#It's especially funny because I LIVE in Massachusetts now

[yourblackhearts]

Anyways I bought Fallout 4 the other day because Game of the Year version was only $10 on Steam and I've never really played it before.

So that'll be fun.

#She Speaks #Fallout 4 #I keep seeing things and going 'Oh its just like Skyrim!' #me @ me: bestie I wonder why #It's especially funny because I LIVE in Massachusetts now #familiar stomping grounds if you will

[andivmg]

My experience with Luke (Punz)

CW: toxic relationship, racism, dubious consent

I know in the past i said that i would no longer speak about him publicly, and when talking about my experiences with abuse and emotional mistreatment i begged to keep it anonymous but after reflecting on this for a week and seeing so many incredibly smart and strong women tell their stories. they have given me the strength to say his name.

this is really scary to talk about because of the copious levels of harassment i have received from his fans in the past so if this spreads or gets out of hand i will simply log off.

If you read my last post, i nicknamed him 1.

So aside from everything i said there, there were a lot of things i didn’t include because they would’ve made it obvious that it was him and it could potentially backfire on me so, i’m very afraid to post this. but i’m going to do it scared anyway, because it’s not fair that he gets to just go and live his life worry-free as if he didn’t practically ruin mine.

Because I already made a very lengthy post about him, i won’t include everything i said last time to avoid being redundant but if i repeat myself, please bear with me.

In our year long relationship i had to endure emotional neglect, gaslighting, verbal abuse, one instance where there was dubious consent, and much more.

Starting off at the beginning of our relationship, that’s when i was getting copious amounts of hate and harassment from his fan base (warranted or not), he decided that our relationship must be kept private. he said it was to “protect” me from his fanbase when in reality it was to protect himself. it was so he wouldn’t get all the backlash i was getting. this is funny because one of the things i got called out for was saying the B slur (derogatory term used against mexicans/latinos). I won’t get into the nuances of if i could say it or not as a puertorican because that’s discourse that does not pertain to this specific situation. But you know who definitely can’t say it? A white boy from Massachusetts. When i was getting cancelled for this and getting thousands of tweets calling me names, he decided that was the perfect time to say “I mean you are a b***** aren’t you? my little b*****.” Now, he said this completely unprompted. I was in the process of writing my apology and he just said that. I tell you this because i immediately shut him down and told him that there was no universe in which it was okay for him to say that word and especially not one where he could just call me that. While i was reprimanding him, he was smiling and laughing. he apparently found it amusing to call me a slur. regardless, he gave me a half-assed apology and said he wouldn’t do it again. and he didn’t. but this wasn’t the only time he was weirdly racist to me. this was my first time being in an interracial relationship so i was led to believe that this was normal by all the white people around me at the time. But, sometimes my spanish accent would come out and he would make fun of me and the way i pronounced some words. He also refused to visit me in Puerto Rico when i lived there or come meet my family when i really wanted him to because he “didn’t like the heat” or “it’s dangerous there isn’t it?”. Once, while we were watching season 2 of Bridgerton, he implied that the Sharma sisters were “too dark” for him to be attracted to them. This hurt me because they are brown skinned girls. I am a brown skinned girl. Then this, combined with the fact that he told me once he wasn’t attracted to me made me feel like my skin color was unattractive. These are only a few examples i can think of at the moment, but i’m sure there were more. Our relationship ended in 2022 so some of my memory is a bit hazy. But, I do remember feeling inferior to him throughout the relationship because he was white and I was not. I chalk that up to all the micro aggressions i had to deal with because i had never felt that way around white people before.

Another thing i had to endure was him constantly making me feel like he was embarrassed to be with me. Because i was cancelled, he didn’t want to associate with me too much. He did defend me on multiple occasions, I’ll give him that. But, he only did it because his name was getting dragged in the mud along with mine. Excusing my actions made him look better for being around me. In reality he didn’t really care. Because he was such a big content creator and someone i looked up to professionally, I took his advice as law. He told me to tone down my personality, to keep a low profile, to change things about myself to be more palatable to his audience. The same audience that spoke about me like “The pussy can’t be that good punz please stop defending her”. So i changed a lot of things about myself and my content to better suit what his audience liked. He made me feel like if his audience liked me, he would be public about our relationship and stop hiding it. He told me the reason why he wanted to keep our relationship a secret was because he didn’t want to get hate for it. But this wasn’t true. On my 20th birthday he went to Las Vegas for a twitch rivals event. That night i asked to facetime him to say goodnight and he refused because he was at a hotel room with his friends and he didn’t want them to know that we were together. It was as if my mere presence or the utterance of my name was a source of embarrassment for him. And he didn’t let me forget it. It wasn’t just a public thing at that point. He didn’t want people to know we were together, period. This was devastating to me because I would talk to all my friends about him. I was so proud to be with him and I was just one more problem to him. He made me feel so small and insignificant just because his fans didn’t like me.

He would berate me a lot. Not just due to getting heat online, although he did do that a lot. But in general whenever we would get into an argument or a disagreement he would always call me names like annoying or weird or stupid. He would raise his voice at me if i did something he didn’t like and call me an idiot. And that really hurt, i felt like i couldn’t bring up anything or do anything without getting insulted. If I hadn’t seen him in a few days because he was too busy streaming and i asked to hang out he would call me needy, clingy, and annoying. Granted, he might not have been wrong, but that is not something you say to someone you claim to love. He also insulted me when i was in depressive episodes. I have BPD and at the time i was not being treated properly for it. So, I was all over the place emotionally and he was what i clung to for validation, reassurance, and love. I talked to him when we first started dating about my disorder and told him that if it seemed like something he couldn’t handle that he could opt out of the relationship. I guess he didn’t think it was that bad or something idk because whenever i had really bad depressive episodes, he would tell me I was too sad to hang out with. He said that my sadness was a burden to him. Which would be fair. But, once my mother had a conversation with him about me. She told him that i am someone who needs a lot of love and caring. She said that if he wasn’t willing to put in that kind of effort into a relationship to just leave me alone. He reassured her that he would be there for me no matter what. He told my mother that he would protect me and my heart. He did not. He took all the warnings I gave him and ignored them and then made me feel like I was the problem. And even worse, he would say that i was pretending to be sad to get his attention when he would neglect for days at a time.

There were also some smaller things like the fact that he made me feel really guilty whenever he would spend money on me. Also, he would be really mean about my eating habits. For context, i used to suffer from an eating disorder. I was anorexic and had a really unhealthy relationship with food during high school and my first year of uni. This relationship began when i was recovering from my ED. For me, eating was really hard. So i had certain comfort foods that, while sometimes unhealthy, at least it was something to eat when i didn’t feel like eating anything. He knew this. Yet, whenever i would crave some of these foods he would call me fat. Constantly told me I’d gain weight from eating all that junk food. Saying that to someone with an eating disorder is crazy. Other smaller things were that whenever I would post tiktoks where i was lip syncing or just looking good he would yell at me and say i was looking for attention. Same with Instagram or Twitter whenever i would post photos where I looked hot. He never planned out a single date for us. I would beg him to get me flowers and he did maybe once but i’ll get into that in a bit. He would make fun of me in front of his friends to make himself look better. He let his friends say really degrading things about me in his presence. For example, once when i was showering, i overheard him on a discord call with George and Sapnap and i heard George say “if you don’t go in the shower and have sex with Andi, i will”. Once, when i was really struggling with my legs (for those of you who don’t know, i have arthritis and it’s very painful. at the time i wasn’t diagnosed but i was in a lot of pain) I literally could not walk. I had to beg him to take me to the ER because i didn’t know what was wrong with me. He didn’t want to take me but eventually i convinced him, and while we were there all he did was complain about how long it was taking and that he would have rather been at home streaming. Whenever I would talk about my interests that i was excited about like shows or books he would be incredibly uninterested and say that those things were stupid and he didn’t want to hear about them. I know all of these seem very silly or superficial but cumulatively it was awful.

Now for arguably the most serious thing i’m going to talk about. I want to preface this by saying i am just telling my side of what happened. You can come to your own conclusions about this.

On April 25, 2022 it was our one year anniversary, and i had made a dinner reservation for us. I expected him to plan something throughout the day for us to do. He told me he was going to spend the whole day playing Valorant so I got upset and cancelled the reservation. After a very heated argument, we calmed down and i asked him to come over. He came over about an hour later with flowers and drinks (I was 20 at the time so I couldn’t buy the drinks myself). He brought Smirnoffs and Trulys. For context, I am a lightweight. I always have been. I literally get tipsy on half a cocktail. And that day, I hadn’t eaten anything because i was in distress over our argument. So we get to talking and drinking. I blacked out after my second Smirnoff. Apparently I drank 3 but I genuinely cannot remember anything after finishing the second one. The next morning i woke up naked in my bed. I woke him up and asked him “Luke, why am I naked?” and he said “Because you didn’t want to put your clothes back on.” When I clarified to him that that was not what I meant, he got defensive and said that he didn’t realize how drunk I was. He proceeded to tell me that I initiated sex with him and that i was very enthusiastic about it. He said he didn’t know i could black out on three smirnoffs. He made fun of me for being a lightweight and continued to make light of the situation. Then he mentioned that i fell off the bed at some point in the night and that it was funny how drunk I was. I then questioned him. Because if he thought that me tripping and falling off the bed because i was so drunk was funny, how did he not know that i was too drunk? He responded by saying that i fell off the bed only after we were done. That day I broke up with him. I’m still really confused about what happened that night. I don’t remember anything and all I have to go on is what he said to me. We were in a relationship at the time and he says he didn’t know how drunk I was so I’m not sure what to call what happened. A while after that day, his friend that hmu while we were broken up and I started talking again and i confided in him about that night. He told me to be careful saying things like that because they could get me into trouble. I spoke to some of our other friends about it and they told me it was no big deal and that it wasn’t his fault that he didn’t know how drunk I really was. Because I don’t remember, I have been led to believe that this is not a serious matter. You can think what you want, come to whatever conclusions you want. That is just my side of the story.

I want to add that I’m not proud of how I acted after the relationship ended. I felt really angry at all the shit he put me through and I guess a part of me wanted him to hurt even a quarter of how I did. So I started talking to his friend and got involved with him. This backfired on me because his friend ended up really hurting me too so ig i got my karma. But the thing that hurt the most is that because of what I did, some of our friends took his side in the break up. I was told that I did something terrible by getting involved with his friend that he was already insecure about and that he didn’t deserve that. These are the same friends who were witness to the dumpster fire of a relationship we had and all the things he did to me. They turned their backs on me because of this one thing I did. But stood by and watched as he treated me like garbage for over a year.

I will conclude this by saying that while this relationship has been “over and done with” for almost two years now, I carry a lot of trauma from it still. I still talk about him in therapy and have had to put in a lot of work to heal from what he did and i still cannot say that i am okay. I am very blessed to now have a patient and understanding partner who has helped me heal from that trauma and i just want to quickly thank him for that. Nobody deserves to go through what I did. While yes, it was a toxic relationship, and I had a part in that, it does not excuse all the awful things he said and did to me. This is my truth, thank you for taking the time to read it.

#sorry if the formatting is all over the place

[br4inr0tx]

headcanons for dating sheriff newlon?

Yes ofc! Since I just watched the movie I have a pretty good grasp on him already, and I’m excited to write for him! I’m from Massachusetts so idk..I kind of resonate with this movie lol.

Tw - MASSIVE THANKSGIVING 2023 MOVIE SPOILERS, manipulation, loss of loved one, cannibalism(?).

Eric Newlon…

• Sheriff Eric Newlon. The good looking, friendly and dependable guy. He loves those who are close to him, and does anything he can to help a person out. He’s honestly, a great guy.

• Though as we all know, he has an intense sense of revenge from a woman he loved very much.

• No matter how you identify he at first would use you as a coping mechanism for Amanda’s death. It might be the smallest thing, like the same name, same laugh, same eyes, same personality..something about you just reminds you of a good time back in his life, and he can’t seem to let it go.

• The guy is manipulative, and it’s easy for him to pull the strings. If you don’t already like him, he can easily make you fall in love and join his side with the snap of his fingers.

• He’s genuinely charming, down-to-earth and caring anyway. Why wouldn’t you want to be with him?

• I’d assume you’d help him get through cases and cope with his loss in return. If he REALLY likes you that might not matter, but if it’s a genuine connection just someone caring about his well being is enough.

• I think Eric would also like someone who’s willing to talk about revenge. He’s bottled his feelings for so long, so someone that is willing to listen to and discuss harsher topics he’d enjoy; mostly for his own comfort

• He showers you in compliments pretty often. Sometimes he even babies you. It’s just a habit he can’t help but indulge in!

• Eric helps through hard times too. Though, watch out if it’s an issue with another person. I can’t guarantee they’ll make it out alive, especially considering how hellbent Eric is on the whole "revenge" gig. (I need a dollar for every time I say revenge.)

• He’s a pretty creative guy as we know. I’m not just talking about kills either. Dates and gifts are very creative and thoughtful, within reason an budget of course. I’d like to think giving gifts is as simple as you’d think either. He’d be the type of boyfriend to hide it in a funny spot or specific area for you to have fun finding.

• So, I’m not sure if this is just an act in the movie to get Jess in his side, but he seems really protective. Not just because he’s a cop either. If anyone talks shit about you he’d be one of the first people to stand up for you even if you don’t need it. Golden Retriever boyfriend mentality.

• Now..considering the more John Carver side of things..

• He wouldn’t kill you, he’d just let you enjoy the show. You’re technically a part of this now.

• Though be weary. Even if he acts nice and does nice things for you, he’s EXTREMELY hostile (pun intended) in his John Carver persona. Don’t do anything funny like escaping if he chases you, he won’t hesitate to hurt you just to put you back in place. Sometimes living with the pain is more harsh then just dying, remember that.

• Even if John Carver is a bit mocking, it’s in no way fake love. He’s simply giving you a happy thanksgiving with a glass of revenge, for the both of you.

• Also, remember how I mentioned he wouldn’t hesitate to kill anyone that harms you? Well, they’ll be guests at the table on the livestream! Now everyone’s together, on the day of togetherness.

• Overall, you fill in the void he was missing after Amanda’s passing. That’s not to say he doesn’t appreciate you for you, I’m saying that you keep him from going absolutely insane and killing everyone in Plymouth there and then.

#horror #thanksgiving movie #thanksgiving #Eric Newlon #john carver #John carver killer #headcanons #slasher #slasher headcanons

[beardedmrbean]

Oh hey, my suggestion for dlc of Yasuke going to Goa, India is using the theories that he went there, and in lore it’s very not unusual for different branches of the assassin brotherhood to help each other as they can say the Indian assassins need help and Yasuke goes there

And if I was the head writer, I would say Yasuke made a secret deal with the Tokugawas saying he will keep the Europeans busy in the surrounding areas so they won’t have a chance to unite their Armandas to attack Japan

You can do a story line a what if Yasuke story if your smart enough. But these modern hacks can’t

Also another hilarious news on the same day red main menu drop

https://x.com/culturecrave/status/1777553964327936133?s=46

Jeez almost like using a saying most white Americans are scared shitless to say, criticizing a trope that most people can only think of one actor playing (who also played god in one movie sooo)

Also like um, realistically a black magical person from say New York that also lives nearby Chinatown would have different magical abilities than a voodoo doctor from Louisiana bayou

Or that Massachusetts fuckers that suspiciously goes to a town that not on the map named “Arkham” and try to bring back those beings that self proclaimed to be the original rulers of earth because the “Others” attacked them and imprisoned them

Erasing their worshippers, their records, and their names for eons. Until they were able to whisper their names again, and now they are spoken from a sick, yet creative prophet that made sure all knows their names

PRAISE CLUTHLU- whoops brainstorming sorry

Also funny enough I seen the regressive of black roles from PROGRESSIVES especially those that support pop feminism

Like the audience would love more black action leaders. But when you have Marxists in the writing rooms thinking all black Americans are mentally challenged and all people solely get their ideas of non whites from entertainment

Then your shit out of luck

Oh hey, my suggestion for dlc of Yasuke going to Goa, India is using the theories that he went there, and in lore it’s very not unusual for different branches of the assassin brotherhood to help each other as they can say the Indian assassins need help and Yasuke goes there And if I was the head writer, I would say Yasuke made a secret deal with the Tokugawas saying he will keep the Europeans busy in the surrounding areas so they won’t have a chance to unite their Armandas to attack Japan You can do a story line a what if Yasuke story if your smart enough. But these modern hacks can’t

Beauty of historical fiction, you can make stuff up, not documents saying he DIDN'T go to India....

You'd have to fast forward a little bit for the Tokegawa bit I'd think, they both worked for the same guy so maybe not, depends on how they write it I suppose.

Also, fiction.

This is beautiful, I'm gonna give it its own post too

Jeez almost like using a saying most white Americans are scared shitless to say, criticizing a trope that most people can only think of one actor playing (who also played god in one movie sooo) Also like um, realistically a black magical person from say New York that also lives nearby Chinatown would have different magical abilities than a voodoo doctor from Louisiana bayou

Folks were mentioning black Hogwarts, which wouldn't work you need it to be regional, which I think we've been over before.

NYC gets it's own and there's 5 houses so the people from the different boroughs can just maintain their general attitude about the others.

Or that Massachusetts fuckers that suspiciously goes to a town that not on the map named “Arkham” and try to bring back those beings that self proclaimed to be the original rulers of earth because the “Others” attacked them and imprisoned them Erasing their worshippers, their records, and their names for eons. Until they were able to whisper their names again, and now they are spoken from a sick, yet creative prophet that made sure all knows their names PRAISE CLUTHLU- whoops brainstorming sorry

Was gonna say that doesn't ring a bell too me, but I don't know much Lovecraft.

But hey got an idea go and run with it.

Also funny enough I seen the regressive of black roles from PROGRESSIVES especially those that support pop feminism Like the audience would love more black action leaders. But when you have Marxists in the writing rooms thinking all black Americans are mentally challenged and all people solely get their ideas of non whites from entertainment Then your shit out of luck

It's incredible how your perception of which groups are racist or bigoted or discriminatory and not can start to change if you put this lens in your spyglass and look around.

#zoomer huey anon

[mediawhorefics]

hiii marie i watched tsn last night and probably just spammed your notes with tsn rb's (sorry!) and i remembered you were writing the tsn fic! i'm super super excited to read it and i was wondering if there was a snippet you might be able to share with us? thank you <3

omg !! i just saw kjnvjkfds pls know you are welcome to spam my tsn tag whenever you want !!! i always feel like i'm annoying when i go on a tsn reblog spree or a tsn fic related reblog spree rip. (tho it's my blog i guess i can do whatever i want!) anyways i'm glad to know someone is enjoying that tag <333 (LOVED your 'i watch tsn like a queer drama' addition.... so true bestie)

and yes ofc i can share a snippet of the fic !!! no one has really asked before so thank you !! it's so nice to know some people are excited for it. idk how much you know about it? i've talked about it here and there, but basically, it's a you've got mail post canon au where mark gets signed up to a super exclusive mostly anonymous dating app for rich people against his will (dustin and his meddling, honestly!!) and he ends up falling head over heels in love with someone on there only to find out it was eduardo all along (she sings to the tune of agatha all along). anyways it's this very cheesy romcom trope-y story where mark basically has to realise that the only 2 times he's ever been in love were actually with the same person and if he wants to have peace of mind and true happiness he needs to earn eduardo's forgiveness and own up to his mistakes. it's gonna be so kitsch i can't wait to post it !!! it's this 100k monster rn and there's still a fair bit of plot to go on rip. i'm rambling now sorry, i've just been having soooo much fun with it and i don't get a lot of occasions to talk about it haha.

anyways here's a snippet that i thought wasn't tooo spoilery??? hope you'll like it !!! tw i gave them the world worst's usernames because i thought it would be funny af haha. apologies it's still unpolished and needs some edits but:

Mark never particularly liked the cold growing up, but there is always something eerie to him about December silently creeping in without much of a fuss in California. It always seems a little wrong to his New York State grown bones, his Harvard in winter thickened skin. Oh, the temperature drops, for sure, their equivalent of ‘cold’, but Mark recalls Massachusetts freezing winter days, him in his shorts in the snow and a disapproving Wardo staring after him, begging him to please put some clothes on, Mark’s skin prickling under the wind as he ignored him. Winter in Palo Alto is child’s play in comparison, which is the point of living there he supposes. It’s nice, but it’s strange. 

Feels off. 

It feels even more off when he knows he’s not gonna bother going back home for the break this year – like most years, let’s be honest – and get his fill of razor-sharp wind and bone-chilling cold. 

Winter always reminds him of the early days of Facebook; him glued to his laptop day and night in his freezing dorm room, pages and pages and pages of code that weren’t quite a website yet fighting to get out of his brain and onto the screen, and Dustin, Chris and Eduardo, a constant warm presence he was barely aware of hovering at his back. Especially Eduardo. 

And speaking of Eduardo, winter always reminds Mark of him too, despite his best efforts. 

Eduardo, who never liked the cold, not after spending his seminal years in Brazil, then Miami, who always struggled through the sunless, frozen, winter months he spent at Harvard, even though he never wanted to admit it. 

It reminds him of Eduardo’s shivering body that night he approached him with the idea for Facebook, cold cold cold cold, but listening to Mark about his idea outside in the January air all the same, the two of them alone on the cusp of something great. They could have been the only two people on Earth that night in the whipping wind. It’s what it felt like to Mark anyways, what it always felt like to Mark. Them against the world. Before The Phoenix, before Christy, before Sean… 

Wardo would have liked Palo Alto, Mark thinks that December morning as he makes his way to work and a slow melancholy takes hold of him, the way it always does what that kind of thoughts take root in his mind. 

He would have enjoyed the almost perpetual sunshine, the heat, the cool people he would have fit with so easily, the way Mark never could no matter how long he’s lived here… 

Mark sighs, taking a second in his assigned parking spot to compose himself. This stupid Gala he has to attend next week has been messing with his brain ever since Dustin discretely informed him that Eduardo Saverin has confirmed his presence to the event as well. 

And it’s fine. Eduardo can go wherever he likes. Especially when he’s invited. Mark isn’t his keeper or anything. And he’s proven many times in the past that they can be in the same room without yelling at each other. Well, most times anyways. 

But he’s always a little unsettled when he knows Wardo is stateside, the needle of his Eduardo inner compass all over the place, trying to reorient itself when it realizes that Far Far Away is no longer that far. Which is probably why he always feels like his heart is about to explode when they’re in the same room. 

It can’t be regrets, because Mark forbade himself from feeling those a long time ago. 

But it sure is something. 

He still feels a little itchy after a few minutes alone in his car so he gets his phone out, composing a quick text for eswag82. 

Winter always makes me melancholic, he types, something so incredibly soothing about the comfort of an ally, a friend, a confident, never further away than his pocket. Reflective. I start remembering things I never would normally think about. I don’t know if it’s seasonal depression or something, but… I’m always getting sad over nothing. Over stuff I should have been done with a long time ago. But I can’t help myself. It’s like December hits and suddenly… Do you know what I’m talking about? 

Mark sighs as he sends the text: time to face the music. 

The day passes quickly between meetings and coding and important phone calls… He doesn’t have the chance to check his personal texts until late in the afternoon but when he does, miraculously, warmth permeates through the cold of the approaching winter and spreads through him like a sip of burning hot coffee. 

I know exactly what you’re talking about, E writes. Everything slows down in winter, including us. We have the time to get reflective and melancholy. So many holidays in so many cultures too. A time of celebration, of togetherness. That can be challenging when you don’t feel particularly joyful. Or in my family’s case, together. Seeing what it should or could be highlights what it isn’t sometimes, yk? Or at least it’s like that for me.

I’m sorry, Mark writes back, feeling angry again on E’s behalf for that family that doesn’t make him feel welcome, doesn’t make him feel like he can be himself. 

It is what it is. I haven’t gone back home in a while now and this year won’t be any different. Sometimes taking care of yourself looks like neglecting others from an outsider’s perspective, but… I can’t worry about that. 

I’m not going home either this year. I’m busy, which is true, but it’s also… I don’t think I could stomach it. It’s been a while for me too and they’re great, but I still feel like I’m on the outside, yk? Like I’m looking at them through the windows and no matter how much I want to, I can’t go in. 

Mark swallows hard. He swallows back down more feelings of rejection and more fear that no matter what he does it’s never enough to belong. He swallows back down the fact that he created Facebook to be part of the club and he now fears he elevated himself so much higher that he can never fit in anymore. And he doesn’t even like people that much, he’s always said so, but the older he gets the more he feels they can be tedious and still part of his life anyway, that being alone at the top might not be the end goal he’s looking for anymore.

#about me #my fics #tsn fic #tia

[feykaplan]

[ asena keskinci, cis woman, she/her ] - was that feyza kaplan i saw by the lighthouse today? i heard that the twenty-six year old who has been in nightrest for her entire life and works as an owner of medusa has a reputation of being zealous, but also abrasive. they reside in low point & people in town usually associate them with always scrolling on her phone, the sound of stiletto heels on marble, having no filter & blood red lipstick. let’s hope the killer doesn’t go after them next.

trigger warnings: -

BASICS

full name: feyza kaplan 

nickname: fey, bitch

date of birth: december 14, 1996 (bc ofc she’s a sag)

gender: cis woman

pronouns: she/her

occupation: she calls herself a model but she is just as unemployed as azra tbh

birthplace: nightrest, massachusetts

sexuality: bisexual

height: 5′4″

BACKGROUND

the baby of the family, she’s the most spoiled

she’s dilara’s youngest sister and they’re honestly pretty close despite the fact that they live completely different lifestyles 

dilara’s a stay-at-home mother with two kids and fey literally cannot comprehend being a mother right now

she doesn’t even know if she wants kids like that’s so far out of her mind

she grew up in such a wealthy family, that she never really had to work for anything. whatever she wanted, she got tbh 

it’s so funny how her parents honestly think of her as some sort of sweetheart slash angel slash gift from above because she’s SO sweet around them

but that’s not the case with everyone else LMFAO the lady can be so out of pocket for no reason omfg 

however, she does value her family and her found family. she keeps her circle tight because she doesn’t trust people easily

there’s not really a reason for it tbh, she just wasn’t built that way 

good at a lot of things because she took so many lessons as a kid from ballet to violin to swimming to fencing to horseback riding but none of them really stuck as she grew older

will forever have respect for her older sisters even if they don’t share her mindset because she believes that sisters are and always will be forever like that bond can never be broken 

they could go weeks without speaking to each other but she knows she’ll always have them and that she can always depend on them

there is not a humble bone in this woman’s body like she’s rich and hot and you WILL know it

also gets really scared of commitment and runs when things get serious!! rip

PERSONALITY TRAITS

+ zealous, courageous, authentic

- abrasive, self-serving, judgmental

FUN FACTS

she doesn’t really have a filter. she’ll say whatever she thinks of in the moment without regard for your feelings

a natural redhead so fuck outta here asking her what hair dye she uses because she’s gonna yank your hair and tell you you deserve it 

all this lady has is the audacity because she can say the most out of pocket stuff and still be like 😇

can and will throw hands because she loves to fight especially if it’s to defend a friend

definitely became a cheerleader in high school solely because she knows she’d look cute in the uniform

she’s like the fun aunt tbh and is surprisingly good with kids

is also surprisingly clever, did really well in school and remembers a lot of things but she keeps that to herself tbh just files it away in a cabinet in her brain 

has a torch red (red chevrolet corvette) that’s her BABY. scratch her car in any way and she’ll scratch you right back across your face

loves to travel tbh she’s been here her whole life but she’s always going somewhere

everyday is fashion week in here like you will never see this lady in sweats like im sorry that’s just not happening 

is always up for a good time tbh especially in the bedroom 🤪

can’t cook to save her life

here to be messy xoxo

WANTED CONNECTIONS

ride or die azra my bby

childhood friends who stayed friends

childhood friends who drifted apart

high school sweetheart / first time

ex-friends

unexpected friends

good influence

drinking buddies

enemies

friends with benefits

ex-flings

flings

family friends

older brother figure

#nightrest:intro

[cathygeha]

REVIEW

Hot Mess Summer by Melissa Foster

Not sure how to review and rate this book. When I saw it up for review and saw the author’s name I was eager to read it no matter what…I postponed starting till the book was about to disappear from my feed of books to read, and though in an accident a week or so ago…tackled it today…and…it was not the Melissa Foster I have read and grown to love in the past. Melissa Foster has always been a writer of steamy stories that drew me in quickly made me care about the characters and think about how the main characters would find their way to their personal happily ever after. This did not feel the same and I wasn’t sure why so…Google being my friend and not wanting to read a whole lot more after reading the beginning, the end, a bit in the middle, and some online reviews…I realized, after reading a bit on Google,  that this is probably a cathartic writing by the author to deal with her own recent life issues  that may have included a divorce, a move, and a whole lot of personal insight.

Big breath…this author is a skilled writer and her personal journey with insights shared through fiction is a generous gift but perhaps not for everyone – especially as this is not included in the book description. I am still on the fence and a bit stumped because I am not sure if this is a romance or an autobiographical fictional look at the author’s life and a summer spent in a recently purchased home, perhaps with female friends while exploring the area and people she meets BUT am glad that it seems, from blog posts, that she has settled into where she now lives and has the potential for a wonderful future.\

And, with all of that said, I chose NOT to read the book but am hopeful that in writing this book the author will soon find her way to writing the books that I grew to love and look forward to BUT should she have found a new vision for her writing, I will give her next book a try.

Thank you to NetGalley and Montlake for the ARC – This is my honest review.

3 Stars

BLURB

Who buys a cottage in a New England fishing village on a whim? A stressed-out, twice-divorced romance writer and single mother looking for a fresh start, that’s who. Despite what my besties say about my three-year dry spell, I’m not looking for a man. Or drama. Or sex. I’ve got enough on my plate with writer’s block and a daughter who refuses to grow up. Community. That’s what I need. Unfortunately, it seems the universe has other ideas. Either Chatemup, Massachusetts, has a serious shortage of single women, or I’ve become a hot mess magnet for the male species. At least I’ve found one funny, good-hearted friend: fish peddler Declan Miller, my brainstorming adventure buddy who stirs my creative juices. I’m his Writer Girl. He’s my Dimple Dude. Just scruffy, granite-chested, deep-voiced, ex-military brawn who happens to be—oh, Nicole, what are you doing to yourself?—stoking a long-neglected fire without even trying. A self-confessed hot mess, divorced single dad Declan is too old for relationship games. Not interested. Same here. So why do I keep thinking about him? Preferably naked. Because I’m a hot mess, too? At least he’s inspiring me to write. If only real life were like one of my novels. At least then I’d have a better idea of how this was going to end.

#Melissa Foster #NetGalley #Amazon #Montlake Romance #fiction #women's fiction #romance? #semi-autobiorgraphical?

[ultravioletqueen]

Quiero hacer unos cambios en la historia de frigg,más que nada en sus compañeros y su grupo,básicamente eran lo mismo que los mystery skulls:un grupo de investigadores paranormales(sólo que ahora ochentosos) conformado por 2 chicos,2 chicas y un animal,joey era el gato de susie,susie era una chica muy alegre y aficionada a la moda,además de tener una buena intuición,boris es el padre de Fenris y al igual que su hijo parece rudo pero en realidad es todo un cachorro,era dulce,cariñoso, caballeroso y divertido (frigg era muy suertuda),frigg era el cerebro mientras que benji era el musculo del grupo,era muy trabajador y muy valiente.

Así que ahora a hablar de los hechos...

I want to make some changes in the history of frigg, more than anything in his companions and his group, they were basically the same as the mystery skulls: a group of paranormal investigators (Only now in the 80s) made up of 2 boys, 2 girls and an animal , Joey was Susie's cat, Susie was a very happy and fashion-loving girl, in addition to having a good intuition, Boris is Fenris's father and like his son he seems rude but in reality he is quite a puppy, he was sweet, affectionate, chivalrous and funny (frigg was very lucky), frigg was the brain while benji was the muscle of the group, he was hardworking and very brave.

So now to talk about the facts ...

Para ese momento los cipher gang querian invocar a un fantasma/criatura paranormal que estaba acechando una estructura abandonada(cofcofumbracofcof) e hicieron el ritual,al principio no había pasado nada pero en el último momento umbra apareció a forma de espectro y les absorbió toda la energía vital a todos,frigg fue la única en sobrevivir al estar embarazada,cuando frigg pudo detener el ritual ya era demasiado tarde y todos habían muerto,frigg después de este incidente se mudo a tempo(en ese momento vivía en massachusetts) junto a su hermano connard hasta que pudo conseguirse una casa propia.

Debido a esto frigg siente un gran rechazo a los mystery skulls,en especial a vivi, ya que le recuerda a ella cuando era joven y estúpida según sus propias palabras,asique siempre es muy fría con vivi pese a que ella sea amable con ella y sea su superior(vivi es la subgerente de tome tomb,eso la hace superior de frigg),frigg ve a vivi, Lewis, arthur y juliete como niños que no saben lo que hacen y que eso les costará caro algún día,por lo que trata de detenerlos o de por lo menos advertirlos de los peligros.

Digamos que para este entonces sería que iniciaría lo que yo llamo "la maldición jenkins", que son los eventos de desgracias que le han pasado a la familia en el pasado y en el presente,indirectamente provocada por la invocacion de umbra,primero pasa la muerte de boris y los traumas de frigg,luego Fenris nace Licantropo,despues catherine se hace adicta al alcohol,poco después catherine mata a su esposo y es llevada presa,juliete años después prescenciaria los eventos de la cueva y actualmente los eventos de "the future",quizás después de todo esto esta maldición logre tener un final... O tal vez no...

At that time the cipher gang wanted to invoke a ghost / paranormal creature that was stalking an abandoned structure (cofcofumbracofcof) and they did the ritual, at first nothing had happened but at the last moment the umbra appeared as a spectrum and absorbed all the vital energy to all, frigg was the only one to survive being pregnant, when frigg was able to stop the ritual it was too late and they had all died, frigg after this incident moved to tempo (at that time she lived in massachusetts) with her brother connard until he could get himself a home of his own.

Because of this frigg feels a great rejection of mystery skulls, especially Vivi, since it reminds her of when she was young and stupid according to her own words, so she is always very cold with Vivi even though she is kind to her and Be his superior (Vivi is the assistant manager of Tome Tomb, that makes her superior of Frigg), Frigg sees Vivi, Lewis, Arthur and Juliete as children who do not know what they are doing and that it will cost them dearly one day, so try to stop them or at least warn them of the dangers.

Let's say that by then it would be that it would initiate what I call "the jenkins curse", which are the events of misfortunes that have happened to the family in the past and in the present, indirectly caused by the invocation of umbra, first pass the Boris's death and frigg's traumas, then Fenris is born Lycanthrope, then Catherine becomes addicted to alcohol, shortly after Catherine kills her husband and is taken to jail, juliete years later she will witness the events of the cave and currently the events of "the future ", maybe after all this this curse will have an end ...OR maybe not...

#oc #msa #mystery skulls oc #Frigg

[blueskrugs]

5 Times You Posted about Him, and One Time He Posted about You | Chris Kreider

I sent an anon to @kreiderrider​ way back at the end of April for Chris’ birthday and still haven’t stopped thinking about it, so apparently I’m writing it now. also for @bobohtuzzo​ for our never-ending loop of being mean to each other with Chris gifs.

TL;DR: this is Taylor’s fault for making me a Kreider girl, and and both hers Bayan’s fault for encouraging and enabling me.

length: 2.8k words

You knew when you started dating Chris that he was not social media’s biggest fan. And that was fine. You were hardly an influencer yourself, and you were pretty sure you followed more dogs than people on Instagram. So the pictures you took of Chris– Chris being cute, Chris doing mundane things, Chris with his bitchface on– stayed firmly in a locked album on your phone.

Until one day when you were sitting on the couch, leaning against Chris while he read a book, flipping through Instagram stories on your phone. One of your friends from high school had posted a cute picture with her boyfriend, and you paused to look at it. Chris rested his chin on your shoulder to peer at your phone. 

“They’re cute,” he murmured, pressing a quick kiss to your shoulder. You hummed in agreement. “How come you never post about me?”

You twisted around to look at him. “First of all, how do you even know that I don’t? Second of all, you want nothing to do with any sort of social media.” 

Chris flicked your nose. “Mika tells me things. And I don’t hate social media, I just don’t really get the point of it. Who the fuck cares what I’m doing every second of the day, who I got lunch with, where I got lunch? Anyway, I don’t really mind if you post about me every once in a while. I don’t want you to feel like you have to hide our relationship just because I avoid Instagram like the plague.” Chris pressed a kiss to your forehead to punctuate his sentence. 

You settled back in against Chris, resuming your mindless scrolling, and looking forward to the first opportunity to show off your boyfriend. 

Chef Chris Chris loved to cook. Part of it came from his absolutely ridiculous diet, you knew, but he also enjoyed the quiet time that cooking gave him, a way to be productive without requiring a ton of energy. The kitchens in either of your apartments were often filled with the smell of something good, for lunches, for dinners on nights off, for a quick meal after a game. Chris rarely let you help him with anything, which was fine because you preferred to bake, and it let you watch him. 

There was something about watching Chris cook that you just adored. He would always end up so focused, a strange intensity in his eyes that resembled the look he sometimes got on the ice. But then you would say something– a stupid joke that you’d seen on the internet, a funny story from work, or a something ridiculous your dog had done that morning– and he would laugh, his eyes lighting up again, and his dimples showing. 

Tonight, Chris was standing over the stove making a risotto. You had begged him for it during a rare full weekend off at home for the Rangers, and he had finally conceded. One of your playlists was playing softly in the living room, and you were perched on a barstool at the island, your dog curled beneath your feet. You weren’t sure if he wanted to be close to you, or if he was just waiting for Chris to give him a piece of chicken. 

Chris was stirring the risotto intently, his tongue poking out the corner of his mouth a little bit. You were already scrolling through your phone, so you couldn’t resist snapping a quick picture for your Instagram story, simply throwing an emoji of a chef in the corner.

You were checking the views on your story later that night and responding to the few people that had replied to it, when Chris saw your phone screen. 

“Hang on, gimme that,” he said, pausing the hockey game he was watching. “How did I not notice you take this?” He looked closer at your phone. “And how many fucking followers do you have, holy shit.”

You took your phone back, seeing that Brett Howden had asked why he didn’t get any dinner. “I got a bunch more after I started dating you,” you said. Chris looked concerned. “Don’t make that face, you dork. I don’t really care, and if I did, I could just make my account private.” 

Chris still looked a little alarmed at the number of people who had seen him cook dinner, but he turned back to the hockey game, anyway. 

Sing Us a Song There was a piano in Chris’ apartment. It was tucked away in the spare bedroom, and he avoided playing it when people were over, even when it was just the two of you. You had lamented that fact once, and Chris had said something about just wanting to spend all his time focused on you. You let it go, but that didn’t mean you weren’t dying to hear him play, especially since everyone who had could only compliment him.

It was nearly Christmas when you let yourself into Chris’ apartment with your spare key. The two of you had spent an entire weekend decorating, and the space was absolutely filled with Christmas spirit. You had been baking cookies, and you were dropping some off for Chris to bring home to Massachusetts and his family. You smiled as you heard the familiar chords of “Celebrate Me Home” echoing through the apartment. Your penchant for listening to Christmas music at all hours was beginning to rub off on Chris finally. You paused, though, when you realized that the voice drifting through the apartment was not Kenny Loggins, but Chris. 

You set the cookies and your purse down gently on a counter, kicking off your snow boots and quietly making your way through the apartment. You peered around the doorway of the spare bedroom. Chris’ back was to you, since the piano faced the windows looking out over the city, as he continued singing. You slipped your phone out of your coat pocket and began recording. You made sure to keep quiet as Chris began playing “The Christmas Song.” You stayed there for a minute longer before putting your phone away and walking into the room.

Chris jumped a little as you put your hand on his shoulder. “Your hands are freezing, Christ, Y/N. How long have you been here?”

You kissed his temple. “Sorry. Just came to drop off cookies and couldn’t resist listening to you for a while. I wish you’d sing for me more often.” Chris blushed all the way up to his ears. 

Later that night, back home and with a pie in the oven this time, you edited the videos you took a little bit and put them up on your Instagram story. You left it captionless.

Your DMs were soon filled with people commenting on how talented Chris was and begging for more videos of him. You screenshotted them all– maybe a little smugly– and sent them to Chris. All you got back was an emoji sticking its tongue out at you. 

Somewhere on a Beach There was absolutely nothing that you loved more than a good vacation. As the Rangers’ bye week approached, Chris was getting desperate to get out of the city, and you were looking forward to a week on a beach.

The Rangers won their last game before the break, and then the two of you were on a plane to Hawaii for some valuable time in the sun. Chris had found a rental with a private stretch of beach, and you both had bags full of books to read.

“Chris, you need to put on sunscreen!” you yelled as he walked across the sand, sunglasses perched on his nose and book in hand, on the first day. He had complained but let you cover him in sunscreen; he got burnt anyway. 

Mika made a crispy potato joke later that night in response to Chris’ whiny text. 

You got a couple good Instagram posts out of the vacation. One was simply pictures of you that you had made Chris take– “like a good Instagram boyfriend, babe” – plus a couple well-executed timer shots of both of you on the beach: sandy toes, sunburnt nose. The other was a small collection of photos you took of Chris throughout the week, in various positions in various chairs, all with a different book. Your favorite was the time you had caught him asleep on the beach, book still clutched precariously in his hand, mouth hanging open as he burned in the sun. I will never understand how he can read a book a day and still never run out of books, you had typed as a caption. 

Dog Lover Chris was sick. You were sure he had been fighting through shit for nearly two weeks but had been too stubborn to admit it, and he had finally hit a wall. You had caught him leaning heavily against the bathroom sink that morning, dizzy and nauseous, as he attempted to get ready for practice; it still took both you and Mika yelling at him, with more than one threat to call Quinn and/or his mother, before he agreed to stay home. 

You had forced him to at least eat a piece of toast before you let him collapse on the couch under most of the blankets you had in your apartment. You sent Mika a picture of Chris in his fever haze, zoned out while watching the morning news. 

You luckily had the day off, so you were able to stay close to your idiot boyfriend with a penchant for ignoring injury and illness. It started storming after you ate lunch, rain lashing against the windows and lightning lighting up the dark New York sky, shrouded with clouds. Chris was still slouched on one end of the couch, barely having moved all morning. You were sitting at the other end with a book, his feet in your lap and thumb idly rubbing circles on his ankle, having ignored Chris’ protests that you were going to get sick, too. 

Later, when you were making dinner, you peeked into your living room to check on Chris. He had thrown most of his blankets onto the floor, and he was sprawled out on his stomach, solidly asleep. Your dog had crawled up onto the couch with him and was laying protectively over Chris’ legs. You smiled at them before reaching for your phone to take a picture. 

First you sent it to Mika: “Sometimes I think he’s only dating me for my dog.” with an eye roll emoji. Mika laughed at that one. 

Then you posted it on your Instagram, this time with the caption everyone knows dog cuddles are the best medicine. Your replies were flooded with get-well wishes for Chris. 

Best Friends Everyone knew that Mika and Chris were pretty much inseparable, both on the ice and off of it. You and Irma had bonded over it one night, when what was supposed to be a nice double date devolved into Chris and Mika discussing the chances of various teams winning the Cup. It had only been November. 

You teased the two about their codependency, but honestly it was endearing. Mika ended up over for dinner more nights than not, and you texted him more than you texted your mom. Mika sometimes crashed movie nights at Chris’ apartment, and all three of you ended up in a tangled mess of limbs and blankets before the end of the night without fail. It was completely undeniable that Chris loved Mika, so it was inevitable that you loved Mika, too. 

The Rangers were having another outdoor practice in Central Park. You loved going to any practice, but the outdoor ones were especially fun to watch. It always seemed like half of New York showed up to watch, and the boys were always more energetic and idiotic than usual.

You hung around close to the boards behind one of the goals during practice. You got some good pictures of the boys warming up, including one particularly cute one of Artemi sticking his tongue out at you. As practice went on, you took more pictures as various Rangers sped past you. The best opportunity was when Chris scored a – frankly ridiculous, honestly – goal over Hank’s shoulder, set up perfectly by Mika. They slammed into the boards next to you in celebration, and you managed to snap a great angle of that smile Mika seemed to reserve specifically for Chris.

All of the WAGs and families were allowed onto the ice after practice ended. You carefully made your way over towards where Chris and Mika were lazily leaning against the boards near one of the benches, nearly running over tripping over Igor’s dog in the process when he ran in front of you, gleefully dragging a leash behind him. 

Chris was facing you, but he didn’t see you approach. You, however, could see the dorky grin he had aimed at Mika from where he was slouching against the wall. As you got closer, you took out your phone and snuck one more picture of the two of them.

You couldn’t resist posting those pictures of your boys. You made sure to tag Mika, adding on the caption someone tell me how I can get a boy to look at me the way Chris and Mika look at each other. 

Mika replied with an eye roll emoji and a blue heart. Irma replied with about five cry-laughing emojis. Chris just looked offended. 

His Turn Chris had managed to convince you to join him for a week in Connecticut, and you had managed to convince him to let you drive up. He grumbled about it all the way out of the city. 

You had your sunglasses on and your hair was loose around your shoulders. Chris’ phone was plugged into your aux, but he had turned on your own road trip playlist. (He complained about your taste in music most of the drive, too.) As you got closer to Connecticut, Chris rolled the windows down. Every once in a while, you glanced over at him, only to already find him watching you with a smile on his face, eyes crinkly and dimple showing. 

You were singing the words to a Taylor Swift song at the top of your lungs, laughing as the wind ripped the words from your throat and out the window, when Chris reached over and picked up your phone. You turned to look at him.

“Eyes on the road,” he scolded, still holding your now-unlocked phone. You raised an eyebrow but turned back to the highway in front of you. 

The song changed again, this time to a Queen song, and you laughed again. Chris started singing along with you, and you forgot that he had been taking a picture of you. 

Later that night, long after the sun set, you got a notification that you had been tagged in a new Instagram post, by @2kreids0. You squinted at your phone screen, confused. You were sitting out on the porch under the stars, and Chris had gone in for dessert (something still stupidly healthy– “It’s the offseason, Kreider!” you had protested) only a couple minutes before.

Still frowning a little, you tapped on the notification. A picture of yourself, with the sun in your face and hair blowing out the window, laughing, eyes bright underneath your sunglasses, filled your screen. It could only have been taken by Chris in your car earlier. You looked at the Instagram handle again.

“Hey, babe?” you called as Chris stepped back outside, trying to balance two bowls and two glasses of wine. He looked up at you. “Did you make an Instagram?” Chris blushed. You looked back at the picture, this time reading the caption below it: I’ll drive anywhere with you, just to hear you sing your favorite songs. 

Chris had moved to stand next to you, still blushing to the tips of his ears. “I might have.” You laughed, taking your glass of wine from Chris’ hand and pulling him down for a kiss. 

“I thought you didn’t see the point?” you asked.

Chris shrugged. “I didn’t. Then you started posting pictures of me all the time, and I started to understand why people share the things they love for everyone to see.” 

“You’re a sap, Kreider,” you said, all fondness. You smiled at him from behind the rim of your wine glass as he took another picture of you. “Is this what I’m like?” you asked. Chris let out a surprised laugh. 

The next morning you were tagged again by Chris. You rolled your eyes. When you opened the notification, you saw the picture from the night before, but there was also a second one, one you didn’t know Chris had taken. It was of you, of course, but you were glaring at something on your phone over your coffee mug, glasses on and hair a mess. This time he had captioned it get you a girl who can do both. 

“Christopher!” You were already beginning to regret showing him exactly how to work Instagram the night before. As you heard Chris laughing his way down the stairs, though, you thought that you could really get used to it, even if Chris probably had some revenge posts in store for you. 

#cait writes things #chris kreider #chris kreider fic #chris kreider imagine #nhl fic #nhl imagine #hockey fic

[morning-glory215]

I’m sorry but saying that the US is like Europe (a bunch of different countries) is just wrong. It is still one country run by the same government, yes there is obviously going to be differences between states but nothing near the likes of say Estonia compared to Azerbaijan compared to Ireland you know? I’m not trying to be rude sorry the two just aren’t comparable

This is such an oddly funny ask to get. I'm mostly a DSMP blog, but you've activated my irl trap card - US politics. I'm a political science major. I live, breathe and sleep this kind of stuff.

Though to be honest, I have no idea what post you're referring to.

However - I'm going to operate under the idea that you don't know what federalism is. Federalism is the government function of separate national and state governments. Brazil, the US, Russia and Canada are federalist off the top of my head. How much power is enumerated to each level is varying by country - I'm most comfortable discussing the United States.

I’m going to give you the short and skinny of my viewpoint - the US federal government is sort of like the individual state’s manager. Each individual state has their own rights/powers, and so does the federal government. The federal government largely handles money and the protection of the Union - because each state is in agreement to be in the union. Of course, secession is another pretty legally dubious subject and one I’m not too interested in getting into.

In the United States constitution, certain powers are expressly (enumerated) stated to the federal and state levels. The basis of enumerated powers were that basically, any powers not explicitly stated for the federal government were thus given to the states. Some of these powers thusly given include; governance of how to deal with punishment for crimes; how to define those crimes; to create state militias (these are like mini state armies, that are used to deal with state emergencies, but are always superseded by the national military); how to administer education; copyright laws; regulations for businesses; creation of roads (which are often given money to maintain interstates). There are so many more, and they are STILL debated. 

Now, back in the days of dear old mother England supervising her thirteen little wayward colonies, we were, in fact, thirteen colonies that were separate from each other. Just because they all touched did not mean they were run the same. Crown colonies, private colonies. Sure, by the time of the American revolution, all the thirteen were run by the Crown, but they were still separate governments. There's a reason only Massachusetts was punished by the crown for the Boston Tea Party, and that's because it was seen, accurately, as a bunch of Massachusetts colonists causing problems, and not all the thirteen colonies causing problems.

The Constitution is a living document - and one nearly not brought to life. I won't bore you with early US history, nor the entirety of the Articles of Confederation. However, I will tell you that the Articles of Confederation were weak and did not support a federalist basis of government. They barely could make the infant states do ANYTHING. This is because they were not under an agreement to join into a union as we know now. A confederation is simply a loose joining of groups for a common goal - but frankly, all the Articles succeeded in doing was letting wealthy states walk free whilst states burdened by debt flounder and allowed states to largely function as independent nations.

Moving on, let’s circle back and look at the separation of powers - between federal and state levels. In Article VI of the Constitution, we are granted the words of the supremacy clause - “This Constitution, and the Laws of the United States which shall be made in Pursuance thereof; and all Treaties made, or which shall be made, under the Authority of the United States, shall be the supreme Law of the Land; and the Judges in every State shall be bound thereby, any Thing in the Constitution or Laws of any State to the Contrary notwithstanding”. The supremacy clause states that the laws of the federal government are the supreme law of the land (it also forbids religious tests to be mandated to be entered into a public office, and makes the federal gov. responsible for debts incurred during the time of the Articles). 

What makes this especially interesting is the simple fact of the matter that… well, state governments were often upheld above the federal government. Before the Civil War, the federal government did the bare minimum (collect taxes, raise an army, deal with foreign powers) and state governments superseded the national government. People even identified with their states far more than they did with the actual United States. Just listen to Hamilton and see how much they refer to each other by their colony/state instead of their national identity. 

I’m going to wrap this up before it gets too long and I lose the plot. However, thank you for indulging me and TLDR: I don’t think the US is like Europe in the sense that every state has very deep and well-defined cultures. However, it’s naive to think that federalism in the United States has not created a sort of differing identities by state. I know as somebody from Kansas, I’d sooner die than be lumped in with somebody from Oklahoma. I know people who’d sooner jump in the ocean than be lumped in with Texas or California or Florida. Just - all in all - US politics and our government is very weird.

And please…. Don’t ask me about our presidential election cycles.  

#long post #politics #history #united states #thank you though!! really!!! i had so much fun

[sapphireplums]

You’re Not Alone

Description: Y/N Barber the twin sister of Jacob Barber decided to go for a jog one day, but who knew her whole life can change in matters of seconds.

Warnings: angst, language, sexual assault -DON'T READ IF YOU’RE NOT COMFORTABLE

Pairing: Andy Barber x Daughter!Reader Jacob Barber x Sister!Reader

A/N:  if any of you guys have ever been assaulted in any type of way, i'm so sorry that has happened to you. you guys are all beautiful and strong human beings. if anyone wants to talk my inbox is open :) 

While reading this, listen to lovely by billie eilish. it really sets the mood for the story. 

 REQUESTS ARE OPEN BABES

A second. It only took seconds for you to not pick up your phone call from your brother. It was one of those moments where you did not to pick up the phone because you were distracted. But because of that, it almost cost you your life. 

 THREE HOURS BEFORE THE ASSAULT

♧ 

You and your older twin brother Jacob were walking home from school arguing about what dog is cuter. You know, the ususal twin stuff.

“No, Jake, German Shepherds are the cutest dog out.” You said with confidence.

“No, Y/N, Corgi’s are the cutest obviously.” Your twin brother kept saying. “ And I'm obviously right because I'm older than you by 49 seconds.”

He always used the ‘older twin’ card on you.

The argument lasted about a few minutes until you guys just gave up and agreed that they were both cute. However, in your mind , you kept saying German Shepherds were better.

“I’m hungry Jake. What do you think we’re going to have for dinner tonight?” You said as your stomach was rumbling.

“ You thinking what I’m thinking?” Jacob said with a smirk knowing that your twin telepathy was tingling. 

“Ohhh yessss.” Then you both shouted at the same time:

“KENTUCKY FRIED CHICKEN.” 

When you guys got home, you saw your mom on the couch typing something on her laptop. 

“Hey kids, how was school today?” Laurie said looking up from her laptop.

“It was good mom” You said and you gave Jacob the look basically saying ‘tell mom we want kfc’

Jacob groaned. “Mom can we get kfc for dinner? Me and Y/N have been craving it for a while”

“Is that your guys’ twin thingy where you want the same thing and think the same thing?” Laurie said smiling at the thought of  how her kids got along so well and had a strong sibling bond.

“ Yes mom, yes it is.” you said as chips were being stuffed into your mouth. “But can we actually get kfc though? Jake and I have been craving it for a while.”

“Sure you guys, I’ll pick it up around the time you dad will come home”

“Thanks Mom.” You both said at the same time. 

Going up to your guys’ room, Jacob turned on his video games while you were watching YouTube. 

He was talking to his gaming friend through the earpiece yelling words at him and the tv.

You just rolled your eyes and smiled slightly at your brothers actions. Closing your laptop, you looked outside the window and saw that it was a nice day, so you asked Jacob if he wanted to take a jog with you. 

“ Hey Jake, do you want to take a jog with me? It’s really nice outside right now.”

“ Sorry, maybe not this time sis. I’m really into this game.” Jacob said making you frown slightly.

“It’s okay Jake maybe next time.” Jacob turned his head towards you and smiled in agreeance. 

You got ready and then tied your shoes when you were near the door. 

“Mom, I’m going for a jog!” You yelled as you finished tying your shoes. 

“Okay honey be home before dinner.” Your mom said as she was washing the dishes. 

Running around the block, you took in the fresh air of the moisture that was in the air. Living in Massachusetts also meant wet weather which you loved. Summer wasn't really your favorite season but it was Jacobs. Being twins doesn’t mean you all like the same thing.

You and Jacob had the best sibling relationship not because you were twins, but that you just bonded in general. There is nothing he wouldn’t do for you and you thought the same.

Getting tired from the constant running, you decided to take a walking break and scroll through Instagram. As you were scrolling, your screen lit up with your dads contact picture. It was the two of you on a fishing trip making funny faces.

“Hey dad how’s work?” You asked slightly out of breath due to the running. 

“ Hey Sweetheart, after work I’m going to go to the grocery store and get those cookies you really like and I was thinking you and I can have a movie night?” 

“Dad, you know I’m always up for movie night” you chuckled. “What about Jake and mom?”

“Mom texted me saying that she was going to go shopping for swim trunks or something and Jake is going too so it's just going to be you and me.” 

“Okay dad, sounds good to me can’t wai-” 

“I’m sorry honey I have to go back now, I’ll see you at home. I love you.”

“I love you too dad.” He hung up the phone rather quickly but you didn’t think much of it because you were going to see him at home anyways

Well so you thought. You thought you were going to be home at your normal time. Thinking that it would just be another normal day, but it would be far from that.

After the short walking break and talking to your dad, you decided to start your jogging again. Jogging was one of the activities you liked to do after a long day to release the stress that was contained in you. Sometimes you would go with Jacob but today he didn’t feel like it.

Imagine if you just stayed on call a little longer with your dad or if Jacob went with you. Everything would be different. Every decision you make on a day to day basis affects your life.

When jogging,  up ahead you saw a man drop a box full of what looked like children's toys like dolls and race cars. Being the nice person you were, You approached the man and helped him pick up the toys.

Oh what a big mistake. 

“Oh, sir, let me help you with that,” you said bending down picking up the toys that were on the ground. 

“Thank you so much, darling,” the man said with a somewhat creepy smile, but you brushed it off.

Your phone started to buzz and you saw your screen light up with Jacob’s face, but you ignored it as you were still helping the man.  You were thinking of just calling Jacob back later when you had the chance. 

If you had the chance.

After helping the man, he stated his thanks to you. 

“Thank you again, honey,” you really started to get freaked out by this man especially since he was calling you these names. 

You gave him a nervous smile. “  You’re welcome, but I should get going now,” you said but before you could turn around and go back home, the man grabbed your wrist tightly, preventing you from going anywhere. 

“You are right where I want you sweetheart”

Before you could scream, he covered your mouth with a wet towel. The smell was really bad. Next thing you know, you’re knocked out like a light switch. 

♧

You woke up with a pounding headache. Trying to flutter your eyes open, you noticed you were in the backseat of a van. The next thing you saw made you panic. Your hands tied with your feet attached to them making it look like a fetus position. 

Before you could try and do anything, the man opened the doors to the van, revealing a wicked grin. Your eyes grew wide when he started to grow closer to you with duct tape. 

“Shhh don’t worry love I won't take long.”

You were confused what he meant by that. What did he mean he won’t take long?

That’s when it hit you like a truck. You were about to get raped. 

He started to put his hands around your breasts, trailing it up to your cheeks. He held your cheeks and stared into your eyes intently. This is when the tears started to come out. You couldn’t say anything since your mouth was duct taped, but you tried to move frantically though it didn’t do anything.

He started to take down his pants and he basically ripped your leggings in half.

Why did this have to happen? You were only being a good person, helping a man, and this is what happens in return.

DURING THE SAME TIME AT HOME

♧

Jacob was starting to get worried and anxious. It’s been over an hour and you wouldn’t answer your phone. He probably called you literally a hundred times but still no answer. He asked your mom to call you to see if you would answer.

It went straight to voicemail.

Jacob started to panic even more. He decided to call your guys’ dad to see if he knows where you were.

The line started to ring. Then he picked up.

“Hey Jake, I was wondering if-” he was cut off by Jacob frantically asking him if he knew where you were.  

“Dad! Did Y/N ever call you or anything?” Jacob frantically said to his father. 

“ I talked to her about a couple hours ago, is everything alright?

“I-I don’t know dad. She didn’t come home after her jog and I’m getting a really bad twin vibe” 

“Shit, okay Jake, I’ll be home as soon as I can.” With that Jacob hung up the phone. 

“God Y/N/N, I hope you’re okay” Jacob said with tears on the verge of coming out. 

When you woke up, you noticed that the familiar smell around your mouth. The man must have knocked you out. A burning pain was prominent in the lower half of your body. Everything started to come together. With your ripped pants and the bruises all over your body, you pieced everything together. 

You were raped.

All of the thoughts in your head, you didn’t even notice that you were not in the van anymore, no, you were at a park.

This park was all too familiar. It was the park you and Jacob loved when you were kids. You got up but fell back down due to the agonizing pain. 

The pain was unbearable. Tears threatening to come out of your eyes when you wanted to forget what happened. 

But you couldn’t forget.

You laid there on the cold cement floor.

♧

The Barbers were in panic when they couldn’t find you. They had called the cops after being gone for six hours. 

The police didn’t find you yet and frankly, they were doing a lousy job at it. 

“Fuck it, I’m going to go for a drive and see if I find her” Andy said while stomping towards the front door.

“I’m coming with you.” Jacob said without question.

His baby sister was missing, he couldn’t just stay home and do nothing. Andy shook his head.

“No, Jake you need to stay here with your mother.” Before Jacob could object, a officer wanted to question him maybe knowing where you could be. 

Andy drove around the neighborhood first, but no luck. He drove about another couple blocks where he stumbled upon a park. He knew the park. It was you and Jacob’s favorite park.

He slowly drove past the park to see if there was any luck. At this point, Andy almost gave up and went back home until he saw something.

Andy’s eyes widened with fear and joy when he saw you, his baby girl, at the park. But his smile fell when he saw you laying on the ground.

What if you were dead? Andy thought to himself

“ Oh my God, Y/N!!!” Andy basically sprinted towards you.

You could barely get out the words since your throat was sore from crying so much. 

“Daddy?!” You said weakly with tears on your cheeks and your eyes bloodshot from the crying. 

“Y/N what happened?” 

But before you could answer, he saw your ripped pants, bruises on your body and the blood coming out near your legs.

“Oh my God, Y/N please tell me you weren’t raped?” Andy said with sadness but also extreme anger knowing that there was a bastard out there who possibly touched you. 

You could barely get out the words but all you said was “ I was d-daddy.”

Andy was furious at this point his worst nightmare came true. 

“ Y/N I’m so sorry. If only I stayed on the phone with you a little longer I could have-” You interrupted your father knowing this wasn’t his fault. 

“Dad, this was not your fault.” 

Andy still looked at you with sad eyes, but despite what happened to you, he was just happy that you were alive. 

“Come on baby let's go home” Andy said while carrying you bridal style.

“ I’m so sorry dad. I was just helping this one guy and-and he-” 

You started to stumble on your words but your dad stopped you.

“ No no baby you don’t have to say anything now. But know Duffy might ask you some questions so we can catch the guy okay?”

You just nodded at your dads words not wanting to say anything. 

♧

On the drive home Andy heard you sniffling he reassured you with comforting words. 

“Honey, it’s okay, you’re safe now nobody is going to hurt you now.” 

You thought back to when Jacob was calling you. “ You know Jake called me when I was helping that man,” you started. “ If only I answered his call this probably wouldn-”

You were cut off by your father. “Y/F/N do not say that. None of this was your fault it was that son of a bitches fault” 

You were taken aback when your dad cussed and then you chuckled softly. “Woah dad, I didn’t know you tolerated that type of language” 

Andy just laughed, but before you could say anything else, you noticed you were home. 

Jacob and Laurie were outside talking to police officers, but they turned around and saw you in the car.

Jacob eyes widened and was the first to run towards you and give you a hug. When he broke the hug, he looked at you and saw your bruises which made him fume with anger, but he would worry about that later. He was just happy you were home.

“Y/N oh my god are you okay?!” you just nod your head. 

You went to give Laurie a hug which lasted short when a voice spoke up. 

“ Hi Y/N, I’m detective Duffy, I work with your father and I’m sorry to ask you this but we need to question you while your mind is fresh.”

“Duffy can’t this wait until later we just found her.” Andy said while looking back at his daughter.

“No dad it’s okay I’ll be fine.” Jacob gave you sad eyes of sympathy, but you gave him a reassuring smile. 

♧

“So Y/N, tell me from the start of what happened?” Your family was there to support you. You wanted them to be there. 

You started from the beginning with the jog, the man dropping the toys, the chloroform, the van, the pain in your lower area, everything.

Laurie just cried into Andy’s shoulders while his fists were clenched white. He was so angry. No, not at you, but at the fact that he couldn’t protect you. 

Jacob held your hand the entire time while you told Duffy what happened. He was angry that he didn’t go on the jog with you. He was mad that he couldn’t protect his baby sister. 

“Im so sorry this has happened to you Y/N, you should have not gone through that. We will find the man and he will be punished for his crimes.” 

You nodded and smiled slightly at Duffy. 

♧

After all the cops left, you didn’t know what to do. You were still traumatized.

Your head was resting on Andy’s lap and your legs were on Jacobs. You were dozing off, but you were scared to sleep or eve close your eyes. 

Everytime you closed your eyes, you just saw the man. Jacob seemed to notice this because you flinched a little. 

He rubbed your leg with reassurance telling you that you’re okay now. 

“ Y/N you can finally sleep now. We’re here for you, you don't have to worry about anything.” Jacob said to you

That's when everything broke. You couldn’t handle it anymore tears and sobs were everywhere.

Your family all gave you a hug with love evident in it. This is when you finally knew you were safe. 

You then spoke up while drying your tears. “Can we still get KFC?” you said with a smile. Everyone just laughed and that’s when you finally knew you had a loving family and you couldn’t be anymore thankful than that. 

♧

A/N :OMGGg I cried writing some of this ahhhh. I might make a part 2 depending if I get any ideas and if this doesn’t flop. 

Taglist for ‘You’re Not Alone’;OPEN

@cloudystevie​

Permanent Taglist; OPEN

@tvckerlance​ @lozzypoz321​ @princess-evans-addict​

#andy barber #andy barber x reader #andy barber x daughter!reader #jacob barber #jacob barber x sister!reader #defending jacob #chris evans #chris evans x reader #defending jacob fic #defending jacob imagine #jacob barber fic #andy barber fic #andy barber x daughter #jacob barber x sister #steve rogers #steve rogers x reader #captain america #barber x reader #chris evans imagine #avengers #jaeden martell

[doshmanziari]

Architectural Criticism in 2021/2022 || Part 1.5

Before writing a fuller continuation of my previous essay on architectural criticism, I’m inserting a mini-essay that focuses on a particular piece of criticism. Let me be clear: I don’t see Kate Wagner, the person behind @mcmansionhell, as an enemy; I’m just using one of her articles as an example because I had, in my essay, already linked two articles of hers (more accurately, one article and an image from another), and I’d rather elaborate on what I mean when I write “...a vapid buildup to a politically convenient takeaway” than bring in an entirely different item. Wagner, in my view, represents a sort of destabilizing criticism that takes pleasure in tackling “dry” subject matter with breathless, Meme-heavy sarcasm. I find the tone off-putting, but I appreciate it as one attempt to invigorate and broaden the audiences of architectural appraisal. My issue is that by now the joke has overestimated its capacity for judgmental clarity. Really anything can be made fun of if you’re determined enough, and the more of an unquestioning audience you have the easier it is to believe everything you say is true or coherent.

The image was from this 2018 Vox article: “Betsy DeVos’ summer home deserves a special place in McMansion Hell” (a title likely devised by the editor; given the other residences Wagner has lambasted, I would be surprised if she truly believes this is among the worst). My observations won’t make sense unless anyone who is reading this reads her article as well, so please do that if you’d like to follow along. It should take only a couple of minutes.

What I’d first draw readers’ attention to is that Wagner spends the first four paragraphs on the United States’ beyond-vast inequality of wealth. Two of these paragraphs are the article’s largest, and the article is twelve-paragraphs-long, meaning that 1/3 of it is devoted to establishing a socio-economic context -- at least, that is the pretense. Once Wagner writes “...getting paid to make fun of DeVos’s tacky seaside decor is one of few ways to both feed myself and make myself feel better”, it is clear that her personal intent is a kind of vengeful mocking, and that her intent for readers is to prime them to associatively, knee-jerkingly despise anything which could come next with flat-affect “lmao”s. It’s hardly irrelevant to mention economic realities when examining luxury items (and what else is a mansion?), but Wagner’s subsequent analysis is not really architectural or even artistic: it is rather about looking at several photographs of a building, knowing who lives there and hating that person (and also imagining that they were responsible for all design decisions), and then mocking this-and-that in whatever ways one can devise. These grievances are understandable, but understandable grievances do not automatically lead to perceptive criticism.

Please look (perhaps again) at the first image. Note that only four, maybe, of the fourteen details Wagner chooses to focus on -- “no wry comment needed”, “these look like playdoh stamps”, “when you love consistency”, and “oh my god is this a shutter” -- approach anything vaguely resembling coherent criticism; and the other four images fare even worse (with the exception of the highlighting of an apparently absurd interior balcony). The rest are inane attempts at saying anything at all. Writing “hell portal” by an upper porch area may be funny for a moment, but what does it actually express? Well, nothing, except the author’s own irritation which will find whatever it can to announce its contemptuous sarcasm. Wagner’s captions will land only to the degree that the reader is humorously sympathetic.

The aforementioned remarks, excepting the one about the embedded chubby Tuscan columns’ Play-Doh-likeness, suggest that the worst thing a building can do is be formally heterogeneous. The implicative corollary here is that good architecture is eminently justifiable in all of its parts -- consistent, unified, rational. This is as fine a personal belief as anything else, but when it is wielded as dogma against architecture which has no interest in being a Petit Trianon it can only reveal its intellectual self-limitations. Wagner writes that “there is a difference between architectural complexity and a mess”, yet what that difference may be is hand-waved away. We just have to believe that thirteen different windows styles is too much. What’s the threshold? Does it depend on the size of the building? The types of styles used? Who knows.

Now of course bad architecture exists, and sometimes the failure indeed points to deficient editorial acumen; for architecture, like any other art, is as much about what’s included as what’s excluded. But in saying so little about the shingle style itself, Wagner seems to have given no thought to readers concluding that all shingle style houses are freakish -- more specifically, concluding that this freakishness is a damning transgression, and that no self-respecting, punching-up class-warrior would ever be caught dead sincerely enjoying their geometric, “exquisite corpse” escapades. In fact, the freakish tendencies of shingle style houses are just what make them such great fun to see, visit, or reside in. Wagner’s article, as far as I can tell, omits this possibility. When she writes, “Betsy likely went with this style because it is very popular in New England and in coastal enclaves of the rich and famous in general”, one is being pushed to presume that the only probable reason the shingle style exists or could be preferred over another style is to signal élite solidarity.

The photograph right above is of Kragsyde, a Massachusetts shingle style mansion, designed by the US-Northeast-oriented firm of Peabody & Stearns, completed in the 1880s. It was demolished almost a century ago, but the few exterior images of it which remain are, I think, fascinating -- maybe most of all for its enormous archway, possibly a porte-cochère, which has a thin, overextending keystone bizarrely driven into the top like a nail puncturing a petrified rainbow. I bring the building up because Wagner gives us no reason to consider why Kragsyde may have been a genuine architectonic accomplishment and not merely an oversized farce of contiguous pretensions. To the layperson hot off of the Vox piece, there may be no artistic difference between it and DeVos’ place, except that perhaps Kragsyde has a more consistent fenestrative application (would that make it better? if so, why?).

I appreciate that only so much can be said when you’re limited to less than a thousand words, especially when the issue is “complicated” (as the byline for Vox’s First-person series advertises). But the problem I keep coming back to is how DeVos’ mansion is treated as a stand-in for DeVos herself. This makes any architectural critique, no matter how pressed it is for size, flimsily presentist: its durability starts and ends with how alive the architecture’s resident(s) and political presence are. On some emotional level, this is pretty sensible: if we despise monarchical institution, we can find a sort of loophole to enjoying Versailles palace on the basis of it no longer being the residence of royalty. Our awe over its decadence and scope is intersectionally “admissible” on the basis of its having become a UNESCO World Heritage site. Similarly, one can imagine DeVos’ mansion being appreciated in a hundred years (should it still exist then) because the passage of time will have rendered DeVos’ person a historical fact, and perhaps more separable, and then tolerable, in that regard -- even if the building remains private.

But if architecture is, as a craft, critically whittled down to nothing more or less than inorganic expressions of social disparities, with every aesthetic decision a reflection of politically explicable taste, then we must assume that a great deal of the world’s most remarkable architecture is equally ridiculous and despicable, since so much of it was born out of great privilege and required specialized resources. I doubt Wagner actually believes this, because it would betray the entire premise of her McMansion Hell project, which is to demonstrate how so many modern day mansions are deeply unpleasant mounds of visual illiteracy, and cannot hold even a stump of a candle to the luminously learned and eclectic talents of prior great architects such as Mackintosh, Norman Shaw, Lutyens, or Ledoux. So what’s the takeaway here? As far as I can tell, it’s simply that if you hate Betsy DeVos, and if you care about class, you should hate her house too. And I do not think that that is architectural criticism.

#Architecture #architectural criticism #mcmansion #shingle style

[bluesockets]

HUGO WEIDERMANN ( HE/HIM ) is a CIS MALE, THIRTY-SEVEN year old THERAPIST & PSYCHIATRIST who has been living in Moorbrooke for TWO YEARS. They were born on MARCH 5 and right now, they are currently residing in REDGRAVE GROVE. It has been said that they look suspiciously like MATTHEW GRAY GUBLER and if they had to choose a song to describe themselves, they would choose HEAVY BALLOON by FIONA APPLE. ( ox, 21+, cst, he/him )

❮ it grows relentless like the teeth of a rat it's just got to keep on gnawing at me !! ❯ TW : ILLNESS, DRINKING MENT. !

full name : hugo weidermann. nicknames : he actually hates most derivatives of his name. calling him ‘huey’ is a one way ticket to getting your number blocked. pronouns : he/him. age : thirty-seven. date of birth : march 5, 1984. zodiac : pisces. gender : cis male. sexuality : gay. hometown : munich, germany. current residence : redgrave grove. languages spoken : german + english.

BIO !

—— hugo was born into a moderately wealthy family right in the middle of munich, germany. his parents pushed a lot of their #grindset on him and his baby sister. unfortunately for him, this meant a future of perfectionism and unrelenting gifted kid syndrome. he sacrificed a lot of his social needs for grades early in his life and after a while, it all became second nature. once in a blue moon he’d talk to his peers in scouting but he’d stutter, stumble over his words, and never quite found the right things to say. figuring himself a lost cause, he studied. he helped his mom with the garden. maybe occasionally played half life or duke nukem on the family computer. all of this dedication to perfection made him a shoe-in for harvard university, all the way over in the united states. his parents, father especially, encouraged the idea. that was all he needed to get himself on a plane to massachusetts. he was just glad his family could afford frequent flights back home, in case everything went to shit. —— when he first landed, hugo thought he’d only be in the states for school, but he ended up liking it a lot more than he thought he would. after finishing school and taking up a residency in downtown boston, he moved to new york. he made a good amount of money, was able to keep in touch with the few friends he met in college, and even secured a few long term relationships along the way. he hit his thirties and finally felt that he reached a point of contentment. this ... didn’t last long. —— right before he was able to buy his first house in the city he fell ill and, after seeing more doctors than he could count on both hands and feet, was diagnosed with lupus and rheumatoid arthritis. this wasn’t something he thought he was going to be able to handle by himself, so his sister came down from her home in germany to assist him with his daily needs. the two of them definitely couldn’t afford new york and medical bills on hugo’s salary alone, which led them to pack their bags and head to ( what his sister considered ) the next best option. moorbrooke, maine !! he wasn’t too stoked about this. he’d be leaving most of his support system behind and he knew absolutely nothing about the area, but his sister found a job there and it was a good place for him to start a private practice of his own. he’s still struggling over the loss of independence and the complete change from where he was in life before, but he’s coping ! after spending a lot of time inside and away from the people of moorbroke, he finally thinks he might be ready to actually make a life here. even if he wasn’t, his sister isn’t gonna move the two of them any time soon.

TIDBITS !

he’s a very nice dude and will totally engage with people, he just cannot bring himself to let his walls down. you really gotta know hugo well if you wanna have a conversation about anything serious without him deflecting the whole damn time.

his accent .... god rest his soul. he’s been living here for 20 years and sometimes people still need to take a second to understand him. especially when he drinks. two beers in and the man needs a translator.

speaking of drinking, he doesn’t do it often, and he can’t hold his liquor. i’d actually advise people to never give him alcohol. like, ever.

was on the rowing team in college. please don’t ask him about it. he’ll talk about it forever.

if it weren’t for his dog and his bees he’d be at rock bottom. outside of writing ( which i will get to in a jiffy ), beekeeping is his favorite hobby. ask him nicely and he might give you a jar of honey.

before coming down with lupus and RA he wrote two very boring books for psychiatrists and psychiatrists only. now that his focus has shifted away from his career a little bit, he’s in the middle of writing a poetry collection.

you will find this man at every bookstore in a 10 mile radius. he can’t be in the sun for too long so instead he likes to look at stuff he promises himself he won’t buy and then buys it anyway.

CONNECTIONS !

clients

he’s got fifteen clients on his caseload just to keep himself from losing his mind. he specializes in family, grief, trauma, and stress but doesn’t limit himself too much because of how small the town is. what i’m saying is : let hugo prescribe your characters drugs.

fellow beekeepers

he’s kept to himself a lot during his time in moorbrooke but his sister used to force him out at least some of the time. she drives him to beekeepers association events and conventions often enough, i would imagine it’d be a lot easier for him to talk to someone who shares the same niche hobby !! if your muse doesn’t keep bees, i’m always down for him to talk to some of the people who buy his honey at farmer’s markets.

former close friends

hugo met a lot of people ( particularly on harvard’s rowing team ) in college and during his stint in new york. i’m sure it’d be great for him to meet someone he knew up here because he’s honestly so tired of having to get used to new situations by himself.

flirtationship but hugo is oblivious the entire time

this guy is definitely the type to flirt with people on accident. i think it’d be really fuckin funny if he was flirting back and forth w someone he wasn’t consciously flirting with in the first place.

😏

listen the only thing i love playing out more slow burn self improvement and found family is romance. he’s been single since he was in new york and i think he deserves a little smooch. please dm me if your muse is also deserving of a little smooch.

etc, etc, etc !

there’s definitely more i want. i want everything you have to give me. however, if you’re in need of specifics, i would love to see : his doctors, people he can become friends with + let his walls down around, people he can teach german to, other authors, beta readers, and neighbors !

what am i missing. ah, yes.

pinterest / spotify [coming soon!]

#mbintro #* ‣ 𝐡𝐮𝐠𝐨 𝐰𝐞𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐦𝐚𝐧𝐧 ― abouts. ❜ #illness tw #drinking mention tw

[beca-mitchell]

i think you should come live with me (1/1)

Summary: Chloe and Beca at age 7 begin to learn more about the notion of family and what that means for both of them. 

Part of the daylight au. You can thank @asimplefavors for this because she texted me, inspired by “seven” by Taylor Swift...fic title from that very song.

Word count: 2,345

Read below or on AO3

* * * * *

LOCATION: Brookline, MA MONTH: August/September AGE: 7

* * * * *

 Beca’s parents start fighting close to the end of their first year in Brookline. It starts off small. Little arguments here and there, sometimes involving Beca, but mostly involving their own unhappiness with each other.

It only escalates from there, Beca seeing less and less of her father as he stays late at work. Teaching, according to her mother, but she picks up something different in her mother’s tone that she doesn’t like. She often chooses instead to focus on her food, too afraid to ask once more why daddy isn’t coming home once again for dinner.

Now, two years into living in Massachusetts, Beca still kind of feels like she doesn’t belong. Like the kids are still looking at her weird because she doesn’t like running around as much as they do...well, only if Chloe makes her or encourages her. Then she doesn’t mind it so much.

If it weren’t for Chloe Beale, Beca thinks that things would be much worse. It is the new environment and the new house and the new school, Beca’s sure of it. She hates change as much as any other young child, but she feels marginally lucky that she has Chloe.

Chloe, who consistently manages to drag her out of the house every day leading up to the first day of school at the end of each summer, mostly because she simply knows that Beca is nervous and she wants to make her feel better.

That, to Beca, is more than she could have ever asked for.

She watches Chloe hum to herself as they both sit under the big tree in Chloe’s backyard. It is their favourite spot to get away to, especially after a long day at school. Beca likes when Chloe’s mom brings them snacks and lets them play outside until they’re tired and Chloe has to practically drag Beca home, usually to the sight of Beca’s father’s disapproving stare looking down at both of them.

“I don’t want to go home,” Beca announces. She isn’t quite sure where it comes from, but she lets it out nonetheless because she has seen Chloe do it before. Chloe always speaks her mind and always makes sure her voice is heard.

Chloe sits up, propping herself up on her elbows. She frowns at Beca. “But we can’t have a sleepover. There’s school tomorrow, Bec.”

“No...I just...don’t like...going home.” She hates how timid she sounds, but it’s the truth. She waits for Chloe to process that.

Chloe takes a moment to stare at her. Beca notices that Chloe does that frequently, like she understands exactly what is going through Beca’s mind at any given moment. Beca finds it both terrifying but oddly comforting. It is comforting knowing that Chloe cares so much about her and they are, as Chloe puts it, best friends forever, but the intensity of Chloe’s gaze is sometimes just…

“Is it...your dad?” Chloe finally asks, severing Beca’s train of thought. She doesn’t sound judgmental, not even close. She simply sounds concerned, eyes fixed on Beca with sympathy.

Beca’s eyes widen. She hadn’t told Chloe. At least, she didn’t remember telling Chloe. “I...I just don’t like it when they fight,” she admits quietly. “Your house is nicer.” She feels guilty that her immediate thought is that Chloe will judge her or even get upset at her, but she knows that Chloe would never.

“I heard them once,” Chloe confesses. She sits up, wrapping her arms around her knees so she can peer at Beca more closely. “The window was open and I was outside.”

“Oh,” Beca murmurs, embarrassed mostly. “I don’t know. I just…when they yell…”

Chloe immediately pulls her in for a hug, startling Beca into silence.

Beca squeezes back—hugging is still an art form she’s learning from Chloe herself—but she finds herself sinking into the hug.

It is as easy as breathing, especially with Chloe.

 * * * * *

 When Beca leaves that night, Chloe mulls over what Beca had said earlier. She pushes her food around her plate, pouting mostly, as her brother chats animatedly with her parents. She wants so badly to fix things for Beca, but she has no idea how.

She glances up when her brother begins talking about how his friend’s family just began to foster a couple of puppies.

“Mommy? Daddy?” Chloe chimes in, ignoring the dirty look Max gives her when she cuts him off. She places her fork primly next to her plate and fixes her parents with the most innocent expression she can muster.

“Suck-up,” Max mutters, kicking her under the table.

She ignores that for the time being. “Can Beca come stay with us?”

Alice tilts her head, staring with curiosity at her youngest child. “For a sleepover?” She glances at her husband. “Baby, you know it’s a weekday. You have school tomorrow.”

“No, not for a sleepover.” Chloe pouts at her plate. “Forever.”

Chloe glances up when an extended silence follows her statement. She wonders if she said something entirely inappropriate or wrong.

Max scoffs, but otherwise stays silent, choosing to let their parents handle it.

“Chloe,” her father states. “Beca can’t stay with us forever. Why would you ask that?”

“Because Beca’s so unhappy at her house. I want her to stay here.”

“Chloe, she can’t,” her father reiterates.

“Greg,” Alice murmurs. “Chloe,” she calls across the table. “Baby, Beca can’t stay with us even if she is unhappy.” She smiles sadly at her daughter. “I know you want to protect your friend, but Beca has a family of her own and they would miss her very much if she lived with us.”

“Beca’s mom and dad are always fighting,” Chloe confesses. “I hear it sometimes.”

“You do? What have you heard?”

Chloe shrugs, picking up her fork again. “I don’t know. Stuff. I just know Beca’s sad.”

The topic is put to rest for the remainder of dinner.

Later, as Chloe climbs into bed, a worried expression still on her face, her mother joins her in her bedroom, gently shutting the door behind her. “Chloe, my sweet, sweet baby,” she murmurs, sitting on the edge of Chloe’s bed as her daughter continues to pout at her. “You know that Beca is always welcome over.”

“Yes,” Chloe mumbles. “But why can’t we just keep her?”

“She isn’t like a pet, sweetheart. You know that, right?”

“No, she’s my best friend,” Chloe corrects.

“I know, Chloe. You are, of course, very very sweet to think of her best interests.” At Chloe’s confusion, she smiles. “You care a lot about her,” she amends.

“I do.”

“Sleepovers on weekends are fine, but we can’t just take Beca from her home. People get in trouble for that kind of stuff, okay?”

“I don’t like seeing her sad.”

“I know.” Alice’s heart breaks for her daughter’s best friend. Beca is small and quiet, but she has seen how lively and happy Beca could be. Usually only around her own daughter. She adores little Beca Mitchell because of how happy the girl makes Chloe. She wonders what Beca’s own parents think of her daughter’s influence on their daughter’s life.

“I want to keep her,” Chloe declares, though with a tinge of sleepiness, finally.

"I know," Alice repeats, pressing a kiss to her daughter's forehead. "I love you." 

 * * * * *

 The next day, Beca and Chloe go about their days at school as best as they can. They didn’t manage to stay in the same class for their school year, so Chloe can only really see Beca at recess, but she’s excited just to see Beca and drag her over to their house after school.

Chloe has long stopped asking why they rarely go over to Beca’s house. Beca just likes her house better and Chloe hasn’t complained once. She loves having Beca in her house. She loves seeing Beca giggle over the fun snacks her mother always brings them. Fun dinosaur-shaped nuggets. Tater tots. Nicely sliced fruits.

Today, Alice Beale has bright smoothies waiting for them when they trudge through the front door.

“Shoes off, girls!” she calls as they rush through the front foyer.

Chloe pulls Beca into the living room where their smoothies are waiting for them. She gasps excitedly upon seeing them. “Yay! Mom never makes smoothies!”

“These look good.” Beca smiles at Chloe’s mother. “Thank you, Mrs. Beale.”

“Beca, you are so much more well-mannered than my own child.”

Beca blushes immediately under the attention and turns back quickly to the television where Chloe is loading up recorded music videos.

“Girls, I have some fun things for you, if you want to play dress-up.”

Chloe turns quickly. “I want to see!”

“I have some old dresses and shirts and clothes. Maybe you can put on a fashion show for us later. Or just figure out which things I can throw out. Hm?”

“Okay!”

 * * * * *

 “These are so big,” Beca says, holding out her arms with the sleeves flowing freely over her hands. “Maybe too big.”

“We look funny.”

“I kind of like that,” Beca says shyly. She smiles at Chloe in the reflection of the oversized mirror.

“Beca,” Chloe says slowly. “I asked my parents yesterday whether we could keep you.”

Beca pauses from where she is attempting to tie a very large belt around her waist. “You what?”

“I don’t know,” Chloe says quickly. It sounds silly now, but she wants Beca to know, at least, that Chloe cares so much about her. “You were just sad about going home. And I thought...maybe...what if you just never went home. But my mom and dad said no. I’m sorry.”

Chloe sounds so genuinely distressed that Beca nearly trips over herself to quickly pull Chloe into a tight hug. “Don’t be sorry!” She feels affection well up inside of her—affection she didn’t even know she had for Chloe—and she quickly squashes it down, focusing on the feeling of Chloe hugging her back. “Thank you,” she murmurs, as Chloe’s arms tighten around her.

In all honesty, Beca hadn’t considered that. Not even while they had been sitting out by the large tree in Chloe’s backyard the day before. Or any of the days before that. But now, she kind of wonders why she hadn’t considered it before. It seems kind of pointless now, since Chloe’s parents said no...but…

Chloe draws back from the hug and grins widely at Beca, missing teeth at all. “Want to play house?”

Beca smiles back, excited already at the prospect of a new adventure with her best friend.

 * * * * *

 Later that night as Beca settles down for dinner with her own family, she can’t quite wipe the smile from her face. It had been somewhat freeing—so fun, of course—to play house with Chloe. Being silly with Chloe, trying on oversized clothes. Then letting Chloe’s mother take pictures of them together with silly expressions on their face.

It is Beca’s mother who notices the smile on her face first. She stands at the stove, stirring something slowly while Beca sits quietly with her father at the table. “Did you have fun at Chloe’s?”

Beca thinks her father clears his throat, but he doesn’t say anything, so she keeps her eyes on her mother’s face. Well, the side of it anyway. “Yeah. We played dress-up and did our homework.”

“That sounds fun.”

“We played house too. I like playing house with Chloe. She makes me laugh a lot.”

“You played house,” Beca’s father echoes, putting his mug down on the table with a small amount of force. It startles her and she looks to him guiltily, though for what reason, she still doesn’t know. “Rebecca, you know that you can’t play house with another girl, right?”

“Warren, please, not now. She didn’t mean it that way.”

“Of course she did. It’s because you let her spend time with those damn leftist hippies,” he growls back. Beca winces, shrinking in her seat. “Beca, listen to me carefully, okay? Two girls cannot play house because that game is about pretending to be a family. Being married, Beca. You can't do that."

“Why can’t Chloe be my family too?” Beca asks, confusion her tone. She is mostly just confused, which is why she's arguing back. It feels wrong, what her father is saying her. She could have sworn that Chloe’s mom said—

“Because to be family means that you two would have to be married and you can’t have that, okay?”

“Mrs. Beale said that—she said that one day—”

“She said that one day, what?” her father demands. She quickly looks away, tears stinging her eyes. She isn’t even sure why she had bothered arguing or talking back to him. “Do you see what happens when you let our child do whatever she wants?”

“Warren, not now.” Beca hates that tone her mother uses. It means that the fight will likely last well into the night.

“I’m tired of you constantly challenging the way I want to raise our daughter. This is what’s right and you know that. Those people aren’t good influences. Look at what they're turning her into! What’s the matter with you?”

“It’s rich that you want to have a say now that you’re home for the first time in weeks. When was the last time you tucked her in? When was the last time you picked her up from school? I’m running myself dry here, Warren.”

Beca stares forlornly at the table in front of her, thinking back wistfully to what Chloe had said earlier. The thought of being part of Chloe’s family. Or even just a family with Chloe herself. That would be nice.

Beca thinks it would be nice, maybe, to spend the rest of her life being friends with Chloe, as long as she gets to keep her in her life.

It is a nice imaginary escape for the moment.

It is an escape until she can see her best friend again under that big tree where they both feel invincible.

fin.

#mine #bechloe #bechloe fic #now i see daylight #my fanfic

[baezdylan]

LITTLE WOMEN FANFICTION

CHAPTER 2, PART 1: INVISIBLE STRING

Horizons and Sunsets

 

"Time, curious time, gave me no compasses, gave me no signs"

- invisible string, Taylor Swift

Concord, Massachusetts, 1868

 

Rays of sunshine playing on her skin. Soft grass under her fingers. Little specks of dirt scattered across her face. Leaves tangled up in her hair. It's not a common happening to be able to see yourself in such a way. A way that makes it seem like you are not you, but somebody else wearing somebody else's clothes, guarding somebody else's heart, owning somebody else's thoughts. Like you are only an observer, a background noise in your own life. These descriptions are usually used in unpleasant connotations, usually as metaphors, usually as another way of saying you feel transparent, forgotten and small. But in Jo's case, the phenomenon is not even a tiny bit metaphorical. Maybe it's the impact of the books. Maybe it's her imagination. Maybe it's just her. Whatever it is, Jo has always been able to see her life as a theatre piece, herself an audience member, her past self, no matter how far back she might travel to reach a certain memory, a performer.  And Jo craves those moments of remembrance. She craves the feeling of transparency. She craves to exist less.

 

Everything she remembers, she remembers in flashes. Her memories do not understand concepts such as "chronology" or "order". Her brain resembles an unsolved puzzle. Every piece of information she has makes sense. But when to be put together with another aspect of her being, it does not fit. Nothing about her ever seems to fit. And now, she doesn't fit within herself.

 

No, Jo March is not a puzzle. Puzzle, no matter how difficult and complex, can be put together.

 

She's a living breathing contradiction.

What else to describe the utter ridiculousness of her mind? She is not happy and she is not sad. One second she is completely content with her life, the other, she is not. She wants to receive love, love and love, but she is afraid to offer it.

 

When Josephine March loves someone, she does not tell them. She does show, but never tells. She never uses the famous simple phrase. Never not once.

 

Her best friend burns for the people he loves. Jo burns for them in secret.

 

And here, as she is seeing herself splattered in sunlight, Jo March is preoccupied with three actions of extraordinary importance.

 

One is chasing ghosts.

Other is rearranging thoughts,

Final is accepting sunsets.

 

***

 

Paris, France, 1868

Theodore (yes, he is "Theodore" now) is not exactly sure where he is or how did he get there. His vision is blurry and his body feels heavier than usual. What is fascinating about his situation is the fact that consuming certain "substances", (and substances being of alcoholic nature), were supposed to prevail him from feeling like this. From feeling the way he's been feeling his entire life. Like everything around him was frozen and he was the only one moving. He was just too fast, too warm, too different. Enormous in emotion, reckless in thought. All of this often led to conclusions too horrific to comprehend, so he tried to avoid thinking.

The thought of having too many emotions might be terrifying. But the thought of having too much love for everything and everyone but himself was rather paralyzing. It was ridiculous to expect anybody to feel with as much passion as he did. It was ridiculous to demand such a thing from people. Why would anyone put all of their energy into someone else when there were so many things to be done in the world? But those other things rarely sparked an interest in him. Adventures, boarding schools, trips and experiences seemed irrelevant and hollow unless they were intended to be shared. It's funny how he always craved the one thing he never had. And when he finally got a glance of the love he so desperately wanted, he lost it because of his stupid absurd annoying emotions.

When Theodore Laurence loves someone he does not tell them. He screams it until his lungs are on fire.

 

His best friend loves with her whole entire heart. He loves with his whole entire being.

 

And now, vision blurry and body heavy, Theodore Laurence finds himself preoccupied with three actions of extraordinary importance.

 

One is chasing ghosts.

Other is rearranging thoughts,

Final is accepting sunsets.

 

***

Concord, Massachusetts, 1862

 

Step one: chasing ghosts

Sand beneath her bare feet. Water. Silent whispers of the sea. Birds. Colors. Nothing. Everything. Oh, to be crafted in such a way to believe you shall always be sixteen and silly and reckless and real. That is how Jo feels right now. Real. Right here, observing, enjoying, doing nothing but existing. And the sea! So mystical and wide, appearing endless in its presence, it looks like something in possession of a dream rather than this time and place. And the best part of this? Her family. They all resemble a painting in their natural messiness. Amy with her hair half wet, positioned in a way she believes to be ladylike, smiling at the horizon, sketchbook in hand. Meg, holding her hat so that it doesn't leave her in its desperate wish to follow the wind, shoes untied, eyes glistening from laughter she experienced seconds before. Beth, oh sweet Beth, kneeling by the water, touching the shining surface, mouth moving as though she is singing to the sea itself. Teddy is by her side, like he always is, sitting with his eyes closed, head held high up to the sky. He would probably refer to his current position as a way to "suck out all the marrow out of life", which always sounded a bit inappropriate coming from his mouth, but Jo loved the symbolism of the phrase, so she decided to put her friend's foolishness to the side.

 

"Isn't it simply ethereal, dearest Teddy?"

 

"Yes, I did indeed think my face had a particular glow to it this morning, your kind remark is very well appreciated, Miss March" came a teasing response shortly followed by a light smack to the arm (because Jo, being an experienced bookworm, always had a book weapon down her sleeve).

 

"Oh Teddy, you're such a boy sometimes. I find it quite disappointing really." said Jo being perfectly aware of the effect the comment might cause. Teddy shot her a look of a supposedly hurt individual, put a hand over his heart and exhaled loudly, as though he was a character in a Shakespearean tragedy. Jo rolled her eyes at the glamorous gesture, but pretty quickly, her features were changed with a thoughtful expression. She turned her head to Teddy timelines after, only to be greeted with a no longer playful, but a reassuring smile. He knew her too well.

 

"You know, it doesn't make it any less beautiful. The fact that it's all going to end one day, I mean. Quite the opposite actually."

 

She does not answer that. She gets up from the ground and extends her hand to him.

 

"If it's going to end, we might as well suck all of the existing marrow out of it."

 

"Oh, what a wonderful choice of words, dearest Jo!" he exclaims theatrically while gladly accepting her hand

 

"Oh, what a wonderful life, dearest Teddy."

 

And with that, they run to the sea, their lungs almost too full, smiles almost too big. Spirits almost too free.

 

 

Childhood is a thing of dreams.

 

 

Concord, Massachusetts, 1863

 

Step two: rearranging thoughts

 

Trousers under skirts. It's scandalous. Scandalous and inappropriate. At least that's what society will label it as. And society loves labels. But Laurie finds a solace of sorts in his friend's choice of clothes. He isn't sure how to explain it (he is not as good with words as Jo is), but it's comforting to see someone be so unapologetically themselves, whoever that person might be. He tells her this one day because he's Laurie and he isn't familiar with the concept of "silencing your emotions".

 

"Teddy, don't flatter, I told you I do not enjoy nor support such doings. You might as well go practice your gentlemanly manners on Amy, I'm sure she will accept your words of so called admiration with much more enthusiasm than yours truly." says Jo, her voice a tiny bit too loud, her thoughts meeting the outside world in grave speed. Laurie often finds himself wondering how one speaks with so much passion and rush, it's like Jo's sentences are running instead of flowing. She shares her mind without looking at him, her hands busy with rearranging the dining table previously covered with Amy's unfinished drawings and Beth's beloved dolls.

 

"I meant what I said, Jo. But since you believe I'm incapable of offering sincerity, I shall escort myself out."

 

He gets up from the place he was sitting at and rushes out of the March house, leaving his waistcoat behind him. Jo knows better than to follow him right away. She will bring him the forgotten object later, once he's ready to start unravelling burdens.

 

 

***

 

Night.

 

Light.

 

 

These two nouns aren't supposed to get along very well, yet here we are. Jo finds herself awake in the middle of the night, which circumstance she is no stranger to, but this time it is not her restless mind that steals her from the arms of dreamland. It's light. Jo gets up, careful not to make a noise, and looks out the window to further investigate the strange occurring. And the sight her eyes are met with is a sight so undoubtedly Teddy-like that she isn't sure if she will be able to forgive herself for not coming up with such a conclusion sooner. The house of her neighbour, who happens to be her dearest friend, is shining with what she presumes is light of about two dozen candles. The scene would've been inspiring, if not captivating, especially for a person of her making, but Jo knows Teddy and this cannot mean anything pleasant. Therefore, she decides to pay her fellow pirate a visit, armed with a forgotten piece of clothing as a faithful enough excuse.

 

Proud of herself for avoiding all the obstacles successfully (and the obstacles being sleeping family members who have yet to be introduced to the pleasures such as "sleepless nights" or "windows"), Jo runs to the construction once known as a house, now as a gothic castle and knocks. Her efforts are answered with a voice of not a person, but a peculiarly human like ghost.

 

"Who is it?"

 

"Do you really think I will dare share information of an importance so big, oh so grand, without seeing your face, kind sir?" says not Jo, but a righteous, noble knight, his devotion as admirable as amusing.

 

Laurie opens the door only to be met with a grinning Jo.

 

"I believe you have forgotten this, my friend."

exclaims an unlike lady, kneels down and offers him his waistcoat in a way so grandiose, some might think she actually was a knight in shining armor, sharing sunlight, providing hope.

 

"Don't be a goose Jo" came a gentlemanly response followed by an annoyed sound and indifferent expression. Laurie turns around, but leaves the door wide open. Jo, understanding the message quite well, follows him inside to a candle lit room. Laurie approaches the piano and sits down as though he is about to start playing the instrument, but he doesn't confirm the logical assumption. Instead, he closes his eyes and remains like that for what feels like eternity, looking like a human statue. It would've been comical if it were anybody else, but Jo was familiar with Teddy's passion for extravagance. His behaviour does not spark laughter, but concern.

 

"Teddy, I think you should start explaining whatever it is you need to explain. Keeping it in won't do anybody any good despite you believing it will. I promise, you won't be a burden."

 

Laurie shifts in his position and exhales loudly, his eyes still closed. When he starts to speak, his voice is not his. It's distant and decorated with occasional trembles which he is desperately trying to avoid.

"When I told you today how I find solace in the way you carry yourself and how you wear trousers and don't care about what people think of you, I wasn't trying to mess around or anything. Sometimes... Sometimes I feel like I am not me... Like I'm not a good match for myself and I..." he opens his eyes at that, not sure if he wants to receive a response to any of the things he has just said.

 

"I am deeply sorry Jo, this doesn't make any sense, you can go, I don't know what came of me."

 

"Oh Teddy, but it does make sense! It makes so, so much sense." Jo doesn't say that like she wants to comfort him. She really seems to mean it. Their gazes meet at the exact same time, their eyes glossy (which observation they will both dismiss in immense respect to one another), their faces now beautified with soft smiles.

 

"You do realize you are wearing a night gown right?"

 

"I am not the one randomly lighting up candles, impersonating ghosts now, am I?"

"It's called dramatic effect, Jo! Dramatic effect! And keep the waistcoat, I never really liked it anyways."

***

After that day, Jo and Laurie's closets were left grieving for lost members of their separate societies. Blouses, neckties and waistcoats were introduced to the idea of travel and adventure. And even though the closets were left in grief, their owners were more than satisfied with the not so sudden change.

#turns out this chapter is too long😅 #posting it in two parts #idk if anybody will like this one #it's ment to show how jo/laurie ultimately wouldn't work together #they only work in one timeline #and that timeline is childhood #little women 2019 #little women #my writing #fanfiction #jo march #jo x laurie #laurie laurence #amy march #beth march #amy × laurie #meg march #the childhood scenes are actually memories #so they're told through adult perspective #there will be a chapter exploring jo and laurie's childhood days in a lighthearted manner #taylor swift #evermore #folklore

[theycallmebecca]

Drabble: Quarantining

I teased this drabble last night, but I’m finally getting around to posting it. It’s not a prompt based drabble, but I’m including it in my Stay Home, Read Drabbles collection anyway.

Shout out to @nomadicpixel​ who helped me brain storm for this last night.

Title: Quarantining

Pairing: Chris Evans x reader

Rating: PG-13

Warnings: n/a

Disclaimer: This work of fiction is not to be reposted, used or translated without my permission.

Because of how tumblr can be silly about links, I will reblog this post with links to the masterlist and the prompt list.

With stay at home in full effect in Massachusetts, you had been prepared to spend the foreseeable future alone in your apartment. Then Chris, your boyfriend of six months, invited you to come stay at his house so you wouldn't be alone and you had agreed.

That had been almost four weeks ago. Almost 30 days of spending every day with Chris, his brother, and Dodger. You had enjoyed it, but at the same time, you missed the peace and quiet that was your apartment. Not to mention all the stuff you had left behind.

Your feelings for Chris were strong; you weren't quite ready to tell him that you loved him, but that's where things were headed. But you weren't sure where Chris visioned your relationship going, though, because he was being pretty quiet on the subject.

There had been a point just before the world had shut down that you thought something might happen, but then everything had gone upside down and his brother had come home on the heels of a breakup. You had to believe that whatever Chris had been planning was on the back burner for the sake of his brother and the uncertainty of the future only, especially since he'd invited you to stay with them through it all.

A very loud sneeze that sent dog saliva everywhere reminded you of your cuddle companion and you looked down at Dodger, who laid curled up at your side on Chris's bed. Normally, the dog never let Chris out of his sight, but this morning, you'd been his chosen human.

"Bless you," you told the dog as you used the bedsheet to wipe off the aftermath of his sneeze from your face. Dodger lifted his head and nuzzled your chin before licking you. Laughing, you rubbed his head. "Yes, I forgive you."

"There you two are," a warm voice said from the doorway.

Dodger let out a happy bark and you felt his tail thumping against your leg at the sound of Chris's voice, but he didn't leave your side as Chris made his way over to the bed. The dog looked at you and waited for you to nod your head before he crawled over to Chris, rolling onto his back almost immediately for tummy rubs.

"You ok?" Chris asked you, concern etched into his handsome face as he petted Dodger. "You've been quiet today."

"Just need a break from everything," you replied, gesturing to the main part of the house.

Chris nodded in understanding. "I admit going from an empty house to a full-ish house has been an adjustment," he agreed. "But I'm certain Dodger thinks it's the best thing ever."

You couldn't help but smile as the dog let out a happy bark, as if confirming that statement.

"You're happy here, right?" Chris asked, after several minutes of silence. "With me. Us."

"I am," you assured him. "It's just, I'm used to having my own space, my own things. And right now, I'm living out of my suitcases." Looking up, you saw worry start to work itself across his face and knew you had to ease his mind. "I'm much happier here with you guys than I would have been all by myself, but sometimes I need the quiet and the space."

"I understand," he replied and you could tell he did, but you could still see that hint of worry lingering in his eyes. "Do you want me to sleep -"

"No!" you said, quickly. "No, I don't want you or me to sleep somewhere else."

"Good, but if that changes, let me know," he said, reaching over and squeezing your hand. "Scott mentioned wanting to go over to Ma's for a bit. So maybe we'll go do that and let you stay here, have some peace and quiet."

"The kids would love that," you said with a smile, remembering the last time the three of you had gone over to his mom's house to play with his niece and nephews. "And maybe I'll take a nap or something."

"Well now I'm jealous." Chris chuckled as he leaned over Dodger to give you a quick kiss, only to end up with a face full of fur when Dodger interfered with that plan.

Laughing, you sat up while Chris sputtered.

"Not funny," Chris muttered, but there was a grin spreading across his face regardless. Looking down at his dog, he asked, "Are you going to let me kiss her goodbye?"

Dodger let out a sigh and dropped his snout onto your thigh, making you and Chris both chortle. Tilting your head towards Chris, you accepted his quick kiss before you laid back against the pillows.

Getting off the bed, Chris stretched and then looked at Dodger, who was now laying curled up against you again. "Guess you're staying here to nap, too, then?" he asked. The dog let out a small huff. "Alright, I'll see you two later."

You watched Chris leave the bedroom, blowing him a kiss when he paused in the doorway. Then you closed your eyes and tried to fall asleep.

------

Coming out of the bedroom, Chris passed one of the two guestrooms in his house and then circled back to it. The room housed a spare trundle bed from his mom's house on one wall and some storage stuff in the closet, but other than that was a blank slate. He'd meant to let the kids use it as a room when they stayed the night, but that hadn't happened yet.

Leaving the room, he sought out his brother, finding him in the kitchen making a sandwich.

"Did you find them?" Scott asked, looking up.

"Yeah, they're in the bedroom," Chris replied as he started to make himself a sandwich. He wasn't exactly hungry, but he needed to do something with his hands while he worked everything out in his head. "They're going to take a nap."

"Is she ok?" Scott asked him. "She's seemed kind of down the last couple of days."

"I think she is feeling the pressure of being cooped up with us for the last four weeks," Chris replied with a sigh. "You and I are used to a semi-nomadic lifestyle and she isn't. She misses having a space to call her own."

"If only you had thought to ask her to move in with you, oh, I don't know, six weeks ago," Scott said in a sarcastic tone. "Oh wait, you did. But you chickened out."

"I didn't chicken out," Chris replied, glaring at his brother. "You showed up on my doorstep fresh off a breakup. I wasn't going to rub my relationship in your face."

"That's bullshit," Scott stated, pointing his finger at his brother. "Especially since you then invited your lovely girlfriend to come stay with us anyway."

Chris sighed, knowing his brother was right. He'd meant to ask her to move in with him in late February and then everything had gone to hell in a handbasket. He'd had a whole thing planned, he was going to tell her that he loved her and ask her to move in with him. Then chaos had hit and he hadn't wanted her to think he was only making such declarations because of what was happening.

Scott let out an 'mmmhmm' noise that was similar to the one their mom made when her point had been proven.

It was time to step up, Chris decided.

"Did you already text mom and tell her we were coming over?" Chris asked his brother.

"No, I was going to wait until after lunch," Scott replied. "Why?"

"Because I have an idea and I need your help," Chris told him.

------

The house was quiet when you and Dodger exited the bedroom an hour or so later. You followed him outside for a few minutes while he did his business and then the two of you came back into the house. You made lunch and he kept you company while you ate, his tail thumping on the ground as he waited to see if you might drop anything. You didn't, but rewarded his good behavior with a treat.

By the time you finished cleaning up your lunch mess, you were starting to miss Chris and Scott. The brothers were alike in so many ways, but different at the same time. They didn't necessarily fight, but they enjoyed pushing each other's buttons from time to time. Or jumping out to scare each other, which often led to you being scared by accident.

Taking your phone out of your pocket, you sent Chris a text:

Having fun?

With this motley crew? Always.

You smiled. His relationship with his family was one of the things you loved most about him.

Are you guys staying for dinner or should I start something?

Takeout? Be home soon.

Takeout works for me. See you soon.

He and Scott got home about an hour later, just as you and Dodger were getting ready to go on a walk to burn off some energy. You invited them to join, but Scott begged off, saying he had to do a few things before dinner.

Taking Dodger's leash in one hand and yours in the other, Chris led you down the long driveway of his property and out to the main road. The three of you walked for half of a mile or so before dark clouds began to roll in.

"Guess I should have looked at a weather app before I decided to do this," you said with a laugh as the rain started to fall.

With no sidewalks, the edge of the road was mostly dirt, gravel or grass, which meant that by the time the three of you made it back to the house, you were all wet and muddy. Instead of using the front door, Chris led Dodger into the mudroom off the garage while you went in through the patio door off the master bedroom.

Teeth chattering, you hurried into the bathroom and stripped off your wet, muddy clothes before getting into the shower. You half expected Chris to join you at some point, but he didn't. Instead, you showered alone and wrapped yourself in a fluffy towel before venturing into the bedroom.

You made your way to the corner of the room where your suitcases had been living, but froze when you realized that they were missing. Turning to look around the room for them, you saw that the small set of wicker drawers from your apartment was next to Chris's dresser, which had a couple drawers partially open, revealing some of your stuff.

Still confused, you dressed quickly and then left the bedroom, looking for Chris. You walked right past the guestroom closest to his room and only stopped when you heard him call your name.

You turned to find him in the doorway of the room, blocking your view.

"I have a surprise for you," he said as he stepped out of the way and motioned you into the room.

Confused, you stepped into the room, but as soon as you saw that ugly lamp from your living room sitting on a table from his living room, you felt tears start to pool in your eyes. Then you noticed that the daybed with the trundle under it had your throw pillows and your favorite soft blanket on it. Looking around the room, you saw a bunch of little things that reminded you of home and it made you feel at peace.

With blurry eyes, you went to Chris and kissed him hard on the mouth. "Thank you," you said, your words shaky from emotion.

"It's all I can do right now," he said, brushing away your tears with his thumbs.

"It's perfect," you assured him with a smile.

"There's something else," he said, holding onto your hands. "Something I meant to do six weeks ago."

You felt your heart thumping in your chest and you knew right then and there that you loved him. There was no doubt about it.

"I love you."

You said it.

He said it.

At the same time.

And then you both laughed and he kissed you again.

"I'm glad we're on the same page," he said with a smile. "Because there was one other thing I was going to do six weeks ago and as Scott pointed out to me earlier, it would have made this quarantine thing a lot easier on you." He gestured to the bedroom and your stuff. "I would love it if you would move in with me. Permanently."

A bark from your feet made you both look down. Dodger bumped his head against Chris's knee.

"Oh, I'm sorry, Dodger and I would love it," Chris amended. He glanced down at the dog, who let out a cheerful bark.

"I'd love to move in with you two," you told him.

"Please don't kiss again," Scott said from the doorway.

You chuckled while Chris glared at his brother.

"What? I just came to tell you that dinner is here," Scott replied. "But if you two want to starve, that's on you." He winked at you before he disappeared down the hall.

"Maybe we should quarantine at your place," Chris muttered in your ear.

"And miss out on all this fun? Never," you replied. You gave him a kiss on the cheek and then left the room with Dodger following.

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