#my therapist said to not expect things to go well because historically they have not gone well

[stolitzsings]

💖, 🖋 and 👨‍👩‍👧 for the ask game! (I probably got at least one of the emojis wrong but hopefully they still make sense 😂) - @blitzwhore

💖 What do you like most about your own writing?

Can't believe you're gonna make me think of something nice to say about myself 🤣 I've been told I have a very "lyrical" style of writing, and sometimes I'll write a sentence or paragraph that flows really well and just Hits. I love those moments when I feel like I've really nailed it at a word-for-word level.

👨‍👩‍👦 Do you tell people in real life that you write fic?

Most people in my life know I do writing of some sort, but I'm pretty vague with the details lol. I only talk about writing fic with irl friends who also write/read fic (and I don't tell most of them that I write smut, just bc I know it isn't their jam). I told my therapist I write "character studies," because what is smut if not horny character analysis? 🤣

🖋 Post a snippet from a current WIP

Putting this one under the cut!

Ok I was a little nervous about sharing this because it's from a longer AU I've been toying around with, and historically I'm very bad at sticking to longer projects. But regardless of what I do with it I had a lot of fun writing this scene of M&M tormenting Blitz lmao

Blitz could feel his face heating up. “He isn’t— It’s not like—” Fuck, he was losing this one fast. “Okay, so maybe we’re boning or whatever, but it’s just a casual thing, you know? It’s not like we’re dating or anything.” Moxxie raised an eyebrow. It was almost impressive how smug he looked. “Who said anything about dating?” “I think he just did, babe.” Okay, now they were getting on his nerves. He could feel his spines starting to bristle.  “Look. It’s just a convenience thing, ‘kay? He gets to have his bad boy fantasy, and I get a reliable fuck who I know won’t steal my kidneys while I’m asleep.” It wasn’t like Stolas would ever really consider a relationship with someone like him. Disowned or not, he was still a royal. And that was fine! Blitz didn’t want anything complicated, anyway. Fucking was easy. It was comfortable. It was all either of them was looking for.  “If you say so, sir.” Moxxie had somehow dialed the smugness up to eleven.  Blitz rolled his eyes and walked towards the door. “I’m firing both of you. And I’m keeping your shares for today.” He was pretty sure Moxxie started to say something in response, but he was out the door before he heard it.  He let himself stew as he made his way down to the parking lot. “Looking for excuses,” for fuck's sake. They were hired killers! What did they expect? He was going to get injured sometimes. And it only made sense to go see Stolas, who knew more about this shit than any of them did. Besides, a quick fuck sesh was good for you, or something. Boosted your sero-whatever levels. Got your blood pumping. It was basically healthcare, anyway. Talk about a bedside manner, he thought to himself, grinning. He made a mental note to use that one with Stolas later. He'd think it was funny.

“C’mere, B, let me take a look at that scratch for you.” Millie had opened up their first-aid kit and had just finished bandaging a shallow cut on her thigh. Blitz looked down at the wounded arm that she’d gestured to. It wasn’t serious— an annoyance, more than anything. He shrugged. “Eh, that’s okay. I’ll just have my guy take a look at it.” Millie eyed him skeptically, like she was trying to catch him in a lie. “You know, you’ve been spending an awful lot of time with this mysterious “guy” of yours lately.” Moxxie looked up from his paperwork with a conspiratorial smile. “You’ve been seeing him for everything, even minor injuries. Almost like you’re looking for excuses to pay him a visit.” Oh great, the famous M&M tag team. “What? No, I haven’t.” Even he knew he sounded defensive. “Sure looks that way to me.” Millie crossed her arms and perched on the edge of the desk so that she and Moxxie could give him the double stare-down. Cute. “Are you sure that medical attention’s all he’s been giving you?”

Thank you for the ask @blitzwhore! I'm still answering these prompts if y'all are curious 😊

[callioope]

Fencing update!

I fenced again today!

I wasn't expecting to because I hadn't formally finalized anything with either club, and the lady that runs the first club I went to (the one I want to continue going to) never got back to me about a few pricing questions I had over email. But! my therapist helped me build up the courage to *gasp* use a phone and just call them (she actually reminded me that it was, you know, an option at all). So I put on my adult pants and called.

The owner was quite friendly over the phone, and said they were not in the office today bc they are at the Junior Olympics, but that I could still come in (even on short notice), and we'd handle paperwork next week when they're back. They also mentioned the usual coach for this class was also at the JOs, so I should know the class would run a little differently.

So! Yay!

There were six of us there, four women and two men. This was delightful as historically in my experience fencing was dominated by men. Nothing against that, just happy to also see more women there! But more people in general is always great! I fenced everyone except one of the other women who left before I got the chance.

I'm just happy to be scoring any touches at this point, honestly, this being my third fencing experience in about 15 years. And that I did! We didn't formally keep score, well at least, I wasn't paying attention to that and my opponents were not saying it out loud if they were keeping score. This has been so helpful for me as I'm getting back into things. Less pressure.

Although I was still a bit muddled when it came to determining who had right of way.* I know conceptually how it's determined, it's just a matter of... following all the actions, breaking it down step by step. Very difficult when watching, but even still somewhat difficult for me while fencing, too, and that's what I want to get better at. It happens so fast! And honestly, my mind is mostly focused on like... remembering very basic stuff right now.

Back in the day, we used to direct (ref) ourselves at the Friday night open fencing, and I loathed doing it. Determining right of way even at my best was still difficult for me, and it didn't help that there were a lot of... very confident, assertive fencers who would definitely argue back if they felt I'd gotten it wrong.

*Right of way (also known as 'priority'): for foil and saber only. (The joke is that people who don't understand right of way fence epee, which allows simultaneous touches -- if both fencers hit , they both get a point, except for the last/winning touch, if the score is tied.) So if both fencers hit each other in foil or saber (within 1 second; after 1 second the scoring machine locks the second hit out), they use right of way to determine who gets the point. (Or if the person with right of way hit off target, no one does and they resume fencing.)

You can establish right of way by extending your arm, or by beating your opponent's blade and then extending. The idea is that you are initiating the action. You obviously have to continue to try to hit. In order to claim right of way from you, your opponent must now parry your blade and extend their arm and hit (or try to hit). You can then take back right of way by counter-parrying, back and forth.

That's simplified, but it can get more complicated, as you can imagine. Something I recall being controversial is that if you are moving forward, rather than extending your arm, some refs will award that right of way, which isn't technically correct but happens.

Anyways there's a whole wikipedia page explaining right of way if you want more details.

Regardless, I had a lot of fun! Still working on 'downloading' all that ancient fencing knowledge from the storage area of my brain. I was thinking of keeping a journal or something about moves we went over in class to help remember. Ideally I would be implementing them during bouts, but as I said, I'm just trying to get my body back up to speed with the basics.

A glimpse into my thoughts while fencing:

my new gear is sooo comfortable i didn't know fencing gear could be this soft and lightweight and silky

okay but how the heck do i attach the mask body cord to everything else i can't reach! [we didn't have mask cords back in my day bc the bib was not considered target area]

arghhh getting a [fencing] mask on with glasses such a pain

okay okay i have to beat or parry his blade if he extends or beats my blade that's very important

don't just look at opponent's blade look at the target area!! the arm is off target!!

oh jeez point control

*beep* *quickly look at scoring machine*

*beep* I don't need to look at the machine that was a very good touch against me

OH I HIT! and it's only my light!! I definitely got that point no question about it phew no right of way to worry about this time

oh sweet i got my mask on so smoothly this time, i think i've figured this out sweet

Oh they keep hitting the same spot how do i guard that again?

you know what, if both lights go on, but they get the right of way, i don't even care. i'm satisfied with just hitting on target

dear hand please for the love of god disengage around my opponent's sword i know i haven't used these wrist muscles in 15 years but i've tried to do this FIVE TIMES now please please disengage

;askjdf;asgh; stupid mask i thought i figured this out silly me how do i get it on i look like an idiot struggling like this

really wish i could follow all the actions and understand what's happening

omg my arm is so tired. does that mean i'm gripping too tightly? should i loosen my grip?

no no it just means i'm out of shape. right?

hey at least my point control is better this time than the first time

dear opponent with recent fencing experience please explain to me what happened not bc i'm questioning you but because i want to learn/refresh my mind on how this works

oh shit i'm the ted lasso meme!

"Oh come on, how did they have right of way!! No seriously explain to me how right of way works"

this lady is being so nice to me talking to me and commenting on the other fencers' moves which is helpful for learning

but i don't know what to say back

i like her socks!

i'm exhausted but in a GOOD way YES it's good to be back

[dandelionsarenotfruit]

I'm still essentially a "virgin" (which I think is both a patriarchal and heteronormative bullshit term) at 37. I'm demi, I'm bisexual, I'm apparently EXTREMELY romantic, which is really irritating, and I'm also borderline and inclined to conflate my Favorite Person and my One True Love and my Bestest Friend in one person who often does not want to be more than one of those things, if they even want to be one of them.

More than anything, more than sex or marriage, I want to have companionship that is extremely affectionate and I want someone to travel with and society has historically told me that I'm going to have to casually date and have one-night stands and clamber aboard the relationship treadmill and I just don't think what I want fits into that framework, but it is still painful to be told that I should just settle for being alone or I'm not ready for any type of non-platonic relationship, especially by people who have found their person, like my old therapist who said I shouldn't focus on finding a Prince Charming, but was in a long-term relationship.

I can't just give anyone sex. I am very protective of myself in this regard and I think it's served me well for the most part. But the pressure of people expecting immediate mutual attraction and sex from me makes dating intolerable. Weirdly, I see myself in romantic movies constantly: the compulsory demisexuality behind every "boy/girl next door" who's been best friends and lovingly emotionally devoted to one person for years and years is often rewarded in films but NO ONE WANTS YOU TO BE LIKE THAT IN REALITY. People say you're pathetic, you need to move on, you should give up, you should play the field, you should lower your standards, you shouldn't want to be with your best friend, you shouldn't declare your love. But it's a very popular trope in str8 romantic comedies. I just don't get why *I'm* the weirdo for having this excess of feeling and this overwhelming desire to lavish affection on someone. I hate the phrase "catch feelings" because I don't have the ability to engage sexually with anyone for whom I don't HAVE FEELINGS. I hate that emotionality is so decried; I just feel like I don't belong in this weird world where the rules of attraction shift and change, but they're always against me.

This went off the rails a bit but I find it very hard to fully verbalize everything I feel about sexual and romantic attraction and relationships, and I hate that I've let society tell me that I'm less than for being single for 15 years, that I'm less than for being unmarried, that I'm less than for not being willing to have two drinks and go home with whomever without mentally crumbling over the lack of emotional connection. And it makes me feel like I have to find someone by some point before everyone pairs up and I'm alone. I feel like i straddle two different modes: wanting my autonomy and to take my time and respect myself and wanting to just follow the crowd despite knowing it would damage me to be something I'm really not.

I'm a bit tired of people calling asexuality 'not a big deal.'

Here's the thing, I never thought it was a big deal either. I didn't have a big angsty coming out about being aro or being ace. It was difficult in a sense to think of the future I'd imagined for myself not coming true, but I didn't mourn that future. I was happy that there were others out there feeling what I was feeling and going through what I was going through.

But it's become a big deal. It's become a big deal because as I have grown older, I have realised the future is still fucking blurry. I have no idea what to expect from it. Society was not built for those who do not or cannot follow its rules. I've realised just how MUCH people say aphobic stuff on a daily basis. I feel constantly othered by comments that carelessly remind us we are out of the majority. That remind us again and again that we are NOT the norm and will never BE the norm. I rarely see myself on TV and in books and in movies. People feel weird about it, so they just never bring it up like an unspoken secret. I'm constantly doubted and told I'm mistaken about my own identity, which causes anxiety and self doubt so many years later. People make a variety of assumptions about me and tell me it's 'sad' and I'm 'missing out.'

It's not just about 'not having sex.' It's about feeling like you're the only one at a concert that doesn't know the words. it about society making you feel like you're just a little bit off. My sexuality/romantic identity doesn't define me. I don't WANT it to be a big deal.

But it is. It is a big deal because all of you make it a big deal.

[angelkurenai]

Imagine Pedro being teased and questioned about how close he is with you, Gal’s adopted sister, and trying his best to hide the fact that you are actually dating.

“So, Gal, I am going to direct this question mostly at you but of course anyone can get to answer. I actually wanted to know your opinion about it.” Conan said, as Gal herself nodded her head with a smile.

“Oh, please, with pleasure.”

“There have been several photos, and I do not mean just from paps or professionals. Even you on your personal instagram posted a few. Which, to say the least, broke the internet as we all saw.”

“Yeah uh truth is my instagram wasn't working for several hours afterwards and I thought it was just me but then I kept asking others and got the same reply from everyone! Turns out, we caused a blackout of sorts.” Gal laughed, admitting to it before looking away in embarrassment while the rest of the cast nodded their heads as if almost giving her a a playful glare, even through the screen of the computer.

“And the reason behind that, who would have thought, a couple photos!” Jimmy nodded his head “Your sister, your adopted sister (Y/n), came to visit you on the set of Wonder Woman 1984. It was, for lack of better words, a historic moment not just for instagram who crashed because of the popularity of the photos but also for comic book fans worldwide. It was the closest we could get to a Marvel and DC crossover.”

“You say that because she was in her costume in some of them yeah?” Gal asked with a bright smile, always loving to talk about her little sister as Conan nodded his head “Yes, it was (Y/n)'s idea and everyone knows it, I can never say no to my little sister. Plus, she was right; we had so much fun fooling around in our costumes! I had more fun than I've ever had on a set of a movie before. And, yes, I almost always enjoy the movies I'm in, but this one- this one was truly something else! We- almost everyone, I think, played along as we acted as our characters and filmed some scenes just for laughs. I really really hope they make it into the bloopers somehow.”

“So you're planning on taking down youtube next, I see. I see.” the host nodded his head with playfully narrowed eyes, seeming all suspicious and making everyone laugh.

“No, no I swear! I don't want to!” she said in between laughter “We all had so much fun and an amazing time on set and in front of the cameras, playing superheroes that it would be incredible for the fans to see! It's- Really, it is kind of an unofficial crossover that should make it to the internet at least!”

“I'll have to-” Patty spoke up “I'll have to give it to Gal, she is right. (Y/n) had this amazing idea and creative at the same time because she had a small plot in her mind and lines and everything concerning the set. We all did a small setup and filmed it and, honestly, it came out to be real good!”

“Patty is no even exaggerating and Gal is certainly right. We had so much fun filming that small crossover, and (Y/n)'s ideas were brilliant! Fans will definitely love it!” Kristen said in addition.

“She truly is an incredibly talented, smart and creative person, besides an absolute darling. So kind to everyone and sweet, we all couldn't get enough of her. And-” Patty raised a finger “I will say it here once more because Gal has heard it before: the fastest we've filmed a scene in this movie. And it was all thanks to how professional she was, it was truly incredible!”

“Well, I can't ever deny it, my little sister is the biggest star there is! Oscars or other awards aside, she proves how great she is on every set on her own!”

“And you are definitely her biggest fan, as we all can clearly tell.” Conan pointed out with a small laugh “Speaking of, I think we do have someone who could only be described as your main rival on that sweet stop of being your sister's number one fan. Someone who hasn't been shy about expressing his admiration about (Y/n) but who has yet to utter a word.” Conan looked back up from his papers and said someone almost felt his heart jump in fear and nervousness, hoping that at least nobody noticed that he was indeed being silent for a reason “Pedro, you're being uncharacteristically quiet about this one, especially for something that caused Instagram to crash within thirty minutes of the photos being uploaded. I'm not- I'm not used to this from you. Come on, talk to me. Say what's on your mind.”

“This is oddly- I'm getting strange deja vu vibes here. Must be cause of that one time I visited a therapist. Long story short, it was only one session for me and about hm at least 25 for him. I heard he's still going to a therapist now.” he shrugged casually, earning laughter from everyone. He chuckled slightly himself, glancing over the screen of his computer while trying his best to keep anything from showing on his face even more so his smile, rubbing the back of his neck.

“I mean-” he cleared his throat “Ah man, what else can I say? The ladies have spoken, and they've said exactly what- I believe anyone that gets the opportunity to work with (Y/n) or watch her movies would agree she is one of a kind.” he shrugged softly with an adorable smile “Besides, it feels like anything I say is just going to be used against me, so I- I better keep on silently observing. That does seem like it's the safest option here.”

Pedro's laugh was more of a nervous if not awkward one, but he was pretty confident it was just no different to how he would usually laugh away questions he didn't want to answer in interviews. Most celebrities did the same, he wouldn't be the first nor the last, so he didn't expect Conan to insist any further. He didn't want to push his luck, he had been really successful (if not blessed after all these close calls) with all these online interviews to not have everything revealed by accident, so now especially with the current topic, he didn't feel like messing things up. He loved this privacy, he didn't want to lose it not yet, he wanted you and this all to himself for now. And he wanted the story of how you met, of how over that one month and a half on set he felt himself fall in love with you.

And yet... Yet, he was probably a weak man, a man who couldn't help but indulge even if he knew it could probably get him in trouble. You were worth it, though, you were worth all of it and as you were his weakest spot and so indulge he did. He slowly chewed on his lower lip and he so subtly looked over the screen of his computer.

His eyes fell on you, still splayed on his bed, book in one hand and steaming mug on the nightstand – your nightstand on your side of the bed, the thought of which made his heart flutter inside his chest – hair slightly messy, that oversized Mandalorian shirt on, which you'd gotten all excited amongst many many more fandom related toys a couple months ago and couldn't wait for him to see. A shirt which had, inevitably, ended up being taken off you barely ten minutes later starting from him stealing kisses and leading to the two of you making love till the very morning in between endless giggles. The pup you'd gotten – the both of you – not so long ago made a small noise drawing your attention for a short moment as you kept petting him, the both of you too tired to do anything else after an exhausting day of playing. Pedro couldn't complain, although he'd been a part of it he had mostly spent time filming everything even if you hadn't been the one to ask him to, he couldn't help it.

It was something that the both of you decided on and although you hadn't said it out loud, you both knew and at least Pedro hoped, that it was the next step, a very important one, in your relationship besides you moving in with him. To be responsible for another living being together was, if not a test, at least a way to see how well you could cooperate. And, if he could say so himself, you had been doing great so far.

“Good morning, darling. Here for morning kisses? Yes? Come up here.” your giggles were able to warm him more than the sunlight coming through the window “Ooooh someone really loves mommy, don't you?”

And then your words set his entire being alight. Or more specifically that one particular word.

“Well-” he stretched a bit, his arms finding your waist again to bring you closer and cuddle with you “Who doesn't love mommy in this house?” he couldn't help it as his smile turned into a lovestruck grin “Morning, mi amor.”

“Good morning, darling.” you pecked his lips “And don't worry, mommy loves daddy back, enough to make up for the rest of the world.”

As if reading his mind, you chose to look up from your book at him, smiling as you held his gaze for a good few seconds. So much love was evident, even in those few seconds, he could almost feel his own heart burst. Yet another reason for him to control his reactions from showing just how much on high on happiness and love he was. You shook your head, eyes wide as you heard Conan speak again, you playfully mouthed to him “Focus!”

As subtly as possible he tried to clear his throat and taking the mug of coffee that was beside his computer, he took a sip and decided to focus on it as much as he could. Until the subject changed, at least.

“...Wise man. I feel you, so don't worry I'll leave you to it.” if only he knew the big sigh of relief Pedro tried to hold back as Conan continued “It's the tactic I follow 99% of the time when I'm out with my wife, just smile and wave kind of thing. Alright-” he nodded his head in thought “Alright, well, let me ask you all something else. You keep saying in front of the cameras and talking about this small crossover, but I assume she must have been around for longer than that, yes?”

“Yes, yes she was there for at least a month, a month and a half I think. She was on vacation, after being done with filming, and she decided that before heading home that she'd come by and visit us. It was meant to be for a short period of time. She loved the place... the people, perhaps, how could I know for sure?” she shrugged not looking innocent in the least bit, earning a few laughs.

“Anyway-” she cleared her throat “And you see before she knew it, before we all did, one week turned into two turned into three and so on. It-” she chuckled “She was around on set and with us on all those beautiful locations we were in. And while we were all working and walking around with purpose and the need to finish this scene with so much pressure on- on our shoulders and she was just sitting around with a iced coffee or tea on her hand, sunglasses on and phone on the other hand looking she didn't have a single care in the world. It kind of made everyone a little bit jealous to be honest.”

“A little? Cause I sense that there's more than you're letting on, Gal. Come on, spill the tea.”

“Alright more than a little.” she laugh “I mean, it wasn't all the time, of course. Just the first couple days mostly but you can imagine how it was. It seemed like she did it on purpose sometimes.”

“Twistin' the knife even deeper, that's what she's best at. Oh I know!” Conan nodded his head “I'm actually afraid to invite her on the show because I fear how bad she'll roast me. Andy-” he laughed “Andy is the only one who has the most fun during those interviews.”

“I know right? Boy you tell me!” Gal exclaimed “That little shit. I adore her to no end but I really had the hardest of time when she was around. She just had to make comments on everything she could, especially when I was acting. I couldn't stop laughing sometimes, but nobody got mad at her. It was always my fault somehow!”

“I mean she's just so sweet, how could we be mad at her?” Patty added.

“She messed up so many of my scenes!” Gal pretended to be angry but her smile gave it away “But it's true, I couldn't even be mad at her. I don't get to see her that often, because of the work we both do, so I would give anything to have my sister with me like that every other chance I got. Even if I got all the blame for it, there's nothing I wouldn't do for her, you understand.”

“Aw that's- that's incredibly sweet, actually. It's- that's the exact opposite of me and my brother so no I can't really understand to be honest, but alright.” Conan laughed “Well, then, you really got your chance this time, right? You had the opportunity to spend all this time with her. When you were not working of course.”

“I...” Gal trailed off, her smile turning into a mischievous one but the rest of her expression trying to remain innocent, and failing at it because she truly wasn't even trying “Well, I would say yes. And I would agree with you. And I would even ramble about the wonderful two months I spent with my sister... If that had been the case. If I had really seen her for more than a week total, then yeah I would say that.”

“Wha- P-Pardon me?” Conan blinked in surprise “Didn't you j-just say your sister was with you on set for about two months? Or have I been in a parallel universe all this time and I just now came back to our reality?”

“Oh no it's very much our reality but I also did mean what I said. My sister was on set, and I did see her quiet often. But did I spend almost all of my free time with her? Did she spend hers with me? Nope. And that-” again with a far-from-innocent shrug “That is probably the only question I can answer. What she did? Did she have fun?... Who she was with? I wish I knew. What I know is I wasn't the one closest to her on set.”

“So you're telling me, (Y/n) was on set full of people she didn't really know, and you, her sister, barely spent any time with her? I'm gonna assume the rest of you didn't spend more time with her compared to Gal, right?” he asked and got nods from everyone, well, everyone who had their eyes on their screen and therefore looking at Conan, because there was still one that would avoid eye-contact even through the screen “Well, then, who was closest to her on set, if not you?”

“She, well-” Gal paused, smile all too sweet as she added “There could be someone...”

Said someone who couldn't even look up from his mug of coffee, as if it was the most interesting thing in the entire world, and didn't dare say a word for fearing of messing things up; even if his silence spoke volumes as it was. A silence which was... even more intense than before. Even more... real. Probably because it wasn't just in his head, probably because it wasn't just from his part.

Blinking several times, he slowly raised his head to look up from his mug and at the screen of his computer. Only to be met with the eyes of the rest of the group staring at... well, they were staring at the screen of their own computers but for some reason – a reason which he knew all too well – he felt like all eyes were suddenly on him. And they probably were. Because Gal was being nice about it but almost everyone had noticed how much time you had spent with Pedro during those almost two months. You had just met back then so they didn't imply anything back then but now... now they could just as well do so.

“I-” he laughed and he hated how nervous he sounded “Is it time to talk about my character?” he asked almost shyly, nearly praying on the inside that they would say yes and let him change the subject “Well, Max Lord is a guy who-”

“Are you trying to change the subject there, Pedro? One can wonder why.” Conan narrowed his eyes “Come on, don't be shy. Share your opinion here, or maybe your personal experience. Since I am assuming you do have one?”

“Yes, Pedro, why don't you share your opinion with us?” Gal raised an eyebrow, small smirk on her lips “You've been particularly interested in that drink the past couple minutes apparently.”

“I-” Pedro paused, before shaking his head with a laugh “This is going to be a long interview. I can tell.”

[habaritess]

I have to say, I was very, very impressed with episode 5. They address a lot of my complaints and did Sam some justice! I have high hopes going in for the last episode. Some highlights for me: 

Sam and Bucky working together to take down Walker was handled brilliantly. They really did take him down as a team and gave Sam his screen time to really show his fighting talents. 

Zemo choosing to let Bucky live out of his respect for Sam. This is great because narratively speaking, I was expecting Zemo to attempt to take out Bucky because Bucky is everything Zemo is against. Bucky is a super human and he not shy at all about using those abilities to intimidate Zemo. Zemo, the guy who will kill people without hesitation, who truly believes all super humans should not exist, choses not to kill Bucky because he knows Sam is that rare good man, he is a Steve Rodgers, and he knows that Sam will keep a handle on Bucky. That is amazing.

Bucky deciding to give Zemo the scare of his life one more time before he is taken away forever. Bucky, you didn’t have to do that, but you just have to be “that guy” and give Zemo something to remember ya by for the rest of his life.

The scenes with Isaiah was utterly heart wrenching. Please give this man an oscar because he acted the hell out of this role! I loved Sam for bringing the shield to Isaiah. The US had failed him, just as they failed and betrayed all the African American soldiers who fought for this country pre-civil rights act. I love how they addressed the historically accurate situation of black soldiers being let down in this country, and their anger is what helped propel the civil rights movement. What sad is that it was a nurse who took pity on him, who let him go. The government was very willing to experiment and torture this man till death. Isaiah is broken and he like many of our black elders who faced the brunt of a racist American society, are not trusting of the attempts at equality by modern american society. Absolutely brilliant scene and man, I related to Sam here. Sam listening to it all breaks my hearts because he knows and has experience the prejudice and racism of today, but even he still had a hard time hearing the true depths to which the country he lived in use to regard black lives. It reminded me of my own personal research into black history and having to read up all the things that the US has done to target the black american community. It’s tough.

It kind of hard to believe that the Dora Milaje would forgive Bucky so easily and like him enough to do him a favor...but I’m just going to take it as Oyo being very forgiving and she must have a soft spot for Bucky for her to have Wakanda do him this solid. Please don’t ever take these people for granted again, Bucky.

"You built me" gave me chills. Walker represents all the young men who fought for this country, sacrificing their mental well being in the process. Once they came back, damaged and destroyed, so many of them are further failed by the country they fought for just because they turn up less than mentally sound. I'm looking at all those mentally ill homeless veterans out there who cant escape their demons.

Thank you for allowing us to meet Lemar’s family and humanizing him even further. I really felt for their lost.

Thank you for the domestic bless scenes after everything that's happened. I loved Sam family life. I love Sarah, I love his nephews, I love the neighborhood. I loved the whole vibe of the town with that tint of sepia whenever they go there. It makes the whole area feel like home. Hell, I want to visit that place.

Bucky flirting with Sarah will forever be fun.

Bucky not wanting to intrude and Sam telling him to sit his butt down and stay over is beautiful and a part of my fanfic dreams. Thank you.

My god yes, Bucky apologizing for both him and Steve for overlooking what being Captain American might mean for a black american man. I would have liked to see how he came to this realization, but I'm grateful on what we got. Bucky didn't try to avoid the elephant. He said I did not think about it through the perspective of a black man and I give them a lot props for being straightforward with it and not going around it.

Sam getting Bucky to open up to him. This touched me. Sam asked Bucky straight up about his nightmares and rather than Bucky trying to lie or play it off like with his therapist, Bucky looked Sam straight in the eyes and told him the truth. The amount of trust and respect that was built between them is perfectly portrayed in this scene. Talk about progress.

I love how Sam gave Bucky some tough love and a reality check. Sam didn't hold anything back and it plays directly to his veteran therapist background. I loved Sam even more after this scene.

Sam choosing to carry the shield was handled beautifully. I’m happy he didn't just go with Isaiah view point, tragic as his story was. He considered all sides and even went to talk about it with his sister. Overall, it was Sam choice and no one else. Another scene that made me fall for Sam. 

Sam working out with the shield is one of my favorite parts of this episode. It didn’t just come immediately to Sam, he had really learn how to handle it. I love this humanizing hero that Sam represents. 

Sam nephews tracing the star on the shield was very a poetic touch 

[kjack89]

happiness

Sequel to ‘tis the damn season (Tumblr | AO3), gold rush (Tumblr | AO3), closure (Tumblr | AO3) and evermore (Tumblr | AO3).

ExR, modern AU. A happy ending, or, perhaps more accurately, a happy beginning.

It was an unseasonably chilly day in early June, but the sun shining brightly offset the chill enough by late afternoon that Enjolras left his red hoodie in his apartment before heading across the city.

Weather aside, he figured it would probably be overkill to show up at Grantaire’s gallery dressed like he had in high school. Even if it would have been a good bookend to closing the chapter on the worst mistake he had ever made.

He was fine the entire train ride downtown, but when he got within a block of the gallery, his stomach began doing somersaults and his palms started sweating. He paused outside of the unassuming brick building that held his future and took a deep breath.

A breath that caught in his throat as he saw Grantaire through the window.

Ten years and six months later and he was still stupid for this man.

Only now, he wasn’t too proud to admit it. And he wasn’t willing to waste any more time.

Enjolras pushed the door to the shop open, the bell tinkling above his head as he did, and Grantaire glanced up from where he was typing something on a laptop, his eyes widening when he saw Enjolras. 

But when he stood, his expression had evened out into something neutral. “I’d ask if there was something in particular that you were looking for, but I don’t think we have anything on display that matches your revolutionary-chic style,” he said mildly.

Enjolras laughed lightly. “Probably not,” he agreed. “Not to mention, I very highly doubt you have anything in stock that fits my budget.”

“So then what can I do for you?”

Enjolras hesitated. “Are you off work soon?”

If Grantaire was surprised, he didn’t show it. “I was technically off work twenty minutes ago, but I wanted to finish this up.”

He gestured vaguely towards his computer and Enjolras nodded. “Then when you’re done with that, can we go somewhere and talk?”

Grantaire arched an eyebrow. “You can’t talk here?” he asked. “I know you’re not a huge fan of art, but…”

Enjolras’s lips twitched. “I’m not that afraid of art,” he said, “but I also don’t want to put you in a situation that makes you feel uncomfortable, and I know having this conversation at your workplace could easily be uncomfortable.”

“Then why did you come here?” Grantaire asked, sounding more curious than anything.

Enjolras shrugged. “Well, for starters, I don’t have your home address.” He returned Grantaire’s raised eyebrow. “And even if I did, I don’t think showing up there unannounced would be likely to make you more comfortable.”

Grantaire half-smiled. “Touché. So how about this, then – as I reminded you the last time I saw you, my phone number hasn’t changed. Why didn’t you just call me if you wanted to talk?”

Enjolras’s smile faded, just slightly. “I thought this was a conversation better had in person.”

For a moment, it looked like Grantaire had something that he wanted to say to that, but whatever it was, he clearly decided against it. “Fine,” he said instead. “There’s a park a couple blocks from here—”

“I know it,” Enjolras said quickly. “Meet me by the fountain?”

Again, it looked like there was more Grantaire wanted to say, but again, he didn’t. “Sure,” he said. “See you in about…” He glanced up at the clock. “Twenty minutes. Thirty minutes max.”

Enjolras nodded. “Sounds good,” he said, hesitating for only a moment before turning to leave. He could feel Grantaire’s eyes on him as he left, and his stomach was turning even more than it had been before.

He didn’t know what he had expected after six months – hell, he didn’t know what he had any right to expect. It wasn’t like he had expected some big, cinematic reunion, especially not after how the last time they saw each other had gone. And maybe the fact that Grantaire hadn’t immediately ordered him to leave was as good a sign as he was going to get.

And maybe he was reading way too far into a two minute long conversation.

In a desperate attempt to calm his nerves, or perhaps more accurately, to give him something to do besides obsess for the next twenty minutes, he ducked into a coffeeshop to grab two coffees, bringing them to the park with him.

All in all, he wasted maybe five minutes, which left him with fifteen minutes to panic.

That was probably a little overdramatic, even for him, but he’d been building this up for so long that he couldn’t help but feel like he had fumbled it already. Or maybe that’s just what happened when you got this close to getting everything you ever wanted.

He exhaled deeply and focused on the fountain, watching the way the water caught the late afternoon sun, and tried to calm his pounding heart. His therapist would tell him that he needed to refocus on why he was here, and why he was actually nervous. He wasn’t nervous that he was going to screw this up, in large part there was no way he could screw up worse than he had in December.

He wasn’t even that nervous because Grantaire might again rebuff him, though he certainly wouldn’t relish the feeling.

No, he was nervous because for the first time, he wanted to be as open and honest with Grantaire as Grantaire had always tried to be with him. And Enjolras wasn’t historically in a position of making himself vulnerable like that, or vulnerable at all, if he was being completely honest..

But he had to be. Between therapy, Combeferre, and just plain realizing what an asshat he’d been for the past decade, he had realized he had no other choice.

And he was finally ready to accept whatever came of that.

With his stomach finally back where it belonged and his heart returning to its regular speed, Enjolras took another deep breath and closed his eyes, tilting his head back and enjoying the feel of the sun against his face. He stayed like that for a long moment, until— 

“Can you really blame me for calling you Apollo when you look like that?”

Grantaire sounded more amused than he had in the gallery, and Enjolras’s eyes snapped open. “Yes,” he said, giving Grantaire a tentative smile as he sat up. “Here, I got you a coffee.”

Grantaire accepted the outstretched cup but didn’t take a sip. “You don’t know what kind of coffee I drink these days.”

Enjolras shrugged. “No, but I figured what you used to like in high school would probably be acceptable,” he said, before adding, in his best Grantaire impression, “Tall, dark and strong. Blacker than night and sweeter than sin.”

“I have never once in my life uttered the phrase ‘sweeter than sin’,” Grantaire said with a laugh.

“Well, you have now,” Enjolras said, just a little smugly, watching as Grantaire took a sip. “So how’d I do?”

“You’re just lucky that I’m predictable,” Grantaire said, finally sitting down next to Enjolras on the bench. They sat in comfortable silence for a long moment, both men drinking their coffee, before Grantaire turned to look expectantly at Enjolras. “So,” he said pointedly.

“So,” Enjolras repeated, looking at him closely.

Grantaire arched an eyebrow. “You wanted to talk, so...talk.”

“I quit my job.”

Enjolras hadn’t meant to blurt it like that, but Grantaire didn’t look surprised. “Ok,” he said, taking another sip of coffee. “And?”

“And I called Combeferre,” Enjolras said. “And started therapy.”

Grantaire’s brow furrowed. “You say that like you hadn’t spoken to Combeferre in a while,” he said, ignoring the therapy part, at least for the moment.

Enjolras shook his head. “I hadn’t.”

“Your best friend from college?” Grantaire said skeptically.

Enjolras could feel himself flush, just a little, and he sighed as he glanced away from him. “What can I say, you weren’t the only one I lost touch with. I clearly made some mistakes over the years.”

“You think?”

Grantaire said it mildly, and Enjolras barked a laugh. “Remind me to never introduce the two of you,” he said. “I don’t think I would survive it.” Grantaire suddenly looked very occupied with his coffee cup and Enjolras frowned. “Hold on…” he said slowly, before realization hit. “You’ve met Combeferre? How?!”

Grantaire took too big a sip of coffee and choked on it. “Blind date gone spectacularly wrong,” he rasped when he had recovered enough to speak.

“Seriously?”

Grantaire nodded. “Seriously.”

Enjolras hesitated for a moment. “When you say spectacularly wrong…”

“We discovered we had exactly one interest in common.” Enjolras frowned, confused, and Grantaire nudged him gently. “You, you idiot.”

Enjolras shook his head. “He never said,” he told Grantaire, feeling – and sounding – a little put-out by that. “You can bet I’m bringing it up the next time I see him.”

Grantaire rolled his eyes. “I’m sure he didn’t think it was worth mentioning,” he said, a little impatiently. “But that’s enough about that. We’re here to talk about you.”

Enjolras hesitated. “Actually, I wanted to talk about you.” Grantaire looked surprised, at least until Enjolras added, “I just have one thing to say first.”

A sharp smile curved across Grantaire’s face. “One? That would be a miracle.”

Enjolras sighed. “Ok, so more like one series of interrelated things to say.”

Grantaire smirked. “And that sounds more like it.”

Enjolras glared at him. “Is there any chance that you’re going to make this easy on me?” Grantaire mimed zipping his lips and Enjolras rolled his eyes, but he was smiling as well, warmth filling his chest. This was what he had missed, how easy this was – how easy it had always been. Only now, it was easy because they were on the same footing. And he had never before realized how amazing that would feel.

So he took a deep breath, and he told Grantaire, “Like I said, I quit my job. I started therapy. I’m putting in the work. And I wasn’t sure that I was ready, or that I was where you needed me to be for this conversation. I know that I can’t put this on you, and I don’t want to.”

Something pained flitted across Grantaire’s expression. “Enjolras—” he started, but Enjolras shook his head.

“Please,” he said quietly. “I just need to say this.”

Grantaire hesitated before nodding, his eyes not leaving Enjolras’s face. “I’m sorry,” Enjolras said, hoping that the starkness of the words underlined their sincerity. “For a lot of things, for how I treated you, and, probably even worse, for not realizing that I was treating you that way. I know that doesn’t change anything, but I needed to say it.”

He shifted, his knee knocking against Grantaire’s, and only realizing then how close they were sitting. “I’m still figuring a lot of things out,” he said. “You’ve had a decade of therapy, so I’m still playing catch up. And I know that I’m not better. I’m not whole. Not yet.” Enjolras took a deep breath. “The truth is, I lost a part of me when I broke up with you all those years ago, when I first traded something good for what I thought would be better. And I kept losing pieces of myself along the way until I became someone I didn’t even recognize. And I spent a lot of time these past few months trying to find these pieces and trying to get back to where we started. But I finally realized, I can never go back. I’ve lost too much. So I have to rebuild with what I’ve got, and fill in the rest of the missing with something new. And...I want you to be a part of that something new.”

“Enj…” Grantaire whispered, but Enjolras didn’t let him interrupt that time either.

“You said that there was a part of you that would always love me. And if I never truly loved you back then, that doesn’t change the fact that there’s a part of me that will always love at the very least the idea of you, the idea of what we had and the possibility of what we could be.” Enjolras’s throat felt tight. “I know that that’s not a lot to offer.” He huffed a laugh, and ran a hand across his face. “Truth be told, I don’t have a lot to offer these days on any level. Thankfully, I saved a lot of money when I was doing the work I hated, and that’ll hopefully be enough to keep me afloat while I do the work I want to do, but it’s nothing glamorous.”

“I never wanted glamor,” Grantaire said quietly. “I just wanted you.”

Enjolras ducked his head, swallowing hard, before he looked back at Grantaire. “Well, thankfully, that’s all I have to offer: Me, and the fact that I want to try, and the chance that this could actually be something real.”

Grantaire’s expression was oddly closed as he fiddled with the lid of his coffee cup, staring at the fountain. Enjolras didn’t try to interrupt at first, knowing that at the very least, he owed Grantaire time to think about it. But after a few minutes had passed, he couldn’t help himself, clearing his throat before asking quietly, “What are you thinking?”

Grantaire shook his head. “I’m thinking... honestly, I’m thinking that this doesn’t seem real.”

Enjolras frowned slightly. “What do you mean?”

Grantaire gave him a smile that was a little crooked and a little sad. “I mean, you’re sitting here, and you’re saying everything I’ve ever wanted to hear you say, and…” He trailed off, shaking his head again. “I don’t know, it’s like...well, frankly, like it’s too good to be true. Like it’s a dream.”

Enjolras nodded slowly. “I know what you mean,” he murmured, his voice pitched low, his head tilting towards Grantaire. “It does seem like it could be a dream.”

“Exactly,” Grantaire said a little hoarsely, his eyes darting down to Enjolras’s lips and back up again, even as the space between them disappeared. “And if it’s a dream, that means I have to wake up at some point.”

“Mmm.” Enjolras hummed in agreement, his lips now mere inches from Grantaire’s. “That means there’s only one thing to do.”

“What—?” Grantaire started, before letting out a yelp and jerking back as Enjolras pinched his arm. “What the fuck was that?!”

“Proof that you’re not dreaming.”

Grantaire scowled and rubbed his arm, even as a smile twitched at the corners of his mouth. “Asshole,” he said, but without any real heat. “Was that really necessary?”

Enjolras looked at him evenly. “You tell me.“

All traces of Grantaire’s smile disappeared. “I wish it wasn’t,” he said. “But even with that dash of reality, I still don’t know if I believe it. I mean, people don’t just go back to their high school boyfriend a decade down the line.”

“Maybe not,” Enjolras acknowledged. “But I’m not your high school boyfriend anymore. Literally and in the figurative sense that I’m not that person anymore. And you’re not either.” He took a breath. “And if you don’t still feel it, if you don’t want to try, that’s fine. Say the word and that’s the end of it, I swear.” He squared his shoulders. “But if your only hesitation is that you don’t think this is real, then short of pinching you again, the only thing you can do is believe in me. In this, in us.”

Grantaire went very still for a long moment, his expression unreadable. Then he nodded. “Ok,” he said, closing the space between them to kiss Enjolras for real this time.

The move was such a surprise that Enjolras jerked back without meaning to. “What, just like that?” he asked blankly. “Seriously?”

Grantaire shrugged, his hand not moving from where he had rested it against Enjolras’s cheek like he had so many time before. “I told you back in December, I still believe in you.” He brushed his thumb lightly against Enjolras’s cheekbone. “Besides, in case I need to remind you—”

“I know, I know, you’re wild,” Enjolras grumbled. He looked at Grantaire, unable to stop his smile. “You really mean it?”

“I mean thatI can’t make any promises, because it’s been a long ten years for both of us,” Grantaire said evenly. “But I want to try.”

That was all Enjolras needed to hear.

This time, when his lips found Grantaire’s, neither man pulled away. 

Enjolras didn’t remember it ever feeling like this, like he and Grantaire slotted together perfectly, and part of him longed to trace his fingers down Grantaire’s chest, to turn the kiss hot and heady until they would both be breathless, until one would suggest taking this to somewhere more private.

But there would be time for that later.

They had all the time in the world.

And there was still one thing Enjolras had to say.

He kissed Grantaire once more and pulled back, reaching down to take Grantaire’s hand, lacing their fingers together. “Now, for probably the first time since this all started…” Enjolras paused, mostly for dramatic effect, but also to admire the way the corners of Grantaire’s eyes crinkled as he smiled. The years may have been long, and he would spend a lot of time learning everything he could about what life for Grantaire had been like without him, about every moment that he could see reflected in every crease on Grantaire’s face, but he didn’t regret them. Not when it had brought them here, together, and would give them years together to come, at least if he had anything to say about it. “Enough about me. I want to hear about you.”

Grantaire’s smile widened. “What do you want to know?” he asked easily, with none of the hesitation he’d had six months prior.

Enjolras didn’t hesitate. “Everything.”

[so-i-grudgingly-joined-this-site]

So I Grudgingly (?) Tackled the John Lennon Solo Discography: A Review Thread

I’ve been a Beatles fan for going on two decades now.  However, despite that, I’d never bothered to attempt listening to the solo discography of John Lennon.  

I was so turned away by hearing dudebros and old men hold him up as THE Beatle, with a solo career they held sacred, in a distinct no-girls-allowed, no-nonwhite people-allowed, no-LGBTQ people-allowed way.  I didn’t want to listen to it if jerks like that loved it so much, and it also felt like I wasn’t welcome to listen to it.

Now that I know more about the history of the Beatles and John Lennon himself, I finally decided, “fuck it”.  I’m gonna listen to the John Lennon solo discography, and I’m gonna post about it.  That said, I KNOW the fandom reputation has somewhat tainted it for me, so I’m trying to recognize my own grain of salt.

tagging @serenityspiral @secretstudentdragonblog @crusheswhimsandfancies​ since you all might enjoy seeing this

First review below the cut, and the rest will be added in reblogs as I go along.

John Lennon/Plastic Ono Band

Okay, I skipped the experimental albums, since they were pre-Beatles breakup and, let’s face it, when people are talking about John Lennon’s solo albums, they aren’t talking about the Avant Garde stuff.

If I were to sum up this album, it’d end up:

60% “ow, the edge”

20% parts where the dudebro fandom goes “oh he’s fighting his demons!  What mysterious things might torment him?” but the demons are clearly just drugs, bisexuality in an intolerant time, and a bad childhood

15% tumblr-level shitposting

5% legit good material

That said, I also feel really bad about giving this album such an uncharitable breakdown.  John clearly was going through some shit while making this.  It’s like listening in on a therapy session where things aren’t going well.  In fact, it’s like one where the therapist is actively harming the patient’s mental state... which makes sense given that, from what I can tell, this album was written based on John’s experiences with a therapist whose methods were harmful and who (as probably expected given the time period) wasn’t too tolerant of John being bi.  Also he’d just lost his major support system, with the breakup of the Beatles completely changing both his career and personal life.

But then again, given how it sounds, I also can’t tell if he’s just being edgy for the sake of it.  Because John could also do that.  A lot.

I guess the takeaway from this is that artist suffering does NOT guarantee good art.

Seriously, from the lyrics to the music to the production, a lot of this is pretty unpleasant sonically, lyrically, and in terms of subject matter.

Additionally, this suffers from what I suspect most of John’s discography will suffer from: being stuck with specific references that tie it to one historical period, rather than being universally relatable.  I understand the references because of my knowledge of history, but that’s not the same as having been around to know about the political figures and events being referenced.  I suspect younger fans unversed in history will need google to understand quite a bit.

Standout Track: ��God”... because it somehow manages to become a shitpost parody of itself.  It starts out with the impressively raw line “God is a concept by which we measure our pain,” but then quickly turns into a bizarre list of things John doesn’t believe in, which sounds like a Twitter or Tumblr shitpost response chain where the commenters sarcastically parody the main comment.  Seriously, it goes from things like “I don’t believe in the Bible” to “I don’t believe in yoga” to “I don’t believe in Elvis” in the span of a few minutes.  It’s wild.  It’s supposed to be entirely serious, but internet sarcasm and humor has kinda spoiled the format into unintentional shitpost humor...assuming John didn’t intend to be sarcastic for at least part of it to begin with (like I said, you never know with him).

I also liked the ominous bells at the start of “Mother”, even though they didn’t blend at all with the rest of the song sonically (thematically, they’re clearly funeral bells for John’s dead mother).  “My Mummy’s Dead,” the ironic nursery rhyme that ends the album, also caught my attention.  I must say, I like having thematically linked album openers and closers.  Unfortunately, the reason it initially caught my attention was not due to some deep thematic connection... it was because it reminded me of My Chemical Romance’s “Blood”, which closes out The Black Parade.  I wonder if this inspired the MCR track?

[krabmeat]

𝚙𝚊𝚛𝚝𝚗𝚎𝚛𝚜 𝚒𝚗 𝚌𝚛𝚒𝚖𝚎?

𝚌𝚑𝚊𝚛𝚊𝚌𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚜: c!Quackity, c!Techno, c!Tommy, c!Tubbo, c!Schlatt 𝚝𝚛𝚒𝚐𝚐𝚎𝚛 𝚠𝚊𝚛𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚜: violence, fighting, threats, weapons, panic attack, manipulation, yelling

𝚊𝚞𝚝𝚑𝚘𝚛𝚜 𝚗𝚘𝚝𝚎:

another lore fic for my dsmp persona, this wasnt a request just something i wanted to post! enjoy! :]

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

CLANG! CLANG! CLANG!

The molten and glowing netherite dented into the ideal shape that Krabs had in mind. Currently she was in her smithy at home working on a dozen netherite tipped arrows. She hadn’t tried making arrows before but when Techno asked her for a commission for it, how hard could it be, right? By the looks of it, it seems to be turning out well. She managed to make a strong, dense metal fit the characteristic requirements of an arrow that should be light and steady.

On about her 5th one, 4 steady knocks come from her door. 

‘I’m not expecting anyone today…?’

The same knocks rumble from the spruce wood. Krabs puts down her welding tools and goes to put on her worn and ripped navy trench coat. 

“Yeah, hold up! I’ll be there real quick!”

Grabbing Axe My Beloved and heading for the door, she places her weapon next to the door out of view in case she needs to use it at all. Opening the door, she realizes she needs her weapon in her hands once she sees the man on the other side.

“Ah, Krabs! Just the lady I wanted to see!”

Krabs furrows her brow and gets in a defensive position, grabbing Axe My Beloved and holding it in front of her.

“Why are you here? How the hell did you get past the forest and what do you want?”

Her words are like venom, the hostility practically oozing out of her body. Quackity takes a casual step back and holds his hands up in surrender.

“Relax, relax! I’m not here to hurt you, maybe- just here to discuss some…business.”

He can see the confusion on Krabs’ face along with how dumb she thinks he’s being. Deciding to humor his request, she pretends to think about what he said and acts like she’s taking it into consideration before dropping her expressions that made Quackity hopeful.

“I don’t think you see how much of a contradicting dumba$$ you sound like right now. We have nothing to discuss so get off my property, you’ll lower the property value.”

She walks away and waits for the door to slam shut after swinging it closed, but it never happens. Instead the door is met with Quackity’s foot as he opens it and lets himself in without warning. Krabs turns around and he’s already right behind her.

“What the- QUACKITY WHAT THE F*CK?! GET OUT!”

Krabs swings her axe at Quackity, making them easily dodgeable as to not hurt him but more so to scare him away. 

“Well you let other people talk to you about what’s on their mind! Cmonnn, how is this any different?”

“Man, I have no clue! It couldn’t possibly be because you always want me dead whenever I see you! You tell me Quackity, why is it any different?” Krabs says.

He then gets a small smirk grazed across his lips. He knows that she’s being sarcastic, but pretends to play dumb.

“I have no idea what you're talking about! You're really just gonna ignore someone who needs to talk to you? Wow...I thought you were better than this.”

Krabs stops and rolls her eyes, sighing as she walks to a door expecting Quackity to keep up, which he does.

“Leave all your weapons outside the room. I’m keeping mine next to my chair because I still don’t trust you but other than that I won’t have any weapons either. This is the best you’ll get from me.”

The room contains 2 small navy couches across from each other, 3 black leather stools along the wall and a small coffee table between the 2 couches. A big window with open, white shutters is on the right wall and the rest of the walls are a plain grey tone. Sure enough, Krabs grabs a stool and sits down after leaning Axe My Beloved against it while instructing Quackity to sit wherever he wants after he places his weapons outside the door. They are both seated when Krabs nods at Quackity, signaling him to start speaking.

“Well it looks like you’ve got a nice place here! I have to say, I saw some of the weapons you’ve made in your workshop and your work is amazing!”

He’s seated on the couch, looking around at the small room and taking it all in. He can sense the uneasiness from Krabs and it makes him smile.

“Yeah...I was working on a new commission before you came knocking at my door. Some netherite tipped arrows for Techno.”

Krabs starts fidgeting with her hands, scratching her thumb against her index finger. She’s reluctant to make eye contact with the scarred man in front of her. She knows he’s staring her down and it makes her wanna shrink down into her seat, but she won’t. Looking vulnerable isn't exactly up her alley, so she takes on a more casual look but still avoids eye contact.

“Hm...look, we’re both busy people so I’ll cut to the chase. I’m sure you've heard of the new country I’m starting up, Las Nevadas. Everything’s built, there’s a bunch of casinos and it’ll be one of the most economically prosperous places you’ll ever see. I’m asking you to join my country Krabs. Join me.”

“Um...excuse me, what? Out of all people, you’re asking me to join your country? Man, how desperate are you? Of course I’m not joining! Let alone a country led by you, Quackity.”

Quackity tilts his head to the side in amusement as if he was expecting this response. Which he was. He’s not surprised that she reacted that way. I mean, one of your worst enemies who’s always out for your throat asking to stand side by side with you? That’s practically asking to be labeled as suspicious!

“You’re still holding onto the past, I see. Krabs, you need to stop looking back. L’manburg is f*cking gone and there’s nothing we can do about it. I don’t care anymore that you helped blow it up because I moved on. You should too.”

Krabs lets out a long, aggravated sigh and tightly clenches her hands together to relieve pressure.

“Maybe if you would take the f*cking time to listen for once, our sh*t could have been resolved a long time ago! I tried telling you why I had to help build the detonator but YOU decided to not let me speak and instead shoved me to the damn ground and made stupid false accusations. Why the hell do you think Tommy isn’t mad at me for helping? Or Tubbo? Because they had the common sense to let me EXPLAIN, QUACKITY! Our issues with each other are all on you, so quit trying to shove it all down my throat. Either way, I’m not gonna join you. I’m not Techno, Quackity. I don’t team with my enemies, you’ll just stab me in the back later.”

“Your ‘reasoning’ for why you helped is for another chat. It’s funny how you bring up Technoblade, though. You guys seem to work with each other a lot, right? I mean, he trusts you enough to let you live in the same area as him! But...what else is there to you?”

“Hm, well as you know I’m a welder, builder, blacksmith, redstone intelligent, pretty good at PVP and the general therapist of the Dream SMP. I also have my fair share in historical events, so there’s quite a bit to me actually.”

A long sigh and a slow head shake of disapproval comes from Quackity. 

“And yet, you’re still as significant as a grain of sand.”

Krabs doesn’t get offended or angry, but rather curious and suspicious. Her eyes squint at him, tilting her head slightly to the side waiting for him to continue.

“Krabs, what word have you built for yourself? What title? ‘The Laborer’? ‘The Therapist’? You block out everyone from yourself, you’ve made yourself dull and boring. You have nothing to hide if you join me, Krabs. You’ll be someone!”

“Did you just completely ignore everything I just said?”

She finally looks up at Quackity, squinting at him. Accepting his request to chat is something she regrets now.

“I’m not ignoring anything, I’m telling you the cold hard truth. All of the sh*t you’ve been a part of was never you. All you are is an asset to peoples victory, and since you jump around so much your help isn’t as respected anymore as it used to be! You’re just Technoblades assistant. You’re just Tommy’s assistant. You’re just your ‘fathers’ assistant. And sooner or later they’ll realize your worth and drop you. They’re going to leave you, Krabs.”

The last phrase sends chills of anxiety and paranoia down Krabs’ spine. Was that really true? I mean, she had always known that she was less than her friends but pushing those kinds of thoughts away were a normally practiced thing for her. Her vicious shaking proved why she always tried to shove away the thought. Tears threatened to dump from her eyes as she downcasted her gaze to try and hide her sorrow, her breaths shallow and shaky. 

“Shut the f*ck up…”

Quackity is a bit taken aback by her current state, but quickly tries to recover and recoil with an answer.

“It’s not my fault you’re too much of a p*ssy to-“

“I SAID SHUT THE F*CK UP! SO F*CKING HELP ME QUACKITY IF YOU SAY ANOTHER WORD I WILL NOT HESITATE TO SLICE YOUR TORSO IN HALF-“

Krabs’ yells, sobs, and threats choke to a stop as her neck is held at knife point with her axe kicked away from her reach by Quackity.

“Try to kill me and I’ll slit your throat right here with your own f*cking finger, Krabs.”

Both of them know what he means by that. He snuck in the knife he made after chopping one of Krabs’ iron fingers a while ago. She welded a new one back, but he got it made into a pocket knife just to spite her. And now here she is, being threatened with her own material. Her head is tilted upwards exposing her neck more but not wanting the knife to be in more contact with her skin. It feels like time stands still for a couple of seconds. With Krabs trying to fully process the situation while also trying to not look as weak and shattered as she does, and Quackity feeling both prideful yet slightly shocked that he has one of his longtime enemies finally backed up into a corner. Tears are running down Krabs’ cheeks but she can't wipe them away in fear of the blade being pushed further into her skin. But the silence gives her time to calm down and recoil.

“So, you're gonna take a life? Go ahead. Attack when your opponent is at their weakest, like always. Pathetic. Killing me wouldn't do anything, it would be a dishonorable kill and you would lose a precious member of Las Nevadas.”

His thoughts linger on the first part of what she said, when he realizes the last part. The knife hesitates and releases pressure from Krabs’ skin, giving her the chance to slowly back away from the knife. Once she's leaned back into the stool enough, Krabs dives for her axe but Quackity reacts before she can get to it and slams her stomach into the wall harshly with his shoulder. He crouches down in front of her aching body as she hisses in pain, cradling her stomach with her right arm.

“This is a dangerous f*cking game you're playing here, Krabs. Repeat that last thing you said.”

But no words come out of her mouth. They're all stuck in her mind. Her eyes are squeezed shut and hard breaths are escaping her nose. The words in her mind are ping-ponging all over the place and it feels like everything is both in and out of her grasp. Both her thoughts and her body are shaking- she's having a panic attack. An event that Quackity is all too familiar with from his Manburg days. The way Schlatt was like during their partnership in running Manburg, the abuse was both mental and physical so panic attacks aren't a foreign thing for Quackity. After he realizes this, he waits. Obviously he's not the person to help Krabs with this, and he doesn't think she would want help from him after what he did, so he lets her calm down on her own before engaging in a preferably more calm conversation.

“Are you able to listen to me now?”

A genuine question, no sarcasm, annoyance or malice laced in between. Krabs nods her head while keeping her gaze on the spruce floor in front of her. Quackity takes on a less menacing tone and instead speaks casually to not bring attention to Krabs’ current state, as well as to make things easier and less tense.

“Look, I heard you say something that hinted you were joining me. Were you telling the truth?”

Krabs takes a deep breath. Her voice is quiet and raspy, but she manages to mumble out a response.

“Admittedly, I said that to throw you off guard…”

Quackity chuckles quietly. Of course she would do that, how did he not realize? Still though, he's gotta admit it was pretty clever. 

“You’re really hard to convince, aren't you?”

“Considering I'm your enemy, of course I'm gonna be difficult.”

“Well, then how about we make a bet for it then? It is a casino dependent nation, after all.”

Krabs looks up at Quackity, her eyes bloodshot but still wanting to know more of this bet Quackity has in mind. Her right eyebrow raises in wonder.

“We duel. If I win, you join me in Las Nevadas and capitalize off of the plot of land I'll be giving you. As well as pledging loyalty to the nation, following our laws, etc etc.”

“And if I win?”

“Straight to the point I see! If you win...not only will you not have to join Las Nevadas, you will also have immediate connections to me- the owner of the nation- if you ever get into any sh*t and you won’t need to owe anything in return, and I'll also keep the little episode you just had completely under wraps. Deal?”

Quackity holds out his hand to Krabs, waiting for her to seal the deal. She stares at his hand, thinking about the offer.

‘Seems fair enough…wouldn't want news spilling out anyways.’

“Hm, deal. When is this duel of yours taking place, and where? What are the rules?”

She shakes his hand then lets go, listening closely.

“It'll be in The Needle in Las Nevadas in about an hour or so. Bring as many weapons or materials as you wish, but no armor to make things more interesting. The first one to put down their weapon and surrender loses the bet,”

He gets up from his crouched position and heads for the door. 

“See ya in about an hour, Krabs. Start preparing! I know I will.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Krabs looks down at the small piece of paper with the coordinates sloppily written on it. Quackity had placed it on her workbench before leaving, so she followed it after packing everything she thought she needed. A huge red and white sign stood proudly next to the concrete walkway.

Las Nevadas

read the sign. This was the place, she knew it. Not only from the obnoxiously bright sign, but also because of the golden winged man sitting just below the sign. Krabs whistles at Quackity, causing him to spot her walking towards him.

“Alright then, let's make this quick. Follow me, we're going to The Needle.”

To say the country was impressive was an understatement. Casinos, food joints, gathering places scattered all across the roads. The sun started to slowly set about a minute ago, making everything a beautiful golden orange hue. Krabs keeps her comments to herself, but looks around in wonder. She hadn't seen such a beautiful place ever since before the detonation of L’manburg. Krabs didn't say anything, but Quackity could see the look of amazement on her face and felt his ego boost a bit.

“Yknow, we don't even have to fight if you already like it here-!”

“Now who said anything about that?”

The elevator dings, and the two exit the small glass room into the highest and most spacious level of The Needle. The view is like nothing Krabs has ever seen before. The sky started taking on a darker hue, meaning that lights were being turned on throughout the country. And man, what a sight it was. 

“So, are you ready?”

She snaps out of her trance, only to be met with Quackity standing in a fighting position on the other side of the room, sword in hand with potion effects floating around him. Krabs nods and proceeds to take out Axe My Beloved and eats a gapple. 

And with that, the duel starts. Quackity is first to react, lunging at Krabs and slicing his sword at her. A swift move to the left and she evaded the attack and hacks her axe into Quackity’s torso. Dislodging it, blood drips from her weapon, yet he hasn't dropped. Instead, his skin has woven back together leaving not a scar behind, only a tear in his shirt. Time feels slow but is moving fast when their weapons strike each other, they both reposition their weapons to a flatter angle to try and shove the other away. 5 distinct seconds are gone, Quackity takes a potion from his inventory and quickly down the bottle, smashing the empty glass to the side while overpowering Krabs with one hand on his sword. 

‘Regeneration and strength potions…’

Quackity managed to push her to the ground on her back, his sword striking against her axe she's using to block. His strength potion hasn't worn out yet so his sword is getting closer and closer to Krabs’ neck before she swipes her foot at his legs, making him fall over but getting a light cut on her arm.

Both of them are breathing heavily. Quackity’s regeneration potion has worn off but his strength potion hasn't. It's become clear to Krabs that he's relying on potions to win, which is perfect for what she's been saving. Clang after clang from blocked attacks, they've been going at each other for a good 10 minutes now when suddenly Quackity disappears after downing another bottle.

‘That f-cker had an invisibility potion!!’

His steps are quiet and he's making no noise, making things almost impossible to locate him. Krabs orbits around the center of the room, being cautious of any noise she hears or any potion effects she spots. Her eyes catch the familiar colorful potion effects rushing for her, she takes out a splash potion bottle filled with milk and smashes it in the general area of the potion effects. She wasn't sure if this experiment was gonna work, so she was surprised when all of the potion effects Quackity had wore off immediately, making him both visible and weaker. His sword gets a few inches stuck in Krabs’ metal arm that she had used to block herself with. It's wedged in enough that Krabs can yank the sword away from his grasp, dislodge the sword from her arm and throw it out the window. Glittering, clear shards scatter everywhere, and Quackity has been disarmed. The perfect opportunity open to her, Krabs rushes Quackity, holding her axe to his chest. The only thing behind him is the velvety sky, a cool breeze dancing through the few hairs exposed from under his beanie. 

“Well, this has been a good fight! But you should have been more precautious, after all-”

For what seems to be the millionth time, he downs a potion from his inventory and tosses the bottle out of the already shattered window.

“-I am a gambler!”

He leans back into the night sky. Krabs expected an immediate death until she saw him slowly float down from the top of the building, laughing in overwhelming pride and satisfaction- he got away.

“HAH! GOOD FIGHT KRABS, BUT I HAVE A COUNTRY TO RUN AND I CAN’T RUN IT IF I’M DEAD! THE OFFERS STILL OPEN THOUGH, HIT ME UP IF YOU WANT THAT PLOT OF LAND!”

Quackity’s feet softly hit the ground, picking up his sword and walking away from the building with his own little victory. Krabs scoffs as he walks away, but not in pure hatred or anger. More so amused. Maybe she would just take the plot of land. What could go wrong, right?

[thewickedkings]

Between the Two of Us

Masterlist || Next Chapter 

Summary: Jurdan High school AU. Rivals Jude and Cardan are forced to partner up for a history project, and drama ensues. (I know, I know, I suck at descriptions)

Trigger Warnings: I don’t think there’s anything so far, but please let me know if there’s anything I missed!

Chapter 1

Jude Duarte was spending her second period history class plotting a murder. If asked, she might have said she was being purely hypothetical, but she’d be lying. After all, she would be doing the school, and the world, a service by murdering Cardan Greenbriar.

She could already imagine herself receiving a badge of honor, crowds chanting her name for ridding the world of such a nuisance.

An image of his infuriating smirk after he had ‘accidentally’ knocked over her morning coffee popped up in her head. Thankfully, the coffee had cooled down a bit, so she was just left with a coffee stain on her sleeve and a severe lack of caffeine. Regardless, Cardan knew she needed her coffee to function in the morning, and that she had an important physics test to take first period.

She played with the edge of her notebook and contemplated the best method for his murder. Maybe a quick stab and run? No, definitely too painless. It needed to be slow and satisfying. Poison? That seemed like a viable option. She would just have to find a way to order some without it being tracked back to her. Maybe she could slip it into-

“Jude. Are you paying attention?” Her teacher’s voice yanked her out of her thoughts. 

“Yeah, yeah I am. Sorry.” Thankfully he couldn’t read her mind. He’d be calling the school therapist, or the police.

“As I was saying,” Mr. Parker continued, “I’m going to pair you guys off for the next assignment, and you will be choosing a social issue to discuss and relate it to a historic event or movement. Show me why the issue is important and what we can do to work towards change. I want you to be creative with this. This will be 20 percent of your final grade, so don’t just write me an essay.”

Jude internally groaned, since that was exactly what she had planned to do. Now she would actually have to spend time on it, because she really needed that 20 percent to keep her A in the class.

“I’m passing out a worksheet with more details. I expect you to have a topic and an outline of your plan for your project by Monday. And before you ask, I’ll be assigning partners.”

Jude’s heart sunk. They couldn’t even choose their partners for a semester long project? That was just cruel. She’d much rather work alone. Hopefully she would just end up with Taryn. She’d rather work with her twin than anyone else in this class.

Mr. Parker started pairing students up at random.

“Taryn, you’ll work with…” Jude perked up. “Locke.” So much for that.

“Jude, you can work with…” He surveyed the classroom until his eyes landed on a quiet kid named Nick. Jude let out a sigh of relief. She barely knew him, but she would be fine working with him.

Before he could say his name, the door to the classroom swung open, and in walked in the last person Jude wanted to see: Cardan Greenbriar, his sharp black hair slightly mussed and his smile gloriously confident as if he hadn’t just missed almost the entirety of the class. 

“Mr. Parker. Sorry I’m late,” he said, in his annoyingly smooth voice. 

Jude snorted incredulously, and Cardan’s gaze turned to her, a smirk forming on his lips at the coffee stain on her sleeve. She gazed back, unwavering.

Mr. Parker interrupted their stare-off. “I’ll let it slide this time, but don’t expect me to be so forgiving next time.”

He turned back to Jude. “In fact, Cardan, you can be Jude’s partner on the semester project. You’ll be working on it both in and out of class. She’ll fill you in on the details later.”

Both Jude and Cardan looked up in alarm. Since the day they had met, Cardan and Jude had not gotten along. What started off as petty insults had grown into a full-blown rivalry, both of them constantly battling to one-up the other. There was absolutely no way they could work together. And for once, it seemed they were in agreement.  

“Wait what? Mr. Parker, what about Nick?” she scrambled right as Cardan choked out, “Me and Jude? You’re joking.”

“Wait, who’s Nick?” Cardan asked unhelpfully. Nick shifted awkwardly in the corner.

She shot Cardan a glare and turned back to Mr. Parker. “I think it would be better for all of us if I partnered with Nick.”

Except Mr. Parker seemed to be on an entirely different wavelength. “Actually,” he looked between them, almost amused, “I think this project would be the perfect opportunity for you guys to work on your teamwork skills. I’m sure you two can work something out.”

Before Jude could protest again, he gave her a stern look. “Go sit down and start brainstorming. I’m not changing my mind. I expect a rough outline by Monday.”

She trudged back to her seat, and Cardan followed.

“Well then, partner, it seems we have a project to plan.”

Jude scoffed. “We’ll just do something easy and get it over with.”

“Mr. Parker mentioned this being a semester long project, Duarte. You’re not getting rid of me that easily,” he smirked.

“Just like this dumb coffee stain. This shirt was expensive, you know.”

Of course, Cardan chose to completely ignore that. “He also said we’ll have to work on it outside of class, so you’ll be seeing me whether you like it are not.”

“Why are you suddenly so excited to work with me?” She narrowed her eyes at him.

The bell rang before he could reply, signaling the end of the class.

Cardan reached underneath her desk for her backpack and handed it to her. “So when should we meet to discuss the outline?”

“What? Why would I want to meet up?” Jude asked, grabbing her backpack from his hands and walking to the door.

He strode into the hallway after her. “If I recall correctly, Mr. Parker said we have to have an outline by Monday, and if I’m not wrong, today is Friday. Which means we have the weekend to figure out our outline, unless you want to fail, or do it by yourself, which I’m completely fine with, by the w-”

“Okay, okay, fine!” She threw her hands up in surrender. “We can meet up Saturday.”

“I’ll come over to your place at 11:00. Sound good?”

“What? Why my place?” But he had already started walking away.

“Take it or leave it, Duarte. I have a lot of other things I could be doing,” he yelled across the hallway, walking backwards towards his locker. His unruly curls flopped perfectly over his forehead, one arm holding the strap of his backpack.

 Jude rolled her eyes. “Fine! See you then, Greenbriar. Don’t be late!” she hollered back over her shoulder and disappeared into the throngs of students rushing to their next class.

She felt a couple people staring at her curiously. It was pretty well-known that Jude and Cardan were rivals. They hadn’t exactly kept the antagonism between them to themselves.

And now they would be forced to work together for the rest of the semester. She sighed. She really needed to find some of that poison as soon as possible.

This is my first time posting on here so I hope you enjoyed! I kept on obsessively editing until I finally just gave in and posted it. Let me know what you think :)

Tagging: @jurdan7 @cardan-greenbriar-tcp @amoosewithflannelforfur​

Let me know if you’d like to be tagged!

[freddieofhearts]

Bye bye, dears (for now!)

I know there have been a lot of rumours and some posts about me leaving, so here I am to set the record straight and say a quick ‘au revoir’. This post is long, and I don’t expect everyone to read the whole thing—if you just want information on how to keep in touch, or about access to my removed fics, scroll to the bottom. ⬇️

*

Why are you leaving?

Firstly, of course I’m not leaving Freddie. This is just an ongoing hiatus from the social side of fandom, because while I have some incredible friends here, who have done all they can to support me and have made this experience wonderful in lots of ways—it’s also true that the social space has become more and more toxic for me.

I get a wild amount of hate. Despite never having my ask box enabled on here, people create new accounts just to message me and tell me all the problems in this fandom are my fault, that I’m faking being sick, that I should kill myself, that I’m fat, etc. I also very regularly get hateful comments on AO3.

Obviously I realise that I’m not the only one who receives these cruel attacks, but it’s become increasingly hard to handle them—especially as some people (‘real’ accounts, not faceless anons) do continue to blame me for wider problems in the fandom. It makes me feel consistently sad, anxious, and paranoid, so that I can’t focus on anything Queen-related that I enjoy.

More pressingly, it’s affected my mental health, which is—imperfect at the best of times. As I’ve occasionally alluded to in older posts on this blog, I have a history of anorexia, OCD, PTSD, and some other overlapping issues. Most people who know me in the fandom are also aware that I’m ‘clinically extremely vulnerable’ to Covid-19, significantly immunocompromised, and have been isolating at home for eleven months.

The combination of all of these things + the constant toxic messages has really been triggering me, and leading to an uptick in disordered behaviours, which my body cannot sustain. Every new instance of hate from an anon—every time there’s another indication of groups in the fandom wanting to ostracise me further—my reaction is deeply self-punitive and unhealthy. Ultimately I need to be out of this environment for, at least, a protracted period. My therapist, my partner and my close friends in the fandom support this decision.

*

So, what went wrong?

In 2019, I expected to be an absolutely tiny blog in the Queen Tumblr landscape. The fandom was already well-established, and I have never worked to ‘build a following’ on here—I think I’ve linked my own fic a maximum of three or four times!—in fact, more or less the opposite. As I mentioned above: ya girl is nutty as a fruitcake. As a result, I often avoid extremely niche things in daily life which cause severe anxiety for me, Relevant examples here: I never look at my timeline. I never intentionally look at my follower number. Yup, it’s strange, I fully admit it, but it’s best for me to go with these things—usually. In Queen fandom, however, this avoidance both of analytic stats and of most direct engagement led to some problems... My followers grew without me realising, and way more people were reading my blog than I was aware of. I was still in a—“Wow, this fandom is very frustrating, and rife with ableism, racism, etc., so how do we fix this???”—mindset, and I wanted to share my opinions, sure! but I also thought I was sharing them with 15-20 like-minded people.

Now, intent is not impact, and I recognise that I was brusque, didn’t phrase things particularly sensitively, and absolutely did hurt some people by criticising the fandom so freely. I still regret this—and I regret just as much the fact that some assholes have used my criticising the fandom on my own blog as implicit justification for attacking authors. I have said on here many times that I don’t condone that behaviour—but I also think there’s some truth in the presumption that these anonymous malcontents felt my critiques somehow ‘permitted’ them to engage in abuse. For the first few months, though, I genuinely had no idea there was a link at all—and so I was initially slow to condemn this abusive behaviour in public, because I was taking it for granted all authors agreed it was shitty. It took someone directly telling me (shoutout to @a-froger-epic) that people had identified a connection between my posts and the anons, before everything fell into place.

I would like to offer my apologies to the fandom at large for not being more quick on the uptake about this, because I feel that had I realised sooner that these people were taking ‘inspiration’ in some way from me, it might have been easier to put a stop to it. It does seem that there is still a lot of confusion about whether I support them and which of their views I agree with. Let’s be 100% clear on this: I do not support the anonymous commenters on AO3. At times there is some, limited overlap between parts of their views and parts of mine, but even that is less than you may think—I often see anonymous comments from so-called ‘Freddie fans’ that I substantially disagree with.

Perhaps even more importantly: I do not support anyone who sends anonymous hate on Tumblr.

*

What’s all this about ‘overlap’ with the anons?

Let’s do a mini-summary of the myths vs. the truth. There are views I hold which are genuinely unpopular in the fandom—but which I own up to completely, and have never tried to hide in any way. I’ve never needed to use anonymous to share my opinions because I’m completely open about them! What people who don’t know me tend to have ‘heard’ about me, though, is usually a drastic distortion of my real opinions.

What people think I think:

- Freddie should never top.

- It’s okay to send anon hate if someone writes Freddie ‘wrong’.

- It’s more important to correct ‘wrong’ portrayals than to respect other writers.

- It’s inherently wrong to be more interested in band pairings than canon pairings.

- Freddie should be overtly written as a r*pe survivor/victim (and not doing this is wrong).

- Freddie should be overtly written as having an eating disorder (and not doing this is wrong).

- Kink fics are wrong.

What I actually think:

- I believe Freddie did have a strongly defined sexual identity with marked preferences, but I don’t think Jim Hutton lied when he said that Freddie topped. I believe Freddie did top, but this isn’t the time or place to get into my thoughts on why/when/how much. I do believe that my analysis of the sources relevant to this subject is as historically accurate as one can reasonably be in matters of sex (where historical accuracy will always be particularly limited and imperfect)—but I don’t think it’s morally wrong to write Freddie as topping more than he probably did.

- I don’t believe there’s only one ‘right’ version of Freddie (all others being ‘wrong’). I do believe it is possible to be more right or less right—but I’m also conscious of the fact that this scale of value is not one by which everyone measures fanfiction. As a result, then, I don’t think that any perceptions surrounding ‘right’ or ‘wrong’ justify sending anonymous, non-constructive criticism, or outright hate.

- I do believe constructive criticism is a good thing. I welcome and appreciate it myself; I have received it on my fics in Queen fandom, and it has made them better. I have been in writing workshops which included very forceful criticisms, and the value of such feedback has been intimately and immediately part of my life as a writer for years. However: in this case, I have accepted that my opinion differs from the general community preference, and so I no longer offer any constructive criticism (outside private beta-reading). I haven’t changed my view, but I’ve changed my practice to align with community norms.

- I do not think any single, individual writer has a personal responsibility to write about Freddie Mercury in any given way. That ranges from including the more distressing topics to which I’ve devoted attention (such as trauma)—to concentrating on ‘canon’ pairings like Jimercury—to, even, focusing on Freddie at all.

“Now, that doesn’t sound like you, @freddieofhearts,” you might be thinking. And I know it doesn’t; I think something I’ve done a poor job of articulating is the difference between how I view each individual fan—namely, as free to shape their creative experience at will, even in ways that I might find distressing or offensive; even in ways that you might find distressing or offensive—and the way I view the Collective. I think people have interpreted some of my critiques of ‘Queen Fandom’ as meaning something like: “You-in-particular, a specific Queen fan, are doing it wrong and should change everything about how you do it; also you don’t really care about Freddie.”

And—that’s not it. What any given fan, as an individual, does, isn’t a problem. And that can be true alongside—concurrently with—a multivalent critique of how the fandom is lacking in representation of Freddie’s life, with all that that (wonderful, deservedly celebrated, but also profoundly traumatic) life entailed. I still hold that view; I still have myriad problems with ‘the fandom’ (structurally, collectively, historically and presently—from the 1990s to the 2020s). Some of what I want to work on (away from the social life of fandom) is expressing those critiques with greater nuance, in ways that can’t be misinterpreted as shading any particular fanfiction author or subgenre of story.

In brief: I haven’t changed my mind, but I think Tumblr is an untenable environment in which to discuss the things I want to analyse, especially as there is an ever-present danger of hurting someone.

*

Can we keep in touch? Where is the fic?

I will drop by this account periodically to check out posts that friends have sent me, so you can always sent me a private message to ask for my contact details on the other app that I’m using now for fandom friends. Multiple Freddie conversations and projects are going on over there, off-Tumblr, with a much ‘gentler’ environment and no bad actors—I personally love it!

All my fic has been downloaded and saved. I don’t want to deal with constant harassment on AO3, but I’m happy to share a copy with anyone who missed it and wants to read/re-read something. I also saved everyone’s lovely comments and thoughtful con-crit, so none of that has been lost or erased.

Thank you to everyone who welcomed me to the fandom, made me think, taught me, shared with me, sent me into fits of the giggles, collaborated with me creatively, and otherwise made this one hell of a ride! Love you all. ❤️

[crazy4dragons]

Everything Will Be Okay

Astrid comforts Hiccup after he finds out his injuries from a car accident are more serious than he thought. Pure fluff! Like Heaven AU. Hiccstrid are about 16 here.

Hearing her phone ring, Astrid turned her attention away from her homework and looked at the caller ID.

Hiccup 😜

“Hey, Hiccup,”  she greeted as she accepted the call.

“Are you busy?” came Hiccup’s voice through the speaker.

“I’m just doing homework. Why, what’s up?”

Hiccup sighed. “I had physical therapy today. You know, for my leg. And my therapist told me that I’m not making the progress he thought I would.”

“Listen, you shattered your bone pretty badly. And with the fracture in your ankle, too, it might take longer than expected for everything to heal all the way.”

“That’s the thing, Astrid. It’s not going to heal all the way.” Hiccup’s voice cracked. “The doctors are recommending I get a second surgery. And if that doesn’t work, I might have to use a wheelchair off and on for the rest of my life. Or maybe just a cane if I’m lucky, but I don’t want to be walking around like an old man with a walking stick. Do you know how much I’ll get teased at school? If I can ever go back to school?”

“But there’s also a chance the second surgery could work, right?”

“I guess, but even if it does, my limp will never go away permanently.” He sniffled.

Astrid frowned. “Hiccup? Are you crying?”

He didn’t reply.

“Are you still there? Hiccup?”

“Can you…can you come over? I need you,” Hiccup said, still sniffling. “And if it’s okay with your mom, do you think you could just stay the night?”

“I’ll ask, but she might say no because it’s a school night. Are your parents there?”

“Yeah, both of them are here. I’ll be honest with you, Astrid, I cried the whole way home from physical therapy, and cried more when we got home. My mom sat with me for a while, but she thought that maybe it would help take my mind off of everything if you came over.”

Astrid shut her laptop and, putting her phone on speaker and resting it on her desk, began to pack up her school supplies. “Yeah, I can come for at least a couple hours. I’ll check with my mom about sleeping over, too. Is there anything you want me to bring?”

“No. But if you’re down to cuddle, that would be great.”

“Of course I am.”

“Great. Well, I’ll let you go, then. Do you need my dad to come pick you up?”

“No, I can walk.”

“But Astrid, it’s freezing out. And dark.”

“I’ll be okay.”

“I’ll ask my dad come get you. I’ll tell him to be there in fifteen.”

“Okay, if you insist. I’ll talk to my mom about the sleepover and text you to let you know what she says.”

“Sounds good. See you in a bit, then.”

“See you. Bye.”

“Bye.”

…

Twenty minutes later, Astrid walked into Hiccup’s house, her overnight bag over her shoulder and a pillow under her arm.

“Hello, dear,” greeted Valka. “I’m so glad you could come. Hiccup could really use a friend.”

“Is he in his room?”

“Yes, love, he’s in his room. Did you have dinner yet? Stoick made pan-seared salmon and noodles. We have leftovers if you’re hungry.”

“No, I didn’t have dinner yet. Do you mind if I bring a plate to Hiccup’s room?”

Valka looked at the things in Astrid’s arms. “Why don’t you go on up and get settled in, and I’ll bring it up to you?”

“Thank you,” smiled the blonde. She ascended the stars and knocked on Hiccup’s door. “Hey, it’s me.”

“Come in.”

Astrid twisted the doorknob and, after putting her bag and pillow down, shuffled over to where Hiccup was sitting with red eyes and a box of tissues and wrapped him in a hug. “You know, no matter what happens, you’ll still have me.”

Unable to hold back his tears, Hiccup broke out into a sob. “I just want to be normal,” he cried, burying his face into Astrid’s shoulder.

“Shhh, it’s gonna be okay. It’s gonna be okay,” repeated Astrid, running her fingers through his hair and hugging him closer. By the time Valka came upstairs with her dinner, he had stopped crying and settled back against the pillows, clutching Astrid’s hand for comfort.

“Here you go, Astrid,” Valka said, handing the blonde a warm plate of food. “And what about you, dear? How are you feeling?” She bent down and kissed Hiccup’s forehead. “Do you want any dessert? Or a soda?”

Hiccup shook his head. “No thanks, Mom.”

“Alright, well if you change your mind, just call me. I’ll be back to say goodnight in a little while. Just try not to worry too much, okay? I love you.”

“Love you, Mom.” Hiccup briefly hugged his mother before turning back to Astrid. “I’m just tired of the hospital. And surgery. And being stuck in bed. And I know the kids at school are gonna tease me if I show up with a cane. Or even a wheelchair.”

“They’re jerks if they tease you,” said Astrid, scooping noodles into her mouth. “But as for me, I’d much rather have you alive and needing a little help to walk than have you in your grave. Do you know how worried I was when I heard you were in an accident? And how scared I was when you were in your coma?”

“The coma was only two days,” Hiccup pointed out. “And seeing that I don’t remember it, it’s the least of my worries.”

“But from my perspective, all I could think about was, what if I lose my best friend?”

“And what kind of a friend will I be if I can’t do anything with you besides sit and talk?”  

“I like talking to you,” shrugged Astrid.  “And besides, you’ll be able to move around more soon. Even if it’s with some help. You’ll adapt.” She took a bite of fish. “You want any of this?”

He shook his head. “I already had some.”

“How about you put on Netflix or something so we can find a show to watch? As soon as I’m done eating, I’ll cuddle with you, too. I put on cozy clothes before I came here just for that reason.”

“What time are you getting up for school tomorrow?” Hiccup asked as he grabbed the remote.

“Six. I’ll try to leave without waking you, but I do have to give a warning that I have to set an alarm for myself.”

“Don’t worry about it. It’s not like I I can’t go back to sleep. I’m not going anywhere.”

“Are you still getting your assignments e-mailed to you?”

“Yeah. Right now I’m working on the project for my history elective, so at least I have something keeping me busy.”

“And you’re still making drawings to go with it?” Astrid asked between bites.

Hiccup nodded. “Yeah, wanna see?” He reached over and grabbed his sketchbook from the bedside table. “Here’s Thor and his hammer. And here’s some dragons. And here’s Freja and her cats.”

“They’re awesome.”

“I still have to color them in. I also have to draw Loki and Odin. And I want to do a scene of Vikings sitting in the Great Hall listening to stories. Then I have to get all these drawings on a poster and write a few paragraphs of background research for each of them. What about you? Any big projects you have to finish?”

“I have my AP bio exam coming up soon. That’s kicking my ass right now.” Astrid finished up her food and laid her plate aside. “But it’s okay.”

“And how’s it going with your boyfriend?”

“You mean David? He’s not my official boyfriend yet,” laughed Astrid. “But he is taking me out again on Friday night.”

“Is he treating you good?”

“Of course. I wouldn’t have agreed to a second date if he wasn’t.” She snuggled against Hiccup’s side. “By the way, what are we gonna watch?”

“Will you hate me if I put on Vikings? I know how much you love historical dramas.”

Astrid laughed. “Put on whatever you want. I’ll just snooze. But wake me up when this episode is over because I need a shower before bed.” She draped an arm across his middle.

Grinning, Hiccup pressed the play button before tossing the remote aside and hugging the blonde. “Your boyfriend won’t mind us cuddling, will he?” He winked.

Astrid playfully punched his bicep. “He’s not my boyfriend!” she insisted.

“That’s what you say,” teased Hiccup.

“And even if he was, he wouldn’t be any longer if he had a problem with our friendship.”

“Aww, you’d break up with your crush for me?”

“Of course. Friends come first.” She tugged the duvet over their bodies and kissed his tear-stained cheek. “I mean it. No matter what happens, I’m here for you.”

“Thanks,” returned Hiccup, squeezing her tighter and rubbing his nose against the side of her face. “And thanks for coming here tonight. This is exactly what I needed.”

“You’re allowed to kiss me, you know,” laughed Astrid as she felt him nuzzle her cheek. “You don’t have to do whatever this is.” She reached up and flicked the tip of his nose.

Smiling, Hiccup pressed kisses into Astrid’s hair and against her cheek. “There, is that enough for you?”

“I don’t know,” she shrugged playfully. “Maybe one more.”

Hiccup gave her cheek one last kiss before burying his face against her shoulder.

A warm feeling surged through Astrid’s veins as she let out a contented sigh and closed her eyes. “Alright. I’m gonna nap now. Remember, wake me up after this episode is over.”

“Maybe I will, maybe I won’t,” teased Hiccup.

“Unless you want me to walk around school smelling like a yak tomorrow, you’ll wake me.” She snuggled into his chest. “And Hiccup?”

“Yeah?”

“Everything will be okay.”

[traumatized-motherfuckers]

Friendship Dissolutions; A Lesson in Asshole Trauma Reactions

So this is normally my school day, but I’m feeling the need to dig into something else this morning. The past events of this weekend, annnnd the past nearly two years. Because, if you  hadn’t heard, relationships are hard and I like to embarrass myself by telling you about all my fuck ups.

You know, romantic relationships are a disaster for yours truly, but I always thought I was pretty good at the friendship thing. Since high school I’ve almost always had robust friendly relationships - both in depth and breadth. With the exception of a few difficult points in my life since 16, my phone has never been quiet, my weekends have only been isolating when I’ve been isolating myself, and I’ve always felt like I had humans on my side who were closer to kin than my actual family.

The thing is, there have been periods when this hasn’t been the case. I want to say that it’s generally when I’m in my worst mental health downfalls, but I don’t think that’s universally true. There have been variable reasons for separating myself from other people, or vice versa. Sometimes getting too busy, sometimes naturally growing apart, sometimes getting too obsessed with a romantic partner.

But, taking a more analytical view, underlying my lost friendship events, trauma has often been one of the influences that corrupted my friendships and left me lonely, even if it doesn’t seem like it at face value. The thing is, the trail of breadcrumbs might go back 20 years or so. I might not have been in a full-blown trauma state at the time, but those early life non-learnings about relationships have left their mark. So, yes, I do believe that CPTSD is the prerequisite for interpersonal disruptions and we’re not alone in that.

Anyways, in this Fucker’s life, for the past almost 2 years I’ve been in one of those friendship lulls. I’ve had casual friends, roommates, work-associates, distant relationships, some of those hey-how’s-it-going-every-two-months relations. But I haven’t had those deep, rich, all-encompassing friendships that used to define my existence. The ones that used to make me feel safe enough to have an existence, at all.

It’s all because I lost my core group of friends, I didn’t understand and couldn’t fix the problem, and I had no idea how to move forward.

And this last time when I lost everyone I loved, it was definitely due to trauma. Acute, historical, and recovering trauma, to be specific. It was a horrible period of my life, I was a human wrecking ball, and I had no emotional control… because, partially thanks to said friends, I never had to develop those skills.

Basically, I’ve been on my own since a whole series of mental health related isolation events and relationships dissolutions that have persisted since - I want to say 2019 - but to be more holistic, the ship started sailing earlier than that. Like, when I was born.

This has all come to mind more than usual because, this weekend? I had a strange rush of humans back into my life. For the first time in a long time, I saw my best, closest, most important old friends, who were closer to siblings…. In our natural habitat, with our normal friendship routines, with hundreds of memories from the past decade flying around the room.

And today… or, realistically, since I tried to go to sleep after seeing them each day this weekend… I have the relationship reckoning to deal with. The emotional and cognitive processing of everything that’s happened. The lost years. The sense of abandonment. The feeling of being cast out of a family. The inkling that everyone was talking about me. The realization that I was acting a fool, and maybe they should be talking about me. The sense that all parties were partially responsible, but I was the one to blame. The voice in my head that has called me a crazy, miserable, unlovable mess the entire time I debated this at 6am and 6pm and 3am for the past several years.

And now, in the aftermath, I have to work through the dynamic cocktail of feelings, the sense of waiting for the other shoe, and the big decision - are these relationships that I feel secure pursuing again?

And I don’t think I’m alone in this one.

So, today I thought it would be good to talk about this. The history of losing my favorite people on the planet, how I perceived it at the time, how I see my own trauma-actions fucking shit up in hindsight, how I’ve forgiven myself for being such a wild one, and… well… my hesitancy to have close friendships with humans who hurt me in the past. The ways I realized that being separate was beneficial to my mental health and life progress. The self-sabotaging enablement patterns that I now recognize, ran deep, in our old group of friends. The fear that being around them again will let my trauma brain run away with me.

Woo - it’s a whole personal relationship reckoning over here. Let’s just do this, so I can get to my school work at some point soon.

History

So let me set up this situation. You need the background details, of which, there are many dramatic twists and turns.

Be me, Spring of 2019. My romantic relationship with my ex in Atlanta - the musical narcissist that I followed to the city - is going terribly. Since we moved things have been rocky, but now our relationship has been pumped full of disappointment, unfair expectations, emotional codependency, resentment, horrific fighting, and abuse of all colors. Every day is a battle. We’re rarely ever “happy” together. We’re closer to enemies than friends. And we live under the same roof - the one his parents bought for him, outright in cash - to make matters even more fun.

Other than him, I’m alone in this city. I work at the brewery, where no one really likes me. I have one friend from work, but little time to interact thanks to the demanding schedule of my ex with his gigs and out-of-state child visitation.

Financially, my savings have been depleted by floating my significant other’s horrible decisions for the past 2 years. We can never get ahead. He never pays me back for anything. I’m basically in his pocket, as far as needing resources to survive.

As you can imagine, and as I’ve described previously, my mental health is in THE SHITTER. Maybe worse than it’s ever been, although this is hard to judge against some of my earlier years in my 20’s. I’m definitely ramped up in an aggressive and defensive trauma state more than ever before, thanks to living with my aggressor every day. I feel like I’m surviving against the will of my partner, who seems to legitimately be doing his best to drive me into an early grave every single time the sun rises. He’s moved into the territory of intentionally triggering me for hours on end, upsetting me to the point of mental breakdowns, and then gaslighting me for “acting so crazy.” Things have become dangerous, I have no one to turn to, and no cash to get myself into a better situation… not that I know what a better situation even looks like.

But one day, I left. Packed my two bags, went to work, wound up at that single sort-of-friend’s house, never went back home.

And that’s when the real nightmare started. I mean, my ex was a terror over time as we lived together, but a narcissist scorned is a narcissist determined to ruin your fucking life. He harassed me daily via text, phone call, FB messenger, email, stalkings… whatever you can think of. When I blocked him on everything, he started trying to leverage our therapists against me until they refused to interact anymore. He wouldn’t let me into his house to get my stuff. He tried to have me arrested for attempting to do so, after he made arrangements with me to move that weekend. He suddenly refused to even acknowledge that he owed me a dime, and found a way to tally up venmo transactions to show that I actually owed him. He took my only support - our dog, who was really my dog - away and wouldn’t let me see him. Later, he reported my car stolen, so I had to purchase a new one without warning.

The list goes on and on. Just, assume every pathetic, cruel, desperate attempt at getting under someone’s skin and reminding them that they had the audacity to leave you. That’s what was going on in my world.

Meanwhile, with those financial and social pressures I mentioned earlier. No close friends in the area, no spare cash, an unstable job where I was on the chopping block for the reason of “the CEO didn’t like my personality,” nowhere to live, no idea where to go next or how to start a whole new life.

Annnnnd this is right about when my closely knit friend group back in Illinois sort of, well, dipped.

My bestest, best, most treasured friend in my lifetime had always been there for me. But now, she wasn’t. We had exchanged a handful of phone calls over the past month in the aftermath of this relationship ending, but she had been pretty detached from it. I wasn’t offended, because she had certainly heard enough of the drama in real time… of course she was tired of hearing about it...  but I was feeling especially alone and incapable of handling everything on my own, so the distance was difficult, nevertheless. Then, one day she told me that I was being too much for her. I had too high of expectations. It had been bothering her for a while. She needed me to understand and give her some space.

And this was the completely avoidable beginning of the end of my friendships. Let’s talk about why.

How I perceived it

So, I’m pretty sure you can guess how I took this challenging message from my best friend. Uh, poorly. I was so shocked that in my darkest hour, my comrade would feel like my problems were out of her paygrade. It felt like a stab to the heart and straight down through the gut. Here I was, completely alone and isolated, reaching back to my most trusted companions for a lifeline to keep my head above water, and… nothing. She didn’t want to reel me back into the boat.

I responded with some shitty messages about how I really wasn’t asking that much from her and I didn’t appreciate being blindsided by her sudden decision to get rid of me. I had only taken up a few phone calls to talk things through based on her schedule. I had visited her one weekend as I went to a job interview nearby. I had asked her to come visit me soon, so I could feel less alone for a few days. I didn’t think it was fair that she was responding this way. I couldn’t believe she would turn her back on me at this particular moment.

And so, the rift developed. We stopped speaking. I started sobbing. I was absolutely beside myself, as if I hadn’t already been. This wasn’t what I wanted, at all, but I also felt like I had no control in it.

.......

Like it? Well I’m too lazy to post the whole thing here. Check t-mfrs.com for the full blog AND the podcast recorded version. Yawelcome. 

www.t-mfrs.com 

(Traumatized Motherfuckers)

[greencreeker]

As much as therapy has been helping me deal with the trauma of my life, I don't actually talk about specifics of what I went through very often. My therapist knows very little about my past. I brought this up yesterday, and how I was shocked that I still found therapy so useful without those details being shared and disected. My therapist said not everyone needs to hash out each traumatic moment for the work to... well, work. Some people do, but it isn't for everyone. And it was just one more instance where she made me feel right about myself. That I wasn't doing this wrong.

Therapy is so intense anyways that going into it with some preconceived idea as to how it's supposed to go just made everything more complicated in the beginning. I was trying to be open in ways that just don't come naturally to me. She is a professional, but she was also a stranger. Even still, when you were raised with your safety, sometimes your very life, depending on you keeping your mouth shut... being open just doesn't work. And it didn't take me long to have a conversation with her that I didn't think the details as to why I was there really mattered in my path to healing. And she trusted me to know what I was talking about. I don't really know what else I expected, but it worked. Is working. I spend a lot of sessions talking about work, politics, climate change, my relationship with my mother. But every once in a while we have a session that just, really hits it out of the park. Really getting at the root of things. And while sometimes I worry I am wasting money talking about the other stuff, it took me until yesterday to realize expecting anything different from myself was pointless. Because I've always been the type to hyper focus on things that have nothing to do with a problem I think needs solved. For days, weeks, or months it will look and sound like I will have completely forgot about my issue at hand, when it reality it's been running in the background of my brain at all times. Making connections that work, or don't. Finding better ways, better words. Figuring out better outcomes. And when the answer hits it seems completely out of nowhere. It's just how I work through things. I need the time and the space, and though it will appear like I've checked out that's farthest from the truth.

So it especially means the world to me that she is so proud of the work I have done and continue to do. She understands this process I need to go through and doesn't judge me for it. Doesn't push for me to get to the point faster or in a more direct way. Even though with her gentle care I am. I am getting there quicker every time. Finding the answers I desire with less effort. Not no effort, but less. Which is leaving me with more energy to tackle other areas of healing. I've started down the path of ... I guess people would call it inner child healing? It seems to be the best term. But I can now think back on events that have historically been incredibly triggering and instead of reacting in anger or fear (fight or flight) at these memories I'm stuck on how young I was, and am able to offer my past self empathy and allow myself to truly feel the sadness that I should have had the space to be feeling in those moments when I was instead overcome with just trying to survive.

I'm just incredibly proud of myself after every session. At some point I start to second guess things in between seeing her, but she really helps me keep proper perspective.

[emybain]

nodrian headcanons where they get to live slightly normally/where they get to take a little break from reality and just be "normal"

this was super fun to write! im a little bitter that they never got an actual, honest date in the series, so I decided to take that into my own hands. hope you like it:)

CONTAINS SUPERNOVA SPOILERS

    Change is good. Change is good. Change is good.

    Those three words were on a loop in Nova’s head. She stared at herself in the mirror, torn between liking the clothes on her body and wanting nothing more than to rip them off and put on leggings and a sweatshirt. It was nothing fancy, just a pair of acid washed jeans with a plain white t-shirt. She dressed it up a little bit with a necklace Honey had given her years ago and her father’s bracelet. The biggest issue was the bandana in her hair; Ruby had convinced her to buy it a few weeks ago because Nova liked the pattern. It was a simple light blue silky fabric with tiny pink flowers here and there. It was pretty, that was all. But Nova had seen how other girls had started wearing bandanas as hair accessories, and she kind of liked that, so she was now debating whether or not to keep the one she had bought tied in her hair. 

    She was going out on a date with Adrian for the first time since the Supernova and since they decided to break up to give one another time and figure things out. A couple weeks ago, he had  casually mentioned that he was ready whenever she was, but he would wait for her. That had terrified her, honestly, and it wasn’t until a few days ago that she sent him a text telling him that she was ready, too. 

    Her therapist, a nice older lady named Liza, suggested the other day Nova do something to step outside of her comfort zone, like wearing something she normally wouldn’t wear. Change could be a good thing. She didn’t have to step too far out, but maybe baby steps at first. Like instead of wearing leggings, wear a pair of jeans. Or put on a small piece of jewelry. Or wear a color a shade lighter than normal. 

    There was a knock at her apartment door. Nova cursed and looked at herself once more in the mirror. She bit her bottom lip, hoping that maybe that would bring some color back into it. She sprayed herself with perfume and then left her room, grabbing her bag on the way out. 

    Adrian smiled at her when she opened the door, eyes widening as he looked her up and down. A blush crept onto her cheeks.

“Hi.”

“Hi.”

There was a short pause, borderline awkward, before he said, “You look nice,” then held out an arm. “Ready to go? There’s this new restaurant in the historic downtown that I think you’d love.”

    Feeling a rush of boldness, Nova grabbed his hand instead, lacing their fingers together. His smile brightened, and he squeezed her hand. “Ready.” 

__________

    Nova had only been to the old downtown a few times in her life. It used to be pretty rundown and sketchy, but in recent years, there had been a revival in the area. Now there were little coffee shops, antique stores, pubs, boutiques, and more spread out over one main and four side streets. The streets had been redone as well, paved with brick like how they used to be back in the day. The only modes of transportation allowed were by foot or by cheesy horse-drawn carriages. The area was like a little bubble away from the rest of the city. And it was stunning in the evening, as everything was lit up. 

    Dinner had been wonderful. Adrian took her to a burger place designed like an old-timey diner; there was even a jukebox that played music from another era. They had talked and laughed as they always did, as if nothing had really changed. After all, Adrian was still Nova’s best friend, and they had always kind of known that they would get back together one day, so nothing was awkward. The only thing that was different now than it had been in recent months was that Adrian sat beside her in their booth and held her hand, absentmindedly tracing her fingers. He even got bold enough to reach a hand down beneath the table to rest on her knee at one point while they ate. Nova never once protested at his affections. 

    Now they were strolling down the sidewalk, sharing an ice cream in a cup with two spoons. Adrian’s jacket was still resting on her shoulders from when she got cold in the restaurant. 

    “I’ve been talking with the people in weapons,” Nova said, licking her thumb as a little bit of ice cream dribbled down onto it. “They’re really interested in some of my designs, how they’re better for every day crime instead of targeting prodigies-”

    “No Renegade talk,” Adrian said sternly, although there was humor in his eyes. He nudged her lightly. “Remember what we agreed on?” Right. They had agreed to not bring up the Renegades or the Council or the government or anything like that. They would have a normal date as normal teenagers and not as superheroes who were known worldwide. 

    Nova rolled her eyes and pushed him back. “Fine, bossy. What do you want to talk about?”

    Adrian didn’t answer for a minute, although Nova could feel his intense gaze on her. “Your birthday’s coming up, right? May…?”

    “27th.” Nova nodded. “But it’s March, Adrian.”

    “It’s still coming up.” He shook his head with a slight laugh. “Are you going to do anything?”

    She shrugged. “I don’t think so. Maybe go out to eat with the team, or Ruby might force me out of my apartment to do something.” With a tiny glance in his direction, she added, “Maybe have a date with my boyfriend.”

    He stopped in his tracks, and they had to move to the edge of the sidewalk as to not block the pathway. He looked down at her, joy clearly written in his features that he was trying so hard to school. Nova bit her lip to hide her grin, although it wasn’t working too well. 

    “Are you saying you want to be my girlfriend, Nova Artino?” She could’ve sworn he puffed his chest out a bit, maybe even raised his chin a bit higher. 

    “Not anymore.” She snorted and pushed him away. Noticing that their ice cream was gone, she grabbed it out of his hands and threw it out in the trash can beside her. Then, she turned to leave him, jokingly of course. As expected, he pulled her back to him, arms encircling her waist. Her laughter died in her throat, but her smile remained. 

    “Yes,” she answered honestly this time. “Let’s make it official.”

    “Are you ready for that?” The look he gave her was so sweet, so sincere. It only made Nova love him more. “It won’t be easy, at least with the public knowing about us. And I don’t want to rush you if you need more time.”

    Nova shook her head firmly. She had noticed all night the looks people gave her, the confusion and elation and anger from all different kinds of faces at the sight of her with Adrian Everhart. Some probably still thought she hated the Renegades. Some saw hope at an Artino and an Everhart coming together out of love. Some were upset that a former villain should be allowed a chance at redemption and happiness. But she had been given those looks for months whenever she was in public with one of her friends, especially Adrian. She still wasn’t used to it, maybe she never would get used to it, but it had gotten easier. 

    “I want you, Adrian Everhart.” She wrapped her arms around his neck. “All of you. And if that includes nosy people,” she shrugged, “then so be it. I won’t love you any differently.”

His hold on her waist tightened. He reached a hand up to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear, then let it rest on the back of her neck as he leaned down. Nova met him halfway, heart fluttering when he murmured so softly, just loud enough for her ears alone, “I’m so in love with you, Artino.” 

The kiss was short and sweet, nothing more than a few gentle pecks. It had been a while since they had kissed, and Nova had to restrain herself from jumping in his arms and kissing him like there was no tomorrow. She knew, however, that they couldn’t. For one, they were in public. And two, there was probably a reporter hiding somewhere, camera at the ready. Nova wouldn’t be surprised if she found photos of her date with Adrian the next day, with their kiss blown up for the world to see. 

But she didn’t care. Not in that moment. 

__________

Adrian drove her home. 

They sat in his car for a while, just talking. It was more private here. Nova allowed herself to be a bit more open with him, playing with his fingers as he recounted what Max had done the other day that got him grounded for a week. 

“But my dads can barely keep the grounding serious.” Adrian shook his head in amusement. “Especially Hugh. They seem to ‘forget’ that Max is in trouble when he’s watching TV.”

Nova rolled her eyes. “I’m just glad to hear he’s adjusting okay, and that he’s not always a wise old man. It’s good for him to get in trouble.” 

“I know.” Adrian chuckled. “But that still doesn’t mean I won’t preach the injustice with all the times I was grounded for doing the littlest of things.” 

“You’re not exactly innocent, Mr. Everhart.” Nova narrowed her eyes at him. “You’ve had a few secrets up your sleeve. Literally.” 

She tried to maintain her neutral expression as Adrian shifted his body a bit closer. “Oh, we’re going to play that game, huh?” 

“I’m just saying,” she started, smile creeping onto her lips, but her defense was soon forgotten when he placed a hand on her cheek. Instinctively, she leaned into his touch. “But none of that matters anymore, right? No more secrets.”

Adrian’s lips quirked up. Her eyes were immediately drawn to them. “No more secrets,” he repeated softly. Leaning forward, he placed a kiss on her cheek. “Skies, I’ve missed you, Nova.” He pulled back a bit to face her. “I know we agreed that breaking up was for the best, and being just friends while figuring this shit out helped a ton, but I’d be lying if I said it wasn’t also agonizing to not be able to be with you in that way.”

Nova rested her forehead on his, feeling her neck heat up. “I missed you, too,” she murmured. “But now we have mostly everything figured out.” She paused. “I meant it when I said earlier that I’m ready.”

He kissed her, slow yet not long enough. “You’re so beautiful, Nova.”

Nova beamed against his lips and kissed him back, a bit harder than before. He responded with enthusiasm; the hand on her cheek pulled off her bandana and reached back to dig into her hair. She melted under his touch, becoming completely putty in his arms. It was hard to keep her composure. After all, it had been months since she had been this intimate with someone, as Adrian was her last. 

His lips wandered down to her throat, leaving her trembling. When he was sly enough to gently pull her skin in between his teeth, Nova couldn’t hold back the moan that escaped her mouth. As her hand trailed up his back underneath his shirt, she had a brief thought to invite him in to watch a movie or something. It wasn’t too terribly late, and they still had a lot of catching up to do. But then she felt his fingers graze her hip and rest just underneath her bra as he rose back up to kiss her deeply, and suddenly she wanted nothing more than to be lost in Adrian Everhart. 

However, they were in his car outside her apartment complex. His windows didn’t exactly grant them privacy. Really, it wasn’t the most romantic setting for their activity. 

Sighing against him, she broke the kiss. His eyes blinked open in surprise, chest rising and falling as heavily as hers. He frowned at her.

Before he could start asking questions, Nova brought a hand to push his glasses up. Her fingers may or may not have accidentally brushed his lips when her hand fell to his cheek. She tried to catch her breath even as she spoke.  “How about we go inside where it’s more...appropriate? Watch a movie, maybe?” 

Adrian glanced at their surroundings and nodded. They shared a sheepish smile, then headed inside. 

They weren’t an hour into the movie before they passed out on the couch cuddling, nothing but a tangled mess of blankets and limbs.

[joealwyndaily]

Man About Town interview with Joe Alwyn

Fresh off the back of a star turn in Kasi Lemmons’ Harriet, we catch up with British superstar Joe Alwyn about getting into an evil mindset, playing the long-game in his career, and his upcoming role in Steven Knight’s A Christmas Carol.

words by Francesco Loy Bell

It’s an unnerving experience, having to ask an actor to fill you in on the ending of the film you’re supposed to be interviewing them about, but it’s a testament to Joe Alwyn’s charm and down-to-earth manner that he duly obliges, happily relaying the final ten minutes of Kasi Lemmons’ Harriet with an infectious enthusiasm only someone with genuine passion for a project could muster. I had been most of the way through Lemmons’ bold new offering, centred around American historical icon and slave-turned-abolitionist Harriet Tubman, when the fire alarm sounded, resulting in a hoard of shell-shocked journalists being quickly ushered out of the building, only to be told that we would not be able to watch the last 25 minutes of the film. Fast-forward 24 hours, and I can’t help but pause to reflect on the surreality of sitting across from the films horrifying antagonist as he casually explains his fate to me over coffee. More on that later, however. 

Despite being the only actor in his immediate family, it’s fair to say Alwyn inherited some of the requisite DNA to pursue a career in film, his father, a documentary-maker and his mother, a therapist. Alwyn sees both as formative, instilling him with the “curiosity for looking into people’s lives, observing, and listening to stories” that had possessed him from an early age. “I always liked going to the cinema,” he explains, “sitting in big dark rooms, watching stories. It was kind of a way to disappear.” Though he cannot pinpoint the exact ‘light bulb’ moment in which he decided to become a professional actor, he does attribute seeing Ben Whishaw as Hamlet at the Old Vic when he was 12 or 13 as foundational, and “one of those moments that stick with you, where I thought: ‘I would really like to do that’.” That feeling soon blossomed, Alwyn taking numerous shows to the Edinburgh Fringe while at school and university, shows he can now jokingly admit “should not have been seen by anyone!”

Drama school naturally beckoned, the then-graduate enrolling himself into The Royal Central School of Speech and Drama, an experience he looks back on fondly, his eyes lighting up as he recalls some of the more eccentric aspects of his time there. “A lot of rolling around on the floor, a lot of tight black clothing. And lots of trees, I was a brilliant tree,” he laughs, before informing me, in sudden deadpan: “you’re also looking at a llama.”

Alwyn probably wouldn’t have expected such a swift re-entry into the dynamic absurdity of drama school so soon after leaving, but then he probably wouldn’t have expected to be working with director Yorgos Lanthimos only a couple of years later either. Having shot his first job — Ang Lee’s reverse-engineered war film Billy Lynn’s Long Halftime Walk — just after he graduated in 2015, Alwyn was sent the script of a then still in development The Favourite soon afterwards. “It felt like a special script. I mean, at that point, I hadn’t read that many scripts. I still was” — he catches himself, as his eyes widen in momentary wonder — “well, I still am new to this. But yeah, it was just... such a good script. I knew of Yorgos; I knew of his films. And those two things kind of narrowed together: this twisted take on a genre that can be quite conventional and stuffy, and his very unique, singular mind. It was exciting.”

A skype session with Lanthimos soon followed (“we talked about everything probably apart from The Favourite” Alwyn laughs), and the rest is history, the actor landing the role of Samuel Masham, a young baron in the court of Olivia Colman’s Queen Ann. Though his turn in the film is punctuated by exaggerated physicality — the court dancing scene with Rachel Weisz a particularly memorable example — Alwyn tells me that it was only when he got on set that Lanthimos’ true, bonkers vision began to come to life. 

“I didn’t know that it was going to become one of those moments,” he says of the dance scene and others like it. “Because in the script it just said ‘they dance’, or, ‘he chases her’.” He can’t help but smile when speaking about Lanthimos: “He is hilarious. And confusing. He doesn’t really say anything to you about conventional direction; there was no discussion of period, or etiquette, or character, or history — which I think we’d expected to a degree, just because of the nature of the film. We had two weeks of ridiculous exercises and rehearsals, where I’d be playing Olivia’s part, and Olivia would be playing Nick [Hoult]’s part, and you’d sing the lines, and you’re chasing each other, and... you don’t know what you’re doing, or why you’re doing it. And Yorgos doesn’t say anything. And then he’d get on set, and just kind of say ‘Mmm... louder, faster, quieter’.”

The profound respect Alwyn holds for Lanthimos is tangible — he responds “Yorgos again” in a flash when I ask him who he’d love to work with — and he largely credits the director’s vision for the success the film has since garnered. “He made it weird and wacky and bawdy and irreverent, and it’s just not what you’re used to seeing,” he gushes. One particular on-set tale gives some insight into the energetic nature of Lanthimos’ sets, Alwyn recollecting a close-shave experience during a flirtatious forest scene with Emma Stone which resulted in the actress being taken to hospital. “The woods scene; the rugby tackling scene. We — or I — got maybe a little too carried away in the rugby aspect of it, and Emma took a fall... which was completely my fault. She knocked herself on the root of a tree and hurt her head; the paramedics came, she had to go to hospital, and we had to stop filming for the day.” The sheer panic still momentary lingers on Alwyn’s face as he recounts the story: “She’d just won an Oscar [...] I was cowering in the corner thinking I’d just killed Emma Stone.”

Alwyn’s latest project, Harriet, is a stark departure from The Favourite, the actor trading in Masham’s comic fluidity for the chilling rigidity of Gideon Brodess, the vengeful and sickeningly violent son of Harriet’s owner. As aforementioned, it is difficult to reconcile the man sitting opposite me sipping his coffee with the evil he portrays on screen, and I’m curious as to Alwyn’s process for getting into such a poisonous mindset. “It’s tricky, because what he stands for is abhorrent, and obviously unrelatable,” he explains. “What him and his family did, and the idea of slavery, is repulsive. But I suppose with those kinds of characters you try to find some kind of humanity within them — which suits the time they were living in — to hold onto. And in Gideon’s case, it’s probably some kind of deep, repressed, buried feelings of love. Maybe love for Harriet? I don’t think he necessarily has a language for it, or even understands what it is. But he’s deeply tangled and confused inside. And you try and connect with those sides of him. But, in terms of who they are and what they stand for... it’s hard to find a way in. It’s near impossible.”

Alwyn gives a brutal performance in the film, deftly showcasing Gideon’s skin-crawling internal struggle between racist disgust, and Lima Syndrome-style  lust of Harriet, and his antagonistic villainy is the perfect foil to fellow Brit Cynthia Erivo’s stunning performance as the eponymous emancipator, Alwyn extolling her “formidable” work ethic and on-screen generosity as hugely motivational in his preparation. The story of Harriet Tubman, though well known, is perhaps not as staple a piece of knowledge in the American psyche as her actions demand, and Alwyn hopes that the film will help to give her the wider historical credit she deserves, both in the States and beyond. “Growing up in the UK,” he explains, “I didn’t know who she was, really. I’d seen her name; I’d seen the older iconic images of her. But I didn’t know her story. You hope that films like this will make it more accessible, and bring people in to learn about her and the story of what she did, what she achieved.”

As the politics of division take hold around the world, there has been an intensified focus on the debate surrounding story-telling, and the potential impact or consequence a story can have in the current climate; Todd Phillips’ Joker, for example, has faced significant criticism for potentially giving encouragement to white terrorism and racism. In this vein, the telling of stories like Tubman’s seems more necessary than ever, and this is not lost on Alwyn. “If you go on Twitter and read down on the news, there’s endless stories of division and racism, bigotry, families being torn apart at the borders. Without putting too much on it, if there was someone who represents a fight in the face of that, Harriet Tubman seems to shine pretty strong. And you’d hope that someone like her would become a part of a global curriculum at school.” Alwyn is hopeful that giving figures like Tubman their due historical credit — at least in terms of film — will universalise her all-too-recent struggle, and help unite people in the face of societal partition.

Alwyn’s next project will see him return to London, albeit a dark, Dickensian version of the city, as he takes on the role of Bob Cratchit — Ebenezer Scrooge’s much-abused clerk — in Steven Knight’s upcoming rendition of A Christmas Carol. Though he cannot give too much away, he promises the miniseries will be much darker and truer to Dickens’ sordid portrayal of London than previous versions. “It’s very much more in that kind of gritty, darker, slightly twisted world,” he explains. “It’s not as sanitised, perhaps, as most other versions are [...] it really goes into Scrooge’s own pain and why he is the way he is in quite an unpleasant way. And definitely in a way that hasn’t been seen before.”

Alwyn speaks with a soft, magnetic enthusiasm that almost makes me forget that this is indeed an interview, and I am disappointed to look down at my dictaphone and discover that our allotted time slot is drawing to a close. Characteristically, however, he laughs off any time constraint, and I am afforded some final questions. At 28 years old, the actor is arguably slightly older than some of the other industry ‘up-and-comers’ one might bracket him alongside, and I ask whether he thinks the hyper-visibility of fame elicited by social media is in part to blame for an increasing tendency to link the validity of success with being in your early 20s. Alwyn, despite having an instagram page and being in a relationship with one of the biggest musicians in the world, is notably more private than many others in his position, and he quotes a piece of advice given to him by Ang Lee on set of Billy Lynn in his response.

“It’s not a sprint,” he decides, after some deliberation. “Everyone has different ways of going. I’m still at an early stage in my career. I left Central in 2015, the first film I was in came out at the end of 2016. It doesn’t feel too long ago. I don’t think there is any right way to do it, but [...] I do think it’s an interesting point about social media and the idea of instant visibility, an instant attainment... it’s a dangerous thing to play into. And something that would be dangerous to get hooked on because I don’t think it’s real. You know, social media is [a facade]. And if you buy into that being a reality — or that’s what you go after — it’s not healthy.”

I am struck by how refreshing Alwyn’s attitude to fame is, though by the end of our conversation, I am hardly surprised. This is someone for whom the work is clearly a far superior motivational factor than fame or recognition, and this passion for his craft is evident in every project he touches. Ang Lee was right, it is a marathon rather than a sprint, but Joe Alwyn certainly seems ahead of the curve as he enters what promises to be a vastly exciting new chapter in his career. I, for one, can’t wait to see what he does next.

[aewriting]

Grey Zone, Part 6

There is now a 6th part to this angsty, angsty fic, in which T.K. and Carlos run into one of T.K.'s past hookups.

Warnings for explicit sexual content, angst, unhealthy coping strategies.

All parts are here on AO3.

***

Lunch starts out well.

  They’re trying out a new place, post-workout. One of those fast-casual spots where you customize your own salad. It’s okay, T.K. thinks. Like, it’s nice to have healthy options, but he could have put this together himself just using stuff in his and dad’s fridge. Which, admittedly, is probably better-stocked than 90% of the fridges in Austin. 95%? 99%, maybe?

Carlos’s fridge is always well-stocked, too, he thinks, sneaking a look at him across the table as he sips a green juice. “How’s yours?” T.K. asks, and Carlos smiles.

  “Pretty good.”

  Things have been... nice, between them lately, especially since the club with Paul. They grab lunch sometimes - even breakfast or dinner, depending when they get off shift. Ice cream, once - rare for T.K., but worth it to hear Carlos order from the vendor in Spanish for the both of them, worth it to see him lick his cone with such... enthusiasm.

T.K. exhales. They haven’t slept together. There’ve been nights they probably could have, nights when T.K.’s been so close to just crowding Carlos up against a wall and going for it. But then he remembers therapy, remembers he’s not supposed to be just jumping into sexual encounters, let alone a new relationship.

  But is this jumping?

  It’s been a few months now, and it seems... god, it seems good. Carlos is gorgeous. He seems to think T.K. is attractive, too. But that, that’s kind of the least of it. Because T.K. knows from experience that part’s not hard. He, he’s pretty damn aware of his physical appeal. It’s all the other shit that’s a liability.

  But with Carlos... god damn. Like, Carlos knows him. And he hasn’t turned tail. Or, or just limited their encounters to sex. He knows T.K. relapsed, knows he had a bad breakup, knows his job and his dad... knows he can get moody. Sad, sometimes, indifferent. Careless, even... And he still seems to want more of him.

  So they eat together. Work out together. Take drives together. Watch movies together.

  And if they occasionally grind up on each other on the dance floor?

  Well. He’s a firefighter, not a saint.

  He feels like he’s getting closer to healthy. Not there yet, but at least he’s at a place where it feels like it could be possible. Someday.

  Like Carlos could be possible someday.

  So he smiles at Carlos, here in the little restaurant. Jokes about his super-tight t-shirt. Swivels around in his seat to see how much this place is charging to add avocado and -

  Shit.

  That’s when he sees him. Them. Fuck. And from the looks he gets in return, they see him, too.

  He... he knew this would happen eventually, if he and Carlos hung out enough together, especially in certain spaces. He wasn’t expecting it here, though, with these two, of all people. And not now.

  First instinct is to avoid. “I’m gonna use the restroom.”

  Carlos nods, mostly focused on his salad. “Sure.”

  T.K. crosses the restaurant quickly, trying to dodge eye contact, trying to pretend like the two other members of the filthiest threesome of his life aren’t currently in the same room as him and Carlos.

  They’d looked like they were almost done, with their food. He hopes that if he just takes some time, they’ll be gone. This place wasn’t designed for lingering.

  He washes his hands, looks in the mirror, breathes deeply, and heads out. Exhales when he sees that their table is empty... but goes cold when he sees the taller guy exchanging words with Carlos. Winking at him.

  Fucking hell.

  He delays as best he can, watches them exit the restaurant. Watches the way Carlos’s brow furrows, the way he looks down at the table without really seeing.

  He makes his way over, sits down. “Hey,” he says softly.

  Carlos startles. “Oh. Hey,” he says in return. But he doesn’t meet T.K.’s eyes.

  They finish their salads and drinks in near silence, a departure from their banter earlier.

  They get into Carlos’s car. Carlos looks deep in thought as he starts the ignition, then turns to T.K.

  “You still want dropped at the station? Or do you have other plans?”

  T.K. frowns. Other plans? “I go on shift in like 3 hours. I figured I’d just get a shower at the station and sort of bum around there for a while after that.”

  Carlos nods tightly. “Just thought I’d ask. That’s plenty of time to fit in some other stuff.”

  Other stuff.

  “What did they say to you?” T.K. asks, voice low.

  “Mierda,” Carlos mutters, mostly to himself. “I, I’m not repeating it.” His jaw tenses, and then his face goes carefully blank. “And it doesn’t matter anyway.”

  T.K. reaches out, touches Carlos’s arm, the one that’s about to put the car into reverse.

  “Hey.”

  Carlos’s shoulders slump, and he’s quiet a long while. His voice sounds raspy when he finally speaks. “How... how many? Since you’ve been in Austin?”

  T.K. purses his lips, doesn’t answer.

  “No, never mind,” Carlos exhales heavily. “You don’t, don’t have to answer that. It doesn’t matter. I’ll take you to the station.”

  “A lot.” T.K. says, louder than he means to. “It... it’s been a lot. Of guys.”

  Carlos just nods. “Um. After we...?”

  “Yeah. And before, too.” T.K. looks down. “It...” he starts. “I was trying to feel something.”

  Carlos’s mouth twists a little, at that. “It work?”

  No point in lying. “Sometimes.”

  “It work with me?”

  Shit. “Carlos...” T.K. trails off. Then decides, what the hell? He’s already this far in, might as well keep going. “At first, you were just another body to me.” He can see Carlos flinch, a bit.  “A, a really hot one, but... but that’s what it was. That’s all I was looking for. But you, you were nice to me. Like, nice in a way other people weren’t. Um, historically haven’t been. You... it seemed like you cared. About me. Like, the real me. Even with all my shit. And I liked talking to you. Liked seeing you out on calls. Liked it even more when we’d go out, do stuff.”

  Carlos is looking at him with big, sad eyes. “I liked it too,” he says finally, voice quiet. “It’s just...”

  “What?”

  There’s pain on Carlos’s face. “It’s like the damn fight. It makes me,” his jaw tightens, “makes me worry. For you.” He bites his lip, seems to consider something. “Those... guys. At the restaurant. They told me to have fun. Said you were down for anything.” Carlos shakes his head. “Like, what does that even mean?”

  What does it mean...

  Well. What it had meant, with those guys, was that T.K. had been in the vicinity. Had been looking for a hookup. Used the app and made contact with the tall guy. Met up at a fuckin’ hardware store and followed the guy’s truck to his place west of the city.

  It had meant that the guy had bent him over the hood of his pickup, pulled down his jeans, and fucked him hard, right in his garage... then told him that his boyfriend wanted a go, too. And T.K. - well. It’s not that he hadn’t wanted it. Just hadn’t expected it. Bad, bad etiquette, on their part, really. Like, you should mention that shit up front. That there’s another guy. Not, not everyone would be down for that.

  But T.K. was. Down for it. Down for anything, right? Honestly, at the time it just seemed novel. Kind of crazy. Different enough, intense enough to stir up... something.

  It was certainly stirring shit up now.

  “Probably means what you think it means,” he finally responds, wanting to see what Carlos will do with that.

  Carlos looks torn. “You use an app?” T.K. nods. “What... what did you say you were looking for? Like, in the profile?”

  Rough, he’d said. He, he’d said that he liked it rough. In his experience, the hookups with an edge of... of pain? Like, the really physical ones, the intense ones, those were the ones that seemed to do the trick. Pierced the grey the best, blotted it out the longest.

  Problem was, it didn’t last. He knows now, from his therapy, from AA, from all the goddamn work he’s putting in, that it had been just another high.

  “I stopped,” he blurts out, and Carlos seems startled. “I stopped,” he repeats, “almost a month ago.” He swallows. “Finally told my therapist, my sponsor what I was doing. And now I’m telling you. Always planned to tell you, eventually. Just didn’t think it would be today.”

  Carlos is frowning.

  “I deleted the app.”

  “Why?”

  T.K. sighs. “My dad. His diagnosis. I can’t be doing shit like that, the way I was. He, he needs me. And I...” Fuck, he just, just feels so low right now, trying to explain this. Had Carlos asked him about this two months ago, he’d have probably laughed. Smirked. Poked fun at Carlos for not being on the apps, too. But he’s in a different place now. Stakes are higher. With Dad. With, with Carlos.

  “I’m trying,” he says, hearing the desperation.

  And Carlos stares at him, sadly. Reaches over and pulls him close over the center console. “I know you are. I know.”