#i ignored writing my notecards for a speech for this.

[spacey-png-art]

Fanart I drew of Harry and Kim dying in a glue trap

[bilbobagginsomebabez]

Hi! I’ve been following your blog for a bit and I’m wondering if you or anyone else could help me with an idea I have. I’m graduating from college in about a month (mid-May 2024) and I was thinking of using the opportunity (large-ish crowd, lots of cameras, important/official school event) to decorate the top of my graduation cap with something in support of ceasefire, peace/liberation, and an end to U.S. support of the Israeli government’s violence. My current/best idea so far is to have simple, black-and-white text reading “CEASEFIRE NOW” and maybe a little dove holding a branch that is green, red, and black. I understand that some people who are also disgusted with this violence (genocide) find problems with the call for “ceasefire now” but I don’t know what else to write—I want to make sure that the design is clear, succinct, and easy to read/see. I’ve thought about adding a small border of text around the edge of the cap, to say something like “END GENOCIDE” and “END U.S.-BACKED VIOLENCE” but I worry that would make the design too busy.

Is this a good design? Good text? Should I take a different approach? Any ideas would be greatly appreciated! Thank you and I hope you have a nice day :)

i'm guessing the ceasefire thing is related to "not a war -- an occupation" rhetoric, but i would not worry about that. very different groups there with very different considerations; effective rhetoric amongst online leftists is not effective rhetoric during an american graduation ceremony. tune your language to your audience and what they'll understand. a ceasefire is the next most immediate step to saving palestinian lives and is commonly understood language. it's fine.

as for the design, i'd pick either "END THE GENOCIDE" or "CEASEFIRE NOW" with a fact or two. kind of like this:

^this is ugly. don't use this. but be bold with what it says. its purpose is to make a strong point fast.

i don't mean for this to be patronizing at all, i just don't know where your experience level is regarding political action online vs in real life, where you live, your comfort with public speaking, etc. i'd like to warn you because sometimes people are surprised by it, but people may approach you about this. they may not choose to talk to their family about it later or post about it on social media or google it. the point of doing this publicly at a large event where it is unavoidable that people see it is to cause a reaction and to control the structure of the conversation that follows. their starting point is the one you chose. if you haven't spoken about or heard others speak about palestine in your community, don't underestimate how contentious this topic may be. someone may argue with you or even attempt to berate you. when making a public statement of your beliefs in this manner, you are inviting public discussion by starting a public discussion. an open-entry public discussion, where not everyone who enters will be well-mannered.

if you are approached, this is a limited contact type of activism; quick and dirty. the goal is to get them curious and questioning and hopefully refer them to stronger and more detailed sources. for this purpose, stronger and more detailed sources can be easy and digestible like a good social media account or youtube video. do NOT get bogged down in the details. do NOT dissect the whole history of the area. it is sufficient to address recent violence, it is not your job to cover the entire issue from start to finish, and you couldn't if you tried anyway.

i would operate on an assumption of good faith but prepare for bad faith attempts to debate. don't necessarily use terminology to determine good faith from bad faith. assume ignorance instead of malice where possible, and be prepared to control your temper if you have one. get your facts straight, and consider keeping a little notecard with talking points or specific numbers like you might for a speech class. a note on your phone. an album of screenshots. some sort of reference that you feel confident using.

though to be honest, the more likely result is a drawn out argument with a conservative family member at dinner. which is also important, if wildly unpleasant.

either way, be ready to talk about it, be ready to explain it, and be ready to challenge people you know directly and staunchly.

good luck!

this may be a useful quick and dirty talking point to sidestep antisemitism accusations: "Ethnostates are bad no matter which ethnicity is in charge. We know this. If you're confused: it's 2023. There are people everywhere. There is nowhere to establish an ethnostate where you will not have to forcibly remove people who already live there, which called ethnic cleansing. which is known under international law as genocide. Ethnostates are always bad."

[perfectlyineffable]

Haven’t seen this on tumblr yet so I thought I’d share!

[Image Description: a tweet from the account @ AzAziraphale, name Aziraphale, which reads: “Today is a very special day. Crowley said yes!” Attached to the tweet is a photograph of a hand, presumably Aziraphale’s, holding a set of notecards with the beginning of a proposal speech visible on the first one. The background of the photo shows church windows filled with greenery, suggesting the photo was taken in the public garden of St Dunstan-in-the-East, i.e. the church that was blown up during the 1941 scene of the episode three cold open. The tweet is dated 10th May 2021, exactly 31 years after the publication of the book Good Omens, and 80 years after the bombing of the church.]

The full thing is an adorable proposal, so I’ll copy the rest of it out below, but you can find the original twitter thread at this link here.

Thread:

I spent months fiddling around, writing and re-writing my speech, before I was finally satisfied and transferred it on to note cards. I kept them in my pocket today in case words failed me. 

My dear Crowley - Eighty years ago, to the very day, you rescued me from a spot of bother I got myself into during the Second World War. You braved consecrated ground to save me from discorporation and dealt with the terrible people who hoodwinked me. Then you did something else-

You protected my books from the fire. That gesture was at once innocuous and monumental. For the first time I was unable to ignore the increasingly obvious depths of your feelings for me. You had no motive save for kindness. 

As the Church burnt around us, realisation of what I’d been unwilling and unable to acknowledge for centuries washed over me in waves. I was certain that I was in love with you and that the feeling was mutual. 

After that, I kept you at a carefully calculated distance. I hoped that, as ever, you would continue to be far more patient with me than I deserved. I attempted, unsuccessfully, to reassure you that I would be with you just as soon as I could find a way to keep you safe. 

The intervening decades were challenging – despite our immortality, each year felt arduously long. Neither of us expected to be free so soon, but we are now. We’re on our own side, in a space we made for the both of us. 

Two lovesick old fools inexorably changed by our time on Earth - by humanity and each other. We chose each other and I will continue to choose you for every day for the rest of my existence. 

When I was considering where to ask you this question, I knew two things. First, that it should be private, so that this doesn’t all end with you crying in public. You’d never forgive me for the damage to your reputation. Second, I wanted it to be a garden. 

Where better to begin this new chapter of our lives than in a different garden, a new Eden, one of our own creation? Wedding rings symbolise the unending love humans who choose to marry have for one another. My darling, that is precisely the kind of love I have for you. 

You have me completely, unconditionally, irrevocably. The entirety of my infinite celestial being is yours for just as long as you want it. Anthony J. Crowley, Will you marry me? 

Bonus:

[Image Description: A tweet from the account @ PlantMr_AJC, name Anthony J. Crowley, Esq. It reads: “I’m completely overwhelmed. Happy overwhelmed.” and tags Aziraphale’s account. Attached to the tweet is a photograph of a hand, presumably Crowley’s, wearing an engagement ring. The ring is thick, made of silver metal in a detailed filigree pattern, and is set with a very pale blue gem. The tweet was posted less than half an hour after Aziraphale’s twitter thread began.]

You can view the original twitter version of this tweet at this link here.

[everettlance]

A LIVING DEATH // SELF-PARA

The flashbacks don’t take long to start. For a person who’s been transplanted into a new body, it becomes increasingly difficult to tell what’s real and what isn’t. He isn’t real because he can’t be real. The laws of possibility state strictly that the dead remain dead, and yet, here he is. The dead, walking through an empty home.

His new house is for him and him only. His parents and several siblings meet him at the train station when he gets home but he refuses to speak to any of them.

He can’t listen to what they have to say. He doesn’t want to hear it, whatever empty words they might have for him, or worse, if they have love.

No one is allowed in. Maverick is not allowed in, not even allowed to talk to him. He walks past Agatha’s empty house, the lights darkened. He often finds himself in Orpheus’s bed, discovering his new body, discovering that the only thing approaching pleasure is in the carnal. Nights slip by. His old weed dealer is happy to see him.

The first flashback is in his cavernous bedroom, which he learns is cold in the winters. It feels like the bitter mountaintop, and suddenly the covers are not simply cotton, but rather, a blanket of snow, and before him is Seraphina: Take care of yourself Everett, and I’ll catch you in the next lifetime, okay?

How? His voice is an echo and is begging. It is raw, he is raw. He’s not sure if he’s speaking aloud or not, but no one is here to confirm. How do I take care of myself, Sera, how?

She is trapped and so is he. She beneath the boulder, he beneath the memory of it. He knows he isn’t here but he doesn’t know how to get out; his heart pounds his ribcage as if begging to escape it.

Sera doesn’t tell him how to take care of himself. She doesn’t tell him how to run away. She doesn’t say anything but tells him, over and over: Even Crash Justice can’t muscle his way through this one.

And what if he can’t?

Hours spent paralyzed beneath the memories. It’s Seraphina, then it’s Marino, falling from the ferris wheel. It’s Margot, torn to shreds by the wolves. It’s Burly, slicing at his face — the scar recreates itself every time he looks at himself in the mirror, not a memory but a present happening. It’s Memphis’s silent begging. It’s Agatha:

You better fucking win.

I did it, he says, on his knees like he’s praying in his room, the bathroom, the living room, the kitchen, I did it. Now what?

No one will tell him. None of the ghosts know the answer because none of them lived.

Sloane and Tommy visit him together and he kills them both again. And again. And again. It becomes more difficult to discern reality from unreality. He tries to write things down: I am here, I am real, I am Everett Lance and I won the Hunger Games.

But it isn’t true.

He is Everett Lance and he lost the Hunger Games.

Both things cannot be true.

They are.

On the outside of the house is latticework up which vines crawl. It’s easy to grip, easier to fall from, and the first time he tries it, escaping the memory of Memphis, who lays dying on the beach in his bedroom, he nearly falls. He catches himself on a pipe, but in the moment where freefall felt certain, Memphis disappears. The sand is gone. Only he is here. Moments later, he’s on the roof.

He knows that he is losing it. The roof doesn’t care. He lays flat and looks at the stars. He looks at the tattoo on his arm and traces the waves with his fingers. This is how he knows he is a person, even if he doesn’t know who that person is.

Maverick leaves for Seven. It’s better this way.

There’s a thunderstorm one afternoon. The lightning sends him in two directions at once: he is in the forest, holding Delta’s body as she dies, and he is in the middle of a town, watching the sky spin.

Whose memories entrap him?

He climbs onto the roof, away from the bodies that pile in his room. The lattice is slippery and he nearly falls twice, three times. The roof is slippery. No one comes to stop him. He doesn’t die. He’s lucky.

The stylist comes and asks if he’s more loyal to the red or blue team, and which he’d like to wear on his Victory Tour.

He tells her to put him in black.

He goes for long runs. He drinks himself to sleep. He lets himself cry. Nothing helps. Only the roof, slippery, steep, his weight and himself clinging to the shingles, can quiet the other tributes and drown out the Arenas.

He goes hiking, blazing his own trail. He finds steep cliffs and sits on the edges. He wonders about falling. He doesn’t. He goes to the shooting range, hits the first target and drops the gun.

Never again.

Life moves both forwards and backwards at a dizzying pace. He ignores texts, calls. The Peacekeeping Academy wants to make a hero of him but he’s read what they said when he died. They dismissed him, said he was a traitor for volunteering.

He is a traitor but he’s not sure to whom.

Spring begins, though he will never again trust the seasons.

The day he leaves for the Victory Tour, District Two is shrouded in cold weather, common for this time of year, but when he arrives in District Twelve, warmth is beginning in the upper reaches of Panem.

It’s an honor to be here today…

In Twelve, no one stands on the podium before Margot’s photo. He doesn’t know who or what to look at and the ringing in his ears is his own panic. He speaks quickly. He doesn’t succumb to the memory of Margot’s death, though he can feel the dirt in his hands as he digs.

I’m so privileged to have been chosen out of so many tributes to come back for the Quell…

In Eleven, the weather is even warmer. Trees blossom but there are no green leaves or pink flowers in the square where the stage is set up. Apple’s face looks at him from the projection, but as in Twelve, no one stands before it. It was only her, the only tribute from her District chosen to return. He had told her he hadn’t wanted to kill. It feels like a lie now.

My love for Panem kept me going through the Arena…

In Eight, there are more faces: Marino, Nikita, Franklin, Jeannie. The four of them stare at him and he tries to avoid eye contact. For a moment he can’t tell if they’re real or not. Or if they were ever real. The cards: he reads from the speech he’s been given. Nikita and Franklin have no family present, but Hunter Twill stands in front of Jeannie’s picture in sunglasses, shooting him a thumbs up. In the recap, he saw Jeannie explode, but couldn’t see her face. He wishes he could have seen it. Could have buried her like he’d buried Delta and Margot. It was a dignity that she deserved but would never get. And Nikita, stronger than him, smarter than him — should she be here right now instead of him? Should they all? 39 Victors rather than him, it feels like more than a fair trade. And Marino’s family, he knows they’re looking at him. He knows that Margot is not the only guilty one. He’s the only one remaining to bear the burden. It’s too heavy. In Eight, he stumbles, stutters, the world tilts and he sees stars — the speech is cut short, he is brought off the stage, excuses are made for him that he doesn’t deserve. His new body is checked over, questioned: are you alright? Do you feel alright? They think it’s because he’s a clone, and he doesn’t know how to say it’s because of everything else they’ve done to him.

Even though it was difficult, the trials that the Gamemakers set us were always fair…

In Seven, Alder and Maverick are there. Maverick tries to talk to him but he doesn’t want to speak. He has been given no cards to tell him how to face his old best friend. Alder leaves him be which feels like more mercy than he deserves. Burly’s family stands tall and proud; they glare at him. He can’t look, he can’t look. He leaves Seven as quickly as he can.

Panem has always been strong through trying times, whether or not the trials we face are fair...

In Six, he walks onto the stage and is immediately in the woods of the Arena. Sloane is on the ground to his left, Tommy to his right. There is blood all over his hands, all over his notecards. Amphora’s family, her smiling face, she looks so happy. How could she be happy here in the Arena? Tommy’s family stands in front of his picture; a wolf, decaying like him, prowls in front of them. Hadn’t he mentioned a mother? He feels sick. He forces himself to look because he doesn’t want to be a coward. He adds one thing into his speech:

I’m sorry.

On the way to Four, he makes a request. As the train rumbles towards the ocean, preparations are made. One wish can be granted, surely, for the Victor of the Quarter Quell, the boy on whom the Capitol is leaning to bring peace. When he gets onstage, Delta’s face is one of four. The Dunes are there, he recognizes them by the family resemblance, and thinks of Mako in the Capitol, happy. The Blues pull his attention, though, and he sees immediately that she gets her red hair from her family. They do not look at him unkindly, and after the speech, for the first time, he lingers. He tells them he thought it would be nice; to remember her. That he wishes she would have been brought back. That she deserved the Victory. She deserves to be remembered. Above him, lightning flashes but he digs fingernails into palms and forces himself to remain here, in the present; it’s what they deserve.

The Blues invite him into their house. It is small and comfortable. They offer to show him her room but he doesn’t want to see, not yet. He says this: Not yet. Maybe I’ll come back. They thank him for protecting her and sticking by her side. In their home for the first time in months he feels like he’s real. He apologizes for not being able to save her and cries.

We are better as a united nation than we are as individual parts, and I was better in the Arena with my allies than I was alone.

In Three, he finds Seraphina’s parents. She’d asked him to tell them she loved him and he won’t break a promise, even if his hands are shaking. Even if his lunch threatens to make a reappearance as he faces, directly, the parents of the girl he killed. The McCabes are kind, though, understanding; they just want to know what he and their daughter spoke about and did. They haven’t seen her in ten years, never expected to get her back. He tells them about swimming in the pool, eating the last cookie and facing her wrath. It feels nice to have a good story to tell.

The relationship between the Districts and the Capitol is one of peace, mutual protection, and balance.

In One, many faces, many families, look back at him from the crowd. He is tired, his body is exhausted and the travel has worn him out. Throughout the trip he has been tested, they’ve taken blood draws and measured his heart rate, had him undergo various physical examinations to be sure that all is well. They want to make sure, they say, that the stress doesn’t wear him out in this new body. He thinks it’s funny and laughs, but they don’t seem to get what’s so humorous about it. Diana’s face; she had offered him mercy, hadn’t hurt him though she could have. In front of Mandi’s face is a crowded podium; she was right about having a big family. There are so many people who love her; his knees threaten to buckle under the weight of all that grief, but he holds it together on the stage. He’s getting good at pretending.

It’s one I am proud to be a part of as your new reigning Victor of the Quarter Quell.

He returns home last, and even though many of the Districts saw warmer temperatures, it’s snowing when he walks onto the stage to give his speech one last time, this time to his home. Before him are the faces of Lionel, Agatha, and Isabela. Only Isa has people standing before hers, her family. The snow falling — he wonders if the Arena is broken, because it’s supposed to be springtime now — doesn’t deter the crowds. The District is proud of their Victor, proud to have brought it home for the Quell and the second time in a year. Cain is there, Orpheus is there, Trixie’s there, he’s the only one who feels like he’s missing. Where is he? Where is this person they’re celebrating?

The speech is not his. It’s bad, cliche, and it feels sour in his mouth. In the other Districts, they hated it; a few people even booed, though they were swiftly punished for it. In Two, though, he sees people nodding. He sees hands over hearts. He feels sick. Sick in this place that made him. Sick with the altitude of the heights they’ve lifted him to.

Afterwards he is only allowed one night at home before he has to go to the Capitol for the ball. In the empty house, they are all speaking. Carlos, Travela, Memphis, Marino, Burly, Sloane, Seraphina, and Tommy. Their fingers press against the wallpaper, they want to get out, but they can’t any more than he can. Agatha is stuck telling him, over and over, to win. He’d better fucking win.

Why? he asks, but she never has a good answer for him.

He climbs up onto the roof. He looks at the stars and tries to place himself in the universe.

[trumptrump]

For these last seven days (hopefully) of TRUMPTRUMP I’m writing about the project. Today: how it started.

I drew the first TRUMPTRUMP in front of my TV watching Trump give his acceptance speech at the RNC on July 21, 2016. It didn’t feel real, so to make it actually sink in that Trump - TRUMP!?! - was the Republican candidate I drew him on a notecard.

I had done projects like this in the past. LADYH8RS and USAH8RS were grotesque portrait projects where I drew misogynist and un-American public figures respectively. I liked the activity of documenting their cruelty while also doing aesthetic violence to their images. In 2013 I had drawn the Republican candidate for governor in Virginia daily for a week to highlight his unfitness for office. 

The initial impetus for the Trump project was the same - spotlight his ugliness, give succor to those of us who opposed him and make uncomfortable those who were trying to ignore his racism and sexism to still vote Republican. My plan was to draw him daily until the election since there was no way NO WAY he could win. I bought the domain trumptrump.biz and set up a quickie tumblr site to host what I thought would be a 3 ½ month project. LOL.

In the initial drawings I didn’t really “get” him yet, but his smirk and hair went a long way towards making a likeness. I paired them with quotes or facts from his long history of nastiness. For a while I drew him like the other “H8Rs,” ¾ portraits. 

I have a distinct memory of when changed - I was drawing late at night and I drew the first naked Trump and started giggling. She asked me what was going on and I showed her, feeling like I had crossed some barrier by drawing him without clothes. I was getting better at making a likeness of him and that meant I could go farther into the grotesque. It’s funny now, seeing all the things I drew later, that this was transgressive for me.

Trump was, of course, going to lose, so my plan was as we approached election day he would melt down into goo. After he lost a host of monsters and beasts would eat the goo (some pooping it out) and then he would be gone. That… didn’t happen. He melted down but then he won.

[pennylanefics]

Stressed - Ben Hardy

requested

summary: could you write about the reader being too stressed and anxious and ben notices even tho the reader doesn’t say anything and eventually they talk about it?

word count: 2,423

Your mind was racing as you stared down at the papers in front of you. Staring at the same question for about five minutes did nothing but confuse you even more. Finals were quickly approaching and you could not wait to get them over with so you could spend some time with Ben. You had been ditching him a lot recently so you could focus on your work; a couple classes you’re taking are extremely hard, so studying for them extensively is a must. You felt bad for ignoring Ben, but he understood school comes first.

He occasionally came over and would just sit with you while you studied, rubbing your back and softly humming a song that was stuck in his head; you admired that he did that for you, even if most of the night consisted of silence besides your pencil scratching against paper or your fingers typing away on your laptop. He didn’t care, though, he loved just being in your presence.

It was now a week later, finals were next week, when things at work started to go downhill. You and a co worker got into an argument over how they were treating a customer. The argument turned violent, so you of course got put on unpaid leave. On top of finals and work, you told your parents you weren’t able to come home for Christmas, and they had a fit. Your mom was telling you how much she hates Ben, how he’s changing you to fit into his lifestyle, how you’re changing into a “typical celebrity”, which you aren’t, you’re just dating a celebrity. They didn’t seem to understand that you haven’t been able to actually spend time with him since he returned from filming a new movie, directly after he finished filming Bohemian Rhapsody.

So now here you are, sitting on your bed, close to a mental breakdown. You focused on the same study guide you had been working on for the past few weeks, jumping back and forth from working on that to flipping through notecards filled with terms and definitions. You were finally starting to retain some things, so you felt just a little bit better.

You moved from the flashcards to another study guide for another class, which was surprisingly easy. Studying was going well...until you suddenly forgot you had a paper due on Wednesday, it now being Saturday. Your eyes widened as you frantically opened your laptop, checking your class’s Canvas site, and your thought was right. A literary analysis paper of The Great Gatsby was due on the day the class met. Your heart started to race and you started to shake, freaking out just thinking about how you’re going to have to reference the book. You had read it because it was an assignment for the class, and you knew you had to write a paper, but you completely forgot about it.

You pulled up a new word document and filled out the header and everything that is usually needed on the top of papers in college. You reached over and grabbed the book that was sitting on your nightstand. Thankfully, you stuck post-it notes on specific spots you would need to reference in your paper, which calmed you a little; you weren’t going into this blindly. You pulled up a second word doc and started an outline for the paper.

You didn’t notice that your phone had been buzzing nonstop, but you didn’t care, you didn’t have time to talk to anyone. After about twenty minutes, you grew annoyed and picked it up, seeing Ben was calling you.

“Hello?”

“Hi, love. I’ve been texting and calling you for the past half hour, are you okay?” Ben’s voice filled the silence of your room as you put him on speaker.

“I’m fine. I’m studying, and I just remembered that I also have a paper due. I’ve just started that.”

“Do you mind if I come over? I got us some food from Nando’s, I figured you haven’t eaten yet, you’ve been so caught up with studying,” he laughed, shuffling coming through the speaker. It sounded like he was getting into his car.

“I don’t mind, but I really need to have a good start on this paper. The door’s open, you can walk in when you get here.”

“Alright. See you in a few, darling.” You quickly hung up and got right back to filling out your outline. About five minutes later, you finished that, so you started the actual paper. After writing the first paragraph, you jumped back to the study guide you have yet to finish. You heard Ben walk in, so you quickly fixed your composure so he didn’t think anything is wrong. You have yet to tell him about work and your parents. He didn’t need to worry about providing you money because you have no income or have the things that your parents said upset him. He knew you were studying for finals, he just didn’t know the extent or how much you actually have to do.

“(Y/N), baby. I have food.” You laughed lightly at him singing the words, and you reluctantly stood from your spot on your bed, which you haven’t moved from all day. You ran into the kitchen to where he stood setting the take out boxes on the counter. He heard your footsteps and turned around right as you jumped into his arms. He was shocked at the action, shocked that you aren’t still staring at your study guides.

“Hello to you too, love.” He pulled away to press a kiss to your lips. When you didn’t kiss back as much as he did, he leaned away. A confused stare came over his features, sensing that something was wrong even though you seemed happy.

“What’s up? Are you okay?” He asked concerned. You nodded and gave him a soft smile.

“Yeah, I’m just distracted trying to think of how to write the paper that’s due in four days.” He still didn’t believe you, but he dropped it. You turned towards the food and grabbed two plates so you didn’t have to eat out of the boxes. After you filled your plate with what you wanted, you ran back to your room and sat down in the same spot, Ben following you like usual. You set your plate next to your laptop and went back to work. Ben let you work, keeping quiet while he ate. He studied you for a long time, what you were wearing, the expression on your face as you concentrated on writing. He smiled softly as he kept admiring you. At one point, he couldn’t help but lean in and press a kiss to your shoulder randomly.You chuckled at his affection and turned to caress his cheek.

“I love you so much, Ben. Thank you for being so supportive and allowing me to study for these past couple weeks. Since this is my last year, I really need to try hard and pass every single final.” He stared at you lovingly as you spoke.

“It’s no problem, love. Although you don’t need to study because you are extremely smart, so I know you’ll do good no matter what,” he said, leaning up to give you a quick kiss.

“And I love you, too.” You smiled and went back to working. A few minutes later, your phone rang, causing you to roll your eyes.

“Would you mind answering that?” You asked Ben. He hummed in response and stepped into the hall to talk to whoever it was. You were hoping it was work telling you that you could come back. But you knew that wasn’t going to happen. A couple minutes passed when Ben came back in, or should I say stormed in.

“When the hell were you going to tell me you and your parents got in a fight about me?” He yelled. You flinched at how loud his voice came out; this is not what you needed right now. If he were to keep yelling at you for even a minute, you were going to break.

“I-I don’t know. I wasn’t going to, honestly. I didn’t think it would matter. Anyway, I really need to get at least halfway through this paper.” You focused back on your laptop, but Ben walked around your bed and slammed it shut.

“What the hell Ben?!”

“Tell me right now everything that happened with your parents! Because they called saying they were so happy they didn’t have to see me for Christmas because I’m such a terrible boyfriend, that I keep you from seeing them!”

“I really don’t feel like talking about it,” you whispered. He didn’t buy that.

“Tell me!” He raised his voice even more, and that was your tipping point. Tears bursted from your eyes, your body shaking, sobs racking your body as everything came crashing down. Ben immediately felt horrible as he thought he made you cry. He moved your plates to your desk, as well as your laptop, and set all of your papers on the floor. He quickly pulled you into his arms and cradled you, gently rocking you back and forth.

“Shhh, I’m so sorry, love, you’re alright. I didn’t mean to yell at you,” he whispered in your ear. You slowly started to calm down as he rubbed your back, like he usually does when you’re studying. Fifteen or so minutes later, you finally stopped crying, but still hid in his chest.

“Love, please look at me.” You listened to his request, your red, teary eyes met his beautiful green orbs.

“I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to yell at you. I know how stressed you’ve been with studying.”

“That’s not just it,” you admitted quietly. He knew it. He knew something else was bothering you.

“You yelling at me was my breaking point. On top of all the studying, I got sent home from work and I’ve been on unpaid leave. I started an argument with a co-worker for treating a customer very horribly. She was being extremely rude to a man who had a speech impediment, so she couldn’t understand him very well. She was getting agitated, so that led to her being flat out rude. I pushed her out of the way and apologized deeply to the guy, and told him his drink was on me. I also told him his next drink would be free. I felt so bad, he shouldn’t be treated differently for that.

“So after I finished attending to customers, I ran back and started yelling at her. I told her she’s a horrible person for treating a someone with a speech problem so awful, that he didn’t deserve it. That led to her pushing me, in which I retaliated and pushed her back. Our manager ran in to see what was going on, and he only saw when I pushed her. He didn’t want to hear my side of the story, so he put me on unpaid leave. He didn’t tell me when I was coming back.” You finished that story, wiping away some tears. Your hand was replaced by Ben’s his thumb gently wiping your cheek softly. You took a deep breath and started your second story.

“And with my family, I told them I wasn’t able to come home for Christmas because I was planning on spending it with you. I feel bad that I haven’t made an effort to see you since you got back from filming because I’ve been so caught up in studying for finals. So I thought I would spend Christmas with you to make up for that. When I told them, they flipped out and started saying that they hate you, they think you’re changing me to fit your lifestyle or some shit like that. I wasn’t going to tell you because everything they said isn’t true. I told them you just recently got back from shooting a new movie right after the other one ended, and they didn’t care. They thought you are forcing me to stay with you. They also think I’m turning into some crazy “celebrity”.” Your tears had subsided now as Ben listened to you intently. He held your hands tightly, which comforted you a lot. You knew he wasn’t mad at you, your parents probably said something to try and get a rise out of him. And it worked.

“Why didn’t you tell me all of this, (Y/N)?” He asked, eyes boring into yours.

“I was so focused on studying and trying to get through finals. I also didn’t want to burden you with all of my problems.”

“You will never burden me! You’re my girlfriend, I want to make sure you’re happy all the time. I hate when you get so stressed out and break down, it pains me to see you like this. Promise me whenever you are feeling anxious about something, or stressing about work, family, school, whatever, you come and talk to me the minute it happens, alright?” He held his pinkie out for you to promise. He’s such a child. You grinned softly and took his pinkie in yours.

“I promise, bub. I love you, thanks for putting up with me.”

“I’ll never get tired of putting up with your cute ass, believe me,” he laughed pulling you back into his arms.

“Here’s what’s going to happen. You aren’t going to study anymore tonight, no paper, no work problems, no family. Just me and you, watching The Office under a fuzzy blanket in our comfy clothes. Most likely finishing off the rest of the food.” You smiled and nodded along at his words.

“Sounds amazing.”

“Good. You need to rest that pretty brain of yours. I know you’ll do fine. Plus you overworked yourself.” He pressed a kiss to your forehead and got up to grab your laptop. You quickly ran to the kitchen to retrieve the rest of the food. Ben already had The Office pulled up on your laptop so you crawled under the covers with him.

“How’s your paper coming?” Ben asked once you two were settled. You shook your head and cuddled into his chest.

“No school talk, remember? Just want to spend some time with my boy,” you said into his neck. He chuckled and wrapped his arm around you, pulling you closer.

“I’m not a boy. I’m a man,” he muttered, acting hurt. You giggled and pressed a kiss to his cheek.

“Of course you are, bub.”

[erlenmeyertrash]

Once you get this, you have to say five things you like about yourself, publicly. Then you have to send this to ten of your favorite followers (non-negotiable, positivity is cool).

positivity IS cool my dude. and i’m going to extremely challenge myself by finding the time i did this MONTHS ago (e o n s) and making myself do five OTHER things. because self positivity is hella cool. oh queso

…now i’m mad because i already used two of the ones i thought of uGH

alsO get ready for the ramblies under the cut because :) i :) like :) to :) talk :) it’s just me fleshing out each one for literally no other reason that the aforementioned/extremely obvious love of the ramblies

the shortened version is: 1. i like that i want to fill spaces; 2. i like that i have an independent self from other people or ideas; 3. i like that i can both talk and listen; 4. i like that i’m not afraid to speak in public; and 5. i like that i have a life plan

1. i like that i want to fill spaces. i like that i have this section of my bedroom wall covered in sticky notes and notecards of quotes that i like; i like that i have this burning desire to decorate my new bedroom/living room when i move (in august i caNT WAIT) with a tapestry and pretty curtains and throw pillows and little plant bowls. i like that when i get my first house i already know i want nice-smelling candles in like every room and shelves full of books and mementos and pictures lining a hall or a shelf or two. i love designing or rearranging or making a space feel clean yet lived-in, and i love that i love it. 

2. i like that i have an independent self from other people. in the past, i’ve been the type of person to mold my personality to certain groups- from like second or third grade all the way up to last year, i remember doing it. it’s happened in past relationships, too. it’s like ‘oh, this person seems to like when i showcase X aspect of my personality, better Do That All The Time Forever Around Them.’ it’s negatively affected me at times, whether it’s been changing my personality/viewpoint on things to something i now regret (the whole Being Mean And Eternally Sarcastic/Aloof Is Cool in middle/early high school deal) or simply exhausting me from trying to be something that i am, but not totally am (pretending to always be happy when that’s physically impossible to do, thereby ignoring negative emotions and never properly dealing with them). i’m forever clingy and an incessant people-pleaser, but it morphed into attempting to change or hide parts of who i was in order to keep people around. i’ve only recently been strongly attempting to change this part of me by forcing myself first to realize it’s okay to be who i am, even if parts can seem contradictory (being social one day and wanting to be a recluse the next). i’m in a relationship rn (for those of you who remember That God-Awful Drama With Snow White, yes, it’s still the jo bro, he’s p darn cool), and i decided right off the bat to throw caution to the wind and totally be my weird self around him with changing moods and steadfast ideas. sometimes it makes me uncomfortable when our opinions clash, or self-conscious when my brain tells me “oh, he’s going to get tired of you being like X, you need to not do that/not tell him when you feel like this,” but i think it’s helped me grow as a person and made us closer. i’ve realized people who care about you will understand you can’t always or never be/feel a certain way and they’re totally fine with it. b a s i c a l l y i like that i ‘found’ who i was and have learned to be more accepting of it. and yes i could keep going with this :)))))

3. i like that i can talk (woahhh never woulda guessed right) and listen. i used to always feel like (and was told by some people) i talked Too Much™ and never listened to people. it made me feel ridiculously self-centered and try and shut myself up or exclude myself from conversations for fear of shutting others out. the issue was that i did enjoy listening to people; i think, looking back, part of it was just my age/maturity level!! and wanting to say the Perfect thing to be accepted and fit in to whatever group. now, i think i’ve found a more healthy balance. i’m more aware of when it is and isn’t a good time to have a longer discussion; i’m more capable of not interrupting (or if i do, apologizing and holding my tongue, and knowing they’re not crucifying me for it). i’m also able (and love) to sit back and listen to someone ramble about something they feel strongly about or have a unique opinion on. i think i like this about me because i like being heard- so much to where i realize others probably also like it, and i appreciate that i’m able to accommodate it from both perspectives.

4. (a continuation of 3 but still its own thing) i like that i’m not afraid (or. well. no longer completely terrified) to speak in public. sure it can freak me out sometimes; but i was in a high school organization (mock trail anyone? yeah r i p) that forced you to basically perform an hour-long improv show that combined acting with wits and being able to think on the fly (all while wearing a gross suit. like. cmon.). i was in charge of freak fracking closing arguments, which- if you’ve ever watched a Lawyer Show- is the one at the end where they have to make a persuasive speech to the jury entirely based on what transpired in the case. since the events of the case always changed based on your opponent/judge/etc., i had to prepare this five-minute speech as the case was going (while being involved in the case itself as an attorney) and then, once the case was over, immediately present it to the jury of (Real Actual Adult) attorneys. the first few times i did it, i was so scared. but when you’re forced to do something outside of your comfort zone enough times, your comfort zone can morph to accept it (note!!! that this is not me telling you to force yourself far outside of your comfort zone. you don’t see me signing up for Cliff Diving Camp here). it helped me learn how to better carry myself; i can tell it helped my conversational and debating skills, especially with superiors or adults who are More Adultish than me. it helped me learn how to cope better with the jumble of nerves i (still) get before speaking to multiple people or crowds. 

5. i like that i have a life plan. i especially like that i can modify parts of said plan and still believe that i can reach my goals and be happy and content with my life. the current plan is survive these next two years of college, apply to pharmacy school, get into pharmacy school, kick pharmacy school’s butt, and then get a rockin, well-paying permanent job with decent hours so i can play with Oggo and buy him Every Single Toy That Exists In The Universe.

3 and 4 combined have helped me learn how to be more assertive with my thoughts and self(™) and know how to get what i want- which in turn forced me to learn what the heck i wanted, therefore leading into 2 and 5 and discovering 1. and writing all this has made me realize that while i do still have issues with self-confidence, i actually really do like parts of who i am. so thank you anon for this lil burst of confidence on this fine saturday morning ily ♡♡♡

[talkgreasytome]

Finally

Ship(s): Ponyboy x Sodapop Character(s): All characters excluding Socs ;  Words: 2951 Warning(s): Incest ; Implied mention of suicide ;  A/N: I had been writing this for a week because Anonymous and I had been talking about this and I just,,,,, love t his idea and i love that I can post this on Sodapop’s birthday !!! This is one set after Sodapop comes home from Vietnam just in time for Ponyboy’s graduation.

Pony took a deep breath and looked around the room to see what felt like a billion eyes on him. His stomach was turning and he couldn’t even say if he was nervous or not. He straightened his notecards in his hands and took a second to look over the sea of people before speaking, putting on a smile.

“I am a proud student of Will Rogers High, and I feel honored to be one of the top students in this school to be graduating this year.” He continued his speech clearly and loudly for all to hear, and his smile turned from fake to real. As he continued speaking, his eyes began searching the crowd once again, wondering where Darry and his friends were sitting. When his eyes reached the back of the room, he could see Darry, and…

He froze, his voice stopping immediately in the middle of a word as his eyes laid upon a male with honey eyes and golden-brown hair. Their eyes met, and Pony’s eyes began to water and his knees grew weak and shaky. His heartbeat picked up and his smile widened.

Soda’s home.

His senses came back when he heard the crowd whispering and he saw worried looks. He drew in another quick, deep breath and regained his composure, then starting back up on his speech. When he finished, the crowed clapped, but his brothers and friends cheered the loudest. He could especially makeout Soda’s sounds, and they made his heart skip a beat and more. Instead of dinging his place with the graduating class, he quickly walked toward the back of the room. When there, he ran to his brothers and jumped at Sodapop, clinging t o him tightly, his shoulders shaking. Soda was smiling widely, tearing brimming in his eyes as he hugged Pony back tightly.

“You’re home…” Pony whispered shakily, “I love you so much…” Soda laughed quietly, gently petting his hair. They were ignoring any looks from their brothers, friends, and strangers. At the moment, it was just them.

“I love you too, Ponyboy… I love you a whole lot…”

“Come on guys,” Darry was suddenly saying, patting on Soda’s back to gain his brother’s attention, “let's save this for when we get home.” Pony nodded and slowly loosened his grip on Soda, but as the ceremony dragged on, Pony continued to cing to his brother shamelessly. For once he was unashamed of his feelings for his brother, though the whole time he felt as though people were staring and judging. He didn’t let this bother him too much, though. At least for now he didn’t.

When the ceremony ended and they were headed to the truck,Pony had taken Soda’s hand in his and hugged Soda’s arm to him. The guys tried thinking nothing of it, but Soda could feel the awkward tension and he eventually grew nervous. When they all piled into the truck, Dally, Johnny, and Two-Bit all sat in the bed while Steve and Pony sat in the cab, and Soda sat in the passenger seat while Darry drove. The whole ride home, for Soda, was nerve-wrecking, but he showed no signs of this, luckily.

They all expressed the feeling of being proud toward Ponyboy, even Steve and Dallas did, but the only thing on his mind was just wanting to be with Soda. They’d both peer into the rear-view mirror and make eye-contact, then blush and look away. Luckily nobody noticed. Eventually, when Soda was looking back again, he locked eyes with Steve.

“You stayin’ for long, Pepsi?” Steve asked, and Soda bit his lip, ignoring Pony’s questioning expression.

“Maybe a week, I’m not sure yet…”

“Then you’re gonna go back?” Pony asked, catching Soda’s attention. Soda’s eyes softened to sadness and he reached back behind his seat to pat Pony’s leg.

“We’ll talk about this later, alright? I also have something else I wanna talk to you about.” Pony nodded, his shoulders slumping and face falling. Quickly, Darry was changing the subject.

“We’re happy you’re home, Sodapop.”

The rest of the ride was quiet between the four, and the whole time, Soda and Pony were craving interaction, any kind. When they reached the house, everyone was quick to scramble out of the truck, and when Pony and Soda were out, Pony was clinging to Soda’s right arm once again. They both just felt more at ease with each other.

They all relaxed and stayed around a while, catching up with Soda and Soda catching up with them. Soda told the guys of his training and some new friends he had made in his barrack. All the while, Pony was leaning onto him, looking at him with heart-eyes. Of course, Soda noticed this, and it only fed his ego and made him feel loved. That is, feel loved the way he wanted Pony to love him.

“Looks like Soda has a new boyfriend,” Two-Bit teased, making the pair of brothers blush like mad and making Pony start to internally panic. Soda, though, cut him a sharp look.

“I could pin you down right now or get you on your knees, don’t test me, man.”

“Oh my knees, huh? So that’s what you’re into?” Two continued to tease, making Steve and Dally snicker, too. Pony could feel Soda’s tension and nuzzled his arm, looking over at Keith.

“Cut it out, Two-Bit…” He muttered, and Darry gave Keith a warning glance to really get him to shut his trap. Soda looked down at Pony and sighed, pressing a kiss to his temple.

“He’s just bein’ an ass, don’t worry about it, baby.” Pony nodded, just trying to relax. After a comment like that, Pony wondered how Soda could still be calm. He couldn't risk anyone finding out.

When dinner time came around and they were all sitting at the table, it felt, to Soda, as if everything was good again; he felt normal. Darry finished dinner first, being followed by Two-Bit and Steve until finally, it was just soda and Pony at the table. Soda was already done and full whiel Pony was only halfway done with his meal. Somewhere along the line of eating and conversing, Ponyboy had begun to think badly and it affected his appetite as always. Truthfully, that was the most amount of dinner he had eaten all week. When the two were really left alone in the kitchen, Pony sighed.

“Are you really gonna go back?” He asked, and Soda leaned against the table and set a hand on Pony’s leg.

“Yeah, I have too… You thought I was gonna stay?” Pony shrugged and pushed his plate away from him on the table.

“Well, when you’re home just out of the blue, what am I supposed to think? I didn’t think you’d go back, I thought you’d get to stay and we could…” Pony trailed off, his cheeks burning and turning red. Soda noticed this and smiled just barely, moving his hand from Pony’s leg to this cheek and making him look at him.

“And we could what?” Pony bit his lip and looked down, but when he looked back up and opened his mouth, he was quickly interrupted.

“Are you guys coming any time soon?” Steve asked from the kitchen doorway. Soda dropped Pony’s face and grinned at Steve.

“We’re comin’, what’s the big deal?”

“We’re all stayin’ the night tonight!” Steve said cheerily, and Pony’s heart fell to his stomach.

“Why?” He asked, rather annoyed now. He had no problems with any of them spending the night, but he was looking forward to spending some personal time with his brother now that he was home. But for that reason exactly- of Soda being home- was why they were staying over, and it really bothered Ponyboy. Sodapop could sense Pony’s discontentment and gently rested his hand on Pony’s shoulder as he talked with Steve.

“We’ll be in there in a second, Pony’s almost done eating.”

“Don’t count on him finishing,” Steve remarked, “ever since you left, he doesn’t do much of anything.” Soda frowned as Steve walked away after saying this. He only said it to take a jab at the kind, and instead of it making Soda upset with Steve, he just got worried for his youngest brother. He looked at Pony who was just looking at his cold dinner miserably.

“Me being gone really hurts you, doesn’t it?” He asked quietly, and Pony nodded slowly, his expression blank.

“Even worse after I found those poems.”

Soda sighed when he remembered exactly what Pony was talking about. Started just a month or so before turning sixteen, Sodapop had written love notes and poems about his love for the unnamed boy with green eyes, brown hair, and an interest in sunsets. Each one of them ended in tragedy or started as one. He kept them hidden in a shoebox in their closet on a shelf so Pony couldn’t reach, and by the time Soda had to leave, they had forgotten about it. Pony only remembered the box when he was searching the closet for a specific flannel of Soda’s and grabbed onto the small box.

“We’ll talk about it later, okay?” Soda promised, rubbing his face then patting Pony’s shoulder. “Come on, we don’t want Two-Bit thinking we’re making out in here, do you?” Her asked this mostly to tease Ponyboy, and Pony smiled just a little as he rose from his seat.

“Nah, I guess not.”

When the pair joined their friends in the living room, Pony was expecting them to all just sit around and eventually fall asleep. The night was actually quite enjoyable for he and everyone else, though. Darry brought out snacks and Johnny helped drag all the pillows and blankets out so they were all comfortable, especially himself since he was more of a blanket hog. Eventually, Steve had challenged Soda to an arm-wrestling content, in which Soda had won with the help of his newly formed muscle. The whole night, Pony was was looking at him lovingly like he had done earlier, and Soda definitely noticed, leading his ego to growing just a bit larger and his heart swelling bigger, too.

Because of the excitement and sugar crashes, they were falling asleep by midnight and one. But when most of the boys were asleep, Ponyboy was forcing himself to stay awake just so he could be with Soda who wasn’t all that tired because by that time, it was day in Vietnam.

“Ponyboy, you need to get some sleep,” Soda mumbled, relaxing when Pony started crawling on to his lap on the couch. The others were on pallets on the floor asleep minus Darry who was in his own bed and Steve who occupied the recliner. “Don’t let me keep you up.”

“You don’t want to spend time with me?” Pony questioned, mostly teasing but slightly disappointed still. Soda huffed, a small smile present on his lips as he wrapped his arms around Pony’s waist. Pony straddled Soda’s waist comfortably.

“Believe me, I do… but I don’t want you feeling bad and cranky in the morning.” Pony rolled his eyes, but his soft, content smile stayed.

“I feel like you’re trying to get out of talking about something,” Pony claimed in a near whisper. Soda shrugged and drummed his fingers against Pony’s lower back.

“Is it about those poems?”

“Mhm.”

“Well what ‘s there to talk about it? I was feeling depressed and suicidal about my feelings for my brother. I still am, but not as much since you like me back.” Soda's bluntness put a good amount of guilt in Pony’s stomach although he already knew that.

“I’m sorry…” he mumbled, and Soda sighed, leaning in to kiss his cheek.

“I’m not mad at you, baby… I just don’t like thinking about it. If you wouldn’t have found that box, you wouldn’t have ever known, and if I wasn’t drafted, well… I might not be here.” each word made Pony’s heart ache, so he took Soda’s face in his hands and kissed his nose.

“You’re not gonna die tough, are ya?” Soa shook his head and licked his lips, then bit off some dry skin.

“No, not now that I got you at least.” Pony smiled at this, his heart fluttering though he knew that wasn’t too good. Soda had much  more reason to stay alive other than him, but it still meant so much to him.

“I love you…”

“I’m in love with you,” Soda said back, his cheeks turning rosy. To hear those words made Pony’s heart skip, and it felt so good to Soda to be able to say it without guilt for once, or to have to pretend he meant something different.

“Can I read you my favorite poem of  yours?” Pony asked carefully, and Soda looked at him unsurely. He hated that  he kept them, but if it weren't’ for them, they wouldn't be in this moment.

“I guess…” At that, Pony had hopped off of Soda’s lap and near silently scampered off down the hall their- his- bedroom. Soda waited rather nervously and looked around at the sleeping boys. If one of them were to wake up while they were awake, Soda would probably regret coming home.

Quickly, Ponyboy came rushing back in, paper in-hand. He sat next to Soda and unfolded the paper, giving him a clear view of the words as Pony read quietly.

“Roses are red, My tears are blue, It’s too bad my confession Is way overdue.”

Soda grimaced and cringed when he recognized this poem. It was the last one he had written before leaving for war, and he hadn’t written for months before that.

“He deserve to know, But I’m too scared. Because of her, I’m in love impaired.”

Her, Soda thought, why did I have to mention her? Suddenly, Sandy's image popped into his head and he sighed. He didn’t love her anymore, his full heart beat and bled for Ponyboy, but the thought of her still pained his heart. Pony noticed and glanced at him before continuing.

“I know he’d hate me Whether I told him or not, But despite what might happen, I love him a lot.”

Pony paused before continuing on to the last stanza. Emotions were getting the best of him like they did at his graduation earlier. After a breath, he continued.

“He makes my heart beat, He’s my reason to live. And when I come back home, My heart, I will give.”

Soda’s eyes widened slightly. He didn’t remember that last line. He wondered; would I really have told him how I felt?

Pony folded the paper again and stuffed it into his pocket, then looked up at Sod to see him lost in thought. He smiled and pecked Soda’s cheek.

“You write beautifully.”

“Nah, it’s just something I came up with…” Soda mumbled, “I just kept thinking about how I regretted not telling you, especially because I thought I was gonna die.” His heart ached with each word spoken. If he were dead, then he wouldn't be experiencing this time with Pony right now. For the first time in a long time, he was happy to be alive. Or, at the very least, not wanting to be dead.

“I don’t know what I would've done if you were dead,” Pony said, leaning against his brother, “I can’t live without you.”

“That’s probably why I’m alive right now; I can’t live without you, either.” Soda explained, wrapping an arm around Pony’s waist and holding him close. Pony pursed his lips and continued to look over his brothers face. His heart beat eventually quickened as he thought of kissing him. Soda noticed his looming gaze and grinned, keeping his own eyes ahead of him.

“Got something on your mind, Ponyboy?” Pony blushed and averted his eyes.

“Nothing…”

“Then why were you staring at me?”

“I wasn’t!” Pony whined, and Soda chuckled quietly and looked down at him, resting his forehead on Pony’s. Their hearts beat in sync and screamed ‘I love and need you’ with every beat, and yet,  both were too nervous and unsure about anything. Their lips were dangerously close to each other, and they were too afraid to eve look at each other, so their star-pierced eyes were closed. Pony’s hands were shaking as they begged to grip Soda’s shirt or hair, and the only thing on Soda’s face was a tempting grin.

“Sure you weren’t thinking of anything…?” Soda asked teasingly, and Pony couldn’t stop his blush’s burn from growing hotter.

“Well I am now…”

“Why don't you show me what it is?” Soda pressed on, and Pony drew in a deep breath, gulping. He had enough power to lean up just barely and connect their lips, but he didn’t have the strength. Too nervous.

“W-what are you thinking about?” He asked Soda instead, and Soda snickered.

“How I’m not afraid to do this anymore,” he said, then as soon as the word escaped him, he smashed his lips to Pony’s his hands going up to hold Pony’s face. Pony tensed though he saw it coming, but quickly he became accustomed to the star-bursting feeling and tears sprang into his eyes. Relief flooded Pony’s body and his heart swelled, and they both felt almost victorious. It was just them in a world that would tear them apart, and in that very moment, they were both truly happy.

Soda drew back first to breathe. It was like he had forgotten how too. Pony stayed frozen in shock. Soda noticed and laughed just barely.

“Finally,” he joked, and Pony nodded slowly, opening his eyes and giving his brother such a loving look.

“Finally.”