#sorry this is more preachy than normal but

[bookish-bi-mormon]

I found today's Sunday School discussion to be very ... frightening, to be honest.

We were talking about revelation, and the teacher asked us to share revelation we'd received, and ways that we personally feel revelation.

I was the only person who shared specific events and sensations that I believe to be God's way of communicating with me. Everyone else stayed on the path of "If it's good I know it's from God."

And I don't want to dismiss the more mundane promptings and inspiration that many people experience. It is true that sometimes you will feel like saying or doing something, and not know it's from God at all in the moment. It's only through hindsight that you see His hand. That's fine.

But it really seemed like almost none of them had experienced a moment of prayer or study that had led to a direct message from the Holy Ghost. I don't hear words, but on my mission I figured out where in my body the feeling comes. I know not everyone has a physical sensation, I had a friend who said that when he prays for answers he usually gets pictures in his mind. But I think it's important to learn to distinguish it, so that you're not relying solely on doing "good."

I don't know, I think that taking for granted that what you think is "good" is from God is what leads to lots of issues in the church. This is how we get people who are focused on obedience and on doing "good" things rather than having personal conversations with God. This is how we get a whole church who thinks that Homophobia must be right, because they were taught that only straight marriage is "good" and apparently have never thought to ask, or didn't know how to recognize the answer if it came.

President Nelson said that we need to learn how to receive personal revelation. Personally, I think this is where Seer Stones, Divining Rods, Card Divination, and other forms of folk magic that the early church used can really come in handy. I do tarot readings when I really want answers to questions, and it helps guide my conversations with my Heavenly Family. Flipping your scriptures open to a random page after specific question can help to.

People are all going to have different ways they connect with The Divine, but if you are a member of a church that boasts ongoing revelation, and you have never sought out to personally Know, not just logically but spiritually as well... I don't know, I guess I urge you to do that. Find out what the Holy Ghost feels like to you. Please.

[reikunrei]

it really honestly cracks me up that even when this idea of moral grayness is stated Explicitly on screen time and again, people still don’t take it to heart and actually apply it to all of the characters. yes, even our “big bad.” like, y’all didn’t realize that was the core theme of the show in season 1? and season 2? are you for real? “i’m the monster” “no you’re not. you saved me.” like that wasn’t clear enough for you? to see this little girl do bad things like kill people and call herself the monster right after doing something to help someone she just met? the fact that she opened this gate and let out this monster that killed and kidnapped people all across town and that is a Bad Thing, but she’s not a bad person for it? that wasn’t clear enough for you? and now they have to say it On Screen in the Fucking Script that there are no monsters and no superheroes, nothing is ever that black and white, and you’re STILL not??? listening??????? bye

[zvdvdlvr]

— Odd

🧹 — Symopsis. Ominis decides to sit with you as you finish your breakfast. An odd- and flirtatios- conversation ensues.

🧹 — Warnings. Flirting. Weird situations. Someone’s finger ends up in someone’s mouth. Weird scenario. Mention of the One and Only Sebastian Sallow. Mention of crutiatus curse. No mention of reader’s gender or pronouns or house.

“Good morning,” a voice greeted beside you. Turning, you saw Ominis Gaunt’s milky grey eyes. He had a small smile on his face, his head cocked.

“Hello.” You greeted, voice raspy from dissuse. 

Ominis busied himself by preparing his plate. It consisted of figgy pudding (ew), toast with perfectly melted butter, and two medium sized waffles. What an odd combination, you thought.

“Why are you sitting next to me? Sebastian normally follows your every movement,” you asked, finishing up the last bite of your breakfast. You admit, Ominis arrived at an unsavory time, but you liked him enough to stay and converse with him.

Ominis stiffened. “He… has been his usual annoying and persistent self. I needed to speak to someone else for once.”

Your eyebrow raised; Sevastian himself had told you that Ominis didn’t really talk to other people. Unless there was a reason. He was perfectly polite, of course, but Ominis just wasn’t the person to strike up conversation with just anyone. Intriguing, you thought. “I see,” you replied casually. “Is there a reason I’m the person you chose to speak to?”

Ominis nodded. “There is, indeed.” Ominis placed his almost finished toast back on the plate. “I understand that you probably don’t have the best perception or impression of me after I… my rather rude outburst to you about lying about the Undercoft. And for me letting Sebastian crucio you without argument.”

You shrugged, knowing Ominis would understand your movement without the ability to see. “I’d… it’s… Someone crucio-ing me is bound to happen at the rate I’m investigating into Ranrok and Rookwood….” The sound of Rookwood’s ‘avada kedavra’ had rung through your mind. Poor Natty had brushed it off, but you felt bad for her: she hadn’t signed up to have grown men try to kill her. “I’m glad the first time was with people that weren’t doing it for malicious intent,” you finished hastily. You didn’t really know what to say. Ominis had set his boundaries and was upset about being in the scriptorium at all- and he had a good reason to be. Sebastian’s response to you volunteering for the curse was a little odd, but you know that’s just how he is. “I know we’ve already been over this, but I am truly sorry about making you go with us.”

Ominis looked incredulous. “We tortured you and you’re the one apologizing? Y/n, darling, you need to get out and meet new people.”

You huffed a laugh. “You’re one to talk,” you  shot back, taking a sip from your goblet.

“I guess you’re right about that. Matter of fact, you’re right about almost everything.”

You shrugged. “I’ve been placed in a unique set of sitautions that not many others have experienced. I guess knowledge and a fast reaction time is necessary,” you rambler, hating how you sounded so preachy.

“An admirable trait, I must admit,” Ominis murmured. His face was turned to yours, close enough you could see some of the melted butter gathered by his lip.

“There’s butter on your mouth,” you mumbled carefully, treading carefully.

The blond only hummed. “Help a blind man out?” He asked, voice low. 

Had it been anyone else, you would have hit them upside the head and depulso’d them. An odd request, especially considering the fact that you hadn’t spoken to each other that much. But the way he had fretted over you as the pain of the cruciatus curse brought you to the ground was something that lingered in your mind. He had rushed over you after your poorly withheld screams had successfully pierced his eardrums for more than humanly necessary. Despite his blindness, he had slipped his arm under your shoulder and stood up. You shuddered and leaned into his arms, thankful for the feeling of human warmth. 

And then there was Ominis’s habit of looking for you in the Great Hall whenever he felt your aura (odd, but he had taken a liking to you, despite your limited encounters). You always felt his presence searching for yours, bit you assumed it aas to make sure you were still alive and kicking: after all, you were Sebastian’s friend.

You reached up and swiped your thumb on Ominis’s bottom lip, gathering the melted butter. “Open,” you whispered. 

The dull conversations taking place at tables all around the Great Hall were silenced. Ominis opened hs mouth and you slipped your thumb in his mouth. As bizarre and disgusting it was, Ominis enjoyed the feeling of you so close to him, even in this way. After Ominis’s tongue had swiped the butter off you pulled away and wiped the excess saliva on a napkin.

Ominis’s eyes were a touch darker now. He sighed shakily, thinking of how you had commanded him to open his mouth and how willing he was to follow your order. He cleared his throat. “Well.”

You smiled slightly, seeing the blush painting Ominis’s cheeks. “I’ll be out in the Pitch today. Come find me later and we can work on… spell practice.”

Ominis nodded. “Very well. I will.”

As you got up and walked away, Ominis rested his head in his hands. As he had expected, you flirted back with a talent that rivaled Sebastian Sallow himself. And the tent in his pants proved just how fond he had grown to you.

[hcneygemini]

sentence starters from my wip fics, pt. I

please do not add to this list nor repost the list as your own. tw: mentions of murder + attempted murder.

I just fell for that, didn’t I?

Is it because you like me so much?

I bet you regret this now.

Your heart’s pounding.

You’re too empty headed to know much of anything.

Oh, come on! I know something about seduction.

I know you’ve never heard of it, but some people have friends.

I don’t wanna hang out with the dork gang, though. Just you.

Yeah, well I’m an asshole, so we’re even.

I couldn’t sleep because you weren’t there.

Is that your way of flirting?

You’ve never gone to these lengths before.

You can be a real smart ass sometimes, you know?

I wanna see a different side of you today.

You made one mistake though—you didn't disarm me.

Kiss me.

You’re definitely not boring.

What are you thinking about?

We have to learn to confront it at some point.

Can you wait to kill me until I finish breakfast?

What’s the matter? Jealous?

I’ve never been more serious in my life.

[ Name ] won’t shut up about you.

Stop pretending to be mad.

It’s part of my evil plan.

I’m not repeating anything [ name ] told me in confidence.

You shouldn’t be so vulgar.

We both know we’re not a couple.

You can’t keep just walking away.

Stop being corny, I’m tired.

You look peaceful when you sleep.

I don’t think you think I’m serious. But I’m always serious!

I didn’t go looking for this.

I don’t like trusting people.

Please keep your feet off of my desk.

Wow, you’re so stoic and unafraid of threats!

How much of anything was real?

Was this the truth you wanted?

Past me had shitty taste.

You're so much more than that.

So, we were lied to.

This is really pathetic, you know.

Why should I go anywhere with you?

I have some ideas, but you have to trust me.

I see your cruelty's still intact.

Shit, you're really pale.

Would you stop trying to leech off of the traumatized children?

I don't have time to detail the extent of my work to you.

Why can’t you just talk to me like a normal person?

Yeah, well, I can deal with my shit myself.

Isn’t everyone so much happier without me around, stirring the pot?

I’m tired. Can your love confession wait until tomorrow?

No good deeds go unpunished, or whatever.

I got two people killed… er, technically maybe three.

Tell me another one of your preachy, boring life lessons!

Careful, I can hear the cogs turning in your head from here.

No one here is ‘okay.’

You didn’t have to come, you know.

We both know what I did.

Don’t give me some shit about ‘finding yourself’ and ‘healing.'

Hey, don’t think of it as bribing! Think of it as… a reward for putting my best foot forward.

Jeez, am I the only topic of the rumor mill?

You fell asleep on me.

I guess movie night is a good sedative.

I think I did something. Something bad.

Why do you have to make a joke out of everything?

You tell me yours, I’ll tell you mine.

Why were you so out of it last night?

You know, they’re not so bad if you would just get to know them.

Hey, where the fuck have you been?

Why would I forgive someone who tried to kill me?

Well, shit happens!

You’re either plotting to kill me in my sleep or you’re in love with me.

Are you asking me to stargaze with you?

Life doesn’t need to have some big meaning, I guess. I mean, I’m happy right now.

I come with tidings!

It's a cake that says, 'Sorry for trying to have you murdered!'

I can’t trust your big mouth.

What do you do when you disappear during the day?

I’ve never exactly been in a relationship.

At least take me out before talking about commitment.

Why do you spend time with me?

I’m learning more about you. The real you. And I… like [ them / her / him ].

Wow, you’re lame as shit.

Wait, so you’re seducing me by accident?

You two really like each other, huh?

Wow, your voice is so sexy in the morning.

[laurenfoxmakesthings]

So, I'm getting into Thunderbirds Are Go and I just watched Unplugged. One scene has 'save one person or save the world' moment. Normally media goes for 'save the world, let the other person die'. Basically the trolley problem. Call me hopeful all you want, but over time I disliked that trope (especially in these troubled years, and I think a lot of other people have too *cough* Across the Spider Verse *cough*).

In short, I was very pleasantly surprised when it went with what I always thought was the solution. Try saving both, maybe save the bigger problem after the immediate problem. And the show did it without much hesitation. Then I was reminded of what was said in the first ever episode I saw 'Ghost Ship'. Not a favourite in my opinion, almost turned me off from the show, but a bit of dialogue stuck with me. International Rescue are search and rescue, not crime fighters.

Saving people will always come first, people aren't going to be sacrificed just for the sake of catching The Hood as soon as possible. Something I hope I can get across in my own writing. That wanting to help people will always fuel you much more than exclusive spite towards an enemy, the latter would burn you out much more quickly. You may not always defeat an enemy, but you can always help someone.

I wish that was a mindset more people would have nowadays. Ever since 2016, some people will go 'don't vote, do this instead'. It always felt too binary to me. Voting is literally the minimum, a civic duty and a right a lot of people fought for (and fighting for now). In other words, why not both? Or everything? Vote, and protest, and donate, and help someone.

Sorry if any of this sounded corny and preachy in the end, I just needed to get all my thoughts out there. Basically, I like that the episode rejected the trolley problem mindset and I wish more people, even in leftist circles, would get out of that mindset too.

[laf-outloud]

https://www.tumblr.com/laf-outloud/732013686369189888/everytime-i-wish-for-jensen-to-do-better-hoping

So, I sort of agree with what people have been saying about Jensen sounding bitter when he makes jokes that seem like digs on Jared, especially when he isn’t present. Because of his actions with the prequel, it definitely makes any jabs feel like they come from a place of resentment, which they certainly might. There is a time or two where I think they really were. However, at comic con, he and Mark were joking about Jared, and it seems very clear that Mark holds Jared in high regard. We also haven’t seen a whole panel, so it’s hard to know the full context.

Jensen also makes jokes that that seem like digs at Misha. And I would say he does it more frequently than he does at Jared. He makes them when Misha is there and behind his back. Yet, I don’t see people calling him a bitter asshole when he does that. There was even a con where I felt like his teasing went a bit into the overkill territory, where Misha didn’t look like he was enjoying it, and I don’t normally really mind seeing Misha brought down a peg.

Anyway, my point with all this is, Jared is not the only person Jensen makes jokes at the expense of, so I’m not sure it’s always because of bitterness with Jared, so much as he’s just that type of guy. People certainly don’t have to like that about him, but for me it’s hard to judge if it’s truly coming from a place of anger at Jared or just going for whatever laugh he can get. Again, not saying that’s a good quality, just that it might not be intended maliciously.

People do a lot of projecting onto to broth Jared and Jensen, but at the end of the day, we can’t actually know either of their motivations in full. People say Jared doesn’t like Jensen anymore, and he’s the main reason Jared seems to be moving away from CE cons. Maybe, but maybe it’s just a good career move. People say Jensen is mad at jared for succeeding more than him, so his every joke is based on bitterness, and his every nice action is just a manipulation. Maybe, but they do have years of shared history and experience and good time too.

At this point Jared Stans are starting to use the kind of “bad faith” interpretation that AAs have been using for years. Everything the J we don’t like does gets interpreted in the worst possible way. Don’t get me wrong, Jared stans still aren’t anywhere near as bad as AAs because they don’t tag Jensen on their posts, wish for death on anyone, or attack on mass when someone shows appreciation for Jensen on Twitter or wherever. But, looking at someone from the worst possible light all the time leaves us open to misunderstandings and assumptions.

Sorry, if I’m coming off preachy or something. That’s not my intention, especially when I agree that Jensen has been acting a bit douchey, but I also don’t think he’s the devil with nothing but bad intentions.

Ugh, I don’t know if I got my thoughts across clearly on this post. I’m not trying to tell people what to think, just remind everyone not to .. assume the worst in every situation.

Anyway, feel free not to post of this comes off wrong.

Thank you for sharing, anon! I do get where you're coming from in wanting to share your opinion without sounding like you're trying to police other's opinions, and I appreciate that!

You are correct that we all interpret things based on our own opinions/biases, and at the end of the day, what's missing is the understanding of the motivation behind certain actions, words, etc. So, at best, we're opining on incomplete information.

I'm glad you're able to see things from a larger perspective, particularly in regards to the way Jensen jokes about other people, in addition to Jared. I'm with you in that I find that style of joking distasteful, particularly when the person isn't there to joke back. It feels like laughing at that person rather than with that person. It's almost reminiscent of the playground bully teasing other kids in front of a group in order to build themselves up while hiding their own insecurities. (Yeah... I probably projected there, lol.)

Anyway, I do appreciate you writing in and perhaps it might help others consider how and why they see things a certain way. Perhaps they'll stick with their opinions, or perhaps they'll adjust some of them, but either way, you've provided another perspective to consider, so thank you!

[waltwhitmansbeard]

Vaxleth + 29

"Something silly"... like making a casino regret making his girl feel bad lol

29. doing something silly to cheer them up i was actually inspired by last night's episodes to write this!

Something is wrong with Vax. They just survived a hell of a fight with a murderous herd of barbarians, one of whom was wielding a pretty gnarly Vestige, but he's not joining in on all the fun. Keyleth watches him watch everyone else, his arms crossed and his face expressionless.

She wants to ask Vex for advice, but Keyleth is pretty sure that Vex isn't a big fan of her and Vax getting any closer than they already are—not that they're particularly close or anything. Sure, Vax said he was in love with her. But people say all sorts of things when facing down a horde of zombies and almost certain death! And besides, she made an absolute fool of herself when Kash was around, and there's no way he didn't notice that.

Oh gods, what if that's why he won't come sit with them? He made a grand confession and she repaid him by blushing like a schoolgirl the minute someone else was nice to her. But then, he was so kind in the Feywild, especially after she fucked up that spell, so he can't have been that upset, could he?

She takes a long swig from her tankard. She is not nearly drunk enough.

She lets Pike ply her with more ale, eager to be out of her own head, and it doesn't take long for her plan to work. Her thoughts are pleasantly loose and swimmy, and she can gaze across the tavern at Vax without spiraling out of control.

At one point, Vex lets out an uproarious laugh at something Pike says that Keyleth definitely doesn't hear, and Vax turns to look their way. He meets Keyleth's eyes, and her reflexes are far too dulled to pretend she hadn't been ogling, so instead she tries to cheer him up. She stirs up what magical energy she can muster to grow her two front teeth, turn her nose into a round little button, and sprout two long, floppy ears from the top of her head. She grins with her strange half-rabbit face, sticking her tongue out at him, and her heart flips when she sees him chuckle to himself.

"Oi, what the fuck?"

Keyleth turns to see Pike and Vex staring at her in horror and disgust.

"You're like some fucked-up science experiment," Vex says, leaning away from her.

"I try not to be preachy," Pike adds, "but that is just unholy."

Keyleth deflates, letting her rabbit features shrink back to her normal ones. "Sorry, I was just trying to..." She trails off when she sees that once again, Vax has resumed his stoic observation of the tavern.

"Give us nightmares?" Vex supplies, sliding another tankard her way. "Drink up, Kiki. Pike wants a recounting of what happened in the Feywild and I would like to be blackout for it."

Keyleth accepts the drink and tosses one final glance toward Vax before beginning a slurred recollection of their interplanar adventures.

[sleaterkinnie]

ill be honest im a bit confused about your post about eating the rich. i dont know if its where i grew up or my family but i try very hard to be aware of other peoples money, and dont spend money on fancy things. im not saying im perfect and havent ever made classist statements but what is it that you want people to do. (also im sorry if i sound mad im not i just sound like this)

i want them to leave me alone and to be nicer. not their fault but I've never been able to fully relate to someone with more money simply because the way we were raised and the environments we grew up in are so drastically different and it affects a lot about a person and even the most socially aware rich person is still not someone I can deeply relate to and often times i am more understanding of them than they are of me and im meeting them where they fall instead of the other way around. You don't have to do anything i just don't like that I have to pretend like this isn't a problem that exists. when you grow up poor your brain is chemically different due to the stress the environment puts on you and it is very irritating to know that when i talk about how much it sucks or punch upwards towards people who have actively been shitty to me because of the money my family has that immediately I get people telling me that it's not as bad as I say it is or it's not actually a problem or I just have to work harder or I'm just jealous and it's totally dismissed in favor of the rich person who's feelings I may be hurting when I discuss or vent about my situation. You can't DO anything about it I would just appreciate it if people did not make it into some big sympathy parade and try to put their guilt in my face about how they are not the bad ones and how it's not their fault they were born into money . I KNOW. i don't blame you for being born into a certain class I don't blame you for anything but the place and situation you were born into has a pretty intense effect on the way you are and think that IS noticeable to others who are not in that level of class. So I will continue to complain about the way that privilege has affected a person and how their actions and beliefs affect me. My advice is be normal and don't be preachy and don't try to relate and don't be a dick. And also it's not my job to try and help you be a better person. watch and learn and be aware.

[taxfraudhousewife]

hey toga i can’t even process your actual death i feel like im still processing the concept of your death

and i wish i could ask you what to do

you’re a normal guy sometimes i forget

i use muslim jesus like shorthand for something i can’t explain

and i think it made me forget you’re just a fuckin guy

that makes everything so much worse

you became a drinker and a nyquil addict

you were still preachy and you liked to gossip

doesn’t that make it so much fuckin worse

i’ve been trying to write about the terrible half known unknown

hoping once it’s in words it won’t be in my head

but i can’t explain it

terrible unknown suffering

in terrible context that makes optimism for retards

the shit i can’t admit

despite the evidence

the probably heavily censored story is all i have

she said zip tied to a lashing post

she said they left you there to die

she said it took days

lashing post niga what do you mean

what do you fucking mean

my brain is always going crazy imagining what your last few days were like

like did the courtyard have a roof

did it rain

i’ve been assuming they stripped you as genocidal sex freaks do

and assuming they did at least a little lashing if you were already on the lashing post

that scares me

their giant high wattage batons and where they might’ve stuck them scares me even more

the stories are terrible

and everyone says the same shit

i can’t stomach it

they can have everyone with a single drop of uyghur blood just not you

they can have hong kong and tibet and the whole continent just not you

i can’t just keep existing assuming the worst

i know not to be optimistic but i wish you’d reincarnate as a crow and tell me you didn’t get fucked in the ass with a taser baton

like i keep imagining it

everyone says it

EVERYONE FUCKIN SAYS IT

i’m losing my shit over here i can’t stop imagining it

niga every terrible fuckin story is happening to you at once in my head all the time

israel and russia and ukraine aren’t helping

hey news flash rape in warfare is fucked up

in ethnic cleansing

super fucked up

hey guess what if that happened to you no it didn’t

no thanks that will radicalize me (in a bad way)

i can’t stop imagining it

i try to picture you before

i can’t

you’re a whole ass person

and like i can’t even comprehend it

super dead super fuckin dead

insultingly dead

it feels like i’m the only one carrying you

i know that’s not true but i’m at least the only one in my subgroup of the family

i’ve been grieving you by myself and wishing you were here to grieve with me

i’m so pissed off at you for leaving me

because obviously it’s about me and not uyghur emancipation

WHY DID YOU LEAVE ME

this is why we can’t have nice shit

can’t have nice fuckin uncles can’t have shit

toga i can’t make sense of it

i know that’s the point it’s senseless

the senselessness is gonna kill me

sorry

you would’ve handled it better

you would’ve turned this into angry letters to unhrc and revenge money to spend on lawyers

you wouldn’t have lost your fire

i’ve been clinging to what i have left in fleeting moments

but it doesn’t feel like fire anymore

it just feels like a dense fuckin void in my chest

suckin me inside out

not just because of you it’s everything

but you were kinda my last straw

just like that i was alone in my grieving again

i know that’s not that you want

i also know there’s a real good chance you don’t care what the fuck i do

that’s the most embarrassing part

i’m pissed off cause i still think

with only more time i’d be your right hand

and how dare you take that opportunity away

you were my opportunity for something more the only opportunity that’s ever meant shit to me

i know how stupid it is to wish for nothing more than to save the world with the only family whose politics you share

still i wish it hard

i thought i was gonna help you save the world

i believed in your fucking speeches

you don’t get it you were literally fuckin muslim jesus to me

everything you said i believed that you felt it and you made me feel it too

this is it this is my fucking religion now don’t you get it

i can’t believe anything else and i’m grateful for finally believing that i know some kind of fundamental truth

but i’m so lonely in this stupid religion

it feels like a disease

one id rather not suffer alone

one i’d have the time of my life with if only it’s suffered with you

i almost converted to islam

almost considered it at least

you would’ve laughed at me

i thought i’d find you there

i think i might be too mentally ill for religion

i liked praying with you

i would’ve converted if we could’ve done that more

it was cause i got to listen to you talk

and repetitive movements are lit

that’s a thing i try to remember instead

i thought you were tryna convert me

but holy shit it was kinda nice to hear you say

i’ll feel better after we pray

you’ll show me how

we’ll pray for east turkistan

and donetsk

and yemen

even the russians and the chinese too

even the americans

you said peace

for everyone

and i watched and listened and copied you

and it was warm and i was drunk and hungry

and you were just you

super sweaty and gross and shaking like a chihuahua

refusing to do what you’re supposed to

i kinda wished you’d stayed in bed

but what was i gonna do infringe on your human rights

so i just watched and listened and copied you

wondered if you were also trying to not faint

i’ve been trying to describe your voice in words

before i forget it completely

quiet and hushed like the walls are listening

passionately too serious when you get going

like you forget you’re not talking to foreign ministers

something deep and rich but muted and slightly sour like goat milk

maybe goat milk with honey cause you always tried to include me in conversation

this is unrelated but your cane made me freak the fuck out

still does

when i pulled up to the becky mansion i was mentally preparing to mask for eight hours

not that

that whole WHAT DID THEY DO TO YOU thing

that’s how that started

i can’t explain it

i wanted to cry

wanted to personally curb stomp everyone who did that to you

wanted to hug you then i did

but you decided to fuck with me for mysterious muslim reasons

fuck you i wanted to cry i still wanna cry every time i think about it

why the fuck would you say that

everything felt like you personally wanted to torture me

but it didn’t feel like an accusation at least

[mandyjane-lifedesign]

6 Things The Most Productive People Do Every Day

In case you are just recently visiting Earth, well, things have slightly changed since 2019. Whilst we discussed the mental health ramifications of the first lockdown (view post here), the second lockdown brought with it new challenges. More specifically, I'm talking about working from home. In the span of roughly two weeks in March, the number of people in the US who had ever worked from home doubled. This same study found that 59% of those people wanted to keep doing it post-pandemic. I mean, it can definitely have its benefits. Prior research has shown that we, as individuals, are 11-20% more productive on creative tasks whilst at home. Cool, huh? However, that same study also indicated that we’re up to 10% less productive at home while work on uncreative tasks. And most work? Decidedly uncreative. Uh-oh.   I don’t think I need to explain how working from home during a pandemic might reduce productivity even further. As many of us have probably experienced, it can lead to some deeply cringe-y changes in behavior and a lack of showering that culminates a dignity-free lifestyle (I really hate when I put on 20 pounds for a role until I realize I’m not actually even a movie star). Spend enough time not leaving the house and you’ll see more terrifying things than a private-mode browser window. And lets not forget about the emotional challenges all this has created, like an increase in anxiety and depression. We went from normal life to lockdown so fast we were like professional drivers going around bends.   Unfortunately, while we may be living in the Epidemiological Land of Misfit Toys we still need to get things done. And not soon, but now. Sorry to sound so serious and preachy, posting my thoughts to the digital door like some 21st century Martin Luther, but if you want 2021 to be cool, fun and cuter than a puppy’s yawn, then we need to find a better way to work. Luckily, this is easier than you think. This doesn’t have to be a productivity apocalypse. This can actually be an opportunity. Things are going to go back to almost-kinda-semi-normal eventually and when it happens, we can be ahead of the curve instead of behind it (if we’re smart). So how do we do a productivity reboot? Well, here is my most pro of protips:   Be proactive, not reactive. Judge results, not hours. Most of the time at the office you’re reacting. Following. But working at home, you don’t get credit for just showing up and looking busy. People only see what you’ve accomplished. Merely ‘reacting’ is not how the most productive people work. They know that, in the end, nobody pays you for your time but for the things you get done. Now that working from home has given you more flexibility, use it to focus on what is important. Do the things that move the needle. Most of us get 80% of results from 20% of the work we do. So focus on that 20%. Whilst at home, this thought process can apply to life outside of your career as well. People talk about “spending more time with their family” but thinking in terms of hours is silly. Its about what you do. I’ll take half the time in meaningful, precious moments vs twice as much time staring at our phones together.   “Know thyself” is more important than ever. You have more freedom now more than ever - so we need to get rid of that immediately. A lot of the context, systems, and habits that used to unconsciously contain and direct your behavior are now gone. So we need to replace them with new processes - ones better tailored to you. Studies show that 2.5 to 4 hours after waking up is when peoples’ brains are at their sharpest. But that's only true in general. When are your ‘magic hours’? Are you a morning person? A night owl? Great, protect those hours and use them for what matters. And this isn't just true for when you work, but also how you work. More productive after a nap? Cool. That’s now an option. Knowing what works for you, in the best and worst ways, is critical. You now have a multitude of ways to procrastinate that weren’t an option before. Gotta head those off and outsmart yourself.   Create your new tailored CEO system. Systems beat goals. People who have a goal to lose 10 pounds regain the weight whilst people who have a system of eating right and exercising everyday sustain the weight loss. To succeed over the long haul, you want ‘process goals’ not ‘outcome goals’. Your process goals will be your daily activities, so put them in your calendar. Think about what moves the needle, know when you’re at your best, and then schedule everything accordingly. A schedule is like a to-do list that takes time into consideration. That’s how you know if you actually have the hours for all that stuff and it forces you to prioritize.   So you’ve got priorities, magic hours, and a new schedule. Great. But subconsciously you are very much affected by the concrete world around you. So you’ve gotta adjust to that as well…   Manage your environment. Bars are loud and energetic to unconsciously let you know its time to have fun. We need the opposite. The office used to trigger the mindset that ‘its time to get things done’. We need to engineer the same effect at home. You want to recreate the boundaries of the office in a new and improved way. You may not have a home office, but now you do. Create one even if it involves working in a refrigerator box like you’re seven years old. And this isn't just true for your locations. Separate computers, separate browsers - anything you can use and customize to trigger the mindset of ‘time to get stuff done’ vs ‘fun time’ will help. And then, after you’re done optimizing your zone of productivity, look at the rest of the house and do the opposite. How can you structure the other areas of your life for more relaxation? For a feeling of comfort and togetherness? Build the contrast.   Plan communication and feedback. I live alone so in darker moments my pandemic life feels like a supervillain origin story. This is not good. I have to be proactive about connecting with people if I want it to happen. If you don’t already have regular check-ins planned with the boss, do that. And have a list of all the awesome things you’ve accomplished ready to discuss because its even harder for them to know what you’re up to. Ask about appropriate response times now that things have changed. The other issue is feedback. A lot of things that get mumbled to you in person will never be put in an email. Gotta be proactive here. Ask for feedback on how you’re doing and where things are at. And with delicious irony let me add that now all serendipity must be planned. Bouncing ideas off people, casual networking, and other less formal activities take a serious hit when you work from home, but their absences will create negatives over time.   Motivation is mood management. Sometimes I'm sitting here writing with all the enthusiasm of a photocopier. Finishing things feels more like a kidney stone than a milestone. Research shows that so much of motivation is about mood. How you feel. When we’re positive, we’re not only more productive, we’re more effective. And why do we procrastinate? That, too, is all about how you feel. Studies show you procrastinate most when you’re in a bad mood and think you can improve it with something fun. So what's the most motivating thing of all? The answer goes right back to our focus on the tasks that are most important. Studies by Harvard professor, Teresa Amabile, show that nothing is more motivating than making progress in meaningful work.   In collaboration with Barking Up The Wrong Tree Photo by Minh Pham on Unsplash Read the full article

[kayla1993-world]

Don Martin: An Alberta storm is brewing as Danielle Smith is set to become premier

The next premier of Alberta could well make Conservative Leader Pierre Poilievre look like a right-wing lightweight. Meet Danielle Smith, the disgraced former Wild Rose party leader now poised to become Prime Minister Justin Trudeau’s fiercest provincial antagonist as leader of the United Conservative Party. After a campaign born out of vaccine mandate opposition amid festering Alberta alienation on multiple fronts, Smith was a shoo-in for the UPC leadership on Thursday, which comes with the Alberta premier title. It’s another miracle on the Prairies of sorts, given how Smith’s tolerance for extreme views from a pair of her MLAs cost her a 2012 election she could’ve won. Things got worse when she led a disastrous Wildrose defection to the Progressive Conservatives before suffering the indignity of being denied a PC nomination to seek re-election. Given up for politically dead just seven short years ago, she’s being resurrected as rebel leader of the provincial resistance, a premier vowing to build jurisdictional firewalls around her province against any federal institutions, decisions, laws, or insulting policies that offend Alberta-First sensibilities. Couple her probable victory with Poilievre’s current honeymoon and Quebec Premier Francois Legault’s triumphant re-election Monday and Trudeau’s got to be questioning why he’d want to be stuck in the middle with all these clowns to the left and jokers to the right. Sorry, the Stealers Wheel classic is on a playback loop in my head. Before Trudeau gets all wobbly-kneed at the thought of Smith roaring to attack his government, the new premier will have a daunting challenge to win over her fellow Albertans first. After all, her probable victory will come from within a pool of 123,000 UCP memberships in a provincial population of 4.3 million. In other words, she likely has deep support from a very shallow base of true-blue believers. And those believers seem out of synch with severely normal Albertans, according to the polls. They consistently show Smith’s abrasive positions are more of a general voter concern than real or imagined snubs from Ottawa. Voter concerns are orbiting around inflation, health care, affordable housing, and grocery bills, not Smith’s priority of delivering an Ottawa smackdown by introducing the controversial Alberta Sovereignty Act on her first day as leader in the legislature. And lest we forget, the next election is only eight months away. That’s precious little time for a fledgling premier to turn her low personal and party fortunes around, particularly when the UCP is heading for a wipeout in Edmonton and will likely struggle with difficulty to hold its seats in Calgary. Common sense suggests Smith should replicate the soft pivot Poilievre is doing now, which, in the federal conservative leader’s case, simply means no longer mentioning his most controversial positions. So, backing away from the constitutionally ridiculous Alberta Sovereignty Act, a nation within a nation proposal enabling the legislature to refuse enforcement of federal laws or policies it deems a provincial infringement, is almost unimaginable at this stage. Then there are those silly notions of creating an Alberta Pension Plan, a bureaucratic headache for those moving in or out of the province, and a provincial police force to replace the RCMP. But don’t entirely underestimate Smith’s political revival. While brows will furrow to recall a signature Smith accomplishment so far, her passion for the provincial rights cause backed by her articulate charisma will undoubtedly deliver a political bump in the polls. Along with Pierre Poilievre, Danielle Smith will unleash a formidable one-two punch against Trudeau as she ignites the wrath of Albertans who loath their preachy polarizing prime minister and, rightly or wrongly, blame his government for their province’s swinging fortunes. It won’t be much fun for Justin Trudeau to be stuck in the middle of angry finger-jabbing from all sides. Especially if the clowns and jokers have the last laugh. That’s the bottom line.

[clairenatural]

this might be venty but the wedding was about so much more than deancas!!! it was about sam’s best man speech powerpoint and crowley drunkely singing misery business and jack eating the rings and claire and dean having a father daughter dance and charlie throwing dean a bachelor party and rowena outdressing everyone and cas bursting every lightbulb in the roadhouse because he was so happy!!! it was about love and family and how spn should have been. it’s canon in the good spn that lives in my head.

ok i held onto this until i was feeling better because this may be venty but also YES you’re right!!!!!! like yes this means s*mantha was even more grossly wrong because.....the wedding was about celebrating their love with their family and that’s the whole point of a wedding, s*mantha. but like. just think about it. how much love they all have for each other and how much love we all have for them and their love! dean and cas got married, with a slight hitch being jack eating a ring. charlie threw dean’s bachelor party, which only lasted a few hours because he missed cas too much and they crashed his (featuring many shots and a stripper pole). rowena outdressed everyone at their wedding, but dean and cas didn’t expect anything less. all the guests were given sunglasses as protective eyewear for when cas accidentally blew out all the lightbulbs (and a window) when dean kissed him after the vows and then, later, both dean and claire cried during their father-daughter dance. dean cried even more at sam’s powerpoint speech even as it roasted him within an inch of his life, and, much to crowley’s chagrin, dean barely even noticed him singing misery business because he was too busy staring in awe at his husband (and also because eileen cut the mic feed halfway through).

and all of these things are just stories, but supernatural was just a story. it’s all just stories. collectively, we decided to keep telling their story the way we want to and we did it well, impressively cohesively, and because we love them. canon is over. the only canon now is the one we make ourselves and you know what! we’re right. we’re following the themes of family and love and free will and writing your own stories that exist in canon to their logical conclusion and nobody can take that away from us 💕

[nitewrighter]

Hi Nite :) Could use some cutesy Gency fluff rn. Have a quick short or interactions in mind?

I miss them... 🥺

Here's some pre-fall stuff from when Genji was still getting used to his limbs.

----

Genji's arms thudded against the limbs of the training dummy as Mercy stood tensely by with her tablet, observing and taking notes. The impact didn’t feel quite right--he could feel the reverberation of the metal at his organic stubs on impact. He was in a gray training jumpsuit--more of a wrestling singlet, really--that left his organic arms and legs exposed. 

“You don’t have to--” Mercy cut herself off at a particularly loud thump of one of Genji’s blows landing, “You don’t have to go too fast, it’s just about maintaining blood flow and muscle movement, and building up coordination.” 

Genji didn’t respond, mostly just glad he had something to hit now. He let Mercy’s commentary dull to a quiet buzz at the periphery of his consciousness as he fell into the movement of punching and kicking. He heard an audible sigh from Mercy, recognition that he wasn’t actually listening, and just let himself fall into the motions more and more. Not strong enough. Not fast enough. None of the blows hitting right. Get it better. Get it right. How could he avenge himself against the clan and Hanzo otherwise? How could he make them pay if he was just a stupid, pathetic, bloody little science experiment--? He moved to pivot into a devastating back hand strike when a sharp pain suddenly flared along his side and he seized up with a grunt.

“Genji?!” Mercy looked up sharply from her tablet and her eyes widened.

“Nngh--” Genji’s hands went to his side as she briskly walked over and stooped a bit to where his hands were.

“How bad is it?” said Mercy.

“I wouldn’t stop if it wasn’t bad,” Genji said through gritted teeth.

“May I?” Mercy said, her eyes flicking up to him.

Genji scoffed and glanced off, shoving the shoulder strap of his jumpsuit/singlet off and letting Mercy pull it down slightly to examine his ribs.

“No bruising to indicate internal bleeding--skin irritation near the prosthetic is well within normal range...” Mercy murmured, “Where specifically does it hurt?”

Genji pointed at the bottom of his ribs with his thumb with a grunt and Mercy felt at that point for a few moments.

“Is the pain still as sharp as it was when you were moving?” Mercy asked.

The question came so easily to her but Genji felt his ears burning

“...no,” he said a bit stiffly. 

Mercy gave a sigh of relief, “Just a muscle stitch then.” 

“A muscle--?!” Genji scoffed, “No--something has to be--I don’t get stopped by cramps!” 

“Maybe not with your old body, but---” Mercy caught herself.

“There’s--there’s stuff in me now, how do we know it’s not... stabbing?” said Genji.

“If you want, we can stop for the day and I can take a closer look,” said Mercy, tucking her tablet against herself.

A low growl of a scoff rumbled in Genji’s throat and he glanced off. He didn’t want that. He was glad to be standing again, he was glad to be moving again, he didn’t want his own paranoia about all the things jammed into him to leave him bound to an infirmary bed or examination table again.

“Or I could give you something mild for the pain--?” said Mercy

“No,” Genji nearly cut her off with his answer. He didn’t want his rage to be dulled. Didn’t want anything slowing him down.

Her brow crinkled and her mouth drew to a thin line, and he couldn’t maintain eye contact with her when she was making that face.

“Just---” Genji made a pushing gesture at her, “Give me space. I can handle it.”

“We still need to take it easy--” Mercy started.

‘If it’s just a stitch, I can handle it!” Genji snapped. He remembered Sojiro’s voice. Breathe through it. Breathe through it. He took a few deep steady breaths. “It’s fine,” he said, the pain dulling with his breaths, “I’m fine.”

Mercy backed up a bit and Genji re-centered himself to a ready position. He gave himself one more steadying breath before he threw himself back into punching and kicking again. The stitch was still burning in his side but he ignored it as best as he could, focusing on the breath, focusing on the impact of the punch, the recovery. But he had already begun to feel the creep of exhaustion with that last pause. No, he couldn’t be tired, not yet. Did all those hours looking like an idiot in horse stance until his entire lower body was on fire mean nothing? All those early mornings sprinting around Shimada Castle, racing after Hanzo with the cold damp on his skin and his breath fogging in front of him? All that conditioning, all that work, all of his time that the clan ate up for their own ends, Hanzo had taken it all away from him. And here he was struggling to work up to a fraction of what he was previously capable of. Keep at it, keep at it, let the rage power the limbs. But even rage could only take him so far. There was a high pitched ringing in his ears as he watched his own strikes get slower, sloppier, but still he kept pushing himself. 

“Genji--” Mercy’s voice was distant with the pounding of his own heart in his ears, and the strike of his limbs against the training dummy, “Maybe you should--” But he just kept going, just kept hitting, and she quieted down. She was making that face again. He could feel her making that face, and he kept striking.

Don’t pity me. Don’t you fucking dare pity me.

That burning stitch in his side was little more than an afterthought, but the limbs were slow, heavy. His lungs were burning and he was drenched in sweat. With his prosthetics he smelled like pennies. Smelled like blood.

Metal. Stupid. Useless.

He wasn’t sure how much time had passed, didn’t want to know how much time had passed, when he finally slumped forward, supporting himself on a training dummy that was just as damp with his own sweat.

“Just--breathe--pushing yourself too hard could make the healing process even slower,” Mercy warned. 

“I know what I can do!” Genji said through gritted teeth. He hated the metallic ring of his own voice now.

"I know it’s frustrating, but even with state of the art prosthetics, you can't expect to get back to your original speed that fast," said Mercy.

Genji let himself drop to his hands and knees, panting.

“You have no idea how frustrating it actually is,” he snarled, not looking up from the floor.

"Your body has lost a significant amount of its original mass... it's going to be a while before your stamina returns, too," she said quietly.

Genji kept panting. She stepped away from him briefly and he looked at his own hands on the floor. He clawed his fingers, both organic and prosthetic, across the mat in frustration.

“Here,” She stooped over and held a water bottle out to him. He glared at the water bottle.

“You’re still human and humans need water,” said Mercy flatly. 

His eyes flicked up to her face and he reached out and sullenly took it. He didn’t break eye contact with her as he drank from the bottle, trying to read her expression. There was exhaustion in her eyes, there always was, but there was something in the line of her mouth now, not quite that pitying pursing, her lips nearly parting like she had something to say, and yet at the same time didn’t. She settled down to a kneeling position beside him on the mat. 

“All these... things I say... I’m not trying to dismiss your feelings. I know you’re angry. I know you feel cooped up here and you want to get out there so you can get to work stopping the people who did this to you.”

Killing. Stopping’s just a side effect of killing, Genji thought but he said nothing still panting. 

“I want you to have your body working the way you want it to just as much,” Mercy went on, “But this isn’t something you just... power through to. You’re angry--I know you’re angry--but the more you fall into that anger, the more cortisol and adrenaline your brain pumps out--the more your body believes it’s trying to survive and shunts down numerous vital functions, rather than putting its energy towards repairing itself.”

Genji was still panting but hearing it put in such technical terms caught him off-guard. The body believes it’s trying to survive...

“Just...” Mercy sighed a little, “Have a little faith. Everyone here wants you at you at full capacity as quickly as possible just as much as you do. Even if we’re all...” she shrugged a little, “Annoying and preachy about it.”

Genji snorted at that before letting himself collapse onto his side and then roll onto his back, his chest still rising and falling with a shudder of exhaustion. Mercy pressed one hand against the mat, then lowered herself, laying down flat on the ground as well, staring at the ceiling.

“...why are you on the floor?” muttered Genji.

“Seemed like the right place to be,” Mercy mused, “...there are multiple times a day I wish I could curl up on the floor, and this seemed like a good chance.”

Genji snorted again. “You’re funny,” he said glancing over at her.

Mercy glanced over at him and smiled.

Genji sighed again and looked up at the ceiling. “You want to know a really stupid thing that’s pissing me off about all this?’ 

“What?” said Mercy.

“It’s... hitting me that I really liked my body. I mean, I was hot before all this.”

Mercy snorted.

“I was!” Genji insisted.

“I know!” Mercy blurted out and then caught herself, “I mean--” she cleared her throat, “Yes, it’s very jarring to have your appearance suddenly changed without your consent.”

“...so you agree I was hot,” said Genji, a bit smugly.

Mercy scoffed.

“OKay--Sorry--I’m being obnoxious. What I’m saying is... there was so much about it I took for granted, even with all the training and the conditioning the Shimada clan put me through...” he sighed, “And it’s gone now.”

“Not gone, necessarily. It’s... different. It’s changed. That doesn’t mean you can’t make it your own,” said Mercy, “That doesn’t mean it can’t be beautiful. That doesn’t mean it isn’t beautiful now.”

Genji paused, then gave her an ‘Are you fucking kidding me’ look. 

“Okay, we can work our way up to that,” said Mercy with a slight eye roll, “Just.. in my line of work you see a lot of... nastiness... so you kind of have to look for the things that give you hope. And a lot of the time that can make you come off as...” she huffed, “Completely out of it to some people. Stupid. Ignorant.”

“I don’t think you’re stupid,” said Genji, “Preachy, sure, but stupid?”

“Just as much of a charmer as your dossier stated,” Mercy said flatly.

Genji huffed and a long pause passed between them on the floor. Genji took stock of the exhaustion in all of his limbs and lifted his prosthetic arm up toward the ceiling, examining it the way the light hit it. “...you think I’ll be able to do what I could do before?” 

“Do you want my honest opinion?” said Mercy.

The question-as-answer made Genji tense slightly and he propped himself up on his elbows, glancing over at her. “Yes...?” he said slowly.

“I think you can be even more,” she said, not looking at him, staring up at the ceiling, “I just hope who that is, is someone you like.”

[fruitcoops]

could we see coops first big fight when they’re married? (essentially pure angst)

Yes, we can! Don’t worry, I got your follow-up ask about a happy ending as well--there are no sad endings on this blog, just some bittersweet ones, and this is very soft and fluffy. Hope you enjoy!

Combined with prompts for...

1. Another of Coops’ serious talks

2. Remus overworking himself to keep up

3. From @colored-rain: Sirius sleeping at Dumo’s for a night

4. Slow dancing in the kitchen

TW for couples fighting, suppression, and marriage issues

“Do you think we got married too fast?” a quiet voice asked in the darkness.

Remus paused for several heartbeats before opening his eyes and turning over; Sirius was staring at the ceiling, wide awake. “What?”

“Do you think we got married too fast?” Sirius repeated without looking at him.

“Do you?” Remus countered. Something panicky was starting to buzz in the back of his brain and he tried to keep his breaths steady. Sirius wasn’t breaking up with him. They had only been married for a few months. Things were really, really good—as far as he knew, they were both happier than they had ever been.

Sirius sighed through his nose. “I don’t know.”

“What?” Remus sat up against the headboard, wide awake. “What do you mean, you don’t know?”

“I—” Sirius shifted to sit up as well and crossed his legs. “I don’t know! People usually date for a lot longer than a year and a half before getting married, right?”

“We’ve known each other for seven years, Sirius.”

“Yes, and I love you, and you’re wonderful, but everything happened so fast.”

Remus wasn’t sure if his heart was trying to crawl out of his chest or dissolve into a puddle of pain. “Are you—Sirius, are you breaking up with me?”

“No!” Sirius said immediately. “I just said I love you, what the hell?”

“People can love each other and still break up!”

Sirius grabbed his hands, holding tight even when Remus tried to pull back and let his panic overtake him. Grey eyes locked on his, as solemn as he had ever seen them. “I’m not breaking up with you, Remus.” The clock on the nightstand beeped midnight and Sirius pressed his lips together. “We have early practice.”

“We need to talk.”

“We need to sleep.”

“Promise we’ll talk tomorrow, then.” We need to talk right now, actually.

Sirius squeezed his hands and kissed his cheek. His cheek. “I promise.”

Remus didn’t sleep much that night. His cheek burned with the memory of Sirius’ lips.

---------------------------

Their morning routine was stilted and quiet. Practice was awkward, and though neither of them let the previous night’s events influence their performance, he knew the tension was palpable. “Y’all good?” Leo asked under his breath as Remus filled his waterbottle up.

“We’re fine,” he answered, exhausted.

“Loops—”

“Stay in your lane, Knut.” He regretted the words as soon as they escaped his mouth—the kicked-puppy look on Leo’s face was more than enough to make guilt spike up—but he kept on moving down the hall and tried to wash the bitter taste from his mouth.

The ride home was worlds worse than he could have expected. Sirius turned the radio off the moment it started to play and kept his eyes firmly on the windshield the entire time, tapping his thumb against the wheel in the tic that always appeared when he was nervous. “I’m sorry.”

“Sorry doesn’t help us fix whatever’s going on.” Remus wasn’t angry, per say, but he was really fucking frustrated with Sirius’ sudden inability to communicate. “Talk to me. What happened?”

Sirius chewed the edge of his lip. “I was just thinking.”

There was a long stretch of silence between them. “Wow, thank you for that incredibly helpful information,” Remus said sarcastically when it became clear he wasn’t going to continue.

“You don’t have to be mean about it,” Sirius muttered.

“I’m not trying to be mean—”

“Well, you kind of were—”

“Then maybe you should talk about your problems for once!” Remus snapped before he could shove it back down. Sirius’ jaw clenched. “If we’re going to work through this, then you have to tell me what the hell happened to make you so worried and upset. Do you regret getting married to me?”

The response was immediate. “No.”

“Thank you.” He leaned his head back against the seat rest and closed his eyes. “Thank you, that was what I needed to hear.”

“Do you think we moved too fast?”

Remus scrubbed a hand over his face. “I used to. I don’t, anymore. There’s no rulebook for any of this. How long have you been thinking about that?”

Sirius started tapping the wheel again. “A couple weeks.”

He may as well have opened the passenger door and booted Remus from the car. A breath punched out of his lungs. “A couple weeks?” he whispered. The world was spinning, the floor was open, hell itself was coming to swallow him up. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

“I figured it was normal marriage stuff. That it would pass.”

“Oh my god.”

“I don’t have a clue what I’m doing.”

“And I do?” Remus said incredulously. “News flash: this is the first time I’ve ever been married, too!”

“Please don’t be angry.”

“Being married means you share things, Sirius, not keep them bottled up for two weeks! Especially when they concern the other person!”

Something stormy came over his face. “Oh, really? So when were you planning on talking to me about the fact that you haven’t slept in six days?”

“I literally sleep next to you!”

“You toss and turn all night, and then you get up and run drills for an hour before coming back to bed. Every time I ask how you slept, you lie to my face, Remus. That’s not okay.”

Remus was speechless. He had done everything he could think of to be quiet and careful so Sirius wouldn’t know. “I…”

Sirius glanced over at him, eyebrows raised. “Yeah, I noticed.”

Be an adult. Be an adult. You’re married. Be an adult. “I’m still worried about catching up to the team.”

“I figured. We’ve talked about this before, Re, it’s not safe for you to do that to yourself—”

“You don’t get it!” Sirius pulled into their driveway and turned the car off. “You have no idea how it feels to constantly be catching up to people! I’m fine, it’s not like I’m doing any damage!”

“I’m sorry, did you forget who you’re talking to?”

Remus clenched his teeth and got out of the car, grabbing his duffel from the backseat before slamming the door. He felt a little guilty—the rising memories of hushed confessions of hours of exercise to his father’s whistle meant Sirius understood better than anyone. Then the front door closed behind them both and the indignance on Sirius’ face sent his temper flaring up again. “You never bother to talk to me about anything that’s going on with you, so why should I even try?”

“What happened to ‘marriage is a partnership’?” Sirius followed him into the kitchen. “Have we moved on to the hypocrite stage yet or are we still clearing the air where nothing ever gets solved?”

Remus reeled back like he’d been slapped. “Fucking excuse me?”

“Every time we fight, you start all sarcastic and defensive, and then you get preachy like you’re reading something out of a fucking self-help book!” Sirius ran a hand through his hair. “Christ, Remus, it feels like I’m talking to a therapist instead of my partner!”

“Husband!” The ring on his finger had always been a comfort instead of a lead weight. “You can’t even say it?”

“I don’t regret marrying you!

“Then why are you so upset about us being married young?!”

“Because it’ll fall apart!” Sirius shouted back. “We’re going to be insufferably happy for a while, and then somewhere along the line we’re going to hate each other, and then it’ll be cold looks when we pass and different beds and all our friends will have to pick sides because we can’t stand to be in the same room together!”

“If you’re so sure about that, then why are you trying to fucking hard to keep us together?” Remus’ heart pounded like he’d run a marathon. Hearing his own fears thrown in his face was the most terrifying thing he had ever experienced.

“Because I love you.” Sirius’ voice broke. They were on opposite sides of the kitchen island, but Remus could see the pain on his face. “I love you, and I don’t want some—some impulsive decision to ruin that forever.”

“I love you, too.” Tears clogged the back of Remus’ throat. So stop pushing me away.

“Then I’ll be at Dumo’s.”

Remus nodded silently as Sirius walked past him toward the stairs; the moment he was out of sight, he headed into the downstairs bathroom and sat down with his back to the closed door, burying his face in his forearms. There was a rustle outside, and the front door closed with a click.

It wasn’t until his face itched with drying tears that he remembered Hattie. Guilt and panic stabbed through him and he scrambled back out, sprinting to her bed and then to the backyard. “Hattie?” he called, frantic with worry. “Hattie, c’mere!”

He closed his eyes and thought back to the events of the day. They had left her in the house for practice, and he vaguely remembered hearing her in the other room while they were fighting, and when Sirius left—

“Oh, you bastard,” he said aloud. The rustling of Sirius grabbing his duffel and whatever else he packed had been accompanied by the pattering of Hattie’s paws. “You took our fucking dog.”

Part of him was grateful that at least somebody had remembered their baby. The other part was absolutely furious. He pulled his phone out of his pocket and took a few deep breaths as the tone played. “Hello?”

“Can you pick me up?”

“Re, are you okay?”

“Not really. Can you pick me up?”

Concern dripped from Lily’s voice. “Where are you?”

“At home.”

“…where’s Sirius?”

“At Dumo’s.”

“I’m on my way.”

-----------------------------------

Harry Potter had been alive for less than two years, and he had been cried on by about half the Lions. Finn had started referring to him as ‘therapy baby’, and Remus was inclined to agree—it was hard to feel anything extreme when he was holding the pudgy little angel to his chest.

“So you fought?” Lily asked gently from the armchair across from him. Remus nodded. The whole story had spilled out in a gross mess of sobbing and baby snuggles until he laid down on his back, holding Harry to his chest as he dozed.

“I feel like an idiot,” he said miserably.

“Don’t.”

“It was awful.”

“I bet.”

Remus sniffled and kissed the top of Harry’s head. “Thank you for getting me. I didn’t want to be there alone.”

“I’m glad you called.” She took a sip of tea and gave him a look that he never liked. “Re, can I be honest with you?”

“Always.”

“I was kind of waiting for this to happen.” At his stricken expression, she folded her hands around the sides of her mug. “I don’t think you got married too early, because neither of you do big things like that on impulse and you love each other so much. However, I do think that you have a habit of trying to protect each other from the shit you carry with you. James did the same thing to me, and it sucked.”

“It does suck,” Remus agreed. “I hate the thought that he can’t trust me.”

Lily held her finger up and shook her head. “Nope. It’s not an issue of trust, is it? Why didn’t you tell Sirius that you were having trouble sleeping?”

“Because I didn’t want to worry h—oh.” Harry wiggled around for a moment and Remus adjusted himself so he was leaning on the armrest. “I think I get it now.”

“You guys need to talk about that at some point or it’s going to keep coming up.”

“Is that what you and James did?”

“No, we let it fester for, like, a year and then broke up for two weeks.”

Remus made a sympathetic face. “I forgot about that part. I should call him, huh?”

Lily shrugged. “It’s up to you.”

“I want to apologize,” he said carefully. The sore spot in his heart and chest still twinged. “But I’m still really upset. And hurt. And a little angry? Mostly worried. There’s so much happening, I just want to hold your baby.”

“Go for it, he’s having a blast. Lover?”

There was a shuffling sound from the other room before James appeared in the doorway. “Yes?”

Remus snorted. “Simp.”

“Yes, and? What’s up, darling?”

“Can I have some more tea?” She batted her eyelashes at him with a dimpled smile and he sighed, then took her mug with him into the kitchen.

“You only love me for my kettle!” he called over his shoulder with a grin.

“Maybe!”

Remus turned his head to look at Lily while he ran a hand over Harry’s back. “Lils?”

“Hmm?”

“Am I preachy when I’m upset?”

She frowned. “What?”

“Preachy. Like—like I’m reading out of a self-help book.”

With a heavy sigh, she stood up and walked to the couch, leaning over the armrest to kiss his forehead. “No, Re, you’re not preachy. You like being right, but you’re not preachy.”

“Sirius thinks we’ll end up like his parents.”

“I’m not surprised about that, either.” She brushed his messy hair off his forehead and braided a small strand along the front, then gave it a little tug. “Guest bedroom’s yours for as long as you need it, okay?”

“That might be a while.”

She shook her head and patted his shoulder. “It won’t.”

“Could be.”

“Remus.”

“Sorry. Sleep well, Lils.” He sat up slightly and covered Harry’s ears. “And you, eavesdropper!”

“Love you!” James laughed from the other room. Lily picked the sleepy baby up and ushered Remus into the guest room with a final ‘goodnight’.

-----------------------------------

“Am I an idiot?” Sirius asked.

The bed creaked as Dumo readjusted his legs. “No, mon fils, you’re not an idiot. You are a young man going through his first marriage spat.”

“I hate it. I hate it. I said horrible things to him.”

“It sounds like you’re both to blame.”

“No, I brought it up first.” Dumo huffed, and he let out a slow exhale into the pillow. “Okay, maybe—maybe we were both in the wrong.”

“Fights are rarely one-sided. You have a visitor.”

Something cold prodded Sirius’ ear and he groaned, then curled on his side to let Hattie onto the covers next to him. “Bonjour, sweet girl. Thank you for the cuddles.”

She licked his nose and he smiled, petting the velvety top of her head. “Are you staying here tonight?”

“I was thinking about it. Re’s got the house to himself for a bit, then, and he knows I’m here.”

“I’m glad you’re taking the time to calm down a bit,” Dumo said as he stood with a final ruffle of Sirius’ hair. “That’s a wise decision. Bonne nuit.”

Sirius mumbled a response and made more room for Hattie, then settled in for a restless night. He never wanted to sleep alone again.

----------------------------------

By some miracle, practice was more bearable the second day. Remus still ached somewhere deep inside, but it wasn’t like he had anything else left to suppress. Seeing Sirius was a relief; it surprised him at first, considering the explosive nature of the previous evening, before sliding into something that soothed him. If he could still find peace in Sirius after all that, they would be okay.

He knocked lightly on the side of Sirius’ stall after he returned from the shower. “Knock, knock. Ca—”

“Who’s there?”

Remus’ heart stuttered as Sirius looked up at him from the bench with an apologetic tilt to his mouth. Something clicked into place. “Can I get a ride?”

“ ‘course you can.” Sirius stood up just as Remus stepped forward, and they met in the middle for a tight hug. He tucked his face into the dip of Sirius’ collarbone and breathed in his shower-fresh smell, as well as the trace of laundry detergent from his shirt.

“Love you,” he murmured.

“Let’s go, mon loup.” Sirius pressed a kiss to his hair and they headed out toward the parking lot together; Remus caught Leo’s eye and saw him smile.

“How’s Dumo doing?” Remus asked as they turned out of the parking lot. Start slow, start easy. “Did you drop Hattie off at home before you came to practice?”

“Yeah, I did. He’s good, and Celeste sent me back with some brownies.”

Remus tentatively reached over and rested his hand on the side of Sirius’ thigh—his chest visibly caught before he relaxed into it and reached down to put his own overtop. “Harry’s doing well. Lily says he’s almost started running.”

“Did you go see them?”

“Stayed at their place last night.” He shrugged one shoulder. “It felt weird being there by myself.”

“Re—”

“I’m so sorry.” The words spilled out in a rush, despite his best efforts to keep it in until they reached home. “I’m sorry for everything I said to you, and especially for how I said it. I’m sorry I didn’t talk to you about how I was feeling, too. It should never have gotten to that point.”

“Apology accepted.” Sirius sounded a little choked up. “I don’t think we got married too soon, if that means anything.”

“Of course it means something,” Remus half-laughed as he wiped the dampness from the corners of his eyes. “It means everything.”

“I thought it might be too late.”

“Can you pull over for a second?” Sirius obliged, and as soon as he turned the car off, Remus turned to face him. He linked their hands, making sure Sirius was looking into his eyes. “It is never too late to talk to me, okay? I’m sorry if I ever made you think that it was.”

Sirius unbuckled his seatbelt and leaned over for a brief kiss that sent bubbling warmth throughout Remus’ entire body. “I’m so, so sorry for yelling at you. And for keeping everything in, even though we both promised to stop doing that. All that shit I said, it—it wasn’t true, Re, and I wasn’t thinking.”

Remus rested their foreheads together and wound his fingers in the short curls fanning Sirius’ face. “Honey, we’re not your parents.”

Sirius swallowed hard. “I know.”

“So you don’t have to be afraid that we’re going to hate each other out of the blue, yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“If—” His mouth went a little dry and he faltered. “If you want to take a break, or take things slower, I totally respect—”

“Nope, no, no, no,” Sirius interrupted, grabbing his cheeks and pulling him in for another fervent kiss. “I love you. I’m happy with you. I let my head get away from me, and I’m sorry.”

“All’s forgiven, love.” They sat in silence for a minute longer as Sirius traced his jawline. “Let’s go home.”

-------------------------------------

Sirius woke up in bed alone, which would have scared him if he didn’t know exactly where his husband was. He smiled to himself and got out of bed, grabbing a hoodie off their dresser before heading downstairs.

The kitchen light was on and music played quietly from Remus’ phone over the sound of running water. “You’re up late,” he said casually from the doorway.

Remus almost dropped a pot. “Jesus Christ!”

“Just me.” Sirius wrapped his arms around his waist as he set the pot on the drying rack. “Stressed?”

“A little. I forgot to do these earlier and didn’t want to leave them overnight again.” Sirius hummed his agreement and rocked back and forth, then took Remus’ hand and spun him in a slow circle. “Oh, are we slow dancing to the Billboard Top 100 now?”

“Very romantic, I know,” Sirius laughed.

Remus shook his head with a wide grin as they swayed, much too slow for the actual song but absolutely perfect. He was beautiful in the low light of their kitchen, puffy eyes from and all. “You are ridiculous.”

I’m the luckiest person alive. “I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

Sirius leaned down for a series of quick kisses, pulling him in until their chests pressed together. Remus let go of his hand and draped both arms over his shoulders, tangling his hands in his hair. “I know we can’t exactly control it,” Sirius said against his lips. “But let’s never fight like that again.”

“Deal.”

[mayfriend]

19 be a hater pls :^D

Oh, I love being a hater, tysm <3

Idk if they're popular still, but when I was in school everyone kept on talking about Uglies by Scott Westerfield, and I figured huh, must be a pretty good book. NOPE. Go straight to (literary) jail, do not collect £200, do not pass go. I can see what he was trying to achieve with the whole 'beauty isn't important' angle, but it just came across very preachy and seemed to insist that anyone who cares more than 'normal' amount about their appearance is shallow, and doing the dance so many authors do when trying to undercut western patriarchal norms where they end up blaming women for wanting to be pretty in a society where they're point blank told that's what makes them worth something. If you want this done well (even if it's aimed at a slightly younger audience), try Jennifer Murdley's Toad by Bruce Coville.

All The Bright Places by Jennifer Niven. Now, before you get your pitchforks out: I think she again had a pretty good basis for a story idea. Finch and Violet are well defined, original characters and the end point is the strength of the story. But getting to the end... god, this book was a drag. I'm sorry, it was. The pacing was all over the place, it felt like Niven was just making the same point about life bring both difficult and precious over and over and over again in the same way, and didn't trust her readers not to need their hands held the whole way. Also, as a pet peeve, 're-MARKEY-able' is not that clever of a pun that it needs to be thrown about every other page.

My mum bought me The Luminaries by Eleanor Catton quite a few years ago now, and I still haven't been able to make it further than the first chapter. Apparently its very good but I just can't persist through the dull beginning.

I made the critical mistake of buying Nikita Gill's poetry book, Fierce Fairytales & Other Stories to Stir Your Soul, after seeing it for dirt cheap in a charity shop. Dear GOD do I know why it was cheap now. I've recently gotten into the habit of putting my name and the year into new books I start, because I like the thought that in the future someone might see it and have a moment of connection, but legit I want to rub my name out of this one so nobody knows I owned it, however briefly. It's that bad. I vaguely knew her name (mainly through searching for content for webs), and I'd seen a few lines of her poetry online that weren't awful, so I foolishly assumed that in order to publish a book it would need to have, you know, decent fucking content. I cannot actually express in words how bad it is. I couldn't force myself through the latter half - foolishly, I persevered at first because I thought there had to be something in there worth the cost of the paper and the ink, but no. No there is not. And again!! The IDEAS aren't bad!! People are updating fairy tales all the time!! But its just so lazy. There's drawings that I'd charitably say are just above the level of a thirteen year old girl doodling during English, a poem about Cinderella (at least I think it was Cinderella, but I don't hate myself enough to go and double check) that I shit you not referred to a fidget spinner, and the most boring rhymes and brain-dead interpretations of fairy tale characters you've ever seen. It's apparent meant to be 'feminist' fairytales but, deadass, they're just. They're just about Disney characters. Don't believe me?? Exhibits A to G (because it turns out I do hate myself enough to scan for the worst bits so you can all suffer as I suffered):

unLIkE moSt MeN oF hIs TImE, hE waS pROGreSsiVE

Like... my good bitch, half of that is written in the most jarring structure, unappealing sentences and awkward wording imaginable, and the other half is Disney™. Oh, the sea-witch is ample bodied, is she? 'Jafar' the Sultan's most trusted advisor was a poor boy come from nothing, huh? Cinderella's mother l i t e r a l l y told her "have courage and be kind", hm? Those motherfuckers will sue, and I kind of hope they do in order to get this refuse off the shelves.

There are more, but I got sidetracked (I couldn't find the fidget spinner line but I swear to you it's in there) and I need to go scream into a pillow or something after reminding myself about that godawful poetry book.

[dearestones]

Condolences (Yagami Light x Reader)

Warnings: Implied cheating, language, manipulation.

Anonymous Request: Hi so this is a request for Light Yagami x reader were it’s after Light’s father’s death and the reader usually doesn’t like Light but starts to feel sorry for him and later that day decides to visit his apartment to help him deal with his grief and ask if there is anything she can do for him and he very subtly implies that she can help him by giving herself to him and although the reader is tempted to doesn’t want to because it’s wrong and he has a girlfriend but eventually agrees to it ?

and it doesn’t have to be explicit nsfw

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You don’t know why you’re here. Condolences and platitudes, while more meaningful in person, could have easily just been offered when you could see Light again. However, for some odd reason, you had to go see the overworked detective now. Perhaps it was out of pity or maybe it’s because a part of you, a deeper darker part of you that wants to see Light fall.

The thought of seeing Light break down, to finally see himself as human instead of some sort of arrogant king above all others just because he holds so much power and sway in Japan… it sickens you while at the same time creates a feeling of exhilaration.

You’re many things, but you’re not the paragon of virtue that Light obviously makes himself out to be—the preachy bastard.

And so, it’s with this sick sense of curiosity that has you standing in front of his apartment door.

You knock a few times at an unhurried pace.

For a moment, you hope… you vindictively hope that when Light opens up his door, you’ll see a dishevelled man. You want to see all hope, all brightness that accompanied the youth of a man still in his prime to be extinguished. For a man who wishes to serve the public, the way he holds and carries himself is very telling of what you think his true nature is.

You stand stock still, ears strained.

Are you excited? Do you actually want to confront the person behind the analytical, efficient persona that you had seen before?

As your ears catch onto the footsteps from behind the door, you force yourself to relax and to look as passive yet sympathetic as possible.

You’re not here to inflame whatever bad feelings you have.

You’re here to offer your condolences.

Finally, when it seems like a lifetime has passed, the doorknob slowly turns and the door cracks fully open. In front of you, Light Yagami stands tall, if a little stooped. If you were hoping to see him in a far relaxed dress—possibly in a way that you could construe as sloppy. However, much to your displeasure and surprise, Light looked anything but.

Sure, his eyes were darker, accentuated by the darker skin tone of the bags that hung under them. And maybe his hair was a fair bit more mussed than his normally put together look. Yet, his button up shirt and slacks more than made up for his homely appearance. For a moment, you thought that maybe Light had known about your coming here. That maybe he knew that you wanted to see him at his lowest.

He knew you.

And you knew how much he could see right through you at times.

Even now, as he tiredly smiled at you and waved you inside, you could feel his eyes bore into your skull, each of your movements, unconscious or not, carefully analyzed and dissected.

Once inside, you took off your shoes and Light carefully directed you to a seat.

“Honestly, I didn’t think that you would find the time to actually come and visit,” Light lightly teased. Once you were situated, he had perused the contents of his kitchen and came back with two cups and a pitcher of water. On a plate, he placed a few cookies and treats that must have come from others who have offered their condolences. “But I suppose I could be wrong.”

You shake your head, your heart nearly stuttering to a halt once you hear the insinuation that he knew that you wanted to see him brought so low.

“Your father was a great detective,” you murmur quietly as you take a bite of one of the cookies. You don’t taste anything, can’t even feel the texture, but you gum down the confection as best as you can before delving into the cup for extra aid. As the cool liquid slides down your throat, you look at Light in what you hope is mired in sympathy. “And an even better man.”

However, you find him staring placidly at you, as if knowing every word that you’re about to say. Like he’s a script writer and you’re an actor speaking the lines, but never fully grasping the character that you’re supposed to play.

It’s somewhat disconcerting, but you push forth in the goal that you set out to do.

“I am truly—”

Light waved a hand in such a manner that could only scream arrogance, you could do nothing more than to immediately shut up and gawk at him. If you didn’t dislike Light before, you definitely did now.

Still, Light is in mourning.

If anyone was in the wrong and deserved to be reprimanded for their actions, it should be you. You didn’t come here because of sympathy or kindness.

You.

Did.

Not.

Like.

Light.

But—and you have to remember this:

He’s still human.

You can’t possibly blame him for acting so high and mighty right now. For all you knew, this could be some sort of coping mechanism.

Light eyes you steadily, his hand steady around the middle of his glass.

“Tell me why you came here.” His voice has all the warmth and cordiality that he uses whenever approaching others, but you know better. You’ve always known better. Honey laces his words, but there’s a trap lying in wait underneath. “And then leave.”

“I… I just want to…” You hug your arms around your chest and you avert your gaze. Guilt pervades your very being, but you hold on tight to what little resolve that you have. “Look, I know you’re hurting. Who wouldn’t after their father dies?” After heaving a small breath as if steadying yourself, you ask, albeit reluctantly, “Is there anything you need right now? I’m—I… Just this once only, I’ll try to help you as best as I can.”

Your eyes meet his.

And your breath hitches in your throat.

Light has never struck you as a man who sought after his own needs and wants—desires that stem from a more primal part of people that Light has seemingly neglected. Now, as you see his Adam's apple bob up and down his throat, the half lidded look in his eyes… You can feel your head become light and your throat constrict.

He can’t.

He can’t possibly—

He looks away, but you can catch sight of an artful blush across his cheeks and an upturned curve to his mouth.

It’s too sudden, coincidental.

He’s manipulating you, you know this.

Yet—

It’s tempting.

How low can Light go? How depraved can he be once he’s now at his lowest?

He has a girlfriend, you tell yourself. He already has someone and he’s grieving. How cruel can you be?

But this is Light, you remind yourself. This is nothing. This means nothing.

This is all manipulation and the both of you know it.

So you play along and say, “Anything, Light…” You pretend to act abashed and look away, but the corner of your eyes watch his reaction. Once you see that you haven’t crossed any boundaries and that he is listening in earnest, you continue, “I’ll do anything to help you in such dark times.”

It’s faint, but you see the glint in his eyes and the hooded expression that overtakes his entire face. He rises and bends over you, his lips brushing against the delicate shell of your ear.

“Thank you for your condolences.”

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DEATH NOTE MASTERLIST