#from the look of it you are already doing a great job!

[katerinaaqu]

I agree it is closer to modern Greek too to mention the translation of the word "xanthos" as "blonde" but ancient greek colors are not always so cut and clean so oftentimes it means just "fair haired" or "blonde" or can be "reddish" or "auburn" till reddish brown. Basically it is a factor that means "shiny" on occasion so I guess it is up for interpretation although yeah in modern Greek there is no doubt that "xanthos" means "blonde" but ancient Greeks loved to make even our lives difficult! Hahaha! Not at all. Proteus and his prophecies are a very interesting kick starter plot. He was even told on the fact that his brother died and that he might hurry back to offer his respects in time (plot twist he never did) but it is also different from source to source! Hehe but yes Proteus basically spilling the beans! XD

Yeah calling it a "dream" is like I guess a bit far fetched but one can also say it was "a vision" or something. Either way it seems to be vague enough at times for people to not have all information but barely enough to go by. And it is Menelaus's stay in Egypt that is elongated too that might add to the vagueness. Given how he later traveled back to his homeland (at least the version of the story that Euripides takes for his own play as well although of course Homer doesn't FULLY elaborate on the fact) to get to offer his respects to his brother's tomb before coming back to Sparta. At that time in-between his return many things in theory could have changed or mentioned. Oftentimes of course you need to consider information as plot devices. Menelaus is not revealing it to us because the information was insegnificant before or because Menelaus was inconsiderate. It is offered to us now because the trip of Telemachus was important to the plot (I had made a small analysis in the past) and we are only in the Odyssey just now. The viewer has heard before on Odysseus being trapped and wishing his return so now we have the confirmation so the listeners can hear it again. In one way it is like "for those who arrived just now to my performance, here is where Odysseus is, we'll get back to him later" Of course from modern point of view who is used to go to the cinema and watch one film this seems obsurd and one can say "why couldn't you just say so?" but if you think of it as a moving performance outside where people gathered up to listen to someone and more and more get added up in one way we can see why it is repeated there. In this way both Telemachus gets the important plot device to go to Sparta and get information on the war and the horse etc which the viewer gets but also pitches in more people and tuns them in the plot.

Hhahaha no problem at all I definitely see where you come from. Ancient Greek texts in general and Homer in particular are very expressive. But honestly I do not see it THAT much different let's say than Dreamworks Sinbad when Sinbad gets emotional and says to Marina "we dreamt to join the navy together and defend our country together!" like I see it as a very strong feeling of closure but I definitely understand where you come from and many people who make that joke! Hehehe it is always a shock to discover ancient texts isn't it?

Yeah he did hehehe and arguably he never was the sharpest knife in the box either but for sure the whole thing was already overwhealming enough especially the way that his life was settled up (Menelaus and his brother were even exiled because of Aeguisthus and they were struggling to get their kingdom back then the whole Helen business happened and they went away from home at a war for a decade and then they quarreled and the last thing they said to each other before separation was undoubtedly cruel words and then he found out the tragedy and all. The dude didn't have much slack either hahahaha)

Hahahahahahahahaha right?! Lol

You are right that is definitely a logical assumption but of course one could say that one vague piece of information is equally harmful because it increases the agony without easing much the information. Menelaus heard from Proteus he was prisoner before. Was he still prisoner? In one essence the family also had the prophecy that Odysseus would come back in 20 years (which was also what frightened Odysseus and tried to avoid the war altogether) so in one way the family HAD something to go by. Just set the clock to 20 years and he will be back! Hahaha the thing is again the vagueness of prophecies or information didn't help much either. For starters "20 years" is also a phrase that simply could mean "way too long" so people didn't know and even if they did after so long they lost hope. Even if it WAS predicted for Odysseus to be back eventually they just lost all hope regardless of the prophecy so a vague piece of information wouldn't help either. They held hope for 7 extra years after the end of the war was reported. When Menelaus finally got home after 7 years as well that roused suspicion that Odysseus wouldn't come back and if the prophecy was still in to be fulfilled then they assumed that "20 years" simply meant "too long" and that if he came back after way too long he would be useless as a king anyways because of his age. Or rather what if the "he will come back after 20 years" meant as a corpse? Hard to tell hahahaha but when Telemachus called upon the council and the new prophecy came that Odysseus would return, still didn't do much good either. Telemachus was still not perfectly convinced, Penelope was as depressed as ever and the suitors didn't pay attention to the prophet.

As for Telemachus not kicking them out sooner that is not possible for many reasons. One he was not of age of maturity yet (Odysseus left an order to Penelope to rule in his place until his son grew a beard and then he would rule back), two even if he had started his quest sooner that wouldn't have changed anything for Odysseus still would come back after the 20 years were done. In fact the plot was set so nicely thick that the trip of Telemachus happens at the same amount of time that Odysseus tells his story and comes back to Ithaca so when Telemachus comes back, he finds his father waiting and the two of them join forces to get the suitors out of the palace. Telemachus arguably didn't need to leave that specific time out of the palace because Menelaus didn't grace them with a warning sooner but because it was time for Odysseus to return and Telemachus would meet his father away from the palace in a quiet place AFTER he too had explored around. In one way Telemachus having heard the random piece of information that at some point his father was prisoner in one place wouldn't change that plot.

Telemachus for once needed confirmation that Odysseus was his true father and he needed to hear more than just that. Otherwise they had the vague prophecy of his return to go by. He needed to escape from the toxic environment of his home while being removed from danger and the trap of the suitors AND at the same Time Odysseus was set to return home. Homer could easily have made Telemachus say that "I heard once upon a time a friend of my father's saying that he is trapped somewhere" but the atmosphere wouldn't massively change. The songs the bard was singing were also giving vague informations on the returns of others and the sad fates that befell them and yet the idea of melancholy and worry never left anyone. And yes you are absolutely right. Him asking him in person was much more impactful, we get to see Menelaus in person AND on top of that the cognitive trip of Telemachus matches the cognitive trip of Odysseus.

Hope any of it makes sense! ^_^ Calling me a scholar is definitely an honor! I would consider myself just an enthusiast at this point given how despite my university education never have I had the chance to use it in an extensive degree! ^_^ Oh not at all! Hahahaha I believe everyone can tell it was a joke and a sarcastic remark like everyone makes those! It is great to keep things moving which is why I tried to reply in a more light-hearted manner as well! But you certainly opened a wide field of amazing conversations and very valid questions!

Telemachus is so much stronger than me for real. Cause if I had traveled for days, by sea AND land, arrived at the palace of my father's friend and my mother's cousin to humbly ask if they know anything about my missing father and instead of just fucking telling me already, this mf started a monologue about how gay he is for my dad and about the time he captured a God that granted him wishes three, I'd already be telling him to Hurry The Fuck Up. IT'S BEEN TEN YEARS, I DON'T HAVE ALL DAY.

But if the same motherfucker then turned around and told me that he had known FOR YEARS NOW that my dad is trapped on an island AND THE MOTHERFUCKER DIDN'T TELL ANYONE!!!! NOT A SINGLE LETTER!!! I would have already strangled Menelaus with that fucking blond hair of his in front of his wife and children, unhelpful son of a bitch.

[xo100]

Little dreams - LN4

*:･ﾟ Summary: Y/N takes her son Leo to his first Grand Prix, where they meet his idol, Lando Norris. Lando’s kindness makes the weekend unforgettable, sparking joy for Leo and the possibility of something more for Y/N.

*:･ﾟ Word count: 1624

*:･ﾟ A/N: a few days ago I saw on insta that they now released his merch for kids and I immediately had to write a cute fic about it bc the hoodies are absolutely adorable!!!

masterlist / community / request

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The Silverstone paddock buzzed with its usual chaos. Engines roared in the background, journalists hustled between interviews, and fans craned their necks for glimpses of their favorite drivers. Among the crowd, a young boy with a mop of dark hair and a light blue hoodie clung to his mother’s hand, his face alight with wonder.

“Mom, this is the best day ever!” he exclaimed, his small feet practically bouncing with excitement.

His mother, Y/N, smiled down at him, squeezing his hand gently. “I’m glad you’re having fun, Leo. But remember, we have to stick together, okay? This place can get pretty crowded.”

Leo nodded earnestly, his big brown eyes scanning the bustling paddock. At just six years old, he already knew more about Formula 1 than most adults, a passion inherited from his mom. Y/N had grown up watching races with her dad, and now, as a single mother, she shared that same love with her son.

Leo’s favorite driver, without question, was Lando Norris. His room was decorated with McLaren posters, his toy cars all painted papaya orange, and his wardrobe—thanks to Y/N—now included Lando’s newly launched children’s merch line. The hoodie he wore today was his favorite piece, and he hadn’t stopped talking about it since it arrived in the mail.

“Do you think we’ll see him, Mom?” Leo asked, craning his neck to peer around a group of photographers.

Y/N crouched down to his level, brushing a stray curl from his forehead. “Maybe, sweetheart. We have paddock passes, so there’s a chance. But remember, the drivers are super busy, so we have to be patient.”

Leo nodded, though the excitement in his eyes didn’t dim. He clutched the small notepad and marker he’d brought, just in case he got the chance to ask for an autograph.

As they wandered through the paddock, Y/N couldn’t help but feel a wave of nostalgia. It had been years since she’d attended a race in person, but seeing it through Leo’s eyes made it even more magical.

“Mom! Look!” Leo’s voice was a mix of awe and urgency as he tugged on her hand.

Y/N followed his gaze and froze. Just a few feet away, leaning casually against a barrier and chatting with a team member, was Lando Norris himself.

“Go on,” Y/N encouraged softly, her heart swelling at the sight of her son’s hero so close.

Leo hesitated for a moment, his small frame vibrating with nervous energy. Then, with a deep breath, he squared his shoulders and marched forward.

“Hi, Lando!” he said, his voice high-pitched but clear. “You’re my favorite driver!”

Lando turned, his trademark grin lighting up his face as he crouched to Leo’s level. “Hey, buddy! Thanks for saying that. What’s your name?”

“Leo!” he said proudly, puffing out his chest. “And look! I’m wearing your hoodie!”

Lando’s eyes lit up as he took in the light blue hoodie, the logo of his brand displayed prominently on the front. “No way! That looks awesome on you, Leo. You’ve got great taste.”

Leo beamed, clutching the fabric of his hoodie. “My mom got it for me. She says you’re really cool, too!”

Y/N, who had been hanging back to give Leo his moment, felt her cheeks flush as Lando’s gaze shifted to her. He stood, his grin softening into something more genuine.

“Your mom sounds pretty cool herself,” he said, his voice warm.

Y/N stepped forward, laughing nervously. “Well, I’ve been a fan of the sport for a long time, so I guess I’m passing it on.”

“You’re doing a great job,” Lando said, glancing down at Leo, who was now rifling through his notepad. “It’s always nice to meet fans like you two.”

Leo held up the notepad eagerly. “Can you sign this? Please?”

“Of course!” Lando took the marker and scribbled a quick note, adding a little doodle of a race car next to his signature.

As he handed the notepad back, he turned to Y/N again. “Are you two here for the whole weekend?”

“Yes,” Y/N said. “It’s Leo’s first race, so I wanted to make it special.”

“Well, I think you’ve done a pretty good job so far,” Lando said, his tone teasing.

Y/N laughed, feeling a warmth spread through her chest. “Thanks. He’s been counting down the days for months.”

Lando crouched down again, ruffling Leo’s hair. “I hope you have the best time, Leo. And make sure you cheer extra loud for me, okay?”

“I will!” Leo promised, his face glowing with happiness.

As they walked away, Leo clutching his notepad like a treasure, Y/N glanced back over her shoulder. To her surprise, Lando was still watching them, a thoughtful smile on his face.

“Mom,” Leo said, looking up at her. “That was the best moment of my whole life.”

Y/N smiled, her heart full. “Mine too, sweetheart.”

Little did she know, it wasn’t the last time she’d see that thoughtful smile.

The rest of the day passed in a blur of excitement. Leo couldn’t stop talking about meeting Lando, recounting every detail of their conversation to anyone who would listen. Y/N smiled through it all, her heart full as she watched her son’s joy.

But as much as she tried to focus on the moment, she couldn’t quite shake the memory of Lando’s lingering gaze or the warmth in his voice when he spoke to her. It was probably nothing, she told herself. He was just being kind, like he always was with fans.

The next day, Y/N and Leo returned to the paddock, both dressed in their McLaren gear. Leo wore his hoodie again, proudly showing off the autograph Lando had added to the sleeve. The boy was on cloud nine, and Y/N couldn’t imagine how the weekend could get any better.

But then, it did.

As they wandered near the McLaren garage, a team member approached them with a friendly smile.

“Excuse me, are you Leo?”

Leo’s eyes widened as he nodded. “Yes! That’s me!”

The team member chuckled. “Lando mentioned meeting you yesterday. He thought you might like a closer look at the garage. Would you and your mom like to come in?”

Y/N blinked in surprise, her heart skipping a beat. “Are you serious?”

“Absolutely. Follow me.”

Leo practically dragged Y/N by the hand as they followed the team member into the garage. The space was a hive of activity, with engineers working on the cars and team members preparing for the upcoming qualifying session.

Lando was there, of course, leaning casually against the side of his car as he chatted with his race engineer. When he spotted Leo and Y/N, his face lit up with a grin.

“Leo! You made it!”

Leo beamed, running up to him. “This is so cool! Thank you, Lando!”

“Anything for my number one fan,” Lando said, ruffling Leo’s hair. He glanced at Y/N, his smile softening. “Glad you could make it, too.”

“I can’t believe this,” Y/N said, shaking her head. “This is amazing. Thank you so much.”

Lando shrugged, his eyes twinkling. “It’s nothing, really. I just wanted to make sure Leo had a weekend to remember.”

Leo was already engrossed in a conversation with one of the engineers, who was showing him the car’s steering wheel. Y/N took the opportunity to step closer to Lando.

“You didn’t have to do this,” she said, her voice low. “But it means the world to him. To both of us.”

Lando tilted his head, his gaze steady. “I could tell how much this means to you two. And honestly, it’s nice to meet fans who care about more than just the results. You’ve raised a great kid.”

Y/N felt a blush creep up her neck. “Thank you. That means a lot.”

They stood there for a moment, the noise of the garage fading into the background. Lando’s easy smile and the warmth in his eyes made her feel something she hadn’t felt in a long time—hope.

“Mom! Look!” Leo’s excited voice broke the moment as he ran over, holding a small piece of carbon fiber. “They gave me a piece of the car! Isn’t that cool?”

“That’s amazing, sweetheart,” Y/N said, crouching to his level. “You’ll have to find a special place for it at home.”

Leo nodded enthusiastically before turning back to Lando. “You’re the best driver ever!”

Lando laughed, crouching down to Leo’s level. “And you’re the best fan ever. Deal?”

“Deal!”

As they left the garage, Y/N couldn’t help but glance back one last time. Lando caught her eye and gave her a small wave, his smile lingering.

The rest of the weekend was a whirlwind of excitement. Leo cheered his heart out during qualifying and the race, and when Lando crossed the finish line in fourth place, he celebrated as if it were a win.

But the real surprise came after the race. As Y/N and Leo were preparing to leave, a McLaren team member approached them again, this time with an envelope.

“Lando asked me to give this to you,” he said, handing it to Y/N.

Curious, she opened it. Inside was a handwritten note:

Y/N and Leo, Thank you for making this weekend unforgettable. Leo, keep being the amazing fan you are. And Y/N, if you’re ever at another race, I’d love to see you again. Maybe we can grab a coffee sometime? -Lando

Y/N’s breath caught in her throat as she read the note. She glanced at Leo, who was already excitedly telling a passerby about his piece of the car, and then back at the note.

Maybe, just maybe, this weekend wasn’t just a dream come true for Leo.

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*:･ﾟ Notes; thank you for reading, love’s! Hope you all enjoyed it! If there is something wrong or need to be edited, let me know!

*:･ﾟtags; @gridprincess-04 , @justaf1girl

[daydreamabout]

A Deal with the Grumpy Officer [Tim Bradford Imagine]

Summary: You find the perfect opportunity to leave a date.

Y/N sat in a booth at the small, local diner, stirring her drink absentmindedly. Derek, her date, was talking about his job, but her mind was elsewhere. She smiled politely and nodded in all the right places, but something felt off. The conversation was nice enough, but she couldn’t shake the feeling that she wasn’t fully invested in it.

She glanced around the diner, hoping to distract herself, when her eyes landed on a familiar figure.

Tim Bradford.

Standing at the counter, holding a takeout bag and looking as unimpressed as ever. His blonde hair was a little messy and his tan looked like it had been freshly topped off. The t-shirt he wore—bright yellow with the word "Lakers" sprawled across it—stood out against his usual grumpy expression, giving him an almost comically serious air.

Y/N’s heart gave a little leap. She knew exactly what to do.

“Sorry, Derek,” Y/N interrupted him, her voice suddenly a bit too cheerful. “I think I need to leave. I, uh, just remembered I’ve got something I need to take care of.”

Derek blinked, looking caught off guard. “What? Already? But we were having a great time.”

Y/N’s lips twisted into an apologetic smile. “Yeah, but my ex is here, and I really don’t want to deal with it. He’s a bit... intense.”

“Your ex?” Derek looked confused, but Y/N didn’t wait for him to process. She gestured subtly toward Tim, who had just finished paying for his food and was heading toward the door.

Y/N leaned in close to Derek, trying her best to look embarrassed. “Yeah, he’s just over there. I don’t want to make it weird.”

Derek glanced over and noticed Tim—arms crossed, face stoic, staring at him like he could turn him to stone with just one look.

“Oh... uh, okay. Yeah, I get it,” Derek stammered, suddenly looking uncomfortable. “You should, uh... go take care of that then.”

Y/N nodded, already standing up. “I’ll text you later, okay? Thanks for understanding.”

Before Derek could say anything else, she quickly made her way toward Tim, feeling a little rush of adrenaline.

“Hey, Tim!” she called out, her voice unexpectedly chipper.

Tim glanced up, his grumpy demeanor softening slightly when he saw her. “Y/N? What’s up?”

She quickly lowered her voice, stepping closer to him. “I need your help,” she whispered. “I need you to play along. It’s for my... ex-boyfriend. He’s here, and I need you to pretend to be, well, him.”

Tim gave her a blank stare, but there was a flicker of amusement in his eyes. “You want me to pretend to be your angry ex?”

Y/N nodded frantically. “Please. I just need to get out of here, and he’s already looking at us.”

Tim sighed deeply, looking over at Derek, who was still sitting at the table, confused and nervous. “You owe me big time for this.”

“Deal,” she said quickly, glancing back at Derek. “Just make it look convincing.”

With a grunt of agreement, Tim walked past her, glaring in Derek’s direction as he passed. Y/N quickly followed him, turning back toward Derek with a resigned expression. “Sorry, but I’ve really got to go. He is being difficult and... you know how that goes.”

Derek’s eyes widened when he saw Tim, his arms crossed and his expression downright terrifying. “Wait, your... ex is that guy?”

Y/N nodded as casually as possible, taking a few steps back. “Yep, him. I should really go. I’ll text you later.”

Derek looked from her to Tim, then back to her. “Uh, okay... no problem. Take care.”

Without another word, she turned and quickly walked after Tim, not daring to look back at Derek. She couldn’t help the small grin that tugged at her lips as they stepped out of the diner and into the cool night air.

Tim didn’t say anything as they walked toward his car, his usual gruffness returning. He unlocked the door with a click and tossed the takeout bag into the passenger seat before getting in himself.

“So... what now?” he asked, clearly unimpressed by the situation.

Y/N slipped into the passenger seat, glancing over at the bag of food. “Well, I’d say we go somewhere comfortable.Maybe watch the Lakers game?” She shrugged casually, trying to sound lighthearted despite her nerves. “I mean, you’re already here and, well... I could use the distraction.”

Tim gave her a sidelong look but didn’t argue. “You really think I’m going to share my food with you?”

She grinned, reaching over and tugging the bag closer. “I’m sure you’ll be generous. After all, you’re the one doing me the favor.”

Tim rolled his eyes, but there was a small smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “This is the last time I help you out, you know.”

Y/N laughed, feeling a little more at ease now that they were both in the car. “Oh, that's what you said last time as well.”

---

The drive to Tim’s place was short.They were sitting on his couch, the game on in the background. The Lakers were playing their rivals and the tension in the room was palpable, but for once, Y/N wasn’t focused on the game. She was too busy stealing bites of Tim’s fries when he wasn’t looking, trying to ignore the way his presence was oddly comforting.

Tim’s focus was entirely on the TV, but every now and then, he’d glance at her and she could see the faint hint of a smile on his face.

“So, the Lakers, huh?” she said, taking a bite of his burger when he wasn’t paying attention.

Tim didn’t look at her but there was a dry edge to his voice. “Yeah, they’re not bad.”

“Not bad?” Y/N asked with mock disbelief. “They’re amazing, Tim! You’ve gotta be more invested than that.”

“Sure, sure. Amazing,” he muttered, shaking his head with a slight chuckle.

Y/N smiled to herself, watching the game for a bit, but then her gaze drifted to the take-out bag again. She couldn’t help but laugh quietly to herself. “You know, I’m pretty sure this isn’t how I expected my night to go.”

Tim glanced at her, his expression unchanging. “What, you didn’t think you’d be eating my fries and watching a game with me?”

“Definitely not.” She chuckled. “But I’m glad it turned out this way.”

Tim didn’t respond right away, but when he finally looked at her, there was something a little warmer in his gaze. “Yeah, me too.”

And just like that, the night stretched on in comfortable silence, the Lakers playing in the background as they shared food and time in each other's company. Despite everything, it was exactly what she needed.

[grudgecollector]

Afterglow | Nam-gyu / American!Reader

You're reading part two Story Summary: Nam-gyu gets a new job and finds himself falling for the girl behind the deli counter.

Words: 2.1k

Tags/Warnings: canon divergence, Thanos lives, fluff, these people are down BAD. Slightly proof read

A/N: Can you tell that I have a hand kink based on how many times I mention his?

I want him CARNALLY . Like step back... let me take a bite.

PART ONE | PART THREE | MASTERLIST

“Come on…” Su-bong groaned through the phone, “Why can’t you get groceries? You literally work at a grocery store.” 

Nam-gyu rolled his eyes as he made his way towards the sliding doors, already fishing for his vape in his pocket. He’s had that craving feeling deep in his stomach for the past hour, steadily awaiting his break. 

He bit the inside of his lip, brushing a strand of hair behind his ear “Because I’ll be working until five, and I don’t feel like being in this store longer than I have to be.” 

Su-bong sighed dramatically, and Nam-gyu could hear the thrashing of his bed sheets making the man chuckle quietly. 

He found a place to sit against the wall outside, plopping himself down on the ground and putting his phone on speaker. He closed his eyes for just a second as he listened to Su-bong’s string of complaints filter through the speaker, excuses as to why he couldn’t do it tonight. 

“I have plans though…” He practically whined to his friend. 

If it had been after the games Nam-gyu would have caved so much faster, listening to the great Thanos’ no matter the cost. But after actually getting to know the former rapper, Nam-gyu came to realize that they were much more similar than he previously assumed. Both lost in their own pathetic lives, unable to move from the places they’ve got themselves wedged into. 

Su-bong no longer had a pedestal to put himself on, especially not in America where he was practically unknown. 

“Don’t be such a lazy bastard.” Nam-gyu said to him finally, exhaling the smoke from his lungs. “I’ll do the shopping next time, I just don’t feel like it today.” 

Whatever reply Su-bong gave him was drowned out the second Nam-gyu opened his eyes, that girl… The one he ran into a few days ago. He had noticed her quite a bit since their first interaction, his eyes occasionally lingering on her when he was near her department.

To the point where he would even come by to get food, hoping that she would be the one handing it to him. 

“Oh shit, dude.” Nam-gyu talked over his friend suddenly, talking quietly in Korean “That girl just walked out here.” 

“The cute one you’ve been talking about?” Su-bong replied in a teasing whisper, releasing a faux giggle, “Oh man I bet you’re blushing, aren’t you?” 

“Shut the fuck up!” He hissed back in response, “You are so annoying.” Nam-gyu’s hands went up to his cheeks, feeling that they were a little warmer than usual. 

Su-bong laughed loudly, “Oh shiiiit dude, this is so cute! Little Nam-gyu has a crush!” 

“Yeah you’re getting groceries today, dick. Goodbye.” Nam-gyu hung up on Su-bong before he could think of replying. 

~~~

You sat just a few feet away from him… That guy… 

He seemed so stone cold and serious most of the time. Especially when he’s walking around the store. His expression is unmoving, almost bored. He almost reminded you of one of those mysterious kinds of people that draw you in. 

It took you off guard when he came up to the hot bar one day, there was a small smile playing on his lips as he asked about the different things you had to offer. He swayed back and forth a little, his hand coming up to rest against his cheek as he tried to make up his mind. 

You couldn’t help but stare at him a little, admiring the way he pursed his lips for a second before simply asking for two chicken tenders. The way he looked back up at you made your heart stutter in your chest a little, he was actually really cute.

Every now and then you would see him around. Either coming up to your counter asking for the items your coworker had cut for the personal shoppers. Or coming to get food, asking your opinions on certain things before ordering the same thing he always got. 

“Has it been busy out there?” You asked him yesterday, looking out towards the shopping floor full of customers. It was getting closer to the Super Bowl.

“Yeah, I almost accidentally ran over someone’s kid earlier.” Nam-gyu, as you had learned by glancing down at his name tag, replied with a chuckle. 

You laughed along with him, “Holy shit, I don’t doubt it, man. These people just let their kids run around like crazy. I don’t understand it.” 

Now you sat just a few feet away from him, nervous. You always found it so much easier to talk to people when you were behind the counter, as that was your job.

But strangers, especially attractive ones, were always so hard to talk to when that shield was taken from you.

God having a crush at this age is so embarrassing… 

“Busy today?” Nam-gyu asked suddenly, snapping you out of your thoughts, making you feel a little more flustered. 

“Hm?” You hum, looking up from your phone to him. He had turned his whole body towards you, legs crossed and a vape lazily grasped in his fingers as he took a hit from it. 

“Has it been busy today?” He asked again, exhaling through the side of his mouth, “In your area?” 

“Oh! Yeah, it’s been busy as fuck.” You try to respond as casually as possible, with his eyes boring into you like that. 

~~~

Oh god was he staring? 

Nam-gyu blinked a few times before looking back down on his phone, five more minutes left on his break. He skimmed over the text Su-bong had sent him, making him roll his eyes before glancing back up at you.

Your pretty eyes met his, making his heart flutter in his chest just a little. 

God he felt like a kid with a crush, what was wrong with him? 

He had no idea what to even do to strike up a conversation anymore, he used to be decently okay at talking to people he didn't know, but now words evaded him. His brain almost felt like it was shutting down on itself, any sentence he could think of quickly going blank. 

“So do you like it over here? In this store?” You finally ask, breaking the awkward battle going on inside Nam-gyu. 

“It’s been okay so far, boring... But it’s money.” He replied simply, leaning his shoulder against the brick wall. “What about you? How long have you been here?”

“I’ve been here too long. Two years." You let out a sigh, "it wouldn’t be so bad if there wasn’t so much drama.” you shook your head a little bit at the mere thought. 

That word sparked some intrigue. Nam-gyu was always one for drama, finding it absolutely fascinating and hilarious. It was probably why he was so hooked on the reality shows Su-bong showed him, the drama never failed to entertain him. 

“Drama, huh?” He raised a brow.

You couldn’t help but smile a little, “Oh yeah, it’s ridiculous. Sometimes it’s really childish, but other times it’s crazy shit like cheating scandals, managers dating their employees, all that kind of stuff.” You started to stand up from where you were sitting, checking your phone, “You’ll see what I mean eventually.” 

Nam-gyu watched you walk away, his eyes not leaving your form until you disappeared around the corner. God he was honestly pathetic. 

~~~

Over the next few weeks you were able to get to know Nam-gyu a little more, his breaks syncing up with yours most of the time. You both exchanged stories about your childhood, school life, your time in your home countries. He seemed to skip around some topics sometimes, but you didn’t pry, knowing it was none of your business. 

Each day that passed he seemed to sit closer to you, his gaze getting a little bit softer each day. He almost seemed more relaxed in your presence, which you chalked up to overthinking. But eventually it got to the point where he was sitting right in front of you, your knees almost brushing together as you shared his vape. 

You could feel your face heat up just from sitting so closely to him. Listening to the videos play off your phone as you scrolled through tiktok, finding it hard to pay attention after you felt his hand brush against your leg briefly. 

Has he always smelled this good? Or did he just start wearing cologne?

“Do you want to go sit in my car? It’s a little cold out here.” He asked suddenly, noticing the way you shivered each time the wind blew. 

“Sure.” You nod. 

You didn’t even fully register what he had said, not with him looking at you like that. His ringed fingers toying with his smiling lips so softly. 

The walk to his car wasn’t long, he parked near the trees where most of the employees usually parked. A nicely shaded area during the summer, but much colder during the winter. You just hoped his heating worked better than yours did. 

Nam-gyu opened the drivers side and slid inside quickly, pressing the button to start the car the second his door was closed. You got in after him, closing your door and tucking your hands inside the sleeves of your jacket, and you noticed he had done the same. 

The tips of his fingers barely poked out the top as he scrolled through spotify. Clicking on a playlist and pressing play, the music was quiet enough and even quieter under the blast of air coming from the air vents as Nam-gyu turned it on and over to heat. 

Almost as if instinctively, he grabbed your hands, rubbing both of his against yours in an attempt to warm the both of you up a little quicker. 

You could feel your face getting hot again. 

“Better?” Nam-gyu asked, not taking his hands off yours just yet. 

“Yeah, thank you.” You smile, staring into his eyes for a second longer than you should. 

~~~

Nam-gyu couldn’t take his eyes off of you, he felt stuck in place. A warmth spreading across his face, his lips parting and before he could even register it- 

“You’re so pretty.” He could feel your hands tighten a little in his grasp. A cold chill rushed through him, oh god why did I say that…

Your eyes narrowed a little before looking down, a small shy smile playing at the corner of your lips. Nam-gyu felt like his heart was going to beat out of his chest, he was so nervous, he could feel his hands begin to sweat inside the sleeves of his hoodie. 

“You don’t mean that.” You let out a small laugh, glancing over at him for just a second. 

Nam-gyu smiled a little wider, his hands shaking just a little bit from anxiety as he readied himself to speak again. “I think you’re really pretty.” 

“Holy shit.” You giggle a little in disbelief, looking back up at him, “I- uh I think you’re really cute too.” 

His hands were shaking so badly now, he could feel the tremble spread through his arms, a shock of excitement shooting through him right along with his anxiety. This felt too good to be true, he almost worried that this was some sick joke, and he would wake up from this dream… back there. 

“Hey. Are you okay?” Your voice suddenly breaks Nam-gyu out of his thoughts, he blinked, realizing he was staring down at your joined hands. “You’re shaking really bad.” 

“Oh… Um, yeah I have pretty bad anxiety.” He expressed with a small laugh, “And it’s been a while since I’ve felt this kind of way.” 

Your eyes softened a little bit, a small smile finding its way to your lips. “It’s been a while for me too.” 

Nam-gyu’s hand found its way out of his sleeve, slowly raising up to cup your cheek softly, “Can I kiss you?” He muttered softly, already moving a little closer. 

~~~

You didn’t answer him. Your hand came up to rest on his jaw, fingers softly threading through his hair as you brought him closer to you, lips connecting in a kiss. He let out a soft breath as your lips slotted together perfectly, a soft but passionate kiss, filled with weeks of tiptoeing around each other. 

Both of his hands now cradled your head, one hand slipping down a little to hold your neck, his rings cold against your neck. You could feel his tongue brush against your bottom lip, begging for entrance. Your tongues brushed against each other in a soft battle, forcing a small moan from his lips. 

Your face immediately flushed at the sound, warmth spreading from your cheeks down to your neck. 

“You gotta calm down with all that.” You muttered when you pulled back a little. A small laugh coming from you. 

Nam-gyu blinked a little before laughing, “Sorry… I got a little carried away.”

[celticjade13]

A few things.

birthright citizenship (aka the 14th amendment) is now gone

So he can't actually do that. The Constitution can't be amended via executive order. Remember how y'all were saying Biden declaring the Equal Rights Amendment valid as the "least" effort he could make? (It wasn't the least, actually, but that's a separate post.) Trump's just doing the opposite. Instead of declaring an amendment valid, he's declaring it invalid. 18-22 states (I keep seeing different numbers) and the ACLU have sued. If the President could just wipe out an amendment he doesn't like, Prohibition would've been over a lot sooner.

It's going to end up at SCOTUS, and they're going to try to interpret it as narrowly as possible, but the text is quite clear. "All persons born or naturalized in the United States, and subject to the jurisdiction thereof, are citizens of the United States and of the State wherein they reside."

tariffs on china will begin soon, not specified when

We already have tariffs on imports from China. I work in the electronics distribution industry, we have a lot of tariffs on imports from China. He's looking at likely expanding them, yes, but Biden expanded some before he left office. This is basically normal politics. Honestly, the biggest deal for this is that I have to make sure my job gets all the tariff data right when it starts changing.

the US now "only recognizes two genders, male and female"

The text of this is actually batshit insane. It says genders start at conception, which is not how any of this works, and I anticipate some lawsuits for this one too. The birthright citizenship lawsuits were obviously cued up (How else do you get 18-22 states to do something that fast?) but they probably needed to know the text of this one to figure out the suit.

there are rumors the pope is going to say trump is the antichrist

The Pope is not going to say that Trump is the Antichrist. Pope Francis called Trump's mass deportation plans "a disgrace" and the 2 don't have a great relationship (because Trump is a terrible person), but the head of the Catholic Church is not going to call the President of the United States the Antichrist. No matter how much it may be true.

i watched the livestream of trump signing executive orders and answering questions from the press. here are some of the big ones + other things mentioned today:

trump declared a national emergency at the southern border + is getting the US military more involved in stopping "invasions including mass migration"

no one can declare asylum in the US

all existing appointments for people wanting to legally become US citizens are canceled

birthright citizenship (aka the 14th amendment) is now gone

ICE sweeps beginning "soon," not specifying when (though there are rumors it's starting tomorrow in sanctuary cities such as chicago)

mexican cartels are now designated "foreign terrorist organizations" and trump is not opposed to US troops entering mexico to eliminate them

he restored the death penalty for "crimes committed by illegal aliens"

biden had signed an executive order attempting to stop cops from using chokeholds or doing no-knock warrants. trump just revoked that order

25% tariffs on canada and mexico begin on feb 1 2025 — expect a lot of produce imported from mexico to get more expensive soon

tariffs on china will begin soon, not specified when

trump said he intends to take back the panama canal, did not specify when or how

january 6 insurrectionists are to be immediately released/pardoned

he pardoned the leader of the proud boys

tiktok has a 90 day extension, during which the US gov will try to buy 50% of tiktok. trump said he no longer cares that china is "spying on our young people," but he wants to buy half of tiktok so the US government "can police it a little bit, or a lot." if tiktok will not sell, it will be banned in the US again.

he claims the people of greenland want to become part of the US

he says the gulf of mexico is now to be called the "gulf of america" + denali is now to be called "mount mckinley"

alaska is to be mined and become the US' main source for fossil fuels

the green new deal and "electric vehicle" (green energy) mandates are over

the US has withdrawn from the paris climate agreement

the US has withdrawn from the world health organization

reproductiverights.gov is already gone

the US now "only recognizes two genders, male and female"

trans women prisoners are to be housed in male prisons; gender affirming care for prisoners is gone

self-identification for gender on passports, government IDs, and social security cards is gone

all federal employees are required to work in the office five days a week, no more working from home

trump said the US is going to "pursue our manifest destiny into the stars" and plant a US flag on mars

sources on what executive orders were signed: one two three

and lastly, some things that happened during the inauguration:

the pastor who blessed the inauguration during the swearing in ceremony has already announced a new meme coin/cryptocurrency

trump did not put his hand on the bible + there are rumors the pope is going to say trump is the antichrist

the wealthiest people on the planet — the CEOs of twitter/tesla, amazon, google, meta, and even the CEO of tiktok — who own almost all communication platforms used by westerners — stood directly behind trump as he was sworn in

elon musk, the wealthiest person alive, who has been given his own vaguely-defined US government agency, did a nazi salute on stage at the presidential podium. neo-nazis are already celebrating

[vampirejuno]

Remember that discworld dream I had the other day? Well, lads.... I wrote it. At the encouragement of @catstrophysics, @lilenariinpink and @theygotlost, I present to you...

Something Fishy

His Grace, His Excellency, Sir Samuel Vimes the Duke of Ankh, Blackboard Monitor, sighed emphatically and tried to shoulder his way through the throng. Sator Square was packed with people. Never before in his life, he reflected, had he ever seen such a crowd turn up at six in the bloody morning to watch what was, essentially, a man tossing a dead fish onto the ground. Is this what passes for entertainment these days? he thought bitterly. We used to be a great city when it came to entertainment. After some further consideration of past greatness, he stopped, shook his head, and silently offered praise to whatever god was responsible for making sure it stayed in the past.

It had been a little over a month since the Fish Craze, and already Vimes wished he could permanently ban the import of all seafood into the city. Nobody remembered what had started it, but the fad had spread faster than wildfire, with no fashion-brigade to stop the madness. Everyone had taken it up. Even perfectly reasonable people, the kind that sneered at their grannies for fretting over a broken mirror, would, in all sincerity, say things like, “Thank goodness for another Right Day, I could use the luck”, or, more frequently, “No wonder it all went tits up, it was a Left Day”.

Vimes failed to see the appeal. The whole process consisted of taking a fish (preferably a sardine, though most made do with herring or, in desperate times, even anchovies), tossing it in the air, and checking which side up it landed. At first, everyone did it individually. This had led to much disagreement and, eventually, an event that would go down in history as “Most Organic Weapons Riot”. The watchmen who’d been on duty that night were given two days off to try and wash the smell out of their uniforms.

The following day, the Patrician had announced the instatement of an Official Fish Thrower, which soon turned into “the Offishal Tosser”, or simply “the Tosser”, and whose entire job it was to go into Sator Square every morning, toss a sardine for the city, and announce to the enraptured masses what sort of day they were going to have. It was rumored that the Tosser was a retired magician who had specialized in sleight of hand, and that he ensured the fish always landed precisely according to the Patrician’s specifications. Knowing Vetinari, Vimes thought, the man probably has a spreadsheet planned out for a month in advance.

His musings were interrupted by a current of movement in the crowd, which parted hastily to reveal a figure with a tray.

“Right Fish! Get your Right Fish! Guaranteed Day goes Right! Turn your day ‘round with just one toss!”

Vimes sighed. Only one man would try to sell you fish at the Offishal Tossing.

“Morning, Throat,” he said distantly. There was a commotion at the front of the crowd as people tried to dislodge someone from the Tosser’s podium. It looked like an Omnian preacher had taken advantage of the audience to spread the good word to the unenlightened masses, whether they liked it or not.

“A good morning to you, Commander! Can I interest you in some nice sardines? Three for tuppence, and that’s cutting my own throat!”

Vimes risked a glance at the tray as Ankh-Morpork’s least successful merchant approached him in a hopeful sidle. It was laden with row upon row of little strangely misshapen fish. Picking one up and turning it over in his fingers, Vimes saw the reason for this. Someone had taken some pains to cut them in two lengthwise, discarded all the left halves, and rejoined the things by gluing two right halves together with some mysterious sticky substance. He put it back down and inconspicuously wiped his hand on his trousers. Like many of Dibbler’s products, it was precisely what you paid for.

“Sardine? Seems more like smelt to me.”

“Yes, very fragrant, indeed,” said the merchant without missing a beat. “Perhaps some fish’n’chips, then, Commander? Only ten pence for our brave lads in the Watch!”

I don’t think I’m that brave, Vimes thought. Aloud, he said, “Is that where the left halves go, then?”

“I don’t know what you mean, sir. Ah, hello, miss, you look like you could do with a nice nourishing breakfast! Some delicious fish’n’chips to start the day off right, how about it?”

The crowd was so packed now – hah, like sardines in a can – that Vimes gave up all hopes of pushing through it. Most of these people had turned up early to get a good spot and were now whiling the minutes away until the much-awaited Tossing. There was a conversation taking place just behind him, where an argument of Morporkians was standing around, doing what it did best. The current object of ire appeared to be a young man’s drawling voice, which was questioning Tradition.

“-don’t see why we couldn’t put a new spin on it. This is…too restrictive, like.”

“How’s that, then?”

“It’s just awfully specific, is all I’m saying.”

“What are you babbling about, Harold?” responded a higher, slightly irritated voice that instantly filed itself away as “unhappy wife” in Vimes’s copper brain.

“I mean, why’s it got to be a sardine? Why not a, uh,” the young man cast around for seafood-related ideas, “a crab, or something?”

“Come now, that’d never work,” a stout little man next to him laughed good-naturedly. He was smoking a pipe and had the look of someone who used words like “indubitably” and “perfunctory” despite only having a very approximate idea of what they meant. “Crabs are not remotely suitable for the task.”

“Oh, is that right?”

“Well-known fact,” nodded the crustacean connoisseur. “Divination is congenitally tied to the noble art of fishing, you know. It’s called forecasting, after all.”

There were more nods and approving laughs. The man puffed on his pipe with a chuckle, clearly satisfied with the pun. Vimes managed not to punch him.

“Y’know, that sounds about right. Never ‘eard of someone telling the future with a crab,” an old woman nodded wisely. “You never know where you are with crabs. Now, fish, that’s reliable.”

The group pondered this.

“Look at it this way. We’ve had, what, twenty-three Left Days so far – not counting Floppy Friday* – and every single time, somethin’ bad happened.”

The others murmured their agreement. There were several thoughtful comments recounting various misfortunes that the participants had suffered on past Left Days. Vimes pinched the bridge of his nose.

“This is Ankh-Morpork, something bad is always happening.”

“Right, that’s what I’m saying,” nodded the young man, who hadn’t been saying that. “Besides, plenty of perfectly good fortune tellers in the city. A man tossing a sardine on the cobbles is not a valid method of divination, in my humble opinion.”

“Harold, you are embarrassing me.”

“Oh, come off it, Mathilda, you got by just fine without any of this business for thirty years of your life. Now it’s all Sardines this, Herring that, Why don’t we get an ornamental trout lake-”

At that moment, the Offishal Tosser stepped onto his little podium, and the couple was shushed into outraged silence. 

* * *

“Come on, before ol’ Stoneface gets here. You know he doesn’t approve of this sort of thing.”

The Pseudopolis Yard watch house was buzzing with excitement uncharacteristic for six in the morning on a Wednesday. Most of the night shift had signed off and the day guard were trickling one by one into the main room. An ever-growing group was clustered in a vague circle, in the center of which Corporal Nobbs could just be made out (if that was your idea of a good time). The men all had the vague air of middle school students asking their teacher about his dog in order to delay math class by another five minutes.

“Might that have anything to do with the fact that, last time, it took three hours and a bucket of armour polish to get the smell out of the floorboards?” Angua smiled. It was a very friendly smile.

“Right, sarge, but… We-ell, you’re…”

“Yes?” The smile widened.

Constable Fernsby shifted uncomfortably. There were a few sniggers. It was true that werewolves had considerably sharper senses than humans and would therefore be able to smell a fish long after it had departed the material plane, but, the sniggers seemed to indicate from a safe distance, you didn’t go around pointing this out to them. Fortunately for the boy, he was saved from any further smiles by a very timely interruption in the form of the Captain.

“Good morning! Everyone had a nice rest, I hope? Ready for another day of work?”

Carrot strutted in, wearing his usual genuine smile and gleaming armor. There was a not-so-subtle change in the atmosphere; a sudden nonchalantness enveloped the room. All around him, the squad commenced their very best impression of the Walls And Ceiling Inspection Division. One or two of the simpler lads even clasped their hands behind their backs and started to whistle**. Carrot sighed.

“Alright, what did you do?... And don’t look at me like that, I can see something smells fishy here.”

This was greeted with one or two coughs and a sudden interest in last night’s heaps of paperwork. Only Lance-Constable Whippet, who had joined three days ago and was, therefore, not yet acquainted with the minutiae of his commanding officers’ tempers, and sergeant Detritus, who could be a little slow on the uptake, met the captain’s inquisitive gaze. Finally, he looked to Angua for help. She shrugged meaningfully.

“Well… er,” said Sergeant Colon, who felt obliged to make some sort of contribution on behalf of his insubordinates, “we was just…engaging in some…cultural activities, captain. To boost morale for the day, like. Er.”

Carrot sniffed at the air – never a very good idea in a watch house, where, at any given point in time, half the men had just returned from patrolling and the other half were emerging from the locker room – and understanding began to dawn.

“Ah, I see. And I expect, Sergeant, that such…team-building activities are best carried out without the involvement or presence of, say, senior officers?”

“Could be, sir. I’m sure you’d know best, sir.” Colon’s big round face was a picture of cherubic innocence.

“Well, in that case, I believe Sergeant Angua and I have a case to attend to. Corporal Thighbiter up at Dolly Sisters needed some help with that Money Trap Lane break-in...”

“Actually, he just sent word the other day – it turned out Mister Mason had got drunk and lost his key again and crashed through the oomph-” Constable Ping bent over slightly from several democratic elbows in the ribs. With a true officer’s tact, Carrot feigned temporary deafness. He held the door for Angua, who detached herself from the wall with one last pleasant smile that could’ve cut steel, and the two stepped out briskly into the safety of fresh air***.

After they had gone, the squad waited a few moments and then turned back to the center of the room, where someone had dragged a mysteriously stained stool from the canteen when the kitchen lady wasn’t looking. Corporal Nobbs was shuffled towards it with extreme care.

The little man**** dusted himself off and scrambled onto the rickety stool. As the other watchmen leaned in closer, he reached into the unspeakable depths of his inner pockets and, with a certain air of ceremony, produced…

“A sardine!”

“Cor, is that real?”

“Dat a very small fish.”

“Where did you get it, corp?”

Nobby basked in the approving murmurs of his colleagues. It had, indeed, been a challenge to find – sardines were very rare these days, outside of the occasional coveted freak shower – but he was nothing if not resourceful.

“We-ell, it weren’t easy, that’s true,” he rolled a dog-end from one corner of the mouth to the other, savoring the moment. He rarely commanded so much attention without attracting a variety of insults and the occasional ballistic eel. “Pays to know the right people, o’course. I have connections, me. Contacts. Ties, even.”

“Aye, but that floral one you nicked last week really don’t suit you very well.”

“Oh, that’s rich coming from you, Stronginthearm. All your accessories are made of chainmail! Everyone knows jewel tones are for winter, anyway.”

Colon raised a placating hand. “All right, all right, lads, no need to get all up in arms just ‘cos some folks are a little…stylistically challenged.”

“Thanks, sarge.”

“I meant you, Nobby.”

The corporal threw up his arms. “I go to all this trouble,” he wailed, “I talk to people, I find a contraband seafood shipment from Klatch, I explain matters to the fishmonger – on my day off, too, might I add – I procure a real, genuine, only-slightly-nibbled actual sardine, and this is the thanks I get?”

The watchmen watched, transfixed, as he flourished the fabled fish in their faces. It had, indeed, already been chewed on; the tail was sticking out rigidly and the whole thing smelled as if it was a few weeks beyond consumption, but it was a sardine nonetheless. Most of the lads, coming from humble (and sometimes humbling) backgrounds, felt slightly awed at the idea of Tossing a fish that these days was available only to the very richest observers of the fad. It was, they felt, unbecoming to wave it around like a paper flag at a parade. The damn things tended to be slippery. Probably would be bad luck, they figured, if it was flung down by accident; who knew what sort of fortune that would foretell?

“Where’s the appreciation, I ask you?” Nobby continued in woeful tones. “Every time I’ve Tossed a fish for you lot, it’s landed Right! Now, how many of you can say that, eh?”

The watchmen exchanged doubtful glances.

“Er… Well, you never let anyone else do it, corp,” Ping reasoned. “You just nicks the fish and eats it afterwards.”

“Oh, now, that does it! I won’t stand here and be slandered at!”

“Woah there, Nobby, watch that sardine-”

“If you’re gonna be like that, then I’m not doing it. And good luck finding someone who’ll do it as well as me!”

“Careful with that-”

“And I’m taking the sardine.”

“-not the tail-”

 “You can beg, but I won’t change my mind, and that’s that!” Nobby flung out his hand in a grandiose gesture. Unfortunately, it was the wrong hand.

Time slowed to a crawl. Every head in the room swiveled as one, following the trajectory of the airborne fish. It sailed head first towards the front door, which was creaking, doorknob turning, and slowly, slowly opening…

* * *

The Offishal Tosser tossed the fish, which landed damply. There was a satisfying splat. The crowd held its breath as the first few rows near the podium craned to see.

“Today is the fourth of April in the year of the Significant Woodlouse, and it is a… Left Wednesday!” the man proclaimed.

A disappointed groan spread through the crowd. Slowly, people started dispersing with occasional complaints, casting sour looks at the offending fish. Here and there, members of the Gamblers’ Guild were exchanging coins.

Vimes shook his head again as the grumbling current carried him through the square, into the Plaza of Broken Moons, and out to the Patrician’s palace. At last he disengaged himself from the throng and elbowed his way towards the Brass Bridge. It wasn’t far to the watch house from here, but he still picked up the pace. Despite not having official working hours, Vimes liked to get there early in the morning, just as the day shift was coming in, to get a headstart on ignoring his paperwork.

As he walked, his copper mind took over and he mentally leafed through the agenda of the day. Let’s see, what was there… He had that audience with Vetinari at eleven, probably concerning last night’s diplomatic dinner – not that it was Vimes’s fault that he saw the unlicensed thief and that the Klatchian ambassador happened to be standing there, and anyway who drinks red wine while wearing a white robe… Then the interview with the Times at noon… Then briefing the lads on the unsolved contraband seafood case… Then he’d have to do something about the river division, they can’t just keep sinking the damn boat, this is getting ridiculous…

A distant glint caught Vimes’ eye as he stepped off the bridge. Carrot’s shiny breastplate could be seen from a mile away on a clear day, and the captain was, indeed, proceeding along the river with Angua in tow. 

What the hell are they doing out? They’re not on patrol today…

Briefly, he considered catching up to them, but then dismissed the idea. They were only a couple streets away from the watch house, and Carrot seemed relaxed enough, stopping to chat with every other passer-by in his usual manner. No emergency, then. On the other hand, they had a batch of new recruits at the main office, the gods alone knew what those yahoos would be getting up to without a senior officer present. And under Colon’s command…

A few minutes later, Vimes was rounding the corner of Lower Broadway and trotting up the steps of Pseudopolis Yard. There seemed to be quite a commotion going on inside; he’d heard the shouting from half a block away. With his hand on the doorknob, mentally preparing his best Not Yelling Voice, he pushed the door open…

…and very briefly saw something shiny flying full speed at his head. Before he could react, the thing clanked off his helmet, bounced on a nearby desk and, finally, lodged itself between the floorboards with a sproinnnng.

Silence fell like a gavel. A dozen horrified watchmen gaped at their Commander, the life quickly draining out of their eyes*****. Sergeant Colon’s face, pale as the moon and just as round, tried unsuccessfully to hide behind his high collar.

Wordlessly, Vimes approached the thing stuck between the floorboards. He crouched down. He examined it. He gave it a tentative flick. It made a noise not unlike a ruler twanging off the side of a table, or a very thin sheet of metal being shaken vigorously. After a moment’s contemplation, he felt moved to speak.

“Well, lads, I don’t think Left and Right suffices anymore. Seems we ought to add a third Day to the list.”

Ahhh. Relief rose off the squad like morning mist. Their laughter had the strained quality that came with trying very hard to pretend that whatever was happening was entirely intentional. At this point, they’d have laughed at anything, as long as it meant Ol’ Stoneface was Not Yelling At Them. Whatever they may think to themselves, the one motivation that all coppers in all the worlds have in common is to Not Get Yelled At.

“Bottom Day, sir?” someone suggested. There was another bout of slightly forceful sniggers.

“Er… Perhaps not.” Vimes gave the fish a few fruitless tugs and gave up. “Alright, someone get this damn thing out of there and, uh…”

“Throw it away, sir?”

“No, good gods, you could hurt someone… Look, just get rid of the…fish and we’ll say no more about it. Fred, a word upstairs?”

With the watch house returning slowly to its normal daily bustle, Vimes went up to his office and sat down wearily at his desk, which was hidden underneath an impressive pile of paper. He’d signed a few dozen forms and…dealt with half a fireplace’s worth of complaint letters last night, but the stacks looked suspiciously bigger this morning. They entirely refused to melt away under his glare.

“Alright, what is this bloody nonsense? I thought I’d made it clear I don’t want any Tossing in the watch house,” he said to Colon, once the man had huffed and puffed his way up the stairs.

“Well, Mister Vimes, I just thought I’d indulge the lads this once. Raise their spirits with some good ol’ cultural team building. For tradition’s sake and all.”

“Tradition? It’s not been two months, Fred!”

“We-ell, they’ve taken to it, sir. Besides, you can’t deny we’ve had crimes happen on every single Left Day since the Offishal Tossings started.”

“Good grief, you could say that about every bloody day since the founding of the city! I thought you weren’t a superstitious man, Fred.”

“No, sir, but the fish don’t lie,” said Colon fervently.

“Ugh. Next thing you know, the bloody Times will be printing it alongside the bloody date in their bloody papers.”

There was a guilty silence.

Vimes stared at the sergeant’s carefully blank face. A single droplet of sweat was slowly making its way down the man’s forehead. The beady little eyes flickered momentarily to a relatively unoccupied corner of the desk.

With a sinking dread, Vimes followed his gaze and beheld a newspaper lying there on top of the forlorn paperwork, all neatly rolled and still crisp from the press. Belatedly, he noticed the smell of fresh ink. At the top of the front page, a small print line proclaimed today’s date to be April 4th, Left Wednesday.

Five minutes later, sergeant Colon walked down the stairs and into a perfectly silent room full of watchmen. His face had the distant look of someone who had just seen a ghost, and was fairly sure everybody else had, too, but would be damned if he’d mention it first.

With nothing else to do, he cleared his throat. This seemed to break the spell; all at once, the room regained its normal level of noise as the coppers went back to their coppery activities. Only Nobby sidled closer and offered up a slightly bent cigar.

“What’s up with ol’ Stoneface today, sarge?”

“Dunno what’s gotten into him.” Colon took the cigar gratefully and lit it, trying not to think too hard about where it came from. “It’s this job, I expect. All this responsibility is wearing on his nerves.”

“Ah, right.”

“I mean, what’s so wrong with a little tradition once in a while, eh?”

“Beats me, sarge.”

“Doesn’t hurt no one, having some mores and values ‘round the place.”

“You never said a truer thing.”

“Ah, anyway, Mister Vimes is just overworked. Not his fault he’s got a bit of a cultural blind spot when he’s cranky,” Colon concluded magnanimously. “Maybe he could do with a coffee and a nice meal. I know I could… Say, Nobby, what’ve we got for breakfast in the cantine today?”

“Fish’n’chips, I think. Er… You alright there, sarge? …Sarge?”

* An unfortunate misunderstanding at the fishmonger’s that had led to the Offishal Tosser being handed a very live fish, foreboding a day of extreme mood swings for the populace.

** This is the social cue equivalent of climbing onto the roof at three in the morning and setting off a barrage of fireworks while waving an enormous fluorescent red flag. Not even a 6’6’’ dwarf could remain oblivious.

*** Only comparatively. This was Ankh-Morpork, after all.

**** Allegedly.

***** Except for Corporal Shoe, for whom it was a little late******.

****** heh.

[armor-goblin]

okay given how fucking weird and rapid-fire everything is (already, has been for ages) and to remind myself too: We Need To Learn To Fact Check.

i am talking about anything we see about trumps antics and I am talking about international news and I am talking about local news and I am talking about nearly everything in our lives. it is tiring, and takes more effort. but i think this is the only way we get thru the world right now, is by checking what we share however we can. it won't guarantee we are sharing only accurate info, but it DOES help us focus on sharing more accurate stuff and not buying into mis and disinfo.

Context/why i know this: im an academic librarian. I teach classes and do research on misinformation and media literacy among other topics, and i teach about authority of information and finding and evaluating info all the time. when I teach people to evaluate information i use Mike Caulfield's SIFT method, which is great and adaptable, and consists of these four moves:

STOP. this is the most important one. it just means: take two seconds before you click reblog or share smth. ask yourself: what is my emotional reaction to this content? what does it want me to do with this post or information?

do I know this is true - bc I've already checked into it before or I know something related to it that corroborates it - or am I far enough removed from the situation that I don't really know? for ex: I know gazans fundraise on tumblr bc i have tunblr, and that conditions in gaza are awful bc of both user posts and news coverage I've seen. I don't have tiktok or see much from it that isnt reposted, so I paused more before sharing that last post bc im less aware of the cjrcumstances.

INVESTIGATE THE SOURCE. where did this come from and do I know that source of information? can i identify the author not just the website it was shared from? what position is this person in to know what's going on? they might have expertise, education, a job, they might also just be in a place where things are happening (ukraine, gaza, los angeles, etc) or have access to a place where things are happening (tiktok, for ex).

FIND ADDITIONAL COVERAGE. if this is the only place you've heard about an event or statement, look and see if there are others reporting on it. sometimes you are looking for broad coverage (lots and lots of reporters and civilians have reported on the conditions in Gaza independently) and sometimes for very specific coverage (i wanted to see more than one screenshot of the TikTok ban msg before I believed it was real), but what you really want is to see if others are talking about and reporting on something.

this is called lateral reading btw and it's a really critical piece of fact checking.

TRACE CLAIMS TO THEIR SOURCE. who was the first to say this? where did they say it? was it misinterpreted along the way? the internet is a giant game of telephone and messages get distorted. this one is particularly important if you're not finding additional coverage AND/OR if the coverage is all weirdly samey.

highly specific example here: in 2020 there was a brief time when ppl were saying that ibuprofen was dangerous for covid and could heighten your risk. i am ibuprofens georg and I was on it 2x/day high dose at the time, so this could be a problem for me. so I started citations tracing - following citations and references and news posts and academic preprints. and finally found a brief and uncited Twitter post from a French health minister that appeared to be the original source, and along the way I found NO other corroborating info that wasn't citing that specific quote in the end. and thus. I took my ibuprofen.

this part takes time and effort more than anything else, but it's also often illuminating. I dont always go all the way to TRACE. but I have that move in my pocket for when I need to. it is very similar to a wikipedia rabbit hole where you start somewhere and end somewhere very different - but if you looked at your browser history you'd see all the pages you clicked to get there.

thats SIFT! you don't have to do each move for every post u see. if you take anything as a habit, start from the top and just STOP for a second before you share or repeat something wild. ask yourself about it a little. this is what i consider the most vital step, and it makes it easier to do the others in time.

we can't know everything. we will sometimes share misinformation by accident. we will sometimes share malicious disinformation by accident too. but I think we owe it to ourselves to try and build these habits, and it makes it a little harder for the people in power to convince us of whatever they want this week. it makes us more skeptical and more informed. these are always relevant skills and they're more and more important every day.

[clarisse0o]

The Mayor - Chapter 2

Lucy Bronze x Ona Batlle

Alternate Universe: Mayor and Archiect

Words : 873

Masterlist

———————————————————————

I was walking along the sidewalk, under heavy rain, heading to the Mayor’s apartment, where she was staying while her house was being renovated. Plans in hand, I was going to the appointment alone, as Alexia had unexpectedly been called to another site. She’d had a long phone call with our client, who had given her approval, and explained to me the initial outlines of the project.

“You see, smooth as can be,” she had said to me.

I wasn’t so sure, and I was nervous about this first meeting. Arriving in front of a beautiful building, I pressed the intercom button: Paul and Lucy Bronze.  

A rather curt female voice replied, “5th floor on the left.” No hello, nothing—what a great start. Standing at the door, I gathered my courage and pressed the doorbell. A tall figure opened the door. I recognized her immediately, even though I hadn’t seen her or crossed paths with her in four years, since the last elections. I didn’t know if she would recognize me. I had only been a minor supporter on the opposing list, attending a few debate meetings.

“Hello, I’m Ona Batlle, the architect filling in for Alexia Putellas. I have…”

She cut me off abruptly: “Yes, I’m aware of all that! I imagine I’ll have to explain everything to you again! Come in.”

And Alexia had told me she was charming... Charming as a prison door, more like!

She continued, “Sit here. Would you like a coffee, something to drink?”

“A coffee, yes, thank you.”

I sat down on the couch, feeling somewhat tense from the atmosphere. The apartment was very spacious, with a truly modern style and rather cold colors.  

A few seconds later, she joined me on the couch with two coffees.

I started, “To begin with, I’m up to speed on the initial plans and sketches for the rooms in your house. Everything is in place; adjustments can be made on-site according to your preferences, but the base is set. The work begins in three days, as scheduled. The only change is that I’ll be handling the project, as my associate explained.”

She looked at me with her piercing, deep gray eyes, which threw me off balance a little. I lingered on her refined features and her full lips.

“Well, do I have any choice?” she said sharply. “It’s too late to go with another firm now!”

She was seriously starting to irritate me with her condescending attitude. Calm down, Ona, calm down.

“You know, I’ve proven myself on plenty of other projects as well. I’m not about to paint your walls in rainbow colors if that’s not what you want; I’ll stick to the plan Alexia and I discussed with you, and any adjustments you want to make during the project. And I can advise you whenever you’d like...”

“I know what I want for my house; I’ve already discussed it for hours with Alexia. She seemed very competent, she came highly recommended. I hope you’ll live up to that!”

I was stunned by her attitude—so haughty and completely unwelcoming.

“Of course! How would you like to proceed? I can send you progress updates every three days. The first month will involve wall demolition, the major work. We’ll start on the interior design in a month.”

She replied, “No, I want to visit the site every two days to see the project’s progress. As you know, being Mayor, I have a tight schedule. 7:30 p.m. works best for me.”

So I’d be dealing with this woman every other day, at 7:30 p.m., and finishing at who knows what hour. She demanded it as if it were an order, without even asking if it worked for me.

“I don’t know if I can be there every two days at 7:30 p.m., considering…”

“Isn’t this your job?” she interrupted.

“Yes, but I have other sites, and I also have something important to me: a personal life!”

I’d thrown out that line purely out of exasperation, since I didn’t really have a personal life during the workweek. But this was too much.  

She cracked a smile—the first since I’d entered the apartment. She was stunning, devilishly stunning. I despised her mannerisms, the way she spoke to me, yet I found her extremely attractive—her mouth, her chest, her muscular arms... I smiled at my wandering thoughts and pulled myself together.

“I’ll do my best to arrange on-site meetings at 7:30 p.m. every other day. I’ll leave you these plans; I have copies at my office. Let’s plan to meet again in fifteen days on-site.”

“Very well, let’s do that!”

She accompanied me to the threshold of the apartment and extended her hand. The contact with her hand, her skin, sent a shock through my entire body.  

To my surprise, she didn’t release the handshake immediately… she fixed me with her deep gray eyes and said with an ironic smile, “Ms. Batlle, a pleasure to work with you. Renewal and change for a bright future!”

So she hadn’t forgotten—this was our slogan from the last election. She released my hand and left me standing alone in front of the half-open door.

[lamentationsofalonelypotato]

@zepskies

Jumping right back in to part 3!

Accurate depiction of me knowing what's about to happen to the readers dad. 👆🏻👆🏻👆🏻👆🏻👆🏻👆🏻

And:

“Go, get out of here!” he shouts and waves you off. “What? What is it?!” you yell. He shakes his head, like he’s unable to answer your question. “Run! Run and don’t stop!”

“So there’s a chance he could still be alive,” you say, in a brighter voice. Dean gives you a measured look, dragging a hand over his mouth. “Look, I’m gonna be straight with you,” he says. “It’s been months, right?” You nod, though you realize what he’s saying. Don’t get your hopes up.

I won't get my hopes up. I will be just as devastated now as when I find out that he is gone for good. 😭

Also I love that you said her mother refused to "entertain anything else" because Dean's job description is literally "anything else" lol. And it really is a wonderful thing (not wonderful like good but you know what I mean) that Dean and the reader can further connect on. Her knowing what Dean really did for a living and him being brave enough to risk his life on the possibility of "a chance."

“I appreciate the thought, but trust me. I’d rather you look out for you,” he says.

It's too late for that kind of talk sexy mountain man. You're stuck with her and she is not going to let you go that easy.

Am I trying to hide my emotions over Dean going into the wilderness alone to face a wendigo with humor? Yes, yes I am.

You try to fill up your time in other ways, like attempting, and failing, and trying again more successfully to make bread from scratch. You haven’t binge-watched every season of The Great British Bake-Off for nothing.

It's a whole vibe 🍞

Side note: I did have to look up what nesting was in the A/B/O universe, but that is so cute. 😭

After you manage to clamber back onto your feet using the crutches, you put together some supplies, including the extra med kit in case he’s hurt. (Or in case something happens to you while you’re out there.) This is a bad idea, you think, even as you heave on your jacket. Then, you hear the sound of a lock turning, before the front door shoves open. 

Oh goodness, yes it was a bad idea and I am so happy that Dean showed up when he did, because my anxiety for this reader was THROUGH THE ROOF. I mean yes, go get your man, but gurl please it's snowing and you've got a broken ankle. At least catch a bear or something to pull you on a sleigh lol. 🤣

Your lips tremble. As that horrible realization dawns, you break down into tears. You already know from his tone that your father was dead when he found him.  Dean guides you down to him by your shoulder and wraps his arms around you. You bury your face into his neck, and your body shakes with quiet sobs.

See this is why I don't get my hopes up because OH MY SWEET GOODNESS I'M CRYING 😭 But at least Dean is there now to wipe away her tears. AND my tears will soon be dried with the fires of their passion so... LOL 😂

He finally drags you to him in a kiss.  It’s heady and passionate, and also comforting. Your fingers wind into his hair, your nails scraping along his scalp. He growls as his arm tightens around your waist. You shiver in delight.

See I feel better already 🥰

“Do you know what your scent is to me?” you ask, in a voice slightly trembling. You glance at the fireplace that has dimmed to embers. “It’s better than that fire at full blaze. Every time I went camping with my dad, that’s what I loved the most. Sitting by that fire, talking, laughing, and for the millionth time, telling the story of when I gave my sister micro bangs in her sleep when I was ten.”

This is such a wonderful comparison to what it's like being around him for the reader. It holds the warmth and the feeling of home whenever you read it. I love it.

And also you know how much I love the continuing idea of Dean thinking that he's not enough and that the reader would never like him. I know that I always point it out when I read something of yours, but it really always fits him and you write it so well my friend 💚

“Look…even if that’s true, you don’t want this with me,” he says. His handsome face becomes marred by a frown, his brows knitting together. “I don’t even own this place. Besides my car, I ain’t got much of anything to give.”

I also love this bit, because Dean reduces himself to physical wealth here rather than seeing all the wonderful qualities of himself that we all love being something that he can give the reader. It really makes their connection all the more loving and real, because the reader isn't asking for Dean to give her things or to be rich, she's just asking FOR Dean. And I think it will be a beautiful and wonderful thing when he realizes that.

This chapter was so wonderful Alex! I loved every heart wrenching bit and I can't wait to read the next one my wonderful friend! ❤️

Against the Wind - Part 3

Pairing: Alpha!Dean Winchester x F. Omega!Reader 

Summary: You wake up in a strange alpha’s cabin in the middle of a snowstorm, all with a busted ankle. He holds shadows in his eyes, even though his hands are gentle. There are iron shutters around his heart, even though he saved you. You might just save him in return.

AN: Merry Christmas! I'm dropping this chapter a day early for you guys. Now, here's the full story, and what Dean is going to do about it…

Jacklesverse Bingo24 Prompt: True Mates @jacklesversebingo

Song Inspo: “Against the Wind” by Bob Seger

Word Count: 3.8K

Tags/Warnings: 18+ only. Angst, mentions of blood, hint of spice.~

Series Masterlist || Bingo Masterlist

Part 3: Nothing Left to Burn

“We should start heading back,” you say, looking up at the mid-afternoon sky. It was starting to dip toward the top of the trees in the distance. “It’s going to take a couple of hours to get back before nightfall.”

“Yep, it’s about that time.” Your dad groans as he starts to haul himself back to his feet, where you two had been taking a rest against a tree. “Jesus, I need a new pair of knees. Help your old man, would ya?”

You smirk as you help the middle-aged alpha to his feet. His joints pop and his back cracks as he stretches his arms high.

“Damn, Dad. You’re creakier than the trees,” you quip.

He tosses you a wry look. “Just you wait. In a few years, after wrangling a couple of pups, you’re gonna feel my pain.”

“A few years?” you laugh. “Did I miss the part where I actually met a decent guy, let alone one worth mating?”

“Oh, you’ll find him,” your dad nods, slinging his rifle back over his shoulder. “Or he’ll find you, like your mother did with me.”

You follow his lead with your own rifle, falling into step with him through the forest clearing. It’s a beautiful day in late November. Already you can see the edge of frost on the shrubs and half-barren trees. The ground is littered with dead leaves painted in browns, oranges, and dappled with reds.

“You met her in college. It’s not like you guys defied fate,” you say.

“Yeah, but if she hadn’t walked into my psychology class by mistake, and stolen my latte at the campus café, maybe you wouldn’t be here,” he teases. 

You huff and roll your eyes. Yes, your parents are a walking cliché. And by far, your dad’s the bigger sap.

“I’m telling you. Sometimes, the universe does us a solid,” he says, reinforcing his point with a literal pointed finger your way. You push it away from your face in exasperation.

“You might wanna watch where you’re going,” you say, “before you roll your ankle on another pebble.”

“You kidding me?” he exclaims. “That thing was the size of my fist! You’re lucky I didn’t break an ankle. Make you carry me all the way back to the car.”

You snort. “Right. Think I’ll just leave you for the bears…”

You trail off when a sound reaches you and your father. The sound of leaves crunching in the underbrush, quick and light. Your father’s shoulders straighten with alertness, the alpha’s head cocking toward the sound.

“Maybe I spoke too soon about the bears,” you whisper. He shakes his head.

“Nah, too light. It’s probably an elk.” He tosses you a smile. “We’ll have one hell of a haul to bring home, plus a good story to tell your mom.”

Your mother, the vegan veterinarian?

“Yeah, because she loves elk meat.”

“Would you quit being a smartass for two minutes? You go a little west. I’ll see where it’s at,” he says.

He quietly wracks his rifle and steps away from the clearing, farther into the woods. You do what he says, veering west. You don’t see the elk, and soon enough, you don’t see your dad either. You do hear a whistling on the wind, and the cold of it cuts right through your coat.

Unease prickles down your spine, though you don’t know why.

“Dad?” you whisper-yell, trying not to spook whatever animal might be out there.

A gunshot rings out, along with your dad’s voice in a shout. Your eyes widen in alarm, and you call his name, taking off in a run to find him.

You end up rising over a hill you hadn’t crossed before, but you see your dad below; you recognize his bright blue puffer jacket that Mom got him for his birthday. You call his name, and he looks up at you with fear in his eyes.

Not for himself, but for you.

“Go, get out of here!” he shouts and waves you off.

“What? What is it?!” you yell.

He shakes his head, like he’s unable to answer your question. “Run! Run and don’t stop!”

He moves further into the denser trees until you can no longer make him out. With a frustrated huff, you sprint down the hill and try to follow his tracks with your gun at the ready. On the wind, in the distance, you still hear his voice.

Until it cuts off abruptly, along with the terrible cracking of bone.

You gasp and halt in your steps. What the fuck was that?

Tears fill your eyes and blur your vision. Despite what you heard, you realize just how very alone you are in the clearing. Fear and adrenaline make your breath tremulous and shallow, but you can’t just give up. You search for a while longer, making yourself hoarse calling out to your father.

No matter what direction you take, you never find him.

“I ran back to town to get the rangers,” you say, brushing a couple of stray tears from your cheeks. You sniff, licking your lips and swallowing a hard lump of emotion in your throat.

Dean continues to listen intently with his brows furrowed.

“It was too late,” you sigh. “He disappeared. They explained it away, thought a grizzly bear got him, but I know it wasn’t a damn bear.” 

You shake your head as the tears come harder and faster, all over again. Dean’s jaw clenches in sympathy.

“No one believed me about what I heard, not even my mom,” you confess. Your mother had been too distraught to entertain “anything else.” No matter how strongly you’d felt about your suspicions, you understood that she just wanted to put your father’s death behind her after his funeral. Part of you had stopped believing yourself. 

A stronger part of you hadn’t been able to let it go, however. So you had to come back here and try to find any trace of your father. 

When you finally run out of words, you see the proverbial gears turning in Dean’s eyes. 

“What’re you thinking?” you hazard to ask. You can’t help but reach out and grab at his wrist. “Do you…do you believe me?”

Dean’s gaze softens a fraction. He lays his larger hand over yours.

“Yeah, I do,” he says. “I’m willing to bet on what took him too.”

He squeezes your hand before he lets you go and gets up from his seat. He soon returns with his father’s journal in hand. He reclaims his spot across from you, sitting close to your thigh on the end of the chaise. His gaze falls away from your face to the journal in hand, and he flips it open to a page he knows from memory. You suck in a subtle breath to steel yourself when he turns it toward you—to the very page that had given you nightmares the first night you read it. 

Wendigo. 

“Nasty son of a bitch,” he says. “It hibernates for decades at a time, but when it surfaces, it knows how to get through long winters like this. It takes a handful of people at a time, feeding on its victims slow.”

You feel sick at that, but still, his words elicit a sliver of hope.

“So there’s a chance he could still be alive,” you say, in a brighter voice. Dean gives you a measured look, dragging a hand over his mouth.

“Look, I’m gonna be straight with you,” he says. “It’s been months, right?”

You nod, though you realize what he’s saying. Don’t get your hopes up.

“But there’s a chance,” you insist, with tears in your eyes. Dean holds your gaze for a moment, and he nods. He squeezes your knee this time, then shuts the journal with one hand as he moves to stand.

You follow him on your crutches over to the kitchen. He pulls out a drawer and retrieves a folded-up map. Tossing the journal on the kitchen counter, he opens up the map and lays it out flat next to the sink. It’s a map of the mountain, and the entire forest surrounding the mountain of Big Sky. Dean’s eyes flick up to yours.

“Where did it happen?”

Dean has packed up his supplies and put on his winter gear. You watch him from the living room sofa, trying to hide your unease. You know he’s doing this for you, but there’s part of you that doesn’t want to see him leave, for his own sake, and selfishly for yours.

“Try not to go outside again unless you absolutely friggin’ have to,” he warns. “And if you do, don’t go too far. Make sure you take a weapon, preferably a gun and a knife.”

“Dean, I know,” you reply. You get up and hover by the couch while he finishes lacing his snowshoes and hooks his backpack on. You’re unable to hide your concern.

“You shouldn’t be going out there alone,” you say. 

Dean tosses you a grin. It has the shade of how he was with you before the “journal” incident—self-assured, a hint teasing.

“Don’t worry. This isn’t exactly my first solo mission,” he says, though his devil-may-care attitude soon subsides into something more serious. “If I’m not back inside a week, you need to ration out the supplies here as best you can. That new meat in the fridge should last you a while.”

By new meat, you have to assume he means the bear.

“When you’re healed up, you can make your way down the mountain and back to town with that map I left for you. Kitchen counter,” he says.

Your frown worsens. You step closer to him with the pretense of closing and locking the front door for him after he leaves.

“Dean,” you say, stopping him at the door. He turns to look at you over his shoulder. You hesitate, fidgeting slightly, but you gain your courage.

“If you don’t come back, I’m going to find you,” you warn him.

Dean frowns. He turns to you fully and tilts his head as if to say, come again?

“No, you’re not, Omega. You understand me?”

His terseness doesn’t scare you anymore. You glare up at him, quite literally standing your ground.

“You didn’t leave me out there when you didn’t even know me. You think I’d do that to you?” you counter.

At that, Dean has to pause, tilting his head slightly. He almost smiles at your stubbornness, and just like that, his annoyance dissipates. It softens him, making him reach for your arm in an assuring squeeze.

“I appreciate the thought, but trust me. I’d rather you look out for you,” he says.

Right now, you don’t really give a shit about what he’d rather, but you don’t say so. It’s written across your face anyway. Dean’s mouth tugs at a smile.

“All right, I’m out,” he says. “Save me some of Yogi in there.”

You huff, but you shut the door behind him after he steps out onto the porch, down the steps, and beyond. You move to the living room window and watch him get farther and farther away from the cabin. 

Despite the crackling fireplace, you begin to feel cold inside. 

After the first three days, you’ve managed to clean the entire cabin, top to bottom. With the “new meat,” you make a large batch of soup to last you throughout the week. You freeze a couple of servings for Dean.

For when he gets back. 

You try to fill up your time in other ways, like attempting, and failing, and trying again more successfully to make bread from scratch. You haven’t binge-watched every season of The Great British Bake-Off for nothing.

Then you organize all of the alpha’s books by author. You wash all the laundry you can find and fold everything neatly on his bed, and you put away the couple of sweaters you’ve borrowed from him into your own dresser. 

On Day Four, you create a nest of pillows and blankets in the middle of the living room floor. In your anxiety, it’s a reflex you can’t help. Your initial instinct was to nest in his room, but you thought that was too invasive of his privacy, so the living room was your next best option. At least his scent is still somewhat imbued into his favorite chair, and around his records. (You do steal another shirt of his to sleep with though.)

On Day 8, your worry becomes a living thing. You pace the living room and the kitchen on your crutches, probably wearing down the wooden ends of them while you debate what to do. Despite what Dean told you to do if he didn’t get back, you know you’re not just going to leave him out there. But the reality is, you have a problem of mobility.

With a frustrated huff, you decide to try setting your problem foot down normally. Your ankle hurts, a sharp pain shooting up your calf and nearly sending you to the floor.

“Fuck!” you gasp, both in shock and aggravation.

You know this isn’t just a sprain. At best it could be a fracture, since no bone is protruding under the skin. It still means you shouldn’t go after him either. 

But you’ll have to try. 

After you manage to clamber back onto your feet using the crutches, you put together some supplies, including the extra med kit in case he’s hurt. (Or in case something happens to you while you’re out there.) This is a bad idea, you think, even as you heave on your jacket.

Then, you hear the sound of a lock turning, before the front door shoves open. 

A yelp of surprise escapes you, though you soon realize that it’s Dean, looking worn down and ragged, but alive. 

“Home, sweet home,” he says wryly, but he looks relieved to see you too.

You help him sink down onto the chaise, where he stretches out with a groan. He tips his head back on the cushion. His jacket is torn in a few places. Blood has dried on his cheek, his neck, and near his hairline, and you worry about where else he might be hurt. 

You quickly go to the kitchen and pour a bowl of warm water and grab a hand towel. You bring it all back to Dean, where you set your supplies on the floor and sit down beside him on the cushion.

“Are you okay?” You try to calm down your racing heart (and the nauseous feeling in your stomach) as you help him work open his jacket, followed by his shirt. Discreetly, your eyes take in the expanse of his tanned skin and pebbling nipples exposed to the cool air, even with the fire roaring nearby.

“Yeah, just peachy,” he says. 

You smile a little. You take the towel, dampen it, and begin to clear the blood from his cheek, his neck, and the upper part of his torso—even his scuffed hands. Then you squeegee out the blood in the bowl and continue your task. Dean subtly watches you, his gaze a bit softer than usual.

He eventually looks you over with a frown as he takes in the way you’re dressed, and then the backpack by the door. 

“What, about to go for a little afternoon stroll?” His sarcasm turns to annoyance. “Didn’t I tell you to stay put until you can actually walk?”

Your mouth flattens into a line, but any anger you might’ve felt is waylaid by your relief. It brings tears to your eyes. 

“I thought something happened to you,” you say.

Dean hesitates. Your hand has stilled on his chest. He softens a little more, grasping your hand in his larger one. 

“I’m fine,” he says. “The job’s done.”

Your eyes widen. “You found the…thing? The wendigo?”

His mouth pulls at a cocky grin, tempered only by his tiredness, and the way he’s looking at you. “Sure did. Tried to take a chunk outta my ass, but a little aerosol deodorant and a lighter’s all you need to barbecue that ugly son of a bitch.”

You smile in amusement, but all too soon, it fades.

“Did you find my dad?” you ask.

Dean’s expression sobers as well.

“Yeah, I think so.” His face gentles. “Was he wearing a blue puffer jacket?”

Your lips tremble. As that horrible realization dawns, you break down into tears. You already know from his tone that your father was dead when he found him. 

Dean guides you down to him by your shoulder and wraps his arms around you. You bury your face into his neck, and your body shakes with quiet sobs.

“I’m sorry, sweetheart,” he murmurs into your hair. “Believe me, I am.”

He holds you close, warm and secure. He allows you to stay there as long as you need, where you feel safe, even if this world has become a colder, darker place. 

After a few minutes longer, your intense sobs begin to subside. You don’t mean to, but you turn your nose into Dean’s neck, scenting him on reflex. It calms you down, but it has the unintended effect of arousing him. The alpha rumbles in pleasure. 

You blink in surprise and lean back enough to see his face. Dean’s lips press together as he looks down on you; he seems embarrassed, but you also see the heat reflected in his gaze, so intense in those forest greens. Your face begins to warm in a blush.

He brushes your cheek with his thumb, collecting your tears there. You glance down at his plush lips again, your own parting with a breath. His hand moves to cup your cheek, framing the side of your face. Please…

He finally drags you to him in a kiss. 

It’s heady and passionate, and also comforting. Your fingers wind into his hair, your nails scraping along his scalp. He growls as his arm tightens around your waist. You shiver in delight.

You press a hand to the center of his chest, giving you leverage to rise up and slide your thigh over his legs. There you sink into his lap. Your breasts pillow against his chest when you lay on top of him, your elbows digging into the cushion on either side of his head. His hands move down your body, feeling down your sides, squeezing your hips, and then your ass. You hum into his mouth and roll your hips into his. Already you feel him hardening through his jeans.  

But somehow he breaks away from your kiss, even though your hands are still in his hair. 

“Sorry…we can’t do this,” he says, with difficulty.

He sits upright and nearly makes you fall over in the process. He grabs your arm before you tip over, but he keeps himself at arm’s length from you after you’re forced to slide off his lap, sitting on the end of the chaise instead. Your eyes glisten with hurt and confusion. 

“Why?” is all you can ask.

He doesn’t want to answer. 

“Dean?” you ask, inching towards him. He raises a hand to keep you at bay.

“Just…it’s not a good idea, okay?” he says, with the clenching of his jaw.

That cuts into you even more. Your heart pulses with pain.

“Do you know what your scent is to me?” you ask, in a voice slightly trembling. You glance at the fireplace that has dimmed to embers. “It’s better than that fire at full blaze. Every time I went camping with my dad, that’s what I loved the most. Sitting by that fire, talking, laughing, and for the millionth time, telling the story of when I gave my sister micro bangs in her sleep when I was ten.”

You wipe a stray tear from your eye, but you respect the distance he’s put between you two.

“The second I met you, I knew what this was,” you say. “I think you know it too.”

Dean shakes his head. His face betrays his wariness, his desire, and his obstinance. 

“Look…even if that’s true, you don’t want this with me,” he says. His handsome face becomes marred by a frown, his brows knitting together. “I don’t even own this place. Besides my car, I ain’t got much of anything to give.”

You shake your head in dismay. “I know that’s not true.”

“I’m not bullshitting,” he says. “Listen…I’ve never had much. And what I did have, I found a way to lose. I’ve let my people down. Just about everyone I’ve ever…”

You can’t help but reach out a hand for him, your heart hurting, but he leans away, pressing himself back against the seat. It cuts even deeper into you; now though, you wonder if it’s because he feels the same gut feeling you do when he’s this close—close enough to touch, but almost afraid of the burn.

“They’ve been hurt, almost always because of me.” His voice shakes imperceptibly, with a wry, humorless turn of his lips. “So take it from me, sweetheart. You’ll wanna steer clear.”  

“Dean,” you say. You expel a breath, digesting his words, while thinking of what you want to say.

“I’ve never not felt safe with you,” you confess. “Even when I screwed up and drove you crazy, I’m sure, I knew you’d never hurt me. The same way I know…”

You reach out a tentative hand to lay in the center of his chest, over his heart. Your thumb brushes the edge of his strange tattoo, over the dark ink in his skin. 

“You’re my mate. My one, true mate in this world,” you say, meeting his eyes. “And I want to know you.”

You see inner conflict in the depths of Dean’s eyes, dark green and troubled. You take a chance and lean in, brushing your cheek against his, nuzzling, laying a soft kiss to his cheek. 

“Omega,” he warns, but the grit in his voice has little heat.

Or at least, it’s heat of a different kind, as his strong hands once again find your waist. They hold you still, but also hold you to him. Your gentle affection is making him ache, deep in the shadowy cavern of his chest. He’d never admit it, but loneliness had set in there, burrowed deep with a stronghold on his heart. Without knowing, you’ve been carving it out with those gentle hands. 

You now slide your hands up his chest and over his shoulders, warm palms on his skin. 

“Alpha, I want to know you,” you insist. Quiet, but steady, your voice is a mere brush of words near his ear, against his cheek. “Please.” 

Dean’s brows furrow as he briefly shuts his eyes tight. With your whispered plea, the brittle chain of his restraint finally snaps free. 

He cradles the back of your head and guides you back into a feverish kiss.

AN: Sorry to cut it off there lol, but the big (steamy) finale is coming up next week! Perhaps a little earlier than Friday. 😘

Next Time:

“Were you nesting, Omega?” he teases, between the sinful meetings of his lips with yours. You hum your affirmation before his tongue swipes across your lower lip, seeking entrance.

You open yourself to him in more ways than one; you slip your hands across his naked shoulders and explore the smooth planes of muscle, the dips and softness in between. You encourage him to lower down, to cover you with the length and broadness of his frame. His weight is a welcome one between your thighs and against the softness of your body.

“Was worried about you,” you whisper a confession against his lips. Dean briefly pauses, meeting your eyes.

“Thanks for waiting up,” he says, with a hint of a smile.

Your lips curve upwards in return.

▶️ Keep reading: Part 4 (Finale!)

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[obitez]

Home Run

For @bucktommywinterfest

Round 8: Sports AU

Rating: G | Word Count: 2.880

Warnings: None

Additional Tags: AU - Baseball, No firefighting, Fluff

Full fic on AO3!

~~~~~~

Tommy pulled his old pickup truck into a spot in the employee section of the Ripken stadium parking lot. Through the windshield, right by the door, he could spot Chimney standing there, waiting for him. 

“Tommy!” the man called out to him as he got out of the truck. Chimney had a huge smile on his face. “It’s been forever man!” 

“Howie,” Tommy smiled as he greeted the other man. They had known each other for a long while, back into Tommy’s college days.  

“How long has it been since we worked on the same team?” Chimney asked. 

Tommy hummed. “Last time I checked, probably college.” 

Chimney laughed. “Well, how about I show you around.” 

“Sure thing.” 

It wasn’t a large stadium, barely larger than the college stadium he had coached at the year before (other than the parking lot, the parking lot was a lot larger). Chimney showed him a couple offices, and the locker rooms, then took him down to the field. 

“And here’s batting practice,” Chimney said, motioning with his arm at the players on the field. 

They stood from the sidelines, watching the batting practice that was taking place. Buckley was batting. He had a good swing, great form, good follow through, and great power - if only he wasn’t missing so many pitches.

“Who’s that?” Tommy asked as Chimney came to stand next to him. 

“The guy batting?” Chimney added. Tommy nodded. “That’s Evan Buckley, signed right out of high school last year.  He’s not too bad. If you ask me, he’s one of Bobby’s favorites.” 

“Bobby’s favorites?” Tommy asked. 

“I know you’ve worked with him before,” Chimney said as he nudged him in the side. “You know as well as I do that Bobby picks favorites. You were one of his as well.” 

Yeah, Tommy remembered. He had first met Bobby when he was playing at North Carolina State and Bobby was the General Manager there. Bobby had taken a large liking to him back then, and it was something that Tommy hadn’t missed. Now, over ten years later, Bobby was the General Manager of the Ironbirds, one of the Orioles farm teams. When he had heard that Tommy had been let go as one of the coaches of UCLA’s baseball team at the end of the college season, he had been quick to reach out and offer Tommy a job. 

Tommy had no other offers at the time, so he took Bobby up on it. 

“So what position does he play?” Tommy asked, looking back at the man still at the plate. 

“He rotates between outfield and first base.” 

“And what are his stats like?” 

“Not too bad,” Chimney said. “Second year on the team. As of last weekend, he hit his fourteenth home run. Batting average over 300, 50 hits, 26 RBIs.”

None of those were really bad for the start of July.

“What are the chances of him being brought up?” Tommy asked.

Chimney hummed as he thought over the conversation he had with Bobby a couple days ago. “Pretty high,” he said. “It probably won’t happen until next season with the ways things are playing out.” Tommy nodded. He understood how that all worked. 

“So then how about I introduce them to our new batting coach,” Chimney said as he knocked Tommy on the shoulder. 

“What?!” Tommy asked. “Before we even talk to Bobby?” 

“Oh come on, you should know you have the job already!” Chimney said. 

[daily-hanamura]

[spoofyleaf]

Sometimes I remember that my whole house was so obsessed with the show Merlin, that we named the first tree we planted in the yard Merlin.

When it was given to us 11 years ago it was hardly a scraggly stick, and now it looks like a giant bush

Artist rendition

[beef-brisket]

Adam smiled: I'm glad you like it, my mother and I used to look after it- it's just mother now, she's put in a lot of work.

Lucifer nodded: Why don't you do it anymore? If you don't mind my asking.

Adam: ...Y-You can guess why... but it's okay. I have a few plants in my room. And I get to buy whatever seeds mother wants- sometimes, I'm allowed to get another plant to. So, I've got my hands full, already.

Lucifer watched Adam as he talked, he was speaking quickly, and adding on bits and pieces, maybe to try and make it sound like everything was okay. Or maybe he didn't want to sound ungrateful.

Lucifer: I'd love to see them one day. Your plants, I mean.

Adam: Wait- really? You'd love them! I uh- I have a green house too. Sometimes people break in- but it hasn't happened for a while- maybe I could take you there!

Lucifer smiled. This was the first time he'd seen Adam truly excited, and it melted his heart.

Lucifer: I'd love to see all of your hard work! Come, show it to me.

As they walked, Lucifer was actually having a hard time keeping up with Adam because of how fast he was walking. But he didn't mind, it was nice to see genuine happiness on his face.

They stopped so Adam could tell him about this little blue beetle. At first, Lucifer was interested, but when three people ran away from the direction of the greenhouse caught his eye, he instantly became suspicious. He really hoped they weren't up to anything. For their sakes.

Unfortunately for them, they had broken into the greenhouse and smashed everything. To Adam's credit, he did a great job pretending he wasn't bothered, but Lucifer could read him easily. He was heart broken.

Lucifer: ...Adam, close your eyes.

Adam: ...Yeah, okay.

Once Lucifer was sure they were closed, he snapped his fingers.

I also really love Nun Adam. But this time let him be a real nun and Lucifer come up as the devil looking for a new human bride 👀

I'm weak for aus like this.

I love nun!Adam au's!

Maybe too much.

Who am I kidding? There's no such thing. I'm so keen for this btw!

Let's start a new rp!

[deus-ex-mona]

series i’m gatekeeping from my family vs series i’m ✨ok✨ with my family knowing i’m into:

[beepbeepmfkr]

"I can't get everything I want from this politician so obviously the solution is to throw a tantrum and not participate! That'll show them!" - person who is very likely not at personal risk of being murdered or hate crimed by an institution getting pushed further right than it already is.

[tofupixel]

⭐ So you want to learn pixel art? ⭐

🔹 Part 1 of ??? - The Basics!

Edit: Now available in Google Doc format if you don't have a Tumblr account 🥰

Hello, my name is Tofu and I'm a professional pixel artist. I have been supporting myself with freelance pixel art since 2020, when I was let go from my job during the pandemic.

My progress, from 2017 to 2024. IMO the only thing that really matters is time and effort, not some kind of natural talent for art.

This guide will not be comprehensive, as nobody should be expected to read allat. Instead I will lean heavily on my own experience, and share what worked for me, so take everything with a grain of salt. This is a guide, not a tutorial. Cheers!

🔹 Do I need money?

NO!!! Pixel art is one of the most accessible mediums out there.

I still use a mouse because I prefer it to a tablet! You won't be at any disadvantage here if you can't afford the best hardware or software.

Because our canvases are typically very small, you don't need a good PC to run a good brush engine or anything like that.

✨Did you know? One of the most skilled and beloved pixel artists uses MS PAINT! Wow!!

🔹 What software should I use?

Here are some of the most popular programs I see my friends and peers using. Stars show how much I recommend the software for beginners! ⭐

💰 Paid options:

⭐⭐⭐ Aseprite (for PC) - $19.99

This is what I and many other pixel artists use. You may find when applying to jobs that they require some knowledge of Aseprite. Since it has become so popular, companies like that you can swap raw files between artists.

Aseprite is amazingly customizable, with custom skins, scripts and extensions on Itch.io, both free and paid.

If you have ever used any art software before, it has most of the same features and should feel fairly familiar to use. It features a robust animation suite and a tilemap feature, which have saved me thousands of hours of labour in my work. The software is also being updated all the time, and the developers listen to the users. I really recommend Aseprite!

⭐ Photoshop (for PC) - Monthly $$

A decent option for those who already are used to the PS interface. Requires some setup to get it ready for pixel-perfect art, but there are plenty of tutorials for doing so.

Animation is also much more tedious on PS which you may want to consider before investing time!

⭐⭐ ProMotion NG (for PC) - $19.00

An advanced and powerful software which has many features Aseprite does not, including Colour Cycling and animated tiles.

⭐⭐⭐ Pixquare (for iOS) - $7.99 - $19.99 (30% off with code 'tofu'!!)

Probably the best app available for iPad users, in active development, with new features added all the time.

Look! My buddy Jon recommends it highly, and uses it often.

One cool thing about Pixquare is that it takes Aseprite raw files! Many of my friends use it to work on the same project, both in their office and on the go.

⭐ Procreate (for iOS) - $12.99

If you have access to Procreate already, it's a decent option to get used to doing pixel art. It does however require some setup. Artist Pixebo is famously using Procreate, and they have tutorials of their own if you want to learn.

⭐⭐ ReSprite iOS and Android. (free trial, but:) $19.99 premium or $$ monthly

ReSprite is VERY similar in terms of UI to Aseprite, so I can recommend it. They just launched their Android release!

🆓 Free options:

⭐⭐⭐ Libresprite (for PC)

Libresprite is an alternative to Aseprite. It is very, very similar, to the point where documentation for Aseprite will be helpful to Libresprite users.

⭐⭐ Pixilart (for PC and mobile)

A free in-browser app, and also a mobile app! It is tied to the website Pixilart, where artists upload and share their work. A good option for those also looking to get involved in a community.

⭐⭐ Dotpict (for mobile)

Dotpict is similar to Pixilart, with a mobile app tied to a website, but it's a Japanese service. Did you know that in Japanese, pixel art is called 'Dot Art'? Dotpict can be a great way to connect with a different community of pixel artists! They also have prompts and challenges often.

🔹 So I got my software, now what?

◽Nice! Now it's time for the basics of pixel art.

❗ WAIT ❗ Before this section, I want to add a little disclaimer. All of these rules/guidelines can be broken at will, and some 'no-nos' can look amazing when done intentionally.

The pixel-art fundamentals can be exceedingly helpful to new artists, who may feel lost or overwhelmed by choice. But if you feel they restrict you too harshly, don't force yourself! At the end of the day it's your art, and you shouldn't try to contort yourself into what people think a pixel artist 'should be'. What matters is your own artistic expression. 💕👍

◽Phew! With that out of the way...

🔸"The Rules"

There are few hard 'rules' of pixel art, mostly about scaling and exporting. Some of these things will frequently trip up newbies if they aren't aware, and are easy to overlook.

🔹Scaling method

There are a couple ways of scaling your art. The default in most art programs, and the entire internet, is Bi-linear scaling, which usually works out fine for most purposes. But as pixel artists, we need a different method.

Both are scaled up x10. See the difference?

On the left is scaled using Bilinear, and on the right is using Nearest-Neighbor. We love seeing those pixels stay crisp and clean, so we use nearest-neighbor. 

(Most pixel-art programs have nearest-neighbor enabled by default! So this may not apply to you, but it's important to know.)

🔹Mixels

Mixels are when there are different (mixed) pixel sizes in the same image.

Here I have scaled up my art- the left is 200%, and the right is 150%. Yuck!

As we can see, the "pixel" sizes end up different. We generally try to scale our work by multiples of 100 - 200%, 300% etc. rather than 150%. At larger scales however, the minute differences in pixel sizes are hardly noticeable!

Mixels are also sometimes seen when an artist scales up their work, then continues drawing on it with a 1 pixel brush.

Many would say that this is not great looking! This type of pixels can be indicative of a beginner artist. But there are plenty of creative pixel artists out there who mixels intentionally, making something modern and cool.

🔹Saving Your Files

We usually save our still images as .PNGs as they don’t create any JPEG artifacts or loss of quality. It's a little hard to see here, but there are some artifacts, and it looks a little blurry. It also makes the art very hard to work with if we are importing a JPEG.

For animations .GIF is good, but be careful of the 256 colour limit. Try to avoid using too many blending mode layers or gradients when working with animations. If you aren’t careful, your animation could flash afterwards, as the .GIF tries to reduce colours wherever it can. It doesn’t look great!

Here's an old piece from 2021 where I experienced .GIF lossiness, because I used gradients and transparency, resulting in way too many colours.

🔹Pixel Art Fundamentals - Techniques and Jargon

❗❗Confused about Jaggies? Anti-Aliasing? Banding? Dithering? THIS THREAD is for you❗❗ << it's a link, click it!!

As far as I'm concerned, this is THE tutorial of all time for understanding pixel art. These are techniques created and named by the community of people who actually put the list together, some of the best pixel artists alive currently. Please read it!!

🔸How To Learn

Okay, so you have your software, and you're all ready to start. But maybe you need some more guidance? Try these tutorials and resources! It can be helpful to work along with a tutorial until you build your confidence up.

⭐⭐ Pixel Logic (A Digital Book) - $10 A very comprehensive visual guide book by a very skilled and established artist in the industry. I own a copy myself.

⭐⭐⭐ StudioMiniBoss - free A collection of visual tutorials, by the artist that worked on Celeste! When starting out, if I got stuck, I would go and scour his tutorials and see how he did it.

⭐ Lospec Tutorials - free A very large collection of various tutorials from all over the internet. There is a lot to sift through here if you have the time.

⭐⭐⭐ Cyangmou's Tutorials - free (tipping optional) Cyangmou is one of the most respected and accomplished modern pixel artists, and he has amassed a HUGE collection of free and incredibly well-educated visual tutorials. He also hosts an educational stream every week on Twitch called 'pixelart for beginners'.

⭐⭐⭐ Youtube Tutorials - free There are hundreds, if not thousands of tutorials on YouTube, but it can be tricky to find the good ones. My personal recommendations are MortMort, Brandon, and AdamCYounis- these guys really know what they're talking about!

🔸 How to choose a canvas size

When looking at pixel art turorials, we may see people suggest things like 16x16, 32x32 and 64x64. These are standard sizes for pixel art games with tiles. However, if you're just making a drawing, you don't necessarily need to use a standard canvas size like that.

What I like to think about when choosing a canvas size for my illustrations is 'what features do I think it is important to represent?' And make my canvas as small as possible, while still leaving room for my most important elements.

Imagine I have characters in a scene like this:

I made my canvas as small as possible (232 x 314), but just big enough to represent the features and have them be recognizable (it's Good Omens fanart 😤)!! If I had made it any bigger, I would be working on it for ever, due to how much more foliage I would have to render.

If you want to do an illustration and you're not sure, just start at somewhere around 100x100 - 200x200 and go from there.

It's perfectly okay to crop your canvas, or scale it up, or crunch your art down at any point if you think you need a different size. I do it all the time! It only takes a bit of cleanup to get you back to where you were.

🔸Where To Post

Outside of just regular socials, Twitter, Tumblr, Deviantart, Instagram etc, there are a few places that lean more towards pixel art that you might not have heard of.

⭐ Lospec Lospec is a low-res focused art website. Some pieces get given a 'monthly masterpiece' award. Not incredibly active, but I believe there are more features being added often.

⭐⭐ Pixilart Pixilart is a very popular pixel art community, with an app tied to it. The community tends to lean on the young side, so this is a low-pressure place to post with an relaxed vibe.

⭐⭐ Pixeljoint Pixeljoint is one of the big, old-school pixel art websites. You can only upload your art unscaled (1x) because there is a built-in zoom viewer. It has a bit of a reputation for being elitist (back in the 00s it was), but in my experience it's not like that any more. This is a fine place for a pixel artist to post if they are really interested in learning, and the history. The Hall of Fame has some of the most famous / impressive pixel art pieces that paved the way for the work we are doing today.

⭐⭐⭐ Cafe Dot Cafe Dot is my art server so I'm a little biased here. 🍵 It was created during the recent social media turbulence. We wanted a place to post art with no algorithms, and no NFT or AI chuds. We have a heavy no-self-promotion rule, and are more interested in community than skill or exclusivity. The other thing is that we have some kind of verification system- you must apply to be a Creator before you can post in the Art feed, or use voice. This helps combat the people who just want to self-promo and dip, or cause trouble, as well as weed out AI/NFT people. Until then, you are still welcome to post in any of the threads or channels. There is a lot to do in Cafe Dot. I host events weekly, so check the threads!

⭐⭐/r/pixelart The pixel art subreddit is pretty active! I've also heard some of my friends found work through posting here, so it's worth a try if you're looking. However, it is still Reddit- so if you're sensitive to rude people, or criticism you didn't ask for, you may want to avoid this one. Lol

🔸 Where To Find Work

You need money? I got you! As someone who mostly gets scouted on social media, I can share a few tips with you:

Put your email / portfolio in your bio Recruiters don't have all that much time to find artists, make it as easy as possible for someone to find your important information!

Clean up your profile If your profile feed is all full of memes, most people will just tab out rather than sift through. Doesn't apply as much to Tumblr if you have an art tag people can look at.

Post regularly, and repost Activity beats everything in the social media game. It's like rolling the dice, and the more you post the more chances you have. You have to have no shame, it's all business baby

Outside of just posting regularly and hoping people reach out to you, it can be hard to know where to look. Here are a few places you can sign up to and post around on.

/r/INAT INAT (I Need A Team) is a subreddit for finding a team to work with. You can post your portfolio here, or browse for people who need artists.

/r/GameDevClassifieds Same as above, but specifically for game-related projects.

Remote Game Jobs / Work With Indies Like Indeed but for game jobs. Browse them often, or get email notifications.

VGen VGen is a website specifically for commissions. You need a code from another verified artist before you can upgrade your account and sell, so ask around on social media or ask your friends. Once your account is upgraded, you can make a 'menu' of services people can purchase, and they send you an offer which you are able to accept, decline, or counter.

The evil websites of doom: Fiverr and Upwork I don't recommend them!! They take a big cut of your profit, and the sites are teeming with NFT and AI people hoping to make a quick buck. The site is also extremely oversaturated and competitive, resulting in a race to the bottom (the cheapest, the fastest, doing the most for the least). Imagine the kind of clients who go to these websites, looking for the cheapest option. But if you're really desperate...

🔸 Community

I do really recommend getting involved in a community. Finding like-minded friends can help you stay motivated to keep drawing. One day, those friends you met when you were just starting out may become your peers in the industry. Making friends is a game changer!

Discord servers Nowadays, the forums of old are mostly abandoned, and people split off into many different servers. Cafe Dot, Pixel Art Discord (PAD), and if you can stomach scrolling past all the AI slop, you can browse Discord servers here.

Twitch Streams Twitch has kind of a bad reputation for being home to some of the more edgy gamers online, but the pixel art community is extremely welcoming and inclusive. Some of the people I met on Twitch are my friends to this day, and we've even worked together on different projects! Browse pixel art streams here, or follow some I recommend: NickWoz, JDZombi, CupOhJoe, GrayLure, LumpyTouch, FrankiePixelShow, MortMort, Sodor, NateyCakes, NyuraKim, ShinySeabass, I could go on for ever really... There are a lot of good eggs on Pixel Art Twitch.

🔸 Other Helpful Websites

Palettes Lospec has a huge collection of user-made palettes, for any artist who has trouble choosing their colours, or just wants to try something fun. Rejected Palettes is full of palettes that didn't quite make it onto Lospec, ran by people who believe there are no bad colours.

The Spriters Resource TSR is an incredible website where users can upload spritesheets and tilesets from games. You can browse for your favourite childhood game, and see how they made it! This website has helped me so much in understanding how game assets come together in a scene.

VGMaps Similar to the above, except there are entire maps laid out how they would be played. This is incredible if you have to do level design, or for mocking up a scene for fun.

Game UI Database Not pixel-art specific, but UI is a very challenging part of graphics, so this site can be a game-changer for finding good references!

Retronator A digital newspaper for pixel-art lovers! New game releases, tutorials, and artworks!

Itch.io A website where people can upload, games, assets, tools... An amazing hub for game devs and game fans alike. A few of my favourite tools: Tiled, PICO-8, Pixel Composer, Juice FX, Magic Pencil for Aseprite

🔸 The End?

This is just part 1 for now, so please drop me a follow to see any more guides I release in the future. I plan on doing some writeups on how I choose colours, how to practise, and more!

I'm not an expert by any means, but everything I did to get to where I am is outlined in this guide. Pixel art is my passion, my job and my hobby! I want pixel art to be recognized everywhere as an art-form, a medium of its own outside of game-art or computer graphics!

This guide took me a long time, and took a lot of research and experience. Consider following me or supporting me if you are feeling generous.

And good luck to all the fledgling pixel artists, I hope you'll continue and have fun. I hope my guide helped you, and don't hesitate to send me an ask if you have any questions! 💕

My other tutorials (so far): How to draw Simple Grass for a game Hue Shifting