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#oops i’m ranting in the tags apparently

nikkywrites · 1 year

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Because this is apparently a Thing now, all cipher things will be under the tag “nikkys ciphers” if you’d like to block future posts because I know none of you asked for it (I didn’t either).

Little cipher rant/breakdown below cut :)

So. Yesterday(? or the day before?) I had an alphabet and punctuation. A couple combo characters/letters (th/sh/ing) for ease.

I… now have significantly more. Is it unnecessary and overboard? Is it smart and efficient? Is it somehow both? I don’t know.

It kinda feels like Too Much, but. It’s efficient. Less characters but more memorization. Happy brain of making more things (I’m hyperfixating, oops).

Also, not really related — there is an indicator of double letters to avoid writing the same one twice. I was proud of that bit. (Well, the whole thing to an extent, aside from the iffyness on amount of dual/combo characters. Is too many even a thing?? Why am I caring like anyone except me is going to be using it?)

Side note: if you would like to see something written, send in an ask or something. Anon is on, as always. Just fair warning that I am by no means a professional cipher maker. Hope you’re all having a good day.

#nikkys ciphers #cipher things #still need to name this thing #hmmm #I also need my little notebooks to arrive so I can stop using notecards

4 notes · View notes

moonymime · 6 years

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things are too much and i’m still not enough

#selfie #self #I miss my black eye honestly...

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everlarkficexchange · 3 years

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Clubbing 101

Written by @alliswell21

Prompt 144: She has a night of fun before the start of the semester. She meets this guy, they hit it off that they sleep together. But when she shows up to her class the next day, she sees the guy again. But he’s her professor and he’s way older than she originally thought. #olderPeeta [submitted by @animekpopxx]

Rating: Explicit. NSFW.

Tags and Warnings: Canon Divergence; College!AU; Age gap, older man/younger woman; The opposite to slow burn? Smut; Unprotected sex; technically impaired consent since alcohol, but their both into each other while sober too 🤷🏻‍♀️; Ethical dilemmas; Teacher/Student relationship (sort of); One Shot, with an ambiguous open ending? Almost 10K words. Unbetaed.

Notes: Thank you to the moderators once more for putting up with us, procrastinating writers. You gals are saints! Thank you to @animekpopxx for her amazing prompts that never fail to snag my attention and give me the best ideas ever! You rock! I projected this story to be a smutty short thing, but it sprouted words and a background out of nowhere and I had to forced myself to stop adding to it, to get back to my other submissions waiting in my docs. Hopefully, it’s a good read for the ones who take the chance with it.

Thank you all!

KPKPKPKPKP

It starts with a harmless ranting.

“I’m not outgoing, or fun. I’m not even ‘cool’… hell, I don’t care what my sister says, I’m too old for this place!” I tell the handsome, bearded, guy sitting in the barstool next to me, “She’s a med student, you know, but she insists that partying is part of the college experience, especially when one’s career is so demanding… plus, is the last weekend of summer break, which apparently means you’re contractually obligated to party extra hard,” I roll my eyes, “I never saw the appeal personally, but I let her drag me out here so I can keep an eye on her. Is not like I’m gonna let her piss away her future for a night of clubbing,” I scoff, taking a long pull of my beer.

The guy chuckles, but I’m not done just yet.

I slam down my bottle and continue listing my grievances, “The thing that grinds my gears, is that she begged for a ‘girls’ night out’, and instead of drinking with me and people watch, she goes off with the first fucker that asks her to dance! I mean… did it ever occur to her, I may want to dance with her on OUR girls’ night out?!” I scowl and gulp another mouthful of beer, “then, to add insult to injury, thirty minutes later I get a text from her, saying to go on home without her ‘cause she found a ride, followed by that cursed eggplant emoji, like I needed an illustration of what kind of ride she’s getting,” I mock gag, rearranging the strap of my tiny purse across my chest.

“I guess she’s young, and beautiful, and does work very hard, but if you invite me to go clubbing with you, don’t abandon me within the first 15 minutes of arriving!”

My companion winces before sipping his drink, and smiling ruefully, “That’s harsh… sorry you’re having a shitty night,”

“Meh… little sisters, right?!” I shrug.

The guy smiles crookedly at me, and I find myself enjoying his smile, “I wouldn’t know about that. I’m the baby of three brothers, and the only thing I got away with was learning how to wrestle and spring awesome comebacks on the fly… the brutes kept me on my toes,” he chuckles.

“Three boys? Sounds chaotic. Your poor mother!”

“Yeah… life’s chaotic.” He averts his eyes for a second, his smile goes away. I’m afraid I’ve said something wrong, but he suddenly looks back at me, and confesses, “I’m not into clubbing either.” His eyes sparkle, despite the awful, dim, blue lights bathing the place.

I smile, “Look at us wallflowers, bonding over drinks and sibling shenanigans,” we clink our drinks together and sip. I’m chatty and relaxed, so unlike myself; I guess the two beers I’ve had are starting to get to me. “I’m Katniss, by the way.”

“That’s pretty,” he says, shyly; makes my chest warm up. “Nice to meet you, Katniss. I’m Peeta.”

I arch my eyebrows, “Peter?” I repeat, because I’m pretty sure I miss-heard him over the obnoxiously loud music.

The guy shakes his head, “Pee-ta… like the bread?” He chuckles. Then adds, “Family name. Everyone on my dad’s side are bakers.”

I snort-laugh, “Punny!” I say, taking another sip. Yup, beer’s getting to me, I’m not this cleverly funny. “My dad was into survivalism and botany… I’m named after a plant also known as Duck Potato, so I win the weird name competition!”

“Hey, it’s something else to bond over,”

“Cheers to that!” We clink our drinks again, and partake in our booze.

He orders another whiskey neat when he’s out… sounds both snooty and distinguished at the same time. Goes well with his put together image, though: nicely trimmed beard, nicely combed hair, nice polo shirt with what I believe is a tiny loaf of bread embroidered on the chest, and dark-wash jeans… I think. It’s hard to tell under the black lights of the club.

He offers to get me another drink, and I order an appletini.

“J.D. from Scrubs always drank one,” I explain, swirling the coctel in my hand, “I’ve always been curious to try, but didn’t wanna spend my own money experimenting on a drink I could potentially hate.”

“Makes sense,” Peeta says, “So… what’s the verdict?”

“Is pretty good, actually. But I think I’ll stick with my Miller Light,”

Peeta nods, “I honestly don’t enjoy alcohol that much.”

I giggle. “Then, what brings you to this fine establishment tonight, sir, if you’re not much for clubbing, or drinking?” I watch him out of the corner of my eye.

I like that when he smiles, his eyes crinkle in the corners.

“I lost a bet against a colleague.”

“Oh,” I’m suddenly self conscious and a little uncomfortable. I give the guy a scrutinizing look, and ask suspiciously, “what was the punishment exactly?”

The man rolls his eyes. “I have to spend one whole hour in the club, without criticizing anything, like the bitter old man I am,” he grins, “My friend’s words. Not mine!” He raises both hands, claiming innocence.

I laugh at the face he pulls, “Well, you’ve just defaulted on that punishment,”

“How so?” He beams.

“With the look in your face! It spoke volumes!”

“Am I that transparent?”

“You read like a preschooler’s board book, pal!”

We both laugh, I drink my beer, and he throws back his whiskey neat.

“So…” he makes a show of looking at his watch, “I still have 33 minutes to kill before I’m allowed to run out of this place… I know I’m not a Med student, co-Ed, sister of yours, but… would you, um, like to dance with me?” He sounds adorably hopeful.

I glance at the man sideways, toying with my bottle.

He smirks, mischievously, “I promise, spirits make me more coordinated on the dance floor. I become this amazing dancer when I have a couple of drinks on… or so my brain believes. I probably look like an idiot, but I’m too goofy to know the difference. You’re welcome to be the judge it for yourself,”

I take my sweet time finishing the last dregs of my beer, and wrinkle my nose, “You sure you wanna dance to this shit, kids call music nowadays?” I smirk, pointing a finger up, motioning wide circles into the ether.

Peeta gives a full belly laugh.

I really do like his laugh!

“Isn’t it our only choice?” He ventures.

Not if you follow me home, my thirsty brain supplies; my lips on the other hand, just let through a hint of a smile, because I’m buzzed, but not drunk enough to proposition a total stranger. I’ve never been one to sleep around anyway.

“Okay,” I say, too enthused. “As long as we both agree that this isn’t music,”

“Oh no, this just barely passes as noise!” Peeta agrees readily.

He guides me to the packed dance floor, and we start moving to the booming, deafening tunes playing overhead.

I’m not sure if one could call this dancing. Everywhere I look people are writhing against each other, like a pack of zombies without grace or rhyme.

I’m not sure Peeta will get an accurate assessment of his dancing skills, compared to what I’m seeing, he’ll probably look like a professional; plus, it’s too dark and busy in here to really appreciate anything, really, but after a few minutes of just shifting in place, robotically, I snatch two bottle beers from a waitress walking by, offering one to my partner, hoping that’s enough to get us loosen up. The waitress stares at me until I rummage on my crossbody mini purse and toss a crumple ten on her tray.

The liquid boost works. Before I know it, I’m grinding my hips against his. Peeta’s just the right height for his thigh to fit between my legs and brush against my front. I get tired of undulating my arms in the air, so I drop them around his shoulders, and feel just how firm and broad he is under my touch.

Our chests are tightly pressed together, and I’m at the right angle to just stare at his plush-looking lips. I turn around before I do something brash, like kiss him in the mouth. Peeta doesn’t question it, he just places his hands on my hips, and starts moving to the music’s beat.

I bring the beer to my lips, but the bottle’s empty… oops! It doesn’t matter, I’m having the time of my life!

Peeta’s swaying guides me. I basically drape my back over his front, and bump my ass into his groin. I feel the hint of a bulge there, and press my rear into it again, just to confirm if I felt what I hope I felt.

Peeta’s fingers tighten on my hip, emboldening me to keep going until I’m practically twerking into him, and his slight bulge morphs into a full blown hard-on.

I twist in his arms to face him, my lust idled brain barely thinking rationally, “Are your 33 minutes done yet?” I yell into his ear, so he can hear me over the noise.

He doesn’t even look at his watch, “To hell with time! I‘ll stay here all night, if you want me to,” He answers loudly.

“Come on, then!” I push off his chest, and snatch up his hand before he can reply.

Leaving the dance floor is surprisingly easily, considering the crowd bouncing in place together.

I make no conscious plan on where we’re going; I’m arguably familiar with the layout of this place from my many visits since Prim turned 21; I’m only mildly surprised when we navigate across the club, all the way to the restrooms. It’s like my clit is making all the decisions tonight… good for it!

There’s a line of disgruntled women waiting to get inside the Ladies Room, but the Men’s Room is available, and Peeta lets me guide him into it, like one of those pull toys children have.

“It stinks in here,” I comment blandly, but make a beeline for the last stall with a door.

There’s one guy at the urinal, but he doesn’t even look up from his pants, so I just shrug it off and yank Peeta into the stall with me.

The space is tight, but once inside the stall, I push Peeta into the door, and attack his mouth.

He makes a startled noise at the back of his throat, but his hands and arms immediately press me into his body more fully. My own hands trek down to his belt, where I fiddle with the buckle until it’s undone, and I can access his pants’ button and fly.

He hisses when my fingers graze his warm erection, and bucks into my knuckles. I’m in the process of sticking my hand inside his boxers, when Peeta growls, sucking my lower lip into his mouth, and letting it go with a wet pop.

“Switch places,” he pants against my mouth, and hoists me up, until my back hits the door and his hands grab my hips possessively, jutting my pelvis forward, “I’m hungry, would you mind if I eat you out?”

“Okay,” I gasp.

Thank you for forcing me to wear your tiny, clubbing dress, Prim!

“You’ll allow it?” He asks, incredulous, rubbing circles on my hips with his thumbs.

“Yes… I’ll allow it!”

His smile is sexy, his stare is hypnotic. Damned my drunken ass! I can’t believe I’m willing to do this in a smelly bathroom stall!

Peeta sits on the toilet and licks his lips while staring up at me. His hands disappear under the stretchy material of my skirt, bumping my purse out of his way. He skims his fingers under the elastic of my panties, and I bite my lip, nodding eagerly.

Slowly, Peeta slides my underwear down my legs, the tips of his fingers follow, leaving a trail of fire in their wake. It’s the most erotic thing I’ve ever experienced!

Once he brings my panties to my knees, his hands rush back up my thighs, pushing the flimsy skirt around my waist. My underwear drops to my ankles on their own.

Peeta’s level eye with my crotch, and I squirm restlessly. “Beautiful… absolutely soaked,” he whispers in a daze, he inhales pulling me closer, “You smell divine!” He descends, nose first, into the thatch of dark curls between my thighs, making me moan. He ruts his face against me, and suddenly drops to his knees, grabbing my calf to pull my leg up.

But the movement gets prevented by my stupid underwear, tangled in my ankles. Without missing a beat, I toe my panties off, so Peeta can maneuver my body however he wants.

He drapes my leg over his shoulder, opening me up to his ravenous mouth. He grunts, burying his face into my core, and finally, FINALLY, his tongue swipes between my folds.

“Fuck!” I squeak.

My hands fly to tangle into his soft, perfectly coiffed hair. I nearly smother him, holding his face to my pussy, but he’s doing wicked things to me with his tongue: lapping, sucking, and nipping at my labia; drawing number eight figures around my clit with the tip of his tongue, to then sinking it deep inside my core. I can’t stop bucking into his mouth over and over.

When was the last time I was given head? Fuck if I know! Darius probably, he was decent, but didn’t do it often. And Thom was so boring at it, I actually preferred he didn’t do it. But this guy is amazing! A real expert in the matter!

“I’m so close! Please… I’m so close,” I wail like a cat in heat, writhing against the door.

Peeta looks up, and despite the horrendous lighting in the room, I realize he’s got the deepest blue eyes I’ve ever seen… too bad I can’t hold his gaze too long, because he starts rubbing my clit with his thumb, while fucking my hole with his tongue, and is all I can do not shout and scalp him in my delirium.

He doesn’t stop drinking my juices while I convulse above him. On the contrary, he retrieves his thumb, but keeps his mouth busy, lapping away all the slick I give him.

It’s too much.

I tug on his hair to pull him off of my sensitive privates.

Peeta takes one last lick with the flat of his tongue and looks up at me, smiling wolfishly, “Was that good?” His beard’s dripping with me, he wipes some of it off on his sleeve.

I snort, unsexy and definitely rude. “You made me cum so hard I saw stars… yeah, it was good. Better than good, really!” I smile down at him, and try to pull him off from the floor.

All the gel holding his curls in place is gone now, rubbed off on my palms. His hair is sticking up on the top and towards the back of his head. I reach up to try and smooth it back, “I’m sorry, I seem to have made a mess of your hair,” I giggle. It’s adorable, but I feel bad that I ruined it.

“You can mess my hair any time you want, Katniss.” He says, almost shyly, he places his hands on my waist, over the bunched up dress.

It’s a big turn on to me, how his words are so flirty, but he delivers them so sweetly and awed. Is unexpected and endearing… which is odd, because I don’t usually find people endearing at all!

We both chuckle.

He licks his lips, and I feel heat pool in my lower belly again.

“Come’ere!” I wrap my hand around his nape, and pull his lips to mine.

He responds immediately, licking the seam of my mouth. I suck on his tongue when he slides it against mine.

He moans.

“Fuck me, Peeta,” I rasp into the kiss, palming his dick through his jeans.

He groans, “Are you sure?” He barely holds back another groan when I squeeze his clothed erection.

“Cock. In me. Now!” I command through gritted teeth, trying to pull his cock out of his pants with one hand, while taking his hand, and splaying it on my boob.

“Okay… shit… this is… surreal! This has never happened to me before!” He kneads my tit, gently.

I’m not sure I was supposed to hear that, so I pretend I didn’t and turn, facing the door to wiggle my ass, in an attempt to convince him.

Peeta makes a noise in his throat, quickly followed by the sound of shifting clothes, and a metallic thump from his belt buckle hitting the toilet.

I whine when Peeta’s warm, heavy cock caressed my bare ass cheek. “Please don’t tease me,” I beg.

“Fuck, Katniss… do you really want this?”

“Yes, Peeta… put your cock inside my cunt, and fuck me all the way to next week! Now!”

His warm body cocoons mine, “Anything you want, sweetheart,” he whispers into my ear, and I feel the blunt head of his cock parting my folds, coating himself with my natural lubricants.

He finds my entrance, pushing inside just the tip. He gasps, “Fuck!” One big hand wraps around my hip to keep me steady, bracing his other arm on the door, above my head.

“Peeta… Please!” I wiggle my ass, making him sink another inch deep.

“Hold still,” He hisses, “I’m trying to hold back… not ramming in too roughly… embarrassing myself, cumming too fast,” His hot breath warms my nape. “You feel like heaven!” He growls, tightening his hold on me.

I’m torn, wishing he’d drill into me without mercy already, while another part of me is grateful he’s trying to stay under control… I don’t know which I want more…

When was the last time I had sex?

As if reading my thoughts, Peeta shares haltingly, “It’s been such a long time for me. I want it to last, but I’m

Not sure if I can,”

I don’t have time to second guess myself, because Peeta’s moving, and he’s massive!

“Don’t hold back!” I bleat, “I want it rough… I want it fast!” I gasp, clenching down on him. I paw at the door for purchase, trying not to face-plant on the cold, hard surface, while Peeta’s fat prick stretches me to the brink of pain! I can’t stay put for him any longer; I buck into him.

“I said to hold still!” He slaps my ass, hard. It stings, but it’s a welcomed feeling.

I moan and melt, finally relaxing enough for him to penetrate me all the way to the hilt. He stays there a moment, breathing harshly into my neck, squeezing my hip on and off.

“You’re so tight. So warm. So wet, Katniss.” He nuzzles my ear, “I’m gonna move now, I apologize beforehand in case this ends too soon for you…” He drags himself slowly out of me, just to plunge right back in with a swift, hard thrust.

I squeak; he grunts..

Peeta holds me by the waist, “You’re so pretty and sexy, Katniss. I can’t decide if you’re real, or the most vivid wet dream I’ve ever had…” he’s fucking me like a jackrabbit in rut.

I’m speechless, vaguely wondering if I didn’t dream him instead?

His cock head hits a spot deep inside me I’ve never reached before. I start babbling nonsense— mostly praising his cock and his strength— I don’t really know what I’m saying, but he seems to be enjoying it thoroughly by the increase in his speed and the volume of his grunts.

I’m joisted up and down his shaft like a rag doll; I wish I’d thought of hanging my stupid little purse somewhere before we started, because now it’s bumping on my thighs, distracting me from the great ducking I’m getting; it’s no matter… I can feel my orgasm building in my belly.

“I’m gonna cum, sweetheart… I want you to cum too,” He nibbles on my earlobe.

“Yes, Peeta! Please make me cum, I’m so close!”

One of his hands slides around my waist to play with my clit, while his other tweaks my nipples over my dress and bra. That, added to the sensation of my g-spot being prodded repeatedly, sends me spinning over the edge.

I must’ve screamed or something, because he clamps his hand over my mouth, and then he’s grunting, digging his forehead between my shoulder blades, and pulling me back against his unyielding body.

“Fuck…” he gasps and shivers behind me. I feel his dick pulsing, his rhythm faltering, and then he goes still.

Peeta sags a little, wedging his shoulder into the door to keep from falling. I’m surprised he still has the strength to hold me up too; I have to be dead weight at this point, since my legs feel like overcooked noodles and my arms gave out a minute ago.

We both try to catch our breaths, too spent and weak for much more, at least for a few minutes.

Peeta stirs. “Are you okay?” He breathes out, ruffling the loose wisps of my hair with his breath.

I chuckle, leaning my sweaty temple on the cool door. “I can’t feel my toes… which is excellent!”

“Good,” he sighs.

Three heart beats later, he straightens up and pulls out of me. An indecent amount of spend flows down my legs as soon as his cock dislodges from my pussy, but Peeta shoves something soft between my thighs quickly, before I have time to freak out about the mess.

I look down mildly curious, staring at an embroidery of a tiny loaf of bread. Vaguely, I wonder if that’s his uniform? He said he was a baker, right? At least he’s named after bread or something. I giggle. “Is this your shirt?” I ask, widening my stance to gracelessly wipe myself clean.

“Yeah,”

“Thank you,” I say, dazedly, turning sideways to smile at him gratefully.

He’s wearing a simple, white, cotton t-shirt when I return the polo to him, now spoiled with cum and slick. I’m caught off guard by how broad shoulder he is, and by how nice he smells… cinnamon and sweat. Weird combination, but pleasant. I wonder if he baked any bread today?

“Um… would you… would you like to put these back on?” He asks awkwardly, leaning down to pick up my discarded panties from besides the foot of the toilet bowl.

I wrinkle my nose, “Not really,” I mumble. “Who knows when was the last time that floor got cleaned. Gross.”

Peeta smiles and shakes his head, “Here,” he grabs his polo, covered in our juices, and wraps my underwear in it. “Now it’s hidden.”

My body is finally catching up with the advanced hour, the beers and the two amazing orgasms. I’m starting to feel sore everywhere, and my eyelids are getting heavy. “Wow… think I’m officially all partied out,” I chuckle weakly.

“Ditto,” Peeta agrees, his smile is shy. “So… there’s this little dinner about two blocks from here,” he starts, eyes downcast; the space seems to shrink around us, now that the frenzy of our physical activities is done with. “Would you like to grab a pancake or som—“

My phone rings, startling us both into silence. I frown, but scramble to find it in my purse, to check who could be calling me… apparently at 2 a.m.!

My frown deepens. Prim’s smiling face flashes on the screen. She was supposed to be getting some herself! “It’s my sister,” I whisper, tamping down my rising panic. I don’t ask if it’s okay to answer, I just do it. “Prim?”

“Where the hell are you?!” I have to pull the phone off, or risk eardrum rupture by my sister’s screeching. “I’ve been texting and calling you! I’ve been worried sick!”

I scowl at the wall, confused and little annoyed, “Prim… Prim, are you okay? Are you hurt? Do you need me to come get you somewhere?” I try to ask.

“What?! No. I’m home! But you aren’t, and I’ve been scared shitless trying to find you!”

I give Peeta an apologetic grimace, and blindly feel around for the lock to get out of the stall. “Um… why are you home so early? Last time I heard from you, you were getting a ride,” I’m trying to sound unaffected; It’s all I can think to say in my mortification.

“Never mind that! Why aren’t you home already? I thought you had to work in the morning and then go to sch—”

While Prim rages at me, I place a hand on the phone and turn to Peeta, still in the stall, awkwardly facing the wall, I assume to grant me some privacy. I’m sure he can hear my sister’s frantic chastisement from where he’s standing. “I’m sorry… you’d think I was a teenager instead of a grown ass adult,” I roll my eyes.

Peeta waves me off good naturedly. “It’s okay. I’m sorry for keeping you so late,”

I’m about to say something else, but Prim yells loudly, something about calling the police and checking the hospitals for me, which truly prompts a reaction from me, “Calm down! I’m still at the club, exactly where you left me!” I cover the phone with my palm again, and turn to him. “I’m… I’m gonna go? Before she threatens to send the marines in,” I try to joke, but our situation takes all the levity out of it, and my attempt dies off, lamely.

Peeta nods, smiling softly; somehow I can tell it’s not genuine.

“Little sisters, right?” I offer halfheartedly, twisting my lips.

“Can I… walk you out at least?” He asks quietly; Prim hasn’t stopped nagging this whole time.

“I… it’s not necessary, but thank you…”

Peeta nods again, looking disappointed.

I don’t get to tell him a proper goodbye, because two dude-bros come in the bathroom, letting the noise from the club filter in; one of the idiots elbows the other, and both start making some lewd comments about me, but Peeta steps in, eyes wild with anger, and tells the guys to knock it off. Prim hears the whole thing of course, and goes nuts herself asking what’s going on?

Peeta looks at me, and motions his head towards the door.

Message received, I step outside the bathroom and book it out of the club, “I’ll be home in a bit. I’m gonna call and Uber,”

“Call me as soon as you’re in it!” Prim demands.

“Fine! Now stop nagging me, will you?!”

I don’t realize I never looked back at Peeta to wave my goodbyes until I’m in the car, heading home. Regret truly is a bitch. I can’t help feeling like I just lost something important, but I have no idea what it is.

>>—————> * <————<<

It’s been a very long Monday. I’m mainly running on caffeine at the moment, and can’t wait to get home and pass out in my fluffy bed, to see if I can catch up on last nights lost hours of sleep.

I enter my last class of the day and find a seat in the middle of the third row. I pull my laptop, a writing pad and my mechanical pencil out of my bag, and watch as my classmates start filtering in one by one, greeting each other and finding their places, lazily.

I’m the oldest student in this class, which is not surprising. I’ve only just come back from my extended— 5 year— sabbatical; and did it only after I was completely sure I could handle my workload and the financial strain of both me and Prim going to college at the same time, without giving myself an early grave.

It’s been hard, but I’m glad I came back to finish my schooling, I only need a handful of credits to graduate, which is great!

I check my watch. We still have a few minutes to kill before class starts. The professor— Dr. Mellark, according to the copy of my schedule— is not here yet, so I pull up the banking app on my phone to give it another glance. The balance is still the same as the last two times I’ve seen it, but it doesn’t hurt to be extra careful when one is on a tight budget. I scheduled payments for the power, gas and rent to go out in the next few days, and I want to make sure there’s enough money in the bank to cover them. We’re looking fine for the month, financially speaking.

The door to the classroom swishes open, and I start signing off my app.

“Good afternoon ladies and germs; I’m doctor Mellark, and provided you’re in this room for an English class, I’ll like to welcome you to the amazing world of Classic Literature!” Says a deep, male voice I find oddly familiar. “By the way, don’t any of you dare to disagree with me on the awesomeness of classic lit… I’m a doctor, I know what I’m talking about… unless you ask me about medicine, then please be free to disregard everything I say, because I’m not ‘that’ kind of doctor!”

A murmure of little chuckles fills the room; even I smile, silencing my phone and putting it away, before looking up at the professor.

I choke on a strangled gasp when I finally set eyes on the man I assume is the teacher, dumping a worn, leather, messenger bag on the desk near the podium. He’s the last person I would’ve expected to have as a professor.

Oblivious to my predicament, Doctor Mellark— or as I know him: Peeta!— keeps introducing himself.

“I’ve been teaching this course for 14th years, but I’m always pleasantly surprised to hear the different points of views my students bring to our discussions on the classics we study, which in a nutshell, is the beauty of this class.” He pulls a ream of paper out of his bag, and gives it to a student in the front, “Please take a syllabus, and pass the rest to the next person, and so on… thank you!”

My face is burning. I think I’m gonna faint.

“But enough about me,” his voice booms, making my whole body shiver. “I don’t normally do roll calls or care about attendance, as long as you’re not missing assignments, and are here during discussions, so this is the first and last time I’ll be reading this list,” he rises a piece of paper above his head, I surmise has the students names on it, and he instructs, before reading, “I’ll call your names, and you’ll introduce yourself, briefly, that way we can all get acquainted with each other, yes?”

Ugh!

He can scratch my name off that list right now! We’re more than acquainted with each other.

Bile rises to my throat. An intrusive, bitter thought pesters me: how many of his students has he gotten ‘that’ familiar with?

But the thought dies off quickly. An even worse, more worrisome thought springs front and center in my mind: Did we use protection?!

Panic rises in my chest, a nervous queasiness settles in my belly; a distant memory of warm goo sliding down my legs comes to mind… Oh shit!

Oh shit, oh shit! We didn’t use a freaking condom? Who does that?!

Oh shit!

Would a Plan B still be effective right now? It’s been less than 24 hours…

Peeta’s reading names. People stand from their seats and talk about themselves. I haven’t heard one word they’ve said, but I’ve been watching how some of the female students bat their eyelashes and speak all breathily, smiling coyly at him… Peeta seems oblivious to the flirting, but I still feel a cocktail of unpleasant feelings in the pit of my stomach.

I realize, I’m jealous!

My ass is frozen in my sit, I’m not even breathing. I don’t think Peeta’s seen me yet, but… what will he do or say once my name comes up? I send a quick prayer to heaven, he won’t recognize me since I look nothing like I did last night at the club, with my hair down and my face all made-up. Right now and plain ol’ me… the rub is gonna be my name. Darn my dad and his awful naming whims!

Soon enough, he reads a name that makes him stutter, “Kat…Katniss? Everdeen?” He does a double take, “Katniss Everdeen…” his eyes are the size of saucers when he scans the lecture hall, swiftly. When he finds me, he looks back down at his paper, and says the name out loud again, unsure, “Katniss Everdeen?” Like he doesn’t believe what he’s reading.

I stand up woodenly, my voice cracks a little, “I’m—I’m Katniss Everdeen… hi!”

I’m about to drop back into my chair, but Peeta kinda mumbles, “You know, Arrowhead, or Katniss is a water plant? The root is edible… like a swamp potato?”

There are quiet little giggles all over the place.

Peeta clears his throat, his eyes flit away; his face’s blank of emotion, but his cheeks seem pinker than a second earlier, “I just read that online, believe it or not. Interesting facts about local flora, people. Reading is knowledge, but so is learning from one another… what can you tell us about yourself, Miss Everdeen, besides that you have a very unique first name?”

“I…” I harrumph, avoiding eye contact with Peeta at all costs, “I’m a part time student. Majoring in Botany. I took this class to fulfill my last English credits requirement for graduation. I do love books and classic literature, in particular.”

“Thank you… Miss Everdeen,” he rasps.

I sit down, clumsily, hoping this horrible, horrible moment is just a nightmare and that I’ll wake up any second now, drooling on my desk, with indentations of my notepad on my cheek, because anything would be less embarrassing than what I’m going through at this point.

Mercifully, Peeta calls a different name, and then another, and then another. I don’t look up from my notepad once.

Peeta for his part, sounds stiff and monotonous— or so I’d like to think— no more jokes or clever sayings. Maybe he’s not as affected as I am about this ordeal, and I’m just making it a bigger deal than it really is? Maybe he does have experience sleeping with students— I mean, it’s not unheard off, right?— Not that either of us had any idea we were engaging in a teacher-student affair last night…

Although, calling it an affair is generous; it was a measly one night stand. A chance encounter. Two people letting off steam before a busy week ahead.

I’m getting increasingly angry with all this thinking… and the class seems to drag on. It feels like an eternity, and my mind keeps churning up all kinds of questions: Why would he not say he was a teacher at this particular college? Did he lie about being a baker? Is his name even Peeta?

I scoffed at the thought.

To my horror, I hear him ask, “Anything to say, Miss Everdeen?”

Looking up at him requires a great deal of bravery and self admonishment, but I do my best and face him— he’s wearing glasses now, which makes my belly tightened for inexplicable reasons— “No, Doctor Mellark, nothing of consequence anyway,” I retort as venemosly as possible, without alerting anyone else there’s something weird going on between me and the professor.

Peeta grimaces slightly. Then looks away, “Very well, as I was saying, we will start with the basics: The Iliad and Moby Dick, since those are High school level works, I expect your reports to be sufficiently well researched, and your personal ideas on the text somewhat fleshed out. It doesn’t have to be in-depth. I’m just looking to determine everyone’s style and needs for the semester ahead…” he continues his spiel, and I feel free to go back to my stewing and my musings.

Before I know it, Peeta’s dismissing the class, wishing everyone a good rest of their evening.

I jump into action, packing my stuff with my head bowed, but then I hear him again.

“Miss Everdeen, a private word, please?” It’s much too quiet to have been said from his podium. I still startled when I look up and find him standing right against the first row of desks, directly in front of me.

His face is not quite stern, but he’s definitely less smiley than when we met.

I force down a gasp, because under the better lighting of the lecture hall, and close up, I can see a plethora of details I missed at the club; like the arresting blue of his eyes, the slight reddish of his neatly trimmed beard, peppered with silver whiskers all over, while his perfectly combed hair is almost all silver on the temples, and ashy blonde on the top. His shoulders are even broader than I remember.

He’s overall stockier than I originally thought, and just a smidge shorter, which is fine, he’s still the most handsome man I’ve ever met, and I wouldn’t mind climbing him like a tree—

I shake my head off the intrusive, lecheros thoughts. I’m literally lusting after my teacher, for goodness sakes! This is beyond a silly schoolgirl crush!

Peeta arches one dark blonde eyebrow at me, expectantly.

I nod curtly, because my tongue is stuck to the roof of my mouth, and gesture for him to lead the way.

I shove my laptop into my bag, and hastily shoulder the straps, hugging my writing pad to my chest, following my professor like a chastened little girl.

My stupid eyes find his ass, and I blink twice, at the exquisite sight in front of me. I groan internally.

He grabs his own bag, takes off his spectacles and slides them into his shirt pocket.

How old is this man?! He said he’s been teaching this class for 14 years, when do professors start their teaching careers? How did I never see him before now roaming campus? Is his age the reason he ate pussy like a master?

I shake my head, cursing my horny brain.

Peeta opens a door I have no idea how we came across, and then stands aside, gesturing for me to go in first.

I duck my head and step into a warmly decorated office, with a small desk and two chairs in the middle of the room. Bookshelves full of tomes line the office. A handful of pictures and framed diplomas hang from the only available wall space in the room, but I don’t get to study them before he catches my undivided attention.

“Let me start by apologizing,” Peeta stars, closing the door behind himself, “I assure you, it wasn’t my intention to cause you any stress, or embarrassment out there.” He pauses, “Would you like to sit?” He offers, wincing. He doesn’t wait and steps around me, to pace on the other side of his desk, “I… um, never been in this position before,” he scowls, “I’m not sure what assurances I can offer at the moment, except, that I will start the process to recuse myself from this class immediately, to not interfere with your academic—“

“Recuse yourself?” I cut him off, “what do you mean?”

Peeta squirms a little, and sits down heavily on his chair. My bag slides off my shoulder, and I just dump it in the empty chair I was offered a moment ago.

“Well, Miss Everdeen, it’s the right thing to do, given our circumstances. We’ve breached the appropriate boundaries of our pupil and teacher positions, and staying in the same class together will put you at a disadvantage… is a power imbalance situation, that calls for action.”

“Can you stop calling me ‘Miss Everdeen’? It’s weird…”

“I’m just trying to maintain an acceptable level of decorum between us,” he says sheepishly.

“That ship has already sailed,” I say tiredly.

“Perhaps, but it’s my responsibility to still try,” he rubs his forehead. “Anyway, I’ll call my department and see what is next. Stepping down myself is the only fair solution I see so far… it would be terribly unfair to ask you to switch classes. Simply disrespectful, but we both can agree this uncomfortable situation needs to be nipped in the bud, for both our sakes, Miss Everdeen.”

“This is bullshit!” I snap, “What happened in that club, isn’t that terrible of a problem! What we really need to do is stop acting so stiffly and guilty. By the way, you sound like a walking thesaurus!” I accuse, looking him in the eyes for the first time since he called my name at the lecture hall. “Stop it!”

Peeta inhales deeply, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Miss Everdeen, our actions last night may have been honest, and even innocent in nature, but they still carry consequences… unexpected ones, especially in light of the facts. And the facts are, that it would be unethical for me to remain in a position of authority over you. In any case… if you feel the need to report me to the school administration, for… harassment or inappropriate behavior or anything else, I won’t dispute any claims. I promise to distance myself from you and give you space so you can continue with your education without interference, in a safe environment.”

I grunt, “I’m not going to report you, because you didn’t do anything wrong. Sure, I thought you were a baker… I mean your story about your name, and that little loaf of bread embroidered into your shirt, I thought it was your uniform,” I shrug one shoulder.

“Sorry about that… I never meant to mislead you,” he says bashful.

I ignore him, “Either way, I was the one pulling you into that bathroom. I threw myself at you. I begged you to do things to me, and you just granted me my wishes…” like a sexy gentleman, “The sex is on me. I’m 26 years old, I’m not some bumbling teenager who hasn’t learned to take responsibility for her actions, so, please… stop trying to shield me, or protect me, or whatever it is you’re doing,” my arms flap around in frustration. I finally push my bag off the chair, and sink into it. “Look, Peeta—“

“Professor…” he corrects, frowning a little.

I roll my eyes, if he knew he’s just making it sound kinkier than it already is, he wouldn’t be so adamant about the freaking titles.

“Fine… Doctor Mellark,” I enunciate, pettily. “I specifically chose your class as my last English elective for two reasons. One: it’s exactly the amount of credits I need to graduate at the end of the semester. And two: it fits my schedule to a T, which is important, since I do have a full time job when I’m not a college student. So, I’m sure we can both be adults about this unfortunate situation, and simply forge on. There’s no need for you to recuse from teaching this class, and I have absolutely no intention of switching. We both can wear our big people britches, and pretend last night was a… what did you call it?” I wave my hands, as if the answer will materialize from thin air, “A vivid wet dream? And leave it at that!”

Peeta glares at me, looking aggravated for the first time since I met him. “It’ll be unethical to continue like everything is normal, Miss Everdeen.” Peeta argues, stubbornly.

“Nobody has to know about last night,” I say, exasperated, then a horrifying thought flashes in my mind, “Unless you bragged about it already!”

“No!” He straightens in his chair, looking offended, “I would never do something so vile,” He looks indignant, “plus, the fact still remains that something did happen last night, and I know about it! I can’t, in good faith, be your teacher.”

“Are you planning on showing me favoritism because you know what my pussy tastes like, Peeta?” I deadpan, “Or are you gonna blackmail me into doing it again?”

“Stop calling me Peeta!” He growls through his teeth, his very thick fingers clenching into fists on his armrests.

I blink at his reaction owlishly, realizing I’m truly pushing it this time.

“I’ve always prided myself on keeping my nose clean. Being a decent man and tutor. Never in 17 years of teaching have I slept with a co-ed, let alone a student in my own class.” He breathes deeply, then pins me to my chair, with those arresting blue eyes of his, burning with controlled anger, “I would never extort you or anyone for sexual favors, Katniss. While I don’t really want to lose my tenure or face other disciplinary actions from the school authorities, the one thing I truly don’t want to damage are my personal standards, and my self image.

“Katniss, I’m already biased when it comes to you. Being your professor won’t be exactly fair to anyone. I’m not saying I would give you A’s willy-nilly, nor that I would grade your papers any differently than I’d do your peers or that I’d be less critical of your work,”

“That’s reassuring,” I roll my eyes. “You’re telling me that if I bring you a shit essay, you might not be persuaded to let me redo it?”

He sighs, “I don’t know…” he scratches the back of his neck, “I’ll most likely hover over your desk a disproportionate amount of time compared to your classmates. There’s also a chance I’ll call on your name more often than the rest of them?”

“I still don’t hear one unscrupulous, wrong reason, why you can’t do your job, and teach this class.”

We sit there, staring at each other, at an impasse.

“Why are you so set on keeping me in that room, Miss Everdeen?” He asks, softly.

Finally, I relent, relaxing my tense shoulders, and exhaling tiredly. I raise my hands in defeat. “I don’t know, Peeta. Because I want to protect you, the same way you’re trying to protect me. But… recuse yourself if you have to. I still believe you’re a better man than your urges.”

Peeta relaxes in his chair too, “Thank you, Katniss.You didn’t have to say that, specially because you don’t know me. It still means a lot.”

I chew the inside of my lip, calculating stuff in my head. “You’re right, I don’t know you, but I consider myself an okay judge of character.” He opened this door, it’s time for me to walk through it, “Can I ask you some stuff?” I ask innocently.

Peeta arches his eyebrows. “Shoot,” he says.

“How old are you?”

“45. I’m sorry. I knew you were young last night… I just didn’t quite grasp just how young,” his eyes shift downwards, sheepish and uncomfortable.

“I’m an adult. I’ve been the head of my family for years. At this point, age is irrelevant for me.” I state, dismissively.

“What about your family?” He asks, tilting his head sideways.

It takes me a minute to answer. I cross my arms over my stomach, and exhale, “It’s been only Primrose and I for five years now. My mother had cancer. My father passed when I was eleven.” I rock in my chair, slightly, “That’s why my sister was being such a clingy bitch last night. She can’t bear to lose anyone else. Neither can I for that matter.”

Peeta leans forward on his desk. “I’m so sorry to hear that, Katniss.”

I sit back, feeling like a huge weight just got lifted off my shoulders. “It’s okay, really. I’m back in school, about to finish my last semester, Prim is doing great in university, the only debt we have right now is Prim’s car and my Target card… we are actually okay,” I smile, meekly at him.

“That’s… that’s good, Katniss. Admirable, really.”

“Peeta?” I start cautiously, “Would you really remove yourself from the class because of me?”

He looks me right in the eye, sincerity emanating fro his eyes. “Absolutely. Without hesitation. As soon as you leave, I’ll email my Head of Department, explaining my situation. Don’t worry, I won’t mention any names or details—“

I shake my head, vehemently.

Peeta squints, studying me cautiously, measuring me.

“Please… stay with me…”

Something in my tone catches his attention, and he eyes me curiously. “I’ve already told you why I can’t,” he says, almost soothingly.

I stand up. Go around my chair, and drop back down into it. I start shaking my leg nervously. “I had this feeling in my gut since last night. Like I lost something precious, I just couldn’t put a finger on it… I still can’t, to be honest. All I know, in my loins, is that I can’t let you step down from your position, and I sure as hell won’t walk away on you without figuring out what this…” I wiggle my fingers, pointing to the mouth of my stomach, “feeling is about.”

He stares at me.

I stand up again, and this time I just pace, to the wall with the pictures, and stare at a bunch of faces, too similar to Peeta’s not to be related to him somehow.

“I know I’m not making sense, but I just needed to say that.”

He watches me for a long beat, weighing his options no doubt, before answering, “I can’t be your teacher, Katniss…” he sighs, and rubs his forehead, “because I’m afraid seeing you every week, without being able to touch you will be absolute torture.”

“Really?” I bite my lip, giving him an open once over, not feeling one iota self conscious about. “How come?”

Peeta huffs, avoiding my eyes. “I’d be wondering what your breasts look like the whole time.” He confesses, flatly. “I didn’t get a chance to see them last night, and it kept me awake an indecent amount of time.” He twists his lips, “I’m gonna be pinning the whole semester, whether you’re in the classroom or not, craving the taste of your juices in my tongue, and worse of all, I’ll probably embarrass myself, giving me involuntary hard on’s just fantasizing about you.”

I practically prowl towards him. “You poor thing,” I coo, pouting. “Would you go home to masturbate on the soiled pair of panties I left behind on that dirty, bathroom floor?” I ask… more like, purr, really.

Peeta chuffs out an incredulous laugh, covering his face with both hands. He grunts, “Aw, fuck! That sounds so… it’s probably exactly what could happen. I’d try to stay professional in the classroom, but in the privacy of my home…” he chuckles weakly, shaking his head.

“What kind of fantasies are we entertaining here?” I ask, invested, and sit on the corner of his desk.

Peeta thins out his mouth, “Katniss… that’s a slippery slope you’re trying to climb,” he warns.

“Humor me?” I cajole.

He takes a stuttering breath. “I’ll bring you into this office, same way I did today, except I’ll rip your clothes off, throw you on the desk and take you hard and fast. From behind.”

I can’t stop a small sound at the back of my throat, nor the need to rub my thighs together.

I clear my throat, “I expect you’d want to fuck me on every surface in this office?”

Peeta pulls on the collar of his shirt, his face turning crimson, “And probably the lecture hall as well,” he adds conversationally.

I nod, scooting closer to where he sits. “I’m curious too you know. I didn’t get to see ‘any’ part of you naked. But my muscles still are deliciously sore from last night. A girl has to wonder… just how big a dick has to be to cause so much wreckage?”

It doesn’t take much effort at all to work him up. Peeta’s pants are tented in what looks like the most uncomfortable erection ever; he shifts in his chair to try and hide the effect my words have on him, yet, his hands remain folded on his lap, white knuckled with the effort of keeping himself in check. He’s really committed not to touch me while I’m still his student, but he rasps a question, full of concern.

“Did I hurt you?” His eyes search me, earnestly. “I’m sorry I was too rough, really,”

My heart gives a little somersault. “No, Peeta. You were pure perfection. I loved how you handled me.”

His lips twitch, and I’m amazed at how expressive his face is, even partially hidden under his near facial hair. “You said you were hungry last night before you got on your knees…” I murmur, “I think, next time I’ll return the favor,”

“Next time?”

I slide closer to him, but we both keep our hands to ourselves.

I lick my lips, resisting the urge to drop on my knees between his legs and gobble up his cock. I didn’t lie about wanting to see him in all his naked glory, but I can show the same level of restraint he does; I respect him for trying to keep a moral and ethical compass.

I smirk at him, slyly. “Are you sure you wanna abandon your post as my professor, now that my education is on the balance? We can wait a handful of months, Doctor Mellark… I promise not to tease you,” With that, I mean, I promise not to aggravate what could potentially be the worst case of blue balls in the history of slow burns.

Peeta hisses a mirthless chuckle, “You’re too much of a temptation, even if you don’t actively try teasing me, Katniss,”

I start playing with the end of my braided, dark hair. “You know what I’m most really looking forward to, from when I’m no longer your student?” I pose, shyly, “Going to that dinner you mentioned last night.” I shrug one shoulder. “I’ll let you buy me a stack of pancakes to celebrate my graduation. I’ll probably introduce you to my sister, Primrose… and we’d go from there… if you wanted to…”

Peeta smiles, disarmingly. “I’d love that too, Miss Everdeen.” He says quietly.

I let go of my braid, and hug myself, “Stay in the class?” I practically beg one last time. “We can do it, I know we can. We can have a platonic, completely innocent teacher-student relationship until I’m done with college,”

Peeta shakes his head. “We’ll see after I talk to my head of department. Who knows, maybe all the schedules are already locked in place, and I have no other choice but to stay put. There’s no guarantee a replacement is available for me.”

“We’ll make it work!” I say enthusiastically.

“Maybe…” he sighs, not entirely convinced.

I pull my phone out of my pocket to check the time. Time is running out, I gotta get to the pharmacy before my window of opportunity closes.

“Hey, Peeta… um, invasive, weird question?”

I wait for him to nod.

“Have you by any chance, have gotten a vasectomy at any point?”

“Mmm no, never had. Why?”

Aw shit!

I bite the inside of my cheek. “Hopefully no reason.” I say quickly, too nonchalant for my own good, and he catches on it, I can see the gears turning in his brain, “Okay,” I make a big show of yawning and stretching my arms, “I have to run some errands before going home and crashing for the night.”

Peeta cringes, “Are you… okay? Really, okay? You said you were sore?” His eyes rove over my face full of concern.

“I’m fine,” I smile, “nothing a long soaking in Epsom salts can’t cure.”

“Okay,” he says, unsure. “I don’t want to overstep any worse than I already have, but… I’ve been anxious, wondering if you were alright, if you got home fine to your sister since you left the club. Which, obviously you did… but, I wanted to kick myself for not asking your number, just to be able to check on you… and this is frown upon, a d completely unethical, but—“

“I’ll email you,” I say quickly. “Nothing explicit. But I’ll let you know I’m home and okay.” I’ve spoken to people in code before, this shouldn’t be a problem, and really, sending my professor an email with a time stamp and some innocuous question about the syllabus doesn’t have to be nefarious at all.

“Alright… Just let me know if there’s anything wrong, okay? I swear this won’t become a routine thing or anything, just this time, to give me peace of mind, and because it is late… and well, yesterday…”

“It’s fine, professor. I don’t mind. And… everything will work out,” I say shouldering my bag and pocketing my phone, “everything will work out, even if my Plan B doesn’t,” I smile and scurry out the door, before the puzzlement in his face has time to settle.

After all, a semester is only 15 weeks long, give or take… that’s plenty of time to figure things out.

#alliswell21 #animekpopxx #prompt 144 #Springtime Edition 2021 #submission

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tatyana-dreaming · 3 years

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Met opera asks day 6

Thank you again @opera-my-beloved!! the questions just keep getting better and better! That being said this post is atrociously long :’) FAIR WARNING

Any favorite weird/funny lyrics? Bartolo, Basilio, and Marcellina’s in the Act II Finale of Nozze (musically more than anything)... oh, of course “pa..Pa...PA!” (ad infinitum) in Papageno/Papagena’s duet... Figaro’s “Largo al Factotum”... and I completely agree with @revedebeatrice and was actually screaming over that particular “---mètre” line in Hoffman from the eye trio today (idk “thermomètre” in particular just really got me)

Also hmmmm sometimes I laugh at the poetic lines in Trovatore (I was going to say only Manrico, especially during the Act II finale - “ The waves of the rivers have an irresistible force!” okay Manrico -- but then again he has his Troubadour songs too... and then Leonora gets almost - ALMOST poetic in her Act IV aria... and actually di Luna is more poetic than her, I mean, Il Balen??) so anyways I find those funny because. Haha it just is. The overly “poetic” parts just heighten the ridiculousness of the melodrama; so many other more serious operas have such less dramatic librettos and I find it funny.

What are some opera songs that make you lose your mind? Finale of Onegin (I wrote an essay about it remember hehe?) but also Olga and Tatyana’s Duet and Skazhi Kotoraya Tatyana (my beloved) and Uvi, Somnenya Net/Puskai Pogibnu Ya, and, and :) Act II finale of Nozze Act I and II Preludes of Un Ballo in Maschera (and the Act III Quintet) Un Dì Felice/Ebben..? from La Traviata Violin Aria from Les Contes d’Hoffman

So many, I have to stop there though.

Are there any Met interview moments that live rent-free in your mind? Definitely Roberto Alagna in Don Carlo (never forget that somersault!!!) and Renée interviewing the cast of the 2011 Trovatore (Sondra Radvanovsky and Marcelo Álvarez being so CUTE) also when Dmitri Hvorostovsky a) called Sondra Radvanovsky “rock and roll” in the Ballo interview, because she is, and b) when when he held ground for Onegin when Beverly Sills interviewed him with Renée Fleming by saying "I would really disagree with you, because if [Onegin] was…cold and [aloof], Tatyana would never fall in love with me. Obviously I have quite a great bunch of qualities…”

What’s an opera production that you positively rant about for an hour and a production that you could angry rant about for an hour? Positive: 2007 Carsen Onegin (I have matured though, and seen many different Onegins now, so I understand why others don’t like the set or production. Completely valid. But with That Cast, they could just sing the music in a blackbox theatre and I would say it’s the greatest production ever so. Also, those leaves ARE magic)

Negative: I really don’t have an answer for this one! Only anger/confusion for why certain productions WEREN’T filmed live in HD

Are there any weirdly specific moments from a stream/production that you love? I second @sweatershowgirl, that heel kick in Faust (2011) is glorious (so is all the drinking form beakers, haha #toxic). So many in the 1998 Nozze - Basilio’s hair pats, the pheasant triology, Marcellina’s affectionate cheek kisses, Bryn’s growls. Basically all of Kate Lindsey’s Nerone and Nicklausse.... and YES Pretty Yende and Matthew Polenzani in the 2018 Elisir... (make that Polenzani’s absolute Attitude towards Papa Germont in the 2012 Traviata)

Which opera production was the most visually pleasing to you? Too difficult! I was of course very pleased with Leaf Onegin (aka My Many Colored Onegin) because of all the colors, and as I’ve said I loved the 2012 Rusalka....Oh, of course! the 2018 Cendrillon and Traviata....absolutely lovely. WAIT WAIT also Comte Ory (all that pink and purple and of course the “nuns!” ahhh!!)

Is there any singer who changed your opinion on an opera character? I couldn’t take Leonora seriously until Sondra Radvanovsky. Mainly because her Leonora doesn’t necessarily take anything too seriously and when she does she does it with power (oops, I wrote a 20k word essay about it) (yeah I’m just tagging everything on here tonight huh)

Are there any productions you wish had been filmed but are only available in audio form (or not available at all)? Apparently Thomas Hampson was Onegin in 2009? (LEAF ONEGIN!!) And I’d love to see a full Renée Fleming/Ramón Vargas Traviata... and honestly, so many.... I’ll stick with those two since this post is already way too long :)

#hahaha i really tagged all of my posts HA #but it's a nice kind of timeline of all the Stuff I made over the year #just like all of these ask posts! I love this project so much #thank you for reading if you read the whole thing :') impressive and also I feel seen #even though I'm happy to rant all of this to myself #asks #opera asks

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frogs-spawn · 3 years

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it’s true lads, i have actually written something

(this was a prologue of a long canon fic that i’m writing/on hiatus on (oops) but i was thinking of changing the pov of it, so this doesn’t fit in it anymore) i may end up finishing the canon one, but it is long, so it probably won’t see the light of day, but we’ll see

anyway, here’s the ao3 link if you would like to read it on there: https://archiveofourown.org/works/31116254

a tragic twist of fate:

summary: the lupin family are enjoying a quiet evening, when an unwelcome visitor shows up, changing all of their lives forever.

word count: 1.6k

The sun was setting, casting a burning haze across the sea, and subsequently over the unsuspecting cul-de-sac in the Gower. The pebble-dashed bungalows that hugged the road were quaint and uniform, with a meagre patch of grass out the front that barely constituted as a garden. All things considered; it was a very normal street. There were the Jones', with their tiny Yorkshire terrier, which was small in size but easily compensated with its tremendous bark. The Thomas', who were always out the front regardless of the weather, observing the street's comings and goings. The Liu's, whose windows were constantly filled with an assortment of different lights, illuminating the street, making it feel like Christmas every day. Opposite them, were the Lupin's. There was Lyall, who has a mysterious job that no one is quite able to figure out exactly what it entails; his wife, Hope, who made sure that the whole street was well and truly fed; finally, their 5-year-old son, Remus, who's usually found playing out on the empty street.

Remus, as expected, was having a game of tag with Julia from across the road when his mother called out from the front door. She had thick blonde hair, slightly greying at the crown of her head, which was tied up into a loose bun, the fly-always whipping the side of her face, which was covered slightly with gravy.

"Remus, it's time to come in now. Your father has just gotten home, and dinner's almost ready."

"But Mammy! I'm not even tired," Remus pleaded, shouting back, a little breathless. "Can we have a few more minutes? Please?"

"It's okay, Mrs Lupin." Julia panted, brushing her dark fringe from out of her eyes, it was a miracle she could even see. She was a few years older than Remus but was still somehow shorter than the boy (who was only slightly tall for his age). "I think my parents want me back soon anyway." She turned to Remus and smiled, "We're going to go out and play again tomorrow, aren’t we Re?”

"Yeah, okay then. I'll see you tomorrow! Bye!" Remus chirped back, with some newfound energy. He then proceeded to hurtle up the driveway and stumble through the front door.

“Not even going to give your old mammy a cwtch?” Hope laughed, following her son through the door, shoving her hands into her pockets.

He clambered onto his chair at the kitchen table and watched eagerly as his mother took a roast lamb out of the oven and began to dish it out on to mismatched plates. There were roast potatoes, which were crispy on the outside, but still fluffy and buttery on the inside, peas, carrots, and parsnips - that were roasted to perfection, and it was all smothered with thick gravy that was laden with salt and had the potential to clog up your arteries – but if it’s bad for you then that meant it would probably delicious. Remus’ mouth was practically watering.

"Now, as you've been running around all afternoon, I'll give you the extra roastie, how about that?" Hope smiled down at Remus, scooping a roast potato onto the plate.

Lyall stooped into the kitchen at that moment, placing his tattered briefcase down onto the splintered wooden counter and bent over to kiss his wife on the head. He was tall and lanky with brown curly hair that was just starting to thin. He wore deep navy robes over the top of a well-fitted suit, looking as if he had just walked out of a very important meeting. He could have been a very intimidating man if it weren't for the way his eyes lit up and his mouth formed a crooked grin when he looked adoringly across his small family, with an immense sense of pride.

"This looks wonderful, darling. What did I ever do to deserve you?" he laughed as went over to his son and ruffled his hair. "According to Mrs Thomas, you've been charging up and down the road all day! No wonder you look knackered." He fell into the chair next to him, as Hope brought the dinner over.

The family ate with easy conversation. Hope explained how she had heard from Mrs Thomas that Mrs Jones was apparently putting empty wine bottles into her recycling bin and Lyall explained his new case at work, but it seemed boring, so Remus didn't pay it much attention. He wolfed his food down so quickly, barely stopping for a breath, his poor mother thought he might end up with indigestion.

"Stay in your own lane, Lyall, that's what they said," Lyall explained in between mouthfuls, gesturing at no one in particular with his fork. "They won't believe me though, and that Greyback has been released again, the man makes my skin crawl." He used air quotes when describing him and huffed, as he took another bite out of his roast. "It's madness, I told them that. Did they listen? No. Cases of lycanthropy are going up and it's because of creatures like them. String 'em all up for all I care. Bloody werewolves.”

"Not at the table Lyall," Hope piped in, sensing that her husband was about to go on another one of his world-renowned rants. "I understand it's a pain, especially if no one listens to you at work, but let's keep dinner time a happy affair, don't you think?"

"Yeah, no, sorry love" he gave her a sweet smile, which she returned. "Anyway. Did you have you had fun today, Re?"

The boy looked up and nodded quickly. "Yeah, me and Julia played lots of games. We had a race to see who was faster. And I won!" he exclaimed, talking at the speed of a hundred miles per hour, he spread his arms for dramatic effect and sat up higher in his chair. "She said I was cheating, but I wasn't, I promise!"

"No, of course, you weren't." Lyall laughed and looked down at his son like he was the most precious thing in the world.

After dinner, the family were positioned around the small-rickety fire pit that was positioned in the corner of the patio, made up of broken slabs of concrete with weeds emerging like great vines through the gaps. The fire crackled and spat, specks of charred wood and the burning flame releasing swirling smoke into the atmosphere. They sat on wobbly wooden chairs, that they had gotten from the charity shop, which were starting to rot and covered in splinters. However, Hope had made some colourful and slightly garish cushions, so it was incredibly comfortable, despite the small risk of the chairs collapsing from underneath them. Hope was sat with a pair of knitting needles in hand, focusing on the burgundy jumper that Remus would undoubtedly get for Christmas in a couple of months time. Remus sat opposite and was looking eagerly at his father, who was making the little old wooden figurines of soldiers that Hope collected do an Irish jig across the uneven stone.

Then, there was a rustling in the undergrowth at the far end of the garden. The birds that had nested and settled in for the evening took flight, flying off into the rising moon, bright and beautiful.

"What on earth could that be?" Hope wondered out loud, staring out into the distance, squinting her eyes.

'I'll go check it out.” Lyall chuckled as he pushed himself out of the chair. "Probably just a fox, I shall go shoo it away."

He wandered to the end of the garden, managing to avoid the snail hotel Remus had built a year ago. He lit up his wand so that he could see at least three steps ahead of himself.

It was a surprise that it remained standing, despite the howling gales and torrential rain it had to endure, it stayed. For as long as he could remember, Remus looked after the snails in the hotel, gave them any leftover lettuce. They were his favourite magical creatures. It fascinated him, the way they could stick to the walls and go upside down, the only way that was possible, Remus decided, was magic. Lyall didn’t have the heart to tell him otherwise.

"Ah, Lyall Lupin. Just the man I wanted to see." An unfamiliar voice snarled. The voice was deep and ragged as if it had been strained from screaming too loud "Fancy seeing you here."

“Fenrir.” Lyall cut back, voice curt but contained a small tremble. "Leave me and my family alone and take your unpleasant business somewhere else." He straightened his jacket and stood rigidly, making himself taller. But the figure, Fenrir, stood a head above him, despite his hunched posture.

"I don't think that would be necessary." He countered, his voice becoming more and more menacing. "How is your family? I'd love to meet them." He shoved Lyall out of the way, causing him to lose balance and he stumbled into the hedge.

“Hope! Remus! Get into the house and lock the door!” Lyall shouted, desperately, unable to keep up with Greyback, who was striding across the garden.

Hope quickly grabbed her things and ran, pushing open the back door with a creak.

“Remus, come on lamb, into the house.” Hope coaxed from the door, trying to sound as calm as possible.

But Remus stayed rooted to the spot, unmoving, fixed and waiting, staring into the monster before him.

Fenrir Greyback was a giant of a man, towering easily over 6 feet tall. He was unkempt and greasy, covered in black matted hair. His deceitful yellowing eyes emitting nothing venom. Remus scrambled off of the chair and edged slowly towards his mother. It was too late.

Their eyes locked. A deal had been struck.

Under the silver moon, Greyback's manic grin turned pointed and wider. Bones cracked, twisted, and popped. Hair became thicker, wired, and coarse. Tortured hands and feet transformed into gnarly claws. His previously crooked nose became a leathery, wet, snout.

Barring his teeth, Fenrir Greyback took a couple of paces forward, crushing the hotel under a monstrous paw, towards a terrified Remus Lupin.

And pounced.

#remus lupin #hope lupin #lyall lupin #fenrir greyback #young remus lupin #marauders era #marauders fic #hp fic #cait has actually written something #(don't worry i'm as surprised as you are)#sorry this is quite sad

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dreaming-colourful-skies · 3 years

Text

Day 1: Modern AU

For better or worse, I’m starting @royedpalooza with crack-ish fluff! This exchange happens the year after Roy buys a truckload of Ed’s lamps. They text, Roy is reminiscent, and Ed rants that his boyfriend’s sappiness is contagious.

Title: A Little on the Light Side

Tags: Edward Elric/Roy Mustang, Established Relationship, Alternate Universe – Modern Setting, Fluff, Crack, Attempt at Humor, Edward Elric Swears, Texting, Epistolary, Reflection, Fluff without Plot (kind of, oops), Ill-fated metaphors, Roy is extra, Ranting but happy Ed

One-shot in my “Ed designs lighting” AU. Ed needs Roy’s “before and after” photos to market his new lamps, but apparently these two can’t email each other without sap. Or obnoxiously sweet maple syrup (looking at you, Elric).

“Eff that. You’re, like, my pancakes. You make life make sense. We fit together. We take on breakfast and win.”

Read on AO3 (1k) Read the prequel first: “The Coziest of Lights” (15k)

#royedweek2020 #royed #safe royed #royedweek2020day1 #fluff

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ky-rar · 4 years

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I was tagged by @baraste-legacy and figured since I currently don’t have any time to make art for this blog this would be a good alternative for the moment. (Thanks for tagging me btw)

I’m doing this for my boy Khezal since I feel like he’s the one everybody would want to know about anyways.

GENERAL

Name: Khezal Lei

Alias(es): None

Gender: Male

Age: 27 in 13 ATC (So 37 at the end of KOTET, but most of the stories for my characters take place before the dlcs)

Place of birth: Nar Shaddaa

Spoken languages: Zabraki, Huttese, Basic

Sexual orientation: Bisexual

Occupation: Sith Lord

APPEARANCE

Eye colour: Originally brown but now yellow because darkside corruption

Hair colour: None (but in theory probably black)

Height: 1,83 m/6′0″

Scars/Burns: He has a large burn scar over the left side of his head and left shoulder from an explosion when he was 17.

Build: Athletic

Prosthetics: He lost his right arm in battle with a Jedi and now has a metal one instead.

FAVOURITE

Colour: Black like the deepest darkness He doesn’t have one, but maybe gold

Music genre: Well there’s a lot of moody rap music in his playlist...

Movie genre: Action, Horror, Martial Arts

Tv show: None

Drink: Whiskey, apparently, since that’s what I seem to draw him drinking

Book: He’s not much of a reader

HAVE THEY

Passed university: He passed sith academy

Had sex: Yes

Had sex in public: Probably

Gotten pregnant: No

Kissed a boy: Yes

Kissed a girl: Definitely yes

Gotten tattoos: He has traditional zabrak tattoos over his face, arms, upper body and some of his thighs.

Had a broken heart: Romantically? No. Platonically? Yes.

Been in love: As a teen, so not very seriously

Stayed up for longer then 24 hours: Very often

A cuddler: Hah

A kisser: Like kissing people when you meet them? Yeah no. Otherwise more or less. Sometimes.

ARE THEY

Scared easily: Scared all the time but not scared easily. Scared of what he has become and that his life is not and will never be worth living again. Scared of who is plotting to kill him at this moment and that he can’t trust anybody. Scared of dying. But scared of monsters, battle or enemies? Nah.

A virgin: Nope

Jealous easily: Not as much as you’d think tbh

Trustworthy: Yes, extremely, actually

Dominant: Kind of

Submissive: Kind of, if he trusts you

In love: Nope

Single: Yes ;)

RANDOM QUESTIONS

Have they harmed themselves: With drugs and alcohol, definitely.

Thought of suicide: Yes

Attempted suicide: No

Wanted to kill someone: Oh yes

Rode a horse: Space horse, yes

Have / had job: Yes, he currently has a job, even

Have any fears: Well I guess my rant about being scared would go here so just read that again

FAMILY

Sibling(s): He has 4 siblings, Vesh (f), Burach (m), Arikim (m) and Vethir(m), but he is not in contact with any of them, or the rest of his family for that matter

Parents: His mother’s name is Iis, his father left when he was a small child, so he doesn’t really know him. (Also I don’t have a name written down for him anywhere oops)

Children: None

Pets: Also none. He doesn’t dislike animals, but with how little he is at home, he doesn’t see the point in getting one.

Idk who did this yet or how many people I’m supposed to tag so here are a few: @krwawnik @lovonne @moonlitalien @h2quared Do it if you want to but you don’t have to and so on (Also you don’t have to do star wars characters, obviously)

#oc khezal #ky.txt #oc #sw oc #swtor oc #not art #also if anybody feels like telling me 'the language is not called zabraki'#let me stop you right there #I don't care #it's not a real language #also yes I changed some of the questions

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coyotesongwriting · 4 years

Text

Free Falling - Chapter 1

Avengers - Clint Barton/Reader

Chapter 1 - The Beginning Of The End

Clint made it perfectly clear that he never wanted kids. What he didn’t know was that he chose the day you were planning on telling him you were pregnant to make that opinion clear.

Author’s Note: I desperately need a beta reader, and I’m sleep deprived so if there are mistakes... oops and let me know haha

Disclaimer: I don’t own the characters so don’t sue me please. I just really like them haha

Tag List (if you want to be added or removed let me know, no hard feelings 🙂): @rorynne @proudhufflepuff77 @rhymesmenagerie

Clint landed on the training mat with a loud smack, and you laughed as you brushed your long hair out of your face. During the session, your hair tie had snapped and instead of getting a new one you’d decided to just keep going. No point training if you could only fight if your hair was perfectly up. Clint was muttering under his breath to himself as you reached down to help him up.

“I’m sorry, did you say something?” you smirked, eyes dancing as you looked down at him

“That was dirty and you know it!” he grumbled, staring up at you with a slight frown on his face.

“Babe, it’s not my fault that a little kiss can distract you.” You stared at your hand pointedly, waiting to help him up.

He let out a long-suffering sigh, you had this exact same argument every time the two of you trained together. After a long beat, he reached out to grab your hand. Before you could pull him up though, he gave a quick pull, causing you to lose your balance and land on top of him. You let out a breathy laugh, glancing down at his lips before meeting his now heated gaze. He surged upward, pressing his lips to yours. With a quick move, he rolled and pinned you to the mat.

“I win” he whispered, grinning goofily down at you before recapturing his lips in yours.

Although you were pretty competitive, you can’t say you minded losing to your boyfriend of two years in moments like this. Time seemed to slow as the two of you lay there, in no rush for once. You ran your fingers through his hair slowly as you kissed. These were your favorite moments. Sure, you loved the stolen moments between missions but the slow, sweet kisses like this helped you forget everything else for a few minutes.

“Miss [Y/L/N] and Mr. Barton, please report to the briefing room. Mr. Stark said to please hurry” Friday’s voice rang out through the room, and you two quickly pulled apart, climbing to your feet.

Your eyes lit up mischievously, “Race you!” and you set off as fast as you could before he even registered what you had said.

“Cheater!” echoed down the hall as he raced to catch up to you, a low chuckle following you.

You sped into the training room only a few steps in front of Clint and slid into the chair at the back, his favorite spot before he could stop you. He rolled his eyes playfully as he merely picked you up, taking his spot back. You grabbed the seat next to Bucky, turning to stick your tongue out at Clint, who in turn stuck his tongue out at you.

Tony knocked once on the table, and you turned to look at him. “You guys about done? I’d like to get on with this”

With a sheepish grin, Clint nodded and the briefing began. Unfortunately, it was once again going to be what was quickly becoming the same old deal. A Hydra base in Boston had been experimenting, but this time? They’d gone low enough to be testing and torturing children. You guys were going to go in, kill Hydra, and get the kids off to somewhere safe.

Steve, Bucky, Tony, and Nat were all going into the base, while Clint provided cover outside and would try to draw out as many as he could. You’d be staying behind on the Quinjet as always. Your skills weren’t all that helpful in battle, and you’d only be a distraction to be completely honest.

Growing up, you’d spent a lot of days online where you’d learned to program and code. As the years had passed, you’d quickly made a name for yourself among hackers. You had a reputation for doing what you thought was right, whether or not the law agreed with you was a different matter of course. You weren’t just their resident hacker though, you were a mutant.

On your 16th birthday, your family had taken you out to dinner. Things had been going great, until the drive home. You didn’t remember much from the accident itself, but a drunk driver had t-boned your car and you’d passed out. Your older brother calling out to you had woken you and you’d seen the blood spreading from a deep gash on his chest. You’d been applying pressure to the wound and crying when your powers kicked in for the first time, and his chest wound healed quickly.

Since that day, you’d learned to master your healing powers. As soon as you graduated high school, you’d enrolled in the military where you were trained as a doctor. You hid your powers, not wanting to draw attention to yourself. However, your low mortality rate drew attention and within a few years, Fury had recruited you to the team.

In the beginning, you’d gone with them out into the field but it hadn’t taken long before you asked to remain behind on the Quinjet. You weren’t afraid of the fight, you actually kind of enjoyed it. However, you weren’t exactly helpful. You were a pretty good fighter, but pretty good wasn’t near good enough when things got too hairy. After one close call where you’d almost lost Tony because you’d been too hurt to help him, you’d realized you were better off staying behind.

“Alright guys, let’s go” Steve announced as Tony finished briefing everyone.

~~~~~~

Unfortunately, the mission had gone sideways from the moment the team arrived on the scene. Hydra had apparently known you were coming, and were trying to move the kids from the warehouse as fast as they could. Unfortunately, Hydra had also rigged the warehouse to blow. You guys hadn’t been able to evacuate the building completely before it blew, and there were casualties. A lot of them to be exact. There were a few kids lost in the explosion, and the team was quiet as you headed back to the tower.

Later that night, you’d managed to gather the whole team into the home theater. There was nothing that brought everyone together better than poking fun at the cheesiest romance movies they could find. It had started one night when Tony walked in on you watching a cheesy romance movie, your guilty pleasure. He’d gathered the team and they’d made a drinking game of pointing out the problems in the movies.

It didn’t take long before everyone was starting to relax, the drinks really hitting everyone as they’d decided to go straight for the hard liquor tonight. Thor and Loki arrived from Asgard just in time for the couple in the movie to pull a container of ice cream out of a small cooler they’d brought on their hike and walked in to find everyone laughing as Clint ranted about how stupid that was.

As the movie drew to an end, everyone was feeling pretty good. You were curled up against Clint, his arm around your shoulder. Nat had fallen asleep on Banner, and the two of them looked absolutely adorable. Tony and Thor were taking turns throwing popcorn at each other. They had started by trying to see who could catch more popcorn, but now you were pretty sure they were just trying to hit each other in the eye.

The movie drew to an end with the couple finding out they were pregnant, and Clint let out a huff of laughter. There wasn’t anything out of the ordinary in that, so you turned to him curiously, your eyebrows pulled together in a silent question.

“Sorry. I just can’t imagine anyone bringing a kid into this world” he shrugged, leaning back against the cushion.

“Does that mean you don’t want kids of your own someday?” Banner asked, having overheard Clint.

“No way. I’m not going to be responsible for bringing a kid into this mess.” Clint’s voice was hard, unwavering.

You bit your lip, looking down at your fingernails. You’d always dreamed of having a family someday, and you thought he had to. “Do you mean that?” you asked, voice quiet as you cautiously met his gaze.

There was no pause before he answered, determined, “I’m not having kids, [Y/N]. Ever.”

Silence fell and the others began to slip out of the room quietly, not wanting to see what happened next. You were looking down, seemingly studying your fingers when he lightly placed a finger under your chin, pulling your face up to look at him.

“What if we did though?” your voice was soft, nervous.

“We can’t. That’s why we have to be careful” he said gently, “Come on. Let’s go to bed.”

You didn’t say anything, not willing to trust your voice as you got to your feet following him. When you reached your shared room, you gave him a gentle peck on the cheek before stepping into the bathroom. You waited until you heard his gentle snore before you began to sob. He always took his hearing aids out before he went to sleep so you weren’t worried about him hearing you.

Reaching into your drawer, you pulled out the positive pregnancy test and stared at it. This wasn’t how this was supposed to go. Not at all. What were you supposed to do now?

Next Chapter ->

Note: I’ve cross posted this to AO3.

#clint barton #clint x reader #Clint Barton x Reader #Hawkeye #Hawkeye x Reader #Avengers #Marvel #Iron Man #bucky barnes #steve rogers #Tony Stark #natasha romanov #Bruce Banner #Fanfic

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dvp95 · 5 years

Text

quiet on widow’s peak (2)

pairing: dan howell/phil lester, pj liguori/sophie newton/chris kendall rating: teen & up tags: paranormal investigator, youtuber phil lester, dan howell is not a youtuber, online friendship, slow burn, strangers to lovers, nonbinary character, trans character, background poly, phil does some buzzfeed unsolved shit and dan is a fan word count: 3.2k (this chapter), 6.4k (total) summary: Phil’s got a list of paranormal experiences a mile long that he likes to share with the world. Abandoned buildings, cemeteries, and ghost stories have always called his name, and a particular fan of his has a really, really good ghost story.

read this chapter on ao3 or here!

"Do you remember the Wilkins place?"

"I'm well, thanks." Martyn's voice is dry, and Phil finds himself grinning at the wall despite himself. "How are you?"

"Good," says Phil. It's mostly true, although he could do without the piles of clothes he's sorting through. He holds his phone between his shoulder and his ear as he picks up a top of Sophie's and starts a whole new pile that he's calling delicates, aka things he's absolutely going to screw up somehow. "People think the Wilkins place is haunted."

There's a beat. Presumably, Phil's brother is trying to fit the name into adolescent memories to see where it slots in. "Oh, that wreck in Rusholme? It hasn't been condemned yet?"

"Apparently it's still a hot spot for binge-drinking teenagers," Phil says.

"Well, sure. But haunted? Really?"

"That's what I said!"

Phil feels a little vindicated by the skepticism in Martyn's voice, to be honest. His friends hadn't taken his weird feeling seriously at all.

"I mean, it's a dump," says Martyn. "More likely to be haunted by a bunch of rats than anything else. Why haven't we heard this before?"

"According to my sources," Phil says, only feeling a bit ridiculous about referring to a bunch of strangers on the internet as 'sources', "the activity only recently started. Which makes me think that someone's lying, or maybe one incident kickstarted everyone else's imaginations?"

"Both could be true. Why don't you ask Ian to go check it out?"

It's not exactly a sore spot, but something inside of Phil still twinges at the question. "He's a little busy, isn't he."

"So am I," Martyn says in that same dry, familiar tone that makes Phil feel as comforted as his mum's fretting or his dad's bad jokes do. "And yet here you are, on my phone."

"You don't have a toddler," Phil points out.

"I don't? Yet here you are..."

Phil snorts a laugh and drops all of the socks he's gathered into an empty basket. It's as good a place to start as any. "Shut up, Mar. I'm at least six."

There are, literally, enough dirty socks and pants between the four of them that Phil has a whole load of just underthings. He spares a moment to be grateful to Sophie for not including her bras, because he'd have no idea where to begin with those. He sighs and picks up the basket, fitting it against his hip with one hand so he can hold his phone with the other.

"Well, I can ask around," says Martyn. "I think my friends might be past the point of sneaking into abandoned houses to party, but maybe they've heard something from their annoying little brothers."

"Ha, ha," Phil says dryly. "Think I should contact some of the people making these claims?"

"Deffo," says Martyn. "If you can record them, it'd be best."

"Yeah, that way I can use them in the video," Phil hums, setting his basket on the washer and opening every cupboard to try to find the detergent. "I mean, if they're okay with that, obviously."

"I actually meant because your bullshit detector is dysfunctional, so me or Peej will have to tell you if someone's lying."

"Wow, rude. Whose fault is that?"

"Yours," Martyn informs him dryly. "Just because I told you Santa would pull you up through the chimney doesn't mean you had to believe me."

Phil rolls his eyes, but he's grinning. Maybe it's just a big brother thing, or maybe it's their personalities, but Martyn isn't wrong - Phil has a hard time telling when someone is lying to him. Martyn was always good at lying with a straight face and seeing right through Phil's outlandish stories.

"I still blame you," says Phil.

"Alright," says Martyn. "When are you coming to visit?"

"Probably not ‘til after this one," Phil says slowly, glancing at the kitten calendar on the fridge. They'd let one of their milder housemates pick this year's after everyone got tired of looking at Chris' previous choice of nude knitted puppets.

"Yeah? You gonna head up north for this one?"

In the very last cupboard he checks, Phil finds the detergent. He wants to be annoyed about it, but the truth is that Holly's habit of switching around the kitchen when she's anxious has saved many a pack of biscuits from expiring behind some flour. Phil has never once been useful to anybody when he's having a meltdown, so.

Phil absentmindedly loads the washer while he considers Martyn's question. Maybe it would be best to check the place out for himself, see if anything's really going on. He likes being on-site best, trusts his own gut more than he trusts strangers' eyes.

The problem, of course, is that Phil's childhood home is up for sale, he has no money for a hotel, and Ian's gone and got himself a child. The last thing Phil wants to do is impose or, like, get roped into babysitting. A trip to Manchester might be out of the question for him right now.

"Maybe," Phil says, noncommittal.

Martyn sees through him in an instant, like always. "Want me to ask Mum if they've got any viewings next weekend? I'm sure you know not to trash the place."

"Have I ever once trashed the place? Don't answer that," Phil adds, remembering the shaving cream incident.

A huff comes down the line, and Phil feels the same pride at making his brother laugh as he had when he was seven and making weird noises out the car window. Yeah, he definitely needs to go to London soon, the Isle afterwards - he hasn't seen his family in way too long.

"I'll let you know what's buzzing, if anything," says Martyn. "And I'll call Mum for you and all. I know you get weird about asking them for favours."

"I get weird about asking anyone for favours," Phil says instead of a thank you, because if he gets weird about asking for help, then Martyn gets twice as weird about reacting to gratitude.

"Except me."

Phil smiles, watching the rainbow of socks and pants spin. "Yeah. Except you."

Laundry does end up taking Phil most of the day, but he doesn't mind much. It's the least he can do when Chris always does the first draft edit for him, PJ reminds him to take his EMF meter and his meds when he's packing for an overnight, and Sophie sends him pages upon pages of research while she's at work. He's so fond of these people, and he appreciates all they do for him, but being in debt to them - and not in sole control of his projects - makes Phil feel like he's got ants crawling up his arms.

While he waits out the machine cycles, Phil starts putting feelers out into this story. He checks the sources linked to him again and shoots off a couple of direct messages and emails to see if any of the people posting about the Wilkins place are eager to chat one on one.

He's got his laptop set up at the kitchen table and he's on his third coffee of the day when it occurs to him that he's not out of the woods of owing favours just yet. He clicks back into the Tumblr submission that started this spiral.

He decides that he needs to thank this person, at the very least, and maybe offer to buy them a coffee or something when he's in town. They did so much of Phil's grunt work that it feels weird not to pay them back somehow.

"Well, I can't exactly do your laundry," Phil murmurs to the screen. He hopes none of his other housemates are milling around to hear him.

Another click, and he's on the blog. It's minimalist and monochrome in a way that makes things easy to read, but not very interesting to look at. Phil's eyes start to glaze over as he scrolls through, because it's entertaining enough but - well. It's a typical Tumblr blog. That familiar mixture of memes and rants about social issues and some gifs from shows that Phil doesn't have time to watch. There are a lot of familiar walls of text tagged as personal posts, but Phil still can't parse them without really trying.

They do reblog Phil's video posts, though. That makes him grin.

He scrolls back up to the top of the page to shoot them a message and immediately gets distracted by the bio.

winnie. 21. any pronouns.

For someone who sent Phil a wall of text that could be mistaken for copypasta at first glance, it's surprisingly succinct. Phil takes another swig of his coffee and tries not to get caught up on the last part of it.

Any pronouns? What does that mean, any pronouns? What if Phil uses the wrong ones? He isn't exactly a queer theory student, and as much as he supports everybody under his little rainbow umbrella, he's got to admit that a lot of things still go over his head.

He dithers for so long that his laptop screen goes black, and he makes a face at himself in its reflection. Surely he's overthinking this.

Hi!, Phil types, and then accidentally hits enter. He was just trying not to send the fan a paragraph back, but, fine. Oops. So I'm looking into the things you sent me on the Wilkins place and I'm really impressed by the amount of time you put into this? Like it makes MY job a lot easier haha. Is he a triple-texter? He's a triple-texter. The first one didn't count anyway. So thanks!!!!! I'll def give you credit in the video, but is there anything else I can do to pay you back?

Not literally, he wants to add right after he's sent it. Oh, well. He can't just keep spamming this poor person's chat. He hopes it's obvious that he'd offer monetary compensation if he had it.

Phil leaves the Tumblr tab open and works on editing for a little while. It's almost frustrating how bad this video is, how little effort and energy Phil has started putting into these, and he doesn't know how to fix it short of rethinking his entire career.

He could easily keep churning these out for as long as people watch them, but. He's not having fun anymore.

The Phil on his laptop screen is asking questions, wandering around a cemetery just to see if anything will happen, and Phil can't help comparing it to things he did last year, the year before that, the year before that - it feels like his content is declining as his enthusiasm for the topic does, or maybe vice versa.

Phil zones out for so long that the dryer chime goes off from the hallway, echoing through the old, creaky house. He'd given up on sorting the loads after the fifth shirt that could belong to any of them, so he just takes his own things out and folds his housemates' clothes into one basket.

They can figure it out, he's sure. There's only two bedrooms between the three of them, so there's only two closets, and Phil has gone so long without knowing who's officially sharing that it would be awkward to ask now.

Phil swaps the load over and goes back to his laptop, even though the very last thing he wants to do is continue editing and uploading this mediocre video.

The thing is, Phil doesn't need his content to be perfect. He's happy to post things that just make him laugh or have a nicely spooky vibe or whatever, he doesn't need to solve mysteries every month or two. It's just that. He can hear how little he cares about it, lately. It won't be long before people notice, if they haven't already.

Phil sighs and exits the project. Maybe this video is best left unposted. He's not happy with it at all.

Maybe, if this Wilkins place video doesn't pan out, Phil can start redirecting his energy into a different type of creative output. He's got so many stories bouncing around in his mind, he just needs to figure out how he wants to tell them.

It sounds like his father's voice inside his head, telling him you can't chase ghosts forever. He wishes he still had the gumption to disagree with it.

His laptop makes a little noise, and Phil blinks back to reality. He has to click on a few different tabs to figure out where it came from, but then he realises that he's gotten a response on Tumblr.

Phil smiles despite himself and gets ready for another difficult-to-read message.

Sure enough: UHHHHHH hi hello what the fuck i didnt expect you to say anything this is so weird i am being so weird right now um like no problem? i was procrastinating an essay and this was more fun to research so you dont have to thank me or pay me back whatever that means like i was just fucking around its fine but thank you?????

Phil thinks about the four word Tumblr bio again and snorts. Maybe Winnie wanted to seem as cool and minimalist as their theme itself was.

Procrastination or not, I appreciate it!, Phil replies. Would it be ok if I use you as a reference?

?????????????? i mean yeah but what the fuck, he gets back almost immediately.

It's nice to see you know some punctuation! Sorry if it's weird to reach out like this, I just wanted to like acknowledge the work you put in. I don't have to mention you in the video if you'd prefer!

The sound of the front door creaking open and slamming shut interrupts Phil's nervous typing. He freezes for a moment, fingers still on the keyboard, but then PJ comes in the kitchen with a little salute and several bags of craft supplies, and Phil can breathe again.

It isn't that the other people who live in this house are bad people. Far from it. It's just that, of the people Phil has opted to share this large space with for nearly two years, only three of them have made any kind of effort to understand Phil. The others are nice enough, he supposes, but sometimes they come and go and new people replace them and - Phil isn't exactly good with change, is the thing.

So he relaxes when he can talk to PJ instead of making small talk with someone who thinks he's weird and too messy. "Hey! How's your day?"

"Better than yours," PJ laughs. He drops all the bags on the table and starts puttering around the kitchen. "Hungry?"

"Please. And it wasn't so bad, I got some work done."

"Yeah? Any new info on the new haunt?"

It's incredible how genuinely interested PJ always is in Phil's work. Phil grins down at his keyboard and shrugs a bit. "Some. Mostly just poking around right now, though. Mar's asking his friends too. Oh, and I thanked the person who sent it in."

"That's good," PJ says. He's putting the kettle on, because that's what PJ does when he comes home. "How'd they react?"

"Mostly confusion," Phil laughs. He glances at his screen to see if Winnie has responded - they haven't - and chews on his lip a little bit. "Hey, Peej? If someone says any pronouns are fine, what does that mean?"

"Generally," PJ hums, "it seems like it would mean any pronouns are fine."

"Oh, shut up." Phil runs a hand through his hair, always anxious about getting stuff like this wrong.

"I'm not joking," PJ says, although his tone is still light.

"Oh. So it just... doesn't matter?"

"Not to some people, I guess." PJ leans against the counter as he waits for the water to boil. At least he's smiling, although Phil can't help but notice that it's a little patronizing. "You do know that I'm not a gender guru, right? I'm barely a gender novice. I failed gender out the gate, buddy."

Phil knows his cheeks are pinking up a bit, but he rolls his eyes. "Shut up," he repeats. "You still know way more than me."

The shrug he gets in response makes Phil huff a laugh. This isn't something they talk about, but Phil has been present for enough of Chris and PJ's conversations that he'd gotten the idea.

He wonders if PJ cares that he's bringing it up. Is he making PJ uncomfortable? They don't talk about this.

"Stop spiralling," PJ says easily. His smile is warmer, now. "I don't hate you, nobody hates you, and the fan who doesn't care about pronouns certainly doesn't hate you. If you're that worried about upsetting them, though, you can always ask."

Maybe he's known PJ too long. He's grateful for it, still, so relieved that he doesn't have to voice the swirling anxiety of doing something wrong when he only has the best intentions.

"I guess I could do that," Phil mutters, embarrassed by how easily he's been read.

Winnie's responded by the time Phil looks back at the chat window, a lmao yeah ofc thats fine i just cant believe you want to, im not trying to b weird ive just been a fan for a really long time?? (used a comma for you too) (and brackets) (youre welcome) that makes Phil smile.

Awesome! And are the name Winnie & they/them pronouns fine to talk about you with, or do you prefer something else for this?

no yeah thats good idc how you refer to me, is Winnie's immediate response. It's stupid how much of a load feels like it's been lifted off of Phil's shoulders at that easy reassurance.

"You were right," Phil informs PJ.

PJ nods, solemn, as he stirs his noodles. "I often am."

"You're annoying, also," says Phil. "Hey. D'you wanna come up north with me?"

"Phil," says PJ dramatically, holding the wooden spoon up to his heart. "Are you asking me to run away with you?"

"No, absolutely not, stop making that joke." There's no way in hell Phil is going to keep putting up with this from both of them, and PJ is more likely to listen to him than Chris is.

PJ laughs. "Yeah, yeah. You going to see the haunt?"

"If my parents are okay with us hanging out for the weekend, yeah."

"Oh, okay," says PJ. "We're just waiting on confirmation that Kath and Nigel want to spend time with you? Might as well pack now."

"Your stuff's folded," Phil says helpfully. PJ throws a noodle in his general direction. It flops onto the floor between them, a sad, wet spiral of a thing, and Phil touches his nose at the same time PJ does.

"Well, one of us has to pick it up," PJ says in his Reasonable Adult voice, as if he hadn't thrown it in the first place.

Phil looks at his laptop, valiantly pretending not to see the floor noodle, and blinks.

and i mean i havent seen any of this shit firsthand but if you need to ask me anything about the stuff thats gone down im always free. like literally always.

#phanfic #phanfiction #dnp fic #phan #words words words #quiet on widow's peak

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juliettelime · 4 years

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tagged by @ameliabedeliagoesonline to list 10 favorite female characters from 10 different fandoms so here’s some late night ramblings ~

rue/princess kraehe - princess tutu (DELIA I’M GONNA TRY TO BE VAGUE ABOUT THIS TO NOT SPOIL PRINCESS TUTU FOR U LMAO) god i love rue? so much? i love how she’s written as cool on the outside and beautiful but manipulative and jealous but vulnerable and scared but redeemable and loving, and that the story doesn’t just throw her away. she keeps fucking up bc she’s just trying to stop things from changing, like any girl would do if the one you love started slowly slipping away from you because of someone else. she thinks she’s got it under control but she’s only so many steps away from crumbling...... god i love rue

xion - kingdom hearts aaaaaaaa xion made such a big impact on me as a kid. kh days was my first kh game so i was very attached to the roxas/axel/xion narrative and the pain that is xion being erased by the end of the game. i especially love how she’s characterized in the kh days manga, the way she feels like a teenaged girl really stood out to me for some reason. there’s this scene where she’s with roxas and axel and they’re talking about something and i think at this point she knows something’s sus about her existing in the first place, so when roxas asks her what’s wrong she just kinda passive-aggressively replies? she’s like, oh, yeah, because you two are such good friends. but there’s layers to the fact that she feels like she doesn’t belong and i love how that plays into the plot later in the game

panty anarchy - panty & stocking uh i’ve had a big ol crush on panty since i first watched psg in 2012 but i’m only now able to admit it lmfao. i...... love.... her........ i love how she owns being a bitch, but also how even though she’s not a perfect person at all she’s still not like completely heartless either. i don’t think i have anything more profound to say about her because it’s psg lmao..... so yeah idk she’s hot? i love her design? i love that she’s dubbed by jamie marchi? i love d. city rock? dfjhgsd

chibiusa - sailor moon i am rini!!!! i swear to god!!!! like ok of course i loved rini as a kid bc she’s the one with the pink hair (my favorite color) and she reminded me of me (my sister is a witness she can verify i literally am rini dfjkhgskdhf) but also now having read sailor moon i just resonate with her whole ass character arc? wanting to grow up into a well-composed and respected Lady but being aware of your shortcomings and being frustrated and insecure about it? not being taken seriously because you’re the kid? yeah.

spinel - steven universe uuughhhhhh other friends & drift away broke me. the past four years of my life was just me being angry and sad about being replaced and left behind by someone i’d trusted, so when the su movie dropped like literally it couldn’t have been better timing. aren’t you tired of being Nice? don’t you just wanna go apeshit, especially since the way you were apparently wasn’t good enough so might as well not be good at all? yeah.

marinette/ladybug - miraculous ladybug oh mari means so much to me!!! truly!!!! (i say that knowing full well i haven’t watched ml in like almost a year lmfao oops i’ll catch up soon i swear) but i just love the marinette/ladybug dynamic, like she’s a goofball and absolutely cannot function around her crush but she’s still a genuine person and then ALSO she can pull her shit together when she needs to do some superhero saving. i just want the best for her. I’m Care Her

wanda maximoff/scarlet witch - marvel my love for wanda has a lot to do with the timing of me getting into marvel comics/mcu/x-men: evolution being around a messy time in high school for me so i kinda just projected onto wanda hard (so hard that i even made a sona whose character is literally she wants to be the scarlet witch lmao!) it’s also just kinda hard to talk about what i love about wanda when there are those three versions of her i mostly think of... i love mcu wanda’s tragedy in losing those closest to her, i love x-men:evolution wanda’s weirdly super goth design and her conflicting dynamic with pietro, and i really loved the 2015-2016 scarlet witch series of comics. i loved that it focused on her dissonance with who she thought she was up to this point and how much learning that she’s not a mutant affected her (i mean i don’t love that she’s not a mutant but whatever that’s a whole other rant entirely), so she puts herself to work on this whole witch thing like hey this is the New Me while simultaneously still running away from the shame and disappointments of her past.

piyoko - di gi charat my daughter! my sweet eight-year-old panda daughter who must absolutely be protected by her three Big Boy Bodyguards as they try to take over the world. that’s it that’s the whole dynamic of Leave It To Piyoko and i loved it as a kid and i love it now oh my GOD have you seen this opening that’s the mid 2000s i-found-this-from-a-local-dvd-rental-place shit i MISS

korra - legend of korra wacky writing issues concerning the whole show itself aside, i love korra as a character a lot. i’m definitely biased because the show aired from 8th grade to junior year hs for me and something about that timing just made watching korra grow and struggle and change really stick with me. oh and the fact that she and asami helped me realize i’m bi lmao.

rapunzel - tangled my favorite disney princess from my favorite disney movie! especially when i was younger, i too resonated as an artist held up inside dreaming of seeing the world beyond my confinement but not able to because mother knows best

#ask box #i mean not exactly but i dont have another appropriate tag lol #it's 4am lmao GOODNIGHT

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thefriendyouhate · 4 years

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I was tagged by @reservethesun omg

okay so apparently people want to know me better lol

rules: tag some people who you want to know better

top three friendships:

this is so hard because I’ve watched so many shows that it all just blends together.

1. Donna and the 10th doctor: man this dynamic was the best thing to ever happen I know there are some people that don't really like her but the sass between these two could not be contained and that's what made it good. Donna balanced out the doctor and kept him grounded. She gave him that bit of earth that showed him what he always needs reminding of.

2. Goblin and Reaper: okay if you don’t like these two I think you have something slightly wrong with you. The hilarity between the two really made the show for me. They acted like 5 year olds half the time but really relied on each other when the time called for it. Even when things got between then they were still friends with the silliest dynamics.

I honestly don’t have a third one because all the friendships have blended together and they just make me sad because it’s hard to find that kind of platonic relationship in a person and thinking about it makes me sad.

though I do agree on the Derek Penelope friendship rules over all others lol.

Lipstick or Chapstick? Chapstick all the way. I don’t wear makeup cause I have super sensitive skin. Certain lipsticks make my lips go numb.

Last song: Static by Tom Adams been listening to it on loop for like 6 hrs. Its really calming.

Reading: I’ve lost count tbh I'm running out of AO3 content. I guess you could count the translated version of OXGEN....but I cant remember the last physical book I’ve read. oop

Three random things that make me happy:

1. When people talks to me and just listen to what I have to say. I’m an avid fangirl who rants and not many people follow so I like when people talk and listen to what I have to say.

2. Putting in my headphones and just drowning out everything and only hearing the music like it's running through my blood.

3. Reading fanfiction...really reading in general because it takes me out of the real world and give me a taste of something else.

Tag some peeps lol I don’t have that many if you’ve already been tagged I’m sorry

@reservethesun

@shellygurumi

@occasionally-writing

@whyamistillwatchingtheseshows

@themostmagicalfuckingunicornt

@coldties

@gmmtvmother

#all about me #all the love #I love the people I meet on Tumblr #I've found a whole new side :D #I'm too far gone #the taggiest of tag games #catch me at my other blog #@timewaisted

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firjii · 4 years

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Ask Meme

@solverne-02 tagged me but I am a forgetful goofball so I didn’t remember this notif until just now, oops. <3 <3 <3

name: lol I am a bottom tier antisocial eldritch fae, what’s a name for?

nickname: none IRL, I’m not super picky online but I’m increasingly using Fi

zodiac sign: libra

height: 5’8”-5’9” (I don’t know why it varies so much?? but apparently it does, you can thank my lousy lifelong posture for that XD)

languages: English, and a smidgen of Spanish but I’m rusty

Nationality: American

favourite season: autumn babeyyyy

favourite flower: not really sure? Something simple like sunflowers

favourite scent: citrus or vanilla

favourite color: blue or purple

favourite animal: cats or horses

favourite fictional character: hhhhhhh too many to remember but currently probably Aloy also several other HZD chars because that game is embarrassingly full of cute or interesting people

coffee, tea, or hot chocolate: daily go-to is coffee but I’m not picky as long as it’s something decent

average hours of sleep: 6-8 (but again, eldritch fae here, so I’ve been known to get by on as little as 3 or as many as 14 xD xD)

cat or dog person: eh cats for the most part, but I never say no to a chance at petting a well-mannered dog

number of blankets you sleep with: usually 1

dream trip: hmm practical goals would be Ireland or New Zealand

broadway shows seen: none, I didn’t have a big Broadway phase so there was never anything I wanted to see in person (lol I’ve been to a couple of live operas, does that count? :P)

favourite breakfast: I have zero stomach or digestive system in the morning, so anything very light and preferably not sweet. Maybe like one slice of garlic toast and half a tomato and some cheese.

a random fact: there are a few people IRL who are utterly convinced that I know a lot about chemistry (I...really don’t ??? but sometimes I rant in detail about a random specific aspect of nutrition because I happen to know about it from my mom (who is kind of a chemistry expert) and I guess sometimes that comes out sounding like, idk, an actual grasp on the subject lmfao)

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thedaddyhealy · 5 years

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21 Questions Tag from @booklover41802

@ratthew-healy tagged me to do this so thank you very much.

Nicknames: My name is Abbey (not Abigail, Abbey is what’s on my birth certificate. I get that question a lot) so my name is already a nickname, but sometimes my family calls me Abbus or Bus. Sometimes my friends call me Babigail.

Zodiac Sign: I’m a Virgo, but I fucking hate zodiac signs and they make absolutely no sense. I hate all the shit that’s associated with them and I could say even more, but then this would turn into too much of a rant, sorry.

Height: 5′4

Hogwarts House: Gryffindor

Last Thing You Googled: Wordscapes 712 (yes, I cheat at wordscapes, but I don’t care)

Favorite Musicians: The 1975 is my absolute fav, but I also listen to a ton of other stuff including Badflower, Queen, The Wonder Years, Current Joys, etc.

Song Stuck In Your Head: The very beginning of the Can’t Stop Singing Song from Teen Beach Movie has been stuck in my head for the past 3 days. I have no idea why, I haven’t watched that movie in years and I kinda hated it.

Following: 76 I thought it would be way more than that but apparently not. Oops.

Followers: 1,672 I love you guys, thank you so much <3

Do You Get Asks: Very occasionally, but I love getting them, so feel free to send some!

Amount of Sleep: Usually 6-7 hours, but it depends

Lucky Number: I don’t really believe in that kind of stuff, but my favorite number is 9.

What You’re Wearing: It’s currently pretty late at night and I’m in my pajamas so a white t-shirt with roses and blue adidas shorts.

Dream Job: I don’t really know. I want to work with books and literature and all that kind of stuff. I’m currently working toward being an English teacher, but it’s not really my dream.

Dream Trip: A big road trip across the US.

Instruments: Literally none. Maybe a little recorder left over from 5th grade, but that’s it.

Languages: English and a little Spanish

Favorite Song: My favorite song of all time is Mary Jane’s Last Dance by Tom Petty, but Lola by The Kinks is a close second, followed by Paris by The 1975.

Random Fact: I know so much about the Vietnam War that I could spend hours teaching you about it. I don’t know why, but it is just so fascinating to me and I’ve spent years learning about it through books, documentaries, and articles. I’m a bit of a nerd lol.

Aesthetic: I don’t really have one (or totally understand it) but I like the look of black contrasted with a light pink.

This was a lot of fun, thank you.

I tag @eminem-owns-my-asshole @shawnythighs @sofarxitsalright @robberz I’m also tagging some of my followers who are always up in my shit who I love @devjakl @sunrayshowell

#abbey talks #me #the 1975 #tag game

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glassrain · 5 years

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"You have an issue with how guys act today? then just GIVE THEM THEIR FRIENDS BACK" yes I love it, agree with it, and I also love your tags 😂

Ah, yeah, went on a little bitof a tag rant there. Oops - I didn’t actually mean to do that. Butonce I got to talking about it … well, it’s a topic I’m ratherpassionate about. Let guys be bros again! Let guys do silly guythings, without attacking them for … what, being guys? How is thatfair? Boys are precious, I don’t care what anyone says - just stopbreathing down their necks, stop villainizing them or forcing labelson them. Give them a little room to breathe and just do their ownthing, have their friends and be affectionate with them withoutfeeling the need to clarify or justify or pretend or peek over theirshoulder to make sure no one is looking. It makes me so sad, thatthis is what men feel they have to do. That they’re not allowed tojust have friends, care deeply about their friends,enjoy their friends. It’s so unhealthy? It’s so isolating?Like, that’s so achingly, ridiculously lonely? When they exhibit problematic behaviors, men are absolutely responsible for their own choices - that being said, society could help a ton, and put a stop to a lot of issues, by not crammingthis kind of a toxic mindset down the throats of men at every turn. Thismindset that shames and pressures them into shying away from love andaffirmation and compassion, to neither accept nor express a perfectlynatural - and even necessary - type of love to other men in theirlives, and instead bottle everything up until it festers and causes awhole mess of problems for everyone. This idea that they’re onlycapable of loving one (1) person, romantically, and that’s it.That’s the end of the line. I just hate it, and myheart goes out to these poor guys (as they get what I’m going tocall, for lack of a better term, the “gay treatment” far more often than girls).

And I think it stems from this idea that romantic love is somehowthe superior love. If there’s someone in your lifethat you love uniquely and passionately, then obviously ithas to be romantic love because friendships can’t reach the heightsthat romantic love can. And on the one hand, I cankind of understand where that thought process comes from, because romantic lovebuilds families, romantic love is exclusive and special, I’m notdenying that. But it’s not superior to friendshipsor familial love. It’s different - that’s all. I think that thisis the point that a lot of people, who look at two men who deeplycare for each other and immediately cry “gay!” misscompletely. I’m going to say it one more time, just to hit thepoint home: romantic love is different - but not superior- to other kinds of love. My sister can talk to me, can doactivities with me, can express herself with me in a way that shecan’t with her husband. My sister’s love for me and ourrelationship is very different, but in no manner inferior, to herlove for and relationship with her husband. That’s just absurd.

Or maybe this mindset also comes from the idea that love betweenfriends is too generic. “X has good friends that he loves verydeeply, sure, but Y is special to him, even amonghis friends, and thus must fall under theexclusivity of romantic love.” Because friendship is,apparently, boring. A person is capable of having multiple friendships at once, and therefore you are unable of caring for any one of them uniquely. Since a man can have more than onefriendship, his relationship with this particular individual is nolonger unique or special if they’re“just friends” (ugh - as if there’s anything just aboutfriendship). But … that’s a problem solved if they’re in love! If they’re in love, then their relationship is special! It’s an equally absurd mindset as romantic superiority, but I think it’s one that people do fall victim to, and is a key factor in the “gay treatment” for male friendships. This idea that friendships are cookie cutter, one-size-fits-all relationships that blanket all friends together, instead of unique, personalized connections full of pain and laughter and growth, with inside jokes and strengths and weaknesses and support and arguments and apologies and secrets shared like priceless gifts between just these two individuals, which differ vastly between person to person - it’s laughable, really. It’s also very problematic and needs to die a swift death. Harry’s relationship with Ron is different than his relationship with Hermione - there’s nothing bland or simple about either of their relationships, even though they are both ”just friends.” Tony has a different relationship with Steve than with Rhodey than with Peter, to name just a few - friendships are just as unique, beautiful and powerful among each other, as romantic relationships are among friendships.

And it’s not my intention to attack ships or shippers, just this dreadful mindset. Please stop sabotaging and undermining male friendships. They’re so important and wonderful. If people would just start valuing friendships again, I think we would see a world of difference in the way we view life, and people, and in all of our relationships.

#notatypicaldimention #thanks for the ask!#even if my tag rant was actually a tad embarrassing #and sorry for turning this into a longpost #i just ... have thoughts #masculinity #life #gender issues #fandom problems #analysis

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