#but i will be brave about it and allow this post to be reblogged

[vladdyissues]

Lately Ive seen some awful things about antis and haters making threats and getting artists banned from Tumblr and X. Im new to the Phandom and love pompep but Im scared i'll be targeted if I write and share pompep fics. How do you manage sharing your work so bravely?

Firstly, welcome to the Phandom—and especially Pompous Pep! I have a simple protocol for enjoying a drama-free Tumblr experience:

Preventative Action

1. Find your community. Follow other Pompep fans and supporters and reblog their things. Don't be afraid to leave nice tags; we love and welcome interactions :) You can also join the Pompep Discord server if you enjoy chatting (DM me for details).

2. Turn off anon asks. This will solve 99% of all potential problems, and you can turn it back on whenever you want. Antis are cowards who prefer to hide behind the mask of anonymity. They seldom have the courage to say something with their whole username.

3. Block the obvious haters. This is a big fandom, and at some point you're likely to come across people openly hating on pompep, either on their bio, pinned posts, or comments. Block them. For an added layer of protection, add their username to your Filtering Options.

4. Tag your work appropriately. When posting, make sure your work is tagged correctly (the #pompous pep tag is especially important) so people who like pompep can find it and those who want to avoid it can block the tag. Use Content Labels when applicable.

5. Try to avoid using the platonic tag (#badger cereal) and the romantic tag (#pompous pep) at the same time. Some fans are really touchy about this. I'm not, and I think there are legitimate cases where use of both is applicable, but if you want to minimize friction, just stick with one tag or the other.

If you're not sure which tag to use, ask yourself what your intentions are with your art or fic. Is the goal a romantic relationship? If so, use the pompep tag. If it's truly ambiguous and could be seen either way, use the platonic tag first. You can always add another tag like "okay to tag as pompep", just to let people know they can interpret it however they please.

Responsive Action

If the above guidelines aren't 100% effective, here's what you do:

1. Don't feed the trolls. If you receive any negative asks in your inbox, it's important to NOT engage with them. Delete them, ignore them, don't let them get to you. Antis thrive on attention, so let them starve. Eventually they'll move on when they realize they're not going to get a rise out of you.

The same goes for any negative comment left on your work. Just delete it, block the person who left it, and pretend it never happened.

These asks and comments may come in the form of questions. Example: "How can you ship Danny with Vlad? That's [insert gross accusation here]" Resist the urge to answer these questions. They are not made in good faith. This person just wants to start an argument.

2. Report any harassment. If by some chance you receive a seriously hateful ask, like threats of violence or abuse, take a screenshot for proof/safekeeping, then report the message and the user if they're not anonymous. If the ask is anonymous, use the meatball menu (•••) at the top right to report the message and block the anon.

Final Words

It takes time to develop a thick skin and Don't Give A Fuck attitude, but it can be done. You are a phan. You have every right to be here and enjoy this fandom in peace, just like everyone else. Anyone who believes in harassing others over silly things like which cartoon characters should be allowed to kiss clearly has nothing better to do with their life. The sooner you shut them out, the happier you'll be.

Regarding media: Artists attract a lot more negative attention than writers for reasons I won't get into right now, but if you're mainly a writer, you will enjoy a much quieter fandom experience. Wherever you post your stories—I recommend AO3; DM me if you need an invite—follow the same advice there as I've given here: make sure your work is tagged correctly; support your fellow Pompep fans by reading and commenting on their works, building that community; moderate comments if you're concerned about negativity; block and mute users if they give you any trouble, and you'll enjoy a much more positive fandom experience.

There is strength in community. When you start making new fandom friends, you'll feel a lot less lonely, and that will give you the confidence you need to really have a good time here.

Wishing you the best, anon!

[sherbovania]

i'm workin on sami's lore post as we speak but i got a lot of miscellaneous and unorganized thoughts pertaining to her that absolutely do not belong anywhere except the Sapphic Brainworms Containment Zone (right here). also strategically posting this late into the night so the normans that follow me are less likely to see it (it is a tiny bit embarrassing sorry)

[lottesreads]

Why Me? - Part 9

Pairing: Bob Floyd x Mitchell! Female Reader (Callsign Mantis)

Warnings: Swearing, drinking, talk about sex, mentions of abuse, pining, forbidden relationship, jealousy, self-doubt, Hangman being a menace, talk of death, mentions of exes

Word Count: 9k (It's worth it, I promise)

Summary: After a chat with your dad, you're feeling a little better about your family situation. You still get the feeling you're being watched and try your hardest to be on your best behavior. And the time finally comes for Bob to meet Emily.

A/N: I wrote the last bit to this part MONTHS ago and I'm so excited to finally share it with y'all. Again, love the likes, comments and reblogs make me cry happy tears and I love you all!

Also, special shoutout to Tonya Harding anon, whose reaction I am always excited to see when I post. Anyway, enjoy!!

Masterlist

Bob was an idiot. At least, that’s what he kept telling himself as he drove home to Sylvia. Of course you would want him to go out on a date, or whatever this was. You are his friend, and friends want each other to be happy. Except, Bob knows he won’t be happy with Rachel’s friend, whatever her name was. Even as he unlocks his front door and is greeted with Sylvia running toward him, he still can’t help but feel a little sad over the thought of you. You’ve been on his mind every day since he first laid eyes on you, and he knew even then you were too good for him. There was a moment today, as he held your hand he felt the courage to say something. He wasn’t sure exactly what he would have said, but you make him feel scared and brave all at the same time. It’s hard to explain, but who would he have to explain it to anyway?

Even as he’s brushing his teeth, his thoughts wander as they usually do to you. The way your eyes light up when you give him a real smile. Not the fake ones you’ve been sporting lately. The way you were so gentle with him, and every time your hands found each others it felt so natural. So right.

Clad in just his boxers, Bob slips beneath the sheets of his bed as he sets his glasses on his nightstand. And even though he knows it’s a hard habit to break, when Sylvia jumps up to join him he doesn’t push her away. He welcomes the comfort, patting the spot next to him as she circles once, plopping down against his side once she’s sure she’s found the right spot.

The warmth takes his mind back to the night he spent in your bed. How even in your drunken state your hand was able to find his heart so easily. You didn’t need a hand to do that, though. Somehow through all of his attempts to avoid having to look at you longer than he had to, you had already found it. He could tell the minute his heart started pounding out of his chest the first time he saw you that you would get there easier than anyone else had, or probably ever will.

His eyes grow tired, and as he turns his head he can almost make out the shape of your face, your eyes reappearing underneath your lashes. A soft smile creeping from your plush lips as you stare back. Bob is quite sure he’s dreaming now as the lingering floral scent of your shampoo clouds his senses. As much as he wishes it was, it doesn’t feel real as he kisses your forehead. He can’t move, he knows if he takes any more liberties in this dream it will slip out of his fingers just like they all have before. If Bob can be with you in any way he knows it will only be in his dreams. And as much as it hurts to wake up and realize it’s not real, and there’s no way you would want him, he still allows himself to relish the moments where his brain tricks him into thinking you do. He’ll take the hurt of waking up as reality crushes his spirit just for the chance to know you in his sleep.

And now his mind remembers what it feels like to have your hands caress his face, cradle his jaw, and trace over his lips. The rushed way your lips met his cheek. Closing his eyes he can pause the memory, smell your perfume, know the way your kiss felt against his face. Your touch will fuel his dreams for years to come. He knows this to be the heartwrenching truth as the thought of you brings him to a deep sleep.

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

The drive is silent, and yet you still take the long way home. The day is finally catching up to you as you park your car in the driveway, opting to just sit in the driver’s seat, staring at the steering wheel. It’s still the same shitty little car you bought when you were 17, the heater doesn’t work, but you figured you don’t need it in San Diego. And the battery’s a little finicky, but you just keep telling yourself you’ll get a new one when you have the time. Whenever you’re not falling for people you can’t have or punching your brother- teammate. You swiftly correct yourself. If he wants a relationship that’s the only one he’s going to get from you.

You don’t even know how long you’ve been sitting in your car, contemplating your existence before you’re walking to the front door, head held low. Your brain is on autopilot, the rest of your body following. The light in the kitchen doesn’t even phase you as you lock the front door behind you, running a hand down your face as you lean against the door.

“I was wondering when you’d get home”, your head shoots up in the direction of your father’s voice coming from the kitchen table, startling you.

“Jesus christ”, you let out.

“I got back to the bar and they all told me you already left, so how did I beat you here?” Folding his arms across his chest, he raises a brow for you to answer.

“I just needed to clear my head, go for a drive.” You shrug. He hums in acknowledgement, holding your gaze, as if waiting for you to go on. His eyes fall to your hand as you rub at your forehead. “Well, I think I’m just gonna go to bed-”

“Were you going to tell me what happened to your hand?” A shaky breath leaves your body as you look down to the fading bruise, it’s a wonder he was able to see it at all anymore.

“You never asked.”

“I never noticed.” He counters.

“And whose fault is that?” You bite back. He’s at a visible loss for words as you move to the stairs, taking a few steps toward your room, “Like I told Penny, I slammed it in my car door.”

“Oh c’mon”, the slightly raised level of his voice stops you in your tracks, “Cut the crap kid. Tell me the truth.” You turn to face him as he stands, just so tired with the day and the same old bullshit you’ve been trying to swim through.

“Seems like you already know the truth, so why does it matter if I tell you?”

“Because you keep lying to me!” You know he’s not just talking about covering up what Rooster said. There’s a deep frustration within his words that goes back to when you were a kid. Lying about how you got those bruises around your wrists, even the lie you kept up for four years while you attended the academy.

“Dad, please, I really don’t feel like talking right now-“

“No. You keep avoiding me, and we’re having a conversation. Now.” It’s your turn to beg as your lip begins to wobble.

“I’ve already had a rough day and I just want to go to sleep, please dad.”

“What’s wrong?”, he asks with a much gentler tone.

��It’s nothing”, you respond, fiddling with your thumb instead of staring back at him. Sighing, he shakes his head at the ground.

“Please. Just tell me the truth. Talk to me bug.” The nickname falls softly from his lips, even if it is hard for him to say. Truth be told, he couldn’t bring himself to call you that after Carole died, he didn’t want to encroach on the Bradshaw’s nickname for you. He knows you’ve worked hard to become the independent woman that you are today, but right now all he can see is his little girl standing at the top of the stairs. It brings back memories of you as a kid, blanket in hand, waking up from a scary dream. In those instances you’d wipe at your tear-stained cheeks and tired eyes, clinging to your dad. Your eyes look tired now, just not due to lack of sleep anymore.

“There’s just a lot going on right now”, you mutter.

“You don’t have to tell me everything… I just want to make sure you’re ok, kid.” You nod at his words. There is a lot going on in your mind right now. The most recent thing involves something or rather someone you would never in a million years tell your dad about, so your mind wanders back to the root of how you got here. Why you’ve been feeling inadequate in comparison to the person who turned his back on you, not even giving you the decency to watch as he left you to drown.

“What do I have to do for you to see me the same way you do Bradley?” Your father’s shoulders visibly slump as he blinks up at you.

“It’s like he can do no wrong in your eyes. And I kind of get it. I mean he’s the product of two people you loved very much, and I… I was an accident”, Damn it. You are so sick of crying, but you try to swallow the frog in your throat to delay it anyway you can, “A regret you’re forced to live with every single day.” You’re picking at your nails again, heart beating so loud in your ears you don’t hear your dad get closer until his arms are wrapped around you. The two of you sink to take a seat on the stairs you were all too eager to run up only a minute ago. The second his arms reach around your shoulders, the tears start falling from your lash line, and you try your best to muffle your sniffling through his jacket.

“Hey, who told you that?” he gently asks, running his hand over your head in an attempt to soothe you.

“Who do you think?”, you mumble back, defeated. He sighs as he sets both hands gently on your shoulders, trying to get you to look at him.

“How could I regret you when you are the one thing that I am most proud of in my life? Huh? Screw every title and trophy, being called your dad is the greatest achievement I will ever receive.” His green eyes don’t tear away from your own, driving the sincerity of his words right through your heart. 

“Do you understand that?” Nodding, you move to rest your head on his shoulder while he rubs your arm.

“And about Bradley… There’s a lot that boy has and will do wrong. I was just surprised that after- hell, sixteen years he wanted a relationship with me again. I didn’t see that I was hurting you, and sweetheart, I am so sorry.”

“I thought you died, you know”, you whisper. “I thought you both did.” He holds you tighter at your remark. The harrowing moments on the Uranium mission when you had to sit in your F-18, listening to your teammates scream that your dad, and then Rooster of all people had gone down haunt your memories. Take up space that could otherwise be filled with anything else. “I was ready to forgive him. Almost losing the two of you for good made me realize I missed him more than I hated him. And now-”, you take in a deep breath, your dad going back to rubbing up and down your arm.

“You know, Goose was my brother. Blood be damned. I miss him and Carole every single day. I see them both in Bradley, but this anger- I know that comes from years of hatred and resentment he harbored towards me. I’m sorry you got caught in the crossfire of all of that.”

“He did apologize to me. Multiple times. I just don’t know if this is something that I can forgive him for.” Your dad hums and gives you a nod, moving to stroke your head again.

“You don’t have to decide that right now. I think it’s up to him to show you if he really means it, and in the meantime you can let your old man try to knock some sense into him.” You huff out a small laugh through your nose.

“Has he said anything to you?” You ask, genuinely curious.

“Yeah, we had a little talk on Sunday.” Furrowing your brows, you move your head to look back at his face.

“What did you say?” “Nothing that he didn’t need to hear. Someone had to remind him that’s not how you treat people, let alone your family.” You inwardly cringe at his use of the word. You know Rooster doesn’t have many blood-relatives left. A couple cousins on his mom’s side, but they’re all older and already have families of their own. You guess, in a sense, you are the only family he has left.

“I already punched him”, you mutter. Sighing once more, he turns and places a kiss to the very top of your head.

“I know you did, kid. Thanks for telling me.” You sit on the stairs a little longer, the relief of talking to him lifting a weight off of your chest. Until he speaks up again.

“I don’t want you to feel like you have to lie to me anymore, ok?”, you nod against his shoulder. “Is there anything else bothering you?” And even though you just practically told him you would tell him the truth, this is one thing you know you cannot and will not divulge to him.

“No.”

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

You’re a little nervous for work the next day. There’s not a doubt in your mind that you did the right thing by telling Bob to go on that date or whatever it is, and you’ll stick by that decision. But now you have people watching you. Rooster, even as you walk into the ready-room while Hangman, Payback, and Fanboy suit up to take to the skies, is already watching as you move to take a seat on the couch, noticeably across from Bob instead of next to him and Phoenix.

Bob looks up almost immediately as you sit, and sends a small smile your way. You do the same to him and it almost feels like before. Just pleasantries, even if you are excited to see him. God, Rooster was going to ruin your life. You’re pointedly avoiding his gaze even though you know he’s still watching. This is ok, though. You’re just going to follow Cyclone’s advice and do your job. That’s what you’re here to do.

Once the first group is done with their exercises, it’s your turn to head out along with Rooster. Your dad was adamant he was not the one who set up the pairs this time, and you immediately know this was a direct order from Cyclone. A test.

The object is to use the evasive maneuvers you’ve been practicing to avoid one Pete “Maverick” Mitchell from shooting you down. You’re walking to your jet when a voice stops you in your tracks.

“Mantis!”, Rooster calls out. You turn, holding your head high as he catches up to you. “We got this, right?” You eye his helmet as he holds it out to you. And as if the action summoned the beast himself, over Rooster’s shoulder you notice Cyclone standing in the hangar, shoulders squared as he watches the two of you get ready for takeoff. Looking back to Rooster, you knock your helmet into his.

“Right.” He nods once, trying to hide his surprise at your willingness.

Waiting in the air for your dad to make an appearance is like waiting in the eye of a storm. You know it’s coming, you just have to wait for it to pass over before all hell breaks loose.

“You see him yet?”, you ask, breaking the silence that has since formed after taking off.

“Not yet, but keep your eyes peeled, he likes to sneak up from below.” If there’s anything you know about your father, it’s that he doesn’t like to use the same tricks twice. Which is why when you look up, you’re not at all surprised at Maverick’s jet flying just above the two of you, nose diving the slightest bit as if he thinks he can catch you off guard.

“Bogie’s right above us, coming in hot, break right Rooster.” He does as you say while you break left, and your dad is left scrambling as his attempt to dive between the two of you is foiled. The two of you successfully evade Maverick for the time being, but when you’re left right next to each other and Maverick’s coming back around, you know he has to choose one of you to “shoot down”, and you know he won’t be choosing you.

“He’s coming back around Mantis”, Rooster warns. You eye his jet coming up from behind this time.

“He’s gonna go after you. When I tell you to, break left.” You watch his speed steadily increase as he gets closer and closer to the two of you, your hand twitching on the yoke of your jet. “Now Rooster!” He does as you say, and just like you planned it, Maverick follows him. Their jets fall as they get closer to the Hard Deck, and you watch Rooster start to climb back up.

“I’m leading him to you Mantis, heads up!” You follow their jets from above, waiting for Rooster to lead Maverick into your trap, and before you know it, they’re both in front of you, the shrill sound of catching tone on your dad ringing in both of your cockpits.

“Tone!”, you exclaim, “You’re out Mav.” You can’t help the smile that forms on your face, even as you make your way out of the cockpit. Once you land, Rooster is waiting for you with the same look on his face. 

“Now that's what I’m talking about, Mantis!”, he offers his hand in high five as the two of you walk off the tarmac, and as the adrenaline from beating your father makes its way through your veins, you take him up on the offer, slapping your hand against his.

The rest of the team in the ready-room starts clapping as the two of you walk back in. As if defeating Maverick was one of the hardest things you’d have to do. You laugh as you tap your fist against Coyote’s, the others patting you and Rooster on the back. Bob’s standing at the couch, still clapping for you as he gives you a wider smile, a seemingly proud look in his eye, like he had no doubt you could do it. You smile right back, getting the feeling he had the confidence you could the entire time.

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

When lunch rolls around the adrenaline has since worn off, leaving you a little tired. You drag yourself into the mess-hall and spot Bob at your usual table in the crowd. You hate that your head perks up at the sight, and even if you were stuck a moment ago, your feet move in his direction. You greet him with a smile, and your heart melts as he moves his lunch bag off of the seat he saved just for you. Taking a breath of relief at the routine, you take a seat. A weight is lifted off of your shoulders, Bob is a friend, a great one at that, and you don’t want to do anything to risk that. Even if you long for more, and you get butterflies every time his hand touches yours, or he gives you that same crooked smile, you just want to be around him.

“Hey, nice job today”, he says as he starts to unpack his lunch.

“Thank you. Hey, I’m sorry I didn’t ask this morning, but how’s your nose?” He makes a move to touch the bridge of his nose, feeling for any sort of tenderness.

“Oh, it’s fine. I think bein’ out in the sun all day just dried me out. Made it look worse than it actually was.”

“Well hopefully we won’t need to have another mandated beach day. And maybe next time you’ll drink more water”, you comment, raising your brow at him.

“Ok”, he laughs, “I was a little distracted, next time I’ll make sure I’m chuggin’ water.” You furrow your brow with a smile as he digs into his lunch.

“What got you so distracted you forgot to drink water?” He swallows the bit of his peanut butter and jelly sandwich he just took a bite of, trying and failing to avoid your gaze.

“Oh, um-” The sound of Phoenix pulling out a chair at the table saves him from answering, as you look back to your friend. She offers you a high five and you’re quick to take it from her.

“Helluva job today, Mantis”, she says with a smirk.

“Thanks, what can I say? I am too good”, you joke as she rolls her eyes, Bob chuckling next to you.

“If you keep quoting that Texas Ken doll, you are not coming to my house on Saturday.” She says as she points her fork in your direction. Putting your hands up in a mock surrender, she switches the subject.

“Speaking of… Bob”, his head perks up, “Rachel’s excited for you to meet Emily.” Your eyes slowly flit to Bob, gauging his reaction. He swallows again before responding, if you thought any better you’d think he was nervous.

“What have you told Emily about me?”

“Just that you’re a really good friend, cute, and sweet. You know, the basics.” He lets out a light scoff.

“Yeah, well, don’t get her hopes up, too much.” At his words you lightly tap his shoulder with the back of your hand.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”, you ask.

“C’mon”, he looks to you and back to Phoenix, “You tell a girl you’re settin’ her up with one of your Navy buddies and she’ll expect someone like that Texas Ken doll. Not… me.”

“Bob”, you start, almost placing a hand atop his, but ultimately deciding to land on his shoulder, “I’ve met a ton of meatheads during my time in the Navy, but you are a breath of fresh air in an otherwise tainted climate. You hear me?” His eyelashes flutter as he blinks at you. Taking a deep breath in his eyes land back on Phoenix who gives him an encouraging smile.

“I couldn’t have said it better myself.” Phoenix’s phone starts ringing, and she smiles wider as she takes it out of her pocket, “It’s Rachel, I’ll be right back.” You go back to your food as Bob does his, or at least you try to. It’s so stupid. He’s not even yours and the thought of him seeing another woman makes your stomach ache.

“Do you really think this is a good idea?”, his ocean eyes are riddled with worry as you look back at him.

“Why wouldn’t it be?”, you ask, your voice a little softer. He simply shrugs, staring back at his large hands.

“Setups like this usually don’t work out for me… They’re always expecting someone I’m not.” Your heart falls at the dejectedness in his voice. You can tell he’s had his heart broken many times after Mandy Harrison, and he doesn’t expect it to stop happening.

“Bob-”, you quickly stop yourself before calling him Bobby, “That just means those people weren’t right for you. And so what? You’ve taken chances before, that just means you’re open to the possibilities.”

“What possibilities? Feelin’ like a fool again?”

“The possibility of finding happiness in another person.” He stops arguing for a second, and again, it’s just the two of you. The table vacated except for you and Bob, your heart pounding in your head, taking over your every thought. “I don’t think wanting to be happy makes you a fool. It makes you human. And if taking this chance means you and another person end up happy, why not risk it? Who is it hurting?” You resist the urge to answer your own question. You. It’s hurting you.

“Nobody. I guess”, he responds, almost under his breath. It makes you want to double over in pain, but you resist and give him a small smile, eyeing the freckle just below his hairline as he focuses back on his lunch. He doesn’t actually eat any of it, just keeps picking up the same carrot and putting it back down until Phoenix comes back.

“Ok, well. We’re figuring out food so I need an official headcount. I know the two of you are coming, but are you still sure you want me to invite Rooster?” You’re snapped back to reality, finding Rooster across the room, eating alone again. The team still hasn’t let him back in quite yet, and while you’re thankful for the comradery, he is still a part of the squadron.

“Yeah, it’s fine”, you nod as she eyes you warily. 

“Ok, I can’t promise it won’t be awkward…”, she warns.

“It’s always going to be awkward. Might as well face it head on.”

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

You’ve been to Phoenix’s cozy bungalow a few times since being reassigned, and even though the two of you have grown a lot since bunking together at the Academy, she was still the same messy roommate you knew and loved her to be. Which is why when you show up a little early to help her set stuff up on Saturday evening, you’re surprised to see it’s already tidied up, no real additional cleaning required.

“Wow”, you remark as you step foot in the kitchen, “Are you sure I’m at the right address? This is too clean to be your place.” Stopping her motions as she chops up some fruit, she fixes you with a fake glare.

“Oh haha. You here to crack jokes or help me out?” You move to step around the counter, but a screech from behind you stops you in your path.

“Mantis!” Rachel squeals, reaching to give you a hug, “I’m so happy you’re here!”

“I’m so happy to be here!”, you respond in the same cadence, still a little surprised at her excitement.

“This is gonna be so much fun, I can’t wait to meet everyone else!”, she practically bounces on her feet, ginger locks swaying with her. You turn back to help Phoenix, clocking the lovestruck look on her face as she stares at her girlfriend.

“Who else have you met?”, you ask, starting to chop up fruit alongside Phoenix.

“Oh let’s see, you and Bob of course, we ran into Payback and his family at the beach, and then Rooster. But Nat tells me we’re mad at him right now?”, she cocks her head to the side, checking with her girlfriend if that’s still the case. Natasha nods, plating her already sliced strawberries.

“That’s right, but tonight we’re offering him an opportunity to redeem himself”, she responds, looking back at you. A knock comes from the door and Rachel excuses herself to answer it, leaving you and Phoenix in the kitchen. “You sure you’re gonna be alright with him here?” The voice in the back of your head tells you it’s not being around him you’re worried about, it’s being around-

“Bob!”, Rachel exclaims, “I’m so happy you’re here!” Your head shoots up to the entrance of the kitchen as Bob follows Rachel in. Your eyes are drawn to his clean-shaven face, then down to the strain of his forearm beneath the rolled up flannel he dons. A case of Dr. Pepper is clutched in his hands as he greets you and Phoenix, moving to place it in the fridge.

“You really didn’t have to bring anything”, she complains.

“I know, but mama told me to never show up to a party empty-handed.” Catching each other’s eyes, you give him a smile and turn back to your task at hand.

Before long, people are showing up, and Bob is whisked off to help rearrange some furniture to create more room for the influx of people. You’re talking to Payback, Fanboy and Bob just off to the side, when Rooster enters through the front door, a 12-pack of beer in hand that he hands off to Rachel as she greets him, noticeably without a hug. You watch as Phoenix approaches him, hands on her hips as he nods at what she’s telling him. From the way he’s attentively listening to her, you can tell she’s giving him a rundown of what she expects from him. You can make out the last of their conversation as her lips move, asking if he “got that?” He only nods in response, and you quietly smirk to yourself.

You’re talking to Fanboy now, Bob still hanging just to the right of you with Payback when you hear that same squeal from Rachel, only this time your stomach drops as she greets her friend.

“Emily!”, your eyes turn and find a stunning blonde woman hugging Rachel. You can’t help but gaze at her figure, her beautiful face and feel a little jealous. Turning back to Fanboy, you catch Bob looking your way through the corner of your eye, figuring he’s trying to get a look at Emily but you’re in the way.

“Bob!”, Phoenix calls out. You turn to find her dragging Emily over to your small group in the corner of the living room. He sets his can of Dr. Pepper on a coaster, before wiping the condensation off on his jeans. “This is Emily, Emily, this is Bob.”

“Nice to meet ya’”, he says, offering a handshake which she takes. You watch his hand engulf hers and have to tear your eyes away. It’s so stupid, but that’s the same hand that has wiped your tears away, gently comforted you, and you don’t want to be, but you’re jealous that it isn’t your hand he’s holding right now. She moves on, introducing her to the rest of the group, and you give her a polite smile and your name.

“Or you can call me Mantis”, you offer.

“Nice to meet you all”, she gives with a gorgeous smile. “Wait, Bob, what’s your call-sign?”

“Oh, it’s just Bob”, he responds with a nervous look on his face.

“Oh”, she laughs. You furrow your brows, glancing at Bob whose face is now red with embarrassment. You’re about to speak up for him, but Emily is already calling out for someone before you’re able to. “Rooster!” All of your heads turn as Rooster makes his way over, Emily immediately jumping to give him a hug.

“Wait”, you turn to Phoenix, “Do those two know each other?”

“Kind of, they met when I introduced Rooster to Rachel. It was actually his idea to set her up with Bob.” And then she takes a swig of her drink like she didn’t just drop a bomb on you. Your gaze hardens as you slowly turn back and see Emily running her hand down Rooster’s arm. That sneaky bastard had a master plan this entire time. His hazel eyes make contact with your own as you squint. He swallows and turns back to Emily who is still trying to hold his attention.

Once everyone arrives and settles in with a drink or two, a most wonderful idea to play “Never Have I Ever” is suggested by Hangman. Who has decided he’s the ringmaster of the entire party now. A few tame questions are asked, drinks are drunk, and then he has to open his stupid mouth, “Ok, never have I ever played spin the bottle.” You look around the room, leaving your drink in your hands, as pretty much everyone else takes a swig. Including Bob, who looks quite uninterested in his “date” talking Rooster’s ear off on the other side of her.

“Whoa, whoa whoa”, Hangman directs towards you, “You’re telling me you’ve never played spin the bottle?”

“Nope, but I’m not at all surprised you have.” You bite back, almost taking a swig of your drink before remembering the point of the game. Choosing to pick at the label instead.

“Alright, new game idea!” Hangman announces.

“We are NOT playing spin the bottle, this isn’t a 14-year old’s birthday party.”

“Fine then, who’s up for truth or dare?” He asks the room, eyes never leaving yours. You squint at him, suspicious of his intentions like always, as everyone else agrees to his plot. “I’ll go first”, he so graciously offers, “Mantis, truth or dare?”

“Truth”, you immediately respond, not giving him the chance to dare you what you think he’ll try to.

“You’re no fun”, he says rolling his eyes, “Fine, when was the last time you got laid?” He so casually asks as you just about spit out your drink, shock overtaking your features.

“Jesus Christ” You hear Rooster from next to Emily.

“That’s a little hard-hitting right out the gate, don’t you think?” Fanboy pipes up from across the room, still a hint of intrigue in his voice.

“It’s all part of the game, Mick. Besides, we’re adults, we’ve all had sex before. Right Mantis?” He asks, turning to you with his head tilted, as if trying to goad a response out of you. Scoffing, you glance across the room, taking note of everyone paying attention to what you have to say. Except for Rooster, who is really trying not to focus on the game right now.

“If you’re trying to insinuate something I suggest you come out and say it”, you respond, squaring your shoulders, daring him as he shrugs in your direction.

“All I’m saying is that since I’ve known you-

“A couple months” You interrupt.

“3, almost 4 months” he quickly adds, ”In that time I haven’t seen you leave the Hard Deck with anybody except good ‘ole baby on board over here. And we all know that ain’t gonna happen.” Hangman’s thumb hooks in Bob’s direction where you notice he’s begun to trace the rim on his can of soda, not giving Emily his attention while she attempts to whisper something in Rooster’s ear. You turn back to Hangman’s smug grin as he takes a swig of his own beer.

“Fine”, you relent, “You really wanna know?” His brows raise a single time, daring you to go on.

“I’m all ears”, he says, showcasing his stark white teeth as he leans back in his seat. And even though you know it’s not just Hangman listening, you’re not about to back down from a challenge. Even if it will absolutely embarass you in front of your team.

“It’s been a couple years”, You offer, immediately taking a drink so as to not meet anyone’s eyes.

“How long is a couple?” You clench your teeth, rolling your eyes until you’re staring at Hangman again.

“Five”, you mutter through your teeth, hoping he’s the only one who will hear you.

“Come again?” “It’s been 5 years” you finally confess loud enough for everyone to hear. Common looks of wide eyes and quiet whispers are shared as Phoenix gives you a knowing look. One that says, “I know exactly who the last person you slept with was.” You fix her with a stern gaze, deterring her from saying anything to you on the matter.

“Oh I heard you the first time, I was asking when you were gonna come again.” Phoenix throws a pillow at him from across the room as he laughs at his own joke.

“Alright, I need another drink” you huff out as you get up and walk into the kitchen. You can still hear the cacophony that is the dagger squad from behind the wall, but continue to look for something else to drink. Maybe something a little stronger that will help you get through the night.

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

Bob excuses himself from Emily, not even checking back to see if she heard him as he leaves the game in hopes of catching you in the kitchen. He finds you with your back toward him, fridge door open as you examine what it has to offer. He sidles up next to you, mirroring your stance of leaning on the counter behind the two of you. You have yet to say anything as he reaches into his front pocket, procuring a penny, and sliding it across the counter to your resting hand.

You smile slightly at the sound of the coin across the counter top, and finally at the feel of Bob nudging it underneath your fingertips. You sigh and look back to the fridge, Bob thinks you’re going to let it slide until you respond.

“It’s kind of embarrassing. To admit that I haven’t.. Been with anyone in a while. It’s just that I- I haven’t met anyone since that I’ve trusted enough to- do that with, I guess.”

“Why would that be embarrassing?”, he broaches the subject even as his face begins to flush a shade of pink. You huff a breath out through your nose as you begin to fiddle with the penny, smoothing the now warm object in between your fingers.

“I don’t know, I just thought by the time I reached this age I would have actually been in a meaningful relationship. Or at least had more experience to tell for it”, you hide the last sentence under a small laugh as Bob looks down at his feet. To be honest, Bob is kind of surprised you haven’t been in a relationship in that long. You are absolutely beautiful, funny, and smart, and anybody would be lucky to have you. But he isn’t about to add fuel to the fire that is your own insecurities by questioning something you’ve probably been wondering for a while.

“And it’s the same everywhere I get stationed. Just egotistical men who only want the bragging rights of fucking a captain’s daughter. Like that’s all I am to them. Not an aviator, not an officer, not a person… Just something they can use to show off as an achievement.”

There’s still noise coming from the other room, but it’s quiet between the two of you. Just the hum of the refrigerator as Bob tries to gather the words from being angry at these so-called men, or apologetic to the fact that you feel embarrassed about something you have no right to be embarrassed about.

“I think that it’s good to listen to yourself, and if you haven’t found someone you feel comfortable enough sharing that part of you with, then you shouldn’t be embarrassed. And those other guys are completely stupid if they don’t see the talented aviator and amazing person that you are.” You look back at Bob, wondering how he’s only a year older than you but so much wiser. “You are so much more than your dad. I hope you see that.”

“Thanks, Bobby”, you can’t help but let the nickname slip from your lips. There’s a moment where it’s just the two of you in the small kitchen, hidden away from all the chaos that’s taking place in the other room. Until it proves too much for you and you break his gaze, clearing your throat.

“I just don’t know where Hangman gets off, asking a question like that.” Bob offers.

“Well apparently he’s getting off a lot more than I am”, you respond as Bob gives you a laugh. The skin around his eyes starts to crinkle and that’s when you know he’s actually laughing, not just trying to be nice.

“We all know he is, but I’m not so sure about his partners…” he tapers off.

“Oh my god”, you start laughing.

“Bob”, the both of you turn at Phoenix’s voice coming from the doorway, “Emily’s asking for you.”

“I highly doubt that”, Bob mutters under his breath as he turns to walk back to the living room. Phoenix stays behind as you slip the penny in your pocket, and open the fridge back up to grab a can of Dr. Pepper.

“Hey, you ok?” She asks you softly. You turn as you crack open the can, giving her a small smile.

“I’m fine, just don’t want to go back out there and have to sit through a round of truth or dare.”

“Listen, Hangman’s an idiot. And if you want to avoid any further probing I suggest choosing dare. The worst thing they're having people do is show each other’s camera roll or take a shot.” You don’t even remember the last photo you took, probably of some sunset. And you wouldn’t be totally opposed if someone had you take a shot right now. “Was the last person you were with really Lieutenant Douchebag?” You laugh at the nickname for your previous boyfriend, lovingly given to him by Phoenix, then immediately shudder at the thought.

“Yep”, you respond, taking a swig of the soda, regretting your decision to not grab something with alcohol in it. She grimaces, taking a breath in.

“You need to get laid”, she casually tells you as she grabs another drink for herself and Rachel.

“Jesus”, you laugh at her cavalier attitude, “How about we take a night and not talk about my sex life.”

“From the sounds of it, it doesn't seem like you have one” You scoff then laugh as she smiles at you. At times like this you’re grateful you met her when you did. She saved you from having a lot of lonely nights to yourself, introduced you to what a friend should and could be. “What, too far?”

“Not from you it isn’t”

As soon as you emerge from the kitchen, trailing behind Phoenix you see Bob locked in a conversation with Emily. Rooster now sits on the other side of Bob, happy from the sudden reprieve of not sharing the other man's “date”. She’s obviously trying to hook Rooster back into the conversation as Bob remains polite by listening to whatever she’s saying. You take a seat around the coffee table, staring at Bob crack a slight smile as you hear someone call out your name. 

“Mantis, truth or dare?”

“Dare” It was a knee-jerk reaction, truly. Just based on Phoenix’s reasoning, it was the only response you could come up with. Ultimately, as you turn your head to the person who asked, you realize it was the wrong answer.

Your eyes grow wide as Hangman’s own stare you down, a smirk forming on his face once he realizes the power he wields over you. His eyes turn into slits, like a snake who’s finally cornered its prey.

“Oh I am going to have so much fun with this”, he responds, victorious. He grabs his bottle of beer, downing the rest of it as he makes his way to the coffee table in the middle of the room. You’re sitting on the floor in front of the t.v., as Hangman finishes his drink and ever so slowly hands you the now empty bottle. 

“Now I know you’ve never played before '', you immediately cringe, resting your forehead against your denim-clad knee and let out a groan. You hear laughter sound out from around you as Coyote playfully nudges your shoulder, “So let me explain the rules. You’re gonna spin the bottle, and then you get to kiss the lucky person the neck points to.”

“You could have just dared me to kiss you if you want it that badly bagman”, you say as you move to your knees to place the bottle on the surface of the table.

“That’s just plain against the rules, and it’s not about who you kiss. I just wanna watch you squirm a little bit.” He leans back in his seat as you glance around the room, just to see who your future lips will be locking with. You make eye contact with Rooster and give him your best glare. He scratches the back of his neck and stands without wasting another second.

“I’m gonna go get another drink”, he announces while stepping over people who have begun to sit on the floor around the table.

“Oh!” Emily pipes up, “I’ll come with you!” You catch Bob watching the two of them leave the room and your heart sinks a little. You can’t help but feel a little jealous at the attention he’s been giving her, but at the same time you want someone to see him the way you do. It’s just unfair that the only person you’ve felt this way about in a very long time, happens to be the one person you’re not allowed to pursue. He’s an amazing person, and Emily would be crazy not to see what Phoenix, or Rooster, practically shoved right in front of her. You’re really starting to hate Rooster for playing with Bob’s feelings. It may be unintentional, but the reason he wanted to set him up in the first place wasn’t out of the pure kindness of his heart.

You spare another glance around the room watching as everyone tries to take up as much space as possible, making you think they’re a little too eager to kiss you. Except, it wasn’t the fact they could kiss you, it was the idea that they could brag about kissing Mav’s daughter. Just like you explained to Bob, it’s the same everywhere you go. You just thought by now it would have worn off with this group.

“Just so you know guys, if you kiss me you’re practically kissing my dad”, you tease as some of the guys grimace. A slight smirk crawls its way to your face as Omaha gets up from off the floor.

“You just ruined it for me”, he complains. Unfortunately it only thins the crowd out a little, a couple of gaps in the group that now surround the table.

Taking a deep breath you finally place your hand back on the bottle, pulling it back before spinning it. Your heart beats a little faster out of pure embarrassment as you stare intently at the bottle spinning, not wanting to look up at the faces around you until it finally… stops.

“Ho-ly shit”, Hangman lets out, so obviously amused with the outcome. “Baby on board’s about to get his first kiss.” Your eyes immediately turn to Hangman, then to Bob’s, who bears the same look of shock you know you’re not doing a great job at hiding.

“I-” the words get caught in your throat. You hate what you’re about to do as you turn back to Hangman. “Come on.” All eyes are on you as you begin to beg this man not to make you go through with it. Because once you do, you know there’s no turning back.

“C’mon what?”, he asks with intrigue.

“He’s here to meet someone, I don’t think this is a good idea”, you try to reason with him.

“That’s not really how the game works sweetheart. You spun the bottle, now you gotta deal with the consequences.”

“Hangman, please”, you beg, avoiding every gaze in the room as they begin to talk among themselves, bored with whatever show you’re putting on. His brow furrows as he realizes just how badly you do not want to do this.

“Who’d it land on?” Rooster asks as he emerges from the kitchen with a fresh drink, Emily in tow. Taking a swig, his eyes follow where the bottle points directly to Bob. “No, that’s not happening”, he mutters as he gets closer to Hangman.

“What is with you two? It’s just a game.” He replies incredulously. He glances back around the room and finds Emily awkwardly waiting at the back for Rooster’s conversation to be over. “Alright, you”, he points at her, “To level the playing field, why don’t you take a crack at it? If Emily agrees to it, then you do, too.”

“I never agreed to-”

“Ok!”, she responds a little too eager. You’re still on your knees as a confused look washes over your face. She kneels across from you at the table and barely touches the bottle, you don’t even think you’d consider it a spin, until it lands on Rooster. You’re not trying to hide the grimace on your face as she tries to play innocent. 

“Oops, well it looks like it’s you and me Rooster.” Emily stands, immediately placing both hands on Rooster’s shoulders as she gives him a generous kiss. A couple of whistles are thrown out as she continues to lock lips with him, something he does not appear to be displeased with, as much as he was caught off guard to begin with.

You look away in disgust, trying and failing not to make a noise to match your mood. Your eyes fall to where Bob was just seated moments before, but his chair is empty. He’s nowhere in the room, soda abandoned. And as Emily continues sticking her tongue down Rooster’s throat, you sneak past the few hollers to slip out the back door near the kitchen.

It’s completely dark now, only the moon and strings of fairy lights casting a soft glow across the yard. You find Bob standing in the grass with his arms folded across his chest, staring up at the sky. His flannel is still rolled up to his elbows, forearms proudly on display. The moonlight reflects off of his glasses, but you can still see the turmoil swirling behind his frames. The sound of the door sliding shut doesn’t deter Bob from moving from his position.

“There you are, I was worried you left the premises”, you try to joke, moving to stand closer. He turns, only giving you a slight glance. It stops you from moving forward anymore, deciding to stay back at the edge of the patio. Humming in acknowledgement, he stares back up at the sky, face contorting as if it pains him to do so.

“Nah, just needed some fresh air is all. What are you doin’ out here?”, he asks in an indifferent tone. You tear your eyes away from the sky to look over at him again. He huffs out a sigh as you retreat your gaze to your feet, toying with a loose piece of cement.

“I just wanted to say I’m sorry”, you offer. He gives a small laugh as he turns his face to look at the grass beneath his shoes.

“For what?”

“Emily’s a complete idiot.” He releases a breath out of his nose, moving his gaze to the fence bordering the neighbor’s yard.

“It’s fine, I’m used to it.” You can still tell he’s upset by the way he squares his jaw.

“Well you shouldn’t be.”

“Well I am”, he lets out a little more stern this time. “I just- I don’t know Mantis.”

“What?”, you ask him quietly as he begins to shuffle the grass underneath his feet.

“I know that I’m not wanted, or not attractive like the other guys in there. But tonight really solidified that for me.” Your heart breaks as you watch him sort his thoughts out.

“Bob, that’s not true-”

“It is, though. I didn’t even want to come here tonight, and you knew that. And- and Phoenix knew it, too. But still, you two pushed me to come and meet Emily. Someone she insisted was perfect for me. Well, she took one look at Rooster and saw what everyone else sees. There are a million more guys out there who are better looking, better at making conversation, better at… everything than me.” His voice is dejected, believing everything he’s telling you. But you let him continue, even if you want to contradict every word that continues to fall from his mouth.

“And I hate the fact that I wasn’t even interested in meeting someone new. That I’m already thinkin’ about someone else most of the time, and she doesn’t even see me in that way, even if she could.” Your heart tightens in your chest, at first due to the fact that Bob has feelings for someone else. And then it hits you. ‘If she could’.

“Wait, Bob-” you manage to breathe out before he interrupts you.

“It’s just- I haven’t felt this way about someone since, well, ever.” He turns, facing you fully, a glassy look in his eyes as he stares at you, exasperated. “I feel so connected, and drawn to you Mantis.” He confesses in a whisper. You feel it the moment your heartbeat quickens with your breathing. The way your eyebrows draw up in the middle is met with the slightest quiver in your lip. From sadness or relief you’re not sure yet. “I want to tell you things I’ve never told anybody before, and I’m sorry if I misread things, but I just needed to get that off my chest.”

“Bob-” You try as he interrupts you again, caught up in his own feelings to hear you for once.

“I know you don’t feel the same way, and why would you? I’m just me, and you’re you. I wasn’t lying when I said any guy would be so lucky to have you, and I’m honored to just be considered your friend. And I- I know this is against so many rules in place, so please just forget I said anything and- God I’m such an idiot.” Your feet are moving faster than your brain as you walk over to him. Placing both hands on his smooth cheeks, you lift his head from where he was staring at the ground and plant your lips right on his. He’s shocked at first, not daring to move. Eyes fluttering shut as his hands ghost over your waist, until you pull away and there’s the tiniest amount of space between your faces.

Your hands are still as the rest of your body buzzes in anticipation. Your chest heaves against his, out of breath from the simplest of kisses. He’s so close, yet so far away as your fingers adjust to the feeling of holding his face in both of your hands. It’s quiet, his eyelashes fluttering as he starts to blink rapidly.

“Why did you do that?”, he whispers. Almost afraid that this was another dream he would inevitably wake up from.

“Because I wanted to”, you whisper right back, still in shock of what he confessed. Your eyes dart between his own deep blue ones as they’re blown wide.

“Not because of the dare?”

“No”, you shake your head. “Just cause I really wanted to.” You reassure him as his eyes flick from yours black down to your lips. His cold nose nudges yours, once, then twice before sinking into your cheek as he hesitantly kisses you first this time. You reciprocate immediately, pushing back just as softly against his lips as to not scare him off. His touch is gentle, yet demanding, knowing in the back of both of your heads it’s only a matter of time before someone comes to find you.

 Both sets of lips part the tiniest bit as you turn your head slightly to get a better angle. His mouth is warm against your own, lips still moving in sync. One of your hands slides down to his shoulder while the other eases up onto his neck, fingers running over the buzzed hair at the back of his head. Bob hums against your lips at the motion, gaining the confidence to step closer as his hands finally land against your body, anchoring to your waist.

His grip tightens a fraction as you hum against his mouth, giving him the courage to lick at the seam of your lips with his tongue. Butterflies erupt in your stomach at the movement, eliciting another hum, bordering on a moan as you allow him entrance into your mouth. The first thing you notice is that he tastes like Dr. Pepper, the second thing that's a little easier to pick up on is that Bob is a really good kisser.

The shock that you are in fact kissing Bob wears off, and makes way for a flood of need. Caressing his tongue with your own, Bob slides one hand to your back, the other still gripping your waist as he holds you closer. The slight pressure of his large hand pushing you against him has you wanting more as he begins to walk you backwards to the wall of the house. Never breaking away from each other, you feel the cool structure against your back, even as Bob tries his best to keep you from hitting it. You grip him a fraction harder, the only sound you can hear through your heartbeat is Bob’s occasional hum and the clicking of your lips working together.

Bob’s got you locked against him as you shift your hand from his shoulder to his bicep, squeezing the large muscle, only to slowly drag it down to feel the bare skin and hair of his forearm beneath your fingers. The kissing is slowing down, still just as deep. Both of you demanding the same amount from the other, knowing this well may be the only time you’re able to feel the other like this. The two of you finally break apart, catching much needed breaths as your eyes remain closed. Even before opening your eyes, you can still feel Bob heaving against you, desperate for air as you do the same. You place a chaste kiss on his lips and he chases yours for another until you both open your eyes, just staring at each other through hooded lids. 

You swallow, so many emotions running through your mind. It’s hard to listen to them when Bob is still just as close as he was a moment ago when his lips were against yours.

“I’ve wanted to do that for a while”, he breathes, a nervous smile tugging on his lips.

At a loss for words, you go to open your mouth until you hear the screech of the sliding glass door opening up. Bob immediately jumps away from you as your attention diverts to whoever is about to walk out on you two in such a compromising situation.

Phoenix pokes her head out as she looks for you, “Hey.”

“Hey” you breathe out in a sigh of relief, grateful it was her and not anyone else. You try to slow your breathing even as your heart threatens to leap out of your chest.

“Have you seen Floyd?”

“Yeah he was just-”, you turn around, expecting to see Bob standing behind you, but only see the white fence, “He just left”, you mutter. Brows furrowing as your eyes remain locked on where he just was.

“Damn, I was hoping that wasn’t the case. I need to talk to him.” You continue to stare at the fence where Bob once stood, dumbfounded that he managed to slip away so quickly. “You ok?” Turning back around, you attempt to gather yourself as you breathe out an answer.

“Yeah”

“Alright”, she eyes you skeptically, “Well, you gonna rejoin us? I wouldn’t blame you if you didn’t want to.”

“No, I’ll be back in, I just… need some air.” You watch her head disappear as you lean back against the house, only this time, Bob isn’t here to hold you to it. Your fingers trace your swollen lips as you gaze around the backyard. What the hell just happened?

Taglist:

@lemmons1998

@itsmytimetoodream

@theamuz

@harrysgothicbitch

@mygyn

@luckyladycreator2

@marve2014

@wretchedmo

@melsunshine

@jostan456

@okiegirl24

@beebeechaos

@eclecticfashionbookszipper

@hunbomb

[the-leegend-99]

There's a reason this site sucks and is so profoundly hateable sometimes.

The reason is that since it's the nerd site (beaten out only by Reddit bc its r/topic function allows people to geek out to the max in one specific subject and build forums), where people dedicate essay-length blog posts to contrast (or compound) each other's interpretation of your favorite fictional characters through the most minute lore analysis possible, going "um actually" with all the casualness allowed by such a free reblog feature. And where is it used most of all? Why, to explain away absurdly mediocre or outright bad stuff like the Star Wars Prequels into being "Secretly Good™️" because let's face it, the alienation of living and working into capitalist society has stunted most of us (mostly us Westerners who get to enjoy the full breadth of consumerism) into needing to preserve their childhood security blankets. Of course, sometimes it's not that. Sometimes it's media analysis that wants to have a point and is actually done with more of a grain of salts. But most times, it is that. And sometimes it's cute, most times it doesn't involve the usual BS of manchild fannish behavior as Reddit does (probably bc there's a lot less cishet men).

But then some people here will apply that same mentality and behavior of politics.

And no, you just can't "um actually" your way of rightly being called a genocide and fascism enabler for supporting Kamala Harris and Tim Walz. Applying character arcs and lore to reality is brainrot. Yes, friend, I know that their hands are tied by the system. They made the choice to try and become top dog in it, nobody was expecting them not to comply in its basest crimes against humanity. But then you twist yourselves into hoops trying to rationalize the crumbs they throw at us to keep us content and not threaten their power, or better yet the system of exploitation they profit from, into actual progress. You try to rationalize them into being "Secretly Good™️" when they are the fullest representation of the banality of evil.

Sure, in doing so, you show more argumentative capabilities than Taylor Swift fans, but let's face it, it's not much of a compliment. All those Swifties, Beehives, Lil Nas X or Charli xcx fans who haven't taken their favorite celeb/artist to task for supporting the genocide, they cheer for these genocidal criminals because they've got far less awareness, and superficial diversity appeals to them. I'm not gonna go into who's more starved for crumbs from the master's table between them and you because it's not useful to this dissection. The actual difference is that they've formed a parasocial relationship with the *person*, with the celebrity, while you've formed a parasocial relationship with the *story*.

And you have to hammer the story into making sense, into being good, don't you? Because deep down, you're more aware. Deep down, you know it's wrong, you know that what's happening is wrong, bur you don't want to bring yourself to believe they've been stringing you along, asking you to be an accomplice. You want to explain your way out of letting this realization settle in, because if it does, then you are an accomplice.

Well you are, until you start doing something about it in the real world. Until you join protests, until you join working-class, anti-capitalist, anti-Zionist organizations fighting to overturn this system and build a better one instead.

And sure, that's a big jump, out of the realm of "permissibility", of "respectability", and it's scary. But maturity is having the courage to do the things that scare you the most, because you've analyzed them and realized that they're the ones that bring about the most material good for you and everybody. And everybody can reach that maturity. You, too, can be brave.

[99tech99]

i only found tumblr about a year ago

i was absolutely devastated in the wake of plan 99. tech was my favorite. tech still is my favorite. i was dejected for longer than i probably should have been. i was googling fan theories about what happened to tech and seeing if people thought he was really dead

in my searching, found a piece of bad batch fan art. i scrolled through the page, until i got a popup that told me to log into tumblr for more. and here i am.

and i found this AMAZING fandom. so MANY fandoms! tumblr is our little corner of the internet. i really wish i had some talent to share, but i am mostly a consumer here, appreciating the unbridled talent of all you artists

i love so much that i have found "my people" here. those of you who are like me, silly and dorky and obsessive and wild and passionate about the clones (or star wars in general, or harry potter, or marvel, or anime or games or anything!)

thank you to anyone and everyone who has been brave enough to put themselves out here for us to enjoy your work!

as we approach the end of the line, just a few shout outs to bloggers who particularly stand out to me when im thinking of the bad batch fandom.

@shyranno it was your art that led me to tumblr!

@zoeykallus you wrote one of the first spicy clone head cannons i ever came across (pretty sure it was where tbb likes to finish haha) but all your fan fics are amazing!

@ventresses your memes make me scream laugh every time. i dont know how you do it

@alligatorpie1945 i love your tbb au drawings, esp the one where they are on a roadtrip and the car has broken down

@ladykagewaki your art is so heartwarming. i adore your artistic style. ms fangirl is so relatable and the baby batch is too adorable to be allowed.

@isthereanechoinhere96 thanks for not getting annoyed when i tag you in posts you have already reblogged 🤣 i love your lego comics! soo cute!

i know im forgetting people but i love you all! just because our show is ending doesnt mean this fandom will! ❤️

two more hours....

[panthera-dei]

Technomancy 101

Hi, friends! I'm back with another witchy FAQ from the past couple weeks. This time from the world of tech magic!

Here are some quick TL;DR technomancy tips for those who may not want to read the long FAQs post beneath the cut:

1. Chest spells (like a jar spell but with a chest filled with in game items that match the intent)

2. Poppet spells using the game characters by giving them items or altering their names/appearances

3. Similar to a chest spell but not necessarily magic per se - using chests or sheds with in-game items as altars and/or offerings

4. Build a shrine / altar / temple with offerings, or leave an item such as a torch in the game world as an offering

5. Burn/bury/destroy ingredients to activate a spell with the desired effect

6. Write an affirmation or a spell on a sign or other in-game item and destroy it to activate as a sigil

7. Build a golem or animal pen or something as a servitor for protection

8. Use some form of sympathetic magic connecting in-game items to IRL items

9. Light sticks, flashlights, plastic lightsabers, and toy sonic screwdrivers make *awesome* wands, especially if they light up and make noise.

10. The possibilities are limited to your imagination!!

(I am choosing Wittgenstein from The Brave Little Toaster movies as my mascot for tech magic, simply because I like him and because I can. Image credit - Fandom Wiki.)

What is technomancy?: Technomancy, techno magic, and tech magic are all terms for a form of magic that utilizes common modern technology, such as smartphones and video games. Technically, “technomancy” could refer specifically to divination with technology; however, in my experience, the term usually has a broader meaning in common usage. I personally tend to use these terms interchangeably, with perhaps a slight preference for technomancy, since I learned that name first.

What are some forms of technomancy?: Common forms of technomancy include digital sigils, emoji spells, shufflemancy, video game spells, and video game altars.

How do I create a digital sigil?: The ways are about as unlimited as creating a physical sigil on paper. You can use a drawing app on a smartphone or tablet, find a digital sigil generator online, use a photo editor on a picture, or even add a string of charged letters to an email signature (just make sure they blend in!).

OK, and what's the deal with emoji spells?: Yes, this is an actual thing (though not a thing that I'm particularly experienced with). They're pretty straightforward. They can be done like a sigil - string emojis together and charge them. Or like an actual spell - put them together and send to cast, or like to charge and send/reblog to cast.

What kind of games can you use for technomancy?: Any of them. Minecraft is a very popular one. So is Stardew Valley. Skyrim and other RPGs are other common choices. As with other forms of magic, the only real limit is your imagination.

What kind of spells can you cast in a game?:

Chest spells - like digital jar spells - are very common.

Poppet spells are another common choice. In games that allow you to create a character, or in games where you can give items to an NPC, you can turn the character into a poppet of someone and give them an item to cast the spell. For example, if I wanted emotional strength, I could create a Skyrim character as a poppet for myself, and have the character drink a strength potion to cast a spell of strength for myself in the real world.

Burying or burning items in games like Minecraft can be done to cast spells that are similar to physical spells that require burning a paper, bay leaf, or other ingredient.

Enchanting! Use the enchanting function in a video game like Skyrim or Minecraft to enchant a physical object. For example, you might choose to connect a physical scarf to a shield in Skyrim, and when you enchant the in-game shield with a damage resistance effect, voila! You now have a fancy enchanted scarf to protect yourself from spiritual attacks.

Customize your avatar to your advantage! In games such as Sky: Children Of The Light, where you can accessorize your character, you can equip different items to cast a different spell on yourself. For example, you might use the Saluting Captain's staff as a cosmetic to cast a spell of protection on yourself, or you could use a particular cape as a spiritual veil.

For deity work & spirit work, consider creating a space in your game (e.g. a chest, shed, home, biome, character, etc.) dedicated to the entities you work with. For example, temples and altars in Minecraft are common. Devotional sheds and chests are popular in Stardew Valley. I’ve named some appropriate Pokemon after an entity or dedicated the critter to them. You can even place a torch or candle in the game world as an offering.

There are lots more out there, too! This list is a starting point, not a limitation. Use your imagination and swap ideas with others, too!

How exactly does all of this work?? How is it possible?!: OK, so the principle behind tech magic is that you're harnessing the energy of multiple sources.

First, the device itself (and if you're using something like a Switch, the cartridge or other physical media). Each of these items has its own materials - electricity, glass and metal, etc. And each of those materials has a magical property that you can use... Glass and metal come from the Earth and have their own correspondences, while electricity is pure energy in itself.

Second, you have the energy of symbolism, or as I like to think of it with a butchered sociology term, symbolic interactionism - i.e., the idea that we create our own reality (or our *perception* of reality) via symbols. In other words, the power of correspondences! A candle is still a candle whether it's physical or digital. Lapis lazuli has the same qualities in this world that it does in a pixelated version. And so forth. So when you use the correspondences in digital spell work, provided that you raise the energy, it can and does have real world consequences. Similar to doing magic in the astral as opposed to the physical world... you are making a conscious decision to connect a digital item to an effect either in the astral and/or physical worlds.

Finally, you're also harnessing the power of belief and the energy of attention, which is where the chaos magic concepts start to come in. The digital worlds are real because you believe they are and you pour parts of your energy and personality into them - and so do *millions* of other people, in many cases. All of that energy is sort of like a reservoir in these games and it's just waiting to be harvested for spell work!

So… This is another subset of chaos magic, then.: Pretty much, yes. I haven't seen it categorized as anything else yet, except for in those cases where technomancy is given its own category.

And what did you mean by “energy of symbolism” again?: Correspondences. Both traditional ones and your own. For example, obsidian corresponds with protection IRL. So if you were making a chest spell in Minecraft for protection, you'd want to consider adding an obsidian block to your spell. Some of this is also stuff that you can brainstorm on your own and explore! Like for example, in the Elder Scrolls series, there are several plants and items that don't exist IRL, such as the corkbulb root - but in the game, that item can be used to make a potion of healing, so for me, it has a healing correspondence. Also, if the game you’re playing has spells already, you can consider how to adapt those spells to affect the real world in a logical, realistic way! Many pop culture magicians have done a great job of turning Pokemon moves into real spells, for example. So feel free to play around (pun intended) and see what works best for you!

How come you only mentioned shufflemancy once in this whole entire post??: That, my friend, needs to be a post for a later date. I assure you, I absolutely can (and probably already have, and probably eventually will) write an entire post about shufflemancy.

How come your formatting is crap?: Because I wrote all of this on a smartphone and pieced it into a post with the mobile app. Bear with me. XD

Where do I learn more and fact check you, smarty-pants?: Tumblr. The answer is usually Tumblr for this kind of thing. Or sometimes Discord. Like pop culture magic, techno magic is simply very new. Some tags to search include tech magic, techno magic, technomancy, video game magic, etc.

[jiniret-writings]

Sweet Nothings

Inspired by Sweet Nothing by Taylor Swift

Genre: Angst, Fluff

Pairing: idol!Bangchan x idol!Reader

Warnings: Reader ruminates over how they're constantly criticized

Comments, Likes, and Reblogs are welcome and appreciated!

On the way home I wrote a poem You say, "What a mind" This happens all the time

They always wanted so much from you. It was like everyone had some expectation of you that you could never reach. Every lyric scrutinized, every dance move analyzed; even the way you walked was up for scrutiny. What once brought you joy started to feel like a chore. It felt like you weren't allowed to have fun with lyrics anymore unless you wanted articles written about how you had "lost your spark".

That was until Chan came along. The first time you met him you thought he would be like everyone else. Especially since he was a producer and songwriter, you were expecting him to give you feedback from the first meeting--as most producers you met did. Instead, he talked to you about your crocheting. It was a little hobby you had that you barely ever talked about, but he remembered it.

You two had a blossoming friendship that turned to more on a drive home from dance practice. You were playing around with a beat and wrote some lyrics that didn't mean much. It was just an in-the-moment type of thing. But when he heard it, he just smiled at you and added to your little bundle of nonsense.

Industry disruptors and soul deconstructors And smooth-talking hucksters out glad-handing each other And the voices that implore, "You should be doing more" To you, I can admit that I'm just too soft for all of it

He never judged you. That's one of the things you loved most about him. You were both idols who got extremely busy and each had your own bundle of problems, but at the end of the day when you two were airing it all out in the open and ranting about everything from a small inconvenience to huge scandals, there was never any judgement. Only understanding.

There were days when it seemed like nothing was ever enough. You'd go live and message on bubble and post on Instagram and weverse and even uploaded a vlog! But there was always something amiss. Some challenge you didn't do or some song you didn't talk about. Your captions were either lackluster or too cringe. You kept a brave face around the fans, and even started doing so in front of staff. It was only when you were with Chan that you could let the facade crumble and hide yourself in his embrace.

They said the end is coming Everyone's up to something I find myself running home to your sweet nothings

You were only 24 but were already reminded of how easy it would be for you to fade into nothingness. Every month a new artist debuted, and while you were secure where you were now, there was no guarantee for the future. One day, the world would deem you too old to be an idol and all you'd have left was your name.

But when you came home, it was like all your worries were silenced. There were no expectations between the two of you other than to just be.

"Be yourself, that's all I want from you", he'd said one day when you'd tried breaking up with him early in your relationship. Just be you.

Everything was something to be celebrated. Something as small as waking up was an accomplishment when you were with Chan. Lazy days in were rebranded to self care days. There was no such thing as a lazy meal because everything tasted better when you were together. Chan was your safe space and you were his. All there was between you two was pure love. You treasured each other as you were, not as you could be.

All that you ever wanted from me was sweet nothing

This has been sitting unfinished in my drafts for a while, but after Chan changed his Instagram caption I realized how I wanted to write this. I hope all of you have someone you can turn to who can just accept you as you are and not for what you can be. You deserve to be with someone/people who don't have expectations for what you need to be. As always, have a great morning, afternoon, evening, and night <3

-Jini

[horriblehistories-shabbyshowdown]

“Hello and welcome to the Shabby Showdown, what’s the showdown about ? Horrible History characters.”

Get ready for the ultimate showdown of epic proportions! We need your help to determine which among the characters from our beloved historical-comedy-sketch show reigns SUPREME. From the witty to the wacky, the brave to the bizarre, we’re putting up the characters you think are the best for this HISTORICAL EXTRAVAGANZA !

How it works:

Character submissions: If the character you think is the best isn’t in our list, don’t be shy to submit your character in our inbox. (We recommend that you add your propaganda or reasons why you think this character is the best of the best !)

Tournaments: The tournament will consist of four rounds:

Preliminary

Round of 16

Quarterfinals

Semifinals

The Grand Finale.

Championship: The ultimate champion will be crowned best Horrible History character !

The showdown will begin on the 20th of October (2024) OR once we’ve reached up to enough characters.

LIST OF CHARACTERS WE HAVE CURRENTLY:

Death

Richard the III

Rattus Rattus

Lee (Host of Historical Fashionfix)

Lunatic with the hot poker

6. George III

7. George IV

8. Charles the II (King of England)

9. Henry VII

10. Henry VIII

11. SHOUTY MAN

12. Blenkinsop (The Few)

13. Historical MasterChefs judges

14. Mike Peabody

15. Boudicca

16. Cleopatra

17. Scrappus

18. Agent Sophie

19. Pachacuti

20. Sam

21. Tom and Jalaal (S6)

22. Louis

23. Alexander the Great

24. Cliff Whiteley

25. Ratalie

26. D.I. Bones

27. Dick Turpin

28. Bob Hale

29. Emperor Caligula

30. Vincenzo Larfoff

31. Elizabeth I

32. Charles Dickens

BONUS TOURNAMENT ROUND CHARACTERS:

Elagabalus

The teacher and cop from “It’s not true”

EVERY Historical Paramedics duo

King Phillip II

Claude Duval

Isambard Kingdom Brunel

Types of Characters you are allowed to submit:

Historical figures mentioned in the show (Ex. Richard the III, Charles the II, Shakespeare, etc …)

Side characters (Ex. Bob Hale, Mike Peabody, Rattus Rattus, etc …)

Animated HH Characters (Ex. Vicious Viking, Frightful First World War soldier, etc …)

Tags:

Non-showdown related posts = #Not a Shabby Showdown post

Preliminary round = #Shabby Showdown: Preliminaries

Round of 16 = #Shabby Showdown: Round of 16

Quarterfinal round = #Shabby Showdown: Quarterfinals

Semifinal round = #Shabby Showdown: Semifinals

Grand finale round = #Shabby Showdown: Grand Finale

HH Character submission = #Shabby Showdown: New character unlocked

Bonus character tournament = #Shabby Showdown: Bonus tournament

We’re so excited for the results and what kind of characters you will be submitting ! This is a community-driven event, make sure to reblog or share this blog and let's make history together! 🗺️ 📺 📚 !!

Links to important/necessary posts:

• HH SHABBY SHOWDOWN BOARD

[larkspyrr]

chapter viii — deeper than the truth (wc. 4.1k)

prev — masterlist / ao3 — next

reblogs are appreciated!

NOTE: i made some changes to the last chapter bc im fickle and didn't like it lmfao. you can either reread for the new context or check the tldr i posted on ao3

You had been right about one thing — Wriothesley was not a stupid man.

He was not unaware of himself. It was this self-awareness that had been key to Wriothesley's ascent from the very bottom to the slightly-less-so — to making the most of his station, regardless of whatever Celestia-forsaken obstacles had been thrown into his path. That, and his dogged determination to get there, at any cost, even if he had to fight tooth and nail.

And, by the Archons, he was going to fight now.

He understood precisely what it was that propelled him forward as he rose to the overworld the morning after you left, fast enough that one might think the Abyss itself nipped at his ankles like an angry hound, snarling, snapping. He’d known for a while the name of the beast that curled around his ribs and squeezed , even if he hadn’t been brave enough to yet speak it aloud. He was afraid that to utter it would be to invite it in closer, ever closer, leaving no room in his chest even for breath, for the frantic thundering of his heart. No room for the inevitable break once your arrangement came to its conclusion and you went on toward your future and Wriothesley stayed exactly where he had been all along, fractured but trying to mend.

Maybe he should have named it. Maybe then you wouldn’t have walked away.

He’d known there was nothing more for him to do when you left; that to follow you out would only push you away further. So he had stayed, and plotted out the next course of action he would take, so long as he was able to bide his time until the morning—if what he'd gathered from vague correspondences in Paquette's office was correct.

Paquette was clever, that much could be said. He'd covered his tracks with an almost masterful finesse and it had been a challenge to glean so much as a date from what seemed like mostly mundane communications with Thibeault.

He was good, sure. But Wriothesley was better.

After you’d left, Wriothesley had waited, sleepless, and then allowed himself no more than the time required to dress and make the Fortress’ arrangements for the day before he fled his quarters, not even sparing the bronze doors to his office a passing thought as he blew by.

Wriothesley had never been one to stand down from a challenge, not even those who crash-landed into his life bedecked in pearls and lace and more spirit than he knew what to do with; witty, and kind, and dutiful to a fault; a fallen meteorite from somewhere else, somewhere more.

And Wriothesley would sooner dive into the Primordial Sea and become no more than a ripple in cold waters than let you march to your death. Before he allowed you to throw away your life for the sake of the people you cared about.

Before he let you go.

So he ran, and the hounds howled in his wake.

When he arrived at the stables, half-wild, muscles screaming, his heart nearly stopped its thrumming at the same moment his purposeful strides came to a halt. The sun hadn't even fully risen.

Lucy’s stall was already empty, neither the mare nor her rider anywhere to be seen.

“So she’s accepted the job?” asked Thibeault, bony fingers curling delicately around the handle of the fine china teacup he held — an imported piece from Liyue, hand-painted, and worth more than most of the working class in the Court of Fontaine would see in a year. Thibeault’s mouth was as straight a line as it ever was, but his eyes glittered with something that looked dangerously akin to delight.

As close to delight as a miserable bastard like Thibeault could achieve, as it were.

Paquette, by contrast, smiled; a luxury he didn’t often allow himself, as frugal and dignified a man as he was, but he postulated he could spare himself a moment of frivolity on the eve of his triumph without too great an impact on the perception of his unblemished decorum. A smile would not be remiss, not amidst the host of more secular pleasures he wreathed his lifestyle in; though if you asked Paquette, and you should, they were simply par for the course for a man of his rank, so long as his taste remained staunchly on the side of ‘classy’ and gave a wide berth to the realm of ‘gaudy’, a feat he was loathe to say still escaped some of the peerage—present company very much withstanding, he noted, observing the garish hue of magenta in the tie his companion donned, not an ounce of shame in sight.

Dreadful.

Paquette tutted quietly, sipping his own tea. A custom blend, catered to his very specific needs and preferences. He swallowed thickly. He’d send this one back, as he had the others.

They still hadn’t gotten it right. Clearly, they hadn’t heeded his generous advice that the best mint was grown on Kannazuka Island.

“But of course she did,” Paquette said, placing his cup down on the tea table between the gentlemen. “As I told you she would, my friend.”

Paquette fought back a sneer at the word on his mouth; a cheap lie, but one he had to maintain if he wanted to remain on good terms with the sniveling man across him. They didn’t need to like each other, per se, in order to work together toward a common goal, but he supposed their machinations were easier to architect if there was some degree of civility between them. It would make it much easier to coexist while they awaited their vision coming to fruition.

A vision so very in reach now. Paquette looked quite forward to the privilege of dispensing with the pleasantries and he imagined Thibeault felt much the same.

While Paquette had certainly become adept at maneuvering around the other members of the court over the decades, he certainly hadn’t grown to like it any more than he had at the start. Especially that old bat Vellerot, a man (loosely called) made of little more than wealth and rot.

All in good time.

Thibeault leaned back in his chair, folding two withered hands in front of his stomach, a self-satisfied gesture that might have been reminiscent of a well-fed house cat if he weren’t so serpentine. His lips curled, teeth bared, and Paquette started; it was a gesture far too vicious to ever be considered a proper smile, though it was an effort nonetheless, even if it was as tasteless as the rest of him. “Once she’s little more than a smear in the woods, the rest will become much simpler,” he mused, drumming his fingers against his abdomen, a rhythmic tap-tap-tap that made Paquette wonder if it was an unconscious gesture. An appalling lack of composure. “The old man hasn’t paid attention to the world beyond his cups in nigh on a decade, and the two younger ones haven’t got the intelligence nor the fortitude to accomplish anything at all. She would be the problem. One terrible accident and she’s gone. Then the old man drowns in his cups from ‘grief', at least as far as anyone is concerned.”

Paquette hummed. “It also takes that delinquent whelp out of the equation, what with all the sniffing around he’s been doing. He will be utterly shattered at the loss of his love, I’m sure. Might do something reckless.”

“I still can’t believe our luck on that front,” said Thibeault. “Two birds, one stone, as the commoners are known to say.”

“Tale as old as time,” agreed Paquette.

Thibeault grimaced again in that way which was so unlike a smile. Paquette fought against his every instinct telling him to pull back from the frankly upsetting expression.

“The Viscountcy has been wasted on him for far too long,” said Thibeault, and he sipped his tea.

Neuvillette stood at the edge of the bridge, his hands folded primly behind his back, chin tilted towards the rolling sea.

Wriothesley heaved a breath as he approached and the man turned his face towards him.

“Neuvillette.”

“Wriothesley,” said the other man, eyebrows rising ever-so-faintly in surprise and interest. “I wasn’t expecting you. You look flushed.”

“Went for a run,” Wriothesley panted. “Can I have a word?”

Something flickered in his eyes, but Neuvillette merely gestured his chin towards the Opera without a moment’s hesitation and made his way towards the structure. Wriothesley fell into step behind him easily, fighting every cell of his being that was telling him to rush the other man, to urge him to walk faster, Archons damn it all.

He bit his tongue, yet it seemed Neuvillette sensed Wriothesley’s urgency and picked up his pace nonetheless.

Finally, after an eternity and then some, they settled into Neuvillette’s office at the Epiclese; a smaller rendition of his office at the Palais, though no less elegant and organized. It was a bright space, walled in books and ornate masonry, bathed in the light that sparkled off the water just beyond the stained glass windows. It smelled like the sea and romaritimes; a light fragrance that Wriothesley had come to associate with the Iudex over many years of knowing him.

Neuvillette looked over at him from behind his desk, his face kind but eerily calm, a direct juxtaposition to Wriothesley’s own storming, blazing heart.

Wriothesley inhaled. Exhaled. “I’m sorry to impose but this is an emergency.”

“It’s no imposition,” Neuvillette said. “I am at your disposal.”

Wriothesley held the other man’s gaze. “Which Melusine Marechaussee Phantoms are off-duty today?”

You clicked your tongue and pulled, bringing Lucy to a halt just before the clearing Paquette had described came into view. You dismounted her, quickly hitching her to a nearby tree, tucked safely behind a dense thicket. She looked at you, ears pitched forward, eyes restless. You moved to pat her gently on the nose, but she tossed her head away from your touch. You frowned, letting your hand drop back to your side.

The last time she had rebuffed you like that, there had been a hilichurl hiding in a nearby tree.

You would be on your guard. This time, you had the element of surprise on your side.

You tried again, satisfied when Lucy allowed your pat this time, and moved onward alone. The sun was high in the sky, casting the upcoming smattering of tents a warm golden hue as they slowly came into view, a collection of brightly-colored headstones in an otherwise silent graveyard.

Immediately, you missed the rhythmic beat of Lucy’s hooves on the dirt as you entered the soundless clearing. Even the wind, forever a comfort at your back, seemed to hold its breath.

It was empty.

You surveyed the camp with careful eyes. Five tents, hastily constructed, flaps lowered to conceal the interiors of all but one — large, royal purple, dead-center. A table sat in view from within. A fire pit, lush with kindling and several freshly cut logs, though it appeared to never have been lit. A hitching post, though there wasn't a horse in sight. A weapons rack, battered but vacant.

You continued to inspect the area with growing unease.

But then, you saw it. In the purple tent, on the wide table. A folder.

The documents.

Emboldened by the silence of the deserted camp, you moved in.

You did not make it far.

You heard a twig snap from somewhere to your right, and you whirled, your heart leaping into your throat. Leaves rustled from all around, every corner of the clearing, and you heard the sharp crack of a slap, followed by hooves — Lucy’s hooves — barreling away into the wilderness, away and away, until you couldn’t hear her at all anymore.

Slowly, one by one, as though they were visions from a nightmare, men emerged from within the dense brush, cloaked in shadow, smiles jagged and cutting on the faces whose mouths weren’t clothed.

Your thoughts came to you rapid-fire, like bullets firing from a pistol.

An ambush.

They had known you were coming.

This was a trap.

Wriothesley had been right.

Your limbs shook. Your mind went foggy. Your fear was streaked with shafts of other emotions—regret, shame, resentment. Longing.

You shook your head to clear the haze, clenching your jaw, flexing your fists.

You didn’t have time to regret; you didn’t have time to wish.

You would get out of here. You had no other choice.

You had to get back to him.

But you were alone. They had known you were coming. Lucy had been scared off. No one was coming.

You were alone.

They began advancing.

Blades with wicked edges glinted in the afternoon sun as they emerged from the shade of the trees. You clutched at the hilt of your sword, savoring the tiny fraction of power you reclaimed at the feeling of the warm leather against your shaking fingers. Fingers that you found were getting increasingly difficult to control.

You fought to master your breath.

One man stepped ahead of the others, brandishing a razor-sharp rapier in your direction, your eyes following the way it swayed in his loose, unworried grip, light and free as wild barley. His eyes gleamed with profane delight from over the cloth secured around the lower half of his face. You didn’t need to see his mouth to know he was smiling.

“Right on time, my lady,” he sneered, voice reedy and meandering. You had never hated the honorific more. Several of the others snickered. “We’ve been expecting you.”

You met his gaze, willing yourself to maintain your composure as you assessed the situation—two, three, four Treasure Hoarders stood in the clearing with you. They didn’t appear to have any horses themselves; at least, not any that were nearby, so hijacking one to make a swift escape was not an option. It seemed all four men carried various swords; not a bow nor arrow in sight, but that could only help you, as you wouldn’t need to concern yourself with avoiding or deflecting ranged attacks while focusing on the close-quarters combat. On defending yourself from their blows. Looking for an opening to make an exit.

You unsheathed your sword, the metal hissing against the scabbard. You widened your stance, rolling your shoulders, willing your breathing to a slow, controlled pace.

Dozens of lessons swam through your mind and you fought to sort through your learning.

So many lessons. So little to show for it.

Wriothesley’s voice floated to the forefront, a memory as sharp and piercing as ice.

Don’t overthink it, he’d told you, over and over, lesson after lesson.

Muscle memory and instinct are your greatest ally.

Trust yourself.

You tensed, ready to trust yourself, to trust him , even if it was too late, to at least try —

Something slammed into your arm and side and you gasped, your sword clattering away across the rocks and into the thicket. Gone.

“Ah, ah, ah. I don’t think so,” sing-songed a new voice.

A low, feminine laugh warbled from over your shoulder and the four men echoed, reveled in the cruel mockery of it. You felt as though all the blood drained from your body. The edges of your vision darkened in panic, further blurring the tangle where your sword now lay, hidden. Out of reach.

Five. There had been five tents.

The woman slowly made her way around you, inching into your line of sight excruciatingly slowly, playfully, circling around you like a vulture circles its prey before it dives. Her eyes glittered, impish and hostile. She held an enormous claymore in her hands.

She opened her mouth to speak.

Don’t overthink. Trust yourself.

You lunged before she could utter a word.

Wriothesley hurried, urging the mare forward, faster, faster.

The Melusine in front of him froze, going stock still in her place on the saddle. Her shaggy, dusty rose hair whipped in the wind and she placed a tiny hand on Wriothesley’s wrist, drawing his attention to her.

There was another horse barreling through the woods, not far ahead. Chestnut, with an auburn coat. A familiar leather saddle.

A saddle which was empty.

Wriothesley wasn’t sure he remembered how to breathe. He pressed into the stirrups, signaling his mare to stop.

Lucy, in the distance, slowed her gallop, noticing the new arrivals; darted directly to them.

Trow frowned as the chestnut mare came to a sliding stop a mere few feet away, tossing her head and stomping, hoof to hoof, more agitated than Wriothesley had ever seen her. He hopped off the mare and went to her, checking her over for injuries or any sign of her rider. She seemed fine, if stressed. Nothing on her to indicate what might have happened to cause her separation from you.

“Your Grace,” Trow said abruptly, blue nose wrinkling. Her eyes flicked away from Lucy and towards the denser forest ahead, narrowing in concentration. “I smell something… just over there. Sweet, but bad. Like gasoline.”

Wriothesley’s stomach flipped. He looked ahead at the thicket, but beyond it was utterly silent. Unmoving. He could vaguely make out the trampled shrubbery from where Lucy had emerged. His hand felt heavier than stone against the side of Lucy’s quivering neck.

He flexed his fingers against her, scratching lightly. For her, for him.

“Wanna help me save our friend, Luce?” he asked softly.

Lucy, of course, said not a word; but whether or not she understood what Wriothesley was asking, her gentle brown eyes seemed to agree with the sentiment.

Wriothesley turned his gaze back to Trow.

“Can you ride?” he asked.

She hesitated before nodding shallowly. “I can get by, sir.”

“Go back,” Wriothesley said. “Notify Neuvillette of what’s happened and where we are. I will take it from here.”

Trow's look was long and searching and for a moment Wriothesley wondered whether she would protest his order. But then her worried lilac eyes softened and she nodded once more. Her tail flicked behind her. “Be safe, Your Grace.”

Wriothesley took the reins in-hand and quickly mounted Lucy. He gave the Melusine a small smile. “Thank you. You too.”

He didn't even have to signal for Lucy to go before she was off, hurtling back towards the trees.

Back to you.

Falling back on your months of training in the Pankration Ring was easier than breathing; particularly at the moment, when it seemed breathing had suddenly become very difficult.

You acted without thinking.

You shot forward, swiftly sweeping a leg out from beneath the prowling woman, sending her hurtling onto her ass before she could register you had even moved. She made an undignified squawk, throwing her arms out to try and save her fall, the claymore slamming into the ground, fanning dirt out around it.

The others burst into action, trying to ascertain the best way to subdue you, kill you, you didn’t know, it didn’t matter — you didn’t allow them even a second. You dove for the woman’s claymore, unclaimed at her side, your fingers closing soundly around the hilt before spinning to face your attackers, the new weight unfamiliar and unwieldy in your palm. You would adjust. You had no other choice.

The woman had clambered back to her feet, yanking a dagger from her boot with a vicious snarl that raised the hair on the back of your neck. A lock of dark hair had shaken loose from beneath her hood. Her eyes no longer held any trace of the violent glee they’d had a moment ago; searing rage was all that was reflected in them now.

The masked man dove, rapier swinging in a wide arc towards your side; you deflected it with ease, the clang of metal on metal ringing in your ears as the heft of the claymore easily intercepted the strike.

You adjusted your grip, the shift in weight causing your fingers to slide on the hilt.

Another lunged, sword pointed for your gut. You narrowly avoided impact, sidestepping on already unsteady feet and directly into the range of the woman, who was ready to pounce on your moment of imbalance.

Clearly, subduing you wasn’t part of their plans. And you were sorely outmatched.

You weren’t quick enough.

Swift as a viper, she lashed out, bronze dagger flashing in the sun the only warning you received before you felt its bite. She nicked your dominant wrist, loosening your grip on her claymore—your only weapon—

You dropped it, your hand disobeying your order to hold on as blood dripped down your trembling fingers from the wound on your wrist.

You wouldn’t walk away from this, you realized then, as the claymore fell. No level of skill would allow you to overcome this.

Fool. You were a fool. And you were about to die for it.

You scrambled for the claymore once more—

One of the men sent his boot hurtling into your side, throwing you off course and forcing all the air from your body.

You slammed down onto the rocks and curled in on yourself instinctively, defensively, tucking your legs into your chest before pushing yourself away, away from them; from the threat. You fought to catch your breath, but your lungs and throat burned like ice.

Your back hit the base of a wide tree and you could go no farther.

The woman gestured angrily at one of the men, who then yanked the claymore off the ground. She stalked over to your hunched form, eyebrows lowered.

She flipped the dagger in her hand and squatted before you.

“That’s enough,” she cooed, flicking the tip of the blade across the curve of your neck, softer than a kiss. You felt a sting followed by the feeling of—something warm collecting at the base of your throat. “This is pathetic. It's getting hard to watch.”

She swung her unarmed fist then, and the resulting impact on your head set your ears ringing and your vision blurry. You vaguely made out the sensation of...of being tied, restrained, bound at your wrists and ankles.

You thrashed, but you were too late. You could barely move. Your wrists burned as you pulled. Your head pounded. Your legs would not—could not—obey.

“Get the canister,” one of the men ordered, the words hitting your ears as though delayed—you felt like you couldn't keep up with the pounding in your skull. Another man disappeared into one of the tents, reemerging after a moment with an opaque container in hand.

Your nostrils flared at the familiar smell.

Gasoline.

The woman clicked her tongue, looking down on you. She wiped her dagger on a pant leg, smearing your blood onto the fabric. “Disposing of evidence. Those pesky Melusines. You understand.” Her voice was as casual as if she were discussing the weather or the latest play at the Epiclese. “You know, I had planned on killing you first ,” she explained evenly as the man sloshed the liquid from within the dark canister onto you. You gasped and recoiled, the liquid colder than you would have anticipated, overwhelming your senses as it sank into your clothing, onto your skin. The woman leaned forward, gently taking your chin in her hand, forcing you to meet her gaze. She stared at you hard for a few long seconds. “But then you went ahead and pissed me off ,” she hissed, pushing your face away roughly and stepping back, out of the spreading pool of accelerant.

You couldn't suppress the coughs that wracked your body as you continued to inhale the fumes, as you continued to fight. One of the men approached you slowly as all the others retreated, a torch lit and flickering in his hands. The sun was still high in the sky; this flame was not meant to offer warmth or illumination.

It was meant to ignite.

Something in you cracked and fell away as you realized... this was it.

There truly was no way out. There had never been a way out.

You couldn't do any more against them now than when you were a child, quivering and confused and helpless. The faces before you were different, yet you had not changed at all.

Powerless.

You had failed. You’d failed your family. You’d failed yourself. And there would be nothing left to show for all your efforts, for everything that you were or could have been but ash and regret.

You wished you had been able to protect them.

You wished you'd been braver when it truly mattered.

You wished you'd been a little more selfish.

You wished… You wished—

Everything went white and chills wracked your body at the sudden onslaught of freezing air against your wet clothes.

The world erupted into chaos—hail and snow and shards of savage, unforgiving ice. Shouting rose from somewhere in the camp, but you couldn't make out who they had belonged to or what was said.

The blizzard glittered beneath the morning sun. You fought not to squint, to try keep your eyes open in the face of the storm to see—to see—

There he was. Wreathed in the torrent of rime and burning frost.

And finally, you breathed.

a/n: title from 'war of hearts' by ruelle

it goes without saying that the ‘updates on saturday’ plan is no longer going to happen lol. im a STEM girlie and my job is very mentally taxing so i don’t always have the energy leftover to write, no matter how much i want to. and tbh then i end up rushing to get something out on time that i’m just not happy with lol

on that note: like i mentioned above, i was still not satisfied with the last chapter so i made some changes and it shifts the context quite a bit

essentially i had 2 paths in my mind for how this could go angst-wise, chose one, heard a loud WRONG buzzer, and then changed it so it is instead the other lmao

aaanyways my b one of these days i will actually have a work finished before i start publishing it (no i will not)

hope you enjoyed xo

[caparrucia]

I've gotten quite a few new followers recently, so I think one of my posts broke containment...

Lemme just.

Take a few proverbial shots in the air:

Trans rights are human rights.

Transmen are men, but they exist within the transphobic clutches of the patriarchy and pretending they have "male privilege" instead of being punished for failing to conform to toxic masculinity makes you sound like someone who's never been in touch with the community IRL.

Trans women are women! They're not inherently predatory and if such a thing as "male socialization" exists, it does not confer them power, but rather punishes them for failing to perform masculinity.

Nonbinary, genderqueer and genderfluid are distinct, valid and separate identities that often overlap but which do not constitute a "third gender" around which to build another stupid gender dichotomy.

Queer is not a slur, it's an umbrella term. If you do not wish to belong to the queer community that is your prerogative, but you do not get to tell MY community that we shouldn't exist because our language makes you uncomfortable.

Acephobia is fucking pathetic and you're a pathetic dork for committing it. Aces, Aros and Demis belong in the Queer community and their struggles are no less real because you want to be a dick about it.

I'm not American. The fact I'm forced to know and keep up with American politics while the average American pretends my country is either a tourist attraction or a humanitarian crisis zone, is in fact a sign of American colonialism and I'm not going to sugar coat it if it makes you uncomfortable to be reminded of it.

Mexican Americans are not Mexican. They're American, with Mexican ancestry. If you center their voices over my own people's when speaking about my own country, I will fucking fist-fight you.

Race is not a game of rock-paper-scissors and intersectionality is not about keeping score about whose opinions are deemed blanket correct without a second thought.

People's existence is not in itself an act of activism, so for the love of fuck, stop being weird to strangers who are just vibing and calling them "brave" and "inspirational" just because they allow themselves to exist in public. You sound like a tool.

Israel is committing a genocide. It is not antisemitic to point out that Israel is in fact doing a genocide. The solution to Israel committing a genocide is not to be antisemitic.

There are in fact several genocides currently on going: Sudan, Ukraine, Nigeria, Afghanistan, Syria, North Korea, Myanmar, India, China, Ethiopia and Congo, just to name a few. It is not racist to point it out. But it is racist to reduce any of them to merely a snarky remark in an attempt to prove how not racist you are. It is extra racist to say "other genocides" without acknowledging them specifically.

There's still hasn't been a situation where siding with the people committing the genocide turned out to be the right choice.

There's no such thing as a funny genocide joke.

No, not even that one. It's a genocide, it is inherently unfunny and if you consider that a challenge, you have lost the plot.

Primarily, though, this is a fandom blog.

Fandom is not activism and if you think it is, you owe me fucking reparations for the stupidity. If you argue about the well-being of fictional characters at the cost of real people, we're gonna have problems.

Neither you nor I are obligated to make every part of our presence online about the human rights violation of the hour. It's okay if you curate a space that exists only to make you feel better. This is my feel better corner. I will talk about things that are important to me, but that doesn't mean I'm obligated to talk about all the things that are important to me.

I reblog art I like, tumblr posts I find funny, the occasional rant and the fic I write in my spare time.

If you like my shit? Cool. Consider throwing a tip my way if you like.

But I'm not a news outlet, and unless I'm quoting extensively and providing and citing sources, I'm talking out of my ass because it's my own corner of the internet and that's what I do here.

I've been on the internet since 1998, I promise you whatever has you in a frothing rage is neither new nor unnuanced. Please assess if it's worth spending your limited time on this earth getting angry at strangers on the internet.

It sure as fuck isn't worth mine.

[drac0line1nn1t]

I wanted to make a post on here since I had someone in my dms asking for my thoughts on as they put it, the Wilbur soot 'allegations'

So, to start off with, It's not allegations, he did abuse shubble, and I think it is such a terrible thing for a human to do,

It's really important to stand with victims and not give the abusers a voice,

I think we should support Shelby and Wilbur soot is a terrible human being who made a community on lies on what he presented himself as online.

And their response was in support of him so I'm putting out these pieces of undeniable evidence and please everyone go watch Shelby's vod, support her and support other members of the community, I know this is upsetting to us as well,

He lied to everyone and Shelby is the one who deserves all the support but you're allowed to need personal support from those around you,

Wilbur soot was a man I looked up and adored,

Please watch shubbles vod,

There is quite a lot of undeniable evidence of witnesses stating they saw and some were also a victim of his actions

I stand with Shelby, she is articulate and brave and using the experience to give others advice about the signs

I understand really well it's hard to say he's a terrible person, he's been a very important and happy thing for me for the past year, but I don't believe there is any reason to support him after this.

He wasn't a good enough human to deserve the wonderful community he inspired.

Here is some of the evidence I have (Tumblr image limit), if you want to know more, feel free to message me, and please go and do some research and remember,

It's not about giving voice to abusers,

It's about standing with victims.

Even if the abuser was your hero.

Stand with Shelby. 💛

And all the other people he hurt, the ones I know of being Niki and rue, there may be others, please feel free to reblog and add more information, I want this to be informative to anyone who stumbles across looking for truth and evidence and would like to compile as much as possible.

Okay that's all, goodbye, I'll write a separate post on how I'll go about my art and writing with him.

[wakethedead-group-re-read]

Ch. 1 & 2 Discussion Post

Ch. 1: The End of the World & Ch. 2: On the Run

Feel free to discuss whatever you want, not limited to these questions... but keep in mind that some people have not read the whole book yet, so put any future spoilers below a read more/page break.

Be respectful of all! Different opinions aren't only allowed, they're encouraged! But be polite to others.

Remember, if you post any screenshots, etc. be sure to tag @wakethedead-group-re-read so I can reblog here.

You can discuss all week - it's not limited to just today! Any questions, just shoot me an ask!

If you want to be tagged in future posts, please let me know!

Discussion questions:

1. Have you read Wake the Dead before, or is this your first time? If your first time, are you looking forward to (or afraid of) anything in particular? If it's a re-read, do you plan on making the same choices this time?

2. Tell us about your MC. (Please feel free to share photos/art/profiles.) What makes your MC tick? What's their motivation? Are they more serious or playful? Brave or afraid? If it's your second playthrough, are you using the same MC as last time or going a new route?

3. In your opinion, what was the biggest surprise in the first two chapters?

4. Tell us about your MC's relationship with their sister.

5. Any LI catching your eye yet? Are you planning on having an LI or keeping things platonic?

@oh-so-youre-a-nerd @annoyingmillenialnewbie @missameliep @dutifullynuttywitch @tessa-liam @choiceschatter @jerzwriter @aallotarenunelma

[briarlovesclara]

Regarding Wilbur Soot

As one can imagine, the past few days have been a whirlwind for myself and many in the mcyt/dsmp community. In light of Wilbur's recent confession, I wanted to get my stance crystal clear and out in the open. (cws for abuse mentions)

I support Shubble in speaking out, especially in her being incredibly brave.

I do not support the actions of Wilbur Soot.

Domestic abuse or violence is never justified.

Going forward:

I have unfollowed/will be unfollowing Wilbur on all social medias (apologies if I forget any or take time clearing them all out)

I will no longer be posting anything positive about Wilbur on this blog

I WILL be interacting with fan content about the Dream SMP, including content of his character. This will be tagged with #cw c!wilbur . If I forget, please feel free to remind me, and feel free to block the tag. This is because I believe in those stories and characters, especially Ghostbur. I support people who are distancing themselves from these characters. I support if you do not feel comfortable interacting with me because of this.

I am currently working on changing my theme away from 'AYA?' (2/27/24)

I will be waiting for responses from CCs such as Philza, Quackity, Tommy etc. before casting judgement. I understand this might take time. I openly support those who have already spoken out against his actions.

Please allow me a small amount of grace as I navigate how I will approach Lvjy content from now on. UPDATE: as of now I have removed them from my circle of music.

As always, any negative opinions about cc!s do not extend to system alters. Whether you are a factive, fictive, attatched to a source, or any other connection-- you are welcome here.

I do not regret being a part of these communities. They have brought me such joy and friendship that I couldn't bear to. The only regret I have is any monetary support I may have given Wilbur in the past.

I also recently reblogged posts before there was confirmation of Wilbur's identity asking people to focus on Shubble rather than tracking the abuser down. I was very careful in my reposts and I stand by being cautious, especially as I had not watched the VOD (it was taken down at the time and I didn't want to invade Shubble's wishes-- I took lead from the Shubble Updates Twitter account).

Thank you. The community will get through this together. 💕

EDIT LOG:

1. Changed PFP

P. S. I never condone doxxing, harassment, or death threats online for any reason.

2. Added lvjy clause

3. Lvjy update

[sailoragere]

Hello, and welcome to the sweet home base of #sailoragere. (Promise I’m not a witch!) /ref

I'll be your host, Serendipity. Dipsy for short. If you didn’t read up there in my bio already, I’m white, and an autistic adult who is currently 25. You may be wondering,

“What is #sailoragere?”

It is to be an established hashtag to share and create age regression content related to Sailor Moon.

After close to a decade of shying away and being kinda desperate for agere stuff of my special interest, I felt brave enough to create this blog for the purpose of breaching--er..bridging the gap.

What will be featured? What can I post in the tag? What can I ask you/talk to you about?

Lots of things! For starters,

💗 Artwork!

💙 Fanfiction/Headcanons (AUs are encouraged)

❤️ Moodboards

💚 Outfit collages

🧡 Stimboards

and whatever else can be thought of!

(All versions/iterations of Sailor Moon are encouraged: Manga, 90s Anime, Crystal/Eternal/Cosmos, PGSM, CD Dramas, Stageplays, etc.)

On the blog itself, there will be a focus on positive posts, cute things such as plushies, toys, stimboards, stimming in general, aesthetics, “-cores,” that remind me of the characters and their canon culture. I will also be sharing my own works from time to time.

Sailor Moon used to be marketed primarily towards children in its American market in the 90s, but you may or may not have known that its Japanese target demographic used to be children as well!! There’s a seemingly endless amount of cute little trinkets and merchandise that appeal to me, therefore I’ll be sharing some of it here, too.

As for you, if you prefer to stay low or are just feeling shy/anxious, it’s okay. Just swap to Anonymous in the ask box and we can assign you an emoji to better accommodate you! (Please keep in mind I am chronically ill and will likely take a while to respond!)

I’d love to see what others come up with, and find fellow fans of Sailor Moon who also regress! Please spread the word by reblogging this post! (I could really actually use a boost)

Please click "keep reading" before following/interacting with this blog or hashtag! Don’t fall under any of the below and you’re good to to use the tag / interact!

‼️ The following will not be allowed nor tolerated. (In no particular order of importance:)

💔Pedophiles/Zoophiles/"MAPS"/"NOMAPS"/RADQUEERS

Self-explanatory.

💔Anti-antis"/"Proshippers"/Pro-fic/"Problematics" (literally so many different ways of putting this nowadays...)

Also self-explanatory.

💔Racism towards black, indigenous, and POC.

This will apply to any content shared within the blog or hashtag. Don’t drag others down for headcanoning or depicting a certain character as mixed Asian. Just so long as their canon Japanese culture and race are not being erased, anything goes. Anti-racist is the way to be.

💔Homophobia/Transphobia (TERF, Radfem, etc).

We love and support the LGBTQ+ community in this space. It’s totally valid to express gender and/or affectional orientation through your favorite characters. Romantic and/or platonic shipping is encouraged! (But please understand that shipping in a sexual context will never be allowed here or in the tag.)

💔Ableism towards autistic people (otherwise known as autmisia), or any other disability.

This includes anything relating to autism or disabilities be it a headcanon, piece of art or someone using the hashtag! The very person behind this blog is disabled and wishes to cultivate a diverse and inclusive environment for disabled systems, system littles, regressors, carers, and other individuals.

💔 Equating diapers to only a kink/fetish and/or something to make fun of/something that degrades a person.

They're inherently a disability aid, so they will always be included here!! Be ableist elsewhere. Same in bold goes for any other disability aids.

💔 Sexualizing age regression/agere and/or supporting others that do so.

Adult topics are not appropriate here and therefore will not be brought up. This is meant to be a space to escape and heal from that sort of trauma. (Personal to the admins in particular)

Speaking of trauma, that sort of discussion will be allowed, too, as age regression tendencies often stem from it. And these characters have been through it. Said content will of course be tagged accordingly. ^^

While this blog is fiction focused, above all, we care about the world and the people in it. The intention is to do that by sharing important posts about current events. I will tag those specific posts with warnings and #not agere just to be safe.

If I catch anyone misusing the tag for any of the above, you will be blocked! Please respect our boundaries for my sake and a lot of yours! With this all said, I cannot put forth the energy to scrutinize every single follower or interaction online anymore due to it becoming damaging for my mental health!

Play it safe and be kind to others!

[gntownhall]

— sentence starter game!

welcome to golden bell town's first ask box game! in order to participate, just reblog this post so others can send you messages - and please make sure your inbox is open (anon is not required). you are allowed to reblog this post and send others messages until thursday, november 23 - after this date, though no new asks can be sent, members are still allowed to post the messages they received previously. * edit: this has been extended until november 30!

send me a random number 1-50 off anon and i will write us a starter based on the list below (assumed connections might be implied!) ↴

"ready for an adventure tonight?"

"what's the plan now?"

"feeling brave enough?"

"i don't think this is the right way."

"i don't get scared easily."

"did you hear that noise just now?"

“i trusted you once and i’m never doing it again.”

"this place is giving me the creeps."

“it’s just a scratch, don’t worry.”

“i can’t do this without you.”

“what a dumb thing to say.”

“i feel like i’m losing my mind.”

"exploring an abandoned factory at night was a bad idea, huh?"

"shadows and secrets in yellow creek…"

"we're locked in!"

"i just saw something move…"

“i’m not crying. i don’t cry.”

"what do you think the forest is hiding?"

"i won't give up on you."

"there is no one watching the pool at the resort at night. just saying."

“i thought there would be stars.”

"gaenari city park, beautiful or creepy?"

"i know you're keeping a secret from me."

“why can’t you just let me go?”

"this silence feels too heavy."

“would a bonfire be too cliche?”

"is staying here tonight a good idea?"

"hooking up at a graveyard at night – what's the worst that can happen?"

“personally, i would choose violence.”

"i want to see your true face."

“it’s not your fault.”

“please just hold me.”

"tell me your favorite gaenari story."

“because i care about you, okay?”

"you look like you just saw a ghost."

“we could have been beautiful together.”

“why does every house look haunted?”

“don’t worry. this isn’t my first time doing this.”

“scream all you want. no one will hear you.”

"where is this fog coming from?"

“i told you not to do this.”

“surely they won’t even notice one or two cabbages missing.”

“i don’t even recognize you anymore.”

“maybe we should make our own escape room.”

“i’m happy that you feel safe with me.”

“i didn’t want to show up empty handed.”

“are you okay? i heard there was a fire…”

“this place is boring. let’s go somewhere else, just us.”

“the nightmares feel so real…”

“this is not a threat. it’s a promise.”

[crazy-lazy-elder-sims]

Hi so i talked alittle before about my 5+ year artblock and how im Slowly forcing my way out of it by drawing ocs..

if you have been following me for a while you would know i have a fake band in the sims called WeiRdoW and i decided to start drawing them in what i always wanted my style to look like growing up but never got around to it because people around me would complain to my mom about how creepy and scary it was ( the main theme of my art growing up was eyes and spirals and an underlying feeling of horror or danger but that freaked out people i guess) and she would snatch my art and tear up my silly doodles in to pieces so i was forced to draw "perfect" art for a while which led me to my art block but i managed to save some small peices here and there of my old stuff and im Gonna post them also since im Being brave right now ...

First here is Batsy and Androida

Batsy was the first thing i drew after 5 years of doing nothing and thats why he is alittle wonky and fish like as i was not sure what the fuck was i doing i might redraw him again lol

Androida is awsome and im So proud of how it turned out i did get carried away with her hair alittle but eh it was therapeutic lol also im still trying to remeber prespective and shit so thats slightly wonky too but im So proud of my self for making these and im excited for the rest of the band ❤️

Here is some of my old art that managed to survive ( some of these i only have pictures of cause its original was torn up but i had taken pictures before that happened)

Unfortunately all the art i made in my early- mid teens is gone all i have is stuff from 19 to early 20's

These here are the only surviving stuff from then im Really proud of those especially the first one ❤️

Here is some other stuff that i drew right before my art block i tried to make pretty art so i would get to keep my sketches but still tried to inject my style into it there are other ones than these that i dont like cause they are your typical instagram art lol

Tumblr only allows 10 images so i might reblog with more if im Still feeing brave about it i have some stuff where i attempted to use color and some stuff where i tried to draw in the art nouveau style and some more "Instagram/Pinterest art" ones that i hate alot but those are what convinced my mom to leave me the hell alone so yeah if anyone is interested in seeing those let me know

Also i might share my warm up sketches which are basically pages full of eyes lol

Anyway if you made it to here thank you so much for reading ❤️