#//have been writing this for legitimately a month and a half

[goldenkwilde]

you and me, religiously || self para

CHARACTERS: Kitty Wilde, mentions of Hunter Clarington, Ryder Lynn, and Sugar Motta DATE & TIME: November 26th, 10:30 PM LOCATION: Kitty's Apartment Bathroom SUMMARY: Kitty faces her demons and comes to some revelations about herself and her relationship with Hunter. WARNINGS: Trigger warning for some mildly sexual content (nothing so graphic) and for mentions of CSA and assault. Also it's so long.

Drowning in the Blue Nile, he sent me 'Downtown Lights', I hadn't heard it in a while.

Steam poured into the white-tiled bathroom as Kitty stepped out of the shower, taking one last moment to wring out her hair behind her before fully emerging. Her muscles were sore today, the two hours at the gym and two hour Cheerio practice not agreeing with the interrupted sleep she’d had the night before, and it had been a relief to feel the scalding water flow over her body, so much so that she’d been glad to have her rigorous shower routine to keep her occupied and stop her from falling asleep. 

Her hand reached out and plucked a perfectly fluffy white towel from where it was folded on the counter, unfolding it and wrapping it around herself. She knew well why she hadn’t slept the night before, her conversations with Ryder and Sugar whirling in a storm in her head, along with flashes of Hunter; his eyes as they’d watched her in the mirror, his fingers on the nape of her neck, the way he’d held her when she’d finally crawled into bed with him, fighting against her weighed-down eyelids for just another moment, another chance to be held by him. It had all proven too much for a solid night’s sleep. 

My boredom's bone deep, this cage was once just fine. Am I allowed to cry?

She secured her towel in place, picking up a hairbrush and starting to detangle her freshly conditioned locks. She knew that after that, she would use the needle-thin handle of her comb to make a parting as straight as a ruler, twisting the smooth hair behind her head to secure with a clip, before starting on her skincare routine; cleansing, retinol, moisturiser. After that, a vigorous five minute tooth brushing and flossing session, and then she would slather herself in body cream. Then blow drying, securing her hair in an overnight style sure to give it bounce and life tomorrow, a run-over with a cold gua sha and face roller, and then falling asleep on a satin pillow. 

This had been her routine since she was fourteen, save for the retinol which she added during her senior year after one very pointed comment about laugh lines from her mother. Every single night, this was what she did, without fail, no matter how late or how drunk she was. She was able to count on one hand the number of times she’d deviated from it; once at summer camp in the 9th grade, twice when she’d gotten the flu in the 10th and 12th grades, last year in Paris when the stupid airline had lost her luggage with half her skincare in it, and on Halloween when she’d fallen asleep with Hunter and even broken her most sacred rule; if you can’t do the whole routine, you still always take your makeup off before sleep. She’d definitely paid for that with a breakout on her cheeks the next day. 

This routine, like most other parts of her life, had started to fade into background noise these days. She’d never found it particularly difficult to keep up her standards of grooming, academics, and social life, and being naturally Type A had given her an innate ability to juggle all of these things without breaking a sweat. This, of course, was aided by the fact that she just really didn’t care about a lot of it that much. Years of observation had taught her that it was always those who were panting along and tripping over themselves to make the grade that missed it. Of course she’d study and get an A on all tests, of course she’d be flawlessly put together every day, of course she’d be at all the parties, gorgeous and sparkling and witty. She’d never been given the option to underachieve, so why would she ever do anything but overachieve? 

But it had started to feel monotonous. The ‘celibate mean girl with a Bible verse in her Insta bio’ act had started to wear thin. And it was an act. Not the ‘mean girl’ part necessarily, but the rest of it. She’d stopped believing in God years before, keeping it only as a convenient crutch for whatever she needed it for. The celibacy vow had been a timely aversion; a scapegoat to avoid sex at the precise moment that all the boys in her class had started demanding it. Of course, with that, she’d avoided relationships too, but that’s where the mean girl persona had come in quite handy; nobody was surprised that the girl whose most common reaction was a scathing eye roll was uninterested in dating. 

All of it was so wearisome. 

I dream of cracking locks, throwing my life to the wolves, or the ocean rocks, crashing into him tonight, he's a paradox. I'm seeing visions, am I bad? Or mad? Or wise?

She knew what had been the catalyst for these feelings, and he was six feet tall with soft dark curls and brown eyes that pierced through her. The moment she’d first spoken to Hunter, a part of her had known she was done for, even if the rest of her was slower to catch on. The suggestion for him to join her gym had been somewhat calculated on her part, even if it was a pleasant surprise to see him there the first time; her first confirmation that maybe it wasn’t only her who felt the gravitational pull between them. The moment his fingers had reached up and brushed hair out of her eyes, she knew that this was something big. 

If she was being honest, she’d gone into this thing with Hunter totally blindly, not knowing what to expect. He’d made it so clear what he wanted, but it’d been a world away from how most other guys had gone about it. Where they’d worn her patience thin with attempts at convincing and pressuring that had bordered on the most undignified begging, he’d met her with a self-assured charisma, an awareness that he wouldn’t have to do much and that she’d want him back the same way eventually. And, God, knowing how right he’d been had hurt her pride in the most glorious way. 

Through every comment, every finely laid compliment, every longing glance, every gentle touch on the parts of her body that she’d deemed acceptable for him to touch, she’d found herself falling down a rabbit hole that she’d never expected to see. Slowly, steadily, and without even really trying, he’d convinced her that maybe this was a part of her life that she didn’t have to padlock away in a crevice in her mind. 

What if he's written 'mine' on my upper thigh only in my mind? One slip and falling back into the hedge maze, oh what a way to die. I keep recalling things we never did, messy top lip kiss, how I long for our trysts. Without ever touching his skin, how can I be guilty as sin?

Already she and Hunter had gone further than she’d ever thought she’d go, save for whatever she’d resigned to gritting her teeth and enduring on her wedding night. She still felt the ghosts of his hands on her thighs and hips, peeking under her skirt, but never venturing too far. She still felt his lips on her pulse point just under her jaw, so sure he’d be able to feel how her heart hammered under them. She remembered down to her bones how her legs had curled around his hips, so tentative, how he hadn’t pushed his body into hers, and how she’d been so thankful for his hesitancy, but had also ached for it all the same. 

Every time he’d murmured against her lips to ask if she was okay, if what he was doing was fine, if she wanted him to stop, her mind had fought against itself. One part of her screamed out for him, but the other part of her was desperately trying to yank the situation back, hide in the corner where it had been all her life, the corner where she was sure nobody would hurt her like she had once been hurt. She knew she wanted him in that way, that fact had been made more than evident in their exchanges and encounters, and a part of her had wanted to just let it happen every time they’d been in that position. This had been particularly true the other night after Sebastian’s party when he’d unzipped her dress for her. With her eyes caught by his in the mirror, she’d wanted so badly to let the dress fall off her body, step out of it, turn around, and give herself to him. She knew he’d felt the same thing, the moment his hands had touched her back and started to pull the zipper down, the air in the room had changed, becoming thicker and more tense. Though she knew not acting on those impulses had been the right move (neither of them had been anywhere near sober, after all), not acting on them had been a new kind of agony. 

I keep these longings locked in lowercase inside a vault. Someone told me there's no such thing as bad thoughts, only your actions talk.

Lost in thought, Kitty stopped brushing her wet hair, her eyes caught by themselves in the mirror in front of her. Putting the brush down on the bathroom counter, she examined her face, rarely seen without her everyday foundation, contour, and mascara. She couldn’t say she disliked how she looked at all. People had told her she was pretty her whole life, so it was hard not to believe them. Were there things she’d change? For sure. A freckle here, a crease there, but she’d agree that no overhaul was needed. 

That beauty. That cloying, sticky beauty that she revelled in and killed herself to maintain, but that also haunted her every step. 

She’d put her beauty in the shoebox in her mind where she kept the rest of her demons. Ever since that night, she’d wondered if maybe it could’ve been prevented if she hadn’t looked the way that she had. If she’d cut her hair differently the week before, if she’d fallen off her bike and scratched her face up, if she’d worn different pyjamas. Maybe if she hadn’t flaunted her beauty. If she’d laughed a little less animatedly at his jokes, if she’d worn a t-shirt over her swimsuit, if she hadn’t let him grab her and toss her into the pool. There had been four other girls at that sleepover, his own sister excluded, why had it been her? 

As with most other thoughts about the specifics of that night, Kitty had pushed this aside, adapted to thinking about that event in the most abstract of terms. She’d blocked out his face, as well as the precise things he had done or said to her, all evaporated into the ether. The only thing left was the ticking of the clock on the wall, the glow-in-the-dark stars on the basement ceiling, and the pain. The devastating, awful pain that she could never forget. The pain that seared through her mind every single time she thought about any kind of intimacy. 

Well, not every single time. 

These fatal fantasies giving way to labored breath, taking all of me, we've already done it in my head.

There had been a few times in the past few weeks, just as she had turned off the light, her satin eye mask on, ready for sleep, that she had started thinking about Hunter. The thoughts had been momentary, until they weren’t, they had been abstract, until they weren’t, and it wasn’t until she was well into the fantasies that it would suddenly occur to her that the pain was nowhere to be found. 

Instead, it was just him, his stupid boyish smile that made her insides feel like a Parisian lava cake, his grip on her that made her gasp out loud, the way she felt like he had her, in all senses of the word. The knowledge, the confidence, that when she was held by him, he wouldn’t let her fall. The feeling of his breath on her skin, sending electric currents through her entire body, right down to her fingertips. Even in her imagination, she was completely under his spell, and so glad to be as well. 

If it's make believe, why does it feel like a vow we'll both uphold somehow?

He had always had such assurance that she’d bend to his gentle wind, even when she’d brushed him off with smirking eye rolls and head shakes. But really, had she ever really thought that she wouldn’t? There was anxiety, of course, and a definite hesitancy, but he was so magnetic, that falling deeper and deeper into him had seemed like an inevitability. Even when she’d batted him away, it had felt like biding time. Especially recently, as their encounters had become more and more intimate, more intense, more aching. 

He’d been a perfect gentleman, hands where she could see them the moment that she’d hit the brakes, constantly attentive to her and what she needed, never a complaint or pressured word. He kept it no secret that he’d give her all of himself if she decided that she wanted it, and yet was so prepared to back off if need be; it was only her who was creating any kind of conflict in this situation, and it was conflict with herself. Yet, the fact was as it had always been; she wanted him, down to the marrow of her bones.

What if he's written 'mine' on my upper thigh only in my mind? One slip and falling back into the hedge maze, oh what a way to die. My bedsheets are ablaze, I've screamed his name, building up like waves, crashing over my grave. Without ever touching his skin, how can I be guilty as sin?

Hunter was, of course, textbook perfect to be her first. He was gorgeous and so sexy, experienced enough to guide her through (maybe even make it good), thoughtful enough to be perceptive to anything that happened, and he seemed to care about her beyond just physical attraction, though how much and in what way was still relatively unclear. Generally, this was a no-brainer, that if she were to take this leap, it would make sense to leap with him. She trusted him more than she trusted most people, that was plainly seen by how easily she’d fallen asleep next to him on Halloween. She’d never have imagined that she’d ever feel comfortable lying on a bed next to a man, wearing something so skimpy, in a locked room at a party, especially with a couple of drinks in her. But falling asleep had felt so natural and good, as had waking up next to him. And he hadn’t hurt her. That was the key here. She had woken up untouched, save for his fingertips on her face as he’d tucked her hair behind her ear. And with each sleepover they’d had, every time she’d climbed into bed next to him and woken up intact, unhurt, with nothing to contend with but her racing heart at the sight of Hunter next to her, it had gotten easier. He was trustworthy, he’d proven that to her tenfold. 

She’d had fantasies, and many of them, and Hunter was always the lead, but imagining it was very different from actually experiencing it. Her issue had never really been with sex as a concept, but more about being touched, being seen, allowing someone access to her in that way.

What if I roll the stone away? They're gonna crucify me anyway

Her face had started to look unfamiliar in the mirror, but she was too lost in her thoughts to look away. On autopilot, she moved her hands up to the top of her towel, undoing it and letting it fall. 

Kitty’s relationship with her body wasn’t an intimate one. Her body was an accessory, something she used to get herself through her life, something to decorate. She’d made peace with it a long time ago, one had to if they were as taken with fashion as she was, and familiarity with one’s body was key to dressing well. She’d approached it factually; she knew her measurements and sizes, knew how to position it inside outfits to look the best, how to clean and groom it to a high standard, and wrapped it in loose satin pyjamas at the end of the day, but that was it. She didn’t engage further, didn’t touch it unless absolutely necessary. It was just something she had to carry around with her, something she tolerated and used to her advantage. 

Her eyes ran down from her face and grazed over her neck, her collarbones, her shoulders, and started to fall even further down. She didn’t know when the last time was that she’d looked at herself like this, but it certainly wasn’t anything she made a habit of. She fought the urge to wrap her arms around her middle, or to grab the towel from the floor and protect herself again. She understood the irony of being so hell-bent on protecting something she was actually afraid of. Building a wall around herself, around her body, ultimately only served to close her in with it. So, she kept her eyes trained on herself, forcing herself to take in the thing that she was so unwillingly bound to. Imagining how it would be to be touched. 

Touch would always be the issue. As wonderful as Hunter’s hands had felt on her waist, on her thighs, holding her face, it was different from him touching her more intimately. 

What if the way you hold me is actually what's holy? If long suffering propriety is what they want from me, they don't know how you've haunted me so stunningly. 

Tentatively, one hand reached up and brushed her fingers over her collarbone, before her confidence grew and she started to run her hand over the skin. She’d done this a couple of times before, experimented with touching various parts of her body, always recoiling from even her own hands on herself. However, this time she found that she didn’t recoil. Her still-damp skin was warm under her touch, and her fingers glided effortlessly down from her collarbones to brush over the skin of her stomach. 

She waited for the racing heart rate, the dry mouth, the elevated breathing. She waited for her body’s distress signal to start screaming at her that this was too much, too far, but was surprised when she stayed calm and collected. The fear that always bubbled inside her at moments like this was nowhere to be found. Her hands moved with slightly more certainty, over her hips, her thighs, up to her chest, constantly waiting for the panic that never came. 

She’d been told her whole life that this kind of touch was evil, and although she’d brushed off their reasons, after what had happened to her it wasn’t hard to come to the conclusion that her mother and their pastor had been right. She closed her eyes, allowing herself to feel each movement, allowing a forbidden thought; imagining that it was Hunter’s hands touching her bare skin. 

He’d touched parts of her, of course, but not like this. She remembered how he’d looked at her in the mirror, she could feel how badly he’d wanted to reach his hand out and run his fingers along the skin of her exposed back, how he’d opted to instead brush the skin of her neck, a place he knew wasn’t off-limits for him. But was her back really off-limits for him to touch? The answer for so long had been a resounding ‘yes’, but now she was less sure. Now, a part of her wished he had just leaned forward and touched her. It was the same part of her that had wanted him to move his hands further up her skirt on Halloween, that had wanted him to move his hips against hers while they made out on his couch, that had considered unbuttoning her pyjama shirt in the briefest of moments as they’d lain in bed. 

It was a part of her that was getting harder and harder to ignore, and she was starting to wonder more and more why she was even bothering to try. Her eyes fluttered open and she looked at herself in the mirror, her jaw set. There was no anxiety anywhere in her body, at least not where Hunter was concerned. She wanted this, she wanted intimacy with him in that way, and every part of her told her that she was ready. So perhaps she was ready, and that thought sent a wave of emotion through her that she wasn’t quite prepared to contend with. It didn’t have to happen tomorrow or this week or even this year, but the knowledge that she trusted Hunter enough that she felt so secure in this with him winded her. 

I choose you and me, religiously. 

But none of this was just about sex. If it were, she’d be able to pick up her towel, finish her routine, and go to bed, content with her revelation. If she were honest with herself, it had never just been about sex. From the first time she’d spoken to him in that gym, he’d captured her attention with his wit and charm, always disarming her and keeping her on her toes. Through their initial interactions, their first few dates, of course there had been sexual tension, but she’d also felt so enthralled. He was mesmerising to her, an hour with him felt like five minutes. The week they’d spent not speaking had been so jarring for her, as she’d never felt a separation from someone as deeply as she had then. Upon their reunion, the air between them had changed, it had become softer, more tender. As frustrated as she was that she had to go so slowly when it came to physical intimacy, her heart absolutely swelled for how sweet Hunter had been about it, always making his desires known, but never forcing her to contend with them if she didn’t want to. Always making sure that she felt safe, first and foremost. And he made her feel so safe. In the weeks since their reconciliation, things had only gotten sweeter and sweeter between them. She’d never thought she’d feel secure in someone else’s bed, but on the nights she slept at home alone, she found herself missing Hunter, and his bed. 

Hunter’s veiled confession to Sugar had echoed in her head since Sugar had shown it to her. ‘I don’t plan on there being an after me at this current moment’. The statement was so simple, but said so much. Of course, it was always nice to know that the person you were involved with didn’t actively picture your breakup, but it was more than that. He saw this, whatever it was, as something that was worth going the distance for. That knowledge had made her heart race like absolutely nothing else had. 

She was being absolutely ridiculous about this, she knew that. She’d known it in the back of her mind for months. She wasn’t great with the emotional stuff and neither was Hunter, their relationship track records were enough to look at for any indication of that, but the truth was plainly seen by anyone who had eyes; that she had completely fallen for him. 

Kitty released a sharp breath of air at this revelation. It was the first time she’d allowed it to enter her consciousness, although it had always been there in the background. She’d tried to pretend those feelings weren’t there, that she felt nothing more than attraction and fondness for the guy, but it was no use. And what was she even doing it for anyways? To reassert herself as the untouchable ice queen? It just didn’t seem worth it anymore. It didn’t seem worth denying these feelings and potentially denying herself everything that could come with them. 

What if he's written 'mine' on my upper thigh only in my mind? One slip and falling back into the hedge maze, oh what a way to die. I keep recalling things we never did, messy top lip kiss, how I long for our trysts. Without ever touching his skin, how can I be guilty as sin?

With her mental barriers finally down, Kitty felt an odd mixture of relief and vulnerability. This was the most honest she’d ever been with herself about any of her internal life, and it was daunting, but sort of exhilarating. She had feelings for Hunter. God, she had feelings for Hunter. Once the train of thought started, it was almost impossible to stop. She had feelings for Hunter. She cared about him. She wanted to be with him. She wanted to be his. She already was his. 

She took a deep breath, leaning forward and putting her hands on the porcelain of the sink to steady herself, leaning her head down to try and slow the rushing thoughts. She didn’t know what was next, she didn’t know how to go about this, she didn’t even know if Hunter actually reciprocated to the same extent. This was euphoric, though. The relief was washing into a joy so warm that she didn’t know what to do with herself. 

Fuck what happened to her. Fuck those demons. Fuck everything that had held her back from allowing someone in. It had seeped into every corner of her life, affected her relationships with everyone, including her parents, her best friend, and previous romantic attempts. She couldn’t let it affect her relationship with Hunter any more than it already had. He deserved more. Fuck it, she deserved more. 

He sent me 'Downtown Lights'. I hadn't heard it in a while. 

A drop of something splashed onto the sink underneath her, and a hand flew up, feeling her cheek, shocked to find it wet with tears. She looked at herself in the mirror, not used to seeing herself cry. She’d cried a few times in her life before, but rarely for very long, and never out of… whatever this feeling was. Joy? Complete overwhelm? It was probably a mixture of both. Taking herself in the mirror, she couldn’t help the laugh that she let out, followed quickly by a sob. She was completely overcome. Overcome by elation, by anticipation, by the lightness that came from finally being able to put down a weight that she had been carrying since she was eleven years old. And to put it down and run to Hunter was the most exquisite part of it all. 

Am I allowed to cry?

[quil12]

I have two days off of work now and I'm going to spend this time finally finishing a fic that only has 1 chapter left in it. I'm posting this here to hold myself accountable lmao

[mylordshesacactus]

Okay, I didn't want to clog up the notes of someone else's post with something tonally different because that's rude, but. I Need to elaborate some more about no-kill vs open-intake shelters because I feel like some people still don't get it.

I'm gonna use an example here: My cat, Nepenthe, came from a small municipal open-intake shelter (I don't use the term "kill shelter" because I think it's obscene and cedes ground to ARA fuckwits for no reason) in an area with a NOTORIOUSLY awful stray cat problem.

She was on the euthanasia list. She was next in line on the euthanasia list.

They would never have been cruel or manipulative enough to say it that baldly, of course, but...I can read. Status was "at rsk", with two days' grace before ticking over into "extreme risk", the red zone. The ones who have had the most time, the most chance, if the shelter ever runs out of cage space.

I have gone the fuck off on people who hear that and immediately assume I will tolerate them bashing or insulting that shelter.

Because here's the thing about Penny. She is my baby, my darling, light of my life, and if I hadn't come along, euthanizing her would have been not only necessary but an ethical obligation.

She was neurotic, traumatized, and unpredictably aggressive--not "I'm bad at feline body language and ignoring her subtle back-off signals" unpredictable, I mean "we showed footage to a professional feline behaviorist and their immediate reaction was 'oh that is NOT normal'" unpredictable. "Actual legitimate psychological problems" unpredictable. The previous three times she had met with potential adopters, she attacked them unprovoked and had to be recaptured by a vet tech wearing a bite sleeve designed for aggressive dogs. She was the textbook definition of unadoptable.

She could not be fostered. There was absolutely no way she could live in a home with small children, or older children, or an elderly person with thin skin, or anyone who would get upset if they were clawed in the face without warning every few days.

Now, here's some math for you, keyboard warrior writing up a condescending screed about how there's Never Any Excuse for euthanizing a healthy animal:

The average length of stay in that shelter, for a healthy cat, was roughly two weeks. Which means, on average, assuming fast turnover, a single cage space in that shelter can save the lives of 24 cats every year.

Penny, when I met her, had been there for 43 days. A month and a half. Three times the average length of stay.

I love her. She has improved my life immeasurably and there is nothing I wouldn't do for her. Her life is not more valuable than the lives of the other 23 cats who might have been saved by the slot she was taking up. Euthanasia, if space had run out, would have been the only ethical option.

(Yes, obviously I DID show up and I DID choose her. But frankly? I was a grad student with a psychology degree, studying to be a therapist, living alone, no plans to have kids, a private room where she wouldn't have to interact with other people or animals, de-facto engaged to a professional animal behaviorist; I was ACTIVELY LOOKING for an edge-case project cat, and could calmly and intelligently articulate my understanding of the seriousness of her behavior and my plan for helping her. You can't count on that happening. I was a fucking unicorn.)

No-kill shelters have the INCREDIBLE luxury of deciding who to save. They have the luxury of having all the time in the world to wait. And in the meantime, what exactly do you think is happening to the other animals? The ones they DON'T pick? The ones there's no room for? Do you think they magically don't need to be surrendered anymore? Does Santa Claus find them a home, perhaps?

You can't reduce the life of an animal to math. Good, ethical no-kill shelters can be wonderful resources--either taking highly-adoptable animals from open-intake shelters to free up space as efficiently as possible, or else taking in behaviorally or medically complicated dogs who need more time to find their perfect match than open-intake shelters can give.

But if you're going to shit on open-intake shelters, you don't get to be a fucking coward about it. So here. Prove how much smarter you are.

You've run out of space. Every cage is full. The cat cannot be fostered. You've filled all your available foster slots with other cats, to buy her time. The "no-kill" shelters are full--they pulled the cats they thought they could save, and the scruffy, psychologically-unsound, adult black domestic shorthair with chronic herpes? Nobody wants her. In this world her unicorn's not coming.

She's had three times as long as every other cat here. You have given her every chance, wrote her a lovely bio, moved other cats to other shelters to keep space open so you didn't have to make this choice; but she mauled someone else today and there's a sweet, cuddly, highly-adoptable tabby with no problem behaviors being checked in right now. If you can't put that new cat somewhere it's going to be euthanized without even being given a chance, even though it is extremely adoptable and would likely find a new home within a week.

You don't have a magic wand. You can't wish a conveniently empty second shelter into existence. Every option has been exhausted.

Look me in the eye, and tell me which one dies.

[northern-passage]

there's a scammer on here that's copy and pasted the entirety of Hashem Safi's story and is attempting to use it to pass off their gofundme as legitimate, so i wanted to bring attention to Safi's real gfm, especially because it is so close to its goal.

this gofundme has been vetted by humanity for gaza on instagram, #425 on their linktree here.

Hashem Ziyad Safi is a medical student at IUG, and was half-way through his medical studies before Israel's genocidal attack on Gaza.

He is fundraising for his family: his father, mother, two brothers-- Ahmed and Abdullah-- his younger sister Misk, and his older sister Yara and her 9-month old daughter who was born only a week before the war.

In Hashem's own words:

Before the war, we really lived a beautiful life. We had our dreams, our goals, our home, and a wonderful life, but everything is truly over now. 

Yara studied IT and graduated university just before the war, she is a painter and loves to draw.

Ahmed was in his last year of high school and loves video games - he used to be introverted and youthful, but this war has forced him to become a man. 

Misk is in middle school, she loves reading, reciting, cooking, and writing - we admire her for spending her time in the war still reading as much as she can. 

Abdullah, my youngest brother, is just a child - he cannot understand the horrors we are enduring and is struggling with severe depression.

And I was passionately studying medicine, so eager to achieve my dream…

The university Hashem was studying at has now been completely destroyed by Israel, as well as the family's home. They have been displaced 6 times since the invasion began, and continue to live in fear of having to run yet again.

Hashem's mother and younger brothers are now sick from the contaminated water, and Hashem is having trouble breathing due to all of the smoke and debris from Israel's constant bombing. Recently, he also sustained an injury to his leg and has been unable to receive adequate care due to malnutrition and lack of appropriate medical supplies.

The family has raised €25,314 raised of €30,000 goal. Please consider donating and sharing to help them in this final push to meeting their goal!!

[dana-chan-the-control-brain]

Let's talk about the bring back laes movemet.

As someone who's dealt with this YouTube bullshit before, I said on the tsbs server for the younger fans who are upset and panicking, it would take about two weeks maximum for YouTube to do anything.

Well, two weeks came and gone, practically half a month, within that timeframe, we are looking at a year.

While I do think Davis has the right idea, on "respectfully make some noise" and I do think he has the best intentions I don't think he knows what to do to get YouTube's attention and it's a frustrating situation. So I understand his frustration.

DON'T BOTHER MAKING NOISE ON INSTAGRAM OR TUMBLR.

YouTube does not go there. They won't see it.

What you actually have to do as an audience is to @ The YouTube team on Twitter.

And while fanart to @ YouTube corporate is.... Ummm.... Fine??? Like they legitimately won't understand.

YouTube sorts through lots of emails and correspondence a day. They are a corporate run account.

It's like sending a picture of fanart to your boss about asking for a raise.

It just doesn't work and isn't appropriate for the situation.

Tagging things as #bring back laes or #save laes is... Better.

But, tagging YouTube in those things, they wouldn't know what laes is.

What has been shown to work. Is @ YouTube. And fully explain the situation and why you are atting them. Pretend you are writing a formal letter and this is the first time YouTube has ever heard of the situation.

This is the best possible method with the tools provided to us.

If you feel unconfident with your letter writing skills, feel free to use a template.

The number one best option to get YouTube to not drag their feet is for any of the VAs to do one of two things: Threaten Legal action. Which I don't think any of them are inclined to do, and likely don't have lawyers. Or actually KNOW someone who works for YouTube corporate. Which unfortunately I don't think they do.

So yeah. Strongly worded letters @ 'd over Twitter work best. Tumblr and Instagram noises will be far quieter, and fanart will just be misunderstood.

Good luck getting the channel back.

[kiefbowl]

I was reading an opinion piece on Kate Middleton's cancer diagnosis on CNN by Jamal Baig about the increasing rates of cancer in patients under 50. As far as 5 minutes of googling and JSTORing can lend me to believe, there's nothing illegitimate about Dr. Baig. However, I found this bit in his opinion interesting:

Now, I'm always dubious when reading anything that attributes a very broad generalized idea that changes in diets have caused an increased in cancer, because more often than not it's not pointing to an exploration of, say, increased pesticide use, but the author's personal bias against the quote unquote "unhealthy", especially those who are deemed "fat" by the medical industry.

That being said, I was curious what source he linked, half expecting it to lead to just another op-ed from some other doctor from who knows when, but I was pleasantly surprised! Written by a man named Michael Donaldson, it was an evidentiary review published in a scientific journal called "Nutrition and cancer: A review of the evidence for an anti-cancer diet."

Now I wasn't going to give the whole thing a read, but I stopped in each section, gave a quick skim to get a general vibe, moved on to the next section, etc. I was immediately suspicious that the very first line in the abstract was "It has been estimated that 30–40 percent of all cancers can be prevented by lifestyle and dietary measures alone" as that seems to be a bananas statistic to just posit, but it still had the air of scientific integrity, so I did my skim.

The first handful of sections had things that gave me some moments of pause, that this article was in fact another doctor simply cherry picking data to confirm his own biases, but nothing so egregious as to do a spit take. That comes in a few minutes. The first section that made really go hold the phone was when we got to his Flax Seed section.

Compare how he writes about Red Meat...:

(that's all he wrote, btw)

...with how he starts writing about Flax Seed:

Did I just enter a Flax Seed commercial? Does this guy work for BIG FLAX SEED? on and on he writes about Flax Seed, and I start getting a sense that perhaps this man has a Flax Seed Agenda. In any case, he eventually moves on and I quickly skim to get to the end (because it's boring among other things).

So, who exactly is Michael Donaldson?

Girl are you kidding me

The Hallelujah Acres Foundation is a FOR PROFIT company that sells a """biblical""" based diet program called the hallelujah diet and also sells supplements on said site.

Now, in case you forgot where I started with this, this was the link provided as a "source" to a legitimate doctor's claim in an op-ed about cancer that "at least part of the answer" of why cancer is increasing in under 50 patients are the "changes to nutrition and lifestyle that took hold in middle of the last century." Dr. Baig did not read this article, or if he did was not concerned that it was written by the employee of a company that profits from unscientific research it uses to sell supplements and diets. Which is worse, I don't know.

The point I'm making is that you absolutely need to be vigilant all the time. You need to understand that doctors can not only have biases, but agendas. Researchers can have biases and agendas. Scientists can have biases and agendas. And that magical thinking about real health issues that can affect your future can permeate the scientific community because weirdos write convincing enough evidence that support their already determined world view.

This kind of shit is the reason why women go into doctor offices complaining about pain in their abdomen and get told to go lose weight and come back in 6 months. This is why ideas like moralizing eating have huge effects on women's health and influence medical misogyny, and why it's a feminist issue.

[dollypopup]

"all the negativity is killing the vibe"

"just be grateful for what you got!" "was it perfect? no! but we got some good stuff!" "people are just being so down about season 3"

There is a reason people are displeased.

We are consumers of this media. We PAID for this media. With time, with money, with subscriptions. We bought the merch, we watched the promos, we paid in attention, we paid financially, we paid literally and metaphorically.

And they did not deliver.

So, yes, we have a right to complain because objectively speaking, it was a bad ending. It just was! It was poorly written and poorly edited, it did not leave viewers happy, and there is a REASON the engagement of part 2 is much lower than part 1. Polin is not the problem, sidelining Polin is the problem. Writing Polin poorly is the problem. Shoving Colin to the side (half of the pairing) is the problem. Inconsistent characterization is the problem.

the fact that we came in with high expectations and they were let down for us? makes it a bad ending. makes it bad writing. the fact that we waited 2 years for it and then another month in between and did not walk away feeling as though that time was worthwhile? makes it a bad ending.

the writing was disjointed, characters were underutilized, Colin was pushed aside in his OWN SEASON, they tried to do a #girlbossfeminism narrative and then threw Cressida to the wolves because she did a few things that hurt the main heroine's feelings, even after showing us as viewers we should (and do) empathize with her. I mean, for fuck's sake, there was literally a big speech and everyone clapped moment. stakes were defanged, there were threesome scenes that cut any and all tension building between Polin, Eloise's character was written inconsistently for the sake of swift forgiveness, they threw Babies ever After at us, momifying the one character who was said to be plus size representation at NINETEEN, there were more sex scenes for Benedict than there were for the main couple Polin. Lady Whistledown was a black hole for good quality because instead of writing a narrative that suited the couple's ending, they wrote a narrative to keep her as a plot device by any means possible. This season was a roller coaster that went up up up and then stagnated.

there are legitimate criticisms to be had about this season. as if we don't have a right to demand good quality from something we paid for.

and the worst part of it is that they set it up SO. WELL.

I ended Part 1 pacing my apartment, giddy and kicking my feet and rewatching the ending over and over. Part 2? None of that. And the reason people have been so negative about it is that IT SHOWS.

Yes, in part, some negativity is homophobia for Michaela, who I honest to god adore and am so happy to see on screen. Yes, in part, some negativity is for Polin from haters, a couple I love with all my heart.

But most of the negativity comes down to poor writing. Inconsistency. A lack of bravery for dropping a plot device (Lady Whistledown) that the show has held onto not for Penelope or for Polin, but for Bridgerton's story moving forward that writers do not feel confident portraying without a narrator so it might crutch them.

Stop licking a plate of crumbs and claiming it a meal. They had 2 years to deliver a fantastic season. They didn't do so. That is not at all on the actors, because they are FANTASTIC, it is on the writers, and on the production. Was it beautiful? Sure. Was it well acted? Absolutely. Was it good? Well edited? Well written? Meaningful? Fun?

No.

There are parts of it that are, but when you fumble an ending, it sours the entire experience. The reason people loved Part 1 so much was because of the ending of Episode 4, which was done beautifully. It felt satisfying. And then Part 2 felt like an entirely different beast. If you settle for mediocrity, that is all you will get. So yes, I demand better of this season. I demand that we get more than just one thirty second scene of Pen and Colin being intimate after their marriage. I demand more characterization and time devoted to the main couple instead of useless side plots. I demand better writing. I demand better EDITING. Cressida was done dirty, Colin was done dirty, Eloise was done dirty, Penelope was done dirty. And at the end of it, VIEWERS were done dirty.

There's a reason Part 1 had such glowing positivity and then Part 2 is garnering horribly mixed reactions. It's because one is better than the other. And if this show is CAPABLE of delivering content like Part 1, then yes, I will absolutely demand it of part 2. One day, Bridgerton will learn how to write a proper final episode, a proper closing to an arc.

That day was not in Season 3.

[fritzes]

and away we go! here are my two cents on the australian open draw. as always I try to be as unbiased as possible... but sometimes that isn't very possible. anyways, here it is:

wta:

I gotta say it's really weird not seeing iga in the top spot on the draw. so massive props to aryna. the fact that she's #1 is indicative of how great she's been, especially on hardcourt. she's the clear favorite, and her draw only supports that. her projected quarterfinalist is qinwen, her known pigeon. mirra is also lurking in this quarter, but when she beat aryna at rg aryna was very clearly ill, and she just beat mirra in brisbane. however, the bane of aryna's existence, donna vekic, is in this quarter but she's on the other side and could be beaten by someone like diana or qinwen. a lot of interesting names in this quarter, but I don't think any of them can beat aryna

coco was in great form at the united cup, but she's got her work cut out for her. her record against jess, the projected quarterfinalist, isn't great, and marta and paula being in the quarter is a little concerning. however, there are a bunch of players who could normally be threats that are completely neutralized by coco (I'm thinking karo, leylah, and penko), so that's a lot of seeds that are out of her way. naomi is also in this quarter and obviously has a great record at ao and has shown that she can do some damage at slams. if she's healthy, she can potentially make a run here

aryna vs coco is so interesting right now, and I think they can both get to the semifinal. aryna is #1 and this is truly her tournament, but coco's improvement over just the last few months has been great, and she was beating aryna even before that

I've already been seeing people write off jasmine, and I think that's a mistake. people forget that her first slam breakout was at ao24, not rg24, and she proved at united cup that she's very competent on this surface. that being said, a healthy elena is a pretty bad draw for her. she beat elena at rg and the wta finals, but elena wasn't fully fit and those were slower surfaces. I think this quarter has the weakest field (not to say there aren't good players, but the other three quarters have more). maybe dayana will make a surprise run again, or madi will have one of her random slam runs, but I'd for sure take the top seeds over the field here

and finally, iga's quarter. at the bottom of the draw. I'm still getting used to that, it's weird. it's interesting because if this draw came out a few months ago, I'd say emma navarro is super dangerous and could be a threat, but she's been in legitimately terrible form lately and I could honestly see her losing first round. if this draw came out a few years ago I'd say maria would go far, but she's been so lost for months now. I think ons jabeur could make a surprise run in the top half of this draw, she's been having some good wins lately and we know how capable she is at slams. I also think there's an opportunity for anna here, as well as vika who is known for being great at this tournament

jasmine has steadily been making her matches with iga closer, and this is a surface iga isn't comfortable on, so I think if that match did happen it could be pretty close

interesting r1 matches: sabalenka/stephens, tomljanovic/krueger, gauff/kenin, osaka/garcia, bencic/ostapenko, navarro/stearns, osorio/sakkari, alexandrova/raducanu, siniakova/swiatek

atp:

I swear they're giving jannik meme draws now. adm? bvdz?? holger??? hubi???? matteo????? TALLON GRIEKSPOOR????? strangely enough, the person who is the biggest threat to jannik is somehow stefanos tsitsipas, but he's on the other side of the draw and I highly doubt he will make it too the quarterfinals. besides, the last time he beat jannik really shouldn't have happened because of that line call in monte carlo. other than him, everyone in this quarter is someone jannik can comfortably, convincingly beat. I don't like to jinx players but he's the world #1 and this quarter is his to lose. on the other side, I do think adm can make the quarterfinals but based on that h2h with jannik, I'm not sure if he wants to

I think the second quarter is the most up in the air. taylor and daniil are both strong contenders to go deep in this tournament but with a lot of question marks around them. daniil because of his recent form and because his wife just had a baby, and taylor because of his mentality. we just don't know how he's gonna handle being a top 4 seed. this quarter is pretty stacked, with gmp, ben, lorenzo musetti, rublev, frances, and alexei. there are also some snaky contenders, like nakashima, shapo, arnaldi, and marozsan. to me, this is the hardest quarter to predict

I don't think I need to say anything about the projected semifinal. just look at the us open final scoreline. taylor has improved a lot since then, but he's just not at the level to beat jannik right now

djokovic/alcaraz quarter. I never thought we'd see the day. but there's a lot to get through before either of them can get there. opelka, who novak just lost to, is very close to him in the draw, as is tomas machac who beat him in geneva. grigor and jiri could also potentially make things difficult for him. on carlos' side, he has to deal with jack and korda who, despite his self-proclaimed greatness at wimbledon (and first round flopping), has actually done pretty well at ao. jack has some injury concerns, but when does he not? if we did get the projected quarterfinal and carlos and novak did play, I'd have to favor carlos but I'm honestly not sure? we haven't seen carlos play this season and ao is easily his worst slam, but novak just lost to opelka so. who knows

the last quarter is very frustrating and you know why. frankly I'm not in the mood to analyze it. I will focus on the top part though because there could be a major upset with felix and casper

interesting r1 matches: hurkacz/griekspoor, zhang/rune, tsitsipas/michelsen, shelton/nakashima, arnaldi/musetti, rindreknech/tiafoe, struff/auger-aliassimee

[dead-tired-cm]

404 - Title Not Found(part/chapter 2)

Part 1 - Tumblr Part 3 - Tumblr

Ao3

Summary: Danny needs to do laundry and agrees to go to a gala.

Jason is forced to go to a gala and needs to do laundry.

He forgets quarters and Danny forgets laundry detergent.

AN: Reminder that half of this shit is just crack treated seriously. I’m playing fast and loose with Danny Phantom cannon and DC cannon. If stuff isn’t cannon or if stuff is out of character, don’t question it. I just want to write my silly little fanfic.

——————————

Danny had fucked up. Even just meeting the walking dead he was meant to watch could cause trouble. At least that’s what ClockWork warned him of. It was probably just meant to lessen chances of anything bad happening, mainly the GIW appearing.

He decided to take a break from watching the Red Hood. He needed to focus on Danny anyways. He had spent the last few months focusing on Phantom and Ghost King Phantom. So when Vlad had offered to take him to a gala held by the Waynes, he immediately said yes.

Sure Vlad was still a bit of a fruitloop but he had stopped trying to basically murder his dad and lessened his advances on his mom as well. He had gone to a few galas before as both the Ghost King and Danny. He already a nice simple tux, he just needed to wash it since the last gala he was at had a ghost crashing it.

He didn’t mind galas as the Ghost King but loved them as Danny. He was able to mess with guests and Vlad with little to no suspicion that he was the cause.

Danny was gonna take the week to focus on himself and catch up on stuff that he wanted to do, not needed to. He sighed as he grabbed his tux and other clothes in a basket that needed to be cleaned. He double checked that he had his phone, keys, and bag of quarters before leaving his apartment and heading down to the crappy laundry room.

-

Jason still couldn’t shake the feeling of familiarity with the guy from last night. It didn’t feel like that it was just by chance that he lived in the same building as one of his many places that he stays at. He had many safe houses, mainly out of Crime Alley to avoid Batman and rouges but he still felt connected to the place.

Speaking of rouges, the past few nights on patrol; he didn’t have the feeling of someone following him. He had realized it when watching some petty criminals since it was a quiet night. He didn’t like the sudden lack of not being follow, while it was good to know he wasn’t being followed; there had to be a reason for the sudden stop.

Outside of patrol, he noticed that the guy that gave him a sense of familiarity was on the same floor as him. He still didn’t know why there was that sense of familiarity, he didn’t know why he felt drawn to him. Jason pushed it to the side, just for now since he didn’t have a legitimate reason to start digging into it yet.

Jason sighed as he gathered up the clothes that were thrown around the apartment. He had been staying at that specific safe house for awhile, too tired from patrol to go to one of the farther ones. He had to do laundry and clean his nice somewhat formal clothes. Out of all the Wayne kids, he had drawn the short end of the stick when Bruce asked who would be going to the gala. Dick had brought up the issue that he was legally dead at one point and how that could cause issues but Alfred had apparently figured out a way to just make it seem like his death was exaggerated or something. Jason didn’t care to ask him how exactly he did that, it was fine for now.

He hated galas, even from what he remembered from when he was younger; he had always disliked them. He grumbled under his breath about how it was stupid as he walked out of his apartment with his laundry basket and laundry detergent. He knew that the washers the apartment complex provided were shitty but he didn’t feel like going to a laundromat or anything.

Jason entered the laundry room, it always had a wet clothes and laundry detergent smell. The lights flickered and it was cold. There were a few other people. He found an empty washer and loaded up his clothes. When he went to grab the quarters out of his pocket, damnit; he left them in his apartment. It was a minor inconvenience, still annoying.

“Fuck.”

-

Danny sighed, he realized that he forgot to buy laundry detergent. He was deciding between just doing laundry later or ask someone if he could use some of theirs. As he was weighing pros and cons, he heard cursing that broke the quiet. He looked up to see the guy using the washer across of him, cursing under his breath. He felt like he had seen him before.

Ever since staying in Gotham, he felt that a lot. It was because of how many liminal and dead walked the streets of Gotham. He just brushed it off usually but it felt different with this guy. Danny, one who never knew when to just stay quiet, saw an excuse to talk when he heard the guy grumbled about not having any quarters. The worst that could happen would be being yelled to mind his business.

He must’ve spaced out looking at him because now the guy was staring back at him. “Uh, I got some quarters if you need any.” Danny gave a small smile while holding out his bag of quarters. The guy seemed to think about it for second, Danny thought it looked he was questioning if he was trustworthy. He couldn’t blame him, it was Crime Alley after all. After a moment of silence, the guy spoke up.

It was a simple thanks as he took the amount he needed. “Do you need detergent or something?” Huh, maybe he had good luck for once, Danny thought before quickly replying. “I actually do need detergent.”

[daydream-believin]

a real stand up guy ba dum tss

summary: you get stood up by an internet man. douxie, your waiter and secret admirer, remedies that jackass’s mistake.

warnings: uh. swearing, alcohol, i’m too lazy to proof, the yooj. oh and doux doesn’t know how to handle this crush without getting slightly into stalker territory sorry. its a red flag but i think its cute. you may not think its cute.

a/n: tumblr was glitching while i tried to post this so idk how many paragraphs i accidentally erased. i mean i tried my best to make that number 0. but anyways if something is off let me know. the challenge for this one is that im not allowed to use italics. which you should know was very hard for me agshjfkgjdjh

taglist: @moppetwithamanbun @alovesongshewrote @blixeon @prismarts @fantasyiswaybetterthanreality @ukuleles-and-roses

okay quick psa i know it’s been years so if you want off the taglist just hmu. also if you were on the taglist and got taken off thats bc tumblr says you don’t exist anymore

uh this was a request. i’m not doing requests tho dont think that. looking back yeah that ask if from march 2022 and this doesn’t even match up to what you asked 😂 im so sorry @rose-writes-shit

you took a peek at your watch. 7:34 o’ clock. letting your head fall into the open palm of your propped up hand, you sighed.

coffee meets bagel boy was supposed to have met you at 7:00.

of fucking course. you let your plucky pink-haired coworker convince you to download a fucking dating app and make a profile, just for the only guy who had actually been interested enough in you to ask you on a real date to stand you up. makes sense.

it’s not like you’ve ever had luck with these kind of things. it’s not like you’ve ever had luck period. your kind might be the black cat of humans.

you’ve spent way too long eating the free bread at a mr. benoit’s of all places. it was the “classiest” establishment in the certain suburban hellscape of california you inhabited, albeit. you took in the scenery for the millionth time that night with a renewed sense of disgust. at least now you had a legitimate reason to hate this place.

your waiter slinked over, and you could tell he felt bad for you with the awkward shuffling gait to the pity grimace on his face.

“so, uh, perhaps more bread?”

you rolled your face towards him, arbitrarily throwing animosity his way with your dead eyes, just because he was there. but soon your compulsive desire to be the funniest pathetic wretch in the room won out.

“i’m considering burning this whole place down right now, actually,” you joked.

he grit his teeth, sucking in a breath, “could i perhaps convince you to do that on a night i’m not closing, instead? tomorrow is my least favorite coworker’s turn, for your consideration,”

“hmm,” you pretended to think, “i’ll do that then, it’s only kind,”

“thank you for your generosity,” he grinned, “now, are you still waiting for someone or?”

-

douxie had been watching you for over half an hour now. not creepily. he swears. he just got a little excited when he saw you come into the restaurant is all.

anddd maybe he might have badgered the host into giving you one of his tables. but again, he was just excited. he’s been looking for an excuse to talk to you for the past three months, after all. forgive him for jumping on the opportunity.

he maybe fancied you. just a wee bit. perhaps a rather large bit. or at least, the version of you he’s cooked up in his head from the way he sees you interact with people at house parties and the things he’s heard from zoe.

but he’s sure he’ll love you. as soon as he gets to know who you actually are. which, hopefully, is about to be sooner rather than later.

he did not anticipate this situation, however. whatever benevolent deity blessed him on this night decided to throw a jar of pickled herring in with the otherwise yummy pastry filled gift basket they left for him.

not long after you arrived at 6:56 pm, not that he marked the time you came in or anything he just happened to glance at the clock around that time, he watched you, how they say, deflate. your demeanor shifted from antsy to sad to downright annoyed.

you were dressed nicely. not fancy, not pretending like this wasn’t a benoit’s. but nice. orderly. like you wanted to make a good impression on whoever it was you were expecting to meet. so either a date, or mayhaps a job interview.

not that you didn’t look nice or orderly on other days. you just weren’t in your hex tech uniform shirt. or in the incredibly casual clothes you wore when he saw you around. you were just. clearly cleaned-up, is all.

whoever it was, it was obvious that they were not coming. doux applauded you for being patient enough to wait this long, but again, they obviously weren’t coming. which, if it was a date, was good for him, but bad for you. very bad for you.

and honestly who does this person think they are? letting you down like this? horrible. disgraceful. this person was a grade A jerk-off. they have to be dead from the neck up to leave you waiting here like this, publicly embarrassing you as you sat at a table set for two all alone at one of the busiest restaurants in town. shame on them.

he was glad you seemed to be in the joking mood, however. and about arson, too. oh, he’s always had a soft spot for arsonists.

he hoped you’ll forgive him for having to do his job. if it was up to him, he’d give you all the bread in the pantry just so you wouldn’t leave. but alas, he had to deal the killing blow.

“now, are you still waiting for someone, or?”

your eyes drifted downward to the empty wineglass in your hand as you swirled it sarcastically as if it were still full.

you sighed, “yeah, no, it’s clear he doesn’t plan on showing,” you looked back up at him ruefully, “i’ll order now. i shouldn’t have waited this long for an internet man, anyway, huh? could’ve made it less pathetic.”

“i don’t think there’s a way to make these things any ‘more’ or ‘less’ pathetic,” he began taking out his notepad, ready to write, “because i wouldn’t call it pathetic at all. getting stood up is a thing that’s done to you, not because of who you are, but because of who someone else chooses to be… unless you stole this guy’s car or something. then it’s your fault.”

you laughed. genuinely.

“no, no, it’s a first date. i haven’t known this guy long enough to steal his car yet. but thanks… that’s. a better outlook than mine. kinder,” you apologized, “… uh, can i have like, the cheapest bottle of white wine you’ve got back there? the whole thing this time.”

“i take it back. that definitely made it pathetic.”

while you shared a laugh, douxie mentally congratulated himself. you had just given him the information that a) you were single and b) you were into men. a good day to be a charming single man, then. he had a chance.

“so are you ordering any real food as well? or did you plan on just having wine and bread for dinner? have to say, i don’t think that’s wise, love.”

“well i suppose i gotta, since, i’ve, uh, eaten three baskets of complimentary bread,” you stumbled over your words for a second there, “and i’m sure it’d make the manager mad if it didn’t, right?”

“right you are. he’s uh,” douxie lowered his voice, “he’salreadybeenonmydickaboutyou so yeah, you gotta. plus i’m just— you should eat something, yeah.”

you awkwardly turned your attention to the menu as you did that thing where you hold it and pretend to look over the menu as you order like you forgot or something, “the duck confit sounds good for tonight, i think,”

douxie snorted.

“no, no, that wasn’t a joke,” you shook your head, smiling fondly, “i actually just like duck, i promise. no sarcasm. i do understand the irony though. i get it.”

he didn’t completely believe you, “well then, one order of duck confit, coming right up. be back shortly, love.”

doux grabbed the breadbasket on his way out.

when he glanced back to throw you a short and unnoticeable but longing stare, as he paused in the kitchen doorway, you were fidgeting with the flowers on the table. he should get that order in now.

-

when your waiter came back with food, he placed two plates down on the table. you looked at him like he had suddenly grown a second head as he took the other seat as well.

“what are you—“

“i called in a favor with the owner. i’m still working but, i’ve got a bit of free time now. if you don’t mind me joining you,”

you shook your head in astonishment.

“not at all,” you smiled, still absolutely flabbergasted that this man would do something like this for you, “you’re douxie, right? zoe’s mentioned you a lot.”

“oH—,” he coughed, “oh, uh, she has?“

“yeah,”

he awkwardly rubbed the back of his neck, “only good things, i pray?”

“oh, sure. sure. good things,” you took a demure little sip of your glass to torture him with the pause implying the contrary.

he swallowed audibly. nervous, then. what dirt did zoe have on him. you watched as he awkwardly shoved up the sleeves of his shirt, perhaps feeling a bit warm now. it was cute.

you’d be sure to ask zoe all about him later. how could you not. this was the most interesting thing to happen all year. and it’s december.

you racked your brain for what you knew of this guy for conversation topics.

“you’re in zoe’s band, right? the lead guitarist.”

his face lit up at the mention of it, “oh, yes. you’ve seen us?”

“once or twice, i believe.”

it wasn’t really your thing, live music. you mostly hung around the back of the bar when you got dragged to shows. you liked loud, sometimes. just not often. it really depended on how your brain was feeling that day.

“well, you’ve gotta come to the next gig, then, at least. i’m sure zoe’s already invited you?” you nodded. “the venue’s holding a wee little music festival, it’s going to be nuclear,”

“ah, that’s fun,” you smiled. that sounded like hell but now that two very enthusiastic wizards have invited you, you don’t have the heart to weasel your way out of it. you’ll bring the “XTREME” ear plugs.

“but yeah, the bands great. i love that i get to play with my mates now. a team that works as well together as we do is rare, so i really appreciate them.”

“speaking of,”

doux hummed inquisitively.

“what’s going on with zoe and that new girly y’all’ve got on the drums?”

“oh,” he paused to take a sip, narrowing his eyes mischievously, “they’re boning.”

you clasped your hands together excitedly, “thank you! you’ve just won me a betting pool.”

he almost had to spit the wine back into his glass,“hhhh. how many?”

“oh, just the entirety of the hex tech arcadia staff.”

“i’m not sure she’ll be happy to hear that.”

“which is why you won’t tell her, mr. casperan,” you placed your hand over his with a cheshire cat grin.

well, he couldn’t argue with that.

dinner progressed. alas, you can’t say you lingered as long as you wanted to on conversation. you were kinda rushing things because you felt a little guilty doux was getting someone to cover for him while you had your little date. was this a date. it had to be. as mentioned, he’s going out of his way for this, and you can’t imagine he’d go through all this trouble because he wasn’t interested in you. but then again, you couldn’t believe he was interested in you either.

“do you like cryptozoology?” douxie tried his best to ask nonchalantly while he scratched the bridge of his nose to look a little less interested. he was feeling a bit energized since talking about the band. you had been paying attention to him like he’d been paying attention to you, if only in passing.

“a tad more than the average californian wizard, why?”

“well, later this weekend, i’ve got a job exterminating a goblin infestation in the next town over,”

“snelling?”

“yeah, snelling. the guy i was partnering with told me he was backing out this morning, so now i’ll be going it alone. and im sure you know how fighting goblins alone usually goes.”

“makes it easier for them to gang up on you, yes.”

“see, that’s why i’m asking if you’d be interesting in taking his place?”

“well, i’ve got the weekend off and nothing to do,” he knew that, he got the hex tech schedule from zoe every week(to know how to schedule band practice. and, if he also took a peak at your schedule, it was purely accidental. yeah.), “so, i don’t see why not.”

doux grinned, both relieved he wouldn’t be fighting goblins alone, and feeling clever that he found an excuse to spend more time with you, “perfect, i’ll text you the details? but, oh, i don’t have your number do i?”

you were about to ask why he couldn’t just tell you in person right now, but he said that soo hammy. it took .01 seconds to understand what he was doing. you snorted.

“okay, okay, here,” you held out your hand and he gladly placed his unlocked phone in your hand. you made the contact and sent yourself a text of the first emoji he had in his recents, which happened to be🫀. ah, a goth romantic. you gave him back his phone.

“perfect. thank you, love.” he tucked the phone into his chest dramatically before placing in back into his pocket.

you rolled your eyes fondly, “you know, goblin smashing isn’t exactly my idea of the perfect second date, you might have to turn up the charm.”

“oh, i’m sure i’ll make it worth your while,” he let his head fall into his palm propped up on the table, gaze going soft, “so was this a perfect first date, then?”

you laughed, “hardly. all things considered. but—“

“but?”

“but i’m glad it happened this way. i’ve had a good time, mr. casperan.”

he grinned in agreement, “me too.”

you put your hand on top of the one he left resting on the table, and he took the opportunity to take that hand and gently lay a kiss to the top of your knuckles. he lingered for a moment, eyes shut tight to take in the tenderness of the moment.

alas, he has to go back to work now.

doux pulled out your chair and helped you to your feet. you thanked him as he started stacking the dishes.

“should i—?”

“no, god no,” he chuffed, “i’m the waiter, remember? i work here.”

“oh yeah.”

that reminded you. you shuffled for your wallet, but he stopped you.

“i’m paying for dinner, love. go enjoy the rest of your evening, i’ll text you after i close.”

“you sure?” it didn’t really sit right with you, considering he probably took a pay cut by not working the whole time you were on this little “date.”

“well,” he paused, and placed the dishes back onto the table for time being, “you could leave me a tip, if you know what i mean. just a teeny thing—“

“c’mere,” you snickered as you pulled him down by the lapels to kiss him.

chaste, just a peck. but perfect and sweet all the same.

when you pulled back, you watched as douxie held his eyes closed for just a moment longer than he need to before letting that blinding all encompassing smile bloom across his face.

“well then, a very goodnight to you, y/n l/n.”

[blazehedgehog]

After watching SAGE's 2024 trailer, you ever get the feeling that most people want to be making indie games instead of fan games nowadays,? Every year there's been less and less fan works there.

This is the first year I've really felt it in any meaningful way.

There have been attempts for more than a decade to rename SAGE to drop the "Sonic" part. I've always pushed back against that and at this point the branding is too strong to give up, I think. People know about and come to SAGE because the brand is strong. Renaming it would be a death sentence.

Taking off my business hat, it's a bummer to see fangames in the minority here. Everybody wants to hop on that indie game gravy train and chase the success of Pizza Tower (seriously, count how many Pizza Tower clones are in the trailer this year) or Freedom Planet or Spark the Electric Jester or whatever.

And it's easy to congratulate people for striking out on their own and making original games. I was one of the many voices urging Sabrina to divorce Freedom Planet from the Sonic franchise and make it into an original game she could sell. So she ran a crowdfunding campaign (multiple, actually), was successful, and now we have two Freedom Planet games. And that's great!

But... does that mean all fangames should go away forever?

The example I lean on the hardest is comic books.

A lot of the guys who created the biggest super heroes aren't around anymore. They gave up control long ago or are straight up dead now. These books are effectively officialized fanfiction now, as are the $300,000,000 movies based on them. An ever-increasing number of people writing, drawing and directing these characters today were not alive when they were originally created.

But people still keep writing Batman stories, officially or otherwise. Because there are some stories you can only tell with Batman. Now, you could break off and make your own character that's similar to Batman, build up this history for him, and then finally tell your original story with that character. And maybe that's satisfying, to have built something of your own like that.

But for one: that's a lot of work. Batman is interesting because he has decades (almost a century now) of history behind him to play off of and work with. There are people out there who will tell you to just start writing your dream story and forget about building up to it first, but that's more about motivation and confidence than the idea that stories don't need historical context.

And two: that's already been done.

There's a good chance you know who Rob Liefeld is from his, uh, "distinctive" art style. He also created Deadpool, a katana-wielding mercenary assassin that dresses in red and black, whose real name is Wade Wilson. But before Deadpool, he created Deathstroke, a katana-wielding mercenary assassin that dresses in orange and black, whose real name is Slade Wilson.

Here is a guy who has built a career on copying his own work (and the work of others) over and over and over again.

Did it make Rob Liefeld rich and famous? Technically yes, but he kind of got rich because other people made better work using his characters, and he's famous for being kind of a hack.

So which is better?

Creative output you can do right here, right now, today, but is considered "fanfiction" or "fanart" or a "fangame", which may or may not lead to you being the person handling the official thing at some point down the road...

Or spending years of your life toiling to bring an original concept to life, and even if you struggle through all of the boredom and hardship of getting your original product out the door, it gets lost in the noise of now-million other creators trying to do the exact same thing. And then, at the end of your launch, after 2, 3, even 5 years of working and working and working, you've only made enough money to cover rent on your apartment for a month and a half.

Or, to put it another way:

Are you ditching fangame development because you have a legitimately great story you want to tell, or are you just doing it because you can't make money on a fangame?

Are you just creating another Bloodstrike?

As someone who has struggled to justify putting lots of hard work into a fangame myself, and have both made very popular fangames and some not-so-great original games, I don't know if I have a definitive answer for you. But I do wish there were more fangames at the fangaming event, and I will say, as always, if I could get paid a livable wage for making fangames, I would drop everything and do it in a heartbeat.

[wildrangers]

"Slut!" // William Nylander

Word Count: 2.8K

Summary: Famous singer reader x our boy Willy

{For my 1989 Vaults Track Challenge}

Warnings/tropes: fluff, resolved angst (very minor), mentions of anxiety, strong allusions to sex but no serious smut (like PG-13-ish), cursing

You were used to attention but even you had a limit. You’d hit it a few months ago after the tabloids latched onto you being seen with a mystery man, aka Marc from your agent’s office. When your team published that to dispel the rumors, the media reframed it as you sleeping with him for favoritism within your agency. While they hadn’t actually been yelling “Slut!” at you, they may as well have been and you’d needed to get away from New York.

You’d escaped to Toronto because you enjoyed the city whenever your tour had passed through and decided it was busy enough to get lost in without attracting the press. You were hunkered down working on your next album, doing your best to lose yourself in the rhythm of the city and get back to what you loved most—your music.

Got lovestruck, went straight to my head

Got lovesick, all over my bed

Love to think you’ll never forget

Handprints in wet cement

You’d been walking your dog, Edith, when the air changed around you—you couldn’t quite explain it, but you could feel a group of people getting excited about something and it set you on edge—had you been spotted? You froze, eyes darting around as your breath fogged in front of you.

You spotted a group of maybe a half dozen girls giggling as they walked away from a tall, blonde man with two dogs. As you let out a deep sigh of relief, Edith spotted the other dogs and yanked the leash out of your grip, charging for them and their owner.

“Edith!” you called, heart in your throat, as you jogged after her. Luckily, you were in a quieter part of the city but you were still panicked until you saw the guy grab her leash.

“I am so, so sorry, thank you so much” you called out once you were in speaking distance of him.

“It’s no problem” he replied, smiling easily at you. “I was relieved when a dog was running over—when I heard someone yelling ‘Edith!’ I worried a grandma was really in trouble.”

You chuckled and shrugged, “I mean, she’s just an Edith, you know?” Normally, at this point, you’d disengage to avoid being recognized but his face was so open and you hadn’t realized until now how lonely you’d been holed up writing. “Who are these gentlemen?”

William introduced himself, as well as Banksy and Pablo. You discovered your buildings were near each other so when he offered to join you on your return there, you took him up on it despite your reservations.

“So, what do you do for work?” William asked after a natural lull in conversation and your pulse picked up.

“Oh, I work in the music industry, what about you?”

You felt him reassessing you and his cheeks suddenly flared pink, “I’m sorry, I thought you looked familiar but it didn’t click until just now.”

“Please, don’t be sorry” you laughed, your own embarrassment rising to meet his. “It was nice talking with someone as a human being.”

“Yeah, I get that” he sighed.

“Oh?” you asked, wracking your brain for how he could possibly relate to such a strange feeling.

“I play for the Maple Leafs” he explained and you nodded, pretending to know what that meant. He must have caught on because he let out a rich laugh that made you smile from the sound alone. “The NHL team here, this is kind of a hockey town.”

“Well, that explains the girls back there…” you mused, reflecting back on the frenetic energy that comes with a person meeting someone they only know through a TV.

“They were sweet” he shrugged and you glanced over, noticing his legitimate nonchalance.

“It doesn’t bother you?”

“Not really, it comes with the territory and 95% of the time people are nice.”

“Well, that’s good” you mumbled, mostly to yourself. While your fans were lovely, your mind flashed to all the times you’d been met with judgement and jealousy from girls who were into your famous exes. It was a bizarre, shame-inducing experience despite you doing nothing wrong.

“Hey look!” Will said excitedly, pulling you from your thoughts. “Come here, quick.”

You followed him in confusion towards a small section of sidewalk that had been replaced and was surrounded by caution tape. “What exactly are we doing?”

“Come on, we gotta do our hand prints, no?” he grinned and his genuine excitement made you smile too.

“Fine, but quickly” you agreed and he whooped before taking his left hand out of his glove, you doing the same with your right hand. You two quickly stuck your hands in, the wet concrete cold to the touch.

“My plan worked” he smiled and you tilted your head in confusion. “Now you have to come over, make sure we can wash that concrete off your hands. Can’t play guitar with chunks of that stuck to you.”

Lovelorn and nobody knows

Love thorns all over this rose

I’ll pay the price you won’t

You must have dozed off watching the Leafs game because you were woken by Will softly greeting the dogs. You stretched, letting the throw blanket fall around your waist as you yawned.

“I’m sorry, babe, did I wake you?” he asked quietly, placing a kiss to your forehead.

You hummed in response, wrapping your hand around the back of his neck to pull his lips to yours. His kiss was gentle and attentive—he always seemed to anticipate just what would make your heart flutter in your chest. He pulled away a moment later, his blue eyes shining with joy that warmed you from within.

It had only been a few months since you’d met and, if you were being honest, you were a little terrified by how quickly you were falling for him. Contrary to what the tabloids said, you normally guarded your heart quite closely. But with Will, it was beginning to feel like all you needed was him.

“Where’d you go?” he asked and you realized he’d sat down beside you, concern all over his face.

“I’m sorry, just got lost in my thoughts.”

“What were they saying?”

You hesitated, trying to decide how to phrase it, “It just worries me how much you mean to me already.”

“Oh, älskling” he replied, pulling you to him. Your arms wrapped around his middle and you buried your face in his neck, breathing in his scent. “What concerns you about that?”

“I’m scared of people finding out” you admitted softly.  

“Because of the media being assholes?” You nodded, pulling him tighter. “Y/N, people say shit about me all the time. It’s just what happens when you’re in the public eye.”

You sighed, pulling away slightly to look at him. He didn’t get it—how different it was being a famous woman versus a man. “What would the story be about you if it came out that we’re dating?” you questioned and he grinned.

“Just that I’m lucky to have somehow landed a woman that is way out of my league” he replied and you rolled your eyes, butterflies filling your stomach at the compliment.

“What do you think it would be about me?”

He took in your serious expression and paused to think before shrugging, “Tell me.”

“Y/N, dating William Nylander!” you proclaimed dramatically. “Another new man for the songstress! Will she ever settle down? How many famous men will she use for attention? What will her ex think? When can we expect the break up album?”

You’d tried being light-hearted but your voice cracked on the last word as tears pricked your eyes. “Hey, hey” he said quietly, embracing you again and running a soothing hand through your hair. “They can say whatever they want. Only we know what this is—how real it is. They can’t take that from us. But, if we keep hiding, think of all the things that fear is taking from us. You coming to a game, me being able to go to a show of yours someday. Me being able to take you out to celebrate a win or on a nice date.”

Tears flowed freely at his words, “I didn’t mean to hide us, I’m just scared.”

“I know” he replied, wiping away your tears. “And I’ve loved getting to know you and developing this relationship, just us two. But that’s not how relationships work—I want you to meet the team and me to meet your friends, see your home in New York.  I mean, if you’d want that” he said, faltering at the end.

You grabbed his face in your hands, placing a gentle kiss to his nose. “Of course, that’s what I want” you reassured him, getting lost in his deep blue eyes. And as he leaned in to kiss you again, you accepted that you’d likely get backlash in a way he wouldn’t. But you wouldn’t let that stop you from being with him fully.

But if I’m all dressed up

They might as well be looking at us

And if they call me a slut

You know it might be worth it for once

You were nervous as you left Scotiabank Arena with Steph and a few other girls. You’d felt safe up in the suite, watching the game with the other partners and families but away from prying eyes. Now, on the street surrounded by fans, you felt your anxiety rising. You could feel people watching your group, noting the WAG jackets—you couldn’t tell if they’d realized who you were or were just intrigued because of your relationship with a player.

As you saw Will’s car pull up to the curb, you confirmed with Steph which bar you’d all meet up at to celebrate the win before sliding into his passenger seat.

“Are you sure you’re up for this?” Will asked, eyes scanning your face.

“Yeah, I’m sure” you nodded, despite the nerves filling your stomach. His strong hand gripped yours as he pulled out, heading a few blocks away to the bar. You’d gone to a few closed team events to meet everyone—parties at people’s apartments, joining the girls for at-home brunch, etc. All to help you feel comfortable enough for this milestone.

“You look beautiful, Leafs blue suits you” Willy complimented as he pulled into a spot and you squeezed his hand in thanks. He quickly came around to your side, opening your door and helping you out as he always did, ever the gentleman—it was one of the things you loved about him. You paused for a second at that thought before deciding you had enough to worry about tonight without bringing the L word into it.

You were escorted to a private room where you enjoyed a few hours of joyful company, dancing and drinking, celebrating the guys and their hard work. You’d almost convinced yourself you’d overthought this outing—everything was going great, why had you been so worried? But by the time you were leaving, cheeks flushed from the warmth of the bar and the alcohol flowing through you, your fears were confirmed as cameras began flashing.

Will wrapped a protective arm around you as your name was shouted from all around, Steph tucking herself closer to your other side, bracketing you in their safety.

Send the code, he’s waiting there

The sticks and stones they throw froze mid-air

Everyone wants him

That was my crime

It was the following afternoon and you were spiraling. All those moments you thought were private were plastered across the internet. You and Steph cheering after a goal, you picking up John’s daughter so she could see the ice better, you shielding your eyes when Will had taken a hard check. Let alone all the photos they’d gotten outside the arena and of you walking into and out of the bar.

Even worse, a fan had gotten past your building’s security, knocking on your door shortly after lunch. Luckily, she’d been sweet but it still rattled you. Your building’s manager had apologized profusely, quickly changing all the codes into the building and retraining the staff on privacy procedures.

Will was at practice and wouldn’t be over until later that afternoon, leaving you to your own devices. You’d successfully fought off Googling your own name for hours before finally caving.

Y/N spotted with William Nylander—but is she still with Marc?

Y/N has gone through all of Hollywood’s men—she’s moved onto Toronto now!

When can we expect the Nylander album?

That last one had been the worst—as if your music was owed solely to the men you decided to be with, not something you worked tirelessly on. Your phone vibrated beside you and your shoulders sagged in relief as Will’s name popped up.

“Hey babe, are you almost here?”

“I’m outside, can you send me the new code? It’s a zoo out here.”

“Fuck, I’m sorry, I totally spaced, it’s 161152. I’ll call George to let him know you can come up.”

A few moments later, you were pulling Will into your apartment and locking the door behind him. You began to explain everything that had happened today but instead simply burst into tears.

“I’m so sorry, älskling—I believed you but I didn’t realize how crazy it would be. But we’re going to figure this out, okay?” And you let yourself believe him as he rubbed soothing circles on your back, his presence filling you with a sense of safety. “And I’m going to be taking your laptop away from you” he added, spotting what you’d been searching.

You chuckled through your tears, pulling away to grab a tissue from nearby, “I knew I shouldn’t but couldn’t stop myself” you admitted and he nodded. “I’m sorry about all of this.”

“Hey, no” he countered, gently gripping your face between his hands. “We knew this could happen.”

“I know but why would you want to put up with all of this?” you asked, emotion clogging your throat again.

“Because I’ll take anything and everything that comes with being with you” he answered, eyes serious as they held yours. You didn’t know what to say to that so you just wrapped your arms around his middle again. “Want to take a nap? I could use one after the last twelve hours.”

Half asleep

Taking your time

You’re not saying you’re in love with me

But you’re going to

A few hours later you were woken by kisses placed all over your face and gentle hands caressing your waist. “There she is” Willy mumbled into your ear and you giggled, turning your face so you could capture his lips with your own. His exploring hands made quick work of both your clothes and soon he was a comforting weight on top of you.

You’d obviously had sex with Will countless times by this point but this felt different somehow. You both normally favored faster, rougher sex but Will was moving so purposefully and slowly, seemingly drawing out the time you two were joined together, impossibly close.

Later, as you came down from your high and felt his rhythm falter, you opened your eyes to meet his and the look there stole your breath away. Such affection and care were in his deep blue eyes before he dropped his head to your chest, burying his face in your neck as he caught his breath.

“That was incredible, Y/N” he said softly and you pulled his face up to yours, pouring all your unsaid feelings into the kiss.

Half awake

Taking your chance

It’s a big mistake

I said it might blow up in your pretty face

A few nights later, you were curled up in Will’s bed, wrapped in his embrace. The dogs were fast asleep around you but you were clinging to wakefulness, enjoying the warmth of Will behind you after a long day in the studio.  

“Y/N?” Will said softly and you hummed in response, turning in his arms to face him.

You smiled up at him sleepily but felt yourself wake up a bit more at the intensity in his eyes. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah, I just…” he began, swallowing thickly. You frowned slightly at his nerves, reaching up to brush a piece of hair out of his eyes. “I just love you, that’s all.”

You fought back a smile, “Oh is that all?”

“Shut up” he giggled, hiding his face in your neck, pulling you even closer to him somehow.

You ran a hand through his hair, placing a kiss to the top of his head. “I love you too, William.”

“Yeah?” he questioned, pulling back just enough to gaze up at you.

You nodded before smirking, “You may come to regret it but yeah, I love you.”

He placed a gentle kiss to your collarbone before settling into your chest again, “I could never regret this, my love.”

A/N: My first Willy story! Thanks to those who sent support for this little series I'm working on to hopefully get out of this writing slump. I wrote this in a few hours so please let me know any feedback you have ☺️ 'Say Don't Go' with Lindgren next!

[funemployed-fangirl]

Modern Bridgerton AU

Colin & Penelope

Colin has no interest in getting anywhere near the family business. He takes an extended gap year after high school (he goes to “find himself” on a farming collective in New Zealand…after parting his way through Europe for 6 months). Eventually he does make it to college, after which he fucks back off to wander around the world.

Penelope has always enjoyed writing, but more importantly loves observing people from the side lines. She’s the quiet one in a loud, kind of obnoxious family, so pretending to be invisible comes easily for her. She goes to NYU and gets a degree in Journalism. While there, she starts the Whistledown blog making observations about the New York elite (it started as a class project…then she kept going). It's mostly benign. Sometimes it’s the social stuff (who was at which party wearing what), and sometimes it's in-depth analysis of how someone’s business is doing (data and all). Whistledown basically becomes required reading for New York upper social circles. 

Fun side note: While Colin and Penelope have always known each other (Penelope is best friends with Colin’s younger sister Eloise), they’d never spent any time together (who hangs out with their little sister’s friends?). That is, until they get to college. Because of Colin’s gap years, they end up overlapping at NYU for a couple years, during which time they get pretty close…like, REALLY close. But then Colin graduates and heads off for his adventures and Penelope stays in New York with her ever growing Whistledown blog.

They reconnect when Colin comes back to the city. There’s a drunken hook up in the back of a cab (following a party of some sort), after which they spend the next day together. Since it’s a Sunday, Violet is hosting Sunday Family Dinner, so Colin just texts "I'm bringing Penelope." Everyone's like, cool, great, we love Penelope. They show up holding hands and keep sitting down next to each other with his arm around her waist, holding hands, leaning into each other - full couple mode, no shame. It still takes everyone legitimately half the night for someone to go... is something happening here? 

Patented Bridgerton style everyone-at-once conversation explodes at the table: 

Benedict: Surely Penelope can do much better than Colin. 

Eloise: No way something is happening here. Oh my god are you two dating? No way, you would have told me. Oh my god, are you two actually dating?

Kate: Eloise, are you going to be okay? 

Daphne: They did look awfully cozy at Cressida's birthday party last night. 

Sophie: Did you two hook up after Cressida’s birthday party?! 

Anthony: Did you think none of us would notice that you were suddenly a couple?

Gregory: We’ve all been here for 3 hours and none of us did notice. 

Hyacinth: Except for me, obviously. 

Francesca: Then why didn't you say anything?

Hyacinth: I’VE BEEN SAYING SOMETHING FOR YEARS!

Colin gives them a few minutes to wear themselves out before announcing that yes, they are together. And things escalate quickly after that, with them getting engaged after a couple months. At their engagement party, a drunken Colin makes an impromptu speech where he announces that he’s “just SO PROUD of his fiancé, Penelope! Do you guys know how awesome she is? She runs that gossip blog that everyone’s obsessed with ALL BY HERSELF! How cool is that!” Yeah…no one knew it was Penelope’s blog.

The consequences of her being outed as the author of the blog aren’t dire (it’s not like she’s ever been intentionally malicious or tried to ruin someone). In fact, she starts getting access to hot ticket restaurants and parties, and the society girlies are suddenly nicer to her as they start trying to score spots on the site for their side hustle brands. She gets a buy-out offer (Buzzfeed, Cracked, Wired, whatever) and the site expands. A lot. She continues to run it, and Colin writes travel articles every once-in-a-while (he’s basically a kept man and living his best life in their Upper East Side penthouse).

more (x)

[discountenancer]

Here’s why Jasnah and Hoid is a great ship:

It’s not a ship.

It’s a stopgap.

I think Jasnah and Hoid do, on a personal level, enjoy each other. I do not think Brandon is writing them to last, and that’s intentional.

Jasnah finds Hoid to be an intellectual equal—“after all this time” implying she has never encountered someone who could be on her level before. She finds him “fascinating”. She needs his knowledge to save her planet and people. She doesn’t trust him. The text says this directly.

Additionally, they’ve been ‘together’ for what can’t be more than a few months. I don’t remember how long between Oathbringer and ROW, but it’s not long. People don’t fall in love that fast, and both Jasnah and Wit are too smart and risk-averse to let themselves do such a thing. They are not in love. They are doing a very strange form of dating, on top of which they are facing down Odium. No walks in the menagerie for them, just a constant barrage of stressors on all sides. They are under a great level of stress and not doing anything remotely close to courting or dating, physical affection from Hoid aside. Jasnah doesn’t even call him Hoid, so it’s unclear if he’s divulged that name to her despite telling Dalinar and Kaladin, who forgot or refuse to use it. The text is clear that he has told her some things about himself, like not being Alethi, using some power of physical transformation, and being immortal, but she’s stymied on anything else. I don’t think she’s the sort of woman who would insist on calling him Wit in private if she knew a more personal name, but I could be wrong.

So: Jasnah needs Hoid as an ally, needs his vast knowledge of all things Odium/Rayse, and perhaps fancies him as a future partner (“curious how the relationship would develop”). She doesn’t seem to be betting on Hoid 4 Life, but is enjoying the comfort it provides in the moment.

What does Hoid get from this?

First, he gets his dick wet. Jasnah’s canonically very beautiful. The benefit there is obvious.

Secondly, he gets to influence her decisions. He is shifting the boulder to roll in the direction he wants. Hoid is after something, and we don’t know what it is. I do genuinely believe he wants Odium contained—having a God roaming around the universe who wants Hoid specifically to die would doubtlessly be a big ol’ wrench in whatever his plans are. Hoid can do his work much more effectively at Jasnah’s side than on his own. He gets into the Big Important Meetings and knows all of the Plans being made. He gets to cast his vote. Jasnah takes his opinions into consideration.

They are both deriving an immense benefit from their relationship. Don’t let the sex fool you into thinking it makes what they have deeper than it is—as an ace person, I believe Jasnah sees sex as a necessary compromise in maintaining the relationship (“she could provide the intimacy he desired….this was not a new experience for her”). This is unsurprising. Sex is a small price to pay for, uh, saving the planet from an enemy you only recently learned exists and also happens to be the god of hate incarnate.

Brandon has said of the pairing "Wow, that's a really great and a really terrible match all at the same time, and that's what I'm looking for, in a lot of ways.”

Great match for intellectual brains and snark. Terrible match because something is being set up under the pretense of what we are assuming is a sloppy last-minute ship randomly set up in the second half of ROW.

There’s a WOB about how Jasnah and Hoid perceive power—I cannot find it, so here’s the paraphrase I’m drawing on:

“we should be concerned about how both Hoid and Jasnah view power and that’s what drew them together”.

Jasnah and Hoid are creatures of philosophy. Jasnah values the masses over the individual and Hoid values the individual over the masses (“[he] is legitimately empathetic to the individual”; telling Dalinar he would watch Roshar burn to get what he wants while devoting time and risk to helping various characters through rough spots). This is where their attraction to power and how they subsequently use it will put them at odds. They do not have the same goal, though they don’t know it—or perhaps Hoid does already, but is playing the game. Jasnah wants to save Roshar. Hoid wants to save Roshar, but more importantly, as he’s said, he wants to save his own interests.

Jasnah is brilliant, but I do think Hoid is conniving enough to manipulate her. “Yes, he did seem genuinely fond of her. He said it had taken him by surprise as much as it had her” (ROW 99)—this does not mean romantic relationship. It could. It could also mean a general fondness, like a dear friend. We have not seen Hoid or Jasnah exactly palling around with anybody on their own. We don’t know if they’re awash in good judies. They are two very smart people burdened with difficult tasks. Jasnah didn’t like Wit when we first saw them interact. Now they get along and playfully banter. That’s some unexpected fondness for sure. Trauma bonding, baby! It’s a hell of a drug!

Jasnah and Hoid are not fated to be together. They’re not supposed to be convincingly in love, because they aren’t. They are together purely by circumstance and their time is largely consumed with trying to stop Odium or Jasnah picking Hoid’s brain for her scholarly pursuits. Their relationship is, for now, enabling them to tackle the task in front of them. They are together for now, to save Roshar for now. After the battle of champions in SA5, it’s anyone’s guess—mine is that Jasnah will use what she’s learned against him somehow, and he will oppose her directly in pursuit of his own unnamed goal.

There will come a day where they realize the next obstacle they face is each other. They are locked in an embrace with knives in their hands.

TL;DR: Jasnah and Hoid are not in love and it’s okay if you don’t think they’re a good match, because they aren’t, and Brandon has said as much. Their relationship is setting up a mighty, mighty plot point in the back half of Stormlight.

[66sharkteeth]

WEEKLY THOUGHTS ON THIS WEEK'S EPISODE! Though tbh I think I covered a chunk of it last week-

This Claude arc has been some of the writing I'm most proud of in the entire comic, and I'm so happy other people are enjoying it too. Seeing Claude go from the series' punching bag to someone seemingly everyone's screaming over and pitying really feels like an accomplishment to me and I'm so glad even the people who don't love Claude are at least sympathizing with him (the vast majority anyway). Also shout out to Claude's leg for increasing my FP sales. I can't express enough how much my FP revenue's been impacted ever since the return. I got literally less than half of my usual income this month (when I needed it most lol) but the FP numbers *almost* returned to their old average this week, so thanks everyone who fast passed to see the fate of Claude's leg lol.

This is one of those episodes that was a long time coming and I have some kind of strong feelings about it. I've been planning to lop of his leg since high school, but I did admittedly start to get a pit in my stomach the closer it got. By the time these episodes publish, I'm usually over it and laughing to cope (see above), but I hope at least a few people were as disturbed as I was writing it. Which...I know sounds mean, but I really admire media that can get that feeling out of me (without going over the top and scarring me) and it's something I hope I can achieve too. Some of the most important pieces of media that influenced me growing up (FMA, some animations that inspired CoB, Paranoia Agent, etc), really gave me a gut-sinking level of disturbance as a kid, but boy I'm glad I saw them because they sure made an impact in a way that I think made me a stronger writer, and that's one of those things I hope I can achieve.

Anyway, to address a few points I'm seeing throughout the comments- 1. Jericho's reaction. I left it kind of vague on purpose. I have no comment on it and just leave you guys to speculate on how he will react or encourage you to FP to find out (sob please).

2. people legitimately criticizing joking about claude's leg. which is interesting to me. obv there's a lot of jokes and leg puns throughout the comments, and soooometimes I don't like that when a very serious episode's comment section is filled w/ nothing but jokes, buuut there are also enough real comments of concern and speculations and analysis of the ep that i really, really don't mind some leg jokes and puns, personally. like...as you can tell from the image above, even I'm not above making them. To the people who think it's actually fucked up for us to joke about this scene... I dunno. I personally laugh to cope, and I think a lot of other people are doing the same. I don't think anyone's literally going "LOL HE'S SO DEPRESSED HE MUTILATED HIMSELF," I think its just...funny leg puns to make a dark situation a little lighter. At least for the most part. I'm certainly not above joking about it, but as you'll see in the next episode, I'm also obviously taking it seriously and don't plan to make Claude such a butt of jokes now that he's reached this point. That would just be in bad taste. But... I think a leg pun here and there is still in line.

[ceescedasticity]

A writeup/outline of the House of the Dragon/Song of Ice and Fire fic I worked on feverishly for a month and a half:

Premise: So, over two-four months of binging HotD fanfic before abruptly focusing on something else, I found a lot of fics with one or more Game of Thrones-era characters being reborn into the Dance era, but very few in reverse — I can only remember one, and it overwrote a canon character who I like with a HotD character I don't care about so meh. (There were a handful more with HotD characters suddenly being transported to the GoT era, but most were abandoned.)

So, the other way around — why might such a thing happen?

Well — Jace owes the Starks a Targaryen princess. The Starks seem to have felt dying cleared the debt, but they aren't the only ones who might care about oaths sworn in godswoods. So, Jace gets to be reborn until he delivers. As a girl, because he doesn't have a right to promise other Targaryen princesses. —Except his brothers. Well, sisters.

Unfortunately the Old Gods do not have free access to Targaryens; they need there to be a backdoor, so not every generation is accessible. Also they are possibly using a somewhat perverse definition of "princess".

First backdoor: Melissa Blackwood, one of the mistresses of Aegon the Unworthy. Jace and Luke are reborn as Mya and Gwenys Rivers. (Melissa's third child is a boy, and also earmarked for other purposes, so Joff sits out this round.) Even after they're legitimized they're not precisely princesses; there's no reason the Starks would want to marry them. They end up pretty preoccupied with Targaryen stuff anyway, supporting Daeron II and opposing the Blackfyre Rebellion. They go through some bad stuff. There's a whole story here, between the Blackfyre Rebellion and the frankly insane dynamics of Aegon IV's court.

(Part of the story is about their little brother, Brynden Rivers, who loves them very much and also sees who they are after a greenseer-awakening sojourn on the Isle of Faces.)

Altogether it's not an entirely unsuccessful life, but delivering Targaryen princess: Not accomplished.

You might think that Betha Blackwood would be the next backdoor! You would be wrong. Possibly Shaera was un-meddleable due to upcoming Prince that was Promises bloodlines. Possibly the Old Gods are set on only reincarnating them as questionable princesses.

The next backdoor is Jenny. Duncan and Jenny weren't planning on having children, but whoopsie-daisy, twin girls. Jenny's friend (the future Ghost of High Heart, henceforth Woman of the Forest/WotF because I don't want to keep typing that) sees some things about the babies, but not very clearly, so they end up named Junia and Layne.

Junia and Layne have a good, sheltered childhood. (Junia could definitely have been a much better and more responsible princess than Shaera, but whatever.) They're in their mid-teens when Aegon V comes up with his dragon-hatching scheme. They are 1000% on board with this. They love dragons. Targaryens without dragons is just wrong. They die at Summerhall. But — and this will be important — the WotF understands their situation enough to know they will eventually be back.

If Lyanna Stark had daughters (who didn't already have Destinies), that would have been a suitable backdoor. But, she doesn't, and her son mustn't be tampered with. And of course not much later there's a serious Targaryen shortage.

If I were writing this properly I'd introduce Jessamyn, Lucinda, and Jocelyn Flint and leave the connection vague until later, but since I'm not — their mother Mona (short for Daemona) was a Blackfyre in the female line. Their father Ronnel is the backdoor, and a younger son of House Flint of Flint's Finger who ran off to become a sellsword in Essos.

(This is the most excruciating parentage by far, because after Mya and Gwenys's experiences they really, really hate Blackfyres.) (Joff is here for the first time, and Jess and Lucy won't let Jo out of sight, mostly.)

Ronnel says they're trueborn and no one in Westeros can contradict him, but technically their parents never formally married (no godswoods available).

Mona dies and Ronnel gets sick/takes an injury that won't heal/idk something where he's dying but not immediately. Mona didn't trust her family, so Ronnel takes the girls to the North. He'll trust his brother with his daughters' safety — but not with the several chests of Essosi gold Ronnel is leaving to them. Those Ronnel entrusts to Eddard Stark, the contents to be released to his daughters only; as a compromise, they can withdraw some before they marry to help offset expenses.

Thus they are not infrequent visitors to Winterfell, not close to the Starks but quite well acquainted. Which puts them closer to 'marrying a Stark' than they've ever been, but Catelyn is very clear that they are not suitable prospects. Jessamyn Flint is a responsible girl with enough dowry for a respectable smaller house to overlook questionable origins and some personal eccentricities, but shouldn't look higher.

Also Jess has a temper — better controlled than Jace's, because Mya faced severe consequences for lashing out and Junia's family actually taught her how to manage anger, but it's still there. When it shows up at Winterfell it's usually because Theon Greyjoy, comedic genius, has reacted to Lucy's somewhat boyish behavior by persistently nicknaming her Brave Lucy Flint. This is generally agreed to be reasonable grounds for even a lady to lose her shit. (If Jess had Jace's training and muscle mass it would be all over for him.)

Cascade effect from this: Because the Brave Danny Flint thing gets brought up over and over and OVER again, tied into reality in a way the song alone won't do, Jon is much less enthusiastic about the Night's Watch. In fact, he wants to go for a knighthood first (or instead) — when he leaves Winterfell he goes to House Locke, one of the handful of Northern houses that does knighthood. And when the North goes to war, Jon rides with House Locke to the Green Fork and gets captured.

After Robb is crowned, Jess has the idea of reaching out to her father's contacts in the Company of the Rose — would any of them want to come defend an independent North, at least enough to get a good price hiring them? She also volunteers her dowry to pay for it. So, Jess and one of her Flint cousins set out to get a ship to Essos, and Lucy (with Jo) is dispatched to Winterfell to get the gold if things work out.

The three-eyed raven gives Bran a very clear and explicit warning about Theon's party approaching, with instructions on how to avert it. The castle falling would be useful to drive his successor northwards, but Brynden is not about to let Gwenys get captured by Ironborn. The attack is foiled with minimal casualties, but Theon takes out one of Lucy's eyes. (Lucy has a hysterical laughing fit before passing out.)

—After this Theon is either dispatched for the Wall and does Night's Watch things or "escapes" with "Reek" and has a very bad time.

In the course of preparing for the attack Brynden revealed through Bran that he's still alive and can communicate through weirwoods. He has to be much less cryptic in explaining why Bran needs to cross the Wall. Lucy is unconvinced and says she certainly couldn't let Bran go without her, which Brynden doesn't like at all. Fortunately for Brynden's plans Lucy is still in recovery, and she is unable to stop Bran from slipping away with the Reeds, Hodor, and also Jo. Brynden will be in so much trouble when she tells Mya.

Jess has her own problems. The safe thing to do would be to head to Essos by way of White Harbor — but starting from Riverrun that's a long way out of the way. Sneaking through the Riverlands to Saltpans should be much faster. It's a terrible idea but Jess knows the Riverlands well (or did when she was Mya) and her cousin is short on common sense. They get caught and taken to Tywin at Harrenhal. We now have Jess, Jon, Arya, and Tywin all in Harrenhal.

Which is not quite the same as it is in canon, because — remember Jenny's friend knowing Jenny's daughters would be reborn someday?

The Woman of the Forest dug up those seven dragon eggs Aegon V brought to Summerhall and buried them by the Harrenhal heart tree. They'd already been in a pyre with way more than seven people, and Harrenhal has plenty more death to offer, so when magic starts growing again — say, about when the direwolf mother came south — they hatch. Now the Harrenhal godswood has seven possibly cursed dragons. (Almost definitely cursed, really. They're most active at night and stealthier than they should be even at night; they grew quickly to a fairly small size for dragons and then stopped; they are uncannily knowing for animals.)

Cursed or not they've been very considerate for dragons — they've never attacked inside the castle. They're practically friendly with the castle smallfolk who discovered and secretly fed them. (The smallfolk called them after the major houses of Harrenhal — Hoare, Qoherys, Harroway, Towers, Strong, Lothston, and Whent.) When they started attacking Lannister raiders they did it outside the castle.

Since Jon Snow has been a prisoner, one of them has been lurking around the relevant tower more.

When Jess arrives, one breaks into her cell within a few days. (Jon is an option. They're meant for Jess.) (The one that's most for her is Strong, because of course it is.)

There's a very exciting night after which they're in control of Harrenhal and Jess and Jon have claimed dragons, to Jon's consternation. (Two more of the dragons are destined for Lucy and Jo.)

Blah blah, more stuff happens, I'm not sure how the war works out exactly but Robb marries Jess after all because she's from a good northern family and HAS A DRAGON.

They still have quite a bit to do up North even before the Others show up because in addition to the Ironborn and potential Bolton problems—

No Jon Snow means Lord Mormont gets killed by a wight, which means that the Watch started attempting to elect a new Lord Commander and deadlocked. No Great Ranging. No infiltration of Mance Rayder's wildlings by Jon or anyone else. Wherever the wildling army attacks — maybe not Castle Black if it's full of election — they're a surprise, and any wall-climbing advance guard was un-infiltrated. Mance gets through.

(Which will actually be a benefit when the Others show! Going to take a while to work that out, though.)

The Bastard Dragons will likely help with all this. (Also Brynden has to be careful with Bran or his sisters will be disappointed.)

Anyway anyway — that's only four out of seven bastard dragons spoken for, and what about the Greens?

So, considering the dragonkeepers as a quasi-religious order. They are likely to be distraught when the last dragon dies. They perhaps might want to demand vengeance — perhaps not on the current king, both because the senior Dragonstone dragonkeepers remember Aegon III as a little boy who loved Stormcloud plus, you know, he's the king. Perhaps they might instead turn to Valyrian blood magic and access to Targaryen funerary urns, and commit mass ritual murder-suicide to chain the guilty to life where they can be punished.

This doesn't work with an empty funeral urn, so they can't actually target Rhaenyra or Daemon, or Daeron. Any non-Targaryens aren't on the table at all. But Aegon II and Helaena had funerals, and Aemond's bones were dredged up with Vhagar's. (Some might question the inclusion of Helaena among the guilty, but her suicide triggered the storming of the Dragonpit.)

The curse will see them reborn, when a Hightower has a child with Targaryen blood. The curse will see their bodies warped with approximations of draconic traits, eventually killing them painfully. The curse will end when there are dragons again.

The first available "child of a Hightower, with Targaryen blood" is the youngest daughter of Rhaena and Garmund Hightower, followed by Rhaena's daughters's children. They go through a few rounds of this before some of the Hightowers figure out what's going on. They come up with a way to stall the curse, but decide that probably they should try to avoid marrying Targaryens. Rhaena's grandchildren don't bear the Hightower name, so it doesn't fall on any of them.

It does pop up when Viserys Plumm marries a Hightower. And when a Hightower fathers a child on a dragonseed whore, years after that.

(The curse doesn't specify gender, but somehow Aegon is a girl every time. He undergoes character development partially from this and partially from experiencing actual competent parenting and unconditional love.)

Fast forward. Leyla Hightower is one of Lord Leyton's daughters, and the only one to marry into a knightly house. Suppose, then, that this was a coverup after she got in trouble. Suppose she got into trouble with a descendant of one of Aegon V's sisters, and surprise, turns out that's enough to trigger the curse. Mad Maid Malora figures out what's going on fairly soon, so Agnes and Ellyn get the curse mitigation very young.

Leyla then goes on to fuck Robert at the Lannisport tourney and has Emmon. To complete the set.

Agnes, Ellyn, and Emmon are all nominally the children of Ser Jon Cupps, but Leyla and Robert weren't exactly discreet. Jon Arryn comes up with a pretense to invite Ser Cupps and family to court — he wants a closer look at white-blond Leyla and her black-haired son.

Ellyn would rather die than set foot in King's Landing, so she goes to be a companion to her cousin Margaery instead. We'll come back to her.

Lord Arryn and Stannis interrogate Leyla but leave Ser Cupps out of the loop. Emmon isn't told anything but figures it out. Agnes decides Cersei was custom-crafted by cruel gods to answer the question "what would a queen have to be like for Aegon to think better of Rhaenyra by comparison".

When Jon Arryn dies, Stannis takes Leyla and Emmon — evidence — to Dragonstone. Emmon is very unhappy about this. Agnes and Ser Cupps are left behind. Ser Cupps, still clueless, helps Ned's investigation as best he can, and is 'accidentally' killed in the chaos around Ned's arrest. The Lannisters decide Agnes isn't much of a Reach hostage, but still worth hanging onto. Agnes is very unhappy about this and makes it everyone's problem.

Back in the Reach, Ellyn doesn't care about Renly but she is fond of Margaery and Loras. She tries some of Malora's tricks to protect the encampment. It interferes enough that Renly doesn't get killed.

Emmon eventually manages to get off Dragonstone — Leyla will probably be safe there but Melisandre is making him nervous. He wants to get back to the Reach or find Renly's forces, since breaking Agnes out of King's Landing on his own is unrealistic. (As far as kings go Emmon thinks all the Baratheons are pretenders, but the Lannisters and Stannis have made themselves his enemies.) Inconveniently, he makes landfall in the Riverlands. He is captured. He is imprisoned in proximity to Jess, and both of them have to come to terms with a lot of things real fast.

So Emmon is also at Harrenhal, and also claims a dragon, and also calls dibs on two more for currently absent siblings.

Claiming of the Bastard Dragons:

Hoare, renamed Hoarwing (by Jess), renamed Hoarfrost (by Jon): Jon Snow

Qoherys, renamed Rhaenaxes because who cares about House Qoherys and Queen Rhaena was awesome: Ellyn Cupps

Harroway, renamed Harrowfyre: Agnes Cupps

Towers, renamed Towerfyre (by Jess), renamed Riverwing (by Emmon, from reasons he won't discuss): Emmon Cupps

Strong, renamed Strongwing: Jessamyn Flint

Lothston, renamed Danelleys because Mad Danelle was definitely the best Lothston: Lucinda Flint (You could therefore, if you wanted, nickname the dragon Danny Flint �� or perhaps Danny Flint's Revenge)

Whent, renamed Whenthor: Jocelyn Flint

When Daenerys finally arrives, they all make terms — they insist on good terms, but they won't set dragon against dragon for the sake of any crown.