#i'll find something to write about but it's just a daily struggle and very very distracting to my work

[sailingintothenight]

"Heart to heart." Bob Reynolds Imagine.

Summary: You two are good, best friends, but you're also two hearts yearning to be something more. And between the small fears and the big ones inside Bob, there's a confession of love on his part, in an attempt not to lose you—not angry, not frustrated, just scared.

A/N: Hi. Thanks again for the love you've shown my other images; it means a lot! Sorry if this is not very good (about 4.5k words) I can't write constantly, and even though I feel like I'm not making progress, I like writing these stories for myself and for whoever wants to read them. English isn't my first language, so I'll correct any mistakes I find in the morning, as it's almost 5 a.m. in Peru. Thank you! Warnings: fluff with a little bit of angst. The word "addiction," "death" and "weapons," though I don't specify which ones I think(?) Sorry if I'm missing something!

[The heart monitor drew a flat line on the screen.

Everyone left, and no one bothered to turn it off when the annoying sound announcing a death filled the void.

A lifeless body remained on the stretcher in the middle of a laboratory, just an empty shell protecting a heart that didn't beat anymore, skin getting cold as some time went by. And on the other side, there was no white welcoming light, no angels singing, no more but an infinite nothing.

Until you woke up with a sharp beep whistling in your ears.]  

For some reason, the elevator's ding makes you shudder with memories of yesterday that threaten to cloud your mind, like a high fever, but the suffocating sensation only lasts a second and is gone the next when the doors open in front of you. You take a deep breath for all the time you stopped breathing that night, your heart racing for all the time it stopped beating and that it's free now, a little wild even with all the new feelings it keeps building up inside, taking them all in with cowardly bravery, especially those you're experiencing for the first time next to Bob.

"Why does a love confession have to be dramatic? The rain is almost drowning them but they are focused on their hate–love moment."

You laugh, but the small sound is lost as you step out of the elevator and a female voice announces through the supermarket's loudspeakers that cheeses are half their price today. People come and go in the corridors, the air conditioning blows chilly, and the shopping cart you push out of that steel cage is half–full, with kitchen utensils and some ingredients for different meals for different people and their daily struggle for a healthy coexistence, sometimes with weapons on the table next to the meat or threats to make explode their heads before the occasional dessert.

Behind you, like a colorful shadow with the clothes Bob wears, (navy blue and mustard) his youthful, present–day image contrasts with the hardcover of your "Pride & Prejudice" book in his two hands—vintage green, delicate and elegant, with a peacock on the cover spreading its tail in a boastful yet majestic manner.

But deeply, like a connection or an experience already lived, his hand reaches forward and yours back, fingers recognizing each other once more before intertwining, his warmth enveloping yours in a single heartbeat. As if you were the compass of his life, Bob allows himself to be guided completely blindly, keeping you close and just a step away, always just a step away but never able to close that gap.

So short, and yet sometimes it seems infinite.

“They’re not about to drown, Bob.”

He shrugs.

“Though I must admit, the marriage proposal in the book is more intense than the one in the movie. But, I mean... would it be okay for me to confess my love for you when I’m angry?”

My love for you. For you.

"I think they are frustrated with each other. Maybe just scared?" You try to be calm, but like an imperceptible electric shock that is born from your bodies and is lost in the center where your hand and his remain joined, or perhaps it is born from that nucleus and expands through every fiber of your being and Bob's, it forces you to squeeze his, with him doing the same at the same time. You glance over your shoulder, but his face is still hidden behind the book, deeply immersed in it. “And by the way, you're ruining my hopes of ever experiencing something like that with that question. It doesn't always have to make perfect sense, you know?”

His slowing heartbeat loses control again, and Bob swallows as he takes a look at you over the book.

“Would you really want to experience something like this?”

“Nah. In novels, you get the love of your life under the rain. In real life, you just get the flu.” You chuckle. “But for someone who doesn't understand the passion of a romance from that era, you seem pretty absorbed in your novel.”

Bob shrugs again, even though you're not looking at him, and in an act of bravery, he dares to slide his fingers through yours in a gentle caress before stilling them again.

“You love this novel, and I just want to know more about the things you love.”

Bob was good, too good and nice and kind, because he cared about the team (even when his head told him no one cared about him). You could see the kindness in his eyes when he really got to know the others—after he stopped to frown in confusion every time someone on the team complimented him. Then, Bob really understood that he was important to the rest—In that moment, you knew Bob would go to war without a weapon for them, his body like a human shield, even if it cost him his own life. Because behind his fears and insecurities lay his undeniable and indelible desire to protect people, his people.

You among them.

With the violence of a hurricane, his affection and the way he tried to take care of you also slipped through his fingers like sand, impossible to stop from becoming something more, something bigger and meaningful.

You tried to convince yourself that you were nothing more than a piece of calm for him when his world became harrowing, but there was something in his gaze that screamed into the silence, not only in the sad moments, but when everything was fine, too. Like a magnetic force, useless to resist, Bob leaned toward you, and you mimicked his action. You were the one he sought out first during meals, two hours during movies.

Just to see you, just to steal glances from you when you weren't looking at him.

Like two parallel lines, you and Bob never seemed to meet in a deep way until you did for the first time, just getting to know each other, and you filled the empty space with an invitation. Do you want to do something? Read, play board games, learn how to make those 5–minute recipes from the internet that didn't always turn out well. Not pretty to look at, but edible. You showed him kindness, a certain sweetness that always surrounded you like an aura, painted in some cheerful color that he began to reflect even in the clothes he wore.

You were kind, or at least you always tried to be. And living together only deepened that affection, transforming it into something stronger, more lasting, but just as silent.

Now, the book is put down when you stop, Bob a step away, side by side this time.

"What are we doing in the stuffed animal section?"

"Remember I told you I was going to give you a gift?"

His shrewd gaze shifts from you to the huge pile of smiling, colorful stuffed octopuses, then back to you.

“I don’t like where this is going.”

“Don't worry, I’m just going to buy one of these for you.” You pick one up at random, a blue octopus with a round head and short tentacles. “They’re reversible plushies, see? There are only happy slash angry ones, but we can make them work with the me–so–sad Bob that comes around sometimes. How about that? Don’t you think they’re adorable?”

Bob keeps his lips together, a flat gaze in his incandescent attempt not to be defeated by you.

"I don't like you."

The problem was that that feeling had already settled in his chest already and found every empty corner to fill it with your laughter and the happiness in your eyes. But Bob didn’t feel like falling in love with you, but rather like feeling high, in a good way, finally, with an overwhelming nerves and also with the calm you made him feel, the butterflies and the electricity on his skin.

A new kind of addiction.

He continued crossing a bumpy road in his path to heal, and although no one knew how to look at the stars for the exact moment of his fall, Bob knew now that, by your side, everything would be just a stumble, a small slip before keep going.

"What do you say, love?"

Silence again, a little longer as his body, which had been inert, shudders with that word he had forgotten, the one he had banished from his life when he declared he would never experience anything like that.

You gently push the stuffed animal across his face, the fabric tickling his nose.

“I’m not saying yes.” Bob laughs, a little as he pulls away, and the sound is light like the joy he continues to experience every day, and somewhat deep like his voice. “But will they have one in purple?”

And you laugh, openly, the sound filling his ears and his entire body.

Love, something Bob had lacked for so long that he couldn’t even remember what it felt like, and suddenly, so quickly that it destabilized his poor attempt at keeping his world on balance, you had come to fill those blanks, every empty space inside him with that word and that wonderful feeling.

“Let’s get one for Yelena, Ava, and the others. Let’s bet on who destroys theirs first.”

Bob laughs with you before heading to the register to pay, and with a bag in each of his hands when everything is done, you receive a text from Yelena.

Could you please bring your butts back here? 🙄 I'm tired of hearing Dad ramble on about the 'importance' of having the talk with his kids, especially since the only ones in this house eating each other with your eyes are you and Bob.

“Who's eating what?”

You press the phone to your chest, your heart cruelly skipping a few beats in fright.

“Nothing. Let's go.”

Bob frowns, blinking in confusion, but he piles the bags in one hand to open the front door for you, mingling with the people coming and going on the street.

Everyone knows it, everyone could see the love in Bob's and your nervous gazes, and how that nervousness would transform into absolute calm when you lock eyes with the other, like the wild waves of the sea when they finally reached the shore and they became a gentle caress. You two were like a tangible confirmation that love really existed (that perhaps the wait in the shadows had been worth it because after a lifetime of painful experiences, it had all culminated in knowing each other), with a scorching heat in his golden cheeks as a result, which you usually soothed with a clumsy agility before the others noticed.

"So... about the love confession in the rain..." Bob clears his throat, voice threatening to crack with an emotion that, somehow, without ever having experienced it before, sets his soul alight as well.

“Well, I think sometimes we associate rain with an emotional release where you're able to let out everything you feel, you know? Like in the book, Mr. Darcy can't hold his feelings for Elizabeth anymore, and those feelings kept building up over time until he had to pour them out because they couldn't fit in his chest anymore, although that didn't turn out so well for him…” You chuckle, staring straight ahead as your mind projects the words from the book and the scene from the movie, moments you remember well because you keep reliving them through reading and on your phone screen. But so immersed in yourself, you miss the way Bob looks at you, eyes fixed on you as he can clearly see, even in the gray weather, a glimmer of happiness on your face. “The rain makes it dramatic, passionate, I guess. But it's just a scene, Bob, it's not that big a deal.”

With that same magnetic force that draws his eyes to you, Bob follows your every move, the furrow of your brows, the twist of your lips, and everything in between before you look back at him. In an instant, he looks away so as not to drown in his own feelings, which also threaten to spill over the edge of his heart.

"Do you think that... maybe a broken person can also love without hurting?"

A sad expression tries to spread across your face, but you fight bravely to maintain an encouraging one.

Life had been a nightmare for Bob, so unfair that it was hard to believe such things had happened to a child (like something out of fiction, from the most twisted mind), but they were real and they happened, and all the experiences he had lived through forged him and broke him at the same time. Bob was wounded, both physically and emotionally, so battered that now he was still terrified of feeling good, big things.

Bob is summer, and he is winter too, different versions of every season, all at the same time sometimes. He could be like a storm of nature that threatened to devastate everything in its path, but amidst that cold, destructive force, there always lay some kind of warmth and a fervent desire to stop everything before he hurts, just to be good, kind, a true gentleman amidst his occasional clumsiness and his sass to laugh at you and others.

“We're all a little broken, or so I think. Of course, some much more than others, unfortunately, but maybe, over time, some people just learned to smooth the sharp edges inside them so they don't cut themselves or those they love, you know what I mean? So they can love without fear of hurting.”

Bob glances at you, eyes narrowed thoughtfully, but there's a genuine smile plastered across his face. He felt it deep in his broken soul (sometimes sharp as glass) a deep love for you. He felt it in the way his wounded heart still beat for a chance, and in the way his whole body vibrated when he was by your side, and though he didn't dare call it by its true name out loud, Bob knew what it was.

It came with adrenaline, yes, with some anxiety even, but instead of crushing his heart, that love caressed his soul so gentle that he wanted more and more of it every day.

"Why are you so smart?"

"I have my moments of immense wisdom." You chuckle, making him laugh with you.

But the second either of you looks away from the other, why do you threaten to lose yourself in his eyes and all the beauty you can see in them? He always looks at you with adoration, always has since he met you, as if you were a part of him, as if you were the most important thing in his life. Everything that actually matters for him.

Bob opens the building's door for you, walking beside you through the luxurious, polished tile lobby.

"Do you want to watch your favorite movie again? It's my turn to choose anyway."

You laugh, somewhat mischievously.

"You're going to make the others leave the room."

Bob smiles to himself, a nervous feeling tugging at the corners of his lips.

"Doesn't sound bad at all."

However, his timid response is overwhelmed beneath the confidence of Patrick, one of Val's associates, who calls your name while walking from the lobby’s sofa and toward you.

“(Y/N), hi.” He smiles. Blonde, with green eyes like the cat you had as a child, and dressed in a shiny, satin–like gray suit that looks too expensive and slippery. He’s handsome, his flirting too direct, and during the few times you spoke to him, it was like dodging a slap that would eventually hit you hard. His self–confidence was endearing at times, but sometimes it was overpowering and not at all subtle. Behind you, Bob tenses, his shoulders so stiff it hurts. “Hi, Bobby.”

“Just Bob.” You and he say at the same time, your voices mingling with a hint of bitterness, but Patrick nimbly ignores your protest.

For a moment, you hear him ramble on as well.

Between words fired at the speed of bullets, you manage to hear about his promotion, well–deserved, though it’s only an attempt at boasting, and it flashes before your eyes and splatters a little in Bob’s direction. Seconds pass quickly, but the sound of his voice becomes impossible to understand when, for an instant, it is abruptly cut off when something breaks in the evening sky with an intense emotion and the rain starts falling, so resounding and raw that it scares you.

Maybe that emotional release was true after all.

You say goodbye to Patrick after a while, stepping into the elevator Bob holds open for you.

“Can we pretend that never happened?” You ask when the doors close, but he lets out a laugh, a hollow sound.

“What never happened exactly?”

But you can feel it, that chasm that used to separate you by a step, now yawning wide in the floor.

Bob has to swallow the lump in his dry throat as he feels a stabbing pain settle in the center of his body, a sensation so violent it brought him to the brink of nausea, like the memory of another needle sinking into his skin and injecting a kind of serum that promised to make him invincible.

The possibilities of losing you always came down to one thing: a person who would take you away from him, someone better, someone steady, normal, not just another shadow projected on the ground. Bob rises higher and higher in the elevator, but sinking into that world of pain that was always cold and wild, dark and terrifying, and that threatens to drown him in waves of hatred and self–loathing for never being enough, nor to have the courage to fight for you. But remaining in the void—there was something addictive about it, too, simpler than trying and fail, because sometimes, lingering in the same place was easier than starting over again on that too–steep hill to reach even a glimmer of a mirage, a mockery of the life Bob could have next to you, before pushing him back to the bottom to start over.

His spirit falters, because the enemy in his mind still speaks in whispers that could sometimes be deafening.

The elevator opens, but the abyss has already split the earth in two by the time he leaves that steel box first.

“I’m going to… wash my hands.”

Bob drops the bags on the dining room table, small under the confused stares of the others as he walks away.

“What the hell happened to him?” Walker frowns, Bob so painfully small that everyone can see it clearly.

Yelena mimics John’s action, her gaze settling on you, but the unflattering expressions on the faces of the group scattered around the dining room are a new kind of pang in your heart the moment you stop there, and it’s like a needle going straight in, so violently you feel your skin breaking.

“He’s not coming back, is he?”

You shake your head, not because you’re saying yes to Yelena's question, but because your exhaustion and frustration are about to spill over and you try to keep them inside.

“Give us a minute.”

You follow him.

Life sometimes, happens in a single second. And for Bob and you, falling in love, too.

It blossomed suddenly with the first blink, in a warm first look, with a special glow, finding a kind of magic that you had never seen before. Falling in love was as beautiful as not knowing that you are actually doing it, like navigating through unknown waters, walking through a world never before explored by anyone, an emotion that caught you two, that grew until it no longer fit in the other's body, which grew to fill the void of your worlds.

But that didn't mean you two were going to be together.

You turn down the hallway and the wall on your right turns to glass, the building so tall it makes you think you can fly, but not when it's raining so heavily from the other side that you can't see the path beyond.

Love, is not always just a game for two, sometimes, it comes with wild waves, blizzards and storms, perhaps to test our fighting spirit, our feelings and our courage. How badly do you want to be with him? How badly does he want to be with you? The tests of love make you wonder if it is worth fighting for, or if it all comes down to nipping it in the bud for your peace of mind, and his.

“Bob, hey…”

The heat of your hand on his arm, covered by a navy–blue fabric, seems to burn until it leaves a searing mark, but Bob turns anyway, first on the battlefield, without a weapon to protect him from what's imminent.

For a second, his blue eyes are like an ocean too dangerous to swim in as they stare at you relentlessly for only a heartbeat, a clear warning to stay away, like crystal–clear waters but fill with sharks on the prowl. Only for a second, though, until his eyes focus on you, his mind sending out the command that the person in front of him is really you, and in that instant, the wall of protection falls and his gaze softens, it becomes kind, and somewhat bright—not because he's happy—but because of his constant fight against tears.

"I'm sorry. Can we just... forget this ever happened and go back to who we are?"

Panic hits you in a different way, with the impact of a bullet from a gun someone fired at you that night after you technically died and came back, emitting a sound like an explosion, and then all you hear is a ringing that echoes in your ears, again, an old sound from a past life you didn't want to relive.

"Okay. But what are we, Bob? Give it a name, and I promise you we'll be that again."

But Bob shakes his head, because that word is a cruel lie, and the locks of his hair fall rebelliously on his forehead. He falls into a blue ocean of terror as he feels his own fears running behind him, next to his own guilt and the seconds that try to catch him, sinking him deeply, a too overwhelming feeling for his little heart.

“I can’t. If I say this, I know I’ll really lose you.”

You swallow, but there’s no hope in your eyes as you sink into the imminent separation to come, too.

“It’s okay, Bob, really… I just think I’m tired of all this. Of the back–and–forth glances and the way we hold hands. Maybe being friends won’t work for us either. Not when it hurts you this much and wears me down this badly.” And right there, Bob senses you’re about to cut the subject short as if it never happened, and a light chuckle escapes from between your closed lips, a tired sound, as if you’re so exhausted from just existing. A humorless laugh, just to soothe the pain that mingles with how ironic and selfish life can be. “I’ll be here, Bob, I promise I won’t leave you, but I will be just at the other end, okay? because you are the one who can’t meet me halfway in this and I’m tired.”

Bob knows that a life without you would be lonely, for real this time, whether he's surrounded by a sea of ​​people or just a few others. And in a split second, he comes to the conclusion that everything else is optional: choosing to live in the void or fight even harder to break out of it and finally be free. The fate of his whole life, and what remained of it, was all a matter of choice.

But losing you was not an option, because after you, there is nothing.

“No, no, no, hey, please don’t leave.” His hands cup your face, firm but gentle, and though your first instinct is to pull away as your hands clutch at his arms, it’s Bob who moves closer, not to hold you like a prisoner, but to let you see a plea in his eyes, so heartbreaking it makes your heart race even faster. “I want to be with you, okay? I want you to be okay, and I want you to be okay with me. I want you to be happy, and I want you to be happy with me. I'm selfish, I know, and I love you. And I’m scared, too, because I never had anything, honey, and now I have you and you’re the only real and meaningful thing I’ve ever had my whole life. And I’m scared of hurting you in some way, but I’m more scared of you never let me looking into your eyes again or hearing your laugh. You’re the only one who can pull me out of this void, but I promise I’ll fight harder to get out of there on my own, okay? Just don’t leave me. Please, don’t go.”

You gulp the knot in your throat, unable to breath correctly, and the time it takes you to decide seems for Bob like a lifetime away from you.

Questions and doubts pile up in your mind, so jumbled you can't understand them all, but you've always believed that the serum in your veins wouldn't let you go that night for a reason, just because perhaps that second chance at living life to the fullest was always in Bob's soul, waiting for you during the years you were apart, making you fight a little harder all this time together. Until it all comes down to this moment.

So you nod slowly, and it takes Bob a second to know that what he has before his eyes isn't an illusion induced by a drug or a serum, that, finally, everything is real.

It's tenderly awkward, the way he gets closer to you to taste the love on your lips with a brush of his against yours, closed eyes full of hope, eager to enjoy this new freedom, because at this very moment, a door that will guide you to a new world has opened and both hearts are excited to discover more, a new stage when you two can hold hands freely, kissing every time you two feel like it, kissing each other a little deeper right now.

At one point, in a new slow but meaningful rhythm, Bob's hands move away from your face to snake his arms around your waist, your hands on his cheeks now, with him pulling you toward him as he presses against you.

There's no space between you now, finally face to face, chest to chest, heart to heart.

The way his lips moves on yours is intense after a few seconds later, a somewhat desperate attempt to recover all the time and opportunities lost because of fear, but earning a low sound from the back of his throat, that sound containing a hint of anger that he finally let’s go as well, next to his frustration at having kept his feelings quiet for so long, maybe even a touch of lust too.

Time stops, but the rain and you two don't. At least until Alexei's voice, far from the dining room, interrupts the moment.

"Who bought therapeutic stuffed animals?! Kids, bring your best weapons, it's time for a family contest!"

[pyrriax]

HI TUMBLR late footnote posting before i go to bed (i took a nap today........ ate up most of my time)

not a lot to talk about with footnotes today since i was Busy and my brain wasnt working pfndkmlfd i blame seven hours of modded oneblock

[non-un-topo]

Yeah personal essays are rough but have you ever had to write two separate autoethnography papers about your relationship to gender while you're going through the beginning stages of transition after a major identity crisis?

[girlbossagenda]

How to plan your time better (and stop procrastinating)

‧˚₊⋅ ୨୧ ⋅₊˚‧

I've always struggled with this, I seriously thought something was wrong with me, but I realized I was menaging my time wrong, so here's some tips on how I recently learned how to menage time and what I learnt from my mistakes!

୨୧divide your goals୨୧

you need to make a list for your work goals(if you work), your school goals(if you go to school) and your personal goals, in another pile you need to write down your meetings or night outs

୨୧get the right materials୨୧

this works better in paper, you just need an agenda(if you can get one with all monthly, weekly and daily sections), a pen, some colored perns, pencil, markers or whatever, it needs to be colored and a monthly calendar for the years, which have to stay at home.

୨୧set monthly goals୨୧

For the first step you need to focus on the general picture, so, how do you want your month to be like? write down that list in your agenda and in your calendar also write down all your tests and work meetings, your monthly goals need to be general and long and now let's move to the next point

୨୧set weekly goals୨୧

time for the week! how do you want your week to be like? your weekly goals need to be long term but easy and you need to set both your dates and your work goals for example: "for this day I have to sign this paper, compleate all my summaries etc.." or " I will go to Miniso and Sephora with my friends" and you will sign the day.

example:

This week I'll study history -> This week I'll study and compleate 1 chaper of history

୨୧set daily goals୨୧

daily goals need to be extra specific for example:

Today I'll study history -> Today I'll read and study 20 pages of History

୨୧Get help୨୧

You can ask someone close to help you remember to check your agenda or plan a study group/meeting or simply ask others if there's any even for the time to come

୨୧Set a time୨୧

This is very useful for people that tend to feel discouraged, just write for how long you're going to do the task example:

Study math for 45min or study math from 16:45 - 18:00

Complete the power point between 18:00-19:30

୨୧Color Code the activities୨୧

When planning associating each activity with a color it helps you remember better and find the task easily.

୨୧DO NOT STRESS ABOUT MISSING SOMETHING୨୧

planning it's just a tool to menage your task in a easier way, do not stress about it, just spread your activities across the week and you are good!

Hi bonitas, Hope you're doing well, it's been a while since I've made a guide, this one it's a time planning technique that I recently figured out, after so many failed attempt, hope I've helped!

xoxo gorgeous

-𝓐

[niningtori]

goodbye (?)

hi my sweet friends. i debated on whether or not i should post this because i'm unsure if this is just a phase i'll get over or if it's truly real but i did want to be honest with how i'm feeling because i'm a pretty open person by nature and i do love you all and want to be as transparent as possible.

i haven't been feeling very well lately, both physically and mentally. i struggle with bipolar disorder and ptsd (among other things) so my depression can get pretty severe but i'm starting to wonder if my entire account was the result of mental unease or if the desire to deactivate is the result of mental unease. it's difficult to determine which one is reality, honestly. on that topic, my mental illness(es) have also made me struggle with grasping what's real and what's not in the most literal sense in that in my daily life i find it's difficult to keep myself grounded. like, i cant even understand what's going on around me sometimes and it's a very scary feeling to not have that presence of mind while still being conscious.

i've tried to wait it out for a few days but i have this feeling of dread that tells me i need to erase my presence on here as soon as possible. maybe i've made a mistake by being so open and vulnerable. i don't know if that's my rational side finally kicking in or if i'm being irrational by wanting to completely erase myself off of here. i just feel like maybe this entire account was a coping mechanism for me or something and maybe it's time to let it go. maybe i'm paranoid and maybe how i'm feeling is actually nothing but that's just how it is. i just feel trapped and like everything is hopeless right now.

like i said, maybe these feelings are just temporary and i don't need to worry so much because i'll bounce back, but things just seem really bleak at the moment and i don't know how to cope. writing usually makes me feel better, but even that doesn't seem to be helping because i can barely focus anymore.

i'm not sure what i'll do with myself in the future, but i sincerely hope that if you all see me in other ways someday, you will treat me kindly. i've tried to be as kind to you all as possible so i pray you all do the same for me.

with that being said, i'm going to keep thinking about what to do with this account but please don't be shocked if everything on here is gone in the near future. similarly, don't be too surprised if i pop back up like nothing happened. my feelings are very unstable right now as i'm just trying to figure out what's best for me.

i know this probably didn't make the most sense in the world but it's my earnest wish that you all understand me and my intentions. please remember: i love you all very, very much.

love always,

nini

[tealvenetianmask]

new to the fandom, hello. i've seen a few posts on your blog about blitz's bad spelling being rooted in dyslexia, however i've noticed that all imps seem to have bad spelling, all the way back to flashbacks of the circus.

one could argue i suppose that spellings seen at the circus are written by his dad, and that dyslexia runs in the family. but i think the consistent imp misspellings are intended as another indication of how lower class imps are - that they are uneducated, perhaps not allowed to receive education, and thus don't know *how* to spell.

Welcome. I disagree, and I think you expected that.

I'll start with the claim you based everything on.

"I've noticed that all imps seem to have bad spelling, all the way back to flashbacks of the circus."

Now, I really dug. And I could only find one example of something spelled incorrectly in any of the circus flashbacks. This is from "Oops."

Okay. Someone spelled fireworks comically wrong. My bet is Cash (whatever the cause), and idk... we haven't seen a pattern. Just the one example. Maybe he's dyslexic too. Maybe he's poorly educated (more on that later). But that would all be more in the headcanon realm for me.

Other things are spelled correctly at the circus.

The only other non-Blitz example of an imp being unable to spell something is Striker in "Mastermind" struggling to spell/say grimoire. But who can blame him? I struggle to spell grimoire, and I'm a human with a masters degree.

Beyond that, Fizzarolli, Millie, and Moxxie (you know . . . all the secondary imp characters) are shown spelling things correctly.

Fizz uses shorthand and repeats letters for emphasis here and there, but all of the words that he fully spells out are spelled correctly. There's nothing that can really be called a spelling mistake here.

The same can be said about Millie's texts in "Seeing Stars." She uses shorthand, but it seems intentional. You can compare her spelling to Blitz's directly here. "Mackin" in this context just doesn't have a slangy/shorthand explanation in the same way. Neither does "were" for "where." This is because spelling is automatic for Millie, but it isn't for Blitz. He's using phonetic(ish) guesses.

We also have Moxxie writing down a report that Blitz dictates in "Mission: Antarctica."

The guy can spell perfectly.

But-- honestly? You only have to be familiar with Moxxie as a character to know that his spelling would be flawless . . . For example, look at how he calls Blitz out for his spelling and grammar in "Spring Broken."

Blitz is the ONLY character with a recurring pattern of poor spelling. And if the writers didn't want us to make something of it, they wouldn't keep showing it to us in almost every episode. Now his spelling isn't always bad (he does alright in his apology notes and then in his reports in the shorts- IF Moxxie isn't still writing for him). And I wrote a piece of meta here that explains why I think it might show a form of self-accommodation that's super common for people with learning disabilities.

Now. I'd like to talk about imps and education briefly. Yes, imps are marginalized by their society, often poor, and expected to work for higher demons. But I don't think they have it much worse in terms of education and daily life than say . . . marginalized people in today's real life societies. Their roles are more rigid, yes, but they do hold a range of jobs and participate fully in demon life in multiple rings of Hell.

Are imps on average less well educated than demons higher on Hell's hierarchy? Yes, I'm sure. But remember, Blitz tells us he dropped out of a college, and for that he'd have to be . . . you know, allowed to start at one. And we see imps being very competent consistently. I haven't seen anything that suggests that they're not allowed to be educated (though they're pretty clearly not allowed to access magical artifacts), so I suspect that most imps receive a basic education.

Now do some marginalized people in real life end up illiterate (completely or in part) either because their education is horribly disrupted or inadequate or because they have a learning disability that isn't properly addressed? YES. Do some people with dyslexia still struggle to spell in daily life even if they're well educated and absolutely literate? Also yes.

Imps have a range of experiences in a society that is complex (even if it's in the process of being fleshed out) and reflects our own in many ways.

Blitz is dyslexic. Thanks for reading.

[h3lfaerie]

Hey babies, I'm alive ❤️

Still affording as much time as I can while packing up as I am ready to move out of my current household. I have had to prioritize taking care of legalities, which is why I've genuinely struggled keeping up with the daily updates but I'm dropping in to say I have not forgotten about you and I love you all very much.

I wish I had more to say in regards to the update, but I've kinda had to focus on packing up my life. Yours truly will be flying out of the country, semi-permanently... Which is weirdly not the first time I've done this.

It's still horrifying.

Even more so when I know I'm not even moving to a new household. I'm going traveling for a little bit, perhaps for the rest of the year. So, in truth I haven't just been packing. I've been cleansing myself of belongings that no longer serve me, either by selling them, donating or simply giving them away.

I've decided I want to pursue making art while on the go, while somehow making it work with no money. I have no clue how that's gonna work. But I think I'm supposed to discover that. I did this once already when I came to study in the UK in 2019, and that I did all alone. So, when it comes to packing up and simply leaving, I know I'm starting from experience.

I'm Eastern European. I've been in the UK for the last 6 years and I'm simply not happy here. I started writing Path of Alfheim on a whim and it became something that helped me realize I crave so much more out of life. Because for a very long time I've felt anchored to a piece of land that no longer aligns with what I want.

I wonder who else feels like that...

Yeah. I've been subconsciously pouring myself into Hiccup for the last two years without even realizing.

Tale as old as time to have a portion of your soul carved into your characters, it should not have come as a surprise but it still did.

I've been wracking my brain with questions like "What am I meant to do with my life?" and "Where to now?" when in reality the answer is simple.

The happiest I've felt these past 2 years is when I've been writing, when I've had the chance to be on stage, when I've snuck away to simply make things... When I've had the freedom to explore. And I need to know what that feels like at its fullest.

I'm going on a journey that is uncertain and a little scary. But I'm taking you with me. And though I don't have an update on the fic itself today, I wanted to come in and share that one little piece of me with those of you who felt connected to the silly little world I created on a random sleepless night after I had cried my eyes out.

I struggle with deadlines.

It's ridiculously difficult for me to stick to a schedule.

I've always been an intuitive writer, meaning I don't force the words. I simply let them flow when they come out.

So, I'm choosing a life where I dedicate myself to that purpose. Where I get to write Path of Alfheim whenever I want, without worrying if I'll make rent next month, where I can make art as I please and still have energy left because I'm not destroying my body at some minimum wage ungrateful job. I've had a portion of time these past few days where I haven't been able to dedicate as much time as I'd like to writing, but the fic itself is about to expand in ways even I haven't discovered.

It's been ages since I've had a chance to post a new chapter and I feel horrible for making you wait so long.

So, I hope that with these words of mine you can feel how devoted I am to this project. How much it's helped me find myself, and how much it ain't going anywhere anytime soon.

If you remember one thing from reading my post today, let me leave you with this... Should you not create, you will deteriorate.

You owe it to yourself to live your truth.

I'm going traveling for a while to find mine. And I know that my art, and Path of Alfheim as a whole, will reflect that truth in ways I can't wait to share with you.

I love you all. Stay safe. And I shall post again soon. ❤️

[lovemybluebully]

A Friend In Need

Inspired by my fellow Tumblr people again as seen here: 😊

https://www.tumblr.com/lovemybluebully/773754398203641856/and-if-in-another-universe-it-is-nicepool-who?source=share

AoA Wolverine is somehow stuck with Nicepool in his universe and although they are the most unlikely of duos it was just too tempting to write a little something with them. 🤣

It's nothing spectacular. Just a drabble really and not as structured as my other fics, but hope you enjoy it anyhow. lol

"Deadpool and Wolverine"-verse

Word Count: 1,829

Nicepool had been jabbering away all day nonstop and it was wearing on the last nerve of the cantankerous Weapon X.

In an attempt at scaring him into shutting up Wolverine lunged with all claws extended, knowing that Wade would get out of the way in time as this was a daily occurrence. But unfortunately, when Wade did move Wolverine got himself into a pickle. He'd thrown his full weight into that lunge and now his claws were lodged into the wall, and he couldn't pull them out.

Wade walked up behind him to glance over his shoulder to get a good look at the situation.

"Aw would you look at that. See what happens? If only you were a little nicer and not always trying to stab me. Kindness really goes a long way in- "

"Will you just shut the fuck up and let me think here?! It's your fuckin' mouth that's got me into this situation!

"Actually it was your questionable mental stability and unprovoked rage towards me that got you into this if you want to be accura- "

"Didn't I tell you to SHUT UP?!"

Wolverine is beyond annoyed that not only did he not succeed in getting Nicepool to stop talking, but now he's stuck in the wall and looking like a complete idiot. He starts snarling and jerking his arms to try to wrench the claws free, but they don't seem to budge. Wade just watches his struggle in silence for a minute before stepping forward to offer his assistance.

"I think this would be a lot more effective if we worked together. You pull while I pull you. Simple concept, right? Are you ready? Just let me get a good grip here..."

He reached out to grab his trapped companion under his arms when suddenly Wolverine jerks and immediately shakes him off.

"Don't FUCKIN' touch me! I'll deal with it myself!"

Wade failed to notice his uneasiness and thinks he's just being his usual ornery self.

"Nonsense Logan, everyone needs help sometimes and there's no shame in that. So no need for the macho loner bit and just let your pal, Wade, help you out."

Before Wolverine can protest the hands have gripped underneath his arms again and he's fails to hold in a very audible snort as the unfamiliar shivers run through him. He tries to control himself but is unable to resist as he frantically twists his body to try to get the hands off of him.

"Hey you, quit being stubborn and let me help. I know it's a hard concept for you to understand, but that's something that friends do for each other."

Wade doesn't relent and follows around with the writhing man, fingers digging in to keep their grip on the sides of his chest.

"Get your damn hands offa me! Let gohoho!"

Logan cursed inwardly as that chuckle escapes him, fighting to keep back a smile, but Wade had heard the outburst and looked at him in confusion.

"Did you just laugh? I've never heard you do that. Do you find something funny about this? How about letting me in on the joke, big guy? Geez, you're so squirmy. If I didn't know any better, I'd think you were....."

Nicepool trails off as he finally realizes the source of Wolverine's unexplainable behavior with a predatory smile lighting up across his face.

"Oh I get it now! How did I not see this earlier?! You're just ticklish!"

Dread builds up throughout Logan's entire body with his first instinct being to deny it.

"No, I'm fuckin' not!"

"Oh yes, you fricking are! You know what? I think we should use this to our benefit. I'll bet you'll pull free in a jiff once I really start tickling you."

Logan's eyes almost bulged out of his head at hearing that.

"NO!! Just get away from me! I'm not fucking around, Wade! I will stab you for real this time!"

The fearsome Weapon X hadn't felt this feeling in a long time. It was panic.

"Aww well if you're going to do that then you're going to need the use of your claws, silly goose. And currently they look pretty stuck to me. Now let's get them out of there together so you can go back to stabbing to your heart's content."

All of Wade's fingers buzzed to life and began wriggling and massaging into the wide-open armpits as Wolverine roared out in anger and futilely tried to pull his arms down for protection.

Weapon X was unfortunately just as sensitive as any of his other counterparts, but he'd never had it used against him like this, especially when he was unable to really do anything about it. He is already sans a hand and being trapped like this is almost like he is now missing both of them since he has no way to defend himself.

All he could do was thrash about with his snarling and deep growls being the only thing keeping him from breaking into humiliating noises. The last thing he ever wanted was for someone else to get the best of him and he was fighting it with everything he had in him, determined to get free before the inevitable happened.

"This is such a good plan, wouldn't you agree? And I get to kill two birds with one stone here. I've always wanted to make you laugh. Even getting just a smile out of you has been Mission Impossible. You don't need to hold it back, you know? It's just the two of us here."

He dug around in his armpits for a few more seconds before he moved down to the ribs, causing Logan to snort from the unexpected change in spots as he desperately clung to keeping himself contained. The way the fingers wiggled into the sensitive places between his rib bones was almost unbearable, and to make matters worse and embarrass him even further, Wade had started to playfully tease him.

"Aww come oooon.....Let's hear it.....I won't die happy unless I know what your laugh sounds like...Coochie coochie coo.....I'm just going to keep tickle tickle tickling until you give it up...."

Logan couldn't stand being trapped there and having to listen to Nicepool's ramblings any longer as he attempted to tell him off through gritted teeth.

"I swear.....if ya don't.....shut your- "

This of course was a huge mistake.

Wade's hands flew down and started mercilessly kneading into Logan's taut belly as the typically menacing man's knees instantly buckled from the overwhelming tickling sensations. He was beyond disgruntled to realize that he absolutely could not take it.

Before he knew it, he had broken down into helpless laughter as he fell to his knees trying to get away, though it just put him in a more vulnerable position with his arms suspended at an awkward angle above him.

"Bwaahahahaha! Dahahammit! Cuhuhut it ouuut!"

Wade was now grinning from ear to ear as he leaned down to continue clawing at the man's stomach.

"There we go. See? That's not so bad. Oooh you're tickly all over, aren't you? We keep this up and I'm confident you'll be free in no time!"

"Fuhuhuckin' stahahahap-aahahahaha, y-you useless wahahaaste ohohof flehehehesh!"

"Useless? How could you say that? We're making great progress! I think I saw your claws move at least a millimeter. So do not fret, I'm going to put in all my effort. You can count on me!"

Logan found he could barely get a word in through his uncontrollable laughter as Wade's good-intentioned but tormenting fingers drove him wild. He positively loathed the fact that he had been reduced to such an embarrassing, helpless state and wanted nothing more than to wring Wade's neck for getting him into all of this. But that would all have to wait. First, he needed to get himself freed.

Logan pulled hard on his arms and began throwing his whole body weight in the opposite direction, feeling a glimmer of hope as the wall creaked from the exertion. Though he temporarily lost his momentum, squirming desperately and letting out some involuntary higher-pitched giggles once Wade's fingers dug into his hips on his lower stomach area. Naturally Wade was amused by his reaction and kept up his attack on the sensitive spots.

"Waahaadeeheeheehehehe! Nooohohohohoooo! Gonna kihihihihill yaahahahhahahhaahaah!"

"I don't think you will. You're going to be so happy that I helped you escape that you won't even be thinking about murder. You'll see."

Wade noticed that Logan had stopped trying to pull free and was now only attempting to pathetically curl up and guard his stomach, wheezing desperately from how hard he was laughing.

"Aw what's the matter? Is that too much for you? Did I find your weak spot?"

Even though he thought it was totally adorable how helpless the man looked he eased up and moved back to squeezing his ribcage as Wolverine found his strength again and staggered to his feet before he again was violently thrashing and yanking at his arms.

"Sssss.....Staaahahahahahaap! N-Nohoho mohore of thihihihiiis! Hahahahaahaahah! Juhuhuhust fuhuhuhuckin' leheheheeave me!"

Logan managed to pitifully gasp out as he squirmed like mad and put a foot against the wall to aid in his extraction attempts.

"I'm afraid that's not my M.O. I will never abandon a friend in need. I'm with you until the end!"

Nicepool smiled with blissful ignorance, unable to comprehend that his "help" was not wanted in the least while Logan was practically at his wits end.

"I'll gihihihive yahaha 'til the cohohount of- !"

As he uttered those last words his claws finally came free, instantly retracting into his body as the force of his struggle sent them both hurtling backwards with Logan landing on top of Wade, the weight of his bulk squeezing the air out of Wade's lungs.

As Wade regained his breath, Logan swiftly rolled off of him to stand up. He then reached down and grabbed Wade by the front of his suit, lifting him off the ground to growl ferociously into his face.

"I'm gonna give ya one, and only one warning.....Do not ever EVER fucking do that again."

"Is that a request or a demand? Because I think you could benefit from having a laugh every now and- "

"WILSON....!!"

"Okay okay, fine. No more tickles for the big, grouchy feral with the cutest giggle that I've ever heard."

Wade puts his hand up in the air in concession while crossing fingers behind his back. Weapon X seemed somewhat satisfied with that and roughly set him back down with a glare before turning to walk away.

"One warning, Wade. That's it."

He hadn't made it ten steps before he felt fingers dancing along his sides again, his eyes bursting into flames as he spun around with claws already deployed.

"You're fucking dead!!"

"It was wooooorth iiiiit!"

The last thing that could be heard were the snarls of one pissed off Weapon X along with Wade's screams of pain.

[innercreationyouth]

Where the Force leads

In honour of the person who created Tatooine Slave culture, it's not mine, clearly, as many know. It's a very interesting culture for sure, but I know too little about it and I really like mandalorian culture more.

Also I adore time-travelling Ben. He's tired, weary and would like a drink. And I also adore blakkats (gosh, did I write it right? I'll have to check) portrayal of Jon Antilles.

Chapter 1. A Master without a purpose.

Chapter 2 here

In the deserts of Tatooine, Ben Kenobi lives in exile, haunted by the fall of Anakin Skywalker. When the Force whispers cryptic visions of a distant planet, Korda Six, Ben is drawn into a mysterious journey that challenges his solitude and guilt. As he uncovers the truth about his past failures, Ben must confront his role in the galaxy’s fate. This is a tale of loss, hope, and the enduring power of the Force.

The twin suns of Tatooine hung low in the vast, unforgiving sky, their relentless heat bathing the planet in an oppressive golden light. The sands stretched to infinity, shifting dunes whispering secrets to the dry, desert winds. It was a harsh world, where life clung desperately to whatever shade or moisture it could find, and every breath felt like a struggle against the elements.

Outside a modest, weatherworn shack perched on a ridge overlooking the desolation, an old man sat cross-legged on a simple wooden porch. He was draped in rough robes, his face lined with age, sunburn, and sorrow. Ben Kenobi—known once as Obi-Wan—closed his eyes, the faint hum of the Force stirring within him like a dying ember. He meditated, letting the stillness of the desert mirror the stillness he sought inside.

But there was no peace. Not today.

His thoughts drifted, as they often did, to the boy he had raised like a son. Anakin Skywalker, the Chosen One. The memory of his wide-eyed, eager smile burned brighter in Ben's mind than the twin suns before him. Then the smile twisted, darkened, became the visage of Darth Vader—his greatest failure. The air around Ben seemed to grow heavier as he relived it all once more.

What could I have done differently? The question plagued him daily. He had loved Anakin, trained him, guided him. And yet, the boy had fallen so far, taking the galaxy with him.

Ben sighed, the sound heavy with guilt. He whispered into the silence, “Was it my fault?”

At first, there was no answer. Just the faint hiss of the wind scraping over sand. But then, soft and clear, a voice echoed in his mind. Young, curious, and yet carrying an unmistakable weight of insight.

"Do you truly think it was your fault?"

Ben's eyes snapped open, his heart skipping. The voice wasn't his own, nor was it a memory. It felt... present. Familiar and unfamiliar all at once. He looked around the empty desert, scanning the horizon for something—anything—that might explain it.

He closed his eyes again, reaching deeper into the Force, letting it flow through him. The voice lingered, steady and calm, as if it came not from outside but from the very heart of the Force itself.

"You did what you thought was right. But was it? Or are you just trying to carry a weight too heavy for one man?"

Ben clenched his fists, the wind tugging at his robes as if to pull him back to reality. He swallowed hard, a bitter lump forming in his throat.

“I was his master,” Ben whispered. “I failed him. If I’d been better... if I’d seen the darkness sooner...”

"Would it have changed him? Or would he have fallen all the same?"

The words stung, cutting through Ben’s practiced defenses. They forced him to question the narrative he’d clung to for years. The old Jedi sat in silence, the desert wind his only companion as the voice faded, leaving him alone once more.

The twin suns dipped lower, casting long shadows over the sand. Ben opened his eyes, staring into the horizon. He didn’t have an answer—not yet. But the question lingered, echoing in the corners of his mind.

And for the first time in years, he wondered if he could let go.

___

The twin suns were dipping below the horizon, painting the Tatooine sky with streaks of orange and purple as Ben Kenobi trudged back to his modest shack. His arms carried a small bundle of supplies he’d picked up in Mos Eisley—a few dried rations, some water, and a handful of vegetables he’d bartered for with what little he had left. The desert winds swirled around him, tugging at his robes, carrying the faint scent of sand and dry stone.

His thoughts were simple as he walked: survival, reflection, and the quiet monotony of the days stretching before him. But as he approached the ridge leading to his home, a familiar sensation brushed against his consciousness—like a whisper carried on the wind.

"Would you change anything if you could?"

Ben froze in his tracks, his grip tightening on the bundle of food. The voice was back. The same young, curious tone that had spoken to him weeks earlier. For a moment, he considered ignoring it, shaking it off as some trick of his weary mind. But something about it was undeniable—its presence felt rooted in the Force itself, as real as the ground beneath his feet.

He exhaled sharply, setting the bundle down on a nearby rock. “I’ve thought about it,” he said aloud, his voice barely more than a whisper. “Of course I’ve thought about it. But I did everything I could with what I knew at the time. What’s left for me now is to reflect.”

The voice responded with a soft chuckle, its tone light but tinged with something deeper—understanding, perhaps.

"That’s what your Master would say."

Ben sighed heavily, running a hand through his graying hair. The mention of his old Master stirred a deep ache in his chest. “Well, I suppose he was right about many things. Though I doubt he’d approve of me standing here, talking to myself like a madman.”

For a moment, silence reigned. Then a thought flickered through his mind, unbidden but persistent: All is possible through the Force.

The voice seemed to sense it.

"What if everything began to spiral far earlier than you think it did?"

Ben’s brow furrowed, and he shook his head. “Why does that matter now?” he asked, his tone edged with frustration. “The galaxy’s already fallen to darkness. What good does it do to dwell on the past?”

The voice didn’t answer immediately. Instead, it whispered one word, so soft it seemed to blend with the wind itself:

"Patience."

And then it was gone. In its place, an image bloomed in Ben’s mind—vivid, clear, and unmistakable. It was a planet, foreign and unfamiliar. He could see jagged cliffs, dense forests, and a sky that seemed to shimmer with strange hues. And with the image came a name, etched into his thoughts as if burned there by the Force itself: Korda Six.

Ben staggered slightly, gripping the rock beside him for balance. He whispered the name aloud, testing its weight on his tongue. “Korda Six... What does that mean?”

There was no answer. Only the whistle of the wind and the endless expanse of desert stretching before him. He stood there for a long moment, the food bundle forgotten at his feet, staring into the horizon as the suns dipped below the sands.

Korda Six.

He didn’t understand it. Not yet. But the Force was stirring, and Ben Kenobi knew better than to ignore its call.

That night, sleep did not come easily to Ben Kenobi. He lay on the small cot in his shack, staring at the ceiling, his mind swirling with questions. Korda Six. What does it mean? Why now? The voice’s whispers had unsettled him in ways he couldn’t quite name, yet there was an undeniable pull.

The desert winds moaned outside, their steady rhythm lulling him into uneasy slumber. But even in sleep, his mind felt restless, skimming the edges of dreams that shimmered with light too brilliant to hold.

When morning came, Ben awoke slowly, the golden light of Tatooine’s twin suns creeping through the slats of his window. At first, it seemed like any other day, but then he sat up and froze. Something in the air had changed.

The oppressive weight of the desert heat, the dull heaviness that had hung over the planet for years—it was gone. In its place, there was a stillness, a balance, a lightness so profound that it took Ben’s breath away. He closed his eyes, and for a fleeting moment, it was as if he were a child again, before the war, before he’d even been taken as a Padawan. Back when the Force had been pure and unclouded.

He felt tears prick at the corners of his eyes as the sensation washed over him. He didn’t know why, but the sheer scale of the light present in the Force was overwhelming. It was everywhere, suffusing every particle of air, touching the farthest corners of his consciousness. It was as though the galaxy itself had momentarily remembered what it was to be whole.

He stood, his movements slow, almost reverent, as he took in his surroundings. His shack—weathered and rusted by years of Tatooine’s harsh climate—looked... different. The walls seemed sturdier, the metal less corroded, as though time had rolled back. Yet, stepping outside, he saw that the planet itself remained unchanged. The sands still stretched endlessly under the twin suns, and the heat still beat down with relentless intensity.

Ben frowned, his mind racing. What is happening?

Shaking himself from his reverie, he decided to stick to his routine. Whatever this shift was, he couldn’t afford to lose focus. His life here depended on careful habits, and the trek to Mos Eisley was one of them.

Gathering his belongings, he wrapped himself in his robes and began the familiar journey through the desert. The sands crunched beneath his boots as the heat rose in shimmering waves around him. But as he walked, he couldn’t shake the feeling that the Force itself was walking beside him, whispering a single word in his mind:

"Patience."

It was as though the voice, the presence, wasn’t just lingering—it was guiding. Ben glanced back over his shoulder at his home, then ahead toward the distant outline of Mos Eisley. His steps felt lighter, though his heart remained heavy with questions.

And so he walked, through the sands, under the burning suns, with the whispers of the Force as his only companion.

Mos Eisley was alive with the ceaseless hum of activity. The sprawling, chaotic spaceport buzzed with the energy of its denizens—humans, Rodians, Twi’leks, Jawas, and countless others, all hurrying through the dusty streets. The harsh desert sun reflected off metallic droids and ships parked haphazardly near cantinas and markets. It was a brutal existence, but here, survival was business as usual.

Ben Kenobi stepped cautiously into the fray, his hood pulled low to shield his face from both the sun and prying eyes. He wove through the crowds, his senses tuned to the ebb and flow of the Force, as he always did when venturing into town. But as he passed a merchant stall laden with strange fruits and a group of traders haggling over salvage, something struck him as odd.

The usual murmurs of Mos Eisley life—grumbles about harsh conditions, bartering disputes, and whispers of fear regarding the Empire—were strangely absent. Instead, the air was thick with chatter about a name Ben hadn’t heard in years: Gardulla the Hutt.

He paused near a cluster of merchants, feigning interest in their wares while tuning into their conversation.

“…she’s been tightening her hold on the spaceports again. Trying to bring in more spice routes through here…”

“…Gardulla’s not one to cross. You remember what happened to those Trandoshan smugglers…”

“…Jabba might be watching, but Gardulla’s the one with real power right now. Always was.”

Ben’s brow furrowed beneath his hood. Gardulla the Hutt? That didn’t make sense. Gardulla had been a prominent figure on Tatooine once, true—but that was long ago, before Jabba had taken control. Anakin had spoken of it once, back when he was still a boy on the cusp of his Jedi training. He’d said Gardulla lost a high-stakes game of sabacc to Jabba shortly after he was born. That game had been pivotal, marking the transfer of power between the two Hutt crime lords.

Yet here, people spoke of Gardulla as if she were the reigning Daimyo, her influence as strong as ever. Ben’s stomach churned uneasily. Something was wrong.

He drifted further into the crowd, listening carefully to other snippets of conversation. Everywhere he turned, the same name arose. Gardulla the Hutt. Her control over Tatooine. Her dealings with off-world syndicates. Her dominance in Mos Eisley. There was no mention of Jabba’s reign, and even stranger, there was no mention of the Empire—no stormtroopers, no Imperial edicts, no fear of the Emperor’s shadow.

Ben’s pulse quickened as realization dawned. The world around him felt familiar, yet the details were out of place. It was as though he were walking through a memory—a Tatooine from decades past. He clenched his jaw and drew his robes tighter around him. He needed confirmation.

He headed toward a cantina he frequented sparingly—a dark, loud place where smugglers and pilots often gathered to exchange information. The air was thick with smoke and the low hum of conversation when he entered. He scanned the room quickly, noting the usual mix of species crowded around tables and at the bar. The cantina band played a jaunty tune in the corner, but Ben ignored it.

He approached the bar, catching the attention of the barkeep, a grizzled human with an impatient scowl.

“Water,” Ben said quietly, sliding a few credits across the counter.

The barkeep nodded and handed him a small glass. Ben leaned in slightly, keeping his voice low. “I’ve been hearing talk of Gardulla the Hutt. Is she really... in charge again?”

The barkeep raised an eyebrow, his expression skeptical. “Again? What’re you talking about, old-timer? Gardulla’s always been the Daimyo ’round here. Ever since I was a kid. You feeling alright?”

Ben’s heart sank. The man’s words confirmed what the Force had already been whispering to him: something had shifted, pulling him into a time that wasn’t his own. Or perhaps it wasn’t time at all—perhaps it was something far stranger.

He drained the glass of water, the cool liquid doing little to calm his nerves, and placed it back on the counter. As he turned to leave, the barkeep called after him.

“Hey, if you’re worried about Jabba or something, don’t be. Gardulla’s got this place locked down. Always has.”

Ben didn’t respond. He pulled his hood tighter over his head and stepped back into the glaring suns of Tatooine, his mind racing.

What is happening? Why here, why now?

The Force was pulling him toward something—he was sure of it. And whatever it was, it had begun with Korda Six.

Gardulla’s rule over Tatooine was brutal, a reign of cruelty that eclipsed even Jabba’s infamous tenure. The streets of Mos Eisley bore silent witness to her greed and ruthlessness: more slaves shuffled through the dusty markets in chains, their eyes hollowed by exhaustion and despair. Public executions were a grim spectacle in the town square, their frequency a warning to any who dared resist. Food and water were scarcer than ever, hoarded by the Hutt for her own indulgence while the rest of the population scraped by on meager scraps.

Ben Kenobi walked through the chaos, his hood pulled low to conceal his face. His once-vivid ginger hair, now streaked with gray, remained hidden beneath the heavy fabric. It was dangerous to be seen here, especially as a Stewjonian. His sharp features and fair complexion would stand out far too much in this region, and his heritage alone could invite trouble. Worse still, being Force-sensitive—an Aethe’rith, as the Amatakka called it—would mark him for far greater dangers.

Keeping to the shadows, he approached a modest fruit stand at the edge of the market. The vendor, an older woman with weathered skin and a sharp gaze, was arranging a basket of pali fruit. Ben lingered just long enough to catch her attention.

“Looking for something, traveler?” she asked, her voice low but wary.

Ben leaned in slightly, keeping his tone measured. “Just information,” he said, his Amatakka hesitant but serviceable. It had been years since he’d spoken the language, a skill he’d picked up long ago in the mines of Bandomeer.

The woman’s eyes widened slightly, her hands pausing mid-motion. Her expression shifted from suspicion to something warmer, almost reverent. “Aethe’rith,” she whispered, her voice trembling with emotion. “You are Dai'Je, aren’t you? A freed one.”

Ben stiffened, glancing around to ensure no one had overheard. The market was noisy, but the wrong pair of ears could turn her words into a death sentence for them both. He gestured quickly for her to lower her voice.

“Please,” he said, his Amatakka faltering as he searched for the right words. “Speak... quieter. We might be overheard by depur.”

The woman immediately dipped her head in apology, her voice dropping to a whisper. “Forgive me, Dai'Je. I meant no harm. It’s just... I never thought I’d see one of you here, in this place.”

Ben’s gaze softened, but he remained cautious. “What do you mean?”

She glanced around nervously, her hands fidgeting with the edge of her shawl. “I’ve had dreams,” she said, her words coming slowly as though she were choosing them carefully. “Dreams of a man in a hood, a Dai'Je, walking these sands. I didn’t know if it was real, but now...” She looked at him with a mix of awe and desperation. “Now I see it was true. You’ve come.”

Ben shifted uncomfortably under her gaze, the weight of her words pressing down on him. “I don’t know what you’ve seen,” he said carefully, “but I’m no savior. I’m just... passing through.”

The woman shook her head firmly. “No. You are here for a reason. I feel it. The Force brought you here.” She leaned in closer, her voice barely more than a breath. “I will help you however I can—when my depur isn’t watching.”

Ben hesitated, his instincts urging him to retreat, to disappear back into the anonymity of the desert. But the conviction in her voice, the light in her eyes—it reminded him of something, of someone. He nodded slowly, his heart heavy with uncertainty.

“Thank you,” he said, his Amatakka halting but earnest. “But be careful. Helping me could cost you everything.”

The woman smiled faintly, a trace of defiance flickering across her face. “Gardulla has already taken everything from me. She can’t take my dreams.”

Ben lowered his hood just slightly, enough for her to see his face and the gratitude etched into his features. He turned and melted back into the crowd, his mind racing. The voice in the Force, the whispers of patience, the image of Korda Six—everything was connected. And now, it seemed, the people of this harsh world were beginning to sense it too.

The sun was setting over Tatooine, painting the desert sky with deep reds and purples as Ben Kenobi made his way through the quieting streets of Mos Eisley. The market stalls were closing up, merchants packing away their wares as the day's trade dwindled. He spotted the woman from the fruit stand gathering her meager belongings into a woven sack, her movements slow and weary.

As he approached, she looked up and gave a faint smile. “You came,” she said softly, glancing around to ensure no one was watching.

“You offered your help,” Ben replied, his voice equally quiet. “I wasn’t sure if it still stood.”

“Of course it does,” she said, slinging the sack over her shoulder. She gestured for him to follow. “Come. It’s not safe to talk out here.”

Ben trailed her through the narrow streets, keeping his hood low as they wound their way toward the outskirts of the settlement. Her small house was barely more than a hovel, its walls cracked and weathered by years of sandstorms. It reminded Ben painfully of his own shack when he’d first begun his exile, its decay a reflection of the harsh life endured here.

She unlocked the door and ushered him inside. The space was sparse, with little more than a cot, a rickety table, and a few cooking implements. A single, flickering glow panel illuminated the room. She set her belongings down and turned to him with a weary smile.

“Please, sit,” she said, gesturing to one of the two wooden stools by the table.

Ben hesitated but eventually sat, his movements careful. The woman filled a small cup with water from a clay jug and placed it in front of him.

“You must be thirsty after the walk,” she said.

He looked at the cup, then at her. “You need it more than I do,” he said gently. “But thank you for offering.”

She shook her head and pushed it closer to him. “It’s all I have to give, Dai'Je. Please, take it.”

Reluctantly, Ben lifted the cup and took a small sip, the cool water soothing his parched throat. He set it down, offering her a grateful nod.

After a moment, he leaned forward, his voice low and intent. “I need to ask you something. Is space travel... possible for one person? Discreetly?”

The woman frowned, her brows knitting together in thought. “It’s... possible, maybe. But dangerous. Especially for you.” She paused, considering. “My brother works at the spaceport. I could ask him in a couple of days, but I can’t promise he’ll help. It’s not safe to aid an Amatakka. The depur would punish him severely if they found out.”

Ben nodded slowly, understanding the risk. “I won’t ask him to put himself in danger. All I need is information—details about ships leaving the planet, their routes. If he can provide that, I can handle the rest.”

She studied him for a moment, her expression unreadable. Then she nodded. “I’ll speak to him. Quietly. But it will take time. These things can’t be rushed.”

“I understand,” Ben said. “And I’m grateful.”

The woman gave a small, tired smile. “You remind me of the stories my mother used to tell. Of the Dai'Je who walked among us, bringing hope even in the darkest times.” She shook her head. “I never thought I’d live to see one. But here you are.”

Ben looked down at his hands, his heart heavy. “I’m no bringer of hope,” he said quietly. “I’m just a man trying to make sense of all this.”

She didn’t respond, instead turning to tend to the small fire in the corner of the room. The silence stretched between them, not uncomfortable but weighted with unspoken truths.

As the stars began to peek through the small window above them, Ben felt the Force stir around him once more, its whispers faint but insistent. Patience.

He sighed and settled into the stillness, waiting for what was to come.

Three days later, the scorching heat of Tatooine was as relentless as ever, the twin suns glaring down as Ben Kenobi made his final preparations. The woman's information had been invaluable: a Weequay cargo ship was set to leave the planet that evening. It was the opportunity he needed, though he still didn’t fully understand why the Force had led him here—or where it would lead him next.

The night before, she had come to him, her face lined with exhaustion but her voice steady.

“The ship will leave under cover of night,” she had said. “They’re smugglers—no manifests, no questions. If you’re careful, you can slip aboard unnoticed.”

Ben had paused, studying her intently. “Why did you help me?” he asked quietly. “I wasn’t here to free you. Or anyone. I don’t even know why I’m here.”

She had smiled faintly, her eyes soft with understanding. “You don’t need to know yet. When the time is right, you will.”

Her words had struck a chord deep within him, stirring echoes of lessons long past. He had thanked her profoundly, bowing his head as he handed her the remainder of his food and water.

“You need these more than I do,” he had said.

She had tried to refuse, but he insisted, pressing the bundle into her hands. “For everything you’ve done. I owe you more than I can repay.”

Now, as the night descended on Tatooine, Ben moved carefully through the shadows of Mos Eisley’s outskirts. The spaceport was a labyrinth of ships, cargo crates, and scurrying workers, their movements lit by the dim glow of scattered floodlights. He kept his hood low, blending into the darkness as he approached the Weequay vessel.

The ship was a battered freighter, its hull marked with scorch marks and rust. A group of Weequay crew members was loading crates onto the ramp, their voices gruff as they barked orders to one another. Ben waited, watching their patterns, his instincts sharp.

When the moment came, he moved swiftly, slipping between crates and shadows until he reached the ship’s open cargo bay. The hum of machinery and the low murmur of the crew provided cover for his movements as he found a narrow space to hide behind a stack of supplies.

The minutes stretched into hours as the crew continued their work. Ben remained perfectly still, his breathing steady, his senses attuned to every sound. Finally, the ramp groaned as it lifted, sealing the cargo bay with a heavy clang. The ship shuddered as its engines roared to life, and Ben felt the subtle shift of liftoff as they left the planet behind.

He stayed hidden for a long while, his mind racing with thoughts of the woman, her words, and the strange pull of the Force that had brought him here. He didn’t know where this ship would take him, but for the first time in years, he felt a glimmer of purpose stirring within him.

As Tatooine faded into the void of space, Ben Kenobi closed his eyes and let out a slow breath. Patience, the Force whispered again, steady and unyielding.

He would wait.

___

Ben Kenobi moved cautiously through the industrial sprawl of Corellia, keeping to the shadows of the bustling starship yards. The Weequay cargo ship had docked hours ago, and he had slipped away unnoticed, his hood still drawn low. Corellia’s vibrant and chaotic spaceports were filled with ships of every size and design, and while that made it easier to blend in, it also meant finding the right vessel could take time.

He searched for something inconspicuous, a ship that wouldn’t attract too much attention—nothing too sleek or militarized, but sturdy enough for interstellar travel. Eventually, he spotted it: a battered freighter with peeling paint and mismatched panels, docked near a quieter part of the yard.

Ben approached cautiously, scanning the area to ensure no one was watching. The spaceport workers were preoccupied with larger, more lucrative ships, leaving this one relatively unguarded. He placed his hand on the hull, the cold metal humming faintly beneath his fingers.

This will do, he thought.

He reached for the control panel near the access hatch, his fingers brushing the buttons as he focused his mind. The memory came unbidden, warm and vivid—a flash of his younger self, sitting cross-legged in a training room, watching Quinlan Vos demonstrate the technique.

“Not everything requires finesse, kid,” Quinlan had said with a grin, his hands working quickly to short-circuit a panel. “Sometimes you just gotta get it done.”

Ben, still an initiate at the time, had furrowed his brow, frustrated by his own attempts. “But Master Yoda says patience and precision—”

Quinlan had cut him off with a laugh. “Yeah, yeah, patience is great. But sometimes, you need to improvise. The galaxy isn’t always going to wait for you to do it Yoda’s way.”

He had knelt beside Ben, showing him the sequence again, the Force flowing effortlessly through him as he manipulated the circuits. The air had felt alive then, the Force warm and welcoming, a shared connection that made the galaxy seem just a little smaller.

Ben smiled faintly at the memory, his hands moving instinctively now as he bypassed the freighter’s security. The panel sparked softly, and the hatch slid open with a quiet hiss.

Once inside, he quickly made his way to the cockpit, settling into the pilot’s seat. The ship was old but functional, its controls straightforward enough for him to manage. He powered it up, the hum of the engines filling the cabin as he accessed the navigation computer.

“Korda Six,” he murmured, typing the name into the search interface. The computer processed for a moment before displaying a set of coordinates. Ben entered them into the hyperdrive, locking in the destination.

As the ship prepared for the jump to hyperspace, he turned his attention to the datapad left on the console. It connected to the Holonet, offering a sparse collection of information about Korda Six.

The planet was remote, with a population primarily composed of non-advanced locals. It seemed to have little interaction with the wider galaxy, though there were mentions of Mandalorian activity in the region.

Ben sighed, setting the datapad down. The mention of Mandalorians was no surprise. Somehow, everything in his life seemed to circle back to them. It was a peculiar echo of how the Force had always drawn Anakin back to Tatooine, no matter how far he tried to run from it.

The freighter lurched as the hyperdrive engaged, the stars outside stretching into lines of light before dissolving into the swirling blue of hyperspace.

Ben leaned back in the pilot’s seat, his gaze distant. The Force was still guiding him, though its purpose remained unclear. He would find out soon enough.

For now, all he could do was wait.

[galaxy-fleur]

Hi hello! I recently found your blog through x reader tags so I'll just say that i looove love how you're writing Leon, peak in character!

That said, i wanted to ask, from a realistic standpoint, do you think it's *better* or more in character if his partner or s/o is a civilian or someone in his line of work like an fellow agent or something?

Thank you very much!! That's the biggest compliment to me honestly, I wanna do this man justice whenever I write for him (even if I lovingly bully him in the tags lmao) I do have stuff in the works that I'm excited about sharing, but life just keeps getting in the way...

Anyway, as for your question, while I do understand why some would make the argument in favor of a relationship with someone who's not burdened by all the struggles of a life similar to his, I am always more inclined to picture him in a relationship with a colleague instead. Now, that doesn't mean that it's impossible for Leon to build a healthy and meaningful relationship with a civilian! There will be pros and cons for both of these options. I suppose it's up to your personal preference to decide which is better.

That said, I'll babble a bit on my own thoughts here!

See, the reason why I prefer the fellow agent scenario is because I think Leon would be better off with someone on equal ground with him. Someone who understands all the ins and outs of this lifestyle, and can approach these difficulties with understanding rather than hurt and confusion (which wouldn't be wrong emotions to feel btw, but I'll get into that later). Long stretches of time away from each other, injuries and recovery from said injuries, the hurdles of responsibility and loss. All of these things would be big issues to deal with in a relationship with him. It's not easy to be away from someone you love. It's not easy to see them hurt and struggling. And it's definitely not easy to be their rock when they can't afford to be there for you emotionally.

A fellow agent wouldn't be completely exempt from these issues, either. It all depends on their inner values and personality, after all. A civilian s/o can be more understanding and patient than an agent who has a tendency to be reckless and blunt, for example. It's not all black and white. It's just that someone in the same field as him is more likely to be considerate about these things, without Leon having to explain himself.

Another thing is safety. Sure, Leon would probably teach a civilian s/o self-defence and make sure they can take care of themselves just fine. But they're still not as capable as a colleague or a partner. Leon would still be the protector between the two. And, don't get me wrong, Leon likes being the protector (a bit too much but I won’t go into that here), but I just feel like he deserves someone who can protect him in turn. Someone who can watch his back and shield him when things get hectic. He may not realize it himself, but having someone there who can keep him safe as much as he keeps them safe, would be very beneficial to him.

And the final point is the most glaring one in my opinion. Confidential information. Leon deals with it on a daily basis. He has many things he is legally restricted from sharing. No matter how much he may love his s/o, it's just out of his hands. It can be something small and inconsequential, but it can be something really big, too. It would be stressful for him and his s/o alike. Leon is not the bad guy here for simply following his rules, and his s/o wouldn't be in the wrong for feeling hurt and betrayed by finding out that he kept stuff from them over and over again. It's a messy situation. It's also kinda why I usually picture his s/o as a fellow DSO agent, and not just someone in a anti-bioterrorism field. He'd still need to keep secrets from them, unless they work in the same line of work. Secrets are always a heavy burden for both parties involved.

Again, all that to say: Leon very much can have a genuine and meaningful relationship with a civilian. It'll just take a lot of work and communication.

[chiyoso]

update | update 2

hi pookie. to those who read this the first time, welcome back, this is a re-write. an update. i kinda found the initial update i did rushed, not clearly descriptive of my situation outside this writing hobby of mine. also for the ones that i tagged, i have notes for you <3 (sorry for the tag 🫶🏻)

alright. hello hello. i'm chiyo, a jjk-focused/sporadic genshin and hsr fanfic writer, and you've caught me, and this blog in such bad time, and im so, so very fucking burnt out.

writing for me should be fun, stress relieving, and that goes for any other hobby i have. i have been told and supported countless of times to take a rest, to take a break from this, but my stubborn ass continues to try and get something out, anything to keep my blog alive, hells, it feels like a toxic relationship where i keep coming back, because i remember all the fun, happy and fond times i had in this app, only then to return to why it becomes draining, exhausting.

just sat there, occasionally laid on my back, using my phone, but with unmoving thumbs, with a brain lacking the world that needs the narrative to make a story, fuck, where has it gone?

that innocent, startup of mine, the newfound love and interest for that world of fiction that you all create. dude, i remember being so happy discovering that this brain of mine can conjure up so many shit, all because of your words, it's fucking amazing. hence, the start of the era of my honkai star rail writing journey. (hsr/hi3rd fans who followed me, i let you down with my jujutsu kaisen brainrot obsession im sorry lmao)

“take a break hira,” “take a break chiyo,” “please, take a break.”

i've heard it all, and with utmost love and respect, thank you.

thank you for everything, every word, every action, and every peep of interest you all had for me. small and big creators, who, stopped by because of my small percent chance drop in on their feed, because of the stories i created that you shared, i've met so many wonderful, inspring and motivating people in tumblr, fuck, i didn't expect to crrate a little community all by myself, with my grit alone, it's so rewarding for someone who strives for perfection, for someone who struggles with her mental health daily, for someone who deluded themselves in a world of fiction, I can't express my genuine gratitude enough.

i'm not quitting. maybe i should've mentionrd that earlier to prevent you from getting rattled, but continuing off, i don't find myself quitting this writing journey, maybe i'm just not in the right mental headspace for it at this time. damn, my ex really fucked me up LMAO.

right, i'm aware of the less and lessening interactions i've had with the people i've encountered throughout tumblr, i feel sick of myself for not being able to catch up, nor interact with any of you as much as i could anymore, it really, really fucking sucks, i hate it, i hate it, i do.

i still have leftover projects to go over and publish, because i still want MY ideas, MY thoughts, MY worlds of fictional prowess to all of you. i'm not done, but i will say, that i'm- i'm so incredibly, so very sorry to the ones that were highly, to the heavens, expecting greatness from me, to the ones who were anticipating my unfinished stories, fuck, there's so much to do, yet my body, my mind, they do not respond, as if i'm losing my sense of time, literally.

all i can say to those sticking with me because of their plain interest for me, i wish, i pray, i'll beg, beg for me, my soul, my mind, my body, my spirit to heal, and heal faster, so i can love you all at my 100%, not with my trying 20%, and lower.

thank you. to the old, and to the recent supporters that got me to 3k followers and counting, fuckin' wild. actually insane.

i'll continue to write. i'll continue to create. i don't want to quit.

i don't want to leave the only thing that gave me freedom, and the genuine happiness the first time, making me discover shit about myself, and there's that.

p.s. apologies for my jjk brainrot everyone who followed for genshin and hsr <3 also that one popular otome game, love & deepspace? yeah, that shit's also fucking me up so good.

HONORABLE MENTIONS: (lawd i feel bad for tagging)

@ainescribe @wanderingconstellations @teapartyspilled @v3lv3tf0x @ciarchivez ⸻ you fucking OGS. literally five pillars of my life, the cheerleaders, my absolute undying support of this blog, you saw me at my noob tumblr handling form, the lows, the highs, and the absolute peaks, i consider all of you special, i do, you all made tumblr and the writing community such a fun place for me. thank you, thank you, i just can't spam that voiceline enough.

@peachdues @screampied @chuluoyi @blkkizzat @jabamin @flametrashira @meowzfordayz ⸻ you superstar mutuals of mine. we've only interacted sporadically but all of you invoked so much burning hope, and motivation for me through your stories, AND your interests for me, whether it'd be something about my themes, edits, stories, it doesn't matter, you all took interest in lil' ol me, despite what, being such big content creators? FUCK??? that's insane. thank you.

god, i seriously wish my schedule would just clear up by a fuckton, and then again, i was the one who took psychology and performing arts 💤 i hope, hope HOPE i get to interact with you all again once i take a leave/break from college.

⸻ with all my love, chiyo.

[fr-wiwiw]

well, to indulge myself i'm writing this post to ramble and share a bit of my Gahan barbarian!au. it's going to be a bit of a long post i think, we'll see.

i saw noel's post about their gladiator!yohan & prince!gaon (check it here!) and it makes me miss writing the arranged marriage barbarian!au i have, it only has what.. 3 or 4 chapters I think. you can read it here.

i've always been fascinated by the visuals of medieval, historical, period era. even post apocalyptic future settings like Horizon Zero games franchise.

i think i started au bcs i've played too much Assassin's Creed Valhalla— i haven't finished it yet, too preoccupied with Monster Hunter World— but i have sketched my female Eivor several times in my sketchbook. this was when i'm curious and interested enough to draw human but haven't fully grasped the gesture, anatomy, shapes and all. i usually draw what i take interest on and it helps me tremendously, to keep on learning and push through my frustrations.

and of course.. my Gahan brainrot picked it up. hence the barbarian!au for TDJ born

i have sketches of Gahan in this au, i think i've shared them here too but i'll re-share here. it doesn't catch many eyes, i admit it's a bit of a bummer but I like the idea anyway. I used to imagined them before I went to sleep, now it's idol/celeb!gaon x mysterious husband!yohan that's occupying my mind. but anyways! here are the sketches.

1st sketch is me trying to see his body proportion in viking/barbarian attire. the upper left sketch was me wanting to see modern Yohan stripping off his clothes ig haha.. anyways, between Gaon/Jinyoung and Yohan/Jisung, it's VERY difficult to nail down his face. less lines doesn't resembles him at all and add some more lines he looks too realistic to my simplified version of Gaon/Jinyoung. it was hard trying to find the balance for these characters to be in the same picture and look like they belong in the same style. i want to do Yohan/Jisung's pretty face justice but i still struggled in this sketches. i think this was 2021? 2022?

2nd sketch— his long protruding neck lmao i haven't fully grasped how a person can pose naturally but it came out as if he has turtle neck syndrome going on. well done Yohan! you are a turtle apparently according to my hand. all jokes aside, this was me attempting to paint his face bcs i never really attempted to paint gahan. i doodled and sketched more than i paint/rendering and i'm on my way to learn more of rendering daily if possible, alongside with my daily sketches. you can also see i've tried to give some color to his attire and some medallion or such. do you see a braid there? i will get there, the braid is something significant in this story ;)

3rd sketch is basically me planning out his character design as a barbarian/viking chief. you can see bits of references cuts here and there, took me quite some time bcs i just started to really try my hands on concept character design properly— i love cloaks and capes and vikings has exactly just that, and the winter times are especially my favorite type of attire on them so i thought why not give Yohan polar bear fur as his official formal attire while still flaunting his wonderful body to the world be it summer or winter lmao. here's where you know it's fantasy. i'm sure people back then drink ales and what not to keep their body warm so they can go bare-chested in winter even but i'm sure the day after that they will regret it. but i make Yohan and his clan to have special abilities for living in cold places. doesn't mean i don't make them wear winter attire but this is only bcs i want him to be bare-chested xD the one I post here was before i dabble on the sketch a bit more. hopefully one day i can share it again with more updates for this au.

now.. onto Gaon's sketches.

he's a Prince in this story. his parents, the King and the Queen, arranged a marriage for him for political reasons. but they have special reasons as to why they pick Yohan, aside from political purposes, to be their son's betrothed and gave him away to Yohan's barbarian clan.

1st sketch (ignore the upper left, that's Jinyoung from his other drama). i want to see him in medium and long hair length. there's a purpose to this. he has his canon Gaon hairstyle when he was the Prince in the palace. but with time and some adjustments living with Yohan and his barbarian clan rubs off on him. perhaps it's due to that, or he's grown tired to cut it off again and again (he has no one to groom him properly now unlike in the palace), practical reason is to maintain heat around his neck while in winter, or it's his idea of adapting and blending in with the enemy. you can't blame him for being wary. he's whisked away from his comfort place and home and married off to a fearsome and famous barbarian on the land at that time, almost willingly got raped by Yohan on 1st chapter (yes, you read that right). other reasons why he grows his hair, as i mentioned the culture rubs off on him, is something to do with the hair braiding too. and personal reason is that i want to see pretty Gaon in long hair lol

2nd sketch on the left was him on early days on Yohan's fur beddings. the right was him perhaps laughing out loud by some surprising and amusing thing Yohan said after living with him for some months, you can see the different hair length there. gosh he looks unalive in here lol idk why.. my sketches were still rigid here

3rd sketch is them after establishing a genuine intimate relationship and Yohan has to be away to fend off some unexpected visitors. unfortunately it cost Yohan some of his men's lives. but he made it back to his clan and his betrothed. i make it as if Gaon was anxious waiting for him and one of the barbarian shouted for Yohan's arrival and he ran immediately. lunged at Yohan perhaps, the barbarian Chief managed to catch him but didn't quite have the strength to carry them both upright as the weariness sinks into him post battle & adrenaline wearing off of him. he's home now, in Gaon's arms.

now.. the hair braiding.

barbarians/viking has long hair and braids on their hair. styled cascading down or up into a pony tail or a mohawk and such. idk if this is historically correct but i'm winging most of this anyway but the idea of braids in this story is that it's significant to lovers. it's a mark between special intimate relationship (like lovers, spouses, soulmates). one can have a braid or braid their lover's hair should they wish to, it's very intimate and special for them. jeweleries might have certain status symbol for them and their ranks but I also prefer these barbarians have something simple to symbolize their intimacy. something that can get overlooked but enough for their significant other to know (and some people) what it means.

I like the idea of Yohan having accessories for his attire but his hair is clean from braids. clearly it's saying something if you've read this far and seeing my sketches for their different stages of relationship. over the years of them finally developing feelings and genuinely established a relationship, despite already being married an Gaon almost got raped by Yohan, they are lovers.

yet Yohan never really initiates anything about him wanting to have braid(s) or braiding Gaon's hair. he might have explained about what braids are to Gaon when the bambi was curious or off-handedly commented something about it. Gaon really finds out the real meaning from Yohan's ppl and he wonders why Yohan never asks or wants braids from him. then he realizes Yohan has always been respectful to him, even years after that night he almost raped him. always keeping healthy distance, outside of their sex and other intimate physical affections, he usually waits until Gaon ask first regarding intimate things. not that he never initiates things, he figures something as serius and committed as this is something Gaon wants to have an option to bail out from. they were arranged to have marriage for political reasons after all, Gaon has the freedom to not have feelings for him as long as he stays within the wedding pact rules Yohan make with the King & the Queen ( for Gaon's sake too). He never expects to have feelings for the Prince and he always keeps the option of Gaon falling out of love of him one day. it is only fair, he thinks.

but then Gaon asks him if he wants Gaon to braid his hair. the Prince never ceases to make him falter. it still shocks and amuses him, to have someone have this much effect on him. even with nervousness and blushing state Gaon is in now after uttering those words.. Yohan wonders what he has done to have this kind of luxury to have someone this precious in his arms.

and if his people noticed a single braid just near the back of his neck when wind swept his hair or if he pulls his hair into a ponytail on hot summer days? they will all grin smugly.. Yohan likes to keep it a bit hidden from view mainly bcs it's practical and he doesn't want ppl to accidentally graze it off when he's having friendly wrestle matches or axe practices. or even having people cut it off when he's at war. he doesn't hide it per se, it's visible when it's visible. Gaon smiles sweetly and adoringly when he finds this out bcs to him, it feels as if Yohan is unconsciously protecting it. protecting their relationship, protecting Gaon.

and if Gaon walks out of Yohan's tent, that days when he asks if he can braid Yohan's hair, with a braid or several on his hair? visible to everyone? the people cheer and roar in celebration. they throw a huge feast and toast to their relationship, congratulating the power couple. wishing the gods to give these two their blessings and to protect them. they're finally able to see their Chief have a partner that is equal to him. it's a memorable day

but if you think this story doesn't come with heavy angst, tears, pain and betrayal.. well think again ;))

i will stop here. thankyou for reading! i hope i can pick up this au again in my drawings & writings

[posts-i-saw-on-wikipedia]

positive things list:

after years of trying I've FINALLY found a good mug cake recipe and I'm gonna make it later today (it's this one in case you'd like to try it: https://celebratingsweets.com/brownie-in-a-mug/#recipe)

i had a years-long depressive episode and just today I was reading some of the stuff I used to write in my diary back then and i realized i don't really feel like that anymore. not that strongly anyways. it was so slow and gradual that on the day to day it felt like nothing ever really changed but comparing where i am today to where i was a year ago- it's different.

got into a college class that fills up really quick that I really wanna take before I graduate 💪

someone i follow on Tumblr does daily updates about good things that happen in their life and December of 2023 they were posting that they were gonna go on a date soon and they were really nervous and not expecting it to go super well. and then they posted "holy shit i just had a six hour first date". and now this December they're moving in together and teasing each other about getting married. it's been really cute to see this person be so happy, cause I got the sense that last year finding something positive to post about was a lot harder for them than it is this year. they deserve so much happiness and I'm really glad they're getting it

saw a video of a dormouse snoring (VERY CUTE) https://www.tumblr.com/tikkety-tok/644758122875994112?source=share

bumblebee butt photo (cute) https://www.tumblr.com/elle-rosewater/771797868542623744?source=share

frog necklace (sounds weird just trust me it's cute) https://www.tumblr.com/pincspace/629615549333274624/pincspace-moche-necklace-with-gold-beads-in-the?source=share

turtle video!! https://www.tumblr.com/platypusinplaid/184256969508/theinfiknight-mother-entropy?source=share

some nice photos of sweden. it looks so nice there I'd love to visit https://www.tumblr.com/michaelnordeman/771303343482109952?source=share

beaver carrying carrots video (did you know beavers can walk on two legs???? I did not know that beavers can walk on two legs) https://www.tumblr.com/gaycism/631645210545455104?source=share

Okay, that's a lot, gimme a second

Fork yea i love good recipes! I'm a bit of a cook myself, y'know? Please update me how it turned out!

Damn that's amazing! I hope it'll be a good time for you, with lots of amazing stuff to learn, lots of new friends to find, and an overall fun time!

Ok this one actually made me tear up a little. Due to trauma in my past i've been struggling a lot with dating and being in relationships, so hearing about someone who find love despite having a hard time actually means a lot to me. I'm glad that they found love, i'm glad that you told me this, and i deeply hope that that person (and you, as well) finds happiness.

Okay i'll respond to the links in a reblog, because i fear that the tumblr app will act up and throw me out while i respond to this

But thank you so much for your ask <3

[comfortlesshurt]

alrighty, I locked in for a couple days and now I get to reward myself by yelling into the tumblr void about the series progress

first off, there are TWO FICS over 50% done, v exciting stuff. I know they've been over 50% for a bit now, but like... let me have my motivation, okay? we are in the HARD PART of the project where it all looks overwhelming, so I'll take the wins I can

also tex fic is finished and through round 1 of editing. it still needs another major edit and i need to finish fic 1 to make sure no info conflicts between the two, but the serious work for that is done

there are a few more days left before NotNaNo, but even going in with today's word counts, focusing on fics 1 and 2 should put them pretty close to finished by the end of November unless I was super off with the word count estimate

also had a really good writing day yesterday!

ignore those date projections at the bottom because like... those assume either i write 3k every day or i write 3k twice a week and 1.2k the other 5 days, and I canNOT do that consistently. but that July 23rd date is realistic! that's me continuing to hit my average based on the past 106 days since starting this project, so there's a good chance I finish this project in a total of just over a year (in which case I will never shut up about writing 450k in a year, so watch out)

finally, fic 1 is a huge portion of that daily par number in the first row, so... unless I fall majorly away from the intended timeline, that required daily par will go down a LOT at the end of december, which will be nice. the goal is still to focus a lot on this project and only really jump over to side projects as they call to me, but it's easier to do that when your average isn't struggling to keep up with your daily par number. it simply does not feel good to be constantly working just to barely get over the par.

as far as editing, i'm starting to fear i didn't budget enough time for that in my early projections, so the timeline might be off there. those due dates listed are for the final rough draft, which doesn't get a chance to rest before immediately going into a month of editing. something just tells me now that a month isn't going to be enough to cover a content edit for each fic. it's also relying on the technical edits being done week-to-week as each chapter goes up.

also added one more tracking tool recently:

this is to look at all the projects week-to-week, and really what it's done is made it obvious that I am in fact very focused on fic 1 lmao. in my defense, that's the one that has consistently had the highest required par, so it's easy to treat it as the most important. also, up to 27-aug is rough. I started writing these fics in Word, so I didn't have day-to-day stats to go back and check. I could only find those once I switched to Reedsy, so for the record I did not write 54k between 20-aug and 27-aug. same with the tex fic--that wasn't all written in one week.

this chart still only looks at ILaD progress, so you can see where I take my break in October and it cuts down a lot... but that's excluding the 10k that went into an unrelated fic, so I don't think taking this break has actually cut down on my writing much. it's just made me have a better time with it temporarily. i took a couple days off writing completely during October but like... I didn't really enjoy that? so I don't think that's the solution I'm looking for long-term.

anyway, thanks for coming to my ted talk. i will infodump again, and probably soon since all the end of the month posts are coming up in the next week.

[wakebymoonsleepbysun]

Fairy and Spider (Working Title - DJMM x Reader)

Word count: ~3700

Hey, remember this post and this post? I decided to write a little something for it. Kinda needed a break from Stereo Souls. (Slightly anyway. I am still working on it almost daily, just very slowly.) I'm posting this here for now, but it may eventually go up on ao3, once I polish it and decide what I'm doing with it.

I'm planning on it being a fairly peaceful/domestic story, not really any villains or stakes other than Deejay (DJ) and you getting to know each other. Might also be more like a series of short stories vs a longer whole story but we'll see.

DJ's name in this is Deejay because DJ feels too weirdly modern for the setting. Not sure if I'm going to keep this or if I'll try to come up with a reason for him to go by DJ. I mean an AU with only one canon character whose name I changed anyway? Is that even a fic anymore? (Joking. It obviously is. :P Also I haven't fully decided if DJ will be the only FNAF character to appear.)

The bird is relentless, but then blue jays always are.

He’d caught you at a bad time. You’d been resting, about to take a much overdue swig of nectar before resuming your flight through the forest. You were already tired when he swooped down on you. 

You were also, perhaps, a bit careless--not giving enough thought to your shimmering wings catching the light of the setting sun and attracting attention. You are several days’ flight from your village, and the wildlife out here is far more bold towards fairies than you had imagined.

Now you were frantically spending the last of your dwindling energy zipping between leaves and around branches, trying desperately to outmaneuver the hungry bird. The fact that he stands a head shorter than you does not make his beak and talons any less dangerous to you. His beak closes on the tip of one of your wings, tearing it and causing you to veer suddenly downwards.

Suddenly you’re caught in something you didn’t see. Silken strands wrap around your body, sticking to your arms, legs, and wings. Even the slightest bit of struggling on your part pulls at your sore wings uncomfortably.

A spider web? No, there aren’t spiders around here big enough to make a web that can hold a fairy…right? Almost immediately, you get your answer, as you feel the skin where the web is touching you rapidly begin to numb. You blink sleepily, giving a quick shake of your head to stay alert.

Whatever made this web was no mere spider.

But you don’t have time to dwell on that, for the blue jay suddenly descends on you, pleased to find you gift wrapped and waiting for him. He bites down on one of your wings and you scream in pain as it rips.

Desperately you struggle further into the web, hoping whatever odd powers it has will deter the blue jay. Though you wonder if the bird is truly the lesser danger of the two.

You feel your consciousness begin to slip away from you, but not before seeing that your plan--questionable as it was--worked. The blue jay quickly tired of getting the strange web stuck in his beak and decided it was satisfied to only take one of your wings.

The immediate peril gone, your body relaxed, helped along by the web and your own fatigue. As your eyes drift shut, you're vaguely aware of a chittering sound, followed by the sensation of something beginning to unwrap the webs from your arms and legs.

*

You’re not sure how long you’ve been out when you find yourself drifting slowly awake. The first thing you notice is that it feels like you’re in a bed in a darkened room. Had another fairy found you? You didn’t think any lived around here…but you suppose hermits don’t always advertise their whereabouts.

You push aside the blanket and sit up. As you do, your antennae twitch, alerting you to a ceiling just above your head. You peer through the darkness and realize the bed you’re on is positioned in some kind of alcove.

The alcove is shaped like a large egg, with curved wooden walls melding into an arched ceiling. It’s longer than it is wide, and quite large for something only meant to hold a bed. You could probably fit three or four more fairies in here. 

Part of the wall is taken up by a heavy fabric curtain, which you push aside after a moment’s hesitation.

Your eyes squint shut as light floods the alcove, and you pause a moment for your eyes to adjust.

You’re definitely in some kind of home, one carved out of the trunk of a tree if the curved walls and uninterrupted wood grain are any indication.

You glance down and see your boots and rucksack have been set beside the bed, so you quickly slip on your boots and shoulder your rucksack. You’re glad your rescuer didn’t feel the need to undress you any further than that. 

The home seems to be all one room. On the wall farthest from the bed, there’s a small fireplace lined with clay bricks. A clay pot hangs over the burning embers. Carved clay countertops line the wall, along with a washbasin and a water pump.

There’s also a table near the kitchen, large and round. Though it’s at an odd height…almost as if it’s meant for one to stand at it rather than sit at it, though even for that it’s slightly tall for the average fairy. There are no chairs surrounding it, but there are two large cushions on either side of it. These, too, are odd…they’re far too low to be seating for the table, but too plush and fluffy to be stood upon comfortably. You’d be struggling to keep your balance on the squishy surface while trying to eat.

Near the bed are three similar cushions, though these are far more plush than the ones at the dining table. It puts you in mind of the difference between cushioned dining chairs and plush couches and sofas one would set up in the living room.

At least lounging on cushions in the living room seems plausible, even if it is a bit unconventional.

The one door you can see is quite tall and wide, and set into the wall near the dining area. There are also a couple glass windows set into the wall, looking out at the forest and the leafy branches of whatever tree you’re in.

Though there’s one obvious absence in this little abode--your host. Had they gone out to fetch something while you were sleeping?

You cross the living room, examining a curio shelf carved into the wall. There are some books, but the spines are unmarked and you have the sense not to actually touch anything while wandering this stranger’s home, so their contents and subject matter will remain a mystery for now. There are also some stringed instruments you don’t recognize. One looks like a lyre, but it’s a bit too big for the average fairy to hold comfortably, and the strings are spaced farther apart than most lyres you’ve seen, calling into question how one would comfortably play it. The other looks like a violin, but once again the size of it seems a bit too big to be played comfortably.

With a few more moments of thought, you probably would have pieced together the answer, but you are not given that chance. You hear the main door open behind you, and your host and savior steps into the abode.

A spiderfolk. You knew they were larger than fairies by a good amount, but you’d never seen one in person before.

He’s roughly twice your height, though if he straightened his legs he could be much taller. He’s covered in mostly white fur, with a mantle around his shoulders behind the longest and thickest. Two black spots, one large and one smaller, adorn the back of his abdomen.

Four grey legs with purple joints emerge from his carapace, and four similar arms emerge from his torso. The arms are slightly shorter and thinner than the legs, and end in paw-like hands, each with two clawed fingers and a clawed thumb. His feet are similar, though a bit longer as he seems to walk primarily on his toes, with the “thumb” being more of a dewclaw.

Though your eyes are immediately drawn to his face, which you can’t help but find intimidating. Two long fangs, each slightly longer than your hand--emerge from the sides of his mouth, preventing him from closing his lips fully, leaving his pointed teeth visible. The fangs themselves are so large you wonder if the term “tusks” may be more appropriate.

On each of his cheeks there’s a patch of blue fur, from which emerge his pedipalps, covered in a fine fuzz of the same color. A blue stripe also runs down the center of his chin. His nose is bright pink and hairless, matching the narrow rings of hairless skin around his eyes. Below each of his eyes was a barely visible line of blue fur.

Each of his main eyes that is. For he has two large, dark eyes, positioned roughly the same as a fairy’s eyes, despite being a bit larger proportionally, but beside them are a total of four smaller eyes--two on each side, one atop the other on the outer side of his primary eyes.

On either side of his head are round tufts of green and black fur, which you know to be ear structures of some kind (or covering his ear structures?) and a pair of red horns emerging from his head just behind the tufts. And atop his head is, surprisingly, a silk tophat. The only article of clothing he’s wearing, which is one more article than you’d expected a spiderfolk to have.

You’d like to say you “resisted” the urge to attempt to take flight in a panic, but the reality is your feet are rooted to the spot as you stare wide-eyed at the spiderfolk, taking in the sight of him.

For his part, he seems equally stunned at the sight of you. Was he not the one who brought you here? Or had he simply not expected you to be up and about yet? His fuzzy blue brows knit in concern and he cants his head, letting out an inquiring trill. 

You take a step back, only to flinch and jump forward as your injured wing is pressed uncomfortably against the wall.

The spiderfolk lets out a worried trill, stepping forward and holding out his two upper arms, making as if to steady you.

You let out a strangled sound of alarm as he approaches, sidestepping along the wall to avoid him.

He takes the hint, stepping back again and holding up all four arms to show he means no harm.

You stop as well, a small voice in your head chastising you for being rude to someone who is, in all likelihood, trying to help you. Spiderfolk were strange in many ways, but they didn’t eat fairies, even if you did get caught in his web. Besides, if he were going to eat you, you wouldn’t be up and walking about. You’d be bound in the web, its narcotic poison seeping into you and keeping you asleep.

But still. He’s huge and his fangs and razor teeth and many eyes are…well…something to behold, to put it mildly.

You swallow nervously, tilting your head back to look up at those many dark eyes. You finally take in his upturned brow, and the look of worry reflected in all six eyes. He looks at you a moment, then leans forward, resting his lower set of hands on the ground and lowering his abdomen slightly. He lets out another nervous trill, his upper set of hands still spread in the nearly universal “I’m not going to hurt you” gesture.

Is…is he making himself smaller so that you’ll find him less intimidating?

If he is, you can’t say the attempt is a complete failure.

You manage to untense your shoulders, relaxing your posture slightly. “U-Um…h-hello,” you say, lifting a hand in a trembling wave.

He perks at that, and you smile nervously. You tell him your name and he nods in what you guess to be understanding.

“S-So…you can understand me?” you ask shakily.

Another nod, and a trill of affirmation. He slowly moves towards you, just enough to get his abdomen the rest of the way into the abode, using one of his back legs to close the door behind himself.

You glance nervously at the now closed door…but really the exit is no more or less accessible than it ever was. You’ll still need the spiderfolk’s permission to leave…though with your wing torn you’re almost certainly safer remaining in here with him.

“I um…can’t understand your language, though…” you say, turning your gaze back to the spiderfolk. You give a weak smile and a nervous laugh. “Though…you…probably inferred that already…?” you guess.

He makes a chittering noise that sounds almost like a laugh, his smile warming as he nods.

“I…I take it that was…your web I got caught in?” you ask.

He nods, actually looking a bit apologetic.

You glance over your shoulder at your bad wing, raising it slightly to get a better look. “A-A bird attacked me…I fell into your web by mistake…but…I think the web did protect me…”

He looks surprised at that, and a bit relieved. Had he thought his web had been responsible for your injuries?

He steps forward, not approaching you directly, but moving into the living room and lightly patting one of the cushions.

You hesitate a moment, move towards him and take a seat, setting your rucksack beside the cushion. Of course, now the strange seating makes sense. Spiderfolk lay their abdomens and carapaces on top of cushions to rest, either curling their legs under them or stretching them out to the sides. They have no use for backrests with how their bodies are structured.

“Thank you,” you say, belatedly realizing you should have said it sooner. “F-For…taking me in.” Frowning, you add, “I…I don’t even know what to call you…”

He smiles kindly, holding up one finger, indicating for you to wait. He goes to the shelves you had stood near a moment ago, and opens the cabinet beneath them. He pulls out a small scrap of parchment and with a quill, writes something down. He then brings you the scrap, holding it towards you. 

You accept it, and are surprised to see a few letters scrawled in the fairy language. “Deejay?” you read. “Is that…a name you chose yourself? In the fairy language?” It’s not a fairy name you’ve ever heard, but it’s a series of sounds that most fairies can pronounce far more readily than the chittering and trilling that makes up the spiderfolk’s language.

He nods eagerly as you return the scrap of paper to him.

“Can I…ask your real name?” you inquire curiously. 

Deejay blinks, canting his head in bemusement. Almost as if he’s surprised you’d care to know such a thing. But he nods, then lets out a trilling chitter.

Like a fool, you try to repeat it, but even your untrained ear can tell the noise you made was nothing like Deejay’s spiderfolk name.

Deejay covers his grin, muffling a chittering laugh.

You feel your face heat up in embarrassment, but you force a nervous laugh. “What’d I say…?” you ask. Then, realizing he can’t exactly answer such an open ended question, you add, “Something bad? Or just gibberish?”

Deejay holds up a hand with his two fingers raised, still grinning, his six eyes sparkling with amusement.

“The second one?” you guess. At his nod, you say, “Well…I guess I’m glad I didn’t accidentally insult your ancestors or something.”

He lifts all four shoulders in a shrug, waving one hand. You guess he means that he wouldn’t have been offended even if you had said something bad.

Deejay crouches down, settling on one of the cushions, setting the scrap of paper on the floor so he can write on it. He then passes it to you.

“Sweet of you to try.”

Your face burns at being called “sweet” by this spiderfolk who…well, isn’t too far off from “sweet” himself, from what you’ve seen. Maybe he doesn't understand the nuance of the word. He probably meant something closer to “nice” or “kind”.

Really, though, you should just be glad he wasn’t offended by your attempt. Every fairy (and probably every spiderfolk) knows it’s possible to train ears to recognize the sounds of each others’ languages, no amount of “training” can overcome the different mouth shapes enough for one to speak the other’s language with any degree of intelligibility. 

Deejay goes to the kitchen, opening the pot that hangs over the fire and ladling some stew into a clay cup…though a spiderfolk cup of soup is about equivalent to a fairy bowl of soup. He sets a wooden spoon in the cup before bringing it back to you.

“Th-Thank you,” you say, a bit hesitantly. The stew doesn’t smell like much--you’ve heard spiderfolk cooking is fairly bland by fairy standards, but you are starving. And even so, you’re not the type to turn up your nose at a home cooked meal from your host.

The spoon’s a bit too big for you to fit in your mouth, so you make due closing your lips around the edge of it to eat. After the first bite, though, you blink in surprise, glancing up. “Mushroom stew?”

Deejay trills happily, nodding.

“I…I thought spiderfolk mostly ate meat,” you say.

He smiles, nodding again. He writes on the paper again, holding it out for you to read.

“Had mushrooms on hand. Knew fairies don’t eat meat stew.”

“Oh…” you say, moved by the gesture. He’d made a whole meal just for you, one that he probably wouldn’t enjoy himself, if he even found it edible. “Thank you, Deejay…” you say softly. “But…we can eat meat stew in a pinch. It’s…serviceable,” you say with a weak smile.

While spiderfolk sometimes used plants and fungi as garnish or accent flavors, but almost never had a meat-free dish, fairies were much the opposite. Some bits of meat could be used in soups and stews, but no fairy dish had any sort of meat as the main ingredient.

But that didn’t mean you couldn’t have a meat stew on occasion.

Deejay cants his head at your statement, looking slightly concerned and skeptical, then writes, “Plenty of mushroom stew for now.”

“It’s very kind of you to make this for me,” you say politely, with genuine warmth in your tone.

The conversation lapses as you focus on eating, and after a few moments, Deejay gets up and gets the two instruments from the shelf. He holds them up, his brows raised in a silent inquiry, clearly asking if you would mind if he played.

You nod eagerly. “Oh, yes, I’d love to hear it!” you say.

The fur on his cheeks fluffs a bit at your enthusiasm, and his wide grin takes on a hint of shyness. But all the same, he settles on his cushion and begins to play. His upper arms hold the violin, tucked under his chin, while his lower set plays the lyre.

The size of the instruments changes their pitch slightly, so the whole song is performed in a lower pitch than you’re used to, but it’s lovely all the same…and fascinating to watch. You couldn’t imagine trying to play two instruments at once. Though of course you wouldn’t have enough hands to try.

The song is soft and slow, and very relaxing. Perfect dinner music. Perfect anytime music, really. Deejay’s quite skilled at both instruments, and should he ever visit a fairy village he’d do well as a minstrel even playing only one of them.

You eat slowly, but soon feel your eyelids begin to droop. You do your best to finish your stew, but eventually have to set it aside for fear of dropping the cup as you doze.

Deejay takes this as his cue to stop playing, setting his instruments aside and moving towards you. He lightly touches your shoulder, causing you to jump. He skitters back with an apologetic trill, wringing his upper set of hands nervously.

“S-Sorry…” you say quickly. You rub at your eyes, frowning. “I just woke up…I don’t know why I’m so tired…” you mumble.

Deejay flinches guiltily, grabbing the paper to write again. “Poison from the web isn’t out of your system. You’ll sleep a lot for a couple days.”

“Oh…” you say. That must be why he’d been so surprised to see you up when he’d arrived. As you’re about to lay back on the cushion, resigning yourself to another sleep, he lightly touches your hand.

You glance at him curiously, and he carefully takes both your hands in his. His large paws engulf your hands as he lifts you to your feet, one of his lower arms wrapping around your back to steady you.

You stop yourself from asking what he’s doing. He can’t answer with his hands full, after all.

His one free hand opens the curtains leading to the alcove you’d awoken in not long ago, and he nods towards it, indicating for you to climb into the bed.

You blink sleepily. “But…Deejay, isn’t this your bed? I-I can take one of the cushions…they’re big enough,” you say with a tired laugh. 

That’s debatable, though. While you probably could sleep comfortably on it, they’re not quite long enough to accommodate you. You could line up two together and make due, but even you have to admit the bed probably would be more comfortable.

Not to mention more private.

Deejay looks at you imploringly, nodding towards the bed and gently pushing on your shoulder, nudging you to climb into the bed and rest.

“Are you sure?” you ask worriedly.

He smiles kindly, nodding and pushing on your shoulder again.

With some reluctance, you climb into the bed, freeing up Deejay’s hands so he can once again write on the scrap of paper. By now said scrap is getting pretty full, but he still finds room to write, “I can sleep on the cushions. You are injured. You need dark and quiet.”

“I-I guess…” you admit as you lay down. Deejay helps you remove your boots and pull the blankets over yourself. As sweet as the gesture is, you’re a bit embarrassed that sleep is taking you so fast that you do actually need help tucking yourself in.

He smiles warmly at you, his six eyes lidded in a tender expression as he lightly pats your forehead. It’s a strange sensation. The pads of his paws are rough and leathery, but the bits of fur surrounding them are soft and silky.

“Could you play more music?” you ask tiredly. You normally wouldn’t make such a request after all he’s already done for you, but you’re barely aware you had even spoken. In fact it’s unlikely you’ll remember making the request when next you wake.

You don’t see Deejay’s look of surprise at the question, nor his warm, flattered smile as he nods. He pulls the curtain closed, and as you’re drifting off, you hear his beautiful music once again.

[bangtanintotheroom]

Goodbye 2023!

Well well well, it's the end of another year and miraculously, I'm still here on Tumblr writing my silly little smut fics. To think it's been two years since I started this on a whim and have experienced so much on this blog, it's crazy. But this year felt so different compared to the previous one, for multiple reasons that I'll talk about underneath.

To start off on a major personal note, my year didn't start off the best.

I lost my grandmother last December after she struggled with health issues since the pandemic (non-COVID related). She was my last grandparent and although I didn't agree with a lot of her views, she loved me and I loved her. The holidays were rough to get through, to say the least.

Then my great uncle (her brother) passed in February while my family and I were on vacation. We visited and stayed with him last summer, which was the longest I had ever been around him in my life. It was a sudden decline in his health and to have it so soon after his sister was shocking.

Only the people in my personal life know about this as I didn't want to bring this up on here. I make sure to keep certain things separate from my life as a writer, but now I feel comfortable enough to tell you all just what's been going on. I'm doing better now, thankfully. We visited the cemetery recently where my grandmother and grandfather are now laid to rest together with their newly-acquired headstone. It was bittersweet, but it felt good to finally see a marker there after all this time. 💕

Now onto the good notes, which there were plenty of!

This is the first time I have ever went to Trinidad TWICE in one year! We went in February and in May, both for different reasons, but it was a relaxing and fun time. Something about the islands is refreshing, especially when you live in a cooler climate.

And then came April...MUTHAFUCKIN AGUST D TOUR 🗣️🗣️🗣️

This was officially my first K-pop concert and boy, was it an experience. Despite the rain and Prudential staff being shitbags, I had an amazing time and I look back at my videos and pictures with fond memories. Shoutout to @minttangerines @kithtaehyung and @here2bbtstrash for meeting up and listening to me scream drunkenly about nuggets at 2 AM!

I also had some nice weekend and day trips with my irl friends, filled with chaos and conversations that would probably get us committed lmao

I went to Texas for the first time, too! My brother moved down there last year and I already made plans from the jump to go visit him. It's a whole different world down there, but I'm already planning to go back in 2024 (with a checklist of what we have to do)!

Let's see...I did my usual cons and got somewhat back into cosplay, too. My friends and I are planning to return to the last one we visited before the pandemic started, so we're very excited!

Those were the main things in my personal life that occurred, other than work (which is still ass) and the usual daily things.

Now onto my year in writing.

2023 paled in comparison to 2022. My output lessened considerably, due to multiple personal events, exhaustion and stress from work and mental health.

I was writing most of the time, but I was rarely finishing anything to post. My WIPs kept nagging at me on Notion and it got to the point where I recently cleaned up shop. I cancelled some of them, but kept them in a page where I could reuse the concept and scenes for something else. This gave me peace of mind.

But I also have to do some cleaning up for fics that have already been posted.

I know I said I would stretch some of them out, but I am at the point where I have zero desire to still do that. Plus I am getting into new groups and find myself wanting to write for them instead. I will make a separate post on my intentions for my current fics, just so there's no confusion on anyone's end whether it will be continued or not.

It's also been extremely jarring how many people have just...left.

When I compare the end of 2022 to the end of 2023, it's like a ghost town. A majority of the servers I was in have shut down or been abandoned. Many fellow writers have disappeared, deactivated or gone on hiatus (for reasons that are valid and I wish them all the best). And the atmosphere has shifted, but not in a positive direction.

Interactions have lessened, anons are being ruder than ever, people are plagiarizing left and right. It's a mess.

I've had a couple of moments where I debated on stepping away, but I can't right now. Writing gives me an unexpected joy and it's always a treasure to see my mutuals posting their own works that they've put their blood, sweat and tears into. I'm not quite ready to leave that yet.

Although, I do have to take a slight step back, just to focus on personal things. I'm practicing art again to see if I can start selling once I'm comfortable enough to. If things ever get overbearing and I can't juggle the two, I will let you all know as soon as possible. But for now, expect at least one more year of AJ aka bangtanintotheroom!

Wow, this was long 😬 but I've been sitting on these thoughts for months and I had to get it out somehow.

I'll finish this off by saying thank you to everyone who follows me or reads my fics or plans to start reading them. Thank you to my mutuals who are supportive and encourage my crazy ideas. Thank you to everyone.

Happy New Year! 🥳