#and have to boil things down to their essentials

[hawkinsquarry]

all things must pass (steve x reader)

summary: steve makes you leave him at the end of the world.

contains: steve x reader; gender unspecified reader; no pronouns used for reader; post-st4; unresolved angst; probably too much swearing :/

i miss this guy and i’m feeling insane over him so have some angst with an ambiguous ending 🫶🏻

Steve’s feet feel particularly heavy when we steps across your foyer. And the packet he has in his hands feels even heavier. He brushes off a few specs of ashes before slamming them down on the table in front of you, lazily eating cereal.

“What the hell is this?” you ask after a moment, grabbing the ledger on top. You know immediately it’s an airline ticket. It makes you feel sick and you push your Cheerios away as your eyes scan the details.

FROM-TO

IND > LA

You want to fucking kill him but you don’t have a chance as he breezes past, grabbing your suitcase out of your walk in closet.

“You depart in twelve hours,” he starts. He recited it in his head the entire way over to make the conversation easier, but the words are hard to get out. “Only take your essentials. When you’re there, a chauffeur will pick you up and take you to the - the - the location.”

“Steve, I’m not fucking going -“

“Yes, you are.” He says sternly. Like you’re a child.

“I’m not going anywhere without you!”

And he know this was coming - this cyclical argument you’ve been having for the last three weeks, your tears, the lump in his throat, uncertainly fogging both of your vision. But it doesn’t make it any easier, any less frustrating.

He says your name low and quiet. A plea. “This is safe. This is where the - the - the people I know told me to send you. That it’s the safest place.”

“And we’re trusting those people now?”

“No. W-well, yes! It - it’s - just - trust me, not them. Okay?” He settles your suitcase on the couch and starts moving around your living room for things he knows you’ll need. A blanket. Medicine. “Anywhere away from here is better, anyway.”

“So you admit it isn’t safe?”

Steve sniffles. “I never said it was.”

You follow him to your bedroom where he begins ripping clothes from your closet. He doesn’t miss the hoodie he leant you a few months ago. It’s laid on top of your suitcase with more shirts and pants.

You grab his arm and try to force it to fall back to his side, but he’s too strong, god damn him. “Steve, quit!” you beg, digging your heels into the ground and tugging on him. “I’m not leaving, Steve. I’m not going unless you go with me.”

“We talked about this.”

As nauseam, in fact. Until the ache in Steve’s throat was excruciating. Until your voice was hoarse and you were heaving. He’s not leaving, and you are.

You tug on him again. “I’ll keep talking about it until you listen to me!”

He doesn’t say anything. Just keeps moving back and forth between your closet and the suitcase. You cry, as hard as you try not to. You really are like a petulant child, stomping your foot, throwing a tantrum. You feel like it’s the only way he’ll listen, but you know the reality is that he still won’t.

“What about me?” you cry. You’re so angry at him, want to say something that’ll make him hurt. That’ll change the expression on his stoic face. You find it in you to refrain. “What about us, Steve?”

Keeps packing. Head down. Jaw clenched tight. He was ready for this fight when he walked in.

“Steve, let the goddamn military handle it. Do - do you honestly think you’re going to save the world?”

“No,” he snaps.

“Then what?”

He doesn’t answer because you already know why. Because he can’t leave Dustin, and Dustin can’t leave El, because apparently she can save the world. And Robin won’t leave Steve who won’t leave Dustin who won’t leave El. And Nancy fucking Wheeler won’t leave Mike who won’t leave El.

It makes you feel insane. Your blood boils and spills over, and over, and over, and it never just depletes. You keep going, keep arguing, trying to talk him out of it until your voice is hoarse. It’s hoarse now, in fact. Last night Steve held you until you shut up, until you cried yourself to sleep, and you had no idea he had already got you a plane ticket out of here. You feel so betrayed it makes your stomach twist and chest ache.

“I can’t live without you,” you try. It’s the third time you’ve pulled this and it seems to get him the most. “Steve, I don’t know what I’d do if - if….”

Steve bites his cheek, stilling, his hands clutching one of your sweaters.

“Why don’t you care?” you push.

He sniffles again, pinches his nose. You’d prefer it if he’d just let himself cry. He’d give in, then, if he let his emotions take over.

“Don’t you love me?”

“Jesus, yes,” he grits, finally looking at you. His eyes are red. “Why do you think I’m makin’ you leave, huh? Why do you think I’m staying?”

“Because you think you’re something you’re not!”

He runs a big hand through his hair so harshly you fear it’ll get tugged out. He walks towards you, holding his arms out, murmuring, “honey,” and as much as it pains you, you back away.

“Don’t,” you say sharply. Your throat aches. “Don’t do that, Steve.”

“I love you.” He sounds exhausted. “I love you, please believe me.”

“If you love me, then come with me.”

“There won’t be a world for us to live in unless we stop this.”

“You aren’t going to save the world.” You’re so desperate for him to listen to you. “The chances are so slim, Steve. Why can’t we love each other while we have time?”

Steve takes a shaky breath. “I won’t let you die without doing something about it first.”

You stare at each other. It’s suddenly dawning on you that nothing you’ll do will ever change his mind. That his chances of living through the next few days are slim. That this is the last time you’ll get to see him. While he’s packing for you and forcing you to take a plane to California.

There’s nothing romantic about it. It’s not like what you’ve seen in the movies you rented from Family Video when Steve had a shift. Before he was yours. When you went because the forest green vest looked so good on him, and he always had some goofy recommendation, and he let his hands touch yours when giving you your change for a moment too long.

You’ve hardly even had him.

“So that’s it?” You can hardly hear yourself.

“I’m doing this for you. I’m doing everything for you. And - and i-if it works, I swear I’ll make it up to you. I swear, angel.”

You shake your head, hot tears making their way down your jaw. “No.”

He stills. Looks a little like a deer in headlights. Caught off guard, shocked. Mouth parting slightly before closing again, like he wants to argue but can’t.

What is there to say?

“If you make me get on that plane, Steve….” You shake your head again, swallowing the ache in your throat down.

You stare at each other again. His eyes are one of your favorite things about him. Those saccharine, chestnut and moss colored irises. They scrunch up when he laughs. You used to think about leaving Hawkins and moving somewhere nice, so far away from all of this that Steve grows up to have crows feet around his eyes. That you’d be the one who put them there. And this is the last time you’ll see them.

“You have to go,” he eventually sniffles.

“Please,” you try, for the final time.

He blinks slowly, frowning, chest rising and falling slowly. “I love you,” he whispers. “Please believe me.”

You’re not sure if you can.

[viesanterieures]

𝑨 𝑮𝒐𝒍𝒅𝒆𝒏 𝑳𝒊𝒇𝒆 | 𝑪𝒉𝒂𝒑𝒕𝒆𝒓 𝟏

Robert Fischer (Inception) x Reader

next chapter

summary: Robert and the reader have nothing in common. He's the son of a multi millionaire and future heir to a massive energy company, she doesn't really stand out in the big city Paris. But then Robert catches her trying to steal from him. No longer able to stand the pressure from his father and his company, Robert offers her a deal.

warnings: swearing, bad father-son relationship

word count: 2.5k+

note: you don’t have to watch inception to understand this story

Today was such a success, wasn't it, Clarke?"

The older man at the wheel sighed and tried to look away from the passenger. Clarke knew he was being sarcastic.

"I'm sorry for you, Sir," he replied. "But days like this happen. Even as the future CEO of Fischer Morrow."

The younger, dark-haired man in the back just rolled his eyes in frustration. "Don't call me that. I've spent my whole life in his shadow. He mocked me for every little thing, always saying I wasn't a worthy heir. And now that the old man is on his deathbed, he's suddenly changed his mind."

Clarke slammed on the brakes in shock. He was so distracted by the conversation that he almost missed the red light directly in front of him.

"But Mr Fischer... He is your father," he answered, his hands still shaking a little.

Fischer didn't seem to care that his driver had almost had an accident. Lost in thought, he crossed his arms over his chest and leaned his head against the cold car window. The heavy rain pelted down loudly, leaving thick streaks. "He was never really a father to me," he finally said quietly.

Clarke remained silent, avoiding Fischer's gaze in the rear-view mirror. The light turned green again and he stepped on the accelerator so hard that Fischer's face almost hit the front seat.

"Hey, pay attention, okay? I've had enough shit happen to me today, I don't want to end up in hospital tonight."

"I’m sorry, Sir," the driver muttered, a bit intimidated.

Fischer snorted angrily and tugged at his shirt. It was a beautiful white piece from an exclusive luxury fashion brand of which he was particularly proud. Only now it was covered in a large brown coffee stain. Fischer was seething with rage at the thought of what had happened.

He had an important meeting in Paris today to present The Fischer Morrow, his father's leading energy company, to potential clients.

Fischer had prepared for everything, practiced the presentation several times, rehearsed every word to perfection and checked his appearance in the mirror at least five times. He had got up early in the morning to make sure he had enough time to get ready, so that every hair was in place, the tie neatly tied and the shirt without the slightest crease. An immaculate appearance was essential to him. He was vain in every way.

But everything changed when the secretary balanced a tray of coffee in the meeting room. Fischer had only noticed her out of the corner of his eye, turned around to the audience and ended up bumping into her.

Luckily the coffee was no longer boiling hot, otherwise he would have spent the rest of the day in hospital with serious burns. But it was enough to knock Fischer off his game.

Angry and embarrassed at the same time, he could hardly concentrate on the content of his presentation. So much so that by the end he could barely form a complete sentence.

In other words: The Fischer Morrow had no new clients.

Had Robert Fisher's father Maurice not been terminally ill, he would certainly have given him hell and accused him of being an unworthy heir.

As always. As he had done for many years, ever since Robert was a little boy. Maurice had never thought of him as a son. He only ever spoke of him as the heir to his business.

God, how Robert hated the job. But he couldn't give it up while his father was still alive. Maurice Fischer seemed to want to give his company to a man he couldn't stand, but to whom he was related by blood, rather than to a complete stranger.

Robert didn't know how long he'd been sitting in the back seat, lost in thought, when Clarke finally parked the car safely outside the hotel where he was staying for a few days.

The man hurried out of the car to open the door for his passenger, staring at Robert's dirty shirt. Fischer fumbled in his pocket for the key to the hotel room.

"Good night, see you tomorrow," he murmured, waving a quick goodbye to his driver. Finally, he turned around on the heel of his shiny black shoes to enter the luxury hotel.

A wave of tiredness suddenly hit him, and all he wanted to do was take a shower and fall into a warm, soft bed.

When he finally opened the door, the light in the suite was on. Roberts heart began to beat faster and he frowned in confusion. He was pretty sure he had turned it off earlier. Had the room service forgotten to turn it off after they had left the room?

But when he suddenly noticed movement from the rear room, followed by strange scratching and tapping noises, he froze.

What the hell was that?

Quietly, still clutching the key, he entered the room and was almost scared to death when he saw the person in his hotel suite. They were fiddling with his wall safe, apparently trying to break it open.

***

She turned around as she heard someone open the door to the hotel room. Damn it! Why would he be back from his meeting so early?

The woman held her breath. She knew her plan was completely insane and dangerous, and that she would certainly end up in prison. But at this moment, she really didn't know any other way to help herself. Her mountain of debt seemed to grow every month. Her low salary as a hotel employee and the fact that even the smallest apartments in Paris cost a fortune didn't help. After months of stress and sleepless nights, she couldn't take it any more.

She finally saw her chance when she found out that the son of a multi-millionaire was staying at the hotel.

"I asked you, what the hell are you doing here?" The deep, threatening voice instantly made her shiver. Then she began to examine the man carefully.

He was dark-haired, slim and wearing a classic black suit. The only thing that disturbed this elegant image was a large brown stain on his shirt.

Her eyes wandered up and she caught a glimpse of his face. The man's features were sharp, he had a prominent jaw, but the most striking thing was his bright blue eyes that were staring at her angrily.

Silence fell over the room like a big blanket. Only her fast breathing and the ticking of a clock could be heard.

"Room service..." she finally managed to say in a hoarse voice. "Mr Fischer I ..."

Robert noticed her strong French accent.

"I'm sorry." She tried to avoid the man's angry gaze but he kept on staring at her with his icy blue eyes as she pressed her back even harder against the wall.

"Are you kidding me? You broke into my room and tried to steal my money. Room service my ass. I'm calling the police."

"Wait!" she interrupted him in panic, "I didn't steal anything, I..."

She knew that it was over for her. But she alone was responsible for this mess by allowing her emotions succeed against her mind. And now she had to face the consequences.

The woman put her trembling hands on her face and tried to hold back the tears. Suddenly another shock went through her body as a phone started to ring loudly.

Fischer pulled his phone out of his pocket and answered in an energetic voice: "Uncle Peter, now is not the time to call!" Then suddenly there was silence. Much too quiet for her taste.

Glancing through her fingers, she saw the man in front of her hold his forehead and then rub his eyes with his thumb and index finger.

"I'm sorry, Uncle Peter...How does Dad know what happened today, he's in hospital in Sydney...Who told him that?"

His voice, which had just been deafeningly loud, had now dropped to a low whisper. He finally said goodbye to the caller. Again the room was completely silent. Fischer just stood there with his hands in his pockets, his head slightly bowed.

For a moment she considered taking the opportunity to make her escape but then she dismissed the idea. Her legs were paralysed by fear, he also was half a head taller and probably faster than her and would catch her immediately. Fischer slowly raised his eyes and stared at the young woman in front of him.

Desperation was written all over her face.

***

He couldn't call the police now. That would draw even more attention to him, and for weeks the press had been writing one false article after another about him.

If the press found out, they would twist everything around trying to destroy his image, as they often did.

So he would not only be the spoiled and lazy millionaire's son who took money from his dying father, but also the man who lured beautiful young women into his hotel room and locked them up in there.

Robert sighed and sat down in one of the red velvet armchairs.

"Alright, go ahead. Report me. Call the police. I was just trying to get money to buy food and pay my rent. You probably don't know anything about money problems."

He lifted his head as he heard her voice. Robert didn't know why, but somehow he felt compassion.

But he didn't answer, because he was too busy thinking about his own problems. "I can't take it anymore, I have to get away from here. Away from my father. Away from Fischer Morrow. Somewhere where I won't get any more attention..."

The young woman finally sat down beside him and smoothed her blouse for a moment. "It's really not nice to be almost invisible and not be noticed by anyone." She shrugged briefly.

"I'd trade my life for yours in a heartbeat, I'm not kidding," Robert said.

Why had he just said that?

The woman just laughed. "Believe me monsieur, you really don't want to do that."

In a very strange way, he felt sorry for her. He couldn't really explain it, after all she had almost robbed his hotel room. But somehow he felt attracted to her.

And at that moment, the last rational thought after this nerve-wracking day left his head. He suggested something to her that he would never have done in his right mind.

How about... you get me out of the hotel unnoticed and take me somewhere where I can stay for a few days. In return, no one will know about your robbery of my hotel room. Deal?"

One of her eyebrows moved up as he said those words. "You want me to take you to my flat?" She stared at him in disbelief.

Robert put on his charming smile that usually worked on every lady. "Come on, a lot of women would kill for what I just offered you. Some ladies scream when they see me walking down the street like I was a movie star or something. They've even told me I'm the most beautiful man they've ever seen.

She studied him quickly. He was undeniably handsome, but also incredibly arrogant.

"And how do I know you're not dangerous?" She gave Robert a disparaging look.

"Yes, maybe I‘m a serial killer, who knows", Robert joked.

"You must know that I am very suspicious. But I can't lose my job or go to jail." He could see her struggling to make the right decision.

"All right," she said finally, after half an eternity. "I'll help you. On the condition that no one ever finds out that I tried to steal from you."

Fischer smiled again. "You can take my word for it, Madmoiselle..." He held out his hand, noticing her cautious gaze. "Come on, you can tell me your name now."

"Call me YN."

"Okay, YN. Now let's get out of here."

Finally she took his hand. Her fingers felt cold.

[dirtytransmasc]

this was their reasoning for why Aemond having his eye cut out isn't deserving of the same anger as Alicent cutting Rhaenyra... I know this is a show about royalty and politics but for a single second can we view children as just children and not pawns in the grand royal/political scheme.

Aemond was a CHILD, can we just give a shit cause he was a child, cause he was maimed, could he be treated with the half decency of just being a kid deserving of at the VERY least an apology?

honestly my gears are grinding over calling Aemond, a child who was just permanently disabled and then asked to be tortured, the SPARE of all things.

[tvckerwash]

hmmm I'm thinking about wash's stance on the training accident and I think it would be so funny if he gave maine a lecture about it afterwards

[senadimell]

Dear anyone of tumblr,

how do you relax your neck and jaw?

Sincerely,

tired of this headache

[quietwingsinthesky]

i think it would be less that even doesn't have a moral compass anymore after All That Shit and more that they just. need it to be re-calibrated a little bit. their ability to tell right from wrong got a bit fucked up in the need to survive a little longer, and if you just put them in a slightly healthier environment, they would figure it out.

[headspace-hotel]

I will write this thought about Veganism and Classism in the USA in another post so as to not derail the other thread:

There are comments in the notes that say meat is only cheaper than plant based foods because of subsidies artificially lowering the price of meat in the United States. This is...part of the story but not all of it.

For my animal agriculture lab we went to a butcher shop and watched the butcher cut up a pig into various cuts of meat. I have had to study quite a bit about the meat industry in that class. This has been the first time I fully realized how strongly the meat on a single animal is divided up by socioeconomic class.

Like yes, meat cumulatively takes more natural resources to create and thus should be more expensive, but once that animal is cut apart, it is divided up between rich and poor based on how good to eat the parts are. I was really shocked at watching this process and seeing just how clean and crisp an indicator of class this is.

Specifically, the types of meat I'm most familiar with are traditionally "waste" parts left over once the desirable parts are gone. For example, beef brisket is the dangly, floppy bit on the front of a cow's neck. Pork spareribs are the part of the ribcage that's barely got anything on it.

And that stuff is a tier above the "meat" that is most of what poor people eat: sausage, hot dogs, bologna, other heavily processed meat products that are essentially made up of all the scraps from the carcass that can't go into the "cuts" of meat. Where my mom comes from in North Carolina, you can buy "livermush" which is a processed meat product made up of a mixture of liver and a bunch of random body parts ground up and congealed together. There's also "head cheese" (made of parts of the pig's head) and pickled pigs' feet and chitlin's (that's made of intestines iirc) and cracklin's (basically crispy fried pig skin) and probably a bunch of stuff i'm forgetting. A lot of traditional Southern cooking uses basically scraps of animal ingredients to stretch across multiple meals, like putting pork fat in beans or saving bacon grease for gravy or the like.

So another dysfunctional thing about our food system, is that instead of people of each socioeconomic class eating a certain number of animals, every individual animal is basically divided up along class lines, with the poorest people eating the scraps no one else will eat (oftentimes heavily processed in a way that makes it incredibly unhealthy).

Even the 70% lean ground beef is made by injecting extra leftover fat back into the ground-up meat because the extra fat is undesirable on the "better" cuts. (Gross!)

I've made, or eaten, many a recipe where the only thing that makes it non-vegan is the chicken broth. Chicken broth, just leftover chicken bones and cartilage rendered and boiled down in water? How much is that "driving demand" for meat, when it's basically a byproduct?

That class really made me twist my brain around about the idea of abstaining from animal products as a way to deprive the industry of profits. Nobody eats "X number of cows, pigs, chickens in a lifetime" because depending on the socioeconomic class, they're eating different parts of the animal, splitting it with someone richer or poorer than they are. If a bunch of people who only ate processed meats anyway abstained, that wouldn't equal "saving" X number of animals, it would just mean the scraps and byproducts from a bunch of people's steaks or pork chops would have something different happen to them.

The other major relevant conclusion I got from that class, was that animal agriculture is so dominant because of monoculture. People think it's animal agriculture vs. plant agriculture (or plants used for human consumption vs. using them to feed livestock), but from capitalism's point of view, feeding animals corn is just another way to use corn to generate profits.

People think we could feed the world by using the grain fed to animals to feed humans, but...the grain fed to animals, is not actually a viable diet for the human population, because it's literally just corn and soybean. Like animal agriculture is used to give some semblance of variety to the consumer's diet in a system that is almost totally dominated by like 3 monocrops.

Do y'all have any idea how much of the American diet is just corn?!?! Corn starch, corn syrup, corn this, corn that, processed into the appearance of variety. And chickens and pigs are just another way to process corn. That's basically why we have them, because they can eat our corn. It's a total disaster.

And it's even worse because almost all the USA's plant foods that aren't the giant industrial monocrops maintained by pesticides and machines, are harvested and cared for by undocumented migrant workers that get abused and mistreated and can't say anything because their boss will tattle on them to ICE.

[renthony]

In the aftermath of my big post about censorship, multiple people have left comments that boil down to, "it's okay to show heavy topics in fiction as long as they're portrayed as bad."

Let's take a quick look at an excerpt from the full ext of the Hays Code, shall we?

No picture should lower the moral standards of those who see it. This is done: (a) When evil is made to appear attractive, and good is made to appear unattractive. (b) When the sympathy of the audience is thrown on the side of crime, wrong-doing, evil, sin.The same thing is true of a film that would throw sympathy against goodness, honor, innocence, purity, honesty. note: Sympathy with a person who sins, is not the same as sympathy with the sin or crime of which he is guilty. We may feel sorry for the plight of the murderer or even understand the circumstances which led him to his crime; we may not feel sympathy with the wrong which he has done. The presentation of evil is often essential for art, or fiction, or drama. This in itself is not wrong, provided: (a) That evil is not presented alluringly. Even if later on the evil is condemned or punished, it must not be allowed to appear so attractive that the emotions are drawn to desire or approve so strongly that later they forget the condemnation and remember only the apparent joy of the sin. (b) That thruout the presentation, evil and good are never confused and that evil is always recognized clearly as evil. (c) That in the end the audience feels that evil is wrong and good is right

This is the same Hays Code that supported Nazis. This is the same Hays Code that forced Jewish artists out of Hollywood. This is the same Hays Code that targeted artists of color, queer artists, female artists, any artist who deviated from the white American Catholic ideal. And it was explicitly Catholic, which I explained in further depth here.

The idea that art has to have a clear moral, which lines up with the dominant morals of white American Christianity, is foundational to the Hays Code. If you sound like the Hays Code, you need to re-evaluate.

Censorship and moral codes enforced on art are never used for anything other than oppression. The second you try to dictate what is and isn't allowable in art, you side with people who will enforce those rules on marginalized people with no mercy and no hesitation.

Censorship does not create healthy relationships with media, even the censorship you might be tempted to think of as "good censorship."

(And, as usual, being an independent censorship researcher does very little to pay my bills. Kick me a tip on Ko-Fi or pledge to me on Patreon if you want to support my work! <3)

[raeathnos]

.

[mariana-oconnor]

Types of AO3 Summary

Option 1 - The Excerpt:

The quickest, the easiest! Find a section of your fic that contains the main premise of said fic and also showcases your writing. Copy paste that into the summary box. BOOM! Done.

Best used for any fic, unless it's so short the excerpt would be the whole fic.

Option 2 - The No Frills:

Just a description of the fic. No need for drama. No need to complicate matters. Keep it simple, keep it safe.

Example: "A short character exploration of Blorbo's thoughts after Daisy leaves."

Best used for short fics, poems and fics where the style/format is more important than the plot. Or fics that tie directly into a scene/episode from canon or another fanfic.

Option 3 - The Hook:

Draw the reader's interest by giving them a set up with no conclusion. Introduce the main character(s), introduce the status quo, describe an inciting incident, leave a question in the reader's mind.

Example: "Blorbo is a barista at a coffee shop, struggling to pay their bills, but after handsome rockstar Obrolb walks into their coffee shop they find that they have to decide whether a chance at love is worth the cost of fame."

Best used for mid to long fic where there's a strong premise and follow through. Especially good for AUs. Can be expanded for more complex plots or used multiple times in one summary for multiple characters or subplots.

Option 4 - The Sitcom One-Liner:

"The one in which [over simplified description of one of the main plotlines]" This is essentially 'boil your plot down to the very simplest statement you can, oversimplify if possible. The more bizarre or unhelpful the better.

Example: "The one in which Blorbo learns to like cake".

Best used for fics with at least a little humour in them.

Option 5 - The Rule of Three:

Three is a magic number. Find three key moments in your fic and just list them. That's it. Often ends with 'not necessarily in that order' if used for comic effect. If it's an AU, establish that quickly (i.e. 'Star NHL player Blorbo…').

Example: "Blorbo makes a friend, falls in love, and almost burns to death, not necessarily in that order."

Best used for anything, really. Three is a magic number. The human brain loves things that come in threes.

Option 6 - The Trope Lure:

Why bother describing the plot? We all know AO3 readers are here for the tropes. Similar to The Sitcom One-Liner just using tropes instead of plot. Often followed by the phrase 'that nobody asked for'.

Example: "The Space western / A/B/O / Mail Order Bride fic that nobody asked for."

Often tacked on to the end of The Hook or The Excerpt as a tl;dr.

Best used for fic that plays its tropes straight with no shame or second guessing.

Option 7 - The Pre-emptive Strike:

(Not recommended) You just wrote this fic, the self doubt is consuming you. You feel the need to apologise profusely for your existence for no apparently reason. You feel cringe, you think the fic is cringe, you want everyone to know that you think the fic is cringe in case they don't like it and judge you for it.

Example: "So I fell in love with this pairing and had to write this. It's weird and terrible. Lol! I suck at summaries! Sorry!"

Best used for no fics ever. I cannot stress this enough.

(Seriously, I am begging you, don't do this. If you're planning to use this option, rethink it and do one of the others. I guarantee you more people will want to read your fic.)

Sometimes added on to any other summary as a strange disclaimer. (srsly. don't.)

Option 8 - The Unapology:

Embrace the mayhem, embrace the deep dark depths of your soul. The opposite of The Pre-emptive Strike. A combination of The No Frills and The Trope Lure that truly gives no fucks.

You have committed crimes and you are proud of them. You know what your USP is and you're going to make sure your target market finds you. Look upon my works, ye readers, and despair!

Example: "There aren't enough tentacle fics in this pairing, so I had to write one myself!"

Best used for fics with controversial/polarising tropes with all relevant details already clearly stated in the tags.

Option 9 - The Interrogation:

What if you wrote a summary entirely in questions? What if your readers had to read the fic to discover the answers? Who knows what will happen if you do this?

Example: "What happens when Blorbo McBlorbo gets his wish and Daisy doesn't make it to the plane on time? What happens when Obrolb finds out? How will this change Daisy and Blorbo's friendship?"

Best used for... I honestly don't know. This style of summary does not vibe with me. Mystery fic maybe? Sorry guys.

Option 10 - The Multipack:

Got a bunch of shorter fics in one work? No way of summarising them all without a wall of text larger than the Great Wall of China? This one is similar to The No Frills in that you're not describing the plots themselves and similar to The Trope Lure in that often broader genres and tropes are mentioned. What links those fics? Are they all in the same fandom? The same pairing? The same challenge? Just slap that right in the summary. A chapter list with 1-2 word trope/pairing summaries can be included or not.

Example: "A collection of Blorbo/Daisy/Obrolb fics based on Tumblr prompts. Chapter 1: Regency AU Chapter 2: Werewolves vs vampires Chapter 3: Ghost!Daisy Chapter 4: Space pirates!"

Best used for (obviously) works that are compilations of fic.

Option ? - The Void:

I said The Excerpt was the quickest and easiest summary to do. I lied, well... I didn't exactly lie. What is quicker and easier than not having a summary at all? After all, that's what the tags are for.

Example:

Best used for... nothing? Write a summary, guys. Please?

[fanstuffrantings]

A few things about Astarion that I need people to think about outside of him simply being flirty and attractive (since people keep reducing him to his sex scenes):

His route has a heavy focus on emotional intimacy and consent. You can sleep with him sure, but if in-between acts 2 and 3 you learn nothing about him and pressure him into having sex with you then you're not understanding his character and he'll only see you as someone who wants his body.

Ascended astarion is his bad/dark ending. I know people love it when he's powerful and ascended/durge is a relationship people love and I'm not here to say that's wrong or that you're a terrible person for doing it. But stop arguing that it's his happy ending, or that he's better for it when he literally loses himself and in a nonascended version he'll say he could feel himself changing in ways he didn't like. He becomes another cazador. He only truly expresses himself and feels release if he kills Cazador and doesn't ascend.

Unless you do the drow twin scene prior to beating Cazador you're not forcing him into anything. He gives approval for going through with it. Do I think he regrets it after because he realizes he was biting off too much too early? Yes. But it's literally him learning his boundaries and understanding what he is and isn't comfortable with. He's only just starting to be able to fully choose what he wants, sometimes you make mistakes. It's part of the process.

Astarion died young before he fully matured as an elf, but he wasn't a child. He was a magistrate in the city, he had a fully functioning brain. But just because he was an adult by human standards when he died doesn't make it any less heartbreaking. People dying in their 30s is still tragically young. And even more so for an elf.

(This one doesn't come up as often) he doesn't hate Gale, he is very much flirting with and attracted to Gale at in act 1 if you bring them around. In fact Shadowheart and Wyll are the only ones he has dislike for at any point and as the story goes he warms up to everyone. All the companions care for each other and it's one of the best found families in video games.

There are several companions I feel large portions of the fandom just misunderstand/don't fully read into and it's tiring because the devs made each one so layered and interesting. I just feel like since Astarion is essentially the face of the game now, he's the one who constantly gets boiled down to his most surface level qualities with little regard for his story as a whole.

[tojipie]

Toji comforting a sick reader (seasonal cold-ish?) he’s not very good at it,but you can tell he’s trying by making tea and stuff and being softer then he normally is.Idk I just need comforting Toji 😭

content: established relationship, airhead toji, fluff

toji’s definition of being sick was a little unorthodox, to put it mildly.

colds were just not a thing in zenin household, especially for the black sheep of the family. if you were “sick” that meant being you were dead or nearing death. not a sore throat and some congestion.

toji would have gotten a slap across the face for skipping out on a day's work because he had the sniffles, “the weak link” as his dad liked to put it.

being anything except the pinnacle of health was out of the question growing up, and with time, his association of what “being sick” was gravitated further and further away from what was normal.

so when you first come down with a cold, the poor guy doesn’t even clock it at first.

toji watches you emerge from your shared bedroom at an impressive 2 o’clock in the afternoon, eyes rimmed red with a throw blanket wrapped around your shoulders.

“sleep good?” he asks, clearly amused. the pounding in your head nearly drowns out the question. not wearing a jacket in 30° weather for the sake of showing off your outfit last night was probably not the greatest idea.

you don’t entertain his teasing as you flip the electric kettle on, grabbing 2 tea bags from the overhead pantry. something to soothe your raging tonsils. toji cracks open a bottle of water for you, passing it over with a hum.

the sip of water you try to down does nothing to help your sore throat. an ugly, phlegmy cough wracks your chest without warning, sending you into a doubled-over position.

toji pats your back lovingly as air fights to re-enter your lungs. the force of the coughs rubs your throat even more raw, if that was even possible.

“shit, you okay?” he asks, still unaware as ever.

you unflatteringly blow your nose into a tissue before answering him, cringing at how dry your lips still feel.

“something like that,” you mumble. voice raw and crackly. “do you know where the thermometer is?”

toji looks around from his spot at the counter, scratching the back of his head.

“no, why? you overheated or something?”

you stand there dumbfounded for about a second before firing back. overheated? you felt like death itself.

“i have a cold you moron.”

his mouth slowly parts into an “oh” as the realization washes over him. feeling under the weather was probably a bigger deal to you than it was for someone raised in what was essentially a prison.

“oh, baby,” he mumbles, reaching toward you with outstretched arms. a firm palm rubs between the plains of your shoulder bones, warming you from the outside. “feeling under the weather huh?” he coos.

you nod, already dozing off in his warm embrace. a shrill beep from the electric kettle lets you know that your water is ready.

toji quickly puts a hand out, ushering behind him.

“go back to bed sweet girl i’ll make your tea.”

bonus thought: he has to remake the tea twice because he dips the bags into the still-boiling water and they explode every time

[katakaluptastrophy]

You know how it goes: through some incredible circumstances, God and a young woman living under the shadow of an oppressive empire have a metaphysically unusual baby who grows up to be a general nuisance, won't stay dead, and sports a few additional holes...

It's the third Sunday of Advent and I'm a little concerned Bible studies for weird goth kids might be turning into a series... Let's talk about the Blessed Virgin Mary and Commander Awake Remembrance of These Valiant Dead Kia Hua Ko Te Pai Snap Back to Reality Oops There Goes Gravity.

Wake was probably never described as "gentle", "meek", or "mild", but there are a few similarities: distinctive outfits, snazzy shrines, commitment to putting down the mighty from their seats, and of course babies with great and terrible destinies niftily conceived without sex.

On the topic of conception, let's clear up a common, uh, misconception: the term "immaculate conception" does not refer to Mary becoming pregnant with Jesus. It's Mary's own conception.

Why are we talking about how Mary was conceived and what does this have to do with lesbian necromancers?

To answer that question, we have to go back further still, way before Mary's conception. Back to these guys and their unfortunate snack cravings:

Remember how last time we talked about the concept of being in a state of grace? Well, the Christian read on Adam and Eve is that a state of grace was, as it were, the factory setting for humanity. They were fully in tune with God, there was no sickness or death, there was no sin. Until, that is, the whole unfortunate business with the apple. The first sin. The world is fundamentally altered. Humanity is expelled from paradise, burdened with sin, death, disease, patriarchy, and work. Worse, this sinful human nature turns out to be sexually transmissible: every human being is born tainted by this "original sin" of Adam and Eve.

This is why Catholicism is so big on baptising babies: even if they're many years off being able to commit any sins themselves (a sin has to be something consciously chosen and understood), they're still contaminated by that original sin of Adam and Eve. Baptism is understood to erase original sin, wiping the slate clean.

Bear with me, we'll be back to necromancers soon I promise. Have a picture of Mary beating up the devil while an angel holds baby Jesus:

OK, but what does Adam and Eve's danger snack have to do with Mary's conception?

The "immaculate conception" refers to the idea that unlike every human being between Adam and Jesus, Mary was conceived without the contamination of original sin. The rationale for this is complex, but essentially boils down to something like the saving power of Jesus not being bound by piffling things like time and space and thus saving his mother before her own conception and allowing himself to also be conceived and born sinless.

But the important bit is that something specific about Mary means that she is uniquely able to be pregnant with Jesus.

You may be starting to guess where this is going...

Because while unconventional pregnancy seems to have been the plan from the get-go for Jesus, it was not with the artist formerly known as The Bomb:

“I had the baby,” said Wake. “The baby I’d had to incubate myself for nine long fucking months, when the foetal dummies these two gave me died.”

“Oh, God, it was yours,” said Augustine, in horror. “I thought you’d used in vitro on one of Mercy’s—”

“I said they all died,” said Wake. “The dummies died. The ova died. Only the sample was still active, no idea how considering it was twelve weeks after the fact, but I wasn’t about to look a gift horse in the mouth.”

“So you used it on yourself,” said Augustine. “Anything for the revolution, eh, Wake?”

We have to assume the foetal dummies plan was hatched by Mercymorn, a brilliant scientist with a myriad of experience. If the problem encountered by Wake were as simple as Lyctoral infertility, I suspect Mercy would have spotted that long before.

But what do Wake and John have in common that Mercymorn or any of the other ova-having residents of the Mithraeum did not? They are both (to some extent at least) factory setting humans: unlike everyone else in the Dominicus system, they never died and were resurrected, nor are they the descendants people who were. John's abilities, while macabre, are not straightforwardly the necromancy otherwise practiced in the Houses. That necromancy is a direct result of one specific act of taking that resulted in the very nature of the world changing: a thanergetic system, inhabited by human beings who, necromancer or not, are fundamentally tainted by thanergy and by the after effects of that action of John's. You might call it a sin. An indelible sin. He does.

It's not an exact parallel, but necromancy certainly occupies a space not dissimilar to original sin: the result of a single action, tainting every descendant of its progenitors regardless of their actions of abilities.

And then enter Gideon, born in space away from the thanergetic energy of the Dominicus system to a mother lacking the 10,000 year intergenerational burden of the resurrection and necromancy. The child of Jod, born to die.

[lady-ashfade]

Blood And Pressure

Part four

Yandere!Pjo × Fem!Grisha!reader. (Platonic yandere gods) (romantic!various characters)

-♡ Chapters: Previous // Next

-♡ this is a shadow & bone slight crossover. Reader is a heartrender and that's all really (maybe more in the future!)

-♡ words: 1k

-♡ Please note that all characters are aged appropriately, so all characters are older versions of the book characters. So 17-19 characters for these, you can choose any of them really. Just that they are older teens.

-♡ warnings: short, yandere behaviors, obsession, stalking, slightly sick love, possessive, manipulative, gaslighting, platonic yandere too, blood powers, powerful powers but not godly, and future warnings when more chapters come out.

You’d like to say you could understand everything that was happening but you had not even a small clue. You sat in the big house with your bag in hand while the two adults argue over you.

“I forbid her to leave, she’s not hera’s child,” you sink back while Mr.d points his finger at you, “she belongs here, with me.”

The god fought for you to stay with him, he kept you happy and feed, even made you smile. All for someone else to claim you? It made his blood boil and you could see it on his face as he shouts.

“She’s been claimed and even if we don’t understand, it is how things have to be.” Chiron sounded disappointed but stern. Of course he would stay up for you, like he always does. He hated for you to leave but you wanted so badly to leave them and have friends and he could understand.

“Mr.d,” you step forward to the god, “I’ll make you a promise.”

“And what’s that kid?” He hated how he spoke to you but he was just too heated that he could banish everyone kid from camp.

“I’ll come visit and play cards with you every week?” You try and bargain your time, even when the thoughts made your bones tighten at thinking of being stuck like that again.

He looked down at you with a suspicious glare while he thought it over. He didn’t have a choice but that didn’t mean he liked it. So finally he let out a breath and agreed while rushing off and mumbling under his breath.

The next stop you had was weirder.

The cabin was dark and empty. Cold and you could feel your spine shiver at the lack of heat. You glanced around but found no furniture to even sit on. No one was supposed to sleep here. Hera had no half-blood offsprings because unfaithfulness was not her way, and yet here you stand being claimed by her. And something tells you all the gods had something to do with it. Mr. D seemed to be more jealous when he spoke about the queen of gods. Like she was unworthy to have you.

“I suppose we’ll be needing to fetch some essentials for your new home.” Chiron tried to sound happy.

“Don’t worry,” you hold up your arms that carried pillows as far as you can with a reassuring smile, “I’ll survive.” and truth be told your bed was the one thing you would miss about staying there.

You find yourself walking up to the firepit and staring up at the statue of hera holding her staff. The way her eyes looked…you felt calm, but almost afraid of what it would be like to look in the real ones. She wasn’t someone to mess with while even her husband feared her wrath.

“So, Chiron?” You ask. You continue to stare up at the stone goddess. “Do you know why she claimed me.” there wasn’t much hope he’d share his insight. the centaur kept quiet for a second to consider his next words wisely.

“Just as clueless to me. Maybe we’ll get some information in the morning after a goodnight sleep.” Just as you thought. Not a peep from him.

You nod and turn around and place everything you had on the floor which wasn’t much but you were glad you had all you did. Chiron handed you the blankets with a smile on his face and for a minute it looked like he was going to cry while he looked at you.

So you open your arms wide and pull him into a hug, or what you could reach and he chuckles deeply and pats your head. In all his years you were his favorite to ever walk into this camp and to guide you. To him, camp was nothing without you.

You settled in quickly while unpacking what you could to make you feel at home. You had two blankets, one on the floor and pillows on top and the other over yourself. You tried to pick a place to the fire without burning up or being too cold.

And for the first time you were all alone to your own thoughts.

“Pst” a hushed whisper called out from no where. The voice startled you as you jump forward and grab ahold of the nearest thing, your old book.

“I’m not going to hurt you. I’m a camper.” The voice had no body to go along with it making you confused. Was it one of Apollos children? Whoever they were they didn’t belong here.

“Says the person who stays hidden.”

The person in question lets out a laugh and then you see a figure appearing out of no where. A blue cap was the first thing you notice as they move their hand down with it grasped. A girl with a orange camp shirt, pretty eyes and blonde hair twisted into a braid.

“You grab a book to hurt me? Almost seems like you know me.” She smirked amusingly.

She had been watching you since you arrived at camp two years ago when she could, she grew to now you like no one else did. And now you’re out and into the camp with her she couldn’t let you walk without keeping a eye on you. You arrived with percy, another person she needed to watch so it was easy.

“What’s you name?” You ask the mysterious girl.

“Annabeth, consider me your guide from now on.” She walked further and stood above you. Her wicked smile seemed off just like everyone else you have seen.

“What cabin are you from? I heard some kids saying Apollos kids-” she cut you off by waving the hat in her hand.

“Athena.” You nod.

“And you’ll need me.” You tilted your head at her words and arched your brows. Need her? What was she talking about.

“For what? I mean I’m glad to have a friend but..” taking a deep breath as her eyes glint with something almost dangerous.

“For capture of the flag.”

Taglist: @maria699669 @gorgeourrific-nerd @alliriseabove @targaryenluvs @theaaeht @dabalyuteeeftia @weepingwitchofthewest @iris1587 @tulipmagnoliaisme @ameliashideout @purplerose291 @poppyflower-22 @riaaavm @anonymouslyawesome25 @orionspaperwork @a-cat-loverr @Ilpovi @eatmyassfictionalstyle @theanklebiter-blog @nasyu-kookies

[adventuringblind]

Not Your Fault

Max Verstappen x Reader x Oscar piastri

Genre: Angst

Summary: Max and Oscar have to comfort their girlfriend who's hospitalized after a major crash.

Dialouge prompt: "It's not your fault"

Warnings: major crash, injury description

Notes: This is part of my 1000 follower celebration! Requests are still open for it if you would like to participate!

Masterlist

"Red flag Max, red flag." Comes GP's voice over the radio.

Something in his stomach dropped at the words. Crashing is a risk they all take every time they get into the car, but that dosen't it isn't hard when it happens.

"Who was it?" His fingers crossed. Silently begging whoever controlled fate that it was neither a McLaren nor a Ferrari. He's not sure he could handle it.

"It's a Ferrari."

"Who?"

"Y/N"

His heart dropped. She'd been called to drive in place of Carlos. The Spainard had caught Covid and was out for the entire triple header. She'd gotten a chance, and now she'd crashed out.

"Is she okay?"

"Max-"

"Is she okay, GP? Please, I need to know." His heart is beating faster then he would’ve liked, but he can’t help it.

“They haven’t gotten a response yet. Ferrari was checking to see the damage on the car but haven’t gotten a response yet-”

“They were checking on the car?!” Max’s blood is boiling as he peels into the pit lane. He rips himself out of the car as marches to where GP and Christian are presumably waiting for him. They look neutral at the moment.

Christian grabs him by the shoulders to stop him from going any further, but it doesn’t matter. The screen is replaying the crash. Something must have happened with the steering and braking because the car just didn’t slow down. It hit the wall at 200 mph. The Ferrari car is stuck in the barriers. The fence having come down on top of her, essentially burying the car underneath.

“Any word yet?” His voice breaks. eye’s still trained on the screen as it shows the Marshalls trying to pull the debris away.

“Still nothing. They lost the onboard footage and can’t see her vitals.”

Max is about to jump into a rant. His anger at Ferrari still boiling. That is - until Lando comes barreling into him. The Brit is out of breath and flushed. “Haven you looked at your phone?”

All three Redbull members stare at him in confusion. Lando looks between them expectantly. “Well somebody better get Max his phone because Oscar is about thirty seconds away from killing everyone in the Ferrari garage.”

Max runs to grab his phone and comes back to Lando who is waiting impatiently for something. Texts from Charles and Carlos about what they know, A missed call from Oscar- “I don’t see anything apart from the usual.”

Land rips the phone out of his hands and pulls up his instagram. Then he find the Ferrari page and and taps on their story. He hands the phone back with sad eyes.

Within the mess or a PR scripted excuse, one thing sticks out to him the most: ‘driver error.’ Max the pulls up Charles’ texts. His hands are shaking with the impending appearance of Mad Max.

Charles gives him the whole story. ‘Don’t believe the story! I saw the data, it was the teams fault.’

“Oscar saw this, didn’t he?”

“Kim, Jon, and Andrea are keeping him confined, but unless you want to be outed to the world I suggest you come help.”

Max looks at the screen. Still no sign of life. The car is still buried.

Then he looks to his team principal for approval. Christian nods and then the two are ducking and dodging cameras.

Oscar isn’t mad often. Rarely, even. He has so much patience for people that Max sometimes wonders where he puts it all.

He found out after the Qatar sprint. Max was getting some nasty hate. It was under every photo Redbull or himself put out. He simply put his phone away and tried not to let it bother him. Their female lover saw but knew better then to start something and decided to, and he quotes, ‘fuck the diets and eat Max’s favorite.’ Which the Dutch had been more then happy to do.

Oscar on the other hand was going to chew out every person who boo’d at max on their way to the hotel. Oscar’s anger comes in the form of harsh words and stupid actions until it turns to wet and it’s like every emotion he’d been stifling hits him all at once. Then it’s all teary eyes a cracked voices.

Max and Lando round the corner and sneak through the back of the McLaren garage. Straight into Oscars room where they are supposed to find him.

He is, in fact, nowhere to be seen.

Max makes a break for the Ferrari garage. He wants to be relieved when he sees the Australian with Charles, but he can’t be because he’s with some of the Ferrari staff as well.

He breaks the circle and sets a, hopefully calming, hand on Oscar’s shoulder. “Any news on her condition?” The men in red shoot him dirty glares as he interrupts whatever they were talking about previously.

“No.”

Okay, rude.

Charles clears his voice. “Actually, me and Oscar were just discussing her condition. They pulled her out of the car - but it doesn’t look good. The FIA might stop the race because of the barrier.”

“Thank you for the update, Charles. We’ll be going now.” Max and Lando have to drag a ver stubborn Oscar away.

They pile into Lando’s room since it’s closer and Oscar collapses. Him and Max almost topple over together. “They said it’s her fault when it’s not!”

“I know. It’s out job to make sure she knows that too. Chewing out Ferrari isn’t going to help.” At the moment, Max can’t help but finish in his head.

They take some time to calm down before heading back out. They are greeted with the news that the race has been cancelled due to the barrier meaning that the two are free to leave.

Which they do, with incredible speed.

She had to be transferred to the hospital. According to the doctor that greets them, she’ll make a full recovery but it will take a while to get there. A few broken bones, some internal bleeding, a concussion, a major gash, but she’s alive. That’s what matters.

Oscar and Max spend the night in her room. The two patiently waiting for her to wake up. Charles had dropped by with Lando to bring them her stuff and see how she’s doing. Max was happy they brought food and Lando actually took to force feeding Oscar.

They wake the next morning to quiet sniffles. Max cracks his eyes open to see her, staring at her cell that Max left on the side table, with tears streaming down her face.

He is up and alert in a second with Oscar coming to slowly. “Schat, talk to me.”

She just hands over her phone without saying anything and Max scrolls through it for a few moments. Apparently Ferrari’s statement went further then he thought. Again, they are playing the blame game.

And no, absolutely not. Max Verstappen is not the kind of man to let her believe this. He turns off the phone and tosses it aside before Oscar can see. He really doesn't need another passive-aggressive Assie incident.

"Charles saw the data. It was the car. It wasn't your fault."

"But everyone is believing it was. How am I supposed to build a career now?" She sobs. The EKG is beeping wildly with her heart.

Oscar, in his sleepy state, switches from leaning on Max to climbing into bed with her. It works like a charm, and she starts to breathe again. It's labored, but it's calming down, at least.

"You'll show them. The data will come out eventually." Oscar mumbles into her shoulder.

"And until then -" Max intertwines hands with both his lovers. "- We'll defend you because we love you."

[keymintt]

i’m sure this has been at least mentioned before but one of the things that’s so fucking funny to me abt kim is that, for all the shit he gives you (harry) when you try to get him to dance or wear the piss jacket, he actually wants to do those things to some extent

over the course of the game you can’t get him (or other characters for that matter) to do things he doesn’t want to do. disco elysium isn’t a power fantasy game like that. don’t get me wrong some things he needs to be convinced/challenged for, but he can and does outright Refuse things at times like when you suggest getting on the kineema and cutting the body down from there, not going into the tent with the ravers, or not climbing up the shitty feld building ladder, etc. and there are also definitely moments when he reluctantly puts up with harry/the player’s antics bc harry’s persistent and it’ll just put a quicker end to things to be like, “yeah sure fine i’ll eat the sandwich“ or, “i'll spare you another *20 hour mind-project*— yes, i am”

when you really badger him into dancing in the church and pass the authority check, he of course puts up some resistance but then goes, “now check *this* shit out!“ and starts busting it down! if he was reluctant to dance, he’d totally just do some stupid lil shimmy to appease harry with the same enthusiasm of, “oh god more cryptids” but no! he starts “heel kick[ing] the church floor with such intensity, it’s reasonable to fear he’ll kick a hole right through it“ he had those moves Locked And Loaded, but it’s not like he was gonna bust them out oh god no, then harry pulls his rank on him and he thinks “well everyone else here can see that the guy making a bigger fool of himself is ordering me to do it so i guess it’s okay for me to“

(thinking abt that, there’s prolly something to also say there abt music being a sort of outlet for kim. in my brain the anodic dance music and the shit speedfreaks fm plays have more in common than not, but kim also strikes me as somewhat of a music snob about that sort of stuff so. i dunno)

and then the pissfaggot jacket! when you’re trying to convince him to put it on he essentially says “you’re gonna keep bothering me about this no matter what“ but at the end of the interaction he still puts the jacket on and keeps it on! “the first chance i get, this thing’s coming off“ yeah right, the first chance he had was immediately after putting it on, harry clearly doesn’t give a shit if kim leaves him hanging fashion-wise, he’s the one who puts on the fuck the world jacket first! and once harry takes off the fuck jacket, the piss jacket is gone too, so it basically boils down to “as long as i’m following around this guy who’s making a bigger fool of himself, i can do this thing that i wanted to do got coerced into going along with“ 

kim’s also like “it really *does* look cool to have both of these jackets on right now“ once he puts it on like who are you kidding bro. your lame ass wanted this. sure he wanted to be a jackass and take the jackets but he also confiscated those hubcaps because they were cool and he was gonna eventually install them, was he not gonna steal the jacket to wear it?

he has his pristine little Image to uphold so he’ll only do things he wants to do if it looks like he’s being forced to and/or he won’t be the biggest fool in the room because god forbid he expresses himself. there’s plenty of deeper analysis here in conjunction with how he relishes in having control over his desires and how harry’s someone who can get him to break his rigid self-control and let loose a bit, but for me it just boils down to:

he’s so fucking lame and it’s so fucking funny