#or what it's like to hang out with them in a day to day situation

[rhiblog]

god. of course. OF COURSE District 12 never had any Victors. of COURSE the only Victors after Lucy Gray were rebels who won over the Capitol with a veneer of charm after making it to the end so Snow HAD to let them win- or, what, no Victor? an even bigger sign of the Capitol crumbling?

District 12 is an underdog in the narrative's setting as they are the one of the poorest, who don't even have their district related skills to rely on in the Games (eg District 4's swimming/knots/traps, District 11's food sourcing/agricultural weapons) because the Capitol draws the line at child labour- purposefully so- by not letting people work in the mines until 18, after they've aged out of the Reaping. To make it even worse, most of the kids reaped aren't going to be the well-fed, better educated kids from town, but the starving kids with multiple siblings who had to take out tesserae in exchange for more chances in the Reaping.

12 is also a political underdog through the lens of a postcolonial metanarrative, as the Seam is mostly Native Americans. Added to the economic context above, of course the White, Patriarchal, Hollywood Capitalist Capitol would ensure Indigenous bodies are mere cannon fodder- Haymitch (because he seems to notice a lot more than Katniss apparently) never even mentions any other tributes from 12 in previous games. Clearly they would mostly die in the bloodbath, or from starvation, or not knowing how to protect themselves like Haymitch and Katniss did due to their private rebellions such as hunting or knife skills. This is even more emotionally devastating as Native Americans used to live off the land, know how to hunt and use every part of an animal to its fullest extent, and have all of these skills which would be extremely helpful in the Games, if not for the Capitol imposing this economic and social culture and stress, and rules such as not being able to leave (not to mention how they "rounded up" the Covey, who were nomadic in nature before trapping them in 12).

and then.

Snow has his incel vendetta against Lucy Gray, a member of the Covey who he blames all of his problems on, and rather than inspecting the society he lives in and family's legacy and even His Own Actions which put him in these situations (his father's Games, mentoring, Dr Gaul, Peacekeeping, the fact that maybe the rebels had a reason for the rebellion leading to the Dark Days and the economic instability that followed and plagued his family), he uses every opportunity to gain power over everybody around him, and projects his own self-victimisation onto Haymitch, Katniss and Peeta, and who knows who else.

All Snow knows is to fake it til you make it. He's an underdog, too, with his family on verge of eviction, terrified of losing control of his elite classist image, and doesn't think twice about being a secondhand murderer by giving Lucy Gray the rat poison if it will get him the Plinth Prize. I think we forget, in a series filled with death, that Snow had never killed anyone before this, and while most people won't think of it as the first example of Snow killing someone, it obviously foreshadows Snow's use of poison to kill his enemies later. Same with Sejanus's hanging and using the Gamemakers- he gets others to do the killing for him. He removes himself from the guilt by justifying his motivations and victimisation. His way is the right way, which is why, even at his lowest, he can't fathom any sympathy from the Districts. Capitol today, Capitol tomorrow, Capitol forever.

Lucy Gray is an outsider to Snow and the Capitol by being District. She's an outsider to the Districts by being from 12. She's an outsider to 12 by being from the Seam. And she's an outsider to the Seam by being Covey.

if Lucy Gray, a quadruple outsider, can threaten his grip on power and control, simply by existing while he thrust his way into her life, and just disappear, nobody else ever gets to.

If Lucy Gray gets to win the Games, he has to, too. Every. Single. One.

So every year, Snow watches the Reapings. 12 is first, so he'll watch it under the guise of being a good President, and even if he'd prefer to be alone I'm sure he's with some higher-up propaganda media coordinator to tell the cameras in the Districts to cut away, film this, keep rolling, just like when Haymitch was reaped. He'll do his best to ensure, until he has full power, that the next few 12 tributes after the 10th Games are absolutely unremarkable, or at least suggest a rogue mutt their way if they get too far in the arena. A vain man himself who can't stand colour, even and especially after the Capitol fashion explodes with crazy colours after Lucy Gray and the Games become more of a spectacle, he might even plant the idea in District 12 stylists to dress them in the same boring coalmining suits each year. Snow will watch as Haymitch gets drunker and drunker each Reaping, keeping a keen eye on the boy and girl chosen to make sure they won't make any trouble. Maybe they're Covey some years just to send a message, or maybe they're not. Either way, he can't tear himself away, nor recognise to himself that he's inspecting every inch for a songbird, a knowing smile, any flash of a rainbow which could destroy him.

However, as was always his downfall, he trusts too much in his own believed righteousness, that any troublemaker Newcomers who present themselves will die in the arena, because he controls it.

But it doesn't work.

He reframed his problems as stemming from a District 12 Covey girl who he saved, thereby owing him her life, and who claimed to love him, but didn't. So he manipulates life and love when he projects this onto Haymitch and the people closest to him and to Katniss and Peeta's relationship.

"It's the things we love most that destroy us."

He couldn't trap Lucy Gray. He couldn't control Haymitch. He couldn't separate Katniss and Peeta. And he was the final casualty in the 76th Hunger Games, his father's creation and his own fruition, trampled to death by his own people, in a rebellion of his own making, led by a girl from the Seam, of Covey descent, from District 12.

Getting the vibe that Snow just lies in wait and stalks the District 12 tributes every year just desperately looking for some minor detail he can project his Lucy Gray angst onto. Like GET OVER IT you actual loser

[soeyekonic]

— ✩♬ ₊˚. number one girl ⭑ S.L

˚⟡˖⋆ synopsis haunted by a past relationship, you struggle with insecurities in your new relationship with sophia. with patience and reassurance, sophia helps you overcome your doubts and embrace the love you deserve.

warnings: fluff… i think? (we cheer…i think.). slight angst. self doubt. insecuritis. implications of a toxic relationship

currently playing: number one girl - rosé

you never thought you'd find yourself in this situation. after everything that happened in your past relationship, you swore you'd never let anyone in again. but here you are—holding hands with sophia. it’s still a new relationship, and you're still adjusting. every moment with her feels like a whirlwind, and yet, there’s a constant cloud of doubt hanging over you.

you never felt worthy of this kind of love, especially after what you have been put you through in the past. but sophia… sophia is different. you just can't shake the fear that, maybe, she doesn't feel the same way about you. maybe she’s just going along with it because she feels sorry for you. maybe you're not as special to her as she is to you.

19. 11. 2024

the first time you kissed, it felt like fireworks. it had been a slow build-up, the chemistry undeniable, but you were hesitant. even then, you questioned whether you were worthy of her affection. she was so patient, so gentle with you, and that was the hardest part—letting yourself trust her when the doubts from your past kept you distant.

it happened on a rainy afternoon. you had just spent the day with her and the rest of the girls at a photoshoot. the energy had been light, the day filled with jokes and laughter, but there was something else—something lingering between you two that neither of you could ignore anymore. as you sat together on the couch in the studio, your fingers brushed. it was a subtle touch, but it set something off in your chest. your heart raced, and your mind was a whirlwind of emotions you couldn't control.

“i—" you started, voice shaking. “what’s wrong?” sophia looked over at you. “i’m scared."

her gaze soft but full of concern. “scared of what?”

"scared of messing this up," you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper.

sophia’s smile was soft, her eyes warm with understanding. "you won’t. we’re in this together. i promise."

and that was the first promise she made to you.

19. 10. 2024

it’s a quiet evening, the two of you lounging on the couch, a movie playing softly in the background. you feel her hand graze yours, and your breath catches in your throat. you pull your hand away slightly, unsure if you want to risk feeling too vulnerable.

sophia notices the shift and immediately meets your eyes. “hey, it’s okay. i don’t mind if you’re not ready to be all touchy-feely.” her voice is soft, understanding.

you give her a small smile, but it doesn’t quite reach your eyes. “i just... i don’t want to mess anything up,” you admit, the words slipping out before you can stop them. “i’m still not sure i’m deserving of all of this.”

sophia’s expression softens, and she moves closer to you, her hand gently cupping your face. “you don’t have to be anyone else but yourself with me. i like you, just as you are. i promise you, there’s nothing to worry about.”

her words hang in the air, and for a moment, you feel something inside you shift. but the doubts linger in the back of your mind.

21. 11. 2024

a few weeks have passed since that first night when she promised she wouldn’t leave. you still struggle with those doubts, but every day with sophia feels like a little bit of reassurance. the way she looks at you, the way she speaks to you—it’s not like anyone else.

you’re out for a walk, the cool air of the evening brushing your skin. the sky is dark, the city lights twinkling around you, but you feel a nervous tension between you and sophia. the feelings swirling inside of you are the same: what if i mess this up?

“i don’t want to rush anything,” you tell her softly, voice tinged with uncertainty. “it’s just… i don’t want to get hurt again.”

sophia stops walking and turns to face you, her eyes warm but serious. “i’m not here to hurt you,” she says, stepping closer. “i care about you, and i’m not going anywhere. but i’m not going to force you to be something you’re not ready to be. you’ll know when you’re ready.”

the sincerity in her voice makes you feel both reassured and overwhelmed. you want to believe her so badly, but the memories of your past are hard to shake off.

the days go by in a blur of laughter and quiet moments. you never imagined you could feel so at ease with someone. it’s all new—letting someone love you, letting someone in without the constant fear of being hurt again. but sophia has a way of making everything seem simple. she doesn’t ask for perfection. she only asks for you.

sophia leans across the table at a café, her fingers lightly brushing against yours. you glance up at her, your heart racing. she’s looking at you with such intensity that you almost feel like she can see right through you.

"you know," sophia says, her voice soft but firm, "i know you're scared. i can see it. but i promise you, i'm not going anywhere."

you swallow hard, the weight of her words settling over you. "but what if you find someone better?"

sophia chuckles, a warm sound that makes you feel a little lighter. “i’ve already found someone amazing,” she says, her thumb gently caressing your hand. “and that’s you.”

your heart skips a beat. you freeze for a moment, her words sinking in. she’s not saying this out of pity or obligation. she genuinely feels this way. you can see it in the way she looks at you, in the way she takes care of you without asking for anything in return.

10. 01. 2025

it’s a few months later, and you’re at a katseye event. the noise and excitement fill the air, but you can’t stop thinking about the way sophia looked at you earlier that day. the way she said she loved you—again, as if it was the easiest thing in the world.

you feel your heart beat faster when she spots you backstage and immediately makes her way toward you, her smile bright. she wraps her arms around you, hugging you tightly as if she’s missed you, even though you’ve only been apart for a few hours.

“i missed you,” she whispers against your ear, and something inside you breaks. for the first time in so long, you let yourself fully sink into the feeling. the doubts, the fears, they all melt away when you’re in her arms. you know now, for sure, that she means every word she’s said.

01. 02. 2025

it’s another quiet evening. the two of you are snuggled up on the couch, sophia’s hand gently stroking your hair. the movie is long forgotten, the soft light of the room casting a warm glow on her face. you glance up at her, feeling that familiar flutter in your chest.

“do you ever worry that you might not be enough?” you ask, the vulnerability creeping back in despite yourself.

sophia stops for a moment, her fingers pausing in your hair as she looks down at you, her eyes serious. “never,” she replies softly. “i don’t want to be anything other than me, and i don’t need you to be anything other than you. you’ve already given me more than i could ever ask for.”

your breath catches in your throat. every word feels like a promise, something solid and real. you realize, then, that all the doubts you had, all the fears, have no place here anymore. sophia doesn’t just say ‘love you’ she shows it in everything she does.

25. 03. 2025

a few weeks have passed. and here you are—walking hand-in-hand, with sophia, down the street, the sun bright overhead. you talk about nothing in particular, the wind lightly brushing your skin. and for the first time in your life, you realize something important.

“i’ve never felt this way about anyone before,” you admit quietly, your heart in your throat. "i was so scared to mess it up."

sophia stops walking and turns to face you, her expression so sincere it takes your breath away. "you wouldn’t have messed it up," she says. "because we’re in this together. you’re not alone in this, okay?"

and for the first time in your life, you believe it.

sophia’s smile lights up your world, her eyes sparkling with nothing but love. you squeeze her hand tighter, your heart at peace. you’re ready to let go of all the doubts and fears because you know now that you’ve found something real. something beautiful. something worth fighting for.

and as she leans in to kiss you, you finally feel like you’ve found your home.

“are you happy?” she asks gently, her voice full of tenderness.

you nod, your heart full, your smile genuine. "i am. i didn’t think i could be, but you’ve made me believe it’s possible."

sophia leans in, her forehead resting gently against yours. “you are my number one girl. always.”

and for the first time in your life, you truly believe it.

a/n: 😬 i’ve never written fluff before and that’s acc a crazy statement… BUT this won the votes so it had to be posted…lolz. 💀💀

[heartz4levi]

haii ! ! do you have any relationship hcs of Luka ? ? im so in love with that man omgg its insane

they hating, neither you nor i care !

☆ thinking about luka + relationship hcs . .

☆ luka (alnst) ,, gn reader . . no specific au ,, luka is whipped for reader ,, pure fluff and domestic stuff and hnnnghajwksow i lob him so much i wont him. /ref

at the start of your relationship, luka would be a little bit distant.

he loves you, he really does, that's why you're his and he's yours. thing is, he has never been put in a situation where he has to express genuine affection towards someone, it's always been an act he had to put up for a performance of sorts.

you have to be patient with luka. let him warm up to the concept of a relationship, give him time to figure out how he likes to display his love and adoration for you while you display it in your own ways.

it takes luka some time before he finally gets used to being together, but when he's got the gist of it, the wait seems to have been worth it.

behind closed doors, luka is clingy. when the two of you are sleeping he'll tangle his limbs with yours, making it practically impossible for you to get out of bed first. other than that, he's all over you 24/7, even if you're just at home — holding your hand, coming up behind you and encircling his arms around your waist, or laying his head on your shoulder.

if you aren't the type who enjoys physical touch or refuse his advances, luka will actually back himself into a corner and weep. he understands that you might not like being touched or having your personal space be invaded, but luka's favourite moments with you are the ones where you're each tending to your own tasks except he's laying snugly in your embrace or you are in his.

luka appreciates to hear words of affirmation coming from you. reassure him, tell him you love him, compliment him — he craves it. he won't start doubting your love for him if you don't give him those reminders on a daily basis, but he really loves to hear those words spilling from your lips.

another thing luka really loves is going on dates with you. but he doesn't want to go on extravagant dates, no. he likes dates that are held in more secluded establishments, dates with a cozy vibe that allow you to not worry about being seen by the public eye much.

think picnics — if flowers have bloomed around you, luka will pluck a few out of the soil and meticulously weave them into a crown made specifically for you, wordlessly placing it atop your head. or coffee shop dates, getting coffee and some desert and chatting about whatever's been going on in both of your lives.

luka is the kind of boyfriend who would mention you whenever he has the opportunity. your relationship is private, not hidden.

he's getting invited to hang out with some people? he can't, you're waiting for him at home. some of his co—actors want to go out for drinks after finishing the recording of their latest project? luka can't, he wouldn't want you to worry for him and his whereabouts, especially considering his low alcohol tolerance.

some of his friends actually begin to consider what they say before speaking because if they miscalculate just one word that reminds luka of you in any way shape or form, he will bring you up. and then he'll go on and on and on about you.

although he wouldn't show it on the outside, luka tears up internally whenever you call him your boyfriend in front of others. he is your boyfriend, but he can't believe it! he can't believe that you're his significant other, that you reciprocate his strong feelings.

luka would unironically ask you if you have a crush on him despite dating each other. if you say yes he'll be bouncing off the walls. if you don't, he would go into another room and sulk to himself because he definitely has a crush on you!

luka will cry on your wedding day. multiple times, even. sometimes, after that fateful day, he'll start sniffling after catching sight of the wedding band on his finger. to say that he loves you is an understatement.

[dark-lord-of-awesomeness]

okay so i'm the anon who first brought up memory wiping shifter!stan and i just need to ramble because this more canon-adjacent version of the timeline has been festering in my brain now.

- the stealing of ford's identity part is fun bc now stan can actually perfectly replicate his appearance, extra fingers and all. probably makes it into part of his gimmick at the shack (why does he need the shack if he has money in this au? idk man i haven't figured that out yet but he has it). that does create an issue when dipper finds the journal and brings it to stan bc of the finger thing, but stan just flat out denies any connection to it. he can't just confiscate the thing though bc that would be suspicious as fuck, so he spends a significant amount of time trying to get his hands on it to make copies without the kids noticing.

- he probably loses a bit of his shifting flexibility due to having a more permanent shift (he's at least less flexible than he was during his drifter days) but he still does some stretching down in the lab. i also imagine that when he's down there he uses his shifting as a way fidget/stim while he works. he also probably uses it to keep an eye on the kids a non-zero number of times.

- i'm imagining the reveal happening in scary-oke, similar to the canon reveal there. this is also when he can finally take the journal for a bit, using the excuse that dipper did something actively dangerous with it and this is the punishment. he still gives it back when he has his copies.

- looking over that journal he finds out about shifty and he is immediately staging a rescue

- ford probably finds out about stan's shifting when he comes out of the portal and stan has 6 fingers. it's... tense.

- i think if maurice is involved they probably know about the whole situation from investigating stan's fake death and/or stan just telling them bc if there's one person stan can trust with that information, it's probably them. stan continues to call them twice a year and they continue to pretend they aren't invested. maybe they can get in on freeing shifty.

i'm just!! foams at the mouth because i can't write for shit but oh man. oh god. this au is killing me

Shapeshifter Stan is so fun. I'll probably write the next (and maybe final) chapter when i'm done with the next cat Stan short.

More under the cut, because it got very long

Stan stealing Ford's identity is definitely him becoming Ford in a very literal sense, letting his original base form disappear forever at 17. Because he thinks Ford knows he's a shapeshifter, and he'll just seamlessly transition them once Ford gets home. I imagine it followed the original timeline with him showing up with his face covered, then quickly shifting to look like Ford with minor differences and revealing his face so he wasn't embarrassed about his baby face. He makes the shack to launder his own money so that it doesnt appear that Ford just got a million of dollars from nowhere, and because he doesn't want to continue his brother's research without him. So from an outside perspective Stanford Pines had a mental break, and started giving tours (just like canon lol). Stan makes everything fake, because he doesn't want to get on the bad side of any real supernatural creatures hanging around. As for the journal, I imagine Dipper runs up and shows it off, and Stan says its nonsense from when he 'went crazy in the eighties! nothing to worry about!' but he also can't take it without looking suspicious. Now the b plot becomes not 'who's the author' but 'what happened to Grunkle Stan that he forgot all his amazingly real research.' Stan still has to try and steal the book without notice, but can also shapeshift into the twins so its not an impossible mission, just very difficult.

Stan definitely becomes less flexible, but not terribly so. Limbs have always been his bread and butter, and he makes himself stronger and fireproof while working on the portal. Gives himself extra hands to multitask, the ability to climb better to reach the higher mechanics. The portal probably looks better the OG Stan's, just because he has more maneuverability. He also 100% spies on the kids in the 'hands-off' stalker raising technique he was raised with. Closes the Shack down and turns into people to follow the twins around and keep an eye on them.

In keeping with the 'no one realizes he's a shapeshifter until his mind is wiped' angst, the reveal is that he "did" write the books, but that they became dangerous, similar to Stan's 'this stuff is dangerous I'm not an idiot' speech. He still takes the journal to 'reminisce' but gives it back, saying that he knows the kids have been using it to keep themselves safe. Claims any lapse in memory as 'it was the eighties and I went through a rough patch and forgot a bunch of things'. Dipper thinks cult (blind eye that falls through) Mabel thinks mental break (official story but also wrong).

Now the question about Shifty is tricky, because Stan would want to rescue the poor kid his brother treated as a pet(Which is weird, because Ford knew about shapeshifters, but maybe he didnt realize they were the same species because he never saw the form Stan was born with), but I think it would happen after the bunker episode, so that the kids still get that shapeshifter experience. Stan goes down, sees poor Shifty is still a popsicle, and calls a bunch of his circle to help him out, as this is a special case. They'd probably come in, unfreeze him, then get him out of Gravity Falls and rehabilitate him in a more social Shifter group. Stan wouldn't use Fords form here, as he wouldnt want to cause a scene, but would explain that the man who sorta raised him isnt around anymore, and to try and find a new life out on the surface.

For the portal reunion, Stan explains he 'got an extra finger' and Ford brushes it off as a fake or medically transferred in a way too try-hard move of stealing his identity. Because Stan wouldn't look exactly like old man Ford, as he's had to guess how Ford's changed over the years, so his hairs still full grey and he looks slightly different. Ford 100% does not realize Stan's a shapeshifter at this time, but Stan doesnt realize that Ford doesnt know either, still making vague references to being a shapeshifter that aggravates Ford because he thinks Stan is being childish, then Stan thinks that because of Fords experience with Shifty that maybe he doesnt like Stan anymore in a big circle of miscommunication.

Maurice 100% knows whats going on (maybe not about the portal specifics, but enough) and only some of that is from Stan calling them. The rest is from his constant spying on Stan. So they know that Ford is missing in such a way that Stan is working on retrieving him, just not about Bill and the doomsday device in Stan's basement. Maurice does get his two or more phone calls a year and calls on birthdays. Probably also helped find a circle to adopt Shifty, since they're fairly well connected. There's a fifty-fifty chance Stan has a younger spawn-mate at this time as well, but they wouldn't come into the story more then "please let me talk to them, i want an actual shapeshifter sibling, please please please!"

EXTRA: Stan would not have any spawn at this point, because he'd be focused on the portal and getting Ford back. Maurice becomes the 'and when am i going to see you spawning? you have a very rare talent you might be able to pass onto future spawn.' parent, always nagging Stan about his lack of spawn, despite being 'very genetically desirable' (Their way of saying attractive lol, because of Stan's limb growing). The parent who demands grand kids basically.

[athenagc94]

Dear Daddy Long Legs - Chapter 18

Jason Todd x Fem!Reader

TW: Blood and injury (tending to a wound), slight body dysphoria

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Chapter 18

Well, this wasn’t how he expected his night to go.

Your little stunt caused a scene. Shoving a curio cabinet over would do that. By the time people filtered out into the hall, you were long gone, leaving Jason as the prime suspect with Luca hanging limp from his closed fist and a mess of priceless antiques broken at his feet.

It looked pretty damning, even to him.

The night was already a bust, but this sealed the deal. Had anyone else ruined his plans, Jason might have been a lot more upset, but in this case, he was relieved the guests had found him instead of you. Jason could handle being a wanted man, and like the misogynistic prick he was, Luca would rather die than admit a woman—nay—the help knocked him out.

He had a contingency plan for a situation like this. Mind you, not this exact situation because nothing could have prepared him to run into you. Fortunately, relationships between the different mob families hung by a tenuous thread. Simply uttering another family’s name as he reached for his gun had them turning on each other.

If someone asked him who shot first, the answer would be yes. He used the chaos that ensued to slip out and find you.

You were bound to be a little jumpy after your run-in with Luca. He blamed himself.

Luca surprised him.

Some innate Bat-trained part of his brain wanted him to maintain the charade. Focus. You’re on a mission, it practically barked—sounding a lot like a stone-faced Bat he’d rather not think about. That battled with the more empathetic part of his brain that wanted to keep you as far from Luca as humanly possible.

Which resulted in a complete mental shutdown.

Blue screen.

Not a thought behind his eyes as he tried to figure out how he was going to explain the situation to you.

Then Luca laid his fucking hands on you.

You beat him to the punch. Quite literally, which was probably for the best. If it had been him, Jason couldn’t have promised Luca would still be breathing.

He was still reeling. You landed a clean punch with enough power behind it to knock him out cold. Where did you learn to punch like that?

He’d have to ask.

Later.

After he processed everything else.

Like the fact that you'd made the connection between Red Hood and Jacob. He planned to tell you eventually, clearly, but this wasn’t how he wanted it to happen. You were too smart for your own good and he’d gotten careless with all these loose threads that led back to him. It was a wonder you hadn’t figured it out sooner.

A single beam of harsh light came from the naked bulb overhead as he plucked bits of glass from your palm. The soft plink of shards hitting the metal tray at his feet filled the air. His glasses slipped down his nose as he peered closely at the cuts.

As far as safehouses went, this was his worst. The garage, more of a glorified storage shed really, had a few boxes with tarps thrown over them to mimic furniture. It smelled of mildew from a leak in the roof that he hadn’t gotten around to patching. Standing water pooled in the corner near the dented sink. He didn’t come here often, but it had running water, a first aid kit, and was a convenient ten-minute walk from the Riviera estate, so it worked.

Jason was only slightly embarrassed that this would be your first real impression of his life outside of the time he spent with you.

You hissed as he dabbed one of the larger cuts with antiseptic.

His fingers tightened around your wrist to keep it steady. “Sorry. I know it hurts, but I gotta make sure it’s clean before I bandage you, but you won’t need stitches. Lucky you.”

“Is that what we’re calling this?” you grumbled as you stared off into the darkness, eyes narrowing. The day your eyes didn’t narrow with suspicion would be the day he feared for his life, but for now, they were a familiar sight that eased the tension locking his jaw.

“Are all your safehouses this depressing?”

A distinct heat bloomed under his collar. “No, my other places are better.” Not an outright lie. At least the other safehouses had furniture. Granted, none of them were ideal for bringing a girl home, but that wasn’t their purpose. He didn’t want to impress you. He wanted to make sure you didn’t get an infection.

“I don’t stay here unless I’ve had a rough night.”

Namely, it was his fallback whenever he found himself working with a member of the Bat-brigade. He slept there if his work required him to be within spitting distance of the Batcave.

“Would you consider tonight rough?”

“I’ve had worse nights.”

You hummed, your expression shifting to something thoughtful as you pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose. He went a little cross-eyed to track the motion. As you drew back, you trailed down the curved length. His eyelashes fluttered as he refocused on your face.

“Thanks.”

“Mhm.”

He set the tweezers aside and grabbed a roll of bandages from his kit, content to work in silence if it meant pushing off the interrogation that was sure to come next. You probably had questions. A lot of them, but he wasn’t sure if he wanted to get into the nitty-gritty of his tragic™ backstory tonight.

Silence was a small mercy until the bandages were snug, and he had nothing to keep his mind and hands busy. You flexed your fingers to test his work, a small wince betraying your discomfort.

“Too tight?”

You shook your head. “It’s fine.”

“Good,” he said as he started to clean up, “You’ll want to change them in the morning.”

Your hand fell back to your lap. He half-expected that interrogation, but you stood instead. He swallowed thickly as he gazed up. It wasn’t too often he looked up at people. He was always looking down at the world, be it from a rooftop or due to his general height, but the sudden shift your dynamic made his stomach bubble like soda fizz.

Before he could dwell on the sensation too long, you headed over to the dented sink. Dampening a clean cloth, you returned a second later and knelt in front of him. He shivered when it touched his skin, rough and cold, but your strokes were gentle as you brushed the cloth over his cheek.

“I got blood on your face earlier,” you said.

“I didn’t notice.”

You didn’t respond, focusing instead on cleaning the blood from his face. Jason held his breath as you leaned in, trying and failing not to remember how nice it had felt to grip your hips and draw you in. You had been so close to—

He stopped that thought before it flirted too close with a painful truth. He read your letter, after all.

In amongst the drunken ramblings that made his insides fill with butterflies, somewhere between the third and fourth page, you wrote a sobering declaration that stomped those butterflies dead.

This is silly. Stupid. Stupidly silly. I can’t remember the last time I had a crush. Let alone two at the same time, but that’s all they’ll ever be... crushes. Nothing will ever come of them.

I have too much to worry about between school and ensuring my bills are paid to add dating into the mix. It would complicate things, and my life is complicated enough. I don’t even know how dating would work with Red Hood. Are vigilantes allowed to date? That seems illegal. Why would he choose a civilian like me? That’s like Batman choosing to date Vicki Vale.

Scratch that. At least Vicki Vale is a household name.

I’m literally no one.

Whatever I feel, be it for Red Hood or Jacob, it doesn’t matter. It can never matter. I would never let my personal feelings get in the way of this opportunity.

Talk about a clear fucking message.

By some miracle, you liked both sides of him. The first half of your letter confirmed that, but you never act on those feelings, especially now that you knew Red Hood and Jas—Jacob were one and the same. You didn’t need the distraction.

Jason respected that.

But…

He wasn’t quite sure how to handle all the touching. Equally scary and exhilarating, he didn’t want you to stop. God, not at all, but if you didn’t stop soon, he would convince himself that your declaration had been a fluke and that something could come of this.

You paused in your ministrations to trace the scar near his mouth. He caught himself before he pressed his cheek in your palm.

Sensing that you wanted to say something, he said, “The J doesn’t stand for Jacob if that’s what you’re wondering.”

“That’s not what I was going to say.”

“It’s usually the first thing out of someone’s mouth.”

Your expression remained thoughtful as you ventured higher to trace the pale scar on his cheekbone. “Since the day we crossed paths.” Your face scrunched cutely, and you amended, “Since the day Hood and I crossed paths, I wondered what you might look like under the helmet. Now that I know, it’s a little surreal.” You pushed his glasses up to settle on top of his head. “I don’t know why, but I couldn’t ever settle on what color your eyes were. I supposed blue makes sense but so does green or hazel.”

Your touch left him wanting, wishing, hoping for more. Anything that might fill this yawning pit in his chest. It was selfish to want, and yet, he did so earnestly. It caught on his resolve like a drug, the worst kind. Being without it wouldn’t kill him outright and the symptoms of withdrawal were fabrications made up in his mind, but he yearned for it.

“You’re so—” You stopped yourself.

“So?” he breathed.

You retreated. “Forget it. I’m rambling.”

A soft whine crept into his throat, but he squashed the noise before he vocalized it. “I think I’ve rambled enough that you’re allowed few roving thoughts to compensate.” He forced himself to laugh, to smile, to pretend that he didn’t want to press his forehead to yours and inhale your scent until his head spun. “I can take you home.”

“That’s not necessary. I can take the subway.”

“I want to take you home,” he emphasized though it killed him how desperate it made him sound. He wanted to spend a little more time with you. It seemed unlikely that you would want to spend the night with him as you processed everything. He didn’t blame you, but he hoped you would grant him this small indulgence.

“I wouldn’t say no to the company.”

He loosed a sigh of relief. “Let me change quick.”

Jason shrugged off his ill-fitting sports coat before fiddling with the buttons on the front of his shirt. You watched carefully from your spot on the floor with that familiar quiet intensity. It made him feel oddly exposed as he peeled his shirt off to reveal the plain white shirt underneath.

He tossed the clothes off to the side and walked over to his stash of miscellaneous weapons and supplies. As he sifted through the mess, he made a mental note to tidy this place up. This wasn’t the best look, and he didn’t want you to think he was a lazy slob. A minimalist and a bachelor, absolutely, but never a slob.

He found an old leather jacket and his Red Hood helmet. It wasn’t the same quality as the one he currently wore, this one older and more prone to glitches due to crack on its shell but it would work for a quick ride across the city.

When you saw the helmet, you frowned. “You don’t have to wear that now that I know, do you?”

“I only have one other helmet here and that’ll be for you.”

You joined him by his stash. “Why would I need a helmet.”

“We’re taking my motorcycle.”

Your expression shuttered, several emotions playing on your face before you settled on something appropriately neutral. “Right. I heard that Hood drives a motorcycle.”

“I drive a motorcycle. Period. No need for the distinction between us anymore.” He pulled a standard helmet out and handed it to you. “If we leave now, we can make it back before midnight. There shouldn’t be too much traffic at this…”

He trailed off when he noticed you weren’t listening. You stared at the reflective surface of the helmet, your expression growing less neutral the longer you gazed at it.

“Everything good?”

“Is your motorcycle like other vigilante…” You pursed your lips. “Is it safe?”

Ah, that was a fair question. “This is a regular motorcycle. No big red buttons to accidentally push or hidden explosives if that’s what you’re worried about.” His gaze fell to your bandaged hand before he added, “And I promise to take it slow, especially with your hand.”

His assurances seemed to put you at ease. “Perfect.”

He removed his glasses and slipped his helmet on before heading over to where his motorcycle sat in the opposite corner, hidden beneath a tarp to protect it from the dust and mildew. Jason tugged it off, releasing a small cloud of dust that made you sneeze.

Okay, now he was sufficiently embarrassed.

The motorcycle was a vintage cruiser with a black shell. He usually preferred a sportier bike, but this had been a gift… from Bruce. It appeared one day outside one of his safehouses last year around his birthday. Jason hated to see a beauty like this one out in the cold, and took it in. It didn’t count as accepting the gift if he didn’t use it and he hadn’t before today, but these were extenuating circumstances.

He threw a leg over the seat and settled lower to the ground than he was used to on his other bikes. It felt like his knees were tucked around his ears. He readjusted before motioning for you to join him. You slipped into place behind him, the subtle curve of the seat forcing your hips to sit flush against his back. His fingers flexed around the handlebars, trying to play it cool.

He couldn’t be normal about anything, it seemed, so he wasn’t sure why he bothered pretending now.

“Comfortable?” he managed through clenched teeth. Jason was grateful this helmet came with a modulator to hide the tension in his voice.

“All good.” Your voice fed into his ear through his comm.

“Great, awesome, cool.”

There had to be a better word for the situation. Great and every subsequent synonym didn’t seem to cut it, but that was what kept spilling from his mouth. He wasn’t about to exhaust a thesaurus for the rest of the drive and caught his tongue between his teeth as he flipped the control for the garage door.

Once it lifted enough to let him through, the engine roaring as he peeled off down the street.

The first leg of the drive passed uneventfully as he whizzed down the side streets he had memorized like the scars on the back of his hands. Despite the winter chill, he burned hotter than a furnace.

Every hitched breath and gasp fed straight into his ear, clear as day. Your thighs tightened around his hips, anchoring you in place whenever he took a turn a little too sharply. But it was your hands that—oh, hey now—where were they doing?

Your hands tightened around his middle, shifting under the hem of his shirt as it rode up past his beltline. Alarm bells went off in his head as your palms flattened over the soft planes of his stomach. You didn’t seem to notice the way he froze, suddenly feeling self-conscious.

Soft hair covered his stomach, and he wasn’t as toned as he liked with a thin layer of fat cushioning the hard muscles beneath, and of course, there were the scars that created rough patches of skin just above his—

“My hands are cold. You’re warm.”

His doubts evaporated like morning mist over the harbor. If not for his comm, he wouldn’t have heard your quiet admission over the growl of the engine, but it did a better job at quieting the voices that tried to tell him he was a disgusting monster.

Your thumb stroked a soothing line down his incision scar, nearly coaxing a groan from him. “Should I stop?”

“It’s fine,” he grunted as he turned onto Park Row.

Another swipe of your thumb. “You sure?”

He wasn’t sure what game you were playing, but it wasn’t going to work. He had more self-control than that. “We’re almost to your place.”

“That wasn’t an answer.”

Fucking hell, he was trying to respect the boundaries you set in your letter. Why did you have to make this harder for him? “I like it.”

He swore he heard your smile as you said, “Was that so hard?”

Painfully so. Your palms were like ice against his skin, but he burned so hot that it hardly registered. He decided it was safer not to say anything about the situation as he stopped under the fire escape that led to your apartment. A normal person would have taken you to the front door, but normal people didn’t wear vigilante masks with a civilian on the back of their bike. Nothing about this was normal.

“We’re here.”

You stayed where you were, fingers roaming idly over his stomach. He shuddered.

“Do you want to come inside?”

“I don’t know if that’s—”

Your fingers dug into his sides with enough force to smother his opposition. “Let me rephrase that,” you said more firmly, voice dripping in his ear like syrup, “Come inside. Please. There’s still time before midnight.”

“What happens at midnight?” he asked breathlessly.

“Well, aside from the obvious start of the new year, I think I’ll wake up and realize this was all a dream.”

He laughed despite how weak he felt. “I guess I can stay for a bit.”

“Good, I would have hated to see you run from me again.” Your arms unwound from his middle, and you hopped off.

Shedding your helmets and stowing the motorcycle behind the dumpsters, you led him around to the front door. Entering like a real person rather than through a window shouldn’t have been as thrilling as it felt, but honestly, Jason never thought he’d make it this far.

Once inside, the glow of several table lamps bathing the space in a soft yellow light, he came to his senses. What did you do now? You couldn’t go back to the way things were before.

“I—”

“Did you want to read a few chapters before we call it a night?” you asked before he could make things weird, “I wanted to start Frankenstein next.”

He wiped his palms on his pants. “I guess.”

You smiled as you put your bag and phone on the kitchen table. “On the bright side, we don’t have to read back-to-back anymore. Do you want something to drink? I don’t know if have much, but I should have a few cans of—”

“Are we really going to pretend like nothing changed?”

You hesitated, rolling your lower lip between your teeth. “No.”

“It feels like we’re pretending everything is fine. I’m sure you have questions. Why aren’t you asking questions? I’ve been waiting and you haven’t—” His voice rose the octave, cracking. If that wasn’t embarrassing enough, he could feel the lump swell in his throat. Crying was the last thing he wanted to do right now, but he was a bundle of frayed nerves between the identity reveal and all the touching.

Your expression softened to something more sympathetic. “I had no idea—I’m sorry. Obviously, I have questions, but I’m not going to force you to answer them. I already took away how you shared your identity with me.”

He released a shuddering breath. “I mean, you can ask questions. I owe you that much.”

“If it’ll make you feel better, I’ll ask two questions.”

“Two questions,” he agreed, bracing himself.

“I’m going to change first,” you said gently, “It’ll give me a second to decide where I want to start. Is that alright?”

The knot in his throat loosened enough for him to speak. “Yeah.”

“Make yourself comfortable.”

You grabbed the clothes at the foot of your bed and ducked into the bathroom, leaving him to do the exact opposite. He shrugged off his coat, draping it on the back of your kitchen chair and paced.

If you had a lower neighbor, they likely heard his heavy footfalls because he couldn’t be bothered to care about stealth right now.

Two questions could blow up in his face.

Hell, a single question could unravel his carefully crafted lies like a spool of thread. He didn’t have to do this now. You didn’t want to pry, but he couldn’t fathom sitting with you tonight whilst pretending everything was fine.

When the door to the bathroom opened, he stopped his pacing. You wore the yellow hoodie, the plastic on the strings chewed to the nubs. “I said get comfortable, not wear a hole in my ground.”

He shoved his hands in his pockets. “I’d rather stand for this.”

“Alright,” you conceded as you sank into one of your rickety chairs, “Question one: Say you get sick one night, could you ask Batman to cover your patrol for you or are we civilians just shit out of luck?”

You lobbed the softest of balls at him and he still fumbled. “I, uh, what?”

“What part confused you?”

“No, it’s just, that’s your first question?”

Your gaze sharpened. “Would you rather I ask what drove a twenty-something book nerd to become a gunslinging vigilante slash crime lord, because that’s on the list too, I just thought I’d start with a silly question to take the edge off. An emotional chaser, if you will.”

He choked on a laugh. “First question it is.”

“That’s what I thought.”

“Park Row is my territory. I don’t allow other vigilantes onto my turf.”

“Why?”

“Because it’s mine,” he said plainly, “I grew up here. I know how this place works, and I don’t trust anyone else to do it right. The others, they’re too analytical. They’re looking for the most efficient way to—”

God, he sounded like Bruce.

He tore his nail to the quick. The sting hardly registered. “To answer your question, no, I don’t have a rolodex of people to pick from if I’m down for the count. I have underlings as a crime lord, but they’re not exactly the ones I turn to for stopping crime.”

You nodded, your expression painfully dispassionate. “Fair enough and good to know. I’ll be sure to get mugged when you’re on the clock.”

“What else?”

“I already asked two questions. That explains why I don’t see other vigilantes out here. I thought they just hated us.” You laughed despite how depressing that sounded. “Consider my curiosity sated for now.”

“Bullshit.” He settled in the chair opposite you. “That last part didn’t count. I’ll let you have one more.”

“Fine.” You shifted your chair closer so that your knee bumped his. To his credit, he kept an even demeanor despite his nerves crackling like sparklers on the Fourth of July. “Are your other safehouses really any better than the one I saw tonight?”

He should have known. “No, they all have barebone essentials.”

“A minimalist. My place must drive you batshit then.”

“I like it here. It’s very…” He glanced around, taking in all the plants and trinkets littered throughout. “Green.”

He meant it as a compliment. Here, among the items that reminded him of you, he felt warm and secure. Green evoked a similar feeling for him. Was that weird? Probably, but it was the truth.

“Green,” you mused, “I like it.”

“It’s been a while since I considered someplace home.” The words slipped out before he could stop them. He hadn’t meant to admit that, and now that he’d spoken it out loud, he heard how pitiful that sounded. He wet his lips. “I, eh, I didn’t mean to say that.”

Your brow pinched. “We can’t have that,” you mumbled under your breath. Slowly, you stood and drifted over to your bookshelf where several plants of varying sizes decorated its surface. After considering the options, you picked a medium-sized succulent with deep eggplant-colored leaves edged with light green.

You set it in front of him and returned to your seat. “This is Viola. She’s named after the character in Twelfth Night. I’m quite fond of her.”

He stared at the succulent. “You name your plants?”

“That’s no way to speak to her.”

Jason fought a smile. “My apologies. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

“That’s more like it. It wouldn’t feel right to give her to you if you didn’t treat her with the respect she deserves.”

His smile faltered. “You’re giving her to me?”

You smiled wistfully. “Not only will she liven up your space, but any time you look at her, you’ll think of me and maybe you’ll feel more at home.” You avoided his gaze before quickly adding, “She’s also made of plastic, so it’s impossible to kill her.”

His heart thumped against his ribcage. Jason was just supposed to ignore the fact that you wanted him to think of you. News flash, he was well past that point. A plant wouldn’t change how you were constantly on his mind. Even when he should focus on other things.

A distraction.

But maybe, tonight, you both needed it.

“You’re always—”

Your phone vibrated, revealing the time—12:01—and a long string of texts from various group chats. Jealousy tightened his gut when he saw the names. Steph, Cass, and even Tim had sent you a message. His phone was noticeably quiet in his back pocket. He expected as much, but it still stung.

You flipped your phone over without opening any of them and faced him. Your hand fell over his fist that sat clenched on the table. “Happy New Year, Mr. Darcy.”

Jason swallowed another lump in his throat. All those people vying for your attention, and you chose him. He couldn’t remember the last time he was anyone’s first choice, be it as vigilante or in his personal life, but he supposed there was a first time for everything.

He uncurled his fist to lace his fingers with yours as he whispered, “Happy New Year.”

--------------------------

A/N: I went to a convention this weekend and there was exactly one Red Hood walking around. *sigh* I would have liked to see more.

Anyway, I hope you enjoyed this mini-arc. Back to college next week.

--------------------------

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[hrizantemy]

Something I find very interesting is how some stans lose it when people call Rhys a dictator. Dictators, while having evolved to have negative connotations in modern day, have been around since the Roman Empire, and wasn't necessarily a bad thing. The Senate, the governing advisors that helped run the country, would recommend a candidate, and they would be appointed by one of two counsels then confirmed by an assembly called Comitia Curiata. They were expected to maintain absolute power temporarily, in times of external or internal crisis, and then step down. By definition, a dictator is a ruler with total power over a country, typically one who has obtained control by force. Note that they typically gain power through force, but not always.

Technically, every court is a dictatorship, from what we can tell. The High Lord's powers are unchallenged, not even by their partners (and that goes for the NC too. Feyre isn't challenging anyone).

I bring this up, because I've been thinking about your fic, A Place of Silver Silence. In the Dawn Court, the temple maintains a certain degree of political power, and even the High Lord has to tread carefully when dealing with it. This makes Dawn the only court, in your AU anyway, that we've seen, that isn't a dictatorship. Nesta asked in that chapter, I believe, what would happen if the temple and the High Lord disagreed, which is an interesting point.

If a political situation arises where the temple decide that they should have some say, or jurisdiction over it, and want to make a choice that the High Lord disagrees with, or vice versa, what happens? Hasn't this already, somewhat, played out too? The Cauldron is a tool of the Mother, and the trove was born from it. One could argue that the threat the trove possess makes it an issue for the High Lord, given that a death god and formerly mortal queen want it. But, it's connection to the cauldron, and by proxy, the Mother, lend to an argument being made that it would the temple's responsibility. The same could be said for Elain's visions, as an argument can be made that the cauldron is a tool from the Mother, but she didn't take Elain's powers, and as her tool, she let it show her what the Mother wants her to see.

There's also the matter of war. If the temple deems that a religious war of some kind is necessary, for one reason or another, how much sway do they have to make it happen? Can the High Lord, who manages the military, check their power there, and stop them? Or if the the High Lord wants to make a trade agreement that the temple doesn't like or deems to be otherwise an affront to the Mother (idk how but the trial made it clear that these high priestesses can use their religion to bs their way out of any situation), would they have the power to stop it?

Are they really working together to govern Dawn, or is one vying for more power? Does one already have more power? Is the temple's role a true check on Thesan's power, or is it just a theocracy in disguise? How much power do both the temple and the High Lord really have in relativity to one another?

The world building in your A Place of Silver Silence is amazing, and love how complex and different it is than just having seven monarchs and calling it a day.

Oh my gods, first of all—thank you. That is genuinely one of the most thoughtful, in-depth analyses of the political worldbuilding in A Place of Silver Silence I’ve ever received, and I want to frame it and hang it on my wall. You’ve not only picked up on the nuance, but you’ve interrogated it in such a layered way, and I’m honestly obsessed with your read on it.

You’re absolutely right that technically every court in Prythian is a dictatorship. The High Lord is the sole, unchecked power in each territory. Feyre being named High Lady doesn’t change this in the Night Court, because she doesn’t challenge Rhysand’s decisions, nor is she ever shown to hold equal or independent power. She doesn’t govern, she doesn’t lead armies, she doesn’t even oversee laws or reforms in Hewn or Illyria. So in practice, we still have a single ruler system.

Which is why your reference to Roman dictatorship is so brilliant. People hear the word “dictator” and immediately assume it’s a moral judgment rather than a political structure. But your historical framing is spot-on. Dictatorship can be a pragmatic tool in moments of crisis—if the person in power relinquishes it when the crisis ends. (Rhysand, of course, has ruled for over 400 years. The crisis has long passed. Yet the power remains consolidated.)

That’s where Dawn Court becomes so fascinating in the fic—because it actually challenges this model.

The Temple vs. The Crown: A Built-In Power Tension

Dawn was designed to be the one court where power isn’t centralized in one person, and you honed in on exactly what makes that interesting: there’s no clear answer on who wins if the temple and the High Lord disagree. It’s all precedent, tradition, political maneuvering, and optics.

Thesan is extremely aware that while he is the High Lord, he is not invincible—not socially, not politically, and definitely not religiously. The Temple of the Mother has a grip on the cultural and moral authority of Dawn. Its high priestesses (especially those like Clotho or the unnamed elders) can sway public opinion, destabilize alliances, and even challenge legislation on “sacred” grounds. And yes, as you pointed out—they can absolutely twist scripture and prophecy to justify nearly any action.

War and the Trove: Secular vs. Sacred Jurisdiction

Your point about the Cauldron and the Trove is chillingly sharp. They are, by canon and by religious belief, artifacts of the Mother. That inherently puts them into the temple’s domain. But Thesan is a ruler. He can’t ignore a weapon of mass destruction being passed around like a cursed party favor. This has already created friction in the fic, and that tension is only growing.

But here’s the real danger: the Temple doesn’t need to wield physical power. They wield belief. If they say the Trove belongs to them, and people believe it… it might as well be true. That’s a different kind of dictatorship—a theocracy in disguise.

Trade Agreements, War, and Policy Disputes

To answer your question: No, Thesan can’t necessarily stop the temple from launching a religious crusade—not directly. He can refuse military support, but if the temple frames it as a holy cause? They can rally Dawn’s citizenry, conscript faithful followers, and destabilize his rule from within. On the other hand, if he wants to pass a policy the Temple deems immoral or heretical (even if it’s just a trade agreement with a court they disapprove of), they have tools to stop it: public denouncement, ritual refusal, even sacramental excommunication from temple blessings.

And you’re right to ask: are they really governing together, or is one slowly angling for dominance?

The truth is—they are locked in a cold war. A constant, delicate balancing act. Neither side wants open conflict, because that would shatter the unity Dawn is known for. But both are constantly watching, maneuvering, trying to ensure the other doesn’t gain too much leverage.

It’s not a healthy balance. It’s a tense one. And you’re so smart to ask: is it really better than dictatorship, or just a prettier cage?

Thesan’s Power vs. the Temple’s Power

Thesan holds:

• The military

• Trade routes and international diplomacy

• Arcane knowledge through the Scholar’s Guild

• The “legal” right to rule

The Temple holds:

• Moral authority

• Cultural and spiritual power

• Access to prophecy and lore

• The support of the rural and devout populace

Thesan knows that if he loses the Temple’s support, he may not fall legally—but socially, politically? He’d be crippled.

And that’s what makes Dawn the most unstable court in the fic, even if it looks the most peaceful.

Seriously, I can’t express how much I loved reading your breakdown. You grasped the entire subtext I was building into Dawn—this uneasy alliance between power and piety, the question of whether checks and balances are real or illusory, and the idea that true power isn’t always in the throne—it’s in what people believe is sacred.

[boyfriendtodeathconfessional]

I think Lawrence, Ren, Strade Celia and even to some odd extent Derek are well written when you look into them. Derek, and Strade definitely take a bit more poking around to figure out but once you figure out what their deal is they become rather interesting when you think about the ways they function and why they dk what they do.

Strade is empathetic yet lacks sympathy. He views getting close to someone as seeing their genuine reactions to situations. But instead of simply hanging out and having conversations where he can feel what they feel about whatever conversation topic, like a normal person, he puts people through torture and the extremes. He puts them through things that would be hard to fake a reaction too so he can get the most genuine and real reaction out of a person so he can get close to them.

Derek, in a strange way much like Celia, does what he does as a way to escape the pressures of having to be perfect and let out the steam and stress he's built up over the year as according to him he waits every year for the desert trip. He likely doesn't have proper ways to deal with stress, which likely leads into it coming out as extremely bouts of aggression as unmanaged stress can make a person overly irritable, and even then Derek isn't allowed to express his emotions nor irritability without potential risk of punishment via either making the company look bad or getting beaten by his father as Gato had confirmed his father would physically abuse him. That likely also ties into Derek's anger and aggression as well. Being around someone as aggressive could make a person fearful or on edge, feeling as if they need to do whatever they can to survive which at times may be turning to aggression. But once again; Derek cannot safely express said aggression, needing to bottle it in order to not make himself or the company look bad or worse, in order to avoid his father's aggression. The desert is the only place where he can basically go wild and let everything out at once, in a strange way it's like a 100x more fucked up rage room for him, letting him get out all the anger in stress via sadism and violence. Tho, it isn't all good there either as no one there really seems to like him, which honestly just furthers his aggression.

Apologies if these aren't exactly as good as my usual analysis, i am half awake from accidentally pulling an all nighter. I hope everyone reading this has an amazing day/night!

-🫀🦊

.

[justastraymoa]

Yet Unnamed

Chapter 14

Masterlist

Warnings for Yet Unnamed: Kidnapping, cuffs, injuries, drugging by injection, mentions of needles, lots of swearing, kissing, fluff, angst, idiots in love all around.

Nothing within reflects anyone or anything irl. Pics off pinterest.

You didn’t even blink when Bin pulled you on to his lap before you could even sit in a chair. He wrapped his arms around you before scoffing. “You’ve lost weight.”

You didn’t eat for several days, what did he expect? You patted his hand. “I’m fine, Bin.”

“You fainted not twenty minutes ago, and you still look flushed.” Minnie helpfully pointed out. You stuck your tongue out at him, he returned the gesture.

“You left without even saying anything.” Hyune spoke to the table lowly, bringing you back to the issue. The room lapsed into still silence.

“You were arguing because of me. I caused a rift.”

“We were arguing about the fucked up situation.” Lino corrected.

“Also, because Minnie was out of line.” Hannie added.

“I already apologized.” Min pouted crossing his arms. You sent him a small smile.

“It didn’t feel that way. It felt like it was because I kept messing up. I kept knowing Korean a secret, and I do my job differently than the people before me, and then I completely forgot about the marriages. Who just forgets they are married?” You tick off your offenses one by one, even if you had already talked to Min about some of them, they needed to be aired out with everyone. So, we were all on the same page.

“Chan Hyung told us you were feeling self-conscious about your work with us. That’s why I knew it was a sore spot for you. I’m sorry.” Minnie explained again.

“I know, Minnie. I already forgive you.”

“Felix, Han, and I all forgot about the marriages too. So, you weren’t alone on that one. We all dropped that ball.” Chan pointed out. “I requested out copy of the certificates to hang up with the others.”

You didn’t know where the other certificates were, or even who was married to who. You never asked and you had never looked around at all the décor around the apartment. Something you should take a few minutes to do in the future. You felt like you have just been running ever since you arrived here.

“And finding out you knew Korean was kinda funny. How many opportunities like that do you get in a lifetime? It’s not like you hurt anything by it.” Hannie shrugged.

“Did you hear anything good? I never got to ask.” Lix wondered.

You shrugged. “I was only really around you guys, and you were good about speaking my language when I was around, so not really.”

“We didn’t say anything dumb?”

“Not really.”

“That’s kind of shocking.”

You snort softly.

“About your work.” Lino started. You tense in Bins lap, making him rub your stomach soothingly.

“We all agree that we like it. It’s amazing work. Everything has gone much smoother since you took over.”

“You have a way of bringing us and our opinions in on your work that’s really refreshing. It’s easy to feel like our opinions don’t matter in this industry, so it’s very nice that you make sure we don’t feel that way when we work with you.” Felix said.

“And you stand up for us.” Hyune added.

Bin hooked his chin on your shoulder. “And STAY is loving the new stuff. That’s a big accomplishment.”

“Bottom line: We are loving what you are doing. It’s different in a very good way.” Ayen concluded.

You blush but smile at them. It was the same thing Chan had told you, but after the argument the other day it was nice to hear it straight from their mouths. It was nice to hear from everyone. You apparently need a lot of reassurance.

Hyune reached over and pulled you off Bins lap and into his, holding you close. “Just please don’t leave again. These last couple days really sucked.”

“And we were really worried about you. I know it’s been said, but it’s true.” Hannie reiterated. “And Chan told us not to track you because he thought it would upset you.”

“Did it upset you?” Min asked, looking worried since tracking me is exactly what he did.

You grimaced. “Its super weird that someone knows where I am at all times, but I can see how it could be useful.”

“You get used to it. Sorta.”

Lino’s phone beeped loudly. “Soups done.” He announced turning the alarm off and getting up to get the soup off the stove.

“Since your dumb ass hasn’t eaten, soup should be filling but gentle on your stomach.” He spoke from the kitchen, unable to resist chastising you yet again about not eating.

His thoughtfulness warmed you. You still weren’t used to people caring about you, but it felt nice. And after the horrible week it was especially welcome.

Absently you rubbed my chest above the soul bond where the constant pain that had been your only companion for almost five days started to dissipate the longer you were with your soul mates again.

Several noticed the movement and rubbed their own chests automatically, Hyune kissed your shoulder and hummed. “Yeah, we all felt that pain all week too.” You rested your head against his, just happy to be home again.

The soup was a nice veggie soup. Light enough for your stomach not to get upset and it was delicious. Bin made sure you had a lot of vegetables, sneaking more into your bowl when he thought you weren’t looking. Because of this you couldn’t finish your ‘one’ bowl.

“You should eat more.” Bin pushed when you announced you were done.

You rolled your eyes. “Bin I’m going to get sick if I eat more. Don’t think I didn’t notice you putting more food into my bowl several times.”

“Then its time to cuddle in the living room!” Lixie was excited.

“Clean up first.” You remind him gesturing to the table full of food and dishes. Lix had the bad habit of leaving the clean up for ‘later’, then forgetting about it entirely.

Lix deflated slightly with a pout but picked up his bowl dutifully.

You smiled and slid off Hyunes lap to get your own dishes washed and put away. There was several minutes of hustle and bustle as you all cleaned up, moving around each other like we had been doing this for years instead of weeks. With nine people the cleanup went by quickly and before you knew it everything was clean and in its proper place.

As soon as the last dish was dried and put away Lix picked you up and thew you over his shoulder.

You squealed and frantically grabbed any part of him you could as tight as you could. “Felix! Put me down!” You shout.

“Snuggles!” He sing-songed back in reply almost skipping towards the living room.

“Do not drop her, Lix! Be careful!” Channie fretted following close behind, his hands out and ready to catch you if you slipped or were dropped.

The world spun as Lix flipped you back over his shoulder and into his arms before setting you gently on something soft. You heard several gasps, including your own.

“Felix, we just got done eating!” Lino chastised.

It took a few seconds for the room to stop spinning and then you looked around you. There was a large futon taking up the living room floor with what looked like every pillow and blanket in the house gathered on top of it. Including a body pillow with Bins face on it? It made you laugh; you wanted one.

“So, since we all seem to like to cuddle on the floor, we got a futon to make it comfier.” Lix twisted his fingers, anxious as he spoke.

You made grabby hands and pouted with big eyes at him. He happily plopped onto the futon next to you and flung half his limbs over your middle, content sigh leaving him immediately.

“Hey! Don’t hog her!” Hannie whined before taking over your other side. You kissed the top of both their heads.

The others piled on the futon, flinging arms and legs over each other and getting comfortable. No one even moved to turn on the TV, just happy being in each other’s company.

And for the first time in almost 5 days there was no pain from your soul bond. This was the most relaxed and at home you have felt since you left and you couldn’t help but feel stupid for ever thinking leaving was a good idea. For being so unsure of yourself and your soul bond with the others that you thought one little fight would shatter your bond. You were all stronger than that, so your bond was just as strong. No argument would break it so easily.

One by one the others all fell asleep until it was just you and insomniac Chan awake, just listening to the others breathe. The occasional snore and snuffle, movement as they got more comfortable. The sounds of the apartment settling for the night around you.

He was on his phone and lightly scratching Min’s scalp with a free hand, and you were ghosting your fingertips up and down Lix’s and Hannie’s spines. You stared up at the ceiling, in your own world and just being in this moment right now.

You were happy to see Min curled up with everyone. If it was true that no one would really talk to him while you were gone, he needed the extra love and comfort right now. The anguish he would have felt being shunned even a little bit would have been mentally and physically painful. And it was your fault. Because you left and the argument was never resolved. They blamed Min for you leaving.

“What are you thinking about?” Chan asked lowly, putting his phone down.

You lightly shrug and hummed. “I’m glad that you are not mad at Minnie anymore. He said no one would talk to him.”

Chan looked down at the peacefully sleeping younger male, still scratching his scalp. “He’s good at helping other people with their emotions, but not so good with his own.” He mused. “It was a hard time for everyone, he was just an easy target.”

“That doesn’t mean he should have been shunned because I decided to leave. You should all be mad at me.”

“Oh, we have been. Weve been mad, worried, hurt. We filtered through them all. Now we are just relieved that you are back, and we are whole again.”

You weren’t really sure what to say to that that hadn’t already been said. Being in this soul group was just as hard as you thought it would be. What you were wrong on was your strength. Your ability to handle situations as they come. You thought you were stronger, smarter than this. You thought you could handle more. Shoulder more.

Chan must have seen the tears coming because he was already over you, gently extracting you from Lix and Han so he could pull you into his lap and let you bury your head in his chest.

You had wanted to be the backbone. The one they could always rely on. But you were breaking right now, and it was never good when backbones broke. It left the body paralyzed, and you could paralyze them. You can’t be the reason.

“Talk to me. It’s okay, I’m here.” Chan cooed rubbing my back soothingly.

“Its so hard!” You confessed, trying to keep your voice down so you didn’t wake the others.

Chan brushed the hair from my face and used the bottom of his shirt to clean your face a bit, even though fresh tears just replaced what he wiped away. “It is. And its okay if its too much right now. I’m not going anywhere, love. I’m going to be right here with you.”

“I want to be stronger for you.” You confessed wiping your nose on the back of your hand without thinking.

“You don’t have to be. You are strong when you need to be, let us be there for you when you don’t. Let us be strong for you too.”

As much as you didn’t want to add to their problems, it looked like you didn’t have a choice. At least not now. All the stress from the last week and the argument was just too much. Even though you had spent most of the week crying on and off, this was something different. More. This was actually breaking and letting it go. It was too much for you to hold onto anymore and it had to be released.

So you broke right there on Chans lap. With Chan holding you tightly and smoothing your hair, whispering comforting words that you mostly couldn’t understand, but you could feel the intention behind them. Behind the soothing tones.

It was several long minutes before you felt like you simmered down, and you felt like you could stop crying again. And you could start to make out more words that Chan was breathing into your skin.

“That’s it, my love. Just let it all out. It’s okay, I’m right here for you. We are not going anywhere.” His words rolled over you.

You lift your head to look at the front of his t-shirt, now full of your tears, snot, and probably some drool. “Oh, sorry.” You sniffed, your nose stuffed and your eyes sore and puffy.

Chan shrugged. “That’s what washing machines are for. Now, lets get you cleaned up.” He stood up, bringing you with him.

He went to their bathroom, which you hadn’t really been in, since you had your own you usually stuck to using that one. For it being shared by 8 men, the bathroom was surprisingly clean and tidy.

He lifted you onto the counter to sit before handing you a box of tissues and moving to grab a clean cloth to wipe your face with. He ran the warm water in the sink next to you, the cloth was soft, made for gentle cleaning. And with an equally soft look he wiped at your tear-stained cheeks. “Are you feeling better? You want to talk about it some more?” He asked lowly.

“I’m s-“ You started, but Chan covered your mouth with the cloth to stop you.

“Sont apologize. There is nothing to apologize for.”

“I thought I was stronger than this.” You admitted ashamed of yourself.

“Oh, sweet girl. Everyone had their limit. And your entire life was flipped upside down not long ago.”

“You’re all so strong. I wanted to be strong for you. Worthy.” Your eyes filled with fresh tears, dripping down your clean cheeks.

Chan wiped at them again and kissed your forehead. “Baby girl. You are the worthiest of any of us. Literally thrown into this when the rest of us chose this life. And I don’t think you realize how much we depend on you. Both personally and professionally. The absolute trust we have in you.” He set the cloth down and took your hands in his. “None of us are strong all the time. We just break in different ways. Han’s anxiety gets out of control. Hyune tends to lock himself in a room for days at a time. Lix gets quieter and clingier than usual. I sleep even less and get nightmares when I do manage to. We all have our ways of dealing.” He shrugged as he listed everything off.

You leaned forward and thumped your forehead against his chest. “This is all so freaking hard.”

He smoothed your hair. “You are doing amazing. Let us help when you need it. You don’t have to be strong all the time. I promise we will still love you.”

You just nod, not lifting your head.

Eventually you both end up back on the futon, laying amongst your soul mates. You drifted off with Chans fingers in your hair, lulling you and draining the last of your emotional upheaval away. You slept better than you had in days, surrounded by your soul mates and feeling complete.

🥰🥰🥰🥰🥰🥰

A/N: hi and sorry 😶‍🌫️🫥🫣 I've been gone forever. Just kind of disappeared on everyone and left you hanging. Life happened and a second job was started and I'm trying to find the swing of having a few moments to write and do stuff I used to do so please 🙏🏻 forgive me and hang in there with me, it will be worth it. I'll make sure of it!

Yet Unnamed Taglist: @fackeraccount @velvetmoonlght @hyunjinstolemyheart @vampkittenb82 @happy-jj @estella-novella @demigoddreamon-blog @tiana-maxivar @ms-flowergirl @jennibahng @whatdoyouwanttocallmefor @mimimiloomeelomi @simpforskz143148 @xxeiraxx @lil-bear08 @brbwritingfanfic @jisungs-iced-americano @zofia515 @missvanjiii @malyxsoulpersonal @silentreadersthings @pixie0627

General Taglist @stellasays45 @beebee18 @weird-bookworm @velvetmoonlght

[lagunaseca2013]

❄️ or 🌪️ for the ask game!

hiiii arrow! thanks for playing :)) here’s an excerpt from choke yourself out, my reconciliation white whale that i write approximately one sentence of every six weeks lol

—

Valentino is wrestling with the espresso machine in his boxers, his gray-streaked curls flattened on one side of his head from when he’d pulled out of Marc that morning, soft and overstimulated, and unceremoniously collapsed right back to sleep. He’d startled awake an hour later, a little sweaty, and dragged Marc into the kitchen to conquer la bestia. La bestia was shiny and chrome, and had mysteriously appeared in the kitchen four days into the two weeks Marc had spent getting reacquainted with Valentino post-dramatic-Argentina-situation, and neither of them have successfully managed to operate it without Luca’s help.

It was entirely unclear to Marc if Vale knew that his pet espresso machine shared a nickname with Enea Bastianini and simply didn’t care, or was maybe making some sort of convoluted joke about Marc taking his seat a few years back. Between all the fucking, and the strange liminal space both of them had been trying to avoid leaving, he hadn’t really bothered to ask.

The beast was so ridiculous and complicated that Vale had sheepishly ended up calling his brother to teach him how to turn it on, Marc trying not to laugh too loud at the stupid faces Vale was making at him from across the island. Something about the tan slope of his shoulders as he hunched over the contraption, Luca’s annoyed instructions going mostly ignored in favor of pulling levers and pushing buttons, had Marc’s cock twitching with interest.

He glanced down at himself, trying very hard not to think about how he was wearing the same sleep shirt Vale had lent him the only night he’d ever spent at the ranch before. It’s tattier now, the paint cracking enough that CHE SPETTACOLO was only visible if one squinted and already knew what they were looking at.

Ten-some years later, Marc thumbs the uneven hem and locks eyes with Vale as he slowly inches it up. He can tell the exact moment Vale realizes that Marc is getting hard. His blue eyes narrowed into familiar slits, the gaze of a predator.

Marc swallows hard, his fingers still twisting the hem of the borrowed shirt, suddenly unsteady. Valentino is watching him, expectant, his hands braced against the counter like he’s ready to push off and cross the room at a moment’s notice. The espresso machine hisses as it finishes heating up, but neither of them pay it any attention. Then, from the phone still clutched loosely in Vale’s hand, a tiny voice pipes up in the background of Luca’s call. A little girl’s giggle, high and sweet, followed by Luca’s half-distracted, “Sí, sí, un attimo, bambina.”

Marc blinks. He hadn’t even known Luca had a kid. He hadn’t really thought Luca was the type, considering how much time Luca had spent inside of Pecco over the course of the past season, but—well. That’s none of Marc’s business, is it?

Vale stalks over, bullying his way between Marc’s thighs until he’s practically spread eagle on the counter, nipping at his jaw and then his earlobe, which makes Marc shiver and gasp. Then, his phone buzzes in his hand—Luca, still on the line. For half a second, he hesitates. Then, without breaking eye contact, he presses the button and hangs up. Marc’s breath catches, something sharp and hot curling low in his stomach.

“You,” Vale says, with the same laser intent focus he gives his bike, his hands tightening against Marc’s jaw, “are trying to distract me.” Marc hums. “Is it working?” Vale’s eyes flicker down, taking in the way Marc has been inching up his stolen sleep shirt, showing off the smooth slope of his thighs, the telltale half-chub he’s not even pretending to hide. Vale’s thumb swipes across his jaw, a slow drag. “Barely,” he lies.

Then, he pulls away—just long enough to yank open the drawer by the stove, retrieve a blister pack, and dry-swallow the little blue pill inside. Marc snorts, “You could at least pretend to have some restraint.”

“I could,” Vale agrees, leaning in to kiss the corner of his mouth. "But where’s the fun in that?"

The espresso machine lets out a sudden, jarring beep. Vale glances over his shoulder, and then back to Marc, his head tilted expectantly. “Allora,” he says, tracing his thumb against Marc’s neck, applying slight pressure when his eyes flutter shut. “Maybe we try again tomorrow.”

[robbyandabbotsandwich]

Just some Pitt ramblings while I wait for Thursday to come around...

-McKay is the most underrated, slept upon character in this whole show and I am not here for it. She has clearly gone through some shit in her life, but she is kind and understanding, and I wish she were my primary care physician

*Also, her dad is Brad Dourif and I'm so fucking excited to see him in the next episode, holy shit

-Whitaker, my sweet angel, I will buy you some extra scrubs for Christmas, I promise. Just hang in there.

*He's just so lost, I want to put him in my pocket and carry him around everywhere I go. And I don't usually give a shit about the weedy little guys in shows like this.

-Santos is an incredibly complex character, and while I don't like her (projecting her insecurities on Whitaker after impaling Garcia with the scalpel--"Well, at least I didn't kill anyone"--was so uncool, sorry, I hated that tbh), I am so here for her character development. I really am rooting for her and excited to see where this wonderful show takes us

-I nEeD mOrE aBbOt HoLy FuCkInG sHiT

-Tying my last two topics together, I loved that scene last episode where Abbot both admonished and validated Santos about the REBOA

-I really hope Collins comes back, but I think she's done for this season. And honestly, I'm just happy to imagine her sitting at home in a cushy robe, painting her nails, and watching Bake Off, taking her care of herself.

-Dana is such a badass bitch and I love every second she's on screen

-Javadi, Javadi, Javadi... Sometimes I'm like, "Girl, what are you doing? Why are you saying that?" But much like Santos, I'm really excited to see how she develops over the course of the series. I mean, I was sure that she would be like, "Nah, this ED thing isn't for me," but seeing how she's adapting to the MCI and able to improvise and show up her fucking mom is so great to me.

*Also, I know this isn't really that type of show, but I'm rooting for her and Mateo. I think her crush on him is so cute and sweet... Her Utah omg

-HOW HAVE I NOT SPOKEN ABOUT MEL YET? She is definitely up there on my favorite character lists. I love how seen people feel by her. I love how much she just feels. And her little mentor/mentee situation with Langdon fills my heart with joy

-Speaking of Langdon, I didn't really think much of him until he and Mel warmed my heart so much. She really brings the humanity out of him and I hope he gets the recovery he needs.

-Ugh, and Dr. Robby. Oh man, did I fall in love with him. I mean, look at my username, then keep reading. What a fantastically written character. He's having the Worst day of his fucking life and he still has so much compassion and is able to keep teaching. The only thing I don't like about him is how he handled the whole David thing--especially when he snapped at my girl, McKay--but other than that, I love that man so much.

*Oh, also, I want it known that I called that David was a red herring and wasn't the shooter. I know it's not confirmed 100% yet, but...it's pretty obvious to me

**And can people please stop theorizing that it's Doug? I think it's more likely that the shooter is Myrna lol

-Abbot. My sweet, sweet Abbot. What a fucking character. Like, I'm not even joking, I was all in on Robby, and then that man came back, and omg Robby who??? Like, I'm on my third watch and my crush on Robby has waned significantly (I still love him, but, like... I'm just waiting to get to 6:00 so my new boyfriend can show up again)

-Oh, and I'm obsessed with Princess and Perlah. I want them to narrate my life in Tagalog

Anyway, that's how I'm feeling. I have a lot of thoughts on this show. Lots more that will probably come to my head long after I've pressed the post button.

Is it Thursday yet?

[cobra-creampuff]

i think a lot of people have never been in a truly desperate situation but think they have, and this causes them to pass really harsh judgment on people who made bad choices when either irrational or having no good choices to pick instead, and i really wish people could get some fucking self-perception and work on their compassion skills and not fucking do that as much anymore

[sesamestreep]

Given that you are theeeee premier AU consultant around these parts, I would like to request recs for AU fics that you’ve particularly enjoyed/found inventive or cool!

oooooh baby okay!!

-this good omens AU (that kind of turns into a good omens crossover) for daredevil written by @returnsandreturns is one of my favorite things in the whole world. It’s funny and romantic and sweet and historical and it provides me with lots of gender euphoria and regular euphoria when I first read it and every time I’ve re-read it since! Also, everything Chelsea’s ever written is perfect, she’s the ultimate mattfoggy writer in my opinion!

-I was originally not going to include Canon Divergence AUs on this list because that feels like a whole separate category (not exactly canon, not really an AU, but a secret third thing) but then I remembered this timeloop fic for the terror and I consider a timeloop enough of an AU to satisfy my own arbitrary definitions for this list. Everybody loves a timeloop we know, but this one is so well executed and thoughtful and heartbreaking and satisfying, everyone who wants to write a timeloop fic should take note.

-the terror fandom is quite frankly lousy with genius AUs (shocker) so two others worth mentioning are this series (you will always get me by taking a story set on a boat and putting it in space. Also I love stories about astronauts so this really has everything) and this fic (trading out Victorian naval expedition for an almost modern mountaineering setting works eerily well, and the details and characterizations are spot on along with great art!)

-I’ll read basically anything @ponyregrets decides to write at this point, but her pacific rim AU is what actually made me finally watch TOS, which feels like the best endorsement I can give any fic (and thank you to everyone for your patience as I’ve subsequently made Star Trek into a large part of my personality) I’ve now read this AU a dozen times and it truly hits every single time. It manages to perfectly integrate Pacific Rim canon into the Star Trek universe and it’s so sweet and compelling. Highly recommend!

okay I could go on forever like this because most of the fics I love are AUs in some shape or form tbh (@philtstone ’s camp counselors au for lotr and of course your own dungeons and dragons au and f1 au for the falcon and the winter soldier are also among my faves) but I’m losing steam and More Joy Day is drawing to a close, so I’ll leave it there. Happy reading! ♥️📖

[cynicalmusings]

‘the most crucial skill that a good drinksmith needs is listening… drinksmithing is all about having conversations with your guests’

tea house owner!reader energy for real

[arionaleilani]

1. it’s my 24th birthday today, so my goal of being published by the time i’m 25 is now a one year looming monster, but i never specified what kind of published and am currently looking in various literary magazines that are recommended for writers who have yet to be published, so i’m surprisingly confident that i can make it work? and tbh even if whatever i write isn’t officially published before my 25th birthday, if i have someone in the process of being published then i’ll be happy!! no matter what though, i’m gonna try to be proud of myself for at least giving it my best shot!!

2. i honestly love that my birthday is on the ides of march because the ides of march meme shitposting is only a thing on tumblr but it also being my birthday makes it easier to like. be excited about the ides of march outside of tumblr. like even in person i can be like “it’s my birthday! i’m an ides of march babe (:” and if someone is like oh what’s that? or if they say something along the lines of oh like julius caesar? i can be like yep!! and even if it’s a small thing outside of tumblr it brings me immense enjoyment and amusement being able to bring it up off of tumblr

3. transportation situation has been very rough since june 2023 when i totalled my car, my gap insurance are being assholes and i ended up putting my foot down on the phone with them yesterday which i’m pretty proud of because i am NOT a confrontational person (something i’ve been working on this past year, so seeing some improvement with my ability to hold my ground and not be a pushover yesterday was very cool!!) i was told i’d get a response from them by friday next week no matter what, and if i don’t then friday of next week i will continue to wreak havoc upon them. but my moms car which i’ve been using since my accident broke down yesterday, hopefully it’s fixable but my parents were saying it might be done for, so trying to think of how i’m gonna get to work next week is kind of stressing me out lmao, but for now i’m just gonna focus on enjoying my birthday the best i can because i don’t want to start off being 24 with an overwhelming anxiety for something that won’t be a potential issue until monday. plus i already messaged my boss today to let her know that i’m going to do everything i can to make it work out but just so she’s in the loop and knows of the potential of me not being able to make my morning shifts (one of my coworkers said she’s more than happy to give me a ride for our afternoon shifts which does help relieve some of the stress!) and i told her i’d let her know for sure sunday so that if necessary she can have time to figure out someone to fill in for me in the mornings!

overall: life is weird and i ended being 23 yesterday with a shitty situation but a positive outlook and i am going to enjoy my first day of being 24 no matter what because honestly i fucking earned it. happy friday everyone, i hope it’s a good day for you and me both!

[misskamelie]

What do you know, I may be able to finish this project in a timely manner

[chase-solidago]

So you found a dead body in the woods

The worst thing you've worried about, going on hikes, happens. This happens often, in the grand scheme of things. It's always joggers and dogwalkers and hikers. My unlucky day came on October 24, 2022.

So what do you do when you find a dead body?

Look in the other direction and take a breath. Panic wont help you or them.

If you are comfortable, approach them and try to help. If not, it's okay. I was unwilling to approach (they looked real dead) and my 911 operator was 100% totally supportive and okay with that.

Walk a little ways away. There is no reason why you need to keep staring at them. It's okay. Seeing a dead person is really wack!

When you've caught your breath, call 911. My first thought was "Oh god, I don't want to talk to cops." and, good news, it's not cops! 911 responders are different people. They are trained to talk to you, to reassure you, and to help you. They are there for you. They understand you are freaking out. They are kind and patient.

Your new buddy, the 911 person, will help you figure out where you are, exactly. They have access to your location via cell-tower and GPS, but if, like me, you were off-trail (oops), they might need your help navigating to you. I offered to also send a photo, and he provided an email, which he received immediately. I deleted the photo I took right away.

Hang out on the phone with your dispatch friend. They're going to want to keep in touch with you as the paramedics approach. Are you freaking out by chattering too much? Are you freaking out by being dead silent? Both are okay! Apparently, my panic response is to become Super Midwestern Chatty. I was able to make him laugh, which I count as a win.

Holler to the paramedics. My paramedics came deep into the ravine-filled woods, about six men, steering a rolling bed thing. We shouted at each other until they made it to the body. It would have been funny, watching them fumble along, if it wasn't so serious.

Get out of there! The paramedics don't need anything from you. They're busy doing their job. They shooed me back to the trail and to the parking lot. I didn't have to go anywhere near the body.

Meet cops in the parking lot. In my situation, the cops didn't want anything from me. They were just picking their noses in the parking lot while the paramedics did the real work. The cops said thanks for helping, while covering their bodycams, because they're pigs.

Go eat donuts. Christ, that was a lot. Let yourself comedown and get some sugar to kickstart your system.

Feel good that you gave a family closure. Yeah, that sucked. Yeah, your therapist is going to hear about this. Yeah, next time you come to this location, you're going to need a friend with you. But you did the right thing. You'll never know their family, but know that you gave them closure.