#getting fed so so well with all this awkward Tim content

[kim-tey]

Happy Tim dance 🧍‍♂️

[strangeshoepatrolbandit]

Sunshine follows with Sunfall Pt. 7

Warnings: None really.

This is mostly just a filler chapter(just like the last one)

Honestly, I'm so sorry that I keep disappearing and returning with chapters that have no action. It's Judith + Jason content, though.

Series Masterlist

~☆~

"What time is Judith's award ceremony?"

1:06 AM

"8:30."

1:08 AM

"I'll be there."

1:08 AM

×××

That morning had been normal. You woke up Judith for school and fed her breakfast before she went to go brush her teeth. You then helped her put on her clothes, brush her hair, and put on her shoes.

She arrived at school normally, sitting in the cafeteria before going off to her class so that she could do her morning work before the entire first grade sat in the cafeteria together and had their awards ceremony.

You showed up at the school thirty minutes early, sitting yourself down in one of the chairs set up in the back for the parents. You gazed at the stage, smiling softly to yourself as you think about how far your girl has come.

Once a small girl who couldn't even hold her head up, now an elementary student who's going to smile brightly on the stage as she holds up her awards paper-

"Hey." A slightly hoarse voice spoke from beside you as someone sat down.

You looked next to you and noticed Jason. "Hello." You sat up slightly straighter.

Jason tugged on the front of his jacket as he adjusted it. "Hope you don't mind me sitting here. Is this seat taken?"

Another slight smile tugs on the corner of your lips. "Bruce and Tim are at work, Dick is in Blüdhaven, and Damian is at his own school. It's not taken."

"I would've thought B and Butt brains would take time out of work for this." Jason tilts his head slightly.

"They're at a meeting." You inform him.

"Ahhh...."

An awkward pause fell over the two of you.

"You look nice today...."

Your eyes go over to Jason again, your gaze soft. You catch yourself and clear your throat, looking at the stage again. "Thank you."

"You're welcome." He nods to himself. "Well, not that you don't look nice everyday..."

You take in a deep breath and let out a sigh. "Thank you, Jason." You say again.

"You're welcome." He smiles slightly. "So, who's class is she in?"

"Mrs. Thompson's."

"Is she a good teacher?" Jason asks you.

"Judith likes her." You nod. "I'd say she's good."

Jason was going to say something else, but the cafeteria doors opened and students started walking in. The two of you watched as the first graders all filled the seats, sitting in rows assigned to their teachers.

"There's Jude!" You grin and point at one of the classes walking. Sure enough, your daughter was walking in the middle of the line.

Judith didn't notice Jason or you as she walked by, too focused on going to her seat. She sat down and a boy sat down next to her. The two of them started talking, smiling to each other as Judith waved her hands around.

"Who's that?" Jason asks you, speaking again.

"Her friend Alex." You glance at him as you tell him that. "Relax, she's literally six."

"I know, I know." He sighs. "Almost seven though."

"Oh!" You actually look at him now, instead of just glancing. "Will you be seeing her on her birthday?"

Jason smiles. "You think I wouldn't?"

A chuckle escapes your lips. "We have a tight schedule that day. We'll be at the Manor so that she can have a small little party, but we'll be back home that night."

Jason nods. "I'll be there. Text me when you get home."

"I will." You lean back in your seat and smile down at your lap.

The awards ceremony started just seconds later. Teachers took their turn going up to the stage and calling up members of their classes to hold up the awards they've earned.

Mrs. Thomson soon got on the stage and introduced herself, smiling as she called her class up by their names, starting with the Accelerated Reader award.

She went down the list of names and eventually called, "Judith Todd."

Judith excitedly got up from her seat and went up to the stage, taking her paper award. Judith went to go stand in the line of her classmates.

"Just like her father." You smile as you lean over and whisper to Jason. "You were such a nerd back in school."

Jason glances at you and tries to hide his own smile. You were right. He was a 'nerd' back in school.

Judith grinned as her name was called for a few more awards.

At the end of the ceremony, all students were allowed to stand and go visit their parents.

Jason and you stood and smiled as Judith came running up to the two of you. "Mommy! Daddy!"

Her arms reached up for the two of you and Jason lifted her up into his arms. "Hey, Sunshine."

"Hi, Daddy." She rests her head on his shoulder, handing you the three awards she got.

"Good job, Judy!" You match her enthusiasm, causing her to giggle.

"Thank you, mommy." She replies.

"Of course, baby." You smooth down her hair and lean closer to her and Jason.

Jason looks down at the paper awards Judith handed you. "AR. Good job." He smiles at her.

"Daddy's coming over for your birthday!" You tell the young girl.

"Really?!" She squeals.

"Of course!" Jason returns her enthusiasm.

Judith holds her father tightly as she kicks her feet, her smile widening as she wriggles around happily.

The teachers started rounding up their students again, making Jason have to let Judith go. "Love ya, Sunshine."

"I love you too, Mommy and Daddy!" Judith hugged your hips then ran off, leaving Jason and you alone again.

"Text me when you get home that day."

~☆~

Taglist: @keira324 @dakotali @22nranjan @skepvids @harpy-space @godknows-shetried @mirrorball-6 @macncheese69420666 @parkjammys @yyxy27 @burningkidanchor @elleclairez @amecchii @chickennugghon @marvelworldlover @oakexists @p0tterhead934 @makhaia @cassini-among-the-stars @tsukishimarawr @flowestallen @attackonnat @90s-belladonna @sucker4seresin @riahpickle-blog

[sylvies-chen]

I know some people were disappointed in the lack of chenford content tonight but tbh I think it was refreshing, we would have a collective heart attack if we were fed really well every single episode. Plus, I’m coming up with a list of reasosn why I’m confident that Chenford is becoming canon at the end of the season and that we’ll be getting more content of them:

alexi himself said the consequences of the kiss between them would be a bit delayed, because they have other stuff to focus on but it will be revisited a few episodes after

he also said “you know it’s REAL if tim bradford can’t deny it” (loosely quoting here) which means this thing between them is real and won’t just be brushed off

5x05 will have good chenford content of lucy showing up for tim in MORE WAYS THAN ONE

chris and lucy’s relationship will begin to crumble as soon as rosalind is caught/killed, because what’s fueling them both right now is the desire to take her down and once that is taken away there will be nothing left between them

they’re back to riding together by 5x08 (confirmed by Eric Winter) which means we’ll get some more content between them other than just looks from afar before going separate ways to ride separately (spending time together will force them to reflect on tension and feelings)

the fact that ashley doesn’t ever want to get married or have kids— which are two things tim bradford wants— and we’ve been given no reason to believe he would give up those hopes for ashley or that she’s important enough to him to do that. and lucy, conveniently, has had a mini SL surrounding her child-bearing years, frozen eggs, fertility, etc.

chenford has kissed TWICE whereas they haven’t kissed their SOs at all

angst means something’s unresolved and there’s unspoken emotions. it means they care. they feel something strong for each other, if they didn’t it wouldn’t be so awkward and painful to be apart

There are literally a million more reasons to be optimistic and excited for what’s to come and I’m not trying to police anyone’s moods or anything like that, I really just wanted to make this list for myself to look back on when the angst hits hard so that I can remain levelheaded and see the big picture instead of losing my shit 😅

[glitterge1pen]

Duke Thomas Rings The Bells

Ch.1 , synopsis ; Moving to an elite boarding school Duke struggles to find his footing. But he clumsily stumbles his way into some friends, and soon his friends turn into comrades and allies. Duke knows his friends won't fall, and he doesn't plan on falling either. How long can people keep secrets? And what secrets are worth anything at all? Maybe Jason is right, and this is all just some really dramatic Dead Poets Society shit. But Duke liked that movie.

Duke's locker was articulate in it's decoration. There was the usual magazine cut outs, the stray polaroid, and the magnets he had made from postage labels. The organization of said locker was lacking a bit.

He didn't mean to just throw things into the metal cabinet but he was still adjusting to the ways of his new home. The locker also reeked of marker ink and the alcohol of his hand sanitizer. Duke learned early on in his young artists career that hand sanitizer killed ink.

Duke switched out his math textbook for the book they were currently reading in English, On The Road by Jack Kerouac. The cover was new, no finger printers or stray penned obscenities. Duke hadn't gotten a chance to read most of it yet but he got an extension from Mr.Farlane.

Transferring a week into school meant that Duke had missed most of the "Welcome Back To School" activities, part of him chided himself for being relieved about having avoided such crowds, but the other half dreaded his lack of basic information about the school. He didn't know the whole layout by heart yet, the schedule felt awkward and clunky, and of course he knew no one.

Despite the school's prestige the extra curricular art courses and clubs were lacking. On top of that most kids Duke had deemed assholes were in said clubs. Duke's current list of assholes was growing. In his throw up book, which was what he called his sketchbook, there were doodles of people he thought were noteworthy.

In his classes he tried to match names to makeshift seating charts on his pages. Not wanting to be caught in some embarrassing slip up of not knowing someone's name. Next to these names were things to pin them to a person. Ones who had bumped into him without apologizing, ones who said weird things in class, had been late or walked funny.

In his second period bio med class was a boy named Tim. Next to his name was a brash doodle Duke had done of the boy along with the phrase 'This is bullshit, the woman obviously died because of her diabetes! Look at the blood splatter you absolute fool! ’ which is what he had said to his lab partner.

Tim had been scolded for disturbing the class and Duke was surprised when his own lab partner also scolded Tim instead of finding the situation funny or amusing at least.

Even though they hadn't officially met yet, Tim so far was the only boy on the 'not asshole' list Duke had formulated. Duke wished there were girls around. They were always so much nicer, and they made guys less defensive.

Blue River Academy For Boys was an all boys boarding school that Duke would compare to a hell on a trust funds budget. Not to mention that so far Duke was the only black kid in sight. Beyond that he was the only not white person on campus he had seen so far.

With nothing but rich white boys surrounding him Duke was already feeling out of his element. Top that off with a new school, a new home, and his general positive attitude was taking a beating.

Duke sighed a heavy breath as he prepared to enter his AP English class. Only four days into Mr.Farlane’s dry, boring lectures were enough to have Duke dreading the class, he still had the whole semester ahead of him.

Fortunately Duke had managed to snag a window seat in the back, as it was the only desk left when he had arrived. Outside was the main courtyard, where most boys went during their study period. There was a stone fountain, several garden benches, and rose bushes that littered the grassy yard below.

Duke couldn't decide if it was cliche, pretentious, or both. All the architecture of the place was overly grand like this. Gray stone walls, silver railings, blue and white mosaic tile floor. None of it felt real. It made Duke miss his neighborhood, his home.

"Today we will be covering chapters ten through fifteen,"

Mr.Farlane’s voice was robotic and empty as he spoke to the class. Mr.Farlane had several conversations with himself about the themes of the book, the overarching plot, and how Jack Kerouac was an exemplary writer.

This was when the boy in front of Duke raised his hand. Mr.Farlane didn't notice him at first but the boy slammed his other hand onto the wooden desk to grab the teachers attention.

Mr.Farlane only let out an annoyed huff of air, Duke noticed the other boys in class had perked up as well. It felt like the moments before a great battle in a movie, like two unstoppable armies had come to face each other on a hill.

"Yes Jason,"

Mr.Farlane’s voice at least wasn't terribly dull anymore, Duke thought.

"Kerouac was not a good writer, he drones on and on, he deals in drivel-"

Mr.Farlane cut Jason off with the palm of his hand.

"That's subjective Jason-"

Jason cut him off in return.

"It's not subjective, he was high as shit when he wrote On The Road , and apparently even being intoxicated wasn't enough to get his ass to write anything good"

"Mr.Todd-"

"I'm Mr.Todd now?"

Jason asked, raising his voice with a snarl.

"Mr.Todd," Mr.Farlane said slowly repeating himself, "Please go to the office if you're going to act like this"

Jason, who was a tall boy with dark hair and icy blue eyes, a streak of white running down his bangs, didn't look handsome as he stormed out of the room, he looked pissed off. The other boys in class also stared at Jason as he moved through the room, knocking or bumping into desks not seeming to care who or what he intruded on.

Mr.Farlane continued speaking once Jason had left like nothing had transpired at all. Duke then deduced that Jason must be one of those moody brooding types who was prone to getting in trouble. A person who sat quietly until they exploded with rage. Which in this case was induced by bad literary opinion.

While Mr.Farlane’s hollow lesson went on, Duke drew. He drew Jason in a loose cartoon style. Putting emphasis on the boy's odd hair color, his angry scrunched up face which Duke only got a few glimpses of because he had been sitting behind him. Duke in scratchy bubble letters drew the words Jason had spoken as well. When it came time to put Jason's name on the asshole list Duke couldn't bring himself to do it.

Because yeah, yelling at the teacher, throwing around curse words, having tantrums in class, that definitely wasn't cool. It made Duke wonder if Jason was putting on some sort of bad boy act. But even this seemed pretty dramatic for something that was just an act. Regardless of the right or wrong of the situation Duke hesitated, because Jason was right. Jack Kerouac couldn't write for shit.

⊱ ────── {⋅. ✯ .⋅} ────── ⊰

That night Duke looked at the two boxes that he still had left to unpack. The school had confiscated their phones, so Duke had the radio on low. The radio had been his mothers, and it used to sit on their kitchen window sill, but it hasn't had any CD’s fed to it for years. It had been a long time since he had used the radio at all, and the stations were different out here. Eventually he settled on the ‘Rockin 80’s’ station that was playing that Easy Lover song.

Duke’s room was the same as all the other rooms in the dorms. One bed, one desk, a chair, a closet, and one small window that overlooked the empty fields beyond the school grounds. Duke had almost skipped dinner today like he had yesterday but had forced himself to go to the cafeteria. He didn't want himself to get stuck moping here. Even if he did very badly want to mope about.

His casual clothes were tucked into the back of the closet, while the pieces of his uniform took up most of the closet. The two sweaters vests, one blue with white stripes running along the bottom, the other an inverted version of the first. His black slacks, the gray ones, and the two pairs of khakis. Of course the variety of collared button ups and polos, then the singular school jacket. The crest was embroidered and intricate. The silver string shone even the dim light of his room.

Duke took the jacket off and hung it with the rest of his clothes. He used the key to his dorm to cut the tape off the last boxes. In the first box were posters, photos, pieces of paper he had tacked up on his walls at home, the halloween lights he strung around his room back home and his lava lamp. It took Duke longer than he thought it would to hang all the contents of the box on the walls. But when he was finished and flicked the lava lamp on, he did feel better. Like some sort of normalcy was placed back into his palms.

The second box was one he had been careful to keep from his mother, and one he had made sure to label school supplies. Because Blue River had rules about everything. The length of your pants, scented candles, music, and even books. But more hated than the list of curated books that had been banned from the school curriculum and hence the school grounds, was an even simpler rule and instruction that Duke had not only broken, but disregarded entirely.

In the school handbook, on page ten, was a list of contraband. Underneath the incredibly long list of banned books, was rule 15. No comic books. Duke appreciated his mothers sentiments of good education, he appreciated the scholarship that the school had offered. But Duke, like always, had his own plans.

☽༓･*˚⁺‧͙·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙　✩　*̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙ .·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙　✩　*̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙ .‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾

A/N: These chapters are also up on ao3 if that is your preferred reading space, and of course The Duke Thomas Playlist 

LINK TO NEXT CHAPTER 

[nookishposts]

Weighting

If you’ve grown weary of mid-life navel-gazing and revelations, you can skip this one; I promise not to take it personally. Caveats are us.

I’ll soon be 56 and in general have found my 5th decade to be kinda neat. I finally appreciate all the menopause jokes first-hand, I’ve gotten better at saying “no” to things I don’t want to do, I’ve stopped feeling guilty about not being able to fix everything and stopped feeling responsible for other peoples’ happiness. Like most females my age, I was raised to compromise and keep the peace, to be a good neighbour and host, to avoid rocking the boat, and so on. Some of those lessons have stuck, others not so much, but a few of the qualities of older woman I have admired through the years are starting to show signs of appearing in me. And that is a good thing. Sometimes. Mostly. I think.

At this age, my bullshit tolerance has gone way down. I have discovered I can get to the point more quickly and still manage to be polite. Whiter hair means I get taken a little more seriously and I am not above using that; its nice to be the recipient of a seat offered on the bus instead of the one offering. I still stand for my elders but if there are youngers around I am content to let them step up first. Youngers expect me to say either wisely profound or naively stupid things and I enjoy mixing them up deliberately. Sometimes something comes out of my mouth that I don’t expect and I find myself thinking; “Hmph..not bad.” knowing I may not remember it tomorrow. A dicey memory has it’s advantages; I can summon a wide-eyed innocent face and hold it for at least 4 seconds before it's obvious that I’m lying. You gotta be quick.

It takes me longer to do most things, the days go by much faster than they once did, and if something has to give it may as well be the BS. The problem is that having learned not to give room to anybody else’s nonsense means I have also been forced to face up to some of my own. Damn, there’s always a catch.

I’m pretty active. I use my body a lot in some of the jobs I do and I am the labour force around the house as well. I have never been much of a runner (don’t enjoy it) and have been an intermittent cyclist (unpredictable knees), but could traditionally walk for miles with or without a dog, swim till my muscles turn to jelly, and dance until the wee hours. I go to the gym 2-4 times per week to do both treadmill and strength training. I volunteer regularly, usually in physical ways. I do yoga on and off, especially in winter. But I am 5 feet 5 inches tall and 275 lbs. (Not even my heaviest) My heart is really strong as are my muscles. But I have gotten away with too much for too long and the BS I feed myself needs to be re-portioned for better digestion and distribution.

The following statements are true:

I am broad shouldered

I carry a lot of muscle

I come from a long line of larger people, female and male

I know exactly how to eat well and exercise effectively. I even taught it.

The next statements are also true:

I avoid mirrors because the chassis does not reflect the sassy; it shocks me every single time I see myself outside of my own head.

I use a CPAP machine because of apnea, my weight prevents me from restorative sleep if I don’t.

I take a medication for pre-diabetes, another for blood pressure and a third for GERD

I rarely dance in public any more because it looks like there’s a litter of puppies squirming around my middle, in my back pockets, and under my chin.

I stopped playing guitar and singing in public because I physically cannot reach the fret board comfortably or breath well enough to hit the notes fully.

I am slowly losing the ability to do some of the things I love most.

So, navel-gazing (and critical thinker that I try to be) has shown me a few home-truths. Some but not all of my behaviours are learned. Think about how we use food to celebrate or punish: “It’s Christmas, have some more boozy fruitcake!”. “If you don’t behave yourself, you’ll get no dessert!” “Its a buffet, better get your money’s worth.” “ Clean your plate, other people in this world are starving.” We all heard and sometimes have perpetuated those messages. We are surrounded by Super-Sized everything, packaged for convenience and crammed with stuff our bodies don’t actually need much of.

And some of my behaviours are totally self-imposed. Tim Hortons cheese tea biscuits and a coffee on the way to work at least 3 mornings a week. Choosing potato chips over a handful of grapes. Not eating enough protein or drinking enough water throughout the day. Slouched in a chair with the laptop, reading nonsense articles. Having one more slice of pizza because I can. Fries on the side of anything eating out. Buttery toast at 9pm. The common denominator is that those choices are easy and fast. No thought, no planning, just unconscious cruise-control laziness. Satisfying the subterranean sugar miners.

I’ve known for years about emotional eating. Mum fed us when we were upset and when we had done well. Lean years meant inexpensive carbs that filled the belly; bread was the go-to, as were potatoes. Mine was the first generation to experience pre-packed, processed foods that meant less time in the kitchen. We were the fast food generation, feeling all modern and chic and powerful in our freedom to have anything on the menu. Those menus created some false expectations and some serious side effect habits hard to break. I have contemporaries who are addicted to diet soft drinks and lite cigarettes, all of them intelligent and capable people.

Raised to be a people pleaser, I learned early to swallow my negative emotions, stuff them down and drown them in something momentarily satiating. I also learned to feed others, to make sure they had plentiful choices and second helpings. I still enjoy cooking, hosting picnics and brunches, and I still over-do. Which means leftovers. Which must not be wasted. Becoming waist-ed instead.

And, like any child, I don’t like to be denied or told what to do, even by myself.

I was reading recently that we carry our heart-aches in the form of extra pounds around our middles., that we quite literally pad our hearts against hurt by insulating them in extra fat. I got thinking about it and realized that that rings some truth for me. I did not too badly until I got married in order to breathe life into an already troubled relationship. We’d been together a decade and it made sense to take that next step as a way of cleaning the slate with a public declaration. Lots of people have done it, and it seldom works. I lived with a person who did not hesitate to express volatile and complicated emotions but could not hear mine. She would graffiti the room in complaints and blame and walk away feeling ever so much better, but leaving the mess for someone else to clean up. Pointing it out, asking for accountability, disagreeing, only made things worse. I had neither the patience nor the courage to stand my ground and insist on equal space. But I developed literal guts by eating the frustrations that the situation left me with. I enabled her behavior and I enabled my own. The fatter I got the more she pointed it out and we both behaved badly in our own ways in response. So, in time and out of desperation, I ended the marriage and ultimately it was the kindest thing I could have done for either of us. But even that I had to do alone. She needed someone to blame and I just needed out.

But here we are all these years later and its only now at this age that I can understand and articulate all of that. I am in a much healthier and much more balanced partnership with someone who loves me for who I am , yet I am still distracting myself from fears and failures with dis-comfort food. The yelling is all internal. I am finally safe enough and loved enough and wise enough to address the real issue, which has always been mine. Its about courage. That’s the key I have come to understand that I am looking for.

There’s the kind of courage which will spur you to rescue a drowning person, pull a child from in front of a car, or march on government in a protest on behalf of human rights. There’s a kind of courage upon which we float our hopes for the inherent good in people eventually winning out against the world’s evils. I think I understand those ones, and can probably call on them as needed.

But the courage I seek is totally an inside job; its that nugget of risk deep in my fears that grows into the courage to change both habits and perspective. It’s the courage to believe that scarcity is unlikely to ever be an issue and it’s okay to not be stuffed beyond the ability to feel and move freely. Its the courage to fail, more than once, in the quest to do better. Its the courage to let go of those nasty looping messages in my memory banks, fed to me by those loved ones and collaterals fighting battles of their own with tools as dull and pointless as mine. Its the courage that understands perfection is not a real goal, but self-awareness and self-forgiveness, and self-appreciation are attainable once the self-loathing and shame are shed like the tired, prickly moth-eaten cloaks they always were. It will take a bit of faith, a bit of discipline, and the determination to just keep trying, no matter what, that even giving up is allowed to be temporary as well as a stepping stone.

I recently began a project of helping others to tell their stories. The biggest and most awkward gift in that process is that I also need to tell my own. Honoring the truth of my history as well as my dreams, knowing that some things can change and will, with or without me. I’d rather be part of making  choices on a more realistic and  balanced menu than remain a victim of the one I have advertised to myself up to now. With a side of compassion. Hold the B.S. please, I’m adulting.