#i use to rent a lot of games there as a kid. sometimes good. sometimes bad.

[gray-r-regan]

Something nobody talks about but everyone needs to hear:

If you feel as though you need to embellish what happened to you to make it sound worse when explaining it to someone, you are not "attention whoring," "being dramatic," or a compulsive liar (actually, you might be a compulsive liar, but that's related to what I'm talking about, so please feel zero judgment from me and stay tuned).

If people had not already and repeatedly dismissed, negated, downsized and otherwise invalidated your suffering and been unwilling or unable to give you the help you're looking for by communicating the situation, you would never feel driven to make it seem "serious enough" to warrant help.

You started out talking, then you started yelling, now you're screaming, and the world has its ears plugged.

You are escalating your attempts to get the validation, reassurance, the healing that you need, and that is a survival mechanism. That is you being a fighter.

That is the pain in you saying DO YOU NOT SEE THAT I WANT TO LIVE SO BADLY THAT I AM SCREAMING ABOUT IT?

Your addictions and other "negative" behaviors are saying this exact same thing.

They are saying "I will do anything to survive, and right now I have to, because I am not getting the help I need."

The sad truth about this world: sometimes you have to scream to force it to pay attention. You shouldn't have to. Talking should be enough. Saying it once should be enough.

Whatever happened to you was serious. It was terrible. It was wrong. It never should have happened. I may not see you, but believe me, I see you. I do. I know your heart hurts, and you feel like someone scraped out your thoracic cavity with a melon-baller and enjoyed it.

I know your addictions and your numbness came about when you screamed and screamed and screamed and no one came for you and if you are crying, please let yourself cry. You need to cry. You need to beat the shit out of your pillow and scream and get angry at the ones who hurt you and expel that cancer through tears and movement, writing, art, running, kickboxing singing screaming into the void or doing fucking macrame, whatever. Not headbanging. We don't want neck injuries. There are a lot of disabled guitarists out there.

I'm here; I'll wait, please come back, it's going to get better.

The food, the phone, the games, the drugs, the meds, the alcohol -- they're pacifiers. You need something you can't find, something others cannot or will not give you, so you use these because they make it hurt a little less and you are so, so tired of the hurt, and you have to function and stay on your feet, for fuck's sake, you have the kid(s), the dishes, the laundry, school, the dog, the cat, the pet rock to be strong for and take care of, so you needed SOMETHING to keep you from falling apart. I know.

The thing is, it might be all well and good and socially acceptable to quiet yourself like this, because people don't like the messiness of other people's emotions, needs, wants, honesty and healing (that's why they abuse autistic people through ABA), but I want them for you, and you want them, even though you're afraid you won't survive facing them (you will).

What's going to kill you eventually is not facing them. And I know you don't really want to die. You just want the pain to stop. You don't want to be staring down a future where unhappiness and numbness, fatigue and anger are the only things that exist. You want happiness, you want moments of ease and joy, but maybe it's been so long you don't remember what that's like, and it seems like asking for a goddamn pony when your parents can't make rent.

I am here holding space for you, holding your hand or your shoulder if you want or need that, hanging out on the other wall if you don't, and I'm telling you the only way out of the well is through it. Upwards. Through all that shit you're afraid of because you already faced it on the way down. I'm down here with you, telling you the reason no one will lower a rope or a ladder is because they can't -- the well you're in doesn't exist for them, just like theirs don't exist in your world (the only reason I can well-hop is because I clawed my way out of mine, and I'm here because I don't want you to also spend thirty-five point five years doing it, or worse, die at the bottom).

You can give me the reasons you can't climb out, and I will listen.

Again, you gotta survive. Gotta work. Parent. Be a spouse. Avoid the wrath of abusive parents who can't handle their own emotions, much less yours.

I hear that.

And I tell you this:

There is no reason good enough to keep living like this. No person more important than you are. You are equal to everyone from your next door neighbor to Thich Nhat Hanh (he'd have told you the same, kind of is, in fact, and you'll see how if you stick with me), so anyone putting themselves and their wants and needs above you is wrong to do it.

And yes, it's gonna suck and it's gonna be painful and scary to feel all of that. Why else do we try anything to avoid it? Nobody ever taught us we can sit and feel it and be compassionate and kind to ourselves as we work it out without acting on it destructively -- but you can.

The sooner you start, the less of it you'll have to get through, and the faster you can learn to take the new things that come at you and handle them before they can be put away and start to fester.

It's like the flu (I have covid, currenly, for the sixth time. Luckily, you can't catch the plague from an apparition. And I'm wearing an apparition mask, just to be safe). You can't just squeeze the flu into an hour and be done with it. Too much suffering all at once would be too much pressure release, too painful, like heat shattering a pot lid.

You have to let it out through vents, and the size of the vent varies based on the amount of time, energy, space and tools you have on hand at the moment.

But "venting," in the traditional sense, just endlessly explaining to people what happened, or writing it out and cutting the pages with your pen, isn't enough, and the former can inflict trauma on the listener (that's why therapists get emotional regulation training, so they can catch what's coming at them and diffuse it, the way I'm showing you now, because you know what I'm sick of seeing? "This is your problem," followed by "pay me $500/hr and I'll fix it." That's some predatory shit, isn't it? And it's everywhere. No. We're not doing that, my well-bound ghost friend).

Nah, we've tried venting. It didn't work. So now we're going to Vent Productively.

The tools are simple, and the tools are cheap.

1. Compartmentalization.

The reason you're not going to lose your job or get in trouble at school or beat up the shitheads who keep making your life miserable when you start the healing process is that, if you don't already, you are going to learn to put parts of your life into separate boxes. You are going to be a different part of yourself in each box.

Spouse You (we wish we could be all of ourselves in front of the person who is supposed to be our partner, but they are also a fractured human, so we can't, and knowing they are also humans with limits is part of being a good partner). Parent You, which should only ever be part of you anyway, so your kids don't stay stressed, worried and scared. School/work you etc., who doesn't share anything they don't strictly need to know, and gathers the bullshit people throw at them to put it into the last box:

The messy stuff goes in this big box here, here's a gold Sharpie, we're labeling it "HEAL," we're doing some kintsugi, you're gonna be even more beautiful.

2. Writing. Phone. Journal. Napkin. Wall. Digital recorder. Stone tablet.

In this box, the key is to VOMIT. Bear with me.

The VOMIT acronym comes from a YouTube video by author Campbell Walker, who wrote Your Head Is a Houseboat, a fun and easy-to-understand metaphor for Internal Family Systems, which really means looking at all the different parts of yourself and giving them some much-needed group therapy (and throwing a few of them overboard, where a lot of my immediate family find themselves). Cam is a former addict, current healthy and wildly helpful and creative father of two.

It's for journaling, but journaling is affordable, DIY therapy when done correctly.

Vent:

Get all that shit out of your head. Just write. Don't edit. Go until it feels like there's nothing left. Now go drink some water and do something that calms you down, like deep breathing, meditation, stretching, walking, dancing. Put your attention on your body (you're going to be spending more time here than in your head now, so it's good practice. Trust me, it's better out here than in your head, and this is where you're going to have to learn to stay when your brain isn't needed for problem solving or creativity, if you want to stay sane. After a while of keeping up your VOMIT habit, meditating, facing your life with honesty and a drive to problem solve and a determinationto have fun and perform self-care, the inside will be much cleaner and you'll stop breaking your toes on boxes full of what you felt like you couldn't deal with before).

Now go back and look at it all. Write a letter to yourself addressing everything point by point, but here is the one rule: you cannot write from the perspective of your own worst enemy and most self-destructive voices. You must write from the perspective of the kindest, most empathetic, most unconditionally-loving and forgiving person in the universe. The parent you never had.

The person that, if you do all these things and do them for the rest of your life, you're going to become.

This is the part where you finally get the bandages and antiseptic you've always needed. Where you get what that hollow part of you is screaming for. If you learn to validate and love yourself unconditionally, and talk to yourself like a stern, no-bullshit, kind best friend who wants to see you get everything you need and whatever you want (that would be good for you), you'll never feel like you're alone in the world, looking for things no one can give you. Because they really can't. If you don't feel love, it's because the hate and coldness you internalized at the hands of abusive people and inept parents is in the way.

You're holding it up like a backward shield made of glass, and all it's doing is intensifying the burning of all the hate in the world and setting you on fire.

I promise you don't need it.

Put it down.

When people are kind, you do deserve it.

Most of your thoughts are automatic defense mechanisms, and that's all they are. They're little shadow puppets that pop up to replay The Story of What Happened and Why Everything Including Me is Awful, and the very unfunny thing about that?

They do it because they believe if you see it happen enough times, you'll stop being hurt by it.

But you're hurt every time you see it.

So jettison them. Put them in a lifeboat if your heart is made of powdered sugar (it is. It's still in there. It's still soft under the armor, believe me).

When someone tries to hurt you now, instead of holding up a shield that says I KNOW, hold up a mirror. Because that's what you literally are to other people. This is how "mirror neurons" function. We see who we are, or we think we do, through other people's reactions to us. But here's the thing about that: most people are funhouse mirrors. Most of them distort our image, because:

1. They have no idea what's going on inside our heads, our motivations, hopes, dreams, past experiences that explain our beliefs and actions, intentions, etc., and they almost always misread them BECAUSE they're seeing us through that warped lens, so you may do something to be kind, and get slapped and screamed at. Is this an accurate reflection? Accurate information about who you are, and how you should feel? How others get to treat you? Abso-fucking-lutely not, ghost friend. No.

2. Their prejudices. They're bigots, a lot of them. And even if they don't think they are, now science has proven that, at least if you're autistic (and society can't produce an autistic person who isn't traumatized, and what I'm writing here is one big contributing factor), neurotypicals don't like you, and they don't like you on sight. And do you know why? Mirror neurons. Autistic people tend to look at reality WITHOUT a warped lens. That's why we so often create genius works, invent things, spread valuable information, make breakthroughs, HATE LIES -- we don't delude ourselves for the sake of comfort and societal harmony based on lies. They do not want to see themselves so clearly. Looking at us is like putting on your glasses before you put on makeup and recoiling at what you've been judging yourself for. Are we always the image of snow-white clarity? No. We're fallible too. But we're about 99% less fallible, and we're getting sick of being gaslit.

It's not us they hate. It's themselves.

We can and probably should be kind enough to cushion them a little, when we have the spoons, though it should be their responsibility to examine themselves and build confidence. But trying to be a mirror for them that is comforting, rather than jarring, would make all our lives easier in a lot of ways.

And this is why, even if you aren't autistic, you need to realize nothing is personal and everything someone tries to show you or tell you about yourself needs to stick to the motorcycle helmet visor of your mind, and not go straight into your throat like a fat bee to be choked on and cause anaphylaxis. We're going too fast to stop and look for the fugging EpiPen, and also, they're prohibitively expensive, and the United States Government and healthcare systems are shit, so prophylaxis it is, baby.

Later, you can examine it, decide whether you'd like to change yourself to align with what you've been told, or throw it away as garbage coming from someone with a shitty attitude, rudeness, prejuduce, insecurity, jealousy, or bad intentions.

Don't automatically believe ANYTHING. Not what you're told, not what you read, not even what you see. Dwell on it later. Examine it. Fact-check it ruthlessly. Be selective about what you decide to keep, and never get so attached that you can't chuck that overboard at a later date when it's no longer useful. It's not only okay to say, "I don't know for sure, and maybe I never will," it's the most mature, wisest, and only sane possible response to most things.

A long digression, coming back to the next letter of VOMIT:

Obligations

Write down everything you're responsible for, expected to do, want to do, etc. I'm including this because the pain you've been dragging around has made it hard to keep up, hasn't it. Now you're stressed and overwhelmed. It's okay, I've got you.

First step after writing it all down is to realize you are not actually starting from being BEHIND IT ALL. That's a mental illusion. You are simply here, now, looking at it all in a pile, not judging yourself for how you got here (because we know how, the human struggle is how). So drop your shoulders and breathe.

It's going to feel so good to make a plan for all of this, even knowing that, as a human, that plan is going to change and be challenged and you probably won't get it all done, but as long as you're alive you can keep steadily flowing around the obstacles until, like water, you wear them down to pebbles. Either they're going to get smaller, or you're going to get stronger -- that's what resistence and persistence create.

Yeah, this does seem like a lot of work, but you know what? Long-term stress and depression make you forget that you have basically been knocked down, and you are dragging the world's heaviest backpack along the road of your life, and to be able to walk and feel light again, you have to unpack it and stand back up.

It's like cleaning a house: if you're sick, like me, the grime and dust bunnies are going to pile up, and for a while, to rest your body, you have to be okay with allowing that. You have to let go of the guilt that comes with it, because resting is the sensible priority (when you can do it). If you keep going, you're not going to get better, and then everything just gets worse. It's a sign of maturity to know when to take a knee on purpose, and...

...when to get back up and tackle the mess. And once the mess is tackled, we don't want to have to do that again, so we make a plan to do regular maintenance. On everything in life. A little time on everything means we won't have to neglect as much because we're trying to play catch-up all the time on other things.

Yes, this is what that means: We must picture Sisyphus happy. He spends all his time rolling a boulder up a hill just for it to roll back down.

You maintain everything just for it to continuously degrade.

But we do it because we are alive, and we want to stay alive, even when we think we don't, like we saw earlier: "I want to die" is always either a loud cry for help to someone else, or a silent cry for help to ourselves (and only we can finally answer it).

So we're helping ourselves to live, to make friends with the boulder, to make up creative games that make the pushing fun, to use our gold Sharpie and give him a face and call him Bouldy and say fuck you, Gods, I'm THRIVING, AND ONLY A LITTLE BIT OUT OF SPITE.

We imagine him happy. We emulate him. We get creative, because only creativity can save us from this world we created. It's paradoxical but true. There's only one door both ways.

Now, let's use the Eisenhower Matrix. Make a big plus sign on paper, or get four markers, pens, etc, in different colors, or make four numbered headings in a doc.

We're going to prioritize your obligations to ease your mental load, and make them easier to tackle.

And no, life isn't a productivity and efficiency maximization simulator. These are not shackles. You could, feasibly, put on a billowy peasant dress and go live in a meadow if you're at peace with the ramifications of that (I wish I could, I tipped too far past the nonbinary because I had to have a total hysto for medical reasons, separate from transition, and I just wouldn't feel, you know, cute... plus people and animals depend on me to not go lie under an eternal blanket of gaillardia beneath an ancient burr oak, like an open-air temple of silence).

ONWARDS

Category 1: Urgent

There is a deadline, either set by someone else, or by a consequence you want to avoid if this task isn't done by this time/date. Think bills. Homework. Job-related tasks. Feeding the kids/pets/yourself. Taxes. One caveat for this box: if it can be delegated to someone else, it doesn't go here. We'll put it into Category 3 later.

Caregory 2: Important

It matters to you, but if it sits a while, nothing bad will happen. Basically, it's a must, but the deadline is unclear.

Category 3: Important, but Not Quite Urgent

Somebody else can do it, or it won't ruin anything if it just never gets done, or gets scheduled over and over. Your backburner.

Category 4: "Not important/Don't Do."

I tell you now, friend, this common title is a misnomer. This is where All Good Employees, Students, Partners and Parents bury their dreams and subsequently their physical and mental health. Write a book. Play a game. Take a walk. Learn how to cultivate tea leaves. Play the trombone. Learn Spanish. Make a Gorillaz-inspired cartoon band (someday). Don't do this. Those things belong in boxes one and two. You must ruthlessly cut things from those boxes to make room for your dreams, rest, exercise -- these are the things that MAKE EVERYTHING ELSE POSSIBLE. This is the empty cup saying. You cannot pour from it. Your friends come over and there's no fucking tea because you scrubbed the shower grout instead of playing guitar or painting. I know the shower grout needed to be done, but here's where Bouldy and being his creative BFF comes in: get some no-rinse Tilex. Devote five to ten minutes per day to the grout. Put it in your bullet journal, which you absolutely need, and it doesn't have to be ~aesthetic~ and perfect if you don't want it to be, it can just be where you put everything your brain is supposed to work on, not store. Also a good excuse to reward yourself for tasks and good mental habits with stickers, pens, washi tape and stencils. Cishet guys, I'm talking to you, too. It's for your eyes only, if you want anime stickers or little holographic fairies you fucking buy those things. The little beige box society put you in is boring as fuck and sad and we all know it and you are not defined by anything you do not choose to define yourself by from here on out, insofar as your comfort and safety allow. Okay? PINK AND LAVENDER ARE FUCKING BEAUTIFUL, END OF. I LOVE YOU.

Moving on, we take everything in those boxes, and we look at our day, week, month and year and we schedule them realistically. Do not overliad your days. You will want to. You will fail. You will give up. Be the tortoise, not the hare.

Make sure things like the shower grout are scheduled to repeat and be done a little at a time.

Look at each task with a critical and creative eye. Does it even NEED to be done? Do you still care about it? Does it align with your values (you should define your values, by the way, because either they will define you or you will be defined by external forces)? Does it move you towards who and what you want to be? Can you get rid of some things so you have more space and time? Marie Kondo is right: what you own dictates how you live. Minimalism is freedom (if you can afford it...).

Now!

Mindset!

I've been trying not to link to this video, because I don't want to put even more info on you (if you're overwhelmed, save the post, screenshot it, make yourself a phone alarm to come back and take notes if anything here is helpful, you're in charge, it's your well, I'm just visiting) but now I think I should, because he explains the last three letters best.

One caveat: where he says, "How is this the best thing that's ever happened to me," a therapist in the comments suggests, "How can I grow from this?" so you're not just hitting yourself with toxic positivity and downplaying what hurts you.

Vomit Journaling System

Okay. So those are the practical, concrete steps no one tells you how to take on your mental health journey. But I'm telling you, because I know that it isn't a waste of time and energy to show people how to weave ropes and build ladders.

That's how evolution works. That is literally all we're here for -- if you find a way to live a little better, you hand it to someone else, and they pass it down, and that's called evolution.

I don't believe in God, or any supernatural power, or anything, in fact. I believe in nothing, so that I can see everything, without my mirror distorted (we see through a veil, darkly, religion says, plagiarizing ancient Eastern wisdom traditions, referring to mirror neurons in desperate need of Windex and a microfiber cloth, smudged by the bugs of other people's bullshit, things we believe without investigating, prejudices, delusions, all negative thoughts without exception, things we wish were true so hard we almost believe them, and anything else that isn't purely rational seeing without judging, without thinking, without believing or trying to manipulate).

The universe is a beautiful pinball machine full of atoms crashing into one another just to watch the motherfucking board light up.

But WE try to make meaning out of it all, we try to make it all make sense, creating languages and systems and myths, legends, religions, governments, societies, gender norms (gross), books (yay), movies, you name it. All of humanity's problems stem from man's inability to sit quietly in a room alone, said Blaise Pascal.

All the other animals are already Zen Masters, except, you know, primates, which are our closest relatives and which also fight over shit for no reason.

The pinball machine is what Albert Camus, our friend who taught us about Bouldy, was saying about the Absurd: the universe just is. It's a pure, creative impulse, wibbling and wobbling the way Alan Watts described, in particles and waves, making patterns, dancing, playing, not trying to do anything or get anywhere, just being here, now, and creating, which is the underlying impulse of all of us, since we are those waves and particles, pretending to be humans and animals and ravens and writing desks for a little while, before the clay dries out and we pick up another form, to pretend to be something else, everything another little finger puppet on the hands of what is.

It is not judging you. It does not care who you are, what you do or don't do. It doesn't care whether you're happy or sad (though, in a way, it prefers you to be happy, because that is more beneficial to survival, because creation and survival are the same thing. You can't sin (sin is seeing through that distorted mirror, prayer is calling it what it is, answered prayers are the mental clarity that comes from VOMIT journaling, how's that for absurd, Albert?). You can't be damned, broken, ruined, changed. You're not the finger puppet. We're all the puppeteer. The pinball machine. Playing a game that sometimes feels shitty because feeling good doesn't exist without contrast. Nothing does. And that gets boring for eternity, so we do things. Then we look over the face of the waters and call them good or bad, and that's where all the trouble starts, because it still all just is.

If someone, such as myself, saw you here, now, at the bottom of your well, and knew you sometimes think the most horrible thoughts, that you've done terrible things, that you have acne, a little or a lot of unwanted weight, stretch marks, freckles you hate, a receeding hairline, no skills, no hobbies, no education, no desire to work or live, maybe you're the soldier from Metallica's 'One' and you stepped on a landmine and now you're a torso without senses so you can't do anything ever again --

And still saw you as perfect, as completely acceptable, as just a being who still has the potential to decide what to do next, if I just wanted to watch you and experience you vicariously because I love everything, all experience, good and bad, pleasant and painful, because it's all life, wouldn't you feel free, and unconditionally loved?

That's what the ancient Eastern wisdom traditions were trying to teach. "God," is just a word for a universe that has open arms for everything in it, accepts itself completely, wants the best but doesn't force anything. Unconditional love is that. Wordless witnessing of everything. Mom, dad, look what I can do!

I cobbled all this together to save myself, from resources like Campbell Walker, Thich Nhat Hanh, Alan Watts, Buddhist philosophy, so many books, like Goodbye, Things (Fumio Sasake), The Courage to be Disliked (Ichiro Kishimi, Fumitake Koga), Brene Brown, and decades of suicidal depression and daily panic attacks.

Every ladder out of the well is made of the shoulders of generous giants.

Recently, I was consumed by anger so white and constant I felt burned alive all the time. I had been filling up the HEAL box with all the hot coals the world could hand me, my entire life, and not stopping to put them out. Anger has always been a struggle for me. I'm auDHD, I'm trans, nonbinary, bi, ace, I had abusive-negligent parents, I was indoctrinated with religion, I was parentified, I married a seemingly normal person who later threatened to skin me in my sleep and threatened to murder our child, I joined the military thinking I could support my family, most of whom displayed clear Dependent Personality Disorder, and still get away from them, plus (ha ha no) help other people, got so physically and psychologically fucked-up that I'll never walk normally or run again (I loved running, I'm mourning the loss years later), my spine is deteriorating, I got 100% disability through the VA for how severe my PTSD is, and there's a nazi in office... again.

So yeah. I've been consumed by rage.

My entire life.

Obviously my parents just wanted me to shut the fuck up and pay their bills and listen to their problems, so I learned anger = scary and bad.

It doesn't, and I wish I had listened to it back then. I wish I had let my shadow side, the one I picture as the towering gantry of a flower-laden, moss-covered gashadokuro, metaphorically stomp all those people into dust and carry me to a place where I could have started the life I wanted without wasting so many years of it on people who didn't give a fuck about me anyway.

I wish I had seen how deeply that goddamn giant skeleton loves me (thanks, Kate Nash).

That's what your anger and your rage are for. Don't let them be twisted into useless hate for others, which will make you sick, or into hate for yourself, which is the goddamn sock puppets who parrot your abusers words at you again, asking to be made to walk the plank.

Your anger is proportionate to the love and respect that will always be in there, speaking up for you and for others when shit isn't right. It's okay to feel it. It's okay to burn it off in ways that don't cause harm to you or anyone else. Grab the pillow. Buy a punching bag (check Facebook marketplace). Use your journaling techniques.

But don't ignore it. That's where your depression stems from:

Imagine loving someone or something so fiercely, more than anything, or at least every bit as much as... and watching them lie down and be trampled. Watch them give up what they love. Watch them scramble through addiction to escape the one and only present moment they will never exist in -- the only one where they can find the things they've been searching for -- in the past, the future, and substances, never finding it because they are too afraid that being present with you and the razor-sharp but nonjudgmental mirror you will show them of themselves, because in their learned helplessness they still believe there is nothing they can do, and because the voices of abusers will point out flaws that don't exist. Will say fat is something you are, not something you have. That it's disgusting. You're lazy. You're stupid. You're selfish. Whispering lies, like a snake in the ear, driving them away from you to the things you know are bad for them, that they know are bad for them, mostly to, you know, the knowledge of good and evil... the tendency to judge everything, to say it's good or bad, to split it all right in two (thanks, Maynard), and not just breathe and allow it all to be what it is, including themselves. Clear, and without thought. In the body. Present. Loved unconditionally.

Here.

Now.

If you'd like to feel love again, this is how I'm doing it.

Here.

At the bottom of this well.

With you.

[skeletalheartattack]

drud that’s a family video you can’t buy games from there

just watch me. i whip my wallet and pull out an original holographic charizard pokemon card. yeah buddy. one of these for one luigi's mansion please. and some pikmin 1 and 2 as sides. and a laarge soda.

[captainuranium543]

Fairy tail headcannon a nobody wanted at all😊

- most of the dragon slayers+erza eat bugs regularly and it's gross AF to everyone

-Natsu because he grew up in the woods and they were like the number one abundant source of food, same for Wendy but she stopped for a while because Carla told her it was nasty (as soon as she joined the fairy tail guild she reverted so incredibly fast)

-gajeel pretends to thinks it's gross but secretly he really likes the taste he just doesn't wanna have that in common with natsu

- erza and Erik because in the evil slave tower where everyone was starving if you found a bug you ate it before anyone else could grab it from you.

- sting did not do that growing up but started when natsu told him it was good, he does not agree but does it anyway so natsu thinks he's cool

- rogue only tried it a couple times because frosch wanted to try it to be more like a frog and rogue is nothing if not supportive

- laxus grew up normal and thinks all of them are disgusting

- Lucy has the WORST financial skills. Legit they are awful. Everyone thinks she's always broke cuz of the tpd (team property damage) constantly making them lose their reward to repair bills but (while that is a factor) when Lucy sees smth cute that would look great in her apartment she just cannot help herself. Lucy will be so careful trying to save her money then she'll see a new set of stationary and goes "haha rent what rent"

- the hand me down game at fairy tail was fucking insane when they where kids. For levy and lisanna basically everything they owned had been passed down like 6 times already

- that red shirt natsu wore in the flashbacks? Before him it was erza's, and before her it was canas, and before her it was laxus.

- gray wears almost exclusively white jackets because jackets are expensive and if he loses them he would rather they be easy to spot so he can find them again rather then have to buy a new one

- sometimes people will invite erza places for the scary dog privilege when they dont want to be bothered by strangers. Erza has no idea thats the reason she just thought people really liked walking with her through rough parts of town in the middle of the night.

- Carla and lilly have insane beef, for no damn reason. Like both of them are fairly polite so neither will say it openly but every conversation between the two is the most passive aggressive petty insult battle you could imagine

- freed, levy, Lucy and later jellal have a book club where they all meet up and talk about whatever they're reading and play Scrabble and talk a lot of shit about their annoying ass friends.

- happy sometimes comes but he is under no circumstances allowed to bring natsu(he knows what he did)

- when erza met seigrain/jellal in the magic counsel she first tried to attack him, when that proved to be a bad idea she later started specifically destroying stuff under his jurisdiction to make sure he had to deal with as much paperwork as possible

- for her modelling, Mira used to use a very light spray of holy water to remove body hair because it burns it off💀

- wendy romeo and chelia are actually best friends like they are constantly hanging out together just to go do stuff

- erza and Erik hate each other for no reason at all. Like over that year that she worked with crime sorciere they where ALWAYS BEEFING. Every time they were near each other erza was thinking insults she knew he could hear and Erik was fighting for his life not to strangle her to death.

When erza became sclass she used to sit on the 5th step of the stairs because Mira wasn't allowed on those stairs yet and it really pissed her off. She was like, just barely out of reach, so Mira would stand at the bottom the stairs yelling death threats at her and erza would be like "whattt I'm not doing anything I don't even know what your talking about in literally just sitting what are you so mad about"

- when Warren invented cellphones, despite all of them looking like modern smartphones, freed somehow managed to get one that looked exactly like a Blackberry and refuses to get a different one

- Mira used to cut her siblings hair and because she didn't know any good haircuts yet her 2 options where 1- bald or 2- bowl cut. Hence lisannas horrifying cut as a child

[bighairyballsharry]

"A downpayment for your love" - Rafayel x Reader

Here you can keep up with this fanfic: Part 2

*** This is a fanfiction based on the Love and Deepspace mobile game. The original story has been altered according to what I had in mind regarding a love scenario with Rafayel. In this, the MC (aka you, the reader, hi there) did not grow up with Zayne. I will try to write it gender neutral, but it will have more feminine takes on you as the MC of my story. ***

You were always poor. Especially after the wanderer attack 14 years ago, when you lost your family. You were left to fend for yourself. Sure, people from the community that knew your parents tried to help you while growing up, but it was never for free. Everybody had to pull in their weight one way or another. You had to either take care of their kids or their houses, make yourself useful in a way.

You learned at a very young age that everything has a price in this world. Even as a young tween, you would often dream about what life would have been if the attack never took place. Maybe your parents would have been the ones working their asses off in order to provide for you, like the other parents in the community are doing for their offsprings.

Growing up, you would look at the families you worked for, wishing sometimes that it was you in their children's place. You were happy to be able to work for your future and collect money, but something deep inside always yearned for the comfort of a family and financial support. It didn't matter anymore, you learned to hide that deep inside, hoping that one day your kids will never have to feel what you have been through. You were putting in all this hardwork for your future family.

You worked through your teenage years. You were always booked, therefore you hadn't had much time to spare for a higher education, or any education at all. Working various jobs, you managed to rent yourself a small studio flat at the ripe age of 18. This way you stopped depending on your parents' friends, finally starting to live on your own and start preparing for your future family.

After working in a few bakeries and trading goods, you decided to focus on just caretaking jobs that would include cleaning and cooking for the elderly, sometimes babysitting. You found out that this was an area that suited you best. After all, you were a very caring person with a big heart. You were longing to fill the void, even if you had to do it by taking care of other people's needs. At least you were getting paid for that and hell, you needed all the money you could get.

"Hey, (Y/N)! How's business?" One of your childhood friends asked. You were taking care of their family's bakery shop for the weekend.

"Depends, mine or yours? I'd say good since I managed to snatch a few clients from your regulars." You said winking jokingly. "Not a lot of people came by today. Maybe tomorrow. I will make sure to stock the bread properly so it doesn't go stale until your dad comes back. I still don't know how to bake properly, so I will sell the stock you've left for this weekend." You smiled at your friend.

"Don't worry about it too much. You are doing us a huge favour by keeping the bakery open for us while we are away." Your friend smiled as they brought in another basket of freshly baked goods. "This should be enough until sunday."

You gave a small nod, cleaning the counter. You were happy to be helpful, even if you worked for free this time. They did provide a shelter for you while growing up, you want to pay them back in your own way.

"Haven't gotten many gigs lately?" Your friend asked as they wiped their hands on a rag.

"I got one new gig, in Linkon. There is an old lady needing a caretaker. I am going on a trial on monday, her granddaughter said she will pay me for that day." You explained eagerly. Indeed, on your terms you were finally breaking through. You made it all the way to Linkon City! Sure, it's a 3 hours train trip, but you were finally able to work in the city, were opportunities to find rich clients were endless.

"Isn't that too little for the 3 hours trip? Your rate is not gonna be able to cover the cost." Your friend hummed, not sure if you made the right choice.

You eyes gleamed with pride. "It's in Linkon, and the payment is 5 times my rate!" For you it was a lot, but for a normal Linkon citizen it was quite a small price. But then again, you were working in a very unfortunate village to begin with, you were not aware that you could win more than that for the services you gave out.

"No way! We barely make that in 3 days, yet you make it in one day?!" Your friend was stunned.

You smiled happily. You were now sure that you finally made it. You felt it in your bones, your luck was about to change!

----------

It was monday morning. You left your village at 4 in the morning to get to Linkon City at 7 o'clock sharp. You were supposed to get to the client's house around 10:30 in the morning, so you wanted to make sure that you will find your way in time. You were hired by a young woman around your age. She is starting her career as a Deepspace Hunter and her grandmother is growing weak, so she wants someone to be by her side while she is away during the day. You were on trial for the dsy and if everything went well, you could be coming in almost everyday. You were excited. You were wearing your church clothes, in hopes to make a good first impression. With the money you were gonna get for the first day, you could buy material to make at least 2 new dresses. Your village is extremely cheap, so for you, today's payment was like a lottery win.

You were walking around and gawking. Everything looked like a dream. You could not believe your eyes the contrast between Linkon City and your village. Your village looked like a nuclear waste field compared to this city. You were starting to feel like you were out of place, as your clothes were really old and sewn together to last longer.

Finally, you arrived at your client's house. It was 10 o'clock. Better to be early than late. You approached the door and gave it a knock.

"Ah, coming!" You heard a woman's voice. Judging by the youthfull tone, you thought this might be the granddaughter that hired you. "Hello, this is-..." The door opened to reveal a thin girl with brown hair. She looked at you with a smile as she presented herself. You quickly bowed your head, straightening the material of your clothes.

"H-Hello, this is (Y/N)! You hired me to care for your grandmother." You explained a bit nervous. As you stood up, the girl smiled at you warmly.

"Perfect, you are early!" She chuckled a bit. Her remark made you feel flustered, maybe you should've waited 30 more minutes. "Come in. It's good you came early, I got a call from the Hunters Association, I have to go in earlier than normal. You coming earlier gives me a chance to also meet you before entrusting you with grandma." She smiled.

Her words were reassuring, her voice and antics making you feel welcomed. You walked inside, shy, folliwing her around the house. She took you to the living room where an old lady was sat in a green armchair.

"Grandma, this is (Y/N). She is here to look after you while I'm away." The girl walked next to her grandma and leaned forward to talk to her, while taking hold of her hand gently. The old lady looked at you, squinting her eyes before putting on her glasses. She smiled once she was able to finally make out your face.

"Oh, hi, dear." The old lady smiled gently. "I am Josephine, it is nice to meet you. My, but your blouse reminds me of how my daughter used to dress when she was around your age." She said genuinely excited. It took you by surprise, and it made you feel a bit self conscious, but you smiled politely.

You sat and chat for half an hour, before Josephine's granddaughter had to leave. Things seemed to workout properly, so you were excited for the actual work to finally start. Once it was only you and Josephine you got in the 'zone', started cleaning up around the house, made food for Josephine and made sure to prepare dinner so her granddaughter had something for when she came home later at night.

You chatted with the old lady and helped her walk around the neighbourhood. You listened to her as she would tell you stories from her youth and sharing wisdom. Of course, you also answered her questions as she tried to find out more about you and your life.

"Poor little thing." Josephine cooed as you helped her sit down on her armchair. You perked your head up, puzzled. "My granddaughter lost her parents too after that unfortunate day, 14 years ago... I took care of her as if she was my own." The old lady went on, her voice warm and comforting. "Even though you went through all that, you managed to keep yourself a clean soul." She smiled at you as she place a hand over yours, keeping you in place, next to her side. "Never taint your heart, my dear, not even for money. I'm sure one day, God will answer to all your prayers." Her words warmed up your heart, almost bringing you to tears. You were glad to have met such a kind person.

"Thank you, Josephine. Hope he will take care of all of us." You muttered in return quietly, holding in big emotions.

After that day, you were called in regularily. You would go there almost everyday, always finishing by 4 in the afternoon, making it in time for taking care of your other clients back in the village.

One day, as you were getting ready to leave Josephine's house for the day, her granddaughter came earlier than usual.

"Hi, (Y/N)!" She greeted you. She walked in followed by a man with light brown hair in a gray suit. Before you could greet her back, she started talking to the man. "I will bring it right away, I didn't even realise he hid it in my bag!" She exclaimed rushing upstairs.

"Artists, always temperamental, always causing ruckus." The man said with a sigh, folding his arms in front of him. "I am deeply sorry to bother you about it, but he threw a tantrum over it not being in his studio anymore." The man pinched the bridge of his nose. "I can't be there 24/7, I have to go and take care of the business part, make sure he sells and promotes the right charities."

You listened closely. Everything the man spoke about sonded so strange to you. 'Business' and 'charities' were words thrown in your favourite shows by rich people. You were curious to find more, but you were in no position to ask. You tended to Josephine until her granddaughter was free so you could bid her good night before leaving.

"Here you go." Josephine's granddaughter came back downstairs. She was holding on to a big toy-like charm that looked like a puffer fish. "Why'd he hide it in my bag?" She asked, her brows furrowed in annoyance.

"If I knew how his brain was wired, I'd break it open and rewire it properly." The man answered, exasperated. "I'm so grateful, you have no idea. He is starting to get worse, throwing tantrums over tantrums. The studio is always a mess and he never seems to eat properly. The man has access to ordering anything his heart desires, yet he acts as if it's a mystery to pick up the damn phone!" The man boomed, letting out his frustration. He took a sharp breath in and rubbed his eyes with his palm. "Again, I'm really sorry to dump all this on you, but I'm starting to get to my wit's end. It's like he needs a babysitter. Even this 'bodyguard' charade, it's just him acting out. Why does he need so much attention? Why is he getting worse?"

"I'm sorry, Thomas. I see that you care about him, it's okay to feel frustrated. You shouldn't feel bad. Maybe you should get him an actual babysitter." Josephine's granddaughter laughed as she said the last sentence, patting the man gently on the shoulder. "At least for the weekend, so you can finally rest."

"There's no person in this world capable to put up with his insufferable temper." The man named Thomas groaned.

You were growing a bit impatient, as it was starting to be a little over 4 o'clock and you were about to lose the train back. "Excuse me, miss-..." You started awkwardly, trying to sound polite.

"Oh, (Y/N)!" The young woman said your name, almost as if she forgot you were there, and smiled as she shook her head. "Oh, my god!" She clasped a hand on Thomas's shoulder excited, then turned back to look at you. "(Y/N), do you have experience with toddlers?" She asked, hopeful. Thomas looked at her confused. "(Y/N) takes care of my grandmother, she is amazing!" She explained.

"Are you sure you want her to still work for you? Don't send her my way or you might lose her after she spends one hour with him." The man pinched the bridge of his nose again, groaning. "He is capable to ruin everything when he puts his mind to it." He sighed.

You were a bit shocked, the man seemed to have issues with his father. You figured it must be his old father on the verge of dementia, causing a lot of trouble. You were experienced with such cases, especially with the ones that act out like todlers.

"I have worked with dementia patients before." You answered smiling, hoping to snatch another job. From the sound of it, you could make a lot of money if the job went well, they sounded rich. At least this Thomas fellow looked rich.

Josephine's granddaughter and Thomas remained frozen for a moment. The young woman started laughing, while Thomas huffed amused and shook his head.

"Sounds perfect. Thomas, would you like to give it a try?" She chuckled as she nudged the man.

"I didn't think this day would come. I mean, I knew it might happen, but not so soon." He said, defeated. "Are you free this weekend?"

*** Hi hello, leaving a little note. I will write this as a multiple part story. Not sure if it will get anyone's attention, but in case you made it this far, hope you enjoyed this. Thank you for giving this a chance and I will try my best to not disappoint.

I'm not sure if anyone is OOC, maybe Josephine, but hey, in my version, roles are a bit reversed and Josephine and the game's MC are normal people, while YOU, my MC, are special ☆

[mister-fisch]

*Slaps the table*

Calvin Fischoeder headcanons!

His full name is Calvin-Percival Robert Fischoeder Jr. when he was a kid some people called him Cal,Vinnie,or Perci.Or junior if it was by his parents or an elder family member(live laugh love Calvin with a double barrel name)

He's 64 years old(Felix I imagine is 59 or in his late 50s so he and Calvin aren't too far apart in age,I imagine them being a little under 4 years apart)

His father is a German immigrant(though he frequently traveled to Switzerland and Austria to live with family for some times before he moved to america.)He(as his the father) spoke german whilstt he still alive,he forced Calvin to learn.Calvin in his day to day life doesn't use German that much ,but when he wants to confused people,or when he gets angry or feels any other intense emotional,or just when he feels like it he speaks German.He's still fluent.

In Calvin's younger years before he went gray he was a ginger.He had a lighter shade though.Because of this He or Felix will joke about him having no soul(Grover also would've joked about it but Calvin and Felix would act like that's not funny around Grover and act like grover's insensitive just to mess with him)

He learned how to ice-skate to simply spite Felix.

When he was a kid he took ballet,tap,and piano.He was expected to do more than Felix since he's the eldest child.(Felix only took Ballet)

He has 7 younger siblings because just because(headcanons are fun)

His mother died when he was 16.Every year on her birthday he spends the whole day at her grave,and spends most of the day without his eyepatch on.He brings a cake and some flowers there,and pretends like he's speaking to her. On the day she died he also spends a lot of the day there,he doesn't spend as long there as her birthday since its more sad for him,he brings flowers and he also leaves a shot of her favorite spirit. He doesn't do any of his landlord duties or any of his jobs that day.

He definetly has an alchohol problem (this isn't really hc since this is really backed up in the show)

He was allowed to drink when he was a kid.(I think this is also implied in canon and it just seems really in character for him)

He's tried to grow facial hair several times but he cant ,its always been very pathetic facial hair.And at some point he just gave up.When Felix brings up that Calvin doesn't have any facial hair he says he just didn't want to grow any instead of the fact he cant grow facial hair

He started a fake religion in his late teens to associate with his father's businesses to try and get them registered as non profits so he and his father wouldn't need to pay taxes.(much like what the kids do in with aquatisicm.)

Throughout the majority of his childhood aside from the earlier years of his childhood he played baseball,he continued to play baseball until his mid to late 20s during in college years

He killed Baxter.

He had kids,he wasnt the best father nor was in very present in his daughters lives but he was there for the when they really needed them (he would've had his 2 daughters sometime after Shelby left him so I would imagine the latter years of his 20s or his early 30s.He would've had his kids with a partner he had at the time which I need to develop a bit more.)He also definitely played favorites with his kids like his dad did with him and felix.

Him and Felix eat dinner together every night.

He and Felix frequently has a movie night which alot of the time Felix ends up getting to pick it because Felix somehow always manages to win a game they play to decide who gets to picks(which Felix usually chooses to watch a musical,most of the time ,Rent.)

Game night with Calvin an Felix always ends up with one of them getting injured.(Inga is very annoyed with that)

He took part in raising Grover :3(he was not good at it)

His favorite color is actually red but the suit he usually wears belonged to his father

Calvin's favorite animals are squriells are pidgeons and he meant to get into pigeonry but just had never gotten around to it.his favorite pidgeons are Lahore pigeons.

He's a cat person

[https-harlow]

Single Hearts Part 3- Play Dates That Turn To Real Dates

Summary - Sage and Jack have a play date for their kids, Charlotte and Melody, and during the play date, Jack asks Sage on an actual date.

As much as Jack and Sage wanted Charlotte and Melody’s play date to be that weekend, Sage had already made plans to go to Lexington, Kentucky for the weekend with Charlotte to visit family. Luckily, they were both free the next weekend, and Jack ended up renting out a nearby children’s arcade for a couple of hours.

Jack and Sage pulled into the arcade’s parking lot at the same time, helping their kids out of the car before Charlotte and Melody ran to hug each other. They had recess together at school and ever since they learned about their play date they had been best friends. Jack and Sage followed closely behind their daughters.

“Hey, how are you?” Jack asked as he approached Sage.

“I’m good, how are you?” Sage asked.

“I’m great, Melody has been talking non-stop about this play date,” Jack said and Sage laughed softly.

“So has Charlotte. Are we here early?” Sage asked, since the usually full parking lot was empty.

“No, I uh, I rented out the arcade for a few hours. Since I’m in the music industry, sometimes people recognize me, and I didn’t want you or Charlotte to have to deal with that. Melody and I are used to it, but it can be weird at first.”

“You didn’t have to do that, but thank you. Can I pay you back for half?” Sage asked and Jack immediately shook his head.

“No, don’t worry about it.”

“Daddy, can we go in now?” Melody asked, pulling on Jack’s arm.

“Yeah, let’s go,” Jack said as Melody and Charlotte cheered, running to the door. 

Once they were inside, Jack confirmed their reservation, getting both kids their bands. They let the kids run around, playing whatever games they wanted, as they sat on a nearby bench so they could supervise.

“So, if I remember right, you said you were from Nashville?” Jack asked and Sage nodded.

“Yeah, I grew up there, my parents moved to Lexington when I was 19, and I stayed behind but ended up moving to Lexington shortly after I had Charlotte, then a couple of years later I’m living here now.”

“You know, I can totally hear a slight Tennessee accent when you talk,” Jack said, and Sage laughed.

“That’s so funny that you pointed it out because everyone else says I’ve lost my accent over time.”

“It’s slight, but it’s there.”

“So, you say you’re in the music industry, what exactly do you do?” Sage asked, bringing the topic off of herself.

“Uh, I’m a rapper,” Jack said. He wasn’t planning on telling Sage exactly what he did until she got to know him better. “It’s not a big deal or anything though.”

“That’s so cool, though, what’s the thing you’re most proud of? Or like your biggest achievement?” Sage asked.

“Off of the top of my head? Probably my Grammy nominations.”

“Wait, that’s so exciting and a huge deal Jack. Don’t underestimate yourself like that.”

“I just don’t want to, I don’t know, sometimes it’s hard to meet people when you’re famous.”

“Yeah, I understand that, but you still don’t have to downplay yourself. You’re allowed to brag about your accomplishments.”

Melody and Charlotte came running over to where Jack and Sage were sitting.

“Mommy, come play with us!” Charlotte said, pulling on Sage’s arm.

“Yeah, Daddy, help us with the basketball game,” Melody said. Jack and Sage got up, following their daughters. Once they reached the game the girls wanted to play, Jack picked up Melody so she was tall enough to throw the ball into the hoop.

“Mommy, pick me up too!” Charlotte said and Sage picked her up. As soon as the game started counting down, the girls started throwing the basketballs. They both got one in.

“Mommy and Melody’s daddy’s turn!” Charlotte said.

“You can call me Jack,” Jack told Charlotte, and she nodded.

“Mommy and Jack’s turn,” Charlotte said. 

“Yeah!!” Melody agreed. Jack and Sage set their daughters down. 

“Just so you know, I’m a pretty good basketball player,” Jack said, teasingly.

“I haven’t played basketball since elementary school when we were forced to,” Sage said, both her and Jack laughing.

They started the game, both of their daughters cheering for them to win. Jack purposely missed a couple shots, letting Sage win. Charlotte cheered excitedly, celebrating with Sage, before the girls ran off to play another game.

“You let me win, didn’t you?” Sage asked Jack.

“I couldn’t let you lose in front of your daughter,” Jack said, pushing her shoulder jokingly. Sage leaned against the arcade machine.

“Yeah, or you’re not as good of a basketball player as you claim to be,” She teased.

“Okay, okay, now that’s going too far,” Jack joked.

“I’ll apologize when I see proof otherwise,” Sage joked.

“To be fair, I’m better at soccer, but I’ll prove it to you one day.”

“I’ll be waiting.”

“And I’ll be waiting for you to let me take you on a date. A proper date, without the kids.” Jack said, and Sage looked at him confused.

“Aren’t you and Penelope married, or dating, something?” Sage asked, and Jack laughed softly, shaking his head.

“No, we used to be married, but we got divorced about five years ago when Melody was two,” Jack explained.

“Oh, I just assumed since you two seem so, I don’t know the word, you just don’t seem divorced.”

“A lot of people think that at first, but nothing really happened between us, we just both realized we weren’t right for each other, I mean, it was awkward for a little while of course, but we’ve gotten over that now.”

“Well, in that case, I’ll go on a date with you.”

“How about tomorrow night? If Charlotte’s dad can’t watch her, or anyone else, since it's so last minute, Penelope offered to watch her, if you’re comfortable with that.”

“Yeah, if she’s okay with it, I think that would be best. Her dad’s not involved and all my family is in 

Lexington, I’m sure one of my friends would watch her, but Melody and her seem to be enjoying their time together, so I’m sure they’d love another play date.”

“Her dad isn’t in the picture at all? Sorry, that’s inappropriate of me to ask, forget I even said anything.”

“No, I don’t mind talking about it. Char’s dad and I broke up shortly after I found out I was pregnant, he had cheated on me. He stayed involved for most of my pregnancy, until maybe a month or so before I had her. He chose to not be involved since. I’ve given him several opportunities, I let him know when I was in labor, when she was born, everything, but I can’t force him to be involved. I still give him opportunities to this day to be involved, but he always chooses not to be, so I just don’t tell her about it.”

“I’m so sorry, I can’t even imagine doing that to someone and just living my life like my own child doesn’t exist.”

“I don’t get it either, but I can only do so much, and I guess it’s better that he’s not involved rather than being in and out so she doesn’t know about it.”

“Yeah, and I can already tell you are an amazing mom, neither you nor Charlotte need someone like him anyway.”

Before Sage could respond, Melody and Charlotte ran up to their parents.

“You ask.” Melody said to Charlotte.

“No, you. You’re older.” Charlotte argued and Melody sighed.

“Can we get ice cream?”

“Yeah, we can.” Jack agreed before looking over at you, you pulled out your phone to look at the time.

“Yeah, we have time to get ice cream,” Sage said, and the girls cheered.

“Want to go now? You can keep playing, but we only have about 10 more minutes here.”

“Now!” Both girls said excitedly. Jack and Sage nodded as Charlotte and Melody ran to the door. Jack held the door open for them and as Sage walked out the door, her hand brushed Jack’s, both of their hearts fluttering as they pretended not to notice.

Tag list @jackharloww @harlowcomehome @nattinatalia @hoodharlow @itsyagirljaz @heavyhitterheaux @harlowsbby @awhore4moree @harlowslefttoe @twerkforambrose @jackmans-poison @ilovenudy @taniapri @killatravtramp @easternparkway @macey234 @toocriticalharlow @lightsoutstyles @rachxc13 @iknowdatsrightbih @idktbh101 @blossomluvv @middlechild404 @hufflewhore128 @christinabae

[iwannadrawsadcups]

hello! hope ur having a good timezone! :D

random question of the day: you got any sad/angsty cc!mugman hcs? (or js sad mugsy hcs in general ^^)

curious you made this ask right after i discarded an idea for an angsty mugman comic! so i'll just tell you about it (the list is at the end, if you don't wanna read all that lol)

My main hc (for both casino cups and in whatever au i got going on) is that he's got really bad anxiety, he had it ever since he was a little kid but really worsened after the events of the game. At this point he's having a bad time dealing with it, constantly having this feeling of "something horrible is about to happen, or maybe it already happened, or is happening right now", which mostly manifests as stomach pain and sometimes nausea.

(aside from the whole, studying ways to become immortal) To calm himself a bit he makes a few lists of things he need to do; pay rent, feed the daisy, clean, do laundry. But even then he feels he is forgetting something really important he needs to do, so the lists start to get more specific until every little task one could have in a day are writen down. Which can't be healthy, but does help to calm him at the moment.

I see it as him subconsciously trying to be ahead of any problem that could show up, you know? trying to never be caught off guard again (the deal with the devil, elder kettle's sickness, seeing his brother die time and time again), maybe if he does everything on time everything will be alright, things will never be that bad again.

It's not that he's always worried, it's not that he doesn't sometimes slacks off and doesn't do his chores, but sometimes his anxiety gets bad, and he goes back to that habit.

The comic i was making was going to be about that. Mugman working during rush hour and just being unable to shake off the feeling that he is forgetting something important, so he looks at the tables he's waiting and checks time and time again that he brought everything they asked for, he then goes over every chore he should do at home, everything he should fix now so it doesn't become a problem later.

But something is wrong and he doesn't know what, and suddenly everything is too much, the music is too loud and everyone is talking and those feelings mix up with the memories of his fight with the devil, and "oh god i died here", and he gets a bit dizzy, he's nauseous and his stomach hurts a lot, so he goes back to the kitchen so the clients don't see him like that.

Cuphead sees this and goes to check up on him. This has happened at home a few times already, so he does his somewhat usual routine of asking "You ok? No? You forgot something important? Don't be silly, everything is okay" and he stays with him for a few minutes patting his back (which is about as much physical contact Mugman can handle right now).

But Mugman can't really afford to do a "scene" at work, doesn't have the time to cry while there's a hundred of hungry people at the restaurant, so, reluctantly, he gets up again and keeps working.

Discarded the idea because it's too long, and because it just seems too pessimistic and i'm trying to avoid that because it makes me sad lol

aside from this whole rant, other hcs i have are

he saves as much as he can, not down to every single penny, but probably tries to always have at least a good 300 dollars saved up at any given time, just in case he or his brother need to go to the hospital or something (he can barely get to a hundred before he needs to spend it on something else)

chronic migraines because of his head injury (cuphead has chronic pain in his right arm too, fuck it, everyone gets chronic pain)

used to cry every time he got embarrassed as a kid, even now he feels tears build up when someone makes fun of him, but he's too old to cry for things like that so he tries to leave the conversation ASAP. He thinks he's childish for that

thinks his anxiety has to do with him being a coward, and that maybe if he became more powerful/brave he wouldn't feel like that (he would still feel just as bad, probably)

probably sucks at cooking tbh (tragedy)

[callofdudes]

what about 141 with reader who's very old-school. Listens to metal and rock, dresses like a rocker from the 80s, has cassette tapes and vinyls, doesn't use technology etc. I'm like that and everyone always makes fun of me. 😭

That's cool as shit. Also I'm sorry I kind of sidetracked and I wasn't really sure how to approach this... so if it's not what you wanted anon I'm very sorry.

Price 🥃

He thinks it's very cool. He doesn't meet a lot of recruits who aren't glued to their cellphones all the time. Of course while you couldn't get around not having one, you preferred not to use it. It was something he liked about you. Something that made you you.

Now... He would be lying if he said going into your room or your office makes him feel old as shit. Like really fucking old.

He pulls a vinyl record off your shelf and whistles in surprise. "Hey I used to have this..." And then it hits him. "Oh..." He's so bloody old.

He walks out of there with trauma. Every time he sees you walking around with a walkman or sees that Nokia you have displayed on your shelf he has a mid life crisis.

He likes the old songs you listen to, and hearing how you know the words to every 80's song really does bring him back to when his father would play it. Wasn't a huge memory, but it was something familiar in a way.

For your birthday he finds an old record player, yes, he was searching forever. But he found an old record player so now you could play the vinyls how they were intended.

And oh dear Lord the cassette tapes. He got PTSD from going to blockbuster and finding out no one had rewinded the tape before he rented it. Nightmares. Nightmares!! He picks one up and relays the horrors of going to blockbuster at eight at night, getting out near ten for your movie night and finding out you had to spend half an hour rewinding the bloody tape.

He had a lot to say about cassette tapes.

As far as your clothes go he doesn't really think about it much. He thinks some of them are impractical for training and such, along with questioning their durability. But whatever you want to wear he doesn't much care.

Sometimes Price hears the other recruits making fun of you. And he doesn't really understand it. It's nothing different from an older generation saying kids are stuck to their phones. What mattered was you liked it, and you were happy. Simple as that.

A good slap on the wrist from Captain Price gets them to shut up for a while.

He likes that you live how you want to despite the mean people around you.

Ghost 💀

Ghost never really had any technology even when it did start to come out late 80's early 90's. He does remember his brother eventually getting a phone and the old Gameboy he had at one point.

Yes. He is old enough. He had a walkman. The childhood memories he got from seeing that thing was horrendous. He remembered how after a while of trying to block out any noise with them, (which they weren't good for) his ears would start to hurt.

But it wasn't bad. He liked seeing the old vinyls and you seemed to know more than he did. Which wasn't a surprise really.

Your office reminded him of his father's in a way. The back shelf behind your chair stacked neatly with the rows of vinyls and their covers all so well taken care of. The record player from Price off in the corner whenever you wanted some music on just to relax.

They never watched many movies when he was younger, but he remembered when his brother would take his hand and guide him down the rows of shelves in the local blockbuster before their shared curfew so they could get some movies, and Tommy would usually try to sneak a more adult film in between the children's classics and things of that nature.

Your room also gives him PTSD. But only in the way of remember how awful it was. How the static on the tv would make the inside of his brain itch or how uncomfortable those walkman headphones were. Or remembering that space invaders game his brother would play when he was little. A lot of memories he didn't expect to have triggered.

But he thinks it's really cool. He recognizes bands that were really popular. Maybe you were a Rolling Stones kinda kid, maybe you were more into Metallica and such. Hell even Nirvana though it's more early 2000's.

(he might even steal one of your posters) shhh, you saw nothing!

You two jam out a lot. As a rock fan it would be only fair that the two of you were to listen to music together.

Loves your clothes. If they would ever fit him he'd steal them from you. But I don't think he'd so easily slip into them. Something he's sad about.

But if he ever hears anyone talking bad about you he's ready to give someone a good talk with the sharp end of his knuckles. Seriously, if they have the balls to talk shit about his sergeant, his friend, he's coming for them.

He won't let them tell you you're weird or other things because you're being who you want to be. Their just cowards.

Gaz 🧢

Now I think this one is tricky. Kyle was born roughly around when Walkmans started to become less popular so he never had any of the things Price or Simon did. However he did have an old cassette receiver where he used to watch old movies his grandma had bought or played some of the old games.

But your room. He loves your room. All the posters of old bands and records. The cassette player for your movies and stuff.

You also had a guitar that you occasionally played, he really liked that.

All the retro stuff like game figurines and what have you. All the cool clothes you have. If that really comfy AC/DC sweater you have goes missing. It's not a gremlin, just Gaz.

Also willing to just come to your room and jam out with your music. Also brings over some of his old games and convinces you to play them with him.

He thinks it is cool. You carry around a walkman and an old radio player for music and he enjoys them.

He is mostly interested in the bands you're into. He doesn't open up a whole lot but when he sees you playing these old songs he feels happy coming to you with CDs of jazz songs and older songs he likes to listen to. And it helps you two bond.

Let's be honest, he steals more of your old retro stuff from you than everyone else. Which is a surprise. He'll always leave you a little note telling you which tape set he stole or which thing he took from the dark reaches of your closet and how long he plans to have it be stolen for.

But you guys are besties like that. He wouldn't do it if he knew you wouldn't be even a little comfortable.

He's a property stealer just as much as Johnny is. That's the point. It just takes certain stuff for him to want to borrow it.

If he hears people bullying you, he's either squaring up right there. His gun does all the talking. He doesn't have to say anything, a good barrel in the face usually has them quieting down.

His second option is to cyber bully them to hell and back. So you're in good hands. Don't let those things get to your head or Gaz is gonna do some insane shit.

Soap 🧼

Doesn't know what half the shit in your room is. He's a baby, born just when that stuff started to fade from mainstream media and his pea sized brain couldn't register any of it.

A walkman? What the fuck is that?

Cassette tape?? Blockbuster?? What the actually fuck are you telling him. He's a smart little cookie but he's lost on this one. Like couldn't you just get a CD??

He isn't arrogant about it. But growing up in a traditional Scottish household he didn't have technology. He didn't have his first phone until 15, so he doesn't know what half these things are.

Hanging around Simon he knows the bands like AC/DC and Metallica, more 90's groups but he knows. He's seen a vinyl in his dad's room before but that's about it.

Loves your clothes. Absolutely loves them! He is dying to wear them, if they'll fit him that is... Maybe he'll buy something similar.

Is the guy who will buy a Nirvana shirt and know none of the songs just so he can match with you.

Again, a little property stealer. Snags a poster or two thinking you won't notice. A sweater or two during the fall. And if they don't fit him he's buying the exact same one off Amazon for 30$ don't test him.

He likes to learn about all the music you like. As the kid who was also raised in the outdoors. Sacrificing his life for little league football and Scouting in Scotland. He totally understands you not having the biggest hook over technology.

He doesn't really either.

The technology people of your group are surprisingly (not really) Ghost and Gaz. Give Johnny a few bombs and an open field and he's a happy camper. No technology required.

So he thinks it's awesome too. He definitely likes your style and always wants to know more. He wants to get into your hobbies and know all the knowledge he possibly can.

Tell. Him. Everything.

He's feral. If he hears any nonsense they better get ready to square up right there and then. He's tired of hearing people discredit others so a good punch without warning and those idiots are knocked out.

But he's also the prankster, so you give him a name and he will torture that recruit and their friends for a month with the insane stuff he can pull.

Price knows it's Soap, but without the recruits having concrete proof there is nothing to be done. And he thinks it's hilarious this time around.

[mal-likes-biscuits]

Hi, is there chance for continuing Archfall? Thank you for answer

I actually appreciate someone asking this question, because I keep meaning to address it. Then I re-write my answer ten times in my head and never get around to actually posting it.

Without further ado...

To long, didn't read answer (tldr): yes, there is absolutely a chance! I haven't stopped thinking about it, which is both good and honestly slightly clinical. I would like to finish it.

Longer version (that has been edited 11 times in my head now):

I've been experiencing mental burnout since before I even finished the previous series. The burnout has nothing to do with writing it (in fact, writing it was stress relieving) and mostly had to do with my previous job deciding my sanity was worth trading for profits. This was then worsened by pandemic stress, being a relatively new parent, and a mish-mash of negative and positive stressors.

My day job also involves writing, though the overlap isn't as bad as you might think. But it's still cognitive.

Plus, I used to do a lot of fic writing at work on my breaks, when I had a somewhat private work space; this was the only boon of my previous job. I got a new job, thankfully, for the rest of the issues. However, I currently have an open office space I share that also doubles as a walkthrough area. My co-worker is amazing, but I can't focus on fic if I'm worried someone is going to look over my shoulder during lunch and go "what are you writing".

I've never had luck writing at home because too many things distract me.

So, where's that leave me?

I hyperfixate on things, including hobbies, and in prior periods of cognitive burnout I've gone months, sometimes years, without writing anything. My brain will move to other hobbies while I recover. So far, I have:

learned a bunch about micro aquariums

picked up a house plant hobby (what can I say, we have winter 6+ months of the year and I like gardening)

started collecting rocks and minerals again (whoops that was expensive)

got really good at several video games that are pointedly not Diablo, because I just couldn't mesh with D4 for some reason

have read a few novels and also went down the SCP rabbit hole again, though I promise I haven't been writing and cheating on Archfall

I'm also a parent to a young-ish kid, which is awesome, but our entire house is neurodivergent and is in a chronic state of disorganized disaster worsened by the growing amount of School Parent Things we need to do. And I don't have time to just pack up my laptop to a coffee shop like I sometimes used to. It's a give and take thing, because I absolutely love many things about my life right now, but the situation of other things has certainly changed.

That's a really long way to say I want to write anything, especially Archfall. BADLY. It's just every time I start up writing anything, I burn out.

But I want you all to know that Mal and Farah and the rest of the cast live pretty much rent free in my head all the time, and as soon as the time is right (whenever that is) to finish writing the story, I will.

I hate not finishing projects, though it's certainly happened, and so far in my life I've been lucky to only drop interest in pretty niche hobbies and not stories themselves. I have brute forced prior writing projects through to completion when my brain has been ready, and I have too much fun stuff planned for the series to let it drop completely.

(Might be revisiting the complexity of the plot, but I think that was due anyway. I always over-plot to begin with.)

And please, if you do, don't feel bad about asking this question! Especially when I ask it to myself multiple times a week. :')

-- J

[xyfanficarchive]

🥬 - what are some beige flags your f/o has? so, not bad, but not nessecarily good either. just. "oh. you do This."

🫛 - how does your f/o feel about pet names or nicknames? do they like them? hate them? what are their favorites and least favorites to be called and to use?

🍆 - does your f/o have a favorite scent? why is it their favorite? do they have a least favorite scent?

🍅 - if your f/o could buy you any gift in the world, whether it exists or not, what would they buy you? or, if they could make you something, what would it be?

Sorry if this is too many lol

ask game!

🥬- i think once, when we were still in the hookup stage, i went to check out a poetry slam one night and saw jimmy there in the audience and while he didnt seem exactly impressed, he was focused really intently like he was genuinely engaged. which was Shocking like he does Not seem the type at all! and then we noticed each other and he pretended he didnt see me and left soon after. next time we meet he brushes it off saying that he goes sometimes and its all cringe and he could do way better, even though he’s never gotten up on stage once in his life. (later on in the relationship i accidentally come across a notebook filled with recent poetry and like. while i didnt read it aside from the one page that fell open rest assured not all of what’s in there was Good. anyways i try to subtly encourage him to write more and actually participate in the slam at least once but the risk of not being received well is too great for him. jim not everyone is as judgemental as you are.) so yeah: secretly enjoys slam poetry, secretly writes slam poetry, but is really judgemental despite not being the greatest poet or having the courage to actually go and share his own work at a slam.

🫛- answered here! :3

🍆- can i say ermmm my skin, even body odour like not stanky and dirty but just the smell after a day of existing as a mammal yk. i think he’s gonna find a lot of comfort in the smell of his partner no matter who it is. im really into that thing where if your immune system is really different and therefore compatible with your partner’s their sweat and pits smell really fucking good, like pheromones. i guess its kind of a musk kink? yeah. other favourite smells: a freshly lit cigarette, for obvious reasons. maybe the smell of baking, like cookies, curly’s mom liked to bake so more often than not there was something in the oven when he would go there as a kid, and it was one of the few places he ever felt safe. and he got to eat freshly baked homemade cookies which he couldnt even dream of at his own house. i think he also loves the smell of the perfume i wore the first time we met, leather and violet musk and clove cigarettes and waxy lipstick. least favourite smells: mildew, stale beer and booze vomit. not pleasant smells for anyone but he smelled far too much of them as a kid. also, the smell of the one shitty aftershave his dad used his whole life.

🍅- a house for us to live in. like partially for himself obviously and partially for me too, i think it would make his ego feel good to be the one to have provided that for me you know? take the stress of paying rent off my (and his) shoulders. not that it’s exactly feasible for him. tbh i think he’s not the greatest gift giver, he’s kind of fucking lost on that front. he’s not great at thinking about what other people want.

[its-been-rose]

HEADCANONS FOR SILLY RADIO MAN GAME

Henry

- calls his mom “Ma”

- Is selectively mute and only talks to his mother or others when there is no possible way to avoid it. Hates talking.

- Likes slasher horror films

- the mamas boy to end all mama’s boys, would basically only listen to his mother and no one else

- Got into crazy fights as a child because he would not take shit from anyone and had attitude issues, especially if the slight was against his mom

- Had a reputation in school for being a weird violent kid who never talks.

- Has like no friends

- Looks extremely similar to his mother and almost nothing like his father (despite Marie saying otherwise)

- Middle name is George (was going to be Theodor like his dad but Marie thought it was kinda lame lol)

Marie

- middle name is(was?) Reagan (exorcist reference)

- She dealt with hardships in life (difficulty making rent, Henry getting sick, etc.) by going on tirades about how everything wrong with her life is because of the people in GC and they all deserved to die. Blamed all of her problems (more or less rightfully so) on the people who wronged her

- Loved Henry to the bone but was too mentally ill to see she was destroying him and any chance he had at a future

- Ever since Whistling Night ‘68, she got terrible nightmares that would wake her up constantly

- Quite tall

- Secretly jacked, poured all the spiteful energy she could muster into learning how to kick ass

George

- sometimes had emotional regulation issues and outbursts of intense rage for example, when he lost a game (never directed at anyone, always just within himself or taken out on objects like a ball or a tree) which was taken out of context and used as evidence that he was a violent delinquent.

- In reality was extremely gentle and sweet and wouldn’t hurt anyone.

- Was kind of introverted and would take a long time to open up to other kids so people in his classes didn’t really know him that well despite him being involved in a lot of extracurriculars. Kept to himself (or with Jason and Marie)

- Blonde

Ricky

- is a redhead (auburn?) and has freckles

Max

- is a golden retriever

- Is a good boy

Leslie

- totally has a crush on Sara (is it unrequited? Do they get together? The world may never know!)

- Is Latina

Sara Martinez

- is also Latina (is this a headcanon if her name is literally Sara Martinez lol??)

The Stines

- Got married right out of high school (I swear we see a wedding invite in the game in the chuck puzzle and can’t recall for the life of me what year it says)

- Were high school sweethearts like George and Marie were

Eugene

- inherited his poor eyesight from his father

[kaylinalexanderbooks]

OC interview

Thanks to @leahnardo-da-veggie here and @mysticstarlightduck here!

Rules: answer the following questions in the POV of an OC!

I need to work on Ash... So I'll do her... Wish me luck!

Are you named after anyone?

“Not that I know of.”

When was the last time you cried?

“I don't really cry often, actually. Though sometimes I get this intense sadness. I don't know if it's from me being an empath. But sometimes I'll have a telepathic dream, you could say.”

Do you have kids?

“Hahaha, no. I'm thirteen.”

Do you use sarcasm a lot?

“No, not a lot. I prefer to say what I mean.”

What’s the first thing you notice about people?

“Not entirely sure. Maybe approximate age or their outfit or something. I guess I'll pick up on some psychic vibe.”

What’s your eye colour?

“Green. I really like that part of me, actually.”

Scary movies or happy endings?

“Big fan of scary movies, actually. I find them really fun.”

Any special talents?

“I play the euphonium. I'm into robotics. I win most board games I play. Excerpt Mouse Trap. God, I hate that game. Also, our school rents archery equipment sometimes, and I was the best aim. I think I'm also getting pretty good at telepathy.”

Where were you born?

“I finally asked my mom directly. I was born in Alium. Sector 9.”

Do you have any pets?

“No. But I would love a dog.”

What sort of sports do you play?

“My ex-stepdad taught me and Hannah baseball. The annoying part was that I liked it. But after he left I haven't gone back to it. I'd rather work on my other hobbies, anyway. But who knows? Maybe one day I'll take it up again. Or archery.”

How tall are you?

“I just passed 5'3, which makes me the tallest in my family except Mary. Alium heights are strange.”

What was your favourite subject in school?

“I'm still in school, so my favorite subject is science. Especially when it's hands-on. We got to dissect a chicken's wing a bit ago. It was awesome. You could even see where the bullet hit the chicken because of the way the bone was broken!”

What is your dream job?

“... I don't really think about the future that often. I guess something hands-on. Maybe robotics related.”

Eh, I'm still so unsure about Ash. I have no idea why she's so hard for me.

Other Ash: OC in three, OC questionnaire, two truths and a lie

Other interviews: Wade, Jazlyn, Gwen, Lexi, Carla, Carmen, Maddie, Liam

Tagging @katwritesshit @writeouswriter @little-mouse-gardens @buffythevampirelover @willtheweaver

+ ANYONE ELSE

TSP intro

TSP tag list (ask to be +/-): @thepeculiarbird @illarian-rambling @televisionjester @finchwrites

@nebula--nix @literarynecromancy @honeybewrites

Are you named after anyone? When was the last time you cried? Do you have kids? Do you use sarcasm a lot? What’s the first thing you notice about people? What’s your eye colour? Scary movies or happy endings? Any special talents? Where were you born? Do you have any pets? What sort of sports do you play? How tall are you? What was your favourite subject in school? What is your dream job?

[undertale-fic-librarby]

Do you have any recs for good underswap sans x reader fics? I looked through the blog and didn't see any recs, but please let me know if I missed them. Thank you so, so much!!

Howdy, thanks for asking! Here are some fics that might fit what you're looking for!

Broken (underswap) by H2O (Explicit, Incomplete)

You Fall Down into the Underswap Underground after the Barrier is broken, but why? Who are these strange skeletons, and why is everybody so nice?

Just Friends! by WhoaWickedSins (Explicit, Complete)

[Swap! Sans Smut Collection. Every chapter has a new little kink or two, listed under the chapter summary.] Blueberry wants to fuck, and he wants to fuck a lot. Little brother Papyrus is onto your diabolical scheme to seduce his brother. Can you keep up with Sans while trying to hide your relationship from Papyrus? Good luck, kid. You're gonna need it. Completed April 19, 2017!

Capturing The Blue Flag [DISCONTINUED] by atomiCherry (Mature, Incomplete)

You just had one year left to finish college and graduate with the course of your choice... Not until your aunt left you the responsibility of being a caretaker in her old Victorian house. With her promise of paying for your college funds the next year in exchange of having her property rented by at least two monsters, you had no choice but to oblige. You never cared about the monsters arriving at the surface nor had any strong opinions about it. But that perspective changed when two skeleton siblings showed up at your doorstep, holding a poorly drawn brochure to your face, a bag of G resting in your front porch... And when you realized how it was fun to tease and play little games with the older brother named Sans.

The Human Condition by Diamondflame33 (Teen And Up, Incomplete)

You're human enough you suppose, for a person with magic. You don't really bother about it under normal circumstances, so most people don't really wonder about it. Sometimes, it's so much a part of you you even forget it's there and just live your life normally. So when you end up using it on a complete stranger, and get pulled into more unusual circumstances than you're comfortable with, you figure perhaps that fate is tired of you ignoring it.

Don't Look So Blue by savontic (Mature, Incomplete)

We all know the drill. A human falls, they're coddled in the Ruins, and sent away to decide the fate of all monsters. More often than not, the human will risk their own safety for the chance to befriend their foes. Even if it means facing their own death. Oh, if only it was that easy this time, dear Reader. You see, you weren't the only one who fell. Your little brother came along for the tumble, and you'll be damned if you don't keep him safe.

[wroteclassicaly]

Kristen. Older!Eddie x reader. It is imperative that you share all sinful thoughts on this topic to us. Him with scruff? Voice a bit more gravely because of all the smoking and singing in Corroded Coffin? Covered in tattoos? I need him desperately.

Oooooh gawd! This is gonna take some thought, but I have ALOT of thots, luckily… :P

First off, Older!Eddie could range from his late twenties (Joe’s real age) to the age Eddie would be in 2023. Which is, what 56 almost 57, or something? (Drooling, because I imagine aged Eddie is as hot as Jeffrey Dean Morgan is right now)

Anyways…

• Voice definitely gravely. Speaks with a deliciously low rasp, sometimes coughs a little. The action always makes him stick out that tongue to wet his lips. They can get chapped a lot. He sings with a more lower tone than he did in his youth.

• Eddie’s body is littered with various ink. Some new, a lot of it old and fading, but he’s managed to try and get some filled in and freshened up.

• He has a Spotify, but he rarely uses it. He prefers his vinyl records. Netflix and streaming services are cool, but he can do without.

• Still has his van, even though it’s underneath a tarp in his garage. It makes for a hell of a good place to let loose and have a smoking session when he doesn’t want to sit in his home.

• Works on a lot of different cars out of his own garage, the walls littered with various band posters, his own faded logo he made back in the 80’s of his own band. His framed diploma sits in the house. 86’.

• Has a junked mustang from 1969 that he’s try to restore as his own personal vehicle. Cherry red (he’s a fucking sucker for cherries). For now, he drives his baby — a midnight, glossy black 1980 Pontiac Turbo Trans am.

• His fingers, creased with a few aged spots, the veins remain prominent, as he has never stopped playing acoustic and electric guitar. He’s also managed to work himself into playing the drums and self-taught a little piano. If you were to venture over and take some lessons, you’d get very distracted by those hands.

• His hair was short for a while, but he’s let it grow out again. An array of curls with streaks of silver. He shaves his beard a lot, but he’s usually marked with a stubble or a salt and pepper beard.

• He’s got scars from various piercings. One in each ear, but he only wears the left on occasion. He’s had his nose done, got his lip done on a dare. He once had nipple rings, but took those out and recently for them redone.

• The newer tattoos are 86’, his band’s name, and cluster of red bats on his right side, a peace sign (he was drunk, okay?) on the top of his thigh, vines that are woven around his lower back, connecting to a red ball of small flames. It means something to him, but you’re unsure of just what.

• He stills wears most of his rings, having thrifted new ones along the way.

• He teaches younger kids at the local gaming center how to play D&D. Will play it every other Saturday with his old friend group. Tradition is important to him.

• Gardening and sowing relaxes him, so yeah, he does both.

• He’s only been married once. They’ve been divorced for years.

• Has a personal library in his house (his affection for books only increased).

• His band did record a demo that the local radio station plays on Sunday’s.

• Handyman type, but he doesn’t do a lot of that work unless it’s for friends or family.

• Rents Wayne’s old trailer to help out those in need.

• Loves his flannel (wears a lot of Wayne’s old shirts), and still wears his chain and band shirts.

• He’s filled out now, works out on occasion.

If I think of more, I’ll add to this! ;)

[k-she-rambles]

Some Nuggets (not quotes) from reading Fumio Sasaki's Goodbye Things and Hello Habits:

• don't pretend to have time you don't really have, or you'll find yourself missing out on the things that are truly important to you. 24 hours minus the things that are most important to you is how much time you REALLY have

• failure should not cause too much shame, which prevents you from trying again.

• too much shame can come from assigning emotional meanings, fate, destiny, or the will of God to failures. A lot of the time it's better to simply say to yourself "that didn't work." Or even better to ask what you can try differently next time.

• Aim to fail as many times as possible. Seek a high volume of failures and be merciless in killing perfectionism. If you are failing many times, it means you are trying hard, trying often, and trying many things, and that's nothing but good! Ceramics students asked to make 40 mugs for their final grade made better mugs than the students asked to make one masterful one.

• Maintaining the habits you want to build is less about doing them, and more about coming back to do them again after you wander off. It's like refocusing on your breath after your mind wanders while meditating. What does returning look like for you?

• the things we own are sometimes things we enjoy, but somtimes they're meant to tell a story about ourselves to other people instead.

• The two big questions to ask while downsizing are: "do I like owning this, or do I like what owning this says about me?" And: "do I want to discard this, or do I like what getting rid of it says about me?" (Asking the latter helps guard against pride)

• Quit at 80% effort ‐‐people aren't very good at knowing when to stop, and it's just as easy to overextend as it is to be lazy. "A small daily task will beat the labors of a sporadic Hercules."

• Nature vs Nurture is like asking if the area of a field depends more on the length or the width. You play the hand you're dealt, but life is the kind of card game where you pass the cards, too.

• Some people do have natural advantages! If your family is full of doctors, you have a sense that becoming a doctor is a thing that possible to want or achieve. Some people have to teach themselves that things are possible.

• However, people that do believe or teach themselves to believe in the possibility of change tend to reach for things that people who believe only in nature or only in nurture don't.

• you use endurance when you don't have an immediate reward for the price you paid. You've suffered and endured, and you feel like you deserve a treat, since there wasn't an inherent reward.

• Effort, in contrast, does compensate you. It compensates you slowly, but it compensates you steadily. The true meaning of "do what you love and you'll never work a day" is "prioritize effort over endurance." ("A small daily task will beat the labors of a sporadic Hercules.")

• a knack for something is a natural ability for something. A talent is the skills and capacities you get from continuing to do it.

• Both a knack and a talent are valuable, but the one who pursues talent by continuing to try may overtake someone with a neglected knack (even if the knack is a significant advantage at the start). We all have different capabilities, but we learn to paint the same way we learn to tie our shoes as kids

• Ask yourself "is this object or habit paying me rent, or is it a freeloader?"

[https-harlow]

Single Hearts- Play Dates That Turn Into Real Dates

Series Masterlist

Summary- Jack and Sage finally get together for their kids to have a playdate, during which Jack finally gets the courage to ask Sage out on a date.

As much as Jack and Sage wanted Charlotte and Melody’s play date to be that weekend, Sage had already made plans to go to Lexington, Kentucky for the weekend with Charlotte to visit family. Luckily, they were both free the next weekend, and Jack ended up renting out a nearby children’s arcade for a couple of hours.

Jack and Sage pulled into the arcade’s parking lot at the same time, helping their kids out of the car before Charlotte and Melody ran to hug each other. They had recess together at school and ever since they learned about their play date they had been best friends. Jack and Sage followed closely behind their daughters.

“Hey, how are you?” Jack asked as he approached Sage.

“I’m good, how are you?” Sage asked.

“I’m great, Melody has been talking non-stop about this play date,” Jack said and Sage laughed softly.

“So has Charlotte. Are we here early?” Sage asked, since the usually full parking lot was empty.

“No, I uh, I rented out the arcade for a few hours. Since I’m in the music industry, sometimes people recognize me, and I didn’t want you or Charlotte to have to deal with that. Melody and I are used to it, but it can be weird at first.”

“You didn’t have to do that, but thank you. Can I pay you back for half?” Sage asked and Jack immediately shook his head.

“No, don’t worry about it.”

“Daddy, can we go in now?” Melody asked, pulling on Jack’s arm.

“Yeah, let’s go,” Jack said as Melody and Charlotte cheered, running to the door. 

Once they were inside, Jack confirmed their reservation, getting both kids their bands. They let the kids run around, playing whatever games they wanted, as they sat on a nearby bench so they could supervise.

“So, if I remember right, you said you were from Nashville?” Jack asked and Sage nodded.

“Yeah, I grew up there, my parents moved to Lexington when I was 19, and I stayed behind but ended up moving to Lexington shortly after I had Charlotte, then a couple of years later I’m living here now.”

“You know, I can totally hear a slight Tennessee accent when you talk,” Jack said, and Sage laughed.

“That’s so funny that you pointed it out because everyone else says I’ve lost my accent over time.”

“It’s slight, but it’s there.”

“So, you say you’re in the music industry, what exactly do you do?” Sage asked, bringing the topic off of herself.

“Uh, I’m a rapper,” Jack said. He wasn’t planning on telling Sage exactly what he did until she got to know him better. “It’s not a big deal or anything though.”

“That’s so cool, though, what’s the thing you’re most proud of? Or like your biggest achievement?” Sage asked.

“Off of the top of my head? Probably my Grammy nominations.”

“Wait, that’s so exciting and a huge deal Jack. Don’t underestimate yourself like that.”

“I just don’t want to, I don’t know, sometimes it’s hard to meet people when you’re famous.”

“Yeah, I understand that, but you still don’t have to downplay yourself. You’re allowed to brag about your accomplishments.”

Melody and Charlotte came running over to where Jack and Sage were sitting.

“Mommy, come play with us!” Charlotte said, pulling on Sage’s arm.

“Yeah, Daddy, help us with the basketball game,” Melody said. Jack and Sage got up, following their daughters. Once they reached the game the girls wanted to play, Jack picked up Melody so she was tall enough to throw the ball into the hoop.

“Mommy, pick me up too!” Charlotte said and Sage picked her up. As soon as the game started counting down, the girls started throwing the basketballs. They both got one in.

“Mommy and Melody’s daddy’s turn!” Charlotte said.

“You can call me Jack,” Jack told Charlotte, and she nodded.

“Mommy and Jack’s turn,” Charlotte said. 

“Yeah!!” Melody agreed. Jack and Sage set their daughters down. 

“Just so you know, I’m a pretty good basketball player,” Jack said, teasingly.

“I haven’t played basketball since elementary school when we were forced to,” Sage said, both her and Jack laughing.

They started the game, both of their daughters cheering for them to win. Jack purposely missed a couple shots, letting Sage win. Charlotte cheered excitedly, celebrating with Sage, before the girls ran off to play another game.

“You let me win, didn’t you?” Sage asked Jack.

“I couldn’t let you lose in front of your daughter,” Jack said, pushing her shoulder jokingly. Sage leaned against the arcade machine.

“Yeah, or you’re not as good of a basketball player as you claim to be,” She teased.

“Okay, okay, now that’s going too far,” Jack joked.

“I’ll apologize when I see proof otherwise,” Sage joked.

“To be fair, I’m better at soccer, but I’ll prove it to you one day.”

“I’ll be waiting.”

“And I’ll be waiting for you to let me take you on a date. A proper date, without the kids.” Jack said, and Sage looked at him confused.

“Aren’t you and Penelope married, or dating, something?” Sage asked, and Jack laughed softly, shaking his head.

“No, we used to be married, but we got divorced about five years ago when Melody was two,” Jack explained.

“Oh, I just assumed since you two seem so, I don’t know the word, you just don’t seem divorced.”

“A lot of people think that at first, but nothing really happened between us, we just both realized we weren’t right for each other, I mean, it was awkward for a little while of course, but we’ve gotten over that now.”

“Well, in that case, I’ll go on a date with you.”

“How about next weekend? If Charlotte’s dad can’t watch her, or anyone else, Penelope offered to watch her, if you’re comfortable with that.”

“Yeah, if she’s okay with it, I think that would be best. Her dad’s not involved and all my family is in Lexington, I’m sure one of my friends would watch her, but Melody and her seem to be enjoying their time together, so I’m sure they’d love another play date.”

“Her dad isn’t in the picture at all? Sorry, that’s inappropriate of me to ask, forget I even said anything.”

“No, I don’t mind talking about it. Char’s dad and I broke up shortly after I found out I was pregnant, he had cheated on me. He stayed involved for most of my pregnancy, until maybe a month or so before I had her. He chose to not be involved since. I’ve given him several opportunities, I let him know when I was in labor, when she was born, everything, but I can’t force him to be involved. I still give him opportunities to this day to be involved, but he always chooses not to be, so I just don’t tell her about it.”

“I’m so sorry, I can’t even imagine doing that to someone and just living my life like my own child doesn’t exist.”

“I don’t get it either, but I can only do so much, and I guess it’s better that he’s not involved rather than being in and out so she doesn’t know about it.”

“Yeah, and I can already tell you are an amazing mom, neither you nor Charlotte need someone like him anyway.”

Before Sage could respond, Melody and Charlotte ran up to their parents.

“You ask.” Melody said to Charlotte.

“No, you. You’re older.” Charlotte argued and Melody sighed.

“Can we get ice cream?”

“Yeah, we can.” Jack agreed before looking over at you, you pulled out your phone to look at the time.

“Yeah, we have time to get ice cream,” Sage said, and the girls cheered.

“Want to go now? You can keep playing, but we only have about 10 more minutes here.”

“Now!” Both girls said excitedly. Jack and Sage nodded as Charlotte and Melody ran to the door. Jack held the door open for them and as Sage walked out the door, her hand brushed Jack’s, both of their hearts fluttering as they pretended not to notice.

“Actually, there’s an ice cream shop right around the corner, we could walk if you want,” Jack suggested and Sage nodded.

“Walking is fine, Char, you’ll have to hold my hand, okay?” Sage asked and Charlotte shook her head.

“No.”

“Charlotte,” Sage warned.

“How about you hold Melody’s hand?” Jack asked Charlotte and Charlotte nodded, Melody and Charlotte holding hands immediately. Charlotte was going through a phase where because she was a big girl now, she didn’t need help or to hold her mom’s hand walking on the sidewalk anymore. Sage looked at Jack, mouthing thank you, and he smiled in response.

“I don’t miss that phase,” Jack joked, Sage laughing softly. All four of them walking down the sidewalk, Jack walking on the outside, the kids a step in front of them. 

“So you’re telling me it gets easier?” Sage asked.

“It gets so much easier when they don’t want to say no to everything,” Jack said, his hand hovering Sage’s lower back, his other holding Melody’s hand as they crossed the street. 

Once they walked into the ice cream shop, both Melody and Charlotte ran to the counter to see what they had. 

“Mommy!! Can I get sprinkles?” Charlotte asked and Sage nodded.

“Yes you can get sprinkles, do you want chocolate?”

“Yeah! It’s my favorite!”

Sage ordered a small chocolate ice cream cone with rainbow sprinkles in a bowl, and a scoop of cookie dough ice cream for herself. Melody got cotton candy flavored ice cream in a cone, and Jack got a scoop of his favorite flavor.

The four of them sat at a booth, luckily the ice cream shop was empty, so Jack wasn’t recognized by fans. While he loved meeting fans, he didn’t want to throw Sage into that lifestyle yet.

Once they finished their ice cream, it was time for Jack to leave to drop Melody off with Penelope.

“I think it’s time for you to go to your mom’s now,” Jack told Melody, “Can I walk you two back to your car?” Jack asked and Sage nodded, grabbing her bag from the seat, the four of them walked back to the arcade parking lot.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” Jack smiled softly at Sage, “I’ll text you what time I’ll pick you up, but it will probably be around 6ish.” 

“Okay, I’ll see you then,” Sage smiled back, Jack desperately wanted to kiss Sage, but he wanted to wait, “Have a good night,” Sage said.

“You too,” Jack waited for Sage and Charlotte to get into their car and drive away before he and Melody did the same.

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