#Just maintaining that this has more than likely happened

[starryhutcherson]

hii, hru?

i have an idea for another clapton davis one shot:)

what if the reader is an spanish girl and she help clapton with his spanish homework but one thing led to another and yk it ends in smut

- 🫧

━━ NO HABLO ESPAÑOL

'୧ ‧₊ pairing: clapton davis x spanish-speaking!reader warnings: 18+ sexual content! oral sex (m!recieving), come swallowing, mentions of p in v, swearing, google translated spanish word count: 3300+ ⋆ ✩‧₊

Clapton’s bedroom is drowned in the drowsiness of a late-afternoon heat; the sunshine bleeds against his scattered memorabilia, stretching beams across the floor and illuminating the entire space in a picturesque light. It’s hot, too hot — sweat settles on your starfished body as you lie sprawled atop his carpet, surrounded by stationery and permanently tainted with a subtle flush of rose. 

Initially, he’d intended for this to be no more than a harmless study session — he was god awful at spanish, and you were a fluent speaker. You just happened to be unfathomably drop-dead gorgeous. It was pure coincidence, of course it was. 

He’d erupted in an animated grin when you’d agreed to help him, teeth gleaming in a wide display of genuine gratitude – he wasn’t entirely sure of the appeal of helping your friendly-but-not-a-friend classmate with their spanish homework, especially due to his apparent lack of intelligence — but you agreed all the same. You had your reasons, even if he didn’t know them. 

What he does know is that he’s struggling. With the Spanish, sure, though that wasn’t much of a surprise — he’s also struggling not to seize hold of you, hands splayed against your skin, taking you right here on this fucking carpet. The eye contact you’re maintaining is dangerous; that damn cloying smile, those saccharine sentences – the impact it has on Clapton is enough to shatter bullet proof glass and he’s not sure he'll be able to rope his caveman brain out of the gutter. Your voice is so sweet he swears it’ll give him cavities. 

“Alright, translate this one. Tomé al autobús.”

His forehead creases with concentration, trying to focus on the meaning of your words, and not the simmering spike of dry heat that spirals in his throat and his crotch. He narrows his eyes, inhaling a breath as if about to answer, but after a delayed moment all that escapes is a dejected huff.

“I got nothing.”

You tut at him disappointedly. “C’mon. We just did this one.”

He tries to think back, but it’s hard to cast his mind to one single moment with you, because every minute seems to blur hopelessly into the next one. Concentration is impossible when you’re this close to him, when he can hear every breath of yours like they’re his own, when his head is full of filthy fabrications in which your velveteen voice screeches while he slams into your g-spot with lethal precision. 

Get a grip. He swallows around the presence of nothing and tries to hold the crumbling pieces of his facade together. 

It isn’t working. 

“Uh, no we didn’t,” he teases slyly, attempting to reach for your own sheet, which is already full with all the answers. You snatch it away from his desperate hand, swatting his palm for emphasis. The desultory touch shouldn’t mean as much as it does. 

“Yes. We did. C’mon. I’ll give you a hint— bus.”

He does light up with a fraction of recognition. “Oh, shit, yeah. I got it, it’s uh— I’m gonna take the bus?”

You let out another dissatisfied hum. “Not quite. It’s I took the bus. Past tense.”

He rolls over onto his back with a tediously drawn out groan. “That’s like, the exact same thing, c’mon.”

“Uh, no it isn't. If someone asked you how you got home, you’d say “I took the bus,” not, “I’m taking the bus.” You taunt, a mocking twinkle in your eye that renders his body weak with desire. 

“Uh, actually I wouldn’t say either, because I get home by car.”

With mild amusement you roll your eyes, and Clapton’s head wanders yet again, to venereal visions where that eye roll is taken far out of context — right now, spanish isn’t the only thing that’s hard.

“These entire sentences are too hard to translate. Just gimme some words.” 

You scoff at his swift abandon, but you do oblige, reaching across yourself to grab the standard textbook for the grade, idly flipping through a few pages before finding something you deem to be his level. 

It’s a basic configuration of nouns, English situated on one side of the page and Spanish on the other; the lists are out of order and the goal is to match up each pair with the correct translation. You figure with a bit of your help, it’ll be easy enough. 

“Here,” you say, handing him the textbook. He hauls himself back to his prior position on his stomach, snatching a pen, examining the page, and then staring back up at you blankly. 

“C’mon, what am I, a kindergartener?”

You snort, shuffling marginally closer to him so that your shoulders just barely collide. The contact is faint, sure, but it’s enough to make his mind warp. Maybe his desire for you isn’t so one-dimensional. 

“I know it looks easy, but it’s about the words, Clapton, not the activity.” 

“Well it’s dumb. I liked the other stuff better.”

“You asked for this. Start matching.” 

He glares at you through narrow eyes, a semblance of their hazel hue present through the gap in his lowered eyelids — the irritation doesn’t last long. Not when his gaze meets yours and he can feel the gentle wash of your breath against his lips, dainty and dangerous simultaneously. He’d swallow it if he could; preserve the very flavor of your exhales straight from your lips to his. 

An obvious spill of crimson fragments blossoms against the dermis of his cheeks, every moment he spends around you is like being bathed in incandescence, like being roasted from the inside out. He’s a moth and you are a painfully hot flame. 

His eyes stray downwards in a weak attempt to hide his blush, grumbling to himself before beginning the work. He makes it through one and a half questions before he inevitably gives up for the second time. 

“This is too hard,” he admits. 

"Thought it was for kindergartners." You chuckle, to which he mumbles a low, "Shut up."

A measly moment passes before he's hit with an idea. "Let me test you."

"Seriously? You know I'm fluent. That'd be like me testing you on English."

He chuckles to himself, the smug sound leeches to the atmosphere and sends a fresh swarm of butterflies to thrash amidst your stomach lining. He’s too tantalizing for his own good, he’s your forbidden fruit. You’d love a taste. 

“Pretty confident then, huh?” 

The delicate development of his smirk doesn’t go unnoticed by you; it’s hot, the way his bottom teeth are just partially visible by the action, the way his eyes glitter with the promise of a challenge and his demeanor is altered from defeated to determined in one brief snapshot of a moment. 

“Seeing as I’ve grown up speaking Spanish, uh, yeah. I’d say I’ve probably got this in the bag.” 

His grin flourishes exponentially. “We’ll see about that.”

✩‧₊˚

Four minutes later, Clapton’s master plan at veering the pair of you away from doing the work is proven to be pointless — his assumption in which he could find some big word to stump you was dismissed after witnessing your effortless answers. 

“Sun?” “Are you kidding? Sol.”

He glances up from the textbook, where all of the answers are, huffing a little and searching for something more difficult. 

“Gimme something harder.” He can think of something harder. 

“Okay, okay. Uh… dance?” 

“Bailar,” you say, rolling the ‘r’ with a tantalizing flick of your tongue and he’s sure that by now the tightness in his jeans is obnoxiously prominent. “Seriously, these are so easy.”

“Okay, full sentence: “I’m gonna buy a coffee.”

“Hmmm… let me think,” you say mockingly, and he almost believes he’s got you until you answer with a mirthless chuckle: “Voy a comprar un cafe.”

A dull ache burns in his pants, even the most mundane sentences sound sultry when you use that tone. That fucking tone. He’s still minutely annoyed that you answered his questions with ease, but what did he expect, really? This was your language. 

“These are the simplest questions ever. You really underestimate me.” 

He snorts at this. It was impossible to underestimate somebody like you. He knows that much. 

“I don’t. Trust me.”

A sideways glance, a furrowed brow. You seem to dismiss the comment – it looks that way to him, at least. He’s unaware of the internal screams that loop in your head, cacophonous to the drill of your pounding heartbeat. He really knows how to throw you off your game, after all. 

He clears his throat at the lack of response, endearing albeit the awkwardness. “What even are these words anyway? They don’t even sound anything like the Engish version. I mean— Patio-day-jaygoes?” He flicks his eyes over some of the words in the textbook; his over emphasized, americanized interpretation of the syllables makes you chuckle. 

“Patio de juegos. It means playground— and I already told you that ‘j’ in spanish is pronounced like ‘h’ in english. Y’know. Heart. Hat. Hole.” 

“Doesn’t make any fucking sense. Like, look at this– Zapaytoes?”

“Zapatos. Shoes.”

“Days-fil-e?”

“Desfile. Parade. You really do suck at this.” He scoffs, but you can see the humor buried beneath his irritated disposition. “I told you that like a thousand times. Bay-so?”

“Beso. Kiss.”

Shit. He can feel the color prick his cheeks before your words even truly compute with him. There shouldn’t be any meaning behind them; just a simple definition. No hidden feeling lurking beneath your shallow translation. 

Right? 

Wrong. 

He has an idea. He wants to be cocky. Every single splintered thought is you, you, you, and he feels like if an opportunity presents itself he’d be an idiot not to take it. He wasn’t going to be an idiot. Not today. Not with you. 

“Oh. So… just out of, y’know, curiosity… how would you say, ‘I want a kiss?’”

His ulterior motives soar above your head – you’re so ingrained in helping him that you fail to recognise his confident grin. 

“Puedo tener un beso.” You reply, eyes combing through the familiar words etched against the textbook pages, completely oblivious. A beat of silence falls, a second of hesitation, before he goes in for it.

“Si, si. Uh… si puedes. ” Yes you can. He grins, clearly a little proud of himself.

If you’re being honest, it’s pretty cheesy, what with his eager eyes and butchered pronunciation. At least he’s trying — scraping together his kindergarten-level dialogue to form a simple sentence, and it’s sort of sweet, you think. 

“Was that a sincere offer?”

No harm in asking, right?

“Was it a sincere question?” He fires back instantaneously. 

And oh, he knows it wasn’t. You were merely answering a question, following the sound of his voice and the way it rose and fell like pebbled leather – but his taunting is tantalizing. Your desire is hungry and he offers to feed it – and why would you refuse?

He tastes sweet. Barely a moment of brevity was able to pass before your lips cradled his, sucking and soaking the flavor of lingering soda straight off his teeth. His tongue is his weapon of choice, breathlessly exploring the cave of your mouth, trying to mold himself right into your gums. 

His hands roam, up and down your figure, eventually settling on either side of your waist and thumbing circles into your hip bones, it’s sexy. Just as he is. 

You crook your head to alter the angle and he moans, completely unabashed, the sound passes through his mouth and into yours, and you know his mind is following the same dirty pathway as yours.

You tear away from him, reveling in the way he pants like a wounded dog, the way he struggles to leave your lips as if he’s magnetized to them. 

“I think I know how to help your spanish…”

“Mmm?” He tries to sound like he’s in control but it’s a vain and vacuous attempt. It’s cute. 

You don’t offer a response, but your fingers traipse lower, beyond the region of his shirt’s hem and dipping beneath his waistband. You glance at him, eyes seeking consent. He nods, words failing him as your fingers find his buttons and begin to tug. 

When his denim restrictions pool around his ankles, you guide him to sit on the edge of his bed – his thighs are quivering in anticipation and a saturated spill has soaked his boxers, where the defined shape of his dick has begun to show. 

You grab the spanish textbook from beside you before spreading his legs with your hands. Your pace is agonizing. 

“C’mon, you’re killing me,” he croaks, eyes struggling to stay on you with the weight of this moment heavy on his shoulders. 

You have a spark in your eyes, one that��s ignited and waiting to devour – your thumb encircles his clothed tip and a shudder licks at the base of his spine. His twitching hands come to rest in your hair, interlacing with a grip that stings like rope burn – you’re not opposed to the pain. It’s proof of his lack of control over himself, and the thought itself is enough to make you, in turn, shudder as well. 

“You— fuck. You’re totally evil.” 

A few painful moments of you tracing him through the fabric and he’s getting a little bit frenzied – his jaw is uncomfortably taunt and his hold on your hair is only growing tighter. You decide to indulge his whispered pleas. 

Your hands shift from their position splayed on his thighs and delve into his boxers, making a show of drawing them down his legs until they join his jeans at his feet. His cock’s hard, weeping as he writhes with want. He thinks if you don’t do something, he’ll actually die. Just something. 

“Can you— ah– just do something?” His voice sounds scratchy, punctured by his longing. 

“Ask me in spanish.”

“What?” He’s maybe a little delirious, what with all the blood leaving his head. 

“I’m here to teach you, Clapton.” Your devious grin sends him reeling— his cock shivers with him as he scrambles to open the textbook, trying to find some stupid page that’ll give you what you want. 

He thinks it’s cruel, dangling yourself in front of him like this, mocking him every minute that those decadent lips aren’t wrapped around him. He wonders what Spanish would sound like when it’s muffled by his cock. 

Your hands, callous-free and creamy with the vestige of vanilla lotion, inch gradually upwards along his thighs, enjoying the way their feather-light touches cause tension to erupt across his nerves. He’s trembling in the mid-may heat. 

“Uh— fuck— por– por fay– por-far-vor pay-paydo tenarlo?” You can barely understand the massacred words, and when you do— por favor puedo tenerlo— you deem it to be a little vague. But at least he’s trying. He just needed some motivation. 

When you finally allow him solace in the comfort of your mouth, he goes a little dumb. His jaw slackens with an audible sound as his tongue falls from the roof of his mouth — he was previously rolling it around to try and find any remaining taste of you. He was unsuccessful, of course, but it didn’t matter anymore. 

Not when his cock was buried in the narrow channel of your throat, not when you’re groaning against him as his weight settles against your lapping tongue, not when your teeth graze along his shaft and his hips wildly buck off his bed. It’s so filthy, but it’s everything he needs. 

“Shit— shit, that’s good, yeah, just like that. Fuck that’s— ah!” 

His English is nearly as bad as his Spanish right now, and can you blame him? With every trembling buck forwards he’s thrown deeper into your mouth, your trachea, all accompanied by that greedy glint of lust in your eyes that’s damn near tangible. 

His eyes are rolling backwards, up into the depths of his skull so all you can see are the alabaster parts of his sclera. Your own eyes are misty; soaked with spills of tears that taste like a reward, a reminder of your efforts. He’s breaking and it’s all because of you. 

“Holy fuck,” he rasps, his hands still settled in the roots of your hair. This might not be his first blowjob, but it’s certainly his best one. 

His length prods deeper, bruising at the palate of your mouth, drooling pre-cum around your gums, sousing them in his salty scent. You fall into a rhythm and he falls into you, teetering on the brink of bliss with every prolonged suck that you give him. 

By the time his edge is impending, his cheeks are kissed with stains of vivid cherry red, hair is tousled and slick with sweat, and he’s managed to regain control of his rolling eyes, keeping them trained on your figure with a bout of concentration. Good. 

Your lips leave him, just for a moment, matching your previous pace with your hand and ignoring the desperate whine he emits from the action. 

“You gonna come?”

He looks almost ashamed, as if the prospect of it occurring so early is anything but what you wanted. 

“Well – yeah. Yeah– fuck— if you, if you keep going like that, then yeah.”

His voice cracks like distant thunder and his body bites back another pitchy whimper. 

“You gotta ask nicely.”

The words sound a little foreign as you spit them from your mouth, but you’re too stuck into the experience to care. Your hand chafes against him with the dry friction, and he yearns for your lips once more. In this sticky-sweet moment, he thinks he’d do anything for them back. 

“Please. Please– please, I gotta, you gotta just–”

You interrupt him with a tut. “In spanish.”

En español. 

He fumbles for the book, his hands sliding from your hair with a begrudging expression – he can’t stay infuriated for long though, not when you're subtly slinking your head back to nuzzle his tip. Fuck. 

“Por— por favor.” 

His docility is almost pathetic. 

“Por f– fuck, do I really gotta– ah– do this?”

When your hand threatens to leave his cock completely, the panic he exudes is nearly comical. He’s been wanting this for so long, he’s not losing it now.

“Okay, okay! Por favor, por— shit– por favor. P– yeah, that’s it, you’re so good, so hot, shit—”

His endeavor is ultimately scrambled when your mouth makes its return around him, and you know the moment his eyes begin to lose their focus that he’s gone. You let his consciousness leave, with every desperate thrust into your throat, with every dulcet whimper – your hands extend to fondle his balls and ultimately he’s nudged off into the void of blissful oblivion, by you and you alone. 

His wail is weak but encouraging as he comes, polluting your throat with opalescent ribbons, he tastes like seaside salt and everything you’ve been missing. Indulgent. His shattered voice is the most gratifying sound, incomprehensible praises clotting between his lips and washing over you, and you bask in it. 

You're battered and probably bruised, your jaw aches and your knees are raw, but it was all for a good cause. Seeing him like this, quaking with the pleasure that you carved into him— maybe it’s the orgasmic haze but Clapton swears you’re glistening in the afternoon sun. An angel on Earth. 

Un ángel en la tierra. 

You don’t end up leaving his house that night — instead you lie against the quiet ebb of his heartbeat, tangled in his sheets and woven into his arms where you rightfully belong. His homework still isn’t done, his room carries the scent of sex and sweat and all things filthy, but neither of you have the cognitive ability to worry about it. 

So, you sleep; rocked into exhaustion and sharing a pillow. Your flesh sears as his gentle hands stroke it, he can feel your smile as it forms against his chest. 

Aquí es donde usted pertenece.

reminder, my requests are always open

✩‧₊˚

#clapton davis x reader #clapton davis smut #josh hutcherson x reader #josh hutcherson smut #josh hutcherson x you #clapton davis x you #clapton davis iamgine #clapton davis fluff #josh hutcherson #mike schmidt smut #derek danforth smut #detention 2011

[rotbtd-edits]

The similiar struggles of Merida & Hiccup

Just my two cents because I love talking these movies. I find it interesting how both Merida and Hiccup share similiar conflicts/themes in their movies. They both feel pressured to become leader figures by their parents, while also stubbornly sticking to their own ideals. Merida is trained by her strict mom to become the perfect princess, and is also expected to carry out her duties through marriage. Hiccup in HTTYD2 is expected to become the next chief by his dad while Hiccup himself feels it's not for him and he can't meet the expectations. They both have other dreams and yearn to keep their freedoms. Merida wants to live her life like she wants to, and Hiccup wants to keep exploring and spreading his findings about dragons. They also have parents that at some point have refused to listen to them.

They also act in defiance to their families in order to maintain their own ideals and freedoms, wanting to do things their way instead of traditions. Merida argues against her mom, breaks the clan traditions by shooting for her own hand, and asks the witch for help to "change her mom" to agree to Merida's views. This ends up endangering her mother and the peace between the clans. Hiccup in turn refuses to listen to his parents about Drago, both who know him much better than Hiccup. Because Hiccup keeps believing anyone can change, that if he's just given the chance he can make it happen and everyone else is just hindering him in their warmongering blindness. Hiccup believes so strongly in his position as the pacifist peacemaker that he doesn't budge until it's too late. Neither Merida nor Hiccup really stops to think of the possible consiquences of their actions, they only see the positive outcomes. They feel like they're not being listened to, but they also don't listen to others either.

So they both try to escape the expectations and restrictions put on them by actively defying and being stubborn about it, that it ends up endangering everyone. The main difference is, that while Merida gets a second change and has everything fixed in the end, Hiccup ends up paying the heavy price for his mistakes.

Merida's actions get her mom turned into a bear and almost loses her completely. In the end when all seems lost Merida finally admits her fault aloud and to herself, owning up to her mistakes. Before that she also admits her careless actions against the clans and is ready to accept her duties as the princess. Merida finally sees the bigger picture outside her own point of view, that she's in a position where she simply can't think only about herself. She manages to reverse the spell and fix her relationship with her mom, who has also come to see the error in her own ways, thus ending things perfect.

Hiccup's mistakes sadly don't get as happy resolve as his stubborness ultimately ends up getting his dad killed. It's the cruel wake up call to Hiccup, how some people are simply beyond help and fighting them is the only way. It's what his dad had tried to tell him throughout the movie. Had he listened to his parents, things might have ended better, and he has to carry this guilt with him probably his whole life. Drago is the real villain and culprit, but Hiccup did play a part in how everything turned out. His part is more nuanced than Merida's, who is more clearly at fault in Brave along with her mom. After Stoick's death, Hiccup has no choice but to face the reality, own to his mistakes by stopping Drago and accept his duty as the chief. It was a harsh lesson for him, that sometimes you just can't force things to go your way, but maybe it was one he needed before becoming the leader for his tribe. Just like Merida needed to face hers to fix everything around her and correct her ways.

So yeah, like said I find it interesting how Merida and Hiccup's stories and their character growths follow similiar themes. I'm glad Merida got her happy ending, but damn now I really want to give Hiccup a hug! ;u;

#rotbtd #rotbtd edits #brave #httyd #merida #hiccup #random ramblings #analysis #just my thoughts lol feel free to disagree #reason i didnt use httyd1 is because #i feel in that one it's not really hiccup whose actions and views cause conflicts #but instead it's the people and world around him that are wrong and have to change

[mikelogan]

ttpd thoughts

for the record, i'm not trying to be like. purposely hateful or anything, i'm just so deeply disappointed with her. this last year has been a mess and she's repeatedly acted in ways that, at the very least, rub me in the wrong way and at their worst have disgusted me and made me lose so much respect for/faith in her. miss americana has become a piece of performance art rather than any sort of meaningful activism.

she made a very public display of dating/hooking up with a bigot and basically said "fuck you, i do what i want" in response to valid criticism and then tried to smooth it over by working with one of the women he'd called slurs. almost every time she spoke this year, whether in an interview or through tree, she reinforced my worry that she views herself as untouchable and that any sort of negativity or criticism directed toward her should be discounted because she's an "underdog" and a woman, despite the fact that there are very real issues with her words and actions. and don't get me started on everything with football guy and his trump-loving ass.

she is absolutely allowed to do, say, date, fuck, etc. anyone and anything she wants. she can write songs about all of it. she can do damage control and pr and control the narrative however she chooses. she can run smear campaigns and drag names through the mud while maintaining she's the perpetual victim when she's arguably the one with the most power in any given situation. i can appreciate that fame presents a set of challenges that i will never experience or fully comprehend.

but i'm also allowed to have my opinions on it, especially when so much of it is so heavily publicized. there is so much we will never know and there is also so much we do know that we never should have. pretty much since eras was announced, she's become so deeply oversaturated and it went from being cool to see so much hype and getting a new album and new re-recordings to feeling like everything is about money and breaking records. it's become a machine, a content factory, and so many decisions feel rushed, incomplete, and incongruent. it doesn't feel like there's been real thought about the material itself and instead it's become about aesthetics and sensationalism.

i think that's why i'm so frustrated right now and it's highly likely that these albums will grow on me or at least some of the songs. i've been listening to the 12 songs i liked on repeat since i finished my initial run through each album and i already like them even more. but i wish that it could truly just be about the music for me. that's what's always been most meaningful to me about taylor is her lyricism and the stories she tells through her songs. but knowing everything i know and having seen everything i've seen over the past year, it's tainted my perception of the albums and the songs on them.

i think that taylor has a lot of growing to do as a person. i've heard people say that sometimes celebrities are frozen at the age they became famous and i think that really shows in taylor's case. the irony of a song being titled "so high school" was certainly not lost on me. a lot of her phrasing feels very juvenile, just as her treatment of joe and everything surrounding the end of their relationship has been. i never really had feelings about him one way or another, and as i mentioned above, there's a lot we'll never know about what happened between them. but she's been pushing her victim narrative so hard and the only thing i've seen from joe is his support of palestine. actions speak a lot louder than words. it changed so drastically from the initial news of their breakup being amicable to turning him into yet another villain. i have no doubt in my mind that taylor has been treated very poorly by a lot of the men in her life, and joe is likely not an exception. but i'm to the point where i have to take everything she says with a heaping tablespoon of salt.

at the end of the day, taylor's music is her own and i understand why she's said that she wants her work to be about the music and not about the men. i can see how it would feel invalidating to have her songs picked apart and attributed to the men they're written about. and i'm not even trying to do that here. but i can't recall a time when she's been so public about her relationships? in the past, it's felt a lot more like speculation, but jesus, between ratty and tk this past year, we've just been inundated with so much that unless i was an extremely casual fan that managed to escape her face on every news show, billboard, and social media website, i can't fathom not knowing what she's singing about on these albums. she can't have it both ways.

i still have all the music that came before ttpd, and like i said, with subsequent listens, ttpd will probably grow on me a bit, but idk man, i'm over it. and i think it's important to be willing and able to criticize or at the very least analyze your favorite media, whether it's music or tv or film or literature or whatever else. your favorite thing probably sucks in one way or another and pretending it doesn't doesn't make you a better person than someone who acknowledges it. these are complex, extremely nuanced things i take issue with and when it comes down to it, i will never know taylor personally and be able to talk to her about these things and get her point of view and her thoughts. that leaves me to say my piece, which is what this post is.

as a recovering swiftie, i'm just so very tired.

#ramblings #ttpd lb #ttpd2 lb #i have a blood draw in a few hours im gonna go lay down #im more than willing to discuss any of this btw #but im not going to argue or respond to hate if i receive any #also from a purely sonic perspective? #there is nothing special vocally apart from waolom #and the music sounds so similar in almost every song #okay to rb if anyone is so inclined

[poisonheadcrabsalesman]

R&R

Chili Cook-Off! This event will be held in Forward Mess Hall. To enter, contract Master Chef Jonathan Lowell. To attend as a taster, pick up your tickets any time before February 25! Miller just wanted to enjoy his morning off, but he's voluntold to attend the Chili Cook-off. There he runs into some familiar faces. Fernando bullies and gets bullied by his coworkers. Linda socializes and reports back to Blue Team.

Technically a sequel to Backup - the other Miller/Esparza fic that takes place during SpOps.

Also posted to ao3

-

February 25th, 2558. A perfectly normal Saturday.

4 days since the invasion. Not even two weeks since Castle was shot down on their way to Copernicus base. So much had gone wrong.

The hole in Miller's Fireteam roster yawned ever wider as the campaign pushed everyone to their limits. He had thought he'd lost Crimson too, but their luck had held out so far. But losses were common, regardless of what the propaganda said. It really was only a matter of time.

Get it together, Miller. He thinks to himself and huffs a sigh. At least he can be dramatic and morose in the privacy of his own bunk.

"Good morning, Spartan Miller!"

Never mind, he's not safe anywhere. Maybe he should be grateful that Roland has the decency to wait until he's awake.

"Roland." He sighs and rolls over, glaring at the ceiling. "It's my morning off."

"Was your morning off. Put some pants on so you don't scare my delivery boy. I hope you're hungry!"

Miller grumbles something about pushy AI and pulls on some sweatpants before there's a knock at his door. It's probably Dalton or someone from Crimson in on Roland's scheme. Miller scowls and opens the door.

It's not Dalton or Crimson. It's Linda. 058. Blue Team Linda. Sharp-green-eyes-that-see-into-your-soul Linda. Linda from the speed dating event, who-acted-like-she-wanted-to-win-it Linda. That Linda. At Miller's door. Where he's standing. Shirtless and half awake. Well, he's fully awake now. He stares at her, frozen as the white hot fear and panic turns him to stone. She stares at him, expression blank as usual, maintaining prolonged eye contact as Miller’s brain both empties and goes into overdrive. He goes for casual seconds too late and aborts a half-motion to cover his chest. Playing it off like he went to scratch his neck, he finally regains his grasp of the English language and manages human-like speech.

"Hi." The greeting creaks out his throat.

Linda nods in lieu of a greeting and opens her palm to reveal comically archaic paper tickets. They look small and childish in her hand - so out of place on a warship. Paper tickets, a novelty on their own, but on the Infinity they mean one thing; Morale boosting events. R&R, hand-delivered and Roland-enforced. Miller is doomed. He’s getting roped in. Roland somehow roped Linda (058, his brain supplies, as if leaving the numbers off is rude) to rope Miller into attending.

Miller blinks. Linda doesn't appear to need to. He holds his arm out robotically and receives them. He's unsure what's happening. Surely he’s still dreaming and this social fumble is just a nightmare.

"What are these for?" He asks.

"Chili cook-off. You're a taster." She says, voice cool and calm. Miller can't tell what she's thinking or feeling. Linda’s the most mysterious member of Blue Team because of her quiet and secretive nature. Beyond being the sniper, Miller isn’t really aware of any aspect of her personality. Even Chief emotes more than Linda. Miller thinks Linda lets people see exactly what she wants them to see, which is none of her, most of the time.

"What? This is what Roland was talking about?" He sighs, "I'm sorry you got dragged into this." He is genuinely apologetic. There was something of a Roland blast zone surrounding Miller and those who got too close were collateral for the AI’s whims. 

Her head tilts a fraction of a millimeter. "I'm going too." She reveals her own ticket. "See you there." And then she's gone.

Miller blinks and Linda is disappearing down the hall while he stands there like an idiot. He knows he only sees her leave because she wants him to. Why did the "see you there" sound so threatening? IIs were such different beasts from IVs, socially at least. He was fine being a handler and helping on Ops with IIs, but without Fred balancing them out, Blue Team was nigh indecipherable outside a combat setting.

Miller groans. He'd been looking forward to laying around in bed for his morning off. Now he's saddled with expectations. If he doesn't go, Roland won't allow him a moment of peace until he decides Miller's suffering has balanced the scales. He's at the mercy of a fickle AI. He knows Roland knows he knows this. He better get on with it, for his own sake.

Gunmetal gray walls and bright lights greet him as he leaves his room and exits S-Deck to the less Spartan-friendly areas of the ship. There’s a dull roar as he approaches the cafeterias and Miller sees more groups congregating than he had expected. The Forward Mess Hall is a hive of activity as Miller steps through the door. Voices drone together in a low buzz as bodies swarm different tables. Crew from every department and rank are rubbing elbows, some for the first time ever. Master Chef Lowell is conducting the competing cooks with a smile on his face. The overall mood is surprisingly light given that just a few days ago the Infinity had been boarded by Covenant and Promethean invaders.

The crew needed this. A small, lighthearted respite in the midst of a messy campaign. Miller needed this too, though he didn't sign up to be a taster for the Chili Cook-Off of his own free will. Roland signing him up looked like it would turn out to be a good thing, not that Miller could voice that where the AI could hear. Roland's ego needed no help.

Miller finds himself in a swarm of crew vying for the seats at the tables across from the cooks. He's a head taller than most of the people there, sticking out like a sore thumb. There's one Spartan competing which assuages some of his nerves - it's funny seeing Spartan Hedge in an apron that barely makes it to his upper thigh.

He's scouting for a spot to sit, one that will support his augmented weight, when someone calls his name.

"Spartan Miller?"

It's the civilian from the group that huddled in the Op Center during the invasion. The engineering contractor or something, Esparza. He waves at Miller and gestures to the empty seat next to him. Miller raises a hand to wave back and finds himself gravitating towards the table. It wasn't like anyone else was going to wave him down.

"Esparza, right? How have you been?" Miller asks as he takes a seat.

Esparza grins at the fact that Miller remembered his name. Fernando incorporates Miller into his small group near-seamlessly. “Good, good. Nice to see you again, you know, without the danger.”

“I guess that depends on the chili.” Miller laughs awkwardly. He regrets the joke immediately but it makes Esparza smile and his group mates groan goodnaturedly. 

Esparza is kind. He chuckles as Miller gingerly sits, testing to see if the seat will support him. The metal folding chair groans but holds. Esparza laughs outright at how Miller's eyes go wide at the sound and he throws his arms out to brace. It's a nice laugh. They make small talk and Miller learns he doesn’t flub every social interaction he’s a part of.

Esparza introduces him to the other people sitting around their table. Mostly civilian types, contractors and engineers. Egghead types, the commander would say, but they’re good people and Miller finds himself relaxing. He finds himself forgetting how much he sticks out and just enjoys the company. There's some words about him being the Spartan that protected the engineers during the invasion and Miller hates that he feels his face heat up. He knows the tips of his ears are red, but it feels nice to be remembered for something good for once. 

"Did you come here with anyone?" Esparza asks.

He shakes his head. "My 'friend' signed me up for this, even had someone else drop off the ticket. I thought I might see someone here but I'm not sure. She's...good at blending in."

Esparza looks curious. “Your friend made you come? They must have thought you needed a break. I’m glad you made it.” He says while gently nudging Miller’s side.

“Thanks.” Miller says,“Don’t let him hear you say that though. I’ll never hear the end of it.”

“Who?”

Miller looks around and lowers his voice before answering. There’s too many people and the noise should prevent him from hearing, but who knows? He’s probably watching and lip reading from some unseen camera angle. “Roland.”

Esparza looks confused for a moment. “The Ship AI?”

“Yes.” Miller says mournfully. Esparza laughs, probably at this tone and the look on his face. He knows he’s pouting.

“I have to know, why? Is it because he’s like your boss?” Esparza leans in.

“I think he just likes picking on me, specifically.”

“So he likes you.” Esparza says grinning and sitting back. He crosses his arms and the easy curve of his posture is relaxed and knowing. He looks smug.

Miller feels himself losing control of his expression. He’s affronted. “I wouldn’t say that. I think he just likes causing problems.”

“Does he pull stunts like this often?” One of the other engineers asks. Miller can’t recall her name.

“He’s always popping up on Ops. I think he thinks he’s helping. Or he gets bored.”

“He rarely talks to us. I think we saw him during onboarding, but he rarely talks to our department directly.”

“He must like you.” 

“He’s pulling your pigtails because he doesn’t know what else to do.” Esparza says with a thoughtful face before he cracks up and laughs at Miller’s bright red face.

“Thanks. A bald joke, never gotten one of those before.” He says snidely.

Esparza waves him off. “No, he likes you and he’s showing his feelings the only way he knows how. By being defensive.”

“Probably picked it up from Command.” Someone at the table whispers. Miller ignores the image of Commander Palmer that pops into his head.

“I don’t know about that.” Miller mutters. “And you guys sure know how to gang up on a guy. What happened to me being the cool Spartan?”

“We started talking to you.”

“Jeez, okay I walked into that one.” Miller sighs, crossing his arms on the table and dropping his head dramatically. Joking aside, he is having a good time. He’s used to jokes at his expense,  but this feels different. Esparza’s including him and the man’s presence is comforting. Still, he’ll play his part and act put out. Maybe he can guilt them into sharing their portions of the taste testing. 

Esparza takes pity on him and pats his arm. “There, there. Look, it’s time for the food.”

In the end, they do share food with Miller when his faster metabolism comes up in conversation. He doesn’t share too much about the augs, but it’s interesting to talk to civilian types with just enough clearance he can clear up some misconceptions. 

“I didn’t know Spartans could be nerds.”

“We’re not all meathead jocks!” Miller laughs and steals a bite of one of Esparza’s samples. “Oh, which one is that? That’s going to be my number 1.”

He tries to swat Miller’s hand and fails. Scowling, Esparza bides his time until Miller starts talking to someone else and goes for the kill. His spoon gets mere inches away from Miller’s plate before the Spartan traps his hand with his own.

“Gotta be faster than that.” He laughs.

It’s Esparza’s turn to be flustered. He wiggles his hand in Miller’s strong grip and can’t get free. Miller yields and releases him, his palm feeling cold now that it’s no longer wrapped around Esparza’s hand and wrist. He was gentle, but Esparza still cradles his hand with wide eyes before coughing and clearing his throat.

Whatever he plans to say is interrupted by an announcement of the winners. Master Chef Lowell beams and introduces the winners. Miller can see Spartan Hedge near the winner’s circle looking pleased. Miller’s favorites didn’t win but they got honorable mentions. 

Then Miller sees her. Linda materializes out of the crowd and goes over to the 4th place winners with a strange intensity. She offers them the most formal handshake Miller's ever observed and must congratulate them on their work. Bobrov beams with pride and Gomez looks a little starry-eyed as Linda 058 of Blue Team fame tells them she liked their chili the best. It honestly looks closer to a medal giving ceremony than something as low stakes as a chili cook-off.

With the event officially over and his shift starting soon, Miller excuses himself with a small smile. “Maybe we’ll run into each other soon!” He says and winces internally. 

Esparza and the others smile and say their goodbyes as well before heading towards their own parts of the ship.

Miller looks around for Linda, but doesn’t see her. He hopes she had fun. He also hopes he will get more warning before she pops up again. All the excitement is keeping him on his toes. The small break over, he still feels lighter than he has in weeks as he preps to send Crimson out into the field.

“So?” Roland asks once Miller’s seated at his station. Ask is too nice a word for it, it’s more of a demand from the AI.

“It was alright. I had fun.” Miller admits. He’s going to keep a closer eye on Roland now. Miller was considering previous conversations with Roland in a new light now. Maybe the AI was more than just bored and Miller was more than just the easiest target.

“So I was correct in making you go.”

“Maybe. If I let you set the waypoints for my Fireteams, will you stop bullying me on comms?”

“Maybe.”

It’s a start.

—

The civilians trail back towards their departments in groups, gossiping about the cook-off and who they thought should have won before the conversation turns around to focus on Fernando. He should have expected it, but honestly, he was too old for this.

"The Spartan's cute, and you guys have a great first meeting story. Why not ask him out?" One of his coworkers titters. His team had been insufferable about The Spartan That Saved Them and the moment Fernando and he had had during the crisis.

"Shhh!" Fernando waves her off and playfully scowls the others grinning at them. "He might hear you!" They were only just past the doorway to the Mess Hall.

He considers it slowly, rotating the image of the Spartan in his head and talking to Miller over the course of the last hour or so. Miller is more human and shy than he expected. Awkward. It was  funny seeing a Spartan off-kilter. He's less intimidating without the armor and he acts like he’s surprised when people like him.

"He is cute." Fernando acquiesces.

"And tall."

"And strong."

"Stop!"

“But he might be taken?”

“Yeah, you might have competition. The AI might pull your pigtails.”

“You guys are the worst. I feel like I’m back in school.”

He waves them off, but he finds his mind lingering on the Spartan as he finishes up his reports. Maybe they would see each other around. His contract on the Infinity was a longer one and there wasn’t any harm in seeing where this went.

—

Linda returns from her outing with a sense of satisfaction evident to the rest of her team. Her shoulders are relaxed and she’s talkative. Rather than return to rest from the strain of the social spotlight often aimed at the IIs, Linda seems satisfied.

Her team perks up when she returns, their body language shifting to welcome her back into their space. She has their attention and they read her posture and gestures like an open book. It went well.

“Have fun?” Kelly asks as her sister enters the room. 

Linda nods and signs the Spartan smile across her face.

John tilts his head and nods in acknowledgement. He doesn’t move off his bunk but he sits up to show he’s listening and starts mirroring her posture. 

“You know it’s not a date if both parties aren’t aware.” Fred points out from his bunk.

“Not a date. Observation.” Linda says.

“What was the speed-dating thing then?”

“Recon.”

Fred sighs. “I guess this counts as socializing. I’m glad you had fun.”

“I got some numbers.” 

“Of course you did.” Fred says and is promptly hit with a pillow. Headshot.

“Are you going to call any of them?” John asks. It’s a genuine question. Linda’s been observing and opening up to new experiences since they’ve been stationed here. If carving out time for socializing and resting in the middle of a campaign was something they did, then she would try it.

“Maybe.”

“No pillow for him? Come on.” Fred complains, but there’s mirth in his voice.

“She likes me better.” John says smugly and dodges the pillow Fred throws at him.

Maybe there was the time and space for them to branch out here. They might not have roots anywhere, not anymore, but they still had this.

Kelly makes eye contact with her and she signals “go.” The pillows fly.

#My writing #Halo fanfic #Spartan Miller #Roland the AI #Linda 058 #Echo 216 #Fernando Esparza #Blue Team

[cryingatships]

NorthSonic fic idea-

Everyone in x hunter is all tired after betting in the Epic NorthSonic Get Together bet that went on for a whole year after the events of Pit Babe, started and maintained by Kim who kept tabs on every development and in which everyone participated, including Jeff the self-proclaimed hermit and Babe, who like to stay 10 feet away from messy romantic relationships these days.

(Jeff had his future seeing powers wiped away with the magic serum shortly after the Pit Babe events so Kim allows him to participate. Tho Jeff regrets giving up his powers slightly after seeing the wagers involved.)

But it leads to nothing for literal months.

Kim is so, so close to giving up his detailed spreadsheets with times and dates and locations of where North and Sonic were seen together and everyone in the team is quite close to assuming that the alpha and omega were just v v good friends who sometimes liked to cuddle and nuzzle and share their bed and nest with e/o. It happens. They have seen weirder things. Like Way getting knocked up with Pete's child and marrying the man in the course of 3 months.

At this time members from other racing team have also joined, some under diff aliases, cause North and Sonic, the chaotic duo, were popular and well-loved in the thai racing scene, and there was no lack of hush-hush gossiping about the relationship status every season.

X hunter secret betting association (secret cause they want to keep it out of Alan's eyes, not knowing that he knows this already and has even placed a bet with an alias in favour of North and Sonic being together. Can't be caught publicly making bets about his team members, he needs be a responsible owner u.u)

Except the spreadsheets fall on North and Sonic's hand (or maybe only one of them) along with the wagers. By now the entire narrative has shifted, and most are betting that North and Sonic are not, and will not, be together ever.

The only people still favouring the duo being together are Alan (under his alias ofc), Kim (he swears he get couple vibes from the two), and Kenta, who is participating solely to support if bf, and a random few names from the other teams.

NorthSonic sees this, and like the gremlins they are, they see this as a lovely opportunity to make a nice, quick buck. Afterall, who told ~80% of the thai racing scene to speculate so shamelessly into other people's love lifes?

They laugh at how delulu people are these days, because in which universe would they fall in love and be together? Their laugh tapers off into silence and they stare at e/o's eyes. They turn a little red, look away, and a few minutes later together arrive at a wonderful idea—they'll place bets and pretend to get together for a month to snag the money.

It all goes well.

They turn out to be very good actors—turning their usual cuddles, back hugs etc a little longer and posting pics of them visiting places together like always, except this time they stand a little closer and put heart emojis and kissing faces when they post and tag e/o.

Then they start occasionally dropping a kiss or two on the other's cheeks, forehead or lips. What's a little kissing between homies, right?

Then they both start bringing each other random gifts and flowers, red roses and perfumes and all that glitz that online magazines will heap praises on them for.

It's nice. Too nice.

They both start realizing that maybe they like the more than a homie. It's slow. But it's there. North and Sonic both feel shy yet can't stop cause BAHTS.

The deadline for the bet arrive and they (along with Kim, Kenta and Alan) have a very, very happy day.

They have a nice dinner at a nice beachside restaurant in Pattaya as an ending celebration for their successful, month-long fake relationship while sipping fancy imported wine.

Then they go to a beachside bar, like they do after every successful race, and get drunk off their asses. They stumble back to the hotel, fall on the large bed of their suite (cause why pay for two suites when you can share one with your homie?)

They make good use of the nice, soft, large hotel bed.

They wake up in the morning and find themselves staring at e/o and smile and decide to not talk about it.

They go back to Bangkok together in one car.

North drives Sonic to his house and go to Alan's himself, where he stumbles into the team-uncle's arms, ignoring Jeff's very concerned glances, and is escorted (more like dragged) to a room by Alan, who then shuts the door after him, telling Jeff to not worry, he can take care of it.

Alan gets a call and leaves the room. Some time passes, during which North completely panics and wonders if his friendship will ever be salvageable, if he can ever look at Sonic as a friend, if he wants to look at Sonic as a friend, would Sonic ever look at him as someone more than a friend, why would Sonic never look at him as someone more than a friend, why is Sonic so pretty, why does Sonic have the prettiest eyes, Why does Sonic look so hot when he's moaning and telling North to fuck him harder, why is Sonic so nice and soft and cute and small for an alpha, would Sonic ever knot him, how would Sonic help him through his heats if he were his boyfriend, why did he never realize how much he loves Sonic, why is he not dating Sonic anymore, why did he not confess when he had the chance, why was he so greedy for money, is not getting to date Sonic the retribution for being so sinfully greedy about Money-

Alan comes back right then as he's spiralling out of control.

He offers North an ibruprofen, a bottle of water, and a long, long hug during which he pats the boy and tells him it will be ok as the omega wets his shirt with tears and snot. (Alan cringes only a little. He's quite used to it by now.)

He gives North a short speech about the importance of communication, and another about birth control and safe sex. North splutters at the later one and mournfully says that it's useless, Uncle should save his breath.

Alan smiles mysteriously and leaves the room.

Fifteen minutes later Sonic is pushed into the room by Alan and the door bangs close, leaving two of them in the room.

(Alan smiles at Jeff's raised eyebrows and says it'll all work out. He was the one who talked Sonic into coming here, he knows his boys and he knows they are finally ready to take their heads off their asses.)

When the door is opened 2 hours later (because Alan can not possibly starve his boys, no matter how much he wants them to talk it out), the couch and the table in the room have already been sullied. The bed would have been next, and also Alan's eyes, but North and Sonic were a little too too tired by then.

Alan is sad for his furniture, but it comes with the two dumbasses in his team finally sorting themselves out and making Alan worry less, so it's a worthy trade. And he also has the money from the bet :)

The rest of the team only knows much, much later, thanks to a slip of tongue from Jeff while talking with Charlie, who tells Babe, and the secret is out.

Kim is very happy and by proxy Kenta is too, but the rest are a little miffed. They get over it soon after seeing how happy North and sonic are.

The secret is never spilled out of the team, however, because even Kim, with his cute korean looks and winning smile can't keep it down if ~70% of the thai racing scene starts yelling at him for unofficial fraud. And also cause he, and NorthSonic really like their profits from the bet.

#northsonic #north x sonic #pit babe the series #pit babe #pit babe fanfic #woooo i'm on a roll tonight!!! #but no more wips for me :') #gotta finish that peteway au before I start smt new :') #pain :') #anyway have my silly thoughts!!! #i have no idea how this came to be... but i like it :)

[cilil]

Day 3 ~ Family & Loyalty

𓂃🖋 Characters/pairings: Fingon x Maedhros 𓂃🖋 Synopsis: After a recent clash of their fathers at a family get-together, Maedhros and Fingon attempt to navigate politics and personal relationships alike through letters. 𓂃🖋 Warnings: / 𓂃🖋 Oneshot (~700 words) | AO3

Finno, 

I just wanted to say that I am sorry for what transpired at the recent family get-together. 

Whereas I, as you know, ask not to be judged for each and every deed and word done and said by my father and my brothers — who can at times be rash and harsh — and I know you are not in the habit of judging an entire group by the actions of few, I feel the need to clarify that I do not stand behind what my father said to Uncle Nolofinwë. 

I have no less love for my kin (and for you in particular) because our fathers have different mothers and I do not see you as a mere half of something whole. It saddens me that my father fails to see love and kinship within his siblings, nieces and nephews. 

Perhaps you are disappointed that I didn't speak out against him, and I will admit that I lacked the courage to do so. I love my father dearly, as you will understand in spite of whichever feelings you harbour regarding him, and his favour is easier lost than it is given. Know that I never expect you to speak out against Uncle Nolofinwë either, even though such an assertion may seem needless at this time, given that you desire to forge and maintain bonds with your kin, as is he. 

Know that no matter what my father says and how he feels, my love and friendship is true, and I desire to be in your presence if you will have me still. 

Yours truly,  Russandol 

Russo,

you need not apologise for the actions of others, and I doubt neither your conviction nor your loyalty. You have my love always; rest assured of that. 

Nevertheless, I appreciate your words. I was meaning to write a letter to you as well, though you have once again beaten me to it. Worry not, the matters you discussed were hardly even on my mind; I moreso wished to ask if you would like to join me for another dinner sometime. Just the two of us, no family. Consider it a do-over if you will — though you may also consider it something else entirely. Something unrelated to family relations and obligations, only about us two. 

I eagerly await your response. 

Yours truly,  Findekáno

My dearest Finno, 

I thank you for your response and your understanding. The thought of losing you over a dispute between our fathers pained me and was quite dreadful, so I shall not dwell on such matters any longer, for as long as they are of no concern to us. 

I would love to have dinner with you, just us as you suggested. Moreover I would love to invite you here, however I am painfully aware of my brothers' tendency to snoop and gossip — remember the time Tyelkormo read my journal? — and my father's current mood, so if I may be so bold, I would suggest meeting up elsewhere. Maybe even away from Uncle Nolofinwë; while I would never presume any ill will toward me on his part, it may be better for both of us to keep this private. For a while at least. 

Father used to tell stories about meeting Mother outside of Tirion and going on journeys together. Would you be interested in that? 

Let me know what you think.

With love,  Russandol

My dearest Russo, 

as much as it pains me to say so, I agree that we should keep the details of our relationship more private for the time being and wait until the familial storm has blown over — though, if you permit such a comment, Uncle Fëanáro does not seem too keen on that happening any time time soon. I can only hope he changes his mind. 

If you like, meet me on the 17th day of Víressë, at the western gates of Tirion during the mingling of the Trees. We can find a quiet place outside the city and talk to our heart's content, and I shall bring some snacks as well. 

I am looking forward to seeing you again, dearest Russo. 

With love, Findekáno 

Thanks for reading! ♡

Víressë - April. Yes, the date is today ^^ The Celegorm incident referenced by Maedhros is detailed here.

taglist: @elanna-elrondiel @i-did-not-mean-to @saintstars @urwendii

#maedhros #maitimo #fingon #findekano #fingon x maedhros #russingon #house of finwe #silmarillion fanfiction #silm fanfic #silmarillion #cílil writes #my writing #silmarillionepistolary

[i-spilled-my-soup]

pre-the last olympian nico doodles

#its big nico and bianca hours #i like to think that nico feels guilty for bianca's death #since she joined the hunters of artemis to escape the responsibility of being a big sister #so now he tries to maintain total independence #and spurns anything that could thwart that aspiration #(i.e. friends and relying on others) #and he wants to apologize to her by bringing her back #by correcting what he views as injustice #for the fates' wrongdoing and his own #its just grief and guilt and anger with nowhere to go #so he channels it into one mission that can be realized #to bring her back to life and offer her the immortality she so sought #even if it's at the cost of his own life #it's all he can do now #the only way he can feel closure is to be of use to the person he holds so dear and feels he has wronged so deeply #he doesn't want his last impression on her to be one of frustration and annoyance #he wants to be more to her than the cause of her death #and he needs her to be alive for that to happen #anyways! #nico di angelo #bianca di angelo #(mentioned) #pjo #pjo/hoo #pjo fanart #percy jackson #pjoverse #nico di angelo fanart #percy jackson and the olympians #soup art

[roetrolls]

:))))) hrgh

ok so not to get too venty on here but

i start my final quarter of college tomorrow w/ my senior film due in 2 months, and my neurologist just upped my steroid dosage which might result in new side effects (or maybe already has? the steroids have already been fucking with my vision but it seems a lil worse and now i think im having trouble falling asleep too) AND im gonna have to deal with infusions during this too :')

o(-< so hrghhhhhhh basically the next 10 weeks are about to be really stressful and i just wanna ask that everybody be patient/gentle with me

#ughhh im so nervous #my hearts gonna explode outta my chest bro OTL #im also trying very hard not to worry about my treatment progress #i trust my neurologist but it is becoming very difficult to leave every appointment with #'i was hoping we'd see more progress by now. im going to up the ante' #ive already progressed so far and would be beyond thrilled if this was the limit #but im scared that if it IS it's gonna take constant work to maintain it #i cant get infusions for the rest of my life #and like #ok so when i started the steroid #i had a bit of a backslide in progress at first #which really scared me #turns out thats normal! #but she didnt warn me #and it turns out. she didnt warn me because. #in the 2000 people she has prescribed this steroid to #i am the only person who had that happen on a dose less than 40mg #so! not normal actually! #and i know bodies are just weird sometimes but that combined with the fact that apparently my case is really stubborn... #o(-< im scared #and the classes i need to graduate arent offered in the summer so if i cant push through them with all of this going on i cant just #drop one then graduate then finish in summer (which they let you do) #puts my head in my hands

[hella1975]

realising something bad about someone that means the world to you should be illegal. id like to live blindly actually

#ive been tiptoeing around this realisation for a WHILE now but today was the first time i actually verbatim in my head #went 'i dont like living with my mum'. and the moment i thought it was like no nooononono lets NOT do that #like objectively my mum is my favourite person in the world and i love her more than every other person in my life combined #but LIVING with her in HER HOUSE is just not... it. and it makes me feel awful for even thinking it bc that's her biggest fear #that we're gonna grow up to have the same relationship that she had with her mum and that ISNT what's happening like i could never #be distant from my mum in fact the reason she has such a chokehold on me is BECAUSE there's so much love there #but it would still break her heart to know i felt this way and i just feel so shitty for it. but like? i CANT relax here #like the thing that made me think it this morning wasn't even an explosive thing like it usually is with her #like every shouting screaming argument we've had ive just taken it. but then this morning when nothing exceptional happened #i was just. done. so basically i told u guys she wanted me to hoover today and already yelled about it YESTERDAY which. whatever #and she goes out every thurdsay until lunchtime and i think ive said on here before that the days we're home alone are HUGE flashpoints #bc if she comes home and perceives that not enough chores have been done/one thing has been done wrong she just hits the ROOF #like her temper is entirely disproportional she gives the same energy for the washing up not being put away that another mum would #give for finding drugs in their kids room. ive truly never seen someone maintain a temper like that woman can it's actually impressive #so yeah she was gone this morning and it just always leaves me On Edge it's never a huge thing bc im not SCARED of her but im not relaxed #and i hoovered for an hour and washed up and then also dusted the stairs and did some other tiny irrelevant jobs #and my sister did fuck all. she pulled a sickie off work and stayed in bed while i fussed about what to do with the dogs and shit #and so when my mum came home ig i was expecting some sort of acknowledgement? like not a round of applause #bc obvs it's just chores and the hoovering she literally told me to do but when my sister had been SO unhelpful and it had been #SO on my mind for hours now i was just. waiting for something? and even i didnt know what so it's not even fair #but my mum came home and decided she was in a bad mood and she had a go at my sister for being lazy and not doing the chores she said #she'd do today and she DIDNT yell at me which she sometimes does just do if she's pissed at my sister. but she just got mardy with me? #like she got up and left to go watch TV in her room and i was like 'oh i can watch it with you?' bc sometimes when they row my mum #hints at me and her going somewhere else to bitch about my sister. but she just shook her head and snapped at me for some dumb shit #like TINY shit id missed and then wouldn't even spend time with me and i was just like. are you serious #and THAT was when i had the thought bc i was like there is actually no winning with her temper #and i can never fully relax around her because of it. even when we're getting on she is at any point seconds away from ripping my head off #and it's not nice being around someone like that ALL THE TIME. and i dont mind it when im at uni bc im at my own house in my own life #but when it's HER house and she makes it very clear that it's HER house and we need her and the car if we want to so much as LEAVE #then that's just not a fucking pleasant environment to be in? right? even if it is just me being a baby? ugh idk and i hate this

[dangoulains-devotion]

thinking just a bit too hard about how the added depth given to tifa and aerith's friendship only increases the weight threatening to crush tifa after the forgotten capital, she already had so much to carry on her weary shoulders, she's going to have to carry even more when mideel happens, and it doesn't even stop after meteorfall, ohg od oh i love her so much i

#(sobbing and crying and snotting everywhere) AERITH GAVE HER SOMEONE TO CONFIDE IN ON SUCH A TUMULTUOUS JOURNEY #SOMEONE SHE COULD BE AS CLOSE TO FULLY RELAXED AS POSSIBLE #SOMEONE TO GOSSIP WITH OR SHARE HER CONCERNS OR JUST. BE A NORMAL GIRL WITH #YUFFIE'S THERE BUT SHE'S JUST A KID AND TIFA WOULD NEVER WANT TO HARM THE AIR OF CAREFREE CHILDISHNESS SHE MANAGES TO MAINTAIN EVEN IF #ITS BECAUSE YUFFIE IS HIDING THINGS THAT ARE CRUSHING HER #but poor tifa . gentle tifa. is now left to regret. to blame herself. #she has barret who acts like a father figure to her sure - but despite how much she cares about him and values her frienship with him #he's not aerith. he's not someone she can just gossip about first loves with. not someone she can fully Relate to. if you get what i mean #she is left to trace back the thread of how poor aerith got caught in this mess #she was the one to ask aerith to save marlene. but how did they get there? aerith refused to let cloud be a bystander in wall market #how did that happen? she made a risky choice that put her in a position where their paths crossed. why? because cloud was briefly lost #during the bombing mission. why did the bombing mission happen? she couldn't stop it. ETC ETC #NONE OF IT WAS HER FAULT... BUT SHE NEVER WANTED TO DRAG INNOCENT PEOPLE INTO THIS AT ANY SINGLE POINT #AND NOW SOMEONE WHO QUICKLY BECAME A CLOSE FRIEND IS GONE oh lord my heart #all of this added onto the things like how alone she was in nibelheim... it was just her and her dad for some years after the boys all left #and then the Incident happens and she loses that last person she had... and to an extent another she didn't even know was right there(cloud #god i could talk about her and how she has suffered more than jesus for ages (happy easter. lmao) #FF7 Rebirth spoilers #just in case?? for anyone who's only playing the remakes i guess. since this was basically already there the remakes just elaborate on it #i think about 'we found you!' 'i guess you did!' SO OFTEN #these two girls mean the world to me and i will not let you reduce them to love interest rivals #when tifa ran over to aerith's body i think everyone in the world heard my heart shattering into dust #these thoughts are a bit disjointed and don't articulate well what i mean but god. god. i am thinking about her today

[pantestudines]

having a "former gifted kid" type mental spiral

#i say this because the spiral is actually about how much i hate the word and the general culture around giftedness #mostly because its incredibly inconsistent between schools so people often mean different things when they say it #but also because in my specific case its certainly not a gift but like. what am i supposed to call it. #its literally a neurodivergence in my case that has had many effect postive and negative on my life. but its also a school club. #and its also nothing! before the advent of like modern standardized public education i wouldve just been a curious kid #Without modern public education im not sure i wouldve even been different from other kids. maybe a little socially awkward still but idk #and like. Am i really different from other kids? am I now as an adult different from my peers? Occasionally i will get told as such #how the fuck am i suppose to talk about how much being seperated from my peers and held to higher standards sucked #when the name of the reason why this happened might as well be 'gods specialist little boy' #none of the things that make people think im smarter are really all that useful day to day. and most non-gifted people are like. still smar #i happen to be good at memorizing the kind of facts schools test you on as children #but is that just because i was told as a kid to be good at school and so i tried hard to do that? #even if I am uniquely good at that #does that really make me more intelligent than the high school dropouts who can fix cars like its nothing? #in fact i would say they are at least wiser than me for picking something practical to be smart at #at my school being gifted usually implied you were a little neurodivergent and bad at socializing #often our gifted kids were actually failing classes because they were smart enough to realize they didnt matter #(not me but still) #but at some schools being gifted just means you were an avid reader or were pressured by your parents to maintain perfect As at all times #so if i say. wanted to talk about how being 'gifted' has often made some aspects of academia like hating emails and having time blindness #and not having a good friend network and having many unadressed issues around not really knowing how to make friends #if i wanted to talk about that. and i say 'I was gifted growing up and this sucked' #the person on the other end might hear 'oh woe is me im so smart and this makes my life so hard' #AND FURTHER STILL #on tumblr especially 'former gifted kid' has kindve become parlance for 'guy whining about nothing' #or even 'person who they were told was smart but is actually kinda dumb' #which... yeah! theres a reason many former gifted kids are like that! thats kindve my issue with the program in the first place! #it takes otherwise relatively normal if well achieving kids and tells them they are gods specialist little children. #THIS CANNOT BE HELPFUL TO ANYONE? like whatever chance the kids had at seeming normal has been stripped away #and they now also think they are the smartest person in the room in every situation

[llycaons]

like the wu ming reveal was all very nice but since this all happened nearly a thousand years before the events of books 1, 3, and 5 its like...okay? everything about their relationship in the flashback I either found creepy or didn't care about 😭 ik some fans like the idea of a character so loyal he's willing to destroy a whole country on the word of his god slash crush but umm I do not! also hc disguising himself as the child who was hanging out with xl was so weird why did he do that. age gap creepiness aside it was just stupid and eliminated a chatacter I was really excited about. and it pissed me off when he kicked qyz off the sedan chair like let him sit!!! his single-minded focus on xl got so so old and his insistence on inserting himself everywhere was intrusive and annoying! to me. got real tired of his 'fuck everyone else I got dianxia' mindset. immature. annoying. and unfair

#lwj is reserved and cool to strangers but hes not actively malicious or sadistic #he cares about his family and home and students and music #he does ignore ppl more than I'd like but hes not actively dismissive like hc often is #a small moment from the book I liked was when he first encountered 'mxy' he nodded respectfully in acknowledgement #obvi this doesnt mean mdzs or the writing for him isnt homophobic. it is. it has its own issues. Ive never even reread mdzs #but I think tgcf is just a less serious and more shallow and wishy-washy romance at its core #AND lwj is literally less petty and vengeful thab hc is even tho what jc allegedly did was way worse than what fxmq did #and lwj has literally a reputation for being petty so it doesn't seem fair that hc doesn't #actually tho I think much of that came from drama viewers who saw a gay man being kind of a dick to the guy who 1. was a dick to him first #and 2. suicide baited his loved one so I maintain thats reasonable #hes not unfair or short w anyone else #wait I lost my sentence structure. drama viewers labelled him as petty for being reasonably dickish to the dude he hates for good reason #which IS homophobic. but the comparative scale of mqfx's offenses + the fact that it happened so long ago and xl has long since recovered #makes hc look way more petty and unreasonable. but its not reflected in fan treatment or desc of him. tbf he gets over it by the end tho #ik cunty is a fun word but its not the only accurate one #tgcf txp #mdzs txp

[roobylavender]

i read your post about a potential harvey murdersueicide and while that is a fantastically tragic idea i cant help but notice you always believe bruce should meet his demise early😭 as in, he doesnt get to experience true old age.

its not actually that i disagree or even not understand where youre coming from. i feel like, since dc insists batman has to exist and has to be a big player, the main character, gotham can never truly improve. because stories need to be told with him. theyre stuck, the city is stuck, and thus bruce is stuck, he only continues because he feels he is needed. in order for him to retire i think hed have to look at the progress hed made and go, yes ive done enough, but that will never happen because books need to be sold.

i think there could be potential for him to reach this conclusion and retire in a more limited series like a show or movie series, but do you think hell ever get to a point where he feels comfortable naturally retiring, and if so what would you think needs to happen?

i should probably clarify the reason i'm so invested in the idea of bruce dying early is bc denny o'neil said that by his early 40s bruce would either be married to talia or be dead and since he vehemently opposed the former i imagine had his editorial stint continued that he would have led us to a conclusion of the latter. so in my case it's less about a supposed impossibility for him to ever escape the life he leads as batman and more me being morbidly intrigued by this ultimatum denny set for the character. i'm not sure what his intended end for bruce might have looked like but ig in my imagination i either love the potential drama of the bruharvey murder sewercide or the sheer inconsequential nature of bruce dying while saving a life. not anything too grand or complex but simply being caught in the wrong place at the wrong time and dying as anyone would, while doing something he wholeheartedly believed in. like a car crash. the dark knight rises for all of its faults has a few plot decisions i dearly love, bruce's retirement and passing on of the mantle being one of them, but i think that's a development that, complementary to what you said, works more in a medium where things have to end. the trilogy was finite so it made sense for bruce to move on. comics however are never-ending. and even beyond that ig i don't think bruce would be the type to retire even if he did sort out a lot of his emotional issues or feel like the city was on the right path. he's a very stubbornly selfless person and so long as he has a working body he'll be putting it to use. in that sense batman beyond definitely took a logical path in that bruce only gave up the mantle when he could no longer physically maintain it. the only problem there was that the timmverse's bruce is progressively depicted as an isolated loner so his retirement feels almost like a defeat that is subsequently revived once terry enters his life. and maybe there is a world where bruce could sort out his issues and retire of his own volition instead but for some reason i find there to be more meaning in bruce dying doing what he believes in. and maybe he's happy and gotham is on a path to being better bc he's reconciled with his children and maybe he's slowly trying to dedicate more of his time towards abolitionist work on the ground rather than encompassing all of his spare time in vigilante work. but i would like to think if he died in the mask at a point where his life is like that that it would still be meaningful. bc the mask would no longer be a prison. it would be what it was always intended to be: the truest representation of himself and his desire to help others

#so ig what i'm saying is. i still maintain my/denny's vision but while simultaneously agreeing with you. in a sense #like i think retirement for him /can/ be death. so long as it's meaningful and he's content where he is #bc isn't it nice to die knowing your things are set in order. that you're more fulfilled in your relationships. that you have purpose again #from the outside it's definitely tragic but i think for the person who dies it would be a comfort to know they could die a little happy #which ig is why the bruharvey murder sewercide appeals to me as well as a sort of dual tragedy / triumph #bc i would love for it to occur at a point where bruce is content in his life and has resolution and closure with his children #so that there are no loose ends. so that it just happens and it's heartbreaking and raw but also after a while they all realize #that it was better for him to die this way than in misery. idk. i hope i am making sense please let me know if any of this is insensitive t #say.. that cut off weird bc of the character limit lmao #outbox

[cheeseanonioncrisps]

A murder mystery film set in a medieval village. After an outbreak of plague, the villagers make the decision to shut their borders so as to protect the disease from spreading (see the real life case of the village of Eyam). As the disease decimates the population, however, some bodies start showing up that very obviously were not killed by plague.

Since nobody has been in or out since the outbreak began, the killer has to be somebody in the local community.

The village constable (who is essentially just Some Guy, because being a medieval constable was a bit like getting jury duty, if jury duty gave you the power to arrest people) struggles to investigate the crime without exposing himself to the disease, and to maintain order as the plague-stricken villagers begin to turn on each other.

The killer strikes repeatedly, seemingly taking advantage of the empty streets and forced isolation to strike without witnesses. As with any other murder mystery, the audience is given exactly the same information to solve the crime as the detective.

Except, that is, whenever another character is killed, at which point we cut to the present day where said character's remains are being carefully examined by a team of modern archaeologists and historians who are also trying to figure out why so many of the people in this plague-pit died from blunt force trauma.

The archaeologists and historians, btw, are real experts who haven't been allowed to read the script. The filmmakers just give them a model of the victim's remains, along with some artefacts, and they have to treat it like a real case and give their real opinion on how they think this person died.

We then cut back to the past, where the constable is trying to do the same thing. Unlike the archaeologists, he doesn't have the advantage of modern tech and medical knowledge to examine the body, but he does have a more complete crime scene (since certain clues obviously wouldn't survive to be dug up in the modern day) and personal knowledge from having probably known the victim.

The audience then gets a more complete picture than either group, and an insight into both the strengths and limits of modern archaeology, explaining what we can and can't learn from studying a person's remains.

At the end of the film, after the killer is revealed and the main plot is resolved, we then get to see the archaeologists get shown the actual scenes where their 'victims' were killed, so they can see how well their conclusions match up with what 'really' happened.

#film ideas #plotbunny #murder mystery #detective stories #period dramas #middle ages #history #archaeology

[arolesbianism]

Why must I only be capable of coming up with cool art ideas long past midnight

#rat rambles #Ive been thinking abt hypothetical olivia jackie very very loose roleswap au and its just more doomed toxic yuri #itd just be jackie rapidly spiraling and doing stupid shit behind olivias backas olivia becomes more and more emotionally distant #jackie has this fun habit called self sabotaging in such a way that savotages everyone around her as well but way worse #and olivia has this fun habit called not noticing growing jackie problems until its too late #so all in all we get a less terrible gravitas (key word less Im not going to give olivia That much credit) and a far more unstable jackie #and that's saying a lot lol #jackie on her way to become the worlds worst lebian incel unethical scientiwait no thats already canon jackie post cancelled #you see this is why canon jackie is doomed to be worse than any bullshit I could pull off in a swap au because canon jackie has power #but it still is interesting thinking abt how gravitas would differ if primarily ran by olivia instead of jackie #mainly the big thing is that I dont think olivia would do a great job at noticing any decline in employee health being more distant from it #not deliberately so like jackie like olivia would still Try to build a good work environment I just dont know if shed do that good a job #I also feel like shed be equally hard to talk down from a potentially problematic project as jackie if she believed in it enough #olivia is proud of the work that she does and while she has better morals than jackie they still arent exactly ironclad #she and jackie both being self righteous is smth they have in common it just happens that olivia is usually in the right #but that's with the two of them theres plenty of other situations where olivia could easily be on the other end of the argument #which is why director olivia facinates me as a concept because it begs the question of how well could she manage to maintain her morals #she obviously Wants to maintain good morals but when in a position of power where her word always goes through would that falter at all? #maybe without even realizing its happening #youve made hard decisions before. what makes this different from the rest? maybe at some point it wont even feel difficult anymore #and maybe this in turn makes it harder for her to see the blood jackie tries to hide #because if she let herself notice that itd be impossible to ignore the blood on her own hands #meanwhile jackie is just being like maybe shell text me back if I keep breaking her trust itll work this time trust me #and then she proceeds to explode her brain or smth and gets printing podded and explodes again because shes somehow manage it #I just would want all three aus to be olivia having serious identity crisies while jackie reenacts ashfur amvs in the background