#Lofi bumps

[dana-chan-the-control-brain]

Is there nsfw in The Lofi fic ?

Uhhh....

Explicitly?

No.

But there might be scenes that can be interpreted as sexual later. But it's very mild. Just human nudity and no explicit physical touches. As in, touching of private parts directly is no. But there are intimate scenes without being explicit.

And there is gratuitous gore scenes sometimes. As in, I get carried away describing gore sometimes cause I like explicit gore and I don't know what is appropriate sometimes.

So uhhh... Come what may? Use your own judgement I guess?

Long story short... Humans get smashed to the walls and crushed like tissue paper...

and Naked people exist.

that's about it.

[midnight-wav]

// 𝙈𝙄𝘿𝙉𝙄𝙂𝙃𝙏 ⓌⒶⓋ // SPIRIT OF A DON ♺

[hiddenticket]

she in her mood. happy international women's day. Instrumental OUT NOW Uploaded by e.clips3 https://ift.tt/HlLBquY via SoundCloud https://ift.tt/Y2guMtf March 08, 2023 at 01:57PM

[ithisatanytime]

(Sun Yehoshua (태양 여호수아))

[sleepingxawake]

LATE NIGHT VRCHAT DRIVES

[thedegenhours]

ONE NIGHT EP - OUT NOW!

[unknownsources]

Song sampled is Led Zeppelin stairway to Heaven

[leviathanleva]

Caffè Crema

[Simon 'Ghost' Riley x Civilian!FemReader]

Excitement for your morning coffee turns to panic when you bump into a mountainous stranger in a grey hoodie, sporting a skull mask. Sputtered apologies become a conversation in a corner of the café. And he’s so beat up, battered and bruised and scarred that you can’t help the words that leave your lips:

“Do you want to come home with me?”

[5k words ]

Chapter 1 "Caffeine Rush"

Airpods in your ears, music vibrating through your soul, you were ready for the world outside.

Sweet Saturday morning, after a week of work and barely any time for yourself, you’d decided on a treat to start off the weekend. You’d slept in late, phone alarm turned off and sleeping mask tugged on, new sheets prepared the night before because it was so comforting to wake up to the subtle smell of detergent. And once you were finally up, you’d decided fuck it, go out and get a nice steaming hot coffee in a cute paper cup from the local café, listen to Lofi or Lana Del Rey or whatever Spotify had prepared for your daily suggestions on the way, cozy up in a warm winter jacket and a thick scarf. Bless the crisp December air, it nipped at your cheeks and filled your lungs with sharp frosty air. It numbed your nose too and made your eyes water, but those weren’t as positive as the previous two affixes.

The streets were buzzing, a rare sight of the sun peeking through a blanket of grey clouds was shining down on you.

All in all, it was going to be a good day.

You waited impatiently for the light to turn green before crossing the street with a horde of nameless individuals, keeping in tandem with them.

Snow was still a no-show, you could only hope for its appearance at least on Christmas. The holidays without a fluffy coat of white powdering over everything from trees to rooftops just didn’t sit well with you, but at the end of the day, it was up to Mother Nature, not you. Anything but the ice rain you’d had the week prior; you weren’t ready to skate to the store again.

The bell above the café door shakes to life, signaling your entrance. You tuck one airpod in your pocket to listen in on the chatter in the comfy, coffee bean scented establishment, and also because you didn’t want to miss anything the cashier said. You were the anxious type after all, didn’t wanna miss a thing ever.

The heating system is blasting, cranked to the max, steam comes in large waves from behind the oak counter, be it from warm beverages or baked goods fresh from the oven, it lingers long enough for you to get a whiff before being diligently sucked away by the range hood. You unzip the top part of your jacket before getting too stuffy, loosen your scarf and take off your gloves. The staff, donned in their creamy yellow aprons, zip back and forth between tables like worker ants and you step into the line of waiting customers to keep out of their way.

The hardwood floor is licked spotless, looking down, you can almost see your reflection staring back at you. The hum of the large coffee grinder fills your exposed ear and you decide to turn off Spotify for the moment and bask in the café’s ambience instead.

The line moves, it’s almost your turn and you glance up at the display monitors listing off all the choices on the menu for today. Lattes, milkshakes, espressos, you decide on a large cappuccino, leave experimenting with unfamiliar drinks for another day when you’re feeling more courageous.

“Large cappuccino, please.” You say with a polite smile and fish out your wallet from your pocket.

Coffee is cheap here, cheaper than in most cafés and that’s one of the things that keeps you coming back to this place. It’s not easy to afford treats when you live on your own and have to pay the bills and groceries alone. However, you manage, and being able to afford a coffee or takeout once in a while is all the sweeter when knowing you owe nothing to nobody.

You take your cup and nudge your chin for the barista to keep the change before stepping away to the sidebar littered with plastic lids, sugar packets, and cheap wooden teaspoons for stirring your drink. After a brief consideration, you decide not to sweeten your coffee and only take a large lid, pop it over your cup and after zipping your jacket back up, you’re about to turn and walk out.

A walk through the park where you can sit down and enjoy your drink suggestively passes by your mind. Deciding that’s exactly what you will do, you palm through your pocket for your discarded airpods while nursing your paper cup to your chest.

And maybe it was your fault for not paying enough attention because you were buzzed to have a nice relaxing weekend. Or that you’d already achieved your first goal of the day and you were about to have a nice vibey stroll while hurrying to stuff your ears with music before you left the café. Maybe you’d jinxed your Saturday by confidently thinking it would be a swell time and nothing wrong would happen for once.

You should have known better. You should have suspected something would go wrong.

Something always goes wrong.

You whirl around with the intent of being on your way, expecting the glass doors to be in view, but they aren’t. A mountain of flesh and muscle stands before you. And your reaction time is too slow to save yourself or your coffee.

You jump, your hand flinches and the paper cup goes flying, a gasp upon your lips so loud it turns heads. You can only watch in horror as it makes contact with a wide chest clad in a grey hoodie, the lid pops off from the force of the impact and the hot contents inside go in every direction.

“Oh my God. Oh my God. Oh my God. Oh my freaking God.”

One hand goes up to cover your agape mouth while the other clutches at the zipper of your jacket as panic crawls up your neck and prickles your scalp.

The worst part is that your coffee wasn’t the only casualty. The poor guy had dropped his beverage to pull his hoodie off his chest the moment your scalding beverage had soaked it.

There was steam coming off it. It was boiling and you’d spilled it on him.

You wanted to die.

And he’s fucking terrifying too. Easily two heads over you and built like a truck. The intricate skull mask obscures the lower half of his face and you can’t discern if he’s absolutely pissed or just mildly uncomfortable with the large stain plastered on his top.

His eyes are sharp, trained on his ruined hoodie, crow’s feet crinkled, and you’re grateful they’re not directed at you because you were a step away from breaking down on the spot.

A stone lodged itself in your throat.

If he didn’t curse you to oblivion, he’d either break you in half, or worse, sue you.

You can’t get fucking sued. You don’t have the money to get sued.

So much for having a good day…

“Oh my God, I’m sorry.” You sputter out and grab a handful of paper towels from the counter. You’re glancing up at him every now and again for fear of his patience running out. “I’m so so sorry.”

Shaky hands are tapping away at his top, soaking in the liquid as best you can while trying to keep from breaking down. Your tongue is arrested between your teeth, bitten down on hard in a self-soothing attempt. Your fingertips are stained with coffee because there‘s so much of it that it’s turning the paper towels to mush. You couldn’t care less about that or that you were practically sweating bullets under your jacket.

All you hoped for was that you hadn’t caused the poor guy a burn.

“ ‘s okay.” He murmurs in a thick British accent while watching you fuss over him with growing anxiety. The jitter in your movements would be almost comical if not for you practically hyperventilating on him.

“Excuse me, are you alright?”

“No.” You whine, before you can stifle your voice to normalcy, and turn to the cashier peeking from behind the counter with watery eyes and a deeply carved frown. “No. I’m so sorry, we spilled our drinks. I mean, I spilled - ” You take in a breath to compose yourself and brush a hand over your forehead, shoulders slumping. You’re giving your best apologetic expression, practically mourning over the mess you’d made at your feet and of the man looming next to you.“ – I’m sorry. I can clean it up if you have a mop.”

“Oh, it’s no problem, miss. We’ll mop it up.” The cashier replies, bless her, and signals for one of the waiters to fetch the cleaning supplies. The friendly smile never wavers from her balmed lips; neither does the caffeinated twinkle in her eyes.

She’s most likely seen this sort of thing plenty of times, but for you, it’s a first and it’s your fault to top it off. It’s not an easy pill to swallow and despite the atmosphere being anything but hostile, you can’t help but still feel guilty.

Of course, this had to happen to you of all people. You weren’t allowed a single day of peace and tranquility.

With the main cause of disturbance taken care of, you turn back to your victim, who’s joined you in trying to dry off his hoodie. Your stomach churns at the sight, and you’re afraid to look around in case all eyes are on you two. You can’t bear the scrutiny, even though most people have probably resumed their dwellings by now.

“Are you okay? Does it hurt? I’m so sorry, sir.” You ask and reach for more paper towels, pressing them against his chest more so to show you’re very apologetic and trying to fix the situation rather than actually fixing it because most of the coffee has already come out.

You glance up at him after mustering up the courage, curious as to what awaited you next. He returns your gaze with one of indifference or calmness, you can’t tell, blinks at you slowly, as if he’s just now taking your flustered form for the first time, then he speaks, more clearly this time.

“It’s fine.”

A server arrives with a mop in hand and you both step away from the mess to let them clean it up. You take the lead unintentionally and guide the stranger towards one of the vacant tables in the corner of the café, away from prying stares.

You pick the chair next to the wall that has a large ficus partially looming over the seat. Maybe with enough luck, you can disappear inside it.

Finally, unzipping your jacket because you’re about to faint from the stuffiness, you lay it on the cushioned backrest of the chair and pat it down to make sure you’d not accidentally dropped any of your belongings during the accident. You tug at your sweater to air out the thin sheen of nervous sweat that’s formed over your skin, brush off the strands of hair that have come to stick to your face and take off your scarf.

The stranger sits on the opposite chair, paper towel still to his chest and sucking out any leftover residue. The stain won’t leave your vision no matter how hard you try to rip the two separate. It’s the worry gnawing at your gut that keeps you rooted to your spot, wanting to approach but too afraid to do so.

But so far he’s been a nice guy, hasn’t said one single bad word to you.

Your mind reels with how red and irritated his skin must be, praying it hadn’t blistered up already. You have half a mind to ask him to take off his hoodie so you can take a look.

A fresh wave of panic wraps its dainty fingers around your neck in squeezes, sends needles to prick over random places on your body.

And all this time, you’ve been sputtering out apologies like a broken record, his dismissal of your regret not even reaching your ears let alone registering.

“Should I call an ambulance? Oh my God, I’ve never had to call an ambulance in my life…” You ask, mumbling the last part to yourself as the realization hits you square in the face. For a brief moment, you forget how to dial the emergency line because you’ve never had to use that number before. “I’m sorry, sir – I – I didn’t mean – ”

You continue to blabber while searching your jacket pocket for your phone. The guy might have said nothing at your suggestion, but you wanted to be safe and have your phone at the ready anyway. And you’re too preoccupied going ballistic with panic in your own little world to hear him repeatedly tell you that everything is fine and you’ve done no big deal, he doesn’t need an ambulance and that he’s fine.

“Hey!” He grabs the crux of your elbow and pulls you before him, a large knee on either side of your thighs. A startled noise crawls up your throat but you make no move to step away. You’re staring at him as your hands disappear inside his and he jerks them slightly, his voice lowering now that he’s caught your attention finally. “Relax. It’s alright. Happens.” His comfort is rough. His voice gruff and sounding more like a scold than anything. He shakes you a bit too hard, not used to handling something as delicate as you, and pulls you down enough to make solid eye contact. “Alright?”

You nod and avert your gaze away, soggy paper towels left in a pile on the table making your fingers twitch with the need to do more. Apologies simply aren’t enough, not when he’d probably need to apply ointment on his chest for a few days after your little fiasco.

Why did have to be such a hot mess all the time?

“At least…Let me buy you another drink. On me? It’ll make me feel better.” The frown is still tugging on your lips as you speak, shyly looking at him from under your lashes. “Please?”

He sighs softly at your relentlessness and shrugs before letting your hands slip from him, having kept them in his grasp for longer than he should.

“Sure.”

He leans back in his chair and readjusts both his hood and the cap poking beneath it before resting his elbows on the table.

“What did you order?” You question while fetching your wallet.

The innocent look you toss him has him forcing himself to stop staring at you like a creep. He clears his throat and rubs over his tired eyes tenderly before answering.

“Black tea with milk.”

And so you reorder your cappuccino, get him his tea and decide that a simple butter croissant as an apology is enough for the moment. Every time you turn around to glance at him, nervous that he’d simply slip away from your overbearing presence, he catches your stare without fail. Heat gathers around your ears and your lips purse unintentionally every single time and you quickly turn back to the cashier, pretending you hadn’t just been discovered ogling him.

The chair looks too small to encompass his hulking frame comfortably, the table is no different, but you guess he’s used to it by now. A man of his stature isn’t a common occurrence here. Poor thing probably has to bow to enter through most doorways and have his shirts custom-made with how wide his shoulders were. If he wore shirts at all that is.

He looks like he’s brooding when you return with the order, fingers linked together and thumbs dancing around each other.

You set the tea by his side, note the callouses and scarring around his knuckles, the roughness of his skin. Your first thought is that he’s a construction worker, it would explain his size, the biceps that are as big as your head and straining against the stitches of his hoodie, the casual clothes, and the dark circles under his eyes that make it easy for anyone to guess that he doesn’t rest enough. But then he pulls his mask down and lets it rest under his chin as he takes a prolonged sip from his drink. You note the crookedly mended nose after a trauma so potent it made your eyes water at the thought of what pain he’d endured. There’s a gash running along his thin lips, multiple ones that stand out from the light stubble peppering the lower part of his face, deep ones, ones that you guessed had needed stitches and took forever to properly heal.

Now you’re not so sure he’s a construction worker.

“So what do you do for a living?” It rolls off your tongue before you can stop it. You laugh nervously and raise a hand in a soothing motion before he even has a chance to answer. “You don’t have to tell if you’re not comfortable. I’m just curious.”

The mug of tea pauses before his lips and he gives you a skeptical look.

“Military.”

“Oh.” You blurt out and awkwardly take a sip from your coffee, nearly choking at how hot it is.

And that’s precisely the answer Ghost expected. It was a big turnoff for many people when they learned his career path, mostly because the news only displayed the bad outcomes of his work and never the good. He might have saved this entire city a week ago from a bombing and nobody would know.

It came with the territory and he half expected you to think up some lousy explanation as to why you suddenly had to go.

But you aren’t like that at all because of course, you aren’t. Why would it be made easy for him to forget you and move on with his day when you could be sweet and open and give him more reason to burn you into the crevices of his conscience instead? Why would you make an excuse and leave when you could stay and kindle the embers of his humanity and make yourself space to be a permanent memory?

That’s just his typical luck.

“Must be tough.” You muse, absentmindedly taking a napkin and wiping off the milk and tea mustache staining his upper lip, as if tending to a messy toddler. It comes instinctively and you don’t fight it until your fingers are already being poked by his stubble. “But thanks for keeping us normal folk safe.” You give his wide-eyed stare a warm smile, and tilt your head slightly to one side.

You notice the subtle way in which he moves his chin towards your hand, apprehensive of you pulling away. As if he’s fighting his demons to lean into your touch, to rest his cheek against your palm and close his eyes because he hasn’t been offered softness in so long that he doesn’t remember what it feels like anymore.

You don’t mind that his large hand reaches to try and still your wrist, aching for more delicate touches, but stops before coming in contact with your flesh, pulled back by self-deprecating restrain. You almost want to encourage him, he looks visibly altered by your simple gesture, like a dog who’d been beaten all his life and was given a treat for the first time.

“What happened to you, old soldier?” You want to ask gently, pry a little while you cup his face and let him rest on the softness of your palm, close his eyes for a brief moment of respite.

Your heart aches for him.

But then you remember he’s a stranger and the moment shatters.

The smile vanishes from your face, the warmth dissipates and you flinch back.

“Sorry.” You rush to say and crumble up the napkin in your hand before tossing it on the table and trying to brush off the suffocating awkwardness. “You had something there.” You motion to your upper lip before drowning in more coffee, hoping it will ease the discomfort.

Just what the hell had you been thinking?

And he’s not far behind you on that note. The flicker of softness dies in his chocolate browns and the slight twitch at the corner of his mouth stills and dips into neutrality. The exhaustion returns to his features and his gaze flits away from you as he gathers himself back together.

“You should eat tha’ ��fore it gets cold.”

Your eyes trail to where he’d nudged his chin and you see the butter croissant you’d purchased along with your drinks. You giggle, it turns into a light laugh when his head cocks to the side in confusion because he’s yet to realize you’d gotten it for him.

Because why would he? He’s a soldier, he gets bullets and grenades, not tea and croissants.

Poor creature, sweet scarred sufferer, with so much weight on his shoulders you couldn’t imagine bearing.

“It’s for you.” You push the small plate closer to him and flick your hand for him to dig in, treat himself on your behalf if he won’t do it on his own accord.

“What?” He reels back in his seat slightly at your words, sets down his drink and tenses up. There’s so much disbelief there that it’s almost comical.

It’s like he’d never been treated before.

Maybe he hadn’t been.

Jesus Christ, what if he actually hadn’t been?

“I mean it’s the least I can do after drenching you in coffee.” You say and press the lid of your cup to your lips, hiding the sympathetic smile from view lest he takes it as pity.

You didn’t pity the man, not in the slightest, but from the tired eyes to the worn clothes, sunk-in shoulders and need for anonymity, you guessed he’d not seen much kindness.

It was easily discernable that he wasn’t used to taking care of himself. Coming to a café to get a drink was probably the maximum self-indulgence he’d permit himself.

“Didn’t ‘ave to.” He grumbles out, voice hoarse and cutting off at the end.

“I wanted to.” You say and wave off his meager comment.

Gods, you wanted to bathe him in sugar and softness.

He tugs the plate before him hesitantly, looking over the croissant as if not trusting it or you, then he picks it up. A small bite at first, one of apprehension before the treat melts on his tongue and awakens his taste buds. He finishes it in two mouthfuls, barely chews and you’re inclined to ask if he wants another, you’re ready to feed him the whole bakery stand if he so wishes. But he declines, whether from embarrassment or mistrust, you didn’t know.

You just know he’s hungry.

You give him your name while he’s washing down the croissant with his leftover tea, just throw it out there in the hopes that he’ll give you his. And he does after heaving a sigh.

“Simon.”

“Pretty name.” You note, toss him a friendly smile that’s a silent invitation for him to say more. “Nice to meet you then, Simon.”

But your friendliness doesn’t breach his defenses a second time. He eyes you with an unreadable expression, watches you slurp your coffee while you’re left to wonder if your compliment had been a mistake.

You might have been coming off as too friendly, trying to suck up to him after ruining his top and that was the reason why you were so nice. Or maybe he thought that there was a hidden agenda behind your acts, that you’d want something in return for your kindness and that’s why he kept his guard up.

Action without a need for reciprocation didn’t exist in his world. Nobody was stupidly selfless enough to just give and not want anything in return. But you were right there, proving him wrong and he wasn’t sure that fact was a fact anymore.

Throughout his internal debate, you’re doing your best to remain casual but it’s difficult with those dark orbs boring into your soul. It’s even more difficult when the silence settles, so you decide to ramble and keep the spirits up until he feels comfortable enough to join.

It might come off as annoying, but you’re sure he’ll stop you if you’re becoming too much to handle.

You tell him about your job, a brief summary of how rough your week had been that that was the reason why you’d come here this morning to treat yourself. You tell him you’re clumsier than you’d like to admit, that you can’t imagine drinking tea first thing in the morning. You tell him that you’d love to have a pet one day, but your landlord doesn’t permit any, ask him if he has pets or would want any. Then you ask if he’s more a cat or a dog person.

And throughout the entire time, he’s staring at you with this undigestible look and you have no idea what to make of it.

The caffeine pumping in your veins helps keep your monologue going until finally he speaks up.

“Bothering you?”

“What?” You spit out, cease your rambling and scrunch your brows at him in confusion.

“The face.” He says, motioning towards his partly obscured face like it’s so obvious. “Ain’t a pretty mug to look at.”

You blink at him silently, at a loss for words at his not-so-kind statement. Your mouth parts, struggling to form a coherent reply because you’re absolutely thunderstruck that he thinks so lowly of you as to believe you’d be affected by such a thing.

Then again, he doesn’t know you, and neither do you him.

But the fact that he’s polite enough to ask while already anticipating the answer tells you that he might have had this conversation one too many times already. Or maybe he hadn’t, maybe the mean comments and ugly remarks were all in his head and he hid his face to stifle those rather than hide from other people.

You don’t know which alternative is sadder.

“No! Not at all.” You say slowly, accenting every word that comes out of your mouth, with eyes trained on his and refusing to blink in case you missed anything. “You’re handsome, really.” You dare to reach out for him and rest your hand atop his, gentle and ready to pull back in case his features portrayed any hint of discomfort with your actions. “Plus your scars mean you put yourself before me to keep me safe, right? Can’t judge you for that.”

Now he’s the one left speechless.

Wordlessly, he twists his wrist, rolls his hand around and slowly unclenches his fingers to let yours through. And your hand is so soft and warm when it slips over his mauled palm, even the skin is a stark contrast because yours is so smooth, spotless, perfect, compared to his.

He runs his large thumb over your knuckles, relishes the tingly feeling it gives him, watches intently because he’s sure that as soon as his eyes move to somewhere else, you’ll vanish and it’ll all be over. Your fingers fall against his wrist where his pulse leisurely beats, only quickening when you shift in your seat because he thinks you’ll pull away.

Manicured nails trace over the scars poking from beneath the sleeve of his hoodie and he shivers, the hairs on his arms rising. He lets you tug the sleeve back, wanting to know how far the violent marks go. Soon enough black and grey ink peeks from under the fabric and a ghost of a smile tugs at his lips at how delighted you seem.

“Oh, I love tattoos…” You hum while tracing the tips of your fingers over it.

“Got any?” He asks absentmindedly, almost mechanically as all his attention is focused on the little hand exploring his own.

“That’s for me to know and for you to find out.” You giggle, eyes closing briefly in delight as you bask in the fuzzy atmosphere.

He bites his tongue at that, decides now isn’t the time for flirty remarks, bids you too esteemed to fall for a sleazy comeback that might result in him naked in your bed. No, you were made to be courted, won over with effort and flowers and all the things he hasn’t bothered with in the past.

You were the type of woman that he avoided for fear of messing things up, someone who deserved better than him and he wasn’t ashamed of admitting that. Yet here you were, practically thrust in his arms by chance.

“Do you want another tea?” You ask because his drink is gone and what’s left at the bottom of your cup is two sips at most. And you don’t end this to end, you don’t want him to leave just yet.

“I’m good.” He answers and retracts his arm before standing. “Gonna ‘ave a smoke outside. Cheers for the tea.”

It’s not a goodbye, but it still makes your heart ache and your mind switches to turbo mode to try and think of something.

Your next question doesn’t come from a place of desire or lust. You’ve no intent of trying to get the battered soldier into your bed and use him for selfish pleasure. You’d never let yourself be so cruel.

“Do you want to come home with me?”

You ask because to you, he’s a stray in need of a home, someone to take care of him a little and nurse him back into a better shape before his next big military mission. It’s naïve, stupid really, to think a grown man such as himself can’t take care of himself.

But the way he looks tells you a sad story and you’d spoken before thinking. Now you’re left with a hot face and a fluttering stomach as he stares at you over his shoulder with something akin to surprise.

“I mean…for lunch, sometime. My treat of course.” You say next, trying to salvage the moment before it got too awkward and you were forced to go to the toilets and hyperventilate while beating yourself up internally. “You don’t have to – ”

“ – Yeah.”

And you swear you saw his eyes squint with a smile hidden somewhere behind the bulk of his shoulder.

Chapter 2 >>>

Masterlist

[solarpunkani]

Solarpunk Community Playlists

So we've got the community playlist for Solarpunk Aesthetic Week, right? It's nice and big, but I wanted to make more community playlists with specific vibes in mind! I've already added a bunch of songs to each, but the goal is to let everyone contribute to them and enjoy them!

Solarpunk and Chill is for lofi/chill beats! The aim is to have it be mostly lofi, or generally just good music to chill to while studying or working on projects!

Solarpunk Sunny Beats is for songs that are pretty upbeat and just feel solarpunk to us--whether its the subject matter of the song, or just the way the instruments sound! It's meant to be the middle ground between the lofi playlist and the next.

Solarpunks Fight for Our Future! is for songs that are punk/punky/rebellious-feeling! The kind of playlist you would bump to on the way to a protest, or do some action--what's the soundtrack that plays in your head if you were to guerrilla garden or do other rebellious acts? Add it here!

I hope you enjoy! I can't wait to listen to everyone's contributions!

[1v31182m5]

Can you give me a quick explanation of what exactly happened in Bill's life... Because I didn't understand it clearly myself, and I see a hell of a lot of Angst and I would like to understand it 😩

I am gonna split everything under titles for you to skip whichever part you want or whichever part you're interested in!!!

If I make a mistake in any of these please inform me in the comments!

BİLL'S HOME

-Bill's home dimension is heavily inspired by the book called Flatland by Edwin Abbott Abbott

-Bill is from a 2 dimensional universe where everything is kind of like a straight line but not exactly at the same time, don't think too hard about it it's hard for us to understand, as both said the same way in TBOB and in the book of Flatland, our 3D minds can't fully understand what it's like to be 2 dimensional

-Bill's Dimension is probably called Euclydia in this universe (the codes from the offical gravity falls lofi music video gives out a code that says "REMEMBER EUCLYDİA." İn Mabel's playlist (this gonna make sense in a bit because Bill's situation is very highly about denial and refusing to accept what actually happened) and in TBOB where we see a mugshot of Bill describing him it says "The only survivor of the Euclydian massacre"

-Just like in the Book Flatland talking about the 3D world is illegal (I mean some guys can in the book of Flatland but it's unnecessary to talk about it right now since that's not the case here, Bill shouldn't talk about the third dimension. İt's illegal.)

-females are straight lines and males are shapes

-System in Bill's dimension is very dystopian and fascists. Women aren't allowed to learn or go outside without a man or they need to constantly keep humming to let everyone around them know they're present. Because they're straight lines it is hard for people to know they're in the room since they're more "invisible" with their shape being so thin, if you accidentally poked into a woman you might get heavily hurt. Males can bump into eachother too, it's just that bumping into a thin line is more dangerous.

The same way how bumping into a triangle's pointy angle would be dangerous. Now I'm gonna talk about the class system.

-The more sides you have the upper your class gets

-Being symmetric is veryyy important(one time in Journal 3 a dimension like Bill's attacked Ford because he wasn't symmetrical enough)

-if you're not symmetrical but rather an "irregular" you're the lowest class, everybody has every right to do whatever they wanna do to you

-having a child is very important for that class system

-circles are aristocrats because they have like thousands of sides

-your son will have 1 more side than you ( if a square has a son it'd be a pentagon)

-this doesn't really works for irregular shapes afterall, unless they give birth to an equivalent triangle! Just like Bill!

-as much as triangles are despised by the upper classes equalivent triangles are a little bit more respected and bearable even for the circles themselves! Because this shape not only is perfectly symmetrical but is the symbol of a new "good" generation's start since each of their kid will upgrade their sides and be a more worthy to be respected person (shitty I know)

-When an equalivent triangle is born they take the kid from his irregular parents and give it to a regular family. This lore is told in the book Flatland but of course we can't know if Alex wanted to keep that part, either way you know the title of this part

-yeah that's it I suppose um quick info dump here +since women are all lines and you can't know which shape their father was there's a very STRİCT system for them to not to mate with someone not their shape +there are jobs you can only get if you're a specific shape, a square can be a lawyer but could never be a mayor +there's no color in the book of Flatland, although Bill showed an image of his childhood in color I still don't know if we should %100 be sure if his dimension had color or not since just like he wrote there he "beamed the image into our head" why would he send a colorless one when he can just create this image lmao, not to mention if it was the actual thing we'd see like a straight line not something normal looking like that so idk

OKAY THAT'S ENOUGH WORLD BUİLDİNG

BİLLY İS BORN (you can ask for a source/code in any of these if you wanna see hehe!)

- Billy was born ( a drunk call he made in tbob he says "hey mom this is Billy" implying they probably called him Billy when he was bebe)

-Bill was born with a mutation where he could see the 3rd dimension but no one else could and nobody understood him

-Talking about the 3D world is of course, illegal so his parents took him to an eye doctor for this situation

-we've been knowing that Bill likes silly straws as he mentioned in an other book years ago before any of this and it's been like his thing. In TBOB we learned the story behind it

-they've been making him drink a medicine that he didn't liked

-they'd put silly straws on it as a appetizer so he'd drink it, imagine it like putting whipped cream or sprinkles to make a toddler eat something

-turns out the medicine they're giving to him isn't to stop him seeing the third dimension but rather literally just to BLİND HİM

-he learned about this we don't know how though

-so silly straws is a trauma and he clearly is coping about it, he keeps mentioning how much he likes them and finds them hilarious

-Billy couldn't take it anymore and just wanted to show everyone what real freedom looked like

-He didn't know wanting to show them the third dimension would kill them all. That day is so horrific for him to remember he zones out anytime he tries to remember it and glitches y'know

- he denies what happened. Still says everybody made it out safe and sound, "it's like how real life sociopaths can't tell which was the truth and which was the lie" Alex says in an interview (in the drunk call in TBOB with his "mom" he literally asks where did all of them go, he's that confused)

-Bill gets out of the second dimension after burning it down to the ground leaving nothing but a speck of atoms which he keeps in his hat till today now. That's why the hat important

-Now we're in the show's timeline!

SHOW

-Bill called out for Axolotl's name in reverse when he was burning to get saved. Axolotl answered.

AFTER THE SHOW'S ENDİNG

-Axolotl accepted to help and sent Bill to a major therapy for literally the most dangerous people in the multiverse for him to heal.

His ass is not fine😭

İf you have any questions about any of these ask me!

Orr if you don't understand an angst post you can send me for an explanation I'd explain hehe

[nobodiesheartlessshitblog45]

Ghost Of Men: Call Of Duty Fanfic Prequel Part 1

Simon 'Ghost' Riley XOCWife

Trigger Warning: War, Violence, PTSD, Mention Child Abuse, Anxiety.

Okay is the prequels for my DadGhost Story. Want to give a big thank you the love that I got from my first story, and made me want to work more this since I love writing for Ghost.

So Thank taking the time to read this and enjoy.

8 months ago... The morning winter rain was coming down very hard this as Simon was getting ready to go to the base, he hand on a black shirt, and green army pasts, he was putting his Ghost mask, and walked out the master bedroom. He walked the stairs, turn a right, and walked down a longer hallway where the living was. It was larger room, with wooden flooring and dark green wallpaper. It had a large glass sliding door that looked out the back yard, the black curtains were covering the door. In the middle of the floor was a large dark green rug, and pretty old cozy black couch, with red pillows on the side and large Tv that was on the wall, the tv was on playing some calming lofi music, and there was dark oak coffee table. On the couch at Ellie, wearing light blue flea PJ's with Pokemon characters on them, and oversize long black sleeve shirt that was to big for her. Ghost stood there in the door way, watching as Ellie was reading a book about baby care and motherhood. He leans against the door frame watching her. It had been about a few months since the two both found they both were going parents, how they found wasn't the best way to find out. That mission nearly went south, Ellie was only shot in the right shoulder and she and the rest the rest the squad made out alive, however Ghost couldn't help but think about how could have been worse. So much worse. The idea of something worse happening made his heart stop, since that day Ellie had been honorably discharge Ghost and Simon made their mission too keep her safe. More than ever. Right now all that mattered to him was the family he was about to have. Ellie noticed that Ghost was standing in the door and she looked up from her book. "Morning, Simon." "Mornin, Ellie." Ghost said, giving a sweet soft expression. "How ya feelin'? Still feelin' ill?" "N-No... I'm feeling a lot better." she said, putting the book and onto the coffee table, and getting to her feet. Ghost took a few steps closer to her looking down at with a soft warmth, then looking down at Ellie's baby bump showing from under the oversize shirt. It was amazing sight to behold. Ghost gently places both his hands on Ellie's belly and rubbing his thumps. "And how is our lit' dove doin'?" "She's good." said Ellie placing a hand on her belly. "She's making mommy eat things that I think is pretty much humanly impossible." Ghost laughs a little. "Haha. I know." He kneels own eye with the baby bump. "Ya makin' mummy eat all kinds of odd foods?" He rested his forehead against Ellie's belly. "Such a funny lit' thing you are, eh?" He said, sweetly. "Alrigh', darlin'. Daddy's gotta to work today. But don't you worry, I'll be home later in the evenin'. So ya be a good girl for mummy, yeah?" He gives the baby bump a kiss. His smile slowly fades a little then looked up at Ellie. "I-I'm gonna be gone all day." "Yeah. I know." Ellie said. Ghost lets out a deep sigh has to he stood up. Ellie could tell by his eyes he didn't want to leave her alone. She moved closer to him and wraps her arms around his his middle, giving him that smile that he adored to death. "Don't worry, Simon. I'll be fine." 'Ya sure? You've been having bad morning sickness and headaches for the past few days. I'm sure Price and the rest the lads would understand if I don't show today." Ellie nod. "Yes. Besides you really can't take off that. Captain said he needs you. Along Gaz and Soap." said Ellie. There was long pause and in annoyed tone. "Fuckin' hell." He paused again and groans. “…I know Price needs me there, Luv. B-But... I'm not keen on living you here on your own." "It's fine." said Ellie, with reassuring smile. "I'm not going away, I got all the foods and snakes I need right here, and you'll be back this evening. And baby and me be waiting right here. So don't worry." Her light gray eyes looked in dark brown eyes. Ghost lets out small chuckles and lifts up his mask, and he smiles down at her. "Alright." And the two shared a sweet kiss.

After a few moments Ghost had on all things that he needed for the meeting and for the rest the door. He was in the kitchen with the electric kettle on, and was waiting for the water boil. As he stood there he slowly reached into his uniform breast packet and pulled out an ultrasound picture of the baby. He stared it for a moment lost in his in own thoughts. He smile as he looked at, but all can feel some anxiety.

He took a deep breath as he tried placed pucture back into his breast packet, just as the door bell started to to ringing. As as he heard it, Ghost then reach for his phone that was in packet and checked the ring door camera, and there standing there was Johnny Soap MacTavish, wearing a dark green rain couch with the hood up. Then Ellie's voice could heard call out. "Be right there, Soap." Ellie rushed over to the front door and open it and smile. "Hey there. Come in." Johnny smiled back as he walked into the parlor closed the front door behind. "Ahh, thank ya, lass." Johnny ask. "Unsgeachadh mar ifrnn." Ellie blinks and said: "... What?" "I said it was rainin' like 'ell." said Johnny, with laugh. "Anyway good to see ya, Ellie." said Johnny holding out his arms and he and Ellie shared hugged. "How ya feelin'? Any better?" "Much better." she said, hugging him back then pulling away a bit. "It's been rough few days. Had an awful headache the last days and morning sickness didn't help at all." "Oh. Sounds like rough." said Johnny, with a sympathetic look. "I remember meh old sister went through same thing when she was pregnan' with meh nephew. Poor lass had the worse 'eadaches she ever 'ad, said it was the one the worse part being pregnan'." Ellie blinks her face went a little pale, and Johnny changes the subjects when he say the look on her face. "B-But she's healthy and so is my nephew. Heh. Anyway, where's L.T.?" "He's in the kitchen making his tea." said Ellie. Johnny rolls his eyes. "Fuckin' Brits..." "Language, Sergeant." said Ghost's voice from the hallway. "There's a child in the room with ya. SO WATCH IT." Both Johnny and Ellie look down at the hallway and each other. "Um... Would you like a coffee, Soap?" Ellie asked. "No thanks, we gotta get wee a bit of a move on." said Johnny. The two chatted for a few minutes as Ghost from the hallway with a black coffee thermos in his right hand. "Sorry, Johnny, if I kept ya waitin'." "No problem, Pa." said Johnny, with grin on his face. Ghost gave him a look, and Ellie was puts both her hands over her month as she was shaking with laughter. Ghost moves his gaze too her, and saw her cheeks puffy and was still giggling. "... Fuckin' hell..."said Ghost. "Ahah. Simon, language." said Johnny, with grin, making Ellie laugh harder. Ghost then lets out a small, too. After that Ghost put on his boots he grabs his backpack and his thermos of tea. Ghost stood up and saw Johnny and Ellie hugging each other goodbye. "It's always great to see, Soap." she said.

"Aye." said Johnny, with smile taking her hands into his. "Miss havin' yea 'round the base, Ellie. And if ya need anthin' ol' uncle Johnny and Kyle will be there." "Aww, that's sooo... sweet..." Ellie said, in shaking voice and began sobbing slightly. "You have no idea how much that mean to me...! Y-You guys so sweeeet~!" Johnny stood there blinking awkwardly looking over Ghost who came walking over and pat Ellie on the back. "There, there, Luv." She turn to him and hugs, sobbing into his chest. "... I-I.. Um... Is she gon--." Johnny began. "Yeah. Don't worry. Meet you in the car. "Sure... See ya later." "B-Bye... Soap." said Ellie, with sweet smile eyes puffy. Johnny nods gives Ellie one last smile before pulling up his hood over head and walking out the door, closing being him. Ghost stared at the door, then at Ellie, who was calm and said: "S-Sorry..." "S'right." He amused, the two gave each a goodbye kiss, the picked up his bag and placing it over his bag. "R-Righ'... Should get going then, eh?" Ellie nods. "Have a good day, babe." He hums. "... I'll try to get home as soon as I can.” "Take your time." He hums again stood there looking at her for a few moments. "... Remember, if ya need anything jus'---." "Let you know though phone or texts. And I will. Don't worry." He hums again paused and then said: “O-Okay...Love ya, Dove." he said. "I know, Simon. And love you, too." Ghost looks at her then began slowly walking over to the door and opening it and looks back at Ellie. "Ya sure you'll be grand without for a while?" "Yes. Simon, don't worry about me. I'm going fine. I promise." Ellie gave a smile. "Now don't keep Soap waiting." "Ghost nods and then walks out the door looks at Ellie one last time before slowly shutting tightly and locking it behind him. Ellie stood there letting a sigh and her smiled fading a little. "Well, he's gone for the day." She thought to herself. "I really do feel bad for making him fussing over me for the past fews. But hopefully spending time with the guys will help relax a little." She then pats her belly and said: "... Well, kiddo how about we get something to eat and watch some hunterxhunter the day?" She rubs her baby bump and began making her to the kitchen. Then her phone started vibrating in her pj's packet and Ellie reach for and pulled it out. (Text From CoolSkullMan) just in case you need too reach me, here's Price, Luka, Kyle Johnny and Becca's numbers* And it was all the contacts that they both new. (Sends Text To Coolskullman) *Okay* *have a good day.* Ellie shakes her head. "Poor guy really worries too..." And she walked too the kitchen.

[ccrypticgghost]

ִֶָ 𓂃⊹ ִֶָ ||Satoru - Love between two human beings

|| ⋆ ★ has: fluff, fem! reader, time traveling, fiction, romance ||it wont let me put the link 4 part two but part two is called “Serendipitys gift”!!

You had been reading a manga that seemed really interesting called, “Jujutsu Kaisen” currently you were sobbing as I speak because enoemos deid. Then all of a sudden you look back down to see a random notebook called ‘Wish Note’

You open the strange note and wait a minute. This reminds me of Death Note… ‘Nah it’s okay I won’t turn out like Light’ you thought to yourself as you started to write a few words going along the lines of, “I can travel to Jujutsu Kaisen by saying ‘bring me to the beyond’” you nod in satisfaction and think of more things.

“I dont have any cursed energy”

“i can heal by touching someone”

“I can rewind time”

“I wont die in real life if I die there”

“I can summon weapons but it exhausts me depending on how large it is”

…

You close your eyes and take a deep breath preparing yourself.

“Bring me to places beyond,” you say closing your eyes and imagining Jujutsu Kaisen. You slowly feel your surroundings change and you open your eyes slowly. You look at your figure realizing you changed to a child!

“maybe it depends on the timeline..” you say looking around, your eye catches a white haired boy with beautiful blue eyes.

‘ah that must be Gojo’

…

‘wait since he has his six eyes that means he’ll notice me!’

You quickly look away to see a page from your notebook that you brought along with you and a pencil. You slowly start to write down some more stuff.

‘im from the Hoshiya clan (pls pretend)’

Once you write that down a lady comes running to you that looks exactly like your mother!

“Y/n! You shouldn’t be running off like that!” she scolded as you rub the back of your neck

“Sorry mom..” you say knowing Gojo could hear your mom scolding you.

“Just don’t do it again, now come on let's go back,” she says holding your hand and taking you to your estate: while walking off you could hear some snickers from Gojo as you felt an irk and did the middle finger at him quickly stopping as he sticks his tongue out at you.

‧˚₊⋅ ୨୧ ⋅��˚‧

You had closed your eyes and went back to your real world where your actual mom had been calling you.

“Y/n! Y/n! How do you put wifi in this TV?” she asked as you walked downstairs to where she was.

“Coming!” you yell helping her with the TV.

“What was taking you so long I was calling you for what twenty seconds?” she asked you as you put the wifi in for her,

“Sorry ma, I was um studying and listening to lofi music,” you lied as she nodded understandingly

“Well you go back to studying,” she said as you scurried back off to your bedroom.

You bring back your notebook and begin to write once again.

“the time in the real world goes really slow when Im in another world” you write down as you lay down looking up at your ceiling.

“Bring me to a place beyond,” you say closing your eyes once again. This time you were at the estate eating food with your family, this time you seemed atleast 15 years old.

“So Y/n we were just thinking that perhaps you should start training: I mean it would help starting to train early considering you don’t have any cursed energy,” your dad said as you slurp down your food.

“I mean like sure but not at a school!” You say while taking a huge bite of pho.

“Alright then,” he said sighing surprisingly not trying to convince you to enrolling in such a school.

“I shall be excused now,” you say bowing and walking outside to wherever.

‧˚₊⋅ ୨୧ ⋅₊˚‧

Once again you had bumped into Gojo. You both had continued walking when all of a sudden you had heard his voice.

“Wait a minute.. I’ve seen you before,” he says as you both turn around to face eachother. Nervously sweating you respond.

“haha.. Really? Must be a coincidence!” you say laughing while waving your hands in front of you

“Ohh! I remember you’re that one girl that always gets scolded by her parents!” he says as a peactical lightbulb appears above his head

“It’s not alll the time!” you say looking away, pouting and also red in embarrassment.

“Sure and my name’s not Gojo Satoru;” he says sarcastically as you roll your eyes, you hear your name being called by your parents.

“Bye hope I never bump into you again!” you say running to your estate.

“We’re gonna be having some guests from the Gojo clan so be prepared,” your mother had said leaving you dumbfounded as you rush to your room.

“ughhh why do they have to come!?!” you ask yourself screaming into your pillow.

“Woops am I interrupting a moment here or what?”

Just my luck .

‧˚₊⋅ ୨୧ ⋅₊˚‧

notes: pspspsposps ts took me longrt than jt should have

[deliriouslyshipping]

Pt. 2 of me writing new stuff instead of finishing my other stuff

Personal Trainer! Carlos, Normie! Jannik

Jannik swipes into the gym that he paid a membership for but never stepped inside of until now. The person at the desk takes a brief glance at his outfit and he can already tell he will stick out like a sore thumb. Not knowing what to wear, he threw on a t-shirt and shorts. At least his socks matched because he knew the rest of his clothes didn’t. Jannik searches around for a locker room, ignoring the other men he passes by. It smells like sweat and lavender. He rushes to put his wallet and keys inside before he walks out of the locker room and to a machine. 

Treadmill. Easy enough. After setting his water bottle on the floor, Jannik starts it up and sets it to his normal walking pace. Music is playing in his headphones, something lofi. It gets boring after 5 minutes so he speeds it up, makes the incline higher. 

His calves start to burn and regret starts to itch away at him. Nonetheless he continues, bumping it up again after another 5 minutes. A thought creeps into his mind that he had completely forgotten to stretch before. 

He hasn’t felt this out of breath since he was required to take physical education as a class. Why did he do this? Why would he choose today, this year, to reconsider his fitness? A stab of pain happens right below his ribs - a big sign to STOP, so he listens. Jannik frantically stops the machine, allowing the treadmill to slide him down to the gym floor. He heaves over, hands settling on his knees, desperate to catch his breath. 

A hand touches his shoulder. 

“You okay?” It’s rich, accented. Jannik doesn’t have to lift his head to see thick calves on tan legs. The Nike shoes are pretty nice. He stands to his full height with a deep breath, but the air gets punched out of him by the hotness of the stranger. 

The man smiles at him, his hand still holding onto Jannik. He’s at a loss for words. There is a sheen line of sweat that covers the man’s forehead and face. Such pretty eyes. Full lips. The tank top is not a help because there are defined arms and a squiggly arm vein that Jannik would very much like to run his tongue across. God, those thighs are thick. Jannik blinks, realizing he just checked this stranger out so boldly, and he lets out a nervous laugh. 

“Sorry. Yeah, I’m okay.” Stupid, he almost forgot to answer him. The hand on him leaves and Jannik wishes he had not said anything at all. 

“Your first time here?” He nods dumbly. 

“Was it that obvious?” The man smiles, crossing his arms across his chest. Jannik forces himself to not look down. 

“I haven’t seen you around.” What would his friends think about this - how he talked to a random person on his first day of the gym. They’d laugh at him, questioning if he sucked his dick in the bathroom with the way Jannik would describe him. Jannik would probably suck his dick in the bathroom if he asked, and he's not a whore; the man is just that attractive.

“You’re here all the time?” Maybe he needs to come to the gym more. There are plenty of benefits. It hits him a second too late that it seems as though he is trying to chat the guy up.

“Have to be. I work here.” All of his hopes of getting this man in his mouth is out of the window. His shoulders sag in disappointment. 

“You’re not wearing the shirt,” mumbles Jannik, jerking his head to the colored shirt wiping down a machine. 

“I train. I teach a class too.” Jannik can envision fighting a boner at the back of the class watching the man teach people how to do a squat. He needs to get himself together. The guy is just being nice and doing his job, obviously finding a man in distress from overexertion. “The shirts are ugly.” Jannik snorts, agreeing. The guy would make the shirts look good. He’d make anything look good. It reaches a quiet point and Jannik takes the hint. One-off conversation. He picks up his water bottle from the floor. 

“Thank you for seeing if I was okay. I think I’ll go home and die of embarrassment now.” If his appearance wasn’t perfect enough, the man had to laugh. Jannik is so fucking screwed. If he doesn’t die of embarrassment, he’ll die from how hard is orgasm is going to be from his hand. He takes sips of his water, afraid he’ll say all the horrific thoughts his mind is thinking. 

“You could come to a class. It’s open to all members.” Jannik grimaces, and it makes the man laugh again. He’d rather walk across hot coals than look stupid in front of a hot man and 20 other people. “Or book a session with me. The first one is free.” 

“I need help that bad?” 

“I didn’t say that,” but the man’s face gives it away. This is not going to be his proudest jerk off session. Jannik sighs. 

“No thanks, but I appreciate it.” The man uncrosses his arms and it folds behind his back. He needs to get himself together. 

“If you change your mind, ask for Carlos.” Every day of his life. Carlos turns and heads back into a studio. His ass is sinful in those shorts. Jannik watches the entire time, sipping on his water. 

He is thirsty. 

[midautumngame]

For Robin Lam, crashing at Grandma's was meant to be a break from their responsibilities. But relaxing might prove hard when the Spirit World is real, its entrance is in their basement, and they're its newest guardian. Blast evil spirits and save your hometown from gentrification in this rogue-like dungeon crawler about Asian diaspora culture – Midautumn!

✧ Fight through the Spirit World! ✧

Experience roguelike dungeon crawling gameplay with engaging and unique combat mechanics! Fight a range of different enemies and boss battles! Plus, accessibility options to ensure you can play how you'd like!

✧ Explore the town of Nambo Quay! ✧

Enjoy multiple story arcs and narrative branches and uncover the mysteries of this fictional Californian coastal town! Shop for boba power-ups, clothes, music and more! Visit locales and events, such as the anime con, SakuraFest!

✧ Meet the Characters ✧

Meet and chat with a whole cast of diverse characters complete with beautiful art and voice acting! Get to know townsfolk and Ancestral Spirits, who offer you their Gifts to help you along the way!

✧ Engage with Asian cultures ✧

Explore diverse Asian diaspora cultural experiences and perspectives created by an all-Asian diaspora team! Featuring a distinct lofi pixel art style, a bumping soundtrack, compelling dialogue and story and previously funded on KIckstarter!

✧ AVAILABLE NOW ON STEAM EARLY ACCESS ✧

BUY, WISHLIST OR TRY THE DEMO TODAY!

[doberbutts]

Ask game: 9 and 17?

A story from my childhood:

Hmm I've told quite a few good ones on here. I think I've never talked about this one on tumblr before.

When I was in 2nd grade, I had a truly evil teacher. She hit us, scratched us with her nails, came up with cruel games and crueler punishments. She mostly targeted myself, a Korean girl, and the boys (the girl and I were the only poc in the class). When I say truly evil I mean it- she would grab us by the back of the neck with her deliberately sharpened nails and squeeze hard enough to leave marks. One day she did that to a boy with short enough hair that his parents noticed- they called the other parents of the class who checked their kids' necks and found similar marks. She'd always told us that our parents knew about what she was doing and told her it was okay, and that we'd be punished worse for telling anyone because then everyone would know we'd been bad. Surprise: our parents did not know.

ANYWAY that's not the story but rest assured she did get fired for this after all the parents raised a huge stink about this woman.

In 3rd grade my school was aware that they now had a bunch of incredibly traumatized 7-9 year olds who needed some extra help because they'd been terroized for several months, and devised a buddy system with the school's nicest teachers. Mine was my actual 3rd grade teacher and she was such a beautiful and lovely soul.

I spent many weekends working on homework sprawled out on her kitchen floor, eating fruits and sweet treats she made herself, chasing her very fat orange cat around, helping in her garden. She- I feel- embodied what an elementary school teacher should be. Genuinely, I don't think a nicer person exists. I have one particular memory of sitting with her on her patio, me covered in dirt due to whatever garden activities I'd been up to, eating cool watermelon and drinking iced water, asking her a million questions about all the different things I'd learned in class and seen in the garden and heard on the news etc. And her ever-present patient smile as she answered my questions in her own gentle way.

The year after, she went on extended leave due to "a health problem". She never came back during my time at that school. Later, in high school, I was at a Christian camp thing and bumped into her there. She looked like she'd aged about 25 years. I called out to her, and she heard me say her name and told me in a very wobbley and halting voice "I know you were one of mine, but I'm sorry, I can't remember your name. It's the cancer, you see."

She died a few months later. She had brain cancer. I cried when my mom handed me her obituary. I was just talking to my mom about her the other day, how I remembered chasing her cat around during that summer.

The moral of the story is, I guess, that you never know the impact you'll have on someone's life. I don't know if Ms Metzler ever thought that I'd be sitting here thinking of her more than a decade after she passed. Or if she knew just how much she helped me recover from the woman before her. Or if she knew that her garden, her patio, her bright orange cat, and the cool tile of her kitchen floor would make such an impression on me that I still remember them vividly even after a brain injury. She didn't remember me at the end. But I'll remember her forever.

3 things that make me happy:

Vanilla or cinnamon scented candles

Lofi playing softly in the background

The warm pressure of a dog laying on me