#big solid conditioner

[homunculus-argument]

Finally took the cardboard recycling out after first procrastinating them for four days and then for five hours. Most of it had been folded up into the box that our new air conditioner had been packed in, and the package was too big to fit into the recycling as a whole. No choice but to empty out the box and put the smaller stuff in first, and then flatten the big box by itself. First step of the plan went great, but once the box was empty, I realised it's actually way sturdier than previously anticipated, so I figured that maybe it'd be easier to just crush whole than to try to rip it apart from the seams.

It turned out to be far too sturdy to just be crushed up. Tried stomping it, stepping on it, and eventually straight-up climbed to stand on top of the empty damn box, and it wouldn't fold. I've dealt with furniture less sturdy and easier to break apart than this box - clearly a far stronger type of cardboard than whatever ikea makes their chairs from. Eventually I had to climb down and go back to ripping it apart from the seams, which I eventually managed to do. But for like a solid minute I just stood there at the apartment complex trash cans like this:

[writingforstraykids]

I love you - I doubt it

Pairing: Chan x gn!reader

Word Count: 1571

Summary: Chan gets a message that would've made him the happiest man on earth only a while ago. Now, he doesn't know what to believe anymore.

Warnings/Tags: angst, chan centered

A/N: This is for you, pretty @zehina, my fellow angst lover🤭 Hope you like it🖤🖤

do not repost, translate, or plagiarize my works in any way here or on other platforms. ©️writingforstraykids 2024 -

Chan sat on his bed, staring at the glowing screen of his phone. His room was dimly lit, the soft hum of the air conditioner the only sound filling the silence. He had just finished scrolling through the usual notifications, his mind dulled by the routine of checking emails, missed calls, and scattered messages. But then, amidst the noise of daily communication, one message stood out, its simplicity pulling him out of the monotony of his scrolling.

I love you.

It was from you. He blinked, momentarily frozen. The words, clear and concise, hung there in the quiet air, reverberating in his mind. There was a time when those words would have lit up his world. He could still remember the first time you’d said them—how his heart had leaped, how his breath had caught in his throat. The flood of warmth, the feeling of being seen, of being valued. But now, as he stared at those three words on the screen, something had shifted.

He didn’t feel the familiar rush of emotion. Instead, his first thought was cold, dispassionate, and bitterly practical.

I doubt it.

He immediately regretted thinking it, but it was the truth. He couldn’t escape the gnawing doubt that had been creeping into his mind for months now. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to believe you still loved him. It wasn’t that he wanted to give up on the idea of you and him. It was just that, over time, something had changed. And he wasn’t sure if either of you had noticed it, or maybe you were just better at pretending it hadn’t.

He sat back against the headboard, his fingers grazing the side of the phone absentmindedly. The message stayed on the screen, taunting him with its simplicity. I love you. Those words should be enough, shouldn’t they? They should fix whatever invisible distance had begun to stretch between you. They should have the power to pull him back into that feeling, that intoxicating sense of connection. But they didn’t.

Instead, they felt like a promise he wasn’t sure you could keep anymore. Or maybe it was a promise neither of you had the energy to uphold.

It wasn’t like this before. There was a time when you two were inseparable, emotionally intertwined in a way that had felt so natural, so effortless. You had shared everything, from the smallest, most insignificant details of your day to the deep, raw vulnerabilities that you hid from everyone else. He had loved you for that – how you trusted him, how you opened yourself to him completely. And he had given you the same in return, never hesitating to share his fears, his dreams, his uncertainties.

But life has a way of complicating things. Chan found himself thinking back over the last year, the slow, almost imperceptible drift that had started to happen. It wasn’t a single moment, not a dramatic argument or a hurtful betrayal. It was more like the erosion of a coastline, gradual and unnoticed until one day you look up, and the shore is so far from where it once was. That’s how it felt between you two now. The connection that had once felt so solid, so unshakeable, now felt fragile, like it could break with a single careless touch.

It was little things at first. The missed calls, the forgotten details, the way you had started to prioritize other aspects of your life over time spent together. He had noticed it but hadn’t wanted to make a big deal out of it. Everyone grows and changes, right? People have different needs at different times in their lives. He had convinced himself that it was just a phase, that soon things would go back to the way they were.

But they hadn’t.

The silences between you had grown longer. The once easy, flowing conversations had started to falter, punctuated by awkward pauses where neither of you seemed to know what to say. You both tried to fill the gaps with reassurances, gestures of affection, but they felt forced, like you were trying to recapture something that had already slipped away.

And now, here was this message. I love you. The words felt like they came from a different time, a different version of you. The version of you that still shared everything with him, that still looked at him with that unguarded expression of trust. But that version had faded, hadn’t it? Replaced by someone more distant, more distracted. And maybe, just maybe, he had changed too. Maybe he wasn’t as attentive as he used to be, wasn’t as present.

Chan sighed, rubbing a hand across his face. He wished he could just respond the way he once would have—I love you too. It had been automatic, instinctive before. But now, it felt like a lie. Not because he didn’t care about you, not because he didn’t want to love you. But because there was something hollow about those words now, something that didn’t ring true.

He wondered if you felt it too. Did you send that message out of habit? Was it a routine? Or did you still mean it, deeply, truly, the way you had when you first said it? He couldn’t be sure. And that’s what scared him. The doubt, the uncertainty. How had it come to this? How did something that once felt so right now feel so wrong?

It wasn’t that he didn’t believe in love anymore. He did. But he wasn’t sure if what you two had was still love, at least not in the way it had once been. Maybe it had transformed into something else—something more complicated, less romantic. Something more like mutual obligation, or familiarity, or a kind of quiet companionship. But love? That passionate, all-consuming feeling that had once defined your relationship? He wasn’t sure if that was still there.

He put the phone down on the bed beside him, leaving the message unanswered for now. He needed time to think, to sort through his feelings. He wasn’t ready to respond until he could figure out what he truly felt and what he wanted. Maybe you two were just going through a rough patch. Maybe this was something you could work through if you both put in the effort. But then again, maybe this was the beginning of the end.

The thought made his chest tighten with a strange mix of fear and resignation. The idea of losing you was painful, but there was also a part of him that wondered if letting go would be a relief. The constant questioning, the persistent doubt, the weight of a love that no longer felt easy—it was exhausting. Could you two really go on like this? Or was it time to face the truth that something fundamental had changed between you, something that might never be the same again?

Chan leaned his head back against the headboard, closing his eyes. He replayed your relationship in his mind, the early days when everything was new and exciting, the middle years when you had settled into a comfortable rhythm, and now, this period of uncertainty. He realized that love wasn’t just a feeling. It was work. It was commitment. It was choosing each other, every day, even when things got hard. Lately, he wasn’t sure if either of you were still choosing each other the way you once did.

He didn’t want to admit it, but part of him was angry. Angry that you had let things slip, that you hadn’t fought harder to keep the connection alive. But then again, he knew it wasn’t fair to blame you entirely. He was just as responsible for the distance that had grown between you. Maybe he hadn’t been paying attention. Maybe he had let himself get too caught up in his own world, in his own doubts.

Still, the message lingered. I love you. It was such a simple phrase, but it carried so much weight. He wanted to believe it. He wanted to trust that it was still true. But the doubt remained, like a shadow he couldn’t shake.

“I doubt it,” he whispered to himself again, the words leaving a bitter taste in his mouth. He hated feeling this way. He hated that he couldn’t just accept your love at face value anymore, that he had to question it, analyze it, pick it apart. He missed the days when love felt simple, when it was just you and him against the world.

But those days were gone, weren’t they? Now, it felt like it was just him, sitting alone in his room, staring at a message that should have meant everything, but instead, left him feeling empty.

Chan wasn’t sure what the future held for you two. Maybe you could work through this, find a way back to each other. Or maybe this was the beginning of a slow, inevitable drift apart. Either way, he knew one thing for sure—something had changed. And once change happens, there’s no going back to the way things were. Not really.

For now, all he could do was sit with the uncertainty, with the doubt. And as he lay back on his bed, staring up at the ceiling, he couldn’t help but wonder if love, a relationship, friendship, was supposed to feel this complicated, this fragile. Or if maybe, just maybe, it was time to let go.

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[jungkit]

pretty girl, you're like peaches.

jungwon x f!reader genre: fluff warnings: none wc: 669

inspired by peaches by kai

this is for @okwonyo celestial ballet event! im sorry it's so short! we love u jiah wiah

You never liked peaches growing up. They were too sweet for you.

That was until you learned your crush, Yang Jungwon, loved peaches.

You started doing everything possible to get his attention, using peach-scented shampoos, conditioners, body washes, lotions, and perfumes. 

It never seemed to work.

Still, you persisted. Then came that fateful day when he finally gave you his attention.

“You smell good, like peaches,” he said, smiling at you with adorable dimples.

You thanked him, smiling enormously yourself.

After that, Jungwon started to talk to you more.

You were ecstatic. Your plan was working!

Jungwon started learning more about you, as you did him, and you two hit it off.

As you sit underneath the peach tree in your backyard, your doorbell rings.

You get up excitedly. Jungwon was here!

You invited him over to your house for the first time, and butterflies erupted in your stomach.

He looks dashing as you answer the door, his beautiful smile being the first thing you see. 

“Hey! I'm so glad you invited me over. I've been wanting to see your house to find out we only live like 10 minutes apart.”

You laugh, “I know, it's crazy.”

You give him a small house tour before leading him outside to your backyard.

“You have a peach tree? That's so cool. Can I have one?”

You extend your hand upwards, picking one off a branch and handing it to him. “You can have one whenever you want.”

He rinses it off with the garden hose before biting into it. He sighs in delight, “It's perfect, just the right amount of sweetness.”

Jungwon then looks between you and the peach before reaching his hand out to you, “Do you want a bite?”

Shoot, you didn't think he'd offer, you think to yourself. 

“Can I be honest? I don't like peaches.” You give him a sheepish smile.

He makes the cutest confused face, “I could've sworn you did. You use peach-scented everything!”

You sigh, “The truth is, Jungwon, I only started using peach-scented stuff to get your attention. I like you, and when I learned you liked peaches, I took it as an opportunity.”

It's silent for a moment before Jungwon begins to laugh.

Oh god, he thinks I'm a loser.

You pout, lightly hitting his chest, “It's not funny!”

He stops laughing after a solid minute before looking at you with a mischievous glint in his eyes.

“Y/N, if you wanted my attention, you should've just talked to me!”

“I wanted to! But I was nervous, and I thought you'd blow me off.”

His face softens, “I wouldn't do that. Besides, why would I blow off the girl I like?”

Wait, what?

“You like me?” You ask, pointing to yourself.

“Yes, Y/N, I do. I have for a while. I started liking you a few months ago. I always thought you were pretty, but when you lent me those chem notes, I knew.

Then we started talking, and I fell more in love with you. And I know love is a big word, but it's genuinely how I feel.”

You stare in shock, processing his words in your mind.

He begins to shuffle his thumbs, waiting for your response. 

“Jungwon, I love you too. I love everything about you. I'm sorry I didn't come forward, but now, I feel relieved.” 

He steps forward, putting down his now-finished peach core and taking your hands into his.

“Will you be my girlfriend? My little peach hater,” he says affectionately as you giggle.

“I will! Kiss me?”

His lips meet yours, and believe it or not, you don't mind the taste of peach. It's sweet but not sickeningly so. 

As you pull away, his hands meet the sides of your face, holding it delicately.

“I know you hate them, but to me, you're like peaches, soft and sweet. I'm so lucky.”

You pull him into a hug, wrapping your arms around his neck as his wrap around your waist. “I'm the lucky one.”

[monsterlets]

How do you start improving your singing?

the lowest investment way to get into it is just finding a vocal coach that you like on youtube. plenty of them put out videos for free. I've been linking jeff rolka because I like how he explains things and he has a whole beginner playlist

that said, a lot of the things involved with singing are things we don't have great proprioception for, so vocal coaches will speak in metaphors a lot. if you're really not getting it, you may just need to find someone else who uses different metaphors so it'll click

general tips

it doesn't have to be 100% exercises and in fact it shouldn't (both because you don't want it to become a chore and because you gotta practice applying the techniques in songs) I spend maybe 2% of the time doing exercises and the other 98% just singing songs I enjoy

if you do a vocal range test at the beginning, your range is almost certainly bigger than that. you do not know how to use your full range yet. that said, you should still do it because you should exercise caution with anything outside of the range you test at. you can give yourself vocal strain if you go too hard too fast

if you need help hearing pitches (most of us do at least to start with) you can use pitch detectors! here's one: https://www.onlinemictest.com/tuners/pitch-detector/ (it's touchy though, it will get distracted by your air conditioner. if you see it jump to like G8 don't worry about it)

failures are data. if there are certain parts of songs that you keep fucking up over and over and over, try to find patterns. for example: "I can hit this note if I start there, but having to make the jump to it is fucking me up" great! see if your favorite vocal coach has an exercise for making big jumps

if there's a bit that you can't sing and you can't figure out why you can just trial and error it. try just that little bit over and over and play around with it. but if it starts to hurt (even a little bit) it's time to stop

you will hear experienced singers say things like "I don't have the voice for this song", and that is sometimes true. you don't know that yet though. you don't know your full capabilities. now is not the time to write things off, you should build a solid foundation of technique before you start trying to find a niche

[chocolatechubby]

Maybe it was the glass of heavy cream and dozen gingerbread men I ate just before bedtime. Or maybe it was the fact that it was Christmas Eve, and the residue of waiting up for Santa Claus hadn’t diminished in the 23 years since I was six years old. Maybe it was the hard on that wouldn’t go away if I thought about growing fat and round. Whatever it was, I couldn’t sleep. I reluctantly pulled my bloated body from my warm bed to take a piss and a crap in the bathroom. On the way to the john, I passed the Christmas tree in the living room. The shiny packages underneath danced with the reflections of twinkling lights. I’d made quite a haul this year. I was pretty sure the small neatly wrapped package in the front was an Ipod from my mom. And I was pretty sure that the envelope from my ex-partner was a membership to a gym. My gaining sixty pounds had a lot to do with our break-up. It was nice that we were still friends. “Funny…” I thought. “The thing I REALLY want Santa to bring me won’t fit under a tree.”

When I had finished in the bathroom, I took a long look at myself in the mirror. The 160lb gym rat was gone. There in front of me was a 220lb jock-gone-soft. Since I had continued to go to the gym, I was thick and solid. The roundness of my face was beginning to cut away my cheek definition. The beginnings of a double chin made my cock jump. The definition in my arms was beginning to fade: I loved putting on sleeveless shirts and seeing the thick round guns that were once defined biceps and triceps stretching through. My legs were growing huge. The size 38 pants were straining to keep my thighs in. And I had a real belly. Not the beginning gut I was so proud of in college, but a thick waist protruding over my jeans and a noticeable round mound that jutted out from my plump tits and curved forward six inches. It had gotten a number of rubs and stares from my co-workers over the past few weeks. I thought my pecker was going to fall off from all the jerking off I did in the office restrooms after each “Woah! When’s the baby due?” or “You’d better lay off the holiday food Chris!” But it wasn’t enough. I wanted more. I wanted to look like all of those fellas that I admired online. I wanted people to move out of the way when I walked down the street. I wanted to look in the mirror and be awed by my girth. I reached down in my shorts and began massaging my cock. I imagined what it would be like to have to work pass mounds of belly fat just to touch it. I could feel my hard on growing, and my dick was responding to both my touch and my fantasy. It wouldn’t be long now—at least not for the explosion from my balls. The weight gain would take more time.

As I was going for climax, I heard a sound. Not from me but coming from the living room. At first faint, it grew louder—a slow and steady rise and fall. A snore? It sounded like someone snoring. Maybe somehow the air conditioner had turned itself on. I listened a little more intently. No, this was a HUMAN sound. Someone had broken into my apartment! I pulled up my shorts, looked around for a blunt object, grabbed the toilet brush, and headed towards the sound. As I rounded the corner, I was not prepared for what I saw. There in my leather armchair next to the Christmas tree, snoring to high heaven was Santa Claus.

Only it wasn’t Santa Claus. I mean he was dressed in a beautiful red suit—far superior to all those costumed Santas that you see in department stores. This suit looked like it had been tailored for him: luxurious and warm—trimmed in ermine and leather. It fit his big round frame to a “t.” He had to weigh 350, if a pound, and his thick beard was close-cropped, neatly trimmed, and a deep auburn like the wavy hair that curled from under his fur cap. This guy couldn’t have been more than thirty-five years old. And he was gorgeous. During my whole relationship with my ex, Zach, I had never cheated. But I will admit—especially towards the end when he started nagging more about the weight—I had serious fantasies about dudes like the one asleep in my easy chair, but they never included being robbed by them.

Next to him on the floor was a big, empty red velvet sack. I had to admit: this guy had class. I’d read stories in the newspaper about thieves breaking into houses dressed as Santa Claus and taking people’s presents. I never thought it would happen to me. Pictures of the Grinch stuffing Cindy Lou Who’s Christmas tree in his sack crowded my brain. Well this sucker wasn’t getting MY Ipod without a fight!

I tiptoed over to where the hot thief was snoring, and I kicked his engineer boot and stepped back—toilet bowl brush held high. “Hey you!” I shouted. The guy stirred. I gave him my best grimace and said: “What the hell do you think you’re doing in my place?!” He opened one eye and peered up at my brush and me. He grinned (and of course he had a killer smile) and said, “What are you going to do? Tidy Bowl me to death?”

I wasn’t quite ready for such a laid-back attitude. It took me aback for a moment. “No, smart ass…” I answered finally. “… I’m going to call the police and have you hauled off to spend Christmas in jail—that’s what I’m going to do!!!” I bellowed triumphantly. “Oh, and for future reference: Santa has a WHITE beard—not red! You are NO Kris Kringle.”

“Actually, his beard isn’t white. It’s silver. And you’re right…I’m not Kris Kringle. He’s my dad. I’m KARL Kringle—his youngest son.”

Of all the responses in all the scenarios that I could imagine, not one of them included that particular statement. I stood in shock with my mouth open. He fumbled around for a bit and spoke: “This is what I get for breaking the first rule of Christmas Delivery: Don’t Fall Asleep. It’s just that it’s been a long night and seeing as this is my Last Stop and all, I couldn’t help myself.” He yawned and started hauling his big belly out of my chair “Look, don’t set off your loaded brush—I’m just looking for my wallet.” He was even more appealing standing. He was a fireplug: about my height (which made him somewhat short), he reminded me of Sean Astin as Samwise Gamgee in “The Lord of the Rings”: much bigger, but as cute as he could be. He patted himself down, searching around his big gut and barrel chest for a bulge. “Ahh, here it is!” He pulled out a simple leather wallet and flipped it open. “See.” He said.

I slowly inched forward and took the wallet out of his chubby hand. There he was, smiling with rosy cheeks. NORTH POLE DMV: Driver’s Permit was printed in white at the top of a red and green card. “May operate cars, trucks, motorcycles, snow skis and High-Capacity Sleighs” was prominently placed in the lower right hand corner.

“Real cute” I smirked. “So you’re a clever bandit. I’m sure your cell mate will get a real kick out of your sense of humor.”

“Man, some things don’t change, do they?” He smiled. “You’re still a closet believer posing as a skeptic aren’t you? I remember when you were six years old and wanted ‘Dream Date Ken’. You said to yourself, ‘I’ll believe in Santa if he brings me Ken.’ When you didn’t see it under the tree that Christmas morning, you were really sad, but you said, ‘I knew he wasn’t real.’ Boy were you surprised when you found it…”

“Hidden in your stocking!”

“Hidden in my stocking!”

We said it at the exact same time. My mouth was agape. “How did you know that?” I uttered. “Because I asked Dad if I could put it there.” Karl said. “I was twelve. Dad had been training me to take a route of my own. I had been coming with him since you were a baby—watching you grow up. I wanted you to work harder to trust your beliefs.”

I stumbled to my couch and sat down. This was incredible! So it was true: Santa really DID exist. “Yup.” Karl said, as if he’d read my mind. “Only the doubters have got part of the story right: he DOESN’T circle the world and deliver toys in one night. He hasn’t done that in a few hundred years. He has help from his sons.”

“Sons” I gasped, with emphasis on the “s.” “You mean there’s more of you?”

“Oh yeah” said Karl. “It's the family business. There’s Kris Jr., Kevin, Kurt, Klaus, Kyle, Keith, and Kwame.”

“Kwame?” I asked.

“Yeah, a little incident with dad and an African Queen a few years back…we don’t talk about that.” He whispered.

“So we divide up the earth and each take a chunk. Dad spends most of his time these days with the kids that need him most. He took India and New Orleans this year.”

“I see…” I said. “And you got my area.”

“Well, not so much GOT, as CHOSE your area. I told you. I’ve been watching you for many years. I’ve been waiting for that jerk of a boyfriend of yours to exit the picture. I’ve been crushing on you for a while now. I happen to be gay.”

“Oh.” My dick was jumping at regular intervals now. “Are all of you uh…?”

“Gay?” He said. “I doubt it. Nobody’s talking so we don’t really know. I’m pretty sure Kwame is. He keeps picking San Francisco as one of his stops. Listen, do you mind if I make myself comfortable?” he asked. “Uh…no.” I stammered, still trying to make sense of the fact that I had a big, bearded Santa Claus in my living room that was hot for me. “Great” he said and proceeded to undo his belt and buttons. His velvet coat fell to the floor, revealing the magnificent fat physique bulging from his white undershirt. His big, gorgeous arms were covered with a layer of soft red fur, and I could see tendrils of the same curling from under the neckline of his t. He began playing with his nipples as he slowly moved his ball belly towards me. “Listen,” he said again. “…do you mind if I make YOU more comfortable?”

“Uh…no.” was my startled reply.

We stood face to face. The heat between us was more intense than anything I’d ever felt before. He smelled of smoldering fires and apples and cinnamon. He leaned in, and I felt his cock. “So THAT’S what’s meant by Christmas Sausage! “I thought. He pulled me into him and whispered, “I’ve been waiting 29 years for this” and moved his tongue over my lips and into my mouth. He tasted like warm cocoa. His belly met mine and I moaned at the solid thickness of his girth. Our tongues swirled together in a hot dance that left me weak and energized at the same time. I could have stayed like that forever.

Karl ran his thick hands over my nipples, slightly squeezing them between his fingers. He slowly traveled down to my belly and began massaging it with both hands. I was in heaven. “Such a beautiful starter belly. I was so hot for you when you started putting on weight that I had to stop working in the toyshop—couldn’t concentrate. Kept making Barbie dolls with penises!”

“Oh.” I mumbled—trying to get his tongue back in my mouth.

“And now I’m with you” he said, caressing my cheek. “And we’ve got all night. He leaned over and kissed my gut. “I’m going to give you that present that won’t fit under the tree.”

For a moment I was stirred from my reverie. Had he really the power to know what my deepest desires were? I tested him. “Oh yes? “I whispered in his ear. “What might that be.”

“Don’t be coy Chris” he smiled. “You know exactly what I’m talking about. By dawn, you will be fed, fucked, and fat as a house. Are you ready to get started?”

TO BE CONTINUED

[thegatesofsilverandbone]

Jack had always been the type to try to do things himself. Whether it was a simple home repair or attempting to assemble furniture without the instructions, he believed in the power of self-reliance. So, when his air conditioner sputtered and died on one of the hottest days of the summer, he decided to take matters into his own hands rather than call a repairman.

He stood in front of the unit, tools scattered at his feet, sweat dripping from his brow. The sun beat down mercilessly, but Jack wasn’t about to let a little heat stop him. He popped open the cover and peered inside, the tangle of wires and unfamiliar components staring back at him like a puzzle waiting to be solved.

At first, Jack felt out of his depth. He had no real experience with air conditioners beyond changing the filter occasionally, but he figured it couldn’t be that hard. He fumbled around, poking at different parts and trying to piece together how the machine worked. As he did, something strange began to happen.

His frustration began to ebb, replaced by a curious confidence. The wiring diagram that had looked so confusing just moments before now seemed clear, and he found himself understanding the purpose of each component. Jack’s hands moved with a newfound precision as he tested connections, replaced a burnt-out capacitor, and cleaned the coils. He was so engrossed in the work that he hardly noticed the subtle changes starting to occur.

His arms, once lean, began to swell with muscle. The simple t-shirt he wore stretched tighter across his chest, and his hands, now rougher and more calloused, handled the tools with the ease of someone who had done this a hundred times before. Jack paused, rubbing his newly bearded chin in thought, then grinned. He’d always dreamed of being able to fix things with such skill, but now it felt like second nature.

As he continued, the transformation accelerated. His reflection in the shiny metal of the air conditioner’s casing revealed a broader, thicker frame, the kind of body that belonged to someone who worked with their hands every day. His hair, once neatly trimmed, grew into a wild, salt-and-pepper mane, and his face took on a more rugged, weathered look. But none of this struck Jack as strange—in fact, it felt right, as if he’d always looked this way.

When he finally finished the repairs, the air conditioner hummed back to life, blasting cool air into the house. Jack stood up, wiping his brow with the back of his hand, and let out a satisfied sigh. But something was different now. He felt like he belonged in this body, like the years of experience that came with it were truly his own.

Jack—or rather, John, as he now thought of himself—looked around his home, feeling a sense of pride and ownership he hadn’t known before. The tools scattered at his feet weren’t just tools; they were extensions of his hands, part of his craft. He no longer felt the need to prove himself because he knew who he was: the town’s best handyman, a man who could fix anything with a smile and a flirtatious wink.

The memories of his former life as Jack, the young man uncertain of his place in the world, began to fade. In their place came memories of a life well-lived, of friendships formed over beers at the local bar, of helping out neighbors in need, and of countless flirty exchanges with handsome men who caught his eye. He remembered the thrill of the chase and the comfort of settling into a life where he was known and respected not just for his skills, but for his big heart and even bigger personality.

As the sun set, John found himself in the mirror, a big, burly man in his late forties, with a solid build, a full beard, and a twinkle in his eye. He couldn’t recall ever being anyone else, nor did he want to. The idea of settling down with the right man, perhaps one who appreciated a good home-cooked meal and knew how to laugh, filled him with warmth. Maybe it was time to take a break from all the flirting and find someone to share this life with.

John chuckled to himself as he grabbed a cold beer from the fridge and sat on the porch, the evening breeze cooling his broad chest. As he sipped his drink, he noticed the friendly wave of a neighbor passing by, and he returned it with a grin. Life was good, and he knew he’d earned every bit of it.

He was exactly who he was meant to be: John, the town handyman, master craftsman, and local charmer. And as the stars began to twinkle in the night sky, he found himself content, knowing that tomorrow would bring more work to do, more friends to help, and maybe, just maybe, a chance encounter with the right man to finally settle down with.

[pedrito-friskito]

Hiya! New to tumblr here, and I just saw your list! Hmmm I’ll go with 🎲 ROLL FOR FIC 🎲: Jack Whiskey Daniels & Fluff. ❣️ Thanks! 💓

hi lovely!!! thanks for the request!

full disclosure: this is the first time I’ve written dear ol’ Jack! put a bit of my own twist on it (and obvious canon-divergence cuz that’s just how we roll) - and the prompt I rolled was “is that my t-shirt?”

enjoy! xo

a promise - jack “whiskey” daniels x fem!reader

word count: 2.5k

warnings: a bit of heartbreak, we kick canon to the curb, fluff and fluff and sweetness and fluff

You never thought you’d see him again.

That was the long and short of it. You knew him before, before he became one of the top agents for some secret service he wasn’t allowed to talk about. When he was just Jack, eldest son of the farmer that owned the ranch down the lane from the one you’d moved to after your parents inherited it. He was a few years older than you, all broad shoulders and cow-licked hair hidden beneath a dark suede hat. 

You still remember the first day you met, the way he’d grinned at you from behind silver-rimmed aviators and tipped the brim of his hat in your direction. 

“Well, hey there, darlin’.”

It was never a dull moment, with Jack Daniels living right across the way. He flirted with you endlessly, and you brushed him off more often than not. He was nice, and you got on well, but you weren’t blind or deaf; you knew he had a different flavour of the week that he brought home well, every week. While the rest of his family lived in the ranch house, Jack had taken it upon himself to turn the upper level of one of the barns into his own bachelor pad. 

You saw it yourself at the tail-end of a Fourth of July barbeque, a few too many beers and a little too much sun clouding your judgment. Jack was fresh off his latest fling with some sweet little blonde thing, and you were about a month out from your breakup with your college boyfriend — to him, graduation equaled ending things. It was hot, sweat pouring down your back and not even the shade was enough to escape the humidity. 

Stumbling a bit, you wandered the Daniels ranch on your own, a Corona dangling from your fingers, flip-flops thwacking against the grass with every step. You’d been gone maybe ten minutes when the barn came into view, you spotted the AC unit in the second-storey window, and found your destination.

You didn’t expect to find Jack sitting inside, mumbling to himself, and as you climbed the steps to his space, gripping the rail like a lifeline, you heard your name mumbled amongst his words.

“Just talk to her, ya big coward. You talk to girls all the time!”

As soon as you reached the top step, the blissful cool air from the air conditioner lifted your hair, and you nearly tumbled back in relief. Your gasp caught Jack’s attention and he shot to his feet, rushing forward and grabbing you, pulling you up and onto the solid floor. “Easy there, darlin’.”

His hands on your waist felt like fire, and he flinched away from you, the tips of his ears turning bright pink and his cheeks following suit. You couldn’t help your chuckle as he rubbed the back of his neck, staring down at his boots.

“You’re cute when you blush, Jack,” you grinned, sipping your beer. “I mean, you’re cute all the time, but especially when you—”

“Can I kiss you?” he blurted, and you were sure you hadn’t heard him right.

“Huh?”

“Please?”

Wordlessly, you nodded, your lips parting slightly, head whirling as you tried to catch up with what was happening. Jack took your beer, setting it safely on a desk near the staircase. There were all kinds of books scattered across the desktop, words you could barely make out. He put one careful hand on your waist next, ducking his head slowly, treading carefully, like you were a horse that might spook easily. In a way, you were; you knew his reputation, your heart was still on the mend. But in that moment, none of it mattered.

You hooked your fingers in the collar of his t-shirt and pulled his face down to yours.

Kissing Jack Daniels was like watching a fireworks display. Bright lights exploded behind your fluttered eyelids, replaced your blood with sparks of excitement. His lips tasted like whiskey and cinnamon and his hands moved to your hips, long fingers nearly meeting at the small of your back. The tip of his tongue touched the seam of your lips and you sighed into his grip, melting as you let him taste you, revelled in the girlish thrill that zipped through your entire being.

Despite the alcohol buzzing in your brain, the sun warming your cheeks, your body begging for him to give you more, you pulled back.

“I don’t wanna be another notch in your bedpost, Jack,” you murmured, your voice suddenly small, the confidence you’d tried to pour into your kiss slipping away like a summer breeze.

“You won’t be,” he assured you, shaking his head, tipping his forehead against yours. “I’ve been…I’ve been thinkin’ about you, darlin’, a lot lately. Lot more than usual.” The corner of his mouth lifted. “Was tryna pluck up the courage to come talk to ya before you found your way up here.”

Your grin matched his. “Must be fate, then.”

“Fate, kismet, call it what you want, sugar, but I know one thing for certain: I’d like to spend the rest of this night kissin’ you, then maybe you let me take you out on a real date tomorrow night?”

You linked your fingers together at the back of his neck, his wayward curls tickling your knuckles. “Promise me something, Jack.”

“Anythin’.”

“Don’t break my heart.”

He leaned in and kissed the corner of your mouth. “As long as you don’t break mine.”

You woke up in his bed that next morning, the warmth of him curled around you. Despite the heat in the air, you basked in it, pushed yourself against him in all the right places until he was rousing beside you, hands starting to wander and lips finding yours again.

“Mornin’, sugar.”

The summer evolved from there. The majority of your time was spent at the Daniels’ ranch, following Jack around like a little lost puppy. He took you on long rides on horseback, exploring the hills and valleys that sprawled behind both your family ranches. 

You watched him in the pastures, galloping along on his horse, Whiskey, lasso in hand, corralling the cattle back to their barns. He was a sight to behold, but watching him with that lasso was another thing entirely. His skill was something you’d never seen before. Jack tried to teach you, and by the end of the summer you were able to rope a cow from the back of your own horse, but you knew you’d never be as good as Jack.

Fall crept in, and there was no stopping the pair of you. You crept out of your own house and across to Jack’s barn nearly every night, the pair of you falling asleep in each other’s arms, waking the next morning to do it all over again. Rinse and repeat, there was no end in sight, and you silently berated yourself for every time you’d brushed off his flirting before the Fourth of July.

And then everything changed.

It was an unseasonably warm week. Mid-October and just as hot as it had been in July, and you’d planned a ride to the lake not far from the ranch. You’d packed a picnic, donned one of Jack’s plain white tees over your bikini, and headed over to the barn to start saddling the horses while Jack showered.

When he finally met you in the stables, you knew something was wrong. There was a pinch to his brow you’d never seen before, some unknowable spark behind his eyes that made your gut twist.

“Jack, baby, what is it?” You cupped his cheek in your hand, swiped your thumb across his skin.

“Nothin’, sugar,” he answered, shaking his head and pulling out of your grip, pushing his aviators up his nose.

Whatever it was, he hid it well as you rode to the lake, and it was another blissful day. The lake was quiet, secluded, and when Jack rolled over you on the blanket, planted his hands either side of your head and lowered his body to yours, your forgot any worry you had. You never made it home that night, instead following Jack up to the barn, your fingers twined together.

But when you woke the next morning, he was gone.

His dresser drawers hung open, their contents emptied. His favourite lasso was gone from the hook on the wall where he kept it, his hat beside it also missing. The side of the bed he’d occupied all night was cold, and a piece of paper with your name scrawled across the front sat on his pillow.

Inside, only two words: I’m sorry.

Tears in your eyes, your head spun. Anger spiked — more with yourself than with him — and silently, you told yourself that you had been right all along. You never should have let him in, let yourself get close to him. You’d only ever asked him for that single promise, and he’d broken it the first chance he got.

You collected your things from the barn, realizing you were still in his t-shirt, and walked back home in a blur. It took a few days for you to find the courage to go talk to his parents, if they knew where he had gone, if he was coming back.

“Oh, sweetheart, he didn’t tell you?”

That was the beginning of the secrecy. Even his own family didn’t know exactly where he’d gone, but that he’d been chosen specifically and that he’d be trained to become one of the best. It was what Jack had always wanted, they told you, and with every word, you felt like you knew him less and less.

You thought you were what he always wanted. He’d told you so.

 Resigned, you pushed him from your mind as much as possible. It wasn’t easy, with the Daniels’ ranch always within view, a summer full of memories tugging at you every time you set foot outside your front door. You decided not to let it ruin you, and dove into working on the ranch, helping with the cattle and the horses and using what Jack had taught you.

Before you knew it, years had passed. You knew he came home for Christmas and his mother’s birthday each year, and you made it a point to make yourself scarce. Christmas was harder, especially when your families started celebrating together on Christmas Eve. The first year he was there, you’d nearly burst into tears when he cornered you in the kitchen and called your name softly, but instead, you pushed past him and spent the night in your room with a bottle of whiskey.

He didn’t come on Christmas Eve again, and now, it’s been nearly ten years. Ten.

Ten years, and yet when you gallop toward the road that cuts between the Daniels’ ranch and your own, broad shoulders come into view, and you know it’s him. Same hat on his head, mirrored aviators glinting in the sun, plain white t-shirt that strains in all the right places.

It’s been a decade, but as your horse gallops another few feet closer, you know instantly that something is wrong.

Your brow furrows as you get even closer to the fence separating you from him, tugging the reins until your horse halts, sliding from the saddle. Your chest is tight, your heart racing as you close the distance.

“Hi.”

“Hey there, sugar,” he drawls, and you inhale deeply, ignoring every girlish instinct you’ve buried so deep over the years. “Been a long time.”

“What are you doing here, Jack?” you ask, your voice blunt. You feel uneasy, unsure what’s going on, and you don’t have the time — or the emotional space — to beat around the bush with him.

He reaches up and pulls the aviators from his face. Those bottomless brown eyes are on full display, and in an instant you can feel yourself getting lost in them, but then something catches your attention, just beside his left eye. A scar of sorts, round and raised.

Following your gaze, he rubs at the mark. “I…I messed up, darlin’. Made some big mistakes, took a big hit, and they put me on leave, sent me home.”

“What d’you mean, a big hit? What happened to you?” The curiosity is obvious in your voice.

“I got shot,” he says, blunt as you’d been, and your heart skips in your chest. “M’alright, sugar, I swear. I’d lost some of memory when they woke up, but they found a way to bring ‘em back.”

Your brow lifts. “And how’s that?”

The corner of his mouth quirks, but it’s a ghost of the Jack Daniels smile you fell for that summer. It’s different, softer, sadder. You watch as he reaches into his back pocket and pulls out something square. He hands it to you.

It’s a polaroid picture.

A picture of you.

You recognize it. The day at the lake. You’re sprawled back on the picnic blanket, your hair a fan around your head, Jack’s t-shirt covering your top, bikini bottoms peeking out beneath. You remember him standing over you, camera in hand. Is that my t-shirt? Smile, sugar, c’mon and gimme a good one.

You don’t know what to say. The words swirl around in your brain, some anger and some happiness, some relief and some fear. You just stare down at the photo, the younger version of yourself grinning back. “I…”

“You brought me back,” he says, and leans forward, resting his forearms on the wood of the fence. “More than once, I might add. But this time…this was different. I’m done, I think. For a long time, maybe forever. And I…”

“You thought you could waltz back into my life?” you snap, your fingers bending the edge of the photo. The anger has won out. “After what you did?”

“No,” he replies instantly, staring up at you from under the brim of his hat, “I don’t. I know what I did, how I hurt you. I know tellin’ you that what I did broke my own damn heart worse than anything I’ve ever experienced before doesn’t make up for it.”

There are tears brimming along your lash line, and you blink furiously, trying to force them back, but one betrays you, slipping down your cheek.

“I’m not askin’ for you to give me your forgiveness, sugar, but I am askin’ if you’d let me try and earn it.” He shakes his head slowly, and you can see the sheen in his eyes, made worse when he sniffs and rubs at his nose. “I know I don’t deserve it, but maybe if—”

You reach out suddenly, two fingers pressed to his lips, cutting him off. You know you should be angry, you know you should be a lot of things, but now… “Promise me something, Jack.”

“Anything.”

Another tear slips down your cheek as he wraps his fingers around your wrist lightly, squeezes his fingers at your pulse.

“Don’t break my heart again.”

You see his sharp inhale, the sudden lift to his chest. “Never, sugar. Never again.”

[woodrokiro]

Do It For the Band, Part Nine (Fic)

Fandom: Bleach

Pairing: IchiRuki

Summary: When Tatsuki said she wanted their sophomore album to be the next Rumours, this is NOT what she meant.Band AU.

Read the rest on Ao3

When Ichigo finishes his story, Tatsuki has no words. She’s absolutely baffled at the man before her. 

The two sit in silence for a solid moment before Ichigo tips back the last dregs of his beer, like he’s playing at being casual but he’s Ichigo Kurosaki and he’s never casual and he’s — 

“You are the biggest idiot on this planet,” she finally answers in wonder. Ichigo scoffs and gets up to throw his bottle away, turning his back to her. 

“Yeah, yeah, I figured you’d say that. So you see? I fucked up, but it’s not like it’s completely my fau—”

Instincts are strange: how fast your muscles can move before you have even a single thought. Like the feeling in the pit of your stomach you get when you meet someone sketchy, or the way human newborns know to hold their breath underwater. 

Or the way Tatsuki’s arm finds a nearby pillow and chucks it straight at Ichigo’s head. 

The guitarist yelps, throwing his hand to his head protectively as he eyes his attacker with obvious betrayal. “Tatsuki, what the hell?!”

She laughs shortly, shaking her head and getting up. “Unbelievable, Ichigo. Un-fucking-believable.” 

“It’s not funny, you could’ve—you could’ve really thrown me off my balance or something!”

“Oh shut up, don’t be a baby… Or hand over the bottle so I can hit it over your skull and do some real damage.” 

“N-no!” Ichigo is clearly bewildered and hides said bottle behind his back. “The hell’s the matter with yo—”

“Ichigo. She’s in love with you.”

His mouth snaps shut into a scowl and his eyes don’t meet hers. “Did you even listen to me? Clearly not.”

“‘Did you even listen to me?’” The drummer mimics, and he has the audacity to look at her like she’s nuts. “Ichigo. My dear, sweet summer child. My oldest, closest friend — no, no, don’t make that face, don’t make it weird — … Have you listened to yourself? She made you listen to Taylor Swift and dance with her. She bought your shitty earphone excuse to be physically closer to you. She listened to Joni Mitchell for you. She slept with you — and yes, that is a big deal, considering Rukia is the biggest prude known to mankind except where it counts —”

“Not that big of a prude,” Ichigo huffs, blushing, and jumps when Tatsuki points wildly at him.

“Exactly! To you she isn’t! My point exactly! And, and, let’s not forget about the songs she wrote about you?! ‘Amber eyes turn me dead/Dust to dust until dark’? Who says that about a person they’re not head over heels for? She was pissed, yeah, but pissed because of how obsessed she is with you!!” 

“Well… Okay that’s not necessarily—”

“Who knows what else happened when the two of you were alone! And even after all that you put her through — with the album, with Orihime, with the whole thing with her friend whose name is Absolutely Her Friend And Nothing Else — after all that, she still learned and performed the song you told her reminds you of your mom! Your dearly beloved, dead mother! The person that taught you everything you know about music — she did that for you and oh hey by the way: it’s the song that reminds her of her first kiss. With you.” Tatsuki huffs, and no she’s not going to cry but she is humorously emotional for her friend. “Ichigo. You are living a lesbian’s wet dream and you are wasting it.” 

The room is quiet, with only the low hum of the air conditioner filling the sound between them. Suddenly, slowly — she catches the slight lift of Ichigo’s lips, and it’s infectious. 

The two of them begin to laugh. It’s only a short series of chuckles from both sides, but immediately the air lightens because Tatsuki knows there it is, he’s getting it. 

“That doesn’t — okay, that doesn’t explain the ‘friend,’ or whatever he is. Doesn’t explain the hugging.” 

Tatsuki rolls her eyes at the sheer thickness of this guy’s skull. “Ichigo, normal friends hug. Not everyone has a friendship with the I-hate-you-but-love-you bit you and I have going on.” 

“Careful, Tatsuki. That’s the second weirdest thing you’ve said to me today. Can’t have you getting soft.”

“Honestly it’s Orihime’s fault. Love does that, numbskull. I think you’re already quite familiar with all that, though.” 

“Yeah, yeah.” His eyes shift to the alarm clock next to his bed, and his smile drops a little in uncharacteristic nervousness. “It’s late. She’s probably asleep though, huh?” 

To her credit: she says nothing about the way his hand is already moving to the door handle, body half-turned. Bullshit, she almost says — but sees the slight nervous shuffle in his feet and recognizes what he actually needs from her, maybe has never needed from anyone except Rukia: reassurance.

“Of course she’s not, dumbass.” She grins softly, and raises her hand in a “shoo-shoo” motion. “Go get her, Tiger.” 

Ichigo nearly trips over himself on his way out. 

She sits there, snickering, and is on her way out of his room herself when she sees him get into the elevator and she just can’t help herself.

“Ichigo!” He jerks his head up in answer, eyes a little wild. She cups her hands around her mouth for the sound to carry.

“You know where the clit is, right?!”

HIs face turns beet red in an instant, and he leans forward just as the doors begin to close.

“Oh my God, Tatsuki, just shut the —”

A ding and a whir ends his speech just as the door closes, and she types a text out to Urakara, grinning ear to ear:

The kids are fine.

—

In the most ideal situation: Ichigo may, for the first time ever, wish he had read more of his sister’s trashy shoujo because he has NO idea what he should say to Rukia. 

He got hyped from Tatsuki’s support, and even when he’s screaming at her as the elevator doors close (because yes of course he knows all about that and he knows where Rukia’s… Nevermind) he feels on top of the world, like he’s gonna go get his girl.

And now he’s in front of her hotel room and clearing his throat and muttering and he… 

Look. Ichigo. Knows. He does not have a way with words… Improv-wise. 

He says the first thing on his mind, and even if it’s clunky or sometimes makes people look at him weird, he’s always been at least proud that it’s what’s on his mind. Any poetic musing is saved for lyric writing, and he’s fine with that.

But being with Rukia is recognizing she deserves more than that.

He can’t just say hey sorry I was an asshole to you over a slight misunderstanding and thanks for singing Joni and literally fulfilling a music-nerd wet dream I never knew I had, wanna bang again? Or well.. He could — but the point is she deserves a full apology, and a whole confession that he loves her, has never met anyone like her and never will and they belong to each other forever. 

You know. Easy stuff. 

Jesus. He’s been out here for ten minutes, pacing, and he still doesn’t know what he’s going to say. It’s stupid, right? It’s probably so stupid, she might not even take him back. Hell, she might not even be here anymore, she might have already caught an earlier flight and left all their asses behind forever—

He hears the sound of a door opening, and when he looks behind him where he’s paced away from the room — Rukia’s standing there.

What feels like hours go by as the two stare at each other, when in reality it’s probably only a few seconds — and Ichigo realizes they haven’t actually looked at each other, like really taken each other in since the photo shoot. Rukia’s expression is unreadable, but he gulps because 

God.

How does she do this to him, every time? 

Finally, she pierces the moment by shifting her hips and raising an eyebrow. “Can I help you?”

He blinks. “Um — yeah. Wait. How’d you — How’d you know I was out here?” 

“I heard you out here muttering and walking around. Nobody talks to themselves as loud as you do.”

“Oh.” He swears he’s not trying to stall, but he cannot for the life of him remember anything of what he was considering to say.

Rukia clearly knows nothing of the internal screaming he’s doing right now, as she starts to frown a little deeper. “So. Can you actually spit out whatever you were going to say? So I can go to bed and you can never see me again? I’m sure Urahara’s already informed you —”

“Yeah, he did.” Ichigo snaps himself out of it. He might not have a full speech prepared in his arsenal yet, but this is a good way to segue into it. “Seriously, Rukia? You’re just gonna not tell anyone you’re leaving except our manager, and what? Disappear into the night?”

She rears her head back as if she’s been slapped. 

Shit. He didn’t know he was still feeling a little angry about that. 

“What’re you — of course I’m not going to come to you after everything that’s been happening! You, the one who’s accused me of being selfish and a nightmare to work with? You, who just — just assumed everything about me, but did whatever you wanted just to hurt me?” Her voice cracks at the end and it’s his turn to flinch. 

“No. No c’mon, I never wanted to hurt — “

Rukia clears her throat, and her entire body language shifts into something deadly casual as she steps back fully into her hotel room. “And honestly. ‘Disappear into the night.’ Don’t be so dramatic. I’m leaving in the morning.”

“Well yeah I didn’t mean literally —”

“I know you didn’t. It doesn’t matter, Ichigo.” She sighs tiredly as she starts closing the door between them. He panics. “The point is, you don’t have to worry. I won’t be here in the morn—”

Her speech is cut off by her own gasp as Ichigo slams forward his shoulder into the door just as it’s about to shut before he even knows what’s happening.

“Ichigo, what—”

“Ow, okay that didn’t feel great and now I feel like a creep —”

“Well you’re being a creep, so I think it’s only logical that you feel like —”

“Rukia, just please for the love of God just shut up.” 

“Excuse — You—you have the gall to slam into my door and tell me — “

“It’s impossible for me to think coherently around you, you know that?!” He knows he looks deranged by the way she’s looking at him, utterly baffled.

“Have you lost your mind?!”

“Yeah, actually. I have. All thanks to you. Do you know that I’ve never — when I write, I can usually whip them out so quick. You don’t believe me, because you’ve only ever seen me spend days on a song — but when you’re around, I don’t know what you do but it’s like you’re some fucked up muse that fucks me up.”

She’s pinching her nose, shaking her head. “Ichigo, what are you —”

“You make me better.” He takes her arm firmly but gently, forcing her to look at him. “You make me want to be better, that’s why. That’s why I spend so much goddamn on a single lyric line, for the sole possibility it will make you smile. Otherwise I’m usually stuck sitting here with you without any words in my mouth because you took them all away. You’re so goddamned smart, and wonderful, and so so talented on your own — fuck the word ‘muse.’ You’re your own. Just. Goddess of fucking music or artists or something and I want to worship you.”

She flushes, and maybe even sort of trembles beneath his touch but he’s barely paying attention. “Ichigo —”

“I want to know everything about you. I want to know — I want to know your favorite music to fall asleep to. I want to know what music you listen to when you’re cooking a meal, or cleaning, or in the shower. I want to know what songs you play when you’re incredibly sad, or excited, or the ones you listen to when you want to just feel human, feel connected with everything around you. I want to know all the songs you grew up with, every single one, even the ones you think aren’t technically good but just do something for you. I want to hear every album you ever wished you wrote. Just. The ones that make you scream with jealousy but you can’t stop, you will never stop listening to them. And I want to — I want to know the kind of music you’d like to hear when we kiss. God, I really want to know that one. I want to hear the songs that you’d like to cuddle to, the ones that’ll make you wrap your legs around me like you did that night, the ones you’d like to be made love to to and—”

Ichigo had a lot more to say about what kinds of favorite music he’d like to learn about Rukia, but she’s grabbed him by the back of the head and is kissing him so deeply he forgets everything he was planning to say for the rest of the night. 

—-

Their first time that night is a little too, uh. Frenzied for them to really even think about playing music.

But on their second time…

They both find out her favorite for that last category is Buckley’s Hallelujah. His is The Cure’s Lovesong.

“We are officially insufferable,” she pant-whispers to him, grinning wildly beneath him under a bird’s nest of sweaty, tangled hair. He chuckles, equally out of breath, but still leans down to kiss her in agreement.

—

To say their getting together was expected would be an understatement.

For the two of them to actually gather the whole team the next morning and announce the development of their relationship while holding hands and explaining everything that happened like the group didn’t already know was downright excruciating. 

As soon as Rukia said she’d like to “open the floor for any questions or concerns,” Tatsuki tapped out.

“I’m leaving. Anyone else wanna get mimosas with me?” The team murmured in agreement and started to get up as Rukia grew increasingly alarmed. Ichigo looked like he wanted to be literally anywhere else. 

“W-wait, we have to talk about how this is going to affect our workplace..!”

“Sweetheart, it’s already been affected.” Rukia looks slightly crestfallen and the drummer inwardly curses, feeling bad. “Oh c’mon, don’t do that Rukia. We’re just saying this is nothing.”

“Right, and I really — we are so sorry we put you all through that — “

“Hey don’t include me in that, I never said I was sorry —” Ichigo yelps as his apparently-now-girlfriend elbows him in the ribs. 

“Dolt, we put them through hell —”

“Yeah, well, Tatsuki’s been putting me through hell since I was seven years old so I think it’s only fair —”

“Excuse me, you wouldn’t have even found the love of your life there had I not stepped in and —”

“I think the point Tatsuki’s making is we’re happy for you, Ichigo. Kuchiki-san.” Chad’s deep baritone makes them all jump and look to the man closest to the door out. “Regardless of what happens with the two of you — we’re still us. Nothing has to change if we don’t want it to.”

They all stare and Urahara whistles. 

“And that, Sado-san, is why you’re my favorite and receiving the majority of next album’s sales.”

A chorus of grumbles and whines arose in the group so loud Tatsuki had to shout to restore order. 

“All right, Orihime and I are headed to that breakfast place on the corner. Everyone — except Urahara — is welcome to join us.”

“Aww no fair, Tatsuki-chan, you know you’re still my second in command —”

“Don’t call me that. IchiRuki, you coming?”

“I’m sorry… Was that referring to us?”

“Your new stage name together. Since all the sexual tension is being, you know. Expressed now, ya’ll need a couple’s name.” 

“Please don’t say that word or that last sentence ever again… But yeah, we’re coming. Rukia needs to grab something from the room and then we’ll head over.”

“Oh I bet she’ll be grabbing something, all right.”

“Tatsuki, please!”

“Ohoho, lovely comeback Second-in-Command!” 

“I told you not to call me that!”

“Everyone in this room but me and Rukia can rot in absolute hell.”

—-

The Night the Lights Went Out in Osaka ends up becoming an iconic piece of indie music history when newspapers write about it and video footage of some of the performance is leaked. Their second album triples in profit compared to their first, and soon enough all of them are getting occasionally recognized in the streets. 

It’s not selling-out-stadiums-big (yet) — but their rising success makes them excited for the future, absolutely blissful that they can all now afford their rents without working some lame side job during the day. They even get to hire a more professional sound designer for some of their stuff — Rukia’s friend Renji, who is now considered zero threat to Ichigo and therefore taken onto the team with (grudgingly) open arms.

Rukia leaves the band around a year later.

All of them knew it was nothing personal — but Tatsuki may-or-may-not sniffle when she announces the leave, telling everyone in a deep bow and a watery voice that this has been the absolute best time of her life. That she will always consider the band home, but she’s got other dreams she’s ready to focus on — dreams like applying for top grad music programs, or releasing her own album one day of just her and her piano. 

Ichigo says nothing beside her, his hand on the small of her back.

But from the softness in his gaze, the slight lift of his smile — Tatsuki knows he is so, so proud of her. 

It’s not the end, anyway. Hardly. Tatsuki reminds herself that she will literally see Rukia nearly every day she sees Ichigo, which is — a lot, because the band is still rising in success, with or without their female vocalist. Ichigo and Chad are scribbling as many lyrics together as ever, always asking for both Tatsuki and Rukia’s input and Tatsuki knows this will never end, not really. 

She loves that. 

She loves that she gets to cuddle with Orihime after a long night in rehearsal or concert or whatever, doing what they both love together. She loves that Urahara’s offered to involve her more in management matters — not giving sole responsibility, but recognizing her talent in bringing the team together and demanding what they deserve. She loves that Chad is finally able to adopt the dog he always wanted but never could afford and brings Yuichi to every rehearsal as their team mascot. 

And don’t let either of them know it, but Tatsuki loves to go to Ichigo and Rukia’s apartment on any given Thursday — the day they usually host a dinner for everyone — and open the door to the two of them bickering, supper bubbling softly on the stove as they argue over what album to play. It never really matters — because the night ends with all of them on the living room floor, half drunk and screaming lyrics to favorite songs while Rukia snuggles deeper into Ichigo’s lap, laughing as he not-so-subtly kisses the top of her head. 

Their lives are so fucking cute. 

Tatsuki's rock-n’-roll heart wants to hurl — but love’s pretty metal too, she guesses.

[possibilistfanfiction]

idk maybe this is too big, but beatrice’s reaction at receiving diego’s email in 🐸 🗺? i really really like how you write their attraction towards one another. and here’s a set of 🌮🌮

[thank u for the tacos, maybe i'll have some birria later :)]

//

it's not a good day.

it's not a bad day, either, really.

you got out of bed in the morning. you ate breakfast — congee with an egg and some peanuts. you did the physical therapy exercises you're supposed to have kept up for your shoulder, even though it's been two years; they still help, especially when it's cold and rainy, so you do them. you went to the climbing gym, earlier than lilith ever would; you make your way up some V6s and V7s, but with no enjoyment, sluggish and tired for no reason. you went back to your loft — you'd signed the lease a few months ago under mary and shannon gentle urging and lilith's not-so-gentle demand, because even if you're not here often, beatrice, you need a home. you showered in the dark, blatantly ignoring whatever scars still sting sometimes. you washed your hair with expensive shampoo and conditioner a stylist you like — who lets you sit in the chair in silence she allows to be comfortable and doesn't pester, doesn't try to get you to try anything feminine, schedules you for trims you prefer more frequently than not if you're in town — and try, very hard, to feel real. you dried off, and put on comfortable clothes, and ate lunch, some leftover jerk salmon from the night before.

time moves weirdly on the days where it's not good enough to be solid but not bad enough to cease to exist at all. your therapist says this is normal for people with ptsd, but nothing feels normal about it. it feels like you're underwater, or like that one time when you were eighteen and got completely crossfaded at a party mary and shannon had thrown: everything is hard, and slow, and before you know it, it's nearing four and the light is fading.

you have things you need to do: photographs you need to edit; contracts you need to sign; to start coordinating a tentative upcoming trip to antarctica and south georgia this summer. you make yourself tea and will yourself to at the very least check your email; shannon had said that it helps her when she's having a bad day to set up one task she can do, to ease everything just a bit. you haven't really moved in, not in the way you should: you have a big desk, multiple monitors, all the gear you could hope for; you have a big bed, too soft, sometimes, and a couch. you have a nice, large tv on the wall. you have a few dishes and pots and pans in the kitchen. you have what you need in the bathroom: a toothbrush and a razor and toilet paper and your skincare serums and two clean towels, bar soap from mary dragging you to the farmer's market. you have nice olive oil and two throw pillows. you have a custom hangboard against one wall. there's empty space everywhere, your loft far bigger than you would ever need. not a home, not yet, in any way you can really feel, at least today. especially today.

but you boot up your desktop computer, because you are steadfast and there are still things you need to do, still things you need to shoot so you can show the world what matters. what has to matter, far beyond you and your small life.

most of your emails are boring — the option to do sponsored content for a new camera; an updated contract for an upcoming documentary you're going to help photograph for; a notification that the film you had ordered had, indeed, shipped — but there's one from someone you have never heard of that catches your eye.

you read through it, twice: someone named diego, a grad student at a university in the city, had emailed on behalf of his advisor, dr. ava silva, wondering if you might want to partner on an expedition to guyana. they need a climber, and diego claims that dr. silva loves your photography. you remember, vaguely, from an article before you had — before — that dr. silva apparently has some sort of preternatural ability to find new species of frog, and so it's intriguing, the prospect. everything feels more solid, like you're coming up for air after holding your breath for too long, when you think about the rainforest, and this little project and its simple, pure, important goal. you google ava silva phd frog and there's a link to a bunch of scientific journals, a formal headshot from the university — dr. silva is, well, beautiful, and young — and then, like the world rights itself, a picture of dr. silva smiling, dirty in the way only the real wild can produce, grinning with real joy. she holds a tiny frog — bright blue — in the palm of her gloved hand. there's green behind her, all around her.

if nothing else, you think, you'd like to meet this dr. ava silva, who finds such clear joy in small creatures, in making sure they're seen, and recognized, and named.

you email diego back, offering to be connected to dr. silva, because you want to know more. you order dinner and watch something that makes you laugh and even fish out some chocolate for dessert. you wash your face and moisturize; you brush your teeth; you fold back your duvet neatly. it's a life, you think, one that you are determined, even if it's hard, even if it's impossible, to make worthwhile. maybe tomorrow you'll get to learn more about the world from someone who fills it so fully. maybe tomorrow will feel clear. maybe tomorrow will be a good day after all.

[clueless1995]

ok so i just woke up and i have to tell you all about the dream i had before i forget it because the vibes were So Strange i know people love to be like “nobody cares about other people’s dreams” but personally i think this was FUNNY. in hindsight. in the dream i was kind of annoyed

anyway i was like. the fairy queen or something and it was this big fairy party (not like a royal ball more like a house party but the house is Fancy with plants and glitter and satin everywhere. and fountains of wine and whatnot) and i’m sat on my party throne (one of those big martini glass bathtubs with a round mattress in it) (i’m filling in the gaps okay let me have my fun but it was like a big round bed but Tall so i could enjoy watching people dance. the martini tub would be on brand though i just don’t know what the underneath looked like because i never got off it. i’ll get to Why

and i’m lounging i’m gossiping with the girls drinking fairy wine and honestly. i’ll say it. serving absolute Cunt. when one of my loyal subjects sadly flies over and he lands next to me and i (Awake Ana) Recognise him. it’s timmy chalamet (who is apparently a fairy. also i don’t know how to spell his full first name so i will be calling him timmy throughout i’m sorry i’m usually a big proponent of getting people’s names right but i just woke up and i know i’ll forget the dream in like five minutes).

and Fairy Queen me obviously knows him and is like oh poor timmy what’s happened. and he’s absolutely out of his tree on fairy wine but he’s a Sad drunk and he starts crying about how not enough people think he’s hot anymore and how everyone used to want him and now he’s willy wonka and nobody wants him what’s WRONG with him what HAPPENED he used to have it ALL. all explained through sobbing.

and so as a kind fairy queen i say oh poor timmy it’s okay i’m sure someone somewhere still thinks you’re hot. and i let him put his head on my lap and continue to cry while i make eye contact with my fairy girlies and roll my eyes while taking a bitchy sip of my wine. and you would think that’s like a solid narrative end that’s where i would wake up right? no.

the dream continues but all i can do is halfheartedly pat timmy’s head and every now and then i try to gently hint that i would like him to go somewhere else now because he’s really bringing down the vibe like they’re playing bangers and i can’t even get up and dance with the girlies buffy-and-faith style because i have this sad little guy crying on me.

it felt like it went on forever and i was like. ugh this isnt even worth crying about let alone for a whole party but i knew he was fragile because my friend warned me that one of his stan accounts quit after they changed their hair conditioner and realised the old one was sinking into their brain and making them attracted to mr chalamet (i’m assuming because i was looking at a compilations of stan accounts coming to reason after finding black mould in their room or getting on mood stabilisers before i went to bed). and so i couldn’t bring myself to just push him off me or get the fairy bouncers (??) to kick him out so the rest of my dream was like. well i guess i’m stuck here with this guy crying all over my spider silk dress while everyone else dances to lush life by zara larsson

[femboycatofmystery]

So my post about how you should draw (YOU SHOULD DRAW!) blew up beyond any precedent since my return to tumblr and someone in the FRANKLY KIND OF TERRIFYING NUMBER OF REBLOGS mentioned downloading a free DAW to make music and that got me thinking,

HOBBY SOFTWARE MEGAPOST GO

All of the below software is free to use, and most of it is Open Source (which is its own thing I recommend learning about, its entire existence and success gives me hope for humanity) so GO GET SOME TOOLS! Make things like nobody's watching and then SHOW IT TO THEM ANYWAY! Or don't! Even if you hide your work from the world (lord knows I do!!!) you will have created something! And it feels amazing to create something!

VISUAL ARTS:

Inkscape: Adobe Illustrator replacement, pretty solid if a bit quirky.

Krita: Painting software, if anything slightly overpowered and sometimes more complicated than you want, but can do bloody anything including advanced color management. A wonderful tool.

Blender: You have probably heard it is super hard to use. This is CONDITIONALLY true. Because the developers are working day and night to improve everything about it it's always getting better and now like, 80% of the hardness is just because 3D is hard. Aside: Blender Grease Pencil - A subsystem in Blender is concerned with 2D animation and it is. Surprisingly good. Some annoying conventions but totally possible to literally make professional traditional 2D animation.

MUSIC:

LMMS: A free and open source DAW that can do a lot, except use most modern VST plugins. The practical upshot of this is that if you are just starting out with music it is totally serviceable but over time you might start to long for something with the ability to load hella plugins. (I'm currently trying out Reaper which has a long free trial and is technically nagware after that point...)

PlugData: You GOTTA TRY THIS, it's not mentally for everyone (not HARD exactly, just WEIRD) but if your brain works well with this kind of flow graph stuff it's a magical playground of music. (If you have heard of PureData, PlugData is based on it but has a lot of nice graphical upgrades and can work as a VST if you have a proper DAW)

Surge XT: A big ol' synthesizer plugin that also can run standalone and take midi input so you can technically use it to make music even if you don't have a DAW. If planning notes ahead of time sounds intimidating, but you can get your hands on a midi piano controller, this might actually be a great way to start out playing with music on your computer!

Bespoke Synth: Another open source DAW, but this one is... sort of exploded? Like PlugData you patch things together with cables but it has a wild electrified aesthetic and it can do piano rolls. Fun though!

GAME DEV:

Yeah that's right, game dev. You ABSOLUTELY can make video games with no experience or ability to code. I actually recommend video games as a way to learn how to code because the dopamine hits from making a character bumble around on a screen are enormously bigger than like. Calculating pi or something boring like that. ANYWAY:

Twine: Twine is what I might describe as sort of a zero-barrier game dev tool because you're literally writing a story except you can make it branch. It has programming features but you can sort of pick them up as you go. Lowest possible barrier to entry, especially if you write!

Godot: I use this engine all the time! It's got great tutorials all over the internet and is 100% FREE AND ALWAYS WILL BE. Technically there are more Unity tutorials out there, but Godot has plenty enough to learn how to do things. It's also SUPER LIGHTWEIGHT so you won't spend your precious hobby time waiting for the engine to load. There are absolutely successful games made with this but I think the best thing about it is that the shallow end of the learning curve is PRETTY OK ACTUALLY.

[butts-bouncing-on-the-beltway]

I cooked off some washing soda today and mixed it with baking powder, baking soda, salts, coriander seed, cardamom seed, and arrowroot for the laundry. It smelled nice, and the clothes scrubbed up great. I didn't even need to add in any borax to strip them.

The clothes are still out to dry on the line, so we'll have to wait until I bring them in to see how they're faring. My big hope is that it doesn'tcome out too starched, some of my clothes have come in with brittle fibers from the detergent I was buying, so my hope is the arrowroot (and the dash of pomace I tossed in lol) will be effective fabric conditioners, and the laundry powder mix and vinegar I tossed in will hopefully do a solid job at cleansing the fibers without damaging them.

The spare towel came out genuinely brighter in color than it went in at least, which I'm rather excited about.

[taperwolf]

Among my assorted odd acquisitions over the past year was a brand new air conditioner. It's a solid and up to date window unit.

However, I have yet to install it. Problem 1 is that while the standard window unit is intended to mount in the open part of a window where a top pane drops down (the unit is meant to be held in place like that) , all our windows slide sideways. So while the window unit will fit in, there would be big chunks of open window.

The obvious solution is to get a sheet of plywood to fill in the gap, and put padding around its edges so that it'll stay put in place.

Now, the thing is that quality plywood generally sells in sheets of 8 feet by 4 feet, and the whole window — not including the space the unit will take up — is something like 45 inches high by 24 inches wide. Now, you can get cheaper plywood in smaller sheets — but I also want to build my new Eurorack case of good plywood to house my synth modules, and when I last tried to lay out a design for that, it took a half-sheet of plywood. So if I get the whole sheet, I have what I need for both projects.

I think. I should run this idea past the folks I know at the local makerspace for some sanity checking. But it'd get me moving on a project I've been dithering on for quite a while now.

[anothersoulless]

Engravings {Peruh X Reader}

After getting your first Tattoo, your boyfriend Peruh helps you through the pain and with care, torturing you with massaging the tattoo cream into your skin, your pained gasps ringing out, your body jolting forwards, trying to explain the way it hurt, when he touched your painted wound.

You had heard many horror stories about how painful a tattoo would be, but the hours you sat there getting your tattoo were mildly uncomfortable. It wasn't as bad as everyone had made it out to be, at the start you had nearly fallen asleep multiple times because it had been so relaxing. Your Boyfriend Peruh had held your hand and reassured you. He had laughed with you and commented on the process of the tattoo whenever you needed it. He one time went up to get some drinks and snacks for everyone in the room.

The end undoubtedly hurt the most. There just wer certain spots that hurt immensely, Peruhs' hand nearly being crushed by your sheer force of pain. It was all good, however. No tears were shed, the show was finished, and so was Our tattoo - a big hawk flying into space adorned your back now, a tad bit of blood seeping out very slowly, while the tattoo shined with the clear fluids to close the wound. You had thanked the artist and returned home after getting some clear foil over your tattoo, as to not stain your clothes. He drove you home.

The worst part wasn't the pain, it was not being able to shower for a solid two weeks. Every morning your boyfriend took the shower head, making sure the water wasn't too hot or cold, and washed the tattoo off with water, before patting it dry. You hung around without a shirt or bra in your house to let the tattoo air-dry and heal better and faster. You had no idea if it actually worked that way, but it had been suggested. Peruh was kind enough to even treat it with the treatment salve you had bought from the shop.

When he told you your tattoo was flaking off you first started to panic. ou had heard about tattoos falling off, but never about flaking off - had you down something wrong, or had the artist? Where you gonna end up with a nasty scar? He had been quick to shut it down, explaining it was simply flaking, and that the ink wasn't actually leaving your body. You ended up googling to to make sure and were thankful that everything healed correctly.

When it started to itch and you couldn't bare it, he simply placed his hands on the spot where it did, effectively ending the itching most of the time. He was a wonderful help and you were grateful. He even made progress pictures of the healing tattoo and updated you on ever single thing happening.

After two weeks were over there was one thing on your list, that was first - shower. Shower with the nearly scorching water running over your skin and using shampoo and conditioner and body wash without having to bend over the tub or using a washcloth, as to not get any chemicals inside your tattoo. Peruh joined you in the bathroom, wanting to see the fully healed tattoo. The second you got out, he still helped you dry off, his hand wandering to softly go over the painted picture, engraved in your skin forever.

"Such a beautiful picture on such a strong person. I am so grateful, so honoured you allow me to call you mine" "As I call you mine, my beautiful, handsome, gentle and loving partner. Thank you so much"

He had blushed at the compliment and bashfully exclaimed how he loved you until every star in teh universe would die. He could be a bit dramatic, but it was always a pleasure to hear such words. A storm of light, loving kisses were exchanged and you were left happy in the bathroom as he went to make dinner, a wonderful engraving on your back, always reminding you about him and the way he loved you.

"I love you too, Peruh. Even if all the stars in this universe died, I would love you still, until tmevery star in every universe died and nothing exists anymore"

[eddiemunsonappreciationsociety]

MY WORD IS MY BOND

Part Five: It's a strong magnetic field, monolithic in its feel

Over the next week, Eddie and I spend every spare moment talking to each other. Texts in the day, phone calls at night. He takes up every extra thought. He is so fascinating, enigmatic, funny, witty... sexy. So sexy. 

Every night before we say goodnight, usually far too late, he asks me on the date and I give some sort of excuse to sidestep the invitation.

Is he eager because, like me, he's feeling the pull of us together? My body and mind want to be with him. Or does he just want to be some sort of super vampire?

On Friday night I consult the stars, runes, various divination cards, tea leaves, pendulums, and any other divination methods I even had the slightest inclination for. They tell me a confusing tale. As I sit on the floor, surrounded by my various tools, I had been at this for two hours and I was exhausted. Answers to the questions were confusing me. 

I ask the stars if the path to Eddie will lead to danger - yes 

I ask the runes if the path to Eddie is the right one - unsure 

I ask the pendulums if I should cut him off completely - big massive huge no

I decide the questions are too big. 

I ask the cards if I should go on the date - yes. 

The time on my grandfather's clock strikes eight and bang on the first chime my phone jumps to life. 

Eddie. 

I answer on the first ring. 

"I will go on a date with you." I blurt out before either of us says hi. 

"Really?" his voice is so excited but also a hint of, almost, relief. 

 I smile through my heart-racing anxiety. 

"Yes." 

"Now?" he asks eagerly.

"No, not now."

"What if you change your mind?"

"I won't."

"What about a brunch date?"

"I have to open the shop."

"I know, I just really don't want you to change your mind."

"I won't!" I exclaim, lying back on my rug, I remove a rune sticking in me.

"What made you say yes?" 

"I did some witchy things."

"Don't do anymore." his voice was commanding, solid.

"I won't, promise."

All the next day I'm nervous as fuck, butterflies are going on nonstop in my stomach. I close the shop at four, an hour early for a Saturday. I head upstairs, feeding the animals before locking myself in the bathroom. I don't have time for a ritual bath, but a blessed shower seems like a good idea. I carve a protection rune in my homemade rose soap with the point of my thumbnail. Selecting my favourite jar of shower scrub I set it on my shower shelf, and soon rose shampoo and conditioner join the scrub, and finally a bergamot, sandalwood and vanilla shower oil. I light my pillar candles around the room and select some Suki Waterhouse. 

I run the shower boiling and step in, letting the hard jets of hot water undo some tension in my back. I shampoo my hair and leave the conditioner to infuse into my thick curls, I lather up the runed soap in my hand and slowly rub the suds into my skin, paying close attention to the idea of protection, thanking protection figures for keeping me safe thus far. I scoop out a handful of the rose and pink Himalayan scrub and try to envision the date. I try to do this calmly as I ignore the racing of my heart at the thought of Eddie, I focus on scrubbing slow circles into my skin, leaving it smooth. The shower oil is next, as soon as I open it the familiar scent fills my nose and I actually say "mmm" out loud, holding it closer to my now and inhaling deeply. The smell is sweet, musky and so seductive. I cover myself in the oil, letting it sink into my skin as I wash the conditioner from my hair. I use my fingers to brush out any tangles. 

Wrapping myself in the fluffy bath sheet, I feel a lot better. Eddie had offered to pick me up but I said I'd meet him at the restaurant, I was still on guard and I didn't want to invite him near my space yet. 

Yet. 

Shut up brain.

I feel floaty as I make my way to my room, the outfit I'd woken up two hours earlier this morning, whilst on facetime to Stella, to choose was hanging on the wardrobe door. I sit on the floor in front of my mirror and find myself, without any real thought, closing my eyes, picturing a large, icy glass of double rum and coke and I wave my hand. I hear noises in the kitchen as the drink fixes itself as I spread primer on my face and soon the glass is floating into my room, Elphaba following behind, an evil glint in her eye as she pounces up, trying to knock it. 

"Don't be a dick," I mutter, clicking at her with one hand as I take the glass from the air with the other.

I go for a pale pink eyeshadow, huge winged liner and a well-sculpted face, finished off with gold highlighter on my cheekbones, end of my nose and corners of my eyes. I adorn my usual lashes and begin to dress. 

I'd let Stella choose for me in the end and I was a huge fan of her choice. The black wrap dress sinched me at the waist perfectly and showed just enough leg and boob that it would be classy enough for the posh restaurant and sexy enough for the date. We went with my pink patent, chunky platform heels and I layered on my jewellery - purposefully leaving the anti-vamp necklace off. I find myself stopping and holding it, looking at the red garnet, turning it over in my hands, and watching the light glint off it. I take a deep breath before stuffing it in my drawer.

"Wish good mumma luck," I call behind me to the animals, and I can almost feel the judgement from Elphaba. 

[inventors-fair]

Ya Basic - Back to Nonbasics Commentary

It's that time of the week again, folks! Here's the commentary for the remainder of the submissions. One thing I want to mention before getting into the card-by-card feedback is a few recurring themes I noticed; namely, the purpose lands serve in a game of Magic. Ultimately, big, splashy, game-changing effects should be ones that players can interact with. That's why they show up on other card types, and often cost a hefty amount of mana. Lands, on the other hand, are meant to provide you with resources in order to help you play the game. Obviously, they can do more than just tap for one mana apiece, but the line is a tricky one to draw. In the FPS analogy of magic, Torment of Hailfire is the DPS, and your lands are the support roles. Some of the submissions this week cross that line a bit, trying to make lands that are cool and flashy all on their own. And I get it! The very nature of this contest demands that you make something exciting and revolutionary so it'll stand out! But, hopefully as the winners and runners-up show, I will usually give more praise to a "boring" but well-designed card than I will to something that goes all-out on flashiness for the sake of it. Obviously that's my personal proclivity and I can't speak for the other judges, but there you have it. As always, I am available here or on Discord if you want to converse about feedback or pick my brain for reasons unrelated.

Ugh, that was a ramble. Here's the lands!

Astral Canvas by @spooky-bard

So far, we’ve only seen one enchantment land- I assume they’re a bit more dangerous than artifact lands because of the prevalence of constellation effects? Anyways, this seems like a fairly balanced one in that regard. Sure, you get an enchantment ETB, but this is a waste (heh) until you are able to play more enchantments- which are almost always colored, so this doesn’t really help you with mana fixing. I think it’s pretty solid balance-wise. The flavor is a bit generic, but I suppose that’s better than making it the billionth theros-themed enchantment effect. All in all, it’s a very solid card, and was pretty close to winning this week.

Aurora Barrows by @i-am-the-one-who-wololoes

Threshold is an old mechanic for sure, meaning that it was underutilized when it first debuted. This is a pretty simple take on it, but one that makes a lot of sense- it’s the generic rainbow land that turns itself on with the set mechanic. However, I think threshold is just a little too mid-game-y for this land to ever be useful. With conditional rainbow lands, you want to have the possibility of turning them on in the first few turns in order to really get a use out of them, but threshold is hard to hit that fast unless you’re aggressively going for a self mill strategy. Which, hey, every card has its place, but this one just doesn’t seem worth playing to me.

Breathtaking Vista by @snugz

Okay, using inspired as a mechanic to represent literal artistic inspiration is very clever, and you worked the name and flavor text in a way I can really appreciate. I do think there’s some logistical issues with the timing of the trigger and the fact that it’s on a land- this is a really easy trigger to just get absolutely buried in the flurry of actions that is your beginning phase, and I’m not sure if I see an easy way to fix that. This does put me in mind of an art-themed world, however, which is a fascinating concept to me, and one I hope you might expand on.

Cacophonous Catacomb by @izzet-always-r-versus-u

The long-lost sibling of our Threshold land above. This one fixes some of the issues I had with Aurora Barrows- namely, it helps enable itself, delirium is conditionally easier than threshold depending on deck construction, and the reward is a bit greater, with two mana instead of a single rainbow mana. However, I wonder if this might be too good? Not because of the reward, but I can think of a lot of decks that would love a free mill every turn, or four if you hit your playset of these. There is admittedly the tradeoff of not having colored mana from these, but I would like to see how this plays in a strong reanimator shell before passing any real judgement.

Collapsing Peatland by @salamileg

This is one of those cards that I thought I knew what it said, but had to come back and reread it to make sure. The addition of the word “land” here really changes this from a strong enabler card to a balanced dual land, since the opportunity cost of having to pitch another land makes it a big decision. I would personally make sure to include reminder text that it taps for black and green, but that’s a small nitpick. Also, that flavor text is really depressing. Not a criticism, but dang.

Dormant Volcano // Fields of Ash by @helloijustreadyourpost

I missed the transform clause at first and realy thought you put a repeatable board wipe on a land, and I was ready to just shake my head in disappointment. However, it’s a much cleaner design than that, and I never should have doubted you. HOWEVER, there are some logistical issues to be found here. Obviously, you want to hold the board wipe until you can be sure you’re killing as many creatures as possible, since you only have one shot to get this guy loaded with corpse counters. The issue arises when the land transforms, you go to combat, and all of a sudden you’re forgetting the delayed corpse counter triggers since you don’t have that text right in front of you. Since the land is already tapped, I think the easiest solution would be to have it transform at the beginning of the next end step. Little functional difference, but it means that it’ll be easier to remember and track the creatures that were caught in the eruption.

Forsaken Battlefield by @bergdg

Simple, classic, and... maybe not that good? Hey, it would be pretty solid in Limited, and that counts for something. Maybe Prosper EDH would like it. In a multiplayer game, you’re pretty likely to hit this at least once a round, so it’s just a matter of holding up two mana in the hopes of stockpiling more. Honestly though? I think this might play better if you up the threshold to two or three creatures dying, and then remove the mana cost and just allow it to tap. That makes it feel more like a battlefield if multiple things have to die, and removes a bit of the opportunity cost of having to hold another land in reserve alongside this one.

Harmonious Karst by @horsecrash

So, I’m honestly unsure about how to judge this one. I did ask for some consideration of Limited viability, and even if planechase could be made into a draft set (god I want it so bad Wizards please give it to me), this seems like it would be a very swingy land at uncommon, especially if it’s a cycle like the typing implies. Sure, always entering tapped is a downside, but making it so that you have two free rolls of the planar die every turn seems really good in a set built around the concept. Obviously it’s impossible to really judge this without seeing it in action, but I think I would like this better at rare, and maybe as a rainbow land instead of a dual that implies a full or half cycle of these.

Hazardous Warehouse by @0woah

Hoo boy, this land seems pretty straightforward, but I reckon the rules would get FUNKY. What happens if you reveal a Reflecting Pool or Exotic Orchard? Can those lands see the battlefield? Can the game even recognize what mana a land card in your hand is capable of producing? I would definitely have to consult with someone more experienced than me to see if this would work, and the confusion might not be worth it. It’s still an incredibly cool concept though, that’s for sure. The last ability could use some tightening up on the wording, since currently it looks like it can only exile creatures that already have that many time counters on it. Also, if you’re in even a decent shape, that’s essentially just a permanent, repeatable exile on a land, which is... a little scary. Lots of cool ideas here, but temperance is the key to making a solid design, especially a land.

Howling Cliff by @deg99

I do think we could stand to see more of the typal “if you control this creature or have one in hand” lands, like Murmuring Bosk. Wolf/ Werewolf is a dual tribe that makes a lot of sense here, and the first half of the card is great. I’m honestly not sure how to feel about that last ability- I get that you want to make allowances for old and new werewolves, but the way you balanced it, it looks like it was meant to transform a single werewolf, then you hastily added the day/night text because you realized a new werewolf wouldn’t transform- but then forgot to take into account that the ability now transforms ALL your werewolves. What’s more, at 6 functional mana, you’re likely putting most of your mana into this, meaning you won’t be casting spells, meaning the day/night becomes a bit redundant. It’s a tricky one for sure, and I don’t have a solution for you, but it does need some kind of adjustment.

Karbranth Grand Clinic by @mmmmmin

Thought you could sneak a Stormlight Archives reference by me, huh? Huh??? Jokes aside, it is important to bring up the fact that we tend to avoid Universe Beyond cards in the contests unless we explicitly ask for them, such as when we run our IP contests. That being said, I am going to assume this was an act of not knowing the rules, rather than deliberate malice, so I’m going to evaluate the card as though it was just a generic MTG land. I do like how the paying life/ lifelink abilities synergize, allowing you to hopefully regain the life you’ve lost to this land, while not making it too easy with a power boost. The third ability is where things fall apart for me a little bit, since you seem to have gone for flavor over gameplay. Citizen is a very niche creature type, so I think this could have just allowed you to sacrifice any creature. Investigate is neat, for sure- the talk of samples and death implies that killing people gives you clues- but why the coin flip? That just seems out of nowhere, and doesn’t really mesh with the design. A good question to ask yourself at this stage is “what deck does this want to be in?” At the moment, this wants to have Citizen typal, be an aristocrats deck to make the sacrifice worth it, maybe care about clues to some degree, and then also be able to manipulate coin flips. It’s pulling in a lot of different directions, which doesn’t really do it many favours, obscuring the really cool ideas you had. 

Lochthwain, Compleated by @curiooftheheart

Okay, this is definitely one of the coolest “ETB untapped” conditions I’ve seen. It makes sense that “legendary” locations should care about Legendary figures. The different take on Castle Locthwain’s card draw is also pretty sweet, still rewarding you for having a smaller hand rather than being greedy. However, I just don’t see the phyrexian flavor here? This could just be Locthwain 2.0. It has the same card draw, the same life loss, etc, so where is the Compleated part coming from? I guess that might be a little too nitpicky, and I don’t know what exactly I expected, but Compleated made me think there would be some mechanical tangent it would go on to differentiate itself from the OG design.

Marrow Dunes by @certification-wizard

One of our other Desert cards this week, and another one that cares about the graveyard- in a cool way, too. Not only does this provide prime fodder for the cards asking you to sacrifice a desert, but it then gives you more deserts to use for said abilities. It’s a nicely designed card, with one small hurdle- namely, land tokens are a pretty tough sell. The only cards that make Land tokens right now also make them creatures, because it’s all too easy to run into complicated issues with forgetting which lands are real and which are tokens, accidentally shuffling them in, etc. It’s still a very cool idea, and frankly Desert tokens probably have a lot less issues in this regard than basic land tokens would, but it’s worth pointing out.

Migrating Star Scape by @little-red-rabbit

Okay, nitpicks outta the way first- this land is technically white and blue because of the color indicator, and lands should be colorless- plus, watch the ordering of mana symbols: It should be 2WU. Apart from that, this is a really neat Treasure Planet-esque land! Ships sailing the stars, magical ocean creatures swimming in space- there’s a lot of flavor to plumb there, and this does a really good job of it. See above for my comments on enchantment lands in general. However, in a dedicated enchantment deck, that’s gonna be a LOT of unblockable fish. I think the scale needs to be brought down on that, especially since it’s a land as well, and four mana is not a particularly difficult threshold to meet.

Parotia, Wrenn’s Legacy by @marrinara-sauce

Ahh, the classic Planeswalker land. Something many a designer, including myself, have tried to make work. And frankly? You did a really good job of balancing it to make sure it wouldn’t absolutely take over the game if left unchecked. It works pretty much like a land in almost every scenario, which is something to be commended for, that kind of restraint is not usually seen in these designs. However, by their very nature, Planeswalkers warp the game around them. They change the rules, and give your opponents another “mini player” to consider. As mentioned in the intro, lands are the exact opposite of that. They should be playing a support role, not completely changing how the game is played. Combine that with the absolute feelbad of drawing into multiple of these, or losing your land drop to an aggro deck, means that Planeswalker lands are unfortunately a pretty flawed premise. 

Queiscent Summit by @grornt

Interestingly, eight or more lands was the Quandrix subtheme in strixhaven, and I kinda expected this to take on some of that flavor. Regardless, this is a fairly neat manland. It taps for mana, it filters when needed, and it can become a late game beater. I don’t have too much to say about it honestly, since it seems pretty well designed. The one minor detail that slipped by you is that it should have haste in creature form- if this is your eighth land drop, and all of a sudden you have a land you can’t tap for mana right away... it gets confusing. Haste is definitely something this design wants, in the same way that Nissa and her animation spells grant haste so you don’t have to keep track of which lands are summoning sick and which aren’t.

Stallblast Cliff by @dimestoretajic

I definitely have some mixed feelings on this one. I like the idea of a scaling reward based on when you play this, and the basic is a good rider to ensure you’re not just playing this with a bunch of fancy duals. At the same time, though, I think the two/three land threshold is a bit confusing, and this might have wanted the Dwarven Mine templating or something similar. I don’t know, maybe that’s me being too cautious. It’s entirely possible, honestly. Also, it’s worth wondering if a lightning bolt is too efficient for a land. Sure, it’s essentially a mini Valakut, but they have very different thresholds, and four copies of this can go a long way. At minimum, this probably shouldn’t be at common.

Starved Caldera by @bread-into-toast

This is a very cute way to animate a land, and I think a set of these with various “whenever you do this, it becomes a creature” would be kinda neat, especially to juxtapose the deliberate activated ability manlands that are more prevalent. I do think this wants the “triggers only once each turn” templating to make it a little cleaner, but apart from that, this looks pretty good to me. The name is just so evocative and chilling, it’s... whoof. I don’t wanna get on the bad side of whatever is hanging out there. My one other tiny nitpick is that you may wanna have your art and name agree with each other more, since there is a distinct lack of water hanging out in that art. Volcanoes are cool hot though, so I’ll let it slide.

The Font of Creation by @wolkemesser

This one is definitely tough to evaluate. The design you’re going for is a great idea, and you’ve definitely thought to account for corner cases, which is good, but I’ll be frank- this is not a land. This completely changes how the game is played, and forces your opponents to play by those rules as well, which is fine for designs! But this is a high-cost artifact or enchantment kind of design, not one that should be able to be dropped on turn 1 for free. Also with that in mind, trying to evaluate how a card can be broken, and making adjustments to reflect that, is a good way to improve a design. However, the best solution usually isn’t to just tack a new ability on there to prevent that abuse from happening, usually you want to try and reword the original ability to prevent that kind of abuse. Ultimately, this card is just trying to do way too much- the complexity and power level are more appropriate for a more mana-intensive card, and that’s after making some adjustments to clean up the various abilities on here.

Thunderstruck Starscape by @lanabutnotdelray

I really do like how creative people got with untap conditions this week, and this one is no exception. It’s clever, flavorful, and all in all just hits the mark. First things first, blah blah blah enchantment lands, I won’t get into all that again. Second- in a blue-red deck, two devotion seems laughably easy. This is saying “this enters untapped unless you’ve played a spell”, which to be fair is not nothing, but it makes the devotion aspect less necessary. This is me going off of a gut feeling, but I think 3 might be the magic number on this- keep in mind that devotion to two colors is much easier than to one, which is why the dual-color gods have to hit seven instead of five. Likewise, I could see two working for a single color of devotion, but I think for two I wanna see what a threshold of three would look like. Apart from that, love the design.

Tidal Graveyard by @azathoth-the-bored

I do love niche typal lands, they’re fun and often just make for cute designs. This one is pretty standard as far as things go- the costs seem pretty appropriate, especially since Crab is a pretty small type and it’s not known for making a ton of tokens. However, most other typal lands try to lean into the creature type’s mechanical identity. Sometimes there isn’t one, of course, but crabs do have a couple decent identities of high toughness and of milling. Leaning into one of those could have made for an even neater design, since drawing a card just seems like a bit of a generic payoff, as things go.

Undergrowth Tangle by @stupidstupidratcreatures

I am glad that you had the foresight to have the enter unconditionally tapped, since that shows you’re treating mill as the upside it is. Not an incredible upside, granted, but a playset of these will do a whole lot of work in a reanimator shell. Like the delirium design also submitted this week, I would want to see it in action to properly judge, since this could be a big power boost in the right decks.

Unending Sands by @just--a--penguin

Our final desert of the week- interestingly, most of them had to do with exiling from grave instead of sacrificing. It’s an interesting way to make sure they synergize with existing deserts rather than trying to compete in the same space as them, and invokes a really neat hypothetical draft format. Return to Amonkhet perhaps, with deserts as a proper archetype this time? Anything can happen. I don’t have much else to say here- 5 mana for a 4/4 token seems fair, especially when you have to jump through the hoop of getting this into your graveyard first. All in all, it’s a neat design for sure, though maybe the name could have been a biiit less on the nose.

Velis Vel by @sombramainexe

Hoo boy, okay. I don’t want to be too harsh on the commentary for this one, but tribal is a card type that isn’t used anymore for very good reasons. Even a single tribal card is very unlikely, and more likely to be used as a silly callback. However, this makes everything into a tribal card, and doesn’t even give most of them creature types. This would result in a lot of confusion and a LOT of memory issues, as well as some odd corner cases. For example, would Eye of the Storm gain the “Eye” creature type? Some of this could be fixed with templating, but a lot of it is just fundamentally not going to work very well. Also, Tribal lands are a whole mess on their own- even when they originally made tribal, they didn’t wanna mess with it that much. I do think this is an incredibly creative idea, and I applaud you for really pushing the boundaries- because what is this contest for if not to display creativity? However, it’s worth tempering that creativity with design principles- after all, they exist for a reason. This also serves as a great reminder that the hive mind over in our discord is always happy to discuss cards and bounce ideas off of each other if you ever want to refine your design before submission.

And that's that! You are now in the hands of the ever-capable, incorruptible @gollumni- we have five judges once again, so I will see you in five weeks! Farewell!