#I delivered this in a joking way but in truth I do actually have the feels for these two

[dracocheesecake]

I don’t know why this took me this long to realize but I think the reason why Kai didn’t use Oogway as a Jombie was because he still cares about him in a way.

I mean, he does talk to the Oogway amulet quite alot:

Also apparently in the novelization of the movie he grasped for Oogway's amulet before he went 'splody so I could certainly believe it!

[lovings4turn]

જ⁀➴  𝐊𝐈𝐒𝐒 𝐇𝐄𝐑 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐅𝐎𝐎𝐋  . . .  (𝐆. 𝐑.)

— two things are definite: you like george, and george likes you. unfortunately, you two seem to be the only ones who don't see it.

+ part of my 'be my valentine' mixtape series ! love this song and i was so excited to use it for a george fic, so i hope you enjoy <3

“oh mate, you’re joking.”

“shut up!” george huffed, running the palm of his hand down his face in exasperation. “it was not that bad.”

he could defend himself all he liked, because in spite of that, george knew it really was.

this was possibly the third time this month that george had fumbled his chance to ask you out, and alex was beginning to grow tired of his friend’s constant pining and lingering stares. 

“here’s what you’re gonna do,” alex said, his voice growing more serious as he looked george dead in the eyes. “you’re gonna ring y/n, and you’re gonna tell her you forgot something at her place. a shirt, socks, anything.”

"but i haven't?"

"not the point," alex groaned. "you're gonna tell her that, so you have an excuse to turn up there. this is your chance. don't be a stupid. tell her you think she's cool, that you like her, something to charm her."

george still wasn't convinced. his brows were pinched together as he ran over alex's plan in his mind, able to find a thousand different ways it could go wrong for him.

"right. and what happens when she realises that i haven't actually left anything there, and i just look like a massive twat for showing up?"

alex wasn't sure that he could take any more.

"mate, you can't just sit around and wait for some sort of fairy tale ending to come out of nowhere for you. at some point, you're just going to have to confess to her."

though he was being assertive, alex was still trying to be supportive, laying a hand on george's shoulder and delivering a friendly pat of encouragement.

"i can promise you she's probably thinking the exact same thing right now, anyways."

george scoffed, his answer hanging in the air unspoken. as if.

unbeknownst to george, alex was a lot closer to the truth than even he may have realised.

the events of the afternoon were playing on a loop in your mind as you tried to dissect every last piece of your interaction with george, from how he'd greeted you - a brief side hug and a smile - to how he'd said goodbye - a weak effort to get you to stay and a silly, yet endearing, wave.

was this your life now? driving yourself mad over even the smallest little details, all because of some stupid feelings?

when you'd first started developing somewhat of a crush on the mercedes driver, you made a promise to yourself that it would never become a thing. and you had kept that promise for roughly four months, until you made a huge error: revealing your feelings to someone else.

ever since you had let it slip to a friend that you actually quite liked george in ways that far surpassed the platonic label, you'd been - for lack of a better phrase - absolutely fucked.

now you had people to fuel your delusions, try to convince you that george had to feel the same way, and no, of course he wasn't just being polite when he offered you his jacket, you fool. outside interference and reassurance should have made you more confident in your feelings, maybe even push you to confess, but instead they'd had the opposite effect.

the weight of the word 'hopeless' in hopeless romantic had really started to resonate with you. though you weren't allowed to dwell on your misfortunes for too long.

some may have chalked it up to fate, some may have attributed it to a divine power wanting to laugh at a poor mortal, but whatever the reason, your phone rang with an incoming call from george.

the stupid candid photo you’d taken as a contact picture flashed up on your screen, and the automatic smile that painted your lips made you want to yell in frustration.

"y/n, hi!"

pathetic was the perfect word to describe you, thanks to how utterly gone you were for george, as the mere sound of your name leaving his lips was enough to make your heart jump.

"sorry, know i only saw you a few hours ago, but i just remembered that i think i left one of my mercedes shirts at yours when i was there the other day."

you didn't even think twice about it, why would you? george had left countless items at your place in the past, and he would leave more in the future.

"no problem. y'can always come by and get it, i'll try and grab it for you."

george's chest ached at how ready to help you were.

"yeah? you're a lifesaver, y/n, really. i'll set off now, should be there in about fifteen minutes."

brief 'see you later's were exchanged, and the moment you set your phone down onto the coffee table, your hunt began.

you didn't recall seeing one of george's shirts anywhere around, but previous mishaps had enlightened you to the fact that things could turn up anywhere. you'd thought that the shoes buried right underneath your bed were odd, until a sock turned up in your bread bin a few weeks later.

nothing was off limits anymore.

yet, somehow, no matter where you looked, you couldn't find the fucking shirt. frustration slowly nibbled at your mind, the sound of a knock being the only thing to break you from your frantic search.

an annoyingly attractive george russell greeted you when you swung open the front door.

in all of the years he'd known you, george thought this was the most adorable you'd looked.

your hair was in disarray, the strands unkempt as though you'd been running your hands through it over and over again. your face shone a little, and you were clearly a little out of breath, if the small, panting gasps you took were anything to go by.

your apartment was a mess, and george quickly realised that you'd turned your entire place practically upside down to try and find a shirt that wasn't even there in the first place.

guilt began to bubble up in his throat, and george hoped that, after today, it would all be worth it. he only had one chance, and he wasn't going to fuck it up.

before he could allow doubt to creep into his mind and sow seeds of regret, george lifted a hand to cup your jaw. the feeling of your soft skin against his palm elicited a gasp to slip from his mouth. the parting of his lips provided you with the perfect opportunity to meld your lips together in a chaste, sweet kiss.

feelings went unspoken, for now. time would grant you the chance to properly word every last affection you harboured for one another at a later date.

besides, george was a firm believer that actions spoke louder than words, and this kiss was living proof.

george forced himself to pull back, his forehead resting against your own, and he believed that to die like this would be a blessed fate. because you were definitely going to kill him when you found out the truth.

"i lied, by the way. there was no shirt," he mumbled, blue eyes meeting yours with a wince.

"you fucking dick."

[atinylittlepain]

Part Two

no outbreak!joel miller x f!oc

series playlist

joel miller masterlist

series masterlist

She's tired. He's tired. They're neurotic. They're in love. Something needs to change. They need to change.

word count | 5.1k

chapter content info | 18+ little angst, couples counseling, just two tired people trying to figure out the tangle of their relationship together

a/n | part two is here, and i'd just like to say thank you to everyone being so kind about the first part - i know this isnt the usual peepaw fare, so thanks for giving her a chance - and also big thank you to @wannab-urs for beta-ing this bad boy <3

............................................

This is not a failure. She is not failing. They are not failing. Every Thursday at four o’clock she shuts her laptop and locks her office and stops in the bathroom at work, silently repeats these things to herself in her mind while she rubs her fingers at smudged mascara in the bathroom mirror. Like a mantra, though she’s not sure she’s fully bought into it yet. Because the truth is, she has had plenty of conversations with plenty of girlfriends that, really, they shouldn’t have been having about other girlfriends, not in the room with us girlfriends who, did you hear, started going to therapy and, did you hear, started going to therapy with their, oh no, husbands. Yes, she has been the bitch who has made jokes about death knells and a marriage’s last gasp for breath, jokes about the husband having the emotional range of a goldfish, and the wife being so up the husband’s ass she should give him a colonoscopy while she’s at it. She’s not really making jokes like those anymore. 

She’s not supposed to be doing what she’s doing this Thursday at four o’clock. When they first went to Vicky (LMFT, for the record) her fundamental decree had been a period of full separation. Sixteen years, she had asked, and they had nodded, and she had said whoa boy, yeah, y’all need to back off each other before we do anything else. If Paula Dean had a penchant for self-help instead of butter, she’d be something like Vicky. And so, with all the care of a drill sergeant delivering commands, or a mechanic running a diagnostic on a fucked-up car, Vicky had told them how this is going to go. An apartment, she said, don’t care which one of you lives in it. Minimal contact between sessions, right, keep it civil, right, this isn’t for forever, right. So Joel got an apartment, and Tommy helped him move all the furniture in the basement with admittedly minimal, but still present, wariness, and for the last four weeks they’ve been doing everything their beloved herr-therapist tells them. She supposes it’s working, although you can’t really do much fighting when you only see the other person for ninety minutes every Thursday so, the results might be confounded, actually.

“Hey there.” Hey there? What the fuck, what the actual fuck. He doesn’t think he’s ever said those words to her, ever, maybe not to anyone actually. He feels a little insane, a little itchy under the skin, mouth full of cotton, brain too, because they’re not supposed to be doing this, not really. The first time she’s seen the apartment, or, well, the doorway of the apartment, doesn’t really seem interested in stepping further inside, running her curled palm up and down the strap of her purse and right, not here for that. He shuts the door behind him and then they’re on their way to therapy because it’s four o’clock on Thursday and this is what they do now at four o’clock on Thursday.

“Thanks again. I didn’t think my car would still be in the shop today.”

“Oh of course, you said it’s a transmission leak?” 

“Yeah, the bad, expensive kind that’s above my paygrade. Guy said they’re still waiting on a part for it.”

“Well I’m off work tomorrow if you need a ride anywhere.”

“Vicky’ll get pissed.”

“If she finds out. Are you gonna tell on me to Vicky?” It’s a joke, they can joke, right? She laughs a little on the end of her words to make it clear, hey, it’s a joke, awkward and out of touch and unsure of what the rules are. But he offers a breath of a laugh, at least, fine, it’s fine, they’re fine, and now they’re silent driving to Vicky’s office. 

Should he ask her how her week has been? If the kitchen sink is still leaking? He’s not sure. Not sure about any of it, really. Every week, Vicky asks them how they think they’re doing and Cass doesn’t even hesitate. Good, she says. Not fine, not okay, but good, usually with a sure, terse nod. It takes him a little longer to find the right word to describe how he’s doing. Not sure about that either, but it’s definitely not good. Some things are better, sure, easier not to argue when under foot, easier not to remember all the ghosts they’ve built up around themselves. But at the most basic level, he misses her, even misses arguing with her, in a perpetual state of missing something, walking around and wondering if he left his wallet at home, or if he remembered to call a client about a new build, wondering if he’s missing something essential, a limb or an organ he didn’t know about. No, none of that. Missing something else.

“You’re not wearing your ring.” She flexes her left hand over the steering wheel in response, her very bare ring finger making him feel a quick pinch of something he’ll call anger, though it’s probably something else entirely. 

“No, Vicky advised I try not wearing it during the separation.”

“Why the fuck would she tell you to do that?”

“Joel.”

“I’m just asking.”

“You’re swearing.”

“Well, why didn’t she say the same thing to me?”

“Maybe because I told her this is how you would react.”

“I think I’m having a pretty normal reaction to it, actually.”

“It’s not a big deal. It’s just for now.”

“Right.”

“It is.” 

“Seems like a strange thing to advise someone to do when they’ve been married for nearly two decades.” She parks outside of the office complex that Vicky works in, lets out a long sigh through her nose and doesn’t spare him a glance as she reaches around to the backseat and pulls her purse up front, producing her ring from somewhere deep inside of it and sliding it back on her finger. 

“There, are you happy now?”

“Why the hell were you keeping it in your purse?”

“Oh my god, really?”

“That’s a real easy way to lose it is all I’m saying.” The truth is, she’s been keeping it in her purse in order to have easy access to it. Like a pulsepoint, sometimes she just needs to know it’s there, reaching into her purse underneath her desk and yep, still there, still okay. Sometimes she doesn’t get through a whole day without putting it back on. Like reflex, like ghost limb aching. But she’s not about to tell him that.

“Do not bring this up with Vicky.”

“Why not?”

“Because then she’ll know we drove here together.”

“You’re that worried about what Vicky thinks?”

“She’s our therapist, I’m a healthy and appropriate amount worried about what Vicky thinks.” 

“You know she’s not the arbiter of marriage just because she has a couple of degrees, right?”

“Really, the arbiter of marriage?” 

“Are you doing that thing you do, is that what this is?”

“What thing?” 

“Cass.”

“What thing?”

“Are you trying to win therapy?” Fuck him. No, really, fuck him. He’s doing that thing, his thing to her thing, half a smile in the passenger’s seat like he’s got her. Awful, of course he’s got her, smug and sure in his getting her. She doesn’t answer his question, knowing that her silence is an answer in and of itself and not really caring because they have therapy, damn it, and it’s going to be his fault if they’re late to therapy, damn it.

“You know, I’m starting to see why Vicky told us no carpooling to sessions.” Slammed shut, he sighs when she gets out of the car, thinking idly to himself that yes, he doesn’t necessarily disagree with that commandment of their therapist either. At the very least, Cass’ ring is still on her finger. He tried a few times in the past to get her something new, something nicer than the gold band he had given her when they were still young and still not able to afford much of anything, but sure enough in each other to want to keep doing it, all of it, together. No, she would tell him, doesn’t want anything other than the gold band. What she doesn’t know is that he pawned his grandfather’s watch and an electric saw for the ring the shop owner kept in a padlocked display case. Twenty-six years old, and looking back, he thinks he would have sold a whole lot more just to get it for her. 

He used to call her pearl. Something about grit that would make her roll her eyes and ask him what late night National Geographic TV special he got that line from, all the while inwardly swooning because sure, she had been baby before, babe, an errant sweetheart even, but pearl was new, and tooth-decayingly sweet. And when he proposed, Sarah bouncing around them like a manic cupid, Cassandra made an ugly sound somewhere between a laugh and a cry, little black velvet box and a ring that was more signet than wedding, simple and gold and a single pearl set in the center of it. Her hands clasped, she runs the pad of her finger over her ring, wordless and worrying it on the elevator ride up to Vicky’s office. 

Vicky has a thing for lamps and art prints of naked women. Her waiting room is a little dim, no windows, green velveteen loveseat and two high-backed wooden chairs that they always take when they get here, his eyes scanning over the coffee table laden with back-ordered Psychology Today magazines, headlines about overcoming anxiety and exercising your way out of depression. There had been one about postpartum  depression somewhere in the pile the last time they came, but he had made a point of hanging back after Cass left, some excuse about checking an insurance thing with Vicky, though what he really did was pluck out that magazine and throw it away in the men’s restroom down the hall. One less thing to worry about, at the least. 

“Hi, you two, come on back.” The sessions always start the same. Vicky asks them how they think the week went, and they both offer up some iteration of fine. Vicky asks them if they’ve been upholding their phase of separation, and she answers before Joel can, pointedly not looking at him, yes, no contact between sessions. But apparently, this week is going to be different.

“We are nearing the end of the total separation phase. After this initial period of cooling off for both of you, the real work can begin.” Right, phases, because Vicky works in phases like this is some sort of military siege. He tries not to roll his eyes at the real work beginning. 

“Can either of you remember the last date you went on together?” 

“It would’ve been in August, right before the separation.” Cass scoffs at his answer, tilt of her head like, really?

“Tommy and Maria’s baby shower hardly counts as a date. But we did go to dinner at the end of July.”

“I don’t think your work banquet counts either.” Vicky hits them with that look, that yeah, that’s what I thought look, all raised brow and scrunched nose and nodding. Not that she is, but if she, hypothetically, were trying to win therapy, Cassandra thinks she wouldn’t be doing a great job of it right now.

“Right, well, you’ve made my point for me. It’s not unusual for people who have been together for as long as you two have to let things like this fall to the wayside. However, it can be very helpful to reestablish some of these routines. Think of it as marriage maintenance.” 

“So you want us to start going on dates again?” 

“Yes, but not with each other.” Did she? Did he? Hear that right? Cass is nodding like it’s the most reasonable thing in the world, like, yes, of course, this is just the solution they’ve been looking for. This time, he doesn’t hold back a laugh.

“I’m sorry, what?” Both of them look at him like, yes, keep up, please, let us explain this to you very slowly so you can keep up, please. Something about seeing what life is like outside of their marriage, testing the waters, seeing if they still like the same things without their extra marital limb, something about making a decision about their marriage, though he tunes most of that part out because, no, thanks, no new decision has been needed since he got down on one knee during that trip to Galveston, sunscreen and sticky sweet and he’s not sure if he or Sarah was more excited, but he was definitely more nervous. And Cass said yes, and then he wasn’t nervous anymore, not scared anymore, and that’s all there was to it, is to it, right? Right. 

“This is the closing exercise of the total separation phase. It’s really important that you both have this opportunity to see what it’s like to be back in the dating pool. Think of it as a trial run of if you decide to make this separation–”

“No, no thanks. That’s not– we’re not those people, so, you know, we can just move onto the next phase.” 

“Joel.” The mom voice of all things, and he knows for certain now that Cass is trying to win therapy, nudging her shoe into the side of his, and, come on, really? She’s really bought that hard into what Vicky’s selling? Now that, that isn’t like her, at all. 

“What feelings are coming up for you right now, Joel?” She fucking hates that question, and she imagines that he does too, fingers drumming on his knee, long sigh, and she knows that look, that’s his getting ready to bolt look. Big man, big, skittish man who has accidentally nailed his fingers to house frames and hardly shed a tear. But feelings? Yeah, forget it. 

“Uh, I guess I’m confused as to why that is so important for us to do. We came here to help our– to help us, not to create more problems.”

“And you think that if you and Cassandra went on dates, one date, with other people, that it would create more problems in your marriage?” Well, it’s hardly rocket science, Vicky, though judging by the way she’s speaking to him, he’s pretty sure he failed some kind of test of hers. He doesn’t particularly care.

“I imagine it’d do that to anyone’s marriage.” 

“It’s just one date, it’s a part of the process.” She’s starting to get pissed, and trying very hard not to show it in front of Vicky should she get the what feelings are coming up for you treatment. When they agreed to start going to therapy, like a pair of dogs gagging down a pill, they had both agreed to put their full effort into it, and if Vicky wasn’t in the room with them currently, Cassandra would sharply remind him of that agreement. 

“Maybe I should clarify the expectations around this exercise. It’s one date, preferably with people outside of your shared social circle, and it would be best if the focus is just on the date, no sexual relations.”

“Oh really, you think that’d be best?”

“Joel.” He gives her a slack and slanted look, speaking two different languages, apparently. And really, she doesn’t see what the big deal is. One date versus sixteen years is pretty obvious math for her to square up, though it doesn’t seem to be for him. But, watching him engage in psychological tennis with Vicky, some new jab dripping in sarcasm for every reassurance she tries to offer him, the realization comes to Cassandra slowly, simply. Joel is scared. 

By the time they leave Vicky’s office, he feels deflated, defeated, because yes, they are, apparently, going to do this fucking exercise that fucking Vicky has fucking assigned to them, scheduled in three weeks instead of one to give them time to do this fucking exercise that fucking Vicky has fucking assigned to them. 

“Can’t we just, you know, say we did it but not actually do it?” 

“Are you serious right now?” Judging by the look she gives him, a quick, sharp flicker of her eyes before she focuses back on the road, he thinks he probably shouldn’t say anything else. He shouldn’t, but, well. 

“Is this about pleasing Vicky, or are you just that interested in dating someone else?”

“Don’t be a child about this, Joel. It’s a therapeutic–”

“It’s bullshit is what it is. I don’t– I already know what I want, and I don’t need to go testing the waters to be sure of it. What I’m not so sure about is if you can say the same.” She can’t put her finger on anything specific,  probably just a slow-building amalgamation of things. Stressful week at work, and the leaking sink getting worse, and her doctor increasing a medication dosage that’s made her body feel like something other than her body, and this fucking therapy and this fucking trying and she’s trying so hard and she feels like she’s failing and when she glances at him he looks hurt, really hurt, a close crumple in his face, deep frown, and it frustrates her because all she’s trying to do is do it right, and all she gets is this constant rhythm of resistance, this push and pull and yes, it’s all of that, all of that creeping up her throat tight and hot and curling behind her eyes sending salt pinpricks and sharp pangs. When the first sob breaks, it does so as a gasp, like a small and stunned thing in her chest. And, well, it’s never uphill from there, is it?

“Do you– do we need to pull over?”

“No, I don’t need to fucking pull over. I’m not an invalid, I can cry and drive at the same time.” Except it doesn’t come out quite like that, not smooth like that. The words get stop-started with each new shudder, new stutter, hiccuping on fucking and invalid. The world has gone to slanted stained-glass through all her tears. 

Unsure what to do, but that’s nothing new. He doesn’t say anything else, watches her through the wary side of his eye, sobs turning into something more subdued, little wounded sounds high in her throat, a choice fuck you with a little more bite behind it when someone cuts her off merging onto the highway. He feels useless, feels like, maybe, this is what Vicky should be talking with them about instead of her siege on marriage plan. All he knows is that he seems to get it wrong every time, so this time, he doesn’t interject or intervene, doesn’t say any more than he already has. He lets her cry, and he lets her drive.

He doesn’t know when it happened. When he decided he was going to fix things for her, or just fix her, really. His lady in pieces and he was going to put her back together, and it seemed like every time he tried to, she just shattered a little more. That April is the obvious answer, the most shattered he had ever seen her. But the fighting had started before then, and so had the fixing that wasn’t really fixing. Like a relief, like a release, the slow realization that no, it never worked, and no, it was never going to work. The sobs turn into shivers turn into something even smaller. By the time they pull up in front of his apartment complex, it has passed. 

“I just– I want to do this right, this therapy thing, and I want it to work, and I want it to work so we can be okay again. That’s what I want.” The words hang between them. He makes no move to get out of the car, and she counts her inhales in the silence, waiting for him to say something, anything. It feels like a child’s logic, or maybe a hail Mary, and she knows it, feels a little insane saying it, the words fitting strangely in her mouth. The brief wondering comes to her, what would she have said about where they are now to her girlfriends, what snark, what sharp jokes at their expense? Him in an apartment and a fifteen minute drive separating them and a woman named Vicky unraveling (and in theory, putting back together) their marriage in phases, fucking phases, and fucking Vicky. She doesn’t want to go on a date with someone else, and she doesn’t know why she’s taking Vicky’s instructions as gospel. But she does know, doesn’t she? It’s not about Vicky, not about Vicky and her fucking phases. Fixing, being fixed, that’s what she wants. 

“So, you’re saying you want us to date other people in order to fix our marriage.” Grateful that she takes it for the joke he meant it as, it’s just enough to slough off some of the tension, roll of her eyes, please. They both let out a sigh, too tired for much else. But maybe, he thinks, this counts as progress, sitting here with her in the car and the sun washing everything down burnt and orange. He watches her eyes drop shut for a moment, fine lines like porcelain fissures and he loves those lines, liked catching her in the bathroom with her face pressed up close to the mirror and her fingers pulling those lines taut around her eyes, her mouth. He’d pull her hands away from her face, ask her if she was planning her halloween costume for next year, earning a scoff and a roll of her eyes and her trying to pull away from him, and he wouldn’t let her. Making it better with kisses to those lines, and eventually, her pressing her fingers as light as prayers over his, an implicit wondering, where did the time go?

“Look, if it really makes you that uncomfortable, let’s just lie to Vicky. We could still get like, an A-minus in therapy if we leave just one thing out.”

“I didn’t realize therapy came with a grade.” He smiles, all soft, and she can’t help the sheepish bloom in her chest, rolling her lips back into her mouth to hide her own grin, eventually, reluctantly, admitting in a quiet, skewed to the side voice, okay, so maybe, maybe I was doing that thing, that winning thing. He doesn’t say anything, and that’s a mercy. Just nods, of course, and of course, he knew, maybe even before she did, and is that knowing not a mercy too? She thinks it is. 

“I want to do this right too, Cass. And, I mean, we’re paying Vicky enough money that we should do what she tells us to.”

“Are you saying you want to do it then?”

“Want is a strong word.”

“Okay, are you saying you’re willing to do it?” 

“It’s just the one?”

“Just the one.” 

“Alright, fuck it, let’s do it. We better get a goddamn A-plus at the end of this.” 

“Mmm, gold stars too.” Another sigh, another settling. How nice, another sigh, another settling. It’s a strange equation, but she thinks it still adds up. Neither of them want to do this, not really, but they’re willing to, and they’re willing to because of each other. Willing to try and get it right for each other. Just, well, ignore the finer details of what getting it right entails. 

“You hear from Sarah lately?”

“On Monday, yeah. Called to wish me a happy birthday.”

“Well, only off by four days, not too bad.”

“Oh no, she called on Monday because she was, and I quote, too busy the rest of the week to call.”

“Wow.”

“Right?”

“Is it bad that sometimes I kinda hate it?”

“Hate what?”

“That she’s like, a fully-formed person now. I miss the days when she was a little blob who liked holding onto me by one of my belt loops.” He has to smile, nod, because he knows exactly what she means. And the truth of it is that Sarah was so good, maybe the best, if he’s allowed to give his completely biased opinion. And the other truth, Cass is, was, one of those people simply meant to be a parent, a mother. He remembers when they first started dating, and all the exhausting maneuvering he did, getting his parents or Tommy to watch Sarah, a string of canceled dinner plans when his kid couldn’t seem to stop catching things at daycare. He was sure that Cass would lose interest every time another piece of his reality was revealed to her. After all, he was not unfamiliar with being left behind. But that never happened, she stayed every time. 

It was Cass who first suggested it. Didn't want to impose, but what if, maybe we could, would it be okay if, why don’t we. They went to the zoo that weekend, if he remembers correctly, Sarah in tow, shy at first around the woman she barely knew, though she bloomed over the course of the day. Yes, he thinks, it was the zoo, because he remembers how by the end of the day, Cass had her on her hip, as easy as anything, so she could get a better view of the rhinos. He knows now that, even in those earliest days, she loved his kid just as much as she loved him. He knows now what a gift that was, and continues to be. 

“She’s gonna be alright, Cass. We did good with her.” She sighs, yeah, we did. She had been worried about telling her about the whole lieutenant-LMFT thing, the whole quasi-separation thing, but that was a direct command from Vicky, letting the family know what was going on. Sarah had taken it surprisingly well when she called, could be good, mom, like a reset. Of course, they kept the worst of it away from her, and of course, she still knew something had changed, something not right between them. No one was left unscathed after that April.

From the start, loving him included loving Sarah. It was never difficult for her to do both. Sweet girl, bright like the sun girl, rounded cheeks and bouncing curls, and Cassandra found that her love for her had a particular effect on her heart. Whenever small hand reached for one of hers, whenever small face tucked into her neck, whether tear-damp or milk-tired, and eventually, whenever she was given the name mom, like a stop and restart of her heart, like something turning back on inside her and finally working right. An everything kind of love, to not only be chosen by him, but to be chosen by her too. 

“Well, anyways, Vicky didn’t make any stipulations about birthdays, so I have something for you.” Just a small thing, she says, leaning over the console and into the back seat, and he knows better than to say no, shouldn’t have, because there’s already a perfect package being placed in his hands, navy blue wrapping paper and a white bow, and her hand cups underneath his for just a moment, there and gone. 

The truth is she had already picked out this gift two months ago, what feels like a lifetime before this separation. Now, watching him open it, she’s a little worried it had been presumptuous of her, if not completely narcissistic. But if he thinks that, he makes no show of it, lets out a quiet laugh as he takes the watch out of the box and holds it up in the fading light to look at it. 

“It’s a little sappy, maybe. But, well, we have something that kinda matches now.” Something is unfurling in his chest, heat loosening something he didn’t even realize he had been tightening up around. It’s a beautiful watch, rich leather strap and polished silver. And the face of it catches and shimmers a little in the light. He knows right away that it’s mother of pearl. 

Here, she says, let me, and he does, feeling a little indulgent watching her fasten the watch around his wrist, and definitely breaking one of fucking Vicky’s fucking rules when he ducks his head down and steals a kiss, another one, letting the third deepen just a little, both of them humming because missed this, missed this, didn’t realize how much, but missed this. 

“Thank you, pearly.” It feels good to be so close to him, noses brushing and smiles curling around each other. Feels like a relief. 

“Happy birthday, one day ahead. We could, you know, do something tomorrow? Get dinner maybe?” Before he can answer, say yes, she’s already caught herself, sheepish smile and pulling a little further away and oh, right. She says sorry, wasn’t thinking, and they do an awkward dance around the whole thing, right, yeah, probably shouldn’t, right, yeah. He is not a hateful man, and it would be too strong to say he’d wish Vicky harm. But if something were to happen, in theory, that’d make Vicky go the fuck away, in theory, he wouldn’t be too torn up about it. 

“See you next Thursday then?”

“Well, next next Thursday, because we have to do the– yeah.”

“Right, yeah.” Right, yeah, this is the part where he gets out of the car. The part where he goes up to his apartment and she drives home and they don’t eat dinner together and they don’t brush their teeth together and they don’t go to sleep together. Right, yeah. They say goodnight. He’d like to say love, but he doesn’t. She’d like to say love, but she doesn’t. And they part ways. 

She hates being in this house alone. Leaves all the lights on all hours of the day and checks all the locks three times before going upstairs to bed. Passes by the closed door that remains closed with her breath held. She knows it makes no sense, but she’s been sleeping in the guestroom, makes the whole thing a little easier. Always had a tendency toward insomnia, tossing and turning brain and body. 

When they were just starting to get more serious, and she was just starting to stay over at his more often, she got worried that eventually it'd drive him mad enough for the whole thing to not be worth it, neither of them getting much sleep as they learned how to share a bed together. And she doesn't remember how it started exactly, maybe out of a moment of pure exasperation, him draping just enough of his weight over her to press slower breath into her lungs and still her body. It became a routine, she'd ask could you? And he'd already know what she was asking for without her having to say any more than that. What she also doesn't remember, when that stopped working, when she stopped asking, and he stopped answering. She supposes it all happened slowly, just like the rest of it. 

[jucyfruit]

On New Year’s Eve, during a house party at her home in Richmond, Virginia, Lucy Dacus had her fortune told. She thought why not. On a personal level, 2017 had been a wretched year – a steady conveyor belt delivering the 22-year-old bad news.

“This girl, who I didn’t even know, came to the party and gave me this year-long reading,” she explains. “Month-by-month it was so specific. So far, it’s kind of lined up.”

In the past Dacus has been sceptical about the prophetic powers of the tarot card deck, and was taught that the pentacles (coins) were a symbol of Satan. “It’s hard to look to the future and see nothing, to know nothing,” she muses. “I still don’t know what’s going to happen, but having something to have your mind bounce off is nice. That’s why I like tarot. It gives you something to reflect on.”

It’s all part of a fresh way of thinking for Dacus, a new “mood of just trying to be open to new things.” For so many reasons the past year has been one Lucy Dacus is keen to put behind her. “I guess I could just list things,” she says laughing, but not joking. To begin, some of her close family suffered health problems, compounded by her own serious issues including a bout of appendicitis that forced her to have surgery. She was attempting to buy a house for the first time, a process that proved “trying”. Three of her tours got cancelled.

“It was a little bit miserable,” says Dacus, sitting in an east London cafe. “Towards the end of the year, I just had to laugh… Like, come on!”

Interwoven with these practical challenges she was having to navigate something much more troubling. “I got out of a relationship in 2016, which I was waking up from in 2017 – realising that it was abusive,” she begins. “Letting myself say that, it took many months to come out of the numbness… to stop being brainwashed. So, that’s all been a growth. It’s ended up being positive, but it is difficult wondering how I let that be a part of my life for so long.”

Deepening the ordeal, still, this year of personal upheaval was set to the backdrop of Trump’s first 12 months in office. A vociferous supporter of Bernie Sanders through the 2016 election campaign, Dacus is a passionate advocate for equal rights, attending marches and collecting donations for community organisations at her shows. To have Trump sat in the White House representing her country, she says, felt – feels – “horrible”. “It’s just absurd and I feel like I’m in an alternate universe,” she says. “It’s really hard maintaining hope.

“Coming to Europe I’m embarrassed to be an American sometimes, but then I just have to hope that people know that I am not part of Trump. I’ve thought about wearing shirts at the airport – just like ‘not my president’. In little ways I just want to assert that opinion.”

And then there were the disturbing revelations surrounding Harvey Weinstein (and subsequently many other men) revealed in Autumn 2017, that opened out into a global conversation around the abuse and harassment of women.

“It’s been nice coming out of that really terrible relationship during a time when women are speaking up more. It feels like I’m allowed to say these things now,” says Dacus, crediting the #MeToo movement. “All these horrible, heartbreaking stories of women being mistreated are at the forefront but the solace that people are doing what they need in order to find closure and help each other prevent that happening ever again. For one of the first times I’ve been noticing male friends of mine actually examining their past behaviours.”

While there are some early shoots of positivity, the truth is, the culmination of all of these factors left the songwriter dealing with anxiety for the first time. “2017 was a new state of mind for me – and not really in the best way.”

Lucy Dacus was raised in Richmond, Virginia, about two hours south of Washington D.C. on the east coast. It’s a place sometimes described as “the biggest small town left in America.” The family home was in the rural suburbs and she travelled into the city to go to high school. “It’s hard to tell you in one answer how my whole childhood was,” she says. “It’s a large variety of things. Overall, I’m coming out with my thumbs up.”

In her household music was always there. Her mother is a piano teacher, as was her grandmother. Picking up songwriting was never a big deal, like a second language that was spoken around the house. “That’s how music is – like, it’s just part of my life,” she recalls.

Yet the dream of being a professional artist seemed almost so unattainable that it was invisible. In her late teens, Dacus went to college to study film but dropped out, primarily because she’d end up saddled with huge debt. “That, paired with the feeling of being misunderstood in my programme,” she confirms. “I just didn’t have a lot of like minds in my classes.”

That prompted a move back to Virginia where she took a job in a photography lab developing kids’ cheesy school photos. She’d been writing songs in her spare time and gathered nine of the 30-or-so she had together when her friend Jacob Blizard (now her touring guitarist) asked her to record them for his school project. Her 2016 debut album, ‘No Burden’, was made in one day in Nashville. Blizard passed school, and that album received rave reviews. NPR called it “vulnerable”, while Pitchfork said it was an “uncommonly warm indie rock record”. As a result, 20 different record labels reportedly scrabbled to sign Dacus. She settled on Matador, and began to prepare for what should have been a joyful 2017.

The first time Dacus remembers assuming the role of historian she was seven or eight-years-old. She was writing in her journal – and she smiles now recalling her first entry. It complained about how the babysitter spent the whole evening on the phone to her boyfriend. “There’s a point where I realise I’m journaling and so I stop and go, ‘I should probably introduce myself… I’m Lucy’” she laughs, remembering it clearly. “It’s really cute.”

More than a dozen notebooks, and many years later, she still keeps a diary now. Sometimes she writes every day, other times, weeks go by and then she fills 20 pages. Occasionally she flicks open an old one to either “laugh or cringe” at her younger self.

‘Historian’, then, isn’t just the title of her latest album, but also the way she thinks of herself. A chronicler, of her own experiences, but also those around her. Those pages aren’t just a document of a growing maturity, but also a therapeutic habit that helps make sense of many life events, including that recent damaging relationship. “Seeing that it had been broken for the whole time but that I was just oblivious to it, [reading about] it helps to accept that things didn’t change,” she says. “I just saw it for what it was finally, and so perspective is good.”

Those handwritten journals are sacred, which is why, when her tenth one was stolen on tour a few years ago along with a bag of possessions, it was the notebook she replaced first.

The album itself is a recent history – a narrative burrowing through those myriad dark times. Dacus knew that she wanted it to form a complete story, and wrote the track list before some of the songs. “It’s an arc” she says, that begins in a “relatable place” with the only break-up song she’s ever written (‘Night Shift’) that subsequently delves “deeper into darkness.”

“Then the subject matter gets a little more intense,” she tells me, “– going through identity crises, or loss of home, or loss of faith, loss of a loved one, loss of your life. I feel like I’m pulling people into an uncomfortable space.” She pauses. “There’s then a change where hopefully I’m turning on a light and saying, ‘Yes, all of that exists, but it’s a foil to joy.’”

It is an extraordinary piece of work. Musically it’s a colossal step up, reminiscent of recent albums by Mitski (‘Puberty 2’), Angel Olsen (‘My Woman’) and labelmate Julien Baker (‘Turn out the Lights’). The subject matter is heavy, but it’s never a dreary listen. In fact, it’s charming, funny even – like a brave smile emerging through a curtain of tears. And Dacus has a gift for lyric writing; like the eloquent way she pays tribute to the humility shown by her dying grandmother on ‘Pillar of Truth’. From first to final note it’s evocative and powerful. “The first time I tasted somebody else’s spit I had a coughing fit,” goes the LP’s opening line in ‘Night Shift’. “If past you were to meet future me,” she sings on the final line of the closing title track, “would you be holding me now?”

It’s heartening to hear that the contents of Dacus’ NYE tarot reading were largely positive. The forecast noted that she should enjoy the proceeds of her hard work, but that “something horrible happens in the summer, then there’s kind of a rebirth, growing back into, like, life in an even more knowledgeable and peace-oriented way.” Dacus is about to leave, and picks up a bag of books she’s been keeping underneath the cafe table.

“It could be wrong,” she says. “I’m not superstitious. I’m taking it in. When that does happen I hope I can take my own advice – let it be what it is, and look past it eventually

(x) 3/14/18

[graveyardcuddles]

If you attack ascended Astarion at the epilogue party as a mindflayer, all the rest of the companions will join in the attack with you. Which doesn't make a ton of sense from my perspective because frankly, they should all be just as scared of mindflayer Tav as they are of ascended Astarion, if not even more so. Let's just be real and admit that Astarion, as "mean" as he is when he breaks up with mindflayer Tav, is 100% correct. Tav is not Tav anymore. Ilithids don't have souls. They're not a person anymore. And Tav can prove it by attacking him out of the blue at a peaceful-ass gathering. Even Astarion with how cruel and egotistical he becomes when ascended is still more "human" than a mindflayer because he at least retains his soul and personality, as warped as it becomes. That's all besides the point, though.

My main point it I just find it weird how so many so-called Astarion "fans" revile in this scene and find it so funny how Astarion "gets his comeuppance" in this scene or whatever. And I don't know about anyone else, but I find this scene incredibly sad and tragic. Both Astarion and Tav have lost themselves completely (Tav even more so than Astarion, I would argue). And it kinda baffles me how so few fans of Astarion can see how much he's clearly hurting here as well?

He claims he hasn't thought about Tav in the past 6 months, and he delivers the line in a way that is clearly meant to sting as much as possible. People point to that moment as a "gotcha" moment that Astarion genuinely doesn't miss Tav. But he then immediately contradicts this a few sentences later when he says thinks all the time about what could have been if they had stayed his consort and never became a mindflayer. And that all his power is nothing without Tav by his side (paraphrasing).

"OH he's just manipulating Tav" why would he say anything that would make him look weak or vulnerable? If anything, he should be bragging about how GREAT he's doing without Tav. How awesome his life as a vampire lord is without them. And at first he does just that, the first half of the conversation is all bragging. But the longer he talks to them, the more the little hurtful truths slip out behind the hateful words. Like for as much as fans claim to understand that Astarion will often say one thing but mean another some of them sure are shit at being able to tell when he's clearly covering up his hurt with vitriol.

And again there's something weird about cheering on mindflayer Tav when their turn can be considered just as tragic as Astarion ascending. Like don't get me wrong I enjoy letting a monster do their thing. But it's like this weird double standard where mindflayer Tav's monstrosity is good and cool to idolize and joke about them wanting to eat the brains of their friends but the second someone has fantasies about being Astarion's consort they need to be psychoanalyzed.

And it's also ridiculous that if you even so much as suggest that hey, maybe there's more going on with ascended Astarion than meets the eye, maybe he actually is suffering in his isolation, ect. you get called a delusional idiot because people just really want to believe Astarion is truly a 100% different person from his ascended self when that's simply. not. true. Again the writers have confirmed the ritual didn't consume his soul. The ritual amplified all his worst personality traits that he already had.

I'm not saying you need to love ascended Astarion BUT if you love his character for what he is you should be able to at least appreciate him. You should be able to at least find him tragic and compelling. Kinda annoyed that many fans, who are seemingly uncomfortable with being confronted with this side of him, would rather turn him into a big joke or reduce his full spectrum of emotion to just "smug apathy."

[agent-love-101]

Yandere Johnathon Ohnn Headcanons

an: I am quite bored and I'm very desperate for content of pre-collider spot/Johnathon, so I must deliver!! it may be a bit ooc and have a lot of my own interpretation, but it's a fun concept to imagine what he'd be like as a yandere! I might do regular headcanons and a draft of what I think he was like before the collider incident. also yay! experimenting with a new format!!

in comparison to his post-collider self, Jonathan is a bit more of a tame yandere, but due to one of his only friends being liv, he's still not a normal romantic guy. Sometimes he can think realistically and know that you and him aren't meant to be, but other times he really believes it.

he uses his intelligence to his advantage. He is fairly calculated in his decisions. He knows what he can get away with and exactly how to do it.

He knows he should steal your dull dirty clothes rather than your brightly colored ones because they blend in easier and are more likely to go unnoticed when missing.

he will also occasionally take a gamble and steal your comfort shirts or your pillows. you'll always find a new pillow in it's place.

it comes to a point where he can't sleep without the presence of your scent somewhere. he gets distressed whenever the scent of you fades from the stolen items he has, and he can't swap out the items.

He knows your usual pattern in the day, and what circumstances could possibly change the outcome. I wouldn't be surprised if he had a whole bulletin board hidden in his closet. Maybe even a whole shrine of stuff he has stolen and was able to keep.

he's still very capable of being a sweet and sappy romantic though.

He'll angrily and anxiously chew on his pens thinking about how to kill a man trying to get close to you,

But he will also use his lunch break to go and buy you a gift if he notices you're sad.

He'll comfort you or offer support when you're freaked out over someone trying to break into your home, all while being that person. Either it was an accident for you to come home when he's intruding and he was able to get away, or it was carefully planned out so that he can use that stress to comfort you.

he definitely gives off a nervous kind of demeanor when you engage with him— hands trembling, excessive sweating, stuttering, and such a goofy grin plastered on his face.

you might think he's nervous— and that could be part of the reason he's acting that way— truth be told he's excited. overjoyed that you're talking to him.

he'd hang out with you every second of the day if he could.

as for how he'd get rid of someone that he thinks will damage the relationship (either non-existent or genuine) can vary.

the thought of murder crosses his mind many times a day.

whenever you exchange greetings with a coworker, laugh at someone's jokes— he always thinks something bad is happening.

but it takes a lot for him to actually act upon it.

if it's a coworker of his he has many opportunities to stage work accidents. and sometimes the opportunity is so great it would be foolish not to act upon it. so he does.

nsfw continued below!

He also knows that towels go in the wash at the end of the day, but they have enough of your scent on them to help him "get off".

I think used towels are one of his favorite things of yours to steal and smell. They're clean but they also have your scent clinging onto them...and the implication that your nude body was all over it. huffing the scent as he fondles himself—the humidity coats his throat, it's almost like he can taste you.

and those pillows of yours? there's a multitude of reasons as to why he doesn't return them— the main one being what he does with it.

the cuddling isn't an issue. but sometimes he just cant help himself and he grinds against the pillow— sometimes clothed, sometimes nude. and it just wouldn't be right to return it afterwards!

if you're coworkers, sometimes after a conversation, even just an email reply, he has to excuse himself for a quick break in the bathroom to regulate him— and by that I mean stroking himself.

[genericpuff]

Mystery solved.

Okay. Okay I gotta figure out where to begin with this- breathes

A fellow ULO community member was going through old S1 panels and pointing out typos that we had all somehow missed (LO typos have a tendency to sneak by like that) and one thing they pointed out that I had never noticed was this one panel from Episode 102:

Particularly pointing out how the font overlays Hades' fingers which is just hilarious. That was where it was supposed to end.

But have you ever actually read the letter?

Because I did. And it took me on a ride I wasn't expecting to go on at 2:30 in the morning.

This shot of the letter is from the second instance it appears, when Hades scratches out part of it and writes, "I love the way you treat me, and I want to feel that way all the time."

But the first time this letter appears, when he's actively writing it, it's delivered to us through narration, in Episode 47. I actually love this episode, it does a great job at visual storytelling without overuse of active dialogue, and the content of the letter itself shows a great amount of self-awareness from Hades in the moment, even though the dark implications of what he's feeling is falling on his own deaf ears and the scene itself is quickly dashed by the obligatory quip-for-comedy-so-people-don't-get-too-sad of Hades' dismissing his therapist's advice, with the irony of him not realizing his own issues as he's writing this letter mere hours before overstepping his boundaries and having a guy whacked for taking photos of the Goddess of Spring.

But there was one line in particular that's always stood out to me.

The line "it ends up hurting you" felt random and out-of-context. In the beginning on my first read through back in early-mid 2019, I thought maybe it was just being poetic and I "didn't get it", until I became a critic of the series and had a reality check and realized it was likely just a typo, perhaps it was meant to be "It would end up hurting you" or something of that nature.

But it was looking at that panel of the letter and actually reading the text that was there that I realized - the line feels random and out-of-context, because it is random and out-of-context.

Look back at the letter. Paragraph eight. Rachel didn't write the full line despite it being necessary to the line 'it ends up hurting you'.

The full excerpt reads:

"I WISH I COULD EMPTY A DRAWER IN MY DRESSER FOR YOU, OR BUY YOU A TOOTHBRUSH TO KEEP IN MY BATHROOM. THE TRUTH IS, EVERY TIME WE HAVE SOMETHING TO DO WITH EACH OTHER... IT ENDS UP HURTING YOU."

I can't believe it's not just a typo. I can't believe it took me this long to find this. I don't know how this got missed by Rachel, I'm assuming she wrote the letter out first and then copy and pasted the words into a larger font size which she placed throughout the episode, but how could that one part have been missed when the line "it ends up hurting you" is a dependent clause that can't stand on its own without the line that precedes it?

At the very least, I do finally feel like I've found closure over this one scene, now that I know the full context to the line. And I wouldn't have found it if it weren't for people joking about the letter panel being drawn like shit.

But it's definitely discouraging because it begs the question, what else is being haphazardly left out of the dialogue? What other clunky sentences with next to no context or build-up or reasoning could be better if they were actually finished or if Rachel and her team had spent the extra time to double check the script and ensure that no sentence is being left half-finished?

The irony in this scene as well is that Hades acknowledges he's too old for Persephone, he acknowledges that they aren't good for each other and that he'll only wind up hurting her, he acknowledges that he barely knows her and he shouldn't call what he feels for her 'love', but infatuation, a very accurate and self-aware statement that I feel like the current Hades lacks. It makes it feel all the more distressing when the letter makes a return in Episode 102, and he makes one simple change:

As impactful as this statement was back in the day, looking back, knowing fully well how far his character has now fallen, this now feels less like a triumphant statement accepting his feelings and more like one of giving in to his selfish desires. This is even more accentuated by the use of the red ink, which splatters across the page alongside messy handwriting, contrary to the meticulous typewriting above.

He's pushing off his baggage as a mere bridge to cross later.

He's making hopeful assumptions about her feelings and putting her on a pedestal without communicating his actual baggage outside of his own head and with her directly. In fact, he doesn't get around to talking about this baggage until she's in a position to depend on him in Season 2.

He's fantasizing about their future with next to no foundation yet, and while he's recognizing that she might not be happy with him in the long term, he still tosses all those legitimate concerns aside to "I love the way she treats me", as if all that matters is what she can do for him - and what he can and can't do for her isn't important until it will inevitably rear its ugly head after she's already become his.

This is the turning point where Hades has become the villain. Where he's shifted from being the responsible adult and leader to an obsessive fanatic whose only goal is to have Persephone. To the point that, despite him saying in the letter that it would be best to limit his presence around her-

-seems to be upset over the notion of doing that exact thing as soon as she's the one to suggest it. Acting as if he's being rejected when he was the one to originally conceive the idea to limit their presence around one another for her own good.

Hades being a responsible King and adult went out the window years ago and I feel like this was the moment where it happened, and that red pen was the gavel. Apparently all it took was her admitting she has a crush on him - undoubtedly as shallow as his crush on her, based solely on infatuation but not written on paper as Hades' confession was - for him to toss aside all that work to unpack his feelings and all that responsibility he was willing to take. Never mind the fact that her feelings could undoubtedly use unpacking of their own. Never mind the fact that her liking him back still doesn't change the reality of their situation - that they're fundamentally different people, from different worlds, with vastly different experiences and outlooks and values and goals, living in massively different life stages. Try as it might to be presented as romantic, that "opposites attract", it's more appropriately and commonly known as being incompatible.

If this were any other story, this would be a precautionary tale in so many ways, made especially significant for an audience that's largely coming of age and experiencing feelings of infatuation and attraction for the first time.

But this isn't that story. It's Lore Olympus.

Hades is, through and through, the villain of this story, no matter what the narrative tries to convince us of otherwise. I stood by that statement before and I stand by it even more so now. Unfortunately we're now at the point where Persephone herself has become a villain, corrupt by the same system she used to criticize.

And just like the letter and all its raw text admitting to Hades' faults and baggage and showing he's willing to take accountability, so too does the narrative itself slyly tell the ugly truth in between its lines: that love is not enough, that love is not the same as obsession, that power can corrupt even the purest of hearts - that love is enough, that you should pursue the one you desire until they're yours and only yours, that you should climb higher towards those in power above you until you have that same power in your hands.

Because you love the way it makes you feel and you want to feel that way all the time.

[sorcerous-caress]

oh god VERY MUCH NOT mommy kink like it’s just “funny haha” slip up

Accidentally calling them "mom"

[Fluff, platonic, nb!reader]

[Jaheira, Karlach, Minthara, Halsin, Gale]

Jaheira

"Very amusing, cub, it's still not getting you out of doing your chores."

She'd think you said it on purpose to tease her about her age or being a mother, although she is mostly used to using the hag word instead. Doesn't take it to heart.

It's probably your silence afterwards that makes her realise it was a slip of the tongue.

It honestly doesn't phase her even then. She has been called weirder stuff by some young harpers before. She won't call you out on it to not embarrass you.

It is anything. It is ironic a bit because she has been treating you and the companions like she'd treat her own kids for a while.

But you don't need to know that.

Karlach

Laughs nervously. "Hey soldier, I'm not that old yet."

Even when she thinks you meant it as a joke, she'd get a bit concerned if she's been suffocating or nagging you like a mother, not that she knew what it was like but still, she really wanted to be a friend.

Unlike Jaheira, she will embarrass you by bringing it up later, during dinner, in front of the whole camp.

"If you're dead set on it, how about big sister instead?"

She sees it as a win, she has finally fixed the situation yes. The reason you've abandoned your plate and hiding your face from Astarion's wicked witch cackling is because you're so happy to have a cool big sister like her.

Minthara

"Ihars demand respect, something you need to learn."

To her, being a mom is a position of authority more than a parental role.

You explain it was just a slip of the tongue and not you actually requesting her to act like your mom.

"It must hold some truth to slip by your guard." She'd argue.

Honestly she never had plans to be your mom, she is in her own twisted sense of humour, messing with you.

She knows how to joke, yeah, she is hip like the teens. How are you doing, fellow kids?

It's just that uh...all her jokes are delivered with a dry tone and a serious expression, which causes massive misunderstandings.

It would take you a week before you realise she was only joking.

Halsin

Happy, actually happy. "Oak father preserve you child, mind saying it again?"

You better run and find a hole to bury yourself in because Halsin is wearing that mom badge unironiclly

He doesn't even care for the title gender being the wrong one, he is a proud mom okay?

Is understanding if you explain that it was just an accident. Still asks if it means he isn't a mother figure to you?

It's a fair game if you say he isn't. But if you say he is? He'd actually feel warm inside, being this mentor or guide figure to you. It's genuinely a great honour.

Don't worry he will never abuse the accidental mom title, merely using it as an achievement or trophy to prove that he is walking the right path in life.

Gale

Chokes on the soup, he was test tasting, face red and eyes avoiding your gaze. You'd almost think he was the one who called you mom and not the other way around.

"Well- I...you see. The thing is" keeps stuttering while you help wipe away the soup he spilled all over his camp clothes.

Clearing his throat, he attempts to regain a grain of composure as he says, "With the current circumstances, i don't think I would be the best available option for your...choice of parental figure."

You feel less embarrassed about the whole situation from how much embarrassed he is by it.

You get a bigger portion of soup and food each night from now on as an apology from Gale.

[pagesfromthevoid]

Safe & Sound | j.m. | 2

Joel Miller x fem!reader

Word Count: 2.1k

Warnings: She’s Frank’s niece; age gap (she’s 32); flashback

Author’s Note: Joel Miller is actually a big ass softie but he won’t let anyone know

Series Masterlist | Talk to Me! | AO3

Ellie jumped from the third to last step onto the floor, feeling clean for the first time in her entire life. Honestly, if they weren’t on the whole ‘deliver her to the Fireflies’ mission, she would have stayed in the shower for hours, just enjoying the hot water and how it felt against her skin. It was fantastic. And to have clean clothes? God, Bill and Frank were the best. 

Joel had given her a look as he walked up the stairs himself, carrying a set of new clothes. Ellie swore there was a tiny smile there, but he was gone before she could tell. Frank’s niece was in the living room, holding a little notepad and a pen as she wrote. 

“Whatcha doing?” Ellie asked, announcing her presence. 

“Making a list,” she answered simply, not looking up from her work. “I’m making Joel shower and sleep —so it’s you and me on packing duty. Figured it would help you out to know what to get.”

“How have I known you for like an hour and you’re already nicer than Joel has been?” 

It was a sarcastic question, meant to be joking. But it was also laced in a sincerity that Ellie didn’t realize she meant. But the woman just eyed her for a moment before setting down her notebook. 

“Joel Miller can be an ass,” she explained, moving to sit on the couch. She pat the seat beside her, and Ellie sat down. “He means well, most of the time. I think, at least. But he’s…he’s jaded. Angry. And he has every right to be, but he seems to let that anger out on the wrong things. I think Frank only put up with him because of Tess, and Bill did it for Frank.”

“Who did you do it for?” 

She hummed for a moment, leaning forward some. Her hands rubbed together, and she let out a breathy laugh that almost sounded embarrassed. 

“I think I put up with him for myself,” she admitted. 

“What do you mean?” Ellie raised a brow at her, leaning forward to mimic her position. She looked like she was debating telling Ellie the truth, sitting there looking anywhere but her. “Listen, if it’s because you wanted to like, do it with him —,”

“Jesus, no. Not…not that,” she quickly corrected, shaking her head. “I…I was twelve when Bill took us in. So I’ve been here, ten years, with my uncles. Joel just happened to be the only…unrelated, straight man I’ve ever really interacted with as an adult.”

“So you did do it.”

“Will you shut up? We didn’t do it,” she scolded, rolling her eyes. “Bill would have actually killed the man if we had.”

“Okay…,” Ellie watched her curiously, leaning back against the couch cushions again. The shower shut off, and they both looked up at the stairs. But the door stayed shut. “Then why put up with him?”

“I…,” she looked embarrassed again, and her eyes kept darting between the stairs and Ellie. “I wanted someone to kiss me, that’s all. And Joel just happened to be the only person I could kiss. And Tess, but I don’t think she swung my way.”

“Gross. I’d rather it have been Tess.”

“You literally kept asking if we did it and you think kissing Joel is gross?”

“Oh no, doing it is gross too. But you actually kissed him?”

“Once or twice.” 

Ellie decided she was lying about once or twice but didn’t say anything. But she was curious. 

“How did you even get him to do it?” 

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

2014

“Do me a favor?” Frank asked, holding out a small basket of vegetables. “Take this inside to Joel and Bill. Tess and I are gonna chat for a few minutes.”

She sat on the back porch step, one leg pulled against her chest as the other rested outstretched in front of her. Her uncle was giving her a knowing look, suggesting that business was about to be talked about and she didn’t need to be there for it. Huffing, she pushed herself up and took the basket. 

When Joel and Tess came to barter and trade, everyone was always so on guard. The house was tense, and it usually devolved into an argument once they were outside the gates. Sometimes she wished they just stopped coming by, but at the same time —it was nice to have people who weren’t her uncles to interact with. 

Besides, Joel was easy on the eyes and she didn’t get a lot of outside contact in that regard. 

Finding neither of them in the kitchen or the dining room, she slipped through the main hall to the living room. Joel sat alone, staring at the front door that was open with the screen door shut. 

“Where’d Bill go?” She asked, walking into the room and setting the basket on the coffee table. 

“Said something about checkin’ the fences,” he explained simply. That had become code for I pissed him off so he left. 

She hummed a bit in reply, looking around awkwardly for a moment. Frank and Tess were still outside, and she knew Bill would be gone for a while to cool down. Which left her and Joel Miller alone in the house. 

It wasn’t a frequent occurrence. It had happened twice now, when Frank and Tess were chatting or Bill stormed off to do whatever he did. But it was still a little thrilling, to be alone with an older man that wasn’t related to her. She had thought about it a lot since they had met last year. It wasn’t that she had a thing for Joel Miller. He just happened to be the only man she’d interacted with as an adult. 

It made sense. 

“Can I ask you for a favor?” She finally asked, though her voice was trembling as she sat down beside him. There was at least a foot between them, and her hands rested in her lap as she tried to calm her nerves. 

The worst he could say was no, and she could absolutely accept that. But she just…she needed to know. 

“Depends,” he moved over some, adding more space between them. 

“I’ve uh, been thinking. About you.” She closed her eyes then opened them, realizing how weird that probably sounded. His raised brow suggested he was thinking the same. “Not like that, I mean like you and Tess. How you two are the first people I’ve met outside my uncles since I got here.”

He sort of just stared at her, brows raised still as he waited for her to keep speaking. To ask her favor. And Christ, could he just give her something to work with? 

“And?” 

That wasn’t enough to work with, but she had to take it. “And I was…I was thinking that I can…I can trade you something if you help me with something else. You know, trade for trade. That’s what you and my uncles do —,”

“What are you asking for?” He interrupted, crossing his arms over his chest as he leaned back into the couch. “Because if you’re asking me to sleep with you —,”

“Oh, no, no,” she quickly corrected, shaking her head. “No. I…I am quite content not sleeping with anyone in my life if that’s what happens. I just…,” she trailed off, feeling her face heat up as she considered her request. “I’d like to be kissed. Just once.”

Joel stared at her for several moments, blinking slowly as he processed what she was saying. “You want to trade me something to kiss you?”

She nodded once, feeling foolish for even asking. Her eyes found a spot on the far wall incredibly interesting as she stammered out her apologies. “You don’t have to —it’s a weird thing to ask someone to do. I’m sorry, I —,”

“I’m not tradin’ your first kiss for anything,” he interrupted, turning to face her. 

She should have expected his answer. It was a ridiculous request, and she knew it was inappropriate to ask. But she didn’t know what else to do, and he was a decent enough person. And he was handsome and —

“I’ll just…I’ll just kiss you, okay?”

She looked back at him, heart thudding against her rib cage. “You will?”

“I don’t see why not,” he admitted, shrugging some. “I understand why you wanna, and why you asked me.”

“I guess I could have asked Tess —,”

He laughed at that —an actual laugh. It was warm, and genuine. And Jesus Christ, he was even more attractive suddenly. 

“She wouldn’t’ve done it. Not without a drink or two,” he explained, giving her a small smile. “Should kiss someone who isn’t drunk, and just wants to make you feel good. That’s hard to come by these days.”

They stared at each other for several moments, and she swore she could hear the blood rushing through her veins. There was a knot in her stomach as she looked up at the man in front of her. She knew it was bold, but she couldn't help herself. 

Maybe he had seen the fear in her eyes —that fear of never finding what Bill and Frank had. Of being alone eventually, at the end of the world. But it didn’t matter, because he wanted to kiss her and she was incredibly grateful. 

“I don’t know what to do,” she whispered with a sheepish smile.

He hesitated a moment, glancing at the door, before he moved closer to her on the couch. She turned to face him, swallowing hard as he reached up and pushed a strand of hair out of her face.

“Just meet me in the middle, okay?” 

She nodded once, leaning in slowly. He leaned in next, and brushed his lips against hers gently. It wasn’t fireworks, or explosions. There was no magical spark that suggested that this kiss was more than just one between two people, sharing a moment. But it was nice, and she could feel he was trying to be soft about it. She closed her eyes, savoring the sensation. A sense of relief washed over her. 

He pulled back slightly, but she chased the touch just once more, kissing him again before pulling away entirely. She was a bit breathless, if anything because she didn’t know if she was even breathing when he kissed her. 

“I…,” she didn’t know what to say, and instead let out a small, embarrassed laugh as she looked down. “Thank you. For that. For um, kissing me.”

His indifferent demeanor had shifted back, taking what momentary softness he had shown her away. Joel simply nodded, looking at the front door as Bill opened the screen up. She shifted, reaching for the basket of vegetables, trying to cover up any sign of what had just happened. 

“Where’s your uncle?” Bill asked, voice rough and annoyed. 

“Out back with Tess,” she offered, pointing towards the back door. 

“We were about to go join’em,” Joel continued, standing up. 

Bill didn’t respond, instead trekking through the house ahead of them. She watched him for a few seconds before standing up next, holding the vegetables. As Joel moved to step away from her, she grabbed his sleeve. He turned, looking at her curiously. 

“Um,” she hesitated before finally looking up at him with a smile. “Feel free to do that whenever you want to. Kiss me, I mean.”

Joel just nodded once, glancing at the back door as it slammed shut behind Bill. Then he pulled away, leaving her there with a basket of vegetables and the lingering taste of salt and pine on her lips. 

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

Ellie snickered when she finished the story, making a face. She wasn’t sure what the relationship between the two were; Joel seemed annoyed by Ellie and her existence. And Ellie seemed just as annoyed by how he felt about her. But in that moment —seeing Ellie scrunch up her nose like she was truly disgusted by the thought of Joel kissing someone —made her think they might as well be family. 

“So he did kiss you again?”

“One more time,” she admitted with a small laugh, picking up the notepad and continuing her list. “When I turned 25. I asked him to kiss me for my birthday.”

“What a shitty gift!”

Both shared a laugh just as Joel descended the stairs, hair combed back from the shower. Ellie hopped up, pointing at him accusingly. 

“You are supposed to be sleeping, old man.”

Joel scowled at her before opening up the linen closet from before. He yanked out a pillow and a blanket. 

“You’re sure you’re okay with gettin’ started without me?” He questioned, looking between the two and the lack of work they had gotten done. 

“Go take a fucking nap, Joel,” Ellie ordered. 

She looked between the two, both surprised and impressed by Ellie’s tone. But she nodded in agreement. 

“Yeah, what she said, cowboy.”

“Stop callin’ me that,” he scolded. “Fuckin’ menaces. Both of you.”

———

Taglist (OPEN): @aheadfullofsteverogers @jasminedragoon @buzzing-honeybee

[misc-obeyme]

Forgetful MC Part 2

Okay here is part two of an MC who is forgetful, this time with the side boys! Not including the three newbies, as I haven’t met them yet. Luke’s part is strictly platonic, of course, though these are generally not romantic anyway.

GN!MC

Warnings: MC is forgetful. Since this is based on things I personally struggle with, there may be some ADHD symptoms in there, too, as I have that as well. Please let me know if I should add anything else here!

Diavolo

Hears from Lucifer that you are a bit forgetful and absentminded. Finds it completely adorable. Thinks this is a cute human trait that you have.

Turns out that Diavolo understands your struggle. Forgetfulness solidarity. What would he do without Barbatos to keep him on track?

He actually gets excited if you’ve forgotten something he told you about because now he gets to tell you all about it AGAIN! You’re adorable, MC.

If he puts you in charge of some event, as he is known to do, he will write you little lists of things you need to remember relating to said event. Writes them all by hand and delivers them to you in person. If you misplace them, he has extra copies.

Barbatos

Everyone knows this guy is the exact opposite of forgetful, so when it’s brought to his attention that you struggle with remembering certain things, he is on it.

Reads your mind. Even if your mind is blank. If you’re sitting there, trying to remember where you put something or if there was something you needed to do, he will be able to tell you exactly what it is. How does he do that? We don’t know, he’s a butler that can time travel.

Makes you a special tea blend with herbs that are known to improve memory issues. Since he knows you forget to drink it, Barbatos makes it for you pretty regularly. Trust him on this, MC. A good tea blend can fix all kinds of things.

Loves to bake with you, but keeps an eye on what you’re doing so you don’t forget important steps. Gently redirects you to the correct thing if you’re about to mess up because you forgot something.

Simeon

Upon learning of your forgetful tendencies, Simeon is very thoughtful about helping you out with it. Doesn’t ask you outright if you’ve forgotten something. Instead, he drops little suggestions and hints until you remember whatever it is on your own.

Similarly, he’ll ask you a question about something he suspects you’ve forgotten, acting like he’s the one who can’t remember. This gives you the opportunity to pretend that you didn’t forget at all, even though both of you know the truth.

Simeon also loves to cook with you. He will do every step with you, reading each thing out loud from the recipe as you go to prevent you from forgetting things.

Always notices if you’re struggling with something due to your forgetfulness. Always helps you out in a subtle, gentle way to help you avoid embarrassment. Don’t worry, MC. He’s here for you.

Solomon

Probably makes fun of you for your absentmindedness in a lighthearted way. After you fail spectacularly at a spell due to forgetting the words, it becomes an inside joke with you two.

Understands that you have a slightly different learning style. When you become his apprentice, he figures out exactly what he needs to do to make sure you succeed. He won’t let you flounder, MC.

Actually comes up with systems that really help you, not just with learning magic, but with every day life, too. If something stops working, he’ll take the time to work out something new with you. Can’t go wrong with a genius wizard grandpa on your side.

If you ever tell him that you’re embarrassed about your forgetfulness, Solomon will reassure you. He will remind you of all the things you’ve accomplished. He will tell you how proud of you he is.

Luke

Follows Simeon’s example when it comes to dealing with your forgetfulness and tries to be subtle about it, but he’s not quite as good at it as Simeon is. You appreciate the effort, especially considering how adorable he is when he does it.

This precious boy is always baking you things. But of course you have a tendency to leave things behind. So if he’s got some baking for you to take back to the House of Lamentation with you, he waits until the last possible second to give it to you, so the chances of you leaving it behind are slim. You absolutely have to try these new macarons, MC! No leaving them behind!

Holds your hand whenever you go anywhere together because he doesn’t want you to get lost. You don’t have the heart to tell him that it’s only when you go somewhere new, so you just let him lead you around.

Probably gives you extra blessings if he’s worried about your absentmindedness causing you trouble. Luke can’t help but worry about you.

masterlist | part 1 with the brothers | Thank you for reading!

[theerurishipper]

I saw an anon compare Kuro Neko/Transmission, and I think the better comparison for how the show treats their trauma is Glaciator 2/Transmission.

G2- Adrien is sad, Marinette sees this and is immedietely giddy because she can cheer him up and win the day! I'm not angling to say she is cruel, she doesn't want him sad, but the moment is still very much about her emotional needs. She is the only player character in this world. She goes down to him, completely oblivious to anything but her plan, enacts her plan, fantasizes about her plan, and when her plan is derailed she scraps it -despite the fact Adrien liked the gift- and when he leaves she... laments the plan failed.

Transmission- Mari is sad. Alya connives to get Adrien to deliver her her homework. On the way he worries about what his actions may have done, considering *why* she might be staying home. Once there he opens with a light self deprecating joke. Then he probes gently to understand *her* feelings, and when he learns even a little about her he tries to commiserate, to validate and share her pain. He even goes so far as to unintentionally deliver into her hands the one thing she has literally wanted since S1, and he means every bit of it. He is there for *her.*

Now, on the face of it, these two moments aren't terrible. They show two people with very different social styles. Marinette almost completely lacks the ability to empathize. In her head Her personal experience is the only experience and the universal one. There is no other way to be.

Adrien meanwhile has grown adept at reading emotional states, likely as a defense mechanism at home. The first thing he tries to do is puzzle out why emotions are happening and then approach them in context.

The problem is the show *never* loops back around to this idea. Mari's lack of empathy marches it's way destructively through the series while never actually being framed as a thing she has to grow from. Meanwhile Adrien(and Luka too) are shown to go to emotional self-harming lengths for her henefit and that too is never framed as unhealthy or bad, it's *romantic* it is what they are *supposed to do*

And there in lies the core problem that you can find at the roots of so many other problems in the narrative.

Your analysis of both those scenes is spot on. Adrien's focus is on Marinette, but Marinette's focus is... also on herself. She finds it hard to empathize with and understand the feelings of others. Clearly, she can understand that Adrien is sad, and I struggle to say she doesn't care. She's shown concern for him when he's sad (Rogercop) and she's tried to help him selflessly (The Collector, the New York Special), but she still struggles with empathizing and focusing on others more often than not, and this is one of those moments where she makes it about herself.

And this part:

The problem is the show *never* loops back around to this idea. Mari's lack of empathy marches it's way destructively through the series while never actually being framed as a thing she has to grow from. Meanwhile Adrien(and Luka too) are shown to go to emotional self-harming lengths for her henefit and that too is never framed as unhealthy or bad, it's *romantic* it is what they are *supposed to do*

This is exactly right. The show is mired in its protagonist-centered morality, and Marinette can do no wrong. It's interesting to have a character who can't relate to others easily. It's realistic! It's relatable! But the show doesn't portray Marinette stepping over the feelings of others because she can't understand them as a bad thing. If she fails to consider them or causes them hurt in any way, they have to suck it up and deal.

I do feel like it's more evident with Adrien than Luka, because Luka often took on the role of emotional support who asks for nothing, but he was also allowed to break up with Marinette because he was unhappy with the relationship (Truth) and be sad that she wasn't talking to him (Crocoduel). He's allowed to have emotions as long as he doesn't bother Marinette with them. But when Adrien is unhappy with Marinette, he doesn't get anyone telling him his emotions are valid or that he's allowed to feel this way. What he learns is that he's being too sensitive and that he doesn't deserve any better. What he learns is that Marinette is right, and he should get back to being her emotional support partner who doesn't expect a thing of her.

Marinette is always portrayed as in the right no matter how her actions affect others, and this is what causes her character to fall flat. She makes decisions for others because she feels like her way is the only way, and the show agrees with her. So you get things like the Season 5 finale where Marinette makes the decision to hide the truth about Gabriel from Adrien. And her covering for the abuser is portrayed as good and kind of her. It's the narrative bias that ruins her character, and that's quite unlikely to change in the future seasons.

Thank you for your ask!

[mode-lfy]

Hayoung - Delivery

A/N: Inspired by a TikTok clip I watched

“Hello? Where is my order? I ordered jajangmyeon like an hour ago.” You asked, when the call was connected to the delivery person.

“I’m on my way!” A voice answered.

The sound of traffic could be heard in the background.

“Where are you-” The call ended before you could ask where the person was.

“What the…?” You sighed in disbelief and frustration as the person hung up on you.

Within 15 minutes, there was a knock at the door and you opened the door to see someone bowing deeply with your food and money in your face.

“I’m sorry! I will refund your money. Please don’t report me!” The girl said.

You looked up and rolled your eyes, sighing but controlling your temper.

She looked up and tried showing her cute eyes to you.

“Keep the money. Thanks for delivering the food.” You took the food and sighed again before closing the door.

You went back to your living room and sat down, taking out the bowl of jajangmyeon that took an hour plus to arrive.

As you unwrap the plastic, and prepare to enjoy your meal. You see the sad scene of your noodles, you held your chopsticks and used it to held up the noodles, it was frozen into a clump. You tried reheating it but the noodle by then was too soggy when reheated.

You sighed once again and ate as much as you could handle before throwing away around half of the incredibly soggy noodles.

“Digusting.” You shook your head as you threw away the soggy noodles.

You decided to just sleep for the night after waiting a long time for a bad meal.

The next day, you woke up and started to work on a project that you have been working on for awhile now. You worked for a few hours before starting to feel your stomach growling, then you looked at the time and it was now noon. You decided to go down and buy lunch from a nearby convenience store.

==================================================

Hayoung meanwhile was trying to stop her mom from going up the lift. “Don’t your boyfriend stay here?” She asked.

‘... How do I tell mom that I broke up with my boyfriend and he doesn’t live here…’ Hayoung thought to herself as they waited for the lift.

Soon the lift opened and you walked out of the lift.

“Oh!” You recognised Hayoung, the girl who delivered your food last night.

“Oh! Kim Son-in-law. You didn’t have to come down and fetch us. Did Hayoung tell you I was coming?” Her mom came, happy to see youl.

You were stunned, as you looked at how happy the older lady was looking at you.

You looked over at Hayoung, ‘???’ you made a confused face at her.

She looked back at you, don’t know what to do.

The older lady, you assuming her mother, entered the lift and asked you two to come in as well.

“What floor are you staying?” She asked you.

“Well, eomma… actually… I…” Hayoung tried to tell the truth.

“It’s the 6th floor, mother.” You replied politely, pressing the 7th floor button.

“Your face look slightly different, did you lose weight?” Her mom asked.

“Yes, I did.” You said, bowing a little and smiling.

Hayoung look at you surprised as you continued to play along. You looked at her, staring for a spilt second before taking the gift package from her, helping Hayoung carry the gift package.

Her mom saw the action and smiled to herself, approving of you.

=================================================================================

Once inside your apartment, you took out the apples that Hayoung’s mom took out and peeled, cutting it before serving it on a plate to them.

“Wow~~~, you are so good in peeling and cutting the apples. Completely different from our Hayoung!” The older lady joked, praising you as you handed an apple on a fork to her.

“Take one.” You said, handing one to Hayoung.

“So, what do you like about my Hayoung?” Her mom asked, as she bites into the apple slice you handed to her.

“Well, she is a strong, brave girl and…” You looked at Hayoung, not knowing what else to come up with.

We

She looked at you, making gestures. ‘Say one more good thing about me please.’ She pleaded.

“Pretty and cute.” You praised Hayoung.

“Ah! You are really in love with my daughter.” Her mom said, happy with you.

“You got lied to by Hayoung, but you can’t get rid of her tho.” She said laughing, earning a weird look from Hayoung.

After a short conversation with Hayoung’s mom, she prepared to leave.

“It was nice meeting you, Kim Son-in-law.” She held your hand.

You and Hayoung looked at each other, she looked at you, giving you a slight nod and smile as thanks.

“I will let you two talk for a while.” Her mom said, giving you two a short time to talk and waiting at the lift area.

“Thank you.” Hayoung whispered once her mom was at a distance.

“It’s okay. Your mom is interesting.” You smiled.

“Well…” Hayoung, blushed.

“I don’t actually have a boyfriend, maybe… Can I have your number?” She asked, looking down and away.

You thought of it as cute and gave your number to her.

“Hayoung-ah, the lift is here. Give a hug to Kim Son-in-law and then come over.” Her mom said.

Hayoung gave you a small hug before leaving with her mom.

“Damn, I ordered a jajangmyeon and somehow got a girl for a date??” You joked to yourself as you went back to your apartment.

[captainhunnicutt]

I was watching Commander Pierce, today and had some thoughts. I feel like, this is one of those episodes where the viewer is supposed to think Hawkeye is being a jerk with his "leadership style," and how he overdid it etc. etc. but the more I think about it... the more I feel bad for him. I don't think he was actually at fault here as much as initially thought.

Hawkeye knows who he is. He knows what his faults are and doesn't try to pretend they aren't there. He even says he isn't fit to lead. His insignia is a cringing chicken. He doesn't know how to give orders. He legitimately gives every reason putting him in charge is a bad idea - and not one person takes him seriously. I feel like sometimes, throughout the show, this theme reappears. People don't listen or take Hawkeye seriously because he says things in such a way that makes it sound like he's cracking a joke - but behind every joke there is some semblance of truth. And it feels like an argument could be made that that particular consideration isn't often awarded to Hawkeye. It's the exact opposite of BJ - who delivers a lot of very telling statements calmly and collected and no one pays any attention. Like when BJ says in Our Finest Hour that the war has made him angry, and we all act surprise (the only person who doesnt is Hawkeye) when he lashes out in BJ Papa San. It's the same idea. They aren't taken seriously, and that feels like the most dehumanizing thing, which in turn feels like commentary on soldiers/draftees in general. They are just chess pieces in one large game that never seems to end.

But anyway, Hawkeye doesn't think he can lead, but he really is a natural leader. He leads by example and by not following protocol. By thumbing his nose at rules and regulations - and that is actually working until the influx of wounded and the lack of physical hands available to help. So he defaults to the only option readily available to him. The "army way". There are rules and regulations and standard operation procedures, that in theory, are supposed to help lead. They are supposed to be ways to get themselves to the other side of a situation. So Hawkeye tries to abide by them, use them to his advantage, but with people who are conditioned - by Hawkeye himself and commanding officers continuously allowing it to happen - to NOT play by the book. So what do they do? They lash out at Hawkeye. They make him out to be the worst leader and doing a terrible job - which isn't entirely fair to him.

Hawkeye didn't have the confidence in his own natural abilities to lead and to get them through everything, and fell victim to thinking the "army way" was designed to actually help.

And while I think BJ was honest upon his return, and did exactly what "Captain Pierce" would've done, I don't think he was actually mad at Hawkeye or "Commander Pierce." I think it's one of those situations where he wasn't mad, just disappointed. I like to believe (re: it's possible and I'm in no way saying this is absolutely what happened but it's open for interpretation) BJ was the first person (maybe the only person) to recognize that Hawkeye would've done just fine if he had led as himself and not tried to be the exact thing he normally despised.

Thanks for coming to my messy MASH talk.

[dozing-marshmallow]

BOBA DATE WITH CHRIS MCLEAN HEADCANONS

(I had a big impulse to write this- don’t fret, I’m still writing the requests I’ve received!)

You don’t know how Chris didn’t try boba earlier.

This beverage was literally perfect for him- control over the amount of ice, amount of sugar, toppings.

Best part is, if he didn’t like how it came out, he’d have himself to blame.

Even though, it’ll never get to that.

He liked many flavours, but was somehow very picky.

“I’m stuuuuck... Could you help me?” he dragged out to you, menu in hand.

“Sure.” you came next to him,“What do you feel like having?”

“I don’t knowww... What do you normally get?”

Uh...

“I get a different flavour every time, but I can guarantee that if you already like one flavour of something, boba will only enhance it!” you tolled, in your love for this drink.

“Not helpful.”

“It’s assuring you! Does theee fruit tea interest you?” your finger lands on the title.

He scans over that section,“The mango seems nice.”

“Only?”

“Is there a problem?” insulted, he raises an eyebrow.

“No, no. But make sure you look over the entire menu at least once before you decide.”

So he does and his attention lands on- “Oo, they have frappes!”

“Aw...” you whine. Was he really going to go for something he was already familiar with?,“You can get frappe anywhere.”

“True.” Thankfully, he agreed with you,“Alright...uh... I don’t wanna waste too much time deciding on a dry throat, so I’ll go for the...matcha green tea. It seems like the healthier option.”

Not what you were expecting, but who were you to judge,“Alrightt. You want ice with that?”

His voice takes a notch down from his usual confidence, submitting for your guidance,“...Would it be better with it?” making you almost feel bad for the ambiguous answer you delivered.

“Maybe. Maybe not.”

“Really?” he squints his eyes in distaste,“Fine. Twenty five percent ice.”

“And how much for sugar?”

“Huh?” He blinks,“You can...pick how much sugar it has?”

You expected that reaction,“Different, right?”

“Then, a hundred percent! I want the full experience.” he put great emphasis into his preference.

One final thing to top it off,“What toppings d’you want?”

His cognition paused,“...Whatty?”

“Y’know the pearls at the bottom of the drink? I’ll ask tapioca. It’s the generic black one.” you fill him in, watching this new concept wrap around his cute head.

“Actually, I want the golden one.” Of course he did.

Chris didn’t want to embarrass himself trying to order something new, even if he could turn it into a snazzy moment, so you were going to do it on his behalf- and yours,“Okay!”

While you wait, Chris looks over the toppings menu again,“Popping balls sound pretty neat!”

“I’m really surprised you went for the green tea.” you admit, looking alongside him.

“Why’s that?”

“I don’t know. I thought you would’ve gone for an actual frappe based tea or something a bit more common like jasmine tea since you’ve never tried boba before.” A wire of your prior interpretations reach him, in a lighthearted manner.

A soft laugh jumps from his vocal chords as he pats your shoulder,“Gotta be full of surprises! Unpredictability is a key trait needed to keep a crowd entertained.”

“No way.” you tease, holding onto his hand until the boba was ready. Chris picks up his flexible cup where the golden balls looked so strange with the green.

“Is that supposed to be offensive coming from someone who’s clearly never seen this much green and gold before?” He rolls his eyes, holding his pointed straw above the plastic seal,“So I just...?”

“That’s right. Not too weak, not too strong-“

He stabs it in perfectly.

“Alright!”

He twirls his cup around, before moment of truth: the second he takes his first swallow of his first ever boba, his eyes lit up. No joke. There was a whole other sparkle that lit up in his dark eyes,“Oh my God...this tastes really good.”

“Really?” you smile, adoring the sight that he was enjoying something you suggested.

He nods, eyeing the light brown volume in your cup,“I never got to ask... What‘s that one you bought?” he points.

You proudly apprise him,“Brown sugar milk tea.”

“Brown sugar?” The name put him off.

You elaborate before he said something shaming,“It’s like caramel.”

“Let me try.” he takes a sip from it, sucking a pearl or three,“Hm... Look at that. It’s not just plain brown sugar.” He chuckles,“I still think mine is better though.”

“I’ll be the judge of that.” you steal a taste from his straw. Your tongue is savoured by the cold vegetal milk, causing you to squeal, recalling how good it was.

You wanted more, but Chris didn’t appreciate you having any to begin with,“(Y/N)!” he grouched, tearing his cup away from you protectively,“You’re supposed to ask first!” Like he would’ve let you if you did.

“Sorry!” you giggle,“Couldn’t help myself, but you’re right, it is better!”

“Hmmm...” he still flaunts his drink in attempt to stay salty, the grudge quickly washed down by the green cream re-sweetening his mood. How did he not try this earlier? He was so going to buy more of this. Maybe even replace his lattes entirely!

[idontknowreallywhy]

Estera Ch 8 - Deliver

(Where we’re up to… Prologue - Stars are Only Visible in Darkness, Estera - 1 - Colour, 2 - Dinosaur, 3 - Shoes, 4 - Thunderbird, 5 - Lesson, 6 - Safe, 7 - Gull)

(Recrudescence by @sofasurf)

Where is Scott off to? Why is EOS in ‘self-care mode’? What is Estera doing with the teaspoons? What’s got into Babs? And who is the mysterious figure drinking cocktails by the sea? Some answers below…

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A thrill of excitement ran through him as the small jet took off, which was entirely unrelated to the process of piloting it. Tracy Two always frustrated him. A very decent aircraft - nothing Brains created was anything but excellent - but she was incredibly dull compared to One. Sluggish. Mind you most things were.

Her primary advantage this evening was *not* being Thunderbird One.

Entirely by accident, when he’d told Virgil he wasn’t going to fly for a bit, he’d actually referred to piloting One. So this way he was keeping to the letter of his promise, if not quite the spirit.

And One, for all her merits, was a bit melodramatic in launch. Not the most stealthy exit.

Anyway he should be back before they woke, assuming he could nudge the air-slug into something approaching a respectable speed.

He grinned and pushed the throttle to max

“Good Evening, Scott Tracy”

He nearly leapt out of the seat in surprise.

“EOS?! But I disabled comms. How did you get around it?”

“I’m not on the comm. I thought it prudent to download myself into Tracy Two’s computer system for the duration of your trip.”

Scott felt a flash of betrayal and then embarrassment at his foolishness for believing an AI could be a reliable confidant.

“So you can spy on me for John. Perfect.”

“That is inaccurate. John is unaware of our mission. He has access only to my databank archive from a little before dawn yesterday. The rest of me is here. With you.”

“Oh.”

“It occurred to me that you might value company during the journey to and from your intended destination.”

She wasn’t wrong. He was self-aware enough to know that, depending on the outcome of this, the return trip might be… emotional.

“That is very thoughtful of you EOS. Thank you.”

“I have an immense capacity for thought.”

“You certainly do.”

He was lost in his own for a while, trying to steel himself for all the possible outcomes of his plan.

“Are you still quite confident that your plan is a good one, Scott Tracy?”

Again with the apparent reading of his mind.

“Yes. As confident as I can be. I need to know the truth, EOS, can you understand that?”

“Naturally. I want to know the truth of everything.”

He hesitated, trying to work out how to explain it better.

“But I understand that, to you, the knowledge of some truths is more important than others. For example, those upon which you base vital decisions, your belief in the trustworthiness of other individuals, or those upon which you formulate your understanding of self.”

“That’s… a good summary. Yes. This is one of those.”

“I calculate your eta as 1.5 hours. In the meantime would you be content to answer more questions?”

“Fire away.”

“I have come across the concept known as ‘The Dad Joke’ in my research. John has not yet had time to elaborate and I hoped that you might be able to do so.”

“EOS, my friend, it would be my pleasure.”

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For most of Monday morning the clock on the staffroom wall appeared to be going in reverse.

She was beginning to admit to herself that the headteacher may have been been right in his insistence there was no way she should have been in work so soon after the drama of Friday. The ten children who had been involved had been told to take the week off and he’d already arranged a supply teacher for the remaining 20. Estera had dutifully showed up anyway because she wasn’t sure what else to do with her time. It was a Monday, it was term time so… she went to school because that’s what she did.

Sadly having no class to teach and nobody to talk to while she tried to focus on marking and lesson plans, meant she had as much time alone with her thoughts as if she’d stayed at home in bed.

She tidied the stationery cupboard and the little kitchenette. Gave the tea-stained mugs a proper scrub. Made sure all the teaspoons faced the same way in the drawer.

She stepped in to help with lunchtime playground duty, giving her grateful colleague a chance to catch up on their paperwork. A good distraction and pretty uneventful until she had to intervene in a fight between three children over who had broken a leg off an action figure. She may have been slightly sharper than usual - the small faces were shocked - but it was everything she could do not to be sick when she caught sight of the blue and grey uniform the tiny plastic man was wearing. Honestly?

Today?

The kids ran off into the field leaving the little leg behind. They’d probably want that later. Sighing, she bit her lip and picked it up, shoving it into her coat pocket without looking at it. It felt heavy.

She called it quits shortly after. Bez would be happy to see her a couple of hours early, maybe they could have an extra long walk. Or a run… that might be good to blow away some of the dusty cobwebs that seemed to be multiplying in her brain. What with those and all the ghosts she had a promising haunted house developing.

She shivered despite her big coat.

As she headed to reception to sign out, she found herself slowing as she tried to interpret the strange noise floating down the corridor towards her. The school receptionist and self appointed security guard, Barbara, was a formidable woman somewhere in her early 60s who had never, in Estera’s memory cracked so much as a smile. Yet this sounded for all the world like laughter… no. ‘Tittering’… was more the word.

What on earth had got humourless Barbara giggling like the year 6 girls at the school disco?

She crept towards the doorway and peered around. Sure enough, Barbara had a broad smile and a flush in her cheeks. There was only one other person in reception, presumably a parent, a tall gentleman in jeans and blue shirt, who was leaning casually on the counter with his back to Estera. And clearly saying something much to the older woman’s approval as a another peal of laughter echoed around the reception.

Was Barbara… flirting??

“I’ll make sure they are delivered as soon as possible for you Mr… oh I’m so sorry, I didn’t catch your name?”

He chuckled but didn’t respond.

If Estera had been any way inclined to gossip she would have just hit the goldmine. As it was, she was sorely tempted to abandon a lifetime of discretion… because wow… she smothered a laugh of her own.

Uhoh, she’d been caught! Barbara locked eyes with her and they gleamed oddly.

“Why, you are in luck - we can deliver the first one right now!” She waved an envelope in Estera’s direction and beckoned her forward.

The parent turned and her heart sank.

Oh.

She wasn’t sure she had slept enough to deal with this. She wasn’t sure there was any point in the last year that she’d slept enough to deal with this.

Or the last ten.

She forced herself to meet his painfully familiar blue gaze and they both froze for a moment as a tidal wave of emotion passed between them. She knew with absolute certainty that he was reliving the moment they first met the same as she was. It was all she could do not to scream out loud.

Her legs threatened to give way as a full decade of guilt landed on her shoulders but she steeled her spine and lifted her chin in defiance. She couldn’t let this beat her.

Well aware that if she didn’t act normally it would be her that was the subject of staffroom gossip, she walked over with a carefully crafted expression of unconcerned mild surprise and managed to force out an even

“Hello Mr Tracy, it’s nice to see you again”.

To her very great astonishment it was he that looked incredibly awkward and confused as he stood there with his left hand rubbing the back of his neck. A slight cringe made him seem like a young boy who’d been caught somewhere he shouldn’t have.

“I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to intrude. I was just…” he glanced at Barbara who was paying rapt attention “… passing and thought I’d deliver these for the children.” He gestured towards a little stack of envelopes on the reception desk.

Barbara rapped his arm with the larger envelope she was holding.

“Oh, and you. There is also one for you.”

He took it and held it out, avoiding eye contact. She could have sworn it shook in his hand as she accepted it.

He cleared his throat and straightened up.

“I’d best not keep you. It was lovely to meet you, err…”

“Call me Babs”

Estera put the image of the the receptionist fluttering her eyelashes to the back of her mind to properly appreciate later. Right now she was torn between saying something appropriately meaningful before the man disappeared forever and her intense curiosity about what was in the envelope.

“Yes. Right. Thank you again.”

His gaze flicked back to Estera.

“See you around, maybe.”

And he was gone.

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She sipped her subtly pink cocktail and pulled her headscarf a little closer against the sea breeze. Her leather-jacket-clad target sat with his back to her at a small table outside the cafe on the other side of the little car park. He’d changed table twice and was clearly considering doing so again, if the fidgeting was anything to go by. He bent down and tucked a folded coaster under one leg of the table and sat up again before picking up the simple menu and studying it at length. For probably the 5th time. He’d had two cups of coffee so far and it looked likely a third was in the offing.

She placed a delicate hand into her clutch bag and nudged open her compact which perched on top.

“John, darling? It’s been nearly an hour. If he’s waiting for someone, I’m not sure they are coming.”

“How is he looking?”

“Agitated. Nervous? Not unwell. Are you absolutely sure the poor man isn’t just waiting on a date?”

“However he knows this woman it’s connected to… Bereznik… somehow. Given recent events we need to ensure he’s not at risk.”

“Of course. Well I’ll remain here for the moment and… hello.”

Scott had straightened up in his chair as a warmly wrapped figure stepped on to the patio and approached his table.

“I think we may have our girl.”

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[lastoreadoras]

Consider the following statement

Because I'm telling you exactly how I'm going to hypnotize you, it's going to affect you that much more. Isn't that right?

Because

The word because is universally powerful at making your brain accept sentences as true. You won't necessarily consider them unless they're really outlandish or long, and it may take a moment to settle into your mind what the sentence actually means. And of course, in a conversation, a moment is all you need.

I'm telling you

These words are important because it draws attention to the fact that I am telling you something. It automatically invokes your attention, especially if you're interested in what I have to say.

exactly how I'm going to hypnotize you.

This part of the sentence, despite specifying something, doesn't actually include the thing that is being specified. This is a classic tool of hypnosis, being inherently vague and allowing the subject to reflect on what exactly you mean, or, even better, assume what you mean without really considering it.

it's going to affect you

A statement of fact, delivered confidently, is important to send suggestions into your mind. It doesn't matter whether or not I'm "telling the truth" or that I even know what I'm saying is true or not. What matters is that you believe it, because you do believe that my words will affect you, despite me telling you this.

that much more.

A simple modifying phrase to emphasize the previous one- phrases like these are used to amplify things and call attention to them.

Isn't that right?

Another statement of confidence that invites you to answer the question. And because you know exactly where this is going, you're already beginning to feel the gentle hypnotic sensations of trance wash over you, isn't that right?

Closing word

Of course, I'm only joking. You don't need to drop into trance because this isn't an induction. Isn't it? Either way, I hope you are staying hydrated and that you possibly learned something from this post. It is worth mentioning that reading books is far better than small internet posts written by people who haven't touched educational hypnosis material in a hot minute.

Thanks for enjoying my post and I hope you have a lovely day!