#* i'm busy making maps. / queue.

[hatespirates]

" back for another round ? " she asks , a half - empty glass in her hand . she meets his gaze as she takes another sip , before using that hand to gesture to the seat across from her . " please , be my guest . "

@3katanas

[chobblesomewrites]

Grumbo Professional Esports AU (abandoned work)

A collection of drabbles/scenes rearranged in chronological order featuring Team Coach Mumbo x Pro Player Grian. Warning; makes use of League of Legends/MOBA Mechanics. Unrealistic depiction of the esports scene.

No, this will not be fully written or edited. Prepare for weird pacing and incoherence. I'M JUST POSTING THIS SO I CAN STOP BEING ASKED ABOUT IT </3

—————

[ READ BELOW ]

Mumbo wasn't one for competitive games, but he had made exceptions from time to time. Those times mostly due to his online best friend wanting to drag him to experience almost anything and everything with him.

He wouldn't have even dreamed of touching MOBA games if it weren't for Grian begging him to, excusing that no one else but Mumbo was actually willing to deal with his competitive nature. He had first refused, firmly wanting to stick to his farming simulator games, but Grian knew too well how to act like a brat to get what he wanted.

So he found himself on [                ]’s tutorial screen, anxiously going through it while Grian remained in the Discord call with him, giggling at every noise he made every time he jumped from the sight of an enemy NPC.

“You lied when you said this game had a farming mechanic,” Mumbo accused his friend with a whine as he spam clicked on a highlighted enemy minion, clicking his tongue when he missed the gold.

Grian cackled, “Well, killing minions for gold is called farming. So technically I wasn't lying?”

Mumbo let out an audible huff of betrayal, which made Grian laugh even more as he tried killing his character to the minions out of spite.

—

Mumbo had thought he wouldn't be playing the game as often, for the main reason he had the game at all was because Grian occasionally didn't have anyone to play with, as he said. But he had plenty of friends so Mumbo didn't feel the need to open the game as he would probably be the last person on Grian's friendlist to be asked.

But dear lord was he wrong.

After getting bullied for his lack of game knowledge for one night, Grian kept inviting him to duo queue every single day. Mumbo would've been led to believe that Grian actually didn't have friends except for him if it weren't for their friends occasionally coming by to 5 man queue with them. But even then, that led Mumbo questioning even more of Grian's motives to specifically invite him of all people, adding to the fact that Grian apparently hated playing ADC but specifically only played it when in duo queue with Mumbo.

It was confusing. So, so confusing. Mumbo was so pants at the game yet Grian just kept inviting him nonetheless!

So, Mumbo thought; if Grian wanted to play with him that badly, he'd have to adjust his mentality to make sure that his best friend was actually having fun. He wasn't just here to keep Grian company anymore, he was here to now help Grian actually enjoy his games.

On weekday nights Grian would be too busy to get online, Mumbo used his free time to get on custom and try out other heroes outside of just support. He specifically tried mid laners in hopes to give Grian more opportunities to play roles outside of ADC, trying to prove that Mumbo was more than capable of handling himself!

He learned the map, how to invade, how to dodge, how to properly farm– everything. He needed to learn everything.

If it was for Grian, he'll take on everything.

–

[ DEFEAT ]

“....”

The call was silent, save for Grian who did horribly to muffle his laughter. Mumbo groaned in embarrassment into his hands, “Midlaning is hard,” he admitted in a mumble, which caused Grian to outright laugh into his mic.

“You didn't have to force yourself to try.”

“But you like playing jungle.” Mumbo pouted.

“Not all the time! Who on earth even says they like playing jungle?”

Mumbo sighed as he clicked off the after-game stats, returning back to their party lobby to see Grian already waiting to start the queue. The man already set himself back to the ADC role and it made Mumbo slump even more in guilt over his desk.

By some magical force, Grian probably felt his bad mood and he reassured with a smile, “I still think it's more fun if we're laning together.”

“You get to spoil me and you'd only have eyes for me!” Grian teased.

Mumbo felt himself flush red at that. Not knowing how to quip back, he simply said, “Shut up.”

–

5 man queues are always fun. It means Mumbo could just turn off his brain and listen to his friends talk and trash talk without having to say much because there's enough of them to hold the conversation together.

Mumbo was about to fully zone out while watching Grian’s character farm freely in their lane when he heard him speak up about something in their team's idle conversation on call.

“You know, I actually plan to be a professional gamer.”

From whatever conversation the call was going through, everyone in their friend group broke into laughter at Grian's admittance. Mumbo could hear Grian's pout as he tried to defend his dream, “I'm serious here!”

Their friends laughed even more, “How plausible would that even be as a job? We're just teenagers, dude. Who would wanna sign kids like us?”

Their words were obviously just trying to tease Grian, but Grian didn't take it lightly. The ADC went quiet as the friends in call continued on about how ridiculous of a scene it would be if anyone of them were to actually turn out to be 

Out of nowhere, Mumbo suddenly spoke up, “I think it's not impossible.”

The conversation paused and Mumbo suddenly felt conscious of the attention on his words. Nonetheless, he continued on, “I believe in you, if you are still going to try.”

“I'll try it with you.”

The call bursted into laughter again, even Grian couldn't help but giggle, which made Mumbo feel hot in the face from embarrassment. He spent the rest of the game making so many mistakes because the entire call kept teasing him for making such bold declarations.

He was able to live through 2 games of that until the other 3 friends in their team decided to log off, leaving him with Grian. Mumbo had thought that he would log off too, but he simply clicked the queue button without saying anything, leaving 

2 minutes into the queue, Grian finally spoke up, “I'm holding you up to that promise, you know.”

“You better go professional with me.”

Mumbo wonders if he's gonna regret promising that, given how ominous Grian makes it sound as if he's sold his soul to the devil. But if the devil were Grian, he finds that he doesn't really mind missing a part of himself.

–

Ever since that promise, Grian had been relentless with playing with Mumbo. Not that he wasn't always relentless before, but Grian was now determined to actually help Mumbo catch up to his level. They've even started custom 1v1s in hopes to improve.

Other people, if they were in Mumbo's position, would've been annoyed. Given how Grian tends to get frustrated eventually, Mumbo just takes it as a sign to be better. He couldn't slack.

He knew that Grian wasn't specifically frustrated at his skills, he was frustrated and anxious of the possibility that Mumbo wouldn't be able to sign with him if he didn't improve. They needed to do it together, Grian was stubborn to make sure of that fact.

So Mumbo didn't fault him for he loved him.

–

“Are you signed to a team?”

An account that was obviously a smurf had privately messaged him one time after a solo queue game Mumbo played while waiting for Grian. He ignored it, assuming that it was a scammer pretending to be a professional. He even went to quickly unfriend the account with this thought in mind and sat in the party lobby for a few minutes before a friend request came in.

“Xvoid,” Mumbo murmured out. He frowned and leaned back on his chair in thought, wondering if he's seen that username before. Probably in his other games, but Mumbo doesn't really actively pay attention to the randoms he and Grian match up with.

It was when he was about to decline the friend request that Grian joined the lobby with a very loud, “Mumbo Dumbo Bumbo Jumbo!”

“Grian,” Mumbo returned the sentiment, sounding more exasperated than excited like Grian. His friend must've realized something from that tone difference as he immediately questioned, “What's up?”

“Someone messaged me about signing to a team and now I'm trying to remember who this XVoid person is.”

Grian made a noise of surprise, “XVoid? Xisuma?”

“Who?”

“The Captain of [            ]! I thought we watched enough live streams together to know this?”

“... Grian, I only know Etho in that team!”

Grian made a noise of offense and went off on a tangent about each and every member of the team that was not Etho, scolding Mumbo for being a ‘solo fan’. Mumbo ignored him, hovering his mouse over Xisuma's friend request.

If it is the captain of that team, Mumbo can only assume that this was probably just a fan account. It didn't hurt to accept it. He's had a lot of friends in his friend list that he decidedly ignored a lot anyway. He just accepts them for the sake of filling that friend list.

With that over with, Mumbo started the queue, still ignoring Grian who was scolding his ear off.

–

Mumbo should've known there was going to be more to the friend request than he realized. What he assumed was a fan account was actually just the professional player's sub account.

Xisuma's team had taken notice of Mumbo, and even personally invited him to be their main team's support rather than simply being a substitute. Mumbo was about to disagree at first, discussing with Grian that he still wanted to play professionally with him, but Grian didn't stall him. He simply said;

"Go," and Mumbo had thought Grian hated him for being noticed by a team until he added, "I'll catch up."

And they left it at that. Mumbo signed with Xisuma's team as their support player but didn't even get to react properly that his online best friend didn't message him at all anymore as he was forced to move to a team provided account, leaving his personal one to the dust.

–

Mumbo's esports career didn't last longer than four years, but it was a good start for a while. He didn't have any experience whatsoever but his team was kind enough to help him throughout. He also found that a lot of people seem to like his awkward attitude so he didn't feel the need to upkeep a certain persona.

But with the constant change of meta to aggressive supports, his steady gameplay had no use in any team comps. It didn't help that, at every tournament, he got sadder and sadder the more he realized he couldn't see a certain username anywhere in both domestic and international teams even after a while. 

Grian wasn't there. The reason he was here at all, wasn't there. 

He had been moved to a substitute player midway through his career, replaced with someone more younger and aggressive in playstyle, his other teammates had also either retired or moved to better teams. The team’s management was still fond of him and he was only really kept for the fans' sentiments, but Xisuma didn't want him to live the rest of his life as a decoration, noticing the way Mumbo didn't enjoy his current status. The team they were in contract with wasn't getting any better either. They weren't going anywhere like this. Their skills could be put to more use somewhere. 

They couldn't accept the current state of things when they hadn't even won a single international championship to their name. Xisuma owed Mumbo at least a trophy for signing him up for the big leagues at such a young age that he could've used the time to explore more of his life.

He had offered Mumbo two things; Xisuma would pay so he could go back to college, or he could sign to Xisuma's budding esports company for a new chance.

As a coach, that is.

Mumbo had almost been tempted to say he would rather go back to studying, but Xisuma added more to his offer that he couldn't refuse; "You can choose the team. You'll be their main coach, after all."

Mumbo remembered that someone still promised to catch up, and he'd be willing to be a coach if it meant dragging him up here.

He promised. They promised they'd go together.

For the first time in a few years, Mumbo logged back in to his old account and clicked on a familiar user on his friend list.

"Grian,"

"You there?"

–

Mumbo wasn't confident for a while that Grian would reply back. It had been a good long while, after all. Would Grian even remember him? Mumbo's sure he himself hasn't forgotten the other, but he doesn't know if the sentiments are the same. 

Mumbo didn't really have the time to be too anxious about it either, busy helping Xisuma with properly setting up the company while also looking for managers and analysts to help him with forming the team.

The next time he finally checked his account again, he was disappointed when there was no message back. But one thing that gave him hope was when Grian’s user was lit up. He was online. And Mumbo could see damn well that his best friend, if he could still call him that, was actually just struggling to come up with a reply, especially when the indication of the other person typing kept popping up and disappearing over and over.

At least, with that, Mumbo knows that he wasn't fully ignored.

After a bit of waiting, he decided to give mercy to whatever message Grian is taking this long to send.

"Queue?"

And then the indication of Grian typing stopped. Then replying,

"You literally returned from war after how many and your first message is to ask to queue?? Not even gonna say hi to the kids?"

Mumbo burst out laughing. Somehow, it feels as if he never left for the professional scene and is back to his teenage self.

"How are you?"

"Got wife and kids."

Mumbo frowned at that, "Seriously?"

"No, you idiot. I'm this young and you think I'd have a kid already?"

"..." Mumbo rolled his eyes

"So what have you been doing this entire time?” I waited for you to catch up. Did you lie to me?

“Well one of us had to go to college, Mumbo.”

“Low Blow.”

“My bad.” Grian then typed, “Queue?”

“So now you’re trying to distract me by asking to play?”

“It's also been a while. I'm itchin’.”

Mumbo checked the time. He's fairly free for the rest of the day. And it's been a while since he's had genuine fun in the game, “Well, we ‘oughta scratch it!”

“Attaboy!”

–

They queue together for a while. Mumbo's old account had considerably ranked down so they were in lower elos. It wasn't that hard to win easily.

Grian was still good at the game, probably even better. He could catch up with Mumbo’s thinking, and Mumbo’s got the professional experience. One thing that bothered him was that Grian didn’t initiate a call like they always did years ago. Comms and all. Mumbo was left with Grian’s spam pinging and visual cues. Mumbo was too shy to ask about it, so he forced himself to be happy enough with Grian playing around with the emotes when they were idle in lane.

But surprisingly, when Mumbo thought they were about to log out, Grian told him to get in-game party call;

“Mumbo.” Oh, Mumbo has not heard that voice in a long time. Grian sounds less like a squeaker now. The long duration of having not spoken to each other was now extremely evident.

Mumbo forgot to greet back, and he didn’t get a chance to, as Grian spoke up again, “Why exactly did you message me again? Surely it's not to play, not when we could've done this for the past years.”

Mumbo didn’t know what to say for a moment. Would it be too rude to ask Grian about his previous interest in esports? Would that seem like he’s trying to flaunt at him or mock him?

His mouth twitched in hesitation, “Are you… still interested in going professional?”

“...” Grian didn’t reply, and Mumbo somehow felt even more desperate.

“You said you’d catch up.”

“I…” Grian sighed into the mic, seeming a little agitated, “Opportunities don't come as easily for me as it did for you, Mumbo.”

Mumbo furrowed his eyebrows, staring at Grian's little cat icon in disbelief, “...And so you gave up, just like that?”

“It wasn't just like that!” Grian defended. He sounded a little pissed off that Mumbo couldn't help but go quiet. At the silence, Pesky muttered an apology and calmed his tone, “Look, I- I really tried, alright? It was pressuring.”

Mumbo opened his mouth to ask what exactly pressured him but Grian beat him to it as he rambled on, “I lost my everyday duo to some team I couldn't even enter myself. Mum kept urging me to give up and go to college, but–” the voice on the other end cracked slightly but he took a long enough pause to steady himself, “I didn't want to- You, you were waiting, up on those big stages, looking around those stadiums like some lost little dog abandoned by their owner–”

“I was not some lost little dog!” Mumbo squeaked out in embarrassment, wondering if he really looked like that in the game livestreams, “How would you even know I was looking for you?!”

Grian’s smug smile could be heard in his tone, “I didn't say you were looking for me.”

Mumbo went quiet and murmured whinily, “You implied….”

The call was filled with Grian's giggling and Mumbo let himself enjoy the embarrassment for a brief moment before moving the topic along, “Anyway, I did say I was going to disagree to join them, but you urged me to accept it. I said I could've waited until we could sign together–”

“But you like the game, don't you, Mumbo?”

Caught quite off-guard, Mumbo gave his question a thought. He did like the game. Understanding the mechanics and strategy of it is fun. Winning a game was actually exciting since the winning conditions needed good skill and awareness to achieve, but… 

He only ever truly loved playing it because Grian was there. His best friend was a part of everything he loved about the game.

Mumbo was quiet and he couldn't find it in himself to actually admit his true opinions. Grian assumed that he was just embarrassed to admit that he liked the game and decided to move on, “So it was unfair to you. I couldn't drag you down. I know we promised to do it together, but that doesn't have to cost your possible futures.”

Mumbo chewed on his lip and once again quietly asked, “But are you still interested in playing?”

“Mumbo, I never stopped playing despite,” Grian said. An indirect message admitting that; he wants to play. He's always wanted to play. He never once gave up on the dream to. He's just a little late. “I wouldn't have queued with you today if I wasn't.”

Mumbo was hopeful at that admittance and he was quick to say, “Then play for me.”

“What?”

It was Grian's turn to be caught off-guard this time, sputtering in confusion and in disbelief. Mumbo could hear him sit straight on his chair, judging by the squeaking picked up by his mic, “No, that's- You shouldn't be practicing nepotism, Mumbo-”

Mumbo made a noise caught between a whine and a groan, “It's not nepotism if it's the coach's job to assemble a team of good players,” he defended. Grian was in even more disbelief this time as he caught on as to what Mumbo was getting at.

“Coach? What happened to your original team–? They still had you as a substitute…”

“Capt– X paid for the separation fee.”

Grian’s voice raised a little, “Then who and what the hell are you coaching for?”

Mumbo took a deep breath, needing to steady himself to be able to explain to Grian the situation without making it worse, “Look, I know you said you specifically wanted to play for a well-known team and, currently, X's company is just fairly knew–”

“Oh my god…” Grian muttered, his voice was muffled like he was burying his face in his hands. Mumbo ignored him as he continued to explain.

“He invited me to be the main coach, to set up the team to how I see fit since he had trust in the way I was at least aware of what was right, who was capable– Well, not to be blunt, but I have the skills to be able to strategize for an entire time and–”

Grian cut his ramble off, “You… you didn't do all this just for me, did you?”

Yes, I did. 

But, “No,” was what Mumbo said instead. “I still like the game, but I'm still not overly aggressive and competitive enough to be successful as a player, as you know.”

Silence that befell the call after that and it worried Mumbo as he didn't know if Grian could trust that reason. He was just about to continue his little persuasion when he was cut off again.

“I'm joining.”

“Before you– Wait, you are?!”

“Well, someone's gotta make sure you're not making wrong decisions! Who do you think taught you the game?! And you're planning to be the coach!?”

Mumbo couldn't even be sheepish at the underlying tone of being scolded. He was happy enough to hear Grian agree to joining even when doubt was evident in the other’s tone.

He’ll just have to show he’s capable of being Grian’s support, like always.

–

“Grian!” Mumbo had called out excitedly, approaching the man who held such a name. Maybe he was jogging more than politely approaching. Who was to blame him for being excited by the idea of finally meeting his long time online best friend face to face?

Grian’s shoulders jumped in surprise and he couldn't help but turn to look, looking even more stunned as he wasn't given time to react to the sudden hug Mumbo forced him into. His arms couldn’t find where to place itself, eventually relaxing on Mumbo’s back as he hugged back with equal eagerness.

The shorter man couldn’t help but laugh, “You’re surprisingly taller in real life, coach!”

Mumbo froze and pulled away to look at him weirdly, “Already calling me coach?”

“What? Were you actually not planning to sign me?”

Coach Mumbo winced and shook his head panickedly, “Goodness, of course we’re still planning to sign you, it’s just–” he hunched over and pouted a bit, “Isn’t coach a little too formal for us?”

Grian nudged Mumbo playfully, “Get used to it. You wanted this job. Didn’t you, coach?”

Mumbo pouted even more, slightly red in the face, “You don’t find me calling you jungler, do you?”

“I’m not signed yet so you can’t officially call me that yet,” the dirty blonde man then grinned wide, “For now, you can refer to me as darling.”

“Oh, stop it.”

–

Officially signing Grian up as the company’s first player was like a fever dream, even Grian himself would agree, and he’s had plenty of disbelieving things happening to himself. Even now when he was fully acquainted and settled into the residence provided by the team, he couldn’t believe that he was actually… what he dreamed of.

Grian glanced to his side, watching his coach scroll through some gameplay videos for possible teammates. Somehow, it felt right that the online best friend who nerds out about strategies that he can’t apply himself, was the tall man beside him.

Though honestly, Grian still expected Mumbo to be some hunched over nerd like he was. Who knew the man had not only looks and height, he had better posture than Grian.

The dirty blonde slumped in his chair and zoned out as Mumbo started introducing possible teammates, offering him options to form whatever team he wanted.

Grian didn’t listen much, still a little out of it. It is fairly weird that the coach of all people was asking the player who he wanted as teammates when it was supposed to be mainly the coach’s and the management’s job.

“Can I really pick the rest of my teammates?” He cut off Mumbo’s muttering in a familiar manner. Mumbo, as always, didn’t take offense and answered him.

“Of course.”

“And you’d support me?”

They held each other's stare longer than they should've. Mumbo broke into a smile.

“As I always have.”

–

“You’re stressing out Pearl again.”

Grian was half laying on his chair and lazily scrolling through the Grumbo tag on social media when Mumbo had come up to him with an unamused frown. Grian had half the respect for his coach to fix his seating arrangement and sat up properly to flash an innocent smile at Mumbo.

“I don’t seem to follow.”

Mumbo tugged at his hair in distress, familiar with Grian’s pretend dumb strategy. As a coach, you’d think that understanding strategies would be kept to the game, not applied even to his troublesome players.

“Sorry, let me rephrase then. You’re giving both Pearl and the PR team an extremely hard time to defend your honor.”

Grian sighs wistfully, “But you are my honor.”

Mumbo groaned and flushed red at that, “You’ve made that extremely clear with your interview!”

The dirty blonde shrugged and didn’t seem at all unapologetic. Seeing that he was once again going nowhere with attempting to horribly scold Grian, he leaned down and apologetically pecked the man on the forehead. Grian visibly perked up at that and blinked at Mumbo like he was expecting more.

Mumbo didn’t give him more, simply rolled his eyes and turned to leave, “Redo the interview tomorrow and you can negotiate for more.”

“MUUUUUUUUUUMBOOOOOOOOOOO!!!” Grian’s complaints fell to no one’s ears as Mumbo left the training room.

[nanamis-bigtie]

Round 4: It's Nice to Meet You

about, rules & navigation | previous round

You made a big step today - you're moving from dating app to an irl meeting! You planned a perfect outfit and packed all the necessities - and now you're on your way to the arranged spot. You simply can't wait to see how your chosen men will act around you when seeing you in person.

Remember you vote for a character you don't want to advance further! The character with the biggest number of votes will be eliminated.

Higuruma Hiromi

Meeting with a Tinder date in a place where lots of people can see you is a reasonable strategy but when you finally arrive at the small harbor, you start to worry you might actually miss your date amidst the crowd. You have his photos, a detailed description of his outfit for today and determination to climb a tree or something if needed to see him better—yet you worry it might not be enough. Not when you're running a little late and boarding has already started.

You keep stubbornly tiptoeing and straining your neck until the river of people pushes you closer to the cruise ship and forces you to accept your fate. Well, they won't let you in without a ticket anyway, so you may as well wait for him by the control point.

"Here!" A warm hand grabs your elbow and pulls you out of the stream, close to the barrier separating the pathway from the sea. "You're Y/N, right? I'm sorry, the crowd pushed me out of my spot."

He's shorter than you thought, on the rather average side if not shorter. Despite being a little overdressed for a vacation cruise and sweating in the full sun, he's beaming with a friendly smile, not bothered by the inconveniences. The same warm hand soon squeezes yours, firmly, with a little shake that has more in common with business meetings than with a date.

"I'm Hiromi. It's such a pleasure to finally see you in person."

As you exchange greetings and niceties, you join the queue and finally make your way to the deck. Much to your pleasant surprise, you're directed to the VIP section, with more comfortable seats, a separate bar and way less people around you two. He definitely didn't scrimp on his date plans.

"If you ever have enough of the noise and heat, we can move under the deck," he follows you to your chosen seat and takes one in front of you—close but keeping a respectful distance. "The VIP section is glazed. Ah, and there's another bar, too. Speaking of, would you like something to drink? Everything is on the ticket."

"You're well-versed," you point out once he's back with your drink of choice and a glass of orange juice for himself. "Not your first time here?"

"I like their cruises, I was on a few." Hiromi says with a blank face before he breaks into a smile again—and then into laughter. It might be a stress response, to resort to humor, but you like it on him. When he does so, he relaxes and his words come out more natural, finally shaking off the impression of a smooth but possibly not-so-honest talker. "And... Well, I won't lie, I had a date here already. In similar circumstances, even."

"How did it end?"

The answer is obvious and you're a little angry at yourself for slipping like this right at the beginning—but he takes it calmly, doesn't even try to hide his expression with glass when he takes a hearty sip, "I guess I didn't meet her expectations. But still had a good day. Both of us, I hope."

Nanami Kento

You decide to take the route right by the sea, barefoot on the wet strap of the sand, waves lazily licking your soles. Google maps lied a little about the distance towards the beach bar, but you don't mind—it's a very pleasant walk, with breathtaking views of the sun nearing the horizon and filling the sky and the sea with gold. You can barely tell the difference between them, even the sand under your feet blends into the whole scene, making you feel as if you were treading through the fields of glitter.

It's magical.

You haven't exchanged any guides regarding your meeting, but something tells you he won't be waiting inside. Being so drawn to the sea, he's bound to appear closer to your route—and indeed soon you recognize him in front of you, crouching by the sea and staring into the distance with peaceful expression. He's wearing long pants, folded a little under his knees and wet at the edges. At least his blue shirt has short sleeves, but it's barely unbuttoned under the stiff collar.

You don't want to interrupt his quiet moment with a sudden greeting, your steps slow down the more you approach as you unwittingly start to sneak. But he tells your presence with ease.

"I suppose you're the person I'm meeting tonight." He says as he gets up and straightens his back, his voice oh so deep yet, what you've already expected from him, dry and formal. "I'm Kento Nanami. It's a pleasure to meet you."

He wipes his hands dry with a handkerchief before he offers you one. The handshake is short, as if he was hesitant to touch you at this phase of the date. With a different person it would probably bother you but after the time you already spent together chatting it would weird you out far more if he suddenly acted less formal. You let him be; intuition whispers to you that trying to force him out of the shell will only irreversibly ruin the mood.

The bar—you've named it his favorite in your thoughts—is on the less busy side, small and cozy, and directed to the tourists who put pretty views and peace of mind over partying. You don't have to put shoes on to stay inside but you still choose one of the tables on the sand. There are more people around, but the music is calmer and melting just right with the hum of waves.

Kento compliments your choice, and you can pinpoint a shade of relief in his voice. He really wanted to stay on the beach but didn't want to go against your wishes, it seems.

After the waiter takes your orders—your date insists on paying and encourages you to order whatever you like—you finally have an opportunity to get a closer look at him. His face, neck and forearms are sprinkled with bland, sun-kissed freckles and his glasses left a little paler strip at the bridge of his nose. You expected his eyes to be blue but upon closer inspection you're not sure anymore what their color is.

"I got you something," he fishes a little bundle out of a pocket and offers it to you on open palm. "I— Hope this is not too forward? I haven't been on a Tinder date before. Please excuse me, if I'm doing something inappropriate."

Ryomen Sukuna

You've known he's huge from the very beginning. But you would have never expected he's THAT huge.

Your date towers over the crowd, the tallest of passing people reaching a little over his shoulders. He attracts attention without even meaning to; well, it would be hard for a man of such monstrous posture to blend in, especially with his pink-dyed hair and tattoos reaching as far as his face, but it's not his body that attracts most of the attention. Witnessing this charismatic, magnetic energy in real life has an even bigger impression on you than the glimpse of it you witnessed through Tinder.

You can't help but let it swallow you. You approach closer like a moth drawn by a light.

He's dressed simple—in jeans and white shirt—and it gives you a little confidence boost. You weren't sure if you had anything appropriate for an art gallery and felt your best choice still had you underdressed a little. Who could have known you would be invited to a photo exhibition? But if the originator of the whole adventure imposes a casual style, your outfit is more than fitting.

"Hi!" You announce your presence a few steps away from him. You tried to not get too close but you still have to strain your neck to look straight at his face.

Sukuna peels his eyes from his phone, puts it into the back pocket of his jeans, takes his sunglasses off and hangs them at the edge of his shirt, right at the casually open top button, "Y/N. Finally in person."

He takes a good look at you, from heads to toes. It's a fast flick of eyes, not lingering anywhere long enough to feel inappropriate, but you still can't shake the feeling of being scanned off. He must have been curious of you with the same intensity as you were about him...or so you hope. You're not entirely sure if his reactions are positive or not.

"I don't have a compliment that wouldn't be a shameless copy of what I already told you," he finally says with a smile. It's not a smile you would call pretty but it suits his features. It carries a hungry, almost dangerous, vibe to it—and it has you a little weak in the knees. "So, let me just say that the reality has greatly exceeded my expectations."

You want to return the favor with a compliment on your own but he doesn't let you, becoming you closer and herding you towards the door of the gallery.

"Unless you would prefer a lunch beforehand?" He asks, opening the door for you. There's some gallantry behind it but from his decisive moves and posture you guess it has less in common with being nice and more with a casual dominance. Sukuna is used to calling the shots, he's the leader of the pack, a man who doesn't hear a "no" often. Proposing you an alternative is a mere courtesy, not an option he really reckons with.

"Interaction with art works up an appetite." You decide to follow and see where it is going to lead you.

As you pass by him, he leans down and close, his face close to your ear now, "I promise you won't be bored with me."

Kusakabe Atsuya

You haven't visited the old part of the town yet, so you've been really looking forward to this meeting. Unfortunately, the weather had different plans for you and your little Tinder date. By the time you finally make it to the appointed spot—by a historic fountain on the western corner of the main plaza—the "concerning but not dangerous" clouds lingering over the horizon turn into a storm.

In panic and trying to find a safe spot between equally startled tourists, you struggle to send him an update. You just know he's one of those guys who would wait in the spot even if an apocalypse unrolled around. The last thing you want is to get him both wet and disappointed or worse. But you also can't stop and type in peace, unless you want to be run over or soaking wet yourself.

Finally, you manage to push past the crowd into an ice cream parlor and pounce at a free table for two. You send him your localization and pray he's not one of those middle aged guys who are technology-phobic.

He appears shortly after, wet and miserable. His shirt, undeniably elegant in its intended state, is almost transparent and clinging to every crevice of his hairy torso. Oh. That pool photo definitely wasn't photoshopped. From close and in motion he looks even more ripped.

Luckily, you, just in case, took a towel with you. You offer it to him and, reflexively, throw it on his head to do the drying yourself. He tenses under your hands but doesn't protest, eventually even leaning for it. You hear him exhale a little louder as you make your way through his hair and his shoulders tremble when you brush the towel at the back of his head.

But when you slide it down his neck, he gently takes it out of your hands and dabs the excess of water from his arms and torso on his own.

"I'm sorry, this wasn't supposed to go like that. Lemme at least—" Atsuya's face tenses in panic as he reaches for his wallet, soon to be replaced by an overwhelming relief at the sight of his money somehow surviving the deluge. "Lemme treat you for this inconvenience."

"Don't apologize, it's not your fault. Not more than mine, I could have checked the forecast too."

"I insist. Maybe at least a small coffee?"

After a few backs and forths you settle on something more than a coffee. After the show he gave you through the chat you haven't expected him to be quite smooth-tongued; in no time he backs you into a corner and keeps pressing until you agree to accept one of the more expensive positions from the menu to go with said coffee.

When your fancy ice cream desserts finally arrive and you reach for your spoons, you notice his hand trembles in a very characteristic way, one you would rather associate with an addict than a man hungry for a sweet treat.

He notices your curious stare but slips a hearty spoonful into his mouth before treating your curiosity, "I've quit smoking recently. When I need a cigarette, I go for sugar instead. Usually, I have lollipops on me but... I guess it doesn't suit dates, won't you agree?"

Ino Takuma

There aren't many people around, but the area is still noisy and buzzing. Apparently, the spot is popular with the local youth. At the first glance you're ready to bet there's not a single person older than mid-twenties within the range of your sight. Everyone is in swimsuits, predominately of the sports kind, and heading towards the cliffs. Some take a turn and make their way down, towards the wild beach nearby, some climb straight to the top.

You have a swimsuit on too, just hidden under the outfit you chose for the date. You stand out and it has you a little antsy, even if no one is staring. Maybe you have overdressed a little, but you really wanted to make a good impression on your companion.

Takuma, of course, is in swimming clothes only, too. He spots you from a distance, waves his greetings and comes running, beaming with an excited smile. He has longer hair than on photos from his profile; his selfies showed mostly his body, so you haven't really paid attention to anything above the neck level.

"It suits you," you let the thought slip aloud then point at the frivolous strands falling over his eyebrows.

"You think so?" He coils one on his finger. "They keep telling me I should finally get it cut. 'Cause I don't see what I'm doing. Even if I do."

"It would be a disservice."

"Then I'll keep it longer." He brushes the fringe out of his eyes, quite contrary to his statement about being able to see just fine. "For you."

You two join the group heading down to the sea. It's a lot of stairs to beat and you can't help but be a little anxious about climbing them back. It's hot and humid and, even if with your date's help, you'll definitely be spent after swimming. From what you've already assessed, there's quite a distance to make from the beach to the base of the cliffs.

Takuma notices your worried expression, "We don't have to swim right under the cliffs. To be honest... I don't think we can even. It could be dangerous."

"Usually it is safe!" He quickly adds, seeing the mixed feelings in your eyes. "But today we have cliff divers. We gotta stay at a distance."

Explains why some people head towards the top instead of the beach.

Chatting casually and savoring your stamina, you make it to the bottom of the stairs as the last ones from the group. Your date stays really close, and you have a feeling he's waiting for an opportunity for some casual physical contact, supporting you on a steeper stair, holding your hand or the like. You don't give it to him, curious if he's going to push his way unprompted, but he's patient, way more patient than you'd assume from his age and attitude.

"Have you ever tried it?" You point at the commotion in the distance and silhouette of a person jumping off the cliff.

"A few times, yeah." He protects his eyes from the sun with a hand, to see better. "But I prefer safer stuff. Don't want to get killed for an adrenaline kick. How would I then bathe in the sea with pretty people?"

Choso

Free ticket for a night-long concert is not a temptation you would be able to resist. Especially when it comes to this place. Since you were invited, you did a lot of research about this place and your excitement was only growing with each passing hour.

And when you found out there's going to be an unplanned change of the opening band—and that it's HIS band that's going to perform—you became simply ecstatic. You're going to have a rare chance of seeing this shy, rather insular man in his waters. You're insanely curious how is he going to behave on the stage, how is his voice going to sound from the speakers, how is he going to look in a scenic makeup and outfit.

He keeps apologizing through the whole day, though, for this sudden change of plans. You can't convince him that for you it's not an inconvenience or that you can go for another date if enjoying the concert from the audience together is what he really wants. He's stubborn in his panic and you start to worry he might actually call the whole deal off but eventually you get a dry "I hope you will like our performance" and you take it as his final decision.

You're welcomed and encouraged—and you're on your way to enjoy every single bit of this night.

The club is not particularly crowded but there's enough people to make for a decent audience. You order yourself a drink and settle on observing the scene from a safe distance. Now it's only him that matters to you. Dancing and partying and experiencing the concert to its fullest can wait.

Despite the different appearance you recognize him immediately. Visual kei style really suits him; it brings the best out of his naturally handsome face and adds him loads of confidence. You can't say you know him for real—you've chatted only on Tinder, after all—but he still feels like a completely different person when performing. His shyness and awkwardness is nowhere to be found, there's only his deep, velvet and full of expression voice and sultriness of his body and expressions. He doesn't move around much but he puts so much energy and passion into his presence that he somehow fills the scene, leaving the rest of the band behind himself.

You're so disappointed they played only two songs before they're called off and another band takes their place.

You send him a quick text, describing where you're sitting, and take a selfie with a barely touched drink in your hand. You were so lost in the performance that you forgot about it.

More or less in the middle of the new band's performance a man from security approaches you with an invitation to the backroom. You're almost shaking with excitement: the night just keeps getting better and better. Sneaking in like a groupie, about to see the lead voice of The Band in person!

From close, Choso looks tad tired and miserable—but it only adds to the charm. He's visibly nervous and does a little jump when he spots you at the door, then stutters when he's trying to greet and compliment you. Finally, he settles on just walking you to a more private area; you sit together on a fatigued sofa, bottles of cold soda in your hands.

"I'm sorry for the change of plans. I hope you had fun despite that?"

Geto Suguru

He's running late.

He warned you he had an unexpected event this morning and it threw the whole day for him upside down so you're not really angry - just a little bored when stuck alone in a cafe that's indeed perfect for audio sensation, providing you have a conversation partner to utilize that feature. On its own, the place is almost too silent, suiting more a library than a place to enjoy coffee and lunch. Majority of guests are busy with their laptops and books, the muffled hum of unvarying jazz music is interrupted only by the typical coffee bar commotion - and even that is less noisy than what you've seen around. As if the whole place was designed

You're not sure if you actually vibe with it - or quite contrary.

For the tenth time within the last twenty minutes, you check Tinder for updates. The last message from him came two hours ago, promising he will definitely make it, begging for your patience and promising to pay for everything you order today. You don't want to overuse his generosity, so you ordered yourself only a single coffee, from the bottom side of price range

The sound of the door opening should be a loud stimuli but in this weird place even this is not louder than a regular whisper. You don't pay it much more attention than simply noticing it happened, all of your focus plastered to the empty chat. Should you prompt him to hurry? He's not online though and as far as you're aware, he's driving, so he won't check anything until he's arrived anyway.

Maybe you will kill some time with checking other Tinder profiles... You had some new interested men, after all.

Out of sudden a big someone puts their big, warm hand over your eyes. It's not pressed tight to your face, but your vision is blocked by its palm and your senses full of the herbal scent of hand cream.

"Guess who?" Soft, elegant voice whispers right into your ear, so close you feel the warmth beaming from his breath. You heard it only a few times, modified by the speaker of your phone, but you have no problem pinpointing it to the right face.

"You scared me!" You don't intend to pretend otherwise. Before you connected the dots, your heart already started fluttering in your chest like a startled bird. Though, you're not sure whether the reason is solely fear - or the sudden, unexpected closeness too.

"I'm sorry." Suguru takes a seat in front of you, hangs his bag at the back of his chair. "For the prank and delay. I was stuck in traffic. What a horrible day."

He quickly studies the menu, then takes a look at your lonely glass, "Only a single coffee? I told you to spoil yourself. It's my treat."

You tease him, claiming you were afraid of being wimped out, but he doesn't follow the bait, answering as calmly and carelessly as possible without making the situation unintentionally tense. Together you decide on lunch, a new coffee for you and a green tea with honey for him.

"I chose this place for you to listen to my voice better, but I can't help but be selfish instead." Once back from the bar, Suguru leans in your direction, chin resting in his palm. "Your voice is mesmerizing. I'm glad I got to listen to it."

[ellenhghg]

It's a rainy day, and Zack is stuck home with his S/O.

The original plan was to have taken a picnic on this day, a hike and a river swim. UNFORTUNATELY, rain came with thunder and lighting.

Zack is clearly is disappointed none of his plans came to fruition...does the fun get spoiled since he's stuck at home with S/O?

P.s. there's LOTS of hot chocolate at home!!

Thank you for another request!! ♥ ♥ I hope you like it, poor guy needs all the cuddles. Feel free to request more ♥

Zack pouts as he stares out the rain-streaked window, watching lightning fork across the steel-grey sky. Of all the days for a storm to hit… He had such awesome plans for today!

"Man, this totally blows," he grumbles, flopping down on the couch with a huff. "No picnic, no hike, no swimming… Stupid rain, ruining all my hard work!"

He kicks his feet up on the coffee table, ignoring the disapproving look you shoot him from your cozy armchair. Normally he'd be all about snuggling up with you on a day like this, but right now? He's too busy wallowing in disappointment to appreciate the silver lining.

"I mean, I had it all mapped out, babe!" Zack throws his hands up, gesturing expansively. "The perfect spot by the river, a totally drool-worthy menu, even a little surprise for when we got to the top of the trail… Ugh, why'd the weather have to pick TODAY to throw a tantrum?"

He slumps further into the cushions, lower lip jutting out in an exaggerated pout. You have to bite back a smile at the picture he makes - your big, badass SOLDIER, sulking like a kid whose birthday party got rained out.

"Aw, c'mon honey," you soothe, setting aside your book and moving to join him on the couch. "I know you had your heart set on today, but it's not the end of the world. We can always reschedule for next weekend, right?"

Zack just grumbles, stubbornly avoiding your gaze. You sigh, reaching out to card your fingers through his hair, scratching lightly at his scalp the way you know he loves.

"Tell you what," you murmur, leaning in close. "How about we make the most of being stuck inside, hm? We've got plenty of hot chocolate, a whole queue of movies to watch… and maybe a bit of 'indoor recreation' to keep us occupied, if you catch my drift…"

You punctuate the last bit with a playful eyebrow waggle, gratified to see Zack's pout twitch into a reluctant grin. He finally turns to face you, mako-bright eyes sparkling with renewed mischief.

"Indoor recreation, huh?" He loops an arm around your waist, tugging you into his lap with a cheeky grin. "I like the sound of that… Gotta say, babe, you sure know how to cheer a guy up!"

You laugh, booping him on the nose. "Well, I DO have a vested interest in keeping my favorite SOLDIER happy… even if he DOES act like a big baby sometimes."

"Hey!" Zack yelps, looking affronted. "I am NOT a baby! I'm a very manly man, I'll have you know! Practically oozing testosterone over here!"

He flexes exaggeratedly, waggling his eyebrows at you. You just roll your eyes, shoving playfully at his chest.

"Uh huh, sure thing, stud. A very manly man who pouts when his plans get rained out…"

"Alright, alright, I get it!" Zack throws up his hands in mock surrender, a rueful grin tugging at his lips. "No more sulking, I promise. From now on, it's nothin' but good vibes and cozy times!"

To prove his point, he reaches out and snags the fluffy throw blanket from the back of the couch, draping it over both of your laps with a flourish.

"There, see? Instant snuggle heaven! All we need now is some of that hot chocolate and we're set!"

You laugh, shaking your head at his antics. "Alright, my very manly man. You get the movie queued up, I'll go fix us some cocoa. Deal?"

"Deal!" Zack grins, stealing a quick kiss before releasing you from his lap. "Make mine extra marshmallow-y, yeah? Gotta get my sugar fix somewhere, since SOMEONE vetoed my 'all junk food' picnic menu…"

You just snort, flicking him lightly on the forehead as you stand. "Yeah, because 'all junk food all the time' is totally conducive to staying in fighting shape, right? Gotta protect this SOLDIER bod!"

You give his abs a playful poke, delighting in the way he squirms away with a yelp. Zack's always been ticklish, much to your endless amusement.

"Alright, alright, I give!" he laughs, batting your hand away. "No more junk food slander, I get it! Now go on, woman, fetch me my cocoa! Your very manly man demands sustenance!"

You flip him off with a grin, sashaying towards the kitchen with an exaggerated sway of your hips. "Sir, yes sir! Anything for my big, strong, SOLDIER boy~"

Zack's laughter follows you out of the room, warm and bright. As you bustle around the kitchen, fixing up two mugs of cocoa (extra marshmallows for Zack, just a sprinkle of cinnamon for you), you can't help but smile to yourself.

Mugs in hand, you make your way back to the living room, ready to snuggle up with your favorite goofball and while away a cozy, rainy day.

Zack looks up as you enter, a wide grin splitting his face. He's got the blanket arranged just so, the TV already queued up to your favorite feel-good flick. The sight makes your heart melt, a surge of affection rushing through you.

"One extra marshmallow-y cocoa for my very manly man," you announce, handing him his mug with a flourish. "And one cinnamon-spiced for me, because I'm a classy broad like that."

Zack snorts, taking a big slurp of his cocoa. He comes away with a marshmallow mustache, grinning unrepentantly. "Mm, you sure do know how to spoil a guy, babe! C'mere, I need my cuddle partner!"

He sets his mug aside and opens his arms invitingly, waggling his eyebrows. You laugh, settling yourself against his broad chest and pulling the blanket up to your chin.

"Mm, this is more like it," Zack murmurs, nuzzling into your hair. "Who needs a picnic when we've got a perfect setup right here? Snuggles, hot chocolate, cheesy movies… I'm in heaven!"

You hum in agreement, lacing your fingers with his. "See? Rainy days aren't so bad after all. Especially when you've got the right company…"

Zack chuckles, pressing a kiss to your temple. "You got that right, babe. There's nobody I'd rather be stuck inside with than you. Even if you DO veto my junk food binges and make fun of my very manly sulking…"

You elbow him lightly, grinning. "Hush, you. Less sassing, more snuggling. I'm trying to watch the movie!"

Zack just laughs, pulling you closer. "Sir, yes sir! Operation Snuggle is a go!"

And with that, he settles in to enjoy a cozy, love-filled day at home with his favorite person. Rain or shine, every day is perfect as long as he's got you by his side.

[bomberqueen17]

what fresh hell

ugh so remember that post about my thumb and cellulitis

well i finished the ten-day course of antibiotics onnnnn July 27th, I've just counted it out now.

Yesterday, August 4th, I noticed a mosquito bite on my hand was exceptionally itchy. By the afternoon I had narrowed down that it was on the same thumb where I'd had the infected cut. By evening i was starting to suspect that it was not a mosquito bite, because the other bites I'd received that day had all calmed down and this one was only itching more.

This morning, August 5th, it is distinctly swollen, with a darker red patch at the center of the almost-blister. It is radiating pain out to the main joint of my thumb and around the back of my hand. This is not a mosquito bite. There was no reinjury. This is the infection recurring at the initial site, apropos of nothing as far as I can tell.

I am deeply unimpressed with the situation. I guess I'll try Urgent Care. Of course I'm 300 miles away from my primary care physician.

Upsettingly, when I went to google maps and typed in Urgent Care, it was clearly displaying me paid results-- only facilities from one particular company showed up, including closed sites. I was thinking of a specific one, so I scrolled manually on the map to the site where I know it was, and it showed me the neighboring businesses, so I zoomed in and zoomed in and zoomed in until finally it showed me the name of the urgent care where I'd been before-- which, I might add, had a name that contained the syllables "urgent care" spelled correctly, which the company it was preferentially showing does not-- and even then the name it showed me, that I had specifically zoomed in for, was not clickable and i had to go and manually type it into the search bar.

To discover that yes, that site does open today, in about an hour. So I think I'll go there, even though they get mixed reviews and didn't do a fantastic job on my stitches when I was there in April. (According to Google. You last visited in April. You don't think my search algorithm should show me places I've visited when I search for that thing again? *cough* Could it be any more transparently not an algorithm for my benefit?) They did fine, and that's all I care about really, and also if they say "this is outside our abilities" like the urgent care in Buffalo did when i showed up with the cellulitis streaking down my arm, the nearest hospital is much closer to that one than to the place Google wants me to go.

IDK I just feel like there shouldn't be manipulation of urgent healthcare results that make you travel farther. I honestly feel like there shouldn't be paid placement in maps at all, especially not ads that unsafely disrupt your use of a thing you're meant to use while driving, but obviously I do not make laws. But really, hiding the closest urgent care, to which I've been before, from me when I searched for it is a bit much, don't you think?

Anyway I'm throwing this into the queue and if I know anything more before it posts I'll update-- oh yes, update, the urgent care PA first wanted me to try allergy meds for a possible insect bite despite how large and swollen this was, but then i took off my watch and discovered that it is streaking down my wrist again, and she believed me then that it's a recurrence of the infection. she prescribed me the kind of antibiotic that makes you allergic to the sun, but if it gets any worse I have to go to the ER to get a culture from it to find out what kind of critter it is that's definitely haunting me.

Official diagnosis: Haunted Thumb

[racke7]

Me vs FF14

I've been raising the levels on my DPS-jobs (trying to get them all to fifty), and so I've been using the leveling-queue.

(Ifrit is still fucking bullshit and shouldn't fucking be there)

Had a WHM get completely lost in a dungeon, and had to talk them through how to get to us.

Saw another DPS with some kind of "go tank and pull everything"-chat macro, which... is kind of none of their fucking business as a DPS? The ones deciding on how fast and hard we should go are the tank and healer who are the ones making sure we don't fucking wipe. The fucking disrespect.

A tank actually used their Limit-Break during the final boss-fight. Against a boss that does basically fuck-all damage. Had to take a moment after that dungeon to stare at a wall, because what the fuck.

On a not-actually related note to that last one, I've now mapped the "target-priority"-button to a hotkey, so I can tell people to not bother with targeting the adds when they don't need to.

I've also created a few chat-macros of my own for things like "sound alert telling the tank to set tank-stance" and "basic rules a tank should know" which are as follow:

"Pull until your healer asks you to stop"

"Never stop using your AOE"

"Don't move around unless you have to"

The reasons for the first is that the tank sets the tempo of the dungeon, and some tanks are scared of wiping. Wipes happen. Inattention, greed, random chance.

Your job is to go as fast as you can, and to try and not-die when everything catches up to you, and the one who gets veto on how you do that? Is the healer. So pull as much as you can, and if you wipe or your healer complains? Slow down.

(Everyone else can shut their fucking mouths about it.)

The second one is there because I kept seeing tanks who lost the fucking aggro, despite having tank-stance active. And this is usually because they either don't use their AOE-skill (probably not helped by the novice-tutorial shit telling tanks to "stop using" AOE once a target is "captured" which is bullshit and bad math), or they're not standing in a place where they actually hit the enemies.

But if it's the latter, then they can usually be caught by the tank by just having the targeted sucker run into the tank's AOE-range. Which only works as long as the tank keeps using the AOE.

(The math in this case is: there aren't really a single-target skill that does more than 300~ dmg. Even the shit AOE-skills do 100. So up against three targets? AOE is just more DPS. And you should be up against groups of like... six or more.)

The third and final bit was added specifically for that one tank who thought he was a fucking bard and was running back and forth like an idiot.

There are a few different reasons for it though.

First is that if the tank stands in one place? Everyone else can move so that they don't get hit by things like non-telegraphed cleave-attacks.

Second is that if the tank doesn't move? Then neither does the enemies, so it's a lot easier for the DPS to do their positionals correctly (ie, "hit from behind" etc).

Third is that if reinforcement shows up? The non-tanks can just move to stand behind the tank, forcing the new arrivals to go through the tank first (at which point the tank's AOE would pick them up).

So. Those are my three "tank 101"-macros.

Since I'm suddenly on the subject. Added tank-lesson for anyone wanting to try it is that ranged mobs? They have to attack through line-of-sight. So running behind a corner before you stop will force ranged-mobs into AOE-range.

However, it'll also break your healer's line-of-sight though, so they won't be able to heal you until they can catch up. Be warned.

(An easier option is often to just run past their base-range until they mass, and then run back to them.)

Speaking of fun buttons, I also found out that the "confirm"-button actually lets you select nearby objects. So if you bind it to a convenient button and double-press, you don't have to worry about people blocking your mouse-clicks.

[35mmproject]

Update

If you're reading this it means I didn't finish updating the blog in time and there might be a short break in posts while I finish that up. I think I've nailed down a much smoother way of running this blog that also expands on the tag system while severely cutting down on admin/behind the scenes time. It's taken a few weeks, even longer by the time this post lol but it will make things better moving forward.

Mostly I've been working on a master spreadsheet and formulas/scripts that will compile and draft posts for me based on the spreadsheet information, then I just need to go through the drafts, add whatever touches need to be done, and queue it up! (I am not an excel girlie nor am i a programming girlie which is why all this took so long lmao)

I've also got my hands on both new scanning software and an actual decent photo editor, so I can do quick edits both on my computer and my phone, and good, sellable edits on my computer. With the new scanning software I should be able to go back and re-scan the slides that clearly didn't scan correctly but I was too busy to fix the first time around. (June 10th update: fuck that new software. Keeps closing in the middle of scanning. Returning to ol' reliable Cyberview X)

Alongside all that I've also been working on updating the blog to the new, more consistent, tags. I have another spreadsheet that grabs all posts and let's me fix the tags, which I just copy/paste from the master spreadsheet when I have a bunch done, and then auto-fixes them in the post. So with that being said maybe...scroll back through and see if I've added anything to your favorite picture? I've been doing a lot of google maps hunting haha. Please validate me. Last note: please ignore the slight jump in photo ID's. We are now at the point where my first hard drive crapped out and I had to start a second so a wedding got cut in half and I'm waiting to see what I can recover from the first drive before posting that particular batch, so I'm skipping to the next one: China 1985. Anyways. Thanks for being here and reading this. Love you. Have a nice day.

[mygainyear2024]

Day 64 Sick in Sintra!

I knew today was going to require some effort and as the day progressed so did my symptoms, watery eyes, runny nose, sneezes - I'm also aware there's a bit of coughing around me, so I'm not the only one.

I ditched the Uber option as yesterday's tour guide said there were often accidents on the route that could cause three hour delays. I walked 30 minutes to Rossio station via the Copenhagen Coffee Lab to grab a takeaway smoked salmon bagel and coffee. The train was about 40 minutes.

First stop Casa Piriquita for Sintra's traditional pastry (each region in Portugal has its own traditional pastry), a travesseiro, quite delicious served warm.

I then hightail it to Quinta da Regaleira and the Initiation Well, a long queue had already formed so no chance of getting pictures without tourists. I wondered the grounds and the palace after. Others had advised to take some layers to Sintra due to the microclimate and I was looking forward to some cooler weather, however I think that was gazumped by my own body temperature. I did enjoy that smoked salmon bagel with a view of the palace. Next stop, a short uphill walk to Tivoli Palácio de Seteais, now a 5 star hotel. The guide yesterday said to make sure I included this stop, walk to the arch and turn around for a view of Pena. I could see Pena but the photos did not do the scene justice, plus there were people standing in the middle of the foreground who would not move!

The Uber option was slow to Pena Palace so I opted to go to Monserrate next. It was much quieter there and slightly cooler. I did enjoy this experience better. It was hurried though as I was keen to get to Pena as I knew it would be heaving with tourists and was quite a distance.

Well I had not realised quite how far and how windy it would be to Pena, it felt like more than 30 minutes and the place was pretty busy. Others advised not to bother with tickets inside the Palace, just walk the exterior, which I did. It's certainly a site! I then walked to the Valley of the Lakes exit, expecting to see a great view of the Palace but I missed that. A guy offering rides back down the hill in his jeep informed me there was a much shorter way back to Sintra, off road. My offline maps indicated it was a 38 minute walk. Well I slipped most of the way down the off road track, thought I was lost again, and felt very relieved to hear traffic so opted for the road for the last 26 minutes! By this time I'd had enough of myself and headed back to train.

Do not take my advice about the order of things. In hindsight first stop Pena, then walk to the Moorish Castle (which I chose to miss, but I saw it in the distance from Pena), it's possible to then walk to Quinta de Regaleira from there (off road or on road), then Seteais for that view, then transport to Monserrate. There were many other things I missed, so if there's time I'd strongly recommend two nights or more in Sintra, as Cascais and Cabo da Roca are easily accessible from here too. I'll let the pictures, below Regaleira (and separate picture posts, speak for themselves).

I hope to sort the posts for the missed days shortly, particularly my day in Braga, as it was a highlight of the Portugal trip.

Right now Rose is getting ready for her lift to Brisbane Domestic Airport and she'll be on a flight to Melbourne, then to Madrid via Hong Kong and I'll meet her at Madrid Airport Wednesday morning my time. Super excited to be able to hang out with her for the remainder of my gap quarter.

[chaosheadspace]

Part two! Thank you to @ginjones and @chaosclimber for looking this over. Here goes!

The earliest Dream could manage to return to The White Horse was four days later. The day before yesterday he had published a glowing review for it, completely disregarding his former assignment, refusing to give the Magpie any sort of acknowledgement. Then he’d had to answer for that to his editor, who dressed him down until Dream had raised an eyebrow and showed Cornell the statistics for his article, clicks and comments miles above his usual reviews.

Cornell had sighed and rolled his eyes, and given him a few days off while he drafts a new strategy. Which was fine by Dream, who had waited for an opportunity to go and see Hob again and maybe eat some of his food. Okay, definitely eat some of his food again. Dream’s mouth waters just at the thought of it. He’s here earlier than last time, having found the place easily by looking it up on social media, which it already had a fairly impressive presence on. He also, just in case, marked the spot where he was parked on his GPS.

So there is nothing stopping him from enjoying his day fully. The weather is nice, the forecast said it would be hot today– one of those late weeks in May where the temperature would ramp up and then mellow again after seven to ten days, heralding the coming summer. When Dream comes up to the corner he remembers from last time, now able to properly slot the place in his mental map, he can see the end of a queue snaking around it.

A smile spreads over Dream’s face. This is what he’d hoped for. He rounds the corner, ignoring the queue, and is faced with a crowd three times as large as the one from his last visit, despite it being three hours earlier. Hob is moving even faster than last time, sometimes glancing disbelievingly over the huge mass of people. Dream watches as Hob practically flies around in his truck, feeling a little stab of guilt as the crowd doesn’t decrease with every customer served but actually grows *larger.* Maybe he should have warned Hob.

Making a decision, he swiftly walks up to the truck, elbowing his way through the people, and opens the door at the side.

“Hi,” he says, giving the interior a quick look and then turns to the tap on his right to wash his hands.

“You can’t be in here,” Hob says immediately, ladling rice into a container, topping it with curry. “Sorry, Dream. Nice to see you again, by the way—yes, that’s ten pounds, thank you.” He hands over a bag with the box and some naan, stuffing some napkins into it before it’s picked off the counter. “ I don’t know what happened, but as you can see—with the lamb? Yeah, okay, one second—as you can see, I’m incredibly busy.”

“Yes, that would be my fault,” Dream says.

That actually makes Hob stop for a few seconds, staring. “What?”

“Yes, I will explain later. What’s important right now is that I have a basic food hygiene certificate and am willing and able to help.”

Hob hands another box over the counter, and then shrugs. “Doesn’t really matter,” he says matter-of-factly. “At this rate I’m gonna be sold out in half an hour.”

Dream bites his lip, thinking. “Are your suppliers still open?”

Hob shrugs again, his t-shirt riding up a bit. “Probably—yeah, that's one Paneer, two chicken and garlic naan—but it’s not like I can just up and—Oh.” He leans out over the counter and bellows, “You're all gonna get an extra three minutes to think over what you wanna order!” And then whips out his phone.

He opens two chilled drawers and inspects their contents as the line connects, and opens a cupboard as the person on the other end picks up. “Hey Gilbert, have you—no, nothing’s wrong with my order, just the opposite. Have you still got—”

He quickly lists a whole barrage of things. “You can do it? Awesome. My man’s gonna be there in fifteen.”

“So I'm your man now?” Dream teases, a hand on his hip.

Hob grins at him while scribbling down a note, and Dream's stomach swoops. “Certainly. If you'll be quick, you'll still be my man when you come back.”

“See you in twenty, then.” Dream takes the note.

Hob wiggles his eyebrows and blows him a kiss before turning away. “Okay, who's next?”

Traffic makes sure that it takes Dream exactly thirty-eight minutes to come back, knocking at the door of the truck with his foot, because his hands are busy with two crates of veggies, peas, and coconut milk.

“You’re still my knight in shining armour, don't worry,” Hob says as he opens. “Wash your hands, take an apron and hairnet from behind the door, and I hope you know how to chop veggies.”

It gets even more busy after that.

Over the course of the next three hours, Dream gets to know the inside of Hob’s food truck better than his own flat. They set up a new pot of curry, and Hob starts a new dough for naan. They twirl and shift around each other, two halves of a whole. Hob doesn't let him anywhere near the till though, but that's just fine by Dream.

He fills orders, washes utensils, hands over boxes and plates, chops vegetables, stirs, skewers and flips, and it’s the most fun he’s had in years. Although Dream suspects that this has something to do with Hob working right alongside him, shouting and laughing, joking with his customers and giving out free samosas to kids.

They take a short break in the space between the first batch of curry being sold out and the new batch being not quite ready. Hob makes Dream mango lassi and takes a lemonade for himself, and loads a plate with chickpeas and tikka they both pick from.

It's the most content Dream has felt in years. His senses are full with coriander and chilli and chaat masala, heating his mouth and stomach; just as the sun heats his back, just as the sight of Hob, eating with his fingers and smiling, warms his heart and makes his insides prickle. The lassi smoothes over his tongue, washing away the tingle of flavour, every bite afterwards fresh and exciting again, spike after spike of pure joy over something as simple as eating a meal.

And then it's back to it, in the hot, cramped, wonderful space between the burners and the counter, the chill of the fridge raising the hairs on Dream's legs whenever someone orders a cold drink.

Dream’s head is filled with the hearty smell of curry and spiced yoghurt, his skin flushed from the heat radiating from the stove and the grill, and maybe the proximity to the very attractive owner of the establishment. Sweat is running down Hob’s temple, staining his lower back, and Dream is very thankful that he can only concentrate on him a few seconds at a time, or this would become a total disaster.

Their hips and legs and arms brush frequently in the small space inside the truck, and Dream has to keep himself from listing towards Hob every time. Dream is drawn to him with magnetic force, and it’s so hard to resist, but resist he does. He’s doing this for Hob, to help remedy the fact that this is basically his fault.

At long last, they sell the last of the curry, long after the chickpeas and the samosas are gone, over an hour later than Hob usually closes down his truck. The only things left are some naan, a batch of paneer and some cut vegetables they bag and put in the fridge. Dream watches as Hob puts away the spices and bags and takeaway containers, helps him wash up the utensils and grill cover, wipe the counters and the stove, and close the front of the truck before going back in to close up properly.

The energetic, almost hectic atmosphere has mellowed, slipping into something comfortable and easy somewhere between the last customer saying goodbye and Dream wringing out a rag soaked with sudsy water, between Hob leaning against the counter to take a deep breath after the onslaught of people had been over and taking the rag out of Dream’s wet fingers to lovingly wipe down the surfaces.

It amazes Dream so much, the amount of care and love Hob puts into everything, his food, his truck, even his jokes. The last time, when he’d walked Dream to his car, he’d told him how and why he’d picked his suppliers, not going for the cheapest ones but the ones that could give him the best product within reasonable pricing, ones that are as close as possible, ones that he intends to stay in business with until he one day, hopefully, has his own restaurant, and, if possible, beyond that. Had told him of his grandma’s recipes, and how he’d tweaked them, of the weeks he’d spend crafting his menu, of the agonising months he’d spend trying to secure a loan. Hob was close to paying it off now, one step closer to his goals.

And Dream had been impressed,, and later, lying awake in his bed, had decided to give The White Horse a little nudge. He’s rather glad it has worked so well, and so quickly.

They squeeze past each other, Hob on the way to the till, Dream on the way to wash his hands again, and time just—stops. Hob's hand is splayed on Dream's arm, and Dream's hand is grabbing Hob's hip, both of them caught in the liminal space between two seconds that's stretching into minutes, halting like a fist tightening around Dream’s heart. The stark light inside the truck peppers sparkles into Hob's mesmerising eyes.

Dream's gaze drops down to Hob's mouth, to the soft, plush swell of his lower lip. His own lips part, maybe to say something although he doesn't know what, and on his next inhale his senses are filled with Hob, with his musky scent, with the sweat of a full day's work. It's more enticing than the buttery curry, more delicious than the spicy chickpeas, sudden proximity and warmth sending his stomach spiralling with an exciting swoop.

And Hob watches him, waiting, open, smiling, and there's just one way that the universe can move, really, here in the narrow space between two counters, protected by steel and plastic. There's a low hunger in Dream, a certainty that his yearning can be quenched by the heat in front of him, by following the pull he feels behind his navel, the promise of shared breath and wetness almost making him sigh.

So he leans forwards and kisses Hob, presses him against the till that's thankfully bolted to the counter. Hob is warm, so warm and alive it sinks directly into Dream's stomach. Hob groans, fingers on Dream's arm tightening, his other hand cupping Dream’s face. He tastes like naan and lemonade, like the sunshine of his skin and soul, like home, as Dream slowly licks his way inside.

He belongs here, in Hob's arms, there's no doubt about it, the curve of Hob's elbow fitting snugly around Dream's waist, Hob's palm cupping his cheek like it was the mould it was formed in.

His insides prickle with pleased anticipation as Hob's hand shifts to the back of his head, pulling him close, pulling them flush. Dream's moan makes Hob shiver.

“Mmmh, what’s this then?” Hob gasps as they pause for breath, leaning their foreheads together, not bothering to open his eyes.

“An apology?” Dream tries. “I did write a review on your truck, which is very likely the reason for today’s invasion.” They're still pressed against each other, and their easy, conversational tone should be a juxtaposition to their grasping closeness, but somehow it's not.

Hob laughs, disbelieving. “You did what?” It mellows, though, as he looks at Dream and sees his earnest expression. “Wait, you did?”

“Oh yes,” Dream confirms, smoothing his hand over Hob's hipbone.

“So what you’re saying is, you boosted my business, gave me the best run in months, and now you’re apologising by snogging my face off?” Hob laughs again, and Dream thinks he could never grow tired of this. Hob raises an eyebrow, a mischievous glint in his eyes. “You know what, I’m not convinced. I think you should apologise again.”

Dream smirks, gently sliding a hand upwards over Hob’s damp t-shirt, his shoulder, his neck, and buries his hand in Hob’s hair. ��Gladly,” he says, and dips forward again.

@valeriianz @wizardofgoodfortune you asked for a tag <3

Hob is happy serving up good food and feeding people comfort food from his truck -- he's not looking to be famous; Dream is a Michelin star judge who stumbles upon his truck and loves his food.

Dream is used to liking small portion tasting menus with ingredients sourced from yurts or dug up during an irregular moon cycle. Comfort food that "sticks to your bones" is not what Dream eats, even when he needs comfort!

Dream stumbles on this food truck when he gets lost looking for his car after having a forgettable meal at the hot new speakeasy concept that recently opened.

Eating/tasting is a job and Dream is so tired of his function. So when he hears music and people having fun, Dream figures he can at least ask someone where he is and/or get his bearings. What he see when he rounds the corner are people queued up at a funky painted food truck -- laughing, joking?! with someone who is making his food safety hair net look good, and happily eating. The smell hits Dream in the face -- it's so good.

When Dream makes it to the counter, he forgets that he needs directions, hot chef hairnet, is so pretty - engaging smile, the stereotypical tattoos on his forearms, soft doe eyes -- Dream is momentarily speechless. When the chef ask him what he wants, Dream says surprise me (the same Dream who always has a plan when he's eating for his job); he gets a roguish smile and a wink,,,,, and falls a little in love.

Then he tries the food he's handed falls all the way in love.

Oh, this hit me right in the soft spot!! Absolutely love it.

I can so imagine Dream being used to those nouveau cuisine dishes where you get like, a sliver of horseradish, one grain of rice and a sauce made from gold leaf. He thinks that he likes it, that he's reasonably content. But he's never looked at one of those kind of plates and smiled. Not the way he's smiling at the loaded paper plate Hot Hair Net chef just gave him.

He sits a little way from the truck and eats, slowly, carefully. There's pilau rice, delicious curry, veggies that are clearly fresh. Its warm and filling, and Dream can't quite finish it all. But he's still smiling.

And he still doesn't know where his car is. So he goes to the counter again. The gorgeous chef seems to be packing up for the day and he positively beams at Dream. "Back already? I was hoping I'd get a chance to feed you up, but I didn't think it'd be so soon."

Dream blushes and asks for directions, and Hob says that if Dream can wait a minute, he'll walk there with him. His car is over that way too. While Hob packs up, Dream dares to ask about his ingredients, and Hob absolutely lights up while he talks about where he sources his fresh stuff, how much he values his suppliers, and how excited he is to keep building his business. He's got dreams of a restaurant someday, although he dearly loves his truck - maybe he'll do both!

By the time Hob helps him find his car, Dream is absolutely ready to give his heart and soul over on a paper plate. There are spices zinging on his tongue, and Hob has taken off his hair net to reveal an adorable, sexy little man-bun. He's got measuring spoon tattoos on his hands. Dream wants him.

He's back the next day. And the next. He's driving out of his way to get to Hob. Nothing else tastes good. And when he finally, shyly asks if Hob would like to come over for dinner sometime, Hob lights up. "It's about time you cooked for me! I'd love it. And... I'll bring dessert."

When Hob winks at Dream this time, he follows it up with a kiss on the cheek. And Dream’s not hungry anymore. He's just thirsty 😉

[lizzy-williams]

❝𝚂𝚘𝚖𝚎𝚋𝚘𝚍𝚢 𝚃𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝙸 𝚄𝚜𝚎𝚍 𝚃𝚘 𝙺𝚗𝚘𝚠❞

៚Warnings: Yandere themes, language, suggestive stuff, Peter being very mentally unstable, manipulation.

៚Masterlist

៚Yandere Prompts

៚Summary: You and Peter have been broken up for some time, and only after you broke up, you realized how manipulative he was. But he wants you back. And he's not going to stop until he gets what he wants.

៚Request: can you please do prompts 12 and 22 from your delusional yandere prompts list with yandere!peter parker, please?

៚A/N: I like the idea of yandere characters so please send requests :)

You were so pretty like this. Your face covered in a stoic, peaceful expression, the New York autumn air blowing gently in through your open window, your thin curtains dancing softly at the stimulation. It was nights like these that Peter liked best.

To watch you from the window was so unfair. He wanted to be in your bed, holding you close, just like he used to, rather than sneak around because you gave him no other choice. It wasn't fair that you looked this perfect, even when you weren't his.

And he was thoroughly convinced that you knew what you were doing. That you knew you teased him, the duvet down, barely covering the hem of your panties as you slept so soundly in your tank top, your nipples apparent through the thin fabric.

He had been slacking on his patrol. But for you, he'd do anything. He was doing you a service. New York did perfectly fine without Spiderman before, so what's the harm in letting just a few more bad guys roam around? This was his kitten. His joy. The source of his happiness.

Everything he ever did for you was out of love. Sure, he disapproved of a majority of your friends and distanced you from them frequently, but he assured you that it was for the best. That he was doing this for you. It was all for you.

But his control didn't stop at friends. It bled into other aspects of your personal life. You couldn't wear certain things. Couldn't talk to certain people, even if they talked to you first. But every time you protested, Peter would always reassure you with his head between your thighs, telling you that nobody could love you like he could. Nobody.

Peter knew how people were; he was sure of it. He had seen it first hand. The monstrosities of New York that could hurt his kitten. And he couldn't have that.

But it could only work for so long. 5 days and 2 hours ago, you finally reached your wit's end, and did something that Peter never thought possible from you. You broke up with him. You tried to tell him that you loved him but you needed space. But Peter was like a boa constrictor, knowing that he could never let you slip away from him; not truly.

So he let you believe it was over. But it wasn't.

Now, there he sat, there in your window, watching over you as the moonlight gleamed on you, making you angelic and fragile. The fragile kitten that he was always so afraid to break.

You suddenly shifted in your sleep, turning away from the light of the window with the looming shadow and now to your wall, murmuring something in your sleep. But then there was what you murmured that made Peter's eyebrows furrow.

It was soft, oh so soft, but he heard it. And he knew what he heard. A name that wasn't his own. He felt betrayed. Red, hot, and boiling. It hurt, it really did. He flashed back to intimate moments with you under him as he begged you to tell him that he was the only one. And that what you said. He was the one the only one.

Without thinking, his mind in autopilot, he approached your bed, a silent panther stalking a lamb before taking his mask off. Pressing the jet black spider on his chest, the suit slid off like melting ice to a pool at his feet.

He silently slipped under the covers as quiet as a mouse, praying you wouldn't wake up. At least not until he was comfortable with you.

As if on queue, once Peter was fully behind you, your back pulled into his chest, you stirred, your eyes fluttering open in childish confusion.

"P-Peter?" you whimpered out, realizing the warm weight on your waist.

"Hey Kitten," he smiled as you turned around in horror, "Did you miss me? Because I really missed you."

You were stunned, frozen in place, not daring to move. Too frightened. It was as if you were jinxed by the gods, the one man you never wanted to see again now holding you close as if you hadn't been broken up for as long as you had been.

You didn't know what to do. You silently started mapping out an escape. You couldn't use strength, he beat you 0 to 10 on that one. You needed to use your wits.

"H-Hey Peter. Of course, I missed you," you lied through your teeth as you turned over and snuggled (begrudgingly) into his nude chest, and he almost purred in excitement, your soft facade working like a charm.

"Aw, I'm so glad to hear that, baby. I missed holding you like this. You really are my perfect girl, huh?"

When you were a couple, the praise would melt you. Have you running back for more. But now, you were like stone. You knew what he was doing. And it didn't work on you anymore.

"You treated me like such a stranger... I would wave to you in the halls but you never did anything back." he almost whined, "It felt so wrong."

"Sorry... I just," you swallowed, trying your best not to freeze up in fear, "I had to get to my classes. Have s-such a busy schedule, you know?"

Peter went rigid and cold, his grip on you tightening making you silently wince.

"Our love comes first. Everything else is secondary." he gritted, acting as if it were common knowledge. His tone was dark; a warning.

You nodded and added on a barely audible 'sorry' as you hid against him.

If you really were to get out, where would you go? There really was no other place in the world where he couldn't find you. He could out-run you as well. Escape now seemed like a hopeless, fleeting motion as you sunk lower against the mattress in defeat. A surrender.

"Get your rest, kitten. When we wake up, we're going to have so much fun...,"

[hatespirates]

" LUFFY ! " there's no mistaking the anger in her voice . how else is she supposed to react when there's a reckless young pirate hanging carelessly from the mast of the ship ? she shifts her weight , arms crossing as she glares up at the dark - haired boy . " you have five seconds to get down before i get usopp to SHOOT you down . "

@goodpirate

[kissofmistletoe]

.

[exlibrisfangirl]

All your posts on my dash making me want to watch Teen Wolf even though I'm pretty sure it's not really my taste.

Haha... sorry. (But not really. But kinda, lol.) I am trying to sprinkle bits and pieces of other things into my queue as well, in a lazy effort to keep my blog from looking like an exclusively Teen Wolf blog while I'm busy wallowing in my bubbling cesspool of rewatch feels. (Aaaand it's not going to stop anytime soon, because I am teaching myself how to make gifs, and I plan to do ANOTHER rewatch to map out what gifsets I want to make.) Back-to-back marathons? WHY, YES. DON'T MIND IF I DO. ;)

Out of curiosity, what makes you think you wouldn't like it? Is it the teen thing or the werewolf thing or something else?

Story time: I didn't like supernatural/creature-themed shows much as a kid/teenager - I only liked supernatural stuff in the context of sci-fi or high fantasy for a long time - but then I started Supernatural 10 years ago (I think it was in its 5th season at the time? so yeah) at the behest of a close friend. She had introduced me to two of my all-time favorite shows before that, so I figured I would give it a try, seeing as she had yet to steer me wrong. I ended up being pleasantly surprised by how much I enjoyed it. Then I discovered Being Human (the original UK series... I was living in England at the time), and then Grimm (I'm an Oregonian, so that one will always hold a special place in my heart), and the dam just sort of broke. I watched Teen Wolf next, at @dreamersscape 's suggestion, then another friend suggested The Vampire Diaries, which I liked more than I thought I would (I couldn't ever get into The Originals or True Blood, though... I tried). I have yet to go back and try to watch any of the shows I just couldn't get into when I was younger (Buffy, The X-Files, Sabrina, Charmed, etc.), but I might try to someday. Until then, I'll just rewatch Teen Wolf a gazillion times and scream into the void (hehe... Teen Wolf joke) over Stiles Stilinski and Lydia Martin and Isaac Lahey and MOTHERTRUCKING CHRISTOPHER "THE CODE" ARGENT.

[captscarletlog]

Character Day - Lanker Barbosa

Happy Character Day!! Hello and good afternoon fellow rebels, welcome to another character day. I am a bit behind (mostly because I'm busy with my new job, yay!), but I didn't want to miss an opportunity to speak on one of the most entertaining characters in the Xenon Tech Series. Of course, I mean none other than Lanker "Atlas" Barbosa.

**Fun Fact**

For the longest time I couldn't settle on a place that I wanted Lanker's family to originate from. The top choices were Brazil, Portugal, Spain, and Puerto Rico.

In the end Puerto Rico won out!

Also, Lanker knows three languages; English, French, and Spanish.

***

Name: Lanker Barbosa

Age: 18

Species: Human

Lanker, despite his goofy and immature demeanor, is a well known genius amongst the Seven Seas Crew. What he lacks in basic social queues and CHEM knowledge, he makes up for with his uncanny geological and naturalist expertise. Lanker has also shown skill in both piloting and engineering. Much like many people from the Eastern region, Lanker excels in working with his hands. Anything from tinkering to building falls right up his alley.

Lanker can be described as a charismatic and energetic ladies' man who comes from a broken home. His family is a somewhat rare case - a "split family". Split families have parents that are from two different regions. In Lanker's case - his mother is from the North (working for the census), and his father is from the East (working as a map maker). Despite Lanker's love for mapmaking, Lanker's true passion is traveling and seeing the world in person instead of just on paper. Because of this, Lanker would often travel with his mother to the Northern region. Though this did cause a strain on the relationship between Lanker and his father though.

Not much is know about his father except for the fact that he is an alcoholic (hinted), and that he is borderline obsessed with his work. The relationship between Lanker and his father strained even more when his parents divorced. Despite the fact that Lanker's mother had an affair, Lanker shows no resentment towards her (though he is not fond of his stepfather or stepbrother).

Lanker doesn't like to talk about his past or his home life. Scarlet notes that Lanker is obviously hiding something - and whatever he's hiding must be the reason why he wanted to leave home.

**Fun Fact**

Lanker is one of the only characters to have freckles, which is a personal favorite trait of mine! Lanker's appearance and personality is very loosely inspired by pixie/fairy folklore from Greek mythology. The similarities can be seen in his glossy hair, bright eyes, freckled skin, wide and mischievous grin, and his equally mischievous personality. Not to mention the fact that Lanker is so intuned with nature and the world around him, that he can basically tell exactly where he is no matter where you drop him.

It's canon: in a past life, Lanker was a pixie.

***

You learn much more about Lanker in further books, along with Senna (Lanker's stepbrother). Perhaps next week, it's Senna's turn

[dxmedstudent]

Hi, I'm graduating med school this year and I'm worried by family members talking about attending my graduation. I'm a very anxious person and I hate the limelight. I don't know how to politely address the situation. Btw, thank you for all your previous posts and answers.

Hello! You’re welcome :)I can empathise, the idea of walking out there in front of hundreds of people dressed like an old-fasioned schoolmaster is a little scary, isn’t it? But I promise you it’s not quite as bad as it seems. Graduation is a rite of passage, and it would be best to do whatever makes you feel comfortable enough to attend and enjoy this day. But it’s not as important as having gotten your degree. It’s a little bit like how a wedding doesn’t make a marriage. Fun party, but not what it’s all about. Perhaps it might help if I let you know what graduation is like? I’ve attended 3 (only 2 of these were my own, before you judge XD) but they are all pretty similar. You try to get to the venue in good time, because there’s a bit of queueing to get your gowns, arrange photoraphy etc. Bring lots of safety pins and hairpins; bring twice the number you think you’ll need. It’s not hard to put on your gown, but you’ll want to make sure it doesn’t move around too much. It usually has a buttonhole for shirts with buttons, but I’ve worn smart dresses and just pinned it in place. I just recommend turning up reasonably early, so you are more relaxed about getting all the boring practical bits done, and so you have the minimum stress on the day. Some people like to take photos on the day, others rent out the gown for longer and take photos on a separate day. You don’t HAVE to take photos, I guess, though most families prefer it. Taking photos usually takes barely any time at all, and you can usually pay/choose photos online later. The ceremony itself is long, but the bit actually involving you is absolutely tiny. There will be a lot of talks from important and serious looking people about how  great your university is, and how wonderful it is that you are graduating. When they get to the bit where you’ll be standing up, you’ll be quietly asked to queue up by a staff member, and you’ll be ready to walk across the stage before they call out your name. Beforehand, they will give you the option to spell out the pronunciation of your name phonetically, so they really should be able to get your name right; if it’s complex (like mine), you get to make it clear beforehand. When they call your name out, you simply walk across the stage, and shake hands with someone important, who may or may not give you a scroll (I didn’t get one). In the ones I’ve seen, you even get to choose if you want to shake hands; carry your programme with you, and they will understand that you do not. My first graduation was amidst the Bird Flu panic, so they insisted that we gel our hands before and after walking on the stage. Funny times. Because being in front of the public is scary, it’s easy to imagine that this bit is scary, but I assure you that you’ll be so focused on putting one foot in front of the other, and shaking hands intently, that you’ll barely notice anything else. Bear in mind that literally everyone in front of you is doing the same thing, for ages. So whilst you may imagine that it feels like you are in the spotlight, in reality people aren’t paying particular attention to you, because literally hundreds of people are doing the same thing in a row. You’ll get a polite clap when your name is read out, ad then you’ll join the rest of the pople who’ve been awarded their degree and sit back down. This bit is over in seconds for you. All the times I’ve been, nobody has done anything like tripping over or embarrasing themselves, and even the people who ran on late or punched the air got some cheers, and that was that. It’s a lot less scary than giving a speech on stage or something like that. You may have the spotlight but you don’t really have the glare of people’s attentions; only people’s sort-of-polite-half-attention. Even if you stumble a bit, or your hat is on a bit crooked, nobody will know or remember. Even if it’s recorded, you probably won’t watch it back much; how many times have I watched my graduations again? None. During this time you could catch up with your guests, or even have little to do with them altogether. If your family are stressing you out, you might even make your excuses that you are called away to assemble, and sort of have them make their own way there to where their viewing seats are, until the ceremony is over. You could even do photos after the ceremony if you choose (it’s usually quite flexible), and it might be less stressful to do that bit (if you even want to take photos) after you’ve gotten the ceremony out of the way. I know people who rented the robes for a bit longer and took the commemorative photos on a different day, by booking into department store photo studios. Personally, I just wanted to get it all out of the way on the day, but there’s no right or wrong way. Now, let’s talk about guests. To be honest, it’s entirely up to you as to who comes to your gruadation. You don’t technically have to have any guests. Most universities can sort-of guarantee two tickets (usually for parents), and might be able to get you more, but if you’re intimidated by lots of people coming to watch, it’s up to you as to how many you invite. Most people bring along their parents, if they have a reasonable relationship with them, however not everyone does, and that’s OK. Whilst I’d never recommend outright lying, there’s nothing stopping you from telling a white lie and telling some of the crowd ‘I couldn’t get tickets’ if your entire extended family want to come. Which is usually half-true, because it’s hard to get extra tickets. How to politely raise it depends on how much they know about your anxiety, and how supportive they are. We are all different, too. If your anxiety is mostly around them talking about it, you can politely tell them that whilst you are happy to invite them and for them to enjoy the day, talking about it is stressing you out.Or, as I said before, you can insist you are very busy, and so they have to make their own way around, and you’ll just have to catch up with them after the ceremony. there’s a grain of truth in that as well; I barely saw my family for large chunks of my graduation (and I wasn’t avoiding them) just because as the graduand you have stuff to do and places to be… and friends to say ‘bye’ to. So if you’re worried about them stressing you out, you can warn them just before (or on the day) that you have to be elsewhere, have things to sort, etc, and will meet them later. I suspect that when they are out of sight, they will also be out of mind; in my experience when we’re anxious, it’s often talking and thinking about stuff that reminds us of how scary we find it. When you’re focused on walking in a stright line and keeping your hat on, you’ll probably think less about the other stuff. I’d suggest that depending on how well they know you, it’s probably hard to ‘not invite’ your parents if you are on OK terms with them, because most parents can’t wait to celebrate their kids’ graduation, and they will no doubt be hugely excited. But hopefully there are ways that you can manage the time before; maybe things like explaining the plans briefly in advance/print maps so they don’t ask many questions, and warning them you’ll be busy during the day itself (to prevent being bombarded with more questions) may help? I’m happy to open this question to medblr in general; any graduation coping strategies out there? Relaxation tips? Family management advice?

[hatespirates]

" you , " she sneers , her hand immediately reaching for her staff . she should've known that they would've crossed paths again eventually , but the idea of dealing with him without luffy or the others around makes her stomach twist . sure , she can handle herself , but that doesn't mean that the captain of the black cat pirates is someone she thinks of lightly . grabbing her staff , she shifts into a defensive position as she points the staff at him clearly a threat . " what do YOU want ? "

@hyakuro