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#this is probably meaningless garbage to anyone but me but it's my garbage and I love it
mrs-monaghan · 6 months
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Hello Shaz
I would love to hear your opinion on 3D and all the talk around it
My thoughts on the talk around it is; "wow, well this is a load of garbage" (no offence to any friends I may have who don't like the song I just disagree that its a terrible song)
Alright. 3D. Let's talk. My thoughts. First, what's with the fucking homeless trousers??
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I hate rich people 😭😭😭😭 if I wear this people will wonder why I didn't go back home to change after I fell in mud 😪
Anyhu, before i even say a thing. We should probably all try to remember that JK said this
(Thanks @chicknbunny13)
Yeah sure, even if he doesn't write a song, he may resonate with it. But not everything he does is a reflection of his actual life. This one, is for the Jikook antis btw. This is why my anons are still off. People, I dont have the energy for antis rn. JK sang 'girl' so what? This topic is super old and tired and consider it officially retired from this blog. I'm sooooo over it 🥱🥱🥱🥱
Now that we have that out of the way let's tackle the fact that our JK is a grown, grown adult. I don't need to bring back the live where he told people he's an adult and he is almost 30 and he will do what he wants to do. And if he wants to sing about this, that's exactly what he will sing about.
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Oh my,
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Even Jimin knows all about it
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Tweet
BAHAHAAHAHAHA!!!
Let is be known i am choosing to take that sentence literally. I think JK just means him, the girl, with champagne and confetti. I really don't think it means anything else here. But, seeing as this is another sex song, I won't put it past him.
Anyone else notice a recurring theme here?
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Okay then. 😳
Also shout out to this random kid with the horse
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I can't be the only one who has no clue what his point was 😂😂😂
While we are on the champagne topic,
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I mean....
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Make no mistake, SEVEN and 3D are singing about the same thing. If SEVEN was in your face, 3D is subtle. But they are both just talking about sex here. Which is why it doesn't make sense to me why people are so upset??? As a person who likes Harlow and has heard his songs before, this did not shock me one bit. There is nothing wrong with this song. It is meaningless and shallow but guess what, thats the type of music the GP is listening to rn. I understand why Asians have an issue with this line
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And I can respect that. I don't have to understand it, but if Asians say its offensive, then its offensive. In which case I think that's just ignorance on Harlow's part. The people behind the song and JK himself are not going to okay something degrading. So it is of my opinion that people are reading too much, way too much into something that aint even meant to be deep.
It's a song, about sex. The only thing deep about it, is the holes that will be getting penetrated.
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This song doesn't require to be analysed. Okay, maybe when trying to decipher the analogies being used but that's it. JK has one agenda and one agenda only; release music that the general public will devour, get his name out there and be a huge pop star. And it is working.
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Cue Boracity's new video about each member and who their target audience are for each solo project
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JK did not write these songs. If he did I'm sure they would have more meaning. But that's not what he's aiming for rn. Right now the man just wants to put out something that he knows will sell. Wants to put out something that will be a hit. And 3D is exactly that. Just like SEVEN. Mans was asked for the meaning of the song and by his answer, I'm not sure even he knows.
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What??
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Did anyone understand that???? If you did, break it down for me coz I did NOT understand that 😂😂
This song has no meaning. Its shallow, catchy, easy to remember and move to. Enough with trying to complicate shit! It ain't that deep. Period.
JK cared more about the choreo.
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While Jack is calling himself a whore for wanting 4 women, JK is busy dancing throughout. So I will listen to JK and enjoy the song and choreo. Because there is nothing in the lyrics and there was never intended to be.
Idk why y'all mad when we stan a consent king:
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Personally I dont have time to be angry because 1) i see no reason to be, and 2) i am too busy admiring JK's body proportions 🤤🤤
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Damn, Jimin's man is hot!!!!! 🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥
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maxdamax · 3 months
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INTRO POST (finally)
good day, wonderful people of tumblr! here is a little bit about me: i'm just a young girl with an old soul trapped in the confinement's of who i want myself to be. i could be an ocean, yet here i am, a mere raindrop in the delicate tapestry of the universe. loved, yet unwanted. heard, yet misunderstood. beautiful, yet insecure. a living oxymoron.
im also the eldest daughter (of 3 siblings) in a desi family, a scorpio, neurodivergent (ADHD), bisexual, probably panromantic and a dog & cat mother. take what you want from that.
you can call me max! (she/they) -> please visit my pronouns page!
content you can expect to see here: POETRY! PROSE! MIDNIGHT RAMBLINGS! WEB-WEAVES! also a bunch of random reblogs of OG art / writing and activist stuff, deep shitposts and insightful garbage.
btw, i'm tryna to meet new ppl on tumblr, so if you'll be nice, you are welcome to send asks and/or tag me on anything you think i will like, including your own content so i can rb! i crave more poetry and art!
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WHAT I DO AND WHAT I LOVE:
my favourite music artists - queen, joan jett and the blackhearts, fall out boy, amy winehouse, bon jovi, guns n roses, tina turner, ella fitzgerald, bob dylan, taylor swift, and many, many, many more!
hobbies! - trekking, writing, reading (literally any genre), researching hyper fixations, embroidery, playing the guitar, meeting new people, discovering new cultures, soccer, volleyball, cricket, swimming, eating, breathing, photography.
my most re-read books - the 7 husbands of evelyn hugo (taylor jenkins reid), guards! guards! guards! (terry pratchett) and heartstopper (alice oseman)!!
my favourite poets - beau taplin, sylvia path, william shakespeare, amanda lovelace, albert camus, kahlil gibran, oscar wilde, camille paglia, courtney peppernell and countless others!
languages i speak: english, hindi, spanish, marathi (in order of fluency) and currently learning gujrati & german, so i'm welcome to asks in any of these languages :)
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MY WIPS:
a star’s wish (poetry): a collection of poetry all centring around the natural world and the natural state of humans.
blood into ink (thriller): the MC is a badass engineering major in Delhi, who after killing her rapist, has a side job of killing other peoples abusers. she falls in love on the way!
dying without living (historical fiction): 5 teenaged orphaned siblings living in Belgium during WWII. the story follows their survival of the war. nevertheless, *spoiler* they all were ultimately killed by racist cops after moving to USA. 
meaningless letters that meant something to me: a deeply personal collection of letters written to the people in my life. to the random stranger who smiled at me, to my parents, to my old friends.
*dm me if you would like an excerpt of WIP 1, 2 or 3!
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ATTENTION! HUMANS OF ALL TYPES:
here is a post i made a while back. i'm pinning it along with my intro just in case it helps someone. i know that many a time, life is so fucking hard. but its worth it. ohhh its so fucking worth it. please live. please. i love you. here:
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anyways... i hope you have a beautiful day! 🩵
i hope whatever you see/read on this blog lets you learn a little bit more about how the mundanity of everyday moments is what makes up a life. and i hope you learn a little more about yourself too <33
P.S. i will be updating this whenever i learn something new about me
P.P.S. if anyone wants to read poetry written by me, search the tags '#poetry', '#writers on tumblr', '#spilled ink' or '#prose' under my blog!
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FREE PALESTINE!!
https://www.tumblr.com/sulfurcosmos/732456971539775488/how-you-can-help-palestine
DON'T FORGET ABOUT THE CONGO!!
https://www.tumblr.com/alwaysbewoke/736349486350286848/ok?source=share
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madlichen · 8 months
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I figured I should write an actual bio so here we are.
The sun is shining
Birds are singing
Flowers are blooming
On days like these
Kids like you...
Should be meeting a terrible bone man!
"The name's Mad Bone Man, or you can also call me Science Dude or Nathan. Only my closest allies know my secret street name, and no it's not Nathaniel!"
You don't know who this talking skeleton is. How did they get in here anyway?
"Technically I'm he/him/cis, and enby/they/them/xe/xem/it/its in the sense that I don't care what you perceive me as. To those who care, I'm bisexual and probably aromantic."
"I usually tag meaningless garbage. Don't follow me if you want things tagged properly."
Why is he telling you this? What is a tag? All you know is you still have your plasma blaster, bestowed unto you by the god emperor of mankind himself! If anyone can take this agent of chaos, it's you-
"And now, a poem."
"Roses are red
And sometimes orange
Nothing rhymes with orange
Why did I pick orange ?
Because I like orange
And also green
Violet's cool too
By the way
Violet's not blue"
Not blue? Such heresy is only comparable to Horace himself! You reach for your blaster, but the demon vanishes, leaving only a photo of some blue fish woman.
Then you hear it. Faint at first, then growing into a loud castrophony so immense it could be heard far away in space! An angry swedish man is singing...
Heeee Maaaan
I am Skeletoooor!
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pumpkijuice · 2 years
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Day 4: School's Play [Drama]
I've touched on a few things already with the previous posts, but I did not feel at all likeable when I was a kid [and still struggle a lot with confidence today]. My best friend was my cousin Greg, but for many self-loathing reasons, I'd ended up pushing him away when I'd started middle school. Him and Poppy [my grandfather] were the people I was closest to, and coincidentally, Poppy's health started to decline right as I was already isolating myself. I started hanging out with someone I knew would put me down, and just felt like I deserved it. She'd call me fat, stupid, and ugly, and tell me how I didn't make friends, and how anyone I thought might be my friend was faking it, trying to get to her by using me. I felt worthless... ✧
come seventh grade, my confidence was shot, I thought I was disgusting, and as Poppy's health got worse, I needed an outlet... I'd dropped Digimon during Tamers [I was weirdly mad at them for making the first two seasons I'd cared so much about somewhat meaningless], but gave it a chance briefly due to Kyubimon, then dropped it all together when they got to the Digital World I think? Though it probably hadn't even been a year, it felt like so long since I'd watched Digimon, so when I'd randomly caught Frontier when I'd gotten home from school, I was too excited! It was the first time that despite not catching it from the very beginning, I was going to watch a show from where I tuned in and not worry if I was "missing something" [I'd later learned I'd only missed a few episodes, it was Kazemon's appearance that I'd started on]. ✧
I was hooked! Here was this cute girl my age turning into a very attractive Digimon [I was somehow unaware that I was attracted to Kazemon at the time haha], and though I'd definitely say I was jealous [she's cute, turns into a Digimon, and is making friends despite saying she doesn't make friends easily, and here I am, friendless and gross], I loved Zoe. I was rooting for her and thought it was great she could do anything the guys could do albeit with feminine flair [I also hadn't realized my dislike of being "the girl" and my love of "the girl" characters being one of the guys, just prettier, was my goal-self (I've always strived for "beautiful boy/ethereal girl, but not really either gender," but had always been too self-conscious to admit it with how garbage I felt]. ✧
I'd lost Poppy that December, and was crushed. I didn't have people, and I didn't have my own back enough to reach out to anyone who would've cared/helped. Having Digimon Frontier each week [I think it was like every Wednesday or something? I may be misremembering...] was the huge help I needed. It gave me something to look forward to [not to be too heavy, but I wasn't the biggest fan of being alive, so every little joy I could muster helped] and I really liked the characters' dynamic. This group was not exactly the best of friends, and I'd missed how they'd gotten together, but they were a team, and they made each other better! I thought, "I'm so tired of 'with friendship, you can do anything!!!' when it's always only friends you already have.. Why can't I watch new friendships form and see it not working at first? People like me who struggle to connect. I can do things too?" I really felt like I could get along with this group, and wished so hard to be Zoe... ✧
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joytraveler · 1 year
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61. Special Treat For Super Players
The screen goes black, and one by one, sixty stars light up on the screen, which must be the game counting up how many games you've finished. When all sixty stars disappear, Joyce's face reappears with that same big smile.
["You are a wonderful player! You make me feel very appreciated. Thanks from Joy Traveler!"
["Did you know that many of the games in this collection were made by children?"]
Joyce hides her mouth but you can tell she's giggling. ["Sometimes it shows! But the children made them all by themselves! And now..."]
She slides off the screen and is replaced with a new logo: JOY GAME MAKER. ["...so can you!"]
"AaaaAAAAAAAAAAaaaaa!!!" Bea, who looked like she was on the brink of dozing off, is suddenly full of energy and spinning around in her chair! Good thing she put down the controller first! "HOW DO I DO IT! Tell me moooore..."
Baconnaise: Bea. You're drooling. Chill. aroseahorseboy I'M drooling HNV: I don't think you'll be able to do much, you don't have a keyboard!
Upon pressing start, the player is brought to a screen with what looks like a big schoolroom, with Joyce herself sitting at the desk at the front. Every element in the room seems to have a function. There's an art easel, which is presumably for drawing sprites; a piano, for music; a tape recorder; a map on the wall; and an open door leading to the playground outside. Hard to tell what some of these things mean at this point! Looks like you can select Joyce too.
Bea has quickly doodled several of her followers as bees (their "beesonas") before she even clicks on Joyce, presumably for tips on how to actually MAKE a game. "I should probably have realized sooner that you guys won't actually be able to PLAY this but, too late now"
Syrupentine: YOU DREW HONEY SYRUP! *dies happy*
When you pick Joyce, she stands up and pulls down a screen, prompting:
[What kind of game would you like to make?]
There are at least 30 different game models to make, starting with side-scroller, shmup, 2D fighter, all the way to JRPG and Board Game!
She selects 2D fighter! "FIGHT FOR MY AFFECTION, HAHAAH!!"
The screen closes and returns to the classroom, but now "2D Fighter" is written on the chalkboard-- and two people are practicing fighting outside the window! Looks like that's where the game design happens.
When Bea chooses the playground, she takes control of Glem! By standing on different spots and pressing the shoulder buttons, she can change how he handles, making him faster or slower, jumping higher or lower, even changing his friction against the ground.
aroseahorseboy: is it odd to anyone that we're making a game in a genre that we haven't even seen yet in this collection?
"Well there's got to be at least one, or it wouldn't have the option!" she tries to adjust the controls to make a good balance of strength and speed. "Too floaty, too slow.. there we go, just right"
berd_snurglar: make mine a bumblebee cuz i bumble shit up all the time lol
"FINALLY! Ok, I think, maybe, we can take this for a test run now, at the very least. Thanks for your patience, guys! ....Guys?"
"...Well that's it for Press Bea today, see you tomorrow with more Joy Traveler!"
aroseahorseboy: no no i'm awake, kinda
When Bea chooses the computer disk to save her game, a truck also appears labeled "Export".
She selects it right away, not really thinking. "And off into the wild you go, little friend."
Options appear: [ PC / Mac / Android / iOS ]
".... PC, I guess? This thing's got wireless??"
[Compiling...]
A 'document' opens up with 36 pages to view. Each page has what Bea at first takes to be meaningless garbage, until she scrolls down and sees the boxes in the corners-- they're actually highly complex QR codes.
Baconnaise: Ok anyone speak robot talk GlockRoach: Bea my character has a special move. he has a gun. his special move is he just fucking shoots people with his gun Please put this in berd_snurglar: guys this is a program file that looks like it checks out except bea didn't do shit Klickitat_Street: This is fucking Objective-C... and you wrote it by mooshing a little man around on screen. I write code for a living, Bea. They're paying me to come in, eat donuts, and write things that are less elegant than this.
"NO IDEA WHAT I DID.. That's how kids made these games, it really was just that easy. I thought this was supposed to be a bunch of games for kids, but it's game for kids to make games with!"
GlockRoach: Well that explains a lot Syrupentine: I hope "Renk" finishes his game someday! GlockRoach: He's probably like ten or twenty years older by now at least. Or dead.
"This is ahead of its time NOW, I can't imagine it's all that old!" She looks for a way to test the game itself
Klickitat_Street: It can't be THAT much older if this lets you export to ios and android?
There's a poster of a movie clapboard that says 'action' on the wall; when she chooses it, Bea's game launches!
BUZZKILL! (that's the title she wrote in the fat cartoony font she chose)
Two angry little bees duel with their stingers on the title screen! Pressing start takes you to SELECT YOUR BEE!
"I can't play this because I can't believe it. Sorry, I can't...BEElieve it!"
Syrupentine: I wonder if there's something to let you make a random game... ...that's what the bingo cage on the desk is for, isn't it!!
"Let's find out!" she says. Syrup's bee just defeated Glock's anyway! Sadly she, too, perishes shortly after, having lost her stinger. "Uh.. maybe I can edit that out later"
Syrupentine: I can't believe you put that in... T_T ...I mean literally, that the game even gave you the option to make that happen! GlockRoach: GOTCHA BITCH
"Hey hey be civil now, if I can find out how to send this to you you can just kill each other that way!"
Zooming in on the bingo cage, it spins a few times and spits out a bunch of balls. They're decorated with symbols that aren't immediately meaningful, but there are some familiar icons, including some sprites from other games. Two more balls form a button: OK ?
berd_snurglar: i see some old friends of ours
"Let's see what you come up with on your own, game!"
[Compiling...]
A blue stone title screen pops up with the name written in block letters: PIZZA HERO.
After a moment, though, Joyce's face leans in, looking sheepish. "Is this title okay? If there's anything you don't like in a randomized game, you can pause and change it any time!"
"Looks good to me, Joyce! I come up with worse titles all the time! Besides, those are two things I like, can't go too wrong!”
When the game starts, the player is lost in a deep, dark forest, with only one person in sight to talk to. The player, however, is the green fuzzball from Fuzzed, and the NPC is an Angul! It's not attacking, though.
When Bea approaches the Angul, a dialogue box opens up:
[O BRAVE HERO, WE PRESENT TO THEE A QUEST!] [YOU MUST RETURN THE PIZZA OF COURAGE!]
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thessalian · 2 years
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Thess vs the Ministerial Code
So I may have indulged in a little bit of retail therapy in a bid not to blow up. Because it has been a shitty, shitty day and today’s downward spiral of the Tory government made it SO. MUCH. WORSE.
I knew it was going to be a bad day when my regular chorus of aches turned into a Epic Classic-Metal OST-style version of Ave Maria. (This does actually exist, by the way; it’s amazing what my penchant for soundtrack-style music and weird covers gets Spotify throwing at me.) It got worse when, of course, Temp decided she was going to go back to her “let’s leave all the long and fiddly dictation for someone else to do” ways - probably in preparation for what she’s going to get up to when Scruffman’s away next week. Some days I just suck it up and cope, because I’m clearly better at them than she is, but on bad days, I have problems with focus because a) fibro fog and b) not being able to think straight for the pain. I will cope with the long fiddly dictation when I have to but it enrages me when we’re having a relatively slow day and she cherry-picks all the nice easy stuff that I’d be able to cope with better on bad pain days. I’m going to have to bring this up to Scruffman again when he’s back from holiday, but I didn’t trust myself to do it today because I was going to start swearing, crying, or both.
And then, in the midst of that, while taking a microbreak after a ten-minute bit of nonsense (that got garbled because the transcription machines are garbage and the techs are not careful when using them), and I checked the news. And discovered that Johnson literally changed the ministerial code to say that breach of conduct was no longer a thing that required a minister’s resignation. So a minister can breach the code of conduct all they want and all they have to do is ‘apologise’ and maybe lose some pay, when they can let all the meaningless non-apologies they want dribble from their mouths and have more money than they need anyway.
He’s also rewritten the foreward to the code. To remove all references to honesty, integrity, transparency and accountability.
He can just ... do this. Our constitution isn’t like the US constitution. It’s not enshrined in a single document. And apparently the Prime Minister can just edit them to suit said Prime Minister’s needs at any given time. So now we have this, and people are largely at least flagging up that yes, he’s changing the code to save his own arse from being obliged to resign. Then again, we should have known this was coming when he didn’t make Priti Patel resign when she was found to be bullying her staff.
Yet again, I know that Biden’s not being all that the American people wanted him to be but for fuck’s sake, anyone but Trump. You let a Trump go unchecked, and this is what happens.
This ahead of another cabinet recess and next weekend being this fucking platinum jubilee. I don’t exactly give two shits about the monarchy and I’m not up for flag-waving jingoistic bullshit. I honestly want to see protests at each and every one of the fucking ‘galas’ being set up for next weekend. We need a lot less jingoism and a lot more pointing out that we have a fucking despot in charge. An incompetent despot, at that.
I’d leave if I could, but in the current economy, even if I could afford to get back to Canada with my stuff, I couldn’t survive. My mother wouldn’t support it (she figures this doesn’t really affect her so she’s fine, and has basically been a Johnson apologist just because she’s a true-blue Tory at heart) and I was lucky enough to get this job and be able to keep it part-time. I wouldn’t get that lucky again if I went to Canada. So I can’t afford to leave and I’m terrified of staying and I just kind of want to punch walls.
But instead, I will look at the Zen-ish video games I bought (I was pondering Tales of Arise, since it’s on sale, but I wasn’t sure enough) and consider what to order for food. My options are pretty limited, given dietary restrictions, but I’ll come up with something.
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bobbyfiend · 7 months
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People don't "deserve" things, but it's not because they don't deserve them
I guess I'm an existentialist, now. It's been a decade or two coming, but here I am. I find the basic premises of existentialism convincing, especially this really big one:
Nothing has meaning in and of itself. Thinking beings create meaning.
A beautiful waterfall isn't inherently beautiful, even though we say it that way; we find it beautiful (note: maybe not everyone does). People are not inherently good, bad, etc.; these are evaluations given to them by other people. Humans make meaning, we don't discover meaning that was already there. Because it wasn't.
This doesn't mean life is a bleak, meaningless experience[1], because we make meaning. That's what humans do. When we say "America is great" or "You are an amazing teacher" or "Room With a View is the best Merchant Ivory movie," we are expressing a meaning we make and experience. We can try to persuade others to adopt our meanings, and we can be persuaded by them to adopt theirs. This is how we get things like "justice" and "freedom" and "taxation without representation." The discussion of meanings is critical to creating a life worth living, and it never ends (welcome to the dialectic).
The hard part
When someone says, "Every human deserves [x]" (x = love, freedom, compassion, water, healthcare, safety, etc.), that is a logical problem for me, because of the stuff above.
Before anyone yells (not that anyone will read this, but just in case), please understand first that I fully agree with the end goal of those statements: we should be making sure people have access to those things. I'm not arguing with that view, I'm talking about how to understand it in a consistent way.
People don't have inherent meanings any more than rocks, nations, or political parties do. We give them the meanings. Beyonce is an amazing artist, Trump is a garbage fire disguised as a politician ... these are meanings we assign to others, or that emerge from meanings we assign to behaviors, identities, etc.
Saying a human deserves something packs a lot of meaning into that person. I don't think it makes sense to do that, so I [2] need a different way to think of this stuff--a way that respects the principle that meaning is created, not discovered.
I'm not 100% sure how to construe or talk about this, so internally I say things like "I believe, because of meanings I made or accept about humans and a bunch of other stuff, that I need to work toward humans having access to the things I consider human rights"[3]. I think making humans safe, happy, loved, healthy, etc. is a good thing, and that the human race will be better off the more we do this, so I'll try to convince others to do it. Underneath that idea are some more beliefs like "I believe making humans happy is a valuable thing to do," "I believe trying to convince others of this point of view is a valid activity," and "I believe I cannot be who I want to be unless I strive for this."
Again, I don't know quite how to say all this without saying humans "deserve" something. Here are some stabs at it, none of which really satisfy me.
"The more people working toward [x], the greater overall happiness will be, which means our world is better."
"People will be both individually and collectively happier if we work toward the happiness of others, such as by providing [x]."
"Your rationale for not striving to provide [x] to all humans regardless of identity or context is much less convincing than the rationale for providing it."
In the end, I don't think it's too important to convince others to drop the "all people deserve [x]" language, because I generally 100% agree with the push to provide [x]. We're working toward the same goals. The "deserve" frame also probably appeals to a lot more people than my kludgy attempts to express this without "deserving" in it.
Anyway, I haven't worked out quite how to conceptualize or talk about this, yet, despite being (currently) convinced that "deserving" is not it. My internal dialectic is ongoing.
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[1] Maybe that's nihilism?
[2] I don't expect everyone to need this; maybe it's just me, and that's okay.
[3] Human rights aren't the same (at least from some perspectives) as humans "deserving" things; human rights can be seen as legal or moral statements about what a bunch of humans need to be doing, without saying that it's because other humans have inherent meanings that nobody made.
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dejlige-dage · 2 years
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You tagged me in this forever ago, but I’m just getting around to filling it out now. Anyway, thanks @poesimark ! 😘 I’m not sure if any of my followers are really big readers, so I’m not going to tag anyone, but if you are and you see this, I’m absolutely fascinated in the idea of seeing your list! 🥰
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Bought - Hmm, I don’t buy books very often, as I’m very minimalistic with belongings, but I’m guessing the last time I bought a book was around five years ago when I bought some Danish Pixi books (very small, will-fit-in-your-pocket-no-matter-how-big-or-small-they-are-sized children’s books) for studying from. When you’re first learning, simple children’s books are a treasure, if not in content, then at least in raw language exposure. 👍
Borrowed - My father-in-law’s wife loaned me Kun en pige by Lise Norgaard back in January. Despite the fact that I wasn’t familiar with a lot of the very beautiful, descriptive vocabulary the author used to describe her childhood (and let’s be real, I probably still don’t know a lot of the words she used. This woman is a literary goddess,) I still found the book to be supremely enjoyable. She was an absolute imp of a child, and had zero regrets. 😂 I remember specifically a weekend-long episode of intense, secretive button-chewing that her and her sister went through around the family’s beach house, because they needed buttons to use as tokens to ride on a carousel on the beach.
Was Gifted - Ohhh, this is so shameful to say. My mother-in-law is doing a lot of cleaning up around her house lately, and as a retired school teacher and avid reader, she has a lot of books laying around her house. She gave me an entire box of books not too long ago, and the shameful part of this is that I haven’t actually read any of them. Most of them were books outside of my field of interest, so I ended up donating all of them. 🙈 There were a number of American classics translated to Danish (that I haven’t actually even read in English,) as well as a number of adolescent fantasy novels, which does not interest me.
Gave/Lent - Listen. I clearly associate with the wrong kinds of people. Nobody else I know reads, so I don’t have anyone to give or lend books to without being weirdly pushy. 😭 I wish I had friends to trade books/recommendations with.
Started - Foragtens tid by Andrzej Sapkowski, or The Time of Contempt, if you’d like the English title. Czas pogardy, if you’re nasty. 😘 But yeah, I’m reading it in Danish, because what’s the difference in reading one translation over another, you know? I otherwise fully expect to enjoy Foragtens tid as much as I’ve enjoyed the other books in this series. My wishes, as like last time: More two-man idiot shows ft. Geralt and Dandelion, a meeting between Dandelion and Ciri, and more dwarves.
Finished - Ugh snore! I just pushed myself to finish reading Den begravede kæmpe (The Buried Giant) by Kazuo Ishiguro. I understand that the man is apparently a literary genius who has won a Nobel peace prize and was knighted in the UK, but this book was just a major snooze fest! Maybe I missed out on all of the deep, profound metaphors for life, but the plot felt loose and meaningless at best. There was really nothing to catch my interest, and it turns out that I am really not a fan of the concept of “lost memories” as a trope, because, ‘sometimes we remember and sometimes we don’t and there’s never any rhyme or reason for it,’ doesn’t sit well with me.
Gave five stars - Hm. I think En konges æt by Tonny Gulløv is the most recent, but I don’t often give five stars. Aside from being a good read, you can really just tell that the author had a blast writing the dialogue between characters, and that was honestly such a feel-good feeling for me as a reader?
Gave two stars - Silhuet af en synder by Christina Leonora Skov. I’ve read one other book by her before, and I thought it was pretty good, minus the very ending which was just weird, hot garbage that left off with an apparently forever-to-be-unfinished cliffhanger. But this is not about that book. Silhuet af en synder, while technically not written terribly, just didn’t catch my attention, and the mystery was kind of drawn out and convoluted. The characters were hard also hard for me to relate to, so whenever they did something, it either meant nothing to me, or irritated me. I guess there really wasn’t anything drastically wrong with the book, I just didn’t like it. I probably won’t be reading any more books by this author, however.
Didn’t finish - I hate giving up on reading something that I’ve already started, so I don’t actually have any books that I didn’t finish, but the two books that challenged me the most and that I almost stopped reading are Den begravede kæmpe by Kazuo Ishiguro and Krokodillevogteren by Katrine Engberg. I’ve already explained my feelings on the former, so let’s go over the latter. The mystery was boring, there was actually very little involvement of the killer (and it was advertised as being a more central part of the plot, I felt), and the fact that every single character’s eyeglasses were explained in detail, when it meant absolutely nothing for the conclusion, was irritating. Don’t explain everything in great and grand detail just to fill up the pages if it doesn’t mean anything to the greater plot. 😒
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transvampireart · 4 years
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yeah i broke my laptop screen and only draw traditionally rn what about it
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helloamhere · 3 years
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Lately, my going-to-sleep brain has been eaten alive by this Star Wars concept which goes back to my old favorite trope, people disagreeing about what if the feelings we have in our bodies are good actually, and normally I am NOT interested in "Sith are good" AUs but imagine an AU where the Dark vs Light hinges on a fundamentally different stance towards embodiment, like in this AU the Sith aren't bad just different and this difference underlies their development of biological manipulation and other kinds of interventionist philosophies whereas the Jedi take a noninterventionist stance (this I think is not far from canon but unevenly applied) and basically the tensions between these viewpoints would make for some REALLY GOOD ARGUMENTS that's what I'm saying I'm just talking to myself and my own napping brain here, but I'm just saying
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morizoras-cave · 4 years
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Obsessive (Request)
Tom Holland x teen!co-star!reader
Genre: angst, fluff
Request Description: hi! could you please do a Tom Holland x teen!costar!reader wherein during a meet and greet/interview (or anything), they meet a super creepily obsessive fan of the reader. The fan begins creeping the reader out with weird questions and gets too close, so Tom becomes super protective and tells the fan off. Thank you!
Warnings: pedophilia, obsessive fan, inappropriate touching, just weirdness, language!
(A/N): *gargle noises*
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“Thank you so much for the signature, Y/n! I’m such a big fan! I love you!!” A girl said cheerfully, as you gave her your signature on her Endgame poster. She then moved on to Tom who sat right next to you with the same cheerful attitude. 
You were about an hour into the 2-hour fan meet and greet, organized by the heads of Marvel. You and about a dozen other actors from the MCU were attending, meaning to greet fans and sign their merchandise. 
You and Tom had been messing around the entire meet and greet like you always did, undoubtedly creating several gif-able moments. Being very young, Tom had admitted to you several times that he saw you as a little sister. You too saw him as a brother, but liked teasing him and saying he was more like a grandma. You were like two peas in a pod, really.
Although it could be quite exhausting and was currently the number one cause for your finger cramps, you loved meeting the fans and they were always so sweet. Most of them anyway. 
“Hi,” a guy breathed. You smiled at him. He seemed nervous. He looked to be in his mid-thirties, sporting a ‘Squirrel Girl’ t-shirt. You smiled, realizing he was a fan of your character.
“Hi! Squirrel Girl fan, huh?” you pointed to his shirt. He chuckled dryly and nodded. 
It was like he stopped working. Just stood there. There was an awkward moment of silence, as you waited for him to pull out his poster or CD, and he just stared at you. 
“Oh- Uh-” he realized what was happening, breaking out of his trance. He pulled out his poster and avoided your gaze. “I’m sorry, girls as pretty as you just make me nervous.” 
You looked at him in shock for a moment, then forced a laugh and signed his poster quietly. He probably didn’t mean it in a creepy way. 
“You know, I-I read all of your Wikipedia pages and stuff. We have a lot in common, you and I,” he said. You flushed in embarrassment. He was definitely being weird.
He put his hand on yours, making you flinch. You looked down at him and he stared back at you, not taking his hand away. He licked his lips and it caused what was possibly the most uncomfortable feeling you’d ever felt.
At this point, you grab Tom’s hand under the table. As you reached for his, you realized you were shaking. Your entire stomach burned and pricked with anxiety. 
Tom diverted his gaze from the girl he was speaking to, eyes setting on you. It was impossible to miss you discomfort. You were tense like a disgruntled cat. Then his eyes moved to the man in front of you, sweaty hand on yours. His brows furrowed.
“Are you doing anything after this? We could go to my place if you want? You’ve mentioned that you like the show Breaking Bad? We could watch that if you want?” 
The man’s words set off an immediate alarm in Tom’s head. You were usually a very easy-going person, he’d never seen you in such a stressed state. He saw you trying to move your hand away from his and how the creepy man held on. 
Tom’s instant reaction was just to grab his hand and take it off you. As soon as the man’s skin was detached from yours, you visibly relaxed. Your hands was shaking, as you retracted it. 
The man was furious. Eyes wide, nostrils flaring and face red. But Tom was angry too. 
“What do you think you’re doing? You’re making her uncomfortable,” Tom said, doing his best to not just yell at him. The man didn’t seem to be holding back at all though. 
“Back off, dude! You don’t know anything!” The man yelled hysterically, causing several actors’ eyes to turn to the three of you. You caught Scarlett Johansson’s eyes and shrugged, signaling the very obvious and comprehensible message: listen-man-i-don’t-have-any-fucking-idea-what’s-going-on.
“Get the fuck out of here! You fucking creep. Security!” Tom yelled, waving at the security. The man’s eyes watered, and he bit back his words, turning to you. 
“Y/n.. Y/n, please, I love you. Tell them you love me too! Tell them!” he spat, face red. All you could do was shake your head vigorously, as the buff security guards grabbed him by his arms and started dragging him away. “Y/n! Y/n! My love!”
Everyone was silent for a moment, both the actors, the people in the queue, and the staff around and behind the stage. 
“Holy shit,” you said, and everyone stirred again, returning to the meet and greet. 
“What the hell was that about?” Anthony yelled from the other side of the table you all sat at. People erupted into small giggles at his usual sassiness. 
“I don’t know! I don’t,” you said. 
You felt a hand on your shoulder, which given your current shock, made you jump, but when you quickly realized it was just Tom.
“Are you okay?” he asked, a concerned expression on his features. You smiled softly and nodded. 
“That guy was a total creep.”
“Yeah.” Tom seemed more angry than you. You just felt weird about it. I mean, that man was so much older than you? 
“But like, really, do you wanna talk about it?” Tom asked quietly, searching your eyes. You smiled softly. 
“Maybe later,” you said and went back to signing. Tom did too, reluctantly.
You and Tom talked it through later in your hotel room. He listened to all of your worries and all of your thoughts and feelings, and he assured you that he would always be there to scare the creeps away. 
Then, when he starting to leave, you asked him if he could stay the night. That day’s encounter had stirred and anxiety within you. You didn’t want to be alone.
Tom had smiled at you and said “of course”. Then you’d both watched meaningless television until you fell asleep, as secure as you’d ever been, without a worry in your head that someone would get you, because Tom would never let anyone touch his little sister/grandchild. 
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Tag List:
@hera-the-writer @marvel-madness @40srogcrs @whatthefuckimbisexual @ireadfanficforfun @snarky–starky @garbage-potato @eviemarvel @lozzypoz321 @allthecreativeonesaretaken @missamericana713​ @rororo06​ @shady80smusicsingercolor​
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shallow-gravy · 3 years
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Ch. 1 / Ch. 2 / Ch. 3 / Ch. 4 / Ch. 5 / Ch. 6 / Ch. 7 / Ch. 8 / Ch. 9 / Ch. 10 / Ch. 11 / Ch. 12 / Ch. 13 / Ch. 14 / Ch. 15 / Ch. 16 / Ch. 17 / Ch. 18 / Ch. 19 / Ch. 20 / Ch. 21 / Ch. 22 / Ch. 23 / Ch. 24 / Ch. 25 / Ch. 26 / Ch. 27 / Ch. 28 / Ch. 29 / Ch. 30 / Ch. 31 / Ch. 32 / Ch. 33 / Ch. 34 / Ch. 35 / Ch. 36 / Ch. 37 / Ch. 38 / Ch. 39 /
Word Count: ~5400
A/N: God I'm sorry it took a thousand years to get this out, but I hope y'all enjoy it. I was pretty sick like a month ago and it took me a long time to get back into the swing of things, but as always huge enormous thank yous go out to @actuallyhansolo, @honeysides & @vasiktomis for putting their eyes on this and for listening to me moan and complain and riot and hem and haw. I owe you all my life!!!
Warnings: naughty language, warnings for the gremlins themselves and their particular brand of flirting. Also there is a mention of animal death!
XL. Prizefighter
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I'm an everything's all righter, I'm a prizefighter
Well, if you need me I'm right here
No matter what I'm always near
Yeah, I been through a lot and you can't scare me
Now come on baby, if you just dare me
- The Eels, Prizefighter
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“KIM!”
Nick’s voice and the sound of him slamming the van’s back door shut breaks the silence over the stretch of road, the only other sound the rough hiss coming from the vehicle itself, something broken and leaking hot under the hood.
Nick sounds broken; desperate.
John regains some of his confident stride as he approaches, clenching fists at his sides to stifle the way his hands want to shake.
“KIM!?”
“Anything!?” he asks, feeling numb, barely even registering the words coming from his own mouth. There is anger boiling up inside him.
Not now.
Not after all this.
Nick shakes his head roughly as he surveys the perimeter of the vehicle. “Nobody inside except a couple of yours,” he responds, voice thick as he throws one hand out helplessly toward the van. “And they ain’t gonna be tellin’ us nothin’.”
“Nick!?”
They both whip their heads at the sound, coming from just in the tree line off to their left, beside the crossroad where they were hoping to head the van off. Nick’s already moving toward it, long strides morphing into a jog when he sees his wife stepping out from behind the cover of a tree.
“Kim! Oh Jesus, baby, are you okay!?”
He doesn’t stop until she’s in his arms, until he can see that the baby is miraculously unharmed, and almost as if on cue the child starts wailing unhappily. Kim lets out something that could be a laugh or could be a sob - it’s hard to tell - handing the infant delicately off to her husband.
“Christ, Kim, I was so scared,” Nick mutters, putting his free hand on her face, brushing the skin tenderly with his thumb before he slides it to the back of her head and kisses her, long and deep.
“I can’t believe her,” Kim bites out, pressing her forehead to his briefly before Nick gives her back a bit of space.
John looks around, twiddling his hands, brushing his thumbs against his forefingers in a restless sort of way until he catches sight of someone else making their way out of the trees. It’s getting dark now, shadows stretching long, and he moves forward a few steps excitedly.
His mouth curls down when he sees it’s only Deputy Hudson, dragging her feet, lurching listlessly like...well, like one of Rachel’s Angels. He watches as her empty gaze drags slowly across the others, then meanders to him, then centers somewhere down near her feet at a particularly nice flower or a shiny piece of garbage or something else equally meaningless.
Well.
“Where is she?” John finally asks, unable to keep the tightness from his voice. Unable to muster up the ability to care all that much about interrupting their little reunion. If she’s dead, he may very well just shoot them all. They’ve nothing to live for. None of them have any purpose now, not really, not like she did.
Kim blinks, and then it’s like she notices him for the first time. Her expression steels and she gives him a cool once-over before looking at Nick and angling herself in front of the baby in his arms protectively. “What the hell is he doing here?”
“Where is she?” John reiterates roughly before Nick can even get through his own sheepishness to explain the Baptist’s presence. He takes a half step forward, starts reaching behind his back.
Kim’s lip curls. “Your little girlfriend nearly got us killed,” she hisses, but the venom there is weak at best. John sees her hand shaking as she points a finger at him. She’s clearly in a bit of shock from the whole ordeal. “I can’t believe we were gonna make her Carmina’s godmother-”
Nick angles his head down while he rocks the baby gently in his arms, trying to calm her. “What the hell happened!?”
“She woke up. And then she jumped one of the guys in the back with us, damn near clawed his eyes out—took his gun and busted the other one’s face in. Told me to ‘hold on’, then she went up front and…” Kim spreads her arms at her sides, shakes her head slightly like she’s still in disbelief.
“Where. Is. She?”
“I told her she shouldn’t be here when Joey snaps out of it,” Kim replies snidely, pointing off to the side without any further pretense. “So she took off.”
John turns his head to look in the direction of her extended arm, off to his right where a dirt driveway cuts beneath the train overpass and disappears around a bend in the trees. “Right.”
He reaches up to straighten the lapels of his jacket before starting off across the road. “Thank you.”
“John.”
He pauses, angling his head slightly.
“Probably don’t need to be said, but we ain’t stickin’ around for you. Whatever else happens—that’s between you and your brothers. You best make sure and leave us the hell out of it.”
John only stands in itching silence for a moment. He inhales and then he nods curtly. They’re doomed, anyway. Bullets would have been an easier end, but now that he knows Diana’s out there he’ll let them think they’ve gotten themselves some kind of a win.
“Good luck with the end of the world, Nick,” the Baptist tosses back over his shoulder with a cursory little wave before resuming his march up the road.
. . .
The house he comes upon at the end of the driveway looks like many others in Hope County; boarded up and half-dilapidated, bags of trash and someone’s hastily-packed belongings piled up outside.
The sound of flies buzzing combined with the smell of rotting food is atrocious.
He vaguely recalls the owners. A couple who’d refused the salvation he’d offered, started stockpiling their own supplies instead of opening their hearts and sharing what they had with the Project. Most likely out of some misplaced fear of persecution, which was frankly ridiculous. He remembers assuring both men they’d be welcomed with open arms, the same as anyone else. The same as Joseph had welcomed him.
But Joseph’s disposition is a line of thought he isn’t willing to explore at the moment.
There’s a dead dog in the dirt just a few feet from the porch and a long, rusty stain painting a stripe across the driveway. When the Reaping began, he’d sent his people out to drag the willfully unrepentant from their homes. That stain, the bouquets of Jimson Weed hanging from the roof of the porch and hastily-graffitied verses adorning the weathered siding are all testament to the fact that they’d been here and claimed it in the name of Eden’s Gate.
He makes his way around the dog and mounts the steps in two long strides.
The lock on the front door is broken. The hinges announce his presence loudly when he pushes the door inward. It’s dark inside and he blinks to try and correct his vision.
There’s a metallic clatter somewhere off to the left in front of him, in what appears to be a kitchen.
“Get the fuck out or so help me God-!”
And then she’s there, his deputy, coming directly at him with a rather large carving knife clutched in one raised fist and the only thing John can think to do is take another step forward.
They meet and he takes her face in his hands - perhaps a little rougher, a little more tightly than he should - and she wavers, halting the downward stroke of the blade just in time when she finally realizes who it is that’s discovered her.
Her lips are drawn back in a vicious snarl he knows well by now, but he sees them twitch in the darkness, sees the deep furrow of her brow soften ever so slightly.
“Diana.”
He feels her hitch momentarily beneath his touch and then whatever softness he’d seen - or thought he’d seen - vanishes just as quickly.
“How—what the fuck are you doing here!?” she seethes, those dishwater eyes wide and incredulous.
He has to reach up and grab her wrist to stop her renewing the effort to carve a hole into his shoulder. Little minx. “I came for you,” he replies sharply, indignantly, as if the answer should be obvious.
“Ohh, poor John—your lackeys couldn’t do it so you had to come and finish the fucking job!?” she spits in response, the tendons in her arm jumping and flexing beneath his grip.
“I didn’t know!” John nearly shouts, losing some of his composure then, wrenching his other hand in behind her head to grab a fistful of hair; maybe trying to stop the momentary something he’d felt between them just now from slipping away entirely. How many times has his deputy cheated death? Just today she’s done it twice already, though that little stunt in the transport van was fucking idiotic to say the least. “They went behind my back!”
“Fucking liar!” Diana jerks forward, toward him rather than away in response to his harsh grip, baring her teeth like a frenzied animal caught in a trap. As if she can threaten and posture and intimidate him into backing off. “You told me they’d have time to get out of Fall’s End, but it was all just a trap, wasn’t it!?”
She’s so close now, he could kiss her if he wanted to. He sneers instead. “There is almost nowhere in Hope County where a group that size could go unnoticed, and my brothers are far from stupid! I did what I could on such short notice, Diana, but I’m sure it didn’t take all that much deduction on their part to figure out where your little friends were trying to hide!”
That seems to give her pause. John watches intently as the snarl falters, giving way to something that almost resembles trepidation. Good.
“I never lied to you. Joseph called me off to the compound so that they could get me away from you. Don’t you get it? I’m the only one that can protect you! I am the only one who can keep you safe!”
Perhaps she’s thinking of the friends who seemed to be mere seconds from abandoning her before his - well, Joseph’s (they’ve always been Joseph’s, though, haven’t they?) - capture party had rolled in. John waits another brief moment and then decides to take a calculated risk, letting go of her wrist.
The muscles in her jaw flex with something Diana refuses to speak out loud. Her eyes flick over to the knife, but she doesn’t attack him with it again.
She only lowers the weapon and starts to turn away, looking exhausted all of a sudden and pointedly trying to shrug off the grip he still has on her hair.
He could be a bastard and keep her close if he wanted to, but he chooses to act on good faith and lets her go; chooses to savor this precarious armistice he’s just won for himself.
“Tell that to all the fucking bodies I left behind,” she grits out as she finally turns her back on him and lifts her hand to comb fingers through her lank tangle of hair. “You want a confession? I don’t need your motherfucking protection because I am a monster who’s perfectly capable of murdering your stupid, pathetic, drugged-up brainwashed groupies all on my own!” She accentuates the statement by hurling the knife away; it clatters against the linoleum before skidding to a stop beneath the bottom edge of the kitchen counter.
“Diana, I can still save you if yo-”
“I don’t wanna be fucking saved!” she exclaims harshly, rounding on him and throwing her hands out at her sides. “And if you are telling me the truth, I don’t even know why you’re still fucking harping about it!”
That makes him pause momentarily, makes him think of the things Boshaw and Rye had said earlier. Makes him think of the last thing Joseph had said before he’d stormed out of the chapel.
If you walk out that door, do not think that you will be given leave to walk back in.
He wouldn’t have…would he?
No.
The gates will be shut to you, John.
“You’re just as fucked as I am, John.” There’s a bitter sort of triumph in Diana’s voice that drags his gaze back to her from some middle-distance, manages to cut him deeper than any of her incessant fuck you’s ever could. Those are practically old hat by now. “And I don’t think anyone gives a shit about saving either of us.”
No. Joseph may have a penchant for teaching heavy-handed moral lessons, but he would never really deny John the place he’s earned, the place he’s worked so fucking hard for. This is just another test. He’s been with Joseph longer than anyone. He’s seen the man they all know now as the Father, barely a step above begging for change on the street when he’d first found his way into John’s office back in Atlanta; seen him raise people up from those same depths with the promise of glorious purpose and shelter from the inevitable storm to come.
...And he’s seen Joseph strike down those who shirked their own salvation and ended up displeasing him, those with the potential to become a threat to his vision for the Project. John’s memories of their father are watery at best, troubled and nebulous things for as young as he was back in Rome. But there have been times when Joseph has tested the boundaries of those memories; said and done things that trip those old alarm bells in John’s psyche, ill-formed and buried deep as they are. But old man Seed’s whiskey-fueled tyranny created a certain bond between them all those years ago that Joseph would never dare to break. It’s simply not possible.
Diana’s turned away again, moved back into the kitchen with some kind of purpose. John straightens, comes back to himself and squares up as she stoops to pick up a can from the floor - presumably the cause of the clatter he’d heard when he first walked in - and appears to ignore him in favor of reaching up to rummage through the kitchen cabinets.
“And what exactly is your plan, then, deputy? Storm the compound and berate my brothers with foul language and petty insults? Hurt their feelings until they finally release your little friends?”
She slams another can down onto the kitchen counter in response. “I don’t—I don’t know, okay?!”
“I could help you,” John replies rather carefully, taking another step forward. He stops, though, putting his hands up defensively when she spins and pins him with a threatening glower. “Don’t worry, I’m not harping on about your salvation—I mean I could help you find them.”
Her expression completely flattens. She lets go of the can and regards him for only a moment longer before turning back, taking a sideways step to open another cabinet and busy herself with peering inside. “And why would you do that?”
Why would he do that? He needs to gain her trust somehow, needs her to need him. Needs her to see that his devotion is genuine, that his methods - though perhaps a tad backhanded at times - are carried out with purpose and will save her in the end. He needs her to see that she belongs with him––that if she continues to buck and rear against God’s will, she’s either going to die or Joseph is going to take her by force. John does not particularly desire either of those outcomes.
Besides, she can’t possibly be stupid enough to think herself capable of fighting her way into the compound, or even sneaking in. It can’t be done.
Besides, she isn’t meant to keep fighting them forever; fighting him forever. There’s a key here, somewhere, that unlocks the secrets she keeps held so close to her chest. There was little Liliana and the tragic end to their budding teenage romance, and yes, he does savor that morsel of information—but John’s well-practiced at this by now. She did just call herself a monster, and he itches to dig into that little revelation, because there’s something deeper than the old ache of senseless loss or the fresher guilt of recent events at work there. Something that eats at her. Something else she did, rather than something that was done to her.
In time; but right now he knows he has to be patient. Charming. Useful.
“Perhaps this is my own greed talking,” he starts, wetting his lips and taking another idle step forward, “but I believe - wholeheartedly - every single thing I have told you, Diana. You and I are meant to walk through the Gates together. Think about it—there’s no reason for you to keep fighting it anymore. And if I am, as you so eloquently put it, just as fucked as you are, then what have I got to lose? Hm? Why wouldn’t I help you? Even if you were to succeed in relieving the Project of your friends, well—” he chuckles, shrugging his shoulders loosely—“I don’t think they’re really your friends anymore, are they? I’m the only person you’ve got.”
She sighs heavily, a box of some processed, powderized food clutched in each hand. “Could you just stop?”
John blinks. “Stop what?”
“This creepy little fucking nice boy act!” she bites out, slamming the two boxes down onto the counter beside the few other cans she’s found. She flattens her palms on the countertop, looks down for a few moments. Then sucks in a breath, turning her head to glare at him once more. “What if I don’t want to go after them? What if I’m just done? Huh? Bet that might throw a wrench into whatever little fucking scheme you’ve got brewing…”
Hm. So much for being useful.
John pauses, admittedly a bit nonplussed. He does not let it show, lets a smile bloom across his face instead. Of course he’d been angling for an easy way to get her back into the Project's line of sight, to show Joseph he’d meant what he said about fetching her and bringing her back on his own terms, but if this is true— “Even better. Do you know how long I’ve been waiting to have you all to myself?”
Her brows knit tightly, a little wrinkled knob of fury forming right in the center of her forehead. What a wild thing she is, backed into a corner like this. He gets the distinct impression she very much regrets tossing that knife away. Even though he shouldn’t, he can’t help imagining in his mind’s eye what might have transpired back at the ranch. Was she scared? Was it truly fight or flight or was she just bloodthirsty? Did she exult in it? Perhaps she’d just been waiting for the chance to indulge senselessly in her sin, to gorge herself on blood and violence.
John inhales lightly, gesturing toward the non perishables on the counter. “Planning a romantic dinner of, uh—” he leans forward, peering at what he can see of their labels in the near darkness— “garbanzo beans and instant mashed potato, deputy?”
“Fuck you” she responds roughly, slapping the cabinets shut with a decisive thwack before turning away and striding out from the kitchen past him. “I can’t exactly afford to be picky about whatever I scavenge since your fucking cult is actively trying to hunt me down and kill me.”
John offers a sardonic smirk, watches as she pauses to kick off her dirty boots - not even laced nor zippered, they flop off her feet so stupidly easy he suddenly wonders how she could possibly be as dangerous as she is without tripping - and veers sharply to the left to head down a hallway that runs deeper into the house.
He briefly considers informing her who this place belongs to now, but that only brings to mind the temporary loss of his own home. Only a minor inconvenience, he has to remind himself, though it does fucking sting.
As it stands, the Baptist can’t help trailing after her.
. . .
Diana peers through a doorway that leads into some kind of an office and quickly dismisses it to continue down the hall.
“What are you doing now?”
“Not that it’s any of your business, but I’d like to see if the shower in this dump can get anywhere close to scalding,” she replies without sparing him a glance, pushing open the next door she comes upon to reveal what she seeks - the bathroom. “Don’t wait up.”
She slips inside and smacks the door abruptly shut, taking a moment to clench a fist in his general direction, smooshing it impotently against the wood so that he won’t hear anything of the rage she actually feels. It seems like she’s been holding her breath this entire time. He’s taken her off guard, caught her in a vulnerable, volatile position and she doesn’t even have any idea how he fucking found her all the way out here in the first place.
Diana comes to the conclusion as she hastily shucks off Kim Rye’s borrowed clothes that he must have been in Fall’s End somewhere, watching her. Watching - most likely with palpable glee - as all those people discovered her shameful secret; as even those she might have actually considered to be something like friends turned on her one by one.
She thinks she should want to cry as she pushes the curtain aside and reaches into the shower stall to turn on the water, cranking the knob as far to the hot side as it will go. The way Jess had looked at her in those final moments is seared into her memory. She’d only wanted for them to have a chance at getting out, and now look at what’s happened.
The temperature is only lukewarm when Diana steps in a moment later, but she exhales heavily and tilts her face up to the water anyway. As she slicks her hair back, she realizes how odd it feels that this is her second shower today; it’s practically a luxury now, since Eden’s Gate took over the county. Fighting her way out of the ranch and walking all the way to the Rye’s feels like it happened months ago, though, not just earlier this afternoon.
The sound of the door opening on the other side of the shower curtain has her rolling her eyes as she angles her head to glare in that direction. “What the fuck did I tell you?”
“I believe it was ‘don’t wait.’”
Diana can practically hear him smiling as he says it. Fucking smug piece of shit.
She belatedly realizes she hadn’t even checked to see if there was a lock on the door; hadn’t even gotten the chance to turn her attention back to the very real and present problem of him, and isn’t that just the way it’s been? Somehow he always catches her like this, keeps her forever on edge, never lets her have even a fucking moment to just get her shit together.
“I never got the chance to ask,” she hears him say from the other side of the curtain amidst the distinct rattle of metal buttons - or more likely a garish belt buckle - hitting the floor, “but there’s something I’ve been wondering-”
“If you really have to follow me could you at least do something useful and shut the fuck up for a little while?”
Suddenly John’s drawing the curtain aside, locking those eerie blue eyes on her and continuing just as if she hadn’t said anything “-if things had gone differently—would you have tried to leave with them?”
She balks a little at the question, only responding outwardly by curling her lip to let him know how thoroughly displeased she is at having to make room for him in this tiny shower stall. It’s a yes or no question, but an incredibly loaded one for how nonchalantly he’s asked it.
“No.”
“No?” John parrots, cocking an eyebrow as he steps in beside her. He’s all lean, sculpted angles and scars and jumbled black ink, crowding her back against the wall with all the lithe posturing of a big cat.
“I was always planning on staying behind,” she breathes, jutting her chin up and looking at him from beneath sodden lashes. “After they escaped I was gonna find you. Hunt you down. And I wasn’t gonna stop until one of us was dead.”
John doesn’t react for a moment, only eyeing her the same way he had those weeks ago when he’d first had her in his bunker. Hungry, like he wants nothing more than to devour her and pick his teeth clean with the bones. The corners of his mouth curl up as if her murderous declaration is exactly the answer he’d been hoping for.
“Oh, deputy,” he purrs, one hand coming up to splay against her neck, the junction between his thumb and forefinger slotting into place beneath the defiant tilt of her jaw as if it were made to be there.
“Stop fucking calling me th-”
Her words muffle against the sudden obstacle of his mouth, a single flash point of heat against the still tepid water cascading down over them.
After his teeth find her lip but before he can shove his tongue into her mouth, she finds the wherewithal to flatten her hands against his chest and push him back. “That was not a goddamn open invitation, asshole!”
“Wasn’t it?” he asks through a hoarse breath, tilting his head to run a hand back through his wet hair and slick the loose strands back into place. “I know you, Diana, so much better than you think.”
“You don’t know shit-”
“I know every time you speak about your desire to cause me some kind of bodily harm, all you’re doing is deflecting-”
“Oh no, my desire to cause you bodily harm is incredibly real-”
John barks out a sharp laugh, runs his tongue over his lower lip as if savoring the last dregs of the taste of her. “I know you’re deflecting because you so clearly took it to heart when I told you it would be you and me, in the end…”
She can’t stand the way he looks so pleased with himself. She’d wanted to find him and put a bullet between those stupid blue eyes, fucking meant it when she was so sure he’d turned tail and sent his own men to kill her.
And now? Now that she’s got him, for whatever that’s worth, whatever that means—now what?
“Yeah…well, so did your fucking brothers,” she finally bites out, elbowing her way past him to wrench open the shower curtain and exit the tiny stall.
The water stops behind her as she searches the bathroom for a towel, ripping open a cabinet and the drawers beneath the sink until she finally comes to a folding closet door on the wall.
“It doesn’t have to-”
“Why me!?” she suddenly barks over him, yanking a towel out of the closet and dabbing at her skin fiercely; refusing to look back at him.
Only silence fills the moments that follow and so she huffs a breath of air through her nose and plows on. “I mean you are, like, so incredibly codependent, what the fuck is so important about me that you went and got yourself thrown out of your own stupid little special boys club!?”
As Diana pulls the towel tight around herself and finally turns around, she is surprised to see the look on his face. The smug, sneering smile is all but gone. He almost looks small, standing there with water dripping from his hair and beard. His jaw works.
“Did Holly ever tell you why she was abandoning the Project…?”
Diana blinks, confused by this completely unrelated question. She throws a hand out, the one that isn't clutching the corners of the towel together up near her wrath scar. “I dunno, ‘cause she was getting scared of all the creepy shit you told her you and your brothers were doing?”
All she gets in response is a “hm” as he strides forward, wet feet slapping softly against the cheap linoleum as he enters her space again, leaning in past her to grab a towel for himself when it’s clear she’s not going to be polite and hand him one of her own accord.
Diana scoots around him and out of the way, bending down to scrape her clothes up off the floor as she goes. “‘Hm?’ That’s it? That’s all you suddenly have to say?”
She sucks her teeth, shakes her head and makes her way out of the bathroom before he can explain himself, if he was even planning on it. “You know what? Don’t even bother. I’m fucking tired. The bedroom’s mine, so you can either sleep on the couch or fuck off somewhere else, I don’t really care.”
She knows she should find a backpack or a duffel for the scraps of food she’d found, spend more time looting the house and getting a bug-out bag ready, but she just doesn’t have it in her. Dealing with him is exhausting and on top of all the shit she’s already been through today, her patience is nonexistent. She’s tired, she’s sore, and she’ll deal with that shit in the morning, thank you very much.
Diana bee-lines across the hall to another door, rolling her eyes toward the ceiling thankfully when her hunch turns out to be correct and there’s a bedroom on the other side of it. Someone else’s bedroom, decorated with someone else’s belongings. All the little intimate details of their life just sitting here after who knows what happened to them. Thank god it’s dark and she can’t really see most of it.
There’s a little pop lock on the door handle that she makes sure to depress before she throws her clothes down on the edge of the bed and unwraps the towel to start ruffling her hair dry. Everything she does feels agitated, every movement hasty. She puts a picture frame on the dresser face down as she bumps her way awkwardly past, unwilling to have whoever it was looking at her while she tries to sleep.
She is dimly surprised, as she tosses the towel into the corner and rummages through the pile of clothes for her underwear, that he has not followed her again. Not a knock, not a jiggle of the door handle, not even a breath that she can hear on the other side. Maybe he did take her advice and fuck off. She doesn’t trust her own luck though, tries simply to be thankful for the solitude as she pulls Kim’s shirt on over her head and flops down onto the mattress, immediately tangling herself up in the blankets.
She closes her eyes. And all she can think of is Jess. Grace. Whitehorse. Joey and Staci. Holly. All of them evidence of her own colossal failure.
She never asked for any of this.
She’d thought becoming a cop might help give her some sense of purpose when she couldn’t find any before, some way to help stop what happened to Liliana from happening to other people. Should have known she’d be as lousy at that as she’s been at everything else. Too headstrong, too much trouble with authority, too many shortcuts, never enough faith in the system.
She rolls over, wonders if John left, hates herself for wondering. She should have killed him when she had the chance. She always thinks that, in the aftermath of being incapable of it.
Deflecting.
Fuck him. She never asked for any of this. Never asked to be some doomsday cult’s fixation. His fixation. Never asked for his help, or his opinions, or his forgiveness or salvation or whatever the fuck he claims it is. Never asked to be marked. Never asked to be Atoned.
But he never forced you.
She grimaces, reaches up to touch the scarred flesh of the letters carved into her sternum as if in argument.
And then she gets up.
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omgitsemilyward · 3 years
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hey, yours is one of the best/most reasonable reactions I've seen to the interview. the harsh judgement on his new relationship/ pregnancy was very upsetting for me to read, as if they were a betrayal to what people knew him as? I wish more people grasped we don't know these people. we don't know why they make the decisions they do. the whole thing had me thinking on the 'parasocial' relationships people form with celebs really.
anyway, I'm just so glad he got help when he needed it most, and that it seems like he has very good friends who care about him. I hope he continues to be well. your post on it gave me a good opportunity to sort my feelings over it :)
Hi there - thanks for this message. I’ve already gotten some interesting messages about this and I like this one best and so I’m going to use this as an opportunity to share my (relatively) meaningless thoughts on all this, and this is probably going to be the only post I make about this so… here we go
I’ve purposefully not been making posts about this stuff for a number of reasons, but primarily because I think a lot of people have presumed to know exactly what happened between him, his wife, and Olivia based on a feeble timeline that people have tried to piece together based on random entertainment press reports and stuff. I think there is an incredible amount of information we simply don’t know because we do not know any of them personally, and so I’ve never felt very comfortable saying anything about it. I’m definitely not saying anyone is in the right or in the wrong here either bc, once again, how can we say when we don’t know almost anything?
plus - who am I to even have an opinion on these people I don’t know? I should probably just leave this post right here, because that’s really my entire thesis with this.
(but I, like the person who sent me this nice message, kinda want to use this as an opportunity to share my thoughts and feelings)
I think a lot of us (myself definitely included - anyone who has followed me for a long time knows this) put him and Anna on a pedestal based on all we knew about them, which was very, very little. So as soon as there was the smallest amount of information that things weren’t as perfect as they seemed, people took it almost personally - that they didn’t match the image they had latched onto -, and then made a lot of assumptions and a lot of judgment about what happened; again, based on the tiniest amount of information. Plus, I do think the internet amplifies these things in a weird way that does away with a lot of nuance and goes to straight to classifying things as a binary: “this person is a perfect cinnamon roll who can do nothing wrong” or “this person is absolute garbage trash” - the thing we all forget though, is that human beings do not exist on some moral binary for the most part.
(Also here I am, talking about this on the internet…. anyways)
I spent a lot of my years on this specific website being uncomfortably attached to John and Anna and their relationship, and it’s not something I’m particularly proud of. I don’t say I completely regret being such a huge fan of his, hers, theirs (for one thing, it kinda got me my job, but that’s another story for another time), but looking back on it I wish I had not been so invested in the relationship of people I didn’t know. It was really weird and without my own personal life experience, I might have also immediately jumped to a lot of judgment about why or how their relationship ended. But between now and then I’ve grown a lot as a person and I know that people, especially public figures, often live much more complicated lives than what they present to the world. And people get divorced allllll the fucking time for allllll sorts of reasons.
Maybe it’s the child of many divorces in me, but I’ve been honestly pretty shocked by how little grace people are giving them. Maybe it’s also the fact that I’ve been such a big fan of each of these people (including Olivia) for so much of my life that I’m quick to be defensive (? Idk if that’s the right word) of all of them before anything.
At the end of the day, I guess I’m just disappointed that there is even “discourse” about this to begin with - not surprised by any means, but just disappointed. And disappointed about how quick people have been to judge, or how people are try to equate this to things that are not at all equivalent.
the most important thing to me out of all of this is that John is on a path to recovery. I’ve dealt with some addiction stuff with some of my family that I’m not going to get into on here but it is hard and at times a little terrifying and I’m just so relieved that he seems to have a really good support system. That’s the thing I’ve been most concerned about since the news broke that he relapsed and was going into rehab - I’m grateful that he was able to get help because not everyone does or not everyone will before it becomes too late to do so.
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deja-you · 4 years
Text
times new roman | episode five
t. jefferson x reader
summary: Y/n needs a date. Thomas would be more than happy to oblige.
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A few hours earlier...
Sometimes, as humans, we love and forget how to stop loving. Questions will go through your head, like: what if I can’t ever stop loving you? What if I forget everything about myself, and only remember your name? Sometimes we meet the person we want to fall asleep beside. The person whose heartbeat you just can’t help but count. 
And then sometimes we meet Thomas Jefferson. Arrogant, know-it-all Thomas Jefferson. The casual flirt who didn’t care for real relationships and was content with one-night stands. The lawyer who defended big oil companies and wealthy business men because, as he put it, “someone had to do it.” The man who had been born into a wealthy family, got into a good school because his family made large contributions, and couldn’t imagine a life void of penthouse apartments and designer suits. In conclusion, Thomas Jefferson was not a man Y/n could ever see herself dating.
This wasn’t a date. They both made that perfectly clear. Quite frankly, Y/n was bored and had nothing else to do. At least, that’s what she told herself. There was nothing harmful about hanging out with her father’s employee for a while, was there? It was fun and meaningless, what could be wrong about it?
But if you had told Y/n how the day was going to end, she would never have left the coffee shop. In fact she would’ve thought you were joking. But no one was there to tell her how the day was going to end, so she did leave the coffee shop. Thomas called an Uber and a few minutes later, Kevin, in a silver Prius showed up to take the pair to Coney Island. 
“Really? The Thomas Jefferson takes Ubers? I thought you would have a private driver or a luxury car,” Y/n said. 
“S’that really what you think of me? I’m a man of the people, angel.”
She rolled her eyes. “A man of the people who wears $600 Burberry shoes.”
“Excuse me? For your information, I got these shoes on sale. See? I’m just like ordinary people, shopping sales and stuff,” Thomas tried, unconvincingly.
“How much were they on sale, Thomas?” Y/n prodded.
“...$300.”
Y/n proceeded to make fun of Thomas for buying a pair of shoes for that much, saying something about how the rich need to pay higher taxes, but he didn’t hear much of what she said. He was too focused on the fact that she had finally used his first name. 
At some point during the 45 minute ride to Coney Island, Thomas asked Kevin if he could have control over the AUX chord. Kevin agreed (earning himself a five-star rating) and Thomas then played some tunes from the 60s. 
“The Temptations?” Y/n raised an eyebrow as the catchy intro to My Girl began playing.
“You got a problem with that?” Thomas asked, then he began singing (might I add, quite loudly) along with the lyrics. “I’ve got sunshine, on a cloudy day...”
Y/n shook her head and began to sing along, but still much more reserved than Thomas. “And when it’s cold out, I’ve got the month of May...”
Thomas smiled when he heard her sing along. The chorus started and he nudged her with his shoulders, urging her to sing louder. Y/n rolled her eyes, but she couldn’t keep the smile off her face. They continued to sing the remainder of the song together until it began to die down and transition into another R&B song.
“So tell me,” Y/n began, “what made you decide to take a trip to Coney Island today?”
Thomas gave her a thoughtful look. “Used to come with my mom and siblings when we visited New York. Always had fun.”
“What about your dad?” Y/n asked.
He sighed and looked away from her. “My dad died when I was 14. We started visiting New York every summer after that.”
“I... I didn’t know. I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to—”
“You couldn’t have known.” Thomas gave her a small smile. “Everything about Virginia reminded me of my dad. I think that’s why I moved to New York. I’ll visit Coney Island now and then when I want to be reminded of my family. Reminded of the good parts, at least.”
They fell into silence, neither one of them knowing what to say. The beat of some jazzy tune could be heard as well as Kevin tapping along on the steering wheel. 
“My dad used to take me to Coney Island,” Y/n finally said. She was trying to break the silence, but immediately wished she hadn’t said anything. Was it insensitive to bring up her own dad when Thomas had just told her that his dad had died?
She was put at ease when he smiled. “That so?”
Y/n nodded slowly. “Well, it was only once. I must’ve been ten? We went on a rollercoaster, even though I was terrified.” She laughed quietly before turning more serious. “I don’t think I’ve been to Coney Island since. Dad started getting more busy, which I understood of course.”
Thomas turned on his side to face her, casually resting his arm against the backseat. Maybe he didn’t know how good his bicep looked when he sat like that. Maybe he did. “I’ve always wondered what it would be like to be Washington’s kid. I mean, he’s an amazing guy and a great boss—feel free to tell him I said that —but running a business this size must take a lot of time.”
“It was hard at first, for my mom and I,” Y/n admitted. “He would always be traveling for work. It took us a little bit, but we figured it out. He would visit us at home sometimes, and then other times mom and I would visit him. Sometimes he would take me on work trips with him. And then it made sense to go to college in New York so I could be closer to dad.”
“Sounds like everything worked out pretty well for you and your family, then.”
“Only because my parents worked hard to make time for me. My dad was always happy to see me, but I could tell that he was exhausted after a long week and traveling home to see us.” She then added, “but I shouldn’t complain. I know a lot, if not most, people had it worse off.”
“Maybe,” Thomas shrugged, “or maybe not. You don’t need to compare your struggles to anyone else’s, angel.”
“I...I know that,” Y/n murmured.
They continued talking for the rest of the drive. Discussing which Netflix shows were the best, and which ones were garbage (Thomas was convinced Tiger King was the best show on Netflix, making Y/n roll her eyes). Thomas told some funny anecdote about one of his crazy clients, and Y/n even brought up how she was trying to find an internship with a humanitarian group. They never ran out of things to talk about, and only stopped their conversation when Kevin the Uber driver announced they had reached their destination.
“It is cold.” Y/n admitted as she stepped out of the car.
“I did tell you to bring a jacket, didn’t I? The wind coming off the ocean is pretty chilly, isn’t it?”
Y/n squinted up at the sky. “It doesn’t help that the sun hasn’t decided to come out.”
Thomas chuckled and began walking down the boardwalk. “C’mon, I know what’ll cheer you up. Let’s get food.”
There weren’t many things that could make Y/n smile the way she did when she was offered food. She happily skipped after Thomas and they came to a food stand. They ordered some variety of burgers, fries, and milkshakes, Y/n didn’t really pay much mind to it. When Thomas pulled out her wallet she swatted his hand away. 
“You paid for the Uber, I can’t let you pay for lunch, too,” Y/n insisted, pulling out her own wallet. 
He waved her off. “No, let me. What kind of gentleman doesn’t pay on a—”
“On a what, Thomas?” Y/n raised an eyebrow. “Because we’ve both agreed that this isn’t a date.”
“Right, right. Of course.”
“Besides, the whole idea that men have to pay for dates, or in our case non-dates, is completely outdated. I’m paying for lunch.” 
Thomas hid a smile and allowed Y/n to pay for lunch, seeing that nothing he said would change her mind at this point. It was mostly a pride thing, he figured. Y/n paid for the food and they ate while they walked along the boardwalk. 
“So what’s the plan now?” Y/n asked. “Are we going to go do all that touristy stuff?”
“Wasn’t my plan,” Thomas replied. “Unless that’s what you want to do. There is something I want to show you.”
“You’ve probably been here more times than me, I’ll let you make the decisions. This time.”
“Great. You done eating?”
Y/n looked down at the empty bag she held in her hand that had been filled with food only moments before. What? She was hungry. “Yep. All done.”
They tossed their garbage in a trash can, and Y/n let Thomas lead her down a boardwalk toward who knows where. They stopped so Thomas could buy a bag of cherries. Y/n had so many questions, she didn’t even know where to begin.
“You’re buying cherries? Are you hungry? We just ate. I didn’t know they were even in season,” she commented.
Thomas turned to look at her, rolling his eyes. “So you’re just going to question and insult all my decisions, then?”
She shrugged. “What else would I do?”
“C’mon, angel, let’s go.”
So with a bag of cherries in hand, Thomas continued on his way down the boardwalk with Y/n in tow. They walked in silence; Y/n didn’t even question him when Thomas stepped off the boardwalk and onto the sandy beach. They didn’t walk to the water. Thomas and Y/n walked along the boardwalk until the boardwalk was a few feet over their heads. 
They kept walking until Thomas led Y/n to a spot underneath the boardwalk. Ocean air on one side, a concrete wall filled with graffiti on the other. Sand beneath them, and the slotted wood of the boardwalk above letting through beams of sunlight. Waves could be heard crashing on the shore not too far away, along with seagulls somewhere above them and the nondescript chatter of tourists and locals. 
Thomas climbed on top of a cement slab and took a seat, opening his bag of cherries. “Here we are. This has been my spot since I was a kid. I hope you like it.”
“Under a boardwalk? Sitting on cement?”
“What? You don’t like it, angel?” He teased.
Y/n shook her head and moved to take a seat next to her. “No, I love it. I just didn’t picture Thomas Jefferson’s hangout to look like this.”
“Why do you say ‘Thomas Jefferson’ like that? Like I’m some kind of notorious billionaire playboy.”
“That’s what you think it sounds like when I say your name like that?” She laughed. “I don’t know, is that not how you see yourself?”
“Well I wouldn’t be in bad company, would I? Batman and Iron Man are both billionaire playboys,” he pointed out. “But I see myself as a suave, charming business man with a touch of Southern hospitality.”
“You’re so full of it.”
And sure, it was supposed to be an insult. But the way Y/n laughed when the words came out of her mouth made Thomas feel a way he hadn’t felt in a while. He’d rather have her insult him everyday than have some other woman whisper sweet nothings in his ear. Because all they would be is nothing, and when Y/n spoke it was like warm honey and a string orchestra.
“Perhaps.” Thomas shrugged and nudged the bag of cherries toward her. “You want one?”
She eyed them warily. “I don’t know. Are they poisoned? How do I know you didn’t lure me out to Coney Island to give me poisoned cherries and hide my body under the boardwalk?”
“Why would I want to kill you? They’re not poisoned.”
Y/n decided that he must be telling the truth and popped a cherry into her mouth.
“Besides,” Thomas continued, “if I wanted to kill you, this wouldn’t be the way.”
She swallowed roughly and stared at him with wide eyes. Seeing her expression, Thomas laughed in an attempt to reassure her. “I’m just teasin’, angel. Don’t look at me like that.”
“So,” Y/n said, “do you often lure unsuspecting women down here with a bag of poisoned cherries?”
“They’re not poisoned.” He shook his head, but his smile still reached his eyes. “But to answer your question, no. I’ll come down here now and then, usually pick up some local fruit, but I’ve never brought anyone else here.”
“Should I feel special, then?”
Thomas watched her for a moment then shrugged. “If you want. I think you’re pretty special no matter what.”
“So smooth. You practiced that?”
“If you would I believe it, no. But I have other tried and true pick-up lines.”
“Let’s hear them.”
“Really?”
She nodded, “yeah.”
“Well sometimes I’ll say,” and he proceeded to drop his voice an octave to try and sound... sexy? “‘Do you have a name? Or can I just call you mine.’“
Y/n burst out laughing again, leaving Thomas confused.
“Huh. That’s not usually the response I get,” he admitted.
She tried to contain her laughter. “I’m sorry, but that’s hilarious. Does that actually work on women?”
“You’d be surprised. 9 times out of 10.”
“Alright, alright. What else you got?”
“Okay, how about ‘are you a map? Because I just got lost in your eyes.’”
Y/n laughed again. “Really? That’s so corny.”
“Is it?” Thomas pouted. “Fine, I’d like to see you do better. Give me your best pick-up line.”
“I will do better. Okay, try this one on for size. Are you a beaver? Because dam.“ The way she said it with such seriousness must’ve made it funnier, because it was Thomas’s turn to laugh this time.
“I’ll admit,” he smiled. “I liked that one.”
“See? It’s not that hard.”
“Fine, you win. Now let’s do something I know I can beat you at.”
She raised an eyebrow. “Like what?”
Thomas held up a cherry for her to see, then pulled the stem off. “Have you ever tied a knot in a cherry stem with your tongue?”
“No, but I’m sure it’s not that hard.”
Y/n would live to regret those words. For the next who-knows-however minutes, Y/n struggled to tie a knot in her cherry stem. It was one of those things that she thought she would just pick up easily, but it was so much harder than it looked. It didn’t help that Thomas was weirdly good at this, tying maybe three stems while Y/n was still working on her first. His coaching wasn’t very helpful either.
“You just need to bend the stem in half with your tongue, cross the two ends over, and tighten the knot with your teeth,” he told her for what could’ve been the hundredth time. 
“I’m trwaying! Not sthat easuh!” Y/n complained, aggressively maneuvering her tongue around the stem. Thomas laughed at her but was silenced when she sent him her very best death glare. 
For the next five minutes, Y/n was completely focused on tying the stem. First, she had to make sure the stem was bendy enough to be tied. Bending it into a half-circle was the easy part. She scrunched her nose up when she had to cross the ties, knowing this is where she had always messed up in the past. Then using her tongue to push one end of the stem through the loop, she tightened it and pulled out them stem to show Thomas.
And of course, being Thomas Jefferson, he leaned back, smirked, and said, “damn, angel, what else can that tongue do?”
Y/n’s mouth fell open. Her face heated up. She stumbled over her words until she settled on an offended, “Jefferson!”
And that stupid smile he wore when he knew he had gotten her all worked up and flustered made her think that he said it just to get a reaction out of her. The way he looked at her made her feel some kind of way, and she didn’t know if she never wanted to feel that way again, or if she never wanted to stop feeling that way. 
“Don’t be gross,” she finally muttered, her eyes trailing the sand at her feet. 
He chuckled, “sorry ‘bout that.”
Again, they fell into a silence. At some point Thomas started humming a tune that Y/n recognized as Under the Boardwalk. Fitting. A cold breeze reminded Y/n that it was still a chilling April day and the wind coming off the ocean wouldn’t let her forget that either.
“Do you want my coat?”
“What?” Had he read her mind?
“You’re visibly shivering.” Oh. “Do you want my coat?”
It’s not like Y/n hadn’t brought her own coat. She had, it was a pretty red color, but it didn’t keep the cold out well. Y/n hadn’t realized just how much colder it would be on Coney Island, but if she had thought about it for a second she would’ve known better. The problem was that when Thomas asked her to come with him and flashed her that charming smile, she didn’t think. So now she was cold.
“No. I shouldn’t—”
“Angel, can we just skip the whole pride thing? This doesn’t have to be some cliché moment where I give you my coat and it’s oversized on you and you look so cute so it’s worth it to me that I’m cold. Just take my coat, okay? You need it more than I do.”
Y/n blinked. “...okay.”
Thomas inched closer to her, shrugging the jacket off his shoulders. He wrapped the jacket around her, and then proceeded to change the course of their relationship forever. Instead of leaving the jacket on her shoulders and returning his hands to his side, his hands lingered. 
If that hadn’t happened, maybe Y/n would’ve held the jacket tightly to herself. She’d be warm. They’d continue to have light conversation. Then they would go their separate ways. Maybe she’d see him at her dad’s office and they’d give friendly nods to each other when they passed in the hallways. They’d go make to being familiar strangers, and that would be perfectly fine.
But his hands lingered. And he knew what was happening. And she knew what was happening. The kind of linger that wouldn’t occur between two friends or any two people who were less than that. He was still holding her in his arms and showed no signs of letting her go. Y/n looked up from the sand and met his eyes.
I could tell you that she saw a universe or forever or something wonderful in his eyes, but let’s be real, they were a pair of eyes. A pair of beautiful eyes, sure, but they were just eyes. So it wasn’t his eyes that made her fall in love. It wasn’t his eyes that made her lean in and kiss him. It was simply the person she had spent the last few hours getting to know. 
His lips were soft and tasted of cherries, and when he kissed her back, it was with a kind of gentleness and tenderness that Y/n hadn’t expected from Thomas.
All too soon, logic and sensibility kicked in. Y/n actually realized what she was doing, and while she didn’t want to stop, she couldn’t continue without better reasoning. 
She pulled away, not having the heart to push him away after initiating the kiss. Her whole body felt hot, and it wasn’t due to the new coat she had recently acquired. Y/n’s heart began beating more than the average beat for minute, however fast that was, she couldn’t quite think properly about anything.
“Y/n—”
Why did her name on his lips sound so good all breathy and needy from the kiss? Was that even the right way to describe it? And why couldn’t she think about anything else except him?
“I need to go.” It wasn’t Y/n’s proudest moment, but she wasn’t able to think clearly around him, and that was dangerous in itself. Maybe she’d feel bad about leaving him behind with no explanation later, but she was a too much of a mess right now to even think of that. 
She retraced her steps back up to the boardwalk (Thomas called after her a few times but ultimately let her go) and out onto the street. She got in an Uber -- or was it a taxi? Y/n couldn’t remember. The ride home seemed quicker when she was zoned out. At some point she had texted Peggy? The memory was hazy. 
Even though there were people on the streets and her driver in the front seat, Y/n suddenly felt all alone. Alone with her... feelings. Her traitorous, uncontrollable feelings. Thomas had made her feel some kind of way that the only thing that could get it to stop was just to stop feeling altogether. And that wasn’t working well for her. Y/n sighed and opened up her phone.
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A/N: Let me know if I forgot to tag you or if you’d like to be tagged.
tags: @wiffle-snuffles @thisistrashperson @comingupwithacoolnameishard @wordvomit-foryourmind @newtonslawoffuck @isharemydeathdaywithfeanor @i-know-i-can @imperial-martian @fangirling-central @dannighost @ateliefloresdaprimavera @justahappylilblog @fanfic-addict-98 @a-hopeless-fan @and-claudia @nicolemelton @youtxbemusic @reidcult @eirenism @fantasy-of-fiction @iamsuperconfusedallthetime-dead @a-midwinter-night-dream-86 @rycbar-221b @bethanymccauley @fanworrior @gggamingz @nemesis729 @ibeaesthethicc  @yodas-padawan @sabbrriiinnaa @micaiahmoonheart @beautifulfound @moondustmemories @ct-salad @teenwaywardasgardian @bj-is-a-graduateof-julliard @ruebx @katierpblogg @speedypartyducksuitcase @fangirling-central @idkkbaleighh @ballerinafairyprincess @spn-pogues @gryffin-claw @elegantbutedgy @1elysium @sierraisnotreal @ssanjuniperoo @collectivefandom 
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batgurl1989 · 3 years
Text
We Meet Again Chapter 1
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Summary: After years of not seeing each other, Geralt has found Younin again at the Inn at the Crossroads working as an Herbalist. He needs her assistance, and she can’t turn him down.
Word Count: 1578
Pairing: Geralt of Rivia and OFC
Warnings: None at this point. Those will come later
A/N: This is the first chapter of many for Geralt and Younin (The name for my OFC as a play on the use of Y/N for your name). This is mostly being used as an introductory chapter, and is based more on the Witcher 3: Wild Hunt video game than on the show or books. As always, I welcome critique, and feel free to shot me ideas of what you may like to see these two get up to on their adventures. Let me know if you want to be on the taglist.
Taglist: @rmtndew​ @princesssterek
Chapter One
“Mutant!”
“Abomination!”
“You’re kind’s no’ welcome ‘ere!”
The shouting could be heard clear down the street, all the way to your humble shop. You paused grinding the herbs, the pestle almost slipping from your hand. Since the Crones had been destroyed and the war ended years ago, your quaint little town didn’t often have unknown visitors beyond the traveling merchants. If you needed supplies for your potions and oils, you usually had to travel to Novigrad or at least the Crow’s Perch. But this visitor was especially rare. A Witcher was passing through.
You shook your head, trying to clear it of the hope that suddenly sprang to life in your chest. Your heart rate picked up at the possibility that this Witcher could be YOUR Witcher. But you knew he left Velen years ago without much thought for returning. You began to grind the herbs in the mortar again, but got lost in the almost hypnotic mundane work.
Over the decades, you and Geralt kept running into each other. The first time was when he needed healing after a Drowner attack while on one of his missions. At that point you knew his heart belonged ultimately belonged to your Sorceress comrade, Yennefer. Though handsome, and clearly up for a meaningless romp, you managed to heal him and send him on his way. The on again off again relationship between Geralt and Yennefer was well known among the magical world, and the last you had heard, they were on.
The next time your paths crossed had been in Skellige at one of the many parties the ruling Jarl had thrown. A few heated glances had led to a rendezvous on the balcony. He and Yennefer were off at the time, but your conscious still ate at you regardless of the immense pleasure the Witcher had given you. You saw the look of hurt that flashed through his eyes as you portalled out of the party shortly after finishing.
Since that party, you had seen each other every couple of years, and although you knew how easy it would be to fall into bed with him, you never did. But that didn’t stop the two of you shameless flirting at every turn.
When you had settled in Velen to open an herbalist shop in Novigrad, he was quick to find you. It had been one of the most difficult meetings you two had shared. At the time Geralt had just gotten his memory back after spending time with Triss, having completely forgotten about Yennefer. It was a tense time for everyone as the whole magical community held its breath waiting to see if Yennifer would decimate Triss for taking advantage of Geralt while his memories were gone.
And then of course there was the confusion following when Geralt couldn’t seem to make up his mind between the two. You had decided it was safer and better for you to concentrate on your work and boosting your business. But it wasn’t safe for you to remain in Novigrad as the Witch Hunters were making themselves very known to anyone not human.
That was how you found yourself in one of the outskirt villages, making a decent but humble name for yourself. Keeping your magic mostly under wraps. The villagers knew you were a Sorceress, but as long as you didn’t do anything too big and draw too much attention to yourself, then they left you alone for the most part. You figured they were probably just happy to have someone who could heal the ailments that came with living near a swamp.
A knock on your door pulled you out of your memories. Giving you head a harder shake, you plastered a smile on your face, and turned to greet the customer standing in your open doorway. You tried to leave your door open during business hours so people would know you were open. Your smile almost faltered when you saw who filled your doorway.
“Long time no see.” Geralt had a surprised smile on his face, as though he hadn’t been expecting you. Outside you could still here villagers grumbling about his presence.
“Here. Step inside.” You waved him in. Once he was over the threshold, you closed your door. If Geralt was here, it was important, and any other customers could wait. Wiping your hands on the waist apron you wore when grinding herbs, you looked around from something to busy yourself with. If you were being honest with yourself, you were mostly looking to make sure the place was in decent condition. “So, uh, what brings you to the Crossroads?”
“I’m running low on some herbs.” You could feel Geralt’s eyes on you as you went over to your large cupboard where you stored all the herbs you had for sale. “I didn’t think you would still be in Velen after everyone left for Kovir.”
“I make do where I am.” You shrugged, opening the cupboard doors to reveal a multitude of tiny drawers and compartments filled with herbs and other spell components. “What herbs were you looking for? I usually have the ones you would commonly need. For the rarer ones, you might need to travel to Novigrad.”
Geralt nodded, stepping closer to the cupboard and you. You hoped you were subtle as you stepped away from him, giving him more room to search for what he needed. A sideways glance from him told you that he noticed. Clearing your throat, you went back over to your bench to start cleaning up the herb you had been preparing. Anything to get you away from his heat and his scent. Though he had probably been on the road for days, fighting who knew what, he always smelt of fresh air, leather, and horse. It wasn’t an unappealing smell, and you found you always had to distance yourself from it otherwise it clouded your mind.
“If you are going to ask, just do it.” His low rumbling voice carried easily across the small room even though you were making a lot of noise.
“How is Yennefer?” You quietly asked, not able to give your voice volume in the hopes that he didn’t hear. You were unsure if you wanted to know the answer, and you felt like giving him an out for old time’s sake.
“I wouldn’t know.” Geralt replies calmly, opening a few drawers to pull out a few sprigs of herbs.
BANG
Spinning with a hand reaching over his shoulder for one of his two swords, Geralt looked ready to take on any foe that might have invaded your cottage. He relaxed when he took in the shattered mortar on your work bench, and the smoke rising from the shards. His hand left his sword as he made his way over to you as you scrambled to clean up the mess.
“Sorry! Sorry.” You swept the powdered mess into your hand to deposit in a bucket you used mostly for compost, but would now serve as a garbage. “I don’t know why that happened. The components were stable.”
“But you weren’t.” Geralt noted, leaning against the workbench with his arms crossed. He watched you with a mixture of amusement and concern swimming in his golden eyes. He watched you silently for a minute longer as you rushed to clean up the mess. You seemed to be making it worse with each attempt to sweep it up. His hand covered yours, stopping your panicked motions. “Younin.”
“Don’t.” You closed your eyes against the wave of emotions that crashed over you at his touch. Hearing your name on his lips was bad enough without him holding your hands still. Mentally throwing up walls against your feelings, you steeled yourself as you looked directly at him. “Did you find what you needed?”
“Got them here.” Geralt held out his hands. You quickly made a mental note of what he had taken for inventory purposes. He set them down on the bench, reaching his coin.
“You don’t need to. Consider them on the house.” You raised your hands, shaking your head vehemently. You couldn’t imagine a world where you would actually charge Geralt for a simple handful of herbs.
“You must let me pay you.” Geralt took a step toward you, crowding into your space. There was no where for you to go as your back was against the workbench. You took a deep breath, ready to protest again, but you saw something shift in his eyes, and he backed off. “At least let me buy you a drink then.”
“Fine, but only because I was heading to the Inn anyway.” You sighed, giving in against your better judgement. The single piece of information he had given you was quickly taking root in your mind and seemed to take over your decision-making skills. “Just let me clean up in here, and I will meet you there.”
Geralt seemed to accept that, nodding as his gold eyes took one last lingering look at you. He ducked out the door, closing it behind him with a soft snick of the latch. You sighed, letting the tension flow out of your body now that he was gone. You hadn’t fooled him or yourself. He still had a hold on you somehow after all these years. But having drinks with him might be the only time you had to explore those feelings. So you got ready as quickly as possible to head over the Inn.
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25 “Let’s adopt twenty cats together and treat them like our children.” + Sadie/Lydia
“Ugh. I hate men. I hate them!”
Lydia slammed the door to my bedroom, marched across the carpet, and collapsed face-first onto my bed. I snickered, barely looking up from my copy of Heart of Darkness.
“Bad date?”
She lifted her head, violently flipping her hair out of her face to fix me with a stern glare. “It was not a date.”
“Then why are you so upset?”
“It doesn’t have to be a date for me to expect common decency and a baseline of human intelligence. And even if that was supposed to be a date, the four hours I just experienced were so abysmal that they would not qualify as a date in any sense of the word.”
“So he didn’t get you off.”
“Please, Sadie. That’s a given.”
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I smirked and finally put my book aside. Lydia had been on about a hundred “not-a-dates” over the course of the summer. She’d narrowed her interests down a few options she had in steady rotation, but every now and then another boy would slip her his number and she was take the chance to switch things up. Unfortunately, the longer the summer stretched on, the harder it became to please her. (Emotionally and physically, judging by the explicit details of the stories she insisted on relaying to me.) I couldn’t remember the last time she’d come home in any state of satisfaction.
I nudged her with my foot, prompting her to drag herself up and lean against the wall opposite me. She tangled her legs with mine, folding her arms over her chest and pouting. I squeezed her legs between mine and gave her a pointed look.
“What?” she snapped.
“Okay, the last thing I want to do is have you bite my head off, but I have to ask. If you’re not going on dates then…what exactly are you looking to get out of this?”
Lydia rolled her eyes at me. “I don’t need to be in a relationship to have fun, Sadie.”
“I know that. You also don’t need boys to have fun. And judging by the last few horror stories you’ve told me, you’re not having fun doing this anyway.”
“Yes, I am.”
I gave her another pointed look, spearing her stubbornness and making her deflate. Lydia sighed and ran her hands through her hair. It looked even more red now than it had last year.
“I have fun sometimes,” she amended. “Most of the time, I just…don’t feel much of anything.”
“Is that…the point?” I asked tentatively.
Lydia pursed her lips once more. “Do you really need to psychoanalyze me right now? I’m perfectly capable of evaluating my own neurosis, and I’ve already spent most of the night being told how I feel by someone extremely unqualified to be doing so.”
I raised my hands in surrender and picked up my book again. Lydia always had to do things her way. If she wanted to plunge herself into a string of meaningless, lackluster hookups instead of dealing with the fact that Jackson was gone, that was her prerogative. Trying to get her to talk to me would only make things worse.
Lydia continued to sulk for a few minutes, then untangled her legs from mine. She crawled across the bed to sit next to me instead, leaning her arm against mine as she toyed with her phone. We coexisted in comfortable silence—Lydia scrolling through her phone to set up her next not-a-date, me flipping through my summer reading for the third time. I hated this book so much that no matter how many times my eyes scanned over the pages, the words kept slipping through my brain. Reading Heart of Darkness, I probably wasn’t thinking or feeling any more than Lydia was.
I snapped out of it when Lydia’s phone dropped on top of my book and, instinctually, I rammed my eyes close. These days, when Lydia shoved her phone in my face, it was usually to share an unsolicited picture or obscene text from one of her booty calls—I was adapting to avoid her phone at all costs, just for survival—but for the moment, Lydia snorted and nudged my arm. When I peeled my eyes open to check, her screen simply displayed a take-out menu.
“What do you want for dinner?” she asked with an air of boredom.
“Dinner?” I blinked at her. “Aren’t you going out? I thought you had a double dude feature lined up.”
“I cancelled. If I’m gonna feel like garbage, it might as well be because of too much pizza instead of lame foreplay.”
She was still pretending to be disinterested, but her pursed lips were hiding a smile. Mine grew into a grin and Lydia gave me a playful warning look.
“Choose before I change my mind.”
“Fine, fine. Girls’ night it is.”
And that was what we did. Lydia cancelled her hookups for both the night and the following day. I texted Stiles to let him know I was bailing on video game night to stay in with Lydia. He tried to trash talk me a little, saying that I was hiding because I didn’t want to lose the tournament, but when I reminded him of our current tally of wins and losses in Mario Kart, he promptly dropped the subject.
Hours later, Lydia and I were sprawled on my bedroom floor, surrounded by empty pizza boxes and sharing a dwindling bottle of rum. Lydia had pulled a bottle from her personal stash and spiked some juice, which we were burning through like gas.
Drinking with Lydia was usually very easy. She knew how to hold her liquor, but she was also way smaller than me. Between my height and her experience, we were pretty evenly matched. I wasn’t sure if it was her bad date, her feelings about Jackson, or sheer boredom, but at the moment, it was easy to tell that Lydia was far tipsier than I was.
“How did you do it?” she asked the ceiling. Her legs were tucked up against her chest, feet dangling in the air, her arms keeping her balanced on the carpet. “How did you find a boy who doesn’t suck?”
“Are you actually complimenting Stiles?” I giggled into my drink. “Wow. Now I know you’re drunk.”
Lydia giggled too, and let her legs flop back to the floor with a thump.
“Okay, I know he’s a dork and he’s a nerd and he’s still very much not cool, but I—I try to be nice to him! I try to be nice because you love him and he loves you and—and that’s so important, you know? He loves you so much, and he would do anything for you, and I—I don’t know how you did it or what that feels like or what that’s like!”
My laughter quickly died away. “Lydia…”
“No, it’s fine. It is. It’s fine because I want you to be happy and I’m happy that you’re happy and I’m happy that Stiles is the one who makes you happy, but even if I—even if Jacks—even if he was still here, I don’t know how much would change, you know? We were never—we were never like that. And he changed a lot. He did, I know, and he did so much work, and he was such a better person, and I—I loved him for it. And I think—I know he loved me too, but—but maybe it’s not the same, because…because if he loved me the way Stiles loves you then he would—he wouldn’t have—”
She wasn’t crying, not yet, but I could see her working herself into hysterics. I hurriedly pushed myself up onto my knees and crawled to her. She whined in protest as I lifted her head into my lap, but she quieted down as I combed my fingers through her hair. Slowly, her breathing began to normalize. She sagged against me, her eyes glazed as she continued to stare at the ceiling, and I moved from brushing her hair to absently braiding it. It was the only thing I could think of to keep her present without prying into her thoughts.
I knew Lydia was hurting without Jackson; I also knew she didn’t want to talk about it. Even now, drunker than I’d ever seen her, she couldn’t bring herself to even say his name. She’d always had her insecurities, but if she’d felt worthless when Jackson broke up with her, it was nothing compared to watching him leave a second time. She’d done so much to save him, and he’d still left her behind.
That’s what brought her to the hookups. It was her way of passing the time, of keeping herself occupied so she wouldn’t have time to miss Jackson. So long as boys still wanted her, she wasn’t worthless. So long as she still had a full social calendar, she was still Queen Lydia Martin, the most popular girl at Beacon Hills High School. So long as she kept moving, she wouldn’t have to confront how much things had changed.
I tied off the bottom of the braid and laid Lydia’s head back on the floor, then scooted across the carpet so I could sprawl out next to her. I laid flat on my back, my head lolling to the side to look at her.
“Hey,” I said, grabbing her hand, “you of all people should know that it’s impossible not to love you. You’re Lydia Martin, remember? Parties or werewolves, boyfriend or no boyfriend—you’re the smartest, strongest person I know. You’re perfect all on your own. Lydia Martin doesn’t need anyone.”
“That’s not true.” Lydia’s voice was soft, and she shook her head at the ceiling. “I need you.”
The words made me smile. I opened my arms as Lydia rolled onto her side, curling up next to me and laying her head on my shoulder.
“Well then,” I said, “I guess it’s a good thing I’m not going anywhere.”
“Good. You’re not allowed to. I’m serious, Sadie. You—you’re gonna live here until we graduate, and then we’re gonna go to college together, and get a little apartment while we job hunt, and then we can get a house, and Allison can come and visit and—cats! Let’s adopt twenty cats together and treat them like our children!”
I snorted, my back rocking off the floor in a way that sent Lydia into another tirade of giggles.
“Yeah, you’re definitely drunk,” I observed.
“I know,” she said, still beaming at me. “But I am serious. You’re not allowed to leave me, Sadie. Promise.”
“I promise, Lydia. I’m not going anywhere.”
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