anyone else have the burning desire to deactivate all their social media accounts and book a flight somewhere and just disappear and live a totally anonymous existence where no one bothers you and you don’t bother anyone
I think my problem was - I’ve always had this idea of what love was like, you know? I was so scared to fall in love because I thought I would only get hurt in the end. I guess I just never believed in happy ever afters. I thought love was biting your tongue and nodding your head and being who they wanted you to be. But god, then I met him and suddenly I felt like I could breathe again. He told me he loved me and I told him the same and I knew we both meant it. I knew it because I wasn’t afraid to dance in front of him. I knew it because anywhere felt like home if I was with him. Because hearing his laugh made me feel like I was walking on water. Because my hand felt empty without his. I knew it because I believed love felt like being in a cage. But then he loved me, and it felt like freedom.
totally platonic ways to show ur platonic bro friend u care platonically - a guide by James Buchanan Barnes.
• know his precise location and swan in to rescue his reckless ass when he gets into a fight - again - as if you got some sort of sixth sense to knowing he’s in danger
• abandon your date on your last night in town for a while to traipse around a convention looking for him
• after being strapped to a table and tortured and experimented on, be sure the first thing you do is ask him if it hurt when he became all beefy
• when he asks you if you’ll follow the person everyone else see’s him as into danger, let him know that you’re following the him he was and still is underneath, and you’d follow him anywhere
• follow him home from his mother’s funeral to make sure he’s doing okay, then tell him that you know he can get by on his own, but he doesn’t have to, because you’re with him til the end of the line
• remember him before you remember yourself after he says your name for the first time in 70 years, and then refuse to let go of the certainty that you knew him, even though that belief is going to get you hurt
• when all you know what to do is to obey orders and complete a mission, hear 9 words that sound like a wedding vow, and choose instead of killing him like you were ordered, to save him and make sure he’s alive
• after you’ve pretended like you only know him from reading about him in a museum, the moment danger presents itself, instinctively protect him from said danger
• when he brings up a double date that you went on and tries to mention the girls, don’t even remember the girls name, but do remember everything he did that day
• whilst you’re lying on the floor, beaten and bruised and bloody and once again, sans arm, summon whatever energy you have left to detract attention from him to stop him getting hurt
btw for the people still worried about andromeda being a “colonialism simulator” (spoilers):
- the planets chosen were believed to be uninhabited 600 years ago (but there was extensive first contact protocol written in the extreme unlikelihood they’d meet another sapient species)
- you cannot colonise the angaran homeworld (havarl) or any sovereign angaran planet (aya, voeld). you can be invited to leave a small contingent of scientists (to study the vault’s effects on havarl to help make it viable for the angara again) or set up a base that works alongside the angara (running ice on voeld for both initiative and angaran settlements).
- the angara are also invited to the nexus and appear in colonies on shared planets such as kadara.
- there are no other sapient species in the system, aside from the kett who are invaders, not natives or settlers. you cannot displace anyone, invade anyone, make yourself at home anywhere you are not welcome.
- you can even give a random civilian who suggests settling on aya uninvited a dressing down for being disrespectful
just so you can avoid alarmism and false info. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯
(#21 off the Super Sappy Prompts list: “I’m better when I’m with you.”)
It’s an experiment based on a hypothesis based on a coincidence. They’re sharing a room on a roadie, and Nursey has been stuck in a dry spell for a week and a half now. The words just haven’t been coming the way he wants them to, and he’s starting to feel dried out, like all the creative juices have been wrung out of him by school stress and lack of sleep. Maybe it’ll never come back. Maybe he’s just done. All washed up by the tender age of twenty.
He’s not even trying to write as he watches Dex from across the room, tracking his fidgets and expressions as he sits hunched over his laptop frowning at the screen. It’s been a while since he and Dex have been in the same room for an extended period of time – a fortnight, about. Dex has been on a project, and Nursey started isolating himself about when the drought hit. But it was nice to sit with him on the bus today, and it’s nice to dump his bag near the bed and just relax, hands behind his head, and drink in his presence. It feels like something he’s been missing for far too long.
Nursey’s not sure what it is that makes the words start coming back, but it’s like a cloudburst on a hot day – a few lines, scattered drops against a parched sidewalk, then all at once he’s drowning.
He writes for four hours that night. His poems are full of microchips and anger, all about the gray morality of man against the rigidity of binary code, and by one a.m., when he should really be getting his beauty rest for tomorrow’s game, he’s starting to formulate a theory.
The theory is that maybe being in Dex’s proximity jumpstarts his creativity. In a phrase, Dex inspires him.
“I’m floored by the technology of the Switch, and the
versatility of the console is second to none. It really is a
home console that you can take anywhere. I’ve seen situations where
home consoles can be transported, and it’s like a big over-the-shoulder
carry-on bag, but the versatility of this thing is groundbreaking. When
you un-dock the Switch from its home console and go into handheld, the
controller feels the same, it is the same, and it reacts the same. The
screen on the un-docked handheld system is big enough to be its own
world, but small enough to carry anywhere.
I was in this confined living room space where you got
lost in the game ‘cause I’m playing on this 60-inch TV, and then you
un-dock and continue to play the game. They had this
molecular glass, which dropped and revealed I was in the middle of the
desert. I never once knew the change in environment. It’s truly, truly
tremendous. In typical Nintendo fashion, I was playing Legend of Zelda: Breath of the Wild. Now I haven’t played Legend of Zelda since
the gold cartridge eight-bit versions, so I just needed to pick up and
start going, and I did. The go-anywhere aspect of the game is
incredible, and I know for fans of the Zelda franchise, they’re
going to flip. I know for fans of Nintendo, they’re going to go crazy.
Everyone is speculating about how good the game actually is—it’s going
to exceed expectations and, for a dude like me, a 40-year-old [in April]
who hasn’t played Zelda since the gold cartridge, I sat down and was hooked. In a matter of 30-minutes, I didn’t want to put it down.”
said John Cena, WWE wrester
“I realised something,” she says in quiet disbelief.
“What’s that?” Her best friend asks in reply.
“Home isn’t four walls and a roof. It isn’t two hands and a heartbeat. It’s all of that and none of it.”
Her friend frowns, “Explain.”
“Home is the sound of your best friend’s laughter at three o'clock in the morning after she’s been crying since midnight. Home is riding in the car with the windows down in the middle of the day during autumn. Home is your favourite song, your favourite book. Home is seeing your mom cooking breakfast in her pjs after you’ve stayed up all night talking. Home is when you see your brother finally make that homerun even if you don’t care for sports. Home is the little things; the things you might not remember a year from then, but they matter. They’re the most important moments because when they all come together under a roof filled with terrible singing and laughing and food, you know in your heart you don’t want to be anywhere else.”
Note: I have so many exciting plans for my Batmom series, but I wanted to start with this one that tugs at the heartstrings ~ K
Your head was submerged under the water of the shower, as you hoped it would drown out the sounds of the world. You wouldn’t be able to tell the difference between your tears and the water. It had been a while since you let yourself cry over what had happened and you only let yourself in the safety of your shower. You remembered it like yesterday.
“Y/N….” Bruce said warily as he came back with a body in his arms.
“Bruce who is that?” you asked afraid of the answer yourself.
With just the sound of your name leaving his lips you knew exactly who it was. The world collapsed around you as Bruce set your son on the table, and you cried out for him. The pain was indescribable; like someone had ripped away the gravity from your world. Blood-curdling screams dragged out between hyperventilated breaths, and Bruce shed tears from the sound of you. He had come over to put his arms around you as the two of you sobbed and mourned for the death of your child.
Everyone knew that you were different, the hollow look in your eyes, and the lack of true smiles that stretched on your face. The funeral had been one of the hardest days of your life, as you depended on Dick and Bruce as your life support.
“Mom I’m right here,” Dick said as he fell into your embrace. You cried as you held onto him; the only son of yours right now, and held tightly. “I’m not going anywhere.”
When Bruce brought home Tim and Damian, you accepted them with open arms and they became your next two sons. You loved them both every bit as much as you did Jason, but a part of you would always be missing.
It was one day when Bruce and Dick had just gotten home from chasing after a new crimelord that went by Red Hood. You were coming back from restocking bandages when you heard a quiet and rushed conversation between Dick and Bruce that made you stop for a second to listen.
“We have to tell mom,” Dick whispered harshly to Bruce.
“No it will absolutely destroy her and we’re not sure yet.’
“She has the right to know, it’s not fair to her or anyone else. Don’t get me wrong, she is a good mom to Damian and Tim, but you and I both know that she has never been the same since him.”
“We can NOT tell Y/N Dick.”
“Tell me what?” you asked as you emerged from the shadows of the Batcave, holding the bandages that you had gathered for Bruce. ‘What is going to ‘absolutely destroy’ me?” you asked with air quotes and emphasis on their repeated conversation.
“Dick…” Bruce warned as you could see Dick start to open his mouth to say something to you.
“I’m sorry mom,” Dick said in response to the light warning.
That was all that was said that night that left you with a million questions popping in your mind. What could Bruce be hiding from you that Dick wanted to tell you so badly? And what on Earth did it have to do with Jason? It wasn’t until a couple days later that you would find out.
Bruce had gone out again and by now it seemed like everyone knew, except for you. You were in the Batcave cleaning when you got curious as to what was on Bruce’s computer; it was seemingly analyzing something. It wasn’t your fault that the sequence was finished and you saw what it was. A loud bang filled the cave as you dropped what you were holding, seeing what it read.
Red Hood, the new crimelord running Gotham is your son. Your son, the one that died in an explosion caused by the Joker.
“You weren’t supposed to see that Miss,” Alfred said from behind you as he had come to see what the loud sound was.
“He knew and didn’t tell me,” you whispered to yourself. “He knew and didn’t let anyone tell me.”
“I’m sure Master Bruce had his reasons.”
“Reasons to not tell me that my son is alive?!” you raised your voice, immediately regretting it as it was Alfred.
“Y/N I had my reasons,” Bruce said hearing the tail end of your conversation with Alfred. “He’s not the same Y/N. He’s running the drug game.”
“I don’t care he’s my son. And Dick was right I had a right to know. You didn’t have the right to keep this from me, Bruce,” you told him as you walked up to him indignantly.
“I’m sorry it was for your own good.”
After a bit of silence, you finally said, “I want to see him.”
“That’s not a good idea.”
“I wasn’t asking,” you replied still upset that Bruce had kept something of this nature from you.
It had been several weeks since the last conversation you had with Bruce about Jason. You had watched as he and his father battled on top of the building that he had kept Joker in. You had seen all the headlines as people began to recognize him for working outside the law to clean up Gotham; for doing what Batman wasn’t able to. You had seen it all but you never expected to come into the Batcave and see him standing there in his new get-up. You walked up to him and put a hand to his new helmet.
He flinched away from your touch a bit and didn’t reply.
“Please…just…let me see that you’re real,” you begged him as tears welled in your eyes.
He sighed but reluctantly pulled off his helmet. It was undeniable that he was Jason. He had aged since the last time you had seen him of course, but you could recognize your son anywhere.
You held your breath and hesitantly put your hand up to his face, and rubbed your thumb across his cheek ever so slightly.
“Hi Ma,” he finally said breaking the silence that had filled the air since he had gotten rid of his helmet.
Tears fell from your cheeks as he grabbed you and pulled you into a hug. He had grown so much and was taller than you, and you could feel his own tears falling onto your head.
Here’s some soft loving pynch headcanons bc it’s something we all need rn:
Adam loves holding Ronan’s hand. Where Adam’s hands get cold easily, Ronan’s are always warm somehow, his hands big enough to completely engulf Adam’s and warm them. When Adam laces their fingers together he can feel the slightly rough texture that comes from Ronan’s work at the Barns, and the small scratches at the back of Ronan’s hands because he refuses to wear gloves while he works. He loves the way Ronan moves his thumb in circles against the back of Adam’s hand without thinking.
Adam loves it when his hands are cold and Ronan just seems to know, so he takes both of Adam’s hands in his own and silently holds them until they’re warm again. He loves the way Ronan never fails to gently kiss Adam’s palms afterwards.
Sometimes they hold hands without lacing fingers, the way children in fairy tales do. On those days they’re walking through Ronan’s new dream forest with Opal, exploring every corner, laughing and chattering as new creations float into view, and all the while Adam holds Ronan’s hand easily and without thinking. As if they have been walking through enchanted forests, holding hands, for years.
One day on finals week in his first year, tired and sleepy from studying, Adam has the thought that the Barns are home the way no where else is. Adam loves his college and his dorm room and the many friends he has there, he’s content in the life he built for himself, happy to be in study halls and in a new city, but no other place has the warmth that the Barns offer. He comes back to this line of thought several times over the next few days, and finally decides that the warmth there has everything to do with the presence of Ronan and Opal. He thinks about the various spaces he occupied, the places he’s been, the way he’s starting to feel like he could build homes anywhere. He thinks back to the Barns and the people waiting for him there. He thinks Ronan is home the way nothing else is, and decides to leave it at that.
Ronan uses his phone a lot whenever Adam is at college. It’d be funny if it weren’t something that Adam completely saw coming. Maybe a few-months-ago-Adam wouldn’t have expected it, and last-year’s Adam definitely would have snorted at the concept, but the Adam that left the Barns late August for his first year of college knew without a doubt that he’d be hearing from his boyfriend before the end of the day. A text, a call, a picture, hell maybe even a meme. Adam knew Ronan would be there, several hundred miles away or not. Ronan didn’t disappoint.
They are not loudly sappy, per se. They are not fancy love declarations and explicit displays of affection. Instead, they’re steady. Sure and quiet in the way they’re just Adam and Ronan. They’re fingers laced together as they quietly walk through the fields, glances shared across the room in both exasperation and amusement, they’re forehead kisses in the morning, and cheek kisses as one of them leaves for work. They’re soft I love yous murmured against the other’s lips and smiles pressed into each other’s skin. They’re stupid inside jokes and the ability to always always make each other laugh.
Adam and Ronan are best friends. They’re supportive and always there for each other, shoulders pressed together, arms around the other’s waist when one of them needs to be held, or sitting a few steps away waiting for permission to touch but knowing their mere presence counts. They’re Adam and Ronan, a team, even on the tough days when one of them would rather be anyone else.
They are independent each but they choose to share their lives, and to always be there for each other.
I feel like I’m not going to feel at home anywhere and I think (for now) that I’m fine with that. And I will probably just float around in hotel rooms with a wine bottle in my hand (white preferably). Airport to airport, cab to cab, broken to fixed.
Taken from one of my old journals, 17 and wondering, I suppose - part 2