#I can think of at least two times this year I’ve gone directly from a date to hanging out with friends without telling them

[linguenuvolose]

My dating stats are coming together more and more and….. idk how I feel about this

[honey-tongued-devil]

Got a request: Jinx x Piltover reader who comes to the undercity a lot to see some action and excitement with Jinx thinking they’re from there only to find out that they’re from topside.

[Arcane preference zaunites] with a s/o from Piltover (viktor, ekko, silco, vander, jinx, vi, sevika)

In less than a week, I’ve gained 500 followers and over 20 requests, so I’ll ask you right away to please be patient. English isn’t my first language, and I don’t think I’ll be able to post more than two or three headcanons a week (since I also draw). I’m sorry to keep you waiting, but I just ask for a little patience. In the meantime, if you’d like to support me, you can follow me HERE (bluesky) even though I haven’t started posting seriously yet, or you can leave a tip HERE. That said, enjoy!

Viktor:

- The most versatile on the subject. He’s the first one who is constantly around the people of Piltover, studying and having his room at the academy, which is even located in a wealthy area.

- Generally, he doesn’t pay much attention to someone’s origins, but as the relationship grows more serious, memories of his early academy years become more vivid.

- Viktor is a chill guy, until he’s no longer chill, (at least the original one).

- Most heated discussions are likely to revolve around politics or events in the city. But as long as you don’t call the people from the Undercity “beasts,” “creatures,” “monsters,” “beings,” or “animals,” his anger won’t be directed at you.

- At some point, he won’t remember anymore that you’re from “different neighborhoods,” and since he needs a hand carrying things to the academy, he’ll start asking you to accompany him to the Undercity when he needs to make purchases or pick up pre-ordered items.

- And although it might scare or intimidate you at first, it won’t take long for you to get used to it.

- Although sooner or later, you’ll learn to change your clothes before going down to Zaun.

Ekko:

- The first meeting with Ekko is straight out of a book: you get caught in a crossfire, and before you can even begin mentally writing your will, an arm grabs you around the torso and pulls you away at such a high speed that you feel like throwing up.

- He can’t take people directly to the hideout, but he can offer you assistance as soon as you’re somewhere safer.

- This is why, the second time he saves you, he can’t help but joke about how it almost seems like you put yourself in danger on purpose, and that you could ask him out in a less dramatic way.

- Of course, he’s just joking to break the tension, but when you actually propose it, even just as a way to repay him, it’s the beginning of the end.

- Between your outfit and the fact that, having run into you twice in a crossfire, you were in some pretty dangerous places, the last thing he expected was for you to ask him to meet up at the bridge and then show up dressed like a Piltie.

- Before his meeting with Cait and the one with Jayce, this would’ve been a breaking point; he wouldn’t have shown up and would’ve just gone back. But now, even if he’s not thrilled, he’ll at least come over to complain that you didn’t tell him you were from the upper city.

- He’s resigned to this fate, but he still remains a bit suspicious and on guard, not knowing your political stance, why you were down there, or how you see the people from his city.

- Even as you become closer, he’ll never stop teasing you about your background. You’re drinking, and you drop your cup? “What a strange way Pilties have of drinking.”

Vander:

- Going down to Zaun without stopping by the Last Drop is a waste, which is why you’re lucky enough to run into the Hound of the underground right away. Not only is he one of the most influential people, but also one with a lot of connections.

- At Vander’s suggestion, you stay at the counter, and he uses the opportunity to ask you a few questions, curious: for example, why is someone from Piltover down in Zaun alone at that hour? What do you study, if you study, or what do you do for work, if you work.

- Vander is extremely sociable, and since he handles negotiations, he doesn’t hold hostility toward upper-city residents, though it’s rare to see them in these parts.

- It’s not even about flirting; he just wants to keep chatting and make sure he won’t have you on his conscience. He asks you to wait until closing, checks in on the kids to make sure everything’s okay and says goodnight, then walks you to the bridge.

- The more regular your visits to Zaun become, the more the other regulars at the Last Drop start to recognize you and get used to you, making that place quite pleasant. And then there’s the deal with the bartender: if you offer him a good chat, he’ll treat you to a good pint of beer.

- The toughest part of getting close to Vander is learning that he’s a single father to four kids, and seeing the hostile and shocked reaction of the younger ones when they find out you’re not from their city.

- But hate is taught, and even if it takes some time, they slowly start to get used to you. Maybe they won’t jump into your arms, but if you decide to stay over, they’ll make room for you or bring you something to dry your face with, in strict silence.

Silco:

- This man, though he may not look like it, is the embodiment of patience.

- It’s his goons who bring you to his office, and the first time, all it takes is a quick glance for him to know you’re not a spy, a rival, a drug addict, or a threat.

- Silco kills, but generally not without reason. So, the first time you have a heart-pounding panic attack from being dragged there, you get off with a warning: if they catch you poking around his business again, it won’t go so well for you.

- But today, Janna’s on your side, and you’re safe.

- The issue is much simpler than it seems: if you live in the Undercity, you know which places to avoid and which gangs control which areas. But if you’re just a foolish Piltie who likes wandering outside your own city, the odds of ending up in one mess after another are high.

- That’s why, the second time they catch you near one of their shipments, his goons already have their weapons drawn.

- This time it’s not even Silco who spares you; instead, a firefight with the Firelights breaks out nearby, and you’re just lucky that bigger problems show up at the right moment.

- It happens repeatedly: either you run into his goons and instinctively wave like an idiot, or you end up in restricted areas, and one of them who’s taken a liking to you motions for you to leave, or you start frequenting the Last Drop and see them all more often.

- Gradually, this brings you more often—and with less dread—to the kingpin’s office, who, since even his daughter likes you, first makes sure to get you a map of the Lanes because “you’re obviously so clueless you must be from Piltover” to keep you from getting yourself killed.

- Then he realizes you’re pleasant enough to let you hang out in his office on weekends, when the noise downstairs is so loud that he couldn’t work anyway.

Jinx:

- You’re essentially the “dumb Piltie” stereotype that comes to mind when people in Zaun talk about those from the upper city.

- Deciding to venture into the alleys without any experience or knowledge of the area purely out of curiosity wasn’t your brightest idea, but at this point, it’s too late to turn back.

- That’s why, after hours spent looking for something interesting—colorful explosions that have been common recently near the docks, some chase scenes—you find nothing, give up, and throw yourself into a bar.

- If it were evening, you might hope for more than just a jukebox playing country music, four young guys playing pool in a corner, and a girl sitting at the bar who looks half-asleep while the bartender cleans glasses, but you still decide to sit down and order something local.

- Everyone’s eyes are on you, but the moment the girl with long blue braids lifts her head, the others snap back to what they were doing, and she looks at you, still drowsy and a bit confused.

- Meeting Jinx is the beginning of the end; she rambles on, is relaxed, and the moment she hears you wanted action, she jumps off her stool and drags you out before you can even sip your drink.

- She has no particular reason—it's just rare to find someone who wants to have fun, although you quickly realize that her idea of “fun” involves risking your neck.

- The first time ends like that; you don’t even exchange names. When it gets late, she vanishes, leaving you no choice but to return to the bar in the following weeks, where you meet her again and pick up on that fun “tour.”

- This “tour” brings you closer, even if you never talk about deeply personal things because there’s never time.

- It’s one night when you’re sitting together on a rooftop, watching the distant lights of Piltover, that she learns the hard truth: you’re from the other side of the river. This single piece of information seems to destroy everything you had built. Without a word, she runs off, and you don’t find her at the bar at the usual time anymore, but you don’t stop trying.

- The bartender probably tells her, or she sees you, who knows, because weeks later you meet again, and she almost looks sad to see you.

- She expected you to give up, not to keep coming back despite how difficult she’d made it, which is why when you pull her into a hug, she stiffens, taking a while to hug you back.

- The closer you get, the more she becomes like a ghost. You even find her at your place, but you never see her on the streets in Piltover. She rarely stays over, but you know it’s because of personal issues.

Vi:

- Vi isn’t for everyone: she’s for those with a “savior complex” or hotheads who can take a couple of punches to the face.

- The reason you’re in Zaun, dressed incognito, is because your colleagues told you there’s some interesting stuff in the underground city’s shops.

- What you didn’t expect was that the “interesting find” curled up behind an abandoned building would be a person.

- Nothing too serious, just a brawl gone wrong. She’d hidden to tend to her wounds in peace, probably in that vulnerable “cornered wolf showing its teeth” state.

- Cooperation isn’t her strong suit, and, not to rely on Undercity stereotypes, but you imagine it’s also rare for anyone to help strangers wounded on the street.

- She becomes more docile after you simply stand by, “covering her back”—basically just staying put and shielding her from view. 

- whenyou blurt out, “Forget gin; I need something stronger.” she starts to like you

- Once she recovers, she gestures for you to follow her, suddenly motivated by the urge to drink. Surprisingly, she takes you over the bridge to your own city, to a cozy pub that smells of wood.

- Drinking there becomes a habit; after a few drinks, you tell her you hate that the evening has to end, and she chuckles, flattered, before saying you can always do it again.

- And you do it again.

- You keep doing it until you end up kissing clumsily in the pub’s restroom, nearly knocking heads together, until she pins you to the wall and your brain signals a warning.

- You tell her you live nearby, suggesting you take things to your place, unknowingly revealing something you thought was obvious.

- She stares at you for a few confused seconds. “You didn’t tell me,” she says, but the truth is, Vi doesn’t hate upper-city people, so once the confusion passes, the alcohol and hormones work their magic, leaving that conversation as a problem for the next morning.

Sevika:

- Her only interactions with people from the upper city have been with Enforcers, but contrary to appearances, Sevika is a big, intimidating dog that’s actually quite tame.

- She doesn’t get her hands dirty unless necessary, so even though she has no fondness for Pilties, she’d never start a physical fight with one.

- You first see her in the Undercity, at the Last Drop, playing cards for a hefty sum of money against two shady types: one bald with a metal nose, and the other dressed like an out-of-place gentleman.

- It’s only when the game ends and she gets up to head to the bar that you clumsily manage to strike up a conversation, receiving nothing but a scrutinizing glance in return.

- She lets you buy her a drink despite the large sum she just pocketed, and when you compliment her on her play, she puffs up with pride and starts talking about how those two just cheated but still couldn’t win.

- For a moment—just a moment—she realizes she’s never seen you around here before, but then she goes back to talking and listening, fueled by the alcohol.

- Getting her out of your head becomes impossible, and if you catch her at the end of her shift, she’s even more relaxed. It doesn’t take many weeks before you find yourself with your knees over her shoulders in the Last Drop’s basement.

- Emotional or mental intimacy with Sevika comes at an incredibly slow pace, but she starts approaching you in the bar, and your “private encounters” become more and more frequent—until you try to make things more serious by inviting her up.

- Her reaction seems angry, but it’s more surprise; she hadn’t realized and didn’t expect it.

- She becomes a lot more guarded around you, until, in time, she learns to trust you again.

[inbarfink]

Okay, so, I know this is kind of a Stupid Thing to Focus on but… I’ve been rewatching ‘Friends Forever’ (still one of my favorite and most complex and most heart-wrenching Ice King episodes) and I’ve been thinking about the bit where Ice King tries to research how to be smart…

We can see him reads from what very much seems to be part of Simon Petrikov's journals. Considering that it details the aftermath of the Mushroom War.

In addition, while the shelves are made of ice, much like the bookshelves Ice King has in his throne room, this is clearly a much... robust archive

which much more resembles Simon Petrikov’s library/research room.

The table IK uses also seems to be a match to the one in the research room. At least in terms of colors

So, it might be a different Room Full of Books that Simon placed in his Castle before he truly 100% lost it, or it might be the same one we see in 'Betty' but with a minor continuity error when it comes to what the shelves are made from. Either way, from the aforementioned journal, we know this library probably contains books Simon had personally written

But considering the Amount, probably not all of them. (Especially if you assume there are two separate library rooms). Maybe he came back to his old house to gather up all the prewar academic books he owned, but that still seems like an Unusually High Amount of Books. I think he probably kept gathering and writing books as he was slowly turning into Ice King. Like, by the time the show started he was basically totally gone - but a couple hundred years ago he’d have brief moments of lucidity and start writing again or searching books that could help him deal with the curse.

Which makes me wonder about this book.

I know that it’s just a silly funny joke, but…

Like, a Big Undertone of ‘Friends Forever’ is Ice King’s insecurities and frustrations with his own stupidity and lack of maturity. And with Simon’s library showing up in the middle of the episode like it did, it’s hard to forget that Simon used to have the intelligence and maturity needed to speak with all of these living furniture on equal terms, but his mental facilities have been eroded by the madness of the Crown and now he can’t and these frustrations manifest even though Ice King isn’t fully aware of that fact.

And this book, I know that the title just playing directly into Ice King’s insecurities is just the Joke but also…

I’m thinking about Ice King/Simon when he was a bit more lucid. Aware that he’s going mad and it's getting harder and harder for him to think clearly and that makes it so much harder to find a solution and expressing a lot of that same anger that Ice King expresses outwards towards the Living Furniture - inwards.

I’m wondering if Simon specifically sought out that book because he felt like he was ‘turning dumb’.

I’m wondering if Simon could’ve written this book. Some sort of last final act of impotent rage against the person he was turning into, frustration at his growing inability to think like he used to, even though he couldn't even remember his own name anymore - only that he was the 'Smarty McBrainypants' part of his old identity.

That would explain why it’s such a worn and rugged book...

[johnbrand]

Smoking Pays

With @aismoker

What? Can’t you see I’m in a rush?

Oh so you heard about the promotion. Yeah it was no surprise really, anyone could have predicted it.

Sure I have only been here for a year, but I came in with the qualities the boss was looking for. 

Honestly, I am a bit embarrassed for you. You’ve been around since what, when the company started? And after all that time you’re still some boring office drone, while I am quickly ascending the ranks.

What’s my secret? No, I didn't bribe the boss to get this position. And before you say it, I didn’t blackmail him either. I just did my research beforehand, I figured out what would help me and the boss click on a more personal level.

Smoking obviously. Speaking of which, you’ve held me up long enough that I have to light up another one. Yeah, this is my third this morning , and I’ll probably chain my way through a pack tonight. I'll likely have some coughing ahead but there’s no better way to subdue the hacking with many more reds. 

How long have I been smoking? Hmm...I guess a little over a year. When I applied for this company I picked it up, thinking it would give my resume that extra push. And boy was I right! When the boss first met me and noticed my carefully placed pack of Marlboros, he ushered me directly to HR for an immediate hire. Said I was “the type of man the office needs.” And now look at me, making six figures and not even 30!

I don’t know what smear campaign you are referring to, but I have not made any sacrifices since I picked up smoking. In fact, I would say I have only benefited from it. The smoking areas in the office are full of real men, dedicated to becoming the best version of themselves. I’m talking mentally and physically, sculpting their minds into commanding personas and their bodies into perfect shape. It was inspiring, and once you get used to all the smoke, the cravings ignite you even further.

I mean look at me. I’m in the best shape I have been in in my life. Super athletic and toned, eventually the muscle will start piling on. My voice is already lower and grittier than it was a year ago, demanding an actual presence. And sure, my hair is thinning but bald men are the true alphas! Once I’ve gone full cueball like the boss, that’s when I’ll start growing out my beard.

And as I continue this transformation, allowing smoking to shape and define me, the higher-ups will notice. The boss will notice. They may not directly see it, but subconsciously it will register. Who better to take his place than him, or at least, a copy of him? In this day and age, smoking is associated with masculinity and success.

You think I’m joking? Look at the people passing us right now. They aren’t looking at two businessmen having a conversation on the sidewalk. No, they are checking out the successful, suited stud with the Marlboro at his lips. Their eyes are gleaming with awe and wonder at the man radiating achievement and supremacy. And their minds simply disregard you, erase your existence through nicotine-fueled admiration and lust.

Look, I really gotta go. I cannot be late to my first meeting as a project lead. I’m working on that new defamation push against vaping. Our main tagline is that vaping shrinks penises. Is it even true? Well I can’t say that, but I can tell you something: smoking certainly does the opposite. Heheh…that was an improvement I had not expected to happen. So technically, it's not false as long as we compare the two.

Alright, seriously, I’ll talk to you later. Or probably not honestly, unless you decide to be a real man and do something with your life. Here, I’m about halfway through this Marlboro, so you can finish it off and I’ll light up a new one for the rest of my walk. Smoking pays, man, smoking pays.

[1d1195]

Committed III

Read Part I and Part II

One thing about me is if I can write a love confession monologue, I’m going to write it.

Don't forget to listen to this TikTok while reading.

“What is wrong with you!?” She shouted.

“I’m sorry,” he said quietly. The quite thrum of the club music behind the walls of the room didn’t drown out his words, fortunately. He really was sorry; he didn’t mean to upset her or her date. The guy was truly fine. There was nothing wrong with him.

Except Harry wanted to be him.

She wasn’t thinking much of the airport arrival when the plane got delayed a million hours. All she wanted was her own bed and to see her best friend in person. Her mom was supposed to be waiting for her. There was no way she wasn’t. After what seemed like ten separate delays, she knew her mom was probably hunkered down in the airport somewhere. But instead, she was there at baggage claim, alone and confused trying to figure out where her mom had gone off to. Right as she pulled her phone out to call her mom for her whereabouts, Harry’s name and picture illuminated her screen. “Hey!” She smiled. “What are you doing awake?” She asked.

“Oh...I wanted t’make sure y’got in okay,” he had a smile in his voice. “And I couldn’t wait t’see you,” he admitted shyly.

She smiled to herself resting her arm on the top of her suitcase’s pull handle. She was grinning like an idiot in the middle of the quiet airport in the dead of night, her eyes droopy, as she wished she could just teleport to Harry. Being delayed so many times by weather and poorly put together aircraft had her sleepy and longing for her bed. “M’in,” she said with a yawn. “Can’t find my mom,” she sighed. “Think I may just sleep here if I can’t find her.”

“Oh, don’t be silly, love. I wouldn’t leave y’here. I can drive y’back,” he chuckled. Her brain was sleep deprived, jet lagged, and just overall exhausted. It took her a moment to realize that it was Harry directly in front of her, phone pressed to his ear as he gazed at her. Even as he stared at her with his lopsided grin, her eyes just blinked at him, like he was dream. “Y’okay, kitten?” He asked gently.

Shaking her head, she felt tears blur her vision nearly the same way they did a year ago in the very same spot. All at once her senses finally snapped together. Harry was in front of her. In the flesh. And he was there to take her home to her warm perfect bed. “Oh my God!” She said excitedly tossing her arms around his neck and squeezing him as tightly as she could. He wrapped his arms around her waist and tucked his face against her neck and he sighed with relief.

“Don’t leave again, if y’can help it,” he mumbled into her ear.

“No way,” she sighed. “Least not without you,” she promised.

They were silent for a few moments. She was getting more tired by the second, finally feeling at ease and peace in Harry’s arms. “Can I sleep at yours?” He asked quietly. “I want t’spend the whole day with y’tomorrow,” he explained pulling from the embrace. She swiped the stray tears from her cheeks, and she nodded as Harry took the suitcase from her fingers as he grabbed her hand with the other one.

“Yeah, I’ve been dying for your waffles,” she told him.

“That was m’plan the whole time,” he chuckled at her.

“Is Sarah at Mitch’s?”

“I think,” he shrugged. “I’ll make her waffles, too. I don’t really care,” he smirked down at her. “Jus’ wanna be around m’best friend.”

Smiling, she squeezed his hand. She thought about when he came back home and the woman who commented on how devoted they appeared to one another from a stranger. Quickly she shook her head of the thought. No use in dreaming of what could never be.

Even if it felt like pure magic lacing her fingers between Harry’s.

*

She had been back for two weeks when Harry arrived at her place prior to their show. Sarah was curling her hair and playing with her makeup in front of the bathroom mirror when Harry entered. “Hey Harry,” Sarah said smiling into the mirror. “What do you think of her hair?” She asked holding the curling wand from her face.

Harry smirked at the mirror. “Y’look lovely, kitten. Gotta date?” He joked.

She felt her face warm at his joke and her eyes darted from his gaze in the reflection. “Yes!” Sarah nearly cheered. “The guy that wanted to buy her a drink a year ago. He saw her the last time we played, texted her again, asking if she’d be open to a drink tonight.”

Harry wasn’t sure what he wanted the answer to be when the question he said as a joke left his lips. Well, of course he knew—he wanted her to say something cheesy (but no less true) like, “only with you, Harry,” and he wanted to kiss her until Sarah begged them to stop. He never anticipated the guy from over a year ago to be the one she was seeing tonight. It didn’t help that he lied about how she looked. Lovely didn’t do her justice. In fact, lovely seemed downright insulting in comparison to the beauty she nearly shined.

“Oh...s’nice,” he murmured.

She was staring at him in the mirror. “I was going to tell you before the show,” she promised.

“Oh yeah,” Sarah nodded in agreement. “She was just saying she was really nervous about it,” she explained on her behalf. “A lot of jitters t’talk about it. I only found out about an hour ago,” Sarah said looking at Harry pointedly so he would stop moping.

“Nothing t’be nervous ‘bout, love,” Harry gently smiled at her. “M’sure you’ll have him wrapped around y’finger by the end of the night.”

She smiled. “Thank you, Harry. I told him last time I saw him I don’t take drinks from strangers without you around...so I’ll introduce you before the show, if you want.”

“Whatever y’want, kitten,” he nodded and left the bathroom before he cried thinking about how much he adored that beautiful girl that was getting ready for someone else.

*

Harry could see her as he peered from backstage toward the bar. She was smiling happily and sitting with the guy that Harry completely forgot about ages and ages ago. Harry hated him, naturally. He imagined him falling off his barstool and tragically hitting his head so hard he forgot why he was there and forgot all about his pretty best friend.

She laughed at whatever he said, and Harry wanted to die. He didn’t want him to be funny. Harry didn’t want him to do anything that caused a positive reaction to come from her. Sarah watched Harry with a pointed expression. “You okay, there?” She asked.

Harry jerked away from his creepy stance and turned to Sarah. She looked at him with a smirk. “What?” He grumbled and pushed past her toward the makeshift room they used to get ready.

“Do you like her?” Sarah asked.

He rolled his eyes. “Of course, I like her, Sarah. She’s my best friend.”

“That’s not what I meant, you idiot.” Harry flopped onto the couch and turned toward Sarah. He didn’t say anything. He just looked at her without a word. Harry glanced away from Sarah and it was so quiet in the room, the emotion he felt of seeing his friend with someone else made him want to throw up.

“Why would y’help her be with someone else?” He grumbled to her.

“You two are the stupidest people I know.”

Harry shook his head. “Sarah.”

“Harry.” Harry thought he would start crying any second and Sarah just continued to look at him as if she was going to will the tears out of him; any reaction to get him to do something would be useful. “Just...tell her.”

“I don’t think she feels the same way, Sarah. We’ve never—”

“Sarah, Niall’s gonna move your drums!” Mitch shouted from down the hall followed by the cackling laughter from Niall.

“Just tell her, Harry,” Sarah said and ran off to stop Niall.

*

“Hey mate, you’re really good,” he said shaking Harry’s hand. He was polite. There was nothing wrong with him. He bought all three of them a drink. He was kind and he looked at her the way she deserved: she put the air in his lungs, and she lit up the room like she was the sun even when it was dark. “It’s nice to meet you,” he smiled.

“Same,” Harry said perfunctorily. He didn’t mean it though. In fact, he would have loved if the ground opened and swallowed this man whole, never to be seen again. And he didn’t deserve Harry’s piss-poor attitude. He was very nice.

“When do you go on?”

“About an hour, I’ll probably go back there to make sure everything’s in order,” she smiled sweetly.

“That’s cool,” he said smiling at her again.

“You could come back and check it out,” she said.

“Band only,” Harry muttered.

“Pardon?” He asked.

Her head snapped toward Harry, and she looked at him as if he had suddenly gone insane. There were no rules. Anyone could technically go back there if they had permission. “Band only,” he repeated with a shrug.

“Well,” she laughed awkwardly trying to save the conversation. “Guess I won’t be going back then,” she said. “M’not in the band.”

Harry rolled his eyes. “Obviously s’not what I meant.”

She plastered a fake smile on her face in Harry’s direction and he saw a flash of annoyance in her eye as she turned her attention back to her date. Her smile to him was much kinder. “Um...sorry,” she said with another breathy laugh and Harry sipped his drink before he rocked back on his heels. He felt like a jerk because he knew it was rude. “We were talking about going to this coffee shop after—the one with the late-night lattes that I like,” she explained.

“We have plans,” Harry said stiffly.

Turning back to outrightly glare at Harry she mouthed what the fuck to him and then said, “No we don’t,” again, a smile so forced Harry thought her cheeks would burst.

“We’re watching a movie tonight,” he said. “You promised.”

Her eyes were wild now. She hadn’t promised Harry anything about a movie and she wanted to kill him in that moment. Even if he didn’t like the guys she dated, he was always polite and made and effort. Usually it was the guys she had to convince that Harry wasn’t a threat. Except now he was acting like one. The only thing saving her was the crowd and music making enough noise to save the awkwardness that would have ensued in any other environment. “Harry—”

“It’s alright,” the guy said putting a hand on her back. “It’s cool, mate. You have your traditions and things, it’s fine. We can go another night,” he said sweetly and the grin he had for her was also so very kind that Harry wanted to scream. It wasn’t fair and it wasn’t anyone’s fault but his own.

Harry’s eyes were glued to his hand on her body. “Don’t touch her,” he said simply.

His hand dropped from her back immediately. “O...kay.”

“Harry,” she said, not hiding her annoyance any longer. “What are you doing?” She snapped through gritted teeth.

Harry didn’t have an exit strategy. He never thought of doing anything like this in his entire life. He didn’t even feel like he had to do it right now. But all he wanted was to yank this man’s arm off his body, throw her over his shoulder, and take her as far away from this club as possible. “Y’seem like a decent guy, but we’re gonna go,” Harry said and pulled her toward him.

“Wait a second,” he said shaking his head with a surprised smirk. “Is this a joke?” He asked.

“Harry,” she said pulling herself against Harry’s grip on her hand.

“Nope,” Harry said nearly popping his lips on the syllable.

“I am so sorry,” she said in his direction and Harry pulled her again. “Harry, I swear to God,” she snapped.

“Harry, mate. M’not gonna steal her from you—”

“I’d honestly like to see you try,” he said finally with an eye roll.

“Oh my God,” she said her face turning bright red. “I will call you later,” she said and shoved Harry as hard as she could in the direction of the back where they clearly needed to have a conversation in private.

“Actually, she won’t.”

“Shut. Up.” She hissed and Harry didn’t even spare a backwards glance in his direction. He merely walked toward the back feeling the anger dissipating the further he got from the guy that was clearly good enough to steal her away from him.

*

In the privacy of the dressing room, Harry realized what he did. It was entirely out of character and his behavior was downright deplorable. “WHAT was that!?” She shouted at him slamming the door shut. “Are you that insanely protective about me you don’t think I can make smart decisions about the people in my life?” She was beyond mad. Harry hadn’t ever really seen her like that before...especially not directed at him.

He felt shame creep up further from his knotted stomach, through his heavy-felt chest, and settle on his face making him feel brighter red than he could fathom. But he didn’t regret his actions. He would do it again for her in a heartbeat. “Of course, y’can make your own decisions,” he rolled his eyes.

She looked shocked and still pissed. She started shaking her head and nearly waving her hands as she tangled her fingers in her hair trying to calm all her nerves from the interaction that just happened. “Are you sure? Because you certainly made it seem like you didn’t trust me to do so!”

She was so frustrated. Harry could see it all over her face, she was near tears and her heart was breaking and Harry never wanted to see her like this. It broke him over and over and over again. Yet, it was his fault this time. “I’m so mad at you and I’ve never been mad at you, I don’t even know what to do. I could strangle you! I can’t believe you did that! I’ve never done anything like that to any girl you’ve ever talked to or dated or...” she was fuming so badly she started to pace. She paced a lot when she didn’t know how to handle a situation and this was clearly uncharted territory. “What is wrong with you!?” She shouted.

“I’m sorry,” he said quietly. The quite thrum of the club music behind the walls of the room didn’t drown out his words, fortunately. He really was sorry; he didn’t mean to upset her or her date. The guy was truly fine. There was nothing wrong with him.

Except Harry wanted to be him.

“You’re sorry?!” She gasped and continued pacing. “Well then, that’s perfectly fine if you’re sorry. What the fuck, Harry,” she said covering her hand over her face. “You embarrassed me! I don’t know how I’m ever going to call him or apologize or...” Harry couldn’t do anything but look at the floor that she paced, his eyes entirely focused on her feet but thinking about everything she was saying as she ranted. “Harry, you’ve never acted like that before I don’t even know what to say or do, I’m lost—”

“I don’t want you t’date someone that isn’t me,” he said finally. He rushed it out and he watched as she stopped pacing mid-step and her breath caught in her throat as she stopped speaking, too. He slowly blinked and then looked back toward her face. Her lips parted open in shock, her head tilted at the slightest angle, and he could see the confusion all over her face.

“What...what did you say?” She asked. Her tone wasn’t as volatile as it was moments ago. Surely, she misheard him.

Harry licked his lips and looked toward the floor for a second again. He brought a hand to his lip and nipped at the skin around his thumb. Harry didn’t really get nervous. He stood on stage and sang vulnerable songs and felt vulnerable to criticism a lot as a performer. But at that moment he was. But he had never openly admitted his feelings about her to anyone. Especially not her. “M’sorry. I shouldn’t have...” he shook his head and inhaled deeply. He had to go on stage in ten minutes or less and here he was having the most terrifying conversation of his life. “He’s really nice,” Harry admitted. “And m’jealous. Because he’s nice and he made it very clear he likes you. And...I haven’t done that.”

“Jealous?” She repeated, still confused by the change in subject. The rapid change in her demeanor made her heart rate drop immensely but it was working it’s way back up to a frantic speed similar to how angry she was but now for an entirely different reason.

Harry nodded silently, looking back at the floor. “I really like you...actually...” He looked back up once more as he said his next sentence because he meant every word of it. “I think s’quite obvious I love you,” the words felt so comfortable in his mouth. He had said them a thousand times before but of course he meant it in a romantic way that made him feel warm and scared all at once. His gaze dropped back to the floor. “I shouldn’t have acted the way I did. Not seeing you for s’long. Knowing someone else wanted t’make y’happy the way I want t’make y’happy...I didn’t like it,” he explained. “So...I was an ass,” he murmured quietly avoiding her eyes until finally he had no choice to understand why she was being so silent. She stared at him silently, her eyes no longer annoyed, just utterly confused. “Kitten,” he said softly. “Please say something.”

There was another beat of silence. “I accept your apology,” she said softly.

“I...I don’t really care ‘bout that, kitten,” he swallowed the nervousness caught in his throat. If she didn’t love him back, if Sarah was wrong, he would die. He would ruin everything about their friendship, and he could not lose her; he would gladly spend forever silently pining for her as long as he could be in her life. As long as he could be there beside her—even if it wasn’t the way he wanted it to be. He was glad he wasn’t holding anything because his hands were shaking, and he had to tuck them into his pants’ pockets so she wouldn’t see. “I said a lot of other stuff that I think is a bit more pressing.”

It was silent again and he saw tears well in her eyes and Harry thought if she cried he would lose his mind. He couldn’t believe Sarah was wrong. Harry always, always hoped she felt the same way and now it was obvious she didn’t. She was going to hate Harry for ruining their friendship, for making the band have to pick sides and essentially ruining any plan they ever made all because he couldn’t keep his feelings to himself and because—

“Harry, wouldn’t you want to date someone skinnier than me or prettier than me or someone who doesn’t—I don’t know...someone who’s better than me?”

The thrum of the music outside the room seemed to stop. It was so quiet. All that existed was the sound of her breath and Harry’s.

Of all the things she could have said in that moment. “Love, what did y’say?” He asked shaking his head in surprise. “Y’said...m’sorry, what?” He surely imagined that. The words that fell from her lips were suddenly in another language.

She frowned, her eyebrows pinched together, and her cheeks turned a shade pinker. “I want more for you,” she whispered. “More than I am.”

So he didn’t hear incorrectly. The tears weren’t because Harry ruined their friendship. They were tears of inadequacy. “Kitten...” he whispered taking a few steps toward her and his heart snapped in half when she took a step back trying to distance herself from her best friend. A shield to protect herself from all the emotion that was thickly laid in the room. “You’re the only one that exists for me.”

She looked away for a moment, her lips rolled into her mouth, and she started to twist her fingers together nervously. Standing before Harry, her heart was breaking by the second. Simultaneously, she broke Harry’s heart. Anytime she put herself down, it broke him. All he wanted was to ease all her worries and make her feel like she was the best and only thing that mattered to him—because she was. She started to shake her head, refusing to believe the words that left his mouth. “Harry, you sing to hundreds and hundreds of girls. I’m not like them! They’re beautiful and they already adore you—”

Harry shook his head while she spoke, his hands dragging over his face because he didn’t want to pronounce his love for her in the back of a club with alcohol sticking to the bottoms of their shoes and the sticky floor. He wanted there to be flowers, gentle music that she liked playing quietly behind them while he told her that he always adored her, and he never wanted to see another girl as long as he lived if she wasn’t his.

Instead, it was going to be here, with tears in her eyes, the music seeming to get louder outside the room, and all the while Harry smelled like stale sweat from his sound check earlier in the day. “Love, I sing in front of hundreds and hundreds of girls. I only sing to one person,” he whispered. “Every song I write is ‘bout you. Every song I sing is dedicated to you. When you’re not here, m’still singing to you. I have loved you since the moment I saw y’get on the bus and every moment after. I loved you when y’were dating someone else and I loved you when y’were s’heartbroken you didn’t want t’get out of bed but y’did anyway. There isn’t anyone else for me. You are beautiful and intelligent. You make me laugh and you are the most loving person I know. I don’t want anyone but you. M'so committed t'being with you...nothing else matters t'me. So, no. I don’t want someone else if they’re not you. If there’s more than you, I don’t want it.” he was out of breath and he scuffed his foot against the floor as he looked up at the ceiling to keep the tears from fogging his own vision. He didn’t want to cry in front of her.

She stared at him as if she was seeing him for the first time.

She thought about the day she got on the bus with no one to sit next to. Her parents had packed their whole lives up and flew across an ocean a week before school started. She didn’t know any kids her age and she had never been to school before in her short little life. Her mom gave her a hug and encouraged her to get on the bus, but she was scared and wracked with nerves. At the ripe old age of five-year-old she thought she would go out of her mind at that moment and never go to school. Never be successful like Mommy and Daddy and never be able to do anything.

However, that moment sent her an angel as she walked up the aisle of the bus in the form of a mop of brown curly hair and green eyes that smiled at her. He patted the seat beside him. “Y’can sit here,” he told her. “M’Harry,” he told her. “S’my first day of school!” He said excitedly.

Breathlessly she sat herself down beside the kind boy and she smiled nervously at him as she introduced herself. “It’s my first day too,” she said quietly. “I’m really nervous.”

“Me too,” he admitted. “We can do it together though,” he said. “We can be nervous together!”

Her little body released a relieved breath and she nodded. “Thanks, Harry.”

“S’what best friends are for,” he said with a grin.

After that, she never thought about being scared because Harry was always by her side. Presently, she was scared. But Harry was there. So how could she even imagine being scared if he was still there telling her that he loved her, and it would all be okay?

“Harry,” she whispered softly.

He shook his head, stepping away from her this time to create more distance between them in the small room. She was going to break his heart. He ruined the whole evening, and the show would be miserable if she rejected him. She had every right to reject him; still, it didn’t matter. All he wanted was her happiness. But right now, all he wanted was to get away from her so she couldn’t break him into a thousand pieces. “Love, I swear if you’re jus’ going t’say no, we can stay friends—pretend this didn’t happen. I can’t lose you—” he choked off.

“No,” she shook her head quickly, stepping close to him so there was little space between them. “Harry,” she whispered and brought her hands to his shoulders. It felt like fire, and it was going to shatter him in the next ten seconds when she told him no and he knew that she would say it was okay, that they could stay friends. She would probably do a great job at comforting him through this heartbreak despite ruining their friendship anyway. He turned his head to the side as he closed his eyes trying to hide the tears that were threatening their way out of his eyes.

“Please kiss me,” she whispered.

His gaze whipped back to her, and she had one lip pinched between her teeth drawing his eyes to her beautiful face. Harry never thought...not in a million years...

It was like seeing her for the first time. He would never get sick of seeing her. He would never ever get over the rush he got from seeing her beautiful eyes and the way her lips and nose just looked so cute and everything about her exuded this air of prettiness that Harry wished he could bottle and keep with him just as a reminder for the moments he wasn’t at her hip.

But right now, this moment was new, the first time he saw her as something other than a best friend—but not really. The first time they considered something other than friendship between themselves. “Yes, m’love,” he hummed. Within seconds his fingers were tangled in her hair by her ears. She shivered at the feeling of Harry touching her like that. Nothing compared, however, to the way his lips felt on hers. Her arms went around his neck, and he leaned down toward her body to make it easier on her reach. Harry thought he would die if she found out he loved her. He thought he would still die for an entirely different reason now while he cradled her to his body as closely as possible. He never wanted to let her go, never wanted to stop kissing her.

Fortunately, the door banged open against the wall and the music rushed in loudly.

“Finally!” Niall sighed with an eyeroll. They pulled from their kiss awkwardly and she pressed a hand to her lips as she tried to hide her blushing smirk from Niall. Harry couldn’t have cared at all that Niall entered the room. He couldn’t stop staring at her.

“Hi Niall,” she said softly.

“I’ll stall for five but then we have to go on stage,” he said, pulling the door shut behind him.

Harry chuckled. “Thanks, Niall,” he called before gently pushing her against the door so he could tether his lips back to hers.

Harry always thought she felt like home—he thought part of him died when she left for the year. When she returned that feeling of home came back too. But nothing could have prepared him for the relaxed and easy feeling of kissing her as if he had been kissing her for all his life.

--

@tiaamberxx

[batwynn]

I’ve gotten a few insistent anons lately demanding I state my thoughts and opinions on the current and past history of Palestine on this blog. (You can tell they don’t follow my more personal side blog, I guess.) On the one hand, I do understand people wanting to know that someone they follow has similar opinions on severely important things like this. But on the other hand, most of the asks have that certain… tone that gives me the feeling that they are more interested in ‘catching’ me in something, than any actual concern over my politics or the actual people involved. They’re worded in a way that is very immature—in a way that leaves very little room for anything other than the exact statements parroted back to them that they expect. Which I can’t do. One, because I can’t read their minds to say exactly what they want me to say. Two, because I’m an entire person with a whole life that they know nothing about—something that comes with all the flaws of being a human person with my own history and education based on where I lived and who I knew. And three, because I don’t want to parrot someone else’s words to appease a random person I don’t know. And the thing is, I’ve had this conversation already with nearly everyone in my life. I’ve gone over it at least a dozen times with friends and family from all walks of life. Some conversations were harder than others. All of them were hard. Partially because what is happening is hard to talk about, and partially because I don’t really know what to say. What do I say that changes anything? What do I say that isn’t speaking over someone who is directly affected? What do I say that won’t be misinterpreted by someone willingly misinterpreting/looking for a fight? What can I say that doesn’t hurt anyone at all? Because someone out there will always be hurt, no matter how carefully I try to word things. And I have tried. I’ve written this post 80+ times for months now. I’ve read other’s words and found parts that spoke to me and for me very well, but then have that certain edge that goes into the harm territory. Some lean into Zionism, some lean into antisemitism. Some are just outright racist, some are full on fascist. And that’s really the entirety of it. I just don’t want people to be hurt anymore. So to answer your questions, anon:

I don’t know what the right thing to say is and no matter how careful I am, it will never be correct enough for you. I am angry and horrified at the harm that has been done over many years to the Palestinian people. None of my words can really summarize that history, or what is happening to them right now. Every single day I learn something new, and every single day it is someone doing irreparable harm to innocent people. I am disgusted by the never ending terrorism and harm done by people who think that killing innocents is a worthy way to get them what they want. And that goes for anyone who does this, including but not limited to the Hamas, the Israeli army, or my very own colonizing country. I am alarmed at how black and white people are treating this, and how no consideration is allowed for those who fall between the cracks or who dont follow their strict narrative. That people forget that Jewish Palestinian people exist when they go on their rants, or what people from every ‘side’ or corner of the world can want the end of the harm. That people have hatred for Jewish and Muslim people with no regards to who they actually are and what they believe. That there are so many who support Palestinian freedom, and then parrot outright fascist talking points. That many come to support their Jewish friends, but then say that Palestinian children deserve to die because _____. So, no. There is nothing I can say that really matters. Because no matter what I say someone out there will twist my words, or misunderstand, or tell me that I’m supporting something I don’t support. Because no matter what I say, I just can’t write the right words on fucking Tumblr to stop the harm from being done.

[phoebe-delia]

"Fast Car" WIP Snip

I don't think I've had (a public) one at all this year so far!! This is a fic I started literally just now but I told yall I was gonna do one to "Fast Car" by Tracy Chapman and I am pleased to say that I have the first scene!! And you can read it right here!! Yay!!

“You’re not serious.”

Harry shrugged, staring straight ahead and walking past where Draco had dramatically paused in the middle of the sidewalk. Harry slowed his pace, though, and nonchalantly sipped from his to-go cup of coffee. “I think it makes sense.”

Draco moved to catch up, their steps aligning once more. He scoffed, and his breath fogged in the frigid late autumn air. “How on earth—“

“We both want to—“ he briefly interrupted himself, glancing around to make sure no one in the open park was staring or listening in on their conversation. He was certain the Glamour was still holding up, but he could never be too careful in public. “We both want to leave,” he said, keeping his voice low. “It might as well be together. At least that way, we’ll know someone.”

“But we’re barely even friends,“ Draco nearly whispered. “How do you expect us to like each other for that long—let alone live together?”

Harry stopped walking, and Draco did too, letting Harry turn and face him directly. Draco’s eyes were wide and uncertain; he was shivering slightly, his body no longer warmed by their brisk walk. His cheeks had flushed in the cold, the color spreading to the tip of his nose, and Harry suppressed the sudden, potent urge to pull him into his arms and press his lips along the pinked skin. To warm him from the inside out.

“Well,” Harry said instead. “I think ‘barely friends’ is a little unfair. We’ve hung out.”

“Having a drunken heart-to-heart at Luna’s birthday party doesn’t really count, Potter.”

“That wasn’t the only time we’ve hung out just us two.”

“Since when?”

“Since now, arguably,” Harry said with a quick half smile.

Draco rolled his eyes. “Yes, I suppose you sending me an Owl to meet up and proposing this ridiculous idea does count as us ‘hanging out.’ But what about your friends? Your life? Your job?”

Harry waved a hand. “I’ll see them. It’s Muggle America, not Siberia. Besides, I’m tired of the Ministry. It’s…”he trailed off and sighed. “I need a change, and so do you.”

“Me?!”

“Yes, you. Your mother fucked off to Paris with a man half her age. Your father is rotting in Azkaban where he belongs. You’ve got to be getting lonely in that obnoxious Manor of yours.”

Draco scoffed. “You don’t know me—“

“Don’t I?”

Draco studied him in silence, a bit stunned, before shaking himself. “It’ll never work,” he said, finally.

Harry shrugged. He took another sip of his coffee and grimaced at the drink, now gone cold. He looked back at Draco, who was staring at him with a frown.

“Only one way to find out,” Harry said, tossing his cup in a nearby trash can. “Besides, I’ve got nothing better to do, do you?”

Draco stared for another long moment, and then he huffed a laugh and looked away, shaking his head, the beginning of a smile tugging at his lips.

[vaguelyparker]

Movie Star

Starker

Rating: Explicit

Fair warning I haven’t written starker since pre no way home and I’ve never written anything even smut adjacent so I can’t vouch for the quality of this I just saw @monster-cock69 intern Peter prompt and basically forgot I was human until I finished 🤷‍♀️

Also Petey is still Spider-Man in this because overstimulation is fun 🫶 lmk if I should add any warnings again this is my smut debut so idk about any specific warnings that might be appreciated

—

Peter doesn’t flinch when the hand snakes around his waist. Warm and all encompassing and too low to be remotely professional. He’d recognize the gait anywhere. It’s almost pathetic- he’s only known the man for weeks and he can pick him from a crowd. But he’s Tony Stark. Peter has spent years thinking about the man. About his smell, his muscles, his everything. It’s hardly a surprise that in the few times they’ve interacted Peter can tell from the sound of creaking Italian leather and heavy rubber soles exactly who’s been trailing behind him for the last few corridors.

It’s just the two of them now. Peter can just barely hear the sounds of the bustling offices surrounding them over Stark industries sound proofing. But there hasn’t been a soul in at least the corridors and Peters sure Tony had a part in that if his tightening grip means anything. He lets the man take the lead- no longer walking aimlessly- aware but unable to act. Peter is slightly taller than the man, but hunched in on himself and leaning into the too low touch it’s barely noticeable.

Before long Peters being shepherded into a storage closet and shoved against the metal door. Tony’s lips are at Peters neck in an instant. Peter melts into the door a desperate pant leaving glistening lips as Tony’s beard scratches at the junction of neck and shoulder. Tony is a quick study- he’s learned the ins and outs of Peter in the few sessions they’ve spent together?

“There’s no cameras right?” Peter asks voice breaking mid sentence. Even though he’s sure he’s been splayed on a hundred different cameras already- the thought makes him squirm. Makes him think of Aunt Mays disappointment if, if, if.

Tony laughs into his neck, and ignores the question while he continues on- mapping every inch of Peters bared throat with teeth and lips and tongue and heat.

“Sweet heart this is Stark tower,” Tony whispers harshly into his ear in a perverse act of privacy they both know is unnecessary. As if he’s given a single shit about Peters modesty since the moment he saw chocolate eyes and indecent fucking lips chewing at the bottom of a pen. “There’s not an inch of this place where I don’t have eyes and ears.”

With that the man turns Peter- and fists at loose curls pulling his head up from where he’s been smushed against the cold metal door. He’s met with the sight of smooth wall- no tiny red lights, no obvious protrusions but Tony is a genius after all and Peter is left blinking away tears of mortification.

“So why don’t you smile for the camera?” Tony’s voice is louder and more demanding- punctuated with the sound of skin and fabric as his slacks and boxers are shoved down in a single move. Everything is too much. Every sound echoing in Peters ears right down to the beat of Tony’s pulse which picks up at the sight of him.

The man’s chuckles reverberate throughout the room. A shiver runs down Peters spine and wines into the door, now warm from the red of his cheeks.

The plug in his ass is pulled out and tossed aside in one fell swoop. Replaced with something- someone else in an instant as Tony drives into him like a starving man.

“Good boy, my good boy. God you look so good like this,” Filth keeps spewing from Tony’s lips as the man sets a punishing pace. One hand gripping bruisingly at his hip and Peters addled brain hates that the proof of this all will be gone come morning. The other still tangled around soft curls forcing Peter to stare directly at the camera even as he’s sobbing and coming undone. “Tell the camera how much you love it. How much you love being my perfect boy, my favorite fucking intern.”

“I love it Mr. Stark. I love being your good boy.” The words come out in barely discernible gasps. Peters sobbing openly at the point. Overstimulated and wanting no needing more.

Tony groans at the title shoving into Peters heat faster and harder.

“You gonna be my little movie star Petey? God cry just like that for the camera so I can watch this any time I think about this ass, these fucking lips,” The hand in his hair releases and shoves into Peters mouth. “So I can fall asleep listening to all these pretty little sounds.”

Tony pulls his fingers from Peters mouth rubbing them on the boys button up before gripping his unattended hip. Trusting without purchase. “You fucking tease. That’s what you want isn’t it baby? Can’t handle just being my favorite intern gotta be my favorite porn star too. Can’t handle me thinking about anything else. You’ve fucking ruined me.”

“Yes, yes, yes, please, please- just me, just me. I want,” Peter mumbles the same words, stumbling over them, coherency lost on him as his orgasm takes hold. “I want to be your favorite porn star.”

“Fuck.” Tony whispers leaning his head on the junction between Peters neck and shoulder blades. The combination of the fucked out admission and the way Peter was tightening around him as he orgasmed sending him over his release.

[yellowjacketslesbian]

A Breakdown of Van Palmer’s NYC Monologue in S1E7 of Yellowjackets

Hey y’all! This is one of my favorite monologues from season one, so I wanted to do a quick breakdown on it before season two.

To fully appreciate Van’s monologue, I think we really need to consider the historical context. Although, it was only a little over two decades ago, 1996 was an entirely different world, especially for closeted lesbians growing up in suburbia. The first coming out episode in television history wouldn’t air until 1997 and gay marriage wouldn’t be legalized in the first state (Massachusetts) for another 8 years. Being out, or even just visibly queer, would’ve been dangerous in 1996 suburbia. Van was extremely brave to even be visibly butch back then, but I digress… I don’t want to dwell on the negatives of the time period, but I do think it’s important to remember the world Van and Taissa grew up in when thinking about their relationship.

The closet wasn’t a choice for Van or Taissa, it was obligatory. At least, staying closeted would’ve been essential for surviving in suburban New Jersey at the time.

Overall, Van’s NYC monologue is a confession… that she loves Taissa… that she wants to live to see a day that they can be out together. New York in the monologue is a metaphor for a time and place where Van and Taissa can be out together. There were very few places Van and Taissa could have gone to be able to be safely out together, New York City just happened to be the closest to New Jersey. A place where they would be free to be themselves so close, yet so far from where they grew up.

The “there” in Van’s monologue, that she’s willing to risk her life for, is a dream of a day when her and Tai can just exist openly. Somewhere they can hold hands without fear. She’s willing to do anything to get “there” because she loves Taissa so much that she’s willing to go to any length to get that future together.

Love is what drives Van to follow Tai on what she believed could be a death mission. She can’t tell Tai she loves her directly, but her earnestness shows it. She stops just short of confessing directly that she loves Tai when she says “I know I don’t have to come with you. I need to.” She needs to go with Tai because she can’t let her go alone and risk losing her. She can’t lose Tai because she loves her. But, Van also can’t admit that she loves Tai because she may not love her back or worse Tai does love her back and they both have to admit just how real their relationship has become to them both.

 Now, for a full breakdown:

“You know, I’ve only been to New York City once.”: This one line tells us so much about Van and her life pre-crash. She grew up so close to New York, and yet, she only got to visit once. It really speaks a lot to her homelife growing up and socio-economic class that she didn’t get to go to the city growing up. It also shows that NYC as might as well have been on another planet for Van growing up in the hellscape of suburban New Jersey.

“It was on my seventh birthday. All I wanted was a soft pretzel and one of those horse and cart rides through Central Park.”: Van can’t allow herself to tell Tai she wants to go to New York with her without a preface. She deflects from the full weight of her words in this monologue by doing what she does best – telling a story.

“It’s lame. I was seven.”: This section really shows how deeply self-conscious Van is, she has to acknowledge it was just a silly childhood dream before someone else can point it out. Even around Taissa, who very clearly loves her, that self-consciousness stays with her. It speaks so much to how Van views herself because of how the world has treated her.

“I got taken to see Cats. Fucking Cats.”: This shows us how Van is used to not being heard or at least being asked what she wants. It really underscores how much it must have hurt Van when Tai made the decision to go on the south expedition against Van’s urging. I don’t blame Tai at all for making that decision, but it definitely cut deep for Van.  

“I want to go back to New York, Tai.”:  This is a plea for Tai to understand the full weight of what Van says next. A plea to hear what Van is too scared to tell her – she loves her and wants a future with her.

“I want to go to New York with you, and I want to buy you a fucking soft pretzel, and I want to take you on a fucking horse and carriage ride through Central Park.”: Here, Van admits she wants a future together when/if they find help and get rescued. I personally believe they were together for awhile precrash, but I think they always had an unspoken rule to not fall too hard for each other (they obviously both did anyway) because eventually it would have to end. I think they both really wanted to believe they were just a high school fling; it was easier than admitting they wanted a future together that would be difficult to have in the 90s.

“I know I don’t have to come with you. I need to.”: The “because” behind this statement is too terrifying for Van to admit, perhaps even to herself. If Van were a bit braver and if she doubted herself a bit less, she would say, “I need to because I love you.”

“I’m not gonna die out here without at least trying to get there.”: Van is willing to die trying to get to a future with Tai.

[quill-of-thoth]

Letters from Watson, catching up

Study In Scarlet part 1: 1880 I’ve been neglecting my correspondence (emails) and decided to start my Holmes reread today, with some good old fashioned deductive speculation and some context, in case anyone else is also reading along a month late. Please bear with me as I neglect to commit to either a Watsonian (these are real people who we can learn biographical data about) or a Doylist (remember this is just a book and we should just relax) point of view. If your mental image of Holmes and Watson are either Robert Downey Junior and Jude law, or Jeremy Brett and David Burke, you will probably be surprised at how young these two probably are.

Preliminary evidence: Our Friends’ ages

- Watson was wounded at the battle of Maiwand, fought July 27 1880, ill for months, plural, and the journey back to england took a month. At the very earliest he started looking for lodgings in November 1880 - He would have been at medical school for at least two, probably three years before finishing in 1878. It is unlikely, though not impossible, that he would have started his course of study significantly before reaching his twenties. For historical comparison, Dr. James Barry, also an army surgeon with a degree from a British medical school, started his course of study at the age of approximately twenty, and became an army surgeon at about 23. (Although Dr. Barry died in 1865 it’s unlikely that there would be a huge difference in how long their courses of study took.) People seem to have gone directly to medical school instead of doing other university courses first.  - While he could be older, could be slightly younger. Watson is probably around twenty five. - Holmes is still taking university courses, erratically, and although we don’t get any timeline of his studies, he’s probably not older than Stamford, who was a surgeon’s assistant when Watson worked with him at St. Bartholemew’s Hospital, and presumably still works there given how much he knows about Holmes’ use of the chemical labs. “Young” Stamford is likely a few years younger than Watson.  - Like Watson Holmes probably started his studies in his very late teens or early twenties. The age of getting a degree could and did vary during the 1800s from our current conception of who’s the right age to be in college (with people somewhat more likely to be sent off to secondary education slightly younger than seventeen or eighteen than they are now, and also plenty of instances of people starting college later than we usually expect from someone who is headed directly there after their childhood studies and before their first adult career) but the important thing here is that Holmes appears to be in charge of his own finances, and the age of majority for Victorian men was 21.  - Holmes has pretty much got to be somewhere between 20 and 25. My money is on him being 22-23 (because he does already have a reputation, as we shall see, he has completed at least a year of study during the time he was friends with Victor Trevor, and because he appears to complete, or give up, his coursework between the end of Study in Scarlet and any other case Watson witnesses) and on Watson being 24-26. - For context, Sir Arthur Conan Doyle wrote this story at age 27 in 1886. It’s not unreasonable to assume that, despite timeline weirdness (He was born in 1859, as Holmes might have been, but he will obviously always set his writing in the past), Holmes and Watson are going to age more or less with him.  - I have only vague memories of the Baring-Gould chronology for this series but I think it agrees with me in that regard. Baring-Gould thinks Holmes is about two or three years older than I think Holmes is, though. 

Conclusion: My sympathies to Mrs. Hudson, these boys are going to be the death of a decent amount of your furniture. 

[khazadspoon]

Day 3: strangers / fish / culture / fighting

I went with a vague dark tower cross over because… well. I can. It’s my party after all.

———

One of the joys of scouting was being able to be alone for more than a few minutes at a time. You got to ride out and see the lay of the land, take in the fresh air without it smelling of cattle and sweat, just Earth and trees and grass. Pete enjoyed it more than riding with the herd, though he wouldn’t want to admit that to anyone in the outfit directly. But it was peaceful, quiet, and settling under a shady tree when the sun was high above was a luxury he could afford on these little trips. He tipped his hat over his eyes and listened to his horse huffing and chewing at the relatively green patch of grass they had found.

Later, he would think back and wonder how he hadn’t heard the stranger approach.

“Long days and pleasant nights,” a voice said. It was a low, gravelly voice. It was a voice that sounded like long miles and longer years, of hard travelling with no end in sight. That voice made Pete’s chest tighten, his fingers twitching as he reached thoughtlessly for his gun.

He looked up and for a moment thought he was looking at a ghost. The man was tall, at least as tall as Rowdy or Gil, his sun-bleached jeans only a shade or two darker than the shirt he wore. The hair on his head just visible under his beaten up hat was dark and streaked with grey.

“Uh, same to you,” Pete responded and carefully stilled his hand. His eyes took in the large, ancient looking guns at the man’s hips, the worn leather of the gun belts he wore crossed over one another, and felt cold fear settle in the pit of his stomach. The man hadn’t made a move to touch them, his arms hanging loosely at his side, but Pete didn’t want to test the man’s speed.

“Do you mind if I take a seat?” It was a question.

Pete nodded and gestured with one hand.

“Thankee sai.” The stranger tapped his throat three times and sat down, long legs folding elegantly under him. The long duster flipped out behind him.

Odd. The words, the tone, the gesture… Pete went through all the sign he knew, all the snatches of language he had picked up over the years and came up short. He didn’t recognise the words or the tapping motion. But strangeness didn’t necessitate rudeness. Pete took the cigarettes from his shirt pocket and offered them. “Smoke?” He asked. The stranger nodded, long fingers reaching out as he took one.

Pete lit a match, held it out, tried to keep his gaze calm and friendly as he watched the man take a few puffs. His face morphed into a frown and then his brows raised, a look of pleasant surprise on his face.

“Good tobacco,” the stranger said, something lighter in his voice. “I’ve not had it’s like for many years.”

Pete lit his own and took a long drag, the smoke joining the strangers as it drifted through the air. “It’s just from town, nothin’ special.”

The stranger made a considering sound and examined the cigarette before continuing to smoke in silence. The sun continued to beat down from above, and Pete let the heat lull him into a relaxed doze. A mistake, surely, but he didn’t have anything valuable on him worth stealing or killing him for, and he was still certain his skills we’re sharp enough to wake him if anything was to happen.

But when he opened his eyes, the stranger was gone. The pre were no ashes left, no cigarette butt, no indication the man had ever been there besides the slightly flattened grass where he had been sat.

Pete glanced around. Had he dreamed the entire thing? It had been hot, maybe he hadn’t had enough water…

But the grass was flattened, he could see it clear as day. There were slight indentations where boots had scuffed the ground. Pete was down two cigarettes, not one.

He realised later, when he had time to wonder how he hadn’t heard the man arrive, that he hadn’t been riding either.

Pete didn’t mention it when he returned to camp.

[madsmilfelsen]

hi mads hope you dont mind random advice anons

i think youve mentioned that you dont live where you grew up anymore maybe??

got any advice for making friends as an adult/homebody

from the type of person who could just read and craft alone forever but knows they probably shouldn't

First of all, I never mind and I like getting anons :)))) sorry I didn’t answer this yesterday but I’m gonna bum ya out lmao I moved 50 times before I turned 12 when my mama married a man in the navy and promptly sent us across the country, I’ve never lived where I grew up— always the new kid, I didn’t really socialize correctly to develop the skills to make friends so yeah okay let’s talk about now… ish— I moved to the upper Midwest 11 years ago next month with my husband who I met in Alaska, known stuff, we lived with his parents for a few years because we couldn’t afford to contract our house to built, my husband did it himself (directly behind my in laws, people are always like omg?? like no no no they are my parents they dote on me I love them kids can ride their bikes to grandmas it’s the perfect set up and maintains a thousand mile+ between me and my parents)

So my husband built me a house that I fucking HATE leaving, that I have not left for more than a few days at a time until we went back to Alaska this summer. I have an office with all of beading/writing/school stuff, my favorite snacks, my dogs, I don’t even want to leave my property most days— I get it! Unfortunately to make friends and connections, especially locally, you have to leave the house. I’m not much of a drinker so I don’t got to bars all that often but I did attend my lil community college forever (bc kids) so I mainly made friends with my instructors because I’m a teachers pet for life, but I also tutored and made a few friends to at least chat with in class— otherwise I try to go to our small local events, an open house in the native studies dept. at the university im attending now, women’s night out (first day of hunting seasons and the shops give crazy discounts when our husbands are gone, the only time misogyny ever got me 75% off candles tbh), I went to two beerfests recently (tbh I oozed thc day out of my pores those days or packed rum and cokes, im not vice free here), nature trails, coffee shops, history talks, ballet studio, writing workshops at the library, old movies playing at the historical theater— if there’s something out there that sounds interesting, do it because you’ll likely find someone to strike a conversation up with and that’s all you need— if you happen to have kids the best thing I’ve done is make friends with other moms, especially if our kids get along

When feasible the best alternative is to go and meet the cool friends you made online, those are some of my favorite trips, and ski jumps are coming up so it’s going to be time where I start trying lure people to my very rural neck of the woods to participate in some honest love for physics defying sports day drinking

That being said it took me like ten years to leave my house but I finally have friends with routines in place, I have a weekly breakfast date and monthly girls dinner etc, or a group we can have side by side rides with— but a lot of that goes back to some of these people knowing my husband their entire lives lmao

[cassketti]

Tbh… you should totally drop your adrian shephard headcanons pls……..

OWCH OW OW OFYCK FUCK FUCK CRAMPS OCUH OC WO OWWWW

- filipino. hehehHAHAHAHAHA 🇵🇭🇵🇭🇵🇭

- He doesn’t know how to speak tagalog. Just picked up some words and phrases that his parents said.

- Agender. Lmfao. Aro bisexual

- I’ve been kinda thinking abt what his typology would be. Whats there to even type LMFAOO. But ermm. I’ve been thinking sp7, sx6, 8fix, 3fix. He’d def be like a 3V tbh.

- His spore launcher grew up. YAYY!!! Spore launcher, erm, shock trooper, acts like an angsty teen now.

- Adrian: ya man so like. I would be carrying this baby alien around with me and he SPITS OUT FUCKING uh FRUIT GRENADES AND SHIT like thats fucking sick man wish I can spit out fruit grenades Shock trooper: ddaaaaaad, ur embarassing me.. 😡😡😡

- But they’re both happy they were able to reunite <:3 HEHEHEHEHE

- Adrian was in stasis all like “that mf BETTER NOT BE DEAD.. THAT WAS MY SSON…..”

FUCK OW OW OWWW

- i hate his cannon (ish?) personality. Tf u mean “adventure”?? Acting like ur going to a field trip and shit. Omfg.

- That being said. He does try to look for opportunities of “adventure”. Type of guy to purposely get himself lost. Like he’d be walking home and go “damn bruh what if I just went a COMPLETELY DIFFERENT route than I usually do”. Chris McCandless ass 😭😭

- I feel like he’s the younger sibling 💀💀LIKE THE TYPE WHO ACTS MORE CHILLER AND I GUESS MORE MATURERER THAN THE OLDER ONE. Mitchell tries so hard to be like a role model for him but adrians jus chilling

OW

- (This is after like stasis. So like, hl2) hates being in the dark (literally). Hates being alone too. He’s not like super duper social or anything but he tries to surround himself with people or at least someone to keep him company.

- Touch starved, lmfao.

- Foams at the mouth at the sight of grass and light /j

- He gets overwhelmed (physically) easily. Light gives him a headache. He notices sounds more.

- Adrian’s upset that his home is kinda, gone. And he feels rlly homesick and there’s nothing he could do 😭😭😭 bro came back from 20 years of the void and he finds out that everything has completely changed.

- Cuz like. In his years of stasis he was fantasizing about being back at Earth and what he would do again, then he comes back and ITS TERRIBLEEE 😭😭😭

- Hungry. Appreciates his meals alot more than he did before. I mean who wouldn’t, look at WHAT EARTH IS IN HL 2. THE COMBINE FOOD IS NASSSSTTYY AND SOME PEOPLE BE JOINING CIVIL PROTECTION FOR IT.

- this isnt an adrian shephard hc. But like i like to think rebel bases has like those filipino tricycles, the ones with a motercycle attached to like a cab. Yk? Alyx rides on them a few times. Hc she’s also (partially) filipino 🇵🇭🇵🇭

- he used to be kind of a germaphobe. Bro washed his hands two-three times for more than 20 seconds each. Like he’d wash his hands and go “damn wait a minute what if I didn’t wash it enough. One more time just in case.” He carried hand sanitizer with him everywhere. Washed his face and doused himself in lysol disinfectant spray whenever he came into contact with something that “just felt dirty”. Wiped down his belongings after someone borrowed it. Tried not to open doorknobs directly with his hands as much as possible. Used to be hesitant on petting stray animals. He grew out of it, eventually. Lol. Such a 1F (ME TOO ME TOO ME TOO)

- I mean he’s an animal person tho. That’s just a collective agreement at this point. That mf liked animals. He likes otters. The spore launcher reminded him of an otter.

- Hated being seen as weak or pathetic. Tries to make himself important. Hates people seeing him emotional. Tries to act calm and collected and shit. He doesn’t know what he’s doing most of the time.

- Likes journaling. I do too. He glues scraps and other stuff on a page when he didn’t feel like writing.

- Feels like he failed something. Like he could’ve reached his fullest potential but didn’t. Erm. Wasn’t able to at least.

- gman bullies him cuz he thinks it’s fucking funny as hell. Like, just do things that would inconvenience Adrian slightly (not rlly slightly). Like gman moves furniture precisely where Adrian would hit his elbow really hard, flinch and turn around really fast, then hits his head on another piece of furniture, then he falls over and hit his back on the edge of a chair.

- Gman would abruptly teleport next to adrian, trip him over, then immediately disappear right before Adrian could get up.

- Yk. Stuff like that.

- Adrian’s lowkey scared of gman. I mean shit I would be too if I was him. He’s scared that gmans gonna come in and ruin everything for him. Gordon is too, I could go into detail and my gordon hcs I literally have notes for it. anyways.

- He dyed his hair blonde

Theres more buuut WHATEVER. Some of these dont even rlly have an apparent reason I jus be like “ya this got to be adrain shephard” and believe its true

Part 2 if someone asks this question again FILIPINO EDITION🇵🇭🇵🇭😇😇/j

[a-beneficial-union]

Howdy, salut, the Alighted was mildly musing about junk she often does in the quiet period after her work shift and she realizes that she’s never actually put this stuff on proverbial paper.

So! The bedrock of A Beneficial Union is that the characters seen in the show as “Eon’s Servants” had to come from somewhere, and something had to have happened to ‘em after the fact. Since Eon is presented as having been something of a student for Paradox, I decided that the latter was the one who got the ball rolling here, artificially segmenting and isolating two timelines he found useful and dividing them up into what eventually became the ten branches. Once Paradox’s research was done, he left them be— but they just kept on going in their altered isolation.

Paradox’s experiment is left intentionally vague because it is supposed to have taken place thirty years prior to the modern day, with everyone who was directly involved being gone for one reason or other and all the documentation for it having disappeared. I like playing with what different -ens think happened and how they feel about their existence being the direct consequence of someone playing god.

The branches can be organized roughly into three categories: timelines in which the Ben alternate was adopted by his canon parents before or around age two (branches 1, 5, 7, and 9), those in which they are kept for a while longer (or just are kept) (2, 4, 6, and 8), and the outliers (3 and 10). The closer to the “Good End” the timeline is, generally the better their life turns out.

Because Paradox would have tried to standardize his participants (hence isolating and altering the timelines), they all come from the same genome. Everything in their life is supposed to be the exact same up until the point of change— meaning that factors relating to geography, ethnic/racial background, etcetera, are supposed to be the same. Examples: Carl Tennyson is a nurse and Sandra is a veteran who was mobilized to Iraq at least twice before Ben and Gwen are born.

The problem with that is, when all of the characters are carbon copies of each other, it’s boring. Boring to draw, boring to write, just boring all around. I was talking about this at a friend of mine a few months ago (specifically, I was worrying about how pasty all the characters are) and their advice was to just make them not that.

A loophole around my own rules is that coming from the same genome says little about one’s phenome. There are gradations of the same traits and different ways that they are recognized in social contexts. I come from a very mixed household in which I am the palest person present, and I’ve seen quote a few different ways that people (siblings, parents, friends, strangers, etcetera) respond to said differences.

For Ben’s fixed traits, I decided that they are from immediate Irish, Syrian, and Italian descent (with Grandpa Max’s parents coming from Syria and Ireland). The options for full names are “Benjamin-Lorenzo Kurby Tennyson” (“Ben”) for adopted amabs, “Mildren-Aria Sionnon Tennyson” (“Ren”) for adopted afabs, “Jennifer Shannon Tennyson” (“Jen”) for kept afabs, and “Stephen Benjamin Tennyson” for kept amabs. All afabs are intersex but this is not evident until secondary dimorphism comes in around puberty.

They are agender (usually sticking to their assigned pronouns), demisexual and aromantic. They have mild autism and severe ADHD combined type (with notably constant hyperarousal, which is often mistaken for anxiety). While being born with a painful sort of hyperempathy, they lack a filter and do not naturally grasp what they’re supposed to do about certain cues. By adolescence, they almost always have empathy burnout and become a patchwork of apathy and intrusive compassion. How well adjusted they are is extremely dependent on their parents’ competence. They require intense socialization from an early age or else they become reclusive, spend a good amount of time early on in speech therapy or else their sentences are incoherently disheveled, have quite a few sensory sensitivities bordering on full on sensory issues, and are vehement seekers of physical contact (despite their low social threshold).

In infancy and toddlerhood, they experience frequent trips to the hospital due to lung-related infections. This, as well as the birth parents’ willingness to raise such a ‘defective’ child, is why they get adopted out. They will experience similar complications to breathing throughout their young lives, normally manifesting in late night coughing fits and the perpetual sting of a sore throat. At sixteen or seventeen, they develop sensitive skin (normally eczema) and irritable bowel syndrome. At eighteen, they develop chronic fatigue, soreness, nausea, vertigo, etcetera— which is totally not the writer projecting onto a character, nooooo.

Onto inclinations, and this is a part that I’ve been going back and forth on for a while. Humans have natural inclinations which are often summarized as the various forms of intelligence or, in cases of singularity, specialization. Having too much of one of these inclinations often comes with a deficit in an opposing one.

From what we see in canon, Ben is a proficient drawer (his doodles in class), musician (of at least three instruments), lexophile (constant use of wordplay), and… I have no fancy way of saying this one- understanding people, their new forms, and situations very quickly. I deduced, evilly, that their primary inclinations are naturalistic, linguistic, interpersonal, and musical. They experience deficits in mathematics (lowkey having mild dyscalculia) and kinesthetics (needing a lot more practice while young in order to do the basics, hence why he’s put in so many sports).

For special interests and hyperfixations, I decided that they should have two or three special interests from which various hyperfixations circulate. Canon Ben is obsessed with his various forms, has the prominent comfort show of Sumo Slammers, and is heavily oriented around ‘hero work’. He has the nickname pre-canon of “monster freak”, which I take to mean that he was focused on monsters prior to being able to shapeshift. Alternative fixations of the foremost include mythology, monsterology (of video games), and zoology. I am a simple person with simple desires, and so often make one of their early fixations be on dragons.

I’ve mostly worked on the first two branches, but the further down they go, the more different the above traits are applied.

I’m now tired, bye.

[aeoki]

Blackjack - Miracles Don't Exist: Chapter 6

Location: Star Fest Stage Characters: Yuzuru & Mika Season: Winter

TL Note:

This may be difficult to understand at a glance, but Yuzuru is making a joke that Mao’s forehead is so shiny with sweat that it resembles a bright sunrise.

Mika: Hehe. Anyway, it’s fun chattin’ like this.

But “Star Fest” only lasts a day. We can’t waste our time so I’m gonna ask you somethin’.

Yukkun, have you seen Anzu-chan, Naru-chan or Nakkun around?

Yuzuru: Err… As you may know, Anzu-san is currently missing. I presume Narukami-sama and Sakasaki-sama are on stage at one of the venues.

If you’d like to know where they are, why not contact them directly on “Hallhands”?

Mika: Hmm, well… You see~ I wanna give Naru-chan a surprise gift.

Last year, I caused Naru-chan to worry and she also took great care of me.

As an apology and as thanks, I’d like to make her happy this year. Ehehe, I even did a lotta practice on my own.

Yuzuru: I see – that is a lovely way of thinking.

I’ve understood. You’re planning on giving Narukami-sama a surprise gift so you cannot ask her for her whereabouts yourself?

Mika: Yeah… It’d be bad if I can’t meet up with her in the end, so I’m thinkin’ of contactin’ her if push comes to shove, though.

My ideal situation would be me bargin’ into the venue Naru-chan’s at and then revealin’ the performance I thought of with Naru-chan in mind.

It’ll be the best performance I’ve come up with that will make Naru-chan light up with happiness.

To make that happen, I even got Oshi-san, who’s busy in Paris, to help make the props and things.

Yuzuru: I see… I’m sure if it’s a stage created by the two members of “Valkyrie”, then it’s bound to be a brilliant performance.

I’m sure it will make Narukami-sama happy.

Mika: Yeah. Ehehe, Oshi was really enthusiastic for some reason, so it turned out to be a really gaudy performance – even by my standards.

Yuzuru: Hmm… Itsuki-sama prefers working on performances after considering everything right down to the last detail, after all.

In that sense, I suppose doing it in the form of a surprise would be best.

Mika: Yeah. ‘Course, I’ll make sure it’s a performance that will not only make Naru-chan happy, but also somethin’ that our fans, who have been supportin’ us since forever, will enjoy too.

Oshi-san’s gone off to a far away country, but there’s no need to feel sad. I’ll show the entire world that “Valkyrie” is right here.

Yuzuru: That is a wonderful idea. Hehe, this year’s “Star Fest” is individual participation, but after seeing everyone’s behaviour, you can see how the spirit of their unit lives on within them.

The spirit of their unit must have undeniably seeped through all the way into their bones.

Myself included. I may be alone right now but I will act in a “fine” manner, at the very least. I shall act proudly, beautifully and elegantly.

Mika: Yeah. You should be the talk of the seaside, Yukkun ♪

Yuzuru: I shall make that my goal.

…In any case, I’ve understood why you’re searching for Narukami-sama, but what about the other two?

Mika: Ngh~ Nakkun’s an excellent fortune-teller, so I figured he might be able to find the person I’m lookin’ for if I ask him.

Yuzuru: I see. There have been quite a number of sudden missing cases, so he must be very sought-after recently.

I’m also aware of Anzu-san’s case. Isara-sama was perhaps breaking out in a cold sweat out of concern, but his forehead was glistening when I saw him earlier.

I decided to point it out to him in a jolly manner by saying, “It’s far too early for the first sunrise of the year, Isara-sama[⁎]”, so I presume he would be trying to hide it with makeup at the moment.

Mika: This year’s Student Council seems pretty fun.

Anyway, everyone is seriously worried ‘bout Anzu-chan. I even saw an odd ninja and samurai duo searchin’ for her earlier.

Yuzuru: Oh… The Student Council has come together to search for Anzu-san in order to keep Isara-sama’s forehead from glistening too much.

Naturally, I, too, am worried about her.

But thanks to her, we can shine brightly this year on this holy night.

If I can, I’d love to give a word of thanks to her, as well.

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ← Previous Chapter ᠂ ⚘ ˚⊹˚ ⚘ ᠂  Next Chapter →

[mdazzle151]

Content creation and the things I miss

Being on an indefinite hiatus has really made me think a lot about what I did and didn’t enjoy about content creation as a whole, and it’s been pretty eye opening.

Obviously, there’s parts of it that I miss. The community, namely. But there’s other things too. I miss streaming- it was always really fun to be live and able to chat directly with my audience in real time while we draw together.

The redesign videos were really fun to make as well! I still have ideas of what I want the future redesigns to be for the “phantasi revamp”. I think I want the twins to be sea monsters! I’ve had a general idea of what I think they would look like in my head for a long time, but I never got around to doing it before I left.

I’m never sure if it’s self-centred or not- (recently I’ve been leaning towards not self-centred)- but I watch my videos a lot too. I put a lot of work and love into all of them, especially the later ones, and it’s fun to look back on them. Not to toot my own horn, but I think they’re pretty entertaining! 

There’s parts of editing that I miss- it was always a long process, but I can honestly say I enjoyed every part of it. Sometimes it was just hard to find the motivation to finish.

I still get comments every now and then on videos, and I read them all. Some of them are really sweet-actually a good majority of them are really sweet! One person wished me a happy birthday in March and it just about made me cry /pos

I’ve been enjoying interacting on Tumblr, and I still want to take things slow, but the more the days pass, the more tempted I am to start streaming again.

Part of me is disappointed in that felling, but I’m trying to be easy on myself for that. There’s no way I could’ve known how I would feel now, seven months later. Five if you’re counting from December.

The deal I made with myself was that I would stay “offline” for a minimum of six months- and ideally would be gone for two years so I could focus on my studies.

But honestly, if I’m missing content creation this much only six-ish months in, I’m wondering if I’m going to make it to that two year milestone. Maybe I won’t, maybe I will, but I need to remind myself that healing happens at different speeds. Maybe I thought I needed a longer time to heal and I just didn’t. Maybe I’m not ready to go back yet. I’m still figuring it out, I’m trying to take it slow.

Exploring my comfort on Tumblr has been interesting to say the least! It’s been fun, and I haven’t had anxiety around it. I’m really happy. I haven’t been focussing on the numbers or amount of interaction. I’ve just been having fun sharing my thoughts and drawings, which is what I want out of content creation.

When I left seven months ago, it was because of bad mental health and connecting self-worth to what I’m able to create. I still struggle with self-worth, but I think I’ve successfully separated it from my creativity- and in doing so, I’ve realized that I love Contant creation because of the creativity- not the possibility for opportunity.

I’ve noticed a pattern in every aspect of content creation that I have longed for in my time away. Everything I’ve had an itch to do has had to do with sharing creativity and passion for the art of creation. Where I used to think about play buttons and numbers and conventions- I now think about all the little details that I love about making videos and comics and stories.

Script writing, editing, recording voice overs, implementing comedy, delivering a message, exploring my artistic boundaries, over analyzing my old work, teaching others what I taught myself… there’s so much that I enjoy about it, and it makes my heart blossom knowing that THESE are the parts of being a CC that I miss, not the analytics and competition.

I’ve said for years that I see it as a hobby- a creative outlet for me and my community, and I truly believe that! But I’d be a liar if I said it was always this way. There were definitely times where I was focussing way too much on the career aspect of it, even though I haven’t wanted that to be my career for years now.

This break has really been good for me and my mental health- and it’s been really good for me to reconnect with what I actually enjoy about what I did.

I know that I’ll always struggle with mental health in some capacity- this isn’t something that you can just miracle away, after all. It’s going to be something that I struggle with for a lifetime, and even though that’s a hard pill to swallow, I’m slowly accepting it. I won’t ever be 100% okay, and that’s okay. what’s important to me is that I keep my heart happy and find joy in life- remember what I love and why I love it.

I get a little burst of excitement in my stomach when I think about returning too much. I’m not sure when it will happen, and I’m still not going to say it will happen (I have no idea what the future holds), but for now I can say wholeheartedly that I do hope I will return soon, wether soon means next month or next year.

Have a little excerpt from one of my journal entries, as a treat :) I think it explains my feelings pretty well.

“I still think about my past online, but not nearly as much as I used to. It’s just part of my history and that’s okay. I don’t need to explain myself to anyone. And that feels really nice.” - March 19 2024

(Maybe it’s a little ironic since I did just explain myself in great detail- but I think it’s important to note that I wrote this all because I wanted to, not because I felt like I needed to.)

Merci beaucoup, tout le monde. Bonne journée et à bientôt.