#there’s more stuff I hate but these are the worst offenders that make me need to flip a table

[biblionerd07]

Things the Shameless writers wrote that I do not accept as canon:

1. Mickey spelling Ian’s name wrong on his tattoo. (Give me a fucking break.)

2. Ian laughing with Caleb about Mickey’s forced marriage and rape. (Also I didn’t actually see anything of Caleb except this and like 10 seconds of their date but wouldn’t you expect the guy who asked Ian if he’s a victim of DV to be a bit more sensitive about rape…?)

3. Ian and Mickey both going to Terry fucking Milkovich for advice???? And Terry being softened into comic relief literally AS he’s still trying to murder Mickey?????

4. Mickey implying he’s been letting other guys blow him after he and Ian got married. (In WHAT fucking world.)

5. Mickey suddenly getting self-conscious about bottoming and the entire “who’s the man in our relationship” bullshit and Ian not wanting to be “the bitch”. (Bash my head into a wall.)

6. Ian telling Mickey he doesn’t have his whole heart???????? (HE WOULD NOT FUCKING SAY THAT!!!!)

[moreespressoformydepresso]

Fandom's Takes On Trauma Are Terrible And Here's Why: brought to you by terrible Coriolanus Snow and Anakin Skywalker discourse

I've been on the verge of making this post for a while now, but I kept not doing it because this might be a bit of a hot take and I don't like offending people. However, I've been growing increasingly annoyed with the perception of one specific character type so lets see how much my dumb opinions stir the pot this time ¯\_(ツ)_/¯. This will be focused mainly on my current main fandom: The Ballad Of Songbirds And Snakes, as well as Star Wars. You'll see why. Now, I need to make it clear that I'm not judging anyone for their opinions on characters for any reason. In no way am I insinuating you're a bad person for having opinions different to mine or that you’re not allowed to have them. What I am saying is that fandoms have some frustrating and frankly insulting beliefs around trauma and those who survived it, and I'm gonna talk about it because I want to get this off my chest. With that said:

Y'all don't understand how trauma works and it annoys me

As stated in the title, I'm writing this because of the Coriolanus Snow discourse, specifically regarding whether he's a good or bad person. Lets rip off the bandaid straight away: He's a bad person. There's no question about it, Snow is a vile human being. And he's one of my favorite characters because of it. He's fantastically written and hands down one of the most realistic, viscerally terrifying yet utterly pathetic villains ever. And what I hate about the TBOSAS fandom more than anything (aside from how some of them treat the actors) is the way they take away all his agency in the story. But I'll put a pin in that because I have a lot to say about him and instead start at the beginning of my growing frustration with how fandom perceives trauma (feel free to skip through this post, I'll label my sections in case you don't wanna read this whole thing). There's two sides, and both are equally stigmatized and wrong. So lets start with the more obvious one through the lens of Anakin Skywalker.

The Star Wars Fandom's Weird Relationship With Traumatized Children Behaving Like Traumatized Children

So Anakin Skywalker AKA Darth Vader is pretty explicitly a Bad Dude who's done some Bad Things. Bro committed genocide, ain't no getting around that, except... It's a little more complicated. Sure, he did all those terrible things, but a lot of people take that to mean he was always a horrible monstrous big bad in the making who was destined to become the galaxy's worst nightmare. That's missing the whole point of the prequel trilogy, because those movies essentially serve to explain all the reasons for Anakin's descent into villainy, and he had surprisingly little hand in it. Growing up into slavery means he not only has a warped view of the galaxy thanks to all the horrors he's witnessed, it also means he lacks the teachings Jedi younglings get when they grow up in the temple. He was pawned off onto Obi-Wan who had only recently been knighted and was in no way ready to raise a child, and became "friends" with Palpatine who fed him all sorts of lies to manipulate him into becoming little more than an attack dog. Not exactly ideal circumstances for a child in their formative years. Did Anakin shirk the Jedi's rules? Yes. Did he do dumb stuff? Yes. But he was a traumatized teenager, of course he's acting out. When he massacres the Tusken Raiders, it's Padme Amidala who reassures him it was the right thing to do. He felt guilty about it, so this idea that he's some apathetic monster from the second he's born is dumb. It's not that Anakin was born wrong, it's that the people around him either failed to help him go down the right path or were actively trying to push him down the wrong one. Anakin never fully grasped the Jedi's ideals, because the person meant to teach him just wasn't equipped to do so. If he'd had someone to teach him how to get a hold of his emotions, distancing himself enough from them to make the best possible decision and helping him understand the importance of letting someone go when you have to, he wouldn't have fallen to the dark side the way he did.

Anakin did terrible things, but blaming it on him just having an evil heart shows a fundamental misunderstanding of how people's environments change who they are. A life in slavery, where he was not allowed to have anything and risked losing what he held dear at any second with no control over it likely caused him to be very possessive of what he held close to his heart once he did have some control over what he kept and lost. Shmi died because he wasn't there to protect her (in his head), so he clung to the people he loved so he could save them the way he couldn't save his mother. Palpatine actively groomed him, if you think that didn't have any effect on him I don't know what to tell you. Throughout the war, he constantly lost people he was close to. That control he had slowly starts to fade as Ahsoka leaves and he starts having dreams about Padme dying. He does everything to save her, only to find out she betrayed him (in his mind, a thought quite likely influenced by PTSD as well). I can tell you that believing one of the few people you trust has betrayed you can make you act very impulsively. Anakin made an impulsive decision and regretted it for the rest of his life. He wasn't born a monster, the world turned him into one.

However, that does not excuse his actions. It explains them and spreads the blame to more people, but his actions are still his actions. Anakin separated himself from his past because of all the pain it brings him, and in doing so he did a lot of bad things. And he still needed to face consequences for those actions, even if the events that led up to them aren't necessarily on him entirely. If he'd gotten therapy, he wouldn't have choked Padme to death. Possibly he wouldn't have attacked the temple. But he didn't, and he did all those things trauma or not. I have major issues with the way some Anti-Anakin parts of the Star Wars fandom insist on ignoring or writing off his trauma, but that doesn't mean I'm absolving him of all guilt.

An explanation is not an excuse, and that sentiment brings us to the reason for this little rant:

Coriolanus Snow's defenders have a habit of infantalizing trauma survivors and I wish they would stop

Oh Snow, how your amazing character completely flew over the heads of most of your loyalest fans. I'm joking, obviously, but also... It's not exactly wrong. Now, I need to make this clear: I'm not insulting Snow fans here. I'm kind of one of them (I hate his guts but I love how he was written, it's a love hate relationship). However, the way people talk about his trauma... I'll be honest, it's kind of sickening for reasons I'll talk about later after getting through the technical(?) stuff. Where the way people view Anakin disgusts me, the way people treat Snow disturbs me. Because people view The Ballad Of Songbirds and Snakes as if it's some typical tragic villain backstory that humanizes and in some ways justifies who he became, to show what changed him from a normal person into a monster. It's not. It actually shows that Snow has always possessed the traits that made him the monster we know from the OG series. What it does is explain why specific things were so important to him and how he grew to lose all redeeming qualities, letting the worst aspects of his personality grow and take over until it's all there's left of him.

What made Snow do stuff like poison political adversaries and constantly beat down the districts so they don't rebel? A thirst for power. A thirst he's always had, born from the feelings of entitlement he held thanks to his family's previous status. He deserves that power in his mind, so he'll do anything to get it. Power, control, and influence are his driving motivators. It's at the back of his mind throughout TBOSAS, and by the time he becomes a gamemaker it's the only motivation he has left. Those traits, the things that pushed him to do what he did, they were always there. There was just more stuff to cover it up. Stuff that fell away with time. Snow is a terrible person, but people pretend he's some poor misunderstood baby who just needed a hug because... why? Because he has trauma. And that's the root of the problem. Does he have trauma? Absolutely. He survived a war, he lost his parents, struggled through poverty while being raised by propaganda from the Capitol and was arguably groomed by Gaul. Sound familiar? It's kind of like Anakin. Horrible childhood filled with loss, less than amazing figures raising him and grooming. Except people use the opposite argument for him which is equally wrong: he's traumatized, so we cannot blame him.

Yes we can.

Trauma does not justify your actions. It might explain them, but you are still accountable for your own actions. Snow murdered people, starting with Bobbin, and every single time it was his choice to do so. It doesn't matter why he made that choice, because he still did it. He ruined countless lives and ended nearly as many, both directly and indirectly. No amount of trauma justifies that. I've seen people claim he's just an anxious young boy who's a poor victim of circumstance, and anyone who doesn't believe so is simply unable to separate the actions of an 80-something-year-old from the 18-year-old, but... No. That's one of the most braindead takes I've ever heard, I'm sorry. Snow hadn't committed the crimes of his older self yet, but the behaviors he shows in TBOSAS are the ones that led him to doing so later on and ignoring that is just stupid. I don't need to judge Snow based on his later actions to call out how fucked up he was in TBOSAS. Again, he chose to murder several people and deluded himself into believing he was justified. That's what makes him a great character. Bad people always believe, on some level, that they're doing the right thing. It's fascinating. But people take his words at face value when he says he's doing the right thing, and the whole point is that he's wrong. He's lying to himself. Because that's what people do sometimes. Snow's family was knocked off its throne, and Snow clung to the idea that the districts are beneath him and at fault to cope with that. He deluded himself into believing Gaul's dumbass theory to justify continuing the games.

It's the exact opposite of Anakin Skywalker: Trauma is relevant, it does inform your perspective on the world and your actions, but it does not mean you can do no wrong. Snow had every chance to be a good person: Knocking Bobbin out or running away instead of murdering him, joining the rebellion with Sejanus, staying in district 12 with Lucy Gray and being honest with her. But he killed Bobbin. He fucked over the rebels and got Sejanus killed. He lied to Lucy Gray and destroyed any chance he had with her. Every chance he got, he threw into the fire without hesitation. Anakin leaned into being a bad person to forget the past, Snow chose to be one because it benefitted him the most. Neither of them are excused because of their trauma, their descent into villainy is simply explained. You know why? Because both of them created new victims. Snow was complicit in the murder of hundreds of children before becoming responsible for thousands more, he killed people with his own hands and ruined several lives over the course of TBOSAS. All that pain he caused isn't erased because we can explain why it happened. Even at 18, Snow has many things he should be held accountable for. War, being an empoverished orphan, being groomed, none of that nullifies the shit he's done. People who say Snow's just an anxious, young, traumatized boy are one side of the horseshoe theory of the myth of "the perfect victim". The "Anakin's Trauma Should Be Ignored Entirely" crowd are the other side. Which brings us to...

It's all horseshoe theory

To conclude the analytical part of my post, I'll bring it back to what I briefly mentioned in the intro to all of this. Agency. That's the running thread here. Both in cases like Anakin and cases like Snow, the fandom takes away all agency a character has in the story for the sake of justifying one's feelings about them. Anakin was born a monster and he was always destined to be evil. It wasn't the trauma, it wasn't the events of the story, he's just bad. On the other hand, Snow is a good person who was made to do terrible things by his trauma. It's all the trauma and nothing else. His bad childhood caused him to be this way and it has nothing to do with his own worst personality traits. See the connection? In both these instances, the characters had no influence over who they became. With Anakin, nothing could've had any influence because he's just born wrong. With Snow, it's everything around him that shaped him into who he was. Both scenarios completely ignore the character and focus on external factors to explain everything. One demonizes trauma victims by saying those that went off the rails are just bad people and there's nothing to be done about it, the other infantilizes trauma survivors by saying they shouldn't be held accountable for their actions just because they have trauma and it's only when they're older and should know better that we can bring consequences down on them.

Victims of trauma should be held accountable, though. The only thing the presence of trauma should change is what kind of accountability. Merely locking them up won't change anything, they should receive help to work through their problems while residing in a place where they cannot hurt anyone else. Including themselves. That is what acknowledging trauma is useful for. But this? This is doing nothing but stigmatizing trauma survivors even more than they already are, and I hate it. And you wanna know why I hate it? Because I've been both sides of this horseshoe, and it nearly got me killed.

The part where I talk about my Tragic Backstory(TM) to explain why this bothers me so much

This'll be a little heavy, so while I'm not gonna go into detail I advise you to please be careful. If you're not in the headspace to handle talk about actual real life mental health issues, feel free to stop reading here. I'm putting this at the end for a reason. If you really wanna know why people's perspective on Snow disturbs me but don't wanna risk getting triggered, skip to the last bold line in this post.

Without going into detail, I've dealt with some pretty big mental health issues throughout my life. One of them is PTSD, so believe me when I say I understand that trauma can heavily influence one's actions in ways even they don't understand. But I had to learn the hard way that there's a difference between explaining and excusing. I used to believe that, because of my previous experiences, I was entirely justified in doing what I was doing. Kind of. At that point, I didn't know that what I was experiencing was PTSD, but I did feel justified in my actions the same way Snow does. I explained every bad thing I did away and wrote it off as nothing or sometimes even as a good thing. Granted, I never did anything as big as committing murder, but I don't live in a country as dark and horrible as Panem so we'll chalk it up to that. As I grew older, I started to recognize the ways in which I accidentally hurt the people around me, and eventually had the realization that my past does not in fact justify the pain I was causing people entirely uninvolved in what happened to me. They had nothing to do with that, and shoving all my pain onto them the way I did was wrong. My view of myself pivoted to the other side of the horseshoe. If I'm not justified, am I... am I bad? Am I evil? Am I just born wrong?

I don't know how to explain this to anyone who hasn't gone through this themself, but that is a horrible feeling to have. To feel like you're just bad and there's nothing you can do about it... It kills something inside of you. A hope, a will to keep going and keep trying. Why bother when you cannot be fixed? I've lost the will to live at two points in my life, and that was one of them. And now I get to see both of these mentalities be repeated by dumbasses who don't understand the first thing about trauma. It's... not fun. It's grating and aggravating in a way I can't accurately bring across with just my words. It makes me wanna scream and laugh hysterically until I cry.

Here's the thing: I relate to Snow, and the way people perceive him disturbs me on a visceral level.

As I said, I justified my own bad behavior the same way he does. I convinced myself I was a blameless poor victim who had no hand in their actions. But just like Snow, I did. Not nearly as much as I would have liked, but I did. I learned to control the defensive mechanisms my trauma gave me, and I grew from it. Seeing people defending Snow with the same arguments that kept me from ever getting over what happened to me, crying out that he's just traumatized so none of it's his fault... it disturbs me. Because they're outsiders who should be able to see the pain he caused others and realize that nothing changes the fact that he did that. But they don't. They're me, without any of the personal stakes that kept me trapped in my own delusions. It's all just fiction, and I know that, but it hits just a little too close to home for my comfort. It's a little too raw and a little too real for me to just let it go and move on again like I always do.

I'm sorry for the rant, I didn't mean to make this post this long but I guess I hope you find something of interest in here that made it worth reading? Have a nice day 💜

[espinosaurusrexex]

Flowers and Things

BuckyBarnes x female!reader

summary: Who would have thought that Bucky "The Winter Soldier" Barnes would ever have a crush on the sweet sweet team member Y/N? Well, certainly not Sam, which seemed like the perfect opportunity to tease him about it. Bucky is determined to buy Y/N a birthday gift, and his best friend's suggestions seem a little too stupid to pursue. Let's hope his own idea is good enough for her...

a/n: I needed more soft!Bucky and I felt like you did too

This is not really proof read so I might work it over again. All mistakes are my own.

word count: 2.8k

warnings: fluffy Bucky (he still got game but it’s cute now), swearing, a little angsty, more fluffff, Bucky and Sam being Bucky and Sam

･ﾟ✫* 𝒎𝒂𝒊𝒏 𝒎𝒂𝒔𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒍𝒊𝒔𝒕 ｡✭･ﾟ

Bucky hated it here. The scented candles mixed in one giant cloud of barf and the twinkle lights made him dizzy. He would have just gone to the florist and picked up a bouquet of flowers but when he had asked Sam about it, he had made him doubt that decision. So now he was here, watching yet another flashing ‘SALE’ sign hang over the aisle he passed. This one was filled with bedsheets. All shapes and sizes, as many fabrics as Bucky could only imagine. All feeling different and all having other patterns. He huffed again. This was ridiculous. Sam was the worst when it came to advice.

“Absolutely not.”

“Why not? It’s practical and sends a message!” 

“That's not what you buy a lady, Sam.”

“Oh really? Since when do you know that type of stuff?”

“I don't-“ Bucky pinched his nose and took a deep breath. “I just know that’s not the thing she wants okay?”

“Don’t tell me you know about things, Bucky. You are the only person I know that doesn’t have any things. So don’t come at me and tell me that I don’t know.”

He looked at him in disbelief. 

“I have things.” Bucky didn’t know why he was so offended. Bucky’s apartment was simple. He was a simple man. So he really didn't see anything wrong with it. He had things. He had a chair. A mug, he had found it down by the window of some old lady’s house. Yes, it was technically stolen but he had really needed something to drink out of in Romania and well, there was a fun cat on the mug, so he had taken it. He had a pillow - two actually. One on the chair and one on the floor, where his only blanked lay. He had one set of cutlery and he had a deep plate. He had A pair of boots and he had about 4 T-shirts, maybe 5 - oh and that red henley. He had a very cool leather jacket and he had some gloves. So yes, Bucky was a simple man. He had always been. Okay, maybe not that simple and maybe not always by choice, but that wasn’t the point right now.

“Like what?”

“I have a chair.” And it was true. Buck had one single chair in his living room. Because he was only one person. That was enough, right?

Sam’s eyebrows raised. “Are you hearing yourself?”

“Sam!” The frustration between the two was clearly evident, but Bucky didn’t really know how to counter that. He just watched as his friend continued with the argument he was about to make.

“Bucky, you own the same shirt three times. And that’s it, you have no other shirts. Just believe me on this one and buy her bedsheets” That wasn’t true, he owned that red henley too... and he loved it.

“I’m not gonna buy her bedsheets.” Even if Bucky did not have any better idea, he for sure knew that this one was not up for debate. Fucking bedsheets. Who would give anyone bedsheets for their birthday if they weren’t their grandma?

“Whatever man, do what you want.” Sam waved off as he turned around and left the room with a shaking head.

“I will,” Bucky called after him with confidence. “Thanks for not helping!”

So apparently women didn't like flowers anymore. And since Sam was not of any help to suggest anything better, Bucky found himself in aisle six of the department store. Lost and frightened and annoyed at how complicated things were in the 21st century. 

He was browsing through a particular hideous set of garden gnomes when a chipper blonde approached him with a bright and flashing smile. 

“Can I help you with anything?” She asked and the joy in her eyes seemed to explode right out of her. To be honest, Bucky never understood how people could find happiness in approaching random strangers and bothering them when they clearly wanted to be alone. He wasn’t a fan of small talk, and he wasn’t too keen on talking to strangers, either.

“I... uh...” He was still a little startled by the woman’s sudden appearance and her confidence didn’t make it any easier to keep calm. She was determined to help him, Bucky could see it in her eyes, the way she held herself - everything screamed ‘happy customers’. “I don’t know?”

“Are you looking for anything specific?” She questioned further. His eyes wandered to her name tag: Terri. Yes, that fit. 

“I don’t know.” Bucky reiterated, suddenly very aware of how lost he was in the huge store.

“Well, who are you shopping for?” That smile didn’t falter. Bucky just blushed. He somehow felt busted, even though, what he was doing and who he was doing it for could concern that lady very little.

“Oh, I See.” The woman nodded knowingly. The smirk on her face grew even wider and the excitement in her eyes was unbelievably intruding. “A special someone.”

“She’s not-“ He huffed frustratedly before his shoulders slumped. He would certainly not tell this stranger about the girl he was planning to court, much less that this girl was a coworker and a friend and that his chance at making a move was dependent on the woman practically vibrating in excitement. “It’s complicated.”

“Don’t you worry. We’ll find the perfect makeup gift for her.” And without another word, Terri sped off through the aisles, and Bucky was forced to follow her. She led him past the horrible scented candles and through the bedsheets until she finally stopped in the middle of the store. A large glass case spread in a square in front of her and upon further investigation, Bucky could see the things beneath the surface twinkling in the harsh store light. 

His head grew even redder, the heat creeping down his neck and making his body sweat anxiously. Jewelry. He couldn’t get Y/N jewelry. That was way too much and way too suggestive for the relationship he had with her. Only boyfriends got women jewelry, and even though he wanted to be that one day, now was definitely not the right time.

The blonde clapped her hands. “There is not one set of earrings that has made me stay mad at my husband.” She reached down and held up one pair after the other as Bucky dug his hands deep into his pants pockets. Every time she held up another pair, he just shook his head embarrassed. 

This was not what he wanted, this was not what Y/N wanted, he thought while staring blankly ahead, smiling and shaking his head no every now and then to keep the store lady occupied. He had to get out of here - away from all the fancy, shiny things and the weirdly shaped garden items. So sure enough, when Terri reached down for the 7th time, he quickly turned around and bolted. Around the corner and straight towards the exit.

When the fresh air hit his face, he felt as though he could finally think clearly again. The heat in his head slowly subsided and he made his way down the street. His head held low, and his hands hidden in his jacket pockets, he traded along the sidewalk, past jewelry stores and bakeries, small boutiques, and restaurants. He shook his head. All Bucky had wanted was a simple gift for her. Something small and sweet. But all he had was a pile of frustration and a whole bunch of hustle and he was still standing with empty hands. Who would have thought that dating would become so difficult? Back in the day, he thought, he would have probably already asked her out. But he was a different man now. He didn’t mind that anymore, but it still took him a while to get back to his old ways.

Bucky was about to just head home, dwell in his anger and forget about the stupid idea to buy a gift for Y/N. Really, how could he have been so dumb from the start? There was probably nothing he would ever feel was good enough for her, because, in his eyes, she was the only perfect thing there was. Everything else had yet to live up to her. She also didn’t need anything. At least that was what she had always said when Tony started planning her birthday party after the meeting the other week. 

When he was about to cross the street, though, a red sign caught his eye, and Bucky suddenly knew that he had found it: The perfect thing.

—

Bucky fumbled with the blue bow tied around his gift. He was nervous, to say the least, and his right hand found comfort in the softness of the ribbon. He stood before Y/N’s door. It was her birthday - her actual birthday. The party would be this weekend, but Bucky didn’t want to give it to her then. He didn't want everyone to see him giving it to her either. It was late too. The small Avengers get-together had already ended well over an hour ago, and well, for some reason, Bucky had found himself in front of her door, moments away from knocking. 

That was, if his mind would finally stop taking his confidence away. What if she didn’t like it? What if she thought it was weird of him to get her something? He hadn’t thought about that before - he had been too occupied with finding something that would put that beautiful smile on her face. While his mind began to spiral into the infinite worry of what-if possibilities, Bucky didn’t notice the door before him open and a surprised Y/N standing before him with a load of laundry in her hand.

“Bucky?”

He looked up, the panic on his face doing little to hide and Y/N instantly set the basket aside. Her hands found his arms as she looked at him with round eyes. “Is everything okay?”

It took a couple seconds for Bucky to collect himself, but when he did his cheeks tinted in soft pink. “I got you something,” he confessed after ignoring the tingle her touch sent through his body and stretched his hand out to her, the light blue ribbon a little deformed from his constant fumbling second earlier. 

“Oh?” Her eyes gleamed in surprise. “That’s very sweet of you, Bucky.” Y/N took the gift from his hand, feeling the weight of it and silently guessing what he could have possibly gotten her. A smile spread about her lips at the sweet gesture. Bucky and Y/N were colleagues - friends. Maybe a little more, but nothing had ever happened. It didn’t go unnoticed, however, that they looked at each other in a very special kind of way. Always stealing glances when the other wasn’t watching. So much so, that it frustrated the whole team - they would never say anything though. The both of them were way too private for that, though it didn’t keep Sam from silently punching the air with a boyish grin after Bucky had asked him what he should give Y/N for her birthday. 

Y/N gestured for him to enter, and closed the door behind him when he did. When Bucky stood a little lost in her living room, she began to unpack the gift. The soft ripping of paper filled the silence and Bucky nervously wrung his hands at the sight of it. Y/N’s eyes lit up when she finally revealed the item and when they did, Bucky’s nervousness washed away. 

“You remembered?” She looked up from the book in her hand. The deep green cover with the golden font glimmered under her delicate fingers as she stroked it.

Bucky treaded from one foot to the other, his hand finding its way to his neck. “Of course I remembered.” A shy smile snuck on his face.

“You know Bucky is a nerd?” Sam teased over her shoulder after stealing some grapes from the bowl in her lap.

Y/N’s head piqued up in interest, watching the confused brunette at the other side of the sofa. Bucky shot Sam a disappointed look, equally confused as to what he was hinting towards.

“I found out that he read ‘The Hobbit’ when it first came out. He’s literally the #1 fan.” The smug smile on his face turned sheepish at the bad joke. 

Bucky huffed, waiting for another teasing remark, but it never came.

“It’s actually on my reading list, too. But I haven’t found one with a pretty cover for my bookshelf yet.” Her smile was shy as she searched Bucky’s eyes and found them with an adoring look glazed over his pupils. 

Sam just watched the interaction, feeling partly accomplished, and party frustrated that his plan to embarrass Bucky didn’t work.

“I don’t know if you still want to get into it, but if you have any concerns, I’m always happy to tell you the story... I know the book can be a little slow in parts.”

Y/N’s eyes filled with tears when she looked up again. Her lip quivered before she pulled them into a smile. She placed the book on the table and slung her arms around him “Thank you so much, Buck,” she mumbled into his shoulder and Bucky grew warm from her soft voice. 

“I’m glad you like it,” he mumbled back, inhaling the scent of her hair and finding comfort in it.

Her frame pulled back, and Bucky couldn’t help but wish for her to get back into his arms. “Like it? I love it. This is the best gift I’ve ever gotten. Oh, I can’t wait to read it.” She jumped up and down before admiring it again. “Maybe we can watch the movies together after?” 

His heartbeat quickened by the second. His hand grew all clammy as the excitement spread through his body. “I would love that.” He really did, but at the same time, a nervousness overtook his senses he had never felt before.

“Oh great!” Y/N turned around and admired the book again. She stopped for a minute and then she looked at him again, a timid look on her face. She was just as nervous about this. 

“We could read it together, too...” The intrigue on Y/N’s face nudged him to go on further. “You know... to get through the slow parts.” He smiled shyly. “Just if you want to of course.” 

Her eyes brightened at the sweet suggestion. “I would love that,” she copied. And after a moment of silence, as the both of them stood in awkwardly frozen in her living room, she spoke again. “Do... uh. Do you have time now?”

“Yes!” That came out way more excited than he intended, but Y/N didn’t seem to mind. She sped off to her kitchen, putting on the kettle and preparing two mugs while trying to mask her excitement. Meanwhile, Bucky tried the same thing in her living room. He looked around and let the cozy dark green paint of the wall behind the fireplace overtake his thoughts. Y/N’s home was just that: a home. Other than his apartment, which was scarcely decorated. And Bucky found himself feeling homey at the sight of picture frames and plants squeezed between books and magazines. Maybe Sam was right... maybe he didn’t have things. At least not enough to bring him joy. But before he could grieve the bare walls of his apartment he would likely be returning to tonight, Y/N stepped back into the room, two steaming cups of tea in her hands.

“I hope green is okay?”

“Perfect,” he grinned. 

Y/N set the mugs down on her coffee table and settled on the most comfortable-looking couch Bucky had ever seen. Then she patted the cushions next to her and Bucky happily followed her silent invitation. He took the book from the table and settled next to her, his back leaning back and being entirely consumed by the pillows. 

“Are you comfortable?” She asked.

“More than comfortable.” Y/N smiled happily as she held his stare for a moment.

Then Bucky cleared his throat and opened the book to the first chapter.

“An unexpected party.” He stopped as Y/N shifted and laid her head on his shoulder. A smile spread on his face when he felt her soft hair tickling his neck, her eyes lingering on the page before closing with a content smile. 

“Are you comfortable?” He asked.

“More than comfortable,” Y/N snickered, ready to be consumed by his deep and calming voice again.

Bucky’s eyes found the page again. He took a deep breath to contain his excitement for her cuddling up to him. He pushed off his shoes and placed his feet on the table, and then he continued: “In a hole in the ground there lived a hobbit. Not a nasty, dirty, wet hole, filled with the ends of worms and an oozy smell, nor yet a dry, bare, sandy hole with nothing in it to sit down on or to eat: it was a hobbit-hole, and that means comfort...”

Wanna be added to the taglist?

[mxcat777]

So what if

Dream is sort of Shakespeare's patron, right? So would that make Shakespeare on of His™? And if so, would he reside in the Dreaming after his death instead of the Sunless Lands?

'cause if so. Consider.

He's still writing. (A lot)

He keeps up with modern literature, but keeps writing (at least mostly) in Early Modern English (that's it, right? Do I have my lit facts straight?). Imagine his recent plays littered with slang, disney references, (un)subtle references to shit that was based on his stuff that he either loves or hates, both are good.

He's kind of a favourite of Dream's. The same way Lucienne and Jessamy and The Corinthian are. He can get away with saying shit, because if he offends Dream he can turn around and start sprouting some poetry at that vain-ass bitch and all is forgiven. (In the worst cases it takes a new play about his royal majesty the Dream King and how generous and benevolent and regal he is)

Fishbowling happens, not sure what Will would do, the plot bunny didn't care.

Dream is back, all is well, he goes to the New Inn, Hob and Dream are now officially Friends.

They meet up more bc friends see each other more often than once a century. Oh yeah friends also know each others' names and such. So Dream tells Hob a bit about himself.

At some point he's like, hey hob u wanna see the dreaming?

Hob's like yES PLz??

Hob gets a tour, and from that point on usually gets the option at night to dream normally or visit the palace.

On one fateful night, Hob decides to take a stroll through the library, goes looking for Marlowe's shelf, because he kind of wonders what other stuff that genius would have written had he lived longer.

Only to (maybe literally) bump into, you guessed it, Will Bloody Shaxberd.

He stares.

Will goes 'hey'.

And then Hob goes somewhat feral.

(no he is not over it, sue him, he's allowed to hold a grudge.)

He goes off on a rant about, see, ofc ur still plagiarizing marlowe he was so much better i can't believe dream left me for you you useless twat you couldn't write shit without him so why did you get the fucking privilege of living with him and knowing him for fucking centuries i had to fight 600 years for his bloody name and i'm guessing you got it right that first meeting hm?

And Will goes oh shit it's you! And then cuts Hob off with a "you're so right! I was an absolute shit playwright before your friend helped me!"

And Hob is... Understandably lost. This was not how it went in his head.

And then Will continues, I was so nervous the time right after that meeting, I knew he was some sort of supernatural being, no clue what though, he's really not good at introductions, is he, so I sort of assumed you were too, and I was waiting for your revenge for stealing your date away, recently found out you're actually human, albeit immortal, and it was not a date, though, speaking of, have you sorted yourselves out yet?

And Hob, quite understandably even more baffled, sort of gapes for a bit.

Before very nervously denying anything of the sort.

Will just stares.

And goes, bruv, you weren't subtle then, still aren't now, spare everyone else the UST, please, for the love of god, you two need to fuck post haste.

And Hob is like, hahaha, eh, yeah, nope, fun seeing you, BYE.

So Will sighs. And goes to see Lucienne, as any sensible person would.

Lucienne sighs as well. At which point Will steps to Dream himself.

"My lord?" "Yes, William?" "Forgive my directness, but so as not to risk any misunderstandings, what exactly is your relationship with Hob Gadling?" "We are friends. Why do you ask? Is that not clear?" "Well, to be perfectly honest, m'lord, I assumed you were... Involved™." "We are not." "But you'd like to be though, right?" "You dare presume to know-" " I dare presume to know what attraction, romance, love, all that looks like, sire. I must do, after portraying it in my plays for over four centuries. After writing several hundreds of sonnets on the topic." "I-" "In my humble opinion, my lord, it is a good match. He understands you, you continue to fascinate each other, he can provide a safe place where you need not be monarch for a moment. And of course, you are quite obviously attracted to one another sexually." "WILLIAM SH-" "Oh calm down! I'm certainly not judging either of you!" "...he is attracted to me?" "..." "Is he?" "YES! Lord give me faith! Kiss him! Go to him and teleport the both of you onto a bed! Or if you want to be sappy go slow and bring him a rose, but please, for the love of the collective sanity, do something!" "But how do you know? What if you misunderstood? What if it is unwelcome? I cannot lose him!"

At which point Will turns around, leaves the throne room, goes back to the library and rant to Lucienne

"I swear I'm going to write a play about them, just to point out how stupid this is. I feel compelled to call it a tragedy, but I think it needs to have a happy ending, otherwise Lord Broodphius would get stuck on the but what if it does end in tragedy, so I suppose a comedy would be fitting, but then again, this is too painful to watch to qualify as a comedy. Tragic comedy? Comic tragedy? I'll figure it out..."

And Lucienne is like, if you'd like to perform it properly I'm sure there are a few dreams who would be more than willing to help out, take on a role.

Hob comes back to the Dreaming a few days later and finds Will up to his elbows in paper, reference books, thesauruses and rhyming dictionaries (handy things those), and empty mugs and the like.

Will looks up, somewhat manic, and is like, Hob! Great! Just the person I wanted to see! Would you help me, please?

Hob's like, sure? Kind of apprehensive, but he gave everything some thought and decided that as long as he could go on dunking on him, he could let go of most of his jealousy (cuz that's what is was, he's mature enough to admit)

Will goes, Awesome! Tell me about you and Morphius! How do you see him, what's your story, I only ever get bits and pieces from his lordship, so I'm in severe need of some context...

And Hob is somewhat suspicious, but he indulges him, and really, telling the story comes too easy, so he gets into it completely and doesn't even notice when he starts slipping into rants about Dream, about how beautiful, and magnificent, and misunderstood, and kind, and way-out-of-his-league-but-god-dammit-he-went-and-fell-in-love-with-the-bastard-anyway he is

And Will takes studious notes.

And then goes like, so some of the sonnets I've written were with you two in mind, you wanna give me some feedback? (Ahem, sonnet 24/29, some others work too, undoubtedly, but I am no Shakespeare expert, unfortunately)

And he does something similar with Dream, maybe citing Hob's dislike of him as the reason he wants to know more about him without having to bother him overly much, like, I want to set things right between us, but I need to know more about him to do that, will you help me, m'lord

And he does

And Will just sits back and takes notes as Dream also spirals into a passion fueled rant about Hob

And all those notes end up in the eventual play

Auditions for the roles happen when Dream and Hob are out on a Not Date™ in the Waking.

There are surprisingly many auditioning for Hob's role, and surprisingly little for Dream's

Until Will points out that Dream would probably be more offended by an unworthy portrayal of his Love that of himself, at which point some of the dreams bow out entirely, bc Will knows how vain their lord is, so they decide not to risk unmaking and tactically retreat

Will is in his fucking element, it's been way too long since he's properly directed a play!

Eventually Will comes up to the Mutually Pining Idiots like, hey m'lord, Hob, I've written a new play, and I've been working with some of the dreams to make it happen, do you want to see??

So they watch. They watch as two absolute fucking idiots stumble around each other, everyone on and off stage can see how stupidly in love they are except for them, and both start sweating profusely when they start recognizing their own words quoted back at them.

The end of the play is something of a direct call-out and a plea from the dreams to please just talk to each other, fuck and get married, preferably in that order, but they're not picky.

Then everyone leaves them alone for the Conversation that is most likely going to happen.

Will stays behing hiding unobtrusively in the shadows tho.

He's not about to let all his work go to waste if these idiots ty to play it off again. He will lock them in a broom closet if he has to, watch him.

They don't.

Luckily.

There are like three sentences total spoken. Then they're aggressively making out.

Will leaves the room very content about his matchmaking skills.

And hey! He got a good play out of it, if he does say so himself!

[holewithinahole]

The Spirit’s in It | Egon Spengler x nb!reader [2/3]

Summary: “I didn’t know psychology doctors also specialized in particle physics, is all.”

What you meant as a light joke to relax him did quite the opposite. He straightens, righting up his glasses one more pointless time. “I have a degree in nuclear engineering,” he states before walking out, leaving you confused and feeling like you’ve spent the entire time offending him unintentionally.

Warnings: dubious science, non-native writer, non-beta’d

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

And here's part 2! I'll probably post part 3 tomorrow so I can upload everything on Ao3. I realised this work is super underwelming compared to what I've been releasing lately haha But well, if one person like it that's all I'm asking!

I also love write all the different dialogues I have in mind for the Ghostbusters. It's like I can hear the voices of the actors in my head! It's all very amusing.

EDIT: I hate the third part so I'm rewriting it lmao

Fall, 1984

“What are they doing?” You mutter under your breath as you step into the psychology aisle of Columbia University. It’s the most animated you’ve ever witnessed Weaver Hall be.

Clutching your latest research papers, you stride to the paranormal studies labs, almost running into a green-shirted man in the process. You mutter a quick apology without looking back. Inside the lab, a few men are busy getting boxes on trolleys and carrying them out of the room. You clear your throat as you stand close to one of them.

“Excuse me, do you know where Dr. Spengler is?”

The man arches an eyebrow and shrugs. “No idea who that is.”

Putting down a box labeled ‘Electronics’ on his trolley with a loud crashing noise – which makes you wince, he starts making his way out of the room, smacking your flank in the process.

“You do know those items partially belong to the researchers working here,” you argue, clutching your side and standing in front of him. “You can’t just take them without permission.”

“Listen, I’ve been asked to remove this stuff, ok? So move out of the way.”

You swallow back your irritation, ready to conjure up every ounce of antagonism, but you’re halted in your need for confrontation by a giddy tone.

“Ah, Professor.”

You turn back to face an uncharacteristically smirking Dean Yaeger: a self-satisfied smug that would deserve to be wiped right out of his face. It makes you fear the worst.

“I’m sorry to announce to you that Dr. Stanz, Dr. Venkman, and Dr. Spengler have departed our university,” he declares, voice devoid of any empathy.

“Departed?” you ask. “Did they quit?”

“Oh no,” he laughs. “We’ve terminated their contracts. The psychology pole deserves better than three frauds ridiculing our university.”

It is, indeed, the worst that could happen. Baffled, you watch as the dean gives directions to the workers with a large smile. You’ve never wanted to hit someone more.

“Frauds?” you scoff, trailing behind him. “Dr. Stantz has a doctorate in parapsychology, so does Dr. Venkman. Dr. Spengler graduated from this very university and possesses several diplomas notably in nuclear engineering and psychology. What makes you possibly think they don’t deserve their places here?”

Another worker almost bumps into you. You glare at them.

“While I admire your lovely attempt at defending the undefendable, the decision is taken. This room will be emptied and used by actual scientists.”

The dean has started making his way out of the room, radiating self-satisfaction and throwing prideful looks at everything his eyes come across. You run after him, pushed forward by this revolting sight.

“Those files are their own research! You can’t take them away without consulting with them first! Yes, they were working for this university, but it’s still years of their work that you’re just confiscating.”

The smirk he gives you makes you regret your words instantly. “Since you’re so willing to maintain your questionable relationship with the three of them, you won’t see any problem with being entrusted with those files? I’m sure you can return them in person.”

“Questiona–” you stutter, but Dean Yaeger claps his hands obnoxiously.

“It’s settled then.”

Shit.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Accepting to take care of Dr. Venkman, Dr. Stantz, and Dr. Spengler’s stuff had been both your good deed of the month and a middle finger at the face of Dean Yaeger. Stuffing piles of boxes in your tiny car hadn’t been easy. Especially since the dean had decided to dump everything in front of the university, grinning all along, savoring his cruel little prank. It says a lot about the actual interest Columbia University has in the work of its researchers.

There were at least over thirty different boxes, filled to the brim with research papers, littered all around your apartment. Obviously, Yaeger had made sure to take back all equipment – broken or not, leaving you with pounds of paper stored in their cardboard containers.

That is to say, after a month, you're starting to regret it.

The cluster of your home is slowly but surely disrupting your peace of mind. It’s almost as if the air has been saturated by dust and cardboard specks, the lack of luminosity not helping. Browsing through research papers and ordering everything has been fun at first, your curiosity satisfied, but you couldn’t decently keep digging through personal stuff. Therefore, you stopped, and now you loathe the view of these boxes.

The problem is that you have absolutely no idea where the three men went, and even on your deathbed, no one would witness you ask the dean for information. You simply can’t believe they would just switch universities, despite it being the ‘logical’ course of action. Mainly because Yaeger would behave like a goddamn leech and talk shit about them ‘till all universities in the country know about their turbulent history. You hoped for one of them to drop by your department but no one ever showed up.

Opening the door to your apartment and immediately feeling dejected at the view of the stacked boxes, you let out a sigh, getting rid of your work clothes and falling head first on your couch. You grab the TV remote, zapping mindlessly before deciding to let the device run in the background as you stand up to prepare something to eat.

During the small amount of time you’ve spent with the doctors this month, you’ve learned more about spooky theories and proton cages than about their actual life stories. Well, sort of. Dr. Stantz was certainly the most open of them all.

“Have you ever experienced a paranormal experience before?” he had asked, one morning, as he leaned conspiratorially towards you.

“I don’t think so?” you replied.

He had then talked extensively about a plethora of incidents, most notably a sponge migration which he’d assured was clear proof of paranormal activity. You had simply nodded, not wanting to question nor deter his enthusiasm. You quickly noticed – despite Dr. Spengler’s eclectic choices of study which could testify about his interest in science in general, Dr. Stantz remained the most passionate of the two; his obsessions towards specific subjects going further than a simple craving for knowledge on a Sunday afternoon. He kept lending you books on the supernatural which you had to decline after a fifth one joined the pile on your bedside table. It made wonder if the man didn’t own a secret bookshop somewhere. It left you with a sour aftertaste, knowing you had some of his prized possessions in your bedroom but couldn’t return them.

Dr. Venkman was– well… he was something else entirely. If Dr. Stantz was eager to share clever insights, Venkman was eager to share made-up stories. The diplomas on the wall did attest to his title of ‘Doctor’ but he couldn’t be more detached from it. Oh, he was researching psychological phenomena alright, but never knowledge for knowledge’s sake or even out of pure professionalism as you could expect from a researcher. If psychology books were leafed through, it was for manipulation tactics and to weaponize the uses of sugary words. In that, he was talented.

“Is it my time to interview the case subject?”

It was your third time in Weaver Hall. Both Dr. Stantz and Dr. Spengler had looked up from their ‘ghost trap’ schematics as Venkman took place in the chair in front of you.

“You never do interviews,” Dr. Stantz had said, deadpan.

“I feel magnanimous today.”

Venkman was a case study on its own, a study you weren’t willing to commit to. You had trouble understanding his true intentions most of the time. In the end, he remained the most enigmatic of the three, despite a boastful, overly dramatic persona (All the world’s a stage!). In the end, you couldn’t genuinely despise the man when he was driving away nosy students and even nosier teachers with phlegm, or when, during his rare excursions in the lab, he would bring sweet treats and coffee.

As for Dr. Spengler, well… he was brilliant and devoted to his work. Alike Dr. Stantz, although sporadically, he would sometimes get caught in a tirade of explanations and postulates. Every day, you resented the apprehension that staved off your second meeting for he could make your neurons flare and burst into ideas that’d spin in your head fast enough to weave entirely new conceptions. You were somewhat drunk on the feeling, making you distracted which even your colleagues noticed, embarrassingly enough. It all ended up in a self-deprecating mantra that led you away from Weaver Hall and back to the arms of your students and lab partners.

Now, they are gone, and you have no idea how to reach out.

“Are you troubled by strange noises in the middle of the night?”

You know Dr. Spengler has spent his entire life either studying for new degrees or researching. Universities are probably all he has ever known, and that makes you wonder how he’s managing the whole thing. Maybe he was hired by another university; with his degrees, it shouldn’t be too hard, despite what happened. Damn it, you should have given either of them your number. What if he’s already halfway across the country by now?

“Do you experience feelings of dread in your basement or attic?”

 What the–

You glide out of your kitchen, spatula in hand, almost falling as your sock-clad feet slide on the wooden floor.

“If you or any of your family ever seen a spook, specter–”

“You’re fucking with me.”

As the three of them stand inside your TV offering ghost-hunting services, it makes you wonder if they didn’t take things a tad too far – or too seriously, this time.

“Call the Ghostbusters! We’re ready to believe you!”

Well, you certainly don’t believe it.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Phoning the place has been like stepping into another dimension. You’ve been bombarded with words you’ve never heard in any discussion, except in Dr Stantz and Dr Spengler’s endless chatter about compendia and other mystical publications. 

“Is your haunting an apparition, poltergeist, phantasm, wraith, banshee, demon, specter, tortured soul, or–”

“Excuse me but–”

“For your information, we do not summon dead family members.”

“I’m not calling for that–”

“Wait, hold, please. No Dr. Venkman I haven’t–”

And that was the end of the conversation. It left you with a strong puzzling sensation and a definitive confirmation of your aversion to discussions happening over the phone. The secretary never called back and you were secretly glad, leaving you time to summon all of your courage and go there directly. Which you did… eventually.

Funny how when you’re not searching for something, it comes to you from every angle. After discovering the strange choice of reconversion the doctors took, you were bombarded by advertisements, radio talks and covers of magazines. The men have managed to put all of New York in their pocket, and half if not as many ghosts in their traps. You’ve never been a firm believer in specters but Dr. Spengler and Dr. Stantz had talked extensively about them and their prototype to finally be able to catch one. You’ve been more interested in the physics aspect of it all; Dr. Spengler has been more than willing to explain and you’ve been more than willing to add your own theories.

You now stand in front of their headquarters, preparing to face them. And once again–

“Hey, it’s you!”

–it’s Dr. Stantz who nudges you in the right direction. The man smiles widely, face darkened by car oil and dirt, a crooked cigarette hanging from his lip. His uniform is equally as dirty, and he looks more like a mechanic than a ghost hunter… but no one has ever been a ghost hunter before so, what do you know?

“Hi, Dr. Stantz.” You smile. “It’s been a while.”

You can see he’s struggling to not pat your shoulder in a welcoming gesture. “Man, we thought we’d never get to see you again! Spengs’ gonna be so happy to see you!”

Somehow, you have trouble imagining Dr. Spengler overjoyed or overexcited. It’s not in his character.

“Come on!” He gestures for you to follow him. You’re barely inside that he has already strode through half the hall. “Sorry for the mess! It’s so hectic these days.”

“I saw the articles,” you say, taking in your surroundings.

At the front desk sits a fashionable lady whom you guess to be the secretary. She’s busy answering the phone, munching at her pencil and looking exhausted. She barely acknowledges your presence as you follow Dr. Stantz up the stairs.

The man never stopped talking. “Venkman is out right now; he wanted to check on one of our clients. The woman had blood dripping from her chimney, can you believe that?”

You clearly have trouble to. The blood part, not the seducing clients part.

Upstairs is as messy as the hall if not worse. It rivals the state of Weaver Hall. Dr. Stantz throws his extinguished cigarette in a nearby bin before grabbing a paper napkin to wipe his oily hands.

“Egon!”

Dr. Spengler appears from behind a desk, light on his forehead, and invested in organizing a large number of electric cables. “Ray, I found the problem with the Aura-Analyzer–”

He pauses when he sees you, which you can’t say that you did, blinded by the light of his lamp. “Hi,” you say, smiling while protecting your eyes.

“Oh,” he answers, turning it off. “Hello.”

The uneasy silence that follows throws you all the way back to your first meeting as if a month of socializing had suddenly vanished in the span of four tiny weeks.

“Do you have issues with a ghost?” he ends up asking, putting down his torch.

Your eyes widen in surprise, unsure of how to react. Dr. Stantz, however, lets out a strong laugh so you chuckle awkwardly to echo him. “No, no ghost.”

“It’s crazy that you came in today,” Dr. Stantz says, throwing away the dirtied napkins. “We have to improve the storage facility and we need to be able to boost the grid while saving as much power–”

As he speaks, he disappears behind a wall, the sound of running water overlapping his words. You stay silent, watching Dr. Spengler rearrange electric cables until his friend emerges from the bathroom, clean-faced.

“But anyway, Spengs can give you the big tour,” he declares, grinning. “I have a check-up to do at Tai Hong Lau! If we’re lucky, I’ll come back with dinner as well.”

This time, he gives you a clap on the shoulder before running to the stairs but turning back at the last minute. “You’re staying to eat with us right? The owner has the best Peking duck in town, I’m sure you’ll love it! See you later!”

And then he’s gone, leaving you alone with Dr. Spengler. The distance separating you makes the room feels even bigger. You clear your throat. “I see you were able to create your ghost trap after all.”

He nods. “The day we were… dismissed, we managed to have enough readings on our first supernatural encounter to finalize the prototype.”

“Incredible,” you praise before realizing how uncaring you might sound. “I mean, I’m sorry about the whole Dean Yaeger situation.” 

Dr. Spengler shrugs, stepping out of the corner of the room he crammed himself in. “There’s nothing you could have done to change the outcome.”

You decide not to comment. There’s a certain tension behind his words that makes you think he might truly have been upset about the situation.

“So, what’s up with the… grid?” you ask, looking at the different types of equipment stacked in the room.

He does sound relieved by the change of subject. “The Containment System is the storage facility we use for paranormal entities. Lately, the growing number of stored entities has put a strain on the main chamber.” As he explains, he searches in a pile of paper, extracting a large sheet. “The simplest course of action would be to enlarge the room but in case of an exponential increase in psychokinetic energy, it wouldn’t be possible to expand indefinitely and I’m not even addressing the energy consumption problem.”

You saunter closer to him. Half of your brain is focused on how easily he slipped back into his rambling habits. Perhaps not all socialization has been lost, you muse delightfully.

“What’s the worst that could happen? An explosion?” you joke, hands on your hips.

There’s a moment of hesitation. You stare at him in disbelief. “Don’t tell me–”

“The system has a high-voltage laser grid.”

You gape at him for a second before clearing your throat. “Uh, you’ll have to tell me more I’m afraid.”

On the table, he puts down what seems to be the blueprint of the storage chamber. You study it from the side.

“PKE bounds together the negatively charged particles composing a ghost. Our two laser grids…“ He ignores your bewildered expression. “…prevent the entities from escaping.”

He continues, “But we’re completely dependent on the city’s power grid.”

“No redundancies?” you ask, starting to see the problem.

He shakes his head. “We had no way to generate our own power supply when we moved in – we still don’t, and we weren’t planning on a strong surge in PKE.” There’s a tremor at the corner of his eye, perhaps from tiredness. “It makes us vulnerable in case of a power outage.”

It all sounds very hazardous. “I’m surprised you still haven’t had Public Services knocking at your door, with you powering high-voltage grids and…” You throw another look at the blueprint. “…a penning trap of this size.”

Dr. Spengler looks up solemnly. “We have been drawing attention.”

That’s one way to put it, you think. “Won’t you also have problems with your… residents in there?”

“It’s complicated to assess the level of ionization inside the chamber,” he explains, lost in his musings. “I do daily samplings to monitor psychokinetic energy but it’s a time-consuming process and as minimum as it is, there’s still a risk of slippage. Stronger entities could attack the grid from the inside, despite the threat of–”

He comes to a sudden stop. “...perhaps I can just show you. If you’re willing to.”

Blinking away the feeling that is suspiciously looking like infatuation, you smile, trying to convey what you hope is a convincing agreement. “Of course.”

Dr. Spengler nods, putting away the scheme of the Containment System as you stare, unable to stop yourself. Funny how history repeats itself, you think, already picturing how you’re going to neglect your work just to hear him talk more. You can’t bring yourself to care the right amount. The concretization of it all – this whole Ghostbusters thing – is exhilarating. It was fascinating when it was mere speculations but now it’s all real. Right here, in an old firehouse in the middle of New York, are new forms of life; new not in age but in terms of discovery. Your work has always been focused on the future, so this is just another step toward it. It’s – funnily enough, all thanks to the past: the dead, the undead and the spiritual.

“Say, Dr. Spengler.” He turns back. “Have you been able to learn more about that psychokinetic energy?”

“Ghost energy can take various forms. I don’t have a clear idea of what it could be yet.” He frowns. “Which makes the improvement of the unit even more complex.”

“If you and Dr. Stantz are ok with the idea,” you say, heart beating faster. “I’d like to study this matter further. Apart from the effect on the valences, there could be laser-nuclei reactions that are worth looking into, as well as interactions between the entities themselves. Perhaps, it’s too soon to theorize about potential ‘ghost particles’ though...”

Dr. Spengler looks pensive for a minute, and you’re afraid he’ll chastity you – gently, but he just walks closer, extending an arm. “I’ll show you the unit, and we can talk about a new schematic.”

The ‘we’ is a heartwarming promise. “Lead the way, Dr. Spengler.”

As you approach the stairs, he has a small smile on his face. “Egon, please.”

You’ll have to tell him about his stuff at your place someday.

[pandorkful]

Replaying Lunar on stream has been kinda wild, like man there are some things I either missed 20 years ago or completely forgot about.

Like how rotten these punk kids are! I feel like a mortified chaperone leading a field trip that's gone completely off the rails, half the time I'm reading out their dialog. Kyle and Nash are definitely the worst offenders, but Jessica's earned herself a slap on the wrist a couple times too.

Nall can be annoyingly childish, but he's not dipped into the abhorrent social behavior nearly as much. Mia and Alex remain on good terms with me, by being blessedly quiet most of the time.

I miss Ramus, he was my good boy! The one braincell that held the party together! He gets a bad rap for some misogynistic comments he makes, but those get completely blown out of the water by Kyle's toxic 90's "it's funny to hate women" masculinity. And to be honest, Ramus' two points of character flaw effectively cancel themselves out:

Whines that Luna shouldn't come on the adventure because "girls just keep guys from having fun." (A very mild and childish form of misogyny. )

Later hires a squad of bunnygirls to work in his store, proving that maybe he's grown and learned that his prior protestations were unfounded. (And his employees adore him, so he's definitely not mistreating them!)

And then there's Luna. Dear sweet, angry and tormented Luna. She also earned a few slaps on the wrist due to some carelessly judemental comments, but was mostly well behaved while she was with us.

Some of her dialog was written to be nagging, but I chose to interpret those moment as raw anger and it really adds to her character I think. She has every right to be angry, growing up in the worst village on Lunar!! Surrounded by weirdos who shipped her with her brother-by-adoption from the moment she showed up!!!

Oof, that's a plot quirk that I didn't pick up on the first time I played the game. WD did a decent job trying to bury it, but there are a few moments of "I miss OUR parents, Alex" that really had me feeling the Folger's holiday awkwardness.

Tbh, the main thing WD did to hide the lede was avoid publishing that Luna and Alex have the same surname (something that later game localizers didn't bother hiding,) and calling Luna a foundling as often as possible. Idk, maybe it's just me, but if you grow up from infanthood together, nursed by the same woman, and call the adults raising you "mom and dad".... you're siblings. It doesn't matter that you're not related by blood, you experienced the sibling relationship dynamic and therefore it is still incestuous to date eachother. Ew.

More worryingly, there's the argument that the Noah's didn't raise Luna as their daughter, but just as a "foundling." What does that entail? A cold, emotionally neglectful distance. An orphan kept close at hand only for her miraculous ability to keep their "real" kid from crying 24/7. (According to one early tie-in manga.) That's worse, I hate that. Though.... that would explain a lot of Luna's anger and frustration.

Does the second scenario make a romantic relationship between Luna and Alex okay? No. If anything, it makes it even worse.

It's too bad there's basically no mental health support on Lunar, because all these kids need intensive counseling of one sort or another.

Last night was the first appearance of Tempest and Fresca, two kids that I always forget, like, exist in the game. They're introduced like they matter, but, well... if you stick with my streams, we'll probably uncover why I'm so lukewarm on those characters either this upcoming Sunday or the Sunday after that (depending on whether Myght's tower is as annoying as I remember it being or not.)

For all my grousing, I still love the cast of Lunar so much. They are an absolute mess, in a way I don't see from other rpgs of that era or any other era if I'm honest. An endearing mess. I could just use a little less of some of the worst stuff that was mostly left behind in the 90's and early 00's.

On the other hand, sometimes it's good to be reminded of the things society has grown past. Because nostalgia can be a very dangerous thing.

(Also, I really need to work on writing out my Queer Lunar Thesis. Because I've got a queer reading for every one of these characters. Maybe even Tempest and Fresca? We'll have to get through their story before I can make up my mind on them. It'll be hilarious if they turn out to be the only hetero cis characters on the moon.)

[volturiwolf]

Ona - Bojan Cvjetićanin x fem!reader

A/N: Contains swearing and self-criticism

A/N 2: This is my interpretation of "Ona", which goes parallel to "Ne Bi Smel"

A/N 3: Everything is fiction and does not depict the real people or situations

I didn't realize I had fallen asleep until I was forcefully woken up by none other than Kris Guštin, who shook me with one hand while slapping me with the other. 

"Bojan! Bojan! Cvjetićanin! Wake up! You're having a bad dream again!"

I grunted, letting him know that I had already woken up so that he would stop hitting me on my face. He didn't stop, so I slapped him back until he did.

"Ei! Why'd you do that?" Kris sounded offended.

"Because you wouldn't stop!"

"Because I thought you were still asleep. Open your eyes if you woke up then."

I grunted again. I was in no mood to open my eyes, mostly because I knew they'd be still red from last night's crying session. But I was pretty sure Kris would continue slapping me if I didn't, so I eventually did.

"Shit, dude. You look like shit."

"Yeah, no shit. I know I look awful. Can you leave me on my own for a few hours?"

"Bojči, we have to go on stage in 45 minutes," Jure whispered from my left side, slowly and carefully petting my head. "We let you sleep a bit more than usual, but you have to get ready, okay?"

Jure's voice was like a lullaby in my ear, and, though I didn't want to wake up, we had an obligation towards the fans that came to see us. I had an obligation to my friends to step out there and perform. I looked like shit and I felt like shit, but I had about 40 minutes to fix all this and make it seem like I was fine.

It was part of the tour routine by now: wake up around noon, attempt to make a decent coffee for Martin and me, have Martin drive us to the studio, check the last details, have lunch, have someone from the crew pick us up and drive us to the concert location, have soundcheck, get ready, perform, gather the equipment, have something to eat, drive back home, get ready for bed, and go to sleep.

At least, that’s what the others did. I barely remember eating half of my lunch in the past few weeks or even going to sleep at a reasonable hour without having balled my eyes out before. We were on tour for the past few months, trying to establish ourselves more and more within the north ex-Yugoslavian area.

It was probably the worst time to feel such a self-loath but I deserved it after everything I did to her.

“How could you, Bojan? I loved you! I trusted you! You said you’d never hurt me like this! You said you were different! That I was different! You said what we had was special!”

Her voice was still echoing inside my mind, even after this long; a reminder of my guilt; a reminder that I was the worst person for what I did to her; for how much I hurt her.

“Joker Out, out in 5’!” Our stage manager shouted, and I had no choice but to put on a fake smile and drag myself out on the stage.

I honestly dreaded every time I had to show my face anywhere, whether that was on stage, in front of the fans, or the studio, in front of my friends. Performing was a nice distraction, though temporary, because every time we got off stage, my thoughts would turn back to her and guilt would eat me up again.

It was almost the middle of August, and we were going through a very hot summer already, but I felt such a cold and loneliness in my heart. And it was all because of me.

“I don’t want to see you ever again! Here! Take your stuff and leave! Leave and don’t you ever try to come back! I hate you, Bojan Cvjetićanin! I hate you and I don’t want to see you ever again!”

“Bojan? Bojan?” I felt someone shaking me again. I looked up to see Jan.

“Wha-? What? What’s going on?”

“The guys and I thought we’d go down by the lake to grab something to eat before we drive back to Ljubljana. Do you want to come?”

“Ehm, nah, not really. I’m pretty exhausted. I’m just gonna head back home.”

“Okay, wait here. I’ll let Kiki know so he can drive you back.”

“No need. I don’t feel so tired. I’ll drive myself. I’ll take Martin’s car.”

“Are you sure? I don’t think you’re…okay enough to drive.” Was it because I lost all of my motivation to live?

“I’m fine, Jan. Honestly. I feel okay enough to drive. It’ll help clear up my mind anyway.”

Jan sighed heavily. “You need to forget her, man. It will only cause you pain.”

I swallowed the tears and sob that were about to burst out of me. “I’ll be fine,” I mumbled before turning around and walking out of the dressing room.

.*.·:·.☽✧✦✧☾.·:·.*.·:·.☽✧✦✧☾.·:·.*.

The drive back home was irritatingly long, despite being only one and a half hours in actuality. I couldn’t stop thinking about her, squeezing the steering wheel so hard, I almost felt like I’d break my hands.

I tried to put on some music from a CD that was left behind and forgotten to ease my mind, but the moment the first song started playing, I stopped the CD faster than I thought I would.

It was one of her favorite songs, “Sorry” by Halsey. It was the CD mix I made her and gifted her on our 4-month anniversary. She loved music so much and I thought I’d make her a CD for her to remember me by whenever I couldn’t be with her.

I put a great effort into finding songs she loved and collecting them all in one simple CD. I went through all the songs she liked, her albums, her music history, her likes on her social media; whatever I could find related to music.

She was the first one to hear our album before its release date. She was the one I danced “Umazane Misli” with, and the one I wrote “A Sem Ti Povedal” for, among others. She was my muse, my inspiration, my love. And I fucked everything up, for just a careless, random night with a random woman.

It broke my heart when I eventually had to confess my infidelity to her, in fear of her finding out from someone else. But I knew she hurt much more than I did, as she started trembling and breaking down in tears in front of me.

I tried to hold her; to keep her close to my heart, but she only pushed me away, yelling and crying, crying and yelling. She had to push me out of her apartment, and I did not resist at all. I knew I was in the wrong here, and I needed to give her some space and time to breathe and clear her mind.

She did eventually, a few days later, when she sent me a text “We’re done. It’s over.”

I wasn’t the same man after that. It was only after I read her text that I realized the gravity of her words. Four words that pierced through my heart. A hole that’s still bleeding. A hole that will never be whole again.

She never wanted to see me again. I hurt her, so she hurt me back. She now hated me and I was sure that there was nothing I could do to win her back.

So what was I even doing now? Standing under her window, desperate, with no excuse or a word to say to her? Why was I doing this to her? Why was I doing this to myself? There was no point in standing under her apartment, waiting to get a peak of her shadow passing by the window.

But there I was, so desperate to know she was alive and doing well, despite me not being there to hug and support her. It was too late for that anyway. But my ego wouldn’t let me walk away from her. That, and the fact that I was still so painfully in love with her.

So, for the next few months, I spent every night I could waiting under her window, watching, hoping, waiting. I was hoping she would be feeling the same way as I did, but she never texted again after that last text she sent me on that awful day.

The band was progressing; we were getting more known and we were gaining more and more fans. We even presented our first album at a huge concert in Cvetličarna, which was broadcast later by RTV Slovenija.

But that was still not enough to make me forget her. If anything, it made me think more of her; how I wish she was still in the first row, giving me strength, courage, and power to give my everything on stage.

And the months passed, and I got to host and sing EMA 2022, which was a huge deal for me and the band as a result. And I had my fair share of public and private relationships in the meanwhile, but none of them were her. 

She was truly special. Every day with her was like the first time I ever saw her. And how I did everything I could to find out her favorite spots so I could “randomly” show up when she was there. And I managed to score a date with her, eventually, after months of trying to pursue her. And after a week, I asked her to be mine. Because I knew I couldn’t just let her go. I had to be with her.

And she agreed and we had a wonderful few years together until I made the biggest mistake of my life which I still regret to this day. It felt like a lot of my inspiration was lost along with her.

And then, like a spark of realization and inspiration, I thought I’d pour all my feelings and thoughts on paper. And that’s how Ona was born.

.*.·:·.☽✧✦✧☾.·:·.*.·:·.☽✧✦✧☾.·:·.*.

Križanke was just around the corner - a huge sold-out show where we’d finally present our newest album, Demoni. Between that and Martin’s inevitable departure from the band, we were constantly on our feet and our phones, trying to figure out what we were going to do next.

Martin was still indecisive, not knowing if Križanke would be his last concert - he kept saying he would try to find a solution and maybe delay his master’s admission, just until everything regarding the band was settled. But I knew my best friend; I knew he was anxious and scared and worried for us, but I wanted what was best for him, even if that meant we weren’t going to be playing together anymore.

And I was willing to sacrifice this part of my happiness for his happiness. After all, we wouldn’t be strangers; we’d still be close to each other, texting and video calling. I was willing to endure everything because Martin really stood by my side ever since she left me. Not that the others didn’t, but Martin knew exactly what I was feeling about her, and how my stupid actions messed everything up.

Every time I imagined having children, I always imagined her as their mother. Every time I said we were going to grow old and still be playing in this band, I always imagined her as my biggest fan, in the front row, supporting and cheering me. Every time I thought of my future, she was a part of it, in every possible scenario.

Only Martin knew that. Only Martin reprimanded me the way he did because he was the only one I had confessed how much she meant to me. Only he knew the extent I was willing to take my life to just to have her by my side. And only he knew how badly I had messed up.

I only told the others that we broke up because of “the band’s hectic schedule”, because I was too embarrassed to tell them how I betrayed the woman I loved so deeply and so wholly, just for a stupid, drunken mistake - not that was even an excuse.

But that was then, and Križanke was now. And, once again, I had to gather up my pieces, put on a smile, and let the show go on.

.*.·:·.☽✧✦✧☾.·:·.*.·:·.☽✧✦✧☾.·:·.*.

“Križanke! You’ve been amazing so far! We’re about halfway through the setlist and I’d like to talk to you about this next song.”

The crowd in front of me was cheering so loudly, but I felt like a deer in headlights, gulping the nonexistent saliva in my dry mouth, feeling my heartbeat rising by the second. I turned around and took a big gulp from the water bottle in front of Jure’s drums.

“This next song is kind of a confession. Last year, my ex-girlfriend broke up with me.” Screams and booing were heard from some parts of the audience. “And it was entirely my fault. Because she loved me, and I didn’t appreciate her enough. And I made a mistake.” Some gasps were now heard. “And I regret it to this day. But I know I cannot fix this in any way, not with a song, not with anything. But, at least, I can let her know that I never loved anyone like I loved her, and this song is for her. Ona. Moja ljubav.”

“Stanem ispod njenog prozora

Jedna njena senka da me spasi očaja.”

I was desperate for just a glimpse of happiness that her shadow alone would bring me. Even though I was not acting like myself anymore.

“Snegovi u avgustu sad po meni padaju

Dok tebe sunce greje, mi amore.”

Last August I spent almost every night waiting for her to show up, to notice me, to talk to me as I was standing under her window. But she never did.

“Znaj, bebo znaj

Celu noć sam plakao zbog tebe

Taj osećaj

Da za mene živo ti se jebe

Ubija me.”

I wasn’t afraid to tell anyone how my own mistake messed me and everything up; how I cried for her because I loved and still love her; how I knew she wouldn’t care about me anymore, and I cannot blame her for that. I doubt I would if the situation was the other way around. 

“Kažu vreme leči rane sve

Al' ne kažu koliko da se odviknem od nje

Godina je prošla, još vraća se u san

Vrti kao film sećanje na onaj dan.”

It’s been over a year since she broke up with me. Over a year since everyone was telling me that I’d get over her with time, because “time is supposed to heal everything”. My mind still keeps on replaying the day I told her over and over again, as a kind of punishment, a reminder that I was the one responsible for my misery from the very beginning.

“Znaj, bebo znaj

Celu noć sam plakao zbog tebe

Taj osećaj

Da za mene živo ti se jebe

Ubija me, ubija me.”

That was the only thing I could repeat over and over. I had accepted my fate and the fact that she wasn’t going to come back, and I had to live with that. I would continue to suffer - I knew that - but I also knew I deserved it.

Maybe one day, she would come back. Maybe one day, I could win her back. But until then, all I could do was hope.

.*.·:·.☽✧✦✧☾.·:·.*.·:·.☽✧✦✧☾.·:·.*.

What Bojan - or anyone else, for the matter - did not know was that right there, somewhere in the back of that Križanke crowd, was a young woman whose heart was broken irrevocably a year ago by the only man she ever fell in love with. The man she’d sacrifice everything and anything for. The man she could see her future with. The man she still loved so deeply, but it was far too late to tell him that.

“Celu noć si plakao zbog mene

Celu noć si plakao zbog mene.”

So she did the only thing she could. She kept on singing along with the crowd; singing and enjoying the songs. The songs she had the privilege to hear first. The songs that made her love him even more than she already did. The songs he once wrote for her.

[nostalgia-tblr]

20 Questions For Writers

I got tagged by @thot-son-of-odin for this!

1. How many works do you have on AO3?

412 (plus some Anonymous works that aren’t counted in that number)

2. What’s your total AO3 word count?

777,634

3. What fandoms do you write for?

Doctor Who (old and new), various Star Treks, the MCU, and a few others including Elementary and M*A*S*H.

4. What are your top five fics by kudos?

1. Trust the Devil

2. Four Times the Doctor and Clara Shared a Bed and One Time They Didn't

3. Locks And Revelations

4. Responsibility

5. How To Walk On Eggshells

5. Do you respond to comments? Why or why not?

I didn’t used to but I try to now. It took me a while to get past “if I thank them for the kind words that means I agree and they can call me big-headed!” but now I think perhaps the commenter and I will become friends, as though this was still the LJ days or whatever.

6. What’s the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

7. What’s the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

I am answering these together to say that with 412 works it’s rly hard to come up with an answer because I’m bound to forget something that’s either angstier or happier than the one I pick D:

8. Do you get hate on your fic?

No, despite writing occasionally Problematic stuff. Maybe I’m just lucky with that? I think on AO3 the worst I’ve ever got is a comment or two on Ten/Reinette fic about how it is a TERRIBLE pairing and how dare anyone write it. I think I deleted those, or if I haven’t then I meant to, because fuck it they’re properly tagged so the enraged anons must have deliberately chosen something that would offend them.

This sort of thing is why I still have an automatic flinch reaction when people tell me they like Rose Tyler.

9. Do you write smut?

Of course not! I write very thoughtful and insightful character studies in which the characters being studied fuck, that’s COMPLETELY different!

10. Do you write crossovers?

Not often, I’m more into the idea of crossovers than actually writing (or reading) them.

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

I don’t think so.

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

Yeah, a few times.

13. Have you ever co-written a fic?

Yes but not for years.

14. What‘s your all-time favourite ship?

I’m going to say Doctor/TARDIS because that’s a safe answer to such questions.

15. What’s the WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

Never say never – I’ve had ideas that did finally get written a decade later.

16. What’s your writing strengths?

I think it’s dialogue, which is also usually the easiest part to write. (I am a bit of a Fic Snob about how characters should sound like themselves in fic, including in AU fics where is even more important and also if they go OOC in those then that should be the point that’s being made.)

17. What’s your writing weaknesses?

The bits that aren’t dialogue. Urgh, why must things need to be described! Why must I tell the reader who is speaking!

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language for a fic?

Well I usually see it in the context of “a phrase or word in the language we assume the characters are actually speaking” (mostly pet-names, for some reason) and that just makes me go “So what language are they speaking in the rest of this story? In the rest of this sentence, even?” Not a fan of this, nah.

19. First fandom you wrote for?

Star Wars! :O

20. Favourite fic you’ve ever written?

I dunno, there’s too many of them (same problem as before).

I tag anyone what wants to do this meme!

[cerastes]

Man that autism post resonates so hard for me rn. Had a 'friend' of mine start randomly calling me an "egg" and "in denial" of being autistic because I... enjoy asmr and rock in my seat sometimes. Like straight up arguing with me over it in front of other people. It was so uncomfortable and really upset a few of our mutual autistic friends. Idk what this trend is but I hate it so much

No yeah that's outright disgusting, like it's one thing if someone autistic makes a gallow's humor post about it or not even necessarily something gallow's-ish, just, you know, talking about it, making a humorous spin on it, the works, that's totally fine, we all do it about our own life experiences. It's another thing entirely to make it into a trend or "fashion-nize" it as some sort of quirky personality trait that makes you a 'freaking awesome bean' or whatever and then do what this acquaintance of yours did, like, without even getting started with the use of 'egg' here and calling someone else an 'egg in denial', that's a whole other can of worms by itself, just going at someone with the whole "you're actually X you just don't know it yet" is incredibly irresponsible. One of my sincerely least favorite arcs of Tumblr is when this was happening to ADHD, and having to see a lot of friends reblog those posts like "oh no I identify to so many of these posts... Perhaps I Am One Of The Abnormals" like man, read the room, I'm The Abnormals, and I don't hold it against anybody, because I know for a fact that none of them meant anything negative by it nor did they mean to insult, and I know this because I know my friends, but it was a tough period of time to have a dashboard, and I can imagine anyone less secure about themselves, of their conditions, or of their online social group feeling upset or offended by it.

It's like (the most mainstream) mental health things all go through their own turn in the Trend Spotlight, and right now, it's autism, before that, it was ADHD, and many years ago, in a real Tumblr Classic, it was the whole anti-recovery stance ("um, drinking water isn't gonna help my depression, KAREN") that even some supposedly educated-ass people I personally know backed up for some reason that transmogrifies me into The Jonker for half a second before I calm down ("uhhh maybe some people had a bad time with their own therapy :(" shut the hell up and leave people making helpful little posts about stuff that's helped them alone). And even before that, it was the Wild West of people going ham self-diagnosis with absolutely everything they could, objectively the worst period, and it wasn't just self-diagnosis, it was sometimes diagnosis others, for instance, one person that shall remain politely unnamed one time responded to a vent post I made many years ago "hey those are signs of depression, you should get that checked out".

To me.

Not just an actual professional psychologist that literally does this shit for a living, but most importantly, someone they don't really know on the internet. That was one of the few times I've actually gotten so pissed I went off, because holy shit my man you can't just diagnose people like that, you may be unknowingly predisposing someone who otherwise was just having a bad day into actually developing depression, which is a thing that happens.

I'm not going to say "stop talking about my field reeee" on the contrary, mental health needs more discussion about it, but it needs to be given the proper respect a topic as weighty and sensitive as mental health deserves. Properly inform yourself and, to help with this, ask. Ask mental health professionals, ask autistic people, ask ADHD people, ask people with OCD, ask people with Schizophrenia, ask them what's up, and always keep in mind there's no universal experience. I wish these things were universal, it'd make my job much easier and life much easier for me and many more people, but it isn't the case, so tighten your pants and do your due diligence.

[dramatic-squirrel]

Daminette December Day 20- Rage

@maribat-calendar-events

“Are you sure about this Marinette?” Tikki asked, concern for her holder clear in her voice. “You just left, but wouldn’t talking about the problem be better?” 

As she paced back and forth in her room, she barely heard Tikki over the roar of her own thoughts. “I just can’t do this right now. I mean, he’s just so… aargh! It’s just so frustrating!” she trembled. She tried to calm down with a few breathing techniques she picked up during the akuma situation, but all didn’t help. “He just always has to have the last word. And he just always has to be right about everything!” She grabbed the nearest object and threw it as hard as she could at her chaise lounge chair.

Tikki flew up in front of Marinette’s face. “Well maybe you should try to see it from his perspective? Communication is key to a healthy relationship.” Marinette just shook her head and took out her sketchbook, calm enough to at least not tear all of her pages.

“I do try. We’ve dated for six months at this point and  know more things about Damian than most people. It just feels like he never tries to see where I’m coming from.” Her sketch became rougher as she thought back to their argument.

She couldn’t get over it. His attitude, the way he treated everyone. She understood that he came from a wealthy family, and he wasn’t even that rude most of the time, just standoffish. But then he had to go around and look down on Alya like that, and that was completely unacceptable. The worst part about it was that he wouldn’t explain himself. As if what he did was obvious and that she was insane for being offended by the way he acted. 

The page tore beneath her pencil and with a huff she threw the pencil away. Setting the sketchbook down she decided she needed to let out her aggression some other way, so she grabbed her bag and left for the gym. The walk over helped calm her down slightly, and then she thought about everything all over again and she grit her teeth all over again.

Immediately upon arrival she made her way over to a punching bag and setting her things to the side for a moment, she began practicing her kicks. Ten minutes in, she didn’t feel any better but she did switch to punching instead. That’s when Damian showed up. How he found her, she didn’t know or care.

“Go away, Damian.”

“I’ve been informed that I may have been insensitive to your feelings, so I am here to apologize.”

She didn’t pause, “Did Dick tell you that? Or was it Jon?” Damian didn’t confirm nor deny it. “Either way I don’t want to hear it. You don’t even know what you're apologizing for, do you?” Sweat trickled down the back of her neck and she finally stopped. She was tired, but the rage was still there. “You’re an insensitive prick! I can’t be with someone who would treat my friends like that!” 

He was stoic in the face of her shouting. “You are right. I’m not sure why I have to be polite to a backstabber.”

“Backstabber?!”

“She all but turned her back on you when your classmate Lila entered the class. Kagami informed me about the situation. If she was willing to do it once, then she would be willing to do it again.”

The anger she felt simmered down, still there but suddenly less righteous. “She apologized for that, and she has more than made up for it to me.” Marinette couldn’t meet Damian’s gaze as she thought about those times again.

“If you’re satisfied with that, then that’s your prerogative. But, I can neither respect nor trust someone who has hurt you. If it makes you feel better, I still hate my own father for the things he has done to my siblings.”

“It doesn’t make me feel better.” She seethed, then collected herself, remembering they were still at the gym. They had already made a spectacle of themselves, it was better to not make it worse. Grabbing her stuff, she made for the exit, Damian following her. “Whatever your thoughts about my friends, the least you can do is be courteous towards them.”

Damian grabbed the door and held it open for her. “And be dishonest? I’d rather we all be on the same page and dispense with any charade of civil politeness.”

“Even for me? I just want my boyfriend and best friend to get along.” They made it to the crosswalk and waited for the light to change.

“And what about consideration for me in this situation?”

She narrowed her eyes at him. “Fine. I’ll offer a compromise. I won’t force you and Alya to get along or even meet. But if you coincidentally meet, you both have to act civilly.”

“Only if it’s in your presence, otherwise no deal.” Marinette considered the bargain. There was always a chance that he did something behind her back, but relationships were built on trust.

“Deal.” They shook on it. “And I appreciate your loyalty to me and my feelings but I can fight my own battles.”

“I saw,” he looked back to the gym. “And so can Jon. I would still maim anyone who hurt him.” Marinette rolled her eyes and then remembered why she started dating Damian in the first place, that unflinching integrity.

[redrockbluerock]

On a scale of one to ten (1 meaning the easiest and ten meaning impossible), how easy was it to bathe Baby NiGHTS and Baby Reala?

so! really funny thing. I actually have a fanfic about this exact thing more or less (it was sitting in my drafts unfinished for like months and this ask motivated me to finish it)

but! It really depends on who you are. NiGHTS goes from being an a 6 at best to most frequently a 10- She hates being bathed so much, being submerged in water scares her so bad, NiGHTS bites everyone.

Reala, if things are the way they like them, is a 2 at worst. However, they're very sensitive to smells and stuff so they'll cry endlessly if things aren't right, making them about a 5 (or a 10 if you're like Puffy).

anyway fic is under the readmore if you wanna see it without clicking that link

Hand Wash Only

According to Wizeman, the First Levels were his greatest creations; Powerful, intelligent, and with the invaluable ability to steal every kind of Ideya. 

At least, they would be. Currently they were little squirming beasts that fit in the palm of your hands. Even the younger visitors could lug them around effortlessly, even more easily than one of the nightopians. They were weak- eyes barely opened, movements clumsy and uncoordinated, incapable of flight. 

Utterly pathetic life forms. 

Currently-Currently they were filthy and needed to be washed. 

Puffy had no idea how exactly two freshly hatched nightmarens who did little more than eat and sleep could get so dirty- Jackle’s explanation was frankly incomprehensible, somehow even more so than when the deranged imbecile was composed. 

Still, she was the only one with a proper bathroom, so this had become her responsibility. Both had gotten a quick rinse to get most of the gunk off of them- plus their clothes and helms being washed, but they’d need a bit more focused cleaning to fully remove the rest. 

Reala was more difficult for Puffy to deal with- which was why she chose them first. Yes, their sibling was much more snap-happy with biting, but NiGHTS was at least quiet. 

Reala, by contrast, seemed to cry over everything.  Being held, being put back down, being hungry, being fed, the list goes on. 

Currently the offending issue was soap. It wasn’t the texture- she’d barely gotten to open the bottle before they’d begun wailing. 

Any of the bottles, actually. The second the seal was broken on a soap, they’d begin sobbing, a shrill noise that hammered into her head ruthlessly. 

Her sensitive hearing- enough to detect sounds in other nightmares- was usually a strength of hers, but this sound used it against her. 

Puffy begins humming, a small soothing tune that slowly makes Reala calm down. The hatchling twitches, their whines quieting down into small whimpers. They curl up against her palm, staring at her with damp eyes. She sighs. 

“Picky little soul, aren’t you darling?” 

“Bbyeh.” She sets the bottle back down, before reaching for one final bottle. 

“Look, darling, I’m running out of options. You better like this one or we’re both going to be miserable.” With that, she opens the bottle. Reala wiggles a bit, before-

A squeak.

Just one. 

She blinks, tilting the bottle closer to Reala. They sniff at it a few times, before looking up at her. Reala mewls- a weak little sound, but notably not crying. 

“Of course you like that one, it’s difficult to make.” She gently pets their head, the hatchling’s eyes dampening a bit. “You have quite the refined taste considering how young you are.”

“Myehhhhhh.” 

“Let’s get to washing you then, yes?” She pours a small glob of soap onto the hatchling’s belly before lathering it up, careful to not get any in their throat. Reala is surprisingly quiet, minus a few chirps from their face being touched by a damp towel. Still, they’re very cooperative, especially when she begins to rinse them off. They splash a bit in the water, cooing with excitement. Puffy tilts her head slightly, surprised by this behavior. 

“You… certainly have some secrets, darling.” 

“Byu!”

Given their small size, Reala is wrapped in a washcloth to dry off, still burying them in quite a bit of fabric. 

Reala snuggles into the towel, purring loud enough that their entire body was shaking. Despite being arguably louder than their cries, the rumbling was a welcome reprieve from the piercing noise. 

Soon enough, Reala’s helm is slipped back onto their head, hiding their nubby horns and tuft of hair. A peep of protest comes from the hatchling before their vest is once again on their body, snug on their miniscule form. Their tiny hands are slipped into their gauntlets, gently locked onto their arms to keep the child from losing them. Boots were placed on tiny paws- earning Puffy a wiggly kick from Reala, and their collar was placed back on, the hatchling’s head tucked safely into the fabric. 

“Time to rest, darling.” With that, she headed back to her bedroom, where the twins nightmare- and NiGHTS herself- currently resided. 

Their nightmare was little more than a red and violet cushion, but it still was incredibly generously sized for the two infants. 

NiGHTS was beginning to wake, eyes cracked open slightly as she wiggled around the nightmare.

She sets Reala back down next to NiGHTS, earning a bite from the purple hatchling. “Nice to see you too, dear.” NiGHTS growls, before letting go of Puffy’s fingertip. “Now it’s your turn.” Puffy scoops her up, getting another growl in response. 

Reala gives a single peep of protest at her taking away their twin before they fall asleep, too tired from the oh-so-busy job of crying. 

…

NiGHTS was afraid of the water. 

Incredibly so. 

As soon as it touched her, all the snappiness melted away, replaced by the hatchling desperately digging her tiny needle-like claws into Puffy’s skin. She’d managed to claw her way up the second level’s shoulder before stopping, burying her face in Puffy’s cheek fur. 

“Mm. Let’s try something different.” 

After a few minutes of preparation, Puffy gently pulls the hatchling away from her face. Instead of the sink having water inside, there now was a washcloth placed at the bottom, with a water jug set on its side- alongside another cloth and the soap. NiGHTS stares up at her, eyes wide and body shuddering. 

“I will try to be fast, dear.”

With that, she sets the hatchling onto the sink-cloth, NiGHTS’ claws immediately digging into the fabric. Pouring a small amount of water from the jug got a small squeak from her, but thankfully no panicked squirming.

 A small glob of soap was placed on the second washcloth, before being rubbed in- easier to have the lather ready before bothering the snappier twin. 

NiGHTS didn’t seem to care as much about scents as Reala did, not reacting until the washcloth touched her belly. 

“Nyyeeeeb.” She wiggles around, trying to pull away from the soap-cloth. 

“Dear, you smell terrible. It can’t be pleasant for you to be coated in… that.” 

“Byyyeeeh!” 

Soaping up NiGHTS took significantly longer than Reala, given her constant squirming. 

Washing it off made the protests begin anew, more displeased squeaking coming from the hatchling. Still, her energy being used to whine meant she wasn’t biting, which was some sort of a plus. Eventually, despite NiGHTS’ protests, she was clean. 

Putting her clothes back on was effortless- for the most part. NiGHTS had clamped down on one of Puffy’s fingers with her lantern, but the collar was much too small to really get stuck, instead sticking onto the pad of Puffy’s finger. At the very least, it made it easier to place the collar over her throat.

Fully washed and dressed, NiGHTS just glares at Puffy.

“Exhausted, dear?” 

“Graaaaa.” She halfheartedly bites Puffy’s palm, lazily staring up at the second level. 

“Mhm. Let’s find your sibling.”

Reala was still dozing by the time they returned, still tired from their own bathtime endeavors. They didn’t even wake from NiGHTS being placed beside them, instead sleepily snuggling up to their twin. NiGHTS continues her angry glares, staring up at Puffy despite actively falling asleep. Alas, after a minute or so exhaustion won, NiGHTS joining her twin in sleep. 

Puffy exhales softly, sitting down in an armchair beside their nightmare. Watching them rest peacefully made an odd feeling bloom in her chest. 

She wasn’t the type of person to be a mother despite what her-not her memories insisted. 

That wasn’t relevant here. 

Her feelings weren’t relevant here. 

Only Wizeman’s orders were. 

She was, however, content to observe them. To study them. Train them. 

She could be their teacher, and nothing more

…she lies to herself. 

[selfdiagnosedeyemotif]

Hello!

You've called upon the wrath of your friend who loves Kristoph and knows a thing or two about character design, color theory and fashion. /hj /lh

This isn't to insult you or anything, I just accidentally took politely disagreeing with your opinion to the extreme by getting way too excited about all stuff I know relevant to this topic. I completely get how loafers could seem like a bad idea because yeah they usually are horrible and I personally hate loafers 90% of the time. They're ugly, impractical and hard to style. At least high heels make you look awesome while damaging your spine and legs 🙄🙄

Starting off simple, he's blonde and his suit is purple because those colors go very well together but because he's a calm character, the colors are muted and the only bright colors he's allowed is the ribbon. Thing. Around his neck. I'm not actually entirely sure if you'd call it that?

I don't think they'd make him anything other than blonde, I'd assume they designed Klavier first and were dead set on the Gavin brothers being blonde.

Anyway, his loafers. First off, I think the shape of the loafers compliments the rest of his design. He has wide shoulders, a double breasted suit that makes body appear more square than it likely is, and he always has his arms crossed. The loafers have a flat end that gives for a rectangular shape, which suits all the other squares and rectangles in his design.

The one way you could justify anything else, is pointed shoes saying that it'd match his hair, but the shoes are so far from the hair that making them match in shape would have his entire silhouette feel off.

The lapels don't count as a case for triangle motif because his suit needed realistic lapels no matter what (so that he wouldn't look like an idiot, he's a respected lawyer and can't dress in suits that aren't really suits, I sincerely doubt they wanted to make a silly looking inaccurate one for such an important character)

Okay, onto the color of the loafers.

Ok the off white isn't great, the fact that it's a different genre of off white from the lightest parts of his hair really pissed me off when I was drawing him

It's green tinted which I genuinely have no clue why they did that. Did they get possesed by an evil spirit? A demon? Were they drunk? Was it April 1st when they submitted the design but their boss mixed up the dates? Are they a prankster? Whatever it is, I think they suck.

I will say, the one redeeming quality is the shading. It's blue, which allows the non purple shoes to better blend in with the purple clothes. Here's how I'd personally change his shoes. Left is edit and right is original.

Just change the off white color to a desaturated lylac so that his design is more coherent and to draw attention away from his shoes.

Anyway again sorry this is not meant to be mean or offend you, I love you Iris you're a good friend, I just got really excited when you talked about Kristoph's clothes and I blacked out 💔💔

i want to preface this by saying that this is some genuinely good analysis of his outfit from the perspective of character design. it is and what im about to say does not take away from that.

however. youve seen the childrens hospital. you can have all the sensible design philosophy in the world and still look truly the worst and that is exactly what kristoph gavin does. colour theory will not save his suit.

[bangtannism]

https://www.tumblr.com/magicshop-pjm1/752681568282329089/weak-afimagine-letting-idiots-like-this-bully?source=share

This is simply never going to stop is it? Imagine getting mad over a meme? Loosing your shit over a freakin meme?? Jesus Christ. Hope atleast jkkrs are talking about jikook cause at this rate no baby armys are going to know about the beautiful bond jikook share cause there's no one in fandom to share it even lol. Call me hater but this fandom is a lost case. I don't expect it to get better at all. One day everyone is gonna pay for the way they let vile tkkrs get away with alot and even then this fandom will only go "shippers need to dye" but won't call out tkkrs. I'll wait for the day when the fandom itself pays for it and best believe they will.

😭 There is some really strange double standards in this fandom for sure and it's really unfortunate. It didn't always used to be like this — sure, there was the ocassional shipper fued, but not such widespread dislike toward anything even remotely related to jikook. I think it's everyone's responsibility to call shit out within the fandom or otherwise we are all just as bad as the worst among us. For some reason though, many people capitulate to the bullies. I'm not necesarrily judging anyone for deleting their posts or whatnot so they don't have to deal with the hate and negative attention, but it's ridiculous that it's gotten to this point and more people need to be proactive about stepping in when this stuff happens.

I do think it's unfair to pin all the blame on how this fandom is on tkkrs, 'cause lord knows there's bad apples in every subsection. Specifically would like to call out jikookers who feel the need to go talk shit in other shippers inboxes. I don't care how annoying you find them, if you don't want tkkrs or other shippers bothering you, also don't bother them. But I digress. I do think that a section of tkkrs has gotten away with bad behavior for so long that they feel justified in what they do and it's only gotten worse over time (just like a lot of solo behavior has). And when ARMY do call things out, like you said, it's directed at all shippers, which is both unfair and not useful.

I don't want to be so jaded as to think the fandom can never change, but I understand why you'd feel that way. Honestly, I'm holding out hope to see how things play out when BTS are all together again. And hopefully as the group matures and starts being more open about stuff like dating, it'll get rid of the worst offenders.

And not to be That Person who shits on social media trends, but all the recent push for short form content like reels, tiktoks, etc is not helping anything either. I mean I have personally seen so much misinfo and out of context clips being shared this way, which makes Certain Folks extra loud (even though they're wrong lol).

Basically, this fandom is a fucking mess and I hope your future outlook on it is wrong for all our sakes. 🥲💜

[deancaspinefest]

Everything's Fine

Author: butterflyslinky | Artist: DeanCodedCasNB Posting on Friday March 3

Dean has been offered his dream job: Personal Assistant to Editor-in-Chief Castiel Novak. Unfortunately, his boyfriend Michael has other plans for their futures.

Keep reading for a sneak preview!

Castiel barely glanced up as Hannah knocked on his office door. “What?” She walked in, ignoring his curt tone, stepping around the clutter of papers and boxes all over the floor. “Just letting you know we’ve hired a new assistant for you. He starts in January.” “Another one? You know I hate having assistants.” “And you know you can’t do literally everything yourself. Don’t worry, this one seems better.” Castiel sighed and leaned away from his computer to actually look at her. “Fine, tell me about him.” Hannah moved a stack of files off the other chair and sat down. “Dean Winchester. KU, English Lit. Just out of school so you can train him how you like. He was very sensitive in the interview, and very charming…polite, but with a good amount of sass. Seems like a good snap-to little soldier anyway.” “Come on, Hannah. What am I even supposed to do with an assistant?” “Have him screen your mail and calls, grab you lunch, set up meetings, make sure nothing off the slush pile somehow makes its way to you without vetting…normal stuff.” “I enjoy seeing the shit from the bottom of the slush pile.” “You don’t have time for it, Castiel. You’re editor-in-chief now, you have actual responsibilities. And you need someone to help you organize this place” “I know, I know…shouldn’t have accepted the promotion if I don’t want to be the boss.” Castiel rubbed his eyes. “Yeah, well, this is why you don’t listen to the fuckwit who keeps pressuring you to rise above the point where you’re happy so he can squeeze more cash out of you. I mean, you’re a mess…you’re exhausted, you’re snappish, you’re three sentences away from offending our top author. You need someone to help lighten this load, and you’ve failed miserably at keeping anyone on board to do that.” Castiel sighed. Hannah was right, of course. The only reason he’d taken the promotion was because his last boyfriend had pressured him into it. But Bart was gone now, having ditched Castiel for some rich Broadway producer, leaving Castiel with nothing but a way-too-big apartment and several maxed out credit cards. Both of which meant Castiel couldn’t take a voluntary demotion, leaving him stuck in a job he hated. Okay, maybe not hated. Castiel did like some aspects of being the head editor. The corner office and salary were nice, and it was good to have the final say on what was published. But it also meant talking to a lot more business people than he liked, and that he missed the more fun but terrible books on the slush pile. Not that he would ever let those go out the door, but reading them was the best entertainment he’d ever had. And worst of all were the assistants. Castiel had only been in the job for a year, but he had already gone through four of them. He felt a little bit bad about it; it wasn’t like any of his previous assistants had been bad people. But none of them had been especially helpful to him, getting in his way more often than not, or messing up his routines too much for him to function. He hadn’t even fired all of them; the last one had quit because she thought he was too particular about things. Which he was, but it wasn’t something he could help. And now there was a new one he’d have to try and train. “Try to go easy on this one,” Hannah said. “He’s moving all the way here from Kansas, so it will be very expensive for both him and the company if you only keep him for three months.” “Fine,” Castiel said. “Can I get the resume?” “Right here.” She handed him a single sheet of paper. Castiel skimmed it quickly. The kid didn’t seem that special; a BA in English and several years working on and off as a mechanic. No clerical experience to speak of, but Castiel figured that could be a good thing. If Dean didn’t have experience, it meant he didn’t have any bad habits to break. “He just graduate?” he asked. “Back in May, yes…so he’s very young, even compared to you. I thought that would be easier if you do decide to fire him immediately.” “Fine, fine.” Castiel set the paper aside. “That all? I have a mountain of drafts to approve.” “That and your mother called the front desk again to ask if you’d consider joining her for Christmas. I told her to call your cell phone, and she told me you never answer it.” “Because she only wants me there so she can set me up with whatever nice girl she’s found now. So tell her I’m busy.” “That’s another reason you need an assistant,” Hannah said. “But until Dean arrives, you can tell her yourself.”

 [continue reading on Ao3 on Friday March 3]

[lucysweatslove]

Super first world problem rant:

I am almost out of my favorite anti-perspirant/deodorant. I use Lume after a shower but I also use anti-perspirant on subsequent days, before the gym, etc, because I don’t like to feel sweaty. The Lume is great when I’m not doing things to sweat and helps cut back on bad smells, really great for non-armpit areas especially, but it’s also expensive. So yeah, Lume after showers + additional antiperspirants as needed has been my go-to for a while now.

I’ve tried a lot of deodorants previously. I am, apparently, picky, and I rarely use up whole deodorants because I a) don’t use them super often with the Lume, and b) won’t use them regularly if I don’t like them. Spray deodorants make me sneeze and I hate how they feel going on. I tried them once and never again plan to use them. Solids are traditional and what I always used growing up, but they seem to get a film or something on that’s similar to hard pan on makeup. A lot of these also make me feel sick for some reason. It’s the smell- I’m not sure why but the smell just feels off, too strong, or somehow just gross most of the time. The most recent offender is also the worst: the Secret Sweet Nectarine solid tube. I want to vomit every time I use it, so of course I don’t use it unless I can’t find any other one, and even when I do use it, the “hard pan” film makes it pretty much useless anyway. 0/10, will never repurchase.

I recently-ish tried a clear gel (twists up like a solid but gel comes out of holes), more specifically the Secret one in a berry scent. I’ve had it for a while- probably was on sale or something tbh. I LOVE it, and I’m out. Like, I have to use that awful solid sweet nectarine that makes me feel horribly nauseous every time I smell it. This was particularly annoying because I ran out while traveling for that overstimulating wedding.

I placed a Walmart+ order last night for delivery today because in addition to needing more deodorant, I also needed conditioner and drink mix stuff (since water is gross, I said what I said). I try to avoid going in because Walmart is the further store away from us and I always get overstimulated just driving there. Can I do it? Yes. Do I ever want to? Fuck no.

Anyway, I was really excited because the secret gel deodorant has some kind of $4 back on 2 thing going on, which is a decent deal for something I wanted anyway. They have multiple scents- coconut, cocoa butter, water Lily, rose (ew), berry, vanilla, ocean breeze, lavender (also Ew). I was going to get the berry, waterlily, coconut, and vanilla, but with everything else it felt like a lot of money all at once (especially given how it can take me over a year to finish a tube), so I just got the berry and waterlily.

Walmart shopper couldn’t find the berry one for some reason and I had to approve a substitution. Wanna know what they wanted to sub it with?

Sweet. Fucking. Nectarine.

I had two option: decline the substitution, being left with just one tube and I wouldn’t get the sale deal, or I could accept it. I couldn’t see any place to request literally any other scent, like the coconut or vanilla. If I denied it, I would likely end up where I am now again- out of my preferred one and have to either smell awful to everybody else and feel gross or smell nauseating to myself.

The $4 back is good enough to almost cover another tube later on so I just accepted the substitution but i was pretty upset. I see where they were thinking- trading a fruit scent for a fruit, makes sense, especially as I wasn’t able to like, add in a secondary scent preference or whatever. So I’m not mad at the Walmart shopper. Just the situation anyway, because now the likelihood that 1 of my deodorants will be nauseating and maybe unusable is higher. I already gambled on the waterlily since I usually don’t like florals and just wanted to try it, so it’s like swapping out my safe scent for something also potentially disastrous.

They just delivered my order, and not only is there the sweet nectarine one, but the waterlily deodorant is a mf solid. Because I, like the exhausted dumbass I am, didn’t double check the listing when I added it to my cart.

So basically I just bought like 1-2 years of deodorant that I don’t like 🙃 since I’m never “going that way” and returns in general stress me out, I don’t feel empowered enough to make a return and get what I really want. If I complain to my husband, he won’t understand why I can’t return it and will get annoyed I’m complaining. If I ask for new ones, he’ll raise his eyebrows and say why when we just bought new deodorant?? Which means I’ll have to tell him I don’t like what I got and feel like I can’t return it which would then further cause an argument. I could probably get new ones near Christmas without it being weird to him. But I still feel relegated to using deodorants I hate for the next several months.

Is it a first world problem, and am I privileged to be able to afford and access deodorant in general? Yes. Am I especially privileged that I can access a wide variety of them? Of course. Am I still entitled to be annoyed with this situation? I think so.

[citrusreadstoa]

Reading The Hidden Oracle: Chapter 37 (SPOILERS)

"Percy leaped heroically from his mount and slipped in hellhound pee." Heroic entrance right here.

"Apollo, did you do this?" "I am offended! . . . I am only indirectly responsible for this!" I love their banter.

"I need a few more minutes to enchant this arrow." "Of course you do." Cut him some slack, he's still getting the hang of this whole hero thing.

"I had to admit Percy Jackson was moderately impressive." :/ ? Least reliable narrator I've ever seen.

"This time, the words came to me." Wait, so the plague chant actually isn't PLAGUEY, PLAGUEY, PLAGUEY? This is a massive disappointment. I don't think I'll recover. Also, that Styx punishment really didn't last long. The River's going soft.

"sneezed so hard he collapsed." Uh oh.

"FIE! TOO STRONG IS THY PLAGUE." FIE (exclamation): used to express disgust or outrage

"Kayla, be careful. Don't breathe--" "ACHOO!" Oh no.

"MOREO'ER, HIE!" I hate this fucking arrow. HIE (v.): go quickly

"Somehow, I managed to react appropriately. (Three cheers for reacting appropriately!)" I- Wins where you can take 'em, I suppose.

"you and Harley take Kayla and Austin to the Apollo cabin for healing." "But they are the Apollo cabin" VALID concern. Will's gonna be overworked again. Who's gonna heal everyone? Don't any campers other than the Apollo ones learn healing? People are dying left and right; you'd think other campers would learn medicine.

"Perhaps if we got some harpies and some kite string..." He's really desperate if he's suggesting that.

"I'm a stupid ugly mortal teenager! I'm nobody!" Is he throwing a tantrum? "I thought for sure . . . The cosmos would stop turning. Percy and Chiron would rush to reassure me. None of that happened . . . 'You're Apollo. We need you. You can do this. Besides, if you don't, I will personally throw you off the top of the Empire State Building.'" My friend compared this scene to the one in Rise of the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles where the four turtles are about to be crushed to death in the Labyrinth maze and Leo[nardo Hamato, not -nidas Valdez], who is the only one who can get them out by making a portal, first pouts at them to ask for a self-esteem boost. Something like "Y'know, it would really help me out if you told me I'm your champion" because the whole point of the Labyrinth was to get to the center and become a "champion" and receive world-class pizza (that episode was freakishly reminiscent of how PJO characters often end up beating their villains of the week). Yes, my friend and I frequently miscommunicate which Leo we are talking about when we discuss fandom stuff.

"just the sort of thing Zeus used to say to me before my soccer matches." Yeesh, never a good thing to be compared to Zeus, but the throw-you-off-a-building threat was deserved. Also, I think Rhea might not be the only one mixing up their centuries.

"a monument to my own conceit. Nero's pride was no more than a reflection of mine." A character development moment! Yes!

"The demigods were getting very good at scattering." I bet they've had a lot of practice, what with all the attacks on their only safe haven over the years.

"a gust of wind caught it... perhaps Zephyros" Yeah!!! That's good. It would've been too hard to believe if Apollo made that shot naturally. A bit soon to call Zephyros awesome, though, since this is just making up for the murder he committed, but good on him for helping avoid the deaths of dozens of small children.

"like a pachinko machine." I know what you're all thinking: "What's the difference between pachinko and pinball?" That's what I'm here to answer. According to Google, pachinko is an upright, vertical version of pinball that uses multiple small balls as opposed to pinball's singular, larger ball.

"geysers of motor oil out his ears" NOOOO! Not the harbor! Oh man, the beach naiads are gonna be so sick after this. Do beach naiads exist? If not, the beach animals and plants are gonna be sick. This is the third geyser we've seen this book and by far the worst.

"a case of hay fever . . . the statue's head achieved first-stage separation from his body." Deadliest case of hay fever I've seen yet. Hey, if it works, it works.

"Then the air blooped out of its neck hole" Blooped was pretty far down on the list of verbs I expected to see in this book. Next time I'll be more open-minded and prepared for verbs of all variety.