#Travis my boy she's not into you stop... unless she is because I remember a moment in MS where Kaitlynn fell in love with Travis or somethi

[ask-the-druggieverse]

Why Error and Ink are so odd? Like they're out of their minds (or that's what I noticed, srry if im wrong)

(heh... finally an ask about the other story/side of ATDV)

- ALT - PAPERJAM: If you take into account that they're forever high PAPERJAM: Then yes. PAPERJAM: They are out of their fucking minds PAPERJAM: And it pisses me off.

- IDK - There's like 3-2 sides on ATDV's story depending on how you look at it, Ink & Error is one, Dream, Bill, & NM is the other, and if you want like how the kids feel about the situation that could be a 3rd but auauhgauhg

Not gonna yap about Fiddletale rn cuz It took up a lot of space and I vowed to myself not to go on a yapping spree in posts </3

(If you needed to know Starfruit(Middle one) uses THEY/THEM, they don't mind other pronouns but expect me to only use they/them on them.)

MAIN: @inkyu

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[alloutofgoddesses]

C3 E50 - It’s the middle of the semester so I have no free time ever and I’m reconsidering all of my life choices leading to this moment

Gale!

Fun fact I tried watching this last night and only got about an hour and half in when I realised I was way too tired and distracted so I turned it off

Jester I miss you

NOPE vibes

Why is Liam so little

Off topic but anybody else have a grey cat? I have a nearly 11 month old grey feline and I would love to know if they’re all Like This or if mines a special (basket) case

Aahhhhhhhh oh my god I’m so happy for Imogen

Planning is an essential part of DND but guess what. I am not paying attention to a whole lot of it unless I myself am planning

RIP Silver Sun? I don’t understand why this is necessary oops

Travis bud when was the last time you got your eyes checked

Fly in studio AGAIN (why are there so many flies in the Critical Role studio)

Miss your merk

…and I guess I’m done with my tea now thanks Hermes

Gnome sinkholes

Also there’s no way they’re coming back with a better ship lol

Laura please don’t do math problems

Keyleth I love you

Nothing bad is going to happen, this plan will go as expected

Awww Fearne gave Ashton a forehead kiss

Shout out to Travis for continuing to wear the sweat bands

Oh boy oh boy

I love seeing Travis “Aabria was only scared of me” Willingham in his element

My tummy feels weird lol… idk why this isn’t very high stakes at all

Hello who are you

Scary Laura scary Laura

Okay but how “high up” is Lilliana for that to work

Oof buddies

Oh hey I own those sweatpants

Just filibuster, that’ll stop the apocalypse from happening

Don’t look at your wife like that Matt

Oh no - I feel like it’s a bad idea to run

Does Travis need the sweatbands because I think I do

WEREWOLF TIMEEEW

OH THAT’S VERY BIG

Get em Laudna

How much attention do we think this combat is drawing. Also who’s hiding in the tent

Casual Lizzo ref

Bye Ashton

The warder is gonna die via electrocution!

Is it Otohan or her mom

AH SHIT I WAS RIGHT ABOUT SOMEONE BEING IN THE TENT

Wait a minute wait a minute wait a minute

Fingers crossed fingers crossed this is a blorbo from our shows

This has to be someone very dexterous

That’s monk shit right that has to be monk shit

THATS EXPOSITOR BEAUREGARD LIONETT

Me too Liam

Ashley I love you - try your absolute damndest please

That’s my second favourite Critical Role lesbian!!!!!!

ASHLEY SHE IS SO HOT

That’s Beau!!

THAT’S MY BABYGIRL

ME TOO LIAM!!!!!!

Multi-campaign crossover!!!!!!!!!

ME TOO DANI

In the words of Liam AND Aabria, what’s sexier than wizards? NOTHING

Oh Caleb is so respectful I love hims

Yeah you have baby

Probably Beau 😬

I would love to see Beau and Caleb in Vasselheim

Hey it’s her!

Very excited for the people who woke up Devexian to meet FCG honestly

Awww where’s the rest of the Mighty Nein

- Who didn’t make it out? I would like to know Caleb

When is Chet gonna become small again. I feel like it’s gonna make Beau laugh

Ashton has been silent the entire time 🧐

Ashton bby speak up ask questionssss

Which of his romantic partners is he referring to

Oh shit third wizard?

Yeah Travis the meta levels are out of this world

There’s Ashton hi buddy

Ajshshsjaj BEAU

I want Ashton and Beau to be passive aggressive together PLEASE

Be careful with that fourth wall it doesn’t look super stable right now

Okay but I would prefer if we move forward with the full team here

Desperately want Beau and Caleb to meet FCG

[THEY] XANDIS IS THEY REMEMBER PRONOUNS MARISHA

Ah goddammit. See y’all next week

[himboarcher]

reasons i've seen folks say that grad critics hate grad:

they hate travis (in fairness, i’ve def seen some comments of people shitting on trav for the sake of shitting on trav, but it’s not super common and typically gets downvoted into oblivion on reddit.)

it's not balance / travis isn't griffin (???????)

they hate neurodivergent people (again, in fairness, i have seen a handful of comments that could come across this way! but most of the time when travis being ADHD or his NPD is brought up, it's by defenders saying that criticizing travis is ableist because he's neurodivergent or, in one particular comment, infantilizing him bc of it and literally comparing grad to putting a kid's artwork on the fridge. there were some comments early on that pointed to him being a narcissist as the reason for things people disliked about grad, but everyone seems to have realized that that's a shitty train of thought and left it behind.)

they're just toxic haters (again, there are a small handful of people like this because this is the internet, but the genuine criticism greatly outweighs their bullshit. i 100% think that the people, which is mostly just one dude who is also insufferable on reddit, who have been responding rudely to positive tweets under the episode announcements lately are out of line and need to stop. there's been an influx of that lately, presumably because people are frustrated that after over a year of grad going on, there's been no improvement to most of the major issues. that's still no excuse to be a dick to folks, though.)

vs some of the actual reasons i don't like grad:

the racism / racist tropes, and the way that they’ve straight up ignored this criticism and will likely never acknowledge it. pretty wild considering a core tenet of their brand is their willingness to acknowledge when they’ve messed up and do their best to course correct.

clumsy attempts at inclusion that are shallow and often end up being fairly offensive ("...ask me about my wheelchair," anyone?)

on a related note: i don't think that travis had bad intentions, but as an nonbinary person, it feels othering to me that travis only has enby characters give others their pronouns unprompted. i'm thinking specifically of kai here. having listened to their introduction, i don't think it's as bad or awkward as some people have said, but i can't remember travis ever having another NPC tell the PCs their pronouns, especially not a cis character. it's not a huge deal, but it's something that rubbed me the wrong way. admittedly, i don't think it would bother me so much if travis hadn't dropped the ball so much with performative inclusion in the past.

okay i'm putting the rest under a read more because even without getting into all of the problems i have with it, this got Long.

little to no player agency. player choices are ultimately meaningless and have little to no effect on the world. even when he seems to go along with a plan they come up with, it always ends with them having to go back to travis' pre-written script (see: subpoenaing the xorn, but not really because they had to go with travis' original plan of "send the xorn home through the rift".) the players repeatedly get told things about what they think or feel or what they've been doing to an unnecessary degree. fitzroy is the only one who really gets space to play and decide things for himself, and that's only because travis has decided he's the main character.

the NPCs are all too nice and willing to give the PCs anything they ask for and more, unless the PCs are trying to follow their own plan and then the NPCs are completely useless. but honestly, aside from gray, all of the NPCs are just.... nice. travis refuses to even let his antagonists be mean or cruel or even more than just slightly rude, because that'd be a bummer and we don't want that! the "twist" of gordy the lich king actually being polite and chill is not a twist at all because everyone is like that in this world. the NPCs are also wildly overpowered, but then suddenly absolutely useless when the PCs actually want their help.

too many cliffhangers that are dropped immediately at the beginning of the next episode. i feel bad for travis because so many of these cliffhangers actually set up good momentum and seemed like things were gonna get interesting, but almost every single time he just dropped them at the beginning of the next episode. like when althea showed up to interview the boys and the next episode started with travis being like "actually you went to sleep, she said she'll be back tomorrow!"

that time travis specifically said in his exposition dump that the thundermen left their horses behind because they thought the centaurs might be offended by them riding horses, only to later on rag on them for being surprised that the centaurs had horses they could ride.....

also the centaur arc in general, but i already listed racism above, so.

the way that the toxic positivity and parasocial tendencies in the mcelroy fandoms have made a large portion of the fandom take ANY criticism as a personal attack on travis and/or on themselves for enjoying something others consider bad, either morally or just quality-wise. it’s okay to admit that something you like has problematic elements or just isn’t as good as it once was. you can and should engage critically with the media you consume.

related to above: the way travis has handled genuine criticism, which is to throw public tantrums on his twitter or make weird passive aggressive tweets & ultimately ignore all the genuine criticism and advice he's been offered by claiming it's all subjective, even after he specifically asked for it and set up an email for folks to send in genuine, objective advice for him (after he threw a tantrum on twitter and replied to someone's criticism publicly, which resulted in his followers dogpiling on that person bc how dare they insult their internet best friend). while i was writing this last night, he actually announced that he’s taking a break from Twitter and acknowledged that he’s been using it as an echo chamber where he can easily get validation from folks, and honestly i’m happy for him that he’s recognized this problem and is stepping away for a while! i hope he’ll genuinely use this time to reflect on how he’s been behaving and find a more healthy way to use social media. i’m leaving this point in because i think his Twitter being such a positive echo chamber was encouraging him to do stuff like this, and him somewhat acknowledging his behavior doesn’t mean it can no longer be discussed.

rainer. extremely cool concept in theory and i was very into it until that awkward "does anyone want to ask about my wheelchair?" moment. also when travis had her use her mobility aid to RAM INTO A DOOR instead of just fucking knocking???? also all the times travis has tried to force a romantic relationship between her and fitzroy, despite fitzroy displaying no interest in her in that way. also, just to clarify: as an ace person, i don’t think this is aphobic! (and it’s kind of a stretch to call it that imo, especially since griffin never explicitly said that fitzroy's aromantic!) i just think it’s weird and awkward and a little uncomfortable for me personally, mostly because it reminds me of the times i’ve been in similar situations.

less of a problem than a lot of the other stuff and more just bad writing, but the forced emotional moments. in general, nothing in grad feels earned (why are the boys heading a war? when they have multiple actual heroes with combat experience on their side and a supposedly powerful secret organization? and the thundermen are like 21 years old max and have only had like ~10 fights in the entire campaign?) but there've been a couple times where travis has tried to force unearned emotional moments, presumably because he knows people enjoyed those with the last campaigns. but the difference is that in balance, the big emotional moments happened because they were earned. in grad, it's just travis throwing a baby pegasus at us for a few minutes and then the next time she shows up, it's supposed to be a tearful goodbye.

there are absolutely no stakes. remember when the thundermen got told that if they left, gray would kill 10 students? and then they left and came back and it turns out that what gray actually meant was, "i'll tie ten students who are mostly nameless NPCs to a tree and throw some dogs at them that you can easily stop in time, then throw a tantrum because how dare you but i'll leave before you can really do anything to hurt me lol" travis did have fitzroy's magic get taken away, but like. it didn't really do anything? also all he had to get it back was be coerced into using drugs by an authority figure and trip in the woods?

we're told that the school is weird and the hero system is corrupt, but the world of nua is still presented as more of a liberal utopia than anything? althea getting fired because of a corrupt villain is the only time we've somewhat seen corruption, but even then, she was still allowed to get (what seems to me, anyway, but admittedly i don't know for sure bc nothing about the HOG makes much sense) a fairly important job from the very people who stripped her of her hero license or whatever the fuck heroes need?

travis doesn't actually seem to understand how capitalism or bureaucracy works and just chalks up everything to "red tape." also more on the rest of the boys than him specifically, but the "let's destroy capitalism!" thing turning into just pushing some filing cabinets over................... okay.

and one last piece of extremely subjective criticism: it's just kind of.... boring. i think a lot of people, myself included, would be willing to overlook 90% of the problems with graduation if it didn't feel like such a slog to get through.

also people saying that we can't or shouldn't criticize graduation because it's "free" is absolutely absurd for several reasons. first, something being free does not make it above criticism. second, there ARE people who directly financially support the show with monthly donations. three, there's a difference between something being free and something being not for profit. podcasting is their full time job. they make their living off of money made from TAZ and MBMBAM (and probably their other shows to a lesser extent). this not a fun home game that they are graciously recording and sharing with us. it is a product they are producing that they make money off of, both from ads in the episodes and merch & books based off of these podcasts. they have marketed themselves as professionals, and both griffin and travis have been on panels where they are marketed as professional DMs and appear alongside other professional DMs (which makes it incredibly frustrating when people say that travis is just a newbie DM and we can't criticize him because of that. if he's a newbie, then he should not be taking part of panels as a professional DM where he speaks as an expert). TAZ is free in the same way that an episode of NCIS is free. i may not pay for it directly, but the creators are paid to create it and profit off of me consuming this product. so saying we should be grateful for any mcelnoise that the benevolent good boys share with us and that we're not allowed to criticize it "because it's free" is absolutely wild.

[trashforhockeyguys]

Don’t Hold Me - 9- Carter Hart

A/N: SURPRISE.

Everything was fuzzy. His lips were on yours. Or yours were on his? You clutched onto him, like this was all you had in the world. His hand found the small of your back and held you closer to him. Your bodies were pressed against each other, there was no room. It was just the two of you. Just the two of you in your dorm room, nothing from the outside world seemed to matter. You were tangled in his arms and it felt right. 

It felt too right. Too right considering all that happened in the last few days. This felt right in your heart...being with him just made sense. But your head took over. Panic set in. You couldn’t do this again. Not with what was happening. You weren’t going to drag him down with you. 

You pulled back and took several steps away from him. Your heart hammered in your chest. You felt the need to hide, put as much distance between both of you as you could. You could feel all of your walls slamming back into place. You kept telling yourself that you were doing this for him. This was to protect him. 

“I shouldn’t have done that,” You tried to steady your voice, but you knew that it was shaking as much as you were. 

“Y/N.”

“I’m sorry, that was wrong.”

You wanted to fall into him, you wanted to be someone that he deserved to be with. But you’d only end up hurting him. Somehow, you would bring him down with you. He didn’t need that. He was practically on top of the world now, you couldn’t be the one that ruined that.

“I’m not mad.” Like he thought I was worried about that. 

For the few seconds, or maybe minutes, that you were in his arms, your mind seemed to just stop. Everything went quiet and you were able to just breathe again. Like a switch had flipped and suddenly you could have a few moments of peace. 

“It wasn’t fair,” You forced the words out, wishing your dorm room was bigger so you could put more space between you and Carter. 

“Y/N,” He took a step or two towards you, with his hand out like he was reaching for you. 

Your mind automatically caused you to flinch and shy away from him. You felt like throwing up. This was Carter, he wouldn’t hurt a fly unless it was necessary. You knew that you had nothing to fear from him. In some small way, you trusted him. You trusted him enough to tell him everything. To be near him...to kiss him. 

He looked like that simple action punched him square in the stomach. He stumbled back a step, both arms securely at his sides. You could feel tears welling up in your eyes again. You wouldn’t drag him down with you. You wouldn’t hurt him by bringing him into your life in that way. You couldn’t do that.

“I’m sorry.” 

Sorry for so much more than you could ever put into words. Sorry for pushing him away, sorry for ever letting him get close. Sorry for being the kind of person that he’d never be able to have a happy ending with. There was so much for you to feel sorry for. So much that you felt the need to apologize. You wished you could just be normal with him. You wished you could just be a girl, falling for a boy. A really fantastic boy. But that wasn’t you….you knew that wasn’t you.

He nodded, hurt spreading across his face, “Yeah...me too,” his voice sounded strange, like he was really trying hard not to show how he really felt, “You know where to find me if you need me.”

You wanted to speak up to get him to stay. You wanted to say all of the right things. You wanted...god you wanted him. Your head was spinning from just the pure thought of it. You wanted to let him in, you wanted him to become a big part of your life. You wanted him to be there for it all. 

But you knew that it would only hurt him in the end. You didn’t want to hurt him, you never wanted to cause him pain. So if you had to cause a little hurt now, to save him from the disaster that being with you would cause, you’d do it. 

You tried to ignore how your whole body tingled and seemed to have a magnate trying to draw you back to Carter. You tried so hard to ignore how you could still feel the ghost of his arms around you, pulling you closer and closer until there wasn’t an inch of space between you. And his lips. The feeling of his lips on yours…you weren’t entirely sure you’d ever felt something like that before. 

Your whole body felt like it was on fire, or buzzing with electricity. It wasn’t something you were used to. You wanted to feel it again, more than anything, but you knew that you couldn’t. You couldn’t go near him again, because whatever that was...next time you weren’t so sure you’d stop. 

“I should go.”

You tried to open your mouth and say something, anything, that would get him to stay. But no words would come. You could feel tears burning your eyes as you wrapped your arms around yourself, trying to protect yourself in any way that you could. 

He nodded slowly, realizing you weren’t going to say anything else. You were going to let him leave, even if you didn’t want to. You watched, almost helplessly, as he slowly backed towards the door. There was so much that was being left unsaid. You wondered if he could feel it too...You wondered if he felt the same way you did. You wondered if he’d ever be able to understand what you were feeling...what you were afraid of. 

He might’ve known your past, or at least the important parts of it, but he didn’t know what it really did to you...how it fully changed you. He would’ve loved the outgoing wild girl that you’d once been. The two of you would’ve gone out and done so many stupid things around Philly. You wouldn’t have given any of this a second thought...he would’ve loved her.

“Goodnight, Y/N.”

You felt something different break when he walked out. Or maybe something break free? You couldn’t be sure. But the next thing you knew, you were running out the door behind him. He was already in the elevator by the time you’d managed to follow, so you quickly bolted down the stairs. You thundered down them as quickly as you could without falling. 

You might’ve been scared. Terrified even. But he saw you. Carter saw you. He wasn’t afraid of the dark and broken parts of you. He saw it, and he didn’t shy away. In some way or another, he knew what he was doing, and he wasn’t running from you. 

So...you ran after him.

By the time you’d reached the ground floor, he was already out the front door. You could see him slowly making his way back to his car, shoulders hunched up to try to block out the cold air. You didn’t think twice about running out, full speed. You didn’t have a coat on, you could feel the cold rip through you, but you didn’t stop. 

“Carter!” You yelled, desperate for him to stop. Your breath formed little clouds around you as you panted, the air burning your lungs. 

He stopped and turned almost as soon as his name left your lips. You weren’t sure what your plan was, but words flew out from you before you even had a chance to think. 

“I have no idea what I’m doing,” You admitted, “I’m scared all the time. I don’t trust well. I- I have nightmares all the time. I don’t do well with crowds of people, or attention. I get scared all the time. I’m scared of people leaving, or of them getting hurt. It kills me everytime the team goes on a road trip, because anything could happen. I don’t like summers because I have to go home, and I hate it there. I hold my breath everytime I round a corner.”

“Y/N-”

“I have no idea what I’m doing,” You kept going, swallowing hard as he started to make his way back towards you, “Carter, I have no idea what I’m doing. But I know that I don’t want you to walk out like this...I don’t want you to get hurt by me, but I’m selfish and I don’t want you to leave….and I have no idea what to do.”

He closed the distance between the two of you. His strong arms pulled you in close. You let his body heat warm your now freezing body. You melted into his touch. You liked the feeling of his arms around you. He felt safe. 

“It’s okay,” He whispered, “I’ve got you.” 

“I’m scared, Carter.”

“It’s okay. I won’t let anything happen to you. I’ve got you.”

You weren’t sure what would happen. Or how any of this would work. You weren’t sure where you and Carter really stood. But you knew that in that moment, you felt safe in his arms. As safe as you’d felt in a while. You believed him when he said he wouldn’t let anything happen to you. You believed everything. And for a moment, you had the overwhelming feeling that everything would be okay.

 A week later, you were in the arena, still wearing your Konecny jersey but this time you had one of Carter’s shirseys on. It seemed odd this time. You were actively watching Carter, holding your breath anytime they went back to his end of the ice. Travis and Nolan were holding their own, they always did. 

But you couldn’t take your eyes off of Carter. You hadn’t really paid attention to the way he played. You didn’t really pay attention to goalies all that much anyway. But now...you saw the beauty in it. There was beauty in the way he moved. He looked so fluid, it all looked so easy. 

You thought back to how he stayed with you that night until you fell asleep, holding you close as you curled up under your mountain of blankets. Your roommate didn’t come back until you were almost asleep, but close enough that both of them thought you were long gone. 

You remembered hearing them talk about you. How she said that you seemed so different now, like there was a night and day change between who you were before Carter came into your life and now. You could imagine his shy smile as he nodded and softly said he was lucky to have found you and to have been chosen. 

That simple thing struck you. The way he put it. You thought you’d been lucky to have been chosen by him, and there he was saying he was lucky to have been chosen by you. You never thought he’d see it that way, but he did. He then promised your roommate that he wouldn’t do anything to hurt you, and he’d try to protect you as best as he could. You remembered the feeling of your heart basically melting at that. You hadn’t gotten butterflies like that since the beginning days of your previous relationship. But these felt like they were good butterflies. They didn’t feel like a warning sign. 

“Carter seems to really be on his game tonight,” Someone stated. 

You could feel your cheeks heat up a little bit. Before the game, you’d gone over to his apartment. The two of you were cuddled up on the couch together. You weren’t used to the level of closeness, but at the same time it was a welcomed change. Before Carter left, you made him promise that he’d win the game. He kissed the top of your head and threw you his shirt before promising he’d do his best. And now you were here, watching him do more than his best.

“Yeah, he’s acting like a brick wall.”

You smiled to yourself, wondering what would happen if anyone actually knew. You both agreed to be quiet about your relationship. The last thing you needed while figuring out whatever this was with Carter, was everyone knowing about it. He understood that you wanted space, and given what was going on..he knew that you didn’t want everyone knowing your business.

And being with THE Carter Hart, best new goalie in the league, meant everyone knowing. So for now, while both of you figured out what all of this meant. What both of you wanted this to be, you’d wait. You’d be quiet about it, and you’d enjoy whatever this was. You could have the space to figure it out. 

But one thing was for sure, you were falling for Carter. No matter how much you tried to fight it, you were falling in love. But for once, you weren’t sure if you wanted to fight it anymore.

[rickriordanfandam]

opinions on riordanverse ; my edition

a lot of people have been doing this so i decided why not right. probably gna lose some followers or smth but anyways. pls respect my opinions! if u disagree, thats fine, but please be polite. unless any of my opinions strikes u as morally wrong then pls point it out to me respectfully. thanks!

- i actually liked drew. im so sorry to everyone who hates her but full offence, why. think about it this way ok, first of all drew became hc because silena died. silena was the traitor, the one who betrayed chb, yet after she died campers celebrated her as a hero? and then drew suddenly has to replace her and live up to idk that legacy she left behind,, when all of a sudden this girl named piper swoops in and takes her place. idk abt u but i wld be salty abt that too. not only that, but as an asian, the chances of drew having faced racism/bullying as a child is pretty high (she studies at brooklyn academy). which means that when she finds out shes a demigod, and arrives at chb where most of the campers are white (this is an assumption btw), she’d obviously be scared of being bullied for her skin color right?? so the first thing she wld do before the campers get to bully her is to bully them before they can do so. (sentence structure here is wack i apologize) ofc this might not even have happened, drew could have had a perfect childhood && was a b1tch for no reason, BUT EVEN THEN HER ROLE AS A BULLY WAS PRETTY VITAL BECAUSE THAT FURTHER SHOWED THE CONTRAST BETWEEN HER AND PIPER,, HIGHLIGHTING PIPER AS A HERO//GOOD CHARACTER,, AND THEREFORE MAKING READERS LIKE PIPER MORE. anyway stop hating on drew please. ALSO WHY IS THIS SO LONGA SDFJHG

- jason isnt bland, the fandom just kinda erased his backstory (thanks to @pjohoo-memes for the phrasing lol)

- reynabeth wouldnt have lasted/would have broken up several times. idk i just see them as two extremely powerful characters who have firm opinions and will definitely clash at some point. in a platonic relationship,, i can see them as really good friends but as lovers? idk i just think theyll break up

- PIPABETH

- i dont really like jercy,, i see them as better friends than lovers. also idt jason and percy were that close..?

- the dam and not my type jokes are srsly cringey and were never funny. ik that seems hypocritical since my username literally makes use of the dam joke but honestly i dont actually like the joke. its not funny to me and has never been funny

- the seven were not best friends. they definitely argued,, and honestly probably werent as close as the fandom makes them seem. like ure dumped with 6 other people, out of which u only know a few. my introverted ass would have jumped off the argo 2 quicker than leo valdez could bomb camp jupiter up. also leo was a dick to frank. so what if frank is bigger sized?? thats not a valid reason to tease him

- the fandom needs to stop hating on octavian while worshipping luke. if u hate luke and u say u hate octavian too, then okay. but if u tell me ure a luke stan but u despise octavian?? imma disagree w u. luke was worse than octavian im sorry. first of all, octavian being a dick was kinda justified. hes been after the praetor position for so long, and everyone keeps saying to “wait for jason” when suddenly this dude, whos a son of NEPTUNE (neptune wasnt liked much by romans), and the camp decides to make him praetor?? dude i would be pissed off big time. and then afterwards, he finds out that greek demigods are real and the dude they made praetor is greek. AND THEN GREEK DEMIGODS COME TO CJ AND ONE OF THEM BOMB IT UP?? octavian has been told all his life that greeks are scum and this dude called leo valdez attacks cj. sure it was an accident, but did octavian know that? no. so it was honestly justified that he was such a salty prick im just saying. also some of yall be hating on octavian for cutting a teddy bear open and thats the funniest shit ive ever heard i swear 

- luke didnt go to elysium

- travis and connor stoll r way too underrated. the two have been head counselors of the hermes cabin since luke was revealed as a traitor, can u imagine the stress? luke, the person they probably looked up to as a brother, betrayed them. and they didnt even have time to process this when they were  thrown the roles of being hcs. that would have been so stressful and i would probably have broken down if i were them. the stoll brothers taking turns to wake up at ungodly hours because a new camper is crying and homesick and terrified, the stoll brothers having to comfort and take care of new campers, having to deal with the amount of people in that cramped space because not enough campers are being claimed fast enough. having to resolve issues between campers in the hermes cabin all the time. the stolls arent just comedic relief, and we need to stop treating them as such

- tratie shldve been canon idc idc

- demigods of the demeter cabin arent talked about enough and i love the fact that meg was demeters kid. like she isnt the child of one of the big three yet shes so powerful.

- we need to hype clarisse up more her character arc was phucking amazing 

- rachel is overhated. sis found out greek gods exist and regularly come down to earth to fuck around and went “ok cool”. queen shit behavior methinks

- the floor 19 crew of mcga is srsly underrated. like do u even remember halfborn gunderson, mallory keen, tj, etc??? bc i feel like we only remember samirah, magnus, alex, and sometimes blitz and hearthstone

- sadie (tkc) was kinda annoying at first. i like her more now tho but i rmb not liking her for a phat while

- tkc and mcga need more love

- carter kane and jason grace arent boring. theyre just really sweet boys who are too good for this world and yes yes yes 

- hazel and frank (especially frank) need to be hyped up more. i hardly ever see anything about them. also yall seem to forget that frank was literally made praetor and that even hecate admired hazel and was willing to fight beside her because of how powerful she was

- frazels age gap is kinda sketch but i still think theyre really cute

- nico definitely had trauma from going to tartarus on his own

- GROVER IS PERCYS BEST FRIEND

- annabeth isnt smarter than leo but neither is leo smarter than annabeth. ive seen a lot of discussions about who is smarter and heres my hot take on it: neither. theyre equally smart, just in different ways. leos a genius mathematically speaking. he has no issues solving math problems meant for people much, much older than him. annabeth on the otherhand, is great at strategies etc. she can make an army of 1000 more powerful than the enemy, even if theyre outnumbered. so in my opinion, both are equally as smart//u cant compare their intelligence, because their talents lie in two different areas.

- while i do agree rick riordan isnt a god and that hes bound to make mistakes,, AND that hes given us a lot of representation,, if the representation offends the people its sposed to represent, then theres a problem. im talking about piper as a poc and wearing feathers in her hair. im not a poc, so i cant speak for them on whether or not its wrong, because i dont know either. HOWEVER, i have seen multiple posts BY pocs talking about how they didnt really like rick’s representation of piper, and thats an issue. pocs have been and are still oppressed and discriminated against by many. as a white cis man, we cant really blame him for not knowing (tho he could have done a research,, asked some pocs,, idk), but by representing pocs in that manner, hes influencing impressionable kids/teens into thinking “oh pocs wear feathers in their hair all the time” etc, which isnt true. the pjo/hoo series is extremely successful, and kids who read the books will probably start forming inaccurate opinions on pocs. the amount of fan art that depicts piper with feathers in her hair dont help either. “but rick said so in the books, so its canon” yeah well rick isnt a god and he can get some things wrong at times. im not saying we should cancel him, im saying we should start educating ourselves and not spread false info like pocs wearing feathers in their hair all the time. also that snake song shit where she sang Summertime was just- yeah. bc heres the thing you can be racist, and still include minorities, but portray them in a racist way. And even then, ignorance isn't a thing to admire. Getting those facts wrong still has a major impact. It continues to perpetuate racist stereotypes.

“ With the feather thing, I looked it up myself; it takes less than five minutes to figure out that Cherokees don't braid feathers into their hair. I didn't grow up in the country where my parents are from. I have many other first/second generation American friends who have also been through that, with a bit of a disconnect from their culture. But something that most of us have in common is that when we didn't know something, and when our parents weren't that big of a help, we looked it up. We sought out resources online and through other people from our culture to be able to connect more with where we came from. Some of that took a Google search. So I find it hard to believe that Piper, a girl who Rick's trying to portray as someone who is attempting to connect with her culture and is totally against racist stereotypes, wouldn't know that eagle feathers aren't supposed to be braided into your hair casually. She may be disconnected from her culture, but she's also shown to want to connect back to it. Piper wouldn't be casually braiding feathers into her hair while also telling off people for being racist. It makes no sense.” - reddit thread (down below) 

for those of yall who wanna know more please please read this, it has a lot of things i wanna add in here : https://www.reddit.com/r/camphalfblood/comments/gy3gl2/piper_mcleans_portrayal_is_innacurate/ 

as well as https://finding-my-culture.tumblr.com/post/189422373260/maxie-ratties-and-cattie-finding-my-culture 

i will be posting screenshots of these in future posts so if ure viewing this on ig and u dont have tumblr,, dont worry 

- the fact that most of the strong female characters in the series refuse to be “girly”, and ngl i dont really like that. just because ure girly doesnt mean u cant be strong. 

- piper would have been a great way for him to start making the strong characters act girlier, but instead he went with the “I’m not like other girls” trope which is quite obnoxious to hear constantly, and I don’t think it’s necessarily great for younger girls to read that idea growing up.  the closest we've ever had to a strong female character who was also into "girly" things was Silena. when I was younger I admired Piper's "I'm not like other girls" thing, but then I got older and realized that the whole mentality of "not like other girls" is super obnoxious, and a little bit toxic

i have a heck load more that i cant rmb rn but yeah feel free to add more 

[kingofthereapers]

Lincoln was going about his life, getting Brooklyn up and ready for the day. As things had gotten more serious between December and him, the two of them spent just about every night together. It was odd to call her his girlfriend, because she felt like so much more than that, but in all honesty, it was what December was to him. From time to time she even watched over Brooke when he had to go to work. It gave his mom a break every once in a while. Link knew that Brooklyn loved it too, because Dee not only gave her presents, but they played dress up and the clothes that were in his girlfriend’s closet weren’t anything like you would see on a daily basis in Amesbury. Suddenly, Lincoln heard the soft ringtone going off on his phone. The blond man padded around the house, trying to find just where he’d left that stupid cell phone. 

By the time he��d found it there was a missed phone call from Hank Maddox. The two men worked together at the shop. To say that Hank was like a second father to the young man would have been an understatement. It wasn’t like there was anything wrong with the relationship that Link had with his own father, but Hank was the voice of reason that he needed sometimes. He called the number back and waited for an answer. When the line was picked up and he heard the older man’s voice on the other end Link smiled, some of the nerves in his stomach going away. Hank wasn’t getting any younger and sometimes he worried that something would happen to the man, despite him being in great shape. “Hey, I couldn’t find my cell.” Link admitted with a chuckle, because he was notorious for misplacing the thing. 

“Son, you should come down to the hospital.” Hank’s deep voice sent chills down Lincoln’s spine and his brows furrowed. “What happened? Are you okay? Is Lula okay?” His mind went straight to the fateful night some years ago that he’d been in the hospital for his wife. The prayers didn’t work, because she didn’t survive. He tried pushing those nagging thoughts from his mind though as he focused on what Hank was saying. “Travis was in a bad accident.” Despite what had happened between the two men, Lincoln still didn’t want to see Travis hurt, or to be dead, but when he heard of the accident he half wondered if it was actually an accident after all. Travis had quite a long list of enemies that didn’t always pertain to the club. It always seemed like Travis had his hands in some kind of mischief. “I’m on my way.” Link muttered and hung up the phone without so much as another word. 

Lincoln felt numb as he turned to walk down the hallway to the bedroom to find December. “Babe…” His voice sounded somewhat hollow, and different even in his own head. “I have to go, Travis is in the hospital.” He said simply, his greenish blue orbs slightly wide as he was still trying to process just what was going on. He took a deep breath and tried his best to fake a smile for her. “I’ll see you later, you have Brooklyn, right?” He checked before turning to go. It wasn’t often that Lincoln rode his motorcycle anymore, unless it was for club business, so without a thought he jumped into his little red pick up truck. The vehicle was perfect for lugging around tools and parts for the cars that he worked on both at the shop and at home. It wasn’t anything fancy as it chugged along, making a lot of noise, but not going so fast, but it worked for Lincoln. 

His stomach began to tie in knots as he approached the hospital, because he hadn’t been there in a couple years. He could remember the feeling of hopelessness he’d felt as he walked up the sidewalk to the emergency room entrance, wondering if he would have to say goodbye to his wife in the next couple minutes. That was exactly what he had done, although she was just about gone by the time they’d let him in the room. “Can you tell me where Travis  Davies’ room is?” Link asked at the front desk, surprised he didn’t vomit straight onto the woman glancing up at him as he spoke. “Room 54.” The nurse replied after a couple taps on the keyboard in front of her. “Thanks.” Link replied before he was off, wandering the halls and trying his best not to lose what little was in his stomach this early in the morning. As he found the rhythm of the rooms, with each step that drew him closer to Travis’ room, he felt more and more sick to his stomach. 

A large 54 was written on the room just to his right and the blond man paused outside the door as he took a couple breaths and then pushed the door open. He’d half expected to see Travis and Lula in some inappropriate position on the bed, but before he could even see the bed he heard the beep beep beep of the machines. He caught sight of Lula hunched over in a chair beside the bed, sleeping probably and as Hank got up from his chair in the corner that also caught the attention of the blue eyed man. Only when his gaze fell on Travis in the bed did his brows furrow and the numbness went away, replaced by a bubbling feeling of anger. 

Slowly the tall, lean man made his way over to the side of the bed opposite Lula to gaze down at the man he’d spent countless hours with for as long as he could remember. This had been his best friend growing up. They had gone hunting together, and Thomas Davies had taught Link how to skin and gut a deer when he was about 10 years old. That seemed a lifetime ago with the way things had gone as they’d grown into men. It was around that time in fact that Travis began to drift away from the kid he’d always called his closest friend. The fairer sex became just that much more important to the man that now was laid up in the hospital bed with tubes and wires all over the place. Even then, they’d go fishing and ride their bikes and go four wheeling for hours on end. Some nearly twenty years later, Lincoln couldn’t tell you who Travis spent most of his time with besides the ever present Lula Maddox. 

Here he was though, standing over the man that had had an affair with his wife, then killed her when she found out she was knocked up with his kid. This kind of man didn’t deserve to live in Lincoln’s book, but all in the same one, it was his friend. There was some obvious torment going on with Lincoln as he stared down at the dark haired man and Hank woke Lula to see if she wanted anything from the cafeteria. Lincoln silently watched the interaction and then his gaze fell upon Lula as she realized that he was standing there silently. The three of them went back to when they were in diapers, so it hurt to see Lula crying, even if it was over a man that treated her like shit. He wasn’t expecting the words that came out of her mouth, but they stunned him to the point that his heart skipped a beat. “Bo….Walker?” Lincoln confirmed, his eyebrows knitting together even more, causing his head to ache. “How do you know?” Link’s mind was racing, one of his hands coming up to run through his hair to push it back from his face. 

Bo was their enforcer. The man was obsessed with rules, and rightfully so. He was the one to make sure everyone was following those rules. For him to go as far as to try and kill their president was almost too far fetched to believe. There wasn’t time enough for Lincoln to stick around for the reasoning though, because he knew Bo would be on the run, at least for a while. Until he could explain himself to the club. With enough reason they would be forgiving after all. Lincoln began to step back slowly and then he turned to head for the door. “I love you, Lula.” He said softly to her, his eyes as clear and focused as they had ever been before he turned to go down the hall to retrace his steps. The blond man ended up back in his pick up, wishing he’d brought his bike this time around. Speed was not on his side, but he took the roads as quickly as he could until the paved roads ended about fifteen miles outside of town, and his truck crunched over the gravel path that took him up a rather steep incline that eventually flattened out into a large grassy field. His truck bounced across the greenery until he parked in front of a small cabin that was tucked between a grouping of pine trees. 

The house was little more than a one bedroom cabin, perfect for camping, or hunting. That was exactly what the group of men linked to the Reapers used it for. Right in front of the steps that led to the front door was Ian “Bo” Walker’s bike. No one in town had a bike quite like Bo, and in fact many people could pair the two together in a lineup because it’s outrageous decor just suited the also outrageously tattooed man. Link gave the back tire of the bike a small kick as he passed it and went boldly into the cabin without so much as a knock on the door. Bo was sitting there, waiting for him, though his well groomed brows rose when he saw just who it was. Lincoln was the last person in the club he would have expected to come after him. The two men were not equally built either, so Bo settled into his seat with a bit of a smirk while he holstered the gun he’d had trailed on the door. 

“Lincoln.” The man spoke through his large beard with his chocolate hues trailing the blonde man that paced in front of him. “You know it was a long time coming.” Boy, did Lincoln know those words to be true, but this wasn’t the way it was supposed to go down, and he showed his distaste for those words with a slow shake of his blond head while his boots thudded against the wooden floor of the cabin. “It’s not your place.” Link muttered, blue eyes trailing along the floor in front of him before he came to stop straight in front of the older man. “He is supposed to be mine.” Link growled, eyes narrowing before he began to pace again as that burning anger began to bubble up in the pit of his stomach. “He killed my fucking wife!!!” Lincoln then screamed, although he knew killing Travis wouldn’t make him feel even the slightest better, and it sure as hell wouldn’t bring back Bethany. 

Bo stood up, trying to make himself look as big as possible because he didn’t appreciate getting yelled at, even if it was by his vice president. Lincoln glared at him. “You gonna try to kill me too?” He snapped to which Bo’s eyes grew wide. “Try? The fuck you talking about, man. There is no way he survived that.” Lincoln laughed, stepping further into the cabin, near the simple kitchen with little more than a spot for a propane fueled stove top. His oil stained hand reached out and he flicked on the switch to one of the burners and a small whoosh could be heard as the propane tank opened, though no flame showed up because Link didn’t hold his lighter up to ignite it. “You stupid idiot, he is still alive, barely, but he is alive and this lands on me now.” He explained to the other man standing behind him. “Our enforcer can’t be trusted, and who does it always fall to? I have to pick up the pieces.” Lincoln sounded like he might have been on the verge of tears now as he spoke, but in a movement Bo hadn’t been expecting, Lincoln turned and pulled out the handgun that was tucked in the back of his pants. 

It wasn’t a fatal wound, but just one to disarm the other man almost completely, because he had little, if any use of his right arm. His left arm reaching across for his gun was a much slower movement, and Lincoln was an excellent shot. The younger man took a few steps towards the older man as he stumbled and sat back down in his chair. Blood was pouring from his arm and it wasn’t looking good if Lincoln just drew this out long enough. “You should have said something, Bo.” Link muttered softly, his brows furrowed again. This was the last thing he had wanted to do, but he couldn’t let the club see him as the weak one anymore. He’d been in this club damn near as long as Travis, and he had done nearly as much. This had to put him at least in the top rankings for the club. He held up the gun again, aimed straight between Bo’s eyes and the older man knew he wouldn’t miss. “Please….” Bo shifted, though he wasn’t reaching for a gun, or begging for his life, he was asking for a different method. The older man held out a small blade that he’d carved and sharpened himself as a young boy. “Use this.” 

Link stepped forward and took the wooden handle of the blade that was offered and then he flipped the knife in his hand for a moment. “You’re a good guy, you know that Bo?” The older man gave a nod of his head and offered a sad smile. “I’m ready to see my sweetheart. I’ve missed her a lot.” Lincoln pursed his lips and gave a solemn nod of his head as he raised the blade above his head and slammed it down as hard as he could into Bo’s neck. The blade made a loud thud when the hilt connected with his skin and the blade wedged against his collar bone. Lincoln gazed down at the large man as the light slowly began to leave his eyes. It was a sight that wasn’t completely unfamiliar to Lincoln, because he’d been hunting his whole life, but this was the first time he’d watched the death of a person. He stepped back slowly, eyes filling with tears as he then turned back to that damn propane stove. It had been the bane of his existence when he’d been hunting as a kid, so he was going to be glad to see it go. 

Link turned on the other three burners so the propane was being pumped right into the room as quickly as it could be. It was a decent sized tank that they had sitting under the counter too, so Link knew this would do some damage. The blond man took one last look at Bo sitting there in his chair with blood seeping from his neck and his shoulder. “I’m sorry, ol’ man.” Lincoln said softly as he stepped out into the early morning sunshine. He hadn’t realized just how much the cabin smelled like blood until he’d gone out into the fresh air. He took a deep breath and steadied himself against the railing on the porch as he finally hurled right into the well maintained bushes. After wiping his mouth on his shirt Link walked out to his truck and got in and looked around for some rope. There was a hank of rope just waiting for him underneath the passenger seat. The blond man snatched it up and began to untwine it until he had about enough to cover the field and lead right up to the door. That was exactly how Lincoln laid the rope out, tipping a bit of gasoline from the near empty gas can in the back of his truck onto the rope every couple feet. 

From across the field, Lincoln looked at the old cabin. It had been a home away from home, and sometimes a haven when he just needed to get away as a teenager. He could even remember a time or two that he and Bethany had snuck in for a little action as teenagers. The thought made him laugh, but the joy didn’t linger on his face. Blue orbs trailed down to the end of the rope in his hand until he pulled his trusty lighter from his pocket. Times were changing and it was time for them all to grow up. The Reapers wasn’t just fun and games. They were serious about this shit, and Lincoln was on board for taking care of business in any way he saw fit. There wasn’t a way that anyone else was going to pull one over on him again. Not Travis, not Bo, not anyone. The flame popped up from his lighter and once it was close to the rope it took off, and faster than Lincoln had expected. The blond man jumped into his truck and began the bumpy ride back down the gravel road. Seeing that house go up in flames would have been the icing on the cake, but Lincoln didn’t have time for fun and games anymore. 

[royalberries]

heyyy, hope you’re having a good night!! if you have the energy and feel okay answering, what’s up w taz graduation? i haven’t checked it out yet but i was thinking ab it. just asking bc you’re the first person i saw talk ab the show having serious issues, but also feel free to not answer this!! hope you have a good week!

i took a nice hot bath, had a strawberry kiwi capri-sun, and did a nice face mask and i’m feeling pretty good - so, y’know what anon? let’s talk about it. 

for anyone who likes taz grad who sees this post: it’ll be tagged with “taz grad hate” (although i feel hate is definitely a very strong word - it’s for the simplicity of tagging it) - so please block the tag if you don’t want to see this post (especially because i put a readmore on a post before and it didn’t show up on mobile and instead gave the full post). mobile tumblr has a tag blocking system, so please feel free to use it! i don’t mind haha

anyway, so this is... probably going to be a lost post, and i wanna go ahead and preface it: this absolutely isn’t any hate on the mcelroys themselves. i love the brothers and their dad a lot, and while i doubt any of them would ever see this (or have it sent to them, or shown to them, because im pretty sure they try to distance themselves from this sort of thing), i just want to make it clear that criticizing a product is different than bashing a person. which brings me to the point of if i do end up sounding as if im bashing someone - please call me out on it! it’s not my intention to target anyone.

with that said, let’s talk about this campaign.

so my problems are as thus: the railroading, the shipping (a fandom problem, but it’s present in the podcast), the NPCs, and some misc problems others have addressed better than i have.

which. i know. that’s basically the entire podcast. (i promise i’ll bring up some positive points to balance it all out). keep in mind i’ve only personally listened to... what, six episodes? and it was enough for me to drop it. some people dropped it first ep, some dropped it ep four, and others are still forcing themselves to listen.

the railroading

there was a time i could handle travis and his railroading [making sure the story goes exactly the way he has planned], because it was the very beginning of the podcast and that’s what you can kind of expect from a plot-heavy podcast. hell, i wouldn’t mind it if the interactions and goofs weren’t a huge part of why i listen to TAZ in particular (which, by the way, is why amnesty still stuck out to me - even if there was a direction griffin wanted to push them towards, the interactions between the players (or players and npcs) made up for any railroading). it’s kind of hard to not railroad a little when it’s story-heavy and you’re trying to built up a world that you’ve put a lot of thought into. however, a huge part of d&d is the spontaneity. 

it’s kind of why i think balance was so popular. while there was railroading towards the end, there was the presence of improv that made it all good. most mcelroy content is enjoyed because of the goofs. the magic brian moment is memorable. the jenkin’s fight still stands out because it was funny (albeit a result of some bad rolls). the boys teasing angus sticks out because the four would play well off of each other. even without that - griffin had talked about how he had to roll with things (the fact he had planned for a fight atop the train, but ditched the idea for what his family members came up with instead). even in amnesty, a couple moments that stick out to me still are ned with the jetpack taking out a pizza hut sign, and the scene with the water where jake was trapped inside. they aren’t as fun, but they still stand out as “things i didnt expect to really end the way they did.”

with grad, it’s just. one after another. the thundermen want to subpoena a xorn? cool, let’s run with that until actually the xorn gets fed rocks and goes home and who cares about the subpoena now. fitzroy wants to keep his cloak? lets talk about it for a while and you also get no rolls to even try to keep it. fitzroy goes to meet higglemas in his office? oh, why are you here fitzroy? im going to keep asking you until you answer fitzroy? you arent getting out of this scene until you answer me, fitzroy, so just tell me why you’re here already, alright, fitzroy? 

and even later in a episode i read a transcript of: hey argo, remember how you have this whole secret motivation? fuck you, im gonna talk about it here in your dream and reveal it to listeners and remove any tension you had building up, and you dont get a choice to talk about it because this all-knowing villain knows all about it :)

and even NOW in the latest episode, there’s a comment that “we should cap argo’s skills here” instead of just... making the checks higher. rogues are good at certain things and usually arent the best in battles. better hope argo never makes it to level 11, because who knows how people are gonna handle the fact that he gets a skill that’ll make it so certain skills can’t have a roll below 10 (reliable talent). 

(griffin, thankfully, calls travis out for that, but still - travis, why would you even imply that, considering you should be aware of how rogues work considering magnus multiclassed into rogue and you played one on tiny heist?)

and in the newest episode, their Big Bad chaos (which, god, i personally hate that name) straight-out says “dont do this” to the thundermen. travis tries to say, on twitter, “a character saying “dont do this” is different than me saying it” but i need to point out that it’s one thing if you’ve said “no” in character but worked with the PCs doing otherwise, but the railroading says differently.

the shipping

ill try to make this quick, because it’s nothing to do with the fandom (ship however you want, man) - but i really feel the need to draw attention to this.

fitzroy, as confirmed by griffin in a ttazz episode, is asexual. not aroace, but ace nonetheless. and i find it... troublesome that the idea of rainer and fitzroy having a relationship is still pushed nonetheless, despite the fact that fitzroy (to my knowledge) was never once shown to reciprocate any feelings. not to be that person, but i really hope that grad doesnt have any sort of romantic relationships in it (at least - not between NPCs and PCs unless they’re actually like... warranted?). 

i dont know, man. one of my closest friends is ace, and i know she wants a relationship, but i think it would reassure her a lot to see an ace character who isn’t pushed into one in case she ever changes her mind. someone once mentioned that they hope fi/tz/ra/in doesnt happen because theres relationships that have that “oh, you can just date” and it goes upwards there to “oh, you can have sex just to please them <3″  (which, to be honest, is kind of a gross mindset - if someone isnt interested, they arent interested).

also, uh, the TTAZZ where griffin states this, there’s kind of the mention tht the whole sexuality question was posed in relation to the episode “creative thinking” (the dream one i mentioned earlier) - which. uh. i don’t know if anyone caught this, but... rainer straight-up wrote fitzroy a letter in the dream like “are you going to accept my proposal? a girl doesn’t like to be left waiting” which. leaves me with some gross feelings because uh.

if... if the whole thing about fitzroys sexual orientation was addressed here, then why would you push your ship anyway? feels kinda iffy, man.

to which i want to say: fitzroy can date. he’s allowed to date. griffins allowed to do whatever he wants with his character. but when a lot of the flirting is met with nothing, i’m not gonna see the chemistry there. just because travis ships it doesn’t mean it’s canon.

the npcs

ah yes. lets talk about the npcs.

there’s... a lot. a lot a lot. i think travis trimmed down how many were present in a scene, but uh. there’s still a lot. and... uh... i kinda wish there wasn’t?

look, i know im going back to balance/amnesty, but just. hang in there for a moment. chill with me. vibe. 

balance didnt have too many NPCs present at all times in each mini-arc. gerblins had some big names like barry, klarg, gundren, killian, yeemick, and magic brian. rockport limited had angus, jess, graham the juicy wizard jenkins, and all of the tom bodetts mentioned. 

amnestys first arc had mama, barclay, jake, dani, pigeon, kirby, minerva, and that was about it for like. big names? and not all of them were present in each scene. 

in the first episode of grad alone: gary, hernandez, jimson, rolandus, zana, rhodes, buckminster eden, rainer, leon, tomas, hieronymous, higglemas, stuart, jackle, bartholomeus, mulligan, groundsy, germaine/victoria/rattles (the skeleton crew). and those are the ones i wrote down (minus groundsy, who i just. ignores. idk him).

like holy shit, my english prof got onto me for having too many characters in my first chapter and i didnt even have half the amount listed there! 

it’s just a huge cast. does this take place in a school? yes! theres bound to be a lot of students present - but you don’t have to name every single one of them, at least not in the first episode!

the miscellaneous

i don’t know if travis ever actually addressed it, but wheelchair users have actually like... said that rainer’s introduction bothered them, because she was like “please ask me abt my wheelchair :)” when travis saying she was in an ornate chair would have sufficed. 

uh. the colonization vibes people have discussed within the centaur arc. mentioned here, the replies here, and this post (and its replies) here as well.

the overall lack of d&d when the campaign was kind of advertised as a return to d&d if i remember correctly

also no one seems to be taking literally any criticism at all which like. ignoring the petty shit, sure, but people have stopped donating to taz and their listener-ship must have dropped some during this entire time - you’d think that maybe someone could say “we need to find out why people dont like the thing and fix the thing” consider this is. yknow. their livelihood.

anyway uhhh 

tl;dr: travis railroads way too much (even now), the shipping in-game has become pushy and gross (especially bc its shoving a relationship onto an asexual character), theres too many npcs that dont stand out well enough, and no ones taking any criticism about the major issues with grad. 

[pies-writes-and-more]

can’t take my mind off of you, Mr. Steve Rogers (pt. 3)

Part 1 Part 2 Masterlist 

(No endgame spoilers so don’t worry if you haven’t seen it yet!)

(Y/N) had fumbled so long with her keys, vision blurring with tears but she swore she could keep it together until she got inside. Her keys and frustration were making so much noise, it wasn’t surprising that one of her neighbours cracked a door open and called out to see if she was okay.

“I-I’m fine!” She called back to the old lady, shoving herself into her apartment and slamming the door behind her. Her back felt the cool sensation of the door and she allowed herself to slip down to the floor, tears streaming. Maybe I just needed a good cry. Haven’t had one of those since- she frowned tightly to herself. Since I left Steve.

“I’m fine,” she whispered to herself again, sniffling. She grabbed a new box of tissues and tore her dress off, throwing it to the floor where she could avoid looking at it. 

Scrubbing her makeup off and throwing on some old pyjamas, she finally thought she had calmed herself down. Nothing was going to happen anyways, you guys were casual. Of course he wouldn’t develop feelings over that.

She sighed, plopping down on the couch, staring up at the ceiling, But then again... why would he get so upset that you left if he thought it was just casual?

An hour disappeared quickly as she dodged texts and calls from the others. They all wanted to know if she was okay, most of them mentioned that Steve wasn’t. But she couldn’t think about that now. She wanted to move on years ago. This was her moving on.

But before that plan could even go into action, there was a loud pounding at the door and voices were heard from the hallway.

“(Y/N)!” Steve yelled, hammering his fist into the door.

“Steve, if she didn’t want to talk to you at the party, what makes you think she wants to talk to you now?” Bucky hissed from just outside the door.

(Y/N) could picture the glare the two of them were giving each other, “I don’t care,” Steve claimed, shaking his head. “I need to make sure she’s okay. I let her get away from me once. It won’t happen again.” He seemed to turn his attention back to the door because his voice was louder and clearer this time, “Unless you come out and look me in the eyes and tell me you don’t want anything to do with me anymore, I won’t leave.”

She bit her lip, holding her knees close to her chest. He was here. 

Her phone buzzed and she glanced at the screen,

Bucky: I’m sorry, Sam and I tried to hold him back. Even Thor helped. But after we let go, he slipped away and ran here.

Her heart broke, thinking about this all America soldier who ran across the city to come find her. 

(Y/N): I don’t know if I can talk to him right now. What’s the point? I don’t think i can do another casual relationship with him.

Bucky: If you think this is how a guy reacts when he wants a CASUAL relationship, I’ve got news for you.

“(Y/N), please,” Steve begged from outside in the hallway. “I’ll stay out here all night if you want me to. But just say something to me.” He leaned his head on the door, heart thumping against his chest.

(Y/N) stared at her phone, hearing the soft voice of the man she loved outside the door. Her heart was breaking just hearing it. She sighed, typing in her replies to Bucky.

(Y/N): Bucks, go home. 

Bucky: You sure?

(Y/N): Ya.

With that, Bucky slipped away. Steve didn’t even notice, he was too busy muttering his apology to the door in the hopes that (Y/N) could hear him.

“If you’re leaning on the door, you better move or else you’ll fall right in when I open it,” came (Y/N)’s soft voice. Steve jumped back, eagerly waiting to see her again.

The door creaked open and the two barely moved. Both thinking that if they moved too quickly, the other might run off.

“Come in,” she mumbled, walking back to her couch and wrapping herself up in a blanket.

“(Y/N), please just listen,” Steve exclaimed earnestly, kneeling down near the couch and touching her hand gently. “I-”

“What happened to not wanting anything serious? What happened to keeping things casual? I spent all that time thinking that you wanted something casual because you could never see yourself with me like you could with Peggy,” (Y/N) started, her voice was soft and she was staring at her hands rather than at him.

Steve felt his heart drop in his stomach. There she was, the girl that hadn’t left his mind for the past 2 years, and she thought he couldn’t imagine a life with her. Had he really been so bad at showing his affection? Why had he not confessed to her sooner?

“I won’t deny what I said before,” he told her, brushing her hair out of her face. “When we first started seeing each other, I still thought I’d never be in love ever again. But being with you, doll, those were the best months of my life. You give me a reason to fight. After Peggy, I thought all I had left was old memories. I stared at the past as if it could come back. But you- you make me want a future. I don’t wish for the past anymore. I just wish for you.”

(Y/N) fidgeted under his gaze, “It’s not that simple anymore, Steve. It’s not like we can just be together now. Travis and I... we were doing okay.” 

“I know,” he responded quickly, not wanting to pressure her into anything. “I just don’t want you to go on with your life thinking I don’t care about you. That I don’t love you. I know I’m saying it too late. I know it’s selfish of me to say it now that you’ve moved on. But I need you to know it.”

She paused, and looked up at his earnest blue eyes. How could she deny the fact that she dreamed about those eyes for so long? That she thought about him every day. She never could take her mind off of him, it was like magnets. Anytime she tried to think away from him, he just pulled her right back in.

Her lips parted to give him a response, but there were so many things on her mind. He had said everything she wanted him to say... so why was she feeling like something was holding her back?

“I can’t ask you to leave him for me. I’m sure it’s so much easier dating a civilian. Not having to worry about the stuff that goes on outside, not having to worry if he’ll keep his promises about making it back in time for a date or an anniversary,” Steve admitted, eyes dropping to the ground. “You should be happy and live the life you wanted to live. I just- I can’t get over you knowing that you might still love me too,” he whispered.

For a moment, there was just silence. (Y/N) watched as he stared into the ground, thinking about everything that had happened over the past few days. 

“What if I did?” Her voice was quiet, Steve almost thought he imagined it. “Love you, that is...”

“Then I’ll wait for you. Forever if I have to,” Steve felt hope building in his chest.

The two of them sat together, the only sounds left were the wind blowing outside and (Y/N)’s soft sniffles. “I-I can’t make these kinds of decisions so quickly,” was the first thing she said after a long time. “I need to think.”

Steve nodded quickly, clasping one of her hands in his, kissing it gently, “Take all the time you need, doll. I’ll wait if you want me to.”

“I do,” she whispered, eyes taking in this moment because she knew it was fleeting. 2 years of staring at pictures online, posters plastered everywhere, imagining what they’d say if they finally saw each other again and here he was. Suddenly the decision didn’t seem so easy anymore. 

Morning came quicker than they both wanted. The two sat on the couch, catching up on everything that had happened in the past years. 

He made her laugh. Really laugh. The can’t-stop-tears-in-the-eyes-cheeks-and-stomach-hurting kind of laugh. She missed it. 

By the time they realized the sun was rising, (Y/N) felt guilty having him leave but Steve insisted, “I don’t want to bother you anymore than I have. I know you want to take time to think, so take some time, doll,” he explained, kissing her forehead. “Besides, coming home this early is already going to be annoying to explain to Bucks and Sam,” he laughed. 

(Y/N) watched as he threw his shoes back on and grabbed the door handle, “I hope you don’t doubt it anymore, (Y/N).” 

“Doubt what?”

“How much I love you,” and with a smile and a wave, he left. (Y/N) felt the smile that had been stuck on her face the whole night fade slowly as she remembered the reality she had to face. 

Steve’s first plan was to sneak into the complex quietly, in hopes that Dumb & Dumber wouldn’t find out he had only arrived home now. To his dismay, the two of his friends were waiting in the kitchen for him, which was too close to his room for him to slip by quietly. 

Next plan, just lie. Say he had gone out for a run early this morning and they hadn’t noticed he got back late last night. But he was wearing the suit and tie from last night still...so that wouldn’t work. 

Maybe he could just stay quiet. It’s not like they’d be able to get it out of him right?

But the moment he walked into the complex, Sam and Bucky gave him cheeky grins like they already knew what happened.

“(Y/N) and Steveee, sitting in a tree, K-I-S-S-I-N-” Sam started quietly.

“Shut up,” Steve rolled his eyes but gave a small grin. 

“So what happened?” Sam asked early, raising his eyebrows playfully.

“Nothing, we talked,” Steve said quickly.

“About?” Bucky pressed with a smirk.

“Life in the 2 years we hadn’t see each other,” He shrugged in response, walking towards his room in hopes that they would leave him alone. But when would they ever? The two followed him, poking his shoulders playfully.

“And?” Sam continued, grinning ear to ear now.

“And what?” Steve asked exasperatedly. “Nothing happened, guys, I’m serious! We just... talked.” Steve’s eyes fell onto his hands as he fumbled with his keys, trying to push the smile that was tugging on his lips down.

The boys grinned as Steve slammed the door in their faces, both having caught the head-over-heels look on Steve’s face.

The next two weeks were hard though. Steve had tricked himself into thinking that after seeing (Y/N), everything would fall into place and be picture perfect. Even though they texted often enough, (Y/N) even confiding with him about how the breakup with Travis went (not well, if you were wondering), Steve felt lonely without her in the complex. It wasn’t like they didn’t try to see each other, but every evening she was off work, Steve had some sort of thing to do for Fury. Every weekend Steve was available, some emergency called her back into work.

(Y/N) had brought it up playfully, saying that fate really didn’t want them to be together. Steve clenched his phone a bit tighter, hearing the playfulness in her voice shielding her worry that it was true.

Finally, Steve had had enough. He thought back to the moments where he started to get feelings for Peggy. He knew everyone always thought they had time. But time was never a given. 

“And where in the hell do you think you’re going?” Fury asked with a tight frown as Cap stood up in the middle of a meeting.

“Out.” Steve answered simply before leaving the board room, everyone calling after him. 

He grabbed one of Tony’s cars, speeding more than he’d admit towards the other side of town. He parked hurriedly (and really badly) before running up the steps of (Y/N)’s work building. 

There she was. Looking absolutely stunning. For a split second, he forgot what he was doing there and just stared. She was talking to one of her coworkers, thinking to herself about a bunch of projects going on. There was a girl beside her, asking questions and taking notes according to everything (Y/N) was saying.

“Um. Sir?”

Steve jumped slightly at the voice, looking to find an older woman tapping him on the shoulder. “Do you have an appointment? The waiting room is over there,” she pointed.

“Steve?” The two of them looked over in her direction, a confused but happy look on the girl’s face. “What are you doing here?” She asked with a laugh. “Thanks, Tasha, I got this,” she said, taking Steve’s arm and bringing him over to her office space.

“Hi,” he breathed, grinning so wide his cheeks were hurting.

“Hi?” she giggled, fixing his slightly messy hair. “Anything else to add? You interrupted my work day to say hi?”

“I uh-” Steve bit his lip, realizing he didn’t really prepare what he was going to say. “I don’t want to be bleeding out on a mission one day and realize I didn’t get to be with you as much as I want to be.” He admitted, touching her hand gently. “I don’t want one of us to get into an accident or have to move away without us being...us. I’ve already asked Fury to keep me on important cases only. I’ll let someone else do the rest of the work, I’d rather spend my time with you.”

“Steve-” She stared, a blush creeping on her face. “You could’ve waited till after I was done work.”

“I learned a long time ago that sometimes waiting isn’t the answer,” he whispered, tilting her chin up and kissing her, squeezing her hand.

All the gossip magazines barely scratched the surface when they talked about kissing Captain America. It was more than just breathtaking, in the moment it was just perfect. It was their first kiss in 2 years and (Y/N) couldn’t figure out how it felt like a completely new experience but like something so well known as the same time.

“Um (Y/N)?” 

The two jumped apart, (Y/N) blushing so hard you could probably see it from outside. “U-Uh Janet, sorry, I was coming right back out.” She stammered, stifling a giggle. “You’re making me become very unprofessional at work, Steve,” she hissed, rolling her eyes playfully.

Steve smirked in response, turning to the girl who had just walked in, “Janet? Nice to meet you, I’m Steve.”

“OH I know,” Janet laughed, winking at (Y/N). “She talks about you often. I’m glad to hear that you’ll be able to be together more often now.”

Steve’s eyebrows furrowed, turning to (Y/N) who was aggressively waving for Janet to stop talking before Steve caught her eye. “What’s she talking about?”

“I’m sorry!” Janet bursted out, eyes wide. “I thought you had already told him! You told me yesterday-”

“I was going to tell him yesterday,” (Y/N) laughed, grinning wide as she squeezed Steve’s hand. “But he got so busy I didn’t get the chance.”

“Tell me what?” He frowned, looking at her curiously.

“Well. Tony’s being such a baby about not having me around at the complex. He insisted that there be some sort of merger between Stark Industries and my work here. I’ll be doing the same work I’m doing here, along with some work with Tony and Pepper, but at the complex,” she admitted slowly, tucking a hair behind her ear as she explained it. “I told him that I missed being a part of the family. And that I missed being able to see you.”

Steve couldn’t help himself. Heart racing, eyes lit up, nothing could stop him. He picked her up and spun her around with a grin, kissing her eagerly. “Fuck I love you,” he whispered with a grin. “There’s not a day that goes by that I don’t regret letting you go the first time. Every day, I was thinking about you. I couldn’t tear my mind off of you ever. Be mine? Officially?”

“Always.”

(omg i can’t believe i did my first series thing. Let me know what you guys think! Sorry for the long wait for the update - life gets so busy so quickly :) Pls reblog and share with friends!)

(Also if you’re looking to request a fic, please send me a DM! I’d love to try to get back into writing more and need some ideas!)

Taglist:

@whenpugzfly @siren-queen03 @the-fangirl-sent-by-cyberlife @njayfbi @capstopavenger @denzmallows @lovelyy24 @tessvillegas @an-awkward-duckling @warmmoonlight

Thanks to all of you for liking, reblogging and asking to be tagged! I hope you enjoy!

[timetravelingheart]

Consequences Chapter Four: A.M. Imagine

“T, would you please put that poor boy out of his misery already?” Lydia asked, reaching for Tessa’s phone that had been lighting up like crazy over the past four hours that the girls had been cooped up in the school library. 

They were supposed to be working on their lit reviews, and while Tessa could seemingly ignore the incessant attempts at communication coming her way, Lydia was struggling. Tessa reached out to snatch the phone before Lydia could get to it, but she was too late. She sighed as she watched Lydia scroll through the various notifications on her lock screen. 

“Wow, he’s really something,” she alluded, eyebrows raised. “I didn’t realize you were into that kind of kinky shit, but to each their own.”

“What?!” Tessa struck an arm out and snatched the phone from her pleased friend’s grip. 

“Shh!” came from the surrounding people, unhappy with her little outburst. 

Tessa scrolled through the notifications, not finding anything worthy of being deemed kinky, to say the least. 

“Hilarious,” she deadpanned, not even rewarding Lydia with a look. Lydia simply smiled proudly and returned to her paper. 

Tessa scrolled through her phone. She had more missed notifications than she was used to. Missed calls, voicemails, and texts from Auston. She also had Instagram DMs from him, since he had tracked down her private account and she made him wait over a week before accepting his follow request - only to then not follow him back yet. To Auston’s annoyance, she had not only accepted Mitch, William, and Kasperi’s follow requests instantly, she also followed them back. They of course loved to point that out whenever she liked a post of theirs. 

Those notifications didn’t surprise her. He had definitely made good use of having her contact information over the past couple of weeks and had sent her at least one message a day, usually a ‘good morning Tess’ and/or a ‘good night Tess’ text that she now looked forward to - though she didn’t think she’d ever admit that to anyone, least of all him. 

What surprised her were the new notifications from other Leafs members and even some of their significant others. She had unread texts from Mitch, William, and Kapanen, as well as Instagram follow requests from Zach, Morgan, Andreas, Travis, Freddie, Tyler, and Mitch’s girlfriend Stephanie. 

Apparently, her constant reminders to Auston that whatever was happening between them would have to move slowly had not quite gotten through to him. Even though he had refrained from specifically asking her out on a date since he got her number, he hadn’t let up on being ridiculously nosy and asking her tons of questions about herself. And unlike her, who waited a few minutes or sometimes even an hour before replying to him, he answered her the instant she replied to him unless he was in a game or practice. It was like he was waiting on her response, watching his phone for any sign that she was open to him. 

Despite her best efforts, it felt like they were getting to know each other better and she couldn’t help but feel a little flutter in her chest every time she saw a message from him. Unfortunately for Auston however, his public life can be a little too public sometimes. Just as she was feeling like she could trust him, she overheard a volunteer at work the other day talking about a friend of hers who Auston had been chatting up all night at the bar the previous weekend. While Tessa wasn’t naïve enough to believe that all stories about athletes and hook-ups were true, she also wasn’t naïve enough to believe that none of them were. 

And so, just like that, her guard came back up just slightly. 

Hence why Auston and his friends had been sitting with unread messages for the past four hours. Auston had actually been sitting with read messages since the previous night, but Tessa decided to stop reading anything from him once she got to the library. 

“T?” Lydia’s voice snapped her out of her thoughts. “Are you okay? Those messages looked pretty harmless.”

Tessa nodded, turning off her phone and tossing it in her bag on the ground. 

“Let’s just get back to it, eh?” she tried to smile at Lydia, but it didn’t quite reach her eyes. She turned back to her open laptop, trying to remember what she had been typing before the interruption.

“Actually, I think I’ve done all that my brain can handle today. Nine unedited pages down, but I think I need to edit with a clear brain. Let’s go get some dinner? My treat?” 

Tessa nodded, gathering up her books and laptop. She knew that she was using school and work as a coping mechanism and an avoidant tool, and she also knew that with Lydia, those choices could only go unchallenged for so long. 

__

Once the girls had grabbed their take-out, they started on the short walk back to their shared apartment. It was nearing the beginning of October, but the weather was still holding on to that last little bit of summer with a warm night. 

“So what’s the deal, T? What did that poor boy do to get himself ignored this time?” Lydia linked her arm through Tessa’s, knowing she liked physical contact and proximity with loved ones when she was stressed or worried. 

Tessa let out a deep sigh and rested her heavy head on her best friend’s shoulder. 

“You know Andrea, one of the volunteers at work?” 

“Mhm,” Lydia nodded, even though she wasn’t 100% sure who Tessa was talking about. She knew that it didn’t really matter though. Who the girl was wasn’t the point of the story. 

“So yesterday the team and I were all stuffing envelopes and getting all of our event flyers together when she starts telling Erica a story about their night at the bar. I guess they were at the same bar as Auston and the guys, and Andrea’s friend was hanging out with him. According to Andrea, he was ‘smitten’ with her and kept buying her drinks and flirting with her all night.”

Lydia didn’t say anything, knowing more was coming if she just waited. 

“Which is fine! Obviously. I mean, he’s single and he’s a star in this town and he’s young and why shouldn’t he be flirting with girls?”

“Mhm.”

“And it’s not like him sending me flowers means anything or means that he has to stop doing those things. I’m the one who turned him down, for crying out loud! So of course he’s free to do whatever and whomever he wants.” 

“T-”

Tessa lifted her head from Lydia’s shoulder, still powering through her pent-up rant.

“So who am I to be bothered by this? But then, who the hell is he to keep messaging me and sending me ‘good morning’ and ‘good night’ texts if he’s doing the exact same thing to twenty other random girls. Because that’s probably all I am to him, right? That’s why I’m upset. Not because I like him or own him or anything, but at least have the fucking decency to not lead me on!”

Lydia bit her lip to hide her smile, giving Tessa’s arm a little squeeze. 

“Do you feel better now?”

Tessa let out a little laugh. Fuck him. 

“No.”

“T, do you really think you would be this upset with him for ‘leading you on’ if that’s even what he’s doing if you didn’t at least like him a little bit?”

“I don’t know.”

“T.”

“I guess not,” Tessa shrugged. She hated when other people told her how she felt before she admitted it to herself. 

“Right now, we don’t even know if what that Andrea girl was saying was true. You’ve been around athletes long enough to know that sometimes it’s more about clout than it is about truth. Why don’t you just ask him?”

“I can’t do that! If I ask him, then it looks like I’m jealous.”

“But you are.”

“Yes, but he can’t know that! Lydia, really,” Tessa admonished as they reached their apartment building. “And it’s not even just about jealousy. It’s about trust. And the more I think about it, the more I realize that I don’t know if I can trust him.”

“You haven’t even given the guy a chance, T. Not really,” she shook her head as she dropped her bags in the foyer before moving into the living room to place down their food. “Sure, you text him, but you haven’t agreed to any of his offers to get together. You haven’t really asked him anything about himself, you mostly just answer his questions.”

Lydia was right. Tessa’s way of keeping herself at bay was by not asking him anything. The less she knew about him, the less likely she was to fall for him. She thought it was working for her. Apparently she was wrong.

“So what are you suggesting? That I just ignore what Andrea said and keep responding to him?”

“That’s exactly what I’m suggesting, at least if you’re unwilling to ask about the other night at the bar. But don’t shut him out because of that unless you’re willing to hear his side too,” Lydia shrugged, retreating to her room to change into comfy clothes. 

After dinner and an episode of Queer Eye, Tessa got ready for bed before plopping face down on her bed with a bounce. She rested her head on her hands, mulling over Lydia’s words and thinking over the past few weeks of conversations with Auston. Was Lydia right? Had she not given him a chance to prove that he was trustworthy? But the risks that came with giving someone the chance to prove their trustworthiness felt too great to bear sometimes - what if she gave him the chance and all it did was confirm her initial suspicions and hesitation? Was that risk worth it? 

It was time to find out.

She reached down to her bag and pulled out her phone. Ignoring all of the notifications except for Auston’s, she started reading through his texts starting from the previous day. They consisted of their usual greetings and some random thoughts he had throughout the day or funny stories about the guys. She reached the end of his messages, and felt a little twinge of guilt. 

Auston: I hope you’re okay. Let me know if you need anything. 

Auston: Is this about everyone following you on Instagram? I’m so sorry about that. I told them not to. I think Steph was just excited to potentially have another girl to complain about us with. 

Auston: Call me if you need anything. xo

Finally, she listened to his voicemail. It didn’t do anything to help her guilt. 

Auston: Hey Tess, it’s me, Auston. I, uh, I know we don’t usually call but I was starting to get worried. I know you read my messages yesterday, but I don’t think you’ve read any from today. I’m sorry if the guys are doing too much. They’re just having a bit of fun giving me shit for how much I like you. I think they really like you too, otherwise they wouldn’t even bother. But, uh, yeah. I don’t really know what to say other than I’m sorry if that’s why you’re ignoring me. I can ask them to stop. I know we can all be a bit overwhelming, but that’s part of our charm too, right? *awkward laugh* Uhm, so yeah, please just send me a text or call me back when you get this. I’m starting to get a little worried that you’ve fallen into a ditch somewhere or something. And I guess I just miss talking to you. Anyway, I, uh, I hope you’re well and not too stressed with work or school. And again, I’m really sorry. Talk to you soon I hope.

Your move, Tess, she thought. 

She started typing a message only to erase it and start over. And over. And over. 

Finally, she clicked on his name and waited for the rings to start. 

One, two, three. 

“Tess! Hey!” Auston answered loudly, obviously out of breath. 

“Hi,” she started softly. “Sorry, did I catch you at a bad time?”

“No, no, not at all,” he rushed out. “I just got out of the shower. I left my phone on so I could hear if you - uh, if anyone called.” 

Tessa bit back a small smile. He was waiting for her call. 

“Are you okay? Did you get my message?”

“I did,” she laughed lightly. “All 20 of them.”

“Yeah, sorry about that. You had me going crazy.”

“I could see that. I’m sorry for not responding.”

“It’s okay,” he waited, hoping she would elaborate. When she didn’t, he pressed forward. “Is everything okay? Are, uh, are we okay?”

Tessa hesitated. Did she ask about the bar? Did she carry on like nothing happened? What was the right move here?

“Yeah, we’re okay now. I think maybe I was getting in my head a bit about everything. It’s not easy when you’re so famous around here, you know? I’ve never really known anyone I could Google,” she tried to tease. 

“Oh, God. Please don’t Google me. And please don’t believe everything you read.”

“But if I didn’t Google you, how would I have ever come across those videos of you being terrified by an egg or Carlton?” 

She laughed when she heard a massive groan from the other end and knew he was probably turning beat red. 

“Those videos will be the death of me,” he sighed. “But getting back to it, did something happen to make you worry about me being known here?”

Out with it, Tess. 

“Okay, I don’t play games so I’m going to be as honest with you as possible right now,” she stated firmly. She’d been blunt with him so far, why not now?

“Uh, yeah of course. Give me a sec, I’m going to sit down for this one.”

When he gave her the okay, she went into the same story she had recounted for Lydia earlier in the evening. She was impressed when he didn’t try to interrupt her, but just let her tell her side. When she was done, she heard his deep breathing on the other side. 

“So, I don’t know. I guess just after the past few weeks of you messaging me, and then hearing this, I thought maybe you really were the guy I was worried you would be.”

Auston wanted nothing more than to be excited as the prospect of Tessa being jealous over him with another girl, a small indication that she was into him, but he knew that wasn’t the point here. The point was that she felt like he wasn’t trustworthy, that he was going to be that asshole who used her and hurt her. 

“Tess, I don’t know what I can do to make you believe me, but that story’s not true. I didn’t buy anyone but the guys drinks that night. And I did talk to people, but I didn’t flirt with anyone. And I didn’t leave with anyone. That was the night we had been texting about Endgame because you had just watched it with your friends and you were teasing me with spoilers. I was texting you most of the night, and then I texted you when I got home.

I know that might not mean anything to you, but I swear, I wasn’t trying to get with anyone else. I haven’t since I met you. I wasn’t lying when I said I wasn’t going to hurt you. I’ve been so happy lately because I’ve been learning so much about you and I love hearing from you every day. Those are some of my favourite moments. I’m not going to ruin that for some random girl at a bar.”

The silence lingered for a few minutes while Tessa mulled over his words. She knew he couldn’t prove anything, so it was up to her whether or not she chose to believe him. But what if she made the wrong choice? 

“Thank you for explaining,” she said softly, not knowing what more to say when she was still so unsure of herself and of him. 

“Thank you for letting me.”

“I’m sorry for ignoring you. Sometimes I just need some space to think things through on my own,” she rolled over in her bed, cradling her phone under her chin and hugging her blanket to her chest. 

“That’s okay. I was just worried I had done something wrong,” he paused, moving to his bedroom and rolling himself into the blankets. “But you know what I learned tonight?”

“What did you learn, Auston?”

“Two things. 1) I love hearing your voice over the phone. It’s not quite as good as in person, but it’s definitely better than texting.”

Tessa laughed, hating herself for the blush she felt creeping up her cheeks. 

“What. A. Line.” 

“It’s not a line! It’s the truth. You have no idea how happy seeing your name pop up on my phone made me.”

“Mhm. Okay. And the second thing you learned?”

“And 2) You like me,” he sing-songed smugly. 

Tessa froze. What. 

“What? Why would you think that?” she thought back to if she had unknowingly admitted that anywhere in her explanation to him. She was significantly calmer when she explained it to him than she was with her rant to Lydia earlier. She was so careful. 

“Why would you get so worried about me with another girl if you didn’t like me?”

“Maybe because you have been texting me and acting like you’re into me, only for me to hear you might be doing the same with another girl?”

“Right, which I’m definitely not doing, by the way. But you wouldn’t reeeally care that much if you didn’t like me. It’s okay, Tess. I’m a catch. You can admit it!”

“I think all of those hits on the ice have gone straight to your head.”

“You liiiiike me. You really, really liiiiike me.”

“Whatever you need to believe to get you through the night, Auston.”

“I know something else that could help get me through the night,” he smirked. 

“Auston Matthews! On that note, good night, jerk.”

“You know you like it. Thanks for calling, Tess. I hope you do it again sometime.”

“Maybe I will.”

“I’m counting on it. Sleep well, Tess.”

“You too, Auston.”

Tessa ended the call and placed her phone on her nightstand, letting out a contented sigh. 

Fuck him for being so cute. She did like him. She really, really liiiiiked him. Dammit. 

[readbythestarlight]

c2e92

Sam you look so normal

Oh dear

SAM

SAM NO

Ashley is a woman after my own taste with those flaming hot Cheetos

NO GOD SAM NO NOT THE TOOTHPASTE

Liam is like "my husband? Better!"

Matt is so done xD

[[MORE]]

I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again I’d love to have Nolan North or Troy Baker guest star

OHHHHH SICK BURNS FROM MATT TONIGHT

Oh I hope Nott doesn’t blame Caleb or think he just wasn’t good enough...

Travis: low key bursts into song

Matt: the DM will remember that

Aww bye Essek

E: "I will punish the bakery"

J: "don’t PUNISH the BAKERY just order better things next time!"

E: "that was an attempt at a joke."

I hope he knows they’re not bailing on him for any reason

It’s THEIR spell that’s so nice

Beau’s dad’s obsession with the fortune teller could explain Beau’s reluctance to buy into the tarot cards hmmm

Everyone: wildly talking

Cad: I’m just gonna ask mom

He asked about his FAMILY

Oh no he HIT her?

I suddenly don’t regret Jester terrifying him at all

There’s so much happening right now, Nott backstory, Beau backstory, some Cad backstory and I’m so torn about who’s I want to get to most

I reeeeally don’t want them to rush Beau into this though

Y’all let Essek know you’re leaving!

I like how Jester and Nott and maybe sorta Beau kinda low key ship Shadowgast now

Matt: here’s a bunch of hermits

Cad: these are my people!

Oh god oh no I don’t like this woman she seems creepy as fuck

These poor monks

Oh come on go to the karaoke bar

Y: "do you have a song you always sing?"

N: "sweet Caroline.........it’s in abyssal!"

And then she "sings" it xD

Poor Matt is it his wits end xD

Cad is now drunk and high and trying to pretend to be Fjord

I like how eldritch blast is an in-game meme

Hiiiii Gentledad!

I love how he was all like "I’m not gonna be your dad" but she also has him wrapped around her little finger

Beau! Honey! Don’t cry! D:

B: "I feel like I’ve found my family with the Mighty Nein, I don’t like looking at my past because it doesn’t have the Mighty Nein in it. I’ve been avoiding the inevitable because... I’m afraid it’ll end up like my past." I’m crying

Fjord is so goddamn supportive

She’s so scared she’s going to lose them and what she’s found with them and my heart is BREAKING for her she needs a group hug immediately

"You’re still my Captain" god DAMN I love the friendship between Fjord and Beau

Aww, it makes me sad that they don’t quite trust Essek. I understand but it makes me sad for his sake (and also now that I’ve decided to trust him completely)

That was the best Super Bowl commercial of the year 10/10

Jester honey you’re gonna tick him off

J: "she is not that great."

TG: "well... you don’t know her."

Oh my god do NOT send your mom a letter do NOT parent trap them

Oh man it’s been a while since we had some good Jester and Nott antics

Oh god please pass each other

They DID xD

OH MY GOD

ITS THE PANTSLESS BANDITS

ITS

I CANT

BREATHE

these poor losers I’m

Yasha and Caleb having a talk.

Oh she asked him how he deals with it.

C: "I know regret, and I regret..... unless my intuition is very off, you know regret."

Y: "so it never goes away?"

C: "No..."

Oh honey </3

Y: "I feel like the forgiveness is almost harder to deal with. I feel like anger is an emotion that’s easier to deal with because that’s where I live. But I feel like with everyone being so nice and accepting I don’t know how to handle it. I know I’m not handling it well but I’m trying."

And now he’s talking about how even if they can’t wash the blood from their hands they can still use those hands to try to do good, and to do all they can to make the world better and not let the guilt consume them and you know what that is? GROWTH.

Somebody please teach them though that they can be forgiven

Y: "do you love her?"

C: "who?"

Y: "I don’t need to tell you who."

Y: "I’m sorry, it’s just that, I know, as someone who has lost someone, it’s important to say something before it is too late."

C, whispering: "it is too late, Yasha..."

And then he turns away but holds her hand

Goddamn I’m crying

Oh boy here we go Beau’s family time

I love how they are all ready to spite or fight Beau’s family in their own way

Please hug your daughter Mother Lionette

Not like that god a good hug

Baby brother ;_;

I hate how stiff her mom is THIS IS YOUR DAUGHTER YOU HAVENT SEEN IN LIKE THREE YEARS

oh god I’m gonna have feelings about her and her little brother

Oh Beau honey </3

"We were hoping you would come by sometime. To meet him." You could have ASKED.

Mom not answering about whether or not they sent Beau away knowing mom was pregnant

Omg she just gave him the jade she just admitted was the only thing she kept from her dad

"Look, Beauregard" don’t you even try it you bad mom you DONT you try to make excuses

Oh fuck here we go it’s time to meet asshole dad

Godddd I hate him

Whisperssssss

B: "I’d like to think that what I became had nothing to fucking do with you" TELL HIM BABY GIRL

Rip into him

God Marisha is killing it and killing me

I refuse to accept his "nobody teaches you how to be a father" excuses and I hope Beau doesn’t either

Like I’m often all here for reconciling with family or whatever but they’ve clearly hurt Beau so badly and she has a better family now

I’m so frustrated with the whole crappy family, but whatever makes Beau happy in the end is what I want

Wow that was some.... heavy stuff and I’m exhausted and it’s not even me I can only imagine how Marisha feels having to act it all out

NOTT that was Amazing "I hope that doesn’t happen to you" damn

Every one of them is telling Thoreau to stop being a shitty dad or else Kinda calling him out on his shit and I’m living for it

Ending on a group hug

God what an episode

They are killing it lately with these hardcore character heavy, emotion heavy episodes

lol Matt joking about having to play his wife’s IG dad xD

[queeniewriteshockey]

Love Lost || Travis Konecny + Reader

Request: Anon -  maybe an idea for a tk imagine: you dated him back in his junior days and kinda drifted apart but you land in philly after a while and run into each other at like a team gathering through mutual friends and like reconnect (ending w nsfw if you feel like it ;) or not )

Word count: 1,336 A/N: Part 2 Y or N? Let me know :) 

Years had passed since you’d seen him, it honestly felt like a lifetime had filled in the gaps between your last conversation.  You could remember the day as though it were yesterday. The chill in the air had been unnatural for the time of year, but maybe that had just been... you.

Both of you had tried to make it work, You'd done everything short of moving. You'd made the drive a few times out to Ottawa when he was on the 67s, but even then... six hours was just not worth the three hours you actually got to spend with him. Life was not on either of your sides when it came to the relationship. It didn't mean you didn't want it. It didn't mean you didn't want him. It just meant you couldn't be together. It just wasn't in the cards.

He'd been the one to realize it first. You were still busy clinging to hope and romanticizing the idea of a long distance relationship when he'd come to the conclusion that it wasn't working out. You'd gone cold the moment you realized what he was saying, but who were you to argue? In a matter of hours your parents would drag you away from him, drive you back home and it would be weeks before you saw him again... well, longer than that, now.

You hadn't cried until you were home in your bed, alone. You hadn't told anyone what happened. Just that you hadn't heard from him. You stopped following his career. What was the point of holding onto all of that when there was no point? You let yourself forget him. As if that was possible.

His old jersey still hung in your closet. Not the closet at your parents, no. The closet you currently hung your clothing in. The closet in South Philly that you pay far too much to rent with your old college roommate. She's the reason why you're in Philly, after all. She's also the reason why you're at a Flyers team practice of all things.

"You're Canadian," she scoffs as she forces you into the blinding orange sweatshirt. "You love hockey."

"Yes, but... The Flyers?" You ask. It's almost a whine. You were not raised to be a Flyers fan. The Senators, yes. The Flyers, no. "My retinas are burning. This sweatshirt is awful." You tell her. "Why do you even have this?"

As far as you'd known,  Casey wasn't a hockey fan. It'd been kind of nice, honestly. Not talking about hockey with her. It meant you weren't constantly thinking back to Travis and everything that had transpired between the two of you. You didn't have to wonder where he'd landed after the 67s.

"You can't show up to their practice looking like you have no idea why you're there. I bought a shirt for myself and a sweatshirt for you. We'll totally look like we belong."

She tugged you out the door before grabbing and her purse and the door slammed shut behind you. "But I don't know why I'm there," you countered.

"Hush, you fret too much. It'll be fun. We get to watch hot hockey boys on the ice. Don't deprive me of this."

You gave your friend a little eye roll and huffed a sigh as you slid into the passenger side of her car. "We could have done this when we were in school," you told her flatly. "It would have been a better team, too. Honestly, Casey, the Flyers?"

She grinned brightly at you. "Trust me. I've seen these guys. They're gorgeous. You'll thank me."

You let it go. You're not getting out of going unless you unlatch your seatbelt and throw yourself from the car. It's tempting, considering the sweatshirt you're currently wearing, but you settle for planning to burn the fucker when you get home. It'll be soothing. You could almost feel your father's disapproval from Philadelphia. If he could see you in a Flyers sweatshirt... What does an aneurism feel like? You're pretty sure he'd have one.

Casey's voice slips in and out of your thoughts while you watch the houses and the cars and the rundown neighborhoods pass by. Philly could be so pretty or so barren and desolate. There were times when you wondered how anyone lived because even the buildings seemed to have given up in places.

"We're here!" Casey yelled, shocking you out of your revery.

The practice spot is uninteresting though it does cause you a few pangs. Memories you had tried to keep at bay came back to you, a lifetime of memories as though on fast forward. It's almost suffocating. But you've learned to hide those memories from those around you. Casey doesn't even notice the strange out of body experience you're having as she drags you onto the arean and down to the bottom where the glass stands.

The chilled air fills your lungs and seizes your mind. You have been here before. You have stood in the exact same spot. You have waited patiently as the players filed out, signs raised in preparation of seeing the one person, the only person you cared about on the ice. You have been here before.

You blink as the players do slide out onto the ice, forcing yourself to focus on the here and the now and not the then and before. It's hard, though, they all bring back so many memories. You know so much about the sport and what they go through, its almost as though you know them; each and every one of them.

Casey nudges you, knocking you out of your thoughts and your memories. "That one is staring at you," she says with a grin and points to one of the shorter ones on the ice. Your eyes had been focused, not on the players, but on the entrance they had come through. You'd lost track of them in your memories, finding yourself back in the past.

It takes you a moment to really piece together the face of the player on the ice. He's older than you remember, his hair is longer but the eyes are exactly the same. "Travis?" You say quietly, your voice catching in your throat. Your hand presses to the glass for a moment, wishing that it was not in the way. It can't be, Travis. That wasn't possible was it?

Before you could finish reasoning with yourself that who you were seeing couldn't possibly be who you thought it was, he had skated up to the glass and standing in front of you. It's a weird feeling, seeing him standing on the other side of the glass, staring at you.

"What are you doing here?" He asks. His voice is a little muffled beyond the glass. His eyes scan you and feel your skin warm under the attention as though you were standing in the direct path of the sun. "Your dad would kill you if he saw you in that sweatshirt."

You let out a little laugh, the spell you were caught in breaking a little. "That's what I was trying to tell my roommate! This was her idea. She forced me into this abomination." You pluck at the sweatshirt and are rewarded with a laugh you hadn't thought you'd hear again.

"I promise not to tell." There was a shout from someone on the ice, and Travis turned around, catching the eye of one of the other players and nodded. "I gotta..." he stuck his gloved thumb over his shoulder indicating that he had to get back to the team. "Can you stick around after practice?" He asks, his voice a little hopeful.

The answer isn't even formed in your mind before you're nodding your head. "Yeah," you say, following your heads motion. "Of course. I'm not going anywhere."

The smile is bright again and your heart clenches. Or maybe your stomach does a summersault. Perhaps it's both. You'll find out when he gets off the ice.  

[midoriyas-tears]

A shit show of a bunch of random word documents I have

[travis x sal fic.doc]

(authors note- this is unfinished. made january 23rd, by me) fandom- sally face

Sal's lips softened into a light loving smile, feeling his boyfriend's body heat with his palm as the taller boy tangled his hands in Sal's hair. He ran his fingers through the light blue curls and tufts and clusters, trying to rid of any knots. Every time the blonde forced through something more severe, it followed with an "Ow" and a "I'm sorry," and then an " It's okay." And then a grin.

Being sat in his lovers lap, Sal began to lay back into his arms, comfortable. Travis lightly nudged him with two of his fingers, so that he can continue to mess with the others hair. Sal moved forwards. "Sorry." He mumbled, smiling at the freckled boy.

"You don't have to apologize.." Travis got through two or three tangles " You told me that you didn't get alot of sleep.. "

"Its fine. I'm not that tired." Sal would speak quietly. Though it was a bit of a lie. He could fall asleep at that moment if he wanted to. Travis adjusted the shorter boy's head to look up at him, and then bent to plant a short kiss on Sal's lips (It was frankly uncomfortable). "You look tired. Please sleep, babe." Travis sighed, and Sal nodded a 'no'-----. "Fine."

Travis knew little about hair. He didn't take care of himself much, and he never got close to any girls or anybody with a good deal of hair. He took a bunch of the blue locks and split it into three sections, like he had seen some girls do at lunch. Sal purred, closing his eyes.

He tried to remember what to do, until his head gave up and his hands unnatrually began to move around the strands. He undid it, restarting. "Ouch."

"Sorry, babe."

" Its fine. "

"Do you know how to braid hair, Travis?" He

When Travis shook his head, Sal moved, letting his body face Travis', but still sitting in his lap like usual. The taller boys freckled cheeks turned a tint of cherry at the position.

[rp starter.doc]

(authors note- its a roleplay starter. made january 29th, by me) fandom- bnha

After an array of cool weather, the air was pleasingly warm, and the sun shone brightly above, covered by puffs of clouds drifting over and swaying about in the sky. The sidewalk was populated with a short series of people, walking slow to the tone of the morning. In the midst of it all, Midoriya was walking to his new school, with his mother. He gripped onto her hand with one, and with tge other he held onto his plain blue backpack, which had a decorative Allmight chain hanging off of it. He really was obsessed, wasn't he? Izuku looked at his mom curiously as they entered the school, nearing the kindergarden classroom. This was a new school. It was exciting to him, so he smiled, but a set of nervous thoughts still crept over his small shoulders.

His mother bent down, getting on a knee and planting a soft motherly kiss on the boys forehead. "Have a good day, Izuku." She gave him a warm smile which he was happy to recognize. "Mommy will see you soon." She stood up, patting him on his fluffs of green hair and leading him into the classroom. Every other kindergardener stared at him briefly.

The teacher grinned at him. "This is Midoriya. Say hello to him."

They pointed to a table for him to sit, "Sit with (insert characters name)." (authors note- lmao)

He followed instructions

[rp starter 2.doc]

(authors note- simular to the last one. created febuary 10th, by me) fandom- bnha

It frankly was not an ideal day to be at the playground. The sky was blue, but was ashen and cloudy-- it would certainly rain soon. The playground was unpopulated and minerature, not featuring much equipment. And the only people there were himself and one or two other kids who didn't bother talking to him. Izuku didn't mind though. He clasped onto the swing he sat on, pushing himself back and forward with his legs. He moved slowly. After a while of swinging, he attempted to call out for his mother to push him, but she was distracted by a book.

Midoriya sighed, a bit defeated. He looked over at the seesaw, wondering if anyone would want to go on it with him. His eyes went to the back of a boy, who seemed about his age. He squinted at the features. Hey, was that Kachaan? He waved to him excitedly, grinning widely at the familiar face. "Hey! Hey!"

[rp starter 3.doc]

(authors note- this ones different. it was originally for a fic, but i copped out. i liked the idea so i made it a starter. kamisero. created march 10th, by me) fandom- bnha

Before he could fully evaluate the situation, Kaminari didn't take much mind to what he and his friends were doing. The freckled blonde sat beside two of his best friends, Mina and Sero, observing as Kirishima placed a half-full water bottle in the middle of the circle. The pink-haired female beside him clasped her hands together, grinning wildly. "Now, this is something I'm excited for"

It was only then, when Denki could realize what he was getting himself into. Sure, he was single. Sure, he was pansexual. He glimpsed over to Sero for a moment, feeling a light brush of pink tint over his cheeks. But if he refused to do it, he knew he wouldn't hear the end of it. Especially because Mina knew that Kami liked Sero.

"Before we start," Denki heard Kirishima begin to speak, sitting up, "You have seven minutes. You cannot forfeit unless you're going to shit yourself. I don't care if you're gay."

Denki gulped, and Mina playfully punched him in the arm. She knew why Denki was nervous. Mina suddenly seized The blonde's hand, placing it on th water bottle. "Kami, why don't you start? I mean, you didn't get to do much in truth or dare, so.."

Denki glared at her. Mina was his best friend, and he really appreciated her-- but she was really pushy with revealing all of his secrets. Not like she had ever done that, its just sometimes he wished Mina wasn't the /only/ person he could go to. "Yeah, sure."

He spun the bottle. And, he was taken back, when it landed on Sero. Fuck.

[sfg.doc]

(authors note- lmao this is drunk deku so yeah uhh hes obviously underaged so leave if you dont like that. also a roleplay starter. smh im on sham.chat alot. march 15th, by me) fandom- bnha

It wasn't particularly something he wanted to do. He /was/ underaged, with little experience with the substance. Izuku wasn't actually drunk,was he? He didn't drink too much, did he? Kirishima and Mina had hosted a party during the weekend, not to celebrate anything, just to- do it, I guess. Midoriya, though he had admittedly never been to a real one, came. He did get a loose invitation, after all. He didn't want to be rude and say he had plans, because he didn't.

Midoriya had been sitting on the couch, watching from distance as his classmates sat on the floor to play a game of spin the bottle, which he sat out in. Even if he wasn't sober, he didn't want to kiss his friends. He picked at a soda can with his thumb-nail, squinting while trying to open it. "Eeeh.."

[e.doc]

(authors note- last one. march 17th, also by me. roleplay starter, again. this is kindergarten todo, which i thought would be adorable. even though he probably wouldn't evem go to public school in my opinion) fandom- bnha

Frankly, Todoroki was surprised that his father even agreed with his mother, for once. Even at six, Shoto took notice of the unhealthy relationship his parents shared. He actually wasn't the happiest about going to a public kindergarten, instead of being homeschooled. Sure, he wouldn't have to see his mean father every day, atleast-- not as much. But he didn't usually talk to kids his age, if any at all. He didn't know what they would think of him.

It was the first day of kindergarten. Shoto walked by his dad, quietly. He was a bit unhappy by this, as he didn't want to make a scene in his classroom. His dad was a hero, after all. He didn't really want to be a hero. By how his dad pushed it upon him, it seemed like the hardest job ever. Todoroki didn't know what he wanted to be, but not something like that.

Surprisingly, Endeavor *didn't* go in the class. He stopped by the door, telling him to behave, then leaving, hastily. He didn't really care, though. Its not like he was going to talk to anyone. He sat in a random seat near the back, plopping his backpack next to his seat and watching as a plethora of six-year-olds came in through the door. One of them sat by him. He awkwardly avoided eye contact.

[go-diane-winchester]

Why I stopped liking Misha after eight years.

I loved all the guys at one point.  I don't stan anyone.  Some people may think I am crazy about J2 only.  Well, yeah.  I loved everyone, once upon a time, until they gave me a reason to hate them.  Now only the Js are left and despite being flawed [like every human being on earth] they are still decent human beings.  They are not manipulators or provocateurs.  They are just flawed.  So my admiration has gone back to season 1 to 3, when it was just J2 and they were enough.  With some side order of John.  I like all the Winchester boys, but not blindly.  Even if one of my boys do something wrong, I will acknowledge it.  I wont ignore it, or make excuses for it.  Nor will I dog him down for it.  Unless he is a repeat offender, like Misha.  Misha is not one of my boys.  He is barely a man.   

Before I started to really hate Misha, I had a soft spot for him.  I didn't ship him.  I don't ship.  I mix and match according to my mood.  That is how classic slashers used to do it.  Because pinning your happiness on one ship, when the are a bevy of beauties out there, is a silly thing to do.  I was going to write an epic story for Jared and Matt, where Misha was going to play a pivotal role as Matt's brother because I always felt Matt and Misha had similar fraternal features.  It was going to be an epic.  I was also going to do a suspense-ish story with Jared and Misha, where the epilogue was going to be Misha brutally killing an old woman, but he was the hero of the story.  That story was actually close to my heart.  Unfortunately I got sick, and didn't write anything for years, which is a good thing because I would have regretted wasting such a nice story on that leech. 

I was going to write a Cockles story about two years ago, with Jared, JDM, Gil McKinney and Tahmoh playing supporting roles.  I am meh! about destiel, but never begrudged others who liked it.  Hey, different strokes right?  Its all fantasy anyway.  Or so I thought.   I heard some canon talk on YouTube, here and there, and thought that ''this girl doesn't understand slash''.  How was I to know the majority of them don't understand slash.  Then the hellers started to really misbehave in YouTube comment sections, on Twitter and at cons.  You had to blind not to notice it.  And I was shocked.  I said, ''I wish I could meet Misha.  I will tell him about these fans.  They are giving him such a horrible name.''  I liked him and thought he would make everything better.  How stupid I was. 

Then I realized that everyone else is a either a jerk or leeching off J2's fame.  I realized that Speight was a Trump supporter and that put me off.  Misha blurted it out on a panel and Richard looked angry about it.  Its the first and last time I appreciated Misha having a big mouth.  At that time though, I still liked Misha.  I realized Matt was following a heller on SM, who was bashing Jared continuously, so he can get lost.  Osric was nice and I paired him with Jared mostly, because the big and small thing does something to me.  Sevin was my jam.  This was my honest thoughts when I encountered Kevin zig-zagging and outrunning Sam "Oh, let this cutie be Sam's pairing.  Poor Sammy is so left out because of destiel.  At least now he will have his own stinking cute pairing''.  Not even knowing how I was going to come to regret supporting destiel.  

I felt sorry for Misha, because he was poor and lived on handouts.  I remember him saying that Random Acts was inspired by a woman who bought gifts for him, his brother and mom on Christmas Eve when he was very little.  I felt sad that he cut himself, because he was a bullied teen.  I was furious when he got mugged.  I wanted those pigs caught.  ''Ok, fine, steal his stuff, but there was no need to hit him''.  In other words, I believed everything he said.  I was a sucker.  And I was livid when I realized that he played me and all his other fans. 

The first thing he did, which I didn't like, was bashing the Bible.  I am a Muslim and found that very offensive.  That made me think back on that lady who showed him kindness as a child.  Why would he bash her beliefs when she was so nice to him?  But I thought, first time offence, and let it go.  Then I realized that he was too provocative on stage.  Whether it was swearing or talking abut sex, he didn't care whether children were in the room or not.  I am fairly sure he curbed his language when West was on stage with him.  I cant remember though.  When it came to slash, I was always baffled at why he was talking about it at cons.  As far as I knew, slash-related questions were banned.  Later I realized it was because he was breaking the rules, which was essentially making Jensen look bad. 

Once there was a heartfelt complaint from a minion that fans were asking Misha very sexual questions in a panel.  I was angry.  Why are fans being vulgar with an actor?  He's not your boyfriend.  Later, when I checked for myself, I realized he was being provocative too.  He also made some blasphemous remarks.  Later he complained to one of the handlers ''I didn't know where to draw the line''.  I forced myself to give him the benefit of the doubt even though, that incident stayed with me for all these years.  So he creates the environment that he is complaining about, to make himself look like a victim.  Well sow it and reap it, hypocrite. 

Jaxcon 2017 is where I started to pay attention to Misha and his hellers, and Jibcon was where my mind are fairly made up.  It was only when I looked into Travis Aaron Wade's case that I fully made up my mind, that Misha might be a shadier character than I thought.  Misha has said some very scandalous things about Jensen and Dean followed by ''oh, I am going to get a phone call about this.  I just know it''.  If you have been told not to do something, then why do it?  It was Jensen's death threat that made me really hate this guy.  When I first heard about it, I thought, ''Misha is going to give them a stiff kick for threatening Jensen''.  Months went by.  When Misha kept on pandering and pandering despite the abuse online, that is when I realized that this man is a manipulative, heartless creep who only thinks about himself.  I regret my Misha admiration and I feel a little ashamed that he suckered me.     

Edit:

A reader added this and it thoroughly surprised me:

Agreed on all, but one point I think is off and I’m almost certain I’ve heard that Mishas kids actually swear and he’s ok with it; jokes about it in his panels. I saw a clip once where J2 and MC are on stage and he talked about it and J2’s reactions were almost comical.

If anyone knows which panel that was, please let m know.  I want to see J2's reactions.  And what Misha said. 

[dungeonsanddragonsfifthedition]

tazchat: you don’t gotta be the damage sponge all the time

The Gang Fucks Up So Bad Just Like So Bad Y’all Like All Of Them Fuck Up

i forgot that this one just opens on a fuckin scene like griffin hatecrime mcelroy wanted me to suffer

barry liked legato. lup liked tesseralia. lucretia liked the beach year. magnus enjoys the feeling of dying. but his favorite? PUPPY TOWN. and davenport’s a bummer and says “home” was his favorite.

no words, no melody, just static.

“you’re singing static—“ “i’m singing—that redheaded kid, the singer, at the conservatory.”

what the fuck is going on, is this fisher?

sorry the fucking. announcer at the beginning has got me back on my lucretia and magnus as parallels bullshit. talkin bout protection. talkin about bearing that weight; they’re not strong enough, i have to be. like objectively i feel that magnus is the most likely to do What Lucretia Did and i feel like there’s fridge justification there in the inherent recklessness of young humans (lucretia being ~18 and magnus being ~20) but also. they really are just two sides of the same coin. i love it.

Glimmers Of Hope!

magnus somehow becomes an artificer like in spite of Not Being A Mage... god what a boy

MAGNUS HAS ONE ASSET, HE WAS TOO BUSY GETTING SO MANY BONDS. aw taako gives some over actually. they’re good buds. and merle gives another. aw. Now I’m The Baby Of The Bunch But I Brought Two Friends Along

“we need to lean into the dramatic irony”

justin is so good at making up weapons holy shit. HIGH FANTASY magic glaive. BEJEWELED. camelcase.

merle gets a stick that gives him advantage. fuck yes. also. i’m about to lose my mind at justin’s will forte impression

magnus’ helmet. it’s got ram’s horns which is all to say tiefling julia confirmed. and then a fucking necklace.

A Wizard’s Duel as a lup song confirmed

griffin said “umbrella,” and justin said “OH FUCK YOU.” like did he not realize.

“you look like a clown.” “yeah, like a cool clown.” “don’t play the pennywise card, like you always try to.” “well, there’s no accounting for taste!”

STRAT MEETING!!!

magnus bein scared by barry’s lich form is canon.

“IT’S THE CRAVEABILITY.” “fine. sure, the craveability.”

UNless unLESS

but it won’t work!!!

lucretia doesn’t want responsibility for this!!!

magnus doesn’t wanna hurt the world!!! but this is better than the alternative

YOUR PLAN WON’T WORK EITHER QUEEN

and lup just shuts her down immediately jesus christ

“you don’t know that! you don’t know what i’m saying!” baby :’(

“I love good shield. I wish there was a third option where we could just fight it and kill it, but, uh. I don’t wanna decide for a world—either of ‘em.”

“the meat shield here can protect us“ / “what the fuck are you talking about.”

Lucretia Will Remember This.

“lucretia i promise you on my life, on my second life, this’ll work!

“i cannot WAIT to find out what these seven items are.”

HOW DID HE MAKE THAT FUCKIN CUP.

they really got it in an HOUR on toril damn

PLANTFUCKING JOKE

echoes of home on it and i am still on my angus is faerûn’s equiv of lucretia bullshit please make me talk about this dumb fucking joke theory

magnus’ dumb ass gets lost because he forgets he’s mortal and forgot water and shit. baby boy. and then he meets a dad and a baby, and he accidentally founds a city. fuck yes.

HEY EVERYBODY THERE’S A COOL ROCK IN THIS WELL TELL EVERYONE FOREVER

the gaia shaft, in gold’s cliff. hard same clint

like canonically the majority of people on faerûn search for the relics so i think it would be Interesting (Fanservice) if we saw moments w/ carey killian avi jules johann hurley sloane in this bit but whatever griffin

back when this aired, i had totally forgot about lucretia’s speech post crystal kingdom which is NEARLY WORD FOR WORD this griffin monologue damn

YOU DON’T SEE ANYTHING CHANGE, AND THAT’S THE PROBLEM. WHAT YOU DON’T KNOW HAUNTS YOU.

okay so they spent 11/10.5 years apart. that’s what we have.

my morning cuirass is SO GOOD. good joke travis.

that barry thinks fantasy mmj is “bumping” is all you need to know about him

magnus doesn’t know what to do next!!! he’s fuckin aimless!!! baby

leland palmer and merle highchurch are the same character

YOU GOTTA DANCE EVERY DAY! best dad.

lucretia is distressed as fuck. she and lup are hanging out and just being Sad Girlz.

i just stopped learning math! i have to learn math again! i have to make life! it just—seems weird.

“you’re my family.”

“everybody else, except for the six of you, everybody else was dust. talking dust. so, yeah, i started worrying a lot more about me, because what was the fucking point.” that speech gets me every time good job justin

oh fuck it was 10 years apart!!! only a decade!!! so lucretia is ~20 when the forgetting goes down and magnus is ~22 when he meets julia. the younger human ages really fuck with me!!!

sometimes there’s just. decisions!!!

“i wouldn’t have made it here without you. we don’t say this enough—thank you.” that was the last conversation you ever had with your sister. when someone leaves your life, those exits are not made equal. i am no joke crying on the metro.

back soon!

and we see lucretia.

Here Fuck This Gnome: The Very Sad Sequel

“holy shit. i think it’s my birthday.”

“—wait—wait—you’re—where am i? you’re merle—“

kill me.

a dungeon in the felicity wilds. fuck!!!

“who?” IMPROV LINE OF THE CENTURY!!! JESUS. LIKE A FUCKING BUS HIT ME, FIRST TIME I HEARD THIS.

HE STRAIGHT UP KILLS A DUDE!!!

it’s a duck!!! 🦆

SHE’S CRYING!!!!

“god magnus, no, you weren’t supposed to—“ “what?” “i’m gonna find you a place where you can be happy again, it’ll only be a little while, and then you’ll remember—“ “who are you—“ “please, please, i love you, all of you, i’m sorry.”

the fucking static as it transitions into “lucretia...” poetic cinema

griffin is audibly tearing up talking about lucretia. “miserable, and anguished, and shut off from the world, that misery could be altered too.” NOT BY PLACING IT ON YOUR OWN SHOULDERS!!! GOD!!!

the beach—you thrived. at peace.

the years that followed gave you joy beyond measure.

everyone in the world deserved to be around you, and you deserve it too, to be recognized! and you are so, so loved.

she spent all of her spare time looking for lup!!! she couldn’t bear her absence. i’m weeping. i’m genuinely weeping at this.

okay so. bulwark, then wonderland, then maureen, then the bureau, then eggbabe. that’s the story.

FEW PEOPLE WHO HAVE LIVED HAVE EXPERIENCED SUCH LONELINESS.

she could finally bring you home.

that is a BALLER COOKIE.

“we’re also getting closer as people, i guess.”

YOU GOT FAITH, IT’S FAITH IN YOU.

a radiant smile full of joy and relief—a smile you see now, as magnus, alive again, bursts into the room.

THIS IS IT!!!!

[smolgaysnake]

ftwd: gently, gently, to the sea.

happy birfday to ashlee! here is a kidsquad ghost au >:3. It can be read as shippy (and is meant to), but is very... gen, actually? Unless I’m forgetting something. Great thanks to @trashbb for helping me.

for @favvnsongs

Kidsquad no apoca ghost AU, FTWD, 10k.

“It’s for the best,” his mother had said, smaller and frailer than anyone Chris has ever seen, nevermind his mother, always so bigger than her frame, strong and his, always. Now she’s brittle and and wasted away and using the last of her strength to lift her trembling hand to his cheek and tell him she loves him. “Be good for your father, but only if he’s good to you.”

++

Two days after the funeral, Madison shows him to his room. Tells him to make himself at home and there’s casserole in the blue tupperware in the fridge. Then she and Travis go out to the movies.

He touches the post of the bedframe, wooden and chipped and the paint gone from white to something grungy over time. The closet smells like dust, and there’s lining paper in the old dresser, faded pink florals. He makes the bed and sits on it. Stares at the four boxes, two duffel bags, one suitcase, and a backpack in a lopsided pile against the wall. All the things he has left in the world.

++

He pokes around the house while he’s got it to himself. Cracks open the door at the end of the hall just long enough to confirm it’s the master bedroom. Takes a piss in the bathroom and notes with satisfaction there’s already shampoo in the shower stall, still-packaged razors in the mirror cabinet above the sink.

The second bedroom is clearly occupied, rumpled bedcovers and a towel slung over the back of a chair, shoes kicked over messily by the closet, a hoodie on the floor near the window. Madison’s got a son, he vaguely remembers, and there are pictures of one on the mantel, the walls.

He pauses on his way out, by the doorway. There are notchmarks carved into the doorjamb, varying heights, and he can only just make out years-old faded dates written beside them, <i>Nicky</i>, and then another name he can’t make out. He touches his fingertip to it, rubbing like he can wear away the grit of time like dust. An ‘A’, for sure, and maybe--

The door slams shut, Chris rearing away to avoid losing a finger. He gasps, heart thundering, and wrenches it back open, looking up and down the hallway for the perpetrator.

The windows are closed and the hallway is empty. He’s alone.

++

Chris stays in his room. There’s two weeks until school starts, another new school., another year of being the new kid. Chris has no illusions it will go any better than his last school. Travis asked him at dinner one night if he’ll try out for the football team and he actually laughed in response; he’s since stopped going to the painfully performative family meals.

He keeps the windows open, he walks down to the liquor store three blocks away to buy air freshener. It doesn’t matter, his room always smells like it’s been locked up for years and years, mothballs and layers of dust and linens beginning to rot. And still, lying on his mattress staring at the ceiling, the stench thick in his nose, it’s far more preferable than anywhere else in the house.

++

“I know you’ve got a mother already,” Madison tells him, coming into the kitchen while Chris is foraging in the fridge for leftovers, startling him upright, clutching tupperware to his chest and his fork falling to the tiled floor with a metal clatter. “Even if she’s gone now, that doesn’t change a thing.”

Chris is silent.

Madison smiles at him, the sweetest she’s looked since Chris has met her. “My son is coming home tomorrow. He’s been… away for a while. Sick. He needs stability.” She steps forward, gripping Chris’s shoulder before he can withdraw out of reach. He feels pinned, trapped, her gaze keeping him frozen in place. “This is a chance,” Madison says, almost softly, “to be part of a family. Is that what you want, Chris?”

“I,” Chris stutters. The handle to the freezer is digging into his shoulder.

“You need,” Madison says, taking the tupperware out of his suddenly limp grasp and stacking it neatly on the counter. “To decide what you want. And what you’re willing to do to get it.”

++

Travis tells him to wear a tie. “Where’s he coming back from,” Chris mutters resentfully, “New York’s Fashion Week.”

“This is important,” Travis says shortly. “I told you to iron that.”

Chris shrugs. His suit jacket is rumpled; it’s been lying on the floor of his closet since he took it off after his mother’s funeral.

Madison is in a cookie cutter dress, the perfect wife, the consummate homemaker. Pie warming in the oven and a roast waiting on the table for Travis to carve. If they’d owned bowties Chris thinks he and Travis would be wearing them. By contrast, the boy who shuffles through the door is in a two shirt two sizes too big, sweatpants that hang off his too thin hips. He looks fragile, he moves like an old man. His hair is lank and his eyes are vague. He eats slowly, fumbles with his water glass. It’s possibly the most awkward meal Chris has ever had in the entirety of his life.

He picks at his pie, just trying to get through the experience and escape back to his room. Madison is clearing the table, pouring coffee, tousling Nick’s hair and kissing Travis’s cheek. Chris looks up and Nick is staring at him. It’s an unnerving, flat, unblinking stare, like Nick’s staring straight through him.

“Um,” Chris says.

“Who’re you?” Nick says, strung out slow and stumbling. “Who… where is she?”

Chris blinks. He points with his fork to the kitchen. “She’s… dishes?”

Maddie comes back out, beaming to see Nick engaging with the world. “More pie, sweetheart?”

Nick blinks, finally. His eyes focus. “Mom? Where is she?”

Maddie’s smile freezes. Her hand clenches on Travis’s shoulder. “Go to your room,” Travis orders, and Chris, for once, doesn't need to be told twice.

“Where is she,” he hears faintly, from behind him, Nick’s lost little boy voice.

++

Chris dreams that he’s short. He can’t see over the counter so he drags a chair over, climbing up and peering at the stove. His hands are very small and chubby and clumsy but he can see the cookie jar, heavy and porcelain and juuuust out of reach. He climbs up onto the counter, knocking his ankle against the sharp edge, and wiggles on his belly, arms outstretched.

His fingers nudge the jar, he’s so close--

He’s scooped up. Nick’s face swims into view, younger and happier and cleaner, hair cut short and no lines in his face. Chris can hardly recognize him against the boy who had dinner with them the night before. He giggles when Nick swoops him around and kisses his nose, sets him safely on the floor and tsks at him. And then Nick’s exaggerated finger to his lips, a chocolate chip cookie passing from his hands to Chris’s. “Our secret,” Nick says, and winks.

++

Travis and Madison are going on a trip. Madison fusses about, clucking about leaving Nick alone so soon after he’s come home, packing the freezer with frozen casseroles and carefully laying out medication organizers, each filled with bright capsules and little round pills. “He needs stability,” she keeps telling Chris, when she catches him in the hallway (and once, the bathroom, standing in the doorway blocking his escape. “He needs calm, and routine, and twenty minutes in the oven at 350 should do it.”

“Do it,” Chris repeats, his towel clutched around his waist.

“The casseroles,” Madison repeats, impatiently. She touches his shoulder, except it’s bare this time, her nails into his skin, against his bone. “I know you’re younger, Christopher, and that it’s not right. But this family needs you to step up. We’ve got to look out for each other.”

++

Chris dreams he’s a little girl. He knows because he can see his reflection in the pool water. Chubby cheeked and dirty blonde hair starting to turn brunette. He’s dangling his legs in the pool, kicking his feet and watching the ripples it makes while the sun beats down hot on the back of his neck.

He’s sweaty, and uncomfortable, overheated and there’s a reason he’s not supposed to get all the way in the pool but it slips away when he tries to remember it. He plants his palms on the hot concrete rim of the pool and pushes himself forward with a splash.

It’s perfect for the first twenty seconds, refreshing and welcomingly cool. Then he kicks his legs and moves his arms and realizes the glowing dot of the sun, distorted through the water above him, is getting smaller and dimmer instead of bigger and brighter. He flails, panic sparking in his chest when he tries to shout and all that comes out is bubbles. His chest gets tighter and tighter, his vision narrower and narrower.

And then a hand, plunging, gripping his forearm tight enough to bruise. Lifting him up into the sunshine, the first big gasp of air into his lungs like being born again. Cradled against a bare chest, Nick peering down at him with his bangs in his eyes. “Careful,” he murmurs to Chris, lifting him up to sit on the edge of the pool. “What’d I tell you about waiting for me?”

“Sorry Nicky,” he says, except his voice is higher pitched, his hair too long. “I didn’t mean it.”

Nick kisses the tip of his nose. “It’s okay. I’ll always be here to save you, Lee--.”

Chris wakes up in a cold sweat, his stomach flipping like someone had yanked the floor out from under him. He flails, falling off his bed and landing painfully on the wooden floor. “Fuck,” he mutters, when he’s managed to catch his breath. He feels damp, he can smell chlorine.

“Christopher,” someone whispers, and he shouts, sitting upright, kicking to free his legs from the tangle of his sheet.

It’s Nick, standing by his bed like a ghost, thin and wan and shadowy in the dark of the moon slanting through the window.

Chris’s dream wells up again, vivid and visceral. “Nicky,” he says, before he can stop himself.

Nick moves snake strike quick, a fistful of Chris’s shirt, hauling him to his feet and slamming him into the wall. “That’s not yours to name!” he shouts. And then, quiet and hissing: “You’re not supposed to be here. This isn’t your room.”

Chris’s breath catches. Then he exhales, hard, and shoves NIck away from him. “Get off me, man. Get ahold of yourself.”

Nick rocks back, releases his grip on Chris. Lifts one corner of his lip in a snarl, then turns and shuffles away. The door swings after him, back and forth, back and forth, creak creak creak even though there’s no wind blowing through the house, until Chris crosses the room and slams it shut.

++

Chris’s room is fucking freezing. Not just in the early hours of the morning, when his alarm has just gone off and the lure of his thick duvet is strong. But in the middle of the day, when the heat is sweltering and he’s sweated through his deodorant on the sofa. A cold that sinks into his bones and makes them ache, a chill that sets his teeth on edge.

“Is your room cold?” he asks Nick, while they’re standing in the kitchen staring at the stove clicking away, the timer counting down for the latest casserole to be ready.

Nick is looking at the four pills in his palm, taken from the plastic organizer on the counter. “It’s hot as fuck,” he says, and lays the medication on his tongue, crunches them between his teeth.

++

It’s Friday night and Chris is alone in his room, boxers and thick wool socks and oversized hoodie and goosebumps raised on his thighs, his laptop humming away on the bed in front of him. Free internet porn and a handful of tissues and it’s a grainy shitty video but he doesn’t need much, a squirt of lotion and his own palm and the sound turned low.

He chokes out a soft noise of his own, spreading his legs, leaning back against the wall and rocking back and forth into the loose grip of his hand, thumb playing over the tip just the way he likes. He’s close, he’s close, the tissues ready--and his laptop goes suddenly dark. He yelps as a sharp chill strikes him, ice right on his bare dick, and he squeaks, high pitched, flinging himself sideways with a desperate noise, curled in on himself in protection. He falls to the floor, and after a moment, sits up with a groan.

He stands, fumbling to his feet. His breath is fogging out in white clouds; there’s frost on the inside of his window. He shoves it open, sticking his hand out into the night air: it’s balmy, the warm air making his cold sweat feel colder. A breeze ruffles through the room, through his hair; he can hear the echo of a feminine giggle.

He wrenches the door open, stepping out into the hall, the wooden floor creaking under his bare feet. “Who’s there,” he snaps. “Who the fuck--”

The door of the room beside him opens. Nick sticks his head out. “Can’t you jack off quietly, like everybody else?”

Chris feels his face flush. “No, I--I heard someone, I heard…” he trails off. “Nothing. Sorry.” He blushes a little harder. “You could hear me?”

Nick raises an eyebrow. “Your dick is out, baby brother.”

Chris looks down. He spins around, fire engine red, and he tucks himself back into his boxers. “I’m not a baby,” he mutters.

“Big boys xyz,” Nick drawls. When Chris turns around Nick is much closer. He ruffles Chris’s hair, dodges Christopher’s swat. “Come on, kiddo. I’ll look under the bed for you.”

He’s past Chris into his room before Chris can stop him, yanking open the closet. “No big bads in here,” he sing songs. It’s the most present in-the-moment he’s been since Chris has met him, and he half-wishes Nick would go back to being spacey and ambling.

He steps forward, into the room, to tell Nick to fuck off, and stops short. His room is in thaw, the back of forth of warm and cold making his nose run. “How’d you do that?”

Nick, now shamelessly rummaging through Chris’s desk drawers and pocketing a loose dollar bill he finds within, looks up. “Do what?”

“You--nothing. Nevermind.” Chris sits on his bed with a sigh. “Just… go away.”

“Don’t be like that.” Nick flops onto Chris’s bed, on his back. “You’ll hurt my feelings.” He pauses. “I’m not in a wet spot, am I?”

“Fuck you,” Chris says, without heat. He lays back, arms outstretched. “This house is weird,” he says. “This fucking room…” He turns his head to look at Nick. “And you.”

Nick is staring at the ceiling, abruptly absent in a very different way. “This fucking room,” he echoes.

Chris falls asleep, just like that, watching Nick keep watch.

++

When he wakes up Nick is still there. Sleeping, his face softer, his chest gently rising and falling. Chris follows the lines of his body, his shirt slightly rumpled up from his hips, his sweats hanging low, the waistband of his boxers. Pale biceps, dotted scars inside his elbow, the blue of the veins in his forearm. The thin bones of his wrist and his fingers, loose and unfurled. They twitch occasionally, like they’re grasping for something out of reach.

Chris stretches, actually enjoying the faint sensation of being too warm, the blanket over his legs, his room a normal fucking temperature for one goddamn day. His bladder interrupts his comfort, and he sighs, levering himself up and going into the hall bathroom. Flips the shower on and kicks off his boxers, tugs of his shirt. He pisses with a little sigh of relief, the sound of it tinkling against the porcelain, the faint noises of gurgling water through the pipes. He flushes the toilet with a yawn, shuffling to the sink to wash his hands and drink from the tap.

There’s a splash to his right. He looks and pauses, blinking blearily as his gaze focuses. There are pills, floating in the toilet water.

“What,” he manages to say, and then a pill bottle flies out from the the cabinet above the sink, hitting him in the center of his forehead as the mirror shatters, glass flying. He yells, flailing and trying to step back, tripping over his own underwear on the floor and smacking painfully against the wall before lying, sprawled and knocked breathless, on the tile. He groans, getting to one knee, hands outstretched to grip the counter to stand, before a figure steps out of the bathtub. Dripping water and formless, shaking at the edges, it walks with dragging steps, leaving puddles in its wake.

“Mine,” it groans, throated and hard to make out. “Mine,” it repeats, “Mine.” With every iteration the voice focuses, becomes more human. “Mine,” it says again, angry. “You’re trying to take it all away from me.”

“No,” Chris says, hands outstretched in a plea for mercy. “No, I--please.”

Its hand closes around his throat, lifts him. Its facial features shift under the mist, rippling. It looks… girlish. It looks sad. And then it contorts: furious. Its hand squeezes around Chris’s throat. “You’re trying to take him away from me.”

The door bangs, hammered under Nick’s fist. “Hey! What the fuck is going on in there?”

The figure sways towards the door, Nick’s voice calling out. “Mine,” it says, lost like a child, and disappears just as Nick crashes through the door, forcing it open by splintering the cheap lock out of the frame. Chris drops to the ground, limbs askew.

Nick surveys the room. The shower running, steamy, the broken mirror, the water on the floor, Christopher sprawled out naked. “Do you ever put your dick away?”

Christopher grabs a towel off the rack on the wall. “What the fuck!” he shouts. “What the fuck is this fucking house!”

Nick ignores his freakout, peers at the toilet, the medication slowly dissolving in the water. “Dropped it?” he asks dispassionately, shrugging a shoulder. “Been there.” He nudges a shard of mirror with his toe. “Barking up the wrong tree, though. Can’t get high off that shit, just muddy.” He smirks sideways at Chris. “Trying to be my muddy buddy?”

“What?” Christopher lurches to his feet. “No!”

Nick shrugs again. “Did me a favor, I guess.” He reaches out a hand. “C’mon. I’m finally hungry again.”

++

“So you weren’t at college,” Chris ventures, sitting at the dining room table in a towel while Nick stands in front of the stove, humming an odd song. “I thought maybe… that you were at college.”

“No,” Nick says with an amused snort, stirring a pot. “Not college.”

“Rehab,” Christopher guesses, remembering the bruised looking scars on the inside of Nick’s arm, prickmarks between his toes.

Nick makes a buzzer sound. “Wrong again.”

Christopher is silent. The third night he was alone in the house with Nick he went out into the kitchen at night, creeping on the creaky floors, and googled the names on the orange pill bottles, neatly stamped with Nick’s name and long long lists of side effects and warnings. “The hospital,” he says, his tongue thick in his mouth. “The mental hospital.”

Nick brings him a bowl of macaroni and cheese, thunking it before him cheerfully. “I always thought you were bright. Well, actually I thought you might have been a hallucination, but this is better.”

“Why were you there?” Chris asks, so far past politeness and feeling like he may be in a prolonged hallucination himself.

Nick waves a hand, a spoonful of pasta falling with a wet plop to the tabletop. He licks it off, tongue on the sticky placemat. “Why is anyone?” He nudges Chris’s bowl. “Tuck in.”

Christopher takes a bite, the food feeling like heavy cardboard. “I think I’m going crazy,” he tells his sauce streaked spoon.

Nick shrugs, taking a big bite and speaking with his mouth full. “Get in line.”

++

Chris waits until he can hear Nick snoring through the wall. His room is cold again, but he ignores it. Goes into the bathroom with his shoes on, crunching on the glass. Runs the shower, same as before. Sits on the closed toilet lid. “Hello?”

Nothing.

“I just want to talk,” he calls out. “Please. I’m not trying to… I’m not trying to take anything away from you.”

Silence greets him, the echoey sound of the shower spray against the tub.

“I don’t want to be here either,” he says quietly, a secret whispered into the steam. “I’m just as stuck as you are.”

++

He crawls onto the mattress beside Nick, knowing how fucking weird it is. Nick stirs, looking at him incredulously. “You’re cute,” he says, “but the boys are still waking up from Big Pharma’s Sleep, if you know what I mean.”

Chris is silent, picking at the threads on the edge of the sheet. “I can’t sleep in that room,” he says. “That room, I---please.” His voice cracks.

Nick looks at him for a long time. Then he surges to his feet, walking with purpose towards Chris’s room while Chris scrambles after him.

Nick throws the door open, keeping his hand out to prevent it from rebounding against the wall and striking him. “That room,” he repeats. “This fucking room, this--” he stalks forward, lifting the mattress with both hands and flipping it. “This fucking room!”

Chris has his back against the wall. “Nick,” he tries, but Nick can’t hear him.

“This room,” he says, legs folding under him, slumping in on himself. “This… this room.”

Chris takes a hesitant step forward. He touches Nick’s shoulder. “C’mon,” he says, and draws Nick to his feet, catching Nick’s arm around his shoulder as Nick stumbles. He drags Nick towards the other room, but Nick catches a hand around the doorframe, halting their progress, a fingernail in one of the notchmarks.

He presses his thumb to the name Chris can’t make out. “Her room,” he says softly, and then goes pliant, stumbling with Chris back to his room, his bed.

++

Nick is gone when Chris wakes up again. There’s a post-it on his forehead: ‘Rock out with your cock out, I’ll be back later.’

++

Chris goes to the attic. It’s a trapdoor one, a ladder that rattles down full of dust and makes him choke, makes him cough. But the rungs hold under his weight, and he climbs up into the rafters, testing each step gingerly before he eases himself forward, inch by inch, to the boxes taped up and labeled along the walls.

‘Nick, Elementary.’ he reads. ‘Christmas.’ ‘Nick, Little League.’ ‘Nick, Little League. ‘Nick, School Projects.’ ‘Nick, High School.’ And then a few others. Christmas ornaments and Halloween decorations, boxes marked ‘Steven’ and ‘Old Books’ and ‘Winter Things’. He settles on one of the high school boxes, rifling through faded project folders, PE uniforms--and then, at the bottom of the box, yearbooks.

He digs one out, hand smoothing over the cover. It’s generic, titled with the name and the year and a picture of the front of the school, the same one Christopher registered at near the beginning of summer, that he’ll start in less than a week. Tries to do the math and realizes he’s not sure how old Nick is, when he would have graduated. He flips to the index in the back, finger tracing the names. <i>Clark</i>, he finds, but right above <i>Clark, Nicholas</i> there’s a <i>Clark, Alicia</i>. His fingernail rests under it, surprised. It doesn’t sound like it’d be an uncommon last name, but for there to be only two…

He flips to her school photo, <i>Clark, Alicia, Sophomore</i>, and searches the small black and white square for a family resemblance. She does look a little like Nick, he supposes? A tad like Madison? He rubs his finger on the glossy cast of the paper, thoughtful, and it’s the page just before the class photos that makes him realize: a full size spread, with color photos of the same girl. And the cursive ribbons that frame the collage: <i>In Memoriam</i>. Chris does some math based on the dates listed at the bottom of the page. Sixteen, he thinks. She was sixteen when she died.

He barely has time to realize the chill falling across the attic, the frost in the air, before the yearbook snaps shut on his fingers. He yelps, recoiling in pain, falling backwards onto his ass. The wood of the attic is freezing through his jeans. He’s gasping, panicked breaths, and they fog out in white clouds. A wind whips through the attic, its chill a knife’s edge, and slashes at his face, his throat. He opens his mouth to cry out and can’t catch his breath.

He ducks to the floor, covering his head with his arms, and inhales deep, tasting dust and something rotten. “Alicia,” he calls out, muffled into his forearm. He raises his head as much as he can. “Alicia Clark!”

The wind dies immediately, but the cold remains. Chris sits up fully, on his knees. The attic looks empty, but…

“Hello?” he calls out quietly. “Are you here?”

A box, in a shadowy corner, rustles. Like someone's brushed up against the open flaps, or leaned against the rafters behind it.  Chris shuffles towards it, still on his knees. He stretches out a hand, a plea and a supplication. “Alicia?”

It rustles again. “You said my name,” she whispers. It’s still raspy, deep. Almost androgynous if Chris hadn’t know it was a girl speaking. “You saw my picture?”

Chris picks up the yearbook where it had fallen to the side. The last few pages are covered in scrawled messages, phone numbers, empty promises to stay in touch. “Where’s your copy?” he asks, keeping his voice soft.

The wind roars to life, ripping the book from his hand and throwing into the wall with an angry bang. “Gone,” the voice groans. “Gone, gone, gone--” her voice raises, it roars. “She threw me away! GONE GONE GONE--”

Chris flees down the ladder, tripping over his own feet and missing the last two rungs; thumping to the hallway floor.

++

Chris spends the next two days on tenderhooks. He starts talking: at first he thinks it’s for himself, his own peace of mind. But it shifts, more quickly than he’d like.

“I like the crusts,” he says, while he’s toasting bread for peanut butter and potato chip sandwiches. “Did you?”

“Blackberry,” he says, while he’s spreading jam on wheat bread for pb&js. “Fancy. No lowbrow grape for you, huh?”

“You guys need some spice in your life,” he says, while he’s eating their boring low salt low fat potato chips.

“How about taking a fucking nap,” he mutters, while he’s huddled in his room under four blankets.

++

Nick comes back on the third day. Chris comes out for something to eat and he’s sprawled on the sofa, in the same clothes he left in, smiling unfocusedly at the ceiling. “Hello,” he drawls, when Chris walks over and looks down at him. “It’s good to be home.”

He’s high, Chris realizes, looking at Nick’s pupils and the way he reaches twice for the glass of water Chris offers before he can grasp it. “I thought you were clean,” Chris says.

Nick sighs. “I am. I was. I will be, again.” He turns his head, reflected in the dark screen of the television, and looks at himself. “I had to… just one more time. I thought, if I could--just one more time, then…” he trails off. Then he laughs, hollow and aching.

“Alicia,” Chris says, his voice loud in the silence.

Nick’s gaze catches him like a wire. “What the fuck did you just say?”

“Alicia,” Chris stammers. “I--I found this book--”

Nick grabs him by the wrist, bruising, grinding his bones together. “What book? Did you go into my room?”

“In the attic,” Chris says, twisting in vain to escape. “The--the yearbook.”

Nick releases him. “Oh.” He rolls over, smushing his face into the couch cushion. His hair, lank and unwashed, spills over his collar, grown too long. There’s something there, under the strands, on the nape of his neck, but Chris can’t quite make it out. “Shouldn’t go snooping,” Nick mumbles, clearly about to drift away again. “Not in this house, kid.”

“I’m not a kid,” Chris says, but Nick’s eyes are glassy, turned away, his chin nodding off.

“Alicia,” Nick repeats, so full of longing. “You’d have liked her.”

++

Alicia Clark, Chris thinks, and goes to the library.

There’s not much there. Too big of a town for a full news article, not about a sixteen year old girl who died alone before she could see seventeen. There’s a tiny obituary, static and stiff, for one submitted by a presumably grieving mother. Or so Chris thinks, until he imagines what Travis would write about him.

<i>She leaves behind a grieving mother and a devoted brother</i> he reads, his finger tracing the words on the old newspaper, on its wooden dowel.

He goes online. Three different cemetery directories and he can’t find a listing for her. He remembers her howl: <i>She threw me away!</i>.

++

Nick isn’t on the couch when he gets home, tiny bouquet clutched in his hands. The florist winked at him, asked if it was for a pretty girl, laughed goodnaturedly when Chris had blushed. He’d only been able to afford daisies.

He climbs the rickety attic ladder, one handed, approached the yearbook lying in the dust against the wall, open to the memoriam page. She was very pretty, he thinks. Strikingly so. “I’m starting school,” he tells the chill in the air. “I won’t be around as much. I’m sorry you have to be alone again.”

He lays the flowers atop the yearbook, under her smiling face.

++

He’s packing his bag the next morning: pencils, notebook, binder, bus pass, schedule.

“You’ve got Mrs. Newman for english,” a girl says, right in his ear.

Chris shrieks, flinging himself backwards, catching his knee against the bedframe and falling to the floor. He’s spending a lot of time falling over onto the floor.

“She’s a bitch,” the girl says, matter of factly. “But she keeps everyone quiet, and she grades fair.”

Chris stands, quickly, coughing slightly. “I--okay.”

A coldness trails over his shoulder, like a friendly caress. “You brought me flowers.”

Chris doesn’t know what to say. He nods.

She blows into his ear, to make him jump, then giggles again. “Good luck,” she sing-songs, and he’s alone.

++

That didn’t take long at all, Chris thinks, slamming into the house and hurling his backpack at the wall. Not even a week. He shoves into the bathroom and braces his hands on the sink, fighting the urge to sob or scream or punch the wall or throw up. “You look like shit,” she whispers from behind the bath curtain.

“Not now,” he snaps, slapping the extra toilet paper roll off the counter in a burst of emotion. There’s silence for a moment, just the trickle of water out of the faucet where his hand nudged it on. Then the mirror cabinet squeaks, opening on its own. The small first aid kit, in its white plastic case, floats out and bumps against Chris’s chest.

He closes his hand around it, swallowing. “Thanks.”

++

He makes the bed up with fresh sheets. Lays out an extra pillow and takes his own, with his blanket, to the floor. A breeze ruffles through his air, oddly curious. “It’s your bed,” he says, scuffing a nail on the wood floor. “I feel bad taking it.”

There’s dead silence, long enough that Chris fluffs his pillow and settles onto the floor. Then someone pokes him in the ribs; the sheet on the left side of the bed pulls down.

“Okay,” he says, and slides in beside her.

++

Well shit, Chris thinks, his feet pounding on the concrete, his backpack discarded behind him, arms pumping. He can hear the jeers behind him, see the faces of bystanders turning away. He doesn’t bother calling out for help, he’s been down this road before. It’s a different street and different pursuers, but he doesn’t have any illusions it’ll end any different than it has before: a split lip and a black eye and without the ten bucks he’s got stuffed in his sock.

And just there--hope, perhaps. The front door and Nick’s home and they’re not blood brothers by any stretch but he thinks Nick would object to teenage assholes rampaging through the house, other than himself.

He vaults the side gate, heading for the back sliding door and hoping Nick’s not throwing up into the sink the way he was when Chris left for the bus that morning. A hand grasps his ankle and he kicks out; he makes it just over, falling hard to the patio tiles. He groans, hearing shoes thump down around him, the jeering laughter.

A foot nudges under him, flipping him over onto his back. A boy in a baseball cap and a toothpick playing between his teeth: the ringleader. And how was Chris supposed to fucking know he’d be the kind of boy who’d chase him off a bus five blocks and over a residential fence just for stepping on the back of his sneaker on accident in the locker room.

“Fag,” the boy in question jeers. Chris takes a breath; curls his fingers into his palms and tucks his thumb in tight, reminds himself to keep his wrists straight. Just because it’s inevitable doesn’t mean he has to roll over and take it.

It’s different this time, he realizes, when he feels the chill on the back of his neck. He’s relieved instead of scared, and he laughs when frost crystallizes on the scrabbly crabgrass of the lawn.

“What,” the boy starts to say, and then he screams, the toothpick jutting through the bottom of his mouth, the bloody tip through the bottom of his chin. A paving stone flies off the wall it was propped against and smashes into one of the other’s boy’s knees with a wet crunch; he howls as he crumples, a high pitched wail of pure pain.

“Stop!” Chris is shouting, as a vine whips from the trellis, thorned and oozing black to sink viciously into the side of the third boy as he tries to flee. “Alicia!”

Everything goes still in an instant. Nothing except the sun, erasing the frost and the sobbing of the three boys.

“They hurt you,” Alicia says in his ear, sounding wispy weak again after her show of strength. “You’re mine.”

++

Travis and Madison are less than pleased to be called back early from their holiday. “I thought I could trust you,” Travis says, one hand on the back of Chris’s collar, hauling him upright with an angry shake from the metal police station chair. “One week of just going to school and doing what you’re supposed to do, Christopher, and it was too much to ask?”

“They fell,” Chris says, staring at his shoes, repeating what the officers had assumed had happened when they’d finally arrived. “Fell chasing me.”

“Alicia,” he calls into the dark, later at night when he’s in bed, his blanket tucked up over his head. “Are you there?”

A flutter along his forehead, a weak creak of the floorboards. A whisper he can’t make out.

“Thank you,” he whispers, just before he falls asleep, and feels cold lips against his temple.

++

Chris brings the yearbook down from the attic. Keeps it tucked under his pillow and talks to her at night. What happened at school, how the boys went pale on their crutches and in their bandages and kept away from him. How Mrs. Newman went and had a baby and is no less a bitch, but is somewhat sleep deprived. He picks jasmine from the bush beside the bus stop and keeps it on the windowsill for her.

++

“I bet you’re cute,” he muses, laying out an empty plate next his bowl of reheated casserole. “I mean, in person. Some people are photogenic, but they’re like… cardboard in person. I bet you’re not like that.”

He leaves the plate out until he’s done, eating at the table instead on the sofa, and washes it with his own.

++

He dreams of the pool again, the chlorine and the bubbles and Nick fishing him out. Wakes up in a sweat and creeps through the house, out the sliding door. To where the tarp is spread out over the patio, held down by concrete blocks. Moves them in a haze, feels like he’s dreaming. Peels the tarp away like a scab on a wound.

And underneath, the filled in pool. He finds the spot where he sat in his dream, where Alicia pushed herself into the pool and Nick saved her. When he finds the exact spot, he sees her.

Cross-legged in the center of what used to be the pool, wispy about the edges and translucent, but clearly recognizable. Her fingernails scrape on the rough stone. “You found me.”

“Alicia,” Chris repeats, greeting her properly for the first time. “Alicia Clark.”

“Christopher Manawa,” she names him, and cups his face in her hands.

He wakes up shivering in the early morning grey, the dew on his skin. There’s a braided bracelet around his fingers, too small to fit over his wrist. Baby pink and pale green and when he brings it close to his face he can smell chlorine.

++

Alicia sits on his bed while he does his homework. “Wrong,” she sing-songs, and he sighs, erasing the entire problem before tossing his pencil aside. “Poor boy,” she teases, her giggle floating in the air. His desk drawer opens on its own, exposing the tissue box, the lotion.

He slams it shut, blushing. “Jesus!”

She’s stronger every day, he’s noticed, and today enough to pat the bed next to her with a solid sounding noise. “Christopher Manawa,” she calls, and he answers.

Flops onto the bed beside her and sighs at the cold touch to his hair, the tickle of nails under his chin. “Play hooky tomorrow?”

He tilts into her caress. “But I have trig tomorrow.”

She hums. “I’ll tutor you.”

His eyes are heavy, his body heavier. His head slides further into her lap, the duvet under his cheek and his nose where her hip would be. He can feel something more than sleep tugging at him. “Stay with me,” she murmurs, and when she kisses his forehead all the hair on the back of his neck stands on end.

++

He’s in the pool. In the pool proper, floating on a plastic raft, sunwarm and his fingers trailing in the water. He blinks at the sun, stretches out his toes and rolls his ankles. The water next to him splashes, Alicia emerges. Alicia as she must have been, as he’s never seen her. Solid and opaque; vibrant and so alive. “Wow,” he says, before he can stop himself. The pictures had nothing on how she looks in person.

She grins. “That’s what I like to hear.”

“We’re dreaming?” Chris asks, wiggling his fingers in the water.

“You are,” she replies. “You said you’d play hooky with me.”

“Hmm,” Chris agrees. He looks down at his bathing shorts. “This Nick’s?”

“Not my doing,” Alicia says, vague and a little knowing, her grin sliding into a smirk. “He is charming, isn’t he?” She taps the side of the raft before Chris can respond. “Budge over.”

She lifts herself onto the raft, dripping on him and giggling while he flails, trying to move over without upending them both. And then she’s tucked against his side, damp and slick and making him shiver, her head against his shoulder, his arm around her.

Chris can see the water droplets on her skin, the goosebumps from the air. Feel the curve of her smile against his neck. He feels brave; he touches her arm, sliding down to her elbow. The lightest of caresses, and his held breath. She sighs, wiggles a little closer. He exhales on a smile.

“This is nice,” he says, soft. And they float, under the sun.

++

When he wakes up, he’s still in the pool. He blinks. The sun is still high in the sky, the same place it was before. Hours before. He yawns. Then yelps, as he’s abruptly dunked into the pool. He opens his eyes underneath, moving his arms to keep himself submerged. He can see her legs, pale and distorted through the water. He grabs one and yanks, hearing her muffled yelp, seeing the splash and the bubbles.

And then her eyes, opening. Her hands on his face, bringing him close. And her lips on his, blowing air into his lungs.

++

She makes peanut butter banana sandwiches. “Needs chips,” he says, coming up behind her. And it’s the easiest thing, the most right, to prop his chin on her shoulder and lean some weight on her.

“Keep your gross chips out of my brainfood,” she says, turning her head and blowing a raspberry against his cheek.

He wrinkles his nose at the slobber and sticks his tongue out at her. “It’s a crunchy surprise.”

“It’s a crunchy surprise,” she mocks, high pitched.

His mouth is open to respond when the world tilts sideways.

++

“--Christ,” Nick is saying, leaned over him. “I thought you were dead, Jesus Christ.”

Chris tries to ask him what’s wrong but his tongue is thick, stuck to the roof of his mouth. He gurgles weakly and lifts one arm, sluggish and uncoordinated. “Wha,” he manages, after a great effort, and Nick helps him sit up.

“You were sleeping,” Nick offers, hesitant and oddly careful, easing Chris upright and then hovering. “And I thought--but you wouldn’t wake up.”

“I was dreaming,” Chris mumbles. He feels stronger by the second, but the sleepiness is hard to shake, his eyelids drooping.

“You were comatose,” Nick mutters. He runs his finger through his hair. “Scared me,” he says gruffly, then coughs to cover the admission.

Chris yawns. He eyes his pillow longingly.

“Nope,” Nick says, yanking at his arm. “Get up, we’re going to the store.”

Chris scowls. “I don’t want to go to the store.”

“Cheer up kiddo,” Nick says, ruffling Chris’s hair and then tossing his shoes into Chris’s lap. “You can buy oooneee candy.”

++

Chris wakes up in the middle of the night because someone is crying. “Licia?” he mumbles, rubbing at his eyes and shivering from the chill as his blanket falls away. The floor is like ice on his feet. He tiptoes into the hall, teeth chattering. “Licia?”

She’s kneeled on the hallway rug outside Nick’s room, her hand pressed to the doorframe, her hair around her face. She’s keening, a low noise of pure grief. She looks less solid than she has before, and she wavers around the edges as her hand passes through the door. Then she flinches, and withdraws into the hall.

Chris creeps closer. “Alicia?”

“It’s not fair,” she says, low and rasped. “Not fair.”

Chris hovers a hand over her. “Are you okay?”

She makes a lost noise, and then--her hand in his. “What,” he sputters, staring. “How--”

“Just a little,” she murmurs, her face tear-streaked. “Just a little, I promise.”

Her cold lips touch his.

++

Chris wakes up in the car, Nick’s fingers against his throat. “What,” he croaks, trying to sit up and only getting halfway before slumping back down.

“You stupid fuck,” Nick curses. The car’s tires scrape against the road when he takes a turn too fast. “What did you take?”

“Nothing,” Chris protests.

Nick snorts. “Sure. I collapse in hallways and don’t wake up because of low blood pressure.”

Chris slaps his hands away. “You’re the junkie,” he snaps. “Not me.”

Nick flinches.

Chris rubs at his face, tired and drained. “Where are we going?”

“The hospital.” Nick pulls over and cuts the engine. “You wouldn’t wake up. I heard, like… a thump? And my bed shook, the walls…” he trails off, then refocuses. “You were in the hall.”

“I passed out,” Chris realizes. “I must have--I just fainted, I guess.”

NIck frowns at the steering wheel. “That house,” he mutters, and then: “that fucking room.”

++

Nick moves Chris into his room. Drags the pillow and the blanket in onto the bed and makes Chris stuff some clothes into a duffel bag and leave it against the wall.

Chris wakes up the next morning and realizes how groggy he’s been lately, the heaviness in his limbs lightened, his eyes less gritty. He mashes his nose into the pillow, stretches his toes under the blanket, and enjoys a lie in, Nick’s warm bulk against his side.

After they get up, Nick makes pancakes, barefoot and shirtless at the stove, yawning and scratching his hipbone while Chris watches drowsy soft from the kitchen table, cheek leaned on his hand. Nick makes his in the shape of dicks, because being an asshole appears to be an inherent Clark trait.

++

Alicia finds him in the shower, when he’s alone. “I’m sorry,” she whispers, wispy and shapeless with him under the spray, bringing barely any chill with her. “I didn’t mean it.”

Chris closes his eyes really tight. “Alicia Clark,” he names, “Go away.”

++

“The parentals are gone again,” Nick announces, barging in holding a wad of cash. “Topping preference?”

Chris shrugs. Nick rolls his eyes, grabs his wallet and keys off the dresser, tells Chris to throw a few soda cans in the fridge so it’ll cold by the time Nick gets back. Then he sprawls out over the expanse of Nick’s bed and half-heartedly does his English reading.

A car honks outside and he drops his book, muttering a curse as it bounces off the mattress and falls half under the bed. Wiggles on his belly over to the side and reaches a hand, feeling blindly for it. His searching fingers hit the edge of a box and he flops over onto the floor to drag it out. Cardboard and dusty, the flaps worn and tape holding the bottom of it together. He opens it.

The first few items are cards. Happy Birthdays, mostly. The odd Christmas tree craft, one of those turkeys that’s drawn by tracing a hand. Blocky letters and childish scribbles. Stick figures on lined paper, starting to yellow with age. A stuffed bear, the ear falling off and one eye replaced with a black coat button. Nicky, it says in faded permanent marker on the foot. Nick’s childhood bear, Chris supposes, and sets it aside next to his knee on the floor.

A red baby blanket, a cassette tape, a hair ribbon, a sweater. It’s the ribbon and sweater that makes Chris pause, the sweater so clearly not Nick’s. It makes him unfold the blanket to find the name stitched onto the corner: Alicia. Chris’s breath catches. He fumbles through to the envelope, a locket spilling out on a delicate chain, the letter folded up neatly and Nick’s name at the top. He skims it: looks at her handwriting and her turn of phrase before he starts to parse the words.

His attention jumps around the page, but it’s the bottom half that catches his eyes. A story about summer camp, about saving her. How she loves him, and she’s sorry. She wants him to get better, wants him to be happy. She forgives him and she’s so sorry.

“What are you doing,” Nick says coldly form the doorway, and Chris looks up, startled. Realizes he’s sitting on the floor surrounded by the last things of Alicia’s life, saved from the trash heap and the rubbish bins by Nick and carefully collected, the sweater and blanket neatly folded, everything arranged--and Chris has spread it out on the floor around him in a jumbled heap.

“I…” Chris stutters, but he doesn’t eve get the chance to try and justify his actions, Nick crossing the distance between the immediately and snatches the letter from his hands. There’s a rip of paper, and then Chris is just holding a scrap, ‘love you always, Leeshy’ in blue ballpoint ink.

Nick makes a sound like Chris stabbed him. “Get out,” he says, gently scooping up the stuffed bear and smoothing its fur away from its button eye. “Before I kill you.”

Chris stumbles out on jelly legs. “I see her,” he tries to say, but Nick slams the door in his face.

++

Chris waits outside Nick’s door. “I see her,” he insists, when Nick glares. “I’ve talked to her.”

“You are cruising for a bruising,” Nick warns, trying to sidestep him into the hallway.

Chris blocks his route. “She’s talked to me. She--”

Nick grabs a handful of his collar and slams him against the wall. “You shut the fuck up, I swear to god.”

“She bites her lips,” Chris babbles, “she closes one eye when she laughs, sometimes. Her bathing suit has polka dots--”

Nick punches him in the gut, knocking the breath out of him, then releases his grip, allowing Chris to collapse into a heap at Nick’s feet. “Do you think I didn’t try?” he asks, and from Chris’s crumpled position all he can see is NIck’s clenched fists. “Psychics, seances, LSD…” he takes an unsteady breath. “I know how this house is. I know how it can seem… but I tried. I tried everything, and in the end it was just me. Just me screaming at an empty house.”

He crouches down beside Chris, who’s still wheezing for breath. “Alicia Clark is dead. And if we have to have this conversation again, I’ll send you across the divide to confirm it.”

++

Chris dreams he’s sitting with his legs in the pool. There are dead leaves around the edges of it; the pool cleaner stutters and moves sluggishly. There’s six white pills in his left palm and and a razorblade in his right. The envelope behind him in the grass, Nick’s name across the front of it, tucked against his Nicky bear.

There’s a quiet peace in his head. The water feels nice around his ankles and he lays back, feels the last of the sun’s warmth through the patio tiles into his shirt, seeping into his skin. His long hair tumbles around his shoulders and tickles at his neck.

“Nick,” he thinks quietly, and falls asleep.

++

Nick is odd, the next few days. His anger seems to have faded, but he’s odd. Staring into the middle distance, standing at the sink staring out the window at the tarp that covers the filled in pool.

“Alicia,” Chris hears him call at night through the walls. “Are you there?”

++

“Alicia,” Nick screams in Chris’s dream, bent over him beside the pool. “Licia, please god--”

Chris in Nick’s arms, weak and limp, Nick loading him into the backseat of the car. The screech of the engine and the blare of the horn. “Leesha,” from the front seat, begged. “Leesha please--”

And in the hospital, Nick’s shirt red and sticky, his hand dripping, carrying Chris inside and screaming for help. Chris on a gurney, and the bright glare of a doctor’s penlight. And Nick’s whisper plea, as the doors close him away and he watches Chris disappear down the hall. “Please don’t leave me all alone.”

++

Chris wakes up screaming. Nick bursts through the door, wild eyed and hair on end, his gaze casting around the room. “I’m not lying,” Chris says, and bursts into tears. “She slit her wrists,” he says, “by the pool. She left you that note and the bear and she took six of your pills and I’m not lying.”

He rubs at his inner forearm, feels the echo of a vein slit open. Nick’s broad palm catches his fingers. “Where did you get this?” Nick asks, his thumb brushing the braided bracelet around Chris’s wrist.

“She gave it to me,” Chris mumbles, wiping furiously at his eyes.

Nick is pale, his throat working. “She was buried in this.”

“I’m not lying,” Chris mumbles, petulantly victorious.

“No,” Nick agrees. “You’re not lying.”

He moves Chris back into his room.

++

Nick has questions. Chris answers him the best he can. “I saw her once,” Nick admits. “I had--I was pretty far gone. But I saw her.”

Late at night, just before they fall asleep, in the quiet comfort of the deep dark night, Nick asks: “Does she ever… it was my fault, I know that. Do you think…” he trails off again. “Is she angry with me?”

Chris remembers her kneeled at Nick’s door, her mournful cries. “No. I don’t think so.”

Nick exhales, long and low. “Tell her I miss her,” he requests softly, and is gone when Chris wakes up.

++

Chris goes into his old room. Alicia’s room. “Hello?” he calls out.

The air vibrates. “You sent me away,” she says sulkily. “Left me alone.”

“Nick believes me,” he says, settling crosslegged onto the bed. He pats the mattress in front of him. “C’mere.”

A breeze ruffles through the room. “What do you mean he believes you?”

“He knows you’re real,” Chris says. “I told him, and he believes me.”

Alicia appears in front of him, her eyes bright. “He does? Does he--” her brow furrows. “I can’t see him,” she says, lost. “I can’t even be near him. Is he mad at me?”

Chris touches above where her knee would be. “No, Licia. He’s not mad.”

++

Nick comes back with a ouija board. “Buckle up,” he says, and tosses it at Chris when Chris isn’t looking, so the edge hits him in the back of the head. Chris glares.

They set up in the living room. Nick carries out the box that was under his bed, the stuffed bear and the child’s drawings. The note, lovingly smoothed out and taped back together and gently eased back into the envelope, worn around the edges, Chris realizes, with many readings and re-readings.

Alicia’s things spread out around them, the oiuja board under their fingers. Chris takes a deep breath. “Alicia Clark,” he calls out.

Nothing.

“Leesha,” Nick pleads. He turns to Chris, scowling. “Why isn’t she answering?”

“I don’t know,” Chris admits. “I’m not--she did, before. She moved things, spoke.”

Nick stands in one motion, throwing the board against the wall in an explosion of frustration. “Leeshy,” he says in a whisper, shoulders slumped.

Chris remembers her kneeled outside Nick’s door. “I don’t think she can,” he says slowly. “I think something’s… stopping her.” He frowns, thinking. “You said you saw her?”

Nick blinks. “Yeah. A long time ago, before I went away.”

Chris taps his fingers on his knee. “Before you got that tattoo?”

Nick stares. “I don’t have a tattoo.”

It’s Chris’s turn to blink. “Yes you do.” He’s seen it up close now, lying in Nick’s bed, sitting next to him on the couch. An odd sort of glyph looking thing, or maybe a celtic knot of some kind. Just under his hairline on the back of his neck.

“I would know if I had a tattoo.”

Chris shoves at Nick’s shoulder, turning him. “I’m literally looking at it right now.” He moves Nick’s hair aside, preses a fingertip to the center of the black mark.

“What?” Nick bats at his hands. “Get off.” He beelines to the bathroom, Chris on his heels, and contorts in front of the mirror above the sink. “I can’t--”

Chris raises his phone, taking a few quick snaps with the camera, then passes the device over for Nick to stare at.

Nick swallows. “Madison,” he says, heavy like a stone.

++

Chris sits alone on the patio while Nick and Madison scream at each other over the phone.

“Licia?” he asks, tentative.

“She keeps me away,” she whispers in his ear. “She took him from me.”

“I’ll go to library,” he promises. “I’ll figure it out. We’ll figure it out.”

He sits in silence for another moment, then, suddenly, she shouts in his ear, startling him out of his seat with a yelp.

He bursts into the bathroom, heart pounding from the sprint, and his foot smears the blood droplets on the tile. Nick is at the sink, handheld mirror in one hand, a knife in the other. There’s blood all down the back of his shirt, soaked through. It’s dripping from his fingers.

“Jesus,” Chris says, yanking a towel from the rack on the wall.

“It’s the only way,” is all Nick will say, over and over. “The only way,” a whisper while Chris holds the towel to his wound and takes the knife out of his hand, fumbles with the first aid kit and leaves blood on the clasp of it, the edge of the counter, on his own clothes and the white towels and streaky in the sink basin.

“You should go to the hospital,” Chris says, but all Nick will let him do is layer gauze over it and tape down the edges.

Chris picks up the ouija board from where it’s crumpled against the wall on the floor. Smoothes it out on the coffee table. Nick, carefully, props Alicia’s bear in the center of it. “Alicia,” Nick murmurs, his fingers curled around a tattered ear.

“Alicia Clark,” Chris echoes, and just like that, she comes.

Sitting on the floor across from them, legs folded up and her chin on her knees.

“Licia,” Nick says, gutpunched. He lifts a trembling hand to her cheek, his fingers passing through her.

“Hi,” Alicia says, more timid than Chris has ever heard her. “I missed you.” She blinks, owl eyed. When she touches her bear the fur moves under her fingers. “You’re hurt.”

“Yeah,” Nick agrees, starting to list to the side. “It uh. Really hurts.”

Alicia turns to Chris. “Under his bed, by the window. The third floorboard from the wall.”

Chris trots down the hall, dutiful and quick, pries the floorboard up with his fingers. There’s a black zip case inside, slim; when he opens it there’s a syringe, a loop of hose, a spoon and a vial.

Alicia appears at his shoulder, visible when he turns his head but not in the reflection in the wall mirror. “Do what I say,” she murmurs, and lays her cold translucent hands over his as a guide.

Nick is lying in his bed, eyes pinched and face lined. Chris and Licia walk in step. He can feel her, around his bones and laid into his muscle, as they slide the needle into Nick’s vein and push the poison home.

“You’ll be alright,” Alicia says through Chris’s mouth. “Sleep now.”

Nick reaches out. “Alicia.”

“Sshh,” Chris says. “I’m here.”

++

Chris wakes up because Nick is crying. “I’m sorry,” he’s saying, and Chris is thinking he should check Nick’s bandage when:

“Shh,” Alicia murmurs, and then, impossibly soft: “I missed you.”

Chris keeps his eyes closed in the dark, his hands outstretched. He leaves them alone together and sleeps in a curled up ball alone in the bed that used to be hers.

++

Chris dreams Nick is making them pancakes. Alicia and him perched on the counter, Alicia distracting Nick while Chris sneaks pancakes from the plate and passes them to her under the counter. They nibble bites when Nick isn’t looking and blink innocently when he pauses, staring at the plate and counting in his head before shooting them an accusing glance.

Licia likes hers drowning in syrup and so pale blonde they’re only half a second from raw. Nick likes them deep brown and studded with chocolate. Chris likes a pat of butter on top and grapes cut in half, just like his mom used to do.

They sneak bites from each other’s plates with sticky fingers. Nick washes, Chris dries, Alicia puts away.

++

Chris wakes up because the alarm has been beeping in his fucking ear for sixteen and a half minutes, according to the clock. He groans. “I gotta go to school,” he mumbles, slapping his hand out. “Fuck, I gotta--”

Nick barely stirs by his side. He groans.

Alicia slams the front door in his face three times, Chris’s fingers rattling the knob. “I gotta,” he says, frustrated and exhausted and teary. “I’ll come right back, I promise.”

He rests his palm on the wall beside the light switch. “I promise, Leesha. As soon as it’s over.”

The doorknob turns, the door opening a crack. He kisses the doorjamb. “Soon,” he promises, and runs to the bus stop.

++

Chris bursts back in, winded from a straight sprint. “Nick?” he calls. The house is still, unnaturally so. “Alicia?”

He walks down the hall and his shoes echo on the floor. The walls groan as they settle onto the foundation. His fingers, splayed out, on the wood of Nick’s bedroom door, thawing the thin layer of frost that covers it. And the slow creak as it opens, centimeter by centimeter.

Nick on his back on the bed, hands folded on his belly. Pale and waxy, his breath a weak white cloud. Chris remembers how Nick said he wouldn’t wake up, how heavy and sluggish he was after his dreams with her, how he couldn’t remember his schedule as he stood just inside the front door of his highschool and didn’t know a single person he saw.

“You’re killing him,” he says, his voice shaking. “Leesha, you’re killing us.”

The window rattles in its frame.

“There’s a shop,” Chris says. “We can--I know what that symbol looked like. And there’s rituals--sage.”

The window shatters.

Chris flinches. “I don’t want to!” he shouts, as the debris settles. “That’s just--we can do more research. We can figure out how to help you, I’ll--”

Alicia appears, curled around Nick’s back, the big spoon. She’s more alive than Chris has ever seen her, even in the dreams. Her smile rosy and glowing, her hair in perfect loose curls. She kisses Nick’s forehead and his breathing gets weaker.

Chris steps towards her and--

++

He wakes up in his bedroom. But it’s not his bedroom. The paint isn’t faded, there’s no dust or that thick mothball smell of disgust. The marks on the doorframe are bright, there’s polaroids strung up on Christmas lights on the walls and a flowerpot on the windowsill.

Alicia sits in the middle of her bedspread.

“This isn’t real,” Chris says, getting to his feet. “How did you… this isn’t real.”

“Ssh,” Alicia says. She’s rosy, her smile glowing. “Can you hear the rain?”

The light coming in through the window is grey, dull. The house is dark and the world is gloomy.

Alicia extends her hand. “Do you want me, Chris? Do you want us?” She rises, her bare feet on the floor and shorter than him.

“I,” Chris says, and can’t think of anything else. Unbidden, his hand rises up, until there’s just a grasp of distance between them.

Alicia unfurls her fingers. “Aren’t you tired?”

++

Chris is in Nick’s room, upright, facing the window. The skies outside are dark, the clouds heavy, the concrete wet and dark. Nick breathes, weaker and weaker, and Alicia is still there, hand outstretched.

Chris is tired. He can hear the rain. Her palm is soft against his, his eyelashes gentle on his own cheeks. He lets go.

++

And wakes up in the sun.

[wish4youff]

09 ~ Runaway Ghost

King

Three to none; it’s always been the same game with us. Surprisingly, neither of one of us became bored with the same old ritual. As if something was to change; it’ll break us. Funny how change happened nonetheless breaking us by using the odds put up against us to prove my point exactly. We’ll would have never worked out. We will never work out.  Standing here I know this isn’t what I expected. I came here for her, even if it is a complete waste, I did. Her words; the change of mood and attitude have all caught me off guard now. It’s all changed from the young girl I once knew and if I’m being a hundred percent honest, I loved. She’s caught me off guard with her new nonchalant, yet so emotional act. Chrissie has always had a mouth on her. Never walking away without wanting to let you know she can have and will have the last word. “I know you good enough, King. It ain’t nothing you can explain to me. All you can do for me; is forgot about me.”  I preached to Chrissie to ‘never say it unless you meant it,’ and right now it seems like BabyGirl has forgotten those words because we both know if we ever bypass this emotional ride; she’ll want to understand me more now man and less as a teenager.  “Never say it unless you mean it, BabyGirl.” My words come out low, almost inaudible, but I see the revelation cross her face the second I say it. Chrissie remembers those words. For more, it’s buried deep, but I don’t even think she knows why I truly say it.  

“Forgetting you is pretty difficult especially when all I can think about at times is you. See? Regardless of what you may believe Chrissie, I didn’t walk away because I hated you, but I walk away because me staying would only damage you more. You were young, taking care of yourself and your sister at the age of eighteen. Off what? Tips and a seven-dollar salary? Yes, your parents left you with an insurance fund and you both knew the responsibility behind that money, but I knew me sticking around would mean you needing to take care of a third person. I wouldn’t be that burden,” “That wasn’t for you to decide.” She interrupts me and says, stubbornly might I add, but I ignore it. Because it’s too late. And I have no regrets of walking away.  “And regardless of all that, BabyGirl, you knew so much about me that it terrified me. We never even stepped outside of the boundaries for our friendship and I fell in love with you. As an eighteen-year-old, that was a new feeling for me. I’ve never cared so much. So, I ran, Chrissie. I ran from you and told you to run from me because I didn’t know what I was doing. Love has never been in my plans. I was about to start my career, one you know everything about because I have shared it all, one that doesn’t involve loving someone. Despite it all though, it was never my intention to make you miserable,” Her mouths opens to stop me, but I step closer, silencing her again.  “You deserve the world, the moon, and everything in between because I know that you’re amazingly innocent and every man dreams of that even if he says differently. You deserve happiness and a family. Love and peace, stability. And more importantly you deserve closure from such a fucked-up man. I know what my actions have done to your heart. Apart of me wondered if you had forgotten about me, but I knew deep down, if I was you……. I wouldn’t be able to. Maybe you’ll forget how I spoke, walked, or even my favorite color. But the person and what I went through? After everything I shared with you; it’ll would be impossible to forget. It’ll be impossible to move on after all that. Why I left? You have it now. I’m sorry and you know I don’t apologize, but it’s what you need.” Seconds, maybe even minutes go by as we stand there, her eyes burning into mines. She’s one of the few people who look me in the eyes and doesn’t look away. Most can’t handle the intensity. While she gets off on it. I can’t handle it, my eyes drift down her body, call it the nigga in me needing to check out what’s happen in my departure, but I have no control of it after a while. I’ve did my fair share of staring throughout the night, but……now it’s different.  “That’s sweet. Amazing of you to finally say all those nice things,” It’s an argument. I can feel it. Can hear her before she even starts, and damn, if it’s not a breath of fresh air. “What I don’t want is your pity. You can lie and say all those amazing words about it being about me, but you are pushing me away for your own selfish need. And you finally admitted that. It was done for your own reasoning. You didn’t tell me to run, you told me to leave you alone. Not because it was what’s best for me, but because it was what’s best for you. If you wanted me to move on eventually, you should have told me that. Instead of making me feel like something was wrong with me. Like I’m fucking ugly betty or some shit,” I open my mouth to stop her, but she steps closer to me. So brave as she stops me in my tracks of words. “I would love to believe you, but my heart doesn’t trust it. I don’t trust you past I can see you, I knew who you were becoming and I couldn’t make myself stop caring for you. Hoping you hadn’t died from this dirty game you decided to live by. That says something about me. Something you still haven’t acknowledged. Now that I’m looking back, I don’t even know why I cared about you so much. You only came here for closure, huh? We could’ve done that over that phone, King.” “You know I don’t like phone conversations.” I said for that second time tonight.  “Right, because of the headquarters listening.“  Chrissie didn’t even ask, we had these conversations late at night in her dorm room. She remembers and she knows. I couldn’t lie if I needed to.  "Chrissie……” “Nah, it’s cool. You have your closure and I’m leaving now. Goodnight, King."  "Why?” “Why not? Why should I continue to put myself out there for you to walk over me again Kingston? I know more about you than your own fucking father. I know how much you hate sleeping, yet you love your privacy because you’re able to listen to your favorite music, turn off your problems, and relax. You hate unnecessary noise like televisions, but you love music. You don’t trust anyone to fix your food or cook for you. You love the darkness, you can walk and navigate through it like a fucking ghost. I know about your mother. Your father’s dislike for you comes from a place of not wanting to accept your mother’s death because you look so much like her. At least that what you believe. I know about your ex-best friend how it strained you and Mike’s friendship, but you keep him around because he’s the only person from your childhood that’s still in your corner. And as you can say; ‘you owe it to Mike to keep him around because you want him to know you’ll never kill him for what he knows’. I know that and so much more. And as I stand here now, I know much hasn’t changed."  "We both need closure.” I say, not ignoring her words, but not addressing them either.  “So, I can move on now? So, you find love finally?” Her voice shaking as she ended that question.  “I don’t know.” I said honestly. That was out of my control.

She toys with her nails, walking back towards the entrance of the private dinner. One I totally forgot about in the past five or so minutes. I almost thought the conversation was over until she turned to me and spoke again. "You said you love me? But if you love someone how can you hurt them?“  "I never intended to hurt you, Chrissie. Only protect you from the possible heartache that I know I would cause on you had we did something we both would’ve regretted."  Then she was gone. 

"I have something for you, Kingston.” Surprisingly New York can spring work on me just as fast as D.C. My plan to pack up and leave the city after the dinner last night; in hopes of peace and happiness in my own personal space was out the window before I could dwell on the idea. Stephen text last night around three in the morning, ignoring everything I had previously sent to him about speak with Dr. Singh. Instead he was informing me on my meeting with at the New York headquarters with their public affairs counsel Nick Powers. What was planned to be discussed on; I wasn’t informed.  This wouldn’t be the first time. My first hit under the FBI’s watch wasn’t arranged from Stephen. He does it, knowing I will never disappoint him. We may never see eye-to-eye with one other, but he knows I’m his son and what I do will have a representation on him. His favorite words still until this day is: “You may be in the same profession as them, but don’t get it twisted. You are working twice as hard, if not more, to keep up with these white boys.” So, me being here with no information lets me know one thing. He knows everything.  “Nick.” Sitting in the chair at a glass table, made to fit over twenty different men, I favored one closer to the left, yet aligned right in the middle. The door wasn’t no more than four steps away from me. These walls were sound proof. If something happens to me right now; I’ll be the only protection to myself.  He’s no boss of mines, owes me no loyalty. If I’m to turn down this favor; he could flip.  “You’re good at what you do, Vitale. The best that government has had in a long time. No offense, but even your father had his issues and slip ups as an assassin, but you; you’re numb. That’s the first step to the job. Not to get attached to anyone or anything. You’re exactly what we need for this. New York is full of monsters, and what’s better match for a monster than a man that moves like he’s an armed ghost,” He dropped a stapled file on the table in front of me. The words CONFIDENTIAL stamped across it. “Travis Ryan is a prison escaped murder, he’s supposed to be doing a life sentence. Guards finally allowed him out in the sun one week. Turned their head for a spilt second and he was gone. We know where he is; how he moves,” “So where do I come into play?” I interjected.  “I need you to catch him. He’s armed, dangerous, and numb. The perfect match for you. You’ll know his motives. The way he thinks and acts. It’ll be like looking in the mirror."  "I’m stationed in New York for this?"  "At least until the job is done. Afterwards, you’re free to go back home. Wherever that is."  Picking up the case, I stood. The man across from me following my movements.  "I hope you don’t think I’m going to get attached to him and fool him into dying. That’s not how I play the game.” “No, I know your rules, Vitale. Like I said never get soft, never get too close. And if you don’t do anything else never get too attached.”