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veinsandknuckles · 2 years

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Reflect what you are, pt 2

Abed Nadir/Autistic f!Reader. In love and at a loss, Abed turns to self professed woman-expert Jeff Winger for advice with mixed results. Part 1 Rated: pg Warnings: casual ableism, casual sexism, autistic stereotypes, reference to the The Big Bang Theory. If I’ve missed anything, let me know. This fic hasn’t been BETA’d. As a disclaimer, I’ll say upfront that the reader insert’s experiences with and outward signs of autism are based on my own. It’s always impossible to write a reader insert neutrally enough to be projected onto by everyone and I think that’s especially true when portraying a disability that is at once so specific and so varied. ——–

“...I think I’m in love.”

“Really.” Jeff didn’t look up from his phone.

Abed wasn’t sure why he’d picked Jeff as the right person to talk to. Perhaps it was just because Jeff had lingered in the study room after their last session, leaving them alone in the room, and if Abed didn’t tell someone, anyone, he might literally explode. “Yes. Definitely. I show all the classic signs.”

Jeff didn’t respond. Had his sarcastic, disinterested tone been more pointed than usual? It was hard to tell.

“Did you already know I’m in love?”

“With what’s-her-name, your new study buddy?” Jeff gave Abed a look. “Uh, yeah. I’m pretty sure everyone knows.”

“Oh.” Abed tapped his pen against the table and thought this over. “Do I talk about her a lot?”

“Not really, but we know you. It’s pretty suspicious if you take an interest in anyone who isn’t a fictional character.” Jeff put his phone down and leaned his elbows on the table. “Does this mean you’ve finally come to me for dating advice? It’s about time.”

“Normally, I wouldn’t need advice...”

Jeff’s eyes narrowed. “Because women throw themselves at you, for some reason.” He sounded resentful. “Yeah, I remember.”

“And usually I don’t really care either way.” Perhaps this wasn’t the best approach if he wanted Jeff’s help, but it was the truth. “I mean, the attention is nice, but it’s not important.”

“Well, if you’re ‘in love’” (here, Jeff made so many air quotes he threatened to sprain a finger) “that’s a whole different story.”

“Yeah. I’d be pretty upset if she didn’t like me back.”

“I’m sure. So what have you tried so far?”

“Hm.” What had he tried? Shockingly little, now that he came to think about it. “I’ve talked to her a little. We’re working on a project together for class. Oh, and yesterday I threatened to beat a guy up for disrespecting her.”

There was a long pause. “See, this is why you should come to me for inspiration instead of turning to the movies.”

“Yeah, but it was warranted. He’s a bully.”

“Yeah, but still. I never figured you’d go for the caveman approach.”

Abed shrugged. “I don’t really have an approach.”

“Yeah, we established that. So what’s this girl like?”

“I think she’s autistic.”

Jeff’s eyes widened and his mouth seemed to twitch. He didn’t make a face, but it seemed to take him some effort not to make a face. What was he trying to hide? Surprise? A lack of surprise? Amusement? Ridicule? Probably not envy, but what did Jeff know?

“Abed, that’s not a very nice way to sum up a person. We taught you better than that.”

Abed had it on pretty good authority that Jeff had pointed him out to strangers as ‘the robot’ and ‘just don’t call him Sheldon’ several times just this month, but for some reason, people tended to get uncomfortable if the spade joined in and also started calling itself a spade.

“Okay, this is clearly a sensitive issue for you. If I tell you she’s also beautiful and funny and attentive and kind and clever and beautiful, does that make you feel better?”

“That’s a pretty long list.” Jeff smiled. “Beautiful made it in twice, huh?”

It was a fair summary as far as Abed was concerned, repetition included, but Jeff needed to be brought down a peg or two.“I thought that would reassure you.”

Jeff stopped smiling. “Whatever. So if you care so much about her supposed personality, what do you guys actually have in common? Apart from, you know. The A word.”

“I’m not sure. We both pay attention in class, so we already have some similar interests.”

“Okay, so get her talking about those. Women love it when you pretend to care about their dumb opinions.”

Abed was very much convinced that this was not an uniquely female trait and he knew that if he chose to make a rebuttal, Jeff himself would make for an excellent exhibit A. But Jeff depended on his 90’s stand up comedian understanding of gender roles and it would be unfair to take that comfort away from him. Instead, he chose diplomacy. “If she has dumb opinions, I’ll lose interest. Even if she’s beautiful twice.”

“Yeah, you’re weird like that.”

“But I get shy around her, and I’m not used to being shy. I try to plan our conversations in advance, but then when I talk to her I forget everything I was going to say... And I don’t want to pretend to be someone else.”

“You’re overthinking this. Just go up to her and talk, ask more questions than you give answers and if she smiles and laughs at your jokes...” Jeff thought about it, then shook his head. “Huh. Yeah, I see the problem. You still can’t really read anyone. Even I can’t read you and I’m a master manipulator who’s known you for years. If she’s like you...” He seemed at a loss for words. “Don’t you have, like, a secret language or something? Bleep, bloop, Star Trek good?”

How should Abed know? It wasn’t like he’d been ushered into a secret society or subscribed to the local autism mailing list. Maybe there actually was a club and he just hadn’t been invited - that would be a fun, ironic twist. “Not one I know of.” The trekkie accusation he filed away for a later argument.

“Alright. So, when she’s happy or annoyed or on the rag, can you even tell?”

“I think so.”

Abed worried that Jeff misinterpreted the reason for his interest. He couldn’t tell if Jeff wanted to over or under emphasise the autism part, but he could tell Jeff didn’t get it. Sure, it was exciting to meet someone who functioned the way he did, but not because he expected or even wanted you to be a copy of himself. He wasn’t looking for the comedy staple where the weirdo, slash robot, slash dog’s love interest was played by the same actor, slash costume, slash dog in a wig or a pink bow. He was just as desperate to explore all your differences as your possible similarities, and the disability thing was just a small part of that. And he’d underplayed the “beautiful” part, but your mind really was not the only thing he wanted to explore. After all, you’d already turned his head months before he’d realised what you shared.

It dawned on Abed that he really would be just as excited to talk to you if the topics you chose made no sense to him - whatever you said would interest him, simply because you were the one talking. And if he ever accidentally tuned you out, he’d be happy just to watch your lips move.

How could he even begin to explain all of this? Or any of it? If Jeff had ever felt the same way, he would never admit to it.

“She emotes a lot.” By Abed’s standards, anyway. “I don’t think most people can really tell she’s autistic.”

“Why are you so fixated on this?”

“Well, in this case, I mean I think she’s more of a people person than I am. She blends in better than I do and that would take a lot of practice.” He paused. “I never really made friends before I got to Greendale, but...”

“You’re worried you might have some competition?”

Abed shook his head. If anything, competition would be reassuring. But why? “I don’t want her to like me because she has no other option. I want her to choose me.” If that was true, why did admitting it make his stomach feel so cold? Abed swallowed and voiced a fear he hadn’t even been conscious of before. “I’m worried I might be too weird for her.”

Now Jeff made a face even Abed could recognise, if only because he’d seen it so often over the years. It was a face of pained, awkward pity.

Abed was seriously starting to regret being so honest, especially with someone who clearly still expected him to be more ashamed of himself than he really was.

But Jeff surprised him and his expression changed gradually into a less familiar smile. “Yeah... I think we all feel like that sometimes. I mean, not me, obviously.” Abed nodded and Jeff continued. “I hate to be a cliché, but if you absolutely have to be in love, I really think you should just try to be yourself. If she doesn’t like you, it’s better you rip the band-aid off quickly.” He reached out as if to give Abed a pat on the shoulder but seemed to think better of it and let his hand fall. “Who knows, she might like you better for being a bit weird - I know I get sick of hanging out with normal people all the time. Whatever that means.”

Abed nodded. Especially the band-aid argument appealed to him. Right now he felt that if he didn’t either get to touch you or let go of this obsession within the week, he’d just wither up and die. Wow. He might actually have to resort to a weekend of 80’s rom coms, either to look for inspiration for some big dramatic gesture of his own, or to do what most people probably did when they watched rom coms - daydream about his own crush and imagine you and him up there on the screen instead, kissing and holding on to each other for dear life while the music swelled and the rain pored. This was so much worse than he’d thought.

#abed nadir #abed nadir x reader #abed nadir imagines #abed nadir imagine #community #community fanfiction #my fics #abed nadir fanfic #still can't promise I'll finish or even continue this fic because I'm usually swamped these days #but since this part was practically finished I figured I'd dust it off and post it

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oh-theatre · 4 years

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Objection!: Chapter 30

Chapter title: Everything Will Be Alright

A/n: Ahahahaah IM SO SORRY im so sorry that its been months im so sorry that this chapter is awful im so sorry im so sorry that i call this awful piece of work anything im so sorry im sorry im sorry bad chapters short chapter ohmygod how dare i call this anything im so sorry im sorry

First | Previous | Next

words: 2142

summary: They must act quickly when the tiny hospital room tenses up

pairings: Eventual logicality, prinxiety, platonic demus, romantic remile

warnings: Murder mention, child murder, Law and Courtroom, swearing, blood, hospital, crime scene, murder, gun mention, guns, swearing abuse, graphic descriptions, alcohol, shooting, crying

Ao3 Link

Logan begs, nay he prays Patton would remain blissfully asleep. Through the past few months the poor father had been thrown into obstacle after obstacle after obstacle. Constantly finding himself in trouble, and danger. He knows how hopeless Patton felt, how broken. He just wanted to help his partner find the pieces and put them back together, not lose more vital ones.

“You're not really about to kill a man, in a hospital, surrounded by witnesses, are you?” Roman proposes. To give the judge props, he was handling this with much more patience than expected after finding out your boyfriend was a conspiring murderer trying to rid the world of you and your best friend.

Eh, Virgil was a better option anyway.

Not the time Roman. He should be devastated but of course he isn't. Of course...he's relieved.

Because he's in love with Virgil.

“Don't shoot, be rational James” Logan tries, he knows his efforts are meaningless. The man had been hot on Patton's trails for months. He wasn't Jeff Winger, one charmed speech wasn't going to make this all better. “You wont be leaving the hospital without your hands in cuffs”

“Yeah well at least i'll be leaving with one man…” He eyes Roman and Logan “Or however many dead”

“Mm hydrangeas” Patton mumbles, Logan squeezes his temples so hard hoping his partner stays sleeping. “Log..an” He mutters, tossing over, pulling the blanket closer but remains gentle and soothingly asleep.

“Aw look, he calls for you” James mocks.

“Dude, that's so low” Roman huffs. He looks to Logan but the man's eyes remain planted on his fiancee. Stall, that's all he remembers from Virgil's ramblings. “James...please dont do this” He pulls out his tears, it felt off faking his feelings but James was a murderer so eh. “I thought...was it all a lie?” He questions, fighting back a smirk as the gun lowers slightly. James falters, he looks back with soft eyes to Roman, suddenly in the blink of an eye someone pushes past Roman, grabs James and tackles him to the ground. His gun slides across the room crashing into metal.

“Roman the gun” He hears an exasperated Virgil request. Roman moves in unison with Logan who rushes to a newly awakened Patton.

“What's going on?” He yawns, gladly accepting Logan's embrace. James pops up into his view with Virgil behind him. “James?” He wonders, Roman hands Virgil the gun and the pieces fall into place. His “Oh” was ever so small. Logan only held tighter as their eyes trailed Virgil and James walking away, listening to the detective read off James’s rights. Logan remains right where he stands, glaring out the door. “Lo?”

“Hm?” He snaps looking at his partner.

“Hi, I'm here” Patton comforts, he takes Logan's cheek bringing him in for a gentle kiss. “Alive, and well, and no extra gunshot wounds” He teases, Logan snorts feeling embarrassed as the nose escapes his mouth. “Oh my god, adorable” Patton giggles pulling Logan on to his bed. The lawyers arm drape over him and they hold one another close.

“Please quit scaring me” Logan begs, whispering affectionately into Patton's ears. Patton interlaces his fingers with Logans, kissing his hand lightly.

“Pinky promise”

“Dont make promises you cant fucking keep” Remy storms in. The lawyers sit up, a protective Logan stands, still upset at the detectives for what they had done. Patton fiddles uncomfortably with the blanket. “God are you ok? What the hell happened?” He rushes

“I don't think you're entitled to that information anymore Remy” Logan sighs, his arms folded. “You see that is reserved for Patton's friends” Logan scowls, Patton gasps and wants to speak but a mis-directed glare from Logan quiets him quickly.

“Fuck you Logan” Are the last angered words from the caffeinated detective before he slams the door. The sound shaking Patton. As soon as Logan looks to him he breaks. His tears fall faster than Logan could realize what he had done.

“Patton” He goes, but a sobbing Patton shakes his head begging for a moment alone. “I love you” He says before taking his exit.

Why, why did he leave?

Patton knew what panic attacks felt like, he had plenty. But everytime the shock hit him and it hurt, it scared him with a fear mightier than death. He wanted to call out for Logan but he couldn't speak. A pathetic squeak was all he managed. He pounded at the bedside but couldn't breathe, he clutched hard but couldn't remember any of his usual tricks. When the door opened he had hoped for Logan to be his usual stubborn self.

“Pat I jus-” Virgil begins but sees the pure fear in his friends eyes. He rushes to his side, instantly taking his friends hands. “Stop hitting yourself” he commands, the stern but safe voice sent something over Patton. “I'm going to hold you now” he warns, Patton nods through his shakes. He holds his friend, tightly applying pressure to Pattons nervous system. After a few minutes of pure silence and gentle touch, Patton can breathe steadily once more. “Roman had the goofiest smile while we walked back” Virgil tells, Pattons ears perk up and listen. Something to focus on. “He said he was almost glad he had an excuse to get out of a relationship with James... he said he missed me” Virgil shouldn't have blushed

“H-he does” Patton manages.

“I missed him to…” After a hesitation Virgil looks to Patton who had now cozied himself into Virgil's embrace. “I miss you” He whispers. Like a small child Patton tugs the opening of the detective's jacket.

“I missed you so much” He sighs with a yawn

“Get some rest you dork” He strokes gently watching Patton feel safe as he let himself join the world of rest. Virgil remained comfortable with Patton, he watched the TV on mute with subtitles. After about an hour the door opened, Logan's face morphed through a million emotions as he examined the scene before him.

“Get out” He whispers viciously.

“Logan, specs, i love you but you're being an idiot” He rolls his eyes. “I'm not moving, Patton had a panic attack so i'm staying until he tells me he's ok, not because you're an angry calculator” Virgil stands his ground, he doesn't wait for Logan's reaction he looks back to the tv. Of course this causes him to miss Logan's shoulders falling, and his face softening.

“A panic attack” he breathes, he moves to Pattons other side, serving him a glass of water for when he awakens. “Sleep well sunshine” He delivers a gentle kiss to Pattons forehead before leaving. Virgil smiles at the couple once Logans out of sight.

“God hes so whipped” Virgil laughs to himself.

~~~

“You take yours and Ill take mine” Logan jokes as he and Roman quietly enter the room. Virgil and Patton lay fast asleep cuddled with one another.

“Hes not mine...I mean” Roman sighs, he strokes away the faded purple streaks of Virgil's hair while he situates him into his arms. He looks with a gentle smile as Virgil cuddles into his arms. Roman cant help but place a quick kiss on his forehead.

“Mm?” Patton hums once the comfortable warmth had been left cold and empty. “V?” He manages

“I'm here, Virgils, gonna go home and rest” Logan whispers, cuddling up as he waves Roman goodbye. Patton giggles turning around and kissing Logan as he readjusts his position. “I love you so much, i'm sorry I wasn't here”

“You're here now, and thats all that matters..all thats ever gonna matter” Patton replies, he kisses him once more, Logan feels his face flush with heat so halting. “How are the twins?” He wonders fiddling with Logans fingers.

“Good, Emile is having plenty of fun with them” Logan assures, a breathy sigh on Pattons neck sending a tickle down his spine. “They miss you though,” Logan adds, knowing Patton misses them just the same.

“Well shucks!” Patton grumbles, he sits up allowing himself to still embrace Logan. “Im all rested up!” He laughs, Logan smiles watching the man he loves flood through. “Will you get me my wheelchair! I wanna get out of this bed!” He jumps, Logan chuckles wearily but nods. He takes his stand helping Patton into the chair.

“Where to?” He asks, holding to the chair.

“Anywhere!” Patton giggles pointing forward. “Oo! Let's head to the cafeteria for some food, i'm starving” Patton jumps, Logan leans down giving him a soft kiss on his forehead.

“Anything you for you” He whispers, the serious tone was not missed and Patton took his hand quickly. He squeezed it gently promising he would do anything for Logan. The walk out the rolling of the wheels was smooth across the minted floor. They passed by many rooms, Pattons excitement faltered listening to the sounds of pain, loss...but then…

“Oh Logan stop wait” Patton halts the wheels as they pass the nursery. “Oh look! Twins” He recognizes instantly, they lay next to each other, both girls, both beautiful. “Oh they are gorgeous” He swoons

“Not as gorgeous as your twins” Logan reminds Patton, blushes as he did watching Logan grow with his kids. He didn't have to do it alone anymore. “I love you”

“I love you more than anything Logan” He replies.

“I scared you earlier, didn't I?” He blurts, kneeling in front of his fiancee. “I saw the look, the fear behind your eyes...I reminded you of...him” Logan laments. Patton fiddles with his hospital gown, averting any gaze from Logan.

“I want to make up my own mind, i want to set my own boundaries, and i want to talk to my friends” Patton rushes

“I'm so sorry, i got too defensive and didnt think about you, just about protecting you. I just want you to be safe” Logan defends, still Patton fiddles apprehensive. “I'm not him, and i'm so sorry. There are no excuses for what I did and it will never happen again.” He takes Patton's cheek ever so gently. “Your words and thoughts...they matter Patton. They always will my love.”

“You needn't be so sorry, I know you're not Liam. You never have been. I'm just cautious and…” He looks back to the children, parents fawning over them. “I want this to work” He takes Logans hands kissing them sweetly. “I want this to work more than I have wanted anything in my entire life” Logan lets out a quiet breath. “I love you Logan Tolentino”

“And i love you Patton Hart”

“I now pronounce you husband and wife!” Emile giggles holding Valerie and Remus' hands. They bounce before charging towards the couple hugging them happily.

“Can I be the flower girl?” Valerie questions sitting on Patton's lap. Remus struggles in logan's hold wanting to examine his father's wheelchair.

“I wanna be the flower girl!” Remus argues, Logan takes the back of the boys head gently. “Hi” He smiles happily. He wraps his pudgy arms around Logans neck hugging him. “Im hungry” He ponders instantly pulling away “Dada-” he pauses “Mister Lolo can I still call you that?” He asks. Logans heart tugs just a tad. With no words available in his vernacular he simply nods. “Food time please” Valerie nods in agreement still snuggled up to Patton.

“What the twins want-” Patton begins meeting Logans eyes across the way. Logan returns a gentle smile.

“The twins shall get” He finishes standing up with Remus tight and safe in his hold. Valerie claps in excitement while Remus practically falls over himself laughing. “Im going to put you both into your fathers lap now so i can push his chair” He informs, the kids oblige only thinking of the chair as a new fun toy.

After goodbyes to Emile and gratitude of course for looking after them, they set off to the cafeteria. Though they know that most of the food wouldnt appetize them the children were able to ravish the entirety of their meals.

Ive got to teach these children what taste it, Logan thinks sighing. He looks to Patton whos hand was held in his the entire time, watching as his fiance's eyes grow droopy in the cold saddened room of the hospital. It had been a lot today, the adrenaline had dissipated and the exhausted would set in. But even so tired Patton looked elated, staring and listening intently as the twins rambled away. Even in these dark hours where nothing was certain, there was light. Logan never understood that, he thought that no person could ever bring this type of joy or emotion out of him. Love never made sense, and it didn't have to for him, but right now..it made all the sense...and he loved nothing more.

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billdenbrough · 4 years

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hi i’ve had a headache all day (my fault for staying up until 5am smh) and am coming down with a cold (outrageous, fuck u winter) so i’m not sure how coherent this is but @trentadepresso was having a rough day which is a Crime™ bc andrea is an angel, and she really loves stenbrough, so i thought i’d try my hand at this to cheer her up a little? andrea, babes, i have v little experience/thought w them so i hope i do them justice for u!! i love u v much. also i’m mobile as per so like. apologies in advance for any typos

STENBROUGH + 30. you don’t see me

It’s a Thursday, so it should be a quiet night, but there are about twenty people crammed into various nooks and crannies of the dorm that Bill, Richie and Ben share.

There are three girls sitting in a circle on Mike’s bed, braiding each other’s hair as they listen to him tell a story about Bill, Richie and an ornery goat that has Bev in stitches across the carpet; she’s sitting with some of Richie’s classmates from his Calculus class (“Rich, you’re doing an Arts degree,” Bev had pointed out with a laugh when he’d first slapped his schedule down in front of them all, which he’d met with an unrepentant shrug) at the foot of Ben’s bed, half-watching Community on Ben’s laptop, half-listening to Mike’s story; Ben and Richie playing a very intense game of Charades, along with about ten other people, in front of Richie’s bed, where Eddie is seated, watching the chaos between his fingers, laughing helplessly at absolutely every ridiculous impression Richie does; and finally, where Stan’s eyes always are, Bill, lying down on the carpet, lazily sketching some of the tableau in front of them.

Stan, for that matter, is sitting on the windowsill by the head of Ben’s bed, perched in a way that allows him to survey it all. He’d been talking to some of the braiding girls before Mike had started telling his story, and has since escaped to his raised position. Despite what Richie might say when teasing him, Stan likes these sorts of kick-backs, likes seeing his friends have fun, likes engaging with their peers. He’s not the most sought-out ever (that would be Richie, Bill, or maybe Bev), but that’s hardly a concern of his; he likes having his odder sense of humour, likes having shorter interactions with people, likes having less demands for his time and energy. Richie gets energy from other people’s attention. The only attention that sends a zing through Stan is that of the people he cares about.

There’s a girl giggling—well, there’s several, it’s Richie, but this one stands out in her intentionality—over Richie’s antics at Charades, and Stan winces. He thinks her name’s Belinda—or maybe Bethany?—which would already be a no from him, given how many fucking B-names his friends have, but he’s very certain she’s out of luck. She’s attractive, he supposes, and he could see Richie being interested for a night, but, well. They’ve never talked about it, but Stan is Richie’s best friend. He’s always been aware of how Richie’s eyes travel to Eddie after every antic, always craving his reaction more than anyone else’s.

Of course, that goes two ways. Like, Eddie glancing back, sure, but that’s not what Stan means. He means that he’s pretty sure Richie’s aware of the way Stan’s always on the look out for a crop of auburn hair half a head above everyone but Richie or Mike, the way his gaze always—inevitably—finds Bill in any room, the way something in his heart hurts when it’s late at night and Bill’s looking at him with that sleepy smile.

There’s a shout of triumph, and Stan glances over at the charades crew, which seems to have grown in number. Richie’s whooping, Ben’s laughing at him, and Mike and Bev have ended up over there too, on either side of Eddie, shouting “best of three!” Richie glances at Ben, who shrugs, making Richie beam. “All right! This time, though, Eds, you’re playing,” Richie announces, and Stan stifles a laugh at the expression on Eddie’s face.

“Wait, Rich—” Eddie’s saying, and then Mike says, “C’mon, Eddie, I’ll be with you guys too. Who’s going to get Richie’s impressions faster than you?” and the expression on Eddie’s face... kind of knocks the breath out of Stan. He dearly wants to talk to him and figure out exactly what Mike’s words did to Eddie’s understanding of it all, but Richie’s still smiling brightly at Eddie, all hopeful eyes, and just like always, Eddie sighs, and nods. “Yeah, okay, as long as Mikey’s with us,” he says, and Richie whoops.

“Guess that means I’m with you,” Bev says to Ben, who smiles back. “Guess so,” he says. “Bill, do you want to play?” he asks, turning to where his roommate is still lying on the floor. Stan, again, stifles a laugh at the expression on Richie’s face (“He is entirely too good of a friend sometimes,” Richie had grumbled to Stan once, “like he and Bill are close, and Bill and Bev are totally over what the fuck ever you wanna call what they had going on for literally like, two weeks, so it’s not like he needs to do it to be a good friend to Bill anyway, but holy shit, I wish he’d realise that Bev, like, wants to hang out with him for him. Like, love yourself, dude.”), before his eyebrows shoot up at what Bill’s doing.

Because Bill is standing, shaking his head, and completely abandoning the two people who were lying beside him, not so subtly trying to get him to sketch them. “Nah, I wanna show Stan some of these,” he says, which is... odd. Not that he wants to show him things—Stan knows, realistically, that he’s one of the most important people in Bill’s life, and that Bill values his opinion—but just the timing of it all.

Ben nods, asking one of the girls braiding hair if she wants to join their team instead, but Bev’s eyes stay on Bill. There’s something knowing in them that Stan’s not entirely sure what to do with.

“Hey, you been having fun?” Bill asks, leaning against the wall just to the left of the head of the bed. He’s close enough that Stan can feel every movement brush against him.

“Yeah,” Stan says agreeably. “I mean, probably not as much as them—” he leans his head towards a few of the audience members for the charades shenanigans who seem to be drinking beer, even though Stan didn’t see any boxes around, “—but it’s been fine. What about you?” He nudges Bill, inclining his head towards the sketchbook Bill’s got under his arm. “Any good scenes?”

Bill’s lips, in a grimace at the drinking students, twist into an embarrassed smile. “Yeah, I mean, kind of? Everyone’s having fun, and that’s, you know, soothing to draw.”

“Can I see?” Stan asks. He doesn’t usually ask. He’s the only one. He’s always been the most sensitive about the idea of Bill saying no. But. But Bill is warm and bright and next to him, and he said he wanted to show Stan some of them, and maybe Stan’s not foolish to believe it.

Bill glances at him in surprise. “You want—yeah, sure,” he says, and it sounds so easy in his mouth, even though it was accompanied with the kind of initial surprise that used to get him stuttering so hard that even their teachers referred to him by it. (That had always made Stanley angry, so angry; the idea that anyone could see Bill, with all of his bravery and determination and loyalty, his creativity and care and warmth, and think the thing that mattered most to define him was his fucking stutter.)

He pushes off from against the wall and tilts his head towards his now-empty bed, and Stan nods. He slips down from the windowsill onto Ben’s bed, gently closes Ben’s laptop mid-rant from Jeff Winger, and ends up sitting at the head of Bill’s bed while Bill drops himself into his desk chair. He passes Stan the sketchbook, and Stan opens it, drawing in a breath. The first one is of Richie, and it’s—fuck, it’s just beautiful. Richie’s always been so in motion that Stan would never have guessed he could see a paper page and feel like he could find his best friend in the lines on it, but Bill’s managed it. There’s something striking in the lines and slopes of Richie’s face, something frenetic in the feathering lines of his hands, something in the expression on his face that suggests of a laugh beginning to form. It’s bright and bold and fucking beautiful, and Stan was always sure Bill was talented, but he doesn’t have words for this.

“Holy shit,” he breathes, and he’s vaguely aware of Bill’s eyes on his, the weight of his gaze, but he’s mostly losing himself in the sketches. He flicks to the next page, and it’s Bev and Ben. Stan always thinks of the way Ben looks at Bev, maybe because he’s a little closer to Bev than he is to Ben, but Bill drew it the other way around. Ben’s the star of the piece, with his burly arms and wide, sweet face, and Bev’s looking at him, and the expression on her face is so fond and amused and fierce and affectionate that it hurts, because it’s so her, but Stan prides himself on being observant, and if he didn’t notice this tonight, then Ben definitely didn’t. Maybe if he sees it here, rendered in such vivid detail that it’s impossible not to swallow as something true, it’ll hit him.

“She looks at him like Eddie looks at Richie,” Bill says with a quiet chuckle, and Stan’s heart stops in his chest. Because, yeah, Richie and Eddie feel very obvious to Stan, especially Richie at Eddie. But he can’t fathom how Bill could possibly notice Bev looking at Ben and Eddie looking at Richie and not notice Stan’s eyes following him through every room. He flicks more hurriedly through the pages, soaking them all in, and they’re beautiful, all so beautiful. Mike’s strong and tall and genuine, laughing quietly with three girls on Bill’s bed; Bev’s legs are tangled in Richie’s from earlier in the night, the two of them setting up Community; Eddie’s laughing so hard that he’s breathless, leaning on Ben for support, and—

Wait.

Stan glances back at it, brow furrowing. The background is half filled-in, and something in Stan’s stomach lurches, because he remembers this moment. He’d been right there, on the other side of Ben, looking at Eddie with amusement. But he’s not in the sketch.

He flicks to the next page. It’s Mike and Bev, sitting cross-legged on the floor, well before most people arrived, and Stan’s frown deepens, because he knows he was there, standing behind Bev, hands resting on her shoulders. They’re bare in the pictures. He flicks forward again. Richie talking to Mike. Stan feels like he and Eddie should be laughing in the background, but they’re not. He’s not.

He flicks forward again. There are more of the kick-back, all these people Stan knows only vaguely, and yet. None of Stan. This whole night is basically immortalised in this sketchbook, but there’s none of Stan or Bill. He... really doesn’t know what to do with that.

“Stan?” Bill’s voice breaks through. “What’s wrong?”

Stan doesn’t look up. He’s thinking this through in his mind, examining it from every possible angle. He ends up with one possible conclusion, and he doesn’t know what to do with it.

“You don’t see me,” he says carefully. His heart thuds, but his voice is level. He finally looks up.

Bill blinks. “W-what?” Clearly, it’s the last thing he expected Stan to say. Some distant part of Stan notes that the stutter is back.

“There are like twenty pictures here,” Stan says, and does his voice sound too rigid? Too taut? He’s trying for patient, or at the very least, not hurt. “All from tonight.”

Bill nods, brow furrowed.

“Bill,” Stan says patiently, wondering why he’s even pursuing this. Because he’s a constant disappointment to himself, probably. “There are like twenty pictures in here, and none of them are of me.”

Bill’s eyes widen, and his mouth pops open ever so slightly. It hurts to look at it. Because that’s what he’d look like when he kisses someone, Stan imagines, and that’s never felt like less of a possibility for him to experience than now.

“It’s whatever,” Stan says, “I mean, you’re under no obligation to. I just... was surprised, I guess.” Because we’re best friends. Aren’t we? Because even if your heart doesn’t skip a beat when I smile at you, we’re still friends, aren’t we?

Bill still looks a little taken aback, but something Stan said must have gotten under his skin, because he opens his mouth furiously, before being cut off by a whoop from Bev (“Suck on that, Tozier!”). He closes his mouth instead, and looks at Stan with such intensity that Stan feels off-kilter.

“Stan,” he says quietly, fiercely. “Stan, I see you. You’re like, the only thing I see.”

And now Stan’s mouth is slightly open, because he doesn’t know what to do with that. How to compute that, how to make it align with the facts of the universe as he knows it, with what he’s surmised from the sketchbooks.

Bill, apparently, didn’t mean to say all that, because his face shuts down for a moment, before it takes on a determined set. He slides back slightly from the edge of the bed and rifles through his desk drawers—god, they’re a fucking disaster area, Stan notes with a wince—before pulling out another sketchbook.

“Th-th-this is the one I had before,” he says, and there’s something so familiar about Bill in this moment, stuttering yet determined, that it twists something in Stan’s chest. He pushes it towards Stan, who opens it.

The first picture is of Richie again. But it’s Richie with Stan, and Richie’s laughing, joy in motion, and yet. The sketch is focused on Stan, with his wry smile and dancing eyes and the way his shoulder sits under the arm Richie slung around it. The next one is Eddie and Richie, and Stan’s in the background, but he’s got as much detail in his expression as Richie does, despite his face being a fifth of the size. Stan flicks through. They’re all like that. There’s a fair few without him, of course, but all of the ones that feature him, it feels like the pencils came a little more alive when resting on him. He looks up at Bill, open-mouthed.

“You’re just,” Bill says, before laughing shakily. “You were the only thing I could see. So I had to start drawing the space around you. To cope, you know.”

Stan’s heart is thudding. He’s genuinely, for the first time in his life, speechless. Which is saying something, given how long he’s known Richie Tozier.

Bill flicks the pages of the sketchbook from tonight to the very back, and there’s Stan’s face, staring back at him. He’s grinning to the side, amusement in his eyes, and every line of it is so fond, so carefully rendered, that Stan’s heart genuinely hurts.

“Bill,” Stan says, and he doesn’t know what he’s saying. That he gets it, maybe. That his eyes find Bill in every room. That he fell in love with everything Bill drew tonight, that to see the way Bill sees him blows him completely away.

“I didn’t mean to drop this all on you,” Bill says, running his hands through his hair. “I just. Couldn’t stand the idea of you thinking you didn’t matter.”

Stan’s hands snake out and capture Bill’s. Bill glances up at him, eyes wide. Behind them, Stan can hear Eddie shouting something about an octopus—Richie must be having his turn—but Stan wills away those noises.

“You’re the first person I look for in any room,” Stan says, and when Bill’s breath hitches, Stan squeezes his hand. “You’re always the first thing I see.”

Bill looks like he’s been struck by lightning. “God,” he breathes. “We’re so fucking stupid.”

Stan huffs. “Okay, no. Richie and Eddie are idiots. Ben too. We’re just... mildly moronic.”

“Mildly moronic?” Bill sounds like he’s trying not to laugh.

“I mean, we sorted it out in one conversation,” Stan says, ignoring the way his stomach is fluttering. “They’re all going to need at least three. Mike’s the only one I trust.”

Bill really does laugh then, and he’s sliding his chair forward, and Stan’s breath hitches. “Mike’s the smartest one of us all,” he agrees, speaking into the small space between them.

“Richie is so fucking clever, and yet,” Stan murmurs into the space between, and is it getting smaller...?

“No braincells,” Bill sighs, and then he’s sighing it into Stan’s mouth, and Stan was so wrong earlier, when he thought he’d never see what it looked like for Bill Denbrough to look at him like he meant to kiss him.

(When they separate, Stan’s flushed and Bill’s ears are red. The noise is still coming from the charades crew—Bev’s the one acting it out now—but Richie catches Stan’s eye, waggling his eyebrows, but the beam on his face is sincere, and the thumbs up he gives Stan completely genuine. Stan rolls his eyes back, but can’t stop the smile spreading across his face, least of all when he meets Bill’s gaze again, and sees the giddy grin on the taller boy’s face.)

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leviathan · 5 years

Note

You could do parswoops where they are both pining and then swoops finds out that Kent is gay, but he doesnt make a move. then he gets jealous at a gay club while Kent is dancing, So they end up dancing together and making out

i love this ship a whole lot, y’all

(my hockey ocs/omgcp rosters for reference) / (shameless hockey blog self-promo)

—

Kent is beautiful when he plays.

Who is Jeff kidding—Kent is beautiful always—but watching him play is like watching poetry in motion, like watching a hawk in flight. Graceful, flawless, sleek; like he isn’t meant to exist anywhere else.

“You see something you like, Troy?”

Jeff almost jumps out of his skin. “Christ, Mercer; you want me to have a heart attack before we go against the Flames?”

Mercy hums and gives Jeff a significant look that makes him more than a bit nervous before leaning next to him against the glass and watching Kent practice trick shot after trick shot. Spence stands tall, all things considered, and Jeff is once again reminded of how lucky they are to have both Kent and Spencer on their team.

“Nah. You’re a way better winger than Hallsy. Don’t tell him I told you that, though.”

“Well there’s a reason he’s not on the first line,” Jeff sniffs and Mercy snorts out a laugh.

“Come on, you dork; let’s gear up before Parser drills a hole in Spence.”

Jeff watches as Kent shoots once more—a bullet that snipes top shelf, right past Spence’s glove hand, and makes Jeff’s stomach flip pleasantly—before following Mercy back towards the locker room.

///

Really Kent shouldn’t find Swoops cooking for him such a turn on.

Kent’s entire apartment smells like a Mexican restaurant, which is, arguably, the best thing his apartment has ever smelled like. He’d been shooed away from helping (“your hands alone are worth like two million a piece, Parser”) so he’s perched at the breakfast bar, chin in hand as he watches Swoops work.

Kent literally moans around his first bite of enchilada, which doesn’t even phase Swoops.

“Tell me again why you went into hockey and not chef school?” Kent says. “Because, like, no joke; this is the best thing I have ever put in my mouth.”

Swoops rolls his eyes, but Kent can see the grin tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“Shut up and eat your enchilada.”

///

The thing is, Jeff really should have seen this coming. It’s not like Kent had been keeping it a secret—apparently fucking Mercy knew, that bastard—but actually hearing Kent say it hits him like a ton of bricks.

“Fairbanks’ Flowers, down on Second? Yeah, my ex got his mom mother’s day flowers from there once so it’s probably decent.”

Jeff feels his stomach drop.

Kent is watching him with a calm look but a defiant set to his jaw and the only thing Jeff can do is smile. He nudges Kent’s shoulder with his own and Jeff watches some of the tension drain from Kent’s frame.

“I’ll definitely check it out, then.”

///

It’s not like Kent keeps it a secret, the whole being gay thing. It’s just…it’s hockey, so it’s not exactly something he advertises. Mercy knows because they were road roommates their rookie year and he’d caught Kent making out with a guy on more than one occasion, but he’s the only one on the Aces who knows knows. Kent’s sure there are a few that suspect it, but he’s more than happy to let sleeping dogs lie.

So when he lets it slip to Swoops it’s half accident and half…well.

It’s not the first time Kent has had a crush on a teammate and in terms of teammate romances he’s batting a solid zero, but it’s not like crushes are logical because goddamn he’s have given anything to have a crush on a person who might actually like him back.

Swoops, though, he takes it in stride and Kent…well, Kent doesn’t know what to do with that. He doesn’t know what he’d expected, really. Swoops is a genuinely good guy and Kent thinks he remembers him saying something about his niece being gay, but it would have been so much easier if Swoops just turned out to be low key homophobic instead of so readily accepting.

But Swoops moves on like nothing ever happened, and for some reason, Kent’s stomach feels a little bit heavier.

///

“C’mon, it’ll be a good time. Everyone has to go to a gay club at least once in their life. I can show you how to dance,” Kent wheedles. “And besides, it’s, like, a Las Vegas law, basically.”

Jeff rolls his eyes but he feels his resolve crumbling. “Fine,” he says with what he hopes is a long-suffering sigh. “But you’re buying.”

“Hell yeah.”

///

The club is, well, a club.

Kent had managed to rope Mercy along too and Jeff imagines this isn’t the first gay club escapade he’s been dragged along on.

They all do a few brightly colored shots and Kent immediately makes his way to the dance floor, while Jeff hangs with Mercy at the bar.

Even that doesn’t last, and after Mercy finishes his beer, he follows Kent’s footsteps onto the dance floor.

“Hey. Can I buy you a drink?”

Jeff startles then blinks owlishly at the man who has approached him. He’s taller than him but shorter than Mercy (most people are shorter than Mercy), with tousled auburn hair and dark eyes that glint in the flashing neon light.

“I, uh—“ Jeff’s cheeks heat up. “I’m good, actually. Thanks though.”

The man shrugs but his smile doesn’t dim. “I’m Adrien. I’ll be over there if you change your mind,” he says, motioning with his chin to a spot at the far side of the bar before sliding away.

Jeff drains the rest of his vodka soda. Where the hell had Mercy and Kent gone anyway?

He scans the crowd, and— Oh.

Kent is…well, he’s dancing in the loosest sense of the word, grinding against someone Jeff can tell even from this distance is just as pretty as Kent is.

Jeff doesn’t know what comes over him, but one second he’s sitting at the bar and the next he’s pushing through the sweltering throng of bodies towards Kent.

Kent spots him and his eyes brighten. He says something to the man he’s dancing with and breaks away.

“Weren’t you gonna teach me how to dance?” Jeff shouts over the din.

Kent laughs and it’s a beautiful thing, even if Jeff can’t hear it.

“Show me what you’ve got.”

Jeff does, bouncing rhythmically along to the music.

Kent’s hands reach up to run down his shoulders. “Loosen up, old man. Try to look like you’re having a good time.”

Before Kent’s hands can drop, Jeff’s hands to go Kent’s waist to tug him closer.

Kent’s mouth goes slack and his grip on Jeff’s shoulders tightens instead of pulling away. The look in his pale eyes goes from light to something darker.

Jeff’s heart is in his throat as he dances to Kent’s rhythm. He’s acutely aware of every minuscule action, so when his thumbs slip under Kent’s shirt to brush his hipbones and Kent’s mouth parts slightly, Jeff acts on impulse, leaning down and catching Kent’s mouth with his.

It’s like something snaps and Kent’s fingers tangle in Jeff’s hair, tugging him down further.

It’s all teeth for a heartbeat; then Kent tilts his head and Jeff’s entire world shifts.

Jeff’s hands curl more firmly around Kent’s waist as Kent licks into his mouth and Jeff, well, all Jeff can do is kiss back with everything he has.

If watching Kent skate is something beautiful, being the sole focus of that fierce attention is something divine.

#parsepositive #parswoops #kent parson #omgcp #check please!#jeff troy #fanfiction #*writing #anonymous #answered

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rixareth · 5 years

Text

My top five canon OTPs

@drawsaurus tagged me for this!

List your Top 5 Canon and Top 5 Non-Canon OTPs.

This is tough, actually! I ship pretty much everything on a low level; it’s hard to pin down the ships I have more intense feelings about. I’ve rambled on for a bit, so I’ll post the canon and non-canon lists separately. My non-canon OTPs are here.

(EDIT: I have forgotten about both Beatrice/Battler and James Sunderland/Mary Shepherd-Sunderland, and that was very wrong of me.)

CANON:

Nathan Drake/Elena Fisher (Uncharted)

These guys are so cute! They balance each other so well; they have such good chemistry! What a great adventure duo. When I saw I’d been tagged to do this meme, Nate/Elena was the first pairing that came to mind.

I love that Nate and Elena have fun together and they make fun of each other, but they also have moments when they’re vulnerable with each other. In particular, I love that Nate, the big action hero protagonist, is allowed to be vulnerable with Elena, and not just the other way around; Uncharted 3 is great for this.

The sequence in Uncharted 4 where Elena just mocks Nate’s videogame skills is my favourite part of the entire series. I would buy a full Elena Fisher Mocks You While You Play Videogames simulator in a heartbeat.

Jeff Winger/Annie Edison (Community)

The episode ‘Debate 109’ is the fastest I’ve ever gone from ‘I’ve never thought about this pairing’ to ‘I ship this with every fibre of my being’. Jeff Winger and Annie Edison have, by far, the most ridiculous chemistry I’ve ever seen in fiction. It’s absolutely absurd. He’s almost twice her age and I just can’t care!

I was not expecting them to kiss for real in the first-season finale, and I flipped out when it happened.

Mukuro Ikusaba/Makoto Naegi (Danganronpa)

No appropriate GIFs, but THERE ARE CANONICAL IMPLICATIONS THAT SHE HAS A CRUSH ON HIM; I’M COUNTING THIS FOR THE CANON SECTION.

Danganronpa IF gave me a lot of feelings about Ikusaba/Naegi. I’ve got a huge weakness for redemption storylines, and Ikusaba sort of breaks my heart as a character who has the potential to be redeemed but never had the chance. I also tend to like pairing up cynics with the idealists who make them a little less cynical (other ships I have that fall into this pattern: Jeff/Annie, Sora/Riku, Satoshi/Daisuke, the Ninth Doctor/Rose Tyler), and Ikusaba/Naegi is a rare example of that dynamic with a female cynic.

Abby Griffin/Marcus Kane (The 100)

(it’s really hard to settle on a GIF for these two, there’s so much almost-kissing and facetouching and I love it)

In the early episodes of The 100, I got into the habit of referring to Kane as ‘Councillor Dickface’. I was very confused, during the second series, to realise that Councillor Dickface had at some point become my favourite character.

A lot of the canonical pairings on The 100 follow the formula ‘they have a couple of scenes together with some contrived furtive glances and then they make out’, so Kane/Abby, where they had loads of scenes together and loads of chemistry and persistently didn’t make out, really stood out to me. Taking the time to build the dynamic up made a huge difference. I had such intense feelings when they finally kissed.

One of my favourite parts of the buildup: Abby kissed Kane just by the mouth! And I love kisses by the mouth; they create such a strange tension. They’re halfway between a kiss on the cheek and a kiss on the lips: too intimate to be considered normal, not quite intimate enough to be unambiguously romantic. I rewound to watch it seven times.

Chloe Price/Rachel Amber (Life Is Strange: Before the Storm)

One aspect of Life Is Strange I really love is its portrayal of very intense, slightly unhealthy relationships between psychologically damaged teenage girls. There’s genuine love between Chloe and Rachel, but there’s also manipulation, and things can get a little dark sometimes, a little frightening. Sometimes there are beautiful moments: sharing earbuds on a train and watching the scenery pass by, a kiss on an empty street at night. Sometimes Rachel drags you out of school while concealing her real intentions and ends up starting a forest fire while you watch in helpless alarm.

I love that the Chloe/Rachel pairing isn’t overly idealised or included in the game to titillate; they’re humans, sharing intense experiences, and it’s complicated and beautiful and painful and interesting. Chloe/Max is also great, but Chloe and Rachel make this list because their chemistry is slightly stronger in my eyes.

#uncharted #community #dangan ronpa #life is strange #the 100 #long post?#mine

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a-travels · 5 years

Photo

taken: 27 may, 2018 Somewhere in Iceland

Power to truth. Also *mlem*

If it wasn’t clear, this is the same day as the last post and definitive proof that the horses were indeed not alone. Though this horse is by itself too and this could just be in two separate pastures. You’ll just have to believe me, I guess.

Look at the horse. Man, it’s a cute horse. There’s no pretention or facade about the horse. The horse is a horse. If you could see these Icelandic horses, you’d marvel at how small they are. They’re basically like Lil Sebastian from Parks and Recreation⸺not ponies, but small horses. This is an adult horse that looks undergrown but is in fact not.

For those few that somehow have stuck this long with this thing, get ready for what we call in the industry, a stretch.

I mention the horse being a horse because I am sometimes baffled by how we as humans are. “Human” humans seem to be a rarer breed than “horsey” horses nowadays. Have I lost you? Let me explain.

One of the key differentiators of our species (apart from opposable thumbs) from so many other species out there, is our use of complex language. Animals speak, just as we do, but there’s a beauty in how simplistic it is. In the immortal words of Jeff Winger from the TV show Community: “You know who has real conversations? Ants. They talk by vomiting chemicals in each other's mouths. They get right down to brass tacks”. Animals communicate purely in utilitarian fashions, as far as I’m aware (if someone knows enough zoology or animal linguistics to inform me otherwise, I’d love to hear it). “There’s food here!” “Watch out for the predator!” “Come drink water!”, there’s little room for subtlety or sarcasm. Humans, I guess in our dominance as the apex predator of this planet, have developed enough of a sense of comfort that we have had the ability to develop this “complex language”. We can be subtle, indirect, sarcastic, facetious and more, and our message is still somehow generally conveyed to out audience or conversers. There’s no need for utilitarian dialogue in our society. We don’t want to hear if we look fat in an outfit or ugly in a hat, we want ourselves to feel better about ourselves and our place in this world. 

Somehow, in the pursuit of that feeling, the feeling of satisfaction, some people take the route of least resistance and start to lie with gleeful abandon. It’s like in Avengers: Infinity War when the Collector asks Thanos, “Why would I lie to you?” and Thanos replies, “I imagine it’s like breathing for you.” Seriously, it’s appalling the level to which people will lie, cheat, manipulate, and con just to get ahead. Now, before anyone (any of those three readers) who calls me out for high-horsing (no pun intended) on this matter, I openly admit I’ve told my fair share of lies. But, to the best of my knowledge, I have not done it ever in a work or academic setting to better my standing. Beyond lying in professional settings, disingenuousness is perhaps my least favorite quality in a person. Any of my friends (I hope) would know that above all else in a person, I value genuineness above all else, in whatever form that may be. I think I have a pretty good read on people, but other people are not blind to that kind of stuff either. That “bullshit meter” is something I think every one of us develops over time just interacting with other people. Isn’t that kind of nuts, how ants just barf their feelings to one another while we need to develop an implicit metric to decipher other people simply being honest or not? 

I don’t say all this because I’ve recently been wronged or lied to by someone. I think I have distilled and retained a social circle which at this point is open enough to be above-board and not have to lie to each other and me. It’s more of a trend I’ve seen in amongst others from my university and high school, who are so affectionately called “the snakes”, as well as on social media. I’m not going to necessarily dig into those real-life “snakes” right now because it’s beyond my understanding or energy to engage with those kinds of people right now. I manage to skirt my way around them enough that they don’t overly affect my life right now. Maybe I’ll touch on them in a future post.

Just recently, a friend of mine was talking about how bored and isolated they are where they work. I suggested they meet up with someone (classmate of ours from high school) in the same city as them and the immediate reaction was of rebuke, simply due to that someone’s social media presence seeming put on and artificial. On that level, I get it. Social media is perhaps the means to the end of fulfilling our social satisfaction and external validation “needs”. But who really dictates that need, and where does that need stem from in the first place? I can’t hope to understand everyone’s internal struggles and or insecurities, but I know personally, it’s something I struggle with myself, finding satisfaction in myself and my work. It takes an effort in having to myself “I am enough”. I’ve never thought to look to social media for that validation I sometimes seek myself, but I get that people do. But I think in that quest, sometimes people come across as though they’re showing off, virtue signaling to others on how to act, even if they don’t intend to. In an effort to seem “human”, flawed, and trying to be a better person, they invariably look like a “snake” and often unrelatable to the trained eye.  

Before I sound hypocritical, I get that social media is at its core about a romanticized version of your life, and I am just as guilty in portraying my life in that manner. It is the modern-day photo album, that doesn’t necessarily always dig into the bad times or the fears or insecurities. It’s just the new way to remember the good times when you’re older and click back onto Facebook or Instagram. You won’t remember how you missed your flight or got caught in a rainstorm at the beach, but you will remember snorkeling and that dope meal you got the first night in and those pictures you have. It’s seldom a diary of some sort (or maybe it is for some people). It provides a fleeting comfort of how we think our lives should be⸺perfect, happy, never sad, always with friends, helping out others. But life is rarely like that. it’s messy, sweaty, tear-filled, occasionally solitary, bored, tired, worn, bruised, and battered. There’s nothing wrong with sharing that pristine side of yourself online, but in my experience, it will never solve that growing underside of things if left alone. It is uncomfortable to face those demons, to grapple with the pressures of daily life. But it never gets better just festering and growing. I found all that stuff for me really boil over and affect my life adversely within the past few years and ignoring it, in hindsight, didn’t help me.

I don’t and probably may not ever truly understand everyone’s challenges in life, but I know that trying to mask it online or mask it in person doesn’t really help. It may be a band-aid to a larger wound that may grow septic if not treated. Like I said, I’m not saying to post pictures or videos of you crying or talking about everything online unless that’s your thing (which by all means, you do you), but being human is to embrace the messiness and imperfection of life. Talk to a friend, talk to a professional, journal, blog, write in a diary, punch it out in a martial arts class, workout, whatever fuzzes your peach, it’s better to face it than hide from it. Molt that snakeskin and horse around. Be honest. 

Well, this got a bit long once again. Social media etiquette and my presence there is something I’ve been thinking about since I joined facebook in high school. I don’t expect anyone to necessarily share my views on this stuff, but I would hope there’s some resonance on the idea of honesty and being genuine to one another. Also, the process of crystallizing my thoughts into actual written words isn’t super easy since I’m a pretty crummy writer so getting these cogent and short is a challenge in itself. Maybe I’ll start including a tl;dr on these things.

tl;dr - begone sneks

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