#Sorry for the bad image quality my phone sucks

[winter-rossie]

Tyson:

Tyson, When Percy Looks Again:

[waywardwizzard]

Mearbern Cove

Copic markers, Micron pens

This is a quick sketch I did while waiting for orientation to end

It's based on an idea I had for a new DnD campaign I'm working on

Also, sorry about the bad quality photo, my phone sucks💀 If you tap on the image it looks better

[ranirina]

I see post, I give you an oc.

This is Nika. I'd like her in this archery pose. You can do whatever design for her bow. Sorry if the image quality is bad, my phone camera sucks.

Oh uh, and if you want to color her, she has dark brown hair/fur, green hoodie, black shirt, pale skin. I keep meaning to but have not yet made a colored reference of her.

I need to practice poses, anyone who sees this give me one of your ocs and a pose reference and I'll sketch them

[mybodyisnotwhole]

I tried to fix one of those broken Nether portals, I don't really like it that much, kinda regret adding the dome thing but it took me a while to build so it's staying.

Here it is without the dome tooo

Also while I was trying to get these images to my phone my switch closed minecraft because "an error occurred :(" so not sure if this entire build is there at all anymore but at least I got the photographic evidence in time 😔

[bubblyhoney]

sarah i have thought of another fic request or like a cute idea i guess! i didn’t have anyone in mind when i thought of it so you can write it for whoever you want honestly :)

okay so the reader is a streamer but streams games like animal crossing, standew valley, etc. then (insert who you’re writing for) says they don’t like that game, but later ends up buying it and the reader is like “i thought you said you didn’t like this game” and they’re like “well i like you” and they confuses their feelings and they end up playing the game together and reader gives them a tour of their island or farm

i feel like this request isn’t good, but the scenario seemed cute and i wanted to share it. sorry if this is confusing or just too specific cuz i know it can be hard to write requests like that! but yeah i hope it gives you inspiration and you like the request <3

new horizons

warnings: language, a Marvel reference (hint: natasha said it about tony), stupid idiots who don’t realize they like each other, use of pet names, Uno rage, Hasan Piker's presence

words: 1473

tags: sapnap x gn!reader

A/N: i’ve been trying to catch up a little on my requests (i’ve only got a couple so i’m not super overwhelmed) but school and outside life has been taking up most of my time so this one took me a while to make! tbh— ive never played animal crossing so i did google some of the game mechanics and i apologize if anything is inaccurate about the game…. but i liked relaxing and writing this cute one so thank you for requesting hails :3

requests/inbox status: open

-

“This game is trash.”

Your head quirks, fingers stopped on the screen. You’re in the process of giving your character a cute new nickname; it’s kind of hard to decide between “awkward dude” and “elderly skater”.

“Excuse me?” Your chat comes alive with emotes and ‘KEKW’s, obviously entertained by you and your almost-more-than-friends-friend.

There’s a story for that later.

Sapnap’s rough laugh comes through your headset and he audibly swallows, the sound of a water bottle dropping onto his desk echoing.

“I’m just saying—it’s boring. It’s like Minecraft but you don’t like… do anything.” The grainy image of his bearded face shifts and you see him pull out his phone.

“It’s— you can’t even compare it to Minecraft! It’s a completely different game system—you actually interact with other people live in the game.” You huff out a dramatic sigh, slumping in your chair with a pout. “Just because you go into this lucid state where all you know is ‘touch block, hit George’ doesn’t mean this game isn’t fun.” (He scoffs at your awful impression of his voice. Your viewers love it.)

“Jeez,” he mumbles, fumbling with the cap of his water bottle. “Touched a nerve there, bud.”

You roll your eyes, getting back to the village in the game.

“Don't ‘bud’ me.”

The call falls comfortably quiet, the sounds of him tapping obsessively on his phone and you clicking away filling the silence. A gentle bedroom-pop YouTube playlist remains in the background, prompting you to hum along and glance at the chat to see a flood of “check twitter” and “Y/N TWITTER!!”.

“What happened on Twitter?” You mumble, confused, and pull the website up on another monitor. Sapnap just makes a curious noise, swinging back and forth in a circle. “Oh my God,” you say to yourself, fingertips brushing your parted lips.

“What?”

“Hasan Piker just followed me and retweeted one of my not even remotely political old tweets. Like from a year ago.”

“That’s— wow. Congrats?” Sapnap’s voice cracks, and his ears flush pink the tiniest bit when you glance at his face on Discord.

“I’m gonna go on record and say that he could get it.” You shake your head in disbelief.

Sapnap falls uncharacteristically non-hyper-verbal, so you look past the frenzied chat and to his screen— wait. He muted and turned his camera off.

“Um,” you start, furiously typing question marks in your private chat. “Where’d you go?” You mute and turn screen share off for your stream, concerned that he might’ve fallen off his chair and broken his neck and needs you to call the ambulance.

The characteristic ding of a twitter notification sounds through your bedroom, and you look at your phone quickly.

“That’s where I went.”

Sapnap Tweeted: “all Y/U stans can choke on my dick”.

“Jesus, Sapnap,” you say, and rapidly refresh to read the replies. This tweet was deleted. “That’s so— that barely makes sense, bro. Why— literally what?”

His snicker floods your ears and you relax in your chair. Crisis: averted. “Don’t fucking— what’s wrong with you?”

“I thought it would be funny,” he offers, shrugging, and fiddles with the straw in his water bottle, smile fading. “And also Hasan pisses me off.”

“Why, ‘cause he wants a piece of this? Jealous?” You think back to your viewers, knowing they’re probably spamming question marks and coming to ludacris conclusions about both of your absences. No offense to them. You remember your stan days very vividly.

“I mean, kinda.” He rubs once at his nose, glancing at the camera (and what feels like you) before taking a sip from his water bottle.

“Wow.” You watch one strand of his hair fall from beneath his hat and brush against his full eyebrows. “I’m uh—I’ll get back to my stream. You coming? Or is it time for a Sapnap-snack?”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” He snorts and leans his chin onto the balance of his arm.

“That means you like to take a little snack break mid-stream and come back approximately nine hours later and you didn’t even eat.”

“You know what— fuck you.” He flicks the camera as you laugh at the look on his face.

The teasing mood is easily kept as you switch games from Animal Crossing to Uno, all the while slamming Sapnap with +4’s and skipping the newly-arrived BadBoyHalo at any chance you can get. It unironically pisses him off and he has to take a Sapnap-snack break midway through (only a fifteen minute break this time, during which you and Bad take a “What Kind of Bread Are You?” quiz). The rest of the night is filled with devious cackles (you), loud and sudden bangs that sound suspiciously like someone hitting their desk in anger (Sap) and the stupid barking of Rat, AKA Lucy (Bad). She’s cute but a menace to the sound quality of Bad’s microphone. You sign off stream around 2 a.m. with various forms of thanks and kisses blown to the camera. It’s been a refreshing night, actually; you’ve been busy organizing a partnership stream all week and all your friends have been busy filming or editing or what-not. Quackity had time for a little Roblox every couple of days, though. He’s got your back.

The next time you see Sapnap is after a two hour stream of him try-harding in Valorant and you finishing responding to an email from your partnership in the VC.

“Okay, I’m back.” You hear him shift in his chair and click a couple more times on his keyboard. You perk up in your chair, closing the email browser you’d been looking at.

“Do you want to play anything else? I’m down for anything.”

“Absolutely not Uno. You can go to hell for giving me 6 cards that one time,” he jabs. You scoff, crossing your arms and leaning back in your chair.

“Okay, the +4 was on me but it’s Bad who gave you the last two. That’s not my fault, sweetie.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he mumbles, trailing off as the clicking of his keyboard stops. “Hey, um—Guess what?”

Your heart beats loud in your ears at the tone of his voice. He sounds nervous; that’s never good.

“I’m scared to guess,” you try, playing with a little Minecraft dog figurine you have on your desk with fidgety fingers. “What?”

“I bought Animal Crossing.”

Silence. You stare at his discord icon blankly, trying to reroute the wires of your brain.

“Tell me you love it.”

“Well… I haven’t actually played it— but you said you liked it, so.”

“So,” you repeat him, ears warming but continuing on. “Is that what you tell all your friends when you buy something they like? That it's because of them?”

He seems to choose his next words carefully, pausing a beat to consider your questions.

“Well, I don’t have a crush on all of my friends.”

“You—what?” You stutter, caught off guard and stumbling. What did he just say? “Don’t tell me you mean you have a crush on me.”

“I’m almost positive I just did.” His discord icon stares right back at you, taunting.

“You know, you’re very casual for someone who just admitted they like-like me.” Your cheeks flush pink and you have to press a hand to your chest to keep your breathing sounding stable.

“Yeah, I’m kind of cool like that,” he offers, a huff of a laugh punctuating his statement. The conversation moves into a lull that you can’t help but know is because of you. He must expect you to say something about it, right?

“You are very cool, Sapnap.” You tilt back in your chair, sucking in a breath to prepare yourself for your next words. “And—Isortakindofhaveacrushonyoutoo.”

He must understand you, for you can hear the grin in his voice when he asks “Really?”

“Y-yeah.” You feel like a preteen again, all shaky and giddy in front of the boy you just asked to a middle school dance.

“Um, alright. What do we do now?”

“I don’t know,” you answer genuinely and swing in a happy little circle in your chair. “We could play Animal Crossing.”

“I’m down.”

You swear you’ve never heard more beautiful words.

He keeps his camera off for most of the time you two play, too focused on creating his island and asking you questions about how to fish to turn it on. He silently flips it on when you help him decorate his lawn, needing to show you in real-time the decorations he has bought and where you think he should put them. He looks cute. I mean, of course he does. He always does.

You tell him goodbye late in the night, eyes saying a little more than just “see you tomorrow”.

You like him. He likes you.

It’s even better when you two have matching gardens.

-

A/N: anybody and everybody (especially my precious hailey) let me know what you think!! :]

[vs-redemption]

hello cindy <3 i wish you a very happy blog anniversary !!

can i request a cotton pillow with shoyo?

have a great day :)

Ah! Thank you so much! This was my first time writing for Hinata and I got somehow got the idea for a giggly sleepover. I hope you like it.

Giggles (Shoyo Hinata x Reader)

“Shoyo! Be quiet!” You put a finger to your lips to shush him even though you were giggling just as hard as he was. “You’re going to get me in trouble! People are trying to sleep!”

“Okay! Okay! I’m sorry,” he sucks in his lips and sits up straighter on the edge of your bed to try and tame his laughter before shaking his head and letting out another snort. You cover your mouth and lean into his side, unable to stop yourself from reacting to the contagious amusement either.

It was two o’clock in the morning and that middle-of-the-night delirium had set in where you could find hilarity in absolutely anything. Normally you would be fast asleep right now, especially since it was a week night, but when your boyfriend texted you to ask if he could stop by after his practice you couldn’t refuse. He was always so busy with volleyball these days, so even if your roommates chewed you out in the morning, you knew it would be worth it to spend some quality time with him.

“Ah, it’s getting kinda late,” Hinata checks the time on his phone after swiping out of the page of ridiculous videos you’d both been watching. “You have classes in a few hours, don’t you? I should get going.”

“No!” You grab onto his arm playfully to keep him seated next to you, “Don’t you think you might as well just stay now?” Hinata raises his eyebrows as he contemplates your offer before wrapping his other arm around your waist suddenly and pulling you down on top of the blankets so you’re lying next to each other.

“Sounds good to me,” you can hear the grin in his voice as he buries his face between your shoulder blades, pulling you against his chest and humming happily. You assume he’s ready to settle down and try to sleep, but just as you let your guard down you feel his fingers dig into your sides gently and start to tickle you relentlessly.

“Sh-Shoyo!” You try to keep your giggles in as you try to squirm away, but your boyfriend’s hold is just way too strong. “S-stop! My roommates are going to murder me.”

“Aw, I wouldn’t let them do that,” he promises but eases up on the tickling anyway. His soft chuckles morph into a big yawn and he rolls over onto his back, maneuvering you gently so you can lay against his side. “You know? This is kind of nice. Maybe next year you can move out of the dorms and we can get an apartment together.” He pulls your hand onto his chest and plays with your fingers absentmindedly.

“I’m not living with you until you learn to do your own laundry,” you let out a laugh, although the idea of moving in together certainly had its merits. Not only would you never have to worry about grouchy roommates anymore, but you’d also be able to spend more time with Hinata. “I’m not taking responsibility for any of your stinky sweaty volleyball clothes.”

“They’re not stinky!” he defends himself, smiling sheepishly when you raise your eyebrows at him. “All right, they are pretty bad sometimes. But I can definitely handle my smelly clothes if it means having you close like this every day.”

His sweet words bring a smile to your face as you let your imagination go for a moment, picturing what it would be like to be able to be with him like this all the time. The image brings a happy warmth to your chest and you find yourself nodding. “You know what? Yeah.” You tell him confidently, “I think that’s a great idea.”

Requests for this event are now closed!

Event Masterlist

[ermine-57047]

Doodled a smol Grian while practicing anatomy

Sorry the image quality is bad, my phone's camera sucks

[youvebeenlivingfictional]

Don’t Treat My Love Like a Habit Part Two

Part One | Next Part | Masterlist

Pairing: Santiago Garcia x Reader Rating: Mature (this may change) Warnings: Cursing

Notes: Set before the movie. Not beta-read. Reina is Spanish for Queen. Also I am not a native Spanish speaker, so I am sorry for any mistakes! *We’ll let you know what we think as soon as we can. **Make it quick, Garcia, we need to move on this.-- Don't let her sway you too hard, huh? ***Sweet dreams

Summary: Pope needed this. You could see it on his face.

“You alive?” Pope’s voice crackled over your phone. You grunted in return, and he laughed, knowing it was as close as he was getting to a yes. “We got a call from Diego, he wants us to look over plans for a bust. Hernandez has been spotted.” Well that sure as fuck woke you up. You sat up in bed, scrubbing at your eyes. “Wha’ time is it?” You mumbled. “Almost noon. Meet me at the office in an hour. Diego’s gonna come by, give us the run-down.” You nodded. “Okay. Okay, an hour,” You agreed. “I’ll bring coffee,” Pope added. “You fucking better,” You said before hanging up. --

Pope needed this. You could see it on his face. After Isabella had disappeared, he’d been kicking himself. You’d eased up on berating him, even if you would still find yourself seething about it from time to time. The last month had been spent digging into leads that you knew would take you nowhere. But this bust that Diego was laying out... You were trying not to interject, keeping your face carefully schooled into a neutral set as he laid it out for the two of you. He’d sent you files, layouts, pictures of Hernandez that seemed off -- too perfect, almost. You were trying to keep an open mind, but you smelled a rat. 

“*Le haremos saber lo que pensamos tan pronto como podamos,” You heard Pope promising Diego to let him know what you thought as he led the man out. “**Hazlo rápido, García, tenemos que seguir adelante con esto. No dejes que ella te influya demasiado, ¿eh?” You watched Diego’s back, eyes narrowing as he told Pope not let you ‘sway him too hard’. You saw Pope’s head turn back toward you a bit. He knew that you spoke and understood more Spanish than you’d let on to the team that he worked with frequently. Had they already talked this out without you? Had Pope already made some kind of commitment to the plan? You sure as hell hoped not. You pulled up the most recent picture of Hernandez that Diego’s team had gotten, scrutinizing it. There was something wrong about it; you could feel it in the pit of your stomach. You reached out, pulling the printed layout of Hernandez’ last known location, and the proposed sight for the bust toward you for another look. The last bit of information that Isabella had given Pope was that Hernandez had an operation that he was trying to set up in Mocoa, in the Putumayo region near the mouth of the Amazon. What the hell would bring him to Suseca? The town was a little over an hour from Bogota-- that was an eleven hour drive from Mocoa-- "So? What do you think?” You looked up to see Pope standing in front of you. He was trying not look too eager, and you felt your stomach drop. Pope needed this. You couldn’t give it to him. -- ”You’re killing me here, Reina.” The words were muffled. You glanced over at Pope to find his head in his hands. He took a deep breath before he lifted his head. “Just...Tell my why it’s such a bad idea,” He requested. “C’mere,” You said, waving him around to your desk. He pushed himself out of his seat, rounding to your desk. He frowned at the negative, pixelated image he was faced with on your computer. “What am I looking at?” He asked, eyes sweeping the screen. “I put the image of Hernandez through forensic photo software. Think of a jpeg as ... the erosion of a shoreline. Every time a wave washes up on a beach, it removes some sand, it’s a loss. In that same way, every time you save a jpeg file, it loses data and quality from the original image. The more you save an image--” You waved toward Pope. “The less quality there’ll be,” Pope finished nodding, “So?” “So,” You turned back to the screen, “this software identifies any modified areas on an image. You have to think of each pixel on a jpeg as a single grain of sand-- each pixel is independently compressed, okay? So if a picture hasn’t been touched up or changed at all, every single one of these pixels should have the same error potential. Do you see,” You raised a pen, pointing to the chunked fragments of pixelation around Hernandez’s frame, “All of this? And look--” You pulled up another screen to tourist site for Suseca, showing the background.  “I don’t think this is authentic.” “Or maybe he’s just in the same place, that doesn’t mean--” Pope started, and you turned on him, disbelieving. “I don’t know if you’re not reading me or if you’re choosing not to, but there is something wrong with this. And it’s not just the photograph, alright, it’s the whole fucking thing! Diego’s plan is way too loose,” You turned back to the print-out for emphasis and Santiago stepped away from your desk, “It makes no sense that Hernandez would just surface this far north-- After three months of radio silence? It makes no sense.” “People slip up--” Pope began to rationalize. “He doesn’t. If he did, he wouldn’t be so close to Lorea.” You leaned back in your seat, watching as Santiago paced back and forth in front of your desks. You weighed your words carefully for a moment before you said, “Santi... I know you wanna get this guy. I wanna get him, too. But not like this. Something is wrong here.” Santiago turned to look at you, conflict twisting his features. For a split-second, panic surged through you - you were sure Santiago was going to tell you that you were off-base, that this bust was going down with him anyway. He took a deep breath, fist clenching as he muttered, “Fuck.” He grabbed his phone off of the desk and turned away, heading for the door. “Where are you going?” You asked, half-rising out of your chair. “To tell Diego that I’m not in and that his intel sucks,” Pope snapped before slamming the door behind himself. You lowered yourself back into your seat, raking a hand through your hair. You glanced back at the photo of Hernandez, frowning.  -- ”You still in the office?” Was Pope’s way of greeting you this time. “Uh-huh,” You confirmed, tacking on, “What’s up?” “Diego circled back with me. The bust went down-- It was a set-up,” Pope relayed, “He’s fine, but two of his guys are hurt pretty bad.” “Shit,” You hissed quietly, resting your head on your hand. You’d been hoping that what Pope had imparted to Diego would’ve been enough to stop him from going through with the bust, but you’d been wrong. “...Where do we go from here?” You asked. “Well, you go home,” Pope said, “And we go back to figuring it out tomorrow.” You rolled your eyes a little bit. “I’m almost done,” You grumbled defensively. Pope chuckled. “You’re never ‘almost done’,” He teased. He paused. “Thank you,” he added quietly. You smiled. “I should be thanking you for trusting me,” You argued. “Hey, you know your shit. That’s why I hired you,” Pope retorted. You chuckled. “Alright, lemme finish up here and I’ll... Eventually make it home.” “Yeesh,” Pope mumbled. You could practically hear him rolling his eyes. “Night, Santi,” You murmured. “***Dulces sueños, Reina.”

[nomolosk]

Alix groaned in frustration as the lights first flickered, then died completely. A few minutes later her laptop screen went dark as the residual charge in the battery got sucked away. She tried checking her phone, but it was the same story. It was an unfortunately common phenomenon in Paris now- about half of night-time akumas were obsessed with Paris’ image as the ‘City of Lights,’ and about half of those loathed it and tried to darken the city as much as possible, while the others went overboard in the other direction. At least it was night-time and autumn, which meant the temperature in the house wouldn’t change that much.

“Jalil!” she yelled, opening the door to her bedroom after letting her eyes adjust to the darkness. “Akuma!”

An indeterminate yell from Jalil’s room was all the acknowledgement she got. Grumbling under her breath, Alix got out the candle and matches she kept in one of her desk drawers and lit it. As much as Alix hated it, there was nothing to do but wait until Ladybug and Chat Noir defeated the akuma and restored everyone’s power. Meanwhile, she still had homework to do, and unfortunately it was for Ms. Mendeleiev, who didn’t accept ‘akuma attack’ as an excuse not to get it done. Even worse, the homework was in preparation for a lab tomorrow, and if she didn’t understand the concepts well enough by then, she would get a bad grade both on the homework and the lab.

But after staring at and trying to solve the first problem for fifteen minutes, Alix was getting even more frustrated. She wished she could go out on her skates for a bit just to blow off steam, but it was already dark outside and Jalil would throw a fit. Their dad was out at some kind of special Louvre event that Jalil had been expressly disinvited to, so it was just her and her brother at home. Normally, Alix would just sneak out anyway, but tonight she decided to do something different.

“Hey Jalil,” she said, knocking on his open door. Jalil, too, had lit some candles, and it looked like he was neck-deep into some new conspiracy theory, judging by the litter of books and papers on every available surface in his room. He only got like this when he was researching a new theory- when he felt like he had a good handle on the basic concepts and premises, he would file all his notes away in neatly labeled notebooks and folders, which was the only redeeming quality of his tendency to get swept up in ridiculous logic and insanely flawed reasoning.

Jalil looked over at her with a faintly manic glint in his eye- but that could have been the candlelight flickering in a faint breeze. Alix almost thought better of it and changed her question… but she really did need help and right now asking the internet or someone else weren’t options she could use. So she sighed heavily and took the plunge.

“I need help with my science homework. We’ve got a lab tomorrow, and the homework is supposed to prepare us for that, so if I don’t get it, I’m gonna fail the lab, too. You remember how tough Mendeleiev was, right?”

“Ah yes, Mendeleiev… the stanchion of outdated thinking and firm supporter of the church,” Jalil said, clenching one of his hands into a fist. “I sent several letters to the administration when I had the misfortune to be her student, but of course no one listened to reason. I’m sorry you are suffering under her prejudices.”

“What,” Alix said, immediately regretting her decision to ask for help. Mendeleiev wasn’t her favorite teacher by a long shot, but she wouldn’t have pegged her as particularly religious or too set in her ways to acknowledge truth when it was right in front of her.

“She blatantly supports the use of a system of measurement that secretly brainwashes the student body into supporting the outdated religious construct that is the Catholic Church,” Jalil said, voice low and intent. Alix closed her eyes and facepalmed, slumping against the doorframe. She heard Jalil sigh.

“But nevermind,” he said, sounding a little forlorn. “You’re too young to see it, I guess… I just hope you wake up to the lies before you turn into dad. Anyway, whatever I know or don’t know, you still have to pass the class, and even I know that. So, what’s the problem?”

Alix straightened up and dropped her hand, looking at him with surprise and hope. Jalil’s expression had changed to a kind smile- it reminded her of days when they were both younger, before he’d fallen headlong into the mysticism and paranoia that comprised most of his conspiracy theories.

Hesitantly, Alix told him what they were working on, and they moved their candles to the kitchen table to work on it together. Surprisingly, Jalil turned out to be good at explaining the core concepts. Alix quickly learned not to ask about how or where he got that understanding, though, because it was inevitably flawed. But his coaching got her to the right answers when she looked them up in the back of the book, so she overlooked that.

By the time the ladybugs restored everything, Alix was done with the homework and thanked her brother with a genuine smile.

----

Jalil smiled at Alix’s somewhat surprised thanks, and resolved to try one more time… for her sake. He’d given up changing Mendeleiev’s mind when he was in school, but perhaps she’d now had enough time to see the evidence of his theory for herself and was just waiting for a push- a little nudge if you will- to change the measurement system she chose to support in her science classes. As flawed as the imperial system was, it was far better than the metric system, which was too closely linked with the Church as an institution for any true scientist to use it unironically.

So, after Alix left the table, Jalil got out a piece of paper of his own and began to write a letter. He smiled over it, imagining his former teacher’s relief and chagrin at having to finally admit that he was right.

[yikesharringrove]

Steve being THAT BITCH and making an OnlyFans in college. He needs the cash since he ended up getting disowned by his dad (FUCK Mr. Harrington) It gets spread to the whole school and Billy ends up signing up and donating to him as a joke at first to look at his pics but then he sees one picture of him in a corset and is hea over heels. Possibly ends in smut? But definitely Billy asking him out at a party

modern au, they all met in college

Also fuck Bella Thorne. Sex work is work and she ruined OnlyFans for so many people. Just in case anyone was wondering where I’m at.

-

“Wait, who?” Billy blew smoke out towards Tommy as he asked, brows scrunching.

Tommy took the joint from him, taking another hit before answering.

“Steve Harrington. He was in that basic writing class we both took. He always asked like, really dumb questions.”

Billy thinks he can remember him. He remembers big dark eyes and long legs.

“He made an OnlyFans?”

“Carol said his dad like, kicked him out, or cut him off or something.”

That reverberated around Billy’s head for awhile.

He always knew he’d be on his own when he graduated high school, saved up accordingly.

But something about Harrington’s situation didn’t totally sit right with him.

So when he got back to his dorm, high as a fucking kite, he pulled up OnlyFans, and made an account.

He thought, hey, I’ll send this kid some money. Leave one of his stupid questions as a memo.

The worse thing that happens is he looks at a pretty cute boy’s nudes.

Not exactly a bad thing to happen.

He looked up Steve Harrington, scrolling through a few accounts until he found the big brown eyes he was looking for.

Steve was fucking hot, hotter than Billy remembers from two semesters ago.

His profile picture was good, he was sucking on a lollipop like it was a dick, his hair messy and eyes all sultry.

He had a few options.

Becoming a fan was only ten bucks a month, but he had some pay per view nudes too.

Billy entered his credit card information for the $30 one.

His brain short circuited.

He doesn’t really know what he was expecting, but he doesn’t think it was this.

Steve was lounging all pretty on a dorm bed, wrapped up in a black satin corset, and nothing else.

His dick was hard, angling up towards the corset, flushed red.

Billy stared at the photo. He clicked out of it, buying the $50 picture.

He didn’t care that he was probably gonna blow his last paycheck on this guy, especially didn’t care when the image came into view.

Steve was still in that fucking corset, but now he was kneeling in profile to the camera.

His head was thrown back, his long neck artfully exposed. His cock was still hard, an angry red, but now he was reaching behind himself, two fingers buried in his ass.

Billy was fucking hard.

He paid for the monthly membership price.

And there was access to Steve’s pictures.

He had lots of lingerie pics, obviously had a good quality camera, as the pictures were all well done, with nice lighting and all that shit.

He had several of himself just wearing little panties, some of him in full sets of pretty lingerie. 

Billy scrolled through his account, getting back to the pay per view at the bottom.

There was one video, fifteen minutes long, that was $150.

Riding my biggest dildo :)

Billy paid for it.

It opened with Steve sucking on the dildo, moaning and gagging on it.

Billy couldn’t get his dick out fast enough.

He moved back from the camera a bit, wiping at the drool running down his chin, setting the dildo on the floor. He was wearing nothing but a little skirt. It didn’t even cover his ass.

It was pretty big, probably four inches in diameter.

Once Steve had gotten it settled on it’s suction base, he bent over, pulling his cheeks apart and exposing his hole to the camera.

“Already prepped myself. Fingered myself for a while, but I didn’t let myself cum.” Billy’s cock kicked in his hand. He stroked over the head, squeezing it slightly.

And then Steve swung one leg to settle himself over the toy, and pushed down slowly.

He moaned, his eyes fluttering shut as he took the whole thing. Billy jerked himself a little faster.

“Feels so good. I love being stretched open like this.” He started bouncing shallowly, his hard dick easily visible in the tiny skirt.

He was bracing himself on the floor in front of him, completely blissed out as he bounced his ass up and down on the toy. 

“Shit, I’m so close. Been close for so fucking long.” He sighed, sinking slowly all the way down on the dildo. “Such a big cock.”

“Oh, Jesus.” Billy had to stop what he was doing, grabbing the base of his cock to keep himself from cumming. He really wanted to watch Steve fall apart.

Steve had started bouncing again, really getting into it this time.

Billy matched his pace with his hand, thought about Steve bouncing on his cock like that.

“Oh, I’m gonna, I’m gonna-” Steve convulsed, hips stuttering as he came completely untouched. He whined and mewled.

Billy stripped his cock faster and faster, his cock twitching as he came, spunk covering his hand.

Steve was still panting in the video, his thighs shaking as he pulled himself off the toy.

And then he bent down, and licked up the little puddle of cum on the wood floor.

Billy was hard almost immediately again.

He watched the video a second time.

-

Billy had been whacking off to Steve’s OnlyFans for a month when he finally saw him on campus.

He was pushing his way through the crowd at a frat party when he saw him.

He was wearing short denim shorts, a baggy t-shirt tucked into them.

He was pouring himself a drink, alone in the empty kitchen.

Billy licked over his lips, leaning next to him on the counter.

“Well, good to see you in person, Sugar.” Steve startled, turning wide eyes onto Billy.

“Oh, um, hi.” There was a little pink tinge beginning to dust his cheeks. “You’re Billy, right? I remember you from class last year.” Billy grinned at him. “You’re like, really smart.”

“And you’re like, really hot.” Steve flushed, his cheeks going dark red.

“So, uh, I’m assuming you’ve seen some of my stuff?”

“Paying member. I’ve seen all your stuff.” Steve’s eyes went wide. “And I’ll pay for some more.”

“Oh, um, I’m sorry, but it’s one thing to post that stuff, I don’t really want to-” Billy’s eyes went wide as he realized what he said, how it sounded.

“No! Oh, shit, I meant like, I want to take you out to dinner. Pay for that. Nothing implied, or expected.” Steve chewed on his bottom lip.

“I don’t put out that easy.”

“I’m not expecting you to.” Billy tried to keep face open as Steve studied him.

“Um, then, yeah. You can take me to dinner.” Steve wiggled his phone out his back pocket, shoving it in Billy’s hands. “I’ll text you so you have my number.” Billy tucked his phone back into Steve’s pocket, made him blush some more.

“Get me back soon, yeah? Wanna take you out quick.” Steve smiled softly at him.

“You wanna hang out tonight? My friend ditched me.” Steve was fidgeting with his drink, looking at Billy through his lashes.

“Yeah, Sweet Thing. Tell me all about yourself.”

[afewmarvelousthoughts]

The Call Pt. 1

Summary: Marie is not crazy. She isn’t. Or she hopes she’s not. But the happenings that follow a mysterious phone call begin to make her hope otherwise. 

Warnings: Suicidal ideation, maybe mildly creepy

A/N: Well, if you’re tagged it’s because you said you were interested in taking a peek at my original content. This is the first half of a short story I’ve been using as kind of a warm up/playground for a few weeks. Kinda hate the title (so if you’ve got suggestions hit me with them) and am open to literally all feedback!  (If you want to know when I share original content lmk!)

“I’m not crazy. I know how this sounds but I am not fucking crazy!” 

Funny enough, I’m also not an idiot. I know that screaming I’m not crazy at 4am after tearing my room apart to find a picture that apparently doesn’t exist implies otherwise. But still-

“I’m not crazy, Alex.”

“Ok. You’re not crazy.” 

The way he’s looking at me really makes me wish I was. 

“But Marie, what you’re asking me to believe-“

“Is crazy,” I say, collapsing on the edge of the bed. 

I stare down at my hands. There used to be a scar on the left one, thick and rope-like carving a path straight through the center. The original wound had cut to the bone. 

I know it was there. 

I know because I remember how it didn’t hurt at first. It was like a dull warm sting, too many nerve endings cut to make my brain register what happened. I remember how I was fascinated by the blood welling, dark and thick and so different from any time I’d seen my own blood in my short 13 years. I remembered the drip, drip, drip. 

And then I remember screaming. 

“Marie…” He takes a deep breath, pacing away from the bed. 

I don’t move, don’t respond. Just run my fingers over where the scar should be. 

Another thing I remember is the choice I made that resulted in the scar disappearing. I remember that conversation, both sides of it like two images superimposed on one another. 

Somehow, remembering those disparate, impossible, things so clearly only makes me more certain that I am not insane. Which may actually make the whole insanity argument stronger…

The first phone call happened on a random night in December. I was baking, trying to recreate those Levaine Bakery cookies and, honestly, not sucking at it. 

I was not drinking. 

I was not on drugs. None that I wasn’t supposed to be on anyway. 

Everything was normal. 

My phone rang with a number I didn’t recognize. Usually, I would have just ignored it but the area code was from my home town and I know far too many messy people back home to ignore an unknown call on a Friday night. 

If someone was dead, I didn’t want to find out through a voicemail. 

“Hello?” A muffled voice responded, warped by a shoddy Bluetooth connection. “Wait, sorry hold on.”

Fucking useless $100 earbuds. 

“Hello?” 

“H-hi… Hello.” The voice on the other end was clearly a kid, a little girl. I didn’t know any kids save for my nephew and he was eight months old so children should not be calling me. 

“Yes?”

“Hi, ma’am,” the girl paused, clearly restraining a giggle. The line crackled in a way that sounded odd but I assumed she was just muffling the mic. “Did you order a pizza? This… This is Pizza Hut.” 

I stifled a laugh of my own. Who knew kids still did prank calls. I thought those died off with the landline. Amused, I played along. 

“No, I didn’t order a pizza.”

“Oh, well, I guess we called the wrong person. Sorry!” The kid hung up. 

I shook my head and reconnected my earbuds. As far as prank calls went, I had my criticisms on their form but hoped they enjoyed themselves. 

Quickly, I fell back into my baking rhythm, my audiobook of the week keeping any further exploration as to why kids would bother with prank calls when the internet existed at bay. At least until the book paused, accompanied by an off-putting crackle in one earbud.

“Motherf-“ My phone ringing interrupted my expletive. 

I looked over, it was the same number. 

I don’t know why I answered. Maybe I was getting soft after 30 years of being, by default, a cold bitch—I had been crying at far more commercials recently. Or maybe the novelty of a prank call was too good to pass up. 

“Hello.”

For a moment there was silence. Then, someone breathing. Something about it made me feel uncomfortable. Not in the whole, I’m calling from inside the house, kind of way. More like the feeling you get when you almost fall asleep at the wheel, the adrenaline rush of waking up just in time. 

“Hello?” The breathing quickened. “Look, kid-“

She started speaking. Rather, she started making sounds, gibberish with the inflection of words. After a string of them, she paused. 

“Uh-huh, well then,” I said choosing to humor them. 

This was followed by another string of gibberish. Only this sounded more frantic, there wasn’t the undertone of laughter. They stopped. 

“Kid, are you ok?” I began to worry. 

“Em raeh uoy nac?” She said with the inflection of a question. I realized suddenly that this may not be the same person. There was something similar about the voice but it didn’t sound as young as my pizza prankster from earlier. 

“Look, this is just getting weird. Don’t-“

“On!” The person yelled into the phone. “On! On! Esaelp!” The voice cracked, a stifled cry sending chills up my spine. 

On… On… On… Something clicked. 

No. This person was saying no. 

Maybe I am crazy. Because the moment I realized the words were coming to me backward they righted themselves and the person began speaking in the proper direction. 

“Please, don’t hang up.” She took a ragged breath, “Please.” 

Sitting on the edge of my bed now, staring at my scarless palm, I could still feel her desperation. 

“Marie,” Alex knelt in front of me, eyes wide and pleading. “I have known you since we were 15. You’re my sister and I love you.” He takes my hands in his own, sighing, “You’ve been under a lot of stress recently and that-“

“Jesus,” I pull my hands back getting to my feet, and push past him. In the doorway to my bathroom, I pause, turning back to face him. He now sat on the floor with his back against my bed. 

“I’m just saying, maybe it’s all been too much. That’s all. There isn’t any shame in that.” 

“I know there isn’t. Don’t you think I, of all people, fucking know that?!” 

I mean for fucks sake, I was the head of HR at my company. I had a bachelor’s in counseling and a master’s in communications. Not to mention years of therapy under my belt. I understood what stress could do to someone’s mind and I understood that this wasn’t that. 

“Ok,” he holds his hands up in surrender. “Ok. Sorry. I know you know. But you want me to believe you’re really ok when you-“

“I don’t want you to believe shit. You asked me what was happening. I’m just telling you.” 

He studied me, trying to find something to hold on to, some way to believe me. 

For a moment I studied him too. Burning this image of him into my mind. 

This was real. He was real. Just like everything else was real. 

On that first night, the shock the voice on the other end of the line sent through my whole body was unlike anything I’d ever felt before. 

“Please be there,” she begged. 

Our own voices always sound weird when we hear them played back. Something to do with the way sound travels through the body. The way it resonates in our bones. It’s easy to not even recognize our own voices when we hear them. 

“I called this-“

“You called this number 10 minutes ago,” I cut her off, my unease giving way to anger. “What do you want? If you’re in trouble-“

“I called this number when I was eight,” that edge to her tone was too familiar. “I’m 15.” 

“Hilarious, kid. Find something better to-“

“0606.”

“Yup, that’s the last four digits of the number you just called. Owned by a woman who is very-“

“Those are the last four numbers of the cell phone I got when I was 13.” 

“Very funny.” I had no idea who had put her up to this but I was over it. “I’ve had this number for 17 years.” 

“I always thought it was funny because I remembered those numbers ever since I made that prank call. Funny that they’d be the last four of my own number.” Her voice had a disconnected quality to it. I rubbed my finger over the scar on my palm, a nervous habit. 

“Kid-“

“Wait,” she cut me off, something which was starting to wear on me. “You said 17 years. How… how old are you.” 

“Thirty,” I answered automatically. 

“Wow.”

“Yeah. Ancient to you I’m sure.” The timer went off for my cookies. “Look. If you’ve sated your gen alpha need to dip your toes into the nostalgia pool-“

“So, I don’t do it.” 

“Do what?”

“On April 13th, 2006 you decided you would kill yourself you your 16th birthday.” My heart stopped. “Maybe you don’t remember that…” 

I remembered it. 

If I tried I could remember the way my room smelled. I could remember how my hands didn’t even shake as I wrote those words in my journal. I could remember sitting on my bed, picking up my phone…

And calling my own number. 

I looked down at my phone. I’d only paid attention to the area code before, nothing more than a passing glance. Now I realized, it was my grandparent’s old landline number.  

She continued, “Anyway, I just called my own number to-“

“Leave a voice mail,” I said finishing her thought. It was my substitute for a note, something that if they found they found but if not then fuck them. 

“Yeah. But instead of it going to voicemail, you answered. My phone is sitting in my lap but you answered. And I remembered your voice from when I was eight and…” 

“What the fuck,” I breathed. 

“I don’t know…”

My head was spinning. I had never spoken to anyone save for my therapist about my intention to end my life when I turned 16, so it seemed unlikely someone was playing a cruel joke. But it was even more unlikely, or rather completely fucking impossible, that I was currently speaking to my 15-year-old self.  

“Look,” I sank to the floor of my kitchen, sliding my glasses up so I could massage away the tension headache building between my eyes. “Clearly, you’re not me. But it’s pretty obvious that you’re in a bad way.” There was silence. 

“Kid?” 

“I’m here,” the voice was so small. 

“I don’t know what you’re going through, but the best advice I can give you is the same advice that my best friend gave me when we were your age. ‘If you can’t find any other reason to keep going, just do it out of spite.’” 

To this day, do it out of spite, was the motto we lived by. I embroidered pillows for us with it, we signed off letters to one another with it when he took a year to wander Europe with his ex, hell we got the word ’Spite’ tattooed on our wrists in the other’s handwriting when we were 19—thanks to Alex’s terrible handwriting people always asked me why I had ‘Sprite’ tattooed on my wrist. 

She snorted. 

“I know it sounds oversimplified but-“

“No. I’m just not into listening to people who don’t take their own advice,” the anger in her voice was searing. 

“What do you-“

“Alex Cameron, said the same thing to me yesterday.” My ears started ringing, my whole body tingled like a limb when you’ve sat on it for too long. 

“Then,” she took a shaky breath, “he killed himself.” 

My smoke alarm began to scream, the smell of burnt sugar seeping from my oven. 

tags

@wonderlandmind4 @coffeebeforewater @empty-fromthestart​ @this-kitten-is-smitten @saundrasays​

[dirt-grub]

This is going to sound really f-ing stupid but you gotta trust me on this. Tinnitus, my nemesis, I have defeated thee. When you have an episode, loosely cover your ears with your palms so your fingertips kinda overlap at the back of your head/nape area. Then rhythmically tap your fingers, like you're patting your nape. Left, right, left, right, I count to twenty so its 10 taps from each hand. Makes a funny noise, make sure you keep your ears covered, count up to 40 (20 per hand) if needed. My episodes are mild-moderate but they also never survive past when I count to like 14. It sounds stupid. It looks stupid. But living with ringing in my ears sucks more than looking stupid for thirty seconds. It Always works for me and I hope it can help you.

I also have severe ear problems (I say while laying in the dark in my misery cuddle puddle of blankets with a heating pad wrapped around my whole head) but apparently mine are partly related to me having a deviated septum causing bad anatomy? I get fluid buildup behind my eardrum and because of the DS, my ear canals have like a nearly 90 degree turn or some shit so wax build up is the devil. Amazon has ear wax pick kits but get an osteoscope and try to have someone you trust do it since its hard to see Unless you can afford one of the Bluetooth osteoscopes that show the image on your phone. I hope at least a little of this might be new and/or helpful to you and know that I feel your pain and have a great deal of empathy. Ear pain sucks D.

Final tip I have that I just thought of! In ear/over ear headphones trap humidity and heat and in ear push wax into deeper your ears! They're pricey but look at a pair of aftershockz headphones. Bone conducting headphones. Amazing sound quality (audiophile approved) AND you wouldn't BELIEVE the improvement in my ear pain levels after I dropped my over ear and in ears for them. Plus, they all come with like a year warranty and you can purchase them through Sams club for cheaper if you have one nearby. Sorry for the long ask. I just hate knowing that other people suffer from the same or similar pain I'm in right now as I'm typing this. It just...it really sucks, man. I wish you luck.

no oh my god this is super helpful!!!! ive def had problems historically with cleaning my ears so i think itd be good to invest in an osteoscope and like gross ears def doesnt help but i have more problems than just that so the tapping trick is super helpful... im also a chronic headphone user and im sure my my earbuds (that dont have those like squishy things on the end, i lost them all) make it worse lollll

literally you are a godsend thank you so much my stepmom is a nurse but her help is just yelling at me to shut up lol

[harry-sussex]

This:

I don't doubt that the vision I've always had of him is at least partially curated - that's the nature of being a public figure. William and Kate aren't 100% the personalities they have in public, I'm sure - granted, none of us are. But I flat out refuse to believe that it was all fake

I also believe he is genuinely like Diana in his childish love and openness, and the way crowds respond to him is also real, which is why it is more baffling and sad that he now appears to be this vindictive, petty person.

I wonder if his PR people don’t know how to take advantage of his qualities and charm and instead he is creating this narrative of suffering that doesn’t sit well with the majority of us commoners without a mansion or a trust fund in this endless pandemic.

You would think those PR agents know how to extract the best qualities of their clients and turn it into positive public image. I want to scream at them that they are not giving him the right advice. He really is the wrong spokesperson for racism and that interview was a big mistake. Sorry. Just my opinion.

Or do you think they give him advice and he doesn’t listen?

The crowds used to adore when he was nothing but an overgrown, goofy kid who happened to be a prince who wore his heart on his sleeve, whose openness and softness and spunk made him different from literally everyone else in the family. He was their wildcard - there was no telling when he'd break off to go make a baby laugh, or kiss an old lady's cheek, or give someone a giant bear hug. Sure, it could have been a curated image, but I refuse to believe he's talented enough an actor to have made a false persona stick for 20 years. Whether or not he really was that bright light or if this vindictive, petty persona was always hiding there is completely irrelevant. They saw one thing, they now see another, and it's a tough pill to swallow.

I can't tell if the PR team just outright sucks, if Harry doesn't listen, or if they're just a team of "yes men" who let the boss do whatever he wants because he's signing the check. He has wonderful qualities and they should be pushing those at the forefront of his public image so that people want to love him again, want to believe him and root for him and his wife. The longer this current strategy lasts, the less likely the public is willing to root for him. Once he loses that, it'll be hard - if not outright impossible - for him to get it back.

I really agree that they are not giving him the right advice. He needs something so different from what he's getting - and that's coming from someone who wants to see him succeed.

I maintain that the interview could have been done tactfully but it wasn't, and tbh a lot of people would have had a lot more sympathy if they pulled it from its original broadcast date and made it wait because Philip was ill. They're just not doing anything right and none of the strategy makes any sense whatsoever. Who let them air an interview complaining about their personal struggles (no matter how legitimate they are) while HM's 99-year-old consort - Harry's beloved grandfather - was recovering from major surgery and on death's doorstep? It's not like they couldn't put two and two together... the public didn't know anything but it's not like Harry didn't get a phone call that said "hey, Grandpa's in the hospital, he's coming home, we have no idea if, when, or how he will recover." Anyone who gets that phone call would and should have pulled the broadcast immediately. To me, that's all on their PR team (and maybe team Oprah too). I don't think Harry could make that call, but that's why he has people who are getting paid millions of dollars to make. him. look. good.

He's not the right person to speak on racism, especially since he hasn't outright acknowledged and apologized for his past indiscretions, no matter who his wife is. She can speak on it - who are we to tell a biracial woman what she can and can't do in this regard? - but he really needs to shut up until he can acknowledge his own past - the Nazi incident, the slurs, the fact that his privilege and position in this life was borne of an institution built on the backs of people of color.

He's getting bad, bad, BAD advice. What a waste of money, sure, but more importantly (to me), what a waste of a wonderful, wonderful man, an asset to this world, a future ally and advocate, a philanthropist and a humanitarian. A beautiful person who could shine and help others shine given the right tools. They're wasting it, they're wasting the magic of Prince Harry, and he deserves better.

[insomniac-dot-ink]

Lost Time

It was half past eight on a Monday and I was running late. I was known for being late as well as scatter-minded and it was an image I had been trying to combat since I was a young girl.

However, that didn’t change the fact that I had already missed the 8:30 train and the 8:20 one before that. I stood on the platform with the usual suspects of businessmen in charcoal dark suits, middle-aged moms on their way to the market with overly large floral-print tote bags, and a few highschoolers who looked just as late I was with a bruised-eyed emptiness about them.

I bounced on my heels as I waited and checked my watch every few minutes. I had been given several warnings so far about tardiness at my office job and while I wasn’t exactly thrilled about quality control work I was less thrilled about the prospect of being fired.

I texted my workplace friend about covering for me and then I checked my watch again.

For not the first time I missed university and the ideal of sleeping through whatever classes I didn’t care for and sneaking in a few minutes late to any lectures I actually did. My older sister kept insisting I was lucky I had gotten a job right out of college at all, but there was no helping it. It all sort of sucked.

The monotony was almost as bad as the knowledge that monotony was my future: pure predictable, clockwork knowledge of what I might be doing a month from now. And then a year from now. And the year after that.

I bounced on my heels and checked my watch for the third time. It was a leather watch with a round handsome face and a worn strap- my father had given it to me right before the Alzheimer's set in when I was around seventeen.

We hadn’t “lost” him, but we did lose the man I grew up with.

That was how I remembered that morning: thinking about Monday and work and my father’s watch which kept ticking much slower than I would have liked it to.

Maybe things would have been different if my work friend had texted me back faster or if I had woken up earlier or if I hadn’t bothered to wake up and go to work at all that morning.

I bounced in place and just as I was about to look down at my watch again a hand shot out and grabbed my wrist. “Ah,” I jumped and swung around to start shouting at whoever it was or the very least pull away from the stranger manhandling me on a public platform.

I hesitated when an old woman looked back at me. She was small, and had neat grey hair swept back into a tidy bun and a hunched back with wide, heavyset shoulders. She was lined with deep wrinkles and had clear blue eyes that struck me as somehow attractive and open.

She smiled mildly at me and her cool hand was still wrapped around my wrist as I faced her. I wrinkled my nose slightly as the scent of something like chlorine hit me over the head. It was a saturated sharp kind of chemical smell.

“Excuse me,” the old woman spoke in the same tidy manner as her look. “May I borrow some of your time?” I frowned deeply as I suspected she was about to break out a bible and start a pitch for either Jesus Christ or some new age church of cardinals or weed or paying them money or whatever.

I drew back, “I’m sorry.” I tried to glance at my watch but it was still in her grip. “I gotta get to work.” “It won’t take long at all. No trouble for you, I promise.” She said and her voice was similarly friendly, high-pitched, and reminded me somewhat of a cricket.

The chemical smell funneled through my system and I tried to politely hold my breath. “Sorry. The train is about to come and I really can’t miss it.” “We have time.” She said slowly. “It will only be for a bit and won’t cost you a cent.” I sighed heavily and looked around to check if anyone there noticed me being accosted by the elderly, but no one even batted an eye in our direction. “Are you selling something?” “No.” She said suredly. “I know this sounds a little forward, but I’m trying to find someone and I could use some help.” “Huh.” I blinked a couple times and chewed on my bottom lip; I weighed my options carefully for just a moment more and then met her syrupy blue gaze. “Just looking for someone, yeah?” I exhaled slowly. “Alright. Sure.” Her smile grew wide and candied sweet. She released my wrist and I swore a popping sound erupted through the air and sent a shiver down my spine.

“But I really can’t do it right n-” I didn’t finish my sentence as the train whooshed onto the platform and I stumbled backward. When I turned to tell the old lady I would have to help her later, she was gone.

I sniffed loudly and rubbed at my wrist before hurrying aboard my morning train and trying not to get stuck on any of the details. It was Boston, sometimes weird people talked to you.

And you tried to forget them. At least, at the time I hoped to forget her and get to work without being noticed or reprimanded again.

--------------------

It was two months into December and I had a head cold like nobody's business. I hadn’t been able to breath out of my left nostril since the day before and I missed her dearly, as you would a best friend or lover.

Cold sheets of rain had been coming down in slushy torrents for days now and I had spent hours the week before helping move my roommate out. She had finally decided to go all the way with her questionable boyfriend and move in with him despite the old pizza crust smell and missing fire escapes in his neighborhood. But he had both a car and a netflix account.

I was happy for her up until I helped her move a couch in the pouring ice-rain and woke up the next day with the feeling of a balloon inflating in my sinuses. 

I went to work all the same in an effort to make management get off my back about the number of days I had missed. The world was a slow motion mess of dayquil and painkillers by the time I was finally able to head home in a daze. I produced kleenex after kleenex out of my purse as I traveled, like a magic trick where no one was impressed.

I was rocking gently back and forth in the train when my head pounded slightly and my nose cleared up for just a moment. I would have hit the air with my fist right then in victory if not for the sharp scent of chlorine that washed over me.

The uncomfortable sterile smell that reminded me of storms and sucking on copper pennies.

My eyes darted left and right to check if anyone had noticed, but the train was filled with pencil-skirt ladies on their phones typing away, school children with ipads out, and a homeless man softly snoring in one of the seats.

I massaged the bridge of my nose and hurried the rest of the way home with more kleenexes produced and thoughts of nyquil on my mind. I was surely too sick to be cogent I figured and becoming slightly delirious.

I slipped into my now one-person apartment, ate canned noodle soup, and tucked myself to sleep in my thickest sweatpants and sweater. It should have been over then, but it wasn’t.

I had dreams, and not the type of dreams I had ever had before. Dark shadows shifted and oozed under me, bright neon colors popped in my vision, stars exploded left and right and nonsense voices babbled in the distance.

It was like the confusing scene in Dumbo with the pink elephants singing except I didn’t even get to be drunk for it. And then the scent of chemicals came wafting through my head space and I exhaled from somewhere deep inside of me and everything went as blank as a canvas.

There was no proper way to describe it except the unclenching of every muscle in my body after a long day or letting go of a kite and watching it sail away with the wind. I let go of thousands of jumbled images and sounds and then I blinked again and I was staring at the night sky.

It was hard to process for a long hard second and harder to come to grips with the cold air against my flushed cheeks and the crevice moon up above. My muscles complained at me dully, but besides that my body was limber and I noticed I could breathe again.

I inhaled through both nostrils and when I sat up I realized I was in some sort of barren field. I gawked at the empty rows and dirt on my hands and the fact I could barely make out any city lights in the distance.

I hadn’t left Boston in months and I didn’t remember getting off my couch that night. Or driving. Or walking. Or bundling myself up in my heavy pink coat and lying down in a field.

I flexed slightly and noticed a tingling in my fingers and dirt on my knees and palms. I had been doing something as well.

I searched my person for a moment and was relieved to find no injuries, but also no clues. My coat pockets were completely empty and my only guiding source of information was that I was in a field and I wasn’t sick anymore.

I even sniffed the air for chlorine, but there was nothing but faint winter chill.

I took a deep breath and stood up after a few minutes and began to walk toward the city lights. It was a long walk and I went back and forth in my head on whether to take myself to the hospital and ask about sleep walking disorders.

On the other hand I remembered my father’s long struggle with in-patient care, his empty gaze as more nurses talked to him in gentle tones, and wheeled him around the blank white halls. I remembered the tears as he seemed to lose my face and then my mom’s face and birthdays and places and names like party balloons being popped. The hospital smell made me nauseous just thinking about and it had only been one night. 

Just one night didn’t mean anything.

I ended up finding change in the back pocket of my jeans and taking the 6am bus home from Northampton all the way to my apartment. I didn’t sleep well for days after that.

--------------------- I chalked the first time up to a weird combination of flu medicine, stress at work, and maybe even losing my roommate that week. And for awhile it seemed like a dream that someone else had.

For awhile.

It was February when the feeling crept back in. I couldn’t explain it, but I started checking hallways before I turned the corner and examining strangers faces twice if they sat next to me. I put bowls of water by my door so I might step in them and wake myself if I started sleep walking again.

Or perhaps someone else would step in them on their way in. I tried not to dwell on that last thought- no matter how many times it nagged at me.

There was a sensation of sickness in my gut and I couldn’t get rid of it. It was February and I was sitting on my couch watching some nothing TV show my mom recommended to me and just like before, something unclenched.

The kite was released and I blinked and there was an absolute nothingness so fine that I could have drowned in it. Been eaten by it, been destroyed by it.

And I blinked once and I was standing in the grocery store holding an egg carton and practically gagging on chlorine stench lodged in my mouth. “Ack.” I dropped the eggs to the floor and they splattered like firecrackers on the Fourth of July.

I started breathing heavily and clutching at my chest, several concerned shoppers stopped and looked my way as I leaned on my cart for support. The cart was completely filled with cartons of eggs.

I ran outside only to find I was just a few blocks from my apartment building. I sprinted home and when I tripped my way up my stairs, wheezing and eyes streaming, there was a single spilled bowl of water on the floor.

I melted into the carpet and shook slightly as I looked at it. Something had been in my apartment. Or else I had kicked it myself during the weird trance.

But it didn’t matter either way. I couldn’t remember.

---------------------

I finally went to the doctor with a complaint of memory problems and we met with a neurologist with iron-grey hair and a busy tie. He checked my pupil dilation and ability to track objects with my eyes. He tested my reflexes and had me remember colors and numbers in certain orders.

My mom came with me for the appointment and glanced at me every few minutes. She didn’t say anything, but I could read the thoughts on her face: it’s already got her too.

Maybe my mom thought she was cursed. But when all of my tests came back negative for any brain abnormalities she exhaled and I didn’t.

It got worse from there. I would wake up blocks from my house holding an umbrella I didn’t own, wake up with leaves and sticks in my hair, be walking down the street one second and then be in a completely different part of town on a park swing the next.

I started putting more bowls of water around my house and added bells and stacks of books and even a few stray mouse traps around the windows (one of which actually caught a mouse). Most nights there was nothing but gnawing silence and I waited and waited for the smell of ozone.

The smell of storms and pools and airplanes right when you get off. 

I blinked up at my dark ceiling and waited. It only happened once; I heard the bell: the chiming silver bell with all of my worst fears and highest anxieties pressed to it. I turned over in bed to grasp for my phone or a baseball bat or anything at all.

But then I unclenched. The world popped and the nothingness took hold with a profound sudden swallowing sensation.

And I blinked again and I was standing on the very top of a hotel building with cars honking down below and a fire exit open behind me. I looked down and I was holding a TV antenna in one hand and a spoon in the other.

“Goddammit!” I threw both of the items down on the ground and started pulling on my hair. “You can’t keep doing this to me!” I screamed at nothing, “I have a life! I never agreed to this.”

But somehow, I remembered I had.

---------------

I quit my job. I hated the endless spreadsheets and conference calls and management deadlines, so it wasn’t much of a loss. But everyone I knew asked “what’s next?” with big eager smiles and I stopped returning their calls after a while.

I stopped sleeping. I started prowling the streets like a cramped zoo animal with nowhere to go. It was late spring by then and the city was stinking with hot bodies and burning trash and my own simmering violent questions brewing under the surface.

What’s happening to me? I wanted to scream at someone, but didn’t want to have to return to the hospital. Why me?

There were no answers, only the endless strips of pavement and my red converse slapping against them. Fifth street: two young boys biking with matching helmets and noisily chewing gum that they blew into fat pink bubbles. Washington Street: cop pulling over a teacher with thick glasses and a hard look on her face as she got out of her vehicle.

South End: a busy farmers market with women in overalls selling backyard kimchi and a man with a beard almost down to his waist selling gourmet chocolates and homemade beer. Noisy, busy, yelling, laughing people that streamed past me and barely stopped to look at my blood-shot eyes and trembling hands.

I was well past the farmer’s market and on the seventh day of my trek when I heard it. A high, cricket voice that carried over the buzz of construction work nearby.

“No, no, not like that.” She spoke into a phone briskly. I turned on my heels and everything moved in slow motion and jerky fast images all at once. One second I was staring at an old woman with pleasing blue eyes and then I had her pinned up against the nearest wall with my forearm.

“Police!” She shouted without hesitation or even looking at me. “Police! Someone!”

I hissed through my clenched teeth. “Take it back.” I growled lowly. “Make it normal again.” Her lips peeled into a snarl and she leaned her head against the wall. “That’s not how it works.” And then the smell of chlorine slithered through me and I started to cough.

“No!” I held on with all my might- clenching and gripping and grasping for something I couldn’t name. “Not now! I need-” I gasped, “I need.” The old woman looked blankly at me, but with something that I might have classified as pity. Or despair. “Give it to someone else.” She said in a soft voice. “Pass it off.”

-----------------------

My hair was falling out in thin clumps and I kept wiggling one of my back teeth as it had seemed to have come loose. I had no idea what I had been doing for days by then and no matter how many traps I set it was always the same: crashing bowls and ringing bells and then nothing. Expansive, hungry nothing.

I stood at the train station platform and looked at my watch. I had forgotten to wind it and it had stopped ticking. I looked at it and I bounced on my heels and a young man in his very early twenties stood next to me.

He smelled strongly of aftershave and his suit seemed to swim around him despite being obviously tailored. He had coiffed golden hair and frantic eyes that darted back and forth over the platform.

He looked down at his watch.

I shot my hand out and took his wrist. “Excuse me,” I croaked and tried to get him to look me in the eye. “Can I borrow some of your time?”

[ginkobirchfalls]

(Sorry for bad image quality, my phone sucks :'( )

This is part one of my magic hermit designs!

Stress I thought would be given a sort of biome adaptation power. Basically, if she stays in a biome for a certain amount of time, she will start to develope abilities and characteristics specific to that area. The longer she stays there, the stronger they are and the more she gets. She also always has a sort of flower or ice crown(variations depending on where she is) and her eye color changes slightly as well.

Now That she is in the jungle, her abilities are: resistance to certain poisons, mild plant control(will get stronger the longer she lives there), poison secretion, camoflauge(markings on her skin that will get darker pink in color as the season progreses)

As the ice queen, she has the following abilities: blizzard creation and cold weather control in general(especially when emotions are strong), ice and snow creation, cold resistance, walking on water by freezing it, and after a long period of time animating snow to life.

A few other biomes:

Desert-walking over sand without disturbing it, heat resistance, need little water

Swamp-more nocturnal, breathe underwater for longer, webbed hands

Mountains-can live without air for longer, walk on clouds

In her fanny pack she carries seeds and medicine made from jungle plants.

Flying is never an ability she gains, so she has a custom elytra shaped like glossamer butterfly wings. They clip on to her back sorta like in the barbie faerie movie lmao.

[bearhatarmy]

I really really miss photography. 

Photography feels like an old friend I’ve lost touch with. It pains me greatly that I just don’t have the energy or stamina to do it anymore. It really filled a creative void after I was unable to create my original comedy posts any longer. My illness keeps taking and taking from me and it is a challenge to find ways to adapt and cope.

The saddest part is that I felt like I was just starting to master photography as an art form. I was at that point where I could instinctively do all of the technical things and concentrate purely on the art. Lighting was becoming intuitive to me instead of a complicated puzzle I had to solve each time.

Yes, I took a lot of photos that I am really proud of. (Which I am spreading throughout this post).

But sometimes I mourn the photos I could have taken if my chronic illness hadn’t worsened.

It’s also hard seeing the new cameras and lights that have been released since I had to stop. I *just* missed a technological revolution. New features that would have allowed me to do more with less energy. To push the boundaries of my creativity. To get shots I could only dream of back then.

Full frame mirrorless cameras have opened up so many creative possibilities. The low light performance, the detail, the dynamic range--it has all been improved greatly in just a few years. But there are also many automated usability features that allow the camera to offload work and concentration from the brain. These new digital wonders can even be used as cinematic quality video cameras--something I would have liked to have explored.

I had to take these match photos in a pitch-black room, with a reversed lens, with no control over my aperture, and a manual flash. It took forever to time it properly because I had a whopping 3 frames per second. It would have been a cinch with a mirrorless camera, with super fast burst modes and an electronic viewfinder. You can see exactly what your image will look like before snapping it. But you can also “see in the dark” using a high ISO preview. Before you had to use a live view mode on the back screen. But on older cameras that mode was clunky and slow and... it just sucked.

Enlarge!

MOAR BIGGER!

Weirdly, one of the biggest advances is due to a shortened “flange distance” where the lens connects to the camera body. It seems like a small thing. Literally only a centimeter or so. But because of the lack of mirror, camera designers are able to move the lens closer to the sensor and design more advanced lenses with incredible sharpness. Combined with increased megapixel counts, that would have been amazing for my macro photos.

Electronic viewfinders take the guesswork out of exposure--even in bright sunlight where screens get washed out from glare. And being able to compose portraits with highly accurate eye-tracking autofocus would have been a tremendous advantage. 

No more “focus and recompose.” 

No more “Did I get the eye? Let me zoom to 100% on this tiny screen.” 

I could have spent more of my concentration getting natural expressions from my subjects and composing my photos without distraction.

And IBIS! 

I missed out on motherhecking IBIS!

This photo of my wonderful friend Erin was taken handheld at sunset. The original RAW version was extremely dark--even though I was using a high ISO. I had to do a ton of work to get this to not look like noisy garbage. But there just wasn’t any other way to capture it... UNTIL NOW.

IBIS (eye-bus/👀-🚌) or “in-body image stabilization,” allows the camera sensor to kind of... float. You can eliminate camera shake caused by the subtle micro-movements when handholding. 

How do I explain it? Ummmm...

It turns the sensor into a chicken head.

So instead of increasing the ISO (which is like a volume knob for light which gets grainier as you crank it), you can lower your shutter speed. In the past, depending on the lens, 1/60th of a second was about as slow as you could set it. With IBIS, as long as the scene you are capturing is relatively still, you can take photos in very low light without a tripod. This is great because tripods are a pain in the ass and you can’t always have one handy. Plus, you can combine an IBIS camera with a stabilized lens to get a de-blurrification multiplier. Then you can get sharp handheld photos that are technically considered long exposure. I’ve heard people say they got sharp photos exposing at several seconds. Literally going from a fraction of a second to 2 goddamn Missisisppi. I can’t even quantify how many fantastic photos are being taken right now that would have been unusable blurry messes a few years ago. We get to enjoy these photos all because they installed a chicken head inside cameras.

AND DARN IT ALL TO HECK I HECKING MISSED IT, GOSH HECKING DANG IT!. 

Sorry... didn’t mean to curse like a sailor that stubbed his toe while stepping on a Lego. 

I think I’ll have a cool refreshing root beer to calm my IBIS envy.

(Those water droplets are a total fraud, by the way. It’s fake blood without the red added.) 

And with the progress in battery and wireless technology, artificial lighting has become lighter and more portable while still being powerful enough to compete with the sun. I could have used strobe lights in my little studio, packed them up into a small case, and gone to the middle of the field to use them there.

Yes, I was able to convert my old studio lights to be “portable-ish” but we had to lug so much equipment to accomplish this photo of Brittany in the red dress. The battery pack alone weighed as much as one modern light. I was stuck in bed for a week afterward from all of the carrying of heavy gear.

Before that, this was my hacked together “outdoor” light. The Flash-O-Tron 3000. It looks cool but it was delicate and hard to get through doorways.

After charging 12 AA batteries overnight, I had to drag this contraption outside at the buttcrack of dawn to get my favorite photo of Otis. 

I had to use a handheld mirror to reflect my popup flash in the direction of the Flash-O-Tron 3000 to trigger it. It worked about 25% of the time. Oh, and I was laying on cold wet grass, manually tracking Otis--who refused to sit still. I had to line up a single autofocus point on his head for every snap. The concentration required felt like my brain was juggling chainsaws.

But guess what they invented last year?

PET. EYE. AUTOFOCUS. 

ARE YOU KIDDING ME? 

A little robot inside the camera is all, “Hey, that’s your dog’s eye!” and just follows it no matter where your pup moves.

I NEEDED THAT SO BAD!

This shot took 10 minutes of me trying to lock onto his eye with a macro lens. The depth of field at that distance was the width of his eye and, again, he does not sit still. 

I want a time machine so I can go back and retake every blurry Otis photo. 

Also, many of the modern strobes have NO WIRES. You just stick a thing on top of your camera and you can set off lights several football fields away. My photo studio has tons of wires routed in the ceiling and coming out of the walls. 

[Hi-Res Version]

And then those wires all go into a weird analog remote with old school sliders that controlled the power of the flashes. But the sliders were difficult to finely adjust.

Now you can load an app on your phone and adjust the flash power digitally and adjust the brightness in 10% increments. You can save lighting ratios and recall them instantly. And you can preview your work with high powered LED modeling lights so you don’t have to take 50 test shots. 

No more nudging a light and taking a picture. Raising the power and taking a picture. Swapping out a modifier and taking a picture. Back and forth, back and forth. 

Essentially, what you see is what you get, so setting up lighting takes a fraction of the time and effort with these new lights and cameras. That would have been so helpful with my disability.

Oh... the lights are less expensive too.

The future of camera tech looks exciting as well. I think the computational photography that is in the latest smartphones will soon be added to more professional cameras. That is going to make high-end photography so much more accessible to anyone who wants to try it as a hobby. The learning curve will flatten further, and as long as you are creative, you will be able to take beautiful, high-quality photos.

Some might say that not having all of the new tech helped me gain important experience, expertise, and problem-solving skills. Some believe the inconveniences are a photographer’s trial by fire. The struggle makes the art more authentic. And since I learned how to do it the hard way, my journey is more valid than some photography influencer on Instagram with an iPhone.

To that I say... BULLLLLSHEEIIIT.

Those inconveniences just made me SUPER DUPER TIRED.

And some of those influencers take really kickass photos. Not all of them are butts either.

I love photography but there is a reason I had to stop. Like anything, doing it well was a lot of work. I always ended up having to quit taking photos much sooner than I wanted. I had to scale back my ambition to fit my energy requirements. I could only do photography on days when my body was cooperating fully. I had to cancel many photoshoots because the preparation was just too much to handle. And after my bigger projects it took me forever to recover.

GIVE ME ALL THE CONVENIENCES PLEASE.

That “you have to struggle” attitude is no-good-gatekeepy-ableist crap. 

Old photographer grumps are upset because they spent years learning how to focus manually on horseback and use the sunny 16 rule and develop film in a converted shed they built by hand and now “those darn kids” can use an iPhone on a skateboard while doing a kickflip with their eyes closed and still pull focus.

However, despite there being a lower barrier for entry, the technological improvements add new complications to the advanced side of things. So you can make photography as difficult as you desire if you are willing to learn new stuff. Which old school photo grumps are notoriously averse to.

This new tech has all kinds of novel things to discover and figure out. There is drone photography. There is advanced macro photography using robotic focusing rails and ever-improving focus stacking software. You can now network more lights together than ever before. Karl Taylor did a photoshoot with 12 lights! (Captain Picard would totally lose his shit.) Long lasting batteries and computerized sliders have created new timelapse possibilities. Stabilization software allows complex hyperlapse videos. Better low light performance and sharper lenses with big apertures combined with stacking or star trail software has improved astrophotography. Advances in material science have allowed darker and darker high quality neutral density filters for extreme long exposure photos. New focus tracking algorithms have allowed for wildlife photography that was never possible before. You can capture fast-moving birds in the sky from farther away and still get amazing detail. Faster burst modes allow people to capture split-second action. Never miss a good header at your kid's soccer games. (Is that a thing? I have no kids and don’t remember how to soccer.) IBIS allows photography without a tripod. So now people can trek to harder to reach areas, AT NIGHT, and take sharp photos with little noise. Increased dynamic range and new HDR displays will allow photographers to take images of lights and capture their actual intensity. What if the lights in photos could glow like they do in real life? Think about a neon sign at night in the rain reflecting in a puddle. That would look so neat. 

Not to mention learning how to process photos in editing software is an entirely separate and challenging skillset you can master. There are thousands of techniques you can learn to elevate your images. Dodging & burning, frequency seperation, and compositing, oh my! Programs like Lightroom and Photoshop are constantly updated with new features that expand possibilities.  

None of that is easy. It will all require diligent study and practice to master. Technical skills will always be an aspect of photography that anyone can pursue. But not everyone will need as much technical skill to start having fun and create art. 

And much to the chagrin of those grumps... phones are perfectly viable to create that art and they will keep getting better.

You might find it odd that this love letter and goodbye to photography has so much talk of technical gadgetry. But, for me, it isn’t out of place in this sentimental essay. Technology was my first love. My parents bought me a 66mhz Packard Bell computer when I was 12 and technology was the first thing I was ever good at. I learned every function of that machine. I would sometimes break it just so I could learn how to fix it. I took it apart and put it back together. It was my first true obsessive hobby. I found my creativity soon after, and I immediately used that technology to help me create art. I wrote comedy. I learned how to digitally paint. I recorded music. And eventually I found photography. It was the perfect marriage of technology and art. I could nerd out as much as I want while still getting my creative fix. 

So yeah... I miss it all. 

I miss all of the technical nerdery. I miss trying out new gadgets. I miss editing the photos I’ve taken. I miss taking pictures of my beautiful friends. I miss taking pictures of weird products. I miss asking Delling to call apiaries to find me freshly dead bees so I can take macro shots of their fuzzy little torsos.

I really hope some day I find a treatment that gives me enough energy to take photos again.  

Thankfully my writing helps me feel creative and productive and fulfilled. And it’s something I can do even if I’m not able to get out of bed. And I am grateful I have so many awesome people that actually want to read what I have to say.

So thanks to everyone for that. 

I always find a way to move forward. That’s just the nature of surviving chronic illness. But glancing back at what I lost is a pain I never quite get used to. 

Though, writing this has helped. 

Looking back at all that I accomplished has helped. 

And I do feel lucky I was able to accomplish what I did--even if missing it makes me sad sometimes.