#did i post that yesterday ??? .............................processing

[angeisherexoxo]

Manifestation cheatcode:

BE NONCHALANT!!!!!!

When I say be nonchalant I mean say you want it done? And move on with your life, just move on.. its simple! And when ppl say its simple ik you're like "how??? How its simple because I've been working so hard to get what i want my entire life and now you're suddenly telling me it is simple.. how is it simple????" I will tell you how just read the post. (Long post ahead)

As i was saying, decide your desir, affirm for it and move on, what do I mean by moving on? I mean:

1. NOT OVERTHINKING IT

2. NOT STRESSING IT!!!

Because if you're someone who gets whatever tf they want, whenever tf you want.. why do you even think twice about it right?

♡: Examples from My own life lately:

1. As some of you might noticed I disappeared here, because I have midterms and I'm a medical student so I've got to study more yeah? Since i didn't study ever since the term started (I was focusing on manifesting as you see in my latest posts)

But as I started focusing on studying and nothing but studying my manifesting process POURED ON ME!!!!!!! bitch I was complaining about how I don't get money as a college student (we have financial issues) , now as I focused on studying and dropped thinking about manifesting (because my brain is so busy inhaling study sheets) suddenly mom gave me 20$ bucks to buy medical sheets for my studies, then she gave me another 10$ to buy something else if i wanted, later at the same day dad gave me another 20$ JUST BECAUSE (Which never happened) , that was at 24 of December right? Yesterday suddenly a relative of ours got sick, and I have an exam, we had to go pick up my grandma so she visits the relative yeah??? She saw me and decided to give me 20$, and I'M NOT EVEN FOCUSING ON MONEY or manifesting I'm literally busy studying..

Q: So ange what happened there? What does this all mean?

A: I HAD no time to even think against what I want!! That's what fkn happened, before studying I was inhaling affirmations and repeating, now as I've let it go (by inhaling my studies and not having time to think about my manifesting process) it all just worked out, who would know that I will suddenly see my grandma and she'll give me money? I DIDNT SEE HER IN MONTHS!!! that's what they mean when they say everything will move for you to have your desires, for me it was that relative who got sick that caused me to see my grandma (pray for the relative btw thanks<3)

And this here was being nonchalant but I did it by studying, YOU can just say you want this to happen and fkn forget about it, Yk when we complain always about buying this book we DESPERATELY want, or that guitar or that phone or that car or laptop and then when we BOUGHT IT and it's in our room we just- ignore it, literally live as if we never desperately begged for it and that's the fkn key, i never understood what bloggers mean when they say “Embody the person you want to be, dont wish you are, YOU ARE, assume you have it and you will” that's what they fkn mean, weeks ago I was hoping for a 10$ now I've got like 30$ per day!

2. My studies!!!

As a medical student it's fine hard to study medicine, especially when you're lazy like my own dumbass, I only study the days before the exam, for example yesterday I had a midterm for 4 sheets that I studied in 2 days, each sheet have 14 pages that's FILLED with informations, and as a girl who has ADHD and a messy mind it was hard to focus and honestly I'm princess coded I just want shit done without being tired I'm sure you all understand since you're reading this, we want it done in the most simple fast way yeah? Fuck yes we do, so! Whenever I stressed and complained to ANYONE (I'm a complainer) I started reflecting the complaining, if I noticed I was about to complain to my friends or My parents about my studies I just immediately start bragging to them, I be like oh it's so easy to me and I'm even smarter than the professors there and LORD how it's easy to predict their exam questions, and istg as I focused on this technique (if I thought against what I want, I immediately start correcting myself and think as if I'm so smart *I am btw* and it's all so easy to me) that's what fkn happened, yes I got tired and I've got so many back pain while studying but I suddenly started making questions out of the sheet instead of just studying the information as the professor has stated it, for example if he said components of immune system are : innate immune system and acquired immune system, I be like oh that's easy he's gonna ask me : Q: What are the components of immune system?

This made it so much easier to study and the next day in the midterm I saw 6 questions of the ones I fkn made in the sheet!!! It's like I hacked his mind???

3. My last and third example of My life is also about my studies, as I said I'm so princess coded and sensitive af guys, and I hate college as a girl who wants no stress and just success, so the last weeks I skipped college, I was sick and stressed and just had so many issues going on so I didn't go, and that's where they announced my name because I crossed the limit of absence (strict medical bitches) and if you cross this limit they won't let you attend the midterms and therfore you won't pass the final because there is a gap due to the lack of the midterm grades, even if you wanted to pass the final you'd have to get a full mark no matter what so you avoid the damage of not attending the midterm, SINCE my cute ass crossed the limit of absence it means I can't attend the midterm, LOGICALLY it means I failed the midterm already isn't it?

But I just decided that it won't hurt me in anyway, why? Because manifesting isn't about logic, if you tell me you can't fly I'll say I can fly and one day I will!! And guess what? That's what happened

The boss of our major came yesterday (first midterm exame as i said) and called my name, and she gave me a paper saying that I only didn't attend one subject- which is so untrue bitch I skipped them all!!! How tf there's only one subject????? I didn't want to correct her I just signed the paper (signing it is like a promise that I won't do it again) and just like that I survived the whole danger of failing- was it logical?? Did it make sense? NOOOOO but it happened omgmgmfmiquwuwu2!!!!

START BELIEVING THAT IT ISN'T LOGICAL, ITS LIKE SUPERHEROES MOVIES, THEY BELIEVE THEY HAVE THE POWER TO DEFEAT THE VILLAIN AND THIS IS HOW THEY DEFEAT IT, THE VILLAIN HERE IS YOURRRR MINDSET, START DOING WHAT I SAID AND SEE HOW SHIT SHIFTS!!!!

I've got more to say for the examples but I've got to go study (wish me luck btw), I hope I helped I really tried my best to <3!

Ps: another side example is yesterday was hella cold in my country so I wanted a vacation (to study more because as I told yall it was 4 sheets and I stressed myself out so I wanted more time to get my shit together) no one said ANYTHINNNG at all about any vacation, but I just thought "idc they're gonna give us a vacation for the bad weather and that's just it) right next hours the whole country started talking about the vacation due to bad weather, all the fkn cities, but for some reason my stupid town decided that there will be no vacation for us because our town's weather is better than the other towns yk? I'm still mad about it because I was soooo close to manifest it, I guess it was because I kept stressing saying "oh god I want a vacation *crying and complaining*

I don't consider it as a success story because I had no vacation I had to go solve that stupid midterm -_- but bitch I got above 10+ towns to have vacations due to BAD WEATHER, THE WEATHER WAS FINE UNTIL I DECIDED ITS BAD. WTFFFFFF, exactly, no logic, logic doesn't fkn exist I'm about to cry oh my godness!!

Another side success story is that i suddenly started thinking void is so easy (it fkn is) out of nowhere, since i was inhaling attempting to tap into it i sat so many alarms to go try to induce it, now whenever i see the alarms i be like- its so easy why tf im complicating it- just bcs i stopped focusing on it!

cheers to all of us dreamers, I'm sure whoever is reading my post is someone who was one a wattpad person who loves Y/N stories, a Harry potter fan, marvel fan, my hero academy fan, fantasy fan, miraculous ladybug fan, in general ppl who just dont want to be here surrounded with logic boring stuff (in my case a girl who wrote fanfiction novels about one directio) , because I know you and I are here because we are dreamers!! we knew there MUST be a magical key to get out of this logical bullshitful and stupid cruel world, you already have the key you FOUND IT YOU CUTE IDIOT!!! you just need to know how to flick it and get that golden door opened (your pretty subconscious mind), me and you? We are gonna do it, just easy on yourself!!! Xoxo

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

Hi Ravennn~ I’ve been a follower for a p long time and one of my fave parts of your blog is just reading about your twst fangirl crashouts (complimentary) (the Leona rot tag is too funny)! However, I have noticed that Rook, one of your previous twst oshis, has slowly fallen out of favor over time. I’m just curious about what happened?

[For your reference, here is my updated personal al tier list; the "Leona rot tag" is here.]

Hello, hello, and thank you for sticking with me for so long TTwTT wdym I don't have Twst fangirl crashouts... I DON'T ROT OVER LION, DON'T BELIEVE THE PROPOGANDA--

For comparison, my last Rook Hunt thirst post was made in late April 2024 whereas my last NOT L*ONA ROT post was made... literally yesterday 💀 As you can see... major discrepancy. The two characters had the same number of posts under similar tags mid-October 2024... But now, in December 2024... L*ona has 160 posts, which is 46 more than Rook's 114. And it has been 73 days since the boys were neck-and-neck, meaning I averaged 1.7 (almost TWO entire posts OTL) NOT L*ONA ROTs per day 🤡

I genuinely feel so bad for Rook because him falling lower in my personal tier list has nothing to do with him and everything to do with what the characters AROUND him did. Both Sebek and L*ona got tons of new, juicy content for me to dissect and appreciate between the book 7 updates and Lost in the Book with Nightmare Before Christmas. Like, have you SEEN the number of analyses I pumped out for just those two alone the past few months?? At least 6, maybe nearing 10z It's insane. They just blitzed by the poor huntsman and shot up, knocking him down in the rung in the process. All Rook got was that crumb that was his own dream + maaaybe a bit of Vil's (that part where he played announcer was silly, but I didn't get anything else from him) OTL

On the bright side, I think Rook would be a good sport about it! He'd cheer on Sebek and L*ona to do their very best, even if it comes at the cost of him taking a lower place.

[eliotquillon]

ao3 is currently down, so i’m posting this here! here is my christmas gift exchange fic for @the-heaminator, who asked me to write something with house figuring out what’s up with chase. since a lot of that ground gets covered in the show already, most of this is set either pre canon or close to the start of s1. happy holidays, and heam i hope you enjoy!

before the rooster crows

i.

“I need Rowan Chase’s personal number,” House says; Cuddy, sitting placidly at her desk, doesn’t blink twice. “Ideally sometime this year.”

“And I want world peace,” Cuddy deadpans, finally deigning to look at him. Her outfit, much to House’s disappointment, is wholly uninspiring for mockery: high-necked blouse, knee-length pencil skirt, half-inch pumps. She knows how dull he finds the process of interviewing fellowship candidates—truly, the fact that she won’t even consider alleviating his boredom by wearing something risqué is in line with a human rights violation. “As far as I can tell, neither of these things is relevant to your job.”

“Don’t tell me,” House sighs, beleaguered, “the surgeons that did your boob job messed with your brain, too. You don’t think world-famous rheumatologist Rowan Chase is relevant to my job as, I don’t know, a world-famous diagnostician?”

This irritates her: not the boob job comment—although Cuddy does so loathe it whenever he implies her God-given gifts were less than God-given—but the fact that he’s accurately showboating. It’s a card he rarely plays; braggadocio is so boring, after all. But it is, currently, relevant. “You need a consult?” she frowns. “You can’t have a new case, Grainger’s last shift was yesterday.”

“Exactly,” House clicks his tongue. “As you keep reminding me, I have fellows dropping like flies. Did it occur to you that I might be trying to replace them?”

“No, House,” Cuddy sighs, familiar and not without a touch of fondness, “because that would involve you doing as you’re told. This person you’re getting the reference for—didn’t they provide Dr Chase’s contact information already?”

House thinks back to Robert Chase, sitting in his office half an hour ago: young and cocky and eerily reminiscent of a child playing dress-up in their parents’ clothing. Expensive clothes and an expensive haircut: trust-fund kid. Alone in America, fresh off the boat on the other side of the world: running away from something. “Not a fan of rheumatology?” House had asked, a leading question, and the way Chase’s mouth had flattened had been answer enough. “I don’t think they parted on the best terms,” he tells Cuddy now. “I want the inside scoop.”

Cuddy fixes him a stern look through layers of kohl-rimmed lashes. “So you’re looking for a reason not to hire someone,” she deduces—incorrectly, at that, but who is he to ruin her fun. “Now that sounds more like you. Would it kill you to be upfront for once?”

“Pretty sure it’s in the fine print of my contract, yeah,” House nods with mock-solemnity. “Can you get me the number, or do I need to resort to identity theft?”

“I don’t even want to know,” Cuddy mutters. “Fine. I’ll see what I can do.”

*

“Dr House,” Rowan Chase greets, sounding perfectly genial under the foreign Euro-Aussie accent and the hiss-crackle of an international long-distance call. “I’m returning your call. How can I help?”

Great question, House thinks, and one with so many answers. Outright disownment would be effective, though unsurprising. Singing his son’s praises would be the opposite—surprising, but far less interesting. And then, of course, there is the inevitable in-between. The real question isn’t as to what is going on between Rowan Chase and his son: House sees father-son discontentment every time he looks in the fucking mirror. The real question is this: is he going to hire Robert Chase?

“Tell me about Robbie,” House decides. “He a bedwetter?”

Rowan’s breath catches on the line, thousands of miles away and sixteen hours ahead, and House thinks back to Chase’s interview again: he had smiled at all the nurses on his way in, had the look of a man who for whom charm came easy. In House’s office, Chase did not smile once. Why did you become an intensivist? House had asked, scanning Chase’s CV, before that fateful, Not a fan of rheumatology? It’s a question he normally hates asking—too run-of-the-mill, invites too many clichés—but with Chase the curiosity had been real. And the answer had been real, too: Quality of life is subjective. Dying’s a hard line.

Rheumatology, as a rule, is always about management. You can’t get much further from hard lines than that.

“You must mean Robert,” Rowan says now, still pleasant-sounding. “I take it you’re considering him for a job?”

“Considering, shmidering,” House responds airily, rolling the cricket ball in his hands. “He a runaway? Can’t get much further from the Gold Coast than Jersey.”

“I’m very proud of my son,” Rowan recites in flat monotone. “He is a good doctor.” It is something House’s own father might say, so long as House himself were not around to hear it. It is not an answer to the question.

There is a one-year gap on Chase’s resumé, between high school and undergrad. House had not asked about it, because he presumed the answer: gap year, and then an extended anecdote about volunteering in free clinics or finding himself in the Amazon, and neither of those were particularly interesting lines of enquiry. It is not often that House is wrong, but it has been known to happen on occasion. “I’d certainly prefer that to hiring a bad one,” House says sardonically. “I remember you emailed me about an article I had in last year’s edition of JAMA. You know what I do here. Think he’d be a good fit?”

Just say something about him, House thinks. Something concrete. Something specific.

“I think Robert will do well at anything he puts his mind to,” Rowan says mildly. “Is that all, Dr House?”

“That’s enough,” House says, because it is.

ii.

House hires Allison Cameron for the following reasons, and in no particular order: because she is perceptive, because she politely but steadfastly refuses to let Wilson hold the door open for her, because she interned at the Mayo Clinic, and because she is beautiful. Cuddy is, of course, thrilled; Cameron is not just a woman, but a woman of a particular sort—dark-haired and pantsuit-wearing and almost irritatingly diligent, a kind of ghost of Christmas past for Cuddy to pour all her hopes and dreams of glass ceiling breakage into. Wilson, too, is pleased, in spite of the door-holding incident; Cameron is eager to assist in handover whenever one of their patients is transferred to Oncology, and there’s a Kerry ‘04 sticker on her bumper—she’s a bleeding heart just like he is, so they can bleed all over each other, as far as House is concerned. Chase, however—

It isn’t that they don’t get along. Actually, them not getting along wouldn’t be an issue at all; Chase and McKenzie had hated each other, and weaponising that hate had made McKenzie more productive in the last two months of his fellowship than he’d been for the entire two years. But Cameron and Chase appear to like each other just fine; she immediately and unapologetically covers for him when he stumbles in hungover one morning, and he effortlessly includes her in the morning coffee rounds. But still. There’s something…

“She doesn’t bite, you know,” House says, two weeks after Cameron’s first day on the job; she’s absent today, scheduling clash that she’d warned House about at interview—she only moved to New Jersey two months ago and has to close the deal on her new apartment. “Cameron, that is. No need to tiptoe around her like she’s going to rip your throat out. Cuddy, on the other hand…”

“I’m not scared of Cameron,” Chase scoffs, incredulous. Except he sort of is: ever since she showed up he’s been quieter in differentials, less likely to agree to breaking into a patient’s home. “She’s nice.”

His brow furrows on the last word, and House thinks: there it is.

Cameron is nice. Not kind, and not particularly charming, but she is nice: she says please and thank you, and smiles at babies, and always refers to patients by their names even when they’re not in the room. It’s borderline manipulative, in House’s opinion, but it’ll take her far.

He thinks of Rowan Chase: always smiling, in every photograph. Always pleasant. Immunology and rheumatology have historically been closely related fields. The first words out of his mouth when House called him six months ago had been House’s name. Cameron, yesterday, entering a patient’s room: Jasmine, how are you feeling?

House likes to roll his eyes sparingly, for fear of making the action lose its effectiveness, but good God. This really calls for it.

“Your homework for tomorrow is to tell Cameron she’s wrong to her in face in the differential,” House says, “or you’re fired.”

Chase’s face contorts into confusion. “What if she isn’t wrong?”

“In the football game of diagnostics Cameron is a linebacker, not a quarterback,” House says dismissively. “She’s a great team player, but she doesn’t score goals. She’ll be wrong about something. Get over your fear of her already.”

“I’m not scared of her!” Chase insists, and it is almost cute, how completely and utterly false he sounds.

The next day, Cameron suggests myasthenia gravis for a borderline textbook case of Guillain-Barré, and House raises a pointed eyebrow at Chase, who sighs. “Can’t be MG,” he says reluctantly, “the symptoms are too acute. The paralysis is way too rapid-onset.” Chase says all of this to the floor, not to Cameron, but House has a handwave-y relationship towards technicalities; he’ll take it.

Cameron frowns for a second, put-out, then shakes her head and says, “Yeah, you’re right. Her white count’s a little off, too. LP for infection?” She glances between House and Chase for confirmation. Chase shrugs, assignment completed, but the look on his face is pure relief; he was expecting her turn on him, House thinks, and instead Cameron has barely blinked.

“Gold star for Chase,” House says brightly. “Silver star for Cameron. Minus stars for everyone, because it’s Guillain-Barré, you idiots, get her on IVIg and plasmapheresis.”

“I’ll start her on the immunoglobulin,” Cameron volunteers quickly, and before Chase can follow her to go requisition the plasmapheresis machine, House snags his ankle with the end of his cane.

“See,” he says pointedly, “she’s not so scary after all.”

“And I told you I wasn’t scared of her,” Chase protests again, but it rings hollow; still, this time House actually believes it.

iii.

As a rule, Cuddy does not requisition House’s team unless it is a dire emergency—or the festive season. She knows well enough to leave them alone if there’s a case, but otherwise her rules are clear: at least one of House’s fellows must be loaned out to work Christmas Day. He begrudgingly understands her reasoning: the ER is always over-full on Thanksgiving and Christmas, on account of the sheer number of idiot home cooks trying to get creative with carving knives at the same time, and most hospital staff are eager to hoard their PTO to spend the holidays with their families—understaffing is inevitable. And Cuddy knows well enough not to bother trying to rope him into pulling a Christmas shift, so truly, it isn’t really House’s problem.

The day after they discharge Sister Augustine, the show begins. Chase had worked last Christmas almost by default—he’d been the newest fellow on the team then, and McKenzie and Popov had both had young children besides—so in the interest of saving time, House pre-emptively declares him immune from the grand squabble to avoid the Christmas shift. “I need an answer by the end of the day,” he tells Cameron and Foreman, “or I’ll send you both Cuddy’s way.” Besides, Chase and Foreman seem to hate each other enough already; a little friction between Foreman and Cameron will do them all some good. It never pays, House thinks, to let the serfs get too buddy-buddy; he’s pretty sure that’s how the French revolution started. As it stands, House is rather attached to his head. He’d like to keep it that way.

At lunch with Wilson, he lays out his predictions. “See, Cameron’s got puppydog eyes,” he muses, pilfering some of Wilson’s fries, “but dagnabbit, that Foreman kid’s got edge. Too close to call.”

“And at no point did it ever occur to you to lie to Cuddy about having a case,” Wilson raises his eyebrows, “so that all of them could have Christmas off?”

House wags his finger chidingly. “Hey now,” he says, and prods Wilson directly into the pudginess of his shoulder. “Lying is wrong.”

“Right, and making them fight over who gets to spend the holiday with their families isn’t,” Wilson deadpans. “Of course.”

Truly, the outcome is less interesting than the deliberations, and so House is pleased to return to his department and see Cameron and Foreman still sitting at the conference table together, earnestly making their cases as to who should get the day off. “I’m happy to work it next year,” Cameron says, saccharine-sweet with righteous self-sacrifice; she probably means it, too, or at least thinks she does, “but I already booked my flight to Chicago, and the tickets are non-refundable.”

“I understand,” Foreman is saying—unlike Cameron, he definitely doesn’t mean it—“but with my mom’s Alzheimer’s—“

Cameron’s expression is crumpling like wet paper; she’s about two seconds away from conceding. Boring, House thinks, and prepares to head over to his office for a busy afternoon shift of avoiding clinic duty and catching up on General Hospital, except Chase, stood by the coffee machine and staring distantly out of the window, jumps to attention and says, “I’ll do it. I’ll work the Christmas shift.

All three of them—Cameron, Foreman and House—stare at him. “Nice try,” House says, recovering first, “but an empty gesture. You can’t trade immunity idols with another contestant.”

Chase flicks him an irritated look. “This isn’t Survivor,” he says. “Seriously, I don’t mind. You’ve both got good reasons to want it off, and I’ll get double pay for it. It works out.”

Cameron unfreezes second; House figures that Foreman is still reeling from seeing first-hand proof of Chase having a soul. “That’s so kind of you to offer,” she says earnestly, “but you worked Christmas last year—“

Chase cuts her off with a wave. “Exactly, it’s not a bad shift.” (Total lie.) “Seriously, it’s fine. Go see your parents.”

“Thanks,” Foreman says at last; he has the grace to look a touch embarrassed at how begrudging it sounds. “Next time you need a shift covered, we got you.”

Chase shrugs, faux-modest. “Cool,” he says. He locks eyes with House and adds, “So that’s sorted, then.”

Yeah, right.

*

House plots and schemes to get Chase alone for the rest of the week, but is foiled at every turn: first, their new patient starts bleeding out of every orifice (ugh), and then Cuddy forces him at gunpoint (well, clinic duty-point, but House would prefer the gun) to do some of his dictations, and then there’s a SARS scare that has everyone pulling overtime shifts testing and isolating everyone the patient has been in contact with (the patient, as it turns out, does not have SARS). So in a way it’s fitting that he only gets around to it on Christmas Eve: Cameron is gone early, off to catch her fabled pre-booked flight, and Foreman follows suit not an hour later, leaving Chase and House alone in the conference room. Ding dong merrily on high, and all that.

“You’re working tomorrow,” House points, and Chase’s jaw twitches. “You shouldn’t be.”

“Cameron and Foreman,” Chase starts, and House clicks his tongue chidingly.

“If I were being fair, I would’ve told Foreman to work it,” House says, “since he’s the greenest. If I were being equitable, I would’ve told Cameron to work it, since dementia mom trumps non-refundable plane tickets any day. That wasn’t the point. You usually know better than to mess with my games, and yet…”

“Yeah, well, I don’t like spending Christmas alone on the other side of the world,” Chase says flatly. “Sue me.”

“Your mom’s been dead ten years, and I know you’re not exactly crazy about your dad,” House points out. “Can’t be the first time you’ve spent Christmas day on your own.”

“Will be the first time I don’t go to Mass on it, though,” Chase bites back, and then slumps in his chair, like all the wind has gone out of his sails. He looks ashen, ten years older and younger at once; the nun, House thinks grimly, must’ve really done a number on him. “It’s not a sin to miss it if you have patient obligations. If I’m working Christmas Day…”

“Pretty sure there’s something in the fine print that mentions this loophole,” House says, not unkindly. Chase barks out a humourless laugh.

“Yeah,” he says. “But better than no reason at all, right?” Chase scrubs his eyes tiredly. “The way I see it…maybe, in ten years time, things’ll be different, with my faith. Maybe it’s all part of His plan. And I’ll feel bad enough for doubting already. At least if I have an excuse for one day a year…”

“Not how it works,” House tells him. “Catholics don’t actually have a monopoly on guilt. The only person who gets to decide if you feel bad about it is you.”

“I wish that were true,” Chase says wistfully. His beeper goes off; he’s on call tonight and tomorrow. Snow is beginning to fall. “Merry Christmas, House.”

*

Next year, there is no question as to who has to work Christmas. House already has Chase’s name written down.

[gunsatthaphan]

only friends: dream on || gmmtv2025

[quirkle2]

mp100 art style is super fun honestly

[ineffablelvrs]

mike walks on the street side of sidewalks whenever he and will go somewhere btw

[insecuregodcomplex]

*NOT discourse*

I think Buck asked Tommy if he’s interested in girls not because he forgot he’s gay, but because Buck is navigating his own boundaries within his sexuality and wanted to discuss more of where his and Tommy’s perceptions overlap

[hidey-writes]

wip wednesday

In the drifting silence of his empty apartment, Shen Wei presses the door shut, turns the lock. And then, like his body was waiting until he was alone, his legs give out. Shen Wei tips/topples against/into the wall, sinks down to sitting on the front mat/in the entryway. He sits there for a long time, curled into himself with his arms around his knees. The whole time, his body braced for the sound of Zhao Yunlan’s door opening, the sound of footsteps crossing the hall. Waiting, again, for Kunlun to return to him.  But no sound comes from outside his door. At last, Shen Wei tips his head back against the wall, lets out a soft, streaming sigh. The sound trembles in the still air. It’s the closest he’s come to crying in years, that he can remember.

from the up draft of the answer fic. im cutting it veryyyyyy close to the deadline this time ahahaha (nervous!) but the writing is going relatively smoothly (knocks on wood) and i think it'll turn out pretty delicious!!

[tarnussy]

gameplay mad intense rn 🤭 @saltybean03

[cheese-water]

I don’t care if it’s has already been debunked. I don’t care if it isn’t a “widely accepted truth.”

Alternatively, if you had to create a theory video about Generation Loss, what would it be about?

Please put in the tags how/why you believe what you believe cause I'm fascinated by the vastly different interpretations people can make from this project! :D

[pyrosomatic-metamorphosis]

Before she could ask he was unwinding her scarf and pressing that into the wound instead, and he could almost convince himself that the rapidly darkeing patch is just the scarf being unevenly dyed and not the blood already soaking through. He was so distracted he almost didn’t hear Tallulah’s voice; it was already growing weak. “Chayanne. Please. You have to get away from here.”

spoilers for how you're gonna get your heart violently torn out of your chest when you read to aim true! fantastic qsmp hunger games au written by @saline-solution for this year's au fest!

Go check out all the other awesome stories and art pieces by scrolling the tag or the blog, @mcytblraufest everyone is so skilled it's been an incredible event to participate in.

this is the second artwork I've done for to aim true- the first one can be found here

[dainesanddaffodils]

I didn’t do my individual posts about it but - additional times my WoL possessed me (by which i mean made me cry very hard) when finishing Endwalker include:

When Elidibus said that sending me to the past would be his final act

Answers:tm:

Estinien’s Ultima Thule Sacrifice

Close in The Distance:tm:

The Twins Sacrifice

But… probably the most ‘Cimorene took over’ moment of tears was when Ardbert was the first to speak to her on her walk to the end.

Like I should have expected it would be him first but I didn’t and he fucking said the line that made me cry the original time he said it and it just. Messed me up. For the rest of that scene. Never recovered.

[sskk-manifesto]

(｡･ω･｡)ﾉ♡

[jestiamy]

lmk au where mk has a side gig as an assassin but completely just. unintentionally.

I was going through season one episodes for editing purposes, and I found that one scene where mk just completely overloads the tea he was making, hands it to sandy, and he just. passes out immediately.

and I was like. woah. dude imagine if mo got into that ?!??!?!?! that would be so dangerous.

but then from there I was like. wow you know what. I feel like season one mk has the right mix of chaos and general obliviousness and general disregard for other people's circumstances when not fully relevant to him currently to totally pull of frequently killing other people on accident and somehow never noticing. maybe at one point if you really push it you can get it so people actually hire him for it and he's like ??? cool. free money. and has no idea what they're saying/tunes them out but in a rube goldberg esque string of circumstances always ends up somehow killing the right targets anyways and it's like. mix that with that one popular somewhat hc/au mix that macaque is involved with megapolis' underground and you get interactions like this during his introduction episode:

Macaque, not really connecting the dots with the infamous ghost assassin that always gets the job done with no leads or traces with ""golden boy"" mk: so like. question. if you were to kill someone how would you do that.

Mk, distractedly, not really seeing the point but used to answering random questions because of mei: oh like, push them off a busy bridge? duh.

Macaque: that wouldn't kill them.

Mk, still distracted: I mean, obviously not. they won't die, sure, but they'll know someone is after them. give it a few weeks of hypervigilance and then they'll start dropping their guard after nothing happens. maybe they imagined it, they'll rationalize. who would want them dead? who would have the skill to not get caught during attempt in the first place? they'll ask themselves. and it's then, at their most sloppy, will I make my way into their life. I won't be their best friend - more of a frequent side character. the guy you see every day at your favourite hang out spot is hardly suspect. I'll ask them out for a friendly lunch, to get to know them more. maybe they'll be a little stressed - maybe subconsciously they still remember the guy who tried to shove them off a bridge that may or may not be real that was never caught. nothing will happen. it's at the fifth meet up that I offer to help walk them to their next destination - and maybe they'll be suspect them too, but they won't decline. because that's rude, and they feel I'm too nice for that. and it's then, and only then, do I push them into oncoming traffic during rush hour. maybe I'll have the discomfort of seeing their face the moment it hits them what happened. maybe they'll connect the strings. maybe they won't. but in that moment I relax, truly, for the first time since I met them - assured my mission is over. and maybe if they are unlucky enough they will see this, and they'll wonder how much of me they saw really was ever real. from there I will be questioned, no doubt - they ask me what happened, and I lie through my teeth. I'll say they tripped, and I was too late to grab them. I'll cry a bit to sell it, and maybe it won't all be fake. I'll tell them how this same thing happened all of the time - falling. others will support this, because by then I'll have built a habit of subtly tripping them when I could. I'll sob and say that a similarly almost fatal incident happened only just a few months ago. that I was so worried it'd happen again that I offered to walk them home today - and I was too late despite that. they'll give me some shallow comfort - it's not your fault, they'll say. it's a freak accident, they'll say. you had no way of knowing, they'll say. they'll never think it's me beyond a curiously accusation - because what killer brings attention to a previous attempt? what killer sits and thoroughly blabs every little thing they know? and maybe this will haunt me forever, physically or not - but at the very least, at long last I'll have the grim satisfaction of knowing that someone I needed dead is finally gone from this world.

Macaque:

Macaque: right. okay. go back to doing your sets.

[potatoesandsunshine]

sad about waypoint hours :(