#to warrant spending the whole season wondering what it is!

[journey-to-the-attic]

So have you heard of that Obey Me: Nightbringer thing?? I saw it on their Twitter and I have no idea what it is but I don't interact with enough people in the fandom to ask

oh yeah, i saw that too! unfortunately i also have no idea what it is, so i can't help you here ^^;

i think i saw someone under it saying it's a prequel game of some sort? but idk if they actually knew or if it's speculation, so keep that in mind

[poge-life]

This does contain spoilers for season 3 so please don’t read if you haven’t watched!

Summary; Rafe Cameron was…your everything. You would do anything for him and have done everything for him. But it just wasn’t enough for him. He was your Favorite Crime

Warnings; a whole lotta angst, spoilers for OBX3 so if you haven’t watched it, do not read this.

Knew that I loved you so bad

I let you treat me like that

I was your willing accomplice, honey

When Rafe had shown up at your house in a distressed state and asked you to come with him, you didn’t hesitate. Things had been rocky between both of you since the summer. His drug addiction took up most of his time and whatever was left, was solely focused on his dad and trying to prove he was a better child than Sarah.

You guys spend most of your time fighting; about drugs, his behavior, his horrible spending habits. But you would do anything for him. Even letting him drag you all over the OBX looking for that stupid cross that neither of you had any business looking for. But, all Rafe heard was an opportunity to bring something valuable, and possibly, life changing to his dad.

You were there when Carla Limbrey’s muscle man was shot, you were there when he and Pope got into yet another fight and you were there when he almost shot the Pogues.

You were the perfect accomplice.

And I watched as you fled the scene

Doe-eyed as you buried me

One heart broke, four hands bloody

Rafe didn’t hesitate to leave you behind as tried to find a way to save Ward after his fight with John B and Sarah. Both of you had rushed to his side once you found him, hands immediately going to the open wound on the back of his head. You just sat there, bloody hands in your lap, a wide eyed look on your face, watching as Rafe didn’t glance back at you once to see if you were following him.

Breaking your heart with every step he took.

The things I did

Just so I could call you mine

The things you did

Well, I hope I was your favorite crime

You lost your friends that summer. You got kicked out of UNC; the school board wasn’t comfortable with someone who had no intention cutting off ties with the Cameron family despite everything they had done. Your parents had cut you off when you guys argued about Rafe and everything that was said about him on the Island.

But Rafe didn’t care. All because you were his.

Used me as an Alibi

I crossed my heart as you crossed the line

And I defended you to all my friends

He came to you when they issued a warrant for his arrest for killing Sheriff Peterkin. Saying you needed to tell them he was with you that day. He wanted to use you as an alibi because he knew you would do anything for him.

So you did. You managed to fake security footage from the summer to the date and time of the murder. All because you would do anything for him.

Your friends had tried talking you out of dating him the minute he dropped out of college; you said he was going to take over Ward’s business and that he needed to focus on it because it’s all he’s ever wanted. You told them he wasn’t like what everyone said he was. And he wasn’t. At least end, when it was just you two. He let you see his vulnerable side. He told you how he thought something was wrong with him and that he needed help but that he was scared.

And now every time a siren sounds

I wonder if you’re around

‘Cause you know I’d do it again

You were more used to hearing police sirens than you were your own voice at this point. You couldn’t help but look for Rafe’s truck or bike every time you heard them, as he and his family were the reason as of late for the sirens. But you didn’t regret it. You’d go back and do it all over again. You’d give him an alibi, you’d go with him to look for the cross again. Just so you could finally have a little bit of his attention.

It wasn’t always like this between you two. Rafe hadn’t always been so angry at the world. You two used to be the couple everyone was jealous of. And now? Everyone felt sorry for you; sorry that you couldn’t help but love him despite everything that’s done. Despite the fact you lost everything you ever wanted and everything you had because of him.

It’s bittersweet to think about the damage that we do

Cause I was going down, but I was doing it with you

You didn’t care about anything at this point. All you cared about was Rafe. You didn’t care that your reputation was ruined or that you lost your scholarship. All because you were with him.

Yeah, everything we broke and all the trouble we made

But I say that I hate you with a smile on my face

Fights broke out more frequently between you two; in public and in private. You were slowly starting to give up. Giving up on the fact that Rafe didn’t seem to care any more. That all he cared about was Ward and getting back into his good graces and that stupid cross.

But you always smiled at him at the end. Because he always knew what to say to get you to stay. A smile on your face as you said how you hated him. But you didn’t. You could never hate him.

Oh, look at what we became

If it wasn’t so loud at Tanny Hill, you were sure everyone could hear your heart break. Rafe had decided to not sell the business, even though that was whole point of you two coming back to the OBX, and threw a party to get back into the swing of things. It had been normal between the two of you, almost too normal. He stopped with the drugs, but Barry was still around which you hated, he wasn’t as angry and he had told you how he was working on not letting his anger take over.

But you knew something else was up. He got too comfortable being back and now you knew why.

Sofia.

The bartender from the club. She was here and tucked under Rafe’s arm as he led her into his room, sliding the glass door shut behind them. Tears welled up in your eyes as you thought about everything you did for him; helped him lie about killing Peterkin, stood by as he beat his sisters friends on more than one occasion, you got kicked out of school because of him. Your friends all but hated you and your parents don’t talk to you anymore.

But Rafe didn’t care.

You walked away from the party, pulling out your phone as you dialed a number you hadn’t in a while. Taking a deep breath when she answered, you spoke quietly, “What do you need from me to bring down Rafe?”

Well, I hope I was your favorite crime.

[talesfrommedinastation]

My redneck neighbor Doug's predictions for The Bad Batch: Season 3

Well, the poll's in, kids: looks like we're getting a whole bunch of Doug-isms for the next while!

I did take a request from @amalthiaph, because heck, it made me wonder, too!

I texted Doug while I was waiting at the airport. Sure enough, Winter Storm Doug arrived with a whole bunch of texts on the finale season of Daddy Warcrimes 'n Friends.

Here's what Doug thinks will happen in Season 3 of The Bad Batch:

Daddy Warcrimes will learn what happened to Ryan-from-Accounting and spend a whole episode sobbing about it.

Ryan-from-Accounting comes back as Space Gandalf. Don’t know what Space Gandalf will be, but it’ll be him.

Stepsister Beth and Little Orphan Blondie will team up and save everyone in Jimmy-the-Scientist's lava lamps.

We will find out what’s in the lava lamps.

Toaster Strudel, Daddy Rambo, and Julio will find Damn-It-Jared* and take turns beating him with a tire iron they found in the trunk of the HMS Search Warrant. 

Houma-BBQ-Bitch will be killed by either Daddy Rambo or The Sons of Robocop**. Maybe Little Orphan Blondie, who knows.  

The freaky aliens running the mall on the ocean will attempt to rise up. They’ll get shot. 

Jimmy-the-Scientist will accidentally quote that robot cowboy show on HBO. 

Church Lady will use voodoo magic to resurrect her boyfriend, Sassy Park Ranger.

Nevermind. Church Lady will run into Ryan-from-Accounting-Who-Is-Now-Space-Gandalf and it’ll be written as sweet but it’ll come across as awkward. 

There will be mech suits. Maybe not, but I want mech suits, damn it! 

Princess Leia’s dad will show up with the Sonic Special.

Sonic Special will get zapped by the Emperor. 

The Emperor will show up and giggle. Why, hell if I know. 

Darth Vader shows up and mopes around before killing a bunch of people. 

The Sons of Robocop will start to be evil, but then be good, but then do evil things for good reasons. Daddy Warcrimes will follow suit.

*= Damn-It-Jared is Saw Guerrera. “We had this shitty new engineer that cost us half a million in bungled supplies and kept grabbing the CEO's executive assistant even when she told him to eff off. He was such a pain in the ass and this dope looks and talks just like him. Every time we saw his face we’d all say ‘DAMN IT, JARED!’ and that’s his name."

**= Scorch and the gang.

[ladylooch]

Hey B! I just am wondering about why Connor was so rude to his dad in the fic you wrote about where he told his parents about Lucie being pregnant. I get miles didn’t react in the best way but I mean Connor had to have known his parents (dad) would have reacted that way. I mean he got his girlfriend knocked up…not saying either is wrong I just can’t understand why he would say some of the things he said to his dad and how he spoke to him

Again I get he is trying to defend his choices but still

Oh sweet nonnie, lets talk about what Connor has been through in the weeks leading up to this conversation:

He finds out his girlfriend is pregnant

He gets traded to his division rival team

He has to move and figure out where to live in a new area

He has to learn a whole new team system and organization

He hurts his best friend in their first rivalry game

He loses his temper with Lucie and she breaks up with him

Two weeks of pure hell without Lucie. Lio barely talks to him too because he is clearly team Lucie. So he is isolated and alone.

Him and Lucie go to their first ultrasound and the reality of being parents is very clear in black and white on that screen.

Him and Lucie get back together, but she is in the middle of mid-terms and isn't living with Connor yet so they continue to spend time apart.

He goes on a 10 day road trip

Manchester visit.

Connor is the definition of GOING THROUGH IT RN.

He didn't handle it the best with some of his words, but besides the stress, Connor needed his dad to show up for him and tell him it was going to be okay. Instead, Miles started to lectures him about what Connor already knows- him and Lucie fucked up. He knows this was dumb and that having a baby is going to change everything.

Connor absolutely knew his dad was going to be to upset with him. And it's warranted. Miles did have a conversation with Connor before the season started about being a vet in the league now and needing to act like it. Unplanned pregnancy with his young girlfriend is definitely not what his dad meant...

So our boy is feeling lots of feels and they bubble up fast with the immediately negativity from his dad. If Miles had stepped forward and hugged him, then called him a dumbass, the conversation probably would have gone better 😂

[m3lzalz-honeybee-noble]

This article was a very interesting read. Anyone else spiraling and wondering in which episodes or moments in season 1 and 2 the writers’ minds went straight to… and Tim And Lucy kiss?

To kill time, if anyone wants to participate and offer their thoughts or ideas, please feel free to comment here, reblog, or create your own posts. You can tag me it you wish.

These may require some more thought and analysis, but here are some that come to mind for me:

Season 1: This is so hard, because there are so many tension filled scenes, but Tim and Lucy were just getting to know each other, Lucy was getting over her situationship with Nolan, and Season 1 Tim would NEVER. I couldn’t really think of a moment or scene that could’ve led straight to a kiss, but maybe the episode as a whole:

1x07 (Lucy confronts Tim outside of Isabel’s). I know, definitely too soon, but that tension and angst between them in that moment… GAH 🤤. You can’t convince me there wasnt a shift.

1x11 (Lucy gets stuck with a used needle; Thank you! For What? Doing my job?). If Lucy was as bold and confident then as she was in episodes 4x22 and 5x01, she would have sought comfort from Tim by kissing him.

1x14 (Plain Clothes Day)- The banter, Tim in plain clothes 😍, Tim’s discreet protection, loyalty and trust. I wouldn’t have blamed Lucy. I probably would have skipped her in line.

1x18 (Chenford paintball date)- their first unofficial date. A trophy kiss for their Team winning.

1x20 (Tim gets infected with deadly virus)- nothing like a NDE (Near Death Experience; any OA fans out there?), and fear of death, to put things in perspective. Their mutual comfort was chef’s kiss. The closed door being a literal barrier between them. Their last looks at each other, like no one else was in the room (a callback for episodes 5x03-5x04). I could see them running to each other embracing and kissing, a la Sydney and Vaughn (Alias).

Season 2: Oh this one was definitely much more easy. There are so many. This post is getting too long, so I’ll just name 6. I can do a part 2, for second half of the season

2x01 (Lucy confronts Tim about his mistreatment of her so far along; suicide ideation) - Lucy is at her best when she is assertive and stands her ground (🔥) -I could see a Tim apology that leads to a confession and 😘

2x02-(Lucy records audiobook for Tim): the time and thought Lucy put in, on top of the 8-12hr work shifts. That alone warranted a kiss of gratitude. Bonus: Tim was breathing, sleeping, eating, showering, exercising, and working with Lucy’s voice in his head, 24hrs a day. Some say he still listens to the audiobook, you know as a refresher course to being Sergeant 👀

2x03: (betting Lucy couldn’t find a partner for Tim; Lucy’s short sleeves victory): The flirting and invasion of each other’s personal space (boundaries non existent). 📢GET A ROOM📢

2x06 (missile crisis, end of the world): they chose to spend their last moments on earth with each other. Let’s end it with a kiss.

2x08 (Tim wouldn’t have gotten that stupid plaque if Lucy didn’t have his back; Thank you! For What? Doing my job? Part 2): She saved his picture on her Lock Screen! The first thing she sees when she goes to unlock her phone. They breathe each other’s air on that bench. Tim leaned in to her, while drinking his beer. Just kiss her!

2x10 (Introduction of Rosalind Dyer; Lucy meets acolyte Caleb): if Tim had offered to take Lucy out for that drink with another human, the sequence of events that followed never would have occurred, and the night would have ended with a kiss.

2x11 (Lucy’s Rebirth/ Reawakening )- including this because technically there was a kiss. A kiss of life. I could also see their hospital scene ending with a kiss if they weren’t interrupted and talked a little more.

2x12 (Tim keeps tabs on Lucy and gives Lucy her ring back): Both scenes had so many unspoken feelings/ unresolved, good tension. I can imagine if they hugged, it would have ended with 2 kisses.

Bonus: I won’t elaborate, that is unless you are not over this post and care to know more

Season 3:

3x06 (Lucy goes undercover as Nova, the first time)

3x09 (Lucy “fake” feelings confession, and Tim, heart eyes 😍, will miss riding with Lucy)

3x14 (Lucy undercover as Nova Part 2; Tim asks Lucy to Save him a Dance)

Season 4: Before 4x22

4x01: (Their first on screen HUG)

4x07: (first undercover together (please correct me if I’m wrong); Lucy 🎤 Tim up with wandering eyes, all the way down and up)

4x09 (Tim’s day of validation/ reflection/ retribution/ and Lucy’s Hug of Life)

4x12 (Lucy and Tim’s Date with 3rd and 4th wheel, Chrispy and Ashy; Personal Space, into the VOID you go)

4x18 (The collection of a debt that was owed… THE DANCE)

Season 5: Manifesting First REAL Kiss:

5x08 (Lucy and Tim riding together again for the first time, after a long hiatus, pun intended)

[fazar234]

Crisis - A Sasha and the Frogs Fanfic - Amphibia

Summary: Just Mrs. Boonchuy having a crisis after hearing about her daughter’s horrible deeds, nothing to see here. :)

I LIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIVE!

No but seriously, I'm alive guys. I know it's been way too long since my last fic (or post, for that matter), but it's mainly because I've been busy with school, as well as dealing with a lack of motivation, which is kind of a butt-kicker.

Regardless, reading the newest chapter of @scrabbleknight's fanfic Sasha and the Frogs gave me an idea. So here I am, posting a brand new work based on the SATF AU!

Keep in mind this takes place during Season 3, which Scrabble hasn't gotten to yet, and that this is just my take on what should happen in it. Regardless, I hope you all enjoy!

(I highly recommend reading through Sasha and the Frogs first to understand the context of this fic. Here's the link: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2987463)

Taglist/Inspirations: @writingamongther0ses, @eclipsewarrior101, @d-blue02, @dawnsy, @hughjidiot, @eeveearoace, @eeveearoace-creative, @sonofrose, @space-lynn, @astro-arts-inthestars, @astro-inthestars, @cynthiacoven, @casswithmywholeheart, @starsfic, @luna--dragon, @mira-blue, @honneibun, @dodelidoo, @issabolical, @lightgriffinsect, @writegriffinsect

Oum Boonchuy has always believed herself to be a good parent.

Well, not always good, but better than the Waybrights or Wus, if that counts.

From the moment Anne was born, Oum and her husband Bee would dedicate their entire lives to treating her right, caring for and loving her, and keeping her on the straight and narrow.

Sure she’s had some bumps down the road.

Sure, she’s had her fair share of arguments with her girl over being responsible.

Sure, she’s never been into Anne hanging out with her friends for too long because of the type of influence they were.

Sure, she’s had to ground her daughter several times just because she wasn’t home on time and was off messing around with her friends.

But all off that was because she was worried for her. Worried for her future, worried for what kind of person she’d be.

She loved her daughter and considered herself a good parent.

At least, until she went missing.

For five whole months, she put up missing posters, kept in touch with the police, and prayed for her daughter’s safety.

But one thought never stopped lingering in the back of her mind.

Was she really a good parent?

She had to spend five whole months struggling with herself, wondering if it’d been her fault, wondering if she’d done something wrong to warrant her daughter choosing her friends over her.

And then, five months later, Sasha comes back.

And she doesn’t know what to feel, especially with her living in her house, with three talking frogs from a world called Amphibia, one of which seems rather hostile to her.

As she spends time with her, she begins to realize that her daughter’s friend has changed. That what was once a manipulative jerk who’d do anything to have control, was now someone trying to keep her frog family, her only family, safe.

And then, she learns of her daughter’s deeds.

And it all comes crashing down.

Her daughter, a lieutenant for an army of toads.

Her daughter, responsible for killing her own friend, who was lucky enough to return to the land of the living.

Her daughter, responsible for betraying her friends a second time, just to overthrow a king who had turned out to be evil.

Oum couldn’t understand.

How was it that Sasha, a girl who lacked love and adoration, was somehow able to become better, while her daughter, who was raised and cared for her whole life, became worse?

As she processed all of this, the answer finally hit her.

She was not a good parent.

No parent would have let their child disappear into another world for five months.

No parent would have let their daughter go astray and become a hardened soldier.

And, most importantly, no parent would have let their daughter commit so many crimes, let alone murder.

Oum Boonchuy was not a good parent.

She was a failure.

A worthless, cowardly failure.

And she didn’t deserve to be a parent.

——————————————————————————

I know it's fairly short, and nit exactly the best fic to return with, but it's all I had.

Regardless, please leave your thoughts in a comment or reblog (constructive criticism is welcome) and I'll see you all soon!

[humblereflections]

I spend far too much time thinking about the lives of celebrities. I’m 62 for crying out loud! What is it about their lives on AND off screen that fascinates me??

The last day, of course, it’s Pee Wee - or I guess, truthfully, it’s Paul Reubens, but I really only knew him as Pee Wee. And I feel like I knew Pee Wee. I spent countless hours - maybe formative years! - watching Saturday morning Pee Wee Herman in his crazy- creative, animated and highly kinetic playhouse. Most times, at the end of an episode, I was akinetic, somewhat stunned by the brilliance of whoever thought all that stuff up (Today I learned it was Paul Reubens and Phil Hartman, or Captain Carl as I knew him in those days! By the way, I have all five seasons on cd if you haven’t seen it!)

Many years that have passed since then as well as definitions of proper and right when it comes to the news. I remember, though, that something strangely mysterious happened to Reubens in the ‘90s. I only caught bits and pieces back then but it seemed sexual and I remember hearing that it had occurred in a sexual place. In my innocence, I wondered how many others might have done something sexual in a sexual place - No one? Ever? Just Pee Wee?

Maybe I should be grateful today for the reprieve from my mentally-looped video of Cardie B throwing her microphone at the apparently malcontent fan who had just seconds before, thrown a drink at her. I don’t think that is the first time Cardie B has thrown something either. I’m not saying she is a grade-A player for the microphones team, but sister-friend was no stranger to a passion-filled windup pitch. I’m just saying. Was it warranted?

Was that Will Smith slap warranted? I know someone who thinks so much of the “comedy” performed by “comedians” today is deserving of a slap of some kind. For the record, that line of not allowing the name of his wife, Jada, in offender Chris Rock’s mouth is the whip! Oh how I wish we had such power some days.

And then there is the great prophetess Cher, who recently created her own brand of gelato. Ain’t that grand? We are going to soon be eating the same gelato that Cher eats! I can’t wait to buy it! Because, well, it’s Cher! I so clearly remember some of my earliest memories, sneaking down the stairs and sitting on the last step, straining to hear every joke and line of the televised Sonny and Cher Comedy Hour. To this day, I really don’t understand my fascination with them - I named my pet Gerbils after them, for crying out loud again! (And did my mom really let me listen to those very provocative songs about tramps and thieves? I’m telling you I missed her edginess back then! Was I blind? Note: I also have the Sonny and Cher Comedy Hour on cds.

Btw, the latest headline says Cher leads the tributes for Paul Reubens today. She knew him. She loved him. Her and I share a special grief for someone who undoubtedly made us laugh, maybe at the same characters and maybe at the same lines. Could that even be?

I think it could be, especially back then. It seems indisputable that we were more unified in the days before 62, finding levity and escape in the shared experience of Saturday’s episode of Pee Wee’s Playhouse. Today, everyone watches any number of shows, all at once, at their own pace, sometimes pounding through a whole season in one sitting. There are so many different channels, apps, and websites that we rarely even watch the same shows any more.

Add it to the reasons for our lonely lack of connection these days. Are we even laughing at the same things?

While Pee Wee nearly always made us laugh, I felt a deep sadness when I read about him passing today - I also felt a melancholy for a shared experience I may never know again. How I long for only three choices on my tv (and Channel 50 on a good day!) We use to share universally experienced moments like “Na-nu, na-nu” from a rainbow-suspendered alien or a “pork chops and apple sauce” delivery from a smart-alecky teenager to his very Brady family. The next day every single person was talking about these moments in the halls as we passed from class to class.

This week I am fascinating on Paul Reubens, grateful for the way he made me laugh as his character Pee Wee awkwardly burst out laughing and swung his body wildly during the tequila dance. Did he enjoy it too? His last post on social media makes me think so: “Please accept my apology for not going public with what I have been going through the last six years. I have always felt a huge amount of love and respect from my fans, friends and supporters. I have loved you all so much and enjoyed making art for you.”

I felt that - did you??

[deartouya]

PART I. NARCISSUS: A NEW BEGINNING

✶ next part || series masterlist.

✶ summary: with your kingdom's lack of viable heir to the throne, crumbling alliances, and a war brewing in the south, your father seeks a union with the west, a kingdom rumored to be isolated but strong. despite your reservations, you're determined to make a good impression. to do what's best.

✶ pairing: (kinda)harpy royalty!keigo takami (hawks) x elven royalty!afab!reader (gn pronouns are used for the reader but the concept of the fic is fem coded)

✶ word count: 2.1k

✶ content: mentions of food/eating, arranged marriage but in the loosest sense, my attempt at developing a writing style, me spending too much time focusing on flower meanings that aren't important at all <3 part of @myherokatsuki 's a familiar face collab.

✶ title credit: "peace" by henry vaughan ( link to poem )

YOU HATE THIS. CERTAINTY. Your whole life has been plagued with it. One monotonous day void of choice after the other. You don't know why you expected your marriage to be any different, why you thought your father would grant you that mercy.

“You’ll be needed, today.” You pause at the words, forefinger and thumb pressing painfully into your utensils. It’s the way you’re always addressed—as an order.

“Why?”

It makes him uncomfortable, you notice, his eyes cast pointedly down and turning the ring on his finger, “I want you to meet someone.” 

The potato splits and you can feel yourself tighten—you knew that already. You’d heard the rumours—the union, one the nobles seemed to think warranted a celebration. You just wish he’d call it what it was. 

“You want me to marry someone.” You don’t want to be so resentful, but you can’t help it. The idea of a stranger encroaching on your life, another hand which is sure to force your life on course, angers you.

“The people tire of orders,” your father sighs and you feel him staring past you, “the court finds it in the kingdom's best interest to build a strong alliance with the west. I am… without a proper heir and my death would breed mutiny among the people.” It’s always that, what’s best. “The southern alliance is strong, stronger than we’ll ever be, and it’s in the kingdom's best interest to extend our loyalties.”

You want to scoff, but manage to keep yourself occupied by splitting the rest of your potatoes childishly. The quiet stretches.

“We’ll be hosting him for the season and I expect you to act civilly for the duration of the visit.” You remain silent once again which wrenches another worn sigh from the King, “I really am trying to go about this as amicably as possible, you know. You’ll be without the interruption or input of the court and I’ll be, in turn, visiting the West to make arrangements.” He finds your hand over the table, finding your eyes, “I just ask that you make a decision, one which will foster this alliance.”

That’s not what he means—you think. He means for you to accept the inevitable proposal, one you’re sure will be lackluster and expectant. You can only hope that he’s not unfortunate to look at.

“I understand. Should I be expecting him soon, then?”

You’re to expect him incredibly soon, you learn.

The gardens are beautiful, settled on the cusp of springs and the trees cloying with fruits. You much rather be hidden away between the rose bushes than sitting uncomfortably—incredibly overdressed—to meet the strange you’re expected to marry. You wonder if you’ll be able to pick what you’re wed in, the venue. Probably not.

You hate that you’re just a little bit excited. It’s muted, though, and mostly directed at being back in the summer palace. Your father, who has been exponentially happier than you, thought it best to combine both the prince’s arrival and his own departure.

The King had taken to pacing. He’d walked the floor of the entry hall so many times you’re starting to believe he’s working a whole in the marble. You would’ve thought he’d been awaiting the return of a lover. You wish he was.

You could tell when he arrived easily, your father hurrying to pull you from the plush cushion underneath you. 

It occurs that you have very little expectations of him. No one’d tell you much—his rank and family name—and you have very little to go on. Older, you expect, if he’s been deemed “marriable” and has yet to wed. The thought churns your stomach. 

He’s not.

You can tell he’s had the same learning as you. Your own stiff and purposeful mannerisms echoed on him—shoulders uncomfortably straight and hands practicably placed. His wings, one of the very few things you’d known about him, have suffered the same training. They’re tucked away neatly against his back and you can see the thought it takes to keep them still, crossed and off the floor, in his brow. 

His expression was more unpracticed, though, softer. Warmer. It was like he was always smiling, the ghost of dimples and eyes a little narrowed and you find yourself curious what he’d look like laughing. 

The wings, a notorious staple in his kingdom, were all the more impressive to someone who’d never seen them before. Wide and a deep red. They looked soft—buttery, like the petals of roses—and they glinted under the candles. 

His attendant, you assume, stepped forward with a curt smile, “it’s an honor to introduce his Excellency, Takami Keigo, Prince of the Western Kingdoms.” He, Keigo, squirms halfway through the title, the rich red of his feathers twitching minutely. 

The King smiles, nodding into a bow, “it’s a pleasure to be hosting your Highness.” His eyes cut to you and you follow him into a bow quickly, blood rushing to your ears.

Keigo squirms more, attempting to hide it behind a wide and easy smile, “please, the honor is mine. There’s no need for such formality.” His voice is soft, quieter than you would’ve expected but nice.

Sharp eyes meet your own and his smile softens a little. He approaches you slowly, as if you were something skittish, and offers a hand, “If I may?”

Your own hand slides into his and his thumb rubs over the bumps of your knuckles, “It’s nice to finally meet you.” He seems genuine this close, smile smaller and eyes heavy.

You hum slowly, returning his introduction. He repeats the name against the back of your hand, lips smoothing into a smile. “It’s nice to meet you, too, your highness.” He deflates at the use of his title before he straightens himself before you.

You see very little of Keigo before the ball—purposefully, you assume. He dines with you, keeping himself politely sat an arms-length away and easily carrying conversation with your father. 

It'd be easier if he wasn’t so… him. If he was rude or was unpleasant, it'd give you a reason to hate him. A reason for his disinterest. But he wasn't. He was kind and polite and seemed to get along with everyone in the palace. You hated it.

He joined you in the gardens afterwards. You’d hoped he would, deep down. There was a twisting part of you that wanted him to like you, to find your company pleasing. So you were all the more pleased that he did, “you’re too quiet, unless you were trying to sneak up on me.”

He laughed, warm and bright but still… calculated. “It wasn’t my intention—may I?” He tucks in next to you when you nod. His hands lace together and you notice they’re different, too. His nails are much darker than your own and sharp, thicker you think. “Do you like flowers?” You snort and Keigo’s chin knocks against his collarbones.

“Sorry—yes, I do like flowers.” You could notice a lot about him this close. His hair, duller in the dark, seems sinfully soft and feathery where it’s curled around his ears. The skin of his nose and cheeks, which seemed nearly inhumanly smooth and warm, was dotted in freckles. “Narcissus’ are my favorite.”

His eyes, thickly framed by dark markings and heavy lashes, crinkle into a smile, “they’re lovely, like little trumpets.” 

You think he’s gotten closer since he first joined you, warmth rolling off of him and seeping into your very bones. You shrink back, just a little, and smile, “and what about you?” He makes a soft little hm which sends another wave of warmth through you. “What’s your favorite flower?”

“Oh! Honeysuckle,” he replies, cheeks dimpling into another smile, “simple flowers.” 

He’d insisted on escorting you back inside, as well as insist that you call him, “Keigo—formality makes me itch.”

Your father’s departure was due soon and so the expectation of marriage weighed heavier as the banquet was planned around you. You were glad it would be small, only the King and his advisors, very few nobles you’d have to perform for. 

The dressings you’re expected to wear are laid out for you. Soft and velveteen fabrics covered in little details. They’ve dressed you to match him.

Your only mercy was that the event wasn’t being seen as formal. You wouldn’t need to suffer through each noble's introductions or present yourself. It was for Keigo and your father.

Keigo is, predictably, swarmed when you finally make your way into the hall. The carefulness is back, hands kept tucked away at his sides and a bright smile on his face, coaxing himself through easy laughs. 

Something odd overtakes his face when your eyes meet—something new. The bridge of his nose warms and his eyes round at the corners. It’s strange, like something you’d only ever seen carved in marble or in the portraits lining the corridors. 

You barely have the chance to look over your shoulder, sure he’s staring past you, before he’s in front of you. His hands find your forearms when you jump, smiling widely, “got ya.”

Keigo’s grin only widens when you huff, “you didn’t startle me.”

“Aww, it looked like I did, sweetheart.” You school yourself, refusing to let the earnestness of his voice sway you. But, still you don’t shy away from the hand that finds your chin, “you look good.”

You scoff softly as your own hand curls around his wrist, “you look nice, too.” 

You regret the compliment as he falls into an open smirk, thumb swiping over your cheek as the other clutches the fabric covering his sternum, “aww dove, you flatter me.” 

“I take it back.”

“Too late! You’ve already made me swoon, I’m afraid.” 

Your retaliation is interrupted by the swell of music, warm and slow. Keigo’s eyes brighten before he turns to face you fully. He wants to dance. You scramble for an excuse, something to worm your way out of his grasp so you can hide behind the banquet table and occupy your time with rolls.

But he catches your hands before you can try.

“Do you trust me?” No. Not really, but you let your hand meet his nonetheless. Because you could—trust him. He moves you easily, hands adjusting your wrist before falling to rest, wide and warm, against the small of your back. “You’re the only person I know here, sweetheart.”

You ignore the warmth of the nickname, undeserved, and your brows pinch as you let him guide, feet moving easily to echo his own. He’s concentrating on his feet, letting his wings move minutely behind him. The steps were easy, made even more so by Keigo’s hands. “Not well,” you answer as you let him guide you in a spin. 

Keigo huffs, eyes narrowing minutely, “no, but I’d like to.”

“I mean, you have to,” your voice is airy, teasing, but he knows you meant it. His brows pinch together as another swell of music sends you away from, only the tips of your fingers touching as you rotate. “I imagine my father has pushed for us to ‘know each other’, right?”

Keigo’s quiet and you can see him thinking, turning softly in the circle. He’s pretty, classically so. He’s neater today than he was in the gardens, hair arrayed in more purposeful curls and fingers banded in gold rings which press cooly into your skin. He huffs again, seeming to have found something in your face.

“That’s not what I meant,” he sounds exasperated, taking advantage of the music to pull you into him. “I mean you’re the only one I know here—the only one I hold any loyalties for.” Another spin brings you closer, chest against his own. “We might have to get to know one another, but I’d like to be the place your loyalties lie, as well.” 

You’re separated shortly, then pressed right back against him.

“I don’t want you to force yourself to be around me, I want you to choose to.” His eyes were soft, sickeningly so and focused solely on you. You’re beginning to feel a little like he’d pried open your chest. “I want you to be able to trust me—to want me, if you’re willing.”

He pulls you even closer as the music slows, cheek sliding against your temple and his heart beating against your sternum. You can feel the stutter in his breath, the way his hand twitches nervously against your back.

“Keigo,” he seems to brighten at the use of his name, feathers ruffling behind him, and he tilts himself towards you. “I… I do want to get to know you, without the obligations of my father.”

His wings flutter and the earnestness bleeds from his eyes into his voice, "that's all I ask."

[rainbowtransform]

@ethereal-deadly-clover @melancholycatastrophe

:) (def would consider checking out this post before for a little more context!!)

Here’s the thing: Dream loves his server. He enjoys playing with it, growing flowers and managing to coax dogs and cats out from the undergrowth of trees. He looks at the stars above him, big and bright and beautiful. When he decided to settle, Dream puts away his shoes.

He walks barefoot through the grass, feels the wind, and feels the earth beneath him. The word he has inhabited, the world that holds him close and murmurs words of love is huge. It’s awaiting his exploration, and hums a song that he doesn’t quite understand.

His feet are bruised by the time he finishes his walk. Bad scolds him for it, but he sees the faraway look in Dream’s eye, and remembers the first time he’d gotten his own server. “Be more careful,” he says quietly while wrapping them. “Shoes are important, and you’re not going to help yourself without them.”

Dream shrugs. He wriggles his toes, and smiles.

“I like going barefoot.” He says. “It makes me feel closer to the World.”

~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~

Pandora’s Vault burns his feet almost instantly. Dream spends the first week hopping from foot to foot, settling them into his respawn hole, and wondering why it never hurt this much before.

Sam looks at him with no expression, and only raises an eyebrow at his hopping. There were shoes in Dream’s changing bag, but he’s hasn’t worn shoes in forever. The only time was when he’d enter the Nether, but he’d take them right off afterwards.

“They’re uncomfortable.” Dream tells Sam. “I’m wearing them.”

A sigh.

~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~

He’s in the trees, feet dangling. Sam’s underneath him, shoes in one hand and a half-smile flitting across his face. “It’s almost winter,” he says. “You’ll get cold. You’ve got to wear shoes.”

Dream shrugs. “I’ll wear socks.” He counters.

“They’ll get wet,” Sam says back. Dream crosses his arms. No one likes wet socks, but Dream doesn’t want to wear shoes anymore. He hasn’t been for a while.

“What if I only walk on the Path? Or I only leave when it’s warm enough or I just go outside the community house.”

Sam raises an eyebrow. “You’re not going to do that.” He says bluntly. “You can barely sit there for this world, you’re always exploring. Now you’re going to dust inside for a whole season?”

Dream sighs. He climbs down the tree, and Sam smiles at him. He gives Dream the shoes, and then tightens his own laces when Dream’s tying his. “I’ll be back before this season’s over.” Sam tells him, brushes aside Dream’s hair.

Dream feels uncomfortable. Sam says his goodbyes, and once he’s out, Dream takes off the shoes.

(The others look away. They’ve gotten used to not trying; Sam’s the only one who still does. Callahan even took his shoes off for a week or two, trying to connect to the world like Dream.)

~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~

The thing about Techno joining him is that he’s calm and collected. He’s bored, but he hasn’t been through the things that Dream has been.

“So,” Techno says, looking at the shoes Dream has on. “Why are you wearing Velcro shoes? Can’t tie your laces?”

Dream shrugs. “The Warden put them on me.” He said. “He usually does before Quackity comes.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know. I think it’s like a punishment inside another punishment. He knows I don’t like shoes.”

“You can take them off right?”

“With permission.”

Techno shrugs. “Well… I’m giving you permission.”

Dream shrugs. “The Warden’s supposed to.”.

Techno hums. He drops his cape around Dream’s shoulders, and leans against a wall. “Well,” he says. “I’m going to sleep.”

(And if Dream leans next to him, far away enough to not touch him but close enough to grab Techno just in case, that’s enough. And if Dream wakes up tomorrow with no shoes, Techno looking like he hasn’t moved, there’s no one’s business except his own.)

~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~

Dream writes and writes. His hand shakes, cramps, but he taps bare feet against chests and dips them into the respawn pool. Techno takes the books, and flips through them, and sometimes he’ll make Dream laugh. He also just watched Dream and the difference between shoeless and having them.

It’s done, Dream thinks. He signs his name off, writes it in a flourish. It’s like signing his death warrant. Dream finished the last sentence, and hands off the book to Techno. He doesn’t read this one, but he does give a hard look in the camera’s direction.

“Listen, Dream,” he says softly. “I’m going to go away for a while. I promise, I promise, I’ll come back. But you’ve got to stay strong okay?”

Dream stares at him. “You’re leaving?” He says.

Techno takes the cape from the floor and drapes it over Dream’s shoulders. “I am. I’ll come back for you. Team Chaos, remember?”

“Team Chaos,” Dream echoes.

And then he’s alone.

(Quackity hates that Techno got away. Sam hates that Techno got away, and burned the shoes. Dream cowers in the corner, begging forgiveness even though he did nothing.)

~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~

Drowsy, Dream opens his eyes to see the Warden putting Velcro shoes on him. Dream hates them. It means that Quackity’s going to do something and Dream doesn’t know what. Sam doesn’t look at him, but he does make sure the straps are tight on him before leaving.

Quackity comes in minutes later. Dream curls in a corner, trying to get away, trying to get them off, ect are they on him what is he planning sometime sometime sometime—

~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~

He’s lead outside, with a bunch of people on the entrance. He tries to reconnect with the earth again, tries to feel the world underneath his feet, but there’s—it’s nothing.

He can’t feel anything except the socks and the shoes that feel dead, dead, dead. He would have fallen, trying to grab something in his hands—grass, dirt, the shoes—if the Warden’s hand didn’t tighten on his arm.

The warning is clear: stop.

“See?” Quackity says. “He’s fine. Sam hasn’t done anything to him.”

Dream looks up at the sky, and tilts his head. It’s dark, almost like it’s about to rain. Dream hasn’t seen rain in a long time. He wonders what season it is, before his attention is snapped toward Antfrost, who looks him up and down.

“Why is he wearing shoes?” Antfrost asks. “Dream never does.”

“Pandora’s Vault is hot,” the Warden says. “His feet will burn otherwise.”

They ask the Warden a bunch of questions. They don’t ask Dream, but Ant kept giving him weird looks when he reached for the grass beneath his feet. He just wants to connect again.

Dream feels wind against his face, and he looks to where it’s coming from. There’s a shadow, flying low with the wind. Dream almost looks up, but doesn’t. It’s probably a bird.

The Warden’s hand tightens again, and Dream could feel tears building. Dream looks up and then suddenly everyone is staring at him.

“Dream,” Puffy says. There’s something in her expression that he can’t quite place. “Are you okay?”

Dream turns away and tries to grab some grass again.

“Prisoner,” the Warden says. “Answer the question.”

Dream catches Quackity’s eye, and watches how his expression changes from one of pleased to angry. The Warden’s hand is getting tighter, almost digging into him. Dream nods once, and the Warden lets go.

“Well, that’s a lie.” Technoblade says from above, and then all hell breaks lose.

~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~

Dream loves the night sky and the stars that come with it. When Dream first settled, they could see millions of stars above them and Dream made his own constellations. The stars glowed bright.

(Later on, it became too light to see some of them. But Dream remembered where they used to be. He’d sit on the roof of the Community House for hours, tracing where they were.)

But in the Arctic, they are unfamiliar. “Make new ones,” Techno told him. But Dream misses the old stars, he misses his fri—

He misses when there was no wars.

When it was just Dream in the world, he managed to bring a star down from above. He held it in his hands, hot and cold at the same time; and he watched it. It fizzled and spit and didn’t burn out for a long time.

Dream thinks he was a star, intimidating and untouchable. But he’s also at the end, his fizzle had sparked out. He’s not who he used to be.

He doesn’t know who he is.

~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~

He tries to be barefoot in the snow, tries to feel the earth underneath his feet. There’s nothing except the stinging bite of cold and the dogs’ breathing.

Techno finds him, shoeless, sitting on his porch edge. He’s holding onto two pairs shoes, one Velcro and the other with laces. “It’s pretty cold,” he says.

Dream doesn’t reply. Techno sits down next to him, “Listen,” he says. “You lose the most heat out of feet and your head. I’m okay with you being shoeless in the houses, or the porch. But once you step off, you’ve got to wear shoes. Choose one.”

Dream looks at them. “Laces,” he says. “I can wear laces.”

“Sure, nerd,” he says. Techno leaves the shoes on the porch, and then gets up to go inside. “Phil’s making hot chocolate,” he says. “If you want.”

Dream nods. He lays down on the porch, and looks at the stars above him. A million, waiting for constellations.

So, Dream begins drawing.

~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~

Dream used to coax flowers into blooming early before the Wars began. Iris and Ivy, lilacs, and Lilies, asters and carnations. Roses and willows, and everything underneath the sun.

In the Arctic, they don’t grow. They shrivel because the Arctic is cold, and flowers are used to warm weathers. And Dream almost cries, when he manages to have a flower grow.

It’s a daffodil.

~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~

The Syndicate come back from a mission, gunpowder staining hands and wither residue left on Techno’s cape. They’ve also got Redstone dust on them, but Dream doesn’t ask.

Dream watched them walk up, and Techno glanced down at his bare feet. “We can go on a training mission,” Techno tells him. “Somewhere warmer.”

There’s a break, and Dream looks down at his feet, and the flower that he’s grown. Niki and Phil are already inside, discussing what they should bake for dessert tonight and Boo’s already gone and writing something in his Book.

Dream looks up at Techno, and smiles. “Sure,” he says quietly. “I’d like that.”

(There’s something almost beautiful when he reconnects to the server. When his feet dig into soft soil, and he can feel everything.

Dream lays down, and watches the sky. Techno lays next to him. They’ve got weeks to spend here.)

[azucanela]

chapter iii

pairing: bakugou katsuki x fem!reader

warnings: cursing. mentions of violence. mild violence. 

word count: 2k

summary: the internet is enamored with the idea of y/n l/n and bakugou katsuki, two renowned pro heroes, dating. the first issue? the pair rarely interacts. the second issue? apparently, they hate each other, not that anyone knows about that bit. of course, after one night of many mistakes, the whole world knows.

series masterlist

MAYBE SHE WAS OVERCOMPENSATING, but at least overall productivity of the agency was up. If Y/N was honest, throwing herself into her work probably wasn’t her best idea, in fact one might consider it self destructive. But.. she was frustrated. And the pent of emotions of not only herself but those around her had to go somewhere. 

And what better place to put that energy than her work?

Of course, as she slams a villain into the wall of concrete before bringing their hands together and handcuffing them, all Y/N feels is boredom. Dissatisfied, unfulfilled. Although it had taken her a while to separate her own emotions from that of others when she was younger, it doesn’t take much effort to determine that those feelings are entirely her own. 

In a job like hers, boredom was something to be grateful for, something to welcome with open arms all things considered. And busy season would be coming up for heroes, so Y/N probably should be grateful for the lack of activity. And yet… The calm before the storm was always rather unnerving. 

Y/N can hear the sirens of the police, brows furrowing as she sighs. Dragging the man she had just apprehended along with her despite his grunts of protest. Y/N watches as a police car pulls around by the entrance of the alley she’d cornered him in.

He was just a petty thief, but Y/N had been trying to keep out of the spotlight for the time being, unless her assistance was warranted. And thus far, it hadn’t been.

Inhaling deeply, Y/N watches as an officer exits the car, a smile coming across their face as they see her. “Hey Empatha!” They wave, and Y/N can’t help but offer a small smile and wave of her own back as she hands the criminal over to them.

“Hi, everything alright at the precinct?” It’s meant to be a polite, simple question, but Y/N can practically— literally— feel the way the officer lights up at the question. As though they’d been meaning to bring it up. Y/N had interacted with most of the Police Department briefly, so they weren’t entirely unfamiliar but… that didn’t mean Y/N wanted to stick around for long.

They shrug, pushing the thief into the back of the car despite his protests and shutting the door on him. “We had some plumbing troubles earlier— or something like that I don’t know… but yeah. Everything has been good. Kinda.” 

Unsureness is bleeding into their tone, so Y/N raises a brow as she finds herself asking, “something on your mind?” 

The officer offers Y/N a sheepish smile, “we could really use your help on one of our cases, the Stain Copycat, I assume you’ve heard?” 

Nodding slowly, Y/N finds herself wanting to exit this conversation, and soon, “I can look into sending someone from the Agency but it’s Hawks’ choice.” She looks around with a frown, “I have a feeling the press will be here soon so I should get going, but I’ll be in contact.” She says with a smile, taking a step back before disappearing into the shadows.

Telen’s ability. Y/N borrowed it frequently, and from the soreness of her body, Y/N had a feeling that they’d had quite the day as well. He was capable of teleporting through shadows, light was a major inhibitor but it was an incredibly useful ability and had saved her life a countless number of times. Whether that was literally or from… conversations like that one. 

Y/N had been avoiding Endeavor’s agency since far too many of her old classmates were sidekicks there. As much as she wanted to help, her presence wasn’t necessary. And she had heard about the Stain Copycat case, the one who had yet to be caught, the exception. Hawks had mentioned it during one of their calls recently, so technically she wasn’t lying when she said someone would be sent over to help. 

Just not her. Anyone but her. 

With a sigh, Y/N finally appears in the locker room of the agency. Welcoming the smell of blood, sweat, and probably tears.

It had been a long day, and Y/N quickly decided there was no better way to amend that than with coffee. She’s changing into her civilian clothes— having ended her shift at the agency for the day— inside the locker room dedicated to such things. Patrol had been mostly quiet today, which she was grateful for, but that didn’t make her any less suspicious as to why things had been so quiet. 

Y/N makes her way out of the locker room once she’s changed, and through the agency, offering a smile to Telen as she finally steps out of the agency doors. “You alright today? I can feel the soreness.” She says, walking backwards as she speaks to him, while he holds the door open for the both of them. 

Telen offers her a smile, “yes. It appears I took quite the hit.” He brings a hand to the back of his neck, “not the best day.”

Y/N raises a brow, “wanna come with me? I’m gonna get a drink, maybe something to eat at the café a few blocks from here.” She’d always enjoyed Telen’s presence, he was calm, quiet, but good company nonetheless. Someone who listened, but could certainly maintain a conversation. They’d been working together for a few years now and Y/N had grown to like him. That and she would be returning later regardless seeing as Lorelai had requested a coffee herself. 

Telen shakes his head, “I still have one more patrol, but if I happen to come around there, I might stop by.”

She nods, raising her hand to wave to him as one final goodbye before turning on her heel, and almost instantly a rush of wind is hitting her, though she finds it refreshing as she stares to the sky, a grey color, clouds shielding the sun from view. 

It’s a nice day, she decides, looking to her left. Hawks had placed his agency rather strategically, and by strategically, that meant nearby a café she had been going to for longer than she could remember. Y/N was close friends with the owner now, and many of the employees there. So her presence wasn’t anything astonishing, though Y/N had offered time and time again to advertise their business, they’d always declined. The owner had insisted it was nice being a small business, rather than one swarming with customers. 

Y/N had made the shop her safe space, most of the time, those who recognized her seemed to understand her desire to be left alone. And it was relieving, to be normal for a moment. Not to say that she was special or anything, but life as a hero was… an overwhelming one. She’d been lucky to evade the press earlier.

It doesn’t take long to arrive, a short walk is all it takes before Y/N is opening the door to enter the small shop. Almost instantly, she’s greeted with a bag of chips to the face, having been thrown by a grinning Lily, one of the longtime employees that Y/N had known for years now. “Hey superstar.” 

In response Y/N groans, moving to cover her face in the scarf she’d worn and bury her face inside it, cheeks warming in embarrassment. “Shut up, Lily.” Her eyes drift around, “where’s everyone else?”

Lily shrugs, already moving to make Y/N’s usual as she replies, “we’re a bit short staffed today.” She looks to Y/N, “we haven’t seen you in a while. Been too busy for us, have you?” Her words are teasing, but Y/N finds herself feeling bad for not visiting more often. Her schedules become more busy as the time for announcing the top heroes draws near, more meetings, more events, more press conferences. And with her little scandal with Bakugou, she would likely have to give up even more of her time.

“Never.” Y/N finally replies, moving to stand at the counter and placing her bag of chips there. Y/N pulls out her wallet.

Lily waves her off, “on the house.” 

Y/N rolls her eyes, “I make a ridiculous amount of money, let me spend it.” She says, pulling out a few $20 bills, though Lily simply looks to her pointedly. This only encourages Y/N, causing her to keep eye contact with her as she drops all of the bills into the tip jar. “Split it with the rest of the staff.” 

It's true, Y/N’s salary was… more than enough. Hawks had never been frugal with his money, his employees were well off and she was grateful for it but at this point she had more money than she knew what to do with. She was no Number 2 Hero but her bank account spoke for itself. 

Despite this, Lily glares in response, before sliding a drink over to Y/N. “Regardless, how have you been, aside from getting black out drunk at a very important Gala and then proceeding to talk shit about—”

“I doubt she wants to talk about that Lily,” The bell by the door rings, signaling that someone has arrived, and of course, there stands Rosalyn, another one of the employees. Her hair is greying now, but she still bares the same smile and calming persona that she did when Y/N first met her. “Sorry I’m late, traffic was bad.” 

Y/N is grinning as she walks over to Rosalyn, throwing her arms around her as the pair hugs, “good to see you Ros.” Lily pretends to roll her eyes at the sigh of physical affection, though she smiles at the sight of the reunion, before heading through the door behind the counter.

When they pull away, Rosalyn pats Y/N’s head with a smile, “and you! It’s been a while, look how you’ve grown.”

Y/N’s brows furrow as a small laugh escapes her, “I doubt I’ve grown any.” If she’s honest, Rosalyn and Lily hadn’t changed at all. Y/N wondered if they viewed her the same as they used to after all these years as well. And maybe she was scared of the answer, and that’s why she never asked. She could see it, Y/N doesn’t necessarily know or remember when, but she can recall the first time she noticed that they looked at her differently. 

Things had changed at one point, and maybe Y/N’s visit to the coffee shop was just her attempt at holding onto the past. A past where she was happier, where things were simpler. 

Moving to remove her jacket, Rosalyn shrugs, “perhaps I’ve shrunk. Happens with old age I suppose.” The woman heads over to the small entrance that leads to behind the counter, which also happens to have a door to the backroom. “I’ll be back shortly,” she says. Offering Y/N a smile that she quickly returns before heading into the backroom. 

Y/N nods, taking the chips and her drink to one of many tables by the window and placing them down there to save her spot— though the shop is currently empty, she has no doubt that the busier hours will start soon. Regardless, Y/N comes to a stand to move to the display window filled with different pastries. Their new selection is certainly interesting, the sight makes her miss baking. Not that she has the time nowadays.

With a sigh, Y/N straightens her posture, when the bell rings, indicating that someone has entered. Turning Around. Y/N’s eyes widen as her mouth gapes open due to the sight of the one and only Bakugou Katsuki.

note: shorter chapter but i hope it was worth it hehehehehehe

[fakecrfan]

POV: You wake up in the TMA universe at the start of season 1.

You find yourself on the streets of London, cold and confused.

You try to figure out what happened and get home. You discover the place you lived no longer exists. The place you worked no longer exists.

You try to call the numbers of family, friends, anyone you knew. Baffled voices that you don’t recognize answer you, and then hang up.

As you're wandering around the streets getting increasingly terrified, you pass by the Magnus Institute. Then, everything makes sense.

You hurry in and blurt out: "I would like to make a statement"

Rosie smiles politely.

“Alright, let’s get you the proper forms then.”

She tells you that the Archivist, Jonathan Sims, will see you in a moment. As you are waiting for him, you recall what happens to people who give statements to Jonathan Sims. Unceasing bad dreams. Unrelenting panic attacks. Enough that Jess Tyrell stopped being able to go out in public.

"Ah," you think. "I will not do that then."

You leave in a hurry. Outside, you realize:

oh, I'm the only one who can stop the apocalypse now, aren't i

You shiver. That thought can wait, you think. For now you need to find... somewhere to stay. You are effectively homeless. No, not effectively. You are straight up homeless.

You pull out your wallet to pay for food. Your card is declined. You try to use cash, only to be told it’s counterfeit. Everything is just a little too much to the left of your reality for you to navigate.

Finally you find social services of some kind. They ask for your information, including your NIN. you aren't surprised when they say the info they have on file for that number is.... not you. You are disappointed though.

They help you to a homeless shelter. You sit on your cot and cry self-pityingly for a bit, and then that pressure comes back to your mind:

The world is going to end. You know the world is going to end. You're the only one who can do anything about it.

You turn over and decide that's something you can deal with in the morning.

----

The next day, you think about it again.

"That's something I can deal with when I have an apartment," is what you think then.

So that becomes your next project. Finding your footing as a displaced person. Social services helps but it's... sporadic. It takes months for you to get more stable housing.

When you lie down on the couch of the new, well, new associate you've made, you once again remember that the world is going to end. That you are the only one who can do anything about it.

"I'll think about that when I get a job"

-----

Time continues to pass. As you are trying to get on your feet, you make feeble attempts to... start something.

You go to the Magnus Institute a few times. But it's hard. You've always had terrible social anxiety,. And everyone there seems so cold. You can feel eyes on your back: staring, watching your every move. Normally that alone is enough to make you quit for the day.

A lot of times, the main cast you remember is out doing research. When they are there, you are about to walk up and speak to them when the anxiety hits you again.

What if Elias sees you talking to them? What if he kills you?

You decide to retreat for a little while, then. Just to think of a better plan.

You spend the next month getting your first job in this new world. You start a timeline of when you think the apocalypse is going to happen, but remembering the canon dates is hard. It's not a very helpful timeline, and so you give it up.

Eventually you think the best thing to do is to wait until Elias has been arrested and then talk to the others. When Elias is in prison, he can't murder you for revealing your plans.

This means Sasha and Tim will die. But--they might have died anyway, even with your intervention. Who’s to say? Anyway, you’re not the one who will kill them. It’s not your fault.

You scan the news every day for things about the Magnus Institute, particularly the head of it getting arrested.

During this time, you do a little better. You have a nice apartment now, you think. Nice by your own standards, at least. You decorate the place a little. Get some video games that you like--or well, they aren't the same ones as in your world, but close enough you think?

Months pass.

One day it hits you that maybe the papers would never actually report on Elias being arrested.

Oh shit, you think.

You go back to the Magnus Institute then. By this point, Rosie recognizes you. She grants you the same expression one grants a wayward alley cat. You ask who the current head is. You are told "Peter Lukas."

Shit.

"Can I make a statement?"

Rosie looks nervous. "Um, the Archivist is on medical leave."

"Okay can I talk to one of his assistants?"

Rosie gets this very tired look in her eyes.

"I'll... ask."

Rosie phones the archives extension

it rings

it rings

it rings

"They've all really been through it recently," Rosie tells you. "They don't--like to talk to anyone else, now."

"I have to talk to them," you say. "Um, can you--can you tell Martin Blackwood specifically that I need to talk to him? That it's about Jon?"

Martin is--you like Martin. Martin will be nice and safe. He'll be easier to talk to than Melanie at this point, or Basira. Still, Rosie looks tired again.

"I'll have a chat with him," Rosie says. "How about you go home for now, and I'll call you when I've talked to him."

"But--"

You're bad at this. You were always bad at this. You can barely sign up for anything on your own. Your mother has done so many calls and filled out so many forms for you.

You never cultivated the skill of standing in a lobby and insisting to talk to someone. Maybe you'll just irritate Rosie and she'll blacklist you if you dig in your heels now. Anyway, you're already so tired from this. You think about going home, and playing some Medal of Honour IV.

"Fine," you say.

You go home. You play the game. You sleep.

You're not giving up, you say to yourself. You're just--biding your time.

Rosie does not call you.

It pains you, but you realize you have to go back in and ask to speak to someone again. You'll go today after work, you decide.

No, wait, you're too tired from work today. You'll go tomorrow.

Maybe on the weekend.

----

You finally go back

Rosie tells you she just--hasn't been able to get a hold of Martin.

"Fine," you say. "Any of the other assistants."

Rosie actually looks a bit worried for you. "Um, they're not--they don't take well to unexpected visitors. Let me wait and chat them up about it."

You do not listen this time.

You march down into the basement level where the archives are. The door is--well. Shit. It's barricaded? You knock. You keep knocking.

"Melanie! Basira!" you say. "I have to talk!"

The door opens too quickly. You barely get a glimpse of Melanie's snarl before she strikes and your vision goes white.

She hits you a few times. No knives, just fists. You hear Basira in the backround, barking for Melanie to stand down. Once there is an opening and you can blearily see again, you run away in terror.

It's not--you didn't intend to run. You were just afraid.

----

You go home, and realize that Melanie didn't even really hit you in a super serious way. Nothing that would warrant a hospital trip, at least. Nothing that has left you with a lot of pain, outside of the immediate terror of physical violence.

You probably could have stuck it out there. You should have.

You think about all the months--no, years now--that have passed without you making any progress.

"But that’s not my fault,” you say.

"I was having a really hard time. I was homeless. I've been struggling with my mental health. I still have to keep the rent paid and feed myself."

"It's not my fault. It's not."

"I will do something. Just--I need some more time."

You sleep.

You decide to wait a bit for your bruises to heal up before going back.

When you do drag yourself back to the Institute, now there is a PTSD reaction to going into the Institute on top of the social anxiety.

You leave quickly. Rosie looks so sad for you.

You do try to go back. You do try to get back in contact with the Archives, or go back when Jon is back up. But there's always something. Not something directly stopping you. Just--

Tiredness. Work. Illness. Doctor's appointments. Panic attacks. The Archives staff being unreachable.

The world is going to end. You're the only one who can stop it.

"That's not true though," you think. "I mean, technically anyone could. I just have a little more information that could help."

"It's never one person's fault," you tell yourself as you crawl into bed after another flight of anxiety struck you as you were about to cross the street to the Institute. "It's everything. It's--a whole system. It's Jonah's fault really. If I don't--I'm not to blame."

“I’m not to blame.”

----

You are playing Medal of Honour V when your phone lights up with a notification that there was an outburst of violence at a place known as the Magnus Institute, and billionaire Peter Lukas has disappeared in the confusion.

You should get up. It’s going to happen, and happen soon. You hand twitches on the controller.

You remember a quote you saw before you ended up here, on Facebook of all things.

"Don't wonder what you'd be doing in Nazi Germany. Whatever you're doing now, is what you would have been doing then."

Because bad things were happening in the world all the time, your preachy Facebook aunt said. There is always genocide, and famine, and war. It’s not some movie fantasy from the past.

You think about that. About the horrors in your world. Those movements that you retweeted support for and occasionally donated $5 to. The protests you awkwardly passed by on your way to work.

You quietly realize what kind of person you are. What you would have been doing in Nazi Germany, or the civil rights era in the U.S., or during the catastrophes in your own world, or right now.

It's what you were always going to do.

And so you get back to Medal of Honour V.

----

You're still dreading the apocalypse of course. It won’t be easy.  It will be around six months to a year of full on torture, specifically designed to be the worst you have ever felt. Something about that soothes you. Something about knowing you are a victim too, or maybe knowing that you’ll be punished.

But--it will end, and then you'll be alright. Everything will return to normal, and you can go back to your apartment and your job and your games. It’s not all that bad.

You feel a twinge of guilt for Martin and Jon, who you could ave intervened for. You feel more than a twinge for the worlds the Entities will infect after. But--maybe it will all work out okay. Maybe the universe is a kind place. Maybe other worlds will be able to handle the fears better.

Who knows! There is always hope!

----

[When the sky turns red and the great Eye opens, when you start to hear the howls of your apartment neighbors through the wall--

Nothing happens to you. You are fine. It does not touch you.

Oh.]

[thekitschdiet]

my take on the literary masterpiece, the chic diet

Firstly, I am no one. It’s part of my charm. My fifteen minutes of fame was years ago, when I had an instagram niche meme page. I didn’t even take any brand deals! And my posts averaged six thousand likes! Anyhow. I am hardly literate and well hydrated and carry a small sephora-CVS-hybrid worth in my mini tote bag. Here is my guide on how to live like me, the intermediate kitsch-rat, aspiring influencer. But like, in an apathetic, somewhat dissonant, ironic way. I like saying I live by dogmatic principles. But a lot of it, um, is just eating disorder rituals. But that’s not really important. You’re as hot as you say you are, and as much an authority on what you write so long as you say it with, you know, conviction. It’s kind of venerable how fucking delusional I am, actually. Giving any sort of advice like I’m anywhere close to the ritzy ideal of the amphetamine-areyouami label-american. New York, ideally. West Village, preferably. But I guess the kind of guide I can write is better suited to someone living in a suburb, in a house with the twelve-paned windows. I always thought those were so chic. SO quaint, in a somewhat luxe way. Like, Connecticut vibes. My parents used to drive me up there as a child to buy books and ice cream. Nowadays I’d opt for a matcha latte with novelty ice cubes, but I guess at the time it was pretty sweet. 

Because I popped a Vyvanse at like, 10pm, this next little bit could go one of two ways. I will write the most articulate, brilliant piece of literature of my life. Magnum opus, if there was a skinnier word for it. Or, I will get wrapped up doing something like folding all my last-season knits (which is part of my look, okay! I don’t have a job!) and fixating on a paragraph on how a girl’s collarbones are almost as identifying as a fingerprint, or a signature. I’m not a graphologist, but if you write your A’s with the little tail on top (like on a computer), you’re probably a snake. Nothing personal, just an observation. Also, I do have a biology final to study for. Not that I’m super anal, or even particularly committed to academia, but even in my precariously manicured (read that as separate terms; I did a good job on my nail polish, okay? But I happen to also be teetering on the brink of an epiphany or a collapse. Hence the use of the word precarious.) state, I know it’s important enough I can let one of my countless side-quests sit idle for a couple more days. 

The first section seems only natural to be about hydration. And the whole idea of drinking things, really. There was a section in The Chic Diet about Adderall dry-mouth, which deeply resonated with me. Once I bit off a chunk of a Nivea Strawberry Shine (my favorite lip balm, more on that later) and swished it around my mouth. Didn’t help. Really, really didn’t. Anyway, I suppose that even if it served no purpose for combatting my prevacatingly ingenious cottonmouth solution, I was able to milk a sentence or two out of the experience. “Do it for the Vine”, all grown up! And wearing bananapapaya resin hoops too. Side note, that Etsy shop is a parasocial enemy of mine. It stems from jealousy, which sucks, but hating from inside a club I’m adjacent to is much healthier than being a hateful individual towards people I would, you know, interact with. Daily. Or something. I stopped going to therapy because I felt stupid about going and I don’t live in the right kind of town to warrant vacuous $300 hours. Bitching about my well-adjusted parents and how desperately I wished my anxiety would just “go away” was plainly gross, and a waste. Like, pretty sure almost every problem I have could be solved by a couple painful conversations taking place during a hurricane. Such a shame it doesn’t rain much here. Anyhow, I digress. 

Staying hydrated. It is essential to my character, my persona, if you will; to never be without either an elegant metal bottle (I’m loyal to the smooth enamelled S’well ones, printed to look like marble or a semi holographic solid) or a little 16oz tumbler with a metal straw. Hydroflasks were some of the worst things to happen to society. I want to preface this claim with the fact that I wanted one in the same way a teenage girl wants a new iPhone so she can keep up appearances with her dermatologist-dad friends who still have the XR, by the way. But I ended up spending the money on like, a minidress at Brandy Melville before it fled my city. Or maybe a Fresh Sugar tinted lipbalm. For the better, even though the dress has a busted zipper now and the lipbalm tube has inevitably gotten dinged and dented by the other contents of my mini-totebag. Unlike a car, though, a couple scuffs on your laptop or your luxury lipbalm tube looks kind of cool. Like, you’re not someone who values the pristine, unused quality of an item that was ambiguously intended to be used versus displayed on Instagram.  Now, I’m wondering why this paragraph about hydration is so fucking impossible to stay on track for. I literally drink several litres of water a day, and more tea on top of that. And sometimes an almond milk latte if I can budget it in. Not that I’m so anorexic I can’t afford a 45cal latte. They’re just not that important to me. Anyhow. Drinking lukewarm (on the cool side) water is better than ice-cold. Partially because I just get it out of the tap of my ensuite and I can’t be bothered to wait for it to run cold enough every time, and it just seems wasteful. Plus, there is something so.. skinny about drinking water at an “obscure” temperature. Trust me, I want to know why my thought process is like this too. My favorite tea is blueberry tea foraged in a side aisle at my local supermarket. I love a good commercial, high-end steep or fruit infusion as much as the next girl. Maybe more. My pantry is filled with tins labelled with things like “emerald jade organic” and “magic potion”, which is really just currants and butterfly pea flowers. But there is a necessary glamor about drinking dirt-cheap tea on the daily. Seriously, a box of 25 sachets is like, $3. At a higher point with my, um, Adderall problem, I spent like several times that on pills. I didn’t really need to include that, and could have linked the price point to the cost of a drugstore lipbalm, but I wrote it in. And I’m married to it, stubbornly, as all amateur writers should be when they wittle in a somewhat indecorous little joke. This tea is sooo good because it has a strong fruit-reminiscent taste (not as sweet as a fresh blueberry, but who wants that anyway?), it’s zero-calorie, it’s the most GORGEOUS color ever. The latte, the third drink in my little trifecta, is nothing special. But necessary. The trick is to use a milk frother to whip up sugar free syrup with instant coffee and a little bit of hot water in a glass. It’ll make the most luscious foam.. Top it off with almond milk. My dad is a coffee purist, owning both an upstairs keurig AND a downstairs one (among other more analogue methods, but I can’t name-drop, so what’s the point?), so he hates this drink. Now, calling oneself a plebian is so unglamorous and teetering on self-deprecating territory, dangerously close to insecurity. But I can use it here because I am at least posh enough to have a different pair of earrings for every outfit I could possibly come up with, and I only wear Patagonia if I am in a situation where I just have to wear fleece. Like I was saying. It’s such a simple drink, certainly not a delicacy, and… I had a joke about the word plebian but I keep getting up to refill my water and I fear I have forgotten about it. 

Next section; the importance of a good tinted balm

In the intro I alluded to how a girl’s collarbones function essentially as an identifier, the way a signature or fingerprint does. This is a lie, or at least an exaggeration. But one’s ultimate tinted lipbalm is  actually extremely indicative about who you are, as a person, as a member of society, even… 

If you are loyal to Dior Lipglow, I have a couple questions. One; did you shoplift one tube, once, and refill it with cheaper stuff afterwards? I did that. I consider it one of my better-kept secrets, but now you know. Might as well explain the catalyst for my parent’s first separation now, and the horrifying experience that was meeting my dad’s Manhattan sugar baby (?) at the age of thirteen, wearing an overalls dress from, like, Topshop or something else equally embarrassing. .. Kidding. I digress. It’s such a fancy lipbalm, and good too! It smells like thin mints! But I could just never justify cell phone monthly installation payment money on something I will inevitably talk off. I do own three, but two I stole (before I lost the nerve, somewhat unfortunately) and one, a boy(not)friend bought for me. This is not something I feel any remorse about, because his house was easily four thousand square feet and his sisters had a dedicated all-glass room for their shared peloton. Oil money. Ugh!

My personal favorite lip balm, and I have tried a frightening amount, has got to be the Nivea Fruit Shine collection. The frosted one is shit-ugly. Hideous. But the strawberry one is the love of my life. It’s such a pleasant red, looking healthy and rejuvenated and really completes any look. Only downside is it will always, hopefully not always, remind me of Charles. Kissing Charles, specifically. And him asking me what lipbalm it was, because he knew I was somewhat frivolous and definitive and would have a very long answer. But for whatever reason, I simply stated it was from “out of town”. Not really sure why I said that, but it plagues me (minorly) to this day. Of all the things to make up.. .. The peach one is a perfectly demure spring classic shade. Cherry exists too, but the only tube I have ever had the fortune of owning was purchased in Costa Rica and lost somewhere on the way home. Honestly tragic, it was the juiciest shade. Blackberry is perfect too, but I have to layer it with either peach or untinted lipbalm to avoid what I imagine TooPoor would choose if she believed in tinted lipbalm. I don’t mean this hatefully, I think she’s a queen, but super dark, smudgy makeup suits the eyes better in my opinion. Or something. Or something.

Afraid to bore the reader, I have to move on now. Maybe at a later date I will release an addendum on my ultimate lipbalm buying guide. But also, that is so deeply personal (and everyone needs the excuse of “hunting for the perfect staple shade!!”), so it is really not my place to have any authority on something so intimate and subjective. Etcetera. 

Moving on; Decorating your room

Here is a section I lifted out of my memoir document. It fits, because as enigmatic as I hope I am, I am also quite unchanging.

 I just pushed three hangers and two tiny strappy tops with the tags still on, off my bed. Most nights, all, these days, actually; I spend in my large but cluttered bedroom. I have a little ensuite with a jetted tub I’ve never used because I just never get around to it. There’s a plush grey rug, spanning the expanse of the room (covering an ugly cherry wood that doesn’t match the rest of the house; no clue why. I never asked, and the previous owners were eager to sell so they could finally ditch this town and retire in Montreal for the bagels, or Hawaii for the monk seals. Point is, I’ll never know) with loose beads and loose pills and little shards of glass from plier-crushed beads. I vacuum every day. The whole room tells you exactly the kind of person I am; the clutter I possess, the encapsulation of the projects I start, start, start and the hours I don’t sleep for and the clothes I tried on (these to sell, these to cut up with kitchen scissors; thrifted lululemon and aritzia and heaps of knits and plaid fabric..) I would not say the room is a mess. Lived in, maybe. Chopsticks and mugs and gum wrappers. Single dangle earrings. I just finished the last of my Creme Brulee eos lipbalm; disguised as a relic of 2015, I was gifted it Christmas of ‘20. I think my next waxy conquest will be a tinted Burt’s one I palmed a while back, before I lost the nerve. Peering around the room you will see shopping bags strewn about the mouth of my walk-in closet. Every surface has something shiny or colorful stacked up on it. Cluttered, busy, but intentional. Except for the walls, which are bare. Bare and gray and miles-tall when I lie flat on my back, high out of my mind, willing things to change but knowing I’m responsible for a first step I will always be too scared for. Bare, pristine, no gumtack. Empty, Like they’re waiting. I wait around a lot. It makes sense. That was an awful lot of words about my stupid blank walls when truly it does not bother me that much; I really just don’t get around to it. I have other things on the ground to tend to, like post-email nausea, addressing envelopes, marrying wire and bead.  Writing a document I care about because I am determined and I am alive, alive, alive, goddammit. 

Excerpt over. The memoir is coming out when I get famous, or something earth shattering happens. Like I become the world’s least remarkable entrepreneur, and I get retweeted by Colorpop. I don’t want to be the next Elizabeth Wurtzel. I read two of her memoirs one restless night, absorbing it to make up for the nutrients I didn’t that day (you can laugh. I think that is pretty clever), heart breaking a little bit. She writes about her struggles so intrinsically, you either get it, or you don’t. Anyway. She had the books and the fame from it, and she wrote more memoirs than I think a single person should. That is admirable. Aspirational, even. But I do not want to be like her. Where was I? Oh. Yes. Decorating/adorning/filling your room. Your room should serve as the kind of place to watch a movie (if you believe in film. I don’t) and put on ridiculous glittery eye makeup, or smoke an ~artistic cigarette~ or stay up all night on the phone, which is different from staying up all night simply on your phone. Chatting with someone you are tepidly in love with is much more exciting. Not chic as the whole affair is so juvenile, but fun regardless. It’s somewhere to keep your worldly possessions, too. I know I have a lot! Also, it is kind of thrilling to hide things in your room in little crevices only you know about. Now, unfortunately, everyone reading this will know too. But, like, I trust you not to really.. do anything about it. I keep my extra juul pods in the sliding box my apple pencil came in. That box is almost more useful than the pencil itself. I’m somewhat morally opposed to the iPad. Whole culture is so embarrassing! I have a tea tin with an ounce of golden teacher shrums in it. This is tossed in my closet among tins filled with other things, like lace trim and buttons. Which makes it actually a pretty terrible hiding spot, I see now… Anyhow. Keeping benign little secrets like that is so fun. You can tell I don’t have siblings. I sort of wish I did, but it is easier to believe there is something aristocratic about being an only child. Not sure if older-sister me would be egalitarian enough to share things. But that’s prophesying, which is kind of a waste of time. I live in the now, in a room positively cluttered with meaningless things that mean the world to me, chewing on my lip because my mouth is just so dry and 5gum is just not an after-8 indulgence. To live truly kitschly, you have to have somewhat hideous decor. Now, do not confuse dissonant, or incoherent, with what I mean by “hideous decor”. The kitsch room has as many surfaces to look at as possible, while also shying away from too many shelving units. Then you risk your room looking like a storage unit or something. When my mom renovated (re: paid someone to do it) our New York house so we could sell it, all our stuff was stacked up in a Cubesmart self storage. It was sort of horrifying, seeing my childhood home reduced to plastic storage tubs piled what felt like thirty feet high. Anyway. It’s just not an  inviting way to store things; I imagine it makes your room look like your stuff is all trapped in gelatin. The more fussy, tiny things you have out in the open, the better. Nail polish. Earring trees. Bowls full of rings and lighters and water color pans perched on your windowsill. A rack with the tackiest assortment of knits and bucket hats and baguette bags. And so forth.. Quickly surveying someone’s room is so telling. Bonus points if all your books are spine-in, except for your favorite ones, because you don’t want people to get the wrong idea. (that you read). 

[gra-sonas]

We here at TV Fanatic love ourselves some Kyle Valenti.

This season, Roswell, New Mexico's resident doctor, and all-around gem, has been put to the test. But through all the trials and tribulations, he remains the one guy his friends can always count on.

Michael Trevino was kind enough to take the time to chat with us about Kyle's journey this season, what's next for him, and which character from The Vampire Diaries he'd like to see spend a little time in alien territory.

Michael Trevino: Hey, Whitney.

Hi Michael, how are you?

Michael Trevino: I'm doing well. I'm doing well. How are you?

Good, I'm great. Thank you. So, I'm just jumping right in here. Kyle has had a lot going on in season three, to put it mildly. How would you describe his journey so far this season?

Michael Trevino: Well, as I'm sure you know, Kyle is continuing to put out fires. He's there for as many people as he can be, but he's definitely called upon. And whenever he's needed, I feel like he shows up, but in episode 3x09, that's going to air next week, I think we kind of see things.

He's reached his limit. And you sense his frustration. And I feel that it's warranted even though it comes in a bit hot, but we're in season three, and his life has taken a turn. And he's finding out more and more about his own family history, and I think it's just been a bit frustrating for him.

Sure. And while Kyle was recovering, the audience got the big bomb dropped on us that Ramos is Kyle's uncle. And that adds another layer to the Valenti history and legacy. So can you kind of speak to where Kyle currently is in regards to his feelings about his father and his feelings about the legacy of his family?

Michael Trevino: Well, I think what the writers have done is really, from season one to season three, has painted a picture of who Kyle's father was. Who is Jim Valenti? And at first, we thought he's this great guy that Kyle had looked up to and always wanted to make proud. And maybe that is the driving force in everything and anything that Kyle does.

Well, now we're finding out a bit more about who Jim really was. We've been on this journey of season two with Jesse Manes, that whole interaction.

And now we're finding out a bit more in season three. And that really flips Kyle's world upside down. I don't see how it couldn't. So he becomes this angsty, frustrated individual because you're thinking you know somebody, and you're finding out all these different things about him or her.

And so with Eduardo, I feel that it's like, "What else? What else am I missing?" What else can be thrown his way? Because now we find out that, yeah, Eduardo, "Oh, you're my uncle. Interesting. Why hasn't anybody ever told me that before? Where have you been? Can you help me understand what is going on?"

And when you think about that, Kyle probably thinks, "Well, who am I really? What is this really about?" So I don't know if he's, maybe, in the middle of wondering or questioning his own identity of what is this Valenti code? Has that been a lie? Because that's something that he's lived by, so that's where we're at.

Will we get to find out more about what happened the night that Kyle was attacked?

Michael Trevino: No, not really. I'm trying to think fast here of exactly, no, I mean, when we started episode 309, we find out, has he been in a coma? Was he injected with something? Was he knocked out? So, it was briefly explained, but I think, more so, we get into Eduardo and Kyle. Who are they to one another?

And that is a jumping-off point for Kyle.

You touched on this a little bit earlier, but Kyle is not only the doctor that everyone needs, but he's also a confidant as well. Can you speak to Kyle's role, how you see Kyle's role within his group of friends?

Michael Trevino: Yeah. I think Kyle is somebody that you can depend on. He's somebody who has everybody's best interest at heart. If you call upon him, he's going to be there for you. And I think that what I've enjoyed about being on the show is how Kyle is interwoven between all the storylines, everything that's happening.

He is a part of that, in some capacity. So that's been fun to play just as an actor with everybody on our cast, but that's just going to continue. And I feel like it's just going to get heavier. Just a heavier burden on Kyle, on what else needs to be done, how he can help, what is asked of him, needed of him to finish off the season.

And that also kind of flows into my next question, which is that Kyle is a character that has deeply personal relationships with pretty much all of the core characters, but is there a certain dynamic that you wish could be explored a bit more on the show?

Like this season, we've got you with Michael some more and some more with you and Rosa, is there any particular dynamic you'd like to see explored more?

Michael Trevino: Great question. A hundred percent. Kyle and Isobel. I want to see it. I want them to...what is their dynamic? Cause I think the energy that Lily brings to Isobel is so... it's not infectious, but it's... it is infectious, but it's also, she just has so much energy.

She's a ball of energy, and I want to see...and she's powerful. She's just fierce. And so, I'd like to see more Isobel and Kyle scenes. What is their friendship relationship to one another? And I'd like to explore that.

Yeah, that'd be great. Cause I also think with Kyle, every person he gets to interact with brings out a different side to him, which is really nice to see as well.

Michael Trevino: Yes, very much so. I'm glad you noticed that because it's true. It's true. And that's why I picked Isobel because I think that out of everybody, you see the most, you see such a different side of Kyle whenever he's interacting with Isobel.

For whatever reason, I feel like it's always there compared to any other character. And so, I'd want to explore that more.

Yeah, I'd like that too. So last season, we saw Kyle in a relationship with Steph, but this season we haven't seen him pursuing anyone romantically. Will that be something that changes as the season progresses, or will his focus kind of lay elsewhere?

Michael Trevino: No, I think the focus at this point is not only is he going to be more involved with Deep Sky and Eduardo. But everybody, in some way, is going to have to deal with Jones. And that's gotta be priority number one. So, I don't see any time for any romance.

Earlier in the season, Kyle was presented with an opportunity to potentially leave Roswell for new opportunities. If that were to ever happen, which I hope it never does, where do you think Kyle would end up?

Michael Trevino: Ooh! That's fun. I think Kyle would go to New York. I think he'd go to the East Coast. I think he'd want to be in the big city. He'd want to be in Manhattan and just have that energy. Because we all love Roswell, but it is a bit of small-town living. And so, I think I would see him pursuing more in the medical field in the big city.

This season feels like a bit of a rebirth in some ways. And it's been a lot of fun for the audience. So, is there anything about season three that you particularly enjoy? Not just for Kyle, but the show as a whole?

Michael Trevino: Ooh. Listen, where we're at now in the season is Jones. Jones is our "big bad," if you will. And what's fun is, one to see Nathan Dean play two characters, right? And trying to see him add different layers to both of them. So that's been fun. I know last season he was working his ass off, and I think it shows.

But to do that, to play two characters, is a lot. I really enjoyed him tackling that, but all of us have that in common, right? It's like, okay, we have to all come together, join forces almost like it's The Avengers or something to take care of Jones. This is our big bad. This is priority number one, and this is what we have to take care of.

And I know in the later episodes, it's everybody joining forces. I mean, it's exactly what you would think of all of us in one scene, coming together, being like, "Okay, we got to get rid of this guy. How do we do this?" And everybody has their job.

I know you are shooting season four now. What is it like being back in Santa Fe and stepping back into the role, and how much do you enjoy filming in Santa Fe and everything that kind of goes with it?

Michael Trevino: Well, I noticed, we shot season three a little later in the year, and so it was the dead of winter; it was freezing. I think you can see that in the episodes that are currently airing. We may seem like we're not cold, but we are freezing, freezing. I liked that we started a bit earlier for season four.

So right now, the cold hasn't set in yet. We're shooting very beautiful exterior shots, and it's been nice. It's been nice. The show is still going. I do want to thank all the fans that continue to watch week to week and are still invested in the story that we're telling and the characters that we're playing because we're getting into that rare territory.

It's season four, and we're all still happy to be here.

We're all still working. I've been on series' that last a long time. And sometimes the dynamics can shift, right? But I can honestly say that I think everybody on this series is happy to be here and happy to work and grateful for that. And so, it is a nice feeling. We're plugging away right now.

It's season four; things are going really well. I really like these episodes. And it's a different energy because we're working, but then we're also able to get instant feedback on which episodes are airing currently. That's a really nice feeling, but me, I enjoy Santa Fe. It's a beautiful part of New Mexico.

And we're all great right now until maybe in about a month and a half until it gets freezing again. But right now, we're good.

Yeah, and congratulations to you because, like you alluded to, getting four seasons nowadays is no easy thing to do. So, you guys should be very proud of that.

Michael Trevino: And trust me, I'm reminding our cast every chance I get. I'm like, "Hey, this is a good thing here." I think people are still engaged in what we're doing. People are still tuning in. And so as long as that's happening and we're doing our jobs, everything should be fine.

This is just a little bit of a fun question. If you could think of a Vampire Diaries character that you would like to see swoop into Roswell for a bit, who do you think that would be?

Michael Trevino: Oh, damn. That's a great question. I'd love to have more time to think on this, but off the top of my head right away, gut reaction because I'm envisioning my buddy, Zach Roerig, in a Sheriff's uniform. And I'm envisioning Max in a Sheriff's uniform. And I don't know why I want them to... maybe they don't get along.

Maybe there's a new sheriff in town. I don't know what. I don't know what, but it would be very awesome to see Zach Roerig play Matt Donovan in Roswell, New Mexico. But him be that character. Have him be Matt Donovan and just kind of react to what's going on here.

And if it's the same character, you'd think he'd be like, "Okay, first I was dealing with witches, werewolves, and vampires. I'm coming to this town. You're telling me there's aliens here." Let's make this a comedy. I want to see that play out. That would be hilarious.

Yes, it really would be. Last question for me, with this season winding down, is there anything you can tease for us about where Kyle's story goes from here?

Michael Trevino: I think what we're going to see him and Eduardo be allies to one another, and Kyle's involvement in Deep Sky is going to be greater, and everybody has to come together for this guy, Jones. It's all hands on deck. Cause Jones is very powerful, manipulative, and we have to get him out of here.

Okay, well, thank you so much for your time today.

Michael Trevino: I appreciate it. I appreciate it, Whitney. Thank you. And great job on those reviews that you do. Those are awesome.

Oh, thank you very much. Thank you.

Michael Trevino: Yep. You got it.

[ahkaahshi]

how they handle the wedding planning process [scenarios]

pairings: hirugami sachirou; oikawa tooru; miya osamu x fem reader

genre: fluff, humor

warning(s): two swear words. that’s it, surprisingly enough.

Hirugami is well known for being cool as a cucumber under the most intense of conditions. It’s a skill he's refined over the years, and, boy, does it come in handy during the wedding planning process. If you’re stressed, he’s there to calm you down. If you’re doubting decisions you’ve made about your dress, venue, food, or literally anything else, he’s there to reassure you that right or wrong doesn’t matter, as long as the two of you are happy together and in agreement.

Not only is he a seasoned professional in the arts of remaining calm, but he’s also a skilled crafter. Yes, that’s right. This man will go HAM in the arts and crafts department. Think you need to hire someone to make cute invitations and a table decorations? Think again. Hirugami’s on it, and at only the cost of a few kisses an hour. If he’s workin’ overtime, he might request a lil shoulder rub every now and then, but talk about a good rate! Plus, he does a great job and you know what he makes is special because he put his heart into it.

“How’s it going, Sachirou?” you ask with a gentle sigh as you walk into the living room from the kitchen with a bag of chips in hand.

From where he’s sitting on the floor, focused on his work, he lifts his head and directs a gentle smile your way. “Good. I’m almost done with the invitations now,” he responds and returns to his duties once more.

With half a chip in your mouth, you pause for a moment to marvel at the sight before you. At the center of a sea of craft supplies sits your tall fiancé, looking calm and controlled as ever while his nimble fingers place appliqué decorations onto one of the many strips of paper in front of him. He’s wearing golden glitter on his cheeks like war paint and has his crafting weapons--paint, brushes, markers, and ribbon--neatly arranged within arm’s reach. The way he grabs what he needs without glancing away from his work for a second reveals just how much time he’s spent on this project.

Feeling your heart warm at his efforts, you continue walking through the room so you can carefully sit down beside him and spend some time with him. You don’t even have to utter a word for him to know you’re stressed.

“Just get off the phone with your mom?” he wonders. Your arrival warrants a break, so he backs away from his project for a moment and sticks his hand in the bag of chips you’re cradling.

You nod in response to his inquiry and mention, “She’s been driving me up the wall about all the little details. I know she means well, and all, but she’s just stressing me out.”

A hum echoes from behind his lips as his eyes move to yours. You think he’s going to say something reassuring or inspirational once he's finished munching, but, instead, he dips his fingertips into a container of glitter and spreads it across your cheeks in two, long swipes.

Eyebrows furrowed in confusion, you murmur, “What the heck are you doing, Sachirou? I need you to stay sane.”

“(L/n), (f/n)--soon to be Hirugami (f/n)--you are now a wedding warrior,” he announces, an amused grin forming across his lips. A moment of silence passes as you mentally question his state of mind. Maybe he hadn’t been the same since he’d left for the craft store earlier. “Which means,” he continues, pausing to press a kiss against your lips, “you’re strong and you can do this, okay? We’re in this together, so I’m right here with you, baby.”

His words and actions bring that reassurance that you’d been seeking in a goofier way than you’d anticipated, but one that you appreciated nonetheless. You utter a gentle promise of love to him that he returns and seals with another kiss placed on your forehead.

“Should I let you get back to work, then, wedding warrior?” you ask.

He nods and replies, “I’ll collect all my hourly kisses when I’m done.”

Oikawa is a methodical guy who always wants to be in control. Because of this, he’ll be just as hands-on in the wedding planning process as you are. In fact, there will be multiple times when you’ll have to tell him to step down, or you’ll argue because of your competing visions. However, his love for you will trump any desire of his to “win”--in terms of disagreements over certain aspects of your wedding--and he’ll always want to pick the option that will make you happy. Though, keep in mind, it may take him a bit of time to understand your point of view and come to terms with it.

While having a helicopter mom of a wedding planner for a fiancé might not be every woman’s dream, he is very helpful and you can always be assured that you’ll never have to shoulder the entire burden of the process yourself. It’s tiring! You don’t want to do it all by yourself, and that’s why you can be thankful that you have someone to share the workload with. If he’s busy at practice/training over the weekend, he knows that you’re working hard at home. Likewise, while you’re at work, you know you can trust him to get things done in your absence. He won’t let anything slip through the cracks, so you’ll never have to worry about the job getting done or any details being forgotten. You’ll just have to make sure you’re planning a wedding for the both of you, not for just one of you.

“No, I don’t like those floral arrangements for the tables.”

Oikawa’s lips settle into a frown upon hearing you express your discontentment with his idea. “Well, I don’t like the arrangement you like, either, (f/n)-chan, so what do you wanna do, then?” he grumbles.

As your gaze wanders around the shop filled to the brim with different varieties of flora and fauna, you take a deep breath of the air tinged with the potent scent of roses. You don’t like the way your fiancé’s looking at you right now or how he has his arms crossed in front of his toned chest as his foot taps against the floor with impatience.

“Tooru,” you groan quietly and shoot a withering glance towards his shoe, “Come on. These aren’t the only options we have.”

He retorts, “But we really don’t have the time to spend looking for another florist. And I think these arrangements are perfect. They match our color scheme and they look classy.”

You shake your head and take your bottom lip between your teeth. “I’m sorry; they’re just not what I envisioned. Besides, we don’t have to find another florist. Why don’t we just go around the shop with him and pick out some flowers we both like?”

There’s a long silence as he wrestles with the idea of compromise and his pride. Getting him to sacrifice the latter is harder than pulling a chew toy out of a pit bull’s mouth. But, for you, he’s willing to entertain the idea that he doesn’t always have to be right, since what he always wants is for you to be happy.

After a few moments pass, the expression on his face softens and his hand finds yours. He takes a long look at the engagement ring glittering on your finger before he presses a gentle kiss against the back of your hand and gives it a squeeze. “Okay,” he concedes, “let’s do that.”

A small smile graces your lips as you peck his cheek and give him a soft pat on the shoulder. “I know you just want everything to be perfect, baby, but let’s work together, okay?”

He murmurs in agreement and plants another kiss on your lips. “As long as I can have my milk bread on the menu, there’s no need to worry.”

“I’m glad your milk bread is worth the cost of including those embarrassing baby photos of you in the slideshow.”

“Don’t remind me, princess. Now, let’s go look at flowers.”

Osamu is more laid back by nature, and, while he’s willing to help, he probably won’t sweat the fact that you two have a huge event coming up. He won’t be getting into a tizzy about the ins and outs of wedding planning, so he often comes off as being apathetic about the whole thing. This can be extremely frustrating for someone who loves to plan and fusses over every, grueling detail of the event. However, it’s important to understand that his hands-off approach comes from his trust in you rather than from laziness.

Because he knows you have everything under control, he’ll be a part of the process by taking on a supportive role. Truth be told, he really does care about the fact that you’re getting married. He wants nothing more than to be with you for the rest of his life. So, if you want an opinion, you can go to him and he’ll help you. If you want him to make a decision, ask him and he will. If you need him to do anything, let him know and it’s done. Otherwise, he’ll just make sure you’re well taken-care of while you handle things.

Oh, and don’t even bother looking into catering options. That’s strictly his department and he’s an expert. Let him work his magic.

Your (e/c) eyes burn with strain as they flicker between the bright screen of your laptop and the notebook resting on your leg. For the umpteenth time that evening, you try turning down the brightness only to find that it was already at the lowest possible setting. This causes a small groan to echo in your throat as you scan the webpage tirelessly for any information you can find about each potential wedding venue you’d been considering.

The only thing that gives you pause is the sound of footsteps padding across the wooden floor behind you. Looking over your shoulder brings your attention to your fiancé, who’s dressed in his sweater and boxers, sporting a disheveled head of dark hair.

“(F/n)?” he utters, steel-colored eyes shifting over to your form, “What’re ya doin’ up? It’s fuckin’ two in the mornin’.”

Shaking your head and brushing strands of your own, messy hair away from your face, you explain, “I was too stressed to sleep. I can’t sleep until I find a good set of venues to look into tomorrow.”

Though he wears a clear look of disbelief on his features, he doesn’t try to stop you, since he knows that won’t get him anywhere. “Fine. But don’t be complainin’ when you’ve got a headache tomorrow, love.”

His words are dry and sharp, but you know the intentions behind them are warm and soft, so you don’t argue or huff in response. Instead, you turn back to your laptop and continue your research.

When you tear your gaze away from your work once more, it’s because Osamu’s at your side, offering you a mug filled with warm tea. “Come back to bed once you’ve finished this, alright?” he bargains as you hook your fingers around the handle and bring the drink to your mouth. You nod wordlessly, and he glances over at the notebook perched on your thigh. “Need any help?”

“I’ll need some tomorrow, but I'm okay for now. Thanks, ‘Samu.”

He places his hand on your shoulder and swoops down to press a kiss against the crown of your head. “I wantcha back in bed by three. If ya stay up later than that, ya start gettin’ all grumpy, ‘nd you know it.”

You chuckle and reassure him, “I know, baby. I promise I’ll be in bed before then.”

“Hey,” he speaks in a tone that’s more tender than that he’s been using, making you look up at him expectantly. “Whatever place ya pick, it’s gonna be great, alright?” You try not to giggle at the way his words are ever so slightly slurred by his fatigue as he continues, “As long as yer happy ‘nd the bank ain’t broken, we’re good.”

“I love you,” you coo against his lips in the moments before they meet with yours.

“I love ya too, babe,” he responds when the two of you pull away, “I’ll be awake, waitin’ for ya ta come back, so don’t be late.”

You scoff, “Oh, c’mon, ‘Samu, you were never awake to begin with.”

He clicks his tongue and places his finger on his chin in an act of contemplation before waving you off and trudging back to your bedroom. “Shit, ya got that right. But if yer up past three, I’ll know it. Trust me.”

[bagog]

What On Earth Has Happened

Hey, no story here, no experiments. Just a play by play of an awful year in my life. Please don't reblog. Trying to just get it down in one place for people who care about me. Long, sob-story beneath the cut.

Air - 'Things are looking up!' I had started to drift a bit from tumblr. The porno purge came and a lot of my friends trickled off the platform after that. I went back to school, attempting to score myself a Masters degree in something that would pay enough to get me out of Student Debt. I was doing great, picking things up fast. I got a new job at a company doing pretty menial work, but the people I worked with were great conversationalists. The work didn't involve dealing with customers at all, paid well, and was small and accomplishable tasks. Essentially I was being prepped to take a better position at the place once I had my Masters. Covid happened, then. Earth - 'The Whole World Sucks Right Now' My company was "essential," so I continued going to work, now on weird schedules. The company I worked for was profiting off Covid, all the while making fun of it as an overblown conspiracy, even as their own epidemiologist urged them to take better precautions. Work became hard to swallow. Water - 'When your lowest place could be lower' The apartment I shared with my boyfriend flooded. The lowest place in any sewage system is typically the bathtub, such that if it backs up, it does so into that tub. Our lowest point is the toilet. So the apartment flooded. Three times. Roots growing through the sewage outflow meant that, often, you needed to wait a solid hour between toilet flushes, or else the toilet would back up with such gusto the sewage would slosh down the hallway and into the living room. We mopped many times. The problem was finally fixed 8 months later, necessitating our having to camp because our house had no water. Fire - 'To destroy all you've done' One afternoon, I smelled burning. Going to our bedroom, I found our shelf a column of flame. I could barely breathe for all the smoke, but I managed to grab a blanket and beat the fire out. On the other side of the room, the pages of the books upon another shelf had begun to crisp from the heat, the blinds on all the windows were warped. The whole apartment had been about to go up. I'm kinda scared of fire now. Heart - 'When moving is too much to ask' Personal health sorta hit a new low. Migraines kept me out of work for two full weeks. I have seasonal foot pain, I always assumed from hiking for a living in my 20s. Turns out it was gout, all the while. Gout is exceptionally painful: it's like a messy pile of razor blades in the ball of your foot every time you step down. At work, I could barely stand. Walking from my car to the door became something I needed to psyche myself up for. Not a lot can stop a gout flare-up once it's in full swing, so I just had to wait it out. For a month. Two. Some of the worst sustained pain I've been in. Little did I know that, in January, come the kidney stones. Kidney stones feel awful. Feel like total shit. Gout and kidney stones are comorbid--brought about as a result of the meds I take to help me focus. So any day I don't drink enough water is a day when my kidneys or my foot just starts aching. But going back to September of 2020... Homophobia - 'goddammit' Finally things are looking better. I'm limping quickly again. Then I am called into the HR office. I am told that two sexual harassment charges have been brought against me. I'm told that one individual has alleged that I, while in the restroom, used a reflective toilet brush to attempt to peep him under a stall wall. I did not do this. I do not understand--reflective toilet brush?? wtf. The second allegation: I just straight up looked over a stall at a guy. I didn't do this either. I'm asked to defend myself, I ask who or date or time of day. I am given nothing. I remark that I don't think I'm tall enough to see over the stall, and I do not understand about the toilet brush. Of the ten minutes of the meeting, I spend 8 of them trying to get my head around how a claim about a reflective toilet brush has me here. "Would you like us to go now to see if you're tall enough to see over the stall? If that would help your defense?" says the HR head. "Yes, I

would," says I. We did not go. I am told that the accusers have no reason to be collaborating, or to even know each other made a claim. This is bullshit, because it was a company of 80 people, and only a quarter of those employees used the restroom where my alleged harassment was to have taken place. Before I am dismissed from work for the day to go home and wait to find out if I'll be fired or not, I march into the HR office once more and say "I hope none of this is happening because I'm gay." The HR head looks positively offended. I got fired cuz I'm gay. Next day I got a call. They'd come to the "objective truth" (that phrase is burned in my mind), and were terminating me. Apparently they discounted the toilet brush rumor, after all. But they really honestly believed I looked over the stall at a dude. Nightmare - 'No Fear One Fear' Let me tell you something: this is a nightmare. This is my honest-to-god nightmare. I've been terrified of getting accused of something in a bathroom since I was 11 years old. I am incredibly self-conscious and careful in public restrooms. To be fired? From a place full of people I like? And all of them will think I'm a pervert. My boyfriend worked at the same place. He would now have to work there every day dealing with people looking at him and wondering what he must think of his boyfriend. That sent me on a spiral. I'm still out of work, almost a year later. It would have been the worst mental health crisis of my life if it wasn't for my boyfriend, my support network, and the meds I've finally been able to get ahold of. Oh, also. My two accusers? Were roommates. HR knew they were roommates. They basically collaborated on a story to get me fired. The story circulating around the place (I still have acquaintances I talk to working there) has dropped the reflective toilet brush entirely. I guess they thought it was too unbelievable. So anyway, the people who accused me are now telling a different set of events than what I was told. Absolute horse shit. Tried to go to my city's human right's council to see if my situation warranted further attention. I gave my side of the story--including tales of the straight manager who had had enough harassment charges brought against him that he was no longer allowed to meet female staff--which indicated I'd been treated differently and wrongly. My old job made an impassioned argument that the committee violated their First Amendment rights(?) ('Freedom of speech' is the biggie with the First Amendment, for people who cba re:USA). I won the vote!! But one member of the committee was missing. So there weren't enough people for the vote to pass. Dismissed. We took it to the EEOC to make an official federal complaint. Just a week ago, an agent of the US Government patiently explained to us that these laws are literally designed to fuck over the worker and protect the employer unless they are epically stupid, and unfortunately, mine had not been epically stupid. So there's nowhere to go, no recourse to be had. It's over, I guess. Family - 'How to sum it up quickly...' My family hit me with the old soft-disown. No more calls, no more communication. They think they are loving me by not having contact with me. By depriving me of my family, they hope it will make me realize that the path I'm on is destructive, and I'll return to them living an upright life. No. I'm living an upright life, now. And if my family can choose to throw me away, then they are not a family I choose. Then my dad hit me back two months later, absolutely gaslighting me and pretending we never had the disown conversation at all. Reality - 'I don't know who I am anymore' I have trouble knowing what's real, anymore. Every message my dad sends on the surface seems loving and supportive and plaintive. I feel I must be the one in the wrong. I got fired for bullshit reasons. It doesn't feel real. "My family can't possibly have ceased contact with me: that's one of those things I know can never happen!!" But that did happen. So what else that feels real, actually isn't? I do

mean to be so dramatic, and I won't apologize for it. But I truly do feel like my mind has been pretty thoroughly unseated by the last year. Whoever I am, I'm becoming someone different. More distilled, at very least. I've discovered a lot of things about myself: trauma that has likely led to a lot of my mental health problems. Discovered I actually have RAGING ADHD, and it has robber me of a lot of things I wanted to do, and now is sort of consuming me completely. I'm looking for help. Trying to get better. Here's hoping. Every bold point above could be its own book, for all my thoughts about them. But enough of that for now. Love you. Thanks for reading.

[ihassheepquake]

DC's Batwoman 3.07 "Pick Your Poison" has aired on the CW and I'm here to talk about it

It's the mid-season finale. On one hand, it feels a lot earlier than expected, but also it kind of tracks with how the seasons of Arrowverse shows usually go. Normally the annual crossover around episode 9 of each season is kind of treated as the mid-season finale despite it definitely not being the mid-season. Though there isn't a traditional crossover, I do imagine that this episode is going to end in a way that lets Ryan be able to go participate in the Flash event happening as that seems to be happening in "real-time."

I guess what I'm most interested in seeing, not just from this mid-season but in general, is where this Ivy-Mary thing is going. Is Mary becoming Ivy for real, like full time? Someone was cast as Pamela, an actress named Bridget Regan. Obviously, Mary being Ivy right now doesn't mean that we'll never see Pamela but who knows for sursies. I would guess that Pamela is still in that underground prison it's said Batman put her in and has possessed Mary to go free her. But has somebody been caring for her since Batman vanished? What if she died in the years it's been? Maybe we only see Pam in flashbacks. They have a lot of things they could do with this plot and I'm really excited to see what they do with it.

Enough pre-episode talk, let's get into it.

Starting off strong, Ryan helping Jada basically kidnap Marquis. We love a wild start. Boy is becoming our new Joker, which I don't know if I'm into or not, but whatever.

I forgot Sophie fucked Renee last episode omg.

Swamp Thing name drop?? Hell yeah! Have we seen him in the Arrowverse before? I don't think so but it's been a long time since I watched early Arrow so maybe he popped up there? Did they just put the Swamp Thing show on this Earth now? The CW does technically have that show now and it aired there around Halloween 2019 I believe. Maybe 2020. But I want HBO Max to pick it up and give it new life because it deserves it and HBO Max would have the money to put into it and could let it keep its very R rating.

Yay Ryan, you got it! Alice went with Mary, possibly specifically so you lot can track her but who knows with her. But yeah, definitely not. She's just snatched Mary for her own devilish needs.

Besties what is this method of finding a donor??? Because it's really stupid. Oh I'm so glad they changed Ivy's compulsion powers so she doesn't have to kiss someone to make it work. Was never a fan of that. I wonder if Mary will keep any of these powers after Ivy leaves her system? It's not exactly abnormal for people to keep some powers after possession/temporarily having powers in this universe.

Speaking of, here is Joker 2.0 ladies and gays! This is certainly a plot point. And here he goes killing people.

Can you actually tell someone's blood type like this? Idk what Mary's actually doing but that's wild shit.

How is the show going to backtrack this thing with Ryan resigning? Because they're going to, we all know it.

Ivy-Mary do something to not let Alice get the blood! Take your revenge!! I really don't think you get to qualify as Mary's only family left. It is really interesting hearing Alice and Mary talk about Kate though because really what Alice is saying is mostly fake, Kate did spend most of season 1 legitimately trying to help Alice until Alice made it clear that she wasn't going to accept it. But Mary's kind of right. Kate wasn't great to her and did tend to prioritize Alice over Mary.

Mary going to the dark side!! We love to see it.

Go find the Bat Cave under Wayne Manor perhaps??

This whole Marquis-Joker subplot kinda feels like the Arkham Knight Joker subplot but not as interesting or fun. And even I wasn't a huge fan of the Arkham Knight subplot. Also, is anybody going to recognize and be concerned by the very "let's put a smile on that face" that Marquis just did? Because I feel like that warrants concern.

Loving the suit Ivy. Now we just need to find you a Harley to be gay with.

I've checked out my sources and it doesn't seem like episode 8's title has been revealed yet, which makes sense since it won't air for about a month and a half. And as far as I can see, there really is only 13 episodes this season. That's all I've found listed while looking online. I usually really like the full 22 episode seasons but I have felt like the Arrowverse shows would do better as the 13 episode half seasons for a while. Stargirl does really, really well with the shorter seasons and some of these Arrowverse seasons really feel like they drag at the full length (looking directly at Flash season's 6 & 7).

I'm really looking forward to seeing how the rest of this season plays out, and I'll see you back in January.