#i just don't like the old one that much anymore

[scoutofmymind]

hey loved your fics you are incredibly talented. i have a scene picture some angst reader is kinda like jo march if u watched little women and luigi is laurie in that one hill scene. basically reader prioritizes acads because of her upbringing - high achiever, academic validations, the whole package and luigi somehow is the same but he compels the reader in a magnetic way because luigi gets to be so carefree and awesome about it and turns out luigi and reader have a common thread and it's turning out rlly good but then reader is slightly scared of commitment in a relationship dare i say? because it was all acads for reader even though there were dreams of having a relationship, it all seemed abstract and unreal!! and the angst comes when luigi confesses to reader and reader reacts very defensive i suppose spitting out word vomit enumerating reasons why luigi shouldnt like her and how he's too good for her and luigi just shuts reader up by pinching their cheeks and holding them steady saying i want you all of you all that sweet stuff...this is just a thought i want to say i admire you heavily your writing is pivotal

Content: SFW, angst, yearning, pining, best friends, purest love, summer, unrequited, lowkey gut-wrenching (sorry)

W.c: 6,843 (I could not stop writing)

Notes; Before we begin, I have to say, anon, I very much enjoyed writing this!! And thank you so much for sending me this request! ✨ there are only a couple bits of dialogue that match the hill scene, but I wanted to throw them in there!

This is lowkey a mini-fic, so enjoy!

Side note: If anything is badly edited, I will likely come back to do some cleaning up. But maybe not. Also I’ve started picking songs to include in requests wherever they may fit in. I want to mention too that backstory is something I just simply can’t leave out when it comes to angsty or emotional scenes, so I’m sorry I literally can’t shut up.

The cicadas weave their summer hymn through the gentle lap of water against stone, your body stretched across whisper-soft grass beside the reservoir.

This spot holds years of you both — echoes of skinned knees and bruised elbows soothed by cool spring water, of childhood dares and teenage secrets.

"You never swim with me anymore." Luigi's voice carries no accusation, just a quiet observation that somehow makes it worse. You can picture his expression without looking —that gentle, knowing thing that always sees too much. "All you do now is torch yourself in the sun."

Your back peels away from the grass, elbows bent to prop you up. Through his borrowed sunglasses — because of course you forgot yours back at the house, and of course he had a spare —you study him.

He's summer personified: water-darkened hair curling at his temples, shoulders golden in the early evening light, wearing a smile easy as breathing.

"I just don't want to get my hair wet, Lu." You say it with the comfortable certainty of someone who's had this exact argument a hundred times before.

"Well, don't then." His retort is quick, familiar. He moves through the water with an easy grace that somehow makes the old reservoir look more inviting than it ever has, though you'd never admit it.

Your shoulders are painted with freckles from all these summer days — chasing chickens in the fields, racing bikes into the city with him riding at your back, his presence as constant as the seasons.

"But then when I get out, I'll be cold." The words float between you like lazy dragonflies, and Luigi just shakes his head, spattering droplets that catch the light.

He pouts, but not like you do.

Where your pouts are theatrical productions, his is a quiet thing — eyebrows drawn together in thought, bottom lip pulled inward instead of jutted out dramatically. His gaze fixes downward at his feet beneath the crystal-clear water, methodically toeing one stone over, then another, like the placement of each pebble might solve some grand puzzle.

You watch him wage his silent war of reorganization, using nothing but his ten toes as construction equipment. It's such a Luigi thing to do — finding the smallest tasks to occupy himself instead of splashing around like he usually does, trying to tempt you in.

"Bet the water feels incredible," he murmurs, more to the stones than to you. His toes have created a perfect semicircle now, a tiny amphitheater beneath the surface. "Like that lemonade your mom makes — you know, the one with mint?"

You do know.

The kind she only makes when the temperature crawls past ninety, when the air feels thick enough to chew. Like today. You can almost taste it — tart and cool and perfect — which is exactly what Luigi intended with that particular comparison, the sneak.

"You're not as subtle as you think you are," you inform him, but you're already sitting up straighter, your legs beginning to tingle from staying still too long in the sun.

The grass has left impressions on your skin, tiny crosshatched patterns that Luigi always says look like secret maps, his fingers drawing lines upon them.

He doesn't look up from his underwater construction project, but one corner of his mouth quirks upward. "Never claimed to be subtle. That's your department, avoiding the water like it's personally offended you."

"The water hasn't offended me," you say, though you draw your knees up to your chest, putting another inch between you and the shoreline. "We have a mutual understanding. It stays there, and I stay here."

"Mhm." Luigi abandons his stone circle, wading a few steps deeper until the water laps at his knees, stood there in his trunks, the cobalt blue ones that hit just above his mid-thigh. "And how's that working out for you? Enjoying your dusty patch of grass while I'm out here living like a king?"

The problem is, he does look a bit regal out there, all long limbs and easy grace, like he was born for summer days and spring water.

You've known Lu since you were both gap-toothed and gangly, but sometimes — like now — he seems to have grown into himself while you weren't looking.

Yet, your own limbs still feel too long, too awkward, like you're wearing a costume that doesn't quite fit.

Meanwhile, Luigi wears summer like a second skin, all easy movements and natural grace, as if the universe decided to polish him up while leaving you in your perpetual state of stumbling through doorways.

"A king of minnows, maybe," you counter, but you're already uncurling, letting your feet stretch toward the water's edge. Not to join him, obviously. Just to... test the temperature.

"Ah," he says softly, watching your toes creep closer, his voice taking on a funny narrators tone, an accent thrown in that sounded similar to his fathers. "The snail emerges from her shell."

"Shell-less snails are just slugs," you inform him primly, but dip one toe in anyway. The water isn't as cold as you expected — it never is, but that doesn't stop you from putting on this show every single time. "And I'm neither."

"No," Luigi agrees, dropping the accent but keeping that amused lilt in his voice. "You're more like- like one of those hermit crabs. The ones that think really hard about switching shells but then just stick with the same one anyway."

You splash water at him with your foot, and he doesn't even try to dodge. "Fuck, Lu —That's the worst analogy I've ever heard."

"Is it?" He takes a few steps backward, deeper into the water, like he's laying out a trail for you to follow. "Because you're still sitting there, thinking about coming in, just like you do every time.“

Luigi could easily remember all the days spent here, in this very body of water together — the secret collection of precious gems that were really just polished river rocks, the fossil that turned out to be an old bottle cap, and that infamous river snake from an overturned stone that had you shrieking and refusing to dive under for weeks.

"Can't be thinking about doing it if I'm already doing it, Lu." You roll your eyes, your shins now lapping gently with clean, cool water. The trees droop overhead like nature's own parasol, their leaves casting dappled shadows that dance across your shoulders.

He's quiet for a moment, watching you with an expression you can't quite read. And then. “Remember when we thought we found actual dinosaur bones here?"

"You mean the plastic fork?"

"A very convincing plastic fork."

The water feels like silk against your skin now, and you find yourself wading deeper without really meaning to. It's muscle memory, maybe — your body remembering what your mind keeps second-guessing.

"At least I wasn't the one who tried to sell it to the museum.” you remind him, the water now swirling around your waist. Each step stirs up tiny clouds of silt that disappear into the clear water.

He splashes in your direction, grinning. "We were tweleve! And Mrs. Henderson at the museum was very nice about it."

"She gave you a cookie and a lecture about scientific integrity."

"Exactly. A win-win."

You're deep enough now that you have to lift your arms to keep them dry, though you're not sure why you're bothering. Your bikini is already clinging to you, and that familiar weightless feeling is starting to take over — the one that always made you feel brave before.

"You know what your real problem is?" Luigi quips, but this time his voice is gentler. "You forgot how to play."

The words hit harder than you expect, maybe because there's no teasing in them now.

Just truth, floating there on the surface like a leaf.

"I didn't forget," you say quietly. "I just- I put it away somewhere."

The look in his eyes tells you exactly what's coming, but muscle memory kicks in before you can retreat, your arms already up in defense position as he sends a massive splash your way, the arc of water catching sunlight like scattered diamonds before it hits you full in the face.

"Luigi!" you shriek, but you're already laughing, already moving. Your soul remembers this dance even if your mind's been trying to forget it, and the water parts easily as you lunge toward him, years of practice making your movements swift and sure.

He tries to dodge, but you know all his tricks — the way he always feints left before going right, how he can't resist staying just within splashing range.

The water battle that ensues is immediate and fierce, both of you laughing and gasping, sending waves in every direction, limbs smacking into each other at times, your body trailing away from his while he charged closer.

"See?" he manages between splashes. "The Queen of minnows!”

You're about to respond when your foot slips on a smooth stone, and suddenly you're going under.

For a split second, panic flares — but then the tranquility and silence envelops you, and it feels like greeting an old friend, your eyes open underwater, seeing the filtered sunlight create shifting patterns all around you, and suddenly you remember why you used to love this so much.

When you surface, pushing wet hair from your face, Luigi is watching you with a grin, his sunglasses pushed away from his face and atop his head instead, nestled in his damp black curls. “You got your hair wet.” He gives you one last gentle splash, his grin so carved into his features it may as well be everlasting.

Luigi, the son of Marco Mangione, whose genius lay in transforming his grandfather's modest Milan carpentry shop into Mangione Artisan Living — now a name whispered in the same breath as Fendi Casa and Bottega Veneta's home collection.

When Marco married Sofia Bernardi in the 80’s, a celebrated interior designer, they moved to America, the local papers painting it as another wealthy foreigner's passing fancy — this modernist villa rising among cornfields and weathered barns.

But Marco had seen something in these hills that reminded him of Tuscany, in the calloused hands of local woodworkers that echoed his grandfather's.

The Mangione Mansion stands like a slice of northern Italy transplanted to American soil, with its stark geometries softened by groves of imported olive trees and terraced gardens.

It's a world away from your family's farmhouse, where the paint peels in honest patches and the screen door creaks a familiar welcome, yet Marco moves between these worlds with effortless grace, discussing the merits of different wood grains with your father across the fence line, or clearing out your mother's farmer's market stall of preserves, declaring each jar Perfetto, just like my Nonna's! with the same genuine warmth he uses to greet European royalty.

Luigi, who could have been pressed into private academies and dinner jackets, groomed for Ivy League legacies and country club memberships, had instead grown up alongside you in public school — though his future was cushioned by both financial security and natural brilliance.

You can't remember a time when academic excellence wasn't your north star — every assignment a stepping stone, every grade a battle in the war for your future.

Being a veterinarian wasn't just a dream, it was your escape route from the endless cycle of farm life that had worn your father's hands to calluses and bent your mother's back.

Perfect attendance since kindergarten, straight A's through AP Biology, even showing up on Senior Skip Day — just you and Lacey Williams, the would-be neurosurgeon, bent over your textbooks in an empty classroom.

Now here you both are in the water — you with your scholarship letters and student loan applications waiting at home, him with acceptance letters from Harvard and Yale gathering dust on his desk.

Two lives that should never have intersected, meeting in the middle of sun-warmed water, your shared freckles catching golden light, limbs tangling as Luigi feints another playful attack.

•

Summer buzzes by your eyeshot like a cicada in a hurry, the season winding down with cooler, longer nights and shorter, blazing hot days.

August comes barreling through like it always does, hot and sticky air clinging to your skin as you sit with Luigi upon the sloped side of the barn, a Birds Eye view of the farm, this very spot the first place the two of you had tried smoking weed, the very first time you ogled at a traumatizing porn everyone at school was talking about — this spot, worn from years of shared moments together is the very place you create some distance.

For the first time.

“I think I want my own party this year.”

The words land like a stone in still water, ripples of hurt crossing Luigi's face before he can master his expression.

For a moment, he looks eight years old again, standing in the tall grass with his first American birthday cake — the one your mom made because his parents were still learning that birthdays here meant homemade frosting, not elegant catered affairs and grand garden parties.

"Oh," he says, and it's the smallest you've ever heard his voice. "Yeah, of course. That makes sense. We’re turning twenty-two. Not eight anymore.” His smile doesn't reach his eyes, hands fidgeting with the bracelet you’d made him years and years ago — the same nervous tell he's had since childhood. "Actually, Ma’s been saying I should do something more — you know, formal this year anyway."

The lie sits between you like a third person.

Luigi, who once convinced his parents to move his elaborate garden party to your barn because you had the flu has never cared for formal anything.

You can see him rebuilding his walls, brick by careful brick, protecting himself the way he never had to with you before.

"Send me pictures though?" he adds lightly, but there's at least fifteen years of shared candles and off-key, bi-lingual singing wrapped in that request, fifteen years of your mom's chocolate cake and his ma’s tiramisu side by side on the same table.

"Luigi, it's not-" you start, then pause, because it is exactly what he thinks it is. A separation. A gentle fracture. "I just need to figure out who I am without- without being part of a matched set. Does that make sense?"

The words feel clumsy in your mouth, inadequate to explain this need that's been growing since your acceptance letter arrived.

You watch him nod too quickly, the way he does when he's processing something that hurts.

The same way he looked when Benny, one of the milking cows had passed three summers ago, or the way he looked when you told him you couldn’t go on the Mangione trip to Italy, desperately needing the vet clinic hours.

"My party's probably just going to be pizza with my study group anyway," you continue, trying to make it sound smaller than it is, even though you've already planned every detail — your first real birthday party that isn't shaped around accommodating both your worlds. "And you should do something spectacular. Twenty-two is a weird number, but you could make it your thing.“

He laughs, but it's his polite laugh, the one he uses at his father's business dinners. "Maybe I'll rent out that new rooftop place in the city," he says, playing along with this sudden pretense that the two of you haven't spent months quietly planning your joint party like every year before. "Very grown-up."

The space between you fills with unspoken memories — dual parties with increasingly ridiculous themes, the year you both got chicken pox and celebrated in quarantine together, or the year his mother hired a magician who pulled you both on stage as assistants.

Fifteen years of wishes and synchronized candle-blowing, and you’ve put an abrupt end to it, with not so much as a warning.

"You're not mad?" you ask, even though you can see he is — not angry-mad, but hurt-mad, the kind that makes his shoulders tight and his smile too careful.

He stands abruptly, brushing invisible dirt from his shorts. "Mad? Nah, come on. We're not kids anymore." The words come out just a touch too fast, too light. "Actually, I should head back. Papa wanted to discuss something about the company tonight."

It's barely seven, and Marco's in New York City until Thursday — you both know this. But Luigi's already stepping back, that practiced social smile firmly in place, the one he uses when he needs to retreat but is too polite to say so.

"Night," he calls over his shoulder once he scales the side of the barn down to the grass again, hands shoved deep in his pockets.

You watch him walk away, his usual easy stride now stiff and measured, leaving you alone with just the sound of the bullfrogs near the pond, and the chickens settling in their coops for the night.

The sunset feels colder somehow, and you wrap your arms around your knees, trying to convince yourself this is what growing up looks like as you sit there until the mosquitoes start biting, watching the space where Luigi disappeared and wondering if this is what independence is supposed to feel like — this hollow victory that tastes nothing like freedom and everything like loss.

•

The late August evening slowly begins to melt into night, the air carrying whispers of autumn though summer still reigns.

You breathe in deep — catching hints of hay being baled in distant fields, leaves just beginning their subtle shift from green to gold, and lake water evaporating off sun-warmed skin. The pontoon boat hums steadily beneath you, loaded with friends sprawled across every available surface, their laughter echoing across the darkening water.

You'd done your best to prepare them all, carefully explaining the separate celebrations to avoid awkward questions.

But Luigi's absence feels like a shadow you can't shake — in the pause after every joke, in the empty space at the boat's stern where he always sat, in the way conversations drift and fade without his easy charm to bridge them.

You're learning that some people leave gaps too precisely shaped to fill, and you catch yourself waiting for sounds that aren't coming —the full-bodied laughter that usually ricochets across the lake, the constant stream of Luigi's commentary that made even silence feel alive.

No one's standing at the boat's edge, goading others into increasingly ridiculous diving contests. The absence of these things sits heavy in your chest, like missing the last step on a familiar staircase.

"Good for you for doing your own thing this year," Mia offers, wine sloshing in her solo cup as she gestures vaguely. "Must be nice not having to compromise on everything for once."

Not really, you think.

The evening settles into dinner in the back garden, strings of lights casting warm halos over familiar faces — relatives, neighbors, friends who'd trickled in as the day aged and as if on cue, the peaceful scene splinters at the sound of tires on gravel and a booming voice that makes your stomach drop.

"Where's Luigi?!"

Cousin Tony's borrowed truck sits askew on the path, driver's door still swinging open like an afterthought.

He bounds toward you, one arm clutching what's clearly a wine bottle wrapped in what looks like yesterday's newspaper, his face bright with the anticipation of seeing his favorite duo.

The sight makes something in your chest twist.

He’s always treated you both as his own blood, never drawing lines between family and chosen family.

You're crushed into a bear hug before you can dodge it, his familiar cologne mixing with engine grease as you try to breathe through compressed lungs, but he’s still calling for Luigi over your head, each shout making the other guests shift uncomfortably in their seats.

"He's somewhere in the city, Tone," you manage to wheeze out.

Your phone burns in your pocket, where Luigi's latest Instagram story sits unopened — some rooftop view you're deliberately not thinking about.

"What'da ya mean?" His grip loosens just enough for you to see his face fall, confusion creeping into his features like a slowly spreading stain.

"We're... trying something different this year," you say, words feeling clumsy as you glance over your shoulder at the laden table — a spread that still unconsciously includes all of Luigi's favorites alongside your own. The sight of his mother's recipe for stuffed shells sitting next to your grandmother's pierogies makes your throat tight.

"Well, is he at least comin' later?"

"No." The word falls between you like a stone. "He couldn't cancel his reservation without losing the booking fee, so I just told him it was fi-"

"No, no, mia cara," Tony drags his hands through his hair, face crumpling like you've just told him the world is ending. "Potrebbe essere l'ultimo!" The words tumble out in his rushed native tongue, his distress making him forget himself.

"You just said that in Italian." Your voice sounds far away, even to your own ears, like it's coming from the bottom of a well.

"Shit — It could be your last time, cuginetta." Tony's sigh seems to come from his bones as he pulls out his phone, cursing when he sees the no-service icon.

"My last time?"

Tony lifts his head slowly from his phone screen, eyes finding yours with a weight that makes your stomach drop. "What — oh, Dio — do you mean to say he has not told you?"

"Told me...?” You brace yourself, chest aching with a sudden, sharp regret for all those breakfast lessons with Luigi's nonna, her patient voice guiding you through pronunciations you'd carelessly let slip away between coffee and lunch.

"He got big'a job in the big city," Tony's hands sweep upward, as if trying to encompass the vastness of a metropolis that stretches far beyond any gesture could capture. "Saying bye-bye forever to smelly farm." His hands fall, and his expression softens into something dangerously close to pity. "Sorry.”

"Leaving? Like — he's moving there?" The words feel strange in your mouth.

You're standing in the same garden where you and Luigi once buried treasure maps at age eight, where you learned to cartwheel together at twelve, where you shared your first illegal beer at sixteen — and suddenly it all feels like archaeological evidence of something that's already gone.

"That's where zio Marco is now, making sure Princess Luigi has all the things he need there for — uh—" Tony lapses into rapid Italian, but you've already stopped listening, the rest of his words fading into white noise.

You're hung up on the present tense of it all — Luigi’s father is there now, apartment hunting, setting up a brand new life while you stand here in your shared history, surrounded by people who apparently knew more about Luigi's future than you did.

The realization hits very suddenly.

Luigi was moving away, and he spoke not a word of it to you.

Tony manages a plate of food before borrowing your landline, desperate to track down Luigi in the sprawling city and when his truck finally crunches back down the gravel path, you feel it like a physical wound — as if he's taking a piece of you with him, torn straight from your core, yet, you maintain your composure with award-winning precision, a smile fixed firmly in place as guests filter away into the darkness.

You go through the motions, accepting kisses on cheeks, graciously receiving gifts labeled with just your name - no more Dynamic Duo or Thing 1 and 2 scrawled in familiar handwriting.

You help clear the garden, stack chairs, wash dishes that held food Luigi would have fought you for the leftovers of. You kiss your father's cheek goodnight, and tell your still-bustling mother you're heading out for some stargazing.

It's not entirely a lie.

You do end up beneath the stars, though you hadn't exactly planned to collapse here by the waterfront, where the distant dock creaks its lonely song, the splash of jumping fish and the bold croaking of nearby bullfrogs barely register — sounds that would normally make you jump now feel as distant as satellite signals.

You're lost in the undertow of your thoughts, barely noticing the warm tears tracking down your neck until your t-shirt is damp with evidence of a grief you didn't know you needed to prepare for — the silence holds you, envelopes you, and you’re almost convinced you can disappear here until-

"Hey, stranger."

His voice cuts through the cricket symphony like a knife, and you freeze, tears still wet on your face.

You don't turn around — can't turn around — because you know exactly what he'll look like: silhouetted against the moons full and distant glow, wearing that stupid designer jacket he bought last month that suddenly makes too much sense.

Big City boy.

The grass whispers beneath his feet as he approaches, each step measured like he's greeting a spooked animal.

It's funny — he used to just crash down beside you, all elbows and laughter.

When did you become something he had to be careful with?

"Tone called me," he says softly, still standing. "Said he found you but couldn't find me." There's a pause, heavy with unspoken words. "Told me other things, too."

The lake laps at the shore, a steady rhythm that used to calm you both on countless nights like this.

Now it just sounds like a countdown.

"Why didn't you tell me?" Your voice sounds small against the vastness of the lake, broken and confused, betrayed and disbelieving.

"Would it have changed anything?" His words come sharp, defensive. "Would you have suddenly decided to stay?"

"That's not fair."

"Fair?" The laugh that escapes him is bitter and unfamiliar. "You want to talk about fair? I watched you apply to every college more than fifty miles away. Watched you light up talking about leaving, about getting out. Never once asking—" He cuts himself off, his gaze turning up instead at the trees that sway and rustle in the midnight air, a chill taking your spine.

"Asking what, Lu?”

"If I wanted to come with you." The words hang in the darkness between you. "If maybe I had dreams too, ones that didn't involve watching you disappear."

"I never said you couldn't-“

"What do you think I was going to do, wait around forever?" His voice cracks at the end, brittle and broken. "God, I've spent my whole life orbiting you like a personal Pluto. I don't even remember my life before you." He paces now like an agitated zoo animal behind a sheath of thin glass, just out of reach. “And yet, you expect me to stay here without you? While you go to college, make your own dreams come true?"

The moonlight catches his face as he turns, and you see something break in his expression. "I would have waited. I would have always waited, but fuck—" His hands tremble as they rake through his hair. "You've pushed and pushed and pushed me away. Every college application, every excited story about your future somewhere else, the party -“ he watches as you stand, your posture ridged and nervous, but attentive.

"Lu, please -“

"So what do I do?" His voice drops lower, trembling. "I have to think of myself too. I have to accept that we won't always be this way." He watches as you scrub your hands over your face, your unsteady legs carrying you off the dock.

The cool, damp grass beneath your feet becomes an anchor, something real in a moment that feels anything but.

He follows, his body angled toward yours like a compass finding north. "But it didn't have to be like this." His voice softens to barely above a whisper, his dress shoes crushing the grass with each step.

"Well, what exactly did you expect?" You whirl around, wiping furiously beneath your eyes, moonlight catching the tears on your cheeks that refuse to be unseen. "We were going to play in the river forever? Did you think we'd just find our way without ever trying?" The words come out harder than you mean them, sharp with the kind of anger that's really just fear in disguise.

"I- you-" Luigi's voice breaks.

His eyes are bloodshot, the bridge of his nose red from earlier tears hastily wiped away in the party bathroom. In the half-light, he looks both younger and older than your shared twenty-two years — a boy trying to hold onto something slipping through his fingers, a man facing his first real loss.

"You know, maybe it might have been that easy for you, Lu." Your eyes drift to the Mangione Mansion, its windows gleaming like jewels against the dark hills, an anomaly among the endless cornfields. "You never had to lift a finger — it always just..." You gesture vaguely, bitterly. "Fell into place."

The words taste like copper in your mouth, sharper for how unfair they feel.

Because he's always shared everything.

Those lavish family dinners where his mother insisted you sit next to her, those delicate necklaces from Rome that he'd drape around your neck with careful fingers, those shopping trips where his nonna would press dresses into your arms with a conspirator's wink.

He's never once made you feel like charity.

But there are some things that can't be shared, some advantages that run deeper than generosity.

While you pieced together credits between evening classes and online courses, fighting for every inch of progress, he'd come home rolling his eyes at another Harvard letter, another Yale recruiter calling.

You take a deep breath, feeling the summer air fill your lungs, and air that smells like it always has, like corn silk and cut grass and the all-consuming night. "Did you think we'd just stay here in our bubble, Lu?" Your voice softens despite yourself. "The only place we've ever known?"

All he can do is stand there, helpless, caught between a nod and denial.

His expression crumples into something raw and pleading — such a far cry from the boy who, just last week, had painted patterns across your skin with river mud, both of you laughing until your sides hurt.

The same boy whom you could communicate with without even speaking to, who knew exactly how you took your coffee, who was born the day before you, and who could read your silences like a book he'd memorized; yet now he's looking at you like you're written in a language he never learned to speak.

"No." The word propels you forward, feet moving before your brain catches up.

His face softens into something unbearable — like watching a star collapse in slow motion, finally understanding that this isn't just another one of your theoretical late-night talks about the future.

His carefully constructed composure crumbles, leaving behind something young and scared and achingly real.

"I love you." The words fall from his lips like muscle memory, like breathing, like the thousands of times before — whispered against your hair during movies, shouted across parking lots, mumbled sleepily during long car rides. But now they land heavy between you, a weight pressing against your chest until it hurts to breathe. "I always have, and I always will—"

"No. No, Lu." Your voice cracks on his name, and your pace quickens, bare feet crushing grass beneath desperate steps.

But he matches you stride for stride.

“My life has been so intertwined with yours, when you began to pull away - I- I panicked,” He was rambling now, quick and out of breath but keeping up with you nonetheless, the two of you navigating the vast property, moon and starlight the only thing guiding your path. “I settled on what I knew would be easiest,”

“That’s the problem.” You stop again to look at him, your chest heaving. “You don’t need to settle, Lu — you’re brilliant, you’re so fucking brilliant-“ he grabs your wrists gently, taking several steps to close the gap between you.

"I have never settled on you." Luigi's voice goes rigid, cracking in the middle like ice breaking over deep water. Each word carries the weight of years — shared secrets, dreams whispered under blanket forts, and promises made in tree houses. "You have always been my first option."

You catch your breath, the familiar warmth of his hands on your wrists suddenly feeling like shackles.

Your head shakes, slow and deliberate, as you try to pull back — but his grip steadfast remains. "How would you know of the other options?" The question comes out softer than you mean it to, weighted with everything you've both been too scared to say. "Do you know yourself without me?”

"I don't want to know myself without you."

"Luigi. Please stop-“ You wrench your wrists from his loosened grip, your feet carrying you forward through the night but he follows, like an echo you can't shake, like a shadow that refuses to fade with distance.

His words tumble out faster now, chasing the shrinking space between you and home, visible through the wavering corn stalks like a lighthouse warning of rough water ahead. "I know I'm not — I know I'm not Matthew Williams, or that guy that works the stables near the Bradshaws. And I know I’m not a perfect man, but—"

You stop once again, so abruptly this time he nearly collides with you, turning to face this strange new version of Luigi — one you've never seen before, one who wears his insecurities like an ill-fitting suit.

He's brave, you'll give him that, but he's also terrified in a way that makes your chest ache.

This boy who's never had to compete for anything in his life, suddenly listing off names like entries in a contest he thinks he's losing.

"You stop that." Your finger jabs at his chest, connecting with the expensive fabric of his jacket. "You are the most-the most magnificent person I have ever met, Luigi. And you're not perfect, no-“ You swallow against the rising bile, against the irony of having to defend him to himself when you're the one walking away. "But you're honest, and you're good — a goddamn great deal too good for me."

The last part comes out like a confession, like something you've carried so long it's carved itself into your bones — the real reason you're running, the fear that someday he'll wake up and realize it too.

The night holds its breath around you, your ragged exhales mixing with his in the space between heartbeats, and the trees shiver their leaves like witnesses to your undoing, crickets falling silent as if they too understand the gravity of this moment — this closing act.

"But-“ You step into his warmth, drawn forward like a moth to flame, even now, knowing it would burn. You’re close enough to catch the familiar scent of his cologne mixing with fresh-cut grass and summer sweat. Close enough to see the moonlight catching in his eyelashes. Close enough to break both your hearts properly. "I can't love you the way you deserve to be loved."

The words tear themselves from your throat like barbed wire, each syllable drawing blood.

Your stomach twists inside out, acid creeping up your throat again, "I can't love you like that. I’m - I’m so, so sorry, Luigi — I just - I can’t,

His hands find your face with the reverence of a prayer, thumbs brushing across your cheekbones like he's trying to memorize the geography of your skin. "Listen to me," he whispers, his voice thick with desperation. "Listen."

The tenderness in his touch nearly breaks you — the way his fingers tremble against your jaw, the gentle circles he traces beneath your ears, the familiar callous on his right thumb from his tree-climbing habit.

His forehead drops to rest against yours, and you can feel his breath hitching, unsteady and warm against your lips.

"You've already loved me better than anyone else ever could," Luigi's voice cracks, splintering like ice in early spring. "You love me exactly as I am — not the heir, not the prodigy, not the Mangione name." His hands slide into your hair, “You have loved me even though I can’t remember to help feed the hens, but I can recite every constellation. And you’ve loved me even though I name every cull cow — even though you think it’s cruel.”

He pulls back just enough to meet your eyes, and the raw hope in his gaze is almost unbearable. "Please," he breathes, the word more air than sound. "Please don't decide for both of us what kind of love I deserve." His thumbs catch the tears you didn't realize were falling, smearing them across your cheeks like war paint. "Let me choose.”

“Then choose someone else!” You shake your hands at him, helpless and wishing to disappear. “I - I’m so unsure of myself - every goddamn thing I do, Luigi. I break everything, I’m useless at being a homemaker. I’m awkward, I’m a black sheep, even all the way out here.”

You aren’t made for the big city like he is.

The moonlight catches in his dark eyes, turning them to liquid as they search yours. "I don't need perfect love. I don't need textbook romance or fairy tale." His voice breaks, raw with honesty. "I just need you. But - but I can’t live like this forever" He’s speaking faster than you’ve ever heard the smooth-talking, easy going Luigi say anything.

You try to turn away, to escape the weight of his words, but his touch holds you steady — gentle but unwavering. "Luigi — let me the fuck-“

"No," he breathes, the word ghosting across your lips. "No, don't push me away because you think you're protecting me. Don't make decisions about what I can handle." His fingers thread through your hair, cradling the back of your head. "I choose this. I choose the messy parts, the broken parts, the parts you think are unlovable. I choose all of it."

I am stopping this here. Love you 💕

[genderqueerdykes]

seems like there's a lot of interest in talking about my experiences being a punk and interacting with our various communities. i've only been interacting with the community for a small handful of years at this point, but i lived at a punk music show house venue and visited them a long time before i lived there. i was also friends with a large circle of punks. ive interacted with a lot of punks online as well

there is a ton of unaddressed ableism in a lot of punk spaces. the 2 scenes i've noticed it the most with are the diy punk scene and the various punk music scenes

diy punks who look down on people who don't create/alter/fix all of their clothing by hand aren't helping anyone. it's great for those that can to do that if they want to, but a lot of people cant do that, or don't want to. it's not an obligation to make and fix things yourself to be punk. it doesn't matter where you purchase things from, there is no ethical consumption under capitalism. punks shouldn't be getting uppity about this. some punks have arthritis. some have injuries. some have shaky hands. some have limited motor skills. some have nerve damage. some don't have hands (or prosthetics) at all. some punks have bad backs and can't spend hours hunched over a sewing machine or thread and needle.

some punks struggle to pick up new skills or follow instructions. learning how to sew and repair things takes a lot of time and money. some people don't have the funds to spare on needles, thread, sewing machines, spikes, pins, fabric boning and so on. it costs money to gather materials to DIY anything. not everyone has scraps of fabric or thread or old clothing they don't wear anymore lying around. some people can't afford to keep repairing the same items and sometimes need to just get new ones. it's not a mark of failure as a punk if you can't make/customize your own clothes, accessories, and other items.

people who associate punk with music and music only tend to have a lot of internalized ableism to work on. i've seen so many ppl say you cant be punk if you don't listen to the music and don't go to shows. (and usually if you do listen to the music, you have to list like 15 underground bands or people scoff at you.) this is so fucked up toward so many punks for a number of reasons.

physically and mentally disabled punks have a hard time going to shows. they're crowded. there's very little to no room for mobility aids. they're loud. there's flashing lights. there's people being pushed around and getting hit. there's drugs and alcohol everywhere. there's smoke everywhere. there's usually people filming. some people are very sensitive to loud noises and can't be in this environments at all. loud sounds can make some people pass out. it's generally very hot and the air gets very thick very fast. it can be dangerous for people with asthma and breathing issues. it can be dangerous for people with heart conditions. it can be dangerous for people with POTS, fibromyalgia, hypermobile EDS, arthritis and a lot of other issues. bathrooms are not always accessible. people who become ill or need to use the restroom may have nowhere to go.

some people have hearing damage from going to these shows. my old roommate had significant hearing damage from years of being in a scene band that played at punk shows. i cannot stress enough that hearing damage can be and is a genuine concern for people attending these shows. i always recommend wearing earplugs. pls get earplugs if you do go to shows. some punks are d/Deaf or HoH and have significant or total hearing loss and may not benefit much from going to the shows, or don't want to risk further hearing loss. some punks have tinnitus. there may be photosensitive people who don't want to risk having a seizure due to flashing lights and camera flash. there may be punks who are autistic, have ADHD, misophonia, or other conditions that may lead them to be very sensitive to sound and/or bright lights

a lot of punks are poor. some can't afford to go to shows or be constantly buying new music. some punks don't have regular internet access. some can't afford to constantly be buying or customizing new clothes to make sure they "look" punk. some punks just literally don't *have* punk shows in their area. some don't have local punk bands. some don't have exposure to an irl punk community. some punks have families and careers they enjoy participating in. some punks spend all of their time volunteering. some punks have other hobbies that consume their time.

some punks are homeless or housing insecure and can't do *any* of these things because they're too busy surviving.

i don't like how a lot of punks default to calling other punks "fakes" or "posers" or "lame" or whatever for being too disabled to participate in these things. of course people who are abled enough don't have to, either, but people seem to care very little for those who are too disabled to do these things. punks can produce a lot of different kinds of art. punks can get together and talk with one another about things other than just music. there's a lot to it and i don't like how people focus so hard on things that correlate directly to one's level of ability. it's very gatekeep-y.

[destinyc1020]

Omg!! I found my old Tomdaya Antis video! 🤣😅

Sit back, relax, grab some popcorn 🍿, hit "pause" if you need to lol 🤭, and read through some of the crazy things that I went through and that came into my inbox back in 2020 & 2021 while Tom and Zendaya were busy filming NWH in Atlanta.

Original Date Posted: July 1st, 2021

☝🏾THIS is why I periodically take breaks from Tumblr. 😞 Because people will send in stuff like this, not just about Tom and Zendaya, but also about some of my other faves in the industry, or even just negativity about me directly, and sometimes it just gets to be too much. 😩

Now days, I can look back at this video and laugh lol 😂.... Tom and Z are now engaged, and I stopped caring about Antis on July 2nd, 2021 quite frankly lol.

Thankfully, I don't get even near the amount I used to get of these types of msgs in my inbox anymore, but just know that if your favorite Tumblr blogs have taken a break, or don't post much, or have turned off their Anons, sometimes, it's because they're getting messages in their inbox (even WORSE!) like the ones above. 😟

Over the past nearly 5 years, I've dealt with quite a LOT on this blog. 😔 It hasn't always been easy. I can't even imagine how people living in the public eye deal with the amount of negativity that is spewed their way on a constant basis.

Anyway, let me get off my soap box now. But boy does watching this video again bring up some memories. 😢

Enjoy!! 😁 It's funny to look back on these now and just laugh lol 😂

[daemon-in-my-head]

Bout that essay titled 'A study of Gortash's twisted love of humanity'- yk what fuck it here goes nothing. Back into a facists megalomaniacs mind we go. Spoiler; this is long.

But first of all; let's do a thought experiment. Let's just assume, for shits and giggles, Gortash's position would've somehow been swapped with any other the other chosen or another Banite:

Let's start with the Banites: if we had gotten anyone except for Gortash Baldur's Gate would've been fucked. Like genuinely. Banites are cruel, vicious, unashamedly gaudy (they suck ass at infiltration missions) and they exploit loopholes perhaps even better than fiends. Any other Banite would've simply reveled in the fear caused by rampant myrkulites and bhaalists and probably stoked that fire by employing some of their own forces. And depending on whether the Zhents join the winning side or not they would've probably used and abused the black network to absolutely dominate trade and potentially choke out every non desirable in the city itself by fun activities such as grand scale slavery, starving an entire city, or simply employing enough mercenaries and some Bhaalist to get the job done. Banites fuck everyone over so hard they usually don't even stop at themselves, and prideful cruel beings who know absolutely no bounds in their desire for power commonly don't hesitate, especially not Banites who thrive in backstabbing. So the other chosen and the grand design are fucked cuz they will most certainly get removed for the sake of someone more desirable the second they somehow irk Banes favourite toy. Which in some specific cases (all of them) would be in 5 minutes flat. If you thought the local nobility was bad just wait until you see a Banite in their natural environment.

Ketheric: Yeah Baldur's Gate is fucked. Ketheric cares about one thing and one thing only; Isobel. And he employs a bunch of sadistic necromancers who have no concept of personal boundaries or consent for that matter, so chances are he'd let them roam freely in Baldur's Gate, making the streets a huting ground for his followers to find prime subjects to perform inhumane experiments on all while he turns a blind eye; either busy trying to get Isobel under his (mind-) control, reviving her or treating a brainless puppet that looks and once was his daughter like his one true solution to decades of grief and fucking up. He wouldn't care about what happens to the city, to the other chosen or even the grand design. He'd follow his gods orders but thats about it and no matter whether that's still Myrkul or Bane; everyone's fucked cuz surpringly the guy who adores lichdom more than life and the other guy who'd rather 'burn everyone's fields than loose' aren't about to give out any orders that will benefit anyone but themselves.

Orin: Another great case of 'yeah Baldur's Gate is fucked'. Orin wants one thing and one thing only: recognition. Preferably from Bhaal but she'd take anyone at this point. The problem about this whole thing is, she's been conditioned and instilled with so much self-loathing my dearest murder princess can't even begin to realise when she's getting shown any sort of adoration anymore and immediately understands it as mockery, see, for example, her butler. Is what I would say if their corpse wasn't chilling in Durges old bedroom. All Orin would do is stage ever grander and more elaborate public massacres and involuntary 'anatomy displays'. Baldur's Gate wouldn't simply be fucked; give her a week, and the majority of it would be dead. This works well for Bhaal, but for anyone else, it would kinda suck. Including the other two of the dead three. And the cult would probably still loathe her simply due to her not being a true Bhaalspawn, so cue Orin's madness reaching an absolute boiling point. She doesn't and would never care for any of the other chosen or the grand design. Unless she's reigned in, she's a utterly loose canon, even more so than she was already, with Gortash or Durge at the helm, respectively.

Now time for my favourite of the reckless murder hobos; Durge. Given the few in game notes we have Durge had a thing for obliteration. Including but not limited to every living being + themselves. So let's just assume Gortash’s cocky upstart charm and Orins assassination attempt didn't work out as planned and they are still the de facto leader but now without any leash. Baldur's Gate is probably obliterated. Alongside whatever else remains of the sword coast. Or Troil. They'd probably also have some weird ass fuck relationship with the brain cuz they already did without being the undisputed leader. And the brain would probably discard the grand design themselves cuz somehow Durge has that effect on things (might be the innate charm magic of Bhaalist priests that they use to convince people to join a literal murder cult). Either way, with Durge not giving a single damn about the other chosen, any plans but Bhaals (or their misunderstood version of it) and a dramatic love for self-obliteration, it may finally be time to remedy the elves' mistake and rip Abeir-Toril apart properly. Ao hates this trick, alongside everyone else, probably including Bhaal himself.

Which is all my longwinded way of saying; Gortash is the lesser evil. In any set of circumstances he displays enough leniency, monster fucker vibes and rationality to somehow keep this ruined, sinking ship from hitting the sea floor immediately. He has enough of a twisted love for humanity left, compared to the others, to a degree that he doesn't blindly follow orders or actively seeks the destruction of everything, let alone 'true' domination the way Bane intends to have it.

But yes, indeed, Gortash performed fucked up and cruel experiments. No doubt about that. And yet it was still on a lesser scale than a mad massive hoard of necromancers could, and his experiments, for the most part, actually yielded results, didn't they? Presumably, the Coginator and the remote control brain mechanism used for the Steelwatch. After all, there are zombies(?) in there, controlling that shit. However, the experiments on loving families were probably one of his selfish indulgences and his sorry attempt at figuring out if he was just born loathsome and his family sucks ass or if that's normal and humanity doesn't deserve a second chance. Or a 30th. FR lore is fucked up.

This is also a great transition to exhibit B of my thesis why Gortash does in fact love or is at the very very very least heavily intrigued by humanity; the sole existence of the Steelwatch. Listen, my guy serves Bane. Bane hates planning. He likes immediate results. So much so he actively pisses off his situationship Bhaal for it. Repeatedly. And he likes fear and tyranny. So what do you think the chances are that the black hand would actually enjoy the thought of a mecha army patrolling the streets of Baldur's Gate, keeping them save, and worst of all, instilling hope in the hearts of the populous, peasants and nobles alike? Yeah, absolutely fucking none. And yet Gortash did that. And he's not even just a regular banite. He's Banes chosen. He carries a part of Bane's divinity within himself. He has the de facto highest position in the local faith. He's Banes favourite toy rn. He's the centre of attention and he still goes out of his way to use things that could 1000% inspire fear and hatred to sow fucking hope and a sense of safety of all things in plain sight? I bet his adorable wrinkly ass that Bane wasn't happy and that even a thousand rituals to redeem his leniency won't save him from getting tortured extra hard for this fuck up. And considering the state of the Banites scriptures we found, and his entire character, Gortash is smart enough to know this is something Bane absolutely loathes. And yet my guy did that.

Another thing is the hive mind. Bane would probably not hate it outright, as its still 'burning the fields' by turning souls illithid, but it's wasted potential. Because there's so many great things you can do with a hivemind and the remote control over people's thoughts and emotions, for example instilling fear and terror the very things Bane loves. But that's, once again, not Gortash plan. If the notes and one of the evil endings is anything to go by the hivemind doesn't trap people in a state of torment, it does the polar opposite. People are happy, enjoying a better, simpler and nicer life. Enjoying an idea of what their life could've been like. They're smiling, happy, enjoying a casual market stroll and the bountiful rewards of the fields. Which is all things that a good Banite should hate and never inflict on someone. AND YET that's presumably Gortashs plan. Create a hivemind where everyone can dream happily and do soulless labour without noticing it while the world goes to absolute shit but the people do not. It's basically noah's arc. It's paradise in hell. The people are 'saved' while the gods continue to fight their petty games, and Gortash alone lords over this perfect dream. Protecting it answer using it to advance further.

Now, about the busts found in his office. Most of them depicted rather unsavoury, cruel people. Except for one. Which honours a self made person who took pity on those who had less. On those considered lesser by the upright and honourable citizens of the Gate. It's weird how, between all those symbols and testaments to cutlery and tyranny, there's still a sliver of empathy, renegade justice and even care for fellow humans imbued, isn't it? And what's even weirder, all of them are found in Gortash's most private place? His own little office hidden far above the grandeur of the throne room and the Fortress, where he sits at the helm, lording over his subjects and scheming his little plans? This is an excellent example of show, don't tell btw. It's hitting you over the head with the implications. But just in case, this might very well be a reflection of Gortashs mind itself and the visible expression of him being incapable of letting go of humanity as a whole, still carrying it somewhere not even that well buried between the resentment and cruelty but out in plain view for everyone curious enough to touch it because what others reason would he have tob'play the benelovent ruler' in a place where no one sees it? Where only his most trusted and fellow Banites mingle?

And, ofc, as I am a durgetash truther, another exhibit. Him fucking Bhaals gore baby and putting a leash on it prematurely. You see, I've already talked about Banes likes and dislikes plenty so it should come as no surprise that the Edgelord Surpreme wouldn't hate carnage wrought upon foolish mortals by idiots who follow lesser gods than himself, since it would still somehow contribute to people being scared and panicking. But Gortash, being the ever faithful fuck up of a Banite, reigns in the Bhaalist and even the Myrkulites enough for that to kinda never really happen. He stopped the carnage from happening altogether, in fact, by giving the others enough scraps to keep them satisfied and from acting out but not enough freedom to fuck up his plans. I mean, heck he was apparently so convincing he managed to get Durge, again, biggest fan of self-obliteration, from going on an apocalyptic rampage cuz 'daddy I like his brain and I don't mean for dinner'. Him doing that actively contributed to preventing another Bhaalspawn crisis, which could've very well happened with Bhaals resurgence and revival, 2.5 loose canons and no ward of a random old guy in sight. But also him providing a clear goal and orders for Ketheric kept the lich from giving in to the sweet release of just not caring at all whatsoever. Everyone had their designated roles and boundaries and that was perhaps the only thing keeping this group of mentally unstable creatures from unleashing an apocalyptic nightmare; which again would've worked in their gods favour and technically didn't need any prevention.

And about the Gondians... Yeah this is gonna sound fucked up, cuz it is, but Gortash is actually treating them exceptionally nice. Their families are actually still alive and its not just a lie he's telling them, we don't actually see anyone getting flayed, strung up or tortured in some other way outright, they actually get to wear clothes and presumably they're fed enough to a degree that most of them can still somewhat work and the collar and the threat of your head exploding does suck but he could've also simply chained them to their work stations but they aren't. Let alone use charms or other beguiling and fucked up magic to force them into complacency. And they're not being resold or redistributed or forced to serve some random ass guy. The Gondians are, from a Forgotten Realms and probably Bane's perspective, treated exceptionally well. As are their families. Still undoubtedly fucked up and kinda sadistic with the whole explosion collar but objectively speaking he's one of the nicer slave masters. And they do allow him to produce the Steel Watchers en mass which once again contributes to the overall safety of Baldurs Gate and its other citizens. Still the lesser evil.

Though to be fair; Gortash also did some things Bane would really celebrate. Like somehow cheating his way into obtaining the Iron Throne, fucking Bhaals favourite and most fucked up """"child"""" and of course, keeping his parents alive and in agony to eternally fuel Banes fear kink. Except, it's only Sally who's afraid. Dravo is basically a blue screen of death personified at this point. He's a hollow, numb husk, isn't he? So somehow this once again doesn't align with Banes goals and Gortash's duty as a Banite. He's fucked it up again. But Gortash could've also simply killed them if all he wanted was revenge. Why go out of your ways, program elaborate scripts into them, keep the very place that testaments his fucked up past in good condition? Because a quick death would be too merciful? But then why is he so quick to turn on Durge if they betray him in a much smaller scale than his parents did. Well, perhaps he chose not to simply kill the very people who prepared Belladonna in the kitchen when he came to visit because he himself still needs them. Because underneath all that rage and spite there's still a broken boy who wants to hear his parents, albeit empty praise, and who wants to prove to them that he can be better? That his useless playing around actually helped better humanity, that he himself helped countess people and made lives better when all they thought he'd be useful as would be a pawn?

So, is it twisted? Yes. Is it rotten? Absolutely. Is it anything you'd consider to be 'conventional'? Absolutely not. But he does hold some wildly fucked up 'love' for humanity, if only as means to a grander goal (that being himself, ofc) or perhaps cuz he's genuinely incapable of letting go. Whether it's that, to spite Raphael, Bane and his parents or someone else, who knows. Probably nobody. But the shit he does is unorthodox and oddly self-sacrificial in a way where I just can't go, 'yeah no he absolutely loathes the sheer existence of the concept'.

I still think it's a missed opportunity he's not trying to build a spelljamming port though. I feel like he would absolutely do that somewhere down the line, if only to limit the black networks influence.

[summertimesadnessirl]

Nah.

It doesn't matter.

Like...

It doesn't matter unless you can do something about it.

All of this is fake?

All of this is really happening?

All of this is bots and the bots think it's happening?

It doesn't matter.

It's like I always used to tell my nerd friends.

If life is a simulation it only matters if you can leave or if you can hack the simulation.

If not, if people are sending you weird gangstalking shit and sometimes you interact with the weird gangstalking shit like how you would react if it was happening it doesn't matter either way.

Like... how the hell could it?

And like... maybe it works. Maybe it doesn't work.

I don't care anymore.

I have made it very clear that what I want is to die.

I don't care if I'm in my room and someone took the regular internet and put it in a little pocket internet to fuck with me, like rokos basilisk.

That's what I think is happening.

A person or not a person doing it. Like it seems like too much work to be a person or a group of people. It makes more sense that it's an ai from the future. I would believe "one or two guys pulled a prank on me."

If there's some kind of huge conspiracy that doesn't matter either.

The cops have been to my house several times.

If it's a "delusional" episode? Doesn't matter. I literally couldn't get functional mental health anyway.

If I signed up for this it was specifically because I wanted to die. I don't think I signed up for this.

People not allowing me to die when it's the only thing I want to do hate me.

This is not new.

If this is some kind of insufferable art project it doesn't matter if I'm actually broke and I actually wanna die and people are actually torturing me to death that's just a bunch of people trying to get me to say humiliating things or whatever first.

It doesn't matter if people start annoying rumors about me or try to push stuff on me that I don't want using stupid narratives or if they use ones I like and feel comfortable with.

I have made it clear that all I wanted was to be a phone sex operator and not live in poverty and not have to date weird hobosexuals and get bullied by women anyone. I have made it clear that I'm not having a good time. I have made it clear that I literally was minding my own business doing edgy role playing shit with my loser online porn addict friends because they were the only people who were nice to me and yall are gonna pretend that's some kind of insane thing until you get an insane reaction and then tell me I'm insane? Okay.

I don't care. I still want to die.

I told you.

This is fine.

Even if all of this was happening, like literally for real happening, I don't care.

Meet the new boss same as the old boss.

[pistol-grippump]

->

People shit on Dylan and Eric's "cringe" journal entries a lot (so much that I see, at least.) and sure, you can find a way to understand simply why. Their wording, and especially some of the things they were writing about could be seen modernly as "cringe" but I feel like if some people took a second to understand what they meant on a slightly deeper level than people try to, it's really easy to look past the cringe and see their plain and utter disconnection.

I know I talk so much about feeling some sort of connection with Dylan especially and of course, that's because there's more to work with for him. (No surprise, it's easily acknowledged that Eric got swept over almost completely by the people it mattered to as the "bad guy", especially doesn't help that his parents didn't try to salvage anything left of him or his personality after the shooting to my knowledge.)

Something I find especially interesting is when Dylan refers to his "human form", which on the surface, sounds like a teenager being a teenager, but it's obvious (being followed by the multiple other disturbed things in his head and the shooting of course,) that it was more than him trying to be edgy. The way I see it, as said earlier, I see it as a disconnect from himself. Whether he truly believed the literal meaning of the things he said or whether they were just things thrown together the best he could, understanding just quite what he meant from all angles is important I think.

Interpretation in these situations are especially relevant under every circumstance, of course, it's not what they aim for when investigating these kinds of things (since factual information will always be more effective.) but now that the case is over two decades old, I'm not sure it matters anymore, so this is my interpretation:

I haven't read every piece of Dylan's journals that have been released due to not being able to find it (/found it once and never again) or easily forgetting what he was saying due to it being either irrelevant or completely forgettable. This is contrary to my last writing I think where I mentioned that both Eric and Dylan's diary entries are close to home for me to understand who they were "beyond being a profile of violence", but sometimes it feels like they were just saying a whole lot of nothing.

The first couple pages I found to read just expressed his continuous suicidal tendencies, talking about himself in third person, or simply just wanting someone to love and for her to love him back. I personally don't understand how someone can't feel a bit of empathy (giving you read them and don't skim over it.)

His talk about being born human while having "inability to BE human" is something I probably understood the most out of the first few submitted entries. Of course, this isn't a rant about how I think (my interpretation) he feels or me trying to be one of those retarded "headcanons" people, because it seems as if unlike a lot of people, I can't ignore the fact that they were existing people with lives and feelings they didn't know how to process (much like me and others.)

This is just me simply finding closure in some deadbeats journal from almost thirty years ago. This entire case is just insanely depressing I've noticed over my last couple years of overall research (since 2020 or 2021. Whenever SKYND came out with their columbine song. [Which was what got me into this in the first place.]) (Also, on the topic of this music video, I wrote in an entry before that they depicted Dylan doing something I described but I'd like to make an edit correction and say it was definitely Eric.) it's always been a heavy topic for obvious reasons, but deeper than the fact that it was the most notorious school shooting in America, the actual situation itself - apart from April 20th, is really heart heavy for a whole lot of reasons.

However, I feel like now I am saying a whole lot of nothing (stating the obvious.) so I'll get to what I sort of wrote this for.

The way Dylan writes his thoughts out sounds out of body. Not to diagnose anything or whatever but in my own experiences - that are very much similar to things he's written about feeling or thinking - I understand the weight of his feelings on a deeper level than most I think, which makes Dylan a sort of past embodiment, or so I kind of believe.

Even before looking into Columbine, I've always felt somewhat similar. Which is especially hard considering I was roughly at the ages of 8-12 when experiencing all these feelings on my own, even lesser advanced was still a lot to handle. The first time I felt truly suicidal, I was around eight, turning nine. I used to have this fantasy when I was Eleven that I would officially off myself on my thirteenth birthday, which was the age I was always excited to turn most. Obviously it didn't end up happening. I didn't have a plan other than the fact that I'd be dead; I didn't have a way to do so or have anything left behind in hopes of giving my family closure. I didn't want to write any notes because I just thought it would be a waste of my time and theirs to read - or to have lying around (if they kept them. Which would have been a 50/50 chance considering my family likes to run away from their problems and ignore it if they can. On the other end of the spectrum, they might have never shut up about it or let it go. I didn't want to give them something to do that with again.)

So, alas, I decided I would play it by ear until just recently where I decided that next January would be okay. I have plenty of time for prep and to possibly call it off (again.) in the rare and let's be real, almost non existent chance of "finding god" or plain just coming to my senses and realizing that its just me being a retarded teenager. Which I kind of hope it is, but then again, I haven't felt truly fulfilled or happy in almost ten years.

It feels more like survival than living, which is generic but true: I only eat enough to live, I try not to bother anyone unless I have to, I keep to myself in awful confidence that I'm able to deal with everything if I just wait it out or overly pay attention to it, and some other things that are different but will just sound like me repeating myself.

My daily routine just consists of Either staying up all night because I can't escape myself, or sleeping with no intention of getting any rest but instead just passing time. I go to school, do nearly the bare minimum enough to pass (or try.), come home, and spend all the time I can in my room. Which has become some sort of hell, might I add.

It's not even pleasant to be here anymore. It's not quiet to me anymore or any sort of safe place.

My room: the lobby of death.

That's how it feels, anyways. I know I'll die in here, and if it's not in here, it will be in an undisclosed location. (I don't want it to sound misleading, like I'm plotting some sort of revenge on anyone.)

I just want to get away from myself, I just want to finally die and get it over with - again. I feel like I'm already dead. I feel like this is how it'll be until I'm physically dead, which means it can't get any worse but it won't be better. It won't even get comfortable.

I don't even know what I'm saying. I feel like everything I say is just useless - like I'm taking up space for feeling the way I do, or I'm looking for attention. But I'm not, this is just my collection of thoughts and everything I couldn't say outloud or something.

"Human Form" is always a striking thing Dylan says because I understand so desperately what he's saying. Not that I dont think I'm a human or that I'm some extraterrestrial being (But it feels like that sometimes.) but it's just such an out of body way to explain yourself. It seems like he just doesn't want to acknowledge what he was - I wouldn't want to. If I could, I would blame it completely on what made me. But I know I can't, not when I'm actively feeding into it everyday.

Cutting this here because I know I'll just never shut up if I don't. I don't know.

[abbysimsfun]

Sims In Bloom: Generation 2 Pt. 124 (Ash Meets the Old Man)

"Of course I can see you! Why shouldn't I? You don't look like a ghost like Felix Psyded."

"I don't know who that is."

"He only used to be a ghost, but now he's a lawyer and a friend of my mom and Conrad."

Ben perked up, standing as his dog came bounding up the path. "You know Conrad Gordon?"

Ash followed the old man, kneeling to greet the friendly Chesapeake Bay retriever. "Yeah, he's my stepdad. Do you know Conrad?"

The old man nodded happily. "We met not too long ago," he said. "Your stepdad's a good man."

"I'm not supposed to talk to strangers, but it's a good thing you know Conrad, because now you're not a stranger anymore! So if you're lonely on Love Day, I can hang out with you. My name's Ash and I'm eight and a half."

"Is that what today is? No wonder I've seen so many lovers circling the lighthouse." He grinned, staring wistfully out to sea. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Ash. I'm Ben, and this is my dog."

"You don't know today's Love Day?"

He shook his head. "I haven't celebrated Love Day in a long, long time. Not since I was a teenager."

"I can help you celebrate! I even made tissue paper flowers, if you want them." Ash's excitement faded when he opened his backpack. "Oh no! My math textbook crushed the flowers."

Ben offered a warm smile and the dog rushed to his side. "Oh, that's okay. I'm not sure I have a place to put flowers, anyway."

Ash liked the old man. He was nice and felt like a friend already. "What's your dog's name?"

"His name's Captain Whitaker. He's the only friend I need on Love Day, really."

Ash smiled. "That's nice! We have three pets at home. There's Mayor Whiskers and Queen Cupcake - those are the cats. And Gord is our dog. He's the best dog ever."

The retriever barked and Ben smiled. "Captain Whitaker says he's pretty amazing, too."

"It seems like he is!" Ash gave Captain Whitaker another squeeze, slipping him a Buttercup treat that he kept in his backpack for his own pets.

"The Captain's not competitive. He loves other dogs, kids...anyone, really," the old man mused. "He'd love if you and Conrad brought Gord out to play one afternoon. Especially now that the weather will be warm soon."

Ash heard the foghorn behind them and remembered the time. "That's a great idea! But I should get the next ferry home before my mom starts to worry where I am."

The old man nodded as Ash gathered his things to head to the docks, still a little sad about the crushed flowers. "See you again, lad."

"Bye, Mr. Ben. Have a nice Love Day with Captain Whitaker!"

The old man and his dog waved him off and he returned to the mainland, running inside to find his mother. "There you are. I thought you'd be home from school already."

"I stayed to talk to an old man named Ben because I thought he was lonely, but he was just spending the day with his dog."

"You saw Ben?"

"Do you know Ben, too? He said he knew Conrad so I knew he wasn't a stranger."

She was at a loss for words, unsure how much to tell him about the old man without talking to Conrad first. Conrad and Ash could both see Ben and his dog, though Ash didn't seem to think they were spectres at all. But Conrad could be weird about ghosts, and Heather didn't want to say the wrong thing.

"Did you shake the man's hand?" she wondered.

Ash shook his head. "No, but I played with his dog. Captain Whitaker was really nice. I bet he'd get along great with Gord and the cats!"

"I bet he would, but it's time to get cleaned up for dinner. I'm making spaghetti with Dulce sauce tonight."

Ash ran upstairs, excited for pasta with his favourite tomato sauce, while Heather grew even more anxious for Conrad to get home from Sulani. ->

<- Previous Chapter | Gen 2 Start | Gen 2.1 Summary

Gen 1 Start | Gen 1 Summary

NOTE: EA wants to reanimate the dog before I can do it myself with ambrosia treats? Fine. That's still the plan, but we're working with this a little since I already made it canon that ghosts can look corporeal, thanks to Ben! But the notion that Ash can see and interact with them when no one but Conrad has previously done so only came about after the random Love Day pop-up, when Ben was the first old man in a park on Deadgrass Isle (where my headcanon puts the school) who came to mind.

WHY can Ash see Ben? It might be obvious once it's revealed, but I love all your theories so far!

WCIF: The functional backpack build/buy item by Cassity Simmer was placed with TOOL for this and the previous installment, and I felt it was necessary because of the pop-up. It acts like a storage trunk and sits anywhere in world or on desks/tables, with lots of swatches!

[xaytheloser]

Oh my GOD! Please make a Sunder part 2 😭 I loved that shit

well, since you asked so nicely :3

ALSO OSHADCDNOEQXI!!!! I'M SO GLAD YOU LIKED IT!!!!!! 🥺🥺

My Sweet Angel Pt.2

Sunder x Human! Reader scenario continuation of this fic warnings: Obsessive behavior, forced companionship, mentions of death, no specified continuity, Sunder is a freak as usual, possible ooc Sunder??

It had been... what? about a month since he attacked your crew of fellow liaisons..? you had honestly didn't bother to check anymore, you'd much rather not look back to that day..

you can still see the walls of your ship splattered in the blood of your old crew..

you didn't know why he kept you around, and you certainly didn't know why he keeps calling you "angel" every other sentence, its like its hard coded into his system..

all you know is that he wants to be near you... and.. smell you... being reminded of that sends shivers down your spine.

he treats you as if you are the most fragile piece of art, every touch feels calculated, every caress more gentle than the last one.. it's as if he's worried to leave even the slightest bruise on you.

he mutters about how pure you are, how sweet you smell, how you are oh so precious to him.. how he wants to keep you by his side until his spark gives out and extinguishes.. he gushes to you about how lucky he is to have found you.. a creature "lacking the scent of sin", you're not even sure if he considers you a human given how much he talks about you being an "angel"..

he doesn't hide anything from you, you are aware of his... habits.. he wears his self-proclaimed title as a death-bringer with a twisted sense of pride. talking about his past murders of his fellow kind with a Cheshire-like grin on his face.. you are aware of his needlessly growing obsession with you, being near you.. it's like the more you even acknowledge his presence, the more he craves of you.. talk to him, bless him with even a simple graze of his cheek by your delicate hands.. he can't get enough of it, of you.

sometimes, you even see him taking huffs of your old clothes, a look of pure ecstasy and euphoria on his face as he mutters about how intoxicatingly sweet you smell..

every other night, he would insist that you sleep near is spark, his chassis already open, waiting for you to get in, as if he expects you answers to be a "yes" every single time.. he's not wrong, you're so scared of what he might do if you tell him no that you just go along with what he asks of you most of the time...

you're at least thankful that your ship is stocked up with supplies that will last a few years, you don't even want to know what Sunder would do if he found you could have even a possible chance of dying from starvation.. would he raid another ship? slaughter several innocent people or cybertronians to ensure that you survive another day beside him..?

you prefer not to think about it...

It doesn't matter to him.. as long as you even acknowledge his undying devotion and worship of you, he is the happiest autobot in the universe... no amount of sweet, delicious sinful memories he could harvest could even compare to the amount of pleasure he gets from simply being near you..

"I adore you, my angel.."

He states, as he gently caresses his large servo over your body..

"... I know, Sunder."

[sae-something]

I've been thinking about how my experience of parts shifted over the last year or so and I want to put it in word but there are no words. It's like there's still the 'old' crew of parts I figured out at first, the ones with names, the ones that by now feel familiar. I used to separate those parts into daily life and trauma parts, or whatever, but I'm coming to think that.. maybe all of them are daily life, in the sense that they're like the outer shell of it all.

It's like an outward shield of parts - Sae (& daily life variations), britney, pip, little sae, eva, marieke/esra (though not sure about them), the mara's, some others... They're the outside bubble. Underneath that, it's almost like tree branches that just go deeper and deeper until at the bottom of it there's just so, so many fragments.

I'm pretty close to britney most of the time and we appreciate each other, but sometimes suddenly a part shows up that really feels like britney from 5+ years ago, but it's not britney, because as it happens britney is 'with me', commenting things like "wtf that's not me, I don't do things like that anymore". So then it's just... a britney-adjacent part from further below the surface, I guess?

(I'm really making all of this up as I'm writing this post, so don't pin me down on any of this)

I think a lot of the general high school feelings are also britney-adjacent. All the 'little girls' that hold the mom stuff are eva-adjecent. All the youngest attachment pain belong to so many fragments 'below' little sae (and obviously the baby). Marieke/Esra is strongly tied to primary school (the second) and being sick, and I don't really know much about that whole time period yet so not sure about the parts situation.

I think it could actually be narrowed down even further - technically Eva is already one level 'below' the outer shell of Little sae, I guess. Vuur and the Mara's (big + little one) could 'belong' to britney.

The only one I don't know about is Pip. She's like a little island. All alone. The only one (?) that holds more positive and warm memories of our parents, though those have felt completely non-existent. At some point HT even asked where Pip was, but Pip just feels... deflated. Which I guess makes sense since we went NC with our parents.

Anyway. I'm not sure at all about any of this. I guess my main thing is that all of it has just become so much more fluent. There's too many fragments to keep track of. In therapy, A never asks who's around, she just moves with whoever shows up, whatever the vibe is, and whatever anyone wants to talk about. There's often a lot of parts shifting in and out during therapy, jumping from one place to the next. I really admire A's abilities to keep track of whatever thread/topic we're talking about because I often fall silent in the middle of it all, and then A gently nudges me back to wherever it was I got stuck.

It does help that I'm really able to stay present for almost all of it now. Sudden and intense flashbacks and the deepest attachment pain aside, I always feel I'm still there at least a little bit. I finally understand what A meant all those years as she kept telling me "it only works if you can stay with it". For the longest time that felt like she refused to talk to other parts, or that she thought there are no parts... now I realise that she just wants us to do it together.

I don't know man. I'll probably be neck deep in denial and unable to talk about any of this again soon. It just feels so much different than it did before. I think I felt a lot of pressure to know all parts or know who's who, but reality is... often I don't. I just try to be there for whatever shows up. Some fragments stick - 'the girl with the pain', 'the one with the plushie between her legs', stuff like that. I recognize those and we (as parts, but also with HT and A) make sure to remember them, hold them, go back to them. But it feels entirely impossible (and not needed? though I do feel shame about that) to name all fragments and keep track of them.

I do have a lot of fear still of 'losing parts', but A keeps reminding me that nothing can truly disappear. Everyone will remain inside me until they feel safe enough to come back. Gonna stop writing now because I'm getting antsy and anxious about all this. I don't even know why I'm sharing this, maybe someone might relate, I guess, maybe someone might read this and feel less alone.

[satureja13]

Oh my, Jeb and Jack are still cleaning up the mess from the New Year's fires! Even the bear rug got destroyed. The Little Ones are devastated. It was so fluffy! Now they have to sleep on Jack's old blanket again... Ji Ho: "Can I borrow Jack for a while?" The Little Ones: 'No! We want our meadow back - clean - now!' But none of the Boys understands them, so Jeb just said: "Sure."

Meanwhile at the bridge. Sai is still working overtime to get these droid scanners running. Vlad is his assistant this time. Good thing is that now each of them gets to learn some programming skills. Kiyoshi: "Can I borrow Vlad for a while?" Malfoy: "Booook!" Skully: "Sure!" Sai sighed. He really wants to get a grip on Tiny Can soon to stop the Therapy Game before it can do any harm. He checks the reviews on a regular base and there are still no negative ones. But it's just a matter of time, right? People in need could get hurt! But they are still in the orbit of Batuu and Skully and Malfoy are watching the bridge. No need they both have to be here on duty. Maybe Skully is a better captain than he is anyway. Bringing peace to a planet and freeing B.D by just sitting in jail wasn't his best performance... (Don't be so hard on yourself Sai! <3 You did so well!)

Ji Ho and Kiyoshi took Vlad and Jack over to Moogie's Bar. To the Game Room upstairs.

Jack: "Oh you made us a little Star Wars corner!"

Kiyoshi: "That's not all. Turn off the lights and sit down." Jack: "By the gods!" Vlad: "How wonderful."

Kiyoshi: "We don't get to see much of space while we're traveling in subspace. But when we have the chance to, there's no decent place to enjoy it, so Ji Ho and I thought this would be a good idea." Jack: "This is the best idea! It's so amazing!" Jack nudged Vlad who wasn't able to react properly because he was too shocked and astonished Ji Ho would do something this - affectionate - for him. Vlad was just able to say: "Thank you." Kiyoshi placed even some drinks and snacks for them. Kiyoshi: "Enjoy the view." And then Ji Ho and Kiyoshi left. Jack called after Kiyoshi: "I will so thank you later, my beloved mate!" Kiyoshi laughed: "Can't wait!"

After Ji Ho and Kiyoshi left, Vlad said: "It's utterly amazing. I can't believe how beautiful it is." Jack: "Don't tell me. Tell Ji Ho." ... Vlad thought it's best to change the subject. He's too overwhelmed. Ji Ho gave him the stars... Vlad: "I'm so happy for you, Jack. Sai is worried but you've grown so much. Both of you. You will be fine." Jack: "This means a lot to me." Vlad: "I love you." Jack: "I know."

But Jack won't let Vlad off the hook that easily. Jack: "Why are you holding back, hm? He even managed to love you. Nothing is holding you back anymore. Why do you keep yourself from being happy with him?"

Vlad: "Ji Ho is wasted on me, Jack. He's so pure and beautiful. I can't taint him."

Jack: "That sounds stupid - and a little hot ^^' " Vlad: "Omg, Jack!" Jack: "What? 'Uhhh - taint me, Vlad!' That's hot!" Vlad snorted out a laugh: "You're really the worst!" How is Jack always able to light the mood with one stupid sentence?

Jack: "You are my best friend. Do you think I would chose someone minor for this position? No. Neither would Ji Ho pick someone minor for the love-of-his-life position. Trust us, hm? Forget about all that Bond and Prophecy stuff - everything that happened before. Be just-Vlad and let just-Ji Ho love you. You promised to be more approachable for him, didn't you?" Vlad: "Ok, I'll try." Jack: "No, there..." Vlad: "...there is no try. Do or do not. Fine..."

Jack: "That's my boy! Now let's look at our stars, hm?"

'I hear your name whispered on the wind It's a sound that makes me cry I hear a song blow again and again Through my mind and I don't know why I wish I didn't feel so strong about you Like happiness and love revolve around you

Trying to catch your heart Is like trying to catch a star So many people love you, baby That must be what you are

Waiting for a star to fall And carry your heart into my arms That's where you belong In my arms, baby, yeah

I've learn to feel what I cannot see But with you, I lose that vision I don't know how to dream your dream So I'm all caught up in the superstition I want to reach out and pull you to me Who says I should let a wild one go free'

Waiting for a Star to fall - Boy meets Girl

Outtakes

This was when I logged in after the last episode ^^'

TMI: Tonight was one of the nights I'd dreamt of the zombie apocalypse again -.- When I was on the run, I met Jeb! But he was smoking ö.ö And then I said to him: "That's your only flaw." Hahaha Omg, this brain of mine!

They are still not closing their eyes properly -.-

Hahaha and then I was going for this animation where they'd sit and hold the others hands in theirs - but they hated it. So I just had to take what they gave me, as always ^^'

From the Beginning 🔱 Underwater Love 🔱 Latest

Current Chapter: starts ▶️ here Last Chapter: 'Here comes the Sun' from the beginning ▶️ here

📚 Previous Chapters: Chapters: 1-6 ~ 7-12 ~ 13-16 ~ 23-29

[isatartdump]

How does zobie siffrin get infected. Is there a story/character reason like the eye?

Also,,, if the zombies don't rot, how can you tell who is and isn't a zombie? Do they move differently due to the brain being rewired? Do they just look sick? OR. Do they look too healthy considering the situation...

About how siffaroni got infected I imagined it being a mix of them being super tired after going through the house on their own and protecting someone else. I think it would make sense.

It's like what made him lose his eye, you know? That bit of them that would throw themselves infront of everyone. Being faster makes it easier and the adrenaline and tiredness hides the starting symptoms that already involve... Being tired and sick.

This wont change ^. The rest may change a bit or a lot depending on what feels/reads better, honestly...

I've been thinking on what would be better? I don't think they should rot as it would be agaisnt King's wishes but then they'd probably look like they're sleep walking in a bit of an extreme, you know? The infected are healthy- and stuck in time, which means they don't grow old, feel hunger, pain, etc etc- but they're still able to "infect" others. They look like really, REALLY tired sleepwalkers so. Sometimes they're... Almost being themselves. Almost. So eager to welcome loved ones but being rewired to work like a zombie (prioritize infection and ETC) they'd be violent. Loving someone so much your bear hug may break some ribs- It won't matter once you're "frozen" since you don't feel pain anymore but. Maybe it isn't good on the long term.

Maybe I need to re-rethink that. But the heavyness of losing someone that is, roughly, still there is what is the most interesting thing to me on zombie stuff so i'd focus a lot on that.

They're not losing siffrin (or anyone else that has already been turned) but if they can't find a cure they're never having the actual Siffrin back

[nerdynumme-rp]

Rosanna's head cocked to the side at the question, then as Rose adds on to it, it straightens again. She blinks a few times, as if pressing buttons to get the right answer. She gives Rose a smile and shrugs, it was nice to hear someone thought that of her. That she was rooted down, a growing tree. She was the one trapped in her head with all the sour apples that sometimes threatened to grow from her branches, that she forgot she was too close to situation to admire from the outside view. It was nice to hear that view was more positive than she had thought. Always worried she looked as messy as her inner demons lead her to believe. "That's actually so sweet of you to say." she starts, and she even finds herself blushing a bit. "I... I guess I've been here long enough?" she starts, her voice hitching with question. She laughs, and realizes that does make her sound old, but ... it was just time. And the fog kind of helped her realize that. Mark reminding her too. Their stay didn't determine their elderliness. They still were spring chickens, they just adapted to their coop. "It wasn't like this at first. It was so messy." she says, rolling her eyes at the drama of yore. Thinking of Cyr. Thinking of Shawna. Of Trisha. Of Bethany. Of so many faces and names who now seemed like ghosts of their past. "I was muddled in a bunch of tar for awhile. And don't be fooled, I'm still stuck in the mud every now and then. But, I guess time really moves you forward, even if you don't want it to, or don't see it. You adapt, you grow." she sighs. It still didn't feel like a real answer but, it was the best she got. "I'm still here though, so clearly I still have shit to go through." and she did. She knew it. The past few months were very much nods to it. But right now, things felt steady on the waters again. "I promise you I am not as carefree as I appear though. I just... have been here awhile." she wants to talk about how she is a professional at masking anymore. But she feels that's not something to brag about, or recommend. Especially not to someone so young, like Rose. She wanted better for her. She didn't want her using shields to comfort others, and feel fake comfort for herself.

Deck the (Alpha) Halls ||War of the Roses

.

[piko-rose]

My Personal Headcanon On Why Amy's Love For Sonic Died Down Lately (and their dynamic)

When they were younger, Amy's love for Sonic was pretty extreme, and Sonic was, understandable, uncomfortable for the most part. He knows she means well, but that girl needs to calm down.

She can fight, but sometimes her hammer could only stun her enemies for a while. (It took her a long time to get rid of that robot that has been chasing her around Station Square.) She wasn't fully independent yet, even if she fought on her own a couple of times.

She often follows Sonic and his friends around. She is part of the team, but she was not a strong as she is now at the time yet.

She admires Sonic. A LOT. And Sonic knows that. Obviously, he could only run away from something like that, since he is NOT ready for that kind of thing, and whether Amy takes the hint or stop, she still loves him.

...BUT, I think things were slightly starting to change between her and Sonic after Lost World.

Remember this line?

You remember that? Okay, okay. Here's another totally unrelated question:

Before the events of Lost World, when was the last time Amy said "I love you" to Sonic out loud?

...YEP. 😈 (Unless I'm missing something, let me know lmao)

As more games and adventures come out, the characters get slightly older, and Amy is 12 to 13 now, and she is most certainly at that age where her body starts to change, but especially on how she views Sonic.

She knows she loves Sonic, but it was this moment during her change where she actually wanted to admit that she loves him.

I believe that Amy was all about sharing her affection to him not through confessions, but through obvious hints. Sonic totally got it, and there was no need to confess. Sonic knows she loves her.

...But she never said it. And she almost did, but she never did again for a while.

I think this was the moment in her life where, oh, God, she actually loves Sonic. SHE LOVES HIM, WHAT.

And she was looking back at all the times she had with Sonic that she can now see were unpleasant to Sonic (At least that's what she thinks) and that's probably why she isn't so expressive about her love to him than how she used to back then.

She wasn't sure what to do with this realization, and sets aside it for a while, and nearly stayed as her casual, peppy self... until the Eggman War happened.

During the 6 months of being with the Resistance, fighting Eggman's army all day and all night, all she can think of was Sonic.

She dreams that he still with not just her, but with her friends. She just wanted to see Sonic again, she just wants to be with her hero again.

But I'd like to think that she was also thinking about how she used to treat Sonic back when they were younger, how Sonic would almost always run away from her whenever she asks him out, or always look so uncomfortable whenever she gets so close to him.

Cringing at those memories big time, she wanted to change and hopefully when Sonic is okay and comes back, she can be better for him.

...Or will he still find her uncomfortable regardless? Would he even be happy to see her at all if he did survive?

But, hold on! She can't just give up her love for Sonic! He made her who she is today! A peppy, nature-loving, hammer-swinging, confident, brave... loud-mouth... annoying... Sonic obsessed... weak... pathetic... lonely little girl.

If she gives up on Sonic, it'll be like she gave up on the one hedgehog who saved her life. If she didn't she'll still be the same ol' Amy.

I also like to think she had parents a long while before she met Sonic, and was even expecting a little sister, but a robot invasion happened from where she was and attacked her parents and instead of trying to save them, after getting hurt, she ran away, hoping that they'll come back okay. But they never did.

She was all alone, and needed someone, a friend, a new family, someone who will hold her hand, anyone, to be there for her. But she was ignored by lots, and at that point, she's better off by herself, but still longed for company.

Eventually though, her tarot cards told her her future hero, and there might be hope after all. She encountered Sonic, held onto the belief of the cards tight, and the rest is history.

So, with that headcanon in mind, not only did Amy loose her parents that she didn't save because of her cowardliness (she was only so little at the time that happened) and also Sonic, who she thought will be her only hope, but now gone.

She doesn't even care if he did come back, he'd probably hate her now after everything she did to him, always talking about their "future wedding" or forcing him to go to Twinkle Park.

For the last few months of the war, it was nothing but Amy mentally beating herself up for either refusing to change or moving on, and they are both not fine choices.

She loves Sonic, but he does not love her, and she finally, finally realized it. And it's probably for the best if no body loved her at all.

But of course Sonic did survive and all of her worries wash away in an instant, she's just not expressive about her love for Sonic AT ALL now, since she's still worried about it but rather not mention it to Sonic because it doesn't matter.

If Sonic doesn't love her, then her feelings don't matter to him, and according to Amy herself, that is okay.

But also, I'd like to think that Sonic was thinking about his friends a lot up in the Death Egg for the past months, sometimes it's Tails (worried for his safety), sometimes it's Shadow (because he's wondering why he would join Eggman.) At some point, for a few days, Amy was in his mind the longest, and he felt bad about how he thought he was rude and pushy to her.

He wondered if she's not thinking about it too much, and if she is, will she give up on him? Yeah, he doesn't feel the same and still not looking for a relationship, but it's so strange but interesting how anyone could ever like someone like Sonic the Hedgehog. Amy was never afraid to show that, and she probably might be now.

He couldn't help but feel guilty. They were kids when she was like this, but he was so... arrogant at the time too. Not a lot happened at the time yet. He'd always have trouble expressing how much he value his friends, until he shattered the Paradox Prism. (I'd like to think Prime took place before Forces. It makes sense.)

She is such a sweet girl, and he probably made her believe that he didn't care for her. Just because he doesn't feel the same, that doesn't mean he hates her at all.

He wished he never ran away from Amy... Worrying for his little bro and wishing to be a good person for Amy was when Sonic cried in the Death Egg for the first and only time.

Frontiers, in my opinion, is kind of confirming their dynamic now. Sonic is a lot more sincere and kinder to Amy and she is not all hyperactive and lovey to Sonic. There is probably a real reason for this now.

They are both hiding their feelings from them, and they are both unaware of this. Amy, hiding her mental issues from Sonic, and Sonic, hiding his guilt away from Amy.

None of those things are important now. Sonic is with Amy and Amy is with Sonic. They are here with each other. They can be finally be better for each other now.

They don't care if they'll ever be something more when they get older. None of that matters anymore. They are here with each other. They can be finally be better for each other now.

Maybe someday they'll both talk about it, but for now, the present is important. They care about each other too much to think about it right now.

It's the kind of love that is unbreakable. It doesn't even have to be romantic. It's just love. Love is important for everyone, in any form. It's something Sonic and his friends need. And especially Sonic and Amy.

Amy Rose is the living embodiment of love, and without her, a lot would go downhill for Sonic and co. Heck, if it weren't for her, Shadow wouldn't have never remembered Maria's promise, which lead him to save the world with Sonic, before he temporarily disappeared from their lives for a while.

She is always there to lend a helping hand for anybody, even bad guys like Metal Sonic, and despite what she had been through, both in Forces and headcanon wise, she still fights back, even without her hammer.

She will pick you back up on your feet, reminding you that you are important and that you are loved, and that you should never give up. It's pretty much the words of encouragement she herself needed also...

She is still the happy, hyper, butt-kicking hedgehog we all know and love, but she still need someone to pick her back up on her feet after so long. Thankfully, she has her friends and her blue hero. The hero who made her who she is today.

I think Amy has no idea how important she thought she is, but Sonic does. Sonic knows fully well how important she is to a lot of people. It's about time he returns the favor to her. It's his turn to remind her how much a lot of people love her.

How much he loves her.

And I feel like The Murder of Sonic the Hedgehog was the moment where their dynamic really shined, but also the starting point of their relationship not only healing, but also the next chapter of what's to come for them.

Everyone, friends old and new, gathered around for a special birthday. A birthday for the confident, unshakable, and radiant Amy Rose.

It was such a special moment in Amy's life. After years of chasing and following the people she look up to, she is part of the team, but most importantly, she is part of the family.

She is fully realized as someone more than just a fangirl, but someone strong, courageous, creative, kind and a big inspiration for others.

I feel like this moment here...

-is where Amy is eternally grateful to call her friends her family. A family she thought she'll never have again. She's not alone anymore, and as long as they're by her side, she'll never will be again.

Her chasing days are over. She's finally caught up to them. She's finally home.

And it's all thanks to Sonic.

If it weren't for him, she'd probably be alone forever. Her past moments with Sonic might be embarrassing to look back on for a while, but they are good memories regardless, because they involve him.

Sonic saved her life in more ways than one, and despite everything, he's grateful to have her too.

He cares about her. He really does... And in her eyes, that all she needed to know. As long as Sonic loves her in his own way, she'll be happy.

Amy hasn't given up on Sonic. As long as Amy always supports him, he'll be happy.

Maybe sometime in the future, they can talk about their problems, but that's a story for another time. At this point, they need to. Right now, they are happy. They are okay.

They are here for each other. They are finally better for each other now.

"You guys won't ever leave me, right?"

"Wouldn't dream of it."

[silverwhittlingknife]

hi Silver! o/ because that fanart made me wonder - would you happen to know when/where Dick's stuffed elephant plush Zitka turns up in the comics?

GREETINGS CAM <3333 THAT ART WAS SO CUTE

Yeah, I think your instincts are right - it's a truly adorable bit of transformative fandom, but I'm 95% percent sure it's not comics canon. Barbara has canon plushies, but I don't think anyone else does.

I got kinda invested in the investigation (it's hard to prove a negative!) and I ended up typing out an entire History of Elinore/Zitka, so, uh, if you're curious, meet me below the cut for:

Where does Elinore / Zitka - the animal - appear in comics?

Did Dick ever have a stuffed elephant toy in comics?

Where does Elinore / Zitka appear in comics?

We're gonna go in chronological order!

Dick's circus elephant friend was first created for practical reasons: in Batman 436, Marv Wolfman does a big expanded flashback to Dick's circus backstory as a way to subtly show us Tim before officially introducing him (so that we can have a technically-solvable mystery-of-Tim's-identity in LPoD). In this comic, there's an elephant named Elinore who loves Dick:

Aww. Such a cute elephant!

Batman 436 comes out in August 1989. New Titans 60 comes out a few months later, in November, and guess what? When Dick visits the circus, he is suddenly surprised by an unexpected blast from the past! It turns out that even though it's been years, Elinore still remembers him!

Here's the part where Elinore remembers Dick:

SUCH a cute elephant. I love her.

(Guess who else still remembers Dick even though it was so long ago. Guess which other character is about to be an unexpected blast from the past. Guess which character Elinore is directly paralleling guess guess guess sorry everything is about Dick and Tim in my mind but I can focus I swear)

Four years later, in 1993, Batman: The Animated Series retells Dick's origin story. They like and keep Wolfman's elephant, but they change her name to Zitka:

Wolfman doesn't return to the elephant beyond those two appearances, and a few years down the line, New Titans gets cancelled and Wolfman's not writing Dick anymore anyway. So the animal gets abandoned for a while, until Devin Grayson, a fan of both Wolfman and B:tAS, revives the Wolfman-era Titans team in JLA/Titans and then the ongoing series Titans 1999.

Grayson then brings back the elephant in a flashback to Dick's past in Titans 16 (Jun 2000), where she imports the B:tAS name. Sometimes I'm skeptical of TV-to-comics imports, but honestly, I endorse this one. You lose the alliteration, which is a shame, but IMO Zitka is a better elephant name than Elinore.

Here's Dick with the newly-christened Zitka in Titans 16:

Grayson also briefly references the elephant in Gotham Knights 20 and - in a final angsty callback - in Nightwing 88 (Feb 2004), where Zitka tries futilely to comfort Dick in the midst of his trauma conga line:

... And... honestly, I think that's it for comic appearances? The two Wolfman comics plus the three Grayson comics.

Both Wolfman and Grayson are writing multiple titles - Batman, New Titans, Titans, Gotham Knights, and Nightwing between the two of them, spanning a big chunk of Dick's post-Crisis canon - and both writers use the elephant for heartwarming moments of nostalgia, which means if you're doing a post-Crisis readthrough for Dick, Elinore/Zitka feels memorable. But I don't think she actually shows up that much.

For post-2011, I am not as well-informed - throwing this out to the dash? anyone know? - but I feel like Zitka the heartwarming symbol of Dick's heartwarming circus past is, uh, thematically very at odds with the Court of Owls evil!circus vibes, so my instinct is that this story element was almost certainly dropped in the reboot.

Did Dick ever have a stuffed elephant toy in comics?

In WFA, yes; in main comics continuity, no. Technically, I have not read every comic ever published, so I could be wrong!! But I don't think so.

Below, find my rambling reasoning on the tonal vibes of pre-Crisis, post-Crisis, and post-2011, and why this particular story element doesn't seem right to me for the first two.

Pre-Crisis (...okay, mostly the Silver Age): stuffed animal, yes or no?

tl;dr no, requires too much background knowledge on the part of the reader, plus the elephant wasn't a thing until later

Elinore doesn't get created until post-Crisis, but also just generally, pre-Crisis callbacks are more along the lines of this reference in Batman 129 (published in 1960), where, wow, Batman and Robin are hunting jewel thieves - and it turns out Robin recognized this strongman! BUT HOW?!

The comic goes on to recap Dick's entire origin story in flashback, on the assumption that you may not know it.

(BTW, if you'd like to know more about Haly's Circus throughout the years, nightwingology has a great post here summarizing a lot of fun plotlines and characters!)

Basically: Silver Age comics are very self-consciously episodic and kid-friendly; they're not generally gonna do overly-elaborate callbacks because they don't know what comics their kid readers may have randomly picked up or remember.

By the time of post-Crisis, comic books were being written for an adult audience buying from the direct market, i.e. readers who are collecting whole runs & don't need or want Dick's origin story to be recapped to us in full every time it's referenced. That's why in post-Crisis, we get stuff like "hey, neat, this particular soda brand is getting mentioned in several different books!!" or "in order to understand this story arc, buy SIXTEEN DIFFERENT COMICS in FIVE DIFFERENT RUNS and read them ALL ACCORDING TO A NUMBERED ORDER and also you better be following the individual plotlines and recognize these five minor characters who we don't bother to introduce!! Good luck!!" But the elaborate post-Crisis plotlines - and subtler worldbuilding like a stuffed animal callback to Dick's backstory - don't make a lot of story sense UNLESS you're imagining your readers as completionist adult fans.

So IMO a stuffed animal wouldn't be a pre-Crisis thing unless it was The Episodic Story Of the Week, and I don't think a stuffed animal is action-adventure-y enough for the fast-paced storytelling of the Silver Age. (Unless it, like, came to life and tried to eat you or something.)

Post-Crisis: stuffed animals, yes or no?

tl;dr: no, Dick's a manly tough guy, he's not gonna have a stuffed animal, that'd be lame, like something Tim might do

Part of the edgy grimdark adult vibes in 80s/90s comics is that some characters who used to be kinda silly & goofy & lighthearted - like Batman and Robin - get reimagined as Serious and Angsty and Edgy in a Tough Cool Manly Brooding Way. This massively affects characterization for Bruce, Dick, and Bruce and Dick's relationship.

(I obviously love this change & love the tense Bruce-and-Dick interactions, but plenty of fans of the earlier fluffy comics really disliked the edgy retcons of Miller / Wolfman / Starlin / et al.)

The upshot is that post-Crisis is a period when you could have a recurring reference like a stuffed elephant, but you wouldn't have a stuffed elephant, not for Dick. I think a toy like that would be too cutesy / childish / effeminate to give a male character in post-Crisis, unless you were poking fun at him.

Now, you could probably let Tim have a stuffed animal, because Tim is sometimes cool but also sometimes a tryhard loser who is faking being cool and not entirely pulling it off (see e.g. the Robin comic where he practices tough-guy faces in the mirror, or the Teen Titans comic where Conner discovers his cringy Enya CD, or when he's fanboying over Connor and it's awkward, etc etc.). A stuffed animal would be deeply embarrassing, and you'd have to be careful to compensate by having Tim do something cool afterward - but Tim's character concept allows for "he's kind of a loser sometimes."

But Dick isn't!! In post-Crisis, Dick's a tough / impressive / "cool guy" character, the kind of guy anyone would want to be, even in the flashbacks where he's Robin, and even in the stories where he's more lighthearted than angsty. It'd be kinda lame for Dick to have a stuffed elephant, so he wouldn't. I feel like Dick would be more likely to poke fun at it if someone had one, like when he's making fun of Wally for liking the Hardy Boys. Dick could have a Batman action figure, at most, and if he had one he would have it ironically.

Basically: in post-Crisis, a male character hugging a stuffed elephant feels more likely to be a punchline to me, not something poignant. (Even with Tim, Tim could have an embarrassing stuffed animal, but he couldn't hug it when sad - that's too far. Maybe Booster Gold might do this. Probably he wouldn't, but spiritually, he would. Sorry Booster ilu! <3)

Instead, Dick instinctively deals with his inner turmoil like the TORTURED ACTION HERO he is: by punching things and brooding and yelling and joining the mob and sleeping on rooftops and going on obsessive secret missions and acquiring Angsty Stubble!! Just like Batman!

(Technically I don't know if Bruce ever joined the mob but you know he would.)

Anyway as you know this is my favorite continuity and I am poking fun affectionately, but uh, yeah sdfsfdsfs. No stuffed animals.

Post-2011 / Infinite Frontier / Wayne Family Adventures: stuffed animals, yes or no?

tl;dr it's in WFA! Probably not anywhere else, but it could be.

Post-2011 stuff tends to be cutesier overall, most of all in the current Infinite Frontier era. So I don't feel like this would be tonally out-of-line with IF comics. Taylor tends to go for more meme-y references rather than fanfic references, though.

So the obvious best fit is WFA, which is aiming for a rough approximation of Silver Age family-friendly vibes - wholesome, episodic plots, Teaching Good Moral Lessons For The Youth, etc. - plus lots of Easter eggs for fanfic readers and some comic references.

And look, here we are:

Aww.

Whew - that's everything I could find!

Anyway as you can probably tell, I LOVE the elephant, so this was a very entertaining rabbit hole to go down, thank you <3

[kloss-karliee]

with a little sniffle she gave a soft smile "i'm fine, it's okay. i've been doing this with them for a little over two months. you'd think it wouldn't be this big of a deal anymore. but it is hard. the house is so empty without their laughter & as much as it drives me absolutely bonkers sometimes, hearing them ask me some of the wildest questions is something i miss the most when they aren't here." she took her fingertips & dabbed at the inner corners of her eyes, took a deep breath then gathered herself together before she spoke again.

"Levi loves Goodnight Moon. so that's what i read. however, i think he's getting a little bored of it. he falls asleep a lot faster these days. but i always have to read the ending. he'll know if i don't, i don't know how, but he does. if i don't read the end, he'll get out of bed within the next hour & come ask me to finish it. kid's got psychic abilities i swear." she let loose a little laugh. "Elijah was already asleep, which i should've known. he had been rocking it out since four this morning. he's still in the stage where he wakes up at all hours."

his curiosity about her boys, whether just to qualm her sadness from not having them here or not, made her heart warm. "they are the pinnacle of perfection. just so smart, Levi is intelligent beyond his years & so intuitive. he reads me like a book, knows when i'm stressing out & will walk up to me, grab my hand & tell me it's going to be okay. he's told me once before that it's okay to cry if i'm not feeling well." she really did think the world of her two boys & it was great to get to talk about them. "Elijah is a bit more like his father, quiet, & somehow rambunctious he's wise for as young as he is. not in the way that Levi is but definitely wise. by the time he was, gosh, eight months old — i believe, when he figured out how to get out of his crib. we had to sit inside their room for three months every night to be sure that he was fully asleep before we could leave. i think he was just curious but we were so afraid he was going to fall & break his little neck! they both just ooze curiosity about the world. which i love but it also scares me a bit. i can't even begin to imagine the things they are going to do when they get older."

she paused for a beat & tilted her head to the side. realizing that she had been droning on & on about her children without a single complaint from him. a bright smile spread across her face, practically from ear to ear. "i could bore you to tears talking about them all night long. they're entertaining to say the least. always keeping me on my toes. i thought having one boy was crazy. now i have two & from the moment they open their eyes until they close them at night they are a constant job."

"Of course, Karlie. Mums are important. Whether they are in the same home or not." Oliver took her hand and pulled her down on the bed. "You okay?" He asked softly, looking into her eyes and noticed that they were in fact a blue-green but also that they were little watery.

Seeing her little bit upset made him want to try and make her happy as fast as he could "Hey now, no tears." He took both her hands in his and kissed each one. "Being away from them is hard for you, huh?"

Oliver kissed her nose "So what book did you decided to read to your boys? That is my first question to get to know you." He smiled softly. "Tell me all about your boys, if you want too. I am happy to listen. I'm guessing by just knowing you a little bit that they are funny, and smart. Possibly a little over talkative." He laughed as he moved his fingers through her hair.

In that moment the world seem to slow again, it was just them in the room on the bed close to each other talking. Whatever hormones he was having a little bit ago, while still there had settled down, this beautiful girl, who had told him that she wasn't sure how to be loved was missing the two most important people in her life and it hurt his heart that she was hurting. Oliver wanted to fix that even if it was for just a moment.

[officersnickers]

Maybe I'm overthinking things, but Ido you think there's a narrative purpose in the fact that Asmodeus adopted her demon form (the one with the gruesome heads and tail) after being separated from Sarah? If she can regenerate and shapeshift, then why choose to look like this?

Because it looks fucking awesome! Next question please!

No, seriously, I suspect after parting ways with Sarah Asmodeus somewhat had to rely on her demon form? After all, part of her were cut off by the archangel Raphael and she had to replace it with a different body.

Now we learned the Demon Lords loose already enough of their powers if just one part is cut off, like with Belzebub‘s finger.

Imagine how much influence and power Asmodeus did loose with the lower part of her body? Surely she either couldn‘t transform to a different looking body most of the time due to her limitations, or she didn‘t want to (fair, I‘d say) since she takes great pride in herself and her influence, even after loosing once or twice. Her true demon form is what she is and knowing her and the sin she represents, she‘s not ashamed, neither of her lust nor her apperance.

Also, I could see Asmodeus not turning back to her former self being some sort of „farewell“ to Sarah; her humanized form with wings, reminding the girl of an actual but not fallen angel, belongs to Sarah and Sarah alone. She‘s not around anymore, not Asmodeus‘ anymore, so there‘s no reason to still be this version of herself. The Demon Lord with a monstrous upper body is who she is now, and that's how everyone should see her, now there's no Sarah anymore seeing anything but a monster in Asmodeus.