#just as lie a friendly introduction thing

[mobbothetrue]

I’ve recently picked up splatoon again, and I was doing a buncha turf wars to build up my splatfest tee, and I wound up doing a few matches with this guy going by starlord. First match, no connection, but between matches I went over to hang out on Judd’s bench, and they joined me. Had a great time hopping around. Second match, we’re on the same team! great! Between matches we hang out on Judd’s bench again, pure vibin. Third match, and we’re on opposing teams.

I, of course, can’t do very much in this situation. There’s a very aggressive L3 on their team that keeps hunting me down, and I doubt they’ll let me initiate a party, but I don’t wanna kill my buddy. So, my compromise: they’re the only reef-lux user, so with all the determination in my little octopus body I’m gonna avoid killing them.

Half the match passes. I decide to try and make entry into the enemy base, I go up the stairs, and turn to find a reef-lux pointed at me. I raise my sploosh on instinct, but as soon as I register the bow I stop shooting and start going back down the stairs; too late. I’m splatted. ‘Aw,’ I think, ‘oh well, that’s fair.’ The camera, as it does in splatoon, focuses for a moment on my killer. They’re staring at the spot where I died. They enter swim form. They throw themself off the nearest ledge. man, human connection :) good :). I didn’t get to party with them again cause my switch shat itself and disconnected me, but I did send them a friend request which they accepted

[gloomwitchwrites]

Just Like Dad (3 of 4)

Content & Warnings: referenced military career, domestic fluff

Word Count: 804

A/N: Part of the Imagines & What If Series

Soap stumbles through an explanation when faced with a barrage of questions.

ao3 // taglist // main masterlist // just like dad masterlist

Johnny is a firecracker. The spark from struck flint.

He dives in headfirst, charges forward, his actions led by his head and his heart. Johnny might be high-strung at times. Rambunctious and eager. Sometimes he’s stubborn when it comes to people and things he cares about.

All of that is true. And all of it is also reflected in his six-year-old daughter.

The two of them stand in the middle of the kitchen. Johnny has his hands on his hips. His daughter mimics his movements, forcing all her attitude into it, even adding a single arched eyebrow. Johnny would laugh but he’s trying to be serious.

She looks so much like her mother it’s startling.

He’s trying to keep his demeanor calm under the barrage of questions about his job. His daughter is a curious creature. She wants to know everything, oftentimes asking so many questions at once they start to run together.

Usually, Johnny is indulgent. He loves nourishing that curiosity. But right now, that curiosity is treading on dangerous territory. Of everything Johnny is protective of, it’s his daughter. But more than that, it’s to protect her from the realities of his career.

It isn’t pretty. It isn’t clean.

And she’s asking endless questions. So many that they’re melting together, pushing him toward every bad mission and terrible death.

“That’s not one of the questions,” he replies cooly, nodding toward the piece of paper resting on the kitchen table.

It’s a questionnaire. One the school sends that has her basic interests along with information about family. She’ll use it for projects and to make connections with classmates. It’s a standard thing, something sent out early in the schoolyear as a form of introduction.

His daughter stands mute. Unmoving. She’s trying to be tough, and while it makes his heart warm with pride, it’s also incredibly frustrating.

“I’ll answer the questions on your paper. Nothing more.” Johnny is setting a boundary because it’s all he can do. He won’t lie to her, but he’s not going to swim through rough waters.

Her bottom lip pops out in a pout and Johnny sighs, crossing his arms. “Why do you want to know so bad?”

She takes a deep breath, shoulders softening. “Because I want to be like you when I grow up.”

Because I want to be like you when I grow up.

The automatic response is “no.” That isn’t what she wants or will ever want. All she knows are the friendly faces, of how Simon’s mask is way too big for her head, or Price’s hugs which she loves more than anything.

Those are not the realities. Those are soft things. Pieces that keep her satiated.

“Why do you want to be like me?” he asks slowly, chest slightly tight with dread.

“Why not?” she shrugs, as if that is a perfectly logical stance.

Where is his wife when he needs you? You would help. You would distract and move her on to something else so that Johnny doesn’t have to flounder under all these questions. She came like a fury of rapidly popping fireworks, peppering him until she finally ended her chatter with wide eyes and heaving chest.

Why not?

Because there are dark tendrils that cling to him that won’t let go. She doesn’t need those. She shouldn’t have to carry those burdens with her everywhere.

There is no reason to crush her dreams. There is no reason to smack this idealism down. Not yet. When she’s older, Johnny can be clearer, he can be more upfront about the toll this line of work has taken on him.

Sighing, he walks up to the kitchen table, picking up her sparkly purple pencil. It is rough against his fingertips as he bends at the waist to peer at the questionnaire. She stands next to him, watching intently, leaning on an elbow, peering over his arm as he starts to fill out information on the page.

Johnny takes his time. He is truthful in his answers. He is part of The Special Air Service. He runs covert missions. He vaguely lists out what a day might look like for him when he’s not deployed. His daughter watches on, saying nothing.

 But there is no snarky comment or attitude that he usually expects from her.

“Thank you, Daddy,” is all she says, neatly folding the paper in half to stuff into her schoolbag. Johnny offers her the glittery purple pencil and she takes that too.

He bends at the knees, getting on her level. “Want to help me start dinner?”

“Yes!” she beams.

“Grab a chair,” he says, nodding toward the dining table.

She drags it across the floor, pushing it up against the bottom cabinets. She turns, smile wide, hands clasped eagerly in front of her.

This is the distraction he needs.

@km-ffluv @glitterypirateduck @tiredmetalenthusiast @spicyspicyliving @childofyuggoth @miaraei @coffeecaketornado @aykxz98 @kayden666 @unhinged-reader-36 @pearljamislife @miss-mistinguett @keiva1000 @cherryofdeath @pertinentpostmortem @enfppuff @berarenado @saoirse06 @ninman82 @no-oneelsebutnsu @thewulf @hayleybarnesx @lxblm @ferns-fics @ooldcardigan @beebeechaos @enarien @sw33tsnow @kessi-21 @makayla-666 @lifes-project @burn1ngw00d @heeheehoohoohahahihi @lulurubberduckie @ravenpoe67 @jade1605 @contractedcriteria @lovely-ateez @gingergirl06 @kidd3ath @leed-bbg @blackhawkfanatic @suhmie @tulipsun-flower @ghosts-hoe @jaggersinclair

[xiaoriae]

"...AND THEY WERE ROOMMATES!"

— PAIRINGS ; childe, diluc, xiao & zhongli x gn!reader (separate)

— NOTES ; a repost from my old blog!

CHILDE was a friendly roommate, that was the first and significant trait you’d noticed since day one he walked into the small shared apartment.

he wasn’t scared to communicate directly with you, exchanging introductions felt less awkward and more livelier with his playful tone and that signature smile of his.

you didn’t think childe was richer than ordinary people like you to be honest. he probably was a broke student, just like you. after all, he did split the rent with you and so you assumed that he underwent the same financial problems people around your age did.

but when he spoiled you on your first birthday you celebrated together with him, only the two of you in the small, cozy, living room, you almost choked out the soda in your hand when you saw the necklace you drooled over the other day you went shopping, or rather, window shopping with him along the city, was in front of you.

“how much is this?!” your eyes bulging out, partially because of the shock and because you knew how expensive it was.

of course you were staring at it for too long on that fateful evening both of you strolling around the city. the necklace caught your attention the moment you saw it was shining under the sun and was displayed right there in front of you, behind the big glass.

the only thing that was holding you back from barging into the jewelry shop was because of that insane price tag.

childe instead shrugged your question off with his laugh, he cautiously took out the necklace from its purple box. “i caught you staring at it, and your eyes shone so bright, they didn’t lie when i asked you if you wanted this necklace or not, unlike your words,” he recalled the moment you quickly shoved him aside from peeking at what you were looking at and pretended that you didn’t want the item.

“as i said before, it wasn’t necessary—

childe’s hands suddenly appeared in front of you, since when did he make his way to stand behind you? you didn’t notice that.

"what—

the cool feeling in contact with your bare skin made you speechless. childe could be a gentleman when he wanted to, it was a rare occasion, of course, but if he did this to you, you might or might not have a teeny little crush on him and that was definitely a bad sign.

the moment he secured the piece of jewelry around your neck from the back, childe quickly spun you around to face him standing as you cooled down your racing heart, and the beats picking up again when you felt him patting your head.

"happy birthday to you, my first, precious and lovely roommate. now you would at least bring a piece of me with you.”

DILUC was a man who would rather keep all things to himself than talking the out with you.

that was how things had always been from the first three months both of you had started living under the same roof.

he was introverted, and you were perfectly fine with it.

he was minding his own business, and you did the same too. nothing clashed, no fights, and although you somehow met with a dead end trying to bonding more with your roommate, it always ended up with the thoughts that he might be uncomfortable if you indulged yourself to have a proper conversation with him.

he always came back home late way passed the twelve o'clock and you always wondered, what did he do for a living?

yes, you were so delusional that sometimes you thought he was doing illegal things at nights. he sometimes did intimidate you by his looks so you wouldn’t stray off that far, right?

well, the answer to your question was finally answered when your friends brought you to crash at a local, famous tavern, and oh, you were shocked, super shocked to see diluc, the mysterious roommate stood behind the counter.

“diluc, why aren’t you looking at me?”

he swore you gave him a headache. just why did you end up drunk and he knew that he would be the one taking you home.

“diluc,” you whined, for some reasons, you were super clingy, acting like a lost puppy and followed him everywhere when he tried to close the tavern.

there was no breathing customers in sight, it was late at night and even your friends left you for him to handle your drunken state.

if he could leave you alone here, he would probably do it, but to say that you peaked his interest that night was an understatement.

you ended up landing your face onto the counter, waiting eagerly for diluc to wipe off the counter and you said what weighing inside your heart the most. “diluc, let’s be friends.”

his actions ultimately stopped when he saw you looking at him with a pair of eyes that almost made his heart skipped a beat. you looked so innocent, he never thought that you were capable of doing that, or was it because you had some possible effects on him?

“hm?”

“i said, let’s be friends,” you sighed dramatically, and suddenly bumped your head hard onto the wooden counter. diluc almost slipped out the small glass in his hand hearing the loud thud. “i want to know you more. it has been like, what, 3 months since we knew each other yet i only knew you work here today,” your hands flying all over the place before your roommate placed both of his hands on your tensed shoulders.

“calm down, y/n,” he sighed, but a small smile started to form on his lips. “we have years to come, you will eventually know me, right?”

you started to freak out with his words, slapping his face away from you and a scoff was heard by the man in front of you. “you’re weird,” you commented.

diluc acted like nothing happened, he had came across a lot of situations with drunken people and he knew you weren’t going to stop until he said what you wanted. “yes, friends.”

“pinky promise?” a wide grin plastered all across your face as soon as you heard diluc words, and diluc almost, almost went red with how his heart tugging at how adorable you were right now. well, you did have an effect on him after all.

and so, your fingers intertwined, a childish promise was made before diluc pulled his hand away from you.

“now, let’s go back home together. i’ll have to take care of you so do not act foolishly along the way.”

XIAO wasn’t fond, or even acknowledged, that there was literally another person living with him. to say that you at least felt distant from him was an understatement, and maybe, just maybe, you did feel hurt sometimes with how cold he was.

your friends, who often crashed inside your small apartment seemed to notice how quiet he was. it was like he wasn’t there in the first place, ignoring you and your friends as he casually went inside his room, shutting the door and never came out again for the rest of the night.

yes, you did feel worried about him. how he was so alone and didn’t socialise with people made you wonder how on earth did he manage to share this place with you, and still treated you like you were some sort of an invisible entity since then.

no matter how many times you tried to talk with him, coincidentally, or consciously, bumping into him while doing the dishes or the laundry, sitting down next to him while he was alone on the couch only for him to say nothing and got up leaving you slightly disheveled at his actions, he just wouldn’t get the hint of you wanting to know him more.

you were bored, and xiao acting like this wasn’t going to cure your boredom anyway.

and of course, as someone who basically lived for human interactions, you knew you had to be bold enough and break that stupid barrier he had in him, that barrier in which blocking you and his solitude life far away from another.

so, one day, a thing that you knew you would never do onto your roommate caught up inside your mind, weighing onto you for the entire day, contemplating all over again whether you should or shouldn’t, because this might turn horribly wrong and you feared that the thin line of relationship you two might have would turn out to be more awkward than it already was.

“what are you up to, hm?” xiao jolted at the sudden voice behind him. he almost burnt the pancake he usually did for breakfast. sometimes he did for you too, knowing that you woke up later than him who was a night owl and an early bird all at once.

he stayed silent, but you knew he was cooking breakfast for you too. seeing the amount of multiplied ingredients in front of you made your heart all fuzzy and warmed. at least, he did care for you, even the slightest.

xiao was taken aback when you suddenly hopped onto the counter beside him. somewhere in the back of his mind, he was questioning why you were acting so happy and bubbly. you were always like this, but seeing you being this cheerful and positive made him looked at you with a calculating gaze.

“what?” your legs swinging back and forth. “stop giving me the judging look, xiao,” you scoffed. sure, xiao was a handsome man, and maybe you just couldn’t stand his good-looking face staring at you for too long.

“why are you here?” his question was straightforward, yet his tone was stern and he continued to act cold. if you could describe him, xiao would give the most 'tsundere' vibe you’d ever found in a man.

“oh, you know, just watching you doing stuff,” answering without any hesitation, you instead asked him. “do you need help in anything? you do this for me too.”

to say that xiao was flabbergasted with you pinpointing his deed was more than enough for you to understand his situation, and xiao faked a cough, proceeding to ignore you at his side and flipping the pancakes.

when he finally done, you jumped off the counter and quickly grabbed the plates nearby, serving them for you, and for him too.

“what is this for, y/n?” oh, so xiao knew your name after all, you nearly thought he’d forgotten about it. you didn’t blame him though, you were just another unimportant person in his life. “let’s eat breakfast together,” you gave him a cheeky grin, and xiao still stood firm although you had placed the pancakes onto the small dining table, yours and his were opposite of each other and you smiled at the thought of your plan since last night doing well so far.

“it’s fine,” xiao hurriedly took his plate, and you truly knew where he was heading, it was either his room, or the living room. so you did what your instinct told you, gently slapping his hand away from the plate and although you’d already sat and he was still shocked with your hand wrapping his arm, xiao quickly looked away, closed his eyes and gave you a big sigh.

“come here,” you pulled him to sit in his place, and to your suprise, he didn’t fight you back.

“where is this going?” he asked, and you felt like smacking his head for being too oblivious with your situation of wanting him to feel like he was your roommate and not just another stranger lounging across the apartment.

you pulled up your spoon. “do you want me to lecture you on how to be close with another person?” flicking his forehead with your spoon instead only for xiao to still stay emotionless and frowned slightly at the pressure on his face. “just eat, big boy. i swear if you’re acting like a lost child once again, i might go feral.”

“why do i have to listen to you?” he still didn’t want to back down, and still questioning all your actions so you quickly got up from your seat, your hands found his face and xiao’s eyes widening at your warm touch on his face, you were bold, he gave that.

“xiao,” you called his name gently, and he felt how his heart dropped at your sad eyes. “can we be more than just strangers?” you murmured. the way xiao looking up at you intently made your heart almost cried at the sight. he was a good roommate although there was a lack of interactions between the two of you, xiao still cooked your breakfast occasionally.

but you weren’t going to ignore the fact that there was something felt lacking between you and him.

and now, when you felt xiao’s hands taking your hands away from his face, you almost exploded in emotions. was this the direction of your relationship and him left you alone again? why did you feel so emotional, did xiao really had an impact on your life?

maybe he did, he was the one taking care of you in the shadow after all, although he was silent about it.

were you really that desperate for his attention?

and all was shut up when you felt xiao stood up, holding you near him, wrapping his arms around your waist and although the hug was awkward and he was stiff, it was enough to soothe you.

“i’m sorry,” his voice turned softer, silently blaming himself for doing this to you, and you were taken aback with the smell of his cologne, the small space between you and him and the gentle tone he was using.

“i’m sorry, i’ll try improving myself and be a good roommate to you, y/n.”

the first thing to note about ZHONGLI was how cautious and gentle his actions were towards you.

everything he did was so admirable and you couldn’t help to adore this mature side of him, minus when he started to go all in with an insignificant topic like who invented the coffee table or when wine was first made in the industry.

he could be an old man if he went on rambling about all these knowledgeable stuff until your brain went black, malfunctioning, and couldn’t process the information you actually wouldn’t need and use in your daily life that you just had to stop him from continuing his speech.

not to mention, he was quiet popular between the neighbours. even your friends would sometimes wanted to meet him only to drool over him and his look, and sometimes you would cut them off and said no.

the only downside of him was how he seemed to borrow your money all the time. his look could pass off as the rich if you didn’t live with him, but well, guess that was his financial problem.

even how he seemed to ace in economics and unconsciously showing his things—branded things by the way—he yet still borrowed your money just because his memory wasn’t good enough to bring his wallet with him.

he could memorise everything perfectly fine but a precious item, namely his wallet, wasn’t his priority and you were scared to see him broke one day.

thank god zhongli was such an intelligent human. too wise for people around his age and this, of course, you took an advantage of asking him to teach you when you had exams around the corner.

and you were so grateful to have him as your free tutor. he might do bad at his job but hey, at least your grades were improving.

“why did this nation called wind as anemo in the ancient times? it’s so complicated,” you frowned at the long text engraved in the thick book. it just happened that history was the last paper and you just couldn’t comprehend why the term existed when they could’ve just call it as wind.

“it’s in greek,” zhongli seemingly super patient with you and your whiny attitude, he decided to just let you be. “and dendro is also in greek,” he added. “only these two are in greek, there is no need to be theatrical about this.”

“yeah, i know, but with how many papers i’ve gone through this week, my brain has insufficient space of storage for now and this makes me feel worse. i am doomed,” you turned towards him dramatically, maybe you were being exaggerated like he said but the nervousness about failing history was unbearable at this point, for you and your mental health.

“nonsense,” he cut your acting and you quickly glared at him. “the human brain is capable of storing memories up to 2.5 million gigabytes, and there’s never too much for your brain,” he leaned back onto the cushion chair beside yours, bringing his hands to his chest and looked at you as if he was quite disappointed with your little to no efforts.

“one synapse of the brain could—

"okay, mr. zhongli, i’m sorry,” you cut his words before your supposedly history lesson with him turned out into some sort of a neurology class and you definitely didn’t want that.

“let’s be real here,” you spun your chair to see his face directly in front of you, ankles immediately meeting with his and you almost flinched at the contact. zhongli was unfazed so you decided to casually push your chair back a little without making it look awkward due to his intimidating aura when he was serious, and to make more distance between the two of you.

“so, the famous history of teyvat civilization,” you brought your fingers. “there are seven thriving nations,” you continued before seeing that zhongli was staring at you intently. it was too much for your heart to handle. he looked so cool and you were scared of looking stupid.

“ugh,” you groaned, bringing your chair back to the table. “just why do i have to memorise all these facts about this inexistent world in the first place?”

“you have to,” he answered unknowingly. “now, do you want to revise or..?” the calming voice beside you made you felt like an idiot compared to a smart man like him.

“alright,” you sighed, zhongli did have a point. this was for your final semester grade, and you knew you would instantly regret it if your grade ended up low.

“enlighten me then,” he did what he always did when you asked him to tutor you or to supervise you studying.

you took a deep breath. “there were once seven gods people in teyvat worshipped,” you peered your eyes at zhongli and he nodded calmly at your words. “the god of anemo, geo, electro, dendro, hydro, pyro and cryo. all these gods also have their own titles which are freedom, contract, eternal, wisdom, justice, war and love respectively,” you trailed off. even only in a single sentence, your brain jammed trying to process them.

“i couldn’t do this, we aren’t even at the part of each of the nations yet,” you gave up, closing the book before getting up from your seat and ultimately backing away from your study. “time to go out and get some fresh air!” you ignored zhongli’s gaze at you, and when you were about to pass zhongli and get out of your room, zhongli pulled you back from his seat, only for you to land on top of him and a silent gasp came out from your mouth.

what the hell was he even thinking about?

“you are not going anywhere,” his deep voice made your insides tingling. your heart skyrocketed and with how fast he pulled you into him, he placed you back in front of your study like he didn’t do that with you in the first place. your face felt hot, red and you somehow felt nauseous all at once.

where the heck did he learn to do that from?

did he know your poor heart couldn’t take that?

“cat got your tongue?” zhongli’s chuckle resonated through the thick atmosphere within your suffocating room.

“what’s that for?” in that short span of time, you decided to chin up and not showing him how affected you were by his actions. your insides was screaming yet you gave him a look to hide the embarrassment you felt.

“i know you would not even bother to read after this, that was definitely an uninspiring argument you had,” he pulled his chair to become much more closer than you intended him to.

there was no way you were going to focus with him acting like this all of sudden.

“y-yeah, i’ll continue,” you stuttered, and zhongli found it was an adorable sight to see.

“that's my sweetheart.”

all rights reserved © berrywoo 2023 strictly on tumblr only. any form of wrongdoings under the copyright law is strictly prohibited.

[offorestsongs]

OC INTRODUCTION ❣ JÓZEFINA

BASIC INFORMATION

full name 💍 Józefina [last name redacted] (pronounced: yuu-zeh-FEE-na) nicknames 💍 Józia (friends), Baby Shrimpy (Floyd), Modmoiselle Feu (Rook) species 💍 normal human height 💍 172 cm age 💍 17 y/o birthday 💍 [redacted] gender 💍 trans girl (she/her) sexuality 💍 questioning hometown 💍 normal human world (Poland specifically) dorm 💍 Ramshackle class 💍 A-1 club 💍 Equestrian Club favorite subject 💍 biology dominant hand 💍 right talent 💍singing, braiding other people's hair hobby 💍 learning new instruments favorite food 💍meringues least favorie food 💍 mizeria pet peeve 💍 getting her hair dirty

PERSONALITY

A friendly young lady who's quick to meet new people anywhere she goes. She likes to make new relationships and be amongst crowds, especially when the attention is on her. She wouldn't call herself an attention seeker - she just doesn't like to be ignored, and really, isn't it just natural that everybody's eyes should be on her? Since coming to NRC, she delights every benefit that being labelled as "everybody's little sister" gets her.

Sweet as sugar, always tries to act like a well-behaved and well-mannered, polite lady and expects everyone to uphold the same level of manners. "Tries to act" being the key phrase here; Józefina is impulsive and often acts before a thought can even start forming in her head, resulting in her getting into all sorts of situations a perfect little lady like her definitely shouldn't be. It definitely doesn't help that she's brave to the point of recklessness and infinitely curious - nothing will stop her from discovering the many mysteries of Twisted Wonderland! She just cannot help, but like the thrill of adventure and troublemaking.

Very proud and a bit prissy, easily takes offence, especially if she doesn't know somebody well - it's a deffence mechanism of sorts, as she often expects everyone to do or say the worst thing, and it's hard for her to believe that people could actually take her seriously. She tends to mellow out considerably once she gets closer to somebody and sees that they don't underestimate her or actually have good intentions. However, gaining her trust is not the easiest thing.

Openly showing her emotions, to the point of being theatrical at times... the good ones, at least. The bad ones? Well, that depends on if it benefits her. Thrust into a world she doesn't understand, she's willing to do a lot to ensure her survival, and if it involves overexaggerating her tears to gain other people's sympathy or telling a lie or two? Well, who could blame her? At least, she tends to feel somewhat guilty about it... most of the time.

BACKSTORY

Arrived to Twisted Wonderland during the Spelldrive tournament in book 2, specifically during the "game" that the Hearshackle gang was playing; she accidentally knocked Lysander out by landing on him. The Headmage has allowed her to stay, mostly because Lysander had promised to take the responsibility for her.

Similarly to Lysander, she doesn't have any memories from her previous world. Memories come back to her in flashes, often triggered by physical sensations, though so far, she had managed to remember even less than her dormmate. She's not particularly bothered by it, though, taking her new surroundings in stride.

TRIVIA

it seems that, unlike Lysander, she didn't came from the modern world - she doesn't seem to know much about modern technology. despite that, she's eager to learn and often asks the others about it

she didn't actually know how to ride horses when she had first joined the Equestrian Club - she just liked helping to take care of her, because it calmed her down

knows how to play a few instruments but is the best with a violin

she always dreamed of becoming a famous singer

unlike Lysander, she's a disaster in the kitchen

she's afraid of heights (which posed a bit of a problem when she tried to learn horse riding)

she cares a lot for her hair and usually doesn't let other people touch it, unless she's close with them and trusts them

she also really loves to put bows in her hair

she actually prefers to be called by her full name, because "Józia" is very cutesy and kinda childlish, but most people can't pronounce it correctly so she just kinda gave up (not that they can pronounce Józia correctly either...)

Azul tried to get her to sing at the Mostro Lounge a few times, but she always refuses untill he "pays her what she's worth" (whatever that means remains to be determined)

CARDS

[SSR] Playful Land

dividers. template.

[warsamongthestars]

How to do I view TCWs Bad Batch...

Cos its not a secret that its personal. All this, comes from a personal place, even if its cut down to snark, rage, or just plain analysis. Personal motivations are the best motivators after all.

We start with the set up.

They are, by all accounts, set up to be the odd ones out. If there are weird mutant clones, these are the guys. If you're looking for the super special awesome squad made of underdogs, its them.

( As the former Weird Kid from childhood, who later grew up into the weird adult, I immediately grew attached to them. I broke the Jedi code folks, please don't kick me off the council Mister Windu )

And from there, it all became very complex, and yet, so simple. Because when you've been there, you get it.

Now we start with the perspectives.

So I saw...

... The Bad Batch as those who teeter on the edge of wanting normalcy whilst also rejecting convention. These boys have been rejected for things all their life, from appearance, to skills, to attitudes, to innate abilities and to simply not fitting in / being regulation.

Crosshair is the one who learned to strike first, and the first strike should be the final strike. He's the confrontational one. (Very in line with his sniper job). If you strike first and its always the mortal blow, you avoid getting struck. ( This doesn't work, because he's a verbal lasher, and that hasn't killed anyone yet--so he'd get a punch to the face and invite combat among allies )

Tech is the one who learned to back down and be unconfrontational one. Let the aggression pass, it is temporary. This has probably cost him with injury and items stolen from confrontation (because if someone wants to make a problem, they will make a problem and they will do it to the easiest target).

Wrecker is the boisterous one. He wants to directly fit in so things are either not a big deal or he exaggerates to a point where its become habit (a simple fear of heights becomes a ridiculous series of panics straight out of a cartoon that even Tech rolls his eyes over). In this way, he's a kind of people pleaser who needs to find excuses to confront people he has a problem with.

Hunter is the quiet one who wants to given space to process. But is never given time. To him, people are complicated and he needs time to puzzle them out, but at the same time, he's still trying to puzzle himself out. So everything either comes out as a sarcasm or it comes out as anxiety, because in truth, he's not sure how to react to situations and was never given the communication or time to develop that understanding--and has to practice based on experience [ CF99's plan system ] because otherwise he gets overwhelmed with him. ( But in such lack of processing, the stuff he has had time to process? He can weave through fluently and adaptively. He knows not to give more information than is necessary even in friendly conversation with strangers, because he knows the effect it would cause. )

The word "Hyperempathy" comes to mind.

But in such additions...

CF99 as a whole, as they lie outside of the regulations, have developed an nonchalance over things that would be alarming in any circumstance, odd one out or not.

The Yalbecs, mentioned in CF99's introduction, are an implied Insectoid sentience that follow a HIve structure (with the Queen ontop who can produce pheromones to encourage reproduction). The yalbecs were performing an Insurrection on their planet, Yalbec Prime. As the Republic had gotten involved by sending CF99, that means the insurrection was against the Republic, meaning that the Yalbecs were, prior to the war, a Republic peoples.

If I had to give a reason for this insurrection, it would probably because the yalbec queen's stinger is used as food on other planets / by other cultures.

Two and two together, the yalbecs were insurrecting because their queens (and potential mother figures) were being hunted down for food, and the Republic was doing nothing.

A horrifying set of circumstances, made worse when the Republic sent a commando squad to handle the situation once it had become violent, and the result was, yet again, the death of another Queen and possibly her entire court.

... especially when that said Commando Squad began to brag about it afterwards.

This is a "funny" contrast to the hyper-empathy argument, and that is the total lack of empathy. Suggesting that CF99 primarily only cares about what a particular group (the "regular" clones) thinks about and tries to bring attention their successes to that group; but inevitably alienate themselves by sheer misunderstanding of both themselves, others, and the situation. Its the fantastical fantasy narrative equivalency of "my cat tried to show affection by bringing me a dead bird" or "I told a self deprecating joke about my childhood, and everyone looked at me with horror"

The "Total Lack of Empathy" is less inherent problem, and more akin to, learned impersonality, which can be a common problem when it comes to empathy.

Now this is starting to sound like "playing Psychology with fictional characters who can be written to do anything". I ain't diagnosis shit, I'm just pointing out a potential pattern, by drawing from experience.

Don't you just love how fiction can get personal.

Anyway.

In such inbetweens...

The Bad Batch have formed strong interpersonal relationships, only vaguely hinted at during their Clone Wars run.

From backing each other up, no matter who does what (from Crosshair's overly confrontational nature being immediately defended by Wrecker lifting someone up by the necktie and Tech's Goggles glare and Hunter stopping the person that Cross is confronting)...

... To Crosshair immediately stepping up to block an officer from yelling at Hunter...

... To Wrecker interrupting and teasing Tech, but then immediately quoting Tech to officers...

... to how proud Hunter is over his team, or Crosshair's indirect silent compliments in regards to Wrecker...

... to trusting Tech's strategies and intelligence, no matter how crazy, or how much he's teased afterwards, near immediately...

... to the various list of plans they perform practically on trust and instinct alone...

... and to giving the new odd one (Echo) a chance, even if they verbally distrust him.

The world these boys must have behind closed doors and off duty, is one of intimate trust, obvious communication and communal understanding, and each of them, no matter how they express it, share values.

They're playful and competitive with each other, and their various strong personalities do bump against one another, but its less destructive and more akin to knowingly being pieces on the same board. ( billiards comes to mind and everyone has a pocket. )

Its those hints of history and personality beyond their job, is what I wanted to see more of (and probably others too). Its those conflicts and bonds between themselves, the world and others that would've made a show.

( Character Development isn't necessarily that the character themselves changed--its often just that the Audience now knows more about a character. Character Development is more often than naught, a change in perspective from the audience's point of view. )

Introducing Echo would've been a fine way to learn more about them, by allowing the audience surrogate to be a main character lead, whilst also going off on fantastical sci-fi adventures in the Galaxy Far Far Away.

Applying personal interpretation and experience is often how you can make a story more interesting, as it allows both yourself and the audience to further understand themselves.

Yeah, its telling a familiar story, but often that's what's needed. And you freely can want what you also need.

[rosemarytales]

Clothing colour symbolism in The White Queen

So. I was looking at this image and wondering why Richard stands out so much in terms of colour and what it might mean, which led me down a rabbit hole. I discovered that there's one too many coincidences to be casual.

So, here's my theory about each character and what their clothing says about them and their motives.

Richard Duke of Gloucester

Richard, throughout the first episodes of the show, is mostly seen wearing either blue or Edward's trademark colours (cream, white). Blue signifies loyalty, a trademark of Richard ("Loyaulté me lie") and that loyalty is to Edward.

After Edward's death, he is seen wearing a darker shade of blue (blue + black = loyalty and grief). He is wearing full black after the deaths of Edward his son and of Anne.

Edward IV

Edward wears mostly cream or beige. It could be interpreted as white (purity), in some cases even as yellow (generosity). I haven't found much about cream: maybe it was normal nobility clothing, even though the most common association with nobility is royal purple.

The most interesting thing about his outfits is when other characters match him to show their loyalty to him, most notably Elizabeth and Richard, but also George after his betrayal of Warwick.

Sometimes, him and Elizabeth alternate, with one scene where one is wearing cream and the other light blue and viceversa, which may represent their loyalty to each other. I think, but I am not sure, that the one who is wearing cream is the main focus of the scene, whereas the blue-wearer is showing their support. But I don't remember the context of the scenes, so this is just conjecture.

His colours are always light though, be it yellow or blue.

George Duke of Clarence

I would have expected George to wear a lot of green, considering it is the colour of envy, so I was quite surprised when I realised he didn't so much (he still does sometimes, though). I had noticed, however, that in his introduction scene, while both his brothers are wearing cream/beige (matching), he stands out with orange clothes.

What does orange represent? "Worthwhile ambition". Checks out.

He sheds the orange definitively by the time he joins Edward's side again (as shown in the top picture) and he wears progressively lighter clothing, possibly showing his redemption? By the time of Isabelle's death and his own, he is only wearing a white chemise. He is visibly wearing the chemise under black clothes (grief) at the masked party.

But, do you know who wears a lot of green?

Richard Earl of Warwick

Do I need to explain this one? He envies both Edward and the Woodvilles for the power they hold.

He wears some yellow, which represents generosity, so long as he is keeping up friendly appearances and up until his betrayal of Edward. He does not, however, wear white, because the last thing he wants is peace. He is just acting like it for what he thinks is Edward's sake.

Queen Elizabeth

White is the colour of peace (in the first scene she is trying to make peace with Edward). We also see specks of blue (loyalty), probably to her dead husband.

However, she is most often seen wearing yellow (generosity), most notably at her coronation, white (purity) and light blue (loyalty). Much like Richard, she often matches with Edward.

Queen Anne

Anne is quite funny. She changes colours quite a lot, sometimes matching Richard, her sister or her father, other times not matching anyone else.

I think it shows her loyalty is to the people she loves and not to loyalty itself, unlike her husband. However, she is also ambitious and follows her own agenda, but she's always careful not to step on any toes.

She is loyal, generous, reliable and sometimes envious, which all shows in her clothing throughout the show.

Literal Queen.

Margaret Beaufort

Say what you want about her, but I am in love. Her strength of character is incredible and she is so funny, but this is unrelated to the post.

Black = the colour of grief. Her character arc is loss and gain, but the latter only comes into play in the literal last minute of the show. So loss of everything and subsequent grief.

Red = the colour of martyrdom. She is the most pious and self-sacrificial character in the whole show.

Blue = undying loyalty to the House of Lancaster, despite the risk it poses to her life and that of the people around her.

Jacquetta Woodville

Blue all the way down. Her loyalty is not to a house, or to a King, but to her daughter.

Isabelle Neville, Duchess of Clarence

Lots of green, like her dad, but mostly in a lighter shade, showcasing innocence.

She is also quite envious of Elizabeth, but not to the point of starting a war about it, so less envious (therefore, less green) than her father.

In her case, green might even represent youth.

Anthony Woodville

Brown, the colour of honesty, stability and reliability.

He is not afraid to speak his mind to Elizabeth ("your marriage was fake"), but he is also her rock throughout the show.

[yoongsisbae]

BTS (as drinks)

because I’m in a silly mood

Namjoon is champagne. He's the whole bottle. A tall glass of perfection, full-bodied, sweet, and strong. Piercing eyes watching you over the rim. You drink him in, his sleek suit, his honey voice, impressive in everything he does, and the way he notices the small things about you. He offers to pay for another, already knowing what you like. You found each other in empty bar in a nice restaurant in an even nicer hotel. It's enticing, you share a confession and a laugh, in high spirits. You listen, drunk on, what is it? This feeling bubbling, a seltzer inside of you that makes you jittery every time you catch his eyes staring at your legs. You cheers one last time in the quietness of his suite. You know how this will end, but you hope maybe he will find a taste for you like you have now of him. That he will seek you out as his favorite drink. You hope his eyes that watched you so curiously all night, now watching as you fall apart under him, never look at another. He tickles the back of your throat, has you gasping for more. Is it too much to ask of him? For another round of him?

Seokjin is Tequila on a bright summer day. A knockout, too pretty, too smooth. The type of man you should savor. But it was quick, sudden introduction. You tipped your head back into his wide shoulder, pleading eyes meeting his surprised face. He wraps his arm around your body, lips meeting in a chaste kiss, your mysterious patron scaring away a sour nuisance to your left. At first meeting you already understood each other completely, you hadn’t known it fully then, too tipsy in that moment. You share a shot to thank him, and somehow your act becomes something more, your friendly banter becomes something more, and with every pour, your lie turns into truth, he feels it and so do you. It started as an act, but now it just feels right. Right place, right time. You stay by his side, he makes excuses keep you close, buys you another round, his smile bright and warm. Laughter that makes your sides hurt. Kisses that make your heart jump. Embraces that make your knees weak. The sun sets and kisses turn heated, mouths molding together, tongues licking salty skin, drinking each other in.

Yoongi is smooth nightcap right before bed. A glass of whisky on the rocks he pours for you and him. You tell each other your worries, caressing smooth skin, his love warms you under the covers. He whispers sweet praise that fills you up with him. Sweet affirmations against your belly button, hands trickling down your body. You hiss in contentedness, fingers twisting in his hair. His voice is suave and silky, like the sheets wrapped around your bodies. His sharp tongue moves smoothly, makes you wine against him. He is your drink of choice, you would choose him, every day, every night.

Hoseok is club drinks on a friday night. Expensive and sweet, designer, rich. Hands moving your swaying body to the music, his hot breath against your temple. He is the life of the party, he lifts you up, excites you, makes your palms sweat and your body pulse. You laugh too loudly, dance too closely, look into each others' eyes, neon club lights shining within his dark gaze. If he's a bad decision, you don't care, if this high lasts only for tonight, you don't mind, because his wide grin and close body delights your senses, and by the way he looks at you and holds you possessively, you just know, next weekend you will indulge again.

Jimin is Soju. Friends at home, homemade dinner and a full case you intend to finish. You go shot for shot, wanting to see more of the side he only shows when his walls are worn down, when you have enough liquid courage to encourage him. You knock into each other, bodies like magnets, impossible to pull away, hands lingering for much longer than either of you intend. You lean into him when he hugs you in jest. He tickles you, to tease you, but also because he wants to feel your suppleness, needs to hear your sweet laughter, wants to watch you writhing and gasping. The reasons why you can’t keep your hands away are ignored, too shy to speak them. Even when he kisses you, you pretend it’s the alcohol talking, even when you pull him in by the neck, you blame the empty bottles. But you can’t deny, you’re not a drinker, and he’s the taste you crave.

Taehyung is white wine on a starry night. Smooth notes sung against your cheek, smile tickling your ear, hands around your waist, deep soft chuckles and eyes watching you instead of the stars. A galaxy in his irises that spreads warmth down your body, wholly intoxicated by his presence. There's a deep sense of belonging as your lips sip his love slowly, as you take your time savoring your moments with him, like this life with him was meant to be romanticized, cherished, celebrated at every waking moment. A blanket, cheese, bread, his jacket around your shoulders and Taehyung, always the perfect accompaniment.

Jungkook is a glass of cold beer. Solo cups in the kitchen, shy eyes meeting each other above the rim. Foam on his lip licked away and youthful charm about him. Exploring eyes that lead to exploring hands and exploring lips. Bodies pressed tightly to one another as you speak, cupped hands over ears, teasing each other, flirtatious dares, propositions spoken through slurred smiles. You didn't notice how strong of a connection it was until you were knocked off your feet by him. You sit in a foreign bedroom, kissing and spilling, fingers dipping into one another's cup, a sloppy game of passion and giggles. The music dulls when you're having a taste of each other, your body numb by the pleasure he pours into you. Tomorrow morning when you wake up with matching bruises, your cups empty but your hearts now full, the memories will be hazy, but you'll still feel it, that strong connection that has you both questioning just how bad you're addicted.

[masterlist|as kisses|as holidays]

[sirdolraan]

Last Call

(( DWC August 2024 Day 7, Enigma/Victory, CW: None; @daily-writing-challenge ))

Lorellai flounced down on the bed of the room she was sharing with the other ladies, feeling still tired from all the work but relieved by the shower she'd just had. She idly watched as magical brushes and washboards tended to her and everyone's gear over in the corner, quite a bit different from the devices her dad had made back home. Handy though, it meant she could just lie there, ache a bit, and think about things. She'd really enjoyed her chat with Dagran, and wouldn't mind talking to him again, but the idea of crossing Moira sent a chill down her spine worse than when she'd come face to face with the villains out in the dragon isles.

"At least she's on our side, I guess." Lorellai said to no one in particular, as there was a knock at the door. She groaned, not wanting to move, but also not wanting word to get back to her mum that she'd been impolite. Begrudgingly, she slid off the bed and headed to the door, opening it up. "Can I help y-" she said, stopping short as she processed what she saw.

"Ah, miss Truthhammer, my mother and I were wondering if you'd care to join us for lunch?" Dagran said, his mother not far behind him, looking, well, as grumpy as she'd ever been when Lorellai saw her.

"I will say only this." Moira started, taking her seat at the head of the table as her attendants brought in their meal. "I apologize for my rudeness to you. My feud with your father is nae your responsibility, and I will not have it said that I am encouraging our people's tendencies towards long lasting grudges. By all reports you have shown yourself to be an upstanding citizen, which I choose to attribute to your mother's influence."

"Uh... I mean," Lorellai stammered, trying desperately to remember the etiquette lessons her parents had tried to get her to pay more than a moment's interest in while she was growing up. "Thank you for your kind words, yer Majesty, uh, let there be nae quarrel between us," she ventured, at least sixty percent sure that was the appropriate phrasing.

"I'm glad we could clear that up," Dagran said, taking up a fork and spearing some salad. "There's enough conflict in the world without opening old wounds, I think. Please, relax miss Truthhammer, this is a friendly lunch after all! Please, tell us how things have been going out in the field!"

Elsewhen, a portal illuminated Spiru as she went over her list. She'd already made emotionally satisfactorily farewells with the SI:7 team and the Shado-pan she'd befriended, without alerting them to the strange temporal nature of her situation, and now all that was left was to gather the belongings she'd been informed were safe to keep and prepare them for her journey. "Hi there Spiru!" Chromie said, hopping on a chair beside her. "All ready for the big day?"

"I believe I am, Chromie," Spiru replied, closing and buckling the bag, before gathering up her hair to restore her usual ponytail. "All my farewells have been said, and my keepsakes are ready for travel. Has all been settled on your end?"

"It sure has! Nozdormu was a little hesitant at first, but when Eternus and I showed him everything we saw, he agreed that this was a situation where the rules could be bent enough to tip the scales in Azeroth's favor. Now, you said you have everything, do you remember your introduction?"

Spiru gave Chromie a flat look. "You've had me rehearsing it for three days. I am ready."

"Great!" Chromie said, checking an ornate hourglass, "Because it's time! Good luck in the Prime-Time-Line!" Chromie yelled, shoving Spiru suddenly through a bronze portal that opened behind her. As it closed, Chromie dusted her hands. "Another job done by the amazing Chromie!... no, that's not gonna catch on. Back to the drawing board..."

Spiru spiralled through the sands of time, before emerging in a stone room next to a table with several surprised dwarves. Spying Lorellai Truthhammer (three centimeters taller than Chromie had mentioned, hope that's not a problem), she launched into her prepared words. "My name is Spiru Handycog. I have been sent by Chromie to join your fight to protect Azeroth and follow the Radiant Song. In five minutes this entire city will be under attack, you need to get your gear ready."

"What is going on-" Moira's demanding question was interrupted by a loud klaxon.

"Attention, Citizens of Dalaran!" Khadgar's voice rang out throughout the streets. "Prepare for Civic Teleportation. Return to your homes or emergency shelters immediately. I repeat, citizens of Dalaran, prepare for Civic Teleportation!"

As the message and klaxon continued, Lorellai quickly wiped her face with a napkin. "Timely, we'll discuss later. Excuse me your majesty, I must gather my gear."

"We shall return to Magni's side. Come Dagran." Moira declared, rising from her chair.

"Fight well, Champion Lorellai!" Dagran declared, before following his mother out the far door as Lorellai took the nearer exit to return to the dorm, new acquaintance and perhaps friend in tow.

Things were about to get exciting.

[mincedpeaches]

Transformers One post

Okay FIRST off I have to say. Sentinel Prime. He was everything. Blue and gold color scheme, with gorgeous gold WINGS. The most obvious villain in existence, but still kind of charms with his first overly friendly reaction to Megs and OP. The scene were he killed Alpha Trion: SERVING. Arachnid being his fag hag. I'm kind of obsessed.

Anyway. I just got back. Walked into the movie theater at 7pm in business casual since I came from work (after a quick detour to pick up dinner to sneak in). I say I want a ticket for Transformers. The teller goes "just one?" with a just barely perceptible bit of puzzlement. I say yup and proceed to have the entire theater to myself. Because no one is taking their kids to see Transformers One on a school night at 7:15pm. And I came alone. 👍

Of course I had fun. The humor I'd say was like 75/25 for me. I had some chuckles and laughs. For kid humor I thought it was really good.

Once again I kind of struggle to conceptualize what it would be like to be watching it as a fresh face though, and someone NOT well versed in transformers canon and lore. Like of course I (metaphorically) barked and clapped my hands like a seal when I saw Transformers I recognized but had no real lines. But a normal kid isn't really gonna care about that.

Anyway, again. It's late for me and I'm trying to get thoughts down now. What else. Let's try rapid fire all over the place.

Loved Elita's whole career woman thing and REALLY loved her "I'm better than you" bit because A) woman after my own heart and B) we love some unironic "girls rule boys drool" style feminism in this house. and I'm so serious.

I don't want to reduce Arachnid to just Sentinel's fag hag either because she also ruled. Her helicopter design looked siiick. The extra eyes on the front of her face and they way they moved independently was also sick. The way she was always yelling when she was stabbing guys was also kinda funny. (The way they used her eyes "seeing everything" to expose video of Sentinel, SOMEHOW, was actually kinda dumb. But don't worry about it.)

The way the trains and roads appeared in front of the train/driver looked really cool.

The scene where Optimus was dead and was floating into the heart of Cybertron, conversely, looked bad.

When it was first revealed in the movie promo content that Optimus was also going to be a miner alongside Megatron, while I wasn't as disappointed as the average tfp simp, I did think it was kinda of a bummer. That being said, it actually fucking RULED how Optimus was a miner. Ever since the introduction of oppressed bots into the tf canon, it was always this post. But in THIS canon Optimus is right there with Megs being oppressed and Optimus is the one that's fighting for social change, while Megatron is towing the line until he learns its all a lie. And once they learn its a lie, Optimus is still advocating for that change, and meanwhile Megatron is just really pissed off and down to get revenge and murder. I remember when I watched Siege and my conclusion was "hey guys, you can just do Autobots Good Deceptions Bad"! Well guess what. they DID that here, to great affect.

That being said..... it did make the megop slightly less tasty. 😔 Autobots Good Deceptions Bad generally requires a goofier, more G1 style favoring of megop. The scene were Megatron drops Optimus into the pit is very befitting of him being evil but if he's already willing to genuinely kill Optimus this early? It does not bode well for the homoeroticism.

Also what this movie loses in not having the Megatron be a liberator is how he gets followers. The Deceptions being the old high council is such a odd thing. Sure they'd want to get rid of Sentinel now, but it's odd to think of them with their whole "the strongest bot rules" thing (or whatever it was, I forget the exact line but you get the gist) but wouldn't they have been working for the other Primes before Sentinel? Who were ostensibly the good guys? Why would they all join up with Megs after getting rid of Sentinel, when Megs goals are seemingly going to shape up to be "just killin everyone". Where would the Council's bloodlust be coming from? Maybe its a political party thing, the Prime Left vs the Council Right lol. Or maybe I missed something. Also side note is funny how Starscream had them all languishing in cowardice when I all I could think the same thoughts I had when a very similar thing happened in IDW's Spotlight Megatron, which was: "come on, it can't all be Starscream's fault. the other guys like Soundwave are competent right. why aren't guys like Soundwave doing shit."

Also may I say. HUGE ups to the timescale in this movie. It's been "50 cycles" since the quint war and if Megs and Optimus were born after it then they're 50 "cycles" old at most. And I missed it but I think Alpha Trion says the war went on for "hundreds and hundreds" of cycles. Four millions year naps? We don't know her!

Bumblebee was the kid appeal guy of course, but it wasn't too grating to me. What I think also helped is alot of the slightly awkward-to-me humor was already in the trailers. So I was prepared for it.

Finally, when Megatron generates his canon. Oooo big sexy.

I enjoyed myself alot! Of course its for kids but that at least wasn't to it's detriment. And it made me want to go look up some toys so. A SUCCESS on the only front Hasbro really cares about, lol.

[i-did-not-mean-to]

ℍ𝕠𝕟𝕖𝕤𝕥 𝕞𝕒𝕟

The people have spoken in this poll.

Here is the Bonus chapter to my TSF (S)wiped out.

True to the spirit of the story, the title is a song title. (Honest Man by Ben Platt)

Words: 4.8 k (I've tried to make it worth your while)

Characters: Thorin x Bilbo

Warnings: Some internalised homophobia, some insecurity, a kiss

Bilbo looked up in surprise when Thorin ambled into the bar on a Thursday night, dressed to the nines, and holding a pitiful bouquet of daisies in his broad hands.

“Did one of the ladies convince you after all?” he asked and almost set the glass he was drying down beside the counter in his puzzlement; there was a sick, unhappy feeling in the pit of his stomach that he didn’t want to investigate.

It was but surprise, he tried to tell himself. He had been at the garden party, and he had seen the women completely forget about Thorin within half an hour of their arrival.

At least the first date was having a good time, drinking Dwalin under the table, while the sopping wet cat of a lady had been utterly engrossed in telling her whole life story to a very sympathetic looking Ori who had awkwardly patted her hand at regular intervals.

“She’ll get him to marry him before the day is over,” Bilbo had whispered.

Visibly surprised, Thorin had narrowed his eyes and shrugged. “Better him than me, I’d say.”

“It’s not the crystal-peddling one, is it?” Bilbo now asked and shuddered at the thought of the woman who had been kicked out from the festivities after conning Kíli into buying a whole stock of utterly useless stones and oils.

“What?” Thorin blushed; he had not listened to a word Bilbo had said because he was so relieved to see a friendly face. “What about her? I’m sure she’s in jail or in an institution by now—ask me if I care.”

“Do you care?” Bilbo complied with a crooked grin.

“No, maybe the dragon lady can get her off lightly—why are we talking about my failed dates again? It’s done, it’s over—Dís had a funeral for my potential and we’ve all wept.” Thorin gave a short bark of laughter and gingerly put the flowers down on the counter in front of Bilbo.

“Either way, Bofur has invited the last one to an exposition on doilies,” he then explained slowly. “He was so thankful for the introduction that he…his cousin has a restaurant, did you know?”

Sniggering, Bilbo shook his head. He had been delighted to meet Thorin’s friends and family, but he was far from remembering everyone who had attended the garden party, let alone recall what they did for a living.

“So, I’ve got a reservation—very sought after, I’ll have you know—courtesy of Bofur…and I wanted to invite you.”

Picking up the same glass again and polishing exactly one hand width of the rim, Bilbo stared at Thorin in confusion. “Me?” he finally squeaked. “Why?”

“You’re the only good thing that has come out of this ordeal,” Thorin admitted sheepishly. “You had my back through the whole thing, and I wanted to show my…gratitude.” It was but half a lie, a euphemism really, he told himself encouragingly as he saw Bilbo’s face cycle through a multitude of contradicting feelings within a few seconds.

“Would it be too sad to invite your sister for dinner?” Bilbo quipped, but his voice was a little unsteady on the delivery of the snarky undertone.

“Oh, if I have to sit through another evening with a demanding, dissatisfied, disapproving female anytime soon, I’ll run mad,” Thorin groaned, “be she my sister or the currently reigning Miss Universe.”

“All right then,” Bilbo agreed, forcing his cheery nonchalance to the surface with all his might. “I reckon it cannot do me any harm to eat in another establishment for once. When is your reservation? I’ll see if I am free.”

“Whenever you are free,” Thorin replied just a little too fast and too fervently. “I’ve not settled a date yet—I wanted to check with you when you’d be available.”

Bilbo blushed furiously. It hit him like a ton of bricks that Thorin had not invited him because he had not found anybody else to go with him on a particular night—he had wanted Bilbo specifically to spend the evening with him in a fancy restaurant and had taken precautions in his planning of the outing to make it so.

Having watched Thorin jump through every imaginable flaming hoop in the name of being a good date, Bilbo of course knew how dedicated the other man was to these things, but he had never considered the possibility of ever being on the receiving end of such generosity and kindness himself.

“Tomorrow? I can find someone to man the fort for me—I’ve not taken time off in years, I think I deserve that,” Bilbo mused out loud.

“Tomorrow it is,” Thorin said, confident that he’d get a table for the next day. Bilbo could appreciate and even envy that kind of self-assurance and faith.

“Do I meet you there or…”

“I can pick you up here or…”

Lifting a slightly trembling hand to his burning cheeks, Bilbo scribbled his home address on a cocktail napkin and handed it over jerkily—it was surprisingly hard to pry his fingers off the cheap paper though.

“Shall we say 7 o’clock?” Thorin asked, his eyes gleaming with triumph and boundless joy.

Bilbo nodded, feeling increasingly like a wooden doll that had been turned into a real boy unexpectedly.

“Good, I am looking forward to it. Wear something nice!” Thorin chirped and turned to the door without having ordered a drink; usually, this went against the house rules and would have merited a stern scolding by Bilbo but, on this one occasion, the flustered barkeeper decided to make an exception.

“Thorin!” he called faintly. “You do know that I am gay, right?”

There, it was out. Bilbo thought that it had been implied and referenced often enough for Thorin to get the hint, but he wanted to make absolutely sure that neither one of them was misconstruing what would happen the next day.

“Hmmm,” Thorin hummed over his shoulder, winking at Bilbo with a flash of charisma he had not lavished liberally on his female dates. “That’s why I brought you flowers. There are more where those came from, you know?”

“I love flowers,” Bilbo exclaimed passionately before he could remember his good manners and remind himself not to look overeager or spoiled.

“Then you shall have them,” Thorin grinned. “See you tomorrow!”

Bilbo snarled like a feral creature at this wardrobe; the old, weathered wood did not think his frustration worthy of a reply though and merely kept gaping at the fool its owner was making of himself out of its open drawers and doors.

“Wear something nice,” he muttered under his breath as he discarded the cream-coloured shirt he had been wearing for the last 5 minutes—he had given that one a longer chance than the five that had been tried and rejected before.

Picking up the third shirt again, he eyed it suspiciously. He liked the rich green colour and the fabric felt nice under his fingertips, but the cut was rather unfortunate as it would allow Thorin to see the smidgen of pudge he had not been able to get rid of. Pilates and conscious eating be damned!

Thorin was not a monster, he tried to remind himself; he had sat through dates with five women who had looked very different from one another, and he had not cancelled or aborted any of his meetings on account of their appearance.

Surely, he would not hold the negligible lack of perfect fitness against a man he had mainly seen only partially as Bilbo tended to hide behind the bar whenever he got flustered.

Nevertheless, Bilbo wanted to look his best, lest Thorin suspect that he was taking this date less than seriously. Maybe, he thought uncertainly, that would actually be for the better—just in case the brooding beauty had merely joked about the flowers.

Better not get his foolish hopes up! And he should hurry. And he had forgotten to comb his curls after the shower and now they had dried in a tangled mess. And it was almost time. And he had not even started on the trousers…

Just as he was about to have a panic attack on account of all the things he had clearly not considered well enough beforehand, Bilbo was interrupted in his downward spiral by the sound of his doorbell being rung.

Necessity and urgency made him jump into a nice pair of light brown trousers and pull the tight, green shirt over his unkempt head while shuffling towards the front door.

“Oh hey,” he huffed as he pulled it open, feeling like a proper romance novel hero.

Instead of the expected face—chiselled, bearded, and gleaming with mischief—he looked into a luscious bouquet of multi-coloured flowers.

“Good evening. Am I early?”

Checking his wristwatch and suppressing another groan, Bilbo assured Thorin that he was right on time. “I had a hard time choosing what to wear. Is this nice enough?”

The flowers were lowered instantly, and the electrifying glow of those startlingly blue eyes washed over a woefully agitated Bilbo appreciatively. “Absolutely perfect,” Thorin praise and extended his elbow to Bilbo. “Shall we?”

“2 minutes,” Bilbo promised, took the flowers, and dashed into the kitchen to put them into a vase. As he heard Thorin rummaging in the foyer, he allowed himself to bury his face in their fragrant beauty for a short moment before running back out and valiantly trying to slip into both his shoes at the same time.

“Don’t let my eagerness put any pressure on you,” Thorin said kindly. “We have time. I just thought we’d go there early so you can order the most complicated cocktail on the menu and watch someone else make it.”

“I am hardly that pitiless,” Bilbo snorted and shot back up as if pulled by a string. “I am all ready. Let’s go!”

In the end, Thorin did convince Bilbo to order a fancy cocktail while ordering a beer for himself.

“Bottle of that one,” Bilbo tapped the fancy card laid out in front of him, “I’ve seen what you’ve got on tap, and I think this one will be much better appreciated!”

The barkeeper stared at him for a moment before shrugging and complying.

“Ah, to have one’s own barkeeper,” Thorin sighed contentedly. “This is already a better date than any of the others!”

“Glad to be of service,” Bilbo laughed and moved the basket with peanuts resolutely out of Thorin’s reach. “You’re snacking me out of a home,” he explained with a wink, “and we’re here to have dinner, so I won’t let you ruin your appetite by gorging yourself on nuts! They only put those out because they make you thirsty.”

Staring longingly at the snack, Thorin nodded nonetheless and turned his hungry, intense gaze fully on Bilbo.

While waiting for their table to be ready, they talked about their families, their friends, and their plans in life.

“I’ve always wanted to work with people, you know? I love the bar, but it’s not as if that was all I’ve ever dreamed of…” Bilbo said dreamily, berating himself only vaguely for having downed that cocktail much too fast on an empty stomach—he rarely indulged in alcohol himself as it made him emotional and much too honest.

“I know a guy who works in construction,” Thorin replied candidly. “If you ever want to expand the business, I can give you his card.”

“Sure thing,” Bilbo giggled and leaned back, only to realise—a moment too late—that the barstool did not have a backrest. A broad, strong hand kept him from toppling from his chair though and then, Thorin’s warm breath ghosted along the shell of his ear as he pushed a discreet card over.

“That is your card,” Bilbo snorted after a single glance. “Couldn’t you simply have given me your number?”

“After all the time you’ve spend fiddling with my phone, I think you could have simply saved yours in it!” Thorin shot back, a bit miffed.

“How do you know that I didn’t?”

“I’ve checked.”

There was not much Bilbo could say to that. “All right,” he grinned and pocketed the card. “I’ll call you. About the expansion. And other things. Depending on how this evening goes…No, actually, I think I’ll call you anyway, if only to yell at you!”

“Deal,” Thorin quipped and nodded at someone across the room. “The table is ready.”

Surprise and amazement surged within Bilbo as soon as he saw it—there were slim, white candles and pale pink roses. This truly was a table laid for an intimate date rather than a friendly dinner, and he couldn’t keep his cheeks from warming visibly.

For a single heartbeat, the world seemed to stop in its tracks and every truth he had ever accepted placidly slid out of place—Bilbo suddenly longed for more. He wanted to be brave enough to turn around and simply kiss Thorin, in front of a full restaurant and his extended family, he wanted to expand his business into serving real food and maybe even offering a few rooms for rent, he wanted more than the comfortable life of a well-liked bachelor. He wanted this—this table, this atmosphere, this man—forever.

And then, that uniquely fragile and heart-wrenching moment passed, and they went back to discussing everything and nothing.

When the first course was served, Thorin realised that there had not been a single uncomfortable silence in their conversation and that he felt relaxed and happy instead of tense and miserable in a potentially romantic setting which was the first time in long years.

“So, no news from your ladies?” Bilbo circled back to the subject that haunted him.

“Hmmm? Oh yes, some keep me posted about their life. I am a great listener and a cool friend to have,” Thorin replied easily, snatching a piece of bread out of the basket Bilbo had tried to move out of his direct line of sight.

“I know,” Bilbo commented dryly and gave the breadbasket back with an apologetic shrug.

“It’s all the same,” Thorin explained slowly between bites, “friendship and love, I mean. Most of the time, it just doesn’t click and then you’re better off as friends, wouldn’t you agree? No need to throw the baby out with the bathwater.”

Bilbo nodded cautiously. “Do you think the opposite can happen as well? Falling in love with a friend?”

Instantly, Thorin’s eyes lit up like a chemical fire. “Isn’t that the dream? Falling in love with a friend and being loved back? That’s what dreams are made of!”

For someone who had just dragged himself through his dates as if bearing a calvary, Bilbo thought. Thorin seemed very convinced of his theory and enthusiastic about the prospect that such a thing could happen to anyone.

“So, there’s still a chance for some of them?” Bilbo couldn’t believe his own words—why couldn’t he just let it go?

“No way,” Thorin immediately assured him. “Romantic, then platonic, then romantic again? I’m afraid that goes a bit too far. No, I just want to find someone I am comfortable with.”

He should not have agreed to the delicious bottle of wine Thorin had ordered and from which a discreet waiter kept filling up their glasses, Bilbo realised at the very moment his treacherous tongue went off like a shot. “Indeed,” he heard himself say, “I am convinced that you deserve so much better than these women. None of them has even tried to get to know you or has cared even one bit about whether you wanted a refill or were hungry, or bored, or uncomfortable.”

His voice kept growing louder and more animated and yet, Thorin merely grinned at him as if his clumsy rant was pure poetry. He looked so handsome in his white button-down and dark trousers that Bilbo somehow couldn’t stop himself from complaining about how he thought none of the women deserved a second chance as they had failed to express the appropriate level of appreciation for the kind, handsome, and charming man with whom they had had the honour of spending the evening.

“My glass was always full,” Thorin reminded Bilbo gently, “thanks to you. Moreover, you’ve healed my heart by pouring all the compliments you apparently thought I missed out on upon my undeserving head right now.” His sturdy hand came to rest on Bilbo’s pacifyingly. “They are no longer important; let’s talk about something pleasant instead. Did you like your flowers?”

“Of course,” Bilbo replied and nodded his head so vehemently that his curls fanned out like a golden halo. “That was a very nice gesture. What would you like to discuss then?”

Pressing his lips together to prevent any stupid, premature outburst to ruin his chances, Thorin collected his thoughts for a moment; he was astonished and delighted to notice that he had indeed learned something during the martyrdom of his recent dating history.

He also found that he didn’t really care at all—his tense shoulders relaxed, and his smile softened gradually as the stress of the last weeks just melted away. “Anything is fine by me, anything but them. What do you have planned for this weekend?”

“Work,” Bilbo snorted. “As any other day. I’ve thought about maybe trying to get a Sunday brunch thing going.” He tapped a finger against his plush, inviting lips pensively.

Thorin’s eyebrows travelled up his forehead as a new idea took hold in his head. “If I come by to look around the premises and tell you what is possible in terms of expansion, I’d take a test-brunch as my payment.”

“Is that so?” Bilbo cocked his head. “It would only be you and me though.”

“It’s only you and me now,” Thorin commented astutely. “Just the way I like things, as it turns out!”

“Well, then, by all means, be my guest. I’ll prepare a spread for you that you won’t forget!”

Somehow, Thorin did not doubt that for a single second. Bilbo was a man who truly enjoyed food; he had become the mesmerised witness of the profound and otherworldly pleasure his guest could take in a well-prepared meal, and he yearned to see that blissed-out expression on Bilbo’s soft, mobile features more often.

There were many things he longed for, now that he came to think of it: the amused little side-glance Bilbo gave him when he got extraordinarily huffy about something utterly irrelevant, the beaming smile a slightly buzzed Bilbo cracked whenever Thorin said something even remotely funny, and—more than anything else—the quiet gaze of solidarity and affection he had caught from the corner of his eye at times. Somehow, Bilbo seemed to intrinsically feel or know just what was needed to save Thorin from a disagreeable situation or an extended session of senseless brooding.

“Any allergies?” Bilbo asked, interrupting Thorin’s realisation that he could not remember ever having enjoyed a date half as much as this dinner.

“Hmm? No…sorry, I was miles away in my thoughts.”

“I could tell. Are you tired, do you want to skip dessert?” Bilbo asked gently, patting Thorin’s hand to make him understand that he was neither angry nor disappointed. “I feel like I’ve eaten my own weight already anyway.”

“Maybe,” Thorin replied with a wink, “next time? I have been told that Bombur’s chocolate soufflé is to die for.”

Bilbo’s eyes lit up at the word “soufflé” and, true to his nature, he didn’t need any more convincing or coaxing after that.

“By the way, I am not tired, no,” Thorin said when he saw a thickly laden spoon full of gooey deliciousness be ensconced firmly between Bilbo’s lips. “I was just thinking how much I like being here with you.”

“You don’t think I am a gluttonous pig?” Bilbo mouthed around his spoon, his eyes twinkling with good cheer and sugar-fuelled ecstasy.

“I don’t,” Thorin assured him; he had never given the gender of his potential partners much thought before. He had always surmised that he was just the kind of man who was only attractive to a select group of people that kept dwindling fast as the years went by—that set had been comprised of mainly women by chance or accident thus far, and Thorin had had no say in the matter or reason to contest that.

If that was about to change now, he thought placidly, he wouldn’t object to changing his habits and adapt his expectations to the reality of his prospects and desires.

Never in a thousand years would he have presumed to find such a comfortable and yet exciting potential lover in a surprisingly prim barkeeper with a wicked sense of humour and a deep love for flavourful food. Bilbo evidently loved life and—seeing him celebrate others’ successes without reticence or envy—reminded Thorin of how much he had sacrificed throughout his own existence.

“You make me feel alive,” he confessed, “the way you eat, the way you talk, the way you smile at me. It’s as if you could turn back the time and make me believe that it’s not too late for me to be happy. Is that cheesy?”

“Yes,” Bilbo nodded, licking his spoon, “but I love cheese. Actually, the olives they served with the bread. Do you know where they get them from?”

“They pickle or brine or marinate them themselves,” Thorin replied sheepishly. “I do not know. I am a mediocre cook.” That was a bold lie; his cooking was positively awful, but he didn’t want Bilbo to know. After this charming evening, Thorin would crawl to his sister and implore her to impart her valuable wisdom to redress that flaw as soon as he could.

“Hmmm, I wonder if they’d share the recipe,” Bilbo mused aloud. For a moment, Thorin was taken in by his casual musings, but then he realised that Bilbo’s eyes were just a smidgen too feverish now even though his initial inebriation had worn off long since.

“What is the matter?”

“Are you playing me, Thorin?” Bilbo asked in a quiet, shivering voice. “I am not like those women; I don’t put my heart on the line recklessly.”

“I am not. Why do you say that?”

“I’ve watched you go on dates with 5 women in about as many weeks,” Bilbo exclaimed, clapping his hand over his trembling lips when a few other stragglers turned to him in startled surprise or outright annoyance. “I…Do you even…”

“I don’t care,” Thorin said firmly, the conviction that he was on the right track constantly growing within his heart. “I just know that you make me feel good about the world, life, and myself. When you’re around, everything seems a little brighter and less fatal than I’ve always thought it’d be, and I want that in my life.”

“A friend,” Bilbo muttered. “I can be your friend—you’re an amazing person to be around and you’re, as always, too hard on yourself. You’re actually not so bad yourself and you’ve been the only source of entertainment these last few weeks—I really have to get something new going to spruce the old dig up.”

Me, Thorin thought desperately. In his mind, he could see it—a crystal clear vision of perfect bliss. He’d come to the bar after work and sit by the counter, telling Bilbo about his day.

His friends could come, and maybe his disastrous dates could become regulars as well, who knew? He certainly wouldn’t mind keeping them in his life as casual acquaintances.

Saturday sessions on the job site, Sunday brunches. Everything—his plans of letting his nephews slowly take over more important clients and bear more responsibility in the firm as well as Bilbo’s designs for his own place—suddenly made sense.

Despite the late hour, Thorin felt invigorated and refreshed as after a long and restful night.

“Bilbo,” he interrupted the frantic babbling about avocado toast and different swatches of pastel colours gently but firmly. “I am not asking you to be my friend.”

Thorin took out his wallet and left a generous tip, knowing that Bombur would send the actual bill to his office for discretion purposes. “Let’s go; it’s a fine night and I think we could both do with a little digestive walk, don’t you think?”

Nodding dumbly, Bilbo allowed himself to insert his hand into the crook of Thorin’s elbow and be led out of the fancy, by now almost entirely empty, restaurant as if he was indeed the guest of honour of the night. A soppy smile struggled to take hold of his mouth and distort it into an unforgivably silly expression of emotion, but he managed to bite it back just in time as Thorin’s luminous gaze fell upon his face.

“Oh, you were made to be seen under the stars,” Bilbo whispered as all the blues, blacks, and silvers of Thorin’s complexion melted into the background of a starry night sky to create an ephemeral work of art that was painted by the hands of fate just for his own momentary enjoyment. “If only I had known—I’d opened the outdoor seating for your dates.”

“Humbug,” Thorin chuckled. “They’d have fallen ill and I’d have had to foot the bill for their medical expenses. Thank you, but no, thank you.”

Steering Bilbo confidently, he took him to an outlook platform over a small river and they felt the cool night air make their hair dance in the fragrant breeze. The whole scene felt absolutely magical and otherworldly to Bilbo who sighed longingly under his breath.

“As much as I love your bar,” Thorin said in a low, vibrating voice, “there are many places I’d want to take a date outside of it. This is but one of those.”

Bilbo hummed patiently, turning up his face to bask in the beauty of his companion—he had only ever seen Thorin in the pub and, now that he had spent a whole evening with him, he had to agree. Indeed, he himself desired to see Thorin in other contexts: illuminated by flickering candlelight and bathed in the pale gleam of the moon, sitting in the blazing afternoon sun…and waking up to the first, shy rays of the nascent morning.

“I think,” Thorin went on, lifting his hand to grip Bilbo’s chin tenderly between his thumb and crooked index, “that I want to take you to those places. Are you game? You don’t have to…I mean…There’s no need to spare my feelings now out of pity only to break my heart later.”

Instantly, Bilbo’s own heart started throbbing in empathy and affection; Thorin had experienced so much rejection and disappointment lately that he came to simply expect that things would end badly for him.

Nonetheless, he had been brave enough to try something completely different and ask out someone who was not at all in the usual pool of potential partners for him—and he had done marvellously. Bilbo could not remember having ever gone on such a beautiful and utterly bewitching date before, and every fibre of his being dreaded the end of this night.

What if it had all been a dream?

“I’d love that,” he replied breathlessly, resolving to match Thorin’s reckless courage and giving in to foolish hope against all odds.

“Good,” Thorin grinned winningly.

A moment later, his lips—warm and sensual—brushed against Bilbo’s in a tentative kiss that felt like a caress and tasted sweet and refreshing like a splash of spring water.

Damn it, Bilbo thought hazily, and threw his arms around Thorin’s neck, giving his massive frame a vigorous tug until they collided in the stillness of the picturesque night scene like two meteors burning across the endless black backdrop.

Their kiss turned feverish, thrumming with words unspoken and questions unasked, while their hands roamed forcefully and desperately across each other’s backs and sides as if in search of something to hold on to as the world spun out of focus.

“I’ll come by on Sunday,” Thorin promised as he finally pulled back; his face radiated with joy in the ambient obscurity and his thumbs brushed caressingly against Bilbo’s shivering ribs. “And I’ve changed my mind about the price of my consultation. A brunch, yes, but also about two thousand more of these kisses. Generous as I am, I shall let you pay them off by regular instalments."

"Sounds like a deal,” Bilbo agreed, dizzy with relief and anticipation. “How about you come by Saturday night and allow me to make a down payment after closing time?”

“Ah, you’ve got a sound mind for business,” Thorin cackled, pulling Bilbo into a tight, warm embrace and leaning his bearded cheek against the top of the curly head of the shorter man tenderly. “I can see that we’ll get along just fine.”

@lordoftherazzles, @mysandwichranaway thank you for your encouragement and your support.

Lots of love from me!

And all my gratitude to the Bagginshielders for having voted so fervently for their OTP; I hope I could bring this story to a satisfactory close for y'all.

[garmgeyr]

Introduction & Interaction Notes

// Hello hello, Ree here with a second muse o/ I couldn't resist joining the HSR boom, but more importantly, I wanted to get elbow-deep in Penacony's history and worldbuilding. I've been in love with this planet and its cast since 2.0, but Penacony's founding figures are by and large my favorites.

To kick things off, as GH was first a Genshin RPC, I thought that it might be helpful to write some sort of brief (lmao) overview for interacting with Gallagher with Teyvat muses and muns who haven't played HSR in mind. This character is a little (a lot) complicated as of 2.2, but I have both a spoiler and spoiler-free summary. All of this is also written up on this blog's notes page.

Spoiler Free (if you haven’t played HSR’s story through 2.2)

You can find Gallagher just about anywhere in Penacony's dreamscape. He has the uncanny tendency to show up at just the right moment. However, all threads with him will need to take place in the dreamscape and/or within the Asdana system for story reasons. Fortunately, Penacony’s dreamscapes are massive. There’s plenty to do.

The impression he gives off is that of a tired, middle-aged man, but he’s generally friendly toward visitors. Inexplicably, characters will believe him to be reliable from the moment they meet him, and - unconsciously or not - will trust him as one of Penacony’s security officers. He’s also a drinksmith, which he clearly enjoys more.

I base my characterization mostly on his JP VA’s performance, who slurs his words more to sell the image of a drunk old man. Gallagher himself says that he’s been called a number of names, “drunk” included, so this trait is free game for any character to comment on. He also tends to lean more crass and blunt than the ENG loc.

There’s little else you need to know about him prior to an interaction. Let him make you a drink and spin you a few stories.

Spoiler Version (if you’re caught up with HSR as of 2.2 and/or just don’t care about spoilers)

FITTING GALLAGHER INTO GH

Gallagher is implied to disappear at the end of 2.2 because of the concept that a lie that’s been discovered as a lie can’t exist anymore, assuming that something must be perceived to be true in order to exist in the first place. While the loading screen explicitly says that “Gallagher” breathed his last, he talks in the story as if this isn’t necessarily certain and that it’s beyond his control, so I’m taking this as an excuse to give him an ambiguous period between his last scene in 2.2 and his actual end. He knows that his end is coming, but it hasn’t happened yet. (conversely, he could still exist in the minds of those who never discovered the truth, but “died” in the mind of the player/the Trailblazer, but that theory overly-complicates things so we’re leaving it at this).

Gallagher is a work of fiction, created by a History Fictionologist. As such, he doesn’t technically exist outside of the dreamscape. To get around this and allow him more freedom within GH, different “versions” of Gallagher will be created for different planets and nations in Teyvat. * I'm aware that Penacony itself is unique and the Fictionologist likely can't create different avatars outside of its dreamscape, but this is a compromise between consistency with the game's lore and allowing a recognizable canon character to leave Penacony for GH's purposes. His character stories point to a base personality that seems consistent with that of the Fictionologist’s, so these different versions will more or less have the same personality no matter where they are (I’m not interested in creating OCs, and this goes against GH’s rules anyway). They will also all be some sort of bartender or (retired) security officer. The difference between these versions and the original Gallagher is that they’ll 1) have different names and 2) have different false backstories to suit the environment.

As an Emanator of Enigmata, the fictionologist is capable of influencing an individual’s impression at a memory level, so all versions of Gallagher will appear to the locals like he’s been there all his life. For example, if he were to show up in Mondstadt one day, Mondstadt characters will believe that he’s more or less an unremarkable local, and may even think that they’ve had some meaningful interaction with him before even if this is technically the first time they’ve met. For this reason, I - as the mun - give explicit permission for my partners to use any non-italicized prose in my posts as information that their muse already knows. This would ordinarily go against metagaming etiquette, but this is an experiment I’d like to try.

Even though Gallagher himself is a kaleidoscope of traits gathered from 52 different Family members in Penacony, for the sake of this group, every version of him will retain a similar appearance. But more often than not, you can just imagine him as a “generic older brown-haired, brown-eyed NPC” from the region that the thread is taking place in.

To note, all of the above is specific ONLY to threads taking place outside of Penacony. For some special characters, like the Trailblazer, past memory may allow them to recognize and therefore see Gallagher with his canon appearance.

FOR TEYVAT SPECIFICALLY

History Fictionologists are said to travel the cosmos, altering the history of civilizations in order to change their trajectory into the future. Since Teyvat is hinted to be trapped in some sort of samsara, this gives the fictionologist behind Gallagher an easy reason to want to come check the place out. However, I’m leaving the plotting and scheme designs to the hoyo writers. There will be no underlying plan mentioned here.

NOTES ON WRITING

I’m approaching writing Gallagher as writing the fictionologist acting as Gallagher. Gallagher is a dreamscape avatar, and this can be equated to an online persona. Physically, they are not the same person, but they don’t exist independently of one another. In other words, Gallagher isn’t like the memetic entities in the dreamscape who can develop independent of their creators.

This is, as a result, something of a writing experiment for me. Most of the content in my thread posts will be objective. All details can be known and observed by all characters involved (in other words, no inner monologue or ramblings about Gallagher’s emotions/past that the other character can’t also access). However, I do intend to include occasional snippets from the fictionologist (in interactions where my partner doesn’t mind spoilers), written in italics. These parts cannot be referenced by other muses unless explicitly mentioned by Gallagher himself, in dialogue.

This concept may evolve and change if ever new information is released in canon.

[shirohige-pirates]

Birds of a Feather

CisFem Reader x Marco

CW: Violence, blood, language, adult themes and scenes. 18+ only

Summary: Life has not been kind to you. After a string of bad relationships, you're a little jaded and a little depressed in all honestly. The worst day of your life seems to be the turning point, but the roller coaster ride that follows could either throw you soaring free, or have you caged forever?

Chapter 12: The Firebird

Getting out of the car, you already saw Kid leaning against one of the bay door frames. The day was barely started and he was already covered in grease, shop uniform giving way. Knowing him he’d been working all night and hadn’t slept yet, versus having gotten up early enough to be in that state.

“Usopp here yet?” You call out, heading up to the shop proper, Marco coming up behind you.

“Yep,” Kid answers, squinting against the morning light as he cleans his hand up a little with a rag that’s seen brighter days. “Only just got here though, so you haven’t kept ‘im waiting much, Mouse.”

You roll your eyes and jerk your thumb toward Marco. “Eustass Kid, Newgate Marco,” you step aside as Marco steps up. “Marco, Kid.” You say, finishing your lazy introduction.

“Pleasure.” Marco says, taking Kid’s mostly de-grimed hand and giving it a shake.

“Sure thing.” Kid tilts his head toward the parking lot. “That yours?”

Marco looks back at his car and smiles as he looks back at Kid. “It is.”

“… Lemme put her up on a rack so I can get a good look at ‘er and I got a hood arm for you, no other charge.” Kid offers, still squinting against the light. Looking back and forth between the two of them you realize Marco’s the only person you know who could look Kid in the eye, damn giants.

Somehow Marco looks smaller than Kid, but probably because he’s not nearly as broad.

Marco looks to you and you smile. “I’m not gonna lie, I’ll be under the rack getting my fill too, if you’re okay with it.”

Marco chuckles. “Alright, it’s a solid deal, yoi.” He admits. “I’ll bring the car up. That bay?” He asks, pointing to one that looks like it has a lift in it.

“Yup.” Kid answers, his tone a little more friendly and a little less business.

“I’ll go talk to Usopp while you do that, and get things rolling.” You state, heading into the shop proper to find your car and Usopp.

The young artist is setting up his gear near your car. You start to say something to him, but the sight of your car catches your attention. In several pieces to make it easier for the paint job, everything has been reworked. If it wasn’t for the distinct body style and design of the interior, you’d almost wonder if it was your car.

“We either replaced or refurbished just about everything.” A familiar voice says from behind you. Looking over you see the wild blonde hair of Kid’s childhood friend Killer, one of the co-owners of the shop, poking out from behind the frame of a van with flames down the side of it. He turns to get a better look at you, lifting up his welding mask and giving you a smile.

“We kept what we could, but strictly original parts barely make up 10% of her now.”

“Did you guys redo the entire frame then?” You question, giving a wave to Usopp as Killer comes over to walk you through what they did to the car.

“Just about. You didn’t have near as much rust as we expected to find. Kid might not say so, but you took care of her really well, honestly. The engine had to be scrapped. There wasn’t enough machining to save it, and truthfully, the newer engines are just far too efficient.” Killer starts pointing at a few places while he explains. “Replaced all the clips and lines, new brake assemblies and tires. You got that sky blue base color, so we went with white for the interior. You had that dingy 70s silver before, so Kid didn’t think it was too different to bother saying something before hand.”

“Nah, white’s fine. It’ll be a challenge to keep clean, but y’all do detail jobs, right?”

“A-yup. Heat an’ Wire mostly, but I don’t think you’d hear a single complaint if this was the car they were cleaning.” Killer continues on. “Left the manual windows, and there’s an emergency release for the seat, but we did add fully adjustable controls to the seats.”

“Oh, programmable?” You prompt and Killer tilts his head.

“Here Kid was worried you’d be irritated by technology invading your precious time-capsule.” Killer grunts and you wave him off. “Yeah, you can put things were you want and save three different settings, so have fun with that. It’s still good old fashioned key-bound entry,” he continues on. “Kid says since you won’t have to worry about jumping her with the new, well, everything, that we could set you up with one of those magnetic keys for extra security if you wanted?”

“Hmm, I’ll have to think about it. Restored like this I’m going to have to get a new coverage policy, that’s for sure. It’d be cheaper on my end with the added security of a fancy key like that. Any chance I could have three for this car?”

“Three keys?”

You nod. “For now, one for me, one for the shop, and one for my house, in case I lose the one I keep with me.”

Killer tilts his head a little, and then nods. “I don’t see why not. I think we can order up to four for a single ignition without raising any concerns.”

“Perfect.”

“Whaddya think of her now, Mouse?” Kid asks, coming over to where you are with Marco not far behind.

“I think I’m going to go kick Victoria’s tires if you don’t stop calling me that.” You grumble.

Kid snorts. “Yeah, well, don’t kick Vicky’s tires, or your new car’s tires.” He warns. “Steel-belted, you might actually break a toe.”

“Hells Kid, are the windows bullet proof too? The security on this is already high enough as it is.” You tease, and Kid seems to consider.

“I mean, they could be.” He muses.

“No, no, that’s -,” you pinch the bridge of your nose and shake your head. “Thanks Kid, you guys did a great job.”

“Of which you had no doubt.” Kid retorts. It’d be arrogant, but he and the guys have the skills to back up his statement.

You smile and sigh, seeing no reason to give him an actual response. You turn to Usopp and give him a smile. He’s the only person in the entire shop that isn’t towering over you, it’s refreshing.

“Let’s talk design, Usopp.” You begin cheerfully. “The faster we get on the same page the faster I can look under Marco’s car’s skirt.” You hear Marco cough as Usopp laughs. Pulling a paper out of your pocket you unfold it and hand it off to Usopp. “I was thinking this kind of design.”

Usopp looks at it, looks to your car, and looks back at it. “That’s the original insignia design for the most part, isn’t it?”

You nod. “The expansion of the tail feathers would be unique, and I was thinking, one chain could go down each side of the car, and the third could come down through the headlight assembly?”

He tilts his head and looks back and forth again. “Yeah, I can see it. Do you know what colors you want to go with?”

“I think so. So if we do the outline of the wings in a kind of teal, with a metallic gold accent? I was thinking maybe a less metallic gold and more of a… hmm… dandelion gold for the chains.”

“Hm… rimmed in the metallic gold would be a nice touch.” He offers.

“Ooooh, yeah, that would. If the clear coat was a gloss finish too and not matte that would add to it.” You agree.

You’re too distracted with Usopp to notice, as Marco covers his face with a hand, listening to the two of you talk. Kid notices, looking over at him for a second before looking back at you. He keeps his voice low.

“You alright?”

“Huh? Oh - yeah, yeah. I’m good.”

“Wait, what if we invert the gold and yellow on the chain?” You prompt, and Marco makes a strange pained sound only Kid hears.

“You sure?” Kid presses a little. “If you’re going to hurl in my shop, step outside first.”

“No, I’m fine, yoi.”

Kid’s eyes narrow for a moment, and he seems about to say something when his eyes go wide.

“Oi, Mouse, I’m borrowin’ your boy toy for a minute.” He barks, grabbing Marco’s collar and pulling him away from everyone else.

“Hey, hey, don’t you-!”

“It’s alright.” Marco says, waving you off and giving you a smile as he and Kid go to the other side of the shop.

Your face twists a little, but Killer pats your shoulder. “I’ll keep an eye on ‘im, stay focused with Usopp for a bit.”

“Yeah, thanks Killer.” You murmur, turning back toward Usopp after giving Kid and Marco one more glance. Kid didn’t look happy, but Marco didn’t look bothered, so you did your best to pull your attention back to Usopp.

“The phoenix?!” Kid hisses, caught between disbelief and anger. “You’re Marco the gods-damned phoenix?!”

“Was.” Marco answers flatly. “Twenty years ago. Been a vet for over a decade.”

“The Whitebeard pirates were legendary.” Kid states. He opens and closes his mouth a few times, unsure of what to say. Caught between admiration and disbelief, he finally settles on the only thing that’s coming to mind for him. “Is she in danger?”

“No one’s been safe since Roger tried to right the world.” Marco answers a little more sourly than he means to. “But in danger because of me? No, not so far as I know. We stopped being pirates and the government stopped being a problem. Less trouble to just leave us be, yoi.”

“… Are you really immortal?” Killer asks, looking over his shoulder and giving a thumbs up before turning his attention back to the other two.

“I age,” Marco replies, tilting his head a little. “Past that, I don’t know. Nothing’s even so much as left a scar on me, yoi. But I’m not exactly testing the limits of things by taking care of cats and dogs.” He’s quiet for a moment, rubbing the back of his neck. “I haven’t talked with her about this yet, so I’d prefer-.”

“I’m not going to snitch,” Kid grumbles. “Talking about that stuff’s gotten fuckin’ touchy over the years, and considering mine keeps the shop running smooth I ain’t so stupid as to go around yappin’ about someone else’s business.”

“Happy to have your understanding.” Marco says quietly.

Having finished with Usopp, you came over to the other three, looking a little tentative until Kid waved you over directly.

“We all good?” You prompt, looking from one set of eyes to the next.

Marco smiles. “Exceptionally.”

You narrow your eyes a little and Marco looks taken aback for a second before you turn on Kid. “You didn’t go and do that whole big brother routine, did you?”

Kid rolls his eyes. “The hells would I go and do that? Yer doc’s alright.” He grumbles. “Let’s look under this car before Usopp paint’s the whole damn shop teal an’ gold.”

He pauses for a second, and turns and looks at you. “What made you pick those colors anyway?”

“I don’t know,” you admit, looking back over your shoulder at your car. “Just seemed right.”

[writing-whump]

Isaiah poisoned part 1

Isaiah gets poisoned at an event.

***

Isaiah usually liked parties. Especially the werewolf gatherings taking place at the city hall every weekend.

Staking your claim to the city? Check. Lots of high-ranking wolves with enough skill to act civil? Check. Meeting all kinds of wolf leaders, he could inconspicuously explain whatever trouble he encountered with their pack members that would solve a lot of things if looked at with a cool head? Double check.

These events were rather informally organised, with people just lingering around with a glass of champagne in their best clothes, bumping into each other to whisper about important changes and rumours.

It was polite to come here for an introduction and whenever there was a bigger issue at play. It meant status and meaning if someone came as regularly as Isaiah did. Despite not having a pack, Isaiah was well-accepted here for his role in solving and smoothing conflicts all over the city with hot-headed shadows, territory claims and mindless posturing challenges.

Not to lie, he was hoping to get an official job out of that someday. Maybe finishing his psychology degree would finally make him move up to that step.

Isaiah slithered around the room, chatting, elbowing, smiling and generally enjoying himself, when he spotted Sonny Carter.

Brown hair styled in a purposeful mess, baby blue eyes and a cheeky smile.

"Isaiah! Long time no see," Sonny called cheerfully, hurrying towards him with a dramatic flare.

That was Sonny for you. His shadow was so weak, that he didn't feel like a threat to any pack, which allowed him safe passage through territories and information.

Although loyal to his own pack, naturally, Sonny Carter proved to wolves every day what an advantage it was to have a clear head, without your strong shadow clawing for attention. In a city no less. He turned a weakness into an advantage.

When Isaiah first came into Vienna, he was 18, shaken and lost after all he believed in shattered to pieces and no one he could tell. Sonny Carter, all expensive suits and extravagant ties, showed him the way without making it into a pack debt. Isaiah started to wear suits, found his favourite calm and grinning masks and learned to be himself without looking over his shoulder to the family that made him that way.

"So you heard about the new witch in town? Cause I'm hearing you already visited her, more than twice. It's causing a racket, actually," Sonny said with a smirk.

"Just a friendly acquaintance," Isaiah assured measuredly.

"And spending so much time with that guy...Matthew, was it? The one with uncontrollable shadow?"

Isaiah frowned slightly. Sonny never forgot any names and pretending he didn't know something tipped him off. "Just helping out."

"Ohh and then again, they say you brought those two together," Sonny continued while waving at someone in the crowd. He was avoiding Isaiah's eyes.

"They say? Who exactly?"

"You didn't hear that from me," Sonny said, taking a sip from his champagne. "But it isn't any good, Isaiah. Why are you being so careless?"

This was all weird. Sonny didn't talk so quickly and he didn't sound so nervous and scattered about it.

Of course, Isaiah was well aware of his position. As a powerful shadow wolf of first degree, with formal training for a pack leader, he was a dangerous tipping point for many packs. His neutral involvement steadied them, but he was a challenge barely tolerated. Packs wanted to subdue, tear easy pray apart. Isaiah wasn't easy pray, but he was dangerous, which was worse. They only tolerated such power going unchecked, because he was alone, and that reassured them. If they all teamed up, they could probably take him down. Maybe.

A wolf plus one makes a pack.

That was the general rule. Lingering alliances were dangerous. It meant favour, connection, support. Things Isaiah could easily unbalance, if he made a wrong step.

Was this what Sonny was implying now? Did he go too far, spending so much time with Matthew and Seline? Having enjoyed their presence, their attention, even getting help from them?

"I was simply polite. There is nothing going on." Isaiah said calmly. Calmness was always taken more seriously than emotional outbursts.

"Good. Make sure it stays that way," Sonny said, motioning him closer. Then he whispered into his ear: "I have been sent to give you a warning, Zaya. Please, be careful."

Isaiah nodded, smiling as if he heard something pleasant. His stomach sank at the words. This was bad. A warning meant they were being watched or even worse, targeted. Matthew could get jumped as a warning. Even worse, Seline could get a scare, even though she was a witch.

Sonny was doing him a favour, saying it before he noticed the signs. Before an incident actually happened.

Isaiah kept smiling and conversing, not minding how shaken he felt. Who out of these people could it be? Who felt so threatened by whatever nice thing he had found with Matt and Seline?

Isaiah noticed Matthew out of the corner of his eye. He looked bored and slumped against a wall, most people avoiding him like the plague.

Isaiah didn't dare approach. Instead, he looked for a waiter to get a glass of champagne for himself. He didn't even taste the frizzly liquid, chugging it down quickly.

Maybe he should have paid more attention. Maybe then he would have realized that was the moment it went from bad to absolute hell.

He kept talking, walking, pretending to have fun. His head was getting positively more fuzzy as he did. The friendly chatter sounded more like the buzz of angry hornets. Isaiah was feeling vaguely nauseous now, stomach bubbling uneasily and there was a pressure building behind his eyes. Oh great.

"Isaiah? You okay?"

Isaiah tracked the voice with his head. When did his vision turn so blurry too?

He blinked a few times to see a smudgy silhouette of Matthew standing near him, reddish brows furrowed together.

Not you. We can't be seen together like this.

"I'm fine," he said, but his voice sounded too quiet and raspy. Everything was beginning to float around him and he swayed.

Matthew caught his arm. "Whoa, whoa. What the hell's going on?"

Shut up, Matt. Don't make a commotion.

Isaiah blinked at him, but couldn't get the words out. His stomach cramped at that moment, and he almost doubled over with the force.

Suddenly, Sonny was there, on Isaiah's other side, guiding them all to the exit.

The cool, fresh night air cleared Isaiah's head a little. He gulped at it, strangely uncoordinated. His stomach was hurting, swirling with nausea and cramping pain.

"-zaya? Can you...hear-?" Someone was talking. It sounded like Sonny. But he only saw Matthew. Why was everything so confusing?

He was pulled up, Matthew wrapping Isaiah's arm over his neck, holding most of Isaiah's weight. This was getting scary.

Sonny was sniffing at Isaiah's empty glass. "Smells like dusted silver. Fuck."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Matthew's voice sounded angry when he was concerned, rumbling close to his ear.

"That he has been poisoned. Take him away. Somewhere safe."

Before Isaiah could react, Sonny went through the pockets on his coat - when did he get it from the reception? - to locate his car keys and pushed them into Matthew's free palm.

The realization hit Isaiah only as he was manhandled into the car on the passenger seat, Matthew gripping the steering wheel until his knuckles turned white.

"Where to?" The redhead looked at Isaiah with anxious eyes.

They couldn't go a human hospital. Even if they took in shadow wolves, there was no guarantee there was someone specialized on handling them. This called for a medical specialist, someone inside or allied with a pack that would normally take care of their wolf. Or a witch.

But Isaiah was alone. And so was Matthew. Oh.

Well, didn't that make them perfect targets.

Isaiah blinked. A burp worked itself up his lips. He didn't know if the sudden wave of sickness and cold sweat meant the silver in his system was working its way through or if the hopelessness of the situation made him gag.

"Isaiah?" Matthew said with a small voice. "Tell me what to do?"

Isaiah swallowed. The sensation made him gag emptily again. He pushed a hand over his mouth.

In the sick haze, a person occurred to him.

He wasn't sure if she could help, if her magic could heal. But her songs allowed for more complex and intricate spells than any incantation a witch could normally do, she was smart and capable as five witches put together and...and if he was about to die, it would be nice to go with someone who wouldn't be happy about it.

"Take me to Seline."

[fanfic-lover-girl]

Stuttering Sucks

I have stuttered as long as I can remember. But I think it got worse in college...or I became more self-conscious. Maybe both.

My loved ones have never looked down on me for my stuttering and they always reassure me that they don't care. My boss told me the same a few months back when I expressed a desire to skip team standups. I really appreciate it but it is so hard not to feel bad about myself sometimes.

I don't think stuttering is a disability but it definitely makes life uncomfortable. I don't think some people understand why stuttering can be so annoying and frustrating. Here are some examples:

People ignoring you. My English teacher in grade 9 switched her attention from me one time when I struggled to ask a question in class. That hurt a lot. That kind of behaviour does not happen often though. But I have had experiences where I try to ask something or talk to someone and they disregard me (probably because they don't realize I am trying to speak to them).

Difficulty saying my name when I meet new people. I literally spent the fall semester of my sophomore year avoiding meeting new freshmen in my Christian group because of this. I remember trying to say my name to this freshman guy after fellowship one night and I struggled for at least a minute. I was laughing it off but I almost wanted to cry. Circle introductions sometimes fill me with dread as well. There was another time in sophomore year when I tried introducing myself to this senior girl and I had to eventually give up and use my student id. She was cool about it though (still embarrassing).

Sounding stupid. Having broken speech does not make you sound professional at all :(. You have the sentence well articulated in your head but then you have to switch words or use filler when it comes time to speak. Ugh. It's hard to fully express my ideas and sometimes the people listening to me have to fill in the gaps T-T. It's especially frustrating when I do team meetings or presentations. I feel like I am not explaining myself well.

Talking can be painful. Like almost physically painful. Being tense does not help for sure. But even when I feel relaxed, it's like trying to force a rock out of my mouth sometimes. It's almost like I am fighting against my own tongue. I could be speaking fine and then I stumble over one word that refuses to leave my mouth.

Joking can be awkward. It's a small thing but casual jokes are a part of normal friendly talk. But jokes depend on timing and delivery. I think it's obvious why stuttering would ruin a joke.

I did speech therapy for about a year in college and I am considering doing it again. The final lesson my therapist told me was accepting my stutter. I definitely think about it more than others do so I should not worry about it but it is really impacting my confidence - especially at work. Make no mistake - I am a very opinionated and expressive person so this difficulty does not make me hide at home but you know it just makes me feel bad at times.

There was literally a week in a few months ago (May I think) where people kept bringing up my stutter. Family, friends...even 2 drivers! The two driver guys told me they stuttered too and that it went away with age. It filled me with hope not gonna lie but I am unsure if that will be my case.

Small acts help. Sometimes I ask my friends to introduce me if I meet a friend of theirs to take the pressure off me. Or I use my work id to help introduce myself sometimes. Someone at church found it a bit funny when I did it this week (I had a church event after work so I had my work id on me) but who cares? If it helps.

Thanks for reading my stuttering TED talk. I had an awful week with a bunch of frustrating presentations and I had to get this off my chest and stop my mind from torturing me and spiralling in shame about how I sounded.

[callsign-speedy]

I thought i’d do an introduction post so people know a bit about the person behind callsign-speedy.

My names is Adriana but I go by Dri more often than not. I got the name Callsign-Speedy from my obsession with Top Gun and Formula One. Callsign is what is known as a unique identifier for an operater that uses letters, numbers or words to communicate. Speedy comes from Formula One and the fact that the cars are very obviously fast (and my childhood nickname as I was fast). Therefore, Callsign-Speedy.

I suffer quite bad with my mental health and my therapist mentioned about making a blog to keep interacting with my hobbies. I don’t know anyone with an interest in Formula One so I never really get to talk to anyone about the races and the news going on in the world of F1 (bar my brother who continually entertains my interest in the sport while not having a clue about it himself). The love I have for this sport pushed me to do something I never thought I would. I’m forever grateful for that.

I pretty sure everyone has hyper fixations and mine change every few weeks or so and I was terrified that Formula One was going to do this, but it’s going on three years and a ton more knowledge and I still love the sport as if it was the first month, shiny and brand new. I think that’s because I’m continuously learning about F1. How crazy it is that the sport I knew nothing about was suddenly one of the biggest and most important things in my life, reshaping my social calendar, and giving me a whole new meaning to life?!

Formula One gave me a new passion and purpose. I’ve always been sociable and friendly but I’ve always felt lonely in rooms of people because I never shared anything in common with them or knew how to relate to them when we were different genders, ages and people in general. Having a space to relate to people, means more than anything. Even though I haven’t yet made any friends through racing, I felt I’ve connected to many through a simple love of the sport.

What got me into F1 is the 2021 battle of Max Verstappen and Lewis Hamilton and the controversy that surrounded the decision in the Abu Dhabi Grand Prix. I remember reading about it in the media and becoming entranced by the sport and the drivers. I suppose that means that Max and Lewis were the drivers who got me into the sport. All of a sudden I went from knowing Lewis Hamilton as a activist and a knight and not having a clue about F1, to knowing his career, his team and teammate and to knowing almost everything I could consume about F1.

The team I first and foremost support is McLaren but I have a real bad soft spot for Mercedes (mostly due to Sir Lewis Hamilton and the one and only Mr. Toto Wolff). I won’t lie Lando was the first reason I supported McLaren but the more I learnt about our history the more I grew to love the team.

Silverstone is my favourite track and vainly it is completely and only because it’s my home race but Monaco is the most entertaining for me.

My favourite driver has to be Lando Norris purely because he is the career I have followed the most in Formula One and he is the driver that I follow most in the media pertaining to F1 and follow in the media personally. The driver I revere the most however is Sir Lewis Hamilton due to his career and his personal views.

As I’m sure many others would I would love a career in Motorsport, specifically in Journalism or PR but honestly I’m just grateful to consume the media and sport and be able to have an outlet to talk and share about my passion for the sport.

Formula One is a sport that unifies people from the most unexpected of places and so many different walks of life. The thought that there are people out there who love to talk and indulge in the same thing as I do makes the world a little less scary and a little less lonely.

I don’t get how people call Formula One boring and justify it as ‘cars driving in circles for 2 hours’ because there’s so much more. There’s the battles, the quick decisions that can make or break the race for more than the driver making the decision, the radio messages, the strategies, the commentary, the overtakes and so so much more. To reduce Formula One to ‘cars driving in circles for 2 hours’ is a harsh, painful simplification of one of the most beautiful sports on earth. And even if it is ‘just a sport’ Formula One changed my life.

I can’t at this moment think of anything else mention but please comment if you have anymore questions.

[hockeygoss222]

Welcome!!!

Hi!! I’ve been a lurker on tumblr for a little while now and have finally decided to go ahead and make a blog since I thought it looked really fun ! A little introduction to me, I don’t feel comfortable sharing my age or my name but please note that I am under 18 (not too far from it before anybody claims i’m a 14yr who is delusional) and I do have a life outside of social media, tumblr, and my phone so don’t get upset if one day I’m really active and others I am not. Boundaries are very important to me and if I do set them I ask that you respect them! I am in the CST time zone, but I have insomnia so most of the time I will probably post & answer stuff at night! Besides hockey, I am extremely interested in music & movies and love anything that has to do with vintage fashion, art, pop culture, celebrities, astrology, and cameras! I got into hockey in late April early May of 2023 and am still learning as I go on. Before I get asked, my favorite Hughes brother is Luke !!! It does change every once in a while but for the most part it is Luke. So welcome to hockeygoss222 !!! So happy you’re here ⭐️🤍

Please note:

I don’t want any racism or homophobia on my page! Also if I follow you back, it’ll most likely follow you from my main account so just ignore but please know that it is me 😭😭 All feelings are valid and welcome here! This is a safe space and always will be & if you think that it’s not PLEASE tell me and I will try to make it happen I do not want anyone to feel uncomfortable here !!! As well as I don’t feel comfortable with any hate or discrimination toward anons or anybody who says something that you do not like! We are allowed to voice our opinions and have different perspectives but please say it nicely! There is no need for a negative reaction to something! Along with that, do not hate on me if I say something that you do not agree with. We can have friendly discussions, debates, and disagreements! Please remember that is all alleged and just purely speculation! I do not have ill intentions towards these people and neither should you, we do not know them! Sip or Spit is a great motto to have when it comes to gossip in general, as well as taking things with a grain of salt. Not everything on here is true, but also not everything on here is a lie !

Asks:

I am fine with asks about Jack & Sammy, Vince & Daniella, Mat & Maya, and Trevor & Dixie but please don’t spam me asking stuff about them!!You can find other accounts who are willing to talk about them and most likely know more than I do ! And I won’t post asks that have any users of any private accounts (ex: sammy’s spotify or pinterest) as I feel that’s a breach of privacy. I understand lurking (I am guilty of it as well in the past) but please keep it to yourself! I’ll make sure to tag any ask to keep it organized!

Again, this is all alleged and purely speculation! At the end of the day we do not know these people ! Have fun!!! 🫶🤍