#probably not even remotely realistic

[the-volary]

Could you imagine if Concerts were considered 'enrichment' and the goverment had to fund them? Not only would they be paying the band(s) but they'd also be making sure that the town's venue had all the chairs/etc. they'd need to accomodate everyone. All concert-goers would have to pay for was food/drinks/merch and possibly parking if the venue requires payment for that.

[fingertipsmp3]

I should neverrr have accepted this shift. Literally every problem I have would be irrelevant if I didn’t have to go to work today

[somewhereincairparavel]

If Jason had been written to have atleast somewhat of a jealousy streak of Percy, then it would have made him more human tbh. Ironically I feel like the fandom would've been much more empathetic to his character, if he acknowledged that he envied Percy a little and then came to terms with it. We know that Jason's fear of being 2nd best is a very integral part of his character, I mean, Gaia taunting him with that in his nightmares was enough to reduce him into tears. and that's the ONLY time we've even remotely seen him cry. Percy had so many things Jason didn't have, a loving mom, a loving girlfriend who took a knife for him and never broke his heart, a loving camp that looked for him endlessly after he went missing, people ACTUALLY wanting him to survive because they care about him not because they need him for glory, etc. and if im being honest Poseidon wasn't even that bad of a father (for a big three god, atleast) tbh he still came to percy's 15th birthday, invited him to fishing, genuinely loved sally, she was probably the only mortal he fell in love with and it stayed that way, he was never rude to percy and stuck up for him etc. not tryna say percy had it easy or anything ofc he didnt, but there is no point in denying that he had a MUCH better support system than jason ever had.

The fact that Jason despite having none of these things was not even remotely envious of Percy made him appear like a bland robot with no emotional baggage

Compare this to Nico, who was rightfully a little jealous/idolizing Percy while simultaneously having a crush on him, also a little jealous of Jason because he was "the golden boy" who everyone respected, it made him have SO much depth and the fandom loves him (rightfully so)

also, leo. He was resentful of Percy up until blood of Olympus because of how everyone loved him, how Calypso fell for him almost immediately, etc. it's very realistic.Jason feeling a little resentful of Percy and then later talking it out would've made his character much less of a shallow stereotypical nice guy that ppl dislike.

maybe Rick could've expanded on Jason's jealousy of how quickly camp Jupiter accepted Percy and how quickly Reyna made him praetor, when jason himself had dedicated his whole life to it and was only made praetor in the last couple months, how camp Jupiter and his supposed friends never held a memorial for him even after they thought he was dead, etc. Also how Percy spent more time with thalia than jason ever did, we know he did feel a little envious since he mentioned how much he wished thalia looked for him the way she was looking for percy

I would've loved to see Jason being a little cold to Reyna too because of this and then they later talk it out, since it's VERY realistic, I was surprised with how quickly jason shrugged the whole Percy- being- a -praetor thing off, I thought he'd have felt a little betrayed by Reyna considering that they were childhood friends, and reyna never really sent a search party or something after him like annabeth did, gods, the amount of angst potential this man had i love him ugh

[ughthisisntright]

Lap of Luxury | Sugar Daddy!Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Reader

Summary: As a young woman without much income, a joke of a job, and an unfortunately expensive taste, your curiosity one evening leads to a string of events far out of your control.

Warnings: Age gap (reader is 23, Bradley is 40), suggestive themes (no smut), fluff

Word Count: 4,635

“Babe,” your best friend slurred. “You need to get on Seeking Arrangements! These guys- they just buy you stuff! And give you money!”

Another conversation about your not-so-much of an income, splitting a bottle of wine with your best friend, and her insistence on helping you has devolved into this. Discussing a sugar daddy arrangement from a site for older folks. You couldn't imagine a worse way to spend your night.

“Aren't they, like, old?” You ask with a sneer. Your friend just laughs it off.

“And rich!” She squeals. “You’d never have to work another shitty job again! C’mon just try it!” She grabbed your phone from you and fumbled with it to download the app.

“Ugh, what’s your password?” She showed you the screen where the app store was asking. You hesitate before typing it in and allowing her to do the rest.

“Okay first thing’s first,” she places her hand on your knee, mostly to steady herself. “Never use your real name. So you're going to be…”

She starts typing on the phone, probably using her galaxy brain to come up with something truly brilliant. And by brilliant, that means ridiculous.

“Genevieve,” she states finally. You don't hate the name, but it's not yours. You made a mental note to change it when you're sober. “Everything else will be the same. And…”

She starts scrolling through your camera roll. You'd have freaked out but really, there wasn't anything there she hasn't seen already. She taps on a photo of you she took a week ago at a vineyard the two of you had visited (on her dime) and handed your phone back to you,

“Voilà! Welcome yo Seeking Arrangements,” she grinned at you. You looked down at your profile and sighed.

“Now what?” You ask flatly.

“Find someone!”

“How? I don't know how to use this!”

“Ugh, you're so boring sometimes…”

Thus began a hunt for the “perfect man” to fund your broke self’s habits. It was all a drunken blur from there, and you passed out on your couch after about two hours of playing around on the app. You had no idea there were so many men willing to give their money away to young women with no regard. But it was working out in your favor.

-

You woke up the next day with a pounding hangover, cottonmouth and your phone on 5% battery. Your friend was nowhere to be found - as usual after drinking binges like that. You mentally kicked yourself for allowing it to go this far but, realistically, you didn't care to go into work today anyway.

A quick text to your boss and a shaky walk to your bedroom to plug your phone in preceded your chug-fest in the kitchen. Drinking straight from the tap wasn't fast enough, but it would suffice. You groaned as you finished gorging yourself on your borderline acceptable tap water, went to the cabinet, and pulled out your bottle of painkillers. You popped two extra strength tablets and washed them down with yet another healthy gulp of water.

You walked back to your bedroom and laid in the quiet dark on your bed. Just as you closed your eyes, your phone buzzed. Once, then twice. You pick it up to see you have missed messages from men on that confounded Seeking Arrangements app. You groan and set the phone down again, remembering just how horribly drunk you got last night. Drunk and stupid, it seemed. You hear another buzz and pick up the phone in frustration, unlocking it and then scrolling through the messages and threads you'd started last night.

Genevieve. What a stupid name. You quickly changed it to your name and kept scrolling through. You deleted many of the threads, only stopping on a few men who were even remotely close to your age bracket. All tech startup guys with nothing better to do than wine and dine young women into their panties. Typical.

You’re about to delete the app when you see one face in particular that doesn't piss you off like the rest. You open your conversation from the night before to find it was pleasant, not sexually charged, and genuine. You smile briefly before clicking his profile picture. He’s handsome, too handsome. What’s the catch?

You open his profile to see his age, what he does, and where he is. He’s forty, lives nearby in San Diego, and is an aviator for the Navy. The military thing would have been a turn off if the conversation you’d had didn't look so… refreshing. You scroll to see his net worth - nearly one million. Unheard of among these other men. He must be well-off.

You scroll more and see he’s very close by. A block away. You excitedly - but cautiously -  type a message to him.

You: So sorry, I fell asleep. I think it's wild you’re still single at your age. How doesn't that mustache pull women nowadays?

You bite your lip and quickly turn the brightness down on your phone, the blue light making your migraine worse. You see him typing and your heart flutters.

You can't believe this is happening. How did you let your friend talk you into this? Were you crazy? Desperate? Or just lonely? You watched the bubbles on screen appear and disappear as the man on the other side of the screen typed his response to you.

The self-loathing part of your brain told you he was figuring out how to turn you down gently. Tell you you're too young for this, to go find someone your own age, chase your dreams, and whatever other sentiments he could think of. You wanted to hear it, but you also didn't. This was all too much.

Until it wasn't.

Bradley Bradshaw: No worries, sweetheart. I see you're nearby - let me come get you and treat you to brunch. Mimosas?

-

You stood outside your apartment with your cutest outfit on, though to someone like Bradley, it could be considered… revealing. You didn’t have much, hence the entire reason your friend had convinced you to join that stupid app in the first place. Regardless, you stood waiting for Bradley to come pick you up for your impromptu brunch date.

Could you even call it a date?

Your mind swam as you stared down at the photo of him on the app. He was handsome, yes. You just weren’t sure if this made you one of those gold-digging, shallow women who you were sure were all over this app. He looked as though he’d spent a lifetime laughing, living. The wrinkles you could see that weren’t airbrushed out of this photo seemed deeply set. A good sign that he wasn’t as stuffy as some of the other guys you’d apparently spoken to.

Was this just a giant ass mistake?

What if he was just another one of these guys looking to fuck a younger woman and then give her some hush money? Or even expensive gifts in lieu of hush money? You didn’t want to be the dumb trophy on some older man’s arm. And that was when it hit you - you actually liked Bradley. It was just a small crush, of course, you’d hardly known him. Hardly even spoken to him. But from the little interaction you’d had he seemed like the genuine article.

Before you could psych yourself out any more, you heard the low rumble of a classic car getting closer. You popped your head up to see a bright blue classic Ford Bronco headed your way. Your eyes lit up - having an affinity for classic cars - and you simply prayed that this was Bradley coming to get you. 

The car came to a stop right in front of you, and the aforementioned Bradley was looking out the window at you with a grin. He pulled his aviators down the bridge of his nose and looked you in the eyes. A genuine kind of look on his face that had you melting inside.

“Hey, sweetheart,” he said kindly. “Are you ready to go?”

You nodded wordlessly and shoved your phone into your small purse. Bradley jumped out of the Bronco and approached you. He was incredibly tall, compared to you, and he didn’t have this dominating presence that you kept thinking he would have. No, he was like a giant teddy bear - someone you could imagine curling up with at the end of the day and getting nothing but hugs and kisses from.

“You’re even more adorable than that picture on the app, you know,” he tilted his head sweetly to one side. Your cheeks flushed a bright red, though you weren’t sure if he would notice.

“I-I’m happy I’ve surpassed expectations,” you croaked. “God, I’m sorry-” He chuckled and shook his head.

“I’m nervous, too, sweetheart,” he admitted kindly. “Let’s get to where we’re going and we can be nervous together.” He took your hand and led you to the passenger side of the Bronco. He opened the door for you and helped you get up into the seat. He waited until you were situated before closing the door and walking coolly to the other side and getting into the driver’s seat.

“I hope you don’t mind. I chose a more secluded spot than I normally would,” Bradley admitted as he pulled away from the curb. “Not because I’m embarrassed, but just because I’d hate to have people I know giving me shit.”

“I completely understand,” you say softly. “I would die if someone I knew saw me doing this… Whatever this is.”

“I’d say we can put off putting a label on it until we’re sure, yeah?” Bradley looked over at you with a smile. “No pressure, no fakery, no stress.”

“I love the sound of that,” you said sweetly, looking at him with a smile.

Soon, you arrived at a small brunch joint on the outskirts of the city. Bradley had assured you he’d never seen his buddies here, and you assured him that your friends are too broke to afford this kind of place. Sharing a laugh, Bradley cuts the engine and gets out of the Bronco. He walks to your side and helps you out before linking your arm with his.

“I’ll treat you right, okay?” He said sweetly as he walked you in. You only smiled in response and allowed him to lead you inside. He gave his last name coolly to the hostess and she ushered the two of you to a more private booth at the back of the restaurant. Bradley pulled your chair out for you and let you sit first. What a gentleman. He took his seat across from you and removed his aviators.

Those eyes were mesmerizing. Beautiful brown that you swore had little flecks of gold in them. You could get lost in those eyes if you weren’t careful, so you quickly picked up the small menu and looked it over. Yikes. You for sure wouldn’t be able to afford this.

“So, I can tell this is not something you usually do,” Bradley said softly. “Me neither, if I’m honest.”

“Honestly? My friend made me do it. We were… Drinking last night. And she convinced me this would be a good idea.” You admitted candidly. “I didn’t know what to expect.

“Hah! Sounds exactly like what my friend did to me,” he admitted right back. “I forgot the app even existed until you messaged me last night. Then, I just got this… feeling. Like, if I let this slip by, I’d regret it the rest of my life.”

“Hence, why we’re sitting here having brunch together,” you finish for him. “I have to admit, Bradley, you don’t seem like the type to go for… younger women. You’re mature, put together, and seem like a zero-bullshit guy.”

“Yeah, well, the Navy sort of beats that into you,” he laughs softly. “Women are usually deterred by the military thing. They automatically think you’re looking to get married, or they think you’re active duty and are going to lose you. So they don’t even bother trying.” He looks up at you. “I’m just trying to find someone to spoil. Someone to care for, and someone to care for me right back.”

You appreciated his honesty. You liked skipping around the nervous chatter, the lies, the embellishments. This was a far cry from some of the dates you’d been on in the past - boys pretending to be men that they’re not. Bradley clearly went through that when he was your age. And he clearly realized it doesn’t work long-term.

“You’re saying all the right things, Bradley,” you chime. “I just want you to know… I’m not after your money or whatever else it is you have to offer me. I’m not sure what I’m after here, but I’d like to explore this. Whatever it ends up being, or not being, I’m interested to see where it goes.”

You’re surprised to hear those words coming from your mouth. An hour ago you were just about ready to call this whole thing off. You were sure this would make you lesser than; lump you in with all the other desperate girls your age just looking to get rich and not work for it. But, honestly, you didn’t care about money - your friend did. If this all worked out, if Bradley ended up being more than just a Seeking Arrangements date, you’d have to thank her for being such a gold digger.

Oh, the misery.

"I do too, sweetheart,” Bradley said sweetly. “No pressure, no fakery, no stress.”

-

Brunch went exceptionally well. Bradley told you stories from his time in the Naval Academy, TOPGUN, and even a few missions you were pretty sure he wasn’t supposed to share. He told you about his parents and how he followed in his dad’s footsteps. He told you about everything. He was a man who’d lived. You couldn’t grasp, still, how a woman his age wouldn’t want him.

You shared stories from your years in college, your job, and from your childhood. Absolutely nothing compared to the nearly twenty years he had on you. You felt silly telling him about yourself, but he was genuinely interested. He asked so many insightful questions, held your hand, and maintained eye contact. You thought maybe, just maybe, he was falling for you.

You’d be remiss if you didn’t admit you may be falling for him, too.

When the bill came, Bradley snatched it away from you with a mischievous grin. You playfully pouted at him and he just waved you off. He took his wallet out and slid a credit card into the book and held it until the server came back. Clever little devil.

“I told you I’d spoil you, sweetheart,” he mused. “This is me spoiling you. But, I should warn you. This is only the beginning.”

You grinned at him and nodded, relaxing back in your seat. He was just so cool. His entire demeanor, his attitude - devil may care kind of air about him. You enjoyed his youthful aura, especially since you knew he was not quite as youthful as he used to be. It was truly a breath of fresh air.

The bill was paid, you’d successfully drank three mimosas, and Bradley was looking at you with stars in his eyes. He walked you out of the restaurant and to his Bronco. He looked down at you once the two of you were on the passenger’s side. Brushing some hair from your face, he smiled softly and pulled you just a touch closer.

“Well, I’m dying for your review, sweetheart,” he said with a grin. “Did I live up to expectations?”

Your mouth felt dry all of a sudden. Did he? Did he? You’d just spent three hours chatting with a man nearly twice your age about his life, your life, and genuinely enjoying each other's company. And he wants to know if he lived up to expectations? You smiled widely, no longer able to conceal the excitement you felt in your gut about this.

“Very much so. I’d even be so bold as to say you’ve surpassed them,” you took his hand in yours gently. He responded by squeezing your waist a little tighter.

“Then,” he said in a lower tone than he’d used earlier. “You wouldn’t find it uncouth of me to do this?”

Before you could even think of a witty response, his lips were on yours in a gentle, tentative kiss. Your initial shock washed away quickly as your lips pressed back against his. He was gentle, nothing extravagant, nothing lying beneath the surface - just a kiss. His hands slid around your back and upwards, pulling you impossibly closer. Your hands found purchase on his large biceps, squeezing as he drew you nearer.

Like in the movies, you felt an instant spark. Little electrical pulses all over your lips, your cheeks, and wherever he touched you. His hands seemed to be made for you. They seemed to know exactly how to hold you, how to caress you, and how to make you forget all except him and this moment.

And all too quickly, he was pulling away from you. He looked down at you with gentle eyes, a small quirk of his lips. You stared back up at him with your mouth hanging open ever so slightly. He brought his hand up and swept his thumb over your bottom lip. You almost had to squeeze your thighs together to relieve the mild ache that warmed your core.

Bradley let out a soft chuckle and opened the door for you. Like earlier, he helped you into the Bronco and then got in himself. He started the vehicle and started driving away from the restaurant. Your mind swam with the possibilities. He could be your father, but you wanted him. You wanted him to be the man in your life. Just from this one little encounter. You were sure you wanted him.

It really was like the movies.

You noticed eventually that you were nowhere near your apartment, or his. In fact, San Diego wasn’t around you at all. You’d traveled north, and then west. To a small little shopping center away from town. You looked at Bradley curiously and he met your gaze as if on cue.

“I’m not done with you yet, sweetheart,” he said coolly. “I’m taking you to the beach. But you need a bathing suit. And, honestly, so do I.” He grinned at you and pulled into a parking spot. Just great! He was already blowing his money on you. Part of you felt guilty, but the other part of you - the part that was still listening to your friend - wanted to see this all through.

He pulled you into a store that sold probably the most revealing swimsuits for the most outrageous prices. You cringed every time you looked at a price tag even though Bradley had assured you nothing was too expensive. Finally, after looking at a one-piece suit that was anything but “one piece,” you pulled Bradley to you.

“I cannot let you spend this kind of money on such little fabric, Bradley,” you pleaded. He simply smiled down at you and nodded.

“I understand completely,” he looked around at the options and narrowed his eyes. “Let me find something worthwhile then.” He kissed your cheek and walked off to search for a suit for you. Dumbfounded, you stood back and watched for a second. Then, without even thinking, you started looking for one for him to wear. Like some kind of girlfriend would.

You picked up a red pair of trunks, the shorter kind that have come into style recently. You weren’t sure if these would make him look younger or just plain silly. You didn’t really care, though, you wanted him to wear them. You figured this would be a good color on him.

When he eventually found you again, he had his hands behind his back. A shit-eating grin on his face, you’d notice. You held up the trunks you’d chosen for him, a small smile on your face.

“How are these?” You asked sweetly. He nodded in approval and then brought a one piece suit out from behind his back.

Your eyes bugged out of your head when you saw it - bright red, just like the trunks you’d chosen for him.

You let out a genuine laugh and smiled up at him. He pulled you in for a quick kiss before taking the trunks from you and walking to the register to pay. You followed behind him but quickly tucked yourself against his side at the counter. He’d picked up a pair of aviators for you, a couple of towels, and some sunblock. Once he paid, he took your hand and led you out of the shop.

“Let’s change into these before we head out. I wanna get right into it when we get to the beach,” he handed you the swimsuit and gently pushed you in the direction of the bathroom. He went to the men’s room to change, and you changed as instructed.

When you arrived at the beach, you were in awe at how gorgeous the scenery was. Not a person in sight, either. Perfect, you thought. Bradley hauled you to the sand like a little kid and laughed at your protests.

“The water is fine! Come on, let me see that suit I got you.” He pinched your sides and tickled you into submission. You shoved him off of you with a wheezing laugh and tore your clothes off to reveal the swimsuit. His eyes traveled down your body in a very uncharacteristically obvious way.

“Wow, sweetheart,” he grunted. “Red is definitely your color.” He took his t-shirt off and tossed it aside. He was surprisingly muscular for someone his age. It added to his charm, you decided, that he was able to stay in such great shape. “How about me? Red a good color on me? Someone my age?”

“Yeah, actually. Those make you look at least ten years younger,” you teased. He laughed and watched you take off towards the water. He followed behind you and let his feet get wet from the waves.

You, on the other hand, were the young sprite who was going deeper into the water. You let the water lap at your thighs before traveling out a little further. The cool water felt amazing on your skin, even better with the sun beating down on you. You closed your eyes and let the waves rock you from side to side. You surely could get used to this.

You suddenly felt hands on your hips, a firm grip. You jumped slightly before turning around to come face-to-face with Bradley. The sun made his eyes sparkle just as you’d predicted in the restaurant. You looked at the age on his face and sigh softly. It’s not as obvious in the sun. Not something you expected.

“You forgot something,” he said softly. He propped the pair of aviators he bought on your face and gently pushed them up the bridge of your nose. He poked the tip of your nose with a boyish grin. “Perfect.”

“You’re gonna let me get a sunburn, too?” You chide with a poke to his ribs.

“Oh, never,” he said with a scandalized look on his face. “Here, turn back around.” He produced the bottle of sunscreen and smirked.

You turned around without hesitation. You felt his hands all over your back as he spread the sunscreen around your skin. He rubbed up and over your shoulders, kissing them gently when he was finished. He traced your spine on the open back of the swimsuit he bought you. You shivered ever so slightly when his hands brushed your skin so gently. He worked the sunscreen into your neck before gently turning you back around and working it over your collarbone. You saw the hesitation in his eyes when he went to drag his fingers lower, but your lack of protest replaced his hesitation with determination. He massaged the sunscreen into the swell of your breasts slowly. Your breath caught in your throat at the touch. The familiar ache between your legs returning.

He moved on to your arms and the tops of your ears. He then put a silly little stripe of it on the bridge of your nose, making you giggle. You took the bottle from him and repeated the gesture on him. He grinned proudly and pulled you close again. His lips crashed onto yours in a hungry kiss, more intimate than the last.

You knew then that you could get used to this.

-

You grinned widely and charged at Bradley, jumping into his arms. He laughed and caught you with ease, spinning you around as you wrapped your legs around him. He playfully tipped you backwards so your hair brushed the water. Your squeal of excitement rang out clear as day, making him smile brighter than you’d seen.

He pulled you back up and you buried your face in his neck. His skin was slick with sweat and sunscreen, and he smelled still like the subtle cologne he wore. He held you securely against him, never daring to drop you.

You pulled your head back and kissed him again. It came easier now, kissing him. It was more exciting, less anxiety-inducing. You liked the way the walls had been dropped and the affections came easier. He gladly kissed you back, tugging your bottom lip between his teeth. A soft, more needy than intended whimper left your lips at that.

Instead of scaring him away, it only spurred Bradley on. His hands cupped your rear possessively and he carried you back to shore. And you knew where it would go from there.

He set you down on one of the towels and crawled over you. His hands gripped your hips tightly as he explored your skin with his mouth. Your hands slid up and into his hair, whining softly as he ravaged you with that perfect, experienced mouth.

“I need you to know, sweetheart,” he grunted. “This isn’t a one-off.” You tilted your head, sweat on your brow.

“I’m going to take you out, bring you home, make you mine,” he explained further. “I’m not ready to let you go yet. I hope that’s okay.”

“It’s more than okay,” you breathed. “I’m not ready to let you go yet either.”

“Good,” he said before kissing down your stomach, dangerously close to your aching cunt. “Because I don’t want to go too fast.” He kissed back up your stomach and to your lips.

A pitiful little moan left your lips in protest. He chuckled softly and looked down at you.

“We have time,” he said simply. You wrapped your arms around him and laughed softly. His lips connected with your collarbone before he lifted you back up.

“Let’s order something and eat dinner here. Sound good?” He suggested. You nodded with a grin, kissing his cheek. As he was busy ordering something for dinner, you looked down at your phone for the first time since that morning. You opened it up and looked at your conversation with Bradley on the app. You bit your lip and closed the app. Then you took a leap.

You deleted the app.

Bradley was the only one you cared about among the list of men you’d chatted with. And in a stupidly short amount of time, you started picturing yourself with this man. This real man. He turned to you and smiled as he spoke on the phone with the place he was ordering from. The look on his face when he looked at you was enough. This, eating dinner on a secluded beach, was enough.

Tagging people who may enjoy: @roosterscock @cherrycola27 @roosterforme @roosterbruiser @beardedladyqueen @seresinsweetie @sebsxphia

[ms-demeanor]

I was homeschooled, and didn't much like it, and always kinda assumed I would've had a better time in public school, in large part bc I was raised in a religion that didn't survive much contact with the outside world. You're like the second person in as many weeks I've heard talking about nightmarish bullying experiences in school, and I'm remembering times now when I was a kid when I did occasionally talk to public schooled kids, and they always seemed to say they wanted to be homeschooled, mostly bc of bullies. (I was the kind of annoying to say that if I were public schooled I would probably just stand up to the bullies!)

I'm not totally sure what I meant to ask here but ig broadly what I'm thinking is just... Like, whoa, it's really bad in there, huh?

Eh.

I had a really, really, really bad time of it but homeschooling probably would have been much worse for me and realistically there were not that many people at my school who were dealing with bullying at a level that I was dealing with bullying.

I could have asked for homeschooling or independent study because of that, and I actually know two people who did, both of whom ended up coming back to school within a year.

I also think that schools are way better about bullying now than they were in the 90s-early 2000s.

That doesn't mean they're perfect, but the institutional attitude about intervention changed a lot when more kids started killing themselves.

But, like, legitimately without my public high school yearbook I probably would have killed myself. Getting bullied sucked, but eventually I found a niche where I was able to develop skills and some level of friendship and could spend many hours a day focusing on doing something that I liked that would have been impossible for me if I was on my own and without the resources a public school offered.

This is how I'm 37 and have been using InDesign at a professional level for 22 years. It's how I got into photography in a serious way. I have had at least three jobs that came as a direct result of working on my high school yearbook (even if people did think I was plotting out sniper positions when I climbed the roof to take student life photos with the telephoto lens).

So the bullying was bad and horribly traumatic but also it was the cherry on top of a shit sundae of other stuff that was going on and literally the best thing in my life at that point was the yearbook.

But also man there were weeks and months in there that I would have done much better with remote school.

So I'm torn!

I kind of think that adolescents are just always going to be terrible to each other and the best you can do is damage control.

[hoedamn-eron]

bluey!

Nathan discovers your son’s favourite show.

Warnings: As always, Nathan is a warning. No offence to Miss Rachel or anyone who uses Miss Rachel (I’ve personally never watched her, just needed Nathan to be a dick). Hints of infertility (from this episode of Bluey). Teeny tiny mention of parental anxiety of meeting milestones (from this episode of Bluey). Not proofread this time. Word count: 1,238 F!Reader, no use of Y/N.

Yet another self indulgent fic about dad!Nathan. Set in the same universe as Shut Up, Kid, but can be read as a stand-alone. This also was only meant to be a quick one shot but it turned out to be over 1k 😂.

Nathan Bateman was a fucking genius.

He built the code for Blue Book when he was thirteen years old.

He used to think himself a God. He could build realistic androids, for Christ's sake (not anymore, not since ‘The Incident’).

And because of this, he finds it hard to ‘switch off’. His brain was always moving a million miles a minute, constantly filled with thoughts of how to improve the company, and now that he’s a dad, it just added another thing to think about. And he isn’t complaining about having to think about Silas – he loves the kid, would do anything for him – but at the same time...it is just another thing to keep his brain busy.

Like today.

You come walking into his office (the door is open most days now), holding Silas on your hip, his favourite pacifier in his mouth, and carrying as many toys as you could in your other hand.

“Can you watch him for an hour, please?”

You see Nathan’s shoulders slump before you’ve even finished asking, and you ignore the spark of irritation that sits uncomfortably in your chest as Nathan turns his chair to look at you. You know he’s busy, but you’re busy too; you’ve been called in for a virtual meeting, on your maternity leave, no less, with the department heads – you know they wouldn’t appreciate a noisy baby in the background (despite the fact you want to make a point that they requested you...on your maternity leave).

Besides, Nathan doesn’t have any tight deadlines right now. He’s the CEO, he can push anything back whenever he damn well pleases anyway.

“Nathan, he’ll just sit and watch his TV show for a bit, it’s only an hour.”

Nathan sighs, and you tense at it.

He makes a mental note to make up for it later.

“Okay,” he says, and without looking at him, you walk over to the rug in his office, sitting Silas down on it before placing the toys around him, in easy reach for him.

You turn on the TV and place Bluey on, before walking over to Nathan’s desk and placing the remote on it. You give a swift, “See you in an hour,” before hurrying out to make your meeting.

Nathan gives a quick look to Silas, who – in your defence – was still, watching the TV, sucking away on his pacifier. Satisfied, Nathan turns back to his computer, his eyes drifting over to Silas every now and then before turning back to his screens. The noise from the TV fades into the background, until one particular line jumps out at Nathan.

“Magic Claw has no children. His days are free and easy.”

Nathan huffed a laugh through his nose. He couldn’t agree more. He glanced at the TV then back at Silas before turning back to his computer.

After a while, another line came through, causing him to chuckle again.

“Can I help you?”

“I wish you could, mate.”

Eventually, when he hears the characters talking about – what he thinks is – wanting kids and being unable to have them, he turns his full attention to the TV.

“What the fuck are you watchin’?” Nathan asks before standing and slipping his hands in his pockets as he saunters over to stand behind Silas.

Nathan stands and watches the family of cartoon dogs; Bluey and her sister, Bingo, and their parents, Chilli and Bandit. He watches with a furrowed brow for a moment, wondering how this was his son’s favourite show (it was probably all the colours). And he guesses the theme tune was a little catchy. And sure, Silas didn’t quite understand it, but the dialogue was funny.

“This is better than some of the other shit you watch,” Nathan said, bending down and picking Silas up, without taking his eyes off the TV. “That whiney black bunny you watch? Hate him. The Teletubbies? Also awful. I don’t understand why your mom thinks it’s a classic.”

Silas made a small noise around his pacifier and pointed to the TV.

“Yeah, she your favourite?” Nathan asks, looking at Silas. “What’s her name again? Bingo?”

Silas makes another noise, almost as if confirming with Nathan, still pointing at the TV.

Nathan nodded anyway. “Okay, okay, gotcha.”

After a moment, Nathan stood holding Silas, the two of them watching Bluey together.

Your meeting overran.

By nearly 45 minutes.

Nathan was going to be pissed.

You speed-walk to his office, ready to blurt out an apology (even though it wasn’t your fault the meeting went over), but you stop mid step when you hear Nathan say to Silas, “I think she’s sleeping with the neighbour.”

Your brow furrows in confusion as you hear him, then Silas babble back.

“Oh yeah, you agree? They’re too friendly, right?”

You slowly walk into the Nathan’s office, seeing him standing with his bank to you on the rug, holding Silas in his arms as they watched Bluey together. Nathan was lightly swaying, almost as if he didn’t realise he was doing it.

You sucked in your lips, holding back a laugh. You didn’t want to ruin the moment.

“You better not turn out like Muffin, she’s insane,” Nathan said. “I’ll love you regardless, but still.”

Your heart skipped a beat, like it did every time you heard those words come out of his mouth. It wasn’t as if Nathan had never said ‘I love you’, but he…struggles…to express his emotions that aren’t irritability or exasperation. But with Silas, it came naturally to him. He never failed to say ‘I love you’ to his son (of course, Nathan does say it to you, but he understands you’re a ‘full-grown adult who can identify acts of love’; his words).

You’re brought out of your reverie as a new episode of Bluey started, the theme music kicking in. Your eyes widen and you laugh quietly as Nathan starts lightly jumping around to the music, Silas laughing and kicking his legs excitedly.

“I’m watching the footage back to this,” you say.

“Jesus fuckin’ Christ,” Nathan says, jumping as he whirls around to look at you. “Announce yourself, would you?”

“You, uh…” you say, still grinning. “You watching Bluey?” you look at Silas, who smiles at you and kicks his legs in excitement. “You watching Bluey with dada? Does dada like Bluey?”

“This is fuckin’ great,” he says, giving you a pointed look. “So much better than that Miss Rachel, or whatever her name is. She’s fuckin’ annoying.”

“Excuse me, she’s very educational!”

“She’s overdoing it. The kid will learn to talk fine with just us.”

“His first word will probably be something inappropriate,” you say. “Like fuck. Or asshole.”

Nathan doesn’t reply as he turns back to the TV. You come and stand next to him, watching the episode with him. It’s the one where Chilli was telling Bluey about how she was worried that Bluey wasn’t going to meet her milestones, but Coco’s mom had told her she was doing an amazing job. It was one of your favourite episodes.

“I’ve been stood here for an hour watching these,” Nathan said quietly. “It’s nice.”

“Just standing and swaying with him?” you ask gently.

“Yeah,” Nathan said simply, not expanding.

You nod, before leaning against him a little. You feel him push back at you.

You stand together and watch a few more seconds of Bluey before you ask, “So you think Chilli and Lucky’s dad are going at it?”

“Oh they definitely are.”

[humanrindswrites]

scary movie

pairing: kirk hammett x female reader

summary: kirk's girl is a hardened horror veteran, just like him, but even veterans have their limits.

warnings: fluff, mentions of gore (they’re watching horror movies)

word count: 859 words

a/n: little factoid about me is that i love really gory movies but sexual violence is where my tolerance for extremity ends. also, if you've never seen cannibal holocaust just know that it has real scenes of animals being killed just for the sake of it. it's not a movie for the faint-hearted.

“So, what did you say this movie was called again?” Kirk asked as his girlfriend set up the VCR in the living room.

“Cannibal Holocaust,” she said once the machine was turned on and ready for the tape. “It got banned in England recently and the director got arrested in Italy because they thought he actually killed the actors.”

“Sounds gnarly,” he said as he took the videotape box from her. “Everything gets banned in England these days.”

“That’s true, they’d probably ban a movie because somebody got a paper cut.”

When Kirk first saw her in the video rental store, he thought maybe she was a beginner looking for something tame to watch with friends and could maybe find something that would get her jumping into his arms like a little lamb. Instead, he found out that she was just as much an expert as he was and liked her movies gory and borderline upsetting.

It was pretty much love at first sight for him.

She had her finger on the pulse for all the wild new movies coming from Europe and which ones were getting banned in Europe for being ‘harmful to children’ or some other ridiculous shit that some old people were saying. He was more versed in the classics but finding these scandalous new videos was something that he never really had the time to do anymore.

They made popcorn in the kitchen while the trailers played at the beginning of the tape, making it back just in time for the movie to start. The screen showed a beautiful sweeping shot of the Amazon rainforest set to a lush orchestral score, as if it was a nature documentary or a romance, lulling them into false security of what was to come.

When she’d originally told him that the movie was a nasty one, Kirk thought that she was just exaggerating. He’d seen some gory movies before but they’d never been as grisly and realistic as this. The two of them watched in stunned silence as people were killed, raped, beaten, and animals were slaughtered before their very eyes.

The videotape’s quality added to the horrifying visuals before them, making the carnage so much more disturbing than it likely was; the poor turtle’s exposed innards were spread across the screen as the eerie soundtrack screeched. Kirk had never expected her to jump into his arms during a movie, but he could feel her tense up and her fingers curl into fists against his chest with every brutal blow.

But no matter how extreme the scenes became, neither one of them could take their eyes away from the screen. Blood was spilt, brains were exposed, bodies were hacked to pieces, women were raped, and people were eaten. She’d promised Kirk a gnarly time and that was exactly what they’d gotten.

I wonder who the real cannibals are, the television said before the camera swept up into the New York City skyline and the credits rolled. They were both quiet until the tape stopped and Kirk picked up the remote from next to him to turn it off.

“You feeling okay?” he asked her. She usually had something to say once the movie had finished, but this time she was stunned into silence. “Hey, it’s only a movie.”

“I didn’t think they were going to kill real animals,” she said, her voice quiet. “I knew it was going to be gruesome, but nobody told me they killed the animals.”

“Aside from that, did you like the rest of the movie?” Kirk asked as he ran his hand up and down her arm.

“I don’t know. It’s something I need to think about. But I know I don’t want to watch it again.

“It wasn’t a Frankenstein flick, that’s for sure.”

“Nobody got raped in any version of Frankenstein as far as I remember.”

“Did you not like that part either?”

“No,” she said, a little louder than she’d intended. “I hate seeing girls get raped in movies. It’s why I hated The Last House on the Left.”

“Mm, that one was intense.”

“At least all of that was fake, not like this,” she said as she sat up and went over to take the videotape out of the VCR. “No wonder it got banned.”

“Are you saying you support movie censorship?” Kirk teased and stood up to help her clear away the dishes that had accumulated on the coffee table.

“I’m not saying that,” she said and playfully slapped him on the arm. “I’m just saying that I can see why people had such a strong reaction to it.”

“Maybe next week I’ll pick the movie so that we don’t watch poor turtles die.”

“What’d you have in mind?”

Kirk took her in his arms and thought for a second, humming in her ear and tapping his fingers on her shoulders for comedic effect.

“How about I Spit on Your Grave?”

“Okay, now you’re just teasing me,” she said as she broke out of his arms and took the dishes into the kitchen.

“Hey, you’re the one who always picks the hardcore stuff, I thought you’d like it!”

[soraviie]

signing NDA.txt

━ type: bts x gn! reader  ━ navigation

━ about: mostly angst (fluff for Tae, crack for JK)  ━ pictures taken from Pinterest

━ a/n: a weird reaction but I felt inspired. Maybe some of you will dig this a bit more realistic look into that sort of relationship

━ previously posted on soraviii

NAMJOON: Looking quietly at the paper in front of you as much as you tried you couldn't come up with a reason to be angry with him. Namjoon had been perfectly candid from the start.

"Being with me will be difficult and to be honest..." he'd taken a heavy sigh, looking somewhere in the distance, not seeing quite anything. "I'm not excited to give you that kind of life."

Even yesterday he'd been nothing but the perfect image of put-together. Calm and analytical, he'd gone over every point with honesty and respect. The same thing he expected to be returned. So do you tell him? Do you tell him of the jumps your thoughts made, of them running at first eager and uncaring? This was just a piece of paper and you understood what it meant long before the particular topic was even broached in passing - you couldn't say you were in a relationship, you couldn't mention it to your friends, couldn't whine about his shortcomings. Couldn't share a picture. Your parents would know of him only when things got serious, and you'd be given more binding jewellery than a simple bracelet on Christmas.

If, you amended in your mind, if things got serious. Who's to say he's not going to tick you off one too many times and that resentment will build with no way of release, given how you couldn't talk to anyone about it in the eyes of the law. And it'll surge and surge until finally -

- snap!

And all the wonderful moments of him holding your hand, of trying to make pancakes to surprise you in the morning only to set a dish towel on fire, of hundreds of little joys will be gone, lost to bitterness and void, to never be remembered. You'll have to destroy him because it'll be easier, in the long run, to not remember him at all than remember and choke on that knowledge wholly alone. And the future you will look back at this very moment, with her past self holding a pen in hand and gazing at a single piece of paper. But if your future self remembered further, then she would recall Namjoon's text appearing at the top of your phone. Respect, honesty and kindness. Perhaps he couldn't give you much be it his time or public visibility but he could give you the best of himself and do so in earnest.

"Let's think about this together, okay? :)"

YOONGI: When he called for the 39th time, you finally picked up.

"Hey."

"Hey," he echoes, though much rougher. "Can I come up?"

You glimpsed around the dishevelled apartment. Yoongi won't mind.

"Sure."

When you opened the doors to greet him, the air was stifled between you. The unspoken question lingered like a sword on a rope about to snap.

"You've been avoiding me," he stated quietly, shaking the raindrops out of his hat. Perhaps he spoke just for the sake of conversation, as you're not quite sure how to even begin talking about all of this. Neither does he probably.

"I needed to think," you answered honestly, shifting from one foot to another. He hums, a frown marring his features.

"You...you must have known this would happen."

"I did but...sorry, it does not make it any less difficult."

Signing an NDA wasn't normal. Sure for expensive business meetings and or accidental brush in's that meant nothing; that would only be amusingly funny story years down the line but nothing about this is even remotely funny.

"Nothing to be sorry about, doll."

His voice was grave but at the title, you managed a small, mirthless smirk.

"Still trying them out?"

He shrugged, momentarily easing into the echo of your dry gaiety.

"Practice makes perfect."

You kept standing in stilted silence, and the hand of invisible fear closed around your throat. Mere talk of NDAs had driven a wedge between you, and yes, maybe, it was all your fault, maybe it was you who ran over the hills but even now, bound by an unadorned, verbal promise and common sense, you couldn't call up a friend with an indignant "you won't believe what just happened" and gather your thoughts together the traditional way. From here on out, you needed to be much, much more independent. Yoongi hadn't even said anything. It was an innocent response to an equally unassuming question - what are those papers on your desk.

"Schedule," he grunted. "Schedule, boarding pass, I think. NDAs. The usual."

He'd gone rigid the second the words left his mouth. The usual. His usual which you hadn't been introduced to. Maybe because he trusted you that much or maybe because he knew if he did, it all would simply end. Either or he seemed to be much more certain of your decision than you yourself were because even after five days of mulling it over, you had no clue which direction would be the right one.

"Why did you come here?" you sighed, wincing at the sheer amount of guilt in his eyes. He shouldn't feel guilty. This was his life; this was his usual. Just because it wasn't yours didn't mean it was inherently heinous.

"I don't know," he breathed weakly. "Just wanted to see you. I thought...I worried," he pulled in another gasp, appearing strong for a second before crumpling into a round-back figure, staring at your carpet. "I was scared."

"I wouldn't leave without saying goodbye."

He looked into your eyes, tired, appearing older, worn. You wonder if he saw the same in you.

"I don't want to say bye either."

You swayed on the backs of your heels.

"So what is the situation?"

He drew a huge sigh, hand reaching to squeeze the bridge of his nose.

"The management is hounding me for you to sign an NDA. Strictly speaking, it should have been done months ago but I vouched for you. Assumed full responsibility. Said you were smart and caring. You wouldn't harm me."

Your breath stuttered. Trust was one thing, putting his own neck on a chopping block - quite another.

"Why would you do that?" you cried out, battling the sudden onslaught of too many unwanted emotions.

He gazed at you with genuine confusion just before simply answering:

"Why wouldn't I?"

JIN: "Don't pick a fight, please," Jin mumbled, disinterestedly kicking around the dirt outside of the ice cream parlour.

"I'm not picking a fight," you objected, though you could feel your voice raising in pitch from the surging frustration. "I just want some clarity."

"There's no need to rush into this..."

"I'm not rushing! I'm just ready, I'll sign it and it'll be done. I'm okay wit-"

"But I'm not," he interrupted harshly. Hands twirling with each other in that damning way they did when anxiety was swallowing him whole. "I...I don't want you to sign it."

Seven words. Neither of which prolonged or complicated in nature. The basics of language any newcomer would know. I'd like to order a taxi. No, I don't need a bag.

I don't want you to sign it.

So why was it so difficult to grasp? Why did it feel like you were just sat down in front of an exam that needed a several thousand-word literary analysis, and you had no knowledge of what subject this even was.

I don't want you to sign it.

Had you not retired to a bench nearby, no more than three minutes away from the damn ice cream shop you could just ask him but you doubt he would give a genuine answer.

A cup of three-scoop ice cream floated into your vision and without much thinking, you accepted it with a quiet thank you. Jin dropped down on the bench, not quite near to touch you but not so far to feel like a chasm had erupted between you. For a while, you both lounged, each in your own thoughts and eating the ice cream, enjoyed the good weather.

"So, the reason why," Jin coughed, clearly battling to find the next word. "I don't want you to sign it, is because I've seen all of this before."

"What do you mean?" you blinked at him but he avoided your gaze, appearing uncharacteristically solemn.

"I've seen dozens of people thinking they understand, thinking that they'll be okay; signing off with smiles on their faces only for it to turn sour," he shook his head, hair flying about. "No, turn brutal. Engagements torn apart, accidental lawsuits, I love you's turning into I hope you croak like a sick dog."

With another sigh, he placed the cup of ice cream on the bench, nausea written all over his sullen expression.

"And I'd rather we fight a thousand more times before it goes that way. That document..." he trailed off, needing a whole minute to pick up the conversation again. "That document is like an infection. We need to be our healthiest when signing it and even then it's never a guarantee of survival."

"But we've come to an awkward stop point," you noted faintly. "A neither here nor there."

"Stops are not a bad thing," Jin insisted, reaching to cautiously interlace his fingers with yours. You accept and he smiles, though it doesn't quite reach his eyes. "Not if you know where you're going eventually and you're spending it with someone you like."

"I guess so," you drawled, gazing up at the passing cloud.

HOSEOK: If one would think, it'd be smooth sailing after two looped lines of your signature over the dotted line, they'd be sorely mistaken. He probably didn't intend for you to feel like the villain, perhaps no one did but hearing the lawyer go over every point, mechanically pouring over one hot tar of blame after another...well, you couldn't just shake off the sickly feeling that Hoseok thought very little of you.

"You're not allowed to besmirch, demean or in any way belittle the reputation of my client."

"I would ne -"

"You're not allowed to share any details of my client's personal schedule with any third-party informants, digital, personal or otherwise. Direct or even indirect violation will be pursued with legal punishment."

"I understa -"

"The individual, that is you, shall not be held criminally or civilly liable under any federal or state law for the disclosure of this agreement only if it is made in confidence to a federal, state, or local government official or either directly or indirectly, or to an attorney; and is done so solely for the purpose of reporting or investigating

a suspected violation of the law."

"In cases such as?"

The attorney shrugged.

"Domestic abuse, et cetera."

Even now chills racked your spine. All too abruptly a dream had turned into a chilling nightmare of reality.

"What did you get yourself into?" you muttered to your paled reflection in the mirror. You just handed all of your trust into one person. Yes, that person might be Hoseok but he was after all one person. How many "would never's" had turned into restraining orders, pain, and betrayal?

The soft knock at the bathroom door startled you so bad it pulled a scream from the bottom of your lungs. He stood on the other side of those doors, looking the most dishevelled you'd ever seen him. Heavy bags clung underneath his eyes and even fraught with panic, you wondered when was the last time he slept.

"How are you holding up?" Hoseok asked softly and you gave a timid shrug. "Do you want me...to stay?"

"Yes? No? I don't know? Fuck, I don't know anything anymore."

Hoseok outstretched his hand and guided you to sit on the sofa, expression growing increasingly worried.

"You're freezing," he fretted. "Here, get underneath the blanket."

After a brief moment in which he made tea, Hoseok returned to sit on the floor by your side.

"How bad was it?" he questioned barely above a whisper.

"It's just a legal document but even so I feel..." you clutched the edge of the thin blanket. He'd actually given it to you. On which occasion you couldn't recall but it was definitely a gift. Would you have to get rid of it if things ended? How many more things you would have to?

"Cheap. Trapped. Scared."

"Are you," he swallowed nervously. "Scared of me?"

You sagged into the sofa.

"I don't know. I know you would never hurt me but..." you trailed off into silence. "It's terrifying all the same."

The silence lasted for a whole hour with numerous seconds of attempted questions that all were laid to waste. What you either you or he could ask that didn't end up with "I don't know". You couldn't see into the future though at times like these you desperately wished you could.

JIMIN: It seemed that he had hoped to God that in the face of his overwhelming love this unsettling bit of reality grinding in your eye like a grain of sand would go entirely unmentioned. That you would not think about it, doltishly sign the agreement and ride him quite literally into the sunset.

No, no, not doltishly, you reminded yourself after a sharp exhale, shaking off the tremors of lingering wrath, he doesn't think you're dumb. He was just...scared.

Looking at the clutched paper in your hands, whilst sitting on the cold sand, you saw why he would be.

"I've got a temper."

"That's fine."

"I can be distant."

"I'm going to respect that."

"I have trouble apologizing."

"We can work on that."

"I'm independent and I won't be bound by some silly rules to dictate what I will or will not do."

At that, he'd finally blinked and you'd felt sad? Happy?

It was a sickening circle - to find the perfect person, then raise the bar so high that they couldn't possibly jump that high and be left behind. Rather they leave because you were too much than leaving because you weren't enough. If someone would say it makes no damn sense, to be so afraid of abandonment and yet go through the same motions over and over again all but ensuring that you would be, you would say "yeah, that's fucked up, what can I tell you".

"That's understandable," he'd only replied and you had leaned back into the chair, astonished. Was Jimin finally the perfect person who would love you unconditionally? Well...no. He was a person and faults were normal. Out of seven days a week, he annoyed you three, pissed you off maybe one or two. And that was normal. For him, you finally learned that it was expected and instead of blowing up into pieces of bleeding shards, you could simply exhale your anger. Free of judgment. Of course, he was not perfect but that meant he could accept your imperfections as well. Some he shared, and some were polar opposites but he accepted them just like you did his. But this...This was a bit different.

And now you understood that in those seven or eight blinks he'd taken in the seat across the restaurant table on one of the first official dates, he hadn't been exactly taken aback by your forthcoming attitude on your own shortages, but rather he grew intrinsically aware of how badly the inevitability of this paper would go.

You shuddered. In a frightening mix of rage and panic, you'd fled the hotel room in nothing but a thin shirt. His actually now that you looked at it. Without your knowledge, you had made it seem that if he would present you this paper, you'd drop him without a moment's hesitation. And truthfully -

"You would have," Jimin quietly finished behind your back, coming to a stop by your chosen spot on the beach. A jacket and a blanket in hand. Perfect - no, considerate? All the way.

Feeling him tuck it over your shoulder, you grumbled:

"Stop somehow reading my mind, it's creepy."

Plopping down next to you, he stared off into the sea. Funny that you should have met by water too. When he had accidentally kicked a ball in your face but that was neither here nor there.

"You just have a very expressive face."

For a while, you both listened to the waves, wanting that to be the end of the night. A peaceful conclusion before a series of everything going the usual way. But it will not be the usual way, unfortunately. This measly slip of printed paper suggested so.

"So is this going to be goodbye?" Jimin questioned thinly. "In the past, you would have said "see ya, would never want to be ya" and dip."

Even now he somehow managed to make you laugh, though his own smile was just an alternate mask of sadness.

"Thing is I'm not my past self anymore. For better, worse?" you shrugged, abandoning that thought to another. "And I...I don't want to lose you anymore."

With the corner of your eye, you spot him glimpsing towards you absolutely stunned. So he couldn't read the whole of your mind yet.

"I'm sorry," he mumbled. "I should have...approached this differently. Sooner? Better? But I was just so..."

"Scared?" you finished for him and Jimin hid his face into his forearms, a vague smile playing on the corner of his mouth.

"Now whose reading my mind?"

"Soulmate things," you flipped your hair and he chuckled. "Well, second to Taehyung or whatever, cheater."

TAEHYUNG: The phone rang itself off the nightstand where it crashed unforgivingly against the ground.

"You sure you're not going to get that?" you asked and Taehyung snorted, wrapping his arm around you even tighter.

"What are they going to do? Fire me? Don't think so."

You listened to his heartbeat enjoying this brief respite of normalcy. You lying on your boyfriend's chest, watching TV and Tannie snoring in between you both. Domestic bliss. When his phone began to ring again, this time vibrating like a chainsaw against the boards, you and Taehyung ignored it as well. You loved this man to death but oh you hated his work line. How you hated all these prying eyes, watching how much he weighed, did he have stubble or not, did he bow at the correct angle. Sometimes you just wish it'd be feasible to take him away and never return back.

"I wish I could abduct you," you mutter, knowing he won't take offence to these silly thoughts. "Bring you far, far away where people wouldn't go crazy about who you are."

"I wish that too," he sighed. The NDA that was thrust aggressively in front of your face had Taehyung frothing at the mouth. Apparently all this time he'd been trying so hard to make everything seem so normal. Your perfectly normal boyfriend with your perfectly normal lives in between aberrant series of events that spiralled beyond your control.

"Is that selfish?"

"Yes," he kissed the top of your head. "You're a horrible, selfish person and I'm but a helpless victim, ensnared by your sensual prowess."

You slapped his chest and Tannie barked, hazily lifting his head to glance around out of focus and then crash once more.

The phone kept ringing and you kept on ignoring it, despite the pauses between the calls growing shorter and shorter.

"I don't want to sign it," you mumbled. "Not yet. I hope you're not mad."

"I'm not," he assured. "I don't want you to sign it either. I don't want to put...this chain around your neck. That's not what love is."

"You're not the wrongdoer here."

"Yet, I feel like one," he sighed. "I want to love you without papers, without documents, without some lawyer always ready to tear you for something that you should be able to have. I'm sorry, baby. I'm so sorry."

"Last night we said a great many things. You said I was to do the thinking for both of us, well, I've done it," the movie droned on.

"Whose going to do the thinking for us, Tae?" you hummed and he sighed.

"Tannie."

As the phone finally felt silent, after the consecutive 73 calls, you wondered aloud:

"How long do we have?"

"No idea. Maybe a week, maybe a day. They're going to force the thing on us eventually. Either way, I've intended to spend it with you and you alone. No paper will tell me whether or not I should trust you."

JUNGKOOK: When you kicked open the doors to the conference room, the two lawyers were so startled they fell out of their chairs and onto the ground, badly bruising their tailbones in the process.

"You cannot publish -"

"I understand."

"You cannot share this -"

"I don't have any friends."

"Your family must not -"

"I'm an orphan."

Jungkook had to press a palm over his mouth to stop the bubbling laughter that would surely be inappropriate at a time like this.

The lawyer wiped the sweat off his brow.

"Do you have anything to add?"

You beamed at the man and pulled your own NDA, held together by a hello kitty clip.

"I'd like for him," you pointed at Jungkook. "To sign this."

After a terse academic and verbally violent exchange spanning for a whole hour and forty minutes, you signed Jungkook's NDA and he did yours, and with ashen faces sporting quite the thin veneer of politeness towards you the lawyers left. Jungkook reached to hold your hand, smiling from cheek to cheek.

"So... officially together," he congratulated quietly and you nodded.

"Yes," looking him over, you pondered. "So can I jump you now or...?"

He sputtered.

"Are you using me just for my body?" he covered his chest in mock indignance.

"I mean, partly," you drawled in deep thought. "Though as much as I like your boobs I do love the heart behind them."

After a kiss to your nose, he swayed in the hug, pretending that the car horns blasting outside were the strumming notes of a romantic movie soundtrack.

"You're sure of this, right?" insecurely, he questioned. Just to make sure. Just to know...that...

The thought evaded him yet the fear did not.

"I'm not stupid, Jungkook," you scoffed though with no malice. "I know who you are and have decided to be a responsible adult about it."

He nodded, mentally checking out what size of a ring would he need to order.

"Besides," you flicked his forehead. "If anyone's going to break the NDA, it's going to be you. You're like obsessed with me."

Accusingly, you dug a finger into his chest and Jungkook was only 50% sure it wasn't done to have an excuse to touch him. Apparently, you wanted to bite his pecks.

"Oh, my genuine congratulations," Namjoon had drawled aridly when Jungkook in fact had crashed his studio drunk and giggling about this cutie he'd been on a date with. "You managed to find someone as equally weird as you. Get married, you freaks. God bless."

He thought it was endearing and yes, maybe he was healthily obsessed but at least something so frail as a paper and the fragile ego of strangers will not sabotage his joy.

© soraviii/soraviie 2022-2023

[yourvirtualgoddessforlife]

Where do I think the MW2 cast live?

Headcanons on locations and what their homes look like :)

Alejandro, Gaz, Ghost, Graves, König, Price, Ruddy, Soap

A/N: I always list characters in alphabetical order because any other order makes my brain itch 🤷

~~~~~

Alejandro

He has a moderate sized house not too far outside of Las Almas

In game he didn't tell Soap where his family is to protect them so it makes sense he'd keep them distant from Las Almas for their safety

It's a big house

You two get plenty of space to keep your stuff and the spare rooms are for visiting friends and family

He fills every wall he can with photos of you, his family, and his friends

Overall his house is very cozy with soft seats and nice wooden furniture

But he also decorates with his heart, there are sentimental items throughout the house

Gaz

A small London apartment

His accent screams London and I think city life suits him

London prices are high so the apartment has only the space you need, no spares rooms except for a home office if you need one

Gaz has a driving license but doesn't have a car because he is too use to the convenience of London public transport, there's a bus stop right outside the building

His decorating style is clothes on the floor 😮‍💨

The guarantee is really good electronics

Nice TV, fancy coffe machine, roomba

This guy even owns an air fryer

Ghost

Outskirt of a village or a remote location

Simon is from Manchester but following his childhood there I don't think he'd be happy living there

I also can't imagine him enjoying bustling cities or even towns

He's a private man and he wants to keep you safe so having more than five neighbours is a no-go

His decorating skills are non existent

You have to decorate and he'll just help you assemble furniture

Has one room in the house with no windows and it's just filled with blankets and pillows, he does not explain this and you just have to accept it's there

Graves

This is entirely because I love the idea, a ranch

Or maybe if I'm being more realistic it's a decent sized house in a suburban area

But the ranch idea is more fun so let's work with that

It's about a forty minute drive from the nearest city

It's a really big place, bigger than it needs to be

On enof those where the garage is separate to the main house

The bedroom has a giant bed and en suite bathroom

His kitchen has a table that seats more people than you know

Giant TV in front of the comfiest sofa you've ever experienced

He loves you and spoils you so he wants you to live in luxury

König

Welcome to: I know a lot about Europe except for Austria!

König had a bit of trouble while looking for places to live because he's too tall for doorways

I was looking at the standard door height in most countries and the highest was 6'8". Poor guy.

Door issue aside he'd like his privacy and he has social anxiety so I think he'd be another city hater

His house is probably big but it doesn't feel like it

1) because he's massive and so everything seems small in comparison

2) he's a fan of organised mess

Something about filling a house to the brim with stuff you like and definitely need is soothing

And you can't call it a mess because according to him everything is organised

How else would he know where everything is?

Price

His home country of Herefordshire (I don't blame him, the place is nice)

I don't think we ever learn where in Herefordshire he is from so I'll presume he was from the city of Hereford and I can't see him living there still

It's a nice city but the villages are nicer but there is another reason

Price was part of the SAS (Special Air Service) which is based in Hereford. More specifically the base is just outside the village of Creden Hill.

His house has such a comforting vibe to it

The low ceilings with the wooden beams

Wooden flooring with a really soft rug

Sofas with lovely cushions and throw blankets

10/10 I love village houses (biased)

Ruddy

In Olmeda, Las Almas

I think Ruddy would be in a similar mindset of Alejandro in regards to keeping his S/O a secret and Olemda doesn't receive too much cartel activity

For reference Olemda is the town in the campaign during the mission hardpoint... The one you mostly blow up using a helicopter. Whoops

Asides from that little incident the town isn't too far from Las Almas and isn't entirely ravaged by the cartel

The most lived in room in the kitchen

You too cool together and eat together and then sit at the table and just talk for hours

Because of this the kitchen is the most loved room

Soap

One of the towns outside of Glasgow

I don't know from which part of Scotland Soap is from but I feel like he likes Glasgow

One of the few guys on this list aside from Gaz who likes living in cities

There's more shops and they're easier to get around. Oh, and more restaurants! (He can hardly take you to a restaurant for a date if there aren't any around)

He knows your neighbour's names, how many pets they have, and when they last went on holiday

He spends a lot of time on the front garden just talking to them when they bump into each other

I hate to say this but he probably has a "Man-Cave" but it's a cool room and he asks you to spend time in there with him

It has a darts board, how could you say no??

[yanderelinkeduniverse]

Reader who makes plushies... That have literal bombs inside of them that they can throw on the battlefield

Imagine if one of Links accidentally sets it off

Jk jk, it’s just funny to see this ask when you have Klee from hit game Genshin Impact on pc, PlayStation, and mobile devices as your pfp.

Personally I actually really love the concept of characters with bombs that are hidden inside plush dolls, they’re always so fun and cute! Now as for a (y/n) with those dolls…

She is not gonna be using them as freely when the time comes.

At the start I think the Chain would actually be really chill with her primarily using bombs in combat, I mean as long as she can control where they go. In fact, they’d prefer her using bombs than using nothing at all since - and I mean this as politely as possible - if would not be good if they had member of the group basically be deadweight.

*side eyes canon (y/n) who is not a combatant in any capacity*

And in all fairness, I’m pretty sure everyone who’s played a Zelda game has accidentally blown themselves up with their own bombs at least one time. Realistically would that kind of injury be severe and heavily impact her relationship with the Chain? Of course, but since when have I stuck to realism?

(y/n) being a combatant from the get go would certainly impact the Chain’s view of her fighting later on when they start becoming obsessive, but I think they’d still go through a phase where they think (y/n) shouldn’t be using them at all when their concern for her safety reaches its peak.

I mean, if these guys can blow themselves up with their own bombs when those bombs are just a side item then what about when they’re someone’s main weapon? I heavily doubt this variant of the reader would be without some bandages from accidentally blowing herself up on occasion.

Those who become a little too paranoid for her safety, such as Four, Twilight, and probably Wild just from his own personal experiences accidentally setting off a remote bomb too close to himself or using a bomb arrow in the Eldin region, would argue that she’s safer without them than with them.

And while most of the others would be in agreement, the problem is…she’s had these bombs and this method of fighting since before she ever came to Hyrule. Who are they to say what she can and cannot do to defend herself with?

It’s a struggle between the overwhelming desire to keep her safe and the need to respect her as their superior, after all they are barely worthy to hold a candle to her.

So, a compromise is made.

They politely ask (y/n) if she can limit her bomb usage, perhaps using a bit of well meaning manipulation to say that their ears are more sensitive than hers and as such the sound of the bombs going off hurts their ears.

They don’t want to limit their darling, don’t want her to feel caged and like her wings are being clipped, but they also want her to be safe above all else.

And if there were ever a time when (y/n)’s style of combat proved to be more detrimental to her well-being than not then they wouldn’t hesitate to take those bombs away, even if she protests.

On a slightly happier note, the plushies themselves are something the Chain would coo over a lot!

Some might even try to give her inspiration for new ones to make, even if they aren’t bombs(they’d be happier if they weren’t bombs tbh). I’m sure Hyrule has a bunch of dolls that look like himself saved up and Wild’s got pictures of Riju’s sand seals, those would be adorable!

But yeah, a reader who utilizes bombs in combat would challenge the Chain’s dual desires to both respect (y/n) as their ultimate authority(not that she knows) and keep her safe. But as long as she properly uses them, then she’ll be fine.

For now.

[nyoomfruits]

Ohh for the prompts: jamming out to the radio at midnight with Lando/Oscar pleaseeeeee 🥰

@etherealszs

this idea has been banging around in my brain since i got these two prompts a MONTH ago and i finally FINALLY got around to actually writing it lmao. takes places directly after the silverstone gp :)

It’s probably a little telling, Lando thinks, that he’s here, sitting on the counter of Oscar’s tiny little kitchen in Oscar’s tiny little London apartment, rather than at Christian Horner’s big BBQ bash, or whatever it’s called that Max had insisted he’d come to.

And before he would’ve gone, without a doubt. He was planning on going, even. But then Oscar had approached him after the race debriefing and had tentatively asked him what his plans for the evening were and if he maybe wanted to come over. His face had that unreadable quality it always has, but Lando’s gotten pretty good at reading Oscar’s tells. The little twitch of his mouth, revealing he’s nervous. How the flush on his cheeks darkens ever so slightly.

So he’d agreed, tried to hide his own nerves, tried to squash down the hope that started fluttering in his chest, and had followed Oscar here, to his kitchen.

Oscar is at the stove, making them grilled cheeses, because according to him they’re allowed a little cheating on their diets for the race they’ve just had. Plus, they’re both starving, even though the clock has now definitely ticked past midnight.

“All right, I think I’ve finally got it,” Lando says, looking up from his phone, where he’s been trying to connect to Oscar’s speaker for the past ten minutes. Only seconds later, the sound of the Spice Girls telling them ‘what they want, what they really really want’ starts filling the kitchen, and Lando does a little victory fist pump.

Oscar laughs. “You really are on top of the world today, aren’t you,” He deadpans, buttering a piece of bread. “Lando Norris: Almost winner of the Silverstone GP and king of the Sonos speaker.”

Lando hops of the counter and does a little twirl. “Give me a few weeks, I’ll win a race and figure out how to work the AC in my drivers room.”

“Only one of those is a realistically achievable goal,” Oscar says, as Lando leans against the counter and tries to steal a piece of cheese. Or well, there’s no real trying to it, because Oscar lets him without any protest.

“And I have you for the other one,” Lando says, beaming at him. “You and your magic AC fingers.”

Oscar rolls his eyes, puts a few pieces of cheese on the buttered bread. “It’s called using the remote. You should try it sometimes.”

Lando sticks his tongue out at him. Oscar places another piece of cheese on it and watches as Lando squawks in indignation as he nearly drops it on the floor. “You’re going to be up there as well,” Lando says, when he’s managed to actually get the piece of cheese into his mouth.

“What, on your AC unit? I’d rather not.”

“No, idiot, on the podium. With me. 1-2 baby,” he grins as he says it, leaning back against the counter again, watching as Oscar does that thing he does where he ducks his head to hide the blush on his cheek.

“Sure, yeah. Eventually,” Oscar’s focusing on assembling his sandwiches a little too hard, so Lando grabs his hands, pulls them away to force Oscar to look at him.

“I mean it. Today sucked, you deserved that podium. But you will get there, and I will get there too, and it will be awesome.”

Lando hadn’t realized, how close they were standing until right now, hips pressed together, his fingers encircled around Oscar’s wrists. Their faces are only inches apart, and Lando has a flashback to yesterday, after qualifying, him pressing Oscar against the wall behind the Mclaren motorhome, frantic and giggly and drunk on victory. Their mouths slotting together in a heated kiss. Oscar’s hands on his neck, pulling him closer closer closer.

They hadn’t talked, after. They still haven’t talked. Lando is too to bring it up, afraid that this fragile little thing they have will shatter in his hands when he does.

Lando pulls away a little frantically, grabs his phone. “You know what we need?” He asks, and when Oscar just stares at him blankly, he continues. “Hype music.” And presses play on his phone.

It takes a few seconds for Oscar to grasp what is playing over the speakers, but then he groans. “No, absolutely not,” he says, grabbing for Lando’s phone as Lando cackles loudly.

“Ooooh Oscar Piastri,” Lando sings over the White Stripes’ drum beat, and dances out of Oscar’s reach. “Come on, Oscar, dance with me!” He says, turning up the sound as music intensifies, jumping up and down.

Oscar sighs, but his eyes are twinkling and there’s a smile tugging in the corners of his mouth and then before Lando knows it he’s jumping along, making Lando laugh when he does some kind of weird head bang motion.

It’s just. It feels exhilarating. Like they’re letting go of all of the hardships and the terrible races of the past few months, and just celebrating. They had a fantastic race. They made out behind the Mclaren motorhome. And now they’re here, in Oscar’s tiny kitchen, and it’s just them and the White Stripes, and it feels liberating, like there’s a huge wait falling off his shoulders.

Eventually the song ends and Lando and Oscar collapse against each other in a heap of giggles, Lando burying his face in Oscar’s shoulder as he tries to catch his breath.

When he pulls back he realizes the next song has started playing, Spotify randomly shuffling his music, and it’s Adele’s Make You Feel My Love. Suddenly, the moment feels entirely too intimate. Oscar’s arms are still wrapped around his waist, and Lando’s head was just on his shoulder, and they’re practically slow dancing without the moving, and their noses are only inches apart.

“Hi,” Oscar says, a little out of breath, still.

“Hi,” Lando says, and he should pull away, he should pull away, but he finds himself frozen in place instead.

“I-“ Oscar starts, before taking a deep breath. “I really want to kiss you,” he blurts out then, making Lando’s breath catch in his throat. “But,” Oscar goes on, “But I don’t want. If this is just like, a fling for you, I can’t do that.”

“Oh,” Lando says, because holy shit. “You mean, uh. You want to like. Date? Be boyfriends?” Get married buy a house have children grow old together.

“Yeah,” Oscar says, smiling softly. “If that’s what you want.”

“If that’s what I-“ Lando mutters incredulously before surging forward, pressing his lips to Oscar, who lets out a surprised little ‘mmph!’ before melting into the kiss. “Yes, I want to, you dumbass,” he clarifies, when he pulls away.

“Dumbass? Says the guy who can’t even figure out his own AC,” Oscar says, eyes shining with mirth.

“Oh, shut up,” Lando says. “That’s what I’ve got you for, don’t I?” He says, and then he kisses Oscar again.

[the-eeveekins]

Time to get some things off my chest I've been holding onto for a while, especially with regards to the Gundam community and G-Witch.

A solid chunk of the complaints I see about the show boil down to: person/place/thing wasn't as developed or given as much screentime as it would have if the show was 50 episodes, and it's potential was wasted as a result. And it just feels like a chunk of Gundam fans cannot get over a show NOT being 50 episodes, and that things can only reach their full potential if they are 50 episodes.

There's almost no adjustment of expectations for what the level of development, detail and screentime would be for a 24-25 episode length series. Just the belief that because it's less than the amount you'd find in a 50 episode series, it's automatically inferior.

And the way some people describe what they expected out of certain things, you can absolutely tell that they've been spoiled by the UC and don't have even remotely realistic expectations for a fresh AU without any sequels or supplemental content. The UC has been around for 40+ years with so much content to the point that nearly every minute detail has been explained and even over-explained. And certain fans have gotten so used to having every little detail spoonfed to them about a series that anything less is lacking or a plot hole.

Like, I seriously recall someone complaining that G-Witch didn't explain the treaty or agreement that banned the use of physical ammunition in space and that it was a plot hole! Or that the show didn't explain where Peil was getting it's doubles from? Or what characters like Guel and Shaddiq were like growing up?

Yes, G-Witch undercooked some of it's elements, probably because they expected to get more episodes than they did and added enough side and background content to give them 50 episodes worth of stuff if it got extended. But wanting the show to explore the detailed background of every side character, faction and location isn't something you're going to get in most AUs. Especially one that was only 25 episodes and more focused on telling a Shakespearean tale of two families than a large political war drama like most series.

And lastly, most of the complaints about the character development can be boiled down to one thing: most anime fans are used to having a character's thoughts and emotions spoonfed to them. G-Witch never once gets into the heads of it's characters and lets your hear their thoughts or feelings, leaving up to the viewer to interpret them based on their actions, reactions and knowledge of the character. And in a medium dominated by battle shounen, where characters constantly explain their every action and you constantly see every thought, I think a lot of people have gotten terrible at understanding character development that doesn't rely on it.

It's why there's so many complaints about Suletta not developing at all until late S2 despite developing a TON over the course of the show, because the show doesn't slap you in the face explaining it to you. Her personality doesn't go through a major change in the show because it doesn't need to, and S1 clearly shows her gaining more confidence and stuttering less around others as the season progresses. It's honestly not that subtle at all, the show just doesn't spend time explaining to you that it's happening, it just shows it happening. And that goes for a LOT of elements in the show people claim were too subtle or not explained well enough.

It's also why so many people claim Guel has the most development in the show, because his personality has to change drastically due to how awful he was (and tbf, he still ends the series as a pretty awful guy), and since it's such a major change, people claim he has the most developed character arc in the show because it's not subtle in any way.

It's not like G-Witch is a perfect show or free from criticism, but holy shit so many of the complaints I see boil down to unrealistic expectations of a two cour series or poor media comprehension/literacy. And that's not even getting into the people just hating on the show because they're sexist or homophobic.

[skepsiss]

Modern problems, Modern solutions pt 5

Ooph, it took me a while to get this out. It's a bit of a "transitional chapter" that involves quite a few 3rd parties. I think it's important to see how Eddie feels about all of this and what he thinks has happened. I also think it's pretty realistic for there to be this sort of "divergence" of who is on whose side. Not that I think that's smart or practical, just that is how everything seems to go in High School. Everyone has to take a side, even when the people involved don't want anyone to take a side.

Time for Robin to get maud.

TW: The D-slur (for lesbian), general verbal tussling, lots of insults, lots of swearing.

Pt1 Pt2 Pt3 Pt4 Pt5 Pt6

- - -

Eddie was miserable for the rest of the weekend and had been in a sour mood when he got to school on Monday. He was so short-tempered he had even snapped at Wayne even though he had quietly apologized for it later. Still, more than anything Eddie hated that he was going to have to see Steve at school the next day. They didn’t have classes together, and he had no reason to interact with him if he didn’t want to, but even the idea of seeing his face in the hallway made his expression twist. What an absolute total shit. Steve knew how to be pleasant, how to be nice, and vaguely allude to being your friend, but everything was surface level. He didn’t actually care how you felt–that was a given–but he just didn’t want to make enemies either. It was this snide, fake way of existing, and that bothered Eddie more than anything. Here he was trying to be genuine, and all he had gotten for it was insulted and mistaken for being someone else. Framed as if he was the asshole, or the weirdo in the situation–every situation. Steve had been trying to apologize as if the insult of an apology over something like that would make everything okay. Eddie felt like an idiot. Like a loser. For whatever stupid reason he had thought that Steve didn’t see him that way. 

There was no one at that party that was even remotely in the same social circle as him and now that he thought about it that sort of felt like that was done on purpose. It had been a mistake to show up to the party at all. They were probably all laughing about it behind his back now.

Eddie slouched around the school for most of the day and kept his head down in fear of having to deal with the jock crowd. He had been short with more than a few people, but he couldn’t find it in himself to feel bad about that. He didn’t want to give anyone even the smallest chance of an in to make fun of him. He didn’t want to hear even the tiniest jab and he sure as hell wasn’t going to tolerate having to talk to Steve Harrington if it came to that. Eddie’s attitude changed a bit at lunch when he opened his locker and an envelope fell out. There wasn’t much to the letter really, just a simple note that read ’for the weed’ with 30 bucks inside. It had made Eddie frown, but at the very least he felt a bit relieved that he hadn’t been swindled. It didn’t cure his bad mood, but it made him feel a little less on edge for the remainder of the day. It was still no secret that some people seemed to be giving him side-eye as he walked down the hallway, even if no one was doing anything overtly hostile. 

Nothing happened day one, and Eddie felt grateful for that, but he still felt like a tool for thinking for even a split second that Steve and him were compatible. He hadn’t really liked Steve, it was just a fantasy really, even if the fantasy had involved a lot of assumed mutual attraction. It was stupid and he could see it as that now; thinking about it just made him mad. Tuesday was worse; Tuesday was worse because even though most of the day had been benign Eddie hadn’t gotten away home free at the end of the day. It had caught up to him in the parking lot of the school as he had tried to shuffle away from Hawkins’ High. It had caught up to him in the shape of Robin Buckley. Eddie had made it to the far side of the parking lot–far enough away that no one in their car could run him down if they had a mind to do it–but to his surprise, he could see Robin hoofing it towards him. It was club day so seeing Robin out here made it especially odd but he barely had time to register that as he noted the stormy expression on Robin’s face. “Eddie,” he said sternly, not raising her voice any louder than normal. She wasn’t talking as if she was just trying to get his attention, no, there was an edge of anger there as if she was his mother or something. The tone made Eddie sneer slightly and he turned away from Robin to continue walking. “Eddie! I’m talking to you,” Robin said firmly, not quite putting her hands on him, but cutting in front of him to make him stop walking. “I don’t want to hear it, Buck–” Eddie tried, only to get caught off as he watched Robin cross her arms and step into his path once again. “No, you’re listening to me, you’re listening to everything I have to say,” Robin interrupted and Eddie did take pause because of her expression. She looked pissed as hell–face red, the bags under her eyes especially dark–and the rhythmic chanting of the old saying ‘hell knows no fury like a woman’s scorn,’ rang through his mind. “I thought I’d give you a chance to apologize on your own–be a decent person about it, but you didn’t do squat on Monday,” Robin continued, which made Eddie’s expression twist with frustration. “Apologize–” he tried to interrupt, not beyond starting an argument. “Listening for once in your goddamn life,” Robin cursed, keeping steady eye contact, “people make mistakes, Eddie, I get it and you’re a prickly person, whatever–” “Hey–” “What. Ever! Listen! I’m trying to give you some grace here, and you’re lucky that Steve would be pissed at me if I flayed you, so you’re going to settle for listening to what I have to say because sure as hell he isn’t going to say it,” Robin huffed, her teeth bearing a bit. Great. So, this was about Steve. Eddie wanted to hear what she had to say even less now and he sidestepped Robin again only to have her walk after him, not deterred in the least. “You know for years I’ve been thinking oh, Eddie isn’t actually a bad guy, he just projects that image to get people to leave him alone, but then you turn around and do this bullshit? How dare you, how fucking dare you pull something like that and then walk around school on Monday with a chip on your shoulder–” “How dare I?” Eddie asked, whipping around to jam a finger in Robin’s face. “How dare I? You don’t know what the hell you’re talking about, Buckley.”

“I sure as hell do,” Robin retorted, seemingly not intimidated enough by Eddie to back down despite the glassy look in her eyes. She was standing her ground and it probably helped that she and Eddie were the same height. She was a tall girl and was potentially stronger than Eddie if he thought about it–not that he was ever going to hit Robin, but jeez her expression made him wonder if she was going to be the one to throw a punch. “Your tough guy appearance and devil-may-care attitude isn’t going to do shit for you, Eddie. Steve is too nice of a guy to say any of this to your face, so I’m going to do it instead. How dare you. How dare you look someone in the eye and laugh at them when they’re trying to tell you something. You think it’s funny? You think it’s funny that Steve has been nothing but nice to you and because he’s an underclassman–or whatever fucking reason–you think it's funny to totally spit in his face? Be a total dick because he made a mistake and thought you were a decent fucking person? I regret sticking my neck out for you. I regret defending you and encouraging Steve to talk to you–you’re such an asshole! I thought you were better than those posturing cliques that toy with people’s emotions for the drama of it all, but you’re not. You’re the exact same as them,” Robin yelled, her voice not loud enough to carry across the parking lot, but loud enough to sound livid and have passersby look in their direction. 

Eddie didn’t understand what she was getting at, but it was making his face red with anger and embarrassment. He was being reamed out. Why the hell was he being reamed out? So, now he was being gossiped about behind his back and having Robin Buckley of all people curse him out? He was being framed as the asshole? “What the hell are you talking about?” Eddie snarled, feeling his chin bunch up with the effort of not crying. He hated that he cried over every goddamn thing, and his attempt to control his tears was the only thing stopping him from yelling back properly at Robin.

“An apology isn’t nearly enough, but at least it’s something,” Robin continued, ignoring Eddie’s protests, “don’t even think about showing your face at Pride Club cause we sure as hell are not going to support anyone being a goddamn bully.” “What the hell are you talking about!” Eddie yelled again, finally raising his voice loud enough for anyone nearby to hear. “You’ve got absolutely no idea what you’re talking about! I don’t want to go to your dumb fucking club ever again anyways. You’re all a bunch of hypocrites. Fucking ‘love and acceptance’ my ass–” “Good! Then don’t come!” Robin shouted back stubbornly. “Sounds great to me!” Eddie declared, throwing his hands up in the air. “Have a great time patting yourselves on the back for being the world’s most gullible dyke.” “You’re a fucking asshole,” Robin chewed, “bye, prick!” “Good riddance, fucknut!” Eddie shouted loudly as he backed up and away from Robin, posturing. He saluted high into the sky only to turn around and flip Robin off as he walked away. She didn’t prolong the interaction and Eddie stole a quick look over his shoulder to see her storming back towards the school. What a piece of work. He was pissed that Robin had been turned against him–not that they were friends or anything like that, but it felt especially sinister to hear from her what tale Steve was spinning about that night. So, he was the bad guy, huh? He was the asshole in this situation? Figures. Steve was a tool. A complete and utter cunt lying to people about what went down and painting himself as the victim in the situation. Why not though, huh? Why not throw your weight around and make everyone else pick your battles? It was easier that way anyway. Eddie was going to be obliterated from the inside out and Steve wasn’t even going to need to lift a finger. 

–

Eddie skipped Hellfire club later in the week, choosing to mope at home instead which got an angry slew of texts from the guys. He had ignored those too and had only emerged when Wayne knocked on his door declaring that Jeff had come to see him. The visit was under some guise that he needed help playing a part of a song he was trying to perfect. Eddie had seen through the rouse almost instantly but he hadn’t said anything. The conversation had naturally moved towards why he was so upset 20 minutes into Jeff’s visit, but Eddie had been grateful to do something with his hands in the interim. He had sneered and scowled, not wanting to talk about it and not wanting to be made fun of, but Jeff had seemed earnest in his attempts to pull the truth from him and eventually Eddie told him everything. 

He didn’t go so far as to say he had liked Steve or anything like that, but he was the same as any guy and he thought Steve had maybe had a thing for him. That seemed far-fetched now, and he had just been holding out to maybe get lucky or something like that–he didn’t go into detail and it didn’t seem like Jeff wanted it anyway. The conversation was clipped and lacked real emotion until Eddie got to the bit about why he was pissed. He didn’t hold back either: telling Jeff how Steve had gotten drunk and then obviously started to flirt with him because he thought Eddie was someone else. How that had been a blow to his ego, but whatever; the real injury had happened when Steve had tried to make light of it all and Eddie had tried to offer a sympathetic ear, but that had blown up in his face. Steve had called him cruel for even asking and had acted like Eddie was pathetic for even trying to talk to him about it in the first place. How cruel it had been for Steve to be pretending this whole time to like him, even just as a friend. That had pissed him off, made him not like Steve, but the worst of it was the fact that he was spreading rumours about him now. He was already a social pariah, what was gossiping about how pathetic Eddie Munson was going to do to him for the rest of the school year? Jeff, in his defense, had tried to keep up as Eddie had explained everything lightning-fast with wayward details. By the end of it all Jeff seemed properly bothered by it as well and had commented on how stupid and lame it was that high school was so clique-y. Steve was an asshole. Steve should have realized that Eddie was just being nice. It was weirdly suspicious that he invited Eddie to his party when there was no one there that he knew. 

Pretending this whole time to be interested in friendship for God knows what reason. And he had come onto him? Only to act like it was a joke in the end? What a tool. What an asshole. What a jock.

Complaining had made Eddie feel a bit better and Jeff getting mad on his behalf felt good. He was being defended properly and he liked that. It wouldn’t matter that much when they had to go back to school the next day, but it at least made Eddie feel like he wasn’t storming into battle without an army at his back. Maybe they were weak and lacked numbers, they were never going to win against the leagues of popular kids, but at the very least Eddie didn’t feel alone in this fight.

Days passed and the news had spread fast through Hellfire. Eddie wasn’t upset about that at all, in fact, it saved him from having to explain everything and he genuinely wasn’t sure he would have been able to talk to Dustin and Will about this. He wanted them on his side and if they remained neutral he’d be fine with that too, but the last thing he wanted was to hear them defending Steve. 

Blissfully, nothing had been said to him and Eddie’s spine had stopped tingling once the week ended. He didn’t feel like everything was staring at him, even if Robin had glared at him every time they crossed paths in the hallway. That was the best things were going to get though and Eddie had no interest in entertaining the rumour-mill.

In fact, he had made it all the way to next Thursday without incident. Or at least ‘incident light’. He had seen Steve in the hallway once or twice, but they had pointedly ignored each other or simply walked down another hallway once they made eye contact. 

Hellfire was on Thursdays and though Eddie’s mood was still low, it felt as if it could be helped along by seeing his friends and maybe throwing a few difficult encounters their way. “That isn’t true!” Someone yelled, and Eddie perked up as he walked down the hallway. 

The school was mostly empty since the last bell, 20 minutes ago at least, and it was odd to hear someone yell this far away from the main classrooms. They hosted Hellfire in the classroom beside the theatre and for ‘special events’ they even got to use the theatre itself. Regardless of all of that, no one really came this way in the school unless there was a performance on or they were here for Hellfire. 

“That’s not what I was told!” The yelling continued and Eddie frowned as he slouched forward. Were the guys having a fight over something? Great. He didn’t want to have to deal with that. He didn’t want to entertain someone else’s emotions when he had simply been looking forward to an easy hang and some D&D. 

Eddie rounded the corner towards the theatre and his expression soured as he saw Robin and 2 other girls talking to Dustin, Will, and Jeff. Talking was a generous word even, they were straight up yelling at each other. 

Eddie stopped where he was in the hallway, not eager to enter the fray, but unfortunately, he was spotted before he could turn tail. “Eddie!” Dustin exclaimed, jabbing his arm toward Robin and getting everyone else to look at him. “Tell them what you told Jeff!” Eddie bunched his shoulders up and frowned deeply, feeling his skin crawl when Robin turned to look at him. He did not want to deal with this. “It doesn’t matter! I don’t care about that–it’s real low though to tell Will he can’t come to Pride Club,” Robin exclaimed, glaring daggers down the hallway at Eddie. “What?” Eddie asked sharply, bunching his shoulders up more. “I never–” “He didn’t bane me,” Will interjected, his voice sounding shrill with anxiety as he spoke. “It’s my choice.” “Your choice because it was heavily implied, or your choice because that’s actually what you want?” One of the other girls with Robin asked, crossing her arms. “Whatever, let them do what they want,” Hannah scoffed, which made Robin shake her head.

“No, that’s so shitty. I’m not going to make you do anything, Will, but know that you’re still welcome, you don’t have to quit just because–”

“Oh, so Will is welcome but Eddie isn’t?” Jeff interrupted. Robin shot him a harsh look and he seemed to back down a bit. “This is why it matters!” Dustin yelled again, “I think you have it all wrong–Steve won’t even talk to me about it!”

“That’s his choice,” Robin replied, pursing her lips, “I’m not here to share his business with everyone.” Eddie clenched and unclenched his hands as he stood in the hallway, feeling frozen to the spot as everyone slung angry words back and forth at one another. It was hard to keep up with and it was making his anxiety spike as he listened to Dustin and Jeff trying to defend him, while Robin and the other girls tore him apart. 

High school was so fucking stupid. This was all so fucking stupid. 

Yeah, fuck this. 

Eddie turned and started walking in the opposite direction. He could walk to the parking lot without passing anyone in front of the theatre; the last thing he wanted to do was walk past any of them. He’d just go home. He’d just crawl back into bed and wait for the blissful ignorance of sleep. “Eddie!” Dustin was yelling at him but he wasn’t turning around and he sure a hell wasn’t going to Hellfire today if he was going to have to sit there with this atmosphere hanging over him. 

He made it as far as the doors before Dustin caught up with him, huffing hard as Eddie pushed his way out into the parking lot. “Eddie–wait up,” Dustin puffed, grabbing his arm as the door swung shut behind them. Eddie jerked away, his anger flaring as he wrestled with the fact that he wasn’t going to ever get a moment of peace ever again. Not as long as he was in school and he had 8 more months of this bullshit to deal with. “Fuckin’ don’t, okay?” Eddie sputtered, not actually mad at Dustin but not having anywhere else to direct his anger. “I’m done okay, I’m done with this bullshit. I’m done. She wants to harass all the guys outside of Hellfire every day, be my guest. I’m going home, I’m not dealing with this bullshit.” “She’s leaving, you can come back,” Dustin explained, which only made Eddie huff a laugh. His limbs felt like rubber as he swayed, not wanting to leave but not wanting to stay either. It was all such bullshit. 

“I’m going home, Henderson,” Eddie lamented, rubbing his hand over his face as he lingered. He didn’t want to walk all the way home but he’d have to hang out here longer if he called Wayne for a ride. “What happened?” Dustin asked, which made Eddie groan as he forced one foot in front of the other and started walking. Dustin didn’t let up and started following him across the parking lot towards the forest behind the school. 

“You know–Jeff told you I’m sure,” Eddie grumped, stuffing his hands in his pockets and rolling his shoulders. “Yeah, but–” Dustin tried, not stopping Eddie but keeping pace with him, “--that doesn’t sound like Steve.” Eddie laughed incredulously, rounding on Dustin and sneering at him.

“What? You think I’m lying?” He asked, trying to keep his eyes from prickling with emotion. 

“No!” Dustin declared, almost too vehemently, “It’s just–maybe you both have it wrong. I don’t know! Steve can be a real idiot sometimes, but–but, when he messes up he owns up to it! He doesn’t–he isn’t vindictive like this.” “Yeah well, tomato-tamato, 'cause I’m living proof that isn’t true,” Eddie huffed, frowning deeply. He didn’t like hearing Dustin defending Steve, but at least he wasn’t making Eddie the one at fault for it all. “No, it’s just–Robin won’t talk to me about it, and Jeff says you told him that Steve was like… tricking you, man? Setting you up for some kind of joke and making fun of you or something like that?”

“Something like that,” Eddie confirmed nonchalantly, not wanting to talk about this, “seemed like it at least. Pretty much called me a villain for telling him he could talk to me honestly cause he was like… upset about something. Said I was cruel.”

Eddie stared down his nose at Dustin, not wanting to budge on this. Dustin didn’t seem convinced, but he was frowning as well as he listened to what Eddie had to say. Dustin was a smart kid, and Eddie could see the gears in his head turning. 

“It just doesn’t make sense…” Dustin lamented quietly. They stood like that for another minute before Eddie turned and continued walking. “Are you…” Dustin started, not following Eddie this time.

“Yeah, go on without me. I’m going to go fall off a bridge to my demise, Belrog style,” Eddie grouched, throwing his hand up into the air in some kind of wayward goodbye. He could practically hear Dustin frowning, but he didn’t turn around and Dustin didn’t follow him. That was both a relief and a disappointment, but Eddie didn’t let himself dwell on that as he marched home on the edge of another breakdown. 

Pt6

[flamingfoxninja]

Pinocchio loved his father. You have to remember that as I tell you what happened. It’s crucial that you remember. Because he truly loved his father. You can probably say the same thing about loving your family, your sister and brothers, and it would mean the same as myself loving my own mother and father. But the love that I had for my family paled in comparison to the love Pinocchio had for his, or the love that his father gave right back. Maybe paled isn’t the right word, but I don’t think there is any word close enough to describe the immense difference between them and everyone else. They were each other’s world, with all the stars and moon and magic that surrounded it. Which is strange if you thought about it, since Pinocchio wasn’t in the village for very long.

It was weird when I first met Pinocchio. We live in the little village of Amanti in the country of Marienne. It was a quiet classic sort of village. Not everything had magic or witches or monsters that you hear in the stories you know. Some places are just the background sets, the places that just travel through in order to get to the real plot. That was our village, quiet and unobtrusive, and we liked it like that. Boring compared to most, but it was peaceful and everyone was happy and friendly with everyone else. The children certainly knew the other children, and I prided myself with knowing everyone in town. As much as a child would know anyway. But the one person I knew very well was Pinocchio’s father. 

He was an old man, with polished circle glasses and silvery gray hair. Though looking back, he probably wasn’t older at fifty at most. I had a habit of assuming anyone with remotely graying hair as old or ancient, because only old or ancient people ever had magic to them. And Pinocchio’s father was the most magical person I had ever known to that point. He worked as a wood carver, always tinkering away at his shop making clocks and toys to sell. But my favorite things were the puppets he made. Little wooden marionettes. It would take him a while to carve them, putting in extra care to their body and shape, perfecting them in ways that I would never even think about. About twice a month he would take his marionettes into the square in the little portable stage he had, and put on a show for the children. We watched as he made the marionettes move and dance across the stage, telling stories of knightly princes and clever princesses. It was the most magical thing I had ever seen, watching him breathe life into those puppets. 

Once, I was lucky enough to be taken by my mother to get a new clock. I must have been six or seven at the time, and saw him working on the head of a puppet as we walked in. My mother had wanted to ask about the prices or some other adult things, but I was louder and must have asked him a hundred questions about who the new marionette was and how they were made. It must have exasperated my mother but he took it in stride. He gave the warmest smile as he gently explained to me how the parts are made, how the strings are attached, and how he was able to make them so realistically. His eyes never stopped twinkling as I kept up my questions. I think it made him happy, knowing I took an interest. But then I asked why he was careful in carving the puppets. He paused, like he knew the answer immediately but couldn’t find the right words to express it. And when he spoke there was a twinge of sadness. He said, “Because I am not just creating a body, I am creating a life. And you must always take responsibility.” I was confused by his answer, but my mother had jumped in and took control of the conversation to the clocks he had available. They did their business and me and my mother went home. I saw the same sadness in Pinocchio’s father as we did. And though I knew that my mother was very much annoyed at me inside, she looked different as we left. It was the first time I saw the look of pity on someone. When we got home she took me aside and explained to me how adults can be lonely too sometimes. Sometimes, not everyone can find their True Love like in the stories. Or how sometimes, even after finding your True Love, you may still not get a Happily Ever After. It was pretty world-shattering to learn when you’re six, but she had told me how proud she was for making him happy while in the shop. Because Lonely People can still be happy too. I had made a promise to try and keep Pinocchio’s father happy for as long as I could. Even if it wasn’t as long as I had thought. 

And then life went on. The sun rose and set. The Baker baked and the Farmer farmed and I grew up. I still played with my friends and got into mischief that all children do. But I made sure every week to visit Pinocchio’s father to make sure he was happy. Sometimes I would give him gifts, small flowers or fruits I had on hand. Or sometimes I would give him good names for his newest marionettes, like Mr. Bisket or Madame Pearl-head. It would always make him laugh, and that made me feel good, knowing I was keeping my promise. 

But one day when I was nine, he disappeared. No one knew where he went, but a few people saw him acting strangely the day before. He was frantic, running all over searching for something. Then the next morning, he locked his shop and just left. No note, no word to where he was going. He was just gone. For weeks rumors sparked around the village, going from him losing a valuable wood carving to him chasing after a True Love, or just lost his mind and wandered away forever. They were almost as varied and colorful as the marionettes he used in his shows. Those same marionettes that hung lifelessly in the back of his shop. 

Then, a few months later, he came back. It was an astonishment really. No one had actually seen him return, much less expected it. Everyone thought he was dead. Or if he was alive would never actually be seen again. And yet, there he stood, opening his shop more joyously than before. His arrival was unannounced, but word spread fast and soon everyone came out to welcome him back. And we all saw that he didn’t come back alone. Standing next to him with twinkling eyes and a wide grin was a little boy, who he introduced as his son Pinocchio. 

When I first met Pinocchio, I wasn’t sure if I liked him or not. He was…new. Too new in my opinion. His rosewood skin was polished. It didn’t have any scuffs or bruises that you would see on the other children. He had the straightest teeth I had ever seen, like white-painted fence posts.  And sometimes when he moved, there was an odd stiffness to him that he wouldn’t shake off. He wasn’t inflexible exactly, but when he stretched it was like he was making sure that he was still able to move. Gently rolling his joints over and over until he was satisfied they were in order. It reminded me of oiling the hinge of a door. But more than that, I didn’t like the feeling of being replaced. Pinocchio was like the missing puzzle piece that completed his father, bringing him so much happiness and love that one only read about. It hurt seeing that. For years it was my duty to make Pinocchio’s father happy. But now Pinocchio came in and effortlessly took my spot, even if it wasn’t my place to begin with. 

I didn’t know how to process that feeling, so it started to come out as mistrust and anger. It wasn’t exactly mean, but it definitely wasn’t nice. I think his father caught on how I was feeling pretty quick, at least much faster than me. Pinocchio wasn’t in the store when I went to visit again a week later. It was just his father, who smiled brightly when I came in. I had missed our weekly visits while he was away, and I liked to think that he did too. When I entered he had me sit on his chair and said that he had a very important task for me. Pinocchio was new to the village, and he was afraid that Pinocchio might get lonely. He asked if I could show Pinocchio around the village and introduce him to the other children so he could play and make friends. I wanted to scream. I felt so sick. This was how our relationship ended, not with Pinocchio replacing me for his father, but with Pinocchio replacing me for everyone else in town. It was really silly looking back on it, but those feelings were so strong and genuine that I wasn’t sure if I could contain it all. But Pinocchio’s father looked so delighted at the idea of Pinocchio making friends. So I begrudgingly went along, agreeing to take Pinocchio to our games. I was making him happy, so I’d put up with whatever weirdness Pinocchio had. 

Embarrassingly, it actually didn’t take very long for us to become friends. For all of my worry and aggression when we had first met, he was just a normal kid. When I introduced him to the rest of the children, he got along with everyone so well. I wanted to be mad at him, that this was proof he was replacing me. But I wasn’t. I actually got along with him too. And I liked him a lot. We played every day after that, any chance we got. Tag, exploring, marbles, you name it. Pinocchio was one of the gang, he fit in so well it was like he was tailor made. There was a charm to him you know, where he would be so genuine that you couldn’t help but admire. When he laughed at your jokes, you knew he actually thought you were funny. If you got hurt, you could tell he was actually worried about you, not like most kids where you only worry if you would get in trouble. He really did care. 

Most importantly, he was honest. He was the most truthful kid I had ever known. If you want to get an opinion on something, you go to Pinocchio. He would always tell you what he thought, but he was never mean about it, or sugarcoat it. Just stated it as fact. And he would always find something he liked about whatever you showed, even if it was actually terrible. Of course, we would still get into trouble. He wouldn’t shy away from regular child mischief. But he always owned up to it, and accepted whatever punishment he was given. The first few times this happened, we had left him behind to take all the blame. No one wanted to get caught right? But he never called out anyone else. He wouldn’t lie about it, he just wouldn’t say anything to get anyone else in trouble. It must have rubbed off on the rest of us because eventually we all stayed to take in our share of the blame. He was good like that. He was my best friend. 

You need to understand, you have to understand just how honest he was. I’d never met anyone more truthful than Pinocchio. It wasn’t just a quirk or, or his personality, or even a pledge or anything superficial like that. It was a part of his core, his entire being. When he spoke the truth, there was a great comfort to it that just weighed on you to know that this was how the world worked. It was his own magic. So when I heard him tell his first lie, it killed me almost as much as it killed him. Almost. 

It was late that night, all of the children in town were out on the streets. All the adults were asleep, peacefully unaware that we snuck out of our beds for a bit of mischief and fun. It was a bright full moon, giving us enough light to play and dance under its gaze. I don’t think I had as much fun before as I had that night. At least, before she walked in. 

She was beautiful as she walked into the village square. Her face illuminated in moonlight with eyes twinkling like stars. Her dress was a void black, frayed and marked in intricate designs that covered her body. It was frayed, but it trailed behind her like an evening gown. Billowed might actually be the better word. She was so graceful it felt like the wind had summoned her, breezing through our simple lives without a care in the world. We all stopped our games just to watch as she walked closer. By the time she reached the square, everyone surrounded her. She was so beautiful. Like the night itself had taken form. She leaned on her staff and addressed all of us. She said she had a game for us to play, and seemingly out of the night air itself she pulled out a magnificent ball. It was as white as the purest snow, covered in the softest silk. It was wondrous and magnificent and promised to be the most fun for anyone to play with it. I wanted that ball so badly. We all cheered in excitement to play with that magnificent white ball. 

Soothing our excitement, she explained the rules. She will ask us a question and if we answer truthfully, we will get a turn. We all nodded, agreed to the rules. Eager to please and to take our turn. She started with my neighbor from down the street. “What is the name of your father?” she asked sweetly. Smiling, my neighbor answered, “My daddy’s name is Nico.”

A scream rang out. It was thick and ragged, coming from deep in the village. We all turned towards the sound, confusion on our faces. But the woman called to us, focusing our attention on her and her game once more. She walked up to a little girl next. “What of your father’s name?” she asked. “Robert,” the poor girl answered. Another anguished scream pierced the night. The woman moved down the row, one by one, asking each child the name of their fathers. And with every answer a painful scream. All of us cried. The children at the beginning of the line cried for the deaths of their fathers. While those at the end cried for what was to come. I myself wept so achingly because that ball still called out to me and I knew in my heart I would kill my father to play with it. Even as the night air choked on death. Even as I saw the ball writhe and squirm in the woman’s hand. Hatred burned inside me as I stared at that horribly beautiful woman who still wore that gentle smile. But I could not turn away. The ball had already claimed me, as it waited to eat my father’s name. 

Pinocchio stood next to me. His presence gave me some comfort, as little as it was, but he confused me as well because he did not cry. He looked pensive. His brows furrowed in deep thought. I wasn’t the only one who noticed as the woman approached. She turned her head slightly as she looked at us. Pinocchio looked uneasy while I sobbed. It felt like I was crying for the both of us, and that was important somehow. If I was the one crying, then Pinocchio wouldn’t be distracted with his own tears. That my tears allowed Pinocchio to think, give him time to take action and do…something. Honestly I was so racked with despair that I had to cling onto something otherwise I would go mad. So I cried for Pinocchio as much as me, and the woman saw. I think that’s why she asked him a different question, what his own name was. And Pinocchio answered truthfully. “My name is Pinocchio”. She smiled, then asked him, “And what is your father’s name?” 

Pinocchio looked uncomfortable, hesitated in his unease, then answered.

“Daniel”.

I couldn’t breathe. I was so terrified but I think this was the moment that broke me. I couldn’t breathe as I watched Pinocchio lie. Lie in the face of evil or god or whatever being it was that demanded the truth. He lied. I didn’t know how it was possible. I didn’t think that he was even able to lie. He never lies. But he loved his father. He loved his father more than himself and the moon and stars. His words lied but his love was genuine, and I wept knowing I could never have a love as profound as that. 

In my grief I had failed to notice the lack of a scream. But the woman didn’t. She frowned, then snarled. And with a wave of her staff Pinocchio fell to the ground dead. It happened so fast I didn’t even realize. Just watched his body go limp and loose and sprawled out below. I think it was my mind trying to process what happened, but it reminded me of one of his father’s puppets. As if the puppeteer that was holding him up suddenly cut the strings from his body. When I realized he was dead, I just had another reason to cry. And while I was next to be asked a question and kill my father, my tears were shed solely for my friend and his bravery. 

Then a miracle happened. Before the woman had a chance to turn away, Pinocchio’s body started to glow. It was a rich and vibrant blue, light and airy like the day sky. It rivaled the sun as it cut through the night, and blazed out of my friend. 

I’ve learned much about magic since then. Not just tricks and wizardry that most people have, but raw magical powers only possessed by the most powerful of arcane creatures. Fairies are one of them. Fairy magic is ancient. You cannot escape a fairy boon or curse. It will stay on you for all eternity and then some. But fairies know this also, and that is why when they lay their spells they are just as cunning as they are powerful. To avoid the brunt of the spell, they would use their own magic to shift the spell in a new direction. Weaving the magic to a new purpose. Changing a spell of death to eternal sleep for example. A fairy cannot completely alter the spell, and they definitely cannot remove another fairy's magic. If they do, then they will face a magical backlash of unimaginable power. 

When that woman used her magic to kill Pinocchio, she had disrupted the fairy spell that was placed on him. I don’t know how or when he had met a fairy, or what he did to receive their boon, but he had one. And it was powerful. And when that boon was destroyed, all that was left was unrestrained raw magic. The brilliant blue light came forth from Pinocchio’s body pulsing fanatically until everything was covered in its light. I couldn’t look away as magic enveloped everyone. Distantly I heard the scream of that wretched woman. I was scared, I was sobbing, and it felt like I would see nothing else but that blue light. 

Then suddenly, it was gone. The magic had vanished, leaving us still standing in the square. The woman and her staff and her horrible ball, they were gone. The night was gone too, an early morning sun gently rising in the sky. If I had not wept so harshly before I would have cried in relief seeing the sun again. The adults had come out of our homes and rushed towards us, embracing us in their own relief for what had transpired. I could have willingly drowned in my mother’s hug, fiercely clinging onto her as she gripped me. But the grief still stayed. Because Pinocchio’s body was gone too. 

The village has changed since then. It isn’t as overt as you might expect. The people are friendly enough with one another, we still have a sense of a small town comradely. We don’t go out at night. But considering the monsters that would normally lurk in the darkness, that’s just good practice. And we don’t shy away from the odd traveler that enters. They are still welcomed for their business. But really, only for their business. We don’t allow them to stay for long. But sometimes they stay long enough to realize that we never say our names. Not to each other and certainly not to outsiders. Names are a very powerful thing you know, but they aren’t needed in daily life. The Baker is The Baker after all, so we get by just fine. The only names that we say are the names of the dead. And Pinocchio’s. 

We’ve never recovered his body. It had disappeared along with the other wicked things from that terrible night. As well as his father. When some villagers tried to give him the news of his son’s death, they weren’t able to find him. His woodcarver’s shop is still closed, with marionettes hanging in dust and darkness. The villagers say Pinocchio’s name because he had died. And I know he did. But I also know that magic is a wondrous thing, and miracles can be repeated. Pinocchio’s father didn’t die that night. Pinocchio did in his stead. So I will wait for Pinocchio’s father to return once again, with Pinocchio standing at his side. Someone should greet them back properly. After all, his name isn’t Daniel.

[anoverwhelmingannoyance]

Let’s talk about the Infantilization/Over-Sexualization of the RTC characters for a moment, because frankly both sides of the issue piss me off:

Recently I’ve been seeing an influx of people who seem to think it’s okay to reduce the ride the cyclone characters to nothing but sex jokes and attraction symbols. On the other side of this, I have seen others act like a saviour of sorts, to save these “innocent children” from anything remotely adult being talked about in their presence… so I’m going to remind people of some facts as to why BOTH SIDES are bad…

- firstly, I should state that all of them except mischa (who is 18) and Jane are confirmed to be 17 and in their senior year. So, if you’re arguing to say “they’re anywhere from blank to blank” in age, that’s incorrect. And it takes like 5 seconds on google to figure that out.

-just because mischa is 18, doesn’t mean it’s okay to say downright disgusting things about him… although he is technically over the Canadian and American age of consent, he’s still only a teenager, and barely able to even buy his own alcohol (again, they’re in Canada).

-they almost all canonically talk about sex. I know this should be obvious, but apparently some of you watched the show with your eyes closed and missed the point of just how infectious the idea of things of that nature can be to high schoolers, especially those in their senior year, who under other circumstances would have potentially experienced those things for the first time already.

-the difference between art and smut. This is specifically talking to fan art and fan fiction, but there’s a very fine line between what’s there for art purposes, and what’s just plain smut. Because yes, in many realistic portrayals of humans around their age, the idea of sex or related topics would come up. A lot. Especially in the form of jokes, and for those in relationships… HOWEVER, just because something is natural for that age doesn’t mean it needs to be talked about in detail, or highlighted to an uncomfortable extent.

-sexualizing the actors isn’t better. This should go with our saying, however when people are talking about the over sexualization that seems to be sweeping the fandom, they often say “couldn’t you at least say it about the actors?” Which is also very wrong. Why? Because even if the actors are much much more age appropriate than the characters, the other major difference between them is that the actors are living breathing people who can see what you say about them, and the characters stop existing the moment the slime tutorial is done, or the actors steps off stage. Obviously that doesn’t excuse saying horrid things about majority 17 year olds, but my point is that both of them are bad, and neither should be done.

-lastly I give you my rule of thumb when it comes to things like this— if it couldn’t be said about them in a PG-13 or 14A movie, it probably shouldn’t be said (unless it’s under very specific circumstances)

So in summary, although it’s crucial to remember that these characters are only teenagers who shouldn’t be treated like sexual objects as they painfully seem to be by some, it’s also important that the realistic portrayal of them doesn’t stop because some 12 year old online thinks they’re their sweet little babies that need protection from the world… it really shouldn’t be that hard to understand how it’s appropriate to treat a teenage character.

(Also ps, this is all coming from a Canadian high schooler, who knows how Canadian high schoolers behave)

(Also added 14-A to the last point, because it was pointed out to me how restrictive PG-13 can be depending on where you’re from)

[pupyr0arz]

My opinions on every COD ship I know of, ghost edition. This is with 0 regards on it happening even remotely realistically. Literally just every possible ghost ship. Every character I remember off the top of my head, will add more if mentioned.

priceghost: hot. Also very comfy. Ghost is devoted to price deeply and they don’t have a sub/dom relationship or even a defined top. It’s very comfortable and steady and I feel like they wind down with sex a lot. I can see this being casual while other relationships are ongoing. Age difference kink (ghost will never admit this to anyone.) 8/10

Soapghost: beautiful obviously. 10/10

ghostgaz: I see so little content of this and for what. Firstborn vs favorite child. They’d be such a silly couple. I feel like their relationship would initially have a lot of clashing bc of competitiveness and completely different styles before it settles. 7/10

Ghostroach: THEEEE ship for me. I’m obsessed with this. Freak/freak t4t to me. They’re stealing candy from the dollar store and fucking in the parking lot. Soulmates, destined to die together no matter what. I’ve talked about the vibes here earlier. 9999999999999/10

konigghost: it’s a funny crack ship. I get the annoyance response of some of the two most popular characters for sex reasons getting shipped together but I think they’d be awful (funny) together. König has a massive ego and enjoys attempting to emasculate ghost who does not let that slide. They try to kill each other regularly. 3/10

ghostgraves: toxic ex vibes. Graves had his sexual awakening with him and neither of them dealt with that baggage. Both of them would hit it again but refuses to acknowledge that. Constant sniping at each other from morning to night. Graves still thinks ghost is creepy but it’s kind of hot. 6/10

Ghostalejandro: alejandro enjoys ticking ghost off, ghost has no idea how he tolerates this guy. Initially a one night thing that Alejandro managed to extend and neither of them want to cut it off. 5/10

ghostrudy: ghost got into this relationship initially seeking some short lived normality and out of nostalgia until he realized the Horrors. They’re married now and have a house neither of them live in and both of them complain about this. 5/10

Ghostnikto: ghost when the real insane bitches show up 🧍‍♂️/j but seriously extremely dysfunctional. It’s like putting two snakes in the same box they’ll eat each other eventually. 5/10

ghostlaswell: service top. 4/10

ghostshepard: no way this is not awful. Ghost probably has issues from this. 6/10

ghost(09)/ghost(22): hear me out. 8/10