who’s afraid to say he deserves to call you his.

Yet, if you push a little too close, more than he’s comfortable with, then he’ll run away like a skittish cat, afraid your affection will turn to boredom or cruelty. You’ve been with him long enough to understand this. So you’ll play along with his jokes, his little white little lies and deceptions, if it’s the only way he’ll let you stay close to him.

It’s a date, or a confidential mission, or whatever excuse Harumasa wants to use. What a complicated, beloved partner you have.

“We’re here,” Harumasa says. You’re at a ramen shop, with low stalls pulled up the counter, the simmering heat and steam from the kitchen feeling like a miniature summer. Thankfully, it’s empty, but your disguises ensure that neither your nor Harumasa’s fans will bother you for pictures and autographs in either case. 

“Order whatever you want,” he says, and you pick up the laminated menu, browsing through the various options. “Oh, wait. Pose for a second.”

Harumasa pulls out his phone, opening the camera, and aims it in your direction. You make a quick peace sign, menu held aloft in your other hand, and the shutter snaps. “What’s that for?”

“You looked nice,” he says. “I’ll send it to you later.”

“I didn’t realize you liked photography.”

“It’s a good way to preserve things that are fleeting, but important to you,” he says. “Moments that won’t last, people that might leave. Things like that.”

“Are you planning on divorcing me already?” you ask, propping your chin on your hand, peering at him over the top of your sunglasses. 

Harumasa places a hand over his heart. “Me? Never.”

The two of you place an order for ramen, and it doesn’t take long for the noodles to arrive. It’s simple, but delicious: hearty, flavorful broth, bamboo shoots, seaweed, fish cakes, slices of charred, fatty pork, and an egg with a jammy yolk.

Neither of you talk as you sit in silence, slurping noodles and drinking spoonfuls of broth. It’s been a while since you’ve gone out for a meal like this, and even longer since you did so with someone that wasn’t some sort of business partner or official whose good graces you need to stay in. 

You glance up with a mouthful of noodles to find Harumasa watching you, chopsticks in hand, a small smile on his face, as if he’s never seen anything so charming, his own ramen forgotten. Your face burns for reasons you don’t want to identify; you’re only thankful he doesn’t ask for another picture.

Harumasa lets out a sigh of appreciation when he’s done, placing his chopsticks neatly over his finished bowl. “Soukaku once cleared out almost all the noodles in this place, did you know that? I’ve been meaning to go ever since she told me.”

“Did it match your expectations?”

“I don’t normally like heavy food, but this time, I didn’t mind it,” he says. “Or maybe it’s because you looked like you enjoyed it a lot. It made me appreciate this bowl more.”

“Smooth-talker,” you say. “If you’re done, should we head back–”

“Wait, there’s somewhere else we should go,” Harumasa interrupts, holding up a hand. “We need dessert after a meal, don’t you think?”

“Really? A dessert? What are you thinking of getting?” you ask.

“There’s a popular drink shop around here. They serve milk tea in these cute little Bangboo shaped cups,” Harumasa begins. “I thought it might be fun to check it out.” 

“I thought you hated sweet things,” you supply. The two of you stand, and you smooth down your coat as Harumasa adjusts his facemask. You’re ambling down the street again, but this time, you loop your arm through his, pulling him close. It’s an effortless gesture, and it’s startling how easy it is to press so close to him.

“Well, you don’t,” he returns. “And it’s a popular date spot too. Can’t I take my lovely spouse out some more?”

You bump him with your hip. There’s no need to keep up your pretense anymore. There’s no one else here to listen to your lies. Both of you know this, but you can’t bring yourself to state the obvious. If you point out the script, then the curtain will fall and the play will end, your fragile happiness disappearing as the actors take a final bow. “Sure, if you keep paying.” 

The two of you end up in front of an inconspicuous milk tea shop. There’s no outdoor or indoor seating, but there is a counter and a blackboard with the menu chalked in, alongside doodles of smiling Bangboo holding milk tea on the side. A tired salesgirl stands in front, her expression at odds with her bubblegum pink uniform. There’s a few teenagers milling nearby, hands cupped around their milk tea and conversing in giggles.

Harumasa tilts his head as he looks at the menu, hanging above the two of you. “They sell iced coffee here,” he muses. “I thought this was a milk tea place.”

“They probably want to offer a variety of drinks for people who might not like milk tea,” you supply. 

“What are you getting?”

“The Bangboo special milk tea,” you say immediately. “It’s their speciality, and it comes with a Bangboo shaped cup. If it’s cute, I might take it home and wash it so I can reuse it”

He eyes you with amusement as the two of you approach the counter, where Harumasa slides his card across the counter. You make a note to treat him out to dinner at some point; as much as you tease, it wouldn’t sit right with you if you didn’t return the favor. “One iced espresso and a Bangboo special milk tea for me and my spouse, please.”

“Got it.” The salesgirl doesn’t bat an eye as Harumasa leans against you, his eyes crinkling at the corners like a pleased cat.

It doesn’t take long for your drinks to arrive. Your milk tea is in the shape of a Bangboo’s head, and topped with a pile of jellies over delicately set tiers of differing flavors. You take a sip, and you’re flooded with a creamy, milky sweetness.

Harumasa, who hasn’t even taken a sip of his espresso yet, looks amused as he watches you. “Let me try some of yours.”

“You won’t like it,” you protest, but Harumasa is already pulling down his face mask and leaning towards you. You raise your drink to let him take a quick sip.

He licks his top lip in thoughtful contemplation. “Way too sweet.”

“I told you. Now give me some of yours,” you say. “It’s only fair.” 

He obliges without protest, tilting his straw towards you. You take a quick sip, but it’s cold and bitter. You wrinkle your nose; you’re no stranger to coffee, especially when shifts run late into the night, but you still like to add creamer and sugar to take the edge off. 

“Coffee is an acquired taste for true adults,” Harumasa says when he sees your expression. “Maybe I’m just a bit more mature than you.”

“Sweetness is also an acquired taste,” you quip. “It’s good to learn to enjoy the sweet things in life.”

“Maybe it is. Oh, wait. Before you finish your drink. Let’s take another picture.” Harumasa pulls out his phone again, and you don’t protest as he raises it and angles it down towards the two of you. You raise your cup, and Harumasa lopes his arm around yours, locking the two of you together.  

With a few press of his thumb, he’s done, and lowers the phone for your inspection. You examine yourself the same way a stranger might; the two of you huddled up together, Harumasa’s cheeks red from the cold, your lips drawn into a smile, looking almost like the married couple you’re pretending to be. 

“You look cute as usual,” Harumasa comments. “But it makes me look bad. I’ve got to stop taking pictures with you.” 

“That’s not my fault,” you protest. 

“Of course it isn’t. You can’t help being the cutest person in the world.” 

You’re saved from thinking up a response that won’t betray your own embarrassment by the curious giggles of the teenagers across from you. They keep glancing furtively from you to Harumasa, hands cupped over their mouths. You can hear whispers of “Section Six” and “celebrities” which doesn’t bode well for your current anonymity. 

Swiftly, you grab Harumasa’s hand and start pulling him away from the cafe, down the streets of Lumina Square. The winter sun has started to droop in the sky, painting the world in a vivid, melting, yolky light. Laughter drifts around you from people lost in their own worlds. 

You’re not sure where you’re going, only certain on heading away from anyone who can recognize you. Harumasa follows along gamely, your willing accomplice.

You fly up a flight of stairs and you’re suddenly on the walkway above the streets, the city stretching out below you, buildings stacked like decadent cakes, people little figurines trotting carelessly by. 

You’re far away from everyone else now, cocooned in your own world. Harumasa’s fingers squeezes yours playfully, and suddenly you’re aware of how his hand feels in yours, warm skin and calluses from his bow and reassuringly slender fingers wrapped around your own. 

You drop his hand, finally, and take a sip of your own drink, which is sweet, so sweet, as Harumasa walks up to the railing and braces his elbow against the metal. 

“You’ve been taking a lot of pictures of me today,” you say. 

“I want to treasure every moment we have together,” Harumasa says, without turning. A cool breeze stirs, sending his hair fluttering, his clothes rippling. 

He’s unfair when he talks like this, the tenderness in his voice making your heart ache over the inevitable future, a predetermined ending. Like he’ll slip through your fingers as easily as water at any moment.

You pull out your phone, swipe to your camera, and raise it to frame Harumasa in the center, backlit by the glow of the sun and the tart light from the windows of buildings around you. 

“Look over here,” you call, and Harumasa turns. He’s beautiful, so beautiful it hurts. “Strike a pose.” 

“Shouldn’t I be the one taking a picture?” he asks. 

“I want to remember you,” you say. “Forever.” 

Harumasa tilts his head back. “Me?” 

“You’re not the only one who wants to cherish every moment we spend together.” 

Harumasa slowly pulls down his face mask, and you can finally see his smile, more brilliant than the sun behind him, flooding through your nerves and filling every part of you with a warm light. 

You press your phone’s camera shutter, once, twice, immortalizing Harumasa for as long as you can. You lower your phone, and join him at the railing, looking down below at the peace you’ve both fought so hard to protect. 

The world is filled with such endless cruelty and stunning beauty in equal measure. And yet, it’s the only world you have. You tap your fingers against the railing, a nonsensical song. 

“For your next appointment, maybe we should try a different restaurant when you’re done,” you say. “And we can walk around and take more pictures. There’s a few art installations around.” 

“You sure you want to come back with me? You’ll have to pretend to be Mx. Asaba again, you know.” 

“I don’t mind,” you murmur. “It has a nice ring to it.” 

“If you talk like that, you’ll make me want to make it official…. Of course, I’m kidding,” he adds before the words can linger for too long. 

“Have you thought about getting married?” you ask.

“I couldn’t do that to someone,” he responds lightly. “Besides, it’d be bad for PR. You know how intense our fan clubs can get.”

Of course, you understand. Marriage is an alien thought for a job where you risk your life everyday fighting against Ethereals and venturing into Hollows. You barely have enough time for yourself after long shifts and overtime and late nights, ready to be called into action at the slightest emergency. Could you bear to leave behind someone you love under the circumstances? Could they bear waiting and worrying for you? You would never be able to provide them any form of normalcy.

“Leaving someone behind like that… I don’t think I could do it. Or ask them to understand why I can’t give them an ordinary life,” you say. 

“Right, right. I wouldn’t want to make my partner cry,” he says. “I knew you would get it.”

His eyes gleam, two precious pieces of gold. Of course. Neither of you are capable of an ordinary relationship. Whatever the two of you have right now, whatever form you let it take, can’t be named. Something will break if you try. 

Carefully, delicately, you lean your head against his shoulder. He stiffens only momentarily before relaxing, a silent affirmation of your presence. Below, cars rush by, the misty glow of streetlights winking into life as the sky darkens.

“I’ll let you know when I have my next appointment,” he says, voice carrying like the wind.

“All right. I’ll be sure to make the time for you, Mr. Asaba.”

He laughs, a low, soft sound. “Thank you, Mx. Asaba. I knew I could rely on you.”

And it’s nice, like this. For just a while longer, you can forget anything that’s happened before, or anything that might happen in the future. Right now, it’s just you, and him, together. 

[nekrosmos]

John and Nikolai finally have time to spend an evening together, but John came back exhausted from an op and is now fighting to stay awake for Nikolai's sake, while Nik really only wants him to rest.

(Just a little bit nsfw at the beginning)

...

"Are you sure you are up for this, John?"

Nikolai wasn't a fool, he could see the exhaustion on John's face, the way his eyelids felt heavier than the dumbbells he was used to pulling almost every day, the heavy bags under his tired eyes. It was a good sight, a more vulnerable side of John he wasn’t used to showing to the world. To allow himself to drop his guard enough to fall asleep by someone’s side, well, Nik certainly felt like the luckiest man in the world. 

“I am… want to make you feel good….”

Those last words were barely coherent, John’s speech getting worse and worse with each passing minute he was fighting to stay awake. It was adorable. 

“Right. So if I asked for your lips around my cock, you would do it?”

Nik was teasing him, a wide smile on his face as he observed John’s reaction, or lack thereof, as the captain stared vacantly at him, his eyes barely open. For a second, Nik assumed that John had finally fallen asleep, until his hand moved, brushing his tired face with the back of it. 

“Just fuck me, Nik, c’mon.”

A gentle and quiet laugh was Nik’s response. If there was one thing John Price was, it was stubborn. Unless he physically restrained him and tightly tucked him under a blanket, this wasn’t a fight he had a chance to win. There were, however, many ways to win a fight. 

“Da, let me get to it then.” 

It was getting difficult for Nikolai to stop himself from laughing. John was laying on their bed, absorbed by the pillows and the blankets, like he was floating above a cloud. Nik stood on his knees between John’s legs, hands gently brushing the inside of his thigh. 

Spending time together was always a difficult task when both John and Nikolai spent their days on different sides of the world, dodging bullets and risking their lives. It was rare for them to be on the same continent, let alone the same room, despite how much they wanted it. 

When the two finally had some free time to spend together, Nikolai always wanted to do something special for John: taking him on dates, making him try food he knew he would love, fly him to a secluded place and make love to him under the stars. He wanted to make up for lost time, of course, and John knew that, a slight leftover of guilt left in the captain’s heart over the years he had wasted being too scared of this relationship. 

But, sometimes, all they got was a single night together, shared after John came back from an op. Often times, he was exhausted, bruised, and needed rest more than he needed any more adventures. This was such a case, as Gaz had informed Nikolai earlier that no one in the team had been able to get any shut eyes in the past forty hours. John was exhausted, but he was as stubborn as they came and had assured Nik that he was up for this. Right. 

A soft smile still on his lips, Nikolai bent down, kissing the naked skin of his lover’s hips, while his hands kept wandering around the lower parts of his body, his thighs so perfect under his fingers. A low groan escaped John’s throat, a quick glance confirming that his eyes were now fully closed. Not yet asleep, however, and so Nik continued, leaving kisses on his belly and ribs, hands still massaging him as best he could, soft sounds coming from John until eventually, his breathing changed, slowing down, limbs going limp. 

Nikolai smiled softly as he pulled himself up, resting next to John as he dragged a blanket on top of their naked bodies. He allowed himself, for a moment, to just observe the now asleep man next to him.

There was a sternness to John that immediately disappeared when he was sleeping, his brow relaxing, his jaw less tense, at peace, finally. Nikolai knew that his dreams wouldn’t be comforting, they never had been and probably never would be, but he was here, for him, ready to pull him closer when needed, ready to kiss the nape of his neck as his arms wrapped themselves around his shape. 

Perhaps Nik was a selfish man. He had pondered this thought many, many times in the past. To want something as much as he wanted John, to crave him like he was the only thing that mattered, it had been maddening, and still he waited. Now that John finally was his, there was nothing in this world that could pull him away from him. He had waited for so many years, that spending some time watching the other half of his heart slowly drift to sleep as they laid in bed together felt like a well-earned reward. And if that made him a selfish man, well then to hell with it. 

“Good night, John.” 

His voice was barely a whisper as his fingers brushed his lover’s hair, gently kissing his cheek. There were no reactions from John, and Nikolai allowed himself to close his eyes as well, a hand resting against John’s chest, right above his heart. There, in the quiet intimacy of the night, he could almost feel it beat under his palm, the perfect lullaby to lure him to sleep.

[cha-melodius]

I am so here for these ficlets !! 🥰🥰

27 + firstprince, please ❣️ Merci ❣️❣️

(Also for @firenati0n. I told myself I was going to keep these below 1k. This one is 999 words. 😂 Also inspired by fanart that I will link at the end so as not to spoil the reveal. read all the hug ficlets)

27: The hug that has them clinging onto you for dear life. 

Two years into their friendship, and one year into their time as flatmates (and approximately one year and three hundred sixty-four days after he first fell in love), Henry finally convinces Alex to go sailing with him.

“I promise, you’ll be safe,” Henry tells him, for the thousandth time, as they stand on the dock. The small sailboat bobs next to it, more stout than Henry would usually rent, but perfect for today.

Alex shoots him his one-thousandth sceptical look. “What if I fall in?”

“We’ll be wearing these,” Henry tells him, brandishing a bright red life jacket in front of him.

“I don’t know, I don’t think I’m ready,” Alex says.

Henry can’t help but deflate. “Look, I won’t force you, but I really think you’ll enjoy it. And in a tub like this, we won’t even get wet.”

Chewing on his lower lip, Alex stares down at the boat. “Promise?”

That’s probably a silly promise to make—they’ll be on a small boat, after all, quite close to the water, but Henry makes it anyway. Finally, he gets Alex into the life jacket, shrugs his own on, and steps into the little boat, which rocks under his weight. He holds out a hand to help Alex in, which Alex stares at for an excruciating minute before he finally takes it.

Of course, Alex doesn’t know how to get into a boat, which means the moment he steps past the gunwale, the boat lurches to one side and Henry ends up with Alex clinging to him for dear life, holding onto Henry’s jacket with a white-knuckle grip as he presses his body as close to Henry’s as physically possible.

“It’s ok, love, you’re alright,” Henry laughs, curling one arm around Alex as he uses the other to hold onto the rigging. He’s certainly not complaining; if he thought this would happen, he might have pressed to go out on the boat earlier.

“I’m only staying because I can’t move or I’ll fall out,” Alex huffs, glaring up at him.

“You’re not going to fall out,” Henry insists. “And if you do, I’ll come rescue you.”

Alex rolls his eyes. “My hero.”

In the end—once they get underway and Henry convinces him to stop white knuckling the sides of the boat—Alex slowly relaxes. In fact, for someone who almost religiously avoids the water, he looks surprisingly at home out here with the sea breeze tousling his curls. They’d packed a picnic lunch, so Henry drops the sails and lets them bob aimlessly in the sound while they eat, and it’s really lovely. Henry’s ready to mark this down as a resounding success, at least until he goes to raise the jib and finds it caught on something.

“Stay here, I’ll be back shortly,” he tells Alex, then climbs up to the bow and sets to work untangling the knot that his lines have gotten themselves into.

It takes longer than he expects, and when he turns back, he sees Alex standing at the stern, one hand on a stay, just staring into the ocean. Henry’s so distracted by the sight of him that he doesn’t notice the motorboat’s approach until it goes rocketing past them at far too close a range, sending a massive wave careening toward their boat. Henry calls out to Alex, but it’s too late—he watches, as if in slow motion, as the boat heaves in the wake and sends Alex toppling over the side.

“Alex!” Henry yells again as he scrambles desperately toward the stern, only to find the life jacket bobbing in the water. Empty.

It takes no more than the length of a breath for Henry to shuck his own jacket and dive in. The water is clear for the first few meters, but there’s no sign of Alex near the boat. His lungs scream as he kicks deeper, desperation thrumming in his veins.

He sees a flash of iridescent red, like the fins of something large, out of the corner of his eye, which is as good a sign as any that he’s running out of oxygen. There’s no fish that’s red like that up here. He doesn’t want to, but he has little choice—Henry claws his way to the surface and gulps air, screaming Alex’s name even though it’s probably pointless.

But then—

Something brushes his shoulder, and a familiar voice murmurs, “Henry, sweetheart, stop,” and Henry spins around to see Alex bobbing effortlessly in the waves. The fact that he’s not even treading water barely registers, because Henry’s too busy pulling him close, and it’s his turn to hold on for dear life lest Alex slip beneath the surface again.

“Oh my god, Alex, I thought I’d lost you,” he nearly sobs. “Come on, we have to get you out—”

Alex laughs, an odd musical quality to it. “Little late for that,” he says ruefully.

He pulls back, a hesitant look on his face, and a moment later a red, finned tail emerges from the water next to him.

“You’re—” Henry gasps. “You’re a mermaid.”

“Merman, actually,” Alex corrects as Henry swims close to him again. He can’t fight the to urge reach out toward Alex’s tail, mesmerized by the iridescent scales, and he sees Alex frown out of the corner of his eye. “You’re not scared of me?”

“No,” Henry says. “Why would I be? You’re beautiful. I mean, you've always been beautiful, but this…” When Alex doesn’t pull away, he cautiously strokes his fingers along one of Alex’s fins, and when he looks back he finds Alex watching him raptly. “You’re incredible, love.”

Alex’s tail slips beneath the surface, but he reaches out with both hands, grabs Henry’s face, and pulls him into a kiss that makes Henry’s blood sing in his veins. And Henry might not know how any of this works, but he’s completely sure that he’ll do whatever it takes to keep Alex in his life—and in his arms—forever.

(Loosely inspired by this art from @shirmirart, namely the Alex in the tub one—I envision that moment as coming later, back at their apartment, after Henry finds out about Alex)

[the-blind-assassin-12]

Unbirthday

A/N: Although I am now two entire weeks late (I am the actual worst) this was written as a birthday gift for @something-tofightfor, because she is the fucking best and I love her guts. Rachael, I hope you enjoy this silly little story. Since Frankie Morales is apparently a "fictional character" and isn't "real" I couldn't wrap him up and send him to you, so this was the best I could do. Sorry it became an unbirthday gift - but it sort of works with the story that way. Anywho, here's hoping that this trip around the sun is a GOOD one!

And if it's your unbirthday today, happy unbirthday to you, too!

Word Count: 6.2k

Warnings: alcohol, and Frankie's shoulders and back making a shirt work very hard.

Summary: Spending your birthday in a brand new city goes from zero to sixty thanks to a co-worker who is determined to become a friend... and thanks to the breathtakingly handsome guy she introduces you to.

You had only been at your new job for a few weeks when your birthday rolled around, so when you walked into your office and flicked the lights on that morning, you were shocked to find a balloon tied to your chair and a white bakery box holding an assortment of cupcakes atop your desk. 

What? Who did th-

“Surprise!” 

You spun around to see a handful of your co-workers gathered in the doorway behind you, bright smiles on their faces as they wished you a happy birthday. 

“Oh, shit!” You let out a laugh as your hand came up to cover your mouth, prompting more laughs from the others. 

This is so nice, I wasn’t... Despite the fact that on your very first day at the firm, the office had been celebrating someone else’s birthday, you hadn’t expected anything for yours. Because I’m still brand new here, they hardly know me. You got along well almost immediately with the people you worked with, which was fantastic. Still, the fact that they embraced you quickly enough that they would want to do something for your birthday came as a genuine surprise that gave you a small rush of warmth. 

Not that you needed it. January in Tampa was certainly not January in the midwest. You hadn’t felt a chill since you took the transfer, a fact that you made sure to text your shivering friends back home every few days. But even though it was a balmy 68°F and you were wearing short sleeves under your light sweater, the added warmth of your colleagues’ kindness was more than welcome.  

Dropping your hand, you beamed at the group which had grown by two more associates from the interior architecture department down the hall, Mel and Casey. “Thank you all so much! You guys really didn’t have to do anything at all. I-” 

“Oh, stuff it, of course we did!” Gloria, whose office shared a glass partition with yours and with whom you traded exaggerated expressions while on client calls, stepped forward and threw her arms around you. “You’re the best transfer this office has ever had, we lucked out when we got you! Of course we’re going to celebrate your birthday.” 

You chuckled, giving her a quick, loose hug in return. “Gloria, did you do this? Also, weren’t you a transfer from the New York office?” 

“I was. Like I said,” she released you and stepped back, grinning. “You’re the best transfer we’ve had. Happy birthday, Ohio.” 

The rest of the group called out individual well-wishes before filing back to their own offices and cubicles, leaving just you and Gloria.

“Thank you,” you said again, reaching out to quickly squeeze her arm. “It really means a lot to me.” You sighed, finally putting down your bag and shrugging off your sweater. “I’ve been loving living down here, but the past few days, I don’t know, I guess I’ve been a little homesick. I don’t usually do a ton for my birthday, but this is the first one where I won’t see any of my family or my friends from back home so…” You gestured to the bakery box sitting next to your keyboard. “This was just really nice of you.” 

“You’re welcome.” She scrunched her nose. “Thanks for being ten thousand times better to work with than that dipshit you replaced, Kevin.” 

You snorted. Though you’d never had the displeasure of meeting the notorious Kevin, you’d heard enough about him to know that his presence in the office was definitely not missed. “No problem, though from what I understand it’s a very low bar.” 

“Which you leap over with the ease and grace of a…” She circled her hand through the air. “A… Oh, I don’t know, whatever the hell leaps gracefully. I’m a landscape architect, not a poet.” 

That made you laugh again. “Speaking of which,” you pointed at your computer screen. “Are you ready for that conference call with the city planner? J.R. approved our designs, so-” 

“Yeah, yeah,” she cut you off, nodding. “All set. Designs for the new park. Not looking forward to dealing with Sweetheart McGee, but-” You rolled your eyes as she used the nickname you’d given to one of the men you’d been working with from the city planner’s office who called the to of you “sweetheart” every time you’d spoken to him. “But it should be a smooth call. More importantly, though-” 

You had a sneaking suspicion that whatever was coming next wasn’t, in fact, more important than the biggest project that the landscape department had in house at the moment. Gloria had a tendency to use the phrase “More importantly, though…” to segue into a conversation about whether or not you wanted to get coffee delivered or which shoes you thought she should wear to her cousin’s wedding or if you thought Greg from IT was cute or not because she could totally set you up with him if you did.

And you were proven right as she finished her sentence. 

“Do you have plans tonight?” 

Shrugging, you shook your head. “Nah. I’ll probably just order in and finally finish unpacking the last of my stuff from the move. There’s a sushi place around the corner from me that I’ve been meaning to try, so… Why are you looking at me like that?” 

The way she was looking at you was a mix of the way you might look at the last puppy in the window at the pet store, combined with the confusion one might display while trying to solve an extremely advanced math equation. 

“Because you cannot just go home and eat sushi by yourself on your birthday.” She held up her hand then, face returning to a neutral expression. “Unless that’s actually what you want to do. And if it is, I won’t judge.” But? “Buuuuut.” She pressed her lips together. “If you want to get out and do something fun? 

You cocked your head to the side. Maybe. There was no harm in seeing what she had in mind. If it wasn’t your speed you still had your backup plan. And I should really get that shit unpacked, but… It doesn’t have to be tonight. “What are you suggesting?”

Gloria’s eyes lit up as you asked, her smile widening. “Well, Benny’s… You met my boyfriend, Benny, last week when he picked me up, remember?” You did, so you nodded. “It’s actually one of his and his brother’s friends’ birthday today, too, or, it was yesterday, but they’re going out tonight because one of them was working last night I think? I don’t know. My point is, it’s just going to be a casual thing down at Duffy’s, and if you want to join, you absolutely should.”

You were about to decline when you asked yourself why you shouldn’t go. 

First of all, you seemed to be on the fast track for an out of office friendship with Gloria. The two of you clicked right away, and though you’d only spent time with her out of work once, you could easily see it happening more and more. And I want that. You had solid friendships back home and scattered far and wide, and those people meant the world to you. But you would be lying to yourself if you said you didn’t want to form a few friendships in your new home, too. 

There was also the fact that the bar she’d mentioned, Duffy’s, was only a few miles from your place. It was actually where you and your sister went for drinks after she helped you move the last of your things into your condo. She’d driven down with you to keep you company on the trip, then taken a flight back home. But before she did, the two of you spent a day exploring your new neighborhood and ended up at Duffy’s. Though you were excited about your new job and the new start in a new place, you were still a little unsure if you’d made the right decision. But when you walked into the well-loved and weathered beach bar that night, something told you that everything was going to work out just as it should. 

And if for some reason that harmonious feeling you got upon entering Duffy’s was a one time thing, you could leave and be home in under eight minutes. And tomorrow’s Saturday, so… Fuck it. 

“You know what?” You nodded, a grin curving up your cheek. “That sounds great, Gloria.” 

She let out a small gasp and clapped her palms together once. “You’ll come?” 

“Yeah.” You nodded again, your grin growing into a full blown smile. “What time?” 

 “Ah! I’m so happy!” She genuinely was, and it made you feel good to know that she was looking forward to getting to know you outside of work. “I think Benny said nine, but I’ll ask him to be sure and then get back to you.” She clapped her hands together again and sucked in a breath as though something just occurred to her. “Oh! And you’ll get to meet Yovanna! I told you about her I think? Anyway, she’s dating Santi, one of the guys in the group. She’s great, you’ll like her.” Gloria chuckled. “And she’ll like you, too.” 

“I hope so!” And if not or if it’s awkward because they’re friends and I’m new… I can just go. 

“No, she will, trust me.” Gloria furrowed her brow and nodded. “You two are actually pretty similar.” She smirked. “You don’t take shit and neither does she.” The slightest hint of mischief sparkled in her eyes as another thing dawned on her. “Wait, two of the guys are very single right now and one of them-” You were trying to stop her right there because you weren’t looking for a setup, but she didn’t let you, simply speaking just a touch louder so all you could do was laugh. “One of them is Benny’s brother, and the other is-” 

You finally got her to stop by waving your arms and forming them into an X shape, still laughing. “Gloria. Stop. I’ll come out because it sounds fun. But I’m not looking for a matchmaker.” 

She held up her hands in surrender, a sheepish smile in place. “Fine. I’m just trying to give you all the information ahead of time.” She winked. “Just in case.” 

“Okay.” You winked back, giving her a thumbs up. “Consider me briefed.” 

Before Gloria could say anything else, Mel’s voice came through the speaker on your desk phone, saying your name. You pressed the button that let you respond. “What’s up, Mel?” 

“Brandon Grant from the city planner’s office is on line one for the conference call with you and Gloria.” From across the room you heard Gloria groan, then looked up to watch her mouth “Sweetheart McGee already?” with a sickly frown on her face, and you had to close your eyes and cover your mouth so you wouldn’t snort into the speaker. “Can I put him through?” 

You cleared your throat and shot Gloria a look. “Can you just give me one minute before you put him on? Tell him I’m on the other line, just so I can log in and get the project files open and get situated.” 

“No problem,” Mel answered. “He’s early, anyway. Just buzz me back when you’re ready.” 

Thanking Mel, you clicked the button to end the call and then let your hands fall against your lap as you faced Gloria. “Alright, you ready to get this over with?” 

“We are really going to deserve those drinks after dealing with this guy.” She sighed, then headed for the door, only to appear a second later on the other side of the glass wall. She sat at her desk and started up her computer, then looked over at you and nodded once. 

You buzzed Mel back and then you were on the line with Brandon Grant, the man stepping right into his nickname upon greeting. 

“Good morning, sweetheart, how you doing today?” 

You cringed, forcing a smile into your voice as you answered. “Oh, you know! Another day in paradise! Are you ready to go over the landscape designs for the new park?” 

For the next hour you and Gloria took Brandon through the possible layouts, explaining why certain plants and elements were chosen, and answering all of his questions while simultaneously keeping a count of how many times he referred to either of you as “sweetheart”. By the time you hung up, the count had reached twelve and he’d thrown in a “hun” as a bonus. 

We definitely deserve those drinks tonight.

But even though he was a pain in the ass to deal with, Sweetheart McGee has chosen one of the three designs you’d proposed, and as long as it was approved by the city council, it would be your first project to move into construction since switching locations. Which is pretty cool. 

You sighed, leaning back in your desk chair as you peeled the paper off of one of the cupcakes from the box your co-workers had left you, reading over your calendar to see what was next on your schedule. Taking a bite, you hummed in satisfaction. Damn, that’s good. 

It was only ten in the morning, but it was already proving to be a better birthday than you hoped for. As much as you tried to focus on work for the rest of the day, you couldn’t help but feel excitement about the prospect of going out later that night. 

Because… It means I could really have a life here. Not just a job. Friends and good times and… You really didn’t want Gloria to try to set you up with anyone. But if it happened naturally? 

Well, if that were the case, you’d be open to anything. 

Sometime after your lunch break, Gloria heard back from Benny and confirmed the time with you, the woman insisting that you let them pick you up despite your protests about how close the bar was to your place. 

“You really don’t have to do that,” You tried one last time. “I don’t mind driving myself, and I don’t want to intrude on your date night or anything.” 

Gloria waved you off and clicked her tongue. “It’s not date night, it’s birthday drinks with friends. I promise you Benny doesn’t mind, and I definitely don’t.” 

Oh, what the hell? It was clear that Gloria was trying to make sure that you felt included, even though you wouldn’t know anyone there aside from her and her boyfriend, whom you’d only exchanged a few words with. You appreciated how welcoming and inviting she was, and knew that she meant well, having been new to the area herself only a year earlier. I can still call an Uber if I have to leave early, and that way I don’t have to worry about having more than two drinks. 

“Okay,” you said, finally giving in with a sigh full of faux exasperation that turned into a laugh. “You win!” You told her that you would text her your address, and then Mel was calling you through the intercom, letting you know that another of your clients was waiting on line one. 

“And I have Annie Fulton from Florida Polytechnic on line two for Gloria,” Mel added. “So if you could tell her to leave you alone and get back to her own desk that would be swell.”

Snorting out a laugh, you looked over at the co-worker who was quickly becoming a friend, only to find that she was laughing, too. “Well,” you said, “You heard Mel. Get out of here.” 

“Alright, alright, I’m going.” She backed out the door, calling out one last thing before she was visible on the other side of the glass wall again. “Can’t wait for later!” 

As you prepped the files for your next call, you realized that you couldn’t wait for later, either.

– – – 

Pope and Yovanna were just getting out of their car when Frankie turned into the lot at Duffy’s, his truck’s headlights sweeping across the other parked cars to reveal that both Millers, as well as a few guys he worked with down at the airfield, were already inside. 

Gang’s all here, I guess. 

He pulled into the spot next to Pope, the other man waving at him through the windshield, his free arm wrapped around Yovanna’s waist. She waved, too, giving him a smile that brightened her whole face. Turning off the ignition, he waved in return, then glanced at his reflection in the rearview mirror, removing his hat and smoothing his hair down before yanking it back down over his curls. 

Good enough. Not trying to impress anyone anyway. 

As soon as he opened his door, he was greeted by Pope’s voice. “Ahí está el viejo!” 

Before Frankie could respond, Yovanna smacked Santi on the arm. “And who are you calling old, hmm? Estás pisándole sus talones.” Frankie laughed at that, reaching past Pope to give Yovanna a hug first. “Happy Birthday, Francisco,” she said, kissing him on the cheek and giving him a squeeze. 

“Thank you,” he replied, grinning at her as they separated. He turned to face his friend then, giving him a nod. “And she’s right, pendejo. You’re catching up. If I’m old, what does that make you?” 

“Still younger than you,” Pope responded with a chuckle, slapping Frankie’s back before slinging an arm around him. 

“Yeah, yeah, alright,” Frankie rolled his eyes. “C’mon, let’s get inside before Benjamin comes looking for us.” 

The night out was happening at Benny’s insistence. Up until two days earlier, Frankie had no birthday plans and he had been just fine with that. Forty three wasn’t exactly a major milestone. And with the way things had only just started to really settle following their return from South America - the reinstatement of his pilot’s license, the finalization of his divorce, getting shared custody of his daughter - he hadn’t had time to think about smaller, more trivial things. Least of all, celebrating his own forty third birthday. 

But Benny claimed that a new beginning at the end of the shitstorm was the perfect time to celebrate. 

Which Frankie thought sounded a little like one of Will’s speeches blended with Benny’s optimism and garnished with a twist of Pope’s persuasiveness, but at the same time, he kind of saw the point that his friend was trying to make. 

It’s less about my birthday and more about… He swallowed, flexing his right hand and then loosening it and letting it fall to his side. More about everything that comes after. 

The after. That was something that Frankie could readily celebrate. The fact that he, that all four of them, had survived the biggest mistake that any of them had ever made and could still fill their lives with good things, big and small. That was something he could drink to. 

Besides, it’s not actually my birthday today. It was yesterday. 

That didn’t stop Benny from letting the whole bar think otherwise. 

“Hey! Happy Birthday, Fish!” The younger of the Miller brothers exclaimed as Frankie, Pope and Yovanna stepped inside. He raised both arms, a full pitcher in one hand and a stack of empty glasses in the other. Behind him, Frankie saw Will stand from a table where he had been sitting with Gloria before making his way over to say hello as Yovanna made her way over to take Will’s place at the table. But who is that other woman? 

You turned then, laughing at something that Gloria had said. And even though he could only see half of your face from the angle of where you were sitting, he felt an instant attraction at the way that laugh brightened your eyes. I don’t know who she is, but I want to. 

“There he is,” Will said, clapping him on the shoulder with a grin. “Happy birthday, Morales. What are you now, sixty? Sixty five?” 

“Cool it, Ironhead, I’m only three years older than you.” Frankie responded, feigning offense and shrugging Will’s hand away. 

“Yeah, yeah,” Will laughed as Benny passed a full beer to Frankie. “We’re all on our way to the old folks home.” 

“Speak for yourselves,” the younger man interjected, filling and passing a glass to Pope, too. “Gloria and I are still thriving in our thirties, so-” 

“So that means you’re paying for drinks?” Pope chimed in through a smirk as he gripped his glass. “Wow. How generous of you, Benny.” 

Benny rolled his eyes. “Ha, ha.” Setting the pitcher down, he raised his own glass and the other three followed suit. “To Frankie. Cheers to being another year wiser than these wiseasses.” He cocked his head in Will and Pope’s direction. 

“Now hold on a minute, Ben, I-” 

But Frankie didn’t let Pope get the rest of his protest out before clinking his glass to the three that were waiting. “No, I think that was a perfect toast. Thanks, Benny.” He took a swig of his drink, and even though he hadn’t really wanted to come out, he was already glad that he had. Nights out with the guys weren’t rare occasions, not by a long shot. But he was still grateful that he got to have them. And tonight’s just getting started. 

Yuri and Ed from the airfield filed over then to wish Frankie a happy birthday, followed by a few other friends and acquaintances that Benny and Will had spread the word to. After about an hour of mingling, he finally made his way over to the table where the rest of the group was sitting, dropping into a seat next to Gloria. 

“Happy birthday, Frankie!” She spoke over the music and chatter as she leaned over to give him a loose hug. 

“Thank you, Glo.” He smiled at her as he pulled back. “It’s nice to see you, thanks for coming out.” 

She waved a hand as she reached for the handle of the pitcher, Benny scooching it towards her without breaking from the conversation he was having with Will and Pope. “Of course! Wouldn’t miss it.” She poured herself a half glass of beer, then wordlessly asked if he wanted a refill, too. 

Nodding, he held his glass in place. “Thanks,” he murmured, looking over his shoulder as she topped him off. “Hey who did I see you talking to before?” And where is she now?

A mischievous grin stretched across her lips as she looked up at him and set the pitcher on the table. What is that look for? “A friend from work,” she responded, telling him your name. “A single friend,” she added.

Frankie huffed out a short laugh. “I’m not- I didn’t-” 

“I know you didn’t.” Gloria winked at him. “I just want you to have all the information,” she added, knocking the rim of her glass to his. 

“Well…” He raised his glass to his lips, smiling behind it. Well… That’s good to know. “Okay.” 

“Oh! And it’s her birthday, too, so I invited her out.” 

What? And she didn’t have other plans? “Oh. Well, I’m glad you did,” he said, setting his drink on a cardboard coaster and letting his fingers slide down the chilled glass. “The more the merrier.” 

He looked up and in the direction of the restrooms just as you and Yovanna came through the hallway that led to them, and when he did, he locked eyes with you. Fuck, she’s beautiful. He felt his smile grow again at the sight of you, especially when he noticed your slight intake of breath as your eyes met his. He watched Yovanna say something into your ear that made you cover your face and laugh, and then she raised her hand to wave at him. 

I wonder what she said to her. He raised one eyebrow along with his hand as you dropped yours from your face. The remnants of your laughter were still written all over your cheeks and again he felt an undeniable pull, a desire to get to know you. Because I want to see that smile again. And I want to put it there. 

His thoughts were interrupted by Pope tapping the table in front of him. “Hey, ground control to Catfish.” Frankie blinked, turning his attention back to his friends. “You’re not going deaf on us, are you? I asked if you’re in.” 

Picking up an unused coaster, he flung it like a frisbee at Pope, who batted it down in one smooth motion. “Just selectively.” 

“Ha, ha.” Pope rolled his eyes. “So does that mean you don’t want to go to the Lightning game on Wednesday?” 

“The Lightning?” Frankie took a sip of his beer, eyebrows drawn together. “Since when are you a hockey fan? Do you even know anything about hockey?”

“Oh, believe me, he does not.” Yovanna laughed as she dropped into the booth bench next to Pope, her arm going around his shoulders so that her fingers could card through the hair that curled behind his ear. He turned to face her, both of them wearing ear to ear grins. “We watched the game last night and he had no clue what was going on the whole time.” 

“I didn’t,” he admitted, garnering snickers and snorts from both Miller brothers. “But I’m learning.” He shrugged. “The tickets are from work. We just signed a contract with Amalie Arena so I’ll get tickets a few times a year. So I figured why not broaden my horizons?” 

“It’s not the easiest game to understand right away, but if you give it a few games and actually pay attention, you’ll catch on.” Another voice joined the conversation then, and everyone turned towards where you stood at the edge of the table. “I have a friend who’s a big fan so I’ve watched a few games with her.” Giving a small shake of your head, you laughed. “I still don’t know all the rules. It’s a wild sport, but it’s fun.” 

“See?” Pope gestured at you with one hand. “I don’t have to know the rules to have fun.” 

“Oh, good.” Frankie placed his palm flat on the table. “So your short attention span should be just fine then.” His friend’s response was to flip him the bird, the rest of the table laughing before falling back into conversation as Frankie stood and faced you. “Hi, sorry I didn’t get to introduce myself yet. I’m Francisco.” He shook his head. “Frankie. Let me grab you a chair.”  

– – – 

You hadn’t even finished your first drink yet, so you knew the rush of warmth you felt in that moment had nothing to do with the alcohol and everything to do with Frankie’s slightly lopsided smile. 

Fuck, he’s handsome. He pulled a chair away from an empty table and plopped it next to his. And chivalrous. 

“Thank you.” You sat, returning his smile with one of your own, and telling him your name as Gloria slid your glass across the table from where you were sitting before to your new seat between Frankie and Yovanna. “And happy birthday.” You lifted your drink in his direction before taking a sip. “Thanks for letting me crash your plans.” 

“Thank you.” His grin spread wider, lifting his cheeks into his eyes. “Happy birthday to you, too.’ He tipped his drink so that he could clink the rim of his glass to yours. “And you’re welcome. I’m glad Gloria invited you.” 

Your eyes darted over just in time to see Gloria shoot you a wink over Frankie’s shoulder. “Yeah,” you said, still smiling, your heart beating just a blip faster. “Me too.” 

Over the next hour and a half that became even more true as you fell easily into conversation with the group. Gloria had been right about you and Yovanna clicking, and the guys were just as easy to get along with. Since there were other people there for Frankie’s birthday than just the seven seated at the table, he got up a few times to go spend some time with them, too, but each time he came back he returned his focus to you, either commenting on something that you were telling the others, or asking you questions if you weren’t part of the larger conversation happening. 

You told him about your job at the architecture firm, and about the transfer that brought you down to Tampa in the first place. Will and Benny chimed in when you talked about how different winter was where you were from, the Indiana born brothers claiming that they’d love to see Frankie or Santi shovel their way out of a Midwest blizzard. 

“Why?” Frankie grimaced. “That just sounds like it hurts.” 

You’d laughed at that, nodding. “It does. I love the snow and I don’t really mind shoveling but…” You sighed. “I won’t miss the whole body aches after doing it.” 

“Facts,” Gloria agreed, nodding sagely. “Shoveling snow is not fun or easy.”

“You lived in a co-op building in Queens, Glo,” Benny responded, tightening the arm he had around her and giving her a skeptical side eye. “You didn’t have to shovel anything.” 

“I did not,” she confirmed. “But I watched the snow removal guys and they definitely did not look like they were enjoying themselves.” 

Everyone laughed at that, and then the conversation branched in a different direction. But Frankie didn’t follow it, turning to you and circling back to your recent move. “So aside from the weather, are you liking it down here?”

Smiling, you nodded. “I am. I’m still getting my feet under me. Learning where things are and which take out spots are good and all that.” 

Frankie hummed, crossing his arms over his chest. “Try Tino’s on Gateway Boulevard if you like burritos,” he suggested. “And if you like sushi you should try Ginkaku on-” 

“-North Evans?” You asked the location at the same time that he said it, your eyes widening. What are the odds? “Yeah, I’ve been meaning to try there.” You chuckled under your breath. “I was actually going to stop there tonight on my way home from work, but then Gloria told me I couldn’t spend my birthday eating sushi alone, so…”

You trailed off as someone near the bar called over to Frankie, telling him that they had to get going. He twisted in his seat to respond, saying that he’d be over in a second, and you found yourself staring at the way the movement made the fabric of his shirt stretch over his broad back. Damn. Out of the corner of your eye you noticed Gloria and Yovanna giving each other looks that you were fairly certain had to do with the way you were looking at Frankie, but you didn’t care because when he turned around again, his deep brown eyes locked with yours and nearly knocked you sideways. 

“Sorry, I just have to go say goodbye to a buddy of mine from work, and-” 

“No, don’t apologize! Of course.” You cocked your head towards the bar. “Go ahead, Frankie, I’ll be here when you get back.” 

He took a breath, then swallowed and nodded, eyes still on you as he stood from his seat. “Okay. I’ll be right back.” With that, he turned and headed over to the bar, and you were met with a view of his back again. 

Tearing your eyes away in an attempt to be more subtle about your attraction to a man you had met less than two hours ago, you cleared your throat and finished your drink. 

Your attempt was for naught, though, because even though Gloria was engaged in an intense conversation with Benny, Will and Santi, Yovanna was looking at you with a smirk. “I told you,” she said, one eyebrow raised as she lifted her drink to her lips. “I saw the way he looked at you before. He’s definitely interested.” 

I hope she’s right. Heat flooded your cheeks as the thought crossed your mind, and you knew you likely looked flustered, but you shook your head and let out a scoff. “I- He… Yovanna, I’m sure it’s just-” You shrugged. “A birthday hookup or-” 

Her head moved side to side then, her dark curls swinging from her ponytail. “No. That’s not Francisco.” She glanced over at Santi, the man throwing his head back in laughter and clapping Will on the shoulder, a warm smile that softened her sharp eyes on her face when she turned back to you. “The two of them are very much alike. They don’t waste their time on things that they don’t think will be around tomorrow.”

As though on cue, Santiago leaned over to press a kiss to Yovanna’s cheek. “You good?” He murmured the words against her skin before pulling away. She turned to nod, scrunching her nose. “We’ll get going soon, yeah?” She nodded again, the man dropping another kiss to the opposite cheek. “Okay.” 

He turned back to the others then, but you noticed that his hand stayed on her thigh as she returned her focus to you, saying your name. “I know that you just met me tonight, too, but you can trust me on this. Besides-” She tapped her phone and you looked down at the time on the screen. “Tonight is not really his birthday, and it’s almost not yours anymore, either. So it can’t just be a birthday hookup.” She widened her eyes and pressed her lips together, reaching for the pitcher in the middle of the table. “I’m going to have one more drink. Do you want one?” 

Before you could respond, you felt the weight of Frankie’s grip on the back of your chair as he lowered himself back into his own seat. But it was the trail of his fingertips across your shoulder as he withdrew his hand that made you suck in a breath and wonder if Yovanna was right. Realizing that you hadn’t answered her question, you blinked and nodded. “Um, sure. Just half a glass, though.” 

Because if she’s right? I definitely want to stay clear headed for whatever might happen. 

You thanked her as she poured for you, and then turned to Frankie, licking your lips as you smiled. “Did you catch your friend before they left?” 

“I did.” He said it with a nod, then tilted his head to the side. What? Narrowing his eyes, he opened his mouth to say something, then hesitated, taking a breath instead of speaking. What is he- But then he straightened his head again and you saw - and felt - his eyes flick to your lips and then back up. Oh, shit, he- “So you said that you were originally planning on checking out that sushi place tonight but Gloria said you couldn’t spend your birthday eating sushi alone, right?” 

You pulled your lower lip between your teeth and nodded. “Yeah.” And I’m glad I listened to her. 

He sighed then and you got the feeling that he was working himself up to say something. “Well,” he let out a sheepish laugh and reached up to grip the back of his neck, thick fingers nudging the edge of his hat. “That place is open ‘til 2 on the weekends. If you’re hungry, we could go grab a bite.” Wait, is he… Is he asking me out? He shrugged, dropping his hand and giving you the same lopsided grin he gave you when he introduced himself to you. “That way you won’t be going by yourself and-” 

You poked your tongue into the side of your cheek. “And technically by the time we get there it won’t even be my birthday anymore, so-” 

Frankie nodded, grin spreading. “So Gloria won’t have a leg to stand on.” 

A thousand tiny butterflies swarmed through your stomach at the thought of spending more time with Frankie one on one. Oh, I am so fucked. Taking a breath, you looked at him and what you saw only confirmed that thought. Frankie was the most attractive man you’d ever been this close to. And he’s asking me out. There was only one answer, as far as you were concerned. 

“That sounds great, Frankie.” You held up a finger. “On one condition.” He lifted an eyebrow in question, so you went on. “We take it back to my place to go, because I have a bunch of birthday cupcakes leftover from the office this morning, and-” 

He laughed, leaning in to rest his elbow on the table, getting close enough to say something that no one else would hear. “So you’re saying if I play my cards right, I might get to kiss frosting off your lips?” 

Oh, holy fucking shit, Frankie. 

You gasped then, Frankie pulling back to see the reaction on your face, the expression he was wearing one that you would remember for a long time. Finally, you cleared your throat and answered. “That is exactly what I’m saying, Francisco.” 

His eyes flashed when you used his full name, and with his next breath, though he was still looking at you, he addressed the rest of the table. “Hey guys, this has been fun, but I think it’s time to call it a night.” 

Within a few minutes the tab had been paid - Will, Benny and Santi insisting on splitting it between themselves - and goodbyes were said. But despite what Frankie had just said, you knew that your night was just getting started.

.

.

.

Thank you for reading! If you would like to be added to or removed from the taglist, please feel free to let me know by sending a message or filling out the form on my masterlist! :)

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[star-lights-up]

cherik but they go to therapy and they learn how to love in a way that is not harmful to the other

ooooh I love this!!

Assuming it's a writing prompt (if it's not i'm sorry it is now)....

Neither Charles nor Erik really WANT to go to therapy. Erik is very much a "keep it inside, I am fine, I am fine fine fine" guy and Charles is a DIY guy. He'll fix everything and anything himself. Talking to someone about problems and emotions? "we've got that at home! It's called an inner monologue, or a friend, or a journal."

At some point (aka after about six months of big, blowout fights where things get SERIOUSLY broken. Dishes and stuff like that. Also Erik leaving occasionally after them and Charles falling back into deep depression) Raven convinces Hank to team up with her and blackmail Charles and Erik into going to therapy.

("Couples therapy, marriage counseling, individual therapy, I don't fucking care what they do but something needs to happen. Or I will murder both of them myself. C'mon, Hank, I know you've got at LEAST one thing we can get Charles with...." "Raven, that's blackmail...." "So?")

Charles is skeptical, but manages to stay friendly when they first meet their counselor. Erik is being a grump and barely opens his mouth.

Then, at their first appointment, shit just... goes south. They start arguing, Erik storms out, Charles starts having a whole big mental breakdown, the counselor is sitting there like O___O

"Why can't I fix this?" Charles sobs, feeling like the biggest idiot in the world. It's what he's been thinking ever since he met Erik, really, ever since they started fighting and kissing and running to and from each other.

And the counselor is just like, "This isn't... It's about you and him, growing together and leaving space for each other's opinions. There's not anything you can do to "fix" it, because it's just a process. Learning to respect each other. And you certainly can't do it all on your own."

Charles nods and sniffles and manages to regain his composure. He apologizes, and leaves.

Erik's sitting in the car outside, still fuming. And Charles gets in and he's just super quiet. They start driving back home without another word.

Then when they're in the driveway Charles is just like, "Erik, I can't say our situation is all your fault. I hold the blame too. But I need you to try. For me. Please." Then he gets out and goes into the house and Erik's just sitting there in the car feeling angry and confused and stuff.

The next week up until their second appointment is quiet. They don't fight, they just don't really talk that much. Evening chess games are quiet. Erik sleeps in the spare room, and neither of them mention it.

They fight again at the next appointment, but Erik doesn't leave this time. And that tells Charles that he's trying.

The third appointment, it's Erik's turn to break down in tears. Charles holds him while he cries. That evening, Charles asks him to stay, to sleep in their bedroom again, and he does.

Slowly, appointment by appointment, they learn how to talk to each other again -- and how not to talk to each other. Charles realizes that there's certain things that he just has to not critique Erik for, even if he doesn't support them, and sometimes things just aren't as big of a deal as he makes them. And Erik realizes that he can't keep avoiding the hard conversations, even when he thinks that him staying will just be a burden to both of them.

They fight less. The remaining arguments are less destructive, too, and sometimes they're almost having fun, debating with each other. They can be seen holding hands, smiling again when they're around each other. They go on dates again, and more often.

Raven says a triumphant "I-told-you-so!" Alex, Sean, and Hank owe money after a month of no broken dishes.

And Charles and Erik? Well, they're happier than ever.

[valleyian]

Thoughts on Cursed Child becoming a movie

A very random late night rant, but here we go. I’ve seen a lot of fake trailers circle around the web and on social media in regards to a potential HPCC movie. And whilst that’s all fun and games, I also want to talk about the actual consequences a movie like that would have on both the fandom and people.

First off I need people to understand that HPCC is an (almost) separate entity of the Wizarding World franchise, being mostly excluded or regarded as “non canon” by the mainstream. However this does NOT mean JKR doesn’t receive royalties from the play, she still earns money from it. The ethics of spending money on the play is also something to be discussed, however I want to specifically talk about the consequences that a potential movie would have on the HPCC story and the representation within it.

First of, HPCC although it has controversies, is in my opinion the best installation in the Harry Potter universe when it comes to representation. What do I mean by that? Since HPCC is a theatre play, it follows general casting rules which in most cases is colour blind. This is implemented in most theatre productions where ethnicity of actors do not matter, HPCC is not an exception. This means that a lot of POC actors get opportunities to be on stage and portray these characters, not to mention the deliberate casting of Hermione Granger. (Although I will note that this casting has caused a lot of stir, in addition to the fact most of the productions have yet to cast a POC lead in the role of Albus, not counting Tokyo or Brazil).

Although only speculation on my part, I can’t imagine a HPCC movie would be able to deliver on the representation shown in the play, with the numerous casts that have been. I also would assumed they’d return to the white casting of Rose and Hermione, which obviously would erase the theatre play castings purpose.

Then onto my second point; being queer representation. Although it’s not confirmed 100%, and also wouldn’t be able to be confirmed as long as JKR has her dirty grubby hands on the IP, Scorbus is as close to canon as possible. This became evident after the script rewrite, a rewrite that was deliberately written by the current queer actors of the play. It was also written as a retaliation agains JKRs bigoted statements which she had began to spread at that time. So as of now, the play leaves the relationship between Albus and Scorpius ambiguous, yet it is very obvious there is a romantic undertone. This is the closest to any LGBTQ rep in the Harry Potter Universe, (no I will not count Dumbledore and Grindewald) and it means so much to people. A movie by Warner Bros and directed by JKR would most certainly remove all aspects of this, and return to the original script with the very forced addition of Scorpius x Rose. (Nothing against the ship, but I’m against the way it was used as a last minute ploy to remove any assumed gayness).

A subsection to this topic I want to touch upon is also queer representation within the casting. It’s not uncommon for theatre to feature a diverse cast both in ethnicity and orientations. HPCC again is no exception. Over the shows 8 year long run, there has been countless of queer and trans actors who have played in it. There have been gay and trans leads in the roles of Albus and Scorpius as well as the ensemble, and this representation is crucial. Especially since this is an IP within JKRs hands, casting people of said groups is such a powerful move. I can almost guarantee a movie would NOT be as inclusive.

And lastly, if there is a movie, should you support it? It’s not my place to say, and I will also acknowledge I am hypocritical when it comes to what I chose to consume and spend money on in regards to the Harry Potter franchise. However I also want to acknowledge that when you are supporting the theatre play, you do give money to JKR, but you also give money to the numerous queer and POC actors in the cast, a lot of whom are activist. I personally will stay away from any HPCC content that erases any of the current representation added. Unless the movie follows the new script, with POC and queer actors, as well as minimal influence for JKR, I WILL NOT support it. Thank you for coming to my TedTalk.

Also, feel free to correct me if I stated something incorrect or false in this rant!

[bettydice]

#34 Stars for Solavellan :D

She hears him approach and doesn’t wait until she sees him to move slightly to the right, so he can sit down next to her, if he so chooses. He does not, not immediately. Instead, Solas stops a few steps away from her, keeping a polite distance. “May I join you?” Mango almost rolls her eyes at him, but restrains herself, when she sees the soft smile on his face. “You don’t have to ask, you know?” She pats the spot next to her. “I would not want to presume.” Solas sits down, thankfully leaving politeness behind, so that their bodies are touching, and he takes her hand.

“Mhm, you have my explicit permission to do so. In fact,” Mango interlaces their fingers, “I’d very much like it, if you did.”

She feels a rare stab of embarrassment after she says it, her heart not used to Mango pulling such private wants to the surface. She decides to let Solas see both her embarrassment and her want, her need, for him to cross that boundary between ‘Inquisitor’ and ‘Mango’ unasked.

He holds her gaze for four heartbeats, as always full of gentleness and understanding, then lifts their entwined hands and presses a kiss to the back of hers. “I can do that.”

With her free hand, she pulls him close, so their lips can meet. It has only been a few weeks since Solas let go of whatever concerns had been holding him back, and they don’t get moments like these as often as she’d like, but already their intimacy feels so familiar. There’s so much they have yet to experience together, so much they don’t know about each other, but there are neither questions nor doubts in their kisses.

Solas breaks the kiss, pulls back a little to smile at her. “This is not the reason I came here for.”

“And that is no reason to stop.”

“True enough. And now I certainly intend to resume this later. But first…” He pulls a small jar from the leather pouch on his belt - the jar that holds the ointment she uses on her left hand.

Mango leans back against the rock and fully relaxes her hand in his grip, while he massages the ointment into her skin. It helps with the terrible dryness, even if it cannot stop her skin from always feeling too tight, as though it doesn’t belong to her and is sitting on the wrong hand.

“Is this a different one? It smells… much nicer.” Lavender, very obviously, and something else she can’t pinpoint.

“I may have made some suggestions to the apothecary. I’m glad you’re pleased with the result.”

“I really am. Thank you, Solas.”

He hums in acknowledgement, then presses his fingertips deep into the heel of her hand.

“Oh.” Mango closes her eyes and sighs. “After trudging through the sand all day, I think my legs could use the same treatment.”

Solas’ fingers stop their movement, close to her pulse point. “Would you… want me to be presumptuous about that?”

A quiet laugh escapes her, and she opens her eyes to look at him. "Yes.”

He lifts his eyes to hers, gaze more intense this time, and resumes his massage. “I’ll try to respect your wishes, then.”

She is tempted to get up immediately and take him to her - their - tent, but her legs do really feel terribly sore. And it is blissfully quiet here, and the desert looks so beautiful in the moonlight.

She laughs again and the charged moment passes.

“You must be looking forward to visiting the Fade tonight - new places to explore.”

Solas huffs. “There is nothing on this side of the Veil, I’m not confident the other side will have more to show.”

“It wasn’t always nothing.”

His eyebrows draw together for a moment, the corners of his mouth turn downwards. He looks sad, not displeased. “… Yes. You’re quite right about that.”

“May I join you tonight? In the Fade? If there’s nothing to find… well, I can think of a few things to do instead.”

Solas laughs then and kisses her hand once more - this time, to signify the end of the massage. “Alright. I’ll come and find you then, Vhenan.”

“Please do.” Mango lifts her right hand and caresses his cheek. “But if you don’t mind staying on this side a bit longer… ”

Solas embraces her tightly and gives her a kiss that is only for her, that is an answer to everything she has wanted from him, a kiss that leaves no boundaries between them.

For a little while she is just Mango, kissing her lover in the moonlight, surrounded by peaceful nothingness.

[spaghett-onaplate]

okok i have a few hcs you could mayhaps incorporate into a fic if you so desired...

when they cuddle they're like a mass of entangled limbs.

they're almost always touching in some way. even in small ways like tracing alomg each others skin or covering the other in kisses. esp tracing or kissing each others tattoos.

thanos talks in his sleep 💀

ig not really a fic request but more so if any of these inspire a fic somehow you can do that :3

ehehe i LOVEEE these thank you very very much i am certainly going to add these to my WIP :> i wanna share some writing, so here's a very early scene with a biiiiit of physical touch, keep in mind it is a rough draft tho:

(bit of context: they're fresh out of the games after mingle and are sharing a motel)

Thanos gets out of the bathroom in his robe, the white collar stained a little purple. He chucks his cross necklace onto the table and grabs his phone from beside the socket, where Nam-gyu had plugged it in. It buzzes with dozens of messages, but Thanos sets it aside and sits on the bed beside Nam-gyu, stretching his legs out in front of him and wiggling his bare toes. Nam-gyu, sitting more in the centre than his half of the bed, could move further to the edge but remains put. Beside him, Thanos has enough space to leave a bit of distance between them. But he doesn’t, pressing his side into Nam-gyu’s, their shoulders overlapping. Nam-gyu sinks further into the pillow behind him, drops his head to rest down on Thanos’ shoulder. It moves as the man reaches for the remote and flicks through the channels available. They land on some game show and it takes a few minutes to puzzle it out, starting halfway through an episode. There were a hundred contestants, now down to the last quarter, competing in grueling physical challenges. Nam-gyu laughs at their horribly muscled physiques. “Steroids have got to be worse than the shit we take,” he says.  “Duh-duh,” Thanos mimics the dramatic sound effects between shots. “Seriously, who even goes on these shows? They make themselves look like such idiots,” Thanos scoffs. “Yeah, all that for less than half a billion won,” Nam-gyu cackles, then his laughter dies in his throat. “Huh…” Realisation seems to hit Thanos at the same time, as he flicks to the next channel. Humbled, Nam-gyu gets up to fetch the laundry.

[coraniaid]

Actually, on reflection, I think I'm persuaded that the "poor Willow is a magical junkie now and it's not her fault :(" subplot in Season 6 is, contrary to what I've said before, actually the worst multi-episode subplot on Buffy.

Say what you like about the other two contenders for that honor: the non-mystery of "is Giles really the First Evil and why hasn't anyone thought to check yet?" or the banality of "shall we engage seriously with the fact Spike has a soul now and how that might change him as a person, or shall we just say that a mean ghost hypnotized him?". But neither of those plots involve a woman telling her significant other (and I am really not paraphrasing much at all here) "I don't like that you used magic to violate my mind and rob me of my ability to consent to our relationship, because it's not good for you".

Moreover:

While the two Season 7 subplots are both pretty bad and boring to watch and are certainly part of why I don't enjoy that season, I don't think removing or somehow rewriting either of them would automatically make the season much better. By contrast, the Willow subplot of Season 6 is the worst thing about that season -- one which I think otherwise had a lot of potential and is arguably the most ambitious season the show ever did -- and fixing it would improve the season as a whole a lot.

The Willow subplot also takes up a lot more of the show overall than the two Season 7 subplots do. Giles as the First is a complete waste of everyone's time, but it's also fully resolved in less than half a dozen episodes (we first get the fake out that Giles might be dead in Never Leave Me, the ninth episode of the season, and we see that he isn't in The Killer In Me, the thirteenth episode). The Spike hypnotic trigger lasts a lot longer, but it still over within about half a season. But the Willow subplot dominates most of Season 6 and also continues to have ramifications for WIllow's character development (or lack thereof) for the rest of the show.

It's easy, I think, to understand why the writers resorted to the two Season 7 plots. They needed some excuse for Buffy's friends to not trust Spike, but for various reasons are committed to the idea that having a soul means Spike himself is now inherently Good and Blameless and so the reasons not to trust him can't be related to anything he's ever chosen to do himself, it has to be something done to him against his will. And the writers obviously stopped caring about Giles as a character with any sort of inner life the very minute ASH asked to be partially written out of the show so he could move back to England. I honestly don't believe the writers were capable of writing good subplots for either Giles or Spike by this point, even if they'd tried. But the Willow subplot comes out of nowhere and completely derails what was going to be a really interesting story line about Willow that the show had been patiently building towards since at least Season 3 and arguably even longer.

More broadly, both the Season 7 plots are bad in part because they are attempts to make the First -- previously a forgettable monster of the week whose primary powers included 'making people who have done bad things feel suitably bad' and 'not being able to touch anything'; a plot device which Buffy herself already rightly dismissed as all talk all the way back in Season 3 ("I get it. You're evil. Do we have to chat about it all day?"). Of course they're not successful attempts: there's no way to make the First as menacing and important as the writers wish it was. Being annoyed at the way they fail almost seems like missing the point.

Most importantly, I can more cheerfully ignore the two Season 7 subplots because I don't really care about either Spike or Giles at this point of the show's run. But I like Willow, so it bothers me more that she's subjected to all this dreadfully bad writing and that her character never really quite recovers from it.

[cptn-sulu]

it’s very unrealistic for a few reasons but i REALLY want to finish the first part of hikaru!epic while i’m on break

[twodragonsinatrenchcoat]

The pain of looking into college really is the fact that that shit costs money.

[deathsmallcaps]

I work as the person in an amusement park who watches the children who get lost. Here’s some advice. This also applies to any mentally disabled adults that are under your care. Keep in mind that many places will not look for a minor ages 13-17 unless it is close to closing or they are disabled, as corporate considers it a strain on resources and employee use.

1. Teach them your phone number. Best gift you can give them. I’m not supposed to have my phone out at work but I can cut down dependent’s being-lost-time by probably 400% if I can contact you. It also assures the children That We Are Doing Something and that They Are Helpful and Smart. If your dependent has a poor memory, apparently writing your phone number in sharpie and then covering it in nail polish makes it stay all day, even if they’re sweaty or getting in the water. I haven’t tested this but I’ve heard a lot of moms recommend it. I’ve also seen bracelets with little plates or the beads saying the phone number.

Addendum: your dependent may tell you that they know your phone number, but they actually only know your passcode. True story. This summer has been a lot better, but last summer exactly one child the entire season knew his mom’s phone number.

2. Acknowledge that dependent’s memories are faulty, especially in new places. If you tell them to meet you in X spot or that your stuff is all in Y place, they may not remember where it is or remember how to get there.

3. All dependents, but especially little ones, have shit time sense. They might find your stuff, wait there for a minute or two, and truly believe that they’ve been there for an hour. Half the small kids that are brought to me are ones who *know* where their stuff is, but haven’t seen an adult they know personally in 5 minutes, so they’re going to panic.

4. Don’t take naps!!! And don’t let your dependent go anywhere you can’t go or at least go where you catch them at the end!!! Yes you’re staring at the play structure your dependent entered, but can you see them? No? Then there’s a good chance they went elsewhere. So many of the littler kids that are brought to me are brought by genuine, good-hearted strangers who see lost children and take them by the hand. Away from the spot you’re napping in front of/staring vaguely at.

5. This might just be something from my work, but we will not call dependent’s descriptions over the loudspeaker. This is because if an asshole were to see your dependent, hear the description, know it’s a lost dependent, and decide to steal it, they can then use the excuse, “I know where your guardian is! Come with me!” And then lead them out of the park or toss the dependent over their shoulder. Do you know how many crying and screaming dependents leave the location every day? A lot!!! We’re a fun location!!! We’re not going to know if the dependent is screaming because they don’t want to leave or if a stranger is taking them away. We might call the description over the loudspeaker if it’s past closing time and the dependent still isn’t found. But before that, we will only report it over secure radios across the park.

6. Tell a park worker right away. Preferably someone with a radio. Even if you spot the dependent within the next minute, that means the dependent will have less being-lost time. Especially if we already have the dependent with, you guessed it, me. Also please tell us when you find the dependent.

7. Take a picture of your depdendent at the start of the day! That way security guards can have a good idea of what to look for. One mother told me her daughter was blonde and showed me a picture. Her hair color looked brown to me, but then I knew what to look for in the crowd.

8. Keep at least one person in your group in one spot at all times, especially if you don’t have access to your phone or forgot to give out your phone number to the guards. That way they can find you if they pick up the dependent. If you are the only person in your group, then PLEASE stay in one place or at least stay with ONE security guard. It sucks for the dependent if they can’t find you right away even if the both of you are looking for each other and a guard is helping them. You are NOT helping if you panic and run around. And keep your goddamn phone on you and answer calls from unknown numbers!!!!! God. This is a good time to do that.

9. If you lose your dependent in an attraction like the lazy river at a water park, and you have that ONE person staying in place, then this is what you can do with 1+ mobile people.

A. If only one person can be spared to be mobile, have them pick a spot and stay right there, watching the river go by. Eventually, if the dependent is in the river, they’ll go by.

B. If you have two people that can be mobile, both start at the same place in the river and go opposite directions. If you meet up again without spotting the dependent, well, they’re not there.

C. If you have more than 2 people, you can do B but also station different adults at the lazy river entrances/exits.

10. Don’t blame the dependent! Even if they ran away and/or are pissy that you’re upset once you all reunite, trust me, there’s a 99% chance they’re upset too. Yes, this is a good time to have a serious conversation with them. Yes, if this is a repeated problem, and/or you warned them you’d leave the park if this occurred, you should not back down. But also - they’re dependents. They’re not stupid, and they should be told consequences and dangers so they can make good decisions, but they will never have the adult/guardian perspective that you do. Be kind.

Also please for my sake teach them if they’re brought to someone like me, that it’s THEIR job to be safe and listen to me while us park workers look for you. It’s YOUR job to find the dependent, not the dependent’s job to find you. I had a six year old little girl genuinely toddler-howl at me because she wanted to go look for her mom. I’ve never before heard a kid her age howl like that. I can trick kids out of crying 9/10 times but howling came as a surprise lmao. I think I can manage it now that I’ve experienced it but damn.

Also make sure those kids are DRINKING. Being in a water park is NOT the same as drinking water. They should be drinking every 15 minutes at LEAST, I am NOT kidding.

Also if I call you to tell you your kid is here, please don’t call or text me back after you have the kid. I’m sure other places have phones for these types of things but the only one I have is my personal phone. And I am happy to get the kid off my hands and into your arms, but I’m using my personal phone so plz. Don’t call me back. Absolutely call me if you need directions to my ‘office’ in the park. Don’t call or text me after. I have stories about that hoo boy but this post is already long.

[mechanical-aristocrat]

Okay this is silly but am I crazy to think that Screwllum didn't talk like this before? In Silver Wolfs event he just talked like a human but now he says things like "Affirmation:" or "Conclusion:" Does this have like. Lore signifigance? Was it explained? Or did hoyoverse just retcon how he talks?

[OOC:]

Actually, he has talked like this the whole time, it's just that in Silver Wolf's companion mission it wasn't used nearly as frequently as in the new story. (To make sure I was remembering correctly, I skimmed the dialogue section of the wiki and found that the amount it was used was around the same for both missions, but since Screwllum had far more dialogue in Punklorde Mentality, its use was significantly more spread out so it wasn't as noticable)

In my opinion, it was better that way. I feel like this sort of speech mannerism is only charming when it's used sparingly, but for every handful of lines? It's a bit awkward and loses its effectiveness pretty quickly. Before, it seemed to me like something he was doing intentionally, turning typically flat and emotionless robotic speech patterns into something more endearing. Now, though, it reads like it only exists because he's a robot and robot characters have to speak a certain way, right? Never mind the fact that Screwllum is far more in touch with emotions (both his own and others') than most robot characters that exist in fiction, and that he tends to speak in a very elegant and poetic way that wouldn't usually blend very well with that blunt, straight-to-the-point style of speaking (unless, of course, a balance is struck between the two...like it was in Punklorde Mentality, maybe?!).

It's not a retcon, per say, because that word usually only applies to major, plot-important elements (as far as I understand it), but it is an inconsistency.

[britneyshakespeare]

I feel like certain people on Tumblr have really been fighting for backwards progress when it comes to how we talk about mental illness and abuse. I see posts at least several times a week on my dash that seem to have the purpose of implying people with insert-mental-illness and/or insert-symptom are not abusive when they do insert-action-that-makes-people-uncomfortable, often times meaning to promote a more positive image of people with particularly stigmatized conditions, like personality disorders, mood disorders, psychosis, addiction, or neurodivergence. And I really really hate it because these posts almost always have the ultimate purpose of telling people not just "This thing is not inherently abusive," but often it comes across as "You were not abused."

I just find that to be really unhelpful and unintentionally hurtful, and for what? I believe that destigmatizing various mental conditions is a worthy cause, but at the same time this type of rhetoric seems to be so protective of people in whichever stigmatized group they're trying to advocate for, that it comes back around to a sort of respectability politics. Anybody can be an abuser. And someone's means and methods of abusing can very much be influenced by a condition they have. Why wouldn't it be? Their conditions will affect every aspect of their life and their interpersonal relationships. Especially if these issues are going untreated or being insufficiently managed. I don't understand why anyone would want to make it appear as if abusers are mostly neurotypical and mentally well people, or that if they aren't, then their conditions have nothing to do with it and the overlap is merely incidental. What? It makes it so hard for anyone who is a victim to come to terms and identify the dynamics of what they've gone through.

Addicts and mentally ill people don't have to be unproblematic in order to be humanized and accepted. And nobody profits from writing hard and fast rules about how abuse apparently works, drawing clear lines between which behaviors can, and cannot, ever be abuse.

[heyitslapis]

I don't have time for people who don't have time for me

I don't have time for people who don't have time for me

I don't have time for people who don't have time for me