#MORE THAN A MONTH to reorganize my life and stuff

[csbenthusiast]

I miss writing my silly little things 😔😔😔😔😔😔😔 BUT MY BRAIN WONT LET ME

[0omillo0]

HAN JISUNG X FEM! READER

Angst, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort

a/n: I really like how this one came out!! please let me know if you liked it too! ᡣ𐭩

Warnings: Panic attack, Miscommunication, Emotional distress

Summary: A misunderstanding leads to heartbreak, but sometimes love can heal even the deepest wounds.

𝜗𝜚

Jisung had been working tirelessly for weeks on his music, and you could see how much pressure he was under. You wanted to do something special for him—something that would not only surprise him but remind him how much he meant to you. For your anniversary, you came up with an idea: you'd record yourself singing one of his favorite songs, “bad” by wave to earth, and reorganize his messy music files while you were at it.

You spent hours preparing everything, perfecting your voice, and carefully categorizing his music. Then, you left a little note at the end of the recording, telling him to check the closet for his anniversary gift—a brand-new guitar you knew he’d been eyeing for months. It was meant to be a beautiful surprise.

When Jisung came home that evening, you were sitting by his computer, making the final tweaks to his project. His face was a mix of surprise and confusion.

“What are you doing on MY computer?” he asked, his tone sharper than you expected.

You smiled, excited to reveal your surprise. “I was working on something for you. I—”

Before you could finish, he had pushed past you, eyes scanning the screen. His face contorted in panic.

“Where’s my work? What did you do?” he asked, voice rising.

You blinked, taken aback by his sudden shift. “I just reorganized it a little. Everything’s still there—”

“Reorganized?!” Jisung cut you off, not even listening to the last sentence, his voice now full of anger. “You deleted everything, didn’t you?! Why would you touch my stuff without asking?! You just made my day even worse thank you.”

His words cut deep. You tried to explain, but the words got stuck in your throat. Tears welled up in your eyes as he continued to lash out, too blinded by panic to see the hurt written all over your face.

Finally, unable to bear it anymore, you grabbed your things and rushed out of the house, sobbing. Before leaving you yelled a “Well then maybe you’ll be happier without me, Jisung. Have a good life we’re- we’re done.” Jisung didn’t stop you.

You needed to get away, needed to breathe. Without thinking, you found yourself at Minho’s apartment. He was your best friend, someone who had always been there when you needed him. The moment he opened the door, he didn’t need to ask. He pulled you into a tight hug, letting you cry into his shoulder.

---

Back at home, Jisung sat in silence, the weight of his words hanging in the air. His chest felt tight, and something gnawed at him. He knew he overreacted, but in the heat of the moment, all he saw was chaos where he expected order.

With trembling hands, he went back to his computer, hoping—no, praying—that you hadn’t deleted everything. As he clicked through the files, he realized that you hadn’t deleted a single thing. Everything was still there, neatly organized, far better than how he had left it.

And then he saw it.

A file titled “Happy Anniversary.” Confused, he clicked on it, and your voice filled the room. You were singing “bad,” and it was beautiful. He had no idea you could sing like that. By the end of the recording, his chest ached.

And then your voice—soft, almost hesitant—spoke up.

“Jisung, I hope you liked my surprise. I wanted to help you organize everything because I know you’ve been so stressed. There’s one more surprise—look in the closet. Happy anniversary, babe. I love you.”

His heart dropped. He even forgot your anniversary. He scrambled to the closet, yanking it open to find the brand-new guitar, complete with a handwritten letter.

As he read the words you had so carefully written, guilt consumed him. His hands shook, his breathing shallow. He sank to the floor, panic seizing his chest. His phone slipped from his hands as he tried to call you, to text you, but you didn’t answer.

Please Y/N… Please babe answer me… I’m so sorry…

---

At Minho’s apartment, you had finally cried yourself to sleep. Minho, ever the protective friend, watched over you for a while before noticing your phone buzzing endlessly. Seeing Jisung’s name flashing across the screen, he sighed and decided to call him.

“Minho…” Jisung’s voice was hoarse on the other end, barely above a whisper.

“What happened, Jisung?” Minho asked, his tone calm but firm.

“I—I messed up. I thought she deleted my work, but she didn’t. She was trying to help, and I… I yelled at her,” Jisung confessed, his voice breaking. “I’ve been calling her, but she won’t answer. I don’t know what to do.”

Minho glanced at you, asleep on his couch, your tear-streaked face a testament to the pain Jisung had caused. He sighed, running a hand through his hair.

“Listen, Jisung. Calm down. She’s here, and she’s hurting. You really messed up, but I think you already know that,” Minho said quietly. “I’m leaving for the day tomorrow. Maybe when she wakes up, you can try to make things right. But give her space, okay?”

Jisung could only mutter a quiet thank you before the call ended.

---

The next day, you woke up feeling emotionally drained, the events of the previous night weighing heavily on you. Minho had left a note saying he had errands to run and that you could stay as long as you needed.

As you sat on the couch, trying to sort through your emotions, there was a soft knock at the door. Hesitant, you opened it to find Jisung standing there, his face pale, eyes red-rimmed as if he hadn’t slept.

“I—Can I come in?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

You stepped aside, not trusting yourself to speak. The air between you felt thick with tension and unspoken words.

Jisung took a deep breath, his eyes filled with regret. “I’m so sorry. I… I overreacted. I thought you deleted my work, and I didn’t even give you a chance to explain. I should have trusted you.” His voice cracked. “I listened to your recording. It was beautiful. And the guitar… I don’t deserve it, or you.”

You blinked back tears, still hurt but softened by the sincerity in his voice.

“I was just trying to help, Jisung,” you whispered, your voice trembling. “I wanted to do something nice for you, and you—” Your words caught in your throat as you recalled how he had screamed at you.

“I know,” Jisung said, stepping closer. “I know I hurt you, and I hate myself for it. I had a panic attack after you left because I realized how much I messed up. I love you, and I never want to make you feel like that again.”

The silence stretched between you as you searched his face, trying to decide if you were ready to forgive him. And then, slowly, you nodded, tears falling down your cheeks.

“I love you too, Jisung,” you whispered. “But we can’t keep doing this. You need to trust me. Your words hurt me so bad.”

He reached out, gently pulling you into his arms, holding you close as if he was afraid to let go. “I promise I’ll do better. I’ll trust you. I can’t lose you.”

For a moment, the world seemed to stand still as you held each other. The hurt didn’t vanish, but in that moment, you both knew that love would help you heal, one step at a time.

And maybe, just maybe, you’d come out stronger on the other side.

[padfootagain]

Bookshelves

Hi everyone ! Here is a cute little something to answer this anonymous request for my 6k event : “I am in love with your writing style 💖😍 Can you make ben Barnes one with trope 16?”

Thank you for your request, anon! Hope you like the cute drabble I wrote for it!

****

Pairing: Ben Barnes x reader

Warnings: so much fluff you will get cavities

Summary: Nothing’s better than reorganizing your bookshelves with the love of your life on a crispy autumnal afternoon…

Word count: 1258 (short but sweet!)

Ben Barnes’s Masterlist – Main Masterlist

The air is crisp and cold and you love it. It’s greyer than the leaves outside, they still wear their orange and red colours. The sky matches the global atmosphere of that afternoon: heavy with upcoming rain, gradients between black and white, smelling of the earth after a storm. You have a warm mug waiting for your lips right by your side, there, on the floor. A warm blanket wrapped around your frame and a fire cracking over cold stones. It’s warm, it’s autumn in all its splendour.

It's a simple afternoon, basked in Eta James’s voice, and it’s easy to forget that tomorrow is just another Monday, that you will have to go to work and get up before dawn and fight the cutting edges of the cold wind against your cheeks. It’s easy to forget that this day will have to end. Especially when Ben’s voice rises from somewhere behind you, a low hum that spreads warmth and reassurance across your heart, makes it skip a few beats in its excitement. He’s humming along the melody, matching the warmth of the saxophone and the quietness of his padding feet against the tiles. When he sits down by your side again, a refill of warm tea in his favourite mug, his hair is dishevelled, wearing an old black hoodie and some sweatpants, along with colourful fuzzy socks.

And you love it. You’ve never found him as stunning as he is now, looking cozy and warm and infinitely intimate in the simplicity of his appearance. Nothing fancy. Nothing done to impress you. You’ve passed this uneasy stage of your relationship a long time ago. You love each other too much now to accept anything from the other but their true self. You admire the curve of his jaw darkened with stubble, and the grace of his eyelashes brushing his pale cheeks, and the enticing beauty spot under his right eye. You’re not even thinking as you reach up to brush his messy dark strands of hair back, out of his face, so you can see him better. He’s smiling, turning towards you as you move your fingers through his hair, just the way he likes it.

“Alright, so… how do we proceed with this?” he asks, something mischievous glinting in his dark eyes, and you can’t supress a smile.

The task at hand is huge: rearranging the bookshelves of two people who adore reading is going to be a mission that will keep you both busy for the whole day. You’re going to love every second of it, no doubt.

“Do you want to reorganize everything by author? Genre? Colour?”

“Author is more practical.”

“Colour is prettier.”

He chuckles, rolling his eyes.

“I will do whatever makes you happy, my darling.”

“Do you want to separate our collections?”

He raises an eyebrow at that.

“We share a last name by now, we’re done compartmentalizing stuff and labelling them as ��yours’ or ‘mine’. Whenever you’re sick, even your bloody virus becomes mine…”

You laugh at that, playfully pinching his thigh.

“Hey! It’s not my fault if you caught my cold last month! I told you to stop cuddling me, and you didn’t!”

“You looked too miserable. I was feeling too bad for you…”

The admittance is a mix of fondness, shyness and something extra-sweet that your heart can’t handle. It quickens its pace as it overloads.

“Right, so… we’re putting them all together, but how? Because for now, our books are a mess.”

“I vote authors. Because I’m an organised person,” Ben argues, but you pull your tongue at him at the playful teasing in his tone.

“I vote colours, cause it’s more aesthetically pleasing.”

“I vote for whatever makes you happy, cause I’m a clever lad, and I know I need to pick my battles in this relationship…”

“Clever lad, indeed!”

You exchange a laugh and a tender kiss, before starting to empty the shelves, Ben standing up to take the books out and passing them to you so you could organize them in piles.

It takes what looks like forever to empty all the shelves fully. You have mountains of books around you by the time you’re done, and Ben has changed the music to some Louis Armstrong and his trumpet. It has started to rain, and you have to turn on the lights as the sky turns a darker shade of grey. The rhythmic pattern of the rain against the windowpane and the rooftop warms your heart, and draws white clouds over the windows.

Ben is becoming increasingly distracted though. By the time the shelves are empty, he’s restless and keeps on playfully pushing your legs with his feet.

“Stop it!” you smack his foot away when he attacks again, making him giggle in the most adorable way.

“Let’s take a break,” he argues with such an adorable pout, you are this close from yielding, but you don’t, shaking your head.

“Come on, we can cuddle after we’re done with this,” you offer, and you notice the grin he fails to hide.

“In bed?”

“In bed.”

“Can I be little spoon?”

“If you want to, sure.”

This time he gives you a proper grin, bright and full of mischief.

“Oh, that’s a deal! Hurry up!”

You laugh at him as he starts picking piles of books, but he quickly slows down to organize the shelves correctly.

And you love it, it’s so satisfying to reorganize your bookshelves. You add some figurines, some cute pictures of the two of you as decoration to fill up the empty spaces on the shelves. And then it’s finally done, complete.

“I have to admit that the rainbow thingy looks stunning. Highly impractical, but stunning.”

“I think so myself!”

Ben drinks up the cold remnants of his tea, wincing at the nasty taste.

“We did such a good job! All our books finally put together in a pretty way!”

Ben hums in agreement, wrapping his arm around your shoulders to hold you closer, dropping a sweet kiss to your head.

“We did an excellent job!”

That’s when he realizes that his favourite figurine is missing. He looks around frantically, but you merely chuckle as you point towards the coffee table.

“Marty’s over there,” you joke, and he heaves a relieved sigh, walking over to get his Back to the Future figurine, and he places it on a shelf.

“Now, it’s perfect!” he chimes, turning towards you. “And I think we deserve to rest now.”

“You mean… cuddle?”

“Of course, I mean cuddle! You promised I would get cuddles out of this, do not break your word!”

You laugh at him but follow him anyway, teasing him some more while you make your way to your bedroom.

A few minutes later, you are buried under blankets, watching the rain fall on your windows, the touches of red from the trees in the distance, Ben tugged into your side, his head buried in the warmth of your neck as you stroke gently his back.

He heaves a content sigh.

“I love you, darling,” he whispers into your skin. “God… I’m so happy right now. This is the best, isn’t it? Just… doing the simplest of things together. Just… doing nothing. Just… being here, together.”

You hum, kissing his forehead, and you notice then that he has closed his eyes. He’ll soon fall asleep, he often does when you hold him like this. He can’t help it. He feels so peaceful in your arms, safe, untroubled.

“Yeah… yeah, I think that’s the best, indeed…”

[bump1nthen1ght]

It's Honest Work (Masc!Reader x NB!Ghost)

Pairing: Masc!Reader x NB!Ghost

Genre: Modern, Crushes, Pining

Word Count: 3380 words

Warning: N/A

Summary: You’ve started noticing some oddities of the old library you work at, smaller incidents building up to stoke your suspicion. Unbeknownst to you, the presence is looking less to haunt, and more to help.

A/N: Not sure if this is dark academia, but I hope I did some pining justice! This prompt was just so cute.

Request: Oooh could I request a Drabble featuring a masc reader who cares for an old library accidentally discovering that there’s been a timid but sweet ghost (enby) floating around the library’s old halls who’d been staying hidden cause they didn’t want to frighten reader and leave them all alone, all with some heavy romantic tension and pining please? Feel free to add whatever extra details you want if you feel like it, I’m just craving some sweet and spooky dark academia romance :)

Day 1: I think the library might be haunted.

You look at the drying ink on the page, wondering if the three hours of sleep you got last night is getting to you. 

It’s easy for your mind to wander in the library. Especially on nights like these, when no one wanders in for hours, when every slight noise echoes across the giant bookcases, when the dark corners seem full of monsters. It’s human instinct to grow wary, the deep-seated monkey-brain part of you on edge.

But this has been more than that. It's why you’ve decided to write stuff down, to catalog all the weird occurrences.

March 11th: 

Books in the YA section have been reorganized methodically to the dewey decimal system. Supervisor complimented me on my thorough work, and I know I did not do that good of a job.

Air conditioner that has not worked for months sputtered to life this morning after I complained about the summer heat. No one has been able to figure out what happened.

You look at your list, those doubtful thoughts once again creeping into your mind. These really could be explained away as happenstance, pure coincidence, or another fault of your sluggish, sleep-deprived mind.

But you must push on. They may jot happen everyday, but these oddities have stuck out to you the past couple weeks. You’re hoping that by writing them down you’ll either see a pattern that ascribes logic to all of this, or see that there’s no connection at all and be assured it's just your own overreaction.

The rest of your shift goes relatively normally, nothing too odd occurring. You allow yourself to sink into the normal routine of sorting books, helping patrons and cleaning. It’s a nice rhythm and it’s hard not to feel peaceful in it.

Even with an extra pair of eyes watching you.

—

 You must really love this new artist. With the library closed down for the night you don’t stop your humming, nor the shimmying of your shoulders and hips. You even walk with a slight bounce, headbanging to the heaviest parts. It’s enough of a distraction that you completely miss a book falling from your cart, nearly left behind as you trot into the new section. Luckily, Gene is able to grab it just as quickly and slot into the cart, right next to the other books of the same genre. You continue to bop, muttering some half-lyrics under your breath as you sort books.

Ah, they’re always so cute when they dance.

For an avid reader who died in a library, you'd think Gene would never be lacking in entertainment. And yet after ninety odd years, even Gene had to admit reading could be snore.

But then you showed up.

You, the vibrant, young librarian, just bursting with passion. Who took the extra time to recommend a series based on people’s tastes, who always volunteered to be the reader at kids reading circle, enthusiastically acting out each part. Who remembered each familiar face and what they had just finished and what they were hoping to read next.

If we had met when I was alive, would they remember me, too?

Just the thought of talking to you has Gene in a tailspin, hands throne over their translucent face as if they still blushed like before. 

No way.

You were so you and they were so themselves. Even if they were alive, Gene would never have the courage to come up to you. Not with that radiant smile, or your laugh…

At first Gene and contented themselves just to watch you. Convince themselves you were the first new face in a while, all your coworkers being people in their 60’s who had worked at the library for 30+ years. That hearing you banter over the phone was like watching a sitcom, getting a snapshot into an idealized life.

But then you had a particularly bad day, nothing going to plan. Someone had screamed at you, your coffee had spilled the minute you stepped into the building, and your hair was acting strange. You had hidden in a storage closet and cried, and Gene felt their dead heart breaking all over again.

That was the day they started helping, in their own way. It was win-win, really. You had most of your inconveniences done away with, and Gene got to feel like they were actually interacting with you. Like you guys were friends.

Maybe more, one day.

Gene sighs, breath unneeded but the emotion too heavy not to. The watch as you bop down another aisle, doing a quick air-guitar in between the aisles.

It seems I might be in over my head.

—

Day 5: WHAT THE FUCK IS GOING ON?!!!

After a whole week’s worth of observations, your fears have been confirmed, not assuaged.

Something weird is happening. Umbrella’s don’t just pop up when the weather takes an unexpected turn and you forget yours at home. Fridges don;’ just close when you forgetfully leave them open. But the most damning thing of all is-

Some kid spilled apple juice all over one of the tables today. Luckily no books were harmed, but I went to go get some paper towels while the mom rushed her kid to the bathroom. When I was back, the table was clean. No bystanders, no thrown out paper towels, nothing.

I work alone today.

Something is happening, even if it's not necessarily a bad thing. More of just an odd thing, in a guardian angel sort of way.

You’re not sure where to go from here. You had hoped this journal would lead you somewhere, some kind of resolution. But this half-answer gave you nothing but confusion. And maybe a little gratitude.

Maybe…you should just leave it alone. Let your angel do their magic, and take the extra generosity when you can.

You’re closing up for the day, headphones left in their case as you put away leftover books and move the carts around. Your ears are pricked for another person, a small part of you still convinced that there must be someone else hiding. The front entrance has already been locked, you’re in a bottle here.

Nothing, not a peep. Not even a kid who lost track of time reading and hasn’t realized the library was closed. It’s quiet, too quiet.

With all the closing tasks done, all your stuff shoved into your bag, you’re just about ready to go home. It’s a bit anticlimactic, and you start wondering if this ghost theory came from a need to spice up your life a bit.

Still, you can’t help the feeling…

Right before you turn off the lights, bag slung over your shoulder, you turn to the looming library. 

“Um, I don’t know if anyone’s actually there, but I just wanted to say…uh…thank you. For helping me out. If that’s what you're doing, anyway. I guess I don’t know it’s for my benefit but…I appreciate it.” 

Silence lingers, echoes off long stacks of books. No response.

You sigh, wondering what you were thinking in the first place. You flick off the lights, turn towards the door and start moving for your car keys.

“You’re welcome.”

Your body bag hits the ground with a thump as you nearly jump 2 feet in the air, heart kicked into overdrive. Eyes darting around, your blood pumps fast across your chest, neurons firing.

“Holy shit.” You hold out a hand like calming a wild predator, even though there’s still only empty space all around you.

That was real, you heard that. It had to be. 

“H-hello?” Anyone there?

Like a Dickensian dream, the kind that has you rubbing your eyes and questioning your sanity, a half-see through apparition peaks its head from behind a bookshelf. If it weren’t for the faded apparation proving your initial ideas correct, the fact that they’re hovering 3 feet off the ground would have.

Oh my god, I was right.

“Hello.” A gentle voice whispers, the transatlantic accent already apparent. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you.” They tug at their long sleeves, eyes darting all over the place. The dumb expression of shock on your face probably isn’t helping.

“It’s no problem! I wasn’t scared…just surprised.” You rub the back of your neck, the beating of your heart slowing down just a bit. Of all the ghosts to meet in your lifetime, this one seemed pretty nice. “Um, I’m ____, Nice to meet you.” Taking a step forward, you hold out your hand, then pull it back, wondering if a bow would make more sense. Then you stop and think “That’s stupid”, and hold out your hand again.

God, even around dead people I am so awkward.

But it’s enough to make the ghost giggle, peeking out from behind the bookshelf. They hover over, laced shoes just barely touching the ground, and take your hand in a handshake

Touching their skin feels like touching a pile of feathers; A tickling of sensations that only last for a second, a vague imprint before it’s only air behind. It’s interesting, and less unnerving than you thought it would be.

“I’m Gene. It’s a pleasure to meet you, ___. Officially.”

You nod along, brain still reeling from the revelations currently occurring.

Though their silhouette is partially transparent you can see the hints of color of their clothing. Some faded brown slacks, tucked into high socks and shoes. Their button up is loose and striped, not as pressed or finely cut as for a suit, but more for everyday. All in all it looks like an oufti you could see being worn by a hipster of today, or a particular dedicated historian. 

“It’s a pleasure to meet you too. I think I already know the answer, but, are you the one who's been helping me?”

Gene’s face goes dark, no blood flowing through their veins but their blush still apparent. They tuck a stray lock of hair behind their ear, twirling it nervously.

“Yes…that was me. I never meant to spook you, it’s just…” Gene yanks at the wayward hair, eyes still pointed to the ground. “...seemed right, to help around. I have been sort of free-loading here in the afterlife.”

You nod along, silently cheering that your mad hypothesis was correct after all.

“Well, thank you, again. It’s actually been really nice, someone having my back all this time.” You scratch the back of your neck. “How long have you been here, anyway?” 

“About, 90-ish years, now? I can’t remember the exact day, just that it was a Sunday, and I had come here on my day off. I loved this place.” Gene looks all around at the library. It’s a mix of nostalgia and melancholy, a quiet resignation.

“And…it’s just been you? No other ghosts around?”

“Nope.” Gene sighs a nonexistent breath, rubbing the bridge of their nose. “Just me. Guess I’m only one to be foolish enough to die in a library. By a copy of Moby Dick, no less.”

“Oh.”

There’s a twisting in your gut, a primal sadness at the fact. The library was large, larger than most, but even you felt stifled after working a particularly long shift. There were some windows added in recent decades, but the old construction of the building meant little light often crept in. The tall bookcases didn’t help, making the place seem more cramped and constricting than it was. It was nice in bursts, but nine whole decades?

And they still found the time to help me out.

You had been planning on heading home and crashing, maybe vegging out in front of the TV before dragging yourself to bed. It feels too anticlimactic now, given how this night is going.

What to do? You don’t want to ask too many prying questions, even though you’re dying to know more about the afterlife. Feels a little too personal, even tasteless. Then again, you can’t just leave. Not after they made the effort to introduce themselves, and have been your guardian angel these past few weeks.

“What books do you like?”

Gene looks slightly taken aback, their brow furrowing.

“Uhm, a little bit of everything, I suppose. I’ve read just about everything here. But I guess if I had to choose….” That blush returns, coloring their cheeks a slightly darker hue. “...Mystery. I’m partial to Mystery novels..”

“Mystery, huh?” You tap your chin, thinking about the last shipment of books you got. “Any particular favorites?”

Gene’s see-through eyes somehow light up, their mouth quirking into a grin.

“Agatha Christie, oh for sure Agatha Christie. I actually-” Gene stutters over their words, suddenly sheepish, “-I was reading one of her books when it…” They look upward at the tall bookshelves, rubbing a non-existent bump on the back of their head, “...when it happened.” Gene shrugs their shoulders. “Guess I was too lost in thought.”

Well, at least they have good humor about it, it seems.

“Oh, she’s really good! I’ve only read the Murder of Roger Ackeroyd, but I remember loving it when I did.” The library training kicks in, the familiar Christie Christie Christie you had to shelve and the countless kids reading her for English class haunting you. “We have a pretty decent mystery collection, their on the-”

“Third row down, shelves 28-30?”

Gene’s hand point the same way, not even looking in the direction. 

“Oh, yeah, sorry. Force of habit.” 

Gene’s cheeks darken again in a blush, waving their hands back and forth. “I-it’s no problem! I know this place a little too well, by now I've read about every mystery book it’s ever had. I think I’m stuck with that knowledge forever.”

You’re about to say something, maybe ask them more about the books, when the clock chimes.

It’s an old clock, installed up at the front back in the 70’s. It still chimes at every hour, little less useful now that everyone carries clocks in their pocket.

“My Apologies!” Gene blusters, floating form jerking a bit upright. “I’m keeping you so late, you’d probably be home by now if not for me.” Gene’s hands tug at their sleeves, which probably would be threadbare at this point if not for the fact they are incorporeal. 

“It’s no problem! I don't live that far anyway. Besides, what kind of person would I be if I didn’t thank my savior properly?”

Gene averts their eyes, a small smile on their face. The bask in the praise, sinking into it like a warm blanket.

Cute.

The thought surprises even you, the apple of your cheeks feeling hot.

“Do you like movies?”

Gene eyebrow furrows, a small dimple on the side of their cheek. It’s a sign of their thinking, a small detail you’re slowly starting to pick up again.

“I enjoy them. I saw a couple when I was alive. Those and the few they put on here, sometimes.”

Ahh, and those are few and far between. Most of them are stuffy documentaries or animated children's movies. Not that those are bad, per say, but it seems alongside everything else, Gene has been deprived of most other genres while trapped in the library.  

An idea blossoms in your mind, locking the front door behind you and setting down your backpack.

“Gene, I think I found a way to pay back those kind deeds.”

“You don’t need to do that-”

“Nope, I’m gonna.” There’s almost a skip to your step as you hurry to the employee office, specifically the larger closet in the very back. It’s filled with all the stuff needed for those rare movie nights; blankets, pillows, foldable chairs for stability. You shove all of those into a big laundry basket, then gently fold the projector screen and tuck the projector on top of the soft pile.

Gene is in the same spot as before, puzzled as you bring out more and more things.

“And, of course.” You shake an old box of microwave popcorn. “No movie night is complete without this.” You ripe open the bag with some fanfare, popping it into the staff microwave before running back out.

“Movie night?” Gene tilts their head, reminding you too much of a puppy. 

“Yeah!” You lay out the first blanket, setting some chairs up at all corners, then draping another blanket on top. “A wonderful modern soiree, The movie night is a classic occasion that everyone has to experience once in their life. Or, afterlife.”

The lights in the library are still slightly dimmed, only two flickering from when you were closing up. But they don’t seem as spooky as they did before, much more cozy.

Gene peaks their head in as you fluff up more pillows and blankets, using other chairs as supportive backs so the two of you can sit up.

You sit back on your legs, admiring your cozy masterpiece.

“Ta-da!”

Gene leans further in, feeling up the soft fleece and cotton. Their thumbs run circles over the fabric. It makes you wonder the last time they even laid in a bed, let alone wrapped themselves in the blanket.

“And I have just the movie too! You’re gonna love it.”

You prop the projector up on a seat covered in a thin sheet, shuffling out of the fort to hang up the projector on a nearby wall. By the time you’re turned around, you see Gene has curled themselves into the blanket fort, knees tucked into their chest, sitting on top of the blankets. You grab the now hot popcorn from the microwave, pour it into the large communal bowl, snag the nearby remote and join them, turning the device on and connecting it to your phone.

“Here, I got this just for ya.” You hand Gene a fleece blanket, a boldly decorated Lion King Merch blanket someone’s mom has donated too many years ago. 

Gene takes it like it’s hot, holding it daintily in their hands.

“Oh, thank you.”

They lay it over their lap, smoothing out the wrinkles. Their back is ramrod straight.

“First rule of blanket fort, coziness comes first.” You quickie burrito yourself in blankets, settling the bowl in between you two. 

Gene takes your hint, shoulders unlocking, knees untucking and splaying out in front of them. They daintily rest their nonexistent weight on the back of the pillow.

A familiar streaming site pops up on the director and your quick to search for your movie of choice.

“Knives out? I think I may have heard of this one.”

“Oh yeah, it was a huge hit. Really good mystery movie.”

You click play, hands shuffling through the bowl of popcorn and stuffing your mouth. You hold up the bowl for Gene.

Gene looks at the bowl, brows still crossed.

Wait a minute.

You struggle to swallow the handful of popcorn.

“Sorry…can you eat? I just realized, uh-”

A translucent hand shifts around the popcorn, moving it just like a corporeal one would. Gene lifts it up, just as surprised as you are that they can hold it.

“I don’t need to eat. But I guess I never tried to before. Never too many options.”

Gene daintily pops a popcorn into their mouth, mouth chewing in slow motion. 9 decades later, they're almost out of practice.

A dramatic swallow, and…

“Apparently I can.”

“Hell yeah.”

—

3/4th’s into the movie, your long shift finally hits you. It’s slow and gradual at first, Gene only noticing once your head hits their shoulder, a soft tap, half-of a sensation.

You’re still snuggled up into your blanket, the warmth of your body seeping into their half-one. Gene never realized how cold they were until they touched your hand earlier tonight. They had forgotten just how hot human bodies were.

But you don’t flinch away or shy from the cold breeze, snuggling deeper into the soft sensation, the weird texture of touching something half-way in this dimension.

If they still had a heart, Gene’s would surely be thumping wildly. So long they had wondered what it would be like, talking to you, doing things with you, touching you.

A stray hair falls onto your forehead. Gene brushes it away, goosebumps rolling down your neck. You look so cute like this, relaxed and in your element.

Maybe there could be something after all.

[ceasarslegion]

Ok you can't just tease gory roommate stories and then not share them! Pleeease tell us more!

I didn't answer this at first because I had to go back to dig up the photos to prove I am not fucking with you when I say how disgusting that place was

So how we ended up living together was that I had just graduated uni, toronto is too expensive so I couldn't stay there as much as I wanted to, and a federal government career opportunity in PEI fell through on the basis that I "didn't look enough like a minority" (which is a lot to unpack but let's just move on, if anyone wants that story send another ask my way lmao). So all this in mind, I had to grab all my stuff and fuck off back to edmonton and take a paying-the-bills job for a while.

I also needed a place to live, so I called up a few of my friends in edmonton and asked if any of them needed a roommate because I was making minimum wage in a mall skincare store, I couldn't afford to live alone. This person responded and told me they needed a roommate to get out of the sketchy part of the city. Win-win.

Honestly, would've been better taking my chances on craigslist. This person single-handedly ruined the concept of roommates for me for the rest of my goddamn life.

When I say disgusting, I mean vile. I mean that the entire time I was there I had the one laundry card from our unit and she never once asked for it. I don't know where or when or how she was doing her laundry, but most of her clothes were strewn about randomly. She had 2 cats, and cleaned their litter boxes maybe once a month, never brushed them. Cat hair everywhere, the whole place reeked of cat piss, dirty litter got tracked across the whole house, and one time one of them barfed on the carpet and she didn't even touch it for weeks. I left it there as a test to see if she would actually clean up after her own animals if I didn't get fed up and do it for her, like I ALWAYS did with everything else.

Dirty dishes were left to rot, her definition of "cleaning" them was soaking them in their own filth overnight and then putting them back in the cupboard, no brush or sponge. Half the time the dishes were fucking coated in grease and mold that was just rinsed off. And every time that happened was when I didn't do them. She ended up getting a tabletop dishwasher at one point and was so fucking lazy that she couldn't even be assed to throw a dishwasher tab in there and hit the on button when it got full, just kept piling dishes up in the sink.

The floors were COVERED in untouched impulse bought shopping bags that she would set down and never pick up again. The fridge and cupboards were chock all of all her impulse bought food to the point where I had no space for my own. She just kept buying more and more of the same shit she already had and then getting pissed at ME when I told her to reorganize the fucking fridge so that I can EAT. Honestly this was where I started getting petty and just eating her food, because it would go fucking moldy and sit there and she wouldn't do shit about it if I didn't.

I was the only one who ever took out the garbage. I was the only one who cleaned the bathroom. Wait sorry, she did it ONCE, so I'm a hypocrite /s. The previous sentence was her logic and tactics for arguing whenever I asked them to clean up after themself. Multiple times I had to deal with their used pads because they couldn't be fucking assed to take out the bathroom trash.

And hey, when I said I was fine with her boyfriend coming over sometimes, I didn't say he could basically just move in, throw all HIS trash everywhere, and never move out. I don't think that motherfucker (who was more disgusting than her) ever slept at his own goddamn house for 6 straight months.

She smoked so much weed that I think she might be the first person to have a legitimate weed addiction, often INSIDE so we would get smoking complaints. She would howl like a BANSHEE into the early hours of the morning on ps online with her brother in a building with thin walls. She would hoard all the dishes in her room to rot to the point where half the time I didn't have bowls to eat out of, because they were molding in her room.

One time, she made soup. And then didn't clean the pot for multiple MONTHS. And when I told her to clean her disgusting pot her reaction was to put it on the floor. Do you think I'm a fucking dinosaur whose visual competence is based on movement? Do you think im fucking stupid?

This all came to a head on provincial election night of 2023. I was a campaign staffer for the NDP so obviously e-day was hectic for me. I left my apartment at 6am and didn't get back until past midnight scrambling to get last minute canvassing done and poll inspections and go to the results party. She knew this, it was her day off, she promised me she would clean up her mess

When I get home, what do I find?

Not only is the mess not touched, it is worse. "Dirty underwear in the hallway" worse. She spent all fucking day playing video games and smoking weed. And now I would have to clean it all up because she won't, she never did, not one time did she ever actually make good on her promises to clean up after herself, I did it EVERY. TIME.

Oh wait no, sometimes she would move bags into a corner, so I'm a hypocrite and I'm asking too much of a grown-ass adult who is OLDER than me and she has to walk on eggshells around me. I'm so cruel and terrible and a bad person whose hygiene expectations of not breathing in cat piss are impossible. Don't I know she has depression and works 6 days a week? I'm a bad terrible ableist piece of shit and if I don't like it I can just leave. Which is what she acted like when I got so pissed at that that I confronted her about it and told her to get her fucking act together and grow the fuck up and take some responsibility for the fucking pigstye she was making other people live in. And then the next morning I found a lovely note on the fridge calendar that said "[boyfriend] moves in soon <3" so she was just kicking me out. Because I told her to pick up her dirty fucking underwear. She also had the AUDACITY to tell me that I was being unreasonable and had impossible standards of hygiene and that "it literally doesn't affect you"

So I went "lmao bet" and then told my landlord I was taking that offer of his to break the lease. What she didn't know was that I was telling him all this shit just in case I would have to bail early and cover my ass with the rental board. And he agreed that she was so unreasonable that he drafted me up a written agreement that this was a special case and he would not charge me fines or slap a broken lease on my record on the grounds that my roommate made my situation unlivable and a hazard to my health and safety. I contacted my grandma to move into her basement for a while and a week later I fucked off, leaving her with the entire rent and all the utility bills. I think it's less than she deserved honestly, I want my fucking security deposit back. Although I was very petty and did a shit job of patching up and repainting the mounted tv holes in my bedroom wall so they could deal with that.

Here's the photos of what I lived in for 9 months:

Are you taking the fucking piss

Now I live alone and I'm never doing roommates again. The only people I am living with are either my life partner or I'm moving back in with family if I can't afford it. I'll pump gas in the ass end of nowhere Saskatchewan in my Nan and grandads trailer before I live in this again

[vampirecatprince]

"Hey, Plasma- you've been kinda quiet lately."

In the past 4 months I have lost my job, went through my first breakup at 33, realized that my family is falling apart and I don't have a stepfather anymore, lost a beloved and long lived family pet that was one of my last connections to my grandparents, been rejected from several dozen job applications after giving them hours of my time and energy in interviews and pre-admin stuff in case I did get hired, realized I'm going to have to completely reorganize my life to accommodate the fact that my Mom and my stepfather are more than likely going to separate and my Mom cannot work or afford an apartment by herself, had my only way to contact any of my IRL social circle detonate when everybody abandoned Facebook, and I'm trapped and broke in a festering pit of a country thats being actively torn apart by people who would gladly see me shipped off and killed because I just want to be to be comfortable in my own skin.

So yeah- I'm kinda quiet, right now.

[allykatsart]

It's other anon and yes yes yes, please more about Peccantum and his life! I know authors often don't think their OCs are interesting for audience, but I'm pretty sure there's plenty of people here, who'd like to know more abt him;

Also I'm bad at coming with specific questions, since I'm interested in literally any info lol, may be more about his day-to-day life in the Hotel, if that's not too broad? Like, what he does while working, like, his duties etc, do he sometimes leave Hotel to go to the city for smth, where he spends most of his free time when alone (except for working on paranoid theories abt Alastor) and when with others (except science fun with Pentious), how his room looks, may be what group activities (like those trust exercises was in ep 3) likes/dislikes? (i think this is already too much lol, srry in advance, ofc any amount of ifo would be cool ^^" )

(also, want to add that I really like his design - he's cute, but also obviously a serious and kinda tragic character even if only judge by appearance)

Who is Peccantum?

💜❤️❤️💜❤️❤️❤️💜❤️💜❤️❤️❤️ thank youuuuuuuuu!!!!! I love my boi dearly and I'm happy to answer questions about him!

Tbh I am a little hesitant to post stuff on him. It feels incredibly self indulgent and I always worry I'll not be respectful to the canon characters. I've been really surprised at the reaction to him though! Usually you only get like 10 likes max when posting OC stuff. Thanks for all the love tho! 💜

There's a lot here so I'ma take it point by point below!

Peccantum's Duties

Peccantum is the bellhop, but it's more of a title than anything. Mostly he helps out with whatever is asked of him. He helps out Nifty with cleaning when she can't reach spots. He makes sure Fat Nuggets gets fed when Angel is in the studio for hours on end. He cleans up the bar for Husk when the former overlord is uh.... Not functioning and unable to.

Peccantum has also taken it upon himself to do most of the grocery shopping. The hotel crew takes turns cooking, but Peccantum really enjoys when it is his turn. Cooking is one of the few skills outside of magic that he's proud of!

Other than that, he's basically another set of hands to help wherever needed!

Peccantum's Room

For his hard work, and because his shitty, piss stained apartment is on the other side of the Pentagram, Peccantum has a room in the hotel! Technically this makes him a guest, but he always claims that he just works for Alastor, and Alastor wants him on call.

His room in the hotel is nice. Better than the crap studio apartment that he was barely able to afford. Yes, there's bugs, but after a few months Peccantum has his room looking nice. He even starts collecting bits of furniture that others have discarded, and personalizes it with enchantments. Slowly, the space starts to feel like it's 'his'.

The ceiling looks like outer space, a foggy mist of an incantation dotted with white stars and galaxies. Constalations shift and weave themselves in and out of existence. Golden suns burn bright until they turn red and swallow planets whole. When he has trouble sleeping, Peccantum will spend hours getting lost in that night sky...

One wall is covered in a red, plush curtain. Specifically, it's his 'Stalker wall' and Peccantum tries to hide it, just in case a certain Radio Demon comes into his room. When he's very stressed, Peccantum will fling the curtains wide open and start obsessively reorganizing his 'evidence'.

The City

Peccantum goes to the city for three things. To get groceries, to run an errand, or go visit his old neighborhood. Not any old friends, the closest thing he had to a friend was the cafe owner he stole a recipe from, but the area does remind him of when he first allowed himself to be free. It's where he had the first taste of independence. It's nice to revisit when things are getting a bit too much.

Grocery shopping is always an interesting experience. Sure, on a month to month basis, Peccantum can be sure to go to the market at least once, but Alastor will sneak some uh... Suggestions onto the list that Peccantum has to go out of his way for. There have definitely been a visit or two to Rosie's to pick up an order for the Radio Demon.

The Activities

Peccantum doesn't like to participate in the hotel's trust exercises. He's technically only working there for Alastor, so there's no need for him to participate, right? Not wanting to hurt Charlie's feelings, he ducks out before they begin most of the time. (If Charlie catches him and asks him to stay, though, he has no choice in the matter. Polite requests from her are a weakness of his.)

That's not to say he doesn't bond with the other residents though, he just does it in his own way. With Pentious he's quick to befriend with curiosity and genuine interest. With Husk, he slowly forms a co-worker type of relationship. Angel gets a bit more suspicion, but after episode 4 Peccantum would be willing to be a bit more open with the spider. Nifty gets herself into a lot of trouble, and Peccantum and the others keep having to get her out of it.

It's slow going, but the hotel crew slowly learns to trust Peccantum.

Free Time

Peccantum really isn't used to having free time. He worked his ass off to survive for those seven years, doing what he had to do. But now that his safety is secure and he's got time on his hands... He's kind of lost. Alastor hasn't told him what to do in that time so... He's unsure.

Peccantum finds things though. He practices magic, he makes things with Pentious, he reads. After a month or two, he ends up taking an interest in an old radio he finds, and listens to the Radio Demon's broadcasts. For evidence, of course! (Partially because he actually enjoys the music lol)

And sometimes... He uses that free time to further his own goals.

[timetogosteddie]

Pre-season 4 Steddie, my beloved.

It wasn’t just a slow day at Family Video, it was a very slow day. He’s pretty sure watching paint dry would be a more intense activity than working this shift. Weirdly enough, a hot and sunny Sunday morning was apparently not a popular time for movie rentals. Who would've thought? 

They'd been working here for a little over a month now and if it wasn't for the fact that they could work together about 98% of the time, Steve probably wouldn't have made it this far. He knows less than half of the popular movies and almost none of the "cult classics", aka the films Robin liked to pick for the in-store tv. But then again, it’s not like he’d been an ice cream aficionado before Scoops Ahoy. 

There was one thing however, he was good at without even trying: Flirting. Sadly, most of the girls that come in are either here with their partner or simply not his type. In most cases, he still finds a way to flirt with most of them anyway, just because.

But well, with Robin working in the back and with no female customers - or any customers, really - around, Steve could neither flirt for fun nor gossip with his bestie. And so, Steve's reorganizing the horror section. It’s not really necessary, but it gives him something to do. At least until the bell above the door rings, alerting him to at least one new customer. 

He has to fight the urge to turn around, so eager to finally have some more life in the store. But no, he shouldn't scare the customers. Just give them a moment and then offer your help, he tells himself. He tries to relax for a bit, as he’s slowly rearranging the "top picks" shelf. 

'Chainsaws, knives for fingers, why does anyone watch this stuff for fun?' he thinks to himself, before there’s the familiar sensation of eyes on the back of his head. Happy to hopefully finally be of use, he turns around to answer any possible questions, only to find himself face to face with Eddie Munson. 

High School Steve, King Steve, Steve The Hair Harrington - in short, the Steve he definitely didn’t like all that much - would've called him 'the freak'. It was just something others called him, so he'd joined in, though he’d never said those actual words to Eddie himself, only said it whenever the jocks talked about him. Even then, he was never really sure why they called him that. He was different, maybe a little weird, but freak? That was a bit harsh. 

He's so busy wondering if Eddie remembers him from high school. More importantly, if Eddie is going to say something about it, if he does remember, that he doesn’t realize he’s still staring at the other. Shit! Be a professional, man. 

With a slight cough, he looks away for a moment, before slapping that famous customer service smile back on. 

"Hi!" Oof, that was far too loud and cheerful. Toning it down a bit, he continues. "Looking for some horror? I'll just-", he points to another box of videos, standing at the children's section. "I'll get out of your hair, give you a chance to look around." Omg Steve, why are you still talking? "If you need anything, just holler." 'Seriously? What is wrong with you’ , the voice in his head, a voice that sounds a lot like Robin, is practically shouting at him.

Eddie simply nods at him, though there’s a curious look in his eye. It’s like he’s trying to figure something out. Maybe this is the part where he finally remembers Steve. Steeling himself for that moment, he finds himself holding his breath as Eddie takes a step closer to the shelf. He stops and stares for just a moment, before turning back to Steve. "Any recommendations?" 

Steve’s shocked by the sincerity in his voice. He’s not mocking him or anything, just honestly wondering if Steve has any recommendations for him. It catches Steve completely off guard. 

For an agonizingly long moment, he just stands there frozen, already slightly turned away from the metalhead. He’s glad the other can’t see his face, as he’s pretty sure he’s doing a goldfish impression right now. Breathe, Steve. Breathe and think.

His brain decides to start working again and a moment later, he’s facing Eddie again.  "Depends what you're into." Okay, maybe his brain hadn't really started working again, because he somehow managed to make that one sentence sound both dirty and awkward. "I mean, if it's blood you're after, you can't go wrong with a little Texas Chainsaw action. If however, you like a bit more plot, I hear 'The Thing' is pretty good. And of course, there's always Nightmare on Elm Street or Halloween. Classics!", he finishes with a smile, hoping his answer sounded confident.

Judging from Eddie's thoughtful nod, he’s pulled it off. Next thing he knows, Eddie’s turning back to the shelf, picking up a random VHS to read the information on the back. Good, Steve thinks, as he tries to make his escape for a second time. He feels like going over into the children’s section would save him more awkwardness, right? 

He doesn’t fully understand what’s happening here, though. Why was this boy making him so nervous?

He turns, but gets no further than a step or two before he hears Eddie’s voice again. "Which one's your favorite?"

Should he just lie? He could, right? It’s not like he hasn’t lied to half the customers in here already, especially the mom’s wondering if a movie would be appropriate for their children. As long as he hasn’t heard Dustin or Robin speak of it, he’s pretty sure the movie is tame enough for families. 

Yeah, he should just lie. That way, the boy can either pick that one or pick a different one and be done. He should just lie, so that Eddie Munson can leave and Steve can stop feeling this fidgety and nervous. 

He should just lie, but he can’t. The moment those big brown eyes lock onto his own, he’s mesmerized. "Honestly? I haven't seen any of them." He at least has the decency to look ashamed at his confession. Is this the point Eddie’s finally going to laugh at him? 

The answer is no. Eddie simply raises his eyebrows at Steve’s answer, an amused look taking over his face as he tilts his head even so slightly in a 'go on, tell me more' kinda way. So Steve does.

Read the rest here:

[unusual]

idek how much i’ve talked about this entire situation on here but i need to get this off my chest and maybe even get some advice…? ty if you end up reading this i really genuinely appreciate it

tldr im estranged from my adoptive mother because she doesnt respect me at all/never considers me part of the family and is extremely on and off with her affections depending on how successful or impressive i am to her (in the sense that when it comes to things like getting good grades or going into remission or getting into college shes “happy” for me because she thinks my success is a reflection of her own ability to parent me and “turn me into a winner” while completely turning on me when im doing poorly or need help and calling me a manipulative demon etc lol)

shes financially abusing me and my dad right now and has been for about 3 years because she hasnt worked a day in her life and my dad for a few years was having success at his job so when she divorced him she took all of our money from us and said she needed more for reasons that were not real (like she asked for 50k to pay for my college and then refused to actually do it so we had to take out a loan etc) its to the point where she makes more money than my dad does working basically 24/7 on call just because we have to pay her so much every month, it was really painful and stressful trying to put me into school because we actually don’t have a place to live rn and cant afford to get one because of her strange actions

about five months ago my dad literally begged her to let me stay with her for all of july because he wanted to make sure i had a place to sleep and he was traveling on business for all of that month, and after a lot of convincing (literally until like the day before i was supposed to go) she said yes and then started ignoring me and refusing to feed me after like four days because i asked her for help with the financial aid stuff.. so we had to reorganize all our plans and stuff like are you noticing a pattern where everything she does is entirely self serving and always ends up inconveniencing us majorly to the point where our livelihoods are at stake. anyway she did that like just over a month ago (july 5 was when my dad was like this is isnane im just going to pick you up and we’ll figure something out) and locked herself in her room like a baby and texted my dad all these things about how i was evil (verbatim) and a mistake and deserved to die from cancer and shit like that BECAUSE I ASKED HER FOR HELP WITH STUFF AHE SAID SHE’D HELP WITH… and now (like as of a few days ago) shes doing this thing where shes texting me cat memes and sending my little brother (who lives with her and who i really care about) to tell me to call her because she wants to hear from me etc and i genuinely am kind of at a point where i don’t ever want to talk to her again under any circumstances because of everythign she’s done to hurt me and my dad (including like 98% that i didn’t even mention here) but i feel semi obligated to because im lonely and shes kind of really good at making me feel guilty… my dad said dont even worry about it because im supposed to be locking in this semester and focusing on my own success and he thinks shes going to drag me down like she always does but idk what to do in this situation

[hoursofreading]

When I was a little kid, I felt that the adults around me had a thick, rich, complicated understanding of the way the world worked. They knew things – facts, history – and they understood processes and people and the way something like a bond measure or a public authority worked. It was this understanding – which they had, and I didn’t – that made me a child, and them adults. Grownups had an infrastructure of information, truth, and insight that I lacked. As I grew older, I was dismayed to discover that grownups really didn’t know a fraction of what I gave them credit for, and that most of the people ostensibly running the world had no clue how it operated, and my intense disillusionment caused me to lose sight of that adulthood theory for awhile.

But reading this book made me feel like a grownup because it helped me to understand the way the world works as I never had before. This book is about power. It is about politics. It is a history of New York City and New York State. It is an explanation of how public works projects are built. It is about money: public money, private money, and the vast and nasty grey areas where they overlap. This book is about democracy, and the lack thereof. It is about social policy, and economics, and our government, and the press. This book is about urban planning, housing, transportation, and about how a few individuals’ decisions can affect the lives of the masses. It helped explain traffic in the park, and the projects in Brownsville, and a billion other mysteries of New York City life that I'd wondered about. The Power Broker is about ideals, talent, and institutional racism. It is about inequality. It is about genius. It is about hubris. It is the best goddamn book I have ever read in my entire life, hands down, seriously.

Please do not think that it took me five months to read this book because it was dense or slow! This was a savoring, rather than a trudging, situation. Robert Caro is an incredibly engaging writer. One thing that happened to me early on from reading this was that I lost my taste for trashy celebrity gossip. Who CARES about Britney’s breakdown or, for that matter, Spitzer’s prostitute peccadilloes when I could be reading about the shocking intricacies of Robert Moses’ 1925 legislative consolidation and reorganization of New York State’s administrative structure? This book gave me chills – CHILLS! – on nearly every page with descriptions of arcane political maneuvering and fiscal policy so riveting that I lost my previous interest in reading about sex and drugs. Let’s face it: sex and drugs are pretty boring. Political graft, mechanics of influence, the workings of government: now that’s the hot stuff, when it’s presented in an accessible and digestible form. Nothing in the world is more fascinating than power, and Robert Caro writes about power better than anyone I’ve come across. There are no dry chapters in this book; there’s barely a dull page. It is infinitely more readable than Us magazine, and not much more difficult.

Of course The Power Broker is many things, among them a biography. While any one portrait of New York power icons from Al Smith to Nelson Rockefeller is more than worth the price of admission, this book is primarily about Robert Moses. Caro understands and explains the relationship between individual personalities and systems. One of his main theses is that Moses achieved the unchecked and unparalleled levels of power he did because he figured out how to reshape or create systems around himself. The Triborough Bridge and Tunnel Authority would not have existed without Robert Moses, and Robert Moses would not have been what he was, or accomplished what he did, without the brilliance he had for shaping the very structure of government into conduits for his own purposes. To explain this, Caro needs to convey a profound understanding not only of how these systems worked, but of who this man was. He does so, and the result goes beyond Shakespearean: it is Epic. The Power Broker is the story George Lucas was trying to tell about Anakin Skywalker’s transformation to Darth Vader, only George Lucas is no Robert Caro, and The Power Broker succeeds wildly in the places where Star Wars was just a hack job (of course, Caro wasn’t handicapped by Hadyn Christensen, which does indirectly raise the burning question: WHO’S OPTIONED THIS???).

[thebreakfastgenie]

for WIP asks the 4th of july fic.

and ik you were already quite generous with it but would love to hear anything else about 69

Sorry it took so long to get to this one! I was really excited about it and then I was either too busy or too tired to answer it properly!

The 4th of July fic my take on a time loop. It's contained within GFA. Hawkeye relives July 4th, 1953, over and over again, trying desperately to prevent tragedy on the bus, while no one else remembers. I was actually influenced a lot by Slaughterhouse-5, even though it's not a time loop. Billy Pilgrim is unstuck in time and sometimes that means he's living his post war life and wakes up back in the bombing of Dresden. That's certainly what PTSD can feel like. So I started thinking about how I could use a time loop as a narrative device.

The time loop takes the emotional experience of reliving a traumatic event over and over again in your mind, of being trapped in that moment, and makes it a physical one. A common component of time loop stories is that the protagonist must prevent something terrible from happening, and only when the bad outcome is averted will the loop be broken. This, too, reflects an emotional experience, the constant "what could I have done differently? how could I have stopped this?" Maybe the real time loop was the trauma we had along the way.

In this case, Hawkeye is trying to save the lives of everyone on the bus. I don't want to say too much about the loop, because part of the story is going to be figuring that out as Hawkeye does. Just as the loop is about trauma, breaking the time loop is about moving forward. This fic gets very heavy and dark towards the middle, but it's not a pure angst fic, it's just what the story requires. In the end I would say it's about choosing hope.

The idea is basically what if GFA was a time loop, and we only saw one iteration of it? That means it's fairly canon-compliant. I'm also trying to incorporate a lot of details from GFA. I can't share a snippet, but I'm hoping to finish it by July 4th, 70 years after the day it's set, so if I manage it you'll see it soon!

****

I am more than happy to share more about untitled 69. I'm trying to motivate myself to work on it, at least once 4th of july is done. I had a ton of momentum on it a few months ago and then I got sick and it got left in this very chaotic, mid-draft-reorganization state. This fic was supposed to just open with Trapper at the reception for the new chief of thoracic surgery, where he meets Charles, but in true me fashion, I ended up getting into Trapper's homecoming and emotional state and in the process writing about a bunch of stuff that happened earlier. One thing I'm excited about is how Trapper relates (or doesn't) to his colleagues. He has one friend who's close enough to know about Hawkeye, because I needed someone to bounce Trapper off of in dialogue, and I really love the dynamic that developed between them. I don't think this snippet is as good as the last one, but:

Trapper tugged at his collar. He was having trouble breathing, though he knew that had more to do with the fog of cigarette smoke than the snugness of his tuxedo. If Louise were here, she would scold him—it had taken her ages to get his bowtie right—but she wasn’t here, so she could keep her comments to herself.  Louise hated these things almost as much as he did. Working class girls either grew up into women who loved glamor or hated it, and Louise had never seen any use for it. It was one of the things he loved best about her, and probably what drew him to the nurses in Korea, besides proximity—their short fingernails and practical attitudes. 

This is Trapper being miserable at the party (more on that later!) and me fleshing out both him and Louise a little bit.

[darknessonthehill]

I think since I started living on my own or even before (but certainly for years now) I have for the most part not have felt like I have a good selection of clothes, like, I would have some queer stuff, but most of it bought in the first year or two of realizing I'm trans and seemingly not that many ok-looking combinations, or I would only have a couple pairs of work jeans a lot of the time and not that many tops and, since I would buy things mostly from thrift shops, I would go through them pretty fast sometimes due to my work being physical and me needing to do some stuff while kneeling/bending over some of the time, and going out to buy more clothes when I am not made to do so by circumstances has sometimes been hard as with other stuff.

Add to all that the fact I have not had a washing machine at my place, so with my irregular access to one I would have a smaller part of my wardrobe usable at most times than most people, I have always had this thought in the back of my mind that, whenever I'm able, I should go out to buy more clothes and that I probably don't have enough of whatever item.

It wasn't that surprising when a month or so back I finally for the first time in over a year for sure managed to get through all my unwashed clothes and discovered I had close to 40 pairs of socks, since I knew I had been buying them a lot to offset not having clean ones. My dad also died around that time and I got some clothes that were his/meant for him, which was nice, but kinda like whatever, and so it took me until today, when I was putting away my clean clothes and decided to reorganize my wardrobe and realized that I actually have eight pairs of pants and 15ish tshirts and 10+ femme outfits (with some stuff reused but still) and am almost out of space in my wardrobe, to actually consider the possibility that I have a good amount of clothes now.

I am having a wierd time right now, thus this diary entry of a tumblr post, because I know that logically this is a lot of stuff, but I have felt for such a long time (and at least some of the time correctly) that I don't have enough and that this is another facet of my life where I have failed and am continuing to fail, especially since it is not as if I dislike shopping for clothes (it is pretty fun) or would not have the funds for some thrift shopping normally and because I would repeatedly, when I would know I would have the time, would plan to go shopping and most of the time fail to do so or when I did manage, I would only go to one or two stores and get a couple of things and not have the grander/more comprehensive exploration that my ADHD-ish brain thought should happen and now, now I still haven't done any large gesture, have not spent more than an hour on this at a time for years, yet, almost inexplicably, now I ostensibly have enough and technically no longer have to feel obligated to get more.

And, sure, on the queer side there could be some improvements, like, my dress collection is pretty bad but this feels way too wierd for such smaller distinctions. I have physically gone over the stuff I have, but still it doesn't feel true, it still feels unsafe, like I should be paying attention so I don't run out of stuff. Like, fuck, I hope I can make myself realize this stuff in a reasonable timeframe, because apparently this is a big deal for me, since I'm having a (super rare for me) cry over making a tumblr post about having enough clothes.

[thehardkandy]

just rambles about the changes in my productivity (which is way up)

while it's certainly not The thing that interfered with my productivity, i do think that regularly having edibles did put a dent into my ability to write insofar as i think i understand that i just... dont write during the day time. i CAN. i can make myself, and sometimes it even goes well! but if i want to write EVERY DAY, it 100% involves me writing after midnight 6/7 days

the fact that i was reaching midnight in a chilled out mindset capable of falling asleep quickly was perhaps paradoxically interrupting my ability to use my most productive time, which also then made it harder to get any momentum because while id chip away during the day time, it was never as much as i wanted

idk it's odd. cause really the bedtimes edibles WERE a part of trying to reorganize my life a bit in a way that resulted in me feeling less like i had to punish myself and hold myself to these standards like "you cant sleep until you've written" in the idea that they weren't that healthy but i wasnt able to move that into other areas of my life effectively, and so while my sleep hygiene was quite good, keeping all my creative work before 9PM (aka barely ever doing anything) and falling asleep quickly when i did go. it just didnt feel like a good trade off

i still had some other stuff to get right in my head so this wasn't the make/break for my productivity--i was struggling so so so so bad all the way up to the new year to find a single writing project short or long to feel passionate about but suddenly coming into the new year i got the spark like i have not for several years

idk the fall felt like a time where i was really recognizing i just felt so bad so consistently and i WANTED to do something to make things better. edible and a good night's sleep dont do much in the context of how i was feeling and it was more like a habit--and i didnt want it to be a habit. i wanted to be something i did for a reason. but i didnt have a good reason, so i gave it up

ofc that didn't magically change anything in my life. ended up just binging a lot of books

embarassingly, doing my stormlight archive relisten prior to WaT i think gave me the next kick in the pants. like people complain about kaladin's mopeyness and handling but he has always resonated with me because my dude's just got clinical depression. he's had bad stuff happen in his life that has made everything worse, but even when it gets better, the depression doesn't disappear! and so i was of course feeling that big time, and i figure for the same reason as that like?? what is that post??? if believing in sonic makes you get better than that's a good thing??? idk

there is that scene in book 1 with him picking up the bridge in the lumberyard and that struck a chord. the fact that he's trying again, and it's probably going to go all bad anyway, but that doesn't mean he shouldn't try???? it felt like a reminder i needed

so! in november i got into my daily workout routine. which ofc ALSO didn't magically fix anything. it felt good to prove to myself that i could hold myself accountable. it felt good that i could see i didnt just completely lose all the strength and conditioning i once had

i expected to stop doing those workouts when i no longer had the house to myself, and that has turned out to be true! but the key difference now is that i still feel happy that i did it. i feel confident that i can do it again when i have the space. and best yet, i am being creative!!!

the being creative isnt some 1:1 cause i spent most of the holidays having terrible sleeps and feeling depressed. but things started to itch at the back of my head and now it's been a month and im really hoping i can keep this going

i think i have a good mindset. like part of this reason im excited to be writing this book, is because i feel like im already ready to do ANOTHER one, instead of this endless hole where the passion is supposed to be

mind you, as is known, this is still not a cure for any of the stuff ultimately wrong with me. the soup of SI simmering in the head has never gone away for the almost 15 years since it first started. but that's OK. because the moments between the bad ones are moments i feel prouder of myself

and that's the bottom line at this point in my life??? i know what's here to stay, but im getting better and better about managing how it intrudes on the things sperate from it

like even for me i say im "not allowed to go to sleep" without writing but it's like. a highlight of my day. i love doing it. im staying up late because i wanna knuckle down and see that next scene finished!

we shall keep going. we shall be joyful in success and forgiving in failure

[cleverhottubmiracle]

I’ve spent the last few weeks going through my wardrobe with a fine-tooth comb. I’m being brutally honest with myself about what I do, and do not want to wear again. I’ve had more than my fair share of outfit malfunctions over the last 12 months and would like to avoid making as many as I can this year. I still don’t have a crystal clear vision of how I want to dress in 2025, but I do know what I did not enjoy wearing in 2024. Since my personal style is constantly evolving, I need to stay on top of all the excess stuff that finds its way into my wardrobe…and a good old declutter paves the way. Cleaning out what you know you dislike helps to declutter your space, but it also allows you to reevaluate your personal style. I’m updating this post from last year and leaving the comments, which are full of great ideas! Before you declutter, be sure you don’t just need to reorganize what you own. If your closet is messy, it’s hard to find the pieces you need to put a look together.  How To Start Many people like to attack their wardrobe, ala Marie Kondo, but that’s never appealed to me. It’s not realistic for me to take everything out of my closet at one time and toss it into a pile. That process creates a mountain of work, and it would depress me long before I finished it. If the job is overwhelming, decision fatigue can set in, so you end up rushing to finish and start making poor decisions.  I like to make this simple, so I start at one end of the rod or go through one drawer at a time. Have four bags or boxes at the ready: 1- This box is for items you want to donate or send to consignment stores. 2- This bag is for things that are too worn to salvage or donate. Our landfills are clogged with discarded clothes, so you could also investigate non-profits that will accept textiles in any condition. 3- This bag is for garments you want to keep wearing but they’re in need of repair, cleaning, or alterations. 4- This not-sure box is for anything you’re on the fence about.  The not-sure box is super important! You can bravely place things into this box because you know it’s not leaving your house. The decision is temporary and allows you to revisit the pieces later, but they aren’t hanging in your closet to see each day. Tape the box closed and store it in a guest room closet or the garage to examine in 6+ months. Questions To Ask as You Declutter Your Wardrobe If your taste and style are evolving like mine, you may find it helpful to revisit the three-word method to find your personal style. I’m in the process of redefining my words this year, so I’m being extra careful about what I donate. For each item you pick up, ask yourself: Does it fit you properly at your current weight? Do you have 5 or 6 multiples of the same type of garment? Is it expressing who you are now at this stage of life and with your current style goals? Is it still in good shape, or does it need repairing or altering? Does the color and style flatter your current hair color and body shape? Do you feel fabulous wearing it, or does it spark joy per the Konmari method? Is it still in style, or has the trend passed so you’ll look dated wearing it? Have you reached for it in the last year or so? Some people recommend getting rid of things you haven’t worn in six months, but I disagree. There are several categories of clothes we need to have in our wardrobe that are rarely worn but are invaluable to have on hand, such as formal wear or things to wear to a funeral. Closet Cleanout Tips and Mistakes Take Your Time Listen to your intuition, and don’t be too hasty. If you’re unsure about an item, remember that it can go into your not-sure box #4 above. Don’t Be Overly Emotional Is this the scarf your friend gave you, but you dislike how it looks on you and never wear it? Is this the suit you wore when you got that fabulous promotion, but you’ve retired and now live a casual lifestyle? Decluttering Essentials Have a notepad nearby to jot down items you need to add to your wardrobe. If you discover that your favorite black pants are looking a little worse for wear, make a note to keep an eye out for a new pair. Be sure to replace them before you donate your old ones. Cost Does Not Equal Value This is a slippery slope. Just because you paid a lot for something doesn’t mean you should keep it. And if you got a smokin’ hot deal on something that doesn’t look great on you, it’s not serving you well either. If you did pay a lot for something, sell it at a consignment shop to recoup some of your original investment. Relying Solely On Joy A functional wardrobe needs items that serve a purpose, and they don’t all have to spark joy…sorry Marie Kondo. Wardrobes need functional basics that we may feel neutral about but are essential pieces to complete our outfits. That said, don’t keep anything you don’t like! You Keep Too Many Duplicates. My hand is raised on this one. It’s so easy to justify another great pair of black pants because I like and wear them so often. Keep a few of the best of the best, and release the rest. Last year, I struggled to declutter my jeans collection. Surprise! I find myself in the same spot again this year and have 6 pairs of jeans in a donation bag! You’re Overzealous We often talk about finding your personal style here on AWSL. Our style evolves as we learn and grow, so getting rid of large portions of your wardrobe in one fell swoop can lead to remorse. I’d rather have three not-sure boxes than regret donating a piece prematurely. Packing things up and removing them from your daily wardrobe will help clear your mind so you can get a better idea of how you want to look going forward. The one category I seldom declutter from my wardrobe is accessories. They take up very little space, and I often change my mind about them. How To Organize Your Wardrobe As you go through this process, begin to organize your wardrobe in a user-friendly way. Some people like to organize by color, and others use categories. I find that categories make the most sense, and then I further refine it by color within each category. Hang all your shirts on the rod, facing in the same direction. Group all jeans together and all pants together. The same goes for skirts, jackets, sweaters, and knit tops. You can further categorize them by color (light to dark) or formality level (casual to dressy). This helps you see what you have, identify duplicates, and spot the things you’re missing from your wardrobe essentials. Note – I no longer separate my items by formality because life is too short not to wear the good stuff. It’s fun to wear a silk blouse; add jeans, sneakers, some amazing earrings, and a faux fur vest. I firmly believe we should not save our best pieces. We deserve to enjoy them every chance we can get. Get a good lint remover and fabric shaver to keep your clothes in good shape moving forward. My favorite is this Gleener and this shaver. Velvet hangers save a ton of room on your rods and virtually double your closet space. The flocked surface helps grip your tops so they don’t slip to the floor. I like to hang my seasonal clothes, sweaters, and woolens in these clear wardrobe storage bags so I can see what I have while they keep the moths at bay. You can also use under-the-bed storage bins, but I fear I would forget what I own! Hardest clothing to declutter Some categories feel easier to declutter than others. The pieces you struggle with the most will likely be your favorite type of garment. For me…it’s jeans because I wear them most days. Try not to justify keeping too many duplicates because it’ll make it harder to get dressed each morning. What item of clothing do you struggle with the most when decluttering clothes? You May Also Enjoy Source link

[norajworld]

I’ve spent the last few weeks going through my wardrobe with a fine-tooth comb. I’m being brutally honest with myself about what I do, and do not want to wear again. I’ve had more than my fair share of outfit malfunctions over the last 12 months and would like to avoid making as many as I can this year. I still don’t have a crystal clear vision of how I want to dress in 2025, but I do know what I did not enjoy wearing in 2024. Since my personal style is constantly evolving, I need to stay on top of all the excess stuff that finds its way into my wardrobe…and a good old declutter paves the way. Cleaning out what you know you dislike helps to declutter your space, but it also allows you to reevaluate your personal style. I’m updating this post from last year and leaving the comments, which are full of great ideas! Before you declutter, be sure you don’t just need to reorganize what you own. If your closet is messy, it’s hard to find the pieces you need to put a look together.  How To Start Many people like to attack their wardrobe, ala Marie Kondo, but that’s never appealed to me. It’s not realistic for me to take everything out of my closet at one time and toss it into a pile. That process creates a mountain of work, and it would depress me long before I finished it. If the job is overwhelming, decision fatigue can set in, so you end up rushing to finish and start making poor decisions.  I like to make this simple, so I start at one end of the rod or go through one drawer at a time. Have four bags or boxes at the ready: 1- This box is for items you want to donate or send to consignment stores. 2- This bag is for things that are too worn to salvage or donate. Our landfills are clogged with discarded clothes, so you could also investigate non-profits that will accept textiles in any condition. 3- This bag is for garments you want to keep wearing but they’re in need of repair, cleaning, or alterations. 4- This not-sure box is for anything you’re on the fence about.  The not-sure box is super important! You can bravely place things into this box because you know it’s not leaving your house. The decision is temporary and allows you to revisit the pieces later, but they aren’t hanging in your closet to see each day. Tape the box closed and store it in a guest room closet or the garage to examine in 6+ months. Questions To Ask as You Declutter Your Wardrobe If your taste and style are evolving like mine, you may find it helpful to revisit the three-word method to find your personal style. I’m in the process of redefining my words this year, so I’m being extra careful about what I donate. For each item you pick up, ask yourself: Does it fit you properly at your current weight? Do you have 5 or 6 multiples of the same type of garment? Is it expressing who you are now at this stage of life and with your current style goals? Is it still in good shape, or does it need repairing or altering? Does the color and style flatter your current hair color and body shape? Do you feel fabulous wearing it, or does it spark joy per the Konmari method? Is it still in style, or has the trend passed so you’ll look dated wearing it? Have you reached for it in the last year or so? Some people recommend getting rid of things you haven’t worn in six months, but I disagree. There are several categories of clothes we need to have in our wardrobe that are rarely worn but are invaluable to have on hand, such as formal wear or things to wear to a funeral. Closet Cleanout Tips and Mistakes Take Your Time Listen to your intuition, and don’t be too hasty. If you’re unsure about an item, remember that it can go into your not-sure box #4 above. Don’t Be Overly Emotional Is this the scarf your friend gave you, but you dislike how it looks on you and never wear it? Is this the suit you wore when you got that fabulous promotion, but you’ve retired and now live a casual lifestyle? Decluttering Essentials Have a notepad nearby to jot down items you need to add to your wardrobe. If you discover that your favorite black pants are looking a little worse for wear, make a note to keep an eye out for a new pair. Be sure to replace them before you donate your old ones. Cost Does Not Equal Value This is a slippery slope. Just because you paid a lot for something doesn’t mean you should keep it. And if you got a smokin’ hot deal on something that doesn’t look great on you, it’s not serving you well either. If you did pay a lot for something, sell it at a consignment shop to recoup some of your original investment. Relying Solely On Joy A functional wardrobe needs items that serve a purpose, and they don’t all have to spark joy…sorry Marie Kondo. Wardrobes need functional basics that we may feel neutral about but are essential pieces to complete our outfits. That said, don’t keep anything you don’t like! You Keep Too Many Duplicates. My hand is raised on this one. It’s so easy to justify another great pair of black pants because I like and wear them so often. Keep a few of the best of the best, and release the rest. Last year, I struggled to declutter my jeans collection. Surprise! I find myself in the same spot again this year and have 6 pairs of jeans in a donation bag! You’re Overzealous We often talk about finding your personal style here on AWSL. Our style evolves as we learn and grow, so getting rid of large portions of your wardrobe in one fell swoop can lead to remorse. I’d rather have three not-sure boxes than regret donating a piece prematurely. Packing things up and removing them from your daily wardrobe will help clear your mind so you can get a better idea of how you want to look going forward. The one category I seldom declutter from my wardrobe is accessories. They take up very little space, and I often change my mind about them. How To Organize Your Wardrobe As you go through this process, begin to organize your wardrobe in a user-friendly way. Some people like to organize by color, and others use categories. I find that categories make the most sense, and then I further refine it by color within each category. Hang all your shirts on the rod, facing in the same direction. Group all jeans together and all pants together. The same goes for skirts, jackets, sweaters, and knit tops. You can further categorize them by color (light to dark) or formality level (casual to dressy). This helps you see what you have, identify duplicates, and spot the things you’re missing from your wardrobe essentials. Note – I no longer separate my items by formality because life is too short not to wear the good stuff. It’s fun to wear a silk blouse; add jeans, sneakers, some amazing earrings, and a faux fur vest. I firmly believe we should not save our best pieces. We deserve to enjoy them every chance we can get. Get a good lint remover and fabric shaver to keep your clothes in good shape moving forward. My favorite is this Gleener and this shaver. Velvet hangers save a ton of room on your rods and virtually double your closet space. The flocked surface helps grip your tops so they don’t slip to the floor. I like to hang my seasonal clothes, sweaters, and woolens in these clear wardrobe storage bags so I can see what I have while they keep the moths at bay. You can also use under-the-bed storage bins, but I fear I would forget what I own! Hardest clothing to declutter Some categories feel easier to declutter than others. The pieces you struggle with the most will likely be your favorite type of garment. For me…it’s jeans because I wear them most days. Try not to justify keeping too many duplicates because it’ll make it harder to get dressed each morning. What item of clothing do you struggle with the most when decluttering clothes? You May Also Enjoy Source link