#this post took me two days to write

[necrotic-nephilim]

as an apology for being gone for a month, have a uquiz i spent a week making! pls feel free to reblog with which character you got, i worked way too hard on this silly little thing. there are eight different characters you can get that are varying levels of unknown, with comic recommendations for each character <3

[twin-disaster-tutel-brainrot]

So I wanted to write a short post about Splinter's relationship with Donnie, but I realised I need to give it more context, so here we are. This is going to be an analysis on the similarities between Splinter and Donnie, and how those similarities affect their relationship.

Let's start with the easiest example, given to us in "Breaking purple":

(sorry for the bad quality gif)

Donnie, as we know, isn't good at understanding his own emotions and expressing them, and he's also not that good at understanding other's emotions. This video essay explains his low empathy really well.

Donnie doesn't know how to deal with emotions, so he does the next best thing - looks at adult example and copies it.

Splinter, while loving his sons and wanting the best for them, is objectively not the best father. He was thrown into fatherhood with no preparation after being imprisoned for over a decade and turning into a rat. He clearly has depression, has no friends, no support system, etc. And the only reference he has for parenting is his grandpa.

So similarity one, they're not good at dealing with emotions.

The second similarity is they're both bad at lying. And, more importantly, bad at noticing when they're being lied to:

(Arguably, you can say they were all too focused on trying to get away with their own lie, but I digress.)

Donnie needs to be said stuff directly. He's shown to not get sarcasm quite often:

And Splinter is shown multiple times to be quite unobservant:

Like, this gif is from when he grounds them, and he just accepts that those four flour sacks are his sons and moves on.

Which leads us to the third similarity, of them both missing obvious social cues. Donnie because of his social skills, and Splinter because he's unobservant.

There's more similarities, like their love of dancing for example, but the reason I gave those similarities is because I want to talk about their relationship.

Splinter, again, wasn't a very good father. He didn't know how to raise his children, but you can see he did make an effort. They all never hesitate to hug him, to call him Dad, and even when they find out Lou Jitsu is their biological father, they never doubt his role as their dad for a second. Which shows that even though he was neglectful, he did have a positive impact on their lives. They love him, and he loves them.

But, one line stood out to me the most, and that's this Donnie line:

Why? Because Splinter always looks extremely proud of his sons, and it sounds odd that he never told Donnie he's proud of him. And we know he desperately want to hear him say it:

So Splinter never told him he's proud of him, but he's also going to say it three times in this episode, only finishing the sentence once when Donnie isn't close enough to hear. Not only that, but the first instance is because Donnie made him a booster, which looks like a very minor thing, so he has no issue saying he's proud of them even because of the tiniest thing.

If so, then why is Donnie missing the verbal validation so much?

Splinter is not good with knowing when to express his feelings and how, and he's not really observant. Just like he never actually said he's proud of Donnie to Donnie's face in this episode, my guess he never said it to his face in the past too. Like, he tried, but he never actually finished the sentences when Donnie could hear, and he probably didn't even notice.

I'm also guessing he used acts to show how proud he is (for example, the fact he didn't hesitate to choose the Turtle Tank for the demolition derby shows how proud he is of Donnie's work), but because of Donnie's need to be told everything literally, he didn't feel the validation from him at all.

I feel like out of the four turtles, Donnie has the rockiest relationship with Splinter. He logs every interaction they have, doesn't immediately trust him when he offers to spend time together, gets mad at him the most often out of the four of them, etc. But you can also see he loves his dad, and he outright tells him this in "Turtle-dega Nights: The Ballad of Rat Man":

Anyways, I'm just really passionate about showing Splinter isn't just an abusive uncaring father, and showing that the turtles know this.

(Just learned there's an "alt text" option for images so I just removed the image id and turned it into alt text instead.)

[potatobugz]

Chapter 2 is out!

[lynzishell]

So here we are

...again

[brisquad-unit-4402]

Congrants on the 100 followers 4402!!! You deserve much more for your amazing writing<3

For the event, can i request 28. princess carry with ikey? If im not wrong, he already said he likes being carried like a princess!!

So maybe after a day out w him he starts complaining about how his feet hurt from wearing heels for such a long time and reader just starts carrying him like the princess he is

thank you for the compliment, i appreciate it!

kyaaaa… does anyone else’s heart lurch and jump and do a sick dance move when they think about being swept off their feet and carried like a princess or is it just me… i’m doing research, like, totally…!

tags: established relationship, fluff, gender neutral reader

#100 followers for 4402 - 28. princess carry

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

“Isn’t it beautiful?” You hold Ike’s hand within your own as the ocean waves lap along the shore. It’s a peaceful beach, with sloping sands and sprouted grass right where you stand, dividing the sand and the stable dirt under your feet. “I discovered it a while ago. It’s hard to find, so people don’t usually visit here, even though it’s so calm. It’s for just the two of us.”

“It is. I love it,” Ike says. He looks contented, but his eyes drift to his shoes. “It’s just that, when you said we were going to the beach, I thought you meant the side with the boardwalk.”

“Oh. Right.” You forgot. Ike usually wears boots with a high heel. Stilettos and sand are sworn enemies.

“Um, don’t worry! I’ll figure something out.”

“But how? You’ll sink.”

“Yeah… You have a point, I guess.” He sours. “My feet kind of hurt from all the walking, too.”

“They do?”

“It’s fine. I’ll manage.”

“But I don’t want you to get hurt.”

“It’s not the first time, and definitely won’t be the last. I’m used to it. It’s not that bad after so long, but still, the sand is going to be a problem – aah!”

Ike’s thought gets cut off as you squat, swing your arm under his legs, and gather him all up in a bundle. In his surprise, he grabbed the first thing his hands landed on – your shoulder – and your hands support him as you hold him gingerly.

He sputters, so small in your arms. “R-Reader! What are you – did you seriously just –“

“You said it yourself, the sand’s a problem, right?”

You readjust. Ike clings to your neck as he bounces once in your grasp, and shoves his head along your shoulder and out of sight. “How can you even carry me?”

You step forward to where the beach starts with a playful grin. “I’m much stronger than I look.”

Your shoes meet the doughy sand at a lower level than the grass. A short breath frosts down the scruff of your neck while you jump down and Ike buries himself closer to you. Out of the corner of your eye, you can see his ears glow red between the gold earrings.

“Look at me, princess?”

Ike shoots up at the pet name, and sure enough, the rest of his face glows in the same blush all the way down to his neck. He doesn’t even want to fight how that name runs straight through his veins and into his heart. He’s too set in your arms to resist.

He melts like a sigh as you hold him higher. Ike tastes like ocean against your lips.

The sticky, salty air glues his mouth to yours for a blink longer than intended. “Let me treat you like royalty,” you murmur.

Ike nods, transfixed.

For Ike, you are eternal. Your face is every reflection off the bubbling sea and every sparkle shed by the sun. To be held like this is enough. The kiss is enough. You are enough. The minutes pass but the world is stuck in a selfish pause, and he replays all your love on loop.

For you, he is loyal and love, and you know he is too precious to last another moment like this. The second goes by. You let it go.

So you hoot and holler, the quiet broken, and he squeaks in response as you run along the shore. “Incoming, please make way for Your Royal Highness, the lovely Princess Ike!”

Your princess cracks into songbird chirps and a red-faced smile. “What are you doing, there’s no one around!”

“Sorry, can’t hear you, too busy spreading the good word of my beloved princess.” You stop to stare at the ocean. The seafoam rises and falls flat against itself, and rustles out the music of the waves as the whitewater dies out on the wet sand. “YO, OCEAN, YOU’RE NOTHING COMPARED TO MY IKEY!”

You spin around, and his earrings swing with the motion. Ike squeals. The sea breeze picks up a spray of water that flicks against your faces, but his laughter is high-pitched and uncontrollable, and persists even when the saltwater gets in his mouth.

Bubbly like the ocean backdrop, but he’s far more breathtaking than the beach could ever be. Especially at this angle, where his eyes can barely stay open because he’s smiling so wide, and the tousled ends of his hair matches the bottle-blue waves behind him, and he is so close that his giggles breathe life back at you. Your hands are flush along his back where they belong. The sandy grasp treasures the tide.

[uhbasicallyjustmilex]

me on my way to my laptop, trying to coax myself back into the groove of writing

[swiftsaltsweet]

Hunt's next chapter.

I'm legally not allowed to write anymore. u_u My doctor said no.

[boyfrillish]

howdy! for a drabble prompt how about something like, victor/hop where one has to be fiercely protective of the other? (say, a wild pokemon encounter gets out of hand or...)

Victor’s walking toward Challenge Road when it happens. He knows there are plenty of wild Pokémon happy to attack passersby during any weather, yet he’s still caught off-guard when a Bisharp charges at him from behind.

The battle cry rings in his ears and when he turns around, he’s met with sharp blades ready to strike. He can barely shout a command to Sylveon or switch to a different Pokémon. The blow of the attack throws him right into the stairs and he yelps as the edges of the steps dig into his back.

He’s frozen in place as the blade points threateningly at his face.

But that’s when fear melts into a blend of admiration and worry alike.

“Get away from him!” an oh-so-familiar voice yells.

And Victor watches as Hop charges directly into the wild Bisharp, hitting it with his own body to knock it aside, and Dubwool eagerly helping with its Double-Edge.

Hop stands in front of Victor like a shield, Pokéball in hand to switch out. “Go, Cinderace! Hit it with your Pyro Ball!”

With the type advantage on his side, he fends off the wild Bisharp with ease. Though rather than celebrate the win, he rushes to kneel next to Victor.

Grim determination — an expression that’s burned into Victor’s mind ever since their battle at the Champion Cup — makes way for worried frown. “Victor! It didn’t cut you, did it? Let me check you for injuries!”

But the only response Victor can think of is to grab Hop by the collar of his jacket and shout, “You idiot! What were you thinking?!”

“I just saved your butt!” Hop shouts right back. “And you’re probably hurt, so let me tend to you already!”

Victor really wants to argue — because really! What was he thinking? — but his body has to betray him by wincing in pain. “Ugh, fine.”

He slips out of his dojo jacket and loosens the zipper of his binder for ease of breath, at the same time allowing Hop to lift his shirt to examine his back for any obvious signs of injury and patch up the scratches on his arms and legs.

Victor is mad. He really is. But the Butterfree that go wild in his belly again at Hop’s gentle, caring touch make it tough to stay mad. And, okay, maybe Hop going reckless protector mode for him made him fall in love even more than he already was.

Still, though… he’s miffed. Feelings don’t always make sense.

Finally, Hop is satisfied with his work and he fixes Victor’s t-shirt before putting away the first aid kit. Softly, he says, “I did the best I could, but I’m just a Professor’s apprentice, not a Doctor. So you should go back to the Dojo and have someone check you more thoroughly as soon as possible.”

Victor groans. “But I have training to do!”

“Nuh uh, training can wait. Health is more important,” Hop argues. “You’re the Champion of Galar, it’s no good if you end up out of commission because you thought you could tough it out.”

“If health is so important, then why did you charge in like that? You could’ve got hurt!”

“I didn’t think, okay?” Hop says. “I saw that Bisharp attacking you and heard your cry and all I knew was I had to make sure you’re safe. There was no time to think before acting.”

“You keep doing that, Hop. Charging ahead recklessly and rushing off before I have a chance to say something or help you. It can get a bit frustrating, you know?” Victor says. Softly, he adds, “I worry about you and I don't want you to get yourself hurt for my sake. I want you to be safe, too.”

“Sorry about that, Victor,” Hop says. “Sonia reproached me for that too, but I can’t help it sometimes. Especially when something or someone I really care about is in danger.”

“Just, promise you’ll be careful, okay? Or else I’ll charge in and protect you, because I really care about you too.”

A smile blooms on Hop’s face as he squeezes Victor’s hand in affirmation of the promise. “Heh heh, it makes me really happy we always have each other’s back.”

Victor feels like a firework lights up in his heart.

He smiles back. “Me too.”

[sophieswundergarten]

So. Everyone who yelled at me yesterday for making a ramble on Reynie going blank and then not resolving it, this is for you: (@lemondropletters, you have been tagged)

Also, it's in a Google Doc because it was definitely too long for a Tumblr post, and ~~I don't know how AO3 works~~

The (vague) premise is that, instead of Constance seeing Curtain's broadcast, they all get to the compound mentally sound, but once there, they split up to look for Mr. Benedict, and instead Reynie finds Curtain. This is the wrap up of what would have happened in the last episode.

[zoanzon]

That post with the Tangled gifs was from 2014 how did you find that lmao?? xD

[Asked in context of me finding this post from 2014.]

Okay, so, I'm genuinely glad someone asked because I'd already been planning to make a post about this. Tumblr code should be vivisected in a medical theater in front of an audience of hooting Victorian students.

So, to open with the TLDR and go into detail afterwards: it turns out if you turn off infinite-scrolling, you can abuse the way tumblr URL updates to bethesda clip your way back into deeper sections of your dashboard or your Drafts folder, but not your own singular blog's published side.

Step 1: Settings -> Dashboard -> Endless Scrolling. Turn off infinite scrolling. Don't worry, you can turn it back on when you're done experimenting.

Step 2: Scroll down to the bottom of your dashboard, or to the bottom of your drafts.

[image_id: a picture of my Drafts folder, with the 'next page' button predominantly displayed. the url at the top is www(dot)tumblr(dot)com/dashboard/blog/(blog name)/drafts. the post seen has a visible 'posted on' timestamp from 2 days ago. end id.]

Step 3: Go through 'next page', then look at the url.

[image_id: another picture of my Drafts folder, this time at the top of the next page. with my cursor hovering over the url box, it highlights the full url: https://www(dot)tumblr(dot)com/blog/(blog name)/drafts?before_id=741844798759124992. the only post you can see has a visible 'posted on' timestamp from 2 days ago. end id]

Now, if I remember what I read somewhere right, that huge number at the end is a Unix timestamp. Look up what those are yourself, but what you need to know is that handy-dandy 'before_id' section in the url? It means it starts the page at the first post that comes before the indicated timestamp.

Makes enough sense, right?

So, now we get to Step 4: Cut off 2-3 numbers off the end of the timestamp in the URL, and hit ENTER.

[image_id: another picture of my Drafts folder, this time at the top of the next page. with my cursor hovering over the url box, it highlights the full url: www(dot)tumblr(dot)com/blog/(blog name)/drafts?before_id=741844798759124, different from the prior id's URL by missing '992' from the end. the only post you can see has a visible 'posted on' timestamp from February 23, 2020. end id]

If I tried to use endless scrolling to get that deep, my computer would've already exploded. But because turning off infinite scrolling means the url starts updating...you can fuck with it. The smaller the number, the farther back you go.

As I said, it also works on your dashboard too!

For dashboard it doesn't seem to be "?before_id="; instead "max_post_id=" is what fills the url for some unknown reason when you click 'next page', but it does the same thing. So, write out www(dot)tumblr(dot)com/dashboard?max_post_id=74184479875912409 and see yourself jump back a bit in your dashboard.

Then, if you start shrinking that number...

[image_id: A picture of my dashboard, highlighting an ATLA gifset post. The post's original timestamp is Oct 2012, and the reblogged timestamp is August 2014. Highlighted by my cursor is the url: https://www(dot)tumblr(dot)com/dashboard?max_post_id=94200403764. end id.]

So...yeah, use this trick to scare the shit out of your mutuals when you start reblogging stuff that they themselves last reblogged nearly a decade prior, or to dig deep into your Drafts folder if you're like me and its way too large a number to scroll to the bottom of using infinite scrolling!

[insertsickusername13]

haven't reread this or edited it. idc. it's cute. enjoy.

word count: 3k

warnings: child abuse (rich's whole situation with his dad---it's not bad, and it's only mentioned in one paragraph, but it's there enough that it's worth mentioning)

Jake was standing in the center of the crowded hallway leaning heavily on his cane. Freshmen and seniors alike twisted and stumbled out of the way as they rushed down to lunch. His feet were shoulder width apart and his chin held high, much like a rock in the center of a rushing river.

Rich was hyper-aware of Jake from the second he slipped out of pre-calc, his attention (much like everyone else’s) immediately drawn to him. Tall. Confident. He stood like he belonged to the extent those who had to dodge out of his way were convinced they were the ones in the wrong, not him.

“And they say Christine’s dramatic,” Rich greeted. He sidestepped out of the current of students into the safety of Jake’s shadow. Jake’s gaze flickered from somewhere in the distance down to Rich and immediately his expression morphed from one of deep concentration to rosy excitement. Then, as if realizing himself, Jake pressed his lips together and snuffed out his happiness like a flame (not the first fire Jake had put out, both metaphorically and literally).

“We need to talk,” he said simply, tone barren and controlled. Rich masked the instinctive panic that promptly flooded the room at those words behind an amused quirked eyebrow.

“Intense opening line,” he commented, “8/10. Delivery could’ve been better.”

Jake’s purposeful intensity faltered just long enough for him to duck his head to hide his summertime smile. Rich, despite already sorting through all the worst-case scenarios—death, hatred, squips and secrets—did a small, mental fist pump. Having the newfound freedom to think his own thoughts without anyone there to criticize him besides his own subconscious meant spending an increasing amount of time dedicating himself to seeing Jake smile, watching him laugh, and feeling no shame at the way life seemed to return to every previously colorless corner of the room, the way his heart so hard he was convinced it was a destructive force rather than a romantic one.

“Shut up, I’m being serious.”

It’d been a minute, at least, and the halls were slowly emptying out of bystanders. Rich shifted back slightly, now free to be farther away from Jake without being trampled. Self-preservation kept him from creeping closer even as he shivered at the cold that slithered into the room at Jake’s distance.

Rich tried to keep his voice from trembling as he got out, “Okay, then. Talk to me.”

Jake shook his head and Rich frowned.

Rich felt dread, yes. Though it couldn’t have been past noon, a bluish-black dusk almost the same color as a bruise was swimming in his vision and dragging its sharp nails over every inch of exposed skin. Rich was restless in his desperation to get as far from this conversation as possible, a feeling so overwhelming he had to consciously talk himself down from an anxiety attack.

But where Rich’s anxiety manifested itself in his fidgeting fingers and tapping foot—something that wasn’t out of the ordinary for him, even a relatively calm Rich was a jittery Rich—Jake looked like he’d just watched tragedy strike an entire nation.

“Not here,” he muttered, so quiet Rich was convinced he didn’t want him to hear. “…Library? Or—”

“Library works,” Rich smiled, “We can watch horny freshmen make out in the back while we… break up? Platonically? I don’t know what you’re planning on.”

Jake didn’t seem to find Rich’s facetiousness amusing. He looked down at his shoes, seemingly deeply entertained by the intricacies of his poorly tied laces.

“Perfect,” he whispered, his voice taking on a customer-service tone he adopted when he knew his natural voice would be on the verge of breaking. Rich couldn’t even find it in him to summon another shitty joke.

Jake led Rich to the library briskly, ignoring the cafeteria completely while Rich cast a longing glance back at his lunch table, where all his friends were laughing without a care in the world.

Jake was facing straight ahead and a step ahead of Rich—his face was out of view, but Rich could hear the faint sound of him reciting a speech to himself, rehearsing whatever he was going to say to Rich in a moment. Rich strained to hear every—any—word, but all he got were empty shells of sorry and we can fix it.

“Okay,” Jake said as he pulled out Rich’s chair and sat across from him, his cane leaning against the table. They were sat in the back of the library by a window. Jake dropped his backpack on the ground next to him and unzipped it, pulling out a binder Rich had never seen before. Strange, considering Rich had sat through every pre-test, stress-induced haze while Jake paced the living room, reciting definitions from flashcards and making Rich read aloud passages from binders that only slightly resembled the one on the table between them.

Rich let out a tiny sigh of relief that he hoped wasn’t noticeable. So it was just a test or presentation—something important enough to Jake’s final grade that he was freaking out enough that he’d totally missed the mini-mental breakdown he’d caused Rich.

Jake took a deep breath. Rich leaned back, prepared and patient to listen as Jake first apologized for bothering him, then made Rich quickly skim the source material before quizzing him on every possible question or logic fallacy that would most surely never show up on a test intended for high schoolers. Rich wasn’t bothered when Jake’s expression changed from nervous to one of pure determination and cynical analysis—he was well accustomed to this version of Jake, one who compartmentalized until all the dark and scary feelings were just files to be sorted rather than genuine emotions to be processed. He’d get through it eventually, but only after he’d solved whatever problem he was facing.

“Physics?” Rich guessed. Jake looked up from his papers, barely aware of what Rich had said, his focus completely and utterly on the task at hand.

“What?”

“Physics? Is that what we’re studying?”

Another moment of awkward silence before Jake finally seemed to understand.

“Oh,” he said, “No. No, worse. Here.”

He passed Rich a paper—a timeline, starting December 3rd. Rich didn’t get the chance to read a single word before Jake shoved another paper into his hand, this one a calendar for this month—April. Then a list. A picture. A color-coded set of notes. A survey? Rich scrambled to organize himself as Jake shoved yet another paper into his hand, this one a printed-out, annotated article from one sketchy health website or another.

“Do you want a chance to review the material before I start, or can I just jump right in?”

Rich looked up helplessly from the April calendar and squeaked, “Huh?”

Jake studied him for a moment, gaze a stormy mix of expectancy and determination. Then, having come to a conclusion Rich wasn’t privy to, he said, “We’re going to start on page one.”

Rich blinked at him.

“Timeline,” Jake clarified, “The first paper I handed to you.”

Rich struggled through the pile of papers until he pulled the timeline out. He displayed it to Jake proudly only to be met with a nervous smile that quickly faded into a grimace.

“Alright,” Jake said, his voice quivering in a similar fashion to a guitar string—musically, beautifully. He clenched his paper to the point it crinkled. “As you can see, it starts December 3rd, the day I first visited you in the hospital, and ends yesterday.”

Rich’s eyes flit from the beginning to the end of the timeline to confirm Jake’s words. He nodded, unsure as to why Jake’s tidbit about the hospital was necessary.

“So upon first contact post-fire, we ignored the topic of the fire and simply discussed the play and Jeremy, correct?”

“Uh, yeah?”

“Good. And you didn’t apologize until the 8th, the next date marked on the timeline.”

Rich found the 8th, labeled ‘THE APOLOGY’ in all caps. Rich searched the words for a hidden meaning, praying it’d also be the birthday of some American president or treaty signing.

“I was, at first, resistant, but by the 11th I had come to forgive you. I visited again and we discussed possible steps forward.”

Unsurprisingly, the 11th was the next marked date. Rich swallowed a confused sob.

“Yeah, I know,” Rich said, the words tumbling out of his throat like his body was trying to purge him of a poison, “What the fuck?”

Jake continued without so much as looking up.

“On the 20th, you were released from the hospital. You, your brother, and I all spent Christmas at my apartment—purchased before the timeline began—over the 25th and into the 26th. Does that sound right to you?”

“Yes. Still kind of dark times, though, so if we could skip to—”

“You moved in on January 5th.”

Rich’s memory of that day lived serenely in the back of his mind to be summoned with perfect clarity whenever he felt unworthy or scared. It had been impulsive and dangerous—Rich had called Jake in the middle of the night, bruised and scared and exhausted. He’d come home from a six-hour shift on the verge of collapse, his burns itching and screaming, the lingering memory of the squip spouting deprecations at the way he winced with every step. He was unlucky enough to find his father still conscious in the living room, anger emanating off of him in waves of violence that manifested in thrown dishes and kicked over trashcans because where the fuck have you been?! You think you have any right to parade around with your rich friends while your family is stuck here?! You should’ve been—

The list was long. You should’ve been cleaning the dishes, making dinner, doing the laundry. He made it worse by crying.

He stayed kneeling in the kitchen long after his father passed out on the couch and, with shaking hands, because he didn’t want to cry anymore—he really, really didn’t want to cry—he called Jake.

Jake offered every cliche affirmation and more. You’re enough, you’re more than enough, I love you, you deserve better, you’re beautiful, you’re smart, I forgive you, I forgive you, I forgive you.

All the while, Jake was texting Michael. He still had his casts on—he couldn’t drive, and Michael told Rich later that he’d never seen someone manage to sound so panicked over text.

Less than twenty minutes later, Michael had snuck in the window. He cleaned the broken dishes, set the trashcan upright, and picked Rich up off the floor and dragged him kicking and screaming out of his father’s house.

“No, no, no, I can’t leave, he needs me, he needs me—”

Upon collapsing into Jake’s arms ten minutes later, Rich realized he needed to be loved a lot more than his dad needed him. He didn't go back.

“Yeah,” Rich breathed, “I remember.”

“January 15th: The first incident happens.”

“Incident?” Rich asked blankly, his mind still replaying the car ride from his father’s to Jake’s house.

“Yes. Any urges to kiss you or—or more, will be referred to using the term ‘incident,’ whereas more innocent urges—possibly wanting to go out on a date, or hold your hand, things along those lines—will be referred to using ‘episodes.’”

“Mhm,” Rich confirmed mindlessly. Jake’s words drifted up and around him much water falling off his face and body rather than sinking into his skin. It took Jake’s heavy gaze—staring expectantly, his lips parted, forming questions Rich couldn’t hear.

Wait. What?

“Go back,” Rich rushed out, back straightening. Hope hadn’t sunk in yet—he wasn’t quite there. Only confusion. “What the hell?”

Jake nodded once. He’d been expecting this reaction.

“Beginning January 7th, I developed a crush on you.”

Instead of turning to Jake, Rich turned to the papers for confirmation. He scoured the timeline for the words crush or love. All he got were incident #4 (#7, #9, #54, #78) and episode #7 (#15, #29, #156).

Shaky, he rushed to the next paper. A list of twenty entitled Modes for Moving On. The article from Healthline or Web MD: Psychologists Estimate Crushes become a True Love After Four Months.

“I’m sorry,” Jake whispered, his voice so simply scared Rich was convinced he must be hiding from a monster under the bed or the boogyman—a childish fear. “I didn’t mean to.”

“You—” Rich started. He distantly heard Jake make a strangled sound but was too lost in flashes of the past three and a half months. Jake, flinching away when Rich got too close—Rich blaming it on the fire. Jake going out with three different girls in a week with no sign of stopping until Brooke slapped him and told him to stop playing with people’s feelings. The way he’d listened to Brooke but had been staring at Rich the whole time, his shoulders hunched over as he tried to curl in on himself.

“I… I don’t understand,” Rich whispered, though of course, by now, understanding was settling in his spine and gripping his nervous system like it was the only thing tethering him to reality. Jake liked him. Jake liked him.

“I’m trying to fix it. That’s the point. The article—”

Jake was in such a blind rush to show Rich that he practically fell from his chair, kicking it back with a ferocity as he stood and winced, his legs unprepared for the sudden weight on them.

“Fuck—the article, four months, right? And—” he hastily re-situated his chair and stumbled over to Rich, his hands clumsily shuffling through the papers until he managed to shove the Healthline/Web MD article in Rich’s face.

“See! Four months! I’ve still got two weeks, right? I’m not in love with you. I’ve got—I’ve got a plan. I looked up a bunch of stuff on the internet on how to move on, and it all told me to like, avoid you and stuff, but I can’t do that, so instead I’m ‘loving myself’ and ‘working through lingering feelings’—just a bunch of weird self-care stuff, but I’m fucking desperate, I’ll—”

He straightened suddenly, struck with the realization he’d just been so close to the source of all his problems. His expression singed and pride marred, he backed up a step, posture erect and his faked smile tight. He shook out his hands and turned to the sky for a quick moment. When he finally spoke again, it was in the same presenter’s tone he’d been offering since the beginning. In control; calm. His acting was worse than it had been in the play. Rich could hear every bit of panic running under his tone.

“Following the ten-step plan outlined on page seven, these feelings should be resolved by the 13th, with two days of cushion time in case one or two steps are thwarted or interfered with. I thought it right to make you aware of, of my intentions. I do think it would be best if I—”

Rich did the only thing he could think of to stop Jake from talking. He threw the nearest highlighter at Jake’s face.

For a moment afterward, there was only silence. Jake’s eyes were crossed to try and see where he’d been hit, right below the nose, and Rich was so mortified by his own unfounded actions to even begin to apologize.

“…You could’ve just said you don’t feel the same,” Jake finally murmured. He looked like he was physically fighting melancholia from his face and trying to stuff it into one of his file cabinets. He failed, and he had to turn away so Rich couldn’t see. He appeared to be blinking back tears.

“Oh my god, you are so fucking dramatic.”

Jake pouted. Rich laughed delightedly and got up to take Jake’s hands in his own. Jake stayed staring at the floor.

“Next time, just tell me how you’re feeling, yeah? Would’ve saved a lot of trees.”

Jake sniffled.

“I like you," Rich grinned, "If you somehow missed that. For a lot more than four months, too.”

Finally, Jake looked at Rich, his expression open and hopeful, a smile comparable to everything springtime and flowery blooming on his face.

“Really?” he whispered.

“Yes, really.”

“Oh. Oh my god.”

“Yeah.”

Unable to stop himself any longer, Rich got up on his tippy toes, smiling softly, in an attempt to kiss Jake for the first time. His crush liked him back—

Jake jerked away, eyes wide and mortified.

“Oh my god.”

“What?”

“Oh my god, that was so fucking embarrassing. Oh my god. I literally told you when I fell in love with you. Oh my god. We’re not even dating.”

Rich tried to suppress his smile—just for Jake’s dignity—but a small laugh escaped him before he could stop himself. Jake’s face went from a rosy red to the color of wine. Rich wanted to kiss it off him.

“No, stop it," Jake said, "don’t say anything. This didn’t happen. Oh my god. Get out! Now!”

“What?” Rich said, his amusement so complete in essence he was sure Jake could feel it like a slap across the face, “Why?”

“Because!!!” Jake screeched, “I need to destroy all the evidence! Then I’m just going to ask you out like a normal person, Jesus fuck. No. I’m just going to ask Chloe to kill me. She’ll be glad to. Goodbye.”

Jake spun back to the table and, without organizing them in the slightest (something so un-Jake-like Rich seriously considered the possibility that this whole thing had been orchestrated by a clone), shoved the papers back into his backpack, uncaring that half of them were ripped or crinkled. When he turned back to Rich, it was like nothing had ever happened. He looked like he had that morning: happy in a Jake way. Almost like a golden retriever, ready to do whatever necessary to make the people around him smile. In control. Suave and nonchalant; a flirt.

Jake conjured a look of confusion onto his face.

“Dude, what the fuck, you didn’t tell me you were French.”

“What?! Dude—” Rich giggled into his hand, so delighted by the entire affair he couldn’t even really be confused by Jake’s sudden assumption that Rich was French, of all things, “—I’m not fucking French.”

“Really?” He squinted at Rich, “Because I could’ve sworn Eiffel for you.”

He flashed Rich a grin and a peace sign before swooping down like he was going to kiss Rich. He stopped last second, less than an inch away, and carefully cupped Rich’s jaw. Rich watched as the confident exterior Jake had managed to summon last second slipped into a pure, childish excitement. His breath caught for a moment, so utterly elated at the idea that he was this close to kissing Rich—

Rich tried to close the gap. Jake’s fingers dug into Rich’s jaw, something that could’ve quite possibly been considered violent had it come from anyone else, but Jake seemed so set on making sure Rich wasn’t hurt that the show of strength came off as affectionate rather than scary. Rich frowned.

“When you tell people how we got together,” Jake seethed. Though his humor had darkened into a bad boy character that suspiciously resembled the love interest of a romance movie he and Jake had watched together a week ago, it was offset by the fact Rich had seen the utter awe on his face a moment earlier. “You tell them about this, yeah? That—” with his free hand, he motioned vaguely to the table behind them. “—that never happened. I fed you a nice pickup line and you liked it. Understood?”

“Perfectly,” Rich said, his voice so quiet and seductive Jake was forced to pull away before he did something he’d regret.

Then, the second they arrived at their lunch table, “Jenna motherfucking Rolan, you will not believe what just happened—”

[boomerang109]

what if capitalism is making the one job i thought was possible for me feel unattainable not because i haven’t literally been doing it since age 13 but because it’s not well paid enough so until you get into a higher position you have to work multiple jobs and i knew that i always knew that but. fuck. why is adulting going to be so exhausting. what if this really is the best time of my life? being a depressed college student? what if it’s downhill from here?

[partystoragechest]

It's been a whole year since I posted the Prologue of Unwanted on a ridiculous whim. I did contemplate doing something special for this event, but I think we'd all prefer if I just got on with writing it instead.

[csuszka]

i have the temperament of a very nervous and aged little dog. generally cheery and glad to go on walks and to see people but will soon perish from the sheer stress of alla that

[rose-n-gunses]

Okay, so. I've got a LOT of thoughts about the Catholic Munsons post that's going around and I really wanna talk about it because I think it's SO interesting so I'm going to post about it here so I'm not clogging up the tags on that post (and I'm probably going to end up turning it into a little bit of a hellcheer thing because it plays a bit of a role in one of my upcoming wips).

Fair warning, this post is really fucking long and really fucking rambly. I had Thoughts and they. Refused to stop, so just,, bear with me!!

My Catholic father grew up around this same time near Cleveland, Ohio in a little town that's maybe half the size of what Hawkins is projected to be according to the fandom wiki page. He attended a parochial school for elementary and I think middle school, and the majority of his friends growing up were either Jewish or Catholic. When I asked him today about the distribution/ratio of Jewish to Catholic to Presbyterian in that area (since my research wasn't quite answering my questions), he told me that he was probably in middle school before he actually realized that there were other religions besides Jewish, Catholic, and whatever denominations the African American churches in the area were.

Because of this and the general notion that Catholicism is/has been somewhat more prominent in the northern/northeastern and, like, some of the more northern midwestern United States (if that makes sense), I've always imagined that Hawkins, being a decently sized (10-15K according to the wiki page) town pretty close to Indianapolis (around 80 miles, again according to the wiki page), would have a pretty solid Catholic community, so it's always kind of surprised me to see so many people write the Cunningham family, for example, as attending a Presbyterian church (although it is entirely possible, but more on that later).

Okay so now my actual thoughts on the Catholic!Munsons:

Since the pictures from the Munson trailer (and I love that it's been a year and we're still finding new stuff in there) show that calendar, we know that if Wayne did purchase it intentionally, then he's most likely gotta be actively Christian. However, I don’t see Wayne as the attending-mass-every-week type of Catholic -- he strikes me as Too Tired For That Shit. My personal headcanon is that he’s Christian, and was probably raised Catholic, but he only really attends mass for Christmas and Easter (not even for other Holy Days of Obligation). I guess to put it in shorter words, I see it as Wayne is definitely Christian, but he’s Catholic for convenience, meaning he believes in god but would prefer to do it privately and on his own terms (like, idk, praying on his own and displaying his faith through his actions) rather than having to deal with the church and its members, and he just continues to go to mass occasionally because it’s what he grew up with so he’s used to it and there’s no point in fixing something if it ain’t broke.

But Eddie. Oh, Eddie. If Wayne grew up Catholic, then so did Eddie’s dad. Since Eddie's dad is, like, y’know, an asshole, I think he’d be the sort of Catholic that’s a total hypocrite and gives the entire Catholic Church a bad name. Eddie’s mom could be Catholic, she could be Presbyterian, she could be Jewish, it really doesn’t matter (though I do see a lot of people headcanoning her as Jewish and I do kinda really like that headcanon).

If Eddie’s dad is Catholic, then it’s possible that Eddie could have attended a parochial school, but it could go either way. One: maybe he didn’t because his mom is Jewish/non-Catholic or just because his parents didn’t feel the need to send him to one, or two: he did attend a parochial school, at least for a little bit. However, since we know that Eddie and Chrissy attended the same school for middle school, there are also two ways that this can go. One is that Chrissy also attended the same parochial school and the talent show they talk about in the forest scene in 4.01 occurred at said parochial middle school. The other is that Eddie did attend a parochial school for a while but got kicked out and sent to Hawkins Middle School, where he then participates in the talent show. (I also think the concept of Eddie getting kicked out of a Catholic school and sent to a public school -- whatever the reason may be -- would add to his reputation and image as A Freak or Mean And Scary because did you hear that the weird new kid got kicked out of his other school? will always spawn rumors.)

In regards to Eddie’s personal beliefs, I think he’s kind of similar to Wayne, but also not. Whereas I see Wayne as “Catholic for convenience”, I see Eddie as more of just “Christian for convenience”, which to me just means that he’s not really sure what he believes, but when it comes down to it, he’ll say sure, I guess I believe that there is A God because it’s a little easier and a little less terrifying to believe in Something than it is to believe in Nothing. I don’t personally see Eddie as an atheist, because to me, he seems like he would be the kind of person that wants to believe in something, but he doesn’t like to spend too long thinking about what exactly it is that he believes in (in regard to there being a higher power) because it’ll send him spiraling into some sort of existential crisis. Which, same.

I do think that Eddie would become disenchanted with and disconnected from the Catholic church as an entity/community, because I definitely think he disagrees with a LOT of the stuff that the church preaches/believes. Also, since Eddie’s a big fat nerd and I headcanon him as a major literature buff, I think he’s definitely read the Bible (and probably the Catholic Catechism as well) so that he can 1) call out aforementioned hypocritical Catholics/Christians and 2) get inspiration for writing campaigns and/or songs.

Somewhat unrelated, but in the one (upcoming) fic I have right now that bothers to explore the religious sides of the characters, I have Eddie attending mass with Wayne for Christmas, but it's an anomaly for him and he grumbles about it the whole time. (It's for plot purposes and he doesn't like it.)

And then of course, Eddie's probably really interested in the stories of some of the saints and martyrs because some of them are pretty fuckin' metal. I also think he's super interested in religious iconography and metaphors for some reason, and loves finding those references and metaphors in songs and books.

Side note: I don't necessarily think that being Catholic is something that would have Othered Eddie (and Wayne) in Hawkins, especially if there is a strong Catholic population, but I do think that because of Eddie's non-conformist attitude and apparent general disdain for authority, he would have been Othered by the church (or rather its parishioners) and probably therefore deemed Freak, Satanist, etc.

I also think there’s something to be said about Eddie being put in an almost Christ-like shepherd position with his freshman sheepies. Also, the sentiment expressed in Mark 2:17 feels vaguely Eddie-like. (For those not familiar, this occurs when Jesus is asked by the pharisees and officials why he associates and eats with tax collectors and sinners, to which he replies “it is not the healthy who need a doctor, but the sick.”) However, I think that Eddie’s thing is less redeeming the sinners and more giving the excluded and ostracized a place to be included and treated well. But I digress.

Now, Chrissy. Dearest, loveliest Chrissy. While it is totally plausible that the Cunninghams are Presbyterian or Evangelical Christian or something else, miss girl has mega Repressed Catholic Girl Energy, so I’ve been headcanoning her family as Catholic. I definitely think Laura would use Catholicism (or Christianity in general) as a large tool in her attempts to control Chrissy and dictate her life. So like, because Catholicism is more strict/regimented/structured compared to other denominations like Baptist or Presbyterian, I think Laura would try to use it to make Chrissy’s life more strict/regimented/structured. (And also there’s the Guilt™️. Chrissy seems like the type of gal to be crippled by Catholic guilt.)

I’ve got this image in my head that I hope to be able to express in that upcoming wip I mentioned where Chrissy, once her mother (and Jason) starts trying to control her and obsess over her body, somehow equates the general “be Christ-like” thing with “Take this and eat of it; for this is my body, which has been given up for you” (which, again, for those unfamiliar with the proceedings of a Catholic mass, this is something that the priest says in regards to the Eucharist/communion wafers; it’s a reference to the last supper when Jesus broke bread and shared it with his disciples.) so she ends up letting her mother control her because that’s what she thinks is the right thing to do in order to “be Christ-like” and gain approval.

And then I know a lot of people headcanon Jason as the pastor’s son. In a story where they aren’t written as explicitly Catholic, I do like this headcanon because I think it would explain a lot about his character. However, in a setting where they are written as Catholic, I think Jason would be of the hypocritical sort. (He’ll preach the Bible at anyone he disagrees with, but then will turn around and completely disregard anything said about premarital sex, love thy neighbor, love thy enemy, etc. Essentially the sort of Christian that twists what’s said in the Bible to suit their needs and ignores the parts that they disagree with -- which is exactly the kind of person I think Eddie would read the entire Bible to be able to argue with.)

[liaprime]

JILLIA LUSERINA PRIME

“Happy Birthday, Jilly!” Maeve entered the room, a gleeful smile on her face and a little present in her hands. She walked over to Lia and handed her the clumsily wrapped box. “I tried,” she said sheepishly. “You know I'm not good at this kinda thing.”

“Thank you, Mae.” Lia took the present, but instead of opening it she just looked at it in silence with a blank stare.

“You can open it later, of course. I know today is hard on you..” Maeve paused, trying to come up with something to cheer up her friend. “Let's go for a walk,” she exclaimed. “No need to talk, I just don't want you to be alone in here all day.” Without waiting for a response, she took her present and put it on the nearby table and grabbed Lia's hand, leading her outside.

---

It was a sunny winter day. There was no snow and it was much too warm for winter. Not even her favourite season was what it used to be. Nothing in Lia's life was what it used to be.

While walking through the woods, her mind raced back to that dreadful day four months ago – the day that she had lost her family in a shuttle crash. Today was her birthday, but it just did not seem right to celebrate her life while her family was gone.

She stopped walking as tears welled up in her eyes. As soon as Maeve noticed, she turned around to give her the strongest hug she had in her.

“I miss them so much.” The tears started falling.

“I know.. And I wish I knew a way to take that pain away, but..”

Lia shook her head. “You're always there for me, that's more than enough. Without you and your dad I'd be so lost..”

“We're glad to have you. We always have been,” Maeve assured her.

They stood in silence a little while longer, when suddenly they heard a faint whimpering near them. They let go of each other and started looking around.

“There.” Lia pointed at a nearby tree stump. On top was a shivering little heap of fur.

“That's a nexu!” Maeve exclaimed as they stepped closer. “Weird, I haven't seen any nexu around here for a long time.”

The little furball raised its head, revealing a bloody patch on its body below. “Oh no, it's hurt..” Instinctively, Lia reached out to pet its head. As it flinched, she spoke with a soothing voice. “Shh, it's okay, little one. We're not here to hurt you.”

She tried again, slowly, and this time the nexu moved its head towards her hand and sniffed it. Lia smiled as it eventually allowed her to touch it.

“It doesn't look like there are any other nexu around,” Maeve remarked while glancing over the surrounding area. “Should we take it with us? We can't just leave it here..”

As if on cue, the small creature rose to its legs and practically jumped into Lia's arms. “I guess that means 'Yes',” she chuckled.

---

They had quickly agreed to a name while tending to the nexu's wound – Bo.

Bo was sound asleep in Lia's lap, who had withdrawn to her room. As she gently and absent-mindedly stroked the little furball, her gaze fell on the present Maeve had given her that morning.

She reached for it and slowly started unwrapping it. She opened the box and found a holocube inside. As she activated it, tears welled up in her eyes yet again – it was a holograph of her, Maeve and Maeve's dad, with the word 'Family' written at the bottom.