#hopfully this is useful to someone!

[lennyjamin]

The correction isn't entirely accurate. I'm a student of environmental science, so here's my understanding from my classes:

Well-built solar panels can last up to 50 years, but are usually only warrantied for 25-30.

You can keep using less efficient solar panels, and they're often resold at lower prices for end-of-life usage.

Solar panel waste is absolutely not more toxic than nuclear waste. However, it does often contain heavy metals like lead and cadmium that can be dangerous to human health in high enough concentration. So, depending on local laws & the composition of the specific solar panel, solar panel waste may or may not be classified as hazardous waste.

Solar panel waste is, unfortunately, not easy to recycle. Their layered structure makes efficiently separating the components difficult, and it's currently cheaper to landfill them. However, as solar panels age, more and more places are developing techniques and legislating recycling! The future is bright!

The concern about solar waste being sent to poorer countries? It's a real problem. However, that doesn't mean we shouldn't make solar panels, as this guy seems to be insinuating - we just need to plan their end of life better. We have the tools!

[earako]

"I'm glad Shermie got that mom but..."

Shermie paused midway down the steps. He had woken up to grab a glass of water for the twins, poor dears were exhausted after running around the Gravity Falls woods all day, but the sound of his brothers talking made him stop on the second last step down.

It still didn't feel real.

His brothers, Lee Lee and For For, his brothers who taught him to read, both books and people, his brothers whom he thought one was dead and the other estranged.

They wanted to be part of Shermie's life again and Shermie let them back in (after some groveling of course. And various thrown pillows to his older brothers faces-give Shermie a break, he -is- the youngest sibling after all.)

He shouldn't be doing this, listening in on the elder pair of twins.

But he had to know. What did his brothers mean by "that mom?"

"Stanley, we -chose- to help out with Shermie-"

"No, no I don't mean that," Stanley said and Shermie could see in the hall mirror the younger Stan twin waving his hands as if batting away Stanfords comment. "I...shit, Poindexter. We were kids too..."

"We were older."

"We were still her kids though and-and look I know Ma protected us the best she could..."

What about Ma? And what about protecting? Shermie leaned against the wall and tried to peer more closely at the hall mirror without letting his own reflection show.

"...She got Shermie out, Ford. And-and don't get me wrong but..." Chairs scraped against the floor, Shermie heard more than saw what was likely Ford getting up and walking over to Stanley.

"...You're wondering why she didn't get us out too. Why Shermie was worth it and we....we weren't." Ford stated more then asked. Shermie held his breath as Stanley let out a shaky 'yeah.'.

Water forgotten, Shermie hurridly made his way upstairs, praying the steps wouldn't give him away.

He was a Pines boy. The universe was not kind to Pines boys. Of course the stairs creaked.

"Someone there?" Ford's voice called out.

Dangit.

Hopfully Shermie got better at acting in his old age.

"Just me, Ford. Wanted to grab some water for the kids."

"Ya spoil them, Shermie," Stanley dryly muttered. Stanford rolled his eyes and made a comment about how Stan was no better, which quickly evolved into good natured ribbing and teasing one another about getting soft in their old age.

Shermie just chuckled then went to grab the waters for the kids. On his way back up the stairs though he managed to hear a whispered "think he heard?"

"Hope not. We got enough self-worth issues for several generations."

"Lee!"

"What?"

Shermie shook his head and continued up the stairs.

He couldn't help but wonder though...why didn't his older brothers get the mom who stood up to Pa?

Why did Shermie get the good mom?

[the-midnightpoet]

Run away

Summary: You've been playing this game with Aleksander for months now. Finally you got enough...

Warnings: angst, hurt/comfort, fluff at the end, slight ooc Aleksander, lmk if I missed one

A/n: I hope you like it.

ENGLISH IS NOT MY FIRST LANGUAGE. SORRY FOR THE MISTAKES.

"Can I kiss you?" you asked as you stepped in his office.

The general stops dead in his tracks. He is quiet for a moment, considering your request before stepping closer and putting down his pen and whiskey. He leans toward you slightly with an expression both curious and excited. His eyes scan your face, looking for hesitation or refusal.

"I want to kiss you. Can I?" you asked again. You needed to know if he chose you or the power.

The general slowly raises a hand to cup your chin in his palm, leaning closer and bringing his gaze back up to yours. “There's nothing I want more," he whispers, "but it would be unwise and unfitting for two people in our positions. One kiss becomes ten, ten becomes a hundred, and then it's too late to stop" he lowers his hand, resting it on your cheek. "I have to tell you, I've been waiting for you to say those words for a long time”

"Why can we just enjoy this?" you caressed his cheek.

"We could," the general agrees reluctantly, "but what happens when our superior, the King, finds out about us? I have a duty and responsibilities, you realize that. Do you know how hard it is for me to stand here listening to you when everything in me wants to take you in my arms and kiss you without stopping."

"No" your touch was almost too much for him to bear. He couldn't remember the last time someone caressed his face like that, and it made his heart race. He desperately wanted to give in and pull you closer.

"Kirigan..." you weren't sure you could call him by his real name. "...nothing else matters. Just us. We could run away without trace. You are the Shadow Summoner. We could be happy" you excitedly said.

"Yes, we could" your words almost made him give in. "I could whisk you away from this life, take you somewhere far away where we could be true to ourselves. You and I... together"

"Imagine life without duty and honor, without expectations and responsibilities, but just... us" the general was already picturing it. You together in a secluded place, where nothing mattered except the two of you.

"Then why don't we run? Just us" you stepped closer, your chest pressed to his, his warm breath caressed your face.

The general was caught off guard by your sudden closeness. His mind was blank, his heart thundering in spite of all rationality. "Because..." he hesitated. "Because the King needs me. The Grisha need me. There is a war brewing and who could lead the second army if not me? Who would protect the people if not me?"

"And yet..." his hands were running up your back, the heat of your bodies growing together as the general struggled to keep his reasoning in place. "There's nothing I want more than to leave it all behind and run away with you"

"The worlds on fire General. We could save us. Nothing else matters to me just you" you hopfully said. You wanted him to leave with you.

"We could," he whispered, "And yet..."

The general felt your lips against his neck, and his restraint crumbled away. There was nothing he wanted more than to kiss and hold you, to feel your skin against his. "I can't. There's more at stake beyond our love" a hand wrapped around your waist, the other still lingering on your face. "I can't disappoint the Grisha, or abandon my position"

You stepped away with teary eyes.

"I get it Kirigan. I'm sorry to bother" you said coldly. No emotion on your face, you turned around and left his office.

"Please, wait" the general followed you, and reached for your hand before you could disappear. "I know you're upset, but I want you to understand something. This is who I am. This is who I will always be. But you and I, we are more than just duty and responsibilities, we're a connection that nothing can break, not even politics or duty or war"

"There's no doubt in my mind that I love you. Never doubt that"

"I love you too. So leave it all. We could have be an us. You and I" you said. Your voice shake with emotion.

"And what of our country and its people? Our Grisha? Would we abandon them to an uncertain fate?" he looked at you with a stern expression.

"I am a soldier first and foremost, and my responsibilities cannot be thrown aside. It is my duty to do right by others. I know that may seem unromantic, but it is also a form of love that many do not understand. Please, believe me when I say that there is nothing I want more than to be with you. But we cannot act on emotions alone."

"Its okay. I won't bother you again. I understand. Power over me. It always will be like this" you turned cold again.

"Love, please" you reached for you.

"I understand that you feel hurt, but don't throw away what we have. I promise you, we are more than just our positions. In my eyes, you will always be my equal. In all things, you stand at my side" he tried to get you to stay.

"And the moment the war ends, the moment everything settles, I promise that you and I will be able to be together as we wish. Please believe in that"

"And how will this be?" you asked frustatedly.

"You and I, side by side but never touch. You won't kiss me, you won't hold my hand. It'll be like you're not even mine" you shook your head. You won't play this game.

"It won't be like that," the general's voice was low and firm, as if he was trying to convince himself as much as you. "One day, my duties and responsibilities will no longer be so pressing. Then we can hold hands, kiss each other. Make up for all those years of restraint. The two of us will have a future"

"So please, don't give up on us, not now. Our feelings will survive the struggles of today, and soon enough we can enjoy one another as we wish. Don't you think that's worth waiting for?"

"I've waited enough. I won't waste my life waiting on something that will never happen. I won't wait for someone who loves the power more than me" you shook your head, letting the tears fall.

"I'll leave tomorrow morning. I'm going to Ketterdam. Goodbye Aleksander" you turned away and left to your room.

The general's mind was racing. You would leave at dawn and he couldn't allow that. He had to protect you and stop you from making such a drastic move. And yet, you were right. He had never prioritized you above his duty.

"Wait" the general was already outside your door. "I can't let you leave. I will get you a private carriage with an escort if that's what you wish or I can speak to the King and ask for your pardon, but I can't let you go"

"Go away Aleksander. I don't need this" you started packing your bags. You needed to get away.

"You can't do this," the general had followed you into the room, blocking the door to keep you there. "I will do whatever you ask if it means you won't leave. Ask me to quit the army and I'll do it right here." There was desperation in his voice. He couldn't bear the thought of you running off into the night. "I beg of you, please... stay."

"I asked you. And you said no. I got my answer. We've been doing this for months now. And I hate games. So no, I will leave in the morning" you pushed past him and put some clothes in your bag. "I'm sorry Aleksander" it was the final word, you won't let him play with you again. He broke your heart, now you're broking his.

"Love, wait" one last attempt at reasoning with you, you might hate him for it, but he believed it was worth it. "You are right. I put duty and the Grisha over everything else, including you. But I've realized my mistake. My future isn't in the army or politics, it's with you. So please, Love, please stay. I don't want to live without you either."

"You've realized it? Ohh please if I didn't come this night I will still be your second. You don't care if it hurts me as long as you have the power" you broke down. Ohh how you loved him, but he played his chance.

"Love, that's not true" the general was adamant that you understood. "Every day I thought about you, your smile, your laugh, and the way your hair fell around your face. It has been agony being away from you."

"But I stayed because I believed it was my duty. I had a role to play, a position to hold. But I see now that I was wrong... You're right, I made a mistake, so please, take me back. I beg you" he said lowly.

"I asked you to run away with me, to kiss me. You ignored my pleas and begs. If I ask you to kiss me now, will you? Or you will say you can't because we have duties?" you asked, you know the answer already, he won't choose you.

"I can now" the general stepped forward and leaned in close. Before you could protest, his lips pressed to yours, gentle and tender but with undeniable passion. Your hands ran through his hair, pulling him closer as the kiss deepened. For a moment you could forget about your duties, and about the world beyond those walls. All that mattered was you and the general, embracing each others mouths in a fit of passion. You pulled away slightly and looked up at him.

"Will you leave with me?" your tone full of hope.

The general was quiet for a moment, his heart racing in his chest. "Yes" it was a simple and honest answer. Of course he would leave with you, how could he not?

"Let me gather my belongings and we'll leave tonight."

[hs-destroying-the-timepiece]

So update

it's been over 4 years since AHSR was first completed.

I know it's been almost while. But a status update. Both me and Gwen have both been extremely busy with life and its a debate of shell be able to even help anymore and ive been going though college. So this project as been pretty much dead along with HS Fandom (let's not pretend like it isnt)

BUT BUT.

This however doesn't mean this will be scrapped, cause I do wanna get back to this story seeing as I have A LOT of changes to the original AHSR blog and I personally think it woukd be a lot of fun to do this again. This blog was once my fun little corner during quarantine and I think it would be cool to bring that charm of it back. So HOPFULLY I will start being able to do something with this blog during this year of 2025.

I'm not in anyway expecting traction cause again. The Fandoms pretty much dead (lol). But I hope to finally be able to do this again, its not gonna be as quick as it used to be back in 2020-21, but it's hope the some of yall that are still here will kick back and enjoy the story.

ILL TRY AND GET SOME STUFF OF HERE SOON, TRUST.

BUT IN THE MEANTIME I BID YOU ALL WITH A GIFT. HAVE SOMEONE YOU CAN TALK TO IN THE MEAN TIME !!!!

~ 💙

[go ahead. Ask away. 🌌]

[pheoblitz]

I drew a Soapple with someone holding angry eyebrows infront of it because I thought this would be super cute 0: I always enjoyed when people draw creatures as if they were real pets in an everyday senario. I have done this before with my snakes, so I figured it be fun.

I sadly got some of the colours off because I was using a different device then the one I was drawing on so I couldn't really colour pick the correct colours. I did my best though and I think I got some of them right. I also did my best to do it as a lineless drawing in the way I do lineless, as I admire the simple lineless style n0rtist does!

The Stema project is made, designed, and being developed by @n0rtist. I really like the designs made and wanted to do some fan art of a few of them. If you like creature collectors and you like STEM, please check it out! I highly recommend the video break downs on youtube as they discuss alot of fun topics there, but they also stream on twitch! 0: I haven't tagged someone on tumblr before, so hopfully I did that right and you can view the n0rtist tumblr page.

[missmaywemeetagain]

Broken Glass Chapter 4 (Elvis/Austin!Elvis x OC Reader)

Character/Fandom: Elvis Presley - Elvis (2022)

Read More Here - Broken Glass Masterlist! 💔🥂❤️‍🩹

TW: None really. The Colonel. Some historical inaccuracies.

Tags: Fake relationship. Slow burn. Angst. (Sort of) enemies to lovers. Hurt/Comfort.

Rating: T (but this story will eventually be Mature/NSFW, 18+, so minors Do NOT Interact)   ||     Word Count: 5k

A/N: Happy Broken Glass Friday, y'all! 💔🥂❤️‍🩹 Thanks for your patience as I get this out later than expected! Chapter 4 hopfully begins to show the awkwardness of two people in forced proximity trying to figure each other out, and as you can imagine, it is not going smoothly lol.

I highly recommend listening to Frank Sinatra's Dolores before/during your reading because...well, you'll see why! And it will definitely come back into play in later chapters...😉 Also, this song was a huge inspiration on naming her Dolores cuz just imagining Elvis singing it to her made me all fluttery inside. ❤️

As always, I love and live for your reactions, comments, asks, and reblogs, so thank you in advance for both reading and giving another one of my stories a chance! Reblogs are super helpful in getting eyes on the story, so extra thanks for those! 🥰

I imagined it with Elvis in mind, but Austin!Elvis works here, too, whatever floats your boat.

Apologies in advance if there are any grammatical errors or TW that I didn't catch.

I’ve used the tag list from Pink Scarf, and added those who requested it, so please let me know if you’d like to be added or removed!

Story is cross-posted to my Wattpad and AO3, if you prefer those reading experiences! 

The first thing Elvis notices about you when you walk through the door is how even though you are out of uniform, you still carry yourself with an air of helpful confidence, but the second thing he notices is how exhausted you seem, the dark circles around your eyes so pronounced that it’s worrisome.

And the third thing, well, it’s something he recognizes in himself: a tinge of resignation, as though something terrible has happened but you are moving forward anyhow. But there is something haunted behind all of it. He doesn’t know you, not yet, but it’s like some of the fire that had colored your personality that first night you met has dimmed. Like someone has tried to extinguish you in some way.

He prays it’s not him who has done this. He knows this situation is unusual and he understands completely why you might be apprehensive. In fact, he still can’t believe you said yes to this at all. When the Colonel had come back so quickly yesterday with your answer, Elvis was sure he’d heard wrong. Even Colonel seemed surprised.

But here you are.

Elvis brings himself to standing, both because there’s a lady that’s entered the room and he’s nothing but a good Southern gentleman, but also to prove to himself that he can stand on his own two feet. He’s got to if he’s gonna pull this off. His olive green uniform hangs half done on him, and at least he managed the pants and undershirt himself before you entered, though it nearly knocked the wind out of him.

He already can sense you’re gonna be a tough nut to crack because he’s intuitive about things like that and if there’s one thing he knows besides music, it’s women. You’re wound tight as a drum. He can see it in your countenance, in the carefully guarded way you take him in. He’s got his work cut out for him.

The air in the room is thick with tension, the silence pregnant with awkwardness.

Starting to button up his shirt, he shoots you a coy look. “You don’t gotta be nervous, little bird. I don’t bite…unless you want me to,” Elvis says, a smile spreading, pouring on the charm, hoping it might help ease the friction in the air.

And it does. He can see the way you bite your tongue, the way you stop yourself from rolling your eyes at him. There’s that fire.

“Look, sir, I…I know this is an unusual situation, but we’re going to need some ground rules. First being that you stop calling me ‘little bird,’” you huff.

“Well, I can’t very well call ya Nurse Cannava, now can I? Not with us needing to be so secret and all that. Not when you’re supposed t’be my girl,” he replies with a wiggle of his eyebrows. “And you definitely can’t be callin’ me ‘sir,’ so we’re both gonna have to adjust, ain’t we?”

You’re cute as you flounder for a retort, your cheeks flushing the slightest bit. He can tell you are struggling to be professional, but he knows that’s no good, not with how close you two will need to get to make this thing work.

Finally, you relent, after an inner struggle that reads clearly on your face. He can tell you hate that he’s right.

“I suppose so…Elvis,” you say through gritted teeth.

He chuckles at that, which too quickly turns to coughing and wheezing, forcing him to sit back on the edge of the bed.

“Oh, enough of that now,” you say in a much gentler tone, walking over to him purposefully and handing him the oxygen mask hanging near the bed. He watches the switch flip in you as you move into caretaker mode. It’s fascinating how your annoyance with him fades so fast, your face softening, just as it did the other night. If he wasn’t so frustrated by his body rebelling against him, pushing down the panic of how the hell he’s going to sell that he’s healthy as a horse in a matter of hours, he’d dwell on it longer.

Yet the more his emotions start to run away with him, the calmer you seem to become, standing near him watchfully, adjusting the flow of air. After what seems like an eternity holding the mask to his face, his can finally feel the air enter his lungs again, less encumbered. His hand grips the mattress for a moment, and he pulls the mask away. Then, almost angrily, he attempts to finish buttoning his shirt, but his damn hands are shaking too badly.

“Here, let me,” you say, swatting away his hands. His heart was already beating too fast, but now it picks up for a completely different reason as you stand so close in front of him, deftly doing up the rest of the buttons.

Rose water and jasmine, he thinks, taking in your scent for the first time. This coupled with suddenly being up close and personal with your ample figure has him gulping and trying not to let his gaze linger on your bust at his eyeline. He looks up at you through his lashes instead, seeing a concentrated stare on your striking face. You’re completely focused on doing up his shirt, which is such an intimate thing, really, yet you are unselfconscious in your need to assist him.

His fingers curl into his thighs, fighting the impulse to wrap his arms around you to pull you closer, to bury himself comfortingly into your supple body. It’s not new, this deep need he has for physical contact with women, and it’s not entirely sexual, but with the emotional toil of the last few days, the urge is great. Tensing, it takes everything in him not to do something stupid and embarrass himself. Unlike lots of other girls, he doesn’t think you’d be welcoming of the embrace whatsoever.  

Elvis blinks away his baser desires and finally finds his voice. “What’s your name, honey? Gotta call you somethin’,” he says quietly, clearing his throat.

You freeze on the final button, the one at the base of his neck, then look down into his eyes. It feels quite vulnerable, this moment, with you so close and your eyes searching his, as if deciding how far to let him in, how far to trust him. And he gets the sense you don’t trust easily. Perhaps it’s the way your guard slips from your icy eyes just for a millisecond, how they soften in the slightest, and he feels a hesitant shift.

“It’s Dolores,” you say softly, doing up the last button.

Because his mind is made of music, instantly he remembers Frank Sinatra’s love song of the same name. It’s too perfect, really. He can’t help himself as he croons out the beginning of the song:

How I love my kisses of Dolores.

Aye aye aye! Dolores.

The way your eyes widen and then roll with exasperation amuses him, but it’s the how your cheeks go pink that really tickles him.

Not Marie or Emily or Doris.

Only my Dolores.

“Of course. Of course, you know that silly song,” you say, shaking your head as you step back.

“Silly song?! Naw, it’s a wonder,” Elvis replies, smiling wide, enjoying every second of your embarrassment. “And now I know how to call ya when I need ya…just a loud, ‘Aye aye aye! Dolores!’”

“Oh, don’t you dare!” you say through gritted teeth.

He continues, being campy with it, just to really drive it home:

I was made to serenade Dolores

Chorus after chorus!

“I swear, Elvis, you—” you start.

But he’s on a roll now, interrupting you. “You swear?! Now that ain’t very ladylike or professional,” he teases. “Hand me that tie, now will ya, Dolores?” He sings the last bit just to bug you even more.

You glare at him, eyes blazing, and he can tell that you want to strangle him with the tie. Biting your tongue, you set your mouth in a line and settle for throwing the tie in his general direction instead.

“What, you ain’t gonna help me?” he says in faux surprise, quirking a brow. He grabs the tie from where it landed on the end of the bed.

“You can do it yourself,” you snap.

“But what if I can’t?” he nudges, batting his eyes at you as he puts it around his neck.

“Oh, Madone, I wasn’t hired to be your dresser. It’s a bit beneath my skillset,” you throw back at him.

He chooses not to mention how you were just doing up the buttons on his shirt not a minute ago. But you read it on his face, nevertheless.

“Ooh, you’re incorrigible!”

“And you’re cute when you’re angry.” It just slips out, really it does, but it’s the truth. And now you are completely flushed, which sends a different sort of thrill through him.

Your mouth opens, then closes again, like a fish out of water. He thinks that’s pretty cute, too, how he’s managed to fluster you speechless in such a short amount of time.

But then your body language shifts in such a way that he suddenly thinks he may have taken it too far. You look at him with wide eyes, like you want to bolt out the door and never look back.

Elvis softens instantly. He can’t afford to have you running off because he needs you. They won’t let him out of this damn hospital without you by his side.

He holds up his hands in surrender. “Okay, I’ll stop, I’ll stop.”

You take a long, deep breath that seems to quell your urge to flee. Silence fills the room again. A wave of uncertainty, of fear, crashes over him.

“I-I-I’m sorry, I just…I guess I’m still tryin’ to wrap my head around all this. I don’t mean to upset ya, I was just havin’ a little fun is all. Please don’t go,” Elvis says quietly, in a moment of unbridled honesty.

Blinking at him, as if surprised by his change in demeanor, you consider his words. Your wide mouth softens from the hardened line it was and he can’t help but wonder what you look like when you smile. His guess is that it’s stunning and he silently vows to make it happen sometime in the future.

 Finally, your body relaxes a bit. “Call me Lori,” you say.

“Okay, Lori,” he repeats softly, conceding.

You bite your lip, then shift from one foot to the other, as if mulling over whether to say something. He just waits. Finally, you speak, “I know you’re going through a lot, Elvis. But to be completely honest, this…I might be in over my head here. I don’t really know what to expect. But I’m not a fawning acolyte and I do have a job to do. So please let me do it.”

All business, Elvis thinks with a smile. It’s been a while since a woman hasn’t fallen immediately at his feet. Perhaps this is God’s way of continuing to knock his ego down a peg or two, though for him, it just feels like a challenge.

He likes you a little too much already. You’re obviously more than just a pretty face. In fact, in what very little time he’s spent with you, it’s clear you are intelligent and caring but also feisty and stubborn. Plus, that guarded look in your eye makes him curious about what makes Dolores Cannava tick. Something in him itches to know you. But he’s not quite sure how far he can push you yet and acquiescing for the time being seems his best bet at getting you to stay.

So, he nods. He ties his tie. And you grab his uniform jacket to hold out for him. An olive branch, of sorts. He takes a deep breath and stands, a little unsteadily, but you are right there to help, holding his jacket as he slips into it. Once again, it feels more intimate than it should, especially when you straighten his jacket and his tie, fixing him like a lover might. He takes in another breath of you, of that lovely rose and jasmine scent in your deep chocolate hair, noticing the undertones of copper threaded through the dark strands now that he’s standing.  

When you step back to examine him and your eyes widen in the slightest, taking him in while he wears his uniform, he knows you find him attractive, no matter how quickly you blink the idea away. He knows he looks good in this uniform, which is why he’s wearing it to the press conference at Fort Dix. But despite your now-neutral gaze, that quick look on your face coupled with his newfound impulse to be physically connected to you makes him wonder how in the hell he is going to remain professional with you.

Elvis clears his throat again and turns away from you to the bathroom, leaving the door open. His hair is a mess, so he begins sculpting it in a well-practiced routine. It’s the longest it’s been since he was drafted, but still not quite the coiffed pompadour of his pre-army youth. The back is shorter and so are his sideburns, but the sides and the top give him enough length to comb it precisely where he wants it. He doesn’t go too heavy on the Brylcreem, wanting the look to appear more natural.

There’s a fine line he knows he’s skating here, between a more polished adult look and the rebellious one he is famous for. He’s an All-American boy—no, man—now and must look as such, to please his aging audience. As much as he doesn’t love it, he knows his natural hair helps, not quite the sandy blonde of his teenage years, but more of a light chestnut, that little strip of gold in the front reminding him he is indeed a natural blonde. It’s darker than it used to be, at least, but lighter than he likes. But for today, it’ll serve its purpose.

He catches your eye in the mirror briefly as you watch his routine carefully, arms crossed with an air of scrutiny. You do not look away like he expects you to, however, and he holds your eyes for a moment before going back to making himself look halfway decent. Luckily for him, even at halfway decent he still looks pretty good, but if it will be enough to satisfy the throngs of reporters waiting for him, he does not know.

Rummaging in his leather kit, he finds the new mascara he had Elisabeth purchase for him in Germany. He darkens his long lashes carefully, not in the heavy-handed way of his youth, but just enough to make his naturally lighter lashes curl and pop on camera.

“Huh.” He hears your surprised reaction from behind him. He’s betting you’ve never seen a man wear makeup before.

“Come on, honey, this is show business. Can’t let the ladies have all the fun,” he winks at you.

He thinks he sees a possible twinkle of amusement in your eyes, but it is gone in a flash, replaced by your stoic and careful gaze so fast he’s unsure it was ever there at all. You turn away, walking back into the room and leaving him to his primping.

He shakes his head. Oh, Lord, I have my work cut out for me.

*

Despite the lingering exhaustion that hasn’t faded even with days of rest, Elvis’ leg vibrates with unspent nervous energy. It’s always been this way, the way his limbs go buzzing and tapping and wiggling beyond his control. Somehow, he managed to make a career out of it, which never ceases to amaze him.

But the little white pill you administered on the way out the door of the hospital is helping to keep the fatigue from dragging him completely under. Only one, you’d said, which had made him a little wary because he’d been popping the things like candy overseas and he wasn’t sure one was gonna do much at all. But having been off them in the hospital seems to have lowered his tolerance a bit because he can feel the familiar wave of clarity and alertness cut through the ever-present need to close his eyes.

After two long hours of staring out the car window at the snowy landscape on the way to Ft. Dix, you finally look at him—well, you look down at his leg as it brushes against yours, since he’s managed to spread his legs over almost the entirety of the backseat, and he forces himself to reel it in and stop the unconscious bouncing.

Elvis tries not to be perturbed that you’ve barely given him the time of day since getting in the limo. He thought that you two would spend the trip getting to know each other better, but his charms didn’t get him much past small talk in those first minutes getting out of the city. You fell into silence and made yourself small, curling close to the door, as far from him as possible.

Thank God for the Colonel and Lamar sitting opposite, who were equally baffled by your behavior when they received only short, clipped answers to their questions. The men finally gave up trying to include you and were at least able to contribute some conversation to the long drive.

Lamar’s confusion is evident, however, as he thinks you’ve dropped everything to be with Elvis because you’ve fallen head over heels for him, not because you are there to tend to him, and God knows you’re not acting like a little girl in love. Elvis just shrugs off the questioning looks as if to say, “Who knows what women are thinking?”

Meanwhile, you seem quite preoccupied up there in your head, wheels turning, an inner voice he’s not privy to whirring away. He’s noticed that you don’t seem particularly sad about leaving New York, only pensive and withdrawn. Considering that you are upending your life to come work for him, he supposes it makes sense. You’re likely just nervous, though it’s not in the way he expects. He’s not unaccustomed to the strange reactions of women to his presence, but it’s quite obvious that is not your problem. In fact, you barely seem to register his presence at all.

It bothers him more than he likes.

But nerves are funny things, he reminds himself, and it takes time to adjust to something new. The way your hands white knuckled your purse and your shoulders were nearly up to your ears when you stepped into the limo outside Bellevue have at least dissipated into something more relaxed. Definitely not relaxed relaxed, as he has noticed your natural state seems to be just this side of well-masked anxiety, but the latent worry in your eyes has drained away some, and they have stopped shifting to your surroundings quite so diligently.  

And now you are looking at him in a way he can’t read.

“You ever been to a press conference before, honey?” he asks, breaking the silence as the car approaches the base.

He watches you bristle a bit at the pet name. “Can’t say that I have,” is all you give him.

“Well, there’s gonna be lots of shouting questions and flashbulbs, so don’t be alarmed. But they most likely won’t be payin’ too much attention to ya anyway.”

Your eyes widen with realization. “They—they won’t be asking me questions, will they?” For the first time, he sees true panic dart in your eyes, as if you’ve just realized the situation you’ve put yourself in.

He chuckles softly. “When we get out of the car, they’ll probably ask some, but you don’t need to answer. Just ignore them and let me or the Colonel take care of the rest.” He pats your knee in what he thinks is a comforting gesture, but you nearly jump out of your skin at the contact. He pulls back right away.

We’re gonna need to work on that, he thinks. But it’s too late to talk about it now, as the car finally pulls through the gates of the base and into the throng of waiting press corps.

“Are you nervous?” you ask suddenly.

“About them? Naw, not really. I’m used to it, though I guess sometimes I stutter a bit cuz it gives me time to think of answers. Today, I’m more worried about staying upright and breathing than anything,” he mumbles, leg back to jittering.

“Well, that’s what I’m here for,” you say softly enough that the men across from you can’t hear, “but from what I’ve seen the last few days, I have no doubt you can do this. Just focus on those deep breaths, like I showed you.”

Elvis is pleasantly surprised by the relief he feels at your surprisingly gentle words, though he’s not sure if it’s the words themselves or the fact that your caretaking mode is so comforting compared to your usually well-guarded exterior.

The car comes to a stop, and the press advance through the swirling snow, held back by well-trained MPs. That’s when he hears your shuddering breath and sees the swell of alarm in your bright eyes.

“Stick with me, kid, and you’ll be fine,” he says, winking, plastering a press-dazzling smile over his features. Then, he grabs your cold little hand and pulls you out of the car with him.

*

Elvis Presley was born for this.

He reminds himself of it again and again, every time the blinding flashes of the cameras make him want to wince from the pain in his head. He reminds himself of this as he forces himself to slow down and catch his breath, so he doesn’t start wheezing in front of all these microphones.

“Elvis, there are rumors that you’ve been unwell since your homecoming was delayed. Can you speak to that?” The question comes right away, and luckily he’s rehearsed it in his head a million times, so it comes out as endearing as possible.

“Well, you see, I was stricken with a bout of tonsilitis on the trip back and then made the dumb mistake of standing up in the plane when there was turbulence. Won’t be doin’ that again, sir, I tell you for sure!” he laughs, rubbing the back of his head in an exaggerated manner, a bashful look on his face. “Nothin’ but a little fever coupled with a big ole’ bump on the head. Everyone just wanted to be more safe than sorry.”

The press corps laughs along with him and seems to take his explanation at face value. Truly, none of it is a lie—only an omission—but for that he is grateful because it falls off his tongue easily. Everyone moves on quickly, asking him about Army life and what’s next for him.

He tries not to look over to you in the wings, as he is under such scrutiny, but he knows you must be overwhelmed. He forgets sometimes how intense the press and fans can be, and he is aware this is only the beginning for you. Also, focusing on you is keeping him from focusing too much on the fact that he’s a little afraid to stand up by himself in front of all these people and cameras.

He endures the rest of the interview with as much grace and humor as he can. He enjoys the few ladies who surround him asking for autographs, including the woman who slyly slips her number into his breast pocket right in front of the camera. He admits he’s impressed with her fearlessness. And he certainly doesn’t mind sidling up to a pretty, young Nancy Sinatra who gives him a gift from her father as the press take their pictures, even though he feels a bit wobbly on his feet.

But through the lingering fear of being exposed or embarrassing himself, he’s also excited. He’s back. And a huge part of him loves this, sucking it up like oxygen. He can’t understand the stars who are dismissive of their fans. His fans have given him his blessed life, and they’ve been waiting for so long for him to come back to them.

Certainly he can’t let a little thing like dying get in the way of who he needs to be for them.

So, Elvis smiles his megawatt Hollywood smile. Posing for pictures, he laughs and winks and autographs his way through the crowd. And he lets the high of adoration carry him because it starts to feel like he’s under water, where it’s hard to breathe and his vision starts to swim and suddenly, he can’t quite feel his feet anymore.

Then a somewhat familiar cold little hand slips into his and squeezes. He looks down into your intelligent eyes and wonders how in the hell you made it through the crowd to him, how in the hell you knew he needed you to steady him without him knowing it himself until this very moment. You breathe through your nose as obviously as you can without taking your eyes from his, prompting him to remember to stop and breathe. And he does, trying to fill his traitorous lungs with air, and you resolutely guide him away from the throng as the MP’s hold back the crowd.

He can’t take his eyes off the back of your head; you’re the lighthouse in the darkness, guiding him away from the rocks.

You don’t let go until you’re all back in the car. It’s only then that he seems to awaken from whatever spell he was under that was keeping him upright, finally collapsing onto the seat next to you. You wait until the car has pulled away and the press is behind you to put your fingers to his neck and your wrist to his sweaty brow. His eyes flutter closed at the comfort of your touch, reminding him of the way his mama would tut over him when he was sick.

His heart pounds with overuse, which is frustratingly stupid enough that he wants to shove his fist through the damn window, but he’s got no energy to do so. Instead, he keeps his eyes shut and lets his head loll back on the seat as you tend to him, murmuring words he doesn’t absorb.

It really hits him then, just how fucking hard this is going to be, this battling his weak body to continue the life he needs to lead. Despair washes over him.

Please, God. Please just let me live. Let me do what I need to do to support my family and please my fans. Please give me the strength to get through this.

He drifts off then, singing spirituals in his head because he hasn’t the energy to get them out of his mouth.

“…vis. Elvis. Elvis, wake up. We’re almost to the train station.” Your voice cuts through the exhaustion and the prayers. He lifts his head, blinking suddenly against the light, coming back into himself. Your face appears first, your brow furrowed with a concern that he thinks you’re trying not to show. He presses his pointer finger to the folds above your nose and between your eyes.

“Relax, little Lo. You’re gonna give your pretty face wrinkles if ya keep on like that,” he drawls sleepily at you.

Your eyes narrow and you swat his hand away. “My face is just fine, thank you very much,” you snap back at him, though you let the new nickname slide. He hears the little huff of air through your nose as you cross your arms and look out the window, obviously annoyed at him once again.

He can’t help but chortle a little. It’s gonna take a mountain of work to get anyone to believe that you even like him, much less that you are swooning with love for him.

“It looks like we have a particularly large crowd to get through to get on that train,” you say tersely, but then that gentle thing you do—the one where you suddenly care about him—cuts through your annoyance. “Are you going to be able to—”

“I can do it,” he retorts, harshly. There’s something suddenly maddening about the way you seem to shut on and off regarding him, and when he’s feeling better, it doesn’t bother him much, but right now it just feels fucking confusing because it’s taking everything in him to rally to get onto that waiting train. And with the way his head is swimming, he’s not so sure he’s gonna make it without some divine intervention.  

You sigh, a soft, pliant sound that slides down his spine and settles in his belly, pulling his attention back to your profile as you take in the looming crowd from afar. That thing in you clicks into place again, and when you turn your head, your face is calm and poised.

“I know you want to do this, Elvis,” you start, then seem to mull over how best to continue, and realizing you need to be discreet, you lean close to him to whisper, “but remember not to push it. My job is to help you stay well, and I’m telling you today is not the day to stop and sign every autograph.”

Oh, how badly he wants to argue with you, to insist that he can do it all, that he’s fine, dammnit, but his body feels heavy and his brain swimmy and Lord help him, he just needs to get from point A to point B without being a fool.

“But the fans have been waitin’ so long t’see me…” he trails off, both the sound and the excuse thin.

You consider him for a moment before speaking. He is distracted by you being so close, the scent of you filling his nostrils again, sending his heart galloping.

“Live to fight another day, Elvis.” Then you pull back, a sad, small smile on your pursed lips.

You’re right. He knows you’re right but he’s not happy about it.

He’s also not entirely sure how to feel about the fact that when he clasps your hand in his to pull you out of the limo and towards the train, something about it feels oddly settling.

It’s as if it is supposed to be there, your smaller hand wrapped in his. This strange thought, along with the racing of his heart, pushes him forward—away from the Army and firmly back into the life of Elvis Presley, superstar.

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[xshybutdeadlyx]

Spoilers

What I wanna see next season is if the hotel gang CAN get Alastor to see them as friends. Personally, I think when he was talking with Nifty, there's is a spark of fondness as he watched them, but also I 100 percent believe he would/is using them for his personal gain. To get out of whatever deal he's in I'm sure he would resort to any underhanded tricks or use anyone to get out of it which makes him a very interesting character to me especially if he holds any ounce of fondness for anyone regardless of who. Because you can still seek power and even have that power and be fond of certain people. I'm just curious to see what the gang is gonna do. Like Charlie, would she be the one to show Alastor " Hey you didn't have to be so underhanded about this, even if you don't see me as a friend you're still a friend to me and I would have done it for you and all you had to do was ask." Like, could that sway Alastor? Would that be enough to? It seems like Rosie and him are tight, but they also mutually benefit from each other . There is exploitation on both their ends, but there is still that fondness. Enough for them to be drinking tea and gossiping about the old hag Susan. I think all and all I'm really curious about is the WHAT IF and I'm spirling from it. I think it would be a GRULING and PAINSTAKING road to get the Radio demon of all people to, in any sort of sense, care about you. But dammit I think it means something when he let Charlie sing into his microphone because that's his damn power he shouldn't let ANYONE near that shit! But here he is, letting the princess of hell sing a magical Disney number to a bunch of cannibals. Sure, you can say it was for her to use her charm and to get all the cnnibals on their side and for them to you know, hear her. But like she had a perfectly good microphone to use, she didn't need to use HIS, and he didn't need to give it to her. Hell, he could have just held it out for her to sing into or speak whatever, but he physically gave it to her. In my eyes, that means something.

But I also believe that his fight with Adam set him back. He was getting too comfortable he was growing soft. And becoming soft gets, you killed, and Alastor can't die before he accomplishes what he wants to accomplish. And what does he want to accomplish when he actually gets out of this deal? Does he want to be the overlord of overlords? Does he want to overthrow lucifer? It would explain the animosity when he met him. Whatever the power grab is for I do believe that any ounce of fondness he did hold for them is now pushed back into the recesses of his mind and he's now back to pilot Alastor that's there for one reason only. But I don't think that means that that fondness can't be pulled back out, especially if the gang ends up helping him get out of his deal of their own free will. But depending on how he would need to get out of the deal, I guess the question would be, would they? As long as it ain't killing someone, I feel like Charlie's bleeding heart would do anything to help Alastor.

Of course, all this is hypothetical, and it's from the context of how I read the scenes as well as him as a character. Personally all this word vomit is because the thought of the gang having to physically fight Alastor literally makes me anxious as hell because I fucking love everyone and I just want to be mad delusional and everyone still be demons have flaws but be besties at the end of the day! Is that too much to ask!? If you stayed and actually read all my word vomit I thank you, you're a trooper and I respect the hell out of you because this was essentially just a rant post to get my anxiety out of me as well as to just kinda dive into the mind of Alastor from my point of view.

Hopfully season 2 wont take another 4 years and hopfully it's gentle with my poor little fragile heart because the fucking season finale of season 1 fucked me straight up brother, in good and back ways :D.

[batshikns]

so... gonna start a (hopfully daily)check-up list on things i did today! Erm... it's gonna be super boring, but i use this app an increasing amount every week, so ill remember way better on things n stuff! (I am debating whether or not i should just make them private posts, but we'll see how this works out for now 🫶)

Check-up List #1

Daily To-Do's:

-Got to school with in a tolerable mood: ❌️

-Laughed and made someone laugh today: ✔️

-Didn't make someone mad/upset: ✔️

-Got home in a tolerable mood: ✔️

-Showered: ✔️

-Took a walk: ❌️

-Planning to go to bed soon: ✔️

Today's To-Do's:

-Talk to Mom: ❌️

Overall:

5/8 things done today

Notes:

I felt really irritable this morning and I wasn't feeling that great. I wanted to take a walk today with my brother, but he had theater practice and it was too late for me to go out alone. When I tried to talk to Mom, I was both too scared and she spoke as if she didn't want to talk about what I was alluding to anymore.

Goals:

-Talk to Mom

-Ask Brother to go on a walk BEFORE he leaves for theater

-Keep in mind that you're trying, even if Mom or Dad don't realize it yet and urge you to speed up the process

[glazedtrash721]

GOLLY it's been a minute! But alas, I have returned with gifts! Said gifts consist of my Welcome Home self insert, but if she was in @clownsuu 's Mob AU!! Hooray!

This young member of the Neighborhood is, while incredibly meek and anxious, also extremely loyal and willing to do what it takes to protect those she cares about and to do what she's told. Eager to please, this keeps her well on Wally's good side, which benefits her greatly by keeping her out of a coffin for the time being. She originally came from another group that I made up called the Company, which explains the bar code on the base of her neck (as seen in the previous set of drawings) and much of her anxiety and lack of self identity. Though not the greatest at fighting, she can become quite violent when the others are at risk or in danger. So watch out, because she will start swinging! And boy, does she swing hard! Willow is also known for being oblivious to lots of things, while being extremely observant of how others feel. She is quite good at reading a room or how someone feels, and she is always quick to act or react accordingly.

Relationship charts and disguises under the cut!

Here's the relationship charts! Credit again goes to @clownsuu lol

Willow probably gets along best with Poppy, Eddie, Frank, and Howdy. She's terrified of Wally, but is still eager to impress him and (hopfully) build a stronger platonic relationship with him. She's also incredibly intimidated by Barnaby, and while she gets along with Sally and Julie, she finds them a little too experimental with her. She's only really heard of Doc and Robbie, but I feel like she would feel a combination of how she feels towards Howdy and Sally towards Robbie, that being interested, but exhausted and intimidated by his sheer amount of chaotic energy.

Likewise, Poppy, Eddie, and Frank probably like her the most in return. Howdy, as expected, is pretty neutral, but he finds her interesting. Wally doesn't dislike her either, primarily because she is incredibly loyal and obedient to him and the Neighborhood, and he finds her near-constant state of fear fun to observe. Barnaby and Sally find her a tad boring, and Julie, while also thinking Willow should lighten up a bit, is also pretty curious about her. Doc wouldn't pay much attention to her if he knew her any better, and I feel that Robbie would also find her a bit boring, but would be very interested in trying to get her to react to certain things.

Now, on the off occasion that the gang needs to get into disguises, this is what Willow's get-up would be! She's a bit of a "starving artist" of sorts, setting up an easel and canvas wherever she's told to (primarily by Wally), as she sits and observes her surroundings. She can also be used to look out for certain people and their whereabouts, as she can record her observations in her art through a sort of code that she created where certain colors, shapes, and even representational things represent different things. It's also easy for her to communicate with others, as well as have them communicate with her with little to no suspicion, so she's also a sort of "middle man" within the disguised group.

So yeah! There's Mob AU Willow!! Don't be surprised if I make more stuff about this AU, I absolutely LOVE it and it's been spinning in my brain like how a frozen single serving of veggie lasagna spins in the microwave. So! You best get used to this, because there may be more to come! :D

[digi-tama-in-your-pocket]

Tomorrow is the 1st, so that means it's time to do a v-pet swap.

Last month, I actually kept running my Pix because I was having such a good time with it, but I finally put it to rest for now. It's still my favorite modern Tama, so I might pull it out again at another date. And in it's place, i'm running the Tamagotchi Smart for the first time, with the only Smart Card I have, the One Piece friends. If I like the Smart well enough, I might buy a few more Smarts..... or bootleg versions of them, because official Smart Cards are stupidly expensive, someone on Ebay makes clones for 10 bucks a pop. We'll see though, I can already tell it's gonna have a learning curve, especially without any english in the menu.

Also running my X3 Yellow, which I thought I hadn't run yet, but I guess I did but just forgot about it? I'm starting out of the gate with Palmon X. I've finally got an idea of what kind of charms to use for the DMX by the way, so that Meat charm is temporary until they come in the mail. They'll make sense when you see them. But there's a new beaded strap!

Those are my two v-pets new to the rotation.

For V-pets staying in rotation, I decided I'm keeping my Uni running at all times, at least until Bandai drops support, because I don't want to miss out on any updates or events. I think i'll start a new egg on it though, I've kept poor Kikitchi for long enough. And i'm still rocking my Gen 2 hoping Zuccitchi will become Zatchi. I keep forgetting it's a bad idea to walk away from it where I could potentially get a discipline mistake, hopefully I haven't had any yet. I recon i'll put the Gen 2 away when the Tamagotchi Connection remake finally arrives in a few weeks....hopfully it actually gets here earlier than the delivery date says.

That's the update for today. Really excited for the Connection remakes this month. Also I forget that we should be expecting the Pendulum colors, but man does the delivery date feel so far away, because I ordered from Zenin, i'm likely going to end up getting them later than those who ordered from Premium Bandai directly.

[chipmunkswitnbs]

Chipmunks and Chipettes ”truth or dare” (extreme) short fanfic (part 4)

.........

Theodore: I got a truth last time, Oh! I got a dare it says kiss any food item passionately for 60 second?! I don't want to do that!

Alvin: Just do it Theo.

Theodore: Alright. I'm back from the kitchen I got a pear. So I to kiss it right?

Brittany: No, Theodore you makeout with it.

Jeanette: We can't make him do it if he's doesn't want to.

Alvin: The rules of the game were simple, everyone follows whatever the truths and dares tell us to do. No Backing Out!

Theodore: There I did!

Eleanor: You did good Theodore. (British voice)

Theodore: Thanks, Ellie. It was really awkward kissing a fruit in front of everyone.

Simon: My turn hopfully, I'll get that won't be too embarrassing.

Simon: Seriously!? Whisper one of your darkest secrects!

Alvin: Just chose one of us to whisper your darkest secrects.

Simon: I know that. But I'm not whisper it to you.

Alvin: Hurry up, Simon and pick someone.

Simon: Alright, I'll share it with Jeanette, since she's the closest to me.

Jeanette: Oh...

[quaranmine]

a) omg someone who does GIS who is on mcytblr I love GIS & I love learning of ppl with similar interests to me who also study/do similar things!! b)… yeah. yeah. The struggle is real. GIS I love you but also god why are you like this

omg hi! i basically do GIS "recreationally" now which means it is not necessary in my job but i keep finding excuses to make maps at work because i a) like maps and b) think GIS is a neat skill that i would like to have. Currently I have no skill at GIS, so everything i do or attempt to do leads to a great amount of floundering. This is partially because I only took one semester of GIS in late 2020, and was taught QGIS in class but have to use ArcGIS Pro at work. The programs do the same operations...but they do Not work/look the same. My GIS is something. It's coming along.

Today I was mapping a list of zip codes targeted for blood lead level testing, since I had just found a list of them. Those numbers mean nothing to me. It's a list of 1,547 five digit numbers. What? How does any normal person interpret that? I have no idea where 78072 is. So I took the numbers, manually formatted them in a txt file (this took...a while because I basically had to separate them all onto one line each.) Then I threw the table into Arc Pro and did some stuff to get the points associated with actual zip code outline polygons. Now I have a map that highlights all the targeted areas, and I can click each one and get its information. This way I can visually see, for example, that most of the Houston metro area is "targeted" but not some areas north of that. Idk if we'll end up using this for anything at work, but it's mostly relevant and might be useful. Mostly I just got some practice making the map.

My long term project is to make some toggleable interactive map that has pins for every outreach activity we've done in the last 5 years, along with the type of outreach. Hopfully we will be able to easily identify which parts of our states (that my office does work in) we are reaching/not reaching. But that is a bit advanced and out of my reach so I keep running into silly little problems because the program never quite works the way I think it should.

It's like the world's most frustrating little puzzle but if you're a map and data girlie like me then you're probably drawn to it too xD

I hope to get good enough at it that I can eventually jump in on some of our environmental emergency responses with GIS help as a volunteer because I know from other people at my office that they need it. I just, uh, don't know how to do it. Yet.

[suspiciousbatintux]

used to deal with this a lot till about 3 year ago, so here's what worked for me:

first of all is to understand that anger is a natural emotion and evolutionarily helpful. It signals that we perceive we've been cheated on, that our resources have been unfairly taken away in some way. It's not a monster that you need to fight or confine in a cage, more like a signal light that turns on sometimes. I find it way more effective to deal with the root cause instead of just the symptoms.

so instead of feeling angry and becoming more angry because I'm angry about my own anger, what I do now is to step back and analyze the situation: why do I think I'm losing resources? what is being taken away and who is doing it? what productive thing can I do to get it back/prevent further loss? (Being angry at yourself works a little differently but the last question still stands.)

I know how anoying it is to be told to "think rationally" and that "you only hurt yourself by staying angry" when you're angry, but please consider about it now that you're (hopfully) calm. Analyze the situation of the last time you were angry. What do you think now that would have helped to eliminate the root problem (not just the anger itself)? From there we can make a plan for the next time something similar happens.

We can't control how we feel, but we can always control how we react, and in the end, the reaction is what matters more.

Sorry for the long paragraphs lol. I'm not a life coach or anything, just someone who used to stew in my own anger for hours and eventually found a way of dealing with it that works for me.

So yeah... Keep on trucking buddy 👉😎👉

what are you even supposed to do when youre angry.  cant scream at anyone cos im not a dick. cant break anything cos i paid money for that. cant rip my hair out cos i need it on my head. literally what now

[0bs1d1ankn1ght]

Lovely supporter, I hope this message finds you and your family in good health and high spirits.

This is Eman Zaqout a Biotechnologist and PhD student from Gaza. I've started a fundraising campaign and urgently need your help to spread it to the world, after losing my house and my job in the genocide in Gaza and living in a life that you can't bear watch it behind screens.

I hope you can take a look at my campaign on the pinned post on my profile, and help us by donating or sharing our campaign to reach the largest number of supporters.

Thank you for your continuous help for the Palestinian cause until freedom is achieved.

Please know that our campaign is verified by @90-ghost, @aces-and-angels

Sorry I cant donate but hopfully someone else who sees this will

[courtskneess]

sitting here panda in lap, typing this all i can reflect on is the wind in his hair, his smile that is bright as the sunshine dawning on a new day, slowly appearing but once there, its always there. His soft hair i wanna run my fingers thru, he reminds me of better times, being able to create better times and better memories. I wish that i could have had him longer but i appreciate time with him regardless, the way he takes care of me and makes me feel safe. The instantaneous way i felt as i could be myself with him needs to be studied.

the way he always throws out future plans of things you'd do with me, comfort me and make me even excited for the future of us and how i can see myself with him for a while and hopfully he see's me the same.

Movie dates make me feel like i have a safe place now and its with him, maybe the delusion of falling for a guy is just taking over more then usual but god, he feels so normal in my life, like he floated in right when i needed someone to bring my back to life.

the way he holds my hand so tightly when cuddling, like im not going anywhere. Is this how it feels to be in a good relationship with someone? Endless talking about things, the way we wanna talk to each other and the way i learn the little things about him and talk a mental note.

[dmcheatsheet]

Cyclopes

The Cyclopes are monstrosities. souless copys of goliathes according to some, but that story has two tellings, the cityfolk claim the devils created them and failed to copy their own goliaths, humans tell of a terriable ritual by which soilders were not born of men and neccesity, but directly from a mother's womb, fathered by desperation in the form of dark magics. They can copy humans movements, learning to cook, build camps, and copy their specific fighting style. They capture people, and hold them by the back of their head, and holds their arms, slowly pulling. the screams and begging and calling for specific people, is seen as movement in their throut.

They are gaze cancels magic, their eye fluid is traficed as an anti-scrying potion, that works even on gods.

You see a ruin, and a woman, bloodied walking away from it. her arm was ripped off by the monster that took them, and shes moving with the featherfall effect. It wanted to eat us im sure! I have weak magics, i tried to tunnel under the prison, but it collapsed, the monster grabed my arm as i fell. it pulled me apart and then i rolled down that hill. my sister is still in that collapseing prison. Please, help her. (she starts passing out) there were wolves in this forest. Hopefully PCs used a potion or heal spell on her, and will cast something to hide her in a tree.

the fort is, a destroyed wall on a ramping courtyard, then a building complex, and a tower with prison bars. entering the fort, its all traps. half eaten animals, a muck litter any corner of this fort. and certain hallways are traped. (investigaation 15 to tell the most used/untrapped) while walking past two large doors, the cyclops will burst from one to the other taking someone with a grapple check. if not, then a snare or pitfall will deliver a PC to him. either way the PCs chase him. they start ascending the tower. that tower is clearly collapsing, with bricks falling (dex sv) and jumps to be made (athl) and dust cloud to push through (con sv) {idealy dol these out to whoevers best at each, taking note of who fails and is slowed down}

The clanking of ur armour and the chase as a whole alerts the top of this prison tower. a woman calls out. help! please! is anyone there! monster even, this tower is collapsing, please! ye see from the door way ur at now, leading across a bridge, to another (stable) tower, and up the stairs and around the corner in this tower, a womans hand flailing desperetly behind prison bars. she shout-whispers "i see the key. can u reach the key?" Hopfully one PC goes for the prisoner, one goes to out on the bridge, to save the third PC who is captured.

Cyclops 1 throws PC1 toward the open door of the opposite tower, DC10, dosnt fall into the scummy water barrel, catches the edge and pull self up. DC20, manages to bounce on wall and pull self to the roof of that tower, there to face the Cyclops on the high ground. Cyclops 1 will be running back accross the bridge to other players.

Player who runs up to the prison cell, suddenly standds before a large cell wall. The severed arm isnt flailing anymore, its being slurped up like spagetii! by the cyclops in the cell. this second cyclops pushes its hand on the prison bars, and in three of its strides, it will have rotated the wall of bars, so it will be on the outside, and you will be inside the cell. Can u think of anything u could do while the bars are pushing u.

Can sell the cyclops eyes to hunters who came for them, but a god will tell a PCs that cyclops hunters create a potion that blocks the gods view of an area. It is the tool of the devil, the deceiver and those who seek to kill my knights from the dark. Hunt them down, destroy the eyes! (hunters scry on party, use it for scrying a location with 'monsters' only if they cant scry on it do they think its cyclopses.) they sell them in Ard Carmen. eye liquid = 100g, offers u 80 or 60 or 40 depends on damage.