#idk why I am obsessed

[justtogetthrough]

I need continuous musings and discourse about the Hunger Games or my life feels so boring. Please keep posting and tagging, you’re all so smart and insightful and interesting

(Honestly, if you read the books for school, absolutely just post your essays I want to read them aaaaall)

[kogglyuffs]

kill la kill heel clack sfx

[legolambi]

she was probably wearing something normal in 4.04 but i like to imagine antigone in like, the atonement dress

[aarontveit]

GRACELAND | 2013 - 2015 S01E09: Smoke Alarm.

[lesbianrobin]

they are literally siblings idk what to tell you

[catominor]

fucking him infront ofhis ancestral imagines. sorry i meant fucking him in front of his ancestral imagines. sorry i meant f

[myokk]

fast sketch for today💓💓

[kittycatcorner]

this ot4 shit is getting serious

(suggestion from twitter! i drew this super fast and already hate it DHDFUKG but hey i finally drew them all together again!)

[seriouseffects]

[Hi, this is Michael Jackson saying I'll be seeing you soon, Nittele-Chan (on NTV).]

-

Late night OA special program from November 1996

[romulus-tings]

some george for your consideration xx

[sidneycarter]

love the idea that post The Situation thomas is just increasingly obtuse when it comes to jimmy's feelings.

so when one day mrs hughes mentions in passing at how much easier it is to handle james now he's settled down, thomas is incredibly confused. and a little bit heartbroken too of course.

it gets even stranger when on valentine's day alfred sulkily asks jimmy how many cards he's sent that year and jimmy merely shrugs and smirks. mrs patmore chastises them for gossiping and announces that surely, jimmy's only got one to be sending.

then one night, most of the staff are enjoying a rare night off in the pub. as usual, a host of pretty girls surround jimmy, and one particularly brave one asks jimmy if he's got any plans on one of his half days. jimmy throws her a cheeky wink and says "sorry, darling, but i'm spoken for."

thomas starts feeling really rather hurt. he's known all along that this would happen eventually - that jimmy would eventually move on and find a nice village lass, but it still stings to hear it. somehow, it hurts even more knowing that clearly jimmy has fallen for someone but he hasn't even told thomas.

thomas puts on a brave face and elbows daisy in the side. "d'ya hear that? jimmy's kept that quiet 'asn't he?"

daisy looks at him with a frown and cocks her head to the side. "well, not really--" but before she can say anything else she's swept up into the rowdy conversation of the table.

a few weeks later, thomas and jimmy are alone in the servants hall, with thomas reading the paper in his rocking chair and jimmy tapping out melodies on the piano. the tune he's playing is sweet and gentle, and thomas finds himself swaying his head along. as the song draws to a close, a gentle round of applause sounds from the doorway.

baxter stands smiling. "let me call you sweetheart is one of my favourites. it was beautiful, jimmy."

jimmy blushes prettily and stands, closing the piano lid. "thank you, mrs baxter. good night."

after he's gone from the room, baxter enters to fill herself a glass of water. she smiles fondly at thomas. "he's so smitten you know. head over heels." she rolls her eyes affectionately.

it takes months until thomas finally figures out the truth of what's going on. well, to say he figures it out is somewhat generous.

he's in the servants hall again, this time feeling a little despondent with a cup of tea. jimmy had gone to the pictures with alfred of all people, their friendship seemingly improved since jimmy's given up on chasing ivy's skirt. thomas is resolutely not waiting up to make sure jimmy gets home safe. anna is the only other person still up, and she sits opposite thomas stitching one of lady mary's hemlines in companionable silence.

thomas dwells on his own thoughts for a while, until anna rests her sewing on the table and fixes him with a worried look. "are you quite alright, mr barrow?"

"hm? oh, yes anna, i'm very well thank you." he takes a sip of his tea to hide his moue.

anna looks unconvinced. "thomas," she says seriously, "is it-- have you and jimmy had a falling out?"

that genuinely surprises thomas. for all his worry and sadness over jimmy's as yet unknown love interest, they'd never fallen out. "no, no, of course not. he's just busy, that's all, which is to be expected now he's, you know," thomas waves his cup vaguely in the air, "courting the mystery lady."

anna chokes on a laugh. "the mystery lady?"

"yes. he's-- he's courting someone, isn't he? everyone keeps saying that he's... or suggesting that he's taken with someone." Thomas adds somewhat bitterly, "seems quite serious if you ask me. not that he's told me anything about it of course."

anna stops giggling and looks at him oddly. "thomas you-- you can't mean--"

"-- do you know who she is, anna?" thomas interrupts a little desperately. he's becoming tired of it all and he just wants to know-- how bad it is, for how long he's going to have to tend to his broken heart.

"thomas. thomas, jimmy's sweetheart is-- well, it's you."

"me?" thomas has a brief, sickening memory of his feelings before, and how miss o'brien toyed with them so badly. but he knows in his gut, that anna would never, and could never do that. he knows she's being honest, as confusing and terrifying as the statement may be.

"yes." anna smiles. "he's like a little puppy when he's with you. surely you've noticed? he gazes at you with stars in his eyes. he wants to do everything you do, and it seems like every other conversation is all about what you've been telling him this week. he only ever plays love songs on the piano when you're in the room. he laughs at all your jokes and he's not even glanced in the direction of a girl since last year." anna shakes her head. "i thought you knew and were just letting him get used to it."

"no i didn't -- i didn't know, i thought," thomas can feel himself blushing, "i don't know what i thought."

anna stands with a stifled yawn. "you make each other very happy. if you really didn't know, i think you ought to talk to him. good night, mr barrow."

"good night anna. and thank you."

thomas is left in the still and quiet of the room, watching the steam spiral up from his cup. a private and hopeful smile spreads across his face. yes, he thinks, nodding his head, perhaps we should talk.

[autisticlancemcclain]

The boy is young.

Marcela is concerned.

“What you are is nosy,” Miguel says.

“Blah, blah,” Marcela responds like the elegant lady she was raised to be, peeking through the blinds to watch as the boy struggles with several bags full of groceries. She frowns. “Look at him, Guelos. He’s still so young that he takes one trip with ten bags. He’s — a child, practically. A baby. With a mortgage. Who authorized this?”

Her husband sighs, pushing his chair out to come stand next to her. She opens the blinds a couple millimetres wider to help him see, leaning into the hand he places on her back.

“We were young too, you know. No older than him the year you were pregnant with Luis.”

Marcela frowns at him. “Yes, but we were young together. We both had savings, and jobs. I’d been practically raising my siblings for years, at that point. You’d been working since you were twelve. Times were — different, Miguel.”

She turns back to the window. The boy, who just moved in a few days ago, is standing on the small veranda, staring at the door. He looks down at his hand, laden with bags, and then back at the door. Marcela has to bite her lip to keep from smiling, despite her worry.

Miguel slides his hand across her shoulders, pulling her close and pressing a lingering kiss to her head. She closes her eyes, leaning into it, curling her fist at his sternum.

“Times have changed,” he agrees softly, words muffled against her skin. “We’ll keep an eye on him.”

“Okay,” she breathes. She watches over her husband’s shoulder as the boy finally gives up, dropping the groceries to the ground and digging around his pockets for his keys. It was funny before, but he looks so — defeated. Sad. Like this was the frustrating cherry on top of an already difficult day.

Or maybe she’s reading into things. She watches until he finally gets inside, door closing forcefully behind him, and she knows in her heart that she will not be able to leave it be.

———

Marcela is nosy.

“Why are we here,” Lancito whines, trying and failing to pull away from her hand.

“Because we are being neighbourly,” Marcela responds primly. She sees him stick out his tongue from the corner of his eye and decides to let him have it.

“You just want to see the inside of the new guy’s house,” he mutters.

Marcela’s jaw drops, because how the hell did that little brat know that, but before she can say anything the lock turns and she schools her face quickly back into her brightest smile, slightly strained. Lance, suddenly shy, hides behind her legs.

“…Hi,” the boy says. He looks — wary, slightly, but not too uncomfortable.

Marcela takes it for the win it is.

“Hello,” she says, softening considerably. The boy reminds her sharply of her brother. He had that same look to him, the eyes of someone older than he is; the posture of someone who seems to simply understand the world on a deeper level. His slight, awkward smile is identical, as well. She has to blink back tears, heart aching in missing him. “I’m Marcela. I live next door. These are for you.”

She holds out the plate of tostones, covered in aluminum foil. She’d originally had them in a container, but then worried that he’d feel pressured to wash and return it. She moved the tostones from the plate to the container so many times that Marco had walked over from where he was doing his homework, grabbed her hands, guided her gently to the side, and fixed the plate up himself. Miguel had laughed until he cried, because apparently he’s hankering for a divorce. (He’d laughed harder when she’d said that.)

“Oh.” The boy blinks, surprised. He stares at the plate for a moment, wary look on his face replaced with something like confusion.

“They’re tostones,” Lancito offers, peeking out from behind her. The boy startles, looking at Lance with wide eyes. Lance takes his awkwardness for ignorance. “They’re squashed plantains that are fried. Plantains are like bananas but better. Mamá makes them really good.”

Slowly, the boy reaches out and grabs the plate. He peels back the aluminum foil slightly, peeking inside.

“They look good,” he agrees, voice soft.

Lancito scoffs. He steps out from behind her, offense making him brave, but still hold on to the hem of her shirt. “Um, duh. They’re tostones.” He looks hungrily at the plate. “Mamá spent all morning making them and we didn’t get any. You must be her favourite neighbour or something.”

“Leandro-Agustín,” Marcela hisses, cheeks flushing. Lance only stares back at him with a puzzled expression, hand raised in a universal, what?

Luckily, though, the boy doesn’t seem to notice, or if he does he doesn’t say anything. He only slowly peels back the aluminum farther and offers the plate towards Lance. Lance looks back at Marcela, questioning. Marcela sighs.

Quickly, so she doesn’t change her mind, Lance snatches the closest one and shoves it in his mouth. The boy’s small smile gets a little bit bigger. He picks up his own tostone and takes a bite, inclining his head after swallowing.

“You were right,” he says. “They are delicious. Thank you, Mrs. Marcela.”

“Just Marcela is fine,” she assures.

The boy hesitates, face twitching. “I don’t think I can physically do that,” he says politely. “I can feel my grandmother rolling in her grave.”

Marcela snorts. “Alright, fair. I can live with the formalities, I suppose.”

The boy has the same tiny smile again. It brightens his eyes, makes his whole face look younger.

“I’m Takashi,” he says. He goes to offer his hand to shake, but there’s only —

The stump of his right arm twitches. The boy — Takashi — stiffens. Marcela watches, despondent, as his expression shutters, and he steps back.

“Thank you for coming,” he says robotically. “I appreciate the food.”

Marcela knows a dismissal when she hears one. She anguishes, once again, in the privacy of her own mind, just how young this kid is. Barely older than Luis.

“I’m right next door,” she says softly. Lance, ever observant, watches the two of them closely. “If you need anything, Takashi, let us know.”

The boy nods stiffly. He closes his door without another word. Marcela sighs.

“You’re gonna need another plate of nosy food,” Lance observes. “Or maybe you should invite him for dinner, and then he’ll invite you for dinner. That might work better.”

Marcela guides them down the steps and back to their house, kissing him gently on the head. “I think you’re right, mijo. You wanna help me make some cookies?”

They’ll get there.

[conspicuous-clown-car]

god i just imagined,, getting all cozy with moon on a chilly day in autumn, and watching over the garden wall. i think he’d really like it

[lottieedotsblog]

[putterphubase]

I was asking Ai to bring this food to his dad. Can you take him there?

For sure.

See? Yu is such a good boy.

[moe-broey]

Amateur Hour but I gotta outsource this. Aromantics. Heed my call. What is "romantic" love to a non-believer?

Bonus Round if you're not entirely ace -- does experiencing any amount of sexual attraction influence your answer? Also acknowledging that both aro/ace identities exist on a spectrum. Believe me. I am deeply familiar... with so many kinds of spectrums........... 🧍

Also if this breaches containment It's Not That Serious........... just a personal question. For a friend. Me 🙂‍↕️