#i just wrote a goddamn essay on this shit.. :\

[monarchisms]

so for those who missed it, geoff talked a bit more about achievement hunter coming to an end on a f**kface break show on september 18th. some of it was stuff we've already learned from the announcement video/thread from AH themselves, but some additional information was mentioned exclusively on the f**kface stream. with rooster teeth being so great (sarcasm) at relaying info to their audience, i had to rely on a fan recording of the stream from twitter to get more context sooner, since the official recording won't be available until the 22nd at the earliest.

i'll put a full transcript of all the clips of the twitter thread under the cut, but if you want a tl;dr:

geoff's known about AH coming to an end for about 6 months (since march 2023), and that the decision to end it wasn't made lightly

he compares AH ending to when he went to quit red vs blue 15 years ago to co-create AH, somewhere between seasons 5-7, and how he continued to work on rvb until he couldn't anymore

also talks about how everyone at the company at the time (like burnie, gus, matt, and jason) were really supportive towards him, and how that led to AH lasting 15 years

he hopes that michael, trevor, alfredo, and joe get the same support he got from the audience when he made AH, and then eventually f**kface. also reassures the audience that all the content on the AH channel will stay as it is

heavily emphasizes that this decision wasn't made by the higher ups at rt or warner brothers, and wanted to nip that in the bud before the rumor went too far. notes that AH didn't fail, it just ended

talks about how there will be a couple more weeks of new achievement hunter content before they close up shop. some of the content includes the members paying an homage to past series and people at AH. it will eventually culminate into a final video that geoff's in where he gets "fucking verbose" about his feelings in relation to everything

gives a shoutout to matt, jeremy, and ray in regards to their streams on twitch, and finally ends his speech by saying that the audience should respect that the past + current AH members are continuing to do the things they love doing while being entertaining, just in their own unique ways

the full transcript:

Geoff: "The Achievement Hunter brand is coming to a close. We have decided to sunset it and to end it. And I've seen a lot of- for a very good reason- and that announcement came in tandem with another announcement, a very exciting announcement about a new brand called Dogbark. And I've seen a lot of excitement, a lot of appreciation from people, a lot of people supporting Michael and those guys [referring to Trevor, Joe, and Alfredo] going off into doing their own thing.

I've seen a lot of fear and uncertainty. I totally get and understand that; you guys are hearing this for the first time. Um, I've known about this for about six months. You know, this has been in some form of discussion or preparation for a while now. This wasn't a decision that was made lightly, uhh... but I think it's the right decision, and I hope that you'll understand and support that, and here's why:

15 years ago, I went to Burnie and Matt and Gus, and I said 'Hey, I'm losing my mind making Red vs Blue.' It was season 5 or 6, and I- I think it was 6 or 7, actually- and I was just so creatively drained and stifled. And I had such a wonderful time making Red vs Blue, but I had made it until I couldn't make it anymore. And I had this idea, and I was very passionate about this idea of this thing I wanted to try. And Burnie and Gus and Matt were so kind and supportive to give me the creative runway to launch and test Achievement Hunter out at a time when everybody- friends- everybody was telling me 'What are you doing, quitting making Red vs Blue? It's a huge hit! You're like, the #2 guy on it. You're a big part of this! Why would you leave that to do this unproven, untested thing?' And I had to! I had to follow my dream, I had to follow my passion. And like I said, Burnie and Matt and Gus and everybody else, Jason, everybody involved in Rooster Teeth at the time, were so fucking supportive and so wonderful to me in that period that 15 years later, we've had 15 years of Achievement Hunter.

We wouldn't be here on this set right now in front of all this Zimmer stuff, in front of fucking dumb pictures of Gavin and Garbage Pail Kids and Barbie and- fucking new Dallas poster, by the way. Uh, all of this has existed because they allowed me to take a chance and supported me taking that chance. And uh- I would be some kind of fucking hypocrite if I didn't provide the same level of support and genuine enthusiasm to Michael and Alfredo and Joe and Trevor as they embark on the same journey I went on 15 years ago! And this is a very- I don't want to speak for them. They didn't make this decision lightly, I guarantee you, and they will explain it in their own voice over the next few weeks as we say goodbye to Achievement Hunter and say hello to Dogbark. [actual dog barks in the background] We worked on that ahead of time.

Uhh... and so I would only ask that you give them the same level of support that the audience gave me when I tried out Achievement Hunter, this untested, unproven thing, and the same level of support you all gave us when we decided that we're going to make F**kface, an audio-only podcast recorded remotely, which is something that I never in a million years wanted to do or thought was a good idea until we did it, and found out it was simply too good, found out that it worked and it ended up becoming, I think, hopefully the best thing I've participated in. I really ju- I really just want to drive that point home. Joe and Trevor and Michael and Alfredo have spent years and years and years making content that they believe in to support and entertain you. And that's all they want to do with this new production.

Everything comes to an end. It's okay for things to end. I know it's scary and it's sad, but that doesn't mean it didn't happen, and that doesn't mean it's going away. We have 15 years of Achievement Hunter content online that you can still watch and enjoy. Hundreds of thousands of hours of content, hundreds upon hundreds of episodes of Minecraft and GTA that are still there for you to go and watch. I mean, hell, I think Emily and I are a great example of that. We've been watching a show that came out in 1978 called Dallas. It ran from 1978 to 1992, and that was 40 fucking years ago. And yet here we are enjoying it, just as if it came out yesterday. Justice for Sue Ellen, I think we can all agree, justice for Sue Ellen. So I would just say that I hope that you'll be excited about this new journey in their careers and this new opportunity for Rooster Teeth. It's sad to say goodbye to a thing, but it's not disappearing. It's still there. You can still go watch all those videos. You can still go enjoy- enjoy all that content, but you can also support them in what they're doing.

And one other little inaccuracy, or not even inaccuracy, but one thing I want to touch on- and then I'll get to breaking cards and being an idiot- is a thing that kind of bugs me, is that- I'm sure you've heard this phrase or some variation of this phrase before where it's uh, said that a lie can travel halfway across the world, while the truth is still putting its pants on, and-"

Emily: "That's kinda deep! I've never heard that before." Geoff: "You've never heard that before?" Emily: "No!"

Geoff: "Yeah, and I've seen a lot of supposition and people saying things that just aren't true. And I want to stop that right now before they travel halfway across the world. Because there is no truth to the idea that like- anytime we make a change that's controversial or a bit scary or different or new or unexpected, there's this idea that there's uh, some dude in a suit from Warner Brothers or Rooster Teeth standing just off-camera, sternly going, 'Make this decision. Follow this algorithm. We're chasing a demographic.' None of that is true. Rooster Teeth would be very happy if they continued making Achievement Hunter forever, but they weren't happy making Achievement Hunter, and they wanted to try a new thing.

They wanted to do what I did 15 years ago! They wanted to do what Ray did when he left Achievement Hunter, right? They wanted to bet on themselves and make their production. I love the work they put into- to mine, and I did my best to make it ours. But at the end of the day, I left Achievement Hunter five years ago! Uh, it would be really foolhardy and stupid and- and dickhead-ish of me to have a problem with them doing the same thing, uh, but it's also them. This is a decision that they made, that they wanted to make. It didn't come from anybody at Rooster Teeth or Warner Brothers. There was no, I don't know, this marketing department you always hear about that's telling them to make these decisions and- 'Chase the Gen Z crowd and come up- This is the name we've workshopped.' None of that's true! They came up with the name. They came up with the logo, they came up with the design, the color palette, the trailer, the content that's going to be released in a couple of weeks, that's all them! That's what they wanna do.

That is them following the same passion that I followed 15 years ago and the same passion that I followed when I created Let's Play, and the same passion that I that I followed when I created F**kface. And hopefully the same passion, the same passion that I created this with, and hopefully the same passion that I'll create the next and the next and the next thing with, and hopefully the same passion that they get to do, uh, as they continue their career. So all I'm asking for is give the new thing a chance, support it. It's a brave thing to do to walk out of the safety of Achievement Hunter into a new thing.

And also, uh, I've seen a lot of doomers that are saying like 'Ah, I called it ten years ago! I knew it was gonna fail!' It didn't fail. It ended. It was 15 fucking awesome years. And I'm going to stop talking now because I'm just going to get rambly. But I will say: There's a couple of weeks left of Achievement Hunter content coming out where they pay homage, if you will, to a lot of the videos and the shows from the past,, and the people from the past, and they have a lot of sweet things that they're going to do. And it'll culminate at the end with one last video that I am in where I get fucking verbose about my feelings about all of it. So if you want to hear more about my feelings of the 15 years of Achievement Hunter, I ask that you tune in to that last Achievement Hunter video. But I also ask that you tune into every video between now and then, because they're going to be saying goodbye to Achievement Hunter with a lot of love and respect and humor. And uh, I think that's what it deserves. And I hope that we all get to share in that together, and then, and then subscribe to Dogbark and give it a shot. [dog barks again] Thank you.

And uh, remember that all of these people that you've loved that have come and gone are still making content right now. Jack and BK, I think Jack's on vacation, but Jack and BK are over there in Inside Gaming, making content, playing video games 3, 4 hours a day, 3 or 4 days a week, playing Minecraft, playing all those old games that you loved to see us play. And Michael is making Face Jam every week. And Michael and Trevor and Alfredo and Joe are going to be making Dogbark every fucking day. And Gavin and I, we're making F**kface every day. And I'm making ANMA and I'm making So... Alright, and Ky has helped producing it all uh, behind the scenes.

Matt and Jeremy and Ray, they're streaming every fucking day of their lives, I believe. I think Jeremy's on, like, 18 days in a row right now, or something? [referring to Jeremy's uncapped subathon]. So all the people that you loved to support and who uh, entertained you throughout the years, they're still doing the thing that they love. They're just doing it in the way that they wanna do it, in the way that makes sense to them. And I just hope that you will be... respectful of that, and give them an opportunity to entertain you uh, in much the same way they entertained you last year and the year before and 5 years ago and 10 years ago. They just want to get up every day and make the best content they can make, and they're not- they're not making these decisions for any other reason than this is where their creative interests are leading them. And much like you gave me a chance 15 years ago, let's all give them a chance today. [dog barks again] That's it. I'm done. Let's open up some fucking cards."

[lovevalley45]

busting my ass to finish a paper before work n my professor didn’t even remember to allow submissions on the assignment on canvas… sir what the HELL

[thejakeformerlyknownasprince]

you've given me too much animorphs inspiration (animorspiration?) and I'm now drowning. help. I wrote like half an essay on The Tragedy of David and how it's not really about whether he deserved a chance to change but the fact that they just straight up did not have the luxury (or tools) to give one. I think that while rachel's only regret is not giving him a clean kill, at the same time she would have done almost anything to be able to throw david at a competent adult role model and watch him face a nonlethal and constructive consequence for his actions.

I think a lot of things about david, too many for the little shit. he's such an asshole, he's cruel and sexist and so fucking unpleasant to read about I can barely imagine the horror of actually being in a room with him. but he's also just fucking thirteen. I want to grab him by the scruff of his neck and send him to therapy. even better I want a story where his family lives and it doesn't magically make him a decent person, he's still awful because he's goddamn david, and *then* he's dragged to a good therapy program and has a real incentive to change. also I guess the child soldier thing would be happening too in the background or whatever.

I couldn't agree more, with all of that. The decision to nothlit him (and kill him) is excruciatingly well-justified in canon. He's so despicable that I often want to reach through the page and throttle him. He reminds me of myself when I was a spoiled, damaged 13-year-old sick to death of being The New Kid at every school.

Maybe I was never quite that misogynistic. But at 13, I thought Light Yagami had the right approach to ethics. I thought the world would be better off if people would just shut up and give more power to the government. I was naive, I was awkward, I was a rich white kid with more experience being excluded than befriended and my social skills reflected that. Oh, and did I mention my obsession with snakes and horror comics and trying to shock adults? Because that's the root of my personal desire to stomp David's face in.

He's a normal kid, with normal problems, with a normal amount of teenage self-centeredness and temperamentalism. And the other Animorphs have basically no choice but to kill him to get him off their team. Because he's not ready for the tremendous soul-crushing responsibility they're forced to take on, to keep their species alive.

You know that old joke, about including exactly one normal athlete on every Olympic team so that we can really appreciate just how astoundingly good all the Olympians are? That's David, for the Animorphs. He's not superhumanly selfless, and he's the only one on the team for whom that's true.

[chrisstvrns]

blurb of chris loving his girl so much, he would do anything for her forgiveness.

warnings: light angst, fluff in the end

word count: 876

chris knew he had fucked up.  

and not in the way where he could flash that lopsided grin, mumble out some half-assed "my bad," and wrap his arms around you until you begrudgingly accepted his apology. no, this was the kind of fuck-up that left his phone void of your name, your texts, your voice. it had been three days. three days of silence, three days of you ignoring his texts, leaving his calls to ring out, and worst of all, three days since you had stormed out of his house with fire in your eyes and venom in your words.  

matt and nick had given him shit for it. repeatedly. but chris didn’t care about their ribbing—he cared that he hadn't been able to fix it yet.  

so, in an act of desperation, he did something he never thought he'd do: he sat down with an actual pen and paper and wrote you a letter. no texting, no notes app draft, no voice memo where he rambled until he hoped he made sense. just ink and regret spilled onto three long pages.  

chris folded the letter, sealed it in an envelope, and, with a determined heart, drove over to your place. he carefully placed the letter into your mailbox, texted a simple “i left something for you,” and prayed you’d read it.  

you did.  

and not only did you read it, but you also grabbed a red pen and went absolutely feral on it.  

when chris found the same envelope in his mailbox the next morning, his heart leapt in hope—until he pulled out the letter and saw your handwriting scribbled all over it, ruthlessly correcting his grammar, circling misspelled words, and writing snarky little comments in the margins.  

“you don’t blame me? then why did you fight me on it?”  

“you should’ve listened to me? damn right. make this a thesis statement instead of burying the lead.”  

“good, this part actually sounds like you mean it. keep going.”  

and the kicker, written at the very bottom in bold, underlined letters:  

“if you can rewrite this and turn it in by tomorrow, i’ll unblock you.”  

chris stared at the letter, torn between laughing and groaning in frustration. only you would take his heartfelt apology and turn it into a goddamn english assignment.  

he grinned.  

challenge accepted.  

chris spent the rest of the day hunched over his desk, muttering to himself as he scribbled out a new draft. he had never put so much effort into writing anything in his life, not even the one essay he actually cared about in high school. he read and reread your comments, taking them seriously, and making sure that this time, every word counted.  

he started over twice. the first draft felt too stiff, too formal - like he was writing a resignation letter instead of an apology. the second had too much rambling, and you’d already told him not to bury the lead. so, for the third attempt, he took a deep breath and wrote like he was talking to you. like you were right in front of him, arms crossed, waiting for him to say something real.  

by the time he finished, his hand was cramping, his desk was covered in discarded drafts, and the clock read 2:14 am. but for the first time in three days, he felt like he had a shot at fixing things.  

chris sealed the new letter in an envelope, drove to your place, and left it in your mailbox, yet again. this time, he didn’t text you - just knocked once and walked away, leaving it in your hands.  

the next morning, his phone buzzed.  

a text from you.  

chris’s heart jumped as he unlocked his phone and read the text.  

“you passed. barely. but i’ll allow it.”  

before he could even think of a reply, another message popped up.  

“come over.”   

chris didn’t waste time. he was out the door in minutes, barely remembering to grab his keys. the drive to your place felt longer than ever, anticipation and nerves tangling in his chest.  

when you opened the door, he barely had a second to register the look on your face before you were pulling him inside, your arms crossing over your chest like you were still debating whether or not to be mad at him.  

“well?” you prompted.  

chris ran a hand through his hair, letting out a breath. “i meant every word.”  

you eyed him for a moment before unfolding the letter and holding it up. “this was good,” you admitted, tapping the paper. “and better yet, you actually listened.”  

his lips twitched. “had to. i was being graded.”  

your glare was half-hearted at best. “i don’t think you understand how close you were to failing.”  

chris grinned. “guess that makes this an extra credit assignment,” he said, closing the space between you.  

you rolled your eyes, but when he hesitated, waiting for permission, your expression softened. finally, you sighed, tilting your head up just enough to meet him halfway.  

“i hate that you’re kinda good at this,” you muttered.  

chris smirked. “oh, i’m great at this.”  

and when his arms wrapped around you, pulling you in, you didn’t pull away.

────────────୨ৎ────────────

a/n: this was made based off of this post by @muwapsturniolo !! finally out of my writers slump (???) i kinda hate this sooo ?

- aurora ᯓ✮⋆˙

likes and reblogs are always greatly appreciated! ੈ✩‧₊˚

to be added to my taglist, comment on this post!

[factcheckingmclennon]

harry nilsson quotes double feature: fact or fiction?

"Someone told me a few minutes ago they saw John walking on the street [once] wearing a sign saying – a button, rather, saying 'I Love Paul'. And this girl who told me that said she asked him, 'Why are you wearing the button that says ‘I Love Paul’?' He said, 'Because I love Paul.'" -Harry Nilsson

"I'm just like everybody else, Harry, I fell for Paul's looks." Harry Nilsson (on John)

these quotes get passed around unsourced, or wrongly sourced, constantly. so...

are these harry nilsson quotes about john lennon real?

shockingly, after getting an anon correction on the first one and then discovering myself on the second one through the world's most random search engine imaginable bc SOMETHING felt unfinished...... the final verdict for both?

...ish? the second one is sort of neutral bc it's taken a bit out of context but i'll get to that

let's get into it, because this one took me on a journey!

(and btw the sources on these were SUCH a pain in the ass to find due to lack of sourcing & wrong sourcing so i am on my hands and knees for these to get passed around w the proper sources now that they're in one place bc they're so good)

first of all, these quotes keep getting mixed up and messed around with different wording. which was my first road block on finding a proper source. second of all, they have been wrongly attributed to a) one single interview together and/or b) a rolling stone interview with nilsson. this made things aggravating. but in the end, an anon sent me the audio for the first quote and for the second one i FINALLY found someone a looong while back actually naming the book it's in & successfully found it!

made a post earlier concluding both were fake, but we just had to go a little deeper folks.

anyway, onto the good shit

who was harry nilsson? he was a friend of john's, specifically during his 1974 lost weekend era. they lived together for a while (along with others, including ringo!) and were pretty close.

"because i love paul"

this one gets misquoted the Most honestly like you'll find a bunch of different variations of it, but you can find it in a 1984 interview with geoffrey giuliano as such:

GIULIANO: Did he miss the Beatles? Was he mournful about what happened, over the, you know—? HARRY: Someone told me a few minutes ago they saw John walking on the street [once] wearing a sign saying – a button, rather, saying ‘I Love Paul’. And this girl who told me that said she asked him, “Why are you wearing the button that says ‘I Love Paul’?” He said, “Because I love Paul.” [laughs]  

(source) (and again, it's a tumblr blog, but given that it's audio, i'm marking it trustworthy. i just uploaded it to archive.org in case it ever gets deleted)

"i fell for paul's looks"

this one. this one was a goddamn journey and a half. this sent me on several rabbit holes and dead ends. the author of the last source said "nope it's definitely not from the tapes i found this audio from or i would've posted it too" and couldn't find the source either. no one had a source. until finally i found someone on a forum saying it was in the ballad of john and yoko published by rolling stone in 1984, in an essay titled "harry remembers" and thank christ it was on archive.org

so here's the full quote, found on page 236

"He spoke the way James Joyce wrote. And to me he was the Beatles. He was always the spark. In a late wee-hours-of-the-morning talk, he once told me: 'I'm just like everybody else, Harry. I fell for Paul's looks. George knew more chords, so he was in. And Ringo, he's just Ringo.'"

(source)

so this one gets a... true/neutral rating from me. why neutral? well, the "i fell for paul's looks" part is certainly there. but in the full context, he's talking about why he wanted each member in the beatles. basically, paul was the pretty face. however, he did say that verbatim and it is incredibly fucking gay imo. like specifically the "i fell for" wording is craaaaazy to me. but i do think the full context should be included if we're talking about it, as well as the actual source.

so no, they were not indeed both from the same interview. one isn't even FROM an interview. but they are both true! which is great bc i love both of these quotes and truly thought they were fake! pleasantly surprised on this one

now, take these with a grain of salt. the first quote is a third-hand source. it's nilsson recounting what some random fan told him john had done YEARS prior. the second one is a second-hand source and nilsson and john were like pretty infamous for getting drunk/high together. but the quotes themselves? certainly exist from harry nilsson, and that's the question. believe them if you want to, or leave them! i'm certainly taking them lmao

[renthony]

Looking for Book Recs

I've been brushing up on a lot of leftist theory lately, mainly anarchist theory, and I keep running into a few frustrations. The text I just finished reading had a lot of good things to say, but there were a few things that irritated me immensely:

The author was incredibly opposed to sex work and kept framing it as something people, primarily women, do when they have "no other options." I have dabbled in sex work and am friends with many sex workers, and I have no patience for that shit. I'm looking for more sex workers' perspectives on leftism, and anarchism specifically.

The author was flagrantly opposed to all religion and spirituality, and largely framed religion in a Christian-centric lens. I'm now looking for more perspectives on leftism from religious minorities. I firmly believe that any sort of "abolish religion" talk does nothing but further alienate and marginalize people who are already facing violence. Spirituality is not the enemy of leftism. Anti-theism and hostility toward minority faiths is not the solution to religious-backed violence.

The author wrote at length about the importance of people, especially women, being able to support themselves through their own labor instead of relying on a spouse, but there was no time spent on discussion of disabled people who literally can't work. I highly doubt the author intended to imply that disabled people are bad leftists, but it really left a sour taste in my mouth. I am looking for wider disabled perspectives on leftism that don't hold up "can perform manual labor" as the highest virtue a leftist can possess. Equating "people who can't work" with "parasites" is a bad goddamn philosophy.

I have a short list already, and I'm obviously going to be doing my own searching, but if anyone has any recs that can help shorten my search, I'd be super grateful. I'm specifically looking for books, but articles and essays are also great.

[crab-people-overlord]

okay but can we talk about 'Mystery of the Urinal Deuce' because this episode is literally EVERYTHING when it comes to Stan and Kyle's friendship. Marsh is playing dumb the whole episode and Kyle is losing his goddamn mind over it. The betrayal. The DRAMA.

Stan in this scene knows damn well that everything is a conspiracy (he admits as much later in the episode and knows that Kyle thinks the same thing). And Kyle knows damn well that Stan out of everyone should also know this, because Stan is the one person he can usually count on to back him up on this type of shit. But Stan is the one messing with him in this episode, so we get these fun moments of Stan letting loose and enjoying pranking his friend Kyle. 

Many see the Assburger's duology as the establishment and turning point of Stan’s character. And while it certainly establishes his clinical depression, I’d argue it in no way establishes either his tendency towards depression/melancholy OR cynicism as both of those have always been present from the beginning (but that’s another discussion for another day. I already basically wrote an essay on that a longgg time ago that maybe I’ll share later).

When it comes to a true  ‘turning point’ for Stan’s character, I think of ‘Raisin’s’ ‘from Season 7, which expands on his already present tendency towards sensitivity and annoyances with general society and evolves it into a deep melancholy and detachment from society (at times bordering on nihilism, something we see more of from Stan post Season 7’s ‘Raisins’ such as in the ‘Douche and Turd’ episode in Season 8 and many other episodes). I don’t see the ‘You’re Getting Old’ episode as the turning point for Stan’s character at all. I see it more as an extension of what I actually view as his turning point episode of ‘Raisin’s’. 

What I love about ‘Mystery of the Urinal Deuce’ is it is a post ‘Raisin’s’ episode where Stan just gets to play around, which is sadly something we just don’t see from Stan post-season 7 as often. 

Kyle has always been the easiest target for Cartman not even necessarily because of his traits, but because of his reactions. He is super reactive to everything, and Stan knows this. Unlike Cartman, Stan respects this and usually stands up for Kyle when this aspect of him is taken advantage of. But at the same time, this doesn’t mean that Stan doesn’t like to tease Kyle at times - because let’s be real; Kyle’s high reactivity would make it so fun to mess with him. And in this episode, Stan takes advantage of that. 

And while usually I hate people taking advantage of Kyle in this way, it is so goddamn refreshing to see Stan just being able to let go of all the heavy shit that’s been so key to his character emotionally post-Season 7 and just play around with his bestie in this episode, something I think that at the core of his character he ultimately just wants to be able to do at the end of the day. you can TASTE the shit-eating grin in his voice. he is having the TIME OF HIS LIFE watching Kyle spiral. stan tries so GODDAMN hard to find happiness throughout the series to no avail, so it’s refreshing the times he succeeds and gets to just actually be himself.

Later on in the episode, Stan is also just able to let loose. His ‘Well dude, maybe we’re just badass, have you ever thought of that?’ later on in the episode is said so nonchalantly with him literally smirking, and it cracks me up every time as he tries to appease Kyle’s doubts. He is thoroughly enjoying pranking his friend. 

like yes give me more of this next season?? give me more of stan actually getting to be a kid and mess around with his best friend instead of drowning in existential dread 24/7? please and thank you?

[listen-to-the-inner-walrus]

every once in a while, i have an urge to sit down and write an entire essay about The Purge franchise, specifically through the frame of reactions from people who either have not watched the movies or watched them while pissing on the poor.

because oh my fucking god do those reactions send me into a violent tailspin of irrational anger.

"the purge doesn't make logistical sense"

okay so have you ever heard of fiction? the train in snowpiercer doesnt make logistical sense either. it doesnt have to because its a vehicle in which to tell a story.

"people wouldnt just commit violent crimes because its legal now."

no they wouldnt. do you know that the first movie takes place on the 6th purge? do you know that story about frogs and boiling water?

"no one would ever agree to this. politicians couldnt implement this."

yeah so the fourth movie - The First Purge - is actually a prequel that explains how and why it got implemented.

see as a result of a general economic crisis, a new political party called the NFFA (new founding fathers of america) came to power, and two years into their political term, they ran "an experiment" and that experiment was the purge. the first purge took place on staten island; residents were offered $5000 to participate which comprised staying on staten island and letting the government put a tracking chip in your arm. there was also the opportunity of making more money if they "participated further."

people didnt all agree with this. thats a whole ass thing in the movie and the protagonist literally leads protests against it. it is a controversial thing. the NFFA literally have a sociologist as the face of it, one who talks to news reporters and assures people she and the experiment are apolitical.

the experiment is also fucking rigged. the government really send in roves of neo-nazis to kill citizens as a way of showing how "successful" the experiment is. it was never an experiment.

"but why would people believe that the purge is a good policy?

have you ever heard of propaganda?

throughout the films, there are constant displays of the propaganda the NFFA use to keep the citizens believing in the purge.

the NFFA are constantly lying to the citizens about the actual truth about the country. they often talk about how the stock market is doing great as evidence of a stable economy. there are fake experts in white lab coats lying to you about the purge being a good idea.

these movies are not subtle. they tell you outright that the government is lying to the people.

jesus fucking christ, in the third movie, part of the plot is the fact that in response to corruption being revealed, people are turning against the purge and protesting. dante bishop is a goddamn anti-purge activist.

"crime rate year round wouldnt go down because of the purge, that doesnt make sense "

yeah no shit sherlock. thats literally a defining theme in the entireass franchise. the government is lying. they actually use the purge as population control because theyre fascists.

in the first movie, the NFFA claim the country is basically crime-free and that the unemployment rate is 1%. do you think james demonaco wrote that with the intention of you believing it to be true? have you considered that maybe you were meant to be like huh, thats suspicious?

the first movie is the least overtly political, but one of the defining themes is in regards to the performative nature of the purge and the way it is mythologised.

"all crime is legal. so what, can i commit tax fraud?"

the rules of the purge are made up of. the entire idea is performative. the NFFA are not beholden to these rules; if it benefits them (or if not doing so poses risk to them), they will arrest you for "crimes" you committed during the purge.

in the third movie, The Purge: Election Year, they change the rules because of the risk charlie roan poses to them. roan is a senator running for president on an explicitly anti-purge platform and there is a very good chance that she will win the election, so they revoke the immunity (its still illegal to murder them) granted to government officials during the purge because they plan to kill her.

the NFFA do not care what citizens do during the purge, as long as it is not threatening to them.

"how would they even know if you killed someone an hour after the purge ended?"

they wouldnt. they also wouldnt care.

see above.

"the purge is stupid. people arent inherently violent."

no. no theyre not. thats the fucking point of these films.

they are not subtle films. they come with a free portable toilet so you can watch them without pissing on the poor.

what did you think the plots of these movies were? if the movies were not directly engaging with the concept of the purge and what it actually means, what the fuck do you think the movies are about? do you think the movies are just 90 minutes of indiscriminate violence?

[ellolovely-fics]

| closeout // iii. the wreck

pairing | jj maybank x childhood best friend! oc

warnings | cursing, negative self-talk, accidental bodily injury (aka JJ being his usual clumsy self)

word count | 5.1k

author's note | Again... this isn't proofread. My bestie is still in Italy rn so sorry for any mistakes or typos! I also... wrote a shit ton :') sorry for the essay lol. LMK what y'all think so I can gauge if what I'm writing is good or not LOL.

P.S. I don't know how to format texts so I'm so sorry if they read horribly :') i did my best.

closeout masterlist

previous // next

Hell. Literal hell. Nadine landed feet first, burning alive with secondhand embarrassment.

Everything was hot—her cheeks, her neck, the air. And her uncle just stood there, grinning like the goddamn devil.

She gawked at Mike, horrified, mentally begging the lord to strike her down where she stood. 

Jesus, Mary, and Joseph. Why would he do this to me? Where is the door? WHERE IS THE DOOR?

But her body betrayed her. She froze in her spot, her voice coming out in a weak, apologetic little squeak.

"Guilty."

Mike's jaw dropped.

"Holy shit! I can't believe it's you!"

He came around the podium with a megawatt smile, his eyes bright, looking at her like she was a display at Ripley's Believe it or Not. Nadine's face continued to burn. "You look so different! Where's that little girl who got stuck in our fishing tackle trying to find baby mermaids?"

I did what?!

Nadine wanted to die. Right then and there. She felt like that kid in Sky High who melted into the floor in an orange puddle.

Oh my god. I'm going to murder Uncle Mar. Then, I'm swimming my ass to the mainland and calling it a day.

Mike must have clocked the look of abject horror on her face because his grin faltered. The over-the-top enthusiasm in his eyes dimmed. For a split second his brows furrowed, then his expression softened with understanding.

"Ah," he said, his voice dropping just a notch. "You... probably don't remember me. I'm Mike. Mike Carrera. I used to work on your uncle's boats when you were little."

"I—hi, Mike," she managed, her throat tight. The white-hot embarrassment faded just enough to make room for guilt. She hadn't meant to make him feel bad. "It's nice to see you again."

Mike's smile softened, still stunned. "Wow. What a crazy surprise! Where are your parents? Your sister? Are they on the island too?"

Uncle Mar swooped in before she could answer.

"Just our girl here," he said with a chuckle. "Rest of the crew's scattered all over—busy with work and such. You know how it is."

He shot Mike an easy grin—too easy—and she caught a guarded flicker in his eyes before he pivoted the conversation.

What the...?

"But hey, is Kie around? I want her to come out and meet little Nadi here. Then we're gonna order takeout from y'all, if that's cool."

"Hell yeah, man!" Mike said, already half-turning to head back. He didn't seem to catch whatever the heck Nadine saw and hurried around the bar towards the kitchen. He narrowly dodged a server coming in the opposite way. "I'll go get her now—and don't worry about the food. I'll throw in your usual and make something special for Nadine too. On the house." He winked at her. "Call it a homecoming gift. From my family to yours."

Nadine's heart warmed at Mike's words, and she watched him disappear through a door underneath a wooden ship's wheel.

Left alone with her uncle, Nadine brushed her sneakers against the hard, concrete floor, and nearly stubbed her toe. She tried to distract herself by counting the soda bottles in the fridge by the bar and admiring the giant ass fish hanging from the ceiling in the dining room. But it was no use. 

The flicker in Uncle Mar's eyes played in her mind on repeat.

But what was the use in bringing it up? It happened so fast, he could very easily say she imagined the whole thing. Gaslight and gatekeep, much like her parents did. She decided to bookmark it and put it in her mind's drawer for evidence.

He was safe from questioning... for now.

Instead, Nadine asked, "Uncle Mar, who's Kie?"

Her uncle offered her a reassuring smile. "Kie, short for Kiara. She's Mike's daughter. Same age as you. She just finished her first year at UNC down in Wilmington."

Her eyes widened. "No way! What's she studying?"

"Marine biology."

Nadine gasped. Marine biology? Ever since the fifth grade Nadine dreamed of becoming a marine biologist. All it took was one dolphin show at the Baltimore Aquarium, and she was hooked. But said dream fizzled out and died the second she took a high school chemistry class, but the thought of someone else pursuing the field made her heart sing.

"Okay, she's cool. Like - really, really cool," Nadine smiled. "How long have you known her dad for?"

Uncle Mar snorted, his response nearly getting lost in the cacophony of the restaurant. "Ah shit, probably twenty, twenty-five years? Known him since he was a kid. He grew up in the Cut and did work for us during the summer. Got promoted to full-time after he left school."

Nadine furrowed her brows. "The Cut?"

Uncle Mar quirked his lips. "South side of the island, where me and your pops grew up. It's where you and Bea are from too."

Holy shit.

Nadine's mouth flew open.

"Really?" she choked out.

He nodded. "Really."

The Cut. That's where we're from.

It was like finding a missing puzzle piece off the floor and fitting it perfectly into the picture. All those drawings Bea made, all those photos she picked apart and studied for weeks—all of them were from their life on the Cut.

Her mind jumped to one of Bea's drawings—the brown house with dark blue shingles. 

She opened her mouth to ask Uncle Mar more questions—was that house in the Cut? Did Uncle Mar still live there? —but from the corner of her eye, she caught Mike emerging from the kitchen with an excited grin.

Behind him was a tall girl with wild curls pulled back in a low ponytail, two perfectly coiled strands framing her face. She was effortlessly pretty—with a sun-kissed glow, an easy-going smile, and toned arms that peeked out from her cropped tank.

"Hey, Mar!" she beamed, not hesitating to throw her arms around him in a warm hug.

Then her eyes landed on Nadine.

Kie's smile didn't vanish, but it shifted. Her eyes narrowed, but not in a way that made Nadine shrink. Instead, it made her feel like a specimen under a microscope.

She arched a perfectly waxed brow at her.  "Uhm... hi?"

Nadine froze, brain short-circuiting. She managed a warm smile and an awkward, breathless, "Hi."

Uncle Mar, ever her savior, jumped in and introduced her on her behalf. "This here's my niece, Nadine. Nadine, this is Kiara, Mike's daughter."

Nadine kept her smile steady, despite the fraying nerves simmering underneath. "Nice to meet you, Kiara."

Oh my gosh - not me being socially competent. Mom would be so proud.

"Likewise." Kiara's brows furrowed as she tilted her head, eyes flicking between her and Uncle Mar in confusion. "I'm actually kind of thrown," she admitted. "I had no idea you had a niece."

"Well, believe it, kid."

Nadine quirked an eyebrow at her uncle's teasing. She looked back at Kie to further clarify. "My dad is his younger brother."

"Wait, seriously?" Kiara's eyes widened in shock. "You have a younger brother?"

"Uh-huh." Uncle Mar confirmed like it was the most obvious thing in the world. "Thought you knew, kid?"

"No!" She sputtered. She looked between Nadine and Mar again in complete disbelief. "I thought you were one of those lonely-hermits-on-the-marsh types. I thought it was just you and the fish!"

Nadine couldn't help but giggle. Her Uncle, on the other hand, gave Kiara a deadpanned look. "Well, surprise, surprise. I got a sister-in-law and another niece too—that about rounds it out. Promise I don't have any other family members out there... I think."

"Insane," Kiara murmured to herself. She caught Nadine's eye, and they smiled warmly at each other.

Okay, okay. New friend on Kildare? You're doing amazing, sweetie.

"Nadine and her folks actually lived here a long time ago," Mike interjected, snapping Nadine out of her thoughts. "They moved to the mainland when you were about seven. Some sort of family emergency or something. Right, Mar?"

"Right."

Family emergency? Where did he get that from? Mom and dad were always adamant that the move was strictly due to economic opportunity. Did the locals know more about her family's departure than she did?

Nadine opened her mouth to ask Mike to elaborate more, but her Uncle beat her to the punch. Again.

"You got my favorite fish tacos in there, Kie?" Uncle Mar cried out.

Kiara blinked, but then she looked down at the paper bag she was holding in her hands and held it up for him to take. "Oh yeah! I totally forgot. We got packed you fish tacos and some crab dip. Hope you like it."

Oh my god. Crab dip. Nadine's stomach rumbled.

"I love crab dip," a voice moaned.

All eyes were on her. Mike and Kiara raised their eyebrows, then chuckled. Uncle Mar snorted.

Nadine blanched, horror washing over her: she was the one who moaned.

She moaned... in front of... strangers.

"Sorry," she choked out.

'I love crab dip,' she thought to herself bitterly. Nadine - you're so freaking stupid. Let's cease the talking. Indefinitely.

Thankfully, everyone else took her little flub in stride. "Best on the island," Mike claimed, his pearly whites gleaming perfectly. "And speaking of good eats, I wanted to invite you both to the cookout we're hosting at our house tomorrow! My wife, Anna, isn't in today, but she'd love to see you after all these years. We're throwing a little shindig at our place for members of the Island Club's Midsummers Committee. If y'all want, you can stop by and have dinner with us. If you want to, that is!"

Nadine instantly caught Kiara rolling her eyes, watching her smile morph turning into a disgusted sneer.

"Why the hell would she want to hang out with a bunch of bourgeoisie pigs on her vacation?" Kie muttered.

Nadine snorted before she could stop herself.

Based on Kiara's beaded necklaces, countless friendship bracelets, and her cropped tank with distressed shorts, she was probably the last person on this island to vibe with snooty Island Club patrons. But by the look of Mike's dark scowl, it was most likely a sore subject between the two.

Nadine grimaced and did her best to mask her previous laughter. She waited for Uncle Mar to swoop in and answer on her behalf again.

But he didn't.

He turned to look at her with a quirked brow, his eyes motioning over to Mike like he expected her to answer.

You're joking.

Nadine sputtered, glancing nervously between, Mike, Uncle Mar, and Kie. "Oh! Uhm..." Think Nadine, Think. "That, uh, sounds really nice! But I wouldn't want to intrude, especially if it's only for Island Club members only."

Mike shook his head. "Don't worry! It's not an official event, just a dinner after their planning session at the Club. Please stop by if you can. We'd love to have you!"

Nadine felt the walls closing in on her. She got lost in the glare of Mike's pearly white teeth and his expectant, hopeful eyes.

Oh sweet baby Jesus.

"Uhm, okay," Nadine cautiously agreed.

"Great!" Mike grinned.

Nadine's eyes darted to her Uncle Mar, who had a cautious look on his face. Oh shit. She probably gave Mike the wrong answer. But if her uncle was wary, he didn't say anything of it. Instead, all he asked was, "Who's gonna be there, Mike?"

Kie's dad took a second to think. "Let's see... we've got the Browns, the Porters, the Smiths, and the Dunleavys. Oh! And Bolton Marsh, the club manager. Only folks who can't make it are the O'Haras and the Camerons. The O'Haras are down in St Croix, and Ward and Rose are in Charleston for a gala this weekend. Why'd you want to know?"

Her uncle shot Mike an easy smirk. "Just wanted to know if Sam was gonna be there. He still owes me a fifty for our last poker game. Looks like I'm gonna be ambushing him at your place tomorrow night."

He's lying.

Uncle Mar's voice was too cheery, too amenable—especially for a man who hated spending time with more than five people at once. But why?

She would have to ask him about it later... if she remembered. 

"Sounds good, man," Mike responded. "Stop by any time after six. I'll go ahead and tell Anna the news. She's gonna be excited to see you, Nadine! It's gonna be great."

Kie looked at her dad and rolled her eyes. She stepped closer to Nadine and whispered, "Don't listen to him. Bring your airpods and avoid eye contact, or risk certain death by boredom."

Nadine nodded her head conspiratorially. She whispered back. "Heard. But if it gets too boring, I can bring my copy of Das Kapital so we can preach it to the masses."

Kie whipped her head to look at her with stunned eyes. Her mouth dropped open in a breathless laugh. Then, she grinned like a madman.

"I knew it! No niece of Mar's would be a snob. Thank God you're coming tomorrow."

Nadine watched Kiara's grin fade into something more mischievous, and for the first time since arriving on Kildare, she felt like maybe, just maybe, she was starting to get the hang of all this.

But as she and her uncle said their goodbyes to Mike and Kie and left the restaurant, a knot of unease twisted in her stomach. Nadine had made it through that entire interaction without completely embarrassing herself. But there was still something... off.

Uncle Mar's forced cheerfulness. Those guarded flickers in his eyes. His masked looks of unease. There was something else going on.

Nadine glanced back at the restaurant as they got closer to the truck, her thoughts swirling.

Less than an hour on the island, she managed to avoid making a complete fool out of herself and uncover signs of her uncle's conspiracy. What else was in store for her today?

Uncle Mar's voice cut through her thoughts. "You good, Nadi?"

She forced a smiled. "Yeah. I'm good. Just—uh—can't believe that I willingly said yes to a party."

Uncle Mar smirked at her, his top lip nearly disappearing. "Yeah. And to swanky, uppity party no less. Better not be moaning to them too! If ya do, lord help us all."

Nadine grimaced. Lord help us was right.

IMessage

Today 4:02 PM

You guys aren't gonna believe who I just saw

John B(eef)

If you say my dad I'm coming over

WTF no!!! MAR'S NIECE

John B(eef)

Holy shit

No effing way

She and Mar stopped by the wreck for lunch She's really pretty. LIKE supermodel pretty And she's super sweet too But can you believe that Mar has a niece???

John B(eef)

Oh god...

Yeah no definitely a shocker

I just found out about her like half an hour ago

JJ told me he's gonna have dinner with her an Mar later tonight

RIP

If she's as pretty as you say he's gonna be on her like a horny dog

Wtf EW

John B(eef)

Just saying it like it is 🤷

Ugh... I hate that ur right Poor Nadine JJ pls leave this innocent girl alone I like her Also why the hell didn't you mention her before??? Had me out here lookin DUMB AS HELL

John B(eef)

it's okay kie im sure it wasn't too bad

Also Pope hurry the fuck up

Ive been waiting for your dumb ass for ages

Yeah Pope how rude 😒

Pope 🤓

Sorry bro

Just finished cleaning

Coming

John B(eef)

slow poke 🖕

If Nadine needed a sign that she was leaving the north side of the island, she couldn't have asked for a better one than the 'No Fishing' sign defaced with 'Pogue Zone' in thick black spray paint.

After driving over the bridge, she traded in the sight of perfectly manicured lawns and sprawling emerald-green golf courses for dilapidated fish shacks, weathered mobile homes, and roads with potholes big enough to total a sedan.

The landscape reminded her of Virginia's tidewater region—quiet, borderline eerie, with endless marshes and looming pine forests. Some houses stood abandoned or condemned. Others looked one big hurricane away from crumbling down. For a while, there wasn't another soul in sight.

It was a ghost town. 

Then, life reappeared. 

A break in the trees revealed a group of fishermen along the water's edge, clutching onto their poles and nets. One of them looked up, spotted the truck, and cheered. Uncle Mar rolled his window down. 

"Marlon! Get yer ass out here!" one of them hollered. "We're havin' ourselves a little friendly competition! Loser buys a round down at Guffy's!"

"Can't today, Rick!" Uncle Mar yelled back. "I'm booked the rest of the week! 'Sides, ain't no damn competition! We all know ya can't fish for shit!"

Laughter rippled through the group. Rick flipped her uncle off with a grin. Uncle Mar returned the favor and kept on driving.

Nadine blinked. Signs of life were suddenly everywhere. Barefoot kids played soccer on the grass. An older man waved from his garden, his fist full of weeds. But Nadine's favorite was the elderly couple on their porch, holding hands. When Uncle Mar honked his horn, they smiled and waved, their hands still joined. 

Uncle Mar's voice was thick with pride. "This here's the south side of the island. The Cut. This is home."

Her throat tightened.

Home. 

After twelve long years, she was finally home.

But after all this time, did she really have the right to call it that? 

The thought lodged itself in her throat. She didn't know the answer. 

The concrete road turned to gravel. Then, the truck approached a fork, and Uncle Mar veered left.

Then she saw it.

A towering oak tree stood at the end of the lane. It stretched so wide that it swallowed the sky whole, and the leaves twinkled in shades of green and yellow, capturing the sunlight like stained-glass.

Her heart seized.

She and Jethy sat high up on the branches, their dirt-covered hands intertwined. They swung their feet back and forth in the air in tandem.

"Please don't leave, Nadi. Stay with me. You're my best friend. What am I going to do without you?"

A chill ran down her spine. 

Before Nadine could process any of it, the truck veered left again—this time, down a hidden gravel path between two flowering bushes.

Then she saw it.

Brown wooden planks. A screened-in front porch. Dark blue shingles on the roof.

The house.

Uncle Mar's house.

Exactly as Bea had drawn it. 

"No fucking way," Nadine muttered.

The truck rolled to a stop in front of a gleaming white carport. Dust from the gravel swirled in the air. But when Uncle Mar cut the engine and hopped out of the truck, Nadine couldn't move.

Fuck. It's been so long...

 The fact seared through her heart like a sudden stab to the chest.

Her eyes stung. She wiped the tears from her eyes before they fell.

Get it together, girl. You've got this.

After gathering her bearings, Nadine climbed out of the truck, shielding her face from Uncle Mar. Then, she scanned the familiar yard.

To her amazement, the demented ceramic frog Bea made in fifth grade was still nestled in the crooked flower bed. The glass firefly wind chime hung beneath the porch light, glinting in the sun.  And there were still lopsided step stones that led up to the porch.

Uncle Mar didn't change a thing.

Then, there was a growl—a threatening, horrifying growl.

From behind the screen door, a large brown dog bared its teeth menacingly from the shadows. Its dark eyes narrowed into slits.

Oh shit.

Nadine nearly pissed herself.

Uncle Mar came around the truck with her things and frowned. He pursed his lips to the side and let out a sharp whistle.

"Pan, heel! It's me! Calm yer ass down, boy!"

In an instant, the dog sat on its hind legs and went quiet, sheathing its sharp teeth and cocking its head curiously. At the sight of Uncle Mar, he let out a pleased whine, panting excitedly from behind the door.

Uncle Mar shook his head. "Sometimes I swear this damn dog's bipolar."

When he opened the screen door, Pan ran around his legs, his tail wagging furiously. He looked up at her uncle with starry eyes.

Uncle Mar paused, ushering her inside and putting her things aside. He sank to the floor and pet the dog behind his alert ears.

"This here's Pan," Uncle Mar said, scratching behind his ears. "He's three, and he's a Chessie. He won't do ya no harm, but he don't like surprises. Whenever ya come into the house, ya gotta announce yourself, or else he'll bark up somethin' fierce 'till he can figure out who you are." To prove his point, Pan yipped excitedly with a few barks. Uncle Mar rolled his eyes. "Once he gets used to ya he'll follow you 'round the house, but most of the time he'll be outside hunting birds and fish in the marsh. He won't bother ya 'less ya want him to. All bark and no bite, really."

Pan eyed her with curious golden eyes. Nadine knelt, holding out her hand. He sniffed it once, then allowed her to stroke his wavy coat.

"Hi, Pan," she whispered with a grin. "Thanks for not killing me."

The dog bared his teeth again—this time, like a smile.

What a dapper little lad.

Uncle Mar straightened.

"Ah shit—you take your allergy pill this morning?"

She blinked. "Yeah. Why?"

He didn't reply. He just nodded toward the door. Nadine hesitated for a second before stepping inside.

Uncle Mar certainly was a creature of habit—because nothing about the house had changed over the past twelve years. Salty, humid air still permeated everything. Colorful paintings of the island hung off the pine-panel walls, a familiar red rug covered the wooden floor, and the same entertainment center she stuck her nose into as a kid was still front and center along the wall.

Then, there was movement. 

To the left, a small, cream-colored form shifted under the golden light on the windowsill.

Nadine froze.

A kitty cat—the most perfect, angelic kitty cat she'd ever laid eyes on— was taking a nap.

"Oh my gosh," Nadine cooed.

Thank God I remembered to take my pill. 

Uncle Mar followed her inside, shutting the door after Pan. 

"That's Stelmaria," he told her. He quietly shut the door behind him as Nadine stepped closer to the little fur ball. "Twelve years old. Sweet as can be. Found her alone by the docks when she was a kitten. Think some crazy kook dumped her and took off." If her uncle wasn't inside, he definitely would have spit on the floor in disgust. "If you get closer, you'll see dark gray spots in her fur. 'Minds me of a leopard, thus the name."

She peered down and cooed again, jolting the little kitty awake. She blinked blearily, her head flitting back and forth, eyes a startling, cloudy blue—beautiful, but unseeing

She's blind.

Uncle Mar read her mind. "Lost her sight about a year ago," he explained. "Vet said it was a degenerative disease—ain't nothin' we could've done. But she hears just fine, and she loves cuddling. If you put your face close to hers and say her name, she'll nuzzle ya."

Nadine gently caressed Stelmaria's silky soft fur and brought her face close, saying her name like a prayer.

Instantly, Stelmaria's wet nose grazed her skin, quickly followed by her little whiskers. Before she knew it, the little angel nuzzled her neck along the edge of her jawline, purring gently.

Nadine's heart burst.

"You are the most precious little thing," she whimpered.

Pan whined jealously and padded over, nudging her hand until she pet him too. Then he plopped his head onto her lap with a content sigh.

She laughed with misty eyes.

"Uncle Mar... I'm never leaving your house."

Her Uncle let out a raspy chuckle. "I'll go ahead and put your stuff in your room. Door's right over there. You hang out with these two all you want. Just keep 'em outta the kitchen—I'm startin' dinner soon."

Nadine smiled blissfully. "Say less, Uncle Mar."

He paused at the door. "Ah shit, almost forgot. We've got a guest comin' 'round for dinner tonight. Don't ask who—it's a surprise. They might show, might not. Depends on their schedule."

Nadine waved him off. "Tentative dinner guest, got it."

He left her alone in the living room, and all thoughts about their potential guest flew right out of her mind. The rest of the world fell away. It was just her, Pan, and Stelmaria, and unlimited cuddles and kisses.

With John B and Pope still out of the house by the time he woke up, JJ walked a mile through the Cut in the dark. He had busted sneakers on his feet, an empty red fuel canister in his hand, a heart about to bust right out of his chest. It was disgustingly hot, and the fucking bugs were so bloodthirsty that his arm nearly fell off from all the swatting. But he didn't stop. He just focused on putting one foot in front of the other, choking down the urge to book it for the hills.

But when he made it to his destination, he froze.

JJ didn't know how long he'd been standing there. Thirty seconds? A minute? An eternity?

Ah, fuck it. He didn't fucking know.

He stared at Mar's house, taking a nervous hit from his blunt. The lights were still on, and the faint voice of Otis Redding played from the speaker Mar had out back. At least—he thought it was Otis Redding. He could barely hear it over the screaming cicadas.

We're at the house. I'm making dinner now. Stop by whenever you can.

JJ clenched his jaw so tight his teeth nearly shattered. He was sweating so goddamn much his shirt clung to his skin like glue.

Last time he was this nervous, he was standing in front of a judge with his hands cuffed behind his back. But this? It was just Mar. It was just dinner. It was just... Nadine.

His face twisted into a grimace.

Fuck. He'd rather be in the damn court room.

Twelve years. Twelve goddamn years, and he was finally going to see her again.

JJ took another drag—but it did jack shit. His heart still raced. His lungs still felt tight. He tossed the joint to the ground and crushed it under his shoe.

"Stop being a fuckin' pussy, man," he muttered to himself. "Can't run away from this shit now. Do it for Mar. Man up and tough it out."

He took one step. Then another.

Suddenly, he was halfway up the driveway.

His stomach flipped.

She was strapped in the backseat of her dad's car, tears streaming down her face. He was racing down the driveway, pounding on the window, screaming for them to stop.

"Stop! Stop! Please don't go! You can't leave!"

Her hand pressed against the window. He put his on top.

"Mommy, please don't make me go!" Nadine cried as the car gained speed. JJ started to lag behind. "No!"

But he couldn't keep up. The car kept going, leaving him behind in the dust. 

Then, she was gone.

JJ spun on his heel like he'd been bitch slapped. Adrenaline flooded through his veins.

Fuck this shit.

He couldn't fucking do this. Nope, nope. No.

He could just walk back down the drive, hit the Chateau, text Mar some bullshit excuse, and drown himself in a six pack of beer. Sounded a hell of a lot better than... this.

But then Mar's face flashed in his mind—disappointed, frowning. He knew Mar wouldn't say anything but damn it all. He was counting on him.

JJ couldn't let him down. Not again.

And besides, what was it that people said? About ripping shit off like a band-aid?

Fuck.

JJ shut his eyes. He took a breath. Then, he turned around.

One step in front of the other, he walked up the gravel driveway toward the porch, getting close enough to see the black moths flying around the porch light.

Damn it, you can do this. Go in there, look her right in the eye, and pretend like you don't even fucking know her. Deny, deny, deny.

He finally made it. He tiptoed up the stairs, avoiding the places where he knew they creaked. He was reaching for the screen door with his heart beating out of his ears when he heard it.

A laugh. Light and airy. Unrestrained.

He dry-heaved. His brain short-circuited.

Holy shit. She's here. She's here. She's freaking here.

The realization hit him like a bolt of lightning. He jolted back.

C-r-e-e-e-k!

Ice ran through JJ's body.

Click. Click. Click.

Paws on hardwood, mixed with the tinkling of a collar.

JJ's breath caught.

In an instant, Pan walked through the open front door, stepping onto the pitch-black porch with a snarl. A growl rumbled deep in his throat as he approached him.

Oh shit. Oh shit, oh shit, oh SHIT!

JJ dropped everything. He knelt by the screen door, shushing Pan as quietly as he could. "Pan, Pan! It's me, man! It's JJ!"

It didn't work. A ferocious bark ripped through the air.

He flinched like he was in the trenches.

Fuck. It's too dark. He can't even see me.

"Damn it, Pan! Shhh!" JJ begged him. His eyes darted to the open door in a panic. For the love of God don't leave the backyard. "Do me a solid, okay? I swear to God, it's me. So please, shut up!"

Pan didn't listen. He barked again and again, each one more piercing than the last.

"What 'cha got there, boy?" Mar's voice sounded from the back.

Mother fucker.

JJ didn't wait. He bolted. Grass whipped his ankles as he tore across the front yard, Pan's frenzied barks calling after him. He scanned his surroundings—a bush, a hole, anything.

The oak tree! Thank fuck. He locked in, sprinting so hard he could taste blood in his mouth.

The closer he got to the giant oak, the more relieved he became. I'm gonna make it. I'm gonna make it!

Then, his foot got caught on a root.

JJ went flying.

He landed on the roots with a sickening thud, and the wind got knocked right out of him. He heaved for air, but he didn't stop moving. He clawed into the dirt and scrambled to get to the other side, ignoring the sharp scratches that scraped across his bare legs.

His back hit the other side of the trunk by the time Pan went quiet.

JJ held his breath.

One second. Two. JJ's heart raced. He shut his eyes and carefully peered around the tree to see what was going on.

Under the dim yellow light, Mar stood on the porch stairs, scanning the yard. Something in his hands caught his eye.

An empty, red fuel canister.

JJ jerked himself back. Even from here, he could hear the wooden stairs groan under Mar's weight.

Fuck. He was the biggest fucking idiot in the world. Mar knew he was here. Damn it! There was no running now.

JJ waited for him to call out his name, for the guillotine to fall on his head.

But there was nothing.

"It's all right, Pan," Mar said. "Ain't nothin' to be scared of. You just get on inside now."

The screen door shut, then the front door. JJ refused to look back. He wiped the sweat from his face with a dirt-covered hand before hightailing it out of there.

He didn't see Mar's text until he got back to John B's. He quickly read it over before tossing his phone aside. He threw himself onto the pull-out couch with a frustrated groan.

Thanks for trying, son. You did your best. Your food's in the fridge, and your gas is outside by your truck. Come get it tomorrow morning when Nadine and I are out of the house.

You can meet her when you're ready. I got you, kid.

previous // next

[grlbutnotwood]

good morning children I have come to feed you (I wrote destiel in kill your darlings setting ficlet you're welcome)

"...Since I started this report, we recieved the news from London, saying the German high command denied that great enemy formations approached the coast of..."

Castiel threw a pen at the radio. It did not shut the hell up.

Oh well.

It was childish, of course. Throwing things around, huffing in a tantrum, his only saving grace - the fact that no one saw him at the moment. Who gave a shit?

He focused back on the papers. Two stacks, ungraded on the left, graded on the right. The stack on the left was significantly bigger, despite the fact that Castiel's been sitting behind his desk for three hours.

His office wasn't much to look at. White walls, bookshelves with everything expected of him - Shakespeare, Shelley, Fitzgerald, pictures of his family alive and dead and missing somewhere on the front lines, the only plant that was able to thrive with the feeble light available and less than frequent wandering that was the consequence of Castiel's wandering mind. A large desk, dark wood and the air of pretentiousness in the carving, took up most of the space, two chairs across from Castiel's for the students to sit in rigidly as they sort out whatever business he needed to deal with.

A blazer was thrown over one of the chairs. Castiel hadn't dared to touch it.

The radio on the windowsill, almost lost among the clutter of empty coffee mugs, kept chattering - and as the rain picked up, drumming on the window, he could finally drown out the goddamned news reports. The branches of the oak tree banged on the glass, the poor thing, almost completely devoid of leaves by the end of October.

It was past midnight, he knew for sure. He didn't look up at the watch mounted on the wall, not that he would see anything as the only source of light was Castiel's lamp, pouring bright golden spot on the paper work in front of him and nothing else.

The world was ending outside, in the way it does practically every other week in a way that was rather comforting. A cycle withering and dying before the next one, coming full circle. The clock kept ticking away, the smell of cold sickly-sweet coffee suspended in the air.

He read through another essay, contemplating getting another coffee or perhaps falling asleep right then and there, when the door creaked.

Castiel shouldn't have heard it over the sounds of rain and thunderstorm. And yet, he did.

Of course he did.

"Hey there, professor," a cheeky smile and golden skin, rumpled white button-up and the ever-present mirth in his voice. Dirty boots of a workman rather than fashionable oxfords under the edges of his slacks. Leather satchel worn out and falling apart even more so than Castiel.

Warm skin, delicately dotted with freckles - always so, so warm. Strong callused hands, firm thighs underneath the confining uniform, perfect teeth with those pointed incisors digging right into Castiel's skin, his lips-

"Mr Winchester," he breathed out before carefully putting the pen in his hand down. (The one he threw at the radio was temporarily lost and forgotten). To an outsider he might seem relaxed, composed.

But Dean learned to read him the same way Castiel taught him to analyze William Blake's poems. He recognized the tension in his arms, a glint of alarm in the eyes behind thick rimmed glasses. An animal preparing to pounce, waiting out its prey.

Dean's breath stuck in his throat even as he moved into the study, closing the door behind himself.

Dear God but how he wanted to be torn apart.

"So it's Mr Winchester now," his voice was low, teasing. Yet he moved slowly across the room, a practiced dance routine as he waited for his partner to make a move. "Last time we were alone like this I was-"

"What do you want," Castiel cut him off, not a hint of question of his voice but rather a command. A shiver ran through Dean. He stopped just across from his professor, between them - just a table and the game. Their game. It boils down to just a question of who was going to fold quicker.

Usually, the game had the same outcome. They had yet to grow tired of it, if ever.

This was bad, wasn't it? But how bad could it be if it never harmed anyone? They didn't know that it was just a question of time.

They didn't know they wouldn't be the ones getting hurt. Worse than hurt.

("Mr Winchester, we'd like to ask you about your whereabouts as of the 16th of November. We're very sorry...")

"Well, I wanted to get my blazer back, for one," Dean said with a shrug of his shoulder, quite reasonably to someone who didn't see the thrill of a gambler with a deck of cards on his face.

Dean's hand fell on the back of the chair, over the said blazer, the other falling on the strap of the satchel.

Castiel watched, laser-focused on every movement of the younger man, still as a statue, his face - harsh outlines in the scarce light of the lamp between them.

Inevitably, not so much later, he'd lose his composure. He would grab what was his and he would have him. The papers would unfortunately be discarded all over the floor or otherwise crumpled underneath the bodies, skin, sweat, fuck yeah more come on Cas-

The table creaks rather loudly, obscenely. It's good that Dean had the foresight to lock the door.

[physalian]

#Writer Problems

Meet the 15th character in this series with a name that starts with A! No one will notice hahaha

Going back and deleting the sighs to shake things up a bit because there’s 120 in the manuscript

*checks notes* whoops you died already, Side Character, my bad

*one paragraph* Perfect. Amazing. Poetic. Profound. *the next paragraph* what is words do?

Knocking out a 6k word chapter in an hour/Spending a week on a single transition

*slaps down a shiny new character with zero plan* You don’t know anything about them and neither do I, let’s discover them together

Realistically, there’s gotta be at least one casualty from this fantasy battle so…. *rolls dice* no not you. *rolls dice again* yep. That’ll do. Sorry, pal.

Is this badass or stupid?

Is this hot or cringey?

*checks notes* damn it, plot hole.

Upon this most recent round of edits, you, Cool Side Character, no longer made the cut. Mayhaps you’ll be recycled later.

*checks notes* damn it, I fixed that plot hole by opening another plot hole.

Jesus christ I wrote ‘just’ 308 times across 120k words?

That is definitely not how you spell that

*dreams about my characters in full HD technicolor* awwww yeah, where’s the popcorn? *cannot replicate how cool it was in actual words*

Unes- Unnecs- Unessis- Unnessessarily- Unnecessarily fuck

Do I go with the British grey or the American gray?

*cries* this epic was supposed to be a novella

Well these two were supposed to be having an argument here. But making out is fine. I’d like to see where this goes.

Oops I forgot the straights, here that nameless dude over there isn't confirmed gay, so you can headcanon that he's straight if you want

Oops I forgot that marriage exists uhhh yeah their other parents are all dead or deadbeats

Fuck love triangles here’s a double-helix dodecahedron.

One day my fandom will write so much smut about this guy and I am here for it cause I sure ain’t doing it myself

Oops I forgot people with green eyes exist but brown eyes? I got 20

*describing the writing process* It was the best of times, it was the worst of times it was the age of wisdom, it was the age of foolishness, it was the epoch of belief, it was the epoch of incredulity, it was the season of light, it was the season of darkness, it was the spring of hope, it was the winter of despair.

I. Hate. Chapter. Titles.

Is this profound or pretentious?

*crafts an absolutely banger metaphor* I hope someone notices this. I put a lot of work into it

I didn’t spend 6 months perfecting this masterpiece for you to sass that the curtains are just blue. I’ll write the goddamn essay myself about all the depth behind my color choices, sir.

Picture that Spongebob dehydrated in Sandy’s treehouse meme ‘cause that’s me on round 12 of edits

I gotta be up for work in 4 hours but this monologue is more important

*distills 30 pages of worldbuilding notes into 2 paragraphs of a fluff scene* somebody will appreciate this, won’t they?

*listening to my book playlist* one day when this is adapted I hope this artist is still alive to compose the main theme cause this shit fucks

*cries* this trilogy was supposed to be just one book

If I turn this plot hole into a character flaw, they become the problem while I remain god

*looting themes, monologues, character names, and archetypes off the corpses of my dead WIPs* You won’t miss them anyway.

While it also immortalizes this person’s dickish behavior, yes, I will, in fact, write a whole character’s backstory as a middle-finger to this one bitch from 10 years ago.

*steps back to gaze at all the suffering done unto my deuteragonist* but it was worth it, wasn’t it?

*staring down yet another loathsome action set piece* whyyyyy do I do this to myself?

Nobody’ll notice my author insert if I dice them up and divvy them out in bits to my entire cast, right? Right? It’s like a shell game of what’s author and what’s fiction

These two are going to be a problematic ship one day and I will burn that bridge when I get there

*2am and I am scouring the internet for that one piece of a fort’s defenses because not remembering is the current root of my insomnia*

*Nudging my favorite character who isn’t the protagonist out onto stage* golly I hope the readers like him

Waiting. For. Editors. Takes. So. Long.

Holy butts accidental motif and deep symbolism fucks. I am so pretending I did that on purpose.

To subtext or not to subtext? Nah, to subtext. *laughs maniacally*

Trying to ride that line between so obvious it’s painful but also juuust enough foreshadowing so you slap yourself for not seeing it sooner

TIL that I have been using that word completely wrong for years. How quaint.

No you’re derivative schlock. I’m crowd surfing the books that came before and loving every second of it.

Damn I wasted a really good name on this throwaway character

*checks notes* wait, who's taller? Where does your hair part? Are you left or right-handed?

*musing over a character slated for death* damn, I really like you. Since I am in fact god, you shall live another day. *rewerites the entire finale*

God I hope people like this story

[zee-has-commitment-issues]

okay! It's time!

AO3 wrapped (writer’s edition) 2024!

I did not write as many fics this year, but I got a big kid job and I traveled and I started a very VERY long outline for Dead Draw, plus I finished Reckless Abandon, but here we go!

1. How many words have you written this year? 205,699 more words than 2023, but less quantity of fics.

2. How many works did you publish this year? six. less than last year by five.

3. What work are you most proud of (regardless of kudos/hits)? Same answer as last year, but Reckless Abandon is a part of my soul now I think. There was blood sweat and tear put into that fic.

4. What work of yours has the most hits? Reckless Abandon still! 16k hits, which is batshit insane.

5. What work of yours got more feedback than you expected? Skin. I didn't imagine it would get any readers at all, actually. It was a really stupid little idea, but i'm glad people liked it!

6. Favorite title you used? If You Give A Prince A Cookbook (He'll Get Weirdly Good At Cooking) based on the childhood If You Give A Mouse A Cookie books!

7. If you use song lyrics, which artist’s songs did you pull from the most? No song lyrics this year!

8. Pairing you wrote the most for this year? No one is surprised by it being Wilhelm/Simon in 5 out of 6 of my published fics this year.

9. Favorite pairing you wrote for this year? 100% wilmon, but nilcent would have been second.

10. What work was the quickest to write? Six Sentence Stories From Tumblr because they were literally six sentences each lmao.

11. What work took you the longest to write? Toss up between Dead Draw and Reckless Abandon. Both are long fics, but one is still ongoing, and one was brought into 2024 part-way done so it's hard to compare.

12. How many WIPs do you have in your docs for next year? I currently have four WIPs that I'm working on. A rewrite of Voicemail Box, a continuation of Just Some Guy, a crack fic I'll never finish, and Dead Draw

13. What’s your longest work of the year? Reckless Abandon technically, but again it was brought in from 2023. So only like 20k words were actually from 2024. Behind that is Dead Draw with a current 41k words and counting.

14. What’s your shortest work of the year? Six Sentence Stories From Tumblr - 2,703 words

15. What WIP are you taking into next year with you? Dead Draw! chess fic is my passion project.

16. What’s your most common “Additional Tags” tag? "Wilhelm Loves Simon Eriksson" and "Simon Eriksson Loves Wilhelm" so...

17. Your favorite character to write this year? Always Wilhelm, I fear. I relate to him so much that I absolutely have to get up into his fucked up little head. But I found that I wrote a lot from Simon's pov this year.

18. What’s one pairing you want to explore next year? ... Madison and Alexander???

19. Which work of yours have you reread the most? The fic from this year was Nils' Room. My stupid little nilcent fic. I love it passionately. But I went back and read some of my old old fics this year too, so I probably spent more time on those.

20. How many kudos in total did you get this year? 1,302. Holy shit.

21. Which work has the most comments? Reckless Abandon and no one was shocked.

22. Did you do any collaborative works this year? Still none this year. All the love to Dani who helps me write and outline fics all the goddamn time. I hope I'm as useful to her as she is to me lmao.

23. Did you write any gifts this year? I did not this year unfortunately. I just didn't have time to join any of the exchanges. But I wrote for a few of the events I think!

24. Did you receive any gifts this year? Again, not this year, since I didn't have the chance to join any of the exchanges 😔

25. What’s your most common category? M/M in a whopping all fucking six.

26. What do you listen to while writing? video essays were a godsend this year. I'd just put them on in the background and lock in.

27. Favorite work you wrote this year? Dead Draw is my passion project and Reckless Abandon ripped my soul in half so probably a tie

28. Favorite line/passage you wrote this year? GodDAMN that one's hard to choose. But I think one there are two that stick out to me, both from Reckless Abandon:

Stella reached across the counter and squeezed his hand with a sympathetic smile. “He is an exceptionally easy person to love,” she said. And then she pulled away, grip tightening on her glass. “He’s just an easier person to leave.”  What made Simon the most upset — more than anything else in this fucked up situation — was that his heart hadn’t shattered until this moment. Not like it should have. It didn’t break him in two and threaten to overwhelm him.  His heart had broken, surely, when he found out what the others had done behind his back. His heart had broken, absolutely, when he realized Wilhelm wasn’t who he thought he was. But Simon’s heart didn’t shatter��until right now. 

and

Wilhelm loved Simon like he was supposed to love Sweden. 

My soul left my body and joined the poets with those two I fear.

29. Biggest surprise while writing this year? I'm a slut for writing a prickly Simon/arrogant Wilhelm dynamic. Absolutely love it. Devour my own writing every single time.

-

I hope you enjoyed this year's writing wrapped! Sorry it took ten days into 2025 for me to post it lmfaoooo.

[theconstantsidekick]

Randy's Donuts In A Suit Of Armor

Pairings: Tony Stark x Stark!Reader (siblings), Natasha Romanoff x Stark!Reader (little bit of flirting)

Genre: A bickering fluffy look back at the good times.

Summary:  Tony just wanted a goddamn donut after wrecking the shit out of his birthday party by being an asshole. He tried to throw himself a donut-themed pitty party but the universe is never that kind.

(These scenes incorporate y/n, codename—Static, into the pre-existing story as a character without making drastic changes to the plot or mythos. All the major plot points from the MCU remain in place with the addition of the reader as Static, who is not only a Stark but also enhanced. Whatever events from the canon aren’t mentioned, take place without much change.)

Warnings: Swearing, Mentions of Death, Hints of Suicidal Ideations, Mentions of Past Trauma.

a/n: dedicated to my dear reader @third-broparcelicito who wrote a whole-ass essay for me which kept me going through a rough time. Thank you so much.

sidenote: I just missed Tony a lot, ok?

Meet Natalie Rushman (previous part) | Series Masterlist | The Avengers (Ft. Static) | Age of Ultron (Static Origin Story) | Static Verse Masterlist  | Iron Man 1 (ft. Static) | Bucky Barnes, the Boyfriend

“Sir!  I’m gonna have to ask you to exit the donut.”

And man if that doesn’t throw Tony for a spin, cause when he looks down on the source of the voice, there stands a man in an all-black ensemble with a fucking eye-patch. If you don’t know where this is headed, in some ways Tony’s fucking jealous of you.

Reluctantly, he makes his way down and into Randy’s Donuts.

Seated opposite Fury in a booth that feels all too suffocating in his fucking suit made of gold-titanium alloy, with a coffee that was brewed at least two days ago sitting in front of him, and a giant-green-monster-who-tore-up-Harlem sized hangover crushing his head, he makes his displeasure at the situation known. “I told you I don’t wanna join your super-secret boy band.”

“No, no, no. See, I remember, you do everything yourself. How’s that working out for you?” Fury challenges.

“It’s… It’s… It’s…” Does it really look like he’s in the mood for a challenge? So, he deflects. “I’m sorry. I don’t wanna get off on the wrong foot. Do I look at the patch or the eye?” Lowering his sunglasses, he adds, “Honestly, I’m a bit hungover. I’m not sure if you’re real or if I’m having—”

Leaning in, Fury replies, “I am very real. I’m the realest person you’re ever gonna meet.”

Well, fuck, he thinks.

“Just my luck.” He looks over at the counter, “Where’s the staff here?”

The movement gives a full on show of his… situation? Yeah. Situation, let’s go with that. Fury gets a view of the situation he has at hand.

Fury’s hand comes flying to his neck, where he presumes his situation has become evidently concerning because then Fury says, “That’s not looking so good.”

“I’ve been worse.” He’s lying… kind of. The only thing he’s seen worse than this was back in the cave, which as is infamously known, not the best so, yeah. He’s kinda lying.

Anyway, what Tony sees next makes him want to spit his coffee out. Only thing stopping him is the fact that he might spit it on Fury and he doesn’t really wanna die in Rusty’s Donuts, hungover and shamed. He’d rather let the palladium poisoning take him out.

 “We’ve secured the perimeter but I don’t think we should hold it for too much longer.”

Well, fuck times two.

Looking over the top of his glasses in complete and utter disbelief, trying and failing awfully to contain his shock at this absolutely, “Huh,” he says. “You’re… fired.”

“That’s not up to you,” Replies Natalie—who is definitely not Natalie, from Legal, cause she’s wearing a full on S.H.I.E.L.D. Agent bodysuit and currently in the process of taking a seat next to Fury.

“Tony, I want you to meet Agent Romanoff,” Fury introduces her with what seems like giddy excitement? Who even knows. He’s a fucking spy, Tony trusts nothing about him. Fuck Tony thinks maybe he doesn’t trust anyone anymore, especially since Natalie Rushman is actually Agent Romanoff, who says the perimeter is secure.

“Hi,” Tony replies, while facepalming in some more shame.

“I’m a S.H.I.E.L.D. shadow. Once we were informed that you’re ill, I was tasked to you by Director Fury,” Natalie, fuck! No. Not Natalie. Agent Romanoff explains.

“I suggest you apologize,” Tony says looking her dead in the eyes.

“I agree, Nat,” Comes another voice, and like, honestly? At this point he’s DYING to die at the hands of the palladium cause living has brought him no joy whatsoever. Not when his sister is just… everywhere. “You deceived me,” She says as she slides in to sit next to Tony. “You made me fall in love. I was going to marry you. We were going to have two adorable little children and live a long happy life as that weird family at the end of the most suburban lane with the lesbian moms and their adopted asian babies. You really should apologize.” She steals his coffee and takes a sip, stopping only for a second to make a face of pure disgust. “You broke my heart. Oh and, the perimeter is very much not secure… The north exit? Wesley I think his name was? Yeah, he’s down.”

“How did you—” Natali—fuck. Not Natalie is about to ask something that Y/n can very obviously not answer honestly, so he cuts in.

“What the hell are you doing here?”

“I wanted a donut,” Y/n replies easily, like it’s the most boring thing in the world.

“You wanted a donut?” Huh?

“It’s a Pavlovian response; whenever I feel a deep, profound sense of disappointment I crave a donut, because you give me a fucking ‘apology donut’ everytime you disappoint me… which is really often.” She says it with air quotes and all.

“I don’t do it that often,” Tony tries to defend.

“You do it often enough for me to develop a fucking Pavlovian reponse to it, don’t you?”

“You’re making shit up, there is no chance in hell that I do it that often. I’m the pinnacle of siblinghood. I’m absolutely the best brother anyone could ask for, ever, and you know it,” He argues because well, he is. 

“A pinnacle?” She scoffs. “The only thing you’re the pinnacle of is being a self-destructive asshole.”

And what kinda shit is that to say to your beloved brother? Honestly, that’s just disrespectful if you ask him.

“Guess who I learned it from,” He throws back… like a self-destructive asshole.

“Hey, hey, HEY!” Fury shouts as if he’s trying to quiet the two bickering children. Which, yeah, he might as well be doing just that. “I’m not here to take part in your bullshit. I’m here, cause you’ve been very busy. You made your girl your CEO, donated half your shares to your sister, you’re giving away all your stuff. You let your friend fly away with your suit. Now, if I didn’t know better—”

“You don’t know better,” Tony cuts him off. “I didn’t give it to him. He took it.”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” Fury exclaims in the most mocking tone known to mankind. “He took it? You’re Iron Man and he just took it? The little brother walked in there, kicked your ass and took your suit?” He turns to Nata—Agent Romanoff (fuck!), adding, “Is that possible?”

Ever so slyly, she replies, “Well, according to Mr Stark’s database security guidelines, there are redundancies to prevent unauthorized usage.” She looks right at him, with a challenge in her eyes that unsettles Tony… this might just be the start of a beautiful friendship.

“What do you want from me?” He asks. Cause, come on. He’s doing the best that he can, given the cards that have been dealt.

“I don’t want anything from you—” He shrugs, almost reassessing his statement and deciding to roll with it. “Mostly nothing. You should be asking her instead.” He points to Y/n, meanwhile Nat—(motherfucker!) Agent Romanoff gets up and walks out. “She’s the one who called us in.” 

“YOU DID WHAT?” Tony’s about to blow his fucking gasket. 

But Y/n is calmer than ever, which if you know her is the most normal thing for her. “You’ve been behaving exactly the way you did when you got chicken-pox and thought you were going to die.” She turns to face him. “You’re exacerbating the problem by scratching away at the poxes like there is no tomorrow meanwhile giving away all your toys to people you love and leaving goodbye notes.” He almost forgot about that one, fuck. “I hate to break it to you, but Howard might have returned your G.I. Joe action figure, but Rhodey sure as shit not giving the suit back.” He remembers that. He had to beg Dad to give the toy back. Howard had only given it back because he’d made mom intervene. 

She shakes her head with a sort of disappointment then. “I don’t even want to think about how concerning it is that your self-destructive patterns haven’t changed a bit since you were four fucking years old.”

Before he can respond, Fury cuts in, “You have become a problem, a problem I have to deal with. Contrary to your belief, you are not the center of my universe. I have bigger problems than you in the southwest region to deal with.” What happens next, Tony has no time to register. There’s barely a second long pause before Fury looks up and commands, “Hit him.”

Suddenly there’s something being injected into his neck and his body is almost on fire from it. “Oh, God, are you gonna steal my kidney and sell it?” Fidgeting with his hands around the neck he looks up at Nata—goddamn it! He looks up at Agent Romanoff who holds the now empty injection in her hands, he says, “Could you please not do anything awful for five seconds” He looks back at Fury,  “What did she just do to me?”

“What did we just do for you,” He corrects. “That’s lithium dioxide. It’s gonna take the edge off. We’re trying to get you back to work.”

“Give me a couple of boxes of that. I’ll be right as rain,” Tony says.

“It’s not a cure, it just abates the symptoms,” Agent Romanoff explains.

“Doesn’t look like it’s gonna be an easy fix,” Fury comments.

And you know what? He’s been ambushed twice in this conversation by people he thought he knew. And that’s not even counting the random injection of a so-called cure into him. So yeah, he’s a little short on patience. “Trust me, I know,” He says, with enough distaste that it makes Fury lean back. “I’m good at this stuff. I’ve been looking for a suitable replacement for palladium. I’ve tried every combination, every permutation of every known element.”

Fury leans back in, looks him in the eyes and says, “Well, I’m here to tell you, you haven’t tried them all.”

That stumps him for a second. Because, well you see, Tony’s been convinced he’s dying of this thing, this thing in his chest that while being absolutely foreign is an integral part of him now. He’s dying of the thing that he made to save himself and that’s been consuming his every waking (and most of his sleeping) hour. He had prepared himself for the worst, ready to face the bitter end, rotting from the inside out. It was a fitting way to go, he’d thought. The rot outside of him will have matched his insides. But that was his hubris. 

How could he have thought he could decide to give up on his own life, as if he didn’t share it with someone. That too with someone who was just a little bit more stubborn than him.

Suddenly, “All that remains is the matter of your signature,” Na—Agent fucking Romanoff says from next to them as she places a document in front of Y/n. “Just sign here and here, and we’re good to go.”

The tone of the room changes in an instant. He has seldom seen his sister uncomfortable, so you best believe he senses the change coming from miles away.

“Signature for what? What the hell is this?” Tony asks, completely confounded.

Y/n shifts uncomfortably in her seat, “I gave you my word, we shook hands—that should be more than enough. I don’t do documentation. You know that,” she says looking at Fury.

“You don’t do digital documentation,” He pushes the papers closer to her. “This is analog.”

Tony’s had enough.

“What the fuck are these for?” He asks, loudly.

“Integration of Y/n Stark as a S.H.I.E.L.D. Liaison,” Agent Romanoff replies easily.

He turns to his sister. “Ah. Of course, I’m the self-saboteur in the family. The only one.”

“Tony—”

He’s not in the mood to listen to her bullshit. “What the actual fuck, Y/n? Have you fucking lost your mind? You want to be a fucking liaison for S.H.E.I.L.D?”

“Are these rhetorical questions or are you hoping for a response?” The nonchalance in her attitude pisses him off even more.

“Where is all this attitude coming from, young lady? You really think this is a situation where you should be running your mouth—”

“Oh my fucking god! Tony! What the hell was I supposed to do? You were dying, literally being poisoned by this thing in your fucking chest and I was supposed to do what? Sit back and watch?”

“Do not put this on me. This is not on me! How is this on me? This is a decision you made! By yourself!”

“I didn’t make it in a fucking vaccume, did I—?”

“Everything is my fault? All of it? I am not taking responsibility for your stupidity—”

“—MY STUPIDITY?!! You’re the one who put decided to put a fucking magnet in your chest, jerkface—not me!”

“I’m sorry my solution to being blown up by a missile was inconvenient for you—a missile which by the way had my own fucking name on it—I didn’t have much choice in the matter—”

“UUUGGGGHHHHH! FUCK!! Here we go again. Here we go for the millionth time—”

“—On account of me being held prisoner in the fucking desert!”

“Are we still milking that? Really? Are all your future crimes absolved cause you were kidnapped‚—”

“I wasn’t kidnapped, I was abducted! And do you think I liked—”

“You did like it! You said it yourself, you narcissist—”

“That was a fucking joke, Lincoln Lawyer!”

“How was I supposed to know that?”

“You’re telling me you can’t gauge tone difference now? Really? You childish little shit—”

“You’re a fucking childish little shit—”

“SHUT THE FUCK UP!” Fury shouts. “Shut up—” he cuts off any protest from the siblings before it even forms, “—the both of you. I’ll make you regret it if you don’t.” He fixes them with a look which makes the two Starks silently climb back off of each other and take their seats; once again a part of polite society. This must please Fury to some degree, because he clears his throat before continuing, “Now, here’s the deal, you both will sort this little quarrel out on your own damn time.” He looks over at Y/n, “And you have to sign this, we need proof of some sort. Besides, you will have access to some of the nastiest secrets known man, there has to be some sense of accountability? If you catch my drift?” Reluctant as ever, Y/n just grits her teeth in displeasure but remains otherwise silent. Fury takes this as her assent and moves on to him, “And you! She did this cause you were being a little shit about all of this. So, just be a little nicer maybe?” When Tony remains silent as well he takes that to be an agreement too. He gets up and out of his seat, brushes himself off and then begins to walk away, stopping only for a second to say, “I’ll see you crazy kids back at your place.” With that Fury is gone, and Agent Romanoff along with him.

There is a short silence between the two. It’s something like tense, but not really. 

Tony decides to break it. “You didn’t have to do this, you know?”

He can feel her shrug next to him. “Eh, it was for the best.”

“How?” Tony questions. “You hate all this spy stuff.”

She leans back, hands back in her pocket. “I actually kinda love the spy stuff. I just kinda sorta hate S.H.I.E.L.D.”

“Then why go back?”

There is a beat before she replies, “You were suffering. I hate watching you hurt.”

Af if he didn’t know that. The woman burnt the books that gave him paper cuts.

He sighs. “We could’ve fixed it… found a way. We would have.”

“That was the whole problem, Tones. Ever since you’ve put on the damn suit we haven’t been ‘we’. It’s been you in the suit, you in the lab, you alone. 

“That’s not—”

She cuts him off even before he has the chance. “And I understand that I can’t be there all the time and I understand that maybe it wasn’t your intention to cut me off, but none of what you’ve done with regards to all this has been a unanimous decision.”

“I—” he takes a second to reassess before he says anything further, because yeah, maybe she isn’t wrong. Cause right now her breath smells of cigarette smoke and she did just decide to sign herself away to an organization she had come to despise. That would all seem like an overreaction if Tony hadn’t been acting alone, especially from Y/n who is, for all intents and purposes, the most chill person he knows. So, yeah, maybe he fucked up a little bit. So he says, “I—I’m sorry.” He licks his lips. “I was a little too focused on not pulling you back into all this that I just ignored that fact that I was pushing you away all together.” Fuck. He takes a breath. “It’s always us against the world.” He knocks on his suit,”This tin-can won’t change that.”

She looks over at him then, “I know.” She smiles a little “We’re good.”

Nodding, he smiles too. “So, what now? You gonna sign these?” He asks, pointing at the papers in front of them.

“Yep,” she replies, popping the ‘p’ at the end. 

“You think Fury will back out of helping me if you don’t?”

“No, no I don’t,” she answers. “But I’ll sign it anyway.”

“Why?”

“I need the access to the intel that they have.”

Tony has to laugh at that, “Oh yeah, you need them to gather intel. It’s not like you have a whole secret network of informants around the world or anything”

She rolls her eyes with a fond smile. “Yeah well, it’s more than that, okay? There’s something going on at S.H.I.E.L.D. Fury’s planning something.”

“What?”

“I don’t know, that’s why I need this,” she pulls the papers towards her. Pulling out a pen, she signs them. “I gotta be on the inside to figure it out.”

Reaf the next part here. Find the series masterlist here. Find the Static Verse Masterlist here. Read The Avengers (ft. Static) here.

tag list : @aryksworld @freeflyingphoenix @arikarapli @just-anotherstan @justab-eautifulmess @ceo-of-daichi @roxannejblack @liketearsintherainn @paintballkid711 @starkleila @heyitsmereading @fairlygothparents @euphoria-svt @sidepartskinnyjeans @mini-kunoichi @third-broparcelicito @siwiecola @haleybutnotthecomet @mvaldez7821 @rockybutmakeitlame @romanoffswoman @ashpeace888 @hopeofwinter @percabethfangirl987

hit me up if you wanna be added to the tag list.

[ragingadhd]

Will and Alyss are trans here’s my essay

We talk a lot about how funny it is that Flanagan unintentionally wrote the gayest love story between Halt and Crowley in TEY, but holy shit we don’t talk enough about how he also managed to accidentally write the two most trans characters ever.

Alyss and Will being trans is a semi-popular headcanon that’s been in the fandom for ages now, but I haven’t seen many people really dive into why this headcanon is so prevalent. I think that partially has to do with the fact that, like any lgbtq+ identity, it’s pretty difficult to clock someone as trans without relying on trans stereotypes. Really, any character in the RA series could be trans if you chose to believe it since being trans doesn’t look any certain way. That being said, I do think there are some pretty clear qualities and experiences that Will and Alyss have that feel very close to my own experience with being transgender.

Physical appearance is usually the first thing people point out/notice when talking about this headcanon. Will is short, more so than one might expect from a cis man. Alyss is taller than most men and also has a deep voice. I have mixed feelings about people pointing to this as the only reason they think they’re trans. I mean, it makes enough sense for it to be the only reason since one part of being trans is the fact that one’s body doesn’t match their gender identity. What I don’t like about that being the only reason is that there’s so much more to the trans identity and experience than “body don’t match :(“

But that’s the cool thing about Will and Alyss, their physical appearance effects their perception of themselves the same way it does for a trans person (or a cis person really, but it feels much more prevalent in trans people). In the first book, Will is clearly uncomfortable with his height; almost any time it’s brought up, he replies with “I haven’t had my growth spurt yet”, almost defensively. Then, as Will becomes more comfortable with who he is, you can see it bother him less and less. I love this bc it’s exactly what happened with my dysphoria as I transitioned. The more I got to know myself and discover myself, the less my dysphoria bothered me.

As for Alyss, she is so clearly so confident with her appearance. She never tries to hide her height or voice. Although we don’t get to see her journey with those qualities, the way she’s so confident feels like something the earned. It’s something she maybe used to feel insecure about, then decided she gets to decide what femininity means to her. Her height and voice contribute to her elegance and femininity rather than contradict them.

Another thing about Will is his name and how it relates to his identity. I know Flanagan didn’t intend for any of this to be some trans allegory, but goddamn can I relate my trans experience to it. Will grew up without a last name, and you can see how deeply that effects him. It wasn’t just that he was “Will no-name”, he was missing a part of his identity. Hell, he said verbatim “at least you know who you are” to a fucking owl because he felt so confused and unheard (which btw is the most edgy teen thing he ever did).

Though you can see this missing part of his identity bother him less as he gained a support system, it’s still clear that he felt like something was missing. If he didn’t feel like something was missing, he wouldn’t have been so incredibly happy when he became “Will Treaty”. And when he got his last name, you can tell he’s proud, not because he finally has an identity, but because he finally has a name to match the identity he’s spent so long discovering and cultivating. He no longer expresses any sadness or grief that he doesn’t have his father’s last name, because he doesn’t need it to know who he is. He’s Will Treaty, and he’s perfectly happy with being exactly that. This is the most trans-coded naming experience holy shit.

Anyway that’s all I have to say about this (for now at least). Go give your local trans friend a kiss.

[helpimstuckposting]

Advice

Song: Advice by Cavetown

Pairing: Steve Harrington/Eddie Munson

Playlist

A | B | C | D | E | F | G | H | I | J | K | L | M | N | O | P | Q | R | S | T | U | V | W | X | Y | Z

—

Eddie wasn’t unfamiliar with bad days. In fact, he’d say he was intimately familiar with them. Biblically, even, since they’d fucked him so often. And usually he was able to adjust, to improvise, to calm down and save any serious outbursts for the privacy of his own bedroom. Or van, depending on how truly awful the day was.

Today, he didn’t make it to his room, or to the van. Instead, he walked right out of his last class of the day and trudged straight to the picnic table in the woods behind the school. He figured he had around twenty minutes to get his anger out before someone tramped along looking to buy weed. He was too wired to sit, so he set his little black lunchbox on the table, and started pacing back and forth to try and relieve some pent up energy.

He was off to a rough start from the second his alarm went off. Or didn’t go off, in the case of that morning. Somehow, the stupid electricity in the trailer had gone out at some point in the middle of the night and reset the clocks, making Eddie an hour late to the start of his day. He’d skipped breakfast, and forgot his smokes in the process which meant that all of his teachers were more unbearable than usual.

Then, he skipped lunch to run across the street and buy a pack from the convenience store to take the edge off, but apparently his dad was in town because the man behind the counter had called him Junior with that face people made when they treated him like shit splattered across their shoes. If Al was in town that meant either he hadn’t bothered to check in on his son, or Wayne was keeping it from him and both options pissed Eddie off.

On top of that, Mrs. Click had lost his essay and then claimed he’d never turned it in which was bullshit because Eddie knew for a fact he’d turned it in on time, he’d stayed up all night writing it. In between classes, someone had graffitied “Satanist Freak” on his locker, which normally wouldn’t bother Eddie at all but then he’d gotten yelled at to clean it up, like anyone would think he wrote it himself. The authority figures in this batshit town were driving him insane.

As if that weren’t fucking enough Tommy goddamn Hagan (who Eddie was pretty sure had written the little love letter on his locker) had deliberately poured his entire water bottle on Eddie’s lap in the middle of class, and then played it off as an accident to the teacher. He’ll probably get detention for ditching after that, but Eddie was fucking exhausted. Why him? Why did everything have to hit the fan all at once? Couldn’t he just have one bad thing happen per day? He’d take one bad thing a day for the rest of his life over all the shit piled on top of him in the last seven hours.

And! Eddie was sure the fact that his father was in town would bite him even harder in the ass until the son a bitch left again. He couldn’t stand the thought of going home to see his smarmy fucking face after the last time he was in town and conned Eddie out of his savings and the contents of his lunchbox. It was fucking ludicrous that the town hated him for his father when Eddie got the worst end of the stick his whole life. At least the other people could avoid him, could walk away or, hell, even call the cops on the bastard if they wanted. Eddie couldn’t ever get away from him. Every time Eddie even looked at a mirror, Al Munson looked back.

He could feel the buzzing adrenaline bubbling up behind his eyes, stabbing its claws into his sinuses. His hands shook as he tugged them through his hair and he could not let this shitty day make him cry. He wasn’t going to let the town win, let his teacher and Tommy win, let Al Munson win. He clenched his stupid shaking hands into fists and dug his nails in as hard as he could, trying to steady his breathing, but it didn’t work. He could feel the build up behind his eyes and all the shitty events of the day clogging his throat like it was strangling him from the inside.

He let out a frustrated yell, grabbing his lunchbox from the table and using all of his energy to chuck it across the little clearing, across the lunch table, and straight into a tree. It smashed against the bark with a rattle, hitting the ground without even breaking the latch. Eddie knew the thing wouldn’t break, though it might have been sporting a few new scratches and a dent. It made him feel a little better, though. Maybe he could understand why someone would do sports. Maybe. Sometimes.

“Damn, you ever try shot put?” a voice called out through the clearing.

Eddie whipped his head around to find the king himself, Steve Harrington sauntering towards the picnic table. Schools out then, he thought, grumbling in his mind like a child. Of course The King would need to stock up, it was a Friday after all.

“With an arm like that, you’d do pretty well,” he added when Eddie didn’t respond.

“I don’t know what the fuck shop put is, but I’m not in the mood, Harrington,” Eddie called back, crossing his arms over his chest and stomping a boot onto the wooden bench next to him. The second he did, he felt like an idiot, like some kind of alpha-male posturing to seem tougher. He put his foot back on the ground.

“It’s shot put, it’s… never mind,” Steve cut himself off. “Anyway… uh.” He looked nervous, rubbing his hands awkwardly before shoving them into the pockets of his pristine blue jeans. It eased some of the tension in Eddie’s shoulders. He wanted to laugh. He made the king nervous, made him look a bit scared, even. It was comical. Wayne would think it was downright hilarious.

“What do you want, Harrington?” Eddie called. The King was still standing by the treeline, a good few yards of space between them.

“Do you have any joints left? Maybe a baggie of flower or something?” he responded. Eddie rolled his eyes. The royal court was predictable, as always.

“Like I said, I’m really not in the mood.”

“I’ll pay extra,” Steve added, shrugging his shoulders. Eddie paused, contemplating the offer. He did need the money, he always needed the money, and he knew Harrington was good for it. Eddie could probably double the price and The King wouldn’t even bat an eye.

He sighed, glancing at his toppled lunch box on the ground. Eddie rolled his eyes, deciding the money was worth more than his peace and quiet. He cracked his neck before trudging over to the black metal box, noticing Steve’s flinch as he did. The boy tried to cover it, Eddie could tell, but he wasn’t quick enough and Eddie couldn’t quite hide his smirk as he snatched the lunchbox up and walked back to the table.

He sat down, placed the container on the rough wooden surface, and gestured to the bench opposite him. The King paused briefly before joining him, sitting down quietly and pulling his wallet out of his back pocket.

“How many joints?” Eddie asked.

“How many you got?”

He glanced into the lunchbox, stomach aching as he shoved the actual lunch aside to open the little metal Altoids tin. He had four joints left, a few less than Harrington’s usual haul, but enough. He gathered them all up, pulling out an empty baggie and wrapping the joins up tight. Eddie held up the baggie for Harrington to take before grabbing another, prepacked with an eighth of flower.

“Eighth or a quarter?” Eddie asked, grabbing a second baggie.

“You got a half?” Harrington asked, squinting a little like he was sheepish to ask the question. Eddie would have found it cute if he wasn’t so annoyed at that moment. He rolled his eyes instead.

“If I had a half, I would have asked, Princess,” he snapped. If Harrington had looked sheepish before, he looked downright contrite now. It made Eddie feel a little bad, but he held his glare without backing down. The world had been shit to him today, he didn’t have to care about hurting The Kings feelings.

“An eighth or a quarter ounce, Harrington?” he asked again.

“Quarter,” he mumbled. Eddie pulled both baggies out, holding them toward Harrington to take. He didn’t. Instead he looked from the baggies to Eddie’s face, eyes contemplating something and Eddie hoped like hell that Steve wouldn’t ask, but like everything else today, the world didn’t listen.

“Are you okay?” he asked, and Eddie’s anger reared its ugly head again.

“I don’t want to talk, Harrington.”

“Are you sure? Because you kind of look like you need it. Are you okay?” he asked again.

“You want a hint?” Eddie snarked, snatching the baggies back. If His Highness wasn’t taking his gold then Eddie could keep it for himself for all he cared. “Are you hungry?” Eddie asked him.

Steve looked confused, his brows scrunching together like he was trying to connect the pieces of conversation that was running away from him.

“I… why?” he asked.

“Because you can eat my fucking shorts, Harrington. I said I don’t want to talk, so take the weed, leave the cash, and leave me the fuck alone,” Eddie spat, tossing the baggies between them on the table.

“I just mean, maybe I can help! Give you some advice or-“

“I know you’re trying to help, it’s very nice of you to pay your loyal subjects some attention but you don’t know anything about me, okay? I don’t need your advice, and I don’t need to explain myself to you.” Eddie gave up, decided this was a failed transaction and he should pack his shit and leave. He made a move to stand, reaching for the baggies on the picnic table, but he was beaten to the punch. Harrington grabbed the baggies out from under his hand, quickly tossing way too many bills on the wooden table. Forget double, Eddie’s pretty sure it was enough for a whole ounce. He stared, dumbfounded, at the cash in front of him and looked back up at Harrington. He was standing now, just a step away from the bench he’d been sitting on a second ago.

Eddie snatched the cash and tried to reign in his expression. He wasn’t really sure what his face was doing, couldn’t tell if he’d schooled it or not, but Harrington wasn’t giving anything away.

“I wasn’t trying to pick a fight, I swear.” He held a hand up, like Eddie was some kind of rabid animal Steve was trying to placate. “I just… I know what it feels like to not have anyone to talk to. So, like… if you need an ear-“

“I don’t ’need an ear’, Harrington, I need you to get out of my face, I need your court jester Tommy to leave me the fuck alone, and clean my locker while he’s at it! I need Mrs. Click to find my fucking essay because I’m already failing her class, and I need people in this godawful town to stop treating me like I’m just a clone of my father!” Eddie yelled. He huffed out a large breath, startled at his own outburst. By the glint in Steve’s eye, it was exactly what he’d been trying to pry out of Eddie. He looked pleased that he’d just been screamed at, and it just pushed all of Eddie’s buttons.

How the fuck did he even do that? They didn’t talk. Steve bought weed from him before his parties, and ignored him in the hallway. That was it. That’s all they ever were. So how the hell did he just get Eddie to tell him what was bothering him? Maybe the town was wrong, and they got the wrong witch when they put Eddie up on a pyre. He felt the sudden urge to yell ‘I saw Goody Harrington with the Devil!’. Somehow, he didn’t think that would make this conversation any better.

Eddie crossed his arms like a petulant child, and he couldn’t help but notice Steve slot his hands onto his hips like some kind of scolding housewife. Everything Harrington was doing made Eddie feel smaller and smaller.

“Just… leave me alone,” Eddie sighed, feeling deflated. “I don’t owe you anything, okay? You’re not my friend, you’re not my mom,” Eddie rolled his eyes and stared pointedly at Steve’s soccer mom stance. A blush bloomed across his cheeks, and Eddie watched as he took the hands off his hips and shoved them back into his pockets. Eddie couldn’t decide if Steve’s jeans were more dad jean or mom jean but he shook the thought from his head before he figured it out.

“Right… well,” Steve sighed, pulling a hand out of his pocket and patting it lightly on his thigh. Eddie had a sudden flash of Steve wearing horn rimmed glasses, saying ‘Welp, I better hit the road’, and Eddie couldn’t figure out when Steve had gone from King to Single Father during the span of their conversation. “Thanks for the… stuff,” Steve said awkwardly. Jesus Christ, Eddie needed to get a hold of himself and quickly. It was ridiculous how endearing he was finding this, and being weirdly attracted to a father figure act was not something he needed to be unpacking right now.

“Thanks for the cash,” Eddie said back, just as awkwardly tossing a salute in and immediately wanting to jump off a cliff. He needed to get out of here. Quickly, he packed up his lunchbox, tossing the cash inside before latching it shut. He turned back toward the direction of the school parking lot and prayed that Steve would let him go without another word. He tried not to dwell on the fact that it felt a lot like tucking his tail between his legs.

“See you next Friday!” Steve called out behind him.

Eddie was halfway back to the trailer before he realized the weight in his chest was significantly lighter than it had been all day. He tallied it up to Steve being in league with the devil. They’d go back to not speaking in the hallways, and he’d forget all about their conversation today, and that was it. Eddie just hoped he’d forget it too, and tried not to think about exactly how many witch’s marks Steve might have that Eddie couldn’t see.

—

This was inspired by me being unhinged and thinking of Steddie literally every single time a song came on from my playlist so I wanted to challenge myself and see if I could write 26 of them. If anyone wants to try this challenge, go for it! I just thought it would be fun. I linked the playlist above, and I might add or subtract songs to it depending on how I'm feeling

Tagging some people who might be interested or helped me out with picking songs! Thank you for the suggestions (let me know if you want to be added or removed):

@estrellami-1 @weirdandabsurd42 @sirsnacksalot @devondespresso @captncalamity @sluttysteddie @blahblah-hilariousname-blah @cringevalue @thereallifecath

[the-bloody-sadist]

Hello! Fellow yanagihara hater here. Please share more of your views on a little life i beg because that book was so promising with its themes goddamn but then the writer had to fuck it up -

OH NOOOOO THE CHANCE TO BE A HATER WHATEVER WILL I DO.....

THANKS FOR ASKING.

I'm really glad to hear from someone who was also angry at the book and its author! I tend to be more bothered than usual when any form of media is popular for so-called "trauma representation", held up as a classic, etc., and then when I consume that media, I find out that the way it's written is more of a pretentious normie's view of "suffering", which, in my opinion, is disgusting. NOW. PLEASE BE REMINDED THAT I HAVE STRONG OPINIONS, AND ALSO TAKE THEM WITH A GRAIN OF SALT, AS I'M PARTICULARLY TRIGGERED BY WHAT I FEEL IS HORRIBLE TRAUMA REP. And a second grain of salt, too, since I did NOT read all of A Little Life (because I got too angry, knew exactly where it was going, and said FUCK YOU YANAGIHARA, I'm going to watch a video essay breakdown of the plot instead so I don't kill myself), and also watched behind the scenes interviews that made me hate Yanagihara even more.

If you're curious what video I watched that broke down the plot and confirmed all of my expectations on this book, it's here! I remember not agreeing with a lot of what that YouTuber said, because some things are silly to complain about in fiction and I don't believe in the whole "sexual abuse should not be shown in graphic detail", which I think was part of his discussion?? Bad memory, sorry. What I think is ugly about the book is the pile-on of RIDICULOUS amounts of trauma for Jude, to a degree that makes it a parody, almost comedically, of real trauma. From a writer's perspective, I'm furious at the way she used it and the way it succeeded at it's one job--NOT to help people understand the effects of trauma and CSA--but to make them cry. It's cheap, it's gross, and it casts all of Jude's trauma (for me) in the light of "this author was proud of herself for how much she could stuff into one boy just to make SURE you were devastated, while paying no special attention to make sure these traumas were handled with care". It's enraging to see how low the standard is for professional books that A Little Life is held up the way it is.

Now, don't get me wrong, her prose, while bogged down by excruciating and needless detail a lot of times, is very engaging. It's part of why I was so mad that it failed in the most important areas. I wanted it to be good! I really did! And I loved Jude, he would've been a wonderful character if not for her amateur decisions. Had she picked one or two traumas to focus on, created a realistic background for him, and had his death make for better impact and purpose to the plot, I'd probably have the book on my shelf as a top ten. But instead, I listened to her speak about how she did ZERO RESEARCH ON TRAUMA for Jude, apparently doesn't have trauma of her own that she's referencing (because then, no matter how much I disliked it, I would be more forgiving if she's pulling from her own experiences), and just...is so FLIPPANT about how she wrote it. Plus, in my personal opinion, I don't like her attitude in general. She comes off like a cringe edgelord for the slop she wrote, and I know so many authors who aren't even professionals that write trauma WORLDS better than she ever could.

Also, I'm so sorry, but the COVER??? What a perfect representation for the book, honestly. That old photo of the dude making an expression of pain that looks fake as fuck to me, just...eugh.

You know those gacha life cringe videos where the characters are all gory and talk about fucked up shit that happened to them, but it's extreme and ridiculous? That's what this book felt like once it dove into Jude.

When I write my own characters, I try to pick a single trauma for them and a couple coping mechanisms. It's important to me that one trauma isn't just tossed in there without regard for how much it changes someone's life, behaviors, and thought processes. Other traumas exist, of course, but they fit within the theme for what the character will represent. And I think it's important to have characters around them that will balance that trauma, a caretaker, a friend, and some sort of hope. Even if it might be true in real life that some people do have out-of-this-world experiences of trauma, there's not a lot of ways to correctly convey that in fiction without coming off as silly or over-imaginative. It quickly feels like the author is jerking themselves off in how "good" they are at making characters suffer, when for me, it's about how good they are at portraying how even a "small" trauma can affect the character deeply. I respect it more when media explores the subtle aspects of trauma, incorporating multiple side-effects instead of just one. Again, I know not everyone is as picky as I am. I'm trying to have more grace for what others think is realistic, but A Little Life is WAY over that line. Whenever I read or watch something that has overdone, overdramatic, or unrealistic depictions of trauma, it's intensely triggering, and sometimes I've become suicidal for like a whole week afterwards LMFAO, so I'm super passionate about this subject, and I think it's because I'm both a writer and a trauma survivor. Having CPTSD and watching shit like Bungou Stray Dogs get praised for "good PTSD rep" with ATSUSHI????? Straying a bit from the topic, but I lose respect for anyone who expresses that opinion.

Anyway, as a closing opinion, Yanagihara just sounds like a teen fanfic writer who crams their story full of misery and thinks she's done a great job just because there was a lot of it and people went “aww, so sad”. It just felt like trauma is a spectacle for her, not a crushing psychological experience.

I already feel misunderstood enough, as is. I already feel like my trauma has been disregarded by anybody who hasn't shared the same type of trauma. The last thing I need is confirmation that it'll continue to be misunderstood because of media depictions like A Little Life.

THANKS FOR LETTING ME RANT, ANON! I hope I shared a lot of the same things you felt about the book!! I don't think I said everything as well as I wanted to, but I pushed the book out of my mind as much as possible after getting triggered by it, so I can't recall all of the details in full clarity. LMAO...

MUCH LOVE TO YOU!! And to leave on a positive note, I recently watched Room (with Brie Larson) and it was one of the BEST realistic representations of trauma I've seen in a LONG TIME. So that was nice!! It's in my favorites list now and I recommend it to everyone so you don't have to think about A Little Life anymore 🫵😡