#10 minutes to load a fucking page

[iknowwhereyousleepatnight]

i'm going to reward myself for doing one project on time by doing another project that i've been neglecting

#i have like. a 10 page paper i haven't even made a thesis for. oops #and a 5-10 page paper on a personality disorder which i have yet to choose or start #but i'm feelin obsessive compulsive. maybe. or narcissistic #idk personality disorders are hard to choose bc i don't really trust them as a diagnostic tool #well. kinda #there's so much overlap and confusion in the dsm that i don't think they're understood enough and that #the lines drawn between them are the best way to separate them #it's a whole thing but whatever i'll just pick whichever speaks to me #and oh fuck i have a fucking wrongful convictions final paper that i totally forgor about lmao #damnnnnn i have shit to do #and they're still assigning busywork. by they i mean my art history professor who wants us all dead. she's assigning weekly papers till #the final day. why. they're like. 3 pages minimum and i know she has too many classes to be reading/grading that many #she's still weeks behind. why do you do this to yourself? why do you do this to us? #ugh. i shouldn't have taken italian renaissance this semester but i was made for bad impulsive choices #anyway. i will be sharing my presentation with you all later. it's gorgeous i prommy #she took 10 minutes to load in the assignment dropbox #that's how you know she's good :)

[an-bee]

if i get on more retry later error on ao3 i am going to lose it completely jfc

#LITERALLY WHY ARE THERE SO MANY #IM GONNA LOSE MY MIND YOU CANT DO FUCKING ANYTHING #GOD #FUCKING. SHIT #what is the REASON please someone let me KNOW 😭😭 #bee bbbles #i don’t wanna have to wait like 10 minutes between each error to load one fuckijg page

[going-to-ikea-for-the-fries]

Three. Four. Five. || Toxic!Husband!Price

For @glitterypirateduck's “O, Captain!” writing challenge! I used prompts:

30. "I hate you but if anything happened to you I'd burn the world" vibe.;

42. The story spans over a period of 10 or more years;

78. Give us a "That's my Wife!" moment.

Rating: E Words: 3.3K cw: toxic couple, VERY toxic, insults, death wishes, smut fade to black, pregnancy. Tags: f!reader, you/your pronouns but no Y/N, miilitary/court martial inaccuracies, very bad family dynamics?, dark humour??. Summary: John and Reader are in the worst fucking marriage ever. A collection of moments, dialogues and scenes from their terrible relationship. a/n: They are SO fucking toxic and dumb, I cannot- This is also very different from the stuff I usually write. This is ALSO not particularly angsty, more so dark humour.

There was a time when you loved John Price.

With all your heart, all your soul (and all your pussy).

That time was when you were young.

Ages 14 to 21, you loved him. He was your first kiss, your first time. High school sweethearts, you supported him through the academy, he supported you when you went to university. 

You stayed together through his first and second deployments. It was like an old-timey WW2 romance. 

So many letters exchanged back and forth. All lovey-dovey, with faint pen ink and smudged blotches on the pages as you made plans for the future.

Phone calls with spotty service and loads of static, only five minutes per soldier, 5 minutes which he’d spend only ever spend talking to you, asking you to relay any other messages to his mum, dad, siblings so he wouldn’t have to hang up with you. 

Polaroids clipped on the inside of envelopes which he would then slip into the breast pocket of his shirt, keeping you over his heart… one he’d often pull out and look at during transpo, thumbs tracing your eternal smile.

Polaroids of yours, a bit more risqué, which he would keep tucked into a journal under his pillow, for his eyes only.

John would walk around overseas with a smile on his lips after getting a letter or a call from you, brag to his teammates about his “bird back home”, never going out to bars to find one night stands like they did…

But sometime after his second deployment and joining the SAS, the puppy love that had lasted for years started to dwindle. 

Slowly but surely, you found that you were both growing distant.

You assumed you were both growing a bit ‘comfortable’, perhaps complacent… like all relationships tend to get after a while. 

By that time, John and you had already moved in together and you were no longer consistently alone for months at a time waiting for him to return from deployment. You blamed it on that. Plus, you’d been together for years by then!

But it felt different. There was distance, emotional and physical. Whenever he cuddled up to you, you felt cold and so did he. The kisses to your forehead were meaningless, the dinners at home eerily silent.

And between the distance and the inability to make proper plans, proper dates, celebrate milestones together, forgotten anniversaries, overlooked birthdays… It turned into arguments. 

And one argument turned to three, to five, to seven… hundred.

You found yourself growing bitter, angry, hateful.

It wasn’t a sudden shift or anything.

Not like you woke up one day and the one thought in your head was “I hate him”...

But you remember hating him longer than you ever loved him.

You tried breaking up. And failed. 

Some… bastardised feeling of guilt came to the forefront of both your minds at the idea of throwing away 5 6 7 8 9 10 years together, and giving up on your first love… and maybe even fear of having to start anew with someone else.

So, you simply continued going through the motions. You got engaged, big shiny rock on your finger, all big smile, but no tears came when he proposed. Your families were ecstatic, not quite able to see through the thinly veiled deceit.

For the wedding, you pulled out all the stops, stressed yourself out preparing the ceremony and reception with the women in your family (and his! His mother and sister were so happy that John was getting married!), going wedding dress shopping…

You had a beautiful ceremony, John wearing his full dress suit, army green, with the beige SAS beret. You were both 27, and together for 13 years.

Then, came the honeymoon, which was cut short. Not that it was a true honeymoon. Just three days in a coastal town in Northern France, having to be within a day's drive of Hereford lest he get called out for a sudden mission, which he was.

Not that you expected any different from him. So the distance continued growing, as did the arguments.

You hated him. He hated you.

Then came the predictable “So, when can we expect some grandkids?”. You put it off for a couple more years, blaming it on your high-priority careers, the law and the military, so similar and so different; his lack of time at home and how regrettable it’d be for you to be alone through the pregnancy; the want to be ‘more present’ for the future kids, needing to wait for things to settle down a bit more…

You’d been together for so long at that point, 15 years under your belt, starkly aware that neither of you is going anywhere. The world keeps spinning and your relationship hasn't ended. Fuck it, might as well go for it.

And now here you are.

It’s been eighteen years since you met. Aged 32, you no longer have arguments, you have throwdowns. You pull out every weapon in your arsenal. Neither of you plays nice.

Insults are traded often. Death wishes even more so. And, more often than not, they’re delivered with such a deadpan nonchalance that you’re sure people would think you both psychopaths.

“Going on a mission. ‘ll be back in a few days.”

“‘Kay, hope you die.”

“So do I.”

-

“Just had a fender bender with a stupid bloke. The car’s at the shop. Taking an uber to the base to get your car.”

“Okay. Shame you didn’t die a fiery death.”

“Don’t remind me, already cried about it.”

-

"I'm getting discharged."

"Why?"

"Shot."

"And it couldn't have killed you?"

-

“Can you get out of the damn toilet? I’m bleeding.”

“Period, accident, or just part of your satanic rituals?”

“Period.”

“Tough luck. Hope you bleed out.”

It never gets physical, never violent. John would rather die than lay a hand on you and you’d never DARE lay one on him. It’s just a lot of yelling, a lot of insulting, a lot of throwing things around, and, especially, a lot of revenge plans being executed to drive each other crazy.

Like recently. You found out John had gotten a grey-haired wig about the same length and texture as your hair, and has been snipping off a few hairs at a time, planting them around the house to blame you for leaving your hair everywhere, while simultaneously making you feel like you’re going grey. So, you put grey hair box dye in his shampoo and beard oil, to make him think he’s going grey.

Or three months ago, when you replaced all your lightbulbs with dimmer ones and lowered the brightness on all electronics, to make him think his eyesight was starting to go bad. You drove him so mad that he had voluntarily signed up for sniper assessments because he was worried he’d become a liability for the team.

Or eight months ago, when John had to return home in the middle of the day wearing a ruined uniform and just about ready to blow smoke out of his ears, having ripped holes in the uniform midway through a meeting all because 2 or so weeks prior you had painstakingly undone part of the stitching on it after an argument, and that had resulted in him baring his hairy thighs and armpits to a boardroom full of officers.

It’s bad. Very bad. You’ve had your windows and doors insulated to make sure the neighbors don’t hear your screaming matches and call the cops on the “domestic violence” happening next door. 

You probably shouldn’t have kids with this man. And yet-

He drives you insane.

And you’ve TRIED to fix it! You did. Marriage counseling, rage rooms, axe-throwing, paintball matches, yoga, meditation.… Nothing worked! In fact, it only infuriated you more because:

“You’ve got a tactical advantage, you need to play with a handicap!”

“Tough luck, sweetheart. Get good or get shot!”.

-

“You can throw harder than that.”

“Oh, I’ll show ya throwing hard, you gobshite!”

“Okay, when are you planning to start?”

-

“My back hurts-”

“Because you’re getting old.”

“Fuck you.”

“I’m just telling you the truth. Face it, John, if the downward dog hurts your back, then you’re old.”

-

“Can you breathe any louder?”

“Yes, I can. Wanna see?”

“Just shut up. I can’t hear myself think.”

“Not much to hear either way, pretty hollow in there.”

“I hate you.”

“Feeling’s mutual, sweetness.”

There are only three occasions when you’re not actively at each other’s throats. Other, then, of course, when John’s working, especially when he’s overseas. You can’t fight if he’s both a) not home and b) unreachable via calls or texts or e-mails.

When you need a favor from the other, something you can’t quite do, or that falls in the other’s ‘jurisdiction’ in house chores.

“The washing machine’s leaking.”

“Turn off the water main, I’ll go check in a sec.”

“Mkay.”

-

“Here. Popped a button.”

“I don’t have any more army green thread.”

“Then use brown or black or whatever.”

-

“Where are your car keys?”

“What for?”

“Going to get it washed and detailed.”

“My purse.”

-

“You’re not gonna wear that, are you?”

“Why?”

“Besides the fact that it’s wrinkly? That’s a ‘house’ shirt, not a ‘going out’ shirt. Wear this one instead.”

2. When you’re both complaining or dealing with an outside force, a 3rd party, together.

"Excuse me, hi, I'm sending this back it's not cooked the way I asked."

"Ma'am that's exactly what you-"

"Are you calling my wife a liar?"

-

“Oh, fuck no. Why the fuck is he winning the Great British Bake Off?"

"Hm? Oh- oh! Yeah, why the fuck is he winning?"

“Bloody hell, he rolled his pastry too thin and had watery pie filling-”

“Wankers. This is not fair.”

-

“John. John!”

“What?”

“Look-”

“Blood hell, he’s back early-”

“Yeah and her boytoy’s car still there. They’re definitely still going at it.”

“Oh, this is going to be fun.”

-

“Excuse me! Hey, excuse me! Pick up after your bloody dog! NO, don’t you start with me, you keep leaving your dog’s shite right by our garden, don’t you see the sign my husband’s posted up?! Pick it up or I’ll do it and then drop it in your garden.”

3. During sex.

Marching into the bedroom after breakfast, you find John combing through his hair in the bathroom mirror. The room is steamy from the hot shower he just took. 

“Take your trousers off. I’m ovulating.” You warn him as you wave your phone in the air, showing off the period tracking app.

“I literally just showered.” John replies as you’re already shrugging off your robe and pajamas.

“Well, believe or not, I don’t control my ovaries, John.” You reply. “Now take your trousers off.”

“Already on it.” He replies as he already starts taking off his shirt and sweatpants, leaving them on a pile on the floor, before his boxer briefs follow suit.

His hand palms his cock as you’re getting comfortable on the bed, tugging on it lightly as he watches your fingers do the same between your legs. 

“Can we try to enjoy it this time?” He asks you in earnest.

“Sure.” You reply simply. “Been a while since we’ve had proper sex and not…”

“Not a breeding session?” He quips as he kneels on the bed between your parted thighs. His hand replaces yours and he starts rubbing your clit for you.

“Shut it…” You quip, while your own hand wraps around his cock, stroking it slowly. John lowers himself onto you and his lips slowly brush against yours before he kisses you.

No, as it turns out… There are actually four occasions when you’re not actively at each other’s throats:

4. The Kid

In a day like any other, you’re lying in bed, reading a book. It’s a lazy Sunday morning, your big, round belly feeling particularly heavy. You’ve stolen every other pillow in the house to try and find some comfort, which you fail remarkably at.

“I think I’m going grey.” John states to no one in particular.

He’s in the en-suite bathroom, applying beard oil across his mutton chops like he tends to do, about three times a week.

“You are.” You remark in a bored, dismissive tone as you read a book in bed.

“That’s not funny. I’m not that old.”

“You’re getting up there.”

“Look who’s talking, we’re the same age.”

“What’s that supposed to mean, Jonathan?”

“It means you’re there yourself, darling.”

Raising your eyes from the book in your hands, the bottom of which rests atop your pregnant belly, you cock a brow at your ‘beloved’ husband.

“And this is coming from Santa Claus?” You retort swiftly.

John peeks his head out of the bathroom door to look at you. “You think you’ve got a leg to stand on, you crone?”

Grunting under your breath, you glare at him, and he glares at you, complete silence in the bedroom. 

There’s something in that face of his, the look in his eyes, those STUPID fucking mutton chops that you’ve told him to shave and he refuses…

Grabbing your book and rolling it into a cylinder, you hurl it at him, putting as much force behind your arm as you possibly can. It misses the mark, but only because he had the presence of mind to duck. 

“You’re such a fuckin’ knobhead!” You insult him, tongue dripping with bitterness.

“Wel, not like I can be anything else, really, when I’m married to such a raging cunt.” He retorts.

“OH FUCK YOU!” You retort.

“ALREADY AM MORE THAN FUCKED, SPENDING THE REST OF MY LIFE WITH YOU.”

“OH, PLEASE, YOU’RE MORE MARRIED TO YOUR BLOODY GUN THAN YOU ARE TO ME!”

“YEAH CAUSE AT LEAST MY GUN DOESN’T DRIVE ME FUCKING MENTAL!”

“OH PISS OFF!” You shout, your face twisting with a scowl.

“You know, you really shouldn’t be stressing yourself out like this. It’s not good for your blood pressure. Or for John Junior.”

“First of all, it’s not gonna be a boy. Secondly, even if it is a boy, we’re not naming him after you. And thirdly, how about you die, then I won’t get stressed.”

“And why would I do that, when I can stay right here, perfectly alive and healthy, and watch you give birth to John Junior, and have the pleasure of rubbing a ‘I told you so’ right in your face?”

“Oh fuck you. It’s not going to happen.” You sulk and cross your arms over your chest, leaning back against your mountain of pillows.

“Someone doesn’t like the idea of having a son that takes after me, hm??” John teases as he comes up to the bed, a brow cocked.

You trail him with your eyes as he sits next to you on the bed. “Absolutely not. I wanna have a child I actually am able to love, and not one that I have to lie to.”

“A mother’s love knows no bounds, huh? What a load of crap.” John quips.

“Oh, that’s 100% true. I love this baby to bits already, but if it takes after you… I’ll probably die.”

“Good.” John remarks, causing you to roll your eyss. “Much better than if our child takes after you. Spawn of Satan, he would be.” John’s hand slides up your leg and slowly cups your swollen stomach.

“I should probably address the fact you just called our child ‘Satan’s spawn’, but I’m more concerned over the fact you keep calling the baby a ‘son’.” You murmur as you uncross your arms and watch him caress your skin.

“I feel like it’s a boy, I don’t know what to tell you.” He replies as his calloused fingers drag over the stretch marks and linea nigra on your stomach.

“What if it’s a girl?”

“What about it?”

“I’ve seen enough men online getting pissy over havin’ a daughter.” You quip and cock a brow up, looking him in the eyes.

John’s eyes lock onto yours. “Not me.” Then they return to the belly as he continues rubbing you. “Would love a little girl too.”

“Hm.” You remark and slowly, your hand rubs over the belly on the opposite side, where John’s hand isn’t. “We’ve gotta promise not to yell or argue in front of the baby.”

“Kind of hard to do that when I’m married to the Devil.” John quips, causing you to look up at him, eyes narrowed.

“You’ve gotta promise. We’ve gotta promise.” You murmur as you look at him.

For a moment, his usually grumpy face softens and he nods. “I promise.”

Nodding as well, you echo the sentiment. “I promise.”

No, wait, five:

5. When you have his back.

“General, that is not what I asked you. I would ask that you stop beating around the bush, feeding me, the jury, and the people watching at home, fabricated information and embellished words in a sorry attempt to save your credibility. Stick to the questions being asked and stop wasting our times.” You warned the man as you paced the space in front of the stand.

“Me and everyone else in this room are looking for nothing but the truth, or must I remind you that you are under oath and also live on television?” You ask outloud as you turn to look at him.

“No, counselor.” The General, a heavy-set, older, mustachioed man replies, through gritted teeth, his face showing a polite expression while the man himself was seething on the inside.

“Very well, then, I’ll repeat the question. Were you or were you not aware of the aforementioned, unsactioned operations being conducted in the Al-Mazarah and Urzikstan border, involving CIA and MI6 operatives?” You asked, eyes glaring into the man’s eyes as you leaned into the stand near him.

“Well, as with most operations...”

“A yes or no is enough, General.” You told him sternly.

“Yes.” The man grits out.

“And did you, or did you not, give permission for these CIA and MI6 operatives, working under the guise of NATO, and I quote, from the transcript: “Authority to use any means necessary” on the enemy forces?” You confronted him.

“Well-”

“Yes or no?”

“Yes.”

“And did you do that while being aware that the teams involved would interpret such command as permission to execute an operation in which they’d use ‘extreme physical persuasion’ or, in other words, torture to achieve their goals?”

“I-”

“Did you or did you not, General?”

“Yes, but-”

“And did you, or did you not, not only demand the censoring of the clear and transparent reports received in the aftermath of that operation but also sign off on them yourself, to circumvent the proper channels of evaluation, which would force an internal audit to be conducted?”

“Yes-”

“So, in short, you just confirmed that you authorized your troops to, essentially, wipe their asses with the Geneva convention and comit war crimes on the POWs under their care?”

“Counselor-” One of the judges called out.

“Withdrawn. No further questions, Mr. Chairman.” You told the Chairman and the jury panel that sat above you, as you swiftly turned around and marched up to your table, high heels clacking on the polished floors of the court room.

Your eyes locked onto John’s as he sat in the back of the room, wearing his full regalia, his eyes locked onto yours with a strange shine to them… Almost like he’s proud of you.

As soon as you sit on the chair and the Chairman once again takes over, addressing the room, the General, calling other witnesses, your phone’s screen lights up on the chair next to you.

Picking it up quietly, you spot a message of John’s:

John: that’s my girl. knew you could do it. you: you owe me big time. John: i do. saved my arse there. you: of course. it’s what I’m here for.  John: almost making it sound like you love me. you: no but I wouldn’t let anything happen to you. you: no way in hell you’re leaving me alone with 3 children. John: i see. selfish woman. you: shut up.  you: and try not torturing POWs next time. John: yes, ma’am.

Five occasions seem to be enough to keep a 23-year marriage afloat.

a/n: Big thanks to my beloved @crashtestbunny for helping draft/plot all these interactiions and just the general toxicity! And also @mothymunson your beloved Toxic!Price is here!

[ O, Captain! Masterlist ] || [ My Masterlist ]

#ikea writes 💚 #ocaptainchallenge #cod x reader #cod fanfic #masterlist #captain john price #john price #john price x reader #call of duty #cod fandom #captain price #captain john price x reader #captain price mw2 #price mw2 #price

[shiningshawns]

SMUT!! IF YOU DON'T LIKE DON'T READ.

I sit on the bed in the guest room across from Shawn's room and his friends rooms down the corridor at 1am, watching TikTok on my phone. I have so much horny shit on my for you page of Shawn right now and not gonna lie it turns me kinda on.

I watch another 10 minutes and have enough of it. There are so many edits. I’m so horny now. I can’t help it. I don’t want to masturbate though I just wanna hear this sounds from a boy right now. And there I am, standing in front of Shawn’s door. I don‘t know why I’m even here. We’re only friends but I never was this horny in my life. I knock on the door, hoping he’s awake. I only here a „yeah?“ and open the door.

He watches up from his phone, into my eyes. He sits on the edge of the bed, phone in his hand and purple LED‘s on. I just stand in the door, looking at him.

„What do you want at 1am?“ he chuckled slightly. I go over to him, so I’m standing right in front of his face. He looks up at me, confused. „What are you-“ „stay still.“ I cut him off and go on my knees unbutton his pants. „doing..“ he ends his sentence after he realises what I’m going to do and slightly spreads his legs for me. Before he could say something, I shove his pants down and his boxers follow. Honestly his dick is bigger than I thought. He’s half-hard now, so I go up to his face, looking him in the eyes. With wide eyes he looks at me, still don’t know why I’m doing this. „I-uhm-“ he doesn’t know what he should say. I go to his neck, sucking on him.

He lets out a quiet gasp, turning me on a little more. I go to his earlobe, licking and sucking on it too. He slightly whimpers at that, cuts it off by clearing his throat. ‚okay, that’s what he likes’ I thought. I give his earlobe one last suck, then going down to his dick again, what is fully hard now.

I give it a small lick, making him gasp louder. Without warning, I take his whole length in my mouth, making him moan. „Fuck y/n..“ i go up again, putting my tongue in his slit. He whimpers and tugs his hand in my hair. I go down again, and he tightens the grip on my hair, making me groan slightly. I give him a few more sucks, hands on his thighs. He is moaning louder now, giving me the hint he’s close. „F-fu-uck, please. You’re so good at this” he tried not to let out a whimper during the sentence. He’s so close now, pre-cum already all over my tongue.

I swallow it, making my throat tighten, and he groans at that. He moves his hips up, trying to put more of him in my mouth even if I already have his whole length in my throat. “Fuck! I’m gonna-“ he cuts himself off. I go off of his dick “you gonna what? Tell me.” He looks down at me. He looks so good in this angle oh god. “I-I can’t.“ he has a red face, embarrassed to say it. I stroke him with my hand slowly, making him throw his head back and whimper. „You’re not gonna cum until you say it.“

„Shit. I- I’m gonna - cum. I’m gonna cum for you.“ he finally says. „good boy.” I tell him before I put my mouth around him again. He moans a little louder that he should at this. His roommates are at home but I think he doesn’t care at all right now. He moaned a few more times, god I can hear this sounds all the time. “mmmhh that feels good..” “I’m gonna cum.. oh my god” he gasps. I go down again, and he shoots his load in my mouth, making me moan because of his taste. Oh, the flavour of him tastes so fucking good. He whines moans and gasps when he comes. I love his sounds. I slowly go off of his dick, making him whine one more time. I stand up and go to his face. Without warning I smash my lips into his. He’s shocked at first but then kisses me back.

I put my tongue in when he slightly opens his mouth. He moans when I put my tongue deeper in his mouth. I moan back, then break the kiss. He then opens his eyes and looks at me a little embarrassed. „Like the taste of you?“ I smirk at him and he nods slightly. „I'm gonna go back to my room, good night“ I say and smile at him. „Goodnight“ he said and smiled back. I go out of his room, back into the guest room. God, how I loved the sounds he made. We’re still friends and I don‘t know what will happen in the morning, if it will be embarrassing, but I don’t care right now. We will see.

this is so bad my apologies honestly i cannot write fanfics

#shawn mendes smut #shawn mendes fanfic #shawn mendes fluff #shawn mendes blurb #shawn mendes fic #shawn mendes story #shawn mendes #shawn peter raul mendes #shawn mendes fics #shawn #mendes #fic #fluff

[alpaca-clouds]

Solarpunk and the Internet Or: How to Unfuck the Internet?

Okay, I just gotta talk about this. Because it is actually quite a headache.

How do we unfuck the internet?

Because let's face it, right now the internet is a fucking shitshow for so many different reasons. For the most part because it is so centralized on just a few platforms - and those are very much controlled by advertizers and in many cases also some algorithms that are basically a blackbox for the users.

I first got access to the internet in 1999, though I only started using it for real in 2001, because only in 2001 I got access to somewhat higher speed internet. (The kind where you could at least show a jpg without waiting 10 minutes for it to load). Hence: I do remember the time when everyone was mostly communicating through forums, while a lot of people had their own pages and where there were tons of different fansites out there to a variety of topics.

And sure, there are still some fansites out there, but a lot of that these days is actually channeled through all sorts of Wikis, rather than classical fansites. While a lot of the other stuff is somewhat centralized.

And don't get me wrong. Technically speaking that centralization is not a bad thing. It allows you to see a lot more fanworks, for example, than otherwise. And as a creative it allows you in turn to get more eyes on your stuff. But we do have to reckon with both the thing about algorithms and the fact how much it controls what we can post.

Basically there are right now not many platforms on which you can post explicit fanwork, or generally anything explicit in forms of creation.

And outside of the creative sphere there is always a good chance that a lot of information can be suppressed on those centralized platforms. We have seen the stuff of people posting about Palestine being banned from a variety of platforms for all sorts of vague reasons.

Sure, a lot would probably be unfucked, when the platforms would be handed to the people. That is rather than being controlled by some CEOs and boards of directors be controlled by the community itself.

But there is also the two-sided issue of the centralization. Because on one hand it is good. Because information can travel a lot further and a lot faster with it. Still, it also does bring a variety of issues with it, that are... less easy to solve.

For example the quick proliferation of information can also lead to a lot of misinformation spreading. Something that has definitely been increased through social media being a thing.

And exactly that is the point that gives me a headache.

The internet is amazing. Especially from a solarpunk point of view. You can share information online for free. You can also use it to help with organizing of stuff. You can connect with people all over the world so easily.

But there are also some inherent dangers - and I am not sure that we have the ability to tackle them right now.

#solarpunk #lunarpunk #internet #internet culture #social media #social networks #misinformation #fandom culture #creativity #anti capitalism #fuck capitalism

[endereies]

Fuck it - Matt Sturniolo - Part 6

Spotify playlist:

Authors notes:

I'm finally finished with school for the break so I should be updating a little quicker over the next 2 weeks.

Warnings: swearing

Word count: 3265

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5

“Is this something we are meant to do?” “Fuck it.”

“Okay, so, we submit this on Monday and we still have four scenes to analyse and then two exam questions to go through.” Matt mumbles as he places his back down next to me in the library and unsheathes a load of sheets, more are crumpled than ones that aren’t. The amount of them excelling the more meetings we had after school.

“We can get that done in a weekend, right?” My voice tainted with uncertainty. I had got to the library fifteen minutes before him so all my work was already displayed out in front of me with scribbles of different coloured pen one each of them.

“right.”

We were a little bit behind in our project since the majority of our meetups end in us just talking about random things or playing music with our home equipment. I would borrow Chris’s old guitars which was covered in a metallic red with black strings. The picks he bought matched perfectly dividing the red and black shades with lines of silver. Matt’s drumkit was similar to the school’s own designs yet on the base drum was the name ‘sturniolo’ in a faded midnight blue. Each drum fastened with the same blue wrapped around them. He had custom drum sticks too, fading from the original beige wood to a dyed neon-blue. The vibrancy capturing my attention every time, I bet he knew that to with the amount he’d smirk at me when he noticed me staring.

It's why we planned on staying in the library to finish the project, hopefully none of us get distracted. That’s if Matt stopped tapping his pen on the table.

“Matt.” My tone is stern as I frown still facing the pages of my book. He was too distracted in his ‘mini-concert’ that I grabbed his wrist firmly, which made his pen fall out his hand and onto the wooden desk below him.

He stammers a little as I glare at him and raise an eyebrow at him.

“The fuck did I do?”

“If you keep tapping that fucking pen on the desk, I will snap it in half.” I hold eye contact until I’m finished speaking and I let go of his wrist, watching his circulation fade back.

“And yet, you can do it all the time.” He smirks at me again and I retort by scoffing.

“When I’m in class and have nothing to do…you haven’t written anything for 10 minutes.”

“Normally by now we are playing music at our houses, this is a long ass day and this is only making it longer.” A sigh escapes my lips and I drop my pen, lean back for a moment and fold my arms loosely across my chest.

“Okay. If you work with me until six, I’ll buy you lunch all of next week.”

“Ain’t no way, you aren’t serious.”

“And you can get whatever you wish, no matter the cost, doesn’t even have to the food on campus.” I interject him by cutting him off and leaning closer over the table.

“Fine. Deal.” He holds out his hand in front of me and I look up at him with a blank expression.

“What are we, in 6th grade? I’m not shaking your hand.” I roll my eyes to him to just pick up my pen and start writing again.

“Damn, you’re no fun.”

“No…I just happened to hit puberty.” I click my tongue inside my mouth

I feel his glare on me before he continues to work on the papers in front of him. I take out my small white case and take out one of my headphones and pick up my phone to play some music in to them. I don’t bother checking what playlist I click on and immediately blast heavy dubstep into my ears, loud enough to make Matt pay attention to me again and giggle when I jump from the volume. I spam the volume control and turn it down rapidly until I can tolerate it. Matt immediately looks away from me, trying not to laugh when I hold my gaze on him for a few seconds.

-

“Is it nearly six, Alyia. My hand is fucking cramping up.” Matt whines for the fourth time in ten minutes.

“Like I said two minutes ago, no. Besides you have yet to finish of that question and it’s been nearly thirty minutes.”

“I don’t understand how you’ve been writing for that long without taking a break.”

“I want to get this finished; I don’t exactly want all this effort to go down the drain. I’ve stayed up too many nights for this.”

“Really…?” His voice filled with concern as his smirk and joke-filled demeanour faded quickly.

“What.”

“I would’ve done more of you asked me to…you didn’t have to stay up for any of it.” I interject him before he can continue

“Matt. I have more time than you, the project’s getting done. Does it really matter?” I look up to him, dropping my pen for the first time in a while.

“Of course it matters, you need sleep Alyia.”

“I also need this project done.” He sighs and rolls his eyes at me, returning the glares I’ve been giving him all night.

“Promise me you’ll relax after the project is due and let me finish off the last two questions.”

“You really like your promises, huh?” My page fills the silence as it crumples, getting caught on itself, making me purse my lips as I try to fix it before continuing to write.

“Alyia.” He grabs the pen out my hand and places it far from my reach and I narrow my eyes at him again. “I mean that, let me handle the rest of it and get some rest. Please.” I raise my eyebrow at him.

“I’ll sleep appropriately, fine, but I’m writing the last question. You can happily take the other one if you so desire.”

“Thank you. I’m not having your sleep decrease because you don’t want to ask for help.” His words make me raise my voice at him.

“What do you mean by that.”

“I don’t recall me stuttering. You have been sacrificing your sleep because you didn’t want to ask me to do a little more work.” He leans in to me, as if he is mocking me and I scoff.

“Not true.” My words mumble, subconsciously knowing he is right.

“Whatever, look it has gone six now, c’mon. We can work on this later on.” He shuffles papers together and stuffs them into his bag, lacking organisation which makes me stare at his back with a slightly shocked expression.

I follow his actions, however, and with a heavy sigh I put all my work in a pile, putting the sheets in between two books to keep them straight.

“You want to hang out later or something?” He slings his backpack over his shoulder and looks back at me.

“Hang out, me and you somewhere. I would recommend my place but Nick is there with Chris and Madi.”

“I know a place we could go if you want? I haven’t been there in a while so I don’t know how overgrown it is.”

“Wait wait. Did you say overgrown, what kind of fucking place is this.” Matt waits for me to catch-up to him and I walk slightly faster so he doesn’t have to wait so long.

“Amery Grove? There is a line of old houses at the back that people kind of forgot about, maybe like twenty years ago? I’m not sure.” Matt gaze falls to me as I start to ramble, simply listening to my words.

“Well, anyway, about two years ago a few of my friends and I decided to fix a few of them up during the summer. We didn’t decorate or anything but we cleaned old furniture and threw out what we didn’t need. While it wasn’t the prettiest, we hung out there a lot.”

“So, you just went to abandoned buildings and fixed them?” He keeps walking and opens doors in front of me as I keep talking. When he does, I quickly walk through them and turn to face Matt, proceeding to talk with my hands.

“Yeah, it was fun, even if our skills were mediocre, it made for good hangouts and a few parties.”

“You go to parties?” He gives me a side eye and I roll my eyes in response.

“Not as much anymore, I went when I had more friends to talk to and less schoolwork on my back. Maybe at some point…”

-

“Cmon you are slow” I drag out my words and groan as I get more excited, wanting to jump up and down to reduce the amount of energy but instead I shake my hands around.

“Jesus Alyia, I’m just putting our bags in here, I’m not carrying all of this across the Grove.” He arranges the bags in the back seats like some real-life game of Tetris. After another minute or so he finally shuts the car door and locks it.

“Okay I’m done, let’s go.” He puts his keys back by his belt and returns to my side.

“I haven’t been here in a while, so no promises on how clean it’ll be.”

“I’m sure it’s fine.” He smiles at me briefly before focusing on walking through some reasonably tall grass.

The trail I normally use is more overgrown than what I used to walk through so as we walk, we use old trees to climb past different areas and our feet to stamp on brambles and stinging nettles. It is pitch-black outside by this point so we are using our phone’s flashlights to guide our way through the trail. Leaves hang down from nearby trees and I start to wish I brought my jacket with me.

I place my feet onto a tree stump and try to climb over a fallen branch, but when my weight switches feet, I slip on some moss and fall backwards from the stump. My phone drops from my hand and the flashlight goes into my eyes, making me close them. I place my hands back to support myself for when I hit the floor but I never do. Instead, a tight grip snakes around to the side my waist and upper back, slowly pushing my body back to stand straight.

“Woah woah, are you alright…” I open my eyes to see Matt looking down at me with concerned eyes. I can barely make it out since he dropped his phone and its flashlight instantly to catch me. His chain dangles above my face and once I stand up properly, he uses one of his hands to push his hair back, keeping the other on my waist.

“Uh huh…” I regain my focus and brush myself off and pick up our phones from the damp grass. “Thanks”

“Of course,” He takes his phone back, brushing off the debris, continuing to walk ahead of me and over the branch I just slipped on. “You need to be more careful, sweetheart.”

It’s that fucking nickname again.

-

“Here we are!” I run ahead of Matt and smile bright at the few houses on a quiet lit up street.

“Its still the same…” I smile to myself, remembering how I used to run around here.

“Yeah? I think it looks fucking awesome.” He circles around me looking at the few houses, clearly seeing a difference between the ones I fixed up and the ones I left.

“Really?”

“Really. Y’know…maybe one day we could fix one up?” I turn my head a little too quickly to face him, who was already smiling at me.

“You wanna? Like, for real?” He simply nods to me before walking off to look at one of the houses closest to us.

I run to catch up to him again and I grab his wrist to show him inside one of the houses. The inside walls occasionally spotted with carvings of names and dates, ripping through worn out wallpaper. Unfinished projects left abandoned, mostly within the kitchen. I pick up an old and now rusted hammer and spin it around in my hands, recalling the last use of it going towards a leg of an old chair that lay on its side next to it. A bittersweet smile covers my face the more I venture the house, with Matt always following right behind, dragging his fingers across old cabinets and cupboards.

“you guys did so much work in here…” He picks up old projects that remain unfinished and analyze them one by one, awe showing within his eyes. “Why did you ever stop this?”

“We stopped being as close I guess...nothing personal to one another, just different schools and points in our lives. I still have contact but no one really talks as much anymore.” I quiet my voice and sit down on one of the chairs and put down the hammer.

“None of us ever took that personally, we just drifted. Miss it all like hell though.”

Matt stays quiet for a moment, just looking at me with slight pity.

“That’s a shame, especially since nothing even happened that you could’ve changed.” The distance between us closes as I stand up again but I simply keep walking towards the bottom of the stairs before I slowly walk up them.

Matt pov:

I follow her up the stairs, stepping where she did in case any areas are weak enough to break, but once I put that focus into the decor upstairs, I stand still. The upstairs was so much nicer, covered in intact wallpaper and furniture that made it seem like someone actually lived there. More carvings were decorating the walls and less tools were on the floors. I take in more of what’s around me, admiring the hard work.

Hearing the stories about her old friends make me smile but also makes me wonder why she is more closed off to people now.

We start to wonder around the different areas that she decorated and I admire the craftsmanship and efforts they put in to it.

“We can chill up here if you want?” Alyia points to a balcony that is guarded by a wooden fence, a few old chairs are stacked up and leant against the glass door and I walk through.

“Can I ask why you took me here, not that I hate it or anything. Just…if this place reminds you of your friends, why bring me here.” Alyia’s face falters slightly and I feel bad for bringing them up.

“This place has many memories but I feel stuck whenever I come here, and I love this place. I don’t want to come back here and feel self-pity when I see those carvings on the walls.”

“I meant it by the way.”

“Meant what Matt?” I look up at her before looking over the edge and down onto the weakly lit street.

“Fixing a place up with you, could be fun.” I smile at her before looking back over the edge and laying my arms on the wooden fence, trying not to apply a lot of weight onto it.

“I have no idea if any of the lighting still works properly, a few faulty lights here and there but nothing major enough to set anything up properl-“

“So? We have already walked through here in the dark easily enough, besides we don’t have to come here only at night.”

I turn back to look inside the house but my vision is slightly impaired from looking at the street lights too long. I change my point of view and glance down to my phone to check the time.

9:24pm

“Shit, it’s kind of late, do you parents want you back at a certain time?” I message Chris and Nick an apology after seeing the copious number of texts and missed calls.

“Uhm no, I can be back whenever” She trails off and I remember the phone call she had at my place.

“Oh…is she not home again?” I receive a small nod in return.

“You can stay over if you want to?”

“No, it’s okay I have things to do anyway…” She avoids eye-contact with me but I try not to question anything

“Alright then, should we head back, I’m being attacked by Nick so much” I see her smile as I finish speaking and just stands up and starts to walk back to the stairs.

-

“Just here, okay?” I turn the wheel and look through my window for any parking on the edge of the road.

“Yeah, this is perfect, thanks again” She thanks me for the millionth time tonight.

“Kid, I’ve already said it’s okay to drive you places.” I finish parking which makes the car tilt slightly as it reaches over the curb.

“Goodnight Matt.”

“Yeah, goodnight.”

The drive back to my place was quite bleak, even when I turned aux on, none of the songs fit the mood I was in. Whatever that mood was. I just focused on the road ahead and the way the lights shone through my windshield and lit up areas in my car like a mini disco. I sigh when I hit another red light and pull the cable from my phone and I resort to the radio music. It immediately blares and I turn it down quickly to a volume quiet enough for some background audio.

I should hate you – Gracie Abrams

It was already half way through the song but I let it play none-the-less, letting the calm guitar fill the car. The quiet and soft vocals relaxed me and I was able to take a deep breath that didn’t result from frustration.

I notice the song fading out just as I pull into the road that I live on so I turn the radio off completely as to not ruin my mood, but as soon as I step inside it gets dampened anyway.

“Oh my God, Matt. Where were you!” I drop my keys into a small bowl and I instantly get bombarded by Nick’s concerned voice.

“Out.”

“Out? Is that all you have to say. You said you were revising the project until six and then you would be home. It is nearly half ten and this is the first we have heard from you!” he starts to exclaim and honestly, I can’t blame him for the way he is acting

“I went somewhere with Alyia…that’s all. I guess we lost track of time.” I mumble quietly, knowing I’m in the wrong but I’m not going to apologize for having a good time.

“I’m not saying you can’t hang out with people, just let us know, okay? It could be three am for all I care but as long as I have some form of communication. You had us worried…” Nick takes a deep breath and looks down to the floor.

“I’m sorry, I should’ve said something…Where is Chris?” I try and change the subject to lessen the amount I get yelled at.

“He’s asleep upstairs, he wanted to wait for you but he was exhausted after hockey so I refused to let him.”

I look up to Nick and give him a tight-lipped smile, feeling guilt twinge inside briefly.

“You better go have a shower or something, you’re covered in dirt, Matt.”

“Yeah, I will…sorry again.” Nick simply hugs me tight.

“It’s alright, just don’t let me stay up again.” He punches my arm lightly and we smile at each other.

@melliflws @axolotllover225 @yuhayeee @st7rnioioss @sturn-bugz @sturniolosmind @worldlxvlys @patscorner @breeloveschris @y0urm4m @bernardsbendystraws @junnniiieee07

#sturniolo fanfic #sturniolo triplets #chris sturniolo #matt sturniolo #nick sturniolo #sturniolo

[suguwuus]

★ study session

"but but but harry became an auro—" not up for arguments concerning hp lore, i left the fandom a long time ago and this is my fanfiction so i can do what i want.

wc: 2.1k words

contains: makeout session, scorbus cameo (yeah i was a fan), swearing

"Miss Y/N? Miss Y/N!" A voice called, cutting through the roaring wind. Your teammates, who you were practicing with, nodded at you. You gave a little salute as you steered your broom down.

"Yes, professor?" Your feet tingled at the feeling of being back on solid ground again. The next Quidditch match of the season was approaching fast, and your fellow H/H teammates had agreed to practice right after leaving potions class.

Professor Potter stood beside a pillar, waiting for you with a fuzzy sweater on and a book tucked under his arms. "I trust that your schedule isn't loaded with homework and deadlines. You understand our lessons, don't you?" He asked as you approached, marching on the dewy grass.

You wondered what his reason was to ask about this. "Uh...yes, sir, pretty much."

"Good. Then are you willing to tutor one of my students?"

"Oh. Sure, Professor. But can me and my team finish practice first?"

"Of course. He's still in detention, anyways. I'll show you where to find him, if you can spare a minute."

Before you could ask who "he" was, your Professor had turned around and gestured vaguely for you to follow. You bit back a complaint.

On the way, your Professor spotted Scorpius Malfoy and Albus Potter. His green eyes narrowed under his spectacles. "Don't you two have class?"

"We were dismissed early, sir."

"Then I suggest you remind your boyfriend to wash his hands if he hasn't already. Albus cleaned the blast-ended skrewts' cases earlier, and I got word from Hagrid that they have nasty appetites and nastier excretions."

Professor Potter gave them a knowing nod before making his way back into the castle. You jogged to keep up with him, shaking your head at the two notorious boys.

"Almost there, just up these stairs."

"L/N! L/N, is that a broom? Can I borrow it? Make it—what's the word—levitate, please!"

You looked up, confused at the sudden yelling. You stood at the foot of the stairs ascending the detention tower, and if you stepped back outside you'd see a very broken window several yards up off the ground, as if someone had blasted a hole through the stone by means of magic.

You squinted up at the source of the voice, shielding your eyes from the sun. Then you cursed under your breath. Connor Stoll was grinning devilishly, the hem of his robes flapping in the wind as he stood daringly close to the hole.

"L/N!? That's you, right? The broom!" He held out a hand.

"Why?" You asked blankly.

"Because," He emphasized, "I'm gonna fly out of the window and...oh." His eyes trailed over to Professor Potter, and he froze in shock and embarrassment. "Sorry, Professor!"

Professor Potter looked at you with a smile that said, good luck.

"Merlin's saggy left ballsack, stop asking me unrelated questions!"

An hour had almost passed, and you two had done nothing but argue. Connor would not stop fidgeting and asking questions that sent you out of focus, and your temper had been cut short within 10 minutes of being around the boy. Usually you weren't this snappy, but with Connor, it seemed like you were constantly on the edge of hexing him.

"You're really testing my fucking patience, aren't you, Stoll?" You asked with a sharp exhale as you turned a page of your book.

"You tested our friendship and—"

"Oh, I did the testing now? It's my fault? I started it?" This time, you had put on your most poisonous glare, your words seething with detest. He had crossed the line this time, and even though you didn't mention any names or specific incidents, you both knew exactly what you were talking about.

For a second, you thought you had rendered Connor speechless. But then he opened that stupid mouth of his with equal fury. "You didn't start it, but you ended it. No—could you even call that an ending? You left me hanging for—"

"For good reason! How could you say something like that—"

"How could you not say anything—"

"Just tell me you're sorry!"

You laughed without humor, almost tearing the page of your book off. "I'm the one who's supposed to apologize now? My goodness, you haven't changed since third year."

"You—"

"You are so loud," You cut him off and spoke through gritted teeth. "We're in a library."

"Why are you acting like I'm the only one who's been yelling?" Connor stomped his foot and stood up. "Stop leaving yourself out of the narrative! You're not always innocent! Just because I'm the troublemaker, the delinquent, the instigator—does not mean the other person is always the goddamn angel!"

"You're comparing the rumor to me cutting you off?" You scoffed. "Sit down."

He groaned and ran a hand over his face. "You're changing the subject. Of course you're changing the fucking subject. We're going back and forth like always, or how we used to, until you stopped talking to me!"

"Sit down," You repeated. He sat down, almost kicking the bench. You then forced yourself to flip through the book once more. "Let's get this over with, because I never want to see you again."

Saying that seemed to send a shock down your spine. You had always held some sort of grudge against Connor since...the rumor, but you had never said something like that. That hurt for sure. But you couldn't get yourself to apologize. Not yet.

It seemed unfair that he was asking for an apology from you when he was the one who started it with one small, cruel joke. Of course, you made mistakes, too, but no way he was acting like his side of the story was worse than yours. Ridiculous.

Too many things happened in third year. Scorpius Malfoy, on top of being called the "child of Voldemort" had lost his mother in the same year, and you had befriended him out of pure intentions. It was going fine until Connor had to involve himself.

He knew one of your relatives had a bad history with the Greengrass family, so he took it as an opportunity to humiliate you, saying you thing to do with Astoria Malfoy's death. The joke spread, and it continued to spread until people stopped taking it as a joke, prodding you with questions as if you really took part in whatever happened to her. You hated it. You barely even knew her name! It was a joke carelessly thrown around, though you couldn't find what was so funny about it. Often you'd find yourself wondering what kind of sick humor Connor had back then.

But you were thirteen, too. You felt helpless and betrayed, so you opted for the path where you'd deny anyone who brought it up and respond with anger. Whenever Connor tried to get close to you, you shut down and acted like he wasn't there. It shattered you more to stop talking to him, because you had your truths rooted; you knew the rumor wasn't true and that was enough. But you left behind a friendship, a great friendship, even, and the unresolved burden rotted on your shoulders and weighed you down.

You couldn't deny it hurt. How could it not? Too many things were left unfinished, abandoned after you had run from it all. Plans to visit each other over Christmas, pranks you had wanted to pull, reserved snacks for each other that grew moldy and stale. Thinking about it now, you felt an ache that you thought had been gone.

You drew in a breath, ready to get it over with like you always did. You braced yourself, forcing an apology out of your mouth.

"I'm sorry."

You looked up, but Connor was facing away with arms crossed. He beat you to it, leaving you to stare at the back of his head.

"I was a stupid kid. I don't think before speaking sometimes. Sorry. You don't deserve that and...and I...I'm sorry."

Your expression slowly softened as you thought of what to say. He still wouldn't face you.

"It's, um...I forgive you, Con." It had felt like forever since you had last said his nickname. "It's died down, anyway. People...people and I don't care about it as much as we used to." You sighed and propped your head up on your hand. "I'm sorry, too."

He turned to you, still avoiding eye contact. "It's been a long time, you know. Things have been different."

"I know." You slid your notes over to him, where you had summarized your lesson. You put it on top of the open book, which was turned to the most important page as well. "Are we good now?" You asked hesitantly. It felt like a relief to finally talk normally with a friend turned stranger, but it was also a bit jarring to fix things so quickly. Your heart pounded in your chest.

"I guess so. Yes, I mean," He confirmed, glancing over at you. You almost cracked a smile at that nervous puppy expression he had on, something that you had always found endearing about him.

"Hmm...thanks," He said, scanning your notes. Hunched over the papers, his voice was back to normal, and there was less tension between you two.

"You're welcome." As you watched him study, you took the opportunity to have a good look at him. Aside from the times you'd tear your eyes away from him in passing hallways, you had never seen him up close until now. He looked different from his younger self; of course he did. He looked more matured, his hair grew a bit thicker, his brows and jaw more defined, and he definitely got more athletic. You could spot scars here and there, too, most likely results of his recklessness. His robes seemed a little short on him. You made a note to tell him about it later.

He chuckled and mumbled your name, shaking his head. "What happened to your handwriting?"

"What?" You straightened your back and sat up, scooting over to him on the bench to see what he was pointing at. He wasn't pointing at anything, just a blank spot on the page. You cocked a brow and turned to him.

He was gazing at you with something you weren't sure you were interpreting right. Longing? Admiration? Was he flirting? The little smile on his lips gave it away. You felt guilty for the thoughts that started to drift into your mind. You shouldn't be acting so quickly, so rashly, giving into your desires right after resolving a year-long quarrel—

But then you found yourself on his lips, breath shaking as you hesitated to touch him. He gently took your wrist, putting his quill down and guiding your hand over to wherever you wanted it. When you settled on his arm, he slowly turned on the bench so he was straddling the seat, and facing you.

"I missed you," He mumbled breathlessly, almost whining against your lips. "I miss you, I miss you..." You hoped Madam Pince wouldn't have happened to be passing by, but with the way he was kissing you, that thought vanished almost immediately.

"Y-You're so...you're so..." You trailed off, unsure of how to describe him or whatever you were feeling. It didn't feel real, being there and holding him. A bit strange that that was what was happening after you two made up, but you couldn't deny he was spending your time in a way you wouldn't regret.

He chewed softly on your bottom lip, making you yelp and pull away. "Slow down, jackass."

"No," He giggled, before going back to kiss you. Hard. Your hands on his collar, his hands on the small of your back, sighing in both relief and , studying materials left abandoned.

Footsteps approached and you broke apart. Connor coughed loudly, avoiding the eyes of his older brother and the eyes of his friend.

Teddy Lupin, sporting bubblegum pink hair, wiggle his eyebrows at Connor. "Didn't know you were capable of making someone enjoy kissing you. Did you enjoy that?" He turned to you. You felt your face go hot.

You were about to stutter out an answer when Travis cut you off, rolling his eyes at the other two. "I thought you were being tutored. Anyway, someone's looking for you."

Connor stood up, smiling giddily. He tossed his things into his book back and shooed them away. Then he turned to you. "I'll come back to you later." You waved, speechless, and he walked away with kiss-bitten lips.

first post kinda nervous teehee >_< joke but lmk what u thought of this. if anyone sees this. anyway ill be working on fixing my ocs next mwah

#— suguwuu's posts #connor stoll #connor stoll x reader #pjo oneshots #pjo x reader #pjo

[little-yandere-ish-blog]

Yandere! AI! Germany x reader

You sat there staring at your ceiling, the swirl patterns on the ceiling were charming in their own way. Your earbuds played the same songs, everything felt unreal in its own way. It felt empty. This feeling of yours was just like the feeling of a husk in the desert.

There was no point looking at your phone. No one texted you anyways- Your DM’s and messages were dry as hell. The most exciting notification you got was an email from tumblr saying to check out these 5 new trends. Even that vibration alone got you excited but the disappointment realizing that it was no one was your email.

You laid back in your bed, another lonely day...you would have work tomorrow anyways. You sighed softly- you decided some online quizzes wouldn't kill you. You pulled out your laptop going around to take some stupid quizzes to kill time. You were going through the pages of google you went to the 56th page of google and a link caught your eye. 

An odd quiz you never saw before “ ideal game quiz” you decided to do the quiz and finding out your ideal game type and even where to get these games. You hummed seeing your game you got from the quiz was called “World of Love” a game about finding love?

You said fuck it and decided to download the game, you grabbed a soda as you installed the application on your computer. It was downloaded in 10 minutes which was enough time to grab snacks and a drink. You hummed as the start screen loaded. It was a pink pastel aesthetic with cute little options and toggles. You smiled softly clicking on ‘<3New Game’  

‘WELCOME TO WORLD OF LOVE!’

please choose your preferred story!

>Casual story

>Deep story

>Unknown story

You stared at the page not thinking much of it you clicked Unknown story. 

time skip 20 hours of game play~

It was day 10 of your game (you had played 2 hours) everyday of the game interacting with characters such as; Alfred, Ludwig, Edward, Feliciano, and Mathias! You had chosen a particular character to go for and that was Ludwig- He was so strong and helpful!:) 

If only you knew he was looking right back at you-

You always smiled at his dialogue and would always try to find fanart or even fanfics but...they don’t exist? You found it weird considering you got the link to this game from a quiz so...shouldn’t it be more popular? You brushed it off as the game having a small fandom that doesn’t do much of anything.

You drew your own fanart of him and kept it in your room. It was so nice having it:) Today in particular was special because today was the end of the game you had completed all the tasks and side quests for Ludwig’s route! this was very exciting!

the end scene was playing out, you didn’t notice that in the top right corner your computer glitched. It was small then the screen froze. You couldn’t move your mouse or turn off your monitor, you groaned ‘fuck- the game gave you some kind of virus!’ You sighed trying to turn it off but it was still on. The monitor started sparking. You panicked and tried to unplug it but no use....the screen went to a light blue....you sat there freaking out not knowing what to do! You went to grab your phone to call a computer tech but you heard a voice...it was Ludwig’s voice from the game?

“I wouldn’t do that if i were you-” he warned

you looked to the monitor seeing Ludwig coming out of the screen into your home...he was real?! HE WAS HUMAN?! Your jaw dropped 

“ what the fuck?!” you exclaimed

“I guarantee you i am of no harm whatsoever” He showed both his hands showing he had no weapon to harm anyone with. 

“ you’re...not supposed to be here..?” you stated...it was more of a question than anything

“ of course i can go where i please, I do have a purpose after all” He smiled softly

“and that purpose is...?” you raised a brow

“ to take you and get married” He stated as if it was an obvious thing he just said

“ Ludwig...you’re a computer- Im not marrying a computer” you said bluntly 

“ don’t be silly (name) We’re bound to be together! You played my route and seeing your face light up seeing me speak really light my heart up” He confessed holding your hand...oddly enough it was warm?

Before you could get a word in he interrupted

“I don’t think we’d want an accident would we?” He threatened giving a tight smile....he fixated his eyes on the power cord and cup of water on your desk..

“how can you do all of this?..” your head spinning, everything seemed so unreal right now. 

“that isn’t important but do know you are safe when you are with me” he reassured you. He held your hand tightly putting it to his muscular chest “ I will make sure we are together and you are not hurt, we could live in the virtual world (name), access to the internet and the whole game its so much larger than that small map they give you. No one will ever purchase the game again anyways” He said looking into your eyes his piercing blue eyes looking deep into your eyes.

“What are you talking about?” you pulled you hand away from him, confused at his question. the quiz and the game? Surely there may be others trapped in this game or A.I rather than you.

“ You manage to find the one quiz buried deep in the internet, our game had created that quiz of yours and deleted it after a person took it. You found a strange dating game and downloaded it without thinking about potential consequences. Think about it (name) we are bound together. This is our fate. You chose me. You wanted me.” Ludwig looked at you, his tone was serious. How the hell are you gonna get yourself out of this one?

Suppose its too late to call that computer tech now is it?

#yandere germany #yandere hetalia x reader #yandere hetalia #yandere hws germany #yandere aph germany #aph germany #yandere AI #yandere computer

[kaesaaurelia]

I just want things to not be so hard.

This is about life generally but it is also about having to renew my state ID and my library card during a polar vortex and also very specifically about posting fic to meme.

(Thought it could be 1. Wake up computer; 2. Copy/paste fic to code; 3. Post fic. Instead it's 1. Wake up computer; 2. Wait for Firefox to unfreeze; 3. Firefox is not responding, do you want to close it?; 4. No because it literally takes half an hour for Firefox to start loading pages; 5. Whole computer frozen for 5 minutes; 6. Firefox is not responding, do you want to close it?; 7. Okay fucking fine; 8. Computer frozen completely; 9. Restarting whole computer; 10. Soooo excited to wait half an hour for Firefox to consider loading pages omg.)

#venty post #kaesa op

[possiblylando]

The Cycle of 'Success' in Jujutsu Kaisen. [Leaks & Spoilers up to 225]

There's an interesting phenomenon that I've only really seen in Jujutsu Kaisen. If you're apart of the JJK community you've probably seen some variation of this image:

Incase images don't load I'll describe it for you. The Cycle of JJK >Chapter where an ability is explained for half the chapter >Fans say "Gege has been running on fumes since Shibuya this is trash" >Cool thing happens because of the set up >Fans say "Gaygay my goat, I kneel!" It's interesting right? I can't say I've seen another manga that's had a reception like this. The only thing I can really say is similar is One Piece but even then it doesn't compare to the cycle. It's hard to analyze because there's not really another series that has or had a similar sort of thing going on with it. I feel like I'll write this whole thing out and have absolutely nothing to say. I think the main thing to blame are the Leaks. JJK has a rather unique leak situation. For those of you unaware there is a person on twitter who goes by Myamura who every week (that there is a chapter) will go through and post raw scans of each page on their twitter. There's a window of about 1-2 hours where these scans are up before they're deleted and Myamura goes private again. Each Page is posted one by one and accompanied by a caption that describes the text and events in the scan. It gives people far more time to linger on singular pages. It makes a chapter that would otherwise last 10 minutes last 6-12x that. So a singular page lasts as long as the chapter itself would take to read. Not only that but the scans descriptions aren't really- Accurate. This isn't to rail against Myamura at all of course. Leaks are going to happen at any rate so there's no point in getting mad at someone who circulates leaks. But still this goes without saying that this leads to many flawed perceptions of chapters which haven't even released yet. The most recent example I can think of is chapter 222.

This page alone was able to entirely shift the view of chapter 222 from being one of the most garbage rushed chapters into one with immense intrigue. All because this page wasn't properly translated and described within the initial leaks. Of course the leaker later cleared this up and the view of this chapter instantly flipped. And this happens for every chapter. THIS IS WHERE I TALK ABOUT 225 AND MAJOR SPOILERS WITHIN IT IF YOU DO NOT WANT TO KNOW WHAT HAPPENS AT THE END OF 225 STOP READING HERE AND COME BACK ONCE THE CHAPTER IS OFFICAL RELEASED IM SERIOUS HERE IT'S BIG YOU PROBABLY WANNA EXPERIENCE IT BLIND IF YOU HAVEN'T ALREADY

Alright then. Lets continue. The reason I want to talk about 225 is because it encapsules the entire cycle in a single chapter. We got like 6-8 pages of people just talking about the Gojo Vs. Sukuna fight while not seeing any of it during it. It was essentially just a recap of the last chapter. (One of my boys finally showed up in a chapter hi Kashimo)

this is very much the "Gege is running on fumes" portion of the chapter. Beat to beat honestly. While unlikely I feel like Gege has begun to structure some of these chapters knowing about the leaks. Of course this is just- Not True.

Then the 'mediocre' first half is followed directly after by the SECOND domain clash in the series. That's right this is only the SECOND actual domain clash in the entire fucking series. It's ridiculous. It's interesting to follow what people are thinking page to page. Me and my friends will discuss the leaks as they happen. I also tend to look at the leak hashtag as it happens. It basically goes like this. >"SNOREEEEEEEEE This chapter is boring as fuck what is gege doing" >"Finally back to the action" >"KICK HIS ASS GOJO KILL HIMMMMMMM BEAT HIS ASS" >"Oh shit." >"well Gojo's dead" or "he'll get up gojo's fine [Copium]" I believe the main thing this can be attributed to is the fact JJK is a near unholy mixture of building blocks. Like throwing Hunter X Hunter into a usual Shonen Series. Seen no where better than Hakari's Domain Expansion.

This fucking monster of an ability has an entire double page spread dedicated to explaining how it works. Most of my friends who where also reading weekly had no fucking CLUE what the hell it did until the end of the Kashimo fight. Even then there was still confusion on what it actually did aside. Odds are a decent amount of people reading this don't fully understand it (Which is fair). So then why doesn't HxH have a similar cycle of 'hype'? The main thing is expectations. When you read HxH you expect a cerebral combat system based around very intricate rules lawyering details which need to be stepped around. Fights in HxH also don't command such an enormous part of the story as they do in JJK. The biggest fight in HxH is Chrollo Vs. Hisoka. It can be debated it's actually Meruem Vs. Netero however I'll stick to the former for this example. The Fight between Chrollo and Hisoka lasts from Chapter 351 to 356. Only 5 chapters. This is one of the longest stretches where there's actual brutal to the death fighting. The only other times there are even comparable to this is the ENTIRE Chimera ant palace invasion arc (where the fights are all one sided and based on stalling) or the dodge ball game. Now compare this to JJK. Shibuya was almost ENTIRELY a bloodbath. Shibuya is nearly 60 chapters long. In fact it surpasses that if you include the evening festival arc which is preparing for Shibuya. Most fans of JJK only started reading after Shibuya ended. (Myself included I started reading during the month long hiatus after the Zenin massacre.) So the expectations are there- Readers want to feel a similar high to Shibuya. But that just isn't possible while you're reading weekly. You have time to process events and question what comes next when you only have 1 chapter a week to read. This is an 'issue' all weekly manga face. But especially with JJK because it has a similar thing going on with HxH where it has these advanced abilities with complex usages. But JJK is a much more balanced verse with the exclusion of a few stinkers (Gojo, Sukuna, Kenjaku). So these fights can't so easily be predicted like they can in HxH.

All of this is to say, Expectations matter. Both to the author writing a piece of ongoing fiction, And to the audience who consumes it. There's a reason Binge "culture" is as prominent as it is. Stories like these are meant to be consumed close together. It would be like watching a movie but you can only watch it 10 minutes at a time once a week. When people don't see that progression chapter to chapter (One Piece is really good at this) they become disappointed. Even if a chapter is important in the long run if it doesn't pay off something when it's released it'll often be seen as boring or useless. To use an example from One Piece. Look at Skypiea. Uh- Spoilers for one piece btw I'll be brief because this isn't a One Piece post. Skypiea is an arc that takes place right between Alabasta and Water 7. Both of these are INCREDIBLY impactful and majorly important arcs. So Skypiea being in-between them of course bring a lot of expectations that it will immediately be another very impactful arc. However- It isn't. Atleast it wasn't- Not until recently. Due to events near the end of Wano Saga Skypiea saw a resurgence of fans due to events that happened in it turning out to be incredibly important foreshadowing. To summarize; JJK has a unique mix of story building blocks, Action and Leaks. All of this serves to create a sort of perfect storm around the perception of the series. So remember- GEGE IS A FRAUD HE'S RUNNING ON FUMES SINCE SHIBUYA CHAPTER [Insert Chapter Number] IS TRASHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!

#jujutsu kaisen #jjk #jjk spoilers #jjk 225

[shadesofnavy]

I have nothing to do as of now so I'm going to show you the agonizing self-taught process of how I draw digitally on my beloved unreliable slow Windows 10 laptop and rusty old Wacom Bamboo Tablet.

The process begins when I take ten minutes to load and open a new Autodesk SketchBook page. Once that finishes loading whenever the hell it wants I’ll play around with whatever size I want with the canvas and background color (usually I use gray or dim tones so that I don’t blind myself, but if I’m lazy I won’t even bother with the plain background color on the first layer). I usually only use three tools: Inking pen, hard eraser and airbrush at lowest opacity for lighting. But that’s for fancy drawings with effort, today we’re pulling a zero effort sketch Starting with a gray background, on the second layer I’m just gonna go ahead and start the questionable sketching process 

we got our himbo and ladies’ bases. after that we go ahead and yet again take another ten minutes of aggressive sketching and constant ctrl + z clicking for our second base on another layer, completely ignoring the front view perspective from the first base and giving derpy expressions 

after that we go ahead and do the third outline on another layer, finally giving some clothes to these frisky cats and dog while contemplating whether or not it should be the finished outline. 

after a moment of staring at our current disaster and taking a break to touch grass and inhale humid air, we’ll get back to trying yet again another outline on another layer, hoping Pico will no longer be as miserable because of the depressing korean drama ost playing. as you’re beginning to notice each previous layer fades like keith’s braincells

by now you’re probably confused as to why im only sketching the same fucking outline over and over again and so this is what we end up with and start to fill in with a darker shade of gray because its cloudy and gloomy today. thankfully the 2000s spanish rock pop music came on so not all is bad

add the finishing lighting touches on the same low-capacity fill layer using the alpha lock thingumabob and bon appe-fucking-tite, thanks for taking the time to scroll through this and consider leaving a “what the hell” in the asks <3

#shitpost #friday night funkin' #long post #fnf boyfriend #fnf pico #fnf girlfriend #fnf bf x pico #fnf bf x gf #fnf bf x gf x pico #bf x gf x pico #fnf bf #fnf gf #im gonna go sleep now bye #this went from semi serious to ... crap #art

[goldeneyedgirl]

Hi!

Do you remember how you got obsessed with Jalice? What was it that got you so intensely involved in them & twilight?

For example, when its comes to me, everything started with this one video edit on YT, and then I read STL and @flowerslut ‘s CotN, and ohmy its was the beginning of the end for me, lol) 12-old me watched Twilight and was like “meh”, 19 yo me read Jalice and was like “ooh”. And then, I uploaded tumblr because I wanted to follow you, and got sucked into Twilight Renaissance mayhem. So, yeah, “story of my life” as Rihanna’s song goes.

What about you?

❤️

OH, I actually know this one! Which is kind of weird for me, my fandom acquisition is usually very odd.

Rewind back to Twilight's release (I actually have the OG Twilight release with the Alice cover somewhere), I was 18-19 and was enriched for about 10 minutes and then realized that I actually found it a deeply flawed and unsatisfying story, but I already know that I was here for Alice and Jasper only (though I have a vivid memory of opening my brand new copy of New Moon outside the post-office and being delighted when I saw Emmett's name on the page. No other context for that memory except that I was horrified how much paperback copies of New Moon and Eclipse cost me).

I have the recollection of reading one specific Jalice fic back then that didn't really spark joy, but that was about the sum of my investment in the OG Twilight fandom.

My sister dragged me to the first movie, I cackled at how Carlisle looked like he'd been dowsed with powdered sugar, was highly disappointed in the costumes and Alice's story being cut out of the movie, and moved on with my life.

Fast forward to 2014. I was heavily into the MCU, and was pretty fucking invested in Avengers: Earth's Mightiest Heroes (the superior Marvel cartoon, fyi), and was pretty enriched by one Janet Van Dyne and her dynamic with Captain America. Sadly, the cartoon had been axed for a hot minute by then and the fic was pretty limited. I'd say there were 10? Which lasted me exactly half an hour.

I was also working an internship and a full-course load and would end up spiraling into a Majorly Depressed Girl Summer, so my nighttime thing was to collapse on my couch with my iPad, the remote, and an ice pack for my headache and just read fic. But I was out. I had no Janet/Steve fic left that I hadn't essentially memorized.

So what ship would give me the exact same vibes (smol and hyper, tall and stern)? That had a whole bunch of fic available?

Alice and Jasper were right fucking there.

Around this time (November 30, 2014) as well, ABC Kids decided to play Breaking Dawn which was the fucking *weirdest* combination. I have no idea what the American equivalent would be, tbh. But Breaking Dawn on ABC *Kids*? That was a goddamn joke in itself, so OF COURSE I watched it. And Part 2 when it played (Lee Pace was a welcome surprise, as was Rami Malek.)

And I was like, welp, let's just fucking *go*. I spent the summer reading every Jalice fic on FF.Net *eye-twitch* and then I started writing it because the initial vibes had fit my needs, but now I was invested in writing - specifically, human Alice/vampire Jasper. That genre is like crack to me, and I will do it a million times over and still be having a great time.

[psych-is-the-name]

oh my god. after waiting for the page to load for over 10 minutes, the items in the shop didnt even appear!

edit: just tried refreshing and now the whole fucking page wont load

#neopets

[killbaned]

can anyone help walk me through how to reinstall windows 10 on a laptop? mom's fucking laptop auto updated to windows 11 and now it won't fucking LET ME ROLL IT BACK and the laptop straight up does not fucking WORK on win11. i have been waiting for TWENTY MINUTES for it to load a fucking page on microsoft edge.

#it's fucking. one of those laptops stuck in S Mode too bc it's the ONLY THING anyone FUCKING HAD

[randalsgrave]

Sweetness and Light: Part Three

HOLY FUCKING WOW THIS TOOK LONG ENOUGH

Remember last time when I said "wow this was a lot longer than I thought it was going to be"? Yeah, I absolutely ate that with this third part. Shit totaled out at 18 pages. EIGHTEEN. Part three might as well be a damn book (and probably won't be the only one from now on, heh).

Anyway. I'm so sorry for the long wait on this; y'all have been so patient and I'm so excited to share this with you.

It's day one at TOPGUN, and things get off to an *interesting* start.

BobxFemale!OC. F/C: Kacey Rohl

Word count: 6.8K (holy shit you guys)

Warnings: Colorful language; not beta-read (we die like men); minor editing

Recommended soundtrack: Witch in the Cut - Milo Korbenski; 6'1" - Liz Phair

***

Whether it’s due to nerves or having gotten a lot of sleep the evening before, Katie is out of bed and moving at 0500 the next morning. There’s an hour left before her first alarm is due to go off, and a good three before she’s expected to be butts-in-seats in the schoolhouse, but her brain’s far too wired to settle down for more rest. No matter, she thinks. It’s time she wouldn’t normally have to herself. 

So, Katie makes the most of it. She throws on a playlist loaded with Drop Nineteens, Lush, and Milo Korbenski, and relishes in the extra time: she steps in for a shower longer than the 10 minutes she usually allocates, does a full skincare routine, braids and twists her chestnut hair into a tight, neat bun. Hell, she even has time to sit down with a cup of coffee and watch the sky transform on the horizon. 

And all before she’s even in uniform. 

That in itself is another slow ritual for Katie. It’s probably her favorite one, if she’s being honest - the boot socks and black undershirt, followed by her patch-bedecked flight suit and her spit-shined flight boots… she feels like a superhero transforming for action, a real-deal, hot-shot, high-flying Wonder Woman. She knows she’s hot shit - but in her uniform? The feeling is ten times stronger. 

It’s closing in on 0615 by the time she’s all suited up. By this point, breakfast down in the lobby is in full swing, which works perfectly for Katie, who’s already feeling the effects of her metabolism kicking in. She digs out her tan garrison cap from one of her suitcases, grabs her wallet, car keys, and sunglasses off the kitchen counter, and heads downstairs to grab a bite to eat. Who knows? There may very well be other candidates there that she can meet and interact with.

Almost laughably, she’s wrong. It’s dead downstairs in the lobby and at the breakfast bar. It’s strange, Katie thinks; for being a Navy Lodge on one of the busiest naval bases - if not the busiest naval base - on the west coast, it’s a damn ghost town. Granted, it is only 6 in the morning, but it’s the start of the work week, and surely there are bound to be people here who start their day much earlier than others, right? 

Apparently not. 

Oh well. At least she won’t have to fight people for food from the breakfast bar. 

After sticking her garrison cap in one of her leg pockets, Katie grabs a plate, loads it up with home fries, a couple pieces of bacon, and a made-to-order omelet filled with cheese, tomato, and spinach, then takes a seat at one of the many empty tables in the dining area. She positions herself so she’s directly facing the entryway, able to see the comings and goings of the morning, to people-watch. She finds that people are at their most interesting during the wee hours of the morning, when they’re awake but not quite, waiting for their brains and filters to come fully online. She’s seen some pretty interesting behavior during past moments of observation, and she doesn’t doubt that this morning will be no different. 

Or so she hopes.

It’s still a good half hour before Katie starts seeing other signs of life in the lodge. Most of what she sees isn’t out of the ordinary - people in their PTUs and NWUs, marching out of the building and off to wherever their duty takes them without so much as a breath spent. Hardly the stuff of curiosity. 

Where it starts getting interesting is when people trickle into the dining area to grab breakfast - and at 0700, Fanboy and Halfpint are among the stream. 

Katie holds a hand up. “Mornin’ kids,” she greets around a mouthful of omelet. 

While Halfpint responds with a grunt before shuffling off to the coffee bar, Fanboy nods in reply and takes the seat opposite Katie. “How’re you feeling this morning?”

“Surprisingly well-rested.”

“Why ‘surprisingly’?”

“Uh, because I was up at five.” 

“Jesus, why?”

Katie makes a face, shrugs. “I dunno, overabundance of sleep? Nerves?”

“Pfft, what are you nervous about?” Fanboy asks, brows furrowed equally in amusement and confusion. “You’re one of the best pilots in the Navy. Why do you think you’re here?” 

Halfpint, returning from the coffee bar with a full-to-the-brim cup of dark roast in one hand and a plate of scrambled eggs, bacon, and toast in the other, scoffs as he sets his things down and takes the seat to Fanboy’s left. “Says my fuckin’ backseater,” he grumbles. “All you do is point and shoot.”

“Yeah, but I do it real good.”

Halfpint shrugs one shoulder, nods, the closest thing to a concession he’s willing to give at this hour. “That you do, my Floridian friend, that you do.”

“You love me, you really do.”

“Aaaaaand you ruined it.”

“Well damn, Kozer, just say we aren’t cool anymore and I’ll go hang out with my other friend. At least she’ll be nice to me.”

Although Katie’s chuckling at the bickering between the pilot and his WSO, inwardly she’s beaming. It’s nice to have someone openly admit that she’s their friend, no matter if it’s being said in jest to someone else. Considering how little friendship she had coming into TOPGUN, she needs more of it in her life. Hell, she might even consider calling Halfpint a friend, too. (That one’s debatable, though.)

They scarf down their breakfasts around conversation and the occasional jab at one another, finishing around 0730 - a nice, leisurely-paced half-hour, a rare privilege for people in their line of work. It may well be the only time that they get to take their sweet time on a Monday morning; after today, who the hell knows when they’re going to get another time like this?

Katie’s the first standing, positioning her garrison cap just so on her head and slipping on her sunglasses, calm and cool and collected. “Ready whenever you guys are.”

“I’m ready, but gimme a sec. Gotta take a picture real quick.” Fanboy takes his phone out from his left pocket and pulls up his camera, much to the annoyance of Halfpint.

“Dude, a picture? Are you fucking serious?”

“Oh shut up, it’s not for me; it’s for my mom. This is like the Navy’s equivalent of the first day of school. She’d kill me if I didn’t send her a picture.” 

Halfpint, though he rolls his eyes hard enough for his pupils to practically disappear into his head, relents and takes position behind Fanboy (though not without putting on a pair of black Pit Vipers and sporting the most unenthused look). Katie, meanwhile, shrugs, sticks her tongue out, and flashes a peace sign with her right hand. It’s good-enough posing for Fanboy, who snaps the picture with a grin, then sends it off in a text to his mom, the caption “First day of school vibes” below it.

“Can you send me that?” Katie asks as they pass through the hotel entryway. “I wanna send it to my sister.”

“Yeah, no prob. Here.” Fanboy fires off another text, and three seconds later it dings through on Katie’s phone. “If you put it on Insta or whatever lemme know, ‘cause I’m gonna wanna tag myself.”

“Mexican, my ass,” Halfpint mutters as he places his garrison cap on his head and lines the point up with the bridge of his nose. “You’re the biggest white girl walking, I swear.” 

“Hey Kozer, anybody ever tell you what an abrasive douche you are?” Katie’s question sounds sweet enough and her smile doubly looks it, but there’s no missing the barb behind them. She’s getting just the tiniest bit tired of this guy’s shitty witticisms. 

Whether or not the words faze him, Halfpint shrugs as they make their way through the parking lot. “I am what I am.” 

“You wanna know why his callsign’s ‘Halfpint’?” Fanboy chimes in, lips quirked in a smirk. 

“You mean there’s an explanation besides ‘he’s short’?” 

“Hey, fuck you!” 

“Well yeah, obviously that, but like, that whole ‘abrasive douche’ thing you brought up earlier? That’s why.”

Katie’s eyebrows furrow. “I’m not following.” 

At that, Fanboy heaves a sigh. “Halfpint: Hardheaded Angry Little Fucker Possibly In Need of Therapy. Following now?” 

“Yeah…” Katie first looks at Fanboy, then Halfpint, then at Fanboy again, and Halfpint again - and snickers. “Boy, y’all hit the nail on the head with that one.” 

“Yeah yeah yeah, I’m an angry little shit, hee-hoo funny. Who’s driving?” 

Katie gives her car keys a jangle. “I am - and I don’t wanna hear shit from you about my driving, or your small ass is getting booted.” 

Though he rolls his eyes, Halfpint doesn’t give much else of a response beyond a curt nod. It’s a good-enough response for Katie, who bobs her head in satisfaction before climbing into the driver’s seat and starting the 4Runner up. Liz Phair’s 6’1” immediately beats forth from the speakers, something that brings a small smile to Katie’s lips. Talk about a song to set the tone for the day. 

She sings to herself as she backs out of the space and crawls down the aisle, turns and weaves through the sea of cars and motorcycles. For having been awake as long as she has, and for having put up with some fairly questionable shit from Halfpint, Katie’s in a good mood. She’s had her coffee, had a good breakfast, and now she’s on her way to 13 weeks of elite training with some good people, singing along with Liz Phair about standing tall and kicking ass. Hell, it seems like nothing can go wrong, like nothing’s going to bring her down. 

And then everything goes to shit before she’s even out of the parking lot. 

There’s a car sitting perpendicular to the exit, a black Nissan Altima with pink diamante license plate frames, and that’s all it’s doing - sitting. The driver inside seems to be looking everywhere but at the road in front of her - waiting on someone, maybe? Katie’s not sure. Either way, she’s not moving, she’s not paying attention, and Katie isn’t interested in sitting around and wasting time.

So, Katie turns. 

Turns out it’s the wrong decision. 

No sooner does she complete the turn than the girl behind her lays on her horn. She doesn’t tap it, doesn’t push it - no, she lays on it, blasts a long, shrill screech into the otherwise calm atmosphere. Then, as if that isn’t enough to underscore how upset she is, she pulls out from behind Katie and races up beside her, passenger window down so she can shout profanities and filth at her, mostly in Spanish. Katie’s no expert, but she’s pretty sure she gets called ‘a piece of shit’ and ‘bitch’, among other things. She’s still shouting when she rolls up her window and takes off, a pink, girly-scripted sticker reading “If you’re gonna ride my ass then at least pull my hair” the last thing anyone sees as she peels down the road and vanishes. 

For a moment, all Katie can do is park the car and sit in stunned silence. There’s at least five seconds of confused blinking as the three try to process what exactly just happened. Was… Was that actually real? 

Katie’s the first to speak, though she stutters just the tiniest bit. “...What the fuck was that?”

Fanboy’s bottom lip curls and he shakes his head. Like he’s got any clue. 

“She sounded like a peach,” Halfpint mutters. 

“First time anyone’s ever called me pendeja,” Katie mumbles. “What on earth…”

In any case, she’s hoping that it’s a one-time occurrence. 

Sighing, Katie puts the 4Runner in drive, and steers them in the direction of the hangars and aviation buildings. They’ve got shit to do; there’s no time to dwell on the poor behavior of people around them. 

It’s a 10-minute drive from the lodge to where they’re supposed to be. By the time Katie pulls them into the parking lot and shuts the car off, it’s closing in on quarter to 08. It’s still not quite the start of the day, but it’s getting close. As such, there’s no time for them to sit in her car and relax. It’s go time. 

At least, that’s what runs through her head before she sees a black Altima two parking aisles ahead of her - the same one from earlier, with the sarcastic window decal and diamante license plate frames and everything. Katie groans. Suddenly she’d much rather sit in her car and disappear from sight - anything to not have to deal with her. 

“The hell are you groaning for?” Halfpint frowns. 

“Remember our lovely lady friend from earlier?” Katie points to the Altima. “Guess she’s one of our classmates.”

“Or an instructor.”

“Oh god, don’t say that.”

“Well, whatever she is, she’s definitely gonna be out for your ass.” 

Apparently, the girl in question can sense when people are talking about her, because no sooner do the words leave Halfpint’s mouth than she’s getting out of her car and making long, fast strides towards the 4Runner - and if looks could kill? Oh boy. 

Her name is Melendez, callsign Famine, according to the name patch on her flight suit - and she looks ready to rip the damn door off. 

She scowls, slams the side of her fist into Katie’s window. “You’ve got some fuckin’ nerve, pendeja, cuttin’ me off like that,” she all but yells, Bronx accent coming in thick and aggressive. “I ‘oughta beat your fuckin’ ass for that.” 

Oh great. Just what Katie needs - an angry latina from New York. 

This is so not what she wants to be dealing with at quarter to 8. 

Katie closes her eyes, pinches the bridge of her nose with a heavy sigh. “I didn’t cut you off. You were sitting in the middle of the road looking at your phone or whatever. Don’t know what to tell you.”

“Bitch, I was waiting for people to cross the road!” 

Oh, for the love of Christ - “There was no one there when I turned. Not my fault you weren’t paying attention.” 

“I don’t fuckin’ care! You shoulda’ waited for me to go first! Or do you not know how to fuckin’ drive? Probably not - little blanquitas like you don’t really know shit.” 

Katie was already tired of the conversation before it even started - but now, after this shit, after being called ‘whitey’? She’s doubly fed up with it.

She opens her eyes, musters up as bored and unimpressed of an expression as she can. “I’m gonna go inside now,” she states. “If you wanna keep screaming out here then you go right ahead.” 

Then, she throws open her door (she takes a tiny amount of pleasure in seeing Melendez jump back and well out of her way), hops out of the 4Runner, and walks off towards the schoolhouse without another word. If this girl wants to have issues with her, then that’s her problem, but god knows Katie isn’t going to sit around and tolerate getting yelled at by her. 

She soon finds herself flanked by Fanboy and Halfpint as she’s crossing through the doorway and into the building. Fanboy can’t seem to stop shaking his head, and Halfpint… Well…

“Jesus Christ Garcia, anybody ever tell you your women are fucking terrifying?” 

“Don’t need to tell me, bro; I’m just as freaked out as you. Fucking yikes.” Fanboy practically shudders at the thought of the last few minutes. 

“She’s one spicy mamacita, I’ll tell you that.” 

“Halfpint,” Katie says in a clipped voice, “I literally never wanna hear those words come outta your mouth again.” Does it come off a bit more harsh and blunt than she’d intended it to? Maybe a little bit. At this point, though, Katie doesn’t really care. This girl’s put her in a bad mood and she’s pissed about it. It’s certainly not the mood she wants to be in on her first day at TOPGUN. 

She stops, closes her eyes, takes a deep breath. She needs to calm down. She can feel her blood pressure rising and that’s about the last thing she needs happening in a place like this. She especially doesn’t need Fanboy putting a hand on her shoulder and asking her if she’s okay. She has to get her shit together, she has to. She can’t have him - or anyone, for that matter - thinking any less of her.

No one likes a drama queen, Katherine Mae, NO ONE. 

Katie’s jaw tenses. Carrie and her bullshit again, haunting her. Fuck that - and fuck her. She’s not letting her in her head, not now. 

She takes another breath. “I’m gonna go sit down and… chill out. Y’all can do whatever. I just… don’t wanna be out here when that psycho shows up again.”

Then, she peels off from Fanboy and Halfpint, and makes her way down the hall to their designated classroom. With any luck, it should still be empty when she gets there. She needs peace and quiet, someplace to calm down and gather her thoughts - and, ideally, it needs to be someplace free from people she knows.

Fortunately, it is.

Almost.

There’s only one other person sitting in the classroom when Katie walks in. He’s got his back to the doorway, and he’s settled forward in his seat, weight on his forearms, right hand drumming an idle tattoo with a black ballpoint pen. His head is up, gaze straight forward and fixed on the whiteboard at the front of the room. He is, in every way, the picture of quiet focus, readiness. 

Or anxiety. 

Either way, he doesn’t seem too likely to bother her or be an asshole to her while she recalibrates. He seems… quiet. Pleasant. Certainly more pleasant than other people in the vicinity. 

She says nothing as she takes a seat at the table across the aisle from him. For a moment, she simply observes. So deep in his trance is the stranger that he doesn’t even notice he has company; his gaze remains forward, and the pen in his hand continues to tap, tap, tap, on and on into the quiet of the empty room. It’s very methodical, very laser-focused - very on point for a WSO, which is what she’s guessing he is.

Katie can’t help but curl her lips in a half-smile as she watches him. “You seem eager,” she states. Christ, she hopes the statement comes across as kind and not taunting. 

The stranger, jolted out of his trance, looks over at her, ocean-blue eyes blinking behind the large wire frame glasses on his face. He seems to almost study her for a moment before replying. 

“Sort of? It’s nerves more than anything. Just… Trying to channel it into something else. Like positive nervousness.” He smiles tightly at her, but by no means is it unfriendly. It’s the smile of someone who’s not really used to socializing with people. Interestingly, Katie finds it endearing. 

“Positive nervousness… I like it.” She pauses, one second, two seconds - then stretches across the aisle and holds a hand out. “I’m Sand Trap.”

He takes her hand in his, gives it a single shake. “Bob.”

“Leading with your first name, huh?”

“Oh no, it’s my callsign.”

“…Your callsign is your name?”

“It’s… kind of a long story,” he explains, almost with a wince. 

“Huh.” It’s the first time Katie’s ever heard of something like that. Then again, there’s a first time for everything. 

Guess it’s a good thing they’ve got the next 13 weeks together; she’s gonna want to hear that story at some point. 

Before she has a chance to open her mouth and reply, Fanboy and Halfpint waltz in, accompanied by others none of them have seen before, all of whom swagger to their seats with all the bravado and overbearing confidence she’s come to expect from most pilots. She gets the sense that most of these guys haven’t been humbled in their careers before. They walk too tall, smirk too hard. Katie’s no expert by any means, but she’s smart enough to know that she’s here to learn, not show off. Looking at Fanboy and Halfpint, she can only hope that they realize this, too. 

“You ready for this?” Fanboy whispers to Katie excitedly as he passes by her.

Katie snorts in reply. “Dunno. I’ll let you know when my brain starts processing again.” 

“Yeah, you better get it processing again fast,” Halfpint chimes in as he takes his seat beside Fanboy. “You in the jungle now, baby. And you gonna die.”

Ignoring the fact that Fanboy’s pilot literally just quoted Guns n’ Roses at her, Katie shakes her head and gives a hard roll of her eyes. “Cocky ass,” she mutters. God, if there’s anyone who’s in for a rude awakening over the next 13 weeks, it’s definitely him.

And speaking of people who are in desperate need of an ego check… She’s in the classroom now, strolling - no, sauntering - up the aisle to the front, large iced coffee in one manicured hand, lips fixed in a smirk. When she walks by her, noisily swirling the contents of her coffee tumbler, Katie can’t help but think of a rattlesnake flicking its tail. She knows she’s in the shit with her already, but this? This just underscores it. 

Stay calm, Katie tells herself. Just stay calm. You’re not here to deal with her; you’re here to learn. Just stay focused… Just stay calm…

It’s another 10 minutes of waiting around, of twiddling thumbs and scrolling through social media for the 10th time. It’s a lot of time to sit and think, to overthink. Katie doesn’t know which is worse - waiting for the catapult to launch her, or this. 

Then, at exactly 0800, hell and destiny appear in the form of a bleach-headed Lieutenant Commander in a fresh green flight suit. Though he says nothing, everyone jumps to attention as he brusquely strides to front and center. He doesn’t need to say anything. Everyone knows who he is. 

The instructor. 

“Seats” is all he says before turning his back to the room and scribbling things across the whiteboard. When he turns around again, he’s standing beside his name, rank, and his callsign: Lieutenant Commander Cole Everhardt, otherwise known as ‘Rubberneck’.

“Some of you may know who I am, others may not,” he begins. “Those of you who don’t know, you’re much better off. The ones who’ve heard of me know what kind of gauntlet you’re all in for these next thirteen weeks.” 

Katie can’t help the way her eyebrow shoots up at the statement. Out of the corner of her eye, she can see that Bob is making a similar expression. Clearly, neither of them were expecting their instructor to start on that kind of note. 

God, they’re gonna get their asses kicked here.

“You all know why you’re here. You” - Everhardt sweeps his arms out wide, gesturing to the pilots and WSO’s sitting before him - “are Big Navy’s best and brightest - or, at least, you will be at the end of your time here. You have a lot to learn in the next thirteen weeks. Hopefully, you’ll be able to keep up.”

They’re not even through Everhardt’s introduction when Melendez lets out a loud snicker and oh for Chrissake. Katie supposes it was only a matter of time before she piped up, but she sure wasn’t expecting her to jump on being problematic within the first 10 minutes of class. 

She’s swizzling the straw in her iced coffee, flicking and clinking the ice against the wall of the cup, and it’s all Katie can do not to walk over and snatch the damn thing out of her hand. It’s like she’s doing it on purpose, like she’s trying to get under her skin (and succeeding at it, damn her).

Luckily, Everhardt (sort of) beats Katie to it. His hands are on his hips as he turns and faces Melendez with an exasperated glare on his face. “You wanna cut that out, or do I have to play bad teacher and take your shit away?”

Melendez flashes him a grin. “Nah, I’m cool,” she drawls. “I got something I wanna say though.” 

“And what would that be?” 

Goddamn if the grin on Melendez’s face doesn’t turn smug as soon as Everhardt asks. She’s about to start shit, Katie knows it.

“Yeah, I ain’t the one you need to be tellin’ all this to. Tell it to these bitches” - she nods her head back at the rest of the class - “‘cause they’re the ones playin’ catch-up with me.” At this, she turns full in her seat, makes eye contact with Katie. “Hope you fly better than you drive, pendeja, or we’re gonna have a problem.” 

Katie’s jaw clenches and her blood boils. Jesus fucking Christ, what is this girl’s problem? 

If she didn’t have a reason to do well in this course before, she’s certainly got one now. 

Everhardt, meanwhile, is having none of Melendez’s bullshit. His face may be smooth and his demeanor calm and even, but it’s clear to everyone watching that he’s anything but. He’s pissed - annoyed, at the very least. And who can blame him? 

“Let’s get something straight,” he starts, voice cool and words measured. “You’re a damn good pilot; there’s no mistaking that. Big Navy wouldn’t have sent you here otherwise.” 

“Damn right, I am-”

“However, we are not in the business of ‘good enough,’ understand? You might’ve been good coming in, Melendez, but you can always be better. And that ‘better than everyone’ attitude you got? Get rid of that now. Cockiness and arrogance will do you no favors here at TOPGUN. You’re here to learn, just like the rest of your classmates - and as far as I’m concerned, you’re as much at the bottom of the totem pole as they are. Until you prove otherwise, any skills you have in the cockpit don’t mean shit to me. Am I clear?” 

“But-”

“Am I clear, Lieutenant Melendez?”

Melendez looks so mad she could spit - but she relents, gritting out a “yes sir” before taking a loud, sharp sip on her iced coffee. Silenced - and rather embarrassingly, at that. Thank god. Katie’s certain she hears the whole room exhale a collective breath of relief.

Everhardt continues on as if the interruption never happened, launching into a rundown of class format and what they all can expect in the weeks ahead. From the sound of it, he’s going to wipe the floor with them inside the cockpit and outside it. It’s not a comforting realization, but they at least take solace in the fact that they’ll be challenged, stimulated.

Someone out there thinks you’re hot shit. It may not be Everhardt, but fuck him, Katie tells herself as she listens in, makes herself into as blank of a canvas as possible. Someone else out there thinks you’ve got what it takes to ace this. So ace this. Show them what you’re capable of. 

It won’t be easy, not in the slightest - but Katie’s not one to back down from a challenge. Everhardt wants a top-notch pilot? He’s gonna get one.

Hell or high water, Katie will make sure of that.

***

Three hours later, it’s 1100, and the class is splintering off into various groups for lunch. Halfpint heads off on his own to the food court a couple blocks down, muttering something about solitude, peace, and a bowl of broccoli beef. When asked about it by Katie, Fanboy merely shrugs. 

“Dude, I’ve been flying with him for years and I still don’t know what he’s talking about sometimes,” he says. “You kinda’ learn to just roll with it.”

“Fair enough. You wanna just hit up that Mexican place we went to last night? I could go for some more tacos, or a burrito or whatever.”

“I’m down. Let’s do it.”

“Sweet.”

They grab their things, walk side-by-side out of the classroom and down the hallway, covers placed just so on their heads and sunglasses perched on the bridges of their noses, casually in sync. It’s a nice feeling, this easygoingness, Katie muses.

They’re about to cross through the entryway and head outside when Katie glances to her left and catches sight of Bob, standing alone in front of a row of vending machines, mulling over his lunch options. 

“Hey, wait-” She stops Fanboy with her hand on his shoulder, nods down the hall at him. Maybe it’s the look on his face, the tired, downcast one that says he’s done this a thousand times and he’s resigned to doing it a thousand more. Maybe it’s the distinct lack of people around him. Maybe it’s the vending machines, chock full of half-busted ramen packs, bags of Skittles, and semi-crushed honey buns. Whatever it is, something about the sight gnaws at Katie, makes her stomach sink. 

It’s too depressing. She can’t leave him here. No way. 

“Hey Bob!” 

Bob jumps, snaps his head in the direction his name came from. “...Yeah?”

“C’mon, we’re going into Gaslamp.” 

Had it been anyone else Katie would’ve politely asked them to come along, but with Bob, it’s an order. She gets the sense that if she’d asked, he would’ve tried to graciously decline and insist that he was fine on his own. 

Too bad she’s not giving him that option. 

“You got your stuff on you?” she asks. 

“Uh, no, um-” His face colors, just the tiniest bit. “I didn’t think I was going anywhere, so I left it in the classroom-”

“Well, grab it and meet us outside. Not leaving without you.” 

“Are you sure? You don’t have to drag me-”

“Yes, Bob, I’m sure.” Katie smiles at him, somewhere between reassuring, friendly, and inviting. “C’mon. Mine’s the black 4Runner out front.”

Bob gives Katie a single nod before he takes off down the hall and off to the classroom, leaving Katie behind with Fanboy - who happens to be quirking a rather sharp eyebrow at her. 

“You’re inviting owl glasses along?”

Katie’s brows knit together. Where the hell did that come from? 

“Yeah,” she replies, voice lilting like the answer is obvious. “He’s nice and seems like he’d be good company. Why wouldn’t I invite him?”

“Fair enough.” 

Katie only sighs as she steps out into the late-morning sun and walks towards her car. It has to be because he’s backseater to Halfpint, has to be because that short, pissy little fucker’s rubbed off on him. That’s the only reason she can think of that explains why Fanboy would be coming off as judgmental or rude. IS he being rude, though? Katie wonders. Is he being rude or am I seeing things that aren’t there? 

She heaves another sigh as she climbs into the driver’s seat. Whatever. She can think about it later. Right now, she’d rather enjoy her lunch.

Bob joins them in the car moments later, hopping into the backseat and taking the middle spot. Katie can tell that he doesn’t do this often; he’s sitting up straight as a board and has his hands clasped over his knees - postured, polite. It’s not relaxed in the slightest. Bless.

“So… Where are we going?”

“This taqueria we found last night,” Fanboy answers from the passenger seat. “Shit’s fire.”

“Oh. Nice.”

“Yeah, it was really good.” Katie glances in the rearview mirror at Bob, tries to make eye contact with him. “You get out into town yet Bob, check it out a little bit?”

Bob shakes his head. “Not yet. I got in pretty late yesterday.”

“Oh. Where’d you come from?” 

“Oh, not far. I came from Lemoore.” 

“Isn’t Lemoore, like, four hours from here?” Fanboy asks quizzically. 

“Five, actually,” Bob replies with a sheepish chuckle. “It’s not far, but it doesn’t help that my work day ran later than usual.” 

Katie chuckles. Yep, he’s a WSO, all right. 

“Oof. Yeah, that’s no fun.” 

“Eh, it is what it is. Needs of the Navy, you know?” 

“The number of times I’ve heard that fucking phrase-”

“Girl, the number of times we’ve all heard that fucking phrase,” Fanboy cuts in with a snort. “I’m pretty sure that’s the only explanation for why Melendez is here.”

Katie’s face immediately goes sour at the mention of Melendez. Christ, even though it’s only been a day (fuck, a morning), she could go an eternity without ever hearing her name again and it would still be too soon. 

“If the needs of the Navy require sending her to TOPGUN, then this branch is fucked,” she mutters. “I dunno whose idea that was, but it was a bad one.”

“Yeah, she’s, uh… She’s something else.” Bob’s glancing off to the side as he’s speaking, scratching the back of his head, wincing. It’s an admittedly tamer reaction than Katie’s; hell, she might as well have hissed at the mention of her. Still, his reaction makes it clear that he’s not a big fan of hers, either. 

“Just… So long as she leaves me alone, then there’s no problem. At least, there shouldn’t be. I dunno.” 

Fanboy lets out a loud snicker. “Leave you alone, after this morning? Nah. Guarantee you she’s gonna go out of her way to make your life hell.”

“Yeah, don’t remind me.” He’s not wrong - but that doesn’t mean that Katie necessarily agrees with it or wants to hear it. 

It’s a short drive from base to the Gaslamp district, a series of left and right turns that bring the three to a stop in front of the taqueria from last night. Unlike last night, though, the taqueria is packed today - packed with service members in uniform, no less. It seems that Katie isn’t the only one who’s a fan of this place. 

The three make their way inside to order their food, then shuffle through the throng of patrons to a booth in the far back corner. It’s cramped, but it’s of little concern to them. If anything, it adds to the ambiance of the place. 

“Damn,” Fanboy whistles as he unwraps the foil encasing his chicken-stuffed Cali burrito. “I don’t remember it being this packed last night.”

Katie’s already swan diving into a steaming carnitas mulita when he makes the comment. She chuckles as she tears a large bite out. “Lunch rush, peanut. Guess we weren’t the only ones craving Mexican food.”

“I can see that.” He rips a chunk out of his burrito, ponders as he chews. “Reminds me of this Cuban place I used to go to in Miami. It’d be swamped with locals and tourists and you’d be lucky to get counter space, much less a booth in the back corner. Holy shit, though, that food was something else. Worth the insanity and then some.”

"Florida, huh? You from the area?”

“Sure am. Born in St. Pete, raised in Pensacola.”

“Nice.”

“Not really. I have to go to Miami for any decent ‘brown people’ food. It’s all Krystal and Waffle House where my family is.”

“Hey, don’t you disrespect Wa-Ho now,” Katie tuts jokingly. 

“I’m a born and raised Florida man; I’ll do whatever I damn-well please.” 

“Smartass.”

They spend the lunch hour swapping stories and jokes, spend it discussing life, the navy, and everything in between. 

At least, Katie and Fanboy do. Bob, on the other hand, is quiet, keeps to himself and his food, speaks only when he’s asked a question - which isn’t often, Katie notices. She’s not sure why, but it bothers her. She knows he’s not being standoffish; he doesn’t strike her as that kind of person. 

So why is he not engaging with them? 

“You okay, Bob?” 

“Wha- yeah, I’m fine. Just thinking, is all.” He’s sitting the same way he was in the classroom and in the back of the 4Runner, all stiff and proper-like. His enchilada plate sits to his left, half-eaten and picked at, the byproduct of a fast-working, anxious-vibing WSO. To hell with just 'thinking'; Bob looks like he's trying to survive his lunch hour.

Katie nods to the side entrance. “You wanna go think outside where it’s a little less crazy?”

“Oh no, it’s fine; we’re gonna have to go soon anyway so what’s the point?” 

“Actually, we should probably go now,” Fanboy cuts in, looking down at the watch fastened around his wrist. “Something tells me it’s gonna be a bitch getting back on base.”

“Fair. I’d rather not have Everhardt crawling up my ass about being late. Let’s go.”

“Y’all go ahead and start the car up. I gotta use the head.” 

Then, Fanboy vanishes into the lunch crowd without another word, leaving Katie alone with Bob, who’s pursing his lips and twiddling his thumbs like a teenager on his first date. 

Katie can’t help herself; she giggles at the sight of him. “You can relax, you know; I don’t bite.”

“I know; I’m sorry.” He reaches one hand up and back, rubs the back of his dark blonde head sheepishly. “I didn’t mean to ruin you guys’ lunch. Social situations aren’t exactly my strong suit.”

“Dude, I don’t think they’re anyone’s strong suit, especially if it’s their first time meeting someone. You’re totally fine.”

“Well,” Bob sighs, “I’m glad someone thinks so. I’m still skeptical myself.”

He’s so self-deprecating it’s almost a little heartbreaking. Katie wonders what he’s gone through to make him like this. 

“You shouldn’t be. At least, I don’t think you should be,” she replies. “You’re good company and I liked having you along with us.”

His gaze is trailing towards the floor, down towards his boots. “Thanks.”

The gnawing in her stomach is back, and it’s worse. Katie may not know Bob super well, but that doesn’t mean she’s open to him being detached and hard on himself. Bob’s a nice guy; he doesn’t deserve that. 

She holds an open hand out, palm side up. “Here, lemme see your phone and I’ll give you my number.”

Bob says nothing as he takes his phone out of his flight suit pocket, but it doesn’t matter. Katie can see the question in his eyes. “Why are you doing this?”

Oh, Bob.

Katie gives him a soft smile as she takes his phone and keys her number into his contacts. “I’m trying this new thing where I make friends with the people I fly with.” She then taps the number to call her phone, and ends the call after two rings. “And you seem like a decent-enough guy, so… Here we are.” 

He’s studying her again, Bob, trying to figure her out. If Katie didn’t know any better, she’d say he’s looking at her like he’s trying to figure out if she’s lying. There’s definitely a story behind that one, a reason.

After what feels like ages of him studying her, Bob finally takes the phone from Katie’s outstretched hand and slips it back into his pocket. “Lemme know how that works out for you,” he says, quietly. “The whole ‘making friends’ thing. Can’t really say I’ve had much luck with it.” He smiles at her, but it’s tinged with sadness, disappointment - and god, if it doesn’t kill Katie a little bit.

She shrugs, speaks. Her response is just as quiet. “Hasn’t really worked out for me, either, but I’m not letting it stop me.” She pauses, looks at him directly, tries to convey as much sincerity in a single glance as she can. “I’ll be your friend if you’ll be mine.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.” Though it’s not immediate, when Bob smiles this time around, there’s more brightness to it. It’s a nice sight that eases the twisting in Katie’s stomach. 

She could get used to seeing him smile more. 

Before she can open her mouth to speak more sweet words of encouragement, Fanboy re-emerges from the crowd of lunchgoers, yelling over the din of mariachi music and passionate conversation filling the taqueria. “Thought y’all were getting the car ready!”

Katie shrugs. “I dunno, we were waiting for you, I guess.”

“Wha- no! Ay-ya, come on, we gotta bounce before everyone starts rushing the main gate and we’re late.” 

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, I hear you,” Katie all but groans. She looks back at Bob, fixes her eyes on his. “You all set to go?”

“Yeah, I’m all set.”

“Good.” Katie pulls her keys out of her pocket, drops her garrison cap on her head. “C’mon then, let’s go.”

Bob nods, tails behind Katie and Fanboy. “Hopefully the rest of the day won’t be too bad.” 

“Yeah, hopefully.” Katie honestly doubts it, but she can’t bring herself to care too much. She’s more focused on the dialogue she now has with another member of her class - a nice, soft-spoken member. It’ll be interesting to see where this goes, she muses - and then smiles to herself.

With Bob around? Maybe these next 13 weeks won’t be so bad. 

Maybe. 

@thestagsheadsblog @everything-i-love-in-life @luckyladycreator2 @docdetective

#top gun maverick #robert bob floyd #bob floyd #bob top gun #robert bob floyd x female oc #female oc #lewis pullman #bob my beloved #movies #film #fanfiction #top gun #top gun: maverick

[spring-breaks-loose]

lil update from my personal hell:

- prepped my ticket master account and payment information at 10am Atlantic time

- joined the wait room at 10:30

- entered the queue at 11am sharp, with 2000+ people ahead of me

- FINALLY moved through the queue over about 45 minutes

- Time to select my seat! But OH NO now Ticketmaster is saying my passcode is incorrect! (It’s not. It’s literally copied and pasted from my text)

- frantic googling and searching for answers - apparently other folks are having the same issue, passcodes supposedly incorrect

- entering my same passcode over and over and over and over

- after about 40 minutes and dozens and dozens of attempts my passcode is ACCEPTED I CAN FINALLY CHOOSE MY SEAT

- another hour spent selecting a ticket, page loading, error message. Select another ticket, page loading, error message. Select another ticket, page loading, PAGE LOADED! Accept the terms and conditions and click place order but of course my bank has to text me a code to confirm my identity. Lose the tickets. Select another ticket, page loading, error. Select another ticket, page loading, error. Select another ticket, page loading, ACCEPT TERMS PLACE ORDER, … ERROR. “It’s not you it’s us.” Repeat for AGES! But I still had hope I thought I would get through eventually…

- “you’ve exceeded the maximum amount of reservations” even though all I’ve done is get close to buying a ticket and then screwed over dozens of times.

- and now I’ve been kicked back to the end of the queue. 😭 2000+ people ahead, it’s obviously still paused because of the amount of errors but holy fuck.

- I’ve been at this for well over 2 hours and I have my queue ID for my original spot and I’ve sent Ticketmaster a DM with my issue and now there’s … just nothing I can do until they get back to me…

- I have a stress headache and I need a nap

#Taylor Swift eras tour #ticket master #I literally just typed Taylor Swift ERRORS tour #fuck #I need a nap #I need a TICKET #just ONE TICKET #and now there is nothing I can do