#we can be trash together right?

[notmoreflippingelves]

Actually going insane over the implications of Jason asking Dick to be the Robin to his Batman in Battle for the Cowl.

Like I initially took it at the purely surface-level of Jason wanting a partner in the general sense. Which made sense, it's a huge responsibility and a lonely one so an assistant/sidekick/partner seems a no-brainer if you can get one.

But then I really thought about it, because Jason is not asking Dick to be his partner in the general sense; he's not even asking Dick to be his Nightwing. He's asking Dick to be his Robin.

And they both know exactly what Jason means: "Be the light to my darkness. Be the smile to my scowl. Be the hope to my fear. "

He's saying "Be 'Robin'; be the embodiment of Love and Justice and Goodness. Be the exceptional person that you have always been. Be the slightly-less exceptional person that I was when I wore your colors. Be the person that I was in the process of becoming and might have been (or might still be), if only Joker hadn't clipped my wings."

He's saying "I am prepared to become vengeance, become the Night. And I will go further than Bruce ever dared to, because it is what is needed. I will be the necessary evil. But you don't have to be. If Batman is Gotham's curse, Robin has always been its blessing. I will be the brutal punishment to our world, and I am asking you to be its incandescent gift."

He's saying, "Be for me, what we were for Him. Be my anchor, my comfort, my hope. Remind me what it's all for, why it's all worth it. And remind yourself as well."

He's saying "Be 'Robin' again--for both of our sakes."

[descendantofthesparrow]

Remember when the Audrey villain leaks came out and then we saw the offical c4 and s3 outfit reveals and saw the c4 on the isle and the s3 in an auradon forest and we all thought there had been some sort of time spell where Audrey twisted time and instead of the c4 coming to Auradon it was the s3 so Audrey stayed with Ben and there was a whole adventue to fix the timeline? no? just me? okay

[littleapocalypsekitten]

Something I've been thinking of lately in regards to how much I mistrust people. This time, politically. Alright, I know enough that Conservatives Cannot Be Trusted. Even the "mild" ones who aren't full-bore MAGA kind of truck with them, share like-mindedness, even if the milder ones might not like a big orange blowhard because of optics. He's making them look bad by yelling the quiet parts out loud, but those parts are still there. However, I am thinking that Leftists Cannot Be Trusted, either. I truck much more on that side of the political aisle. I want Universal Healthcare more than anything. I'd like to break the backs of corporations. I want to give everyone free homes and utilities as a basic human right. Even a Universal Basic Income might be nice. Work for the luxuries and a higher standard of living, but no one starves. (Hunger doesn't drive people to work, starving people are too weak to work). I am very much on the same page with not just the "liberal" values, but even some things that are considered outright leftist. But I do look askance, sort of have a feeling of looking over my shoulder because of some things I hear from self-proclaimed Leftists and some of the historical leans they've had. I mean, first of all, some of the people I've seen on Youtube are pretty abelist, actually. I see a lot of throwing around of the r-word and poking at people for being autistic. (Granted, even if you're making fun of Elon Musk, it leaves a bad taste in the mouth). There's a lot of down-punching on people with any kind of psychiatric condition (but that's nothing new, the entire world, right, center and left does that, it's just that the left pretends that they don't do it and do it, anyway). There's even someone I talk to on a forum who has severe kidney disease and takes dialysis who has been told in response to pointing out that the aftermath of a Revolution is going to leave things a mess for good while, the kind of mess where he cannot get access to medical care that he should be willing to die for the Revolution. He does not want to die for their idea of a Revolution. People who claim to want to ultimately save people like him are ultimately telling him that he needs to die. Another thing that makes me nervous is just how many "reddit atheists" / "fedora atheists" are self-proclaimed uber-leftists. There is nothing wrong with being an atheist. You do you. I'm theistic in my beliefs, but I don't believe in eternal conscious torment Hell - I gave up being an Evangelical when that belief and being a spiritual used car salesman wasn't working out for me. Still, yes, even though I haven't been to church in decades, I have some religious beliefs. They're a personal method of getting through life for me, nothing less, nothing more. I was very online in the 2000s, including on religious fora. These places got a lot of trolls. I encountered a lot of AGGRESSIVE attempts at deconversion. A lot of leftists were of this stripe and wove their politics into it. It seems like "that crowd" since 2017 or so, split off into two factions: The guys who followed the rather blatant Islamaphobia of certain popular authors and listened to junk about women being "more religious" and therefore inferior because of our soft, tender ladybrains, a fear of trans people and the like getting them really alt-right and in bed with some of the Christian fundamentalist people they used to despise and... those that stayed leftist, went even harder leftist and anti-capitalist and actually started to recognize that Progressive religionists exist and are good allies in the fight against common enemies. They took off their fedoras and got to work in allyship against those who oppress minorities and the poor. Good for us all. However, I look at these same people sometimes and I think, "Alright, once we achieve a more equitable world together, if it is even possible, are you actually a leopard that's going to eat my face?"

[neverendingford]

.

[little-eye-guy]

wrote an angry note that i was going to tape above the trash can because it keeps overflowing and scotch keeps digging stuff out of it and eating food remains and plastic. and i have to keep picking it all up off the floor. it’s really really pissing me off and upsetting me

but i probably should just talk to everyone about it first

[reasonsforhope]

"For most people, a rat is at best an unwelcome guest, and at worst, the target of immediate extermination. But in a field clinic in Tanzania, rats are colleagues—heroes even.

Far from a trash bin-dwelling NYC street rat, the African giant pouched rat is docile, intelligent, easier to train than some dogs, and for East Africans, the performer of lifesaving tuberculosis diagnoses every day.

400,000 new cases of tuberculosis (TB) were estimated to have been prevented by these rats, whose sense of smell would make a bloodhound take notice. As [TB is] the number-one killer among infectious diseases worldwide, many of those 400,000 can be translated into lives saved.

“Not only are we saving people’s lives, but we’re also changing these perspectives and raising awareness and appreciation for something as lowly as a rat,” said Cindy Fast, a behavioral neuroscientist who coaches the rodents for the nonprofit APOPO.

“Because our rats are our colleagues, and we really do see them as heroes.”

APOPO uses giant pouched rats to sniff out traces of TB in the saliva of patients. In parts of Tanzania, a saliva smear test under a microscope by a human may only be 20-40% effective at detecting TB.

By contrast, a giant pouched rat like Ms. Carolina, a now-retired service rat who worked for APOPO for 7 years, raised the rates of detection on TB samples by 40% in the clinic where she worked.

Pictured: An APOPO employee with one of their trained rats

It would take 4 days for scientists to analyze the number of samples that Carolina could screen in 20 minutes. For that reason, when Carolina retired last November, a party was thrown at the clinic in her honor, and she was given a cake.

TB is sometimes thought of as a thing of the past—a disease for which doctors used to prescribe “dry air,” leading a modern sense of humor to muse at the antiquated, pre-antibiotic medical advice.

But it remains the number-one cause of death globally from a single infectious pathogen, and Tefera Agizew, a physician and APOPO’s head of tuberculosis, told National Geographic that once people see what the nonprofit’s rodents can do to slow the spread, they “fall in love with them.”

3,000 times in her career did Carolina detect one of the six volatile compounds that can be used to identify Mycobacterium tuberculosis, and she got a hero’s send-off to a special compound to live out the rest of her days with her closet friend and sniffer colleague Gilbert, in a shaded enclosure dubbed “Rat Florida.”

“We’ve made special little rat-friendly carrot cakes with little peanuts and things on it that the rat would enjoy,” Fast said. “Then we all stand around and we clap, and we give three cheers, hip hip hooray for the hero, and celebrate together. It’s really a touching moment.”

APOPO has made headlines for its use of these rats in other lifesaving tasks as well: landmine clearance.

One of the world’s great underreported scourges (a lot like TB, coincidentally) is landmine contamination. There are 110 million landmines or unexploded bombs in the ground right now in about 67 countries, covering thousands of square miles in potential danger. Thousands of civilians are killed or injured by these weapons every year.

GNN reported on APOPO’s demining efforts using pouched rats back in 2020. One rat named Magawa alone identified 39 landmines and 28 items of unexploded ordnance across an area the size of 20 football fields.

If at the start of this story you didn’t like rats, maybe Magawa and Carolina will have changed your mind."

-via Good News Network, March 31, 2025

[moonstruckme]

Who's That Girl

summary: after Peter moves out due to unspecified reasons suddenly, the marauders have a room to fill. Luckily, you've just arrived in the UK and are happy to sign the lease

cw: modern au, reader has a mother/maternal figure

roommate!marauders x fem!reader ♡ 1.3k words

“Okay, mom.” You rub your eyes, arm still sore from lugging your suitcase around half of London. “No, I really don’t think so. It’d be a pretty elaborate scheme just to kill me. Our names are all together on the lease, there’d be a paper trail.” 

There’s a quiet snicker from the doorway. You look over to find James, one of your new roommates, standing in the threshold of your room. You grimace, miming waving your mother’s concerns away. 

“Seriously, you don’t have to worry, I—fine, here. Listen.” You put your hand over the speaker. “I’m so sorry about this,” you tell James. “Can you tell her you’re not going to murder me, please?” 

“Why would we murder you?” he asks in an easy, jovial voice. It’s the sort of voice moms love, which is perfect for what you need right now. “We need you alive to pay rent, and anyway we’ve nowhere to hide a body. They started being rather vigilant about the Thames some time ago.” 

“He’s joking,” you say quickly into the phone. “Yeah, I’m sure. They do that here, too. Now will you please go to sleep? I’m good, I promise. Okay, call you later. Love you.” 

You click the button to hang up with a sigh, dropping back onto your mattress. 

“Your mum?” James asks sympathetically. 

You hum. “Yeah, sorry. It’s four in the morning for her right now, and she’s all wound up. I appreciate the help.” 

Despite your best efforts, you can’t seem to convince your body it’s not four in the morning for you right now. You thought taking the red eye to London would help you adjust quickly to the time change, but a sleepless flight has only made you weary and disoriented. You screwed up the route from the airport to your new flat, realizing only around Richmond that you’d gone the complete wrong direction on the wrong tube line. It took you a solid hour longer to get to your flat than you planned. When you saw Sirius, who’d posted the flat in an online roommates group, waiting on the other side of the door you nearly collapsed into his arms in teary gratitude. 

With the haze of fatigue still clouding your thinking, it takes you a few moments to wonder why James has come to stand in your room. 

“Did you need something?” 

“I was just wondering if you might like breakfast,” he says. His big frame fills the doorway, his shoulder leaning against the frame like it’s a familiar stance. 

You try to hide your wariness, your mind filling with images of black pudding and beans smeared on toast. “What are you having?” 

“Omelets.” 

“Yes, please.” You hop out of bed. It’s less bouncy than lurching, but you’re trying to affect vivacity in the hopes you eventually start to feel it. 

James leads you towards the kitchen. Your room, you discovered when you arrived, is even duller than the pictures online. The previous tenant either hadn’t decorated at all or had moved out in a hurry, leaving only a bed and some trash on the floor. The room is small, with peeling white paint and a tiny window situated oddly in the corner, the scraggly tree outside eclipsing half of the view. 

The rest of the flat is a different thing entirely. The common spaces are mostly open; you can see the kitchen from the living room, with everything lit by two large windows looking out onto the street. There’s a funny mishmash of decorations, some pieces hinting at unity and others not so the way it all comes together seems almost like a happy accident. A nice, plush couch sits next to a chair that looks like it was dragged in off the street; there are books stacked against walls and album covers being used for coasters; a collection of vinyl records sits on the mantle next to a bluetooth speaker and above stockings seemingly left out since Christmas. It’s definitely a space decorated by boys, but you like it. It feels homey. 

“My mum would be in a right state if I up and moved continents,” says James, walking into the kitchen. He takes up position behind the stove, next to where Remus is making tea. “Is it the city she’s worried about?” 

“It’s everything,” you admit, lingering awkwardly at the edge of the kitchen. You don’t want to be in the way. “It’s the city, it’s the male roommates, it’s the Facebook post she saw about muggings…” 

“Flatmates,” Sirius corrects you from the kitchen table. “We’re not roommates, we don’t share a room. Maybe you ought to clarify that, might calm her down a bit.” 

“Flatmates,” you amend. “She does not like that I have guy flatmates. Can I help?” 

“Don’t,” says Sirius. “Remus is a control freak in the kitchen. Real finicky.” 

“I’m not finicky.” Somehow, you can tell Remus is rolling his eyes even without him turning it around. 

“You nearly took my head off over the way I cook chicken last week.” 

“The way you cook chicken nearly burned down the flat.” 

“Y/n,” Sirius says, seriously, “do as I do.” He pats the seat next to him at the table. 

You glance at James hesitantly, but he waves you off. When you join Sirius in sitting down, you forget to suppress the sigh that collapses out of you. 

Sirius tuts. “Jet lagged?” 

Lag feels too kind a word for what your body is doing to you. “Yeah. Think I’m gonna take a nap after this.” 

“Oh, don’t do that,” he says. “I’ve done the whole international travel thing—” 

“You’ve been to France,” says Remus drolly. “The time difference is an hour.” 

“—and it really is best to just push through,” Sirius finishes as though the interruption went unheard. “You’ll only make matters worse for yourself if you sleep now and then can’t tonight.” 

You hate how sound his logic seems. The idea of waiting at least ten hours to put your head to a pillow makes you want to cry. 

“So,” James says brightly, “what doesn’t your mum like about you having guys for flatmates?” 

Perhaps it can be chalked up to exhaustion that you have so little control over the expression that crosses your face. Luckily, James is too concentrated on his omelet to see it, but Remus isn’t; he grins at you. 

“She doesn’t really love the idea of me having roommates at all. Flatmates,” you correct yourself when Sirius gives you a look. “I think because you’re guys, she just sees it as even less safe. Don’t take it personally. Oh, thank you.” 

You accept the mug of tea Remus sets in front of you. Sirius has one already half drunk in front of him, and Remus sits down with his own, taking a long sip like it’s the most relished part of his morning. You look into the brown, half-opaque liquid skeptically. 

“Has she been this upset since you decided to live with us?” Remus asks. 

“Oh, um.” You bob your teabag aimlessly, twisting the string around your finger. “I…sort of assumed she would be. That’s why I didn’t tell her until now.” 

You don’t have to take your attention off your tea to feel the stares of all three boys snap to you. 

“You didn’t tell her?” James asks, incredulous. 

“I didn’t want to give her the chance to argue with me about it.” 

“Asking for forgiveness instead of permission.” Sirius nods approvingly, picking up his mug for a sip. “Knew I liked you.” 

James appears in distress. “Your mum’s gonna hate us!” 

“Don’t mind him,” says Remus. “He’s used to all mothers fawning over him.” 

“Not mine,” Sirius objects happily. 

“She’s across the ocean, if that helps,” you tell James. 

“I can feel her hatred crossing borders,” he says, expression growing increasingly fretful. 

“Well, all you have to do is not murder me,” you offer, “and she’ll see that she’s wrong.” 

Sirius gives an insouciant shrug. “Pay your rent on time, and we ought to be fine there. No promises, of course.”

[cryinggirlnamedhelen]

seven - m. kaiser

you were seven years old when you first met the piece of trash named michael kaiser.

sitting on the swings alone with a busted violet lip and ripped jeans and scratched up, bloody knees wasn’t considered the ideal invitation for a friendship. but you had mindlessly approached him, sitting on the swing next to him before waving to him.

subhuman garbage looked up, wondering why such a nice girl would be looking at him, talking to him. but he didn’t question it and instead listened to you talk, introducing himself.

“but i don’t like to be called michael, so don’t call me that.”

“got it! you’re mihya then!”

subhuman shit—no, newly named mihya felt his heart skip a beat. no one was ever affectionate enough to give him a nickname, so such an experience made mihya strangely ecstatic. he nodded, a small smile slowly making way onto his swollen lips. “right. im mihya.”

the second time you saw mihya was only a few days later.

he had been sitting on the swings, crying his eyes out. this time he had a nosebleed, angry red marks on his neck, and his hands were nearly purple. you had approached him, your eyebrows knit together.

“mihya? what’s wrong?”

mihya had sniffled before looking up at you. “will you get mad at me…?” he choked out weakly. your jaw dropped, grasping both of his hands.

“mihya, i would never get mad at you!” you exclaimed. “you’re my friend!”

mihya muttered something incoherent before sighing. “…my dad. he gets mad a lot.”

you blinked a few times, your seven year old mind not quite comprehending the situation. but you frowned, looking up at the sky. “oh, i really hate it whenever mama and dad get mad at me. your dad is always mad? that sounds so bad. im so sorry, mihya.”

mihya nodded. “it’s…don’t worry about it.”

one day, after many encounters and at eight years old, you finally spoke your thoughts.

“i think your house is haunted.”

mihya, who had been chewing on garlic and sugar flavored bread from the bakery, stopped mid chew. “why?”

“well, your dad is always mad, and you’re always crying. you’re outside as much as you possibly can, and you don’t wanna be there. that sounds haunted to me. and when you are, you hide from him.” you muttered. “i don’t like that. i don’t like how you’re always crying and hiding.”

mihya hummed, quick to respond. “well, i guess i really got no other choice. i wanna avoid getting hit as much as i can.”

your chest tightened to the point where it hurt, a frown making way onto your face. “i love you, you know that? to the moon and saturn, i really do love you.”

mihya’s heart stopped.

and eight years old, having such a crush probably won’t end good for him. but no one had ever told him that they loved him before, and yet you say it out of nowhere, and to the moon and saturn? he might just die of happiness.

heat spread throughout his cheeks before he squeaked out. “i-i love you…too?” you gave him a toothy grin and gave him a high-five.

at ten years old, you’re on the swings once more, this time with a blue raspberry popsicle in between your lips. mihya has a strawberry flavored one, bought using your money.

“you know, mihya. we should move away forever. or maybe we could be pirates or something. y’know, like from one piece.” you said dreamily.

“that came out of nowhere. why?” mihya replied, tossing his now empty stick into the trash can of the park.

“so that we could get away from your damn father and you won’t have to cry anymore.” you muttered, pouting. “i’ve never even met the guy, and yet i hate him.” you chomped down on the popsicle stick, breaking it in half.

mihya laughed. “yeah? i want to leave too. and it sounds nice to leave with you.”

at fourteen, the news arrived.

you sat on the swings, sobbing into your hands. mihya had come from behind you, his heart aching when he saw your tears. you were the love of his life (you just didn’t know it yet), and your tears hurt him.

“mihya, im moving.”

three words, and yet it wasn’t the usual three words that was like music to mihya’s ears.

he swallowed, tears stinging his own eyes. “to where…?”

“japan. apparently it’s supposed to be a safer environment there or something like that. i have to learn the language and the customs and everything.” you sniffled. “but i don’t want to. i don’t want to leave everything i know. but i mostly don’t want to leave you, mihya.”

mihya wanted to go to your family and interrogate them and to beg them to let you stay. he couldn’t live without you, he wouldn’t be able to survive without the light of his life. you would leave and forget him within a month or two because you have all new friends, and he’ll just be another piece of your forgotten childhood. but you would still be his whole life; you were his first friend, his only real friend.

the only person who he will ever love and the only person who will ever love him.

“right. got it.” mihya replied, his throat dry.

two weeks later, mihya became subhuman piece of shit again.

however, at fifteen, the subhuman was arrested and eventually scouted.

subhuman became kaiser.

at nineteen, kaiser traveled to japan to participate in the still fairly recent blue lock program. although he was interested in blue lock’s new rising player isagi yoichi, he wondered if he could coincidentally see you.

nothing was impossible, after all.

—

for the past five years, you’ve been lonely.

the language barrier was resolved within three years of hard work, but unknown customs and a personality that didn’t match the japanese status quo just made everything worse. for years, you had no friends, you spent lunchtime alone, and worst of all?

you didn’t have mihya in your life.

there were nights when you felt so alone that you would just curl up with your pillow and remember mihya. your mihya. those beautiful seven years spent with him, years that you will never forget.

there was a night where you forgot what he looked like.

panicked and crying, you had opened up your phone immediately too look at a picture of him. after a few minutes of staring, your tears stopped as you memorized his face once more. you never wanted to forget him, not a single bit.

at nineteen and in desperation of college credit and money, you volunteered to be a manager of the blue lock program. ego jinpachi was a strange man, but everything was worth it for the money.

and you couldn’t help but think of your mihya, who you remembered bought a soccer ball for his twelfth birthday and adored it.

for years, you’ve refused to check soccer news out of heartbreak.

after blue lock won against the japanese u20 team, you were given a two week break, and was afterwards immediately shoved into the hell of the neo egoist league.

responsible for helping bastard münchen (“for it’s undeniable potential” said ego, although you really couldn’t care less.), you had walked to the germany wing expecting to have the rest the next few months surrounded by the company of isagi, kurona, yukimiya, hiori, and the others.

and yet when you entered, the first thing you saw was pale blonde hair.

the same that mihya had.

kaiser turned to you, as did the other blue lockers and bastard münchen members.

and finally, kaiser became mihya again.

BASED OFF OF THE TAYLOR SWIFT SONG “seven”

[mariacallous]

https://meidasnews.com/news/republican-mayor-of-3rd-largest-city-in-az-endorses-harris

John Giles, the Republican Mayor of Mesa, Arizona, wrote an OpEd today for the Arizona Republic stating the reasons why he is endorsing Kamala Harris for President. Mesa is the 3rd largest city in Arizona, and the Arizona Republic is the largest newspaper by circulation in the crucial battleground state. 

Giles listed the following reasons why he can't support Donald Trump: 1. He refused to accept the outcome of the 2020 election, and continues to do so. 2. He continues to trash the American legal system to delegitimize it. 3. He orchestrated the "fake elector" scheme in Arizona. 4. He orchestrated the sham "audit" of the election by the Arizona Senate and Cyber Ninjas. 5. He blocked the bipartisan border bill negotiated in the Senate. 6. He treated Infrastructure Week like a joke when cities like his badly needed it.

7. He is a convicted felon and threat to the nation. 8. He has threatened to abandoned NATO. 9. He has eroded public confidence in our institutions. 10. His advisors and associates drafted Project 2025, which is a threat to our freedoms. 11. He is crude and vulgar. Giles then listed the reasons why he isn't just anti-Trump, he is also pro-Harris: 1. The Administration delivered on their promise with infrastructure funding for the Phoenix-Mesa Airport, and made technological investments in the transportation sector. 2. Thousands of new jobs are being created in Arizona with the CHIPS Act. 3. She has taken a strong stand against gun violence. 4. She has taken a strong stand for women's rights which are under assault from MAGA Republicans.

Giles then concluded with the following: "We can choose a future for our children and grandchildren based on decency, respect and morality — or succumb to the crudeness and vulgarity of Trump and J.D. Vance and the far-right agenda they would champion.

Arizona leaders like McCain and Sen. Mark Kelly have embodied the commitment to country over party. And it’s that same high caliber of character and leadership I see in Vice President Harris.

That’s why I’m standing with her. Kamala Harris is the competent, just and fair leader our country deserves. This year too much is at stake to vote Republican at the top of the ticket.

It will take Arizona Republicans, independents and Democrats standing together against a far-right agenda. Let us put country over party by voting to stop Trump and protect our democracy."

Powerful stuff. 

Winning back Arizona is crucial for Donald Trump. It is difficult to see any electoral path to victory for Trump without Arizona. He has continued to support candidates in that state like Kari Lake and Blake Masters who are toxic to moderate voters. He continues to attack the McCain family, who remain popular with those same moderate Arizona voters. 

This endorsement by Giles certainly doesn't help Donald Trump, and gives a big boost to Kamala Harris in Arizona.

[birdsareblooming]

bc of the alcohol scene people are FINALLY clocking that Toriel is also kinda shitty. for people who didn't pick up on it this is not new to Deltarune:

Toriel is incredibly stubborn especially about her beliefs and therefore she states very blatently that she is good and Asgore is bad and evil and horrible, meanwhile Asgore himself is a pushover and takes it like a pussy. Because she states it with such confidence people just kinda.. believed her.

Toriel's the one who left and decided to stew instead of actually solving any problems. it took six kids for Toriel to actually try to hold one back. When she comes back like. yeah a lot of this is Asgore's fault but what she says to him then could've been said six dead kids ago instead of basically ghosting him. Even after all of her worry she still doesn't come with you because despite herself and what she thinks, she's just as much of a coward delaying the inevitable as Asgore is.

These themes really continue in Deltarune. While Asgore is definitely too pushy, Toriel refuses to talk to him in any way at all, throwing away his flowers and trash talking him behind his back while also not talking to him at all. Similarly to Undertale she'd much rather avoid and trash talk him than make moves to fix anything.

Even though Toriel kinda does, it's not an argument of who was worse in the situation of either Undertale or Deltarune, if you start counting "sin points" to decide who was worse than you're loosing your media literacy. As far as I can tell at least in Undertale Toriel is just as at fault as Asgore is, even IF she tried and failed years ago and gave up, shutting herself off from the world and pretending it doesn't exist is no solution, and it's almost the same solution Asgore took, even right before he kills you.

We don't know the situation in Delatrune other than Asgore seems to have something he's involved with that Toriel doesn't want to talk about that Carol is "financing", very well could be an addiction of his own.

But I think the blatant alcoholism (that's in Undertale btw, in the alarm clock event she also got plastered) that people who know what alcoholism looks like noticed how Kris (and Susie) act in that scene has made it more apparent than ever that Toriel is an incredibly flawed character and one of her flaws is not being able to see that, something that Asgore does the opposite of where he's always wallowing in self-pity.

Toriel is really good at general mom-isms like making breakfast, taking the kids out, supporting interests, giving hugs, etc. However when actually worrying about Kris' safety and wellbeing she ends up falling short, as people have pointed out when we come home in chapter 4 she doesn't ask why either of them were out so late. Even a controlled state Kris has enough embarrassment and shame about the scene that they hide their face, meaning Kris has shown obvious signs of disapproval before that Toriel has not seen or ignored.

I think that's why her and Sans mesh so well together in an actually horrible way. Sans also likes to pretend stuff doesn't exist and brush stuff off with a joke instead of doing anything until literally the last minute. With how he acts in the scene he may not know, but weather he knows or not he is absolutely enabling her, which weather Toriel knows it or not is why she likes him and keeps him around. Finally a succinct way of saying why I believe their relationship, whatever you believe it is, is a toxic one.

TLDR: the only parent doing a good job here is Rudy unless we learn info later that changes that

[yeyinde]

surreal/psychological horror + Soap where you agree to house sit for a coworker when they take off for a vacation. but a man shows up and tells you he's supposed to be staying there too.

their son, he shrugs. came home on leave from the military. crashin' here. thought mam might'a said somethin'.

she didn't, but it's fine. and he's harmless. sort of. maybe. you're not sure, really. because he's a little pushy. has a wild temper that ebbs and flows at intervals you can't really keep up with. tempestuous. mercurial. but he makes dinner. he tells you about what he did—not all of it, but some. like why he was sent home as he gestures to the raw scar on his temple.

need some tlc, he quips with a sharp grin. and lucky him because he found the prettiest little doe waitin' fer him.

harmless. a soldier. you can trust that, right?

but he stares at you with a naked hunger, like he wants to eat you alive. but it's gone when you really look. and sometimes, things go missing. your clothes. panties. odd stuff around the house. he hides the newspaper in the trash before you can see it. says the cable is out on the television—Netflix only. no news. he can't—he can't bare to see it. trauma. you wouldn't put him through that, would you, doe? no. you're a good girl. the best.

(at night, asleep. a nightmare; his rough voice in your ear: his good girl. so good for him. so wet—)

and it's just three weeks.

you'll be fine.

(—even though you taste him in the morning. on your lips. your tongue. the back of your throat. salty, bitter. but—there's a pack of salted licorice on the table. fifteen pieces, it reads. maybe you ate them. fuck, got such a pretty mouth, doe. you count each piece. gonna make me cum. fifteen. it's fine. it's fine. there's an ache between your thighs. a tenderness you lie to yourself about as you ignore the stickiness pooling in the gusset of your panties. fuck, doe, ahm gonna—)

absolutely fine.

until your coworker calls after finally getting cell reception. chatting in your ear about her vacation. normal. totally normal. and her son? you tell her. he's been a real help around the house, too (but she should maybe talk to him about sneaking into your bedroom at night because that's so weird, it's so strange; you don't want to wake up to a man staring at you in the dark, or catch the scent of sage on your pillow anymore, the lingering heat—please tell him to stop doing that because when you do, he just gets a weird look on his face like you're the problem, and it's just all so—)

"what son? we don't—we don't have a son—"

the phone line cutting out doesn't really surprise you. and neither does the creak of the floorboards. the solid weight of a chest against your back. the press of metal. a warm, firm palm folding over your throat, anchoring you in place.

a soft, mournful coo:

"ah really didnae want ye tae find out like th', doe. ah thought we had time together." his hand tightens. breath heavy, ragged against the shell of your ear. "but we gotta go, doe. it's time for us tae leave—"

(maybe you should have pushed back harder against letting him hide the paper, or barring you from watching the news. you might have seen a familiar face.)

[secretmellowblog]

i think it's extremely unfair for you to say the actors are spineless. the producers and directors, yes. but the actors were literally having their livelihoods and future career prospects threatened if they spoke out or refused to perform.

grennell, the president of the kennedy center said, “Any performer who isn’t professional enough to perform for patrons of all backgrounds, regardless of political affiliation, won’t be welcomed. In fact, we think it would be important to out those vapid and intolerant artists to ensure producers know who they shouldn’t hire - and that the public knows which shows have political litmus tests to sit in the audience. The Kennedy Center wants to be a place where people of all political stripes sit next to each other and never ask who someone voted for but instead enjoys a performance together.”

and, i want to point out, that acting in Les Miserables is a job, not a life commitment or a political statement.

I stand by what I said: every single person involved in putting on the Les Miserables Kennedy center performance was either a spineless coward or a Trump supporter, and they should ALL be utterly ashamed of themselves. They're an insult to the novel's legacy. I'm shocked people are defending it. I used to sometimes wonder whether Victor Hugo's actions-- speaking up against Napoleon III's attacks on democracy-- were genuinely that important. After all, it's not like Hugo literally shot Napoleon III in battle or raised barricades against him with his own two hands-- he just used his platform to publicly criticize Napoleon III's attacks on democracy, knowing that he was doing it at a great personal risk. And he was right about the risks-- publicly speaking against Napoleon III did radically change Hugo's life, it did radically alter the course of his career, he did lose a lot of the power he used to have, and he was forced into exile away from everything he knew.

And Les Miserables was the product of that sacrifice. it is the novel he wrote from exile, and it is thematically about his exile. It is a novel that was written as a defense of the principles of a democratic republic, and as an encouragement for people to speak truth to power and stand against tyrants even when it came at great personal risk. But like... I'm honestly starting to respect Hugo's sacrifice a lot more now that multiple people have reached out to me claiming that it's ridiculous to ask that people starring in a musical adaptation of Victor Hugo's novel accept any level of personal discomfort to stand up to a modern dictator. I'm obsessed with the idea that Les Miserables shouldn't have to mean anything-- that these performers can cosplay as revolutionaries Risking it All to stand Up to Powerful People, while also being spineless cowards claiming they can't accept any personal discomfort/risk whatsoever to stand up to an actual modern dictator. Even when- again!-- they are starring in a story that is literally the product of Hugo's personal sacrifice standing up against Napoleon III! No, I wouldn't care as much if it were some piece of hollow corporate trash like "Back to the Future the musical" or some other garbage. I wouldn't' even care as much if it were another hollow "stick it to the man musical" like Wicked, where all the revolution theming is just hollow window dressing. I do care when it's Les Miserables, because the original novel was written by a man who WAS willing to make that personal sacrifice, and wrote the novel ABOUT that sacrifice. I care that now these people are making their living off of Victor Hugo's legacy-- but start crying about how "they're just poor smol beans who can't do anything uwu" when asked to make even a fraction of the sacrifice that he did, the sacrifice that Les Miserables is about, the sacrifice it exists to encourage. Thousands of people were out on the street demonstrating this weekend to send a message to Donald Trump-- and when this group of artists had a direct line to make a statement to him, the thing thousands of people are out on the streets trying to get, they cowered in fear and refused. Instead they sang to make him feel good, like he was the Hero of the musical--something he already believes-- all while playing pretend as brave revolutionaries making big risks. A democratic lawmaker was shot to death this weekend, but asking a performer to care about the meaning of the art they're profiting off of is "too big of a sacrifice." give me a break. Despite everything, I do think art means something. I think art is more than "a job," I think art is more than a hollow corporate product and vehicle for profit. Les Miserables means something, and it's important that it means something.

But that means it's also important to call out the shocking hypocrisy of what the story has been warped into. The novel does have meaning and even the musical does have meaning-- and that's why I am so outraged that people are dismissing that meaning as irrelevant. It's like Orwell's description of art in dystopia as being a simply "a commodity that had to be produced, like jam or bootlaces."

Honestly, if the actors wanted to sing songs about how it's ridiculous to ask them to take any personal risks or sacrifices to speak truth to power.... they shouldn't be in Les Miserables. Instead they should just get onstage and sing this song from The Sound of Music about compromising with Nazis for three hours:

[yyuangss]

GIRL TALK ! ( STAR RAIL MEN )

SUMMARY ! march 7th finds out you like someone. and as your best friend, it’s only right that she has to give her input on whether or not she approves of him.

NOTES ! i was in the mood to write something but this was last minute and this was all i could come up with 🤺 may do a part two featuring other star rail men but we will see. part two of girl talk (gepard, dr. ratio, aventurine, and boothill)

TAGS ! reader is not the trailblazer. contains dan heng, caelus, sampo koski, jing yuan, and argenti. feelings are mutual on both ends.

march 7th’s thoughts on . . . DAN HENG !

immediately tells you that she already had her suspicions. and now that you confirmed it, it makes her all that more excited. you having a crush on dan heng is just what she expected. she’ll go on and on about how you two would make a great couple because he opens up more to you. now she gets a little sneaky and begins to make up excuses whenever missions come around so that the two of you can go together. it’s her own way of being a mastermind. the more time you two spend together, the closer she is to seeing you and dan heng start dating. yes, march has dubbed herself as your personal wingwoman. so is the duty of being your best friend.

march 7th’s thoughts on . . . CAELUS !

of course she finds it cute that you have a crush on caelus. and it all makes sense to her now. she constantly hears you and caelus making the same kind of jokes, watches you two play games together on your phones, and on rare occasions, she’ll find you rummaging through trash cans with caelus. though she doesn’t know why you’d go to such lengths and go through the trash cans with him. admitting your feelings for the newest trailblazer will only make march relentlessly tease you about it in the best way possible. so whenever caelus invites you to join him in whatever shenanigan he has planned for the day, she’ll send a quick wink your way.

march 7th’s thoughts on . . . SAMPO KOSKI !

she’s mentally judging you. definitely finds this as a “to each their own” type of situation. out of everyone you guys have met, the one you have feelings for is sampo. march isn’t too fond of him despite how much he has helped them during their time in belobog. she does have a few doubts here and there, but if he’s currently the one who you’re interested in, she’ll go along with it. march has to observe the way he acts before making any big decisions like setting you two up. she can tell the feeling’s mutual by the overly flirtatious comments sent your way or gifts you receive by sampo when visiting belobog again. she’ll sometimes peek over your shoulder and see some messages coming in from him, asking when you’ll come back to see him. she could grow used to him so let her work her magic and you’ll be with him in no time.

march 7th’s thoughts on . . . JING YUAN !

the general of the luofu is a tough decision. although she believes he’s a great choice considering his high rank and popularity, it’s also a bit of a downfall. she saw some heavy chemistry between you both back when the express was currently at the luofu. she didn’t have enough time to make some comments but she knew you’d end up having some sort of feelings towards him. she’s only worried about the cons that could come. like the fact jing yuan can become a busy man within seconds. would he make enough time for you? no, he needs to because someone like you deserves it. march refuses to let her best friend settle for anything less than what she’s worth. march can trust that you’ll be in good hands with jing yuan.

march 7th’s thoughts on . . . ARGENTI !

it’s a very interesting choice in her opinion. though she understands why you’d end up gaining feelings towards him. it had to be that compliment he gave you the very first time the express met him. “a beauty that was sent by the goddess idrila herself for him to praise”. very poetical that it had the entire crew speechless for a few seconds. march hasn’t stopped bringing it up since that happened because you had never gotten that flustered before. she can only imagine all the other compliments argenti has sent your way when they’re not around. whenever you’re smiling at your phone a little too hard, thinking no one is watching, she’ll head over your way asking if your boyfriend’s the one making you all smiley. march doesn’t even need to be your wingwoman for this one. she knows the knight will handle it all on his own.

[thelostconsultant]

Oscar Piastri x reader

Summary: Oscar finds out he has a son, and he's willing to do whatever it takes to be the father he deserves.

Note: Oscar is in his early 30s in this. Also, I've been going through the trash can (exported posts from the old blog), so most of it might be familiar.

“We would like to meet Oliver’s father. His biological father,” the principal clarifies as he glances over at your boyfriend. You’ve been together for three years, he has been by your five-year-old’s side for over half his life, why isn’t he enough?

But he insists on meeting him, saying if he was dead and you could prove it, or if your boyfriend was your husband, they would move on with the enrollment, but you have confirmed that you aren’t married and the biological father is alive, so now they want to have a chat with him. He doesn’t even care about the tiny little detail that said father has absolutely no idea he has a child. 

What a bunch of morons.

In the evening, while your son is reading a book about cars in his bed with your boyfriend, you sit by the dining table with your phone in hand, trying to figure out what to do. This fancy private school is perfect, they know how to handle intelligent kids like Oliver, and you want the best for him. You want to make sure he doesn’t get bored, that he will get the kind of intellectual challenge in school that he needs.

At the age of five, he can read on his own just fine, he even learned some Spanish from your boyfriend, and he’s a quick study in general. It’s infuriating how he’s a mini version of his father, from his intelligence to his looks, everything reminds you of him. 

And if you meet F1 fans together, someone surely goes, “He looks so much like Piastri at his age!” Sadly, that isn’t a coincidence, and the poor kid picked up on the whole you-look-like-him thing and chose him as his favorite driver.

Sometimes you consider telling him. Oliver, not Oscar. God, there’s no way you will ever tell him the truth. He has his own, certainly busy life and he probably doesn’t need a child in it. Yes, you saw the photos, he’s good with kids, but meeting one for a few minutes isn’t the same as having your own. 

Your son on the other hand can find out when he gets old enough to understand why you left and went no contact with his father. That was over five years ago anyway, so you had time to figure out what to do. Until then, you make sure the few photos of you and Oscar are stored somewhere safe in case he wants to see them when the time comes.

Now you are cornered, your hand forced by that damn principal. You have no idea if he’s still using that old social media profile of his, but you have to try. So, you take a deep breath and start a video call, deep down hoping he won’t answer. You aren’t ready to talk to him, not yet, but you have no choice. And then his face shows up on your screen, the sight bringing back memories you’ve been trying to forget for years.

“Hey. Are you sure it’s me you wanted to call?” he asks, although there’s a hint of a smile on his lips.

Nodding, you let out a sigh. “Hi. Yeah, um… I don’t even know where to start.”

“At the beginning?”

Silence follows his words, your brain in overdrive as it try to find the best way to start. But maybe being straightforward is the right answer. “I have a son. He’s five,” you add, hoping the meaningful look you’re sending his way can be seen over the screen.

After a few seconds of heavy silence, you can see the wheels turning in his head as he does some math. “Wait, five? We… That was a bit over five years ago. Could he…?”

“Yeah,” you confirm. “He’s your son.”

His face is emotionless for a while as he tries to process the news, but this is nothing new, he’s the king of hiding emotions. But then, just as you think he will end the call, he lets out a sigh. “Why now? What do you want from me? Money?” he asks, although you can tell he’s unsure about this whole situation.

The fact he assumes you want money only makes you angry. “It’s not your money I need. Hell, I don’t even want you to meet him,” you snap. “The thing is, there’s this private school I want to send him to, and they have this stupid rule to have both parents present at a parental interview. Since my boyfriend and I never got married, they want to see the biological father. That’s all I want. A meeting with the principal.”

Oscar puts up a finger as he bites on his lower lip, his eyes focusing on something behind his phone’s camera. “Let me get this straight. After all these years, you say I have a son, but I’m not allowed to meet him?” he then asks, looking back at you.

“Yeah.”

“One meeting,” he then states, his voice serious. “You let me meet him once and I’ll talk to that principal.”

“Oscar, come on.”

“That’s the deal I can offer.”

You don’t have a choice, you know that. If he doesn’t do it for Oliver, he will have to go to another school. Letting out a sigh of defeat, you nod. “But we don’t tell him that you’re his father. He watches F1, and since he looks a lot like you, he decided that you’re his favorite driver. That’s all you’re gonna be, nothing more.”

“No.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know, I,” Oscar begins hesitantly, and you can see as he sits down on his couch and looks up at the ceiling. “You just told me I had a son. What do you want from me, to forget it? I want to meet him. I want him to know who I am.”

“He’s five. If he finds out, he’ll want to see you again. He will want you to be a part of his life. I don’t want that.”

You can see he’s uncertain about this. He probably understands that becoming his father would mean he will have to regularly visit the two of you, and even if you all kept it a secret, there is still the risk of the truth slipping out and making it into the headlines. “Is he anything like me?” he suddenly asks, his eyes softening as he watches you. 

A smile creeps on your lips as you think about this, because it’s so painfully obvious to you that you can’t deny it, no matter how badly you want to do that. “He’s a highly intelligent little smartass, just like you. And his looks… A mini you, no doubt.”

Oscar nods. “Then I want to be a part of his life. Let me spend time with him,” he asks, seeming relaxed. 

“Two hours.”

“No, I’ll stay for a week, and I want to see him every day,” he’s quick to clarify. “I can look out for him while you’re at work.”

Whatever happened to the idea of meeting Oliver once? That’s not what you have just discussed, and now he’s changing his demands? “I don’t think that’s a good idea,” is all you say in the end.

“You said it yourself, I’m his favorite driver,” he points out with a smug smile. “We’ll be fine.”

You are doing this only because of the school. You remember what Oscar can be like; if he makes up his mind about something, he definitely isn’t about to let his plan go. Now he wants a week with his son, and you know that’s the only way he will do what you need from him. “All right. Can I send you the school’s number so you can make an appointment? I told them you travel a lot, so they’ll need to be flexible.”

“Sure, I’ll call them as soon as I can.” You thank him, and are just about to say goodbye when he speaks up again. “Wait, can you send me a photo or a video?”

“Yeah, I have a few hundred of those,” you reply with a smile.

Oscar remains silent, but he lets out a sigh and you know something is on his mind, something he wants to tell you. “I still have a hard time believing it, you know.”

“You seemed pretty confident when it came to getting to know him.”

“I wanted to use my chance to corner you,” he admits. “But this? That I have a son? Hard to believe.”

“Well, he’s yours. You’ll understand it when you meet him,” you tell him kindly. 

After you say goodbye, you go up to check on Oliver and your boyfriend, but by the time you get there, they are sleeping soundly with the open book resting on your son’s chest. With a smile, you take the book and lean down to give both of them a soft kiss. You can’t help but wonder how your little family’s dynamics will change with Oscar’s presence. 

Well, it isn’t really your son you are worried about, the main issue is your boyfriend. Oscar is a famous F1 driver, someone your son idolizes, of course he feels threatened. You told him it would be okay, that you didn’t have feelings for him anymore, but he didn’t seem convinced. Maybe if they meet and he sees you are indifferent, he will finally trust you a lot more. One can hope, right?

A bit over a week later Oscar is sitting in his rented car in the school’s parking lot, thinking about how this conversation could go. According to you, they are aware of the fact he didn’t know Oliver existed until recently, so he hopes they don’t expect him to talk about what he’s like. Sure, over the past week he asked you about him, he wanted to prepare for meeting him, but they haven’t met in person. How could he know what to say? After taking a deep breath, he gets out and goes inside, feeling more nervous than he does when he’s getting in the car before a race.

If he’s this nervous now, what will he feel like before meeting his son? 

Spending years in a boarding school prepared him for this meeting, and the principal is everything he imagined him to be. He’s polite, not making a fuss over the fact he is–let’s say–famous. He even apologizes for the mess he caused, saying he understands it was probably quite a shock for him, but this is the protocol, and they can’t make an exception. Oscar keeps nodding, even assuring him it’s okay, although deep down he’s still confused and unsure of things. 

All of this despite his conversation with his mother, who was overjoyed when she saw a video of Oliver, saying he was truly just like him, and she couldn’t wait to have the chance to meet her grandchild in person. But she also told him maybe this was the best thing that could happen to him. Having a child is truly an experience, and since he was still five, they had the chance to have a wonderful relationship. “You say he loves F1. Just imagine how happy he would be if he could go to some race weekends with you. You could teach him so much about racing, and you could bond over that,” she said. 

After he parks in front of your house in the afternoon, Oscar goes to the trunk to get everything he brought with himself. From signed merch from both himself and Lando–just to be sure–to toy racing cars, he has a wide variety of gifts. Something will hopefully become a favorite, an item that he will keep close to himself. Maybe he went overboard, maybe he could’ve brought only one thing, but he had no idea what Oliver liked, so he couldn’t pick just one item. 

“Please, don’t tell me you brought all this for him.”

He looks up with a questioning hum, only to find you standing next to him on the sidewalk. Seeing you again brings back memories of your time together, of all of your little adventures during the short time you spent together, and he can’t help but wonder if you fled because you found out you were pregnant. If you didn’t leave him so suddenly, would things be different now? Would you be a big happy family? 

Clearing his throat, he flashes a sheepish smile at you. “I couldn’t choose,” he admits as he grabs the duffel bag and follows you to the front door. He can’t help but wonder what he can expect, and he has to ask you the most important thing. “Did you tell him that he was meeting his father today?” You nod. That’s good. “Is he excited?”

You bite on your lower lip as you watch him, clearly thinking about how to answer the question. But after a short break, you let out a sigh. “He’s a little confused, I think. My boyfriend, Alejandro, met him when he was only two, the three of us spent a lot of time together, and he moved in last year. Oliver… He assumed my boyfriend was his dad, which in a way he is, but we had to sit him down and explain the situation to him,” you say, looking sad all of a sudden. 

It’s clear now why you were so against telling Oliver the truth. You want him to be close to your boyfriend, and you’re probably afraid things between them will change once he gets into the picture. Maybe you’re even afraid things between you and your boyfriend will change too. He can’t blame you for that, but now that he knows he has a son, Oscar wants to be a part of his life. He doesn’t want to be some asshole who ignored his own blood. 

Once inside, he puts the bag on the floor and follows you to the living room where Oliver is watching some cartoon on TV. Now that he sees him in person, he feels warmth spread through his body, because this kid looks exactly like he did at his age. You clear your throat next to him to get your son’s attention, and when the kid notices him, his eyes grow wide from surprise. He gets off the couch and slowly walks over to them, his eyes never leaving his face as he tries to process who their guest is. 

“Hello, Oliver,” Oscar says as he crouches down. 

“You’re Oscar Piastri!” he yells excitedly. 

Oscar can’t help but chuckle at this. “I am.”

You reach out to ruffle your son’s hair, then lean down to be on somewhat eye level with him. “Honey, remember when I said your daddy was going to jump in to see you?” The little boy nods. “It’s Oscar. He’s your dad,” you tell him softly.

Suddenly the excitement is replaced by disbelief, his eyes darting back and forth between the two of you as he tries to process what he’s just been told. The corners of Oscar’s lips curl into a smile as he watches him, waiting patiently for the child’s decision. 

“So he’s my dad?” Oliver asks, earning a nod from you. “Does this mean I’m a Piastri?” It’s Oscar’s turn to nod. “Mom, why am I not called Piastri?”

His eyes move over to you just in time to see you gulp, clearly having trouble figuring out what to say to that. He can’t blame you for your confusion, it probably haven’t occurred to you that one day you will have to respond to this question. 

With a kind smile, he puts a hand on your arm, then turns to his son. “Because I’ve been away for a little too long. But I’m here, your mom and I can discuss if we could change that if you want,” he finishes, barely daring to glance up at you, expecting to meet an angry look in your eyes.

But you don’t look angry, if anything, you seem relieved that he came to your rescue. There’s a glint in your eyes, though, that tells him you aren’t happy that Oliver brought up his surname. As he thinks about it, it occurs to him that you have mentioned how you considered your boyfriend to be his father in a way, so maybe you will have rather given him his name. 

You place a soft kiss on your son’s head, then inform him that you will leave the two of them alone so they can get to know each other. Father and son watches you leave the room, then he turns back to the child with a smile. “I brought you some things. Wanna see them?” he asks him, and when the little boy nods, he goes to grab his bag. 

As he opens the zipper, Oliver stands by his side, watching his every move with a happy smile on his face. Oscar pulls out the gifts, one by one, and can’t hold back his laugh as he watches his son proudly wearing his new baseball cap and shirt as he examines the toy car in his small hands. He begins to talk about the last race, excitedly recounting the most memorable moments, including the end when his father crossed the finish line first. His big brown eyes turn to him, then he says that he’s so happy he’s here. 

When he wraps his short arms around him, Oscar does the same and even presses a kiss on the kid’s head. There is undeniably a certain connection between them that he can’t explain, but they both know it’s there, otherwise his son probably wouldn’t be this chill with the idea of being alone with a stranger. Okay, that and the fact he’s his favorite driver.

They sit down in the middle of the living room, and Oliver decides to talk about his favorite books, proudly telling his father that he knows how to read, and that, according to you and your boyfriend, he’s really good at it. “The other kids can barely read yet,” he says with a smug smile, “and I’m already learning math!”

“Do you know how to play chess?” Oscar asks him, but the boy only shakes his head. “I should teach you. I started when I was younger than you, and my mom refused to play with me after a while.”

“Because you were so good?” 

With a shrug, he stretches his arms above his head. “I don’t know, but I guess I was better than her. Not sure about other people, though,” he admits with a warm smile.

Oliver lets out a thoughtful hum. “Is she as awesome as my mom?” he suddenly asks, looking back at him. 

A laugh escapes him at the thought, which makes his son tilt his head to the side in question. “That depends on who you ask. She loves to embarrass me online, which isn’t always a good thing, but I love her, she’s the best mum I could ask for. And there are a lot of people, especially my fans, who absolutely adore her for this gentle bullying,” he adds with a laugh.

“My mom would never do that,” Oliver states, his little nose scrunching at the thought. “She loves me too much.”

The two of them spend the next hour or so talking, sometimes stopping when the little boy gets distracted by something he caught on TV. But he seems interested, he wants to learn as much as he can, and it’s true the other way around, because Oscar asks a lot of questions too. He hasn’t even noticed how much time have passed until you walk in to tell your son it’s time for dinner, a statement that comes with the question whether or not his dad is allowed to stay. 

You don’t let him stay, saying he’s probably tired from traveling so much, then give him a begging look to make him speak up too. Oscar lets out a sigh and forced a smile on his face. “Hey, it’s okay. I’ll be back tomorrow. I’m staying for a few days and your mum let me come to see you every day,” he says happily. “In fact, I’ll be looking out for you tomorrow while she’s at work. How does that sound?”

Oliver squeals from happiness before he hugs you both, thanking you over and over again for letting him come over. “Can we go to the zoo?” he asks with bright eyes as he looks over at his father. 

“Sure, whatever you want,” Oscar responds with a nod. 

“Okay, time to wash your hands, Alejandro will be home soon, so we can start to eat,” you ask your son. Once he says goodbye to Oscar and disappears, you turn to him with a forced smile. “You don’t have to do this, you know.”

With a sigh, he steps closer to you. “You were right, he’s a lot like me,” he begins quietly, then stops to consider what to say. 

He knows deep down that you want him to stay away, you don’t want him to ruin the balance of your little family, but how can he give you that after getting to know his son? Oliver is his blood, he’s truly a mini version of him, there’s no way he will turn his back on him now. 

You know. After all these years, despite your time together being so short, you still know him well enough to know what was going on in his head. “Just don’t break his heart, okay?” you ask, earning a nod from him. “Thanks for… everything. Tomorrow, then?”

“Tomorrow. Have a good night.”

“Are you a hundred percent sure you want to take him to the zoo?” his mother asks later that day when he calls her. 

Despite being excited to hear everything about her grandson, she seems a little uncertain since hearing about his plan for the next day. Oscar, obviously, knows the problem. Oliver looks just like him, if people see them together—and they will, there’s always someone who recognizes him—the rumors will spread like wildfire along with some photos to prove it. 

And then some journalist will figure out he’s your son, and they’ll check every paparazzi photo of him with his past girlfriends. 

So, yeah, he knows the risks, but deep down he doesn’t care. And if they find out, then what? He likes this kid, he wants to be a part of his life, he wants to be the kind of father Oliver deserves. 

“Sooner or later the secret would be out, Mum,” he points out.

She lets out a sigh. “Yeah, but are his mother and her boyfriend ready for this?” 

Crap. This he selfishly didn’t consider.

The two of them chat a little longer, and this time he’s willing to listen to a lecture and some advice without interrupting his mother. He needs all the help he can get at this point. Anything to make the right decision at the end of the day.

Two hours later he’s standing in front of your house, leaning against the side of the car with his phone in hand. His thumb hovers over your name as he’s trying to decide whether or not to call you at this time of the night. 

The clock says it’s almost midnight. Maybe you’re already sleeping, maybe—

“Oscar?”

His head snaps up, and he sees you stand in the door. Gulping, he pushes himself away from the vehicle and walks over to you. “I’m sorry, I know it’s late, but we need to talk,” he says.

You nod. “Okay, I’m all ears.”

And then he explains everything; the zoo, the possibility of the world finding out his connection to Oliver, the rumors, the gossip sites, the scrutiny. This is more than what you went through while dating him, and it will affect all three of you.

He can see the exact moment you understand the weight of it all, he sees the way the blood drains from your face and you rub your eyes with the heel of your palms. 

This is the point where you’ll say that’s enough, Oscar’s sure of it, but then tears appear in your eyes, and he instinctively cups your face to force you to look at him. He doesn’t have to ask anything, you start to talk without his question.

“Alejandro moved out. Temporarily, at least that’s what he said. Oliver… He kept talking about you, about how cool it is that you’re his father, and he got a little upset that I didn’t point out he was technically a stranger unlike the man who’s been raising him.”

With a sigh, Oscar pulls you into a hug. “It’s gonna be okay. I can talk to him if you want me to,” he offers. 

You look him in the eye, then shake your head. “No, and… I think you shouldn’t be around Oliver either. Birthday, Christmas, one visit during the summer break. The only times you can see him,” you state quietly. 

“What? No!”

“Do what’s the best for him. Please.”

For a moment, Oscar hesitates. Yes, he understands your point, but he doesn’t want to let go of his son. Not now that he knows what a cool kid he has. Anger slowly takes over, and before he can stop himself, he says, “Don’t want me to start a custody battle,” he says. 

“Come on, you travel around the world for the best part of the year, you’re single as far as I know, no judge would give you custody.”

He’s not like this, he barely loses his temper, but now he’s so angry he might blow up. “Why do you have to complicate things every single time?!” he spits. “I’ll talk to your boyfriend and put an end to this nonsense. He’ll have to accept that I’m here, and I’m here to say. Damn it, I’ll even move here if that’s the only way I can be around Oliver.”

This leaves you speechless, and then you just slap him across the face and march back inside the house. 

Well, that’s not what he expected. 

[giveamadeuschohisownmovie]

Deadpool and Wolverine might actually be the best love letter to Marvel that I’ve seen.

On a meta level, the movie feels like it was written in response to people dismissing the Marvel properties that aren’t the MCU. The MCU is the “Sacred Timeline” while everyone else gets thrown into the trash aka the Void. Wade even tried to become an Avenger because he feels that his life doesn’t matter. Then, Wade gets a chance to join the MCU. Of course, he’s thrilled, but is then told that the rest of his universe is getting destroyed since they lost its “anchor” (aka it lost its relevance). So, Wade decides to fight for his universe.

On a surface level, you can read this movie as a criticism of the MCU in that it’s treating the only stories worth a damn as the ones coming from that universe. But I don’t think that’s the case. I mean, first off, this was made by Marvel Studios. Feige and Co had to sign off on this and a great deal of the plot stems from the Loki show. Second, the movie felt more like it was trying to say that ALL Marvel stories matter. It’s not really criticizing the MCU, it’s criticizing how audiences view the Marvel movies/shows that aren’t the MCU. The “why should I care about this movie if it doesn’t lead to the next Avengers movie” attitude.

That’s why I say this was the best love letter to Marvel I’ve seen. It’s a celebration of the company’s works, both MCU and non-MCU. You can see that from the Easter eggs, the cameos, the nods to the fandom, and the emphasis on forgotten characters getting a chance at redemption. Even the jabs at the company and fanbase feel like they come from a place of love.

But what really sold me on this movie being a love letter to Marvel was the ending. Instead of a tease to a potential De4dpool movie, it was a montage of the development of the Fox Marvel movies (I can’t say X-Men since clips of the Fantastic Four were there). On one side, it’s a touching send-off to the Fox X-Men franchise. On the other side, it felt like a reminder of why people love Marvel to begin with. It’s these people - actors, writers, directors, producers - coming together to make these entertaining stories for us, to bring the comics to life on the big screen. It’s like Ryan Reynolds was telling us to take a step back from all the conspiracy theorizing, nitpicking, and fanbase drama for a couple of hours, that we should just enjoy this Marvel movie as it is.

And it worked. It was genuinely just a fun, awesome movie to watch. If we’re using the MCU-as-a-TV-show-analogy that people love using, Deadpool and Wolverine is the 100th episode that is made dedicated to the fans and celebrating the show as a whole. It’s a fanservice movie done right, one that goes beyond just references and cameos.

[insanechayne]

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