#i don't know what to write in the hashtag

[loulovingho]

guys, I'm getting lots of messages in my inbox about how we should be posting on instagram or facebook about the way Lou was treated etc and can you please stop. like, take a breath. It's one thing to speculate and voice your thoughts/opinions here on tumblr where it's literally just fans being fans, but please don't send that speculation directly to their social media! We don't know how Lou was really treated on set. We don't know how any of them are really treated on set! Lou has stated multiple times that he would be ready and willing to go back to 911 should they call.

I know I post my fair share of speculation, but I try to make it clear that that's all it is! Half of the time I'm just joking around anyway, although I know it's difficult to understand tone over the internet.

Please, have your fun on their social media. I still see nothing wrong with silly hashtags or respectfully voicing your thoughts on things that actually occurred within the show.

I also see no harm in going to abc's official site and sending your thoughts/concerns in that way. Make sure that if you do, you're not sending in speculative thoughts! Speak to what is actually within the show, or the things explicitly discussed in interviews. Tim Minear has done plenty of confirmed shitty things you can write in about, you don't need to add speculation to it.

[mad-hunts]

if barton tried hard enough, he thought, imagining himself being literally anywhere else but the warehouse right then was easy. this place was never meant to be lived in for an extended period of time after all; despite the fact that it had appliances that you might see in an every day home like a fridge.

it put him on edge instead of at ease, and it certainly didn't better barton's mood when he stayed in it either, after all. but so long as he was allowed to dream within it to some degree... it was tolerable. plus, he had company here, courtesy of nico, jack, and barton also supposed jervis counted. nico had complicated feelings towards the doctor, though, and spending time around jack whilst in it thus far gave barton an unfortunate impression; which was that his own son was made nervous by him.

and the irony of it all was, barton only gathered that because he could feel cognitive empathy towards him. something that didn't include feeling but reasoning. therefore, the hopes of him somehow patching that up with jack someday were drastically decreased. barton vaguely listened to jervis respond to what he'd said about him being in the warehouse solely because of them; all of the words but one not quite having any actual impact on him, this being 'nightmares.'

the smell of the yuja tea that jack prepared for jervis, as fragrant in the air that it was, seemed to be the one thing keeping him from being sucked down a unpleasant train of thought. for someone who didn't feel human half the time, barton sure as hell experienced his own fair share of seeing 'ghosts' from the past and mourning the way some things had gone in his life. and regret, as well as sorrow, were practically intertwined in every single 'normal' person's life that he'd known.

speaking of regret, once he'd closed the curtains, something from the small cabinet hanging on the wall next to them fell to the floor. barton picked it up and was immediately reminded of why he kept this photo here instead of at his home. hiding it away helped alleviate the pain of not only loving someone and losing them, but also knowing that at the time it was taken, everything seemed fine.

'my 19th birthday party - spent right, with my handsome fiancé!' was written on the back in marcy's handwriting. barton felt like screaming and smashing something simultaneously. the photo was instead placed in his pant pocket, whilst he dragged his hands down his face and thanked his lucky stars that jervis wasn't exactly expecting any big conversations from him. barton's hand flexed by his side before he was changing his shirt, wondering just what the hell he was supposed to do after seeing that again.

grief was a thing he'd never been able to pend down how to deal with 'appropriately,' unfortunately. from marcy, to the momentary blink of an eye that felt like his bittersweet friendship with yves, to his son julien's death - barton thought he'd be destroyed by all of those losses for the longest time. but he supposed he was still here, god willing, or laughing at him more like if such a being did exist. barton noticed the fabric that was splitting on the blanket and how jervis very much appeared to be in his own world.

it was at that moment that he reached for something in that same cabinet he'd opened to change his shirt, finding that sewing thread and needle he'd stored in there long ago. barton kept it there because the shirt he was wearing had actually torn at some point and he'd fixed it. though, he had no use for it now, so he decided to put it on the edge of edge of the cabinet if jervis wanted it. but he didn't really know what he wanted. that night seemed to be a series of gut punches now as the other touched upon how jack was a good person and barton should be proud of him.

he blinked several times as he felt this sensation like something ugly was swirling within him. jack had always kind of gotten the short-end of the stick, and for what? ❝ ahh. well, sometimes i've found myself practicing behaviors towards him that my father used to use on me... but i try to stop myself when that happens. jack has come a long way, as the first time i met him, he was a scared two year old who was on his own with his brother. but now jack's a young man and very brave, despite maybe still being scared sometimes. ❞ barton cleared his throat then, ❝ that's normal though. so yeah, i am proud of him. ❞

barton turned his attention back to jervis and tilted his head at the other's sluggishness. being vulnerable like that surprisingly didn't feel too nerve-wracking, as he added just a bit more to the equation. barton gave the iv bag jervis was hooked up to a good squeeze, ❝ hmm. are you still in pain, jervis? or are you just tired? ❞ he observed the other silently and looked down at the cards before the both of them. that is, before barton heard jervis approve of him reading his fortune.

he drifted a hand along the cards then. choosing one that felt 'right' came without much difficulty to barton, and when he did, the reversed 'wheel of fortune' card for jervis's past. the next card he chose was the reversed 'six of swords' for jervis's present. barton flipped the last one for his future and was greeted by 'the sun,' which made him let out a soft 'huh' and smile a bit. ❝ well... i hate to start off with the past when you got this card, but i guess we have to. ❞ he was about to start interpreting jervis's fortune when jack came back into the room with the breakfast he promised the other. well, talk about convenient timing.

Jervis merely rolled his eyes at Barton’s remark, fingers biting into the fabric of the blanket as he pulled it around his shoulders like an old shawl. The plush material was a little threadbare at the corner; a tear disrupting the otherwise seamless fabric.

Sea-green and white plaid. Utilitarian, impersonal.

It sufficed perfectly; his thin frame was almost terminally intolerant to the cold. 27 years in Gotham had failed to inoculate him against the frigid rains and bone-chilling air sweeping off the harbor.

“Trust me, I’m well aware where I would be, if it weren’t for you both. I see enough of the place in my nightmares… so I don’t require any reminders.” He flexed his fingers around the teacup, feeling the warmth seep into his hands as he cautiously tipped the liquid into his mouth. It had a strange, but not unpleasant consistency, like warm, thin honey that slid smoothly over his tongue in a tangy blend of sweet and sour. Tiny bits of softened citrus peel floated in the syrupy mixture.

Barton’s IV pole scraped slightly along the concrete floor, a sharp metallic sound that mingled with the sudden rasp of the curtains being jerked shut. The room was clean and sparse, a sterile space designed to be free of clutter, yet a faint, telltale mustiness clung to the air—a lingering scent of damp fabric and stale dust that disinfectant alone couldn’t quite mask. Beyond the makeshift partition, the rest of the warehouse stretched out in vast, dark emptiness. The floor was cold, unpolished concrete, marred with cracks that split like spider webs. Dim, flickering fluorescent lights cast a harsh, uneven glow, barely cutting through the haze of dust that swirled in the air.

But, of course, beggars couldn’t be choosers when it came to hideaways—especially when you’ve learned to take shelter wherever you can find it. Or when you were part of the criminal element.

How far he’d come and how little had truly changed.

Jervis glanced across the room at where his coat, shirt, and gloves rested neatly on the desk, carefully folded with almost surgical precision. He flexed his hands again around the teacup, feeling the phantom prickle of sensation where the wool-lined leather should be—an exposed vulnerability that gnawed at him, made his skin itch with invisible grime.

He sank his teeth into a particularly broad piece of yuja peel, the bitter tang releasing as he bit down; meanwhile, Barton’s voice drifted in one ear, out the other like the static hum on a faulty wireless. He chewed slowly, savoring the rind as he turned his attention back to the small tear in the blanket. Nodded intermittently.

Jervis’ callused, scarred fingers found the frayed edge; the fabric was worn thin and splitting, and he traced it absentmindedly, feeling the uneven fibers beneath his touch. For a moment, his thoughts shifted to the sewing kit buried somewhere in his bag, imagining the small spool of thread and the thin, glinting needles; each one ready to pierce the fabric and pull it back together.

As if stitching this small wound would make any real difference, he thought bitterly; like it could somehow soothe the cold reality pressing in on them from all sides… It was a small, pointless task, a flicker of control in a situation that felt like it was slipping away, unraveling faster than he could sew it back together. He knew it wouldn’t ameliorate anything—wouldn’t solve the problems looming larger than this tiny, frayed corner. And yet, his fingers lingered there, desperate for something tangible to fix; something he could make whole again, if only for a moment.

Jervis gave no reply as Barton moved to change his shirt; blinking hard as he gazed down at the floor, but the darkness behind his eyelids refused to stay empty. Flecks of indigo light bloomed in the black, shifting like dust motes that twisted with each beat of his heart. The room swam as he opened his eyes again, the ceiling blurred and murky like the styrofoam cup Alice stored her wet paintbrushes in. He scratched absently at the IV in his arm, feeling the tug of the thin plastic embedded in his skin but barely registering the discomfort. The bright pinpricks danced at the edges of his vision, trailing like little comets whenever he turned his head.

“You ought to be proud of him, I imagine. Your son… he seems like a good lad.” Jervis’ voice was a wisp of silk, smooth and thin, like it might unravel into nothing if he spoke too loudly. He tilted his head slightly, almost resembling a marionette on a slack string, the hint of a smile touching his lips but never quite reaching his eyes. He ran a finger along the rim of his teacup, the motion delicate and deliberate as he pondered Barton’s final query.

“Hmm… can you?” Gray eyes blinked slowly, the lids heavy and sluggish, further dragged down by fatigue. The question lingered in the air, softly innocuous. He glanced over at the tarot cards Jack left behind on the desk—arranged in a rough, careless spread, but somehow feeling deliberate, as though the cards had fallen exactly where they were meant to. The edges were worn, curling slightly; the images esoteric, half-familiar symbols. Stars, sun, moon, cups and swords, animals and human figures rendered in faded colors.

He paused, gaze narrowing, subtly curious despite the exhaustion that weighed down his expression. For a moment, his hand tightened around his teacup; twitched like he might reach out and touch them, as if by brushing the surface he could glean some hidden answer buried beneath the painted ink.

‘Why, they're only a pack of cards, after all.’

His grip on the blanket slipped momentarily, fumbling at the worn edge before he reached for his collar instead. He dug beneath the charcoal fabric of his T-shirt, searching with a practiced motion until his fingers found the tarnished silver chain again. He drew it out slowly, the weight of it comforting against his skin as he absently ran his thumb over his and Sylvie’s rings, threaded side by side on the links.

The metal was dull, no longer shining with the luster it once had, but it carried a certain softness now, smoothed by years of worry. His eyes dropped for a second before he let the chain slip back beneath his shirt. “By all means, if it tickles your fancy…” Jervis gave a short, rough half-shrug, the motion stunted as though his shoulder couldn’t quite decide whether to follow through.

[temeyes]

random cod oc post, but anyway: their and Gaz's dynamic

[ladyazulina]

Coming Soon: ✨ My Birthday ✨

Hello.

Would you say we are friends? I guess that term is way too big, mutuals is what we use here, but what would it take for us to be friends, stranger? Would you like us to be?

I'm a weird gal. I'm planning for my birthday. Two years ago I decided to take that day into my own hands and do something nice about it for myself.

I'm part of that percentage of people who actually hate their birthdays but I can't, for the life of me, do like I couldn't care less for the day. Mind you, I also don't allow my loved ones to do the same. In fact, last month was my partner's birthday and He DoEsN't MiNd HiS bIrThDaY bullshit—I planned his whole day and filled him with gifts and gave him the best day ever because such a special day couldn't go unaddressed and he should feel it as special as it actually is. (I'm trying to do the same for friends I hold dear and close to my heart, but forgive me if it takes me some attempts, it's the hardest thing I have ever done.)

Usually, I spend my day bummed, all sad, and if I'm unfortunate enough, eating ice cream (the dessert that fuels my sadness due to past experiences).

Two years ago, it was too short of a planning time, but some online friends accepted my request and half made my day.

A year ago, I spent the day outside actually doing stuff I liked (even though I hate being outside and was awfully depressed).

I was attempting to do an advent calendar this year, but I underestimated how hard it is to fill up.

So, actually, just right now this occurred to me.

First off, this year was supposed to go absolutely different. I was planning to visit my partner and we would spend my birthday, the holidays, and our first anniversary together, but I need to get a VISA and that process hindered all wishes and expectations. So... plan B. (I can't be sadder about it, each passing day it's drilling on me and I want to attempt to break with that as well. But I'm also aware I can't do it alone, hence this long-letter request.)

I don't have the slightest idea what the next months have in store for me, but so far this is it:

The advent calendar would go through a whole month, ending on my birthday (November 20 to December 20).

I would like to do at least a small thing I can fit into my routine / schedule without much fuss, hopefully with someone's company.

Weekends are scheduled to be TTRPG days, I could play a bit alone or with someone, and I'm crafting a list to choose at random which game I will play on which day.

Some things I love are reading and writing, though I can't write in command. I adore world-building and creating characters and I can spend hours rambling (ask my partner). But also, I won't mind spending some hours just talking and meeting someone, socializing isn't my forte, but I still need to go out with it.

I want to save December 19 to receive all the well wishes people want to give me, whichever way, and receive all the gifts (if there are any) on December 20 while I'm busy starting the day reading those wishes.

I do not need gifts, I'm a simple girl, but I feel like I need people to actively seek me on the day, I dunno why. I guess receiving the wishes the day prior and reading on the day could help, so that's one. And the whole month prior to actually scheduling small moments with friends and family could help palliate the possible loneliness of the day, they would have already spent some time with me during the days I put apart precisely for that... I don't know, I believe it could make sense, but don't ask me.

Anyway, I think I used all my words already. If you have seen me someday or if you just recently did (here) and want to apart a small time with me, to talk, to meet, to hopefully be friends or get close, if you want to do me this favor and be a part of this, thank you so much 💙 We can talk and schedule, see what to do, or you can just send me wishes on December 19 and if you want I can answer you back and start going from there or something, or anything, or nothing. I have all my days empty.

Now I'm actually feeling stupid doing this, but I will post it anyway because for some reason it came to me and I never know what could come from this.

[constantvariations]

Okay so, I like that Professor Rumpel is both Rumpelstiltskin and the miller's daughter-turned-queen, and that her weapon invokes the spindlewheel from the tale, but the guessing of the name is so utterly lazy that I could chew glass

Spoilers for Before the Dawn btw

It literally comes out of nowhere. There is no buildup to the mystery of Professor Rumpel's name; she just randomly says at the start of the fight that if Fox, Neptune, or Yatsuhashi can guess her name that she'll let them go chase the Crown

It would have been so easy, too! Just have it be Rumpel's game whenever the students want something. Late to class and don't want extra homework as punishment? Guess her name and you're free. Got caught getting handsy in an inconvenient spot? Guess her name and she'll let you off with a warning. Hell, have some of the staff lean into it for comedy and comradery

This would naturally set up why Rumpel would offer an easy out to the fight and establish how steep a demand that is for our heroes. If no one's guessed her name in the many years she's been at Shade, what hope do they have of figuring it out in the next five minutes?

But, no. We get zero setup and the payoff doesn't even land! They guess her name and Rumpel attacks Neptune anyway. Right in front of the whole school, including Headmaster Theodore! In what world does that make sense? I get that she's desperate, but it feels contrived so Yastuhashi can do his thing and accidentally break the mind control

These books honestly read like a first draft of a story that really could've been something if more time and attention had been given. Rwby in a nutshell, eh?

[itzmaztercom2]

"I spent my day in my bed, everything could be possible if I want it,if only I will be determined I will no longer lie in this bed for days in the dark eaten away by the boredom and sadness of my thoughts"

[laundrybiscuits]

(continued from Part 1)

For a split second, Robin is eighteen again and kissing a girl for the first time, learning how her best friend’s ex-girlfriend’s breath stutters when Robin’s hands are on her skin. 

It’s not like this is the first time they’ve been in the same room, obviously. They’re all connected in this weird little Hawkins trauma family. But Steve and Eddie are the best friends a girl could have, and they know almost everything about what went down with Nancy back in 1986, and they’re pretty good about keeping them apart.

Admittedly, Steve doesn’t totally get it, because he’s the kind of queer who thinks it’s totally normal to stay friends with people you date. Robin’s never been very good at that part of things, which makes it really complicated to date and also have any kind of social life. Sometimes she thinks the entire gay world is one tiny village the size of Hawkins, which makes her feel itchy all over.

She’s not proud of it, but she has literally ducked behind a grocery store display to avoid running into a one-night-stand.

But this—it’s like she’s eighteen again and Nancy Wheeler is saying I don’t think this is who I am and Robin’s heart is breaking even though, looking back, she’d mostly been in love with the idea of being in love. Something about the idea of this perfect princess in combat boots looking at certified disaster Robin Buckley and choosing her, choosing to stay, despite all the very good reasons not to.

But that was never going to be Nancy. It was obvious, even then.

Ideally, this would be Robin’s chance to show how cool and mature and evolved she is. Unfortunately, she’s working for barely more than minimum wage in a failing Minneapolis bookstore and spends her spare time hanging out with the queers in the community symphonic band, making mediocre potato salad for monthly dyke potlucks, and avoiding exes. Robin has a particularly broad and somewhat questionable definition of exes to avoid which includes: embarrassing one-sided crushes, disastrous first dates, and Nancy Wheeler.

Nancy seems pretty distracted with the totally random and probably perfectly nice stranger she walked in with, so Robin takes the opportunity to disappear into the kitchen. It’s a good kitchen that neither Steve nor Eddie use properly; she’s not completely convinced they actually cook for themselves ever. The makeshift cocktail bar, on the other hand, is extensive and extremely well-stocked. Robin makes herself a Dark and Stormy, drinks it, and immediately makes another with a slightly heavier hand on the rum.

“Do you think the ginger beer is the dark part, or the stormy part?” she asks. She doesn’t have to turn around to know that Steve’s in the doorway. Even after all these years, she knows him like she knows her own heartbeat.

“Stormy,” says Steve. “Definitely. Because it's fizzy.” He reaches over her to grab a lime from the little wire basket they keep citrus in, like that’s a normal thing for people to have. “What do you need, Robbie? Should we not have invited her?”

“No,” she says. “No, it would’ve been pretty weird for you not to have invited her. I mean you’re queer and she’s your ex so obviously she’s at your not-wedding. And also, it’s not like she’s actually my ex! Because nothing really happened! We weren’t dating! So it’s not weird!”

“Seems like it’s a little weird,” says Steve, tossing the lime from hand to hand. “Is this an Eddie-type situation? Would it be better to talk to him about it?”

Robin drags her hands down her face. “Aaaeugh. Shit. Maybe. Is that okay?”

“’Course, Robbie.” Steve pulls her in to drop a quick kiss on her head, and she’s so, so glad to have him in her life.

Sure enough, Eddie pops in a minute later. “Munson Emotional Support Services, how may we assist you today?”

“Okay, remember when I said I’d tell you everything if Nancy and I ever actually had sex, like, for real?”

“I remember begging you not to do that, but continue,” says Eddie cautiously.

She bites her lip. “Um. Well. Guess what?”

[diedraechin]

#yuu-nii!! #pseudobigbrother

Yuuri looked over at the video monitor on his desk and quickly wrapped up the short email to his manager before pushing back his chair and standing up. He’d taken the monitor out of Riku’s hands when she’d finally given in and headed to bed the night before. Preparations for the Four Continents had been going on for ages, but now that the competition was only a month away, things were just getting busier on her end arranging everything with the international press and foreign officials.

The least Yuuri could do while staying with Riku and Alexi was let them sleep in a little.

He padded down the hallway to the next room and slipped inside. 

Roma was standing up and staring at the door, his foot halfway up to try and climb over the railings. It was probably time for the crib to go. Riku and Alexei knew it as well. They were already discussing replacing it with a futon, which made infinitely more sense to Yuuri. He’d never had a crib growing up at all. Roma put his foot down and held out his arms instead. “Yuu-niii!”

“С утречком. Выспались? (Morning. Did you sleep good?)” Yuuri said as he came in and reached out to lift Roma out of his crib.

Once settled on his hip, Roma immediately shoved his fingers into his mouth and put his head on Yuuri’s shoulder.

“I’m guessing, yes. You know that’s kinda gross, right? You shouldn’t chew on your fingers. But if you’re hungry, we can go and see what we can find.” Yuuri carried him out of the room and set him down as they approached the stairs so he could open the safety gate. Roma grabbed onto Yuuri’s fingers and held on as he took one step down, and then stopped, looked up at Yuuri and made a face before taking another determined step down again.

“Pretty sure I’m supposed to carry you down the stairs, Roma.”

Roma muttered a cute little no and then took another determined step down, squeezing Yuuri’s fingers with his.

It took forever, but eventually they reached the bottom of the stairs and Roma beamed at him before demanding to be picked up and carried around the house as they took care of some morning essentials.

Eventually, though, they made their way into the kitchen and Yuuri put his phone on the counter to play some music quietly, setting Roma down, and fully expecting him to toddle off to his toys to wreck destruction with his blocks or whatever. The toys were all within sight of the kitchen; it was his normal morning routine. Roma didn’t go anywhere, however, grabbing onto Yuuri’s pajama pants with his fist and bouncing to the music instead while babbling something that Yuuri couldn’t quite follow.

“Yeah, it’s good. Much better than papa’s music.” It took a bit of maneuvering around him, and at least two mini dance breaks with Roma, but Yuuri got breakfast going and then pulled out the container of strawberries he’d bought the day before. “Want one?”

He cleaned and cut the head off one of the strawberries, sticking the cut off bit in his own mouth to get the small remains of the berry and prepped a few more before picking up Roma and offering one to him. Roma grabbed the berry and started chewing on it, a bit of strawberry juice and drool dribbling down his chin.

“You are both gross and cute. Why are children both gross and cute? Probably so we don’t try and put you up on ebay.” He grabbed a clean kitchen cloth from the drawer and wiped Roma’s face.

“Yuu-nii! Dance!”

Yuuri spun around quickly, setting off a wave of giggles from Roma. “Yuu-nii! Again!”

Laughing, Yuuri held out another strawberry. “How about another strawberry first and dancing second?”

Roma grabbed the berry from Yuuri’s hand and took a little bite. “Oishi!”

The shutter sound of a camera app made Yuuri look over his shoulder to where Alexei was standing near the entrance to the kitchen area, smiling.

“Has he eaten?” Alexei asked.

Yuuri shook his head. “Just a couple of berries.”

“There’s natto in the fridge.”

“納豆わ好き？(You like natto?)” Yuuri turned to look at Roma who bobbed his head. “Nato.”

“Riku is doing a good job if she’s making you feed him natto in the morning. Don't let papa get away with not stirring it one hundred times. Natto must be stirred one hundred times.” Yuuri snickered.

“How is he my child?” Alexei looked around the kitchen. “What’s for breakfast?”

“Fish. Soup. Rice. The usual,” Yuuri replied.

“How are you my child?” Alexei griped.

Yuuri shrugged. “Guess I’ll just have to ask my parents about that one.”

[icewindandboringhorror]

I still very loathe the Media Trope of ‘’cold genius man doesn’t feel emotions and never has relationships... UNTIL.. one random relatively bland Preddy Woman comes along and warps his entire personality and ability to think, his heart has grown and his seeming asexuality has evaporated, he is now Normal :)” or whatever like... AS a walking generic hermit archetype myself.. we would NOT act like that .... just let people be detached weirdos in peace, you cowards .. OR, don’t bother to write one in the first place if you find us too boring to exist realistically in our natural state lol.. pathetic 

[01tsubomi]

i'm taking the jlpt this sunday and had a stress dream last night abt it bc it sort of snuck up on me and now it's kind of a question of how much my actual japanese abilities will carry me (versus if i should've been cramming on flashcards this past month) but the listening portion is far simpler conversation than my coworkers and i have so. i think that maybe instead of "damn i should've been studying japanese" my perspective should just be "i speak japanese"

[fantastic-mr-corvid]

i love it when shit happens in my life that dredges up old wounds and coincidentally im re-experiencing the media i intrinsically link it to cause then i get to remember exactly why i love it and find it so meaningful all over again. there's a fucking reason ill always say Berserk [& RGU] both came into my life at a perfect fucking time and holy shit they fucking resonated with me so hard and as much as life can suck ass and lovvves kicking me in the balls when ive just recovered from last time i a least get to remember how & why i love something so much.

[theophagie]

1.5k words into this fic and still not one line of dialogue between the mcs we are so back

[altarcup]

you know what? i feel like we as a community at large have tentatively accepted and learned that activity / energy / interest is likely to fluctuate. i only see people talk about it when they are apologising / attempting not to apologise for being inactive, or for their focus having shifted away from one set of muses to another.

i'm saying this as someone whose interests are subject to change according to, idk, a slight breeze or a leaf falling from a tree somewhere in australia. and a statement along the lines of this also exists in my rules doc already so i don't know if this needs to be said at all.

but if you notice one of your friends shifting their focus to another blog or another muse, sending the same character(s) memes / requesting them over and over again likely will mean that you're going to have to wait longer for a response, since that isn't where their inspiration is right now. if you are the kind of person that feels discouraged by that (as i have been in the past), this won't help dispel that feeling. maybe someone will let this post encourage you to branch out and hit up your friends for stuff within the universe / for the characters that are vivid in their mind rn!!

[penguinmortuus]

I hate it so much why am I so terrified of people when at the same time I like people :'[

[alder-saan]

I just had a question for all the people in the Gwendoline Christie community (and others too but as my public is basically Larissa/Brienne simps...) whose first language is not English.

Because I personally CANNOT read "x reader" in French, that's just cringe. And for exemple (this is a real mystery), I thought I wasn't comfortable with writing smut, but now I think that's just in French... don't really know though, I'll try.

I don't know WHY, but...

[marauderswolf22]

I know this is completely off topic of this blog, but I wanted to share a digression. I've been thinking recently about the trend of styles and different aesthetics and what advantages it has, because I mean, at the same time you have a lot of possibilities, inspiration and space to fulfill yourself, but at the same time I still have the impression that people have to be assigned to aesthetics. It's not just a style of clothing, but a lifestyle. The internet seems to say that as a cottagcore you HAVE to live in a cute little village where the sun shines 24/7 in the summer and you can't listen to rock, for example. It's just a stupid example but think about it, it's not only what you look like but also where you live, what kind of music you like, WHAT IS YOUR PERSONALITY (for example in my dark academia phase I read that I have to be "mysterious") and many more just like yours passions. Someone may say that we don't have to be like these standards assigned to certain styles. We don't have to, it's true. But when we have a style faze we want to be able to be described as "omg this girl is so much a green girl" or "you are this girl!" and we want to be like those perfect people we see on pinterest or on vlogs who live this perfectly matching life. And what I want to say after all this is that play with your style, LEARN yourself and your likes and don't try to be perfect from the beginning. You can be an extrovert who doesn't like to read and still be inspired by light academia. You may not like plants as an art mom. Listen to classical music while dressing like a tomboy if you want. It's just playing with this style and being different is so cool, and meeting people like that is like a new adventure. And remember that there are days when all you want to wear is a tracksuit even if you're browsing old money inspiration on instagram. It's you, your body, and it's your expression, so don't force yourself to not be who you really are.

That's it, I hope I didn't exaggerate, take care of yourself lovies

ps: if u want to talk abt it more, i want to talk abt more too!

see you <3