#we’re biased into thinking it’s interesting is what we’re saying

[lame-cameoliob]

Kallus' motivations are so interesting

I just need to get these thoughts out so I’m throwing this ramble here:

Now, this may totally just be me thinking too much (fork found in kitchen) but I feel like when it comes to how we tend to think about Kallus’ characterization, the implications of Kallus’ experience on Onderon are very overlooked. 

So he goes to Onderon with “the boys”-- which, the term “the boys” has its own set of implications about how Kallus must have really cared for those troopers under his command but I digress– and on a patrol they’re attacked, yada yada, we all know the story. 

But Kallus becomes fully paralyzed. He doesn’t describe the extent of his paralyzation but given that he had to watch as his squad was “finished off one by one” it’s pretty fair to assume that he could not move whatsoever. The fear that any person would experience in that situation is completely indescribable, that is genuinely some shit straight out of a night terror. 

He is– as we know– spared (albeit we don’t get exact details (did the merc try to kill him but reinforcements arrived before he could? Did the merc think that Kallus was already dead? Secret 3rd option?)) and he makes a full physical recovery, but there is no way in hell that he is not coming out of that encounter with some crazy PTSD. 

There’s not a whole lot of info on Imperial mental health services but I don’t think it’s a longshot to assume that they are probably close to nonexistent.

So the empire now has… an ISB agent with field experience… with untreated PTSD… where said PTSDs inciting incident pertained to a Lasat… and they’re looking to make an example out of Lasan……….. Are you picking up what I'm putting down here…...?

If you aren’t; it is BY NO MEANS a wild assumption to say that the Empire– essentially– weaponized Kallus’ PTSD, given that he would be less likely to question the moral atrocities happening on Lasan since he was already biased against Lasat as a whole. 

Now, we don’t really have a solid grasp on what Kallus’ exact role in Lasan was since he’s  kiiiiinnnd of an unreliable narrator– I mean we’re given the line in Droids in Distress where he takes credit for giving orders during the siege, but Kallus routinely just runs his mf mouth whenever he’s throwing hands so it’s like…  that could either be the truth or a crazy exaggeration, we as viewers have literally no idea what’s going on there– but it goes without saying that Kallus is obviously not excused from his participation just because of (likely) untreated mental illness, but that is literally like the whole point of his character so like we all knew that

Now, after Lasan, Kallus does something really bizarre for an imperial to do; he accepts the borifle given to him through the Boosan Keerah, and even though he doesn’t know about the cultural significance of that, he still takes it upon himself to learn how to use this weapon. I think that literally any other imperial would have tossed that shit out on sight, so I think it does kind of imply that Kallus did have a good deal of respect for Lasat culture.

Now we can all recall how Kallus is so annoying and also batshit insane whenever he fights Zeb for the first season and a half of rebels, and ME THINKS that this is because he wants to prove to himself that if he were not paralyzed on Onderon, he could have saved the members of his squad. He had to sit by and watch them die, and I think that he just wants the vindication; now you may be thinking, But Emma, he beat the Lasat who gave him his borifle, why would he still be obsessing over this– say it with me now– he is mentally ill. No victory will ever be enough to prove this to himself. Point blank period. 

(edit:) He is for sure operating from a place of extreme predjudice and bias but I think it's worth noting that he’s not operating under the usual xenophobic imperial mindset that other species are automaticaly lesser than. (end edit) This weird obsession that he has in seasons 1 and 2 deels like it's mostly there because he wants to outwit and outfight Zeb (and the rest of the Ghost crew… but especially Zeb) (edit: Though it is 100% influenced by Xenophobia-- his mental illness and xenopobia DO coexist!!)

And after the Honorable Ones???? It’s literally never brought up again. He chills tf out so hard after that it is high key uncanny. And like, yes duh that is because– for writing purposes– that’s the beginning of his redemption and they want viewers to root for him as fulcrum, but it also implies that after finding common ground with Zeb, and understanding where he’s coming from and who Zeb is as a person, he realizes that he’s been CRASHING TF OUT for basically no reason. 

And he is SO QUICK to switch sides?? Like, he is fulcrum at least a decent time before the beginning of season three. The whole point is that the second he asks questions and delves deeper into what the Empires motivations are he is disgusted enough that he doesn’t just drop everything and disappear, no, he became a spy for the rebels because he wants to help. I feel like that just goes to show that, at his core, Kallus is a good person. A deeply confused, and hurt, and misguided person, but a good one. 

I dunno, this is just a really long winded way of saying that Kallus is the perfect example of an imperial pawn. Like the Empire is an incredibly effecient indoctrination machine that exploits people at every turn, especially their own soldiers, and I think that Kallus’ relationship with that indoctrination along with his own motivations is just super super interesting and I think about it literally all the time

[thereareeyesinsidethetrees]

since we daydream so often (to the point that we’re considering that ae may have madd. ae probably have madd. if you’re consistently having to jolt yourself out of it multiple times in a row so you can actually look where you’re going in a public space, that might be a problem)

anyway, since we do that so often, we’ve made and followed the trail of a LOT of stan twins over the years. of course, the aus we talk about are typically either the most interesting or the ones that pop up the most (ae’d say canon stans show up the most by far, which yeah. makes sense)

what’s interesting though is that we’ve noticed a trend of sorts?

so, for portal stans, it’s either slice of life or stan gets all the armour and such and ford gets portal’d into a quadrupedal ✨creature✨

for young adult stans, it’s either the young stan twins get sent to a different timeline or something and have to live with the sea grunks (guys who have everything worked out and are slowly healing with each other’s help vs guys who have processed exactly 0% of any of their trauma and also have not spoken to each other in a decade) or ford is fucked beyond belief and stan is going to try to help dammit

and then for the post portal twins it’s either ‘OH GOD FUCK MY SHITTY MENTAL HEALTH’ or ‘OH GOD FUCK A SHITTY ANOMALY’ and honestly ae think those two are our favorites

the sea grunks having to live in the same house as the young stans and the portal stans literally just vibing are also good but our favorites are definitely the spicy slice of life ones

[lovetogether]

We think the obsession with making mental illness appear to be something one suffers from and / or changes (or ruins) their entire life causes a lot of this paranoia one is faking their illness. Self diagnosis is something we advocate for as we’d rather someone look into recovery for something they may or may not have then never know. That and, most just cannot afford to get a diagnosis (+ for some an official diagnosis would mean putting their livelihood at risk). However the act of show casing mental illness as wholly damaging can create an idea of idealized mental illness. This idea that one must be in constant suffering to justify their diagnosis. Mental illness though is muted, it’s a subtle thing we find, even the most severe cases. Dissociation detaches you from yourself but you still exist as an entity, which can be mistaken as “healthy”. Hallucinations are not often grandiose but rather small intrusions on your life, things which make living an inconvenience but nothing to the level of a horror film. Intrusive thoughts and violent outbursts are real and something which should be discussed but this idea it is otherworldly or obscene helps no one. Most if not all mental illness symptoms can appear quietly. If it were understood just how “normal” it may feel to be mentally ill then perhaps people wouldn’t be so scared to accept themselves. People often think “I relate but it’s not as extreme” when the truth is it’s never entirely that extreme to begin with. Episodes are momentary, mental illness can be debilitating but even in that state it is never full force every moment. Understanding that the mentally ill are closer to you than you realize is an important step to understanding and welcoming the mentally ill into our communities . And accepting ourselves.

[moonstruckme]

i don’t know if this is something you might feel comfortable with writing but could you do something like any of the marauders or poly!marauders where they have a moment of misogyny. it could be towards reader or just in general during a conversation. i think it’s really interesting considering their time period isn’t really that progressive yet.

Thanks for requesting!

Sirius Black x fem!reader ♡ 1.2k words

Three days ago, you’d decided to go on strike. Three days, and now the sink is completely full of disgusting, almost-smelly dishes with food still crusted to them. 

Sirius simply doesn’t do dishes. Ever. You’re not sure if it’s some kind of rich boy syndrome where he thinks he just puts them in the sink and then later they magically disappear, but the assumption that he doesn’t have to clean up after himself is really starting to grate on your nerves. 

You have to remind yourself that Sirius is a great boyfriend. For the most part, you like living with him, you really do. He brings you home sweets after he gets off work, he gives you lazy massages while you sit watching TV at night, and you may be biased, but you think he’s generally a delight to have around. 

So for a while, you tried to tell yourself that it was worth having to do a few extra dishes. You love him, and he loves you, and there’s no reason to rock the boat, right? You could do this extra thing for him, just like he does so many for you. But eventually, it was the lack of appreciation that got to you. 

When Sirius takes his plate to the kitchen after dinner, you keep your voice light as meringue. “Would you mind washing that, please?” 

“Why?” 

Ire flares to life faster than you knew it could. You think your eye twitches. 

“Why?” you repeat.

“Yeah.” Sirius turns to look at you over the kitchen counter, and the confusion is so plain on his face that it mollifies you slightly. “Can’t you do it?” 

“Why would you assume I’m going to do it?” 

He shrugs. “Because you like cleaning stuff, right?” 

You force yourself to breathe in and out through your nose, but despite your best intentions, the words come out with a sharp edge. “Not really.” 

Sirius actually blinks in surprise. “Oh. But I thought…you’re always saying Sunday is relaxing for you because it’s your cleaning day.” 

“That’s because I like to have things be clean, Sirius. Not because I like cleaning.” 

“Oh,” he says again, seeming somewhat lost. “Okay, I’ll just…wait, is that why all these dishes are in the sink? Have you been trying to tell me something?” 

“Those are all yours.” You’re burning through your fury fast, and you know what will be left after it’s used up. But you’re not going to cry about this. You will not. 

“I didn’t realize.” Sirius looks up at you, a crease forming between his brows. “I’m sorry, gorgeous, I had no idea. I just thought you liked doing them yourself.” 

“It’s fine,” you say, but it’s not, and your voice is taking on a slight wobble despite your determination to keep it out. “I just…I wish you wouldn’t have assumed that I’d always do them for you. It kind of hurt my feelings that you never asked, or said thank you.” 

“Aw, baby.” Sirius sets his plate down, coming around the counter. He hesitates a second, looking back at the pile. “I’m going to do those in a second, okay?” he reassures you before crossing the rest of the distance to where you sit on the couch. “I’m so sorry, gorgeous. I’m an idiot.” 

You nod up at the ceiling, blinking to keep your tears from falling. 

A ring-clad hand finds your shoulder, thumb rubbing into your collarbone. “Hey, just let it out.” 

“No, I’m still—” you draw in a breath, and a tear slips down your cheek. “I’m still mad at you. Just ignore this. I don’t want to cry when we’re in a fight.” 

“We don’t have to be in a fight,” he suggests. “I’m sorry for all of it, I was totally in the wrong. I didn’t mean to make you feel…baby, hey, would you look at me?” 

You take a deep breath before you do, more tears falling as soon as gravity allows them. You try to ignore them, but Sirius sets a hand to each cheek, thumbing them away. He looks miserable, lips pressed into a thin line to hide his own discontent. 

“I didn’t mean to make you feel unappreciated,” he says softly. “I do appreciate you. You do so many sweet things every day, and I appreciate them so much. But you’re right, I wasn’t appreciating how you were cleaning my dishes for me. I’m really sorry, sweetheart.”

It all feels really good to hear. Part of you wants to let him go on, but you have too many questions to stay quiet. “You never did your own dishes before, did you?” 

His eyes drop to your shoulder, embarrassed. “No. I guess it might have been my mother, or we had some, like, help” —his face contorts as if the word tastes bitter in his mouth— “but I actually never asked who did them. Pretty fucked, huh?” You agree, but you play it down with a one-shouldered shrug. Sirius seems like he’s feeling guilty enough without your help. “And then in my last place, it was just James and I, so we used pretty much paper everything. No dishes to clean.” He shakes his head at himself, dismayed. “I never even thought about it. Fuck, I’m so sorry. I put that on you without even thinking.” 

“It’s fine,” you reassure him. Then, at the look he gives you, “Okay, it wasn’t before, but I think it can be now. It was…a tad inconsiderate, but now you know, right?” 

He nods determinedly. “Now I know. Promise.” 

“And now you’re not just going to assume every woman in your life will do the housework for you?” 

Despite your teasing tone, Sirius brings a hand to his face, his head lolling back despondently. “Fuck. I’m a real piece of shit, huh?” 

“You were acting like one,” you say laughingly, reaching forward to give him an affectionate shake by the shoulder, “but you’re not.” 

When he tilts his head towards you again, hair falling in his eyes, there’s still evidence of guilt lining his features but he seems to be trying to get back to his usual levity. He pouts at you, taking your face back between his hands. His rings are cool against your skin. “I can’t believe I made you cry because I’m too much of a prick to do my own dishes.”

“This is exactly why I didn’t want to cry.” You roll your eyes, but you’re smiling. “I don’t want your pity, Black.” 

Sirius’ pout worsens, his thumbs stroking over your cheeks. “I can’t help it. You did weeks of unpaid labor.” He kisses the skin above your nose tenderly. “My sweet girl. You should have told me earlier.” 

Your face warms a bit under his hands. “I did sort of take the petty route by letting your dishes pile up.” 

“I’ve earned some petty treatment,” he says firmly. “You should have let my dishes pile up from the first day I moved in. You should have put them in my room so I’d have to ask about them. In my bed, under the sheets.” 

You wrinkle your nose. “Jesus, I’m not that cruel. That’d be disgusting.” 

“I know, baby,” Sirius laughs, pressing another kiss to the tip of your nose. “That’s because I’m the petty one. You’re just in training.”

[rafecamerons-national-anthem]

𝒞𝐸𝒩𝒪𝐵𝐼𝒯𝐸 𝒞𝒪𝒩𝒩𝐸𝒞𝒯𝐼𝒪𝒩𝒮-𝒟𝑅𝐸𝒲 𝒮𝒯𝒜𝑅𝒦𝐸𝒴

𝕤𝕦𝕞𝕞𝕒𝕣𝕪 During a press tour for Hellraiser, Drew and talk show host Y/N form an unexpected connection.

𝕨𝕒𝕣𝕟𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕤𝕞𝕦𝕥

✮♥✮♥✮♥✮♥✮♥✮♥✮♥✮♥✮♥✮♥✮♥✮♥✮✮♥✮♥✮♥✮♥✮♥✮♥✮♥✮♥✮♥✮

The warm buzz of studio lights illuminated the sleek, modern set of the entertainment talk show. Drew Starkey flashing a charming smile at the production assistant who gave him the countdown to go live. He was deep in the whirlwind of press for Hellraiser in which he played Trevor, a character shrouded in mystery and moral ambiguity. Despite the grueling schedule of interviews, Drew had learned to carry his infectious humor and calm charisma into every conversation.

“Three, two, one…and we’re live!” the producer signaled.

The interviewer, Y/N, stepped forward. She was radiant, exuding a blend of professionalism and a unique personal warmth that made her interviews resonate with both her audience and the celebrities she spoke with. Drew couldn’t help but notice how her smile lit up the room.

“Welcome to our show! Today, we have the talented Drew Starkey with us to talk about his latest film, Hellraiser. Drew, thank you for joining us!”

“It’s a pleasure to be here,” he replied, his Southern lilt soft but captivating.

Y/N dove into the interview with ease, asking him questions about his process for preparing for such a psychologically complex role and how he found working with a legendary franchise like Hellraiser. Drew answered thoughtfully, occasionally cracking jokes that had her laughing. He found her laughter infectious.

“So, Trevor is a character who’s…let’s just say, morally gray,” Y/N said, leaning forward. “Did you find it challenging to connect with him?”

Drew paused, his piercing blue eyes locking with hers. “Trevor’s definitely not someone you’d call a role model,” he said with a laugh. “But I think he’s fascinating because he’s so human. He’s flawed, and those flaws are what make him interesting.”

Y/N nodded, impressed. “It sounds like you really dug deep. Were there moments where you found yourself almost sympathizing with him, despite…well, everything?”

“Absolutely,” Drew said, his gaze softening. “I think every character deserves to be understood, even when their actions aren’t right. And maybe I’m a little biased, but I think there’s a part of Trevor that genuinely believed he could fix things, until it all unraveled.”

Y/N leaned back, her expression thoughtful. “It’s always interesting to see actors bring that kind of depth to roles like this. You’ve definitely piqued my interest even more now!”

Drew grinned. “That’s the goal.”

As the interview progressed, Drew felt himself becoming more and more captivated by Y/N. She had an intelligence and kindness that made the conversation flow naturally. There was a twinkle in her eye whenever she teased him, and Drew found himself leaning into their banter.

At one point, when Y/N asked him about the practical effects used in the film, Drew leaned in, smirking. “You sound like you’ve been doing your homework. Big Hellraiser fan?”

She laughed, pretending to be offended. “Are you suggesting I didn’t know about Hellraiser before this interview?”

Drew chuckled. “Not at all. But now I’m wondering, are you more of a Cenobite fan or Team Trevor?”

Y/N raised an eyebrow, playing along. “Team Trevor? Hmm. I think I need to see the movie first before I pledge my allegiance.”

“Fair enough,” Drew replied. “But I’ll hold you to that.”

As the interview wrapped up, Y/N thanked Drew for his time. “This has been such a fun conversation,” she said genuinely.

“Likewise,” Drew said. And before he knew it, he blurted, “Hey, uh…do you usually do these interviews, or was this a one time thing?”

Y/N tilted her head, a hint of curiosity in her smile. “I host the show, so I do this often. Why do you ask?”

Drew scratched the back of his neck, uncharacteristically nervous. “Oh, just wondering. You’re really good at this, that’s all.”

“Thank you,” she said warmly.

Before he left the studio, Drew caught her in the hallway. “Y/N,” he said, stopping her gently. “I know this might be weird since we just met, but would you maybe want to grab coffee sometime? Totally casual.”

Y/N blinked, momentarily surprised. Then her lips curved into a smile. “Totally casual?” she teased.

Drew chuckled. “Well, I’d settle for coffee, but if you’d rather get dinner, I wouldn’t complain.”

She laughed, shaking her head. “You know what? Why not? I’d love to.”

As Drew walked away, his heart felt lighter than it had in weeks. Press tours could be exhausting, but every so often, they brought something unexpected, like meeting someone who made you feel like a character in a story worth telling.

The days following their brief hallway encounter played out like a whirlwind for Drew, who was consumed by interviews, fan events, and late night talk show appearances. But amidst the chaos, one thought kept him grounded, his upcoming coffee date with Y/N. He hadn’t felt this level of nervous anticipation in a long time, and it was both exhilarating and terrifying.

For Y/N, her own schedule wasn’t any less hectic. Between prepping for future interviews and managing the behind the scenes chaos of her show, she found herself replaying snippets of her conversation with Drew in her mind. There was something about his genuine nature, the way he didn’t take himself too seriously, that intrigued her.

The day of their coffee meet up, Drew arrived early at a cozy cafe tucked into a quiet street corner. The smell of fresh pastries and espresso filled the air, and Drew ordered two lattes to keep himself busy. His usual cool demeanor was slightly offset by the way he kept glancing toward the door.

When Y/N walked in, her presence immediately lit up the room. Dressed casually but effortlessly stylish, she smiled when she spotted him waving her over.

“Hey,” she said as she approached the table. “You didn’t have to order for me, but I appreciate it.”

“Figured I’d take a gamble,” Drew said, sliding the latte toward her. “If you hate it, I’ll drink it and get you something else. Full service.”

She laughed, taking a seat. “Luckily for you, this is perfect.”

The conversation picked up right where they’d left off during the interview, flowing naturally as they talked about everything from their favorite movies to embarrassing audition stories. Drew opened up about the quirks of filming Hellraiser and how the dark themes sometimes left him mentally drained.

Y/N shared stories from her career, admitting that interviewing celebrities wasn’t always glamorous, especially when some arrived moody or overly guarded. “But you,” she said, smirking, “are definitely one of the better ones.”

“High praise,” Drew said with a grin. “I’ll try not to let it go to my head.”

As the hours ticked by, Drew felt the initial nerves dissolve into something far more comfortable. He found himself studying the way Y/N laughed, how her eyes lit up when she talked about things she was passionate about.

“So,” she said, leaning back in her chair, “what’s next for you? Are you diving into another project right away?”

“I’ve got a couple of things lined up,” he said. “But nothing set in stone yet. Honestly, it’s nice to just…breathe for a second. What about you? Any big interviews coming up?”

She chuckled. “A few. But I think this one might be hard to top.”

Drew raised an eyebrow. “Oh? Was it the latte? Or my winning personality?”

“Let’s call it a combination,” she teased.

By the time they finished their coffee, neither wanted to leave. Drew hesitated for a moment before asking, “This was really great. Would you want to do it again? Maybe dinner next time?”

Y/N tilted her head, a playful smile tugging at her lips. “Are you asking me out, Mr. Starkey?”

He laughed, leaning forward slightly. “I think I am. Is that okay?”

“It’s more than okay,” she said softly.

As their dates became more frequent, the chemistry between Drew and Y/N grew impossible to ignore. Dinner at a quaint Italian bistro turned into an after-hours walk through the city streets, the glow of streetlights illuminating their path. Drew found himself gravitating closer to her, their arms brushing with every step.

“You know,” Y/N said, glancing up at him, “this feels kind of surreal. I usually keep my personal life pretty…private.”

Drew stopped walking, gently catching her hand to pull her into a quiet alcove away from the crowd. The faint hum of the city was their only audience. “Do you want to keep this private?” he asked, his voice low but steady.

She searched his face, her heart racing. “I don’t know. I guess I’m just not used to this kind of attention.”

Drew smiled, brushing a strand of hair from her face. “I get that. But for what it’s worth, I’d fight to keep this, whatever this is, away from all the noise. You’re worth it.”

Y/N felt her breath hitch as his hand lingered near her cheek. Drew’s eyes, a mesmerizing shade of blue under the streetlights, searched hers as if seeking permission. Without thinking, she stepped closer, their faces mere inches apart.

“Drew…” she began, but before she could finish, his lips brushed against hers, tentative at first, as if testing the waters.

The kiss deepened almost instantly, the world around them melting away. Drew’s hand slid to the small of her back, pulling her closer as her fingers tangled in his hair. The warmth of his touch sent sparks through her, and she couldn’t help but smile against his lips.

When they finally broke apart, both slightly breathless, Drew let out a soft chuckle. “I’ve been wanting to do that since the interview,” he admitted, his forehead resting against hers.

“Really?” Y/N asked, teasing. “Because I thought you were playing it cool back then.”

“Oh, I was trying,” Drew said, his grin widening. “But you made it impossible.”

Their shared laughter echoed softly in the night, and Drew laced his fingers with hers as they continued their walk. The lingering electricity between them made every glance, every accidental touch, feel loaded with anticipation.

Later that night, as they stood outside Y/N’s apartment, Drew hesitated. “I don’t want to push,” he said, his voice sincere. “But I also don’t really want to say goodbye just yet.”

Y/N bit her lip, her cheeks flushing. “Then don’t.”

Drew followed her inside, and the moment the door closed, the restraint they’d shown earlier dissolved. He pressed her gently against the wall, his hands framing her face as their lips collided in a heated kiss. The room filled with the quiet sounds of their shared passion, her hands gripping the lapels of his jacket as he trailed kisses along her jawline.

Drew’s heart hammered in his chest as he took in the sight of her. Her eyes sparkled with a fiery desire that mirrored his own. He couldn’t believe this was happening. They’d danced around their feelings for what felt like an eternity, and now they were finally giving in to the magnetic pull that had drawn them together.

Her scent was intoxicating, a blend of sweet vanilla and a hint of something spicy that made him want to devour her whole. His hands slid down from her face to the curve of her neck, his thumbs tracing the delicate line of her collarbone as they kissed with a hunger that seemed insatiable.

Her breath was hot against his skin as she whispered his name, sending a shiver down his spine. He responded by deepening the kiss, his tongue exploring the warm cavern of her mouth as her own danced with his. The world outside the room ceased to exist; all that mattered was the feel of her body pressed against his, the taste of her, the sound of her moaning softly in response to his touch.

With a growl of desire, Drew lifted her up, her legs wrapping around his waist as he carried her to the bed. He laid her down gently, breaking the kiss only long enough to remove his jacket and shirt. She sat up, eager to help, her nimble fingers working on the buttons of his pants. "Take these off," she demanded, her voice low and sultry. "I need you. Now."

Their clothes fell away in a tangle of fabric, revealing the raw beauty of their entwined limbs. Drew's muscles rippled in the dim light, and she couldn't help but admire him. He paused for a moment to appreciate the view of her lying before him, her chest heaving with anticipation. The air was thick with tension, charged with the electricity of their desire.

Her hands roamed over his bare chest, feeling the rapid beating of his heart beneath her fingertips. He kissed her again, harder this time, as if trying to claim every inch of her. Their bodies rolled together on the bed, a tapestry of limbs and passion. He could feel the heat emanating from her, and it fueled his own need.

Their kisses grew more feverish, their breaths mingling in a rhythm that matched the pounding of their hearts. Drew's hand slipped down to her thigh, his touch feather light as he moved it higher. She gasped into his mouth when his fingers reached the apex of her legs, finding her already wet and ready. He teased her gently, making her squirm with pleasure.

Her hips bucked against his hand as he touched her more insistently, her nails digging into his back. He could feel her body tightening, her muscles coiling like a spring ready to release. She whispered his name again, a plea that he understood all too well. He positioned himself between her legs, their gazes locked, and pushed into her with a slow, deliberate thrust that sent waves of pleasure crashing through her body.

Their movements grew more urgent, their breaths ragged and intermingling as they found a rhythm that seemed to echo the very beating of their hearts. Drew’s muscles flexed with each powerful stroke, his eyes never leaving hers as he claimed her over and over. She wrapped her legs around him, pulling him deeper, her heels digging into his lower back. The friction was exquisite, the sensation of him filling her completely driving her to the brink of ecstasy.

Her breath hitched in her throat as she felt the first tremors of her climax begin to build. "Drew," she gasped, her voice a desperate whimper. "I’m going to come." He groaned in response, his own release just within reach. He increased his pace, driving into her harder and faster, his thumb circling her clit in time with his thrusts. The pressure grew, a delicious ache that coiled tighter with each movement.

With a cry that was half moan, half scream, she shattered, her body arching off the bed as the most intense orgasm of her life ripped through her. Drew followed closely behind, his own release a hot wave that flooded her core. They clung to each other, their bodies trembling in the aftermath of their shared passion. For a moment, time itself seemed to stand still, the only sounds in the room their panting breaths and the beating of their hearts.

As the intensity of their climax subsided, she rolled them over so that she was on top, straddling his waist. She looked down at him with a mischievous smile, her eyes gleaming with unbridled lust. "Let me ride you," she said, her voice still thick with passion. Drew's eyes widened slightly, his cock already showing signs of renewed interest at the thought. He nodded eagerly, his hands moving to her hips to help position her.

With a graceful move, she lowered herself onto him, her slick heat enveloping his hardness. He groaned, his hands gripping her hips as she began to move, her movements slow and deliberate. She set the pace, rising and falling on him like a wave, her breasts bouncing with each downward stroke. Drew watched, his eyes glued to the erotic sight of her above him, her hair cascading down her back as she took charge of their lovemaking.

He could feel himself hardening again, his body responding to the delicious friction and the visual feast before him. "Ride me, baby," he encouraged, his voice a gruff whisper. She took his words as a challenge, picking up the pace and leaning forward to grind against him. The sensation was almost too much to handle; the angle was perfect, and every movement sent bolts of pleasure shooting through him.

Their bodies moved in perfect harmony, a dance of passion that neither of them wanted to end. She leaned down, capturing his mouth in a searing kiss as she rode him, their tongues dueling with the same fervor as their hips. Drew's hands roamed her back, his fingertips tracing the path of her spine as she moved. He could feel himself getting closer to the edge again, the pressure building in his lower abdomen.

"Like this?" Her breasts bobbed in his face, and he couldn't resist the temptation. He took one of her nipples into his mouth, sucking and nipping at it gently as he whispered "Just like that baby". She gasped, her movements faltering for a moment before she regained control, pushing down harder on him. The sensation was exquisite, and he knew she was feeling it too, her walls clenching around him with each thrust.

Their rhythm grew more erratic, their kisses more desperate. Drew's hands slid to her ass, his fingers digging into the soft flesh as he met her hips with his own, pushing up into her as she came down. He could feel his orgasm building, the pressure reaching a crescendo. "I'm gonna come," he warned her, his voice strained. She responded by quickening her pace, her breaths coming in short, sharp gasps.

With one final, powerful thrust, Drew erupted, filling her with his warmth. She threw her head back and screamed his name, her own orgasm cresting over her like a tidal wave. They held onto each other, their bodies shaking, as the last tremors of pleasure subsided. They collapsed together, their limbs tangled and their hearts racing in time with each other's.

Their breaths grew steadier as the reality of what had just happened settled over them. They shared a smile, a silent acknowledgment of the connection that had just been forged between them. It was a moment of pure, unfiltered intimacy that neither of them would ever forget.

They lay there, basking in the afterglow of their lovemaking, their skin slick with sweat. Her head rested on his chest, and she could feel the steady thump of his heart beneath her ear. He wrapped his arms around her, holding her close, and she felt a sense of belonging that she hadn't felt in a very long time.

For now, the world outside the room didn't matter. All that mattered was the warmth of his embrace, the sound of their mingled breaths, and the promise of more passionate moments to come. They had crossed a line tonight, but it was one that neither of them regretted. Instead, it was a line that had brought them closer together, forging a bond that was stronger than any they had ever known.

And as they lay there, entwined in each other's arms, they both knew that this was just the beginning of something beautiful. Something that had been a long time in the making and was now, finally, allowed to flourish without restraint. Their bodies were sated, but their minds were racing with the endless possibilities of what lay ahead.

Drew gently stroked her hair, feeling the softness against his fingertips. "That was amazing," he murmured, his voice filled with awe. She smiled against his chest, feeling his heartbeat slow to a more relaxed tempo. "It was," she agreed, her voice a contented purr.

They stayed like that for a while longer, their limbs tangled and their hearts still beating in a passion induced symphony. Eventually, she lifted her head to look at him, her eyes filled with a love that was new and exciting. "I've wanted this for so long," she admitted, her voice soft.

He leaned in to kiss her forehead, his eyes searching hers. "Me too," he confessed, his thumb caressing her cheek. "But it was worth the wait." She nodded, her eyes shining with happiness. They shared a tender kiss, one that spoke of the deep connection that had been forged between them.

The room was bathed in the soft glow of candlelight, casting flickering shadows across their naked forms. They were lost in their own little world, a sanctuary where only passion and love reigned supreme. And as they held each other close, they knew that no matter what challenges they faced, they would always have this moment.

Their bodies were still entwined, but their minds had already moved on to the next phase of exploration. They were eager to learn every inch of each other, to know what made the other gasp and moan with pleasure. Drew rolled them over so she was beneath him again, his cock already hardening with renewed desire.

He kissed her deeply, his hands roaming over her body, reacquainting themselves with her curves and valleys. She responded eagerly, her legs parting to welcome him back into her. He slid in easily, their bodies fitting together like two puzzle pieces that had been separated for far too long.

Their movements grew slower, more deliberate, as if they were savoring every moment of this newfound intimacy. They kissed and touched, exploring each other with a gentle reverence that spoke of a deep, abiding love. This was more than just sex; it was the culmination of a connection that had been growing between them for months.

As they made love again, their bodies moving in a silent symphony of passion, they both knew that nothing could ever be the same between them. They had crossed a line, and there was no going back. But in that moment, as they climbed the peaks of ecstasy together, they wouldn't have had it any other way. This was where they belonged, in each other's arms, sharing the most intimate and beautiful experience two people could share.

And as they lay there, basking in the warmth of their love, they promised each other that this was just the first of many such nights. They had a lifetime of passion to explore, and they were ready to embrace it all. They were ready to let go of the past and hold onto each other, come what may.

Their kiss grew more urgent as the room grew darker, the candles flickering out one by one. But the flame of their desire burned brightly, a beacon in the night that would never be extinguished. They had found something rare and precious, and they weren't about to let it go.

With each stroke, each caress, they sealed their fate together, binding their hearts and souls in a way that would last an eternity. And as they drifted off to sleep, tangled in the sheets and each other's embrace, they knew that they had discovered something that could never be taken away from them: a love that was truly unbreakable.

“Are you always this charming?” she teased between kisses, her voice breathy.

Drew smirked against her skin. “Only with you.”

The night stretched on, the boundaries between them blurring as they lost themselves in one another. Drew was equal parts tender and fervent, his touch both grounding and electrifying. For Y/N, it felt like stepping into a dream she never wanted to wake from, a perfect mix of passion and connection.

By the time the sun began to rise, they lay tangled together on her bed, Drew’s arm draped over her waist as he traced lazy patterns on her skin. “You realize this is probably going to make headlines, right?” Y/N murmured, her voice laced with both humor and contentment.

Drew chuckled, pressing a kiss to her temple. “Let them talk. I’m exactly where I want to be.”

And for the first time in a long time, so was she.

[lilislegacy]

an analysis: piper calling percy unimpressive

(warning: i wrote this at 1 am)

so basically

remember how we all despised piper mclean when she had the audacity to call our beloved percy “unimpressive” and we all lost our shit on the inside a little bit?

i truly don’t think she meant it in the way we think she did. i think we’re all just defensive of our boy.

piper clearly states that she is comparing percy to jason. first of all, jason is her boyfriend, so of course she’s biased. second of all, hera was manipulating piper to be obsessed with jason. so other guys and girls are automatically unimpressive to her.

and here’s the big thing: piper does not call him unattractive. she does not call him ugly. she simply says he’s not her type. piper is clearly attracted to the “good boy” look. jason is literally your all-american boy. he’s tall with light skin, a sturdy build, neat blonde hair, and blue eyes. part of why annabeth doesn’t trust him is because she is unsettled by his “perfect” appearance. jason is also obedient and well-mannered. he’s your standard good boy.

and the fact of the matter is: percy looks like a “bad boy”. and often, he acts like one too. him and jason are contrasts of each other. a symbolic representation of this: their features. percy has a darker complexion, messy black hair, unique green eyes, and a “sarcastic troublemaker smile.” he’s muscular, but in a leaner and more trim way. he’s tall, but he’s not a towering muscleman by any means. not that jason is either, but don’t forget, percy is a whole one. inch. (GASP) shorter than jason (which to me isn’t even noticeable, so her pointing it out as a flaw just proves that she’s so incredibly biased towards jason.) their other big contrasting feature: their personalities. jason is respectful and well-mannered. very obedient and under control. percy, however, makes jokes during inappropriate moments, talks back to people of power and authority, gets angry quickly, and loses control easily. i mean, literally right after she says this, percy starts insulting the roman god Bacchus and rapidly escalates a situation because of his natural instinct to be disobedient. piper is horrified by him doing this, especially because jason would never. does it make US all love percy very much? yes. but piper isn’t us.

THAT SAID, even she can’t actually call him unattractive. she even went as far to state that she can see why annabeth likes him, which means even her magically-obsessed-with-jason brain can still recognize his attractiveness and see why girls find him appealing. she calls him “cute in a scruffy way,” meaning she thinks that he’s got a disheveled attractiveness to him. she also once said that his pleading eyes are like a cute baby seal’s - even she can’t deny that his eyes are wonderful. so even though piper calls him unimpressive, i think rick put in a lot of clues here showing us that she acknowledges him as a conventionally attractive person, even if she’s not personally attracted to him.

let’s sum it up, shall we?

what does it say about percy? absolutely nothing. piper calling percy unimpressive is an inaccurate and unreliable source when it comes to analyzing percy’s physical appearance, especially if you don’t consider the context. this was rick’s way of showing piper’s clear preference towards jason, just like annabeth has a clear preference towards percy. and even though she said this, rick also made her give us several hints that percy is handsome, just not in a way she’s inclined towards. rick wanted love triangles to be completely out of the question with these 4. he wanted to make it very clear that annabeth had no interest in jason, and that piper had no interest in percy. so since piper is so drawn towards jason, percy had to be very different from him in her eyes.

jason is your a superman, percy is your batman

jason is your captain america, percy is your iron man. some even say spider man.

so put yourself in piper’s shoes: after hearing percy jackson’s name non-stop for 6 months, hearing him compared to jason, hearing of all his accomplishments and how heroic he is - i mean, the guy was literally honored on olympus and offered godhood - she was expecting a stereotypical good-boy hero. a hercules. a superman. your standard muscular blinding-white-teeth-smile hunk. the conventional, well-mannered good boy. and instead she got a wild and untamed, trouble-making bad boy. percy has an edge to him. he’s intimidating and unpredictable. he’s sarcastic and witty. he just looks like he’s up to no good. she wasn’t expecting any of that. that’s not what we’re taught a hero is supposed to be like or look like.

jason is appealing in a “he’d be a respectable and sturdy husband” way.

percy is appealing in a “he’s gonna fuck up my life but i so badly want him to” kind of way. (even though once you get to know him, you see he’s literally the world’s best boyfriend. piper even gets jealous of how loving he is towards annabeth.)

she had this exact idea of what he would be, and he wasn’t that. hence her calling him “unimpressive.” but it says nothing about his attractiveness.

i rest my case, your honor.

thank you for coming to my ted talk

disclaimer: i am not saying percy is actually a bad boy or a bad guy. he is a sweetheart. he has the biggest heart ever. he’s a cute little cinnamon roll. i am simply talking of first impressions from outsiders, and how he appears if you don’t know him.

[ju1cyfru1t]

hey!! if you are taking requests, i wanted to request the tmnt mm! boys having a crush on a fem! reader who’s EXACTLY like raph. she loves fighting, may or may not have anger issues, cursed with resting bitch face, BUT, she’s actually really sweet and outgoing. never afraid to speak her mind, so, she may come across as rude sometimes, but, she never really means to be. (lowkey a biased request but SSSHH, we’re not gonna talk about that)

MUTANT MAYHEM REQUEST⁉️⁉️ AYO THANK YOU

Mutant Mayhem! Mikey, Leo, Donnie, Raph x crush! fem! reader

tmnt mutant mayhem x reader

reader with a Raph-like personality

fluff! :D hcs, fem! reader, cursing

PSA: I HAVE ONLY SEEN THIS MOVIE LIKE TWICE SO I TRIED MY BEST 🤞🤞🤞

Let’s just set this up by saying you have a class with them in school and you get partnered for a project or sit next to each other or WHATEVER YOU WANT. Any class you want bae; math, English, science, idc. all of them IDC

Mikey 🍉

- the moment he met you, he made it his goal to make you laugh or at the very least smile

- “*insert dumbass joke here*, am I right? HAHAha…hah..ha…”

- Lowkey intimidated at first, he doesn’t really know what to say

- will not stfu tho

- ^not in like a bad way or anything. he’s just outgoing

- and when you finally show your outgoing side? pure relief for him

- really starts to like you after seeing your sweeter, softer side. he appreciates that you seem to trust him.

- again, he is not giving up until he can make you laugh or at least smile just a little bit, no matter how long it takes. 5 minutes? 5 days? NEVER BACK DOWN NEVER GIVE UP ‼️

- talks a lot, but is also a fairly good listener while you talk about your interests

- lots of compliments from him

- still a little intimidated by you and really does whatever you tell him to

- ^ “yes ma’am.”

- it’s giving golden retriever + black cat. sunshine + midnight rain. or a tornado or something

Leo

- You know that moment when he saw April in the movie? Shhhhh just pretend it was like that when he saw you

- except with your RBF

- nervous af but he’s trying his best

- “your number? for the project? uh, I mean, yeah that’s cool-“

- really wants to impress you in some way

- “I mean not to brag or anything, but-“

- AND you’re opening up to him? have mercy

- shocked at how actually nice you are despite your intense demeanor

- admires your confidence more than anything as he gets to know you

- “you like wrestling? yeah, my brother does that…it’s cool.”

- speaking of his brothers, they are FLAMING him

- him??? with a girl like YOU?? preposterous

- the type to agree with almost anything you say so you’ll like him. esp if you’re really outspoken and opinionated.

- if he ever saw you get into a fight, he is freaking tf out and not in a good way

- asks to borrows pencils or paper just to have an excuse to talk to you when he can’t think of anything else

- SIMP. he will walk you to class, would offer to carry your books, the whole shabang.

Donnie

- your RBF is really catching him off guard

- like, why are you looking at him like that???

- lowk scared of you but would never admit it, not even to himself

- the only way you’re really speaking for the first time is if you’re partnered for a project or if you talk to him or wtv, but he is not starting a conversation with you on his own

- IMMEDIATELY recognizes that you seem eerily similar to someone he knows really well…

- heaven forbid he find out you have a common interest. whether it be k-pop, anime, comics/manga, technology, ANYTHING. he is info dumping whether you want him to or not

- really prefers your nicer, outgoing side over your anger any day

- it would take a really long time for him to recognize that he’s interested in you

- I mean, it’s kind of unexpected for him to like someone who’s so…rugged? tough? intimidating?

- probably easy to argue with if you don’t agree on something

- thinks it’s hella funny to see you put someone in there place and thinks it’s so amazing to be able you can stand up for yourself like that

- unsure on how to express his emotions properly, but he’s trying his best. I mean, he’s not exactly experienced-

- videos any fight you get into while shouting “WORLD STAAAR”

Raph

- what a dream duo /sar

- being so for real, you would probably not get along at first. angry + angry does not mix well.

- he would start to like you after getting to know you better

- you know when you meet someone and you just have so much in common that it just like clicks???

- feels like you won’t judge him for his issues bc you’re the same way. not that he cares what others thinks, but it’s still nice yk?

- even though it is easy for you to get into stupid arguments but shhhhh

- DENIES DENIES DENIES

- “ ew, I do not like her.” even tho he totally does

- lowk rlly wants you to come to his wrestling matches after you talk about liking fighting

- “yeah, you could come watch sometime…or whatever.”

- utilizes the ‘playing it cool’ method. tries to at least.

- you’re getting into a fight? hit him up. TRUST he will be there

- ^cheers you on

- brags about all the crazy shit he and his brothers do to impress you even if you’re really not all that impressed

[legally-allowed-to-slime]

been receiving asks in various degrees of seriousness (you guys are very nice) so i might as well elaborate on galaxy duo before any actual toxicity leaks in

first of all. i could care less if you love galaxy duo and think they’re fluffy and cute. there’s only so much objective interpretation you can draw from literal cubes, so at a certain point it’s just your biases forming your opinions, same way you can’t build a house with two bricks. personally, i found them interesting, my interest dipped slightly in the latter half of WL, but who knows? their dynamic could change if/when there’s a new season.

a disclaimer in advance: if it wasn’t already apparent by the asks (anyway the only people who will see this are people who were following me already but this is jic), i am a pearl main. i don’t watch scott because i don’t like the editing. therefore my takes are exceedingly biased but so is pearl, so there’s that.

let’s talk about their dynamic pre-WL. for LL, i’ll accept that they were a cute wholesome duo. i didn’t watch LL so i can’t really say anything, but from what i’ve heard they were your regular alliance. and then in DL. well. the Horrors. i’ve said a lot about DL already so we’re going to settle and say, pearl absolutely deserved to be mad at scott. abandoning her and not even considering a polycule was not very open minded of him

anyway throughout LiL and SL she’s still angry at him and wants to kill him, which again, i find fair because of the tilly death do us part sacrifice (i invite you to rethink the implications of that line paired with what he did next. essentially saying “we break up when one of us dies” and then killing yourself. ?).

and then add in the element of gem in SL. trust me she’s relevant. gem and pearl have a thing going on, scott doesn’t like it because he sees it as gem nearly leaving their alliance for his ex, but still, because gem is Gem, he holds back on giving her the jimmy/pearl/joel treatment and still tries to be nice to her.

WL begins. it’s a lot. gem doesn’t like pearl because she viewed it as a betrayal and also she finds it funny to play around with her like that. scott doesn’t like pearl. pearl doesn’t like scott.

this is where it starts to get contentious, but also a hill that i will die on: the Gs were absolutely toxic, at least for the first four episodes. i don’t really feel like pointing out all the clips of the pointed comments, the veiled insults, the DIRECT QUOTE of “we’re a family whether you like it or not”, so i’ll use two examples, one for scott, one for pearl.

pearl borderline sold her alliance out. mumbo and skizz came up to pearl, explicitly told her that they were trying to kill her allies, and she not only agreed but engaged in friendly conversation with them for the entirety of their hiding. when the rest of the Gs came back (even joel commented on how pearl was alone at the base), mumbo even helped pearl cover up.

this is not normal alliance behaviour, and definitely not normal pearl behaviour. if pearl was happy in the alliance she wouldn’t have practically invited two would-be murderers to kill her allies. neither is she unjustified with how scott and cleo dismissed her feelings from DL. look, pearl is one of the most loyal lifers, to the point she faced a messy breakup with gem. even to mumbo she was reluctant to trash talk scott or cleo, but still, she let them make the hole, because plain and simple, the alliance was toxic.

as for scott; scott was more friendly to gem than pearl. see, i told you she was relevant. this is less black-and-white than the mumbo and skizz trap, but in social terms it means a lot. it’s like your bestie siding with your ex instead of you, which if you think about it was exactly what was happening. scott spouts a lot about loyalty, but he thinks about it very plainly: loyalty is killing yourself for your ally. but in fact what he did was push the “antagoniser” narrative onto pearl and reinforce and encourage it. gem said an inch, he said a mile.

not to say gem wasn’t the one who created it in the first place, but as pearl’s ally, scott’s first reaction shouldn’t have been to side with gem (he admits to pearl that he doesn’t know what she did, but that based off gem’s reaction he just assumes that pearl did something wrong, despite KNOWING that gem has beef with pearl from SL and is thus an unreliable narrator). as pearl’s (and impulse’s, but to a lesser extent because impulse kind of deserved it for going on about the cows) ally, he shouldn’t have brought it up at the start of every session and result in pearl defending herself furiously before he dragged pearl and impulse to apologise to gem.

this is not up for debate. wl!pearl did nothing to gem, or to anyone. scott tried to convince her to apologise to gem, for nothing. again, even gem points this out to pearl, and because pearl is loyal to a fault, she says that scott’s her ally.

anyway. the Gs were toxic for at least the first four episodes, full stop.

here’s where it starts to derail slightly (for me, at least): the sacrifice. but, you know, let’s examine the circumstances a little closer. as background information, pearl was the only yellow/red whose allies didn’t try to get them a kill. like, the Gs’ approach to gaining lives is not to kill others but to spend one session doing nothing before the guy with the most lives offers to kill himself. strange. lots of issues, these two.

anyway, scott offers the sacrifice, and pearl’s initial reaction is to refuse. the alliance talks it through, and decides it would take the target off scott’s back and give pearl a life. pearl and scott have pretty similar playstyles, in that while they do engage in more rp than say, grian or jimmy, they are also, in a way, sweats. the sacrifice was discussed logically, practically, and it turned out to be a logical decision because without it pearl would’ve permadied a few sessions too early.

here’s where i was a little thrown off, by the presenting that this would be somehow cathartic (iirc, scott uses this exact word) because pearl finally gets to kill scott. it’s funny because pearl does admit while they’re going back to base that she would’ve preferred a 1v1, but i don’t think her deal was ever over that she wanted scott to die. sure, she wanted scott dead, but it was because she didn’t have agency in the dl finale. in the same way, the WL sacrifice isn’t exactly because she really wanted the life (she refused it at first), or because she wanted to kill scott so badly (she said she wanted a 1v1), but mainly because both parties recognised that it was the most sensible decision to do in the circumstances that they were in (scott was dark green, pearl needed a life). to me, it didn’t address pearl’s lack of control over the season that she won, or scott’s distrust of pearl.

but whatever. they act friendly for the rest of the season, because technically their story’s been resolved, so there’s no aggression to be acted out. nothing galaxy duo there.

the ONLY OTHER thing of note is the?? matching hoodie?? not on my bingo card at all. i’ve spoken about it in some ask before but it’s just so random to me? like it never went anywhere, and i don’t see why scott wanted to match red hoodies with her anyway. like why her, specifically? pearl hadn’t killed anyone besides martyn, and that was to avenge her allies. they never address this so i suppose this lack of logic is what spurs on the majormoon truthers; that scott loves pearl so much that he wants to match with her so they can be like a #dynamicduo or something.

uhhhhhhhh. i dunno. it’s just so random and again, because it’s never brought up besides pearl’s cursory “oh, we’re matching” (which we now know was planned because scott asked for permission when getting the skin), it doesn’t have any narrative significance to me. maybe scott explains it in his video. idk

anyway, my problem was how a duo with so much bad blood (>3 seasons), to the point that they were at each other’s throats while in the same alliance, was just kinda. rushed? look, i know the life series isn’t scripted, and the players just have to make do with whatever improv they can do, and i do think scott and pearl did the best with what they had, but personally i was hoping that they wouldn’t go the “pearl finally forgives scott! yay scott for sacrificing!” route because it’s pushed under the rug so suddenly in the hopes of achieving any sort of closure.

again, ccs are fine, i think they were great, i wasn’t a big fan of how the story was handled. that’s it

[heartbreakgrill]

Delicate: Vessel (Sleep Token); Part 8; "My reputation's never been worse."

“This is so fucking stupid.”

I shoved my hands into my hoodie pocket, eyes rolling at the sight of the boys, noise makers between their lips, some jank ass sign unraveling in the wind.

“Your mom’s fucking stupid,” Max fired back with his usual goofy smile, words muffled from the noise maker in his mouth. His knocked his fist against my elbow gently as he passed by, moving to help Cy hold up the poster board.

They’d bought it at a random Walgreens, after having forced the Uber driver to pull over, abruptly. Then, with bumpy hands and terrible penmanship, they wrote out some sarcastic for Sam about returning home from prison.

“Don’t be a sour puss, dude,” Adam replied. His brows were furrowed, chin dipping side to side in disagreement to my negative statement.

I looked to him, watching as he pulled a cone shaped hat down onto his hair, the rubber band snug against his chin. The meer humor of the too-small hat on his head made his words lose any meaning. I wanted to laugh, but instead I shot back, my brows skeptically, sarcasm quick as air, “Who? Me? No, never!”

Adam scoffed a laugh. His hat was finally adjusted now, hands falling to his sides exasperatedly. “Seriously. Just try to be nice, for once. Sam said Daisy’s, like, so sweet.” My skepticism only darkened my gaze, sarcasm sinking into genuine wonder, “So, what, we’re gonna be dancing around some child all summer?”

It was a valid question. When Sam asked us about Daisy joining the tour for the summer, everyone else just jumped on board. I, however, took a little convincing. What business did she even have here, 5,000 miles from home? It’s not like she had any professional connections to touch on, nor was London that interesting. Or, maybe I was just being a pessimist, again…

To say the least, I had trust issues. Or, in my therapist’s more light turn of phrase, I was cautious, careful to new people because I had a lot on the line with my career and had been through numerous situations with others that ended up with me, well…in therapy.

Max battled with the cardboard sign as the wind seemed to be winning the war. He struggled to get the words out as he scuffled to straighten its edges, which seemed to take more work than it needed to, “She’s literally only 5 years younger than you.”

“So, a child?”

“So, a 23 year old, grown woman. She’s really smart, Sam said. I’m sure you can have some fun conversations about the elements and shit.”

“Sam’s biased,” I murmured, focused now on the cigarette between my pointer and middle fingers. I dallied with lighting it, displaced energy in the act. It was early. I was tired.

“Sam’s one of your best mates,” Cy shot me a look. “Listen, just give her a chance. Stop moping just because you think some woman’s gonna take away from our guy time this summer.”

I straightened up, offense hitting my features like a stone wall, “When did I say that? I’m just worried we’re gonna have to cater to some child while we’re trying to literally do our jobs. She’s gonna be pursuing around like she’s in some Taylor Swift video while we’re going to be trying to earn our income. It’s just…weird.”

I’d never mention that fear to them- the fear I had of this trust. I think maybe if they all looked at me a little more closely, they’d see it. They’d see the fear in my eyes. But, I was really good at displacing my anxieties onto a separate, less pressing issue.

If I was ever terrified the sky was going to fall, then, suddenly, I was lashing out about the uncut grass in the front yard, randomly. Gotta love unhealthy coping mechanisms. Cy was still looking at me all judgmentally. I knew he wanted to lecture me further, but he simply reached over, patted my shoulder, and said, “Just…try not to be a dickhead, okay? Let the girl enjoy her summer.”

Max continued on, blabbering about something or the other. “I’m, like…Ollie, have you ever even seen a Taylor Swift video? I am pretty sure not a single fucking one takes place in Europe. They’re all super conceptual and abstract. Honestly, you might actually love some of ‘em. What’s that older one? With the trees and shit?”

“Out Of the Woods?” Adam was quick to fill in the blanks. I looked to him out of the corner of my vision, gaze narrowed. Of course he knew which one it was. He held his hands up, defensively, “What? My little cousin loves her.”

“Mhm,” I nodded, slow.

He trailed off, looking away, “And, maybe, you know, I do, too.”

“Oh, I’m sure.”

Max latched onto Adam’s help, continuing his rant about Taylor Swift, of all things. “Fuck! Out of the Woods! It reminds me a lot of the Fall for Me video! There’s, ya know, water…lots of running…self-deprecation. Fuck, a Sleep Token/Taylor Swift collab would go so hard!”

“Shit, could you imagine some real drums on one of her songs?” Cy perked up at the thought, fingers thrumming against the corner of the sign that he’d now laid his clutches on. “Sick!”

“Oh, God,” I rubbed my forehead, itching more and more to finally light up my cigarette, puff out a few smokey deep breaths. “I can feel the glitter and sparkles starting to fucking suffocate me! Can we please talk about something else?”

“Whatever, Ollie,” Adam flicked his hand towards me dismissively. He went to change the subject when his phone dinged from his pocket. He pulled it out, in one fluid motion, and read whatever text he’d gotten. “Shit! They just got their bags! Quick! Hold up the sign!”

Max shuffled around, all energetic, trying to make everything look perfect. He quickly tried to put a party hat on my head. I had to shove his entire body into Adam to stop him from getting the string down over my chin.

“Fuck off!” I cursed, brushing out the torso of my hoodie. He giggled, annoyingly, knowing he’d successfully gotten on my nerves. Again.

Max turned his attention away from me and to the two people who had just walked out of the airport, suitcases rolling behind them, backpacks looped around their shoulders. I noticed Sam, first, his head dipped down into his phone, curly blonde hair mopped up atop his head. He was dressed, head to toe, in all black. It was a welcome site, the fifth member of our posse back in our home country, our original stomping grounds, even if he wasn’t from here.

I let a smile overtake my features, excitement bubbling in my cheeks. It was actually really good to see him.

I wouldn’t have even paid any attention to the girl standing beside him if she didn’t stick out so much, like a sore thumb. Her bright pink sweater, gray sweatpants, the purples and greens swirled around her suitcase. Every single thing touching her was just…so colorful. Even the expression on her face, wide grin, cheery eyes- though they were circled by tireless bags- it was all so glaring.

I narrowed my eyes skeptically.

As Sam fumbled about on his phone, she stepped forward, excitedly taking an extra noise maker, my left over party hat, from Max. She barely got the hat on before Sam was looking up, our small crowd erupting into joyous ruckus that caused him to nearly drop his phone.

I don’t know why, but I couldn’t take my eyes off of her. I watched her, carefully, as she went through the motions of greeting everyone. Adam was his shy, introverted self. Cy was charismatic, Max obnoxiously flirty.

And she was just…constant, through it all. Upbeat, grinning, encouraging to every single average word that my friends told her.

And then she was looking at me, offering her hand. My head shook slightly as if to unscramble my consciousness. I glanced between her hand, her own gaze, unsure of what to do or say. I had been too busy watching. I barely brought myself out of that entrapped stare before my name came fumbling out of my mouth.

“Oliver.”

She seemed a little put off, taken aback, after I blatantly ignored her outstretched hand. But, I didn’t want to shake it. I was afraid that, if I touched it, she might shock me, sting me, scorch me with that bleeding sunshine she seemed to have sticking to her skin.

Besides, I couldn’t trust her, right? Right.

I turned my head away, feeling somewhat ashamed for the way I brushed her off. There was a rejected twinkle in her eyes, one that I could not handle. Moving on from that interaction, or in an attempt to do so, I tilted my chin down, glazing my eyes to the concrete. I shrunk beneath the cover of my hood. I didn’t need to feel bad for anything. I didn’t even know her, nor did she know me.

As the others finished up with their exchange of greetings, the group itself began making its way back to the Uber, with Sam and Daisy now a part of the flow.

The car ride back was objectively short, though it felt longer than the time on Apple Maps said. I rode in the back with the guys, pressed up against the door due to the lack of space. My long knees jutted out awkwardly. The bone of my leg ached from knocking against the door with each bump in the road that the car hit.

I stared out of the window, hoping the painful time would pass quicker. The ugliness of London stared back at me. A small, curious part of me kept darting my eyes towards the front seat, where she sat. But I stilled my gaze on the city.

That was maybe part of the issue- I just didn't understand why Daisy was so interested in visiting this place anyways. It was boring, bland. I associated the cloudy gray skies and rainy summers with some of the worst times of my life. This city looked the way I felt for most of it, too. The people were shit, too. Rude, always in a rush, unforgiving and untrustworthy.

What adventure could one find in this wet, concrete maze of hell?

Bored, I moved my attention back to the interior of the car, still resisting that urge to look forward. Adam, Cy, Sam, and Max were a cacophony of lost conversation, catching up, rumbling laughter. I listened for a moment, intently awaiting her to throw in her two sense. She seemed like the type to talk somebody’s ear off. Perhaps I could read between her sentences, find out her motives, her intentions, find something to use against her, so I could easily hate her and put distance between us-

Oh.

She was sleeping.

Her body was slumped against the door, neck pillow twisted around to support her forehead from the glass of the window. She cradled her hands to her stomach, the blanket she had just up underneath her chest.

The curve of her face caught my eye the most, the simple stillness of the lines around her lips, the peaceful flutter that ruffled her lashes every so often. I wondered what she dreamt of- rainbows, sunshine, lollipops. I bet she was the type of person who would respond, "World peace," when asked what she would wish for if she had a genie.

God. I really was an asshole. Here was this stranger, this beautiful, seemingly kind stranger, trying to catch up on sleep after traveling nearly 20 hours…and here I was, creating an entire persona around the two facts I actually knew about her. Maybe I should give her a chance, like the guys said. Maybe I should let her in, even if it was barely past the surface, and try to be amicable.

Maybe she wouldn’t sell my name to the paparazzi. Maybe she wouldn’t leak photos of me online, or call news sites to gain traction on social media.

I nearly flinched as she shifted in her slumber, so lost in my thoughts that the disruption was a panic. Her lips parted, just so, as air deflated from her lungs. The hair that curled around her face ruffled from the gentle gust.

Though she looked like Sam, she really was beautiful. Sure, Sam was attractive, in his own way. But, uniquely, Daisy was…honestly, gorgeous, all doe-eyed, rose lips, freckled cheeks.

I kept staring at her, analyzing, accidentally memorizing.

As I felt myself sinking, into my seat, into myself, into this stare I had on her, I straightened up, shoved myself back in the door.

The poor girl wasn’t even awake.

And I was being far too open.

When we reached the hotel, everyone piled out of the Uber. I went to step out, myself, to begrudgingly helped with luggage. But after I cast a casual glance over my shoulder, I noticed Daisy was still asleep. As though she were his responsibility, I found Sam and went to vocalize the issue with him. But he was busy with their bags.

None of the others were really familiar enough with her to consider her.

No one but me, I guess, because I was reaching out my fingers, touching her shoulder, telling her, "We're here."

I swept myself away before she could wake up and look me in the eyes. - "Where's your sister?" Cy inquired, poking at his dish with the fork in his hold.

Sam shrugged as he continued shoveling french fries in his mouth. "Sleeping, I think. She was fucking exhausted. Could barely get herself to bed this morning.”

"Poor girl," Max pouted his bottom lip. "Has she ever traveled this far from home?"

"Nope."

"Damn. Good for her, then. It's hard to just leave everything behind, to leave your everyday life for this type of thing for this long," Max continued.

I listened intently, though I made it seem like I wasn't even conscious of the guys seated at the table with me. Where they thought I was mindlessly stirring my drink, I was reading between the lines of every vague fact Sam dropped about Daisy.

"Well," he held a hand before his mouth as he chewed, swallowed. He sat back as he began to unload more information about his sister, "No offense to her, but she doesn't have much of a life. She works, like, two-three jobs at any given time. She works at some clinic during the day, waits tables in the evening, then does some stuff on campus here and there."

"Shit. Hope she's taking care of herself," Adam commented, thoughtfully.

"She does. I think. I don't know. We don't really get much time together anymore. Ever since mom died...I don't know. It's been hard to stay connected."

"This summer's gonna be good, then, for you guys to get to see each other," Cy touched Sam’s wrist with his fist, encouraging our friend with his response.

"Yeah," Sam's eyes seemed a little distant then, like there were foggy memories, regrets clouding his consciousness, "Yeah, I hope so."

Max went to speak again when Sam's phone went off. He pulled it out, scrolling through the texts he'd received. "Speak of the devil."

Sure enough, Daisy came padding into the hotel bar. Her hair was damp, twisted up behind her head by some clip. Her features were more prominent this way, skin shining with the care she must have just put into it. As she approached us, her perfume breezed off her skin, off her stupid Taylor Swift hoodie, right past my nose.

It smelled so sweet that I had to look away, focus on something else.

Everyone else greeted her, asking about how she slept, how she felt. I was inattentive, attempting to make it seem like I hadn’t just been thrown off balance.

I needed to do something, say something to her, to be welcoming. To make it seem like I wasn’t such a dickhead, even though I pretty much was. So, I worked on some phrases in my head, hoping to catch her in a side conversation, so there wasn’t so much tension with the others listening in. But, she walked out of the bar as quickly as she'd come.

I found the air to be cooler without her occupying the space.

I shivered and turned my chin towards that freeze.

-

Later that evening, I found myself on the hotel roof.

It was one of my favorite spots, no matter which city we were passing through, which state I found myself to be stuck in. I could go up to the highest floor, even if it wasn’t too far off of the ground, tune out the stress that came with work, and relax into the peace and quiet.

It was one of the healthier coping mechanisms my therapist and I had been working on. I was an antisocial person, to say the least. And when I’d had to be around others for too long, working literal overtime to just function like a normal person, I’d become irritable, withdrawn.

So, stalking off in the late hours of the evening with a book in my hand and some lyrics in my head became a usual, practiced ritual that I was comforted by, especially on tours.

The breeze of London flew past my face, braising goosebumps on my neck. I tucked my chin into my hoodie more. There were these tiki lights, all around me and the intimate seating area I occupied, but the little bits of light did nothing to help me see the book in my hands.

I tucked it away after straining for a few moments and settled on just resonating with myself for a bit. I watched the flames of the fire pit before me, listened to it crackle and pop. I was so focused on the peacefulness, that I hadn’t even noticed the elevator ding, nor the person scuffling across the concrete of the roof.

In fact, I didn’t even notice her until she was sitting across from me, these little alcohol bottles in her hands. The movement of her sitting before me flitted my gaze up, edges of my vision blurred slightly from the intensity of the flames. My hearing focused after. There was music streaming from the speakers on her phone, some Taylor Swift song I didn't recognize. I withheld the urge to roll my eyes and studied her movements.

She read the label on the mini shot of Jack Daniels with squinted eyes. I'd never seen someone pay so much attention to a simple liquor Maybe she'd never drank it before. That would be a strange fact, considering she was 23. Every 23 year old I knew had gone through every liquor known to man. Then, she drank it and I realized why she was so observant. Her face turned up in this grimace, lips puckered, brows furrowed. She just couldn't handle her liquor. Her examination of the bottle was really just a hesitance to consume it in the first place.

I stifled a laugh and instead found my words, urged to tease her for this occurrence, "Gonna share?' Maybe I should have intruded her peace more gently, or maybe I should have said something sooner than I did. Either way, I had spooked her enough that she jumped.

Her once shocked grimace twisted into a deep frown, like she was annoyed I had disturbed her. "How long have you been sitting there?"

My grin widened, though it didn't seem like she found much humor in the situation. "Long enough to know you can't take a shot." I held out my hand, awaiting her to hand over one of the bottles. She didn't do that Instead, her face hardened a bit and she made another comment, “Sorry I’m not an alcoholic. If you want one, you have to come get it, by the way. I’m comfy now.”

I was taken back by her crudeness. Everyone said she was so kind, so sweet. I'd even overheard her niceties earlier, at the airport, at the bar. Had I done something?

Instead of setting the record straight, communicating, though, I became defensive to her jabs. As I reached for one of the bottles, I said, "Comfy with this trash music playing?"

Funnily enough, this made her face sink more, if at all possible. Her frown was deep as a river, and murky as one, too, "Real men listen to Taylor Swift."

I tried another joke, hoping it would salvage the wreckage we were feeding, "Hey, haven't you heard? I'm a vessel, not a man?"

I don't know if it did, but she at least continued speaking to me. "So, vessel, what are you doing up here? Can't sleep?"

I tossed my hand in her direction, speaking with my casual satire, "Obviously." I looked away from her, breathless. I was trying so hard, so incredibly hard to seem careless, chill. I didn’t know why I couldn’t just, actually, genuinely not give a fuck.

I reached for my cigarettes, too stressed out to handle a head that was some sober from nicotine. After a long drag, I felt that familiar buzz of a clear head, the temporary reduction of anxiety.

Cigarettes were always a killer ice breaker, helpful in even the toughest, most awkward conversations. So, when my eyes popped back open and met hers, I offered a hit.

If her face had been disgusted before, it was even more so now. "That's okay, thanks," she almost sneered.

I pursed my lips. Okay, I wasn't the only one killing this conversation. She acted like she was just too good for anything that I had to do with. Like if she were to take a drag from this cigarette, she'd be infected with my sickness.

I voiced the concern with my snide tone again. Her response nearly made me choke on my own spit, “More like my mom died of lung cancer because she smoked for thirty years.”

As quick as possible, I stomped the butt into the ground. "Sorry."

She hummed some sort of response, looking away so uncomfortably. I wanted to grovel, to beg for her forgiveness in the case of such a small moment of misunderstanding, but I settled on another painful jab at a nice conversation.

“I’d ask what you’re doing up, but I figured you wouldn’t be able to sleep after the day you had.” She responded in that same dry tone, "Yeah, no."

Annoyed, I began to wonder where all this sweetness had gone. Earlier, with the guys, she had spoken like she'd known them for forever. Here, with me- she acted like I'd spit in her coffee this morning, like I was holding her at gun point just to have this conversation.

I gave up on trying to be overly considerate and shot straight to the point. I wanted answers anyways, and now I had a good reason to search for them, "What's your deal, Daisy?"

"What the fuck does that mean?" She responded.

I shrugged as I crossed my arms over my chest. What did she want it to mean? "Why are you here?" Instead of just answering the question, she countered me, echoing the question. Good fucking game, Daisy Hallett. Good fucking game.

I stretched my body out as I thought, unsure of how to answer. What was I here for? To do my job, obviously. So, I told her that. But, I should have known she would pry deeper. That were her job, after all, to observe, analyze, pry.

“That’s not what you’re here for,” She rejected my words, shaking her head just slightly, “That’s what everyone else is here for. What about you, Oliver?”

I started making music for myself, not anyone else. In the darkest, most terrible parts of my life, it had gotten me through to the other side with ease. It was my biggest coping skill, sitting at a clear number one on the list my therapist and I had outlined.

Getting paid for it, getting to tour and travel cities…that was all a plus. Touring, performing itself, were two things I was still trying to get used to. It was awesome to get to play my music life for others, to help them through to the other side, but it was sometimes…overwhelming, a hard pill to swallow.

So, I answered honestly this time, “To…worship. To celebrate my music, myself…life.”

She was impressed by this answer, pleased, and I could tell this by the stretch of her lips. That sweet, enticing smile did something to me.

As she held up the shot bottle in a gesture to cheers, I returned the smirk. We danced on the edge of some invisible line.

"To life."

I wanted to hear more of her voice, more of...her, more about her. So, I scrambled and said, "Wait, what about you?"

“There’s no deeper meaning to anything I do,” she waved me off.

I understood her more in this moment than I sometimes understood the people closest to me. She was like- she was insecure, she was scared. She was a little kid with monsters under her bed and in her closet.

So, I affirmed her existence with words that seemed so simple, yet would have meant so much for me to hear, too. “Oh, Daisy, there’s always deeper meaning to everything humans do. Think. What’s yours?”

This threw her off balance, yet somehow kept her from falling off the edge. It made the gears in her head turn, made her question her own thoughts. "I guess…I guess…to find that deeper meaning. To find what I’m looking for, maybe.”

She still didn't seem too sure, but I knew that, once this summer ended, once the leaves turned brown, and she returned back to a place called home, she would know it in her bones.

And I think, maybe, I might know it, too.

Sooner, rather than the later that I hoped for, we were in the elevator. Hours of breathless conversation sat, stale in the air on the roof, abandoned as the steel doors trapped us in silence.

The more she told me, the more terrified I was of her very existence. She was smarter than me, and very good at returning snide comments. Her wit was so profoundly intelligent, that I found myself silenced on more than one occasion.

Above all this- she was a disruption- she was chaos. She made me think differently, harder. She made me laugh.

I was drawn in by all of this, by her eyes, by the way the corners of her pink lips curled up into her cheeks. It took me a second to realize that she was staring back up at me, that our shoulders were turning to face one another, that my fingers were grazing the sleeve of her hoodie.

"You're very pretty, Daisy," the words fell out in a dangerous whisper. I loved the way she blushed, the way the tip of her nose scrunched, and she fell back onto her heels a bit.

I would have kissed her, I knew that for sure, had the elevator doors not opened up, had we not parted ways there, in the barren hallways. And I would have sought her out, would have reached for a simple phone number, another moment on the roof, another conversation about life and college and her favorite fucking color...

had I not made it back to my room and looked myself in the eye, through the smudged reflection of the bathroom mirror. The painful eye contact brought me back down to Earth, reminded me of the ugliness swirled up inside my chest, the bitter desire of my own self interest, selfishness.

I was...I was the chaos. I was the disruption. Here was this beautiful, interesting, smart girl...and here was me, this man-giant, who could barely hold a conversation without feeling like he was going to have a panic attack. Besides all that, her brother was my fucking best friend. I was his boss.

This was territory that I could not enter, not without a guilty conscience and someone's broken heart. So, I would proceed with caution, although it ended up making me seem like the worst person in the world.

-

I knew I could no longer keep up the act only a few weeks in, all thanks to Whitney Houston and this stupid pink fucking dress.

I watched her parade herself all night, guzzling drinks like they were air, batting her stupidly prim and perfect eyelashes my way. She knew exactly how to get me going- how to lock me in, most of all. And I was playing right into the fucking game, weak signs and Achilles heels all exposed from the second that she stepped out of that hotel room.

When I saw that knowing, vivacious smirk- I knew tonight would be different.

It wasn't until she was passed out, in my bed, with my hoodie on, that I realized I was falling for her. I had been able to subside the hunger that I felt, the hunger I felt to speak to her, to consume her with my eyes, my teeth, my hands, my body- God. It was easy to push all these thoughts away when she wasn't there- but then, she'd show up at breakfast or dinner or in my dreams and thoughts and desperations and I'd spiral again.

It didn't help that I was letting it get to me so much- and she was literally trained in analyzing behavior. I exposed my curiosities with even the slightest dip in my gaze or lift in my shoulders. There was a moment, during breakfast, when she told us of her plans for the evening of one our first shows- that she wasn't coming to.

Max had to go and make a stupid joke when I just barly glanced up from my plate, "Even Ollie's hurt!" I stopped coming to so many social gatherings, at least where she was concerned. And, then, I got all the space I needed when we took off on the buses.

Everyone flocked to her side, wanting even a second of her attention, while I kept to myself on the other bus. Because I thought the guys might leave me alone about it, I could almost reside in absolute peace.

But, then, Ronnie came knocking on my bunk.

It was early morning. We were stopped for gas, somewhere in Northern Italy. The bus was deadly silent, with nothing but my own quiet breath and the hum of the outside world to keep e company. Ronnie came in, bounding, like she always did. She slammed the bus door shut, jarring me from the focus I'd had on the game of Mario Kart pulled up on my Switch. Next thing I knew, she was ripping open the curtain to my bunk.

"Why the fuck are you rotting in here like a mummy? I'm close to wrapping you up in toilet paper and shoving you in with the suitcases!"

I rolled my eyes as she spoke and slouched my shoulders away. The hood of my sweatshirt dipped enough that she was no longer in my view. "Sam needs to stop gassing up your jokes. It's getting to your head."

"You're literally just jealous because your jokes are only ever mean and borderline tone-deaf," Ronnie grabbed the lip of my hood and tugged it down over my face.

I wriggled away from her, Switch dropping towards the inside of the bunk. I shoved her hands away. "Says you, Miss Jimmy Carr."

Ronnie's jaw jutted open a bit, "Now that's fucked, Ollie."

I went to jab back again, but she held up a hand, head tilted like she was a tired, annoyed mother of a band of men babies. "Stop while you're ahead, dude. Back to what I came in to harass you about- you need to come join us! We're playing Mario Kart with peaches- Daisy, sorry. You guys would get along sooo great. I know you're, like, weird about new people, but she's so fucking funny. Please, please just come over, hang out, be chill for once in your life."

Peaches. They had given her a nickname. Peaches, as if she weren't already sweet enough to sour the cuts on my skin.

I huffed and puffed at the rant as I pulled my hood down the back of my head. "First of all, I don't play Mario Kart-"

"I literally hear the music coming from your Switch," Ronnie pointed with a dead stare at the device, muffled humming rumbling from beneath my blanket.

I met her eye, absent any shame of my white lie. I took a breath and dove back into my rejection, "Second of all, why the hell do you guys give out the cringiest, most ridiculous nicknames? Like, peaches?What even is that?"

"It's called joy, magic, and fun, you grinch," Ronnie pinched my elbow. I flinched away from her touch again and she snickered. "If you don't like Daisy, just say so. I won't tell anybody. I'll just resent and judge you in silence- silent words, not punches."

What did she mean, that I didn't like Daisy? I knew I'd been passive towards her, but I never made it so obvious-

The expression on my face must have read confusion or shock because Ronnie popped a hip and crossed her arms.

"Listen," she added, "I know that she probably irks you. I get it. You're the bad boy, dark soul type and she's this ray of fucking sunshine and, yes, peaches. Just- give her a chance before you rain all over her parade."

"I literally never said I had a fucking problem with her. Why does everyone think I hate her guts when I've literally only ever had one conversation with her?" I frustratedly spoke, words rushed together. Ronnie stood back a second, reading the scrunch of my brows, the way I pushed myself up onto my elbows. Then, her offended frown morphed into something knowing, as though bits of information clicked in her head.

"Oh," she rhythmed, grinning now, "I see what's going on here. Hey, she's gorgeous.” "Oh, my God, here we go," I stood from my bunk, now, unwilling to just lay there and listen to her try to evaluate my behavior.

Ronne didn't follow me as I made my way to the back room, "Ollie...just remember who you are. And who she is."

And this sentence alone threw me for the biggest loop.

I didn't even know what she meant by that, but as well I knew Ronnie...it was definitely more than met the eye, deeper than any surface level warning anybody else could give. Not only did I know Ronnie well, but she could read me like a book. She knew what to say to make my skin crawl. Who I am...who Daisy is.

Analyzing the statement from top to bottom, general to specific, it was simple. She was my best friend’s brother. And I was his boss.

It meant more than that, though.

Ronnie meant that Daisy…Daisy was delicate. Daisy was meat, fresh off a shattered bone, and I was a hound.

I was always the hound. The Albatross, even. A winged creature always coming in to swipe shiny things off of stormy shores.

Ronnie didn’t want to harm me with the statement, but she sure as hell wanted to humble me. And that she did.

Each time I found myself aching to find Daisy’s gaze, I’d shrink back into myself. Remember my place. Remember who I was.

And, then…that damn Whitney Houston song. That damn pink dress.

Ronnie knew I was slipping, when I first spotted Daisy, in the doorway of her hotel room, long legs on display. I caught my lips beginning to party, drool beginning to pool in my teeth. This appreciative smirk came upon my face until I met Ronnie’s frown.

And I moved on.

I kept trying to move on, to fly away, leave the gold necklace on the beach for some other lucky, hopeless idiot to clean the sand off of, treasure for the rest of their sorry days.

I paid for her meal, as some sort of reparation for the damage I must’ve done all evening, being the hungry being I was while she toyed with the lock on my cage.

But, I just couldn’t . Especially not when she was running from the bar, sickness visible on her face. I could’ve left it where it was- Max was shuffling after her, ready to help, ready to hold her hair up.

Before I knew it, my feet were racing me out of the door, my hand was on Max’s shoulder, a kind smile was reassuring him that I could handle it, that he could go back to having fun.

My hands were in her hair, my neck was cradling the crown of her head, she was reaching for my wallet, letting us into the hotel room, laying down on my bed. I was giving her my hoodie, placing a bandage on her leg, caressing her fruity skin.

And then…just like that, as quickly as the rain began, like when you can see it in sheets, pounding into the Earth, just there, off in the distance…then it’s splattering on your windshield, the sound jarring you from your tired drive, the blur harming your vision of the road.

It was raining in my hotel room.

I didn’t have an umbrella.

I spent the entire night, laying there on the bed beside her, faced away, tensed up. Every breath she took stopped my heart. Every wrinkle from the white sheets made my eyes blink.

I was spending so much of my thought process trying to remember the taste of her fleeting lips on my own, pressing my fingers to them as though they were stained from her, as though I could close my eyes and taste them, again and again and again.

Then, in the morning, she returned my hoodie. There was this…look…this distant, worried look. Had she remembered? Had she remembered the words I said? Was this going to change anything? Everything? At breakfast, I ignored her persistent eyes, the gaze burning into my soul for answers. When she told us she couldn’t remember anything, I was little relieved.

If she didn’t remember, I could put distance between us, try to forget it myself- try to forget the way her fingers buried themselves into my hair. Try to forget the feel of her nose, pressed into my cheek, her chest, warm against my own.

While I was able to put physical distance between us this week, being that work kept us busy. But, the mental, emotional yards were harder to climb.

Once we made it through the airport, to Italy, I began my practice of celibacy, against the thoughts of her, against us.

I think part of me knew it wouldn’t last. I think part of me didn’t want it to. I think that’s why I was there- in the elevator, headed for the roof, in hopes that I might find her there. I didn’t even know if it was a place she frequented, but my intuition told me it was a good place to look.

And I was right.

I acted shocked when I first saw her, like it didn’t help my blood pump, seeing her, feet in the water, hair curling around her forehead.

She looked so…tense. Stressed. There was this permanent furrow in her brow. Did she really not remember…anything? At all?

Though it was a relief, I wanted to jog her memory (I wanted to kiss her).

I asked Daisy, barely glancing over at her in the seat beside me. From the corner of my eye, I watched her chew upon on her bottom lip, “Not really.”

Why did it feel like a lie?

She must’ve remembered something. Sure, she had been drinking, but…she was smarter than that. “Okay,” I choked, snatching another look at her.

I noticed Daisy turn her chin to return the gaze and I looked back at the city. I couldn’t look into her eyes, look at her face. I’d crumble.

“Is there something I should be remembering?”

It was timid, shy. But bold.

Bolder than I could bring myself to be right now.

Unable to find my own words, unable to form my own lie, I echoed her.

“Okay,” she copied.

The moment swelled in my mind. I wanted- needed her to remember. I wanted her to feel the ache in my bones at the thought of our lips pressed together. Wanted her to feel the longing Maybe then, she’d be the one to break, and I could blame it on her. Make her out to be the bad guy, going after me.

What a fucked up thing to think about.

Before I could catch myself, I blurted, “You don’t remember-“

At the same time, she went to push further on the topic.

I excused myself, motioned for her to continue. But, of course, she let me go instead.

“You don’t remember coming back to the hotel?”

I knew I was confusing her.

“Not really. you’re sure there’s nothing you want to tell me? Something important I should be remembering?” her knuckles, clasped together, were turning white.

I shrugged and pretended to be unaware, “I don’t think so.”

“Why did you tell me to come sit with you?”

She really knew how to make a guy question his own thought patterns. It would make her a really great therapist- but it just made me want to run.

To hide. To slip away from this disruption in my damaged peace.

I sighed, thoughtful, though still unsure, “I don’t know. Thought it would be nice. Like when we were in London-“

“Like when we were in London and you proceeded to pretend like we never did this? Like when we were in London and you kept interrupting me, so I couldn’t tell everyone we had been up on the roof together?”

So, she was pissed.

I knew she would be. She acted like she didn’t care, but I saw through the disguise. It reminded me of me.

I shrugged, putting on the same play, “Like that.”

I guess that was the comment that sent her off the edge, though. She was too guarded, too respectful of herself to take the bullshit I pushed. “I’m gonna go to bed.”

That wasn’t it for me. I needed to know what she knew. She obviously remembered more than she was letting on.

I slid into the elevator behind her, “Daisy-“

I swear to God, the rhythm of her breathing palpitated when I said her name-

“I need you to be honest with me. What do you remember?”

“Oh, cause you’re such a conscientious person yourself?”

I pulled at my hair, stressfully, “I really don’t think we’re on the same page right now, Daisy. Please, if we could just talk about this, if you could just tell me what you remember-“

Gears seemed to click in her brain. Something I said, the way I moved, the flash of the stars in her eyes, something had triggered a memory in her head. Something suddenly made sense.

I tried to help, though I was probably just being an asshole. “I want to figure this out, okay?”

I wanted to figure her out.

Whatever clicked was- it fucked things up.

“Oliver,” she frowned, “I can’t play this game with you.”

Game?

What game?

I was only ever playing defense- keeping to myself, keeping her away from my heart, trying to maintain distance. She had kissed me- I was the one to turn her away.

My shoulders fell, “What game? Daisy…I’m confused!”

“So am I, Oliver!”

Fuck. The way she said my name-

“I’m- you’re fucking with my head!”

Like she wasn’t fucking with mine?!

I went back to my original question, hoping to continue digging there, instead of worrying about this new hole she was unburying, “What do you remember?”

“It doesn’t matter, Oliver! I just don’t want to do this with you. Max is right. I should listen to him.” What the fuck did Max say? Why was he involving himself in this? How did he even know about- us- when we didn’t even- what?

What was happening?

“I’m not doing this with you.”

The doors opened, and she was leaving me. In her dust. In the swell of her words.

I retreated back to my room, throat tight, chest contracting for any gulp breath I could get. I fell back against the door like there were bullet holes bleeding out of my chest. I wanted to just...be honest. To be honest with her. Tell her what I really thought, what really happened, how I felt about her.

It wasn't the boundaries holding me back now. All my senses of morality and respect for our situation were dead. It was me. I was the iceberg. I was the gun.

I found my way to the bed, lay there like an empty casket. Dead, hollow, shards of wood. Why was I so afraid of her?

Maybe she'd be good for me...better than the last relationship I had, that much I could already tell. But, maybe she didn't want me for that.

Maybe she wanted to scalp me for my money, for my fame, dish out the gossip to the tabloids. Maybe she wanted to love me.

Maybe I deserved something good. Maybe I deserved to take a risk on something. Maybe I needed to. I was outside her door, before I was really conscious to my own movements, knocking, waiting. For barely a second.

She was opening the door, standing there in this barren light like an angel.

"Daisy."

I was kissing her.

Whatever she wanted, whatever she needed, whatever cruel fate she may prophesize or goodness she may expose to my paled skin- I didn't care.

Because she was kissing me.

-

I hadn’t been with someone for over a year.

That was what was so jarring about the entire situation.

It made me cautious, held me back. I’d been on a dating ban since I switched to my new therapist, who wanted me to focus on myself more than I always did on another person.

And for a while, it was going well.

Until Daisy disrupted that.

I knew, for as long as she was alive, breathing my air, I just could never be alone.

Usually, when I dated someone, when I was with them…I still felt that loneliness because I would give so much. And that person never returned it.

Daisy did, by a tenfold. She was…present. She so easily showed up, made time for me, chased me down when I went into those bouts of self isolation.

It was difficult to let her in…to let her join me in the dark.

But she made it feel less lonely. She made me feel…whole.

I started going to breakfast more often, started including myself in the group activities. Not only did she make me feel less alone, but she made me feel like I needed human connection.

“It’s warm, isn’t it?”

I scoffed at my therapist’s words, so simple for something so complex. “Warm. It’s hot. I feel like I’m on fire.”

“Good. Burn,” she responded. “You’re in the light now, Oliver. How do you feel about it?”

“Wow, what a question,” I teased.

Dr. Grime sighed heavily, crossing her arms over her chest. The movement was delayed, due to the time zone different, the laggy wifi in the hotel room. “Seriously, Oliver. Is it…do you feel like you want to snuff it out?”

“Of course I do,” I shuffled on my bed, “you know me. Something good comes and I feel like I don’t deserve it. But…I think it might be okay if I hang around in this for a while.”

“I think so, too,” she smiled. “I like how your language has changed, too. You’d tell me, ‘I don’t deserve this.” Now you say, you feel like you don’t deserve it. You’re recognizing rational thoughts from emotional ones. That’s very important. I’m proud of you.”

I offered a strained smile in response, uncomfortable with her praise. It was appreciated, though, and gave me body a sense of accomplishment.

Maybe I was getting better.

“So, this Daisy,” she leaned forward, more intrigued with the personal aspect of my love life, like some maternal figure.

I chuckled, shaking my head approvingly, “Daisy.”

“Do you…love her?” Dr. Grime poked.

I blushed, deeply, but quickly shoved the thought away, “Oh, no. No way. I…I barely know her. That’s- that’s crazy. Definitely not. No.”

My phone dinged in rhythm with the end of my sentence. It was her.

Daisy: soon as sam goes to bed, i can be over

My eyes lingered on the text, more concerned with this situation now than the accusatory, knowing tone of my therapist’s words.

“Mm,” she paused, “no, of course. So, is this just…a casual summer fling for you? A way to get over everything this, figure out what it is you want out of a relationship? It’s important to have something like this, a stable ground to work up off of for the future, considering you don’t have a great idea as to what love should be like.”

“Maybe,” I shrugged, toying with my phone. I stared at the message, reading and rereading the message again and again.

What…was this.

What was this to me?

What was this…to her?

We’d established some boundaries, mostly that I couldn’t really commit to anything to serious. And she said that had been okay.

Was I still okay with that?

Was that still what I wanted?

I was so obviously falling in love with her, but I would never tell anybody that.

Especially not her.

But it didn’t matter if I loved her- did I want her that way? Did I want this to last past the summer?

I did.

And that’s what scared me the most.

Loving her beyond the swept up dream we were caught in, back home, domestically. Loving her casually, routinely, in the kitchen back in my apartment, through school, sharing plants and bath towels.

I wanted that.

I wanted her…her ends and odds.

I lied, “No. I don’t want that right now. Got tour going on, new album soon. You know. Busy.”

Long after therapy ended, I stared at the message. The sun had set, the day had died…and I just couldn’t think of anything to say.

I think if I were to be around her right now, I might blurt out some passionate, mindless thing that I couldn’t bring us back from.

I needed to do…what I always did. Be alone. Ruminate in my thoughts in the darkness of a foreign hotel room in a strange city. All alone.

This felt…easier. Comfortable. What I was good at.

Yeah…this was easier.

The next day, I couldn’t stay from her any longer.

I needed her and she was needed that, too- however we could get each other.

So I pushed aside the feelings I had for her- put up all my walls and boundaries, and took her into my arms-

We would have this summer, even if it killed us.

–

"Hiya, Ollie, dear!"

My mother's voice was a sweet symphonic sound to my tired ears. We were in near opposite time zones, hundreds of miles apart, and I missed her more than anything. Touring usually took everything out of me and she was the one, separate, stable person I could turn to.

We'd only called once or twice the past few months due to my obsessed perversions with a certain best friend's sibling who had been taking up all of my time- not that I was complaining about who.

It was only recently that my mom and I had established such good rapport. Since I was young, she'd struggled to wrap her head around my career choices. Now that I was fully devoted to the act, and quite successful, she pushed aside her disagreement with it and chose to just keep supporting me.

Though I couldn't always answer, her calls were welcome.

"Hi, mum," I sat up in the hotel bed, my back sighing in gratitude at the change in posiiton. i had been rotting in here for a few hours, a little bored since Daisy was out with her friend. I could've went and hung with the guys, but I honestly needed some time to myself. That time was starting to really feel like loneliness, though. I guess before I met Daisy, they were empty hours full of empty feelings. Now, I was waking up to the reality of my existence. I'd made it so dull.

"Are you in Paris yet? Or are you still travelling?"

"We made it a few days ago," I replied. “Show’s tomorrow."

"Oh, I love Paris," she remarked. I could hear her lovely grin through the tone of her words. "I remember when we went there on a school holiday. My favorite part was the Eiffel Tower. It's so big. Now, I hear that it sparkles. You'll have to take a photo for me."

"Sure, mum."

"Have you gotten out much or are you holing up in your hotel room?"

Sheepishly, I scratched my neck. My response was delayed a bit; we both knew the answer. “Uh...I’m getting out there. Ya know, hanging out.”

“Ugh, Ollie,” I could nearly hear the roll of her eyes through the phone. “You know need a lady friend. Someone to drag you out of your bed. I mean, how many times do you get to see Paris. And get paid for it!”

At the mention of a ‘lady friend,’ I blushed. I hadn’t gotten a chance to tell her about Daisy, and damn did I want to. Though we weren’t even officially together. I didn’t know how to explain that to my mom, so maybe I’d just shy away from the topic, talk about something else.

But I guess my lapse of silent thinking made her think that there already was a lady friend.

“Oh?” she questioned with a cheerful lace to her tone. I didn’t say anything, my brain was unable to come up with anything in response. Acting defensive always made people think the opposite of what I said. Should I just tell her? Get it out of the way? Let her lecture me about my poor choices.

“Well, I won’t badger you. When you're ready,” she was already responding.

I was surprised that she was going to leave it there, to say the least, which only furthered my sentence. She usually pushed until I gave her some semblance of the truth. As she was getting older, I’d realized she gotten more relaxed and didn’t push as much as she used to. I think it was partially due to the guilt she felt for everything between us growing up.

So, I just went to move the subject along when she jumped back on it, “Just- please don’t tell me it’s that Fiona girl. I’m so sorry if it is. I just can’t sit around and watch you be treated so poorly by someone so...so awful. Again. Her personality is just- wow. Though, I shouldn’t be surprised. I went to school with her mum, and she was awful towards me. Apple doesn’t fall too far from the tree-”

I had to stop her while she was ahead. I guess some things never really, truly changed. "Mum, please! I’m not seeing Fiona again, I promise. I’m not...”

I wasn’t offended that she thought I was. It was just...more or so shocking. Shocking that she thought I’d put myself back in that. I had, a handful of times before. But...I was different now.

I guess she hadn't been around me these past few months, but I had truly changed. This past May’s Oliver very well could’ve let Fiona waltz back into his life. But July’s Oliver? He would’ve been hesitant.

And, even more so- Daisy’s Oliver...Daisy’s Oliver was a changing man. Daisy’s Oliver was a better man.

And I wanted to tell my mum that, I decided. She needed to know- it would ease her mind, along with my own. I know she was always worried for me. So, I told her-

“No, I’m seeing someone else. Her name...her name’s Daisy,” that felt good to admit, to put into the Universe, that I was seeing her, and she was seeing me, even if there were no labels attached.

“Daisy?” she perked up at the name. “That’s a pretty name. What’s she look like? You got any pictures you can text me?”

I realized quickly that I didn’t. In the near two months that we had been sleeping together, consuming one another’s souls, we hadn’t taken a single picture. It was probably for the best, just in case they somehow fell into the wrong hands. But- there were so many moments I could’ve- should’ve- captured. Moments of Daisy, hair whipping past her face on the roof, the lights of Italy glowing behind her like she had angelic wings. Daisy, in my hotel room, in the early morning before she had to sneak away. Tired eyes and an even more exhausted smile as she laughed at something stupid, I’d done in my sleep.

I wanted one. I wanted a picture of her, a picture of us, whatever I could get.

For now, all I had was my memories to help me describe her to my mum. It was easy to do so, considering she was etched into the very nerves in my mind.

“No, I don’t,” I breathed out, “but she’s beautiful. She’s got this-this- God, I can’t even describe her to you. Her hair’s darker, like yours. She’s got these brown eyes. Shorter than me, of course. You can always tell it’s her, though, just by the way she carries herself. She’s got this energy. You’d just have to see it to believe it.”

“She sounds amazing, Ollie,” she sighed distantly then giggled, “Well, if she’s so pretty, where are the pictures? I need to see her! Need to see what this talk is all about.”

I chuckled in response, “I know, I know. I suck.”

“It’s alright. I’m sure it’s difficult, with you on tour and her...what does she do, exactly? Where is she from? Would I know her?”

Here came the long winded, shameful explanation of everything between Daisy and me. The feelings that weren’t feelings, the girl who wasn’t mine, the upset sea tumultuous between us. Her brother. Sam.

I tried my best, “Well, she’s working towards her counseling license. So, she goes back to school in the fall. But right now, she’s on tour with us. Her brother works- um...Sam’s her brother. She just wanted to do some traveling before getting tied down for the next few years.”

“Sam? Sam Hatlett? She's his little sister?” There was a bit of shock in her tone now like I imagined there would be. Sam was like a brother to me, and mum knew that. In fact, she loved Sam. She always had.

When she first met him, she’d pulled him under her wing like a mother bird, like she could just feel that he needed her. So, to imagine that I might go after his little sister is rightfully shocking. It was close to home.

“I know, I know. Again, I suck,” I laughed, though I felt so tense. Rubbing my neck didn’t ease the tension in my skin.

“You don't suck, darling. It’s just a precarious situation, I’m sure. How does Sam feel about it all? Was he weird when you first started dating Daisy?”

When I first began to tell my mum about Daisy, I doubted whether or not I wanted to be completely honest. But I easily fell into the comfortability of her warm conversation and realized I could not bend the truth. Not only did she deserve to know it, but she needed to. I knew, too, that she wasn’t going to judge me, tell me I was making a bad decision. It took three times with Fiona for her to begin voicing her opinion.

Above all, I didn't need to jump through any hoops to win her approval. I didn’t have to play a role, fill a part. I was me. And she loved that man.

I realized, subconsciously, that this was how I felt about Daisy, too. Comfortable. Easy.

Loved.

I explained things to my mom, carefully, making sure she knew of the endless boundaries Daisy always ensured we had and the sweet, delicate moments that made everything worth it. I nearly fell into myself, swept up in the reminiscent beauty of it all. God, I missed her, even if it had been only two days since I’d seen her. Her friend Sasha was in town and took up all her time.

I didn’t know what I was expecting my mom to say, so I held my breath after I finished saying, “But, I don’t know. I don’t know if it’s just a summer thing or what. We’re both kinda in weird positions, so we’re not too worried about that, I guess. We’re just...having fun, ya know?”

As the insecurity rose up my throat and choked me out, I sighed out the rest of the air I had in me and added, “We’re not, like, in love or anything.”

I hadn’t expected her to laugh, that’s for sure.

But she laughed. My mum giggled, like things were well and truly hilarious, like I had just told her a joke. I waited there in silence, waiting for her to make fun of me for being so stupid as to let this situation occur. Laugh at me for being terrible at love and life. There goes Oliver again, breaking hearts, getting his heart broken. He can’t even be in a stable relationship! Laugh, laugh, laugh.

She said, “You are crazy, Ollie,” but it wasn’t meant in a harsh manner.

It wasn’t condescending, it wasn’t mean. She wasn’t making fun of me. She was...she was laughing because it was funny.

“You are usually so good at going after things. I mean, look at you with your music, darling. I said no, how many times? I insisted you do something, anything else. I never supported you financially. I never...I never supported you. I was the odds you were testing yourself against and looking at you now! I mean,” her voice cracked. A sniffle followed. My muscles eased from the discomfort I felt into something that wanted to reach for her through the phone, hug her.

“I know your father and I didn’t give you the best example for love. I know we weren’t some movie star-couple that everyone always knew would last forever. We fought. We weren’t there for you when we should have been. Your father left you. And then I held all these stupid expectations up to you, to try to make you better. And you! You’re successful!”

“And I give you all the credit for that. You are...my pride and joy, Ollie. My life. I am so proud of you, darling. But it breaks my heart, still, that you have not been able to find happiness. That you must spend so much time repairing what I broke. We cannot blame everybody else- you can...you can blame me, Ollie. I know I am to blame. And that is okay.”

“So, forgive me for laughing, forgive me for calling you crazy and stupid and wild, darling, but- it's right in front of your face, Ollie! She’s right there in front of you. Daisy. Darling, if you’re still questioning what love is, what it’s supposed to feel like...please let me knock some sense into you! You are wasting so much precious time on believing that it can only leave. It doesn’t have to stay for long for it to be important. If she leaves at the end of the summer, you will regret not telling her.”

I didn’t have to ask her what she meant; what she knew I’d regret not saying. I knew it, I knew it as well as I knew Daisy’s face, even more clear in my memory now.

“You can beat around the bush some more if you’d like, or you can carry on with this facade you’re so deeply transfixed by. Darling, I know it’s hard to let the chaos subside, to let the goodness in, but as I am getting older, I am realizing that it is bright. It is...comfortable. It is good. You deserve to have a lifetime of that. Don’t waste any more time, Ollie. Please tell her, please let her tell you. Please just...hold what you have.”

I had borne a hole into the wall, but snapped out of my still position when I felt a tear roll down the side of my nose. “H-how? How do I tell her?”

“However you need to,” she chuckled lightly. “Although, here’s a hint, Ollie: you are in the City of Love. Take advantage.”

I knew our call was ending and didn’t know when we’d get to speak again. So, like she had told, I took advantage of the moment and I held what I had; “Mum, just so you know,” my voice came out as a whisper, a gentle patter of rain on the roof.

“Yes, Ollie?” she whispered, too, like there was a gentle card deck stacked between us. I think maybe there was- I think there was always some sort of tension lingering from the harsh moments we’d beat into each other; the fighting, the leaving, the crying. I don’t think she ever felt like I’d forgiven her, as if I really needed to. She had been growing up, too, after all.

“I love you, you know that?”

“I know, baby,” I felt relieved that there was a smile in her tone, “now, go. You have some more dreams to chase down. And, Ollie?” “Yeah?”

“Get some pictures for me.”

-

I was lucky that, the next day, everyone was busy with their own plans on opposite sides of the city. So Daisy and I were able to spend some time together, outside of this drywall prison. I was a pretty good listener, too, and remembered all the spots Daisy had gushed about seeing in the little time we’d had together these past few weeks. I was being given the perfect setup to do what I needed to do: we were going to be alone, in the most romantic city on planet Earth. I could finally tell her how I felt.

Of course, so much of me shook with anxiety. What if- she didn’t feel the same way? She didn’t want to risk it? She didn’t want to commit to someone this close to school? Let alone someone who lived across the world from her? These weren't my only fears. There were so many revolving around my career that I could’ve drowned beneath their weight.

Yet, each time I looked at her, I was anchored to her shoes. I couldn’t drift out to sea. I was grounded. Though my fears about how she would react sank, it took another amount of effort to get the words out.

I could’ve done it right away, gotten it out there, cleared the air, so we could enjoy each other even more. That would’ve been the best way: I would've gotten answers, started the day out on the right foot. But, when we got out onto the streets, I was swept up in the busy buzz of the crowds. It was loud in the cafe we grabbed breakfast at, loud on the sidewalks, overly crowded by the river. We finally found a place to sit, breakfast sandwiches and drinks in hand. Though there were still throngs of people all around us. So what good was the City of Love when it was full of ignorant tourists?

The anxiety of what I wanted to do was making me feel grumpy. I shut down a little bit, unable to really engage in much conversation, let alone tell her how I felt. I think it just looked like exhaustion to Daisy, so she didn’t really notice. I did- I was hyperaware of every short sentence, every avoided gaze. All of these people are going to be standing here when I tell her. They’re going to watch her reject me and they’re going to know. They're going to know I’m not good enough. She’s going to walk away from me, leave me stranded in the park, alone with my own rejection and denial. I’m not good enough I’m not good enough.

I thought about what my therapist would tell me, ways to snap myself out of this maladaptive pattern of behavior. My brain lies, she always said. It makes things up, creates false realities based off things others have said to me, or moments of true insecurity rooted in no sense of truth.

Daisy would want me, even if I wasn’t good enough. That was the one assurance I could tell myself to shake off the weary thoughts.

And if she didn’t- well, I don’t think thinking about that was going to help me very much. So, when we got back into the hustle and bustle, shopping around the city, visiting the sights, I opened myself back up.

I didn't know if I’d ever find the confidence. I was on the precipice again, after lunch, when I began spewing cheesy pet names as a sublimation for the words I needed to say. It shocked her at first, hearing such sweet things coming from me. And that stung a little. Was I that monstrous towards her that simple affections made her brows shoot up? Was I that bad? I repeated them once, twice, just so she really knew I meant it.

The day went on and on and I cowered in on myself even more. There were plenty more ample moments, but I just kept letting the clock tick down. I knew we were running out of precious time. If I didn’t tell her now, we would go straight back to secret moments in a hotel room, balancing on a tightrope, pretending like the moment the leaves changed color, we wouldn't be losing each other. I just knew Daisy wanted that about as much as I did.

Just when I was giving up hope, I found my moment, finally. Just after we had stopped to view the Eiffel Tower, some street side scam artist grabbed some pictures of us and was trying to convince me to spend $200 on the copies. At first, I brushed it off, until I caught a small peak at the images on his camera. Before he could spout another line, I was giving him $100. He gave me three photos.

Where my words may fail, these pictures couldn’t. You wouldn’t have to know Daisy and I personally to well and truly and see how infatuated we were with each other. I wasn’t even worried anymore that she wouldn’t want me. I was worried she wouldn’t want the risk, the jump, the caution of a fall.

These would be to convince her to leap. These had to be.

I stopped us outside the hotel, knowing if once we stepped inside, our memories might as well be cleared of the day's events. We would be going back to normalcy, to the real world. Our friends would be waiting there, we would allow the gap between us to grow. I would swallow my words and choke on them.

“I love you,” I pictured myself saying. “I love you, I love you, I love you. I love you, I love you in London, you in Paris, you at home. I love you from the hotel rooms we’ve indented to the streets we’ve wandered. I love you in the plane, on the bus, in every inch of this world.”

But it just wouldn’t come out.

I tried to encourage myself by thinking of who I was just a year ago. By thinking of how I was a year ago, the person I was dating, the situation I was caught up in. Fiona, the endless hours of fighting, of begging. Crying, screaming, the blood sport we played. Hunter and prey, me the victim and yet the one wielding the sword. I thought of Daisy when I first met her. The scent of her in my nostrils, like a clue that I was to hunt for as long as I could run. Of her in my teeth, when I first caught up to her incessant running. The satisfaction I felt, how disgusting that was. How horrible it was that I loved the taste of her blood on my lips.

And how much better I could breathe knowing that I had let go, that I had put my claws away and instead threaded a needle to stitch her skin close. How beautful that was- the beast retracting, the mask falling away. A true creature coming to light, renewed and willing.

Tears welled in my eyes. The words were there, finally, waiting just atop my tongue. She was leaning closer, clutching my hand, clutching those photos like a rosary, like she would sacrifice herself for me. I would, too. I would I would I would I would.

I think I hesitated a moment too soon, or I think she could tell what was happening. I think tha- that, I think that she was running again.

I think she wanted me to chase her or to stop, or she was placing traps in the woods, waiting for the wolf with a bow in arrow.

Because she was pulling away. And our friends were calling our names.

I didn’t have time to think, wrapped up in the swell of the arrival of our friends.

But I felt the death of the moment. It was heavy. It was rotten.

Later, I sat alone in my dressing room before the show, the photo I had kept between my fingers. I swear I could hear her breath, echoing from inside the paper frame of us. Swear I could feel her hands on my arms, grasping as though the wind would take us away from each other. Her lips on my cold ones, warm and fueling like a kindled fire.

I wondered if she threw the photos away. If she stared at them, with resentment. If she wanted to burn them.

Yet, I could’ve lived and died in that moment if I had to. If I was never able to tell her how I really felt about her, I’d be content to waste away, hanging on her lips like a vine, rotting from indecision and cowardice.

Eventually, Sam poked his head in to let me know it was time to go on. I flinched when he first spoke. It drew me back to reality in harsh, cold lighting. I drew the photo from my face, met his eye, and nodded.

I was lucky he didn’t ask any questions about my reserved response, though I knew he was aware that I was getting into character as this vessel. Part of me wished he had asked, though, if only to have someone to share the darkness with again, if even for just a second. And maybe outing Daisy and I to Sam would force me to tell her everything. Force some sort of decision to fall from the loitering hammer that hung above us.

Sam left. I set the photo down on the counter, not even thinking straight enough to put it away somewhere. Then, I hung the mask on my face, edges of my eyes darkened, just like my mind.

Part of me wished I didn’t even have to perform tonight. Every time I put on this disguise, I was reminded of those dark parts of me, the parts of me that were too much like this creature the costume made into. When I’d first come up with the character, I felt so strongly that I was just like Vessel- nothing but a pit of black, music transporting through me like some god had planted it there. I hadn’t been aware of my very real feelings. I just sat there, in that emptiness.

Things were different now.

Maybe I just needed a break from it all, from the costumes and the concerts and Daisy. Well, not Daisy. Not her. Just...everything involving her.

But never her. I just wanted her always, everywhere.

I didn’t get to have that, though, the break nor Daisy.

In fact, all I got was a slap in the face. When I went on stage, I spotted Daisy in the audience. For a split second, there was a lift in my heart, a fire in my bones. She was here. She hadn’t pulled away- she wanted me. She wanted me.

Then, as the lights flickered, I noticed the look of guilt on her face and the hand around her waist, She was here...with someone else.

I felt myself retracting, cocooning, not for growth, not for birth into something good, something with fluttering wings...but into that moth. Into that darkness.

Into that vessel.

In my fury, I laid claim to Daisy in all the wrong ways. I held her by the throat and let her dangle from my lips, reminded her how desparate she was for me, reminded her just how much she relied on my game. It had never been and never would be our game. I was the villain. I was the hunter.

She was my prey.

I was losing hope for my own reconciliation, for my own change. Maybe I would just always be detached, dark, monstrous. Maybe I would never be able to commit, to give in, to be someone’s something.

Maybe I was just this vessel, and maybe this vessel was just me.

Maybe I was never good enough for Daisy, but just enough to satisfy her furious need for that bad. And that was enough for me.

-

Things got worse when Fiona started blowing up my phone.

I wasn’t sure how she had gotten my number. I had changed it back in March, when I’d ended- really ended- things with her. And, with my career, it wasn’t like I’d just handed my number out to any person on the street. I had, maybe, ten contacts on my phone.

Daisy was one of the few I responded to.

But, somehow, someway, Fiona had gotten hold of my number and began blowing my phone up with messages. I blocked her the minute I noticed, after a show when I had time to get on my phone. Then, a few days later, she started messaging from a different number.

They were innocent claims- she kept saying I had left things at her flat and needed to come pick them up. But I knew her better than that. She was trying to use this to weasel back into my head, my heart. She’d convince me to come pick everything up and then, when I was there, she’d start crying. Start saying how much she loved and needed me. She’d convince her into her bed, and we’d start spiraling down into that same old waltz we both knew too well.

After I blocked this contact, I guess she evolved. She started using an unknown number, so I couldn’t even block the contact. I called my manager immediately and told him I needed to get a new phone number. Apparently, all the stores around us were closed for a few days, which just so happened to be my fucking luck. But he promised to get something for as soon as possible.

In the meantime, I just had to ignore her.

So, I booked a last-minute therapy appointment.

I glossed over everything with my doctor, telling myself that things with Daisy were hopeless. She obviously thought me to be disposable. I mean, I had watched how quickly she’d pulled away, how quickly she found another empty face in the crowd.

I didn’t want to admit that shameful situation to my doctor. I didn’t want her to know I’d let myself fall again.

Instead, we talked about Fiona, about the temptress knocking on my door. My doctor kept reminding me to, “Stay strong. Know your worth.”

Easy words for someone in a healthy, happy marriage.

All it would take was one more wrong look from Daisy and one wrong text from Fiona, and I’d end up back off the cliff.

So, I clung to the guys. Daisy had been...not so distant but detached. Cautious. She was taking the lead, so I followed. We still hung out, still fucked like we had been doing. Still had these meaningful, deep conversations that made me wonder, over and over, what the fuck was going through her head. But honestly, I now spent some of that extra time with Max, Cy, Adam, or Sam. We were due to begin working on the next album and I had plenty of ideas floating around in my head.

It was peaceful, quaint. Something I’d missed. Maybe I wouldn’t be ready to start dating again if something like this caused me so much stress.

Adam was texting me now, wondering if I wanted to hang out sometime this morning, talk about the album. I told him I’d let him know what time, considering Daisy was in my bed. And Fiona was blowing my phone up like fucking crazy.

The whole situation threw me off. She wasn’t really concerned about it, but made numerous, passive jokes about me having a secret girlfriend. I don’t know if it was because she really, truly wanted me to be exclusive to her, or if it was just something to do with her pride.

Signals were still mixed, even after we’d had a conversation about how committed we were to each other. Part of me wondered if it had just been an act, her agreement to never see anybody else, her admittance that she was, “mine.” If it had just been something brewed from the heat of the moment. But, when I answered the phone, set it back on the nightstand, I swear to God I saw something in her eyes shift, like she had been bothered at the thought of me with someone else.

Or it would be shitty in general if I was seeing someone else.

I weighed telling her, every single, how I felt about her. I don’t know that if I told her I loved her it would change anything. I had all but done so, and she still was unmoving. She still had gone and found that faceless nobody in the crowd.

Today, I felt like maybe I should. Tell her.

As soon as she had left, someone knocked on my door. I didn’t think it was Daisy, considering Sam would be waking up soon and she needed to get back into bed. When I looked through the peephole, Adam was there, staring over his shoulder sort of strangely.

“Hey, dude,” I started as I opened the door, then turned to make my way over to the bed where my book bag was. I reached in for my notebook, continuing, “so, I’ve got a few good ideas rattling around-” probably a few too many about Daisy, “that I wanna show ya.”

He slowly entered the room, shutting the door softly behind him, “Yeah, uh...” he approached me sort of hesitantly, distant confusion in his pupils, “I think we...should talk about something first.” He didn’t seem too sure of himself and the words he was saying were cautious. So, my tone slowed, hardened “What-what’s up?”

He finally met my eye and I felt like a sword had been shoved down my throat, “I just talked to Daisy...out in the hallway.”

I set my book bag down, hands having been frozen around the straps like someone cursed me into the stoic, icy position. All I could think to say was, “Oh.”

Adam nodded half-heartedly, “Yeah. Oh. I... don’t know what to say, really. I knew you guys had been...like, it was obvious. To me and I think Max, at least. Sam is kinda clueless and, he and Ronnie are totally sleeping with each other.”

Well, that was obvious. So obvious that I could have snorted, but I was too focused on the wild realization that everyone basically knew. All of that sneaking around, trying to be secretive- well, it didn’t fucking matter. And it didn’t seem like it really mattered that much.

“Are you gonna, like, scold me or something?’ I sat on the edge of my bed, running a wary hand through my hair.

“No, I’m gonna tell you that you’re fucking stupid.”

“What?” I looked up from the ground, shock widening my eyes.

Adam finally softened his expression and chortled, though it was short before he was in on me again, “You’re stupid, Ollie. I don’t think you’re doing it on purpose. I think you’re just...Fiona fucked you up. And I’ve watched you slowly start to heal over these past few months. Daisy has everything to do with that. And...she fucking loves you, dude. She thinks the world of you. And you’ve both, I guess, been dancing this dance with each other, walking around the whole thing. I just told her, like- stop thinking less of yourselves. You both deserve something good. You’re both worthy of each other. So, stop being fucking stupid and just tell her.”

My face was hot. I clenched my hands together, knuckles turning white as all these rampant, loose feelings released in my chest, in my head. “She doesn’t love me.” Adam chuckled again, “That’s a bold fucking statement. She just told me herself how much she adores me.”

“Well, yeah, she likes me, that’s obvious,” I waved him off, “she wouldn’t be sleeping with me if she didn’t. But...I think I’ve made it clear so many times how much I want her. And she, just, doesn’t care. Or she turns away.”

“She’s scared!” Adam exclaimed, making me flinch just slightly. “Sorry,” he spoke quieter, like he had shocked himself with his tone of voice. “She’s scared, Ollie. She’s...she doesn’t know who she is. That’s why she came here. That’s why she pulls away, why she seems unsure.”

“Well, I know that,” I scoffed, “I know her better than anyone. You haven’t seen the way she...how she denies it. I know she denies it. She denies us- me.”

“Okay, tell me,” Adam nearly popped a hip at this, a sassy tone overtaking his authoritative one. “Tell me how she denies, what she says and does that makes you think she doesn’t want you. Tell me that she doesn’t love you.”

I thought, long and hard. I could've mentioned the very recent time when she had been dancing with another guy, at our concert, a prowling look in her eyes. Or, of the time when I was on the brink of telling her how I felt, then she pulled away. Or-

Wait.

Am I fucking stupid?

I’m so fucking stupid. I am the dumbest, stupidest idiotic idiot to have ever existed.

It was all right there, clearing up now like I was wearing new glasses. I had a new perspective- I had an unbiased, outsider’s view of the world I had been suffocating in. And Adam’s view was- a breath of fresh air.

I was so obviously the one turning away from her.

From the beginning, I’d been denying her, us, for fear that she wouldn’t want me that way. For fear that someone would find out, for fear that I might die if she ever looked away from me. And I’ve been covering it up with the excuse that I was broken, or hurting, or-or...worthless.

I knew differently. I’d known it differently for a while now but had been unable to act upon this rationality. I was too emotional, too, in my head. And that made me seem manipulative, and asshole-ish, and- fucking stupid.

Adam watched me carefully, watched me as I processed these past few months. My eyes were narrowed, confused, though they widened as the information unfolded in my mind, as the notches clicked together.

“You’re…right.”

Instead of worrying myself with the evidence that she, too, was afraid, I felt my head flood with memories, as tangent on my skin as the cool air of my hotel room. Memories of her devotion, her promise, her love. Memories of us in the stale morning, sharing stories of her mother and that little apartment back in America. Memories of us on the roof, atop the world, atop the feeling, a private sanctuary where even just the flash of her eyes should have told me everything that I needed to know. I was going to tell her I felt the same. I was going to pull her up to the roof, one of our most sacred secrets, and pour everything out onto the barren concrete between us. And I knew she would say that she loved me, too.

It was delicate and I would have to handle it as such. Any sudden movement, and we’d be falling apart, all over again.

But, then Max was bombarding my hotel room, spewing some nonsense about Daisy and Ronnie getting tattoos. He was dragging us to Sam’s hotel room. I was practicing the lines in my head, over and over, a prayer.

Daisy was looking at me with these doe-innocent eyes, like she, too, was praying to some old god. Altering herself for a breath that he may resurrect what was dying between us even now.

I found more words, new words- lyrics, pummeling my skull in wondrous discovery. It was right there- everything was- My phone wouldn’t fucking stop ringing and I thought that I might explode into atoms. I ignored the call, watching as Daisy’s face fell each and every time that it did. She well and truly thought that I was seeing someone else.

Enough was enough.

I took a step towards her, fully intent on putting a rest to the strangeness and awakening what was already there. But, then my phone rang again.

And Sam began making some joke about Fiona calling me, a knowing, devious smirk on his features. He didn’t know- how could he know? I couldn’t be upset with him, but I wanted to strangle him into the carpet.

But I couldn’t focus on that anger for too long-

Because Daisy was leaving like we both always left, one too many times, in one too many silent glares of this something that we just may never get right.

The delicate threads of us bent and snapped.

[inkpot909]

The Stardust Crusaders’ Picks for a First-Dance Wedding Song Headcanons

↳ Gender Neutral Reader. Joseph Joestar is excluded.

A/n: A chill list of headcanons that came to me at 6 in the morning. Jokes aside, I loved putting this together. Although I admit I am a bit biased since I’ve always loved retro music. I did my best to pick music that coincided with the music the characters each canonically listen to (at least, as far as we’re told).

Warning(s): None.

Jotaro Kujo

-> As the World Falls Down

David Bowie

“As the pain sweeps through

Makes no sense for you

Every thrill is gone

Wasn’t too much fun at all

But I’ll be there for you

As the world falls down”

Canonically speaking, Jotaro’s favorite musician is Toshinobu Kubota. It’s admittedly a rather interesting choice for a man who was a dedicated delinquent in high school.

But music tends to touch people in a special, often times sensitive, manner. And despite looking and acting the way he does, Jotaro’s music preferences are no different.

Yeah, sure, he’s definitely a “whatever’s on the radio” kind of guy, but he has taste.

Separated from others, when he’s in control of the music he’s listening to, his choices give the impression of a casual listener that somehow always has the best picks seemingly with no effort put in at all. Perfectly on brand for Jotaro.

Therefore, he’s likely going to have an unexpected pick.

Therefore, he picks a sappy ballad from an under-appreciated 80s movie. Not because he’s even seen The Labyrinth by any stretch of the imagination, but because he just… likes how it sounds.

He likely heard it one way or another, completely detached from the movie itself, and decided he enjoyed it. Something about the slightly cheesy yet instrumentally enchanting tune gets stuck in his head in a really good way.

There is a reason past “oh, it just sounds nice” as to why he picked it but let’s be honest… he’s going to get a little embarrassed annoyed if he has to explain to you in full detail.

The title pretty much speaks for itself, in his opinion.

Noriaki Kakyoin

-> Every Breath You Take

The Police

“Every move you make

And every vow you break

Every smile you fake

Every claim you stake

I’ll be watching you”

Good god, he’s certainly the Sting fan.

Whether or not you actually like Sting it’s hard to argue against the fact that Kakyoin likely has an overall shit taste in music. Why is this the case? Because he’s been alone the majority of his life and didn’t have any friends to bully him over it.

Not having anyone around him to say “what the hell is this” or just a simple “no” will and has effected him.

He’s the type of guy who claim’s “this album will change your life” before putting on some of the worst pieces of music you’ve ever heard.

Not that he isn’t trying, keep in mind.

This man will stress about what to suggest for days on end. He’s going to take the longest compared to the others in how how much time it takes him to pick. It’ll eat away at his brain, threatening to take every bit of his sanity unless he can think of what he deems as the perfect song he can choose.

And still he manages to not only choose an extremely predictable wedding song, but an insanely creepy one as well.

It’s weirdly charming, in his own odd Noriaki way.

He likely didn’t know what he was doing at the beginning of the relationship due to inexperience, and it’s probably heartwarming to know some things never change.

And it’s completely possible the stalker-ish lyrics of the song didn’t click inside his brain. Not because he doesn’t understand the lyrics per se… but because the poor guy hardly had a grasp on what was actually considered romantic when you first met.

Please, for your own sanity, don’t let the song played at your wedding be one that he picked (with hindsight he’ll probably thank you for it too).

Jean Pierre Polnareff

-> The Air That I Breathe

The Hollies

“Peace came upon me and it

leaves me weak

so sleep, silent angel, go to

sleep

Sometimes

All I need is the air that I breathe

And to love you”

Polnareff’s favorite musician isn’t ever canonically specified, but it’s made pretty clear he’s likely a fan of The Beatles. And considering he went through puberty during the 70s, he’s likely going to lean into that era of music.

Generally speaking, he’s got decent taste. Sure, he’s got the music taste of a white suburban father, but his picks are usually pretty agreeable.

That said, he’s definitely a little high and mighty about it.

He won’t go off on the subject too hard whenever you’re around, but he thinks very highly of his preferences. Polnareff’s a huge victim of nostalgia, and a part of him feels a little elitist for having grown up in the time period that he did.

He has had the song for his first dance picked out in the back of his mind for years, swearing that it would be played at his wedding at some point or another.

Hell, he’s probably got a full roster of music in mind for the reception.

For such a monumental occasion, he’s sure to pick a ballad that starts off slow but crescendos into the chorus- easily the type of romantic tune he’d prefer.

And unlike the others, you may get pushback from him if you don’t want that as your first dance. He’s quite stubborn, generally speaking, and this is no exception to that.

Ultimately though, he would eventually cave and do just about anything you want.

But as stated before, he’s had his mind set on this one for literal years. So certainly expect this to be a somewhat tough conversation to have with him if you prefer something different.

Muhammad Avdol

-> I Love How You Love Me

Claudine Longet

“I love how your eyes close

whenever you kiss me

And when I’m away from you I

love how you miss me

I love the way you always treat

me tenderly

But, darling, most of all I love

how you love me”

Avdol’s music taste is left as a complete mystery in canon.

However, because he runs his own shop, he’s fairly attached to the calming instrumentals he often keeps on at the store. Avdol understands atmosphere well and takes it very seriously.

When he’s not working, it’s not very often that he finds himself listening to music.

But when he does, it’s usually music with soft or ethereal overtones (you cannot tell me he doesn’t listen to Enya). Throw in some charming oldies from the 50s and 60s, and Avdol’s in his element.

To put it simply, easy-listening tunes are his freaking jam.

He also enjoys listening to music from all across the world. Avdol is likely well-traveled, and is undoubtedly knowledgeable on other places and cultures. So the preference comes naturally to him.

He’s going to pick something very romantic and slow. A song that, even if you maybe haven’t heard it before, upon the first time listening you just know it’s meant to be played at a wedding.

And, unlike the others, it would take him less than 24 hours to have made his choice. It’s not that he doesn’t put care into the decision, he just doesn’t like making you wait. He’s quite efficient when it’s something this important.

Regardless, he’s the most flexible of the group when it comes to your tastes, so anything you want is perfectly fine with him.

That said, it has to be a ballad. That’s his main request. Avdol’s eager for your input, sure, but he’s going to want to slow dance with you more than anything else.

[halfblood-princes-crown]

BACK WITH THE COWORKER DISCOURSE

Ok, this time I said fuck it and just gave them my phone

They scrolled through both the marauders side and the Snape side of tumblr as to not be biased

Interestingly enough, my boss seems to think BOTH sides have a weird obsession with gay and trans people.

“One one hand, the people interested in Severus, more often than not, seem to be projecting in a comfort type of way, but both sides have their fair share of obsession. Dare I say fetishizing it to an extent.”

This was interesting to me because that was the last thing I expected them to even look at. I was expecting more hypocrisy talk tbh. I have no opinion on this honestly. I do agree, but not fully. It’s rare I feel any weirdness about it so threw my hands up with that one

My fav coworker took notice of the two faced treatment of Lily. He stumbled upon one of THOSE Wolfstar posts and was like “Don’t they call yall misogynistic for criticizing her character?”

My boss: “I know I keep saying it but this is literally cognitive dissonance. They scream one thing and then their actions contradict it. This whole side of the fandom or whatever you call it is a walking contradiction. One minute they don’t like…death eaters? Then the next minute they’re infantizing and fetishizing them. Now it’s don’t hate on Lily, but we’re gonna use her as a baby oven for our gay fantasies. Come on now. Like, it’s weird.”

We haven’t even had lunch break yet omg 😭

Idk, what are y’all thinking?

UPDATE IN REBLOGS!

[squash1]

hello would you please propaganda me on the dreamer trilogy i should probably read it, but i have not had the motivation,,, hhhrghgh. gimme your reasons on why i should read it /nf

“propaganda me” is probably that best phrasing of anything ever. and this is also my favorite topic of propaganda. so yes. ofc.

probably the #1 reason to read the dreamer trilogy is to get More of the raven cycle universe. if you love ronan lynch and you want to see him grow (and fuck up) and change (and fuck up) this is THE book series. adam parrish in all his glory is also heavily featured. because who is ronan without adam (that’s a question that will be answered in these books!). and my beautiful, baby boy declan (i’m biased it’s okay) is Given A Voice finally. plus you meet some new Killer character. cough cough hennessy. cough cough jordan. cough cough carmen. cough cough lilliana. (so many showstopping female characters)

my caveat to all of this, is yes, it is different than the raven cycle. in like the most beautiful, necessary way. (i love trc with my whole heart so i’m not saying this will any malice). i’ve said this before and i’ll say it again (propaganda at its finest) the dreamer trilogy is an embodiment of what young adulthood is — what moving away from childhood Feels Like. trc is very teenage, it’s very big and grand and everything is So important (but it’s also silly because they’re 16/17 year olds), the dreamer trilogy has a tone shift but it’s So Necessary. because there is a tone shift from childhood to the early years of adulthood. things feel smaller, and more difficult, and somehow more confusing, but it’s THE PAY OFF that matters the most (because yes, we’re building Healthy, strong relationships on this dysfunctional family).

personally i LOVE the exploration of dreaming in the series and all the various metaphors that can be applied to the concept. i’ve talked Extensively about dreaming as a metaphor for chronic illness and i think going into the series with that lens would make for a really cool and interesting experience.

the dreamer trilogy at its core is this baller, action packed (but also sad) series that’s going to explode your brain and cause you to question your sanity. and i think the true testament to this series is that despite Sobbing upon finishing it (ending was not even sad, it was just the end of an era), i Immediately wanted to reread. because there’s so much Content, so much Intrigue, so Much To Unpack.

tl;dr ronan lynch is a gay icon throughout, read it read it read it.

p.s. i would like to hear all your thoughts and also this might be the last straw to get me to reread.

[alargehunkofdebris]

The Unseen Apology Dynamic (And Dancing)

The thing about TV and media (and life in general) is that it can often give a biased, unrealistic look of a relationship simply by showing only a few days of it. This happens with reality shows, but it also happens with fictional shows. In terms of Good Omens, from what we’ve seen in the two seasons, we’re given the impression that Crowley is always the one admitting he’s wrong, with Aziraphale always waiting for him to come back and apologize.

Now, as far as this story goes, that is the case. We, narratively, need Aziraphale to have this arc of admitting he’s wrong about this very big thing he’s always been wrong about because the show is set up that way and this is the story it's telling. However, in terms of their actual relationship over many, many years, this has (likely) not been the set dynamic; I think the two of them have a very balanced history of being right and wrong, and admitting it accordingly. We have evidence, with the receipts Aziraphale provides about his frequency doing the apology dance, that he's no stranger to being absolutely in the wrong. In fact, there’s a good chance this is the first time Crowley’s had to do the apology dance himself in a very long time. With the vehemence that Aziraphale gave those dates, it sounds as though he had given the last several of the dances—there wouldn’t be any need to list them off with such vigor if the dance has been performed equally in the last 400ish years.

Now, I also don’t think Aziraphale is the only one that made mistakes in the past 400 years, either. That doesn’t seem right. It could simply be because Aziraphale just never pulled the “apology dance” card, and has always settled for a simple spoken apology or (more likely) food offering. The dance seems like a very Crowley thing to ask, because food isn’t as big an interest and speech isn’t something Aziraphale has any trouble with (unlike Crowley, who uses one thousand syllables to say three words).

I’d also believe that their dynamic is more “one who makes a lot of small errors, and the other who makes rarer, but heftier errors.” Crowley would get away with a lot of small apologies for smaller mistakes, whereas Aziraphale’s screwups are fewer, but bigger, and Crowley uses the rare occasions to have fun with it. He knows angels don’t dance, so he uses it as a unique punishment.

And as a kind of side note, this gives all kinds of weight behind him saying “You don’t dance” to the person he routinely made dance over hundreds of years. It’s quite a funny hidden joke, but it also just shows how their relationship is growing. I’m imagining B99, and Jake and Amy’s relationship pre-dating. Lots of jokes, lots of messing with each other. The apology dance is like the bet in the first season, with Jake forcing Amy to wear that awful dress on their horrible date. Then, later on, they actually have a grown-up conversation on the roof, where they learn things about each other, and it’s where their relationship really starts.

Crowley made Aziraphale do funny dances over the years as an apology, but only just finds out Aziraphale is the only angel who ever loved dancing. They know each other so well in so many ways, but absolutely not at all in other ways. They know how to joke with each other, have good conversation and debates, bicker and apologize in equal measure, know each other’s every tone of voice and current habit, but they still have past lives they’ve not even begun to unpack. That’s what’s happening now. It’s the best part of a relationship, really. The “learning about” phase.

They just need to kinda get over this slightly large speedbump before they get back on track.

[calp0sa]

hhello i have no idea how to start this SO i just wanted to say your art is actually so awesome and cool and like inspiring and weirdly nostalgic to me?? like ive genuinely never felt so much appreciation and calming feelings from any other art like the way you draw is so intriguing and its like nothing else ever!:!!/!:? im not good at explaining things but your stuff is just beautiful and cool and maybe im biased because im an airy fictionkin but you’re my favorite artist ever i think ANWAYS IGMORE MY RAMBLING my favorite art by you is uhhh tthe one whwre airy is sitting and there is a whale in the background yay ^_^

too nervous to not use anon option soryydfenfj

holy cucumber garden, you have delivered a pickle jar of friendliness. well i find it interesting how often my art gets described as “nostalgic”, i don’t really understand why but i think it’s very sweet nonetheless…

although nothing is truly lost to time, it just sort of becomes friends with time, and then goes for a walk with it. and you can visit that thing as much as you’d like. it’s still there. if it happened, it will always be there. time is your friend as well, we’re all going for a walk with it. maybe that’s why people think my art is nostalgic; i visited something far away, said hi to it, then started having frequent conversations and pleasant afternoons with it. so when someone says “your art is very nostalgic for me” i think “oh, my art would like to go for a walk with this person. that’s nice” anyway sorry for the nonsense tangent i’m just really fascinated with how art affects people on both sides.

(i should also add that you’re perfectly fine at explaining things. you did a good job saying what you needed to say)

and i think what’s also interesting is that i’m an airy fictionkin as well!!!! your “bias” is resonance; you resonate with the things i make because the things i make come from aspects of myself you’re able to resonate with and i know i’m speaking in tonguetwisters at this point but it’s one of the million billion miraculous things about art and i love when it happens and i love hearing about it happening and I am getting ahead of myself but anyway you’re great don’t be nervous i’m basically airy uncle grandpa

[wolfjackle-creates]

Bring Me Home Arc 2 Part 18

Welcome to another WIP Wednesday!

Story Summary: Tim and Danny are both neglected by parents who care more about their work than their families. They deal with this by spending too much time online and find each other playing MMORPGs. They keep up their friendship as Tim becomes Robin and Danny becomes Phantom and don't bother keeping secrets from each other.

Arc 1 AO3 Link

Arc 2: Part 1, Previous

Word Count: 1.7k

-----

From the radio station, the four traveled to the television studio for their next interview. The host had listened to their radio interview and helped summarize much of the information before asking further questions.

Tim and his teammates called into question the biases of the Drs Fenton and hoped their criticisms would bring others to think twice before taking their word as gospel.

When they were finally done, it was almost nine.

Tim shot off a quick text to Bruce for his morning check-in. He noticed Conner texting someone, too. “Who’re you talking to?” he asked.

“Sam. She says Danny’s still passed out. But her parents are talking about some sort of press release the mayor is planning on putting on at City Hall at ten.”

Cassie groaned. “Ugh, more reporters. Please say we don’t have to go.”

“We should,” said Tim. “But we can go in civvies.”

“Can we at least get breakfast first?” asked Bart. “It’s been hours since we woke up!”

“Yeah,” agreed Cassie. “I’m starving. Let’s get some food. I think I saw a diner when we flew to our second interview.”

Before Tim could consider protesting, Conner had him secure in his arms and TTK and they were in the air.

“Lead the way, Wonder Girl.”

Tim scowled to hide his smile. “Oh sure, don’t listen to your leader. Just do whatever.”

“You’d let us starve?” wailed Connor. “Then we’ll stage a mutiny!”

Cassie laughed. “Yeah, see how long you remain in charge of a hangry speedster, half-kryptonian, and demigoddess.”

Tim grinned. “Oh, but you forget I know you all very well. I can win you back to my side. Starting with Kon.”

“And how do you plan to do that?” demanded Conner.

“Easy. I’ll just bribe you with Alfred’s cookies and a great movie. If I add in a dash of ‘I need your help’ and my puppy dog eyes and you’ll be eating out of the palm of my hand.”

“That’s another square on my bingo card!” called back Cassie. “And look, we’re here!” She pointed down to a quintessential American diner with green glass windows.

The group met Bart a block away in an alley where they shed their gear.

“I’ll tell Sam what we’re up to.” Conner pulled out his phone to send the message.

“Quit wasting time! We’re on a deadline,” moaned Bart as he positioned himself behind Conner and tried to push him towards the street and breakfast.

Conner laughed and refused to budge, so Tim figured a demonstration of his power was in order.

He got in front of Conner and pouted at him. “I know I was joking about not allowing breakfast, but I’m the one who didn’t eat before the interviews. An omelet is calling my name.”

Conner groaned and ran a hand down his face. “Fuck you, Rob.” But he stalked forward out of the alley.

Tim and Bart exchanged grins.

“Seriously, Tim,” said Cassie. “This trip has been great for my bingo card.”

Tim stuck his tongue out at her and jogged to catch up with Conner.

Breakfast was simple but tasty and they devoured far too much food. Their waitress was clearly impressed with her first exposure to a speedsters appetite. Add in a super and a demigoddess and it was obscene.

All too soon, however, it was time to go to the mayor’s press conference. As they made their way there, they joined a growing crowd. Clearly many people were interested in whatever the mayor had planned.

In the crowd, he could hear comments about their interviews. It seems both had been posted online and already had thousands of views. Some people seemed to be sympathetic to them, but others were mistrustful of the “outsiders.”

“If they’re such good friends, why did it take so long for them to come here?” asked one man of his friend.

“I’ve a cousin in Central City. She says trouble always follows a superhero,” said another.

Tim exchanged a look with Conner. He’d be able to hear more conversations and could share his perceptions later.

Before long, they were entering City Hall. Already the seats were full, so they were forced to stand in the back. Jack and Maddie were sitting near the front. Jeremy and Pamela Manson sat on the opposite side of the room as them, but also were near the front of the room.

Tim exchanged looks with his teammates to make sure they saw both couples. Conner was glaring at Maddie and Jack.

“They’re complaining about our interviews,” said Conner. “Throwing around guesses that we are either possessed or have already been brainwashed by the ghosts.”

“At least we know they aren’t observant. Maybe they won’t notice us.”

Mayor Montez stepped up to the podium and everyone fell silent. “People of Amity Park, we have been faced with a threat the likes of which we’ve never before seen! And based on the events of this morning, it doesn’t seem like we’ll be able to rely on outside help to get us out of it.”

A stone sunk in Tim’s stomach and he exchanged looks with his friends.

“We only have one piece of business today: Defeating the ghosts that infest our town. And to do that, I'm calling for a vote to cede all ghost policing and security decisions”—he held up a photo of Maddie—“to Maddie Fenton.” As Tim watched, however, the mayor’s eyes glowed red and he winced. “I mean Jack,” he corrected, holding up a new picture of Jack Fenton. “The completely competent Jack Fenton.”

“He’s overshadowed,” breathed Conner.

Tim nodded and was already sending a message to Sam, Tucker, and Danny. “And who knows who else.”

Before they could say anything else, the mayor continued, “And we’ve located the ghost responsible for all the terror inflicted on our town.” He held up a picture of Phantom. “Whatever some outsiders may have tried to lie to you about this very morning.”

A gasp rang out among the crowd. Tim glanced at his friends. Conner was glaring at the mayor fiercely and Tim attempted to step in front of him, as pointless as their relative sizes made the action.

The mayor smiled viciously as a panicked crescendo rose from the crowd. Tim’s phone vibrated in his hand and he saw a response from Sam.

Sam: We saw Sam: Danny is on his way Sam: And we’re following as fast we can

Under his breath, Tim muttered, “Conner, you and Bart should go suit up. Cassie and I will stay and keep an eye on what’s going on. Stay close, but try not to be seen unless an attack happens.” Subtly, grateful for their places against the wall, he passed over the thermos he’d taken with him that morning.

Tim heard Conner’s sigh of relief as the two slipped away. He hated pretending to be a civilian in a crisis. Even more than the rest of them.

Cassie whispered, “I almost hate you for keeping me here.”

Tim just bumped their shoulders together.

The mayor, or rather the ghost inhabiting him, raised his arm and silence slowly fell. “We cannot call for outside help. Those who call themselves the Young Justice today proved that the so-called heroes of this world will defend our enemy over us. That they will spread lies to keep us subject to the whims of these ghosts.” The last word was spat. “So we must solve the problem ourselves. Jack Fenton, if the people of this town agree, you and those you train will be our defense force, will you do this?”

Jack near jumped three feet in the air in his excitement. “I’ve been training for this my entire life, Mayor Montez! I’ll be honored.”

“I believe we must institute martial law! The 9 PM curfew will remain in place. No one will be allowed on the streets alone. No loitering. The park will be closed until further notice. Same with the public pool and library and a number of other locations. Drs Fenton, will you be able to set up buildings protected by ghost shields where people can gather for safety?”

Whispering broke out among the public. Maddie stood tall next to her husband, though being continually overlooked in favor of him was clearly grating on her. “We can. Fenton Works is already protected and within two days we can have another shield up and ready. Within the week, we could have five.”

The whispered were almost loud enough to drown her out by the time she finished speaking

“Order! Order!” called Mayor Montez. “All in favor of declaring martial law, and allowing the completely competent Jack Fenton to mobilize a massive ghost hunt, please say—”

But cutting off the mayor, Danny, in his Phantom form, suddenly appeared in the air in the middle of the hall. “I might be too young to vote, but I’m casting one anyway.”

Around them, everyone gasped and people began backing away even as Danny shifted to look at them. Tim and Cassie both tensed and prepared to run.

“You people have to listen to me,” urged Danny. “I’m on your side.”

Mayor Montez took a step back as members of his security moved to stand in front of him. Jack and Maddie jumped up and glared at him.

“You’re not fooling anybody, ghost kid!” declared Jack. “You are going down!” He reached back and pulled out the Fenton fishing rod, the line was horribly tangled and Jack began messing with it. “As soon as I finish untangling this thing.”

Cassie let out a disbelieving huff.

Tim shook his head. “Apparently,” he replied to her unasked question. He pulled out his phone and shot a message to Bart and Conner.

Rob: get back here now Rob: All 4 of us are needed

Before he even finished typing his last message, Bart was at his side. Just in time to see Danny mutter something and shoot an ectoblast at his parents who were thrown back with the force of it, destroying the podium and leaving a burn mark on the ground.

“Shit,” muttered Tim. “Cassie, let’s go. Impulse, try to help where you can.”

“You’ve got it.”

----

Next

And so the best of intentions go awry!

I can almost taste the end of this arc, but for all I know, that'll take another 10k to finish. So we'll see what happens. Hope you enjoyed.

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[amorisxx]

“Going Native” trope and idealizing the “other world” in The Owl House

I’m surprised that Luz’s obsession with becoming a witch wasn’t ever seen as offensive by anyone on the Isles. Like the witches on the boiling isles are shown to be born that way and it’s kinda odd how Luz shows up with her own biases and preconceived notions about witches and immediately applies them to Eda and others.

It’s like someone showing up to a remote village only having read about the people but having simultaneously romanticized their culture. Maybe it’s my sociology/anthropology major brain interpreting it that way lmao but that’s a big no no when it comes to interacting with another culture.

I know Eda tells her she’s wearing a dirty traffic cone on her head in the second episode when she dresses up in the stereotypical witch attire. But other than that, I don’t recall her getting much flack for her behavior. (Unless we’re including Amity saying she’s not a witch but I feel like that was more about Amity’s personal gripe with Luz)

I think this is an example of the “going native” trope where the protagonist fully immerses themselves in the new world that they’ve been thrust into. Think Anne Boonchuy in Amphibia (specifically her connection to Wartwood) or even more so, Jake Sully becoming one of the Na’vi in Avatar. However, I think TOH is an underdeveloped example of the trope because the show’s narrative barely examines Luz’s journey from outsider to respectable member of the Boiling Isles.

Basically, Luz encountered such little obstacles when it came to being accepted in the isles and I feel like that was so unrealistic. It’s like no one cares that she’s a human at all. It’s completely different from how Anne was treated in Amphibia. She was considered a monster for most of season one, which was funny, but also interesting because it made her character development stand out all the more when the townspeople eventually considered her one of their own.

I guess what bothers me is that the show didn’t really demonstrate Luz earning her position in the boiling isles, which I feel like is important when it comes to considering oneself part of a culture that has been stereotyped and put down. And especially since she ended up being their savior against Belos.

Plus, Luz treating their everyday lives like a fantasy come true feels sorta icky. I feel like that was okay at first, but I never got the feeling that the novelty ever wore off. At some point, Luz should’ve began to acknowledge the boiling isles as just another place and not some fantasy world where she could escape from reality.