#I give it maybe an hour before an American misses the point and makes this about their medical costs

[nightmaretour]

We need to talk about how under a conservative, capitalist government a universal healthcare system can also be a tool of oppression, especially against poor, disabled and/or nonwhite people. But I don't think Tumblr is ready for that

#cripple punk #cripplepunk #disability #ableism #medical abuse #I give it maybe an hour before an American misses the point and makes this about their medical costs #If you are that person have you considered perhaps not doing that

[princesssmars]

plsssss do something for michael munroe im so starved

i could change your mind

some college football player mike headcanons.

contains: fluff. some nsfw. american football gross. mike is cocky whats new. fem!reader. hair nor skin color described.

a/n: anon i lowkey miss him too so i'll do a few headcanons for you anon. sorry that my until dawn rewrite is like on hiatus I just feel like it's gonna be such a flop so my brain says it cant be bad if I don't write it ??? idk. ty for making me do this. set in college but i've decided to start a year late so if i get shit wrong sorry scholars. (heart fingers emoji I'm on desktop fml.)

idk why but the first thing that popped into my head was him loving a sport...like he gives smart but also dumbass jock to me we let's go with he did football in high school and he's at college on a scholarship.

if you're like me you don't give two shits about the sport you probably would not like twice in a football player's way, which he definitely sees as a challenge. he'll come up to you in the dining hall and try to hit on you in front of his jock friends, spouting a "whatever you say, sweetheart" when you reject him with a grimace.

to your surprise and horror he's in one of your advanced classes in your second semester, sitting with his feet up next to your seat with a smile when you walk in. you do call him troglodyte for having his shoes on the table but he says with an easy smile that he's in with the teacher who said it was alright.

great.

for the first three weeks, you try to ignore his questions and poking at all costs, but when you get paired up on an important assignment you decide to hold your disdain on pause. he invites you to "study in his dorm" which nearly gives you a migraine, until he chuckles and tells you he's joking, telling you you can meet at common ground and study in the library.

you hold your tongue instead of giving a quip about how he probably won't be able to keep his mouth shut, but once you actually get there you realize the worst thing ever: mike munroe isn't a moron. he's actually pretty smart, maybe nearly as smart as you, and shows pretty good leadership with how he takes in both your academic strengths and divides the workload based on them. its not hard to see why he's the quarterback.

after you get an a+ on your project, you start to warm up to mike. his stupid quips in class start to actually become funny, leading to numerous moments where he makes you snort in class and the professor rolls his eyes.

your friendship soon grows enough that mike has the confidence to invite you to one of his games while you're walking around campus, and if you start to say no he informs you that he will not hesitate to get on his knees and beg in front of everyone. that makes you feel a little weird so you groan and tell him fine.

the whole time you don't really know what's going on, even though ten minutes before he had to get ready he tried to cram all of the rules into your head. even though you don't know everything you can tell when something good happens, like when he makes the touchdown that wins your school the game. he celebrates with his team members and his crowd of fangirls before coming over to you, clearly waiting for you to say football is fun or something,

you don't. but the after-party definitely was. you don't know what that frat guy put in the punch but it was good, and had you nearly drunk in only two hours. nearly being a keyword, because someone who was past the point decided to do a childish game of seven minutes, and you decided to play along for fun.

but it wasn't so funny when they spun the bottle and it landed on you, then the next turn between two people to point towards the couch where mike was watching with his friends. they both burst out laughing at the horrified look on your face as you reluctantly follow him inside the closet.

for the first minute it's quiet, soft noises from the two of you adjusting your bodies in the quiet space and "sorry"'s when you bump into the other.

he takes your silence for uncomfortableness, telling you he's alright with just sitting with you. "one of my favorite things to do actually"

you don't really know why but you kiss him after that. when you pull away you can faintly see his blank face. great. you ruined everything. you're about to give some half-assed excuse before his hand is on the back of your neck and he's pulling you back into him and pressing your body into his.

things get weird after that night.

you're still friends after that night, of course. except now its...different.

you still have your movie nights laughing at people making dumb decisions in horror movies, except now you'll sometimes wind up on mike's lap with your tongue down his throat.

you still text each other stupid pictures you found on snapchat (he insists on using it, fuckboy he is. or used to be, weirdly). except now before you go to sleep he'll send you a picture of his bulge with a smiley face at the bottom. if you send a picture back he'll send a long voice message that you don't open for your own sanity.

but you aren't like. dating. and you don't know why in passing you hear his teammate nick call you "mike's girl". because you aren't. at all.

and plus its not like you've slept together or even gone on an actual date. you're just...closer than normal friends are.

and then he leaves the next december to spend a week with his old friends, and you kind of mope around campus while he's gone. he makes sure to text you constant updates until the night where he arrives at the cabin, where he leaves you delivered for two days. he did say his ex was going to be there, so that nagging voice in the back of your head is telling you the worse.

until you finally get the call from some random number in alberta. when you pick up after some initial confusion you hear mike on the other side.

"mike? what the actual hell? its been two days, thought you somehow managed to get lost in the snow."

he laughed on the other line, able to tell you're insult at his intelligence meant you cared. his voice sounds hoarse.

"yeah, yeah i know. i'm sorry. something came up and i...i've been stuck in this damn police station-"

"police station? jesus, how hard did you guys party."

he calls your name and it's serious. he only sounds like that when something important or bad has happened.

"mike? is everything ok?"

"no, no its not. josh is...he's gone. the cabins gone. we're all pretty messed up."

you don't give a response, waiting for him to elaborate if he wants to.

"i don't know what to say..i'm so sorry."

"it's alright. i'll explain more when i get back. i just wanted to hear your voice."

"now you're really scaring me."

he laughs again, the scratch of his voice returning.

"thank you."

"for what? constantly insulting you and bringing you back to reality?"

"for making me laugh. haven't done it in a while."

"yeah, well...i'll make sure your roommate hasn't completely trashed your dorm. and we can get some takeout. on me, because i'm polite."

"screw that, we're going on a date."

your heart skips.

"did you actually get a concussion because that's not funny."

"im serious. no more being a pussy. time to start getting serious. plus we're basically already dating, so."

"god, why does everyone keep saying that?"

"i'll see you soon."

the phone hangs up and you toss the phone to the side with a slight smile.

#until dawn #until dawn x reader #mike #mike munroe #mike munroe x reader #mike munroe smut #minke munroe fluff #football player!mike #college!mike

[icallhimjoey]

Picture this: y/n comes home very drunk from a night out with her girlfriends and is trying to jump his bones the whole time while Joe is taking off her make up, giving her water, and changing her into comfy pajamas 🥰

just in time for halloween, i themed this request for all of my spooky babes (a little, it's whatever) enjoy! Wordcount: 2K

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Soft Hands

“Fuck. So, none of them fit?” you said, speech slurred slightly, giving your set of keys another double take. You tried to focus your eyes extra hard on them properly, again. Then you gave it another go, holding a key you knew wasn’t meant for this lock, but, maybe it was, you know? Couldn’t hurt to at least give it a little try.

Joe was laid out on the sofa, TV displaying a random Halloween film that was on with its volume turned low, his attention mostly on the phone in his hands.

He’d heard you from the moment the taxi doors had opened, filling your quiet street with loud girly screeches that shouted drunken heartfelt goodbyes and laughed when you had tried to slam the door shut, but missed the door entirely with your hands. You’d already committed your body weight into it and practically launched yourself onto the pavement. One of your friends had to then also climb out to make sure you were okay and had to drag you away from the car by your arms, so they’d be able to drive off without catching any of your limbs under the tires.

You were all giggles and swirly vision, which was ultimately why you’d tried to open your front door with the wrong keys.

After finally locating the right key, missing the lock with it about six times, suddenly, it fit, and you stumbled into your flat.

Joe couldn’t help but chuckle softly to himself as he’d listened to you muttering swearwords under your breath outside on the doormat, eyes still glued to his phone.

He hadn’t gotten up to help but had instead been curious how long it was going to take you, gaging how drunk you were before he’d even laid eyes on you.

“Hands up, it’s the– it’s the police,” you spoke into your flat after slamming the door shut behind you and you heard Joe snicker from the sofa.

“Eddie, you’re a wanted fu– fugitive, give yourself–” you hiccuped as you slowly took careful steps into the living room, trying your very best to remain steadily on your feet.

“Give yourself up to the law,” it was difficult to remain stood up with your arms unable to help you balance yourself as you held out a plastic toy gun that scanned the room before it landed with its barrel pointed at Joe.

“Hopper...” Joe said from his spot on the sofa in an American accent as if he was stood face to face with his arch enemy.

Then he paused for just a second before laughing loudly and exclaiming, “Your full bum is out!”

It took you a second too long to pan your eyes down, noticing how your skirt had fully run up over your cheeks, exposing your underwear through your sheer tights.

You huffed a laugh at the look of it.

“Oh,” was all you could say before sloppily trying to straighten your outfit, but it was to no avail. You wanted to get out of it, anyway.

“Did you have fun?” Joe put his phone down and grinned at your messy hair, the aviator sunglasses all tangled up on top of your head, and Joe thought back to how just hours earlier you’d been faffing at it for ages with your straightener.

It had been a while since Joe’d seen you like this, a full mess of a girl.

You’d been stupidly excited for Halloween this year, but your boyfriend hadn’t been. For obvious reasons. Not in the mood to pose for a million photos with people dressed like Eddie Munson, he’d decided to just stay in for the night and maybe hand over some sweets if kids were to ring your doorbell.

You’d been all pouty and sulky about it – “Come on, dress up as Eddie yourself, no one will assume it’s actually you! – and even tried convincing him to come along by dressing up as a stupidly slutty sheriff, overdoing it completely.

Like you were meant to, on Halloween.

When your friends had picked you up earlier that evening, you'd pointed at your boyfriend and confidently said, "Don't wait up," before immediately regretting it, laughing, and saying, "No please wait up, I'm going to get so drunk.”

You'd been right.

When you’d stopped sending Joe pictures of you with random people dressed as Stranger Things characters and instead, had started trying to Facetime him, he knew it was only because you were too far gone to text coherently.

 “I got hit on tonight,” you replied to Joe’s question giddily, almost erratic, like you’d revealed a very exciting secret and stalked your way towards him.

“Did you?” Joe chuckled, still in the same relaxed position on the sofa, legs outstretched along the seats, moving them apart slightly as you got closer, bracing for impact.  

“I did,” you smiled until your eyes went squinty, so pleased with yourself for it.

“Everyone loved sexy Jim Hopper,” you let yourself fall onto Joe.

“Sexy Jim Hopper got a lot of free drinks tonight,” you sighed heavily, the alcohol thick on your breath, and you pressed your face into Joe’s chest. You could just go to sleep right there.

“Mmh, well,” Joe mused as he gave you a squeeze. “Sexy Jim Hopper smells like it too, come on,” Joe patted you on the bum, urging you to get up off of him as he tried to sit up himself.

You didn’t do anything to help him, eyes already closed, making Joe grunt loudly as he fought against the bodyweight of the two of you. He continued to push you back up onto your feet before guiding you to the bathroom by your shoulders.

Joe ended up having to curl his arm around you to open the bathroom door, because when you reached it, you just stood in front of it and held your toy gun in your hands, pressed up to the side of your face.

When the door swung open, you stretched your arms out and as you did, the toy slipped from your hands and loudly clanged as it landed in the tub.

“Jesus Chr– how many times have you done that tonight?” Joe ducked down and flinched in reaction to the sudden loud noises. You just gave him a dumb smile, remembering the amount of times you’d scurried across the length of the several bars and pubs you’d visited to retrieve your prop.

“Guns can be a weapon in more ways than the obvious one,” you tapped a finger to your temple as if you were feeding Joe a crumb of great wisdom. If you’d said it any slower, you’d have been talking backwards.

Joe pulled down the lid to the toilet seat and made you sit on it. He then reached for your toothbrush, dotted on a bit of toothpaste, and turned back to see you slumped back, head hanging totally unsupported, and your eyes closed.

“Baby, come on,” Joe said, not getting a reaction out of you. He looked at you a second, reached a hand over, hesitated for a moment, and then went for it anyway.

Hunching over you, he grabbed your cheeks in his hand and squeezed his fingers together until your mouth opened. He was ready to brush your teeth for you like you were a toddler. You whined loudly, frowned deeply, and smacked his hand away before he could, though.

It resulted in your toothbrush falling from Joe’s hand and landing face down onto the tiles.

“What are you–” Joe started, then sighed, frustration building.

“Bed,” you moaned, reaching out to use Joe for leverage as you wanted to get back up on your feet.

“No, no. I remember you specifically telling me that I wasn’t allowed to let you fall asleep in your make-up,” Joe pushed you back down before reaching for your toothbrush and tossing it into the sink.

As his face moved closely in front of you, you suddenly grabbed hold of it with both hands, your grip entirely too strong for it to be cute or endearing. You squished his cheeks together, leaving his mouth a funny shape that you pressed a few rough pecks onto.

“Look at this man,” you said, and let your frown grow deeper as your grip became stronger.

You wanted to crush him like you’d want to squeeze cute kittens, entirely unable to handle the overwhelming feeling of adoration you felt.

“So handsome.”

Joe wrapped your hands into his own softly and then slowly pried them off him before pressing a kiss onto your lips. Drunk you had a weird way of showing affection, but Joe was kind of into it and he couldn’t stop the smile that tugged on his cheeks.

“I’ve been saying it all night,” you said, head now falling back against the wall behind you as you watched Joe reach for your make-up wipes.

“No thanks, I’ve got a handsome boyfriend. Thanks for the drink, I’ve got a handsome boyfriend. Shame my boyfriend’s not here, he’s very handsome.”

“Eyes closed,” Joe said, now holding a still folded wipe in his palm and when you closed your eyes, he swiped it across your cheeks with an incredibly careful touch.

“No,” you corrected him and pressed his hand harshly into your face. “More pressure, soft hands,” Joe huffed a laugh at the given nickname. 

Joe obliged, but when it came to your eyes, he didn’t want to hurt you. With soft downstrokes over your lashes, Joe wasn’t getting rid of any mascara or any eyeliner.

"Your hands, they're too soft!" you whined in annoyance before taking over, rubbing harshly at your eyes over the wet fabric.

“Careful!” Joe directed. “We’re removing the make-up, not your actual eyes,” and you giggled until it made you go floppy.

It took entirely too long, and way too much effort to eventually untangle the sunglasses from your hair, get you out of your outfit and miraculously to also brush your teeth.

When Joe finally announced that he was going to take you to bed, you’d wiggled two tired eyebrows at him suggestively.

“Oh yea? What’s my handsome boyfriend going to do to me?” you tried your best to be seductive, failing miserably in your drunken haze, barely able to carry yourself into your bedroom.

“Your tired boyfriend is going to make sure you don’t get any sick on the sheets or choke on your vomit,” he said, pushing you into your bedroom by the shoulders like he’d gotten you over into the bathroom earlier too.

“No, you’re so boring, I didn’t dress like that all night for you to just go to sleep,” you said, hands reaching behind you to grab at his crotch. Joe only narrowly managed to avoid them.

The second you saw the bed, though, you were gone. Plummeting into the pillows, you didn’t even bother getting under the covers properly.

So, Joe helped, slinging your legs into the bed, pulling the covers over you, placing a bucket down next to you alongside a tall glass of water on your bedside table with a painkiller carefully placed next to it for when you’d wake up the next morning.

When he got into bed next to you, Joe was surprised when you moved over closer to him as he got comfortable.

“Come here,” you said with your eyes closed, and Joe wasn’t sure if you were still awake, or talking in your sleep.

“Get it up here near my face, I’ll suck you off,” and Joe paused to look at you, a laugh stuck in his throat, ready to slip out at a moment’s notice, but then he swallowed it when he saw that you’d truly fallen asleep now.

“Sleep tight,” Joe pressed a soft kiss to your forehead, wrapping an arm around your waist, fingers curling 'round the side of it and nuzzling into you before letting himself drift off to sleep as well.

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(yea i added that pic after the portland '24 con bc of what he said, sue me)

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#requested #joe quinn #joseph quinn #joe quinn fanfic #joseph quinn fanfic #joe quinn fluff #joseph quinn fluff #joe quinn x reader #joseph quinn x reader #soft hands

[latibvles]

“a real tough cookie with the whiskey breath.”

oh blind dates oc fest my beloved how i missed you. to the surprise of no one, because i cannot be quiet about anything ever : a MOTA OC this time around. i'm sure this bar probably has a name to be found somewhere on the internet, but until I come across it [ big cartoony shrug ]. anyways, here's Genevieve Laurent, or Gen, if you're friendly. @blind-dates-fest ♡

Tom’s is only a fifteen minute bike ride away. The pay is good, she gets to keep all her tips, and her boss, for lack of a better term — downright adores her.

That’s never been the reason why she’s stuck with it all this time, though. There were better paying jobs in equal distance, and if she really, really wanted to, she thinks she’d do a pretty okay job packing parachutes or something of a similar vein. Respectable work, her mother would call it, which was secret code for: work that will keep you out of trouble, and possibly off the street before midnight. But that was really what it came down to: whether Genevieve wanted to do it. And for all the respect she had for those women, she knew that wasn’t the thing that called to her — not like it did to Claire, who was now off in London with the best and brightest, working in the Foreign Office.

Whatever that meant.

Much more glamorous than Genevieve’s own station, and she’s fairly certain none of their mother’s letters are imploring Claire to quit anytime soon. She was almost apologetic, in a way, that she couldn’t entice her family with letters filled with omissions, with work so secret she could hardly speak of it — but the beer wouldn’t pour itself and somebody had to do it after all those hours in flight.

“Thought you were leaving me out to dry tonight, sweetheart,” There’s a solid hand gripping her shoulder and squeezing, and Tom gives her a smile that’s all crows feet and genuine appreciation. Of course, the place wasn’t actually called Tom’s — but the sign was so faded that she and the other girls just tended to refer to it by the name of their esteemed publican. Genevieve returns the smile.

“And miss out on all this? Wouldn’t dream of it.” As if to accent her point, there’s a wave of hoots and hollering from the floor beyond the bar — no doubt from a bet won or a game of darts coming to its speedy conclusion. The song of the end of the work day. He gives her shoulder a shake, then lets go.

“Do me a favor and take those whiskeys to the table in the back? I think Elsie’s got caught up out there,” she follows his gaze to one of the other girls on shift —Elsie’s smile is easy and the tray on the table is empty, but she’s chatting up a storm at a table of men in brown uniforms. And Genevieve can’t exactly blame her, because while they knew practically every member of the RAF who came in and out on their days off, Americans were a sight to behold. Which is probably why Tom is sending her to the table in the back, with the hopes that she’ll be speedy.

“Yessir,” Genevieve hums, taking the tray of glasses with little fuss, making her way across the bustling floor with practiced hustle.

It’s not the pay that keeps her here, or the warmth of her boss. Not even the fact that she could do every job in this place, if she had to.

Genevieve had a penchant for poking her nose into places for the thrill of it — and there really was no thrill quite like conversation with people who had time to kill and liquor in their systems.

She recognizes the RAF officer at the table: David Griffiths, who Claire knew better than Genevieve did. She’d laughed when Claire told her he joined the RAF, and as an officer, no less. He’d been meek before the war, to put it lightly — maybe that slate-colored uniform and dark blue tie gave him the confidence he once lacked, she didn’t know. And then a couple regulars from around town. So the one in a brown uniform as opposed to their English blue sticks out like a sore thumb, and her curiosity is piqued in spite of David’s attempt to draw her attention with his smile alone.

“Thought old Tom was keeping you in the back tonight.”

“You know, it’s much easier to simply say you missed me, Griffiths,” she hums, leaning over to set down the tray. “Whiskeys for the table, yeah?” David clears his throat and makes a show of adjusting his cuffs, flaunting the new insignia adorning his sleeve as he had for every promotion prior. Genevieve straightens out, wraps her arm around his shoulder to pick off a stray thread.

“Captain Griffiths, congratulations,” Genevieve acknowledges just for the sake of him, then diverts her attention to look over the table, eyes settling on the new face staring right back at her. His dark hair curls over his forehead, with a straight nose and a pretty pair of lips — the wings on his jacket are catching lamplight. The smile on his face is what’s got her the most curious. “And who’ve you brought to cause trouble in Tom’s respectable place of business?”

The smile grows, the stranger leans back in his seat.

“No trouble over here ma’am, not unless you hate singin’.” His voice is deep and gravelly and, well, very American. His tone goes up at the end of the sentence, like it’s a question she’s meant to answer, and Genevieve wonders if it still counts as a bait when she can recognize it for what it is. She raises her brows, David’s hand curls around her wrist loosely as if to remind her that he’s there.

“Only if it’s bad.”

“Best keep your mouth shut then, Major, wouldn’t want to cause a scene,” around them, the other men chuckle at David’s quip — Genevieve pulls her wrist from his barely-there grasp as the Major raises his glass to his lips, before waving a hand dismissively on the swallow.

“Don’t listen to him, I’m like a canary over here.” He draws out each syllable, his smile only growing. She doesn’t believe him for a second.

“Well, Major, make sure not to shatter any glasses with your tunes and you’ll have soothed all my worries,” He chuckles at that, sitting back in the chair and Genevieve looks him up and down rather shamelessly before patting Griffiths’ shoulder. “Enjoy your evening, boys.”

Genevieve knows the feeling well — that sensation of eyes tracking her every movement as she walks away. She’d call it a sixth sense, the way she can make the distinction between the slighted nature of Griffiths’ staring as opposed to the more welcome lingering look of the Major, who’s name she’d surely get by the end of the night. If Claire were here, she’d probably laugh, then apologize to Griffiths for her little sister’s fleeting attention span, accompanied with some remark about how Genevieve had a penchant for things shiny and new. Genevieve would beg to differ and say it was more like she had a penchant for the things she didn’t understand.

And so what if she liked the staring, and leaving the air more charged than she’d found it?

Regardless of the interaction, the night wears on, and so long as the taps are flowing Genevieve is busy enough to keep from staring at the back table for too long. At some point, they stand up and make their way toward the dartboard (and Elsie with them, who shoots her a wink from across the room that has her laughing and Tom groaning from their spots behind the bar). Luckily, she’s only gone for maybe fifteen minutes — and she comes back with orders for Tom, before scurrying over and leaning forward on the bar.

“Better straighten up over there, Genny,” Elsie leans forward further to tuck one of Genevieve’s stray hairs behind her ear.

“Back from your mission so soon?”

“Well I had to make sure the prize was in place.” Genevieve raises an inquisitive brow.

“And that means..?”

“It means—” Elsie is effectively cut off by another round of hollering, and Genevieve knows the grin on the other girl’s face all too well. Elsie turns around and she follows the girl’s eyes to several things. One, Griffiths walking out of the pub, two, Major Canary laughing as he makes his way over and three, a conglomerate of Irishmen clapping his shoulders and shaking them in congratulations. “Well now we know who the winner is. Good luck!”

Before Genevieve can get a word in, Elsie’s scurrying back over to Tom on the other end of the bar to grab the drinks he’s lined up. She turns her back to the floor, but still hears a heavy exhale as someone takes a seat behind her. Then she tilts her head to look, and makes little attempt to withhold her smile as the dots connect fairly quickly in her head.

“Major Canary,” Genevieve hums in greeting. “Am I getting you anything?”

“Whiskey’s fine,” He looks around, like he’s taking a survey of the room, then turns to rest both elbows on the polished wood as she grabs one of the glasses that’s already dried. “Think you got me in trouble with your boyfriend back there,” he laments with a grin, running his thumb over his bottom lip.

“Who, me?” Genevieve slides the glass along the countertop. “You might have the wrong girl, sir.”

“Oh? What makes you say that?” He takes that tone again — so clearly baiting her and Genevieve is, admittedly, a little too eager to take what he’s giving this time.

“Well for one, I don’t have a boyfriend,” she hums, holding up the pointer finger, and then her middle one, “And two, I’m willing to wager it was the dart game that got you in trouble, Major.” She slides the glass over the countertop, and he takes it. He’s closer now than he was at the table — she can finally make out that his eyes are blue, like the RAF uniforms.

“Yeah? How much are you willing to bet?”

“Well, how much did you earn in your game? Must’ve been a hefty sum for the Captain to walk out like that.” Genevieve leans forward on the bar now, tilting her head as she looks at him, already knowing the answer. His eyes flit over her face and down the length of her neck, following the curve of her shape before the bar cuts off his vantage point, then he goes back to returning her stare. He brings the glass to his lips, then licks off the excess before he opens his mouth again.

“A shot with the pretty girl serving drinks tonight? Pretty priceless if you ask me.”

“Well that’s a line if I’ve ever heard one,” Genevieve remarks with an airy laugh.

“But it made you laugh. Must be doing something right.” He counters, and she laughs again with a roll of her eyes. “See? Just did it again.” Genevieve shakes her head slightly.

“Well if my company’s so priceless why haven’t you asked my name yet? Bragging rights and all that.” It’s hardly the bait of their earlier conversation — but it’s something, and she wonders if he recognizes it for what it is, like she had at the table. He finishes off the glass, pushing it back to her with his fingertips and holding her gaze all-the-while.

“Well my bragging was gonna be making you laugh ‘till your boss throws me out, but I should probably get the name so I know who to ask for next time, right?” She takes his glass, and moves to fill it again — feeling both like the belle of a ball and like one of those wood logs in a fireplace crumbling into charcoals, giving off sparks. Somewhere in the back of her head, Claire is screaming at her to stop dancing so close to cliffsides before she takes a tumble she’ll regret, but right now she doesn’t feel any ground giving way beneath her feet.

“Genevieve. Gen, if you’re friendly.” She hums out, taking her time on his refill with the express purpose of keeping him there a little longer. The laugh he lets out is breathy, almost disbelieving, and she looks back up at him through her lashes. “Your turn, or should I just keep calling you Major Canary?”

“My turn, she says,” he mutters, probably more to himself than her even if she can hear it. She passes the glass back over. “Well if we’re being friendly it’s Bucky. Egan.” He exaggerates it — the word friendly, but Genevieve’s really hanging on the ‘if’. She feels almost like a kid picking apart words to prove her point. She should’ve been a lawyer. ‘If’ meant she had options, and maybe she feels a little prideful; to know she has control of where this thing goes. It’s a rush. The kind she wouldn’t get packing parachutes or up in an office. The kind only another person could give her.

The ground gives a little beneath her feet, but Genevieve is undeterred.

“But I take it you’re aiming for a little more than that, is that right, Bucky?”

The smug grin on his face is as much of an answer as any.

And it excites her down to her bones.

#masters of the air #john egan x ofc #masters of the air oc #mota fic #mota fanfic #mota fanfiction #blind dates oc fest 2024 #. genevieve laurent #...yes there's France lore #I’ve got lady pilots existing in my docs Now but By God Tom’s Girls stole my keys. I just think they’re neat #took a little inspo from a historical fiction book I read for Claire admittedly #shoutout bletchley park codebreakers #this one for all my little sisters with academically gifted big sisters [ raises hand ]

[freetheshit-outofyou]

@sadrcitysocialclub, In reference to the PTSD post. Folks often say "Man, you left the war 17 years ago, it can't hurt that bad anymore." what they don't understand is it was 17 years ago for them, it was last night for me. "June 26, 2007, 3:51 PM

By Brian Mockenhaupt

I Miss Iraq. I Miss My Gun. I Miss My War.

A year after coming home from a tour in Iraq, a soldier returns home to find out he left something behind.

A few months ago, I found a Web site loaded with pictures and videos from Iraq, the sort that usually aren't seen on the news. I watched insurgent snipers shoot American soldiers and car bombs disintegrate markets, accompanied by tinny music and loud, rhythmic chanting, the soundtrack of the propaganda campaigns. Video cameras focused on empty stretches of road, building anticipation. Humvees rolled into view and the explosions brought mushroom clouds of dirt and smoke and chunks of metal spinning through the air. Other videos and pictures showed insurgents shot dead while planting roadside bombs or killed in firefights and the remains of suicide bombers, people how they're not meant to be seen, no longer whole. The images sickened me, but their familiarity pulled me in, giving comfort, and I couldn't stop. I clicked through more frames, hungry for it. This must be what a shot of dope feels like after a long stretch of sobriety. Soothing and nauseating and colored by everything that has come before. My body tingled and my stomach ached, hollow. I stood on weak legs and walked into the kitchen to make dinner. I sliced half an onion before putting the knife down and watching slight tremors run through my hand. The shakiness lingered. I drank a beer. And as I leaned against this kitchen counter, in this house, in America, my life felt very foreign.

I've been home from Iraq for more than a year, long enough for my time there to become a memory best forgotten for those who worried every day that I was gone. I could see their relief when I returned. Life could continue, with futures not so uncertain. But in quiet moments, their relief brought me guilt. Maybe they assume I was as overjoyed to be home as they were to have me home. Maybe they assume if I could do it over, I never would have gone. And maybe I wouldn't have. But I miss Iraq. I miss the war. I miss war. And I have a very hard time understanding why.

I'm glad to be home, to have put away my uniforms, to wake up next to my wife each morning. I worry about my friends who are in Iraq now, and I wish they weren't. Often I hated being there, when the frustrations and lack of control over my life were complete and mind-bending. I questioned my role in the occupation and whether good could come of it. I wondered if it was worth dying or killing for. The suffering and ugliness I saw disgusted me. But war twists and shifts the landmarks by which we navigate our lives, casting light on darkened areas that for many people remain forever unexplored. And once those darkened spaces are lit, they become part of us. At a party several years ago, long before the Army, I listened to a friend who had served several years in the Marines tell a woman that if she carried a pistol for a day, just tucked in her waistband and out of sight, she would feel different. She would see the world differently, for better or worse. Guns empower. She disagreed and he shrugged. No use arguing the point; he was just offering a little piece of truth. He was right, of course. And that's just the beginning.

I've spent hours taking in the world through a rifle scope, watching life unfold. Women hanging laundry on a rooftop. Men haggling over a hindquarter of lamb in the market. Children walking to school. I've watched this and hoped that someday I would see that my presence had made their lives better, a redemption of sorts. But I also peered through the scope waiting for someone to do something wrong, so I could shoot him. When you pick up a weapon with the intent of killing, you step onto a very strange and serious playing field. Every morning someone wakes wanting to kill you. When you walk down the street, they are waiting, and you want to kill them, too. That's not bloodthirsty; that's just the trade you've learned. And as an American soldier, you have a very impressive toolbox. You can fire your rifle or lob a grenade, and if that's not enough, call in the tanks, or helicopters, or jets. The insurgents have their skill sets, too, turning mornings at the market into chaos, crowds into scattered flesh, Humvees into charred scrap. You're all part of the terrible magic show, both powerful and helpless.

That men are drawn to war is no surprise. How old are boys before they turn a finger and thumb into a pistol? Long before they love girls, they love war, at least everything they imagine war to be: guns and explosions and manliness and courage. When my neighbors and I played war as kids, there was no fear or sorrow or cowardice. Death was temporary, usually as fast as you could count to sixty and jump back into the game. We didn't know yet about the darkness. And young men are just slightly older versions of those boys, still loving the unknown, perhaps pumped up on dreams of duty and heroism and the intoxicating power of weapons. In time, war dispels many such notions, and more than a few men find that being freed from society's professed revulsion to killing is really no freedom at all, but a lonely burden. Yet even at its lowest points, war is like nothing else. Our culture craves experience, and that is war's strong suit. War peels back the skin, and you live with a layer of nerves exposed, overdosing on your surroundings, when everything seems all wrong and just right, in a way that makes perfect sense. And then you almost die but don't, and are born again, stoned on life and mocking death. The explosions and gunfire fry your nerves, but you want to hear them all the same. Something's going down.

For those who know, this is the open secret: War is exciting. Sometimes I was in awe of this, and sometimes I felt low and mean for loving it, but I loved it still. Even in its quiet moments, war is brighter, louder, brasher, more fun, more tragic, more wasteful. More. More of everything. And even then I knew I would someday miss it, this life so strange. Today the war has distilled to moments and feelings, and somewhere in these memories is the reason for the wistfulness.

On one mission we slip away from our trucks and into the night. I lead the patrol through the darkness, along canals and fields and into the town, down narrow, hard-packed dirt streets. Everyone has gone to bed, or is at least inside. We peer through gates and over walls into courtyards and into homes. In a few rooms TVs flicker. A woman washes dishes in a tub. Dogs bark several streets away. No one knows we are in the street, creeping. We stop at intersections, peek around corners, training guns on parked cars, balconies, and storefronts. All empty. We move on. From a small shop up ahead, we hear men's voices and laughter. Maybe they used to sit outside at night, but now they are indoors, where it's safe. Safer. The sheet-metal door opens and a man steps out, cigarette and lighter in hand. He still wears a smile, takes in the cool night air, and then nearly falls backward through the doorway in a panic. I'm a few feet from him now and his eyes are wide. I mutter a greeting and we walk on, back into the darkness.

Another night we're lost in a dust storm. I'm in the passenger seat, trying to guide my driver and the three trucks behind us through this brown maelstrom. The headlights show nothing but swirling dirt. We've driven these roads for months, we know them well, but we see nothing. So we drive slow, trying to stay out of canals and people's kitchens. We curse and we laugh. This is bizarre but a great deal of fun.

Another night my platoon sergeant's truck is swallowed in flames, a terrible, beautiful, boiling bloom of red and orange and yellow, lighting the darkness for a moment. Somehow we don't die, one more time.

Another night, there's McCarthy bitching, the cherry of his cigarette bobbing in the dark, bitching that he won't be on the assault team, that he's stuck as a turret gunner for the night. We'd been out since early that morning, came back for dinner, and are preparing to raid a weapons dealer. Our first real raid. I heave my body armor onto my shoulders, settling its too-familiar weight. Then the helmet and first-aid kit and maps and radio and ammunition and rifle and all the rest. Now I look like everyone else, an arm of this strange and destructive organism, covered in armor and guns. We crowd around a satellite map spread across a Humvee hood and trace our route. Wells, my squad leader, rehearses our movements. Get in quick. Watch the danger zones. If he has a gun, kill him. I look around the group, at these faces I know so well, and feel the collective strength, this ridiculous power. The camaraderie of men in arms plays a part, for sure. The shared misery and euphoria and threat of death. But there is something more: the surrender of self, voluntary or not, to the machine. Do I believe in the war? Not important. Put that away and live in the moment, where little is knowable and even less is controllable, when my world narrows to one street, one house, one room, one door.

We pack into the trucks after midnight, and the convoy snakes out of camp and speeds toward the target house. I sit in a backseat and the fear settles in, a sharp burning in my stomach, same as the knot from hard liquor gulped too fast. I think about the knot. I'll be the first through the door. What if he starts shooting, hits me right in the face before I'm even through the doorway? What if there's two, or three? What if he pitches a grenade at us? And I think about it more and run through the scenarios, planning my movements, imagining myself clearing through the rooms, firing two rounds into the chest, and the knot fades.

The trucks drop us off several blocks from the target house and we slip into the night. As always, the dogs bark. We gather against the high wall outside the house and call in the trucks to block the streets. The action will pass in a flash. But here, before the chaos starts, when we're stacked against the wall, my friends' bodies pressed against me, hearing their quick breaths and my own, there's a moment to appreciate the gravity, the absurdity, the novelty, the joy of the moment. Is this real? Hearts beat strong. Hands grip tight on weapons. Reassurance. The rest of the world falls away. Who knows what's on the other side?

One, two, three, go. We push past the gate and across the courtyard and toward the house, barrels locked on the windows and roof. Wells runs up with the battering ram, a short, heavy pipe with handles, and launches it toward the massive wood door. The lock explodes, the splintered door flies open, and we rush through, just the way we've practiced hundreds of times. No one shoots me in the face. No grenades roll to my feet. I kick open doors. We scan darkened bedrooms with the flashlights on our rifles and move on to the next and the next.

He's gone, of course. We ransack his house, dumping drawers, flipping mattresses, punching holes in the ceiling. We find rifles and grenades and hundreds of pounds of gunpowder. And then, near dawn, we lie down on the thick carpets in his living room and sleep, exhausted and untroubled.

Many, many raids followed. We often raided houses late at night, so people awakened to soldiers bursting through their bedroom doors. Women and children wailed, terrified. Taking this in, I imagined what it would feel like if soldiers kicked down my door at midnight, if I could do nothing to protect my family. I would hate those soldiers. Yet I still reveled in the raids, their intensity and uncertainty. The emotions collided, without resolution.

My wife moved to Iraq partway through my second deployment to live in the north and train Iraqi journalists. She spent her evenings at restaurants and tea shops with her Iraqi friends. We spoke by cell phone, when the spotty network allowed, and she told me about this life I couldn't imagine, celebrating holidays with her colleagues and being invited into their homes. I didn't have any Iraqi friends, save for our few translators, and I'd rarely been invited into anyone's home. I told her of my life, the tedious days and frightful seconds, and she worried that in all of this I would lose my thoughtfulness and might stop questioning and just accept. But she didn't judge the work that I did, and I didn't tell her that I sometimes enjoyed it, that for stretches of time I didn't think about the greater implications, that it sometimes seemed like a game. I didn't tell her that death felt ever present and far away, and that either way, it didn't really seem to matter.

We both came back from Iraq, luckier than many. Two of my wife's students have been killed, among the scores of journalists to die in Iraq, and guys I served with are still dying, too. One came home from the war and shot himself on Thanksgiving. Another was blown up on Christmas in Baghdad.

Thinking of them, I felt disgusted with myself for missing the war and wondered if I was alone in this.

I don't think I am.

After watching the Internet videos, I called some of my friends who are out of the Army now, and they miss the war, too. Wells very nearly died in Iraq. A sniper shot him in the head, surgeons cut out half of his skull—a story told in this magazine last April—and he spent months in therapy, working back to his old self. Now he misses the high. "I don't want to sound like a psychopath, but you're like a god over there," he says. "It might not be the best kind of adrenaline for you, but it's a rush." Before Iraq, he didn't care for horror movies, and now he's drawn to them. He watches them for the little thrill, the rush of being startled, if just for a moment.

McCarthy misses the war just the same. He saved Wells's life, pressing a bandage over the hole in his head. Now he's delivering construction materials to big hotel projects along the beach in South Carolina, waiting for a police department to process his application. "The monotony is killing me," he told me, en route to deliver some rebar. "I want to go on a raid. I want something to blow up. I want something to change today." He wants the unknown. "Anything can happen, and it does happen. And all of the sudden your world is shattered, and everything has changed. It's living dangerously. You're living on the edge. And you're the baddest motherfucker around."

Mortal danger heightens the senses. That is simple animal instinct. We're more aware of how our world smells and sounds and tastes. This distorts and enriches experiences. Now I can have everything, but it's not as good as when I could have none of it. McCarthy and I stood on a rooftop one afternoon in Iraq running through a long list of the food we wanted. We made it to homemade pizza and icy beer when someone loosed a long burst of gunfire that cracked over our heads. We ran to the other side of the rooftop, but the gunman had disappeared down a long alleyway. Today my memory of that pizza and beer is stronger than if McCarthy and I had sat down together with the real thing before us.

And today we even speak with affection of wrestling a dead man into a body bag, because that was then. The bullet had laid his thigh wide open, shattered the femur, and shredded the artery, so he'd bled out fast, pumping much of his blood onto the sidewalk. We unfolded and unzipped the nylon sack and laid it alongside him. And then we stared for a moment, none of us ready to close that distance. I grabbed his forearm and dropped it, maybe instinct, maybe revulsion. He hovered so near this world, having just passed over, that he seemed to be sucking life from me, pulling himself back or taking me with him. He peeked at us through a half-opened eye. I stared down on him, his massive dead body, and again wrapped a hand around his wrist, thick and warm. The man was huge, taller than six feet and close to 250 pounds. We strained with the awkward weight, rolled him into the bag, and zipped him out of sight. My platoon sergeant gave two neighborhood kids five dollars to wash away the congealing puddle of blood. But the red handprint stayed on the wall, where the man had tried to brace himself before he fell. I think about him sometimes, splayed out on the sidewalk, and I think of how lucky I was never to have put a friend in one of those bags. Or be put in one myself.

But the memories, good and bad, are only part of the reason war holds its grip long after soldiers have come home. The war was urgent and intense and the biggest story going, always on the news stations and magazine covers. At home, though, relearning everyday life, the sense of mission can be hard to find. And this is not just about dim prospects and low-paying jobs in small towns. Leaving the war behind can be a letdown, regardless of opportunity or education or the luxuries waiting at home. People I'd never met sent me boxes of cookies and candy throughout my tours. When I left for two weeks of leave, I was cheered at airports and hugged by strangers. At dinner with my family one night, a man from the next table bought me a $400 bottle of wine. I was never quite comfortable with any of this, but they were heady moments nonetheless.For my friends who are going back to Iraq or are there already, there is little enthusiasm. Any fondness for war is tainted by the practicalities of operating and surviving in combat. Wells and McCarthy and I can speak of the war with nostalgia because we belong to a different world now. And yet there is little to say, because we are scattered, far from those who understand.

When I came home, people often asked me about Iraq, and mostly I told them it wasn't so bad. The first few times, my wife asked me why I had been so blithe. Why didn't I tell them what Iraq was really like? I didn't know how to explain myself to them. The war really wasn't so bad. Yes, there were bombs and shootings and nervous times, but that was just the job. In fact, going to war is rather easy. You react to situations around you and try not to die. There are no electric bills or car payments or chores around the house. Just go to work, come home alive, and do it again tomorrow. McCarthy calls it pure and serene. Indeed. Life at home can be much more trying. But I didn't imagine the people asking would understand that. I didn't care much if they did, and often it seemed they just wanted a war story, a bit of grit and gore. If they really want to know, they can always find out for themselves. But they don't, they just want a taste of the thrill. We all do. We covet life outside our bubble. That's why we love tragedy, why we love hearing about war and death on the television, drawn to it in spite of ourselves. We gawk at accident scenes and watch people humiliate themselves on reality shows and can't wait to replay the events for friends, as though in retelling the story we make it our own, if just for a moment.

We live easy third-person lives but want a bit of the darkness. War fascinates because we live so far from its realities. Maybe we'd feel differently about watching bombs blow up on TV if we saw them up close, if we knew how explosions rip the air, throttle your brain, and make your ears ring, if we knew the strain of wondering whether the car next to you at a traffic light would explode or a bomb would land on your house as you sleep. I don't expect Iraqi soldiers would ever miss war. I have that luxury. I came home to peace, to a country that hasn't seen war within its borders for nearly 150 years. Yes, some boys come home dead. But we live here without the other terrors and tragedies of war—cities flattened and riven with chaos and fear, neighbors killing one another, a people made forever weary by the violence.

And so I miss it.

Every day in Iraq, if you have a job that takes you outside the wire, you stop just before the gate and make your final preparation for war. You pull out a magazine stacked with thirty rounds of ammunition, weighing just over a pound. You slide it into the magazine well of your rifle and smack it with the heel of your hand, driving it up. You pull the rifle's charging handle, draw the bolt back, and release. The bolt slides forward with a metallic snap, catching the top round and shoving it into the barrel. Chak-chuk. If I hear that a half century from now, I will know it in an instant. Unmistakable, and pregnant with possibility. On top of a diving board, as the grade-school-science explanation goes, you are potential energy. On the way down, you are kinetic energy. So I leave the gate and step off the diving board, my energy transformed."

[morallyinept]

A full transcribe of COMANDANTE VERACRUZ'S dialogue/lines from the film BURN NOTICE: THE FALL OF SAM AXE

Includes full dialogue, and dialogue from any deleted/additional scenes available.

I've created this as a point of reference when writing for Pedro's characters, and I hope you find it useful. Even if you just want to read the dialogue. 🖤

FULL MASTERLIST OF PEDRO CHARACTERS DIALOGUE

☝🏻Dialogue has been fully transcribed by myself using reference to original scripts (if available), audio subtitles and using my own two ears. Therefore, mistakes can be made, however I have tried to be as fully accurate as I can. If you spot an obvious mistake, please kindly let me know. Where audio is not clear, I have marked with *inaudible* Scenes are separated for ease of reference.

FULL SCRIPT DIALOGUE:

It is a pleasure, Commander Axe! 

I believe we have mutual acquaintances, trained at the School of the Americas in 92’. 

No, no, no, you mean “The Terror”, of course. 

We have intelligence that Espada Ardiente is planning to attack an international clinic run by a group called “Doctors for All.”

Unfortunately, yes. Until now they have stayed clear of civilian targets, the clinic sits in a strategic pass in the mountains. We believe the terrorists want to use it to take control of that region. 

Fantastic, please. 

__________________

I’m sorry doctor, but our intelligence indicates there may be an attack. 

That would be best. We can give you until tomorrow-

__________________

She may be with one of the terrorists. We caught her sneaking into one of the trucks. 

Of course. Of course, of course… (In Spanish) Let her go. Sorry, miss. 

We will make camp nearby. If there is an attack, we will be ready. 

__________________

Fantastic. Perhaps you would like to relax, eat some supper? My men and I are going to scout the area. 

Actually, señor. It is better if you stay here. 

Oh, I am sure you can, Commander Axe, but I am responsible for your safety. If we make contact with the terrorists we will come for you immediately. 

__________________

We destroy the clinic. And I shoot the American in the head. 

__________________

Did you hear anything else?

It’s okay, you still have an important role to this mission, señor Garcia. When I tell the Americans what happened, I will say you bravely tried to fight off the Espada Ardiente. But sadly, you were killed. 

Throw his body in the ravine and take pictures for the report. 

With the American gone, there’s no use waiting. We will destroy the clinic ourselves and make the report. 

__________________

(In Spanish) Who fired?

(In Spanish) Who fired? I didn’t give the order to fire! 

__________________

How did you escape?

We searched for you everywhere. When the terrorists blew up the clinic, we feared the worst. 

Yes, they are. Now you see why we need your help fighting this menace. 

Excellent. Good to have you back, Commander Axe. 

(In Spanish) Let him finish cleaning up. We’ll gather the men. 

__________________

The men are ready. We should start looking for the terrorists before they have time to move.

__________________

(In Spanish) Hola, señor Axe. 

What is the delay?

Yes, I can see. You… are an excellent tracker. You are also an excellent liar. 

I just spoke with Department Governor Perez. His men intercepted your call an hour ago. I… I am hurt you think so little of me. You honestly thought I would take no precautions? 

No. 

No, I don’t think it is a misunderstanding. I think I understand very well. Now… show me where they are on the map. 

I might. I might not. The question is whether you want to die here or keep breathing a bit longer and hope you prove useful enough to save. Show me where the camp is. If you are wrong, I’ll put a bullet in your brain and maybe that will help you remember. 

(In Spanish) Where are you? Get over here!

__________________

(In Spanish) We think they’re hiding in a building in the valley. 

(In Spanish) Whatever it is, it will be gone shortly. 

__________________

(In Spanish) Why are they stopping?

__________________

(In Spanish) Tell the men to stop shooting. 

(In Spanish) Do it!

(In Spanish) You hear that? They’re barely shooting. Attack! 

__________________

(In Spanish) It looks undefended. We should be able to destroy… What the hell? 

(In Spanish) It’s the American… 

Our surrender? Is that supposed to be funny?

Count a dozen men with old rifles. Farmers by the looks of them. 

You’re bluffing. 

We should finish him. 

(In Spanish) Get out! Get out of the trucks now! 

__________________

DELETED SCENE:

(In Spanish) Have the men spread out. On my signal…. we move out. 

Shoot them. 

We have a job to do, Capitan. We were asked to supply a massacre. Is there a problem? 

__________________

FULL MASTERLIST OF PEDRO CHARACTERS DIALOGUE

#pedro pascal #comandante veracruz #pedro pascal characters #comandante veracruz burn notice the fall of sam axe #burn notice the fall of sam axe #PPCU #comandante veracruz dialogue

[gaitwae]

Where do you think all of the star trek captains would take their students on a field trip?

Hoooooo boy. What a question. I haven't seen LD, yet, and I'm not touching Discovery. Here we go!

Jonathan Archer: He would take his kids* to the aquarium. He's notoriously known as the "cool" field tripper. He seems to have the kids figured out, but somehow, there's always an accident or a kid missing and he swears he's never going to do it ever again. Someone hits their head on the glass or gets lost in the jellyfish section. 4/10 field tripper.

Christopher Pike: He would take his students to an art or history museum and make a big, scary speech upfront about how there would absolutely be NO messing around and if anyone breaks anything, they're going to get in big trouble, mister! He ends up the one screwing around with students, though, but nothing is harmed and no one is lost. Una keeps him on track so they can see the whole museum. 8/10 field tripper.

Jim Kirk: This guy is a Lugnuts** game field tripper. He wanted to go and there was a discount. He'd say there were math benefits or something and give them all a worksheet to fill out about statistics or safety or etc on the bus. No one is lost, but there might be a fight or two after sitting the wrong kids together in the stands. 7/10 field tripper.

Jean-Luc Picard: 100% to an art museum, no if ands or buts. He'd keep strict attendance and yell at anyone who dares touch any of the exhibits. I think there would be tears at one point but overall an excellent field trip. He'd know some obscure knowledge about every piece and it would be soothing to hear, and he's also really having a fun time with the kids. Tight leash on his students, no fights, no missing kids. 10/10 field tripper.

Benjamin Sisko: Lugnuts gamer as well, but also maybe a capital building or botanical grounds and gardens. Most of his field trips have educational value and he wants his kids to learn something that will stick with them the rest of their lives. He lets them have free reign and usually no one ends up missing. They'd all meet up for lunch halfway through and everyone appreciates how he treats them as if they have their own minds. 10/10 field tripper.

Kathryn Janeway: Also known as the "mom" field tripper, she'll probably take you through a city you've never seen before or the zoo. She's got simple field trips but always always always a dead-set purpose. She's got wiggle room for just-in-cases and lets the kids split into groups with chaperones. She'll yell if you get out of line. Sometimes people go missing but she always gets them back within half an hour. 9.5/10 field tripper. (Would go higher but there was someone crying... so...)

*I'm assuming this is a school-friendly field trip setting, so think average school institution budget kind of field trips. **The Lansing Lugnuts are a minor league baseball team in the American Midwest.

#star trek tng #star trek tos #star trek snw #star trek ds9 #star trek enterprise #star trek voyager #kathryn janeway #benjamin sisko #christopher pike #jim kirk #jean luc picard #jonathan archer #gaitwae writes #asks! #send me asks! #mytardisisparked #myenterpriseisparked #to boldly blog

[heejayy]

Shuri U. || Jealousy

Warning • slight swearing

Genre • angst, fluff towards the end

Pairing • Shuri x Black Fem! Reader

It’s been hours since Shuri promised you she’d come to bed. She’s still stuck in that lab with that American girl, she invited her to come back and now it’s like she won’t leave. You had left the room a while yet they haven’t noticed you staring at them from outside of the glass cubicle as they were in giggling away.

“You know staring is not going to fix a thing y/n” Okoye spoke sneaking up on you. If you weren’t so in your head you would’ve been startled.

“It will, if I stare long enough they’ll notice and it’ll make them as uncomfortable as they made me” Okoye scoffed shaking her head.

“I’m so sick of this she’s been down here with that American girl all day, she hasn’t spared me one glance” you huffed finally turning your full attention to general. She gave you a slight confused and amused look “y/n aren’t you…American?”

You narrowed your eyes at her “that’s not the point, plus I’ve been here longer so technically I’m Wakadan” she chuckled shaking her head.

“Well of you’re feeling jealous talk to Shuri don’t sulk and hide your feeling like a child, that’ll solve nothing.” You huffed again feeling that feeling of frustration and anxiety set in.

“I need some rest, I’ll see you later” you gave her weak smile walking away.

Unfortunately your mind was running a fucking race and you couldn’t get any sleep so you decided to call your old friend back in the US.

“Oh my god he’s so adorable!” You squealed at your friend Adam’s new puppy on FaceTime.

“Ah thanks,” he smiled moving the puppy out of the frame “so how’ve you been?” He asked with a worried expression. You sighed not really wanting to bore him with the details.

“I don’t know it’s just my girlfriend- she’s been hanging out with this girl from the states and has been ignoring me all week, I go to her and ask her if she wants to hang out it’s always ‘oh no I’m busy maybe later’ it’s truly frustrating and i-“

“Ok take a breather,” he chuckled “have you spoken to her?” You rolled your eyes.

“Didn’t I just say she doesn’t have the time?” You ask letting out a frustrated laugh.

“I mean really talked her like pulled her aside and told her how you feel?” He elaborated. You got quiet and began to pick the lent off your shirt “not really…” he sighed rolled his eyes.

“Oh please Adam you know I’m a horrible communicator!” Just as you were about to say something else Shuri walked through your bedroom door with a small knock.

“Hey usana (baby) I thought you were staying in my room tonight” she gave you a playfully smile as she walked over to you. She better be lucky you even stayed in the palace instead of going home.

“I just wanted to-“

“Who’s that?” She asked cutting you off noticing your friend on the phone “oh this is just Adam, say hey Adam” he waved to Shuri with a wide friendly smile, but shuri looked unamused with this guy she didn’t know on your phone.

“I don’t think I’ve even met this…Adam” she spoke his name like it was the most vile thing that has left her mouth. You shifted uncomfortably clearing your throat, “you haven’t he was my old roommate before I transferred colleges.” She cocked an eyebrow nodding slowly

“Well don’t stay on the phone too long, I miss you” she smiled as she grabbed your chin giving you a kiss making sure it was in the camera frame.

“Don’t be long” she smirked before leaving.

How embarrassing, you thought.

“Well she seems lovely” Adam grinned as his face slowly turned red.

“The nerve of her!”

You stayed on call with Adam for about another hour before heading to Shuri’s room, but when you checked she wasn’t there.

Of course she wasn’t.

You wondered your way down to her lab to see her with Riri together again for the thousandth time this week. “I thought you said your wanted to go to sleep?” She didn’t even flinch at the sound of your voice.

“Well you were busy and we couldn’t sleep.”

“We?” You asked becoming slightly more aggravated.

“Yeah I called her down cause I couldn’t sleep and she couldn’t either” Riri spoke up with that ear to ear grin she’s always wearing.

Sickening, you thought.

You rolled your eye and began to tap your foot annoyed. Shuri picked up on your actions but didn’t say anything.

“Shuri can I speak to you…alone?” Shuri didn’t move an inch at your question.

“Shuri!” You finally snapped losing all your patience with this girl. Riri’s body jolted at your outburst and awkwardly looked between you two “I-I’ll leave if you need me to” she sat down her tools and hastily made her way out the lab.

“What do you want and why are you being rude?” She asked annoyed turning to face you.

“What do I want?! What I want is a little attention from my girlfriend! Maybe I’m being a selfish jealous bitch but I feel like you’re pulling away from me! Every time she visits you just disappear. Yeah maybe I’m not as smart as you and half the time I have no idea what you the fuck you’re talking about when it come to this science shit but that doesn’t mean I don’t care and it doesn’t mean you should exclude me!”

You could feel your body shaking from anger and tears threatening to spill. It’s one of the reason you hate being confrontational.

“What about that boy you were talking to huh?” You furrowed you eyebrow on confusion. “Adam?! Me and Adam has never had anything going on we’re just friends, and how dare you try to get mad and turn this on me when you didn’t even acknowledge me when you and riri were down here giggling having the time of your life’s” she stayed silent hanging her head low while clenching and unclenching her jaw.

“If we can’t make time for each other while also making time for our friends I don’t think this is gonna work” her head shot up “what do you mean?”

You bit the inside of your cheek looking away “I- just forget it” you sigh walking away from the whole situation.

Shuri was now pissed and confused, she didn’t fully understand why you lashed out on her and Riri. All she knew as you were upset and gone now she has to fix it, but first she needed some advice from someone she fully trusted, someone she saw as family.

Shuri found herself in Okoyes living room with a blanket and a cup of tea. “I don’t understand she hasn’t said anything at all and now all of sudden she angry about us hanging out?” Okoye sighed at the young clueless queen.

“Shuri my child you are blind if you haven’t noticed your girlfriends blatant emotions, y/n might try to hide things but she’s truly is a horrible liar” she chuckled as she took a sip of her tea then placed it on the table “She’s been feeling this way for quite some time.”

“So she hates Riri, what am I suppose to do?” Okoye rolled her eyes shaking her head.

“You are very smart when it comes to science but clueless to love” Shuri took a sharp breath in offended by her words. “she does not hate Riri she hates the fact you give Riri more attention than her, she just wants reassurance from you that’s all. And yes it may be a little insecure and childish but you two are still young and figuring this whole love thing out” Shuri nodded slowly understanding your outbursts now.

“Ok I’ll go to her. Hopefully she doesn’t hate me, and please stay I want to do this alone” Okoye gave one of her rare smiles to the young queen who hurried out of her home.

Shuri pinpointed your last location to the apartment you bought when you first moved to Wakanda. She stood outside of your door for what seemed like centuries trying to gain the courage to knock. She finally knocked hearing a few noises before you opened the door “I don’t want to speak to you now go home.”

“My love just hear me out I understand now” she begged have her hand on the door trying to keep it open. You shook your head, you wanted to hear what she had to say so you opened the door wide enough for her to enter.

“You got 5 minutes, speak” normally she corrects you when you speak to her wish such attitude but she let it slide this time.

“Okay so what I want to start off with is that I’m terribly sorry my love, I never meant to make you feel like I didn’t love nor want you anymore. I just get so excited and caught up in the moment when we work together” she scooted closer to you hoping you wouldn’t mind.

“I hope you can forgive me I truly am sorry for making you feel like you were less important, you are my top priority above everything I swear” you poked out your lips out pouting, you now felt like you were being dramatic. You never wanted to pull Shuri away from her friends or the thing she loves most besides you which is science.

“No Shuri I’m the one that should be sorry, I lashed out and embarrassed you in front of your company. I’m so sorry” you held you head down low in shame feeling heat creep up your cheeks.

“It’s ok baby I promise we just have to work on communicating better” she let out quiet giggle reaching for your hand to hold in hers.

You leaned your head on her shoulder as she held you closer “I love you very much I hope you know that” she said leaving a kiss on your forehead.

“I love you more my Shuri.”

#shuri x reader #shuri x black!reader #shuri imagine #shuri angst #shuri fluff #mcu #black panther #wakanda forever #letitia wright #shuri udaku #mcu imagine

[goldeneyedgirl]

12 Kisses: january: lingering, korean alice.

So I decided I'm going to try to fill one of these kiss prompts each month this year, each with a different one of my fic verses. They'll just be little warm up fics, and hopefully get me over this fic-writing block I've got. Of course, January's is late because I didn't decide to tackle this until three days ago. So you get two kiss fics this month.

Today, Korean Alice and her first meeting with Jasper. A little more world-building, and that first date from her point of view. I missed this verse, it's so different to what I normally write. I hope you enjoy!

twelve kisses. january: korean alice [ lingering ] a long, slow kiss filled with emotion & desire

Alice doesn’t know what she’s thinking, truly.

It started simply - most of her visions, she ignores. They leave her with the memory of a headache and information she can rarely use. And she’s almost always so tired that they can’t get through properly. Ratana and her people always forget that she needs food, water, and rest.

So when she sees it, just a glimpse, she has to grab it.

(How many days and how many nights had she wondered what it would be like to fall in love? For that one person to appear and just… love her. Like her. Care about her. A person who was hers. It was all she had wanted for such a very long time.)

Jasper Cullen is perfect. And the minute she sees him in person, she loves him. Everything about him. It’s worth everything she had to negotiate with Ratana in that moment. And when she sees him smile? Well, she’d pay double.

It takes almost nothing to get him to approach her. He studies her carefully, and for once she feels pretty and desirable and special. She tries to take care of her clothing, to tailor the things she finds and sew new things, but she also knows that no manner of clever sewing or embroidery can cover up how well-loved her clothing is. No tailoring can fix that she’s too thin, too small, for her age.

And he still approached her, his gaze unwavering. He’s so tall, and he moves like all the leading men in the black-and-white films she watches. Like he might be coming to sweep her off her feet.

She’s being ridiculous.

(Maybe she understands all those girls who fell for American soldiers during the war a little bit better right now. He’s perfect.)

It happens just the way she saw, the way he comes over and helps her down and starts speaking in English before attempting some stilted, formal Korean. She’s trying very hard not to blush, but she does giggle at his visceral relief when she answers him in English.

“Jasper Hale, ma’am,” he says. Jasper. It fits him perfectly.

And this is the moment. The one she saw.

“I’m Alice,” she says, a little breathlessly. “You call me Alice.”

“Alice,” he breathes, and it’s beautiful when he says it.

(She has a name. A name he gave her. It’s been eighty years, being known as ‘Child’ or ‘Girl’. Ratana has given her I.Ds and papers in the past with placeholder names that were never hers. The name her grandparents called her before they cast her out was that of the mother she killed, never her own. Not an affectionate memory, but a reminder of the pain and horror she caused. And maybe she should be sad or frustrated that it’s not a Korean name, that it’s an English name. But she cannot make herself care when it’s been bestowed upon her by the one that will love her best.)

“You’re not…” he begins and then stops, ducking his head before she can stop him. She’s not surprised that he’s already picked up that she’s not like him; the hummingbird heartbeat always gives her away - her eyes are dark enough that they pass as black; she works hard enough in the night hours that she has both the pale skin and the dark circles under her eyes. But the heartbeat always gives her away.

“Apologies, that was rude,” Jasper says and she smiles at him, looping her arm around his.

“How about I answer your questions somewhere else?” She offers, more confident than she feels and almost flirtatious. She’s rather impressed with herself; she thought she’d be a stammering mess.

“If they can spare you, I’d be obliged,” he manages.

“For one night, they can.”

It’s the same rigmarole to get out of the market as it is to get in - Hala wiping his memories as they make the trek back to the centre of the city. She knows the deal that Alice made with Ratana, that this will not be the last mind-wipe that Jasper Hale has today.

But she doesn’t want to think about that yet, and lets Jasper escort her deeper into Busan.

There is no food in the market - the girls for sale are fed before it opens, and very few other attendees require human food. Sometimes Ratana will bring her food - she prefers Alice not dine on blood, though she’s never said why. So she’s oddly touched when Jasper takes her straight to the human night markets, to stands piled high with food, with smoke and heat filling the air. Somehow, she manages to find her appetite, and she’s amused at how closely he watches her as she eats.

He’s easy to talk to, and a gentleman - he guides her though the crowds protectively, his hand gently on her lower back. She knows more than one male in the markets that would take the opportunity to slip their hand underneath her shirt or down the back of her skirt, and she’s oddly proud Jasper hasn’t.

(She’s not sure that she’d be upset if he did…)

But the questions fly between them and she’s fascinated that he’s one of the vampires that fought of territory - it seems like a horrific way to spend decades, and she’s been manning a market stall since the 30s. Even more impressive is that he left it all and started anew, with a family that he speaks of with affection and a diet that has left his eyes a captivating, murky gold. He talks of travel and schooling and adventures that she’s only ever seen in film, and it sounds wonderful. He sounds wonderful.

And she talks about the markets and about what, who she is - she tries to gloss over her childhood, before Ratana found her, but he squeezes her hand as she rushes through that story as if he knows the pain that it causes her. She tells him about some of the wilder clients, the funnier moments in the market, to make him laugh. He has a wonderful laugh.

They end up in a park; too dark for humans, but perfect for them. He’s still holding her hand, as they weave between the trees and flower beds. She pauses for a second, to pluck a white flower from the ground - growing out of bounds of the garden bed, it will be cut away when the park maintenance staff spot it so she figures it’s okay to pick it.

She tucks it behind her ear and looks over at Jasper, who is looking at her with an expression she cannot decipher.

And then he kisses her.

Oh.

It’s heartbreakingly slow, his hand cupping her face as he rubs circles on her cheek with his thumb. She’s standing on her tip toes and it’s still not close enough. She’s pressing against him, her hands flat against his chest. His mouth moves against hers impossibly slowly, drawing her in and making her head swim. Maybe she sighs against him. It's the kind of kiss that feels like it belongs in a movie; but better, because watching it on the screen doesn't even come close to how it feels, how he feels.

(She doesn’t count any of the rough hands, faces mashes against hers in a moment of opportunity on rowdy nights at the market as experience. This singular perfect kiss is her first and only. It’s her life, her story, and she can write it exactly as she pleases.)

She feels so warm, even with the cool of his hands against her. She wishes that they were somewhere else, not in the middle of a park, wishes she had the perfect words to explain that she was already falling in love with him the moment she saw him walk towards her. Now she's done, she's fallen head over heals, and her heart is firmly and forever his.

(That she would not at all be upset if he slid one of his hands around her waist and pulled her closer.)

He only pulls away when she needs to breathe; as he steps backwards, her knees quiver and he’s quick to steady her.

She doesn't know what to say to him in that moment, at the way he's staring at her reverentially; the way he runs his thumb over her lips and bends down to kiss her again - softer, fast, just a graze against her that somehow feels impossibly intimate.

And for some reason, that's when she remembers her agreement. That she's Cinderella on the clock and as beautiful and perfect as this moment is, it cannot last forever.

“Let’s get out of here,” she says breathlessly as she makes up her mind, and he grins at her, a proper movie-star grin that makes her melt a little more. He tucks her in at his side, and they leave the park together, back into the streets of Busan towards her apartment.

(She wishes she could stay in the moment. Ratana gave her until four in the morning; and then he’ll forget and she’ll be alone again. But it’s only midnight - barely midnight - and there’s still four hours left of her own love story, of this perfect moment, and she’s going to savour every single one. If this is how her love story goes, well, she's going to make it everything she ever hoped for.)

#alice cullen #jasper hale #twilight fic #jalice #my fic: korean alice #my fic: 12 kisses #my fic: 2024 #alice has been raised on black and white films and determined optimism #this is basically as happy as it gets #everyone gets to suffer after this #if it wasn't for memory wiping jasper would have taken her back to america the next day #and the cullens would have been mildly horrified that jasper bought home a fiancee that he's known for 24 hours who isn't a vampire #that would be full rom-com vibes

[howlingdemon13]

#3, 11 and 14 please!

3.) One of the funniest things that’s ever happened to you:

At the time, it was stressful and kinda scary. Back in August, my “host brother” was getting married and flew some of my family out to Slovakia to attend (which is insanely generous). We were there for a week and we were doing a bit of sightseeing in some neighboring countries. My grandma was suddenly adamant that we go to Budapest to do a boat cruise down the Danube because a friend of hers had done it. This was planned literally the night before, so you know it can only get worse from here. After a very stressful train ride, scrambling to get local currency (thank god I brought my debit card), and trying to verify our train tickets for the return journey, we rushed out to the taxi parking with about 15 minutes left to get on the boat for the river tour. Keep in mind that my grandma is completely oblivious to the panic (which idk if that makes it better or worse). Our driver had lived in the US and spoke enough English to make up for what little Hungarian I practiced to get us by, so off we went. For the next 15 minutes, he told us about his time in San Francisco and pointed out some landmarks and told us a little bit about the Communist era architecture. I think it was how casually he was giving us all this info, coupled with how panicked we were about potentially missing our boat that made it funny looking back. We pulled up the the wharf with maybe a minute to spare, I gave the guy a massive tip (minimum amount of forint I could get was $60 worth, and let’s face it, the guy deserved way more for having to deal with a gaggle of Americans and for being a literal miracle worker), and we basically ran onto the boat. The thing that made it genuinely funny was my brother. As soon as we sat down, he said “we were one history lesson away from missing this fucking boat.” I lost it. I guess it’s one of those things where you had to be there, but my mom and I had been running on fumes planning this whole thing the night before that the relief and the comment kinda broke me.

11.) Something you’ve always wanted to learn:

Archery. Years ago, I went with a friend to a place in Chicago where you can get an hour lesson with other people, and it was really fun. I actually have pretty good aim. I guess I just don’t really have the time or resources right now to seriously consider pursuing it, but it’s something I would totally do in the future.

14.) Something you’re learning right now and want to share:

Social jazz dances I just learned the Charleston and now I’m slowly working on the 30’s variation. I don’t have the best hand-eye coordination, and I broke a bone in my foot last year, so progress has been slow.

#thanks for asking!!!!! #ask answered

[marie-swriting]

Forever - Chrissy Cunningham [1/2]

Stranger Things Masterlist

Part two

Part one - two (French version)

Summary : You're enjoying your relationship with Chrissy during the summer but as you get closer to September, it gets harder and harder to see Chrissy when all you want to do is say 'I love you' for the first time.

Warnings : angst, sad ending, some internalised homophobia, break up, maybe some grammatical mistakes as English is not my first language, tell me if you see some or if I missed any warnings.

Word count : 4.1k

Song inspiration : Single In September by Zolita

The sunlight forces you to open your eyes. You see the sun is up in the blue sky, you understand the day has started a few hours ago. Your eyes land on Chrissy’s face in front of you, she’s still peacefully sleeping. You look at her face illuminated by the sunshine and you tell yourself you could get used to it. You could get used to the idea of waking up with Chrissy next to you for the rest of your life. Chrissy moves slowly, making a strand of hair fall on her face. You get closer and put her hair back in place. When she feels your touch, Chrissy stirs from sleep before opening her eyes and seeing you.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you up.” you mutter and Chrissy shakes her head.

“You’ve been awake for a long time ?” she questions with a sleepy voice.

“Only for a minute.”

“What time is it ?”

“Almost 10 A.M.” you answer, making her frown.

“Aren’t you supposed to meet Eddie at 10 ?”

“Yeah, but we can still lay in bed.” you affirm taking her in your arms.

“I’d love to but if you want to be on time to see your best friend, you’ll have to leave soon and I have to start packing anyway.”

“Are you trying to kick me out of your house ?”

“No, I’m just trying to protect your friendship. Besides, I don’t want to give him another reason to hate me.” Chrissy specifies while getting out of bed.

“He doesn’t hate you.”

“He doesn’t like popular.”

“He doesn’t like bullies.”, you correct, “You, you’re a nice person, no matter if you’re popular or not so he likes you. And even if he didn’t, he doesn’t get a say.”

“He’s still your best friend.”

“Anyway”, you shut it off, leaving the bed, “I’m gonna go get ready because someone absolutely wants me out of her place.”

Chrissy doesn’t even try to respond to your dramatic sentence, she only kisses your cheek. Then, you exit the room with your toiletries. 

When you’re ready, you go back to Chrissy and find her, the nose stuck in her closet, and many clothes are spread out on her bed and others are folded in a suitcase. Chrissy goes on vacation the next day for two weeks. You’re a little bit apprehensive about it, because you’re not going to see each other and it’s already complicated for you two to share moments together.

“Do you know if you’ll be able to call me ?” you ask, nervously.

“I’m not sure, but I think it’ll be complicated. My parents always choose an American backwater, even more lost than Hawkins, to be sure they cut themselves from work. If I have access to a phone, I’ll call you as soon as possible, promise.” Chrissy assures you as she takes your hands in hers.

“I don’t doubt it. I just hope I won’t be busy at work when you’ll be able to call me.”

“We’ll find a way to talk.”

Chrissy takes you in her arms to comfort you. You get lost in her embrace, enjoying the feeling of her body against yours for the last time until she comes back from vacation. When you break the hug, you kiss passionately, as if you wanted to share two weeks worth of love in one kiss. When you’re out of air, you press your lips against her right cheek before taking your bag and leaving Chrissy’s. 

When you arrive at Eddie’s, you find him waiting for you in front of his trailer, a cigarette in his hand. As soon as he sees you, he has a faux-angry expression on his face while he points at an imaginary watch on his wrist.

“We agreed on 10, not 10:30 A.M.”

“You’re one to talk !”, you retort, “Do I need to remind you I had to mess up with your clocks last year to make sure you’ll be on time for your exams ?”

“Yeah, but high school is not a best friend. Come on, I have to talk to you about my next campaign, I need your advice.”, he states while putting his arm around your shoulders and dragging you in his trailer. “I suppose Chrissy is the reason why you’re late.”

“She leaves tomorrow for two weeks so I had to enjoy every second we had together. Besides, if it had been up to me, I would have stayed in her arms.” you admit while sitting on the kitchen table.

“Awn, look who’s being all cheesy about her crush for the school cheerleader.” Eddie mocks while pinching your cheeks.

“If you want my help, you better stop.” you threaten fakely as you get your head out of his grip.

“I’m just teasing you, I can see how happy you are with her.”

“More than happy, actually ! I… I think, no,” you start with a smile, “I know I'm in love with her, Eddie. I know it might sound stupid to say that, it could be a puppy love but I’d like to think she’s the love of my life. When I woke up this morning, I just wanted one thing : to stay next to her forever.”

“You should tell her.”

“I’m going to, when she’ll get back.”, you inform, determined, “It’ll be the perfect moment because my parents will leave for their own vacations so I’ll be able to set something special to tell her. She probably won’t say it back because we’ve been dating for five months only and she still tries to figure things out, it’s the first time she’s with a girl, after all, but I want to tell her.”, you announce as Eddie looks at you with an affectionate smile. “Anyway, we’re not here to talk about my relationship with Chrissy.” you finish and take Eddie’s notebook to help him.

Since Chrissy left, you haven’t received any news. You haven’t received a phone call either at home or at work. When you started working at Hawkins’ Diner, you gave her your number in case she’d need it, but apparently, she isn’t going to use it in the next few days. She told you she’d struggle to contact you, you shouldn’t be surprised, but you can’t help but feel an ache in your heart. You miss her. You want to hear her voice, at least. Therefore, you try to keep your mind busy, hoping you won’t think about her. It’s a failure ; so, you’ve started counting days until she comes back. When the day finally arrives, you wait to come home from work to call her. You’ve thought about it the whole day but you didn’t know when Chrissy would arrive so you waited until the end of your shift. 

When you’ve dialled Chrissy’s number, you wait with the phone on your right hand while your left one is playing with the wire. You think no one is going to answer you but Chrissy picks up the phone at the very last second. When you hear her voice, your heart misses a beat. Oh, how much you’ve missed her voice !

“Hey, it’s Y/N. I’m not bothering you, aren’t I ?” you ask her.

“No, don’t worry. I just finished unpacking.”

“You’re part of the people who unpack as soon as they arrive ? Why am I not surprised ?”, you point out, making her laugh, “So, how were your vacations ?”

“Pretty good. I had a lovely time with my parents and my brother.”

“I want you to tell me everything ! Do you want to meet tomorrow ? It’s my day off.”

“I would have loved to, but the trip back to Hawkins was exhausting, I think I’m going to rest tomorrow and I need to start getting my stuff ready for University, too.” she answers, yawning.

“Oh…,” you say, disappointed, “we can meet another day ? You know my schedule, call me when you’re free.” you propose.

“I’ll do it.”

“Great. I’m not gonna bother you any longer, I lo…,” you start before correcting you, “I’ll let you rest, good night.”

“‘Night to you, too.”

It took more than a week for you and Chrissy to find the perfect day to hang out. Either you were working or Chrissy had something to do for her parents or University. It was such a struggle to plan something you’ve noticed Chrissy was busier than you even though she’s not working. When you finally managed to find a day for your date, you had a big smile on your face for the remainder of the day, Eddie teased you a lot about it. 

When the day of your date finally comes, you try to hide your excitement. Not being close to her for three weeks was a real torture. You even started to wonder how you were going to do it once you’d be at University. Chrissy is going to New York while you’ll leave for Los Angeles. In other words, you’ll be on the opposite side of the country. When you got your answers for your higher education, you understood pretty quickly it would be a challenge you will gladly take up because she was worth it, you were optimistic, you would manage it for sure. Of course, it won’t be a pleasure cruise, but you’ll try. You’ve been in love with Chrissy for so long you’re not going to let her slip through your fingers so easily. That’s why this summer, you’ve decided to spend every second together. The past three weeks made you lose precious time, but you’re determined to make it up. As your parents finally left for their vacations, you’ve been pestering her to find a moment to meet.

When the day finally comes, you have everything planned. She’s going to spend the night at your place and you want it to be special, especially because you want to confess you're in love with her. Everything must be perfect. 

You hear somebody knocking on the door so you run to open to Chrissy. When you close the door behind her, you kiss her without wasting a second. Chrissy kisses you back but quickly breaks it off. You hold yourself back from frowning because of her actions. The kiss seems different, with less passion. Maybe she doesn’t want to wait to make up for lost time ? Chrissy puts her bag next to the entrance and you drag her to the living room.

“I’ve planned everything for tonight.”, you start showing her the living room table, “I rented your favourite movies at Family Video, I took your favourite snacks and I made you favourite dish for tonight.”

“You shouldn’t have gone out of your way for me.” Chrissy states.

“I just want us to have a good time.” you smile.

Strangely, Chrissy seems embarrassed, she’s playing with her necklace.

“I don’t deserve you, thanks.”

With red cheeks, Chrissy pecks your lips. At this point, you want to tell her you love her. You open your mouth but Chrissy cuts you off.

“Let’s watch a movie.”

You nod, taken aback. You take her hand and lead her to sit on the couch. You take the TV remote and start the first movie, you had prepared it before she arrived. When the credits start, you cuddle against Chrissy, taking her hand in yours. You don’t pay attention to the beginning of the movie, thinking about when you’ll be able to confess your feelings. In your head, you had everything set up, you were supposed to tell her before starting the movie so you’d be sure to not chicken out. Finally, you tell yourself you’ll do it once the movie is over. You already know what you’re going to say so when you’ll be able to talk to her, you’ll just have to confess.

As time goes by, you feel Chrissy shifting position on the couch, she moves so far away from you that her hand leaves yours. You don’t react, thinking she just wants to be comfortable. At one point, you notice Chrissy is distracted even if her eyes are on the TV. You’re about to say something when Chrissy asks you to pause the movie, because she needs to use the bathroom, and you do. While waiting for her, you tell yourself it’s time to tell her. You don’t want to waste another second. Chrissy comes back on the couch and sits down in a way to be in front of you. You both take a deep breath before talking at the same time.

“I have to tell you something.”

“Sorry, you first.” you laugh while Chrissy scratches her neck.

“No, you go.”

“You’re the guest, you should start.”

“Ok,” she sighs, avoiding your gaze for a second, “Look, about our relationship, I’ve been thinking and we shouldn’t rush it.”

“What do you mean ? I thought we were taking it slow, I’m sorry if I took things too fast.” you apologise and Chrissy shakes her head.

“It’s not that. I’m still trying to figure things out and I don’t want to waste your time.” Chrissy tries to explain and you frown.

“You’re not wasting my time. I know you’re trying to figure out who you are and I have no problem with it.”

“No, Y/N, you don’t understand. I need to be alone, to finally understand and accept myself. I don’t want to hurt you because I’m lost.”

“You’re about to hurt me with what you're about to say.”, you correct as anxiety rises in your stomach. “Chrissy, I totally get it. I’ve been there before, I know the importance of understanding yourself, I’m still trying to understand who I am sometimes. I get you more than you think, so please don’t break this off.”, you beg her, taking her hands, “Did something happen during your vacation to make you reconsider us ?”

“No, like I said, I’ve just been thinking and I’ve come to the conclusion it’s the best thing to do. Besides, with Uni, we’ll never be able to see each other. We already struggle when we’re in Hawkins, so in two different States ? It’ll be worse.”

“But we can try.”, you stammer, holding your tears back, “I can come visit you, you can come visit me in L.A and we can see each other when we’re in Hawkins during the holidays and we can also call each other every day.”

“It’ll only work for a few weeks.”, she insists while her voice breaks, “I think we should live our lives individually to understand ourselves better and also our relationship, we’ll even be able to know if this thing is really right. Maybe you need it as well without realising it. We can always meet up again when we're more mature, after our studies.” she proposes and you shake your head taking your hands out of hers.

“Why do you want to wait when we could have something right now ?”

Chrissy’s heart broke as soon as she heard you contain a sob. She knew doing this would be hard, but she thought about this for several weeks, hoping it wouldn’t be the right decision. Unfortunately, it is. As much as she doesn't want to be the cause of such a pain, her struggles and her fears made her realise she has to break things up with you. Deep down, she doesn't want to wait, but she knows she needs to prioritise herself in order to not destroy what you have.

“I think it’s best if we wait before going farther in our relationship because we need to evolve individually. Especially because we’ll be far away from Hawkins, we’ll be able to discover ourselves without the family pressure. We should enjoy this moment at University to have new experiences, even kiss some girls, for example.”

“But I don’t want to kiss some girls. I only want to kiss you, Chrissy.”, you retort, standing up from the couch, “Chrissy, I… I love you.” you admit, surprising her.

“You do ?” she mumbles.

“Of course, don’t you ? Maybe not ‘love’ but don’t you at least have some kind of feelings for me after all these months together ?” you question, your lips trembling.

“Y/N, I…,” she starts with a pleading look, “try to understand me, please.”

You raise your hand to make her stop talking while your eyes are filled with tears. Chrissy stays silent, not knowing what to do to make the situation less painful. She tries to get closer to you but you take a step back before running to your room. You close the door behind you, panting as you try not to cry. Yet, when you hear the front door, you break down. Reality finally hits you and your heart shatters in a million pieces, almost making you sick. Your breathing is jerky while your cheeks are wet from your tears. You end up on your bed, not having the energy to stand up anymore. You keep crying for many hours. When your breathing finally calms down, you take your phone and dial your best friend’s number. Your vision is still blurry because of your tears when you ask him to come to you before hanging up and crying some more.

Your tears have finally stopped running down your cheeks when Eddie enters your room like a shot. He sees you rolled up in a ball under your cover, he takes big steps toward you. He lifts the cover and holds back his tears when he sees your puffy eyes. You throw yourself in his arms, sobbing again. Eddie tries to calm you down by stroking your back. When he feels like you’re able to talk, he asks you what is the cause of such sorrow. Without waiting, you explain everything in detail. You tell him how Chrissy broke your heart when it was supposed to be a romantic moment in your relation. You finish explaining everything by repeating again and again “she didn’t even try to run after me when I left”, “she doesn’t love me”, “I mean nothing to her”. Eddie knows nothing he could tell you could be of help, so he keeps holding you against him until you fall asleep.

The next two days, you’re numb. Eddie made you leave your bed, forcing you to go to your couch, after he tidied up everything you had prepared. You stay in your living room, only moving when you shift position or when you need to use the bathroom. The week-end is finally here, you don’t need to go to work and you’re happy about it, you don’t know how you could have been focused, you can’t even pay attention to what Eddie is saying. He tries to take your mind off things by talking about his next campaign. He knows you’ll talk with him about what you feel when you’ll be ready to talk about it so he avoids the ‘Chrissy’ subject as much as he can. Since she left, you haven’t gotten a call from her. The night of your break up, you were hoping she would call you and tell you how much she regrets it. You wanted her to tell you how much she loved you, she didn’t want to lose you, she wanted to be with you forever, but the telephone never rang. Eddie took the telephone away from your eyes, fearing you might end up blowing it up with your stare.

A new day without Chrissy is almost over and you sigh once more. You watch the TV with Eddie next to you. When you hear a knock on the door, he stands up rubbing his hands together, already imagining the taste of the pizza in his throat. Before opening the  door, he looks through the window and marks a pause when he doesn’t see the pizza delivery driver but Chrissy looking around as she holds something in her hands. Eddie comes back to you running. You turn your head to him as you see him frenetic.

“Chrissy is here !” he shouts, confusing you.

“What ?”

“You heard me. Chrissy is here and I think she has something in her hands.”

“Oh God !”

You get out of your blanket and jump out of the couch. You run toward the entrance. In spite of yourself, you can’t help but have some hope. With what Eddie told you, you’re already imagining her with a bouquet and a sorry expression on her face. You’re convinced that everything is about to be better. Before opening the door, you tidy yourself up quickly by looking at yourself in the mirror. When you’re satisfied with the result, you open the door and discover Chrissy, a box in her hands.

“Hey,” she breathes out, embarrassed, “I’m sorry to bother you, I know I’m probably the last person you want to see right now but I wanted to give you back this.”, Chrissy informs handing you the box that you take, “It’s the stuff you left at my place. I thought you’d want to have them back.”

Her sentence is like another stab in your chest. All your hope vanishes in an instant. You hold back your tears and avoid her gaze by looking at the content of the box.

“I…,” you start with a broken voice, “I also have some of your stuff in my room.”

Without answering, Chrissy follows you. You go upstairs under the curious gaze of Eddie that you ignore. When you’re in your room, you go to your closet where you put Chrissy’s stuff in a container as well. You didn’t plan on giving it back to her now, you had just put it away in the course of your relationship because you didn’t want her to lose anything. However, Chrissy seems in a hurry to put you behind so you hand her the box without looking at her. While she takes it, Chrissy’s fingers brush yours. When you’re sure she has it in hands, you quickly put your arms behind you as if her touch had burnt you. You wait for Chrissy to go but she stays in front of you. You finally dare to look at her and see her teary eyes.

“Y/N, I’m sorry I’ve hurt you. I wish things could be different, but it’s the best thing to do. We need to be realistic, it was bound to happen,” Chrissy justifies, you stay quiet, “I’m deeply sorry. Please, Y/N, talk to me, I don’t want us to be over while you’re mad at me.”

“It’s not an excuse I wish you were telling me.”, you end up saying while finally looking at her, “I wish you’d say another thing instead of a goodbye.”

“It’s not a goodbye, like I said we can still meet after we finish our studies.”, she assures you but you don’t believe her, “It doesn’t mean what we have is over, it just means we’re taking a break from it so we can live new things but we will meet later.”

“And what can assure me you won’t be with someone else by then ? We all know when we say that, we don’t mean it. We won’t see each other again. What you’re saying is not a real promise.” you retort, crossing your arms on your chest and tearing up.

“For me, it is. We will see each other again when we’ll grow up.” 

Chrissy puts down the container and walks to your desk. She takes a piece of paper and a pen before writing something. She folds it before uncrossing your arms, taking your left hand and squeezing it while giving you the paper.

“I swear to you.” Chrissy says looking you in the eyes.

You hold her hand with all your strength, despite the piece of paper, you take your time to appreciate her touch one last time. You wish you could stop time to make sure she won’t leave you again. 

Unfortunately, she pulls her hands out of yours, leaving the paper between your fingers and taking back the box. Chrissy looks at you one last time before walking out of your room. Your eyes land down on your left hand. Your vision gets more and more blurry while you’re unfolding the piece of paper carefully. With a tear running down your cheek, you read Chrissy’s delicate writing : 

“Let’s meet again on this day six years from now at Lover’s Lake. No matter what will happen, you’ll have my heart, forever.

Chrissy.”

Part two

Stranger Things Masterlist

{This is my side blog so I'll be answering comments under the username @marie-sworld}

#Spotify #marie swriting in english #stranger things x y/n #stranger things x reader #stranger things imagine #stranger things one shot #stranger things #chrissy cunningham x female reader #chrissy cunningham x fem reader #chrissy cunningham x fem!reader #chrissy cunningham #chrissy cunningham x reader #chrissy cunningham x you #chrissy cunningham x y/n

[dingertdongert]

Chapter 6

'Oh for god sakes' you muttered to yourself.

Steven had been avoiding you all day. He'd done a good job of it as well, with only 2 hours left to your shifts.

Whether it be avoiding eye contact, quickly moving to a new area when you came over or signing up to do whatever daft task Donna came up with, he was definitely avoiding you.

He wouldn't be able to now though, he had to squeeze past you to get to the other till after returning from a Donna appointed mission. Just as he tried, you moved in front of him, folding your arms. 'Steven, wh-'

'Y/N I'm so so so sorry for completely missing Saturday, I'm so sorry, I feel terrible, I really do'

You stopped in confusion at what he said, whilst he continued to blabber on.

'It's my sleep condition, it just got really muddled up over the weekend and I completely missed it. I don't expect you to forgive me or anything but I feel really awful about it'.

You held up a finger, which finally made him pause. 'Steven, you were there'.

'I-I was?'

'Yes, in fact I was going to ask you what's going on with you today, and if I'd done something to upset you'. He looked at you in a mixture of horror and embarrassment.

'W-what no of course you haven't, god don't be silly. Oh I'm such an idiot' he spat out whilst storming past you. His face looked muddied with anger and disappointment, no doubt aimed at himself. He settled himself in the corner of the desk, slumping over the counter rubbing his forehead out of stress. You knew him well enough to know he was probably giving himself all kinds of abuse in his head, and you couldn’t let that happen. After a slow approach, you gently placed a hand on his shoulder. He jumped slightly before turning towards you with an apologetic smile.

'Steven, I just want you to know I wouldn't be upset if you missed it anyways. I do understand about what you're going through, and I wouldn't be a good friend to you if I didn't try to, nor if I didn't accommodate for it. That's what I want to be to you Steven, a good friend, someone you can trust and come to. Okay?'

A wave of emotions washed across his face, you could see his eyes start to sparkle with tears, and you dreaded the fact you might have made him upset. You took your hand away from him apprehensively, and then he gently smiled at you. 'God thank you Y/N, I really needed to hear that' and he laughed bashfully, turning away from you. 'Oh god, that store room is full of dust, I must have allergies playing up' he said, still shyly laughing whilst wiping his eyes. You giggled slightly, before looking under the desk to fumble inside of your bag.

'Look, maybe these will stir your memories a little bit' sliding a Tupperware across the counter towards him. He looked back and forth between you and box inquisitively, before swiftly taking the lid off with a pop.

'Oh wow, these smell delicious, you made these for me?'

'Yeah, well, you challenged me, cause you said the food in the bar looked good, but I said it was typical American slop. I said my cooking was better, you asked for evidence, here we are' you pointed at the tub in his hand.

'What are they?'

'Olive doughballs, with a vegan butter topping, italian herbs and garlic' you exaggerated on the vegan bit, just so he knew you'd considered everything.

'Wow, spoken like a true professional' he nodded impressed, before picking one up and taking a bite. His eyes opened wide, before darting up at you whilst he quickly chewed and then swallowed. 'Bloody hell, these are amazing' he tossed the remaining half in his mouth. He moaned and threw his head back whilst you laughed and swatted at him

'Shut up' you laughed whilst he smiled sweetly at you.

'These are really good though, I know I can't remember going to that bar, but I dare say it's far better than whatever they served'

'Thanks Steven, now eat up, they're all yours'

'Seriously? Blimey! I'm a lucky bloke'

He was midway through the box before he asked 'What do I need to do to get you to make more of these for me?'

'Hmmmm, how about, we go out together again, need to actually have you experience hanging out with me' you suggested, with a smirk.

He carried out a dramatic act of pondering, looking into the distance, eyes scrunched in fake consideration, you stood watching him do it, admiring his features. 'You know what, I'll take you up on it, but you better make it interesting' he pointed sternly at you.

'Well, I've been having a look on social media, aaaand, I want to do a day tour of some of the really lovely bookshops we have in this here city'.

He looked at you with clear excitement written all over his face, 'Oh that's brilliant, yes 100% yes, we're doing that' he said with delight.

'Well when would you like?'

'Saturday again, I swear I won't miss it'

'Steven, it doesn't matter if you do'

'Yes of course' you almost could see a blush on his cheeks, but brushed the thought away.

'Saturday then' he said, reaching a hand across to you. Though he had a mixture of the butter and herb topping all over his fingertips, you still gladly took his hand and you shook. 'It's a date' he spat out, obviously surprised by what he said, and with an undeniable flush to his face.

You smiled, 'Whatever you say, I'll send you the details'

'Uh huh' he nodded, still with a stunned look, putting another dough-ball in his mouth to no doubt, stop himself from talking.

#steven grant x y/n #steven grant x reader #steven x reader #steven grant #moonknight system #marvel moon knight #moon knight

[voidpacifist]

I just went to see barbie and oppenheimer together in theaters and I have a lot of thoughts on both

NOTE: as far as oppenheimer goes I just wanna make the disclaimer that when I refer to oppenheimer, im referring to the character. I'm very well aware that nolan depicted him in a favorable light (even if the framing of the movie would lead you to believe otherwise). LISTEN to survivors of nuclear fallout (particularly the indigenous people of new mexico who were affected most by irl!oppenheimer's testing) and understand that not everyone is going to love what appears to be the glorifying of a man who made the atomic bomb possible. I tried to differentiate for film commentary purposes the vast difference between oppenheimer the horrifying historical figure and oppenheimer the sad little conflicted pretty man okay? okay, lets get this show on the road.

THIS REVIEW WILL CONTAIN SPOILERS FOR BOTH FILMS

I went to see barbie first, because in my mind, it was a strategic decision — did I want to be underwhelmed after a three hour film filled with bomb-y sfx? no, not really. so I went to see it before oppenheimer just so both films could have their intended effects.

I was not prepared for barbie to be as visceral as it was. greta gerwig is a GENIUS with the way she directed this film. in particular, my favorite parts were:

- weird barbie knowing everything because she has, quite literally, been through the most

- ken thinking the patriarchy wasn't just about male dominated society, but rather male-on-a-horse dominated society

- THEY HAD A PREGNANT BARBIE! THEY HAD A WHEELCHAIR BARBIE! THEY HAD SO MANY DIFFERENT BARBIES AND THEY WEREN'T SHY ABOUT IT <3

- og!barbie calling an old woman beautiful the first time she ever calls a human being beautiful just means so much to me

- ALLAN!!!! ALLAN NEEDS HIS OWN MOVIE HE'S MY SPECIAL LITTLE GUY!!!!

- the unexpected fourth wall breaks were quite funny and very well paced, and added a layer of realism to the film that I was not at all prepared for

I don't think there's a single wrong thing I can think of with this film. I sincerely hope it receives multiple awards and I sincerely believe it will! this is a movie for the girls and the girl understanders and if you are either, go see it ASAP!

---

after barbie, I went to see oppenheimer. I too, was not prepared for this film. I already knew from the internets review of christopher nolan that, as a woman at least, I'd have my reservations about whether or not it passed the bechtel test. it did not, but the thing that surprised me most was that I didn't mind that aspect.

I watched a man consumed by his work and his morals and their conflict with one another play out in such an intense marriage of science, politics, etc. and I watched the results of it, how his life was torn to pieces by the american government, colleagues, and the people most affected by his work (this last one is in more of the abstract sense because of course nolan would never outright give a voice to them, way to go ig).

and then, I realized I watched a film that truly depicted a main character I could sympathize with at some points, but never fully empathize with if I ever met the man (the real oppenheimer, not murphy's oppie). this is a main character you don't leave the theater loving or hating. his life, his work, his conflicts in both, do not paint him in any type of way — he does all of that himself, and I think those who left the movie understanding or even liking oppenheimer as a historical figure missed several points of the film that would try and dissuade that conclusion.

these were my favorite parts of the film:

- seeing glimpses of kitty oppenheimer and understanding, just from those glimpses, that she is the backbone of her marriage to robert. there isn't a single moment (except maybe how she got together with him in the first place) that I disagreed with

- now I know how heavily talked about the florence pugh scenes were and I do disagree with how the metaphor of robert "confessing his sins" of infidelity were played out in the manner they were. I am glad that his vices weren't shied away from. we were given everything about him, the good and the bad and the horrifying

- the imagery of how oppie's mind was thinking and processing the physics and the theories of the atom, the overlaying of the sound affects of applause, train tracks, a bomb detonating. from an artistic standpoint this is just *chefs kiss*

- the moment he understood the magnitude of his work, even in just glimpses, and how that left him in such a state after being applauded for the central work that helped to kill tens of thousands of people across the world. the vast difference between his reaction to it and the president of the united states demeaning him for having emotions about it

overall, I'm just glad that I wasn't watching cillian murphy portraying a fictionalized historical figure. he embodied the role in such a way that I wasn't watching the man oppenheimer (from history) nor was I watching cillian murphy. they'd become inseparable in my mind by the time the film was over, creating some not so secret third oppie that wasn't a person pulled from time nor was he just a character.

overall, if you're looking for a film you can sit through and leave unscathed, I would not recommend this one. it will stay with you. and it will make you uncomfortable. and if it does, then it worked.

I will also be quite shocked if this one doesn't receive any awards.

---

now, let's talk about barbenheimer as a unit because it's a metric FUCKTON of the dichotomy of being human and that is beautiful, just BEAUTIFUL to me. where barbie illustrates the beauty and positive meaning you can make of your life, oppenheimer illustrated the horror and ransacking you can make of your life. seeing these two one after the other will have you both loving and hating yourself, and either way, maybe you're right!

here's the difference between them that I loved best though.

at least for me, barbie is a mirror. it's a mirror into womanhood, into the inherent ordeal that is existing, and how you can make the best of it an embrace every part of yourself, even the parts that are confusing. and then you get oppenheimer, and if barbie is a mirror, oppenheimer is a window. it's a window into the horrific parts of discovery, into the terrifying parts of being human that are terrible to look at in oneself, it's a window into how someone makes the worst version of himself, and how it comes back to haunt him. but oppenheimer CAN be a mirror, too, for that matter.

seeing these back to back was not a mistake by any means, and if you're planning on sitting through five hours of film anytime in the near future, make it these two. I'm so very serious about that

#barbie #barbenheimer #barbie 2023 #oppenheimer #oppenbarbie #oppenheimer 2023 #film review #film critique

[andmaybegayer]

Last Monday of the Week 2023-04-03

Quilt's done, let's watch some movies.

Listening: Finished catching up to 99 percent invisible, which only took me like five years of cooking, cleaning, commuting, sewing, video gaming and soldering. Admittedly it's only about half of all of those things, but hey.

There's a lot of good 99pi episodes although a lot of them are actually guest episodes, for example Finding Julia Morgan is actually from New Angle: Voice, about an early and prolific skyscraper designer.

For originals, there's the story of the Nikolai Vavilov and the Seed Potatoes of Leningrad although frankly The Anthropocene Reviewed did it better, and there's Miss Manhattan, which is the story of a prolific model who is as a result featured in a ton of architectural work, Audrey Munson.

Reading: Started qntm's Ra, spec fic hard science fantasy where magic is a precise scientific process which is primarily best understood through careful measurement and differential equations. Appealing to me as an electrical engineer, where most things are also best understood through careful measurement and differential equations.

I read the first couple chapters ages ago but didn't stick with it, it's hard to read on a computer, I ended up buying the ebook and I'm devouring it. qntm has a way with words and worlds, and an appreciation for the power of institutional knowledge and formal theory that makes his stories feel very real and grounded. Even if they open with a drunk mage blasting some muggers with a microwave thermal lance.

Watching: Triple feature, big show today. First, episode two of Dynamo Dreams is out, only a year after the first one, not bad for what is mostly a solo VFX project. Beautiful, grungy, greebled sci-fi.

My brother called me up at six in the evening like hey do you want to go see a movie, and I almost never turn that offer down despite his incredibly terrible taste in movies and TV. We saw Shazam 2, which was mediocre in uninteresting ways. If you want to enjoy it, walk out about 15 minutes before it ends and it'll at least do something bold and thoughtful. The most I can say is that it keeps track of all it's plot points and ties them all off neatly.

Finally The Edge of Tomorrow, the time loop movie from like 2014. I like time loops, they give you a lot of room to play with. Manages to handle its stakes really well and convey the exhaustion and investment of a time loop without actually playing out every loop, which is hard. Makes me want to play Elsinore.

Playing: Nothing much, I got a couple games of Valorant in with The Buds. Now that I don't have sewing to podcast through I might go back to Forza a few hours a week. It's a reliable option. That or Warframe maybe. Needs to be a game with minimal text and little strategy.

Making: The Penrose quilt is finally done, took a few months there huh.

I'm really glad it's done, I'm looking forward to actually using it once I move out. Soon hopefully.

My sewing skill has really gone up over the course of this project, sometimes I'd read or watch someone's dressmaking project and I'd think there's no way you can do consistently tight backstitch by hand for that long of a seam but no, you totally can, it's not even that hard.

Tools and Equipment: If you're going to be working with Perle cotton you really want embroidery specific needles, they've got longer eyes that are better suited to the thicker floss than conventional needles.

#Youtube #last monday of the week

[rubdown]

I was tagged by @kvothes to name 10 songs I love by 10 different artists and u know what... I'd love to! Now I'm a person who likes to listen to the same music for 15-20 years in a row plus I'm a FM radio top 40head and somebody who never knows what's going on and who loves slop. But these are some songs that I can never listen to enough times in a row!!!!

1. No One Dies From Love by Tove Lo - ok not to be like "WHY is NOBODY talking about this" but like why is nobody talking about this!!!! Not only does it fuckin whip ass and slap but she says "no one dies from love..... guess I'll be the first.... will you remember us.... or are the memories too stained with blood now?" HELLO??????????? THE FACT THAT THIS ISN'T BEING DISCUSSED AT ALL HOURS RIGHT NOW???? THIS IS A FUCKIN SONG!!!!

2. Western Wind by Carly Rae Jepsen - is this the best CRJ song I've ever heard in my life??? No... that's "I Know You Have a Girlfriend" which isn't on any American streaming services so I have to listen to it 200x in a row on YouTube which is dehumanizing. Sitting here rewinding it with my fingers... ok. HOWEVER this is a new CRJ song and I love it and it has changed me. The verses are like fine but the chorus sounds soooo good.... "DO U FEEL HOME FROM ALL DIRECTIONS??????"

3. Dark Green Water by Great Grandpa - @notthequiettype put this on a playlist (btw if anyone posts a playlist or a song I'm not joking when I say I slam the link and listen immediately like if u think nobody cares think again bc I am on top of it) and it stopped me in my tracks!!!!!! About 3 minutes in it gets quiet and ur like ok it's winding down... then they pop off and start yelling again and it HITS!!!!!! She's like "hold on best I can to a space where... ALL 🗣 THINGS 🗣 FADE 🗣 INTO DARK 🗣 GREEN 🗣 WATER!!!!!" voice breaking.... absolutely yes bitch.

4. BITM by Leikeli47 - Spotify put "Money" by Leikeli47 on their Taurus zodiac playlist a couple years ago and as a Taurus I listened to it and was just like yes..... YES!!!!!!! She just dropped a new album and maybe it is being overshadowed... but it completely fucks!!!!! "U MIGHT WANNA LOOK BOTH WAYS BEFORE U THINK ABOUT CROSSING ME"..... YES!!!!!! I WANNA GO CRAZY

5. Teach Me by Miguel - ok like I said I listen to the same songs for decades... this is from an extremely important 2010 album and is without question one of the best horny fuck songs of all time. IT WASN'T EVEN A SINGLE?????? ANYWHERE WE ARE~ I'M DARING U TO DEMONSTRATE~ THE FRONT SEAT OF MY CAR~ CLOSE UR EYES AND ACCELERATE~ IF U NEVER SEEN SATURN~ TAKE A RIDE ON MY ROCKET BABE~ UR BODY IS A PARTY AND~ I JUST WANNA CELEBRATE~ brother that's fuckin music!!!!!!

6. Diane by Cam - this is sort of a reverse Jolene where miss Cam finds out she's fuckin another girl's man and she's like oh my god I'm SO sorry I had NO idea we BOTH should dump his cheating ass. Full force galloping at full speed music and this bitch is SINGING her HEAD off!!!!!! "ALL THOSE NIGHTS THAT HE'S GIVEN TO ME... I WISH THAT I COULD GIVE THEM BACK TO U!!!!!"

7. Come To My Window by Melissa Etheridge - I learned what the dictionary defines a lesbian as because this song came on the radio at some point when I was a young child so like between 1993-1996 probably and I was like now this is a fuckin song and my mom was like "hey u know Melissa Etheridge is a lesbian" and I was like what's a lesbian and my mom was like (paraphrasing) "a woman who loves other women" and I was like oh my god... remember when Applebee's used this song in a commercial to promote their curbside pickup???? JUST THINKING ABOUT IT MAKES ME SCREAM... LESBIAN APPLEBEE'S???? CRAWL INSIDE.... WAIT BY THE LIGHT OF THE MOON!!!!

8. Spud Infinity by Big Thief - springy sproingy jug band science fiction porch music.... music to think about how u are a small and in the dirt but at the same time u are everything in the sky. KISS THE ONE U ARE RIGHT NOW KISS UR BODY UP AND DOWN.... OTHER THAN UR ELBOWS. Brother I'm losing steam they shouldn't let me write about things I like

9. Cat & Dog by TXT - I think everyone should listen to this kpop song at least once. I will never forget sitting here getting my mind blasted wide open by it. TXT set a precedent with this and they haven't disappointed me since. THEY GOT THESE LITTLE BOYS BARKING ON THE TRACK RIGHT OUT OF THE GATE!!!!! The English version they say "it's no coincidence it's a kitty-incidence" think about THAT!!!!

10. Stay (I Missed You) by Lisa Loeb - this was recently featured on the tv limited series Station Eleven where someone who was born after 99% of the population died in a flu pandemic sings it on a karaoke machine. This proves how important this song is... Stay by Lisa Loeb transcends total global collapse. DID LISA LOEB DIE IN THE FICTIONAL PANDEMIC???? OH GOD... btw if u still haven't watched Station Eleven u simply must. It sounds bleak but it isn't and made me cry so hard from joy that my face separated from my skull. SO I - I TURNED THE RADIO ON I TURNED THE RADIO UP AND THIS WOMAN WAS SINGIN MY SONG!!!!!!

#music #I'm so sorry #and yet #NOT sorry at all!!! #thank u for tagging me!!! #if anyone wants to do this... #wowowow

[m-jelly]

Jelly! How are you?! I miss you!

Um, as you may know I've been chatting with bot Levi (and Jean hehe) it's funny and honestly taking up my time like an actual relationship HAHA. Have you every used a chat bot like that?

The world cup is starting soon. Is that something you're interested in? I can't remember how much you like sports but believe this is big where you are so thought maybe you'd watch a little and follow a little. Besides ice hockey and the Olympics, I watch the World Cup.

It's a busy time and yet here I am chatting with bots and playing Facebook games. Who has that time?! Work is busy and I'm going to be making multiple dishes for my families Thanksgiving. Hours of cooking while working almost every day leading up to it, I can do it!

Also, I'm trying to be more focused with writing (in between all the other things) and wrote down all the things I know I'd like to write until the beginning of January and wrote deadline dates down for some and suggested dates for others. The collabs have specific dates, and my holiday stores should be up by Christmas. There's at this point 8 things!

Plus, non date specific things that I've been itching to write, the night nurse story inspired by the Halloween Levi story you did from my request, plus a few other collabs including one for the country living town you made, featuring a couple characters I've really never written before!

Then AFTER that, attempt to host my own event starting in late January. Then perhaps listing plots for my multichapter fic ideas and seeing if there's one people want to see first. I haven't done this yet because it feels so daunting. But if you get through it, very rewarding I imagine.

Whew. It all seems like a lot, but, if I can manage my time (HA!) it's totally possible. And, for some reason, I always work well under pressure, which is great but, why do I do this?!

Now that I've rambled forever, I'd love to hear how you are and what you're up to and anything of interest for you as of late!

OH and SPOILER FOR AMERICAN VERSION OF DWTS

Shangela from RPDR and her partner Gleb have made it to the finals of Dancing with the Stars! She did some amazing dances last night and I'm rooting for them so hard! The link was my favorite dance of the night! There's some major competition but I'm so proud of her!

Hey! I'm alright, surviving really! How are you? I miss you too! I will chat more on discord soon <3

I've never used a chatbot before! Never thought of using one, but it's cute they have them for people to use.

I don't watch the world cup. I'm not into football (soccer for USA people). It's a big thing to Europeans and UK people, but it's never been my cup of tea. Out of all sports to watch, I do enjoy watching rugby the most. I do prefer to play sports more than watch them. I used to play a lot in school.

Work is busy for me too! December and the end of November are pantomime seasons! So, the theatre will be busier than ever. I am thankful we don't have Thanksgiving in the UK. Having that big event and then Christmas weeks after? I would not be able to cope! We're going away for Christmas. We're going to a nice cottage in the country and I'm hoping we get some snow! I believe in you though! You can make it through this season!

I have so many things on my list to write as well, but make sure you take your time. I'm taking my time too. This season is very busy for most and we need to take it easy. I have a long story planned out, along with 40 odd requests to do and I wanna do a winter event for Levi's birthday, but with the hours I'm pulling at work I don't think I can do it all. It makes me so sad cause I love the requests. I might have to give it a miss this season.

I think it's maybe because pressure can be very motivating to some people. It can give me a little push too. I'm looking forward to all your ideas and I'm excited for the nurse one! Just, take it easy for a bit and take your time. Try and plan your days maybe? My days are sort of planned? I try my best. I know you're trying hard for others. You've got this!

YAY! Go Shangela! She's so wonderful.

Me? Hmm...I guess not much is new with me really. Lots of planning of fics. Lots of self-doubts. Lots of days when I think of quitting Tumblr. Lots of tired days. Lots of days full of too many ideas. I'm trying to relax myself more. Been getting back into video games and due to the recent death of a beloved voice actor, I've been going back to my batman games.