#because it seems like these folks that claim to love their dogs

[blurred-cat]

if we’re all full of fucking microplastics then i cannot imagine how much microplastics must be in Dogs and Cats

[matherofdragons]

How dare they try to make the Greens the bad ones?

First it was the claims that Alicent and Cole are responsible for the death of Jaeharys. God forbid a widow have some fun. While I have issues with her sudden relationship with Cole and the sex scenes that are presented as raw while the ones on the black side as intimate, it doesn't make them responsible for the death of a child.

Then came the claims it was Aegon's fault, that he was a bad father, that it was his drinking and indifference that caused it, but he was genuinely nice with with his children.

The real villain is Condal and his writing team. They are for Rhaenyra, fine but try to present the story neutrally. The whole B&C was butchered in favour to make the Blacks look less bad. It's supposed to be tragic. Where was the Sophie choice? Where was "Your mother wants you dead?"? It was just a "mistake". We all know it was not. It was "a son for a son".

Season 2 Episode 2 just continued the trend. They knew people will sympathise with Helaena and Aegon and will start hating the other side. So they banged their heads together and came up with a episode made to destroy them.

The funeral was depicted as a publicity stunt. While Luke's being a genuine family ceremony. See guys the Greens are dysfunctional. They aren't a real family. Why didn't they use Rhaenys' massacre of the smallfolk as PR? Did they forgot it happened?

The grandmother doesn't want to attend as she's too busy thinking about the d, mother doesn't want to attend, father is told NOT to attend, no other relatives around. Luke's ceremony was the complete opposite of this. B

Aemond was too busy being dotted by a pseudo mommy to participate in the upcoming warplans or be there for his family. He somehow knows that it was Daemon just because. Is he getting visions like Helaena?

Aegon was denied a scene with wife, so they can grief together. They just had to pass each other to make it seem he's indifferent to her. Alicent isn't there to grief with him, contracting again with Jace and Rhaenyra who griefed together. I guess she was more interested in Cole's private parts.

Otto throws a really pathetic tantrum over muh ratcatchers and uses it as an excuse to shit on Aegon for 5 minutes. Because Aegon is bad for seeking justice for his son. And why did the small folk react so badly? Was killing few people who could have been part in the murder of the Prince worse than the stunt Rhaenys pulled?

And how can I forget the dog. The dog is making people sympathetic towards child butchers. Lovely.

Bravo Sara Hess! Bravo Condal! You truly outdid yourselves.

Justice for my Prince Jaeharys! Cole did the right thing. If it wasn't for Mahsaria his plan would have worked!

Bonus for the book version!

[terrence-silver]

Terry meeting readers family for the first time please

---

If Terry brought you home, oh, some fifteen years ago to meet his family or his father, freshly out of his green military fatigues, while not agreeing with Terry's choice of partner (then again, there were few would would've pleased the draconic old man in the first place, if any) he would've still had this contradictive notion that you, irregardless of your unsuitability, are begrudgingly something Terry was innately owed to have if you were what he wanted. Having served his country, having wasted precious time in Vietnam away from the family company and all affairs of their household, the way his old man saw it --- having sat in the drudgery and danger of captivity in some backwater jungle dump, risking life and limb when he could've been taking over the firm --- the least life could do as direct payback is give his boy whatever the heck his boy wanted and then some, even if he could've done much better for himself. Such was Silver Sr. All unimaginable contrasts and oxymorons. All 'you owe me this, I'm cashing in on that.' All capital and reparations. The true originator of the words Terry often repeated; Nothing's for free. This is a notion he carries with himself, into the venue of the fateful meeting --- He is entitled to everything he wants. He's entitled to you. Your folks. The family cat and dog.

The white picket fence of your own bubble of suburbia, if he so pleases.

He pleases. He does.

And getting everyone to not just like him --- no --- adore him --- is child's play right off the bat. The vintage sport's car parked out front, a deliberate signal and indicator he could take care of you bound to soften your mother, all mothers, who deep down want a good, secure life for their child as he kisses her hand, ever the gentleman, handing her a bouquet of flowers, peppering her with some softcore wooing she undoubtedly hasn't received from anyone in years. A flex of muscles for you father; a way to impress, conquer, establish himself as the prime shark in the pond as they talk fishing...fishing at Lake Tahoe, at Terry's private vacation resort. One of many. Humbly. He promises your uncle work. Your aunt a trip to the Bahamas at an exclusive thermal hot spring five star hotel to cure her swollen bunions --- offers to help your mom in the kitchen several times (which she, for as much as she was flattered, refuses) and fuck, if he has to promise the next door neighbors a harem of bare ass Hawaiian masseuse girls, then so be it. But, Terry's out to claim and win, and it doesn't take him more than ten minutes (and he does count down the time in his head, having made a bet with himself) before the dining table is set for him like the center of the universe and your whole family is crowded around him, listening to him intently, like some many curious children, plying him with food and drink, smothering him.

He was owed this.

He was owed much, much more.

He was owned a cushion under his feet and your mother actually, disbelief of all disbelief's, places one there for him because she is convinced the wooden parquet of the living room will be cold for him, in spite of the fact he was already given a pair of house slippers, right after serving him with another slice of her signature pie as an appetizer before the main course, beaming after he declared that he might have a Michelin star chef in his employ, but the lovely hostesses' level of cooking by far outmatches it and pretty much everything he's ever tried.

You shoot him a speculative, silent stare.

What?

They all loved him.

Almost like you knew that by the end of the evening, your family will practically offer you to him, like a gift. Insist that he accept you, in spite of the saccharine efforts to win them over, which clearly, weren't quite as tacky as they seemed if they were working. Tell you that you brought home a really good one this time around. That you brought home the best one this time around, in fact. Terry knew that you knew. Not that he thought you were trying to escape him, but taking precautions never hurt anyone. There would be no escape. Not when your family would think the worst of you for it.

That you're fickle.

An ingrate.

He, the one who got away.

-"Another slice?"-

Your mother asks and like melted butter, he smears her with flattery.

She too, in a sense, belonged to him. He could flatter her all he liked.

-"Not if you wanna have my cook back home fired, ma'am."-

Terry wipes his lips with a handkerchief and the older woman erupts into a fit of giggles as she shakes her hand, semi-dismissively, semi-playfully towards him, only for you to fidget by his side, interjecting, like he figured you would. -"You know, mom, it was a beautiful evening, but we really should be going. It's a long drive out to Glendower Avenue and our chauffeur is waiting in the car."- You announce and the sudden stiffness at the table is deafening. Bullseye. Your own family gives you a death glare that nearly makes him chortle --- he tactically suggested Charles, the driver, be invited in for drinks to make himself seem egalitarian, and your family. with humanitarian efforts like that, liked him so much throughout the duration of some thirty minutes or so that the very prospect of being prematurely parted from him was a cause for agitation. It's like you just broke the news that Santa Claus wasn't real or something. Truth of the matter was, Charles was perfectly equipped with everything he needed in the vehicle, but, oh, what a ploy. -"Going? But you only just got here."- Your father grumbles, setting down his fork, giving you a long, hard look of disapproval, clearly won over by those Lake Tahoe stories. Your own old man, doing all of Terry's work for him. Perfect. Your own mother too. -"Yeah, you only just got here! Seriously!"- She adds, shaking her head, salad bowl in hand, verbally cornering you. You only just got here and we haven't even made arrangements for your wedding yet, Terry imagines her saying, even though, by the way things were going, he predicted he wouldn't have to do much imagining. Instead, he plays into it, and he plays clueless too.

All of this?

It was an investment.

An investment to having you by his side.

Ensuring you stay there with every hook he attaches into you.

One of those hooks could be your own flesh and blood.

-"We really only just got here."-

He turns to you, acting the role of a sympathetic suck up, repeating your parents' words back you, and then tension at the table instantly lifts when they all start nodding their heads at his statement and muttering, like they thought him the sensible, mature party. They love me. I'm owed that shit. Terry thinks again, reaching over for you hand and squeezing it atop of the dining table for reassurance, feeling your skin drenched in cold sweat. They'll love me so much they'll ensure you and me are and remain a sure thing.

[wickedsrest-rp]

The sky is quieter, but that doesn’t mean things are going back to normal. Does a place like Wicked’s Rest even have a normal? No, because even though the daily otherworldly blasts have ceased, there’s new problems cropping up. 

Bad omens. Packs of hellhounds are emerging from the woodwork, in numbers far greater than any ranger or slayer can handle alone. Hunters are having to band together to cull these hoofed beasts, and the sudden appearance of so many at once has only ever been a warning of a looming supernatural threat. They’re not the only demonic creatures having a population boom, however—cacodaemons are also arriving on the scene, now only adding to the chaotic confusion that occurs when loved ones start behaving irrationally. Deogen has been straying from its usual haunt around the Wishing Well in Nightfall Grove, and the risk of getting lost in its fog and never making it back out is higher than ever. One thing remains a mystery: where have all the missing people gone?

All of these omens have to be leading to something, don’t they? In this case, there’s reason to suspect they’re harbingers of the enormous, monolithic leg that erupted from the ground, smack in the middle of Wormwoods. Yes, leg. It’s somewhat avian in appearance (or perhaps lizard-like?), being scaled and sporting four long, clawed toes that are so gnarled they almost resemble the branches of a gargantuan, barren tree. Aside from its initial, violent ejection from the ground, the leg has been mostly still. The crowd gathering around it has been anything but, though. Birdwatchers are flocking in from all over the state and beyond to see the leg, adding it to their life list and then checking it off. Wicked’s Rest has, naturally, monetized the leg by setting up a barrier, and charging each person $100 to touch the leg (this, they claim, will help Worm Row’s reputation). Additionally, it has created quite the divide in town: some people want to try and cut it down, to destroy it. Others want to protect it, though it seems like a mixed bag of folks either being terrified of upsetting something powerful, or believing it to be the manifestation of a god that will raise them all from perdition and cleanse the town of evil.

It’s as of yet unclear where the truth lies. But as bad omens continue to pour into the town, there’s little reason to suspect the leg is anything good, and it may in fact be only a preview of things to come.

WHAT ELSE? WELL...

Pieces of rock that look like they came from the Abnormality are jutting out of the ground in the area around the leg. They don’t seem to be encasing anyone like before, but their presence has some people concerned.

The leg has attracted all sorts of birds to perch, from aravo to valravne, and everything in between. This only further entices birdwatchers. There also seems to be a significant presence of various demonic and specter-like entities in the area.

The skyquakes have gotten less frequent, a fact celebrated by pretty much everyone in town. Now they hit about once a week, sometimes less, but the droning does last longer than it did before. The longest one recorded so far was a full three minute stretch, rather than the multiple short bursts. The source remains unknown.

There are dozens of bounties posted in The 3 Daggers for packs of hellhounds (and possibly some black dog variants), all listing different locations where the creatures have been sighted. It’s a good way for hunters to make some extra cash!

Two large sinkholes have opened up in Worm Row and Gatlin Fields. The latter seems to have compromised the structural integrity of the Allgood Death Pit, and has deepened the already-sizable mass grave, spilling remains down into the earth. It has helped with the smell, but no one knows how far down the pit now goes, and most aren’t very keen on going down there to find out.

The sinkhole in Worm Row has claimed a couple blocks worth of apartments that sit very near the Flat itself, and aside from the rubble that still clings to its crumbling edges, seems as deep and dark as the sinkhole in the fields. It’s unclear if the influx of demonic creatures in the town are coming from these sinkholes, but that wouldn’t be a bad guess.

On April 8, there will be a full solar eclipse that will be visible to all in town. Aside from looking awesome, this phenomenon is going to have some far-reaching effects. Supernatural creatures that have an affinity with the sun are going to be feeling especially drained of energy after this eclipse, perhaps even for days or weeks. Conversely, those empowered by the moon will be feeling a little extra pep in their step! Hopefully they can control it. While the eclipse is happening, even those who don’t normally see ghosts or have any connection to the supernatural might be able to peer into another world. Surely no emotional or mental harm can come of that within 4 minutes. 

Believers in the supernatural have been warning others to stay inside when the fog rolls in. It’s hard to tell if it’s normal fog, or if it’s Deogen… and really, it isn’t worth the risk of finding out. This has been especially challenging with the increase of stormy and foggy, wet weather. 

Some people have been blaming the new sinkholes on the local cryptid known as the Moleman. A figure matching his description has been reported lurking in the nearby alleyways of Worm Row, but that can't be true, right? Either way, it’s probably safest to keep your distance.

The authorities mostly disapprove of the monetization of the leg because no one knows anything about it, and it might be dangerous. That hasn’t stopped people from paying to touch it and others from just climbing over the barriers. If you can get close enough to get a scraping of… whatever the leg is made out of, there’s some speculation of it being a helpful ingredient for alchemical amplification of objects—it does seem to trend towards negative effects, however.

[kafkaoftherubble]

[2/2]

Part 1

Bruh. The rambling. The rambling does not stop. What the hell.

---

❤️ - What is one of your OC’s best memories?

(1) Emily: Her first gig and debut as Project Gu's success was to protect the president of ___ [insert country name] from a terrorist group's assassination attempt, but the terrorists were also aiming to hurt every other member of the cabinet, civilians, janitors, and cats/dogs/birds/animals nearby. Not only that, this attempt was the first time the common folks realized there have been private and unsanctioned attempts to replicate Project Gu, instead of just "speculations." World leaders were just shocked that these attempts had gone far enough.

Despite the challenge, Emily managed to save the president and everyone else, defeating the terrorists in the process. Sure, she killed them all and left no survivors for intel. But for someone's first gig, being this successful right off the bat is the biggest boost of dopamine Emily has ever gotten. It's her happy place.

(2) Ada: Ada will probably think her time dating the Blind Boy was the best, though that memory, unfortunately, turned sour because, well, he slipped on a banana peel and passed away (see Part 1). The Others mock and laugh about this, and that kinda sours the memory a little more. One of them even claimed that she was more in love with the idealized Blind Boy than the genuine article, and so this was less of her "best" memory and more of her best fantasy.

In the story proper, one of her best memories will be this day shortly after meeting F by "happenstance" (it wasn't really a chance meeting). She has been following F since they escaped Emily's pursuit, and F notes how noisy her head is and wonders how she managed to grow up like this. She told him about how alone she's always been and that the Others, unkind as they may be, are the only few companions she has.

In response, F calmed the Others through his powers and decided to fill in as the friend she always wanted for a day. It starts out pretty awkward because neither really knows how to actually be someone's friend, but they gradually find their way through it. It's the best; Ada has never felt so accepted and wanted before. And the world has never been quieter.

(3) F: One of his best memories is the same as Ada's, as seen above. But there is another one that he values a lot. Shortly after he runs away but before meeting Ada, F encounters a village or a town or a settlement similar to it. Despite his strange appearance or unknown origin, upon knowing he's hungry and thirsty, folks there generously feed him and give him shelter with no questions asked. Sure, they are also wary of him and tell their kids not to associate with him, but F agrees with their attitude because he knows what he is, even if they don't.

He takes up a temporary abode in a hut under a tree, a few distances away from the settlement, over those few days. Nobody bothers him or even seems to notice him. Being away from other people's chattering minds allows him to calm down in ways he has never been able to do before. It doesn't last long, because plot, but from then on he has been chasing that state of mind however he can as though it is his only salve.

In other words: one of F's best memories is his first meditation. BWAHHAHAHHAA! What do you expect from a psychic? Or ya know, me?

----

✂️ - What is one of your OC’s worst memories?

The day when Emily is given the mission to retrieve F. She had never heard of another Ghoul surviving—and now suddenly there's another one whose status and importance exceed hers, especially from LR's perspective. That pisses her off to no end; it is a betrayal of her identity. Then after that, she finds a Ghoul and mistakes her for F, only to realize it was another one who was supposed to be dead. To make matters worse, Ada is mentally awry, useless, and literally without powers. Emily is given the directive to either kill or consume her (she picks the former), and yet she somehow loses Ada and fails her mission on this front, too—something that rarely happens.

LR is visibly livid when she gets back, and she gets a harsh lecture. She can't even remember being scolded by anyone before this.

It is a whole string of shitty events to her.

----------

🧠 - What do you like most about the OC?

Well, some of F's characteristics and personalities are based on a dear friend of mine whom I really admire. I also deliberately fashion in some of the Buddha's life story, such as "running away from home despite his cushy-ass life in search for liberation from suffering," though F's concern is simply his own suffering.

But that's probably not the thing I like most about F!

See, F is the least human of the 3 Ghouls. He's a human-looking monster—even more so than Emily—from the beginning of his creation.

Ada won the Gudu gauntlet by staying away from the conflict when the embryos were fighting each other before being forced to haphazardly absorb them erratically into herself, including the last one standing, to preserve her life. Emily won by immediately killing every other embryo. F, though, won by forcing the other embryos via mind control to willingly disintegrate themselves into basic organic building blocks to bolster him. F would have heard the voices of these dead embryos just like Ada (since they both resorted to some sort of absorption-based means), but he crushed all of them through his psychic power while incubated, effectively murdering them twice.

And that's not counting how potent of a weapon he is, since unlike Emily who has a strong individualistic streak, he defers to LR and others like a good weapon should. He has killed fewer people than Emily has, but that's because he subjugates most of them via mental manipulation, performing feats like forceful amnesia, rewiring someone's brain into undergoing psychoses, and the like.

He's the most perfect Ghoul in that he really is just that. A fucking monster.

And yet his own powers make him the most empathetic of the three. It makes him the least judgemental. It enables him to understand people as people and ironically humanize them, therefore making him most capable of compassion despite being a weapon. He has the least sense of self because he's constantly bombarded by other people's sense of self, and yet that opens up ways for him to be the least egocentric of all three.

I like characters like F because it allows exploration of how someone, created to be an inhuman monster, nonetheless possesses traits and qualities that can allow them to be more than that. It's a Buddhist outlook (the same one that undergirds the idea of one achieving Nibbana) that can be played around, challenged, and explored through F, who has shades of selfishness and delusions hidden beneath his seemingly "noble" qualities.

A non-human striving to become human—it's one of the perennial themes that I love.

-----

I hope you had the fucking time of your life, "mysterious stranger."

THE END.

[palomahasenteredthechat]

Same anon that sent the long post and I have another one I'm sorry. Thank you for answering. I'm glad I explained myself okay, I was worried I was just going to sound entitled and rude. I just wanted to say that I was going to mention the Off Menu podcast but I decided to keep it Eddie related since that was my ultimate point and to mention it would require more explaining. Hence this long message. Basically yes I am one of those people that felt that way and I kept that to myself because everyone loved it. I don't want to ignite anything here about it because over time I have seen people mention this since it happened, but it was the picky eater comment for me. I know the internet tends to have this mindset lately that everything everyone says, is said with the worst possible intension. Like you say you like cats you must HATE dogs and you're being cancelled now for it. So I tried not to read into it, I really did. But he brought it up again in another interview after and then another just recently and to me that was him doubling down on his stance so I think it's fair for me to say he has thought about what he said and still agrees with it. Let's be real for a sec, I'm a picky eater. So of course this looks like I'm just butthurt and taking it personally. But I'm autistic. I can't help it. I have a brother that has it worse than me, he SUFFERS with ARFID. Yes, I know that Joseph probably wasn't including people like me or him in his statement. He doesn't need to preference everything he says with "obviously I'm not talking about people with disabilities, eating disorders etc" because he didn't indicate any disdain for those kinds of people specifically and no one should immediately be taking what he said in a negative light like that and assuming he's an asshole. However, again my own personal views, thoughts and feelings. People like myself subconsciously think before I speak "If I say this, could it offend or hurt anyone? Will it perpetuate and or make worse an already existing issue?" Of course everyone has moments where they don't realize what they're saying could be harmful. But, idk. Let me just paste the exact quote from the transcript here and see what we think about it: Joe Quinn Eat it, it's delicious, do you know what I mean? Or, 'Oh, I don't like fish.' But, it's clearly something psychological that they just need to-, get over it, eat it, it's good. Joseph. Some people DO have psychological issues with food. For myself it's certain textures. But to think that I had not just considered or tried to "get over it" is at the very least tone-deaf and at the worst, straight up ableist. 🤷‍♀️ I tried to rationalize it in my mind as him just venting, talking out his ass, whatever. But ultimately it made me realize that he is very privileged to be healthy and what he probably considers "normal" and I don't see him actually understanding that fact. Especially when he doubles down on it years later. He gives me "telling someone suffering with depression to get over it and smile more" vibes. It came off as pretentious, uninformed and to be honest just plain rude. I will also add that taking disabilities out of the equation he still failed to consider social classes, wealth and food availability. Would he tell an adult that grew up without access to fresh vegetables to just get over it and eat them because it annoys him that they won't? I don't claim to know. But my gut says yes.

I think it started off as his sense of humor, and maybe it was an in-joke with his friends, but as was discussed earlier, he seems to be 'leaning in' to the persona more.

The cilantro thing - 'I don't believe those people'; well then you don't have the gene that makes it taste like dish soap.

I have experience with food allergies, and I always take food preferences seriously, because unfortunately for some folks it's life and death.

[firedrakegirl]

The reptile expos were always interesting, ever since I learned I could understand snakes and other reptiles. Since the convention center was a mite chilly, most of the snakes were either sleeping or grumbling. Well, until I made it to a table in the back. Those snakes were a lot more active, probably from the large number of hand warmers, heated blankets, and other warmth producing products. And, if I were to guess, the lump in the keeper’s pocket was a ball of snakes.

I got to the table and a small black, brown, and yellow ball python immediately perked up, nearly shouting. “That’s my human! That one! Mine!”

I immediately wandered to the other end of the table and started looking at some of the other snakes. I could hear the one who’d claimed me kicking up a fuss, but I pretended not to hear it. I looked at the man with the snakes in his pocket. “Can you tell me about this cutie?” I pointed at a random snake.

The man glanced at the fussing snake and back to me. “Well…”

I made eye contact with him, glanced at the fussing snake, and winked. Suddenly, he grinned too. “Well, she is a pastel ghost hognose, about six months old. Would you like to hold her? Fair warning, she can be a little…spicy.”

“I would love to!” I agreed, smiling down at her. She hissed at me in turn. I couldn’t help but laugh.

This continued as I met several other snakes, avoiding the container where the one who’d claimed me was. Some of the snakes had caught on and were making a show of enjoying being held, or got offended and struck at me. I wasn’t bothered by any of it, and was quite honestly enjoying myself. All of the snakes were gorgeous, after all.

Suddenly, there was a pain in my arm as the fussing snake bit me and used that leverage to climb onto my arm and stretch out. “You’re my human. Not theirs.” He hissed angrily. “Mine.”

The keeper chuckled and took the silvery ball python from me. “I think the ruse is up.”

“I think you’re right.” I laughed and turned my attention to the snake on my arm. “Do you have a name, little friend?”

“I am not little!” He hissed.

“You are, compared to me.”

“You understand me?!” He seemed to only just realize I was talking to him.

“Yes I do. And I was always coming to you. But you were being as dramatic as a hognose, so I had to mess with you.”

He made a sound that I'd learned was the snake equivelent of a gasp. “How dare you! I am nothing like a hognose!”

“The way you were trying to get my attemtion says otherwise.” I smiled. “But that's not the point here. I take it you want to come home with me.”

He wrapped around my arm and squeezed tightly. “You're not going anywhere without me ever again.”

“I don't know how to take care of a snake. I can talk to you, but I've never owned one. I don't want to risk hurting you because of my inexperience.”

“I can tell you when I need something else.” He dismissed. “And I'm going to always be with you, so it's fine.”

I glanced up at the vendor. “What do you think?”

“I think I breed Familiars, not normal snakes. Do you know what that means?”

“It mea-hey!”

The vendor reached over and gently flicked him. “Let her answer.”

I smiled softly. “Familiars are the companions to magical people, right?”

“That's a familiar. Upper case F Familiars are that and then some. They're more connected to their human, at a soul level. They can also assist in preforming spells and cleaning up stray magic.”

“then why do you want me?” I looked back down at the snake. “All I can do is talk to reptiles.”

“You're my human. And you can do more.”

“Snake folks, like us, tend to work in different ways. Our magic doesn't even necessarily present the same way that the folks who connect to cats, dogs, and frogs typically do, so it's hard to measure it unless the mage measuring is also a snake mage, or familiar with them.” He explained. “You've absolutely got power, even if you don't know it, otherwise none of my snakes would have taken notice.”

[destinyc1020]

Hi, love your blog! Just curious, since you do post about different celebs, do you kinda follow the drama surrounding Chris Evans and his relationship with Alba? I just recently stumbled upon the rabbit hole that is very elaborate theories how it's all a PR contract and how miserable he is. It's seems very far fetched to me, because it's crazy complex 😄

Oh laaawwwwd lol..... 😅

*Pull up a chair*

Girrrrrrl..... Ever since Chris confirmed his rlshp with Alba, I've honestly been staying kind of away from his fandom and his personal life talk. It's just too crazy! 🤪

When the news dropped that it was confirmed he and Alba were indeed a couple (there were tons of rumors for a while) the fandom went through a meltdown, and when I saw this tweet.... girl I was done rofl 🤣

That's when I decided to just focus on Chris and his work, and not really focus on his rlshp right now. 🤷🏾‍♀️

Don't get me wrong, fans don't HAVE to like his gf or even particularly care for him with her. I'm not saying that fans have to automatically become a fan of whoever their fave is dating at the current moment, or run out and buy shipname T-shirts or start shipping blogs about their rlshp or anything rofl 🤣 (To me that's just weird 🥴)

But you should at the very least RESPECT the fact that this is the woman your favorite celebrity man (whoever he may be) is dating at the moment, and obviously he loves this woman if he's been with her all this time. Fans don't need to be dogging her online, spreading negative theories, or claiming that the rlshp is "PR" in other words. 🙄

Tbh? I feel like the term "PR" rlshp has been OVERused these days, and is more so just a silly term some bitter fans use to describe whatever rlshp that they don't particularly like their fave in. 🙄

Imo, it's just a way for fans to nurse their hurt feelings and try to negate a REAL rlshp that their favorite celebrity guy is in with another woman. 👀 That's how I've always viewed it. 🤷🏾‍♀️

Chris & Alba = Fans swear it's "PR"

Timothée & Kylie = Fans swear it's "PR" (PR for what?? They're not even in the same industry, and him dating her does NOTHING really for his image rofl 🤣)

Austin & Kaia = Fans swear it's "PR"

Michael B. Jordan & Lori Harvey = Fans swore it was "PR" when they were dating

Tom & Zendaya = Antis swore it was "PR" too! 🙄

Notice a pattern? 😏

I feel like just about ANY rlshp in Hollywood that fans don't like their hot guy in, they just automatically claim it's "PR". 😒

I hate to break the bubble folks, but HW doesn't usually do PR rlshps like this anymore lol. PR is more so in the form of publicity stunts, or needing to have the actor do smthg to clean up his image that has been TAINTED by something really negative coming out about him in the media. It's NOT usually in the form of a "fake" rlshp. 😒

In addition, fake rlshps usually only last a few months (if even THAT), and certainly not YEARS upon YEARS. Like c'mon.... 😏

Anyway, back to Chris....

He doesn't look miserable in the least to me! He looks fine! In fact he looks happier than ever! 🤣 I mean, he usually looks happy anyway (he's just a smiley, jokey guy in general lol), but everything I've been seeing with him and Alba seems so sweet and he seems so in love with her. 🥰

He's been wanting a serious rlshp (and marriage and kids) for a long time now, so if she's "the one", then I'm happy for him. 😊

Idk much about her, but she seems to make him happy, so.... it is what it is! 🤷🏾‍♀️

Anyway, let me stop rambling, coz I promised I would be more BRIEF on my blog from now on.

Anon, I've talked about this topic extensively before here (below) as well Anon if you wish to do further reading lol 😆

[help-me-nah]

some backburner in-the-works potential fic excerpts/teasers! (+ some notes)

I. ghosthunting prequel

A prequel for that October oneshot where they’re all youtube paranormal investigators! All the backstory of Steve and the kids. Bonus: a little bit of Steve and Nancy, a lot of Steve and Jonathan. No Eddie though, bc prequel. Also me chewing on Steve a little, really beating that boy up. Make him cry, make him bleed. Also, probably the next one in the chamber after I get fantasy AU in order.

Sometimes Steve remembers that living in a town with a pretty obvious cult just outside it isn’t actually normal. But everyone in Hawkins has sort of gotten used to it.

The Eleventh Church of Stranded Souls keeps to themselves, and whenever one of their members comes into town for groceries or other supplies, they’re polite and cheerful and don’t say much about the apparent ‘our church can reconnect you with your lost loved ones and commune with the dead’ schtick that draws in new members. (At least, not unless they’re asked, and most of Hawkins chooses not to ask.)

Every couple months someone new drives through town on their way to join the church, and that’s when it’s sometimes a little jarring and weird. Some new arrivals will gush and weep about the church and how they hope it’ll change their life. Some seem far more skeptical, spending a few days in town, asking questions as if anyone in Hawkins knows anything about the cult and how real their claims are. But for all their skepticism, even those visitors often carry an air of desperation. Sometimes they’ll talk about who it is they want to contact. Sometimes they never say what they’re after, but everyone in Hawkins knows. And those same folks are the ones who provide Hawkins with the only answers they have for the next arrivals— they come, skeptical but desperate to talk to a deceased loved one. They visit the Eleventh Church. They return to Hawkins a few days later, teary and starry eyed. Very frequently they leave just long enough to pack up their previous lives, and then they pass through Hawkins once more on their way to join the church. The cult. Whatever.

Steve doesn’t think about it all that much. It’s a part of life in Hawkins, and high school’s a bitch, and Steve’s busy juggling his new relationship with Nancy Wheeler, and the funny feeling in his chest when spending time with her puts her in proximity with her fellow Hawkins Post intern Jonathan, and keeping his grades up enough to keep his father placated, and the weird tension with Tommy and Carol lately, and also how he’s somehow babysitting almost a half dozen kids these days, whose newest obsession is ghost hunting and have been bullying Steve into taking them to every abandoned house in Hawkins.

And yes, Tommy and Carol make fun of him for getting bullied by middle schoolers (and sometimes a single elementary school girl), but they aren’t trying to wrangle four middle schoolers (and the aforementioned elementary school girl). One middle schooler is a stress headache. Two middle schoolers is like trying to walk a tightrope while also walking two uncooperative dogs trying to go in two different directions. Three is a disaster. And four is a fucking hurricane. There’s no controlling that. You hold on for your fucking life and just focus your energy on making sure the stupid bullshit they do is non-lethal stupid bullshit. (Adding Erica to the mix is a whole different beast. Steve’s pretty sure every hour spent with all five takes years off his life. He’s rapidly aging like the puppets in that one movie Dustin insisted on showing him, that left Steve scarred, because Steve was expecting, like, Muppets, not skeletal bird men sucking the life out of bug-eyed Cabbage Patch dolls.)

II. a good old fashioned cliche concert violinist/rock star who are neighbors AU

I mean, what it says on the tin. I know many people have probably done it before, who are far better equipped than I am, but I’m having feelings about it. Pros: getting to play with a Steve who is spinning a lot of plates, still meeting his family’s high expectations but only just barely, everything right on the edge of falling apart. Also, bickering. Cons: To really get it off the ground (bc I’m nitpicky about accuracy but limited in time and energy) might require some help/notes/beta-ing from people whose musical expertise extends past my childhood of piano lessons.

Eddie and the guys have ordered delivery, and in the month and a half of living here Eddie has quickly learned that if you want your food hot, you better hang out in the apartment lobby and wait for it. Because while the little table for delivery in the vestibule (a term Eddie only knows courtesy of Dustin being a smartass) may be nice in theory, Eddie has found that almost every delivery driver, regardless of service, just drops the food there and fucks off without bothering to shoot a text or find the relevant name on the long list of buzzers, and you’ll find your food twenty minutes later, icy-cold.

So Eddie’s in the lobby, shooting the shit with Gareth and Jeff and Vernon, because “We’re here to hang out with you, man, we’ll come with,” and it really does help kill the time.

The elevator dings, and Eddie doesn’t pay it any mind until, “Hey! Asshole!” and he turns to see the pretty violinist from the fifth floor come out of it, scowling. He’s accompanied by the young woman Eddie sees him with more often than not (she’s gotta be a girlfriend, between the cohabitation and the joined-at-the-hip), and both of them are carrying their signature instrument cases.

“Is that bitchy neighbor?” Gareth asks under his breath.

“One and the same,” Eddie confirms, before turning back to the two classical musicians heading down the lobby.

“What can I do for you today, pretty boy?” Eddie drawls, because he knows it’ll piss the guy off.

The guy’s scowl deepens, but oddly enough, he stops as they reach the seating area, swings his violin case up onto one of the lobby couches and begins undoing the clasps.

“Oh my god, Steve,” his partner complains. (Steve, Eddie idly notes, which means pretty violinist is, as he suspected, also the piano tutor Dustin praises and complains about in the same breath.) “Murray is going to fucking kill us if we’re late for rehearsal again, you know that?”

“We’re already late,” pretty violinist— Steve— counters. “And last time was your fault so it’s my turn. I have a point to prove to a certain dickhead who said he’s got ‘no interest in keeping things down for the practice time of someone who can’t even shred.’”

“I just don’t think a prissy classical music snob can possibly understand my process,” Eddie drawls. “I don’t see why I gotta let you choke my sound, babe.”

Steve’s nose wrinkles, and Eddie smirks back at him.

“Oh my god,” groans Steve’s girlfriend. “Do you boys ever tire of all this fucking posturing? This is why I stick with girls.”

“Fuck off, that’s not why,” Steve retorts, hefting the violin to his shoulder and sticking his tongue out at her, and she cracks a smile.

Not a girlfriend then, Eddie notes. (Dangerous thing to think about, a smaller voice in his head chides himself. Pretty and cohabitating with a lesbian friend doesn’t mean available. Also he’s a huge bitch.)

And then Eddie doesn’t think much at all except oh fuck. Because pretty violinist Steve proceeds to play what might be the single most impressive rendition of the solo from Megadeth’s Tornado of Souls Eddie’s ever heard in his life, on his goddamn violin.

“Holy shit,” Jeff murmurs as Steve lowers his violin. “Damn, dude.”

And then Eddie gets to witness Steve’s smile, and it’s fucking radiant, jaw-dropping, overwhelming. And it’s fucking directed at Jeff. Eddie’s suddenly struck with the irrational desire to throttle one of his oldest and best friends.

“Thanks,” Steve says warmly to Jeff.

Then he turns back to Eddie, and his smile drops, and his voice drops back into a familiar acidity. “Fucking keep it down.” The clasps on his violin case snap shut in punctuation.

“Satisfied?” his partner asks drily, though a tiny smile twitches at the corner of her mouth.

“Yup,” Steve tells her cheerily. “We can go now.”

Eddie continues staring blankly after them as they head out of the apartment building. He slowly lowers himself into a chair.

“Oh no,” Eddie hears Gareth say, sounding distant, like Eddie’s hearing it through water.

“Is Eddie smitten?” Vernon laughs.

“I’m pretty sure Eddie’s fully in love,” Jeff says, sounding amused.

“I think that was the hottest thing I’ve ever witnessed in my life,” Eddie says faintly.

III. Wayne & Ms. Mayfield

Canon-divergent where Eddie and Max share a hospital room and decide to set Wayne and Ms. Mayfield up. I know it’s a little tacky but also I think it could be fun and cute, and Eddie and Max dynamics are always good to write. Bonus of yet another variant on Harrington family dynamics, with some real old-money rich weirdness. Also, obviously, Max is using the setup to also try and set up Steve and Eddie.

“After you, miss,” Wayne says politely.

Ms. Mayfield laughs, ducking her head self-consciously.

“Haven’t been a ‘miss’ for a while now.”

“Could’ve fooled me.”

Eddie could swear Ms. Mayfield flushes a little.

“Forgive me for being nosy,” Wayne continues, “But I couldn’t help but notice your car’s been sitting out front your trailer lately,” Wayne continues. “Busted?”

Ms. Mayfield laughs again, this time weary, a little dry. “Thought it had a little more in it before it needed repairs, but guess I was wrong. And, with— well. Can’t exactly afford to fix it now.”

Wayne hums in understanding.

“Let me drive you to work?” he offers.

“Oh, no, I couldn’t—”

“Let me drive you,” he says a little more firmly. “If our kids are gonna be cohabitating, it’s the least I can do.” (“Ugh, come up with a more gross way to put that, will you?” Max complains, and both Wayne and Ms. Mayfield grin at her.)

“‘Sides,” Wayne tacks on, “The Hawkins bus ‘system’ is shit.” Ms. Mayfield laughs again at the sarcastic weight Wayne puts on ‘system,’ given that Hawkins has exactly one bus and two drivers.

(And Eddie’s sure as fuck taking note of how often that laughter’s happening in this conversation with Wayne).

“Pretty sure Mitch drinks on the job,” Wayne continues, “He’s gonna crash the damn thing one of these days. Won’t do anyone any good for you to end up in the hospital too.”

“Well,” Ms. Mayfield says, voice almost teasing, eyes crinkling with her smile, “I suppose if you put it that way.”

Eddie’s eyebrows climb his face.

“Well then,” Wayne says, “Like I said, after you, miss.” He glances back into the hospital room. “You three stay out of trouble for once, you hear me?”

“Yes, sir,” Steve says.

Max just rolls her eyes.

Eddie beams. “No promises!”

Wayne sighs, Ms. Mayfield laughs (again), and they exit into the hall.

Eddie and Max turn to each other in sync as the door swings shut.

“What was that?” Max asks, arching an eyebrow.

“Damn, Uncle Wayne,” Eddie says.

There’s a very long pause as they stare at each other.

“Your uncle’s a good guy, yeah?” Max says slowly, eyes narrowing in thought.

Eddie can’t help the grin that splits his face.

“The best,” he says.

“Mom hasn’t always had the best taste in men,” Max says. “She deserves someone who’ll treat her right.”

“Would be nice to know Wayne won’t be alone when I inevitably bounce from Hawkins for that rockstar lifestyle.”

“Oh my god,” Steve mutters from the corner.

“Don’t be a wet blanket, Stevie,” Eddie says brightly. “This is gonna be great.”

“You know you two can have your weird insufferable sibling energy without actually setting up your family, right?”

Eddie just sticks his tongue out at him, and Steve rolls his eyes.

“Sure,” Max agrees blithely, and her gaze flicks between Steve and Eddie. “But there’s some fucking matchmaking that needs to be done around here.”

(extra bonus excerpt, in part because I think this is the story least likely to happen, and because I desperately need this little snippet to make it somewhere even if the fic doesn’t:)

“Hey,” a raspy voice comes from the doorway, and Eddie almost doesn’t recognize it.

He blinks at Steve.

“The fuck is wrong with your voice?” Max says.

Steve laughs a little, low and rough, wincing just a little.

“Consequence of getting choked out so many times apparently,” he says. “It’s worse first thing in the mornings, and the doctors think long days or cold ones’ll probably bring it out too. Sounds like I smoke a fucking pack a day, huh?”

“Awful,” Max agrees, grimacing.

Eddie averts his eyes and stares at the ceiling and does not voice the little thought in the back of his head that thinks it’s kind of hot. It’s pretty fucked up. It’s a serious, possibly long-term side effect caused by some pretty brutal trauma, so it’s very inappropriate for his brain to think about how Steve’s voice sounds shredded in the way Eddie’s pretty familiar with after screaming metal lyrics at the top of his lungs for hours, in a way Eddie can imagine might result from other kinds of screaming. (And Eddie’s definitely got some wires crossed because the mental image of Steve at a metal concert, lips pressed to a mic, sweat shining under stage lights almost seems more obscene than sex.)

IV. superkids school

I can’t even say the actual premise of this or do a proper elevator pitch because that would spoil a (relatively early) twist. This one would be angsty. It was originally my ‘rotating my blorbos in my head and chewing on them’ brain fic so it’s very self-indulgent and very heavy on the hurt side of hurt/comfort. Lots of secrets, but counterpoint, getting a very flirty bitchy version of Steve. Still working out all the powers each kid would have, but Steve and Robin are the new hires at a Munson-run school for kids with superpowers. oH also, alive and well Chrissy and Barb!

“It’s not what I expected,” Steve says.

“Were you expecting some big dramatic manor, pretty boy?” an unfamiliar voice drawls, heavy with sarcasm. “A proper rich kid boarding school?”

Steve turns, and there’s no one who knows about the Munson Institute who wouldn’t recognize Eddie Munson—one of the first generation of students, nephew of the current institute head, highly anticipated to take over when Wayne Munson retires, the public face, and, despite the reputation and fame and scrutiny, any abilities he may have are somehow still a secret to the world.

He’s lounging casually against a doorframe, fiddling with a curl of his long dark hair, but despite the air of disinterest, there’s an air of skepticism and disdain in the curl of his mouth, the dark weight of his stare.

Steve bristles, folds his arms across his chest defensively.

“I mean, yeah, kind of,” he says, fighting to keep his voice level and polite. “You’ve managed to keep world governments, military factions, and international espionage at bay for nearly two decades now. So sue me for assuming you must have crazy resources and the facilities to match.”

Eddie Munson snorts, pushes off the doorframe.

“Nancy,” he says, “Come on. We’re really gonna go through with this? Ms. Buckley, absolutely, obviously.”

He turns to Robin with a wide grin, extends a hand. “Never got to learn a second language when my brain was all fresh and elastic, but we’ve been searching for ages for someone who can cover everything the kids wanna try, and your resume? Insane. Plus, I am very partial to music, but everyone’s been fussy that we need someone with proper band and orchestra training, and a wider range of instruments, and that I can’t just teach the kids metal and classic rock on guitar. So I was ready to throw a fucking fit if Murray’s absurd background check requirements didn’t clear for you.”

Robin shakes his hand and grins.

“I mean, I can definitely work in some metal. We can have some fun with Metallica on strings and brass for sure.”

Eddie laughs, delighted.

Then he turns to Steve and his brow arches and the smile turns into something more of a patronizing smirk.

“But do we really need a gym teacher? Let alone one so obviously prissy?”

“Excuse me?” Steve says.

“Eddie,” Nancy says, and Steve’s a little relieved to see that she seems as exasperated as he is, pinching the bridge of her nose. “Physical activity and team sports have been proven beneficial for child development. Just because you’re allergic to organized athletics doesn’t mean you get to take it out on our new hire, or pretend it wouldn’t be great for the children.”

“Nance,” Eddie says, pointing a finger at her, “I can say definitively, absolutely, from personal experience, that gym is quite the opposite of ‘beneficial’ for children’s development.”

And Steve can’t help himself.

“I mean, sorry you always got picked last in gym, Munson,” he scoffs, gratified to see the way Eddie Munson startles, “but even if I wanted to replicate a traditional gym class, which I don’t, it would literally be impossible, because it’s a class of seven children, with superpowers. The day you show me someone who can make an ordinary gym class work with that is the day I shave my goddamn head.”

[itspvg]

Thank you as always for tagging me @hunter-sylvester

tea, coffee, or soda? I would drink all of these. The Coffee and the Soda are more regular than my tea consumption. I guess sometimes tea falls by the wayside because the most common tea here is just "default flavour" and my brain for some reason can't focus well enough when in a supermarket to check and look at the aisle with enough time to work out what I want to try outside of the norm.

dogs or cats? Dogs are my default due to the fact I grew up with them. I loved my dogs and still to this day will think about them both daily. However I do find myself longing more and more for a cat as well. I guess in some sort of ideal situation, I'd one day have a home where I'd have both at the same time. It's blissful thinking but I'd love that. They would also have stupid names. They can't have senisble ones.

can you play an instrument? I guess a few? Like I can play guitar and Bass. Kinda both in the same realm of musical knowledge but I guess those are separate instruments. Been a while since I have though. There was also a time I used to play Clarinette. That was far into my past though. I doubt I would have the ability to even remotely play one these days. Long gone are the ages I worry about the disgusting taste of a reed.

what's your sun sign? I'd need to google such a thing. Personally the idea of signs and the "power" they hold are completely stupid to me. I dispair the idea of them. I see people unironically claim "I'm a 'this sign' hence I done this thing". No you done it because you wanted to and if it was a bad thing. No "sign" is responsbile for you being a piece of shit. Only you are.

first song lyrics that pop into your head? “Forget why I came here and forget why I stay. And wonder if they'd notice, if I slipped away." - The Midnight, River of Darkness.

do you have any tattoos? Current I have none. Not for lack of desire. But for lack of ideas I can really comit to or have money for.

favorite place you traveled? Germany. I have been to Berlin a few times. And I would love to journey back there. But there are also other places I would love to see. Maybe in time and if money permits I can see more.

what's the last movie you watched? I am struggling to remember the last one. I watch movies rarely. I find it hard to watch a movie alone and at times if I am lucky for spend time with folk to watch one. It usually ends up in batches at a time. So honestly. I am struggling to remember.

what languages do you speak? English. I sadly do not know others as much as I wished I could. My dyslexia is a massive road block into that and while some folks have tried to teach me short phrases and what not. And I appreciate their efforts. My brain just struggles.

do you have any hobbies? Gaming, Streaming, Reading (when my brain will let me). Beyond that I think I might be a frightfully boring person sadly.

you can hang out with one fictional character for an hour, who do you choose? I am struggling here. A lot of the charcters I like or have interests in are usually damned by some sort of canon or have very specific objectives they are striving for. So the hour's time limit seems to be blocking my ability to choose one because I fear that's just an hour or them either complaining they can't proceed with their desired objective or having every thought consumed by it. And I just can't imagine I that would be something I would find any joy in. Sorry if that is a really grim and shit answer.

compliment yourself: You try to be a better person than you are and that's better than some you've known.

No pressure at all to do it but I am tagging: @nemobeatrice @miraakswhore and anyone else that would be interested. Please by all means do it!

[madalice31]

People are so fucking weird and backwards.

Folks flipped the fuck out when Millie Bobbie Brown got engaged at 19. There was so much backlash talking about how she was “too young” to be engaged. But oh it’s quite alright for Halle Bailey to be a baby mama at 22.

20 something maybe too young to get married but certainly not too young to have a kid. Smh. Y’all gurls really THIS okay with baby mama culture huh? I remember when our community (the black community) was looked down on for being a baby mama. But Kylie came around and made it cool? I swear yall sling the word woke around a lot but everyone is still sleep.

Like the comments about people “hating” on young mothers? Can we get real? At least Millie’s boyfriend proved his commitment to her by proposing BEFORE knocking her up.

DDG has been playing throughout his relationship with Halle. The drama with his ex. Like are we really gonna ignore the red flag that he dived straight into his exs DMs the moment he had a disagreement with Halle? That’s how you resolve the issues in your relationship bro? Oh he thinks because he can take her on shopping sprees (that she can fucking take herself on) that’s more than enough to be a good man 🙄. The song talking about him being jealous of her career and sabotaging it. Knocking her up don’t sound like sabotage to yall? And he love calling her “the Mrs” but he was not as quick to put a ring on her finger as he was to raw dog it. And now, after the fact, y’all see him rushing to Zales or Jarred? 🙄 she ain’t even said she loved him until she started dressing differently. Aka until she knew she was pregnant. Now suddenly he the love of your life. Smh. I don’t blame Halle. She’s young. I’m just wondering where her team at? Where Chloe at? If I’m being honest, that’s who I would have expected to pop up pregnant. I mean every song is about getting her back blown out. Seems like she was ready for these streets lol. But truly, did no one have a conversation with Halle to not take her first real relationship too seriously, especially when she’s at the start of her career? ESPECIALLY when he’s such a cornball? I didn’t know who he was until she started dating him. Someone said he got his family out the hood with YT. I’m sorry, since when is that a unique story? Plenty people in this day and age have been able to achieve that, doesn’t take away the fact that they problematic if they are.

I mean someone else said, she’s still Halle. She’s still gonna be booked. It’s not 1964. No it’s not. But women aren’t even allowed to have abortions now, remember? We don’t have governance over our OWN bodies in 2023. This false sense of progression we have as a society is truly concerning. And I mean honestly, maybe for a Millie, it wouldn’t have that much of an effect on her career if it happened to her. Maaaybe. But for a Halle? We already got to fight for a seat at the table. They will use any and every excuse to take that seat from you, no matter how much they claim to like you.

Halle’s career is about to come to a standstill. I don’t know her so I don’t know how she feels about it. But there’s a reason young actresses and singers try to avoid pregnancy when their careers are just starting to take off. Hell just women who have regular careers outside of the spotlight avoid pregnancy early in their lives because as much as people like to act like it’s nothing to have a baby, it’s life changing in a way that no one really talks about or no one really digests.

And now Disney has already removed their submission for her to be considered for best original song for the Little Mermaid. That could have at least been her first Oscar nomination. But we all know Disney don’t play about their image and even tho she’s 22 and not 16, they’re gonna distance themselves. Yeah, it’s not 1964 alright. And I’m sure that’s one of many opportunities she will lose out on.

No judgment tho. I wish her the best and I hope he does right by her. I’m sure she will still be successful but I doubt her success will look the same and that’s the part I wish folks would keep it real about.

All the while I’m wondering where Ms “mentor” Beyonce is. 👀 too busy cheesing with Taylor Swift of all people. Smh. Let me not get started.

[bunposting]

First of all I just want to say I think it is endlessly funny that, instead of coming to my blog or any other blog that is talking about these issues from a place of genuine experience, multiple people are asking these questions to folks who literally have nothing to do with rabbits and have stated multiple times that they want nothing to do with rabbits.

Anon won't see this, I'm sure, but just so anyone is aware, you're not going to learn anything if you just keep asking people that already have a bias against the topic and also don't really have experience with or knowledge about the topic.

If anyone needs to know, a Pet Rabbit Person™ specifically is somebody who has been sucked into the world of House Rabbit Society, which is an animal rights organization disguised as an animal welfare organization (as so many tend to be). I have a whole post about why House Rabbit Society and the people who follow them are bad news - you can find it here. These people aren't just dangers to their own rabbits, they're a danger to others' rabbits as well - especially breeders, spoken as somebody who has personally had rabbits affected by these people. Some of these people manage to actually care for their rabbits really well. I'm not going to deny that. I've seen a few rabbits kept by HRS standards that actually look comparable in condition to show rabbits I've seen. But few is the operative word there.

HRS standards are specifically designed to be almost impossible to follow for the typical pet owner. They want to make it seem like rabbits are some of the most difficult animals to keep healthy and happy as pets, because at the end of the day, they want to eliminate the raising of rabbits for any purpose at all (which would mean, eventually, no more rabbits if they got their way). That's the issue with Pet Rabbit People™. The good news is, most of them aren't going to buy from breeders anyways. Those who do, will do so under the pretense that they are "rescuing those poor rabbits from [insert bullcrap here]," and there is a non-zero chance they'll drag the breeder's name through the mud and put the breeder and their rabbits at high risk for Bad People Doing Bad Things to them.

All of that set aside, people look at rabbit husbandry from a lense of, say, dogs or cats - or humans, even - instead of rabbits. Wire cages aren't attractive. They look cruel. Nobody can deny that they just look awful. Wire floors look uncomfortable to us. Eating a diet of pellets and hay seems boring and gross. Living a solitary life seems inhumane. But all of these things are coming from a perspective that doesn't actually look at anything from the lense of a rabbit. Many rabbits prefer their cages - those cages are their safe space. They know they'll be protected there. They feel comfortable there. Many rabbits prefer the wire flooring, especially in warm climates - it takes pressure of their toes, and it helps to keep them cool (which is very important when you're a creature with some of the most insulative fur on the planet!). They don't mind their diet and having a diet so consistent helps to keep their gut healthy. Living solitarily reduces the stress from likely inevitable fighting between intact rabbits, and they can get the social interaction they need from the humans who take care of them.

The issue here is that this kind of information barely exists outside of breeder circles or the ARBA itself. Practically all the other information out there is based on emotion or whatever the pet store sells. And the information that claims to be based on real data tends to be based on studies that were poorly conducted or were conducted with a bias. That's why it's so important that, if you do sell pets, you sell to people that either already have been in or know about those circles, or to somebody who is actively willing to listen and take your advice about rabbit care as a breeder. I'd really love to see a world where I could trust that a rabbit I sold as a pet would be truly taken care of and that myself and my other rabbits would be safe afterward, but that's not the world we live in right now. That doesn't mean that world will never exist, but it's a world some of us are desperately trying to create.

What the fuck is a ''pet rabbit person'' in the negative sense and why does that breeder seem to think no one who owns pet rabbits without caring about show quality is a good owner

I have known a lot of rabbit keepers, and I can tell you that I have personally seen neglect from show breeders just as much as I’ve seen it from pet keepers. It’s weird to assume it’s limited to one end or the other because a good amount of show breeders give very poor enrichment options ime. I’m generally unimpressed with most rabbit husbandry I’ve encountered in my life. Ignorance isn’t limited to one field over the other because any yahoo can buy some show rabbits at a county fair and backyard breed them. You don’t need a license or apprenticeship or anything to prove you’re capable enough to own rabbits let alone breed them. A pet keeper can access the same information as a show breeder and a show breeder can be just as insistent on not changing their husbandry based on modern standards as a pet keeper.

[dustylovelyrun]

....So anyone else just. Contemplating staring your characters directly in the eye, unhinging your jaw, and furiously cramming a paper-based rendition of their wip into your mouth in front of them?

I now literally have a file tilted sad boi noises that ONE CAR CRASH EXCERPT THE E M O T I O N SCENE and spent at least ten minutes panicking because I didn’t have The Correct Font.

Haven’t figured that one out yet, if I’m being honest. 

But I might have the right font.

[dmsden]

One Chance - Running D&D for new folks as a one shot

Hullo, Gentle Readers. Once again, an Anonymous reader comes to us, with hat in hand, asking for help. They ask, “ So, I’ve been chatting to a coworker about our respective dnd games and long story short now I’m going to be running a one shot for 8 of my coworkers, 7 of which have never played before. How the hell do I do this and make it fun for people? Right now my plan is to make a classic Indiana Jones style dungeon and just let them run around in this closed space. What would you do?”

Well, Any, what you just outlined sounds like pretty good fun. I’m sure you could have a good time just doing that. If you’re asking me what I’d do in such a scenario, these would be my plans:

1. Make sure everyone was fine playing pre-generated characters. I might even start an email chain explaining the types of characters you’re offering to let folks play, and let people talk out what they want to do. If you have the time, you could suggest that the players come up with some flaws, bonds, ideals, and personality traits, just to make the characters more theirs. The reason I recommend this is that it can be very intimidating for a new player to come in and have to make a lot of decisions right off the bat, and creating characters involves a LOT of decisions. It also frees up valuable table time that could be used playing the game.

2. I would also briefly talk to the players about their characters already being established as friends and allies and play up the cooperative nature of things. This tends to prevent someone from deciding to strike out on their own, which can big things down.

3. I would put together a storyline with a defined goal. In the case of the Indiana Jones type story mentioned above, the goal could be, “Locate the dungeon, survive its perils, claim the golden idol, and escape alive with it.” Having a clearcut goal provides directions for the players to follow. When they’re in doubt, they can fall back on this goal to push them forward. If you’re ambitious, maybe each character could also have a subgoal. Just make sure that the players’ goals don’t contradict each other; you don’t want anyone to walk away feeling they lost and someone else won.

4. Put together an adventure that takes into account both the characters your group is playing and D&D’s three pillars.

4a. Make sure there are some fun and interesting combat encounters. Sure, you can fill the dungeon with nothing but orcs, but changing things up adds variety and surprise. Maybe toss in a mimic, stirges, some undead, and some encounters that can be avoided through cleverness or diplomacy.

4b. Make sure your adventure includes chances for social interactions. Maybe one of the orcs seeks out the PCs to parley after the first combat encounter, seeing an opportunity to betray the chief to his advantage. Give the PCs a chance (and a reason) to interrogate a prisoner. Have the evil cleric monologue at them. Have the mimic be one of the intelligent variety and have it bargain with them. Players love to talk to monsters, in my experience, and some characters may consider this their time to shine.

4c. Make sure your adventure has meaningful choices and interesting locales. In any given room with a choice of things to examine or doors to leave by, there should be something to differentiate between them. For example, if there are three doorways, don’t have them identical and featureless. Maybe one them has a briny smell, and the PCs can hear the lapping of ocean waves from it, one smells faintly of decay, and the buzzing of flies it audible, and one smells wet dog and blood, and there are sounds of snarling and growling. The PCs don’t know exactly what’s down each one, but they now have interesting information they can use to inform their decision. This is always preferable to just going down a path arbitrarily, because it doesn’t seem to matter.

4d. Look at the classes, races, and backgrounds the players chose. Are there a lot of martial classes? Make sure there’ll be plenty of chances for fighting. Is there a wizard? Perhaps include a magical puzzle their spells can help with. A cleric and a paladin? Definitely put in some undead. Maybe someone’s playing a dwarf; if the dungeon is an old dwarven ruin, make sure to add some details that they’ll pick up on that the others won’t. If one is a Noble, perhaps put some clues that the evil high priest is being bankrolled by a rival family. These touches will make it all more personal and hopefully interesting to the group.

5. Plan for success, but accept that not everyone will want to keep playing. If you enjoy playing with these folks, maybe you’ll want to propose that you keep playing and expand things into a full campaign. If they’ve had fun, they just might be interested. You have to understand, however, that D&D isn’t for everyone. Some people may simply be being polite in agreeing to play. Or maybe Bob from Marketing just doesn’t get into it and would rather pass on future games. That’s okay. You gave them the chance to play, and, if it’s not their thing, that’s nothing for you to take personally.

I hope this helps, Anonymous. I myself am going to be running for some people who’ve never played before in the near future. I’ll wish us both luck in these games.

[peaktotheocean]

Disturber of the Bees

Pairing: Jaskier/Yennifer Summary:

Yennefer gets two kind of customers coming into her shop: clueless humans who think she's a con-artist, selling essential oils and energy crystals, or magical folk who seek a kindred spirit (and perhaps a bit of gossip).

And then there's Jaskier.

Yennefer knows perfectly well what humans see when they come into her shop.

A con artist selling crystals and essential oils. Rows and rows of either pastel green or deep purple labels, promising to provide energy, ease anxiety, increase libido, or any number of false cures for real ailments.

A cheesy psychic, claiming to talk to animals and cleanse the spirits, and charging far too much money than is reasonable for a fraud.

But what humans don’t see, is what magic folk feel when they step past her threshold.

The warmth of a bygone magical era that hasn’t enveloped the world in centuries. The energy that fills them up as the door swings shut behind them. Yennefer smiles each time she witnesses a kindred spirit’s shoulders ease just a little after walking through her front door.

The elves, gnomes, dwarves, part-faes, they see her as someone to fix their aged glamours, aid their ailing kin, and gossip about the drama created by the few hundred magical folk left. It’s a comfort for Yennefer when she can really chat to someone, argue about a millennia-old puzzle that’s never been solved, or ponder what the world will shift to next.

When magical folk visit, her familiar doesn’t have to hide in the form of a common pet and people respect their floating ghostly orb, like liquid in the air, delightfully spinning in exchange for the customers directing a good thought or energy boost their way.

Then...there's Jaskier.

He trips through the doorway as opposed to walking through it, and he doesn't manage to pick himself up in time so when the front door attempts to close, it clips at his heels.

“Can you come talk to my bees?” He asks even as he pulls at his cardigan. She’s sure that he thinks he’s straightening himself out but he’s only managing to build up the static electricity that will shock him when he inevitably pokes at one of her metal statues that are scattered throughout the shop.

“What?” Yennefer nearly forgets to ask. She makes a gesture underneath the cashier's desk, not activating the spell, just preparing. She doesn't think the man is dangerous but she can't be sure. Perhaps he's just insane.

“Well, your website says you offer animal advice." The man's smile doesn't falter at all. He seems more than willing to explain his ridiculous situation. "Psychically, I mean. And I’m worried about my bees.”

"What?" Yennefer asks again, mostly to buy time as she checks and makes sure he really is human.

Thankfully, he’s easily distracted.

“Oh, who is this lovely pup?” Jaskier finds himself close the floor again, this time, miraculously by choice.

Yennefer has no idea who he’s talking about until she stands on her tip-toes to look over the desk.

Up until five minutes ago, her familiar had been wrapped in her coat and scarf, playing to the dramatics of a blustery day in the city even inside the warm shop.

It was rather common for them to change into a dog when a man came into the store but apparently they aren’t too concerned about this one, considering they didn’t even bother to untangle themselves from Yennefer’s bright red scarf.

"I'm Jaskier. What's your name?" He coos at her familiar. They don't have a name but humans don't like when presumed pets are unnamed.

"Spot," Yennefer says drily. She sees the moment that “Spot” takes the built-up static electricity from Jaskier’s person as a mid-afternoon snack, saving him from any future shock.

"Spot! Lovely! And you must be Miss Yennefer, yes?"

"Just Yennefer is fine."

She watches Jaskier scratch “Spot” behind the ears, the familiar playing it up by kicking one of their back legs in delight.

My familiar is a traitor, Yennefer thinks.

“Sure…I’ll come…talk to your bees,” she decides on a whim, mostly because she’s not sure what excuse she can give for not taking on the job.

Normally the few people who agree to the animal psychic racket bring the animals with them to the store, cash in hand. There’s not normally a second location involved in the transaction, let alone a hive.

Jaskier looks up in shock. “Really? Brilliant!”

Somehow, he manages to leave her shop without injuring himself again. He's even left a legible address and phone number if she needs to reschedule. Not cancel but just reschedule.

Yennefer peers over the desk again.

“He invited you as a dog. You realize that means you’re going to have to come as a dog.”

No response. Typical. The familiar just yawns and ignores her. Clearly content to stay as a dog for the time being, they just snuffle further into her scarf.

“Fine. You're staying here then. I’ll just tell him that I can’t have you around bees in case you accidentally eat one.”

The energy around the not-dog grows sad, of all things, but Yennefer stays strong. She can’t be beaten by two ridiculous sentient beings in one day.

---------

Jaskier meets her outside his home before she even has a chance to get out of her car. It’s not the house she expects to find him in, given his age and the economy but the amount of character in the old Victorian-style home, including a lovely turret, does seem to fit Jaskier’s whole schtick. She particularly is charmed by the deep burgundy siding. She'll have to put a real estate alert on the house within the next five decades or so.

"Yennefer! Marvelous! How have you been?"

Jaskier is in a different cardigan today, this one is bright yellow as though that he is in solidarity with his pollen-covered bees. Yennefer refuses to find the sweater or his skinny pants either charming or attractive.

"Since you saw me yesterday?"

"Umm yes?" Jaskier blinks at her and Yennefer, horrifyingly, realizes he might genuinely care about people, and potentially her.

"I've been fine. The bees?"

She means for him to lead her to the bees but his face falls. In doing so, it's as though the energy around him becomes so filled with melancholy that Yennefer would have assumed she's here for a wake rather than a psychic house-visit.

“There’s not been a change, unfortunately. I can’t figure it out," Jaskier says, puzzled. Nevertheless, he offers her a helpless shrug and moves them forward.

Instead of taking her through the house, he leads her around back, to a gloriously full garden, in the throes of its spring blooms even with the odd chilly days they keep having.

"Why do you have bees?" She asks, not close enough yet to feel any energy coming off of the hive.

Jaskier takes the question and rolls with it, almost too much.

"Well, I have a garden, you see. Or, my great aunt had a garden, before she passed. And I've taken care of it since then. And I listened to my friend Priscilla worry about the bees for quite some time. They're disappearing, you know?" Jaskier shows no signs of stopping his rambling, hands moving as fast as his mouth. "So then, my other friend's brother was moving out of town and he had a hive ready to go and the new owners didn't want it. So I offered my garden and now, three years later, I've still got bees!" His face falls slightly and there's that energy dip again. "They've been very happy here until very recently," he assures her.

If Yennefer didn't already know for sure that the man in front of her was a human, she would think Jaskier an animal empath, at the very least. Jaskier's confidence in describing the mood of his bees is just straddling the line between astute and magical.

But still, she believes him. Not because of his clear honesty but because the moment that they're within ten paces of the hive, the mood of the bees shifts excitedly, just at his presence.

Jaskier doesn't seem to notice. He's still somehow talking while gesturing to the house next door. Another Victorian, though not nearly as taken care of as his own. Yennefer notices, distastefully, that their color scheme is a bit too dark, even for her tastes, and no depth whatsoever.

"Well, I've got a new neighbor that just moved in, you see? It started then. They've been a bit more...agitated than usual?" Jasker sees Yennefer's stricken expression and holds up his hand. "Not stinging. They've not stung me. I can umm. Would you be more comfortable with a protective suit?"

Absolutely not. If this fool isn't going to wear a suit around angry bees, then neither is Yennefer. Besides, she's got magic, she reminds herself.

Jaskier is right on the money, Yennefer realizes.

The bees do not like the neighbor.

In fact, they're staying as far as they can on Jaskier's property by the hive without even attending to the rose bushes underneath the neighbor's kitchen window.

The bees really like Jaskier though. It's sweet, in a way. Too sweet. If Yennefer didn't know better or if Jaskier wasn't just so Jaskier, she'd worry about him starting a bee cult or asking them sweetly to cause mischief.

“He didn’t seem particularly friendly when i went to introduce myself," Jaskier sighs, looking longingly at the house next door.

"Have you considered that maybe he just doesn’t like bees and is antagonizing them somehow? Is there a neighborhood committee or something you could bring it up at?" Yennefer suggests, even though she knows that's not at the heart of it. The bees sense something she can't from outside the house and the next property over. It's going to take digging and no more of Jaskier's money since Yennefer can't exactly charge him for real magical tasks.

“I think the official offense is called disturber of the peace, not disturber of the bees.” Jaskier's expression is so downtrodden that he doesn't even acknowledge his own pun. "Perhaps I'll go over there again, this time with a jar of honey as an offering."

"Don't do that," Yennefer says sharply. She doesn't want Jaskier any closer to that house than he already is on a regular basis by nature of living next door. "I just mean," she says calmer, "that sounds wildly foolish."

"I think you mean charmingly neighborly," Jaskier corrects her but his features grow concerned when he sees how serious Yennefer is.

"I really don't," Yennefer tells him. "Give me a few days to do some research but in the meantime, trust your bees, okay?"

Jaskier nods in her direction, solemnly matching her expression even though she knows he wants to ask questions. He looks from the bees, to the house next door, and then, finally, back to Yennefer. "Yes, all right, I'll trust my bees."

----------- It's not two days later that Yennefer hears the tiniest "bonk!" against the front door of the shop. She promptly ignores it but her familiar's essence slides off their stool and they go to hover by the entrance.

Then there is another "bonk!" this time with more intent.

Her familiar sends energy Yennefer's way that can only be described as URGENT, all capital letters, neon sign.

There is a bee banging against the door of the shop.

Bonk!

Yennefer opens the door and the little creature zooms in with remarkable dexterity and proceeds to fly in worried circles around her head.

"Fuck."

----------- Yennefer barely remembers if she's packed everything she might need. Her emergency duffel should be enough, it's always been enough in the past but this is the present and Jaskier, who is so beloved by his bees that one of them came to find her.

She takes deep breaths and her familiar curls onto her passenger seat. They have a loose hold on the bee but loose in the sense that the bee is sort of just floating around in the shadow ether where the familiar exists. The bee is safe, at any rate. And Yennefer holds onto that thought and reminds herself that in addition to any bag of tricks, she has her magic coursing through her, and perhaps a few hundred bees.

This time, when she pulls up to the house, Jaskier is nowhere to be seen.

The bees however...

The neighbor's house is covered in a swarm. There's far too many of them just to be Jaskier's bees. His own hive must have called for the help of others.

Before she can storm the unfashionable castle, a man comes bursting out the front door.

He seems...well, like he smells like some kind of a sickness, really. Yennefer can't quite put her finger on it, nor does she want to. Both because of the terrible energy pouring off of him but also because the man is covered in bees and Yennefer doesn't care to separate them from their prey.

"You! Witch!" He growls at her, nearly foaming at the mouth. He twists every which way but the bees refuse to give in. They don't appear to be stinging him, just...consuming him. Yennefer wants to look away but she has a bigger question to sort out.

"Where is Jaskier?" She demands, perhaps putting a little bit more energy than necessary into her delivery.

"The idiot next door?" He tries to laugh but coughs instead. "The bees came and took the twerp."

This implies that Jaskier couldn't walk on his own and Yennefer feels as though she's going to implode and take both houses with her. "What did you do to him?"

"Nothing!"

Whatever it was, it was and still isn't nothing. Yennefer wants to cough to get the dark smoggy magic coming off of the man out of her throat but she won't give this pitiful excuse for a warlock the satisfaction.

"Leave." Yennefer inhales and when she opens her eyes, she knows that her pupil, iris, and sclera all are glowing with a radiant purple that she hasn't gotten to pull out in centuries. "Leave this neighborhood and never return."

It's not a suggestion. It's not even an order, really. Orders can, in theory, be disobeyed.

His feet are already compelling him to move and Yennefer isn't sure when they'll stop. It could be several hundred kilometers before he stops walking but Yennefer doesn't care. If he even comes within three counties of the city again, she'll know it and then she won't be so kind.  

Jaskier's house, surprisingly, isn't full of bees, Yennefer finds as she heads inside. It seems that they decided to lay him on his couch and return to the neighbor's house to engulf it. There's just one left now, the bee that came to warn Yennefer.

The little dear is still buzzing from inside Yennefer's familiar, who has stretched themselves out atop Jaskier like a magical blanket. They're transferring energy to him in a way that they've never before done for a stranger and Yennefer feels the same warmth from her store flow through Jaskier's home.

She kneels beside his couch, using a gentle hand to stroke his hair. His eyelids flutter open but he doesn't seem to notice the shadow entity giving him a cuddle. He only has eyes for Yennefer.

"Are you all right?" Yennefer asks, imbuing the hand doing the stroking with a bit more energy, and perhaps running a diagnostic check. He's fine, he is. And there will be no lasting damage. But whatever the warlock next door was doing needs to be shackled sooner rather than later.

Though, Yennefer supposes, she can stay by Jaskier's side a little bit longer. The bees have it in hand, for the moment.

"Yennefer?" He murmurs, blue eyes blinking up at her. "What are you doing here?" Jaskier asks, confused, like he's somehow missed an appointment they've made and already feels guilty about it.

She can't just say that the bees came to find her. She really shouldn't.

But before she can think of any excuses, Jaskier's eyes widen and he gasps.

"The bees saved me, Yennefer." His smile is...too much, almost. He loves those damn bees. And god, Yennefer knows that they really love him back. It must have taken hundreds of them to move him. She can't even fault them for their bad taste.

"I know they did." She keeps stroking his hair and he tilts his head, leaning into it with a sigh. "They came and got me," Yennefer tells him, throwing caution to the wind.

Jaskier opens his eyes and blinks at her. Then he smiles and there's that warmth again.

"I didn't think you could really talk to bees," he tells her, like he's both letting her in on a secret but also might have a concussion. “Not at first.”

"You just thought you'd pay me $60 to pretend to talk to your bees?"

"It was a last resort kind of thing. They seemed so upset."

Jaskier sighs again tries to wave his hand around but Yennefer's familiar refuses to let him move too much and that includes letting any of his limbs pass from their shadowy blanket domain. They're still worried for him, even with all the energy that they're outputting, expecting the human to soak it up like a sponge when all they're really doing is flooding Jaskier's home with magic.

"And you still did it."

"Well..." Jaskier's eyes are wide now and there's a part of being around so much magic that humans get, well, not drunk exactly but not not-drunk either. He turns his head so he's mostly talking into a crocheted pillow cover that must have belonged to his late aunt. "You are also intimidatingly attractive and since you already thought I was a fool, I didn't think there was much for me to lose," he murmurs into his throw pillow. "Um. Yennefer. What is on top of me right now?"

"Who," she corrects him. "That's Spot. And one of your bees. I think they adopted one another."

She doesn't just think. She knows. It's been a while since her familiar has taken such a shine to another sentient being. Yennefer doesn't just mean the bee, either.

Jaskier looks a bit dazed but the grin on his face tells Yennefer that he doesn't seem to mind that much, so long as she stays close to him. He finally manages to flap his hand out from underneath her familiar and she snags it, interlacing their fingers.

"It's all right. You can sleep a bit more. You're safe. And I'm not going anywhere."

-----------

on ao3 here! thanks for reading!

[miekasa]

any spare levi headcanons tonight????? 😁😁😁😁

Sure, why not, he is the love of my life after all. These are pretty random, and fit in some sort of generalized modern boyfriend au. Hopelessly domestic, as that is the nature of nearly everything I write for Levi, anyway. Also still terribly obsessed with the idea of him with a motorcycle, so there’s that.

He owns at least six black blazers. They’re nearly identical; slight differences in texture and cut, one with lapels, one that’s boldly all leather that you swear you’ve never seen him wear. They’re kind of his go-to staple, other than a sweater.

That being said, he doesn’t exclusively wear all black. His closet leans towards more neutrals, sure, but he’s not allergic to color. You might not catch him wearing neon orange on the average day, but he’s not averse to a nice shade of green, any shade of purple that suits his mood, even a softer pink.

He has towels and rags he sets aside especially for you when he comes over. He always washes them and put them back in place when you leave so that they’re ready to go for next time.

Claims to not have any attachment to the shows/dramas you watch, but he’s totally backseat watching. Halfway into every single series, he starts sitting down when you turn it on, and scoffs at dumb decisions the characters make.

He splurged on one of those frame TVs that look like a painting when they’re idle. It was a good investment in his opinion.

He doesn’t hate Starbucks drinks—there’s worse things out there in terms of quality of tea. What he despises about the establishment is the way they call out names for you to pick up your order. He’s learned that mobile order ahead is the way to go.

Has slippers for around the house, so consequently, you have slippers for walking around his house. He keeps both pairs (and a few extra for friends and guests) tucked neatly beside the door for easy access; yours always go next to his.

Does not understand the purpose of a robe. Buy him one tho and he will suddenly find an excuse to wear it: making breakfast, lounging around watching TV, doing some light cleaning and dusting. It’s comfy, alright, he can admit that much.

The little puppy you got him that he swore he was not going to warm up to now gets the royal treatment. The best doggie goods and treats, top rated shampoos, cutest drying towels, even a miniature couch he constructed just for the pup. They’re best friends, there’s no breaking that bond now.

Speaking of the puppy, affectionately named Captain, Levi can be found walking him every day shortly after work. They have a few different routes, but they always pass by the local vendors/market, who enthusiastically anticipate their appearance every day. Some of the older ladies running stands have even taken to bringing a few treats with them for Captain—after bundling up some goods for Levi, too, of course.

Captain also has a special doggy backpack Levi uses for when he’s on his motorcycle. If you follow anybody on TikTok in his area, you’re bound to see at least one video of the pup while Levi’s out riding. He’s become viral on social media without even knowing it.

(When you show him a video someone posted of him and Captain with well over 100k likes, and a million views, he only rolled his eyes. But remembers that particularly day; remembers the folks had a kid who politely asked to pet the dog, so he let him. He also maybe asks you to send the link to him).

On the subject of the motorcycle, there was a good few weeks he wouldn’t let you on it. Always found an excuse, a smart reply that was punctuated with gentle push on your forehead and calling you too clumsy for it. Later, you found out it’s because he’d ordered you a helmet; didn’t want to risk you riding without one.

He always keeps it in the storage compartment should he make a stop to pick you up while he’s riding; and he usually wears at least two layers to have a spare to wrap you in before you get on.

When he cooks, he always makes sure there’s enough for leftovers and/or to give you some later. He also bakes frequently, and at least once a week, he stops by with some kind of treat for you—“Trying out a new recipe, let me know if you think it’s missing anything.”

On the subject of food, he won’t police what you eat to annoying extent; he knows that not everybody has the time or will to make pasta from scratch like he does. But, he will smack your wrist if you consider ordering fast food when you’re over at this place. Give him 30 minutes and a single pan, he’ll make something much better than whatever you can find on Uber Eats.

Really, though, he doesn’t mean to obnoxious about the homemade food thing, it’s more habit for him. Growing up, he had to learn to be resourceful, so buying fast-food isn’t ever at the forefront of his mind. Cooking for you also turns out to be something somewhat intimate that he enjoys, so just let him.

Once bought an Apple Watch because he liked the look of them, it wasn’t insanely expensive like other high end watches, and it could connect to his other devices, so why not? A week later he returned it, the ping of his notifications were in one too many places for his liking.

You tried to convince him to keep it—“At least for when you’re jogging! It can track your activity and calories!”—but he clicks his teeth. He’ll survive without keeping track of them.

He learned the hard way that jogging with Captain is no good. His legs are too tiny and Levi ended up carrying the puppy the entire time. Captain is more of a walk dog… or ride on the back of his bike dog.

If you changed anything in his phone settings—like the ringtone for you contact, or the sound his keyboard makes—he wouldn’t go back in and try to figure out how to reset it. Unless it was something obnoxious, like adding an autocorrect shortcut to say something lewd.

He doesn’t really listen to music when he’s just walking. When he’s on a run, that’s fine, but he somewhat prefers to just… hear the environment around him when he’s on a stroll or a break from work. The only reason he’d have headphones on in public is to take a phone call, but even then, he’d prefer to wait until he’s somewhere more private.

He likes having you over at his apartment and has contemplated asking you to move in. He doesn’t want to rush anything, though, so he’s content with your sleepovers for now. (Though he really cannot fathom that you call them “sleepovers” like you’re 14. Please).

He speaks to his mother at least once a week, and she always asks about you. Levi tells her that you’re fine, gives her small updates about you, but Kuchel really just wants to know when the wedding is. He pretends to be busy whenever she starts asking and conveniently ends the call.

Occasionally, he’ll stop by and take you out for lunch. Depends on how much time he has during the day for himself, but he always enjoys sharing a meal with you.

Whenever you’re out with your friends drinking, Levi will pick you up. Even if you already told him that you’d Uber home; as soon as you text him that you’re going to leave soon, he’s already on his way.

He makes pretty good cocktails himself. Teases you for running his alcohol supply dry when the truth is he has more of your favorites in his cabinet than his own. He secretly likes the way you flirt with him when you’re tipsy.

You don’t always cuddle on top of each other when you sleep together. You can just lay by each other and that’s enough; but sometimes, you catch Levi turning towards you in his sleep, reaching for your hand. His body seems to search for yours subconsciously, and you swear there’s a hint of a smile on his sleeping face when you put your hand within reach.

Do not try to pay for dinner when you’re out with him. He’ll pull the “I’m going to use the restroom” move and pay the bill behind your back if he needs to. Open your own doors, maybe; pull out your own chairs, sure if you want; but not this.

He flosses very diligently every night. Mostly because he fucking hates the dentist, so if he takes the extra steps and is extra careful with his teeth, he doesn’t have to go as often, right?—Wrong, it’s the one time the roles are reversed, and you and Hange have to wrestle him into the doctor’s office.

On the flip side, if there are any doctors you routinely avoid and/or forget to schedule check ups for, fear not, because Levi will do it for you. He’ll drive you there, too—the only caveat being, that he usually doesn’t tell you where you’re going until you’re almost there. You think he’s doing the mysterious man surprise date thing and then boom, he’s pulling up to the ophthalmologist. Good luck.

He’s purchased a physical, paper copy of the news on every one of your anniversaries, birthdays, and other special occasions. He keeps them all neatly tucked away in a drawer. Sometimes, he looks back on them—sees what was happening in the world around you on that day. Maybe someday he’ll cut them up and bind them together in a book for you.

He doesn’t like having headphones in when you’re home with him, and preferred if you didn’t either—unless it was for work or school. He welcomes you to use his speakers and play your music aloud; he likes listening to what you listen to. If you look closely, you can catch him humming along or tapping his foot when he really likes a song.

Saves pictures you send him in an album in his camera roll. Occasionally can be found scrolling through them—particularly if you’ve been away on a trip, or he hasn’t gotten the chance to see you because of conflicting schedules.

He takes relatively short showers and doesn’t have a strong preference for the water temperature, so he lets you shower first. Unless you want him to join you, of course.

It’s not hard to tell when Levi wants you. He becomes noticeably more touchy, even if that margin isn’t too wide by anyone else’s standards; and he rarely tries to hide it. It only happens in the privacy of your apartments; but he’ll come on to you—leaning a bit further into conversations, a hand on your knee, a kind of cloudy look in his eyes.

Sometimes he forgoes the attempts at being subtle, just kisses you out the blue, carefully backs you up against the wall, puts his hands on your hips. He can be awfully direct when given the opportunity.