#imagine not knowing why a receipt is important

[yumeboshi]

Congratulations Yume on 100 followers! Every milestone is important. For the event could I request a spooky white chocolate sundae? Can’t wait to see everything you write!

❝ THANK YOU FOR YOUR ORDER、 @karamazovski .ᐟ ⟡ HERE IS YOUR RECEIPT FROM CAFÉ YUME ⟡

𐙚GHOST-WHITE SPOOKY SUNDAE：it isn’t halloween but it’ll certainly make you feel like it is。

𐙚 dish desc。．a horror movie date apparently wasn’t enough for him, so he decides to make his own in reality.

．。𝜗𝜚 labels。the desc kind of says it all, general yandere themes, mentions of gore and violence, filthy, yes, filthy… guys dw i.. I write for sunday fluff too.., MINORS DNI

．。𝜗𝜚 ingredients。sunday ahaha

#SྀིྀིྀིྀིྀིྀིྀིྀིUNDAY

THIS was probably not the desired date you wanted with your fiancé.

you were expecting a romantic movie night. you and sunday promised to watch a fun horror movie at your place that was airing in the penacony theater most recently. you loved horror movies. you really did.

you liked them when they stayed as movies, though.

you’re not sure how to react— your home smells of rotting corpses and a total bloodbath, as if you’re walking around a massacre aftermath. it even looks like a horror movie set, except it’s genuinely real, every single writhing limb under piles of bodies is real. the smell of death is too thick to be called fake.

was sunday hurt? was he killed? you feel your head spinning in desperate circles. the blood looked too fresh for the killer to have left already. you don’t even want to imagine what would happen if he was not here. you loved him like he was your soulmate— perfect, soft, and always worrying over you. you grip your fists tightly to prevent the lump in your throat from advancing forward.

you notice something playing in the background and realize the tv is left on- it’s currently airing a movie, a kids movie, you can tell; by how Clockie scurries around the screen, babbling about the ‘deadly halloween season’ and how it would doom them all.

the movie wasn’t even close to scary- there wasn’t any blood and it was just about boss stone causing a Halloween chaos, but your current situation sure was, and the constant cartoony gibberish that continues to fill the menacing air didn’t help ease your nerves.

“sunday?” you whisper anxiously. he couldn’t have died, right? he was the head of the oak family. you don’t see anyone you recognize in the corpses either, not that you want to take a closer look.

there’s no response, so you uncomfortably open the only door that’s closed in your estate- the bathroom. you try to open it, but it’s securely locked. with a panic you try to unlock it desperately.

and it all happens too fast. the door suddenly springs open and you’re met by a figure covered in blood who knocks you instantly to the crimson-stained tiles, a knife right at your throat. you don’t even have the time to scream because of how everything moved unreasonably fast.

but suddenly, they chuckle- it starts as a low laugh, and it slowly escalates creepily. the knife on your throat is slowly removed and you feel the coldness leave your neck, albeit you feel it has caused a brief dent on it.

“you scared me, sweetheart.” between laughs, the figure removes the golden mask from his face— and graces you with handsome features that are all too familiar. your gut twists and fresh nausea quickly engulfs your senses. you don’t want this to be true. you beg this wasn’t true.

“…sunday?” your mind spins with unanswered questions you honestly don’t want to be answered- why, how, when? “what are you doing?” you try to find an ounce of his innocence anywhere. “did a killer come here? did anything happen? are you h-hurt?”

His wings brush your petrified ghostly face- golden eyes dripping like honeyed ichor, he caresses your cheek with a chuckle. “please, don’t give me those questions, angel.”

“i love you very much, as you know,” he continues; and you desperately hang on for a rational explanation- he smiles slightly at your begging look, knowing that he unfortunately cannot meet your needs. “i thought you were finally my little dove, my only sweetheart- i thought we were perfectly meant to be.” with a gentle hoist he lifts you up like a bride, and if you ignored the gruesome truth hard enough, the scene is almost romantic- but the way his shoes clink against the scarlet-coated floor with a sticky ooze lets you know this isn’t your idealistic romance movie, but a scene straight out of thriller.

“w-we still can be,” you whisper, an attempt to quell whatever he was going to do- or a desperate last attempt to convince yourself that he’s still the man you loved.

“oh, no. we can’t be, sweetheart— not with all these people interrupting us.” he gestures absently to the room- his eyes are all on you, and you wonder why you are seeing just how that his lovely golden eyes have deceived you to think that they were filled with love- when it was not. no, it was obsession, you can see the way they burn with a primal desire that is far too strong to be called love. They are glued onto you as he lies you down to the couch like you’re a diamond placed in a museum glass box.

“and at last, I could finally get rid of them at once- since ive heard you love horror movies and Halloween, my dear, this shouldn’t be too frightening for you.” he extends a hand to you to which you shy away from, scared- he smiles at that. “—i won’t harm you even if i was asked to, love, unless you like that.” with a swift nip, he pulls his snow-white gloves from his hands- now stained with blood that’s not his, he discards them to the floor with a sigh. “it’s certainly a shame to see my favorite attire and gloves all go to waste, though. Although, I’m sure it will be worth the pain.”

you are not sure how to respond- your rationale tells you to scream and run away from this maniacal angel that has lost his wings to descend into hell long ago— but your heart is begging you to stay, because you know he is the closest thing you had to a partner in life, the one angel that never left your side. when you are torn between how to act, his hands are already lifting up your shirt, exposing you to the chill of danger.

“I’m still the same man you loved, you know,” he whispers, his eyes lose some of their sadism and soften into everlasting gentleness. you’re not ready to look into them though, so try to look away— only for him to grip your chin to make you look back— you see your horror reflected inside his golden pupils that drink in your fear— and curve like the eyes of a jack-o-lantern.

he loves your fear. he loves the look you’re giving him a little too much, that he can’t help but let out a soft groan. oh, how he wants to take you right here and now, watching your entrance filled to the brim with cum, his cum- leaking out prettily to the sides as he pounds into you senselessly while promising you he’s going to be the perfect husband, the perfect father for your kids— and you’d be such a pretty wife, too, but he can’t, not when you are not married yet. he wants to keep his desires under control until his everlasting vows are bestowed right on your fingers, until you are his and his only.

the way he breathes into your skin, smiling adoringly at you without a care to the grotesque crimson room, makes you feel as if ants are crawling inside the pit of your stomach. it’s uncomfortable, you know you should leave him at this instant. he was breaking you. he was ruining your capability to think.

but why is it that no matter how hard you try to force the words out, that you don’t love him- not like this, you can’t utter a single syllable? maybe it is his hand doing wonders to you, ghosting over your skin, making your body jerk up and tremble. or maybe it’s the way how smoothly he kisses your lips that are dry with terror, cooing broken promises about how nothing is going to change, and that you’re still his happy future wife, forever and ever.

[severinapina]

No one ———————- ONE SHOT

With her chin resting on her left palm, Shoko Ieiri stared out the window of her office, bored. She’d have to head down to the morgue soon. There weren’t any bodies to deal with this time, but still, what a hassle! If she had known this would be her reward after six years in medical school, she never would have paid that girl to take the test for her.

But here she was. B-o-r-e-d. She started scrolling, looking for something that made sense, but it was all the same crap: pretty faces, perfect bodies, and pristine smiles.

She looked at herself in the mirror. A set of dark circles worthy of a Tim Burton muse. She touched them, trying to remember what her face looked like without them. Her eyes wandered automatically to the drawers of her desk. The first one was filled with important documents. The second held her glass, her whiskey bottle, and her spare pack of cigarettes. The third was the most infamous. And no, it didn’t contain +18 doujinshis of her OTP or the receipt for her Gentleman Studio Sesshomaru figure, but something, in her opinion, worse: remnants of her first big hobby.

She clicked her tongue and looked out the window again. Trees, old buildings, more trees. God, how much of her life had she already spent in this place?

“About seventy percent,” she said to herself, lighting a cigarette. “By all the gods, I’ve turned into Masamichi. How awful.”

She opened the window and took a deep drag from her cigarette. As she exhaled, she saw the idiot in the courtyard with Panda and Maki. He had that smirk that made him look like a smug platypus and was wearing a ridiculous white bandage. She checked the time. What were they doing out there at 11:45 PM? Probably some dumb stunt only that brain-dead head could come up with.

She was about to close the window when she heard it.

“Hey, Shoko! Wait up, I’m coming up!”

“Dammit, thirteen years with him and I still forget he has X-Men senses,” she thought, while spraying some vanilla air freshener.

Satoru kicked open her door, as usual, the big oaf.

“Long time no see! Look what I got for you.”

Gojo tossed around thirty keychains from different cities in Japan onto her desk. Shoko started massaging her temples, showing her stress.

“I don’t even want to imagine what all this junk is.”

Without an invitation, Satoru plopped down in the comfiest chair, which of course, belonged to Shoko.

“Maki and Panda called me rude for not bringing gifts, so I started bringing these.”

“I think what they meant was that you always bring delicious and fancy sweets ONLY for yourself, when you know the custom is to bring something for everyone else.”

“Nah,” Gojo said, picking his nose.

Shoko sighed.

“Fine, I don’t want them.”

“Give them to your boyfriend Ijichi then.”

“HE’S NOT MY BOYFRI…!” The sorceress interrupted herself. She didn’t have the patience to deal with the albino. “What do you want, Gojo?”

“What are you doing here at this hour?”

Shoko walked over, pulled out her whiskey bottle, and tried to move Satoru from her chair, unsuccessfully. Resigned, she flopped down on the sofa.

“Night shift. What I don’t get is what you were doing with the guys at this hour. Though, honestly, I don’t care. I just want to know why you decided to come to my office. I don’t believe for a second that all this junk is for me.”

Satoru propped his feet up on the desk.

“Your third drawer. I’ve been dying to know what’s in it.”

Shoko looked at him, confused and annoyed.

“Have you been snooping through my stuff?”

“Yep. And the third one is the only one I couldn’t open.”

Shoko stood up and threw her glass at him, knowing he’d refuse it.

“That’s why nobody can stand you!”

Satoru started laughing.

“Nanamin likes me.”

“Oh, Gojo, no one’s more delulu than you.”

“You like me too, Shoko.”

Ieiri sat back down. Sure, lately she couldn’t stand him and resented him for how he acted after Haibara’s death, but she still cared about him. How could she not? He had been one of her dearest friends. Along with the other damn guy.

She tossed him the keys to her drawer.

“Look for yourself if you dare.”

Satoru opened it with a satisfied grin, and Shoko swore his face lit up as he pulled out her things: the Polaroid, the digital camera, the analog one, and a box full of photos.

The albino started flipping through them quickly, laughing at some, making disgusted faces at others (probably the ones of Utahime), and sighing at a good number.

You didn’t have to be a Nobel Prize winner in astrophysics to guess which ones made him sigh.

Suddenly, Satoru took off the bandage. He began to examine a series of photos with attention. Shoko watched him, curious.

“What did you find?”

Satoru showed her. In the first one, he was laughing out loud. In the second, Suguru was doing the same. In the third, both of them were laughing.

“I remember the exact moment you took this.”

*

Spring 2006 had just begun. As usual, the number of curses had increased, and naturally, Suguru and Satoru were very busy. Not only did they have to deal with exorcising them but also planning strategies. They used to do this while walking around the academy. Suguru said it helped him think more clearly and, besides, he could be alone with Satoru without anyone bothering them.

That day, however, things felt strange, a bit heavy. Suguru noticed that Satoru was uncomfortable and very quiet.

“Don’t you have anything to add to our plan?”

The albino shook his head.

“Sure? Not even a thing? Doesn’t it bother you that I’m doing most of the exorcising?”

“No, not at all, and it doesn’t bother me.”

Suguru stopped walking. That was really odd. Satoru kept walking at a fast pace until he realized Geto had fallen behind.

“Hey, Suguru, what’s wrong, idiot?”

Geto felt offended. That was uncalled for.

“What’s wrong with you, moron? You haven’t said anything and you don’t care that I’m doing almost all the exorcising. That’s weird.” Suguru sighed and approached him. He took his shoulder affectionately. “Sorry for calling you a moron, it’s just that I don’t understand you. Are you mad?”

Satoru bit his lip. Yes, his attitude was weird, but he wasn’t mad. Or at least not at Suguru. What was bothering him was deeply related to him, but he didn’t know how to express it. He furrowed his brows and his body tensed.

Noticing his reactions, Suguru came even closer. He caressed his cheek with the back of his hand and then took his chin.

“You can tell me. That’s what I’m here for.”

“No, it’s just... the situation has put me in a bad mood.”

“Do you want me to tell you a joke?” he asked with a smile. “If I make you laugh, you’ll tell me what’s going on. Deal?”

Gojo looked at him incredulously. Suguru didn’t tell jokes. Suguru was into making lists, recounting historical facts no one cared about, and deep philosophical reflections.

“Okay. Deal.”

Puffing up his chest and pointing to the sky with his index finger, he said:

“Why did the scarecrow win an award?”

Gojo looked at him over his glasses.

“Suguru…”

“Answer, albino.”

“I don’t know. Why?”

Suguru widened his eyes and did a little pose.

“Because he was outstanding in his field!”

Satoru stared at him with his mouth open. He looked at Suguru, who was laughing by himself. That joke was terrible. So terrible it came around full circle. Suddenly, he burst into a loud laugh.

“Please, don’t quit sorcery to become a comedian,” he said, laughing.

Geto shrugged and then kissed his cheek.

“I’m not interested in doing that, unless it’s to make you laugh.”

Gojo took his hand, excited. Suguru was too good to be true. And too good for him.

“I’m angry, Suguru.”

“Why?”

Because…” Gojo took a deep breath. What he was about to say was incredibly difficult for him. “...I’m constantly thinking about you. Listen: all the time. It doesn’t leave me alone, whatever I do, your damn violet eyes, your stupid hair, and your voice come to mind. Your voice is the one that annoys me the most, you know?”

Suguru looked at him, trying to hold back a smile.

“Why, Satoru?”

“There! Right there! You say my name like the fucking Hello Kitty is speaking! It’s so sexy I don’t know what pants to wear!”

Now Geto couldn’t hold back his laughter.

“Satoru, if Hello Kitty seems sexy to you, I think I should call the police.”

Gojo rolled his eyes.

“I meant it’s like a purr, Suguru.”

Geto touched the tip of his nose with his index finger.

“And you? You say Suguru like you want to sweep my name away with a broom.”

“…the fuck does that mean?”

Suguru started laughing.

“I don’t know!” he exclaimed, hugging him.

Gojo started laughing too. He ran his fingers through Suguru’s hair, thinking that Suguru’s love was wonderfully improbable, like a flower blooming in the middle of winter, like a shooting star on a full moon night, like a black swan among a flock of white ones. And definitely, like a dream come true.

“Are you not mad anymore?” Suguru asked, taking his hand and starting to walk. In the distance, Shoko could be seen with her camera.

“You knew I’m not like your Russian authors when it comes to talking about love when you wanted to be my boyfriend, Suguru.”

Geto laughed again.

“I’m not sure it’s the best example, but…”

“And now what are you laughing about!?

“About my name being swept away with a broom and yours coming out of Hello Kitty’s mouth.”

Satoru blushed and started laughing too. Shoko approached with her camera.

“Hey! What are you two laughing about?”

Both of them stopped laughing and surrounded their friend.

“Nothing”, they said in unison. The three of them started walking.

After a few minutes, Gojo said:

“Suguru.”

Geto burst into laughter and, between laughs, said:

“Satoru.”

Both laughed until they were in tears.

Suddenly, Suguru kissed Satoru on the mouth.

”No one makes me laugh like you do. No one.”

Shoko looked at them, pretending to be disgusted. “When did they fall so much in love?” she thought as her camera clicked.

*

Back in the present, in Shoko’s office, a small tear ran down Satoru’s face as he remembered the earlier moment. His eyes looked strangely dim and his lips curved downwards. The sorceress, surprised by his expression and moved by her friend's story, said:

“Take it if you want.”

Gojo nodded.

“Perfect, because I have to leave. It’s getting late.”

Shoko looked at the clock. Half past twelve. Where would he have to be at this hour?

Satoru opened the door to leave, but Shoko stopped him.

“Hey, Gojo, I wanted to ask you, what’s with the bandage? Are you cosplaying as Shishio or something?

Gojo opened a chocolate bar and started munching on it before answering.

“It’s so my head doesn’t hurt as much and, in a way, to see less crap.”

“Interesting. Why didn’t you think of this before?”

The albino smiled cryptically.

“Because it was someone smarter than me’s idea”,he said, while putting the photo in his pocket.

Shoko quickly put two and two together. Of course, it had to be his idea, which only meant one thing.

“Gojo, don’t tell me that…”

”Do you really want to know?”

She lit another cigarette and refilled his glass. She didn’t want to know. That would make her an accomplice.

“Is there really no one else you’re interested in, Gojo? It’s been nine years.”

Satoru adjusted his bandage again, took a candy from his pocket, and smiled.

“No one.”

With that said, he left.

Shoko sighed and, while sitting in her chair, pondered aloud.

“When did they fall so much in love?”

———————📸📷————————-🖤🤍

Art by x.com/sad_eris23

[silentglassbreak]

Fragmented

Noah Sebastian x OFC

Please don’t hate me…but it’s gonna get worse. 😬

Warnings: Nothing crazy, just a lot of wanting to rip your own hair out.

+It goes without saying. This is a work of fiction. My words are mine. Plagiarism is a crime.

Taglist: @flowery-mess @lma1986 @myownthoughts12 @poisongirl616 @missduffsblog @reidsblessing @malerieee @jilliemiw86

Part 3 - Drowning

One thing I’ve always prided myself on, is my innate ability to avoid an issue as long as humanly possible. Maybe that’s not a good thing? Maybe it’s just delaying an inevitable issue? That being said, in this particular situation, my problem was a person, and her name was Rachel.

So, naturally, I was avoiding her like the mother fucking plague.

I’m only a human, and a man, at that. I am not blind, I see the issue at hand. I’m attracted to her. And that’s a fucking problem. I could go down the list of reasons why that is a problem, and I have, hundreds of times, over the last three days. However, I decided very quickly after our last encounter that the best possible option was to keep a wide enough distance, not be obvious about it, and survive until I made it back to California and in the arms of the only person I know can make the problem disappear.

I had this plan, and although, with all of my certainty, I knew that it’s not the best one, to see Mileena after the show in San Diego, and have some very serious PDA in front of everyone.

Now, that wasn’t out of the norm for Leena and I, as it was pretty clear to everyone that we were wild for each other. So badly that the other members of our group were sometimes uncomfortable by it.

Then, once I had Mileena to myself, before I allowed anything fun to happen, I would tell her.

I would tell her about Rachel; my giving her a ride home, her answering the door nearly naked, inviting me in to her room.

Might leave out the part where I jerked off to her face, and body, and black boy shorts that barely covered her.

That was what I would take to my grave.

So, imagine my chagrin when Rachel spent the three days following the excursion trying to fucking corner me.

It started with a text I woke up to.

Rachel: Noah…can we talk?

Absolutely not.

The next text came once we were on the bus, and I was safely locked into my bunk.

Rachel: Are you asleep?

Yup.

Then, once we made it to the venue in Atlantic City, and were finishing up the M&G, the next one came.

Rachel: Noah, I really need to talk to you before the show. It’s important.

I sent Nick to go find her, to see if it was a tech issue. I hardly felt like I could handle that again, with all of this other nonsense swirling around in my head. It wasn’t, and she asked where I was.

Nick, none the wiser, sent her to the green room. When I saw the door open, a flash of blonde hair behind it, I slipped into the bathroom.

I heard her sigh heavily, and then the next text came in. This one gave me pause.

Rachel: Well, clearly you’re avoiding me, so I guess I’ll just text you. I just wanted to tell you that I am so fucking sorry. I wish I could say I don’t know what came over me, but I do. Alcohol and absolute insanity. Noah, please believe me when I tell you that I know you are in a relationship, and respect the hell out of that. What happened last night will never happen again. I just don’t want this to ruin our friendship or work relationship. Hopefully this text makes you open to talking after the show.

By this time, I had long since turned my read receipts off, and just stared at the message.

I almost replied. Almost. But, my sane mind taking over, slipped my phone back into my pocket instead.

We didn’t stay at a hotel. Rather, we showered at the venue, and were back on the road within two hours after the show had ended. We had an painfully long drive back to San Diego, so we had to get moving fast.

I laid in my bunk, headphones blasting Sleep Token’s latest album, and was feverishly texting Leena.

I had hoped she hadn’t picked up on my extra-neediness since the night prior, and just chalked it up to me being homesick.

Leena: Addie is walking more. She took twelve straight steps today without falling down!

Me: Oh FUCK YEAH. My little fucking rockstar!

Leena: She misses you so much.

Me: I miss her too. I miss you both more than life itself. But after SD, I’m done touring for at least six months. Probably will never tour again so I don’t miss you guys so much.

Leena: Oh you’re so cute when you lie.

I couldn’t tell if the text was cold or not?

Me: I’m serious. I can’t do this shit without you guys. I’m missing so many of Addie’s milestones.

Leena: We’ll see baby. And I’ll see you tomorrow. I’ve got to get some sleep. I love you, Noah.

Me: I love you more, Leena.

Leena: Promise?

Me: Always.

I had been catching up on the newest season of Stranger Things when I noticed the bus was quiet. I checked the time and saw it was nearly 3AM. I heard and felt no movement about the hallway, so I carefully slid my bunk door open, and hopped out. I was dying for some water and had to pee something fierce.

I froze coming to the end of the hall, noticing a blue light emitting from the couch in the front. I realized quickly it was Folio, and took a relieving breath. I approached him, but he didn’t acknowledge me.

“Hey, late night?” He was staring at his laptop screen, clicking away at the keys.

“Mmm.” Was the only response I received.

I decided disturbing him was probably not the best idea, so I slipped into the bathroom silently. When I stepped back into the hall, he was no longer seated, and was standing at the fridge with the door open.

“I think Nick ate my fucking lunchable.”

I snorted, reaching in next to him for a water bottle. “Probably.”

I cracked the cap and took a long pull. Folio eventually closed the door with a huff, and looked directly at me.

“So,” His eyes were oddly serious, not something I see much in Nick Folio. I raised an eyebrow.

“So?”

“Are you and Rachel just not speaking anymore, or…?”

I felt my heart drop down into my feet, my stomach simultaneously wrapping in a tight knot.

“What do you mean?” I kept myself cool.

“Well, she’s been asking for you, and we keep sending her your way, but she somehow never seems to find you?” His voice had a deadly evenness to it that made my skin crawl. Unless he lived in my brain, what the fuck could he possibly know?

“Well, it was a busy day.” I took another swig of my water to hopefully hide my uneasiness.

He pursed his lips and narrowed his eyes. “Yeah? I guess.”

I nodded, hoping that was the end of it. Until he spoke again.

“You guys seemed friendly at the club the other night.”

That was it. Put a bullet between my fucking eyes.

Despite all of my efforts to hide the absolute terror I felt, I knew instantly that it was showing through. He raised his brows in response.

I tried to answer, but choked a little on the residual water in my mouth. I cleared my throat and closed the bottle.

“I just gave her a ride, dude.”

Nick eyed me from head to toe, not buying it.

“Yeah? Cause she seemed real sure about what was going to go down that night. Then you disappeared for an hour.”

My eyes blasted open. “What did you just say?”

Folio tossed his hands up in defense to my sharp tone. “Listen man, I’m no snitch. Not saying I’m going to go crying to Leena about it, but you may not want to shit where you sleep - you get me?”

My jaw had hit the floor, broken through the bottom of the bus, and was tearing along the Indiana asphalt beneath us,

“Folio, you’ve fucking lost it, dude!” He shook his head in amusement, clearly not believing me. “Nothing fucking happened with Rachel! I gave her a fucking ride. That’s it!”

My voice rose, so I instantly brought it back down, not wanting to alert the six other people sleeping.

He nodded then, his body language changing slightly. “Yeah?” He put his hand out to me, fist pushed forward. “On God?”

I bumped his fist. “On God, Buddha, Odin, or whatever other deity. Nothing fucking happened.”

He sighed. “Okay. I believe you dude.” I sighed in relief. “But Noah?” I glanced back up at his face. “If you’re telling the truth, then you should know, she said some pretty graphic shit about you at the bar. Claiming she had you wrapped around her finger, and she could get you into bed. Even with Mileena in the picture.” He glanced knowingly down the bus hallway.

“Watch out for that, dude. I thought Rachel was cool. I might’ve even had a thing for her. But hearing the way she talked about you? Something ain’t right.”

-

The salty, warm air of San Diego wrapped its arms around us as we stepped off of the bus at the hotel. It was refreshing, being so close to the finish line. Aside from my own bout of homesickness, I could see the guys were exhausted, and we were all ready for the post-tour coma, and being in the comfort of our own homes.

The hotel check-in process was tedious. Rachel stood at the counter, handing out keys as the attendant handed them to her.

“Nick.” He snatched his and walked back over to where I stood, waiting. “Folio.”

He took his card without looking at her. Something told me he was a little more than salty about this entire debacle.

“Jolly.” Only one left. “And, Noah.”

When my fingers took the key, her head whipped over and her eyes pierced up at me. I averted my gaze, plucking the card out of her hand, and intended to head to my room immediately.

“Hey! Who let these misfits in here?!”

Everyone’s heads whipped around, looking for the source of the voice. Her eyes were the first thing I caught, a day-breaking smile tearing across my face.

Mileena and Laura were walking through the lobby, waving at us. As soon as Mileena saw me, she broke out in a run. She always did when we were away for so long. It was one of her hopeless romantic traits that I indulged in at every opportunity.

I immediately unshouldered my backpack and began jogging toward her. Her body slammed into mine with only a force she could accomplish. My arms instinctively wrapped around her, securing her right into place against my chest.

I immediately got a face full of her midnight black hair, the scent invading my senses. She smelled like rose hips, fresh brewed coffee, Addison, and home. An overwhelming sense of ease washed over my skin.

Jesus fucking Christ, I love this girl.

She pulled herself back far enough to press her face against mine, her lips mashing mine in a frantic attempt to get as close as possible. My own fought back, nipping her bottom lip, before hers turned up into a smile.

“Thank fuck. I have been dying.” I croaked out.

Setting her feet on the ground, her arms snaked around my midsection, between the lapels of my jacket, burying the side of her face into my chest.

“Not as bad as I have.” Her words were a mumble.

“Look, we get it. You love each other. All star-crossed and shit.” We turned to look at Folio, who was smirking. “But do the rest of us get any love?”

She pulled away from me then, quickly wrapping Folio in an airtight hug. “Ah, I missed you too, punk.”

He chuckled at her and let her go. She made her rounds, even giving Rachel a one-armed embrace, which is when I noticed the look of humiliation on her freckled-face. Standing against Leena, my brain seemed to snap right back into place.

There was no contest. Mileena was stunning. Drop fucking dead mouthwatering. Rachel was…not.

After she made her way back over to me, I slung an arm easily over her shoulders, pulling her close enough to press a soft kiss on the top of her head.

“I thought you guys weren’t coming until tonight?” Nick was standing questionably close to Laura, which caught my eye immediately.

The latter shrugged, and pointed to Leena. “She showed up at my house at 9AM, insisting we leave sooner.”

“Best decision, honestly.” Was all I added.

We all began our trek toward the elevators, stepping in together. My room was on the second floor, so Leena and I stood at the front.

“Guys, I, uh, get you haven’t seen each other in three months, but,” Jolly’s voice was awkward. “we’ve only got like an hour until we have to head to the venue for sound check.”

The doors opened, and I nodded to my friend, acknowledging him. I then turned my head back to my girl, now standing outside the elevator, and flashed her a devilish grin.

“You better fucking run.”

-

Mileena has this way of moaning, and I can’t exactly describe how this is even possible, that sends a legitimate shiver up my spine. It’s chemical, the way her voice raises pitch and cracks at the end. How sometimes it’s my name rolling off her tongue, or just an incomprehensible noise, that makes me coil up and breath ragged. She has me by my fucking hair, and shows no signs of letting up.

Her eyes are always so wet, pleasure-soaked tears spilling down her cheeks, when she’s looking up at me whenever I’m burying myself inside of her.

She looks at me, not like she loves me, but like she knows me. Like she needs me. Like I’m the entire fucking universe and she is just spinning helplessly in some uneven orbit. It’s fucking unbelievable.

So when I finally reach my end, and am collapsed on top of her, fighting for air, I’m also peppering soft, affectionate kisses on her neck while she giggles tiredly.

“You’ve been so warm and fuzzy lately. I’m into it.”

I snicker into her skin, blowing warm air across her throat. “Can you blame me? I’m fucking obsessed with you.”

She sat up slowly, pulling herself away from me.

“And I, you, my love.” She stood off the bed, eyes searching the floor for her panties. “It just kind of came on suddenly. You sure you’re okay?”

She was concerned, which caused a lead brick to form in my gut. It’s guilt. I feel guilty.

“I mean, I’m fine.” I tried to waive a nonchalant hand to brush it off, but she still quirked her eyebrow the way she does, telling me I’m not getting away that easy.

“Yeah? Not very convincing there, Sebastian.” Her tone is playful, but there’s something under it.

“Just been a weird couple of days.”

She was pulling her leggings on. “How so?”

She was still so casual, but I know Mileena. She needed to know.

“Well-“ But before I could continue, there was a a loud banging on the door.

I fully expected to hear Jolly, or Nick, but instead, Rachel’s high-pitched whine came through the door.

“We’re leaving in 5 minutes, Noah! With or without you!”

I saw the face Leena made in response to the thick attitude laced in Rachel’s voice. “Damn, I wonder what’s got her so crabby?”

I sighed, and turned my back toward her while searching for my shirt. “Who knows.”

Soundcheck took way too long today, having to continuously stop for minute inconveniences. One of the laptops crashed, so we were at a complete standstill for about fifteen minutes. In that time, Nick and I decided to take a second look at the set list, trying to switch things up.

“Guys?” We both looked up to see her, galloping toward us, a stressed look on her face. Rachel was wearing a low-cut tee today, with black cargo pants and army boots.

“Listen, this computer is giving us a hell of a time, and I just don’t trust it. Would one of you run out to the bus and grab the backup?”

Nick stood up straight and gave a military salute, before jogging off the stage toward the side door. I chuckled and shook my head, looking back down at the clipboard in my hand.

“Changing it up tonight?”

I scanned the paper over and over, not looking up at her. “Thinking about it.”

“Why not play a song you haven’t played in a while?”

I looked up at her. “Like what?”

She pursed her lips, thinking. “Worst in Me?”

I shook my head. “Song blows live. Plus, we haven’t performed it in years. I doubt any of us even remember how.”

“Well, you pulled off The Fountain a while back.”

The sharpness of her tone struck a cord, so I dropped the clipboard on the amp I sat on, and stood up.

“We did.” I stood tall. I felt challenged.

“So why not play something else from that album?”

Her eyes had something in them. It almost looked like malice.

“Because we only played that song for a very specific reason.”

She scoffed. I almost couldn’t believe I heard it, but there it was.

“For Mileena, right?”

This made me narrow my eyes. Folio was right, something is off about her.

“Yep. For Leena.” My words held no room for argument.

She nodded her head slowly, lolling her tongue around between her teeth, before turning on her heel and walking toward Nick, who had re-entered with the computer in hand.

Something in the pit of my stomach burned, in a very bad, terrifying way.

What the fuck had I gotten myself into?

-

The show ran relatively smoothly. Mileena and Laura stood at the rails, making it easy to come undone more while she watched. We had a good time with our set, goofing around and enjoying ourselves.

After, I made no effort to hang around the green room. I was tired, and all I could think about was Leena, in sweats, wrapped in a hotel comforter, braid in her hair, stuffing her face with a burrito while we watched Stranger Things. It sounded heavenly.

Evidently, the rest of the crew felt similarly, as everyone decided to journey back to the hotel together. It didn’t take long, a short ride over from the venue. I had opted to ride with Laura and Leena, nearly bouncing out of my seat while we talked about the show.

“The crowd was fucking awesome tonight!” I say in the middle of the backseat, leaning between the driver and passenger’s seats, my arm draped over to hold Leena’s hand.

“It’s because we were there.” Laura was confident in her statement, which made Leena and I crack up.

“Oh definitely. You screaming ‘Fuck it up Folio’ really got’em going Lo.”

The ride was easy, and even fun. It helped me ignore the growing anxiety in my stomach.

I had been trying to push it back to the depths of my brain, the conversation. I knew it had to happen, but I couldn’t decide when. Originally, I had planned to tell her when we got back to the hotel; rip the bandage off, so to speak.

My selfishness wanted to wait, have a nice, relaxing night with her before we got home, and I gave her the full rundown.

The scariest part of it all? I had not a clue how she would react.

Mileena was anything but the jealous type. She had watched meet and greets with girls hugging me way too long, interviews where the host flirted with me, concerts where I was literally grabbed by women. It never fazed her. She never let a slip of the eyes, or a twitch of the lips. She always just smiled and told me I was a rockstar. It’s normal.

So she would understand this, right?

Waiting in the elevator was painful. The bus had beat us back to the hotel, and we all ended up, once again, together rising through the hotel. I felt my chest release the breath I had been holding once the door opened. I took Mileena's hand in mine, walking us down the hallway, and headed into our room.

She made herself comfortable, kicking off her Converse near the side of the bed, and flopping down on the blankets.

"Ugh, I'm so tired."

I snorted, pulling my shirt over my head. "Oh, yes. I know you must be so wiped from standing."

She tossed a pillow at me, that I caught and tossed back at her, laughing in the process.

"Listen here, buddy, I've been at home with that demon baby you made, for months!"

I feigned shock, grabbing my chest. "Demon baby? Nah, not my Addie."

She stood back up off of the bed, grabbing her backpack and pulling out her pajama pants.

"Oh please, she's insane, and you know it."

I shrugged. "I mean, she's highly intelligent. She can't help it."

She shook her head and shimmied out of her jeans, but paused before she put her pants on, scrunching her nose.

"Could I ask for a big favor?"

I rolled my eyes dramatically. "Yes, Leena, I'll let you wear my sweats."

She smacked at me with her pants. "No, dork. Can I please shower first?"

I raised an eyebrow. "You want me to join you?" I smirked, sticking my tongue out of the corner of my mouth.

"No." She was abrupt, and my face fell. She let out a sheepish grin. "My period started this afternoon after you left. It's pretty horrendous. Real horror movie shit. I'd rather be alone for that."

I pressed my lips in a tight line and nodded. "Fair enough."

I personally didn't care if she was bleeding, and she knew that, but she did, at least for the first few days, and I respected that.

She tip-toed over to me, and pressed a light kiss on my cheek, smiling sweetly. "Thank you, baby!" She scurried to the bathroom and hollered before shutting the door. "Out in a few!"

I sighed, sitting on the bed, and turned the TV on, flipping to the option for the streaming networks, pulling up Netflix and getting the show ready. I then pulled the fridge door open to see it was understocked, only one water bottle left, and no sodas.

"Babe?" I called from the bed, and made my way toward the bathroom. "The mini fridge is bare. I'm going to run down to the lobby and grab stuff from the snack bar."

"Ginger ale please!" She called from the shower.

"You got it."

I slipped my shirt back on and left the room, making my way toward the lobby. The snack bar was full of food, drinks, and regular amenities.

I grabbed myself a Dr. Pepper, a ginger ale for her, a 3 Muskateers, a bag of skittles, and four water bottles. After telling the attendant to charge it to my room, I was headed back up. It wasn't until after I got off the elevator, plastic bag rustling the only sound around, did I hear the footsteps behind me. I ignored them, continuing my stride toward my room.

"Noah!"

The voice made me stop, and groan loudly. "You've got to be kidding me." I didn't even bother hiding my irritation.

I whipped around, nearly colliding with the body behind me.

"What do you want, Rachel?"

She stepped back, eyes wide. "Gosh, could you at least act like you don't hate me?"

I sighed loudly. "Your room isn't on this floor. What do you need?"

My impatience was clear, and it was meant to be.

"You're still ignoring me! You can't just pretend I don't exist. We work together."

"We're not working together right now. So, technically, yes I can." I turned to walk away, but her hand caught my arm.

"Noah, Jesus Christ!"

I was fed up, wound up, and fucking over this.

"What, Rachel?!" My voice was loud, but I didn't care. She was going to make me be mean to her, but I'd do what I had to, to get my point across.

She took a step toward me. "We never talked after the other night!"

"What the fuck is there to talk about?!"

To that, she looked offended. "Are you kidding? You're seriously going to sit here and act like the night at the club was nothing?!"

"It was nothing! Just because you dreamt up some crazed fantasy in your head about me, doesn't mean that anything that happened that night meant anything!"

She huffed, and I could see the tears welling in her eyes. I felt no sympathy.

"We had fucking fun, Noah! For once, I felt like you actually noticed me!"

My eyes had to mock something like disbelief, because she shrugged, wiping at her eyes.

"We've been working together a while now. I get anything and everything you need, always. I take care of you guys on tour. We spend every damn day together! And after all this time, you just feel nothing?!"

If my eyes were any wider, they may actually fall out of my skull.

"Are you kidding me?!" I took a step back. "That is your fucking job! That's what we fucking pay you for!"

"Oh, and the other night, when you fucking came to my room? That was just part of my job?!" She narrowed her eyes, an anger shining through. "I saw the way you looked at me, Noah. The car ride? The club?" She shrugged. "You didn't feel anything?"

I scrubbed my palm over my face. "No, Rachel! I didn't! I'm in a fucking relationship? What the fuck happened to respecting that?!"

"It's hard to respect when you're shoving it in my fucking face!"

"Shoving it in your face?! Since when does the fucking world revolve around you?!" I squeezed my eyes shut. "For fucks sake, Rachel! You've lost it, or something."

"I know you fucking thought about it, Noah. Tell me you fucking didn't."

For no good reason whatsoever, I was frozen again. Her voice, her eyes on me, she had me fucking cornered. Because if I said no, I was lying. If I said yes, I was an asshole. I wasn't sure which I preferred in that moment.

Her lips curled in a vicious smile. "You did. You wanted to come in that night. You wanted me."

She was fucking sick. Insane. Out of fucking control.

I let my voice fall flat and even. "Rachel, I'm going to warn you, you're playing a dangerous game here." I straightened my spine, standing much taller than her. "And I will remind you, I am your employer."

She shook her head. "You going to fire me for telling you I have feelings for you? After you ogled me half-naked? Yeah, that'll go over well."

My jaw dropped. What the fuck? How the fuck did I get here?

I just wanted to lay in bed, snuggle my girl, and eat fucking candy and junk food. I wanted my daughter, and my dog, and my house. I wanted to not be here. I could feel my throat closing.

"Look, I'll give you space. But, just think about it, okay?"

And with that, she turned around and made her way back down the hallway.

I'm not sure how long I stood there, stoic and frazzled, trying to urge myself to move. I was one foot in the grave if I didn't get ahead of this. I needed to talk to Nick, or Jolly, or Folio, or Sumerian, or a lawyer. I let the gears in my head slowly start again before I finally managed to turn around back toward my room.

I took a deep breath, attempting to gather myself before I slipped the card in and pushed the door open.

"Care to explain that?"

Her voice was hard, cold, concrete. She stood, hair still dripping, my Shippuden tee shirt hanging loose around her shoulders, arms crossed tightly across her body.

"I...I uh," My voice came out stuttered and choked. I didn't have the right words to form. "She...I....We...." It wasn't working. I was trying so hard, but I was stuck.

"Hurry up, Noah. You've got thirty fucking seconds."

I stood corrected. I was already in my grave.

[fatuismooches]

so i was thinking back to that post about pantalone getting the receipt of all the things dottore buys for fragile!reader. imagine pantalone, columbina, and maybe signora making elaborate plans to find out why on earth is dottore buying romance novels and tcg cards. their plans get increasingly ridiculous and the segments find it funny to see some of the most powerful people in teyvat kneeling on the ground and huddled up together, only the tops of their heads visible from behind the windows(or counter) of the lab. and when reader finds them while they're on their daily walk reader is all oh hey there :D

YESSSSS ily anon!! You know Pantalone would definitely get the others in on this... he is SELLING this story to them and gathering as much backup as he can (namely Columbina... I also hc she likes to make fun of Dottore lol) You can bet they are reading those romance novels to tease Dottore about later on lol (bina def recommends you some though)

The clones are having a field day with this whole situation. They can't blame the Harbingers though, you are so interesting and lovely... who wouldn't want to know you? Well, clearly their creator has a huge problem with the rest of the Fatui even knowing about their existence. He is adamant about them not speaking to you. Probably a mixture of it'll be a headache for him to deal with them *cough endless questions and teasing* and he's unsure if it'll cause stress to your health.

Dottore's lab is hella huge so on days you feel like being alone, you tend to go a good distance away from the center. So one day you see a few figures in the lab that you can't recognize you immediately get a bit on guard... and then you realize those are Dottore's co-workers, as he calls them. You sometimes caught a glimpse of them from far away, and Dottore always looked like was at this wit's end with them. Understandably you are rather excited to have some interaction with anyone that's not Dottore... and the Harbingers are just like 🧍���♀️ when you start prattling on with them so causally

The funny part is that a while ago I began working on a fic with this same concept, called "The Doctor's Beloved" and I can say I have a lot of brainrot from it😭

Snippets from the fic:

The Fatui Harbingers were gathered together for a very important meeting. At least, that was what the ones who had bothered to come thought. Instead, they were greeted with that familiar, infuriating smile of the Ninth Harbinger.

“I, Pantalone, call this Fatui meeting to order.”

--

Columbina spoke up, draped over Arlecchino’s shoulder. “Ah~, I’ve seen them before. But I can never get a good glimpse of their face… they always cover their face with a veil, just like how the doctor never takes his mask off. I wonder how they look…”

“Dottore’s actually spending research funds on this [Name]?” Childe gaped. “That crazy guy hardly ever thinks about anything else besides his beloved research.”

“Perhaps there is a person who shares that spot with him,” a new voice joined the conversation. Pulcinella had now entered the room.

--

“I mean what I said.”

“So you’re saying that…” one voice began.

“This [Name] person…” another continued.

“Is Dottore’s lover?!” an exclamation echoed from a few throughout the room.

[immortalbutterflycos]

I've come to realize something important in writing. (specifically in my personal experience)

(TLDR; I have ADHD and writing is hard even though I'm still doing it every single day. Make it make sense.)

If you have a story in your head that means a lot to you, and you need to take more time to develop and fully flesh it out before posting it, that's totally okay! In fact, in my experience, it has the potential to make the story better over time, really forming it into what you imagine it to be.

Here's an example because I just typed a lot of words and right now I can't seem to process whether they make sense or not.

I have a fanfic that I've been working on for a year now. (For the Marauders fandom if y'all are curious)

It's one that I haven't talked about much because every time I do, I end up losing the motivation to write. This is what happened to another one of my fics for the Haikyuu fandom. (well that and the Marauders.. yeah they fucked me up in the best way and Freckles and Constellations has really suffered because of it smh)

So the reason why this fic is taking so long is because it is such a specific AU that I'm out here trying to meld magic systems, and I've got like EIGHT MAIN CHARACTERS to write backstories for to fit this AU while also being true to them and even though I know the basic plot, there are just so many little details and aspects that will make this fic what I desperately need it to be.

And no one knows just how intricate it is or how important it is to me. Which is totally fine. I don't even know if people are going to read it when I finally manage to post it. This fic is purely self-indulgent.

let me just break down for you what I have prepared for this already:

countless drabbles and scenes and plans written on the backs of receipts and on bits of scrap paper

a 3" 3-ring binder that I've been trying to organize it all in

a google doc titled "TAoRfOL Doc Masterlist" that has links to every single doc I have for this one fic. (it's dated back to March of last year and as of this month has 93 total links. Only 5 of those are reference links.)

notes and ideas i have written in my phone to transfer into docs so I can add them to the masterlist

Hero Forge digital models of those 8 main characters because I wanted to see what their group would look like outside of my imagination

Multiple Spotify playlists dedicated to this fic and the characters which I listen to every single day. (currently @ 494 songs)

And you know what? I just recently, at 6 am this morning, finally figured out the solution to a fucking plot hole I could not work around.

Basically what I'm saying is that I needed all of this time. Every single day I see things and get inspiration. Every day I learn new things and fix errors in my own plans.

As much as I crave the validation and recognition for all of my hard work on this project, I know that If I had just bit the bullet and posted the first chapter without having done all of this research and all of this planning, then it would not have lived up to the story I have in my head.

I admire people who can just write without all of the added steps and in some cases, I can do that. I haven't been able to in a while (which is why that Valentine's Day microfic was actually really big for me to have posted) but that's just how my brain works.

I needed all of my experiences and all of my daily thoughts and all of my collective playlists for this fic to be able to write the story I intended and that is exactly what I'm going to do.

(though if I'm being honest, this timeline is rough. I really want to just write and post this first chapter so so so bad. ToT)

[butchsophiewalten]

im kinda worried about how jophie is gonna progress in the series, martin already has a habit of forgetting things about his charactes like their heights but i would also not be surprised if he forgot like actually important scenes with his characters like that one jophie dialogue on findjackwalten. im worried he's like completely lost the plot on how jenny and sophie should be

I never want to be needlessly mean, because I don't think it's ever very appropriate or helpful, but I can't lie this is honestly an insane thing to say. To me. Like idk. I don't think forgetting or misremembering something as innocuous as a character's height is indicative of a person being able to forget entire major elements of their story and thus completely mischaracterizing the main characters of their series.

Also, I guess you wouldn't know this, because I think it's only been brought up in spaces once or twice, but Martin does have character docs. He absolutely has means of keeping track of important info. Maybe not every minute detail is on them, and that's why slip ups happen, or maybe he just isn't constantly consulting his Character Bible when having off-the-cuff conversations with his friends about his OCs. Like. Its Ok. I'm sure when he gets to the actual in-series character writing he's going to be a little more thoughtful and attentive with regards to getting things right.

Also this 'mean and defensive' aspect of Sophie's character has absolutely been a part of her the entire time. I can't really back this up with Receipts or anything, but I really do think the way Martin's talked about her, like, historically, has evidenced this. Still, I think it's true that those more rough-around-the-edges aspects of Sophie have evolved over the years to become much larger parts of her character than they maybe were in the past. I'm sure that relative 'shyness' was something intended for her as well, but I think it's definitely transformed into something more firmly 'staunchly antisocial' than like, 'softhearted shygirl', y'know?

I just also think it's true that Martin personally finds it very funny when people misunderstand his characters, like old fanon characterization of Jack, and old fanon characterization of Sophie, and intentionally does not correct people, because he likes to imagine their surprise at seeing how the character actually behaves in the series. Which is like, fine. I agree with him, that's really fun and funny.

Also, like, this feels like a silly thing to point out, but specifically with regards to the Findjackwalten dialogue, it's like. I don't know. That dialogue doesn't dictate the character's personalities, the characters personalities dictated that dialogue, y'know? It's not like how, for the fandom, we learn more about how those characters behave from that piece of writing and our interpretation of them is changed by it. Like, even in a scenario where Martin forgets the specifics of what he had them say and how he had them interact in those scenes, or even if he manages to forget about those scenes' existence entirely, I don't think that's going to meaningfully change Sophie & Jenny as characters, because it was his understanding of them and their relationship that caused those scenes to be what they are, not the other way around.

[jenyifer]

The Trainee Ep 5 Initial Reaction

Oh thank god, Episode 5 is exactly what I wanted! Episode 4 was a bit dry and boring, but thankfully Episode 5 totally makes up for it. Some people commented last week saying I shouldn’t criticize the show just because I expect spicy stuff. But no, this is what I wanted—and surprise, it’s not about kissing. Sometimes it feels like people don’t really read what I write. I make these posts to remember the shows I’m watching, whether I enjoy them or not. It’s all just my opinion.

But anyway, Episode 5 was fantastic for both the main and side couples. We got to see the shallow crush of Bah-Mee and the gradual crush between Ryan and Jane. I was screaming for joy when they were walking home together, finally talking about something other than work. Honestly, that scene alone would’ve made me happy, but the episode gave me so much more!

Jane’s apartment gave me major "Theory of Love" vibes with its IKEA and creative core aesthetic. Anyway, let’s get to the photo review!

Awwww Pie does appreciate Ryan for his friendship and his skill. I love her.

Okay yeah this boy’s mentor’s are actually fucking up. 1. Give the intern the invoices is a 1 way trip to getting fired 2. Don’t even check in with the intern to make sure he’s doing it right.

Idk at my company money stuff is the most important thing I can’t imagine HR taking this lightly. I got in deep shit when I had to go on a business trip and didn’t have a properly lit receipt. Got emails every single day. I had to have every purchase and movement accounted for and I think that’s less important than a department’s invoices.

Hehehe Bah-Mee is too cute head empty girl

No noodles is bringing Punn back!!! *once this series is over it’s time to watch Gifted again* seeing Gun’s forehead is a rare treat that I shall savor ahah

Jane is turning his anxiety into his super power. I don’t think he’s as confident as he pretends it’s just hardened into “this is how it is.” He takes every job. Does it to the fullest never thinking of himself.

“Getting to know you, Getting to feel free and easy. When I am with you, Getting to know what to say. Haven’t you noticed? Suddenly I’m bright and breezy Because of all the beautiful and new Things I’m learning about you Day by day.” Them talking about what they like and bonding over who they really are hits me right in the feels.

I like that Jane NOT ONLY apologized but clearly explained why he had been overwhelmed and made the mistake in the first place. He really means it. Jane feels really bad that Ryan was so affected by his words. Just really precious.

First off all I adore this song by Nanon. Second both of the side couple are in love with the theory of being together but that’s how love can be. You are going through the motions of what you think a relationship is

Ryan being enchanted by Jane’s actions of giving him his clothes to wear is so heart warming and makes me giggle and kick my feet. Probably because stealing clothes is the peak of lesbian behavior. When you start sharing clothes you are close to discussing marriage plans with a girl hehehe.

[sharonisthebettercarter]

we need to have an honest conversation about hostile attribution bias, honesty, and bullying.

@deliciouskeys i've had enough of this shit. you wanted to piss me off. now i'm pissed the fuck off.

hey, hiiii. friends of hers? critics? whoever you are reading this and willing to hear me out, i just wanna start by saying don't hate on her or anyone for this. don't send harassment, don't send anon hate, don't even unfollow her if you do read this all the way and find yourself upset with the topics discussed or her actions.

or maybe you wouldn't anyway, and you've already decided i'm insane, fine. but if you are friends of hers, don't barrage her with verbal abuse of any kind even if you are disappointed or disgusted, i'm not about that. and good friends won't just coddle and take your side to enable the bullshit, but they won't try to hurt you when you're down either

and to clarify what this is? it is a harsh criticism of ongoing behavior i have faced from her behind the scenes. or out in the open i suppose but mostly unseen or dismissed.

yes, i have the motherfucking receipts. i've tried to condense them to what i found most relevant to the topics at hand without clipping the interactions so much that they would give a biased misrepresentation, but all conversations as of this moment and to the best of my knowledge are still available to view in full context. mine certainly won't be deleted.

i may have some bad takes sometimes cause i'm as perfect as anyone, which is to say NOT AT ALL. but i'll readily admit that and the fact that i work on it, CONSTANTLY. and before anyone decides to dig through my shit to see if they can find dirt on me IRRELEVANT to this situation to DISTRACT from what's being called out?

all i ask is a fair chance and moment of your time to show you what i've been through, because it's something she never gave me from day one. and bear in mind please, that i am pissed off because it's gone on long enough and now she's trying to drag my friends into it while CONTINUING TO LIE BEHIND MY BACK and feign fucking ignorance.

no more.

deliciouskeys? you. yes you, i am addressing you directly this time. i gave you a peace offering with the mike sully meme, and you just kept going.

since i poked my head into the boys fandom, you have been hostile to me, LIED about me, put words in my mouth, accused me of hostility towards you, assumed my intent while not only withholding the benefit of a doubt, but consistently. consistently putting me down and insulting me as some sort of estranged fandom villain who only exists or popped up to oppose you or ruin everything.

i'm not a fucking cartoon character, i am a person. i do not exist to supplant you or whatever weird shit you keep imagining me to be that makes you act like this.

almost every single thing i say to you, instead of actually LISTENING or i dunno, READING IT AT FACE VALUE, you take. hyperanalyze. and immediately give it the WORST interpretation you can. and that's if i'm lucky.

i'm not here for fandom wars and shipping bullshit. i'm not here for your false dichotomy fantasy. i'm here to be a bullshit shipper and have fun and try to get others to be more open and have fun too. maybe throw in a psa here and there for the things i find important.

i'm not here to get fucking bullied either or to watch others get bullied. you can take your assumed hostility and narcissistic PROJECTION and shove it straight up your ass if you think i'm going to tolerate it.

and what is 'hostile attribution bias'? it's this shit.

oh, and you don't have to assume it anymore. i'm fucking hostile. why am i hostile? oh... at this point, i KNOW you KNOW. but not everyone else does, so let's just lay it all out and let others draw their own conclusions. hm?

this was what set you off, right? the automatic assumption that this was someone i knew, looking out for me? i suppose that's possible but that doesn't mean i know exactly who it was or that i put them up to it.

and y'know, i might have even said that anon was a bit harsh and still given you the benefit of a doubt. anon was ANGRY and that's clear, but plausible deniability is so wonderful, isn't it?

but you've gone beyond that point. it wouldn't be the first time someone's noticed your behavior, and i can guarantee that. our first conversation was on my post about the comics and what they meant to me, sparked from an interaction i had with another fan of the show who refused to read the comics but still insulted them directly to me.

the bottom piece is from the post, the top would be the snippet of conversation with the other person prior. all of these are highlighted with slightly adjusted coloring for ease of understanding who's who. and granted, you could argue that i jumped the gun in my first response to you, but then you accused me of being hostile towards people who allegedly read and disliked them. and i had done no such thing, i literally was not addressing those people at all.

that was the first time you put words in my mouth, lied about what i said, and 'villainized' me for 'attacking people' made of straw i might add, when the post itself SPECIFICALLY STATED:

MISCONCEPTION.

so not the people, but the IDEA. an actually legitimately incorrect idea given context. i could go into a rant about how the comics cover one of the single most important and detrimental concepts to humanity (the war machine) and how american media is so piss watered down, propagandized and censored for babies and pearl clutching old people (and before you clutch your pearls over me 'attacking' babies and the elderly, i am not. i am criticizing AMERICAN MEDIA and PURITAN MENTALITY) that the comic itself was relatively tame outside of the american world view bubble, but that's not the point here, is it.

the 'many many' actually refers to people off of tumblr too, though i'm sure there's a fair share here of that mindset as it's found everywhere with everything. even then, i don't condemn the people. minds can be changed for ideas, that was what i was trying to do. maybe i need better methods and i can admit that.

still you chose to lie to my face or what, attempt to gaslight me?? whatever it was, it was enough for someone ELSE to step in and literally ask if you were BULLYING me.

and me, being the naive fucking moron that i am and thinking we ended on a nice punny note and the conversation wasn't so bad STILL gave YOU the benefit of a doubt.

did you extend the same courtesy to me later on? well, let's see.

no. no you did not. snippets of a convo from an anon ask you got on a proposed canon butchlander from when i tried to join in, you immediately accused me of things i have never said or done or even implied. and when i called you out on it, you immediately apologized (good on you, not included here but i DO acknowledge it and DID appreciate it) and i thought, "oh cool! we must be explaining ourselves to try and better understand each other so this doesn't happen again."

only for you to then backtrack and jump back on that ASSUMED HOSTILITY shit you seem to just LOVE huffing. but just for me i gather. maybe a couple others that i haven't seen or don't know about.

considering this is just the stuff i DO know about.

moving on.

you have questions? oh, what a cowinkydink, i have answers. if only you had just ASKED ME DIRECTLY INSTEAD OF PUTTING WORDS IN MY MOUTH AND LYING.

but to give some clarification to the numbered ones.

love the framing here. OF COURSE, WE are ONLY here to be a NUISANCE. must be nice being a real human who can interact with others instead of solely "bother" them. if you'd actually read the post, you might have seen it was about the BULLYING itself, not the bullshit that apparently makes you rabid enough to be a bully. great use of being obtuse.

stop putting words in my mouth. stop fucking lying about me. stop assuming my intentions. stop painting me for your weird ass personal agenda or vendetta. stop making up bullshit about me when you haven't taken two seconds to get to know me. i did no such thing as 'slur the cishets'. proof is in the fucking pudding.

ahhh... i understand why you don't block people. and i think i'm understanding the insidious behavior and bullying too. you're disgusting to people who you don't want to see the content of so that they'll block you while you get to pretend you're still on your little high horse of being the "less petty" or "bigger" person. and that way you don't have to see their content anymore, right? having your cake, and eating it too. it's smart. it looks good on you as long as people don't see the behavior, like you might actually want to solve problems.

although, if i'm to understand all this correctly, you don't want to given the continued hostility towards me regardless of what i do or say. am i getting this, more of that delectable plausible deniability? or am i giving you too much credit? do you even want the benefit of a doubt at this point? because you stated before you'd rather be considered evil than stupid.

oh, my mistake, "disgusting" than "ignorant". let me not do what you do and put words in your mouth. clarify for me, if you want to.

personally, i think ignorance is more forgivable than malice because at least the uninformed can learn better, while those with ill intent will seek to harm again, but to each their own i guess.

and if you actually have brain damage over a nonsensical but ultimately harmless shit joke online, i'd suggest seeking actual help from a doctor because that isn't normal. but i'm going to be generous and say maybe it was a bit much or gave you a recurring nightmare or something, i don't know you, in which case yeah, get help if you need it. i take mental health very seriously so i'm not joking or being sarcastic here. happy healing and sorry for the trouble if that's the case on this specific thing.

but oh! you just don't want to see it, right? TOO BAD BITCH, I GOT MORE TO GIVE AND YOU CAN'T STOP ME!!

and i don't have a problem with you writing your personal views about a pairing, any pairing. if that were all you had done, we probably wouldn't be having this conversation or, if you don't care i suppose i wouldn't be screaming into the void.

but you explicitly stated your point of view was "pretty common", that defaults my view as "uncommon" or in other words, "others" me and those who like bottom billy. don't you dare deny that when you know for a fact it's true.

then citing reasons for why you believed your view was more "accurate". you then went on to claim you were "baffled" when if that were true and you were actually interested in TRYING to UNDERSTAND? YOU WOULD HAVE JUST FUCKING ASKED ME DIRECTLY.

not that i would owe you an explanation or apology, or anything. but i'd have been NICE enough to try and answer anyway to the best of my ability. here, i'll do it now.

i'm not a big fan of bottom homie for the same reasons i'm not at all a fan of (show) homewell. apart from the whole superdick/compressing anus thing, narcissistic abuse/grooming and exploiting someone's trauma for a toxic kink is not only a huge turn off for me, it's super fucking triggering based on my experiences and what i have been through. i've had enough people looking down on me and telling me they "know what's best for me" while trying to rob me of my humanity and use me for their gain.

the funny thing is that i relate to homie in that sense but consider myself a total bottom who also LOVES the 'dom mommy' in certain context, but i also share a lot of similarities with butcher as well and know they both have a lot of very intense differences from me. and homie has a fucking vibrator for a dick. you CANNOT make me want to miss a chance for that, it's just not going to happen. and if i ever want to explore any form of 'grooming' kink from a personal place? i'll stick to thanos and mistress death, thanks.

i also don't find toxic masculinity sexy, that's a red fucking flag for me more glaring than the entirety of homelander, i find POSITIVE masculinity far sexier and true 'top' like. MM has the most of that in my opinion and is the sexiest man on the show, besides the guy who plays black noir under the mask.

i also fully understand the kink on the other end, y'all wanna baby him cause he's never had a mommy and longs for some kind of nurturing parental love, and y'all also wanna fuck him cause he's hot. so ya smash the two together and embrace the infantilization kink (which is seriously not my thing)

and listen, more power to ya. if that's what you like, enjoy it. i'm not judging. i just don't have the same fucking taste and i'm entitled to that. i don't understand why you have to comment on it or be "baffled" by the idea that people can be different from you.

for the record, i don't want to smash the two ideas together, i want to help homie SEPARATE and DEMUDDLE the legitimate problems and confusion in his brain that makes him so vulnurable to women's manipulations, and help him grow the fuck up without wanting to fuck his own mother (if he hasn't already) or keep him baby minded forever. i want to untap his potential and see the man he can/would become depending on circumstance.

because i like redemption and character growth and am a sucker for second chances regardless of liking dark media, and there's a huge difference between "i like you" and " i like that you like me".

that requires a more careful handling than anything suface level, but regardless i don't enjoy exploiting trauma kinks or reinforcing toxic masculinity any more than i would enjoy yiff or snuff. i wouldn't judge someone for having the taste as long as no one real got hurt. but that doesn't mean i have to have their taste.

stop kink shaming me or being "confused" by my preference, i haven't done the same to you. and before you pretend you haven't or that i have.

if you were "seriously trying to understand" you would again, ASK ME DIRECTLY instead of this roundabout bullshit where you talk about it and 'how confused or tired' you are, but can't be bothered to take two fucking seconds to JUST ASK for a more serious answer beyond willem dafoe.

if i wanted to shame you for having a kink, i wouldn't be subtle about it. but i wouldn't anyway because i wouldn't even shame those who have a rape fantasy because i have one and have written and read plenty of it. i file it under 'horror pr0n' with a number of other things, and not every form or 'flavor' of horror pr0n that exists is going to be for everyone, much the same as fucking regular horror. but if it's FICTION, it shouldn't matter.

i understand that and if i judged others for having different tastes or acted... well like YOU, that would make me a hypocrite.

and your friend got it PERFECTLY on the first note. and then decided to enable the bullshit yet again by subscribing to the bane of human unity, tribalism. thanks for reinforcing the idea that this HAS to be a dichotomy WHEN IT'S NOT.

a little healthy teasing and competition? i'm game. it's too bad that's not what this was.

i am not your fucking enemy just because YOU decided i was, YOU do not get to decide that for me. but i'll give them the benefit of a doubt and say they were 'just joking', right?

that's ALL it ever is. "just jokes". but JUST when you or "your side" do it. it's not like you've ever been derogatory and petty about "your side" being the "good side" of fandom.

if you have to constantly reinforce and self assure how "good" you are compared to "others" specifically not part of your niche bubble?

you're an asshole who's not actually "good", full stop. if you have to measure your self worth based on what others do or comparing yourself to them, actually seek help because that's not healthy. just my two cents

but if you want to get technical, NO ONE IS RIGHT AND NEITHER BILLY NOR HOMELANDER IS TOP OR BOTTOM IN A TRADITIONAL SENSE, not just because opinions and preferences can't be right or wrong. because butchlander isn't fucking canon, isn't going to become canon, and as far as we know, both characters are confirmed 100% STRAIGHT within the show with toxic masculinity issues a mile long and would never wanna touch each other like that with a 10 foot pole, and homelander's shown exactly ZERO interest in actually being pegged thus far, so that idea's a headcanon.

even herogasm showed us that 3 on fucking 1 STILL wasn't enough to take him down and homie freaking out over a bruise from an unfair challenge of 3 on 1 because it had logically been a very long time since he'd been hurt makes reasonable sense on a basic surface level. he's then over it by the time maeve makes him bleed and carries on bleeding, and now butcher's dying and is the most vulnurable and literally weak because he's sick of the bunch, so... headcanons? headcanons are fine but let's not forget reality and then laugh at the people who remember it.

and if you had just asked me why i even brought up lovely amazing beautiful cishet women (not at all sarcastic, see above purple posts), instead of YET AGAIN. ASSUMING MY INTENT AND PUTTING A LOAD OF CRAP IN MY MOUTH. you can have that back by the way, what the actual fuck is wrong with you??

or for clarification on why i brought it up? i could have TOLD YOU MYSELF. because unlike SOME PEOPLE, when someone just ASKS a question or gives a neutral or even heated response? I DON'T ASSUME HOSTILITY OR TAKE IT PERSONALLY FROM THEM LIKE IT'S A FUCKING SPORT.

fact (and correct me if i'm wrong): majority of people participating in shipping fandom are cishet women.

this is a simple fact, it doesn't mean anything beyond that, i specifically said both times there's nothing wrong with this.

a majority of people are cishet, so this is to be expected. it still doesn't mean there's anything wrong with the people.

fact: society has issues, ideas, and expectations that affect and harm us all. cishet, or queer. and these issues will and do present themselves in fandom and fan fictions whether we realize that or not. heteronormativity would be one of those. misogyny is another.

and one of my kinks is challenging that, or at least the way i see to challenge that while dunking on redpill idealogy and toxic masculinity because i fucking can.

and i just LOVE how you tout about having the "pReTtY cOmMoN" perception which newsflash, YOU ARE NOT IMMUNE TO HETERONORMATIVE IDEAOLOGY IF YOU THINK TOXIC MASCULINITY IS A REASON A MAN WOULD NEVER BOTTOM. you'd be surprised what people could get up to behind closed doors. but then you turn around and not only put more words in my mouth, enable anon to put words in my mouth, discourage getting a direct answer from me, accuse me and my friends of being the type to randomly accuse someone else of doxxing??? wtf even is that.

and of course. given your 'pretty common' perception being the total opposite of heteronormativity, it MUST mean that society has resolved all of its issues and come to accept queer people exactly as they are in all forms with no expectations or interference whatsoever, oh yeah. places like florida or uganda just totally don't exist. the u.s. isn't on the verge of becoming an actual fascist hellhole for us, and it is TOTALLY just... no one oppresses us. no one.

ESPECIALLY not the cishets.

and despite all the evidence to the contrary, you especially have done nothing wrong here and its all in my head. is that right? can you clarify for me? do you think that my situations have put zero pressure on me in my day to day life? on my friends' lives? do you think you didn't add to that? do you think you and company are the only ones that feel or react like humans?

imagine being so far up your own ass you tell the queer HOW to queer. or at least be a GOOD queer, right?

oh, i'm sorry let me not put words in your mouth. you were of course only laughing at me behind my back for the 'anti-cishet' things i never said.

and no. OBVIOUSLY i wasn't saying any of the shit you accused. i was saying i prefer SUBVERSIVE themes when i do my tops and bottoms and a more detailed look at that can be found in my purple all over responses or just the posts themselves, but if you still want to ask me anyway, i'll answer to the best of my ability.

and what a coincidence that despite you understanding top/bottom not just being related to penetration and some people will feel certain dynamics may be reductive, how ironic that you couldn't possibly fathom that as one of my main complaints.

you don't WANT to actually understand. you just wanted a circle jerk of confirmation bias.

this anon hit the nail on the fucking head. and you wanted to fight them?? i could have overlooked this but i wanted to touch on something really important because i don't know what anon may have seen but i once saw you answer an ask about homelander's redeemability and you cited "tough love" as a means to get there.

and as a former addict and narcissistic abuse survivor (specifying for context), i can tell you first hand "tough love" is not a real thing, and it's not discipline either because that requires teaching and providing tools for rehabilitation. but don't just take my word for it.

from a psychological perspective and to hear actual professionals go over the concept? "tough love" not only DOESN'T work. it is an excuse to be nasty and abusive to someone under the guise that you are only doing it to help them, when all it really does is make you an abusive fuck.

this would be why the SHOW had HOMELANDER of all people saying it, why what billy did to ryan is presented the way it was with HUGHIE of all people, the guy who was at the time dealing with a huge wad of toxic masculinity issues up his ass, 'got it'. and even BUTCHER'S DAD is presented as the piece of shit that he is who gladly passed on his curse to butcher like it was a 'gift'.

even the comics got this when they present butcher doing his scumlord over 9000 move to hughie and annie saying "cruel to be kind" about his own bullshit. no. no no no. he did NOT do that for hughie's well being. he did it for himself because he was a selfish prick.

and i want to be clear. i am being an asshole here and i fully recognize that. that's for ME to feel better because i am fed up with your bullshit. because you have spent your time poking and prodding me for a hostile reaction. well congrats motherfucker. you got it.

and there ain't NO fucking love there.

i won't be your enemy. but i am NOT your friend either. clearly YOU wouldn't want that anyway.

but because i always have to add in that disclaimer for basic human decency? EVEN WITH HOW I FEEL and what the actual science says about "tough love", i would still never tell someone they can't use it in fiction, presented as a toxic kink or whatever the fuck else. even if it triggers me. even if i have a thousand different reasons to criticize it and voice that in a separate space.

people can do whatever the fuck they want and i can't control that. neither can you.

but i don't have to engage with the content or speak positively on it or keep my mouth shut, and i'm not gonna harrass people or pull the kind of insidious bullshit you do either.

at the end of the day, this is fiction. and if you feel the need to run an entire fucking smear campaign about me over fiction and preferences??

stop lying about me

stop putting words in my mouth

stop talking about me behind my back

stop predetermining who i am for me

stop assuming hostility when i will flat out tell you my intent and you can just ask, that doesn't just go for me.

stop fucking gatekeeping and gaslighting.

I DON'T HAVE A DISHONESTY PROBLEM LIKE SOME PEOPLE.

and fuck you.

neither me nor any of my friends or these anons are crazy and i will not sit around while you try to fucking gaslight me or anyone else. try it again, i fucking dare you.

bottom billy lovers existing is not an attack on you. it never was. you don't own the tags. FUCKING DEAL.

this behavior? is UNNACCEPTABLE.

as for fandom? a few more things i want to cover. i couldn't have said it better than a friend of mine who while a little hectic and crazy sometimes, has been nothing but a sweetheart<3 that i just want to encourage and motivate to art or post pictures of her billy butcher kitty babygirl incarnate but unfortunately due to circumstances may be regressing back into her shell.

a message i will never stop promoting, whatever iteration it comes in, whenever it comes up.

i may disagree with what you are saying or doing, but as long as you are not harming anyone, i will fight wholeheartedly for your right to say or do so.

that is the philosphy of true freedom, THAT is what i subscribe to. and it pisses me the fuck off when i see people trying to punish or hurt people for things that hurt no one. we don't get to decide how other people want to live their lives. we can only navigate and hope we might find a friend along the way.

and THAT is the single greatest picture of captain america ever fucking created. no i will take dissenting opinions.

in regards to assumed hostility or hostile attribution bias, a more lighthearted and easily digestable demonstration is below.

gais... just don't do it. don't automatically assume that someone means you harm or pain simply because they disagree with you. this is what leads to more problems. this is what leads to human tribalism. this is what divides us. this is what destroys us. this is what leads to wars. fandom shipping bullshit or otherwise.

the fucking stupidest invention of humanity, fought over goddamn unholy wads of paper and scribbles of ink because people couldn't accept that their ideas weren't accepted by everyone else, and anyone who didn't fall in line got the axe. or alienated. or excommunicated. or accused of being a witch. or whatever.

but this is the kinda shit we need to nip in the bud at the most basic level we can, every time we can.

it's called intolerance of the intolerant. and it's how we stop hatred from fostering and the intolerance being tolerated and eventually taking over.

because assumed hostility? it IS intolerance.

people are not made from ideas, it's the people who make or break the ideas, not the other way around. and ideas can change.

that should never be seen as a bad thing because it's necessary for positive changes and better understanding as time goes on.

challenge yourselves and the way you think, listen to newcomers and welcome them, have healthy discussions, learn to agree to disagree. it's not that hard.

and i know, i get it. it's not easy, not that simple either. everyone's on edge, people are sickly addicted to hatred and anger because they are EASY. giving in to them doesn't require self control or any form of discipline, it is as simple as instinct. it IS instinct. but if humanity has ANY hope of moving forward?

we HAVE to learn to give people the benefit of a doubt. we HAVE to learn to listen to each other, *actually* listen and hear *exactly* what others are saying. HAVE to learn to identify the difference between a differing *non-hostile* opinion and actual *intolerance*

because the world has already seen what happens when we FAIL and eventually we WILL run out of chances to get it right.

please at least TRY to give the benefit of the doubt in an appropriate situation.

i'll lead by example.

keys? even you. even now, i'm going to give you the benefit of the doubt DESPITE how you've treated me AND my friends now. because MAYBE you were actually key in the sketch and just having a bad day each time we interacted or MAYBE you have some sort of trauma getting triggered whenever you see my shit or we interact or whatever the fuck it could be, MAYBE you are feeling the pressures of a self discovery coming out journey and it's manifesting badly (yes i did notice that and if this is the case i would still wish you nothing but good will and luck with that, not sarcastic), or some combination, there's a million reasons and i don't know you, so i'm not going to assume or say anything for certain.

unlike some people.

but i don't think you're stupid. on the contrary, looking at your posts, my first 'assumption' was that you are actually very well educated and were just enjoying having fun and being silly. later and based on some things i saw, it occured to me that your education/upbringing may put you at odds or at a disadvantage with connecting with people online or having them understand you, that doesn't mean there's anything wrong with you or them, it just means you're speaking different languages.

even the "tough love" thing could be a miscommunication/malapropism. it could also be internal denial because you had a loved one do that to you and still haven't come to terms with the actual abuse you were experiencing because "they knew best"

i've been there. but maybe i'm the one who's projecting just to give you the benefit of a doubt. is it fair for me to take out my own frustrations on random people? fuck to the NO. which is why i TRY regularly to keep that shit in line and my life private.

so i absolutely will not excuse you for being so blatantly dishonest about me either behind my back or to my face because even if you do think i'm being hostile (when i'm not), there's no excuse for that. no, i wouldn't excuse myself either.

that needs to stop in a general sense, and i know you KNOW you are doing that because you'd have to *actually* be the biggest fucking illiterate moron on the planet to not know at this point.

especially when i reached out to you before to try and resolve this calmly and you ignored me and then continued lying about me, yucking it up with anons and buddies like high school mean girls. officially. unironically. instead of doing an ounce of self reflecting.

and i didn't include those messages, but the continued disingenuity and callous misrepresentation is there. and especially the carving into my character to define me however you want without giving me a voice to speak for myself.

stop it. you know it. i know it. maybe you think i'm some country bumpkin cousin hick fucker who happens to conveniently be queer but is remarkably stupid or an easy target.

and maybe i am stupid for ever giving you the benefit of a doubt, but you don't get to rob me of my humanity or basic courtesy.

because YOU'RE human too. and you have a right to your thoughts and feelings and opinions, and i get that, and i support it

even if by some fucking bizarre coocoo for cocoa puffs alternate reality, butchlander were to become canon the way I saw it? i wouldn't gloat or celebrate or try to rub it in your face.

I would encourage you to keep liking what you like and keep being yourself, maybe even harder than before.

even knowing you wouldn't do the same for me. at least from personal experience. see any of the above. and if you think i'm a self righteous prick for it, so fucking be it.

but if you're going to be an asshole? at least own the fuck up to it.

oh, and by the way? i now headcanon that billy butcher once a month puts on a full body gimp suit and with ball gag to do some strange kinda unholy shit with fruit OR veggies (never both), and it HAS to be a waning crecent moon, because i fucking can. and you can't stop me. ;)))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))

gais... don't immediately assume hostility. please. i know tone can be hard to interpret through writing or typic and emojis help, and yeah, i know i can jump the gun too. but i try to take things told to me at face/basic value or read them in a neutral tone and i think it helps too.

but we should never be judging anyone before we know them.

[max--phillips]

hi :) i am a training historian focusing heavily on art, and i saw your post about ancient rome on my timeline, and i just wanted to say a few things about your “why we don’t have black art.” of course, you did not ask for this, it just sparked some thoughts and i figured i would drop by and say hello! <3

but if you want to learn some more, here are my two cents xx

1. we’ve only excavated roughly 10ish percent of “ancient rome”. there is a LOT left to discover. the issue with archaeology is that it is very expensive and very laborious, and it takes a long while to reap any sort of reward.

2. back in the 19th and 20th centuries, safe excavation practices were pretty nonexistent, we didn’t have the ‘rule book’ that we do now, so to speak. there are stories of archaeologists using dynamite to dig- so, a lot of stuff has been lost to negligence and ignorance to proper ways of excavating. (it still happens today!) for example, a lot of egypt was excavated by random people, too! not trained archaeologists and historians. for a while, richer folks wanted to have hands on experience with history, so in the early 20th century that’s what they did. (i don’t blame them, i probably would too if i had a shit ton of money!)

3. rome was also notorious for flooding- it’s not on a very nice location geographically. even today, many parts of italy have flooded, destroying hundreds of art pieces and artifacts. (such as the great flood in florence, which happened in 1966) a lot of artifacts are lost to natural disasters.

4. a lot of stuff just doesn’t survive. the fall of rome happened in 476 AD, and that’s over 1500 years ago. an issue i have also discovered is that a lot of surviving tablets and letters from the ancient world are just…. receipts and lists. nothing juicy. they were just normal people, you know?

5. a lot of art from rome could also have been lost to religious wars during the middle ages. that is an academic speculation, but culture is typically the first to go during a religious war or crusade.

6. also, roman art was fragile. all art is. we have lost a multitude of great paintings and pottery because it doesn’t last very long. a big example of this is someone a bit more recent than rome- Da Vinci. He experimented a LOT with types of paintings and techniques. his last supper painting began deteriorating just a few years after he painted it, because he tried to do a well fresco using oil paints. (not good lol) art is not forever, unfortunately, so i can imagine a lot of roman pottery not lasting very long with how fragile it is.

also, one last thing. i think we tend to group ancient societies into one large homogenous blog, and i find that very modernist and dangerous. ancient rome was full of different dialects, people, and groups, and to say they were all one thing it very dangerous. same for ancient greece- it was made up of various tribes! sparta was not athens, etc etc.

i believe that that goes for all history, as well. even well up into the 20rh century.

racism, as we know it, is a fairly newer concept in the historical time line. a lot of slavery back in the ancient world was based on status and wealth, or who was better at fighting, and not necessarily skin color. (still absolutely horrible though. obviously!)

for example, ancient egypt was, as new evidence suggests, a thriving society with multiple people from multiple backgrounds. (we’ve discovered tombs with people who all have different types of skin colors, insinuating that the most important people in their society were made up of a rather inclusive bunch.) and the same goes for north africa, today and then- it is a beautiful and diverse part of the map, and not one country is the same, and neither are their people!

the world is not made up of horrible people, and i think it would do us all some good to remember that. there is more love than hate, there always has been, and we can see it in art throughout time <3 ah, but i digress!

anyways, I have put some beautiful ancient art below depicting people of color. the first one is my fave! xxx

Hell yeah, thank you so much for this input!!!

(I have a lot of feelings about the era of the “I have money and no idea what I’m doing, I’m going to go eat a mummy.” Or “I’m going to go find Troy and inadvertently contribute to the Nazi platform.” (On that note, if you find that article interesting, I highly suggest these episodes of Behind the Bastards on the history of the swastika (part 1, part 2). Because at one point it really was just a symbol that like, every civilization on earth used at one point or another. And then a bunch of racist antisemites had to go and ruin it.) But seriously, Europeans loved eating mummies. Or using them in paint. And generally just destroying priceless artifacts for funsies. It infuriates me much the same way the fact the library at Alexandria was burned infuriates me, y’know?)

But I super agree with you vis a vis the fact we tend to paint “Ancient Rome” and similar societies/empires as a monolith. I mean… here hang on

It goes without saying that today, Spanish culture is different from French is different from British, Italian, Greek, Turkish, Algerian, Egyptian, Palestinian, etc etc etc. And that still would’ve been the case at this point. Sure there was influence (and later, it’s hard to escape the influence of the Catholic Church) but it’s not like Roman soldiers showed up one day in all these different places and replaced the whole local culture with marble columns and olive oil. (I mean, there was probably a lot of olive oil, but that’s besides the point)

I would still argue that there is probably a reason that we don’t see as much Roman-era art of Black people as we probably could, and whose fault that is I don’t know—it could be modern curators, it could be those 19th/20th century “archaeologists,” it could be neither and just pure chance—but I am here right now begging people that if you’re writing in this era, think for a few seconds before you pull all of your inspiration from rows of Roman statues portraying white people. (Also, if I’m remembering correctly, those statues were painted some pretty wild colors at their height, which is neat)

ANYWAY, thank you for the extra info !! I appreciate your expertise on the matter :0 thank you very much for sharing!!

[papasbaseball]

His Office of Propriety (Papa Emeritus IV x Reader)

+18 CONTENT NOT FOR MINORS. MINORS KEEP SCROLLING

Pairing: Papa Emeritus IV x F!Reader

Rating: Explicit

Warnings: All the warnings. Dubcon bordering on Noncon, Knives, Blood, Mention of Torture, Violence, Clothes Cutting, Rough Sex, No Aftercare, Office Sex and Boss/Employee dynamic.

Summary: Furious from a meeting where he is cut off financially by the clergy, Papa Emeritus IV takes his frustrations out on his assistant. He doesn’t know yet that his loyal assistant had more reasons to be loyal than just a paycheck. Too bad loyalty does not soothe anger and a wounded ego. She will have to learn from her mistakes the hard way.

Word Count: 3,470

Notes: READ THE WARNINGS. Translations are at the end.

AO3 Link

"Maledetta puttana del cazzo!" The door slams so hard you thought the bricks around it would come crumbling down. His brow hoods his mismatched eyes as Italian venom continues to pour from his lips. Barreling towards you, he looks like a bull that had been speared by a matador, his jacket as red as the fatal cape.

"Pap-"

"You think you can run your fucking mouth, hm?" Unable to look at him, your pen shakes as you try to go back to underlining an important number—it had to be important, must be important—for his upcoming quarterly meeting with the clergy. He snatches the pen and tosses it across the room. "Run your mouth now. What did you tell Sister Imperator?"

"I didn't-"

"But you did. Do you want to know how I know?"

Your whole body is shaking. Rage tries to escape the heavy paint on his face, reddening a patch of skin on his neck where the paint had rubbed off. His eyes are wild, lit red in the shimmering fire of that jacket. He snatches you by the back of your shirt out of your chair, the stitches on your chiffon blouse ripping barely audible above his ragged breathing. “No, Papa! No!”

“Only you knew! Now I am leashed!” The soft cotton of his glove wraps around your throat and he slams you so fast to the wall that one of his framed accolades falls, glass shattering with a pop. “I trusted you and you violated my trust, dolce.”

The pet name makes you whimper. It’s new and so perfectly wrong with how mad he is. You had fantasized about him calling you all kinds of pet names, but never like this. He would be on the phone, thinking you were too busy logging receipts and making appointments. You would watch his brow knit together as someone told him about plans for the new tour and you'd think of you and him curled up in his bed on a Sunday morning - nowhere to go, nothing to do- just the two of you. You imagined how he’d play with your hair and call you every beautiful diminutive under the sun, kissing and touching and fucking. You'd dream until he hung up the phone.

His lips twitch into a smile that would make Satan himself shiver. “Did you do it to make me mad, dolce?” He drags out the e in a gravelly tone. He slides his hand up to where your jaw meets your neck, pinning you to the wall like one of his accolades.

“P-Please,” you choked under the grip of his glove, “I would never try to make you mad. I'm sorry.” Tears stung your eyes as he pressed harder.

He throws you to the ground, the carpet stinging your palms and knees. Your back arches as you try again to stop thinking about him fucking you, here on all fours, in the middle of his office of propriety. The glass from the frame crunches as he steps around you to search for something in his desk. “Let me tell you about my day, dolce. Maybe it will jog your memory, hm?” You stay silent. “I finished my meeting with Sister Imperator and Papa Nihil at 4 o'clock - you know this, ma certo, you put it in my calendar.” His voice is calmer now, more measured. It's enough to make your bones grow cold. “She called this meeting for a very important reason, dolce. Do you know why?”

You shook your head, not wanting to anger him further with your words. Looking up, you see that he is holding up a pocket knife that he found in the drawer.

He sucked his teeth. “You are a very bad assistant, sending me into traps like this.” He holds the knife up to the sunlight streaming through the windows, watching as the glint glides back and forth. Your stomach churns and your legs beg you to run. Moving only millimeters at a time, you crawl towards the door. “I will tell you,” he says, continuing to search his drawer, knick-knacks knocking about, “Sister says to me ‘Copia, I’m cutting you off.’ This is news, yes? I ask her why. She says, ‘The clergy did not approve your new vestments.’”

Shit. It is starting to come together now. It was a passing conversation you had in the hall with Imperator the day the new vestments came in. You had told her just how regal he looked in them, leaving out how your heart raced when your fingers glided down the silky brocade that felt so good over his solid chest. You had dreamt of him fucking you that night, the fine fabric bunching over the small of your back, him so desperate to finally have his assistant that he couldn't even bother to take the damned thing off. You move more quickly toward the door.

"You see, dolce, that is when I knew. Only you had seen them. Only you had access to my receipts. They were supposed to be a surprise."

The door is within reach when the sole of his boot connects with your back and presses until you crack. Your elbows buckle and the floor comes up to knock the wind from you. He kicks you in the ribs to face up, but it’s the knife that has you scrambling backward, the carpet biting into your rug-burned palms once again. You try to ignore the heat in your core marbling with the fear in your stomach.

“Please, Papa!” “They cut me off. You need to be taught a lesson.”

“No, please Papa. I’m sorry, I’m stupid!" It's coming up and you can't stop it "I kept thinking about how good you looked in them and I was daydreaming.” The tears are pouring down your face. Was he going to cut your tongue out? Was he going to kill you? The room spun and you wanted nothing more than to pass out. Let this nightmare end and go back to the sweet dreams of him and you in that bed on a Sunday morning. “I shouldn’t have opened my mouth,” you sob, “but Sathanas has cursed me to think of you every night and my mind is not sane.”

You see the glint of one of his canines and he laughs.

“The little lamb has developed a crush on her shepherd, has she?” His knee had pushed up your skirt and you realize just how firmly it was pressed against your aching cunt. A nudge is all it takes for you to rock your hips against it like the pathetic infatuated creature you are, cooing in misery. You want to die, but you need him to keep going, and all you can do is whimper.

He presses the blade against your throat. “Use your words, dolce: Do you think of me when you touch yourself?” Sick satisfaction highlights those painted lips. You know the answer, you just can’t say it. The blade presses harder and the pain gushes them forward.

“Yes, Papa! Only you. Every night.” He hums seemingly with pride.

“Good girl. And how do you touch yourself?” The blade prompts you again with a bite.

“Ah! With my hands, Papa. I imagine they’re yours. I think about how good your cock would feel when I fuck myself with my fingers.”

“The assistant dreams of her Papa’s cock, is that right?” His knee grinds into your pussy and you have hope for a brief moment, hope that he wants this too and that he wants to see you writhe in ecstasy. It’s not in his bed, tangled in his arms and the sheets, but he might let you cum if you’re good.

“I can’t stop thinking about it.”

The knife pulls off your throat and you cry as he stands up, your dark desire craving the pressure of his leg. He runs a hand through his disheveled hair and points the knife to your cheek. "Beg."

"What?"

"Beg for my cock. Beg for me to use your worthless pussy."

"Papa-" The knife nicks the apple of your cheek and you yelp.

"Do it."

You swallow hard on your tears. The words that he wants to hear are turning your cheeks redder than the blood blooming forth from the knife. "Please let me have your cock, Papa."

“Do you think you deserve it? Do you think you have earned it when you can’t even keep your mouth shut?” He cracks you hard across the face with his palm, the gloves muting the slap.

Turning your head back to look into his eyes breaks you. You can see the faint glimmer of pain for the first time, how you’ve truly hurt and disappointed him behind all that rage. What good were you, the person he was supposed to be able to trust with his secrets, if you told them to anyone? The disappointment chokes your voice. “Please. Let me earn it. Let me earn you.”

He unlaces his pants, never breaking eye contact, and frees himself from their ripped confines. The knife ghosts down your cheek until it tips your chin up to look up at him. Any warmth in those mismatched eyes is now gone, replaced with sadistic want. “Worship me, troia senza valore.”

His cock is already half hard and looks too big to fit in your mouth. You place a hand on his leg to steady yourself, but he quickly swats it off. “Did I say you could touch me?”

“No, P-”

“Suck.” The knife guides you to the thick head, your lips trembling. You can’t help but to open your mouth as the bead of precum touches your lips, eager for the salt of him. His hand is in your hair quicker than you can realize and Copia is guiding you down the length of him. Your jaw aches as it struggles to wrap around his girth. You give up and relax the muscles, letting yourself drool like a mindless animal. He hisses out a stream of Italian you’d never heard before. In your pitiful heart, you hope that he is praising your mouth. You hope that he is telling you how hot and tight it is, how it's the best mouth he's ever had. Daring a glance up, you see that he isn’t even looking at you.

Steadying your hands behind your back, you take the initiative and hollow your cheeks while looking up at him in defiance. He looks down on you, smug as ever.

“Is my office slut finally ready to behave and cooperate? It is clear that I need to retrain you.” He guides your head faster and harder, occasionally touching the back of your throat. “Would you like that?” You don’t dare nod and break his rhythm, only batting your eyes up at him in agreement.

He pushes further and further until you are gagging on him. "Ah ah. Look at me. You will take it all, capisci?"

Digging your nails into your palm, you push yourself onto him again, trying to angle your head so you wouldn't choke again. That's enough. It will be enough. When you go to pull off he holds you head down on him. You choke and sputter, desperate for air as the pressure in your head pushes you closer and closer to passing out.

“That is a good girl. This is a very important lesson, no? Holding your breath, so you don’t spill my secrets again.”

You’re sure you’re on the precipice of unconsciousness when he finally pulls out. The deep gasps send sharp pangs to your lungs. Each breath hurts so bad, but the high they give you, oh the high. Your thighs tremble to hold yourself up. Something in your arms is begging for you to grab on and cling to his legs. Don't. The smack from earlier still stings under your skin. This is his office. His rules. You’re finally able to look up at him through your watery mascara stained eyes.

His thumb comes down to wipe away a mascara tear track. "So pretty. You are the prettiest when you follow my rules. Obedience looks good on you, dolce."

You lean into his sweet hand. The affection, even after choking you with his cock, is enough to make you cry tears of joy.

"Mi dispiace, Papa. Thank you for the lesson."

"I did not say we were finished." His fingers twist your hair, dragging you up to your feet and over to the red velvet divan. As he guides you to lay down on it, the fabric brushes and cradles your skin with the plush luxury. “A lesson must be permanent.” The knife is at the ready again and you can see the edge stained red with your blood.

The wind is crushed out of you once more in a horrible sob. “Please Papa. I’ve learned my lesson. Please.”

He is quick, slicing through the chiffon and pearl buttons with his knife. It is another cut in the series of slashes he has already made to your ego. You think about how you saved for so long to buy that blouse on your monthly ministry outing and how you’d picked it out just for him. There isn’t even enough time to process the loss before he has cut the straps and the front of your bra open, spilling your breasts out for him. “Ecco. This is much better, no?” You try to cover up, but he nicks a cut into your arm in response. “You will not cover up what is mine. If I wanted you to cover up, I would have told you.”

He slashes through your skirt but leaves your pantyhose untouched. The chill of the office air already has you shivering and your nipples puckering into hardened buds. “This is your new dress code, pet. Since I will be wearing less clothing because of you, so will you. As above, so below.”

“Yes, Papa.”

“Why did you do it?”

You hadn’t seen that question coming. Five little words and you can’t look at him. You can feel your slick leaking out to soak the inner thighs of your pantyhose. He tilts your face back to face him with the knife and you can see his cock is leaking precum again. “I did it because I was too busy thinking about wanting to fuck you,” you mumble.

“Maybe I should fuck you with my knife if you want me that bad.” The knife pierces the soft skin of your cheek.

The blood drains from your face and your body screams again to run for the door. If you did that he would shove the blade right through your pantyhose, mangling the soft wet flesh. The thought made your skin crawl and tears burst from your eyes.

“Please, Papa, anything but that. Please don’t hurt me.”

“I must hurt you in some way, pet. It is the only way you’ll learn. Daydreaming has become a bad habit for you.” His face and tone are sympathetic but his words are pure cruelty.

You sob even harder knowing that he can do whatever he wants to you, there is no escaping this room without the consequences.

“You must be a brave pet for your, Papa, d’accordo? I will let you choose where I hurt you if I am satisfied with how you please me.”

You want to please him. If you obey, maybe he will rethink his punishment. “Can I have the knife please?”

You’re so weak he doesn’t think twice. He places the blade in your hand curiously.

“I can be brave.” You slide the knife down the front seam of the hosiery, watching as the threads spring back with eagerness, exposing your soaked panties for him. It is a little more difficult, but you wiggle the blade from hip seam to hip seam across the front of the white soaked cotton. “For you, Papa. I can’t leave now.”

His lips are on yours, as he presses you further into the sofa. It’s real and your heart is beating overtime as he slips his tongue greedily into your mouth. His. His. His. He is claiming you as his. You moan and rock your hips up against him, desperate to feel him take you fully.

He takes his cock and teases it up and down your slit. Once. Twice.

“Papa, please.”

“How long have you wanted this, pet?”

“Since the fir- aah!” He’s sinking so quickly inside you that you can’t help but to clench around him. His eyes burrow into you, speaking to the undeniable fact that you are so thoroughly his and he knows it. He watches you intently, pushing and pushing until he bottoms out.

“Use your words, dolce.” He steadily pulls out again.

“Since the first day, Papa. Since I started working in your office.” He thrusts into you again and you cry in delight as he stretches you fully. It’s better than the daydreams. Little details you hadn’t even thought of like his warm breath against your collarbone, the way the sequins of his jacket lightly scratch their markings into the valley of your breasts, all become the focus of your attention as he fucks you for his pleasure.

“But you never did anything?”

“You’re Papa. I am just a sister of sin.”

“I am Papa.” He wraps his hand around your throat once more. “You are below me and you belong to me.”

The pressure builds in your head again and you drop the knife, the metal clattering on the floor. Your hands break your own rules as they claw at the soft leather of his sleeves. You’re not certain if it’s to pry him off or beg for more. His hips are now snapping into you at such a rapid pace, and occasionally they’ll catch in the right way, bruising your needy clit. The whimpering from you is uncontrollable.

It’s sooner than you want as he spills into you. All it would take is a few more thrusts for you to reach your own high, but he slips out of you and you can feel his unholy seed leaking from the gaping mess that he’s made you. Tears bud in your eyes, but it’s futile to ask.

He picks up the knife from the floor. “You learn quickly and I am satisfied. I will let you choose.”

“I want to make you happy, Papa. I have already upset you.” In truth you wanted it somewhere where it wouldn't hurt so much, like an arm, but you’re aching cunt wanted him to finish what he had started, and that meant making him happy.

His lips quirk up into a smirk. “You want your Papa to choose? Even after all of my punishment?”

You bite your lip, fighting the fear creeping in.

He takes the knife and guides it to the muscle of your thigh, pushing back the ripped edge of your pantyhose. You do your best to fight the pain, but still cry like a wounded animal as it slices through the skin. It’s like a paper cut on steroids, but it is over just as soon as it started. Five lines. The Roman numeral IV.

“You owe me, so now I own you.” He offers no remedy for the bleeding, simply getting up to put his knife away at his desk once more. Cleaning the blade, he collapses it and shuts the wooden drawer. “I expect you to be in the office 30 minutes early every day and you will stay 30 minutes late for the purposes of servicing me.” He tucks himself back into his pants, lacing them up like none of this had ever happened. “Since I now own you, I do not want you touching what is mine. Playing with yourself and fantasizing about me is what got you into this mess. You are only allowed to touch yourself when I tell you to, capisci?”

Your cunt drips at the thought of it belonging to him, contracting around the memory of the stretch of him. “Yes, Papa.”

“I will call for clothes so you can leave the office, but until then, get back to work. I have to make other plans for the tour.” He draws out the chair and is immediately punching buttons on the phone.

You get up in your cut pantyhose and underwear, walking back to your desk, mindful of the broken glass. The cold office air licks against your still hot skin and you almost slip your hands between your legs before you catch yourself. The pout creeps onto your face, but you look over to him, a ghost of how you used to daydream. He did say I would have to stay 30 minutes after. Maybe he’ll let me cum then… if I’m good.

TRANSLATIONS: "Maledetta puttana del cazzo!" - Damn fucking whore! dolce. - Sweet ma certo - But of course troia senza valore - worthless whore capisci? - Do you understand? Mi dispiace - I am sorry Ecco - There. d’accordo - Okay

[mahoushoujotechsupport]

episode 8 time, this rewatch has made me realize the title cards' style don't actually alternate every episode. is there a pattern to them or what?

starting off with nika and martin telling the rest of earth house about miorine starting gund-arm inc and lmfao at nuno just calling that shit out immediately. yeah her ulterior motive is being a giant lesbian

honestly had kinda forgotten how averse to the idea of working for miorine the whole of earth house was at the beginning

before the break up arc i thought this frame was going to be important for dealing with prospera especially when later on miorine is shown for being one to keep receipts (ie. the photo she took of the kids who threw the spraycan or whatever at martin's head). but nah i guess she was just recording everything prospera was gonna have to say about gundams etc

i know prospera's priorities are hella skewed from her own trauma, but i honestly don't blame her for keeping this from suletta for as long as she did. no one on mercury needed to know about this and suletta wasnt in any danger while piloting aerial

i think if anything, it probably shouldve been information to be divulged to her prior to leaving to asticassia, but even then im not sure given suletta's personality early on. like she wouldnt have blabbed about it but it may have always just been more dangerous for her to have that knowledge

musemetachi again and one of the most iconic prospera shots lmao

and of course mio isn't buying any of this shit

important points being made, but like... why didn't she just ask herself lol

enter the shaddiq plot and it's kinda funny how suletta immediately pins the issue at hand here and why shaddiq is trying to pursue gund-arm. meanwhile miorine can't even fathom that being true

kinda funny to have miorine of all people telling earth house to look on the bright side after they see how much money theyve got to work with. though i'm pretty sure this is just her early naivety

miorine rembran, prospera mercury told you to check your privilege

i guess i don't really have much to say on earth house standing their ground against building weapons since lmao its objectively good and all the coming work with earth house allows miorine to not be so prickly and realize there are people out there who will be her genuine friends

i wonder if by the end of the series guel even realized shaddiq was in love with miorine lol

literally what even is sarius' deal against gundams

well, he was right i guess

in rewatching this episode, its hard not to feel so frustrated with shaddiq. like sure, she was likely never going to return your feelings, but could you not have just said something instead of all this posturing and trying to play white knight lol

something something suletta doesnt even hug her mom in greeting

i don't think anyone at earth house could have even fathomed the idea that miorine would have found something for them to focus on besides weapons

man, i wish miorine and dr cardo could have met lol

god this fucking promo video lmao

i wonder if even if its a tiny miniscule amount, but if prospera holds any sort of respect for miorine choosing to have gund-arm inc focus on what the vanadis institute was originally doing. thats honestly something i wish we'd had gotten at all some point

mio please

as soon as suletta starts talking about how much fun shes having, mio just gets the softest look on her face and lays her head against suletta's back and gosh is it cute lmao that is a girl in love

what did she mean by this lmao

i dont want to know what cheering someone up is code for for maisie

interesting scene set up with the grassley girls to have sabina be the one to speak out their plan if miorine doesnt go along with it easily as well as having maisie call out the fact that shaddiq wouldnt want to do something to hurt miorine (laughing at this latter point imagining all the grassley girls clowning on shaddiq for his thing for miorine)

the stakes are all slowly building up but it still isnt nowhere near 2nd cour stakes. not sure if i'll get to episode 9 today because thats another favorite and just like my episode 7 rewatch, it may end up being 2 posts lol

[glasshcvse]

I always thought Stupid Cupid would be on the same level as Red Velvet in terms of popularity! In your opinion which real group would you assign for your fic groups in those terms?

AINE ! ⠀ › ⠀ SAYS. omg you're being too nice anon!! i think red velvet is wayyy up the scale when looking at stupid cupid's popularity– took me a hot second to cook something up, but under the cut, you'll find all of my important groups / ocs ( including both npc & under co. groups! ) and their popularity based on irl kpop groups!

first, we have lilypad, aka the saviours of glasshouse! i'd definitely say that they're on par with kara! they've been releasing bops from the getgo, and have been doing so until their unfortunate ( or fortunate in this case ) disbandment, so kara would be the best group to mention in this case, especially when back in 2009, glasshouse only had crumbs and a handful of trainees to go with.

next on the list is raevil, aka the dead women walking! raevil = twice, and you can't prove me wrong!! the fact that each member comes from a different country just goes well with the public ( international more than domestic, bc we all know how knetz are about these types of things ), and they for sure know how to charm people to at least listen to their songs occasionally. their popularity grew as time passed, so raevil being on the same scale as twice right now would be a plausible answer!

sorry to disappoint you, anon, but stupid cupid's popularity goes lower than red velvet's– i'd say ive or kepler would be more of an appropriate answer, especially because everyone can clearly see the favouritism in stcp ( looking at tomie ). it's a good thing that their discography is full of mostly cute songs, otherwise, i don't think stupid cupid would've been supported this much if it their concept was anything else... i imagine them being compared to lilypad a lot if they had a different concept, and they'd kind of flop. yeah, their fandom is definitely smaller compared to raevil's, but they have some crazy ass fans out there ( think orbits during that twitter era )–

at the beginning of their career, i surely saw nextone go hand in hand with stray kids based on popularity, especially because prdx had a different concept from any other artists from the company, were their first bg and they were promoted a lot during their pre-debut era by stupid cupid. however, after the whole scandal happened with one of the members and they went on a hiatus for a year, the hype kind of died down, so now i'd say they're kinda like monsta x / the boyz!

hero is 4th generation's taemin! of course, his popularity slowly grew as he went through a shitty survival show, but once he actually debuted as a soloist, the fandom significantly grew, and it's still growing as time goes by. there's a reason why he's called an all-round and ace of kpop! although, if you asked him, he'd deny being that popular, but the receipts don't lie, nor do his album sales that get sold out after every comeback!

and last but definitely not least, we have crystyle! && just like everyone expected, i imagine them to have the same popularity as got the beat! they also have some similarities; as they're both project groups with members from different groups ( or are soloists ), so saying they have the same popularity as got would be true. not only that, but each member has their own fandom that just combined in the end to support the girls as a group!

and that's it ( for now )! come back later if there are any updates to this~

[jerzwriter]

So, it's Tik Tok Wednesday in NYC! :) A little late, but still... Book: Open Heart Pairing: Ethan Ramsey x F!MC Rating: Teen A/N: This takes place as they're checking out of the hotel in Miami. (Keep in mind, Ethan & Kaycee sort of made peace the morning after... but it was still awkward AF. Enjoy!)

@choicesmonthlychallenge - Flufftober - blushing

~~~~~

It was easy to lose Kaycee in the massive crowd of people checking out that morning. But when Ethan made his way down the escalator, he spotted her at the checkout desk right away. Every instinct in his body told him to go and join her; it felt so natural. That was precisely why it scared him to death, so instead, he made his way toward the exit to arrange for a cab - he'd text her and ask him to join him up front.

But as he stepped out into the humid Miami air, a wave of guilt crashed over him. She had shown such grace in a precarious situation, and he spent the next day doing all in his power to avoid her... and now he was being a coward once again. Taking a deep breath, he summoned his strength and turned on his heel to return inside and join her.

The crowd was thick as he approached, a mix of weary travelers and overexuberant revelers, and Ethan wasn't sure who he found more vexing. But as he approached Kaycee, the light that always seemed to surround her brought him comfort. He could already hear her melodic voice, although the conversation was not yet clear. It almost felt like coming home, then...

"... yes, my husband and I found everything delightful, thank you very much."

He stopped dead in his tracks, a cold sweat already forming beads on his forehead. Fight or flight was activated, and he never wanted to fight with her... so he should run, but that's when she turned around and found him staring as if he'd just seen a ghost.

"Ethan," she smiled, waving him closer. "Are you OK? Did you have too much to drink last night?"

"I, uh... uh..." he should just let it go. Pretend he hadn't heard, but he couldn't. Husband? What was she thinking, and why? "I'm fine, thanks, but...."

"But?" she prodded as his words hung.

"Why did you just refer to me as your... husband?"

"Oh," she laughed nervously. "Because the clerk asked if we enjoyed our stay, specifically referencing the honeymoon suite. I just figured it was easier to play along. Would you have rathered I told him the truth?"

"You didn't have to say anything..."

"Ethan, sometimes it's better to just roll with it. We'll be checked out in five minutes, and this man will never think of us again."

"I get that," he answered with agitation, "but why would he assume we were married?"

"Uhm, because it was the honeymoon suite?"

Ethan looked at her incredulously, an annoyed smirk on his lips. "And do you think every couple who has utilized that room has been married? In this day and age? His alluding to such a thing was absurd, to begin with."

"So, it's sexual liberty and freedom from the restraints of government-sanctioned bonds that is stressing you out right now...."

"I'm not stressed!" He barked... clearly stressed. "But yes, that's part of it. Marriage is a contract. It's a piece of paper. And based on the divorce rates, it's pretty clear what a useless piece of paper it is. I don't even know why they call it the honeymoon suite...." his voice trailed, and Kaycee saw Adam's apple bop before he let out one last utterance. "Ridiculous."

"OK," she acquiesced, turning around just as the clerk approached.

"Well, it looks like you're all set, ma'am. Additional expenses were charged to the card on file, and you or the lucky Mr. will be getting an e-mailed receipt."

"Oh, thank you," she smiled politely. "But... I feel I've misled you."

"Excuse me?" the clerk replied as Ethan's eyes shut tightly.

"We're not married. He's my boss. I'm his intern. And he feels marriage is a flawed institution that has long outlived its significance and importance. So... he's not my husband."

She chuckled as she imagined Ethan's face, she couldn't see it, but she heard a horrified gasp.

"I see then. Whatever floats your boat, we don't judge at the Hudson Hotels."

A red-faced Ethan hurried toward the door, Kaycee quick at his heels.

"Why on earth would you do that?" he hissed, clearly not as amused by the situation as the captivating young intern.

"To teach you a lesson, sometimes it's better just to go along with an assumption. I told you he would have forgotten us, but now, we'll be one of his favorite check-outs for life."

She broke out into a fit of giggles, apologizing as she attempted to gain control, only to break out into laughter again. Ethan did his best to keep his face set in stone as he glared at her from behind his Ray-Bans, but in the end, he shook his head with a half-grin. She was right. He was being ridiculous.

"You're going to be the death of me, Rookie."

Perma tags: @a-crepusculo @aishwarya26 @animesuck3r @annfg8 @annoyingmillenialnewbie @bex-la-get @binny1985 @bluebelle08 @bluerosesbloom @cariantha @coffeeheartaddict2 @crazy-loca-blog @danijimenezv @different4strawberry @differenttyphoonwerewolf @doriopenheart @fayeswiftie @forallthatitsworth @genevievemd @inlocusmads @jamespotterthefirst @jennieausten @kingliam2019 @liaromancewriterr @lilypills @lucy-268 @mainstreetreader @mysticalgalaxysstuff @ofmischiefandmedicine @onikalover @openheartforeverinmyheart @peonierose @peonyblossom @potionsprefect @quixoticdreamer16 @rookiemartin @schnitzelbutterfingers @secretaryunpaid @socalwriterbee @tessa-liam @toadfrog26 @trappedinfanfiction @uneravine @youlookappropriate @zahrachoices @jerzwriter-reblogs-asks @choicesficwriterscreations @openheartfanfics

[greater-than-the-sword]

Uh. The biggest Alex jones problem was that because he was denying Sandy Hook, his followers were actively harassing the parents of some of the kids that died. To a rather extreme point iirc

Part of being willing to participate in society is give up some of our rights (my right to be naked in my own house vs Walmart. My right to have hairspray at home vs the airport)

So it wasn't so much that he was saying nasty things, it's that he said things that caused people to then hurt others

A couple things.

It's claimed that he slandered the parents by calling them "actors", surely an upsetting charge, however people say upsetting things all the time about others. Now if he accused them of a crime or something, yes they can sue for slander/libel.

Now I'm not super studied in all the details of the court case, and probably none of us are because we weren't there, but they may potentially have a valid case for libel. BUT.

Even in MSM Jones' lawyers are quoted as saying this was blown out of proportion. As in, "I've been involved in more than 200 trials and never seen anything like this," one said, "there were no price tags or receipts to justify this amount of damages," that no actual metric was used to determine why hundreds of millions were owed (eg. in a libel suit normally these things are calculated by lost revenues due to slander, or property damage, some kind of therapist or doctor testifying about emotional toll, etc.) This was not done. The lawyers say it was as though it were a revenge quest to put Jones out of business and shut him up.

A really important point to me. Unless he said to them "hey go find those kids' parents and bother them" or something precisely to that effect, he can't be held responsible for some other unhinged person's actions. Is this how we want our legal system to be? Like twitter drama, where you have some kind of affirmative obligation to control your followers/fans and if you don't or can't, you're responsible for their insane behavior? Can you see how that will be abused? Not just against people like Jones, or Trump, but against anyone. All that has to happen is a person commits crimes in your name or says they were inspired by you, and bam, you're guilty of "incitement", even if you didn't actually say to them "do x", you just said something that sort of correlates with a worldview where a person might do x. And maybe in your worldview there are a million reasons not to do x, but your fan doesn't know that, so they go and do x.

Eg. If you and I live in the same house and I say to you, "I think our next door neighbor is a murderer!" and you go and kill him, that may be slander on my part, but even if it were knowing slander, it is not necessarily incitement because I have a strong belief that vigilantism is wrong, and it is also illegal to extrajudicially kill people, so it's an absurd logical leap to say that I intended, by saying this, for you to go and kill him.

More than that, this kind of logic is a dangerous tool of the state in finding ways to criminalize and convict people for the endorsement of any worldview they don't like. Simply: connect that worldview with some type of crime, find the crime, say that anyone who espouses the worldview incited the crime.

This could be used against ANYONE, not just conservatives. It could be used against liberals. Use your imagination, honestly.

[cha-melodius]

hii!! if you're feeling up to it could you please do prompt 8 with firstprince?

(Hi anon, thanks for the prompt! This was 8. “My holiday dish is better than your holiday dish,” and it ended as an enemies-to-lovers neighbors AU. I hope you enjoy!)

The Spirit of Giving

Read it on AO3 (T, 2.3k)

Here’s the thing: Alex is pretty sure Henry can’t even cook.

His annoying—and annoyingly hot—neighbor across the hall gets delivery constantly, when he eats at home to begin with. Then there was that one time that his grocery delivery order accidentally got left at Alex’s doorstop, and Alex had dug in without looking at the receipt stapled to the outer bag only to find a large collection of instant noodles and frozen dinners. Look, no shade on his ramen choices; that creamy tom yum one is fucking good, and Alex absolutely understands the appeal of a bowl of hot, umami-laden instant ramen when you can’t be assed to cook. But there were also essentially no raw ingredients in the bag, either.

The point being that he’s never seen any evidence that Henry knows how to use what must be a very nice kitchen, if it’s similar to Alex’s (and he knows it is). One of the main reasons Alex got an apartment in this co-op was because of that kitchen. Cooking is important to him. Besides running, it’s the only thing that can quiet his too-loud thoughts and calm his frayed nerves when his job gets to be too much. He cooks a lot, and he cooks a huge variety of different styles and cuisines, although of course Mexican cooking is the most important to him.

Which is why, when the co-op president puts a sign-up sheet for dishes to bring to the annual holiday party, he cannot understand why Henry of all peoples signs up to make enchiladas. Enchiladas! The whitest person in all of Brooklyn, making Alex’s fucking specialty! It’s a fucking affront, is what it is. And then, when Alex confronted him about it, he had the gall to shrug and say he didn’t see why he shouldn’t sign up for them.

Fine. Alex will make tamales, which will be even better, since the co-op president decreed that no one could sign up for the same dish. It’s just been a little while since he made them, but it’s a good excuse to call his grandmother and have her ramble to him about making the dough and the proper way to fold them, plus at the end she insists on sending him a box of dried chiles in the mail. A win-win, really.

There are a couple of weeks in between the sign ups and the actual holiday party, which are long enough for Alex to notice something odd going on at Henry’s. Their apartments are the only two that occupy the third floor, and so they share a number of common walls that are fortunately pretty well sound-proofed. The duct work for the HVAC must be shared in places, though, because occasionally Alex can smell things like Henry’s Thai takeout, or that time when he seemed to be dating a guy who was really into Axe body spray (that, fortunately, did not last long). Alex has also detected things burning in the kitchen on occasion, which is another point in the Henry-can’t-cook column, but he almost never smells the telltale aromas of cooking food. Onions and garlic sweating. Bread baking. Soup simmering. It’s distinct from prepared food delivered or reheated.

Now, though, some of those scents have started wafting over from Henry’s apartment. Garlic frying, and then burning, then frying again. Meat searing. Once, he swears he smelled dried chiles being toasted. It’s a scent straight from his childhood, and not one he’d mistake for anything else. Then there are the grocery deliveries he’s seen sitting on Henry’s doormat. Not that he’s been snooping, but he could see certain items at the top of the bags, like peppers and Mexican cheeses and an actual bag of masa harina flour. That one might have made him do a double take at to be sure he wasn’t imagining it.

It seems, unbelievably, like Henry’s practicing for the holiday party. Obviously, he should, if he thinks he’s going to beat Alex at his own game, but it’s very unexpected.

Maybe Alex should make a practice batch of tamales.

A few days later, on a Saturday when he has a bit of free time, he invites Nora and June over for dinner. Casually, like. He doesn’t say why, or what he’ll be cooking, but he dives into his grandmother’s recipe and is fucking glad he did so ahead of the actual party. It really has been a while, and he was never all that great at folding the wrappers neatly.

“So,” June says, leaning on one elbow on the counter while she watches him carefully fill the corn husk wrappers. “Are you going to tell us why you’re making Abuela Diaz’s special tamales in mid-December?”

“Do I need a reason?” he shoots back.

“For something this labor intensive? Absolutely yes.”

Alex sighs. “I’m practicing for the co-op’s holiday party.”

“First,” June starts, and Alex knows he’s in for it. “Why aren’t you just making enchiladas? You always make enchiladas for potlucks. And second, since when do you care enough about co-op potlucks to need to practice?”

He really doesn’t want to tell her. He can hear it now, because it’s always the same whenever his neighbor comes up.

Of course, Nora does it for him. “It’s Henry, isn’t it,” she guesses slyly, coming to stand next to June. “It’s always Henry when it’s something to do with the co-op.”

“I don’t get why you hate him,” June says before he can even refute Nora’s claim. “He’s seemed perfectly nice every time I’ve talked to him.”

“You don’t have to live next to him, Bug,” Alex protests. “He’s annoying, and he thinks he’s better than everyone else.”

June hums uncertainly, but he doesn’t care what she thinks. He’ll never forget how, when he’d been moving in, his new neighbor had take one look at him and muttered ‘Oh, Christ,’ before fleeing. Maybe he thought Alex hadn’t heard him, but he had, and it was more than enough to get a sense of who he was. Later he’d introduced himself, goaded on by his brightly-clad friend, and though he’d been polite he’d also clearly been under duress, which didn’t help anything. Anyway it’s been two and half years, and little has improved. Alex is pretty much annoyed by everything Henry does, even when Henry’s not really doing anything particularly annoying and he knows he might be being unreasonable.

This time, he is not unreasonably annoyed. “He’s making enchiladas,” Alex explains testily. “He signed up before me and he stole my dish. So I’m making tamales that will be a million times better than whatever a British approximation of enchiladas is.”

“That is weird,” June agrees, her brow furrowed. “What does he usually make for these things?”

“He doesn’t. He brings wine, or a cheese plate or something.” Alex doesn’t say that Henry’s cheese plate game is strong. The man does know how to pick out a good brie. “So he’s really just going out of his way to fuck with me this year, and it’s not going to work.”

“Think it already has,” Nora says, smirking as she sneaks a bit of chicken out of the pot.

Alex bats at her hand. “Fuck off. That’s for the tamales.”

“Which are also going in my stomach. Just cutting out the middle man.”

“Bug, control your girlfriend.”

“No thanks,” June replies, smiling sweetly at him.

His practice tamales come out pretty damned good, if he says so himself, and the ones for the holiday party are going to be even better. Alex is confident now that there’s no way his won’t be the best dish a the whole potluck; he’s definitely going to win (and no, he doesn’t care that you can’t ‘win’ a potluck, June). So it doesn’t matter if he smells more chiles from Henry’s apartment, or the aroma of toasting tortillas.

Then, a week before the party: betrayal.

He’s trudging up the stairs to his apartment after a long day at work when he thinks he hears a familiar voice coming from above him, and when he gets to the landing it’s confirmed. “June?” he asks, confused. “Oh shit. Did I forget about a thing tonight?”

For some reason, June looks guilty, and it makes him really fucking suspicious. “Er, no. I was just. Leaving.”

“What do you mean, leaving? What are you doing here if it’s not to see me?”

“Don’t get mad,” she says. She hesitates and chews her bottom lip, like she’s not sure she wants to tell him. “I ran into Henry last week and he asked for my help. With the enchiladas.”

“You’re helping the enemy!?” Alex nearly shouts. They’re still standing in the landing. This is probably not the place to do this.

“He’s not your enemy, Alex,” June sighs. “He’s really a nice guy, if you would just get to know him—”

“No,” Alex cuts her off. “I can’t believe this,” he wails dramatically, pressing the back of one hand against his forehead. “Betrayed by my own kin!”

June rolls her eyes at him. “You’re being absurd. I’m leaving now. Maybe consider being adult about this for once. He’s trying.”

“Trying what?” Alex asks, but she’s already walking down the stairs. “Trying what, Bug?”

The day of the party comes and Alex is fucking ready. The tamales are exceptional, if he does say so himself. Even though it’s just a co-op potluck, everyone likes to dress to the nines, so he digs a seldom-worn deep red velvet three-piece suit he bought once on a lark (and which makes his ass look amazing) out of his closet, along with a forest green tie in a classy Christmas tree print. He styles his curls just so. No one’s going to look better than him at this party tonight, not even stupid Henry, who always looks beautiful even in the most boring suits possible.

Sure enough, Henry is wearing a sedate dark grey suit with a plain red tie, though the suit looks like it must be bespoke with how it fits him. Alex feels a knot of something—annoyance, probably—twist in his gut at the sight of him, standing there holding a pan. He looks strangely shy. Almost hopeful. Alex follows him over to the table set up for the food and puts his tamales down next to the enchiladas, which, ok, smell pretty good. The two dishes look right together. It reminds him of Christmas in Texas, and he feels something catch in his throat.

“Hullo, Alex,” Henry says, a little carefully, like he’s not sure what Alex will do. Probably fair, given their previous interactions.

Alex clears his throat and tries to regain some of his usual emotional distance. “Hi,” he says, pausing awkwardly. “Uh. Those look pretty good. I heard you had some help.”

Henry smiles and looks down at his hands for a moment before meeting Alex’s gaze again. His eyes are so, so blue. It should be illegal. “I wanted them to be right.”

“Why?” Alex can’t help but ask. “Why sign up for something you’ve never made before?”

“You always make them, and they’re always wonderful,” Henry tells him, “but last year I heard you talking about how there’s something different when they’re made for you. That you missed that, since you can’t often get back to Texas for Christmas.”

Last year. Henry remembered something he said offhandedly last year. Alex doesn’t even remember saying that, although it’s true. Even if it’s the same recipe, it’s different if you make it yourself.

“You made these for me?” he asks, struggling to fit the pieces together. Henry doesn’t even like him. Right?

“I did.”

“You practiced for weeks. You… asked for my sister’s help,” Alex realizes. “For me.”

“I never would have gotten the tortillas right without her,” Henry says solemnly.

“I thought you were just trying to fuck with me. Get on my nerves.”

Henry chuckles, a little ruefully. “I know you don’t believe it, but I’ve never wanted that, Alex.”

Alex finds himself rendered uncharacteristically speechless. How could he have been so wrong for so long about all of this? About Henry, who’s looking at him so intently, so adoringly, that it’s dizzying?

“You look stunning tonight,” Henry tells him, seemingly growing more confident the more flustered Alex gets.

Alex swallows. “Yeah, well. Your tie is fucking boring,” he says, without any heat. He can feel himself smiling without his permission. It makes Henry laugh, and that sound does something to Alex’s insides that is both wonderful and terrible at the same time. He wants to hear it again and again. But first—he can’t believe he’s really thinking this—he really wants to try these enchiladas.

Henry watches him raptly as he grabs a plate from the table and dishes out a couple of neatly wrapped enchiladas from the pan, making sure to get plenty of the rich, red-brown sauce. The tortilla yields is an extremely satisfying way when he presses his fork into it, with just enough resistance to promise to be toothsome without being tough. When he finally takes a bite he’s transported; God, the pork inside is perfectly spiced, and the sauce—

“Where did you get this recipe?” he asks, barely managing to swallow before he gets it out.

“I started out with one I found on a Mexican cooking blog,” Henry says. “But then June gave me your grandmother’s sauce recipe when she came over to help.” He bites his lower lip tentatively. “Is it any good?”

Alex doesn’t know what comes over him. He sets the plate down on the table, steps forward, puts both his hands on either side of Henry’s face, and kisses him soundly. Henry makes a small surprised noise in the back of his throat, but then he’s kissing Alex back eagerly, his hands coming up to rest on Alex’s hips. He nips at Alex’s lower lip and their tongues tangle together, and it’s so fucking good that Alex actually whimpers when Henry pulls away.

“I’m not sure the middle of the co-op holiday party is the best setting for this,” he says, a little breathlessly.

“Ok, we’re definitely taking this upstairs,” Alex agrees, “but first… you have to try my tamales.”

[taraljc]

OK, so I think I figured it out.

(spoilers for Lockwood & Co novels set after the TV series)

I'm presuming Lockwood and Jessica got the house when Jessica reached the age of majority (which had been lowered due to The Problem), and as George told Lucy, they had been living with a relative, not at Portland Row in the years since their parents deaths.

So why would Jessica have been opening boxes in what is clearly a small child's bedroom? Why not in the basement or in the library? why would she have all of the boxes and be going through them in her bedroom when there are much more suitable places to do that in the house?

Then it occurred to me she would have done the same thing that Lockwood later did. She would have moved out of her childhood bedroom. Which would explain the master bedroom being the room George is in by the time Lucy moves in.

Because it makes total sense to me that Lockwood's childhood bedroom would have become the box room, the place where they put all of the stuff they weren't ready to deal with yet after their parents deaths. Everything that was in storage, every uncategorised box that Celia and Donald intended to get to eventually.

If the basement was the playroom (not their parents' home office), and is one gigantic open space divided by arches, then having that small bedroom being the box room is important because it has a door that can close. It has a physical barrier between the stuff they are not ready to emotionally process and the rest of the house.

I look at how Lockwood and Lucy are repainting the now spare room on the landing in the final book and I think this is the same thing Jessica would have done when they first moved back into the house. They would have taken symbolic and practical measures to made it their own. They would have kept as much of it exactly as their parents had left it, but also made changes so they weren't being haunted by bad memories. Jessica would have moved into what had been the spare room and Lockwood would have moved into what had been Jessica's attic bedroom, and their parents room probably was not a room either of them felt comfortable sleeping in.

But now there's no trauma associated with that room because now that is George's room and so the only trauma really involves George and naked yoga.

Lockwood knows what every single artefact on the walls are because Lockwood read all of his parents research and all of their work when he was old enough to understand it. He probably very carefully dusts them at least once a month, because I can't picture him trusting a cleaner with it and he is posh enough to almost certainly have had a cleaner in once a week until he decided to open an agency and take out a loan for equipment, advertising, etc.

(Of course once George moved in, George probably thought Lockwood was throwing good money after bad because he cleans when he stressed out and Lockwood totally stresses him out on the regular so George replaced the cleaner. he also defacto took over the shopping and the cooking because Lockwood can make tea and Lockwood could make scrambled egg and beans on toast and that is the sum total of Lockwood's domestic training thus far. Personally, I imagine his first attempt at a cheese toastie nearly burning the house down.)

Also I imagine that while George and Lucy draw a salary Lockwood probably pays himself very, very little. Instead whatever money that would normally be a salary probably goes right back into the business. Which means their books are a mess of intermingled household and business expenses. but that's probably something Barnes would be a stickler about that Lockwood would then go to 11 being incredibly serious and pedantic about separating the accounts and being the best run agency in the history of psychical detection agencies.

(if Sykes really did drive DEPRAC crazy I am presuming Sykes is where Lockwood learned how to run a business in addition to his trade, and if Sykes idea of keeping track of receipts for the tax bill was dumping the crumpled and tea-stained contents of his pockets into a biscuit tin at the end of each day, that would kind of fit my mental picture of a guy who goes by the name Gravedigger and recruits an orphan to train up like Alfred to Locky's Bruce.)

Lockwood must have had a plan for expanding the agency. If for no other reason than that leading field teams has an expiration date built in: someday his Talent will fade. that is a fact of life that every agent accepts it is meant to be immutable. It clearly is not but that's what I want to write about, I think.

Because Lockwood's entire sense of identity is so closely tied to his abilities to lead the team out in the field that the idea of being relegated to a supervisor position is going to be incredibly messy.

But they're going to have to start training up new agents, and soon. Otherwise there won't be a Lockwood & Co.

Truthfully I don't think Lockwood really believed he would make it to 20. That's the sense I got from the entire conversation with Lucy at the cemetery. That's the titular empty grave. He's very focused on leaving behind a legacy, but I don't think he really had any expectation of a future beyond the age of 20 or thereabouts.

Suddenly, add one Lucy Carlyle, and everything changes. And there's a Holly and there's a Kipps, and I personally hope he recruits that mouthy night-watch kid, and the kid with the ears like taxi cab doors from the village. But there's going to be an actual future to plan for and that's going to hit him like a 10,000 ton weight at some point right on top of his pointy head. Bless.

Granted, in the short-term George is going to reverse engineer The Orpheus Society's ghost vision goggles. But they probably won't work as well as his own Sight and there's going to be so much drama.

I need to sit down and write an outline.