#I blame COVID

[rivaltrainer]

we’re on year 4 of akechiposting btw. if anyone’s counting. never in my life has a character consumed me like this

[ash-the-fluffy-cat]

Kinda funny how in like 2017, my dance group was looking for more boys, it was only really my sibling and one other boy. Now like 3/4 of us are non binary or some form of genderqueer.

What’s with Scandinavian Canadian teens and the lack of gender or much of all genders?!?!

and after the pandemic, 1/4 of us are disabled, before it was just me

[mintysneezes]

I can’t believe we’re in the mid 2020s now

[eldesperadont]

btw thats how im doing lately

[squishyorca]

I keep messing up there their & they’re. I’m officially deteriorating

[waves314]

Somehow I agreed to make a baptismal gown out of my mom’s wedding dress. I am so nervous about cutting into it. I feel like I’m not a good enough seamstress. This should be interesting

[memberofthejazzclub]

I need a really good outfit for an event I’m doing and I just realized it’s NEXT WEEKEND. I literally do not have the time to shop stores or my closet or the Pinterest board in my mind and give myself a feminist pep talk about how it’s okay I’m still in my COVID weight era. Honestly I love fashion so much and I used to wear and make many cute outfits lovingly DIYed and thrifted cause I had skills once upon a time and I went to fashion college for a time but I do not feel cute lately and I’ve been purging my closet but not updating it and now I’m stressed out I have to speak to an audience on a microphone while standing next to some super young fashionable literary stars and I have to look like a boring professor unless I go to the mall tomorrow and spend some ridiculous amount of money cause if I can’t be 25 again aka the year of my peak femme club outfit I felt like Violet from Bound then at least I can upgrade my academic bling and make up and keep my outfit simple but definitely not basic. I am not a flashy person but I need to practice shimmering for days like these.

[spring-ephemeral]

being 23 feels wrong I swear I was 19 like last year

[miscmagpie]

I'm so tired of being tired all the time

[22roses22]

Damn why is community so hard to find lol

[fangirling-throughlife]

For some reason I don't know (nor I want to find out), my male celebrity crushes have consistently been 35-40 years old for a couple of years now. Of course, my automatic response to finding out someone's age has always been "ew, he's double my age".

I looked someone up yesterday, saw he was 40, and my brain went into that automatic response, only to realise 5 seconds later that the age gap is now 15. Still a lot, but I'm not really enjoying how the last 5 years have creeped on me, and my brain hasn't really caught up yet.

[shirmirart]

happy one year (and a few more days) to red, white & royal blue, the movie 🇺🇸🎂🇬🇧

[trossards]

remember wc18 when everyone was making neymar rolling on the ground memes those were simpler times

[another-lost-mc]

I really love the idea that fallen angels have uniquely different experiences than other demons.

Sure, they might be demons now, but once upon a time, they used to be something different. Falling doesn't magically erase countless years spent living in a completely different world, eating different foods and wearing different clothes and waking up and falling asleep under a different sky.

Fallen angels have memories about places that used to matter to them a long time ago - my old room, which dining hall had the best view of the gardens, which kitchen was easiest to sneak into for a late-night snack. They talk about places - a flower field or a river or lake - where they shared common experiences and memories they can still think of fondly. Demons that overhear them realize the places they're referring to simply don't exist in the Devildom.

I wonder what they would think about this? It's strange when other angels are mentioned in connection with a memory: perhaps those angels aren't as reputable or powerful as the Seraphim, but they're still once-treasured enough to not yet be forgotten. They're old friends lost in time.

How often do fallen angels revert back to speaking or writing scripture out out habit? How awkward is it to ace a test about Celestial Realm history when they struggle to recall the Devildom-centric events for those same periods in time?

Fallen angels sometimes refer to back home like something from an old memory. Sometimes they refer to Devildom holidays or traditions as things demons do as if they're not demons themselves. They're demons, but they weren't always. They're similar, but not exactly the same, either.

It's almost habit to talk about themselves as if they're an angel and a demon, because they're a unique breed of creature that's lived as both.

[citrine-elephant]

still a dog, but uglier!

[billdenbrough]

eddie prompted me twinyards after graduation for our 500w/1hr ficlet challenge. this version is the 750w variant but i did get one down to 500w, this one was just closer to the brief lol

There is a world, Andrew knows, where the ceremony ends and Aaron takes off his cap, his gown, and hands them to Nicky. Everything he owns fits into a duffel bag that he slings over his shoulder as he steps out the door. He does not look back.

-

That is not this world.

-

“Eat shit, Neil,” Aaron says, flipping off the man in question with one hand while the other mashes hard on the A button to send shells at him.

Kevin, on the other side of Aaron, winces. It never fails to amuse Andrew, the way Aaron mocked Kevin’s uselessness at gaming enough that he started to develop a modicum of empathy.

“Learn to drive, Aaron,” Neil retorts, his tongue sticking out to the side as he scowls at the screen, concentrating on passing Toadette.

Bowser suddenly shows up out of nowhere, knocking between both their karts. Aaron swears viciously and Neil mumbles something under his breath about Nicky, who cackles. Kevin never looks away from the screen. Andrew doesn’t know what good he thinks it’s going to do.

Neil’s back is a line of heat against Andrew’s shin. Andrew closes his eyes, letting the sound of Aaron taunting Kevin—are you allergic to accelerating? Is this the real reason you made Andrew drive you fucking everywhere? Don’t be a pussy, throw it at me like you mean it—fill his head. His mouth quirks up at the corner.

-

“People are going to think I’m the fun twin if you keep hanging out in carparks,” Aaron says, footsteps crunching gravel.

Andrew drops his cigarette, grinding it beneath his heel. “That should not be the deciding factor.”

Aaron hums. He leans against the car: not-quite-close enough to be touching, but near enough that Andrew can feel his warmth emanating.

The thing about Aaron is that he’s been reaching out to Andrew his whole life. He’s never been good at recognising what it looks like when Andrew is holding on tightly because he doesn’t want to let go, but credit where it’s due: no matter what Andrew throws in his face, Aaron stubbornly stays close enough to reach him, even when it’s like reaching his arm into a burning car.

Aaron’s always been bad at walking away from a car crash. Andrew would know; he had to orchestrate one once just to keep Aaron out of the headlights.

“Have you packed?” he asks eventually.

“Mostly,” Aaron says. “Kevin said he’d give me a ride, which meant he bitched at me to get my shit in his car way earlier than necessary.”

Andrew hums. “I could have given you a ride,” he says.

He can feel Aaron’s gaze. “I didn’t want to interfere with your trip,” he says. “Didn’t know my dates. Kevin said he was just fucking around Wymack’s anyway.”

Andrew does not say, I would have waited, even though it’s true. Neil would have let him. Andrew might have done it regardless.

He says, “Kevin did not.”

Aaron says, “Only because he’s a fucking liar. He said he was helping out.”

“He’s not a helpful person,” Andrew says, not unreasonably. Then, he adds, “Off the court.”

Exercises in honesty.

“See?” Aaron says. “Fucking around.” He sighs, leaning back his head. Andrew watches the line of his throat from the side of his eye, clocking the way a breath rolls through it.

He remembers waking up in the hospital room and seeing Aaron sitting in the chair beside his bed. Hoodie threadbare around the wrists, grey and faded. Everything about Aaron looked faded those days: the colour of his hair, the light in his eyes, the bruises peeking out around his ribs.

Andrew remembers everything. Aaron’s first letter. The tentative twist to the first smile Andrew teased out of him, sixteen and too used to flinching for Andrew to forgive. Are you in for another five years? Aaron’s hair beneath his hands, blood all over them both, everywhere.

“Don’t get a cold in Chicago,” he says instead of any of that.

Aaron scoffs. “Yeah, stellar medical advice,” he says. Then, looking directly at Andrew, “You too.”

“I will not be in Chicago,” Andrew replies.

“Asshole,” Aaron mutters. It’s fonder than it ought to be. “I hope you and Neil get chlamydia.”

Andrew snorts. “The future of America’s medical system,” he says dryly. He thinks he’s smiling.

It’s okay. Aaron is too.

-

In this world, Aaron reaches out – tugs – holds Andrew beside Kevin’s stupid Jeep.

Andrew reaches back – holds on – does not let go.