#i am so so tired of having to qualify my statements.

[jessicas-pi]

it's actually, genuinely, honestly hilarious that in a fandom where popular ships include characters who are biologically related, characters with a 10+ year age gap who met when one was a teenager or even a child, and characters who have tried to kill each other, people hate on a friends-to-lovers ship with a <2 year age gap where the characters have a deep emotional bond and plenty of romantic subtext, because "they're siblings". my brother in the force they are literally not.

[thatfeyboy]

I need to know why it makes people so unreasonably upset to suggest that some dysphoric trans people probably should be considered intersex. Do you just. Hate trans people? Or is it because anything that makes trans physical isn't allowed?

It has been stated many many times that not all trans people have dysphoria, and not all trans people that do experience the same dysphoria. It has been harped on that gender is social and about presentation and isn't binary. Fine. But somehow when I or people like me talk about having physical and immutable dysphoria that doesn't stem from social means it's not ok. When I bring up that yes, some parts of the brain control your hormones and gonads, and yes, some parts recognize what you are and should look like, im treated like a fucking gender critical.

Why is it wrong to say that parts of the brain do in fact qualify as sex related because that's what they are for? If they dont physically square with the binary(naturally, not through intervention) then that person is not binary/intersex in their physical disposition by definition. It's not exactly a hard concept to grasp.

And because I have to, no, most aspects of the brain are not related to our bimodal sex system. There can in fact be gender/sex nuance in certain parts of the brain without claiming male and female type brains exist as a whole. Fear of some shitty crack pot idea should not prevent people from understanding scientific inquiry and research.

Being intersex does not make the trans experience more or less valid/real. But I'm tired of pretending I'm a man for reasons that absolutely don't apply to me. Nothing about my being trans has anything to do with how I want to socially be, aside as an extension of others viewing my body as I wish it to be. If there is really room in the community for all of us, then my saying that some of our experience is different shouldn't be a problem.

EDIT: Thank you for some of your responses. I would like to amend my statement slightly. When I mentioned intersex I was more trying to imply, as I lacked a better word, that it is clear some if not most trans people that experience dysphoria have a physical developmental reason for that, likely epigenetic, genetic, and pre natal conditions. This type of sense is in most people, including cis people, hence why you cannot train someone to be a gender they aren't(no desistance of gender identity in both cis and trans people regardless of treatment). If intersex is to be interpreted as things exclusively affecting external or internal primary sex traits(as to be read, physically involved in the act of procreation) that are only ever natal, then I am ok in accepting intersex is not the best fit(except for that PCOS study but not super relevant rn).

That being said, I do still believe it is a part of sex and sex/gender development and that it is a physical condition(most anatomy based dysphoria). I don't see why it being a part of sex and sex development is a problem, when it has no other answer that satisfies our actual understanding of the condition and those peoples experience. Anything based on socialization has been disproven time and time again, so when are we going to stop acting like this

[the-blue-fairie]

Hot take but Elsa the Disney character isn't a sociopath.

I made a post recently venting about (what I felt to be) a deeply odd comment someone made to me in the past, and that got making me thinking about an accumulation of posts over the years that have made me uncomfortable:

This post calls Elsa “a bit of a sociopath.” Its use of the term “sociopath” is both frivolous and ableist.

A while ago, @greatqueenanna and I were discussing this mentality (because it had emerged in more people than the individual I am currently citing) regarding Elsa and she reached out to a friend who, for the sake of his privacy, I shall call BG. He’s diagnosed ASPD (Sociopathy) and works as Clinical Psychologist, specifically with patients who have severe divergences (ASPD, Narcissistic Personality, Histrionic, Bipolar, Schizophrenia, etc.)

I will now share portions of his email response:

"I want to point something out that is very important to the idea of Elsa being a sociopath. Elsa’s entire persona revolves around her guilt. Elsa feels responsible for the accident that happened to Anna. She is burdened with guilt for her parents’ efforts to accommodate her powers, and then their deaths. The eternal winter and the spirit invasion left her with a heavy load of guilt. Elsa feels guilty that she wants to follow the voice and discover more about her powers.

Guilt, guilt, guilt. If you’re tired of the word guilt by this point, then I’ve made my point. Elsa is not a sociopath, foremost, because she feels guilt. This is important because empathy is the key between sociopaths and empaths, and that’s why I wanted to focus on this first. Sociopaths don’t feel guilt.

Next, Elsa’s key problem is her lack of self-worth; the complete disassociation from her own needs and desires. This is not an issue with sociopaths. With this in mind, Elsa shows a bit of recklessness in Frozen 2, but it’s not from a place of boredom or a need for power. It is from a place of trying to defend those she cares about. There was a fire, she tried to stop it from hurting others. She needed to find answers about the forest to save everyone, so she jumped into the hole. Elsa gets no real benefit from these actions; meaning it doesn’t qualify as the same recklessness a sociopath would do. Her lack of self-worth makes her able to just throw herself in danger and push others away from it. Her recklessness comes from a place of martyrdom.

So, we’ve ruled out three key features of ASPD – no empathy or guilt, a grandiose sense of self, and recklessness out of boredom or desire for power. Now let’s talk manipulation; especially since it seems like no one understands what that means. From good ole’ WedMD, we see that Manipulation in the clinical sense is the - ‘exercise of harmful influence over others. People who manipulate others attack their mental and emotional sides to get what they want. The person doing the manipulating, called the manipulator, seeks to create an imbalance of power.’

Does Elsa ever try to make someone feel inferior, try to induce self-hatred, reinforce self-damaging behaviors, or get them to mistrust others? No, Elsa does none of this. She does it to herself."

Outside of F2, the claim that "Elsa doesn't care about anyone other than Elsa" is nonsense. In F1, Elsa isolates herself because she wants to protect others. She wants to protect her family, the sister whom she loves. She wants to protect the people around her. Many of Elsa’s worst traits actually emerge from caring for others at the expense of caring for herself - and those traits are only present because of her trauma and because of the way she was raised. In Frozen Fever, Elsa devotes herself to Anna because she loves her and wants to give her a perfect birthday, even though Elsa herself is sick. She puts Anna first. In OFA, she reaches out to apologize to Anna after closing the door again, she is shown to be a loving sister, a loving queen, protective of Olaf, etc.

The statement that “nobody [was] ever thinking of her (except for Kristoff in the last 3 years of her life)” is misguided because it disregards not only Elsa but Olaf. I’m all for loving Anna’s and Kristoff’s connection (I’m a Kristanna shipper myself, after all) but to say she had no one else is untrue.

This person also made statements like this:

And this:

Even hotter take from me, but Elsa the Disney character is not reflective of real-life cases of domestic abuse and incestuous violence. I realize you dislike her, but she's just not. She is a character in an animated film for children.

This mentality wasn't just her either. There was another blog that described itself thusly...

...which openly admitted that:

If your Anna fanblog never was much of an Anna fanblog but instead an Elsa hateblog, that says something about you and how negatively you approach the media you consume.

You cared more about hating Elsa than loving Anna - so much so that you put your original intent of loving Anna to the wayside. There’s something sad about that.

If you had a whole blog dedicated to screaming that you wished a fictional cartoon character had died, that isn’t healthy.

And it wasn't just those two blogs:

I saw various posts like these over the years, but held my tongue because I didn't want to be branded an "Elsa stan" or get yelled at. I did get yelled at by verannaca in 2023, however, because she rudely came onto one of my posts about Elsa to say that "Elsa was the villain." I replied with the definition of villain from the Oxford English Dictionary and told her to chill, then she got angry at me for writing an "unnecessary essay" when like... SHE came onto MY post. If she hated Elsa so much, why did she seek out MY Elsa-centric post?

It was just... an ugly miasma of negativity and I hope that, when Frozen 3 and 4 come out, blatant misreadings of the text don't become popular again. I understand Anna fans' frustrations with Elsa's popularity and I myself have expressed issues with the writing of especially Frozen 2, but...

I really don't think I'm an "Elsa stan" for saying statements like "Elsa isn't a sociopath" and "Elsa isn't reflective of incestuous violence."

Still, I love Elsa just as much as I love Anna, just as much as I love Kristoff, just as much as I love Kristanna and Frohana and the Northuldra and everything else. We're united by love, first and foremost.

[assassuub]

In Regards to Fundamentally Ruining Ms. Marvel as a Character

I assume all of this has been said before by people better qualified to speak on these matters, but my anger over the recent... developments with Ms. Marvel has burnt out, leaving me just... sad and so very, very tired.

So these are just my few cents on the matter, before cutting most, if not all, Marvel content from my life.

Even beyond the grossly humiliating manner in which she was killed in a rather mediocre P*ter P*rker comic she shouldn't have been part of in the first place (regardless of how little she was actually present), this "N*w Mutant" she's been replaced with has so many glaring issues.

The Ms. Marvel that I loved, that I've experienced grow over years of character development wouldn't have suddenly reverted to a feckless fangirl, desperate for validation from adults that she doesn't know nor has interacted with. She's more naive than ever, even; the idea that a brown Pakistani-American Muslim girl needs to be lectured about how discrimination works by E*ma Fr*st (a White Blonde Girlboss Supreme, Race Supremacist, and Prior Terrorist) is not only laughable, but downright insidious and disgusting.

The character that I loved would never have discarded her family, friends, and team as easily as this mutant replacement did. Her statement that she didn't expect former-mentor Iron Man or supposedly-current-friend-and-teammate Nova (Sam Alexander) to come to her aid since she's "playing for the other team now" was deeply insulting. Her decision to reveal her identity to the world as an impossible "Inhu-mutant" was a shockingly naive and downright stupid idea that someone who has so zealously guarded her secret identity would never suggest, especially at a time when "anti-mutant hysteria" is at its peak; when it would so immediately bring harm to the people that she loved.

But that is a fundamental problem with the X-M*n and mutants as a whole: there is no room in the Marvel universe for them to exist without pushing them as a ludicrous allegory for discrimination. They can only exist as a mutant; only for the X-M*n's failing culture wars. Ms. Marvel especially struggles to fit into the X-M*n framework of discarding everything personal to push the X-M*n's ideology; where massive swathes of X-M*n simply lack any meaningful ties to the human world, Ms. Marvel has family and friends that accept and love her; family and friends that she wouldn't simply discard to deepthroat X-M*n boot.

Ms. Marvel was one of my favorite characters. I loved seeing her perspective on the world as a Pakistani-American Muslim. I loved her interacting with a wide variety of people, leading her team of individual heroes and friends. I loved that she and her Champions wanted to make the world a better place for all.

But that's a thing of the past now. The new, mutantier Ms. Marvel only cares about the X-M*n; about the X-M*n's stupid, segregationist ethnonation. She has abandoned her family and friends that I enjoyed seeing her interact with to desperately seek the validation of people she's never had a conversation with. Her values that led her to make her own team to fight to make the world a better place for all have been discarded for X-M*n ethnonationalism.

Ms. Marvel's dead. She died ignominiously, begging for validation from P*ter P*rker, only to be replaced by a bootlicking X-M*n prop that has fundamentally ruined everything that I loved about the character.

Also: The potential of an Ironheart story wherein she has a debut as a Magitech Hero was immense and something that I was looking forward to, as well. As you might imagine, I am also enraged that it was thrown away off-panel in favor of having the Iron Man comic be usurped by some witless X-M*n swill, but the ruination of Ms. Marvel is a higher priority.

[joshuadunshua]

There’s not like a fun way to say this succinctly without the risk of being misinterpreted but if you read this in bad faith then like fuck you & that’s a you problem.

Man I am so tired of the way that wayyy too many people, both trans folks and cis allies, use the murder rate of trans women of color to fucking shut down conversations about violence against and murder of other trans people (so fucking frequently it feels like trans mascs of color are specifically and conveniently sidelined in these contexts).

Not only does this have a very painful and chilling silencing effect on the violence against all other trans people, it also often is framed in a way that completely ignores the fact that, honestly, the murder rate of twoc is propelled at least as much by classism & racism & hatred of sex workers as it is by transphobia, if not more so.

Ask yourself “am I trying to raise awareness about this issue or am I just qualifying my statement about transphobic violence using the phrases I’ve learned on social media? Does specifying & singling out the one demographic in this instance benefit and forward the conversation and actually improve people’s understanding of the matter or am I including it to make myself feel like a good social justice person who knows who the realest victims are?”

[aveline-amelia]

So in reference to this post and my tags in the reblog, here's me attempting to clarify some things. I doubt this post will gain any tracture, but to not waste anyone's time, I am a proshipper, in favor of people freely shipping all of the ships even the gross icky ones without fear of censorship and harassment. If you try to argue with me (on this statement , friendly discussion and disagreement on any of the points below are welcome), I will block you because I recently discovered blocking people feels good and I am tired of coming across antis everywhere no matter how desperately I try to avoid them.

Anyway, let's begin:

I will sometimes come across something and will not be able to explain why it bothers me other than "the vibe is off", and this is one of those times or I guess it used to be because I will at least make an attempt.

Now to acknowledge that the first two statements (well they are technically questions) will always sound at least mildly homophobic to me. There are a lot of more qualified and eloquent people who will be able to explain why and this does have to do with the whole fandom vs the actual media where while there are more m/m than m/f ships on fanfiction websites (with f/f being the last represented, which is probably also a topic for someone more qualified and eloquent than me), I don't think it even needs to be stated there are way more romances in media between a man and a woman than about two men.

There are way more m/m and f/f friendships in the media than there are m/m and f/f romances. So let's focus on the general "why can't they just be friends?" Because wording matters here.

If someone stated:

"I think our society is too preoccupied with romantic relationships and should have pieces of media focusing more on a central platonic friendship."

That would be a statement I agree with. The thing is...

It's not really about media.

It's about fandom.

It reminds me of a sentiment that is very familiar to me.

"Why do you have to sexualize everything?"

It's kind of attacking the idea of shipping itself. This is my opinion. I will circle back to the "bad vibes feel". It's subjective. Maybe other people feel the same and maybe don't. In the case of the first two statements (the one with same gender examples) it feels even more homophobic because it equates gay love with gay sex (with an added bonus of asexual erasure).

Now I consider myself a shipper at my core. I don't need ships to enjoy something, but I tend to think like one.

But not all people do. And it's kind of a thing you have to experience in order to be able to explain.

To me, the answer to a question of "why don't you ship character A and character B" is because I don't.

Just because someone lists a bunch of reasons why a ship is compelling, doesn't mean I will suddenly start thinking about them cuddling in bed while I'm trying to sleep. It doesn't give me soft squishy feelings. I won't squeel over it. No argument one makes is going to change that.

And it works the opposite way. Why do you ship that? Well, it's because I'm cursed and the universe hates me. It's that sentiment why I tried to un-ship two characters when my only crime was that they were platonic friends and meant to end up with different people (well, one of them, the other one ended up single after a series of tragic romances while being the only queer main character on the show).

...And then I went online and found out they are the most popular ship by... a lot and that the writers almost made them canon but didn't.

And I used to feel so dirty about it! I felt like I was corrupting something pure and ruining a beautiful friendship with my fantasies.

It feels very weird to me when people talk about shipping something like it's a conscious choice.

It's why I don't like that the feeling of enjoying something in the way I describe is mixed in with wanting something to be canon, or thinking it should be canon. Discussions of relationships in a piece of media in terms of how it would affect the characters and the story overall are always interlocked with shipping and then the shippers' status as shippers is used to discredit their opinions with "well of course you saying that, it's because you ship them".

Maybe this genuinely feels different for different people. I don't want to deny anyone a right to their experience but I know mine isn't just me.

And it brings me to question I always asked myself about antis.

"Do they want those people to stop or do they want them to feel shitty about themselves?"

Because I don't think they think they will genuinely change something here by stating an obvious fact someone is already aware of in a hostile manner. They just want to express their outrage because they are certain they are in the right.

That's the end of this... thing. There are some things I want to say, have always wanted to say and tried saying them but they always end up scrapped because I fail at saying what I mean and sometimes I fail at the meaning part itself.

Some of these things are just... vibes. I could be wrong about them. I could be wrong about what's behind them. But I keep coming back to them.

I wished I could find a post that says it all perfectly and just reblog that one. I wish that for a lot of things.

[cutielando]

brazil, my heart | m.v.

synopsis: in which Max finally makes a statement during the Brazilian GP

a/n: based on this request!

my masterlist

Your lip was stuck between your teeth as the whole garage waited anxiously for the start of the race.

The weather had kept everyone on their toes ever since the Sprint race had finished, and it seemed to be set on continuing to do so during the race.

Frankly, it wasn't something that you were very much keen on.

You were very tired, having woken up at 5 am to join Max at the track for the early Qualifying session from 7:30, you didn't want to take a nap after Max was done with Qualifying so you could talk to him, but now you were slowly starting to regret it.

Your nerves were stretched thin as you anxiously watched the 5 lights turn on one by one, your heart jumping in your ribcage once they went out and everyone lunged forward.

"Max up to P11" GP's voice suddenly rang through your headset, making you finally let out a sigh you hadn't realized you had been holding.

Max had long ago come to an agreement with his race engineers to do his best to keep you in the loop with regular updates because he knew you sometimes got too nervous or scared to actually watch the race.

The weather really didn't help your nerves, either.

You were always afraid for Max in dry conditions, but seeing him race in this rain and with the low grip level on the track, let's just say you were gonna have a lot more gray hairs by the time the race is over, which feels like a lifetime away.

Wet racing was often known to be one of Max's best conditions for racing, but it also meant more dangerous conditions.

Seeing the spray that the cars would leave behind, just having to imagine having to drive at such high speeds with water in your face, barely able to see anything, desperately trying to keep the car on track. There was no room for any mistake, no matter how little.

You trusted Max and his abilities, but that didn't mean you weren't still gonna be worried out of your ass for him.

"Red flag. Max is coming into the garage" GP's voice snapped you out of your thoughts, your stance immediately perking up at the sound of the news.

You waited until the cars had come into the pitlane to take off your set of headphones and make your way outside of the garage, anxiously waiting to see your boyfriend emerge from his car.

The moment you had laid eyes on him coming towards you, you hurriedly started walking over to him, not caring about any of the engineers or frankly anyone else from his team.

You only cared about making sure he was okay.

Just to ease your mind and worries.

"Hey babe-" Max barely got a word in before you jumped straight into his embrace, wrapping your arms around his neck tightly.

He grunted, but returned the tight hug, careful not to squash your head with his helmet.

You buried your head into his shoulder as best as you could, your heart racing as you finally felt him under your fingertips, okay and all in one piece.

“I’m never joining you at the track for another wet race ever again. I’ve had 4 panic attacks until now” you said, half joking and half telling the truth.

Max laughed, his arms tightening around your waist.

He knew how much you worried about him every time he would get into the car, and he also knew how much you hated the wet races. And he couldn’t blame you, but he was the best in those conditions, so you had nothing to worry about on his end.

“Is it that bad?” he asked, looking at his engineer over your shoulder who gave him a short and worried nod.

“It’s worse. I don’t know how you guys can see the track in front of your eyes from all that spray” you said, slowly letting go of him and stepping back from his arms.

Max pulled up his visor and smiled at you, the crinkles by his eyes telling you everything you needed to know.

“Hey, I’ve got this. Don’t worry about me, I’m driving the race of my life out there and everything is okay. I love you and I’ll come back to you in one piece” he said, holding our face in his gloved hands.

You bit your lip and studied him for a little while before nodding, giving him one last hug before he was pulled away by his engineers to go over data.

Running a hand through your already disheveled hair, you slowly made your way back into the garage, occupying your seat and putting your headphones back on.

Half more of this torture to go.

♡♡♡♡♡

The tears were falling down your cheeks before you could even think about stopping them, before the race was even close to being over.

Even though you couldn't see him, you could imagine what was going on behind Max's helmet, what feelings were going through his mind as he was leading the race towards victory.

Those last few laps seemed like they were taking forever, but then he finally crossed the finish line and took the checkered flag in first position.

You didn't think it was possible, but a new wave of tears started falling down your eyes, sobs racking through your body.

"P1, He's done it, Y/N" GP's voice rung through your ears, but you didn't care for any of it.

The only thing you cared about was seeing Max.

You got up from your chair and put the headphones on a table in front of you, your legs carrying you fast towards where his car was parked.

"Max!" you yelled just as he took off his helmet, his smile radiating as he started walking towards you.

You didn't waste a second before you flung your arms around his neck and jumped into his arms, wrapping your legs around his waist as Max squeezed you close.

"I did it" he whispered into your ear, the smile evident in his voice.

You nodded, burying your face into the crook of his neck as you clung onto his body.

"I'm so proud of you" you murmured, pressing little kisses on his neck and his cheek.

Nothing could ever beat this feeling, being right there in your arms after winning a much-awaited Grand Prix.

Nothing could be better than that for him.

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[cinoman]

(MY QUALIFICATIONS: grew up poor, like actually poor. the first significant $$ i’ve ever gotten in life was a FAFSA refund.)

this bull about saying that “poor people shouldn’t have children” is eugenics is sooo tiring. i’m convinced almost everyone who stands by this position is either A) a middle class debate lord or B) twitter sjw who likes the way it sounds.

for one.. can we define eugenics?! i have no idea how we’ve strayed so far from what we classically think eugenics is: getting rid of unfavorable genetic qualities in humans. you know… like what the holocaust was based on? or how slave bloodlines were “purified” by 1 white slave master (fill in the blanks, if you don’t know what i’m referring to, you’re already not qualified to have this conversation)?

like what the fuck am i even reading, maybe i’m simple minded, but i think if a word can be used to describe something of this caliber, it shouldn’t be tossed around casually. the precedence set my real eugenics is far worse than the conversation happening right now.

i think breaking down the question to it’s base form is more appealing/less controversial. children are financial liabilities. is it wise for a poor person to take on a financial liability?

most people would say, probably not. depends on the circumstances. if you take on debt and don’t have the full capability of paying it without decreasing your living quality even more than it already is, it probably wasn’t a wise decision to take on the debt.

i think the next question for us to get to where the original conversation is at is: is it morally correct for a poor person to take on a financial liability?

most people would just be like ???. we’d agree that it’s morally neutral, because other people’s finances aren’t our business. the most people will say is a decision was responsible/irresponsible, not morally correct/incorrect unless it impacted someone else…

unless it impacted someone else……….

obviously, things happen. people are raped and forced to carry children and children are born into unfavorable circumstances all the time. shit, there’s times where people are doing it *all correct* and something unexpected happens and now children are in poverty.

we’re not talking about those people, we’re talking about people who are poor and intentionally having children. if you have no guarantee that your situation will get better, wtf are you doing?!

it doesn’t make sense to me why people would have an issue with the statement “poor people shouldn’t have children” (even if it’s sounds callous) unless children are viewed as some right of passage. they’re not! children are not toys, they are not here to make your life better. they certainly do not make your life easier.

there’s really no way i can further explain this without repeating everything i’ve already said, this conversation is lowering IQs left and right and it’s sad to see.

my controversial take i guess is that no matter how the rhetoric plays out, in the real world, if you cannot provide for a child in a way that is so basic and universal, then you shouldn’t be having one at all. all children have different needs, no child needs poverty.

[lowplainlowinthemorning]

people who don’t believe in adhd are wild bc it’s like I listen to these philosophical lectures and this one professor tries to disprove adhd as a disorder and everything he describes should be followed with “repeatedly to the extent where it impacts your functioning or relationships” not just base statements. I’m so tired of these basic misunderstandings. everybody does these things SOMETIMES. are you doing them often enough to impact your life, are they putting you in danger, are they over-complicating things. Everybody does most symptoms of most disorders SOMETIMES, but are you experiencing them enough that they qualify as a disorder/out of the “regular” margin of behavior/error. are you depressed often enough that it’s really beginning to take a toll. are you panicking enough that it’s limiting your functionality and sense of wellbeing. with adhd as an example, it’s not just “adhd doesn’t exist because everybody talks too much sometimes,” it’s adhd does exist because I can’t fucking remember where anything is, what I’m doing, what time it is/keep an internal clock of when things should or do happen, I am constantly behind and stressed out and procrastinating and it takes severe consequences to override that part of my personality EVEN IF the task at hand is something I enjoy; if it’s mentally difficult I have to jump through hoops to actually get it done and get motivated to get through it. And it’s been like this every week of my life since I can remember. Now I’m not professionally diagnosed bc it’s crazy expensive but I’m 90% certain I have these issues and it’s like. hearing a classroom of people laugh at the idea of just not wanting to do something over the past six months like it isn’t a continual every day struggle to find a way to do the things you want to do is so. frustrating. this is what people need to understand about disordered behavior. is it beyond the margin of error ENOUGH that it is detracting from your quality of life, your goals, your needs, your friendships. not just hey does this happen to you sometimes

[nathank77]

3/23/24

6:21 p.m Updated and I talk about more than glasses. I am excited about my potential new disability payment thanks to my dad.

I got new hard shell, soft lined glasses cases. I'm going to return the ones I bought at Walmart. I got these at Walmart but online they weren't in store... thankfully I saved the receipt the ones I got in store aren't horrible but I had to put my glasses in a glasses cloth like sock cause both sides weren't lines with soft cloth. One side was plastic and one side was like a soft pad... and it was a project to get the glasses sock and the cleaning cloth to fit into the case. I'm happy with my purchase. They won't fit the Ray-Bans and likely not the oakley but thats why they come with their own case lol I'm waiting for another 2 cases in the mail that should be here by tonight. I got two, two pack but I only got two so far. Or one two pack. I only have 3 and soon 4 pairs of glasses. The Ray-Bans and the Oakley won't fit in them but the half frames will. I'm going to keep one Beau frame in my backpack and an empty case to take the current pair off and put them in it if I switch or decide to not wear my glasses.

Also I'm going to keep my other Beau frames home and of course either Ray-Bans or Oakley will be on my face, but I'll have the other Beau frames at home and one empty case here. I suppose it if breaks or something having two spares is good.

Anyways I want to donate my old glasses. I wanted to start with two pairs that were tight on me and that I def won't be wearing even for a fashionable shot but when I look at glasses donation places they are all like 20 miles away. I can't invest in donating something. Idk why they don't have a local place that will give these to someone who has the same script and can't afford glasses. I mean I could try to sell them but I'd rather help someone in need. Tbh I ripped my Eyewear company off so badly with all the replacement due to improper fit I can afford to give them away and I'd like to help other poor people... but I can't... I guess if I ever have to go to Waterbury or Bristol I'll grab the two pairs and bring them to one of the shops.... I'm keeping the other 6.. idk why I am a hoarder. Maybe I'll donate them eventually.. it's hard throwing away things that cost you money when you still like them.... that's why I invested in the Oakley and Ray-Bans..... but yea.. I'd still like to donate those two pairs to start instead of tossing them out in a year or two. They are good looking frames as well... but whatever.

Also I got a post surgical Tooth Brush. I'm excited... I'm not having surgery but all these soft tooth brushes are not soft and I'm trying to be easy on my gumline... I got a specific brand called tepe I think.... the only baby soft tooth brushes I can find in store are charcoal and it's abrasive. It's not recommended to use charcoal..

Beyond that, my father is on disability now and I qualify for a different disability type bc of his disability.. I am trying to get that appt scheduled. I'll be entitled to 1400 a month instead of 950$ and I'll be entitled to months of back pay. I got a lot of questions about how this effects husky and food stamps. BUT I can get married to a billionaire and their income will have no effect on my disability income. If I got married to someone working at subway I'd lose a huge portion of my benefits bc of their income. I may lose all my benefits bc of their income depending on their career... also I'll be able to get married. I won't have an savings cap. Right now I can't have more than 2000 saved bc if I do they deduct it from my next benefits statement...

It's going to be all around an amazing change. I can actually get married and stay disabled. I could be entitled to about 4000$ right now.

I already have plans for the money:

1) control arms, tire rods and ball joints. It's like 2000$. My car doesn't need them yet but in a few years it's totally possible but once I get to needing them my car will dangerous to drive..

2) the power steering pump or rack whatever is broken. Cause yea it drives but turning it when it doesn't have a lot of power like when I first start my car I'm pulling out of the driveway is loud and head turning. Fortunately its only when i start my car for the first time that day bc it hasn't been powered on in a while but I've been driving with bad power steering for like 2 or 3 years now... it's embarrassing.

3) Maybe a new oil pan....

4) I will pay out of pocket for the sealant on my two teeth so I can stop that unfortunate plaque build up finally

5) Lastly I'm going to get an estimate for the hood I have in the basement to see how much it would cost to paint and place it.... and then an estimate for how much it would cost to replace a few side panels instead of having them sand and buff out the rust and then an estimate on painting the new side panels and the hood and the whole car. I won't be able to do this right away but it's a future plan...

- I have to consider I may lose food Stamps... cause of its income cap.. I shouldn't lose husky. As I think the income bracket is 1800$ a month...

- either way those control arms and the power steering is in the bag. As well as the sealant. I got to take care of myself.

I'd like to buy clothes but I can just do that in small purchases on my credit line and pay it off with no interest for 6 months. Once I pay off my SH2 game. Unless I get SH1 greatest hits. It's kinda stupid cause it's no different in terms of what it offers from the original but I'm a collector and I collect...

I do need socks, and boxers. I need new shirts. I need nice hoodies. I need more than one pair of jeans. I need a bigger jacket. I need t shirts that aren't all tattered from the pictures slowly deteriorating. I could benefit from 2 new pairs of sneakers. Every pair i have has holes where the ball of my big toes meets the bones idk how to describe its clearly from the way I walk and carry myself... although it would be cool to buy some of this stuff at the store and try it on mostly pants... I'm a boxer snob... I'll only wear under armour and Adidas... they are expensive but extremely comfortable... those are ideally purchases online. I'd rather get under Armour this time around... my Adidas were heavily worn but they have a lot of holes now.. my under armour weren't heavily worn but they are holding up decently too bad I only have 3 pairs of those.

I would love to go crazy with the backpay and buy myself fun stuff... however, I think the control arms, power steering and sealant makes the most sense...

Also I have 250$ in gift cards and 300$ left over from my savings I refuse to spend on cigarettes or something I truly don't want. I'm about 100$ short from getting a ps5... if I could get everything I want, I'd get a ps5... I'm just going to try to sell one of my old Xbox one s system on fb marketplace and then I'll bite the bullet and buy a ps5...

I hope I can get this appt scheduled soon. Idk how long my dad has been disabled but I could be entitled to even more than 4000$ and the fact that I could marry a billionaire and still get my monthly benefits with no deduction is a huge plus. I am actually discriminated against by my disability. I can't get married and if I do I lose my benefits...

Beyond that, I am a little worried about insurance and food stamps. I'm spending a lot less on food bc of Methimazole but either way food is expensive. I'll have to hold off for a couple months and see how it effects my bank account before I go totally crazy but I am excited about the control arms/power steering and my sealant. I take such good care of my teeth and those fucking grooves are impossible to keep plaque off.

[bdbdhdjdhdh]

Crimeblind Episode 2

"Crimewatch, but we're blind...Episode 2,"

She was just stopping to buy some fish soup at the local hawker centre, before returning to the hospital for work issues again.

While waiting for the food to be ready, she stared at her book, analysing every word of every paragraph on every page. The average passers-by might think she was just pretending to look smart, but that was certainly not the case.

Just as everyone was minding their own business, going about their day, in a twist of fate, a loud scream of terror and fear came from the fish soup stall, and everyone instinctively or out of curiosity turned their heads to the direction the sound was coming from.

Now, by now most people would have panicked or went forward to see what was going on, but no, not her. There she sat calmly reading her intriguing story, as intriguing as it was to continually absorb her till she couldn't even be bothered that something serious had happened.

Everybody else had circled around, muttering around themselves and causing a commition while she placidly perused through the book.

"Aren't you gonna go? You're the most qualified here..." That familiar voice rang in her head again.

"I'm not spending that much time at the hospital, am I? Why is her voice..."

"Come on, you're better than this, go now, save him!" She could clearly see her 'friend' in full view, cunning as ever.

Was she hallucinating from working a bit too much lately?

She sat in silence for a while.

Her friend's hallucination stared at her for a while.

"Fine, fine, I'll go," She tossed her book back into her bag and brushed past the hallucination.

She strolled over, not batting an eyelid as to the many flustered faces in the crowd, whether they be worried for whatever had happened or simply pretentious parents worrying that their kids be traumatised by such an event and not caring about whatever happened itself.

The crowd quickly dispersed to reveal the man lying on the ground there in pain, and his hand drenched in blood so bad it looked like he had soaked it in deliberately, and hadn't left it to dry yet, what with all the blood still dripping and all.

There were practically zero other visible wounds, so it had been most likely that he was lying down not due to pain, but fear.

The stall had was a one-way-out room, so the only way to access him and properly treat his wounds was being blocked by public threats to him currently-but now that the crowd had been dispersed, she could start.

Once the threat of danger had been neutralised, she turned back to take a quick glance at her patient, who kept his eyes closed on the verge of tears from the pain.

She said nothing, observing intently the severity of the wound.

After an incredibly short while, she singled out someone in the crowd (who was still around but not so close to the man now), "You there, in the green shirt, call 995!!". She even threw in the actual number to ensure that anyone who didn't know or forgot the number could still help.

A few people immediately whipped out their phones and got to dialling the numbers.

She now started to crouch down to get to the level of the man who kept his eyes squeezed shut out of the pain, and spoke the golden statement,

"Sir, my name is Rai, I'm a first aider and I'm here to help you, stay calm, mister, please please please please please don't scream in my face again, I'm tired of that, please don't make my life so difficult, also, what happened?,"

The man opened his eyes a little in order to (very blurred) make out the silhouette of a young lady kneeling near him.

"Uh...I was cutting vegetables and then I wasn't really paying attention and then I..." He immediately squeezed his eyes tight upon seeing the silhouette, and answered her question with a clear voice.

Rai nodded her head in agreement, continuing to avoid eye contact with the wounded man (not that he could see anyway, what with his eyes sealed shut).

She reached for a first-aid kit in her bag, and pulled out a pair of gloves and an absorptive cloth.

"Sir, can you tell me your name? About what time it is and where are you?" She asked as she donned the gloves, being careful not to touch the sterile parts of her hand with her already-donned-gloves.

'Uh...my name is Ka Nee Na, it's about afternoon, and I am at my fish soup stall," He thought for a moment, then replied Rai.

"Good, not disoriented..." She muttered to herself, turning for the cloth she had taken out before and positioning herself to stop the bleeding...before quickly stopping herself at the last minute.

"Sir...this is gonna hurt, you might want something to bite down on," She warned him first, directly in his face this time so he couldn't refuse to hear.

"Ugh..." Mr. Ka was clearly in the denial stage of the five stages of grief, closing his eyes and figuratively shutting his ears to refuse to hear or see anyone or anything.

Rai took out another gauze bandage and stuffed it in his mouth, much to his...well, actually he didn't really struggle since he probably wants it too.

"3,2,1..." She counted down to his moment of suffering before forcing the cloth onto his wound and applying as much pressure as she could in order to stop the bleeding.

"Cfjkdksksjsj!!!" Ka Nee Na screamed in pain but couldn't make out any audible word as the bandage in his mouth was preventing clear articulation.

Rai paid no heed to his cries, instead solely focusing on applying the pressure, giving it all she had.

Even after a few minutes, the bleeding showed no signs of stopping at all, no matter how much pressure Rai applied.

Soon realising that normal pressure would be futile in helping her stop the bleeding, she decided to go with another option, grabbing the nearby pen Ka Nee Na would have normally used to calculate accounts.

Next ingredient on her list was a piece of long cloth. For that she had shouted to the watching crowd, "Does anyone have a piece of extra cloth or shirt I could borrow?" to which one schoolboy affirmed and handed her the cloth.

Getting hold of the pen with a (possibly, just give the benefit of the doubt) sterilised cloth, she meticulously twisted the cloth around the pen while being careful not to aggravate the wound any further.

Once she was done, by the grace of the heavens above, the ambulance had finally arrived just as she plucked out the pen from the improvised tourniquet. Thankfully she would no longer have to pretend to do something while waiting for the ambulance to arrive even though she can't risk aggravating his wound anymore, just for the sake of the crowd watching.

The paramedics quickly arrived with a stretcher and stretched him onto the ambulance, on board to the nearest hospital...which just so coincidentally happened to be the hospital Rai worked at.

So she didn't manage to get her fish soup, and had to help someone out even on her break time, but she managed to gain a free ride back to the hospital! Which is a pretty sweet deal.

On the way back, however, she would soon discover she had even more work to complete now, as her patient had asked her for another favour while on his (well, figuratively) deathbed.

"Hey, um, uh...Rai, was it? Sorry to be asking some random nurse who saved my life for more help, but uh...I needed to be somewhere right about now..."

"Great, more work...whaddya want me to do?"

"Well...I was meant to be a substitute for my son who had fallen ill the day before. He had to invigilate for a class of notorious cheaters an important exam, and had to scrutinise every single one of them and catch them in the act if he could...but then..."

"Sure, send me the coordinates and I'll be on my way...should be fun..."

"Oh yeah, and one more thing...the students are rich as hell, so like...don't trust anyone,"

--------------

She stepped into the examination hall, much to the surprise of the many students upon seeing her face, probably because they were expecting an easier invigilator to cheat under.

She, on the other hand, paid no heed to their flusters, calmly making her way over to the invigilator's seat, having briefed her fellow invigilator for her temporary takeover of Mr Ka Ni Na's duties.

"Hi, I'm Denise, you're taking over Mr Ka Ni Na, right?" Her invigilating partner introduced herself.

"Mm. Rai." She did the same.

She checked her watch. Precisely 15.00.

"*yawn* You may start now, class," She choked out before heading back to her seat to sleep.

The class appeared a bit confused regarding this sudden, mystery factor's actions, and rightfully so-after all, was she simply faking sleepiness to get them to lower their guard?

The students examined the rare specimen before them cautiously as Rai's partner passed down the examination scripts.

She stood up carefully a while after the students had started penning down their answers, yawning softly after her quick but refreshing nap.

She stared off into blank space tiredly, blinking fast a few times.

The students continued to observe her while getting on with busily writing down the examination answers as well.

She then got up, out of her comfortable seat, stretching a nice, long, satisfying stretch. The students persisted their observations.

Rai stepped off the invigilator's seat podium (yes, podium, the hall WAS oddly shaped like a square-like amphitheatre, stage in front and stage seats at the back, allowing students to easily be able to cheat with no way the invigilator could keep eyes on such a widespread audience), and made her way up the seats carrying that poker-face-well, it was rather more of a I-don't-want-to-be-here face.

Much to Denise's unasked questions written all over her face, Rai continued to go up to the very top, the very back of the seats, observing each and every student's behaviour just as keenly as they had observed her. Only she was being much more detailed this time.

She noticed every little action they took, from the way they gripped their pen to their alleged cheating habits...nothing escaped her sight.

She reached the exit door, then turned back and walked back down to the invigilator's seat again.

She took a step. The student under her hawk-like gaze winced, pierced by an invisible glare.

She reached for his pencil, still lying in the tight clutch of his warm embrace.

"May I have a closer look at this pencil?" She smiled a sincere yet obsolete smile, gesturing for the pencil.

And at that instant all the students within hearing distance put down their pens, shot up their heads, eyes wide.

They knew she was getting onto something.

They just had to pray hard that she didn't realise what actually was going on.

The student was no exception, trembling with trepidation and fear, anxious at the potential discovery of the truth behind the matter.

"Sure, cher," He shakingly replied, afraid of what would happen if he refused.

Rai took the pencil.

She examinded everything about it. From the lead to the wooden part. From the design to the barcode.

The barcode.

There was something off about it that she couldn't quite put her finger on.

Rai set the pencil back down on the student's table, far away from his shivering body that dare not move an inch.

She smiled again, pat him lightly on the back, and continued walking back down.

She continued to keep a keen eye on every student in the examination hall, especially those who had already started to let their guard down, calmly strolling down the steps.

And stopped when she reached a certain young man.

He was untidy, his hair all over the place. He sat arrogantly. He wrote his answers with an air of superiority.

He appeared to be the head of something, something big, or at least something he considered to be big, which would explain how he acted like he was some big shot.

Like the popular guy in school, who smokes and vapes and drinks and runs gangs.

Nah, being so hyped up, he had to be some important figure.

Even the student seated next to him dared not put her stuff too close to his 'territorial seat'.

"May I have a look at your pencil, then?" She asked again, this time with less smile and more glare.

He stopped writing, dropped his pencil on the table, and looked back up at her.

"Of course," He nodded, gazing at her with a hint of suspicion.

There was more to this than simple pencil-checking.

Again as Rai picked the pencil up, she examined the same few details-the lead, the wood-

the barcode.

She stared at it for a while, subconsciously watching her every breath while keeping an eye on the gang leader.

He was watching her. But in a way that far extends beyond what was going on in the hall.

She took a deep breath and set the pencil back down on his table.

"What's your name?"

"Syed Ibrahim,"

"Syed...good luck," She gestured to the test paper, open to page number 9, and continued walking back down to the invigilator's seat.

This time she did not stop at anybody, heading straight for the seat.

And picking up the invigilator's copy of the test paper, flipping through it like how any normal person would do it.

Question number 4: The numbers in a number sequence are 1, 0.25, 0.370370 (to 6 s.f). Of the following numbers, which is the next number in the sequence?

a.) 0.0954286

b.) 0.08124218

c.) 0.00390625

d.) 0.00016352

A relative question, though it's quite taxing for the average 10-year old in this class to be taking on something like this, she thought. No wonder they're resorting to cheating.

She put the paper down, and made her first move against the blatant cheating of the entire class.

"Class, I hope you have been studying hard for this test and are thus well-prepared, which I know none of you are," She stood up, supporting herself with the table.

"I'll be collecting all your pencils for you and give you that of my own, class, so please cooperate with me," She held up a woven basket by the handle, flourishing it for all to see.

A thread of groans, gasps and pondering hmms could be heard echoing through the hall. Syed remained with an observing face, closely examining Rai's next move, just as she was doing.

"What...why?" Denise inquired, frustration and intrigue mixed at the mysterious actions Rai took.

"And here I thought it was quite obvious, haven't you noticed the barcodes of their pencils?"

"And what about it?"

"Well, they're all matching, that's for one. Every single student's pencil's barcode in this examination hall matches each other exactly,"

"That...doesn't...tell us anything..."

"Well, if they're not guilty, what's wrong with me replacing their pencils? Unless they're using it to cheat or something?"

And that sentence shut Denise up.

Rai gave her a side eye smirk, then walked up the aisle to collect everyone's pencils.

Rapidly gathering all the pencils with swift actions and replacing them all with pencils of her own, she made her way up the steps, conquering student after student.

And alas, she reached the fated one.

Syed.

He was staring at his paper as she strolled over. Surprisingly and unsurprisingly calm, he was certainly unlike his fellow classmates-no, they were like fish out of water.

"I hope you've been doing well, Syed, and I'll take that off you," She spoke in a composed manner, reaching for the pencil to replace.

Syed did not look at her. His hands left where they were on his lap, his head tilted down, his breathing hardly out-of-the-ordinary.

Either he wasn't the mastermind of this, he didn't know about this at all, or he's certain he won't get persecuted.

She walked on her pencil replacement quest, well aware Syed went back to examining her.

Having made sure she had replaced every single pencil in use in the hall, she went back to the invigilator's seat to study the barcodes of the pencils carefully.

And sure enough, each barcode of each pencil matched each other perfectly...and also the answers.

If the thickest line matched d.) and the thinnest line matched a.), then sure, it did match.

This could only work for MCQ, though, did they seriously think only the MCQ could save them from failure?

She looked up again, to check on the students.

Some were grumbling about not having the answers anymore. Some were pulling their hair out, fumbling over how to still ensure a pass for this paper.

And Syed...he was scribbling something down hastily, yet his head was again tilted to cover his expression, just as he was at the start of the exam.

Denise was muttering something to a student seated near Syed, probably answering a question she had.

"Ugh, you satisfied now? You've confused a lot of the students, and now they say they can't focus on the paper because they never know if you'll suddenly go up to then and snatch it up!" Denise furiously whispered, striding back, much to Rai's amusement.

"Well, I foiled their cheating plans, didn't I? See for yourself, the barcodes do indeed correspond to the question answers," Rai showed off the basket to Denise, smiling her usual smile-not one of sincerity, but of plan and mask.

"Yeah yeah, whatever," Denise shrugged it off, deeming it something minor as a daily occurence.

"At least they won't act up again. *yawn* I'm just gonna...zone out now. Tired, but not tired enough to fall asleep...help me watch over them," Rai whispered, then really zoned out as if she had removed some virtual reality headset and her avatar was remaining stationary-staring off into blank space, blinking momentarily.

"Um...ok..." Denise agreed, though Rai still had a full view of the students, she was in her own world now.

The other students continued to struggle with the lack of their answers, some of them even crying and breaking down, and Denise rushing to comfort them.

Syed, on the other hand, was starting to take the major threat getting out of the way to his advantage now.

Making bold movements-such as blatantly, obviously ceasing to write any more-and showing his face to reveal a complexity of complacency.

Such a bold move, in fact-it was so bold that it attracted the attention of even the slumbering Rai, who immediately sat up to observe his actions-but still maintaining her sleepy appearance, in order to catch Syed off-guard and gain herself the upper hand.

Of course, as bold as Syed was, he wouldn’t dare to blatantly, irrefutably cheat, instead waiting for the opportune moment.

And wait for the oppurtune moment, he did-but come the oppurtune moment, never...

Yes, for Rai had once again stood up and walked down the aisle like she did before for the last time.

Walking straight up to where Denise and Syed was, placing her hand onto their shoulders ever-so placidly.

"Go on," She whispered with a controlling smirk on her face.

"Well...when did you find out?" Denise didn't even bother to keep up the pretense for an extra second, dropping the issue of the crying student.

"Trust no one..."

"What...uh...was that really all it took for you to figure it out?"

"Well, not really, but from the moment you showed that look on your face when I collected the pencils..."

"That was a pretty normal reaction, though,"

"Not to me,"

Syed listened in on the two ladies arguing, patiently waiting for his part of the play.

"The whole...pencil thing was just a front, right? Meant for distracting Mr Ka Ni Na from the real cheaters here..."

"But unfortunately, you didn't take...me into consideration,"

Syed waited some more, drawing his knife quietly.

Or, not so quietly, since Rai took every note of it.

"Alright, now what? What are you gonna do to me? Hand me.to the authorities? Tie me to a rock and sacrifice me to the sun god? Cook me into ragout-"

That was the code.

Syed striked.

But not at Rai.

Making swift work of the student beside him, Syed slit his throat-thankfully not cutting any vital veins, keeping it dead-clpse to his neck.

That student didn't even have the time to react-not even scream, before Rai lunged foward and elegantly snatching the knife off Syed's hands and knocking him away-as swiftly as he had slit the throat.

Both of them really like springing the element of surprise, huh?

Once more, taking advantage of the fact that Denise was stunned, Rai played the same trick Syed had-getting tight hold of her neck and placing the knife to it.

"It's not just...you, is it? It's not just him," *gestures to Syed kneeling in solemn reflection of his mistakes-which are probably how we messed up assassinating Rai rather than actually feeling remorseful for cheating*

"It's everyone in this room. Everyone," She flourished a dramatic act with her fingers to indicate wonder.

"..." Denise and Syed both stayed silent, one knife to her neck and the other crushed by the presence of an oppresor.

"I don't have anything I can keep them occupied with, though...AND I can't leave that guy's wound unattended for too long..." She cast another glance at the now-unconscious and bleeding student, probably from too much blood loss.

The multitude of students crowding around either Syed, her and Denise or the injured student really made her feel like she was back in the Ka Ni Na situation...

"I'll just have to prioritise saving the student AND keeping an eye on Denise and Syed...ugh, why can't Baizurah be here? She's the one who made me come here...wait, wait, wait, no, why am I even thinking about her? I can do this on my own!" She quickly pushed the idea of her previously hallucinated friend out of her mind, and got to saving the student.

Kneeling down just as she had when treating Mr Ka Ni Na, she tried the same treatment as well.

She hadn't a second to spare in stopping the blood flow, yet it was really too much through ordinary methods.

She knew she had to resort to the last and absolute worst method to her to use-her power.

Her Ikigai.

Hovering a hand above the student's neck, she closed her eyes and concentrated even harder than she had to set up the restraining spell. Her hand glowed a vibrant blue all this while, and so to the blue light of her eyes shining through her eyelids.

Then she opened her eyes. And the blue light flashed through. And after it cleared the wound was healed completely. Not a drop of blood. Not a single scar. Good as new.

She could spot Syed reaching again for the knife from the corner of her fading eye.

But she worried not.

Syed stealthily seized the weapon and attempted to strike Rai just as he had struck the student, pouncing on her while vulnerable.

In fact, he was a mere hair away from her neck-and this time, with the supportive demeanour of Denise and a few other cheating students, he wasn't planning on sparing the vital organs.

But she had her own backup plan. Or, backup person.

The knife swung down on her...and was stopped when it briefly met with a bullet that was shot vertically.

From the direction of the bullet stood a young lady in a seriously dramatic pose.

Appearing in the most timely moment possible, AND in an extremely hot black trenchcoat with a white coat underneath...wait, did she wear this in advance? Also, when did Rai call her anyway?

Once again, having not learnt to react faster when encountered with surprises, Syed stumbled back and stunned himself, giving the newcomer all the time in the world she needed to take back the knife straight out from Syed's hands.

Balancing the knife carefully in her hand like a basketball, she took out her final weapon-rope...wait, she brought....rope...

And then she tied each and every one of the students individually... and Denise up with it...with rope...she tied...

And how did she avoid resistance? Oh, she was quite eerily proficient in wielding her gun. Every single student willingly, shakingly, fearfully complied with her because of how good she was with that shotgun.

She could walk up to each individual student, and they would willingly give their hands to be tied up, because of how well she handled her weapon.

Even Syed surrendered his weapon unconditionally. With tremendous fear in etched across his face, just like Denise and all the other students in the room.

Strange.

Anyway. The job was done. Rai got back up, dusted herself off, and immediately snatched the gun out of the lady's hands.

"Please, stop, Baizurah, for the sake of my stupid mental health, messing in my affairs, also why do you even have this, anyway?" She dangled the gun like a lucky charm in front of the lady as if she was a hungry dog dangling a piece of meat.

"What? Getting bored of me already? Oh, right..." The lady paused mid-speech, as if recalling an important event.

"You know what? I don't care what you do with them anymore, I'm outta here," Said Rai WHILE STILL HOLDING THE GUN.

"Fine, fine, I'll leave them to your stupid authorities..." Said Baizurah, who also walked off following Rai.

While leaving the cheating students tied up.

Hold on, is no one thinking about them?

Did everyone just forget about them?

-------------

"Take me to this address," The man in the black coat and almost vantablack hoodie flashed a map with a labelled address kept dry from the heavy downpour by the umbrella which masked his face.

"Uh, no, I can't, that's an...uh...abandoned hotel, that's kinda...haunted, ya get what I mean?" The driver in the taxi bit his lip, kindly refusing and explaining why.

The black coated man said nothing, reaching into his suit pocket and pulling out a large bundle of monetary notes, which the taxi driver immediately snatched.

"Uh...I can take you to road leading to the hotel, but I won't go anywhere near the hotel," The taxi driver negotiated, obviously demanding he get more of the dough where that came from.

And the man in the umbrella gave in. He pulled out yet another bundle, which the taxi driver yet again snatched immediately.

"Well, kind, and certainly wealthy, sir, I would love to send you to your destination, but you see, the rumours about that place...just aren't worth how much you're offering, hmm?" Attempting to extort more from what he thought was an easy money drain, huh.

To that the man in the downpour said nothing. Hiding his face behind the angle of the umbrella, and dressed in so many layers of clothing and coats, covered in elaborate gloves, such that practically no part of his skin was revealed-who even knew what was going on in that devious mind of his.

Then he reached into his suit pocket again. Not to take out another bundle of cash, no, he wasn't about to give in to the taxi driver's pleas anymore-

instead he took out a gun.

And he put it to the driver's forehead.

And then, that was when you could see his eyes widen even more than when he had seen the bundle of cash.

"S-s-so-so-sorry, big sir, I-I-I didn't know you were-"

"Drive." This tone was much more serious and solemn than when he had asked for the first time. "If you make any moves I'll shoot you,"

"Y-yes kind sir," He shakily uttered as the man put away his umbrella, opened the car door and got in the car.

"I knew it, wearing such a serial killer's outfit in a heavily rainy day, asking to be driven to some abandoned hotel, of course he's up to no good,"

It sure didn't help that even without the umbrella covering his face now that he was safely in the driving taxi, all the taxi driver could see from the rear mirror were two curved, devious eyes among darkness staring straight into his soul through it.

"Sir, p-pl-please have mercy on me, I have a wife...and kids...they're still small, they can't do without their father..." The taxi driver attempted to plead for mercy in the same way he pleaded for more money just now.

And again the man said nothing. No, in fact, he had exactly zero reaction to it.

Not really fond of talking, huh, this guy?

[planetsnakes]

Merlin doesn't protect magic users in most cases. Arthur threatens a child and he does nothing. Merlin doesn't protect those in Camelot he doesn't really know he protects Arthur in all forms that takes (emotional being a big one). He's a villain in many peoples lives and I think he knows this. It doesn't make him happy or clever but it makes him tragic. The one goal he carries is beautiful and tragic and that's my approach to the media. That's the lense i view it through and here's an unserious essay to prove it.

Sorry this took so long and i did not take it seriously. I'm tired. I'm very glad you explained your view but I am a fandom idiot and my tone reflects that. I don't even disagree with you. There's a tl;dr at the end cuz this is long and stupid

Your first point. Why not jail and rehabilitate them. I shall admit [honorific] Tidolma that this got a chuckle out of me as I previously stated that jail can't hold anyone. Most people jailed in there escape. The ineptitude of the Camelot guards is an inescapable fact that Merlin well knows as he too has evaded capture by hiding behind a corner.

If by some miracle Merlin got a magic user into the jail despite the justice system stating they should be killed then he would have to bank on them not escaping. Unless he were to run a jail himself which i find a jail run by dragons with the intent to rehabilitate magic users an admissible rebuttal to me because it's funny.

Why not talk to them properly and offer solutions to prove their methods wrong?

Sometimes he does who are we to speculate on why he does what he does (self defense) Merlin works in mysterious ways (he's so fucking terrified of being discovered to the point he puts himself in danger if he told his enemies then he'd lose any advantage he has over them, also he's gay for Arthur, duh)

Death penalty is not always the answer to every threat

I hate to say this but Merlin didn't kill everyone. Gillian & the fake druid boy Morgana sent out & in the first episode. Merlin's kills are indicative of his downwards spiral

he was not even qualified to impose that to Camelot's enemies. He was never camelot's judge, legislator and executioner in the first place

He was appointed by fate or whatever you call every character who tells Merlin that it's his job and his alone to create Albion. This statement defends Camelot's judicial system and implies Merlin should have gone to the correct authority. Who would have had Merlin killed and should Merlin have used his powers to stop them would have Merlin killed too. At least that's what Merlin believes. I mean it depends on how you read it.

I don't think you're wrong though I think Merlin made mistakes. I disagree with how he killed and I think that he could have tried harder but Merlin doesn't see that. He's terrified, backed into a corner trying to shoulder an enormous weight. I'd say by season 4 he's stopped believing in his destiny and just wants to keep Arthur alive at all costs.

Sure Merlin has power over Arthur. Does he believe that? Not really. Arthur rarely listens to Merlin's advice when it matters. Until about season 5. At this point the man has given up on his destiny. He has been manipulated by those around him to believe magic users are bad and has confirmation bias through mostly only meeting magic users that want to harm Arthur.

All this man wants is to keep Arthur alive. For a man that was never qualified to be in this position from this angle if he reveals his magic Arthur will push him away and then Merlin wont be able to stop an assassination attempt. if he ever believed that Camelot was ready for structural change he wouldn't have turned himself old in the final battle.

Yeah this is apologist and ridiculously complex over a couple of sentences and I'm actually very happy you engaged with me i love fandom debate but this man never believed he was the bestest goodest and wisest.

He's flawed and his flaws entrap him. I love that. I love watching that. I think it's also hard to watch because they're the same mistakes over and over due to the how following the same formula over and over and over until the brutal end. I believe he fucking hated himself basically. We're probably in agreement on a lot of points...

It's comparing apples to oranges. It doesn't suit this fandom wank.

Valid could be worse is a terrible argument

I'm watching the video

though I hate marvel and cant name all the characters in the thumbnail. Merlin isn't a superhero so he doesn't have the social element to that. He doesn't get the power, influence and implied threat when around people. I suppose you could argue that Merlin should have revealed his magic sooner and i agree but the man is too fucked up to see it.

I find him being the tool that reverts things back interesting and I agree to an extent. Except Arthur is purposely reset by the writers, when he threatens Aggrivane outside of Merlin's influence he forgets. While Merlin may be a tool of keeping the status quo he cannot take all the blame. Arthur's supposed amnesia holds responsibility. Merlin does change the status quo though evolving Arthur's character. While at a point it feels like he's halting that evolution that's only when he gives up on being able to change things. Not because he believes that to be right but because he wants to save his friend.

Merlin isn't a hero and i have never seen it and been like this man is in the right trying to kill a child because a dragon told him too. I see it and think tragedy.

tl;dr Merlin is a tragedy and he has depression he did not have the tools to do better.

bbcmerlin: i am the good guy

bbcmerlin, 2 seconds later: therefore i will kill everyone who's evil and i wont care about whatever they say even if some of it would actually help me

bbcmerlin: see? i'm just the best. i am the goodest. most wise, i am.

[silkylious]

*cries in crippling academic anxiety*

[supernovafeather]

Hey! I don’t usually submit things so I hope your askbox is ok 😅 could I request reader/Leto/Jessica? Maybe bonding with baby Paul or just generally being happy and poly together? I’d settle for a love corner, but I’d really like that sweet sweet love triangle action

Here is this fic after all this time. 😂

Short, but I hope you'll like it.

Four

Leto Atreides x F!Reader x Lady Jessica

Throuple, baby Paul, breastfeeding, fluff.

After such a long and monotonous day on Caladan, it is good to hold your son in your arms. The baby fell silent in the white covers wrapped around him a while ago, his face finally soothed after long minutes spent crying. Your arms keep a firm grasp around Paul as you look at the sea from the diner room, the moonlight reflecting on the curves formed by the waves.

"I am sorry for not coming sooner." Whispers Jessica as she walks closer to you. "I had to take care of some details for tomorrow's festival."

She makes you smile as you turn around. Splendid is a perfect word to qualify her. Even still exhausted by Paul's birth, her features keep this cold and noble aspect. Her hair is still tied in a tight bun. The only details betraying her recent pregnancy are her clothes slightly larger than usual, a long skirt falling to her ankles and her top tucked in it lazily.

"There is no need to apologize my love." You say quietly as she kisses your forehead, her gaze soon falling on her son's face with adoration. "How are you feeling tonight ?"

"Tired, for sure." She answers. "Not enough not to wish you a good night."

Jessica is a loving person, showing proudly in private how much she cares for her family. Still, the way she kisses the tip of your nose has you interrogating her actions. Open displays of affection are not this common from her, but you won't complain. Especially as she stares at you with these charming doe eyes.

"Tell me Jessica, what can I do for you ?"

"Leto asked me if you wanted to join us in our chambers tonight. Not for anything disheveling." She precises with a smug grin as she notices your sudden interest. "Only for a good night of sleep."

"I will indeed join you. And..."

Like sensing some disruption around him, Paul starts moving in his little blanket. Both of you and Jessica set your eyes on him, your concubine lowering a bit the fabrics covering his mouth as he yawns.

"Good evening my son." His biological mother whispers as you hand him to her. "Apparently you couldn't help yourself but being noisy today, is this statement true young man ?"

Clasping your hands behind your back, you start smiling as you recognize the series of little high-pitched groans the baby lets out of his mouth. He keeps his dark eyes closed, the little form getting more agitated as Jessica start rocking him softly. As you anticipated, the Caladan heir gets a bit louder.

"Paul is getting hungry I think." Jessica sighs. "Please help me a bit to remove those."

She steps towards you, lowering the baby enough for you to have access to the buttons closing her top. If your eyes soon fall on the bare skin uncovered between her pale breasts, you still make sure your gestures remain the ones of a second mother helping to provide food for her hungry and now grumpy son.

The whining Atreides turns silent again once able to have access to his mother's breast, drinking the milk her body had created to feed him. His eyes are closed as she holds him close to her, the little dark hair growing on his head geting caressed by your hand.

The loud noise of the doors opening has you boiling as Paul starts squirming disturbed in his meal, but you calm down immediately as you see the Duke of Caladan approaching. The stern frown crowning his eyes soothes as he notices his family already gathered there, and he turns his back to the two mothers the time to close the doors in silence. Leto is already wearing a white shirt and his dark pants, ready to go to bed. The day has been long for everyone apparently.

"My Ladies." He greets you with a smile as he paces towards you. "And young man."

His kiss gets welcomed by your lips, his dark beard scratching your face as an arm snakes around you gently. He deepens it just enough for you to feel the tip of his tongue playing with yours.

"I'm sorry for leaving the bed so early today." He apologies before kissing your cheek. "I got a message from Gurney."

"Don't worry Leto. I spent most of the day with Paul."

After an additional kiss on the top of your head, the man slides a finger under the side of the blanket protecting his child from the slightly fresh air of the room.

"I'm glad to see you welcomed him so well." Leto tells you as a tiny fist grabs his forefinger. "You don't know how much I prefer him with his mothers around him rather than some maid."

"Please Leto they are very capable." Jessica scolds him quietly as she adjusts her hold around her son so he can keep on feeding at the same time.

"I know. But it doesn't feel the same."

You understood Leto's fear during Jessica's pregnancy. Your union is not what you would call common, and you don't know for sure who started to spread nasty rumors about you. Jealous maids ? Some pervert in his army ? Just drunk jokes during a lunch or a dinner ? Words muffled by hasty whispers to qualify you as an opportunist woman, a viper finding a new lair to settle during winter. The three of you know they are wrong. Yet Leto had felt this anxiety of a future father. Would you accept this boy ? Would you feel this need to create bonds with this little being ? Would you grow jealous of the attention set on him ?

Paul starts cooing again, letting his mother's breast go as he grows agitated. Leto covers Jessica's chest with her top, his eyes turned to his son now staring up at him.

"Come here young Atreides." The Duke mumbles while taking the protesting and moving blanket in his arms. "You will have to go to bed soon. It's getting late."

You rub Leto's back as he makes his son burp above his shoulder, his hand tapping gently on his back. Fortunately this time no catastrophe happens with this minuscule and fragile stomach and the baby even giggles a bit once back in the Duke's arms.

This bright smile visible on Jessica's face is everything to you. No, you don't feel anything negative as she watches her partner taking care of your child. Some may not understand these links that unified you, but you do and cherish them.

- - -

Thanks for reading, please comment and reblog if you liked it ! 😊

[wiisagi-maiingan]

Feels just great going on indigenous tags and seeing someone namedrop me, saying that I am apparently obsessed with Native suffering and not a Native person venting about my own fucking trauma.

This is why I have my inbox closed, because everyone on this site thinks they know everyone else based on some posts on our blogs and then they feel qualified making gross statements about us to feed their petty need for drama. I am just fucking existing here, trying not to have a complete mental breakdown from a variety of trumas, inlcuding traumas related to being a disconnected and reconnecting Native. I don’t need random strangers shoving themselves into my business, acting like I’m somehow undermining their own suffering by being open about my own.

I barely use this blog anymore because I’m just so tired of everyone picking apart every little thing I say to “prove” that I’m faking. It’s fucking exhausting, but apparently I can’t even talk about my own feelings without pissing off someone I have never once interacted with.

[bubblyhoney]

win for me

warnings: lAnGuAgE, alcohol consumption (both reader and all other characters are of age to drink), marijuana use, Making Out™️, a miniscule Flowers from 1970 reference. PSA: WHEN UR INTOXICATED AND/OR AT A PARTY, TELL UR FRIENDS WHO YOU WILL BE WITH AND WHERE YOU WILL BE AT ALL TIMES. DRINK AND PARTY SAFELY!

tags: sapnap x fem!reader

summary: a collection of moments throughout the beginning of your relationship

words: 5000

A/N: even though this isn’t my most organized or perfect fic this was so incredibly fun to write. and it’s a college!au!! one of my favs. hope you guys like!! let's pretend the pandemic doesn't exist for this one too (please wear ur masks btw)

-

Sophomore Year:

Smells like shit in here is your first thought upon entering the laundromat.

It does, in all honesty. What would you expect a place where college students wash three months of dirty clothes and comforters with vomit to smell like? Urine and just a hint of marijuana, incidentally. The door closes noisily behind you and a guy in a black baseball hat turns his head at the noise. Half of his face is hidden underneath the shadow of his scruff and he says nothing, but you still offer an obligatory polite-stranger smile. The place is pretty deserted, what for it being nearly 4 in the morning. And you’re a rare kind of customer; only a few things to wash and you brought your own detergent.

There’s an empty washer next to an old woman in an acid-trip of a parka, and you sweep past the few other patrons with your mesh bag close. The man in the hat nods at you as you pass, looking up from his phone.

Okay. Dark load in one and delicates in the other, you remind yourself. The quarters get pushed through the slot (not without dropping three and having to scramble to pick them up before they disappear between the machines) and you fill the dispensers with a flowery laundry detergent your roommates hates. Oh, and the clothes go in. Done. You relax into a cracked plastic booth around the corner of the machine, pulling a book of crosswords from your bag.

Somebody yelps halfway through filling out a five letter word (“a series of thoughts, images, and sensations occurring in a person's mind during sleep”) and you jump. Baseball Cap rips open the dryer, fumbling around and supplying a pair of gray sweatpants. You can’t help but watch. He digs through both front pockets, pulling out a wad of dollar bills. He sighs, shoves the pants back into the dryer, and starts it with a hard push.

“Gut feeling?” You ask. He looks around for a second and settles his gaze upon you. Nice eyebrows, you think.

“Yeah,” he laughs, slightly nervous. “Yeah. I wore them yesterday and just remembered I put some tip money in my pocket.” Leaning back onto the shelf behind him, he shoves his phone into his pocket and folds his arms tight to his chest.

“I feel you,” you empathize, and set down your pencil. “I washed a parking ticket with my underwear last week.”

He stutters out a laugh, nodding.

“That must’ve sucked,” he adds.

“Yeah.” You shrug. “I wasn’t going to pay it anyways, but would’ve been nice to keep it for memory’s sake.” Rubbing at your knee offhandedly, you just watch him. He’s cute. And easy to make conversation with.

“Hey, um,” he mutters and clears his throat. “Do you by chance know some guy named Karl? Tall, messy brown hair and a horrible laugh?”

You open your mouth, then close it.

“Actually—,” you start but huff out a laugh. “Yeah, he’s uh, he’s dating my roommate. Why’d you ask?”

Reaching a hand to rub at his neck, his face twists into something sheepish.

“I’ve seen you at some parties this semester. I didn’t mean to sound creepy like that— I just—yeah.” His cheeks flush pink and he looks down to the ground.

“No worries,” you say, barely even thinking. “I think I’ve seen you too. You’re in Delta Tau Delta, right?”

“Nah, nah,” he laughs. “Just got some friends in there.”

“Ah.” You nod.

The conversation falls into silence, but not uncomfortable silence. He pulls out his phone again, and you look back to the crossword in front of you. The old woman between you leaves with a humongous load of blankets and a small family leaves with a cart full of bags; now it’s just you two.

When the washer with your delicates ding you nearly jump two feet in the air. Exhaling, you set your work down and open the door.

“Shit,” you curse as two bras fall onto the tile. You reach down to get a hand on a black lace bra and hide it quickly under your elbow. A sneaker squeaks loud in the almost-empty room and you see Baseball Cap’s shoulders.

“Here.” He’s kneeling as he hands you your pink bra and you accept it, biting your lower lip.

“Thanks,” you mumbles, slightly embarrassed, and step back to shove those bras and a couple pairs of your underwear into your bag. He offers you a small smile and backs off to his own machines, humming an off-key version of Unchained Melody to himself. Your other load of laundry gets shoved right on top of your delicates.

It’s when you’re nearly out the door, bell jingling, that you think to look back.

“Hey,” you start, almost stuttering for no reason. “What’s your name?”

He turns, dark eyebrows raised.

“My—uh… My friends call me Sapnap. You can call me that too.” Rosy cheeks once again; you seem to be making him awfully nervous.

“Sapnap.” You try it in your mouth, pursing your lips. “Okay. I’ll see you around Sapnap.”

He nods, affirming your statement.

“See you around Y/N.”

It doesn’t hit you until you’re buckling your seatbelt and starting your car that you realize you didn’t tell him your name.

Perhaps he knew more about you than you thought.

Yeah, you laugh to yourself. Karl’s got a big mouth.

Junior Year:

It takes you a collective twelve minutes to go talk to him.

It’s quiet in the library, students that happen to come here to study or procrastinate few and far between the scattered tables. Your poison today is a 4 page history paper on Normandy that you’d been staring at the instructions for for days. You’d already written a bunch of, frankly, horseshit for the body, but the introduction and conclusion were throwing you for a loop.

The vibes in Ridgeback Hall were also certainly off, today more than any other day; the main help-desk was empty and everybody had to do the tedious task of locating niche textbooks themselves.

Lifting your head from the wood of the table, you squint and focus your vision on the guy in the white tee and denim jacket that had been the focus of your thoughts for minutes. He chews at the end of his pencil, mouth screwed up into a ball, and shoots daggers at the empty notebook in front of him. You’re surprised it hasn’t caught on fire yet just from his gaze.

“Sapnap!” You whisper-shout, stretching your arms across the table as if it would make him any closer. A person with purple hair jumps at your voice but turns back to their laptop. “Sapnap!” you try again, tapping two fingers on the table. His head jerks up, eyebrows furrowed and an angry expression on his face, but softens at the sight of you.

“Y/N,” he counters, equally as loud but with a smile on his face.

“What’re you doing?”

“Calculus.” He sticks his tongue out, making an awfully tortured face. You laugh and wave your fingers at him, gesturing for him to come closer. He just huffs out a sigh, stacks all his papers in one pile, and gets up. The trek over to your table is short but he takes it so slowly you wonder if he always walks like that. Like a varsity basketball player who just got off a horse.

“You’re so slow.”

“Shut up,” he grumbles and settles into a chair across from you. “It’s 2 pm, give me a break. I need a Redbull.”

“Those are bad for you, you know,” you say matter-of-factly and drop your chin onto your hand. He’s even cuter from this angle, you think briefly. He just rolls his eyes.

“Whatever, Miss I’d-like-some-coffee-with-my-sugar-and-cream,” he teases, pointing to your venti iced coffee. It’s about as pale as the color of a band-aid. You just sigh and close your eyes. “You tired?” He flips his pencil in his hand and leans back into the seat, sighing.

“Yeah,” you mumble. “I haven’t slept yet today.”

“Wow, you’re dumb.” He looks scandalized. You just shrug.

“Perhaps. I don’t really know why I did it actually— just for funzies!” You raise an arm but let it drop back down. “I stayed up playing Sims.”

“Feel that. I play Minecraft with my buddies until like 2 am every night too. It’s nice,” he decides and folds his arms across his chest. Your eyes flit over to his strong arms, admiring the way his denim shirt looks around them. Thick.

“Do you have a girlfriend?”

“What?” He says too loudly and it warrants a ‘shush’ from another student. He reddens, but looks back down to you. “I—why do you ask?” You shrug, eyebrows raised.

“Just wondering. You’re too cute to not have one.”

“Right,” he huffs, but his cheeks stay pink. You two fall into easy silence, his eyes trained on the notebook in front of him and yours closed peacefully. “Are you dating anyone?”

They snap open not-so-peacefully.

“Nope. You wanna submit a boyfriend application?” A smile cracks your lips and he grins back.

“Maybe,” he replies and stares at your mouth. “I have to say—,” He stretches into a yawn. “I think I’m qualified.”

“Oh, yeah?” Your eyebrow quirks. “And why are you so qualified?”

“Well, first of all, I work at Ace Hardware. That’s where cool people work.” He presses one finger into his palm. Then two. “And I have a bunch of free time because said job at Ace Hardware only likes scheduling me in the mornings. Plus, I’m hot.” He shrugs.

You nod faux-seriously, considering his list.

“Those are very good qualities, sir. I’ll have to get back to you on that.” You pause. “Okay, I’ll schedule an interview. How’s 7 pm at the Chili’s on Main? Chili’s is the designated interview place.” You wiggle your eyebrows. He just smiles at you, shaking his head in disbelief.

“That was smooth.”

“Yeah, I know.” You carefully study your nails. “I’m pretty impressive.”

“Clearly,” he mutters and chuckles. “But I do like their salsa. And margaritas. We got a deal?” He holds out a large hand. You take it, squeezing tightly.

“Hell yes.”

When you see the man called Sapnap a week later, you are very obviously in a different state of mind.

Same state, same college town, but very different blood alcohol contents.

“Sappy!” You shout, raising your arms above your head with a stupid grin on your face. He turns, that familiar look of surprise evident in his expression.

“Y/N,” he laughs and approaches your group of friends in the kitchen. It’s Greek Wedding night at Delta Tau Delta, and you assume Sapnap came to support Delta’s “groom” Alex. You’d gotten uncharacteristically drunk, trading air for sangria, and you were now in the incredible stage where everyone was both your friend and your favorite person.

Throwing an arm around his shoulders, you mash your face into his bicep and giggle.

“Missed you so much,” you try to manage out of your mouth, but it comes out slurred and stuttered. “So much.” You’d gone to Chili’s two days before and promised another ‘interview’ in the next few days, but it felt like two months away from your beloved. Beloved friend, that is. Only one date.

“Yeah?” He places a hesitant hand on your back and nudges you into a standing position. “How much have you had to drink?”

“Oh, shhhh,” you mumble and close your eyes. “Only— a lot.” Blinking them back open, you zero your gaze in on a bottle of Ciroc half-empty and looking very tempting on the kitchen island across from where you’re leaned up against the kitchen sink. He catches your gaze and steps in front of you, pleasant face filling your vision. You gasp.

“You are so cute.” Sliding your palms up onto his face, you hold his scruffy cheeks in your hands and smile all dopey at him.

“Is that your brain or the alcohol telling you that?”

“Uh,” you swallow. “Both. And my heart.”

He just shakes his head and his chest moves with a heavy laugh.

“Glad to hear it.”

“Are you having fun?” You ask, all concerned and furrowed eyebrows. You look like you’re genuinely interested and worried about if he’s having a good time or not, and it makes his expression melt.

“I’m having lots of fun,” he passes over his shoulder as he flips on the tap and fills a red solo cup with water. “In fact, I’m gonna have a nice, cold glass of water right now.” He shakes it like an owner offering their dog a treat.

You eye the cup in his hand, having half a thought that this might be some sort of backwards psychology move. The other half wins.

“That sounds so good right now— can I drink some?” Your eyebrows pull together and your bottom lip drops into a pout. It makes him blink for a second. He remembers the little game you’re playing and just hands it over, smug. You gulp it down quickly and crush the empty plastic into your palm with an exaggerated exhale. “Hit the spot,” you sigh, and pat your stomach fondly.

“You hungry?” Sapnap asks you as he steadies you with two hands on your shoulders. Something pops into your head at his words: a set of two McChickens and an Oreo milkshake.

“Oh my God,” you gasp, and mirror him by placing your hands on his shoulders. “Can we go to McDonald’s?”

He just shakes his head, grin wide on his lips, and shrugs. Perfect teeth, you think.

“I haven’t drank anything, so I’m good to drive.” He pulls his keys from his pocket. “I know you’re smashed right now so—do you feel safe with me?” The question falls from his mouth and you truly consider it, pulling your lip between your teeth.

“Yeah. I’ll take this just in case,” you say, and take a large dinner fork from the counter next to you. It has some red liquid on it that you brush off onto the fabric of your jeans.

“That’s actually gross.”

“Yeah.” You grip it tighter in your head. “But it’ll do the job if you try any shit. I’ll put this in your eyeball.” Brandishing it, a smile stretches onto your mouth. He just shakes his head and heads for the back door, jerking a hand in your direction to get you to follow him.

The cool night air explodes on your face when you step onto the porch and it makes you blink rapidly. Sapnap is right at your side, offering a forearm as you slowly make your way down the two back porch steps. A tall blonde smoking half of a blunt makes a grunt noise as you two pass and your knight-in-shining armor looks up.

“Gonna go get some food. Want anything?” Sapnap stops on the rocky path to the sidewalk, tilted up to hear the blonde’s response. The other guy shakes his head but nods to you in passing.

“I’ll tell her friends where she went,” says the blonde, and disappears through the sliding glass doors.

Your hand falls from his forearm to his hand and grasps it tightly, swinging back and forth as you stumble to his car. You flash him a grin that he just chuckles at.

“Watch your step,” he warns as you yank on the handle of the passenger door and nearly fall off of the curb.

“I’m fine,” you huff, and scramble to get yourself upright into the seat and buckled. He closes your door and jogs to the driver’s seat, climbing in and starting the engine quicker than your head comprehends.

The small space fills with the sound of Letters to Cleo as he’s maneuvering out of his parking spot and he slaps a hand at the stereo button almost immediately. His cheeks redden as he glances at you once.

“I love Letters to Cleo,” you admit, and switch it back on. Ah, Co-Pilot. A classic. “Be my co-pilot!” You sing, loud and sharp. He shakes his head but huffs out a reluctant laugh.

“My older sister loved them. Bit old for my taste, but—you know. Can’t deny that I love a little bit of 90’s angst.”

“Absolutely,” you nod vigorously and pick at your nail. “Oh!” The fork magically reappears at your side and you grab at it. “For my McChickens.”

“And for me,” he adds.

“Yup. You too.” But you drop it onto the seat and lean forward, fumbling with the volume dial until you feel the lead singer’s voice thumping into your heart. “I love this lady!” You shout and rock your head to the beat.

Shaking his head, his shoulders move in an easy laugh. The drive-thru line is kind of busy for 2 am, he notes, pulling in right behind a navy BMW sedan. But it moves quickly, especially when you’re moving in your seat, scream-singing the lyrics to I Want You To Want Me.

“Yeah,” he says, loud into the mic. “Two.”

“Alright.” The voice reports from the speaker, a background clicking joining their bored tone. “Two McChickens, a double cheeseburger—ketchup and pickle only— , a medium fry, and an Oreo McFlurry. Anything else, sir?”

Sapnap chews on his lip, and glances at you. You just give an encouraging thumbs up.

“That’ll be all,” he reports.

“Second window, and your total is $9.67.”

He barely has time to call a “thank you so much!” before the line ends with a click. Rude.

“Jesus Christ,” you moan the second you sink your teeth into your first sandwich.

“Agreed,” he mumbles and pushes as much cheeseburger he can fit into his mouth.

“This,” you start, swallowing. “is the sexiest thing I’ve encountered in all of my years. I thank all higher powers when I consume McChickens…” Trailing off for dramatic effect, you stare down the sandwich before mimicking a dinosaur war cry and practically shoving it down your throat. He just nods in agreement.

“It’s so nice out tonight,” Sapnap comments, swinging a look out his rolled-down window. He parked right in front of the Campus Quad, large bubbling fountain the show to your dinner. And some geese fighting each other for half a rotting hot dog.

“Mhm.” You crumple up your wrapper trash and toss it into the empty paper bag. “Could totally go for a swim.”

He turns and gives you a look. You look right back.

“Should we?” It’s barely a question.

“Um, hell yes,” is all it takes for you to say before you’re clambering out of the car and starting for the fountain. He follows closely after, jogging to catch up with your borderline track-star sprints.

“Wait up!” He calls as you reach the border of the fountain.

“Ugh,” you sigh, impatient. “Hurry up.”

“Mouthy,” he grumbles before kicking off his shoes and bending to fold his pants up over his knees. You just climb straight in and brave the cold.

Squealing, you hop from one foot to the other, shoulders tight as you get used to the freezing water. He laughs and climbs in right beside you.

“Shit,” he curses, and shivers. “This sucks.”

“You suck,” you quip right back and splash around. He stares, disgusted, at the water soaking up your jeans all the way up to your knees.

“You’re gross for wearing jeans in a fountain. That’s worse than wet socks.” He starts to move around as feeling comes back into his toes.

“What, would you prefer me taking my pants off?” A sassy look paints your face and he rolls his eyes.

“No, but you could’ve folded them up like a normal person.”

“I think you forget,” you start, and splash a palmful of water his way. “I’m quirky.”

He gasps, face twisting as the water hits his thighs.

“You’re dead.”

If campus police were patrolling the Quad right now, they’d see two college juniors wading around in a fountain, water up to their knees, having a competition to see who can inflict the most damage. He won, it seems, because your shirt is drenched all the way up to your ribs.

“Okay!” You shout, hands spread to brace yourself. The water in his palm falls. “I’m cold and I want my other McChicken.”

“Fine,” he sighs, and with some difficulty manages to get out of the fountain and back into his shoes. You just make your way back over to his car barefoot, braving the mulch and poorly-sanded concrete.

You both finish your food quickly, discussing menial things like how fast food restaurants always skimp on the pickles and how it’s truly a disservice to the world that so many people don’t know it’s Biggie singing the song Kat dances on the table to in the 1999 classic 10 Things I Hate About You.

When Sapnap pulls up to your house, he shifts the car into park and lets loose a heavy sigh. You whip around, hand on your buckle, and sport a very confused look on your face.

“I’m tired,” is all he says. Head falling onto the seat, he rolls over to give you a half-lidded look. You nod empathetically and climb very carefully out of his passenger seat. Your drunk muscles haven't caught up to your mainly sober brain, which is impairing your ability to look like a functioning human being.

“Thank you for tonight,” you chirp, smiling in at him with your arms folded on the open window sill. The half-drank Oreo McFlurry is lukewarm in your hand. He stares at your flushed lips.

“Anytime you want a drunk McChicken let me know.” He winks. “I have a gift card.”

“You spoil me,” you coo, and step up onto the sidewalk. “I’ll see you sometime soon, yeah?”

He nods, pursed lips fighting a grin.

Cute, you both think at the same time.

Sometime soon, somehow, means the very next day.

It’s breezy yet uncharacteristically hot out, and certainly way too bright for a hungover Y/N.

You’re sat on the porch swing, nursing a hot decaf coffee with lots of sugar and cream. Sunglasses sit comfortably on your nose, but you still have to squint. The pills you took have yet to kick in, so all you have to do is wait and try not to vomit into your mug. Suddenly, your phone lights up and buzzes to life. You press the green button and lift to your ear.

“What do you want?” Your voice is awfully froggy, you realize, and clear your throat.

“Good morning to you too.” Sapnap’s voice rings clear yet husky into your ear. The corners of your lips twitch up into a smile. God, you’re whipped just for the sound of his voice.

“It is definitely not a good morning,” you grumble and switch him into speaker phone. You drop the phone into your lap and stretch out further on the swing.

“Good morning for me,” he chirps cheerfully. “Take anything for the headache?”

“Yes,” you report, sounding like a pouting child and rubbing two fingers into your temple. “Some idiot fed me ice cream last night so this morning I woke up having to both shit and throw up.”

“Aww,” he sympathizes, sounding way too entertained. “That sounds like a you problem.” You stuck out your tongue, but upon realizing he can’t see it, make a ‘hmph’ noise into the mic. “Anyways. I called to see if you wanted to go get breakfast with me. Waffle House, specifically.” You make a face but lift yourself up off the swing, wincing.

“I saw a rat eat an entire piece of french toast there once. But—sure. I’ll pay.” He starts to whine, but you scoff. “Let me love you, bitch. You pay for my McDonald’s and I pay for your pancakes. Easy trade.”

“Whatever. See you in five.” He hangs up right as you twist the front door open and drop your phone onto the couch.

“Who’re you talking to?” comes from the kitchen and you jump, pressing a hand to your chest. A shirtless Karl enters the living room with a bowl of fruit loops in his hand.

“Jesus Christ,” you breathe, and duck into the hall closet for your pair of dirty tennis shoes. “I was talking to Sapnap.”

“Oh,” he says around his mouthful of cereal with a grin. “You guys dating yet?”

You pass him a weird look, bending to tie your shoes.

“Gimme like two weeks. I’ll have him at my beck and call,” you laugh and collapse back into the couch.

“I’ll believe it when I see it.” He quirks an eyebrow and exits stage left into your roommate’s room.

The few minutes it takes for Sapnap to come to your house are short but filled with contemplation. Do you really want to date him? He’s certainly cute enough. Nice enough. And smart enough. He seems to like you too—

A honk interrupts your thoughts. Always having to be obnoxious, huh?

“You’re annoying,” you mumble as you buckle your seatbelt. He just shrugs, tiny smile tugging his lips, and shifts into drive. The short trip to Waffle House proves more quiet than lively. He seems awake, actually, so you attribute the silence to your tumultuous thoughts. The music is nice, though. Bikini Kill is perfect for 10 am.

After you two order (three chocolate chip pancakes for him and two regular waffles with a side of hashbrowns for you), he finally breaks the silence.

“Hey, are we dating?”

You pause with your lip on the rim of your orange juice. Your gaze falls from his lips to his fingers wrapped around the coffee mug. Two silver rings adorn both his middle fingers and they glint underneath the fluorescent lights.

“Do you wanna?” You squint back up at him. The tips of his ears flush pink.

“I-uh… Yeah. Yes,” he says simply. You try to hide a smile, but realize there’s no point.

“Okay.” You take a long drink of your orange juice. “I really like you. A lot. A surprising amount, actually; I haven’t really dated seriously since highschool.”

He nods, shuffling his feet on the tile. What else does he have to be nervous about? you wonder.

“I’ve… kindasortamaybelikedyousincesophmoreyear,” he mumbles and you swallow.

“Huh?” Leaning forward, you set your glass down.

“Um,” he starts but doesn’t finish.

“Did you say you’ve liked me since sophomore year?”

“...Maybe.” His coffee becomes the most interesting thing in the world, apparently. “Do you remember that one time during the Summer Carnival where Karl lost his phone?”

“Uh—yes! Yeah, actually. I do remember that. He found it in the porta-potty. What about it?” The waitress sets down both your plates in front of you and you offer her a smile in thanks before she trundles off to the drink station. You pick up your fork and wait for him to continue.

“I left two hours early because you invited Michael from your computer science class.” You pause around your mouthful of potato and he just stares back, trying not to grin. “Yeah. I thought you were hot and left early because you brought another guy.”

“Michael is gay,” you say slowly.

“Yup.” He nods and shoves a forkful of pancake into his mouth. “Isn’t that so stupid?”

“So stupid,” you tease but your cheeks blush pink.

“Anyways. Now I’m dating you, so. Win for me.”

“Ditto,” you murmur, and manage to fit half of your first waffle into your mouth. “This is the easiest it’s ever been to start dating someone.”

“It’s ‘cause we’re cool, I’m pretty sure,” comes from a mouthful of pancake.

“That’s facts.”

The rest of Pancake House is bustling, a few families with young kids and some other hungover college students scarfing down similar breakfast foods and confections. You two barely give any other customers the time of day, too wrapped up in conversation and each other. The waitress gets a heavy tip after an hour and a half of struggling to swallow dough soaked in syrup and chocolate.

Sapnap walks you to your door after breakfast, hand on your waist and pressed to your side. It feels good. Right.

“I’ll see you Wednesday right?” You ask, turning to him with hopeful eyes. How could he resist?

“Definitely. Wouldn’t miss Game Night for the world— I can’t wait to beat your ass at Uno.”

“You’re insufferable, you know that?” You murmur but you’re already slinging an arm around his shoulder and bringing his mouth down to yours.

You taste like sugar, he thinks. His hands find the small of your back easily, pressing you further forward into him. You hum at that, tracking a hand up the back of his neck and into his hair to grip it between your fingers.

He smells both musky and sweet and cool at the same time: heaven. One of his hands slides up to grip at your neck, thumb rubbing at your jaw, and you make a pleased noise into his mouth. There it is.

“Y/N!” Shrieks from inside your house and you jump, pulling away from Sapnap with a smack.

“What?” You yell back, irritated, and he just laughs as he dips to press a kiss to your cheek.

“Stop tonguing your boyfriend and come help me with my photography project.”

“God damn it,” you sigh and drop your hands. His slide down to just rest on your hips, comfortable. “I have to go.” You're annoyed, that’s for sure, and he prays you aren’t too mean to your roommate.

“Alright.” He dips for a quick kiss one last time. Okay, two more times. Maybe three. But he pulls away, grinning. “I’ll see you Wednesday.”

And then he’s stepping off your porch, walking to his car with his hands in his pockets. You watch his back fondly.

God, boyfriend. He’s your boyfriend. Boynap. Sapfriend. You can’t decide on a name, but all sounds perfect.

Perfectly him.

-

A/N: ask or send me some stuff!! requests, rants, anything. :D comments = welcome!