#and like. if they think that my idea is shitty i'd rather they tell me that NOW instead of later

[witchwhaat]

they'll ask me one more time about my master's thesis and istg i'll just start crying or laughing manically

[drdemonprince]

Re: autistic advice; i keep seeing people making fun of stuff like "are you in a place to hear bad news" or scripts like that. I grew up in an environment where it was common practice to just drop heavy subjects on people out of the blue, & I still find that intensely uncomfortable. But I've now had multiple people tell me that it makes them feel shitty when I ask, for example, "are you up for a dark subject?" & I don't really know how to square it away. I want to make sure that I'm not stepping on anyone's toes or making them feel ambushed or trapped, but apparently it makes some people feel like they're not allowed to have their feelings. I end up feeling pretty shitty about it, because like... it feels like either I have to be Rude (because it DOES feel rude to just drop a dark topic on someone) &/or risk having something shitty I can't deal with dropped in my lap, or else really upset people. I guess... is there a way to navigate this?

I would recommend being more specific.

People find phrases like "Are you in a place to hear something that might hurt you?" and "Are you up for a dark subject?" to be a bit presumptuous about what their emotional reactions will be or what they are capable of handling. It also can make what would have otherwise been a very unremarkable exchange become tinged with anticipatory anxiety.

When someone asks me a question like "are you up to hear something dark?" I might feel coddled and condescended to, rather than emotionally respected. Or if they ask me "are you prepared to hear something that might hurt you?" / "are you up for a serious conversation?" I think they're about to drop some serious emotional bomb on me, like that they're friend-dumping me for something horrible that I didn't realize I did. Then when it ends up being a meme they want to share or a question about a celebrity lawsuit or something i'm kind of pissed at the false alarm and the coddling that, rather than protecting me, made me feel worse.

In either case, rather than giving me time to emotionally prepare or interact when I am ready, these vague questions have introduced some kind signal of social or emotional threat. If anything, it increases the felt urgency to just have the damn conversation already and see what kind of monster is lurking behind the person's words. It makes me *less* likely to exercise control over when the conversation happens or when I see the upsetting thing.

So be specific. "Do you wanna see a disgusting meme?" "I want your opinion on something, but the question touches on sexual assault. Is that okay to talk about?" "I want to talk to you about a conflict I'm having with my other partner." "Can I ask you your opinion on this transphobia discourse?" Etc.

The more specific you can be about the subject and why you are asking about it, the more power you are giving the other person to actually decide what they want to engage with. When someone asks me if I am willing to discuss something dark, I really have no idea what to say. They're imposing their judgement of what is a dark or upsetting topic onto me, when really they have no idea what I might find triggering and what I might really enjoy getting to talk about.

Rather than trying to protect me from something I haven't even encountered yet, you gotta let me encounter it, and actually trust that I will take care of myself. If I don't want to talk about sexual assault I won't, if I don't want to look at gross imagery I'll say no, if hearing one more bad thing about your other partner is going to make my jealousy fume, I am responsible for handling that. You're not responsible for my emotions.

It's good to notice which subjects your friends are especially sensitive to and what big triggers they have so that you can be considerate. My friends know I cant look at lots of blood flowing out of someone for instance and dont send me visuals/fics that feature, say, wrists being slit or blood being drawn. But if they forgot, I'd understand and just look away and squeal oh no i cant look at that get it away. And that would be fine. They are not responsible for my reactions to things.

[space-invading-pigeon]

Steve came home from work one day pissed as hell. His coworker had made three of his little ones cry, the service dog that was supposed to visit the long-term patients was cancelled last minute, Dustin texted him to cancel their weekly phone call because he and Suzie were fighting, Hopper had to postpone his monthly check-in because El caught a stomach bug at school, and Mrs. Ryans stopped him in the lobby to tell him that she's praying his "no good devil worshipping roommate" received the damnation he supposedly deserves.

So Steve burst into his home, fuming, face flushed red in his anger, and startled poor Eddie out of his armchair. "I called Mrs. Ryans a stupid old hag and I'm not apologizing!" He announced, practically throwing his shoes into their proper place. "She's stupid and I hope she breaks her other hip."

Eddie started his usual task of making brownies (he's a firm believer that chocolate can make anything better, and he knows that Steve's got an almost pavlovian response to the smell of brownies now) while Steve changes out of his scrubs and into something more comfortable. He'd completely bypassed his own closet, instead stealing one of Eddie's prized Iron Maiden tees to go with his threadbare pajama bottoms. Eddie opened his mouth to ask what had happened that day to make Steve so upset, but Steve didn't let him.

"Seriously, why does she hate you so much? You're like the sweetest person ever. So I told her to stop talking shit about you, and she was like, 'why should I,' so I told her that my baby sister would slap the wig off her bald little head if she kept being shitty to my boyfriend, and I might have actually given her a heart attack. Should we go check on her?" Eddie froze at Steve's admission; first of all, a baby sister?? But, more pressing, boyfriend. "Oh, my god, I might have killed our elderly neighbor. El wouldn't actually slap her! Wait, yes she would. She's still learning social norms and I don't think Hop told her that hitting old people is frowned on. I don't- does Hop know not to hit old people? Eddie, my dad might abuse the elderly."

"Stevie, honey, slow down," he finally settled on. Eddie bypassed their little dining table to sit Steve on the couch. "One thing at a time. Mrs. Ryans is not dead, we'd have heard all the munchkins singing by now."

"I'm not going to prison for shocking our neighbor to death, Eddie, I'd rather be melted into a giant flesh monster," Steve piped up. Eddie didn't have time to unpack whatever that meant, so he ignored it.

"You're talking about your sister like she's not used to humans."

"She's not, really. She was ex- she was, um, bad home life. Before we met. She's Hopper's daughter now, but before, her dad fucked her up. Like, doomsday, raise the children in isolation, fucked up." Steve was marginally calmer, but his anger gave way to nerves as everything he'd said caught up with him. "I called you my boyfriend."

"Good to know you've got beauty and brains, sweetheart," Eddie cooed at him, smacking an exaggerated kiss to his cheek. "Not every day I have such a cute guy screaming at old ladies for me."

"J-just the one old lady. You're not mad I called you my boyfriend?" Eddie paused there, giving Steve the flattest stare he could manage.

"Steve. I've been flirting with you for two years. Bruce has been trying to get me to propose to you for one of those two years."

"Bruce just had a baby, he should worry about-"

"Bruce tried to explain to you that we're dating and you called him a funny guy, honey. Congrats, you're the last to know."

"We're dating?" Steve shrieked, and Eddie couldn't help but laugh. Steve's face was so incredulous, like he really had no idea, and as sad as it was to see that, it was just too funny to Eddie that they'd been dating in almost every sense for more than a year before Steve seemed to be aware of it. "Are you telling me I could have kissed you this whole time?"

"Well, yeah, obviously. Stevie, you really didn't know? I thought it was obvious how much I love you, sweetheart."

[bunnliix]

Love Shot

Inspired by this dialogue prompt from @creativepromptsforwriting "You’re so adorable. I want to pick you up and never let you down."

word count: 1 260 warnings: drinking, alcohol, (not) unrequited crushes, reader getting drunk, reader wanting to get blackout drunk

I was never the type of person to go out clubbing and drinking. Any of my friends could tell you that. I normally stayed far away from clubs, they were far too loud for my taste, and yet here I was on a Friday night, by myself trying to get blackout drunk. There's a bit of a backstory on how I got here, and it all started earlier while I was on campus.

For a bit of backstory, most of my friends I met while in college, except for Felix. Felix and I have been friends since high school. We were both the nerdy type of kids, except that he had the advantage that puberty was nice to him. While I've had a crush on him since I met him, however I valued my friendship with him too much to ever say something. I'd rather an unrequited love, than to lose him over something simple like a crush. It ended up happening by pure coincidence that we attended the same college, but it worked out really well for me. I'm more of an introvert, while Felix is the extrovert who makes all of our friends, and that's more or less what happened.

Most of that isn't really important though, to be honest, except that I still have the biggest crush on Felix, six years later. He and the rest of our friend group, affectionately called "Stray Kids" for some reason or another, are the campus hotties. Which means I get to see girls upon girls try and shoot their shot with all of them, and for most of the boys, I don't give a shit who they date. I however get way too envious sometimes of the girls I see hanging around my best friend. Chan, the eldest of the friends, was sitting with me while we watched the boys have fun. 

"Are you ever going to say something to him? About your crush on him?" He questioned me. I turned to him like he was crazy. We've had this conversation a million times, and it was never going to happen. 

"I've told you Chan, he'd never like me that way, and I'm never gonna jeopardize my friendship with him over a stupid crush." 

"You'll never find out if he likes you though, if you never say anything." He retorts.

"I don't wanna find out if he doesn't like me. Besides, there's a good chance I could mess things up between him and I, and I'm not taking that chance." I stood up, and moved to leave the table, grabbing my things as I said goodbye to Chan. I really didn't want to deal with the guys nagging me to finally ask him out, it just made it worse. I headed home, before having the stupid idea that I should go out and drink instead of staying home, but impulsive decisions are a thing I do a lot.

I know it's kind of a shitty reason to be out trying to get blackout drunk at a bar, but honestly I couldn't think of anything better to help me deal with the pain of not being able to tell Felix I like him. I was about four drinks in, and already on my way to being wasted when I felt a hand land on my shoulder. I look back, my vision already blurring to see Felix behind me. "Hiii Lixieeee!" I giggled, waving at him. He grabbed my hand, pulling me away from the bar, while I took my drink with me. 

"Lixie, where are you taking me? I was having a good time at the bar~" I pouted at him, my words slightly slurring. He stopped suddenly and turned to face me, leaning down to cup my face in his hands. 

"Why are you out drinking? This isn't like you." He asked me, looking concerned. 

"Why are you so concerned, Lixie? I'm just having some fun and letting loose a bit. Aren't I allowed to have fun?" I shoot back at him, some frustration coming out in the process. I chug down the rest of whatever was in my glass, feeling the burn as it made its way down my throat. Felix reached to take the glass and put it somewhere out of my eyesight.

"Chan told me where you were. He was out with a couple of the other boys and they saw you here by yourself. You never go out to bars, why are you even here? If you wanted to drink, I would have brought over stuff, and we could've had fun at your apartment. Why are you doing this? Tell me, please?" He questioned me, begging me to answer him. 

I assume it was my lack of self control, but I blurted out, almost angrily at him, "I'm in love with you, okay! I've been in love with your cute face for the last six years, and I can't bear seeing you with other people. I want your eyes on me and only me. And I was never going to tell you because I didn't want to ruin our friendship." I couldn't bear to look at him after that. Felix went silent, and I started getting tears in my eyes, which started falling when the man started chuckling.

"You’re so adorable. I want to pick you up and never let you down." That made me look up at him in surprise. "Did you never think I wanted you too? I've wanted you so badly, wanted to call you mine. I was too scared that you wouldn't feel the same way. Oh baby, I think we've both been idiots for a little too long." He pulled me into a hug, resting his head on top of mine, before saying, "How about we head home now, yeah? We can talk about this more in the morning, when you're sober." I don't have it in me to do anything more than nod.

He takes me back to his car, opening the passenger door and helping me in, before going around to the driver's seat. He started the car and drove us the short ride to his apartment he shared with a couple of our friends. I was still a bit too intoxicated to walk by myself, so Felix assisted me up into his apartment, and then into his bedroom, having me sit down on his bed while he found clothes for me to wear. He set them out on the bed, pushing me to change into them while he went and found a spare toothbrush for me to use. By the time he returned, I had changed into the shirt he left me, but decided not to put on the shorts. He handed me the toothbrush, and since I had been here before, I knew my way to the bathroom. I quickly washed up, feeling a bit less wasted by the time I returned to his room. Felix was already waiting on his bed for me to get back, and ushered me into his bed and under the covers, while he laid down on top of them. 

I looked up at him, and softly asked, "Can you hold me while I fall asleep?" He nodded, blushing and moved under the covers with me, as I rested my head on his arm as his other one came around my waist. 

He softly kissed my cheek as he whispered, "Good night." It didn't take me long to fall asleep in his arms, feeling the happiest I had been in a while.

[cringe-but-proud]

Could I ask for a reader x Sirius where Sirius James and reader share a house because like reader is James sibling and it’s just James finding them being really couply and everything and him over reacting?

Yes, ofc bbg

Sirius Black x gn!Reader

Warnings: mention of bad home life, sort of suggestive in literally one sentence

A/n: GUYS I'M SORRY FOR TAKING THESE LONG ASS BREAKS 💀 I really need to start writing on a computer instead of my shitty phone lol. Anyways, requests are open

A few summers ago, you and your brother made the decision to get Sirius Black out of his abusive household. It was seriously one of the best decisions both you and James had ever made. Sirius seemed so much happier now that he actually lived with people who cared about him. And he seemed especially happy about getting to live with his significant other.

It was a hot summer day at the house, and no matter how high the AC was turned up, it didn't seem to help very much.

In an attempt to battle the heat, you and Sirius had resorted to sitting on the floor of your room in front of a fan that was turned up to its maximum setting. Two large glasses of ice water were sat next to the both of you and both glasses were half empty.

Sirius groaned as he slid down the wall that he was leaning against, moving to lay on his back.

"It's hot." He whined as he threw an arm over his face.

"Yeah," You agreed. "I noticed."

"I don't understand. It felt so nice yesterday and now it's absolutely scolding." He continued to complain.

You looked over at your boyfriend and chuckled. "I know why."

"Why?"

"It's cause yesterday you were going on and on about how nice the weather had been lately and-"

"Don't blame this on me!" He cut you off, sitting up and giving you a grin.

"I'll blame whoever I want!" You giggled.

"I'll turn this fan off." Sirius threatened.

"No, you won't."

"Yeah, I won't."

The two of you smiled at each other for a moment before Sirius moved to sit next to you and leaned his head on your shoulder.

"Seriously?" You asked, looking down at him. "Isn't it too hot for cuddling?"

"Never." He replied.

You couldn't argue with that. You rested your head on top of his and grabbed his hand, intertwining your fingers with his.

It was nice despite the fact that the both of you were sticky with sweat. You closed your eyes, enjoying the peaceful moment when your door opened.

"Y/n, do you know where the fan is-" James began to ask as he walked in. "Oh my God, of course you two are using it."

"We were hot." You told James.

"You'd both probably be less hot if you weren't laying on top of each other." He said as he leaned against your doorframe.

Sirius hummed as if he was considering what James said. "Nah, I think I feel much cooler right here."

"Yeah, I've gotta agree." You said as Sirius wrapped his arm around you and kissed your cheek.

James gagged. "Oh, get a room."

"Great idea." Replied Sirius.

James couldn't help but chuckle. "You're both gross. I don't even want the fan anymore."

"Then you should probably leave." Sirius suggested.

"Yeah, before we start making out in front of you." You added with a mischievous grin.

"You don't have to tell me twice." James said as he turned and left the room.

You and Sirius exchanged a look before both giggling.

"He hates us." You said.

"But, he loves us." Sirius added.

"And I love you." You leaned down to kiss him softly.

After the short kiss Sirius chuckled. "No wonder he hates us. Look at how cheesy we're being."

"There's no one I'd rather be cheesy with." You told him as you kissed the bridge of his nose.

Just then James reentered the room. "I've changed my mind, I'm taking the fan."

"NO!"

[luveline]

Hi jade I’m the anon that asked about the non zombie au Steve blurbs! I just thought of a story idea: Steve with a gf that’s recovering from ED?

hi babe!! hope this is ok<3 fem!reader

cw implied eating disorder recovery

"Ready?" Steve asks. 

You lean back in his bed and cross your arms over your tummy. "No… are you sure we have to go? I'd way rather stay and watch a movie here. Please?" 

"Please," he says back. "I really wanna see this one, he's, like, a tomb raider."

"You realise there were two movies before this one, right?"

"Yeah, but I didn't know you knew that. I think you'll like it too, babe. You think that Ford guy is handsome." 

"I think you're handsome, and I can see you right here." 

Steve takes his jacket off. As soon as he does you feel awful, throwing your legs over the side of the bed to stop him undressing further. "I'm kidding. I'll go. Come on, you're right, Harrison Ford is really handsome." 

"Are you sure?" he asks, jacket held in his hands loosely. "I know you haven't been feeling the best, so if you don't wanna go, it's fine. We can go later in the week." 

"I– I don't wanna–" You hate stammering around him, but admitting how you feel about this carries an awkward weight. A fettering kind of shame. "We'll have, like, nachos and popcorn and stuff, and movie food is really–" 

"I get it," he says, nodding.

Steve puts the jacket down on his dresser and grabs your hand, pulling you back enough to sit with him again on the bed. Sheets crumple under your hands. You're in for a Harrington pep talk, you can tell. You need it so much you don't try to fight it.

"Stuff like that sets me off," you mumble, though he already knows, "and I've had a really good week this week, I don't wanna ruin it." 

"The week isn't ruined if you have a slip up, you know that," Steve says gently.

It's just hard. Even though he loves you. Even though he understands. It's raw to be seen at what you feel is your worst, while you trust Steve to be kind about it, because something tells you that your worst is the worst. You know you aren't lesser for having this problem, but knowing and feeling don't align when it comes to this. 

"I don't want to go somewhere that's going to make you feel shitty, though, seriously," he says, his arm slipping behind your back. He kisses your cheek, and speaks warmly in your ear, "if you don't feel like you can do it tonight, then you don't have to." 

"This is silly. I can't keep interrupting our lives because I'm worried about how eating butter is going to make me feel." 

Steve rubs your back. "Don't do that, honey. You don't have to make it smaller than it feels."

"Steve," you say quietly. 

"I know this isn't small for you. I promise it's not small for me, either, and it isn't disrupting my life. You getting better is a thousand times more important to me than seeing a movie, so if you feel like you can't be there, we won't go." 

"Are you sure?" you ask. 

Steve hugs you. "Yeah. Yeah, of course I am. I'm proud of you. Not everyone understands it, I know, 'n' I know that makes it harder, but I'm on your side." He pulls away to make sure he's said the right thing. 

You smile at him fondly, reaching up to brush rogue strands of hair off of his forehead.

"Let's stay here and have the dinner we planned," he says, nodding hopefully. 

You nod back. "Okay… Thanks, Stevie. I promise we'll see the movie soon." 

"That's alright. I don't like that you knew that guy's first name anyway. Can't have a movie star stealing my girl, I can't compete with that." 

You snort and flick his arm. He flicks you back. 

"You sweep him completely," you tell him. 

The total and inarguable truth. You don't need a movie star when you have him. Steve hugs you again, this time pushing you down into bed to rub his face against yours. "That's what I like hearing."

[luvtonique]

Just got my mail-in ballot request form in the state of California

Can't help but notice that "Republican" is literally not a choice

Unless you fully re-register as Republican, at which time they'll send you a second one of these, which will let you request a Republican ballot.

I choose Non-Party, because if I vote (I usually don't), I prefer to weigh the pros and cons of each candidate and make an educated decision considering the weight of voting. You'd think that "Non-Party" means "Just show me all the choices so I can pick," but apparently it means "Non-Republican."

And y'know what? I can't just let this go unseen.

People scream and scream that "election interference" is not a thing.

This is clear as day. Look at this. Right in front of you.

Do you have any idea how fucking often people tell me I'm making this shit up? Do you have any idea how fucking often I say "California is a shitty state" and these whiny Seth Roganites come along like "STOP LISTENING TO CONSPIWACY THEOWIES" as though the only way I'd ever have anything to say against this corrupt shit is if I listen to Alex Jones or some shit, rather than reacting when it's right in fucking goddamn front of my fucking face.

"Who cares? Fuck republicans lmao" -Y'all dipshit Tumblr users treating politics like sports teams

It does not matter what party you want to vote for, it should be readily available for you, no matter what, to do so if you so please. Making it blatantly more difficult for voters to vote for any given party is clear as crystal interference and reduction of freedoms, I don't give a fucking goddamn iota of a shit what you complete morons think about Party A or Party B or what confirmation-bias bullshit you've already decided based on boogeymanism of one of those parties, fair elections means fair elections, and this is absolutely a fucking outrage.

I didn't plan to vote, and had no intention to do so, because I plan to leave California before voting anyway and I suspect California will just go blue again anyway because it's California so who cares?

But this is literally just clear cut-n-dry election interference.

California's honest and loving politicians, ladies and gentlemen.

Have a wonderful day, love ya.

[bonjas]

season 2 predictions:

I feel like I saw way more behind the scenes stuff that I never saw in the actual show, leading me to believe that either A. they already knew they would get a season 2 and filmed it at the same time or B. what was originally filmed was split up, hence why it feels so choppy. BUT probably neither of these things are true I'm just projecting 😩 cuz I still can't wrap my head around this season

I predict season 2 will bring us back to the original plot of Armando and Betty dating on the down-low and sneaking around behind everyone's back and that's how they reignite their relationship, and it's gonna end in another wedding for them.

there's sooooo much to talk about from the last two episodes but I'm too tired to really dive in, I can only think in bullet points lmao:

did I miss something? why did all of a sudden Hugo end the union/strike? that made no sense 😩

how did Mila and them even know about the papero and how to get there.....again did I miss something lol (edit: I forgot they're the original Ecomoda bodegas, but still they were acting like they knew exactly who he was, how lol)

the timeline was so fucked up. so you're telling me they ended the strike, Mila finds out that night about her mom and dads past, the next day Betty goes on the trip to cartagena and they're doing the fashion show at the same time? how did it get done so fast?! no one bothered to ask their president if they could do it, had the funds for it, bothered to ask her to come? HUH????? 💀 showing random shots of sewing and fabric doesn't do shit to show the passage of time 😭😭

the ADR by the beach sucked so bad it looked AI generated lmao. I'd rather have shitty ocean wave audio like in the original lol

Armando's lawyer continues to make no fucking sense as to why she even wants to be with him, it's a useless storyline with no context other than "of course she'd want to be with Armando Mendoza" and just serves as a "see, he's changed he's not hitting on other women" plot device

Betty's lawyer at least got to be cute and have actual interactions with her that help us make sense as to why she'd wanna make out with him 🤪 do yo thang girl

mila and nacho practically living together - huh?????? this novela is HORRIBLE at timelines, sense of time moving, days passing, literally without them saying that we would assume that was their second time sleeping together. bad bad bad.

mila going through the same betrayal as her mom - sorry I rolled my eyes at that one 😭 trying to wrap everything up in a bow having Mila discover the truth by somehow magically guessing his password, finding everything, spilling the beans during the meeting, all in one episode trying to have us connect to her heartbreak, girl we never fucking liked him lmao!!!!!!!! he was always ick as fuck u have horrible judgement 😭

glad her and Betty have essentially mended things but lmfao still have no idea why she was sent off for 5 years like that's not an insignificant time frame, 15 to 20ish is a HUGE stage of life and to have missed that??? like what?? but they depicted Mila so terribly I was still waiting for the other shoe to drop every time there was a "sweet" moment between them because they didn't give me any reason to think she was being genuine, I think that's a huge failing on their part cuz they never showed the love between them only Mila hating her, right to shopping and hanging out, there was a huge disconnect for me.

Mario you were fired, armando "rejected" your firing but what are you even doing here bro

Jeff and his relationship and their drama with Mila is so blah why is it even in this. Mila you suck for kissing him knowing he has a gf wtf? Also her hairstyle at the fashion show was giving Troll doll what did they do to you girl!!!

not letting Betty have a moment with her dad to actually talk about the diary is such a cop out, it could have been a beautiful moment in him confessing that he still failed her after trying so hard to protect her and she married the man that caused her the most pain and she couldve been like yeah it's pretty fucked up it's why I'm getting a divorce, after all that I feel like he still didn't accept us as his family~ or SOMETHING. crumbs, it's all I'm asking.

Ignacio being a sibling instead of a nephew is sooooooooo duuuuuuuumb lmfao literally serves no other purpose than to make people go GASP!!!! no purpose.

I FORGOT TO BRING IT UP BEFORE, WHY DID THEY MAKE BETTY FALL DOWN THE FUCKING STAIRS AT ECOMODA LIKE THAT A WHILE AGO LMFAOOAAO WE ALREADY KNOW SHE'S CLUMSY YOU MAKE HER DROP OR CRASH INTO SHIT EVERY EPISODE

[noodleblade]

Do you have any breakdown head-canons to share? I'd love to hear them

Of course I do:3 he's one of my silly fellas. I have headcanons for EVERYONE. Probably. Maybe. (I'm going with tfp Breakdown<3)

He's like the most normal guy on the Nemesis. However, he's so used to Knock Out's brand on insane that he is unfazed by the rest of the nuts jobs there for the most part. He knows how to stay in his lane and keep his head low.

I like the idea that he's into making stuff. I read a fic once where he made little sculptures and that's kind of stuck with me. He's probably not really good at it but he likes messin around with it.

He's very handy. Soundwave runs a tight-ship on the Nemesis and isn't keen on people Starscream messing around with things but Breakdown's proven to be useful and has been granted a limited permission to take care of any repairs.

That being said, I like to think Breakdown is Soundwave's unofficial favorite co-worker. He trusts him to do his job, keep it professional, not to try and start a coup d'etat. The ideal co-worker. Soundwave was actually probably a little saddened by Breakdown's death. One less functional co-worker.

He's not a trained medic nor nurse. Breakdown knows basic first aid which is better than nearly everyone else on the Nemesis but it's only because he's watched Knock Out repair him enough. Knock Out still prefers to do Breakdown's repairs himself but sometimes Breakdown feels guilty about coming back with injuries all the time and tries to take care of them himself. Knock Out can usually tell if he has attempted self-repair.

He's got a softness to him, especially with the vehicons and Knock Out. I like to think in his free time, if Knock Out is busy, he hangs with the vehicons. They trade stories, play stupid games, just kind of chill? He's a great boss to them.

He doesn't care all that much about racing, but he likes to watch Knock Out race and they have an open comm link so they can trade shitty jokes and bad puns back and forth. Breakdown can do this for hours if he's got a comfy spot to rest and ideally some energon to sip on.

Breakdown loves a good fight, even just sparring but can't really get that from Knock Out or the vehicons and certainly not Starscream. He always jumps at the opportunity to fight Bulkhead and doesn't want to closely examine what the hell that means. No introspection allowed there.

Breakdown is pretty selfless? Something something love language acts of service something something. He likes to treat Knock Out, is more than happy to pamper him but not so much the inverse. He feels...uncomfortable when he is the center of that type of attention. It's not...bad? but its...weird. He can acknowledge that it feels good to have someone take care of him but he can't get over the mental hurdle that he should be the one to do that for others, he doesn't need pampering, he doesn't deserve it. Again, not introspection to be found here.

He's not much into music, but he has a guilt pleasure of listening to audio books. Knock Out managed to snag him a bunch of earth novels and...he rather likes them. He'll listen to them on shift. He primarily likes adventure/action books but...the occasional romcom..is...not so..bad...and if he pictures himself and uh someone else there. Well, no one needs to know about that. Especially Knock Out.

[amazingmsme]

(Telemachus Anon)

Ok I love that ask about Odysseus using the time in his travel to garner up his comedic arsenal (corny ass dad jokes) to unleash when he gets home. He would sometimes annoy his crew buy Plutarch is his number 1 victim because he knows he doesn't easily laugh with jokes so if he laughs then he knows the joke works.

Odysseus: What did the ocean say to the shore?

Plutarch: huh?

Odysseus: Nothing, it just waved! HAHAHA!

Plutarch: ...Polites, is the captain sick?

Polites: No clue

Odysseus: Laugh or I will tickle the hades out of you

Odysseus: What did the shark plead in the murder case? 

Plutarch: gods not again

Odysseus: Not gill-ty...

Plutarch: *in a sarcastic tone* haha good one, captain.

Odysseus: Oh that gave me an idea! What did the father shark say to his son shark?

Plutarch: ...

Odysseus: Don't use that sharkastic tone with me!

Plutarch: I think I'd rather drown at this point

Odysseus: What lies at the bottom of the ocean and twitches?

Plutarch: My sanity?

Odysseus: A nervous wreck!

Plutarch: Eurylochus, save me.

Eurylochus: You're on your own Plutarch

Odysseus: What did the wise papa fish tell his son? Keep your friends close and your anemones closer.

Plutarch: Pfft

Odysseus: Ohoho was that a laugh I hear?

Plutarch: *blushes* N-no!

Odysseus: Admittt itt Plutarch! You like my jokes now~

Plutarch: Shut up Odysseus

Odysseus: *dramatic gasps* is that how you address your captain!? *feigns being angry*

Plutarch: S-sorry captain. Sir.

Odysseus: *slings arm around Plutarch's shoulder* Relax Plutarch all is well.

After the Circe incident, Odysseus would be sulking alone somewhere in the palace. He really misses his wife and son afterall. Plutarch found him though and tries to cheer him up.

Plutarch: Oh hey captain

Odyssesus: *tired* Hey

Plutarch: Mind if I sit here?

Odysseus: *shrugs*

*they sat in silence*

Plutarch: The marble work of this palace is nothing I have seen before

Odysseus: Mm...

*silence*

Plutarch: How do you get in contact with the architect?

Odysses: huh? I dunno. *sighs* Look Plutarch can you leav-

Plutarch: You column

Odysseus: ...

Plutarch: ...

Odysseus: That was terrible

Plutarch: I know

Odysseus: *brokes into giggles* Damn you for making me laugh

Plutarch: Well I can't help it. I don't like it when the captain gets broody *dramatically leans on Odysseus*

Odysseus: *playfully shoves Plutarch* ugh stop it you're being weird

Plutarch: Oh I'm weird? What are you then? ODD-ysseus

Odysseus: *snickers* Ok that's clever

Plutarch: What can I say? I learn from the best.

*they both laugh*

Plutarch: We'll get home, Odysseus.

Odysseus: Yes, I know.

I LOVE dad joke Odysseus, it’s forever canon in my heart! He would absolutely torment the crew with his shitty jokes like these & since they’re trapped on the ship, they can’t get away from him & they just have to take it lol

I adore the interactions between Plutarch & Odysseus! It’s really sweet & funny

[definedbydaylight]

“Show Me Your Love” Part 2

A Matty Healy x OC; Instagram AU

Masterlist: .°˖✧

Series Intro: “Harper is a writer who gained a small cult following on tumblr as a teenager, through this she meets one of her best friends Phoebe Bridgers, but when Harper’s seemingly “normal” life collides with the world of The 1975 frontman Matty Healy, the universe spins her life in a completely different direction.”

Part 1

○ harpersnotbazaar

harpersnotbazaar it takes a bit more⋆｡°✩

liked by phoebebridgers, trumanblack and 15,493 others

phoebebridgers hey um could i get ur number maybe?

harpersnotbazaar anything for u bbg ;)

trumanblack am i wrong or are those lyrics to my song?

harpersnotbazaar sorry do i know you?

rass1975 @trumanblack brutal mate

harperfan34 that's MY tumblr girl

fan93 okay i need this whole outfit rn

1975fan69 ross in the comments i cannot

○ phoebebridgers

phoebebridgers it's my last day with Harper and Matty just had to crash our dinner date, vibes ruined

liked by harpersnotbazaar, lucydacus and 246,384 others

harpersbazaar you'll always have my full attention baby xx

phoebebridgers i fuckin better

trumanblack okay and?

phoebelover43 oh no... guys he's infiltrated her life irl

harperfan95 YOU ACTUALLY LET HIM NEAR HER?!

phoebebridgers you say this like i could've stopped him

mattyismybf oh god he can't be serious

trumanblack posted a story

bedforddanes75, 1975adam and rass1975 followed harpersnotbazaar

○ harperfan34

harperfan34 i miss her she hasn't posted anything in 2 weeks omg

liked by fan29, phoebeiscool and 346 others

fan93 no like literally what is she doing?

phoebeiscool anyone notice matty hasn't posted anything either?

fan239 bro that's kinda sus

○ harpersnotbazaar

harpersnotbazaar i saw a band perform some songs or something

liked by phoebebridgers, trumanblack and 24,893 others

bedforddanes75 lovely to finally meet you xx

phoebebridgers it's like i'm being cheated on

harpersbazaar ur crazy ily

fan93 NO FUCKING WAY

trumanblack who's ur favorite member? ;)

harpersnotbazaar ross

rass1975 @trumanblack brutal mate

1975fan87 dear god tell me this isn't real

bedforddanes75 posted a story

○ harpersnotbazaar

harpersnotbazaar dinner :)

liked by trumanblack, bedforddanes and 53,392 others

trumanblack mmm dinner :)

liked by harpersnotbazaar

harperfan34 okay guys you can kiss already

phoebebridgers i'd rather eat something else ;)

harpersnotbazaar baaaaaaaaaabe

fan38 okay something about matty's comment makes me think he was at this "dinner"

mattyismybf please the REACH, he's got standards, he's just a flirt he can't help it

○ trumanblack

trumanblack record shop

liked by harpersnotbazaar, 1975adam and 738,382 others

comments have been turned off

○ 1975mattyupdates

1975mattyupdates okay so we're all just gonna ignore this pic that is going around on twitter rn? taken by a fan after the london 1975 show

liked by harperfan34, 1975fan87, and 43,483 others

harperfan34 this is such an invasion of privacy but i hope it's actually them

fan23 oh god the stans are vile in this comment section

1975fan87 i refuse to believe this is real... idc he can do better lmao

mattyfan03 she's such a clout chaser, first she's friends with phoebe and now she's out with matty, no one wants to buy your shitty poetry book omfg

harperfan34 she's literally been friends with phoebe since before she got famous, jealousy is a disease get worse soon<3

○ harpersnotbazaar

harpersnotbazaar my book is out now, link in bio<3

liked by phoebebridgers, trumanblack and 62,483 others

comments have been turned off

Part 3 (coming soon)

A/N: okay guys i didn't wanna create angst within this story having anything to do with something harper or matty did, do i took the toxic stans idea and ran with it pfffft, anyway i hope you all enjoyed xx

[blue-eyed-moon-child]

Last one for now. What's your 3rd favorite sbg character and why? You're not allowed to compare how much you like them with how much you like other characters (such as their rank, or even if you like them more or less) in the explanation

You bastard you gave me conditions for this I'll try but sorry if I bend the rules a little. I'm going to try to handle this as a pros and cons rather than a numbered list.

I'd say Tyler is my third favorite.

Pros: I do enjoy that he is the "protector" and it's gotten him hurt really bad at one point for him to have to take a step down and realize that he has to also let other people take care of him too. That trope always made me think "ahh yes a baybeee" for characters. His idea that he has to take on a parental role only to realize he is a kid is something that I always felt akin to? (I took care of my brother and mom for a while so...Tylercore ig) I do enjoy that he is a sarcastic bastard sometimes! The humor makes him well rounded and I know that he is "Just A Kid" so watching him be a little silly sometimes is reason that I always look for him in the background too. Little guy (he's so much taller than me) has a lot to learn and it's like a little brother that you can't wait to watch him get his heart broken for the first time, smile the biggest smile youve ever seen at graduation, and finally get a taste of adult freedom when he gets his license after painfully teaching and getting frustrated. Cons: Though, I sometimes roll my eyes and smack the wrinkles off my forehead a little bit when he decides that instead of working together as a team, he just immediately goes into pointing fingers, trying to find someone to blame. The anger and wanting answers for a situation where its very obvious that no one has answers is the most frustrating part about him. I jsut wanna grab his shoulders and scream "CALM DOWN PLEASE JUST LISTEN BEFORE YOU GAIN STRONG OPINIONS" soo bad but unfor he is but a comic character. I did respond to a post earlier that I really wish he would play to his own strengths (use a baseball bat as a weapon instead of almost immediately getting a gun) and planning for the worst with all the other characters in his mind. As someone who tends to protect the other people in their life, I'm always constantly thinking of the worst case scenarios and it makes me come back and basically wrap everything in bubblewrap so no one else gets hurt. I'm constantly checking the ground for glass and I wish that Tyler would do that too instead of being such a "I'm shrugging my shoulders cause I dont care about you but if you get hurt I'm going to tell you how useless you are" LIKE???? BROTHER???? HELP THEM THEN! <- which makes me say "uuughhh SHUT UP!!" sometimes soooo idk

I'll leave it at that for now but I can honestly do this for each character if I had the time to (plus no one would actually read it so eh)

(Also this is absolutely not dogging on Red's writing whatsoever. I love how rounded a lot of her characters are, even the side ones, they feel more human than some of the other webtoons I've read. They're flawed!! I like that about all of them. In the end, they're just teenagers. They're gonna suck! You're gonna like parts of them! They're teenagers in a really really shitty and unfortunate situation. They are constantly being lied to and gaslit into what is true and what isn't. They are literally fighting for their life ALL. THE. TIME. Give them - and Red - a break! PLEASE! )

[mothman-can-write]

hi !!! i saw u said you were open for prompts, i mean this is kinda less of a prompt really, but like i loved that blackhill mission transcript thing you did a while ago and would be really cool to see some more stuff in the same vein ig ! but also maybe something like a kinda blackhill first meeting kinda thing idk !! i just love your work tho ! you really have the ability to make me feel all the emotions

OOOOO i just thought of this whilst writing this but maybe something like with clint teasing nat ab having like feelings for maria or something ?? idk i just love ur writing ! sorry these are kinda shitty hahah

NGL I took this prompt and mangled it in my hands. I heard first meeting and my brain was immediately like well that could go seventeen thousand different ways, so I sorta mashed in Clint's teasing to go along with it and made it a little more suggestive than outright shippy. Realistically, I think if Natasha is only meeting Maria for the first time, she's probably still in a place where she's not totally open to such self indulgent things as having a crush

Also, this isn't a mission transcript but I'd love to do more of them that one was really fun! I just don't really have any good ideas for the sort of things they'd have to talk about in the field besides dying haha

ANYWAY enough rambling, though you're all familiar with my inability to shut up these days. ~3k under the cut of Clint being a ballache and nat being sceptical but gay

The only person that doesn’t treat Natasha like she’s a project – or a live wire –  is Clint. He’d had his fair share of looking at her with those careful eyes, something behind them that made her teeth itch in her gums like some trained dog. He doesn’t do that so much anymore, not unless she’s in a particular state and doing a very bad job at hiding it. She likes him, she thinks. He might be one of the first people in her entire life that she can truly say she likes. 

Naturally, she finds herself in his quarters more often than her own. She lays on his bed as he works on something probably explosive enough to kill them both if he sneezes, and she ignores the pip of her emails as she braids a small strip of hair under her ear. She’s bored, if she’s honest, but she doesn’t want to waste her first free morning of the past fortnight on something so trivial as emails. Or helping Clint. 

“You not gonna answer her?” he says without looking up from his work. He holds it close to his face, something far too small in his tweezers. 

Natasha’s fingers pause in untangling her braid. “How do you know who it is?” 

He still doesn’t turn in his seat, matter of fact when he speaks. “You have a different tone for Hill.” 

“How did you figure that out?” She tries not to scowl at him, but she still isn’t used to feeling so see-through. Quite frankly, she’d like to be as opaque as possible, but she seems to have grown rather attached to someone with x-ray vision. 

Clint puts his miniature contraption down and turns to her at last. She’s not fond of the smile on his face as he leans over the back of his chair. “You’re not the only spy on the ship. Also, you weren’t trying very hard to hide it.” 

“Her emails are usually more important,” Natasha argues, not quite sure why she feels the need to defend herself on it. 

Clint grins ever wider. “I never asked why. I just thought you had a massive crush on her.” 

Natasha scowls fully this time. “I’ve never met her.” 

He shrugs. “I don’t know what’s in those emails.” 

“Shut up.” 

She reaches for her phone anyway and pointedly ignores the way Clint watches her. The email is much the same as they always are, telling her about meetings and progress and such. She’s overtly professional in every one, but now that she’s thinking about it, Natasha likes the words she uses – just slightly like she enjoyed reading dictionaries as a child. Very, very rarely, Maria will let something slip in her emails that is almost like humour, and Natasha doesn’t tell Clint that she actually does enjoy receiving emails from her just for the fact that she feels a little special when that happens. She’s heard the rumours; she knows not to expect giggles and grins when it comes to the Assistant Director. 

In the end, she doesn’t bother to respond to the email anyway and Clint has already turned back to his work. “Not in the mood to sext her back?” 

She scowls at the back of his head. “It sounds like Laura needs to watch her back.” 

“Oh, god,” he laughs. “Gross. Absolutely not. Not my type.” 

“What makes you think she’s mine?” 

“You need someone to match your weirdness.” 

Natasha wishes she had something to throw at him. She won’t admit that she intrigues her in small ways. She doubts she’s any different from every other CEO and government lead in the world, but some small part of her feels thankful to her faceless emails. She could’ve easily overridden Clint’s choice, could’ve had her put down before she could even think to beg for forgiveness. But she’d given her a chance, and she’d kept in contact despite her supposed overbooked schedule every day since. Maria held her life in her hands at one point, and she’d given her another shot at it. 

Despite everything, Natasha still doesn’t sleep well. Or, rather, because of everything, she supposes. One good month doesn’t erase a lifetime of bad – and she’s really a little hesitant to say that this month has even been good in many senses of the word. She wonders if the nights will ever get easier on her with time, or if she’s stuck with these hours of restlessness and sweat for the rest of her life. It’s not a nice thing to think about, and it doesn’t really do all that much to distract her from the shadows that still play behind her eyelids or the way the shapes of the room still seem to swim around the edges. So, she swings her legs over the side of her bed and scrubs at her face with her hands. She can appreciate, at the very least, that she isn’t handcuffed to her bed here. Somehow, that had been a hard thing to get used to. She still sleeps with one arm by the headboard. 

There aren't many things to do at this hour. Clint has told her countless times that she’s perfectly welcome to pester him at any time of the night if it would make her feel even minutely better. He says he understands, and she believes him enough from the way his past lines his own face, but it doesn’t make it any easier to put into practice. 

She doesn’t have a plan as she steps out into the corridors. She dresses like she’s going to the gym on the off chance that she might be able to sneak into it and punch something until she’s sweaty for reasons more tangible. She wishes the firing range was usable at this hour, but she’s sure that’s much less subtle. Still, there are some nightmares you can only really feel better by shooting at. Maybe she’ll bat her eyelashes into an hour or so at the targets tomorrow. 

She passes the odd agent as she trails around the corridors and considers that the ship never really sleeps entirely. There’s always someone on the night shift, always someone pottering around with something. She thinks it would be nice to work when it’s so quiet. Maybe she should ask about changing her hours. It might be a little soon. 

The gym isn’t so far from her quarters, and by the time she reaches it her shirt still feels sticky at her back and her stomach still feels like it’s alive in her ribcage. Her hopes are low enough to limbo as she presses her hand to the door, and she could almost sigh with relief when the door opens easily. She’s not against breaking in, but she likes to think she’s been doing a pretty good job of building a better reputation lately. Maybe not socially, but Maria’s emails haven’t managed to sound short lately – not since the last time she’d bypassed what she maintains was a criminally simple encryption on one of Clint’s jobs. 

The gym is utterly silent at this time of the morning, which is entirely unsurprising. She doubts anyone else sensible gets out of bed for another hour or two, let alone starts their training regime. Generally, agents are allowed the privilege of breakfast before they’re worked to the bone. Natasha’s never been a fan of food so early in the morning. 

She doesn’t really know when she fell out of the habit of scanning each room on this ship like someone will be waiting to haul her out of it, and she blames it firmly on her lack of sleep and nightmare slurred thoughts when she doesn’t notice the other body in the gym until it’s too late. 

“I did wonder,” someone says, and Natasha’s attention snaps to one of the benches on the far side, half covered from the entrance. 

It takes Natasha an almost embarrassingly drawn out moment to place her features, and she’s sure she only half succeeds in hiding her surprise into an intrigued eyebrow. The Assistant Director didn’t really strike her as the type to be in the gym when everyone is supposed to be sleeping. 

“Wonder what?” she asks instead of every other question that gnaws at her head. She stays firmly planted in the middle of the room. 

“Who would come in at this time.” 

Oh. She’s not wondering about Natasha. She doesn’t really know what that feels a mote disappointing. She hates it when Clint asks how she’s sleeping. Maybe she just doesn’t like lying to him. 

“I thought it would be empty.” 

Maria places her water bottle beside her on the bench and makes absolutely no move to stand up yet. Somehow, Natasha finds it unnerving, even if she’s taller here. “It usually is,” she says simply. 

Her eyes bore into her in a way that makes the back of her neck crawl. Something about her says that she’s calculating, that she’s looking at Natasha and breaking her down into little bite sized pieces. Natasha has never liked being dissected. Maria’s eyes are very blue. 

“Do you usually spend your mornings here?” she asks, if only to stop Maria from burning holes into her skull and reading her thoughts directly. 

It works, in the way that her gaze flicks away for the briefest moment before pinning her again in that same cool tone. “I guess you could call this morning.” 

“That doesn’t answer my question.” 

Maria’s eyes soften ever so slightly around the corners, and Natasha would almost call it a squint. “I’ve made a bit of a habit at this point, yes.”

She almost seems reluctant to admit it, and Natasha can’t help the way she wants to pick this woman apart. She has always liked puzzles, and people are just some of the more complex the world has to offer. She thinks she understands the rumours a little more now, even through this uncanny meeting. She wonders if Maria feels her own searching gaze as intently. 

Maria stands at last, and Natasha had almost forgotten how tall she is. She thinks she preferred it when she was sitting. “Don’t let me stop you,” she says, and Natasha is silently thankful for the way that answers her question. Again, not that she wouldn’t break the rules. It’s just much harder to make an excuse when the Assistant Director is the one who catches you. 

“I would’ve expected the AD to send me back to my quarters,” she notes, as forward as ever when it gets her information. She’ll admit this woman seems to be intriguing. She’s curious as to just why she’s indulging her so far. 

Maria’s expressions are all very small, mere suggestions of emotions that only make Natasha want to pick her apart. “That would make me more of a hypocrite than I already am,” she says simply, almost smiling. “Are you getting on okay?” she asks instead , and her eyes are on her like she’s deciphering her again. She’s closer now, making direct eye contact, and Natasha holds it like a game. “Besides the obvious, of course.” 

Natasha tries not to scowl. God, does she hate when people pretend like they know her. “What’s the obvious?” 

Maria raises one eyebrow ever so slightly, her expression caught somewhere to amusement. “Did the Red Room have you in the routine of training at four in the morning?” 

“Sometimes.” They both know that’s not the reason that she’s here, as much as Natasha wishes Maria didn’t. 

Her eyes are almost soft. Almost like she truly cares about her. Natasha doesn’t like to let herself believe the sort of things that might cost her later. “Half of the people on this ship struggle with it, Romanoff,” she says, nearly gentle in the silence around them. “You don’t have to be ashamed of it.” 

She can almost imagine her setting a heavy hand on her shoulder as she says it, though Maria remains in her own space. She’s still slightly too close for what Natasha is used to however, and it’s the first time she realises the darkness under her eyes. Her face is lined, something bone deep that she doubts ever goes away. It lends her a certain sort of…imperfection that makes her seem a whole lot more human. For everything she’s heard, though she knows to take gossip with a healthy grain of salt, she could almost imagine Hill to be some sort of robot, some living excel sheet. 

Standing in front of her, she sort of just looks like a woman who could do with some sleep. She looks like a woman who has spent the last who-knows-how-many hours beating out her own past the same way Natasha intends to. She won’t call it affection. It doesn’t mean Natasha likes the way she looks straight through her any more. 

“You have any tips?” she says, aiming for something playful. She really, really just wants her to stop looking at her like she can figure her out right here in the middle of the room. Maybe if she seems better than she is, she’ll leave her alone. She’d rather her conduct a genuine vivisection out on the boxing ring floor if she’s going to continue to examine her. 

She’s certain Maria almost smiles at that, a tug at the corner of her lips that is almost sad, almost conspirational. She shrugs ever so slightly. “Shooting things usually helps.” 

Natasha tries not to scowl like a child. As if she wouldn’t be there right now if she could get away with it. “I’m on supervised arms training.” 

This time, Maria does smile, though Natasha thinks she’d have missed it if she blinked. “Not from tomorrow,” she says plainly, and Natasha can only watch her walk away without another word. 

The door closes behind her, and Natasha lets herself furrow her eyebrows as deeply as she likes. She is overtly aware that she is not being let off of supervised training tomorrow. She’s aware that she has been seen as a weapon and an explosive since the moment Clint forgot that he was meant to shoot her. Somehow, she doesn’t think that Maria is one to tease. 

It makes it very hard to punch things as effectively as she’d like to when she can only think after Maria. She wonders what keeps her up at night. She wonders what else she does to get rid of the shadows. She wonders why on earth she would let her off of the hook so early. For all they know, Natasha might decide to defect back. She might’ve been biding her time until she could get a hand on one of those guns outside of the range. She’d never even dream of it, of course. She’d rather be supervised for every split second a gun is in her hands for the rest of her life than have to go back to her life before. She wonders just how deep Maria managed to dig. She wonders if she really is all that transparent after all. 

She finds herself in Clint’s quarters again as thoughtlessly as breathing. Every spare minute in her schedule that lines up with his, she’ll spend hiding from the rest of the world. This time, she’s sitting in his chair, her knees resting against the edge of his desk so that she can spin it slightly from side to side. Clint is behind her in his bunk, his arms tucked up behind his head and his eyes closed. It’s only 2pm. Natasha wishes she could have a nap too. 

“Is she always like that?” she says on a whim, her thoughts still stuck on tired eyes and snap decisions. 

“Like what?” Clint asks, completely brushing over her lack of context. 

“So…intense.” 

“Ah, we’re back on Hill. Yes.” He falls silent again, and Natasha listens to his breath. “Hold on.” His eyes open and his head turns on his pillow to face her. “Did you meet her? When?” 

“This morning.” 

“You were at the range this morning.” 

“Before that.”

“You were asleep before that.” She doesn’t answer, and that tells him everything in as little effort as possible. “Natasha.” 

She doesn’t meet his eye. “It’s better than moping.” 

“You don’t need to mope. You can come wake me up.” 

“But then you don’t sleep.” 

“Tasha, do you really think I’m sleeping well either half the time?” 

She stays silent again, staring intently at the dimples Clint’s chair has made in the carpet. 

“How did you even find her?” he asks eventually, giving up the argument for the countless time. “She’s practically booked to the minute.” 

“She was in the gym when I got there.” 

“I’m going to skip over the fact that you’d rather punch something until you bleed than come and bug me. Was it worth it? Was she all sweaty and hot? Did you two finally canoodle in person?” 

She doesn’t dignify his jokes with a response, her thoughts plain in her expression. “I don’t think she sleeps well either. She looked tired.” 

Clint grins a little. “You paying attention to her face?”

Natasha scowls at him. “It’s normal to look someone in the eye.” 

“Mhm…” He retucks his arms under his head, settling back against his pillow. “It’s for sure normal to think about them all morning.” 

“She took me off of probation,” she says, almost in a rush, like maybe this will change the subject – maybe a little bit like she’s admitting something. 

“Oh you definitely have a crush on her. It’s like she’s trying to get in your pants. Remind me never to read your emails.” 

Natasha only squints at him, wishing once again that she had something appropriate to throw. The urge distracts her enough that she never does reject the notion. And when she finds herself imagining Maria’s secret little smile in those few and far casual emails, she decides that Clint doesn’t need to know. She’s not been given many chances in her life, and she thinks she could make space in her life for two instead of one. She wonders if Maria would ever want a gym buddy on long nights and promptly decides not to think any deeper into it. 

[utilitycaster]

What are your honest, unfiltered thoughts about everything going on currently with this “are the gods really good and necessary” line of thought the latest cr episode has been tackling, both in terms of your feelings on the subject in general and also how it’s being portrayed/discussed.

I don't agree with the idea of gods using mortals as batteries - I don't actually think we have any official canonical support that the prime deities (or, presumably, betrayer gods) do need worship to sustain them - but in terms of a conversation being had I don't actually mind it because the general attitude among Bells Hells and among Deanna and FRIDA is "does it really matter how important the gods are? Actively unleashing them seems like a cataclysmically bad idea." It's actually really interesting to me that this is the focus! A lot of D&D in which there are divine entities explores religion and faith in a scenario where the existence of gods is unquestionable. This is instead exploring whether it's legitimate to destroy something simply for not being important to you personally.

I'd also add that what Deanna is saying and how she's acting are not always in sync - which to be clear I believe to be a deliberate choice from Aabria in her portrayal. Like, I think it's obvious that Deanna has complicated feelings towards the Dawnfather, but that's the key - there are positive and negative feelings, and when she says "batteries" there is a symbiosis here, not a simple "they're using us and controlling us".

Just to give a brief overview of where I am personally coming from, like, IRL, philosophically: I'm Jewish, and my personal religious practice is heavily focused far more on what one does rather than what one believes, which I feel fits very well with Bells Hells. The Yom Kippur service, which one reads while fasting and spending a day in prayer, actively includes a reading (from Isaiah) that boils down to "It's cool that you're fasting right now but if, tomorrow, you go back to engaging actively in systems of oppression that you have the power to fight against, this was all meaningless and performative."

This covers two things I feel very strongly about religion and morality: First, actions speak way louder than words and religious observance should serve as a reminder of what you need to be doing during the rest of your life, ie, you can't show up at your place of worship with an attitude of "ok cool gonna cleanse my soul and then it's ALLLLLL fixed and I can go back to kicking puppies". Religious services, should you choose to attend them, are more about the meditative process of setting one's intent via symbolic rituals, but really, it matters way more that you are not a fucking dickhead in the rest of your life. And second, you, as a mortal finite being who is not a god have the power to throw off these systems of oppression, because in a world where divine entities step in constantly, we as mortals do simply become mindless puppets, and that would suck.

Which I should note also means that one's issues with an organized religion must be taken up with the mortal leaders of that institution. I mean, in our real world, if you are an atheist, I think that's a completely valid belief, but also, in the end, it does not matter if or if not there is any cosmic entity or higher power. If you're an edgy FACTS NOT FEELINGS neckbeard 4chan atheist bigot, or a hard-right evangelical bigot? the bigotry is what matters. The existence of deities is a moot point. What people are being shitty? How do you stop them? You are welcome to overlay religion if it helps or avoid it if it doesn't. Like, one last note re: Jewishness, which is that there's a parable that a guy once said "I will convert to Judaism if you can teach me the entire Torah while I stand on one foot," and the first rabbi he asks scoffs and sends him off, and the second tells him the golden rule ("that which is hateful to you, do not do unto your neighbor") and it's fucking great not just because it's a good moral principle, but because it also removes religion from the equation. If this guy were scamming you? You've given him some solid advice at no cost to yourself that requires no adherence to any religion. If he were in earnest? You met his conditions.

Another relevant way to put this: The oft-used but really good Brennan quote! " 'On the level of individuals and civilizations, personality predates ideology.' Meaning that before you were a fascist, you were a bully and an asshole." Replace fascist with hateful religious right-winger; it's not about god, it's about a system that lets you feel justified in hating other people for who they are or like you're getting a reward for not doing stuff you weren't interested in anyway.

So uh, getting back to CR, it's interesting in that it's managed to recreate the real-world argument in D&D. I happen to prefer stories in which characters are actively engaging with deities in a positive manner, as we've seen with say, Pike, or Vax, or Fjord, or Caduceus, or Jester, or Yasha. However, in the end, all the theological arguments are purely academic. The point is that no one's controlling the Vanguard - Tuldus's quarrel is with his abusive family, not their gods. Ludinus says he's mad the gods didn't step in to stop the Calamity...but in many ways the Calamity happened because the gods let the people have free rein. If the gods stop everything bad from happening, how far do they go? Sure, stop the Calamity. Do they stop every individual accidental death? Do they stop all wars? What happens if they slip up? Can they slip up? It's an inherently contradictory spiral if you start getting into this - are you saying the gods are perfect and infallible and choose not to use this, in which case, wouldn't that make them fallible? If the gods are actually powerful enough to constantly control you, why are you openly talking about their destruction and Kord hasn't vaporized you with a bolt from the blue?

And you can tell this because the only arguments that matter in the end are people like Orym and Ashton saying "I don't fucking know about the gods, but these guys are murdering innocents, which seems really bad." Like, sure, I'd like to see some more for lack of a better term traditional clerics or paladins pop up, or someone with a high religion score who can talk through the theology, but it's kind of nice to have a story where most people are like "I can take or leave the gods, but actively unleashing an even more powerful entity to kill them seems dumb and unnecessary" and I think that argument is ultimately more successful than a head-on discussion of the role of the gods.

[apprenticestanheight]

Photos- Chainshipping

Okay!! My requests are currently open for just about every single saw character or apprentice (with the exception being Logan--I haven't watched either Jigsaw or Spiral just yet and thus, don't really know much about him besides his name) so if anyone has any ideas, feel free to shoot them into my inbox--I do character x character but also love me a bit of reader insert so whatever ideas you have, I'll be happy to take a look!

fic type- this fic jumps everywhere, but the primary genres are fluff--there's angst and angsty undertones in this as well though

warnings-Adam has PTSD (though he doesn't get diagnosed) and the symptoms he exhibits are as follows: avoidance, anxiety, fears of things that relate to his time in the trap (it's never stated, more depicted, but he's afraid of the dark) and anxiety whenever something triggers the memories of the trap. He does go through an episode in relation to his PTSD post trap and the episode manifests as a panic attack kind of ordeal. There are also potential SAW X spoilers (I haven't seen the movie so please don't spoil it for me--I mention offhandedly that another attack had shown up in the news in the same place where SAW X is set, which is the extent of the spoilers for the film) this has been edited but it was edited in about an hour and fifteen minutes so it's not perfect. It's also a long fic and caps at 8.2k words

When Adam next wakes, he finds himself in a hospital room. He wakes in time to see an investigative officer enter his room, quiet on the assumption that he's still sleeping.

He scrutinizes the detective in the moments before they realize he's awake, his throat dry and his shoulder burning with the ache of a bullet that had been removed but was still left in his shoulder too long.

The detective appears to be a guy--probably taller than him but not by much, only a bit of thinning hair left to speak for what was once probably a full head. He looks, from the get-go, a little irritated, and his outfitting is a basic button down, a black tie and black pants.

For a second, Adam wonders how legal it is for detectives to intrude upon the hospital rooms of Jigsaw survivors, his gaze passing over the detectives frame once more, but he realizes that, if the detective does care, he doesn't care all that much.

Who is Adam to judge, anyway? While his work as a PI was done in the name of making enough to get the rent on his shitty apartment paid in time, he still did it. He still stalked people, watched them meet up with their secretaries to cheat on their soon-to-be-ex-wives in the middle of their divorce proceedings.

He still learned the comings and goings of innocents and allowed that to be turned against them, so even if he wants to, he can't judge the detective on the basis of legal versus illegal. He can't judge the detective for doing something that feels shady when Adam has done a number of shady things himself.

Finally, the detective looks at him, startled to find he hasn't removed his gaze from him since he first heard the hospital door creak open.

"Hello, Adam," the detective greets. "My name is Detective Eric Matthews. You escaped a trap that you were put into by the Jigsaw killer. Can you tell me how?"

Adam blinks--he can barely recall what his own name is. He doesn't know the time or the date. Why would a detective expect him to be able to explain something like that so soon?

"Uh," Adam says. "I'd rather do this at a police station or precinct. I can't remember shit, Detective, and I need at least a day to make sure my head is clear."

The detective nods dejectedly, face falling like he's disappointed in Adams response.

"All right," he says. "If there's anything I can do or anyone I can call, let me know now. I'm sure your family is worried sick."

Adam feels like it's a jab, almost, but ignores that feeling. He thinks of his mother for a second, then his father. He wonders how they're both doing before realizing he's not talked to Scott in weeks. The last person his mind lands on is Lawrence--how is he doing? Is he the reason that Adam escaped?

"No," Adam says. "I've got nobody. If I had anyone, they would've called by now, I think. Thank you for offering, though."

Eric nods, and Adam watches him go.

Very quickly, Adam realizes he's been left alone again, and when he looks to his right, out the hospital window, he finds that he's woken up in time to catch the sunset.

Adam has never found much of a point in watching the sunset alone, though, so he sighs. He turns his head so that it faces a white painted wall, gives in to the morphine-induced exhaustion and closes his eyes, falling asleep with the sunset to paint a picture perfect background.

-

Days pass, and in each one of them, Lawrence consumes the whole of Adams thoughts for at least two hours. Typically whenever a nurse walks in to change his IVs or renew the morphine drip that has been steadily keeping the worst of the pain from the bullet wound at bay, though sometimes when someone comes around to bring him food.

Any entrance into his hospital room can be thought to be Lawrence for a minimum of three seconds, Adam finds. He looks up, realizes it isn't Lawrence and while one part of him deflates with some sense of sadness, the other feels relieved.

It's an odd split--despite how much Adam thinks of him, he doesn't know what would make him happier; would seeing Lawrence and being assured he's fine be better? Would it be better than never seeing Lawrence again, leaving him and his mind to wonder whatever happened to the oncologist?

Detective Eric Matthews doesn't swing by his hospital room again, but the day following his first visit, a nurse came in to tell Adam that he was wanted at the police station to deliver a statement as soon as he felt ready to do so.

On his final morning in the hospital, Adam is given several written prescriptions after being honest about the pain in his shoulder--days of recovery and the pain is still there, which has lead his doctor to believe it could be chronic.

He's sent on his merry way and gets into a cab to go back to his apartment, idly wondering just how worth it it would be to call his parents.

Getting to his apartment is a trip and a half--he realizes he doesn't have his keys on him but finds them poking out from under the door, and the first thing he does after unlocking his door is turn on the light in the entryway.

He proceeds with growing anxiety through the darkness in his hallways to get to his room. When he's there, he promptly turns the light on and goes about getting himself acceptable outfitting--he's due in to make a statement at the station, and it's half past ten in the morning. Better to get it out of the way and deal with the press that's coming out of the woodwork sooner than later.

He grabs a towel and turns his bedroom light off, proceeding to his bathroom. When he turns on the water, its cold and reminiscent of the water he'd woken up in in the bathroom with Lawrence.

When he notices it and to the detriment of his neighbor who won't have access to the hot water for thirty minutes once Adam is done, he turns the knob so that the water is almost scalding.

He hates it--the way that a bit of cold water cascading from his head to his shoulders and down his torso has reminded him so easily of the bathroom. He tries to shake it but almost can't, so he moves through the movements of the shower as quickly as he can without just skipping through the entire ordeal.

He dries himself, gets dressed into a decent pair of jeans, a baggy black shirt and a dark gray flannel, and walks to the station like he used to when he was taking photos for a detective who worked there.

The route is so familiar that it's eerie, and he half wonders who it was who stalked him while was doing the stalking. He wishes he knew which one of Jigsaws accomplices it was who was making sure that they had everything set to go for his game, but then he thinks better of it.

He doesn't want to know that sort of thing, and trying to figure it out could have him in a trap worse than the one that Jigsaw had put him in in the first place.

When Adam gets to the station, he tells the secretary he's there to make a statement. At this, the secretary makes a call and a woman comes out of an office--a detective who looks all business but in the tired kind of way, with her exhausted looking partner on her heels.

"My name is Special Agent Lindsey Perez," the woman greets. "This my partner, Peter Strahm. We're with the FBI and while we've agreed that Erics approach was not the way to go about acquainting you with the police force at all, we're both glad you could come in today. We'll get you sorted in an interrogation room with some water and a cigarette. It'll only be a few minutes, Mr. Stanheight, and if there's anything else you need feel free to let us know."

Adam has nothing to say so he just shakes his head and lets Perez and Strahm lead him off. When entering the room, Perez notes that she'll bring a blanket back and some coffee--the interrogation room is exceedingly cold--which Adam finds himself thankful for. It's early November but it feels like he's found himself in the middle of a New Jersey winter with how cold the room is.

The interrogation room is cold, the seats metal, and the walls a bland and basic navy-blue-ish black color. Adam wishes he'd stayed home but realizes it's too late for that.

He knows he'll have to spend the next several hours dredging up the memories that had come back in bits and pieces during the hospital stay, the memories he'd half been trying to forget and half been trying to process.

Perez comes back after a few minutes, draping a blanket over Adams shoulders and setting a cup of coffee in front of him while he smokes the cigarette that had been left for him to smoke.

"All of this is going to be on record," Perez says. "Do you know why John Kramer chose to test you?"

"I work as a PI on occasion," Adam admits, guilt swallowing him bit by bit. "I was one piece in Lawrences game because I was hired by a detective who knows his wife and suspected cheating. Hiding in the shadows, taking photos of the unknowing, it's not exactly a redeemable quality in the eyes of a serial killer like him."

"Why did you do it?"

"I have a camera," Adam says, shrugging. "I needed to make the rent and get some cigarette money. I did what I had to, like everyone else does in Jersey."

Perez nods. "Do you have any recollection of how you escaped?"

Adam tightens the blanket around himself. His escape is one of the memories he's tried not to think about because he remembers it in excruciating detail until the distinct point where he collapses, and it's not fun to think about at all.

"A girl came in after a day or two. Tried to kill me," Adam says. "I managed to survive that somehow. A couple of days later, some guy opens the door. Drops a key by my hand and leaves the door open. I test the key on the chain, it works, I get up and I run while starving and dehydrated. Make it outside, promptly collapse, all the fun stuff."

"And do you remember how you got to the hospital?"

"No," Adam admits. It's the one blank spot in his memory that he hasn't been able to dredge anything up from. "I wish I did, but I don't. I've kind of assumed that someone saw me, called 911, exercised the rare gift of basic human decency."

Perez nods. She looks at Adam like he's broken and he kind of hates it, but then his mind snaps to Lawrence, the smell of coffee the gun in the bullet and the act of having to think about the bathroom being the thing that pulls the trigger.

"Uh," Adam starts, taking a drag of his cigarette. "Do you know anything--anything at all--about Lawrence Gordon? He was in the trap with me and I haven't stopped thinking about him since I woke up in the hospital."

Perez smiles, tired and sad. "I'll see what we can find, but last I heard he was in a private wing. His wife called the other day to ask us if we'd heard from you? Lawrence has apparently been asking after you, too."

"Thank you," it's the first time Adam has wanted to smile in days.

The questioning continues for a long couple of hours, Adam stating and restating things until his head hurts and all he wants is a bit of decent cheap takeout. He's let go when it's almost the sunset and again chooses to proceed without watching it. Maybe, when he has someone worthwhile, he'll consider watching the sun go down, but what is the point of such when you're doing it alone?

-

Another long few weeks pass him by. Adam gets himself a job at a Mom and Pop bookstore near the heart of the city, and with the pay raise that'll come once he's worked there six months, he'll be able to afford a decent apartment and still have money left for groceries if he shops at places known for their low costs, like Aldi or Lidl.

He doesn't stop taking photos--he's spurred on when a gallery reaches out, offers to pay him ten thousand if he can take forty photos of a theme of his choosing by the end of the year so that they can display it for five months.

A collection, they'd called it. A collection of photos with one common theme or aspect and a title of Adams choosing. He couldn't say no, even if the idea of ten thousand dollars up front played more of a part in that than he's willing to admit.

He doesn't know what the collection will be called, but as he realizes what kind of photos he's started taking, he has an idea of the theme.

Lawrence, he realizes as he goes on what has turned into one of his daily walks, would probably like that the trauma they endured didn't do anything to falter Adams love for photography.

Lawrence, Adam has also realized, has something of a permanent foothold in his mind. He is always there, always lingering, ever present in the idea of seeking Lawrence out, going searching and hoping to find.

He grins, snaps a photo of a stray cat lounging in the public gardens, when he hears a voice that is so familiar it makes his chest ache with the yearning of three weeks gone.

"Adam?" Lawrence asks. "I didn't know you liked the gardens."

They haven't spoken in weeks. Adam has been trying to figure out what to say to Lawrence for weeks, and still Lawrence gets the opportunity to speak before he does.

"I don't," Adam says, startled as he looks up to the person he likely shares some twisted kind of bond with. "I uh--I take walks now. I owe a gallery forty photos for a display by the end of December, so..."

"You take walks?" Lawrence asks, and Adam notices the cane, the way with which Lawrence leans against it. "I've been taking walks, too. It's part of the regimen I've built for myself. A walk everyday at the same time, the same route."

It's the first time they've spoken in weeks, and the fact that both of them go on walks daily is the first area in which they've found common ground? If Adam weren't so shocked by it, he would laugh at himself and at Larry, too.

"Uh," Adam pauses. "I go wherever my feet take me until I realize I've gotten lost. I work full time at a bookstore now and the long walks aren't a good thing for me, but the fresh air is nice, so I take them anyway."

"Walk with me, then?" Lawrence asks. "I mean--you don't have to walk me to my apartment or anything, but I could use the company and I really have been meaning to reach out to you."

Adam thinks on it for all of two seconds before nodding. "I could use someone to bother about my excitement with the whole gallery thing, anyway," he says. "I could tell my coworkers, but I don't know them very well, so if you're the next best thing then..."

Lawrence laughs, and Adams heart does an annoying little flip that tells him everything he needs to know but will choose to ignore for the time being.

The two of them move through the garden, occasionally stopping so that Adam can take photos of the small lakes and ravines they see because of the way that the light reflects off the water. They do it in relative silence until Adam speaks up.

"Ten thousand up front," he says. "I've never seen that kind of money before. I could get myself a decent place with it, which is the plan."

"Have you decided a theme yet?"

Adam sidesteps a bit while Lawrence keeps walking, not having realized the fact that Adam is falling behind. Adam snaps a photo of Lawrence as he moves and grins to himself.

"I haven't officially decided yet," he says. "However, I think the theme I'm going for is 'things a guy with chronic shoulder pain and a gabapentin prescription that he needs to refill at the end of next month finds beautiful post bathroom trap.'"

Lawrence, at this point, has realized that Adam has fallen back and joins him.

"You are not putting that photo in your display," he says, having realized he's the subject of the photo Adam has just taken. Adam starts walking at a pace acceptable for Lawrence, shrugging as he walks.

"I did say it was things a guy with chronic shoulder pain and a gabapentin prescription finds beautiful. Not things an oncologist who's as stubborn as he is tall finds beautiful, Larry. Had it been things you find beautiful, I don't imagine that this roll of film would have nearly as many stray cats, if any at all."

Lawrence shakes his head. "I'm not stubborn. I just don't like the view of me that exists from behind."

Adam laughs a bit, and a heaviness starts to hang in the air.

"How've you been?" Adam asks, and he almost hates it. It feels like they're past the need for the basic questions--how are you, how've been, are things all right?--but Adam supposes they're not, wonders if they ever will be.

"I've been okay, and you?"

I can't go to the part of town where the trap was, he wants to say. And I have to wait before stepping into the shower for the water to warm up because the water I woke up in was cold, and I can't stand the dark anymore--not like I used to be able to.

"I'm okay," Adam says.

He doesn't even believe himself, and he's typically a very convincing liar.

"Are you?" Lawrence asks.

"Are you?" Adam repeats. At this, they both laugh because they know they aren't okay, and they lied to spare the feelings of the other person, and neither of them are really sure if they'll ever be okay again.

Adam walks Lawrence home in a bit of comfortable lapsing silence, and says "okay," when Lawrence invites him in for coffee.

Lawrences apartment is exactly what one can expect from a recently divorced rich doctor who's just hit his forties. It's beige and brown and the dining room table reeks of quality. A KitchenAid stand mixer sits on the kitchen counter, and Lawrence has an entire espresso machine. Talk about responsible use of finances.

Adam sighs a bit after Lawrence has made him a cup of chamomile tea and everything within him has kind of stilled.

They're sitting on the brown leather couch in his living room, the curtains open to display a sunset that Adam would've paid more attention to in just about any other circumstance. There's no point in watching the sunset alone, but he has Lawrence. If they ever make it to that point, they can watch the sun go down together, Adam figures.

"I feel like I can't really escape it most days," Adam admits after some time. "Like--I was hounded by reporters and true crime junkies pretty frequently up until last week, and I saw Jigsaws name in the news the other day for something that happened in Mexico, of all places. I just don't feel like I'll ever escape Jigsaw or what happened in the bathroom."

"I've been the same way," Lawrence says. "Alison and I are getting a divorce. I haven't seen Diana since I was in the hospital--no matter how many times I've assured them both I'm fine, I can't escape it. I'm being coddled because of my experience with that bathroom. Coddled because I'm a trauma victim now."

"Well--" Adam shrugs. "That's what the bathroom did--it traumatized us, Larry. We're not the same people we used to be."

It's something that Adam hates but loves all the same. He's not the guy who used to stalk people in the name of making the rent.

Lawrence--well, Lawrence lost his foot. Of course he's changed. How can a person not change after losing something so dramatically?

Lawrence nods. Silence lapses. Adam takes a sip of his tea and tries not to tell Lawrence every last bit of the past few weeks--the yearning, the not-sleeping, the apparent fear of the dark and the inability to look at plastic bags the same way because he almost lost his life after someone tried to strangle him using one. The avoidance, the way that certain smells will have Adam back in that bathroom and terrified to the end of his wits.

"We'll get better, won't we?" Lawrence breaks the silence in two with one of the most heartbreaking sentences Adam has ever heard.

"You're the doctor," Adam says. "You tell me, Larry."

Lawrence smiles. Adam smiles back.

"The aftermath of traumatic events sometimes leads to PTSD. Even if we develop it, I think we'll be fine," Lawrence says. "The initial reactions include relief to be alive post trauma, and that can be followed by stress, fear, and anger. We might even find ourselves unable to stop thinking about it, but if we can make it through that, we will be just fine."

Adam realizes Lawrence is saying it for his own benefit--Lawrence needs this, he knows. He needs it a lot more than Adam does.

"Yeah," Adam says, nodding a bit. "Yeah. We'll be okay, Larry. Unless we do something that the motherfucker doesn't like--then we're screwed."

Lawrence laughs, shakes his head. "Those jokes aren't funny."

"Clearly they are," Adam rebuts. "If you genuinely didn't find me funny, you wouldn't be laughing."

Lawrence is still smiling, and Adam still has his camera, so he lifts it and snaps a split-second photo of Lawrence.

Lawrence turns to look at him, annoyance clear on his face. Adam bites gently at his top lip, meeting Lawrences gaze with mischief clear in his eyes.

"Yep," he says. "Into the collection that goes, Larry. One for the ages, I think."

"I really don't like being caught off guard," Lawrence says. Adam shrugs.

"And I really do like finding beauty where one doesn't expect it. I can say that I didn't expect to find your smile beautiful, so I snapped a photo," Adam shrugs. "You're not terrible to look at, Larry. Quite the opposite."

Lawrence snorts. "You flatter and distract," he says accusingly. All that Adam can do is snap another photo before he takes a sip of his tea.

"So it worked, then?" He asks, ignoring the way that his heart gives another funny little flip. "I've flattered you?"

Lawrence laughs. "What?" He asks. "I'm assuming that it means you have another plan attached to your flattery?"

Adam quirks his eyebrows. "One minute, I'm flirting to distract you from the fact that your photo is being taken and the next, you're completely and utterly infatuated with me, Larry. That's my big plan to win you over."

Lawrence shakes his head. Adam takes another sip of his tea. Silence lapses.

Adam doesn't know why, but he wants to stay. Lawrence has had a foothold in his thoughts for weeks, and even if they have a surplus of extended, uncomfortable, lapses in silence, Adam doesn't want to go anywhere.

Adam finishes his tea and gets up, leaving his camera on the couch as he tosses his teabag into the compost bin and rinses his mug.

Lawrence joins him.

"I really did mean to call," Lawrence says. "I just--recovery at the hospital, being given divorce papers, and then giving the police a statement, and then the whole circus that it was trying to deal with the press, I couldn't find the time."

Adam shrugs. "I wanted to call too, but I had to find something to do so that I could still use my phone, so that I could pay the rent. I decided from the get-go I wasn't going to do PI work anymore. Still occasionally get calls from my old contact, though."

"Do you think you could ever do it again?"

"Not a chance," Adam says. "I can't even--the idea of it consumes me with guilt. Plus, a roll of film with a bunch of stray cats is now of more use to me than a roll of film that details the comings and goings of people who go to seedy motels to cheat on their spouses. Yeah, I could make the rent being a PI but who doesn't love a stray cat lounging on the pavement? Who doesn't love working at a Mom and Pop style bookstore with a side of price gouging, honestly?"

Lawrence laughs. Adam sighs, shaking his head because he hates his job and he hates his apartment and he hates the fact that the press wouldn't leave him or Larry alone, but if it all leads to moments like that then it's all worth it.

It feels like all of the time they've spent away from each other ceases to exist. Like they're who they could've been outside the bathroom, a dynamic that nobody really expects to see because of how different their societal statuses are.

Adam looks at Lawrence with a smile. "I'm keeping those photos," he says.

Lawrences face falls, and Adam laughs.

"Not for the collection, of course," Adam feels something romantic bubble within him. He pushes it down and away. "For my own personal admiration. I've got a buddy who I haven't talked to in a while--his name is Scott Tibbs. He'll pay me decent money for photographing his band and I'll be using that to get frames once the photos develop."

"You're going to frame silly photos you took of me?" Lawrence asks. "This is the first time either of us have seen each other or talked in weeks, and this is where we're at?"

"Yeah," Adam nods. "I'm keeping you in my life, Larry, whether you like it or not. Keeping you in my life means I have to develop the photos. It also means I have to frame them and buy a shelf to put them on."

Lawrence scoffs. Adam grins.

"Well," he says. "Before you have the chance to stop me, I should go. I work a morning shift tomorrow, but you'll probably find me in the gardens, playing with the first stray cat I see around five."

"Noted," Lawrence says as Adam proceeds back to the living room. He grabs his camera, slinging it over his shoulder by the strap. "See you around five tomorrow, Adam."

Adam grins as he leaves. "Tomorrow, Larry," he says as he goes.

It seems, in a meeting that occurred by accident, Adam has found himself a new routine. It's something that excites him, though, and the high from that excitement carries him through the long walk home and lasts until he falls asleep.

-

Before Adam knows it, the end of 2004 has come around. He's taken more than a hundred photos and compiled forty of those photos into a theme that's suitable.

The pain of what he's experienced still kicks around, though, and it really doesn't take Adam that long to realize that the pain doesn't care where he is or what he's doing. The pain will come back around no matter what time of day it is, no matter where he is or what he's doing.

Knowing what'll trigger him is something upon which Adam can typically pride himself. He knows what makes the traumatized part of his mind start ticking and knows how to calm it down, but New Years Eve 2004, he can't figure it out.

He's giving the headliner the name of his collection when it hits--it's a burning pain in his shoulder at first, something he powers through to the best of his capability.

The collection itself is called A Unique Look at Jersey, and it's actually something of which Adam is quite proud, but the burning pain starts in his shoulder and Adam knows what it means right off the bat. Something, he knows, isn't right.

So, after he's explained the way that the photos are meant to be displayed for it to make sense and after he's been paid ten thousand dollars up front, Adam bolts out of the gallery. He rushes to his car and sits in the drivers side, trying to fend off the breakdown before it really hits him.

He glances around the area to see if he recognizes it from that black-out period between when he collapsed to the ground and when he woke in the hospital.

Nothing seems familiar, and that makes Adam want to bash his head through the car windows. He can't figure out what's set him off and it's making him so anxious that his hands are shaking.

Typically, when something sets him off, he knows what it is right out the gate. He knows when a space is too dark and he needs to get somewhere with more light or create that space himself. He knows to step out of the water, to move his hand away from it, when it's as cold as the water in the grimy bathtub was. He intentionally avoids movies wherein guns are fired and wounds are depicted or bloodied clothes are shown because that triggers the memories attached to the last words Lawrence had spoken to him before his escape.

But today, something sets him off and he doesn't know what it is. He wants to find out, though, so he does something risky.

The memory of grimy tiles beneath his feet, stale air going into his lungs, the feeling of a chain clasped to his foot, all nearly overcloud his sight as Adam drives away from the art gallery. He drives closer to the source of the episode, choosing directions based on his anxiety and how terribly it spikes whenever he takes whichever turn.

He finds himself at a building he vaguely recognizes for a split second before it hits him. The memories he'd thought were a black out--the stuff he couldn't explain to Special Agent Perez, the things he thought he'd forgotten and would never remember.

He recalls, very suddenly, the fact that, once he was in the daylight, he didn't stop running. He ran until he found a storefront, got the clerk to call 911, and then collapsed of dehydration against a window outside.

He recalls just how much it sucks to be the kind of hungry that hits when you haven't eaten in four days, how terrible the pain in his shoulder was and the odd desire to know who exactly it was who'd tried to strangle him.

It comes to a head and Adam presses his forehead against the steering wheel, hand going to find his phone so that he can dial Lawrence.

Lawrence picks up on the third ring.

"Adam?" He asks. Their daily walk is due to start in an hour. It's not like Adam to call Lawrence an hour before they walk together because they'll just be able to talk in the next hour anyway.

"Lawrence," Adam whispers. He gives a relieved sigh. "You left."

"I did," Lawrence says. "I said I'd come back for you, Adam, and I meant to. I was going to, I promise."

Adams breath is completely out of whack. He needs to find a way to make sure it normalizes again.

"All I can think about right now is the--the--" the incident. The bathroom trap. The tape, the photos, the saw that Lawrence used to cut off his own foot. The feeling of gross bathroom tiles beneath his feet and under his hands, the smell of blood and the fact that he hit Zep Hindle until he died and didn't stop once Zep had stopped moving. The fact that the Jigsaw killer was still out there and the fact that Adam was terrified to so much as smoke a cigarette because it could put him back within the killers line of fire. "Lawrence, how do I stop it? How do I stop thinking about it?"

"Where are you?" Lawrence asks, his voice urgent. "I'll meet you there, Adam. Where are you right now?"

"That's not important," Adam says dismissively. "I just don't--I can't--Lawrence, it is so hard to breathe right now."

"Adam," Lawrence whispers. "Adam."

Adam presses the back of his head against the back of his seat. He presses his eyes closed as tightly as he can and he tries to will himself to normalcy, but he can't.

He can't escape the feeling of cold tiles beneath his feet, can't escape the fear he felt waking up in that bathtub. He can't escape the burning pain in his shoulder, the ache in his lungs or the fear in his chest. He can't escape. He can't escape.

For a split second, he's back there, well and truly.

"Lawrence," he whispers. "I'm going to be okay, yeah?"

"Yeah, Adam," Lawrence whispers back.

"How can I be sure you're telling the truth?"

"I wouldn't lie to you," Lawrence says, and despite Adams attempts to stop it, he finally starts crying. He ends the call abruptly and lets himself have a breakdown in the front seat of his car, knowing he'll meet Lawrence at the garden in an hour with his camera slung across his torso as usual.

He knows that he'll pretend everything is fine, he'll wish he could just get the nerve to kiss Lawrence like he's been wanting to for a month, and he'll mention the fact that he photographed a wedding in early last month that let him put down the deposit money for a decent place near the gardens. He'll ask Lawrence how his day was and he'll take a photo that catches Lawrence off guard, and everything will be how Adam is used to it all being.

He knows that it'll go back to the way it was within the next two hours, and as he breaks down for the first time in weeks while sitting in the front seat of his car, he finds he can't wait for the time to pass.

-

Two hours go by. Lawrence calls Adam to ask if they can postpone the walk by an hour, and Adam uses the time to feed the stray that lives in his apartment between packing what little he owns into boxes.

He made a deal with the realtor when he put the deposit down, so the apartment will be move in ready by the 16th of the month. Adam doesn't really own much so packing hasn't been his biggest concern--his biggest concern has been the stray cat he feeds on a regular basis. He wants to take her with him, but the ten thousand covers rent for fourteen months.

During those fourteen months, however, the money that Adam used to use for rent becomes grocery money. Six hundred and fifty dollars twice a month can get a lot of groceries from Aldi and Lidl, but he wonders for a minute, how much can $100 a month get a person in cat care and maintenance?

He doesn't let the thought linger beyond the lobby of his apartment, where he pets the cat on the head and promises that she'll have a decent life someday, one where most of the enrichment she gets doesn't come from batting away at the roaches whenever they get too close.

Then, camera draped over his torso, he's off. He walks to the gardens and meets Larry at the entrance, an apology on his tongue.

Adam explains that he probably has PTSD but hasn't been seeking out a diagnosis, just accommodating for it whenever possible. He lets Lawrence give him his opinion and the two talk back and forth in a manner that has become familiar.

Eventually, Adam says something and Lawrence laughs and Adams heart does that flip that it's getting more and more impossible to push aside. He grins a bit to himself, snaps a photo of Lawrence despite his protests.

"That is definitely one for the ages," he says, though he knows it's just a blurry photo of Lawrences side profile as he smiles.

"You say that every time," Lawrence says.

"And I'm right," Adam says. "I would have to be right, Larry. You think I would waste precious, expensive camera film taking photos of things I don't think are worthy of such titles? It's one for the ages, and it is absolutely going to be framed and put onto my shelf."

"How many photos of me have you taken in the past two months?" Lawrence asks. "Seriously. You must be running out of shelf space at this point, Adam."

Off the top of his head, the number that Adam comes up with is probably concerning.

He's taken more than a hundred photos since his escape in October. At least forty photos have been of Lawrence.

"Not nearly as many as you think," Adam says with a laugh. "I mean--if you want me to waste an entire roll of film on photos of you, you've gotta buy it. Five dollars a pop for one hundred and thirty six photos, I have rent to pay, groceries to buy and maybe a cat to feed. I love you, Larry, but not enough to waste a roll of film on you when I could take photos of the sunrise or the skyscrapers or cats staring menacingly at me from low rooftops."

Lawrence laughs. Adam resists the random urge to kiss him.

"Speaking of rent," Lawrence says. "Are you still living in the place with the roaches?"

"As long as I have myself moved in by the sixteenth of next month, no," Adam says. "I'm using the ten thousand I got from the gallery showing to guarantee I have a solid spot to live in until March of 2006. I did the math and, tax and amenities included, the ten thousand will get me that far. I'll get a pay raise in April, too, and that will keep me able to afford the rent of the new spot plus groceries."

Lawrence grins. "Ah, decided not to let the roaches keep you company?"

"They get really old really quick," Adam says with a bit of a laugh. "Kill six of them in thirty minutes and you'll start to see what I mean, Larry."

Lawrence laughs. Adams heart gives a flip that Adam ignores.

"Do you have any plans for the rest of the night?" Lawrence asks.

"I was going to smoke weed," Adam says. "Eat the chips I bought with gas money last night, then hit the hay around two in the morning. Do you happen to have a better idea, Larry?"

"I have a two joints from a coworker who insists I need to loosen up," Larry says. "I meant to give them to you for Christmas, but you weren't at your place, so that fell apart."

"I was visiting the 'rents," Adam says somberly. "Went about as well as a reconnection attempt can go when your father is the one who kicked you out on your eighteenth birthday--but, that's not the point. If you want to smoke, we can! I would love to see you stoned."

Lawrence nods. "Sure," he says. "Maybe I do need to unwind. I booked tomorrow off anyway, figuring I'd get drunk on champagne and then have a hangover."

"I can't wait," Adam says. "Oh, seeing you get stoned? That's gonna be amazing."

Lawrence laughs. Adam snaps another photo. They carry on.

-

It's five to midnight, and neither of them have started smoking despite the presence of the joints and a matchbox. Adam is too wrapped up in the way that Lawrence is speaking, too focused on his lips and the sound of his voice.

"And it's not even like this sort of thing should be a big deal," Lawrence says. "But Alison, even when our divorce has barely been finalized two weeks, is insistent I get back on the horse, so to speak."

Adam laughs. He doesn't know what that's like, not really--Scott would occasionally help him flirt his way into a one night stand, but he's been talking to Scott less and less, only responding when Scott is the one doing the calling.

Scotts company just isn't the kind that's worth keeping--especially not after the stunt he pulled with the home-made Jigsaw trap, which he then bragged to Adam about surviving while they were within a twenty minute radius of the bathroom trap, and in the part of town Adam was consistent in avoiding because of the venue that Scotts band was playing and because Adam needed the money.

"Well, what's stopping you?" Adam asks. "Like, Larry--the dating market loves your type. Guy in his forties wanting to settle down. You're like--you're perfect to a minimum of twenty women within the tristate area."

"I think you're deluded," Lawrence says. "Twenty? Have a little bit more faith."

Adam grabs one of the joints and the matchbox, striking a match and lighting the joint without thought or care.

"Tomorrow night, or next weekend, or whenever I can actually get you to agree with me, we are going to a bar. We are drinking at least a little, and I am going to be your wingman," Adam says, though the idea of setting up the guy who he's consumed with yearning and want for with another person hurts on a whole new level of the feeling.

"No," Lawrence says. Adam inhales the smoke from the joint, passes it to Lawrence. "I don't need a wingman--I don't need a relationship right now, Adam. I have so much on my plate both with the divorce and in the romance department as it were. I don't need to get drunk or flirty with anyone when the one person I want to get drunk and flirty with is about as attracted to me as a bag of rocks."

"Who's the lucky lady?"

"The lucky lady is a photographer who is pushing thirty and has an affinity for stray cats," Lawrence says. "He's also a guy, but I guess that's just me being pedantic."

"A, twenty seven is not pushing thirty," Adam says. "It puts me on the downhill slope to thirty, which is different. B, of all of the people you could've fallen for, you chose a guy who barely has his life together? I can't judge because I find myself attracted to you, but still. All of the people you could've realized you were attracted to and it had to be the guy who you were in a weird bathroom trap with and are now probably bonded to based on our unified experiences."

Lawrence laughs. He takes a puff of the joint before passing it back to Adam, who grins at him.

"And besides, I really--you can do better than me, Larry," Adam says. "I mean--just go to a bar and look around a bit. You'll find a number of people who can't be compared to sewer rats, and I'm sure they'll be more your speed."

Lawrence is grinning, and all that Adam can think is: oh fuck.

And then Lawrence laughs, and all Adam can think is: we might destroy each other, or we might rebuild each other. I can't wait to find out which.

And then Lawrence is asking Adam if he can kiss him and Adam is laughing.

"If you want to kiss me while my lips and mouth probably taste like weed, go ahead," he says. "Yeah--Lawrence, kiss me."

And then Lawrence is kissing him and it's like Adam is on cloud nine, and Adam never wants to leave. He wants to stay in that moment for as long as he can, kissing Lawrence Gordon on his fire escape, cupping his face with one hand while relishing in the way that Lawrences hands feel when they find his hips.

Lawrence pulls away and Adam has to fight everything within him in order to keep himself from chasing his lips. He presses his forehead against Lawrences, breathy laugh falling from his lips.

"Not bad, Larry," he whispers.

Lawrence laughs, deep and throaty and perfect. "I could definitely wake up to that once in a while."

"Once in a while?" Adam asks, bringing the joint to his lips. "Oh, Larry. How you wound me."

Lawrence leans back, and Adam is looking at him.

Both of them have just realized that everything about their dynamic and their relationship has changed.

However, the kiss was so good that neither of them really give a damn.

-

Adam moves into his new place on the 16th, the gray and white stray cat from his old place under his arm after clearing that it was okay to take her with his previous landlord.

That night, with boxes of his things in their designated rooms, he and Larry decide to name the cat Graycie. Adam is still working out budgeting but Larry offered to foot the vet bills and to get her the beginnings of her necessities--offered meaning that Lawrence simply told him he was doing it and to consider it a late Christmas gift, because he had anticipated Adams resistance and knew that it had a fair shot of shutting him up--so that's not a concern for at least two months with all of the supplies Lawrence brought along.

But there's still the worries of furniture. His couch from the roach-infested place was...well, roach infested. His bed managed to not meet the same fate, though, so Adam is just glad he has a place to sleep.

He has plates, cutlery, cups and mugs so the whole "what will I eat off of?" question has an answer from the get-go, which is a relief, but still. There are questions that have answers and there are questions that don't. It's the questions without answers that have Adams anxiety spiking.

Still, the night that he's moved in and is sitting with Lawrence on his living room floor as Graycie the cat inspects the area by wandering from one room to the next is one of the best nights he's had in weeks.

Maybe, he thinks, it'll get better.

All that he really wants to focus on is the way that it feels to hold Lawrences face as the two of them kiss, Adams back pressed against a wall while bliss takes hold of his every sense, thought, and feeling.

Adam never really thought kissing someone could feel as good as it does to kiss Lawrence. Kissing was always just something he did--kissing a one night stand lead to sex, had the motive of getting to sex, but the way that they're kissing doesn't indicate that in the slightest.

It feels like Adam is kissing Lawrence just to kiss him, like Lawrence is kissing Adam just to kiss him in turn. It's something that Adam and his drunkest nights aren't particularly used to, but something he loves.

When Lawrence pulls away, Adam shamelessly chases his lips and laughs at himself for it, the embarrassment kicking in as Lawrence presses a kiss to the corner of his lips and Adam feels, for a moment, like he's melting.

Everything just feels so...perfect. It's something that Adam loves, something he cherishes.

It is something Adam never would've thought he deserved, but he reconciles he does deserve it. He deserves a happy ending, even if that happy ending is only finding it's beginning in an apartment that is relatively bare of furniture, sitting with his back against the wall and the lips of his fellow Jigsaw trap survivor pressed against his own.

As Graycie the cat approaches, brushing the side of her cheek against Lawrences hand before plopping into Adams lap and purring as loud as a broken car engine, he nods.

"I deserve this," he says. "I deserve to feel as happy as I do right now."

"You do," Lawrence agrees. "Even if you don't have a couch, or a kitchen table, or shelves that can hold the weight of more than two photo frames."

Adam grins, and Lawrences lips are against his again, his hand on Lawrences chest and feeling his heartbeat as it thrums through a high quality dress shirt.

He has a good life, he knows. He deserves it, he knows.

It's Lawrences presence and the sureness of the fact that Graycie the cat relies on him that causes all of his doubt to cease.

Lawrence pulls away, and Adam is grinning.

Lawrence grins, too.

Everything is perfect. It will not always be perfect, but it's perfect in that moment and Adam decides that that's what matters.

[hrodvitnon]

Ok, forgive me if the following is a bit aggro but I feel like a lot of people seem to forget some very important facts about Godzilla (the IP, not the character)

I genuinely can't take people who place blame on directors for 'bad Godzilla characterization' seriously. Especially Dougherty and Wingard. Before I get into my rant, I just feel the need to remind everyone of this quote Wingard gave in regards to writing Godzilla for GvK:

Toho actually has an entire laundry list of rules Godzilla needs to follow that came out around GvK's release. The actual list is super long and with a lot of frankly weird points, but this is one of their main ones. Theatrical Godzilla doesn't emote. That is what they tell directors and that's a rule they need to follow. But, on the same token, there are ways around it and some directors are afforded some negotiating power on this front. The quote, for example, is in reference to Goji's famous smile from GvK.

One of the largest ways around it in fact is having characterization come from external sources that aren't the films. In fact, almost every single piece of info that builds Godzilla's character in the MV comes either from moments in the films that are intentionally vague, things like the comics or novelizations, or Word of God tweets from Edwards and Dougherty (sidenote: the reason you never hear about stuff like the Dougherty tweets coming from Wingard is that he literally doesn't have Twitter. A lesson I think we can all learn from). This is not unintentional, these are literally the only times they're allowed to get away with breaking a few of these rules.

Wingard, Doughtery, Edwards- all are huge Godzilla fanatics and it gets on my nerves a tad when people tear into them for rules out of their control. I probably don't need to tell everyone that Dougherty used to retweet ship art for Mothzilla and engaged with fans at length back when he was still on Twitter (Oh yeah, he also has since left Twitter. Man, maybe these directors had the right idea or something?); and Wingard has come out saying he wants to do a Godzilla-focused movie next if Legendary lets him come back, probably because he himself recognizes he's been playing favorites a little bit. I'm sure the directors would love to give Godzilla more depth and personality, it's just that Goji's always been Toho's favorite boy that they're very picky about. Like- I hate to be that guy- but we easily could've gotten the Transformers treatment and gotten saddled with a director like Michael Bay for one of these films and the Monsterverse would be dead on arrival. These people clearly care but are obliged to follow some ground rules they may or may not agree with. Godzilla's characterization is left mostly ambiguous for this reason. Audiences are supposed to fill in the blanks. Hell, people in this blog/hellsite have already done that! We've done that with our own interpretations and that's what the directors are going for in lieu of being allowed to do that themselves. May just be a me thing, but I'd much rather have audience interpreted characterization and very high quality content then shitty/no content and Godzilla becoming a dead franchise again.

And- in regards to the Twitter stuff-

-I don't care. Nobody should care. Just- just don't even give them the light of day and let their asinine takes die in the darkness. It's better this way.

I understand all this. I understand. I've heard that Toho has their rules for what not to do with their favorite monster, and I still think "Godzilla can't emote" is a dumb rule, but what the fuck can I do about it beyond the usual fan content. I know this. I get it.

I'm just getting tired of discussing it and want to stop before the discussion starts going in circles or something.

I'm going to go outside for a while.