#i personally like my idea for how to break the loops but it's a simple thing made mostly for me

[mari-lair]

So about the sif is out au- what is the bigfrin situation like in this? Like does it happen at all, does it happen to only siffrin or to everybody but siffrin? Or does some entirely different event happen?

Bigfrin doesn't happen, is something entirely different!

[jazzyoranges]

Recognizeable

Wednesday Addams x fem!shapeshifter!reader

Summary: based on this ask!

Words: 1.4k

A/n: this kinda doesn’t have a plot 😭 whoopsies

Warnings: blood, wounds, i swear it’s not angsty R just takes a small tumble lol

“Did it hurt?”

“What, when I fell from heaven?” You crack a smile at your very hilarious joke, but Wednesday does her version of a huff and an eye-roll

“Apologies, I should have elaborated better.” You wince a little in pain as Wednesday disinfects the open wound on your knee and the smaller cuts around your body

The Addams girl was taking Thing and her pet bird, aka you, for a walk outside Nevermore in the forest that surrounded the academy as she watched you loop around in circles. She’d assume you were training for some competition if she didn’t know your personality enough, but Wednesday ultimately came to the conclusion you just had the bird equivalent of zoomies

You squawked at other birds as you passed them by in their trees, and Wednesday made a mental note to ask you if you could actually talk and understand them. Her hypothesis was that you couldn’t and you were just making animal noises for your own amusement

Either her hypothesis was true and you had no idea what you said, or you knowingly called a bird a slur. The previous was probably true due to the horrified expression on your face as a murder of crows you were “talking” to started chasing you down. You must’ve squawked something real bad for all of them to come after you.

You miss the smirk Wednesday has on her face.

The crows must’ve overwhelmed you pretty bad, because next thing she knew you were hitting every single branch of a tree in human form. Was that intentional? She’d have to ask you about it later. After she made sure you weren’t dead, of course

Wednesday arrived just in time for you to almost slam straight into her head, but a simple side step caused you to eat shit instead. There was a very noticeable and loud thump when your head hit a tree root. Wednesday would’ve been more concerned if you didn’t immediately curl into the fetal position, mumbling about how you’d take a nap right then and there

Either shapeshifters were gods, or you just had a really fucking thick skull. Wednesday internally smiled at the thought.

The Addams girl was well aware of the smelling salts in her backpack for times like these, but she looked at Thing for what he wanted to do to get you up. You could wait… probably.

After some inspection, Thing decided it was best to call Enid to carry you back to their dorm. The wound on your knee would only make you limp and cause more pain.

Wednesday made sure to keep you alive, though. She poked you with a stick here and there and gave you reassurance, which she saw you smile at.

You were prone to accidents. Both of the Addams knew you were fine. Truly, it was just another Tuesday. Wake up, go to class, take girlfriend and Thing on a walk, you break a bone, it was all a part of the schedule

It wasn’t even a shapeshifter thing either, you just refused to die. Which the Addams was ultimately grateful for, but your ability to visit death like a close friend had Wednesday just a little jealous

A groan of pain from the back of your throat brings the shorter girl back to the present

“Why did you turn human in the middle of the sky?”

“Whenever I shift I have to really concentrate on it the entire time, so I guess those crows just really fucked me up and messed with my focus” You sigh

“Is it hard? To keep concentration, I mean.” Wednesday starts to wrap the bigger wound on your knee with a bandage wrap

“I’ve been doing it forever, so it’s kinda easy. Not when you’re getting jumped by crows, though…”

“Could you not just shift a pair of wings for yourself?”

“I was already focusing on having the thick skull of a ram.” You knock on your head for effect. “How do you think I haven’t died yet?”

Oh so it was a shapeshifter thing. She was right about your thick skull, though

“Perhaps you should tell Enid that,” Wednesday gets up from her kneeling position in front of you. “She almost fainted carrying you on the way here and I have reason to believe it isn’t because you’re heavy.”

“Maybe I should get her something as compensation…” You mumble to yourself as Wednesday helps you out of the bathroom, using her as a crutch so you can flop onto her bed

The Addams girl sits beside you, your face buried in her sheets. Both of you fall into a comfortable silence as Wednesday continues to stare at you, her mind coming up with endless questions about your abilities.

If concentration was a constant concern, was Wednesday not giving you not enough credit? To focus on multiple tasks at once, surely it was hard for someone as air-headed as you. But then again, you have been doing this for your entire life. Did your concentration come as easy as breathing? Was it so natural you barely noticed it?

And surely the process hurt, right? Your molecules were repositioning themselves to fit the look of an entirely different being. What was there a difference between you and Weems?

What were your limitations? Wednesday would like to test them. Maybe if she’d ask kindly enough you’d-

“Ask your questions, Wens” You mumble into her soft bedsheets, your voice snapping Wednesday out of her thoughts

“Pardon?”

“We’re girlfriends. You can read my mind as much as I can read yours”

“And your logical explanation for that, is..?”

“Girlfriend magic.” You hold up your hands while shaking them, and Wednesday immediately recognizes the jazz hands you had quite an addiction to

“Another day, it’s best you rest.”

This makes you turn your head to look at Wednesday, a smile threatening to take over your face

“I don’t understand why people don’t believe me when I say you’re the romantic one” You gush

“Unless you want me to bombard you with questions until morning rises, I’d suggest you stay quiet.”

“Yes ma’am” You pull down Wednesday on her bed, shoving your face into the shorter girls collar.

From that day forward Wednesday asks you one question a day about your abilities, and you make sure to answer them as best as you can. It was something Wednesday appreciated about you.

Answers would span from 15 minutes to almost 2 hours long. There were some days you had to pull out the whiteboard that was collecting dust in the bee shed, writing and drawing out key information

At first it was casual, it really was. But a month later it was almost like class with how the Addams had a book and a half filled with information about you. A class Wednesday could actually get behind.

She’s learned every shapeshifter is different. Some turn into people, some turn into animals, and others can turn into both. So the book and a half was really just information about you, which Wednesday wasn’t exactly opposed to

Meditation seemed to be a pretty big thing to you. Whenever Wednesday was writing, you’d be meditating. At first the Addams questioned if you were compatible being in a room with her loud typewriter, but you insisted the noise was necessary for you to tune out

Another thing Wednesday learned is that you couldn’t exceed four limbs. Which, you made sure to voice your opinion on. The dreams of being a four-legged and two-winged western dragon was impossible, so unfortunately you’d have to make your peace with being a wyvern instead

Small snores came from you curled around Wednesday under a tree as a tiger. She could only focus on how you always somehow resembled your human face

Turning to a new page of her journal, the Addams girl starts to sketch the face of your tiger next to the one of your lion. No matter what form you’d take, Wednesday would be able to recognize it.

[kaces-graham-crackers]

Twelve Tolls 'Till Midnight - (Part 1: The Wish That Wouldn't Burn) - Christmas Special

Wednesday Addams x Reader

Summary: Nevermore’s Yule Log tradition is simple—write a wish, burn it in the fire, and let the embers carry it away. But when one wish refuses to burn, Y/N finds it perfectly intact among the ashes. At first, it’s just a mystery. A harmless, unanswered question. But then, strange things start happening. And with each passing day, you can’t shake the feeling that something—or someone—is watching. And the clock is ticking.

Word Count: 3.1k

Snow had dusted the grounds of Nevermore overnight, clinging to the stone pathways and blanketing the ancient rooftops in a thin, icy sheen. The air held the chill that bit through coats and scarves, turning breath into fleeting ghosts in the evening air.

Despite the cold, warmth thrived inside the common rooms, where the academy was fully immersed in the holiday season. Wreaths hung from the doors, golden ribbons were draped along the railings, and the crackling fireplace illuminated the sprawling parlor in a flickering orange glow. A vintage Christmas record played somewhere in the background—a jazzy, eerie rendition of Carol of the Bells that somehow fit Nevermore's unsettling aesthetic.

It wasn't an official school event, but the students had made their own tradition out of gathering in the weeks before break. Some strung lights across the bookshelves, others sprawled across the couches in clusters, indulging in hot cider, peppermint bark, and whatever holiday treats had been smuggled into the dorms.

I stood off to the side, arms crossed, watching as Xavier struggled with a particularly tangled set of lights. His frustration grew as the string looped around his wrist for the third time.

"Are you winning?" I deadpanned.

Xavier huffed, tugging at the cord like it had personally wronged him. "If by 'winning,' you mean slowly losing my will to live, then yes."

Next to him, Ajax—whose idea of 'helping' was offering unsolicited advice while eating a candy cane—grinned. "Bro, you gotta work with the lights, not against them."

Bianca curled up in an armchair near the fireplace and scoffed. "If you had to deal with Xavier's questionable decorating skills every year, you'd know that's a lost cause."

Divina chuckled from where she sat, nestled comfortably against Yoko's side. "Maybe we should let the artist stick to painting."

Yoko smirked. "Or make him the Christmas tree instead."

That earned a laugh from the group, even as Xavier shot them all an unimpressed look.

I leaned back against the wall, hands shoved into the pockets of my flannel. Despite the easy comfort of the moment, I felt the faintest tug of something… off. It wasn't the Christmas cheer—it was too easy to get wrapped up in the warmth of it all, in how my friends naturally fit together like pieces of an unspoken tradition. No, it was the presence of someone sitting in her usual corner of the room, untouched by the festivities but watching them all like she was collecting evidence.

Wednesday Addams.

She was perched on the arm of the couch, a book in her lap, and her posture was rigid despite the casual setting. Her dark gaze flicked up now and then, scanning the room, lingering in places longer than necessary. She was too perceptive for her own good, and I knew it was only a matter of time before her curiosity sank its claws into something.

"Hey," Yoko's voice broke through my thoughts, and I turned to see my dormmate watching me with a knowing look.

"I think it's time to start the important discussion of the night." Yoko nudged her drink toward me in mock seriousness. "You confessing your undying love for Wednesday."

I choked on my cider. "Excuse me?"

Divina sighed, shaking her head. "Yoko. Subtlety."

"What?" Yoko gestured vaguely. "It's Christmas. Confessing is like, a thing."

I exhaled sharply, pinching the bridge of my nose. "It's also a thing to not embarrass me in front of an entire room of people."

"Pfft, they're all distracted," Yoko waved off. "Besides, me and Divina are the only ones who know, so chill."

I shot them both a pointed look. "Enid knows, too."

Divina lifted a brow. "You think she told Wednesday?"

My stomach twisted at the thought. "No. I trust her."

"Okay, but why haven't you told Wednesday?" Yoko leaned in. "Be honest."

I hesitated, gaze flickering toward Wednesday's usual spot, only to find her already staring in our direction. Of course.

I turned back quickly, exhaling. "Because she wouldn't care."

Yoko made a tsk sound. "See, I know you're smart, which is why it baffles me that you're being so dumb."

I shot her a glare. "Gee, thanks."

Divina shook her head. "Y/N, Wednesday likes you. Enid sees it. We see it."

I scoffed. "Wednesday doesn't like anyone."

"Correction," Yoko smirked. "She tolerates very few. You're at the top of that list."

I rolled my eyes, refusing to engage further. "I don't know why I even talk to you two."

"Because we're right," Yoko sing-songed.

Across the room, Enid was having a very similar conversation with Wednesday.

"I think you should tell them," Enid said, voice light but firm.

Wednesday, still watching me from a distance, didn't look up. "Tell them what?"

Enid sighed dramatically. "That you like them."

Wednesday's eyes flicked to her roommate, expression unreadable. "That would be unnecessary."

"Would it?"

Wednesday went back to her book. "They wouldn't be interested."

Enid groaned, dragging her hands down her face. "You know they like you, right?"

Wednesday's brow twitched. "You're speculating."

"I'm not. Yoko and Divina literally know."

Wednesday hummed, flipping a page. "That sounds like gossip."

"That sounds like me being right and you avoiding your feelings."

"Feelings," Wednesday repeated flatly. "A fascinating concept."

Enid gave her a deadpan look. "You're impossible."

Wednesday smirked. "And yet, you persist."

Before Enid could further argue, the lights in the room flickered suddenly, the warmth of the common area dimming as a draft rolled through.

I straightened. "Huh."

Wednesday's fingers tightened around her book, gaze flickering toward the fireplace.

It shouldn't have been possible—the fire had been crackling brightly all night. And yet, as they all turned toward it, a single piece of parchment sat in the embers, untouched by the flames.

"Uh," Xavier blinked, stepping closer. "That's weird, right?"

Enid frowned. "Did someone throw a wish in late?"

Slowly, I stepped forward, crouching down. Carefully, I reached for the paper, my fingers brushing the surface.

It was smooth. Unburnt.

And written in ink darker than the shadows was a single sentence.

A wish.

Someone's wish.

And for some reason, the fire refused to take it.

My fingers brushed against the slip of paper nestled among the embers, its edges still intact, untouched by the fire. 

A perk of being a Flame Atronach—I was unharmed.

That wasn't right. The Yule Log tradition was simple—write your wish, burn it, and let the flames carry it away. But this one refused.

Curiosity got the best of me. The fire was still going, flickering orange and gold, yet the paper sat there, defiant against the heat. Carefully, I reached in, feeling the warmth lick at my skin but never entirely burn. It was strange—almost as if the fire itself had decided to spare it.

I plucked the paper from the ashes, brushing off the soot as I went to unfold it. The handwriting was neat, precise, and immediately familiar.

Before I could read a single word, Enid practically tackled me.

"Whoa, whoa—what do you think you're doing?" she yelped, grabbing my wrist before I could fully open the paper.

I frowned. "Reading? Someone's wish didn't burn. That's weird, right?"

Enid's eyes widened in horror as she snatched the paper from my fingers. "You can't read it! That's like… like, instant bad luck. It definitely won't come true if you do!"

I blinked, taken aback by how serious she sounded. "You actually believe that?"

"Yes," she said, deadpan. "Do you want to be responsible for some poor soul's wish going up in smoke? Well, not going up in smoke, but—" She shook her head. "You get what I mean."

I hesitated. A part of me wanted to brush it off, to open the paper and solve the mystery. But Enid looked genuinely distressed, and despite my skepticism, I wasn't cruel enough to stomp all over whatever holiday magic she believed in.

With a sigh, I reached for the fireplace again. The flames curled around my fingers, warm but strangely harmless. I tossed the paper back into the fire, watching as it landed among the embers.

It didn't burn.

Enid chewed her lip. "It's probably just some weird mishap," she decided, but her voice hinted unease.

I couldn't blame her.

As the flames flickered, failing again to consume the wish, I couldn't shake the feeling that this wasn't just a random fluke.

But, like the others, I let it go.

That was mistake number two.

Later that night, The strange incident with the wish should have faded into the background, drowned out by the usual Nevermore chaos. But as the night wound down, something lingered.

It clung to the air like the scent of smoldering wood, like the faintest trace of something just out of reach.

By the time I got back to my dorm, the warmth of the holiday gathering had been replaced by an unsettling chill I couldn't quite shake. Yoko was already sprawled across her bed, scrolling through her phone, earbuds tucked in, vibing to whatever playlist she had on rotation.

I tossed my jacket over my chair and exhaled as I sat at my desk, the dim glow of my lamp casting long shadows against the walls. But even as I tried to push the thought aside, the memory of that unburned wish gnawed at the back of my mind.

I should've paid more attention to that feeling.

Because by the time the clock struck midnight, Nevermore had already started to change.

At first, it was subtle.

I wasn't a light sleeper, but something stirred me awake—a shift in the air, a wrongness that hadn't been there before. I blinked against the darkness, the room bathed in nothing but moonlight filtering through the window. Yoko was still asleep, her breathing steady and undisturbed.

Then I heard it.

Tick.

It was distant, almost deafening, like an old clock shifting gears after years of neglect. I sat up, frowning.

Tick. Tick. Tick.

It was coming from outside.

Swinging my legs over the side of the bed, I crept toward the window, pressing a hand against the cold glass. The Nevermore courtyard stretched below, silent beneath the dim glow of lanterns.

And that's when I saw it.

The old clock tower—the one that had been broken for years—was moving.

I watched, frozen, as the massive hands jerked into motion, slow and deliberate, like something that had been trapped in stillness was finally waking up.

Tick. Tick. Tick.

The sound rattled in my bones, deep and resonant, like a pulse thrumming beneath the skin of Nevermore itself.

I didn't realize I was holding my breath until another sound broke the quiet.

A whisper.

It came from directly behind me.

I spun, pulse hammering in my throat, but my room was empty. Yoko was still asleep, undisturbed. The shadows in the corners of the room sat still, unchanged.

Swallowing hard, I glanced back at the window. The clock continued ticking, slow and steady.

I didn't know why, but I had a sinking feeling this was only the beginning. Meanwhile, in Wednesday's dorm, Wednesday knew something was wrong.

She had felt it the moment the first ember sparked.

Sitting at her desk, a candle flickering at her side, Wednesday's fingers hovered over the spine of a book she had long abandoned reading. The air in her dorm was… off. It wasn't tangible. It wasn't something she could pin down with certainty. But there was a shift in the very fabric of Nevermore—a pulse of sorts.

The anomaly of the unburned wish nagged at the back of her mind, an unsolved equation demanding resolution. Wishes were nonsense—foolish sentiments wrapped in superstition, meant to be reduced to ash. And yet, one had refused. Defied the flames entirely,

That was not a coincidence.

She hadn't believed in the tradition, of course. The very idea of wishing for something was as repulsive to her as cheerful holiday music or Enid's excessive use of glitter.

It had been meaningless.

At least, it was supposed to be.

Now, she wasn't sure.

A memory flickered in her mind—the moment the slip of parchment left her fingers and landed in the fire, the flames devoured it instantly.

And then… the clock tower had started ticking.

That old thing had been broken for years.

She tapped her fingers against the desk, deep in thought.

What did the others say earlier that night? That a wish refused to burn?

Her jaw tightened slightly.

If a wish had survived the fire, then logically, it had to be connected to whatever this phenomenon was.

The clock. The feeling in the air. The change.

She closed her book with a quiet snap, her mind already working through possibilities.

Something had been set into motion. 

The following morning, Breakfast at Nevermore was its usual mess of clashing personalities and half-dazed students. The dining hall buzzed with conversation, forks clinking against plates, the occasional burst of laughter breaking through the hum.

I slid into my usual seat, still feeling the weight of the night pressing against the back of my mind.

Across from me, Enid was already halfway through a muffin. "Morning, sunshine! You look…" She squinted, tilting her head. "Okay, not to be rude, but kinda haunted?"

I huffed out a laugh, rubbing my temple. "Great. That's exactly the aesthetic I was going for."

Yoko dropped into the seat next to me, sunglasses firmly in place despite the dim lighting. "Yeah, you were kinda twitchy last night. Bad dreams?"

I hesitated, my gaze drifting to the others across from me where Bianca, Xavier, and Wednesday sat.

Wednesday, as always, was absorbed in some old tome, her usual resting murder face in full effect.

"No," I admitted, lowering my voice slightly. "But something weird happened."

Yoko raised a brow. "Weird, how?"

I hesitated before saying, "The old clock tower was working."

That got their attention.

Enid's eyes widened, her muffin forgotten. "Wait—what? That thing's been broken forever."

"Not anymore," I murmured. "It started ticking again last night. Right at midnight."

Yoko frowned. "Okay, weird, but maybe they fixed it? You know how Weems is. Probably had maintenance finally patch it up or something."

"Yeah. Except…” I exhaled. "I swear I heard something after. Like—whispering."

Yoko's expression didn't change, but Enid visibly shuddered. "Nope. Absolutely not. We are not starting ghost season right before Christmas."

"I mean… it is Nevermore," Yoko pointed out. "Ghosts kinda come with the territory."

"Still," Enid huffed, crossing her arms, "it could be anything. A creaky old building making noises? Drafts? Your imagination?"

"Could be," I said. 

At the same time Wednesday sat:

The dining hall was its usual mess of noise and movement, students scattered in their usual places, laughing and talking over plates of food.

Wednesday barely registered any of it.

She sat at her usual spot at their table, her mind still tangled in speculation, barely listening as Xavier attempted (and failed) to hold a conversation.

It wasn't until Y/N walked in that something shifted.

She felt it—a tug, a sharp pull of attention.

She didn't look up at first, but something in her instincts twisted, that same sensation of something being wrong settling in her chest.

Then, a voice.

"I swear to God, if Enid calls me 'haunted' one more time, I'm throwing her into a snowbank."

Wednesday stiffened.

The voice had been clear. Too clear.

And yet—no one had spoken.

Her gaze flicked up, sharp as a blade, locking onto Y/N.

Y/N had just sat down across from Enid and beside Yoko, placing a tray on the table.

Wednesday's frown deepened. She had heard… something.

But Y/N hadn't said a word.

She clenched her jaw, shaking it off. Perhaps she had misheard something in the noise of the dining hall.

And yet—when she looked back at her plate, her ears still buzzed.

A few minutes passed.

Wednesday focused on her food, tuning out the useless chatter around her. She had almost convinced herself she imagined it—until it happened again.

"What is she staring at? If I have something on my face, someone better tell me."

Her fork stilled against the plate.

Her grip tightened around the handle.

Slowly, deliberately, she lifted her gaze—straight to Y/N.

They weren't speaking.

They sat there, sipping coffee, not saying a single word.

But Wednesday had heard her.

Loud and clear.

Her breath stilled.

This time, she knew she hadn't imagined it.

The realization settled like cold steel in her gut.

She was hearing Y/N's thoughts.

No. That wasn't possible.

That wasn't how telepathy worked. There was no logical precedent for suddenly understanding someone's thoughts.

And yet—there it was.

Her hands curled into fists.

The sensation wasn't constant. It didn't come in waves. It came in bursts—only when she focused on Y/N.

Her mind was a fortress, yet something had torn a hole in the walls.

For the first time in a long while, a flicker of frustration ignited in her chest.

She hated things she couldn't control.

"I guess Enid's right…it must be my imagination..." 

In the present: 

She suddenly dropped her fork, pushing her plate away.

Bianca arched a brow. "You good?"

Wednesday stood abruptly. 

And that's when Wednesday spoke.

"You're wrong."

Her voice cut through the conversation like a scalpel.

Enid jumped, startled. "Jeez, Wednesday—do you always have to sneak up on people?"

Wednesday ignored her, stepping into place at the head of the table. Her gaze locked onto me, studying me like a puzzle she had already started solving.

"The clock tower. When exactly did it start working?"

I hesitated. "Midnight."

A flicker of something crossed her face—calculation, recognition. Interest.

She already knew something was happening. 

Later that night, Enid sat cross-legged on her bed, tossing popcorn into her mouth while Thing lounged beside her, flipping through an old magazine.

Wednesday stood by the window, arms crossed, eyes narrowed.

Enid squinted at her. "Okay. You've been in a mood all day. What happened?"

Wednesday didn't respond immediately.

She should have kept this to herself, ignored it, and buried it in research until she could make sense of it.

But something about this wasn't normal.

Finally, she spoke.

"Something happened."

Enid groaned, flopping backward. "Care to elaborate, or are you gonna keep being cryptic?"

Wednesday turned, deadpan. "Would it matter?"

Enid pouted. "Probably not."

Thing tapped against the bed, prompting her to continue.

Wednesday inhaled slowly.

"It started this morning."

She didn't mention specifics, and she didn't tell Enid that every time she looked at Y/N, a voice whispered into her mind.

That she could hear things she shouldn't.

She understood Y/N in a way she had never done before.

And the worst part?

The voice was infuriatingly distracting.

Wednesday clenched her jaw, pulling her sweater tighter around herself.

She had a growing suspicion that whatever was happening…

It was only going to get worse.

[sillylittlecharacters]

very VERY silly isat au:

you know how InsertDisc5 said that anyone else stuck in a timeloop would get out really easily? What if... what if that wasn't a net positive? What if they got out of the timeloop, but the wish they made still put them in a personal torment nexus afterwards?

(This isn't to bash on other party members looping aus, btw. I love them to death!! They're all so cool!!! And so many people have such cool ideas for them!!! This is merely a silly writing exercise to see how I can ruin a 'happy ending'.)

For argument's sake let's take Isabeau. Immediately after defeating the King he's just. completely stonefaced. Odile's like 'what, are kids these days too cool to get excited about ending our quest?' and he's like 'it get's less exciting the third time around, lol' and everyone else is like 'THE THIRD TIME??' In the end they all agree to stick together for as long as the loops would allow to help him figure out the time travel shenanigans, whether that be for a whole second journey or just to make talking to Euphrasie a little less lonely. This promise breaks the loops!

But it doesn't break the wish entirely.

You see, the phrasing of a wish and the intent behind it is really important. Siffrin's wish was - thank you ISAT script project - (You want to stay with them!) and it directly led to the timeloop, no extra world-breaking complications needed.

But if it was phrased slightly differently? Coloured by the independent traumas and insecurities of the different characters? Siffrin would know that a wish had to be something 'small and simple' so that the Universe would be easily able to take the path of no resistance to fulfill it clearly, but the others would lack the cultural context or the muscle memory to narrow the scope into specifics.

For example, Isabeau's version of the wish could be (You want to be yourself with them. Your true self - whoever that ends up being, for however long they'll want you.)

A timeloop that's broken in like... 10-15 loops max has got nothing on unwanted mitosis. Isabeau keeps being multiplied, his clones representing different sections of his personality. At first they're practically identical: the only difference between them is that IsaOne seems to be louder and more giggly whilst IsaTwo is slightly more anxious and reserved. But as time goes on, each IsaClone is more exaggerated and uncanny than the last. One clone might be as physically affectionate as a tipsy koala bear, latching onto anything that comes close, whilst another is almost neurotic, completely paralysed in fear.

He's left with a choice. Does he continue trying to compartmentalize his personality until he becomes a parody of himself - utterly inoffensive, utterly likable, and utterly unrecogniseable? Or does he accept every part of himself, no matter how flawed they might be, as his true self?

That's pretty much the blueprint for the au! A fun twist on the base 'stay with them' wish that leads to an even worse postcanon torment nexus for the focus character! Because my philosophy is that even fix-its can make it worse!!

I haven't hashed out the details for the other family members yet, but I'll reblog this post with the editions once I do. In the meantime, please feel free to add your own ideas!!

[rad-roche]

i'd never in all my days be so rude as to add it to the actual post you may have seen floating around (and also i can't find it) because that would make me the most annoying person in the world, especially considering how heartfelt and true the sentiment is (write what you love, even if you explore the same themes over and over) but there's a part on it where somebody says 'nobody complained that agatha christie wrote too many murders!'. i'd be remiss if i didn't point out that people did. chandler did it hard enough to form the backbone of mass market american crime fiction for about thirty years. the man complained so hard that he was part of a movement that pioneered a prose style that is still instantly recognisable even if you've never read a hardboiled detective novel

... There is a scheme of Agatha Christie's featuring M. Hercule Poirot, that ingenious Belgian who talks in a literal translation of schoolboy French, wherein, by duly messing around with his 'little grey cells', M. Poirot decides that nobody on a certain sleeper could have done the murder alone, therefore everybody did it together, breaking the process down into a series of simple operations, like assembling an egg beater. This is the type that is guaranteed to knock the keenest mind for a loop. Only a halfwit could guess it. The classic detective story has learned nothing and forgotten nothing. It is the story you will find almost any week in the big shiny magazines, handsomely illustrated, and paying due deference to virginal love and the right kind of luxury goods...

and, reflecting on hammett, the maltese falcon, and the american pulp style

Hammett took murder out of the Venetian vase and dropped it into the alley; it doesn't have to stay there forever, but it was a good idea to begin by getting as far as possible from Emily Posts' idea of how a well-bred debutante gnaws a chicken wing. Hammett wrote at first (and almost to the end) for people with a sharp, aggressive attitude to life. They were not afraid of the seamy side of things; they lived there. Violence did not dismay them; it was right down their street. Hammett gave murder back to the kind of people that commit it for reasons.

the gritty, pulpy, squinty clichés we know now, of people dying in gutters with lots of rain and a trail of ruined lives, were partly in response to more 'comfortable' parlour mysteries found in christie books, as well as broader english mysteries. this isn't to go 'aha!' or as a gotcha or anything, but i think it's just a fascinating bit of history that people may not know about

[wishcraft-uponastar]

Okay I am a little tired atm, but currently my idea for an ISAT magical girl AU is as follows!

It would probably have something to do with the forgotten island and Wish Craft.

I think a lot of hints in game point to the people of the island actually being the ISAT equivalent of wizards, from their focus on the Universe, to the way Siffrin is dressed like a wizard even though according to some people in game, "wizards aren't real".

(Also the fact they know about and are familiar with Wish Craft in general, that shit can be powerful.)

Now you're probably asking, how does one get the magical transformation? By using something called Magical Craft! (Idk if I'll keep that name but I like that it's simple and to the point)

My idea is that Magical Craft is a specialised craft like Wish Craft, and requires steps to obtain and use.

These are very rough guidelines atm but they'd probably do the following.

1. A life ending disaster happens (say for example the King causing havoc or a Wish breaking in a big way.) requiring intervention from a savior or a group of them.

2. Once you have your savior, they must receive a blessing from someone they deem "important", and they instill a value in them like say, bravery, or loyalty, or determination.

3. Store that blessing in a special pendant. The savior can make the pendant themself, or find one, the Magical Craft just needs something to embed itself into.

4. Which the blessing in mind, and the pendant in their hands, the savior must make a wish to ask for the power to protect, or fight or solve an issue in said disaster, in the name of the person who blessed them.

I tried to make it a sort of specialised craft that works a bit like the magical powers in like Tokyo Mew Mew, bestowed upon people to allow them to fight for a cause!

But the blessings can also have a personal touch, as they can even be bestowed by regular people, as long as they have a connection to the user. The savior, in true Magical girl fashion, must have something to fight for, and something that drives them.

Like for example, in this AU, Mirabelle would receive her blessing from Euphrasie, who has immense craft power yes, but most importantly, has a personal connection to Mirabelle as she helped her in her youth.

The biggest factor however, is that the blessing must come from someone that the user deems important. Think about how in ISAT, Siffrin can give the King a flower if you've carried it all the way to the King Fight.

Even if you're directly opposing the person, you can still receive a blessing from them.

A few people were actually asking for me to involve Bonnie's sister Nille in this AU, and I really thought it'd be fun! So hey, why not have Nille be the one to give Bonnie a blessing? Nille is important to Bonnie after all!

How about Loop giving Siffrin a blessing? Siffrin is fond of Loop and so, they're important to him as well!

As for Isabeau and Odile, they're gonna be tricky... I want each of the party members to have a personal blessing, but I'm unsure who these two would receive a blessing from.

Maybe Odile recieves a blessing from her father, but idk if he's even alive in ISAT, unclear. Isabeau is the hardest, but I'm sure I'll come up with something!

Let me know what you guys think! When I get over this sore neck I'll try to share some doodles of this concept !

[crochetedblorbos]

"Stay safe out there."

Character Name: Mistholme/The Audio Tour Guide

Fandom: @the-mistholme-museum [Podcast]

Voiced/Written By: Dom Guilfoyle

Yarn Used: Body: CraftSmart Value - Black Interface: CraftSmart Value - Heather Gray Voice: CraftSmart Value - Black Headphones: CraftSmart Value - Black

Basic pattern here.

Do you have any fucking idea how much it sucks wanting to hug something that not only literally but canonically doesn’t have a body? A lot.

Oh, my sweet, innocent, naive, trusting little Guide. Never lose that childlike wonder, no matter how much about the world you learn. And never lose your love of storytelling. I had hoped to finish Declan and the Guide before the finale of Mistholme, but I figure I finished close enough to the end that I can still ride that high. (Also, if you haven’t listened, go listen. Now. If you liked TMA’s format of “seemingly unconnected/only loosely connected stories that slowly coalesce into a coherent storyline that can, will, and must break your heart a thousand times over and have you begging for more”, you’ll love it.)

The Guide went through a lot of transformations over the course of the show, both in terms of personality and in terms of…existence, I guess. Without spoiling too terribly much, I rather got the impression at the beginning of the podcast that there were physical audio tour guides you would pick up at the entrance to the Mistholme Museum with the latest version of the Guide on them that you would then turn in before leaving, but by the end, you could—and frequently did—download the Guide directly to your phone. So how do you convey that as something you can give the hugs it so richly deserves and desperately needs?

This is a fun one to write up, because…well, for the most part, I didn’t vary the basic pattern. As mentioned, the Guide doesn’t have a body, but it does have a personality, so I just made a black, person-shaped void to be its “body”. Where it varies, though…is the head.

Interface: I wanted this to look like the display screen of an audio tour guide, so I stitched in the back loops only of the stitches forming a square where a person’s face would be beginning with R60 and ending on R71. Then I embroidered a sound wave onto it. Simple enough to describe. Surprisingly only slightly more difficult to execute.

Headphones: You’ve probably figured this out by now, but I will absolutely make my life as complicated as possible in order to avoid having to sew too many pieces together. I think these turned out pretty damn good, though! Pattern is as follows:

Earpiece 1:

R1: 6sc in magic circle, sl st in first sc (6 sc). R2: Ch 1, 2sc in each st around, sl st in first sc (12 sc). R3: Ch 1, [sc in first st, 2sc in next st] 6 times around, sl st in first sc (18 sc). R4: Ch 1, [sc in first two st, 2sc in next st] 6 times around, sl st in first sc (24 sc). R5: Ch 1, sc in first st, ch 2, skip next st, sc in next 23 st, sl st in first sc (23 sc, 2 ch). R6: Ch 1, sc in first st, sc in ch sp, [inv dec, sc in next 2 st] 5 times around, inv dec, sl st in first sc (18 sc). R6: Ch 1, [sc in back loop of first st, inv dec] 6 times around, sl st in first sc (12 sc). R7: Ch 1, inv dec 6 times around, sl st in first st (6 sc).

Sl st up to ch sp.

Headband:

R8: Ch 1, 2sc in ch sp, sc in next 4 st around gap, sl st in first sc (6 sc). R9-17: Ch 1, sc in each st around, sl st in first sc (6 sc). R18-22: Ch 1, sc in first two st, hdc in next st, dc in next two st, hdc in next st, sl st in first sc (2 sc, 2 hdc, 2 dc). R23-27: Ch 2, hdc in each st around, sl st in first hdc (6 hdc). R28-32: Ch 1, sc in first two st, hdc in next st, dc in next two st, hdc in next st, sl sti n first sc (2sc, 2hdc, 2dc). R33-42: Ch 1, sc in each st around, sl st in first sc (6 sc). Fasten off.

Earpiece 2:

R1: 6sc in magic circle, sl st in first sc (6 sc). R2: Ch 1, 2sc in each st around, sl st in first sc (12 sc). R3: Ch 1, [sc in first st, 2sc in next st] 6 times around, sl st in first sc (18 sc). R4: Ch 1, [sc in first two st, 2sc in next st] 6 times around, sl st in first sc (24 sc). R5: Ch 1, sc in first st, ch 2, skip next st, sc in next 23 st, sl st in first sc (23 sc, 2 ch). R6:    Ch 1, sc through first st and first st of end of headband, sc through ch sp and second st of end of headband, inv dec through end of headband, [sc in next two st, inv dec] five times around, sl st in first sc through end of headband if necessary (18 sc). R7: Ch 1, [sc in back loop of first st, inv dec] 6 times around, sl st in first sc (12 sc). R8: Ch 1, inv dec 6 times around, sl st in first st (6 sc).

Sl st down to bottom of headpiece.

Cord: Ch 34. Sc in 2nd ch from hook, sc in next 5 ch, sl st into next ch, turn. Sc in back of ch 6 times, sl st in first sc. Ch to desired length.

Join to head next to interface.

[neonhellscape]

how much of pasqal do you think is present in amarnat? like he says pasqal is the core, and i may just be paranoid, but i don't trust it. you always have the best takes so i wanted your thoughts

so. important context. i figure the collective is more like computers on a server than an individual consciousness/typical hivemind- they share information, theyre linked, but they are individual units with individual experience

anyway. alongside each of their stated roles, each of amarnat seems to have a secondary trait. nihel is doubt but also mercy [wants to spare people from eschatos], tarzus is faith and justice [will see that punishment is dealt to those deserving], dementz is paranoia and innovation [staggers hard into heresy [invention also being heresy to admech]], axiomantha is logic and fear [ultimately hides and complies]. and. pasqal seems to only be capable of acting with input/drive from others. 211 years as average maintenance guy, only actually doing something when abel calls him. which is why abel stands out to me- he's the unusual one who acts as the drive to make pasqal act and in a way that he can think of a positive direction. abel is the brain, pasqal is the nervous system, the others are the personality/thoughts.

so. in amarnat, pasqal is vitally important- you cant exist without a nervous system. you cant move, you cant act, you cant even breathe- he is the one who decides what to do, but only through the conclusion drawn by the others. he makes the choice to keep or destroy eschatos- like a scale decides if you've weighed too much or too little. he has little personal input despite amarnat being incapable of existing without him

in short, yes. pasqal is the core of amarnat. but that doesnt make him the leader, even if he is willing to take on the guilt and responsibility for the group [as proven by his 211 year depression spiral]

ive got my own thoughts that [amarnat-heretek ending] pasqal is unable to take on the messiah of discontinuing role himself with any success bc low motivation so. after a little inspiration from mr vashtorr the arkifane [his winged omnissiah] he makes an Abominable Intelligence tm out of the removed cereberal augments [excludes abel whos alive and the construct doesnt see as valuable]. this construct then becomes the messiah of discontinuing, and. then decides it needs pasqal integrated into it and kinda welds his spine to its sternum to act as its nervous system. in this state hes referred to as the carcass bc hes literally just kinda hanging there like a cut of meat, barely responsive and barely conscious [only showing signs of either when triggered by strong external stimuli]. after however long abel manages to coax pasqal's consciousness out and he rips himself off the frame- at which point the construct breaks/hits an error loop because its unable to make even the simple choice to move without him. gestures wildly i think that demonstrates my idea well enough in practical terms

ty for the ask and hope this is an interesting take for you

[briebysabs]

Since I am such a normal individual I’ve decided to attempt breaking down vanoé’s character song “Le Formidable”. I don’t hear much talk about it but the lyrics are just as cryptic and wild as the OP/ED.

Before we get into it, in terms of translation, I could only find one on YouTube that thankfully color-coded the lyrics so I could decipher who sings what. If anyone has any other translations, I’d love to know please. So a bunch of the lines you can kinda figure out who’s singing but here’s how it’s gonna be:

Vanitas =💙

Noé =💜

Vanoe= 💙💜

Simple enough let’s get into it :)

💜: /I want to stay in bed feeling the warmth of the sun and drift in and out of this sweet dream/

Already we’ve mentioned dreaming, a running theme in this song. There is the well-known line Teacher says in chapter 55...

Sleeping, specifically in regards to Noé, is something mochijun makes the audience take note. He can’t sleep without holding something. When he can’t fall asleep, it is highlighted like the night Vanitas rejected Noé drinking his blood. He doesn’t want Vanitas to disappear and I personally like how in the recent chapter, Vanitas stays by his side for a while. Almost like callback to that moment on the train but I’m getting carried away. You get the correlation I’m making, it’ll get very important later on.

We also have those warmth and sun connections to Noé, a large part of his character and Vanitas’ gravitation towards him.

💙: /With this grey weather today, this day will go by without any harmony/

We see Vanitas’ pessimistic outlook on life; grey, cloudy, devoid of color. Devoid of comfort and obviously these two contrasting people will clash but mix together throughout the song.

💜: /Tarte Tatin, Altus Paris! Endless interesting things!/

💙: /It’s always like this! Here and there, endlessly losing sight./

This seems pretty straightforward, Noé is getting distracted by all the wonderful things as usual and Vanitas chastises him. But let’s frame this another way, Noé is choosing to not focus. It’s simpler that way. He’s turning his focus elsewhere to better things, more pleasant things. And Vanitas is trying to wake him up. I’ll explain more in my theory soon.

💜: /What to look for today from this city/

💙: /Ah with all these things/

💙💜: /There is no time to rest/

Simple lyrics here. No comment.

💙💜: /Le formidable! Le formidable! It’s really easy. Just colliding, rolling down, and repeating again/

Here we are entering the chorus. There’s a common thread of repetition in every OP and ED in VnC. Like clockwork, these two have fallen into this pattern.

Colliding- Vanoé meeting, two worlds learning how to come together, joining as one

Rolling down- their downfall, incoming despair and tragedy

Repeating again- they find themselves back where they started, fated to be born and to die

Let me say the first part of my theory and keep this in the back of your head while remembering the lyrics: VnC is not a time loop in the traditional sense but rather a loop of memories. Also keep in mind the first ED Zero: “Now I remember, oh I have never lived a day without you. Untie the layer of memories...”

💙: /This worthless-/

💜: /wonderful-/

💙💜: /world we are walking on. Even not knowing is sometimes nice, right?/

Again, vanoé with different outlooks on life meet each other. But more importantly, we see the display of ignorance or blissful unawareness. We the audience have a vague idea on how this story ends and in a way, so do they. Vanitas knows very well he is doomed and has already entrusted Noé to end his life if it comes to it. But we also don’t know the specifics of their downfall and neither do they.

So this line has a double meaning that refers to the characters and the reader. As yeah it is nice to read vnc and enjoy the happy moments without knowing the painful details of what’s to come.

💜: /Over there something is flapping their wings/

💙: /And these uncountable days pass by. It’s not worth worrying about. So many unknown things, without meaning/

💜: /Escalier! I want to see the bright colors beyond!/

Noé, again giving his attention to supposedly insignificant things as Vanitas tends to see the larger picture, not caring for the mundane. Uncountable days can be matched with the grey weather mentioned earlier. But that also means things are murky, blur together, cloudy. They don’t make sense to Vanitas (such as love, his self-worth, the nature within people) while Noé wants to experience all the brightness of the world.

💙: /I told you to be quiet today, yet here we are!/

💜: /Now you loud person!/

💙💜: /I told you I hardly have time to breathe/

So, hypothetical scenario if we take this song literal: Vanoé is exploring the city because Noe wanted to Vanitas couldn’t say no. Vanitas is fed up and Noé thinks his complaints are aggravating. But this part shows a lack of understanding. They’re yelling about their own hardships but don’t see the other’s perspective.

💙💜: /Le formidable! Le formidable! It’s a simple thing. It’s just finding, losing sight and repeating again/

💜: /I want to dream/

💙: /It’s just a dream/

💙💜: /The world keep walking while not knowing the truth at this point/

Ok there’s a lot to dig our teeth in here. First of all, the finding, losing sight, repeating is another way of describing the colliding and rolling down said prior. Vanoe find each other, they lose each other, it’s fated to happen all over again. Now the big piece here, I want to dream/It’s just a dream. Surface-level interpretation > another instance of their differences. Noé wants be surrounded by dreams and wonder. While Vanitas looks at that beauty and scoff at it, since it isn’t real therefore not worth caring for. But if we read into this carefully, Noé wants to dream. He wants to stay in these memories, he doesn’t want to live in a world without Vanitas.

Let’s go back to OP 1: “I love this world and the light only you give me.”

We know OP 1 is Noe’s POV so let’s ask ourselves why would the Noé we are seeing, the one smiling at all the colors of the world say Vanitas is the only light he has (emphasis on “only”). Because the Noé singing the first OP is operating with far more knowledge and despair. We don’t know the truth at this point. “This world” is not real.

Allow me to offer what I think is happening. Noé and Vanitas meet, they go on this journey of understanding, trust, and love, Vanitas reaches his end and is killed by Noé. Noé lives on. We can tell the Noé writing this story is full of regret and sadness. But why is he writing this all down? He’s retelling the memories, putting them down physically on paper. Two things happened:

a) He exchanged his name with Naenia, wishing to remain in a world with Vanitas in it. Because that wish is still very present, Naenia has great interest in Noé. She mentions seeing him before in Louis but it could be a classic mochijun misdirect and it’s actually from receiving his name in a different iteration. There is that official art with Noé wearing Vanitas’ coat with that goat entity he saw in Gevaudan, pinned to his vest.

However this can only work if Naenia is still around and isn’t resolved/defeated in the memoirs.

b) This is more likely in my opinion. Noé uses the Books and the memoirs act as a catalyst for him to have the world become his memories or for him to live in them. I know only those with blue blood or something can use the books.

Which is why Dr. Moreau had those experiments with Vanitas and Misha. Don’t worry, I already have a theory that Archivistes are some form of blue moon vampires but that is a whole other discussion. Point is, I think the Books of Vanitas are like an Elliot sword situation. Yes, Elliot owns the Nightray sword and carries it around but you don’t know its true purpose in the story until Leo wields it.

Noé causes these memories to replay, perhaps to save Vanitas or simply to dream again. Go back to when he was last happy. But here’s the thing, the Noé in this memory is unaware or ignorant of this, sees his present world as the real one and undergoes the events of the series. Vanitas dies, he lives on, and creates a memory world for himself. Rinse, recycle, repeat. Essentially, the first ED gave it away. The entirety of VnC is a layer of memories. Even the narrator Noé we are hearing is a memory that is trying to manifest a world of his own.

Reality and dreams are all intertwined now and Noé got lost in it. There are leaks in the cracks, for example when Vanitas cries and tells Luna his mother died at childbirth why would he call to her. Initially, you can read this as he’s just missing what he never had. But what if Vanitas’ mother was present in his life 9 memory loops ago but because these memories get further from the truth the more it happens, Noé simply forgot that detail when making the memoirs at some point in time. So now, in the memory layer #52 Vanitas has no mother.

💜: /We will see what we “cannot see”/

💙: /We will know what we “don’t know”/

💙💜: /The final stop of this world that seems to be changing, seems only further ahead/

Noe’s line possibly goes into his Archiviste nature and how he experiences reading memories. It can as well build back into the dream/memory loop thing, he’s seeing things he can no longer “see.”

Vanitas’ line can be drawn to what Noé said during their fight.

Vanitas acts like he has the final word and has a full grasp of how this world/himself works. But he really doesn’t and Noé is living proof of that, proving him wrong on several occasions that there’s still hope, they can’t give up yet, he won’t leave him etc. The final stop of this world is changing, but it’s further ahead. This is a story, a preserved section of time from the past. We gotta ask ourselves... why would the last stop be changing? Again, Vanitas’ death is the final stop but it’s changing, perhaps from the countless iterations we’ve gone through Noé writes the memoirs in a way that delays the ending. So he could remain just a little longer…

💙💜: /Le formidable! Le formidable! Everything is fine. While forgetting, hiding, and repeating it/

💙: /This worthless/

💜: /wonderful/

💙💜: /world we are walking on/

💙: /I don’t know but even so/

💜: /If it can make you smile.../

After this, it ends the song by repeating the first chorus with the colliding-rolling down part so I’ll make this the cutting point. The “everything is fine” totally doesn’t stick out in a story where we know everything will not be fine. The forgetting and hiding goes back to my dream-memory theory, Noé is hiding from the truth in these stacks upon stacks of memories and is possibly forgetting things as they really happened as a result. We already know he isn’t the most reliable narrator. But Noé wants to see Vanitas’ smile.

If it can make you smile again, if it can replay your laughter, why would I ever leave this wonderful lie? In OP 1: “Your laughing was reflected by a daydream”.

I’ll conclude this by saying two things. If you want to get even deeper, you can interpret Vanitas in this song as the voice in the back of Noé’s head. Its just a dream, this world is actually worthless, and Noé is trying to drown out those thoughts. Because yeah they sing lines together but the only time they’re directly speaking to each other is when Vanitas scolds Noé and Noé shouts back, calling him loud. Finally, I could be wrong in all this. I am aware how crazy I may look and I'm so thankful if you read this far.

But yeah if this is anywhere near canon, mochijun must be the most unhinged, absolutely cracked author I’ve ever seen. We’re going into Pandora Hearts levels of intricacy here. I hope you enjoyed my insanity 👍🏼

[l0starl]

˗ˏˋPut em higher than Mary Jane˗ˏˋ

Ingredients : Sugar, cinnamon, lemon, sour candy

I got this idea from this FIC‼️Not my original idea‼️

୨୧ Warnings : Cursing, readers death, violence, blood, maybe angst

Summary : Your sick and tired of being a Mary Jane or a Gwen Stacy, your sick of being merely a love interest, your sick of watching yourself die while spiderman can never get over it.

⟢ Participants : Miles (1610)

W/c : 770

“After all death loves Gwen Stacy”

“No…no…no..NO!” Miles cried out holding your lifeless body in his arms…

You died…Again, an endless loop of the tragic spiderman stories that you only serve one purpose, to be a love interest, nothing more.

Your just a pawn in someone else’s game, if they want to kill you off they’ll do it, no hesitation…All the Gwen Stacy’s are dead…except one, ghost spider…spider woman, what’s interesting about her you may ask? She’s the only one to be bitten by a spider..

And the only one who’s still alive…..:)

Your a mix between the two, either way they both end up dying, spiderman is the main character after all, your merely a side character, your sick and tired of watching yourself die in other dimensions, you know you’ll be next, it’s only a matter of time before you’ll be lying in your grave…

But you refuse to follow those “cannon events” you’ll find away to live, you’ll find a way to break the cycle, Gwen has managed to “cheat” death, you’ll do the same as well.

Ms. Morales always considered you like a daughter, you were always welcomed into their home, and you would always spend your time with Miles goofing off.

But lately, you both have been drifting far apart, he’s hiding something from you, and he knows your suspicions of him, he’s always coming to your window injured, having you worried sick tendering his wounds while you scold him, and he won’t tell you where he’s been, won’t tell how he got injured, having you so worried you exploded his phone with calls and texts, he knows he’s taking you for granted. He doesn’t deserve you.

Lately, all he ever talks about is “Gwanda” Apparently she’s from South Africa, you basically know everything about her, and you haven’t even met her! She seems like a nice person, but the way he speaks about her makes you feel….

Jealous..?

You wish he would talk like that with you, always bringing her up when your speaking to him

“Oh, gwanda does the same thing yk? She’s i-“

“Yes miles! I know she’s in a band, I know she plays the drums, I know everything single thing about her!” You retorted

“You make everything about her! Even when I’m speaking to you about something that has nothing to do with her, you always bring her up! But you can’t help it can you?” You sighed

Miles had a saddened expression

“You know I didn’t mean it like that, I just like talking to you about this stuff yk?” Miles replied

“You talk about her so much, I wished you’d talk about me like that, the way you so engaged just to tell me a simple story about her” you snapped

“And you’re always coming through my window injured, having me worried sick and you can you at least tell me where you’ve been? You spat

“Where do you go miles? Because lately you’ve been sneaking out and coming back hurt” you hissed

“Look, I- I just can’t tell you right now, maybe in the future alright” Miles replied

“You know Miles, maybe we need a break from each other, we’ll talk when you tell me what you’ve been hiding” you responded as you walked away, leaving Miles, not bothering to turn around…

He knew he fucked up…….Real bad.

Miles went home that night, contemplating if he should tell you what he’s been hiding all this time. After Uncle Aaron’s death, you always came to comfort him during those hardships, no matter how many times he pushed you away or isolated himself from the world, you were always there for him.

You were now walking home, and it was raining hard, you hated the way your clothes clung to your body, prohibiting some of your movements. You pulled up your hoodie in frustration, why was Miles always bringing her up?

You arrived home soaking wet, the air was crispy, and the house was awfully quiet.

“Mom? Dad? I'm home?” you spoke loudly

No response

“Maybe they aren't home right now…” she muttered to herself

You take off your jacket leaving it in the laundry basket near your room, you notice a note on your door.

“We won't be home for a few days, I left you some food in the fridge, you can heat it up for dinner. - Mom”

You sighed entering your room and collapsing onto the bed, today’s been a rough day..Your heart aches for being to harsh on miles, but who could blame you? He’s hiding something…

And you’ll get to the bottom of it

[bluehairedweeb]

Peaches. Law x reader

Just a little fluff I had on the brain (: I hope you enjoy!

Things around the Polar Tang were just casual due to being mostly submerged heading towards the next island, while things were calm, you decided it’d be a good idea to walk around and find something- or someone- to potentially bother since your boyfriend and beloved captain was busy in his office catching up on who knows what medical book he’d found on the island previous.

Chores had been finished early in the morning, baths have been taken and the rest of the crew had just found themselves in a conversation about nothing; Playing uno, or just finally having a day to themselves without the worry of the marines. Though the only thing bothering you was to finding something to do. Swinging your feet off the side of the bed, looking around the shared room between you and law, nothing seemed to really peak your interest, though one of his sweatshirts was calling your name.

Standing from the bed, feet landing on a soft carpet, you padded your way over to your vanity that law had so graciously gotten and placed in his room so you’d have a space of your own in his personal bubble, applying a layer of lotion to your skin, a sweet though warm scent of vanilla surrounded you as you rubbed it into your skin, afterwards spraying Laws favorite perfume on your skin before grabbing your favorite hoodie of his and a pair of shorts to walk around in.

Law stretches in his seat, the tension from sitting in the same position for who knows how long at this point. Hands reaching for the air and the sounds of his body popping releasing all the pressure and sitting, he decides to take a walk around to see what his crew has managed to get into and maybe steal a few kisses from you to perk him up. Law steps out into the hallway leaving his door to his office open, heading towards the shared room, assuming you’d be there.

You, after finally getting situated walk out of the door to head to grab a snack before bounding off to find something to do, knowing Law will come find you when he takes a break, because even though you got special treatment, you knew that Law wanted to catch up on his studies so you didn’t mind occupying yourself for now. The sounds of footsteps behind you caught your attention, though nothing out of the ordinary until you hear,

“There’s my pretty peach.”

The blush from the nickname he’d given you ages ago still catches you off guard, you’d hated the nickname for as long as you could remember but he loved the way it made you all giddy, and blushy, so he continued to use it.

Turning around acting like you heard nothing, really throws Law for a loop, though he smirks to himself. If that’s how you wanted to play, he could play those games too.

“Huh? Did you hear something?”

“Room”

“Fuck”

“Shambles”

The room suddenly becoming his office and you’re in front of his desk. Law walking in and closing the door. ‘Click’

“You seem to of suddenly lost your ability to hear, that’s concerning my love. Why don’t I take a look and see what’s going on?” The eye roll clearly laces into his voice. You look up at him with those beautiful big brown eyes you have that capture his every movement, ones that he can’t ever stop looking into, he gives you a side smile.

“No need suga’ I just have selective hearing that’s all.” You poke your tongue out at him, with a wink. “ ‘missed my honey, good for you for taking a break today. I didn’t know if id see you today or not.” Smiling up at him, as he looks down at you, he finally gets a glimpse of the clothing options you’ve given yourself. A simple black sweatshirt with his Jolly Roger sewn into it, sleep shorts barely visible underneath the black fabric of his covering the hems of the shorts, and your bunny slippers because of course. “My pretty peach, of course you would’ve, can’t keep me away from ya even if ya tried.” He comes close to your face, nose to nose, giving you a peck, and drawing out slow well placed kisses to the corner of your lips, jaw all the way up to your ear. He whispers, “maybe this selective hearing you claim to have can get you out of trouble for what you’ve got on.” His fingers play with the hem of your shorts

You were in for it now. With the look in his eyes growing darker, he comes in and places a kiss on your neck, inhaling your scent, his favorite thing. The vanilla lotion and peach perfume made you smell so good that he could devour you. And believe him, that was exactly what he was about to do.

The end. (:

[chaoticdelinqueerwithglitter]

I'll love you better when I'm dead

(chapter 206 from Sanzu's POV)

(tragic MuSan drabble)

(link to ao3 in case some one preferes to read it there)

First of all...I'm sorry for this (not really but yes a lot at the same time, but I did this to myself too). An evil snail shared with me this AMAZING AND BRUTAL essay on Sanzu & katana-chan and reading the last pages about Mucho, this fic happened. So first of all...

GO, READ THE ESSAY NOW!

Summary: "We are both dying here today, captain."

[or why Sanzu looses his grip]

Warnings: Manga Spoilers. Major Character Death (chapter 206, duh). Hurt/No Comfort. Like for real, comfort has been slashed with a katana and is sinking in the bottom of the ocean.

The title is from "Love you better" because I listened in a loop for two days while reading the essay and writing this.

Oh, I played with Sanzu name (again, yes) but this time doing a full Jinx, ooopsie!

(English is not my first language, so be nice please 🙈)

It’s been six months since the Kanto Incident. Six months of planning for this day, of imagining how he’s going to punish that damn traitor. Of pretending his whole body doesn’t ache at the idea of killing the only person that made him feel like he mattered.

Haruchiyo is good at that, at hiding his true feelings from the world, lying to himself as much as he needs as a way of achieving it. He’s good at rationalize the overwhelming whirlwind of emotions that threaten to flood his mind all the time. He’s used to repress the pain, keep his anxiety at bay, bury all of it next to the memories he can’t face without having the need to scream and break everything at his reach (including himself).

Six months that seem to crumble the second his captain’s eyes light up when he spots him outside the detention center.

The ride is dominated by silence, that only breaks with Muto’s simple questions about how he’s been doing during this time. Genuine concern plastered on the face he’s supposed to hate. Haruchiyo wants to laugh hysterically at this, the irony that even now the older boy is only worried about him. Instead, he just gives short answers, knowing the other won’t push his boundaries.

They are finally at the wharf and his resolve flatters for a moment, overwhelmed by a kindness that he forgot how warm it feels.

“I’ve been waiting for this day...”

Haruchiyo trails off, talking mostly to himself. His hands grip the hilt of the katana, steading his inner turmoil with the reminder of why he’s doing this. The tangible proof of his vow, of the promise that gives him purpose. Wielding it with years of practice, preparing himself to strike a fatal blow.

‘Is that it? Is that the only reason I’m doing this?’

He hesitates, consciously loosening his grip on one hand and landing a sloppy cut that buys him some precious seconds.

“You damned betrayer!”

‘Liar, you made me think I could trust you, made me feel safe, seen. How can you say you love me when you couldn’t tell your treason would rot everything we shared?’

“Sanzu...?”

Muto looks at him in shock, trying to stop the bleeding with his hand and falling on his knees. He’s the perfect image of bewilderment, like he can’t comprehend what is happening, why is happening.

“I’ve been fooling you all along.”

‘I’ve been fooling myself, pretending this never meant anything to me. Pretending you never meant anything to me.’

Haruchiyo keeps talking, winning some time in order to collect his thoughts, to understand his own feelings in order to let them go and fully put his heart on the second hit.

“Remember our conversation that day when we were playing shogi? I said it, right?”

‘Do you remember how you told me I also mattered? You made me yearn for more, you were the first person that taught me to be selfish, to listen to my own needs.’

It’s almost ironic, realizing killing Muto is a sick way of putting himself first. Realizing this is personal.

“Protecting the king is the priority. You betrayed Mikey, didn’t you?”

‘You betrayed me, didn’t you?’

He takes off his mask, the scars reminding him of his place, letting go the faint illusion it could ever be somewhere else. That it could be next to his captain. He can’t forget it again, can’t keep hiding his devotion behind his craving for affection.

A sadistic grin on his face. That’s the new mask he’s going to show to a world that will never be the same for him.

“Now it’s checkmate.”

This time the cut is fatal, slashing a lot more than flesh and bones and severing the ties between them.

‘We are both dying here today, captain.’

Somehow, Muto hears the words he never says. But his will be the only tears shed, no one else will mourn the Haruchiyo that knew genuine love.

Sanzu can’t allow himself to grieve. He can’t be weak again, these seconds that felt like ages will be the last entertaining the idea he could be more than a loyal knight to his beloved king.

He made a promise and Sanzu is willing to do anything in order to fulfill it. Even killing a part of himself forever. His weakness, the love that tempted him to break free of his sacred vow. In a twisted way, he can’t avoid thinking how fitting it feels burying it with his captain.

Haruchiyo is dead.

Only Sanzu prevails.

[levanswrites]

Apartment #3 - Chapter 2

pairing: steve rogers x undercover!reader

warnings: 18+ SMUT*, Neighbors to Friends to Lovers, lots of angst, heavy mutual pining, hurt/comfort, eventual smut/romance/fluff

summary: as an undercover agent at SHIELD, her newest assignment involves moving in across the hall from her target. she's strictly ordered to keep her distance—no personal contact besides the absolutely necessary. the only issue? her new target neighbor turns out to be Captain America.

excerpt:

Jessica Grace Parker December 4th, 1989 569 Leaman Place Apt. #3, Brooklyn, NY 11201 Registered Nurse NewYork-Presbyterian Hospital

It’s the undercover alias she’s been assigned as a member of SHIELD’s Special Operations unit. The mission objective was rather simple—monitor the target and report updates as necessary.

She’s gone undercover more than a dozen times, so it’s not the details of the assignment or the temporary relocation she’s concerned about.

It’s just that her target was well… more unusual than most.

author's note: an idea that's been living in my head ever since steve asked sharon for that cup of coffee in their apartment hallway. as a SHIELD agent, the reader's real name has been [REDACTED] to preserve anonymity.

masterlist

“That the last of everything?” 

“Yup.” She grunts, unloading the last box of her belongings off the back of Thomas's truck and onto the sidewalk. She dusts off her hands, stepping back as her coworker closes the trunk and locks the vehicle. 

“Should you even be here right now?” She murmurs, glancing around nervously, though there are no pedestrians around. This mission was, funnily enough, one of SHIELD’s most coveted. Very few people knew about its existence—aside for Nick Fury, only Thomas and a few other couple agents in special ops were in the loop.

“Eh, what Fury doesn’t know won’t kill him.” Thomas dismisses her with a flick of his wrist, sliding the shades off his face as he surveys the neighborhood. She follows suit, getting a good first look at her new home.

 569 Leaman Place was located at a charming little street in Brooklyn Heights—idyllic brownstone row houses with red mahogany doors, bay windows, and black awnings. The entire area seemed like a welcome departure from her old neighborhood in Manhattan—low-rise architecture and narrower streets, lots of warm sun with lush greenery shielding the sidewalks. She could already envision herself sitting outside at one of the cute cafes around the block, sipping on an oat milk latte and spending a leisurely afternoon people-watching.

Yup, she wouldn’t mind living here for a while. 

“How are you feeling about the assignment?” 

Thomas’s question catches her off guard, breaking her out of her daydream as she glances up, squinting under the bright sunlight.

“What, you mean spying on a national hero? Not too psyched, to be honest.” 

“Don’t forget he’s also technically your superior advisor.” He eyes her amusedly, helping her pick up the boxes off the sidewalk and up the stairs of the row house. 

“Right.” She mutters, groaning a little at the reminder.

As soon as they drop off the last of the boxes at the entrance, Thomas's phone buzzes with a notification.

“I should be heading back. You want me to call someone to help with this?”

“No, I’ll be fine. Go take care of… whatever that is.”

Cut to half an hour later, when she’s panting and slugging up the stairs of her new apartment, lower back aching from the crushing weight of the box in her arms. 

Good lord, maybe she should have thought twice about refusing help—with no elevator or AC, the four flights of stairs between the lobby and her unit seemed longer than a hike up Kilimanjaro. 

She grunts, slamming the box down as soon as she reaches the fourth floor. The wooden floor creaks dangerously beneath her, and the sound of the ceiling fan in the hallway is almost deafeningly loud once she takes a second to catch her breath. 

Guess some things are better from the outside. 

She takes a proper look around the inside of the building—from the faded hardwood to the old carpeting, she’d guess that it was at least a century old. 

Out of all the places to live in the city, Captain America chose this place?

She pushes the box away from the stairwell, dragging it across the straggly carpet into a corner. Wiping the sweat off her brow, she stands up, giving her back a much-needed stretch. Then, with a loud sigh, she begins turning around sluggishly, dreading the trip to retrieve the rest of her stuff downstairs, when a voice sounds from the top of the staircase. 

“You alright?”

She swivels around, coming face to face with her mission target.

Her eyes flit over his tight compression shirt and a pair of grey sweats, a light sheen of sweat on his neck catching the dull lighting of the hallway as he tilts his head back for a sip of water. 

“Hey.” A flash of blue as his eyes meet hers, giving her a nod and a smile. Polite, and a little stiff. Valid, given she was a stranger.

She blinks, reciprocating his greeting with a jaw that feels a little loose at the hinges. He takes another moment to survey her closely before his eyes suddenly grow, brows raising in what she can’t tell is realization or surprise. Her stomach tightens, panic seizing in her throat.

“Oh! Are you…”  

The flight or fight instinct inside her flares up—could he really be recognizing her? Perhaps from a millisecond interaction at SHIELD headquarters? Maybe they had attended the same meeting? Passed each other in the lobby? Sat in close proximity during a press conference?

Shit, an hour into the mission? This must be some sort of record.

“…are you moving into that unit?” He sticks his head down the hall, gesturing to the second door on the right—the only one without a welcome mat out in front.

Faded, dark mahogany with the number 3 plated in dull gold.

Thank god. 

“Yeah, yes, I am.” She nods, perhaps a little too enthusiastically, though he doesn’t seem to notice.

She notices the friendly smile that starts to bloom on his face, wide and warm, small lines crinkling the corners of cool blue eyes.

“Oh, that’s great, are you new to the neighborhood?”

“Yeah, I just moved from Midtown.” 

It wasn’t a complete lie, considering how she did use to live in a SHIELD-commissioned studio apartment in Manhattan. God, she was dearly gonna miss that under-5-minute commute to work. Now she’d have to suffer through a 40 minute train ride every morning, wearing hospital scrubs she would have to change out of as soon as she got to her desk job at SHIELD. 

He gives her another nod, holding eye contact for a curiously long time. Her eyes start to falter during the brief moment of silence when his brows raise in realization. He shifts his weight to his right foot, stepping forward, and flashes an apologetic smile.

“Sorry, I’m Steve. I live just down the hall.” He gestures to the door across from hers, wiping his hand on the bottom of his shorts before extending it in greeting.

She glances down at his hand, blinking.

Out of all the details during this first encounter, she’s most surprised by the way he introduces himself—just Steve, an ordinary 30-something-year-old returning home after a run.

It strikes her, then, like whiplash.

To her, Steve was Captain America, someone she’s spent the last few days reading about tirelessly, nailing down every detail. 

To Steve, she was just… a neighbor. Someone new to the neighborhood, moving in down the hall. 

And with that reality finally sinking in, she accepts Steve’s hand, tentatively slipping her fingers into his palm. 

Ah, the famous Captain America handshake.

It’s firm, warm, resolute—nothing short of what you’d expect from America’s hero. She thinks briefly of her friend from work, Thomas, who refused to wash his hands for two whole days after getting a handshake from the man standing in front of her.

Up until this point, Captain Amercia had been little more than a public figure for SHIELD—a glorified symbol of all the values her company supposedly stands behind. 

Now, meeting Steve Rogers in the flesh, as he towers over her with his 6-foot-something frame, she starts to understand just why this man had been revered among family, friends, and coworkers alike.

(“He was more godly than, like, Thor, I swear.” Thomas had raved.)

“Jess.” She offers quietly, retracting her hand.

Ugh. Jess. Something about her new identity didn’t sound right. A little too doe-eyed, Zooey-Deschanel-esque for her liking, but perhaps even that had been an intentional move on Fury’s part. 

“It’s nice to meet you, Jess.” Her fake name rolls off of Steve’s tongue so smoothly, slow and sweet, and she has to swallow down a sudden wave of nausea that hits the back of her throat.

Steve lingers, gaze flitting over to the messy array of boxes shoved into the corner behind her.

“Do you need help with your boxes? I noticed a few of ‘em were still downstairs.”

“Oh, I…” On one hand, she’s not sure if this would violate the whole ‘minimal contact’ clause of her mission assignment. But then again, her back feels like it’s seconds away from splitting in half, and how could she begin the mission if she can’t even move into her new place?

“It’s really no trouble, I promise.” Steve smiles reassuringly, as if sensing the conflict on her face. Misjudges her pause for polite hesitation. 

“… thank you.” She manages to breathes out.

Steve nods, jogging down to the first floor and re-appearing up the stairs in a flash, carrying all of her remaining boxes up in one trip. 

Jesus.

“Thank you for this, really.” She murmurs, shuffling down the hall to her door. She spares a quick sideways glance at Steve, who’s carrying four boxes at a time without so much as breaking a sweat. She’s barely keeping up with the smaller one in her arms, her bag hanging from her arm and her keys balanced precariously on top of the box. 

When they reach apartment #3, she leans forward to set her things down, the keys slipping to the floor in the process.

“Shoot.” She mutters, face burning with embarrassment as she quickly bends down, but he’s quicker.

“I got it.” 

And apparently superhuman power also mean superhuman reflexes, because he’s down at the floor picking up her keychain before she even has the chance to blink.

“… here.” 

There’s a slight pause in his movements when he hands her back her keys, and when her eyes trail down to what’s in his hand, she immediately understands why.  

A shiny Captain America shield keychain sticks out from the rest of the dull array of metal—the red, white, and blue plastic of honor hanging proudly from his fingertips.

It was a sick little joke played by the tiny group of people in her department that knew about her new gig—‘a good luck charm!’ Thomas had taunted. She had rolled her eyes, adding it to her keychain jokingly, and meant to take it off long before she was set to relocate to Brooklyn.

She feels her entire face burn a deep crimson as she tries to remain poker-faced, clearing her throat as she takes the keys from his hand and hastily shoves it through the door.

“Just… y-you can just set those down anywhere, thanks.” 

She steps aside for Steve to walk in, gripping at the doorframe as she makes a mental note burn the keychain into next week, alongside Thomas and the rest of her coworkers. 

By the time Steve sets down the last of her belongings in the middle of her empty living room, her cheeks are still flushed ripe with embarrassment.

“Thank you for your help, really.” She gives him a polite smile at the door, unable to make full eye contact. 

“No worries, let me know if you need anything else.” He smiles, and she finds the tiniest piece of respite in noticing that if he had seen what was on her keychain (which was virtually inevitable given the circumstances), he didn’t seem at all bothered. 

“… well, I’ll see you around Jess.” He smiles, giving her a small wave.

“Yeah, you too.” She nods, trying to conceal the tight lines around her lips. Steve steps back in the direction of his apartment, fishing out his keys from his pocket. She starts to turn around, fingers trembling with the details of her first encounter with Captain America, when she hears his voice calls out again from across the hall. 

“Oh, I almost forgot…”

Shit, what?

When she turns back around, he’s leaned against the faded doorway of apartment #4, flashing her a charming smile—classic all-American, pearly-whites and all.

“…welcome to the building.”

Apartment #3 Masterlist

[brotrustmeicanwrite]

How do you balance maintaining a consistent writing routine?

Oh boi if only I could actually do that. Ok here we go~

Writing Creating Consistently

Creating consistently is one of the biggest challenges for any creative out there, not just writers. But despite so many people experiencing the same exact problem there is no universal solution. And the reason for that is simple: every person is different and the reason behind their struggles are just as diverse as humanity itself. For some it’s just difficulty keeping a habit alive, for others it’s circumstances of life and for people like me it can even just be their neuro-type.

But it’s not like there’s nothing you can do. So, here are two ideas to try to write more consistently, for both the organised and the chaotic:

Journaling +

This idea works best for those who don’t struggle too much to keep a habit alive or those who already journal or do something similar regularly anyway. Basically all you do is add a daily writing task to your routine. It can be anything like writing a short paragraph, working on character details or even just researching something. What exactly you do doesn’t matter as long as you’re doing something. But the most important thing to keep in mind is to keep the task tiny.

Once we start doing something, more often than not, much more will follow naturally. But if we make the task too big, we risk ending up dreading it. For that reason, your daily task should be something easy that can be done in no more than 5 minutes. That way you’ll get the satisfaction of doing something almost every day and don’t disappoint and demotivate yourself with piled up days of being unable to fullfill your goals.

Tiny Book

This technique works best for the more chaotic (and/or audhd) type and is the one I personally use for both writing and art. The basic idea of this technique is to simply always have something on you to catch your random bursts of inspiration throughout the day. For most people this will probably be their smartphone and maybe one of those cheap mini pens with the rubber stylus at the end. If you don’t like the notes app or just writing stuff down in a text document (or a hundred separate ones) here’s some apps that I use(d in the past):

Obsidian - very similar to a notes app, except you can link documents and build your own little Wikipedia. Including the clickable links within text and all.

Concepts - gives you an infinite canvas to take notes and draw stuff like mind maps. You’ll need a stylus for this one if you don’t want to write with your fingers. There are in app purchases but you really don’t need them and I’m using the free version with no problems too.

Campfire Blaze - (also as website) is specifically built to plan and share your writing projects. It has a lot of pre built functions to plan characters, maps, lore, magic systems etc.

Story Plotter - very similar to campfire except the focus is on structuring your story. A lot of people swear by it but I personally can’t give much more details because it just isn’t my style of program.

If you’re more of the traditional type though, get yourself a small notebook to always (and I mean always) carry around. Preferably a durable one that fits in your pocket and has a loop for a pencil. Also I recommend using a short technical pencil with an eraser at the end to avoid having to carry that and a sharpener around. Remember, we want the most comfortable quick and easy access so it doesn’t become a hassle to always have access to your materials.

On that note,

Why oh why, IKEA, did you stop making those cute but sturdy notebooks? That’s it, we’re breaking up. Søstrene Grene, you’re my new paper supply girlfriend. You may be more dainty and delicate, less sturdy than Ikea, but at least you’re there for me.

Ok but seriously, tip for the artists: søstrene grene has those teeny tiny blank books with really nice paper (easy 100+ pages) that fit into even a women’s front pocket and are perfect for quick thumbnailing. Just make sure to enforce the binging by putting some washi tape ore sum around the edges and glue it down on the backing bc they fall apart easily.

Anyway

Happy writing creating <3

[polyamzeal]

I'd really like some advice, if you'd be kind enough to offer some.

My partner and I have been together a little while and we talked on and off about moving in and getting a place together. Some of it was daydreaming and voicing fantasies, but some of it was genuine (or felt it to me).

She came to see me one time, and during that visit, she told me, "my other partner and I have decided to find a place together"

It was out of the blue and no prior mention had been made that they were even discussing it.

It broke my heart.

From my point of view, it was like she said, "oh, you know this thing that we've talked about doing? Yea, I'm going to go and do that with someone else"

Without any discussion or time given to me to process and get used to the idea, they were viewing properties the very next day and managed to find somewhere within a month or so.

What's worse, the property they found is the kind of place I imagined for us.

I helped her pack and move her stuff, all the while not really believing or accepting it was happening. I couldn't understand why she didn't talk to me about this? When we had talked about it ourselves. How could she have been this inconsiderate of how it would affect me?

I don't think I expected too much from wanting to have been in the loop a heck of a lot sooner than I was. I just wanted to be considered.

It's been some time now, and I'm still heartbroken about it, finding it hard to accept that it played out like this, still wishing without hope that I was the other person, living with her.

I love her dearly, but this wound is so persistent and I don't know what she, or I can do for it to heal.

I've tried to accept it as much I can, but there's no closure.

She knows how much it hurt me, but hasn't really done anything to try and make up for it?

I don't even really know what she could do, or what I would want her to do.

I want to stay together, we love each other, and we make each other happy. But it just feels like this is eating me alive from the inside, and I'm scared of how this could end up.

Any advice you could give, would be greatly appreciated,

Thank you

Is it possible that didn't think you were serious about looking for a place together? The other partner might have presented a concrete plan that appealed to her more so she went with it. Were there other factors or issues that might have made her not want to move in together?

The thing that sticks out to me here is the line "She knows how much she hurt me." Does she? How much have you talked to her about it? Has she offered any explanation or apology? If she legitimately knows how much she hurt you and hasn't put in any effort to fix it that might be grounds to break up. Staying together with someone who is blatantly disregarding your feelings is not healthy.

Otherwise, if there is room to recover then the future holds possibilities. Could all 3 of you get a home together in the future? Or is there new place big enough that they might welcome you living there too? Or even just to be more simple maybe you can talk to her about wanting her to spend more time at your place to help sooth the feelings you have been having.

[writeriguess]

Dude what the hell? I'm so sorry people are being weird as hell to you, that last ask accusing you of being Jewish (as if that's some kind of insult) and then concluding you must be a Zionist is insane and just shows how ignorance is the biggest weapon used in propaganda. The fact that people still think this is some kind Islam vs Judaism thing is insane. Palestinians can be and many are Jewish, please don't let people frustrate you. I'm glad you're willing to learn what is and isn't on the boycott list and I'm more than happy to give you a more simplified list if you're interested in boycotting more easily. Please don't let the loud minority of people make you think this is a boycott you shouldn't take part in, it's very important when our money is our only weapon in times like this,

Much love from a passionate person on anon :)

You’re completely right—this isn’t, and has never been, some simple "Judaism vs Islam" thing. That kind of framing is not only shallow and false, it’s also actively harmful. There are Jewish Palestinians. There are Muslims, Christians, and secular Palestinians. And above all, there are people in Gaza being slaughtered—regardless of faith, age, gender, or political affiliation.

What’s happening isn’t a “conflict.” It’s genocide. Israel’s actions have made their goal horrifyingly clear: they want Gaza wiped out. They’ve said it openly, and they’ve acted on it with relentless violence. Hospitals, schools, refugee camps—nothing is spared. Every ceasefire becomes an excuse to reload and return even more brutal. The sheer dehumanization required to justify what they’re doing is stomach-turning.

And what absolutely breaks my brain is watching people eat up the propaganda like it’s candy. The way everything gets framed around Hamas, as if the lives of 2.3 million people hinge on what one political group says or does. As if babies deserve to die because of who governs them. It’s like watching history repeat itself on loop. Eighty years ago, Jews were demonized, dehumanized, and targeted by mass propaganda. Now, the victims of that horror are spreading eerily similar narratives against another population. It’s gut-wrenching.

Religious justification makes it even more absurd. The idea that a dream, a divine vision, or a centuries-old scripture gives someone full claim to an entire land—no matter who lives there—is just... I don’t even have words. If Jesus appeared in my dreams and told me my neighbor’s house, car, and boat were mine now, I wouldn’t expect him to hand them over. But somehow, this same logic is supposed to hold up on an international scale? The mental gymnastics it takes to believe that is almost impressive in the worst way.

And yeah... I’m seeing the Islamophobia rise again too. It's post-9/11 all over. The suspicion, the profiling, the way Muslim lives are seen as somehow more disposable—it’s sickening. I still remember when Israel laid out demands to Hamas, got refused, and then responded by slaughtering thousands—only to laugh off a ceasefire proposal when Hamas reversed and said they'd accept. Babies were labeled as “terrorist threats.” It’s beyond dystopian.

That said, I agree with you about some of the ways the movement plays out online. The harassment of individuals—especially celebs—for not posting 24/7 or for not wording things just right feels counterproductive. If someone genuinely doesn’t care, call it out. But constantly demanding performative outrage or instant purity from everyone only pushes people away. It risks turning this vital cause into a purity contest, where people are afraid to speak out at all in case they get it slightly wrong and get dogpiled. That’s not justice—that’s fear. There has to be a better middle ground where we stay passionate, but also grounded and humane in our activism.

And yes, I’d really appreciate a simplified boycott list. I’m trying to be more intentional about where my money goes, and I’ve been looking into things on my own, but it gets confusing and overwhelming sometimes. If you have a clearer or easier version to follow, I’d be grateful to take a look. It really is one of the only tools we have right now—and it’s something tangible that does make a difference when enough of us commit.

Again, thank you for reaching out with kindness and understanding. Sending love back to you.