#jesus christ i accidentally wrote an essay

[chr0mematic]

(G)I-DLE CONCERT STUFFS!!!

So yesterday I just saw my favorite kpop group. Arguably the only group that matters. (G)-fkn-IDLE! Like the Twice concert, I’m gonna write some anecdotes! I have a lot more to say this time around. 

While waiting in line somebody gave me a freebie, which were two custom-made photocards for the concert. One was a group shot, and the other was of Minnie! Shout out to Kashuee on Twitter you’re a real one.

The soundcheck was so casual, you could tell they didn’t rehearse it compared to the main show. They just came out and said “hi we’re gonna practice now what songs do you want lol”. We got Blow Your Mind, Luv U, and My Bag. It went by so fast, and Minnie told us to save our voices for the main show.

There were no translators at all. Each member spoke in English which was pretty neat!

Now onto the main show. When they were introducing themselves, it sounded like they were reading off KProfiles lmao. Except for Yuqi. As expected of the bluff queen, she was hyping herself up. 

A lot of the songs were reworked for the concert. Most notably Dumdi, Lion, and Never Stop Me. Lion was even more theatrical than before and Never Stop Me turned into such a hype song with the extended chorus! Might’ve been my favorite performance thanks to its energy!

During the second interlude, they noted the most iconic part of Senorita was the “hey señor” lyric + pose. I think it made everyone a little sad considering who originally sang that line...luckily the girls decided to do their own versions! Miyeon did a goofy one, Yuqi cool, Soyeon sexy, and Shuhua tried to do the original godbless. Minnie did a cartwheel for no reason.

At one point Yuqi got to sing Lost, with Soyeon following up with the fucking. Shake Shack Song

The girls did not fight each other for the dance battle interlude. They decided to challenge us nevies. 

When they put on a song for us, we ended up looking like this American Dad scene in real life which made me laugh. The girls themselves even made fun of the move lol.

They retaliated by dancing to Toxic Britney Spears thank god. Was afraid they would put on idk Justin Bieber or something.

To determine who won the dance battle, Yuqi played rock paper scissors with a fan and she lost lmao. So basically, we kicked their asses.

I must note that Shuhua also did a cartwheel here for no reason.

During another interlude, the girls wanted the audience to look around and make friends with each other. Which singlehandedly gave me school flashbacks. But they provided some examples on how we could act, like Yuqi and Shuhua fangirling obnoxiously. Likewise Minnie asked Miyeon if she was a nevie and if she was single LMAO

When we got the last chorus of My Bag, Soyeon pointed her mic to the crowd and let us sing while she stood completely still. It was so badass.

They made us shout the fuck in Tomboy right before they played it. This wouldn’t have happened at any other kpop concert fr.

While waiting for the hi-touch I think I saw this reaction youtuber I used to watch thanks to Idlecord posting his videos. So that was surreal. 

NOW ONTO THE HI-TOUCH. The venue staff were rushing us and Soyeon was first in line, which completely fucked me up. I remember saying hi but I don’t remember her reaction. I think I glanced back at her so I only got to look at Shuhua for a second. Then Miyeon smiled warmly at me, and for some reason I don’t remember Minnie at all? I feel bad about that. My strongest memory is Yuqi, who looked me in the eyes and told me “thank you”. For what, slapping your hand? I kid, but that moment makes me happy. :D

Now there were a couple negatives as well...

Waiting several hours in the opressive summer heat to get in the venue. I thought I would get sore feet and a migraine but I didn’t surprisingly? I mean I woke up today with a headache at 5 am but it’s already gone. Retail must’ve prepared me for this moment.

During the soundcheck, someone behind me yelled “I MISS SOOJIN” during a quieter moment. I thought fans agreed not to bring her up explicitly? Cause that makes things awkward for the girls. Show OT6 support through like, merch or something. I did that with my OT6 shirt.

The venue itself. The first floor was packed like sardines and I had to stay on my tiptoes a majority of the time. To make matters worse, when any popular song came on literally EVERYONE was recording, and I couldn’t see shit and had to look their phones...fans did this with the first 3 songs and ngl it soured my mood then. It got better with bsides but eh.

Also the crowd was almost completely still. I guess I can understand because it was so hot and people were waiting for hours, but it felt dead at times. I felt out of place with me bopping my head n stuff lol. 

My flash went off two times, once randomly that I fixed quickly but the other time was when I was recording Uh Oh, and I didn’t see it until halfway through the song. The only people who would’ve noticed that are the people directly in front of me...and the girls on stage. Not a big deal I think but I’m cringing now that I realize this.

I read that compared to other kpop concerts, (G)I-DLE’s hi-touch was pretty much a speedrun. Now I’m sad I didn’t get any more geuinine interactions :c

TL;DR this was the most fun I had in a looong time. Thank you Yuqi.

[ptergwen]

I think your requests are open (I didn’t see anything that said otherwise but I suck at this app lol) but I was wondering if you could write a peter x reader (likely college-age) where they have an academic rivalry and just tease each other a lot and lots of fluff and shit? It can be an established relationship or like a friends/rivals to lovers or really whatever you want. Sorry if this is super specific! Anyways, I love your writing, it always cheers me up :)

friends close, enemies closer

ik this is cherry BUT i had to

w/c: 1.6k

warnings: swearing and hints of suggestiveness

a/n: thank you my love ! i’m actually obsessed with this concept so i’m super super happy with how it came out n i hope you are too :,)

-

you wipe sweat from your upper lip, peeking at peter’s laptop screen. he’s more than halfway through the paper your english professor tasked your class to write. he looks to have not a worry in the world as he continues to type away. growling at this, you dive right back into work.

you’ve been at each other’s throats since the beginning of classes when you both wanted the same spot. first row, middle seat. peter had officially claimed it in the end. you’d flopped down next to him and his irritating smirk.

the dude is smart, you’ll give him that. his knowledge of literature is almost as impressive as yours. almost. he raises his hand any chance he gets, effectively stealing your thunder if you dare to participate.

peter is also a bit of a people pleaser. he’ll chat up your professor at office hours, fascinate her with his hot takes on things or stupid anecdotes. you often get so annoyed that you bail before you even attempt to woo her yourself. the sight of you storming off is something peter thoroughly enjoys.

bottom line is, golden boy peter parker never loses. underneath the sweet, innocent persona he hides behind is a ruthless fighter. you’re determined to end his winning streak, thus sparking your ongoing competition to be better than the other in every way possible.

this time, your goal is to meet your ten page paper requirements the fastest. they aren’t due for weeks, but you and peter are banging them out in one sitting.

you’re hauled up in the campus library, sat side by side despite your wishes for peter to get his own table. he’d insisted on sharing with you. why, you haven’t a clue. you can’t stand him, and he isn’t the fondest of you either.

that’s what you tell yourselves, at least.

“progress report?” peter requests from you. “page three. you?” you grunt back. he props his feet up on the table, arms flexed behind his head. “finishing up page seven. you already knew that, though... creeper.”

god, you can hear the shit-eating grin in his voice.

you glance over at peter, doing your best to ignore how his biceps bulge under his hoodie. nerdy little parker is ripped.

“worry about yours, i’ll worry about mine. thanks.” you reread the sentence you wrote prior to peter’s chiseled body distracting you. “oh, the irony,” he sighs and nudges the edge of your laptop with his sneaker. scowling, you shift the screen away from him.

about a minute of silence goes by until it’s unfortunately filled by peter. he stretches his arms out, finally removing his dirty shoes from the table.

“i’m gonna take five. maybe, you could use it as an opportunity to catch up to me,” peter cockily suggests. “spare me your charity, peter. i’m doing just fine without it,” you retort, letting out a scoff. peter raises his hands in defense. “if you say so, princess.”

here you were, naively thinking peter couldn’t become any more insufferable than he already is.

you slam your laptop shut and jab a finger at his chest. “jesus christ, how many times do i have to ask you not to call me that?” a patronizing pout adorns peter’s lips. “aw, i love it when you get all bossy on me. so cute.”

he grabs your hand still on his chest, pressing a light kiss to the back of it. you’re quick to wipe it off on his hoodie. nevertheless, there’s an undeniable heat rushing to your cheeks.

“well, i hate it when you call me princess,” you deadpan. peter tilts his head to the side. “do you?”

of course not. deep down, you live for the fuzzy feeling you get whenever the nickname slips from his tongue. oh, his tongue and the things it can do. poking out as he focuses hard on a question, running across his pink lips…

you have to reel it in. this is peter parker you’re fantasizing about, your mortal enemy.

“yes. i hate it, and i hate you,” you unsuccessfully convince the both of you. “no, you don’t,” peter rasps, darkened eyes scanning over your features. his stare is intense and intimidating. he grasps your chin between his thumb and index finger, slowly leaning in closer.

he’s not going to stop until you make him. you don’t want to, but you will.

you shove his shoulder, dragging your laptop towards you again. “on second thought, i could use that catch up. you’re not gonna throw me off my game, parker.”

your rejection seems to disappoint peter. his expression matches that of a kicked puppy, brows furrowed and arms crossed over his chest.

“we’ll see,” he murmurs and swings a leg over his chair. “alright, i’m gonna run to the caf. you want anything?”

he’s offering to buy you food now? what’s his angle here?

“i’d say yes, but i’m afraid you’ll poison it somehow,” you half joke. peter hops to his feet. “don’t give me any ideas,” he warns, snatching his backpack off the floor. “i’ll just surprise you.”

although you’re curious what his mystery snack choice for you would be, you can’t accept. you’d be going against your entire dynamic.

would that be so terrible?

absolutely.

you wave him off towards the double doors. “i’m good, peter. really. i’m not that hungry, anyway.” shaking his head, peter throws a backpack strap onto one shoulder. “y/n, your stomach’s been grumbling for the last hour. you gotta eat.”

he’s not wrong. you’re starving, but you’ve been too preoccupied by your essay to break for dinner.

“fine, surprise me,” you concede. peter flashes you a smile, this one void of its usual condescendence. “i’ll be back. try not to miss me too much,” he calls as he walks backwards to the library doors. “i won’t. shoo already,” you dismiss him, a laugh falling from your lips.

peter winks at you, then disappears into the night. you’re left with a serious case of butterflies and a certain freckle faced know-it-all on your mind.

that’s a problem.

you’ve managed to get another page done when peter reappears. he sits back down and slides a bag across the table, you closing your laptop. you dig into it to figure out what he picked for you. you’re not too pleased with his selection, however.

“oh, yummy. vomit in a cup,” you announce as you hold a green smoothie in your hand. peter reaches over and pats your thigh. “it’s good for you. drink up, princess.” you slap him away. “hard pass. i’d rather you have gotten me nothing.”

narrowing his eyes, peter pulls two cookies wrapped in a napkin from his pocket. “i’m guessing you don’t want these either? more for me, then.”

they’re chocolate chip and m&m, your favorite in the cafeteria. they just came out of the oven, so they’re still warm.

“how… how did you know i…” you trail off, peter setting the cookies in front of you. he offers you a lopsided grin. “i know a lot about you, believe it or not. i pay attention.” you surprise yourself by returning his smile. “thank you, peter. how much do i owe you?”

“nah, it’s on me,” peter assures you. “enjoy.” pushing aside your unappealing drink, you seize the cookies instead. “you have to eat, too. let me at least split these with you.” there’s a beat before peter nods. “fair enough.”

that results in you two munching on your cookies while pretending to write your papers. you’re sneaking glances at each other whenever the other isn’t looking, in reality.

once it’s about time for the library to close, you’re on the verge of passing out. peter is concluding his essay until he hears a thump from your side of the table.

he finds you with your cheek smushed against your keyboard and hitting random letters, snores escaping you.

chuckling to himself, peter places a hand on your shoulder. “hey, y/n?” he speaks in a hushed tone. you awake with a gasp, drool pooling at the corners of your mouth. “easy there, princess. it’s only me.” he rubs circles on your back, and it’s oddly comforting.

“keep doing that,” you purr, momentarily forgetting how much you’re supposed to despise peter. he lets his fingers dance across the exposed skin of your lower back. “we should probably head out. it’s kinda late,” peter decides.

you sit up, bones aching and eyes forced open. “not yet. have to beat you first.” you start to delete the gibberish you accidentally typed. peter cups your cheek to turn your head towards him, your movements halting. “this one’s a tie. you did good, y/n/n,” he coos. “finish the rest another day.”

“why’re you being so nice to me?” you nearly whisper. peter uses his thumb to swipe the drool from your lips. “‘cuz i care about you. i might not show it, but i do,” he admits with the hint of a smile. “besides, i need you… for the, uh, the healthy competition.”

laughing softly, you twist his hoodie strings around your fingers and tug. “your intentions are pure as always. sure that’s all you need me for?” peter’s gaze darts to your lips, then your eyes. “we’ll see,” he repeats.

rivalry be damned.

“mm. i care about you too, parker. thanks again for tonight,” you hum. a blush coats peter’s cheeks, even in the dim library lighting. his sweet and innocent side might truly exist. “no problem.” peter links your pinkie with his, the gesture giving you that fuzzy feeling. “i’ll walk you back to your dorm?”

you lean over and kiss his pinkie intertwined in yours.

“lead the way.”

[bruhstories]

Sticky, Saccharine & Sinful

Summary: Professor Jaeger asks his assistant to come over and grade some papers. Pairing: Zeke Jaeger x Fem!Reader (modern AU) Warnings & Content: language, protected sex, fingering, oral sex (female & male receiving), spanking, daddy kink, bossy Zeke, bratty Reader, tying up, bit of an age gap but no underage shit (we don’t do that here) Word Count: 2.5 k

A/N: Huehuehue guess who finally wrote a daddy kink smut? Also I have looped Cherry Cola by Kuwada the entire time i wrote, proofread and formatted this bitch, I think it works with the atmosphere

"Y/N, I'm gonna need you to help me grade some papers later today." Professor Jaeger pushed his glasses with his index finger as he looked up from his book.

"You got it, boss!" You nodded as you entered the staff lounge room at Stohess Uni, two cups in your hands.

"How many times do I have to tell you to call me Zeke?" The man sighed. “Or at least call me professor.”

"But I'm your assistant, you're my superior, that makes you my boss, boss." Sarcasm dripping down your tongue as you placed his coffee down the table. "All black, two cubes of sugar."

"Thank you. And yes, technically I am your boss, but you're, what, six years younger than me?"

"Seven and a half." You pouted.

You've been working at Stohess University for a little over a year now as Zeke Jaeger's assistant. He was the best philosophy teacher, as well as head of the department, and you nailed your internship interview, aspiring to be like him one day. He even taught you Ethics during your masters, and currently you were doing your PhD research under his coordination. The man was a genius in his field, and you didn't dare disappoint him, but your personalities always clashed. He was calm and collected, you were bubbly and all over the place. He was nice and polite, you were sarcastic and rude. Zeke knew you'd make a horrible teacher for children, but undergraduate students would adore you.

"How can you drink hot coffee in this heat wave?" You asked him as you fanned someone's epistemology essay to cool yourself off.

"It's actually been proven that warm drinks hydrate better than cold ones during summertime." He inhaled the scent of freshly brewed coffee before taking the essay out of your hand.

"Whatever you say, boss." You shrugged and gulped on your iced tea, a few glistening amber drops dripping from the corners of your mouth, down your chin and your neck. "Ah, shit." You wiped the tea with the back of your hand, not catching Zeke watching you curiously. "Why did the AC have to break down today of all days?"

"Dunno." He shrugged and immersed himself back into his book. "Oh, I hope you don't mind coming to my place to grade the papers? I don't think you'll be able to focus in this heat. Besides, I want to take a look at your latest PhD chapter." Jaeger told you absentmindedly, eyes glued to the pages in front of him.

"Sure thing–"

"Don't say it."

"Boss."

"Jesus Christ..."

You adored pissing your ex-professor off, but deep down, Zeke couldn't deny the fact that he loved the authority he had over you. You were a very alluring woman, after all, and any sane man would kill to be as close to you as he was, let alone boss you around like he did. And he had the strong feeling you acted like a brat around him on purpose. You took your leave after downing the rest of your beverage, going to the library to borrow some books for your own research.

•°���°•☆•°☆°•

You rang the intercom and waited for Zeke to let you inside the building, dragging your feet down the hallway, tired from carrying so much shit with you – laptop, books, essays, papers, pens and highlighters – you were a walking, talking stationery shop and one could only wonder how someone with such a petite frame was so strong. Zeke waited in the doorway and took some of your things, relieving the weight as you sighed.

"Coffee?" He guided you to his kitchen.

"Water, please." You plopped on a chair and unbuttoned the first three heart-shaped buttons of your lilac shirt, tiny beads of sweat bundled up at your collarbone.

"You sure? I'll be keeping you up all night." Jaeger laughed. He was obviously talking about the papers, but to you, the sentence had a different innuendo — not that you minded, you had your fair share of sinful fantasies with the older man. Come to think of it, you were wondering why he was single. Zeke was undoubtedly an attractive man, he could have any woman he wanted. Yet you’ve never seen him on a date, never seen a picture of a woman when you accidentally glanced at his phone, never heard him talk about a significant other.

"Hey, mind if I smoke?" You asked, noticing the ashtray on his table.

"Not at all, I'll join you." He sat opposite you, mug of coffee in his hand. You pulled out a pack of pink cigarettes from your backpack and placed one between your lips, pocketing your jeans for a lighter. His hand extended over the table, lighter in his hand, and you slightly bent your head forward, eyes glued to his. You inhaled the smoke, not breaking eye contact, and exhaled with a sigh. Something about Zeke lighting up your cigarette made your little cunt tingle.

"Thanks, boss." The corners of your lips turned into a barely visible smirk. You really, really liked to tick him off.

"Don't mention it." He told you before lighting his own cigarette. What, no comeback? No objection? "How's your paper going?"

"It's... going." You shrugged.

"You haven't written anything in your last chapter, have you?"

"No, I have," you half-whined, "it's just that I can't find my words. I think I encountered writer's block."

"'S alright, we'll figure something out." Zeke pulled a stack of papers from his briefcase and dropped it on the table.

"Wow, no shit you need help, that's a lot of papers." You twirled the cigarette between your fingers before taking one final puff and crushing it in the glass ashtray.

"Told you." He picked his resting cigarette back from the ashtray. "You can do the first years."

"I'd rather do something else." You whispered to yourself, eyes almost rolling at the back of your head.

"What was that?"

"Nothing, boss. First years, got it." Your manicured fingers pulled the stack of papers closer to you. The exams were already annotated according to subject and year and you took everything you needed before shoving them back to Zeke.

•°☆°•☆•°☆°•

You were bored out of your mind, fiddling with the red pen in your hand and tapping your fingers on the table with no particular rhythm. It was already dark outside and you barely finished a quarter of your stack while Zeke was halfway through his.

"Could you please stop that?" He asked you without even bothering to look at you.

"Why?"

"It's annoying."

With a groan you rolled your eyes and stopped tapping your fingers, instead opting to fidget your leg, bouncing it up and down under the table. The wooden furniture shook at the movement and Zeke sighed, putting the pen down.

"I understand you're bored, but if you want to be a professor, this is part of the job description."

"I know, I know, but, like, can we take a break? Please? We've been at it for two and a half hours now and I'm just so bored." You looked at him with puppy eyes and a pout on your plump lips.

"Ugh, fine. What do you want to do?"

"I dunno. Got any board games?"

"Only a pack of playing cards." Zeke shrugged.

"Perfect! Literally anything is better than this. I mean look at what this kid wrote: the ship of Theseus ARE a thought experiment. Can you believe it? How can a nineteen-year-old not know proper grammar?"

"Careful, Y/N," he chuckled, "you made a pretty embarrassing error during your masters, too."

"Nooo, don't bring that up!" You got up and walked to the freezer, scanning the contents.

"Why not? It's funny."

"Yeah, for you." You rolled your eyes. "But I still proved my worth." You triumphantly told him, tongue playfully poking out of your mouth from behind the freezer door. Ugh, you were so cute, made to be ravaged. Your eyes settled on the single raspberry popsicle and you picked it up, closing back the door. "Can I have this?" Oh, he knew exactly what you were doing.

"Of course."

With Zeke's approval, you unwrapped the plastic, revealing the rose-tinted dessert, swirling your tongue around its tip. You were a sight for sore eyes, (not so) innocently licking at the popsicle, your gaze on him and his growing bulge. He didn't even bother hiding it, instead relaxing in the chair and drinking you in. It was no mistake that Zeke invited you over, and you weren't stupid enough to believe it was a mistake.

"Do you... want some?" You trailed off as the once cold dessert began melting from your hot lips.

"If you'd be so kind." He patted his lap and you accepted the invitation. His bulge was comfortably uncomfortable against your ass, and you put the popsicle onto his lips, one arm draped around his shoulder. Zeke's tongue moved languidly around the sweet snack and you leaned in, your own tongue licking both the dessert and his lips. It was sticky and saccharine and sinful, and your poor pussy couldn't take it anymore.

"Do you wanna fuck me, daddy?" You naively asked him. He wasn't surprised in the slightest by the name, already suspecting you had daddy issues, in fact counting on it.

"I very much do." His hands were already roaming your body. The popsicle was almost gone, and you deepthroated the last bit, taking the little stick out of your mouth with a pop. Finally, he crushed his lips onto yours and you could tell he had experience. You dropped the stick on the tiled floor, twisting your body to better straddle him. Zeke unbuttoned your shirt as you slowly began grinding your hips against his bulge, earning a groan from him. "Ugh, you bad girl." He threw his head back as you loosened the tie around his neck.

"Are you going to punish me?" You slowly, too slowly unbuttoned his shirt.

"What’s the point of a punishment if you’re going to enjoy it?" He mused, unclasping your bra. You had goosebumps all over your skin and Zeke took one of your nipples in his hot mouth, a hand pinching your other one. You whimpered at the slight stinging sensation

"Does it m-matter if I enjoy it?" His touch became rougher, almost animalistic.

"Of course," he stopped sucking your swollen, oversensitive nipple, "otherwise you won't learn your lesson." You got up and turned around, your back against him, taking your jeans and underwear off, bending down and exposing your cunt to him. "You're going to be the death of me, Y/N." Zeke shook his head, removing his own trousers.

"Allow me." You tucked your fingers behind the waistband of his boxers, pulling them down as you kneeled in front of him. His throbbing cock tapped your face after finally being unleashed from its textile cage.

"I suspected you were big, but this? This is too good." You sneered at his member, mesmerised by its size.

"Just shut up and suck it." Zeke pretty much commanded you and you wet your lips, pressing your tongue against the velvety tip. You worked your way around his shaft, enjoying this more than you should've. You pulled back, a string of saliva and precum attached to your lips as you looked up at him.

"Am I doing good, daddy?"

"So good." He grabbed a fistful of your hair and pushed your head back. You eagerly sucked and slurped until he got bored of your mouth around his cock. Zeke pulled you up, spun you around and bent you over the table. He brought your wrists together and tied them up behind your back with his tie before taking a step back and admiring the view. Ass up, face down, just like he loved it. His foot pushed yours to the side, spreading your legs for him before he gave you a good slap over your ass cheeks. You shot up with a moan but his hand forced you back down against the table.

"I think I know exactly how to punish you." Zeke announced, two fingers spreading your folds as his tongue dove inside of you, lapping at your wet cunt.

"Oh, God!" You groaned in pleasure. No man has ever eaten you out like he did. Most guys did it as a chore. Zeke? He was enjoying every single bit of it, passionately fingering you, his tongue moving in ways you didn't think were possible. "Ah, fuck– so good! Daddy, please! I'm coming!"

The way he venomously laughed told you that no, you were not going to come any time soon. Just as you were about to let loose, Zeke stopped, removing his fingers, another slap on your ass. Tears pooled at your Y/E/C eyes, frustration written all over your face. "No, no, no!"

"I told you, Y/N, you're a bad, bad girl." He bent over and whispered in your ear, his cock pressing against your entrance, his hand in your hair.

"Oh, pleaseee, I need to come! Will you let me come?"

"Hm, it depends." Jaeger straightened his back, hands resting on your hips. "Did you learn your lesson?"

"Yes, yes, daddy, I did! I promise I'll be good!" You tried to turn around to look at him, oblivious to what he was doing behind your back, cheeks crimson, droplets of sweat on your forehead.

"Convincing enough." He shrugged and you heard the condom snap against his cock.  Unexpectedly and without any warning, the man thrusted into your wet cunt and you, again, shot up, but he pinned you back. "Stay fucking put, you little whore." Zeke demanded and you tried, you really tried, but your body had a mind of its own. "I see you refuse to learn."

"No, no, please!" You slammed your face onto the table, squishing your cheek in the process, desperate and helpless.

"That's better." He concluded, sarcasm dripping down his tongue as he rammed his cock deeper into you. The silken walls clenched around his hard member, and he grunted, no other woman pleasing him like your tight pussy did. "You like it when I take you from behind, you filthy slut?"

"Yes– oh my God, YES!" You bucked your hips against his for more pressure and pain.

"What would my students think if they saw you getting fucked like this on their papers?"

"Ah– I don't c-care!"

"What would the headmaster say if she knew you fuck your superior and- ugh- coordinator?" Jaeger thrusted harder and faster.

"Please, Zeke-"

His hand found its way to your neck, tightly squeezing it.

"Wrong name, Y/N."

"Shit, daddy!"

"That's right, I'm your fucking daddy and hell will freeze before someone else fucking touches you!"

"Fuc-k, fuuuck!" You both howled and panted as you climaxed, your entire bodies quivering. Zeke pulled out of you, carefully removing the rubber from his cock and giving you another slap on your perky ass cheeks. You stood up, arms still tied around your back, turned on your heels and pecked him on his cheek, giggling like a schoolgirl, marvelled by the fact that he chose you over anyone else.

"You know what, Y/N? Now that I've found you, I'm never going to let you go." He promised.

"I'm all yours, boss."

[thatsamericano]

Chiara, Reading Alfred’s Email

[It’s afternoon on New Year’s Day in Rome. Chiara decides to check her email since she has some free time.]

Chiara, noticing an email she got last night from an address she doesn’t recognize entitled “This is Alfred, Please Don’t Delete”: Huh, I guess Savino gave Alfred my email address after they got home. I’ll open this and see what he had to say.

Chiara, opening the email: Holy fucking shit, this thing is long. Did Fredo accidentally paste an essay he wrote for school into his email? I’m going to start reading it to make sure that’s not what’s going on.

Chiara, reading the opening where Alfred says he hopes she’s having a good New Year’s Eve: Okay, so it’s not an essay for school. I wonder why it’s so fucking long though.

Chiara, frowning as she reads the part about Alfred’s life being a mixture of heaven and hell because being with Vinny is heaven but the complications of being in a relationship with his stepbrother are pure hell: Damn it, Fredo...

Chiara, reading that her grandfather accepts Alfred and Savino’s relationship to the point he took them to the Ponte Milvio bridge to do the love lock thing: Wow, I wasn’t expecting that. But that is like Nonno. I think all he wants for his grandchildren is for them to be happy, and you obviously make Savi really happy.

Chiara, reading the next two sentences: What the fuck?! Marcello blackmailed them for a Vespa the day after Christmas?! I hope to God they decided to tell Tonio and Alfred’s parents instead of going along with that.

Chiara, reading that they transferred money out of their savings accounts to pay for the Vespa together before they left Rome and that Alfred initially offered to pay for it himself: Oh, for fuck’s sake! You two are so fucking stupid! Gesù Cristo, I want to smack you both right now. Especially you, Fredo, for trying to fall on some kind of goddamned sword and pay entirely for something neither of you idiotas can afford, even together. At least Vino was able to talk you out of being that stupid.

Chiara, reading the short paragraph about them buying the Vespa the day after they got home, hiding it in a gardening shed, and their parents discovering it the very next day: Of course they found out. It’s a fucking Vespa. That’s kind of hard to hide, especially since Savi was driving a little brat around whenever he asked. What the fuck were you two morons expecting?

Chiara, reading about Alfred’s argument with his parents over the Vespa and them getting on his case about Savino’s Christmas present: Jesus fucking Christ, you left less than thirty dollars in your checking account to pay for a Christmas present?! I can’t blame the eyebrow bastard and the Frenchman with the stubble for getting pissed off at you about that. But you are right about them being hypocrites if they got over it when they thought the present was for your actual brother and then getting upset that you bought it for Savino but saying he’s your brother at the same time. That isn’t fair.

Chiara, reading that Alfred confessed he’s been in love with Savino the whole time: NOOOOOO!!!!

Chiara, reading that Alfred tried to save Savino by claiming Savino has no feelings for him whatsoever: That is the stupidest fucking crock of shit I’ve ever heard. No way your fathers will believe that story.

Chiara, reading that Alfred is afraid of being kicked out of the house to the point he has a duffle bag ready to go at any minute and that his parents have been “treating him like a leper” ever since he confessed his feelings: Wow. I wish I really had killed the eyebrow bastard on Christmas Eve. And the Frenchman with the stubble too.

Chiara, reading that Alfred had a “weird conversation with Antonio�� where he didn’t seem that grossed out by Alfred’s feelings, expressed sympathy to him, and wanted to make sure Alfred didn’t have a problem with Antonio’s relationship with his dads: Huh, that sounds like it went better than it could have. Tonio is really fucking nice. Based on how you’re talking about your dads, they sound like total assholes. I really don’t get why he’s with people like them.

Chiara, reading about the lie Alfred told Antonio: Damn it, Fredo! You’ve really got to stop lying to people. That story doesn’t even make any sense. You and Savi don’t act awkward around each other like you would if your feelings were one-sided and Savi knew that.

Chiara, when she reads about Savino’s reaction to Alfred’s lie: I mean, he’s got a point. Taking advantage of someone who’s in love with you to get a Vespa out of them is a really, really shitty thing to do. I can only hope your dads aren’t dumb enough to believe that bullshit you told Tonio.

Chiara, when she reads that Alfred is bad at lying: No fucking shit. I figured you and Vino out at dinner that first night because you were practically proposing to each other when all I did was ask you and Matthew what you might want to do after high school.

Chiara, reading about the lengths Alfred has gone to to scrub his phone and computer clean of evidence about his relationship with Savino because his parents might confiscate his phone and computer at any time: That’s really fucking depressing. But if you’re worried about your parents taking away your phone and computer for excessive Internet use, you sure as fuck shouldn’t be sending gigantic emails to me. At least you’re doing it in an incognito browser window.

Chiara, raising her eyebrows as she reads about their New Year’s Eve plans: Wow, I can’t believe your parents are leaving you alone with each other overnight. They seem to hate that you’re together, but they’re handing you an opportunity to have sex on a silver fucking platter.

Chiara, reading that Alfred hopes the email wasn’t too long and overwhelming: It was. I feel like I need a very stiff drink after all that, but you clearly needed to get that off your chest.

Chiara, reading that Alfred wants her to enjoy the New Year in her lucky red underwear and his explanation that he found out about this days ago and isn’t being weird about her undies: [chuckles]

Chiara, reading the part where he teases her about enjoying Amelia’s red underwear: [blushes bright red]

Chiara, scrolling down to read the post-script: It’s sweet that you wanted to tell me about you being on the ace/aro spectrums, but I think I’ll look up more about the terms you were using before I respond to that part. It’s not fair to ask you a bunch of questions about that, especially since it sounds like you’re still figuring it out yourself. And maybe you should be more certain about yourself before you start telling other people.

[Now that she’s read the entire lengthy email, Chiara sits there and stares into space for a moment.]

Chiara: I have no idea how to respond to all this stuff Fredo said to me, but he probably needs me to, at least when it comes to all the weird shit with the Vespa and his parents. I’m going to get myself a cup of coffee or maybe two and then try to figure out what the fuck I’m going to say to him.

[adultswim2021]

Ephemera Week (2002)

I really wonder how effectively I’ll be able to do this in 2003. In 2003, Adult Swim started doing the black and white text bumps, where they give max sass and NO EFFS (fucks), so every week had unique content. I definitely don’t have the resources to catalogue every bumper or even come up with a decent “best of”. Ephemera Corner 2003 may look very different. To quote my good friend Zorak, “Brak, do you ever think about the future?”. To this I say, yes. Yes, Zorak, I do.

BROADCAST ANOMALIES AND SPECIAL NIGHTS!

Adult Swim Action (and other stuff) | February 23, 2002

February 23rd was the first installment of Adult Swim Action. Up to this point, Adult Swim aired a block of mostly comedy capped off with Cowyboy Bebop. This was the first formal separation of Action and Comedy. I remember the bitter rivalry between the two fandoms on various message boards I posted on. It really did seem like a venn diagram with almost no overlap; action fans hated the comedy shows (maybe they liked one or two but hated the rest) and the same went for the comedy fans, except most of the comedy fans I knew were devout anime haters.

At the height of my anime animosity an internet ex-friend of mine started a message board called ANIME SUCKS. It was an experience I’ll always remember fondly. At it’s peak it had over 1000 members. All but about a dozen of those members were actually ANGRY anime fans who just stumbled on the board and were FURIOUS at us for being anti-anime, and we’d just act like obtuse dickheads about it. Like, we’d act stupider than they were and just wind them up.

We developed a few tricks to really set somebody off. For example: they’d write an impassioned defense of anime as an art form, and say something like “it’s not all like Pokemon or Dragonball Z”, to which we’d reply “actually those are the only two animes I like”. This really got them. There was a special thrill to just replying “miyazaki is an idiot” to a guy’s 6-paragraph essay about why anime was “good, actually”, prompting an even longer response. It was really fun! We didn’t have to harass people online, they’d just come to us to get abused. I’ve never seen bait get taken so effortlessly. One day that guy just closed the message board, locked everyone out, and disappeared forever.

That was some aside, huh? Anyway, the arrival of Adult Swim Action meant that Adult Swim stopped airing the Thursday night repeats of Adult Swim Comedy, which was a shame. It Also meant Adult Swim’s Sunday night had an extra hour to fill, which they did with Rocky & Bullwinkle and the Popeye Show. People complained. I didn’t. Vintage animation is just a different take on the “adult” label. Besides, I was used to tuning out by 12AM anyway, so even if I didn’t like those shows (I did!) I wasn’t missing anything, really. But yes, if it were a full hour of Space Ghost repeats I guess that would’ve been better.

The Lewis Lectures | May 19, 2002 - 12:45 AM

A repeat of Lewis Lectures? IT HAPPENED! But what was so different about this broadcast of Lewis Lectures? Well, they accidentally scrambled the SAP audio with the default English audio, causing the Spanish soundtrack to play in tandem with the English one. It was bloody well fucked mate. This is simply no longer England.

I remember becoming an Adult Swim completist and taping this, considering it some kind of void in my collection. Part of me wishes I saved the recording, so I could combine it with the inferior YouTube rip currently up and have a closer-to-pristine copy than the one that’s available. But also, JESUS FUCKING CHRIST THIS IS LEWIS LECTURES WE ARE TALKING ABOUT. How much pain can I inflict on myself?

Harvey Birdman: Attorney at Law Mini-Marathon | September 15, 2002 - 11:00 PM

On this night they aired a little Harvey Birdman marathon of the 4 episodes. This was kinda baffling, as Birdman had 6 episodes to its name and they’d been repeated into the ground by this point. I guess it goes to show that Adult Swim kinda considered Birdman to be their prestige program. I’m hard-pressed to call any one Adult Swim show “smart” in a way that’s apparent on a shallow level. Birdman is set in a courtroom, animated the most competently out of all their other shows, and involved cultural references in a showy way. Like, Space Ghost having Dave Willis absurdly shout “UP THE CHAIN” in the background of a Space Ghost episode is almost just a weird easter egg. But Birdman? Birdman was name-dropping Hanna Barbera characters the same way Frasier would talk about whatever gay shit Frasier talked about.

They aired The Dabba Don, Shaggy Busted, Shoyu Weenie, Very Personal Injury in that order. I would’ve swapped Shaggy and Shoyu and for Bannon Custody Battle and Death by Chocolate, but that’s just me, I guess.

Adult Swim New Years Bash hosted by Carl and Brak | December 31, 2002 - 11:00 PM

Adult Swim officially ended 2002 with this: a night hosted by Carl and Brak in Times Square, watching the ball drop (which was FREAKING MEATWAD!!!!). I remember this night fondly. Unfortunately I can’t find the whole thing, but here’s a single segment I found on vimeo to give you some idea. I think I had it up at one point and Turner very annoyingly had it taken down.

I used to have this massive physical media collection; stuff on VHS and DVD and DVD-R that was meticulously catalogued. I ditched a lot of it in favor of digitizing stuff like this, eternally keeping it on hard drives that I meant to back up but never did. It seems more convenient, but it isn’t. If this were 2003 and I needed to show you this, I would be able to retrieve it from one of my many shelves. I might still have this, but would have no idea where to look for it and it would probably involve me getting in my car and going out to my storage unit and pulling every single box out. I turned it into ones an zeros and stuck it on a nondescript black box that could very well be dead. And now it’s not even on YouTube. Sad? Sure, it’s sad.

PEAK EPHEMERA

(phrase stolen from Grifthorse podcast)

Hey, here are some videos I found on YouTube in case you wanna go down a wormhole of watching old Adult Swim commercial breaks. May the gods of posterity keep them online forever:

February 4, 2002

Spring 2002

June 16, 2002

June 30, 2002

July 27, 2002

August 2002

November 17, 2002

November/December 2002

MAIL BAG:

This ends EPHEMERA WEEK. We’ll do actual episodes soon!

What's the scariest thing you seen on adult swim?

I don’t know if I have a real answer for this. I don’t think I actually get scared by stuff in movies or TV shows. I can’t even come up with a funny answer. Remember the end of that Metalocalypse episode where the little sick girl is dead and her eyes turn into maggots and you hear that screechy voice was like I’M DEAD BECAUSE OF YOU!!! I’ll just go with that even though it made me laugh really hard

Ever watch Limmy's Show

I am content just being vaguely aware of Limmy (no, I never watched his show. Seems good).

Please don't do such a big mailbag. I couldn't believe how many r-words wrote inane bullshit to you. Let keep this blog about the real stars: Master Shake, Space Ghost, Brak, Zorak, Meatwad, Frylock, Debbie, Black Debbie, Carl, Sparks, Stormy, Hesh, Moltar, Harvery Birdman Captain Murphy, Dr. Quinn, Paula, Marco,  Brendon, Jason, Melissa, The Mooninites, the Plutonians, Peanut, Coach Mc Gurk, Mentok the Mindtaker, Virjay, Antoin, Colby, Trotter, Adair WE ARE THE UPRIGHT CITIZENS BRIGADE :)

I can’t believe this IDIOT doesn’t get that by typing such a long message he very IDIOTICALLY contributed to the length of the Maili Bag... LMFAO, what a IDIOT

This is maybe the funniest blog on tumblr. You really think these nasty little cartoons are special, huh?

Hey than-- oh :( Yeah, I guess so :(

would you like master shake if he did the whole thing

I’m sorry what

[inthesummerswelter]

Michael Clifford goes to uni with a mountain of advice on what to expect.

None of it, it seems, turns out to actually be true.

University was supposed to be the best time of his life. Or, that’s what everybody told him, citing all the enlightening courses he would take, the raging parties he would attend, the rampant feeling of indestructible freedom he would exult in.

They failed to mention how he would be waiting in the laundry room at three in the morning because all his clothes were frankly beyond stale-smelling and starting to offend his roommates. They failed to mention that all the dryers would subsequently be filled with like, five loads of pink lacy things during his quick run to the minimart for a midnight snack to tide him over until next morning’s breakfast. They failed to mention how fucking long it takes for like, five loads of pink lacy things to actually run through a drying cycle.

Michael Clifford sits in the basement of his dormitory, a pile of dripping laundry beside him in a plastic basket with one of the handles broken, trying desperately to not fall asleep. It smells like dampness and mold and copious detergent spills.

He runs a hand through his hair and rubs along his neck, checking to see if there’s any excess dye from his escapades earlier with a bottle of purple he'd picked up on a whim last Thursday. There is, of course, and he wipes his palm along his denims.

Except he's forgotten that he's not wearing his black denims because they're all stacked up beside him. He's just wiped a streak of dark purple all down the leg of his last clean pair of pajama bottoms.

"Fuck me," he says, grumbling and rummaging among his laundry things for one of those fucking stain sticks that Calum always bugged him about getting whenever they went to the shops together. His fingers snag it but, as he's trying to extricate it from the tangle of wet, black fabrics, it slips out and rolls under one of the dryers that's still chugging along.

"Oh, fuck me."

He's so exhausted, but Michael knows from past experience that the stain will set if he doesn't treat it soon.

So, he gets down on hands and knees and just as soon as he's gotten his whole arm shoved under the dryer, fingers searching the dusty cement for the stick, and his face pressed up against the glass front of the dryer, there's clattering footsteps coming down the stairs.

"God, you fucking perv!"

What?

It takes him a second to determine that it's him that the shrieking voice is addressing, mostly due to sleep deprivation and the fact that one ear is filled with the tumbling thunder of the machine.

"What?" He didn't say he understood why he was being addressed. Through his one available eye - the one not stuck up against the glass pane showing all the pink lacy things - he can see a flurry of long limbs flying towards him and instinctively throws himself away from the dryer.

A girl stands before him in a floppy set of sweats, arms crossed and arms furious. “You think it’s cool to drool all over a dryer with my knickers in it, huh? Think you’re smart or something, perv?”

Immediately he puts his hands up defensively. “Oh my god, oh my fucking god, no! I dropped something under the dryer and I was just trying to reach it. Jesus!”

Grumbling under her breath, she whips through the laundry room towards the row of dryers and, in one economical movement that defies the laws of physics, manages to pile all five loads of pink lacy things into a basket, and leaves in a hurricane.

                                                          +

When they told him about university, there was a lot more emphasis on the amazing things he would learn and less on the amount of time it would take for him to learn them. A lot more emphasis on renewed perspectives and a lot less on how long it would take sitting at a table in the university library reading things dead people wrote over seventy years ago to actually understand why his perspectives needed renewing in the first place.

They also neglected to mention how much of a maze the university library was and how all of the easily-accessible tables were always taken ridiculously early in the evening.

Michael Clifford sighs as he pushes himself through the gaps between the shelves, turning his body sideways so he can get back to his table as quickly as possible and still have some time to complete his coursework before today turned into tomorrow.

Of course, as he’s making the final turn at an insane angle in a narrow passage that makes it impossible to see around the other side because this is university and why would anything as simple as walking back to his table be easy for chrissakes, he bumps into another body.

Well, bumps really isn’t the right word. Crashes is more accurate. Vaguely, his mind catalogs the sensations as he begins to fall backwards from the collision: long hair whispering along the side of his neck, sharp pain in his chest from the edges of textbooks, the condensation coating the outside of a water bottle soaking into his shirt.

“Shit!” The word explodes from his mouth as he bumpers off the shelves behind him, thankfully not knocking any books off the shelves.

He’s immediately chastised by a harsh whisper.

“Will you keep it down? We’re in a library, genius.”

Snarking back automatically, Michael says, “Oh, really? I thought this was a zoo.”

“Well, it might be,” the girl on the ground replies, giving a pointed look at his hair as she readjusts her glasses.

It’s the pink lacy girl, this time dressed in an entirely different set of baggy sweats, not a speck of pink or lacy anything on her.

Fuck this, fuck his history of religion paper on transcendentalism in 19th century America. What did those dead people know anyway?

“I don’t need to put up with this shit, thanks,” he says as he picks up his books from the floor and heads out the door.

He’s going to go take a nap.

                                                          +

When they told him about the textbooks that he would have, they expressed how miraculous they would be, how every page he turned would bombard his brain with information he couldn’t live without now.

They failed to mention how much each of those pages cost. After his trip to the bookstore at the beginning of term, one would have thought that each book was bound in genuine Italian leather and illuminated in gold leaf by an isolated sect of monks who only work once every eight days and take three month-long holidays each year.

Which is why, two days later when he actually goes about writing the essay on transcendentalism in 19th century America because he really doesn’t want to flunk out of uni and have to head back to the Southern hemisphere, he’s having a mild panic attack.

His book is gone, his history text that cost him more than two weeks’ worth of wages at his part-time job, and in its place is a pro-fem book detailing the struggles of minority women after the end of the Civil Rights Movement.

It’s actually quite intriguing, and he finds himself reading through the introduction before he remembers to look in the inside cover for a name.

Michael Clifford finds what he’s looking for in blocky script written with a hunter green gel pen: Tal Harrison.

To his horror, he searches her name in the student directory and finds that she lives in his hall, on his floor. The other end of the hall, granted, which is like over fifteen doors down, but still. On his floor.

His horror mounts as another realization strikes him. If he has her book, then she must have his.

The thought of more confrontation with the pink lacy girl makes him a touch queasy. Not as queasy as shifting the majority of the food-money in his monthly budget over to paying for another copy of this book, though.

Mustering up his nerve, he takes one last look at her room number before shoving his feet into a pair of slippers and grabbing her textbook. He shuffles down the hallway, counting the doorways under his breath.

He needs to know exactly how far away from him she is so he can forevermore maintain that distance at all costs.

Stopping in thirteen doors later, Michael bites nervously at his lip before bringing his hand up to knock at the door. Three knocks, then a pause.

Which stretches out obscenely long.

He knocks again, three more times. Another pause.

Goddamn, he really needs his book back, especially considering he’s fallen into another fit of procrastination and left off the essay until tonight, even though it’s due tomorrow morning at the beginning of lecture.

Michael is just about to knock again when the door to his left opens up and a head pokes out of the frame.

“They’re never in this early, so I would suggest you stop knocking and leave. Some of us are trying to study, y’know.”

It’s the girl. The pink lacy girl. The girl that has his book.

Tal Harrison.

He starts to talk, to try and defend himself and also to ignore the fact that he failed to correctly count to fifteen, when her eyes widen, gaze dropping down to the cover of the textbook he’s still got in his hand.

“Hey,” she says, “You’re the asshole who took my book in the library! And the asshole perving in the laundry room!”

“Excuse me, I’m the asshole trying to return your book right now, thanks. And I was not perving in the laundry, Christ! I was waiting for a dryer to open up because you had filled up every single one with your shit.”

To his surprise, Tal – he figures he better start actually using her proper name now – colors, cheeks pinking up just a few shades lighter than her pink lacy things.

“Sorry,” she murmurs, ducking her head. “I…mis-prioritised. Left the wash until I ran out of everything.”

“Is that even a word?” The question is out before he can catch it, and his face flushes, realizing exactly how rude he probably sounded, especially after she had apologized.

“Nope.” She pops the p, motioning him over to her doorway. “Here, I must have your book then, right? If you have mine, we must have switched them accidentally.”

Her room is nothing like what he had expected. Although, granted, his only expectations – bare walls with a magenta punching bag in the corner – stemmed from aggressive encounters with a girl who wears loose sweats and pink lacy things.

Instead, there’s only a minimal amount of painted brick walls exposed. The rest are covered with whiteboards, which themselves flash in a rainbow of dry-erase markers detailing out complicated-looking diagrams and equations with too many foreign symbols for him to understand.

There is a neat, patterned bedspread in shades of dark blues and purples as well, along with a full bookcase and well-organized desk crammed into the rest of the space in the small single.

“Here,” Tal says, locating and extracting his history book easily from one of the stacked piles at the corner of her desk. “That’s yours, right?”

He takes it from her absentmindedly, eyes still overwhelmed by the formulas on all the whiteboards. Michael honestly thought Luke was the only one crazy enough to be into all that maths shit.

“Physics.” She plays with the pencil behind her ear and readjusts her glasses. “I’m Physics and Gender Studies. Joint degree.”

“That’s…” he starts, but she cuts him off.

“Totally weird, I know, it’s difficult to explain --”

“I was gonna say that it’s really impressive. Like, really impressive.”

She pinks again, looking pleased. “Oh. Oh, thanks. What’s yours? I’m Tal Harrison, by the way.”

Now he’s the embarrassed one. “History, just history. And I’m Michael, Michael Clifford.”

                                                          +

Someone is being killed down the hall. If there’s any way to judge by the noises, Michael would suppose that whatever the method of homicide is, it’s not a clean one.

There’s another piercing scream that cuts through the guitar solo blasted through his ears.

They didn’t mention anything about mass murder in when they told him about living at uni.

Okay, hell, they really didn’t tell him anything actually applicable to life at a university in general, so he’s just going to stop mentioning it at this point.

Five more seconds of shrieking later, and he gets up in a huff, pulling on a jumper over top his boxer shorts and puts on his slippers again. Trekking out into the hall only amplifies the noise as it bounces down the narrow passage and back up.

After some investigation, Michael finds that the sounds take him to the door to the women’s washroom.

Fuck.

One lengthy internal debate later, he tamps down the urge to walk away and turn the volume back up on his headphones. The screaming has intermingled with sobbing now, so he grits his teeth and slowly pushes the door open.

In hindsight, knocking first may have been a good idea.

The door to one of the shower stalls has become inexplicably unlocked and now sways inwards. The contents of a shower caddy are dumped across the floor, shampoo bottles and those weird poofy things that his mom keeps in their bath strewn and rolling around on the slick tile.

Tal is in there, water turned off with the world’s tiniest towel preventing him from getting an eyeful, body quivering and legs knocking.

She’s staring, petrified at the drain in the center of the shower, shallowly breathing.

He clears his throat. “Um, Tal?”

Head snapping up, her eyes widen. “Michael, thank God. Help me, um, please?”

She gestures down to the drain, motioning to the thing he previously thought was just a clump of hair in stuck in the metal grate.

“Holy hell.”

There’s a big-ass spider down there, sitting on top of the drain. He stares at the big-ass spider. The big-ass spider stares back at him and twitches its legs threateningly.

Tal shifts nervously. “Michael?”

He and the big-ass spider exchange glances once more. The eight beady eyes only serve to harden his resolve. “Okay, you’re gonna have to jump over here. I’m not getting any closer to that.”

“Jump?”

“Yeah,” he says, motioning to the little bench where the plastic shower caddy once sat. “Just, like, step up there and jump across to me and I’ll catch you. No worries.”

She wavers, indecision showing as her eyebrows furrow. “But what if I slip?”

“I’ll catch you.” He sounds much more confident than he actually is. He hasn’t worked out in a few weeks, and he’s pretty sure that chicken-boy Luke could bench more than him at this point.

But, when she does jump, she does slip. Everything slows down to half time, and he can only watch, arms outstretched to catch her, horrified as she throws her hands out to break her fall. The world’s tiniest towel drops to the ground just as she crosses the last bit of the gap between them and lunges into his chest.

Boobs. Boobs pressed against him.

Michael takes a long, hard look at the ceiling tile and contemplates his grandmother’s undergarment choices and the last time he found Calum in their room dancing suggestively around to the newest emasculating pop song.

He tries to ignore the sensation of her wet hair dripping on his collarbone as she shakes, repeating over and over, “Oh my God, oh my God, I touched it with my foot, I touched it, oh my God.”

“Tal,” he starts after she’s beginning to calm down. “Tal, um, I’m going to let go of you now and close my eyes so you can get your towel, okay.”

“Okay.”

She’s not brave enough to get anything else besides her room key and robe, and, honestly, Michael’s not either. So, they end up in his room, her in his borrowed shirt and sleep trousers – the one with the purple stripe down the leg because he didn’t end up getting to it in time after all – perched on the edge of his desk chair while he sits on his bed and makes them a cup of fortifying coffee.

They end up talking until three in the morning, even though they’ve both got early lectures the next day.

                                                          +

Okay, he lied. They did tell him one thing about uni that seems to be marginally true.

There is, often as not, a greater chance of finding really good mates at university. Some of those friendships might happen after traumatic incidents because, hey, sometimes, near-death experiences with spiders in bathrooms really bring people together.

Some of those people might be certain particular girls. Those particular girls might live on his floor.

Those particular girls might be named Tal Harrison and smell nice and are the optimum combination of really fucking smart and really fucking cute.  

Michael Clifford might have a little bit of a crush.

Tal ends up routinely saving him a spot at her reserved table in the library when he wakes up late from his afternoon nap. In return, he supplies the coffee and the occasional apple that he manages to steal from Calum’s hoard of assorted fruit.

“Hey,” she says, grinning. “Make yourself at home.”

Silently, he presents the traditional offering of coffee and fruit and they settle down to their work, her on more physics coursework and him on a mountain of history readings he needed to complete by yesterday.

He can’t keep quiet for long though, as he’s distracted by the question that’s been burning on his mind for weeks. It finally bursts out.

“Why were you so mean to me when we first met?”

She twirls a piece of hair around her finger as she continues to copy down notes from her book. “Well, you were in a compromising position. You were kind of a dick. And kind of cute. So, I got flustered.”

Michael blinks. Cute?

“Also, you really did look like you were perving on my knicks so I was totally justified there.”

“You’re cute.”

Oh God, he said that out loud.

She pulls her head up to look at him for a long moment, before her eyes crinkle up in a smile. “Thanks, Mikey.”

So, when he takes her hand later as he finishes his reading and she works through the rest of her notes, it isn’t weird at all.

This is the one thing he’s going to write home about.

[hoshalicious]

soulmate!joshua

soulmate!au in which you both have the same handwriting

this happens to everyone, so you will get a soulmate eventually

but the earliest time you’ll find a soulmate is around the ages of 13-14 

but most of the time, it’s kind of rare

usually because it’s around the time your handwriting improves throughout your childhood and early teenage years

you’re in your senior year of high school and,,you STILL could not find your soulmate

almost all of your friends has found theirs

and you’re just there,,with no soulmate

you had looked at everyone’s handwritings and you noticed that nobody in the school has the same one as yours

even when there are new students coming to your school, there’s nobody

there were times that you keep thinking that you will not find your soulmate, and it saddens you every time you feel,,,irritated,,

sometimes your parents have pointed that out,,you just don’t want to live without a soulma t e

even your teachers pointed that out and it lowkey made you feel bad

but that was until there was this one teacher that told you that she found her soulmate when she was in university so she knew how you would feel about it

but anyways

when you first arrived to your classroom, you found out that a new student was going be here in the class today

and you were just like “whatever” because you already know the student’s not going to be your soulmate

it has happened so many times to the point that you just gave up

yet you desperately just want to find your soulmate already

the boy introduced himself as you guessed it !!! hong jisoo !!

the softness of his voice made you soft yourself and you just,,stared at him,,

“okay jisoo, you can sit in that empty desk next to y/n. they’ll definitely help you with what we’re doing today”

he quietly said “okay” and slightly bowed as he’s heading towards his new desk

you were getting a little nervous,,because as he’s getting closer, you’re starting to think that’s he’s actually pretty cute

he sits beside you and he starts to smile at you

you try to maintain your yourself from screaming too much because he’S TOO CUTE

he ofc notices that you’re foreign and he explained to you in english that he wanted to be called by his english name,,,joshua

you don’t know why but you just felt a little special since a new kid just told you what you wanted to be named as

his parents wanted his korean friends to call him by his korean name

cause calling him by his english name would be a lil awkward lmao

you tell him about the classroom rules, what the class is doing, what assignment you’re supposed to do and whatever

but it did not include any writing, the assignments are usually multiple choice or on computer

fast forward to like,,,2 weeks later

your history teacher assigned the class to write a page paper about a certain topic

“okay class you’ll need a sheet of paper, and a pencil. clear your desks”

minutes go by, and you had already finished your paper

you and joshua actually both finished at the same time, but you didn’t even both look at his paper

the teacher was looking at you two in suspense as you gave yours and joshua’s paper to him

you try to ignore his stare but you didn’t really care

or do you

you just thought it might be just you or thinking if you’re in trouble or not

you got back to your desk and later on the teacher calls you

“y/n i need to see you a few minutes before class ends for the day.”

you were so confused,,and you keep thinking to yourself, “what the fuck did i dO”

you were getting a little nervous as minutes goes by and you tried to keep your cool as you’re just sitting there, staring at the clock.

3 minutes before class ends, the teacher calls you and your heart is starting to race

you got up and started to walk up towards him and you ask him, “yes?”

“where is your paper?”

and you’re like wtf “i turned it in??”

“no..because you gave me two sheets of paper and they’re jisoo’s papers.”

“no?? one of them is probably mine”

your teacher scolded you for you attempting to cheat on the essay and you were getting a little heated becAUSE YOU DIDN’T CHEAT

he showed you the two sheets of paper and closely look at them

you realized that you forgot to put your name on it and how both of the papers have the sAME HANDWRITING

you’re SHOOK because joshua hong,,is maYbe your s o u l m a t e??

“that’s mY paper” you pointed at the paper you wrote in and your teacher just sighed

he called joshua and you’re getting so irritated but you’re also happy

cause jesus christ you FINALLY know who your soulmate is

you feel like you can’t breathe, you’re that happy

joshua explained everything and as soon as your teacher shows him the paper, his eyes widen and he looks at you

it was finally time for y’all to go home and you both are just standing there

the teacher already left with the students leaving

“so,,,does that mean we’re um,,soulmates??”

he scratched his head and you’re looking away from him, though your face is facing towards joshua

you’re a blushing mess and you smiled saying,

“i guess so,,”

you both spend some time together before your mom came to pick you up

and he gave you his number !! you were both awkward talking to each other though

but as time goes by, you both became close

you told your parents that you finally found your soulmate and your mom accidentally dropped a plate lmfao

your mom and dad keep telling you when they can meet him, and you were getting annoyed yet embarrassed

you feel like joshua’s such a gentleman and he feel really affectionate towards you

well kind of. i mean,,he didn’t say “i love you” just yet or kissed you already

he didn’t want to rush y’all’s relationship but he’s always cheering you up!!

he’ll always give you make you laugh, whether it was on the phone or through text

you thought about him at times

and you just couldn’t believe your soulmate would be a cute and gentle guy like him

your thoughts about not having a soulmate went away

and you just couldn’t feel any happier,,you’re just glad that he’s the one

i just finished my last exam hallelujah abi; may 31st, 2018

[lizzybeth1986]

Really, Really Slow Thoughts on TRR Book 3, Chapter 3

• This QT took two days. Because my pace has been sluggish. Because my thoughts on this chapter have been sluggish.

• This chapter is the only time in the entire series that I was barely invested. That’s only ever happened to be at the beginning of Book 1, and only because I didn’t think it would amount to anything beyond a Cinderella story. I haven’t been in that space with a single chapter in this book since Book 1,Chapter 8. I’m just…bored.

• Title: Allies among Enemies. Sounds very Kenna and Luther, no? But I doubt Kenna ever had to sit and play marriage counselor to a squabbling couple.

•

Esther asking all the relevant questions.

I mean, sure, Bertrand, I get it: I need to make a tour and that involves visiting other duchies, Justin thinks Madeleine would make a bomb press secretary, and I have to play matchmaker for her parents –

Wait what. Why do I need to resolve a personal fight because Madeleine’s parents? I know it’s all about reaching out and getting allies and making connections but playing armchair therapist just sounds extremely silly.

• I like that they’re carrying over the “house colours” strategy from TCaTF. Kenna occasionally did this during alliances, especially when meeting with the Nevrakis family.

•

So I have a dress “as green as Madeleine’s envy towards me and black as her shrivelled heart” (bomb analogy, Maxwell!). Buuuut I’m taking part in a court event. A formal ball. Why is the dress style more like what I wore in the club for Madeleine’s bachelorette and Liam’s bachelor party???

• Also can you imagine how awkward waltzing would look in this dress? Ballroom dresses are long and flowy for a reason. Part of the beauty of your twirl comes from how your skirt flows when you’re turning, esp in a dance like the Cordonian Waltz where the twirl is the highlight.

• So I’m supposed to ensure Adeleide comes for the wedding. Loooogically the story should make this easier on me because I already did the hard work of winning her over the last book right? Wrong. Because the story doesn’t care. It doesn’t care which Liam I chose, whether I’ve ever worn pepto bismol in my life or not, whether I charmed the pants off Adeleide (not literally). Nope. I still have to start from scratch (wouldn’t be the first time tho. I won over Kiara and Penelope in Book 1 only for them to ditch me next book [even though Penelope knew it wasn’t my fault. You owe me big, sister]).

• Soooo Godfrey, Madeleine’s dad, is an English nobleman. His marriage to Adeleide was a political alliance and he doesn’t actually give a shit about Cordonia unless his daughter is the goddamn country’s queen.

• Hmm. So Madeleine is half Cordonian too. Jesus Christ for a country that doesn’t like foreigners very much, a lot of its major players seem to have at least one non-Cordonian parent: Liam (possibly), Madeleine, Drake, Hana…

• I was a little confused because Book 1 mentioned that Madeleine is “practically royalty” from her father’s side - but it’s possible that’s more a hint towards his English roots. I guess we can rule him out for who the enemy is rn because this dude genuinely doesn’t give a shit.

• So Liam, whose interactions with Godfrey have been few and far between and who admits he has never really met him in a social setting, is the one who provides us inputs on how to deal with the Duke. Turns out this advice is pretty helpful, coming from someone who barely knows the man.

•

Savour this moment, Liam stans. This - and the “we need to avoid this lack of crowd at our wedding” exchange, are the only times we will get to properly interact with him today.

• I know this decor looks like a piñata threw up over the ballroom but I love the purple and the soft lighting xD

• So the first event post Homecoming is super empty, which is quite dishearting. It’s enough to make even our resident bar-hopper Adeleide upset.

•

Is it just me or does “STOICISM RULEZ!!!” Regina sound like she gives zero fucks today? I mean sure it could just be her usual irritation around Adelaide but here even Constantine seems a little taken aback. And besides, it’s not the Krona duchy that needs anything from the Crown, it’s the Crown that needs something from them. Your arrogance doesn’t have any legs to stand on, Regina.

• Also idk but am I the only one getting a different vibe from Regina this book? In the debriefing meeting she wasn’t there at all, and this is someone who has been a part of every meeting we’ve seen in the books. Then she comes here, to an event where if anything SHE needs to be begging her cousin to come for her stepson’s/some random noblewoman’s wedding, and she’s busy making snappy comments about the appetizers (and let’s be honest, everyone else found their spread incredibly good. Even Drake. DRAKE)

• Madeleine’s dad is essentially Madeleine Sr.

• “Magic Friendship Dust” my ass.

• Madeleine’s reaction to this “be my press secretary” thing is “I told you so” followed by a resounding (implied) “fuck you”. What else were you expecting, Esther?

•

It’s great that they say this, but I would have preferred if they showed it. It really isn’t that hard. Show him talking independently to a noble or two (you don’t even have to show their faces) - winning some over and not managing to sway some others. The reason a lot of Liam fans are upset is that not only does the writing make weak excuses to keep him from working WITH the MC, we aren’t even given a proper glimpse of what he IS doing!

I’ll return to this point later, because I have a LOT to say 😠

• …cheeseburgers aren’t appetizers, Drake.

• I’d agree with you about the buffalo wings tho.

• Nomnom that pasta looks good.

• I’d betray me for a plate of truffled penne too, Esther.

•

Back in the essay I wrote on the Balcony Scene, I spoke of how Liam’s mother’s story seemed like a mirror to the MC’s (I mentioned that she might be a foreigner, though, and given that Neville and Drake make the comparison between the MC and her, and that her son is customizable by ethnicity, I still think there are chances that is true). Called it! xD

• Neville is still as big a creep as he ever was and this scene was extremely ugly, especially with regards to Drake. But it was also extremely powerful because the group gets to rally around and protect him, and show Neville that Drake has people who will support him no matter what. It was a scene I felt was needed because it gives you a much better idea of what Drake has had to deal with in court. (also I know he’s taking the tour coz he wants a wife [good luck getting one with THAT level of creepy, asshole!] but I’m suspicious about him following ppl he doesn’t even like around).

• This is also amazing buildup to the dancing scene. The version of the scene I got was automatically platonic, which I loved, and I got more comfortable with this scene than I have ever felt with any non-Liam-LI scene so far (you know how you keep stressing about accidental romance points? That).

• In my playthrough, Esther keeps it professional, gives him encouragement, teaches him how to glide using a mental image. Drake points out he needs to give Liam adequate support and he will need to actually prove himself to other nobles for that. As a romantic scene, it really shines (and indeed it should, given that the Cordonian waltz is primarily romantic) but it works very well on a platonic level too.

• I also really, really loved the comparison Drake made between his situation and hers: that the MC is proof that he can hold on to who he is even if he becomes a part of the nobility/has endured this much from them. Drake’s character arc is built heavily on his fear that being part of the nobility can change people, based on very valid experiences. We’ve seen in this chapter how desperately some nobles cling to their titles, almost using it to make up for their lack of personality (I’m looking at you, Neville and Godfrey). But he has proof all around him too, that you don’t need to lose who you are through a title. In a lot of ways this plays really well into his “letting go” arc as well.

• Okay so I went with Godfrey first. He’s talking to Liam, who again makes a disappearing act (I don’t mind, because the MC specifically stated she wanted to speak to the Duke alone). I’m not surprised Liam wasn’t making much headway. This is the second dude to dump Madeleine after all, and worse still he’s brother to the first dude to dump her. No wonder Liam’s sticking to safe subjects like choice of scotch!

• YIKES @ Godfrey’s constant harping of successes and defeats. Why don’t we talk about what a failure YOU are as a dad, Duke Karlington, since you’re only ever there for Madeleine to tell her what a failure she is!

• I like the exchange they show us between Adeleide and Regina before the MC steps in. Regina’s care and concern for Madeleine has pretty much been there from the beginning and for what it’s worth, it has been genuine.

• Oh man. I want to give Adeleide a hug and some champagne. I mean I don’t exactly envision her winning the “best mother” award anytime soon, but she’s trying. Perhaps a little too pushy and a little too focused on her own coping mechanisms, but still, she cares enough about Madeleine to want to be there for her no matter what. Which is more than I can say for Godfrey, who thinks being a father means paying an annual visit to his goddamn FAMILY and judges people for failing when he’s perhaps the biggest failure in the room.

• Waltz time!

• Though between Esther not having a twirly skirt and Drake having an injured shoulder I’m not sure they even looked that good.

• WTF ESTHER WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU DOES THAT LOOK LIKE A MAN WHO IS IN ANY CONDITION TO MANAGE A LIFT

•

HE’S NOT JOHNY CASTLE AND THIS ISN’T DIRTY DANCING. STOP PUTTING DRAKE IN A CORNER.

• AT LEAST BABY DIDN’T MAKE JOHNY LIFT HER ON AN INJURED ARM. AND AT LEAST THEY AGREED TO DO IT TOGETHER NOT SPRUNG IT ON HIM LIKE A FUCKING JACK-IN-THE-BOX.

• “He winces at the pressure on his arm, but smiles through it”. …damn I’m angry at my own MC now.

• Drinking game time!!

• I’m not going to comment much on the scene because it’s going to be part of my group scenes essay, but I *will* say I’m so happy Hana gets her due in this one. She really shines in terms of character development in this scene and she gets the best line this whole chapter xD xD xD

•

• I think Hana has had this burn simmering in her pressure cooker ever since the bell-pepper episode in Shanghai 😂😂

• “You all know there’s more to me than liking whiskey, right?”

This is unfair and inaccurate, people. Of course there’s more. He likes cheeseburgers and pasta and greasy junk food too, cmon.

• I recall speaking not too long ago about how Madeleine and Hana had very different approaches to similar issues (family pressure, feeling like they are failures, broken engagements with men they didn’t love), and that Madeleine very possibly faced a lot of family pressure (I was wrong about the source being Adeleide, though). To me this forms part of why Hana can see Madeleine the way no one else can, and why it’s essential to have her around when Madeleine opens up.

• This doesn’t really change my opinion of Madeleine, though. It makes sense of some things, but in my mind nothing can really justify the sick pleasure Madeleine gets out of breaking people. She makes excuses for herself by calling it “not tiptoeing on other people’s fragile feelings”, but that would imply she was just being honest and not actively working towards making people feel like shit. In both Hana and Penelope’s cases she was actively working on making them feel like they were beneath her, and enjoying doing that. To me what she did, especially to Hana, was emotional abuse. Speaking ecstatically about “breaking” a human being who has harmed you in no way, is abusive. No more, no less.

• Please don’t tell me a Madeleine and Hana ship will be a thing now. No. Eww. I’d rather not pair Hana with someone who was actively trying to break her. I don’t care how much of a “crush” Madeleine seems to have.

• No matter how misguided Adeleide’s attempts to parent Madeleine are, to me she clearly wins the parenting stakes hands down. She may have made Madeleine feel like she couldn’t mourn what happened to her, but at least she views her daughter as more of a human being than a prize horse.

•

Didn’t lie to get her way? Was saying “I’m allergic to chocolate and you could have killed me” just a figment of my imagination then???

•

• You have to be fucking kidding me. The MC is a duchess now. The Beaumonts are supposed to be helping her. These three should be at the top of their itinerary right now, not throwing things together at the last minute every chapter. Isn’t this Unity Tour supposed to be about knowing your allies and enemies, and preparing accordingly? Being unprepared (somehow, barely) made sense to some extent in the first two books, but things are different now.

• Penelope next week! That woman owes us big time.

General Thoughts on this Chapter:

• Things I feel might come up in Penelope’s estate:

1. Penelope’s anxiety and her parents’ fears about sending her back to court

2. Personal issues within the family maybe? Perhaps Penelope’s desire to take up pet couture designing and her mother’s disapproval of the same might feature.

3. At some point there may be some sort of redemption arc for her where she gets reminded of her involvement in what happened to the MC earlier. Penelope clearly owes the MC a great debt for letting her off the hook so easily.

4. I’ll be damned if I have to play therapist for these people too 😠

• This whole idea of “meddling” is stupid. These people are adults. Grown people, who should be expected to know how to handle their own lives and talk to each other. The royalty/the MC shouldn’t be expected to babysit them. That’s not what we came here for.

• It stings even more when you take into account that the common public is feeling pretty terrified at the moment, and having their own, and here we are busy resolving the family squabbles of rich people.

• It highlights even more strongly what’s wrong with the whole idea of a Unity Tour. I’m hoping this “resolving-aristocrat-issues” thing won’t become a pattern because it’s beginning to look ridiculous.

• @ladynevrakis mentions in her excellent write-up on this week’s chapter that this chapter is a lot better if you’re a non-Liam shipper, and extremely frustrating if you are.

Correct on both counts. As the MC you’re just starting out as a noblewoman, and you will need all the support you can get. If you’re with Drake (especially Drake), Hana or Maxwell, you get plenty opportunities for support from all of them. With Liam, you barely get a few lines here and there before he’s completely MIA. There is no opportunity for Liam or his fiancee to talk properly, or work together as a team. And this house is unquestionably the toughest one, so why does the writing not give Liam any chance to truly be there for her when she needs it???

• I can understand why he wasn’t there for the most part. In the Neville sequence he isn’t there precisely because the writers need to highlight how people treat Drake when Liam isn’t around (and to show what people say about Liam behind his back), and there is no way you could have Liam around in either the group scene or the final scene with the family without making things worse (daughter’s former fiancè, hello?). Plus if the MC is not engaged to him, it would look weird for him to be present at some of these conversations.

STILL, there were a whole range of ways you could write him without him actually being involved in the patch-up, and still do justice to his character:

1. Eat with the group: The group eating scene could have been a perfect time to have Liam come, speak about his progress with convincing ppl, bond with the group over the delicious spread, and leave before Neville enters.

2. Check in periodically: Liam is my MC’s fiancè. They are here together on their first tour as a couple. They’re doing this tour for his people and his country. She is a newcomer and it is essential he has her back. It wouldn’t have hurt to have him come in on occasion and ask her how she is holding up. It wouldn’t have taken more than a scene or two, really, and it could have worked perfectly both on a neutral and romantic level. If you’re going to make Drake such a huge presence in this chapter that you’d go the extra mile and write him two ways, you can very well do the same for Liam. It’s even more essential in his case because he is the King of Cordonia and pretty damn invested in making this tour work.

3. Have the MC notice what Liam was doing independent of her: The writing team is no stranger to writing conversations that don’t involve the MC’s presence at all. We know Liam was spending time speaking to the few nobles in attendance, but we’re never shown how he does this or whether he succeeds. I know he’s as hard at work as the MC is, but I don’t see what he’s doing. Could you really blame readers for thinking he is less involved, then?

4. The Little Things: A gentle touch here, a smile there if he’s your fiancè. Things you would do with your partner when you don’t have much time together but still want to show them they care.

It’s not like the writers don’t know how to involve Liam. They’ve done a really good job of this in the past. The entire social season saw Liam working behind the scenes to ensure the MC was protected and cared for, even when he couldn’t be involved. The engagement tour had him pitching in to help whenever it didn’t seem too suspicious to. In all these instances they kept in mind Liam’s role and limitations, and STILL managed to make him proactive.

The writers had plenty opportunity this chapter to have Liam be there for her in small ways, but hardly bothered to involve him. I appreciate wanting to make his interactions as neutral as possible but that doesn’t mean you don’t put any effort into writing him at all.

To add insult to serious injury, this chapter follows another one where the MC practically takes over Liam’s speech (post the video), leaving Liam with little space to do anything besides agreeing with her. It’s essential - now more than ever - to portray Liam as decisive and proactive, yet the writing has him take 10 steps backwards in terms of character development. The MC is his fiancèe/close friend now. She should be able to see him properly as a politician and a leader at this point. If that doesn’t get resolved soon, we’re in danger of screwing up an interesting character who has a lot of potential.

• I’m still holding out on this book, because it’s still early and I believe they can turn things around and ensure there is a fair balance between the LIs. They are taking what we say into consideration and they have worked hard to make our other LIs’ interactions with us as safe and platonic as possible. I think this is a matter of balance, and I still think they can manage to do a good job of it once they ensure there is a balance.

• But this chapter? I’m not going pretend I’m happy.

[pickledchickenetti]

In honor of the speculation about Joe and Kendra having one of those movie filters, I just wanna tell two fun Christian school stories about a history/Bible teacher I had who enjoyed playing movies in class: 

11th grade New Testament class. (Can’t remember what it was officially called.) My teacher was going to play the Passion of the Christ for our class, but due to the film’s R rating he had to get permission slips. I figured if I didn’t get the permission slip signed he’d just let me take a study hall in the teacher’s lounge across the hall (that’s where they would send me to do my online college class so it was a fair guess). I never even gave the permission slip to my mom, just came back and said she didn’t sign it. So this teacher sets my 17 year old ass up unsupervised in the teacher’s lounge with a movie I’m fairly sure was just called Jesus. I ignored the movie and read a book while it played, glancing up occasionally because how do you not when a movie is playing while you’re trying to read? I glance up at one point to see a demon-possessed man running across the screen completely naked. Later I mentioned to my friends that this movie I was shown included a naked man’s butt. This teacher heard and personally called my mom to apologize for accidentally showing me nudity after she had already refused to allow me to see a more graphic film. Mom had no idea what he was talking about and we both had a good laugh about it. 

Same teacher, 11th grade US History. He planned on showing us some film about Watergate. I don’t remember what film it was. He told us it had a bit of inappropriate language but that he would mute the swear words. Problem is he apparently just didn’t know where they were so we spent one full class period of hearing swear words followed by him fumbling to mute the following ten seconds of non-swear words. He came in the next day and told us we would not be watching the movie after all, but still had to do the assignment. I pointed out that you can’t do a compare/contrast essay on the textbook’s stance on Watergate vs. the film’s stance if you’re not allowed to SEE the film. He told me not to argue. I assumed the film took the polar opposite stance of the textbook, BS’d as such, and got a perfect score. He even wrote on the top “Brooke, this is by far the best compare and contrast essay I have ever received. My hat is off to you.” 

Christian school was fun. 

[defendglobe]

the past few days have been particularly brutal since my mom accidentally hit a nerve the other day

we watched love simon together and afterwards my mom was like seriously you should write a book like that but with lesbians and try and publish it bc the world needs more lgbtq rep that isn’t fetishistic or tragic.

writing is a huge fucking sore spot for me. there are about a thousand reasons why and all of them are petty as fuck. you know. my general lack of skill and giving a shit and my being a little bitch about even the most mild criticism (haha i literally stopped writing for like three years bc my 8th grade english teacher ripped me a new one and after that i was too ashamed to write anything) but the biggest one??

my mom is a writer. pretty much everyone who reads her shit goes off about how gifted she is and blah blah blah. i don’t wanna sound like i’m just bitter and jealous over her success because that’s not what the problem is. the problem is that everyone who fuckin knows her like. extends her ability to me if that makes sense. 

for as long as i can remember every time i do anything with writing or public speaking people comment how i take after my mom. “just what i expected from rebecca’s daughter!” or “you’re gonna be a writer someday just like your mom”. it’s exhausting. i love my mom but jesus christ she has some huge shoes to fill and i’ve got tiny little bitch feet. just sucks that people automatically assume that whatever shit i can do is because of whose pussy i got shot out of and not because i have any talent or ability of my own. 

i did a thing at church recently. i’ve pretty much stopped going because it’s too much but family friends wanted to do a pride month service and i felt that i needed to help. i really put myself out there tbh. i wrote the liturgy myself. me and the other two gay ppl in my (former) church basically told our stories. what it’s like being raised christian and being lgbtq. its the most open and honest ive been about shit irl and it rivalled one of my many oversharing posts on tumblr. 

afterwards a lot of people came up to me and said the same shit. “you’ve grown into such a smart young lady like your mom” and the like. my mom was actually kinda unnerved afterwards too because a lot of people came up and thanked her. even though it was well established during the service that it was all me and the other lgbtq people who did everything. 

my mom might be the cause of it all but she does know people do this and tries to fight back a bit. a couple people said shit to her like “wow you raised your daughter well” and she would say “she pretty much raised herself” lol. 

honestly i think that’s what this downwards spiral is about. i put my goddamn heart and soul right out there and people immediately pinned it all on my mom. it stings, ya know?  

“emma if writing is such an issue why the fuck are you an english major” there’s a difference between writing essays and studying literature and actually doing something entirely your own. analysis isn’t a problem for me. 

anyway. i’m just so tired of it all. i try so fucking hard to connect with people but it feels like i can never get there. like talking to people through a glass window. the thought that i’ll stay this isolated and lonely for the rest of my life terrifies me. i have to believe that things will get better but honestly i feel more and more hopeless by the day. how pathetic is it that i see my roommate got engaged and had a two hour breakdown because i wish so badly i could have something like that but knowing that with me the way i am it’s most likely not gonna happen. 

not a single day goes by where i don’t think about killing myself and cutting the humiliation short. i feel utterly unworthy of being alive. i’m so far behind everyone else. college dropout who can’t get a job to save her life and for no good reason. massively in debt, with no future and no fucking friends (you know what’s super humilating? your parents sitting you down at age 21 and telling you that you need to make friends looool). it’s utterly pathetic that i’m so lonely i overshare online because i dont have anyone irl who gives enough of a fuck to hear. 

i’m so fucking tired. i keep trying to believe things will get better and i can change but i’m so hopeless rn.

[owlish-peacock36]

I’m Just Too Far From Where You Are: Ficlet

WHAAAAAT? An update from Owlish?!?!? I’m just as surprised as you are guys. I wrote this little guy in between writing essays.

Here’s a baby ficlet for you all! A sleep Jamie, a chatty Claire, a lil angst, a lil love. ENJOY!

It had been three months, one week, and four days. But who was counting?

Certainly not Jamie Fraser. Tall and broad, he wore a hearty, strong exterior with a steely interior to match, or so people thought. In truth, he was quite the romantic, old soul with his heart lying upon his sleeve. No one would guess that such a man would dwell on the matters of love.

No, Jamie was a fine actor, speaking only of business and logistics, keeping conversations safe and as far away from his heart as possible. Smiling, laughing...acting. It was a mere facade to keep the sadness at bay.

In truth, his happiness had disappeared. Three months, one week, and four days ago.

***

“I have to go, Jamie. There’s nothing for me here.”

Nothing? Was I so far down on your list that I constituted nothing?

“I’m suffocating.”

Suffocating? In Scotland? That made no sense. Scotland was wide and wild, with plenty of room to breath. Paris was suffocating.

“I’m sorry. I just…I can’t be here anymore.”

Please, stay.

“I love you. You’re my best friend.”

I love you too. But, you’re more to me than a friend. Can’t you see that?

“Goodbye, Jamie. I wish you all the happiness in the world.”

You are my happiness, Claire.

***

Jamie lie in bed, replaying his last conversation with Claire, as he did most nights. This left his mind reeling, and unable to shut off.  He hadn’t slept a full night since she left.

The same questions always plagued his mind.

Why did she leave?

How could she?

What did I do wrong?

He knew it wasn’t his fault, though. Claire had had a terrible past year. Both of her parents had died within a month of each other, and Claire, being the lone survivor of the Beauchamp family, was in charge of burying them both. The stress and sorrow that plagued her afterward took over her life. She failed her classes, she drank in excess.

Jamie couldn’t blame her for wanting to leave. Scotland held so much sadness for her. But, he missed her greatly, and wished she would come back.

You’re being selfish. She did what was best for her.

He knew that, but he couldn’t stop the longing for her that crept into his mind. He curled up like a shrimp, trying to rid himself of all thought. He needed to get some rest.

***

“Ye look like shit,” Ian remarked, studying the dark circles that marred Jamie’s face. Jamie grimaced, but he supposed that’s what friends were for: complete honesty.

“Aye. I dinna feel much better either.”

“Did ye no sleep?”

“Barely.”

“Perhaps ye should go home. Take a nap, aye?”

But Jamie shook his head before Ian finished speaking. This was his bar, his responsibility. He’d be damned if he shucked that onto someone else.

“What, ye dinna trust me to take over for ye?” Ian teased. “It’s easy, I think. Just get the people drunk, aye? I can handle it.”

Jamie chuckled, but did not change his mind. He had been the sole proprietor and head bartender of Leoch for five years now, and had no intention of changing that. He appreciated Ian’s offer for help, but his pride outweighed his bodily needs. Besides, Ian had bairns, and should not be stuck filling in for his sleepless brother-in-law all evening. No, Jamie would manage.

“I ken it’s been hard for ye.” Ian’s voice rang out, slicing through his thoughts.

“What?”

“Claire leaving. I ken ye try to hide it, but I’ve known ye since we were lads. Ye canna hide it from me.”

“She was a good lass, always willing to help around here.” Excuses and lies.

“It’s more than that.” Ian gave him a pointed look. “Ye’ve been in love with her for years.”

Jamie had never told Ian that, but his friend always seemed to see through his bravado.

“Are ye sure ye dinna need me tonight?”

“Nay, Ian. I’ll do.”

“Fine. But call me if ye do. It’s no weakness to ask for help.” Ian clapped Jamie on the shoulder before leaving the dark pub.

Jamie would manage. He always did.

***

The night drug on, and left Jamie heavy-eyed and unfocused. He ran two red lights and nearly clipped a fire hydrant on his way home from the pub. Exhaustion was washing over him in waves. The sleepless nights he had endured seemed to be catching up to him all at once.

Trudging up the stairs to his flat, he stumbled a bit, looking very much like the drunks he served. Eyes bleary, he rummaged through his pocket to find his keys, accidentally kicking a small body lounging beside his door.

“Jesus H. Roosevelt Christ!”

Jamie only knew one person to use that phrase.

“Claire?”

Wide brown eyes glanced up at him beneath a nest of curls.

“Hi, Jamie.”

He was wide awake.

***

“Would ye like anything to drink? I have some whisky.”

Claire wouldn’t look at Jamie as she spoke. “No, thanks. I’ve… um… I’ve stopped drinking.”

He knew the problems she had, her toxic relationship with alcohol. A small, proud smile crept onto his lips.

Good for you, Claire.

“Tea, then?”

“Tea sounds wonderful.”

Setting the steaming mug on the coffee table in front of Claire, Jamie joined her on the couch. They sipped in companionable silence, though awkwardness threatened to overtake. Jamie spoke up first.

“What are ye doing here, Claire? I didna expect ye to—”

“I know, I know. I should have called.”

“How’s Paris?”

“Paris is… fine.”

Jamie expected her to continue. Claire was a talker. She was always willing to speak more than strictly necessary, arms flailing passionately. This was her downfall in primary school, earning her multiple trips to Headmaster Kennedy’s office.

Jamie was surprised she did not display this trait now. Paris was the city of love and light and fashion. Surely there was much to talk about, especially for a babbler like Claire. But, she remained tight-lipped, and Jamie didn’t push her.

“That’s nice. I’m glad yer enjoying it.”

“Yeah.”

Tiny slurps filled the room. Jamie grinned; the noise didn’t bother him so much when Claire did it.

“I hate Paris, Jamie.” It was barely a whisper, a quiet confession.

“Claire?”

“I… I thought it’s what I wanted. To get away. From everything.” The dam was broken; there was no stopping her speech. “But… it’s so lonely is Paris. So fucking lonely. I wanted a fresh start, you know? But, it just made it worse. No one knew me there. I thought I’d… like that, but it was the worst I’ve felt since… since…”

“Since they died?”

Tears were falling freely, her throat choked with them. “Yes.”

“I’m so sorry, mo nighean.” A large hand fell softly on her knee.

“Sorry? Why are you sorry? I’m the one that should be sorry.”

“No, Claire, ye—”

“I left you. As if you didn’t matter. Just left. Dropped all contact. You didn’t deserve that.”

“Ye were sad, angry. Ye wanted a fresh start, as ye said. I dinna blame ye. I’ve missed ye, but I’m no mad at ye.”

“I’m mad at myself enough for the both of us.”

“I’ll no allow that.”

Claire made a derisive noise in her throat. “You don’t have a choice, my lad.”

“Claire, look at me.” She hesitated, but finally pulled her eyes to his. “I forgive ye, even though there’s nothing to forgive. I canna tell ye how I would react in yer situation. Ye did what ye thought ye had to. And… I’m here for ye, Claire. I always have been, and I always will be.”

She dropped her eyes again, leaning against his shoulder for support. “What did I do to deserve you?”

“I could ask the same question.”

Jamie felt Claire’s mouth open and close, mustering up to say something else. She sighed.

“Out with it, lass.”

“It’s just…” They pulled apart to look into each other’s eyes. “I’ve missed you, Jamie. More than anything. I… feel a certain way. About you. Another thing I tried to run from. But… it didn’t work.”

“What are ye saying?” He tried to keep the hope from creeping into his voice. Was she…?

“I… I think I love you. Well, I’ve always loved you. I should say... I think I’m in love with you. And, I know that’s insane, right? To love someone and leave them without a second glance? But, I didn’t know what to do. I was so confused, and all those emotions… I just couldn’t handle them all. And I—”

He cut her off with his lips. It was a chaste kiss, with the promise of passions held in check.

“God, ye dinna ken how happy that makes me. I’ve loved ye for the longest time.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Good. Otherwise, I would’ve felt a right fool.”

They kissed again, mouths open, welcoming each other.

“Stay with me, tonight. We can deal with everyone else tomorrow. We’ll tell them you’re back. Tomorrow, though. Just, let tonight be for us.”

She smiled against his mouth, giving it a quick peck.

“Okay.”