#fencepost of the week

[wild-e-eep]

A tenacious little relict finger of fencepost, doggedly holding to its purpose. #FencepostOfTheWeek

[halliewriteshockey]

One of our boys is going to be drafted first round today and we’re all going to the pub to watch it on the big screen, this is gonna be a lot of fun

[celestialprincesse]

𝐒𝐚𝐲 𝐆𝐨𝐨𝐝𝐧𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐧 𝐆𝐨 - 𝟔

You're not sure whether asking Nikto how he worked out what your favourite foods are is a good idea. Realistically, you know that men in his field are required to be perceptive, to pick out the smallest of details which may be useful later. He's been in your house so many times, in your fridge for a left over slice of pie, or the less that you can barely consider a garage to grab whatever tool he'd needed to fix your wobbly fencepost. On the one hand, his awareness of you, what you like and dislike, is comforting. It feels safe to have someone so constantly tuned in on your frequency. Safe. On the other? Having someone so impossibly attentive to your needs is unsettling. It's been far too long since you've had someone shadowing your day-to-day life - and Nikto is, undeniably, like a shadow.

The picnic is - it's really sweet. Well intentioned. The execution, admittedly is rudimentary, but you're just splitting hairs. A guy set you up a picnic after you practically sucked off his face in your kitchen. You're pretty sure most would've run had they felt the sheer reverence, the need in your kiss. He fixed your fence.

Now you're sat rather awkwardly beside one another, picking at a strange assortment of cheeses and fruits, making stilted conversation as you watch a herd of cows graze a couple of fields down.

"How did you know my fence was broken?" You hum in an absent, obvious attempt to keep the conversation going. Tough considering you barely know anything about Nikto, and yet he seems to know everything about you. Your weak endeavour towards filling the stillness between the two of you obviously doesn't go unnoticed - nor does the way your make an effort to dig deeper and see just how much of you Nikto actually catches.

"You hit it with your car a few weeks ago." He states bluntly, leaving you flushing a beet red. Foolishly, you'd always believed that your sub-par driving skills were just imagined, that no one saw you the way you saw yourself. Clearly, you've been wrong all along.

"You do have your drivers license, yes?" Nikto continues to chide, unable to help the way his blood rushes south when you blush, fluttering your lashes as you avert your gaze to the strawberry you'd been just about to eat. "Mhm." You mumble, trying to feign an indignant look - futile, seeing as he's already caught you in the act of your embarrassment.

"I can help you if you would like." Nikto utters, before he too turns his burning face towards the gingham blanket he'd found whilst trawling the grocery store in the small hours of this morning, trying to be as prepared as possible for your date. He's far too quickly become accustomed to your little quirks and reactions, the way you flinch like a frightened bunny from loud noises, or worry at your lip when you're nervous but still trying to seem nonchalant. You're hardly ever nonchalant about anything. He sees that too. "Is it the car that you struggle with?" He tries, so desperately, to claw himself from the hole he's seemingly fallen into, painfully aware that he's probably coming off as some condescending, patronising prick. He knows you can drive. Kind of. However, the thought of helping you, spending time with you, taking all of the menial tasks of daily life out of your hands, he can't help but to yearn for it. Or maybe it's just you. You're the one thing he finds himself wanting for after a life of solitude. You, your silly little shoes, and strawberry flavoured lips, your bows and pearls. You with a smile so bright it's blinding, and a laugh that could bring the cruelest of men to his knees. You are what he yearns for. The silver lining to the rainclouds which have so long darkened his days. You, you, you.

He doesn't even realise you'd been talking until you stop. Only, of course, to take the next best course of action towards capturing his attention, shuffling towards him until you're sat flush against his side, blinking up at him with a look that clearly suggests that you're asking for permission. The fact that he doesn't get hard right then and there is a miracle - though he's not sure if it's one that'll last. At least, not when you finally work up the guts to crawl up into his lap like a needy cat, searching for attention by any means possible. Last week he was barely refraining from tearing your clothes off and taking you on the counter in your kitchen. This is far more intimate. This is what he wants.

He wants to see the way your cheeks flush pink when his hands slide up your skirt, just enough to brush the calloused pad of his thumb over the delicate lace of your underwear. With bated breath, he wants to watch the way the late afternoon sun turns your hair into a halo of molten metal, cascading from the crown of your head in some glorious inferno.

The little sound of your breath hitching as he noses at your jaw is only the first nail in the cruelest of coffins, burying him alive under the crushing weight of his adoration for you. This, he thinks, this is what he's waited for. This is both his reward, and his punishment for the toil of his career, of his life. His reward, you, so sweet and soft in his lap, pliable as gold, glittering as the brightest of precious stones. Breaking you, breaking your pretty, trusting heart, is entirely out of the question. He'd rather shoot himself in the kneecaps. Walk headfirst into enemy territory and beg to be tortured. Step on a landmine. Any and all of it would be better than seeing you hurt.

Whilst he can't find the words for the way he adored you, he can most definitely find the actions.

Nothing, no man, has ever made you feel the way you do as Nikto eases you to lie back on the picnic blanket, hooking your knees over his shoulders. A kiss to your inner thigh. "I hope you don't mind people hearing, Princess. I intend to make you scream."

[solarmorrigan]

For the fanfic mash-up prompt list, what about 2. Historical and 73. Stranded due to inclement weather?

Me, a history minor, upon reading this prompt: I've never learned anything about any period in history ever in my life

But! After drawing a blank for a while, we've got some vaguely Great Depression-era Steddie

Fanfiction Trope Mashup: 1. Historical AU + 73. Stranded Due to Inclement Weather

cw: brief assumed infidelity (not actually, though)

-

The drifter is handsome, beneath the smudges of road dust he’s picked up from traveling; his long hair is tied back from his face, revealing a soft mouth, high cheekbones, and eyes you could get lost in. He’s carrying a guitar on his back and not much else. He isn’t dressed nearly warm enough for the weather as it is, and certainly not for the snow that the heavy clouds above are threatening.

Steve already knows he’s going to invite him in.

“I don’t give handouts,” Steve says, mostly for himself, so he can pretend he isn’t a soft touch.

“I’m not asking for a handout,” the drifter says. “I’m more than happy to work for a meal.”

Steve pauses, like he’s thinking. There isn’t much left to the Harrington farm these days; they really only have the house, the barn, and enough land to keep some livestock – mostly chickens. (Robin loves the chickens; when they eat one, she makes sure they thank it by name, which Steve personally thinks is weird, but whatever helps her part more easily with them, he guesses.) The chores don’t take long, usually, but with Robin gone for the week, visiting her mother a few towns over, there are still a few things that need doing.

“Guess I could use a hand,” Steve says, and the drifter smiles at him, bright and dimpled, and Steve can practically hear Robin tutting at him – such a sucker for a pretty face.

At least the imaginary Robin in his head is easier to dismiss.

The drifter—“Eddie,” he introduces himself with a firm, calloused handshake—stores his guitar in the kitchen and gets to work helping Steve around the farm (such as it is). He doesn’t seem to have much familiarity with farmwork specifically, but he’s a hard worker and a good listener, and he slots in right alongside Steve with surprising ease.

He’s a bit of a talker – a storyteller, more like, spinning all kinds of yarns about his travels, half of which Steve is sure can’t be true, but which have him hooked anyway. Eddie seems to like him that way: his attention so focused on Eddie that he almost forgets what he’s doing several times throughout the day.

The hours fly by; the wind gets stronger, and you can almost taste the snow on it. Steve gives the animals one last check, makes sure everything is ready to weather a storm should it come, and then he and Eddie hurry inside the house. Steve cooks while Eddie washes up, and they eat sitting at the kitchen table like Steve and Robin usually do; there’s no one to impress by sitting in the overwrought dining room that had always intimidated Steve as a kid.

Snow is falling thick and fast by the time they finish eating.

“I’m not enough of a bastard to send you back out in that,” Steve says, twitching the curtains aside to look at the way little drifts have already started to collect against the fenceposts. “You’re welcome to stay, if you want.”

“Well, I’m not enough of an idiot to turn you down,” Eddie replies, sending Steve a sly grin. “Anything you want me to do around the house to earn a bed for the night?”

Steve rolls his eyes, but he nods towards the living room. “Keep me company by the fire for a while?”

It’s a bit of a gamble – if Steve’s read Eddie wrong, this could end very badly, but Steve doesn’t think he has. He’s always been good at gauging a person’s interest, and he’s certain he’d caught Eddie’s eyes wandering more than once when he thought Steve wasn’t paying attention.

Eddie spends a long moment regarding Steve. “I’ll do you one better,” he finally says, and reaches for his guitar.

Eddie’s voice is rough and low, not always in key, but sincere and achingly soulful. He plays like he was born with a guitar in his hands, pulling music from it a hundred times better than anything Steve’s ever heard on the radio. If he’d been distracted by Eddie before, he’s absolutely enraptured now. He doesn’t even realize he’s been steadily drifting closer to him on the sofa until their knees are brushing.

“It’s getting late,” Eddie says, glancing towards the clock on the mantle. “Am I going to bunk in the barn?”

Steve shakes his head. “I’m sure you’ll be more comfortable in the house.”

“Sure.” Eddie’s grin is slow-spreading as he watches Steve. “It’s pretty cozy down here by the fireplace. Sofa’s nice.”

“I could make you up a bed on the sofa.” Steve nods. “Or – there’s plenty of room in my bed, upstairs. Much cozier up there.”

Eddie’s grin is positively wolfish now. “You’d have me in your marriage bed?” he teases, and Steve shakes his head.

“My wife and I don’t share a bed,” he says (this is largely true, except when they have unavoidable overnight visitors, or when it’s very cold).

“No?” Eddie asks.

“We have an understanding,” Steve replies.

“Do you, now?” Eddie still looks like he isn’t quite sure whether to laugh or to eat Steve alive, but Steve only nods.

“She doesn’t mind if I have the occasional man around, and in return, I don’t mind if she has the occasional lady,” he explains softly. “And we keep each other safe.”

At that, Eddie’s grin softens, becomes warm, almost fond. “And who’s keeping you safe now? Inviting a complete stranger up into your bed." He shakes his head, still trying to tease. “I could be anybody. I could be a murderer, for all you know.”

“You aren’t,” Steve answers with full conviction.

The sincerity seems to give Eddie pause. “What makes you so sure?” he asks, and now he seems almost serious.

“Your eyes,” Steve says readily. “They’re too kind for you to be any kind of bad person.”

Those eyes go wide with surprise. “Well,” Eddie says slowly, “you’re one of the few people who thinks that.”

“Well, maybe other people need to pay more attention,” Steve says. “But if I’m wrong, and you do kill me, at least the last thing I see will be something beautiful.”

And that seems to do it. Eddie leans forward and kisses Steve, his lips chapped and warm against Steve’s.

“You might be the killer here, actually,” Eddie murmurs when they pull apart. “You’re gonna knock me dead with those lines, sweetheart.”

Sweetheart. Steve likes that.

“Better come upstairs with me and give me something else to think about, then,” Steve says, and Eddie doesn’t need to be told again.

The snow continues through the night and into the next day. Steve and Eddie go out first thing to check the animals, to make sure everything is holding against the wind and the snow, and then head back to bed, where they spend the remainder of the day. It seems unkind to send Eddie away in this weather, after all.

In fact, it’s still so cold by the time Robin comes back from her visit that Steve hasn’t yet had the heart to send Eddie away. And if he and Robin talk it over, and if Eddie is still around by the time the warm spring weather comes, and if Eddie just stays and stays, the only thing people in town ever really wonder about is how the Harringtons found the money to hire a hand for their tiny piece of land.

[lastflowerofyourhouse]

I am going to write a scene between two characters that is so improbably emotionally honest.

(or: another exerpt from a fic i'll never finish, entitiled "griddlehark finally talk about stuff" in my drafts.)

-

Gideon wasn't sleeping. Harrow knew this because she also wasn't sleeping. But her own sleeplessness was born of long habit. It was an easy, comfortable insomnia. The dark and quiet were all she had left of home.

Gideon, though, had never been prone to insomnia before. She had always been easily exhausted and prone to oversleeping, rocklike and deaf. And yet, there she was, for the third night in a row, up at odd hours in the safehouse’s kitchen. Harrow could hear her softly shuffling around. She hesitated, considered leaving her to her own devices—what claim, after all, did Harrow have on her anymore? What right had she to butt into any of Gideon's affairs?

But she knew, in the way that she knew almost everything about Gideon, that she was at her worst when feeling abandoned. Harrow would go if she was told to go, but she had to try, at least. She would not abandon Gideon again.

So she went out to the kitchen and found Gideon hunched over the counter, wolfing down plain crackers. This, at least, was somewhat relatable to her.

“Can't sleep?” she asked, as it seemed as good an opener as any.

“Nope.” Gideon did not stop eating as she spoke. “Guess my body's still not in the habit. Being dead and all. Do you know how weird it is to be dead? Your organs just kind of…sit there. But they don't actually do anything. Puts a real damper on all your vital impulses. Like, all of them.”

This was more words than Gideon had said to her in weeks, which was good, even if they were the last words in the world Harrow wanted to hear. She floundered for something to say. Her face must've been doing something, because Gideon looked at it and said, “Oh, right, sorry. Wouldn't want to upset you with the details. Paul told me not to talk about it to you. Be a real shame to show you the consequences of your actions.”

Harrow tried not to react to that, but it hit her like a slap all the same. “I only wanted to save you.”

“Did it ever occur to you that I might not want to be saved? Did you ever stop to think, hey, maybe Gideon threw herself on a fencepost because she cared about me and did not want an eternal front-row seat to my continued suffering? No. You didn't. You never thought about what I wanted, you only thought about how you'd lost your favorite chew toy. At least have the decency not to revive the little innocent martyr act from when we were eight. It never fooled me then and it doesn't fool me now. Don't look at me like that.”

“I’m—sorry.”

“You're sorry.”

“I never deserved you. I know that. Not once in my whole miserable life did I deserve to breathe the same air as you. I should've signed your release the day you asked. I should've let you go without conditions and with half our coffers in your pockets. I should’ve begged your forgiveness the first time I said an unkind word to you.”

“You can say that all you like, Harrow, but you never would've.”

“I would now. In a heartbeat. Fat lot of good it does us.”

Gideon shrugged. “I'm not sure I would've left anyway, back then.”

Harrow was startled by that. She could remember Gideon speaking of nothing else, as children. “No?”

“I mean, what would I have even done? Joined the cohort? Been there, done that, and I was bored in a month. I don't know—I don't know. Seems like everything I used to believe in was a sham. My parents. The cohort. You.”

“I don't know how you want me to respond to that.”

“Try telling me the truth.”

Harrow was quiet for a long moment. She had been telling the truth. She needed to find a truth Gideon could believe. Start from there. “You're right. I wouldn't have let you go, when we were children. I could never stand to have you out of arm’s reach, for the same reason you would never have left. I would be at a loss. The fabric of the universe would come unraveled without you. I believed that then, and I've seen evidence of it now.”

“Bullshit, Harrow. You liked having something to play with.”

“You know better than anyone that both can be true, you insufferable, pedantic meathead. You know better than anyone how I felt then, what I feel now. Do you think I was ever stupid enough to believe myself your superior? Do you think I never understood what I was doing? You were the single point around which my entire world revolved. Everything made so much sense, when it was all about you. I have seen my life without you, Griddle, and it was colder and emptier than I had thought possible. In retrospect, the idea that I had endured such a childhood at all should have alerted me to the fact that something was wrong.

“I have never flinched away from my own faults. My inadequacies, perhaps, but not my faults. And I have always known that you were better than I am. I was once in denial, but never truly in ignorance, of the horror of our treatment of you. And yet the only sin you hold against me is that I tried to release you. That I removed you from my reach, relieved you of my beck and call. That is the only thing you have ever refused to forgive me for. Why?”

“You know why.”

“I want you to tell me. For once in your life, just tell me how you feel.”

“I feel stupid. I feel betrayed. I feel like I have not slept properly in a month, because I haven't. I feel like I was a corpse recently, because I was. Is this what you want to hear?”

“I want you to answer the question.”

Gideon stopped, took a deep breath. “We both already know, Harrow. Why do you need me to tell you?”

“Plausible deniability.”

She hesitated for a very long time. “I never wanted to be separated from you, either. I kidded myself about being your rightful equal when we were kids, but I don't think I even believe that now. My life was always going to be—you. I knew that. I just. Became alright with it. At some point. It was like—like, imagine if someone took your bones away, or something. The ones you carry around in your pockets, I mean, not the ones in your body. But kinda those too? Like, if everything that made you you was suddenly stripped away and you were useless. And I had to watch, Harrow, all of it, knowing I could help you. Knowing I could save you, if only you'd let me fulfill my only purpose that ever really mattered.”

[sixteenth-days]

If you want a prompt maybe eldritch!XB? :0

At the bottom of the ocean, something which had been sleeping woke up.

Every now and then, when XB's shoulders started clicking and he developed a cough and a persistent pain where the base of his spine would be, he knew he'd been too small for too long. It was inconvenient, but not catastrophic.

Whenever that started happening, he'd put all his gear away, let the hermits know he'd be away for a few days or weeks, and find a secluded cove to crawl out of his skin and into the blessed embrace of the saltwater. It always felt like a balm against his real self, dried and desiccated from so long spent in the air and sun. He'd slip into the ocean and spread out like an oil slick, all black and blue and eyes, invisible beneath the play of sunlight on the water, slide down to miles and miles of seafloor, and rest.

But now he was awake, and it felt too soon. Something must have woken him. Scales blinked open up and down his spine, searching for any disturbance in the water immediately surrounding the greatest concentration of his mass, but found nothing that might have roused him.

Ugh. He didn't want to get up. But something was wrong, a sense of unease creeping in through all the estuaries and rivers where he lay, rubbing wrong against the rubber and scale and sand of him.

He heaved a sigh that shoved waves against distant beaches, gathered up a pair of forelimbs from where they dangled in an underwater magma cavern, and pushed himself upwards.

Something about the water around him felt strange, as he ascended through the oceanic zones. A slight shift in the salinity, maybe. Up, and up, from the midnight to the twilight, as the water began to slowly lighten around him. Black water turned blue, and bluer, and bluer, until he was drifting the final few meters to the surface, feeling unaccountably hesitant.

Something was wrong.

He broke the surface, blinked a constellation of eyes against the sudden air, reared up and dug claws into a birch-plank bridge that creaked warningly under his weight. It was immediately obvious that he had not come up where he'd gone down, and that was going to be really inconvenient, if he couldn't get back into his skin, but- one problem at a time.

Starting with: if he's not where he entered the water, where was he?

The air against his scales was stagnant, dusty, untouched by breath or word. This world was clearly abandoned. He caught a glimpse of a sign, affixed to a nearby fencepost: By JoeHills and IamSp00n.

Ah. He'd come up in the wrong ocean.

(Send me Hermit fanon switcheroo asks!)

[words-for-cat-bracket]

round 5 - week 2 - 1 of 2

brought to you by: apple cider

macska (hungarian) vs 猫 (chinese)

info and propawganda under the cut!

macska /ˈmɒt͡ʃkɒ/

-ka is a diminutive so its sound like it means ""little macs"" - except there's no ""macs"", that word doesn't exist, only macska: little macs, which is very true because all cats are babies.

Macska is just a little switcheroo away from makacs (cs is a single letter in hungarian) which means stubborn which is what cats are C:

猫 (māo) /mɑu̯˥/

It sounds like Meow! Also, Cantonese is a really cool language (that I can definitely not pronounce sadly)

Little ears and a tail 🥺

sounds like meow

BRO ITSLITERALLY THE CAT SOUND IRS LITERLALY WHEN A CAT GOES ""MOW"" ANNSJSYSSHSHSHH

Because it sounds like a cat <3

It sounds like the sound cats make.

māo sounds like the sound a cat makes

this word reads as ""māo"".

real pokemon moment. we chinese really saw a cat, asked it what it wanted to be named as, and then called it that. we even kept the same intonation (the dash over the a) to ensure that everyone else who knew chinese would talk to the cat in the exact same way the cat called to us.

it's got 3 radicals; the left (犭) for quadruped animal, the cap (艹) for grass, and the base (田) for field, like rice fields. that's basically the whole backstory of how we saw and met the cat. the kitty really was just coming in from the grass on his 4 lil paws to our field and introduced themselves as mao. ily cat

if you read the cap and base section only it looks like a cat's face and ears.

every time you want to write the word cat you have to draw them!!! wont you think of a lil babey kitty while drawing them? isn't it beautiful how every time we wanted to write cat in chinese we took the time to depict a cat? decided everyone should know how or what a cat looks like and devoted our time of remembrance to just a leetol creeture?

because it's literally onomatopoeic. the cat is named after the sound it makes (which is so cute)

simple, cute, direct, just like cat

It sounds like a cat sound, and also just really nice. If you interpret the radicals in the unintended way I'm deciding to, the leftmost bit of the character could look like a cat scratching their back on a fencepost behind them, or something. Overall, it is a very cat word

it sounds like cat sounds (cute) and its easy for me to remember as a chinese novice bc it has the same radical as dog and is easy to draw

sounds like the noise cats make. cute

猫 as a character is peak cat! It's been a while since I've been in Chinese school, so bear with me, but the left side uses the claw symbol, which shows it's an animal, and the right side (苗, pronounced miáo) helps explain its pronunciation. 苗 specifically means something along the lines of seedling/young/descendant and isn't really depictive of what it means, but when I was younger, I thought it looked a little like a cat with little ears and whiskers as well. (Chinese cats say ""喵"" (miāo) which ties back to the 苗 symbol as well!) Also, 猫 ""māo"" is kind of pronounced like a meow, which I think should give it bonus points. Overall, 猫 is the peak word for cat! :3

you cannot tell me they are not the perfect word for a kitty cat. they came up to us and introduced themselves, so we decided to call them by the name they call themselves, and in mandarin, we call them ""little māo"" because they are our little meow meows!! they are our babies!! also chinese is Ancient. our writing system goes back like 4000 years!! and we are still using it! i admit we probably weren't calling them 貓 for all these 4000 years but respect your elders! /lh

[reticenceofladyeva]

hoax iv (my eclipsed sun)

Iroh hurries back to camp as quickly as he can, but he's never been a fast man, and now he is an old man. Still, urgency grips him as he weaves through the trees. His contact had, most emphatically, insisted that they not press on to Pouhai. The rumors are all too similar, he'd said, like they were planted. Like they were Fire Nation propaganda, like they were invented to lure a banished prince or a waterbending master or a disgraced general.

His stomach bottoms out when he reaches camp. The trees are still smoldering around the two tents they'd pitched, and there is ozone in the air. The cooking pot has been left, still bubbling over the fire with the last dregs of liquid thick and viscous at the bottom. Iroh scrambles for the larger tent and throws it open. The sleeping mat is still unrolled on the floor, and a Pai Sho game sits unfinished at its center.

Bending down, Iroh grasps a small, polished, wooden ring, and he clutches it to his chest.

Weeks of walking take him, finally, to a small tavern on the Earth Kingdom coast. The enormous shirshu tied to a fencepost tells him he's in the right place.

"Jun," he says.

"Creepy Grandpa," she says.

"My grandson is missing," he explains, holding out the teething ring. With a long-suffering sigh, Jun hops up from her chair and strides across the bar and out the door. Iroh follows in her wake.

He doesn't know where he'll get the gold, this time. He doesn't know where his grandson's trail will lead, whether to a prison in the Fire Nation or to some wilderness somewhere. He doesn't know whether Kova will be alive when he finds him. He doesn't know what has become of Lee and Hua Mei, or of Zuko and Katara.

These are things that Iroh must not think about now. He must follow this trail before it is lost, and he must pick up the last pieces of his family before he too is lost.

[satqrnsrings]

BEYOND THE WALLS - chapter two

Jean Kirstein × F! Original Character (Attack on Titan)

RATING SFW

WARNINGS Slow Burn. Hurt/Comfort. Mentions of Death. Graphic Violence/Injuries. Enemies to Lovers. Rivalry. Eventual Romance.

THE SUN HAD barely risen, casting long shadows over the sparring grounds as the cadets lined up shoulder to shoulder. The morning chill clung to the air, though it did little to dampen the undercurrent of tension rippling through the group. Today was their first real test against each other. Wooden training blades were distributed, their weight solid in the hands of the recruits, a sobering reminder of the stakes.

Commander Shadis paced in front of them like a predator sizing up its prey. His gravelly voice broke the silence. "You’ve survived a few weeks of training. Congratulations. But survival means nothing if you can’t fight to protect humanity. Today, we’ll see who has the grit to stand their ground and who will crumble like wet paper.”

The cadets exchanged uneasy glances. Some looked eager, like they’d been waiting for this moment to prove themselves. Others, including Annalise, felt their stomachs churn with apprehension. But she steeled herself. This was what she’d signed up for—proving she was strong enough to be here.

“Pair up!” Shadis barked, and the cadets scrambled to find partners.

Annalise found herself facing off against a wiry boy named Dren—quick on his feet but often over-reliant on brute force. He smirked as he sized her up. “Don’t think I’ll go easy on you, flower girl.”

Annalise tightened her grip on her training blade, her jaw set. “I wouldn’t expect you to.”

The whistle blew, and Dren charged forward with a wild swing. Annalise sidestepped easily, letting his momentum carry him past her. Before he could recover, she swung her blade in a swift, precise arc, landing a clean hit on his side. Dren stumbled, gritting his teeth as he turned to face her again.

The fight didn’t last long. Dren’s movements grew sloppier with each failed attack, while Annalise remained focused, her strikes calculated and efficient. A final blow to his shoulder sent him sprawling into the dirt.

Shadis’s sharp bark cut through the air. “Decent form, Klein. You didn’t completely embarrass yourself.”

Dren groaned as he pushed himself up, glaring at Annalise, who offered him a curt nod before stepping back. Her confidence swelled, but she kept her expression neutral, unwilling to let her pride show.

Across the yard, Jean Kirstein watched the match with narrowed eyes. He leaned against a fencepost, his arms crossed as he muttered to no one in particular. “Lucky. Dren’s terrible at keeping his guard up.”

Connie, standing beside him, smirked. “Sounds like you’re jealous, Jean.”

Jean scoffed, pushing off the post. “Jealous? Please. If I were in her place, I’d have ended that fight in half the time.”

“Prove it,” Sasha piped up between bites of bread she’d somehow smuggled into the yard.

Jean hesitated for a moment, his gaze flicking to Annalise, who was dusting herself off after her match. The other cadets had started to notice, whispering among themselves as Jean stepped forward, his usual cocky grin spreading across his face.

“Klein!” he called, loud enough to draw everyone’s attention. Annalise turned, her brows knitting together in confusion.

“What?”

Jean twirled the wooden blade in his hand, his movements casual but deliberate. “Let’s see if you’re as good as you think you are. Or was Dren just a warm-up?”

Annalise stiffened, the murmurs from the other cadets fueling the fire in her chest. She squared her shoulders and stepped forward, her grip tightening around her blade. “Fine. Let’s see if you’re as good as you think you are, Kirstein.”

The two faced off in the open training yard, the growing crowd of cadets forming a loose circle around them. Jean’s grin widened, his confidence infuriatingly unshaken.

The whistle blew, and Jean moved first, his blade arcing toward Annalise in a calculated strike. She parried with ease, stepping to the side and swinging for his ribs. Jean deflected, their blades clashing with a sharp crack.

For a moment, they seemed evenly matched, trading blows with equal speed and precision. But as the fight wore on, Annalise noticed Jean’s pattern—he favored wide, sweeping strikes that left his sides open. Timing her move, she ducked under one of his swings and struck his shoulder hard enough to make him stumble.

Jean grunted, his expression twisting with irritation. “Lucky shot,” he growled, tightening his grip on the blade.

“You keep saying that,” Annalise shot back, her tone sharp.

Jean lunged, his movements more aggressive now, but his frustration made him sloppy. Annalise dodged, her focus sharpening as she looked for an opening. She struck again, this time landing a hit to his thigh that made him falter.

“Keep your guard up, Kirstein!” Connie hollered, earning a laugh from Sasha.

Jean glared at his audience, his cheeks flushing. Determined not to lose, he charged again, but his footing betrayed him. He tripped over a loose patch of dirt, his momentum carrying him straight into Annalise.

The world spun as they tumbled to the ground, Jean landing hard on top of her with a grunt. Annalise’s wooden blade slipped from her hand, and her breath hitched as she registered his weight pinning her down.

Jean looked down at her, a crooked grin spreading across his face despite the dust smeared across his cheek. “Well, Klein, if you wanted me this close, all you had to do was ask.”

Annoyance flared in Annalise’s chest as laughter erupted from the surrounding cadets. She shoved at his shoulders, her cheeks burning. “Get off me, Jean!”

Jean rolled off her, still grinning like he’d won something. “Next time, try to keep up.”

Annalise snatched up her training blade and stood, glaring at him as she dusted herself off. “Next time, try not to trip over your own ego.”

The crowd whooped and hollered, enjoying the exchange far too much. Shadis’s thunderous voice finally cut through the noise.

“Enough of this circus! Both of you! If this were a real fight, you’d already be dead! Back in line!”

The cadets scrambled to obey, Jean shooting Annalise one last smirk as they returned to formation.

As Annalise took her place, her jaw tight, she silently vowed to herself: next time, she’d leave him no room for snark.

The sparring matches had been intense all morning, the air thick with the tang of sweat and the murmurs of cadets speculating who would be paired next. Shadis prowled the training yard like a wolf, his sharp eyes scanning the group for his next targets.

“Voss!” Shadis barked, making Lyra straighten to her full height, her arms tensed at her sides.

“Yes, sir!”

Her name echoed across the yard, drawing attention from the other cadets. Lyra stepped forward confidently, gripping her training blade tightly. Her usual calm expression carried a subtle edge of determination.

Shadis’s gaze swept the line of recruits before landing on Mikasa Ackerman, who stood with her usual composed demeanor.

“Ackerman,” he said simply.

Mikasa stepped forward without hesitation, her blade held casually but with a precision that made it clear she was more than prepared. The quiet confidence radiating off her sent ripples of murmurs through the crowd.

Lyra’s eyes narrowed slightly as Mikasa took her position across from her. This wasn’t just a test of skill—it was a test of pride.

Shadis’s voice thundered. “Voss, Ackerman—this isn’t a game. I want to see who among you understands what it takes to survive. Fight like your lives depend on it. Begin!”

The whistle blew, and Lyra didn’t waste a second. She lunged forward with explosive speed, her blade slashing toward Mikasa in a wide arc. Mikasa sidestepped effortlessly, her movements fluid and precise, as though she were dancing rather than fighting.

Lyra pivoted quickly, aiming another strike at Mikasa’s side, but Mikasa parried with a swift motion, their blades clashing with a sharp crack. The impact sent a jolt up Lyra’s arm, but she didn’t relent.

“You’re quick,” Lyra said, her voice low as she circled Mikasa, looking for an opening.

Mikasa’s expression didn’t change. “You’re strong. But strength isn’t everything.”

The words only fueled Lyra’s determination. She darted forward, unleashing a flurry of attacks meant to overwhelm Mikasa. Each swing was met with a calm, calculated block. Mikasa’s blade moved with almost eerie precision, deflecting Lyra’s strikes as if she’d seen them coming before they even began.

The crowd was silent now, their eyes fixed on the clash between the two. Lyra pressed harder, her frustration mounting as Mikasa continued to dodge and deflect with an ease that bordered on infuriating.

Finally, Mikasa saw her opening. As Lyra overextended in an attempt to land a powerful strike, Mikasa stepped inside her guard, knocking Lyra’s blade aside with a swift, practiced motion. In a blur of movement, Mikasa delivered a sharp blow to Lyra’s side, sending her stumbling backward.

Lyra gritted her teeth, her stance faltering. She lunged again, desperate to regain the upper hand, but Mikasa sidestepped once more, sweeping Lyra’s legs out from under her with a quick, decisive kick.

Lyra hit the ground hard, her training blade clattering to the dirt beside her. Mikasa stood over her, blade pointed downward in a silent declaration of victory.

Shadis’s voice cut through the silence. “Enough! Ackerman wins.”

The cadets erupted into murmurs, some in awe of Mikasa’s skill, others exchanging nervous glances at the intensity of the match.

Mikasa extended a hand to Lyra, her expression neutral but not unkind. “You fought well,” she said simply.

Lyra swatted the hand away, pushing herself up with a glare. “I don’t need your pity,” she snapped, her voice tight with frustration.

Mikasa didn’t respond, her face unreadable as she stepped back to let Lyra collect herself.

Lyra’s jaw clenched as she dusted herself off, her cheeks flushed with a mix of anger and humiliation. Without a word, she turned on her heel and strode away from the sparring yard, her steps heavy and deliberate.

The cadets parted to let her pass, their whispers following her like a shadow.

Shadis’s sharp gaze followed Lyra’s retreating figure for a moment before he barked, “What are you all standing around for? This isn’t a spectator sport! Back in line!”

The cadets scrambled to obey, the tension of the match still hanging in the air as they prepared for the next round.

Meanwhile, Lyra disappeared behind one of the storage sheds, her fists clenched at her sides as she tried to steady her breathing. Her mind replayed the fight in a loop, the sting of defeat gnawing at her pride.

“I’ll do better next time,” she muttered under her breath.

Later that night, in the bitter cold of the evening, Annalise found herself sitting in the dinner hall with Mikasa. As well as Eren and Armin, but those two were engrossed in their own conversation at that very moment. Anna and the other raven-haired girl exchanged various different techniques from the previous day, one's that Annalise would do well to remember.

The younger girl spaced out as Armin involved himself in the conversation with Mikasa, discussing their past memories of Shiganshina, their home town, and whatnot. She noticed a glint in Eren's eye as he stared off into the distance. . .

''The MP's only recruit the best.'' Jean.

Anna huffed, folding her arms and resting them on the table. Opposite her, Eren stiffened. The pair both shared an irritation for the Kirstein boy.

A black haired boy chimed in, talking in a daze. ''Man, that'd be amazing. Workin' within' just a stone's throw of the King. No greater honour than that.''

The girl didn't even attempt to hide the snarl of her lip at his words. She was aware that there were others with the hopes of joining the Military Police, but the thought of her not being the best made her antsy.

''Shut up, Marco.'' Jean swatted him on the head, elicting drops of the other boy's drink to splatter. ''We're not children, you can drop the misty-eyed bullshit; Honour doesn't have any damn part of it. You just want a nice, cushy job in the interior playing glorified sentry.''

Annalise paused. Isn't that what he wanted, too? Isn't that what she wanted?

''That's not true, that's not me at all!'' Marco spluttered, but before Jean could open his mouth to say something snarky again, Eren interruped. A smug look on his face, and a nonchalant demeanour, Anna raised her brows in interest.

He scoffed lightly, ''listen to you guys. Interior? Five years ago this was part of it.'' The tension his words created was almost sliceable. Annalise ducked her head softly.

Jean swiftly turned, forehead creased as he tugged his brows together. ''You got a point to make, friend? I'm right here.''

At this, Eren placed his cup down, blinking slowly. ''Poor Jean.''

Annalise bit her lip to hide her grin.

''So misguided,. Besides, I don't think your head will fit in the Interior, anyways.''

His words made Anna bark out a laugh, glancing at Jean in shock, waiting for his attempt to bite back. It was a scarce sight to see someone retaliate against Jean Kirstein, seemingly the girl was one of the only ones to do so. The boy caught her eye, but she didn't let up. Infact, it only took a few moments before the whole room was snickering. She swore she saw Jean's eye flicker.

''Very funny.''

''Seems a little backwards to me. Fine-tuning your Titan-killing skills so the brass'll station you somewhere you'll never see one.''

Annalise abruptly stopped, the shaming of the Regiment she was so fond of making her pause. ''He's not much good at Titan-killing as it is.'' She mumbled, earning a snicker from Eren.

''You'd rather I'd be good at getting killed? Thank you, but I'll pass; better to play the system than to get gnawed on.''

This caused Eren to stand swiftly, anger coursing through his veins. Annalise gave Mikasa a weary glance, who's eyes seemed to be fixated on Eren. ''You son of a bitch!''

''Eren, please stop it!'' Armin stood up, too, but instead stayed still unlike Eren, who was now charging at Jean. As he grasped the taller boy by the collar of his shirt, they both grumbled angrily. Annalise and Mikasa rose from their seats.

''Gentlemen, please.''

''Yeah, lay off of it, Jean.'' Anna spoke, eyes squinting at the boy. The two boys grumbled simultaneously, before Eren finally dropped his clenched fist, having it now be held by Mikasa's. However, Jean seemed to have been on edge, as in one quick moment, he took ahold of Eren.

''You think you can judge me?!''

''Huh? You rip my shirt, you're dead!''

The Kirstein boy snarled, ''I don't give a damn about your shirt, you piss me off!''

''What, are you crazy?!''

A beat of silence. All eyes across the room were fixated on the two. Suddenly, the Jaeger boy's slid up his arm, grasping the cloth. A surprised grunt escaped Jean. His other hand sneakily came up beneath his jaw, a move Annalise was sure she found familiar. Eren's foot came to slide beneath Jeans' ankle, and the boy fell to the ground harshly.

With a grunt, the boy sat up, face scrunched in hurt. ''What the hell was that move?'' He nursed the nape of his neck, grumbling to himself.

''A little something I picked up this afternoon while you were busy getting bested by Annalise.'' Eren gestured to the girl, who was still stifling her giggles at the sight of Jean being ridiculed so simply.

Jean rolled his eyes at the very mention of her, which Anna gladly returned with a mocking smile. However, the dark haired boy wasn't finished, continuing with that same passionate tone he'd been using since he got there.

''You honestly believe the Military Police are your ticket to the good life? You're not a solider, you're a joke.''

Ouch.

The room was silent for the nth time that evening. Annalise sighed to herself, swigging the last mouthful of her drink before placing it on the table with a thud. At the same time, the door creaked open, the Commander's sparkling eyes shone through the gap.

''Would someone care to explain the little ruckus I heard just now? I do hope everything's all right.''

Every single Cadet that had previously been stood sat down almost immediately, including Jean, who scrambled onto the seat beside Anna, nudging her in the process. She curled her lip in irritation.

''Shut up.''

''You shut up, Kirstein.''

authors notes lyra ≠ mikasa

<previous next>

[martha-anne]

I have a small garden. This is a relatively recent development, and it has been occupying a lot of my thoughts.

Writing about those thoughts here seems like as good an outlet as any.

The garden is looking particularly bad at the moment. Rather than speculating about what I want it to be like, I’m going to write about some things that have already happened and which I am happy about.

These pruned plants - a blackcurrant bush and a rose! I had never pruned anything before (I had never had anything that needed pruning before) and I felt paralysed by my own incompetence at first. I’m very glad to have given it a go. Either I've done it right, or I will have learned something about how not to prune.

Speaking of being paralysed by incompetence, these fenceposts! I knew I wanted to put up some kind of plant support/trellis along the back of this bed, but the task felt utterly insurmountable a few months ago. I had no idea how to go about it, so I did what I always do in such situations and asked my mum for advice. Cue posts, post-spikes, a mallet, and an improvised drive-in tool… I still need to string wires between them, but soon I’ll have a structure to train plants up.

This heap of twigs! These are the prunings from the blackcurrant and rose plants mentioned in the first point. There was not enough space in the compost bin for them at the time, so I’ve left them in a pile over winter. I hope it is a nice home for some appreciative bugs.

The compost! How do I love my compost bin? Let me count the ways.This pile of decomposing matter brings me indescribable joy. Since we started composting cardboard and food scraps we have so little waste to go into the dustbin. The compost is full of worms and all sorts of other life. I like to check on it in the mornings before I go to work.

The pond! I dug this a few months ago, and at the time I remember feeling like it was the first honest day’s work of my life. I got some water plants for free from a local facebook plant swap group. The eventual aim of this pond is to attract frogs to help deal with the slug population - I’m playing the long game. Of course, it will take some time for the ecosystem to stabilise - but already there is life! I was delighted to discover water hog-lice a few weeks ago. It’s a Christmas miracle!

This no-dig lasagna gardening bed! Every online resource said that this kind of bed is better if left for several months before being planted up. I planted mine immediately and the results were not amazing - so I’ve learned something, and this coming year it should be better.

Tulips! I mentally calculated and purchased what I felt was an appropriate amount of tulips for the space. A week later, a visiting friend brought the same quantity of tulip bulbs again as a housewarming gift. Finding somewhere for them all to go was a challenge, but my friend and I managed it together. I’ve now mostly forgotten where we planted them, which will be a fun springtime surprise.

There is so much I want to do with this space and so much I’ve tried which has already failed. I don’t really know much about gardening yet, but in 10 years time maybe I will have figured it out ;) Three cheers for my shabby January garden!

[skyward-floored]

Bittersweet for the Hero of Sages? :)

- hero-of-the-wolf

“Here Berry, put this on.”

Something dropped onto his head, and Link scrunched his face up at the flower crown that was hanging over his eyes.

“Too big,” he said as he peered through it, and Marigold frowned, taking off the one on her own head and comparing the two. Then she shrugged and took Link's off and looked at it thoughtfully.

“Hm. Hey Poppy, you think this’ll fit you instead?”

“Well I don't know why it would, since it didn't fit... Are you saying I have a big head?” Poppy said, and a laugh come from where Iris was resting her head on her lap. “Oh shush Iris!”

“It’s true though! You do have a big head!” Iris giggled, and Poppy plucked some grass and dropped it on Iris’s face.

Link and Marigold both laughed as Iris spluttered, rolling off of Poppy’s lap and spitting into the grass.

“Blegh! Seriously, Poppy?”

“You’ve been being pesky all morning, it’s exactly what you deserve,” Poppy grinned, and then ducked under the clump of grass that Iris threw back at her.

Which went flying right into Coriander’s face.

Poppy froze, and Link giggled as Coriander raised a hand and wiped the grass off her face, eyes flashing.

“You know this means war, yes?” she said calmly.

Poppy slowly reached down and plucked another clump of grass, hiding it behind her back. “You don’t have the guts—”

Grass hit her in the face, and somebody squealed, Link diving out of the way as his sisters all armed themselves with grass and flowers, plants flying all over the hillside.

He managed to escape to where Del was sitting further away, and his oldest sister sighed, Lily sitting in the grass beside her with a book in her lap.

“We’re going to be washing grass stains out of their clothes for weeks, aren’t we?”

“Yep,” Lily agreed, and Link laughed, tossing some grass at the both of them.

...

Link blinked as the memory faded, and he looked down at the grass he’d absently plucked, a few wildflowers resting in his palm.

He swallowed, and set the plants gently against a fencepost, picturing all his sisters’s faces in his memory.

Then he tightened the strap of his sword, and walked away from the field, petals drifting in the wind.

[wild-e-eep]

Crusts and Pin-cushions #FencepostOf TheWeek

[kawaiipsycho101]

Inspired by the wonderful cat!Shinji AU created by @jo-gakky

I'm taking a walk when I notice a cat hanging upside down in a tree. It doesn't seem to be particularly bothered by its current position, as if this was something they were regularly used to. Still, I want to be sure.

"You okay there, buddy?" I ask. The cat looks at me at me before calmy & gracefully untangling itself from the branch. I let out a sigh of relief. "Okay, then."

I get a closer look at the cat as it hops onto a fencepost. Gangly limbs, white paws, & a nub of a tail meaning the poor thing must've been in an accident at some point...at least, I hope it was an accident.

"Funny lookin' thing, ain'tchya?" The cat, who had been ignoring me whilst grooming itself, suddenly gets up & disappears into someone's backyard. "I meant unique! Unique!" I droop when it doesn't come back.

I see it again a few days later & take a few steps towards it while still keeping my distance.

“Hey," I wave, "I'm sorry about what I said earlier. That was rude of me. If it makes ya feel any better, I still think you're cute. I like unique lookin' cats. Anyway, we cool?"

The cat meows at me.

"I'm taking that as a yes."

Later that evening, I spot the cat around my backyard. Wasting no time, I grab some cat food.

"Hello again." Like before, I approach with caution. "I had some food lyin' around & thought you might like some." I set the small dish on the ground. "It's probably not as good as what you'd find in the wild, but I know it's gettin' cold out & I figure it's better than nothin', ya know?"

The cat just looks at me. With a tired sigh, I take a few steps back & sit down.

"Well, if you don't eat it, maybe the raccoons will, I don't care... Just don't want it to go to waste, ya know?"

We stare at each other for a while before I eventually go back inside. When I check the food dish the next morning, most of the kibble's been eaten. I refill it.

A few days later, I spot the cat eating out of the dish.

"Mind if I join you?" I sit down not too far from them when I'm ignored. "Thanks."

I watch them eat for a bit... Then I start talking.

"I miss seein' cats around here. My neighbor had a bunch & would feed the strays, but when she moved away, they just stopped comin' around. Of course, I had my own cat to worry about." I hug my knees to my chest. "Not anymore though, she passed away not too long ago. Had her for over twenty years... Since I was a little kid. She was a bitch & a psycho, & it took ten years for her to warm up to me...but she was a damn good cat. I miss her." I tilt my head back, so any potential tears can go right back into their ducts. "It's weird...not seein' her outside my room or on my bed when I wake up. It's..." I shake my head & stand back up, turning to head back inside. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't be botherin' ya while you eat. I'll leave ya to it-"

Something jumps onto my back before clawing its way onto my shoulder. I'm not proud of the noises I make.

Next thing I know, a golden furry flank is pressed against my cheek as the little bastard purrs right in my ear.

"Look-ow!-sweetie, while I really appreciate the-shit!-lovin', I really need you to-fuck me, that smarts!- get down now."

By the time the cat's off of me, I've gained many scratches & while they hurt like a bitch, I can't help but laugh as it scampers away looking far too pleased with itself.

After that, it's always underfoot whenever I go on walks, leading me to christen them with the title, Lil' Shit, a badge they seem to wear with pride. I don't mind...much. I'm just happy to have a furry friend again.

A few weeks later, I wake up in the middle of the night with hunger pangs. I toss & turn, try to wait them out, but they won't go away. Resigned, I go to the kitchen for a granola bar.

What I find is a nearly six-foot-tall shirtless young man in sweatpants with cat ears & a tail that are most certainly attached to his body raiding my refrigerator. We stare at each other for a solid minute before I slump onto the lid of my garbage can.

"...Huh."

@jo-gakky

[k20spock]

people i lived with at one point had some family in the country or smth? and there was this wild cat that kept getting their pregnanr killing the babies and drinking the milk from the mother. killing the babies so she would keep producing milk.. and they eventuallt caught that cat and as it was described to me. "he put his foot on the cats neck put the gun to its head and shot through its head" and then a week or so later she smelled something AWFUL while outside looks over and sees that cat sirting on a fencepost staring at them. she could see through the bullet hole in its head and it was decomposed partially he ran to get his gun and it was gone by the time he got back

[ID: The tails gets trolled image. End ID.]

[thegeminisage]

bro i was SO excited to get into coral island. have been waiting on it to come out of beta for literal years - i didn't want to play the early access version because i wanted to be able to enjoy the entire game at once. when it released i read something about like the merpeople romances not being ready until 2024 and i was like ehhhh should i wait but my brother was like no that'll give you something to bring you back to it later you have been talking and talking about this game it's finally out so you would be nuts not to buy it. so i bought it. $29.99 american dollars. that's about 3 hours of cleaning houses. i had some steam money though so i actually got it for $23

there is an "i'm stuck" button in the menu which acts as if you had passed out - you lose cash and stamina. once my game glitched and i ACTUALLY got stuck because the controls would not allow me to open the door. there've been a few other minor glitches here and there - some weird dialogue, or fenceposts vanishing if you put them in the wrong spot. and steam shows me the xbox controller button prompts instead of the ps4 ones. that was all fine. it's an indie game and it's just been out a couple of weeks. i didn't think a thing about it. for the past 3.5 days the only thing i've wanted to do is play more coral island. you might not be able to marry a merperson yet but i have been cleaning the ocean so i can go talk to them, you know?

but this morning moseyed my ass on over to the subreddit, sure i would find cool tips and trivia etc. instead it's every console player on earth talking about how the crashes make the game unplayable. even on the pc version, there's apparently only 3 merpeople you can even talk to and the cleaning the ocean quest ends with a literal "wip" on the screen. the pet adoption function is still in its infancy, you can't dig for fossils, kids don't grow up, and chests keep vanishing with items in them. i felt like i had only barely scratched the surface of this game but in actuality. maybe not.

andl ike. not to be a whiny pissbaby. but i am SO FUCKINGGG TIRED of games releasing when they aren't FINISHED. i thought an indie game that was in early access for SUCH a long fucking time would be safe from this phenomenon but apparently fucking not. i was fine to wait as long as they needed but when i am flat broke - when as a household we are food bank 2-3 times a month one house payment behind BROKE - to spend $30 on an INCOMPLETE GAME during the HOLIDAY SEASON when i have to fucking buy presents for people is INSANE. if i was going to play the INCOMPLETE version i could have paid the much lower early access price. and i deliberately on purpose did not do that and got tricked into doing it anyway!!!

like how can you raise your price and claim it's because the game is complete now and RELEASE IT ON CONSOLE when the game isn't actually complete now? did they need the extra money to continue development? did some suit stick his nose where it didn't belong? and my ass is WAY past 4 hours so there's no way i can return it. i'm stuck with this game now, just as it is, with the money i paid for it.

idek if i will keep playing. it's fucking fun as shit and ik when it's finished i'm gonna love the hell out of it, plus i've got a ways to go yet before i start hitting walls. but man what a way to take the wind out of a girl's sails. "wip." i spent the last 4 in-game days doing nothing but cleaning the ocean. good lord.

tbh going on reddit was a mistake. that was my bad. i would have preferred to find all this out the hard way and enjoy myself until then. or: better: i would have preferred not to buy the fucking game yet! wild how that works! i hate i hate i HATE this economy!!!!!!!!!! that's so fucking evil!!! i literally want my money back!

[claudiablogger]

youre absolutely right btw. Im tired of Daniel and Im tired of these fans obsession with whiteness. Would stan a fencepost if it was white indeed and considering theyve invented a brand new personality for him to fit into their headcanons and dumbass dm fics so they dont even like him as presented either 😭

screamm literally the worst part is i (show enjoyer who happens to have read iwtv only) love the premise of dm their hunger their jealousy their t4t slay. the version presented by most lovers however that involves armand haplessly pathetically in love w him and sticking by louis for no greater causes than convenience and cost benefit analytical rationality while daniel's the secret love of his life is soooo ldpdl voice BORING you are so Boring dull nights dull weeks dull months dull as fuck !!!! armand doesn't need daniel in fact it's kind of sexy how he inadvertently engineered daniel wrecking his life and he had to first hurt him then kill him to get back at louis bc he presented himself to louis as the anti lestat and his form of punishment hence must involve guilt tripping and blame and the threat of violence knocking on their door like an intruder like it isn't armand's hand raised on full purpose. anyway i started talking abt armands evilness and got sidetracked sorry i also hate how everyone makes daniel submissive to armand against his will or w/e like in thrall to his maker. like ok we already got that guess yr just antiblack and stupid ! plus as if it isn't his vileness in part at least for which louis loves daniel <3 not only is he a masochist louis is also FUNNY <3 and they banterrrr. danlou fucked once in daniels bed after he was turned give each other weekly mental health updates he told me himself. who said guys and girls can't be friends