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canarysage · 10 months ago

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PSDs For Dummies <3

— as written by a dummy

hello dear readers and welcome back to canarysage, the world’s least comprehensive tutorial blog. today, we’re back at it again with photopea for dummies, and we’re tackling something i probably should have done first: psds.

example psds are: 1 (@cutesiplushi) 2 (@didlivio) & 3 (@lumieron)

what is a psd?

excellent question, dear reader! psd stands for photoshop document, and it’s a type of file format (like .png or .gif) that allows you to store a project’s individual layers! it’s a file format that, for obvious reasons, is exclusive to photoshop and photopea.

in editing circles, psd has become shorthand for filter. people use psds to save configurations of adjustment layers that are then used to filter images consistently, without having to remake them every time. when someone posts a psd, they’re posting a folder (hopefully it’s in a folder) with their specific set of adjustment layers for anyone to use!

where can i get psds?

right here on tumblr! check your favorite edit blogs, as they may have posted some, or search ‘free psd’ or ‘psd coloring’ in the search function. tumblr doesn’t allow you to upload psds directly, so you’ll be redirected to a site outside tumblr. probably either deviantart, google drive, or ko-fi, all of which are easy to use. deviantart requires you to have an account to download anything (luckily, an account is free!) and ko-fi may require you to pay money. google drive doesn’t have a search function in and of itself, but it’s extremely easy to download off of.

also, shameless self plug, but i post psds right here on canarysage! i personally use deviantart, but again, an account is free. if send me an ask, i may be able to provide you with a google drive link, if you ask really nicely (｡•̀ᴗ-)✧

and of course if you don’t want to use someone else’s psd, you can always make your own.

how do i use a psd?

once you have a psd of your choice downloaded, open up photopea! or photoshop, if you’re rich like that.

once you open photopea, click this here button right in the middle of the screen, the one that says “open from computer”

from there, go to choose files and open up your psd! depending on from whom you got it, psds will look different once you open them. i’m using one of my own as an example.

you can see there’s two layers in my psd, a folder, and an image. the image is just for me so i know which psd this is once i save it—i like to save all my psds with images of real people so i know how it looks on moodboards or stimboards.

the folder is the important part here, that’s where the adjustment layers are contained. to transfer a psd, you can either go to file > new

which lets you start an entirely new project, or you can open an image using file > open

which will give you the image you selected.

as an aside, if you’re opening a psd and you already have a project in progress, make sure to click file > open and not file > open & place, as open & place won’t give you the adjustment layers.

then to move the folder, go to layer > duplicate layer into while having selected the folder (just tap on it, that will make it a lighter gray to show it’s selected) and duplicate the folder into whatever your image is

i’m moving mine to a random image of honami i found which is why it’s named like that. once the folder’s duplicated into your project, go over and take a look!

you should now see something like this! ensure that the folder is on top, as otherwise the adjustment layers won’t work.

here’s the difference between the unfiltered image and the image with my psd!

to save images in photopea (like i did just now) go to file > export as > (your preferred file format)

which will pull up something like this

i recommend either saving as a png (for still images) or as a gif (for… gifs) but that’s up to you! in order to save a psd, go to file > save as psd! that will save your project to your device

bear in mind that tumblr doesn’t accept psds as a file format, so if you’re going to post an edit, you have to save it as something else. also, don’t just save other people’s psds and claim them as your own—psds take a lot of time, effort, and skill, like any other art form.

can i make my own psds?

100% yes! i can’t give you a step-by-step process unfortunately, as there really is no one way to make psds. i recommend familiarizing yourself with adjustment layer and seeing what works.

shameless self plug again, but you can check out my other posts in this series to find out about some of the adjustment layers!

basically, i like to think of adjustment layers as a few different categories. light/darkness adjustments (ie: brightness/contrast, levels, curves, exposure, black & white, and threshold to a certain extent.) saturation adjustments (vibrance, hue/saturation.) color adjustments (hue/saturation, color balance, photo filter, channel mixer, selective color, gradient map depending on how you use it, and replace color.) and also, miscellaneous (posterize, which gives your images a pop-art crunchy kind of effect, invert, which… inverts your colors, and color lookup, which is a set of filters unto itself)

how you utilize adjustment layers is up to you! i personally like to use a variety and see what happens, my personal favorites being channel mixer, photo filter, and hue/saturation. you can also utilize blending modes (shameless self plug again,) or opacity.

if you have no idea where to start, you can look at other people’s psds to see their process. don’t copy or steal, for obvious reasons, but you can toggle layers on and off and see what happens and what each layer does.

making psds isn’t as intimidating as it sounds, you just have to start a project and start creating! it gets really fun once you get the hang of it (*'▽'*)

i don’t edit with photoshop or photopea, can i still use psds?

short answer: nope!

long answer: if you want use psds but you’re super used to ibis paint or whatever you currently use, have no fear! you don’t have to switch all your editing to photopea. you can make your main project in ibis or whatever as normal, then upload it to photopea and add a psd.

you can also make perfectly fine filters in ibis paint in your own right, with enough tweaking. there’s also apps such as polarr and picsart which come with filters, but i’ve never used them so i’m unable to vouch for how they work.

do i need to use psds when editing?

nope! psds are 100% optional. they’re a style like anything else—some people prefer them and some people don’t. it’s up to you.

did you genuinely write 1178 words answering questions no one asked?

yep.

what if i have a question you didn’t answer?

feel free to shoot me an ask! i don’t mind explaining further, and i promise i don’t bite. as with anything, this is just meant to explain to anyone who needs assistance—photopea for dummies by a dummy, after all. we can be confused together!

are you done now?

i am! congratulations for reading this far!

yours truly, canarysage

#photopea for dummies #ʚɞ — tips.

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thebibliosphere · 1 year ago

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Um, Joy, hi. I hesitate to ask, but what is a Phangs arc request and why are you getting so many that you can make them a pile out of 700+ emails??? Do you want, like, a banner or something that says "can't answer these!" because I know how to make one.

Phangs arc requests are when I give copies out in exchange for reviews or from the “donate” pile people regularly contribute to via my Payhip.

And lol, thank you. I appreciate that. I’m spending today and tomorrow looking at my workflow and setting up tighter filters on my email to hopefully catch more things.

The arcs are honestly fine. It's the people deliberately censoring words to get around my autofilters that are the biggest problem.

The abuse I just kind of eyeroll at. It’s really quite ridiculous seeing someone tell you to “un@l!ve” yourself or calling me a “m*nchi3”. But it really wears me down when it’s people doing it with health queries.

Some people really don’t like getting my generic “here are some MCAS resources” email and go out of their way to make sure they get my individual attention, even though what they’re asking is answered in the links I provide.

I’m sure it pisses them off no end when I reply to their c3ns0red emails with the same copy-paste response they just got, but hey, if you’re not going to read the things I put time and energy into curating and then send your email again with keywords filtered so my autoresponder can’t catch it, I don’t much care. I feel bad for you, but I will guard my limited time and energy. (and going forward anyone doing that will just get blocked)

Also, most of the time I’m not qualified to do what they want. I can’t diagnose anyone or tell them what meds to take. I’m just a sick bitch sharing the resources I spent literal years curating to try and make things easier for others.

(covid absolutely made this 100% worse. I’ve got so many people reaching out because unlike a few other well known MCAS bloggers I don’t charge for my time or push supplements via my website. I’ll tell you what supplements I use, but I don’t profit from it. Legally, I can’t, but it also just feels a bit morally icky.)

Hopefully when I get around to my website update, having just a page I can easily curate and update as new studies come out will help with this.

And to those who send me apologetic emails saying they tried to find things on Tumblr but the search engine wasn’t working: it's cool. Tumblr doesn’t show me half of my MCAS info posts at this point.

Functional webbed site.

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jarofstyles · 1 year ago

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FICTOBER DAY 5- Can I Hold Your Hand?

Here is day 4, a bit of cutie dadrry <3 Enjoy!

FICTOBER Prompt list and Masterlist

Patreon

WC-700+

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“Can I hold your hand?” The small voice peeped up at him. Their son in his train conductor costume had been insistent that he was too big to hold his father’s hand, he was a big boy now and he could do trick or treating all by himself.

Y/N pushed the baby carriage, his little sister still a drooly little baby with a plush pumpkin costume on her body and a tiny hat on her head to keep her warm as the october air chilled up. His wife was dressed up in a poodle skirt and letterman jacket, a little tie around her neck and a bouncy ponytail bobbing as she walked. Harry had chosen function this halloween, wearing jeans and a black leather jacket. His saddle shoes were the only thing he purchased for the getup, his hair slicked back in a 50’s like manner- except that one strand that escaped and curled over his head. Y/N had been adamant he not try and fix it, it apparently did something to her.

“Yeah? Not too big to hold my hand now, mate?” He teased, placing his hand down for the smaller one to take. Their gait was slow, their son not the fastest with his Thomas the Tank Engine soft cut out around his body. It made him a big more clumsy, too, which is why Harry was glad Y/N had put knee guards and gloves on him.

“No. I’m am big, but I don’t like all the noises.” He tried to maintain, but the spooky music filtering through the neighborhood and sound effects of the motion sensor activated decor making the poor thing jump. Hell, one of those things had even made Harry clutch his chest as he had approached the front door to ring for candy. What was with these things getting more and more accessible to the public? He remembered the only time he used to see these things were in haunted houses he went to in uni. Now it seemed everyone on the block had a jumpscare waiting to strike. Stupid screaming skeleton.

“It’s okay, baby.” Y/N crooned. “Did you know that on one of our first dates, Daddy took me to see a movie and got so scared he screeched?” It was true, but it was justified. Most of the room had jumped or made a noise too- it just so happened that his had been a bit more loud and high pitched than he would have liked.

Harry looked at her with narrowed eyes, scoffing as his wife grinned like the little shit she was. Really? “Are you ever going to let me live that down? I told you, it was just a bad jump scare. You jumped too.” He looked towards their son, who was giggling simply because Y/N was. “Mumma’s being silly. It’s not a bad thing to scream either, it’s natural.”

“But you’re so big and old, Daddy. You can’t get scared.” He giggled, his fingers squeezing on to Harry’s as they approached another pathway to go up to the house. It was decked out in cobwebs and had some cool orange and purple lighting, spooky sound effects filtering through hidden speakers in the bushes. The howl of a wolf sounded, having him step closer to Harry’s leg. “You go with me?”

“What’s this, then hm? Make fun of me for being scared and then asking me to go?” He ruffled the conductor hat on his head. “You’re lucky I love you loads and Mumma is afraid of the spiders in those webs or I’d made you go with her.” It was all in jest, Y/N simply shrugging. How was she supposed to know what spiders were fake or real? It would be a perfect place for one to hide and jump into her hair!

“It’s okay to be afraid of things, baby. Your father is just silly. Even sillier than me.” Her hand came up to squish Harry’s chin, letting her lipstick give a big kiss mark on his cheek, the bright red in the perfect shape of her lips. When she pulled back, there were loud giggles as the mark was revealed. Harry didn’t mind, clearly, blushing slightly as he knew exactly what she had done, but to their son it was apparently the funniest thing in the world. Y/N shot him a playful glare before threatening him with the same. “Go on, then. Or you’re getting a kiss mark from me too. Grab Mumma a chocolate if there is one.”

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thatlotuscookie · 2 months ago

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hi it's me again, i thought that your last work from my request was awesome and i decided to come back. how about Dabi x reader who is member of the league and Dabi has a secret crush on her, but this time he is drunk (i already saw the one with reader being drunk and it was super cute) and how he is when he's drunk. i feel like he'd be a total baby who has no idea how to function at all, i feel he'd be as childish as possible (idk for example being picky or pouty and stuff) and he also says his secrets, like confesses to her, or tells her he's endeavor's kid😆

if u can I'd like it to be longer one, and obviously feel free to add some more things like maybe some childish things he says to you (for example my brother asks me to stay with him in his room and tells me stories about cotton candy clouds when he's drunk) or the next morning or anything u'll like

✧･ﾟ: a/n : hi riri! I’m so glad you liked the last work based on your request, thank you for coming back! :)) I love this idea, Dabi being a pouty, secret-revealing baby when he’s drunk sounds absolutely adorable. Hope you’ll enjoy this one as much!

✧ Title: ✧ Drunken Confessions ✧ ✧ Characters: Dabi x Fem!Reader ✧ Genre: Romance, Fluff, Comedy, Slight Angst ✧ Rating: T ✧ Summary: One night after a mission, a tipsy Dabi starts acting surprisingly childish around you. Pouty, picky, and a little loose-lipped, he begins to spill his secrets, including his hidden crush on you and a surprising confession about his family. ✧ Content Warnings: Mentions of alcohol, fluff, confession, humor, slight angst ✧ WC: 2349 words // 13k chars

The night had settled over the hideout, the dim light of the moon filtering in through the cracked windows. The League of Villains had just returned from a mission that left everyone drained—everyone except Dabi, apparently. He sat on a worn-out couch with a bottle of cheap liquor in his hand, taking swigs like it was water. You’d never seen him drink this much before. Usually, he was composed, brooding, and distanced, the last person you’d expect to let loose.

But tonight? He was a mess—a full-on disaster.

You had just finished tending to your own minor injuries, grabbing a bottle of water, when you saw him slouched over, head tipped back, staring at the ceiling like it held the answers to the universe. His normally sharp, ice-blue eyes were hazy, and a deep flush spread across his scarred cheeks, making him look… innocent, almost boyish. But something was off. He kept frowning and pouting, muttering under his breath.

“Dabi, what are you doing?” you asked cautiously, standing a few feet away from him.

He blinked slowly, turning his head in your direction with all the grace of someone who was utterly wasted. “You,” he slurred, pointing a finger at you but missing entirely, gesturing toward the space next to you instead. “Why are you way over there?”

“I’m literally right here,” you said, amused but also worried. You stepped closer, crouching down beside the couch. “How much did you drink?”

He looked at the bottle, squinting like it was some ancient relic he couldn’t figure out. “Not enough,” he mumbled before taking another swig—though it looked like more of it dribbled down his chin than actually went into his mouth.

You sighed, sitting down beside him. “You’re going to feel this tomorrow.”

“Don’t care,” he muttered, his voice taking on a strange, almost whiny tone. “S’not like it matters.”

You stared at him. This was definitely not the Dabi you were used to seeing. This wasn’t the guy who shrugged off injuries or tossed back insults with a smirk. This was… childlike, almost petulant. He was in full baby-mode. You had to admit, it was kind of cute, in a ridiculous sort of way.

“Okay, big guy. You’re gonna have to cut it out with the bottle,” you said, trying to reach for it.

But he yanked it back, holding it to his chest protectively. “Mine.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Yours? You’re acting like a five-year-old. Just give it here.”

He pouted—actually pouted—his bottom lip sticking out, eyes narrowing at you like you’d just insulted his entire existence. “I’m not a kid,” he said defensively, but the way he was holding that bottle said otherwise.

“Right. Not a kid at all,” you humored him. “Now, let me take care of you before you do something even dumber.”

Dabi stared at you, his eyes softening, the usual fire in them dimming for a moment. “Why do you care so much?”

You blinked, taken aback by the sudden shift. He sounded genuinely confused, almost hurt. You hadn’t expected that. “I… because I do, Dabi. You’re part of the team. We look out for each other.”

He shook his head, slouching down further into the couch. “That’s not what I mean,” he muttered, then took another drink—missing his mouth entirely again. “Why do you care? About me.”

Your heart skipped a beat. He was drunk, sure, but this was different. His words had weight behind them, like they’d been simmering under the surface for a long time. You tried to brush it off with a joke. “Because I don’t feel like dragging your charred corpse around after you pass out. Now give me the bottle.”

“No,” he grumbled, hugging it tighter. “You’re always doing that.”

“Doing what?” you asked, growing more confused by the second.

“Acting like it doesn’t matter,” he said, his voice quieter now, more vulnerable. “Like… like you don’t know. But I know you know.”

You stared at him, trying to piece together his slurred, jumbled thoughts. “Dabi, you’re not making any sense.”

He sat up suddenly, the bottle falling to the floor with a loud clink, and leaned in closer to you—way too close. His face was inches from yours, his breath heavy with alcohol. “I like you.”

The words hit you like a freight train. You froze, staring into his glassy eyes, waiting for him to laugh it off, to smirk and say it was all a joke. But he didn’t. He just stayed there, staring at you, like he was waiting for you to say something.

“Dabi… you’re drunk,” you whispered, trying to wrap your head around what he’d just said.

“Doesn’t mean I’m lying,” he shot back, and there was a strange, almost desperate edge to his voice. “I like you. A lot. And you’re just sitting here, pretending like you don’t know.”

Your heart was racing now, pounding in your chest. You didn’t know what to say, how to respond. Dabi? Liking you? He always kept his distance from everyone, including you. But now, here he was, pouring his heart out in the middle of a drunken haze.

“Why didn’t you ever say anything?” you asked quietly, trying to keep your voice steady.

He slumped back against the couch, running a hand through his messy hair. “I don’t know. ‘Cause I’m an idiot? ‘Cause you’d laugh at me? Or worse, you’d just… ignore me. Like you always do.”

“I don’t ignore you,” you said softly, feeling a pang of guilt. “I just didn’t know.”

“Well, now you do,” he muttered, his voice barely above a whisper.

There was a long, heavy silence between you both. You didn’t know what to say, how to react. You liked him too—of course you did. But you never thought he’d feel the same way. And now, sitting here, watching him sulk like a wounded animal, you couldn’t help but smile.

“You’re such a baby when you’re drunk,” you teased, trying to lighten the mood.

“Am not,” he mumbled, crossing his arms over his chest like a petulant child. “I just don’t know how to do this.”

“Do what?”

“Talk about feelings,” he said, scrunching his nose in disgust like the word itself was poison. “It’s stupid.”

You laughed softly. “No, it’s not stupid. But you’re not really good at it, huh?”

“Shut up,” he muttered, but there was no bite to it.

He shifted uncomfortably on the couch, pulling his legs up and resting his chin on his knees like a sulking child. “I don’t wanna do it anymore,” he muttered, voice barely audible.

You raised an eyebrow, stifling a giggle. “Do what?”

“Feelings,” he whined, his voice almost a whine. “I hate them. Stupid… feelings.”

You couldn’t help but laugh at the way he sounded—like a little kid pouting about having to do chores. “Yeah, well, we all have ‘em. So, tough luck.”

Dabi groaned, letting his head fall back against the couch cushion. “I wish everything was made of clouds.”

You blinked at the random comment. “Clouds?”

“Yeah,” he mumbled, his eyes closing as if he were drifting off. “Soft… fluffy clouds. Like cotton candy.”

You smiled, sitting back, watching him. It was almost hard to believe that the tough, ruthless Dabi was sitting here, talking about cotton candy clouds. But maybe it was the alcohol loosening him up, letting him be more honest, more… childish.

“And what would you do if everything was made of clouds?” you asked, indulging him.

“I’d sleep,” he muttered, sounding serious. “Forever. No more stupid people. No more… feelings.”

You shook your head, still smiling. “You’re ridiculous.”

He shifted slightly, cracking one eye open to look at you. “You’d come with me. To the clouds.”

You froze for a second, surprised by the sudden tenderness in his voice. “I would?”

“Yeah,” he said, his voice quieter now, more vulnerable. “I wouldn’t leave you behind. I like you, remember?”

Your heart fluttered at his words, but before you could say anything, he was already drifting off, his head lolling to the side as sleep started to overtake him. His breathing slowed, the tension in his body easing as he finally succumbed to exhaustion.

You sat there for a while, just watching him sleep. He looked so different when he wasn’t scowling or fighting. His face was softer, more peaceful. And for the first time, you could see the boy he used to be—the boy who probably wished for cotton candy clouds and simple things, before the world turned him into Dabi.

As you stood up to grab a blanket to throw over him, he stirred, mumbling something under his breath.

“Endeavor’s kid…”

You froze mid-step, your heart skipping a beat. What?

You turned back to him, staring at his sleeping form. Had you heard that right?

“Dabi?” you whispered softly, but he didn’t respond.

You shook your head, trying to push aside the thought, but it lingered like a stubborn shadow. There was so much about him you didn’t know—so much that lay beneath that hardened exterior. But for tonight, you’d let it go. You’d let him be just Dabi, the boy who liked clouds and cotton candy, the boy who needed someone to care about him.

As you covered him with the blanket, you smiled softly, hoping that maybe tomorrow, he’d remember everything. Or maybe he wouldn’t, and you’d just have to help him with that too. Either way, you were here for him—always.

As dawn broke over the horizon, soft rays of sunlight spilled through the cracks of the old windows, bathing the room in a warm glow. You stirred awake, blinking against the light, your mind slowly piecing together the remnants of the previous night. It felt surreal, almost like a dream—a haze of laughter, Dabi’s unexpected confession, and the strange way he’d let his guard down.

Glancing over, you found him sprawled across the couch, still asleep, the blanket you had draped over him now bunched around his waist. He looked peaceful, almost serene, without the usual scowl etched across his face. For a moment, you just watched him, feeling a mix of affection and concern.

“Dabi,” you whispered, nudging his shoulder gently. “Hey, wake up.”

He groaned, rolling over, pulling the blanket tighter around him. “Five more minutes,” he mumbled, his voice muffled.

You couldn’t help but chuckle. “It’s already morning. You can’t hide from reality forever.”

He cracked one eye open, squinting at you like a cat caught in the sunlight. “What time is it?”

“Too early for your liking,” you teased, leaning back against the wall, arms crossed. “But it’s time to face the music.”

His brow furrowed slightly, confusion crossing his features. “What are you talking about?”

You could feel your heart race a little, not wanting to bring up last night just yet. “You know… life stuff. Things to do. People to annoy.”

He groaned again, sitting up slowly, the blanket slipping off his shoulders. “Ugh, I have the worst headache,” he muttered, eyes still bleary. “Did I really drink that much?”

You nodded, fighting back a laugh. “Yeah, you did. You were quite the spectacle, you know.”

He ran a hand through his hair, his expression shifting from sleepy annoyance to sudden realization. “Wait. Did I… say anything stupid last night?”

“Depends on what you consider ‘stupid,’” you said, teasingly. “There was a lot of cotton candy and clouds involved.”

He groaned again, burying his face in his hands. “Oh no. What else did I say?”

You paused for a moment, the memory of his confession hanging heavily in the air. “Well… you did mention something about liking me.”

Dabi froze, his hands dropping to his lap, a look of horror spreading across his features. “You can’t be serious.”

“I am serious,” you replied, trying to gauge his reaction. “You said you liked me a lot.”

He stared at you for what felt like an eternity, his mouth opening and closing as if he were trying to form words. “I was drunk,” he muttered, sounding defensive. “That doesn’t count.”

“Is that how you feel, though?” you asked, leaning forward slightly, trying to meet his gaze. “Because you didn’t seem to be lying.”

He averted his eyes, looking anywhere but at you. “I… I don’t know,” he finally admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. “I don’t do this. I don’t talk about feelings.”

“I know,” you said softly, your heart aching for him. “But you don’t have to. Just be honest with yourself. It’s okay to like someone, Dabi.”

He looked up at you, and for a moment, the fierce, hardened façade cracked just enough to show the vulnerability beneath. “Nice, huh?”

“Yeah,” you smiled, squeezing his knee gently. “You don’t have to be tough all the time. You can let me see the real you.”

Dabi sighed, running a hand through his hair again. “Fine. Maybe I do like you. A little.”

Your heart raced at his admission, a rush of warmth flooding through you. “You’re not just saying that because you were drunk, right?”

“No,” he replied earnestly, his gaze unwavering. “I mean it. I like you. A lot.”

As the morning wore on, you both navigated the awkwardness of the situation, but there was an undeniable tension in the air. Dabi was still himself—grumpy and a bit rough around the edges—but there was something different now. You could see a flicker of hope in his eyes, a glimpse of something more beneath his usual bravado.

“Alright, tough guy,” you said, breaking the silence. “What’s the plan for today?”

He scratched the back of his head, looking thoughtful. “I guess we could go grab coffee. I owe you for last night.”

“Only if you promise not to make it weird,” you teased.

“Me? Weird?” He feigned shock, but the corner of his mouth quirked up in a smirk. “No promises.”

You laughed, feeling the tension ease just a bit. As you both got ready for the day, you couldn’t shake the feeling that something had shifted between you—an unspoken understanding, a bond that felt more solid than before.

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sister-lucifer · 8 months ago

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What Do The Magic Items Do?

Did you see this poll? Curious to finally find out what your gift does? The wait is over! Here’s what your mundanely helpful magic items do:

Glass Rose 🥀

You’ve been given a beautiful glass rose! When you set it on the window sill to be displayed, the sun filters through it’s delicate glass petals and shines mysterious runes onto the floor and walls surrounding it. Your home is now imbued with plant magic; never again will a house plant, succulent or flower wilt on your watch, and never again will your fruit trees be barren!

Ancient Tome 📖

You’ve been given a dusty ancient tome! The moment it touches your fingers, you can feel its power coursing through you. The veil between life and death has been lifted in your eyes only. You can now see, communicate with, and sense the spirits all around you, in your home and the earth itself. They aren’t all that interested in most small talk, but they give great advice. Listen to them and spread their wisdom! After all, no one understands life like the dead.

Quill Pen 🪶

You’ve been given an authentic quill pen! When you sit down to use it for the first time, you find yourself working with passion and fervor like never before. It’s as if your hand moves with a mind of its own! Never again will you have to battle art or writer’s block, nor will you be dissatisfied that your creation does not compare to the vision. Go forth, and create!

Sea Glass 🌊

You’ve been given a smooth piece of sea glass! When you take it into your hands, you immediately feel a sense of calm flow through you from the glass itself. The spirit of the ocean soothes you, melting away all of the day’s stress and allowing you to complete that task you’ve been putting off for days. If you listen closely, you may even hear the faint sound of a siren song that has been imprinted on the glass itself!

Blank Scroll 📜

You’ve been given a mysteriously blank scroll! When you take hold of it, it doesn’t immediately do anything, but the next time you wonder aloud where a lost object is, it starts to glow. In a moment an image of the object’s location has formed, and the closer you get to it, the brighter it glows. Never again will you spend hours searching for a hair tie or the cap that fell off your drink bottle or that one specific sweater!

Golden Bracelet 💛

You’ve been gifted a priceless golden bracelet! Never again will you be left without the proper outfit or accessory for an event. This magic piece of jewelry can transform into anything that can be worn; earrings, a dress, shoes, what have you, and it knows exactly what you need for that special night out. You’ll forget what it’s like to feel underdressed!

Bejeweled Dagger 🗡️

You’ve been given a wonderful bejeweled dagger! The impossibly strong metal of its blade can cut through anything except flesh. Duct tape, annoying clothing tags, plastic packaging, none of it will ever slow you down now, and never again will you have to explain the embarrassing story of how you sliced your hand open while trying to get the Amazon box open!

Preserved Moth Wings 🦋

You’ve been given a perfectly preserved pair of moth wings! They’re frozen in their resin case, but their magic is not lost. Clumsiness and a heavy-handed nature are no longer your foes. Never again will you accidentally swipe something off a shelf or make the embarrassing mistake of running directly into a countertop while visiting someone’s house. You’re as light as a moth!

Obsidian Mirror 🪞

You’ve been gifted a spotless obsidian mirror! Do you have memory problems? Do you often forget important objects, events, or tasks? Are you often frustrated because you know you’re forgetting something, but you don’t know what? Not anymore, you don’t! When you hold this mirror in your hands and stare into it, it shows you a vision of what you’re forgetting. It also functions as a regular mirror, which is pretty helpful too!

Vial of Glowing Liquid 🧪

You’ve been given a small vial of glowing liquid! If you often find yourself too indecisive, tired, or short on time to make food, this little bottle is going to be your best friend. Just a drop on a plate will instantly transform into the meal you’ve been craving; steak cooked exactly how you like, a PB&J without that one bite that’s just peanut butter! No more fighting sensory issues or a lack of energy just to have a meal. And don’t worry, it’s magic, the vial will never empty!

Antique Pocket Watch 🕰️

You’ve been given a hand crafted antique pocket watch! If you’re often scrambling to meet a deadline or finish that awful task when there’s just not enough time, this magic watch will take a weight off your shoulders. Just click the button once and instantly circumstances will warp in your favor. Your boss just extended that deadline! Your friend wants to come over for dinner, they’ll help you do the dishes in half the time! Sometimes life just goes too fast, everyone needs a bit more time now and then!

20 Sided Die 🎲

You’ve been gifted an ornate 20 sided die! Except…all the sides are blank? That is, until you ask a question and give it a good roll. In an instant the die will come up with advice to aid you in your endeavors! Whether you need to choose between two amazing outfits or figure out how to gently reject that guy from the supply store, this little roller always has just the thing.

What object did you get? How will you use it? And most importantly, will you use it wisely?

#magic #fantasy

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leslie057 · 2 months ago

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penbleed;

pairings: jonathan/nancy

rating: light teen (swearing + mild sex references)

word count: 2.4k (chapter 1)

read on ao3

@jancyweeks day 1: history - her diary as a personal history + a bonus history test incident

𝒩𝑜𝓋𝑒𝓂𝒷𝑒𝓇 16, 1984

—

𝑀𝓎 𝓆𝓊𝑒𝓈𝓉𝒾𝑜𝓃 𝒾𝓈 𝒽𝑜𝓌. Actually, how do you forget an exam? Actually. How did I forget? And it’s not even that I forgot, it’s that I never knew. I am still so mad but not as mad as I was. Genuinely have no clue why we were not given verbal reminders for that history test. That stupid little secret of a test, that fucking sub rosa fucking social experiment of a thing to see who looks at her minuscule writing under the date on the board every day! Just tell us. Need it. Out loud. This is crazy arrogant and borderline disgusting of me to say, but she doesn't have a better student than me and I deserved better. It was like a setup. Of course I was taking notes, of course I was listening, of course a lot of it was prior knowledge. It’s the history of America and I’m not an idiot. I just thought a test would be coming up after the break, not before.

I mean it’s all been worked out now, though.

But it makes me upset, because where was my head? No, I know where it was, my head was here with me. I was simply using it for its escape function. Wild how my ears can be turned on, and my pen will be going and going and going in perfect time with the lesson, but mentally I’m reliving whatever I want to relive. Or don’t want to relive. I’ve been like this since last year. Stuck inside my skull and cannot climb out. Don’t wanna climb out because sometimes I need to be there, it’s nice in there. Sometimes not nice. I brought this up to Jonathan, he said yes he does understand. Shocker. The difference is he’s been in his head for the last sixteen years, and he doesn’t continually think all the awful things that I think. He’s good and decent and he’s sweet and he’s built a strange, adorable habitat up there for song lyrics and checklists and worries. He does so much in one day. I don’t love his work schedule. Working on Friday nights, God. Then at home he does, like, budgeting and reads their bills and shit? I wouldn’t have time to steep in hate for Mrs. Kincannon, either. (He doesn’t hate her. That’s me.) Not that he’s dealing with his trauma or whatever, our trauma, I don’t know, he isn’t. Still, because his many responsibilities burn up the majority of his mental energy, he doesn’t seem to follow the spirals I follow. At least not when the sun's out. He’s a dramatic pessimist, my dramatic pessimist, oh that was fun to write, but I would assume his internal voice has more of a filter mechanism than mine. Could be a self-preservation thing.

Who knows. But, yeah, neurogymnastics. Neurogymnastics to get me through my day. Each week is a series of extreme highs and extreme lows, lows that I just administer my fantasies to until something new happens. It’s good in the moment. Later I realize that I’ve missed things, spaced out, fell short, and I get all guilty. I feel hypocritical. I’ve fought for my life, why am I not training myself to live it well again. I’m rushing through things because they’re hard. I want to be successful, and this is not the path to success. The pressure is off me and yet all over me. Maybe I shouldn’t care about school, knowing what I know about the flimsiness of this dimension’s edges. Sounds clinically insane. Not ever going to be sure what to do with the fact that I’ve seen a parallel plane, that I was really there. I wish I didn’t care about school. I do care less about it than I did freshman and sophomore year. My grades are forever important to me, but there’s currently a big disconnect between my habits and my academic goals. When I’m at school, I fantasize about it being over. When I’ve set aside time to work, I can’t get through it and I go to my boyfriend. Maybe I am a bad student. Right now. I am. Hard to care about history since I’ve got a lot I would rather focus on. So, right, there are a lot of coercive acts I could be learning about if my teacher calmed down and gave me free time to coerce him. Sorry.

I cannot stop thinking about what I was able to

How he knew about the test is beyond me. He’s missed more days, he’s had more distractions, he’s more susceptible to distractions, and to top everything off he’s on possession watch. You know, just making those frequent check-ins with Will. I don’t know what that would look like. I guess you just ask him how he’s feeling, try to gauge the honesty. I would never ever say this but it seems likely to me that Will is still being…communicated with. Accessed. Scary sounds in his ears or something. Sensations. It’s not like he’d say anything! He’s like this meek little mouse, he could actively be experiencing organ rupture and wouldn’t make a sound. This is terrible, but being at their house does scare me every now and then. In a ticking time bomb sort of way. Is their family not kind of cursed? Then I get kissed and forget where I am anyway, so nothing matters. No complaints overall, it is a very nice place for a slumber party.

My reaction last night was the most embarrassing. How I went from zero to a hundred that fast, how we went from squeaky bed springs and my proposed hickey competition (hate that this is in writing now, but context needed—also I was in a competitive mood yesterday) (he was not) to me whining and crying and essentially hyperventilating because I didn’t understand why he would mention a test when we didn’t have a test. I hate my emotions being played with and all of that bullshit. For some reason I’ve always been on the receiving end of that haven’t I? With boys in our class. Middle school, junior high, that kind of timeframe. At one point I could have convinced myself I was being flirted with. It’s a no, because “all statements.” All pines are conifers, but not all conifers are pines. So all interested boys will tease, but not all the boys that tease are interested. They really were just that eager to let me know my body wasn’t up to par for our age bracket. Pal, are we not eleven and twelve. I cannot be Catwoman for you.

I’m told I’m pretty now, so I’ll count it as a win.

Anyway, Jonathan was not playing with my emotions, and we did have a test. We did. When my panic set in, it was bad. The pressure was building up in my chest, I thought I was in danger of dry drowning. My GPA is literally the only thing I ever feel in control of. In my arms were two options, have an absolutely miserable fucking Thursday night or risk baby’s first F on her transcript. But then he just looked at me, calm as ever, and said, “Why can’t you ask for an extension? I want you to ask her for an extension, okay?” Which I should have come up with on my own. I don’t know why, but hearing him say that was like. Insane. Made everything feel lighter, light as a feather. He doesn’t do this for himself, but for me—he zooms out, he figures out a way to make things less daunting. He can be so positive when it's a problem of mine on the table instead of his, and I'm like who are you, I love you. I usually have no problem cheating systems, swinging things in a way that's better for me, but requesting an extension? My pride lies in academics, I'm aware of that, I don’t often ask for help there. Want to accomplish things without accommodations being made for me. Meanwhile, school stuff is some of the only stuff Jonathan is willing to seek out help with. He has to. He can't afford to not get help. Not like he can spend an entire evening on one little section of an assignment when he needs to be clocked in at work for five hours. In conclusion, he talks to our instructors more than our peers. I have to respect a teacher's pet.

So, I took his advice. However tricky extensions may be. Kincannon is also tricky. Her iron will and everything. You’re not gonna get one if you always ask. You’re not gonna get one if you haven’t already established yourself as a trustworthy kid. You’re not gonna get one for being an athlete. I wasn’t convinced of the plan at first since she dress coded my mid-thigh skirt last week and had to tell me, on a few occasions, to stop chatting with/distracting my boyfriend. Him being in the picture was so in my favor, though, because he seriously might be her favorite. Personally I wanna say it’s gross; it makes her feel good about herself to cosset sensitive, troubled teens that she wouldn’t give a shit about otherwise. Like, you’re not his mommy, but I’m way off topic.

We got up incredibly early this morning. We made her a tiny consolation coffee with cream and cinnamon, pulled up at 6:25 I want to say it was? And the conversation was ace. He had messed up my hair a little to hint at a sleepless night, coached me on how to look pitiful when we were in the car. I really hope I didn’t mishear him mumble something about puppy eyes. He was very tired. I stayed as honest as possible, that’s what he wanted from me. I told her I was having a rough time, that grief keeps getting in my way of things. I talked to her about my selective hearing issue. I said I’m an oral learner, I needed verbal reminders, and I said school means so much to me. Hesitantly I pointed out that Jonathan and I are still getting used to our new relationship, and maybe if our assigned seats were adjacent I wouldn't have to get up to talk to him. She was slightly passive-aggressive, but she was understanding. Then I found out I would be testing Monday. New test, just for me. There was something so ridiculous and fun about sitting in class this morning, reading while everyone else suffered. After, I couldn’t stop apologizing to Jonathan for freaking out. He said I didn’t freak out, I reacted, and he suggested I go easier on myself. That distinction felt huge, really huge.

Right now, I'm desperate to preserve that feeling of lightness, but I’m mad at myself and furious in general. In hindsight I should have savored being comforted a little more, but I was busy having half a meltdown. I’m sure I’ll get to hear one of those soft pep talks the next time something doesn’t go my way. I have so much studying to do, especially since my Special Nancy Test is all writing. I’ve got it, though. I’m fine. Angry but also happy and fine. This will never happen again. I won’t let it happen again.

—

“Uh oh,” Jonathan suddenly murmurs to himself on her bed.

She swivels at her small desk, not fully ready to turn her attention away from her entry. “Hmm?”

“Sorry, no, you can keep writing.”

“But why uh oh?”

There's his gentle huff, his eyes flicking upward in annoyance. He holds a necklace she'd tasked him with untangling using tweezers. Its old, delicate chain was in no less than six billion knots. Somehow he’s the only one in the world who has the patience for this. She sure as hell doesn't have the patience for it. "I'm scared I'm about to break it."

“Break it? Please don’t Jonathan,” she begs on impulse.

“It’s just really far gone. I’m trying.”

And he is. He’s been sitting quietly for as long as she’s been writing. So—long time. She sort of forgot about him over there. “Sorry, I know, I know you are," she says.

He’s silent.

“You’ve been cleaning up a lot of my messes lately, huh?”

She flips over her journal, nudges it away from the table’s edge, and approaches him. From her desk she couldn’t see the glow of afternoon sunlight streaming onto her quilt. Very pretty. Her personal jewelry surgeon sits there in the middle, equally pretty, possibly feeling neglected. He’s gone the full nine yards here. Pushed up his sweater sleeves, swiped her reading glasses, set out a few safety pins and needles as his supplementary tools. He looks sleepy, the brown of his eyes lighter in the path of the sun.

Her arms are behind her back until they’re not, and she crawls on top of him. He absently places the necklace on her flattest throw pillow.

“I said you’re fixing a lot of my messes.”

“I mean…not really.” He’s blushing already, hands awkwardly grasping for purchase at her hips so that he won't get pressed back too hard into the poles of her bed frame's headboard. “If I am, I don’t mind.”

Her lips cushion against this little spot on his jaw that’s so sensitive it kills him, sucking carefully. The action might have the same effect on her that it does him; her heart jumps, swings wide, threatens to capsize in the wet of her chest. It’s that familiar adrenaline response, the uncontrollable energy spike she always gets alongside the realization of oh, we’re touching! She sighs into his skin, and he shudders, a pathetic sound of bliss escaping his throat.

“Okay, well don't start drooling,” she quips. Kisses his pulse point, spittily.

He mumbles something unintelligible, so she keeps on keeping on, shifting her weight back and forth, trying to make the most of the time they have and get some good play in while she can. She’ll have to kick him out soon. She’ll have to study in complete isolation. She dips back, and he follows, she leans forward, and he pulls her closer. “Said I need an extension,” he manages, repeating what she didn’t catch.

“What?”

“If you’re gonna do all this, I need an extension on my necklace project.”

Well, that is definitely going in the diary.

#jancy fic #jancyweek2024 #*fic #stranger things fic #jonathan x nancy #ao3 #fanfiction #jonathan byers #nancy wheeler #diary #i really brought out the weirdgirl in her this is sooo incoherent

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drewharrisonwriter · 4 months ago

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One Day at a Time - Ch. 3: A Busy Day

Pairings: Dave York x Female Reader

Series Summary: A man washed ashore, with no memory, and no name, finds a home and a life in the middle of nowhere.

Author's Notes: This story has been sitting in my drafts for over a year, waiting for the perfect moment to see the light of day. It wasn't until recently that I found the inspiration to finally finish the last two chapters, thanks to the incredible Keri @absurdthirst. Her story, "Washed Up," struck a chord with me—it had such a similar plot and concept to what I had in mind, and it reignited my passion to bring this piece to life. Keri's writing has been a constant source of solace and inspiration, and I'm endlessly grateful for her creativity and the way she crafts stories that speak to the soul. If you haven’t checked out her work, you absolutely should!

Warnings: Please be aware that this story contains elements of violence, explicit sexual content, and pregnancy. Additionally, there are medical inaccuracies throughout—because I don’t work in the medical field, so please take it all with a grain of salt. Enjoy the ride, and thank you for reading! 😊

Read this on AO3 | Check out my Masterlist

The morning sun filtered through the curtains, casting a warm glow over Dave’s room. You stirred, nestled against his chest, the steady rhythm of his heartbeat a comforting sound in the early light. For a moment, everything felt peaceful, almost surreal, as you recalled the events of the previous night—how naturally things had unfolded between you, how right it had felt to be with him.

But the tranquility was short-lived. The distant sound of commotion from outside gradually pulled you from your reverie. You frowned, sitting up slightly, straining to hear. It was the animals—something wasn’t right.

“Do you hear that?” you asked, your voice tinged with concern as you looked over at Dave.

He was already awake, his brow furrowed as he listened. “Yeah… sounds like trouble.”

You quickly slipped out of bed, throwing on your clothes as you headed for the door. Dave was right behind you, pulling on his pants and a shirt before following you outside.

The scene that greeted you was chaotic. The chickens had somehow gotten out of their coop, scattering across the yard, while one of the cows had wandered too close to the fence, its head stuck between the slats as it tried to reach for some grass on the other side.

“Oh no,” you muttered, running a hand through your hair as you assessed the situation. “How did this happen?”

“Doesn’t matter,” Dave said, his voice calm but firm. “Let’s just get things under control.”

Together, you sprang into action. You grabbed a bucket of feed, using it to coax the chickens back into the coop while Dave worked to free the cow from the fence. It was a hectic start to the day, the two of you working side by side, but despite the stress, you couldn’t help but notice how seamlessly you and Dave functioned as a team.

“Got it,” Dave grunted, finally managing to free the cow. The animal gave a disgruntled moo before lumbering back to the pasture.

“Thanks,” you called over, catching your breath as you secured the coop door, the last of the chickens safely inside. “I don’t know what I would’ve done without you.”

He flashed you a small, tired smile, wiping the sweat from his brow. “Glad to help. Besides, I think I owe you after last night.”

You chuckled, shaking your head. “I think we’re even.”

As the morning wore on, you both found yourselves immersed in the tasks of the day. There was always something to do on the farm, whether it was tending to the animals, checking the vegetable garden, or handling the endless paperwork that came with running the place. Normally, the routine was comforting, but today felt different—busier, more intense, like there was an undercurrent of tension that neither of you could quite place.

By the time the afternoon sun was high in the sky, you noticed Dave beginning to slow down. His movements were more deliberate, his expression pinched as if he was in pain.

“You okay?” you asked, pausing in your work to look at him.

He nodded, but the slight grimace on his face told a different story. “Just a headache,” he said, trying to brush it off. “I’ll be fine.”

But as the day wore on, it became clear that this was more than just a simple headache. Dave’s condition worsened, the pain in his head growing more intense, his hand occasionally pressing against his temple as if trying to hold the pain at bay. You caught him stumbling slightly, his breath coming in short, sharp gasps as he tried to steady himself.

“Dave, you need to rest,” you insisted, concern lacing your voice. “You don’t look good.”

“I’m fine,” he tried to argue, but the strain in his voice was evident.

“No, you’re not,” you said firmly, moving closer to him. “Come on, let’s get you inside.”

Reluctantly, he let you guide him back to the house, his steps unsteady as you led him to the couch. By the time you got him to sit down, he was pale, sweat beading on his forehead as he squeezed his eyes shut against the pain.

“What’s happening?” he muttered, his voice barely above a whisper. “Why does it hurt so much?”

You didn’t have an answer, panic rising in your chest as you grabbed your phone and called for an ambulance. “It’s going to be okay,” you said, trying to keep your voice calm. “Help is on the way.”

As you waited, you sat beside him, holding him against your chest, feeling helpless as he fought against the pain. He didn’t say much, his breaths coming in shallow pants, but you could see the confusion and fear in his eyes.

When the paramedics arrived, they quickly assessed his condition, noting the severity of his symptoms. “We need to get him to the hospital,” one of them said, motioning for the stretcher.

You followed them to the hospital, your heart in your throat as they rushed him inside. The doctors took over, running tests, asking questions you didn’t have answers to. All you could do was wait, pacing the sterile hallway, praying for good news.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, a doctor approached you, his expression serious but not without hope. “He’s stable for now,” he said. “But we need to keep him for a few days to monitor his condition. He’s experiencing severe migraines, which could be a result of past trauma.”

“Past trauma?” you echoed, your voice trembling slightly.

The doctor nodded. “It’s possible that the migraines are being triggered by something in his past—memories that his brain is trying to process. We’ll need to keep him under observation to see how he responds.”

You nodded, the weight of his words sinking in. “Can I see him?”

“Of course,” the doctor said, leading you to his room.

When you entered, Dave was lying in bed, his eyes closed, a look of exhaustion etched on his face. You approached quietly, taking a seat beside him, your hand resting on the edge of the bed.

“Hey,” you said softly when he stirred, his eyes blinking open slowly.

“Hey,” he murmured, his voice hoarse. “Sorry about… all this.”

“Don’t apologize,” you said, giving him a small, reassuring smile. “The doctors say you’re going to be fine. They just need to keep you here for a few days.”

He nodded weakly, his gaze distant, as if he was lost in thought. “I keep seeing… flashes,” he said after a moment, his brow furrowing. “Like… memories. But they’re all jumbled. I don’t know what’s real and what’s not.”

“What kind of memories?” you asked gently, leaning closer.

He shook his head, wincing slightly at the motion. “It’s hard to describe. There’s… a tower, I think. And a fight. Someone was there, someone… dangerous. But it’s all blurry, like a dream that’s slipping away.”

You listened, your heart aching for him as he struggled to make sense of the images in his mind. “Do you recognize anyone in these memories?”

He hesitated, his eyes narrowing as he tried to focus. “Maybe… I don’t know. It’s like trying to grasp smoke. Every time I think I’ve got it, it just… disappears.”

You reached out, taking his hand in yours. “It’s okay. Don’t push yourself too hard.”

He looked at you, his eyes searching yours for reassurance. “What if… what if these memories are bad? What if they’re things I don’t want to remember?”

You squeezed his hand gently, offering him a comforting smile. “They’re still a part of your past that might help you remember the rest….”

He nodded slowly, his grip on your hand tightening slightly. “Thanks… for being here. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

You stayed with him as long as the hospital allowed, but eventually, you had to leave, promising to return the next day. The ride home was a blur, your mind occupied with worry for Dave and the strange flashes of memories he’d described.

In the rush and stress of the day, with everything happening so fast, the Plan B pill slipped your mind completely. Between worrying about Dave and dealing with the chaos on the farm, it simply didn’t cross your thoughts again as you made your way home.

The next few days passed in a haze of worry and exhaustion. You visited Dave everyday, but each time you saw him, it seemed like he was slipping further away, lost in the maze of his own mind. The doctors assured you that his condition was improving, but the frustration of not knowing what was real and what wasn’t weighed heavily on both of you.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Dave was cleared to go home. The ride back to the farm was quiet, both of you lost in your own thoughts. When you finally arrived, the familiar sights and sounds of the farm seemed to have calmed the man sitting beside you in the car.

That evening, after settling back home, you both found yourselves sitting on the porch, the sky painted in hues of orange and pink as the sun dipped below the horizon. The silence between you was comfortable, but there was an undercurrent of something unspoken—something that had been lingering since Dave’s return from the hospital earlier that day.

Dave finally broke the silence, his voice low and thoughtful. “You know… I’ve been thinking. Maybe what happened between us, that night… maybe it triggered something in my head.”

You turned to him, curiosity and concern mingling in your gaze. “What do you mean?”

He hesitated, his eyes distant as they fixed on the treeline in the fading light. “When I was in the hospital, I told you that I started getting these flashes—like memories, but they were all mixed up. There was this one… a tower, a fight… It felt real, but at the same time, it was like a bad dream. And it keeps repeating…”

You bit your lip, unsure of how to respond. “Do you remember anything specific? Anyone?”

He shook his head, a flicker of frustration crossing his features. “Not really. Just… fragments. Faces I can’t place, voices that I recognize but can’t make out the words. It’s like trying to put together a puzzle with missing pieces.”

You reached out, placing your hand gently on his. “That must have been terrifying.”

He nodded, his thumb brushing over your knuckles in a soothing rhythm. “It was. But what scared me the most was that I don’t know if those are real memories, or if they’re just my mind playing tricks on me.”

You squeezed his hand a little tighter, offering him a warm, encouraging smile. “Whatever they are, they don’t define who you are now. You’re here, and you’re safe. That’s what matters.”

His gaze finally met yours, the hardness in his expression softening. “You always know what to say, don’t you?”

You chuckled softly, a hint of self-deprecation in your tone. “I try. But I’m serious, John… Whatever those flashes are—if they are really memories—good or bad, they’re just pieces of the past. They don’t have to control or define your present and your future.”

He was quiet for a moment, mulling over your words. “I guess I’m just worried,” he admitted, his voice barely a whisper. “What if remembering changes the way I feel about everything? About us?”

Your heart swelled with a mix of emotions as you held his gaze, your eyes searching his for understanding. “Then we’ll deal with it when it happens. But right now, we’re here. And I care about you… a lot.”

A small, tentative smile tugged at his lips. “I care about you too. More than I thought I could, given… well, everything.” You both chuckled, the sound lightening the mood just a bit, a shared acknowledgment of the complicated history between you.

You leaned in closer, your voice soft and tender. “Then let’s not let fear of the unknown ruin what we have right now. We’ll take it one day at a time, remember?”

He nodded, his expression relaxing as he gently pulled you into his arms. “Yeah… one day at a time.”

As you rested your head against his chest, you felt the steady, reassuring beat of his heart beneath your ear. The worries and uncertainties were still there, hovering in the background, but for now, you were content to let them be, trusting in the moment. You closed your eyes, savoring the warmth of his embrace, the feeling of being held so close, so securely.

But then, as the quiet deepened and the night settled in around you, Dave tilted your chin up, his gaze searching yours with a newfound intensity. The air between you seemed to thicken, charged with a tension that neither of you had acknowledged until now.

Slowly, he leaned in, his breath ghosting over your lips as he hesitated for just a fraction of a second, as if giving you the chance to pull away. But you didn’t. Instead, you closed the distance, pressing your lips to his in a kiss that was as tender as it was filled with unspoken promise.

When you finally parted, breathless and slightly dazed, you kept your foreheads pressed together, your eyes fluttering open to meet his. The unspoken words, the fears, the hopes—they all hung in the air between you, but the kiss had said more than words ever could.

“You know,” you began with a teasing smile, “the last time we started making out like this, you ended up in the hospital the next day. Maybe we should put a warning label on our kisses.”

Dave laughed, the sound rumbling in his chest. “Oh, so that’s how it is, huh? You’re saying kissing is bad now?”

You grinned, poking him lightly in the ribs. “I’m just saying, I’d like to keep you out of the ER for a while. Can’t have you back there… the nurses swoon over you...”

He shook his head, a playful glint in his eyes as he leaned in closer, his lips hovering just above yours. “Well, maybe I should kiss you again, and if I do end up back in the hospital, kiss me again… in front of the nurses.”

You raised an eyebrow, feigning skepticism. “Wow, that’s pretty bold!” You laughed.

His smile widened, his voice dropping to a low, teasing whisper. “Oh, that’s something I want to do.”

Before you could respond, he captured your lips in another kiss, this one filled with a light-hearted passion that made your heart skip a beat.

Any lingering tension melted away as you both laughed softly against each other’s lips, the playful banter turning into something sweeter, more intimate.

Next Chapter 👉🏻

#pedro pascal #pedro pascal characters #pedropascal #pedro pascal cinematic universe #pedro pascal fan fiction #pedro pascal fan fic #pedrohub #dave york equalizer #dave york x you #dave york fanfiction #dave york smut #dave york x reader #dave york #equalizer 2 #dave york x f!reader #pedro pascal fanfic #dave york x female reader

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writing-for-life · 2 months ago

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Perspective Requires Being Anchored in Reality

These thoughts were brought on by discussing "The Sound of her Wings" in our community…

I absolutely think Death is worried and tries her best as a sister (that she can’t be anything else than her function is a deeper layer that resurfaces many times over the whole run, and that’s of course also a valid discussion to be had).

It’s the reason why I personally don't think it’s warranted to give her a hard time over the tough love approach (but we all see things differently, and maybe that's not a bad thing).

Do we always find the right words? I’m sure most of us are guilty of not being perfect that way, but I also think she made a very valid attempt at trying to refocus him. It is what he needed to hear (sometimes, it is contraindicated to pussyfoot around stuff, and sometimes, we need to word things in a way that is uncomfortable to hear. And of course that can backfire, but so can sugarcoating everything and hanging on to the illusion that if we only find the right words, or don’t speak at all, we’re helping, or by extension, we’re never going to hurt or trigger someone. It’s a harmful kind of concept creep that’s taken hold of what supposedly constitutes “safe” communication, but I digress).

But what we need to hear doesn't always land right, neither is it not prone to being misunderstood, because we are the ones who filter it through our own cognitive bias.

There are no guilty parties in this conversation, neither Dream nor Death. They both are who/what they are. They say what they say and hear what they hear because of that.

Connection

Death reminds Dream of the true value of connection, and he *does* hear it, and he *does* try. It’s just that he is not grounded in reality as she is, because it goes counter to his function. If you’re the personification of all that’s not real, HOW are you holding on to reality? And true connection needs that, and that is the very root of his dilemma…

Death and Dream relate so differently to humans because of this (and they to them), and doorway man is a bit exemplary for that.

gif by @athousandyearstime

Dream is far more “terrible” than Death. Which is half-joke, half-truth. There is probably something about him that is “uncanny valley” to most mortals (plus: being confronted with all that’s darkness and not just light in ourselves is terrifying, but also necessary). They brought that out masterfully in the comics, but we tend to forget about it in the show because, well, he’s played by a human. But it’s still there, and we shouldn’t forget about it. Dream is *not* human, and all the deeper contact he ever has to humans (bar very few) is when they aren’t lucid. Unlike his sister, who literally walks in reality all day, every day, and is there for you when things are as real as they get.

Meeting Dream in reality must be… weird, or potentially unsettling depending on who you are, what your inner world is like. At least judging by the reactions of the people we see in that alley (not just doorway man, the school kids as well). Maybe it’s not like that all the time, but I certainly think he feels it acutely all the time—it’s not that he doesn’t long for connection (it’s so obvious in everything he does) but rather that he can never take it as far as he probably wants to.

In this context, it’s certainly interesting to think about Dream seeing most of his lovers in dreams/the Dreaming—at least most of the time. And that’s also where he has some of his other closest relationships (Lucien/ne and Fiddler’s Green in particular spring to mind, if he were ever to admit he feels close to them). And while one could argue it doesn’t make these relationships any less valuable, they have one thing in common: They don’t play out in reality, and they are failing as soon as they get taken there. And more crucially: The ones that are taking place there have the capacity to hurt him and/or also don’t save him (if we assumed he needed saving—I personally don’t).

The Onslaught of the Collective Unconscious

But there’s another thing: Dream holds the subconscious of every sentient being. He is constantly bombarded with dreams and hopes, with ideas of romantic love and friendship and all that makes us who we are (just talking about humans now because I can’t speak for cats 🤣). But he can’t have it in the same way despite so desperately wanting it (he is the reason the no mortals rule was introduced—let’s not forget that). It must be like dangling that carrot in front of your nose, and the more you try to catch it, the more elusive and frustrating it gets. Because he knows what it’s like without ever being able/allowed to have it. And I think in certain ways, that’s a similar conflict to the one that Death has with life, only that she made peace with it (maybe?) by experiencing mortal life every 100 years.

But what’s the alternative for him?

Give himself a relationship every 100, 1000, 10000 years (insert random interval here)? He does that, but it doesn’t work.

Surround himself with sentient beings in the Dreaming so he’s not so alone (he’s the only one of the siblings who does this, if we don’t count Despair’s rats. Now there’s another thought about Despair, but this is getting too long already)? He does that, but it doesn’t work.

And now we can say, “Dude, you’re lacking perspective!” Yes—yes he does in a way. But that’s the whole point.

Because perspective requires an anchor in reality. And it’s impossible for him to have that perspective, or hold on to it, due to who and what he is—unreality. All the Endless are outliers compared to their siblings in one way or another. And this is unfortunately his outlier status 😩

#the sandman #sandman #dream of the endless #morpheus #death of the endless #sandman meta #the sandman netflix #the sandman comics #sandman analysis #sandman bookclub #sandman book club #queue

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tired-fandom-ndn · 2 years ago

Note

I hope you don’t mind me asking, but I’m curious about what your take is on the claim that ao3 promotes/doesn’t properly regulate racist content. What are your thoughts on that?

Well, to start, the claim that ao3 promotes anything is false. There is no algorithm on ao3; everything is found and filtered by the users, not recommended or promoted. So I tend to see any claims about ao3 "promoting" fics as ignorant of the site's functions at best, deliberately misleading at worst.

In regards to regulation/moderation. . . who is the one deciding what fics are racist and should be removed?

Is it fics where a person of color is assaulted or killed in the story? What about ones that use racial slurs? Would a fic that plays into racist beliefs about a culture or ethnicity be removed and if not, why are those acceptable but other forms of racism aren't? Would fics about historical events be removed? What about general explorations of racism? Stories about racialized violence and hate crimes that are darker than other exploration fics? Where do depictions of racism in a fantasy or scifi setting fit into this?

Would the author be consulted for their opinion and the context over the accusations of racism? Would it make a difference if the author is a person of color? Would they have to prove that they're "allowed" to explore racism in their works?

And again, who is deciding this? Because people of color and other non-white people aren't a monolith and for every single person saying that a trope or story or whatever is racist, there's another person who thinks it's totally fine. People in the same cultures and communities can't even agree on what counts as appropriation when it comes to the use of our sacred cultural artifacts, why would I trust any tiny number of people to decide which fics deserve to exist and which don't? And that's not even getting into how there's so many kinds of racism and so many groups people can and are racist to, we would end up having to depend on people making decisions about what qualifies as racist for communities that they absolutely are not part of and have no authority over.

In terms of things like just adding an archive warnings tag for racism, the only actual purpose that would have is maybe making an author think about whether something in their fic qualifies as a depiction of racism. Otherwise, we have plenty of tags relating to racism that authors already use.

At the end of the day, racism is not going to be solved or curtailed by censoring fucking fanfiction. Racism on ao3 is a reflection of racism irl and the only way to combat it is by fighting racism in our everyday lives, including in fandoms. Fiction will continue to be racist as long as there's racism in society and fanfiction isn't the exception to that.

#Anonymous #ndn tag

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cryscendo · 3 months ago

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i was gonna reply to your comment on my post but i thought id bring the discourse straight to your inbox instead alskfjdslk its not like we're telling teenagers to go out and discover some weird kinks of their own right this second lmao but they absolutely have to learn to be comfortable with the fact that people are going to be into kinky shit they think is weird and thats its not in fact a moral issue and also none of their business lol

like when i was a kid everything was so fucking raunchy and im not saying it was better but everything has to be so fucking sanitized now and thats not good either. when i was a kid online in the 00s people would literally link you to shock porn videos as a joke and that was just an accepted norm. nowadays there are so many ways to tailor your online experience to you and people are just ignoring all these block and filter functions and look at shit they know they dont like and bitch about it when they had every opportunity not to see it

and it goes back to the fucking rocky horror discourse like god forbid youre trying to portray a queer character in a way thats anything other than the most palatable beige blank slate that ever was. god forbid a queer character acts or dresses or looks or behaves in a queer way aksfjsld they want everything to be so fucking boring and palatable to 1) encapsulate every single queer experience on earth in a single piece of media and 2) be tolerable to straight people because theyre under the illusion that there is any acceptable way for a queer person to be to a bigot other than dead. both are a useless endeavor and they need to quit wasting energy on caring about either

like god fandom just feels so bleak nowadays and i know part of it is bc of how fast things move and no one can hold longterm interest in stuff anymore but a huge part of it is how flat out prudish people are all of a sudden

let ships be problematic let queer characters be weird let sex be kinky lmao let fandom by fun again my godddd

sorry for the rant aklsfjkdshfdk i apparently had a lot to say but hey i love you thanks for complaining with me xxxxx

omg i’m so sorry i meant to respond to this earlier than now!!! i saw it originally when i was waking up for work and thought “ooooh she’s making some banger points i’ll respond to that on my break” and then i just… forgot. so here i am now better late than never 🥰

i’ve always had a bit of a problem with the incessant need to sanitize fandom. i’m not saying ppl can’t curate their fandom experience to appeal to their interests, because obviously, they absolutely can. HOWEVER i do think it has become much more policed than it once was.

i think kink, and understanding its place on a fundamental level (especially within queer spaces), is something that takes maturity to fully understand. like with the rocky horror thing, the use of sexuality and kink is inherently different than what a young person of today might perceive it as. it doesn’t particularly surprise me that people are so sensitive to it, because they simply don’t understand their roots — they’ve formed this concept of queerness that pleases them, and therefore find other demonstrations of queerness to be antiquated or “back-pedalling” (even though we both know it isn’t). i think it’s dumb and immature to try to dictate “right and wrong” ways to be queer, but i’m also not all that shocked that it’s happening.

all this to say, queer characters don’t have to fit into the boxes that we deem as “appropriate”. just like how real queer people don’t owe an explanation for who they are, these queer characters don’t HAVE to reflect every queer person that engages with their media.

personally for me, kink is a MASSIVE component of the queer experience. so because of that, i like my favourite bitches to be kinky but that’s just me 😌

absolutely feel free to rant anytime your opinions are literally always correct to me <3

#asks #angelhummel #i could certainly go on with this no doubt #buuuuuut i try to be diplomatic on tumblr #im far LESS diplomatic over dms and such trust and believe lol

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canarysage · 5 months ago

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…color correct an image in photopea?

so, you’ve finally finished a psd. it’s everything you imagined and more. you go to apply it to your image and get…

…well, that. what the fuck, you may be thinking, this looked fine on my tester images! and it probably did! the problem with this image is that it’s just. overbearingly purple.

which may be fine for the image itself, but it doesn’t work for editing purposes. you end up with weird bits (why’s her hair blue? why’s the contrast so low?? what the fuck is happening) and an image that frankly hurts to look at. so, the question remains. how do you turn that into—

—something more like this? well, don’t worry, because i’m canarysage and i make things more confusing instead of less, and i’m here to save your eyes and psds

i. white balancing

if you keep up with photopea for dummies, you probably recognize this term from my post curves for dummies. i’ll go ahead and re-explain it, though.

white balancing is done using either a curves or levels layer—it doesn’t matter which, they both do the same function. i use levels because i don’t have to scroll to reach the eyedroppers on mobile LMFAO but they both do the exact same thing ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

add a levels/curves layer below your psd folder and turn the psd off. look at your image and determine what you think are the darkest and lightest parts—or, if it’s easier, what parts you want to convert to #000000 black and #ffffff white. once you’ve figured that out, go into your levels layer.

see those three squares at the bottom? that’s the important part. first thing i’m going to do is tap that black square. the black square turns whatever color you pick into #00000 black, so i’m going to use the eyedropper it pulls up and select a darker part of my image

for this picture, i selected ena’s pupil, because it’s rather grayish in the original. this will help add some contrast. (also i zoomed in really far because i have shaky hands and wanted to make sure i was “aiming” correctly. you don’t have to do that i’m just insane)

repeat this process with the white square. the white square turns whatever color you pick into #ffffff white, so pick a lighter part of your image. also, for the sake of my sanity, do not choose a skintone when doing that. for the love of god

mega zoom to the rescue again. i picked the whites of her eyes because those look really weird if they’re not white, frankly. other good choices are highlighted areas on objects or things that are already white (like the paper in her sketchpad)

now we’re going to do the gray square. this is the part which is trickiest, so don’t be annoyed if it takes a few tries. choose the color in your image that you want converted to gray—in other colors, figure out which color is most overpowering and select that. i recommend not picking a saturated color for this, because it’ll look—

—really bad. ow, green. i recommend picking a color that’s reasonably close to gray already, but it depends on how much correcting your image actually needs. you just have to eyeball it.

pixels. for this image, i chose the decals on this picture frame in the background; they’re reasonably close to gray but still purple enough to do the correcting i want.

after white balancing, your image should look significantly better already. here’s mine at this stage:

it’s a little strange, but that’s going to be covered by our psd anyway, so don’t worry about it. if your picture still looks really off, you can add a second levels/curves layer and white balance again, and you can just repeat that until it looks how you like it. i’m pretty happy with this, though, so we’re moving on.

ii. photo filter

(photopea refreshed on me so i had to recreate my white balancing, forgive me if it looks inconsistent. let this be a lesson on saving your wips as psds)

okay, step two! this one is way easier, don’t worry. add a photo filter layer above your white balancing layer and below your psd. fair warning, this step requires bare minimum knowledge of color theory—as in, what colors are opposite each other on the color wheel. godspeed

look at your image and figure out what looks off about it. feel free to toggle your psd on and off as you do this, it’ll help. in my case, mine ended up too warm and too saturated. so, to fix this, i’m adding a very low saturation green photo filter

which, obviously, made it… green:

to fix that, we’re just lowering the percentage of the photo filter here. how much you lower it depends on your image and your personal preference, but, for reference, i set mine to about 30%. if you want to, you can mess with blending modes and opacity in this step, but i just left it as is

yay, less green ^_^ like with the white balancing, you can add as many photo filters as you want. i’m real lazy so i’m just doing one, but you can just keep stacking them until your image looks right—sky’s the limit. for me, i’m going to step three:

iii. brightness/contrast

pretty self explanatory. brightness/contrast isn’t a color corrector; it’s a lighting corrector. it adds brightness and contrast, obviously. look at your image again with and without the psd, and figure out what it needs. the psd i’m using for this is pretty dark, so i’m adding brightness and lowering the contrast:

like so. this step can also be accomplished with curves, levels, or exposure, but brightness/contrast is the simplest and least finicky of those options, so i personally prefer it ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

pretty minimal change, but i wanted to demonstrate this step anyway, as it can be pretty important on some images. with that done, time for the last step:

iv. selective color

like all the previous steps, this goes under your psd and above the other layers we’ve added. what exactly you do with selective color once again depends on your image and psd, but what i did was darken my blacks and whites,

very minimally adjust the neutrals,

remove magenta from magenta and add magenta to green,

and remove cyan from my reds and yellows.

which, all in all, gives me this:

which, if you’ll recall, is a far cry from our original image. now, if you turn the psd back on, you’ll get this:

which i consider a marked improvement from what we originally had. these steps can be mimicked on pretty much any image as long you tweak it enough. obviously you’ll have to finagle and adjust depending on your image, but it’s actually pretty easy! observe:

…so that’s how you do it.

#canarysage‚ how do you…?#ʚɞ — tips.

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xamaxenta · 8 months ago

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Marcosabo smoking together its a thing they do

Marco only says it once like, that shitll kill you yoi

And sabo looks up from where hes lit his own cigarette with a snap of his fingers

He looks awful, huge dark circles under his eyes, theyre deep purple and bruised looking, his cheeks hollower than usual and his scar looks particularly mottled and pronounced when cast in the light of the cherry red tip

He shrugs and exhales a thin stream of smoke through his nose “its comforting.” Is all he has to say, mumbles around the filter

Marco gets it. Being a man of flames himself, the Phoenix whets the effects and burns away the impurities, he wonders if the mera mera functions in a similar way, Ace never was the smoking type so he never thought to ask

“You should find better comforts” Marco replies

Sabo doesnt look at him, focusing on something far out in the distance on the sunset horizon from where they stand on the ocean torn cliffs together

Its quiet for a long while, the sound of night critters and crickets singing and chirping, the gentle whip of weather aged fabric fluttering beside them, Sabo brushes a hand over the sun warmed stone, stone that remained warm even on the coldest nights, bare fingers tracing the carved letters of his deceased childhood couldve been—

“Like what.” Its not a question or a demand or anything really.

“A hobby perhaps.” Marco suggests and Sabo smiles, lips curving into something a little mean and a little sardonic “I went out of my way and made the time to visit you on this shitty little island and all you have to say to me is get a hobby?”

“What would you rather have me say?” Marco turns to look at him properly, its their first eye contact since Sabo arrived with his bag of tributes, flowers of course. White roses, sake and a prayer for Newgate, and pink hibiscus, orange firelilies and sunflowers; for Ace.

Sabo says nothing continues to sink his fingertips into the grooves of the letter A and bites down harshly on the filter of his smoke.

“Marco I want you to ask me to stay.” Marco changes his voice, altering it deeper and accenting it in that infuriatingly posh and mocking tone that he often adopts when mimicking Sabos voice

“You know I cant.” Sabo says quietly, feels the heat of his burnt down cigarette dangerously close to his lips, he doesnt care though, if he closes his eyes he can pretend.

“Then what about when its all over?” Marco doesnt sound hopeful

“When its all over? Id be lucky to even be alive when its all over.” He doesnt usually do bleak, but Sabo doesnt expect to see the future hes been fighting so hard for

Marco heaves a great sigh, it comes from his belly and leaves his mouth ashy and smoky.

“I don’t particularly cope well with loss.”

Sabo flinches. Draws his fingers away from Ace’s headstone sharply and looks away. Guilt sinking sharp claws into his stomach and tearing him open from the inside.

Of all the foolish and tactless things he couldve said.

“I dont think this is working out for us.” Is what he says instead.

Instead of sorry

Instead of i didnt mean it

Instead of i love you, i want to come home to you

Marco remains quiet, its too dark now with the sun having fully set a few minutes prior, to figure out what exactly his expression had changed to.

“You made time just so you could break up with me?”

It’s a little ludicrous, when spoken aloud like that.

“This isnt love.” Sabo rasps, that tiny blip of heat sitting just on the tip of his tongue now, he’s tired, its always hard coming here.

“Couldve fooled me.” Marco drawls, his tone betrays nothing but theres a difference in the way he says me, he steps closer regardless.

Sabo cant exactly see him now, refuses to ignite to sate his curiosity, just his general silhouette because the moon tonight is new and the island of Sphinx is very quiet and very dark.

“Here.” Marco proves a personal hypothesis— the phoenix has some kind of night vision— because Sabo has no other theory to explain when Marco finds his hand with ease, threads their fingers together with familiarity, “at least spend the night.”

Before i leave you and this place forever. Sabo doesnt vocalise this.

“And let you have the opening to convince me?” Sabo doesnt pull away

“Im not beneath begging.” Marco replies and Sabo watches his silhouette move, that half cigarette gets flicked off the side of the cliff with a smart snap of the phoenixes wrist

“Then beg.” Sabo whispers through a mouthful of ash and blood, snarling because Marco will beg, when he doesnt have to and Sabo will stay and see in him what Ace always had and loved and will continue to

#marcosabo #WAH!!!!?#xam writes #WAAAAJ!????#WAAAAAAAHHH 🥺?#marco will beg on his knees head tipped back because sabo has yanked his head back by the grip he has on his hair #his expression furious because he has the audacity to love—to even want someone #hhh

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kaihuntrr · 7 months ago

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part nineteen: a new friend.

Skizz makes an 'uneasy alliance'.

Their two horses trotted along the forest path, the busy city now behind them as Skizz and Tango slowly rode back to their base. Skizz had gone back to get a new basket of baked goods, even paying for it despite Zed’s protests, and neither commander wanted their new set of snacks to fall on the ground. Skizz glanced to his right, seeing Tango in a huff as Skizz shook his head and smiled.

“Ah, don’t be so annoyed, Tango!” Skizz tilted his head. Tango huffed again, glaring off at some point in the trees. Skizz tapped the basket tied to his horse’s saddle. It’d been bundled up and attached there so Skizz could still control his horse properly. He just couldn’t have it move at a gallop, otherwise that would be food wasted. “We got our goods, and now we’re going home.”

“We would have been gone a lot sooner if it weren’t for those two jerks.”

Skizz grit his teeth. It was inconvenient, but Skizz tried to rationalize with himself. He didn’t know the situation for those two, maybe they needed it more than he did. That girl looked a bit confused, maybe she was new to the concept of the navy. It sounded… strange, but Skizz didn’t know her long enough to deduce her situation.

“Don’t worry about it,” Skizz shrugged nonchalantly, pushing his own thoughts aside. “We have other things to think about–”

The communicator in Tango’s pocket began to blink rapidly, the blonde going wide-eyed before grabbing the device.

“Tango! Skizz! You there?” Impulse’s voice sounded a bit like static, crackling in almost all of his pauses.

“Impulse!” Tango put the device near his mouth. “What’s going on?”

“El, Sniff, and Olive got the drones to work!” Impulse’s voice rang with excitement. “We caught something on audio!”

Tango and Skizz looked at each other. The drones weren’t busted– at least, if they were somewhat functional? Tango would likely have to give it a look-over later with Impulse, but that was an issue for later. The fact that they got something recorded was fascinating enough.

Just audio? Skizz thought. No visuals? Was there something the drones couldn’t catch?

“We’ll be there soon,” Tango grinned. “Give us some time to get back!”

“Got it!” The crackling noise immediately shut off as Impulse clicked the device shut on his end. Tango placed the communicator in his pocket, turning his gaze towards Skizz. His eyes burned bright with giddy excitement and interest, “Can’t we go any faster?!”

Skizz shot a glance at Tango. “If you’d want all this to get dirty, be my guest,” he laid a protective hand over the bundled pastries and shook his head. He could see the eagerness on Tango’s face, so Skizz reassured him with a nod and a small smile. “We’ll head there as fast as we can.”

Skizz gently tapped his horse’s sides with his legs, causing it to trot a little faster. They couldn’t run, but it wasn’t like the recordings would run anywhere.

Besides, Skizz’s mind burned in thought. What caused him to forget?

—————

The familiar, salty air of the sea wafted through Skizz’s lungs as he breathed it in. He and Tango rode through the tall walls of the naval base, saluting other soldiers as they entered. Everything looked the same, despite the place looking less populated than usual. Skizz sighed as Tango looked at him in worry. How many people were still bedridden, still shocked by this morning? They likely were just as clueless as he was. What would’ve happened if no one snapped themselves back to consciousness and they’d all drowned in the sea? Skizz shivered at the thought.

I could have died today.

Skizz and Tango got off their horses, walking them to the stables. It was a fairly large building and it was one of many. Skizz pushed the door open slowly, the light of the sun gently filtering in from the door as some passed through the upper windows. There were multiple horses inside, as expected, resting as they laid against the comfortable hay beds. Some stalls were empty, their occupants likely with other soldiers going in and out of the base. Skizz led his horse to its stall, removing the saddle and placing it on the gate of its pen. He took out a brush and combed its fur. The horse whinnied in enjoyment, bobbing its head and pawing at the ground.

Skizz stroked the horse’s head, “You did great, bud.” The horse nickered, almost in reply to the words of affirmation. Skizz smiled, getting the towel next to the saddle and wiped off any sweat before closing the pen’s door and grabbing the pastry basket from the saddle.

“Let’s get a move on!” Tango raised his fist in the air, already done with his horse. He was still buzzing with excitement as he looked at Skizz eagerly. Skizz nodded and the two left the stables, closing the doors behind them.

Tango ran ahead, his head buzzing with ideas as he followed the path to the tower. Skizz followed behind, trying to keep up with his friend’s pace as he carried the basket full of goodies with him.

Tango lifted the communicator from his pocket. “We’re here!” He stopped and waited for Skizz, then began to briskly walk. “What exactly did you hear?”

There was a moment of static silence before Impulse answered. “It sounds like… humming.” Confusion rang in his voice as he continued to speak, “I think it’d be better if Skizz gave a listen.”

“Maybe you should be the one carrying this,” Skizz leaned over to Tango and held the basket out. He spoke clearly so the communicator could catch his voice. “I’ll be right there.” Tango clicked the communicator shut to end the conversation, then fumbled it as Skizz unceremoniously dropped the basket in the blonde’s hands. The communicator landed on a soft patch of dirt.

“Aw, come on!” Tango leaned down to pick up the device. He dusted it off on his clothes and shoved it in his pocket.

Skizz rolled his eyes. “It’s not that heavy!” He gave Tango a friendly nudge. “Just don’t let anything fall out!”

With a loud, boisterous laugh, Skizz ran ahead, Tango mumbled and complained incoherently as he ran after him, being careful enough to not drop any of the baked goods. It smelled good, but both of their focus was on the information. But he was glad Skizz was acting like himself again. Without having seen it, no one would’ve known that Skizz had almost drowned today.

The two arrived at the tower, hearing the waves push against the shore in a rhythmic, almost hypnotic pattern. Trees nearby rustled their leaves against the strong noon gusts. Skizz shielded his eyes for a couple of moments to prevent any stray sand from entering his vision.

Skizz looked back to see Tango catching his breath, shooting a glance of annoyance at his friend. They shared a nod before entering inside, trying to get back into a more professional mindset as they walked up the steps to start climbing the ladder to the top.

Skizz pushed the trapdoor open. “We’re here!” He stretched his arms above his head as he reached the top, watching Tango ascend the ladder and walk up to the table. “We got you guys some food, too!”

Skizz could see the hunger in his team’s eyes as they gazed upon the baked goods. Impulse and Etho walked up first, taking a cinnamon roll and a muffin respectively, and beckoned for the Herons to join in. Owen walked up first, taking a neatly made sandwich held together by a piece of paper and rope, then Water picked up a muffin. Soon, the rest of the Herons followed suit, taking something to bite down on and enjoy.

“Dig in,” Tango chuckled. He glanced at Skizz and gave him a small smirk. “Skizz spent a lot of money on this.”

“Anything for the team!” Skizz rolled his eyes and smiled, nudging Tango forward. “You go on and eat, too!” Tango shook his head with an amused sigh, picking a cinnamon roll taking big bites out of it.

El took a bite at a muffin, closing their eyes and savoring the taste. “Aw, thank you both!” she nodded at the two commanders, “These are really good.”

“A good friend of ours runs a bakeshop nearby,” Skizz motioned behind him with his head, tilting it towards the city. “It was a nice visit.”

Except for the part our first basket got stolen, Skizz bit his tongue. It didn’t really matter, so there was no point in bringing it up. The good parts were being out of the base, seeing the city life, and meeting Zedaph again. It lifted his spirits knowing he was protecting the people he cared about, even if they don’t see him as often. He hoped they would picture him protecting others all the time!

“You should eat too, Skizz,” Impulse looked up at his friend, motioning to the basket. “We’ve got something to analyze, after all.”

Right. The audio from this morning.

Would listening to the recording trigger some kind of memory? Skizz hoped it did. He couldn’t just forget something as crucial as almost dying in the blink of an eye. What if it was magic? Skizz chuckled to himself.

Yeah right, as if magic exists.

Skizz blinked, snapping himself out of his thoughts. “Of course,” he spoke slowly, nodding to Impulse’s words. He walked up to the table and leaned close to Etho and Impulse, picking up a muffin and biting into it. The taste was good. The pastry melted in his mouth before he chewed and swallowed. “So… humming?”

“Sounds like it,” Etho nodded. He took a bite out of his muffin, “We’ll let you two listen to it and see what you think.”

Etho walked over to one of the monitors. He pressed a few buttons on the controller and on the monitor, the screen lighting up to respond to every motion. It was quiet for a moment, then the room rumbled to life, filling with a powerful sound that almost shook the walls.

That voice.

Hazy details slowly came into Skizz’s mind as he closed his eyes. He was on a sandy beach, following the sound of that voice. The floors rumbled in the sounds, a slight tremor in the earth that Skizz couldn’t remember. Each image that flowed into his mind was of the blurry sea and the feeling of cold saltwater against his skin. He could feel himself slip away at the sound, as if wanting to drift away to an endless sleep.

“Haunting….” Skizz was breathless, opening his eyes as Etho switched the sound off.

Water walked up to Skizz. “Isn’t it?” she stared into the distance, a wistful sigh escaped her. “At first we thought it was some kind of mating call, but I don’t think it was.”

Etho turned his head to Skizz and Tango. He beckoned the two closer, “Most of the video got corrupted, but we salvaged this from the near shore drone.”

With another set of clicks and button presses, the screen changed into a blurry recording. It wasn’t perfect, nothing close to replacing human vision, but the glimpses were enough. The audio of someone– something singing played again, but this time, the rushing water of the beach overlaid the sound. Skizz expected to see someone standing far off the shores, but to his surprise, it was just more ocean. More water. It was an average early morning.

Until Skizz heard the sound of footsteps.

One. Then two. Then three. Multiple sets of footsteps approached and passed by the drone, soldiers walking slowly and sluggishly into the water. Nothing was forcing them, at least nothing physically, and none of them would budge as they began to tread into waist-deep waters.

Then the screen went blank and the audio stopped.

Skizz felt a shiver up his spine.

“We think it’s some sort of lure.” Olive placed a hand on their chin, their words soon became mumbles as they crossed their eyes in thought. “I mean- clearly.”

“For humans?” Tango popped the last of his cinnamon roll into his mouth, raising an eyebrow and crossing his arms. Olive nodded eagerly at him and he looked at the ground, thinking as he chewed and swallowed. “That’s… strange.”

Owen nodded. “It is. We have reason to believe it could lure sea monsters too but…,” she sighed, her eyes narrowing as she spoke, “The singer was too far out of sight for us to get any visuals.”

How could a voice stretch that far…? Why was it singing? They had never seen anything about a singing monster in all their times at sea. The Herons had never mentioned anything about one either. There was nothing like that. Nothing that was… magical? Skizz attempted to wrap his head around in his thoughts. How was that possible? What was possible? What kind of monster would…?

A single thought crossed his mind.

Could a sea prince sing?

Skizz paused. His eyes slowly gazed over his friends. “You don’t think….”

Impulse’s eyes widened, understanding it as he stared blankly at the black screen. Etho leaned closer to the screen, as if the darkness might be hiding something.

Tango spoke, but his voice was quiet. “That should be impossible, shouldn’t it?” he mumbled. He shook his head, looking at Skizz with curiosity and worry. “Then again, we were advised the monsters here acted strangely. Do you think this could be why?”

It had to be, hadn’t it?

Skizz looked over at the Herons, trying to see if one of them was going to object, to say something to disagree with their commanders’ dawning conclusion. Nothing. No one said a word.

Did they find a new kind of monster, or did they just find themselves a sea prince?

“We should leave the island soon.” Skizz’s voice was stern. They had to act quickly. The thing was around a few hours ago, there was no way it could leave that quickly, right? Maybe this was its territory. It could be why the monsters were acting so strangely around here. “If that thing– that beast is still nearby, we could trace the voice to its source.”

“We still have time, I think.” Impulse broke his silent stare at the screen to look at Skizz. “Maybe a quick patrol out in the waters would–”

“Commanders!” All four of TIES’ communicators lit up in surprise.

Etho was quick to answer. “What do you need, soldier?”

“A ship is requesting to dock in the base. Its captain wishes to speak with you four immediately.”

“What kind of ship is it?”

The soldier paused, taking in a deep breath. “...A Watcher’s ship, sir.”

A Watcher? Skizz narrowed his eyes. What are they doing here? Why would they want to dock at a naval base?

“Just a moment,” Etho said into the communicator. Then he turned to the rest of the room.

“Those guys?” Sniff raised an eyebrow, crossing his arms. “What are they doing here?”

Skizz wondered the same thing. They could ask for a myriad of things, and Skizz wasn’t sure he’d like any answer he got.

“You can all come with us, if you’d like,” Skizz motioned to the trapdoor behind them. Maybe if they were really friendly and approachable, maybe this meeting with the Watchers would work out well for everyone… maybe. “You could share your research with them.”

Water narrowed her eyes. “Not in a million years,” she shook her head adamantly. She leaned against the table next to the monitor. “I’ll stay here, the rest can choose whether or not to go.”

“I’m not a big fan of those weirdos,” Owen smiled awkwardly, deciding to sit on the table. “I’ll stay here too.”

“I think it’ll be good to go, we might be able to get something from them, so I’ll go.” Sniff shrugged, but he looked uncertain as he glanced between Owen and Water, then looked at Skizz and walked to stand by the commanders.

“I’ll go too, just- hang around in the back,” Olive walked forward, standing next to Sniff as they gave him a friendly nudge. The two shared a friendly glance. “Though I’m not sure if they’ll start asking any of us for anything.”

El waved their hand dismissively. “I’ll stick around Owen and Water, we’ll check over our notes and see if anything aligns with this… anomaly,” they glanced at the monitor, their eyes squinted at the screen. They looked back at their commanders, “I must recommend that none of you mention this to them, sirs….”

Skizz, Tango, and Impulse looked at Etho expectantly. “Alright,” he said into the communicator. He glanced at his friends then back at the device. “Let the ship through, we’ll join them at the docks shortly.”

“Of course, commander.” The soldier clicked the communicator shut on his end, and the tower went quiet.

“Watchers,” Olive muttered to themselves, shaking their head in thought. “Just as creepy as their namesake.”

Skizz sighed. “Well, get ready to see them soon,” he gave Olive a reassuring smile, “We’re leaving.” Skizz waved at the remaining Herons and opened the trapdoor, exiting first.

The group was silent as each descended down the tower. Skizz assumed they were all in their own heads, trying to assess the situation. He was thinking too. The Watchers never showed themselves too often. Always busy. Always doing something. They had highly advanced technology, as far as he’s heard. But the fact that they were so secretive about everything felt strange. If they had things that might benefit all of humanity, why wouldn’t they want to spread that knowledge to everyone?

Skizz led the group down into base, eyeing up the Watcher’s ship as they passed by saluting soldiers and the sounds of training. More soldiers were moving around, on horseback, marching, training their weapon and melee skills, the works. Some soldiers pushed around carts of weapons while others periodically went to check in on the wounded. Surely, most of the people who nearly drowned should be alright by now. An uneasy breeze blew through him, and Skizz took a deep breath as he continued to walk forward.

Impulse walked next to Skizz, looking at the Watcher’s ship as a chill ran up his spine. “What do you think they want from us?”

“I’m not sure,” Skizz looked at Impulse and shrugged. “But let’s hear them out.”

Another round of heavy silence, and the group had arrived by the docks. Docked next to the pristinely white, elegant, and sea-green navy ships was a black and purple ship. Its darkened colors likely used to hide the ship as it sailed across the night but it was clearly visible in the daylight. It was blatantly obvious to tell that this was a Watcher’s ship, what with their symbol marked on their mainsail.

“Greetings, naval officers, Herons.” Skizz looked up to see the cloaked figure speaking to them. “I hope my arrival hasn’t disturbed anything.”

A gangplank dropped from the ship, and the cloaked figure walked down, pulling back his purple hood to reveal a warm gaze staring back at the commanders. He didn’t look like anything Skizz expected- usually, Watchers were these cold, masked figures that hid their identities from the world. The man had warm brown eyes and dark skin with his hair short and neat and a five o’ clock shadow.

This one casually revealed himself as he smiled softly. Though… it felt more hollow than it was soft. Despite not wearing a mask, his smile felt like one.

Skizz raised an eyebrow and looked at his friends to check their reactions. Olive and Sniff looked wary while his friends glared. Don’t mention the weird singing. “Nothing you need to worry about,” he shook his head. “Are you the captain?”

The Watcher motioned to the boat behind him with his hand, “For this ship? Yes.” His face barely showed any emotion. It was unnerving. “I would like to inquire about one of the Canary’s captains, Grian. You know him, don’t you?”

Grian? Why would they–

“We do,” Tango spoke quickly. He put a hand on his hip, cocking his head to the side as his eyebrows furrowed, “But why are you contacting us and not the Canaries?”

The Watcher shrugged helplessly. “Grian’s signal was lost, and the rest of the Canaries' crew along with him. The last known location was near the south, close to the world border,” he glanced away and waved his hand, “We haven’t been able to track him since.”

That was a first. Since when were the Watchers tracking Grian? He’d never mentioned anything about the Watchers. Then again, Skizz didn’t know much about the guy. And that wasn’t exactly something you mentioned to your… acquaintance?

“What do you need him for?”

“All you need to know is that the Watchers wish to speak to him,” the Watcher tilted his head. “I’ll remain in contact, so you can update me when he’s done with his little… royal assignment.”

That didn’t sound creepy at all. Skizz looked warily at the watcher as he continued to give him and his friends a blank stare.

His thoughts ran free. ‘Royal assignment’. How did– did the Watchers know about the king’s commission? How? Why? Since when were they involved in a mission that was only meant for the navy and the Canaries? Maybe they were meant to be extra backup when it came time to actually hunt a sea prince, but…

The Watchers? Skizz shook his head. Too many questions, too little time.

A name, Skizz thought. A name would be a good start for now.

“...What’s your name, Watcher?”

The man’s expressionless face finally cracked as he smiled, a dark expression slowly spreading over his face as he looked down at the commanders with piercing eyes.

“You may call me Big B. It’s nice to meet you.”

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hannahssimblr · 8 months ago

Text

I am afraid, even, to start eating tortillas from the packet in case the rustling is as annoying as everything else I do, so I ignore my craving for them and let the time crawl on with the speed of creeping molasses, as above the garden, the edge of the sky, a deep, moonless blue, is tinged rosy with the first blush of dawn. It’s that hour of the morning that people always swear they are the only ones awake, but I know better. Too many times I have walked the streets at this time, somewhere between four and five, when the streetlights tint the city sepia. I’ve watched the sunrise in dew soaked clothes in somebody’s back garden, from a bench on the seafront, cocaine eyes manic and unblinking while nurses, bin men, delivery drivers climbed into their vehicles on the silent residential street and started their day where I ended mine.

Somehow, at this table with Michelle I feel entirely alone, invisible, like some ghost that insists upon haunting her with annoyances, knocking over a glass here, opening a door there that she’ll only have to get up and close. There is no silence more deathly than the one between us tonight in the absence of our only mutual friend, and I can’t ignore the sting of it. I don’t really understand why it is like this, it just is.

My mind drifts to King Lear, of a quote from the second act that I can’t fully recall, and in that desperate, panicked manner of someone hours away from an exam, I toss my maths book to the side and fan through the text books on the table in search of the play. I find poetry, I find exam papers, I find the text book but the play is not here.

“Do you have your King Lear on you?”

Michelle glances up from her notebook, “Not here.”

“Is it… in the house?”

“Yeah, my room.”

“Okay, will you get it for me? I left mine at home, I think, and I really need to look over something for the exam.”

She pauses reluctantly, but sighs as she rises from her seat, “Yeah, hang on.”

When she’s gone I take the opportunity to polish off the cheese tortillas and a penguin bar or two, then, thirsty, I head back into the kitchen and pour myself a glass of water. The coffee machine is plugged in, its filters stacked in a little bowl upon the counter, and I surmise that Debra wouldn’t mind, she told me earlier to help myself to anything in the kitchen. I take a cup back into the dining room and sip it, staring blankly at the wall as my brain buzzes so restlessly with information that I can almost hear it aloud.

The notebook Michelle has been writing in is open across the table, and I flip it around to read, nosily, though nothing very interesting is written in it. Something about Oliver Cromwell. Her handwriting is nice though, it’s been a long time since I’ve seen something she’s written, and… she’s been gone a while.

I lift my eyes to the ceiling and listen, though I can’t hear her walking around up there, and all ideas I have about texting her go out the window as soon as I see her phone is still lying on the table next to her pen, so I debate going up to find her. What if she succumbed to exhaustion like Jen and collapsed into bed? The last thing I want to do is go up and disturb her, but what if she’s still looking for King Lear? What if she’s forgotten about it? I picture her rifling helplessly through an impossibly large, overwhelming stack of textbooks while growing increasingly distressed, and I feel bad for even asking her to go.

Perhaps it’s my own exhaustion overtaking the already poorly functioning rational part of my brain, but I leave my cup of coffee on the table and go up the stairs to find her.

Hers is the only bedroom with stickers on the door. They’re not recognisable anymore, after years of being bleached by the sun that comes in through the south facing landing window all day, and half peeled away, but I remember they were flowers and stars once, and little bubbly letters that spelled out her name in a silver arc.

MI HELL

It says now, missing letters and all, considering this room is where she spent six full weeks wailing over Evan is pretty apt, but this is probably hilarious to me alone.

I knock gently.

Her voice is muffled from within, “Yes?”

“Did you… did you find the play?”

“Oh. No, sorry, I was-” she comes to open the door, “Shh! I don’t want to talk too loudly, no, I couldn’t find it.”

“You couldn’t?” I peer into the bedroom behind her to where a notebook is open on the duvet, “and then what? Were you reading your own diary or something?”

She scowls, “none of your business, I just got distracted.”

I hesitate, “Okay, but like, King Lear?”

“Ugh, King Lear. Look for it yourself,” she steps away from the door and I’m not sure what to do. Has she given me permission to enter? Hesitantly, I let myself in.

“Shut the door,” she commands as she snaps the notebook shut and stows it away beneath her bed, “I don’t want everyone waking up with you talking in the hall.”

“Well I was whispering.”

“You don’t know how to whisper.”

“What? Yes I do, I’m whispering right now.”

“You aren’t, you’re just talking in a quiet voice, that’s not whispering.”

“It is whispering. If I was talking in a quiet voice I’d be talking like this.”

“Oh my God, shut up.Just grab the play and go back downstairs.”

“Yeah. Okay. Where is it usually?”

“Over there somewhere,” she gestures vaguely to the corner of her room with a shelf and a desk, both stacked high with a mound of various books, which isn’t an encouraging sight.

“Uh, okay,” I try to muster up the strength to search for Shakespeare, but my sleepy eyes drift aimlessly from the shelf to the desk, where a laptop sits next to a cup of paintbrushes and pencils. There are clean clothes folded and stacked on the chair and a wicker basket on the floor beneath the desk. It’s full of crumpled up pieces of note paper, like she’s written and thrown away a hundred furious notes about someone. Evan, probably, but potentially me. Michelle, who is fussing with the pillows on her bed, turns to stare at me.

“What are you gawking at?”

“I’ve just realised that I’ve never been in your room before.”

“Well that’s because my dad didn’t want you to be.”

“Yeah. I always wondered what you and Jen got up to here.”

“Nothing, really, we usually just grabbed whatever games or magazines we came for and went back down to hang out with you,” she folds her arms, adding, “I suppose we didn’t really get why you couldn’t even just come up back then. It all seemed a bit dramatic.”

“I don’t think your dad liked me.”

“He does.”

“Back then though, I think he thought I’d get up to some freaky shit if he let me in your room.”

“I don’t think he thought that.”

I huff out a laugh, “I’m pretty sure he did.”

“No, he always calls you ‘that nice American boy’, and lectures me about how I should study hard and focus on my school work to be more like you.”

“He doesn’t know me very well then, apparently. Maybe I would have tried something freaky.”

The corner of her mouth curls up, “No, I suppose he doesn’t know you. You’ve fooled him. I think that he just hated Evan so much that you were like, the preference. He definitely started coming around on you when you were tutoring Jen.”

“Yeah, maybe.”

With her frosty demeanour somewhat thawed I seize permission to look around the room a little bit more. It’s odd, I often pictured what this room might look like as I sat in the living room below and made strained conversation with Michelle’s parents, but it wasn’t like I had many girls' bedrooms to compare it to. I guessed that she had purple walls, because purple seemed like a Michelle colour. Her school bag was purple, and the clips she wore to pin back her hair. I imagined that maybe she’d have glow in the dark stars and a funky, wavy mirror on the wall.

Michelle’s walls are blue. The room is nothing like how I’d pictured it, but she’s seventeen now and this room is like all teenage bedrooms, a hybrid between a child and an adult space. Her favourite toy, a fluffy tiger, is perched on a shelf next to a series of fantasy novels and a pink, childish bedside locker has The Bell Jar on top of it, along with her reading glasses and a digital alarm clock. I’m struck with the knowledge that I will never know what it looked like back then, like the child version of Michelle herself, it is gone. I turn to a cork board on the wall behind me, filled with concert tickets, wrist bands, postcards, photographs, a map of the things she’s done with her life in all of the time that I sort of imagined her sitting around being angry and miserable. I touch a picture pinned to the bottom corner, of her and Jen at the sea when they were eleven. I know exactly where they are, it’s seapoint. I know because I was there too.

I bend so I am level with it and give it one, sharp flick, “You tore me out of this photo.”

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#lucky boy 2009 #sims 4 story

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