#i need MORNING classes. | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

jademickian · 3 months

Text

I think it’s pretty neat that stargazing was a Gallavich thing.

In season 2, Mickey says “you want us to put a blanket out and look for shooting stars next?” There is that—once again—an inner desire hidden behind the veil of a witty rhetoric. The dawn is popularly the symbol of new hope, the sun coming up shining its light, enveloping the ground with a potential of joy and rebirth. But with stargazing, the darkness in which it transpires precedes the coming of dawn. It is the hoping itself, the wishing, the tilting of head towards the sky, like the heart whispering a prayer to the universe. The sun is a very bright star that illuminates all. It’s overwhelming with its promise of renewal and warmth of love. That's why it’s much easier to look at tinier, less brighter stars at night. The multitude of them enough to give light—not too much—but just enough to stare at, so it doesn’t hit you all at once. The dawn would tell him he deserves to love and be loved, and that contrary to his belief, he’s not fucked for life. It’s a crazy jump, and the blaze of it might even burn. Meanwhile, the twinkle of the stars would tell him that a boy likes him enough to hang out with him, and that it is okay to long for something so far out of reach, for now.

In season 5, Ian is having some grass time (he’s lying on the grass), stargazing. Earlier than this, he mentions you can never see this many stars from Chicago because of light pollution. Mickey calls, and he holds it up to stare at his ringing phone. Contemplating whether he should or should not. He stares at the stars—weaver of fates, guider of travels. Desire, once again, for answers. A confirmation. Some direction. There must be something because here, they’re clearer, unlike back home where it’s hindered by stray city lights. Maybe this could help clear his clouded mind. Maybe he could draw constellations by connecting the dots and it’ll show him what to keep, what to lose. A glint. A flicker. “That’s the most important thing, to find somebody to love, right? Who loves you back for who you are.” But the thing about the stars’ divine message is that it could often be misunderstood. Misinterpreted. Maybe the stars will sigh, oh well. Guess you could take detours. Because another thing about stars is that, although enigmatic to a fault, they know where everything must go. They are close to the language of the gods. Perhaps for now, the answer is to be apart because in the grand scheme of things, it will all play out as planned.

In season 7, together, under the very same stars. It is hope and desire realized. Who would’ve thought? It was inexplicable, almost alien, that this is how their story is going now. But to the stars, it’s an old song. This is exactly where they should be. It’s the same narrative back then under the bleachers, when they didn’t know better. When voicing your feelings seems a futile and gargantuan feat. It’s the same story now, when they reconvene after, celestial forces refusing to cut these ties. When feelings are all you could voice out, as you’ve learned that if they swim inside you long enough, you’ll drown. “God I missed you.” The stars have known since the beginning. Its plans, slowly unfolding themselves. The wisdom they hold seem nearer now that if reached by the fingertips could be cold to the touch—not yet, not yet.

But even stars could grow impatient.

Even stargazer lilies—observer of heavenly bodies, predictor of futures—bloom facing the sky. Upwards, toward the stars, the flower looks upon. Maybe they’re ready for the dawn. The sun, the bigger and brighter star. The ball of fire catapulting itself, yet it doesn’t burn. It caresses, warm to the touch, and over the land gives life. It is here before them, and it will be here after.

“Now?” Now.

56 notes · View notes

lexiluxray · 2 months

Note

DUDE YOUR ART IS SO!!! I just want to gobble it up especially your Sycamore illustrations!!!!!! They’ve brought me so much joy I don’t even have the words for

It makes me so happy to hear you guys like my Sycamores and actually take time to send me messages about it you have no idea 🥺�� It REALLY fluels the need to do even more - speaking of, I was going to go to bed BUT this kicked me to finish yet another of my 1001 or so random Sycamore sketches I have on my tablet u_u

Since the asks I get are such a boost, I’m thinking : if ever any of you lovely people want to send me little prompts of stuff/characters etc they’d like to see, go ahead ! I may not have time or inspiration for everything - but who knows ?

#ask #lexiart #professor sycamore #yeah he’s slutty as he should #- and NOW i must really go to bed haha halp xD why do i get the need to draw only when i have classes early in the morning ><

43 notes · View notes

exy-shmexy · 1 year

Text

AU where the twinyards’ dad finds out about them and fights to get them back

TW: Andrew’s past (before the Spears), Aaron’s abuse (mentioned), Nicky’s treatment by Luther

He finds Andrew first.

Michael is just an ordinary guy, in his mid-thirties working a boring office job. He doesn’t hate it, but it’s definitely not what he sees himself doing for his entire life. He has a solid group of friends, he’s single but he doesn’t mind and he has a nice little appartement in Oakland. Sure sometimes money is tight, but he manages.

Until one day his world crashes upside down.

One person in his group of friends is a social worker. It’s a Thursday when he gets her text. It’s just a “can I call you?” but he immediately knows there is something amiss. Sarah never asks to call him, she usually just does regardless of what time it is. He calls her and she tells him she wants to see him the same evening. He agrees. They meet up at their usual restaurant and she tells him about this kid in Oakland who just got thrown out of his foster home. Michael asks her why she’s telling her that. The woman takes a deep breath. She digs into her bag, gets a file out and lays it in front of him. Michael frowns, wondering what the heck is going on. But then he sees the name.

Andrew Joseph Doe.

“What is this?”

Sarah gestures at him to open the file. He does. He does and when he sees the photo pinned on top of all the papers, his stomach drops. Because staring back at him is a younger version of himself. Well, it’s him but it’s also not. Michael doesn’t say a word, he just stares at the photo of this ten year old boy staring back at him with eyes devoid of any joy. His throat squeezes.

Sarah talks before he can. “Michael we’ve known each other since we were seven years old. This boy is you.”

Michael gulps. He knows it. He sees it. The boy—Andrew—has his face. He even has the same faint beauty mark at the corner of his mouth. Michael’s eyes are darker, the boy’s are hazel, their hair is the same shade of blond.

His mind spins and spins and spins, until he remembers an evening in San Jose ten-ish years ago. He doesn’t remember the details, but he remembers a woman, one too many glasses of alcohol and a night spent in a hotel in her company. “Jesus fucking Christ. Sarah I don’t… I didn’t… Are you sure?”

“We could do a DNA test, I don’t know maybe I’m imagining things but you are seeing it too, yes?”

Michael takes a moment to answer. “Are you allowed to let me take this home?”

“Technically no. But no one will know.”

Michael doesn’t sleep that night. He reads the file from beginning to end, reads about how Andrew has been tossed around foster homes without ever being allowed to settle in one. He learns that he is deemed difficult, angry for his young age. All Michael sees is a lost kid who needs help. He texts Sarah the next morning that he wants to meet him. It takes a week to organize a meeting. Sarah can’t be there for it because she has to take care of another kid but Michael goes with his friend Phil Higgins, whom he has known for a couple years now.

They meet Andrew’s caseworker first. Michael has a long discussion with him, then they meet Andrew. Andrew looks like he wants to be anywhere but here except when he meets Michael’s eyes, there is something that clicks. There is very little doubt they are related and Michael sees just how much intelligence there is in the boy’s eyes when he stares at him. Michael doesn’t know what to tell him, this child whose existence he didn’t know about until barely a few days ago. Michael immediately wants to bring him back home with him. He knows the process is going to be long but he wants to pull some strings, and Higgins is here to help.

It takes weeks to get the paperworks in order, but after an excruciatingly long wait, it’s done. He gets to take Andrew, his son—the DNA tests came back—home. Adjusting to this new life is strange. Andrew doesn’t talk to him. Higgins helps with enrolling him to school, Sarah gives him precious advice, but Andrew is a closed book.

Until one night where Michael decides to take him to the ice cream parlor after school. It’s been three weeks since they’ve been living under the same roof, three weeks of silence, but this time Andrew speaks. “Why did you do this?”

It takes Michael a second to register Andrew asked him a question. “Do what?”

“Decided to take me with you?”

“Andrew you’re my son.”

“It didn’t matter until now.”

“I didn’t know about you. If I did, I would never have let this happen. I swear.”

Andrew frowns. He eats more of his ice cream (a chocolatey monster. It’s fine, Michael will make him eat veggies for dinner). “I don’t know you. Your words mean nothing.”

Michael can hardly comprehend this boy is just ten. “Andrew, I’m going to need you to listen to me very carefully. If I had known, I promise I would never have let any of this happen. You’re my son, and I swear you’ll never need to worry about anything again. On my life. Understood?” Andrew frowns, but he nods. Things start to get better from there.

Until a year later when Higgins, who had been sent to talk at a school in San Jose and calls him freaking out because he swears he saw Andrew there. It’s impossible, Andrew has spent the entire day at the zoo with Michael because they decided to take a day away from everything. Higgins sends him a photo of a boy who looks like the carbon copy of his son.

This is the second time Michael’s world crashes down.

Higgins helps him find out about this child—Aaron—and when he learns the way he is treated by his mom, Michael fights the courts to get custody and protect him. It works.

The twins have a hard time getting along, but slowly they make progress. The three of them learn to become a family no matter how strange it is but Higgins suggests signing them up to the school’s exy team.

It helps.

They make some friends, including a troublemaking redhead, and things get better from there.

Until one day another boy shows up at Michael’s doorstep. He recognizes him from his fight against Tilda. His name is Nicky, he’s sixteen, and he looks like an absolute mess. Nicky tells him everything he’s been going through.

Michael cannot let this broken boy alone, he cannot allow that.

So he goes back in front of the courts to get custody. He gives them evidence of conversion therapy and with Higgins again on his side, Nicky ends up joining the house and his cousins where none of them ever need to worry about anything again.

A massive thank you to @halfpintpeach for helping me bring this chaos together <3

#My brain came up with this this morning and I just had to share it with the class #these three need protection and Michael is here for it #you cant get it out of my head Tilda gave Andrew and Aaron middle names corresponding to the dudes she thought could have been their dad #andrew minyard #aaron minyard #nicky hemmick #twinyards #all for the game #all for the game headcannon #alternate universe

372 notes · View notes

ihopeucomehomesoon · 3 months

Text

i won’t hold people to the same standards i have on myself in terms of friendship bc everyone shows they care in different ways

#this is a part affirmation and part intro to a rant i need to unleash #but i’ll leave it in the tags here bc it feels safer lol #it’s abt my housemate the other day when we had our last class which is online but our previous classes were in person so as a class we #usually just pull it up on the main computer and broadcast the zoom in the classroom #but on this day the class before this zoom class got out early so lots of people went home early to just watch it on their own zoom or wtvr #so the row i sit in was pretty empty except for me my housemate and our two friends #and usually my housemate sits on my right but she got up and moved to sit on the other side next to our other friend and said nothing #and i didn’t want to say anything bc i was kinda sad/offended even though #her moving seats probably has nothing to do with me and much rather her personal preference i can’t help but think negatively abt myself #also one morning we were both off she went to the smoothie shop and coffee shop and just went to pick up her orders and i felt the same #reaction of like sad/offended bc she didn’t consider me at al like what if i wanted a smoothie too! TF #or coffee even though i don’t drink coffee anymore wtvr #my thoughts on her and my friendship are kinda rocky bc we feel so out of sync #i feel like she’s always in her own world and it’s hard to get through to her and become real friends #it’s whatever not all friendships can be deep and meaningful

41 notes · View notes

theguardianace · 8 days

Text

it should be illegal to feel like this on your birthday

#i really loved my morning i got such nice gifts from my mom #and it was nice to just have a morning off #but that was honestly the worst class i’ve ever been in #i was trying to talk to my professor but my voice sounded so off #i’m so stressed bc i’m so behind i don’t know what to do it’s not clear at ALL #i think he’s assuming everyone’s done something like this but it’s not true!! i’m a sophomore and everyone else is a junior or senior #and i was trying to hard not to break down and i think i made it #but now i’m in my room and i need everyone to shut up #i want to take a shower to calm down but i can’t bc my roomate is here and she knows i already took one today #and i don’t like that i’m 20 i’m scared of growing up #and im homesick im always homesick in the back of my heart #i just want a hug honestly

21 notes · View notes

carronyaflowers · 5 months

Note

for the Spotify prompt thingy baby, I can't not ask number 49 (16+33)💀💀

#49 She Is Beauty, We Are World Class by Louis Tomlinson

Surrounded by lights, Surrounded by lights Surrounded by lights, Surrounded by lights

It was always gonna be them two. The predestined and the inevitable. Always on the top step, always on the spotlight.

Except this time, they literally were surrounded by lights.

And not just any light, but THE light, the glow of soulmates.

Four laps ago, Charles Leclerc was 2 seconds behind Max Verstappen. Three laps ago, the gap was down to 1.5. In the penultimate lap, he was within DRS zone, but still far enough that no overtaking could be done.

In the final lap though, Charles found the extra tenths to try and pass Max. Through the corner and past the esses, along the back straight, red and blue were side by side. Through the final corner, fans cheered as Charles went over the apex ahead.

It was neck and neck going through the final few hundred meters. Then there was the glowing, first emanating from Max's car. It started as a dim glow, but as the finish line grew closer, it grew brighter, and then it was also Charles giving the same golden glow.

It was a photo finish but no one could tell who came in first, it was a photo finish but the photo was only a white golden glow.

It was only during the cool down lap that the glow dimmed once more. When Charles and Max got out of their cockpits, they immediately headed towards the other, hugging and touching, the thrill of the race still there, the glow in their skin still there.

Surrounded by lights, surrounded by lights.

Surrounded by each other's lights.

send me a number between 1-100 and i'll maybe write something from my spotify wrapped

linking this as well as they are connected

#lestappen #She Is Beauty We Are World Class - Louis Tomlinson #i should be writing my thesis that's due tomorrow morning but i needed a break #please feel free to keep sending numbers!!#carronya.writes #carronya.asks #charles leclerc #max verstappen

32 notes · View notes

painless-innit-colourful · 5 months

Text

Prophets

(1.4k words, no tws, read it here or on my ao3)

But other than the maths of the situation, there’s another nagging thought that tugs at Tubbo's attention, even as Tommy stumbles over the door jam, cursing up a storm, looking far too bouncy for his last day.

He’s seen this before.

With twenty-one hours and counting down until Tubbo sends his best friend to his death, Tubbo reflects on the choice he's going to make and the nagging feeling that he couldn't have prevented it. Meanwhile, Tommy is thinking eerily of the same thing. It's been a year since this stream broke my heart, and I'm going to make it everyone else's problem.

---

Seven hundred and fifty-eight. Twenty-one. Approximately thirty, but who really knows. Two.

Tubbo runs the numbers over in his head. Numbers are good. They make sense, they’re reliable: when everything else is going to shit, when he’s living in a nightmare, numbers can be relied upon to always provide the truth. So, making the last bed Tommy will ever sleep in, Tubbo runs over the numbers again.

Seven hundred and fifty-eight fitful nights since the Manberg Festival. Twenty-one hours (though creeping uncomfortably close to twenty) until Tommy dies. Approximately thirty people they’re going to save.

And two. Two people left he cares about.

His son, with his rosy cheeks and eyes so bright - as if they’ve never seen the scarring flash of a firework or been kept warm by the heat of a burning nation. His innocent, undamaged, toddler son, currently tucked away with Techno & Phil in the tundra, where he’ll be safe in the case that anything goes very wrong tomorrow. Which it won’t, because the numbers make sense.

And Tommy.

He weighs two against thirty, twenty-one against seven hundred and fifty-eight. Mathematically, the answer is simple. Save the server.

Lose Tommy.

But it’s not so simple, is it? Tubbo is dimly aware as he checks on a stew bubbling on the stove, toes and heart numb, that he’s facing an imitation of the trolley problem. Leave the train running, and Dream and Punz kill everyone on the server. Flip the switch, and their enemies (and Tubbo’s best friend) roll right into a waiting nuclear bomb.

Save the server. Kill your best friend.

Again.

But other than the maths of the situation, there’s another nagging thought that tugs at his attention, even as Tommy stumbles over the door jam, cursing up a storm, looking far too bouncy for his last day. Or perhaps appropriately bouncy. Tubbo wouldn’t know, but Tommy would.

He’s seen this before.

I’m going to spend the rest of my life waiting for you, he wants to say, because that’s another undeniable truth. Let not third time be the charm: even though he’ll know it can’t be true, Tubbo knows there will always be a part of him that just expects Tommy to… turn up someday. Walk ‘round a corner in the new town he might build. Come stumbling across him somewhere out there in the bright, big world.

It’s not fair: truth three. It’s not fair. None of this is fair, nothing has ever been fair to them. The steam curling off the crockpot on the stove brushes against his scar.

Right. Seven-hundred and fifty-eight.

He can’t remember when it started. Somewhere in the mess of definitely-not-painless-and-colourful sparks, wither screams and the trembling of the earth, there was a single speck of blackness in all that light. After dreaming of his second death a hundred times, he started to look into the blazing light, and found it to be masking darkness. So he reached for it. He followed it. He built weapons of mass destruction, made impenetrable fortresses, dug into the earth following the promise of oblivion. Of nothing.

There was a moment, on his arrival to the crater of the original nuke test, when he’d seen a figure at the edge of the crater. The shadow was counting.

Counting down.

After the nuke test, his nightmares changed. They’d always been full of explosions - fireworks, countries, withers - but with the advent of Project Dreamcatcher’s success, they became pseudo-apocalyptic. Tubbo had always chalked it up to obvious anxieties (he stole his own nuke for a reason, y’know) but in the past few hours, a chilling thought occurred to him that won’t leave him alone.

In some of his more recent dreams, he stands at the edge of the world, looking out over a crater that stretches farther than the horizon. There is not a speck of a living thing around, and without a doubt he is alone. Those were the nicer ones. Some of the nightmares were just loud bangs, bright flashes and a cloud of debris and poison a hundred miles high.

He’d imagined the moment of a crucial launch so many times. A triumphant, even victorious feeling. Check-fucking-mate.

Looking at Tommy, falling onto the sofa with a contented grunt, he can’t imagine he’ll feel that tomorrow. The ticking of the clock yanks him away from his old visions. He moves to sit beside Tommy.

Twenty hours to go.

—

Tommy remembers how it felt, last time. The weightlessness, the empty mind grasping for something tangible to hold onto and finding nothing, the feeling of being ripped apart and reassembled like a wayward toddler’s least favourite toy.

Tommy won’t admit it, would rather march off to the prison right now than admit it, but he’s scared. This time, Wilbur won’t be there. Bastard, he thinks, grimacing, couldn’t even stay dead for me.

He remembers the last time he saw Wil; on that fucking beach with the boat and the book. He’ll never forget the look on Wilbur’s face when he started crying, that uncomfortable halfway between resolute to go without looking back and almost staying for him. Maybe if he’d started crying sooner, he would’ve stayed. Or maybe that would’ve made him leave faster.

At any rate, he doesn’t have to worry about forgetting any of it. Not while alive, at the very least. Since the revive book will be out of commission, he’s staying in limbo for a while longer than thirteen years. A thought occurs: a horrible impression that sends a shiver down his spine. He won’t have Wilbur to talk to this time, but he might well have Dream and Punz. He shuffles closer to Tubbo instinctively, pushing the thought away.

The book. The other thing he can never forget. It’s gone now, ash on the prison floor likely, but the words within will never leave him. It almost makes him laugh to remember. The last words he’ll ever get from Wilbur, and they were that.

“Tommy,” the book read.

“Do you remember when we were dead together? I told you I knew how far away the end of the known universe was. I may have been being a little dramatic (so unlike me, I know), but my point kinda still stands. I said it was 186,000 or so days away. That’s not that many, really, already, but I was thinking about it a little while ago and I realised I had been counting in limbo days. 620 days.

Tommy, on November 13th, something really bad is going to happen. It’s part of the reason I knew it was time for me to go home. Hopefully this is enough warning for you. Gather up the things that matter to you - your discs, your pictures, Tubbo - and get as far away as possible. Please trust me on this. Whatever’s coming - it was fuzzy even in limbo, but it’s big and it’s powerful and it’s not good and it’s going to destroy everything you know. It scares the shit out of me, a little bit, if I’m honest.

I’m sorry for leaving. I hope you understand. Stay safe, yeah?

Wilbur.”

Tommy gazes at his best friend’s face, less than a foot from his own, eyes lightly lidded as he dozes. The hand clutched in his built the rocket that’s shortly going to end his life. The boy beside him will be the harbinger of this world’s ultimate destruction.

Tommy’s proud of him, in a weird way.

Yes, Wilbur, I do remember you saying that in limbo, he wants to reply. I thought you were just trying to scare the shit out of me. Anyway, I can’t leave. I have people I have to save. Be the hero everyone always told me I was going to be. Are you proud of me? This is the only way we win. Tubbo gets to grow old with his son this way. Your father and your baby nephew get to live this way. And I don’t have to deal with any more grey hairs or aching limbs this way. I think I’m the lucky one.

Tears prick his eyes and he blinks them away as he presses his face into Tubbo’s hair - which smells very, very faintly floral - listening to his best friend breathing, pulling him back to earth for just a few more hours.

I think I saw it coming too. I think we all did. I’m sorry. I hope you understand.

Tommy closes his eyes, snuggles down into Tubbo’s arms and draws in a long, deep breath. Selfishly, on the plus side, he’ll never have to live without his best friend.

---

Taglist: @fruitpilled @zrenia @spaceheatertrash @quixoticfellows @kinda-late-but-here-though @icyisweird @boomybelovd @thatfriendlyanon @rozugold @ilexdiapason (please ask to be added if you wish :)

#dream smp #dsmp fic #crim writes #tommyinnit #tubbo #wilbur soot #clingy finale #dsmp finale #guys. i'm still not over them. in case you hadn't noticed from the everything else #this has been ping-ponging around my head for the best part of a year. as has everything else i've been writing this month #nano is going great. i need to have a good cry #also it's half 1 in the morning and i am not looking forward to trying to get up for classes tomorrow but there we are #enjoy!! i love clingy to the ends of the earth

33 notes · View notes