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chobani-flip · 1 day

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the disconnect between the storytelling of the show and of the fandom

lately, I've been thinking about storytelling and storytellers in the context of 911.

like, there's two sides to this storytelling business, right?

there's the small group writers and showcreators who have an idea for the characters and plots and have to come up with a way to share those ideas within the constraints of a network television series

and then there's us, a massive international community with a wide-range of life experiences, who watch their show and then go on to tell our own story about it.

and i wonder if we're always watching the story they're telling.

im not even necessarily talking about the buddie goggles right now.

what got me thinking about this was ana flores.

and the one scene the fandom likes to pretend sealed her fate (when in actuality, let's be quite candid, it was the fact that she was a beautiful woman who dared to date eddie instead of allowing him to remain a viable option for canonical/fanonical offscreen cannoodling with buck)

"there's a lot to be said for getting back on the horse, but there's also some value in learning that you don't like horses." eddie: "i'm sorry?" "sometimes, our limitations tell us when to stop. but sometimes, they can show us where to look next." (romantic, feelingsy song starts playing) "today, he falls off the skateboard. but tomorrow, he writes the great american novel."

see, the problem here is that this is CLEARLY meant to be viewed as wise and deep advice. as a moment of connection between ana and eddie... the way the scene is cut, the music that plays in the background, the intense eye-contact between the two characters, the way eddie reacts to her words... we're meant to enjoy the simmering tension and potential between them...

but... it's not great and deep advice, not really. it's been pointed out that it comes off as ableist. and ana is supposed to be a teacher at this excellent inclusive institution; she is meant to have experience with children of different abilities feeling frustrated and wanting to do the same things other children are doing... someone on here pointed out that if they were the teacher, they would seek to understand what need christopher was trying to fullfil by getting on the skateboard and help him achieve it by other means

but what ana comes up with is this awkward horse metaphor that doesn't really make sense for the situation, and a condescending: "awwww, well, im sure he's the next hemingway"

BUT SEE, THAT'S NOT THE STORY THE SHOW IS TELLING US. the show is ostensibly framing this scene as romantic and great and deep. and that is NOT ana's fault. the character of ana didn't travel to our reality, didn't block the scene, didn't cut it and add the soundtrack. that's on the showcreators.

but somehow, it's really difficult for us to see it that way when it comes to ana.

in a way that it's not when it comes to Hen, poor little Mara and the Doberman.

because we know Hen and Karen, and we like them.

so we awkwardly shuffle around, side-eyeing each other, quietly nudging each other and going: "bit of a fail that, huh? kinda a weird thing to do on the part of the show, huh? comparing a little Black girl to a dog...why did they do that???"

or there was an excellent post floating around about whether Buck and Eddie realize they can say no to sex, that their consent matters.

"what if i come home and she wants to haaaaaave..." "well, you'll get through it somehow," says buck with an amused grin on his face.

see, the problem isn't necessarily whether the characters know that their consent matters, but whether the showcreators do. because this is clearly meant to be viewed as a joke.

eddie is a macho guy, who tends to keep his cool in difficult situations, so it's funny when you see him freaking out over the fact that his girlfriend wants to have sex with him and he doesn't want to have sex with her because her former chosen-profession taps into his well of Messy Catholic Feelings.

isn't it? isn't that just fucking hilarious?

and the answer to that is: no. it's not funny to any part of the audience who's ever felt pressured (by a partner, by society, by their own expectations) to want or to have sex.

but does the show realize that?

i'm sorry but i don't think so. this is the show that framed dr.wells sexually assaulting buck during a therapy session as a joke to casually bring up and needle him over later, that felt the need to reassure us that chimney and maddie can and do have wild, passionate monkey sex (you remember, albert teasing chim, then the hotel with the revolving room, etc), that had karen ask hen what the point of a relationship was if the couple weren't having sex...

now, i genuinely don't think the showcreators mean to be hurtful, or harmful. i don't think they realise how all these things come off. because they're a fairly small group of people from Los Angeles, America, and are working within the constraints of a network television show

(and the point of the Eddie and Buck scene was Buck coming out to Eddie, so maybe they felt Buck saying: "you know, you can tell her you don't want to have sex, right? that's allowed." would fraction the focus of it? idk)

but what happens is that there's this disconnect between the story they're telling us and the story we continue to tell among ourselves.

when it comes to the characters we like, we tend to ignore the unpleasant meanings and messages in relation to the character, or we retcon it in fanfic, or we Fix-it with some heart-to-hearts and apologies.

(for example, i haven't seen many fics that show athena being a Cop as not-a-great-thing. but are we really ok with her saying "i wasn't on their side, but i understood their side." when her son expresses some reasonable dissatisfaction with her reaction to a cop pointing a gun at him and michael? or are we just ignoring it because we love angela basset?)

when it comes to characters we are predisposed to dislike, this disconnect makes us dislike them even more. which leads to the writing of bashing fics, and in some cases harassing the performers online jfc do not do that people that's never ok

(of course, some characters are hated justifiedly imao, like the buckley parents and chimney's father...)

maybe this is the frustration that makes for such a prolific and active fandom?

I don't know.

but I think it's something to keep in mind when watching the show. because that disconnect is always going to be there and I know that for my own personal mental health, it's easier and nicer to believe that a group of RL people might be just a bit ignorant at times, than that my favourite characters are massive assholes unpredictably and randomly

#911 abc #911 season 7 #911 on fox #911 on abc #evan buckley #eddie diaz #ana flores #911 meta

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maniculum · 7 months

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Medieval Scorpions Effortpost

So yesterday I reblogged this post featuring an 11th-century depiction of the Apocalypse Locusts from Revelations, noting the following incongruity as another medieval scorpion issue:

The artist, as you can see, has interpreted "tails like scorpions" as meaning "glue cheerful-looking snakes to their butts".

Anyway, it occurred to me that the medieval scorpion thing might not be as widely known as I think it is, and that Tumblr would probably enjoy knowing about it if it isn't known already. So, finding myself unable to focus on the research I'm supposed to be doing, I decided to write about this instead. I'll just go ahead and put a cut here.

As we can see in the image above, at least one artist out there thought a "scorpion" was a type of snake. Which makes it difficult to draw "tails like scorpions", because a snake's tail is not that distinctive or menacing (maybe rattlesnakes, but they don't have those outside the Americas). So they interpreted "tails like scorpions" as "the tail looks like a whole snake complete with head".

Let me tell you. This is not a problem unique to this illustration.

See, people throughout medieval Europe were aware of scorpions. As just alluded to, they are mentioned in the Bible, and if the people producing manuscripts in medieval Europe knew one thing, it was Stuff In Bible. They're also in the Zodiac, which medieval Europe had inherited through classical sources. However, let's take a look at this map:

That's Wikipedia's map of the native range of the Scorpiones order, i.e., all scorpion species. You may notice something -- the range just stops at a certain northern latitude. Pretty much all of northern Europe is scorpion-free. If you lived in the north half of Europe, odds were good you had never seen a scorpion in your life. But if you were literate or educated at all, or you knew they were a thing, because you'd almost certainly run across them being mentioned in texts from farther south. And those texts wouldn't bother to explain what a scorpion was, of course -- everyone knows scorpions, right? When was the last time you stopped to explain What Is Spiders?

So medieval writers and artists in northern Europe were kind of stuck. There was all this scorpion imagery and metaphor in the texts they liked to work from, but they didn't really know what a scorpion was. Writers could kind of work around it (there's a lot of "oh, it's a venomous creature, moving on"), but sometimes they felt the need to break it down better. For this, of course, they'd have to refer to a bestiary -- but due to Bestiary Telephone and the persistent need of bestiary authors to turn animals into allegories, one of the only visual details you got on scorpions was that they... had a beautiful face, which they used to distract people in order to sting them.

And look. I'm not here to yuck anyone's yum, but I would say that a scorpion's face has significant aesthetic appeal only for a fairly small segment of the population. I'm sure you could get an entomologist to rhapsodize about it a bit, but your average person on the street will not be entranced by the face of a scorpion. So this did not help the medieval Europeans in figuring out how to depict scorpions. There was also some semantic confusion -- see, in some languages (such as Old and Middle English), "worm" could be a general term for very small animals of any kind. But it also could mean "serpent".* So there were some, like our artist at the top of the post, who were pretty sure a scorpion was a snake. This was probably helped along by the fact that "venomous" was one of the only things everyone knew about them, and hey, snakes are venomous. Also, Pliny the Elder had floated the idea that there were scorpions in Africa that could fly, and at least one author (13th-century monk Bartholomaeus Anglicus) therefore suggested that they had feathers. I don't see that last one coming up much, I just share it because it's funny to me.

*English eventually resolved this by borrowing the Latin vermin for very small animals, using the specialized spelling wyrm for big impressive mythical-type serpents, and sticking with the more specific snake for normal serpents.

Some authors, like the anonymous author of the Ancrene Wisse, therefore suggested that a scorpion was a snake with a woman's face and a stinging tail. (Everyone seemed to be on the same page with regards to the fact that the sting was in the tail, which is in fact probably the most recognizable aspect of scorpions, so good job there.) However, while authors could avoid this problem, visual artists could not. And if you were illustrating a bestiary or a calendar, including a scorpion was not optional. So they had to take a shot at what this thing looked like.

And so, after this way-too-long explanation, the thing you're probably here for: inaccurate medieval drawings of scorpions. (There are of course accurate medieval drawings of scorpions, from artists who lived in the southern part of Europe and/or visited places where scorpions lived; I'm just not showing you those.) And if you find yourself wondering, "how sure are you that that's meant to be a scorpion?" -- all of these are either from bestiaries or from calendars that include zodiac illustrations.

11th-century England, MS Arundel 60. (Be honest, without the rest of this post, if I had asked you to guess what animal this was supposed to be, would you have ever guessed “scorpion”?)

12th-century Germany, "Psalter of Henry the Lion". (Looks a bit undercooked. Kind of fetal.)

12th-century France, Peter Lombard's Sententiae. (Very colorful, itsy bitsy claws, what is happening with that tail?)

12th-century England, "The Shaftesbury Psalter". (So a scorpion is some sort of wyvern with a face like a duck, correct?)

13th-century France, Thomas de Cantimpré's Liber de natura rerum. (I’d give them credit for the silhouette not being that far off, but there’s a certain bestiary style where all the animals kind of look like that. Also note how few of these have claws.)

13th-century England, "The Bodley Bestiary". (Mischievous flying squirrel impales local man’s hand, local man fails to notice.)

13th-century England, Harley MS 3244. (A scorpion is definitely either a mouse or a fish. Either way it has six legs.)

13th-century England, Harley MS 3244. (Wait, no, it’s a baby theropod, and it has two legs. (Yes, this is the same manuscript, that’s not an error, this artist did four scorpions and no two are the same.))

13th-century England, Harley MS 3244. (Actually it’s a lizard with tiny ears and it has four legs.)

13th-century England, Harley MS 3244. (Now that we’re at the big fancy illustration, I think I’ve got it — it’s like that last one, but two legs, longer ears, and a less goofy face. Also I’ve decided it’s not pink anymore, I think that was the main problem.)

13th-century England, MS Kk.4.25. (A scorpion is a flat crocodile with a bear’s head.)

13th-century England, "The Huth Psalter". (Wyvern but baby! Does not seem to be enjoying biting its own tail.)

13th-century England, MS Royal 1 D X. (This triangular-headed gentlecreature gets the award for “closest guess at correct limb configuration”. If two of those were claws, I might actually believe this artist had seen a scorpion before, or at least a picture of one.)

13th-century England, "The Westminster Psalter". (A scorpion is the offspring of a wyvern and a fawn.)

13th-century England, "The Rutland Psalter". (Too many legs! Pull back! Pull back!)

13th or 14th-century France, Bestiaire d'amour rimé. (This is very similar to the fawn-wyvern, but putting it in an actual Scene makes it even more obvious that you’re just guessing.)

14th-century Netherlands, Jacob van Maerlant's Der Naturen Bloeme. (More top-down six-legged guys that look too furry to be arthropods.)

14th-century Germany, MS Additional 22413. (That is clearly a turtle.)

14th-century France, Matfres Eymengau de Beziers's Breviari d'amor. (Who came up with that head shape and what was their deal?)

15th-century England, "Bestiary of Ann Walsh". (Screw it, a scorpion is a big lizard that glares at you for trying to make me draw things I don’t know about.)

I've spent way too much time on this now. End of post, thank you to anyone who got all the way down here.

#medieval #medieval creatures #medieval art #scorpions #medieval scorpions #manuscript #medieval manuscripts #illuminated manuscript

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am-i-the-asshole-official · 6 months

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AITAH for telling my wife no?

My wife (35f) and I (38m) have been married for 12 years, dated for 3 before that. We have 3 kids (10m, 7f, and 5f). We both work full time in separate fields, she does some chemistry thing that I don't understand and I am a manager at a computer repair store my friend runs, and also a short story writer when its slow. She is definitely the breadwinner bill payer between the two of us, but I bring in the fun money for our family and would be completely listless if I didn't at least work part time. We also fully own our home because of her job.

Also, my parents watch the kids for us during the week when we are working. It's been this way since our son was born, and they've been doing it less since they are all in school. But it's free childcare, they refuse to accept money unless it's reimbursing for buying food.

Ok, now that all of that backstory is set, here's where the problem begins.

A couple of months ago my wife started pepper into conversations about a possible promotion coming up that would get her out of the lab and into a more "manage the lab team" position, with less dangerous hours for more pay. Ever since the first time she mentioned it I've been hyping her up and telling her she's a shoo in for the promotion, especially since she's been working there since her masters internship and now she has a PhD.

Last night she told me she was getting word today if she got it! After she left for work this morning I called my boss up and told him I couldn't come in today, and then told my parents the kids were saying with me. We spent the day cleaning the house, drawing congratulations cards, and making a congratulations banner. We also made a couple cards that say sorry and we love you for if she didn't get it. I was working on making her favorite dinner (lobster rolls with lobster bisque, because she's a fancy lady) when she got home earlier than normal. Everyone was surprised, because noone is usually home at this time and yet here everyone was. She got tears in her eyes seeing everything we were still working on, got down and hugged our two youngest, and said she got the promotion! Cheering all around! And that's when she dropped the bomb, saying we need to get a realtor in a state three away from us so we can relocate within the next two months.

I was stunned, and just said no, we arent moving for this promotion. In all of her talks she never mentioned that the promotion wasn't for the same location she's been at. All of our family is here, her parents and mine, all of our friends are here, my job is here. She insisted that she's mentioned relocating before but I swear she never did. That set of a completely new argument about never listening to her and only hearing what I want to hear, and how this will make it so I can stay home with the kids and not even need a fun money job. During this I noticed she was typing on her phone, and when I asked why she was multitasking an argument she said she was texting my parents to get the kids so they don't have to see this.

When my parents got here they congratulated her on the promotion and asked how long until we move.

She told my parents the promotion included relocation.

I'm typing this on the couch in the basement, because I can't face her right now. My parents knowing means she probably did say we would need to move if she got it. I don't want to move, I like my job, and our house. I like being near my parents. I know this would practically set us for life but I don't want to. I know I'm being selfish, and I know I must not be listening when she talks, but I still don't think she should accept the promotion. I still think no.

What are these acronyms?

#aita #am i the asshole

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johnskleats · 2 months

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is anyone going to tell the kat@angers that it's not feminist activism to argue Katara's arc in LOK is fine on the grounds that "some women want to be homemakers and that's okay!!"

Like you're not helping real women that way. In fact, most antis for the cannon ship ARE women. Many are homemakers themselves.

Katara is not a real woman. She is a fictional woman written by men.

Can the sensibilities and wishes of a girl change by the time she is a adult? Yes!

But as this is a textual character who, as per the text, rejects the societal structure of her fictional world (which mirrors our own) that women are and can only ever be docile homemakers (i.e. I don't want to heal, I want to fight; I will never turn my back on people who need me; let's start a prison riot; let's engage in vigilante ecoterrorism; let's pitch an absolute fit because the boys are not pulling their fair weight in the homemaking; let's confront my mother's killer at the absolute rejection and condemnation of the male figures whom I am to respect; etc) it is perfectly reasonable to argue that this end was not a natural course for her character.

Fictional characters are not real people. This means that they do not change their mind off screen. That is not an acceptable argument. That is called a "plot hole", which is a nonsensical change made at the convenience and contrivance of the writer(s), who in this case are men exhibited to not care for women or girls all that much. It is within THEIR character to write this way.

Regardless of who, if anyone, Katara ended up with, Katara tolerating disrespect, neglect, abuse of her children, giving up all of her former aspirations to live in the shadow of men, and dying as a mere footnote in history (and being alright with it!!) is not surprising given the absolute vitriol Bryke has shown toward female fans of their "creation". It was supposed to be a "boy" show. It was always supposed to be a "boy" show. The creators of Supernatural and Game of Thrones did the same thing. ATLA just did it first.

Arguing "not all women" is not activism in the face of what is really happening in this discourse. Sending death threats to real, actual women with feelings in defense of a fake pretend woman's fake pretend autonomy is performative activism, and worse, hypocritical.

Not all women agree with you. Not all women feel represented and find the outcome of Katara's story satisfactory. If y'all care about feminism and respecting women's choices so much, lay off the real life women you're so fond of harassing. Our views and opinions, while opposing your own, don't affect you.

#i know we've all told them but yall im tired #antikataang #anti kataang #its tagged but the people who this is targeted for will see it #folks perusing the zutara tag for hate purposes #yall are weird #guess who has never set foot in the kata@ng tag #its me <3 #zutara #antibryke #anti bryke #bryke critical

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toomuchracket · 1 month

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if you're too shy (office nerd!matty x reader fluff)

in which the other music journalist at the magazine you work at is the cutest weird boy you've ever met. enjoy <3

in hindsight, coming back from a two-week holiday the same day the magazine goes to print was a misguided idea.

your editor-in-chief tells you as much when you enter the office, pulling you into a half hug. “don't get me wrong, it's lovely to see you,” she says, scraping her hair back into a bun and securing it with a pencil. “but you'll be doing nothing all day, i'm afraid. maybe some last minute proofing, but i think everyone in nightlife and reviews has been alright. double-check with marianne.”

you do just that, weaving your way through people running copy and coffee between departments until you reach your own. it's mercifully quiet compared to everywhere else, the ten or so people dotted at desks around the sunlit room looking at their laptops and wearing headphones; you actually have to flick marianne on the back of the head to get her to notice you. “oi.”

“who the- oh, hi!” marianne's face softens when she sees it's you, and she stands to pull you into one of her infamously bone-crushing hugs before pulling back to get a good look. “well, you look annoyingly well-rested. but i suppose a fortnight in a spanish villa will do that to you. bitch.”

“i had a great time, thanks for asking,” you grin. “how’s everything been with you? stressful, without your star reporter?”

“well, for starters, you've been succeeded for that title.”

you frown only half-jokingly, scanning the room to try and guess which of your colleagues has replaced you as marianne's unofficial favourite. “who the fuck…?”

“language,” she lightly slaps your arm, in spite of the fact she was just about to say the same thing, then smiles suspiciously. “and i’m talking about our newest recruit.”

the brewing annoyance in your stomach dissipates immediately, replaced by a flock of tiny butterflies. “oh,” you try to keep your smile to a minimum. “that's okay. i like him.”

marianne sees right through you, though. she rolls her eyes. “oh, you would.”

“what?”

she sighs, motioning for you to lower your voice and modifying her own to a whisper. “he’s a curly-haired pretty-eyed vaguely scrawny white boy. you'd like him even if he didn't think the sun shone out of your arse.”

“marianne!” you hiss. “he does not!”

“don’t act all indignant, he has literally looked over at you once every thirty seconds since you walked in - and don't look, idiot, you'll freak him out. we need him on the ball, today of all days,” she rubs her eyes. “but yes, he’s very good at his job. i like him, even if i've no idea what in the world he goes off on his tangents about. great writer.”

“yeah, he is,” you risk a glance towards him, but all you can see is the back of his laptop - covered in stickers for things you can only name half of - and dark curls peeking out from the side of his headphones. “i like the references. different perspective from me, innit? that's why we hired him, after all.”

“who's we? you were too pissed off that i was hiring another music critic to agree to be part of the interviewing panel.”

you'd love to disagree, but you really were pissed when marianne and the other editors told you they were expanding the nightlife section. it didn't matter that it was in response to an increase in funding and readership, with the magazine switching to a print format as well as the online edition you'd contributed to since its creation - your fierce independence and pride meant you didn't take the news well, made you think it was an issue with your competence and writing ability that meant you'd be getting a new colleague. but once you were reassured that you'd still get to keep the Big Gigs and restaurant reviews to yourself, you were slightly more agreeable to the idea.

and once you actually met the new guy, stumbling over both his words and his own feet as he introduced himself, you couldn't quite remember why you'd been opposed in the first place.

“well,” you say, snapping back into reality. “thank goodness i'm over it now.”

“because you want to get under him?”

“no!” you stand indignantly, and then grin. “on top, maybe.”

“good grief,” your boss shakes her head. “don't you go bringing it up to him - excuse the pun - before this edition goes to the printers,” she points at you as you move to walk away. “or talking to him at all until then, actually, you hear me? i love you, but you're a distraction to him, and he's my best journo.”

“he's not, but alright,” you pat her head as you walk back towards the door. “i'll be in the staff room if you need me. and i won't talk to anyone, mum, i promise.”

“i'm only five years older than you!”

“whatever you say!” you reply in a singsongy voice, giggling to yourself as you wander towards the sunny kitchen. the little radio on the windowsill is on, as it always is, and you nod along to the cure while you wait for the kettle to boil. once you've made a cuppa (and grabbed a slack handful of the chocolate digestives marianne always keeps the cupboard stocked with), you settle at the table with your laptop, typing out ideas for your next feature and doing your best not to think about the boy down the corridor you've been instructed not to talk to for the time being. for the most part, you succeed.

that is, until he walks into the staff room two hours later.

you frantically wipe your face of biscuit crumbs as he does, smiling as sweetly as you can for someone with no idea if she has chocolate on her teeth or not. “hi, matty. how are you?”

“oh, hi! i'm, uh, i'm alright,” matty smiles widely enough that his verbal emotional downplaying is blatant - still, he's so cute, beaming at you like that with his little sweater paws. he’s always in a jumper or cardigan or hoodie of some kind, and on more than one occasion in the three months you've known him, you've absolutely thought about literally cosying up into him instead of doing any work. “how was spain? and the wedding - it was a family wedding you were going to, yeah?”

“that's right,” it’s not a big deal, but you glow at the fact he remembered. or maybe it's the soft intent he looks at you with. “it was lovely, yeah. although - wait, have we gone to print?” you ask, suddenly recalling marianne's instructions. “i'm not keeping you from work?”

matty's curls bounce as he shakes his head, light hitting off the metal hoop in his earlobe (that you're only mildly obsessed with). “we've gone. i'm just in here to get my lunch,” he pulls a tupperware from the fridge, cheeks rosy as he waves it. “made some soup last night.”

he makes his own soup. the thought is so endearing that it takes everything in you not to sigh; you settle for a smile. “carrot and coriander?”

“you can tell from one glance?”

you shrug. “s'my favourite.”

“really?” matty's face seems to light up. “mine too,” he busies himself with putting the tupperware in the microwave, taking his time pressing buttons and turning dials before looking bashfully at you. “so, you had a nice time at the wedding, then?”

“i did, thank you. do you, um,” you start, suddenly shy. “d'you want to see some photos from it, while you're waiting for the soup to heat up?”

he nods back just as shyly, sitting quite awkwardly on the seat next to yours; while you open your photos app, matty twists a stray curl around his finger, and the movement seems to send your nerves into vibration as well as the molecules in the air. with a series of shallow breaths, you locate the folder of the wedding pictures and set your phone on the table. “feel free to flick through them, if you like.”

“thank you,” matty sits forward, carefully swiping through the album. you lean on your elbow, doing your best not to beam adoringly at the way he looks intently at each photo before moving to the next. “the venue is really beautiful.”

“yeah, it was stunning.”

the next picture is one of you in your bridesmaid dress, taken by your sister the morning of the wedding. you watch, slightly heartsick, as matty's mouth falls open as he looks at you; the feeling worsens when he tentatively does the same thing in real life, those pretty eyes of his sparkling as he smiles softly. “so are you. really. like,” he looks down at the photo again, shaking his head slightly before looking back up at you. “that colour is beautiful on you. honest. you look incredible.”

“thank you,” the words come out in a whisper, and the two of you silently smile at each other for a moment until you clear your throat. “um, there are more of the official pics on my instagram, let me… actually, do you have my private account?”

“oh, no,” matty shakes his head again - god, you love the way his hair moves. “just the one for your writing.”

“well,” you tap on the app with an almost-imperceptibly shaky finger. “that's the username there, if you'd like to follow. no pressure, of course. don’t wanna fuck up your algorithms or anything.”

your nervous chuckle at the end of the sentence turns to a giggle when you see matty's face as you share your username; it lights up so much that you'd be forgiven for thinking he'd just won the lottery. he pulls his own phone out and taps away at it. “you don't have to follow me back, by the way,” his cheeks flush a deep red, a beautiful colour. “m'not posting anything interesting.”

doubtful. he might be one of the most interesting people you've ever met, all talent and sweetness and a wealth of cultural understanding wrapped up in a sweater and a pretty face. “no, i'd like to.”

“alright. thank you,” matty's cheeks seem to get even redder as he watches you hit follow back, face twitching as though he’s trying to stop himself smiling too big. when the microwave dings, he all but skips over to it, almost tripping over the leg of his chair in a sweetly awkward way; he swears under his breath when he lifts the steaming container out, turning back sheepishly to look at you. “sorry.”

“don't worry,” you grin at him, feeling slightly bold. “i still think you're sweet when you swear.”

he giggles, and the noise makes your heart leap; in addition to being one of the most interesting people you think you've ever met, matty healy is without doubt the cutest. watching his lips pout in concentration as he stirs the soup and checks the temperature, you briefly imagine what they would feel like against your own, how he would be if the two of you were to kiss. just as giggly and endearingly awkward as he usually is, you think - eager to please, lips and tongue a little sloppy and unsure but enthusiastic enough for you not to mind, slightly unsure of where to put his hands so as to not make you uncomfortable… the scene is as clear as day in your head, and you really, really want to recreate it. you'd devour him right now if you could, the sweetheart.

and then, matty reaches up to get a bowl from the shelf, the hem of his shirt goes with him, and your want to devour him suddenly takes on a less pg-rated meaning than it did a second ago.

he has a fucking hip tattoo.

you’re pretty sure it's only a sliver of the full design you can actually see, but the hints of red and blue and black ink and the glimpse of his happy trail are enough to fuck you up completely. as you register what you're seeing - what you're discovering about the seemingly buttoned-up, shy, unassuming-to-everyone-but-you matty - your breath catches in your throat, forcing you to cough quite obviously on the mouthful of lukewarm tea you'd just taken. one cough turns into another, and you clap a hand over your mouth to make your tattoo reaction attack the least obvious it can be.

still, the ever-perceptive man across the kitchen notices, running over to crouch in front of you with concern filling those beautiful eyes of his. “you alright, darling?”

darling?! no, you most certainly aren't alright.

but you can't tell matty that, so you stick to gesturing to let him know you'll reply once you've managed to swallow your tea. “i am, yeah, thanks. tea just, y'know, went down the wrong way.”

matty tilts his head. “you sure?”

“yeah,” you smile, slightly embarrassed. “really. thank you, though.”

“of course,” he smiles in return, knee brushing lightly against your leg as he steadies himself; he looks down, eyes widening as he registers how close the two of you are, and quickly stands. “i'd better, y'know, get my lunch.”

you nod, despite the strange loneliness settling into your bones at the lack of him next to you. “i can head back to the office, if you want peace?”

“no, no, please stay!” matty all but gasps, turning to look at you like a deer caught in headlights - he clears his throat, blinking a few times before speaking again. “please don't feel the need to leave on my account, i mean. or feel obliged to talk, really - i was just going to read.”

“you're sure i won't be a bother to you?”

matty smiles warmly, shaking his head. “that'll never happen.”

christ.

“okay,” you whisper, winking at him - and savouring the little giggle that bubbles out of him when you do - before turning back to your laptop.

matty settles at the table a minute or so later, pulling a paperback from his back pocket and holding it open quite attractively with one hand. you peek over the rim of your laptop at him every so often, never for more than a couple of seconds at a time; partially to avoid the mortification of him catching you, but mostly because if you look at him any longer you know your mind will wander back to that fucking hip tattoo of his, and what it might look like completely visible to you, and what it might feel like under your lips, and what noises matty might make if you slowly dragged your tongue all over it before moving to the side to lick a wavy line up the length of his-

enough. he's literally right there.

the room feels hot, all of a sudden, your cheeks flushing and throat drying to match. on only slightly shaky legs, you pick up your waterbottle and head to the water fountain, crouching as best you can to fill it. even though he stays silent, you can feel matty’s eyes on you from across the room, but it doesn't bother you or freak you out in the way that other men ogling you at a water fountain would - it's quite obvious that matty has some sort of more-than-platonic affection for you, but his gaze has always been one of appreciation and awe when it comes to you, not the predatory one you've come to expect from men. and yet, his is the only male gaze that makes you feel slightly nervous, unused to being looked at with such reverence and tenderness by an attractive boy; in complete contrast, though, it also makes you lower your guard, pull down the bricks from the wall you've built around your heart, and allow yourself to actually feel something for matty, for once. something good, honest, promising.

matty looks up from his book as you sit down, smiling pleasantly. he opens his mouth as if to talk, and then closes it immediately, shaking his head slightly.

this intrigues you. “you okay, matty?”

“hmm? oh, yeah, i was just thinking,” his cheeks go a shade of pink you would buy in blush form if you could find it. “when you were first talking about the wedding… you said although, and then we got off-topic slightly. what, um, what were you going to say, if you don't mind me asking?”

“oh, right,” you wrack your brain, doing your best to not get distracted by how cute you find his perception. “i think i was going to say something about how, as good as it all was, there's nothing like a family wedding to remind you of how single you are.”

his jaw falls open. “you… you don't have a boyfriend? wait, sorry,” he blinks. “or a partner?”

you shake your head, biting the inside of your lip to stop yourself smiling. “no boyfriend, no. and thus, constantly advised by a never-ending flock of aunts that i should get one so i could get married.”

“christ,” matty winces. “yeah, my cousin's getting married in a couple of months - not looking forward to everyone asking me when i'm going to meet a nice girl and settle down, as if i can answer.”

no girlfriend. how interesting. “you're single? really?”

he rolls his eyes, still smiling at you. “be serious. course i am.”

“i am being serious! that surprises me,” you lean on one elbow, tilting your head to look at him. “you're lovely, matty.”

matty’s eyes widen, and he blinks adorably a few times before he smiles shyly again. “thank you. i think the same about you.”

“you do?”

he simply nods, total sincerity in those pretty eyes.

you feel your cheeks warm, but you make no effort to hide it. “thank you.”

matty shrugs. “just telling the truth, darling,” he looks panicked when he realises what he's said. “sorry for calling you that, twice, it just-”

“i like it, matty, it's alright,” you say reassuringly. “and i like-”

“oh, thank god you're both here,” marianne bursts into the room, carrying her laptop; you frown petulantly at her for ruining your moment, but shuffle your chair round closer to matty's so she can sit at the table too. “something weird’s happening.”

matty squints. “what d'you mean by weird?”

marianne pushes her laptop towards you both. “there's overlap in your planned reviews - the band you're going to see at the end of next week, matthew, have just been announced as the opener for the next Big Gig. i need to know how we want to go about this.”

“oh,” he looks at you. “i don't mind if you want to just review them as part of yours.”

you're shaking your head vehemently before he even finishes talking. “no, that's not fair,” you tap your lips with your index finger the way you always do when you concentrate, trying to ignore the glow within your body when you see matty looking at them from the corner of your eye; inspiration strikes, and you turn to marianne. “matty could come with me, couldn't he? if he reviews their headline gig, and then he does a follow-up review of their opening set in the Big Gig feature - we could just do a joint byline, work together on it.”

both of them turn to look at you in slight shock. marianne is the first to speak, her words trickling out slowly as she processes the fact you've just agreed to let someone else work on a Big Gig for the first time. “you're… happy with that?”

“if matty is, yeah,” you turn to him, smiling. “sound alright?”

he beams. “more than. thank you.”

“of course,” you turn back to the boss. “there you go. sorted.”

she sighs, relieved. “thank goodness for that. alright,” she stands, picking up her laptop and heading back to the main office. “i'll coordinate press passes. thanks for making that simple - you're both stars.”

“anytime!” you call after her, before turning back to matty. “you're sure you're happy to do this? i realise i've just given you more work to do, but…”

he laughs, a beautiful sound. “nah, i don't mind. also,” he shuffles in his seat, bashful again. “i actually have a spare ticket for the first show, if you'd like it - bought it before i saw it was on the review roster. doesn't seem fair that i get to go to two gigs while you only get one, i think. i mean, no pressure, obviously, but the offer's there.”

god, he’s so fucking cute. how could you ever say no to him? “i'd like that a lot, matty, thank you,” you beam at him. “i think us working together is going to be a lot of fun.”

matty beams back just as enthusiastically. “i think so too.”

#mads muses #mads does writing #office nerd au #matty healy fanfiction #matty healy fanfic #matty healy fic #matty healy fluff #matty healy x reader #matty x reader

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ginnsbaker · 2 months

Text

fic: if i bleed (you'll be the last to know) (2/?)

Part summary: Leigh goes on a double date with Jules. You reach a tipping point with Leigh's relentless hostility towards you.

Pairing: Leigh Shaw x Fem!Reader | Word count for this part: 5,072 | Warnings/Tags: None for now... smut eventually, enemies to lovers A/N: So... this turned into more than a two-shot. But it will still be a mini-series. It's also kinda slow burn for a mini series (lol). Also, this isn't canon compliant at all. Meaning, I took a lot of liberties and added stuff to Leigh and Matt's relationship, and it doesn't follow the timeline of the show. With that said, enjoy!

Masterlist | Part I | Next Part

The vet bills hit Leigh's bank account way harder than she’s willing to admit.

She knew taking care of pets could get pricey, but she thought that was just for those on their last leg, like Matt's dog, Rogue. Facing those steep costs made her think twice about turning down Drew's offer a while back to bring back her advice column. So, she calls him up as soon as she pays up a quarter of the charges on her credit card for Visitor's medical expenses.

Drew answers on the second ring. “Hey Leigh, what's up?”

Leigh doesn’t beat around the bush. She never has to with her best friend. “Can we meet at the cafe? I need to talk to you about something.”

“Sure. Be there in 20,” Drew replies right away.

The coffee shop they frequent is a small local business that specializes in cold brews. Leigh’s favorite thing about it is not the coffee though, but its interior: mismatched chairs, bookshelves lining the wall, and the temperature that’s always just right. Leigh arrives first, securing their favorite table near the window. Drew walks in a few minutes later, coffee already in hand, and greets her with a warm smile.

“Okay, spill. What's going on?” Drew asks as he takes a seat.

“I've been thinking... about the column. I was wrong to turn it down. I want back in.”

The look of utter surprise on his face tells Leigh this was the last thing he expected. She senses his response won't be a straightforward yes.

“I'd be thrilled to have you back, Leigh, I really would—”

“But?” Leigh cuts in. She doesn’t need to hear a bullshit ‘it’s not you, it’s me’ excuse. She wishes Drew would just be as direct with her as she is with him.

Drew lets out a sigh. Under different circumstances, saying no to Leigh would be as easy as declining an upsell from a McDonald's cashier. However, ever since Leigh became a widow, rejecting her feels significantly harder, even though he's well aware that Leigh values honesty over pity.

“But the thing is, the new writer’s really hitting it off with our audience. She's had a string of articles go viral lately.”

Leigh doesn’t look at all impressed by that. “Yeah, I heard.”

Personally, Drew’s not a fan of the new writer's style, and honestly, he still prefers Leigh. It would just be a hard sell if he brought this up to management. As the saying goes: if it ain't broke, don't fix it.

“Look, I still think you have a unique voice. You know I’d still take advice from you over the new girl.”

Leigh scoffs a little at that, shaking her head. Drew rolls his eyes; it’s typical of Leigh to never know how to take a compliment. He continues, “How would you feel about guest writing? Maybe for the first couple of weeks, we could find a way to incorporate your insights into a series or a special feature.”

It’s not what she hoped for, but she recognizes the olive branch for what it is.

And she’ll take it.

“I... yeah, I think that could work, Drew. I've got a ton of new ideas, and this... this could be great,” Leigh says. “Uhm, thanks.”

Drew grins. “I thought you'd like that. Let's kick off with a couple of guest pieces, see how it goes.”

Leigh half-heartedly returns his enthusiasm just as her order of cheeseburger and affogato are served.

“Anything new with you?” Drew asks, his voice taking on that tone he reserves for the really good gossip. Knowing Drew's helping her out, Leigh figures a little life update wouldn't hurt as a form of thanks.

That update is about you. And the moment Leigh spills the beans, Drew's face lights up like a Christmas tree. But his excitement fizzles out just as fast when he figures out Leigh's got nothing scandalous to say. All she mentions is how you might've missed the mark by not doing your homework on the guy you were seeing.

“What’s your plan then?”

“Seems like everyone’s asking me that,” Leigh says flatly.

“You took your stray to her place, right? So, there must be some sort of plan. I mean, you could've gone to any other vet if you wanted to avoid her.”

“Yeah, but her clinic's location is so convenient, and I didn't want to shrink my world just for her.”

Drew hums in response. Leigh admits she’s been unusually passive with you. Normally, she'd confront issues head-on, but even almost half a year later, she still hasn’t fully processed Matt’s death, let alone his cheating. She's been trying a new tactic, almost as if by ignoring her problems, she hopes they'll fade away on their own. She seems to be betting on the idea that if she pretends long enough, maybe one day she'll wake up and find those issues have lost their grip on her.

“I don’t know Leigh, the whole thing’s weird,” Drew says, scrunching up his face a bit.

“It’s not like I’m trying to make a friend or enemy out of her,” Leigh replies with a shrug. “I’m just using her services as a doctor, and she’s getting paid for it. That’s all there is to it.”

“Oh, so that’s why you need your old job back. She’s draining your purse,” he says, smirking as he adds, “Bitch.”

“You don’t have to call her that,” Leigh chides, though the corner of her mouth twitches in amusement. Deep down, she understands the twisted satisfaction in disliking someone without having to justify it.

“The funniest thing that can happen is if you two actually end up being friends,” Drew quips, picking up an accidental curly from Leigh’s plate.

Leigh finds that scenario hard to imagine, almost impossible. She doesn’t think she can be friends with someone Matt liked more than her.

Leigh is hunched over her laptop, with sheets of paper and colorful markers spread out on the table, meticulously designing missing dog posters for Visitor.

Jules, leaning against the doorframe with a mug of coffee in hand, watches Leigh for a moment before speaking up. “You know, you should've done that the second you decided to take Visitor in.”

Leigh doesn't look up from her screen. “His leg needed to be taken care of first,” she reasons.

Jules rolls her eyes, pushing off from the doorframe to come closer. “And? How did it go at the clinic?”

Leigh pauses, then lets out an exaggerated sigh. “I already told you about the tests Visitor had to go through. They said he’ll be fine.”

“I mean with the doctor, not the patient,” Jules clarifies with a smirk.

There's a beat of silence before Leigh quips, “No cat fights happened, I promise,” her eyes going back to her laptop.

“Any chance she knocked off a bit of the bill?” Jules asks, moving to sit behind Leigh to take a peek of her work. It looks like an 8th grader’s art project, but she bites back any criticisms.

“Nope.”

“Told you she’s a bitch,” Jules murmurs under her breath.

“It's not like anyone's doing charity work these days, especially not in this economy,” Leigh argues weakly.

“Yeah, right. Like she needs your money, Leigh. Veterinarians are loaded, if you didn’t know.”

“If you say so.”

Jules decides to drop the subject, and Leigh can hear her shuffling and thinking behind her.

“Hey, there's something I've been wanting to ask you. Don't get mad, okay?”

“Prefacing like that? I'm bracing myself to be utterly scandalized,” Leigh says before smiling and sneaking a glance at Jules.

“Great, you’re cracking jokes again. That’s a good sign,” Jules deadpans but a second later, she’s smiling too.

“Ask away,” Leigh prods.

Jules takes a deep breath, and then:

“Do you think you’re ready to meet someone new?”

Leigh suddenly stops, her fingers just hanging there above the keyboard, unsure of what to do next. What’s the protocol here? If three months is usually the cooling period after a break-up before one can start dating other people, then what's the deal when it's about a husband who's not only passed away but was also cheating? How does that work?

Before Leigh can come up with an answer, she realizes she's already saying no.

Jules groans. “Come on, it's just a double date. It'll be fun. You and me and—”

“I’m really not in the mood to meet other people, Jules.”

Jules cuts in, laying it on thick. “Leigh, seriously, when was the last time you went out and had a little fun? You're practically turning into a recluse. I won't stand by and watch my sister morph into the neighborhood's infamous dog lady.”

“Dog lady? Really?”

“I'm just saying, it's either try something new or start knitting dog sweaters for fun. Your choice.”

Jules can be a real pest sometimes; it’s an endearing quality except when they seem ready to go for each other's throats.

“You think you’re hilarious, don’t you?” Leigh rests her chin on her hand, seriously considering the invitation for a second. “I don’t know how to meet people, Jules. I stopped meeting people when I met Matt. He was my entire world, you know?”

Jules softens, throwing her arms around Leigh’s shoulders. “I know. And I wouldn't push if I didn't think it could be good for you. Plus, I promise, if it's awful, I'll personally escort you out and we can ditch them for ice cream. How's that?”

Leigh senses that Jules won't give up until she gets a yes, so she decides to concede just this time and get it over with.

“Okay, okay, you win. I'll go on your stupid double date. But if this ends in disaster, you're buying me the biggest tub of ice cream you can find,” Leigh says, shrugging her sister off her.

Jules pumps her fist in victory. “Deal! You won't regret this, Leigh. And who knows? It might actually be fun.”

The double date goes surprisingly smoothly, except for the occasional touches coming from her date. To be fair, they are typical for a date and are executed with respect. However, for some reason, Leigh finds herself unusually conscious of every physical contact, making her anxious to move things along and call it a night.

As they step out of the restaurant, Leigh mentally scrambles to remember her date's name. She's bracing for the goodbyes, ready to retreat into the comfort of her room, when Tommy, Jules' girlfriend, suggests they cap the night off at a new bar. It turns out Leigh's date has an investment in the place. He jumps at the suggestion, clearly eager to flaunt this detail, perhaps hoping to impress her.

He does earn a sincere, “That’s cool,” from Leigh, just before she slides into the backseat of his car. Tommy quickly calls dibs on the front seat, leaving the siblings sitting next to each other in the back.

The new bar clearly wants to be the town’s next hotspot, but it seems to be trying too hard. It's got this odd vibe where you're not sure if you should be dancing or just looking around, wondering what it really wants you to do. But Leigh agreed to this, and she won’t embarrass Jules by ditching.

“Can I get you something to drink?”

She stiffens a bit as he draws near, the heat of Patrick's breath—Jules had reminded her of his name during the car ride—making her uncomfortably aware of how close he is. She shifts, trying to put a polite distance between them without seeming too obvious about it. “Um, just a gin and tonic, please,” she says.

She practically sighs in relief as Patrick heads off to order, her eyes darting around the bar. The 90s R&B background gets her head bopping, but all she’s thinking about is her couch and an episode of Parks and Recreation waiting for her at home. Jules and Tommy are in their own little world, giggling and looking all cozy. Leigh never thought she could feel like a third wheel on a double date.

Patrick is taking his time, and when Leigh cranes her neck to peer over the bar, she catches him striking up a conversation with a blonde. Her eyes narrow into slits as she watches, both of them obviously charmed by the other as Patrick laughs at something she said, enjoying himself in a way he hadn’t all night.

Leigh feels a prick of irritation. Sure, she hasn’t been giving him the time of his life, but they’re still on a date. Isn’t there some unwritten rule about not flirting with other people when you're supposed to be with someone?

She waits a bit longer, hoping Patrick would remember he was supposed to be getting her a drink and come back. However, he hasn't moved an inch from his spot and is even passing Leigh's drink to the woman as they keep chatting. Leigh’s mind races. She knows she isn’t into Patrick, has been giving him nothing but the bare minimum, yet she can't shake off the feeling of being slighted. It's not like she wanted his undivided attention, but this... this just seems rude.

She catches Jules looking at her, a questioning eyebrow raised. Leigh just shrugs, not sure how to explain the jumble of feelings she's experiencing without sounding petty or jealous.

When Patrick finally comes back with her drink, the mood has already turned sour for Leigh. She musters a polite smile, accepts the gin and tonic with a thank you, but then heads to the bar on her own without saying anything more. At this point, she's indifferent to what Patrick, Tommy, or Jules might think or say of her; she's finished playing nice for the day.

Leigh slams her gin and tonic like it's water, the sting barely registering. She signals for another without missing a beat and strangers start sliding over drinks with cheeky grins. She toasts to nothing, to no one, letting the conversations slip away before they can get even one word out.

By drink number six—or was it seven?—everything's spinning, laughter too loud, lights too bright. Leigh’s clinging to the bar for dear life when she thinks she sees you. But as quickly as the figure appears, it's lost again, leaving her questioning her ability to handle her alcohol. Back in her college days, Leigh could hold her liquor like a champ, thanks to endless nights of partying. But now, staring down at her drink, she realizes she might've overestimated her current tolerance. The alcohol hits harder than she remembers, making her head swim more than she'd like to admit. It's been a while since she's gone this hard, and her body isn't shy about reminding her.

The worst part of it though is why, of all the faces her mind could conjure up, it's choosing yours.

Just as she tries to shake off the bizarre vision, your face appears again, this time on the dance floor, writhing in a sea of thick, sweating bodies. You're dancing closely with a man, and it’s—

It’s Matt.

Leigh blinks rapidly, attempting to dispel the hallucination because it's impossible; Matt is dead—this can't be real.

But the image of you and Matt refuses to go away. She continues to see the way your grind against him, the way you caress his face as you pull it further into your neck. Anger surges through her, hot and uncontrollable, and before she knows it, her last shot of tequila crashes to the floor. Before the bartender or anyone else can even figure out what's happening, Leigh storms through the crowd, pushing her way to what she believes is you and her husband, and shoves the couple hard. The moment she does it, the fog in her brain finally clears.

She saw wrong. They’re just a random couple, looking as shocked as she feels mortified.

Humiliated and more drunk than she's willing to admit, Leigh doesn't stick around to apologize. Tears start to well up as she pushes through the crowd, dodging empty faces while Jules' calls fade into the background. She shoves through the last of the mob, bursts through the doors into the night, and freedom feels just a breath away. But that breath catches, twists into a violent churn in her gut, and she can barely stagger a few desperate steps away from the entrance before her knees are on the cold pavement, and she’s spilling out onto the ground in front of her. A few groans of disgusts from the people around her doesn’t register as she succumbs to the consequences of her indulgence. Shortly after, she remembers why she’s cut back on alcohol, apart from the fact that Matt abhors it, turns him off more than anything.

“Leigh?”

The voice is familiar, even if she’s heard it only a few times. Her head's spinning as she looks up, the chilly air slapping her face after the stuffiness of the club. She blinks, trying to clear the blur of tears and the aftereffects of one too many drinks, squinting at the figure stepping out from under the streetlights.

Your face, more clearly now under the lamp post is kind of sobering her up a bit.

So, were you actually there in the club, or is Leigh so haunted by thoughts of you and Matt—thoughts she's tried so hard to ignore and bury—that she managed to conjure you as a way to finally confront her true feelings about the entire situation? It’s always the battles with herself she never wins.

“Hey, you alright?” you ask, lowering yourself to get a better look at her but keeping back a bit—just enough space for her to catch her breath or in case she needs to throw up again.

Leigh doesn't respond, doesn't even seem to see you're there. You rummage through your crossbody bag, pulling out some wet wipes and offering them to her. She still doesn't look up, but grabs what you’re offering with a little force.

She proceeds to wipe her mouth and then her entire face as you continue talking, words tumbling out in a nervous stream.

“I saw you back there, in the club. I wasn't sure if I should come up to you, you know, with everything that's happened... with me being... well, the person I am in all of this,” you explain softly. “And then I saw what happened, how upset you got. Sorry I followed you here, I…I just wanted to make sure you’re okay.”

Leigh abruptly gets to her feet, and you instinctively step back, giving her more room than probably needed.

“Why?” Leigh fires at you, her tone so icy it almost makes you regret coming after her. You're taken aback, eyebrows scrunching up in confusion.

Why what?

“Why do you even care?” she clarifies, eyeing you as if you're the densest person on the planet.

You grasp for something, anything that sounds like you're not just here out of guilt. “Anyone who knows you would be worried,” you say before you can think twice about what it could mean.

Leigh's laugh is sharp, cutting. “You don't know me,” she throws back.

“Yeah, I don’t,” you mumble to yourself. You wish you did, so you could fix this.

Leigh’s anger doesn’t let up. “You know what I think? You're playing the good Samaritan to scrub off your guilt. But not knowing Matt was married? That's on you. I bet you never asked too many questions because you wanted him to be Mr. Perfect—single, ready to mingle, the dream guy.”

Opening your mouth to argue, you find yourself at a loss. Leigh’s not entirely wrong. With Matt, you were in a bubble, caught up in the thrill of meeting someone who seemed so right, so honest. You clung to his every word, wanting to believe in this image of him you'd built up.

The truth is, you never wanted to meet Leigh Shaw; you wanted to believe Matt's only fault was how he ended things with you, by disappearing.

But before you can admit to all of that, Leigh is already storming off. You think about chasing after her, but she spins around so fast at your footsteps, shooting you a threatening look and a low, “Stop following me,” that nails you to the ground.

You keep staring at the spot she disappeared from, long after she's gone, wondering why Matt felt the need to find love elsewhere.

Leigh goes home, but not to an empty house. The second she opens the door, Visitor bounds into her arms, full of wiggles and wet nose kisses. Her mom's off somewhere, doing who knows what—Leigh's stopped trying to figure out where or why. Meanwhile, her phone buzzes with a string of voicemails from Jules, but Leigh's not in the mood to dive into those just yet. She decides they can wait till morning, along with the other missed calls and unread messages from strangers, asking for more information on Visitor.

For now, she peels off her socks and pants, leaving them scattered carelessly up the stairs before passing out on her bed.

Visitor’s follow-up check-up rolls around way too quickly for comfort. The moment Leigh steps through the clinic door with the dog in tow, you can practically cut the tension with a knife. Leigh's trying to keep it together, but her attempts at civility are imbued with a coldness that can’t be ignored.

With only a small ‘good morning’ from you and a nod from Leigh, you start the consultation, knowing you’d be doing her a favor if you just get right to it.

“How's Visitor been eating?” you ask as you work your stethoscope.

“He eats fine,” Leigh drawls.

You nod, jotting down a note before moving on, “And his activity levels? Any changes there?”

Leigh’s response comes laced with sarcasm.

“Oh, he's just peachy. Running marathons every morning.”

You clear your throat, trying to rein in your mounting annoyance at her childish behavior. “I'm just trying to get a complete picture,” you say.

But Leigh's not having any of it. Her comments grow sharper, her patience thinning, and it's clear she's more interested in taking jabs at you than discussing her dog's health.

Her last sarcastic remark has you drawing the line. “Leigh, you can be upset with me all you want outside of this clinic, but I won't tolerate disrespect while I'm trying to do my job,” you say evenly. “You're welcome to find another vet if you can't keep this professional. I have every right to refuse service if this continues. It's not what I want, but I'm not about to let you treat me any less professionally.”

Leigh goes quiet, yet she keeps her eyes locked on yours, decidedly not backing down. Then, after a tense moment, she mutters a single word, “Sorry.” It's not much, but it's something, and you decide to take it and move on.

“You mentioned something about a blood sample?” Leigh says, steering the conversation back to the reason she came in, and you're all for following her lead on this.

“Yeah, we need to check if his platelets are up and his infections are down, see if the meds are doing their job,” you explain. Then, veering a bit from standard procedure, you add, “Since this is a follow-up visit, I'm going to cut the lab test price in half for you.”

The discount evidently lifts her mood. It's not a perfect truce, but it's enough to get through the examination without any more barbs.

A while later, you're back with Visitor's CBC results in hand. “The infection's gone down, but it's still borderline,” you report, showing her the numbers. “We'll need to keep him on the medication for another week. And I'm adding some multivitamins and a specific diet to his regimen.”

You scribble down the details, then note at the bottom of the pad about the discount—not just for the lab test, but for the prescriptions too.

Leigh takes the paper, scanning the details before her eyes finally meet yours. “Thank you,” she says, her voice softer than it's been.

“You’re welcome,” you reply with a smile before going back to your notebook, looking deep in thought.

Leigh feels like you're back to your usual, friendly self. Yet she thinks she prefers the more raw, unfiltered version of you. The version that called her out earlier. These days, she's starving for that kind of honesty. Because having her as your client can’t be all that pleasurable. She's aware of how challenging she's been, and the straightforwardness somehow makes her feel more understood, more seen.

She wishes people would stop seeing her as Leigh: the one with the dead husband.

Then, out of nowhere, she asks, “When did you start working here?”

It's a seemingly insignificant question, yet coming from Leigh, it prompts you to close your notebook and focus entirely on her.

“I—”

“Because a year ago, I remember meeting a different doctor,” Leigh adds, absentmindedly running her fingers through Visitor’s coarse hair as he sleeps on her lap.

“You’ve been here before?”

It’s a painful memory—one that still sometimes brings tears to her eyes whenever it crosses her mind. Back then, the clinic bore a different name, and she and Matt had come together to say goodbye to Rogue.

“I have when it was still called Palm Coast,” she says.

You nod, understanding the context now. “Yeah, that was before my time. I bought this clinic on a whim after spending a few years practicing in Dubai.”

While most would latch onto the tidbit about your intriguing career history, Leigh zeros in on something else entirely, asking directly, “When did Matt start coming here?”

You shift uncomfortably at her question, and Leigh immediately regrets pushing too hard. She’s about to backtrack when you halt her apologies. “It’s okay. I’m open to talking about it, just not here,” you suggest. “How about over coffee?”

Leigh hesitates, then says, “Okay, let me just text my boss that I won't be able to lead the yoga class this morning.”

“It doesn’t have to be now. Tomorrow works,” you say.

Realizing her assumption, Leigh’s cheeks color slightly. “What time?”

Now it's your turn to feel a bit awkward. “Would 7 work? It's the only time I have before the clinic opens.”

“In the morning?” Leigh says again, making sure she heard you right.

You nod sheepishly in reply.

“Or we could maybe—”

“No, it's okay,” Leigh interrupts quickly. She's usually up before sunrise anyway; the only change would be trimming her morning run a bit. And for a one-time chat to get the answers she's after, she figures she can make such a small sacrifice.

–

“Are you sure you want to return Visitor to his real family?”

True to form, it's Jules who breaks the two-day-long sibling spat. It's usually her who tries to smooth things over with an apology, even on days when Leigh isn't exactly the easiest person to deal with. Her therapist keeps telling her not to always be the one to buckle, especially when she's the one who's been hurt, that Leigh should be the one to step up and make things right for a change.

But here she is, reaching out first, just like always—because waiting for Leigh to make the first move feels like waiting for snow in July.

“Oh, so you’re talking to me again?” Leigh says as if she's gearing up for another round of conflict rather than welcoming peace.

Jules ignores her and continues, “Have you actually tried to find Visitor's owners, or have you just kinda... kept him because it feels good to have him around?”

“So what if it feels good to have a dog who loves you and is loyal to you?”

Jules shakes her head in a condescending manner, which only serves to irritate Leigh further. As soon as her popcorn is done, she heads out of the kitchen, flops onto the couch, flips on the TV, and kicks her feet up on the coffee table. Jules follows her, opting to stand next to the TV, poised to yank the plug out if necessary.

“Leigh, you do understand that taking care of a dog isn't something to take lightly, right?” Jules starts, but she breaks off when the dog in question trots over, tail wagging, trying to coax Jules into picking him up.

Leigh acts like she hasn't heard a word, her eyes glued to the TV screen.

“I thought you'd learned something from what happened with Rogue—”

That hits a nerve. Leigh's quick to fire back, “Oh, and jumping into a serious relationship is super responsible, right? Especially when staying sober is part of the deal.”

Right after the words leave her mouth, Leigh regrets them deeply. She's painfully aware of Jules' long battle with alcoholism, a struggle that began in college and required more than a couple of tries before Jules could claim any sort of victory over her addiction. Leigh knows it's still a sore subject for Jules, still fighting her demons, making her comment unfairly harsh.

Though the retaliation didn’t come out of nowhere. Leigh caught Jules at the club, discreetly sipping a drink she swore off, and chose to keep quiet then to avoid causing a scene in front of Tommy. She had plans to bring it up later, but then her own slip-up with drinking, bailing on her date, and the fallout with Jules spiraled into one of their nastiest rows in a long while.

“Jules, I’m sorr—”

“Just save it, Leigh.”

Jules heads for the door, her hand clenched tight, barely hanging onto her emotions. Leigh feels the situation slipping further downhill, and she can't just stand back and watch things crumble even more. She's about to chase after Jules when the doorbell rings, stopping both of them cold.

But Jules doesn’t even bother with the door; instead, she veers off, storming upstairs with that telltale slam of her bedroom door echoing down. Leigh sighs, stuck in the aftermath, while Visitor starts barking at the door. Dragging her feet, Leigh heads over to open it, half-expecting another problem but hoping for a distraction.

Leigh definitely wasn't expecting Danny, and seeing him there, she gets the sinking feeling that this storm swirling around her isn’t going to blow over just yet.

#unbetad #my writing #my fic #elizabeth olsen x reader #elizabeth olsen #leigh shaw x reader #leigh shaw x female reader #leigh shaw #sorry for your loss au #leigh shaw x you #wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff x you #sorry i had to tag wanda x reader for visibility

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braxlrose · 10 months

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Hello! I really like your writing and I was wondering if I could request a bill x reader? It's where reader had a very rough childhood, with parents and stuff so they dont have a really good picture of love and gets confused about little nice things Bill does for them, like comforting and just being a good boyfriend, and can sometimes be like emotionally unavailable? But they really try with Bill and, yeah! Lmao, you don't have to do this and feel free to ignore!

omggg you're literally one of my favorite writers and I love this request because I really like writing angst bc there's so much emotion so ty <3

Also this is not proof read

cw: mentions of abuse (physical and verbal), angst, tell me if I missed anything pls!

Growing up was hard for you. Your father was barely ever around and when he was, he was completely hammered. You tried to stay away from him when he was like that, but it was hard considering you lived in the same house and he was always getting fired from jobs. Whenever you angered him, he'd take off his belt and beat you until you were sobbing. Then would pass out on the couch and act like nothing was wrong when he woke up.

On the other hand, your mother just never seemed to be happy with you. Always nit-picking on everything you did, the way you looked, the way you did your hair, your style, the way you talked, you were either too skinny or too fat; you just couldn't do anything right in her eyes.

You always tried your best to make them happy, just having the smallest glimmer of hope that they'd be proud of you for something. All your hard work at school or everything you did for your community. All the diets you went on for your mother. Cleaning up after your father. There was just nothing you could do.

You didn't understand why they were like this. Why did they have a child in the first place if all you did was "ruin their lives". You didn't understand love at all. Your mother said that she only does this because she cares about you, but if she cared wouldn't she want you to be yourself? No, of course not. You're either like her, or nothing. And that was that.

***

Then you moved to Magdeburg, Germany. Your mother was sick of her old apartment and your father was banned from all the alcohol stores in your town, so you had to move. Again. This wasn't the first time. You've moved 4 times in the past year because of your parents, you haven't lived anywhere long enough to make any friends.

You had moved into a small village and your mother was making you go over to the neighbour's for dinner. Your father was passed out somewhere so it was just you and her. She put your hair in a high ponytail and added "cute little pink bows". She always pulled too hard on your hair when she did it. You weren't allowed to leave the house unless you put on the pink, frilly dress she got you. You had to be "perfect" and "lady-like" or else no one would like you.

You slipped on your shoes and got pushed out the door by your mother. She had also plastered your face in makeup. Mascara, eyeshadow, lipgloss, all of that. You were fifteen years old for God sakes, why did she care so much?!

"You better not make me look bad in front of our new neighbour's, got it? I don't need your running your mouth like always." You nodded your head as she smacked the back of it, making you flinch before knocking on the door. You heard footsteps coming quickly to the door before a blonde woman opened up. A smile crept onto her face as she saw us.

(Its changing from third person to first person now!)

"Oh come in! Come in!" She said to us with a big smile on her face, ushering us in. My mother pushed me into the house, with a smile. The woman in front of us leaned down and waved, "Hi! You must be y/n! It's so nice to meet you!" I froze. What was I supposed to say? What if she got mad at my tone? What if I said something wrong? What if- I looked up as my mother nudged me on the arm, glaring into my eyes. don't be rude. she didn't even have to say anything for me to understand.

"Nice to meet you too!" I said to her, trying to smile but it just ended looking uncomfortable and awkward. She stood back up to her normal height and turned around, waving us towards the living room.

"Boys! Come down here to meet our new neighbours!" The woman shouted up the stairs as me and my mother sat down on the couch. She swatted my arm again.

"Stand up straight. Your going to make me look like a bad mother!" She whispered to me, giving me that icy cold glare she can never seem to get rid of whenever she looks at me.

Just then, two boys came stumbling down the stairs. They were obviously twins but looked very different from eachother. I turned my body back around when I heard then coming into the living room. I straightened out my back and looked at them with wide eyes.

"Woah, a girl." The mophead whispered. Tch, mophead. That's what he looked like. His dreads were all over the place.

"This is Mrs. y/l/n and y/n. They moved here today. Why don't you boys show y/n around the house?" They both nodded and smiled at me. This is where it all began. My friendship with Tom and Bill Kaulitz. It's been about 4 months since then and we all became good friends really quickly.

***

Me and Bill were walking through the park while tom was out doing God-knows-what. It was December already, so it had gotten really cold. We walked on some trails before Bill stopped us.

"What are you doing?" I asked, as he bent down on his feet.

"Tying your boots. You're gonna trip on them." My eyes widened as he leaned down. I'm just a fucking idiot I didn't even notice my shoelaces were untied. Who the fuck doesn't know that? Why didn't I realize? Am I actually that stupid? I could hear my mother's voice pounding in my head.

"Oh no! You don't have to do that, it's fine really! I'm just stupid, it's f-" he covered my mouth as he got it.

"Relax, I'm already done and I don't mind. Wouldn't want my favorite neighbour to fall face first into snow." He laughed and kept walking. Why'd he do that? He should've just told me to do it on my own, right? I don't need anybody to do anything for me. He should've just left it alone! What the fuck is wrong with hi-

"Hey are you thirsty?" What? What was he saying? I looked over at him when he stopped. We were back in town now, I hadn't even noticed.

"Hello?" He waved his hand in front of my face.

"Uhm..what?" I asked with a blank expression on my face. What was he saying? Why was he even asking me instead of just telling me? Isn't that easier?

"I said are you thirsty? There's a place just down the road that sells the best hot chocolate, you'll love it!" He said, grabbing my hand to bring me down the road. He wanted to get me hot chocolate?

"I don't have any money, Bill." He looked back at me and laughed.

"I'm buying, dummy. Why would I offer you something and then make you buy it? I'm not that awful." He joked, keeping my hand firmly in his. What. He wants to buy me something?

"You don't need to do that bill. I don't want to be a burden-" I sputtered out, not wanting him to do something he'd regret before he interrupted me.

"Burden?! You?" He stopped walking again and pulled me closer. Our faces were only a couple inches apart now and my hands were in his. "Y/n, you're my girlfriend. If I wanna buy my girlfriend a hot chocolate I'm gonna buy my girlfriend a hot chocolate, 'kay?" I was stunned. I don't understand why he's like this. He's too nice, people are gonna take advantage of that. Nevertheless, I nodded and walked down to where they were selling hot chocolate. Bill made sure to put extra marshmallows on mine. Why was he treating me like this?

We arrived back at his house and he pulled me down onto his bed with him.

"Jesus christ! Your hands are freezing, why didn't you say something." My hands? I guess they're cold. I hadn't noticed. Maybe they had gone numb half way through and that's why. Why did Bill care, they'd warm back up with time.

"It's no big deal Bill, I'll survive.." his eyes went wide like I had two heads.

"Are you insane?! No way!" He grabbed my hands and pulled me closer to him. He rubbed his hands onto mine and wrapped mine tightly in his. "Can't have your fingers falling off. I need someone's hand to hold." I smiled at me and wrapped the blanket around me. I laid my head down on his pillow and closed my eyes. My life wasn't supposed to be like this. I wasn't supposed to have a perfect boyfriend who gets me hot chocolate or warms up my hands for me. I don't deserve this. You don't deserve this. She was back again. She's always there. My mother sitting in the back of my head like there's a throne waiting there for her. Why were her words stuck in me like glue. I'm sick of her constantly belittling me like I'm nothing. But I am. I am nothing. Nothing at all. Just a useless soul that needed to fill an empty body and nothing mor-

"Y/n! Wake up! Are you okay?" Huh..? What was happening? I turned my head and looked outside. It was pitch black out. Had I fallen asleep? I turned back to bill and he looked like he was on the verge of tears. He had shaken me awake from my slumber. "Are. You. Okay?" He asked again, "you were mumbling and crying in your sleep. Did you have a bad dream?" I was crying? My finger tips reached up towards my cheeks. They were wet. I guess I was crying.

"I'm fine, bill. It was nothing." I mumbled and laid back down. His mouth was slightly agape as he crawled closer to me and engulfed me into a hug. He laid kisses all over my face. Why? Why does he care?

"You're not fine, and it's okay to be not fine! Just tell me what's wrong and let me help you!" He said to me as both of his hands caressed my cheeks. Help..me? Like I'm some charity case that needs fixing? I didn't need to be fixed. Yeah maybe I'm not perfect to my mother and maybe I have some fucked up issues but I don't need to be fixed. What the fuck was his problem?! Doesn't he understand I'm perfectly fucking fine!

"I said, I'm fine!" I shouted at him, shoving bill away from me and pushing myself off the bed. I'm perfectly fine and I don't need him telling me what's wrong with me. His head hit the wall by his bed and I could hear a crack. I broke his wall. I don't care. That's his fault. He should've backed off.

I heard him calling out my name along with a couple cries in between. I pulled on my shoes and stormed out the door. I don't need him or anybody or anything! I don't need him treating me like I'm some child who can't control her emotions!

That was 2 weeks ago. I hadn't spoken or even looked at him in two weeks. What was wrong with me? I hurt the only boy who's ever loved me. He probably hates me now. I'm the worst girlfriend in the entire world. Im the stupidest person. You're the most dumb, ugly, disgusting daughter who has ever been seen on this earth.

she's back.

I'm fucked up in the head and I don't know how to fix it. I want to blame my mother and father but it's not their fault, right? They care about me. It's my fault I'm like this. I don't know what I did to deserve this, but I have no one to blame but myself...right?

I was stuck sitting down in a chair while my mother poured goopy foundation onto my skin. We had to go to some classy town thing and I had to actually "look like a girl".

"Maybe if you were naturally beautiful I wouldn't have to waste my time doing this."

"Sorry mama..it's not my fault though..." She glared down at me and smacked the back of my head.

"You're lucky you have foundation on or I would've smacked the shit out of this disgusting face." She gritted between her teeth. Her words were like an awful, greasy poison dripping from her tongue. I hadn't done anything and some how I had made her mad again.

She shoved me into a long, cream colored dress and turned on the ignition. I leaned my head against the side of the door as we drove. Why couldn't I just be the normal, beautiful daughter my mother wanted? If there was a God, he had some serious explaining to do.

"Stop slouching! You think I want a daughter with bad posture?! My god! Can't you do anything right?" The speech. I've heard it a million times since I learned how to talk. How I can't do anything right and I'm just some failure who should've been aborted fifteen years ago. How I ruined my mother's life and how she was going to be a star if it wasn't for me.

It was a long car ride but we finally got there. And the event was even worse. There were so many people and the music was way to loud. I felt like crying. My hands were shaking and I couldn't stop picking at my nails. Women kept coming up and taking to me with their children. Friends of my mothers. I could guess by their judging stares. I looked lady-like and had good posture and was smiling. Why was I being judged, what am I doing wrong again? Why can't I just be normal? A normal girl who doesn't fuck everything up. Doesn't make her parents hate her. Doesn't ruin her parents lives. Doesn't make people feel awkward. Doesn't hurt their boyfriends.

And that was my breaking point. Tears flooded down my cheeks and everybody was staring at me. I stumbled away into another room and sobbed on the floor. I couldn't breathe. My hands hurt from picking at my nails and my face hurt and my body hurt and my eyes were burning and my makeup was surely ruined.

Everything is. I always ruin everything. What the fuck is wrong with me?! The one person who truly cared about me...i..I haven't- I hiccups against the wall and bawled my eyes out. The one person who truly, actually cared about me...I haven't talked to him in two weeks. Then I caught my breath. I stood up and wobbled to the nearest window. I pulled myself out of it and stumbled outside. My whole body hurt so I probably ooked crazy. I could feel mascara was running down my cheeks as I walked through the town.

My arms were freezing cold and I still felt like everybody was watching me. Their beady and judgy eyes staring me down like I was about to go crazy. Well, I guess technically they were right. I just started sobbing in front of everybody so I probably did look insane. You looked insane! What the fuck is wrong with you?! Can't you just act like a girl for once!? That's what my mother said me to in the 3rd grade after a play we did..

I finally got back to my house and looked up to the neighbour's house. Bills house. The light was on in his bedroom. He was awake. I turned back to my door and took a deep breath. I had to say something to him. Right? I had to make him believe I wasn't some crazy person who would push everybody away. Maybe that's what I was though..

I knocked on the door but nobody answered, so I stepped into their house. It was completely dark as I stumbled up the stairs to bills room. I looked at all the happy family pictures they had. God they were so lucky. So lucky to have a perfect family. A father and mother who love them. Having a twin must be great, it's like having a bestfriend for life, right?

As I stepped up the stairs I heard the door open. Bill must've heard me coming up. When he slowly looked around the corner I saw his eyes widen at my awful state. I guess I should've cleaned myself up first, I look a mess. My dress was torn from crawling out the window and my makeup was obviously smeared. I bet my hair wasn't too pretty either.

"Holy shit, y/n?!" He came down the stairs quickly and grabbed my arms, helping me up the stairs, "what happened?! You look...awful."

He sat me down on his bed and I didn't know what to say. I just stared at him. This perfect guy who loves me. I tried to open my mouth and say something but nothing came out. I guess he could tell I wasn't sure what to say because he went to the bathroom and grabbed some wipes.

"Here.." he kneeled down and began to wipe my makeup off. Tears slipped past my waterline as he comforted me. He just sat there looking up at me with a pity smile on his face as he cleaned me up. He took of my hands in his other hand and held it. He really was perfect. He saw him grab some lotion off his desk and rub it around my face after he wiped everything off.

"Come on, why don't we get you into some comfortable clothes okay?" I nodded at him and toyed with my fingers as he picked out some clothes.

I was laying in his arms now. His fingers were combing though my hair as I laid on his chest. I wasn't sure why he was doing this. Any sane person would've just kicked me out, right? I held onto bill tighter whenever he kissed my head and my cheeks. I cuddled up closer to him and nuzzled into his neck.

"I love you, y/n.." bill whispered as I dosed off into my sleep, breathing in his comforting scent and letting tears fall on his skin because he was the only person who was able to make me feel at home.

OKAY THIS TOOK ME LIKE 2 HOURS AND IT ALMOST GOT DELETED BUT THANK GOD IT DIDNT, I HOPE YOU ENJOYED THIS!!

the end felt kinda rushed but I hope it was still good

taglist: @hearts4kaulitz @burntb4bydoll @spelaelamela @bored0writer @fishinaband @billsleftnutt @dead-tapes @tokiiohot @bluepoptartwithsprinkles @saumspam

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comicaurora · 10 months

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Are you willing to make a long personal post about how Math should be presented in an educational environment or in general conversation trying to convince the other participants about its daily usage. How it can advance a person’s problem-solving skills and approach in life.

I’m really good in Mathematics. I’ve given help for my classmates and friends about Math when they are having trouble or ask for it. But I have never been convinced of its importance outside of the classroom, outside of the test papers that gives me the variables to substitute in the given equation of that test of the day.

How can Math and it’s many properties relate back to everyday life in a casual manner?

Hm. Well, as someone who hasn't had to solve an antiderivative in years, my perspective on this is that the most important and widely-applicable skill math can teach you is the stuff behind the math - mostly the muscle-memory you get from proofs.

Math is, at its core, puzzles and logic and pattern-recognition. You learn a set of tools, you practice those tools on a set of simple problems until you get a feel for them, you are presented with a bigger problem, you recall which tools best applied to problems that are shaped like this, you break the problem down using your tools and eventually reduce it to something you know how to solve.

The fact of the matter is, the tools that are specific to branches of math don't really have much widespread use outside pure mathematics, and unless you go out of your way to keep using them you're likely to lose track of them. Studying math is not going to turn you into a super-calculator-wizard who can bounce stuff off the walls at perfect angles and do six-figure arithmetic in seconds, and I think some people feel overwhelmed at the assumption that that's what's expected of them if they learn math, and some other people feel cheated when they learn that that's absolutely not going to happen, because most writers don't know math and when they tell stories with math in them their best guess is it makes you a wizard.

I think the most advanced math I've used lately was trigonometry, and that was just because I was curious about how fast my plane was traveling relative to the sun's apparent movement at my latitude. We were flying back to the US from Iceland and we'd taken off at sunset, and we had been in that sunset for at least an hour by the time I got curious how the math worked out and started estimating our latitude, the circumference of the slice of the earth at that latitude, and correspondingly how fast we were flying vs how fast it was spinning to complete a full rotation in 24 hours. But even if the math involved didn't tap into any of the higher-level stuff I'd learned post-trig, those years doing proofs and figuring out which tools applied to which geometry meant that I could use the tools and my training applying those tools to calculate what I wanted to know, and confirm that our plane was actually outflying the sun when we were at iceland latitude, but as we curved south the sun's apparent relative movement (aka the rotational speed of that latitude of the earth) slowly accelerated until we were falling behind, landing right as the sun finally set. The math involved was high school level, but if I'd been given that problem in high school it would've taken more work and more stress to figure out how the tools I had needed to be applied to the problem I was facing. The years of practice I had tackling much more complicated proofs made the diagnostic process much faster.

I saw someone once analogize studying math to lifting weights. Where am I going to use this in real life? How often will I really be faced with two dumbbells that need to be lifted in three sets of twenty? Where am I going to apply the skill of holding a heavy thing straight out to one side of my body?

You don't lift weights because lifting weights is such a valuable and widely-applicable skillset, you do it because lifting weights makes you better at lifting everything.

You don't study math because math is going to fill your daily life with concepts that you need to prove true for 1 and for n+1 given true for n, or complex solids that you need to sum an approximate volume for, or a surplus of sunset plane flights that demand you calculate a bunch of cosines. You study math because it is the skillset of making things make sense. It trains you to break a huge, incomprehensible problem down into a series of small problems you already know how to solve. It lets you reach true and correct conclusions by starting from facts and transforming them through operations that preserve truth, and correspondingly that if you reach a false conclusion from these methods, then either the methods are flawed or the initial assumption is not as true as you believed. It teaches you to put two and two together and be confident, once you've double-checked your work, that you can say four.

This is stuff I use all the time in both my video research and my freeform writing. Building out a slow picture of how a story was told or changed over time involves finding the context it was created in, and reverse-engineering what parts of that context could have produced what standout portions of the story - what authorial or cultural bias results in this standout story element. Worldbuilding where I take two wildly disparate parts of the world, put them together and see what web of implications springs out of combining them, following the threads to new and interesting concepts that follow from what I've already established. Building a character arc by breaking down exactly what events are happening to them and what transformation each component will apply to the underlying character. If I want the story to go in a certain direction, what transformations do I need to apply to make that happen while still preserving truth? If I'm faced with a seemingly insurmountable problem, what methods can I use to break it down into bite-sized pieces?

This isn't something I think about most of the time. It's just how my brain works at this point, and I can't promise it'd work for anyone else. But thanks to all my years of hard work and training, my brain has been buff enough to solve every problem I've tangled with since graduation, and that feels pretty good.

#asks #not aurora

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squerlly · 2 months

Text

flames of desire chapter 4: I'm creepy?...

Alastor x (f! bunny reader)

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your POV:

back at the hotel, I went straight to my room, putting all of my clothes that angel bought for me in there drawers and hangers. angel said that there weren't any shoes that work for my paws so he said to try and wear toeless socks....there comfortable but I just have to be carful were I step. walking to the lobby I decided to grab a drink, sitting on the stool "what do you want kid?" "nothing strong" sliding the drink over to me I decide to ask about what happened earlier "hay husk right..." "yeah?" "do you know who valentino is?", setting down the glass he was cleaning he turns "hes an overlord, part of the Vees ...owns a strip club angel works at" well that explains it "what's an overlord?" "you ask to many damn questions kid" "sorry...just asking since I'm still getting used to the permeant damnation thing..." "overlords are powerful demons, ranked by there power over others. humans deal in favors and money, but down here...you deal in souls. and fuckers like radio face abuse that power" radio face? that's new "you mean Alastor? "yeah kid, hes an overlord, haven't you ever seen those posters outside?" now that I think about it, no...I haven't but that would explain his whole dark and twistedness "is that why hes so creepy.." "I'm creepy?...", whipping my head around my heart feels like it just fell out of my ass "oh how you wound me dear, tell me what makes me so creepy hmm..." "well I- no I didn't mean- how long have you been standing there..." "well I heard my name and couldn't help but listen, tell me what is it that has peeked your interest in me?", "w-well husk was telling me about overlords and that you were uhm-...one" "ah yes my dear, husker is correct!, what brought up such a subject?" "oh well... me and angel ran into this Valentino guy and when I asked angel he looked so scared..." "hmm well if he works for valentino, then there's a high chance he made a contract" "contract?" "yes, a contract for his soul~" of course, a contract or a deal for a soul "husk also said something about the Vees who are they?" hearing loud static I look up, Alastors smile was tight and his expression was that of irritation, the static getting louder "oh nobody important..." "oookk..." I'm not gonna pry into that anymore, I like my second life...sorta.

Alastors POV:

so our little bunny got into some trouble with the Vees? and it seems valentino has caught interest in her, I cant have that... "tell me dear what did valentino say to you?" "hmm he asked me if I wanted to work for him, said he could make me rich or something like that" oh Valentino, how does one fine joy in taking advantage of young women, maybe he has an animal fetish or something, for once that makes my skin crawl "and what did you say?" "I told him no naturally, the guy has no boundaries, and from the way he treated angel I don't think I would want to work for somebody like him" hmm smart girl~ "well its good to know your alright!" wouldn't want my toy to be broken before iv played with it first... "i just hope angel is ok" "you need not worry about angel, I'm sure hes doing just fine dear, you shouldn't get involved" especially with the likes of such nasty people like valentino, how dare he attempt to steal my plaything, I guess ill have to show him that I don't like sharing.

your POV:

chatting with Alastor and husk I feel a bit tired, probably had one to many refills of my drink, iv always been a light weight... "its getting a bit late, I think I'm gonna head to bed now" husk takes my half empty glass as I stand from the stool "well goodnight my dear, sweet dreams~..."

I had writers block for like 30min because I just felt like adding a whole extra part for Alastor and it nearly killed me!!! but anyways I love you guys and please enjoy this chapter stay tuned~

-squerlly

@pooplyface1423 @strippezzz

for more stories and more chapters please click this masterlist

#hazbin #alastor x reader #alastor #hazbin alastor x reader #hazbin hotel x you #alastor x reader smut #hazbin hotel smut #hazbin hotel x reader

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itskattkm · 1 month

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New York New Rules Pt. 8

Warnings: Violence, Trauma, Fluff, maybe Smut, mental health, blood

Summary: Y/N meets the survivors of the last events in Woodsborrow and gets on Ghostface's list. But there is also a darkness in Y/N wich path is she going to choose

Female Y/N x Tara Carpenter

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7

A/N: as promised the new chapter. I’m sorry it turned out pretty short. Even tho I have the plot and ending and everything already planned I felt some writers Block at this part of the story. I hope you guys can still enjoy. And I try my best in the next chapter. But I can’t tell when it comes out. Maybe I find some motivation and time over the holidays soon. Love - Kat

Sam POV

I made a last pull on my cigarette before Danny came to me and tried to comfort me. I dropped the cigarette and extinguished it with my boot. "someone took our knives..." I started and played the situation in the kitchen in my head again and again. I had often felt betrayed but that moment... was one of the highlites. "I don't know who to trust" I whispered and Danny gave me a gentle kiss on the forehead "then don't trust anyone. Not them, not me Sam" one last time I looked in his eyes before he left. Now that my view was clear, my eyes fell on Tara and Mindy who were sitting in the back of the ambulance. But they were not alone. Y/N... what was she looking for here? She should be in the hospital. I watched her calmly. Her forearm was still bandaged, just like Taras back then. So of course she could leave the hospital if she wanted to. Mindy reluctantly hugged her and in the way Y/N held Mindy I could see that she probably needed this hug more than Mindy herself. Her eyes were slightly reddish when she wanted to check on Anika but she had been driven ti the hospital already.

"She said anything?" I asked when I noticed Tara next to me and we watched Y/N together. Seriously and with a cool tone, she said "In fact, I texted her about what happened, but she was surprisingly fast here... maybe she came here with Kirby" slowly I turned to Tara and looked at her without emotion when I whispered "there was second ghostface... but he had helped Anika" Tara tried not to show any reaction so that no one would notice it, but her eyes widened "I also saw a second ghostface, I wanted to go back to the apartment and met him. But he didn't seem to care about me and he didn't want to let me into the apartment" what? Thought Sam.

That was new... Mindy was right. In this franchise, everything was damn possible. I bit my teeth slightly and looked back at Y/N "we have to find out what Kirby and Y/N supervision has to do" Tara followed my look and said coldly "I'm working on it" I nodded to her in agreement and looked back to the alley when a crying attracted my attention to me. Bailey.

Y/N a few minutes ago

Slightly out of breath, I reached the crime scene outside. Almost panicked, I searched for the faces of the Woodsborrow Gang and was more than relieved when I saw Tara and Mindy in the ambulance. With quick steps I ran towards her, few tears in the eyes "hey..." I said quietly.

Tara's gaze hit mine first. She was surprised almost beaten in the face when I pushed all thoughts and feelings aside and took her firmly in my arms. To my surprise, she replied, but only hesitantly. "I just had to come here," I said and detached myself from Tara. We briefly exchanged glances that I could not interpret at that moment that all I could feel and perceive right now was a mixture of worry and deafness. I looked at Mindy and took a step towards her. Silence... we stared at each other longer. Nobody knew what to say. One thing was clear, I was still mad at Mindy... the last few days she hadn’t been a good friend to me but I didn't care right now. On the other hand, Mindy probably only thought again about whether she could trust me.

She sighed as she got up and squeezed me tight. With all the strength I had, I put my arms firmly around her. I had forgotten how good a hug could feel. "How is Anika..?" I asked and managed to hold back my tears. Our embrace easily dissolved when we looked at each other calmly. Mindy's look was now much gentler and friendlier again. The last few hours I only got cold, skeptical and reproachful glances from her.

"They just left, she lost a lot of blood" I nodded "we should go back to the hospital right away" she nodded to me silently and said after a short rest "I'm sorry... I was quite a bitch" I had to laugh "yes and what a one!" With a raised eyebrow she looked at me "but I can totally understand you minds... believe me" now she had to laugh a little and squeezed me again.

And then I felt Mindy squeeze me tighter. It kinda showed me that she was suddenly mega pissed on and shortly afterwards I also knew why.

"I heard what happened, are you okay?" I heard a way too nice voice say. Mindy and I dissolved our hug and I turned around. When my and Ethan's eyes met, I recognized slight confusion in them, but before he could further reveal his reaction, Chad already pushed him furiously against one of the vans on the street and asked "where the hell have you been!"

I turned around. Lost in my mind. I looked down on the asphalt.

Why did Ethan look so surprised. I had to admit that only his eyes had betrayed him. But what did that mean? Didn't he expect me? My thoughts became wilder. Pictures of all events played out like a quick movie in my head when I tried to understand.

Ethan hasn't been at the hospital.

Maybe he was the one who attacked me? I wasn’t sure. But I had a bad feeling about that guy.

"Y/N... your coming?" A voice got me out of my thoughts. I looked up and looked into dark exhausted eyes. But there was so much more. So much more and I couldn't see it exactly.

"Where are we going?" I asked.

Tara was about to say something when suddenly Gale interrupted us saying

"I need to show you guys something".

So in the next moments I saw us following Gale, while she kept discussing with Kirby how to do to a proper job and telling Kirby how she didn't new about the place she wanted to show us. I was staying beside Kirby. Tara and Sam behind me. While Mindy and Chad where also right behind us with Ethan and the rest.

#jenna ortega #tara carpenter #tara carpenter x reader #tara carpenter x you #vada cavell #wednesday #fanfiction #jenna ortega x reader #wednesday addams x reader #jenna ortega x y/n #tara carpenter x y/n #tara carpenter x female reader #scream

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thevulturesquadron · 1 month

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small details in X-Men '97 that rip my heart and serve it on a plate:

this gesture here - Magneto being the one in the party to acknowledge Morph's trauma and what a big ask it is to revisit their past. He knows. He's been there before. And wants Morph to know he's not alone.

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nights-at-crystarium · 8 months

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You know what, I assume that people always read my pinned, or notice the pointer "new reader? start here" in every new Fragments' episode. I might be deluding myself. So hi hello lemme TALK ABOUT MY COMIC.

Before I get too rambly (and I mean RAMBLY), here's a quick intro. Fragments is a comic focused on feels and slice of life, made by a queer guy, aiming to ~character study~ the main cast (Vivi, Raha, Alisaie, Feo Ul) and fill in the gaps in canon (or linger in canon moments that needed more air imo), the tone ranging from angst to fluff to meme. Good punches require a good windup, so please don't expect angst anytime soon :3c

The story's segmented (fragmented, heh) into episodes. Episodes 1-11 take place in ARR, you can enjoy them with no worry about spoilers. Episode 12 onward is ShB, with all the spoilers and lorebending.

My storytelling style assumes you haven't only played through ShB, but know it like the back of your hand, i.e. it's for nerds and thinkers. Of course there's plenty of silly moments that don't require any deep knowledge, but the overarching story does. Often I skip canon events, only hinting that they took place, simply because I don't wanna retell the msq 1:1, I've got plenty of original scenes waiting to be drawn. You're in for a treat if you like obsessing over emotional and moral implications of things. And, yes, this's a story about a morally grey mc. Don't expect to be spoon-fed "and this's why that thing's bad, kids".

Currently I've outlined all the main story beats up until post EW, so it's like, not being winged as I go. Yes I refine things here and there, but I know where I'm going. I'm going ham!!!! With the lorebending post ShB. Initially I didn't plan to, but the more I learned about Vivi and personally grew as a writer, the more courage I got to "divorce" from canon. The general xiv story may still be good wherever it's headed, but it's not suited for an established wolgraha, so I'm making food for myself.

Everyone imagines the lil scenes from their wol's life, I'm taking that a tiiiiiny step further. Fragments tells a cohesive story that's looking to be the longest project at least in our corner. I can and will hyperfixate on this for years.

I started out just like many others, being hit with ShB like a truck, I wanted to put a catboy under a microscope and rotate him forever. Although I'd already been drawing for decades, I didn't have the comic-making skills yet, or eloquence to write the dialogue, so I spent the first half of 2022 self-studying, just because I needed a mouth to be able to scream about my ship.

Vivi didn't exist prior to my obsession with Exarch. He was made for this, he started out as a reagent (or a foil, now that I know fancy writing terms) for a rich and fun chemistry, and keep myself entertained for years, first and foremost.

Me, a fool: okay let's make a guy that falls in love with Exarch in this particular moment, what kinda life must he have led to- Me: ....oh no

The chemistry quickly bubbled up and exploded in my face, involving not only Exarch, but other characters (first as a means to subtly tell about Vivi, then they also demanded their own screentime), and here I am, sitting with a massive script on my hands, drawing my blorbos every day. Thanks for enabling that btw.

I care about characters a lot. I ask a lot of whys and hows. I'm critical-minded and burned on many bad stories that did their characters dirty, and I wanna be an opposing example. What I'm doing is extremely ambitious and risky, yes, but I can only invite you to tag along and see if I stick to my word.

The internet's a cruel and unforgiving place nowadays, and here I am, pitting my passion against what feels like decaying humanity. I'm making this comic to keep myself happy above all else, being sincere and cringe because life's too short to be anything else.

Thanks for reading this, and if you haven't yet, read Fragments here!

#ffxiv #vivien rell #crystal exarch #g'raha tia #wol x g'raha tia #wolgraha #own: next lvl #fragments talk

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futurecorps3 · 1 year

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𝐂𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐞 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐭𝐬

Masterlist<3

Summary: YEARNING WITH A READER HES ABLE TO TOUCH. Pairing: Kaz Brekker x fem!reader Warnings: Mentions of Kaz's touch aversion, death, slight OOC Kaz but I think only if you squint like he's a softie with Y/N and Y/N only. Let me know if I missed any!!! Word Count: 2.3K Requested: I guess? @kaldurahms-lover

A/N: The user tagged posted a general request to us Kaz fic writers. The concept follows the line of how our boy would need TOUCH from an s/o who he has known from before JorDIE died. Bestie I hope you like it and you don't mind I used fem!reader (I can change it if it IS an issue). I haven't started and I'm already excited about this piece being posted!!! Mwah hope I did justice to the concept.

˚ · • . ° .

Kaz didn't really know what it was. Maybe it was the weather, too warm for Ketterdam, or the way he was sweating under his gloves. Maybe it was how loud Nina and Jesper were being, too tipsy to care for the volume of their laughs, or how the last job had gone well even when they didn't follow the plan he traced. Maybe he just missed her.

Who was he kidding? Of course he missed her. Y/N had been gone two weeks on a little trip to Novyi Zem to pick up a shipment and get information from financial records kept in one of the properties belonging to their next target. He really tried getting his seller to deliver directly to Ketterdam, but they said it would be too much trouble. Y/N, kind as always, convinced Kaz offered to do both tasks.

And he missed her. The others could tell. The grumpy mood the bastard carried himself with had been even grumpier in the last couple of days and they all knew well what was going on, but decided against prying because he'd never admit it. They couldn't really blame him. After all, his girl was the only one who seemed to melt that inaccessible boy.

They found each other in akin situations; lost kids in a new city, all on their own and with the foolish dream of making a life with nothing but honest intentions and a kind heart. The boy could still remember those pretty watery eyes looking up at his brother with fear, fear of him being another person ready to hurt her. Instead, he made a silent promise to himself to always protect her, to never let anyone hurt her again.

Little did that boy knew he could not keep that promise, not for her, not for himself. He thought fondly at that memory, though. An image close to his heart that made him wonder that maybe he wasn't such a horrible person. Blame it on the innate capacity of kids to feel empathy towards virtually any living thing.

When Jordie died, Kaz was ruined. He felt like he had lost a part of himself, and he didn't know how to go on without his brother. He was consumed by grief and anger, early in age, and pushed Y/N far away from him. But Y/N didn't give up on him.

She knew how much he was hurting, and she refused to let him suffer alone. She was patient with him, giving him the space he needed to grieve, but also letting him know that she was there for him whenever he was ready to talk.

One day, as they were walking through the streets of Ketterdam, Kaz finally opened up to Y/N. He told her everything he had been feeling since Jordie died, the anger, the guilt, and most importantly, the emptiness. And as he spoke, Y/N listened, never judging him, but always offering a kind word or a gentle touch. A touch that did not bother him in the slightest.

Her hands didn't make him feel sick like the ones from officers in the Stadwatch. He realized that he could bear it, and even better, savor it. As they sat in that alley all those years ago, sharing a piece of bread and a dream of a better life, Kaz knew that he had found something special in Y/N. He had found someone who understood him, who accepted him for who he was, and who believed in him even when he didn't believe in himself.

And he knew that he would never let her go. No matter what challenges they faced in the future, no matter how dark the world around them became, Kaz would always have Y/N by his side, just as she had always had his. Together, they would face anything that came their way, because that was what they had always done. They were lost kids in a new city, but they had found each other, and that was all that mattered.

With time, he saw Y/N under a new light. Kaz admired the girl for her capacity to take the best out of situations while remaining conscious of how awful things could get. Her tenderness and bliss seemed to come from a bottomless pit, while his had run dry a long time ago.

It's okay, she had enough to spare for the both of them. Feelings developed, conflict ensued, and after three years of the perilous path of love, they became official. Kaz wouldn't have it any other way and Saint's know Y/N wouldn't either. They loved each other like only two young kids in love could; raw, endlessly.

And that's why Y/N's letter saying she needed more time to collect information had the barrel's bastard all sulky. He needed her embrace, and he needed it now. The more he thought about it, the less probable it seemed for him to be able to hold on a few more days.

"You okay, boss?"

Now, Jesper knew the answer to his question, and he knew why Brekker wasn't doing okay, but he was no expert on how to handle these types of situations, and it seemed like the right thing to ask. As far as Kaz goes, well, he had no idea when the zemeni boy had left his place next to Nina to walk all the way to him. He was too busy thinking about her, as he had been for the past two weeks.

No response came from him. Then a sigh from Jesper. "She'll be back soon, she's okay, Kaz. Turn that terrifying frown into the normal one, you're scaring the piggeons more than we want to". The frustration he felt seemed almost unreasonable; he gave her the job knowing exactly the implications it entailed, so why was he so needy? There was patience in any action of his, but he couldn't control how much he wanted a kiss from his lover at the moment.

To some, it might be cute. To him, it was thoroughly infuriating. "Get a hold of yourself. She'll be back soon, no need to get all mad about something that only time will fix", he thought to himself over and over again in that hot afternoon as he laid on a white blowy blouse in his room trying to go to sleep so time would somehow be faster since burying himself in paperwork and plotting hadn't worked.

With a deep sigh, Kaz closed his eyes and let out a slow breath. He knew that he had to get a grip on himself and not let his emotions get the best of him. Y/N would be back soon enough, and until then, he would have to be patient and wait for her return. And so, he lay there, trying to calm his racing thoughts and steady his beating heart, until finally, he drifted off to sleep.

˚ · • . ° .

First thing he heard was a soft hum. A too familiar song coming from a sweet voice in the bathroom. Was he so out of control he was now dreaming of Y/N returning? What love does to a man... The sun prickling his skin felt too real, the sweat on his bare hands ran freshly, tickling him ever so slightly.

He sat up quickly, his heart pounding with excitement. Had she returned early from her trip? He got out of bed and walked towards the door carefully, his bare footsteps echoing delicately on the wooden floor. As he opened the door a bit wider, he saw her standing in front of the mirror. Y/N's eyes met his, hers sparkling with a well-known happiness.

"Hi" she dared to say. Saints! She had no idea what an agony it had been without her, right? Kaz felt his heart skip a beat at the sight of her. She looked radiant, with her hair tousled and her cheeks flushed from the heat outside. A long walk from the docks, surely. Had he been awake and aware of her early return, he would've walked her back to the Slat with an umbrella to shield both of them from the suffocating light.

"Hello" he mumbled, still a little dazed from sleep. Y/N smiled and stepped closer to him. "I missed you," she said simply, reaching out to take his hand. Kaz felt a surge of emotion wash over him, and he knew in that moment that she had missed him just as much. He pulled her into his arms, holding her tightly against him as he breathed in the scent of her hair. It was the same from before she left, just a little saltier.

For a moment, they just stood there, wrapped up in each other, savoring the feeling of being together once more.

Finally, Y/N pulled back and looked up at him, a soft smile on her lips. "I brought you something," she said, pulling away and shuffling through her bag before humming contently, pulling and holding out a small box.

Kaz took the package and opened it to reveal a delicate silver necklace, with a tiny crow charm dangling from it. He looked up at her, surprised and touched by the gesture. "Y-you don't have to wear it-" "It's beautiful," he said softly, handing it over to her as she carefully placed it around his neck with a content smile.

They both knew it would remain hidden under the various layers of clothing he wore on cooler days (or even the hotter ones such as this), but knowing it was there was enough.

"Looks pretty" Y/N beamed, tracing her fingers down his half-exposed chest and pulling him in for a hug from the waist. "I missed you so much," he confessed, feeling the commotion inside of him finally subside under her touch. "I missed you too much, never let me go away for that long again... no matter how stubborn I get".

Kaz felt his mouth turn up in a grin, almost letting out a giggle. "Never," He looked down at her briefly and found her looking at him already, pressing a kiss to her forehead, "don't think I could bear it".

As the heat of the afternoon persisted, Kaz and Y/N found themselves seeking refuge in the relative coolness of Kaz's bedroom. They lay on the bed together, cuddled up over the white sheets, with Kaz's arm wrapped tightly around Y/N's waist. Despite the warmth of the day, Kaz felt a chill run through him at the touch of Y/N's skin against his.

As they lay there, Kaz felt a sense of peace wash over him. He had spent so much of his life chasing after money and power, but now, in this moment, he realized that his number one priority was something much simpler: the warmth and love of the person he cared about most in the world.

Y/N shifted slightly in his arms, and Kaz tightened his grip on her. He could feel her breathing softly against his chest, and he knew that he would never tire of this feeling.

"I've been more... difficult than usual. Even Matthias got alarmed," he murmured, his voice low and husky laced with amusement. Y/N looked up at him, giggling, her eyes filled with love. "It's okay," she said softly. "I missed you too."

Kaz smiled, feeling a sense of contentment that he had never experienced before. He knew that his life would always be filled with danger and uncertainty, but as long as he had Y/N by his side, he knew that he would be able to face anything. Just like when they were kids.

They lay there for a long time, just holding each other, lost in their own thoughts. And as the afternoon turned to evening, they drifted off to sleep, safe and content in each other's arms.

˚ · • . ° .

Hi! Thank you so much for reading, hope you enjoyed:)

Remember, the best way to support writer’s works on here is by REBLOGGING WITH TAGS. I’d very much appreciate it if you did!

Thanks again, stranger. Hope you have a nice day<3

NO ONE IS ALLOWED TO REPOST AS THEIR OWN/TRANSLATE/OR COPY MY WORK IN ANY PLATFORM OR SPACE WITHOUT MY EXPLICIT CONSENT.

#kaz brekker x reader #kaz brekker #six of crows #six of crows x reader #grishaverse x reader #kaz brekker imagine #shadow and bone #grishaverse #crooked kingdom #kaz brekker oneshot #kaz brekker fic #kaz brekker fluff #kaz brekker angst #kaz brekker fanfic

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wellofdean · 29 days

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I read your post about Supernatural being queer somehow from season 1 and I have two questions.

1. Don't you think it straight-appropriates the word "queer" to say it just means "not normal"? That argument seems disingenuous to me, and a lot of us want representation, and to see that word applied to explicit depiction of queer sexuality, and it's a cheat that they don't. Queer studies did start as the study of queer sexualities and the experience of queer people.

2. Are you saying that the makers of Supernatural intended for it to be "flesh on queer bones"? Do you think they intentionally sat down to tell a queer story?

Those are good questions my anonymous friend. Thank you for asking. Here are my thoughts:

To answer your first question: no, I don't think it appropriates anything. Here's why: firstly, if we're talking about sexuality and gender, it's queer 101 that no one owes anyone a justification of their queerness, and not everyone who is queer is interested in labeling it or making it legible to you, and they have no obligation to do so, and not doing so doesn't make them any less queer. Furthermore, some people who are queer are not interested in sex, so what about them?

All of that together is why, for me, the entire queer project is much more deeply about non-compliance with hegemony, and specifically with hegemony around gender roles, sexuality and to put it under a big umbrella, patriarchy, than it is about who you fuck. Those things extend into so many other aspects of life that I think you can easily talk about "queering" a very wide range of topics, and possibly? ANY TOPIC.

You are responding to this post, I think, and in it, I made a choice to talk about family and hunting, and our heroes roles and characterizations in that, and did not talk about gender shenanigans or sexuality, because my point was that even before we get to anything to do with it, Sam and Dean are immersed in a queered world in a fundamental, structural way. That said, I assure you that if you go back into season 1 of Supernatural, you will find LOADS that could be said about gender and sexuality, too. As well as other things, and a particularly important area, as @ironworked pointed out in the tags, is blue collar/white collar class issues.

As I said, the depth of queerness in Supernatural is actually dizzying just in terms of the story's BONES to say nothing of how they flesh it out. Queerness is about deviation from the norm. It's about rebellion and disobedience against hegemonic systems for the sake of personal authenticity and love.

Think about Cas for a minute. Cas's whole story is that he rejects his role in a hegemonic heaven. He rebels for love, and that is pretty explicit as early as season 4 when he tells Dean "We're making it up as we go". Fellas, that is THE QUEEREST SHIT EVER even if he didn't do it for Dean, and like... HE DID IT FOR DEAN. Cas did not have to tell Dean he loved him for me to know it, and for Cas to be a deeply queered character. When he DID say it, I wasn't the least bit surprised he was in love with Dean, because seriously, we been knew. I was only surprised I got to have the immense pleasure of hearing him say it and looking at Dean's face while he took it in. Jesus. I will NEVER RECOVER.

This is my perspective on representation in Supernatural: It's excellent, and I relate to, and feel seen by it as a queer person. Nobody needs to get fucked on the maps table for me to do the math that this is a queer story. It is very, very, very thoroughgoingly canonically queer in so many ways, and not all of them are to do with sex. I think some fans will only allow it to be called queer if dudes make out in it. I am not one of those fans.

As to your second question, I think there is a wealth of evidence in the filmic oeuvre of Eric Kripke to suggest that as an artist and a writer, he is concerned or maybe even preoccupied with masculinity issues and issues around family, and around the way patriarchy fucks men up. So, yes. I think he knew what he was doing and he knew that queerness was part of the mix. For fucks sake, it's a family of men who hunt monsters. That is very fucking on the nose. Do I think he kicked off Supernatural in 2005 planning a 15 year operatic queer romance between Cas and Dean? No. I don't think anyone planned for it to go as long as it did, and it's a matter of record that some things were influenced by fan response, actors' chemistry, different writers and showrunners' preferences and etc. What I will say is that when they had a choice to "straighten shit out" or lean into the queerness, they fucking leaned in, nearly EVERY TIME. Like, it's pretty amazing how consistently they lean the fuck in.

I'll admit -- I wasn't watching it with those eyes the first time, and I didn't give it much real estate in my mind when I watched it as it aired from 2006 to the end, but the last three episodes reshaped it for me and made me angry, and also made me need to watch it all again, this time with an explicitly queer lens, and BOY HOWDY let me tell you this: the Supernatch rewatch journey is a wild and wonderful trip to Queertown. It is legit more difficult to argue that Dean is straight than it is to argue that he is queer. There is a full on CORNUCOPIA of story evidence to support that read and relatively little that convincingly counters it on the straight side, and that starts right at the beginning, when they bend pretty baby Dean over a police car in episode one, and he smirks insouciantly in his lip gloss. Do I think everyone involved knew how that looked? Sexy, submissive and a bit gay?

YES I DO.

#supernatural #spn #dean winchester #Eric Kripke #watching with queer goggles #I recommend it #it's just queer yo #anti-trashnatural agenda

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morallyinept · 7 months

Text

HELLO & WELCOME TO THE PEDRO PASCAL FANDOM! 👋🏻

I'd just like to take a moment to say hello and a big welcome to all my recent followers & mutuals. How wonderful that you're here! So exciting!!

My name's Jett and I'm so happy that you're here in the Pedro fandom, and you're all so welcome here at my place too! 🖤

I'd also like to share with you some hints and tips on navigating this fandom and Tumblr.

Perhaps this is your first time in a fandom, or using a site like Tumblr, and I can appreciate how daunting it can feel. I've been there. Trust me. 🥴

But don't worry - I've got your back. We all have.

I hope you find it helpful, and if you have any questions, or just want to say hello back, please feel free to reach out. 🖤

Fandom is a different experience for everyone. You get out what you put in.

What do I mean by that?

Well, fandom is an inclusive place, for everyone to come together in mutual admiration and respect for, in this case, Pedro Pascal. It's a hub to share, create and get excited about content, and to make new friends.

It's NOT a place for divisiveness, hate or toxicity, although sadly it exists here in small pockets, as it does in any fandom. 😑

The best piece of advice I can give to you, is to be respectful.

Be respectful in the way you conduct yourself. Be respectful to your mutuals and followers, and to the blogs you follow. Be respectful to Pedro. As much as we all write fanfic about his characters (and some choose to write about him; that's their prerogative, although I personally don't), he is a human being, not a piece of meat.

It's perfectly fine to get excited, to fantasize and daydream, we all do it. We all get thirsty, let's face it. That Pedro fountain is flowing. 💦 But be mindful about blurring the lines between fantasy and reality.

Have fun, that's why you're here. I'm not your mom, but always remember to respect each other. (I'm fairly certain your mom would have told you that, however.)

If you are subject to any negativity or toxicity whilst here - and hopefully you never will be as the majority of us in this fandom are friendly, approachable and lovely, if but a bit excitable - but if you do experience it, the best thing to do is to ignore it.

Block, delete and move on. Don't feed into it or be a part of the problem.

If you have an ageless or empty blog, chances are you will be blocked.

Tumblr has a massive bot problem. 🤖 Specifically a porn bot problem.

It's easy for us to spot a fake blog or a bot that follows us. They usually have an empty bio, no icon, or their icon is an AI generated image of a scantily clad female. We all block them. 🚫

Most, if not all, writers in the Pedro fandom (and other fandoms too) write smut. We love it. And we know you do too, it's probably why you're here. But we are responsible writers, or try to be as responsible as we can be, by ensuring that no minors under the age of 18, to our knowledge, are reading our smutty fics.

So, if you have a blog that doesn't have your age on it, chances are you'll be blocked. We're protecting ourselves and we're protecting you.

Unfortunately, Tumblr is working against new users of the site in the fact that they now ask you to follow a few blogs BEFORE your profile bio is able to be set up or edited. I know, counterproductive right? So chances are you're getting blocked even before you start. 😖

I'd urge you to add your age onto your blog at the very least. It's okay to have an anonymous profile if you want to, but please, please tell us your age. Otherwise we will have no choice but to block you.

The RE-BLOG button is the only button you need.

Look at this:

The icon in green is the RE-BLOG button, the two arrows.

You'll find this at the bottom of every single blog post, including your own. Look at the difference in the numbers here. See how they differ from the RE-BLOG to the likes, the heart icon?

Yeeeeah. We don't want that disparity. We want that RE-BLOG icon to be the biggest number on our posts.

And here is where you can help with this:

PRESS THIS RE-BLOG BUTTON. DON'T STOP PRESSING THIS RE-BLOG BUTTON. LOVE THIS BUTTON. RE-BLOG EVERYTHING YOU LIKE!

Tumblr doesn't work like Instagram, Twitter/X or other social media platforms where 'likes' drive content to be seen. Here on Tumblr RE-BLOGGING is what gets our stories onto your home feed for you to see them and enjoy.

If you don't RE-BLOG, our posts get lost and have very little engagement, and that is why your favourite writers then stop writing and leave the site.

RE-BLOG, RE-BLOG, RE-BLOG everything you like and love. I cannot stress that enough.

Likes are nice, but they do absolutely nothing. Zilch. Nada. Bupkis.

Well, that's not technically true. Likes tell me that you've seen my post. That's it.

Annnnd what can I do with that info? Nothing. That's what.

RE-BLOGGING the post tells me however that you've enjoyed it, loved it even. That makes me very happy and inspires me to carry on writing fics that you'll (hopefully) enjoy.

Pressing the heart icon works like a bookmarking feature on Tumblr rather than a liking feature as you're probably used to from other social media sites. And the more things you like here, the more your older likes get pushed to the bottom of your epically long like list, to be forgotten about and will probably never see the light of day again.

Personally, I like to use the like button as a way of bookmarking something to come back to later and then I will RE-BLOG it once I've read it.

There is no limit to the amount of times you can RE-BLOG the same post, but you can only like it once. That should tell you that liking something here on Tumblr has no effect.

Tumblr is all about encouraging engagement through RE-BLOGS, the algorithm does nothing if you press the like button and move on.

By all means, give that heart icon a press, but please also RE-BLOG it at the same time. We will absolutely love you for it!

☝🏻And be mindful of going on a mass liking spree - Tumblr doesn't like that and neither do we. It's a quick way for you - and us - to get shadow-banned and Tumblr will think you're a bot. And being shadow-banned is incredibly annoying for everyone involved. Trust me. 😖

Talk to us. We love it!

We love getting positive/constructive feedback on our work. We love engaging or interacting with you. I certainly love receiving and responding to any comments, DM's or ASKS that I'm lucky enough to get.

But again, ensure you're respectful.

Tumblr has created an ASK feature where you can ask us a question, and you also have the option of asking us that question anonymously if you'd like.

If you do use the anonymous (anon) option on your ASK, be aware that we have the right to ignore or delete your ask if you're being a jerk. Don't be a jerk.

This feature is for someone to interact with us anonymously if they're shy. Not to be abused to send hate or negativity our way.

You'll find the ASK button on the main page of anyone's blog that has it activated, just below their bio.

And Tumblr has made it easy for us now to see if you're a mutual of ours, even if you're asking on anon FYI. So we can narrow it down to finding you if you do happen to be a jerk... just saying.

Be respectful in your comments, DM's, ASKS and RE-BLOGS.

Yes, you can leave comments on your RE-BLOGS too. Another reason for you to press that RE-BLOG button.

If you use something, always give credit to the source/creator where possible.

One way to garner enemies in any social media space is to use something that isn't yours, without crediting the source.

Now, it's impossible to physically ask everyone if you can use their content, however Tumblr makes this very easy for you to do that in most cases.

Yep, RE-BLOG IT.

RE-BLOGGING leaves a clear trail back to the original poster for everyone to see.

Now, if you use something without re-blogging, which you can absolutely do when you create your own blog posts from scratch, you should give credit to anything you use in your post that is not something you have originally created yourself.

Perhaps there is a GIF you like, for example. You can post it, but you should absolutely give credit by tagging the blogger/creator who created that GIF. (Tumblr also has their own selection of GIFS you can use FYI, and when you do they automatically add the original creator's tag at the bottom of it. Easy!)

And this should be respected if you use another's person's art or writing too.

Now, I could quite happily sit here and tell you all about copyright law, but we'd be here forever and frankly it's a boring topic and I'd rather you get out there and read all the awesome fics you're going to discover instead.

But, in a nutshell, any picture of Pedro you post, does not belong to you, no matter how many times you write your user name all over it.

Look, we all do it; we all like to make our edits, our banners, our covers look wizard, and I do it myself. But what we can't do is claim ownership or copyright to it.

Some people will try; they'll get pissy if you use something that they claim they found first or is "theirs" because they plastered their user name all over it... putting your username on something does absolutely nothing FYI.

☝🏻No-one can claim copyright or ownership to any image of Pedro, unless they physically took that photo themselves and can back it up with evidence should they be challenged legally.

My advice here is to always credit the source on anything you want to use, i.e. where you found it and tag or link back to the original content creator where possible.

If you're unsure where it originates from, you can still use it, but just make a note in your post somewhere about not knowing who it belongs to etc... so the original creator can advise you later.

Again, it just all boils down to being respectful.

And if you're ever not sure if you can, or should, use something, reach out to that creator on Tumblr and ask. They'll appreciate it, regardless if they give you permission or not.

Hoo, we sure covered a lot here...

I hope you've found this post useful at the very least. For a more extensive use of Tumblr you can easily use the search function, or via Google if there is a particular setting or something you need help with, or reach out and ask someone. This Pedro community is incredibly welcoming and helpful.

And if they're not, well you let me know and I'll send the Pedro Boys to sort them out. 🫡

If you enjoyed this, and did indeed find it useful, you know what to do:

RE-BLOG IT!

Now, get out there and have some fun exploring and reading!

Stay Kind. Stay Creamy. 🖤

🖤

GIF of Dieter Bravo from @miguelo-hara 🖤

#pedro pascal #pedro pascal fandom #pedro pascal characters #dieter bravo #dieter bravo the bubble #welcome #hints & tips #jett has spoken

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