So how would Simon react to having a baby with reader? Whether it be a surprise (like he comes home from deployment to a full baby belly), or was known the whole time, how would he react?
omg so first of all, congratulations on making a small human!!
so i think this could go two, very opposite ways. i have two very distinct ideas of simon and kids in my head.
so
option a - the man has a vasectomy and is shit scared of passing on his traumatic genes to the next generation and/or is just haunted by his childhood and scared of repeating it (if we're sprinkling in og lore). kids are loud. and messy. and... what if he didn't come home to them one day? it's all a bit too much.
option b - the man is the most dedicated dad known to man. if you're planning a baby? he's is waking you up to check your basal temp in the morning and manually calculating your ovulation window because he doesn't trust the apps to get it right. he's reading every book on parenting known to man. i think an accidental pregnancy might book him out for a bit, but then he's getting on board.
i did this fic a little while ago and i think it sums up option b simon in a nutshell!
look after yourself!! nap when baby naps!! and apparently you need four hours in a row asleep to not go insane!!
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#504 - honorable mentions (1): murder at the lesbian cottage(core)
Oops, so Gabriel is dead. Felled by this single look of Luz Borrell.
(I squealed.)
But first: look at the lesbian cottagecore! We don't see the dollhouse in this shot, for once, the cottage is not stifling or creepy. Must be the lesbians in the most matching of matching outfits.
And look - nice eagle shot, camera crew - they are the right size for the house for once! Everything fits.
Also, the Costume Department staged yet another lesbian wedding for these two. Look at the synchronous shirts! They could be an Olympic discipline!
Of course Begoña gets properly buttoned cuffs, a narrower fit and silhouette, and the covered placket that has such a fine topstitching it looks like a French placket....
..while Luz gets the more blue-collar flair with the wider fit, rolled-up sleeves, and the separate, reinforced placket with top stitching. And the hearteyes!
But still, that’s your friendly neighborhood lesbian couple in matching outfits. With their baby.
But back to The Murder.
You know what won't win the "Straightest Dialogue Line of the Year" Award?
“I hope to be there for your downfall and to take care of Begoña and the children then.”
Athough it's a toss-up with “At the slightest notion, I will return to finish you off; I won’t let you destroy Begoña.”
And here I thought the "You are my light" (wherever you are!) wedding vows were the pinnacle of writing these two as a lesbian marriage with kids, but. Low and behold. Glitter and be gay. Cottagecore even more.
At this point, I am ready to believe that the entire writing room ships Luzgoña (Costume Department is a given, and I love them for it).
But also the entire conversation between Luz and Begoña about Begoña not daring to run away with Andrés was a conversation about Begoña not daring to run away with Luz, who sat their pleading with her and questioning that level of sacrifice (not in the room: Andrés. I would say "go date Valentina, buddy", but Cloe is giving Valentina such soulful looks that I cannot say that in good conscience, either).
Also Luz's stance. Her stance while she wears an Oxford-style button- down (really, only the collar buttons are missing) under a gay small-check trenchcoat. She could basically Benout Blanc trying to solve the murder of Gabriel (with the added twist of making the evidence disappear because she actually killed him herself to save Begoña and the kids).
Oh, and that stance is not just limited to confronting Gabriel. Behold the store:
My hand-on-hip stance brings all the girls to the dispensary;
they're like, It's better than Miguel's.
I could teach you,
but I'd have to charge my wife would object.
Someone take away my keyboard please this situation will not be improving as long as the Luz Season 3 Glow-Up continues to wreak havoc on my brain.
Oh my offense is rank. It is done. The other day I did a heinous thing. I committed an unforgivable sin against baking. Against the world. But I did it for the 20+ sickos who asked, so I refuse to take the blame solely.
Me and my accomplice @apollos-constant-crisis made the tumblr vanilla extract cake in excruciating detail. We made two cake batters, one interpreting the original post’s percents as an expression of the total mass, and another as an expression of the total volume. Our recipe for the percent-total-mass cake was:
9g butter
7.9g sugar
8.9g eggs (yolk and whites blended)
17.2g flour
6.9g milk
5.8g baking powder
44.3g vanilla extract
Our recipe for the percent-total-volume cake was as follows:
2 1/8 tsp butter
1 7/8 tsp sugar
1/4 cup blended eggs
5 tsp flour
1 7/8 tsp milk
1 5/8 tsp baking soda
9 tsp vanilla extract
Yall.
When I tell you this thing sucked. Oh dear baby Jesus in heaven. Yall. Never again.
The batter for both was approximately the consistency of snot. The percent-total-volume cake batter specifically *bubbled* like a sourdough starter does. Absolutely sickening. Baking them did not make them any better— instead, they congealed into rubbery hockey pucks of misery. Caressing their cursed forms was like touching that spongy rubber that new-age almond mom playgrounds floors are made of.
And then I ate it.
My first bite of the percent-total-volume cake was hellish. It was still piping hot, and so all of the trapped alcohol vapors streamed out and filled my airways. I later remarked to my accomplice that it felt like I was a dragon exhaling fire. 0/10 experience, absolute sensory nightmare
It tasted just awful too. Not sweet at all, very vanilla-y, and extremely bitter from the alcohol and baking powder. The percent-total-mass cake tasted less vanilla-y than the other one, but still was inexcusably bad.
There is more, though. For the last few months I’ve been getting together with friends and making them watch Evangelion. Last night, we watched episodes 22, 23, 24, and End of Evangelion. I also brought home the battered corpse of both vanilla extract cakes so that I could subject my friends to them as their minds were being melted. Their reactions to the cakes were as follows:
One had a tiny piece and it ruined their appetite for the rest of the night
Another one had a large piece and proceeded to throw up violently in my toilet. Don’t worry I warned him this would happen.
Final friend actually LIKED THEM and ATE THE REST. Mind you, over 60 percent of BOTH was left over by the time he got his perverted, masochistic hands on them, and he proceeded to EAT THE REST THROUGH THE MOVIE. HE ATE. THE REST. THROUGH END OF EVANGELION.
So that’s the whole story. God, was it worth it? Yes, absolutely. Will I do it again? No. I would sooner be devoured by 9 giant birds Prometheus (and Asuka) style. Anyways, no friendships were harmed in the making of this atrocity.
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