#how the hell am I ever going to be able to afford that especially when I can't drive and the bus is either

[thebindingofdragonshy]

new existential dread: all of your friends (except for one) are suddenly moving out and everybody either lives too far away (another state/country) or already has their own plans on roommates and you are freaking out because you love your parents and they're great but you can't live with them literally forever but how the hell are you supposed to ever ever ever move out and afford rent ON YOUR OWN in this economy and the ONE FRIEND who isn't suddenly moving out/already moved out and on without you, you don't think is like ever going to move out and also they're so so soooo fucking stupid when it comes to their spending habits so you absolutely do not trust to live with them I mean he's never even had a *job* before and he regularly *impulse spends* 300-400 dollars on board games and now you're suddenly freaking out because you went from not even thinking about it because it doesn't matter to WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU EVER GOING TO DO IN THE FUTURE ALL YOUR OPTIONS ARE GONE FROM UNDER YOUR FEET BECAUSE YOU DIDN'T THINK TO FUCKING PRE-CLAIM PEOPLE AS YOUR ROOMMATES BACK WHEN YOU WERE *STILL IN HIGH SCHOOL* AND OH YEAH YOUR ONE FRIEND WHO YOU THOUGHT WAS UNPLANNED WHO IS BOTH CLOSE ENOUGH TO BE VIABLE AND SOMEBODY YOU COULD ACTUALLY STAND LIVING WITH ACTUALLY PSYCHE THEY'RE MOVING OUT *LITERALLY NEXT WEEK* LIKE THE DAY AFTER THEY TURN 18 NOT EVEN BECAUSE OF THEIR PARENTS BUT BECAUSE OF THEIR SIBLINGS AND THEY'RE GOING WITH *FOUR OTHER PEOPLE* SO YOU'RE SHIT OUT OF LUCK YOU'RE ALL ON YOUR OWN AND NOW YOU'RE PANICKING EVEN THOUGH IT'S STILL A FUTURE PROBLEM BECAUSE AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

[novashelby]

I'm Not Your Wife, I'm Your Daughter-Father!Tommy Shelby x Daughter!OC-Angst

Pairing: Father!Tommy Shelby x Daughter!OC-Evelyn (but honestly, Evie has a little bit of everyone. So, you are welcomed to be Evie...we are all Evie)

Warning: Death, swearing, violence, mentions of sex, very sad

Word Count: 2,761

Summary: Evelyn comforts Lizzie as Ruby gets sick in the hospital. When Tommy neglects his family, his daughter has some choice words for him

I am so proud of this. For the first time in a while, I feel really happy with something I wrote. So, please please please consider commenting and letting me know what you think. I know likes are easier, but I'd really appreciate some comments.

The childrens’ tuberculosis wing was a dark road. In fear of contraction, no one was allowed past a certain point. It reminded Evelyn of the road to hell, but she was older then. She knew better to speak the words in her head. So instead, she said nothing as Lizzie and her stared down the corridor that only seemed to get darker. A simple hand on the shoulder was good enough, whatever that was…good enough. They knew nothing was good. So, perhaps, it was just enough.

No longer able to bear looking down where they took her, Evelyn turned, letting out a large exhale. Out of everyone, she had to be the strong one, the present one, the mature one. There was no room to lose herself. Without looking at Lizzie, her hand searched behind her until she felt the ridges of her checkered coat. Her fingers hooked around the sleeve and tugged. But she was stubborn. If anything at all were to change from then until the end, Lizzie was determined to be there. 

“Go home,” she told Evelyn, not unkindly. More so lack of any emotion. But she’d be damned if she left. Evelyn looked at her step-mother, or mother, she was never really sure what any of them were. The woman was young-only eleven years older than she, but her eyes were sunken in and her cheeks lost all and any color. It would have been nice and too easy to blame it all on grief. Evelyn knew better. Her father sent everyone to an early grave. 

She shook her head. “No way home at this time.” 

Lizzie softened a bit, giving a short head nod. “Very well-”

“Can I get you anything?” she asked. There was nothing left to get. Lizzie needed no more coffee. The two women shared a look of understanding. Lizzie stepped forward and hugged Evelyn; her arms squeezed around her, head tangled in her hair. Stiff at first, Evelyn was taken aback. Her own arms slowly wrapped around, hands hovering for a moment over the woman’s back. While neither were ever affectionate as mother and daughter, Evelyn was bonded to Lizzie by one mutual understanding. One was birthed by a whore and one was a whore. “It’s not going to be okay,” Evelyn said, resting her hands against her back. “It’s going to be horrible.” She could tell the woman was crying from how her shoulders twitched and chest heaved.

“I know,” she said, furiously nodding. “I know, I-I know….” Lizzie did her best sniffing, and wiping the wetness from her face, but Evelyn grabbed her hands. It was okay to cry. Everyone did it. Especially when life handed you a reason with no explanation. “I’m, I’m fine-”

“Let’s sit.” Evelyn walked Lizzie to an empty waiting area that was just as gloomy as the corridor. They were quiet for a while, studying everything there was to study; paint chipped wall, door frame, the chairs, and a lopsided painting of the Dover cliffs. But when Evelyn turned her head, eerily sat next to her was a teddy bear. It was a faded brown with a worn out face. Dried tears left specks of crusty, hard fur. It and her stared at one another for far too long until she turned and found something else to get lost in. “He’ll come-”

“He loves you,” she commented, slowly looking at her. “Out of everything in the world, he loves you more than anything-”

“No.” Perhaps it was true, but Evelyn couldn’t afford Lizzie going down that direction. “No, he loves everything the same, Lizzie. If it was me in that room, he would have been just as conveniently occupied-”

“He’s affectionate with you-”

“My father’s affections are spread thin.” Evelyn looked at Lizzie, forcing a small, thin smile…lips pressed and face tight. She shook her head. “We all fight for what isn’t there. You, me, Charlie. If I was older and wiser, I would have told you none of it was worth it. Him, it, us…none of it.”

Lizzie for the first time allowed herself to laugh. It was awkwardly placed among the hospital grounds, but nonetheless, it was a laugh of sorts. “I would have been just as stupid-”

“Well, if you look at it this way,” Evelyn snorted. “Married John and you still would be without a husband.” As the words came out of her mouth, she regretted it, but Lizzie laughed trying to soak up any humor she could in distraction. Shortly after, they went back to sitting in silence, soaking up their thoughts. Perhaps trying to numb themselves in the midst of it. Evelyn felt so much she was numb. 

Sometime around midnight, Ruby had been moved to a different room. One where the family can see her under precautions. Lucky for Evelyn, she had received the vaccine as a child unlike Ruby. They had come out just in 1921 and just a short year later, made their rounds. Lizzie had fallen asleep, slumped in the waiting room chair. She almost woke her up, but decided against it, wanting to slip into the little girl’s room herself for a short moment.

And it was a short moment because Evelyn couldn’t bear to look at such a small life withering away. She slid in the room. It was the first time she saw Ruby for a few days and even then, she’d been thinner looking. Her feet stopped under the threshold, feeling her heart sink down to her stomach. “Ruby,” she whispered, not knowing what she could expect back. The last time the two sisters chatted freely, it’d been about fairies. 

First, it was a sneeze and Evelyn helped her blow her nose. Then it was a cough and Evelyn went into her little room with some water. Finally, it was the fever and after the fever, the infection spread over her little body. Both were too busy. Evelyn would never tell a grieving mother, you were also too busy. Her father was too busy neglecting family for work and Lizzie was too busy caring for a man who neglected her. When the fever got too high, she called the doctor. Funny enough, they were home. Both of them in their own world. Own repeating cycle. Tommy had asked why didn’t you tell us? Who could between all the drinking and yelling? But that was then when they were naive of it all.

Evelyn pressed by the threshold and quietly sat down on the edge of the bed. The young girl slept still, head lifted. She’d never seen a child so drained of life; pale and almost tinted blue. Her breaths were spread out and wheezing. Sometimes they’d be like little gasps for air, trying to cling onto whatever was left. Affectionately, Evelyn rubbed the girl's legs to get some circulation moving and propped her up better. She was still fashioning the braids from a few days ago. “You look so pretty, Ruby,” she whispered, sliding to the floor to kneel at the bedside. “I wish I brought a blue bow…I’ll put one in your hair for you’ll always be wearing a blue bow.” 

Evelyn thought back to the time she took her shopping in Birmingham. Ruby had just turned five. Look, they have a pink one for your hair. She would have looked so cute with pink. Ruby had taken one look at the pink satin ribbon and turned, pointing to the blue one, I want the blue one. “I’ll always get you the blue one,” Evelyn said when the memory ended and she was left staring at the still girl. Tears leaned heavy on her eyes waiting to fall down her cheeks. It would be the first time Evelyn would have allowed herself to cry, but not for long. She placed a lingering kiss on the girl’s cheek before leaving. When she opened the door, Lizzie had just reached for the door knob. But they only shared a quick glance before Evelyn went back to the seating area.

The bear had seemed to been moved, so when she walked back in, it’d been staring at her like the devil. “Fuckin’ ‘ell,” she groaned, swiping it off the chair before sitting down. 

Sometime between then and whenever Tommy came, she fell asleep. He peeked in before sliding into the waiting area, kneeling by her sleeping side. Despite being twenty-four years old, Evelyn was still short and able to make a makeshift bed out of chairs, curling up. He was his girl. His baby still. After everything, Tommy still looked at her as he did when she was eight. His calloused, shaking hand rested against her cheek for a moment, his thumb making circles. “Love,” he whispered, placing kisses on her forehead. 

Evelyn jumped awake a bit, propping herself up with her elbow. In a tired voice, she said, “you should have been here-”

“I know-”

“No, dad.” Dad. Tommy felt that knife go through him. It had always been daddy, but never dad. “You should have been here!” The words came out like hisses through clenched teeth. She sat up, ignoring the cushion imprint on her cheek. Tommy couldn’t argue with that. He knew. Tommy looked down, swallowing, nodding.

“I had work-”

“Work,” she scoffed. “Ruby is in the hospital…she’s-.” Evelyn stopped talking, noticing the red puffiness around her father’s eyes. She knew then. “Why are you here with me? You should be with your wife-”

“You should go home-”

“You’re deflecting-”

“You should go home,” he repeated, tone a bit more serious. “I’ve called Isaiah to pick you. If you want to have a fight, we’ll have a row when I come home later. Alright?”

Evelyn shook her head. “No.” She was incredibly tired of his shit. “No, dad, nothing is alright.” She slid from the chair and draped her coat around her shoulders, wiping the sleep from her eyes.

Tommy looked over at her. “Remember when you were eight, and you told me something.” Evelyn paused at the door, rolling her eyes to herself before tiredly turning to her father. He was still kneeling at the chair. “You said…you said to me, do you remember? We were laying in the field and it was the first time I had taken you on the caravan-”

“What are you getting at? Huh?” she rushed him, fixing her bag on her shoulder. “I know, we went up north…it was the edge of the season and the mist…we got really wet laying in the grass. But I don’t understand what any of it has to do with you not being here!”

He got up, striding over to her, pointing, “you said…daddy, it’s me and you-”

“Because at that point, you were all I had,” she snipped back. “But guess what, I’m older now and my circle is bigger. I have other people, and in fact, out of everyone…it seems I have you less.”

Tommy cocked a brow. “No, no…you said, in some shape and form with your little girl words…daddy, it’s me and you, and no matter what you do, I will always be by your side.”

“I didn’t say that!”

“You did,” he said, pointing. “You said that…it was misty and in September of 1918…In fact, I had adopted you just a month later. Shortly before that, I had came home from France-”

“I was eight,” she sighed. “You can’t hold something against me from when I was eight-”

His hand reached up and massaged her cheek. “I’ve held people for less-”

“Well, you fucking know what, dad.” She swatted his hand away. “That promise wears off when you start to neglect the only people who still love you. And quite frankly, loving you, it’s hard…it’s fucking tiring. Exhausting. You never know the meaning of accountability. You know what you do?” Tommy swallowed, his hand instinctively gripping her wrist. Perhaps deep down he was afraid she was going to leave. Go somewhere further than home. Somewhere he could no longer grab her. 

Tommy closed his eyes and sighed. “You don’t understand…no one hates me more than-”

“No one hates you, daddy,” she said. “We're just tired. Everything we have was not worth the cost of what it took. Everyone else is gone.” In one way or another, everyone else was gone. She slipped from his wrist and started to leave.

That is when he said, “I’m glad it wasn’t you-”

“That's an awful thing to say right now,” she whispered. “That was my sister-”

“I loved her…love…and my heart hurts so much right now,” he explained. “But if it was you, I’d be better off dead-”

“And that’s why I mean.” Evelyn had to choke down the tears. It was years of stress and trauma coming forth. Discreetly, she held onto the door frame. “You don’t understand…it’s too much! Daddy, it’s too much…I’m your fucking daughter! But after Grace died, I became everything! I became Charlie’s mother, your wife, your sister, your fucking mother! I became your nurse, your caretaker, your therapist, your fucking everything. It’s been ten fucking years, daddy, and I’m tired…I’m so fucking exhausted!” She walked over to, her hands gripping his arms. “I’ve lived through every stage of life for everyone, but myself…”

Tommy was hardly impressed. He knew what she was saying, but couldn’t accept it. Because he was selfish. “Have I not given you everything you’ve ever wanted? That is your problem, Evelyn, I raised you spoiled…and I will continue to fuckin’ spoil you because it’s too fuckin’ late. So what? I asked you when my wife died to help with your brother? Huh? Is that it?” He pinched her chin. “Do you not remember how you’d sneak out all the time? Get in trouble? Party and drink? I’d have to come pick you up from some random fucking house at three o’clock in the morning! So, don’t give me that bullshit, Evelyn…you lived your youth just fine. You know what I did with mine? Worked and then I went to fuckin’ war…So, I’m sorry, out of all your fun times, I asked you to hold a tad bit of responsibility. Go home-”

“Aunty Polly was always right about you,” she scoffed in disbelief. “You lack all sense of accountability. I had to sneak out because that was only time I was free-”

“And I never once punished you for it,” he interjected. “Never striked you, grounded you, hardly ever yelled at you…Out of everyone in my life, you are the only fucking person I’ve forgiven without consequence.”

Evelyn pushed away. “That’s because everything else has been a punishment. My friends from school are married…I was supposed to go to university, but you needed me home. All the men who wanted to marry have found other wives. Daddy, I am left behind because I’ve devoted my whole life to being your emotional lap dog, and what's sad is, you don’t even understand!” She paused to swallow, taking deep breaths. Tears had dripped down her cheeks, falling to the ground. “Daddy, you only have three people left…me, Uncle Arthur, and Aunty Ada…and some of us already have one foot out the door.” 

Tommy nodded, rolling his eyes slightly. He dug into his pocket for a cigarette. “Maybe my curse is my ambition.”

“And mine is that I love you too much,” she replied. “I love you so much that I’ve never left and I probably never will. So I will suffer until you die…I will watch you kill yourself little by little, drink and smoke, and sleep with women you can never afford to love. I will stand by and watch you wear people down until they die, and then have to put you back together because you realize your guilt. It’s a fuckin’ cycle.” Evelyn took a deep breath, fixing her coat before turning away. “Daddy, I love you, but I promised you that when you were making illegal bets on horse races. Not neglecting us for politicians.”

“What do you want me to say, Evelyn?” he asked. 

“Nothing. I want you to say nothing,” she said. “But I fucking swear to God, if you bring that blonde headed bitch back to our home and fuck her like you did the night Ruby went into the hospital, you’ll see a side of me you’ve never seen-”

“Daughters don’t get in their father’s-”

She looked at him once more. “I’ll fucking cut her head and stick it on the pillars of the bridge in London like 1600. And with her blood, I will write your fucking name….”

[midnight-bay-if]

How would the RO's react to an MC dying in their arms?

(Oh, dear… I see you’re here for the angst, anon. That’s fair. So am I. I decided to answer this with little shorts instead because I enjoy pain, haha. :))

S:

S pumps your chest almost brutally as they bark orders at the others.

“Taj, call an ambulance this instant.”

“Rain, stand by for the recovery position.”

A desperation everyone can feel feeds their words. They refuse to give up. They can’t. “One, two, three, four.” They chant the numbers in time with the chest compressions, compelling the ashen colour of your lips to revive their warmth with a silent prayer. “Don’t do this,” they cry as the blood seeps between their fingers and slips mid-compression, causing them to shout in frustration with sweat dripping down their brow.

This can’t be happening. They made a promise, a vow. They wouldn’t lose anyone else under their protection. They promised!

How could they have miscalculated this badly? And with you?! This can’t be real…

S lifts their head to the heavens, no longer able to face the weight of the failure, staring so vividly at them with blank eyes.

Rain kneels beside them, tears spilling down their cheeks. “I’m sorry, S. They’re gone.”

S shakes their head ardently, still pushing down on your chest. “No. I just need to keep their heart moving until the paramedics arrive. They’re going to be fine.”

Rain slowly shakes their head and places a grounding hand on S’s shoulder. They break. All movement stops.

S stares down at your glassy eyes with hollowness. Their beating heart has given way to a void of nothing like a light switch being turned off and plunging them into darkness.

After a few moments of staring blindly, of feeling the blood clinging to their clothes and skin like tar, S inhales sharply. Pale and shaking, they reach over and gently close your eyes.

Don’t cry. Keep it together. They still have a duty to you they must complete. There are a lot of people who will keep them strong, especially now.

When they are alone, and only when they are one, will they allow themselves to feel. And they will feel it. Every crippling second of it.

Rain:

It’s like time slows down. From across the room, they watch helplessly as your legs give out from beneath you and your body plummets to the ground.

“NO!” They scream. Their heart slams against their chest in rhythm with their feet as they rush to your side. Taj and S are screaming at them to “Stop!” “Wait!” “We still need you in this fight!” but the words fade like dreams. The only thought festering in Rain’s mind is, ‘Why aren’t you getting back up?’

Rain falls to their knees beside you, tears spilling from their eyes as they are confronted with the deep wounds covering your body, torturing them with their ineptitude. With vision blurred, they press their shaky hands into the wounds. “Come on, MC. You’re going to make it.” Scrunching their eyes closed in concentration, Rain breaks every vow they’ve ever made to themselves. If it’s to save your life, they will do anything.

They focus their magic into your blood, manipulating it away from the wounds. If they can direct the blood flow to the brain… if there’s a chance…

“It’s too late, Rain.” Following the extinction of the threat, Taj and S watch forlornly as Rain desperately saps at their magical reserves to save you.

“What the hell are you talking about?!” They bite back viciously.

Taj shakes their head, grabbing Rain by the arm. “Listen.”

Rain stops. They listen. Then, they notice. The flow of blood… has stopped. “No, no, no,” they whimper, pulling away from Taj as they frantically begin shaking you. “Wake up, MC. Please! This can’t be happening. This can’t happen!”

“I’m sorry, Rain.” Both Taj and S turn away, affording Rain the respect of their grief.

Rain cries and cries, and it feels like they will never dry up. How much grief can one person carry before it maims you completely? Your death is another drop in their ocean of bloody history, yet it may very serve as the catalyst for the hurricane that finally buries them. For what reason do they have left to swim?

Taj:

This can’t happen. This can’t fucking happen.

Blood drips from the tips of their canines. Drip. Drip. Drip. They taste the remnants of the parasite whose throat they had ripped out, tainting their tongue with its bile. They feel sick.

It comes to them in flashes. They were fighting with the others, cockily throwing barbs at their opponents with a self-assuredness that came with years of fighting. Then, they heard it. A scream. Your scream. So frighteningly ear-piercing that they felt their heart shudder in fear. All they could do was react. Instincts took over, and their canines pierced the offender’s throat before their next intake of breath as they tore at the jugular.

Now, with a mouth full of flesh and blood, they collapse to their knees. They spit out the remnants, retching the contents of their stomach onto the ground. The red haze of their anger fizzles away, and only the cold realisation of what happened remains.

Taj turns to you, more frantic than they think they’ve ever felt. You are lying flat and motionless, staring up at nothing at all. You’re not breathing. You’re not fucking breathing.

“Don’t you fucking dare,” they mutter, dragging their knees across the hard concrete to be closer to you. Taj grabs your hand and places your palm against their face. It already feels cold. “Don’t leave, Koel. Don’t you dare fucking leave me.”

Taj watches as the eyes, once so full of bravery and spark, slowly fade of all light… and tears spill from theirs.

N:

They feel it. All of it.

The knife. The pain. The blood. It’s all so visceral that they are certain it’s happening to them. But they look down. There’s no knife, no pain, no blood. How strange. N feels around their abdomen and stomach, just to be sure. It felt so real.

Then, they hear it. A shriek so penetrative and cruel it must have been conjured from the very heavens to torture them. It rattles in their skull, forcing them to their knees with its cacophony. N thrusts their hands over the ears, desperate to make it stop.

“What is it?”

Umbra, who had been fighting by their side, scowls down at them in bemusement after dispatching their opponent.

“Do you not hear it? How can you not hear it?!”

That’s when it hits them. That scream – it had been inside their head. Which could only mean one thing…

N shoots up onto their feet, their head swivelling side to side as they search the carnage. The scream is still screaming. You’re still alive. They just need to find you.

Then, it stops. A gasp. Pain. A whispered word spoken directly into their mind. ‘I’m sorry.’

N spots you. You’re lying there in a puddle of your own blood, but you’re there. They just have to get to you. ‘Don’t apologise,’ they think clearly, directing it to you. ‘I’m coming, my dear. Just hold on.’

Then, nothing. Silence. Only silence.

N thoughts are faster than their feet as they ardently search yours for anything. A reprimand for reading your mind again, or a sly joke for getting them so worked up, anything.

Nothing.

The carnage that follows is truly breathtaking. Balls of molten inferno burn through everything daring enough to come close, leaving behind trails of dust and ash. N feeds on the screams of those who dared lay their hands on the reason for their heart beating. Ultimately, it takes S and their team to put an end to the terror.

This was never how N wanted to return to full power.

Umbra:

Umbra had been practising trust. You had discussed in length how their constant hovering had become cumbersome to you and that they needed to trust you and the people around you more. That your protection wasn’t their responsibility, and it was important to you that they learned to value themselves just as much.

So, they had been trying. It was the only reason they weren’t directly by your side in that battle.

The moment your body hits the floor, Umbra realises, for the first time, they must truly have been alive. Because this has to be what dying feels like.

There’s nothing left of your attacker except stripped ribbons of flesh, torn to shreds with Umbra’s blade. Once the threat has been eliminated and Umbra has drenched themselves in their blood, they drop the blade and watch as it clatters against the ground.

With trembling hands, they ignore the puddle of your own blood as they desperately scramble for a pulse. “I need this,” they whisper to anyone with power enough to listen. “Don’t take them away from me.”

When the expected rise of your chest never comes, Umbra’s world completely shatters. It’s their fault. It’s all their fault. It should be them bleeding out on that floor - not you. Umbra would suffer a million cuts this instant if it meant seeing your eyes open once more because nothing could cut deeper than this.

So, they won’t let you go. They refuse.

Even if it takes burrowing down into the darkest depths of Hael, or bloodying their hands in a river of crimson with a thousand sacrifices, they will do it. They will get you back.

With a deadly determination, Umbra stands, cradling your lifeless body in their arms.

“No matter how long it takes. I will see you again.”

(Well, I literally spent all day writing these, haha. At the start, I was all gung ho about how I like angst, but these got a little real for me at times. Enjoy!)

[knavestrolls]

Do you remember your favorite fan troll you’ve ever seen that wasn’t one of yours?

Okay so this is such a loaded question but not in a BAD way. I hope y'all are ready for some dropped names. I'm not going to ping anyone, I don't want to step on toes! LONG ASS POST. I AM NOT KIDDING.

Sid Cada @/lordtonic - I may be yellow colorblind but god damn I love sid. Enough that it makes me angry I know I can't see that damn suit right sometimes. I picked Sid as my favorite one day and my brain stuck to it so hard that while I do legitimately love every other troll there, Sid makes me light up like I've just see a lizard [which with Sid, sometimes those things both happen]

Thread @/sasster My favorite chase troll changes a LOT. Chase has INSANELY GOOD TROLLS AND FUN CHARACTERIZATION. Stryx was actually my first favorite troll of Chase's and how I found the sasster blog BUT. Thread is SO good. She's so fun and oh my god. Snakes,,, [WOMAN. also her one romance with the uhhh commander I think? The white suit with both arms on one side in her sprites.. sleepless brain is killing me rn- but oh my god it's SO fun to see them flirt.]

Mallum @/roetrolls Okay so. I know everyone would think I'd put Remora and they're NOT WRONG I STILL ADORE REMORA. But through the storylines I just fell HARD for Mallum. The redemption? The struggle? I literally can't hear "Main Character" by Wil Wood without imagining a whole animatic of Mallum to it! The only thing that stops me (besides time) from making it is I know I do NOT know enough to make it any form of accurate. [after coming back to proofread: also the fact that Roe is an amazing animator and my brain struggles with the 'well x could just do it'. Not the point brain!]

ALLMAH @/ase-trollplays Listen. Here on the knavestrolls we are villain enjoyers. And we are WOMEN enjoyers. And WE SUPPORT WOMEN'S WRONGS. WE WANT THEM TO DO MORE IN FACT. Allmah my beloved. Free her. She did all of it I just think she should be free to do more. [doubling down. Let Allmah commit new warcrimes. Let her invent them]

Veketi @/windy-trickster Mi mijo has so many good trolls that it's always hard to pick. But Veketi gets a soft spot for me because we made Veketi and Liegia together. Because I made Veketi's sprites and I want to remake them because I think they look god awful now but they still get USED when he's around. They still read like they're fun! Becase Star has an amazing way of making the sprites WORK with what the character is saying too. <33

Melanc @/ask-melanc-vivura I.. don't actually have a long explanation for this one. This is another BPD brain pick that's really silly. I drew her with her boobs mostly out and have just loved her ever since. I am weak to women I can pin up. [PIN UP ART. PIN UP ART.]

Galeia- @/videcoeur This is another one I don't have a good long explanation for just.. pretty fish. I'm love pretty robit fish. Plus, science and REALLY FUCKED UP science,, my beloved [Fun fact i am weak to every single Videcoeur character, OC or otherwise. And the moment she arts? I'm dead. One day I'll be able to afford sprites]

Arceel- @/memurfevur I'm pretty sure I spelt his name wrong and I do not care, he can fist fight me. Not the author, the troll. Papa Arceel! One of my favorite troll to interact with because I can go to that troll with some of the stupidest questions and get a legitimate answer. Sometimes, one I didn't even know I needed [Also I am SO sad upon realizing I don't have the stupid meme image of his head over Beast now.]

Rynthu- @/lashysdomain Again, pretty sure I spelt it wrong but she'll forgive me I think (the troll). Just all around a fun character. Has so many fun plots in so many fun ways/worlds! Her romance with Watch'r is adorable as hell, but I'm not obsessed with the Watch'r side, it's her side I follow. As if it's one of the many romance webtoon I cling to and she's the FL.

PELEXI- @/mageofspacemultiverse DRAGON. WOMAN. WE SUPPORT DRAGON WOMEN'S WRONGS. Especially when they're funny. Plus like listen. Listen. Have they actually dated? No. Have they even gotten past a SINGLE conversation? NO. But that's Esstoc's wife and I don't take excuses

Charon - @/asks-n-trolls If I could romance 1 old troll............also honestly I love a LOT of Dan's trolls. Each one has such a fun personality, cute quirks- and FLAWS!!! I LOVE FLAWS!!

Alacar- @/alacarhelsng I can type freely here, because I *know* that he will never read this so. Alacar is genuinely one of my favorite characters my husband has ever made. He's so genuinely fun to play off of as a character, to build around! His design is SO freaky and silly and fun! I forget his damn scar EVERY TIME! He's getting surprise gift sprites done and I had to go back and rewrite the notes to please include the scar and add more references because I had forgotten AGAIN. He's SO ODY coded but he's also so Achilles coded. He didn't want to fight in this damn war. He wanted to spend his days with his Patroclus (AND HIS PENELOPE). He wanted to laugh and joy! And now look what this journey has turned him into! What losing those people has turned him into! Ugh I could go on forever- and I will, if ever given the chance, because I know that my husband isn't around on here as often and isn't very known but god DAMN I need y'all to appreciate the fun builds he makes. (also Qimzal is my second favorite and depending on what song wins you might get some insight on why)

Chrona- @/8bit-mau5 Okay. So. This one is REALLY hard to narrow to one because I also adore Malice and Opal. Crow's getting it for the STUPIDEST of reasons though. I'm weak to pinstripe. All three characters are a genuine joy to have on my dash any time they appear I am over the moon! I want all three of them worse and better all at once!! Also I would not trust Crow to actually help me in a court of law. Should I? Maybe.

Nereus- @/nethertrolls The design? KILLER. The stories? Absolutely enthralled me. Also, Nereus just reminds me of the Outsider from Dishonored sometimes and I ADORE The Outsider. To the point where I do actually plan on getting his mark tattooed eventually! So just.. Genuine attachment regardless of any story changes I'm dedicated to Nereus

@/goddesstrolls For religious reasons, I can't post her name. Starts with an H. She's Bast's very buff beautiful rust woman. A huntress. A legend. An icon. I ADORE her. It KILLS ME that I can't interact with her because I can't say her name!! Plus I just get nervous because,, womyn,,

 Ailaxi- @/tempi-fantrolls Okay, so this is going to be very shameful of me and we're all just going to ignore it for a moment okay? I struggle to keep up with the dash, even when I had the free time and the mental health but the #1 troll I always managed to catch on my dash was Ailaxi from them. And oh my GOD I ADORE lil grouches! Especially SOFTIE GROUCHES. It has been a while since I've been able to keep up at any level so this is VERY much just vague memory but I see that gray man and I'm like yes. my boy he has returned.

Daiona- @/norts-trolls Nort is another person I struggle to pick favorites with but right now it is STRONGLY Daiona. This I don't have words for in the same way I don't have words for the profound loneliness that sneaks up on me that I can only explain via sending my husband pictures of abandoned, overgrown, half destroyed houses that look like no one's even urban explored them in at least a decade. Daiona fills that same feeling to me, I hope someone makes sense of that.

Voghel- @/happyhappyfantrolls I have said it once, I will say it again, we are VILLAIN LOVERS here at Knavestroll! Voghel was one I locked onto early and have not let go! I try to go keep up with events and comics on this blog when possible because so many characters have fun interactions, deep relationships, and there's familial bonds that get to me...but also I want to see Voghel.

Babble- @/wandering-trolls I NEVER leave behind an EDM girlie. Just look at her. Look at her and tell me you can't love her I'll fist fight you

Mikael - @/mik-mania I just think Mikael is neat. That's it. thats the whole thought

Rhulan- @/morgombie It was love at first sight. If I remember right, I think I even got to draw her once! Not 100% on that thought, please remember I do have memory problems. but anyways! THE DESIGN FUCKS SEVERELY. SO GOD DAMN STRONGLY.

Malara- @/ask-swagger-dagger-trolls I was blessed with getting to know the story behind Malara's design and it stuck with me. Some days I think about doing something similar but honestly, Malara fills that need for me. She's like a silent presence with me sometimes. Filling in where that friend would have. Now, Tam has some amazing other trolls I love for lots of insanely silly reasons but..Malara stuck with me the most, for that reason.

Wicata- @/goldenguillotines So. I have to be honest, GG has a lot of trolls and I love so many of them that with my memory issues some of them bleed together. I did have to go look up her name, but this is a design that sticks with me. When I think of GG, this is the design that comes to mind because to me. I would see her on my dash endlessly and every time I saw her I'd stop scrolling because I had discovered another neat little detail in her sprites, in the art of her, in her design! GG has so many amazing designs and characters so please don't take this as a 'this is all there is' it's just what stuck with my broken brain.

HeeHoo - @/trollbreak JONAH. One of the platonic loves of my life is literally all of Jonah's clowns, and I am the EXTREMELY proud owner of a clown designed by Jonah! (As well as a mimic dragon amongst other designs) But I can firmly say my Jonah-clown obsession started with Heehoo. He's just a little guy! He would never do a murder, it'd dirty his pom poms! Just a lil guy who does a lil dance and stands in your hands and when he leaves and you look down there's rainbow footprints on your palm! Just OUGH Peak Clown for me. Peak clown design for me too. The mustache fucking kills me

Now, this is not NEARLY all of them. I could go on for ages but I've been told by three separate people to go try sleep again because I've hit the 27 hour mark but. Here is a small handfull of favorite trolls and thoughts about them!

[always-andromeda]

⋆⁺. ❅ 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐦𝐨𝐬𝐭 𝐰𝐨𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐟𝐮𝐥 𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞 ❅ .⁺⋆

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 ⟡ Joel Miller x F!Reader

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 ⟡ 3.6k

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 ⟡ With Sarah away for the holidays for the first time ever, Joel is stuck without a single clue as to what to do for Christmas. That is when you decide to show him the most wonderful time of all. ♡

𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫’𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞 ⟡ Hey, Jana (@janaispunk)!! I'm your Secret Santa!! I really liked your prompts, so I ended up going with a little bit of almost all of them. Thank you for giving me the opportunity to write some absolute tooth rotting fluff and hopefully you enjoy some of the creative liberties I took!! I am a massive fan of your writing so I hope from the bottom of my heart that you enjoy this little piece!! Happy Holidays!! (divider credits go to @saradika-graphics)

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 ⟡ absolute fluff, bits of angst (Joel misses his daughter and has a hard time adjusting ;-;), no actual smut but there are a few suggestive moments (regardless, minors, please do not interact), no outbreak universe, mentions of Sarah sprinkled throughout but no mentions of Ellie whatsoever, mentions of alcohol consumption, non-religious celebration of Christmas, overall it's a decent helping of fluff with Joel learning to enjoy the holidays in a new way.

Sarah wasn’t coming home for Christmas.

When she had first called to deliver the news, Joel hadn’t known how to reply. He gave a curt affirmation and listened to go on about Christopher and everything pertaining to him. Christopher’s sister was going to take her shopping. Christopher’s parents owned horses. Christopher was going to take her to see a production of A Christmas Carol after having dinner at one of the nicest restaurants in town. Christopher, Christopher, Christopher.

The protective father in him was glad. Hell, he was overjoyed that she’d managed to find a guy who was so good to her. But the lonely, single father in him was…deflated.

For two decades she’d been home for the holidays. Year by year, no matter what changed, she was the one constant. There she was, dragging him off the couch to make cookies – because no matter how old she got, Sarah always insisted upon leaving some out for Santa. They’d watch Christmas movies and drink hot chocolate and for that moment in time…everything was wonderful. It didn’t matter how the business was doing or what kind of trouble Tommy had gotten himself into. Joel had his little girl. And for the longest time, he told himself that that was all he needed.

He tried not to let it bother him too much. Work kept him busy enough. He took pride in being one of the few contractors in town who’d take work with the holidays looming so closely. But he knew he wouldn’t be able to avoid the celebration forever. Especially when you started questioning, “What are we doing this year?”

For the last two years you’d joined him and Sarah on their yearly tradition: takeout and Christmas movies. It had been the time of his life, spending Christmas Eve with his favorite girls and waking up to you beside him on Christmas morning while Sarah made cinnamon rolls. And before Christopher came into the picture, he could’ve replayed that Christmas over and over again and he never would’ve gotten sick of it.

The first time you asked about plans, he evaded it, giving some vague excuse about not knowing what his schedule was going to look like.

The days flew by and your tone grew more impatient until one day, while you sat in the passenger seat of his truck, your question turned into, “Joel, what’s going on?”

He’d just pulled into his driveway. If he wanted, he could dodge the question again. He could get out of the truck and slam the door behind him, putting an end to the conflict before it even had the chance to begin.

Then he risked a glance at you. Already, your brow was furrowing in frustration. A solid pang of guilt thumped heavily in his chest. He really couldn’t afford to avoid this one.

“I just–” he hesitated, not knowing how to word it; not wanting to embarrass himself. “Usually Sarah would be home and–”

“Oh…” you trailed off, obviously detected.

Joel quickly added, “I’m sorry. I’m just used to her bein’ here.” You still wouldn’t meet his eye. He softened his tone before carefully taking your hand in his. “Listen, darlin’, it’s not that I don’t wanna spend the holidays with you. Believe me, I do. It’s just that I haven’t had a holiday without that girl in so long. I ain’t even sure what I’m supposta’ do.”

You nodded solemnly, voice quiet but rigid as you replied, “I get that.”

Joel sighed. “I raised that girl for her entire life. Every year I had to figure out what a girl her age might want for Christmas. An’ every single year she’d get all excited waitin’’ for Christmas mornin’. Gettin’ to see that girl smile as she opened up her presents…I don’t think I’ll ever forget that.”

Finally, you spared him a look as he stared off into space, his eyes getting a tad misty from the memories.

He met your gaze, smiled wistfully, and swallowed the lump in his throat, “I just miss my little girl. I don’t know what else to do.”

“I’m sorry, Joel.” You squeezed his hand reassuringly and managed to put on a smile with pursed lips. Even if you didn’t understand exactly how he felt, he was grateful for the compassion. If he had told Tommy or one of the guys on his crew…hell, he didn’t think he’d have been able to express it in the first place.

But they wouldn’t have accepted those emotions like that. Tommy especially probably would’ve offered to take him out for a few drinks later to forget about it all. And sometimes Joel didn’t mind that. But something told him that this wasn’t something Joel could just drink to forget about.

You continued suddenly, “How would you feel if I came up with some activities for just the two of us? Every day this week leading up to Christmas, we’ll do one thing. And you can opt out on whatever days you want if you have something else in mind. Let’s just have a quiet, gentle Christmas, okay?”

Sarah was only going to get older. And if things with Christopher went well enough…there were going to plenty of Christmases without her to come. Joel had to accept that sooner rather than later.

And that was how the so-called Wonderful Week began.

Day one was simple enough, or so it seemed.

In all of his grief, Joel hadn’t really thought to put up the Christmas tree. After all, that was something he usually did with Sarah. And he’d done a pretty damn good job at avoiding anything relating to her for the first half of December. But if there was any hallmark of the season, a tree was most definitely the big one.

So he wasn’t incredibly surprised when he came home from work to see a massive box sitting in his living room.

“Hey, what’s this box for?” he called out in the house as he set his keys down in the dish beside the front door.

You emerged from the kitchen, smiling ear to ear, two whiskey glasses filled with a milky substance in your hands.

“Hey, you!”

“Hey?” Joel cocked an eyebrow, noticing the bright red Santa hat on your head. “What the hell do we have here?”

That only seemed to make you smile wider. Your eyes lit up as you walked across the living room and handed him one of the whiskey glasses. “What we have…is a brand new Christmas tree,” you answered proudly, pausing and waiting for his reaction.

Joel only squinted before stating, “I still got a perfectly good tree in the garage that you coulda’ dragged out.”

“Perfectly good?”

“Perfectly good,” he affirmed.

“Joel, remember when we put that thing up last year? Almost all of the lights were completely burnt out. Remember how we had to go buy a separate string of lights? And remember how much you hated putting them on and taking them off? You’ve had that old thing since–”

“Since Sarah was little,” he answered curtly.

“Yeah…” you trailed off. Your smile turned sheepish and Joel could practically see the gears turning in your mind, wondering if you’d stepped over the line. 

Joel shot another hard glance at the box that sat smack dab in the middle of his living room. It seemed to challenge him. Was he really going to get this hung up over an old tree? Or was he going to take this opportunity in stride?

He looked back at you. You and your little Santa hat with the white puff ball at the end resting elegantly on your shoulder. Then there were your hands, nervously fiddling with the smooth edges of your whiskey glass. His gaze swept up to your hope-filled eyes that were awkwardly searching him for some sign of tension. He couldn’t be upset at any of that. You were only trying to cheer him up. What kind of Grinch would he be to get upset with a creature as gorgeous and lovely as you?

With a deep breath, Joel spoke, “Well. If we’re gonna put this thing together tonight…might as well get started, I suppose.”

At that, your whole being seemed to practically glow. You set your drink down on the coffee table before making your way to the box to cut at the tape holding it closed.

Joel took a swig of his drink. Egg-nog spiked with something. Another sip made him realize it was Kahlúa. He snickered and shook his head.

That was another little thing you’d gotten him into. Joe was firmly a hard liquor sort of guy until you insisted that if he liked plain coffee, he should at least try coffee liqueur. Sure enough, he liked it. Most of the time you were right about stuff like this. And here you were doing it all over again with this silly tree.

Before too long, you’d both lifted each section of the tree from its cardboard confines and nestled them on top of each other before locking them into place. Joel normally hated fluffing out the tree, and it certainly wasn’t made any better considering it was fresh out of the box. But the liqueur and the Christmas music you’d turned on and had softly playing in the background added a little ease to the task.

The best part was definitely adding the ornaments. Thankfully, you’d stuck with the old box of ornaments that he’d kept beside the old tree in the garage. For a moment he was grateful you hadn’t gone as far as getting brand new ornaments too.

He liked the old ones ten times more than he liked the old tree.

Of course there were random filler baubles in various shades of red, green, silver, and gold. But the ones that got to him were the handmade ones. Some of those went back thirty or even forty years. He pulled out a flat clay sculpture of a dog painted in blue that had faded significantly over the decades. Joel ran his finger over the words on the back.

Thomas Miller, 1980

Tommy had only been seven years old. His art teacher had just fired all of the ceramic ornaments the kids made before going off for winter break. Joel only vaguely remembered the day his little brother came home with that ornament in hand. But he remembered all too well how every year since he’d hit adulthood his brother would take a little glance at the little sculpture and proclaim that it was the best goddamn thing he’d ever made with his own two hands.

“Because I made it for my big brother,” he’d say in a faux sentimental tone. But underneath the machismo and the teasing, Joel knew that it really did mean a great deal to Tommy. Which was why he was still hanging it up thirty years later.

However, the next one made him stop in his tracks. Joel carefully pulled the ornament out from under a layer of bubble wrap. Though it was also made by Tommy, 

Sarah’s first Christmas hadn’t been the easiest. Her mother had just left and money was tight. Joel had been taking every job he possibly could to scrape together money for rent and the necessities. Tommy was still in high school and had his own life to live, yet he always offered to babysit Sarah after he got out of class.

That year, Joel hadn’t had the time to worry about the holidays. Little did he know that Tommy had been saving up since Halloween to get a little tree and some cheap plastic ornaments. But the cherry on top of it all was the one other ornament that Tommy made.

It was a small circle of clay, just big enough to fit in the palm of his hand. Right in the center was a little footprint. Words carved into the clay underneath it said: Sarah’s First Christmas, 1988.

Joel could picture it then, fifteen year old Tommy carefully pressing his niece’s foot into the clay before rewarding her with Cheerios. That period of time forged them into something greater than brothers, Joel thinks. It made them Sarah’s protectors. The ones who would always make sure she was taken care of. And no matter how old she got, that would always be true.

Right as tears started welling in his eyes from the memory, he felt your hand brush his shoulder. “You alright, Joel?” you spoke softly.

“Look at this one,” he answered hoarsely before showing you the ornament.

To his delight, you smiled tenderly and asked, “Where did that come from?”

Much of the night went that way with Joel telling stories about the various ornaments that were in his box and you telling stories about the ones that were in yours. After another drink, he found himself loosening up even more.

The two years prior hadn’t exactly been like this. Both of those Christmases happened before you’d moved in. Back then you were merely observing his and Sarah’s celebrations. This year was different though. This time…you and him were making up your own celebrations.

In the days following, Joel found himself looking forward to whatever you had planned. It was a relief to know at the end of a long day, he’d get to come home to you waiting with some new trick up your sleeve.

Day two immediately presented a challenge in the form of two gingerbread house kits. Because, you argued, who better to construct a gingerbread house than a contractor? Joel couldn’t help but snicker and roll his eyes when you pulled out a level and the tape measure from his tool kit.

“Think you got this wall straight, Miller?” you joked, holding the level up to the solid cookie wall. 

“You’re funny.”

“Just making sure everything is all even,” you shrugged. “One would hope that the big fancy contractor would care that his gingerbread house was up to code.”

Day three was a bit of an unexpected one. You finally got him to load up the boxes of old clothing and other odds and ends that had been gathering dust in his garage for far too long. Joel kept telling himself he’d donate them some weekend but continually forgot. So of course you were the one to remind him by remarking how important it was to give a little for the holidays.

It was a little bittersweet, especially since a good chunk of it was stuff Sarah had gotten rid of before moving out for college. Joel was all too aware that there was a small part of him that feared that the second he gave it all away, his daughter would definitely be calling him up just begging to have that butterfly tank top she wore in fifth grade back. But he also knew that that probably wasn’t going to happen.

So bye-bye went the dusty boxes of hand-me-downs, off to homes that could appreciate them again.

Day four brought popcorn garlands. He opted out of spiked drink for that one, knowing that he needed a steady hand if he was going to be able to thread delicate little pieces of popcorn onto some string. However, with his thick fingers, he still managed to poke himself with the crafting needle.

And really, making the garland was soon forgotten by the dozenth time you grabbed his injured hand to kiss it better. Joel really didn’t need any sort of alcohol in his system to start feeling lightheaded before pulling you into his lap for a bruising kiss.

By the end of the night, both of your garlands were only long enough to hang in a single doorway. But that was just fine with Joel.

Day five was Christmas Eve. Another night where he was sure you had something big planned – he later learned that you originally wanted to make Christmas cookies. But Joel was never any good with the whole cooking and baking thing. And tonight seemed as good of a night as any to take a load off.

“What will Santa eat when he comes down the chimney?” you protested in a teasing tone.

Joel scoffed, “Santa can starve for all I care. Tonight, I want to settle down and relax with my lady.”

“Lady,” you rolled your eyes. “Who are you calling lady?”

“You, Little Miss Christmas. Now go put your pajamas on. We’re gonna have a nice night in and you’re gonna like it.”

You laughed one deep laugh from your belly and replied, “Yes, sir.”

The next time you showed your face downstairs, Joel had planted himself firmly on the carpet with a box of old photos.

“Whatcha’ got there?” you asked as you folded your legs and settled beside him, resting your head on his shoulder.

Joel glanced over, catching the tail end of a wide eyed expression on your face as you peeked over his shoulder. 

“What’s that look for?” he chuckled.

Joel tilted the photo in your direction. It was a picture of you and him from the year prior; the second Christmas you spent with him. You were ice skating, Joel standing firmly behind you, one hand placed firmly on your hip and the other wrapped around you, keeping you from completely falling over.

“I didn’t know you got a picture from that night,” you mumbled.

“Oh,” Joel set the photo down and picked up a small, leather bound album from the box in front of him. “Sarah took a whole buncha’ pictures that night. They’re some of my favorites.”

“Really?”

Joel didn’t miss the sentimentality in your tone. He himself had almost forgotten that Sarah had brought her camera along that year. She’d taken a photography class during her freshman year of college; so it was practically attached to her almost every time she came home that semester.

She’d surprised him with the album a few months afterwards, raving about how adorable you and him had looked the entire night. I’ve never seen you get so sappy about a woman before, she’d teased him before adding, but it’s kinda cute, ya know?

Joel had brushed it off then, putting it with the rest of his old family photos. But over time it quickly began to mean something more.

He’d lost count of how many times he’d pulled that little book out and flipped through the photos. And now, for the first time you were looking at them with him.

“Really,” he asserted. “You look real pretty in all of ‘em.”

And God, did he mean it. On the next page was one of you wearing this red, satin number at a dinner party. He could easily remember the way that the material practically flowed down your curves like water. And he remembers the way his attraction for you pooled heavily in his belly and the way he had to make himself stay cool until he could get you home and get that outfit off of you himself.

The shot right next to that one was from the same dinner party. Joel had a can of whipped cream in one hand and a dollop of the stuff in the other. And there you were, attempting to lick at the smear of whipped cream on your nose.

He showed you the album and you grimaced before smiling sheepishly, “God, I can’t believe Sarah got that moment.”

God, that smile, Joel thought to himself. He could never get tired of that smile.

“Yeah,” Joel nodded. “I’m glad she did. I tell ya’, that girl can really capture the beauty in a moment.”

You started to speak, “You say beauty…I say–”

“Beauty,” Joel repeated. “You’re beautiful. And that’s that.”

You were quiet for a few seconds as Joel continued to flip through the album. The more little moments he remembered from the year before, the more gratitude welled up in his chest. And before he could really control it, his mouth was moving.

“You know I’m glad I get to spend time with you, right?”

“Oh, that’s good. After last night I was sure that you were just sick of me,” you quipped.

“I mean it,” Joel said with a playful nudge at your side. “I know I’m not the easiest guy to get along with. I’m old and I’m ornery and I’m probably a real pain in the neck sometimes. And the fact that you’re willin’ to put up with a pain in the neck like me…especially around this time a’ year…it means a lot. Everything you’ve done this week…all for me? I’m grateful, darlin’.”

Your expression faltered and you batted your eyelashes, gaze fixed on your hands in your lap.

“I just like taking care of you. I like making you happy,” you murmured.

Joel turned his head and leaned in, closing the distance between your faces.

“Good thing you always make me happy, darlin’,” he mumbled against your lips.

As he pressed a kiss against your lips, his hand settled on the small of your back, pulling you into his arms. The little photo album dropped between his legs and was soon forgotten, the same way a lot of his worries for the holidays had as soon as you came in.

At that moment…he didn’t think about Sarah. Didn’t think about her never spending another holiday in his home again. She'd come back home at some point, just like his worries probably would; he’d always worry about his little girl. Though he wouldn’t forget the years of memories he’d had before you, he wouldn’t let himself dwell on them for so long that he forgot about you. Your presence was more than enough of a present for him.

[hamletkin]

the fact that most arguments for a teen-early twenties hamlet seem to be deeply rooted in ageism, classism and a deep misunderstanding of the human brain and mental health isn't surprising to me but it is disappointing...

let me preface this by saying i see NO issue with a younger hamlet. whenever i write him i personally write him as being in his early twenties. but i think that's just as valid as an older hamlet.

one of the biggest arguments i see for casting a younger person to play hamlet is that hamlet was in school at wittenberg prior to the events of the play. 30 year olds, people say, do not attend university. this is a ridiculous argument. not only do people of all ages attend university, but some people cannot afford to go to university at 18. of course hamlet had enough money to attend but the argument surrounding this has never included money to my knowledge. the point being: it's a disturbing argument to state that people don't go to university past their early twenties because this does not account for people's socio-economic background, their health, life events, means of travel, ect. i am very fortunate to have been able to go to university (when i was 19) with federal student aid. even then it was cut off before i could finish my degree. i have not been mentally or economically well enough to return to school which, in the eyes of many i've seen posting about this topic, makes me something of a loser.

but what about in the context of hamlet? obviously hamlet had the money, ability, and will to go to school! how does this apply to him? for that you have to look at the historical context of the play. in the time the play was written and before (saxo grammaticus was born in the 1100s, shortly after universities were really starting to take shape) it was not at all unheard of for boys as young as 14 or 30+ to attend. especially since hamlet is assumed to have been studying liberal arts, for him to achieve this degree he would have attended wittenberg for 6 years at least. it was then up to his discretion if he would pursue a higher degree or continue studies mainly for the hell of it. he had the money, time, and passion in order to do so predating the visitation of the ghost, after all! it's highly possible that hamlet started university in his early to mid 20s and has now arrived at 30+. now, let's apply this to modern times! there are still some disgusting prejudices surrounding people 30+ who attend university but for the most part people don't seem to care as much as they did 10 years ago. they certainly would not have cared in shakespeare's time! ask yourself: why do you find it weird for someone 30+ to seek out higher education for any reason? if you do find it weird, you need to take a deep look inside of yourself and think about your narrow world view.

people say that those in their 30s do not act like hamlet. i don't know that the people saying this have ever met someone in their thirties. there is a common misconception where people seem to think that if you're 30+ you have your life figured out. you're emotionally, mentally, economically stable. this may have been a portrait offered by people in the 1950s but we're well beyond that point so you would think that this line of thinking would be completely out of date as well but i see it's not. i've seen hamlet's behaviour described as "charming, yet annoying if he's a teenager and unhinged if he's 'middle aged'". 30 is not middle aged but that's hardly the point! hamlet is (i say this as a hamlet apologist) kind of a dick! and (this is not in conjunction with because poor mental health does not equate with being a dick) whether or not he is mad he is clearly not mentally well! whether it be from depression, anxiety, ocd, bipolar disorder, schizophrenia, all of the above ect. he is clearly not being treated for it as well. he is not medicated, does not receive any sort of therapy, and his emotions are mocked and belittled constantly. i have seen other people (who i agree with) say that hamlet acts like a child because he is treated like one and he allows himself to be treated like one thus taking on the role. i would like to go one step further and say that he is either a.) not as mature as previously thought b.) has been reduced to this state due to his grief, his mother's hasty marriage to his uncle, and the poor treatment he has received.

"what do you mean he's not as mature as previously thought?" have you ever met someone in their 30s? i have! i live with them! i work with them! i interact with them online and irl! and you know what? their personalities are just as varied as any teenager or younger adult i've met! you don't just automatically mature the moment you turn 30! you have to grow into it. and this will depend on multiple factors that affect each person differently! i have seen 30 year olds start petty drama, react outlandishly, and start arguments out of boredom. i've seen 30 year olds with a maturity and emotional intelligence that i can only long for. i have seen people far older than 30 have full meltdowns because of a baby girl wearing blue. just the other week a 50 year old man cursed out my colleague because we didn't have the deli meat he apparently needed for his prolonged existence. you cannot equate maturity with age. it is a learned skill. i think, in the case for a 30 year old hamlet, it's more likely that hamlet could not contend with his entire world being turned upside down and he reacted to it in a way that made sense to him when nothing else did.

i do also want to briefly touch on grief and what it can do to a person. it is something that has coloured my life since i was very young. i watched someone i deeply loved fall apart due to it. i saw them become someone else to the point that to this day i no longer recognise them for what they were. they were about 36-40 years of age. i can't do math. they were once a very fun, loving, caring, creative person. the death of their own father shattered this. they sank into a depression that entirely engulfed them and still does to this day 20 years later. they stopped going out, stopped making art, they started to abuse various substances, they started to abuse the people they loved, they lost all sense of patience, all sense of human decency, and they eventually got swept up into a cult built on hate. this is the tragedy of grief. it destroys you, your ideals, your mind, your relationships... it doesn't matter how old or young you are. hamlet's behaviour can easily and wholly be explained by his grief if you want to go that route. for me, there are several factors, but the case can be made that his grief is what transported him to this state where he eventually got so wrapped up in the game he had created that he perhaps did really start to lose himself.

what i'm really trying to get at is that....all interpretations of hamlet are valid. unless you believe in blond hamlet. shakespeare's intentions are not known to us and they never will be. i think there's room for everyone's hamlets in this game and i'd love to see people being more open to different ages for hamlet without making arguments that can harm real people. we all love the guy. we all have a hamlet that exists in our head. why do we need to disparage others to make our point be heard?

[acefusti138]

so like the whole premise is tommy goes off after the end of MBV and lays low for a long time before getting into crime for hire stuff inbetween odd jobs. which is where i would assume i can have harvey come in. mostly thinking abt tommy all beat up after he gets the short end of the stick on a job and harvey finds him and just seems to know something is different abt him… taking him back home with him because he hates seeing the wrong people get mixed up in things (not knowing the things his new ‘friend’ has done) and offers to patch him up.

tom has nightmares abt almost being killed and the whole traumagenic system part of things so when he’s in the way-too-nice guest bedroom that night, sweating buckets and terrified, he finally stumbles into the bathroom at three in the morning, staring at himself in the mirror and hating himself. harvey wakes up when he hears glass shatter and finds tom sitting there whispering that it wasn’t him in the mirror, it was harry, and he can’t fucking STAND when he sees harry in the mirror. That’s when it just kinda clicks for harvey.

tom is SUPER defensive abt it at first and insists he’s ‘not like that’ up until harvey tells him rather sharply that he knows all about being ‘like that’ because he is too— that cools tommy off his haunches enough to let harvey patch up the new wounds on his knuckles, and he mumbles out an apology and says that where he’s from, people like him are just labeled crazy and shipped off to an institution; it isn’t something he likes to talk about. it’s still three am and i want them to stay up in the kitchen with tom reluctantly admitting bits and pieces of himself over coffee, mumbling that he doesn’t sleep much, usually locks himself in his room at night, but since harvey took him in he just hoped getting beat to a pulp would be exhausting enough to keep his head quiet. tom admits some things but he’s cagey about it and only with some gentle prodding is he like “listen i’ve hurt people i cared about and there wasn’t a damn thing i could do about it. i hate people bein’ hurt but it just seems like thats the only thing that ever happens when i show up” and it quickly turns into him trying to leave because harvey is actually kinda nice which means he can’t be near him and risk getting the man hurt.

they end up talking all morning and only once the sun is starting to peek past the blinds does harvey realize they were up all night. tom apologizes (he does so much apologizing that it’s hard to listen to because so much of it isn’t his fault) and says he needs to go back to his shitty motel before they kick his things to the curb— he works odd jobs but he doesn’t make much, doesn’t use his real name for anything anymore so it isn’t like he’d be able to get anything back if it’s thrown out; he mostly moves around like a ghost with no real roots. harvey says on a whim that he can stay with him— something about him just seems so familiar that he can’t in good conscious let someone trying so hard to do the right thing go on living like he’s already dead. tommy reluctantly agrees, harvey drives him to the shitty hole-in-the-wall motel he’s been living out of— sees that tom only has a duffel bag and a beat up truck as the only things he owns, and something in harvey thinks about taking this one in and keeping him safe.

there’s something intoxicating about how the man’s eyes light up for what has to be the first time in a decade when they grab breakfast at a diner nearby (mostly because they’re both hungry as hell and can’t be bothered to go anywhere fancier than that) and tom can actually afford to get whatever breakfast he wants instead of gritty gas station coffee and sawdusty granola bars.

it turns into a bit of a sugar daddy harvey thing without even meaning to. he doesn’t MEAN to be a sugar daddy but tom looks like he doesn’t even remember what happiness feels like and something about that just socks harvey in the gut. especially once he finds out tom is an omega— he just realizes over that breakfast that he would have some pretty high hell to pay if he doesn’t get to see this small town miner boy happy again (even if he is a little fidgety at first. after the life he’s had harvey is shocked the poor kid is even functioning outside of alcoholism)

you just KNOW when tommy goes into his heat (he’s never had a heat suppressant a day in his life, he just hides himself away because harry was an alpha and it’s not always pretty if he isn’t practically locked away from the world through his heat) he’s panicking and insisting to harvey that he really isn’t the best person to be around during his heats. harvey gives him space and let’s him handle things on his own— up until he hears borderline hysteric crying and finds out the hard way that tom literally locks himself to his bed with handcuffs during his heat so Harry can’t front and hurt anyone (tommy being in preheat during the events of the movie my beloved) and he’s sitting there in agony refusing to touch himself at all and thats the exact moment harvey dent realizes he’s head over heels and would do anything to keep from having to see tommy like that ever again— the mate mark he leaves on his neck once he gets him out of those handcuffs is one that neither of them can find it in them to be upset about; tom feels safe for once and harvey can’t find it inside to regret it when tom actually gets a full night’s sleep that night, even if it is just because he’s still milking a knot and exhausted— he’s sleeping with a peaceful expression and that’s all harvey wants to see.

harry gets pissy with harvey sometimes in ways that doesn’t seem like harry but it definitely isn’t tom either. tom always getting quiet and fidgety when it happens because he’s so repressed about anything relating to him being a system that he just tries to emotionally shut down— of course he tries to fight it when harvey encourages him not to immediately clam up, that there are things he can do to make part of it easier. tom is terrified of himself and so any time he’s happy he’s beyond afraid he’ll lose it, which is why he clings to harvey so tight at night and why he wakes up in a cold sweat most mornings if the bed is empty— thinking harry did something and not wanting to burden harvey with it.

and once he finds out he’s pregnant? he demands to know where his handcuffs are because he will happily chain himself to a cage if it means harry stays away from his baby— even if that means he has to stay away too. which harvey absolutely refuses to let happen. maybe that’s when harvey does a lil bit of killing of his own?

👀 maybe something happens while tom is freaking out about the baby, harry manages to drag him somewhere definitely not safe for a pregnant omega to be at, harry takes it as a fight and only right before tom is about to get his ass handed to him does harvey show up entirely different from the man tom knew.

Though Harvey killing someone on his own would definitely fuck him up because he was supposed to do things by the law, that's what keep him in line it's all about justice. Two Face, on the other hand, has no such qualms. Nobody messes with his mate and their baby. He roughs up harry a lil bit too— makes it clear that he won’t stand for tommy getting hurt.

Harvey follows the law but when that’s his sweetheart and their lil baby out there? he’s willing to make an exception because when tom finally is able to front again, absolutely beside himself and whispering that he needs to be locked up before it happens again, that’s when both harvey (and maybe two-face, maybe he’s still fronting til he gets his sweetheart home and patched up) he just knows there are certain things he just can’t allow to happen, and tom getting hurt is one of them.

I think harry would respect the fuck out of two face if he got put in his place. being reminded as he gets pounded into the gravel that the body he’s in is not his, and that if anything happens to tom or their baby, it won’t be harvey he has to watch out for, it’ll be two face. and two face doesn’t play when it comes to tommy, because it’s the only thing keeping harvey in check. It’s alpha on alpha-in-an-omega’s-body action 🤤 let harry and two face alpha out and let harry fail miserably to do a single thing to harvey every time 🤤 maybe he finally admits to himself that there’s something kinda nice about two face literally tying him up to a chair with a vibrator up his cunt for a few hours when he forces himself to the front and locks tom out. two face being the one to make it very clear that harry and tom are not equals— tom is the one who gets love, and if harry wants to hate something or kill someone, he has to get through two-face first.

harry is practically spitting in two-face’s face and two face just sneers back that he’s literally pounding the man’s cunt as they speak, that he’s got his finger on the man’s clit— that he’s not an alpha anymore, and he’d be damn wise to remember that next time he thinks he can just throw tom to the wolves to get beaten to a pulp.

harvey isn’t the only one who sees tom wake up and live most days afraid to be happy— two face just lets harry know that he doesn’t particularly enjoy seeing it, and that he’s got a hell of a lot worse things he can do to harry while making sure tom wakes up warm and safe in his nest getting to experience the love harry ripped away from him. like two face never shows himself around tom unless he’s in serious danger but he loves him in his own way by keeping harry in line.

Two-Face trying not to front too much because he's low-key scare he will scare tom away 🚬🚬🚬🚬 At one point Tommy DOES meet two face and suddenly it makes so much more sense why harvey keeps him safe— he understands him. tom maybe admitting one night when he’s half asleep (maybe it’s after two face rescues him from some incident, it’s tom, he’s a magnet for trouble) that he doesn’t think two face is like harry— that maybe sometime he’d like to talk with him the way he talks to harvey, because unlike harry he isn’t afraid of two face. once tommy tells two face that you fucking KNOW two face uses that shit over harry’s head— mostly because tom telling him he isn’t afraid of him is all that two face needs to decide he will not tolerate anyone fucking with tom hanniger.

I do think about two-face opening up about himself to Tom a little bit. Imagining him talking about his childhood to Tom… 🙂‍↕️🙂‍↕️🙂‍↕️ it was one thing when it was just harvey in love with tom. once two face falls in love harry is fucking done for, he’s lucky to front once a month. two face and harry eventually come to an agreement that for certain…. Things that require two-face’s attention, harry can help with ‘clean up’ so long as tom is unaware and he’s left alone otherwise. harry loathes to admit that he doesn’t hate two face either— the longer he gets fucked into submission the more he realizes this is kind of a good deal; he can kill under the radar, lives in a cushy house and only wakes up to kill and get pounded until he blacks out. i must admit i am mostly imagining two face open-palm smacking harry on the cunt and going feral when it makes him squirt. tom is a pillow princess, harry gets whipped and they all like it that way.

also harvey with a pregnancy kink bc tom doesn’t show a whole lot at first but his chest, on the other hand… ���🤤🤤🤤 It’s about to be me making a serial murderer alter experience dysphoria because i can. Tom Hanniger is gonna get bred so good, that boy about to experience cock so good it’s gonna free him from the slasher movie trope. there’s still gonna be slasher elements, sure, it’s just way more his cervix getting penetrated and eggs getting fertilized than it is him killing former-friends/current-hookers.

[lunammoon]

Does Marion have a favorite Doctor or companion?

Probably best to put this under a read more. I know that Tumblr auto-shortens these, but, you know, to be safe.

Favorite Doctor

However, in her own head, she DOES have an ever-fluctuating list of "which Doctors would I most like and most NOT like to see right now" and a Doctor's spot on the list dependent on her current headspace.

Short answer: If anyone asks, she loves all incarnations of the Doctor equally. She does not want to encourage the Doctor's almost pathological self-loathing by saying anything that would cause them to think

1. Marion sees me as a stop gap towards the man she actually likes.

2. My current form is the most liked by Marion I will ever be, it is all downhill from there

3. Marion liked who I used to be more than I am now, but there's no going back to them.

Sometimes One and Two are her favorites because "As far as they know, she's never truly failed them" (One died of old age).

Sometimes One and Two are her least favorites because "As far as THEY know, she's never truly failed them". (If I ever get to War Games there's going to be a bit where the Doctor goes "Marion, I know that this might be spoilers. But can you please, please, give me a hint on what I need to do to get out of it." And the Doctor learns a new facial expression of Marion's.)

If she just finished an adventure where the Doctor “died“, sometimes she’d be happy if the next Doctor she saw was Three (actually knows self-defense) instead of very early One (i haven't gotten to write him but he ignores her out of spite), Four (King of Hearing Marion's Warnings, Going "I Have A Better Ideal" Running Into Danger And Being Knocked Unconcious) or Six (Sixth Doctor? More like Six Feet of Hubris aka King of Talking Shit and Getting Hit).

But sometimes, she sees Three and he's the last person she'd want to be around. Not JUST because he was the first Doctor she saw die, but because seeing him makes her think of Two (and War Games and, how she Failed Him and that's why he's On Earth)

And sometimes she sees Four and he's her favorite because, especially when they're in the TARDIS and not traveling, he's the easiest to like, listen to ramble. He's just kind of chill, or at the very least, good at acting chill.

But sometimes, outside of the TARDIS him constantly getting into danger and his sort of laissez-faire "well, if it was GOING to kill me and you didn't have that expression on your face that means I'm doomed you'd surely get to me in time so I can afford to Take A Risk" is stressful.

Five is a BIT more careful, which is nice and gives him points, but also Five (especially older Five) gets really freaked out when she gets hurt and that makes her anxious because on the one hand, she doesn't want to upset the Doctor but on the other hand, what's she supposed to do. NOT do everything in her power to keep him safe? Hell no.

Sometimes Six is her favorite because of the banter. And because even though he acts grumpy about it, he WILL hug her (sometimes without her needing to ask)

Sometimes Six is her least favorite Doctor because she is NOT in the mood to mediate between him and Peri and she's TRYING especially since she doesn't want to be mean, but right now the sound of them arguing is like sandpaper on her brain and there's like 90% whatever argument is going on was started by Six so it's HIS fault.

Sometimes Seven is her favorite Doctor because of the way he's able to "trick" her into talking about how she's feeling and at the end of the talk she feels better.

Sometimes she'll be in a mood and see Seven and go "dammit, that's the LAST guy I wanted to see right now". I do NOT want to talk about this shit right now.

Ten is always moving always being clever. The two of them have great chemistry.

But sometimes Ten is being too Time Lord Victorious and it's frustrating to deal with.

Eleven is energetic. He's fun. He keeps Marion on her toes, which sometimes means she doesn't have to think as hard. They can bounce off each other. Most of the time he's Honest with her (except when he's not)

All the Doctors have this problem, but sometimes Eleven is so transparently hiding the way that he feels about something that it makes Marion feel exhausted and frustrated because Why Won't He Talk To Her [this is def a pot meet kettle situation]

Sometimes her favorite Doctor is Thirteen because even though she can CLEARLY see Marion is in a mood, she doesn't directly ask Marion about it, and simply ask if Marion wants a distraction to see her work on something.

Twelve is a very young old man if that makes sense. He plays off Marion well.

But like, with it happens more and more with the older Doctor's Marion gets this sense that it's not that the Doctor doesn't like her, but that he looks at her and wishes he was talking to a version of her that's a couple hundred years older than she is. And he doesn't say anything, and Marion doesn't say anything that she notices, but it's like, an elephant.

Sometimes Thirteen is her least favorite Doctor because what she needs more than anything is a strong hug so tight she can FEEL the Doctor's hearts beating against her head, and she knows that the Doctor doesn't really like physical contact and Marion is too Marion to ask if she could have a strong hug anyway so she makes due with watching the Doctor's chest rise and fall as she breaths.

I think she likes Fourteen being more empathetic, but also the way he panics makes Marion feel guilty if she had just been better at keeping him safe and whole and happy and calm he wouldn't be as panicked as he is now. did she even do anything? help at all

Sometimes her favorite Doctors to be around are younger Doctors (Can't interpret every little micro expression of hers and expertly determine her mood when she's trying to avoid talking about it.)

Sometimes her favorite Doctors to be around are older Doctors (she can talk to them more without worrying of slipping up and spoiling.)

{I haven't written anything with Fifteen yet, mostly bc I don't feel like we know enough about him and his personality yet for me to fully jot down examples of headspaces where he'd be Marion's favorite and one's where he'd be her least favorite.}

Favorite Companion

Marion tries very hard to not have a favorite companion but she's not as successful at is as she is with Doctor since, you know, companions aren't all permutations of the same person.

She would never SAY who her favorite companion(s) are, but in no particular order Jamie, Bill, and Jo.

Bonus Question you didn't ask but I choose to answer free of charge: What About Companions? Do Any Companions Have Favorites Between Marion and the Doctor (even if it's not an EXTREME favorite to the point they dislike the other just like a preference if we're splitting up and Marion and the Doctor are for some reason investigating different things)? [This is not an exhaustive List just a small handful of names.]

Marion:

>Mickey

>Tegan

>Adric [Fifth Doctor]

>Martha

>Barbara

>Rory

>Mel

>Peri [Sixth Doctor]

The Doctor:

>Vicki

>Sarah [Fourth Doctor]

>Jamie

>Rose

>Amy

>Clara

>Peri [Fifth Doctor]

>Ruby

About Equal:

>Adric [Fourth Doctor]

>Romana [1&2 (although it goes from these two are both idiots /neg to these two are both idiots /aff)]

>Ace

>Donna

>Sarah [Third Doctor]

>Jo

>The TARDIS

>Steven

[cogumellow]

Do you use film cameras or film apps? What are your recommendations for both.

Both!

These are taken over the course of 2 decades in which I have used probably over 20 different cameras, both film and digital. Even old digital cameras may produce images that resemble film more than newer cameras.

I wouldn't be able to remember all the cameras I've used, especially the old point-and-shoot film/digital ones. I do know I used to use disposable Kodak ones, and those were always fun. I had at least 2 Canon SureShots and PowerShots, and some Nikon Coolpix digital cameras, as well as various Olympus waterproof ones from the 2000s. But I'm pretty sure every film camera I've ever used has been a Canon. Currently, I shoot with a Canon Rebel G from the 90s (with new lenses), and a Canon AE-1 I inherited when my uncle died. (When I was learning film properly it was on borrowed a Pentax K1000 and Nikon F90 at art school, but that wasn't for very long. Only a few weeks.) If I had the money and need, I would buy a Pentax K1000 or KM, if not a Nikon F(N)90. (I'm never going to afford a Leica or anything like that so I don't even think about it. I'd rather spend it on glass.)

For film, I tend to go with Fuji film C200 only because it's much easier to find where I live (and I like it for landscapes better than some others), although I think I prefer the tones of Kodak Gold (or Portra 400/800) better (for people and urban environments). I'd say Ektar overall but again, where I am, it can be harder to source. And I've used Kodak Ultra Max 400 for like, friends and parties and stuff.

Just depends what I can get my hands on and what I will be shooting.

So, the film matters as much as the camera sometimes. As do lenses. As can your choice of flash (for low light). As can the scanner. Unless you have an incredibly excellent scanner, the photos are always gonna have a more rustic sort of blurry look. (Like mine. I had a decent scanner and still it was not true to life. The built-in scanner I have on my printer now is absolute shit for photos.)

I don't really have a recommendation as they're all sort of different cameras. It really depends how much you want to think and work to compose a shot. (The Rebel G is more beginner-friendly and can be used as a point-and-shoot. And since it's all plastic, it's super light. My workhorse lens is actually heavier than the camera lol.)

For my digital photos, which are a pretty significant number of photos I have posted so far (I don't have a good scanner anymore so I have a backlog of film...), they are all sorts of resolutions and lenses and cameras, some of which don't require any film "apps" to look more vintage.

I'm sorry I don't actually know what you mean by film apps. Like filters? It's not something I'm particularly familiar with. I work in Lightroom. But I wouldn't consider it a film app. (I don't use any phone apps. My only processing is done in Lightroom, usually on my laptop.)

If you mean presets, then yes, I do use those when posting photos here. (Mostly because I know what photo theft is like online, and I'd prefer not to post originals in full quality, which I do make some income from. And for the aesthetic, sometimes.)

The presets I use are my own. There's nowhere I can point you to to download the same ones I use. I have a whole library of my own presets for all sorts of photos I've designed over the years. I'll say the ones I use here usually involve a hell of a lot of grain added, lol. Decreased clarity and texture. Contrast can either be turned up or down, it depends on the original photo. I mean... since I used so many cameras and the photos are in such varying quality and resos, I don't have a set rubric for all. I adjust as I need to get a slightly consistent look. The older the photos, the more grain seems to ruin them.

I love Nikon for digital. It's my go to. I started with Olympus (E-500) but their 4/3rds system was just irritating when it came to upgrading and lenses. I won't say I didn't like Oly, I truly did. But in terms of growth, it was too limiting and the glass was just too expensive for me. I switched to Nikon and never looked back. Mostly because I prefered how Nikon bodies felt in my hands vs. the Canon ones.

I fully recommend any of the Nikon D7000 series for novices, but especially the D7200 as an intermediate camera is still a solid choice even now, and performs really well dynamically. Unless you want to get into full frame and high end print photography, you don't need to go the FX route.

I sometimes still take my old D7200 travelling since it is smaller and I kept most of my DX lenses. It's affordable and the quality is pretty good, and if you're putting your photos through presets anyway, the lack of sharpness or whatever issues you may have will be negligible. I currently use a D850, but I have shot D750, D3, and D5 for professional gigs. I'd love a D5 myself but I'm not making enough money to justify it.

I also have a Fuji X-T100 (mirrorless) but I'm gonna be honest, I don't love it. I find it finnicky, annoying interface, exposure is weird, don't like the colour tones, and lacks some je ne sais quoi that my Nikons have. I bought it to make travel photography easier and find I spend more time deleting all the shitty photos I took rather than being happy with the results. Allegedly, according to like everybody else, it's a great camera. So, tbh, I think it's me. I think I'm the problem. I think I'm also just biased and too stubborn to learn a new system. Nikon is like second-nature to me, any Nikon camera and I can just use it. But Fuji? Idk.

I prefer always to shoot full manual, but I get annoyed with my XT100 since it's all different and I am always forgetting the different menus and button combos to do what I want.

It also has no Lightroom integration for their raw files. (Or at least at the last update I did, they didn't.)

If you want the more vintage look, grabbing a cheap digital camera from the 2000s will accomplish a lot of that. There's a whole subculture now around 00s digital camera photography. And it will often mimic film slightly better because new digital cameras are really "smart", especially phone cameras which basically remove all control from you and automatically apply HDR or what have you. It's very difficult to genuinely mimic film with modern phone and digital cameras due to great sensors (CMOS) and (in camera) processing.

Note: CCD sensors do NOT give you "film-like" photos, no matter what. It's still digital. Really the old P&S digicams are great to remove all the "intelligent" features of new cameras. And when you use on-camera flash, it's like being thrown into the indie sleaze pool immediately lol. I will say, and without doing extensive research, but the moajority of photos you see posted online that say "film" or "i shoot film" are not actually film. They're digital with filters or LR presets applied to give a film look. There are probably 100s of designers of "film presets" to mimic all sorts of film. I tried a few but found they never really worked for me.

I know a lot of people have issues with Adobe Lightroom cos of their new TOS and subscription model, but at this point, I still haven't found a program that works as well for fast, stream-lined processing. (I used to use programs like Corel PSP, but Adobe is so much more powerful. I still have PSP, but rarely use it anymore.)

I don't know if any of this helps! I hope it answered some questions you may have had.

[matrixwhore]

thinking about how so much of mental health recovery is self forgiveness and allowing yourself to move on and how (having been raised in religious shame structure) not being able to can really trap you into patterns if you don’t. im about to make this about that vampire show lmao. i tried not to. i didn’t even expect this. i was gonna just do a to delete personal post. but whatever. you don’t have to read. but, there’s so much shame in being unwell. all religion teaches you in that anyone of “sin” is deserving of instability, of punishment, unhappiness of hell. then religions tell people to turn that voice inwards and name it their governing god voice. thats so damaging.

my mind is whizzing with religious trauma thoughts in amc iwtv. as well as mental health aspects given how i’ve been and i haven’t really done wtf your call this in a while and i’m really too shrouded in the shame of being unwell to even feel like i should say anything at all anymore. i’m pushing through bc that’s honestly the problem.

that’s what i see reflected in louis. suffering silently bc you might be the hell you can’t escape bc the magnitude you’re experiencing it makes you feel like you must deserve it. if it’s you then what else could there be. doesnt seem like even what’s good can come without hell-in-tow. in his line of work, in his life with his family, in the only way he could be with jonah, in lestat, in claudia. hell is always right there where the good things are. and then everywhere you look the thought is it’s reinforced. religion indoctrinates in you that good is for those who are pure. louis was never afforded pure. even tho it’s actually an injustice and pure is a tool for exclusion and hatred etc. etc. sometimes even when you know that, even when you have the awareness of how unfair it is to be held to a standard never meant for you, it doesnt mean shame isnt effective.

im thinking about shame and self-flagellation in louis. someone on here once pointed out how louis might have thought he was really losing it where lestat was concerned, with all his tricks, and how that was probably why he didn’t want to look at it head on. i get that observation bc of the shame and i also get the appeal and seduction of just letting the mind go with whatever it is if you’re receiving something you’ve been starved of for a long time. bc sometimes losing your mind feels like chains falling and bounds expanding. and it’s all so alluring especially when the state of your mind is as a result of the rigidness of society and life around you. and then the shame that comes for what you perceive yourself to have allowed when things go to hell. especially when it seems like hell is a rapid endless thing with infinite ways to show you all you ever wanted decay before your very eyes bc trauma is death and death is trauma and this is the death and trauma show.

and religions determine what death is in your mind’s eye. and religious shame is a spider cocooning you and telling you to think yourself a butterfly all the while. how do you forgive yourself from there? and if you can’t can you even look at the full scope of your situation? what if the shame is a dead brother, a town burning, estrangement with relatives, abuse/victimhood, a dead sister/daughter all things that were core values to have a certain way. all things that you defined yourself by and the good times (sarcastic) keep on rolling. what hurts the most sometimes is what you did or didn’t do. idk that i have anything else to say. im getting to the point within myself where i keep thinking “who even cares” so imma stop here. bc i’d like to share before i convince myself to delete. but just if your out there struggling with mental health shit i hope you forgive yourself for things you’re holding onto out of shame. not even just as a self kindness but also bc you deserve to and progress is hindered if you dont in my opinion. i am not a professional. this is simply from what i’ve experienced/observed. if you got beef with yourself and you prefer to take it to your grave. do your thing. im just a username on this thing.

[thessalian]

Thess vs AI

So. The Bioware layoffs.

I actually am in the slow process of a Reddit argument about the use of voice actor AI because of this. And it got gradually dumber and uglier the more I debated. Which I suppose I should really have known would happen, because ... well, Reddit.

See, the reason the subject even came up is because there's a worry that, especially with Mary Kirby having been laid off, and Narrative Director and all that ... well, the concern is that they're going to start outsourcing their narrative stuff to AI. And this one individual was basically being The Champion Of AI, like, "Oh, I know some people will lose their jobs, but lamplighters lost their jobs when we got electric street lights; technology moves on! And cameras! If you wanted a portrait, you had to hire an artist, but now there are cameras and a lot of portrait artists suddenly had a lot less work but we could have as many pictures as we wanted! EMBRACE TECHNOLOGY!"

I ... had some things to say about this. Things like ... I don't believe that AI can properly capture nuance, at least not yet. And even if it could, once these companies have, say, a stable of voice actor's voices saved for AI use ... why would they want to hire new ones? Everything would become really stagnant in the industry on that scale, and you wouldn't have things like ... voice actors bringing something special to specific characters. I mean, there's a massive difference between Kai Leng from Mass Effect 3 and Joel from The Last of Us, but they're both still Troy Baker. Which Troy Baker would they get? Kai Leng? Joel? Logan? Booker DeWitt? Samuel Drake? Theron Shan?

That's when this individual started accusing me of being a snob, and eventually let out the real reason they championed AI. Namely, this individual wants to make video games, but doesn't want to code anything, nor dig up the resources for voice actors. No, they want everything ready for them to buy (or, more likely, pirate) so they can make a bunch of asset flips and stick them on Steam or wherever. They said, "You just don't want poor people like me to be able to maek video games".

I mean ... I do? I love indie games. I haven't got around to playing Darq yet, but that was one guy and a whole lot of work, so I can't help but be impressed. Solasta is janky as fuck and looks like an asset flip half the time, and the voice acting is not all that, but I still love it. You just ... make do with what you have.

Like ... if you can't afford voice actors ... don't have voices. Or find some drama students who want a warm-up project, or friends, and pay them in beer and residuals. But you don't go around exploiting people in a way that would kill an entire industry just so you don't have to find voice actors to make the game you want exactly as you want it.

In other words, I'm with the striking actors and writers on this (because while it doesn't get brought up, there's at least some worry about people being scanned and used in AI form going on in all that money-grubbing exploitative crap the writers and actors are fighting against) - "FUCK YOU; PAY THEM".

Buuuuuuuuut I know this individual is going to keep arguing at me because they want want want want want want ... but don't want to have to pay. It's another example about how art is commodified specifically so it can be devalued. Hell, I want to make a video game. Can I code? No. Am I pondering poking at Game Guru if I ever have a chance? Yes. Do I want AI voice actors doing the voices for me? NO. I have friends; I would ask them and promise them royalties.

This individual calls me selfish because I "don't want them to have things". I want the actors to have what they need to live because they give us things we enjoy. I want this entitlement bullshit as regards anything artistic to stop already. You want art? Pay for it, like anything else. But I'm probably going to stop responding at this point, because I have worked three hours of overtime and this person will not stop until they have the last word. Let them think they won. I stand with the voice actors, and everyone else who creates what I love. PAY AND RESPECT YOUR ARTISTS, FOR FUCK'S SAKE.

[yearofradicalselfbelief]

Part Three [Moving the Goalposts] - 21/11/23

CW: mentions of anxiety and depression.

Long time no see! Flufftober kept me, uh, occupied (aka manic and frenzied) and then November followed and has, so far, completely knocked me off my feet in a lovely haze of depression. But it’s slowly giving way now, and I’m able to contemplate the future with thoughts that aren’t limited to “oh, no” so it seemed a good time to write this.

I’m moving the goalposts of this Year of Radical Self-Belief, with that in mind. All in all, 2023 has been pretty good to me – although I haven’t done as much as I would like with it, in part because I completely underestimated how much healing I would have to do in the aftermath of the years that preceded it. As of June this year, I’d only been in my new city for one year, and once the dust had settled and I actually came to view my new city as home, it turned out to be the first quiet year I’ve had in…well, ever. And my brain had no idea how to cope with that.

That’s the thing about being herded from one disaster to another year, after year, after year, after year. When things do settle down, it’s very easy (and reasonable) to mistake it for just another calm before the storm. I spent the months following my moving here – which included a very close family member becoming very sick, and thankfully making a good recovery – pretty much scared to exhale, because I was just waiting for the other shoe to drop. It’s only now that I’m slowly beginning to trust that things might actually be okay for a while. It’s only now that I actually feel like I’m waking up, and not just sleepwalking my way through things as I wait for the next disaster to hit.

Going into this year, I had a lot of high hopes for myself – namely that I’d be querying the novel by now. I am not. Usually I’m very hard on myself for stuff like this, but right now I refuse to be that way. Because it’s understandable. I needed more time to breathe than I initially recognised, and if I didn’t allow myself that, I’d be in terrible shape. Once the dust did first settle here, in the period when I was determined not to trust it, I was having bad panic attacks on the weekly, out of nowhere. It infuriated me, too, because everything was fine, right? I wasn’t homeless anymore, I actually had a bedroom, my living situation was far less toxic than it had once been, and I loved my new city miles more than I ever particularly liked my old one.

But that was the problem. I could afford to feel it. So then I did, and I couldn’t stop feeling it for a good long while…not least because I was so fucking angry at myself for feeling it at all. Now? Now I’m doing better. Calmer. Well, as calm as I personally ever get. So I’m not angry at myself for spending a year actually healing and breathing and enjoying the peace where I could get it, rather than hurtling myself towards the next thing – especially at a time where I don’t think I could have taken the inevitable rite of passage that query rejections are.

On Saturday the 25th November, I’ll turn 27. My own personal new year. Usually birthdays really get to me, too, because I always meet them in this absolute panic over the fact that I’m not yet where I want to be in life, but this time around I feel fine about it. Hopeful, even. So I’m taking that as a good sign, and I’m calling this the beginning of the Year of Radical Self-Belief. I’m not saying I don’t think depression will bowl me over again between then and 28, but that gut feeling just tells me it’s better this way.

The first couple of months were good – I did a lot of writing, a hell of a lot of reading, focused on my physical health, and just finally began to feel like a human being again. It was a good prologue. But this new beginning is a neater starting point, and I just have a good feeling about 27. 9 has always been my lucky number. I’m 27 this year, which comes to nine, my brother will turn 36 the following week, and there are nine years between us. Superstitious, sure, but still.

I also have actual concrete plans this time around, too, beyond “do better” – which are as follows:

A conscious step back from Instagram.

I’d say “social media”, but honestly I use Facebook twice a year at most anyway, and Tumblr doesn’t have the same negative impact on my mental wellbeing that IG does, so that’s the one that has to be focused on. At the minute, I tend to disappear for a couple of months, return until it well and truly wrecks my head, and then repeat the process. I want to find something that’s a happy medium between the two, so I don’t feel like I’m constantly playing catch-up with the pals of which that’s my main source of communication, but also that I’m not repeatedly having to resort to completely ignoring it for the sake of my brain.

Which ties in neatly with the next part.

No longer posting about novel progress on IG.

This one is a weird gut instinct thing. It’s not that anybody has ever made me wish I hadn’t posted about it – in fact, the people cheering me on over there have been absolute stars, and the beta readers have eased a lot of my fears about it. It’s closer to being done than it ever has been (although it's not exactly within arm’s reach just yet), and I feel like I just need a big ol’ chunk of time where I don’t post about it, don’t talk about it, and where I just keep it to myself and get it finished. It just feels right, and who am I to argue with that?

Plus, I’ve been talking about it for so damn long now that folk are probably sick to the back teeth of hearing about it. If people ask, I’m more than happy to chat about it, but it just won’t be the focus of my posts over there until it’s done.

Making myself do something I enjoy once a month.

I don’t mean this from a standpoint of “read a nice book” or “eat some ice cream”, but like properly making a day of “taking myself on a date” once per month. I hate that phrasing, but it’s the easiest way to explain it. I’m anxious (both socially and in general), and I also go through low bouts, and when they all hit together I find myself only venturing out of the house to do the things I absolutely have to, in terms of errands etc, and it’s just not good. It fosters the sort of agoraphobia I developed as a student because of some stalking incidents (never live in Wembley, folks), although these days when it does crop up here and there it’s less rooted in anxiety and more in depression, and it’s just something I need to keep an eye on. I enjoy writing, and I enjoy hiding away and reading shitloads of books, but I need to remind myself that it’s not the only thing out there.

This will be the most difficult one, but it’ll also be the most rewarding one, I think.

So yes! I’m sorry for the radio silence, and I’m sorry for the false starts, but I haven’t abandoned this thing! Thank you guys for your interest, and for your loveliness. I feel like 27 is going to be a good’un – so I’m going to see to it that it is. Whether it likes it or not.

[rawrtriesagain]

Heya, same anon who asked you for art advice! First, I wanted to thank you for answer my questions and listing all that wonderful advice! I just have some followups. It’s really okay to just draw without even knowing how to put down a line? Won’t that just lead to bad habits or not learning the right techniques? And you mentioned learning how to draw the human body, will the sites you listed help, or are there other resources I should look up (like maybe on Pinterest?). Again, thanks!

Combining your asks into one. Thank you for the kind words! I'll be happy to continue helping where I can :)

So in terms of bad habits and practices, this is where my advice will fall flat haha because I myself don't know what's a good practice actually - I just do what I want to do even if its the worst way to do something anyone's ever seen! For example, my way of doing 'lineart' (just cleaning up my sketches) is to draw big fat lines and then slowly carve it with an eraser into a line I deem good enough. Someone who could grab a pen and draw a perfect line on the fly would probably be like wtf watching me meticulously erase my one fat line lol

But!

If you really don't know how to put down a line at all yet, your best bet really is to just start. There's not really a trick or technique too it, its just practice. I think unless you were trying to go into art school or something and needed to work on a portfolio (btw again I am not the person to ask for that), there's not really a 'bad habit,' its just as long as you're having fun. In my earlier example about my 'lineart' I pretty much know I'm doing it in such a dumb way, but I actually find it really fun to carve away my line with an eraser haha. Yea I could put in the effort to actually learn how to do things properly, but I like wasting hours just nitpicking on this little thing just because its fun to me. (I do the same thing for coloring also. I'll scribble my entire screen and then use an eraser to start carving things out lmao)

Of course while you're drawing and you're doing something that makes you think "hey this actually sucks actually-" that's when you take the opportunity to grow and learn something new that you didn't know before. This is a digital art thing: but for the longest time I literally didn't know anything about layers and my thoughts were just "man there's got to be a better way to do this" which throws me into a rabbit hole of searching "how do I do This Thing"

If you're really into learning art techniques though it might be good to slowly go over all of the 'art fundamentals' especially when it comes to like shading and perspective. I looked at this blog post and it looks like it would help start you out with some links to other resources: link then of course you can look up the corresponding Youtube videos to see someone actually do the fundamental for real. I'd also honestly recommend like a beginners artist course in person if that's something affordable and accessible to you. It's been one of my dreams to go to like random art classes for fun haha but alas life happens so its just me and my tablet until I'm rich as hell I guess. I've never taken a digital course either, but if that's one of the ways you're able to learn that's great too and I'd recommend it!

Next on human body:

Sorry I should have talked about them more in depth at the time, but yes they will help but only if you're determined to use them correctly! So the sites I listed basically show a pose for 30 seconds, and the idea is you're supposed to just try to take in the shape/form of the pose and draw it without nitpicking over minor details. You can also set the timer higher if you need (I used to set it to at least 60 seconds just because I was just a slow ass artist). But basically it should help you break down the human body into simple shapes and lines.

Now what I mean by using the sites correctly: So there's two ways to approach drawing from references:

1. "eye tracing" which is where your eyes are kind of just following the outline of whatever you're drawing but you're not really processing what exactly you're doing to help you later down the line. I have a bad habit of doing this and I tend to struggle later again for the same pose.

2. Breaking down the reference into small chunks and shapes, and then morphing those shapes into your piece. And later down the line you should start to be able to think of things like "oh the Circle piece of the body normally goes Here!"

Here's a random google image I found to help illustrate what I'm kind of talking about:

So eye tracing would kind of be like a less refined version of #3. Just a blobby but like you can somewhat tell what it is and that's cool I guess, but its not very helpful for when you want to try drawing a variant of the pose above. Breaking down the reference is like steps #1 and #2, simple shapes and blocks that help guide and outline the final shape you want. #1 in particular is very easy to change around should you want to.

So while you're on the sites I linked, you should try to break down each pose into its shape instead of drawing exactly what you see. You should also keep in mind the 'line of action' while doing so:

It's definitely a lot to take in all at once, so I'd honestly recommend just loading up the site and doing your best to replicate the pose, 'eye tracing' or not. Once you get more used to the routine and flow, then try to branch into learning more appropriate techniques. I've seen around that some people also recommend removing the time limit on the poses, as some people learn better by taking their time on one thing and breaking things down even further from there, but that's definitely up to you. You could also go out and try drawing random people if that helps and if you're bold!

My experience with Pinterest has mostly been for inspiration or cool things I've never thought of before, though I'm sure others are able to use it better than I can haha. I'm sure there are step by step guides to help you out around there!

I think resources to learn how to draw better really do come down to what kind of learner you are in the first place. Lots of people learn really well from Youtube tutorials for example, or maybe reading and following along with a book about anatomy would work for you too. I have like the most god awful attention span ever, so what works for me is just raw trial and error and hoping for the best. tbh idk how I even got this far haha but i am happy that I've progressed at all

Let me know if you have more questions and I'll definitely do my best to answer them! If you're looking for more advice regarding traditional art learning fundamentals, I'm sure there are many other artists that would be happy to answer your questions as well!

Best of luck! :)

[dokpetra]

Ive def been in a slump lately and its hard to admit that :(

I had a mental breakdown following my birthday, I've had to move apartments, and I've had some intense family stuff going on. Helps to externalize it.

It's weirding me out to confront all the stuff I had my identity tied up in, that isn't carved in stone. Like I am not my bedroom. I am not my job, I am not my biofamily. Idk. Identity is seedy territory for me in a pretty lifelong way, in this age of identity I think it's come front and center for me that my self concept is like a piece of swiss cheese. I attach parts of myself to people places and things around me, and when those things change, so do I, and changing hurts sometimes.

But a lot of that has been in flux for me, for a minute I was unable to work and worried I might not be able to come back to it, I hadn't ever lost my mind as bad as I did a couple months ago, it was really frightening to be newly limited in my daily functioning due to my mental state.

Coming back to a new normal now, and idk, everything in my life is in relief, I'm looking all around me and feeling the ever faster passage of time, looking at how much energy I have in a day, and just going "how am I going to build the life I want?" And feeling like the numbers just don't add up.

But I'm not giving up on myself. I don't do well with change, I gotta be gentle with myself through that. And I can get to a place where I have more energy, and I know steps I can take to get there. And I can accept also that I have lifelong depression etc etc, and to some extent this may put a cap on my energy level.

Part of it is, before everything went topsy turvy, I was making a really concentrated effort to work on composing music daily, releasing stuff for the first time too. As far as things that I take on as part of my identity, this is an important one, and I haven't been giving the time I need to it. For sensible reason, moving sucks, especially in your 30s it turns out, and starting job again and being there for my family. And as was saying earlier, I want to make sure I don't push myself too hard, have tendency to do that. Still, it's feeling like, urgent to get my studio station set up and get right back to it. I don't expect anything from the music I release, I just need to do it, it's who I am and when I'm not doing it I'm not being myself.

Guess part of this puzzle for me is reckoning with how I am both bigger and smaller than I used to see myself as. Like, the combo of ego problems and low self esteem is so ironic. And the process of breaking down your ego while building your self esteem, it feels so wonky. But yeah, I matter. I only matter as much as the next person, but me and the next person both matter. And someone who feels like they matter is more likely to treat others like they matter. So it's important work.

Couple months ago I spent the better part of a week in my bed, not able to eat or sleep, on an internal manic fugue, lost myself on a fundamental level. To be back from that, I wish I felt more triumphant, but I'm just tired and sad about it. I can't glorify that suffering. It happened and I came out the other side a different iteration of this person. I saw how traumatized I actually am and idk, I'm more determined than ever to come up to bat for that person. My self.

So I may have felt like my ideal life was in closer reach prior to all this upset, but I don't think that's true. I believe that I believed it, but it wasn't accurate.

And what good is my dream room when it's packed with plenty of heavy memories and too expensive for me? Could it be better to be in a smaller, brighter room I can actually afford? I'm still resistant but I know it's true.

Healing can be humbling and the humbling factor can feel unfair when you're already down on yourself but... Idk! If my spirit made it through the trials of that week in bed hell, it can get through these transitions.

It's okay to be in limbo because limbo can lead you somewhere new.

So I feel kinda crappy at this juncture, and also, I believe in myself going forward, I know I can make my life into what i dream.

[khalixvitae]

making clothes, especially alternative clothes, IS fun. the process of creation is the most gratifying part me thinks! however i refused to get stencils because i was like lmfao im already an artist ill just go big or go home and spent 3 hours handpainting the font designs alone onto it which really effed me in my a. getting into the act of DIY 😰 i inhaled the fabric paint so much i swear i had a communion with god and he was slapping me in the face with a wet halibut. i really do get why brands who handmake their unique items price it so high because it requires so much attention and time and id love to support them but i am like... shit fuck poor.... :-///

and if it's not the price of the item or shipping that's the problem then it's the fact that it's literally discontinued. nada. it's been out of stock for years so i can't buy it from them and anyone who sells their originals price it absurdly high. again i can see why (kinda) but i just can't afford it so i might as well learn a thing or two by making it myself! hopefully, and eventually, i will be able to design my own ambitious articles.

my vision for my too-ambitious ass is those madame chocolat shirts. they are so ostentatious and they'd probably give me hell trying to make them but if i CAN do it my ego will be so big plus ill have a cool shirt!!!!

as for rookvil x yuu poly, i imagine it'd be all the better if yuu, either, did not know who they were and thus did not allow the illusion of their fame place them on a pedestal from the get go, or they do know them, and they don't make a very big deal out of it. how fascinating! these two are models more iconic than shalom harlow, than naomi campbell, than kate moss, cindy crawford, christy turlington, claudia schiffer-- you get the gravity of it! yet their nonchalance serves to be even more invigorating than the bustle of the fashion industry.

and if yuu was ardently passionate about the craft and artistry of fashion! they'd be positively enthused by the admiration for the arts many big brands fail to have kept alive. you don't want your designs to be twisted by the sick hand of fast fashion? don't want large brands to piggie back ride off your geniusry? fine. be their one and only designer. design haute couture pieces vil peacocks out on the runway with cutting confidence and striking charisma like no one else can even muster. design avant garde pieces with creative vision rook's theatrical passion will surely complement and even amplify to stun the audience into a stupor at the ingenuity of. design alternative items that would fit them and only them and they will ensure you will have what you want. the claim to your art, the opportunity for greatness, the means to a comfortable life, endless time in their company. isn't it thrilling? to think these two practically have your name on them pretty much all the time, even if save for the days they model for different brands? the paparazzi goes wild upon seeing the two in your innovation.

and sure, their measurements have been taken countless times for past items, but each and every one has to be to a T! they certainly don't complain about their schedules or any of the sort when being roped into another hour long measurements session. yea, they're used to being measured upon modeling for certain items, but never for the sole intent that they are the only ones privy to such privilege-- never for such earnest determination to fulfill their desires and tastes and give them something to remember whilst also having your own artistic ambitions brought to life by them!

urgk. they make me insane in the membrane. i remember i once didn't sleep or eat for 2 days because my magnetic autistic aura compelled me to watch every gothic haute couture runway ever without any break. when you combine the idea of that and a favorite character i go absolutely livid. they haunt my every waking thought and action PLEASE help

Hello dear anon! I’ve had a negative social battery recently so I’ve been easing back into interacting with the world, but this is quite literally the BEST way to reintroduce myself to society. So many things to unpack here, all of them sublimely inspiring. On the topic of paint fumes and communing with the divine- I have also been there ! I can definitely understand your drive to hand paint rather than stencil though, I’m the same way. And finishing a difficult design is SUCH an ego boost I completely agree.

And as for the RookVil poly, I agree !!! A designer who doesn’t really make a big deal out of their statuses would be fascinating! Like sure Yuu realizes they’ve just found their most glorious muses yet, and are in awe of RookVil for their dedication and commitment to the craft, but they don’t alienate RookVil as if they’re untouchable superstars from another planet yk? There’s a kind of comfort the three would find in working together- no one else seems to understand their intense devotion to their respective arts. Yuu can keep measuring, keep realigning, keep tweaking designs until it’s absolutely perfect, and the two models won’t mind at all. For Rook, he finds a deep joy in watching Yuu work so passionately. There’s so much love for their craft in everything they do, and he feels honored to witness it. For Vil, he admires their work ethic and just how critical they can be. It’s not often that he finds someone as particular as he is about their respective art. He loves knowing that Yuu takes it all seriously, not just in the name of their reputation, but because Yuu knows what kind of quality aloty they’re capable of producing. But that also means that the two will urge Yuu to have breaks, to eat and sleep and be a human outside of their studio (and since the two models also need to fulfill those basic needs, why not as the three of them?). They take care of one another- at a certain point in the relationship, it clearly became more personal than work related. None of them really know when it happened- but once Yuu finds themself in the lavish living room of RookVil’s home, the three watching some movie Rook had insisted on playing but instead talking and laughing about everything except what was on the screen, they realize just how far from the professional path the arrangement has strayed. I am also. Fucking insane about this.

And also! I really really get being immersed in an interest that deeply anon😭😭😭 I will say that keeping snacks in my room helps when I fall down those rabbitholes. Sleeping is something I also have trouble with when I’m being plagued by demons (autism) but snacks in room can help work around the eating portion at least for me ! <3

[lananiscorner]

Reblogging this version and stealing the tags as well:

#i realized this when I was following#gen padalecki#she was talking about the garden#and livestock#and book clubs#and doing so many things with the boys#and i realized that if she had to work#like i have to work#and didn't have the money to hire people to do shit#she couldn't do all of that either#and then i unfollowed her#because it wasn't relevant to me#and was just making me feel bad about myself#even though i knew we were not on the same boat#she's in a yacht#and i'm in a rowboat#and you can't compare the two

This is so important, especially when it comes to body image.

If you ever find yourself looking at someone and thinking "damn, I wish I was as slim and toned as that insta model" or "damn, I wish I was built like that Navy Seal dude"... remember that this is literally PART OF THEIR JOB. You can't be an insta model without being slim and you can't be a spec ops soldier without being in excellent, buff shape. And as a result, people like that spend A LOT of hours in the gym. Like, a lot A LOT. And no, not off hours, after already working for 8+ hours a day like you with your desk job. If you are trying to emulate people like that while not being in that job, you are essentially trying to do two jobs at once. And that ain't a sustainable way to live (you can make it work, but good grief, at what cost...)

And any time you look at someone rich enough to afford somebody else to do their cooking and cleaning and child care? Dial your own expectations way the hell down, because those are freaking time sinks. There's a reason rich people hire other people to do that shit for them (because it's work--and unless you are rich it's work you HAVE TO do for free, because cooking is kind of important for eating and cleaning is kind of important for being healthy and if you don't take care of your kids they have a high risk of ending up dead).

I would also add to this that sometimes it really is too late/impossible to strive for something that you would like to be your top priority. I have asthma and I'm nearing 40. Even if I started working out right now, with the same diet and exercise regimen as a soldier, I would not be able to get that level of fitness, because 1) my lungs aren't build for that and 2) aging is a thing and my body's prime days are over.

And that sucks. Realizing that there are legit, unchangeable roadblocks to things you would like to make your priority SUCKS. And it's okay to be angry and frustrated about that for a while, and to grieve the opportunities you wish you had but never will. It's perfectly fine and normal and healthy. So long as you remember that grief is not a place to be forever. Life goes on. There's more beauty to find in the world and so much more to live for rather than wallowing in sadness forever.

So, if you find yourself with something that you want to make your priority, but cannot, for circumstances outside of your control, ask yourself "okay, but how much do I have to dial back the intensity to make it work and still have it be a top goal?"

One of my goals for this year is to go swimming again. I used to do that competitively. I would love to get back to that same level of intensity again, but 1) I am getting old, 2) I have a full-time job, and 3) it's not something I can just do at home anytime I want--I have to take a bus to the city swimming pool to get there and they ain't open 24/7. So no, I will not be swimming again with the same regularity and intensity as before, but I will try to find a time window that will work with my job and the commute and the opening hours and I will take as much swimming as I can get, because good grief, I miss the water.

One thing that has made me a much more well-adjusted person is a clip I once saw of Hank Green saying that anyone can be in amazing shape as long as being in amazing shape is one of their top three priorities.

(This is obviously a generalization that isn't true for everyone. But it is true for most people and I'm proceeding from there.)

This "top three priorities" framing has genuinely reduced my tendency toward jealousy and self-comparison a lot. Now when I feel envious of someone’s spotless, aesthetic home, I think to myself, “Having a spotless, aesthetic home is probably one of their top three priorities. It’s definitely not one of mine, so I shouldn’t expect my home to look like that.”

Or when I see an influencer with a body that takes a ton of work to maintain: “Maintaining that body is obviously one of her top three priorities, because it’s her livelihood. My livelihood is my brain, so I’m never going to prioritize my body like that.”

It also helps me to identify areas that I actually DO want to prioritize more. I realized in recent years that my envy for my friends who prioritized writing more than I did was NOT going away, so I started to prioritize writing more. (Not top three, but higher priority than it has been in the past.)