#and ill punch anyone who says different
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the batfam as things i and others have said pt 2
jason talking about his death: everyone has bad days, everyone gets blown up sometimes
——-
tim: dad, how old are you?
bruce: old enough
——-
dick: the moon is in a phase
tim: what is it, emo?
——-
jason talking about tims mental state: its being held together with zip ties and a dream
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steph when a bat appears: i hate when men do that… appear out of thin air
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bruce, deadpan: i was gonna say who has a mobile number (police number) but it’s the police
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tim talking about wifi: it keeps dropping out
jason: of high school?
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bruce: are you on something?
little dick: FREEDOM
——-
tim after scrolling on tumblr for too long: teenagers relate to murder
——-
dick after fighting slade too many times: he’s always down to kill kids and i respect that
——-
pt 1
#the actual context for some of these is wild#these are what happens when you have an audhd teenager with an autistic father and possibly an autistic or adhd brother#and a mother whos sick of everyones bullshit and who probably has adhd ngl#batfam#jason todd#jason would joke about his death#dick grayson#tim drake#bruce wayne#damian wayne#stephanie brown#im obsessed with tim atm so he’s there repeatedly#bruce wayne is a good dad#and ill punch anyone who says different#batfamily
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okay. i debated not posting this because I was worried I’d get death threats (that says a lot doesn’t it) but it needs to be said, because its upsetting me.
a woman who publicly says she feels very sane and has “never been to therapy” and who breaks up with her boyfriend in part because he can’t just “”get over”” his depression to love her the way she wants/needs does not.
I repeat, does not.
get to use the imagery she did in her fortnight video.
I’ve been seeing gifsets and screenshots all day of her chained to a bed but ~aesthetic~ and being fed a pill after a cheeky side eye and strapped to a glamourfied ECT machine and no one has said anything about it so I will. those images are genuinely triggering for me.
people have been restrained, forcefed pills, and given electroconvulsive therapy or subjected to the electric chair for severe mental illness against their will. these are not fun props anyone gets to throw around to express that they feel depressed or in a “manic phase” or like they were “raised in an asylum.”
she doesn’t know how a real asylum fried my grandmother’s brain or real cops restrained me because I was psychotic and manic. she doesn’t know what it feels like to be dehumanised that way.
do better. demand she do better, too.
edit: I say that this content is triggering to say that it causes real harm. I do still have a responsibility to myself to curate an internet experience for myself. this does not negate her responsibility to avoid replicating harmful tropes in art which is deeply influential. she does not get to co-opt institutionalization or psychiatric violence as a romanticized aesthetic or as a metaphor because real people like myself have suffered greatly under the things she is representing as glamorous or cool. institutionalization silences and violates mentally ill people in a way that marginalizes them, and that experience should be treated with sensitivity and care rather than being commodified to reduce stigma. if she had experienced these things, I might feel differently, but other ableist content on the record and her statements on her life and art indicate otherwise. she is a woman with immense privilege and power and should not be using that privilege and power to punch down on mental illness.
edit 2: I want you all to know I have seen your criticism. I will not edit the post but I do respect that she has had mental health struggles since that outdated quote. That is my mistake, I own that. My apologies.
However, mental health struggles =/ experience with psychiatric violence. Experiences of mental illness are heterogenous. Aestheticizing, romanticizing, and glamourizing mental hospitals is straight up gross regardless of your experience with mental illness. It’s tasteless and offensive.
I do understand metaphors. I think that her calling her life an asylum as a metaphor is in poor taste. I think her representing her relationship struggles with the imagery of a mental institution is insensitive given the impacts that real asylums and mental hospitals have had on my life and the lives of many others like me, so I had to say something about it.
It’s ableist to assume that critics of your fav “can’t read”, “don’t understand a metaphor” or “don’t have brains” when they clearly demonstrate that they are thinking critically. Do better.
#REBLOGS ARE BACK ON IF YOU CAN BE NICE#anti taylor swift#taylor swift#ttpd#the tortured poets department#taylor swift ttpd
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Ok but how are the crazy f1 dads with their daughters dating? Who on the grid do they like?
oof this is a loaded ask bc they really are all out of it 😭 they just love their babies fr
♤ ♤ ♤
dad! kimi | growing up räikkönen!
FIRST OF ALL kimi doesn’t really vibe with most people in general, let alone anyone who’s trying to get with his little lumienkeli. kimi was lucky to raise a little girl similar to him, who listens when he places a no dating rule lasting until she’s 21 (as far as he knows anyways). despises the guys on the grid trying to get with her; he was one of them once so he thinks of them as animals, especially leclerc who’s known for his brow-raising dating life. also hates pierre but he already didn’t fw him bc he’s french. he is SLIGHTLY more easy going with women around his daughter so any grid guys with girlfriends might have an advantage. he finds that he wants the im-a-dog-and-ill-do-whatever-my-girl-says type for his daughter, but he dislikes unintelligence. he does not like anyone on the grid, but he best tolerates:
mick schumacher!
oscar piastri (+lily)
he vibes with kika okay but hates pierre 💀
bonus! he actually really likes max but his hate/distrust for jos overpowers that so he’s not letting that happen
♤ ♤ ♤
dad! jenson | growing up button!
OK SO JENSON is a bit less intense than kimi, however he is much more publicly affectionate with his daughter which means that he has definitely gone on public rants about how no man is good wen enough for his baby. that being said, he is a decent judge of character so he doesn’t hate anyone on the grid. but he gets real serious when he notices people hitting on his baby. this is mostly bc he was def a whore when he was younger so he isn’t quick to trust guys who are living the same lifestyle he was. he kind of turns on dad-mode when he notices anyone eyeing her up. but alas, he raised his own mini-me, who attracts just about everyone, and who likes to flirt back. it takes warming up to, but he can see himself fine with most of the drivers. he most prefers people who are friendly and who didn’t act like him when he was in f1 like:
george russel
daniel ricciardo
lando norris
♤ ♤ ♤
dad! fernando | growing up alonso!
NANDO IS DEFINITELY one of those guys who thinks he’s a “cool dad” bc he’s a young father and his daughter is his best friend. but in reality he’s one of those intense, fiercely overprotective dads who have impossibly high expectations for his daughters partner. 100% the type to punch a mechanic for saying gross things about his princesa. he’ll be calm and in a good mood then someone on the grid (or any man ever) mentions his daughter and he’s like 😐. UNLESS! it’s carlos. carlos is the only one who meets his standards, sorry to literally everyone else. but even with carlos, he can be a little stern just to get his point across about not messing with his only child. he just feels the need to personally approve of his daughter’s partner bc he’s hyper-paranoid about someone hurting her. his list looks something like:
carlos sainz!!!
that’s it
i mean if you put a gun to his head maybe max bc he’s a winner but he needs to learn to speak spanish so-
♤ ♤ ♤
dad! jos | growing up verstappen! unfortunately
FUCK JOS VERSTAPPEN obviously, however this man is one crazy dad who we have to discuss. his love for his youngest daughter is wild and unpredictable, and it’s very different from the way he treats his other children. his baby has some extreme one-sided beef with him that he’s smart enough to know about, so he isn’t too forceful about bonding, it’s definitely more desperate since max found success in f1 and she sticks with her big brother now. her entire life, he’s never allowed her to date, and when he found out about her first secret bf, he got arrested for trying to kill the kid so. he has IMPOSSIBLY high standards for his daughters partner and definitely wants her to marry within the f1 community, but he hates losers and despises half the grid.
suddenly he’s charles leclerc’s biggest fan !
lewis hamilton but he’ll never admit it
MAYBE carlos sainz
bonus! max obvi likes daniel ricciardo best but jos doesn’t fw him like that
♤ ♤ ♤
Ren
#dark! f1#f1 fanfic#f1 fic#f1 grid x reader#obsessive f1#carlos sainz x reader#charles leclerc x reader#f1 oc#f1 reverse harem#daniel riccardo x reader#max verstappen x reader#lando norris x reader#lewis hamilton x reader#kimi räikkönen x daughter reader#dad! jenson button#dad! fernando alonso#dad! kimi räikkönen#jos verstappen
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hey!! it's me again, the same anon requested a Reader with anger issues :3
could u do platonic headcanons with Alastor and Rosie x Male Overlord! Reader who is the opposite of them? the three of them are best Friends but Reader is like the opposite of them? He rarely smiles, isn't chatty and is rough? and maybe, since alastor and Rosie LOVE singing and dancing, the Reader is kinda shy about it cause he doesn't like the way he dances/sings?
hope I'm not bothering! i just really like your writing :)
Rosie & Alastor x Reader (Platonic) ˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥
AAAAA HII welcome back!! thank you <3 youre never bothering me dear I always love seeing you! I made a banner for this (and incase I get Combined Rosie n Alastor stuff again
Not Proofread!
Male!Overlord! Reader
Song listened to while writing this!
↓
♪ These two will have energy you "lack' these two are always bouncing around you and talking, to each other and you; impatiently awaiting an answer from you
♪ Rosie often coos at how rough and violent you are, saying you need to add 'sparkle' it at which you just shrug; nothing changes
♪ Alastor thinks your nature is— intriguing; you're very intimidating.. Not to him hells no! Everyone else; but he thinks you should do something special instead of just, mauling everyone who crosses you, not that he minds how you currently behave, it's very fun to watch
♪ Anytime you go out together Rosie is trying to convince you to join her and Alastor, you just wave her off, a polite "no thank you." And you sit on a couch alone. And watch them, if you're feeling generous you'll tap your foot to the songs while standing near them.
♪ Alastor is the one to try and usher you to sing with him; he says your voices "would sound delightful together" and jokingly pities you when you say you feel uncomfortable singing; doubting your own ability but he quickly assured you that you're gonna do great. He'll silently go off the walls if you agree.
♪ these two are almost constantly smiling, Alastor specifically.. Anyway— so whenever you crack even a small smile these two are looking at each other like "did you just catch that??" Often they'll even tease you on it.
♪ will verbally (and physically) defend you with their lives, in front of you and when you're not there. Anyone who dares speak ill of you in ear shot of them is gonna never hear the end of it or hear ever again at all! Depends what type of day they've had!
♪ walk with you in the middle of them, you have them both blabbering in your ears constantly, not that you mind; they wouldn't be seen with you constantly if you did.
♪ ask for your input on things, especially Rosie she will ask you every time "I did my hair differently, what do you think?". Alastor is the kinda guy to say "notice something?" Only for him to have his shoes polished and nothing else while you stand there quietly tweaking.
♪ Rosie always has her arm hooked with yours, like teenage girls in the city while she looks past you at Alastor and talking about their hottest new news.
♪ Alastor usually scans you to see how you're feeling, you're very stoic and hard to read..Rosie doesn't care she's smothering you even if you're about to punch the next sinner you see.
AAAAAAAA I hope this is what you hoped it'd be!!! LOVE U POOOKIEEE
#hazbin x reader#hazbin imagine#hazbin hotel imagine#hazbin hotel x reader#rosie x reader#hazbin hotel rosie#alastor x reader#alastor imagine
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chef!sukuna who’s still lower in the rank than he wants to be, but so close to being a sous. tonight is his night to do the night’s special dish, finally. he earned this. he knew that if the head chef just let him, he could create the best dish ever served at this damn place.
so, he does just that.
he’s immediately scolded, the dish uses too many ingredients, the head says. too much to prepare. too ambitious. even though he used all of the left over ingredients from the menu’s usuals. 0% waste, 0% additional cost.
sukuna curses, taking a deeper drag of his cigarette. “make sure no table gets that shit,” he hears, with his fists clenching at his sides. ill go to the gym after this, he thinks, yeah, punch the fuck out of that bag.
it turns out that only table 8 has the dish, your table. the server messed up and now they’re crying in the back to the porter because they’ve been fired on the spot. “i told you not to fucking take it! have you never done expo-“
sukuna stalks calmly to the shaking waiter, “show me table eight-“ he sighs, levelling the head chef with a glare, sukuna was much larger, much stronger than him, difference in rank or not. he stood down, stalking down the other side of the kitchen with a huff. “ignore him, i wanna see who’s eating my dish, come on, let’s go.”
a reassuring pat to the shoulder from sukuna was almost enough to make him cry even more. sukuna kind of hated everyone.
“just there, chef. the couple, bedside the pillar on the left…its um…her, chef.” he grins, watching how transfixed the normally gruff man is, “your girl heh heh.”
“shut up,” he says, but he smiles a little.
he watches you, sat opposite some guy you hardly look interested in, you’re beautiful, the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen, as always, his eyes are drawn to you, no other woman could compare.
he watches you slice through his dish, the fork at your lips, as soon as it reaches your mouth you make a noise of such rapture, a sudden quiet falls upon the floor of the restaurant.
it’s almost weird how heat rushes low at the sight and the sound, he can’t remember the last time anyone else fired him up like this. he never took himself to have any kind of food fetish, either. yet watching you eat his dishes always seems to be an erotic exchange he never anticipates.
“oh…him? think they’re married?”
“i don’t think so.”
that man seems to hiss at you, eyes on his watch, barely touching his dish. “i wanted pizza downtown, god.”
you shake your hand in dismissal, shoving another forkful in your mouth. “i wanted this, i always want this.”
sukuna let’s out a breathy fuck, and the server practically faints.
no one was immune to sukuna’s charm, then, it seemed.
“oh, fuck, table 7 saw me. fuck, chef ive already been fire-“
“go and give them a reason not to fire you. go, go to your table kid, it’s still yours, right?”
the table beside you seems to have called him over, asking for the same dish you seem to believe has came from heaven, telling anybody who asks.
sukuna can’t help but enjoy the lively affair, as the restaurant manager tries to explain over and over to more and more tables that the chef special has been cancelled. oh, how he loved this little bit of chaos.
“why?” your voice clatters through the cacophony like a piece of silverware on crockery. “this dish is phenomenal, the best ive ever eaten here and in this city, in this country-“
“miss-“
“taste it! can you not taste the hard work? the thought? its the best thing ive ever eaten. the chef who made this has impeccable taste and talent.”
your laughter rings through the place at your partners embarrassment. sukuna is about to pry himself away and head back into the kitchen, leaning on the side of the bar and then…your eyes meet, another forkful is waiting before those glossed lips. another sweet sound of joy rings through the air.
now you see him, huh?
your smile is sweeter than agave, “it’s you.”
your words are lost on everyone around you, but to sukuna he hears them as if you whispered them right against his ear.
sukuna was a tall, broad, and unquestionably handsome man, unmissable out of his chef whites, invisible in them, somehow. obscured by the ambient lighting of the restaurant.
you near him, like a moth to a flame, a sensual air to the way your hips flick toward him. “you-“
the head chef storms through to the restaurant floor, the door slamming you both into the corresponding wall. his large arms wrap around you, his hand cups the back of your head.
he slowly retracts his hand, and your chest rises as you resist the urge to press your cheekbone into his palm, “are you okay?”
his voice is deep and addicting, dark and dripping down your throat.
you’re beaming at him, like he’s an angel, like he’s somebody you already adore. he gifts you a lover’s laugh, “you seem to be the only satisfied person in the building tonight.”
“seems like you’ve satisfied me sir.” you wink, still letting his aura press you into the wall, he cages you in with his arms.
“oh?”
“last thursday. that soup, you made it, didn’t you…?”
“sukuna,” he answers for you, “maybe.”
“seafood special last month?”
“yes, and your name?”
for some reason he’s out of breath, you’re so close, so fancy in your silk dress, clad in jewellery that sparkles even under these dimmed lights. “reader, you…you’re a genius.”
“so you came to thank me personally?” he leans closer, swiping sauce from the corner of your lip. it lingers on his thumb, his eyes chase yours as he licks it. “how sweet of you.”
#chef!sukuna#chef sukuna would absolutely ruin and wreck my heart#sukuna x reader fluff#sukuna fluff#sukuna x reader#this concept is just in my head i cannot#younger chef sukuna#food critic reader?!!#foodie reader???#now i want to write a whole fic about this
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[Ghost with OFC!Reader who has a toxic family] [p1 of ?]
A/N: straight up this is self indulgent/me projecting (like all my work is) bc it's comforting for me to imagine that I have someone to protect me from life bc wow this shit sucks. Not tagging anyone due to this potentially being triggering.
CW: toxic family dynamics, swearing, mental illness, simping, age gaps, definitely not professional, Ghost punches someone (let me know if there's anything else)
~
Now I don't even have to say that Simon is extremely sensitive when it comes to family, especially since he himself grew up in a toxic environment. He knows the signs because they're the signs he saw in his day to day life.
He knew something was up when you never want to go home when breaks come, any young Rookie is usually bouncing off the walls to go see their loved ones but you? You almost look depressed at the thought. Ghost may tell people he has a cold heart, but not when it comes to you. You wormed your way into his chest next to that said cold heart and now he can't help but worry. You're too young to have probably been in a place on your own, so no choice but to go back to the family home. He was in your shoes once, he too had joined the military to find a way out.
Ghost doesn't speak to people off duty, never has but things have changed. You, Soap, Gaz, Price? You all are the closest thing he will ever have to a family again, so against his better and usual judgment, he asks you if you'd like to stay with him at one of his safe houses.
"Runt, do you....for fucks sake, do you want to come back with me? Stay with me until our next mission."
"Oh! No, I'm fine Ghost, I'm alright to go home."
A smile on your lips but it doesn't reach your eyes. He feels his own turn down into a grimace.
"Teds, stop the shit for a second, yeah? I see that look on your face, you don't want to go back there."
He rests a skeleton glove covered hand on your shoulder, caressing the skin there with a thumb graze.
"I don't want to be a bother.'"
"You're never a bother sweetheart, c'mon then."
~
Staying with Ghost is, different to say the least. He takes you to his home in Manchester and goddamn the place is barely lived in, the only place that look used is his kitchen. He really lets you have free reign of the place, the only room not allowed is his bedroom. Not because he doesn't trust you rather it's just a personal thing.
Overtime the place filled with little traces of you, your hair ties liter the counters and tables, your laughter in the other room while you scroll on your phone. Hearing your footsteps run to area of the house so you can show him said video, the groceries you buy once you learn Ghost solely lives off of take out.
"Are you serious?"
"I work out to balance it."
"Ghost-"
It warms his chest to see you show so much concern over him, a man 6'4 who could easily snap your neck. He rustles your hair with a deep chuckle.
You try and not encroach on his space but he finds that he likes it. He likes seeing your shoes next to his at the doorway, he likes seeing you cook in his kitchen, he likes seeing you wake up groggy with crust in your eyes. He loves it all. Though he'd never admit it.
You make his house, now his home feel so much warmer and brighter. You insist on catching him up to the newest movies and shows, forcing him to sit down next to you to watch the newest Marvel movie while he pretends he hates it. He makes jokes in between that he could do better than that and that if he were there, he'd just put a bullet between the enemies eyes.
Seeing you fall asleep on his shoulder brings a peace to him, his arm around your shoulders as you nuzzle in closer. He doesn't deserve this, he doesn't deserve you. But he's gonna pretend he does, just for a little while longer.
~
Imagine his surprise when he meets your family for the first time. You had wanted to go home and get some things to bring back to his place so he came with you on a flight since he knows you don't care for air travel by yourself.
Ghost was used to his presence scaring people and warding people off. He knows how to keep people in line, its been his job for as long as he could care to remember. So he wasn't expecting them to treat you so horribly in front of him. Really, what'd they expect to happen. First mistake.
It's such a stark contrast you are in this place, from base, the field, to the woman in front of him. You curl into yourself, hands cracking in your hoodie pockets as you sit there and just take it, waiting for a break so you can speak. You're not looking at him or even making an attempt to talk back.
Ghost knows you're grown, he knows it's not his place but he feels his blood pressure get higher and higher as they scream and belittle you for things out of your control, your looks, your weight, telling to come back home, to leave the military, anything and everything under the sun. Second mistake. He can feel his knuckles turn a stark white under his gloves and it isn't until your sibling gets up in your face with a hand raised that he springs into action. Third mistake. Ghost is a big man, but he moves fast and unexpectedly.
Before he registered it, your sibling is on the floor clutching their stomach after being gut punched. He hears them heaving while trying to curse him out, looking up with him with hatred. Simon wants to take his heavy steel toed boot and kick the fuckers face. Hell, he wants to beat the ever living shit out of every single person in this fucking house. To think they can treat you like this? Over his dead body.
He hears your parents screaming about how dare he and that he's fucking insane but when he turns to look around at you, he sees you staring up at him with tear filled eyes and a whisper of thank you. In that moment he knows, he knows he'd do just about anything for you. He shoots a withering glare at your parents
"We're taking her shit and leaving." He barks out, his eyes burning a hole in their heads while they shakily nod and avoid looking at either of you.
Ghost grabs your hand and leads you towards your bedroom where he grabs anything he can bag and helps you stuff all your belongings into it, making sure you have everything until the room is completely cleared out.
Shuffling the bags on his arms, he holds your hand again and intertwines your fingers, gently pulling you out the house and towards the rental truck. Not taking one glance at the so called family watching you two.
"You're staying with me from now on, got it runt?"
The smile on your face is so bright when you say "Of course, L.T."
-
If you'd like to be tagged in future works, please comment under my rules that are pinned to my blog!
#ghost <3#simon ghost riley x reader#simon riley x reader#simon ghost riley#simon riley#call of duty#call of duty x reader#cod x reader#tw toxic family#tw toxicity#kayla writes <3#fem reader
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𝐘𝐎𝐔'𝐑𝐄 𝐀 𝐃𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐌 𝐓𝐎 𝐌𝐄
— 𝟏𝟗𝟗𝟑
—𝐃𝐄𝐒𝐂𝐑𝐈𝐏𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍: 𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐓 𝐎𝐍𝐄 𝐎𝐅 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐃𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐌 𝐏𝐎𝐏 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄𝐑 𝐒𝐄𝐑𝐈𝐄𝐒. 𝐌𝐄𝐄𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐉𝐀𝐊𝐄 𝐎𝐍 𝐇𝐀𝐋𝐋𝐎𝐖𝐄𝐄𝐍 𝐍𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓 𝐀𝐓 𝐀 𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐘, 𝐃𝐈𝐑𝐓𝐘 𝐇𝐎𝐔𝐒𝐄 𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐘 𝐃𝐔𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐒𝐎𝐏𝐇𝐎𝐌𝐎𝐑𝐄 𝐘𝐄𝐀𝐑 𝐎𝐅 𝐂𝐎𝐋𝐋𝐄𝐆𝐄 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐍𝐆𝐄𝐒 𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐘𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐆. 𝐁𝐎𝐍𝐃𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐎𝐕𝐄𝐑 𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐈𝐀𝐋𝐋𝐘-𝐃𝐈𝐆𝐄𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐃 𝐅𝐋𝐎𝐖𝐄𝐑𝐒 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐉𝐔𝐑𝐀𝐒𝐒𝐈𝐂 𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐊 𝐈𝐒 𝐉𝐔𝐒𝐓 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐁𝐄𝐆𝐈𝐍𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆.
—𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃𝐒: 𝟗.𝟓𝐊
—𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓
—𝐏𝐋𝐀𝐘𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓
—𝐕𝐈𝐒𝐈𝐎𝐍 𝐁𝐎𝐀𝐑𝐃
𝐘𝐎𝐔'𝐑𝐄 𝐀 𝐃𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐌 𝐓𝐎 𝐌𝐄
𝐎𝐅𝐅-𝐂𝐀𝐌𝐏𝐔𝐒 𝐇𝐎𝐔𝐒𝐄 𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐘
𝐇𝐀𝐋𝐋𝐎𝐖𝐄𝐄𝐍 𝐍𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓 𝟏𝟗𝟗𝟑
The first time Jake Seresin sees you, it’s across a small and crowded room. Under the Bridge by The Red Hot Chili Peppers is thumping over the bulky speakers that are haphazardly strung all around the room with extension cords and duct tape. He hates this song. He doesn’t know it yet, but so do you.
You’d caught his eye because he spotted a familiar brick-colored button up. And, yes, as he’s looking at you now, he realizes he’s right. The breezy cargo shorts, the brown belt, the faded blue tank top--you’re dressed up as Dr. Ellie Sattler. He happens to be dressed up as Dr. Alan Grant, which means that the two of you--complete and utter strangers--are two halves of one whole costume.
But suddenly, as Jake looks at you, he doesn’t hear Anthony Keidis or hollow balls bouncing off plastic tables or booming laughter or sloshing liquid. He doesn’t hear anything. His ears are just ringing empty silence.
Bizarre, he thinks. His brain is never this quiet. He’s always thinking about drills or Intro to Anthropology or girls or Robert Zemeckis or home or dinner or something. Right now, it’s just you he’s thinking about.
You’re standing by yourself at one of the few punch bowls stationed around the house, each one a different highly unnatural color with seemingly random items skimming the surface. You’re pretty sure you saw flowers floating around one of them. Curiously, you’re looking down at this particular crystal bowl and the sad orange slices floating aimlessly in the peculiarly crimson punch. Half of the stuff is gone--Jake doesn’t know how anyone is stomaching it--and you are silently and unknowingly echoing his sentiment.
Bradley, who dragged Jake to this party in the first place--not that anyone ever has to drag Jake to a party--is standing beside him and is waiting his turn to play Beer Pong with an unruly group of men wearing togas.
“--The trick is to just, like, fake it ‘til you make it,” Bradley’s saying, casually leaning up against the dingy clapboard walls and sipping something vaguely Everclear-ish from his solo cup. “And what I mean by that is talk as much shit as you can. Nothing is off limits. Mothers, sisters, fathers--shit, especially fathers. People are so touchy these days. Like, I once told this guy that I got his sister preg--well, anyway. That’s besides the point. Just go into the game like you’re gonna win and you’re gonna win. You know? It’s simple science, really. I was thinking of writing my thesis on it.”
Jake, who is only half-listening as the silence fades out, hums. He doesn’t tear his eyes from your form. You’re cautiously ladling some of the punch into a chipped glass for your friend, who appeared suddenly beside you in an ill-fitting Red Riding Hood costume with glassy eyes and a broad grin, rubbing up against you like a hungry stray.
“Right,” Jake says absently. He can hardly hear anything over the music, especially Bradley’s incessant Beer Pong codes of conduct. He’s not gonna strain himself to hear what he’s already heard at a thousand frat parties before--and he’s certainly not going to turn his face away from you. “True.”
Bradley swallows all the sugary saliva coating his tongue and squints at the stained folding table holding the tense game beside them, wondering if the legs are gonna give. The center is already bowing. Whatever. Not his house--not his issue. He turns to Jake, who’s not looking at him or listening to him. Bradley’s known him long enough to know that by now. Jake not listening to Bradley rarely ever stops him from continuing a conversation, though.
“And what’s really interesting about all of this is that I can say whatever I want to you right now because you’re staring at…” Bradley makes a show of following Jake’s gaze across the crowded house, eyes flitting across a few forms before he finds yours. And, yes, he knows you’re definitely the one Jake is looking at. Dr. Ellie Sattler. “Oh. Looky there. It’s your better half. Your favorite part of your favorite movie! Isn’t that cute?”
“It’s not my favorite movie,” Jake snorts indignantly--like that means anything.
He’s still watching you--your friend teetered off and you’re against the wall again, alone and looking down at your hiking boots. They look used--there’s dirt on the heels and scuffs on the toes.
He wonders if you’re judging the cobwebs in the corners of the low ceilings and the bowing door frames like he is. You look like you are--your brows pinched, your nose slightly scrunched, your eyes shadowed by the soft curl of your lashes. You look like you don’t come to many parties like this. Parties with too many people, parties with no snacks, parties with boys from the baseball team, parties with kegs, parties with sticky floors. Neither does he.
“You dragged me to that movie, like, twenty times whenever it came out,” Bradley says, eyebrows furrowed. “What do you mean it isn’t your favorite movie?”
“What I mean is that Jurassic Park is a great movie, but it isn’t my favorite,” Jake says, mildly exasperated. He absently takes a sip of his drink and immediately wishes he hadn’t, face screwing up in disgust as the bright yellow punch oozes down his throat. He coughs softly and Bradley grins. “My favorite movie is Blue Velvet. Duh.”
Now Bradley is screwing his face up in disgust, pretending to gag.
“You’re so pretentious. It’s like you can’t even help it. I feel bad for you, man. Oh, look at me! I’m a film major and I just love movies that make no sense! I wanna make sweet love to Kyle MacLachlan! Notice me, David Lynch!”
“Oh, fuck off,” Jake says, smiling softly. “I’m not pretentious!”
“My favorite movie is Basic Instinct,” Bradley says proudly. And just as Jake is groaning, finally giving Bradley his full attention so Bradley can feel every ounce of Jake’s judgment, Bradley holds his hands up in defense. “Hey! Not for that scene--well, yeah for that scene--but mainly because of the gore. It’s gnarly. Plus it’s, like, very easy to understand. Digestible.”
“You’re a simpleton,” Jake says. “Is pussy all you think about?”
“Through and through, brother!” Bradley confirms with a grin.
Bradley throws an arm around Jake’s shoulders, the cheap polyester of his striped Beetlejuice costume stretched to its absolute limit by his shapely biceps, and sighs happily. He looks out across the crowded room and finds your form--Jake follows his gaze.
For a moment, the both of them just look at you. You’re bored--that much they can tell. Eyes downcast, hangnail under the wrath of your picking fingertips, mouth a flat plane. You’re way too pretty to be this bored at a party.
“What do you think her favorite movie is, Oh-Wise-One?” Bradley asks. Jake elbows him hard and some of his drink sloshes onto the floor and his Nike’s. “Hey! Not the Carnivores, man! These are brand new!”
“I’m doing you a favor,” Jake snorts.
Bradley whines, rubbing his shoes with a frown.
Jake is still looking at you. You’re alone. You’ve been alone since he noticed you a few songs ago, not exactly giving off an anti-social vibe but certainly not going out of your way to make conversation with all the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles and Hulk Hogan’s around you. He wonders if you’re like him--if you came to this party because your friends dragged you here, if you would rather be in the comfort of your dorm watching slasher B-Movies.
“I haven’t seen her around campus,” Jake muses softly to Bradley, brows coming together. “Maybe she’s from out of town.”
The thought makes his gut twist in a half-knot. He really, really hopes you’re not from out of town.
Bradley shakes his head. The only time they get many out-of-towners is when there’s a football game and there isn’t another game until next weekend.
“Maybe she’s a freshman. Or a transfer,” Bradley continues. “Who knows! Not me. Certainly not you.”
“She’s really…” Jake says softly, brows pinching. He wants to kick himself for not being able to find the right word for what you are--but he doesn’t want to get it wrong. And his vocabulary dims in comparison to the way you make him feel by doing nothing but blink at the floor and wring your hands together. “Something.”
“And they say chivalry is dead,” Bradley coos, pinching Jake’s cheek.
“She’s, like--obviously she’s pretty,” Jake says. And he knows he’s being conservative with pretty. “But something else, too.”
“She looks…disinterested,” Bradley comments. “Like she doesn’t wanna be here.”
“I can change that,” Jake says with a deep breath. “You know. Show her a good time and all of that.”
“And you said all I think about is pussy? Man, you’re twisted!”
As if he’s offended, Jake faces Bradley. The tips of his ears are hot.
“Why did you assume I was going to show her a good time with my penis? I literally never even implied that. I never even hinted at applying to that.”
“What does and all of that mean to you then?” Bradley inquires, brows furrowed.
“You know,” Jake says, shrugging. He swallows and shakes his head. “Maybe I’ll dance with her or something. Girls like that. I’ll ask for her hand. Like a gentleman.”
“You’re so from Texas,” Bradley laughs. “Thinking you can square dance your way into everything. Can’t really do-si-do to the Chili Peppers.”
Jake frowns at Bradley.
“You’re a freak,” Jake says slowly. “Really. I mean it.”
“Yeah, well, you’re a cornball,” Bradley complains. “C’mon, stop staring at her! Let’s just get ready for our turn!”
Jake’s already decided that he’s not going to be playing Beer Pong with Bradley.
“How do I walk up to her without creeping her out?”
Bradley blinks at Jake, who is chewing the inside of his cheek like he’s really trying to figure it out. Like it’s rocket science.
“What are you talking about? You’re wearing an Alan Grant costume. I don’t think you’re gonna creep her out. Genius.”
Jake shoots a look at Bradley--one that he’s seen just before a knuckle to the gut or a tap to the balls. Instinctively, Bradley takes a half-step away from Jake and bumps into one of the Toga Bros.
“I mean, like--how do I go up to her and not creep her out? What am I supposed to start with? Hey, I saw you were all alone so I decided to capitalize on that. Or should it be more along the lines of you’re dressed as my love interest and we should see if that transfers into real life? Smart-ass.”
Bradley laughs, shaking his head.
Jake gets into his head like this a lot. Like a lot more than anyone else realizes. Before games, before dates, before office hours, before parties. Jake is Bradley’s best friend--and has been since they were assigned roommates last year--and Bradley knows that Jake always comes out the other side unscathed no matter what his previous worries were. He’s never missed a field goal, he always gets the girl, all his professors grant extra credit, he’s always invited back to whatever frat they hit. This special weariness of Jake’s is reserved especially for Bradley--that is to say, no one else gets to see this side of him.
“Here,” Bradley says. He grins. “I’ve got an idea!”
And before Jake can inquire, Bradley’s slamming his fist into Jake’s cup. The neon liquid spews out and splatters all over the walls and floor--a few drops land on Jake’s shirt. He’s too shocked to speak for a second, staring at the puddle on the ground and the few people who turned to see the commotion.
Bradley’s beaming when Jake turns to him, leaning back against the clapboards coolly, looking like a fucking idiot with his half-assed Beetlejuice makeup on and frayed green wig he bought in the kid’s section at Family Dollar.
“You’re an idiot,” Jake says. He says this about fifteen times a day, give or take.
Bradley holds a hand over his heart and sighs warmly.
“You need a refill,” Bradley says, nodding towards you and the punch bowl. “Thank me later. Preferably with Gushers!”
Jake is just about to say something else when he realizes that Bradley’s right. He does need a refill. And you are standing by the closest of the nuclear punch bowls.
This is his in.
“I hate that I actually do wanna thank you right now,” Jake sighs. He mulls over his decision, straightening his hat and making sure his cup is all the way empty. He turns to Bradley, who’s smiling smugly already. “How do I look?”
“Like you’re about to dig up some dino bones,” Bradley says, giving Jake a thumbs up and a shit-eating grin.
Jake blinks at him.
“Fossils. You mean fossils,” Jake corrects. “Not just dino bones.”
Bradley shrugs and takes another drink somehow.
“You say caramel I say carmel, but we all bleed the same, don’t we?”
Jake doesn’t even respond. He just starts in your direction, his breath caught between his molars. He hopes that you don’t move before he can cross the tiny house, the sea of sweaty polyester clad bodies and latex-covered faces.
Across the little room, right where he wants you to be, you’re chewing the inside of your cheek pensively.
He really isn’t here, you think. He really didn’t come. You press the scuffed toe of your scuffed hiking boot against the sticky floorboards and pull back softly to feel the resistance. Gross.
You’re not sure what the worst part of all of this is. Maybe it’s the fact that your boyfriend, the one who actually likes gross little parties like this and the other half of your couple’s costume, hasn’t bothered to show his face tonight. Maybe it’s the fact that they won’t stop playing Red Hot Chili Peppers and Anthony Keidis is literally bursting your eardrums right now. Maybe it’s the fact that nothing here is drinkable.
This night would be a lot easier if you were loaded right now.
“Do you happen to know what flavor this is?” A man asks, Southern inflection licking the inside of your ears. “Trying to decide if I’m gonna partake in drinking the Koolaid.”
Without looking up, you shrug your shoulders. Probably just another wayward drunk who thinks you’re the host. It’s an insult to you that someone would think you would live in squalor like this--you would never let fist-sized holes litter your walls and you would certainly never let your floors get this sticky.
Jake clears his throat, so close to you now that he can smell the amber on your pulse points. He’s searching your face, wondering if you didn’t hear him, readjusting his hat while the party rages on all around the two of you.
He’s standing between you and the punch bowl now, empty cup pressed into his palm, facing you rather than the drink. You don’t look up at him, but he doesn’t take his eyes off you.
“I bet it’s watermelon,” Jake says a bit louder. “It’s always watermelon.”
He sees the recognition flood your features--the recognition that someone is talking to you--as you finally raise your head.
Up close, even in this shitty light, Jake sees that you’re something beyond pretty, something beyond beautiful. You’re something else that he’s never seen before--better than all the rest. His ears begin to hum.
It’s the first time you’ve ever looked at him--except that it isn’t. You take him in: his crinkled green eyes, his abrasively handsome smile, the little dimples on his cheeks, the scruffy edge of his jaw. No, you’ve seen him before. Scalding bleachers and roaring crowds and his face on the jumbotron after kicking a three-pointer.
This football player is talking to you.
Smiling in a polite and slightly stunned manner, you roll your shoulders back and wipe away all the crumbs of mopiness from your lap.
“Watermelon’s too high brow for this dump,” you say after a moment, swallowing softly. “I think I smelled cherry earlier.”
Your voice--he can only just make it out as the music plays, as the humming increases. But he can hear that it is sweet, that it is a vibration that makes his throat ache.
“You smelled it?” Jake asks, brow perched. “All the way from there?” He points to where you’re standing against the wall.
You’re only a foot or two away from the stained wooden table that’s holding the bowl. Nodding with your brow slightly furrowed, you push yourself off the wall.
“Cherry’s an assault to the senses. Couldn’t help but smell it,” you answer. Then you glance over your shoulder at the rest of the party, looking for your friends. “And my friends are too wasted to ladle their own drinks.”
“I hope they’re tipping you,” Jake says. “Well--unless you’re working on commission.”
A smile tugs on your lips.
“Doctors usually don’t work on commission,” you say softly. You look up at his hat and then down at his pants, placing his costume with a soft sort of smile. “Do they, Dr. Grant?”
He beams at you. Something in your chest grows tight--tight like you need to let all the air out of your lungs and into the space around you. You’re pretty sure that if you did that, the temperature here would rise a few degrees.
“It’s pretty accurate, isn’t it?” Jake asks, crossing his arms and jutting his hip out. “Don’t even ask me how long it took to find the hat.”
It took Jake two weeks to find the right hat. Two grueling weeks of dragging Bradley to strip malls and kiosks and thrift stores.
“Wouldn’t dream of it. I’m a lady,” you answer with a small smile. “I think yours is blowing mine out of the water, though. I just picked mine from what I had in the closet and then borrowed the rest.”
He shakes his head at once, brows furrowed.
“You kidding me? I recognized you from across the room!”
Oh, you think. He saw you from across the room already. And now he’s standing here, right in front of you with an empty cup and a desire for conversation.
Glancing around you quickly, you find that your friends are all still loitering around drunkenly and your other half is still not here.
“I don’t know--is it really that impressive?” You ask Jake, meeting his eyes again. “This place is the size of a pin-hole.”
Jake glances over at Bradley, who’s successfully started a game of Beer Pong. Already Jake can see the guys on the other side of the table burning from Bradley’s constant trash talking. Jake’s sure that idiot’s bright green wig is doing very little to dull the words falling on their ears.
“I don’t know, I was standing all the way over there by my roommate--Bargain Bin Beetlejuice,” Jake explains to you, jamming a thumb over his shoulder. You follow the direction of his finger, smiling. That isn’t that close to where you are now, but it certainly isn’t far. But you know how to take a compliment. “It’s not a skip, hop, and a jump, but it’s…”
“It’s a skip and half a hop?” You ask, brows raised.
Jake nods.
“Exactly what I was thinking,” he answers.
“Don’t freak out when I say this,” you say. “But you can’t be here when my boyfriend shows up. Your costume is gonna put my boyfriend’s to shame. We would seriously never be able to show our faces around here again.”
Jake’s chest is tight.
Boyfriend. Of course you have a boyfriend.
He glances around the room, searching for someone dressed like the Great Value version of himself. But it’s just an endless sea of Wayne and Garth’s and Urkel’s and Wednesday’s. No other Dr. Alan Grant in sight.
“He isn’t here now, is he?” Jake asks. He has the sudden urge to puff his chest out, to size him up.
Uncomfortably, you shift your weight and look at your shoes again. You hate it when Jeff bails on you like this. And you know that he couldn’t have forgotten--you reminded him this morning. You knew he was only half-listening. You always know.
“No,” you answer. He can hear the soreness in your tone as you glance around, too. “But he’s supposed to be.”
Fucking asshole, Jake thinks.
“He bailed on you?” He asks, lips pursed. “Wait a minute--you’re doing a couple’s costume with him and he hasn’t even bothered to show his face?”
“Yup,” you answer with a tight smile.
“No offense, but what an asshole,” Jake says. He crosses his arms. “Who does that to their girlfriend on Halloween?”
“Jeff Sabler, I guess,” you answer.
“Oh, you’re with Jeff Sabler? From the debate team?” He asks.
He’s stifling laughter, trying to bite a grin. You see right through him, though. Your face is warm with embarrassment as you bite a smile, too, and roll your eyes.
“Yeah, Johnny Football, I’m dating Jeff Sabler from the debate team,” you say. “Problem with that?”
“Me? Have a problem with Spit Sabler? Never,” Jake says with a grin.
You can’t help but laugh quietly at his nickname, even if it kind of makes you want to curl into a ball and wither away. Spit Sabler. It’s what people started calling him after his very first debate last year, when he got so worked up during policy discussion that spit literally flew from his mouth and onto the judge’s desk. He didn’t even say excuse me aftward.
“You know, he doesn’t even care that people call him that,” you say with a slight eye roll. You’re beginning to notice that Jeff doesn’t care about a lot of things--punctuality, nicknames, his grade in biochemistry, commitment to Halloween costumes. “Isn’t that silly? I’d just die if people around campus had a nickname for me.”
“Maybe they do and you just don’t know it,” Jake teases.
“Are you holding out on me?” You ask. You pause, swallowing and holding your hands on your hips. “Do you even know me?”
“Sure,” Jake says with an easy grin. He gestures to your costume. “You’re my best girl!”
“Ha-ha,” you say despite the way you suddenly want to rub your thighs together. His best girl. “I bet you haven’t given me a second look until you noticed that I was your missing piece.”
“I haven’t seen you around,” Jake admits. “You not into football?”
“I like to sit at the very top,” you tell him. “You know. Eagle-eye view. I like to see everything all at once. Especially now that we’re finally good.”
“You mean you actually go to watch the game? Not just to get beer spilled on you by Pi Kappa guys?” He asks, feigning surprise. Your smile is widening, eating your face. His belly turns itself inside out. “I’m shocked, really.”
“Not to blow you smoke or anything, but you’re a pretty good kicker,” you compliment. You hope that he can’t feel how warm your face is right now, but you’re sure he can--he’s so close to you that you can smell the shampoo in the blonde locks sticking out from beneath his hat. “You’ve never missed a three-pointer.”
He’s taken back right now. He knows that football is deeply ingrained in the culture here--he sometimes can’t help but feel like a big man on campus when his calc professor congratulates him on a good game or when upperclassmen clap his back in the student center--but it’s rare that he meets someone who pays very much attention at all. Now that he’s been established as good, people just assume he is. They don’t really watch.
“I’m impressed that you pay attention,” he says.
“Why? ‘Cause I’m a girl?” You ask, arms crossed.
You’re smiling still.
“Not ‘cause you’re a girl,” he answers. “‘Cause everyone goes to the football games to drink.”
“Well, I’m no Pi Kappa,” you say. “I’m a whole other thing.”
“I bet you are,” Jake says. “What’s your name?”
“Ellie,” you quip.
He grins at you.
Shit. You’re too easy to like. Way, way too easy.
Spit Sabler. What a load of shit.
“I’m Jake,” he says after a minute.
This whole year you’ve been calling him Seresin in your head--it’s what’s printed on the back of his jersey, what you see on the jumbotron when he kicks your team’s winning goal.
But Jake. Yes, that fits him. Aren’t all sandy-blonde, green-eyed boys named Jake, anyway? It’s so coastal, evokes images of tan skin and a freckled nose and bright smile.
“Well, it’s to know your actual name,” you say. “I’ve just been calling you Seresin.”
“I’m flattered you noticed me,” Jake says, beaming.
“Everyone does,” you say, shaking your head gently.
“No way,” he disagrees. “Not everyone.”
“Please,” you sass, brows furrowed. “Modesty didn’t get you to where you are now, did it?”
“Across the room?” Jake asks, brows raised. Your smile fades to one of flattery, your lashes batting against your cheeks like you’re trying to blink yourself back into reality. “No. I’d say what got me across the room was curiosity.”
“I thought it was thirst,” you say softly, nodding to the punch bowl.
Jake looks back at the bowl, arms crossed over his chest. Right. Nuclear waste.
“That was all a ruse,” he says. “You can’t believe a word I say.”
“I’m learning so much about you,” you say with a fond smile. “Your name, your tendency to lie, how easily impressed you are.”
Jake almost guffaws trying to keep up with you.
“That’s pretty much all there is to me,” Jake says. “I’m surface-level.”
“Right,” you laugh. You gesture to his costume. “Jurassic Park is a pretty surface-level movie.”
“What, you don’t like it?” Jake asks, borderline stunned.
“Of course I like Jurassic Park. I’m only human,” you answer quickly. “But--you know. Everyone likes it. It’s easy to like. Easy to understand. Even the themes that they try to make harder to understand.”
“Like what?”
“The ethics of creating life inside a lab in tubes and incubators,” you answer. “Playing God.”
“I guarantee you that I could introduce you to someone who genuinely thought the entire movie was just about running from dinosaurs,” Jake tells you, a grin tugging on his lips. “Not everyone is as smart as you. Well--us.”
“Us,” you echo, a laugh bubbling up from the tips of your toes and spilling out into the air around you. It’s swallowed by the crowd before Jake can digest it. “Kind of weird that we’re wearing matching costumes, right?”
“Divine intervention,” Jake says, brow perched.
“We don’t even know each other,” you say, smiling. “That’s crazy.”
Beaming, Jake nods.
“You think people are gonna think I’m your boyfriend?” He asks slyly, leaning on the punch table carefully. “Just ‘cause I actually bothered to show up. And the whole costume thing.”
“I don’t know,” you say, shoulders falling back. Your spine prickles with excitement--the excitement of being looked at by him. “Should we ask someone?”
He’s watching you with a slight smile clinging to his pink lips. Inside his gaze, you feel like you’re alone at the party with just him. No more sticky floors and no more drunk friends and no more shitty boyfriend. Just you and him shooting the shit. You can’t do this with Jeff--everything always ends in a fight and in classic debater style, he rarely lets things go.
As if he’s trying to call your bluff, Jake looks around for someone to tap. He’s waiting for you to stop him, for you to burst out that you were just joking, to grab his arm before he can get someone’s attention.
But you don’t stop him. There is no bluff to be called.
So, he taps on the nearest Urkel’s shoulder. He turns around, glasses askew.
“What’s up, brother?” Urkel asks Jake when he recognizes him. “How you doing, Trip?”
Trip. It’s short for Triple.
“Just great,” Jake answers. He half-steps so he’s closer to you, close enough that your arms are touching. And he’s surprised when you lean into him, totally feeding into the bit. “Uh--do we look like we came together?”
“That’s not the question,” you whisper to Jake, nudging him with your elbow before you lean forward to speak to Urkel. “The question is--does he look like my boyfriend?”
Urkel turns to give the both of you his full attention as you step beside Jake again, leaning against his arm. He regards your bright eyes and Jake’s solid grin, the way your arms are pressed together, the matching costumes.
“Is this your way of introducing me to your lady or something?” Urkel asks Jake.
“So, we do look like boyfriend-girlfriend?” Jake clarifies.
Urkel’s brows come together.
“Aren’t you?”
“Total strangers, actually,” you sigh, shrugging. Jake smiles at you, watching as your brows pull together and your lashes flutter against your cheeks. “For all I know, this guy could be a serial killer.”
“It’s true, I could,” Jake sighs in confirmation. “And for all I know, she could be a total stalker.”
“What?” Urkel asks. “What are you--?”
You nod, sucking the back of your teeth.
“Right, right,” you answer. “You never can tell these days. People are so insane.”
“Preach,” Jake sighs.
“I’m too drunk for this, Trip,” Urkel says finally, rubbing his temples. “Hit my line when you two really are boyfriend-girlfriend, alright?”
And with that, you and Jake are in your own little bubble again. Heat has pooled in your belly and your fingertips are buzzing and your ears are hot with embarrassment and excitement.
It’s exhilarating, you realize. The way you feel right now with Jake, who you really only just met, tapping inebriated strangers on the shoulder and pretending like you weren’t bored out of your mind and stood up only a little bit ago. Indulging parts of yourself you can’t whenever you’re with Jeff.
“That settles it, then,” Jake sighs coolly, shrugging. “Spit Sabler’s in for a rude awakening.”
“Yeah, when he shows up,” you say, scoffing.
“If he shows up,” Jake corrects, wrinkling his nose.
“I can’t believe I got stood up,” you say to him. Except it isn’t bitterness in your tone that he hears--it’s a strange, disconnected relief. Like you were waiting for Spit to do something to warrant this fracture. “Me. Stood up. By my boyfriend.”
“He must not be from the south,” Jake sighs with a shrug. “Boys from the south would never stand their lady up.”
“Oh, really?” You ask. Your stomach is tied in excited, tight knots. “And you’re speaking from experience, right?”
“Totally,” Jake confirms. “Texas. Born and bred.”
“You southern gentlemen sure do like telling people you’re southern gentlemen,” you tease. “Gotta work it into every conversation, huh?”
“You sound like my roommate,” Jake grins, shaking his head.
Looking over at Bargain Bin Beetlejuice again, you find him holding his hands up in defense with a grin eating his face. A man in a toga is being held back by a few other men from wiping said-grin off his face.
“I was gonna say that your roommate sounds like a smart guy, but looks like he’s over there picking fights with Sigma Alpha Toga,” you say, tutting. “Not the best move.”
Jake groans when he sees Bradley throw his head back in laughter, when he sees how red in the face his toga opponent is. He’s always pushing people to their absolute limit. It’s what makes him such a good lineman--and a regular target.
“And on Halloween of all holy nights,” Jake says, sighing.
“Some people are just so classless,” you agree.
“Like guys who ditch their girlfriends on Halloween,” Jake agrees.
“How many times you gonna bring that up?” You ask, biting your lip.
“I’m going for the record,” Jake teases.
“The least you could do is soften the blow,” you tell him.
“How can I do that?” Jake asks. He’s grinning.
“You could…” You pretend to think, tapping your chin and chewing the inside of your cheek. “Well, you could least keep up appearances.”
“What, like, be a good fake boyfriend?” He asks, brow perched.
You nod. He’s elated right now, trying to bide his excitement so he doesn’t freak you out totally and completely.
“Yeah,” you confirm.
“Well, I can’t just be good,” Jake tells you smugly. “I’ve gotta be the best fake boyfriend.”
“You’ve really talked yourself up,” you tell him, sucking the back of your teeth. The soles of your feet are warm, the palms of your hand sweatied. “Blow me away.”
Jake opens his mouth to say something dumb and flirtatious, something that will surely make you push his shoulder, but he’s interrupted when the music suddenly changes. Dreams by The Cranberries is playing suddenly, a smidgen louder than the music before was.
“Now that they’re finally playing good music,” Jake calls over the music, pointing in the general direction of one of the speakers. “Will you dance with me?”
No one has ever asked you to dance before this precise moment. Never at any shitty homecomings or slapstick proms. Before, at every other frat and house party Jeff dragged you to, no one danced like you thought they might. Parties aren’t for dancing anymore--they’re for drinking. The romantic in you dies a little bit each time you remember that.
But here is this guy standing right in front of you, the big man on campus who’s dressed up in a weirdly accurate Alan Grant costume, holding his hand out to you and asking you to dance to The Cranberries. The Cranberries.
“There’s nowhere to dance,” you say before you can help it, glancing around the room. It’s packed wall-to-wall. No one is dancing and everybody is drunk.
“Would you go outside with me if I asked?” Jake asks.
His heart is pounding in his throat.
“I don’t know,” you say. But you do know. “Ask.”
“Will you go outside with me?” Jake asks.
“Yes,” you say. “Yeah. I’ll go.”
Yeah. I’ll go. Jake is going to think about the way you looked when you said these words to him for the rest of his life. You, the girl who was standing here looking bored and waiting on Spit motherfucking Sabler, are looking up at him with glassy eyes and a broad grin and saying yeah. I’ll go.
Jake doesn’t waste a moment, nodding towards the backdoor.
“C’mon,” he says with a grin. “I don’t wanna miss this song.”
Outside, it’s much cooler than inside the stuffy house. The air is crisp and fresh and fragrant with the lonely apple tree that sits just beside the house. No more overpowering stenches like sweat or cheap fabric or overfilled trash.
And now that you’re outside in the mostly-dark, only the naked porch bulb lighting the little patch of overgrown concrete you’re standing on, you feel like you can take a deep breath and let your shoulders fall.
“It’s nice out here,” you admit.
“And you can still hear the music,” Jake points out. “Speaking of…”
You turn around, glance at him over your shoulder. And there’s Jake beaming at you, hand outstretched towards you in an open invitation.
“You were serious?” You ask, nose wrinkled. “I thought boys just said that to impress girls.”
“Not Texas boys,” he answers. “C’mon. Dance with me.”
And who would you be if you said no to this almost perfect stranger?
Swallowing thickly, you smile at him. It’s an unsure smile, one that is usually accompanied by a warm face and downcast eyes. But you’re not looking away from him and Jake definitely isn’t looking away from you.
His hand is warm, bigger than yours. The skin is rough, probably from tossing the pigskin, and his grip is secure. He holds your hand the way he holds other important things--delicate glasses, his favorite pen, a photograph of him and his mama.
You stand there, his hand holding yours, for a moment. Not sure what to do next, unclear where you’re supposed to step or if you’re supposed to come closer.
“C’mere now,” Jake says softly. It’s less of a command and more of a guidance as he gently pulls you closer to him. “There you go.”
Shakily, a breath falls from your mouth. A cloud of tongue-scented vapor settles on Jake’s chest. He’s looking down at you, his face all shadows and shine, as he begins to bring his other hand up to hold your waist.
“Can I hold your waist?” He asks. He almost makes a joke--almost adds something to make his questions sound less serious. Strictly for appearances. But then he just looks down at you looking up at him, reads the slope of your brows and the part of your lips, and leaves it at that.
“Is that what comes next?” You ask, really meaning it.
He pulls his brows together, confused.
“What--no one’s ever asked you to dance before?”
“No,” you answer seriously. “I mean--well, yeah. No.”
He just softly shakes his head. How in the world has no one ever asked you to dance before? He wanted to dance with you before he even knew you and he wants to dance with you now that he barely knows you.
“What?” You ask, brows knit. Your throat is caked in nerves. “You think something’s wrong with me now?”
“I’m thinking I oughta skin Spit Sabler and hang his bones to dry,” Jake admits. “And I don’t think anything’s wrong with you.”
You step closer to him, the pavement cracked beneath the soles of your boots, and your chest is close enough to his to feel the softness of his shirt when you inhale. He smells like sandalwood and Everclear and you’re just now noticing that his hands are a little sticky from his drink.
“Is there something wrong with you?” You ask, looking up at him. “You didn’t bring a date to the party.”
“Who do you think Beetlejuice is?”
The laughter flows easily.
“Excuse me for supposing.” You smile.
“Excused,” Jake breathes.
Jake is holding your waist now--he can feel the soft curve there, the way the fabric melts into his hand like it’s been waiting for his heat. And whenever you take a deep breath, your chest touches his.
Besides the music, there are crickets chirping in the button bushes and frogs distantly singing in a too-big puddle just down the road. It is a perfect night--the stars stretch across the sky, brighter than they are in the middle of town, and the moon is white as silk.
You’re spinning in a semi-slow circle, your smile still coy and your palms still clammy. But you’re happy--you think that you’re happy. A stone of excitement just sits heavy in your gut, warm and unmoving. This is the feeling you have whenever you meet someone that you know is going to be important in some way someday.
Inside the house, Bradley’s noticed that Jake is gone--and so is the pretty girl he was talking to. He glances around, biting his lip, the taste of cheap lipstick bitter on his tongue. And then he spots movement outside the west-facing windows.
“No way,” he whispers, shoving his way across the room and closer to the windows. He squints, cups his eyes, and immediately recognizes that damn hat. “He did it. Crazy son of a bitch did it.”
“Who?” Someone near Bradley asks. They’re bleary-eyed as they look at Bradley, leaning closer to him. “Who did what?”
“Me,” Bradley answers with a grin. “I did your mother.”
“I like The Cranberries,” you say quietly. “I listen to this CD all the time.”
“Not a Red Hot Chili Peppers girl?” He asks.
Laughing, you shake your head.
“Do I look like one?” You ask.
“Do I look like I think you’re one?” He retorts.
Another grin--Jake’s throat is so tight that he can hardly swallow.
“Too many degrees of separation,” you whisper to him. “You’re giving me a complex.”
He takes a deep breath--of you, of the crisp autumn air, of the dew on the grass, of the sugary juice staining his hands.
“Why you with a guy who stands you up?” He asks. You’re slowly spinning in a circle still and the world blurs behind your pretty head. “I barely know you, but I know I’d never bail on you.”
“Well, not everyone’s from Texas,” you answer. The heartbeat in your chest is stuttering as Jake looks at you--your eyes, your nose, your lips. “We’re not…serious or anything.”
You don’t know why you feel the need to tell Jake this--and why it doesn’t make you feel guilty when you realize that you’re telling him so he knows that your options are open.
“Not serious?” He asks. “How long have you been seeing each other?”
A few months.
“Since August.” It sounds like more time than it really is.
“Not long at all,” he says. “How’d he hook you? Did he debate you into a date?”
The grin tugging on your lips is so insistent.
“You’re kind of an ass,” you say affectionately.
“But I’m a good dancer,” he says--beaming. “Don’t you think I’m a good dancer?”
“Fishing for compliments,” you tut. “Flattery must be your love language.”
“What’s your love language?”
Cheeks hot, you just shake your head.
Christ, he’s good. Too good. Way too good.
“You ask so many questions,” you tell him, breathing out hard. You’re beaming at him still. “Too curious for your own good.”
“And I’m not even a journalism major,” he tells you.
“You’re missing your calling then,” you say softly. “What is your major?”
“Film,” he says.
That strikes you as funny for some reason--a football player film major with an affinity for dream pop and Jurassic Park.
“Aren’t you a mystery,” you ponder aloud. “Johnny Football Hitchcock.”
“And what’s your major? Looking bored at parties?”
You mock offense, holding a hand over your heart. When you’re this close to him and he beams, you can see every single one of his pearlescent white teeth, each one more perfect than the last.
“I didn’t look bored,” you defend half-heartedly.
“You looked so bored,” Jake says, laughing. “I thought you were gonna pass out before I even made it over to you.”
The back door opens--a few drunk people stumble out, saying nothing but laughing all the same.
Instinctively, you begin to pull away from Jake. But he tightens his grip on your waist, on your hand, and keeps you close to him. He keeps spinning the both of you in slow circles as the song floats on.
“It’s okay,” Jake says softly to you--like he knows that your face is warm with almost-embarrassment, like he knows that you’re nervous to be this close to him in front of anyone else. “They’re not gonna remember shit tomorrow.”
“Are you?” You ask, teasing.
It’s vulnerable to ask--ther’es a sweetness in your quiet tone. You’re asking him if he’s drunk, if he’ll remember crossing the party to talk to you, if he’ll remember asking you to dance with you.
“I’m stone-cold sober,” Jake says. “Fortunately.”
It’s strange whenever someone doesn’t let you down. You’re almosot used to putting up defenses at this point, almost always ready to roll your eyes and say God, never mind. You’re a smart girl. You know that this isn’t the way you should feel about the boy you’re seeing. And you are smart enough to see a good thing when it’s standing right in front of you, holding knot your waist and dancing with you.
“Oh, shit--!”
You turn towards the sounds of shoes scuffing on pavements, the sudden outburst. Jake does, too, brows furrowed. He sees it before you do--is getting ready to lift you up and push you further into the yard.
But he’s too late.
Alpha Beta Toga is bent at the hips and spewing neon-green puke all down your legs and into the pockets of your cargo shorts and all over your hiking boots.
Still, Jake tugs you away, plants himself between you and Toga. It’s too late, though--he’s being tugged away by his friends, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, hiccupping. And you’re standing beside him, stunned, staring down at your slimy legs.
“Hey!” Jake bellows, brows furrowed. The frat boys pause, eyes bleary as they stare back at him. “Apologize.”
“Sorry,” one of them says to Jake, belching.
They start to move inside the house again, a blur of white sheet and skin.
“No, no, no,” Jake insists. “To her.”
You blink in surprise, swallowing the lump growing in your throat, not knowing what to do except stand there and freeze with putrid vomit running down your legs.
“I didn’t puke on her!” One of them defends.
“I didn’t ask, dipshit,” Jake says. “Someone’s gonna say sorry before you go back inside.”
“It’s fine,” you whisper, unbuttoning your shirt and slipping out of it to wipe down your legs. “It’s really fine. He’s drunk, it was an accident--!”
“I’m sorry,” one of the boys interrupts you, glancing over at you nervously. “We should’ve pulled ‘im back.”
“You should’ve,” Jake confirms.
And then his attention is back on you. He’s kneeling before you, grabbing the shirt from your hands and mopping up as much vomit as he can on your legs. Still shocked and now prickled with cold as you bend at the hips and look down at him, you frown.
“Is it--oh my God. Is it chunky?” You whisper, feeling sick.
Jake dutifully holds onto your thigh as he continues to mop it up. God, it smells bad--he dipped into more than one of the punches.
“Don’t look,” Jake commands, brows pulled together. “Just look up at the stars and it’ll be over soon.”
“It’s fucking chunky,” you say to yourself, looking up at the night sky anyway. Cold air nips your bare shoulders, tucks itself between the skin of your belly and your tank top. “Did he eat the shit that was floating in the bowls? I don’t think it was edible.”
In the dim light, Jake examines one of the chunks. It’s a clump of green-tinted yellow, half-digested and crumbling in the grip of the shirt. His stomach turns, but he swallows hard, comes a little closer.
Oh. He snorts softly and you groan above him.
“What is it?” You ask. “Oh, God--is it, like, pineapple chunks?”
“It’s a flower,” Jake says.
“What?” You demand, looking down at him. “A flower?”
He finishes up mopping your legs as you look anywhere but your legs, your jaw beginning to tremble from the cold.
“Was this all some elaborate way to get me flowers?”
His laugh echoes into the night.
“Would you be impressed?” He asks.
“Kinda,” you answer honestly.
“Then yes,” he grins. “I think I got most of it, by the way. Do you wanna see the flower?”
Looking down, frowning, he holds his open palm up to you. And yes, there it is--a marigold submerged in stomach acid.
“And they say chivalry is dead,” you breathe out. “How’d you know marigolds are my favorite?”
“I’m just good like that,” he says. “Marigolds, huh? Are they even edible?”
“Anything’s edible if you put it in your mouth.”
He’s grinning up at you, pulse still thumping in his wrists from the past ten minutes. And that’s when he notices that you’re just standing there in a tank top, skin goosed from the cold.
“Here,” he says, standing up.
He unbuttons his shirt quickly and drapes it over your shoulders before you can tell him not to. He grabs the corner of your soiled shirt and nods for you to start for the house.
“I can’t believe that just happened,” you whisper.
“I can,” he says. “I’ve been to, like, two parties where no one’s projectiled on someone else.”
Cringing, you shake your head. His shirt is warm--it smells like sandalwood. The denim is thick and soft, like it’s been worn before tonight.
“Thanks for mopping me up,” you tell him as you open the back door for him. The sound is immediate--the thumping speakers, the drunk hollers. “How can I repay you?”
“Dump Spit Sabler,” Jake says. You turn, mouth ajar, looking prettier than you should in his shirt. His chest is tight. “It’s for your own good.”
“My good?” You whisper. “Or…yours?”
He swallows hard. You two just watch each other, the scent of puke thick in the air and the party too loud and the outside too cold. He doesn’t want to be anywhere else.
“Can I drive you home?” His voice is flat and serene.
Calm like he already knows your answer because he does.
“Yes,” you whisper because you want to stay here, in his gaze, for as long as he’ll let you. “Can we go now?”
He pulls the keys from his pocket and smiles at you.
Bradley isn’t buckled so he can lean forward in the middle seat and prop his elbows up on the center consol, looking at you and Jake as the world slips past you in a blur of over-exposed white and green.
“Spit Sabler?” Bradley says again, still shaking his head in disbelief.
You’re laughing, shaking your head, too. Jake groans.
“Man, can you shut up already?”
“No,” Bradley says. He looks at you and you look at him--his makeup is melting off his face and his green wig is askew. But even now, you can see that there is a handsome man with a broad smile somewhere beneath it all. “You--you--are with Spit? Spit Sabler?”
“Yeah,” you say, smiling. “I was.”
Jake doesn’t miss it--was. But he doesn’t say anything, just keeps his eyes on the old country road you’re all driving down.
“Why?” Bradley asks. “Like, I just can’t wrap my mind around it.”
“Can you leave her alone?” Jake moans. He fiddles with the radio until a Cocteau Twins song comes on, shaking his head. “She already got puked on and now you won’t get off her head.”
“I just have to know!” Bradley insists. “Like, was it…okay, I’m gonna ask. I have to ask.”
Jake looks at Bradley in the rear-view mirror hard, knowing already what he’s going to ask. He points at Bradley’s reflection and Bradley grins back, still a little drunk and quiite stupid.
“What?” You ask, genuinely confused. “What were you gonna ask?”
“Don’t do it,” Jake warns. “Man, you don’t even know her! You’re making me look like I have perv friends!”
“I have to!” Bradley argues. “I have to!”
“Oh,” you say, realizing suddenly. You lean back in your seat and look back at Bradley. “You’re gonna ask me if he has a big dick.”
“Exactly!” Bradley moans. He grabs your shoulders excitedly and squeezes you good-naturedly. “She’s on our level, Jakey!”
“I’m sorry about him,” Jake says, shaking his head. “He was dropped as a baby. Frequently.”
“Twice,” Bradley corrects. He nudges you and you grin at him. “Was it big?” He whispers.
Shaking your head, face warm, you frown.
“Not big enough,” you whisper.
Bradley explodes in the backseat, in stitches as he holds your shoulders tight. And Jake can’t help but crack a smile at the sound--Bradley’s laugh is infectious. And you’re laughing, too.
“Oh, that’s too good!” Bradley’s cheering. “Oh, my God! You just made my night!”
“You’re welcome,” you say, grinning.
“Did he just, like, talk at you until you were confused enough to be in a relationship with him?” Bradley asks.
“She’s not an idiot,” Jake defends, smacking blindly in Bradley’s direction.
Bradley bats his hands away.
“We all have our moments!” Bradley argues. “I didn’t say she’s an idiot.”
“He’s the idiot,” Jake says.
“Yeah,” Bradley agrees. “No arguing there.”
“For the record,” you say to them. “He did kind of talk me into it. One minute we’re in class, the next we’re at coffee and he’s burning his tongue on an Americano. Then his puka shells were on my nightstand. It’s all a blur.”
The car ride continues like this--you grow warm between the heater and Bradley’s laughter and Jake’s fond embarrassment. You learn that Bradley is a business major and that he and Jake are roommate’s and best friends. They learn that you actually really do love marigolds and that you’ve been thinking about ending things with Jeff for a few weeks now--ever since he argued with you about the right way to cut bagels for over an hour.
And by the time they pull up in front of your dorm, they realize that their dorm is just a skip and half a hop away.
“We can come visit you anytime,” Bradley says with a grin. “We’re neighbors!”
“Looks like it,” you say.
Jake is watching you, wishing Bradley would leave. You reach for the handle and his palms grow damp with sweat. It’s quiet in the car.
“I can take a hint,” Bradley whispers. “Use protection!”
He kisses Jake’s head and squeezes your shoulder and then he’s gone.
Then it’s just you and Jake again. Jake is still grumbling about Bradley, wiping the spit and paint off his head. And you’re just smiling at Jake, totally at peace to just sit in the passenger seat of his old truck and let Halloween drift away.
“Thanks for everything,” you say. You swallow hard when his eyes meet yours, when his brows come together. “For, like, saving me from total social humiliation. And for cleaning puke off my legs. And--this.” You pinch the denim shirt in your fingers. “You’re very sweet.”
“It ain’t much, but it’s honest work,” Jake sighs. And really, he wants to tell you that it was his pleasure because it was. He wants to tell you that somehow this has been the best Halloween of his life. “You’ve got yourself a nickname now.”
“What is it?” You whisper.
“Goldie,” he grins.
Ah. Marigold.
“Deceivingly sweet,” you say fondly. Your chin wobbles. “You playing next week, Trip?” You whisper.
You’re itching for a shower--you know you need to get out of his car. You know that this night needs to end. But you can’t help yourself from lingering.
“Starting,” he says. “Not to brag.”
“And yet you manage to,” you tease. “Look for me at the top, okay?”
Eagle-eye.
“And if I said I could get you tickets closer to the field, what would you say?” He ponders. “Just out of curiosity.”
“Well, I’d say that’s very sweet and that you don’t have to do that,” you tell him.
He nods, chewing on his bottom lip. He imagines you there, holding onto the railing, skin goosed as you watch him do what he does best. His chest is wound tight with joy, excitement.
“And then I’d probably say that I know I don’t have to,” he continues. “I want to.”
Nodding, biting a grin, you hum.
“Well,” you whisper. “Maybe we can talk more about it when I drop your shirt off tomorrow.”
“Yeah,” Jake says. “We can talk more about it. Maybe over, like, coffee.”
“Yeah,” you answer. “Coffee would be good. No Americano’s, though.”
Another beat. It’s quiet except for the humming radio, the wind whispering outside the windows, the heat blowing on your legs.
“Goodnight, Goldie,” Jake whispers.
Throat tight, you nod. Another grin.
“Goodnight, Trip,” you say.
And as you get out of the car and start for the dorm building, Jake sits and watches you walk all the way to the door. You turn, hand on the heavy handle, and smile when you see him. He waves, his hair soft and his eyes unmoving from your form. Spit never waits for you. In the light of the streetlamp, of the pocket lights of the building, you look like a dream. Like you’re surrounded by a yellow haze.
You wave--so does he.
And then you walk into the building with your heart in your throat, with the soles of your feet on fire. You don’t even care that there’s puke on your legs, that you have an uncomfortable phone call to make, that you have to walk all the way up to the third floor.
You’re floating, really. Floating through pink clouds perfumed with sandalwood, tinged with warmth.
And when Jake gets back into his room, Bradley is waiting for him. He’s on his twin bed, still in his costume and wig and makeup, a management textbook cracked open on his lap as he munches on some crackers and reads in the lamplight.
“I like her,” Bradley says as soon as Jake closes the door. “I really, really like her man.”
“Me too,” Jake admits softly as he toes his boots off. “She’s sweet.”
“She’s funny,” Bradley adds. “She had me in stitches in the car!”
“If I’d have been puked on, it would’ve ruined my week. Shit, it would’ve ruined my year,” Jake muses. He pulls his bandana off and throws it in his closet without looking. “She’s a good sport.”
“You better lock that down,” Bradley says, shaking his head. He scratches his chin and bits of white paint flake off.
“Someone else already has,” Jake says, brows furrowed.
He sits on his own bed and looks at Bradley, who’s yawning and rubbing his eyes. Smearing his makeup.
“Spit doesn’t stand a chance,” Bradley says. “I’ll bet she’s dumping his sorry ass right now.”
𝐅𝐎𝐎𝐓𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄: SLAYYYYYY I LOVE BRADLEY IN THIS UNIVERSE HE IS SOOOOO STUPID
𝐌𝐘 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓
𝐍𝐄𝐗𝐓 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑
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Traditional Extra III
Read the rest here: Traditional
I will be writing all the extras I have listed on that post somewhere floating on this blog but I was going to write a different one but I was overcome with a punch to the uterus and felt like Traditional Harry would have fun taking care of our girl here.
~2.8k words of fluff and talk of periods. Not too graphic and not all that proofread. (Also like two little lines alluding to sex.)
She was different. Harry didn’t care what she had to say. He would give up his whole company for her, to her. Whatever she wanted. His entire life used to be this company but since he met her, it was just her, her, her. Nothing else mattered. He would fire anyone for her.
(hope you've been enjoying my little dividers I've been making, i've been enjoying them hehe)
Harry entered Niall’s office with a stack of papers in his arms but nearly dropped them the moment he looked at the pretty girl laying on Niall’s couch. She looked ill and miserable but seemed to be sound asleep. “What’s—”
“Shh!” Niall hushed quickly. “She just fell asleep.”
Harry frowned feeling anxiety for her well-being creeping in. He put the pile of papers on Niall’s desk and crouched beside her sleeping form. It didn’t look very comfortable. Her body was curled up and twisted, Niall had thrown his jacket over her like a blanket. There was a look of discomfort etched on her face, her cheeks flushed, and her eyebrows scrunched together like she was in pain. Harry gently brushed the hair out of her eyes and tried to see if he could move her a bit, so she wasn’t so twisted.
“Don’t move her. She said it was the only way she was comfortable after practically writhing for ten minutes.”
“What’s wrong?” He whispered. Harry was also slightly annoyed that Niall seemed to know his girlfriend wasn’t doing so hot at the moment better than he did. It made him surface level jealous. He wanted to take care of her, that’s all he ever wanted to do. She was perfect, adorable, and she made Harry so overwhelmed with love for her he would have done anything to make her happy.
Niall shrugged. “I don’t know. I just got her to rest only like fifteen minutes ago. She looked miserable during our meeting, and she won’t go home. Won’t tell me what’s wrong. She keeps saying it’s not that big of a deal, but she said she didn’t sleep well.”
Harry wouldn’t know. He didn’t go to bed until nearly three in the morning chatting with some overseas clients. By then he was exhausted, he fell right to sleep beside what he thought was her sleeping figure but now he wasn’t so sure. Maybe she wasn’t asleep when he rolled into bed. Harry frowned feeling like he let her down by not checking on her before drifting off so quickly. He left a note in the bathroom for her to find when she woke up, saying he would be a couple of hours later than normal and to have the driver take her in. So, he hadn’t seen her since yesterday afternoon to even know she wasn’t well.
“Oh, poor love,” he leaned in to kiss her lightly on the forehead. “Does she have any other meetings?”
Niall shrugged. “Not with me, but she might have ones on her calendar,” he tilted his head toward her desk still within his office. She could have gotten a new one, but she liked working with Niall. They were a good team, and she thought her little space was cute and cozy.
Harry went over to her desk and looked at the itinerary of her schedule she left on the desktop. “She’s got one practically every hour till the end of the day. Even one at four...who scheduled that?” Harry murmured.
“Not sure what the four o’clock one is but must be why she isn’t going home,” Niall rolled his eyes. “The one o’clock is you though—tea and coffee,” Niall chuckled after a moment.
Harry felt a crushing amount of love surge through his body. He had no idea she scheduled time to see him during the workday. He swore his heart stuttered at the sweet thought. “Oh, kitten,” he murmured to himself. “S’matter, baby?” He cooed gently to her dreaming figure. He pressed his lips on her forehead and hoped that whatever she was dreaming about would make her feel better.
*
Harry did a double take as he walked by the conference room. Her laptop was shut, her head pressed against the table, and she wasn’t moving. If Harry didn’t know better, he would have thought she wasn’t breathing.
Since Harry found her asleep on Niall’s couch, he hadn’t a moment to check on her or even message her to see how she was doing. As much as he would have loved to see her, he let her skip their one o’clock meeting in favor of letting her sleep. Hopefully she wouldn’t be too upset with him. His mind was thinking forward to dinner, he planned on making her favorite—breakfast for dinner—in hopes that it would make her feel better.
Slowly, he opened the door. Like it was her conference room, and not like he didn’t own the whole floor, the whole company, and ergo the whole room.
“Hey beautiful,” he said gently. “Y’okay there?” He frowned. She didn’t move and Harry wondered if she fell asleep again. He worried immediately about her forehead, the awkward angle of her neck, and just her overall wellbeing. “Kitten, baby?” He asked when she didn’t respond.
“Mmm,” she hummed.
Harry slowly made his way over to her. Crouched to her side again, putting a hand on her back.
She turned her head, resting her cheek now on the table and looked at Harry’s beautiful anxious face. “Oh kitten, s’matter?” He pouted. “Why didn’t y’go home?”
She sighed. “M’fine,” she mumbled. “Just have to finish some notes.”
“Love, m’ordering y’to go home.”
“You wouldn’t do this for anyone else that works for you.”
“Kitten,” he rolled his eyes. “You’re not anyone else.”
She sighed, a bit of annoyance on the edge of her breath. “S’not what I want.”
“Then tell me, please,” he asked softly. She was different. Harry didn’t care what she had to say. He would give up his whole company for her, to her. Whatever she wanted. His entire life used to be this company but since he met her, it was just her, her, her. Nothing else mattered. He would fire anyone for her.
She groaned and lifted her head up. Harry was so handsome it made her tired mind struggle to form the correct words. His button-down was tucked into his pants showing off his practically delicate waist that he spent hours on at the gym. By the same token, his pretty, muscular forearms were on display due to the sleeves being rolled up to his elbows. His pants hugged his thighs like they were painted on. She was lucky he skipped the tie today. She wouldn’t have been able to breathe. He was so hot.
It was utterly unfair that she couldn’t do anything about it.
She took a deep breath and Harry noted how flushed she looked, like it was hard for her to breathe. “I just have really bad cramps, Harry. I forgot my medicine and haven’t had a spare moment to go get some.”
The relief Harry felt was instant and he wished he could have passed that off to her. He was grateful it wasn’t something that required a hospital visit like the flu or...anything.
“Why didn’t y’say something, kitten?” He asked.
“Because I can usually just manage it—and it happens every month and women are already at a disadvantage on the corporate ladder I don’t need to go home because my uterus is rebelling.”
Smirking at her little diatribe, he leaned forward to kiss her forehead. “M’sorry, love,” he cupped her face gently.
“And Niall let me miss my one o’clock meeting,” she pouted.
Harry’s heart actually, truly fluttered. He wouldn’t tell her that he knew what her one o’clock was. “S’okay, kitten. Niall wouldn’t have let y’miss if it was really important.”
She frowned. “It was.”
Oh, she was so cute. It was going to kill Harry. “What kind of medicine d’you need?”
“It’s just Midol but it works so well,” she explained rubbing a hand down the side of her face. “It’s not that bad if I can find a comfy position to sit but naturally it’s never a normal position.”
Harry felt so sad she was in pain. He wanted to put her in his lap and hold her for forever. “Then let’s go home and get y’some medicine.”
“I have to—”
“You don’t have t’do anything but go home with me, m’love,” he promised.
She sighed. It did sound like a good idea to go home. She just wanted the ache to stop. It felt so agonizing—a constant reminder she wasn’t feeling well and felt weaker for it. “Can I do my notes at home when I feel better in an hour?”
“No,” he smirked shaking his head simply.
She frowned. “You’re so bossy.”
“I am the boss.”
Harry would let her do whatever she wanted. After a quick trip to her office and then Harry grabbing his jacket, he held her hand as they walked to his car in the parking garage. People knew they were dating but given they were hardly ever in the same room together; it wasn’t something obvious. No one treated her differently—but even if they did, she was convinced Harry would fire them on the spot.
S’none of their business who I date. He told her when she walked in with him that first day after being officially hired as a full-time employee.
Like the perfect gentleman, Harry opened her car door just as he had since that very first date over a year ago. She leaned forward pressing her head to the dashboard as Harry climbed in to drive her home. “Do y’have medicine at home or do we need t’stop?” He asked.
She sighed. “Home,” she murmured.
“Poor, love,” he frowned. Sitting up for the drive, she closed her eyes trying not to think about how the pain in her lower abdomen was wrapping around her back. Harry kept eyeing her out of the corner of his eye. “S’it always like this?” He murmured trying to remember if he ever saw her doubled over in pain at any time over the last year. Honestly, he never even thought about her cycle. The only indication was the tampon wrappers in the bathroom. Otherwise, she went about her day.
“Yeah, but I usually have medicine to keep it under control,” she released a controlled breath.
He frowned again; made a mental note to buy at least three bottles of Midol to store in his desk, in the car, and honestly considered just carrying one around just in case. When they arrived home, Harry hurried to catch her door opening and helping her out, letting her actions slide that she didn’t wait for him to release her from the car properly since she wasn’t feeling herself.
Once inside she kicked her heels off and headed immediately for the medicine cabinet pulling out the bottle she wanted most and sticking her head under the sink tap for a sip of water. Sighing, she bent over gripping the counter. Harry couldn’t help but think about how he usually stood behind her at times like this and made her moan his name.
“Wish you could fuck me like this,” she muttered. Harry chuckled, feeling his cheeks warm a bit. It was nice she was thinking the same thing as him.
“Soon,” he promised. She sighed pressing her cheek to the cool counter. “What can I do, love?” He asked pressing a hand on her lower back and gently brushed it in a small circle against her dress.
“Oh...” she moaned as if he really had just physically inserted himself from behind. “That...” she sighed as she angled her pretty bum toward him more, so his hand rubbed her back. “If you don’t mind,” she was melting into the touch, and Harry smirked at her.
“C’mon,” he pulled her up and back toward him, so her entire back was pressed to the length of him. He guided her toward the bedroom, his hands on her hips and he pressed a kiss to the top of her head as she walked. “Let’s get y’showered,” he suggested depositing her on the bed and then rushing to get the shower on and warming.
She shook her head. “I don’t want to stand,” she groaned.
“I’ll hold you, kitten,” he promised pulling her dress over her head and dropping a kiss to the curve of her shoulder and neck. He pulled firmly on her tights to get them off but left her underwear for her to handle. “Why don’t y’go in first,” he encouraged gently unclipping the back of her bra and not even paying attention to her mostly naked form. Harry was all business when it came to her discomfort. Always. Ever since the coffee incident late last year. “I’ll be right in,” he promised already working on the buttons of his shirt. She felt warmer than she already felt the havoc her cramps were causing on her body. Harry’s fingers deftly undoing the buttons seemed downright pornographic.
Quickly, she headed to the bathroom before she became dumb and mute watching him. After taking care of things beneath her underwear and stepping into the shower, it was obvious Harry was right. Surprise, surprise. The stream of water on her lower back felt like magic on her aching muscles. “All set, love?” He asked from the door. She nodded and sighed.
“M-hmm,” she hummed pressing her hands on the back wall while the water massaged her lower back.
The chill of the bathroom air seeped in through the warmth of the shower steam as Harry stepped in behind her. “C’mere,” he pulled her back to his body, and he pressed his fingertips below her navel where it ached most. He kissed the side of her head as she groaned with relief from the pain, finally.
“Oh...” she turned her head toward his chest. “Thank you,” she sighed putting her hand over his and shifted his hand lower asking him to press in a different spot. He nodded, following her silent direction and continued her massage. They stood quietly in the shower for twenty minutes just listening to the sound of the water running over them and whining through the pipes. Harry kept his hands on her stomach and worked the aching muscles like a deep tissue massage. He may as well have put his hands directly on her uterus.
Eventually the water felt too warm, especially with Harry wrapped around her and the ache finally dulled long enough that she didn’t need Harry holding her so close. But she definitely liked it.
The medicine was starting to kick in just barely right as Harry turned the water off. Harry wrapped one of his blue fluffy towels around her and kissed her forehead as he left her inside the shower so she could stay warm and get herself all cleaned up. Harry had tossed a new pair of her underwear into the bathroom after he had left and she thought the gesture might make her cry.
Stupid hormones.
When she exited the bathroom, she felt nearly brand new. Harry was immediately at her side pulling a cozy hoodie over her head from his university days and helped her step into a pair of sweatpants. She sighed as he pulled her down on the bed and he spooned her up to him. He was quiet, kissed the back of her head as his hands dipped below the elastic of her pants to resume the massage he had started in the bathroom.
“Have I told you I love you today?” She sighed dreamily.
He chuckled and pulled her somehow closer to his body. “M’glad you’re alright,” he murmured. “Saw y’sleeping in Niall’s office today. Thought y’were dying or something.”
She smirked to herself. “Felt like it. Didn’t know you came in to see that.”
“I told Niall to cancel your one o’clock so you could sleep.”
She frowned. Of course, Niall knew the one o’clock wasn’t life or death but that didn’t mean she didn’t want it. She was still under the assumption Harry didn’t know what it was. “That was an important one,” she muttered.
“Oh yeah?” He hummed into her hair. There was a smile in his voice as he spoke. She could feel the shaking of his head as he answered her. “Y’don’t need t’schedule a meeting t’see me, kitten. I’d drop everything t’see you,” he promised.
She rolled over in his arms so she could see his face. It felt like she hadn’t seen it much today since he spent most of the shower, the last few minutes in bed behind her. His smile was easy, his eyes a bit hooded as he looked her over. “I love you,” she whispered.
“Say it again,” he smiled excitedly, just like the first time she said it out loud to him.
Harry was adorable and she would say it a million times just to make him happy. She wouldn’t say another set of words if it meant his happiness. “I love you,” she giggled.
“I will never tire of that,” he murmured and pressed a gentle, warm kiss to her lips, holding her pretty, lovely face between his hands. “I love you,” he sighed gazing at her so adoringly she swore all the cramps dissipated. Or maybe the medicine was finally working.
But she liked to believe that Harry was the cure for every bad thing she felt.
--
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Can I request Rollo going on a Valentine's Day "date" with MC and having fun like an old married couple all the while the boys, and maybe even the staff, are screaming in denial?
𝐭𝐨𝐠𝐞𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫
author’s note : aaaa ok so, i wanted to make one of those big posts i do sometimes (where i include every nrc boy with hcs for each one) y’know, for a valentines special— but that didn’t work so we’re spending valentines with rollo instead (with a small mention of the nrc boys being jealous. probably punching walls and crying) (plus the staff being concerned dads)
—takes place in that one theory au thingy where rollo lives with you in ramshackle :) happy valentines day!
the week before valentines day has been.. suffocating.
gifts and requests to be your valentine have been coming in like crazy. the desk in your room has become a mess, crowded with flowers, letters, and all sorts of sweets that all pile on top of each other.
all of them, you’re flattered to have received, but unfortunately don’t really want. you already have your eyes on someone, and it’s not anyone that’s already asked you out.
“you have quite the amount of admirers, prefect.” rollo acknowledges the large mound of items, sifting through it with your permission. he grimaces at all the love letters you’ve gotten. “do you reciprocate any of their feelings?”
you shake your head, and he lets out a small sigh of relief, glad to know he hasn’t lost you to anyone.
as rollo turns his attention back to looking through the pile, you’re hyping yourself up, trying to channel the confidence of everyone who confessed to you combined. with just one day before valentines, you’ve gotta shoot your shot now.
there’s nothing to lose, right?
“i’ve been thinking,” you start. you almost consider chickening out when you meet eyes with rollo. he’s so unintentionally intimidating with his soulless (but pretty) eyes. “since neither of us have a valentine.. we should be each others. i-if you wanna be! totallyokayifyoudon’twantto—”
“i’d like that.” he interjects. he covers up his quickly reddening face, but you can still spot some blush on the tips of his ears. you hardly pay attention to it though since you’re too busy silently celebrating.
“it’s decided then.” you giggle. rollo nods, lowering his handkerchief to reveal a soft smile, looking uncharacteristically adorable.
you’d just have to try and keep this a secret from the other boys. they’d probably hate him even more if they found out about this, and you’d die if all the forced getting-along you made them do went to waste.
you actually thought you’d be able to keep your “date” hidden, but then you told grim about it— a terrible mistake.
the biggest rule in the book : never trust grim to keep his mouth closed.
the first people he blabbed to was ace and deuce, who spread the word to the rest of the first years, who spread it to their dorm leaders— and not before long, the rest knew. even the staff managed to get word of it too.
the boys were, as you’d expected, sulky. you chose rollo over him? did rollo go against what he constantly preaches and cast a spell on you?
they all go about their days valentine-less and ill tempered thinking about you and rollo being all lovey-dovey.
meanwhile, the staff are somewhat worried. rollo has no intentions of harming you, they’re aware. but the thought of (what might as well be) their child becoming romantically involved with someone who tried to strip the world of magic has them feeling troubled.
you and rollo are completely oblivious to any of this, though. at least until you get back from your date out at the town.
“so this is the town,” rollo says. “i’ve never had a chance to come down here until today.”
“hehe. what do you think? isn’t it nice down here?”
he nods, eyes scanning all the different buildings until they stop and linger on a bakery. a patisserie, to be exact. through the window, there are several sweets and baked goods on display, and he’s got his eye right on the croissants. you follow where he’s looking and giggle.
“wanna go to that patisserie?” you ask.
“if you don’t mind.”
after purchasing a croissant per rollo’s silent request, you two sit on a bench. he rips the good, giving you the bigger half and you thank him.
“this reminds me of that time at the trip!” you hum. “you were showing me around and we stopped by that bakery to buy a croissant, we even split it and ate it on a bench exactly like we are right now.”
“i remember. it’s perhaps the only moment of the symposium i look back fondly on.”
of course, that’s a lie. every moment at the symposium he shared with you is a moment he looks back fondly on. he’d feel far too embarrassed to say it out loud though.
“it’s such a simple, but sweet memory.”
“the way you’re reminiscing it almost makes it feel as though this was ages ago.”
“i know i know, this was just a little over a month ago. but it’s kind of crazy to me.” you smile. rollo tilts his head, nonverbally asking you to explain. “what i meant by that was.. it feels like we’ve known each other for much longer than a measly little month and a half. don’t you think?”
for what feels like the millionth time to rollo, he gets flustered. even more so when you put your hand on top of his.
but he ponders your question. it really does feel like you’ve known each other for far longer. it’s odd to him how quickly he warmed up to you— rollo’s never been one to get along easily with others. and with that, he’s never been one to open up easily either. but you were able to crack his shell.
“i agree.” he slowly smiles. “happy valentines day, prefect.”
#rollo has had a grip on me for like 3 months now help#(dont help)#gn reader#twst#twst x reader#twisted wonderland x reader#twisted wonderland#rollo x reader
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Do you have a favorite musical?
If so, what are your favorite lyrics from it, and why?
ALW's CATS.
Is it a surreal mess? Yes! But I love it before everything else.
The lyrics are silly but very clever. Most are at least partly by TS Eliot, drawn from a wonderfully nonsensical book of poems.
I think my favorite song is the Invitation to the Jellicle Ball, neck and neck with Mr Mistoffelees.
My favorite cat is Mistoffelees by a lot, followed by the Rum Tum Tugger. They are in love.
But the part that makes me feel the most in my heart is Grizabella. The only cat I relate to is Grizabella.
Memory is the big number that everyone knows and I do absolutely love it, it's one of my favorite songs and probably the best in the musical as it was before CATS 2019 introduced a new song, but I feel that out of context it simply doesn't have punch. It gets trotted out to showcase a singer's skill, as a bit of a tearjerker if you're a sentimental person. It is so much more than that.
I didn't understand Grizabella properly until I was well and truly an adult and had taken in multiple cats off the street, and lived near a colony, and watched my own cats become frail, which are all painful things in many ways; AND until I had begun to really feel the weight of my marginalization as a disabled person and an ill person, which means confronting almost daily the fact that I am unlikely to come to the sort of end I would like.
Hold on because I'm going to be unhinged about this cat for a minute.
Grizabella is an aged stray, once welcomed, now abandoned and unloved, considered ugly even by others like her (who are shown to supposedly accept differences and value, or at least respect, most everyone...but not her).
She lives in a haunted, lonely state unacknowledged by anyone except to be driven away. She can no longer care for herself, she is filthy and matted and scarred and probably in a lot of pain, she is starving, and she has nothing but her memories of better times, and every single dawn is both a gift and a miserable curse. She gets to remember. She has to remember.
If you watch, Grizabella is onstage a LOT, she's just off in the background, usually poorly lit, where she tries to mirror the dances happening on the main part of the stage, dances she knows because that was once her, there in the spotlight, shining. But now she's in too much pain to dance and her body isn't working right anymore. I have no doubt Grizabella is dying. The question is whether she will get to do that well, comforted and with dignity, or do it badly and alone.
I cannot HANDLE Grizabella.
If you have even the tiniest inkling of love for cats, if you believe every cat's life is worth something, her story should destroy you.
The legendary Jennifer Hudson's performance in the movie brought a really angry and confrontational turn to her, and it was flat out amazing. A rebuke of a performance. It really hurts to watch but it's what the role has always needed. She isn't just weak and sad, she clings to the tatters of her dignity and is angry that the others don't see her as a whole person. Just a miserable shadow to be avoided. A cautionary tale. We are never told what terrible thing she did to deserve her fall, and given that most of the Jellicles are young, I don't know that any of them really remember.
I will physically fight anyone who says she should not have been selected to ascend to a new life. She was the only choice. Even Gus. Even him. He can have his turn next year. Grizabella does not have another year in her.
And I'm going to make some folks mad but I love the 2019 movie (it's bad) and the new song, Beautiful Ghosts, is amazing, and I DO prefer Taylor Swift's version as the movie version is a little more timid (fitting the role and musical way better) but TS fucking BELTS IT and I get chills every time.
The lyrics are incredible and the song is gorgeous, gorgeous. And strung together with Grizabella's song, it finishes the musical in a way that it was a bit unfinished before. It uses an actual full song to connect Grizabella to the Ball and the Choice more directly than any choreography ever did or could:
Victoria, the White Cat and viewpoint character, still almost a kitten, has been dumped in the street and into a terrifying and beautiful new life.
After being swept up into its wonder, she sees Grizabella, utterly rejected, hissed at, made fun of, despised, and aches with the injustice of it -- Victoria was snatched right up by the other cats the instant her paws hit the ground, but nobody will take in Grizabella. Not even her own kind.
Victoria sees how strangely similar they are and feels a kinship that has no pity in it at all, but wonder and respect.
So Victoria sings this new song expressing the first admiration Grizabella has heard in god alone knows how long, reminding her she has had an amazing life worth envy and renown, and she pulls this horrible decrepit old mess of a cat into the Jellicle Ball, where she is FINALLY relieved of her pain.
Like? I'm crying right now?
It isn't a serious musical, but Grizabella's story runs through it like a cold current, something real and terrible, surrounded by absolute ridiculousness. Her numbers are deadly serious, never played for laughs. And ultimately it is her story that turns out to be the most important one, the truest one, and it is dark, and it is hopeful but only in only the most painful and grief-stricken way. She isn't brought back into a comfortable life with other cats to be happy and surrounded by love. She essentially...dies and goes to cat heaven. She embodies hope itself to the others, and her ascension represents a deeply humbling lesson in humility and grace. Her suffering and her ascent represent the possible future of every one of them, and now they have to confront that, and their treatment of her. She was rewarded, and for all their beauty and charm they were not.
Anyway I'm not normal about it.
The lyrics from Beautiful Ghosts that I love are:
Perilous night, their voices calling. A flicker of light, before the dawning. Out here the wild ones are taming the fear within me. Scared to call them my friends and be broken again. Is this hope just a mystical dream?
and
And so maybe my home Isn't what I had known, what I thought it would be. But I feel so alive With these phantoms of night, and I know that this life isn't safe but it's wild and it's free!
Like, come on. It's a lovely song and it took my breath away in the theater.
Ugh this musical touched me as a feral cat girl of 10 and it touches me again as a sad catguy in their 40s. Truly a very stupid work of weirdly meaningful art and one for the ages.
There are much better musicals, but none of them are part of me.
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Favorite fics?
oh geez. i’m gonna try keep it sweet and simple less i go on and make it unbearable to read. also these summaries are gonna be terrible but i think all of these are gonna be fnaf sun and moon fics i’m SORRY ITS IN MY HEAD BUT ANYWAYS- SHORT N SWEET LES GO
A Dose of Sunshine and Starlight - @give-me-your-monsters a slow burn w/ lots of angst and bittersweet-ness aww but you are all mentally ill.
Bug Love - @theohnocorral the boys are now bug-ified gods and take a liking to a mortal who probably apologies to inanimate objects
Universal Jesters - @lovelymoonmagic you accidentally become the handler to pair of bots with memory loss and mystery trauma
it was, in reality, not fine - @bones-of-a-rabbit you, the reader, have the self preservation skills as a bowl of soup. also oblivious to love hehe
Late Night to Early Morning - Loyal_Backstabber reader meets neglected robot clowns and vows to risk their life for them
Solar Lunacy - @bamsara its- ITS SOLAR LUNACY. anyways you meet certified murder robots and say i can fix em, they’re gonna fix u too.
copper cogs rusted through - @paper-lilypie “oh what’s this, one of these jesters tried killing me? eh it’s fine” then you fall in love
Rotating Shifts - LightningTriceratops protag mistakes sun for unconscious, jaundice ridden man and realizes he’s a robot with a not dead brother and separation anxiety
basically ANYTHINGGG by @naffeclipse , but the first story i ever read from them was In Deep Dreams Between the Waves very different fro, eclipse in sleuth jesters cause he’s actually decent. (also poor vanessa girl don’t get a break)
Clowning Around - EngageSage you overcome your anxiety to protect a poor jester, and are fueled by spite to fuck up moon man for being a certified bitch
Celestial hearts in a purple mind - @kabra-malvada *finds ominous object* *touches it* *is shocked to find they are possessed*
Twin Animatronics With Too Much Time on Their Hands - @twinanimatronics & @dana-chan-the-control-brain you fall in love and fight the temptation to resurrect a dead dude and kill him again
The Night Shift - @certified-handler oopsie you now work with a needy jester who sweeps you off your feet, even more oopsie he turns into a psychopath when the lights go out and triple oopsie you fall in love with HIM too
Star Crossed Souls - @faz-friendly-light-up-shoes reader said “god give me a sign i’ll find love.” gets the sign, and ignores it
404: Personal Space Not Found - CrazedAuthor anxiety filled individual thinks they will be fixed by a child supervisor, gets surprised by his stab happy twin
Celestial Syzygy - @echoingkarma you’re like the jack of all trades, including befriending animatronics who may or may not hate you (and want to maim you) you are probably underpaid.
My Neighbor Mr. Roboto - @kagedbird oh what’s this? you think moving into your new apartment will be simple and boring? WRONG there’s a robot in your closet. and everywhere- why are there so many-
Apology Flowers and Blooming Hours - @daunsun you’d think sentient flowers would have no angsty backstory huh? well actually...
Our Orbit is Elliptical - @sycopomp like your intrusive thoughts came to life, and you choose to ignore them
Lost and Found - SmolShampoo technology is so cool right guys? you got ai, and that ai can get traumatized! how cool??
Stare at the Abyss; It Might Look Back - @characcoon reader becomes a human punching bag and finds new rusty robot roommates. once they escape a deteriorating child’s play place they walked into
Ventura Highway - @madamemiz says “hey is anyone gonna take this robot?” and doesn’t wait for an answer.
Repaired Unstable - @blonde-fraumell you decide to work alongside your childhood friend! oh how non threatening he was- hey why’s this man TEN FEET TALL. and why’s this other man so kickable.
also, obligatory mer may fics! even though it’s no longer may these are still being updated :D
Luminescent Charm - @finfiprince reader finds the fishy dudes they saved as a kid in a cage, continues to spite god until they can save them
Celestial Omens (that really like Fishsticks) - @bamsara (again yes) you save two scared bastard fish and feed them in your bathroom, a decade later they see u and go “well they gave us fishsticks no drowning for them”
The Sea Jesters are Real Science - MatosaurusRex & sixty_nine13 your idol hires you to take care of real life mer! wow! unfortunately being their therapist wasn’t in the contract
Pisces Caelestis - S_V i’m a little scared of reader. they got attacked by a mer and passed out for 3 days and said “yeah lmao i’ll be fine” nO YOU WONT-
#oh this was#this was not short#BUT HEY IT COULD BE LONGER#there’s definitely more to add but if people are actually interested in hearing my recs i’d be happy to oblige!#fnaf security breach#fnaf#fnaf au#also these are in no order! just what came to mind :)#fnaf fanfic
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i have to say it once again and loud
Penny Junor and her narrative regarding princess Diana’s mental health is wrong on many different levels
1. You don’t diagnose dead people. Like at all. Even if she consulted a therapist (she said she did) it is still unethical and it is a thing they cancel you for in psychology and other disciplines
2. People with BPD are not dangerous monsters. Mainly the only person they are dangerous to is themselves
3. It is normal thing to not act “normal” in your close circle of friends and family. It is a common thing even for mentally stable people let alone for people with mental illnesses
4. BPD has many symptoms. Hallucinating is not one of them. Stop saying “It’s all in your head and it has never happened”. People with BPD can overthink and exaggerate. Making things up and seeing stuff that never happened? Not so much
5. People with mental disorders can have families and children. It is none of your business to criticize someone else’s parenting style and saying “you damaged your kids”. Because nobody asked. And the last thing people with mental health issues need to hear is “you are the reason everything is falling apart”
Do I acknowledge not everyone is the same? Yes. Do I agree that there are assholes who have mental health issues? Yes, I do. But let me tell you something: they will still be assholes even if they heal, it is not a consequence of having a disorder
And may i remind you: Diana died and can’t say anything to protect herself. So brave of you to punch a dead woman, Mrs. Junor, M’am, so courageous, now try anyone who can drag you to court for your allegations
#british royal family#british royal fandom#princess diana#brf#british empire#diana spencer#lady diana#princessdiana#lady di#princess of wales#penny junor#bpd#mental health
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okay as a Jean Enjoyer i feel like i need to say this because there are different genres of jean enjoyment (jeanres if you will). i am of the faction where i don’t really vibe with the whole “jeangst” thing (as it exists as a fandom phenomenon) and here’s why. so much of the stuff i see labeled “jeangst” is WAY too sympathetic to and forgiving of jean for my taste. like he’s woobified or there’s a lot of uncritical ‘poor jean harry is so mean to him and now harry’s amnesia ruined his life :(’ type stuff which is such a fundamental misunderstanding of him and his role in harry’s past & present and it skews how we view his dynamic with harry too. and i don’t mean this as “oh considering jean’s pov is bad!!1!1″ no i consider his pov all the time i am indescribably mentally ill about the torment that the jeanharry relationship puts both jean and harry through. but when we consider his point of view i really think that just ascribing him the simple role of ‘poor depressed punching bag’ strips him of all the interesting parts of his character & also contributes to a less nuanced and accurate understanding of harry as well (it makes it easy to villainize him for his addiction and mental illness, which in and of themselves aren’t moral failings-- harry was a bad person for his behavior, which is not the same as his addiction or his illnesses)
like, jean put himself in this situation. over and over again. yes he was likely forced into working with harry, but whatever’s going on between them is more than a workplace conflict. you look at luiga’s twitter and he’s said so much about jean and harry’s codependency and the other mentions of a very close and very unhealthy personal relationship. you see the way jean talks about his own role vs harry’s in the ending-- jean WANTS to be the poor victim, he wants everyone to see him as the helpless punching bag who is being such a saint by Putting Up With Harry And His Bullshit, look at me, i’m so much better than this stupid mentally ill addict! he’s like harry you are so unprofessional, and there is something wrong with you, and we are all so tired of putting up with you and your shitty behavior, but here he is sitting in a hotel lobby in a wig to harass harry while harry is actually doing his job!! like jean my love here you are reaming harry out about “doing his fucking job” sir what are you doing!! you are sitting in a hotel looking angry for 14 hours just in case your special little partner who you are definitely sooo mad at condescends to speak to you for a few minutes!! and you dragged poor judit out here too!! jean. girl. babe. it’s time to admit you are a massive hypocrite with an even bigger victim complex. you, a mentally ill addict, are losing your shit at harry for being a mentally ill addict. why don’t you meaningfully address the actual behaviors instead of just reminding harry that he’s an alcoholic every 2 minutes.
like i’m not saying jean should have infinite patience for harry after multiple years of mistreatment but damn dude the double standards are insane. jean is instigating a messy public breakup and being pretty abusive the whole time and then he’s like everyone feel bad for ME and not STUPID HARRY who is an ALCOHOLIC in case anyone forgot. he goes on and on about how much his life sucks and how much harry sucks and boohoo poor him he’s so depressed and beaten down by the shitkid etc but then in ANY sub-ideal ending you get there’s still something that tells you that he’s still taking harry back or at least considering it. in the cuno ending “he can’t leave you behind. he just can’t. one final time...” even in the worst ending “if you make it-- if you’re sober for 10 months-- tell us. i’ll work with you again.” jean babe if you hate him so much then stay the fuck away from him!! damn!! your codependency is showing!! your victim complex is showing!! just go get harry’s name tattooed on you at this point like at the very least it might get you some sympathy from people at the bar when they ask about what’s very clearly an Ex’s Name Tattoo
#this got out of hand. sorry#anyway yeah i disagree with 'jeangst' on principle because it's too nice to jean basically#you can be sympathetic to his point of view without being a Jean Apologist or completely erasing his role in a mutually abusive dynamic#i love to think about how much this whole situation hurts him. and i love to think about how a lot of it is his fault#it's so much more interesting for him to be a participant in his own victimhood#he's standing there goading harry into punching him and then he gets punched and is like HOW DARE YOU PUNCH ME!!#well sir you see if you tape a sign on your forehead that says kick me then eventually you are going to be kicked.#the jeanharry relationship as a form of self harm for both parties involved etc etc#using each other to punish themselves etc etc#just enough good in it to keep them going. just enough bad to make it bitter the whole way through. the push and pull of addiction etc etc#see a return to jean/harry partnership after martinaise would be so funny#jean tries to provoke harry says some shitty stuff etc and harry just like. starts crying or having a panic attack or whatever#and jean is like hold on this makes ME look like the bad guy. come on quick hit me. come on say something mean. call me a slur. please#or maybe harry goes right back to being an asshole depending on ur guy. and nothing ever changes and they hurt each other for ever and ever#until they succumb to the inevitable murder-suicide#kiwipost#jv meta#jean vicquemare#I HATE THIS GUY *beating him with one of those carpet dust racket things*
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SAY GOODBYE: chapter 2
Cause I really don’t feel the way I once felt about you Girl it’s not, you , it’s me
Synopsis: In which Wooyoung finds himself loving someone else other than his girlfriend
Pairing : Balletdancer! reader x dancer!Wooyoung
Warnings: this chapter includes mentions of , illnesses, death , Wooyoung being in love , gifts, San and Mingi being goofy , kissing, infidelity, cheating ? , ballet , teasing
Word count : 2,5k
" Wooyoung why are we here again "
Seonghwa sighed as he watched the younger examine the different types of flowers
" What do you think about roses ? "
He smiled as he smelled on the white ones that smelled like a bit of vanilla
" I mean yeah they are romantic and beautiful but it still doesn't answer my question "
" Just help me pick some flowers and stop complaining will you ? "
He chuckled and continued looking around
" Well just mix the pink roses with the white ones or whatever "
" You think that's a good idea ? "
" They do look good together maybe with a cute white ribbon wrapped around it "
The younger smiled and called the employee to help him put together everything Seonghwa suggested
" That will be 11$ if we wrap it up "
Seonghwa waited for his friend to pay so they could leave
" This is the first time I see you buying flowers and actually be happy about it "
" Can't a guy buy flowers now "
"Of course you can but what's the ocasion today for what I had to give up my own plans"
" There's a performance at school and I wanted you to tag along since you are a ballet student "
Seonghwa furrowed his brows
" There's a performance and how come I didn't know about this so called performance? "
" It's because they decided it on the last minute and not so many people signed up to watch "
Wooyoung walked down the street with his friend that grimaced confused
" They usually don't do that "
" That's why I said it was on last minute "
As they turned around the corner they saw their other friends San and Mingi waiting for them also dressed up casually unlike Wooyoung who dressed himself as if he was going on a date or something
" Wow never thought I'd see the Jung Wooyoung with blond black hair styled elegantly let alone in a leather jacket "
Mingi laughed punching his friend playfully
" Yeah but I mean it's like he's a bad boy or something , and why do you have flowers? "
Wooyoung shrugged as they continued walking
" Do I need to have a reason to buy flowers now or something ? What is wrong with y'all "
" Chill out dude , it was just a question "
San lifted his hands in surrender
" Where is Yeosang? "
" He said he's waiting at the schools entrance "
Seonghwa replied checking his phone
" What are we going to watch anyways ? "
"Wooyoung's friend has a solo performance today and we are going for support since not so many people are coming to watch "
" That's actually sad , I'm glad I'm coming Ive always wanted to see a solo performance "
San smiled as he walked happily down the street
The boys kept talking about unnecessary things as Seonghwa had plugged in his earbuds to not get annoyed and be moody during the performance
As they slowly approached the school they saw Yeosang sitting at a bench quietly bouncing his feet as he waited patiently
" Took you guys long enough "
He scoffed and stood up as they approached him so they could in
"Wooyoung bought some flowers on the way "
" And don't ask him unless you want him to blow up on you speaking from experience "
San said as Wooyoung chuckled and apologised
" There's barely anyone here "
They went towards the big theatre and looked inside seeing five people at least sitting there patiently waiting for it to start
" Welcome , thank you so much for coming "
An old lady that seemed like the one who organised the event greeted them with a soft smile and smiled bigger after recognising Seonghwa who kept looking inside
" If this isn't my favourite student Park "
She grabbed his cheeks and patted them
" I'm glad you came , I really wanted you to watch this since it's based on what you did last year for the opening ceremony "
" Really ? Who's doing it ? "
" She's new so you probably don't know her , but her name is Y/n she transferred a month ago after our school gave her a scholarship "
Wooyoung who couldn't bare to listen anymore wandered back stage to search for her as he held the flowers nervously but gently so that he wouldn't end up crushing them
As he walked behind some curtains he saw her putting on her shoes and wrapping it around her feet
" Am I interrupting? "
She looked up startled as the sudden voice spoke in the once quiet room
" Wooyoung you came "
He smiled and approached her
" How could I miss this once in a lifetime opportunity to see you dance "
Wooyoung handed her the flowers making her gasp
" Are these for me ? You didn't have to just coming was enough for me "
Y/n took the flowers blushing as she smelled the vanilla scent radiating from the bouquet
They stood there without saying anything until Y/n chuckled and kissed his cheek
" Thank you Wooyoung you're so sweet "
The boy heated up after feeling her soft plump lips on his right cheek
" I'm looking forward to you liking the performance and even if you don't I'm still thankful for you taking your time to be here "
" Ay I'm sure me and my friends will like this , especially Seonghwa who's last year performance you’re actually covering "
" Really?! , I hope I don't embarrass myself in front of you guys "
Both chuckled before Wooyoung approached her and tucked a loose hair back up into her sleek bun
" Y/n are you ready?! "
One of the stage monitors whisper shouted
" This is my queue to leave , thank you so much again for coming "
The girl smiled and hurried towards her position while Wooyoung hurried to sit down besides friends
" where have you been ? "
San whispered as he looked at Wooyoung's smiling state
" Somewhere now be quiet it's about to start "
Just as he shushed San the red curtains have been lifted revealing Y/n curled into a ball in her beautiful baby blue tutu slowly rising as the music started to play
" She's so beautiful "
Mingi and San gawked as they watched the girl on stage dance on her toes while while twirling
" Wooyoung has taste in beautiful girls "
Mingi giggled before earning a hard pinching on his side by Seonghwa who glared at him
" Be quiet I'm trying to watch her dance "
The amount of emotions pilling out of her whenever she did specific moves that even had Seonghwa's mouth hang open
" That right there is called a perfect Grand Jete , im pretty amazed that she can even do that it's a pretty difficult move "
Seonghwa smiled and nodded approvingly
" What the heck is a Grand Jete ?"
" A Grand Jete is a jump in which a dancer springs from one foot to land on the other with one leg forward of their body and the other stretched backwards while in the air "
Yeosang explained as he kept watching quietly
Wooyoung was the only one that didn't say anything since he was mesmerised by the way her body moved so effortlessly
From every twirl to pirouettes his heart skipped a beat making him feel sick to his stomach but in a good way
His phone suddenly started vibrating with messages from girlfriend making him sigh and turn off the notifications
As the music slowed Y/n slowly twirled two times ending it with a Arabesque making everyone clap as tbd curtains closed
" That was so cool , how did she just stand on one feet while supporting her whole body with only her toes ?! ”
Mingi’s eyes widened from shook as he pictured himself trying and failing miserably to copy the move Y/n just did
“ I think this was the best solo I’ve ever seen ”
“ Me too but it seems like Wooyoung enjoyed it more than we all did ”
Yeosang teased his friend who’s mouth hung open as he continued to clap
“ Thank you so much for coming to watch our new team member do her amazing solo ”
The old lady bowed and thanked everyone before leaving
“ Guys you can leave without me ”
“ Are you staying with your friend ? ”
The boy nodded as he stared at someone that poked their head from behind the curtains
“ I’ll see you guys on Monday bye ! ”
He smiled patting everyone’s chest before running off to meet Y/n
“ Gosh what a friend he is ”
“ Wait doesn’t he have a girlfriend ? ”
“ He does and it looks like this is about to change really soon ”
Everyone looked at Yeosang who had a emotionless expression on as he walked out
“ What does he mean by that ”
“ Yeosang basically said that Wooyoung is falling for someone he just met ”
Seonghwa chuckled amused as they went out to
“ Does this mean we are witnessing a hot mess of a love triangle ? ”
San and Mingi giggled to themselves making Seonghwa sigh in exhaustion
“ You guys are so like these dumb and dumber duos and I’m tired of your baby like minds ”
He walked off leaving both boys giggling to themselves
“ You where amazing today ”
Wooyoung smiled as he waited for Y/n to finish putting on her sneaker’s
“ I saw when you clapped as everyone had already stop it was so funny ”
She giggled grabbing her backpack
“ Well it was just beautiful especially the ending pose even my friends were amazed”
He smiled looking down
“ Where are your friends? did they already leave? I wanted to thank them ”
She looked around but her and Wooyoung where literally the only ones left
“ I told them they could go since I wanted to stay and congratulate you again ”
“ Oh ok , well what should we do now ? ”
“ We could grab something to eat but I don’t really think you’d be hungry ”
“ You don’t know how hungry I am I haven’t ate anything the whole day only a small snack to boost the energy before performing ”
“ Than how about we grab something down town or we could go to the beach where they sell amazing street food "
She nodded as they walked out off school
“ You look so good with that hairstyle ”
He smiled flicking his hair back
“ I’ve always wanted to tried two different colours at once and I’m glad people like it ”
“ You kinda look a bad guy who’s in a biker gang the way you’re styled today ”
Y/n smiled covering her mouth to prevent her from laughing
“ A bad boy , gosh why does everyone say that ”
He bursted out laughing as he spot the beach just some miles away
“ But a good looking bad boy ”
“ You also looked beautiful today your costume was very beautiful ”
She smiled and looked down
“ My Grandma made it for me before I moved here from the country side , I wouldn’t be here if she didn’t pass away some months ago ”
Wooyoung frowned as he stopped on his tracks
“ I’m so sorry to have brought such a sensitive topic up I didn’t mean to ”
“ It’s ok it’s not like you knew about it ”
The girl smiled and took of her shoes letting her feet sink into the warm sand
“ I hope you’re not feeling sad now ”
He also removed his shoes before following her as they took a walk along the beach watching as the sunset slowly
“ I feel better now that I’m seeing the sunset leaving us in this darkness full of stars and the beautiful moon as replacement ”
She sat down and looked to the sky
“ Yeah it’s really beautiful especially the way the different orange tones are turning into a beautiful dark blue one "
Wooyoung took a picture before posting it on his private story
“ How come you decided to be a dancer ? ”
Y/n looked at him surprised by the sudden question but smiled
“ Well I’ve always loved seeing people dance , and my dad used to be a dancer too but had to stop when he got lung cancer "
“ I’m sorry to hear that ”
“ It’s ok , I just enjoyed seeing him dance so I also practiced Hip hop for a couple years until I discovered my passion for ballet ”
“ Wait you also practiced Hip hop ? ”
“ Yeah it was so fun but I thought ballet suited me the most out off everything ”
Y/n looked at Wooyoung who was already looking at her
“ I also think it suits you well ”
He smiled and leaned closer to her , he himself didn’t know where that boldness was coming from  but one thing he knew was needed to control was what he was about to do
“ Wooyoung are you ? ”
Y/n stood still as she felt him get closer to her
“ Can I ? Can I please kiss you ? ”
His voice sounded so desperate that even he himself didn’t believe he just did that
“ You can only if I can as well ”
She leaned in closing her eyes as she felt his breath closer to her lips
He slowly moves in closer, closing his eyes, his lips slightly parted in anticipation when his lips met hers
Wooyoung let out a soft sigh, his body relaxing against Y/n’s as the kiss got tender and gentle, full of emotion but also confusion
He wanted to be selfish and enjoy this moment but no matter how much he pulled her body closer to him his guilt wouldn’t die down
“ I-Im so sorry but I need to leave ”
“ Wait Wooyoung- ”
He stood up in a hurry leaving the confused girl behind sitting on the sand
He tried forgetting what he just did but it was deeply engraved in his mind already
Even after he came home to his girlfriend waiting for him so they could go to sleep together
He kept thinking about Y/n , someone he barely knew only for some days
Already having his heart skip beats or making him buy flowers something he never did unless it was for his mom on Mother’s Day
“ Wooyoung why are you still awake? "
He looked beside him and sighed
“ It’s nothing I’ve been just thinking ”
The boy turned around facing the wall
“ We can talk if something is bothering you ”
She snuggled herself closer to him but got pushed back slowly
“ Im fine just go back to sleep ”
The girl shrugged and turned around letting Wooyoung think to himself
He didn’t know how he was going to face Y/n now the next time they see each other, what if he ended up ignoring her or hurt her even more than he already did today by leading her on
All these thoughts kept running until he fell asleep from exhaustion when he left his bedroom to sleep on the couch
Maybe he couldn’t sleep because it wasn’t Y/n dancing around his mind but the fact that he behaved so normal beside someone he just betrayed deeply by kissing someone else
#ateez#ateez angst#ateez atiny#ateez fluff#ateez hongjoong#ateez imagines#ateez jongho#ateez mingi#ateez san#ateez seonghwa#ateez yunho#ateez wooyoung#ateez yeosang#wooyoung angst#wooyoung fluff#wooyoung#ateez x reader
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me when people are hating on Ouma's actions in game
like. I just support him, actually
Ves: REAL
she looked good doing it
if it were me I would get more crazy for a lot more selfish reasons, and I would punch Kaito back sooner, good for him for keeping his eyes on the goal
fr fr, look at him in the closing argument, that's my babygirl
Ves: the closing argument artist thinks so too
he did not have to go that hard but HE DID IT FOR ALL OF US. A HERO
haters will act like he's irrational, but he stuck out so long with no support system since he couldn't trust anyone and managed to play things off even when he was finally starting to lose his shit in a situation when it was reasonable for him to feel like this (tbh even fans make him often crack way more easily to make shipping content, when he's so resilient and then on the other hand not really lone wolfing it either bc he cooperated as much as he could) his way of going about things was smart, there isn't much else he could do, Tsumugi was setting up others to distrust him as well
Ves: AAAAAAAAAAAUGH!!! he did he lasted so fucking long in the worst possible situation he tried so HARD to cooperate and it just. did not work. if i think abt how quickly his plans fell apart i will explode
i'd b doing so much worse in his situation
sometimes it's just like, you're talking about paranoia? trust and attachment issues? untreated mental illness? I think we have to be introduced, there's so much I could show you. I am not saying he doesn't have anything of the sort, but there's a lot more of reasonable justified distrust there, and still, it could be so much worse, trapping the next person who thoughtlessly assigns him diagnosis in a demonizing way in a room with me and making them listen to me rant about my failed relationships history
for educational purposes
they will learn about all kinds of issues
Ves: it's trueee people act like he's so strange for breaking down but LIKE??? HE'S PRETTY NORMAL FOR THAT ACTUALLY???? he clearly already had Issues but the killing game was perfectly packaged to dig into those
this is why DRS and UTDP mostly suck at characterizing him they're still stuck in the idea of him at his absolute worst
he was nicer even in ch1 than he is in some of those events
[and then my amazing wife dropped this bomb, and she says I'm the smart one smh] Sini: The thing is, there’s him being shitty on purpose and him pretending to be the mastermind/making himself appear suspicious. There is a clear difference in how he acts.
In DRS and UTDP he usually just comes across as playful. Yeah he’s a jackass, but I think his whole “bad guy” persona (the one we see in the beginning of the game) goes beyond the killing game. I see it as a way for him to protect himself, to push people away and not appear as vulnerable. As he’s said before, everyone always sees him as a villain so it’s the perfect role for him. I think that reasoning goes beyond what was happening to him in canon.
I do agree his characterization could’ve used a bit more reworking, but I think for the most part they did a good job in showing how differently he acts in a peaceful setting in small ways. The fact that he never uses his scary sprites once or is seen to be more nice with characters like Mikan and Gonta. Especially with Gonta, where he seems to be more vulnerable around. And while this was probably just a mistake, I like to think him being shown as not as pale in DRS as a sign of him getting better. In a non killing game environment he seems to be doing pretty well for himself.
But that’s what I believe, anyway
Ves: h that's really sweet actually,,,i may have been a LITTLE hard on the side modes. it's mostly the way he treats kiibo that drives me INSANE, the mikan n gonta stuff is [ok hand emoji].
Sini: Yeah, I agree. I can understand the Kiibo hate, but he doesn’t have to go as hard as he did in game. It’s not like there is a reason to suspect him.
The only thing that could maybe explain it is maybe he suspects he could be tied to Monokuma? Since he, the Monokubz, and Monomi do exist here. He was rude to Monomi and seems to suspect her of being not what she seems
ALSO, he’s always gonna be a little shit cause he’s a greedy whore. He wants attention and entertainment so badly.
Ves: THISSSSS it's so important i have seen so many people question why he does things where the answer is literally just that he wants attention like
there is not always a plot sometimes he just wants shuuichi to chase him
Sini: That’s all there is to it
He wants his crush to chase him like in his favourite novels
Live the fantasy
Ves: it's part of why they're so good together!! shuuichi as a detective is v used to obsessing over details and giving his whole attention to something in the way kokichi wants
HE'S A NERD
THAT ALSO EXPLAINS MANY THINGS
Sini: They’re both nerds. Even more reason to why they are soulmates
Ves: kokichi receives the Detective Stare and goes TEEEEEHEE
Sini: IT’S HIS DREAM COME TRUE
It’s just like anime!
He’s living anime rn
Ves: i think his hair should curl up at the ends when he gets excited
as a treat
Sini: To compliment Shuichi’s sentiment ahoge
When he goes to his room after an exciting day with Shuichi, he flops on his bed, kicks his feet, and squeals into his pillow
I feel a little ashamed when reverse happens and I am posting something someone else started and I took over, but with this all I can say: follow @vespertin-y and leave nice comments for my wife so we can prove it to her that she is smart and her takes are divine.
#talking canon#danganronpa#ndrv3#kokichi oma#kokichi ouma#oumasai#saiouma#shuichi saihara#gonta gokuhara#kiibo
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the topic of school gun violence is such a deep systemic issue and i can't lie and say there aren't some days I go to work at my school where I'm afraid something will happen. I have had to message my family to tell them I love them. I have sat in a locked room with children and planned for how ill get in the way if someone comes for them. The person you become when your kids in your school are threatened is a person you can't forget being, because you never forget how it feels to be ready to die any second to protect your kids.
Kids are really hurting right now. I work with middle schoolers. The last normal school year my 7th graders had was 4th grade. You transition into puberty and middle school from a screen, fearing for you life and watching your family die or get sick or lose jobs and housing and everything that makes life worth living...
you don't learn physical boundaries when you aren't on the playground learning real time how to treat people. You have an entire generation of kids that doesn't know the difference between playing and physical aggression. On a near daily basis I am teaching teenagers that they can kill their friends with the headlock they're putting them in, I'm seeing kids not know when to stop, there is no stopping, play fighting becomes real fighting because there is no other out except to finish it when you have no ability to self-regulate.
We had a circle of kids today talking about what the phrase "go touch some grass" meant to them. It's not a meme to kids this age. One of the kids said, "I didn't do anything. I was afraid to go outside. I thought I would get sick and die. I still get scared." Theu didn't see their closest friends for over 2 years. Social workers, counselors, teachers, childhood friends, no one was able to reach them for years. They didn't have cameras on, zoom is a trigger for kids, it's nothing like an online uni class, it's a graveyard.
You leave everything behind in 4th grade and spend the next three years of your life changing dramatically and seeing that change in everyone else from a screen. You can block anyone, you can ignore everything, you become numb to consequences that lead to better behavior and compassion we take for granted. Conflict resolution looks like blocking and never having to address it. These kids cannot fathom resolving a conflict with words. They can't even describe what emotions they're feeling, but they can feel the soul-deep frustration at not having that ability. They are trapped and powerless in a body that is bigger and stronger than it was in 4th grade with none of the tools to regulate anything. More than ever I see kids acting on impulse on a way that is beyond normal. I am seeing dissociative patterns in almost every student I meet. Most of them have taken all year to even understand why certain things make them do certain things.
This year alone I've been punched in the head, face, eyes, you name it by kids who can't see what's in front of them acting on blind rage that should never have to exist in an entire group of people, ive been recorded by kids i knew and talked to every day breaking up a fight like they didn't know who I was and it was a spectacle to watch because they can turn their brains off as a traumatic response to repeated exposure and to them this is how life is, I've been thrown to the ground & nearly hit by a car breaking up kids who took it into the street with intent to kill, had kids bleeding in my office from head wounds they got from accidentally hitting someone with a ball, ive put kids in ambulances, we've been on lockdown, we've had high schoolers break in and attack 12 year olds because they dont know how to solve conflicts without the highest extreme either, kids are hurting. They need so much help right now. Being a kid right now is a traumatic event. Not a single kid I work with is living in a non-traumatic event. It is happening all the time.
The pandemic has destroyed so much for everyone but to our kids the pandemic is their only measure of reality. The post-present-pandemic has created a generation of trauma and loss of education. Be here for our kids more than anything, our future is with them and they need so, so, so much love right now, and it's love they think they don't deserve, it's love that they're resistant to getting, they have no trust for any system or person or each other because every single thing has failed them. Their reality is trauma they are more powerless than anyone to change. They can see everything and only react. Being a kid is a traumatic event, please love these kids. They think that this world doesn't love them and they are so, so far away right now, but they're still able to come back. I'm seeing it real-time. These kids need to be reached before they can't come back, make the safety and love for kids a priority. Hope is being lost on them and their reality is a nightmare.
They won't be kind to you. They won't trust you. They won't let you in and they are in survival mode. And they still need you. They need to know where the bar should be for how they're treated and they need to know what they're worth now more than ever. They're worth the world and more.
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