#but life lately has just been bleh

[sturnioloshacker]

is it just me or is life super boring and has got no meaning to it whatsoever?

[chronal-anomaly]

job hunting is just so :bleh:

[queeny-v]

Having some art block, probs gonna go on a short hiatus for a bit idk

[wanderingxiao]

Creepy Roomie

Scaramouche x Reader *NSFW*

Warnings: Stalking, masturbation, stealing, scummy Scaramouche, obsessive behavior, DNI if this makes you uncomfortable!

A/N: updates have been late. This past year has been a whirlwind. I got married, moved, making plans for further education besides my bachelors, and working a full time job an hour away 10-12hr shifts. The life of an adult! Bleh. But I’ve had time (ahem-ahem-on my drives to work-ahem) to write as I get bored. I’m working in requests currently, but thought something short would suffice. Enjoy~

“Oh! That’s so nice of you, Scara. My knuckles have been so dry lately. Thank you!” Fuck. He was getting hard. His indigo eyes dropped down to the lotion bottle sitting in your hands, his mind racing with the idea of you applying it on your delicate hands. A months worth of jacking off and ejaculating into a tiny ass bottle was absolutely worth it to see you smear the combination of essential oils and his semen over your knuckles. “It smells nice and it’s so smooth. You’ll have to tell me where you got it, I may want more!”

He couldn’t handle it.

He quickly dismissed himself, brushing off your comment with a roll of his eyes before he retreated back to his room, slamming the door close and locking the door. His head spun, eyes darting down to the obvious tent now present in his loose basketball shorts. His fingers shook as he pulled his shirt up to bite the hem before sliding the front of his shorts down, blushing and groaning in embarrassment at the wet patch in his boxers from his leaky tip.

Scaramouche closed his eyes and slid his hard cock out of his boxers, sighing as his fingers traced along the engorged veins of his shaft up to the red tip, circling his thumb over the slit to smear his pre-cum around the tip. He sighed lewdly, starting to lightly stroke his cock, shuddering at the way he was teasing himself. He thought back to the way you so happily applied the lotion to your hands, commenting on its smell, how nice it felt. The smile on your face, the soft blush you had as you spread his semen on your hands.

“Fuck…!” He hunched over himself, his grip starting to tighten and slip his hand up and down his length faster. His tongue lolled out loosely, his thoughts rushing to find the memory of how your pussy tasted against his tongue. The multiple pairs of used panties he’d stolen from you had lost their initial flavor and aroma, but he still remembered the time he first snuck into your room to steal your panties, he couldn’t help but hump your pillow while he sucked the little wet patch of one and sniff a different pair.

Now, now, he’s no creep. He’s just… checking to make sure your juices taste right. All sweet and savory against his tongue. Make sure you didn’t have any odd smells, not that he would be able to tell, your scent always short circuited his brain into a horny mess. And cmon, we all know semen is actually a good moisturizer for the skin. At least that’s what he wants to believe. He read it somewhere! Honest! It’s not like he wanted to watch you smear his cum all over your body.

The hem of his shirt was getting wet with his saliva, his teeth gnawing the fabric trying to stay quiet so you wouldn’t hear his pathetic little virgin whimpers and moans. He looked up through hazy lust filled eyes, seeing a pair of your panties lying on his bed next to his pillow, a pair you masturbated in to be specific. Your noises were so cute, how could he not press his ear against the door and fist his cock until his balls were empty. His feet tumbled over each other as he reached out for them, his free hand clenching tightly to your panties as the pace along his cock never faltered.

Each pump formed a new pearl of pre-cum to leak from his tip, lubricating his hand and encouraging him to go faster. He was careful to wrap your panties around his cock, pushing the cute little stained patch against his tip to mix your juices together. The action was so lewd it had his stomach doing flips. A low and guttural moan slipped past his mouth, his chest rumbling with a deep growl as he felt his ball righten.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, (Y/N)… I’m gonna cum, haa~” Scaramouche murmured, his breath beginning to become heavy, shuddering as he looked down at his bed, his mind fantasizing you sitting there, your legs spread with your fingers parting your folds to let him gaze upon your pretty pussy. Before he knew it he was rutting into his hand, imagining he was fucking into your pussy, his eyes glued to your sinful expressions and the way your breasts bounced with each brutal thrust he gave you. Before he knew it, he was cumming.

“M-Mmngh! Oho… fuck…! Ahh!” Ribbons of his hot seed spurted over his bed sheets, staining the silk sheets with his lewd juices. His chest heaved, his teeth slowly dropping the hem of his soaked shirt. His body shook as he collapsed onto his bed, not caring that his own semen was smearing against his clothes. His lips curled in a loving and blissful smile as his eyes made contact with a picture of you both on his dresser, one where you had been so excited about moving in with your best friend as collage roomies.

Don’t worry, you’ll be his one day. He’ll gather the courage to confess. But in the meantime… hell take his time enjoying and learning all there is about your body and your heart.

Thanks for reading! See you in the next 💜

[locomoqo]

Could we get something related to gun trying to convince the reader who he loves to stay with him. Reader is conflicted with her feelings because she loves him but she’s aware of his job and how dangerous it is for the both of them. Angst & comfort please!

love me like a sailor

— gun park x reader

details: angst with comfort, established relationship

A/N: 1.2k words whewww, also i hope i did gun's personality justice here🥹 i rlly do believe he'd soften around someone he loves (i have a feeling this didnt come off as angsty as i wanted it to be bleh)

The room is dimly lit, shadows stretching long across the floor as the evening light fades behind heavy curtains. Gun stands in front of you, his usually impassive face softened by an emotion he rarely shows—vulnerability. The tension between you both is almost suffocating, a thick silence hanging between breaths. Your heart is heavy with the weight of a decision you don’t want to make.

“I don’t know if I can keep doing this,” you murmur, your voice barely a whisper. You clutch your arms, holding yourself together because you’re afraid that if you let go, you’ll fall apart. You look up at him, eyes filled with the conflict that’s been tearing at you for weeks. He’s been distant lately, lost in the chaos of his work, and you can’t pretend any longer that it doesn’t scare you.

Gun’s jaw tightens, his usually stoic expression cracking for a brief second. There's a flicker of something fragile in his eyes. He steps forward, a little too quickly, as if he's scared you might vanish. “I’m here now, aren’t I?” he says, his voice quiet and distant—just like it always is.

You meet his gaze, your eyes brimming with unshed tears, hating that he makes it sound so simple. “But for how long?” you ask, your voice breaking. “You’re always chasing danger, always fighting, always risking everything. I can’t... I can’t keep pretending it doesn’t tear me apart every time you walk out that door.” The words spill out of you, each one a stab to your own heart. You hate how weak you sound, how vulnerable. But you can’t help it. You can’t stop loving him.

Gun’s brows furrow, his usual mask slipping as he takes a step closer. He towers over you, but there’s a gentleness in his eyes that contradicts his imposing presence. His hands tremble slightly as he reaches for you but stops, hovering with uncertainty as if he’s not sure he has the right to touch you anymore. “I don’t know how to be different,” he admits, his voice raw and low, twisting your heart. It's true, fighting has become part of who he is, it's all he's ever known. “This is who I am. But if it means losing you, I’ll—”

“No,” you interrupt, shaking your head, feeling tears sting at the corners of your eyes. “I don’t want to be the reason you lose your edge. I don’t want to be your weakness.”

You see frustration flare in his eyes, the helplessness he fights so hard to conceal. His hands drop to his sides, curling into fists as he takes a shaky breath. “Do you think I want to be this way?” he asks, his voice suddenly fierce, desperation cutting through his words. “Do you think I don’t know what it does to you every time I leave? I’m trying, damn it, but I can’t just walk away from who I am. I’ve built my life around this, and I can’t change it, not overnight.”

He stretches his hand out, catching yours before you can pull away. There's an urgency in his grip—an unspoken plea hidden beneath his cold facade. The anger fades from his face, replaced by something hollow and broken. “You’re not my weakness,” he insists, his hold firm but gentle. “You never have been. You’re the only person who makes me want to be better. For you.” He swallows, eyes locked on yours. “I know it’s dangerous. I won’t lie to you about that. But I can protect you. I will protect you.”

Your heart aches at the sincerity in his voice, but you know it’s not enough. You pull your hand back, wiping away a tear before it can fall. “What if something happens to you?” you ask, your voice cracking. “What if I lose you?”

Gun’s expression tightens, and he reaches for you again, his hands settling on your shoulders with surprising gentleness. “Nothing’s going to happen to me,” he says firmly, his voice steady, as if daring fate to contradict him. “I’m not going anywhere.”

He almost adds, “Not if it means leaving you,” but the words die in his throat.

“...I don’t want to leave,” you say, your voice hoarse, and it’s the truth. You don’t want to lose him. You don’t want to be without the man who’s somehow become the most important part of your life, the one who knows you better than anyone else. “But I don’t want to watch you destroy yourself either.” Your voice wavers, and you turn away as a sob escapes before you can choke it down.

Gun’s fingers gently tilt your chin back, his touch tender in a way that takes you by surprise. “Look at me,” he commands, his tone softer than you’ve ever heard. You meet his gaze, and for the first time, you see the raw fear in his eyes—the fear of losing you. “I’m not asking you to ignore the danger. I’m asking you to stay with me.”

Your chest tightens, and you shake your head as tears finally spill over. “I don’t know if I’m strong enough for this,” you admit, your voice barely audible.

Gun’s hands come up to cup your face, and this time, he doesn’t hesitate. His touch is achingly gentle, his thumb brushing away the tears that fall down your cheeks. “Then don’t watch,” he says, his voice teetering on desperation. “Let me be the one who takes the risks. I’ll handle it. I’ll handle everything if it means I can keep you by my side.” His voice is so soft, so uncharacteristically vulnerable.

“Isn’t that enough?” His eyes, usually so cold and distant, search yours, desperate for any sign that you might stay.

For a moment, all you can hear is the pounding of your own heartbeat, each thud echoing in your ears. The tears come faster now, and you let yourself lean into his touch, feeling the warmth of his palms against your skin. There’s a sadness in his gaze that cuts you to the core, but there’s also hope—a fragile, flickering flame that refuses to die.

Your hands tremble as you cling to the fabric of his shirt, your fingers curling into the material. “I love you,” you whisper, your voice breaking, “but I’m scared, Gun. I’m so scared.”

His arms wrap around you, pulling you against his chest. His hold is firm and unwavering, like he’s trying to shield you from the world itself. “Then be scared,” he whispers into your hair, his breath warm against your temple, “but don’t go.”

It's the first time you’ve ever heard him beg, and it shatters something inside you. You stay there, wrapped in the security of his embrace. He’s far from perfect, and so are you, but in this moment, you find a sort of peace—a hope that, maybe, love is enough.

Gun pulls back slightly, his hands still cradling your face as he stares at you with an intensity that steals your breath. “Stay,” he whispers, his voice rough and desperate. “I promise I won’t let anything happen to us.”

You don’t know what the future holds, or if his promise is one he can keep, but in this moment, as his thumb gently brushes your cheek, you find yourself nodding, your resolve crumbling in the face of the man you love. Gun exhales shakily, a soft, relieved sound, and pulls you closer, burying his face in the crook of your neck. For the first time in a long while, you feel like maybe—just maybe—everything will be okay.

[jd-loves-fiction]

𝐓𝐡𝐢𝐫𝐝 𝐛𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐚𝐢𝐧'𝐭 𝐬𝐨 𝐛𝐚𝐝

❏ 𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: Rin Itoshi x GN!Reader

❏ 𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞: fluff

❏ 𝐰𝐜: 1.2k

❏ 𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: You're kind of a pain in Rin's neck, but you're also the only one who's always been there. Maybe Rin can find a spot for you in his life...

❏ 𝗮/𝗻: Still getting used to writing for Blue lock in general so this might be very out of character idk but I'm just kookie for Rin before the trauma MY SHAYLAAA 😭

“Slowpoke!” You call out gleefully to a disgruntled Rin Itoshi, running towards the goal with a ball basically glued to your speedy little feet.

It’s just a friendly game, goal limits marked by school bags and a pair of cleats. But it could never be just a friendly game between the two of you.

Really, it’s Rin’s fault for egging you on, saying you couldn't possibly be the best striker in the world since Sae will be the best and him second best – no space for you – as if third place doesn't exist. Idiot.

“GOOAAALLL!! With no competition, with no hope of being stopped it's a GOAALL!”

“Alright! Pipe down already.” Rin scolds you, cheeks adorably flushed, lip poking out petulantly.

“What's that? Sorry, I can't quite understand you, since I don't speak loser!” 

Rin’s round face twists angrily at your taunting, as if he didnt start this, lips already twisting to ask for a rematch when clapping sounds from outside his field of vision.

“Sae-san!”

“Nii-chan!” You call out at the same time, running over to the older boy, “Sorry I'm late.”

“Sae-san, did you see? That goal was perfect, right?” you speak as quickly as your young lungs will allow, desperate for some validation from the one who’d one day be the best striker in the world.

(You believed it then.)

“Well, I wouldn't say perfect necessarily. See, your balance was off and you hit it–” he stops at the slowly deflating confidence on your face, “I saw it. Heard it too. Pretty sure the whole neighborhood did.” 

“Well, good!”

Rin immediately scoffs, childishly irked at the pride on your face, “I could’ve scored a perfect goal, two even! If you hadn’t tripped me.”

“Ha! You mean if you hadn’t tripped yourself. Seriously, how will you be the No.2 striker in the world if you can't even walk in a straight line?”

“You–” Rin starts, infuriated and ready to prove you wrong a hundred times over, before Sae cuts him off.

“Alright! How about we all get some ice cream and sort this out another day?” He'd usually let you fight it out, but your volume was beginning to attract odd stares.

You and Rin shoot each other one last glare promising a rematch, before rushing to grab your things and follow Sae.

“Ah, wait. I can't.” Rin’s face flickers with disappointment for a split second. And then he's back to running his mouth.

“Hmph! How are you planning to be the best striker if you keep running off to do other stuff?”

“What does that have to do with ice cream?”

Turns out, everything. Since football is everything, everything is therefore football related.

Totally not because he's jealous of the fact that in spite of training less than him, you have no problem keeping up on the field.

Nope, totally not.

“Tch, whatever. I'm going now. See you tomorrow!” Turning around to leave as Sae tells you goodbye while Rin furrows his brows at the flower of disappointment blooming in his chest.

For a moment, you stand there, thinking, considering.

“Oh and Rin?” You catch his attention, turning around just in time to see his eyes light up like the ocean on a calm sunny day…

And sticking your tongue out at him, “Bleh!”

Sae tries his best not to lose it as his brother trembles in bitterness at you getting the last dumb word, while you're already running off in the other direction.

His brother tells him he'll be going to Spain later that day and time passes in a blink. Before you know it, it's just the two of you.

Walking home. Practicing late after school. Eyes catching during games.

It's a little awkward at first, silences seem to stretch on for longer than they ever have, especially as adolescence puts strange thoughts in both your heads.

Has Rin always been so pretty? So tall? His voice so smooth and his expression so cool when he scores one of his perfect goals?

Has your smile always been that bright? Your eyes? Your laugh that melodic?

When did your presence become the most treasured constant in his life?

Was it all the times when you comforted him when he was missing Sae but never admitting it? (Somehow you always knew.)

Was it when you practiced with him after hours, even when you were ready to drop from exhaustion?

Was it all the times he helped you with your homework, without ever teasing you for needing help?

Or was it this one day…

The sky had been a gloomy kind of dark all afternoon, ready to bring down mighty rain at any moment.

The moment chosen fell right in the middle of one of your late practice sessions.

Slowly, the stickiness of the sweat on your skin turns to the wetness of cold autumn rain.

“Oh, it's finally raining.” Rin comments softly, lightly jogging toward shelter – a few more minutes of training are not worth catching a cold for.

“Huh?” He notices you're not moving, stood still as a statue as the rain keeps coming down without mercy.

“What are you doing? You're–” 

“Hey, Rin?” Your voice is so quiet amidst the heavy Rai, but he hears you as… any day but this one. A sliver of nervousness crawls down his spine at something in your tone – what it is, he can't say.

“You still wanna be second best?”

“Of course I do.” He answers firmly, without a speck of hesitation. As if he could ever change his mind. 

(If only he knew.)

The corner of your lip lifts into a fond smile, with a dash of something heavier, before you turn to him with a wet and shining ball beneath your foot, “Then, come on No.2. First to score wins, the other's a lukewarm loser.”

You're off before he can say another word, watching the back of your drenched uniform as you race towards the goal.

“Slowpoke–!” Both of you gasp as your foot slips on the wet grass, sending you tumbling onto your back, punching the air from your lungs.

Rin finally moves, rushing to your side without following your example before leaning over you while scanning for injuries.

And then, you're laughing.

He's worried sick, looking at you with the widest eyes in the world, wondering if you have a concussion and you're laughing. Loudly, openly, bright as sunshine with rain water all over your lovely face.

Your lovely face… your lovely dumb face that he just can't stop thinking about – even if it distracts him during games, or class or any moment of his day – he just can't stop thinking about you.

Because you'd always been there, and he hopes you always will be.

“Stupid,” he tells you with no bite, kicking the forgotten ball so it rolls slowly towards the goal, “There, you're a lukewarm loser, now get up before you become a cold loser and I have to carry you home.”

You’re not a loser though, far from it.

And maybe third best isn't that bad. Not if you stay close to him as you are.

Because if the one thing he's always had, the one person who’s always been there, suddenly left?

It might just break him.

[rimouskis]

thoughts on social media use, algorithms, and the strangeness of being a human in the world:

I don't remember when I downloaded tiktok. It was either 2021 or 2022. I was working from home and had more unsupervised down time than I was accustomed to. It was easy to scroll and get lost in it.

The algorithm was good. It had my interests pinned so quickly that it was almost alarming. I suddenly felt reattached to youth culture, which was something that had been slipping out of my fingers as I aged into my 20s. I rather enjoyed getting to explain new jokes or memes or references to my older friends who weren't on the platform. It was, for a time, my favorite way to spend time online, aside from Tumblr.

And all I did was consume. I barely even commented on things, mostly because the constant notifications you couldn't silence when your comment got liked were annoying, but also because I didn't think I had much worth adding. It was entirely passive. Scroll, watch, scroll, scroll, scroll, watch, watch, scroll. An eternal feed of dopamine beamed right into my skull.

I stopped writing as much, though there were lots of things I could blame that on. I stopped reading almost entirely, though that had been true for a little while, so I also couldn't blame that on the app either, not really. It wasn't like I could point to the app and say "THIS THING IS RUINING MY LIFE!" because it wasn't. I was entertained. I felt informed because I started seeing some news items this way that I hadn't seen elsewhere. I was Connected To The Culture, and I've always enjoyed that. I found music I liked, and cultural critics I liked, and endless, endless amounts of Content that I liked.

My phone was old. So old, in fact, that the screen was made out of some sort of thing where the stark white like/comment/home icons on tiktok's interface literally burnt themselves into my screen. I was kind of embarrassed about that. I didn't use it a weird amount, I was on other apps, I had a life, I ran, I was outdoors whenever the weather was good, I was always busy around the city going to events and seeing people and going to hockey games. So what if I burned some icons into an old, faulty screen?

Then my life got blown up in short order, through no fault of my own, and it wasn't until I got a new, fully in-person job that I began noticing how much I was watching tiktok when I had a SECOND of free time at my job. It was more obvious when I was in an office that my fingers twitched with desire to scroll and watch short-form videos. It was embarrassing. It was like a smoker tic for a cigarette between their fingers.

Sometime in late 2023, I told my friends I wanted to stay off of tiktok more. I was sick of not writing like I used to. I felt like all my time was spent staring down at a little screen. In bursts and spurts, I would go a day or two without using the app, or only using it in the evening before I slept. I always ended up back on it, though.

It wasn't until March 2024 that I deleted the app off of my phone instead of just hour-limiting it. It was gone.

Funnily, some time later, maybe a week or two, I tried to redownload it. But, lo, my curated algorithm was gone. It had reset entirely, like it had forgotten me. My For You Page was gibberish, wholly unlike the fun, """"curated"""" (bleh) page I'd once had that could spoonfeed me stuff calibrated to my exact interests.

And just like that, the spell was broken. I deleted the app off of my phone forevermore. I left it logged in on my laptop, where the FYP was similarly broken, and I would—once every two months or so—go online to check on the pages I followed and watch a bit of their content. A mere five or so minutes would go by before I hit the end of my "Following" feed, and I'd close out of the tab, having seen all I wanted to see. It was kind of shocking how once the addictive, spot-on algorithm was destroyed, so too was my interest in the app.

That isn't to say my attention span has returned. It doesn't feel like it has. It wasn't like I smugly wiped my hands of algorithms, either. Even though I'd previously never used the "For You" tab on Twitter, I began clicking onto it. Then, a couple months ago, I started going into Instagram reels consistently, also having never done that before.

Twitter is, of course, a terrible place now filled with absolutely hateful bigots, but it's also a place unshakably dedicated to a culture of dunking and owning and getting one over another poster and being confrontational and being rude and being the first to say the most provocative, attention-grabbing thing about ANY topic.

It became deeply unpleasant to be on. It had been for a while, if we're being honest. I stayed off hockey twitter for months because I couldn't stand the horrible takes about the Pens, or about Geno's contract, or about how Sid should jump ship.

Instagram, meanwhile, was more insidious. I've never felt the kind of anxiety about my Instagram that I know bothers some other people—I deeply enjoy it as a tool of curation. I'm a hobbyist photographer. I like sharing snippets of my life (lol obviously, given what I'm doing right now). I love the language of images. I didn't really follow any influencers or news outlets, just old friends and acquaintances and family members and some small artists I enjoy. I muted the stories of people who shared incessant and oversimplified PSA graphics about the news or social issues. I kept it rather apolitical—that was what Twitter and sometimes Reddit were for.

When I started perusing the curated/algorithm Reels feed, though, I started to get sucked back in.

It was nice, at first. My tendency to stay away from political/news content meant I didn't get ragebait on there. In fact, the VAST majority of content I was served was interior design, furniture restoring/flipping, and home remodels.

It was really interesting. I liked seeing people's homes! I liked daydreaming about getting to do big-scale renovations with custom homemade cabinetry and wallpaper and gorgeous tiles. Sometimes I'd get recipe content, too, and vaguely crunchy-but-still-sensible environmentalist stuff.

I started noticing, again, how much time I was spending on it, but it also wasn't just taking my time.

All the beautiful new furniture made me want new furniture, too. All the starkly-beautiful and obsessive (and frankly stupid and overconsumption-informed) organization content made me want to improve my hall closet. Suddenly the interior design in my home—which had gotten compliments from everyone who'd ever stepped inside, from my landlord to my friends to my family—wasn't good enough for me anymore. I wanted a change. I wanted a gallery wall. I wanted a sideboard. I wanted removable wallpaper. I wanted beautiful, impractical, expensive storage. I wanted, I wanted, I wanted.

I've never been particularly influenceable, not when it comes to internet influencers. I'm very informed and watchful over my money. I know what I like spending on. I plan and I make it happen. And what influencers were often selling—clothes, makeup, beauty products—wasn't where I loved spending my money.

Home decor, though? Home improvement? Interior design? Turns out that could get me to open my wallet.

I did make some changes to my living space. I like them. I think they're beautiful and they solve both a storage issue I had and a oh-god-I-own-too-much-art-where-am-I-gonna-put-it-all problem I had. But I noticed what made me spend that money: seeing other peoples' beautiful homes.

I didn't like that.

I read AHP's "Culture Study" newsletter. I find her an interesting journalist and I usually find what she has to say, and what her guests have to say, to be interesting. This morning, she put out a newsletter talking about how she'd deleted Instagram from her phone before Christmas, and taken her email app off too while she was at it.

There are so many good chunks of this newsletter, but I want to share a few:

I find myself diverting my scroll energy to Facebook, where I still have an account to access dahlia groups, but it feels even more gross than before: a wasteland of AI accounts promising blue dahlias and weight loss reels and suggestions to friends of friends who haven’t updated their Facebook accounts in nearly a decade. It’s like a frat house basement at 10 am. Why the fuck am I here.

and

After years of people yelling at me in books, think pieces, and tweets (lol) to “break up with my phone,” “delete your social media accounts,” and “fuck Mark Zuckerberg,” turns out the thing that I needed was a whole conglomeration of quiet arguments and technological shifts that made my phone and the social media accounts on it feel less precious. Put differently, I haven’t come to value it less; instead, it’s become less valuable.

and

The amount of space these technologies take up in our lives — and their ever-diminishing utility — has brought us to a sort of cultural tipping point. I’ve sensed it over the last year, when my social feeds seemed to finish their years-long transformation from a neighborhood populated with friends to a glossy condo development of brands.

AHP articulated precisely what I'd been feeling. My curated feeds of people I'd CHOSEN to follow had been replaced with algorithms of content created by professional influencers who wanted my attention (to monetize it, to sell me things, to sell my eyes to a company, whatever).

I was disgusted by the few home renovation accounts I'd begun to follow posting their all-precious Amazon links of useless chintz. Twitter was plainly a hellhole. I'm sick of businesses and businesspeople deciding what I see in the desperate hope that I hand them money.

This has bled out to other parts of my life, even. Though I've lovingly heaped praise onto Spotify for giving me two new playlists of just-for-me algorithm-picked songs each week, I've gotten into watching and listening to DJ sets on Youtube (this and this were really enjoyable) because something that's become patently clearer to me was my own desire to experience curation.

I want to feel like what I read, what I hear, what I see, has been lovingly and intentionally made by another human because they loved it so much that they had to share it. Not because they wanted to sell me something. Not because an algorithm thinks that since I liked Song A, I'll like Song B, C, D, and XYZ based on other listener patterns. Because a real human put time and effort and a pinch of luck into discovering something and wanted to share it.

I'm getting off of Instagram Reels. I'm unfollowing the home decor/design pages I added into my feed. I'm debating deleting Twitter off my phone entirely. I'm tired of being fed ads, even if they're disguised as pretty home updates. I'm tired of being fed the worst news and the worst denizens of the internet all clamoring for attention. I'm tired of an algorithm determining what will suck up my attention.

So, all of this to say: it's been weird seeing people—friends, acquaintances, old coworkers—post on Instagram mourning the (very brief) death of Tiktok. The idea of the app being banned in the States, while worrying from a freedom of speech/oligarchy perspective, didn't bother me on a personal level as a now non-user. It's been weird noticing that my dad has started watching YouTube shorts in retirement. It's been weird seeing all the algorithms and feeling so claustrophobic about them. I want out. I want away. I can feel their presence like a shrinking room, the walls touching my skin.

This is pie-in-the-sky and naive, but it's why I like Tumblr. I shell out a few bucks a month so I don't even see ads anymore. I ticked the "do not show blazed posts" option for my dash. I don't go on the "For you" page. Every morning when I scroll my dash, I always reach the end, because I don't even follow all that many people. There is a finite limit to what I see. I can go a half hour without anything new appearing on my dash, some days. It can even get boring.

...it's nice. It feels self-curated. It's actually what I want out of social media.

Anyways, this is now a stupidly long post, and I don't have a closing statement beyond "I want to experience human-curated spaces that aren't trying to sell me shit" and "I want to stop subjecting myself to algorithms out of fear that I'm missing something or out of fear that I'll be bored."

I'll finish out with three more quotes from the AHP piece:

Not being bored is why you always feel busy, why you keep “not having time” to take a package to the post office or work on your novel. You do have time—you just spend it on your phone.

and

App Time is Time, App Energy is Energy

and

The world, filtered through the apps, is not the world we want for ourselves. And in many cases, it’s not the actual world we inhabit.

[lucyav13]

The memories

(A/N): All the memories with its corresponding music. Enjoy! :) 

Memory one:

I remember that day well...The room was warm. The hole place was at peace.

"Ugh... Uuugh..."

"You're awake at least?"

"Where... am I? Is this... a human's home? Bleccch!"

"Don't wiggle like that. I found you at the cliff base. You took quite a fall."

"You're a human, correct? I don't... repulse you? I am of the Tribe of Darkness..."

"Why would that matter? Anyone with a heart would not ignore an injured soul!"

That was the day our paths crossed...

That day... That was the day our tragedy was set in motion.   

Memory two:

"You're late. Did something happen?"

"Yes, my father caught me. Sneaking out of the castle wasn't easy after that."

"I was worried you wouldn't come..."

"You are a strange girl... You know what I am and yet you do not seem afraid."

"I don't care what you are. I just wanted to see you. Is that... Is that so wrong?"

"No. No, of course not. I wanted to see you too..."

"Blumiere... Do you mind if I sit next to you?"

"Please do, Timpani. Let's return to our conversation. I must know more of you..."

Memory three:

"Timpani, why? Why do you avoid me?"

"Ow... OW! Unhand me!"

"Huh? You're crying! Why? Timpani, you must tell me what was happened!"

"It's nothing.. Don't worry about it... Just forget it..."

"Oh no... Timpani, is my father behind this?"

"I'm... I'm just an ordinary girl. No matter how much I love you, we must part."

"Timpani... I..."

"This is good-bye, Blumiere. There's no other choice. This is our fate..."

Memory 4:

"What... What are you thinking? There's no possible way... No one would allow it"

"If we can't be happy here, we must leave for a place that will accept our love."

"But, Blumiere, is there such a place? Think... I can't bear to see you hurt again."

"If our love has no home... let us spend our lives searching together!"

"So I beg of you again... Timpani, marry me! I promise I will make you happy."

"You... just won't give up, will you? Of all the crazy... stubborn... foolish men..."

"Timpani, answer me, please."

"Blumiere, I love you. Take me away. Take me to a world where we can be happy."

Memory five:

"Look, Timpani. The stars are beautiful, aren't they?"

"There's a tradition in my village. We believe that wishes on stars come true."

"Oh, is that so? In that case we'd better get wishing, don't you think?"

"I don't need to wish anymore."

"Mmm?"

"I already got my wish. Now... I have everything I need right here."

"Timpani... Aren't you cold?"

"Not at all. I'm very warm... Can we stay like this? Just a little longer?"

Memory six:

"Timpani! What did you do with her? I must see her!"

"Still your tongue Blumiere... Can't you see you've been duped by a dirty human?"

"You have brought shame to my name... and to the entire Tribe of darkness!"

"And so what if I did? That doesn't matter to me! She's my entire world."

"Well, then it will interest you to know... that she no longer resides in this world."

"What... what do you mean by that!?"

"This is the price those who resist their own fate must pay, my son."

"She... No... It can't be so!"

"Someday you will see, son. Our kind and humans must never mix."

Memory seven:

"Blumiere, my son, don't! Even your ancestors could not handle that dark book..."

"If you open it... there's no telling what might happen!"

"I do not care, Father! A world without her is empty. A LIFE without her is empty."

"Speak, Dark Prognosticus! Teach your dark history! I await your command!"

"BLEH HEH HEH! BLECK!"

"Blumiere... What have you done?"

"Silence! The first prophecy beckons. I will erase every inch... of this blasted world!"

"Blu-Blumiere! Don't do this! Blumiere!"

"Blumiere is no more! I am Count Bleck! And no one shall stand in my way!"

"BLEH HEH HEH! BLECK!"

(A/N): By the way, if you want to see the memories in better quality or download the file or IDK, I will leave you the link to Google Docs:)

[bloggingboutburgers]

I have started working on a few pieces for the OC-tober event, I might not be able to do all of them but I wanted to try improving my drawing skills and be able to share my art.

I really love your art style, and as a young Aroace, I find your art to be relatable and enjoy reading the different things you post on your blog.

I just wanted to ask how being an aroace person had affected your life, relationships, and how people around you had reacted to it.

Thank you for making all this amazing art.

hufjkhgjdfk Oh god I'm so sorry – I just found this ask back and it dates back to october, I'm so sorry I'm replying so damn late!! T^T Arguably my fall was a bit messy...

Thank you so much for the kind words!

If I had to sum up how being aroace has affected my life throughout, I guess it'd be like...

I got ostracized or treated weird as a teen (I was bullied in the first place anyway but bleh) because people thought I was gay (very nice to gay people too as you can see)

I didn't start to get supportive "oh, OK" responses until I was in my 20s. And even then most of what I got from most people was responses like those at the beginning of this, or the ever-eternal not actually hearing me out when I say I'm aroace (and that's not to mention people who'd tell me "that doesn't exist", those who'd tell me "I can fix you" or that one guy who was like "oh yeah me too, I'm actually getting my balls removed tomorrow", but those cases are more rare, usually it's indifference and not paying attention to it at all and just deciding to treat me as allo again, which is arguably pretty harmless but pretty alienating too). Only my bros and a few close friends really supported me on that one, in a "live and let live" kinda way.

Honestly it took getting in a queerplatonic relationship with a fellow afab person and starting to be open about it for people to actually see me – and even then, probably not for what I am, for most people. I imagine most people just think I'm gay, on a surface level.

...I guess tbh that's the main most noticeable impact I guess? Most people just think I'm gay. Which feels weird. Cus I'm not.

But the few people who DO see me for who I am and accept me as such are very precious. The large majority of my coworkers over the years have been very supportive and open to listen to me ramble about my experience and considering I interact with these people everyday, that's very precious.

...God I'm bad at replying in an organised manner. I don't even know if that replied to your question in any way TwT And again, I'm so sorry I replied so late. I hope you've been well though!!

[sillygoofyqueer]

I wrote this when I read the latest chapter of losing hope but I didn’t have time to send, so here:

Four, I love you so much.

The comfort to the hurt of the previous (and probably future) chapters?? Unparalleled. It is so late it’s early as of reading it so reading comprehension is a bit weird but frankly? I’m probably going to do a reread. Maybe of the entire fic. Who knows! Everything in this latest chapter has me squealing of joy and also crying over how bittersweet it all is! The lan juniors doing everything they can to make Wwx comfortable? And Wwx realizing who lan yuan is??? Adorable. I’m going to cry over this until the end of time. LWJ and Wwx misreading each other hurts tho. Like,

LWJ: he’s been suffering for so long while I have done nothing to stop it. Helping him and showing we care for him would be the bare minimum and I should be ashamed of myself for letting this wonderful man suffer so.

Meanwhile, Wwx: sooooo… is he going to turn me in…? Not that I want to go back but just wondering. No…??? But he hated me back then?? Guess this is the best I’ll get since everyone else wants to kill me..?

They’re idiots. I love your portrayal of them. I also can’t wait to see when LWJ realizes how much of this was done by Jin Guangyao. That man is dead twice over considering if Nie Huaisang joins LWJ in making Jin Guangyao regret living? Oh jgy is going to be begging for death.

Can’t wait for the next chapter but remember to take breaks and take care of yourself :3

Looking up at you with big ole eyes. BIG ole eyes. I am quite literally dead. Gone. On the floor and wiped out. Cough cough cough, bleh. ...... ANYWAY!!!!!!! I was really concerned when portraying Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji this chapter because...well, it's their first interaction together after thirteen years! There are complete different circumstances to canon!! So, hearing that you like how I am portraying them is nothing but literal music to my ears. Lan Wangji being the repenting worshipper and Wei Wuxian as the traumatised prisoner??? Mmmmmm. It is something that I've been wanting to write well, but I've been PETRIFIED. Also, Wei Wuxian hasn't figured out who Lan Yuan is just yet because boy oh BOY if I'm not going to make this reveal dramatic. I did Drama for GCSE, it's in my blood. And AND, I shouldn't be telling you this but because I'm so madly in love with you, you get little hints towards the plot. I literally cannot wait to introduce Nie Huaisang. I've been wrestling myself the the floor every time I want to prematurely introduce him, but trust me when I say it's going to be brilliant when he's finally dragged into the plot. And he will be. By his ear, kicking and screaming, but oh..he will be. And it will not be helpful for Jin Guangyao when he is. Don't worry! After all of this hurt I would be truly criminal to deny a little comfort. Not much though - what do you take me for? FUN FACT!!! There may be certain guest appearances in the next chapter. Who knows? Maybe you'll never know. I can't believe I haven't mentioned it yet, but I am truly violently sobbing. I'm thrashing around in my grave (where I'm writing this from) every time I reread this ask. I LOVE YOU TO BITS. YOU BRING SUCH JOY IN MY LIFE. AAAAAAGGGGGHHHH. On another note...am I writing chapter ten?.....DON'T LOOK AT MY DOC. DON'T LOOK AT IT. THERE'S NO PROOF. I'm not procrastinating my summer work to write it.. (listen, I've only just realised that this is exactly what I'm doing. Will I sort that out? No. BACK TO THE DOC-) (context here)

[cosplayprincess21]

who are your favourite aroace characters/characters you headcanon as aroace (and why)

I hope you feel better btw:)

Oh fun! Ok gonna start off with the Canon ones, that being Senku from Dr.STONE and Saiki from Saiki K. With Saiki it's his general attitude of "I do not wanna deal with this." "Leave me alone I want solitude" "I am surrounded by idiots" attitude, which I relate to heavily. As i too wanna be left alone and don't wanna deal with anything or deal with idiots. For Senku it's also his chaoticness. As someone who is also chaotic, the way he handles things is just away I wish I could handle stuff without being criticized for it you know?

For headcanons, I headcanon Cana from Fairy Tail as aroace, and I also do headcanon Hanajima from Fruits Basket as aroace, she just seems so not into any of that stuff , I also headcanon Wendy from Fairy Tail as aroace, I don't know, not regarding her age of 12, I just never have seen her as wanting to ever be with anyone in more then a friends way.

And thank you for the last part, life's just been rather bleh lately so the depression has been on and off in the "let's make you more miserable" visits. Anyways I hope you like the post, and feel free to send in more requests if you want.

[halfbakedspuds]

Thanks to @orion-lacroix for the tag! I was gonna get to it earlier but... life happened and I forgor.

Eto bleh. Anyways.

(Also I'm writing this while incredibly tired, so I'm sorry if my English isn't up to scratch)

Writeblr Questionaire

How long have you had your Writeblr/writing Tumblr?

I've had this Tumblr account since the beginning of lockdown (March/April 2020 by us) and I created it because of a PM Seymour video. I made like one post that has now been banished to the void, then forgot I even had a Tumblr account until about ¿June/July? last year when a friend of mine brought up the idea of using Tumblr to share her writing, and I decided to do the same.

What's one thing you'd like your mutuals to know about you?

Due to reasons that include but are not limited to me barely having time anymore, I have a tendency to sometimes take a while to reply to people on here.

Don't worry if it takes like a week for me to respond, I'm just like that sometimes.

What's your favourite thing about the Writeblr community?

The amount of people who are infinitely more skilled than me that I can learn and take inspiration from.

Which WIPs or Writing Projects have you been Noodling about recently?

I've had a few emotional scenes for the Tempest Prince brewing in my head (plus I have like an hour with nothing to do after every exam I write, so daydreaming it is)

I'm also somewhat noodling for a small game I'm working on as a side project, but that's less story-related and more technical shenanigans at this point.

Do you remember what inspired them/got you started?

Children of the Stars I don't remember exactly what inspired the story aspect, but I know what the setting evolved from. Basically, I was a huge Mass Effect fan in primary school. Actually, I was a fan of Scifi overall but Mass Effect was peak gaming for me back then. Then somewhere along the line I played Bulletstorm and Warhammer 40k: Space Marine, and this half daydream of an Alien Empire locked in an eternal war for survival began to evolve in the back of my head before turning into the first recognisable precursor to Children of the Stars somewhere in late 2021.

Echoes of Shadows was inspired by the game Tails Noir, Six of Crows by Leigh Bardugo, and a Call of Cthulhu campaign run by a friend of mine way back when.

The Tempest Prince was originally conceived of because my first playthrough of Bloodborne coincided with my first reading of the Percy Jackson books.

Is there anything you'd like to see more of on your dash?

Comics and short stories. Look, I don't have time to read a full length book until, like, November again, so a little episodic escape is a nice way to detox from the crap we need to deal with for these exams.

Name any characters you've created: side characters, protagonists, antagonists, characters who've never been written, the first original abomination you pulled from your rear... whatever you like!

Artemis is a Siberian ARX-11 mechanized shock-drop trooper who was deployed in a conflict so violent that future historians in-universe consider it less of a war than a outright cataclysm.

Quite literally, like the humble sea-turtle: she was born feet first into a hell she never asked for.

She's also one of the incredibly few Androids who not only survived the Fall of Earth, but after her inevitable 'death' by running out of fuel sources, she managed to remain intact for another six hundred years before a Union archaeology team found her and her enclave and managed to restore some of them to working order.

How much time- in your best estimation- do you spend thinking about them?

Outside the story of Children of Strife, this also makes her one of the oldest sentient beings in the known universe and technically the great great grandmother of almost all modern Androids and Biosynths.

It's also rumoured that she helped to raise a child orphaned during the fall of Earth who would grow up to be the military advisor of the first Empress, which technically makes her an important theological figure in the (now dying) Imperial cult.

Yes

Who's the most unhinged?

See, I'd say Adrian from Children of the Stars because he has a tendency to just do shit that makes you worry about his safety, but the thing with him is that he is fully aware of what he's actually capable of and is very cautious to not overstep those limits.

Lyanni, However...

One of Adrian's many nicknames for her is Miragran, which is Callistoan for "Big miracle", because that's what it must've taken for her to have not gotten herself killed yet.

Who comes the most naturally for you to write?

The fact that the answer is Adrian Castellan does not speak kindly about my mental health, does it...

Do you ever cringe at them?

How much control do you have over your characters? Do they ever write themselves, refuse to co-operate or do things you didn't expect? To what extent?

Not really.

Well, except for Adrian being a typical 27th century child who has no conception of sexism/racism/homophobia etc. beyond it being a footnote in a half-forgotten history textbook, which puts him in situations where it takes him a minute or two to realise that someone's being a prick to Lyanni.

I'd say I have relatively decent control over them. With the exception of the Haliday brothers in the Tempest Prince, 'cause they speak the same dialect of English as I do but I need to dial it back a bit because what's understandable for us has moments where it barely looks like English to foreigners.

And every so often I need to go back and un-Saffa their lines a bit because guess what? My dialect is annoyingly insistent on manifesting itself in these characters.

Are some less co-operative than others?

The old version of Adrian's character was really damn uncooperative. Like, he kept feeling like he was sitting on a story that he couldn't tell, and that was why he kept feeling like he was acting wrong no matter what I wrote him doing.

His current iteration tells that story in a way, and that element of tragedy playing into who he is has made him a lot more co-operative.

When someone asks the dreaded "What do you write about?" question, what do you usually say?

See, most people who know that I write are either close friends who already know what I write, or don't care enough to ask.

My grandmother, however, did ask the one time. That was also the day I realised that I know absolutely no scifi terminology in my home language.

Do you enjoy people asking questions about your characters and do you have a preferred way of receiving said questions?

Listen, if you wrote the question as a note, folded it into a paper airplane and threw it through my window, I'd firstly be very concerned about how in the nine hells you figured out where I live, then I'd be utterly ecstatic for the rest of the day because someone asked me a question.

I keep all my socials separate, though, so if you have any questions then asks, comments, and reblogs on Tumblr are pretty much the only way to go.

What makes you follow another Writeblr account? Do you follow them as you see them? Scope them out first to make sure you align with its content? Or do you follow based on WIPs or vibes?

Imma be honest there are like two people on here whom I followed simply because I know them IRL, and like three total writeblrs whom I followed first.

Everyone else followed me and I said "Ey, sha'p," before following back.

Do you interact with non-mutuals often?

I try to.

Do your mutuals' OCs occupy a space in your Noodle?

Absolutely!

No pressure tag for @honeybewrites and @thatoneterrariaplayers-vault,

[mooodyblue]

You doing okay Lily? I haven’t seen you on in a bit. I haven’t been writing, I’ve just been lurking

hi yes 🥹

there's so much i have to do in terms of writing, requests to do and whatnot. i've been so unmotivated lately. i see new people liking my fics and im genuinely surprised still despite me being awful with writing recently. idk. i love writing, but its been so hard to find motivation or any sort of purpose to do it and i think ive been really down on myself lately about writing?

i keep saying i'm gonna do this and i'm gonna do that but then i don't do it and i get mad at myself because im disappointing people (those people being like 3 people probably.) and so i don't write :/ i have stuff unfinished, ideas for requests and ideas for some stuff outside of requests (which are literally just 3 requests lol) but my brain just. won't let me do it. i'll open google docs, write a couple lines and then just give up. better than nothing, but not good enough for me 🙃

it doesn't help that i've been hyperfixated on one of my games to the point where im not doing things i Need to do because i want to keep playing !!!!!! plus life has been very overwhelming and bleh. i didn't meant to vent about everything

tldr: Yes. i'm okay. LOL

[lee-aveyourmark]

lukewarm

∘.∙°. masterlist Pairing: rich corporate!Jung Jaehyun x reader Genre: lonely angst, slight fluff Warnings: mentions of food and alcohol, italics replace quotation marks Wordcount: 757

Inspired by this masterpiece: Sun, why are you so hot? Heart, why are you so cold? In this world, I cannot seem to light the sun within my heart There is none beside you.

A/N: i literally have no idea what this is but it's been in my drafts for far too long and i managed to kinda finish it so, bleh, here you go - my first piece of angst (i think)

After ending things with his previous partners, they would often ensure that they would have the last word through the glitter dusting his leather car seats and the egg stains on his house walls. Evidence to make him remember who they were and what he did to their hearts, hoping that the spaghetti sauce on his favourite hoodies would haunt him for years to come.

And each time, Jaehyun would forget. As he called for cleaning services and bought another of the same hoodie, he would calmly pick up the pieces of the storm that has wrecked upon him like pieces of a 32-piece jigsaw puzzle and put them back together.

But when you leave, there isn't a mess he has to clean up after. No middle-of-the-night threats, no malicious rumours spread about his sex life around the office. When he enters his wardrobe, all his clothes sit there in pristine condition with his collars crisp and his shirts wrinkle-free. His company even manages to snatch the collaboration with the digital artist that's been trending, and he's lavished with compliments and dinners in response to the surge in recognition.

Maybe that's why he hated it even more. The fact that you removed yourself without a trace nor sound. He's living his life as normal. In fact, he's living even better than before according to his career values. But some sadistic part within himself wanted you to trash his house and make him a fool in front of all of his colleagues. Slap him, cry at him, steal his card. Do anything to hurt him so that he could feel less guilty about the pain he's inflicted upon you.

So that he could make himself forget about you.

Jaehyun finds himself dropping and breaking the puzzle when you're gone. There are late nights of tossing and turning in his bed, his brain imagining that your scent still lingers on his sheets. A habit is made out of clasping and unclasping his hands during corporate dinners, skin itching to feel the soothing strokes of your thumb against his knuckles and small steady circles of your warm palm against his back.

Nervous? They'd ask him when picking up on his fidgeting, offering some bubbles with a tight-lipped smile. He'd accept the drink wordlessly, not bothering to mention that he'd lost count of how many colleagues approached him in the same manner. Rounds and rounds of champagne left untouched, returned back to the waiters and recirculated around the function. For all he knew, he could've been holding one previously given to him.

He'd then very slightly shake his head at their one-worded attempts in conversation, feeling the condensation of the flute wet and freeze his fingers.

No, not nervous.

Just cold.

How could one person radiate so much heat? Your presence always melted the cold frigid winds he blew all around wherever he went, keeping people at a distance which prevented them from even wondering if the abominable snowman was alive beneath all that ice.

But whenever you cradled his head and praised him with the softest of affirmations, and whenever you admonished him with a faltering glare, Jaehyun knew. He could feel it in his bones that, as you patted lotion over his face with bleary eyes on a late Wednesday night, he was truly living. On fire, he might say, as you placed a hand over his forehead and the other over his pink cheeks with a frown that contrasted his dimples.

You're heating up Jae, you murmured while reaching to the bedside table for the half-drunken glass of water.

Am I? He mused, bringing the glass to his lips which were upturned in appreciation of your affections.

Hearing the small gasp you let out as he kisses you promptly after, Jaehyun knew that he wasn't the only one feeling the temperature in the room rise. And he loved that, always being able to make you feel the heat of his fervour for you. The two of you were flames feeding off one another, never weakening nor experiencing cold when together.

But now, all Jaehyun picks up on are the chills that he sends down people's spines. In the room full of colleagues socialising and seizing opportunities, he's quiet and unmoving. His evident lack of enthusiasm cuts conversations short and people hastily excuse themselves to avoid catching frostbite.

He just watches them, letting the condensation from the champagne flute drip down his wrists and dampen the evenly folded cuffs of his dress shirt.

Jaehyun feels nothing, really, these days.

[mermaidsirennikita]

Speaking of adam driver performances, which do you think were his best overall?

The Man Who Killed Don Quixote is actually my favorite Adam Driver movie, even though no one but me and my friends has seen it and also the director is... a bad dude.

But yeah, I think that movie really plays to something he hasn't done as much of lately, which is comedy--he has a manic energy in a lot of it, he plays against Jonathan Pryce (who also gives an incredible performance, it's a great movie) super well, and it's just like... Humor, drama, intensity, surreality, ludicrousness. And he gets to be hot at points! A win.

This is Where I Leave You is another one where he's performing but again, really funny. I wish he'd do more funny stuff, he's honestly really good at it.

LOL CONTROVERSIAL BUT BRAVE he was great in TLJ. That's the only movie where he was able to play Kylo Ren the way he should've been able to play him the whole time (I mean... I guess he did in TFA, but I'm meh on that movie in general and he wore the helmet a lot more in that one. The final lightsaber battle was great though. He was freaking crazy in that scene.) The physicality, the semi-faux little boy lost villainy, the weird tension that he used against Rey which only would've worked on Rey because they were both virgins who couldn't drive... I think TFA is bleh and TROS is HORRENDOUS and TLJ is basically the only non-OT SW movie I love. Rian Johnson was the only person who seemed to get that you could have Kylo Ren be a horrible trash human villain and a person with pathos, which is WILD considering the MOVIES THIS FRANCHISE WAS BUILT ON. It's honestly tragic that Adam wasn't able to go full force after TLJ, because in this movie, he's playing a fabulous villain. If it was up to me, Rey would've killed him in TROS and it would've been very "we could've had it all but you were in fact Evil Sexy not Good Sexy" but whatever I guess he's gonna show up in his pajamas and have zero dialogue and be good and shit.

Look, he's obviously great in Marriage Story but otherwise I hate that movie. He's fabulous in Silence but you can only see that once in your life imo.

[semper-legens]

67. Five Nights at Freddy's: Fazbear Frights vol 1

Owned?: No, library Page count: 192 My summary: A boy falls into a ball pit and comes out the other side in 1985. A girl wants to be beautiful and gets help from an unlikely friend. Some kids want the newest toy on the scene, but wind up stealing a defective copy. Three dark tales from the world of Five Nights at Freddy's. My rating: 2/5 My commentary:

Yeah, yeah, I know, laugh away. I found myself with a strange fascination about Five Nights At Freddy's lore not too long ago, culminating in me reading Cawthon's trilogy of FNaF books. But there's another branch of the FNaF lore that I haven't plumbed - Fazbear Frights, a series of short stories loosely connected around Freddy Fazbear's. This is the graphic novel adaptation of the first set of Fazbear Frights, and when it crossed my desk at work, I knew I was going to end up reading it. Hey, it's not like it took all that long. And I wanted to close off the chapter of my life where I inexplicably care about Five Nights at Freddy's by sampling the last of the FNaF lore that I hadn't yet touched. And so, here we are. This comic is split into three stories, and I'm gonna talk about all of them.

The first is the story of Oswald, a kid from a poor family stuck in his hometown over summer. He finds a ballpit in a local diner that transports him back to Freddy's in 1985, but when he does he finds himself face to face with Springtrap, who follows him back to the present. Which is…a very silly premise, but I'm willing to forgive the time-travelling ballpit. Yeah, it's ridiculous, but the 'innocuous object that takes you back in time' trope is a horror staple. I'm less willing to forgive the utter failure of this story to be horror, however. Oswald ends up going back to what I assume is the child murders, but the sequence of events as seen here is that he goes back to a Freddy's that is in chaos, Springtrap leads him into a back room, and we see six kids…just kinda sitting on chairs, a little slumped over, from the back. The implication is that they're the murder victims, but we don't see anything, they're just kind of there. No blood, nothing. And when Springtrap follows Oswald back to reality and takes his dad's place, he just…doesn't do anything. Literally. He's just there. It isn't creepy, it isn't scary, it's just baffling. There's hardly any tension because there's no threat, at least not as presented by this book. Baffling choices.

Then there's Sarah's tale. She's a teen or preteen girl who thinks she's ugly and wants to be beautiful. When she finds Circus Baby, she asks that Baby make her beautiful and, for a time, gets her wish. I…dislike how the one story about a girl is a moral lesson about Vanity Bad, but even aside from that, this just isn't a particularly well-realised story. Like, Sarah is given a necklace by Baby that she is told to never take off ever, so of course late in the story she trips and the necklace breaks. At least, I assume that is what happens. The art never actually shows that happening at any point? Sarah trips over, then starts transforming because surprise surprise she's a robot now. The necklace being off should have been shown explicitly, but it's just mentioned in dialogue, not drawn attention to in the art. Aside from that, Sarah was just so unlikeable that I struggled to care at all about this story. She makes fun of her friend for not being beauty-obsessed, and wants to get with the mean popular girls…just because they're popular, I guess? It was like a high school girl cliché as written by someone who has only ever experienced high school via bad movies. Bleh.

Finally, Oscar and his friends want to get their hands on a new toy - Plushtrap, a mechanical doll that plays a game with its owner. But when they steal one from a mysterious store, they find that Plushtrap is more alive than they thought. This one was possibly the most competent of the three, in that it actually was a horror story, but it was largely clichéd and not very interesting in and of itself. A killer toy, a little shop that wasn't there yesterday, a kid struggling with some emotional problems that are never really explored to any satisfactory level…the art was creepy enough in itself, but I had the same problem with it that I had with all of the art in this book, that it was kind of smudgy and not particularly representational of any one thing. Characters looked too similar to one another and I struggled to discern them. Plushtrap, too, fell into the trap (heh) of looking too overly creepy from the start and not being believable as a toy that a child would genuinely want to own, as opposed to a horror vehicle. Also, what teen boys really want a doll? It was just…bland, overall.

Next, back to April May, and her friends attempting to solve just what happened to her.