#manifesting (but realistic about chances of it happening)

[touchoffleece]

Think of the gay panic from GLaDOS at having to come to terms she grew to like someone besides yeeting a metal block at them with a heart etched on it. Think of the smug but Chell when they reunite for some adventure against invading aliens.

The fact that GLaDOS drops Chell off in a post apocalyptic world but we never get to see canon rugged post apocalyptic survivor Chell has harrowed me for 7 years. That is like the one reason I wanted a Portal 3. I NEED to see her timeskipped with 20% more stress induced gray hairs, and a rifle, and tattered jacket, and bandaged hands, and chilling and cooking a rotisserie headcrab over a fire in her impromptu camp with like her long stretch of chain reaction physics based traps surrounding it, and she is using the companion cube as a bench. I know she has the will to carve it out, out there

[tannieastrology]

Solar Return Observations💋❤️🌹

💋This year I have a Virgo Ascendant in my solar return along with 2 Venus returns and Ive been so much more health/beauty focused. Like I care more about myself and am trying to break bad habits that I made in 2023. Im also alot more driven in sports/goals and back when I had this in 2020 I was also into skincare and makeup alot too and was into running and working out. I feel like the year you get a virgo ascendant for your solar return is the year to cleanse bad habits that youve made in the previous year its like a chance to start new.

💋The year you have Uranus in the 11th house is most likely a year where you will lose friends but will also get the chance to make new ones. I had Uranus and North Node in my 11th house last year and my 3 year long friend who claimed we were “besties” backstabbed me and cut me off with no explanation BUT I also found a friendgroup who are here to stay and am incredibely blessed to have met them. This was a year where my view on society and people changed significantly but i feel it was for the better.

💋Last year I had Sun and Pluto in the 8th house along with Moon and Mars in the 12th. I struggled really bad with my mental health(also a Gemini Rising) and my whole personality shifted from these experiences. From January my grandma almost died of cancer, I faced unrequited love, bullying from “friends”, losing friends, and overall felt pressure from school. I was just sensitive to what people said about me and let little things bother me and now that Im looking back none of it was a big deal but I dont know in the moment it affected me way too much. It made me realize that you cant ever really put your faith in people and that you need to trust and respect yourself the most. That you cant be attached to people and your faith should be put in god (atleast thats what I think). Most of the pain came from lowself esteem and I do believe that these placements made me grow a thicker skin and to become more independant. Im a completely different person now and while I did lose my innocence to the world I feel that I can survive on my own now. I guess I just grew a backbone which im really thankful for.

💋Everything that happened last year (like growth transformation death) is all related to the 8th house which is where gemini is in my natal so also keep that in mind where your solar ascendant falls in your natal.

💋This year I have a Moon in Libra in the 1st house and a Virgo Lilith exactly conjunct my ascendant and Ive been getting so much praise from woman its weird? Weirdly guys have been liking my instagram stories and when I posted on my birthday so many people came and viewed my story who dont even follow me. I also feel more pretty and empowered this year and Ive been trying to figure out how I want to present myself more. Compared to last year I feel like I am more upfront with my feelings. I feel like this year I might not struggle as much since im a Libra Ascendant and my solar return is Virgo and almost aligns with my natal chart.

💋My sadness and pain from my 2023 solar return actually really did last until my birthday aka my 2024 return😭 So keep in note that solar returns will remain effective until your next birthday.

💋I have Pluto, Mars, Sun, Vertex, Mercury, and POF, all in the 5th house this year and Im really hoping I can finally meet someone to date for the first time but so far its manifested as being more interested in hobbies/ having fun. Im not complaining tho I actually have been so much happier and I havent cried that much at all from this new Solar Return. I will say I feel like having Pluto in the 5th house will make your view change a bit on relationships. I lost feelings for my 3 year crush and I also feel like its impossible for me to properly catch feelings now. I dont know its like I broke the cycle of infatuting crushes and am way more realistic when it comes to love. Part of it is probably just me getting older but I think thats a good thing. I dont expect love like the movies anymore but i just want something REAL.

💋The year you have 8th house Venus a old flame might come back into your life.

💋Tell me why I have Jupiter, North Node, and Chiron in the 8th house this year and ive been attracting money/all the things i want so easily? I got almost $450 for my birthday, a vanity, a lulu bag, and a big party and its only been like 2 weeks😭

💋 When I turn 18 in 2026 I have a stellium of Venus, Mercury, Sun, Mars, and Pluto in the 12th SOOO im predicting that I might be struggling with mental health that year, probably lost in where I want to head after high school, or Im either hiding sum secret love affair(8th house ruler of libra in 12) or like something about it is forbidden/ secretive. I also do have Moon and Jupiter in Cancer in the 5th house that year so that should be interesting lol. Let me know what aspects/ placements in your future solar returns yall find interesting and have down in the comments I wanna see.

💋A Saggitarius Ascendant/ 9th placements might mean that you get opportunity to travel

💋Having Lilith in the 2nd house might mean that you struggle with eating consistently or might struggle with self worth and body image.

💋Venus in the 4th house will be a year where you try to improve your home and find comfort in familial relationships

💋Look at transits to your solar return too theyll give you a deeper dive in whats going on you can look on astroseek.

💋12th house placements will make you inclined to find god

💋On November 16 2021 I caught feelings bad for this guy and I would go on to like him for a long time. Near that time I had a Venus Return and also a transit Solar Return with a 7th house stellium(Sun,Mars,Mercury,Moon in Libra/Scorpio). I was around this guy 24/7 and it just unexpectedly happened. Near that time Iwas having so much fun with my friends in cross country I feel so fond about those days that I could never forget.

💋 Last year having a Gemini Rising but placements like Mars and Moon in the 12th made me get talked about unknowingly behind my back so keep that in mind. Girls secretly hated me and also one of my “friends” twisted my words and spread drama about me.

💋Pay special attention to Chiron and where it is in your chart ESPECIALLY if its in retrograde

Anyways I hope yall enjoyed this was very last minute and I know people have been complaining about there not being enough Solar Return observations so here I am lol. See yall next time💋

[hexhomos]

S2 mega spoiler asks/answers. don't click readmore if you're avoiding it.

That entire thing really did not land for me and took me extremely out of the episode ngl. The way it is framed and later on referenced on warwick's delusion flashbacks (IN MY OPINION) seemed to suggest that their mom was embroiled in an unrequited love triangle with these two and i could feel my brain leaking out of my ears because, to get back to a previously mentioned problem; it makes the world feel really, really limited. Like there's 10 real people surrounded by a population of NPCs. The idea of silco/vander as singlehandedly responsible for a 'revolution' that has no lineage beyond themselves is already laughable but?? they frame it as if vander could legit have been vi's dad?? he picks the name?? and that he is maybe seething in rage at silco because he was the reason she died??? huh? whuh? what in all of the wattpad fanfiction. not to mention... it makes silco constant attempts to kill vi in s1 seem contradictory and nonsensical. His motivations???????????

In some ways.. it is still resource exploitation now but Worse and in a time-ticking bomb sort of way that absolutely breaks the idea of Piltover using hextech for decades at a time. Im curious to see if that will be referenced in game content now bc it legitimately has shattered the timeline. I think its once again unnecessary and sacrifices a lot of good stuff for mid hand-wringing. But yeah. P/Z as presented in arcane has had so much personality sapped out of it. a whole roster of characters who might get completely rebooted for no good reason.

stole his whole flow. Disgraceful.

TBH i wouldn't really worry about this because i think if anyone is getting a new sex scene its going to be cait/vi makeup or hatesex. Sky is a plot convenience; her existence for the show's entire runtime is an accessory that they couldn't even bother fleshing out. The definition of the not-gays.

My reasoning is that if they were going to do any of that we would have already seen her do these things, more things, in the scenes she already appears in; but as always she is a static 3D model lounging in the background. (Related: this might be because she is Literally Not Real and the hexcore is just making up a faint mimicry who can only say 1 word.) Their time budget is really messy this season and i just don't see them wasting More time like that. They don't care for sky. never did! She's just a way to avoid letting viktor be an ideologue glorious evolutionist.

We already know internally some of the animators & art team like jayvik & there's even a few for-fun outside of the company interviews w/ crew expressing a preference to jv on a personal level ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ the more the script tries to push it as nonromantic the more coded these scenes get. In terms of actual interaction i think a lot is going to depend on whatever the hell happens in episode 6 because their screentime is REALLY low and im unsure act3 can pull off another timeskip. So much left dangling.

IDGAF about meljay and i've never cared about meljay i think it is the culpirit of not-gays #1 so its hilarious how that shit literally didn't matter. The entire noxus storyline is a can of worms i would have thrown in the garbage and have no interest in. Still, in realistic terms, there is a 50/50 chance this season ends with jayce married 2 kids 1 dog 1/2 parrot moving out to noxus and saying 'heh, i never liked piltover anyway' and they'll play it like we're supposed to clap because nothing matters

if i was in charge we'd get full frontal jayvik stigmata scissoring write that down. I still hope if we can manifest 1 thing it is a good fight scene with some choking on it

[therowdymagpie]

No because I NEED to ramble about The Princess and The Dragon(TW: Spoilers for the Pristine Cut.):

I got such whiplash from this vessel...she is just...SO aufghughaurigh, so unexpected and wonderful, one of the sweetest and kindest vessels in the game. Not to disregard the others, like the Shifting Mound has said, they are all different manifestations of our love for her and her love for us, but the Dragon (I call her The Dragon) FEELS different.

Literally I love the Specter route which the Princess and the Dragon derives from because we have a chance to have an actual, normal(kind of) conversation and because she is dealing with what happened in a realistic manner, sure she's angry at us but she really doesn't care, she just wants "to go home, wherever that is". But it's very important for the game to apply a certain Uncanny valley to her and every other Princess even the one from the Hero and the Princess, so that they have a reason to be dangerous, capable, slightly dehumanizing them at times, which OK SM and LQ aren't actual people but still the vessels just become something other than what we have been led to believe.

A ghost, a demon, a predator, a literal god, an eldritch horror made of blades, all of them are formed by our beliefs and expectations, they are the ways we perceive her, they are perspectives. It is a very skillful way to subvert the damsel in distress character that the princess has been shoved into, she is never JUST a princess and yet at the same time the Dragon is the only princess that is actually very human in how she confronts the fact that we are who we are and we do what we do to her with such Grace and forgiveness.

Now when it comes to the other Princesses, even if the Damsel is technically an innocent as well and doesn't try to kill us, her always trying to "make us happy" is the thing that immediately sets her off and gives us an excuse to believe she is strange and off-putting. Even the witch and the thorn , who make us feel terrible for hurting them at certain times because one can present a certain remorse and the other is simply broken so much that there's nothing else to hope for. Both of them immediately back pedal into being hostile if you hurt them again though, since that's what they have to do to survive. I could go on for each vessel but no matter how much we dig into the psyche of the princesses and find out that they have a genuine reason or a not genuine reason to kill us at all, they are all trying to survive and follow their nature, they all progress for their characters with a predictable unpredictability.

But the Dragon? She is SO forgiving, so kind, especially when in some cases, she shouldn't even be. We've killed her twice yet, much like the Specter, she doesn't hold a grudge, doesn't try to immediately kill us afterwards, she isn't following some twisted narrative of doing something that was always meant to be. She is just...curious and trying to understand why we're doing this, how she can get on our good side, how to work together to make the best of this situation. Out of all the vessels, I think she is the purest manifestation of Swifty's belief every time we see her that 'we are the only thing like her and she's the only thing like us', so they should be together, try should try to get along…right?

Also a funny thing I noticed is: The fact that we see things from her perspective kind of gives more leverage to some of the other princesses for being mistrusting and hostile, I mean we're a terrifying bird thing that is often quiet, holding a Knife and doesn't always answer you, often doing unpredictable actions…I wouldn't trust this either. And STILL, she says that even though we look scary, she doesn't mind, "Looks aren't everything" and tries to communicate with us, at the same time not being completely helpless. She speaks her mind, tries to be assertive and bringing up good points during the entire time.

Basically what I'm trying to say is, The Princess and the dragon feels like the most Princess character in the entire game, even more than the Happily ever after, even more than the Damsel, exactly because out of all the princesses she has the capacity to understand us and we have the capacity to understand her, it is so incredibly human and surprising.

For the first time ever we are dealing with someone who is painstakingly our equal, not above or below us, not our better, not our worse, not something out of our understanding but simply? Another confused inmate in this Twisted Concept, that tries to create the best case scenario where we both survive like us. The Shifting Mound calls her the empathetic heart...it's the first time we see her perspective of US for a change, it's how we have truly become ONE, even more so than The Wild and that breaks me...

[physalian]

On Tournament Arcs (I want more of these in lit)

The “tournament arc” is a staple of shonen anime. I’d find it very hard to believe anyone on here hasn’t at least seen gifs of it so here’s a quick breakdown: Your core cast of characters + extras and new adversaries are all thrown together in a tournament competing for anything from the low stakes of cash or bragging rights to who lives and who dies by the hand of the nefarious god throwing the tournament.

These are extremely popular for a few reasons:

They’re fodder for a ton of episodes without a whole lot of complicated story—the story is baked into the different rounds of combat

There’s a chance for a lot of different intense character interaction that might not normally happen pitting two random names against each other

They can sometimes artificially raise the stakes—in isolation, winning the Round of 16 in a series about saving the world doesn’t mean anything, but winning any one game might give the heroes the chance to stay alive just one more day

I just rewatched the first tournament arc of My Hero Academia a few days ago (the first sports festival) and man, I do miss when this show was good.

So! While tournament arcs aren’t exclusive to shows with super powers or magical abilities like Naruto—they’re baked into a sports anime—today’s essay is all about the efficiency and shake-ups that MHA pulled off, since its pacing is something you could realistically cram into a written novel, and, well, I like this one.

Disclaimer: This show is incredibly manipulative, in a good way (at least in earlier seasons it was in a good way). Elements are way more dramatic than they should be due to the music, the animation, and the pacing, but you’re having fun right along with the characters at the edge of your seat. The excitement isn’t manufactured, you’re hyped right along with the people in the stands. This isn’t very translatable to page, unfortunately.

Second disclaimer: I DNFed this show midway through an episode in season 5 and never went back. It got so bad I literally turned it off in both disgust and sheer boredom. I am not an MHA superfan.

—

Pacing:

For a shonen anime, this first tournament arc is brutally efficient. Take a show like Naruto or DBZ, shows known for their filler, and their tournament arcs for any given season will last 50 episodes or more. MHA’s is 11 episodes, 12 if you want to include the setup in episode 1. In that time, there’s three unique stages of combat and an entire three-tiered 1v1 tournament within the tournament.

Some fights last two episodes, some last about 30 seconds, but none are too drawn out, or too rushed, based on who’s fighting and what their powers are.

Example: Todoroki kind of has “instakill” powers (or at least he does in this arc, he forgets about it 6 episodes later) and if he’s up against anyone who doesn’t have the specific kind of powers that can counteract his, the fight’s decided pretty much instantly, like when he’s up against quasi-Spiderman Sero, and manifests a whole glacier from teenage angst. When he is up against somebody who he can’t freeze immediately, well, that’s where the drama comes from. This is his arc, after all.

Character fodder:

Not only that, but it’s not 11 straight episodes of 1v1. The first leg of combat is an obstacle race, the second is a “cavalry battle” with teams, and the last, the majority, is 1v1. These different challenges require the core characters to think different ways, and as the number of competitors thin dramatically, different side characters get the chance to shine at different points in the arc as more and more are disqualified.

But the way that this arc is written leaves even some core characters in the protagonist class on the outs pretty quickly, even those who make it to the final round, usually due to bad matchups. Characters who had excelled either in power, physical ability, or intelligence just aren’t suited to face whoever they’re up against and it shocks them as much as it does the audience. Even when it forces them to get creative—and that is one thing I loved about this show in its early years, how smart some characters had to be with their niche powers to compete with the natural born powerhouses.

A surprising standout fight was Bakugo vs Uraraka, where nearly every single person in the stands, including the teachers, all professional heroes, were like “dude you can’t hit a girl, you can explode shit with your hands, she’s only got anti gravity” and Bakugo did not give a single fuck about what’s in Uraraka’s pants. It shows that he’s smart, and that he’s a dick, but he has a shit ton of respect for other people’s power and determination when they have as much as he does. Only one other character, their personal teacher, Aizawa, notices: To go easy on her would be a far greater insult than to treat her like an equal challenger.

She lost, in a heartbreaking defeat, but she absolutely made him work for it. It did so much for his character, this whole arc did, but more on that later.

Audience expectations:

But the big reason this arc worked so well was how it subverted expectations. Midoriya is (or used to be) the show’s protagonist. In this arc, he’s got two real main adversaries in his way to gold: Bakugo, a kid with extremely impressive raw talent that he’s honed with a dangerous perfectionist streak, and Todoroki, who wants to win by half-assing it to piss off his abusive hero dad. Both of these two are far more competent with their powers while Midoriya still has the training wheels on his.

Usually, in these types of shows, if the hero doesn’t win, he comes in a very close second in the big dramatic final showdown. It’s part of his arc to be not quite ready yet. But usually, he wins, and the character he’d beaten to a pulp learns some humility and joins the hero squad in the next arc out of respect to their better.

MHA doesn’t do that. Midoriya never faces Bakugo in the 1v1 and he faces Todoroki in the semis, not the finals, and he loses.

The big fight of the tournament is Midoriya vs Todoroki. I used to hear it compared to Rock Lee vs Gaara (which I actually have seen despite not liking Naruto) and it’s… not, if only because it’s missing about 300 episodes of buildup and drama between these two.

But the fight isn’t just a fistfight. Midoriya wants to win, yes, but he’s a hero, first, and he wants to save his friend in the true shonen way of punching friendship into his enemies. Their fight plus the buildup takes two episodes, littered with Todoroki’s PTSD flashbacks (to a gorgeous score) that basically boils down to:

Todoroki: Wah I hate my powers, fuck my dad, I’m gonna half-ass this out of spite and my raw power is enough to win

Midoriya: Fuck you dude, if you want to beat me, you have to give it your all, and it’s not his powers. You may have inherited them, but it’s your power.

Well, Midoriya gets what he asked for, and Todoroki does not at all hold back.

And that’s the semifinal.

With Midoriya out, there’s still the rest of the semis and the final round. This does not happen.

So why did it happen? Because our hero isn’t ready yet. He’s so new with his powers, so inexperienced in combat, that so far he’s skated by on his smarts and his sheer raw ability the few times he’s able to let it out like releasing a pressure valve, seriously injuring himself in the process. Against kids who’ve been training their whole lives, being smart only got him so far.

It was the perfect path for his character, one we’ve only known for maybe 30 episodes in total at this point in the show. If he won or even just barely lost, that would have left so much less room for growth in later tournaments. He’s hella OP, but he’s not at all a Mary Sue, and his greatest strength—his heart—is what cost him the win. In the end, he lost the medal, but he won a friend.

And then the final round comes.

Bakugo vs Todoroki, the two most well-rounded kids in the class (in their whole grade level probably), after Bakugo opens the entire tournament with “I pledge that I’m going to win”.

Thing is, with Bakugo, he’s an asshole, but he’s an asshole who continuously puts his money where his mouth is. He’s never blowing smoke. If he says he’s going to do something, by god, he will do it.

So the final round comes and Bakugo tells Todoroki that he wants to win fair and square, that Todoroki'd better not hold back, he’d better give it his all, because going easy on Bakugo would be giving him the win, and he ain’t no charity case.

That… does not happen. One does not overcome a lifetime of childhood trauma by the Power of Friendship and one speech in this show. Todoroki botches it, gets his ass handed to him, and Bakugo wins the tournament, and he is pissed.

Character Arcs:

I already talked about Midoriya above and won’t repeat myself, but like I said above, tournament arcs are a fantastic way to do many things at once, which is crucial to pacing. It won’t feel stale, no matter how long or repetitive it is, so long as the characters are still developing within that repetition. This was about showing off their powers, yes, but the pressure to perform and get their names out their in a highly saturated, cynical heroism market of capitalism is a lot for 15 year old kids.

Some are out there to make money, being a hero to their families. Some are out there to be the best. Some are out there to be the friendly neighborhood super kid. Since all but one character must lose, everybody but Bakugo failed in some way, big or small, to make the impact they wanted on tournament day. And Bakugo, though he won, feels like he still failed because he won basically by default.

Since it’s set so early in the show, one would think that it would be a fantastic foundation for where all the core characters see themselves and where they go from here. If you’re writing this into a novel and you don’t have a million characters that don’t matter, it’s a brutally efficient way to establish the major players in high-octane fashion.

I’mma gush about Bakugo for a second now: He and Todoroki are two sides of the same coin in this arc. Both are plagued by expectations because of their powers, and both suffer because of it. Todoroki’s been beaten like a dog by his dad to hone his fire and ice powers to one day usurp the number one hero.

Bakugo, though, Bakugo is “the gifted kid” who suddenly entered a world where the gap between him and everyone inferior to him is a lot smaller. He has incredible power, which has always gotten him high expectations and little margin for fucking up and looking weak—cause if you’ve got the ability to make explosions with your hands, you have to be the best all day every day. There is no falling off the wagon, there are no sick days, there is no flab or fat or cheat days.

All of this is an undercurrent in this arc. He has such high expectations for himself, such high expectations thrown on him by hero society, such critical views of his attitude and his powers—he was literally called a villain when he fought Uraraka and didn’t treat her like a “frail” little girl—that when he wins because Todoroki throws the fight, it’s the biggest insult anyone could do to him.

Nobody else cares, but Bakugo cares. In his desperate quest to always be the best or else, winning by default doesn’t prove anything to him. He doesn’t want the medal, he doesn’t want this victory by his name, he doesn’t want anything except a rematch that truly challenges him. And mad respect to this kid for it.

—

Some things to consider for your tournament arc should you choose to write one

Every character should have their own separate goals and reasons for winning, beyond simply “winning”. Why do they want to win, or what will happen to them, internally or externally, if they lose?

Would it be better for your hero to win right now, or lose so they have room to grow? Who else loses and how? Are they disqualified, do they cheat, is it a devastating defeat or a photo finish?

What do these people do to themselves in their desperation to win? Do they hurt themselves, go past their physical limit? Do they bully themselves and pick their faults apart? Are they completely different people when they’re under this kind of pressure? Who’s overconfident? Who’s exactly as competent as they say they are?

What are the best matchups, not for spectacle, but for character development? In the written medium, character work absolutely comes before how pretty it might look one day on the silver screen, and that’s what will hold audience attention long after the arc is over and done with. That’s what will have people coming back to reread over and over again.

Remember: The tournament is never just about the combat, it’s about the combatants.

[gigigazelleloves]

Ok now that I've had time to process the first episode and read some post-episode 1 articles, I have some theories about where the storyline is going for each character in season 8a.

Athena

I have a strong feeling that we're going to have a lot of Athena focus this season. I think it's going to contrast the heavy Bobby focus we got last season. I feel like this trial is going to not be just for the 3-parter premier but instead for the entire part of season 8a. We also have the great B plot of Bathena house hunting and seeing in this first episode how they have different tastes, I have a feeling we'll have some lighthearted moments for Bathena this whole season.

Bobby

Bobby is totally going to return as Gerrard might have kicked the bucket or gotten permanently injured. But I also have a feeling we will be seeing more of the "hotshots" actors appearing at Bathena's doorstep because Bobby can't help but adopt strays. I feel like Bobby is also going to feel some guilt about the whole fiasco that happened last season such as leaving the firehouse and also dealing with his house burning down as I feel like those things have still not been emotionally resolved. Overall though hoping that Bobby has a more lighthearted season.

Chim (and Maddie)

I know that everyone is manifesting that Chim and Maddie are going to decide to have another child but I have a feeling that Chim and Maddie might be forced to adopt Mara as I feel like something wonky is going to happen with Henren's trial. However I have a feeling they are not going to be a main focus until season 8b.

Hen (and Karen)

Basically the same thing I said for Chim and Maddie and that this who Mara and Councilwoman Ortiz. I also feel like that storyline will also transfer over into season 8b.

Buck (and Tommy)

Buck and Tommy is where I feel like we'll see the main plot come in for season 8a. From interviews Oliver has stated that Tommy and Buck are in the honeymoon of their new found relationship. But Oliver has stated that there are some uncomfortable truths they're going to have to face. I think from what he said it could be one of three things (realistically). 1. Tommy's racist past, as Chim is Buck's brother-in-law and Buck is going to maybe struggle to wrap his head around Tommy's past actions 2. It's going to be related to Tommy's father who if is anything like Gerrard is going to cause some havoc in the relationship directly or indirectly. I also think there could be a lot of insecurity with Buck feeling like Tommy is hiding things from him in the relationship which has happened before in his past relationships. 3. I think that Buck will have panic that he's doing something wrong and do a full Buck and avoid Tommy until he talks to someone about it (hopefully someone who is apart of the community like Hen or Josh). I feel like this could address the issue of maybe Buck feeling like he's late to the party when it comes to discovering his sexuality. I feel like it can also resolve the issue Buck has had when it comes to his relationship issues. I think overall this arc can show him becoming more comfortable and confident with his sexuality, solve his past relationship issues, and maybe establish him and Tommy as a solid couple.

Eddie (and Christopher)

All in going to say is I think Eddie is either going to find himself inside of a confession room or inside a therapy room. I hope they don't give him a new love interest as that would low key ruin his arc, I just want to see him become more secure with himself. I have my doubts though about him getting Chris back before the end of season 8a, but there is a slim chance it could happen. I just need him to figure himself out before he gets his kid back. I hope we see more Chris though in season 9, cause I doubt we will this season.

Overall I'm excited for all these arcs but honestly I'll be happy if there's just more Bathena 😝

[waeirfaahl]

Some little thoughts about Hellfire and its singer

Quite unexpected guest for my duscussing. I don't think that I'll tell something new about this antagonist and his song, so I'll focus on some tiny moments that I find interesting. Maybe somebody noticed this, but I'll mention this. Still this character is one of those, who kinda formed my tastes in what the good and threatening enemy has to be.

Judge Claude Frollo is awesome in his monstrosity. He is really well-written not just as antagonist, but also as a character. The way how he is presented, how he looks, how he acts and how deep and cold his voice, I would genuinely believe that judge Frollo is a manifestation of the unnatural death. Not natural one, which is a force of nature that values a life and keeps balance in own quite severe way, but exactly the unnatural death that exists due to the ignorance and malice of human nature. He embodies all dark aspects of human nature, yet he is self-contained, deep and realistic character, what makes him so terrifying.

Why he is the way he is — racist, sexist, chauvinist, hypocrite, narrow-minded fanatic, liar and murderer? I don't think that we need a backstory, because the answer is simple — Frollo is the result and the product of both his time (Middle Ages, hence religious dogmas) and his own decisions. Although, the line about his desire to make the world "pure from vice and sin" and the fact that he is a judge for like 20+ years (and has no claims for getting more power) imply a king is okay with this, so there's the possibility that Frollo could start as more or less devoted, fair-minded and good in his work (and that France really was in horrible conditions, plus wars), but than older he got, than more he got ruthless and blind to his own mistakes and crimes, using his authority for oppression and literal genocide instead of punishing exactly criminals. And, well, his words about cruelty of the world make sense, so you can agree with him in that aspect. I can't tell for sure, whether Frollo is a psychopath or sociopath, although he has some traits of narcissism (at the same time the only living being that Frollo genuinely liked and cared about is his black stallion Snowball); and his view of religion and rationalizing in some senses has some parallels with worldview of Oliver Cromwell, but what I can tell for sure — his arc is in falling into the madness due to own narrow, fanatical, sick and twisted mind despite many events that could change him and save from this path. I don't know, whether the authors did that intentionally or accidentally, but the story (and ephemeral "divine forces") gives to the old judge at least two moments for redemption — the first chance, of course, is Quasimodo, and how Frollo could learn compassion and forgiveness, but no, he psychologically abuses Quasimodo and feeds own ego, using the blatant gaslighting, and the second chance is, of course, Esmeralda, and how Frollo, falling in love with her, could change for her and also change his own worldview, realizing and accepting own imperfection (although, I find it nearly impossible, because in Esmeralda's eyes he was and always will be a monster, a murderer and a tormentor — from another side, at least, in the animated film he has no sadomasochistic tendencies he had in the book; and I find his conflict in the animated film more interesting, deep and complex, because in the book it is basically just "I am actually a priest, my job forbids to me to be interested in women"). But we know, what happened instead — Frollo corrupts the possiblity of love and turns it into the pure possessiveness and wrath, viewing it as a witchcraft that causes lust (because Frollo is absolutely sure that all Romani are demons, and there can't be love from them and/or to them, only dirty carnal pleasure). He ignored and failed everything, blamed everyone and everything in own mistakes and crimes, he lied to himself and hence he was the reason of own demise.

I can also assume that for Frollo to accept the idea of sincere love toward Esmeralda means to encounter his biggest fears — to realize and to accept the fact that he deprived himself of normal life, free and full of happiness, and spent all his own life in self-restrictions, self-reproach, lying to himself, denying crimes for "greater plan" (making world pure from vice and corruption) and also in committing various sins — especially oppression and mass murders of people, where many of them were innocent. To accept his feelings and possibillity of love toward Esmeralda means for him to consider Romani people as equals to French citizens of Paris, to doubt his worldview and religious dogmas and to accept how wrong he was all his life, to reject everything he knew all his life, as well to encounter the painful fear — that Esmeralda will never love him after what he has done, and he isn't able to actually earn her love and forgiveness. Not to mention that he is already old man (50-65, I guess), while she is young (19-23), so in some senses there's also envy. So he tries to convince himself in the opposite, he wants to believe that Esmeralda herself can choose and love him, or else she is a fire demon, who wants to kill him, so she must be destroyed. Frollo's main animator was Kathy Zielinski, and she perfectly nailed his nature and also added few subtle details in his animation and expressions. For example, you can notice some kind of hesitation and regret during "God have mercy on her..." line after he burned Esmeralda's scarf, considering her escape from the church as the rejection of his attention... ah, not kidding, that's terrifying — imagine, you're young girl with own life, and at the same time some unknown to you man (or the person, who tries to erase your people) draws his future with you, creates the idolized image of you and gets furious that you "rejected" him despite the fact that you even never interacted with him and promised nothing to him (and you have no idea about this creep and what's in his mind). Another interesting detail that I noticed in Frollo's animation, and I'd like to ask Kathy about this — it seems that Frollo is left-handed inborn, but later he trained to be right-handed. Because he uses his left hand very often and confidently and exactly during the moments, when you will use exactly your working and active hand.

So, about Hellfire. For real, for me it was mind-blowing. The beauty of this song is in psychology and the fact that we can see what happens in Frollo's twisted and sick mind, what he feels and thinks and why — the two opposite feelings toward the one person, contradictional feelings because of Frollo's beliefs and view on Esmeralda's origin, her belonging to those he killed his whole life. The core of his song is not a lust (I'd say that it is not the case despite the fetishism with Esmeralda's hair and her scarf that he hid and wore on his chest), it's exactly the possessiveness, mixed with blatant fanaticism, egocentrism and victimblaming. Basically "Just fear me, love me, do as I say, and I'll be your slave!" thing. And now I'll try to explain, why I think so. In the animated film, at least, I can understand, why Frollo was interested in Esmeralda — she is not just a young pretty girl, she is smart, she is kind, she is brave, her spirit is free, strong and untamed, she can stand for herself, and she dared to oppose him. So no wonder, why he could be interested in her — there's something more than "just a beautiful body" (and it doesn't contradict to the movie's message and why Esmeralda ended up with Phoebus — he saw Esmeralda as an equal and living person, psychologically he was the only mature man in contrast to Frollo and Quasimodo, and at the same time Quasimodo is more mature than Frollo, because the inexperienced boy, who lived in isolation, really values Esmeralda and her choice and happiness). Because, I'm sorry, although in the book Esmeralda (or Agness, that's her true name in the book) is 15 years old, but as a character or a person she has nothing except of beautiful body, and she has no brains in the book (especially the scene with her mother near the end confirms that). And this thought came to my mind after I noticed the one certain detail in Hellfire sequence. For sure, my favourite moment of this song is "Or else let her be mine and mine alone!". It is the only scene, where Frollo dreams without obsession. It is the only tender scene with him, and it is the only scene, where he is shown vulnerable and lonely, and that makes this scene very personal and impactful. What's interesting, the early version was different, hence it gave different perception. In the early version it is the blatant lust, the carnal desire, mad obsession, because Frollo moves to Esmeralda's smoke spirit as a predator and tries to grab her exactly as a predator tries to catch and grab its prey, as well as Esmeralda here is depersonalized and... dead, she just flies and then disappears, she is just an image, not something alive, just a body instead of living person.

In contrast to this, in the final version the scene hits differently — Frollo walks to her with open arms, as well as Esmeralda's spirit, now pure and ethereal, flies to him with open arms and tenderly touchs his face, so he tries to hug her, but she disapperas, so he looks at it with sadness. The final version is more subtle and ambiguous and leaves the clear hint that Frollo really wanted to be loved by her the way he is (exactly in terms of feelings and platonic side). It shows the sadistic, racist, narcissistic, ruthless, fanatical, hypocritical and deluded sociopath from different side — as a lonely and lost person, who doesn't understand his own feelings and hence is afraid of them and despises them, and who through his narrow, ossified, sick and twisted worldview corrupts initially a pure and sincere feeling toward the brave and kind young girl and turns into a sinful and disgusting act of obsession and possessiveness, erasing any chance for alternative, depriving himself of any alternative. His line "Why I see her dancing there? Why her smoldring eyes still scorch my soul?" kinda hint that he never experienced these feelings (in the festival scene, where Esmeralda kisses Frollo for cheering up, you can notice how embarrassed, timid and meek he is at this moment, but as soon as she jokingly moves his hat on his face and runs back on the stage, he again is in anger state), they are not familliar for him, he can't understand, accept and control it, so it only makes his anger on himself and especially on Esmeralda (again victimblaming) stronger and more destructive.

And it also plays on a viewer's empathy, because even with this gorgeous scene the song and the movie give the right message — no matter what, after all what he has done he's the dangerous and irredeemable stalker and murderer. Judge Frollo is that kind of wonderful human monsters that you will enjoy to analyze, but never want to meet in real life. P.S. Speaking about backstory — maybe at Frollo's youth some gipsy woman predicted that in his next life Frollo will have lots of hot girls through his life, but at the old age he will die due to the stroke during "love play" with another young woman in one old town in the forest. And this town was Twin Peaks. P.S.s. (UPD) In early drafts there was some backstory of Frollo's hatred toward Romani people — it was some kind of self-fulfilling prophecy. When Frollo was young and became a judge and celebrated that with his friends, some old gipsy woman predicted that his ambitions will destroy him, so Frollo gets furious, because he worked hard for getting this job etc, and he considered the prophecy as a witchcraft and started to chase this old lady, so after this his hatred toward Romani has started. Basically Kung Fu Panda 2 prologue or whatever. I would more quickly assume the self-hatred or self-loath issues, caused by Frollo's own origin and the perception of Romani people as demons that must be sent back to Hell for centuries, i.e. he himself could be part gipsy (most likely 1/2 from his mother, hence lying to Quasimodo about his mother, Claude kinda talked about own mother that was "a heartless gipsy who is not capable of real love and abandoned him", so the same image he projects on Esmeralda, expecting from her the same betrayal and at the same time wanting to be loved by her). On another hand, we already had the antagonist with self-hatred issues — Judge Doom from Who Framed Roger Rabbit 1988 movie.

[roo-bastmoon]

Revenge Retail Therapy

So, I had a shithead human being who forgot their humanity for a moment, operating under a throw-away account, come to my inbox right after my post asking for us all to be kind to each other just to tell me that 1) Jimin has faked being a good singer all these years thanks to auto tune 2) Jimin is a lying queerbaiting attention whore and 3) Jimin is secretly loathed by Taekook for these obvious reasons.

Now, I'm a human and an Aries and menopausal, so you best believe I needed to take a moment and find my better self before deleting that nonsense.

And I confess, for a few moments it did leave me feeling pretty powerless. Frankly, all the stuff happening in the charts, with military enlistment, with online bullying, all of it left me feeling super powerless.

So on my lunch break, I went to the bank and drew out some cash. To hire a hitman? No, to use my anger as a tool to manifest the world I want.

This is TMI, but, I'd been saving up to treat myself to a new sofa. I had my eye on a nice little cream-colored comfy sectional with a lounge built in. Figured it would be a nice grownup thing to get.

But also? I have three furry overlords who LOVE to scratch up and puke on the furniture and they still have a good five to ten years of life left in them. These are my three demons who took cat form:

So as long as I am their slave, a brand new nice sofa is just not a realistic purchase. Better to save my money...

But then I got the idea to get revenge retail therapy. And on my lunch break today, I drove my butt to Target.

I will be giving away these albums at Yoongi's concert in Newark on April 29th. Anything that doesn't get taken will be donated to my local country public library system. And HOPEFULLY these purchases will end up reflected in the charts, since they were made in person at a US retailer, using only cash, and purchased ONE AT A TIME with sheer malicious glee.

Listen. I blocked that set-up account, but, on the off chance they are lurking around my blog, I want to gently but firmly say something:

You cannot keep Park Jimin down. And you cannot MAKE us Jimin stans lower ourselves to your level.

You keep spreading hate. It only makes me love harder. Keep going. I'll make more iTunes accounts at this point. WATCH ME.

Y'all keep playing I just might take up a collection to found the Park Jimin Center for Haters Who Can't Read Good and Wanna Learn To Do Other Stuff Good Too, Inc.

You'll never have the last word. Never.

Kindest regards,

Roo

PS. Jimin is so loved. Jimin is so, so, SO very loved. By all his members. By true ARMY. Most of all by Jeon Jungkook. And if you liked my retail therapy, here have some more receipts about that:

[love-kurdt]

This is Me Trying (byler): 2

word count: 10,471

warnings for this chapter: maaaajooorrrr depression!!! brief sexual content, homophobia, underage drinking, panic attacks, driving under the influence, near-death experiences, suicidal ideation. this is semi-autobiographical so pls be kind <3

in short: if you are emotionally or mentally vulnerable, please dni.

Mike’s eyes danced across the ceiling of Carter’s bedroom where, surprisingly, no one had come in and tried to kick him out. He detested popcorn ceilings. They were so… textured. Texture should not belong on ceilings. Maybe it was a good thing that things didn’t end up going any further with Carter, because then, he would’ve been staring up at a goddamn popcorn ceiling while Will Byers’ doppelgänger had his way with him.

He laid on his back with his skinny legs hanging off the edge of the bed, and folded his hands together over his stomach as he got lost in the travesty that was the popcorn ceiling. He tried to imagine that the endless expanse of polystyrene was actually just extremely puffy clouds, a bowl of cooked white rice, or freshly fallen snow that had recently been compacted together by a winter boot. His eyes trailed to the junction between the ceiling and the wall, which was adorned with a string of multicolored lights. He liked those kinds of lights, even if they kind of reminded him of the ones Joyce used to communicate with Will in the Upside Down. Over the years, slowly but surely, one of Vecna’s various torture mechanisms became simply Christmas lights again.

Fuck, Christmas break was coming up soon. He needed to get Nancy and Holly gifts before making the trek back to Hawkins. He hoped he’d have enough room in his car for everything, since he wouldn’t be returning after break. The realization hit Mike out of nowhere; since he no longer had a school to attend, he’d never have an academic “break” ever again. The last one he’d participated in was Thanksgiving, and he’d wanted to have one last memory of his parents being proud of him before he became the full-fledged failure of the family. It was evident, from the way his father had made multiple homophobic remarks aimed directly at Mike from across the dinner table, that he’d already failed. He chose to keep his mouth shut about potentially dropping out, at the risk of making things even worse. Now that his college career was officially over, though, “Christmas break” would be just “Christmas” from here on out.

He wondered if Will would be back in town for Hanukkah. He hoped so. The holiday season would be different this year. Mike would get the fuck over himself and leave the house. He would repair his purposefully neglected friendships. And he’d finally get the chance to see Will again, face to face. Though chances were slim, maybe Will would hear him out. Maybe Will’s hatred for Mike had faded a little bit. He still couldn’t quite comprehend the complexity of what exactly happened within the past year, and how what Mike already assumed to be pretty damn bad became even worse, considering how well the new year started off.

As soon as Mike had arrived back at his dorm in January, he diligently thumbtacked the post-it detailing Will’s phone number on the wall above his headboard. He wasn’t normally someone who believed in karma, omens, manifestation, or any of that hippie crap (because Mike was obviously a realist and a pessimist by nature), but he truly believed that seeing Joyce at Melvald’s was fate in its finest form. Forgetting his school supplies (along with his reluctance to just go back home and grab what he needed from his room) resulted in essentially coming out to Will’s mother. And that was one step closer to getting Will back. Now, all he had to do was call that number.

The post-it stayed on his wall for three months. Elvis hadn’t mentioned or questioned it; they weren’t official, anyway, so Mike was free to see whoever he wanted. Except Mike didn’t just want to see Will. He wanted to spend the rest of his life with Will. If only Mike could pick up the goddamn phone.

It wasn’t that Mike didn’t want to call; he wanted nothing more than to hear Will’s voice enveloped in grainy audio. He longed for the day he’d get to say Will’s name out loud instead of just writing it. But Mike was waiting for the right time to do it. He couldn’t call in the morning, because Will had insisted for years that, in the words of his stepfather, “Mornings are for coffee and contemplation,” and refused to be disturbed before 9am. He couldn’t call in the afternoon, because Will would most definitely be in class, or at work if he had a job, or hanging out somewhere with his new friends, and Mike didn’t want to impose upon that. And he couldn’t call in the evening, because what if the conversation went south? He didn’t want Will to go to sleep angry or upset, especially at him.

In reality, no time was a good time. Mike knew that confrontation was inexorable, and whether it came across as offensive or not was dependent upon how the conversation began. Mike, ever the strategist, prepared himself for a multitude of scenarios, from worst to best case; it turned out that predicting all possible outcomes during a supernatural war would help him immensely in this process. Ultimately, he chose to pick up the phone and call Will on the least problematic occasion he could think of: the date was March 22nd, 1990– also known as Will’s 19th birthday.

Mike had parked himself in the middle of his mattress, sitting criss cross on top of his navy blue comforter. He’d pulled his phone, monstrous, pale yellow, and with a spiral cord, off of his bedside table and into his lap. It wasn’t the most comfortable of positions to be in, and Mike’s back was slightly killing him (hunching over a notebook for hours on end all day probably didn’t help either), but it was the optimal setup for either an hours-long phone call or for slamming the handset back in place and hanging up as soon as the other end of the line picked up. But Mike knew he wouldn’t ever hang up. Never on Will.

Mike drew his eyes up the headboard of his bed and onto the wall until they met the post-it, in all its glory. Mike inhaled so hard he thought his lungs would spontaneously combust from the pressure in his chest. He feared his heart would stop the second the dial tone emerged from within the earpiece. Mike knew he had to do this now, or he never would. He’d already procrastinated doing this for too long. He gulped, his finger hovering over the rotary dial, and tried his luck.

The ringback tone went through once, twice, and–

One of the Christmas lights in the otherwise dark room flickered, causing Mike’s body to snap up to attention. He rose to defend himself from any monsters in his vicinity, ready to fight the– woah, he stood up way too fast. He was, apparently, still quite intoxicated. He sat back down on the bed, eyes still glued to the string of bright, colorful lights lining the perimeter of Charlie’s… Christopher’s room? Whatever. It started with C. After a few minutes of engaging in a staring contest with a fucking lightbulb, he let his shoulders go lax. Tension that he hadn’t realized had built up released from his neck as he rested his head on his palms. He wasn’t in danger, not anymore. Well, at least, not in the paranormal realm of things. The only monster he’d have to fight was himself. 

More specifically, the raging… situation that had yet to go down in his obscenely tight shorts. Cadence had done a number on him, even though it only lasted for approximately zero-point-five seconds. Mike shut his eyes tightly, not sure of what to do. He could wait longer, and run the risk of being caught with a very obvious boner by someone if they entered the room unannounced… or he could make a run for it and try not to be sidetracked by anyone he knew.

Mike opened the bedroom door a crack and peeked through, and thankfully, it didn’t look like the escape would be too arduous. He rushed out of the room, pushing through the multitude of bodies in search of the exit. The room was extremely hot, likely due to everyone’s combined body heat and the space heaters stationed in the corner of every room, which made it difficult to breathe. He hadn’t been much of a fan of the cold ever since he and Will got stuck in the Upside Down during the Vecnapocalypse. They’d ended up staying there for longer than initially anticipated; having almost kissed at one point, Mike freaked out and ran away, stupidly tripping on a vine and causing an entire side-battle in the Upside Down, nearly ruining the Party’s chance to defeat Vecna. So, no, he wasn’t much of a fan of the cold, but right now, Mike needed to escape the sensation of molten lava that crept up and slowly wrapped around his throat. His eyes caught a glimpse of the front door, and relief flooded through his veins.

But that feeling was short lived, because a vine curled around Mike’s wrist before he could take another step. He whipped around to see that the vine was actually a hand, and noticed that he vaguely recognized the hand’s owner, who was a girl from his Quantitative Literacy class. “Hey, Mike!” she smiled. She had black hair, light brown eyes, and a septum piercing. She looked badass. Bitchin’, as El would say. However, her bright teal eyeshadow, even in the dark, served as both a boner killer and the source for Mike’s impending migraine. So it was a blessing and a curse, really.

He tried to remember the girl’s name, but didn’t want to disappoint her when he’d admitted to not knowing it, so he uttered a painfully generic, “Hey! How are you doing’? Good to see you!” and gave her a rather light, impersonal hug. She appeared to be satisfied enough with his greeting. She pulled Mike down by his shoulder so she could talk in his ear without everyone hearing over the music.

“My friend over there saw you earlier and was wondering if you were single,” she said, pointing over to a group of two guys and two girls who were all huddled on the sectional couch. Mike raised a quizzical eyebrow. This conversation could go one of two ways. Mike hoped he wouldn’t have to make it awkward, but then again, he knew he probably wouldn’t ever see her again after that night. So that made him feel a little better in that respect.

“Oh,” he hesitated. “Uh… which one?”

“Shoot, I should have led with that!” she laughed. Mike laughed along, but his voice felt hollow. Luckily, she didn’t pick up on it. “The one with the blue hair! Her name is Chelsea.”

Mike looked over at the group, and made eye contact with the girl with the blue hair. He watched as she blushed and looked away. She was shy. She looked sweet. Damn it, Mike, now you’re gonna break yet another heart. What is wrong with you? Why can’t you just be normal?

“She’s pretty interested, you know,�� the Girl With No Name said, unknowingly twisting the knife that rested permanently in Mike’s stomach. The lava curling around his throat became even hotter, burning through his skin.

“Yeah, totally, uh… that’s so cool!” Mike remarked passively. And yeah, it was cool, in theory… but hopelessly incompatible in practice. He glanced at the door, then back at the girl before telling her, “I hate to break it to you, but I’m straight as a circle.”

“Wait, what?” 

“I’m gay, like, really gay.” Mike blurted, probably loud enough for the entire room to hear. He heard someone whistle, and a few others cheered him on, but Mike wanted to burst into flames. The girl stared at Mike, stunned at his sudden outburst, seemingly at a loss for words. Mike felt himself choking on air. He needed to get out of there, and quickly. 

“Okaygottagoseeya!” Mike forced out in a single breath, not leaving any time for a response from anyone before he bolted through the crowd and out the door, successfully fleeing the scene. Grass met the soles of his Chuck Taylors as he continued to run across the campus quad, his breathing quick, ragged, and uneven. The frigid December weather did nothing to soothe the burning sensation throughout Mike’s body, which by now felt like it was burning from the inside out. His feet loudly slapped the pavement below him, and Mike was proud that he hadn’t slowed down or stopped yet. If one good thing were to come out of his time at the University of Indianapolis, it was his improved stamina from all the sex. Well, that’s fucking sad… and kind of hilarious, Mike thought.

He sprinted a few blocks, not caring to look for any oncoming cars. If he got hit, cool. Awesome. He’d thank the driver as he bled out in the street. But no one came to take him out of his misery. So he kept running, and running, and running. Mike’s long legs screamed as his practically nonexistent muscles struggled to carry him. The prickly, thin air he breathed in through his mouth reminded him of the sensation when he’d chewed a piece of mint gum and drank water right after. It was so fucking cold, but he was so fucking hot. Like, there was sweat dripping down his face. Or were those tears? Was he seriously fucking crying again?

Up until last year, Mike had never been the type of person to openly cry. He wasn’t raised to share his feelings or emotions. That was part of the reason as to why Mike had been so uncomfortable with the prospect of going to therapy. He never opened up to anyone, because he hated the feeling of defenselessness, and even more so despised the idea of being seen as weak. He prided himself on being the “fearless leader” of the Party. For fuck’s sake, he’d been the one to stare Vecna down as he thrust a sword straight into his heart. He’d proven his strength as a leader time and time again. But what would happen when Mike Wheeler let his guard down?

It turned out that Mike didn’t have to let his guard down; Will broke it for him. Will’s departure broke the dam of emotional repression that Mike had worked so hard for years to maintain. Mike suddenly became unable to stop himself from crying. He’d always silently envied Will for being able to express his emotions so freely, but now that Mike could do so as well, albeit uncontrollably, he didn’t envy Will at all. He wasn’t sure how Will had done it for all those years; the migraines, the exhaustion, the dehydration… It was awful. And Mike felt even worse when he recalled all the times when he was the reason for making Will cry.

Mike had also gotten accustomed to panic attacks. He had his first one on the day Will left. His mom came into his room to check on him. He’d looked up at her with scared, red-rimmed eyes, and his shoulders violently shook as he hyperventilated. His mom swiftly jumped into action, meeting Mike where he was at, grounding him, and helping him come back to earth. She’d held Mike in her arms as he sobbed, comforted him, and didn’t pry. But… she knew. He could never express enough gratitude towards his mom for what she did for him that day. Little did he know, though, that it only got worse from there. The second one happened after The Phone Call™, which led to his initial downward spiral. The third one happened in Warren Blakeley’s car after he’d been drugged and assaulted at that one party. And the fourth one… ‘twas a-brewin’.

Mike found his car despite his impaired vision, nearly ripped the driver’s side door off its hinges with how roughly he opened it, and slammed it shut behind him. He collapsed his entire body weight against the steering wheel before letting out the loudest, most guttural scream that he hadn’t even been aware he was capable of. He reached his hands up into his scalp, pulling fistfuls of hair with his hands as his surroundings melted away. Mike genuinely felt like he was going to die. Everything he’d said, done, and experienced within the past year and a half had been slowly building up inside him, and this was him finally cracking under the pressure.

Dear Will, I hate you. Dear Will, you broke me. Dear Will, I crave you. Dear Will, why? Why, why, why– Dear Will, fuck you. Dear Will, go to hell. Dear Will, I’m sorry. Dear Will, I miss you. Dear Will, I love you. Dear Will—

Mike turned his keys in the ignition, and the engine came roaring to life. He lifted his head up to the rear view mirror, rubbed his eyes a few times, and took a look at his reflection. The person staring back at him looked absolutely horrendous. He looked as if he hadn’t fully slept through the night since 1983. And that wasn’t far from the truth; Mike could count on a single hand how many a good night’s sleep he’d had since the day Will was first taken by the demogorgon, and all of those times, Will was there, by his side.

Mike shifted gears and turned his headlights on, pulling out of his spot and drifting out into the street. He knew what he was doing was a bad idea. Driving drunk was, first of all, illegal, and secondly, dangerous to not just himself, but to others. But he couldn’t give less of a shit; he’d figured out what he needed to do. He slowed down to a stop at the red light of the intersection where he’d have to take a left to go home.

“When you’re… different, sometimes you feel like a mistake. But you make [me] feel like [I’m] not a mistake at all. Like [I’m] better for being different. And that gives [me] the courage to fight on. If [I] was mean to you, or [I] seemed like [I] was pushing you away, it’s because [I’m] scared of losing you, like you’re scared of losing [me]. And if [I] was going to lose you, I think [I’d] rather just get it over with quick. Like ripping off a Band-Aid.”

The light turned green, but Mike didn’t turn left. He tapped his fingertips against the center console, drove straight ahead, past the light, and turned on his right hand signal.

He swerved onto I-65.

“Hello?” a familiar voice answered. Mike felt his breath hitch. His voice was deeper than Mike remembered. It was like he’d gone through a second puberty, if that were even possible.

“Will! Hi!” Mike exclaimed, sounding far too enthusiastic for his own good. He waited for a reply, but could only hear Will breathing on the other end of the line. He went to speak again, but Will beat him to the punch.

“… Mike?” Will said his name in a tone that Mike could only label as nostalgic dread. Oh god, he shouldn’t have called him. He shouldn’t have called him, but he did, and Will was on the phone, and had just said Mike’s name for the first time in a year.

Mike reclined onto his comforter so he was lying on his back with his knees bent, wrapping the cord around his finger a few times as he spoke. “Yeah, um… I was just calling to wish you a happy birthday, and to tell you that I miss you.” Well, that was vague, Wheeler. You can do better than– “And love you. So much.” …that. Fuck. Too far.

He heard Will gasp, then try to cover it up by clearing his throat a few times before responding. “How’d you get my number?”

Friends don’t lie, so Mike told him. “Your mom gave it to me over Christmas break.”

Will exhaled. Mike always savored that sound, and would have been content if that was the last sound he’d ever hear. But… that specific exhale didn’t convey contentment; this one was laced with light exasperation. “She shouldn’t have done that.”

Mike begged to differ. She most definitely should have done that, and Mike would be eternally grateful that she did. In the eleventh hour, where all hope appeared to have been lost in the most abysmal Christmas break to ever exist, Joyce Byers saved Mike Wheeler’s life. She’d given him a reason to keep on going.

“And you probably shouldn’t call me again.”

The color drained out of Mike’s face. His stomach churned with anxiety that seemed to exponentially increase by the second, and he suddenly felt the urge to throw up. This was the worst case scenario, but he didn’t think much of it. It was only a hypothetical, it wasn’t supposed to actually happen! Will was pushing Mike away. Again. But why?

“What have I ever done to you, Will?” Mike heard himself ask, his voice small. He felt like a kid again. At the end of the day, he was still a kid. He’d had to grow up too fast, a powerful disquiet having annihilated a majority of his childhood. He’d been so uncertain of where he’d end up after the war was over. And the one time Mike was sure of himself, sure of his feelings, and sure that Will Byers was his heart, he– 

“Enough. You’ve done enough,” Will’s voice, followed by the sound of the dial tone made Mike’s blood run cold. He set the handset back into its cradle, and continued to lay there on his twin-sized mattress, the rest of his body completely frozen. He felt his facial features involuntarily crumpling in upon themselves as the grief consumed him.

This had to be a nightmare. This couldn’t be real. Mike rarely prayed; he only did in life-threatening situations, where the probable end result was dying. But right now, Mike prayed the hardest he’d ever prayed in his entire life. Please, God, help me wake up. Jesus, Allah, Yahweh, whoever the hell you are, if you even exist at all… if this is real life, please kill me. I can’t live like this. After a minute or so, he opened his eyes. Nothing. Mike huffed a quiet laugh to himself; it was so typical of him to place responsibility on others, let alone God, to deal with his problems. He’d have to face this alone. He was always alone. And he fucking hated it.

Mike hated that he would never have Will in the way he wanted him, no, the way he needed him. Mike hated that he could never seem to get the closure that he believed he deserved. Mike hated that Will wouldn’t just be honest with him! You’ve done enough. What the fuck did “enough” even mean? Had he done something else? Did he do something other than that one time in August? Something during his first semester, or over Christmas break, that he couldn’t remember due to his steadily consistent, months-long intoxication? He couldn’t think of a single thing, which made him even angrier. 

He wished he could just… fall out of love with Will, or something. Maybe Mike could fall out of love with him. What was the worst that could happen if Mike picked up the handset again, and dialed the number written on that cursed post-it? What if he said to Will, “Actually, I don’t love you. That was just me being crazy”? Crazy together, that’s what would happen. He’d be reminded of the young boy who recognized his more-than-platonic love for Will; a version of himself that he could never get back; a boy who would call him out for lying to both Will and himself, because friends don’t lie. It wouldn’t be a lie to say that Will had hurt Mike badly enough to justify a grudge. At least he thought so. Then again, Mike hated grudges, and the person he became when he held them. Scratch that, he hated the person he’d become, period. He didn’t recognize himself anymore.

He’d started at the University of Indianapolis entirely heartbroken, but on the other hand, he’d finally discovered his identity as a young gay man. He met some new people, and fucked a lot more of them. But parties have to end sometime. Mike would lay in bed, covered in the sweat and cum of a random guy asleep next to him, and would get weirdly emotional when his mind would, as always, drift to Will. He’d sometimes close his eyes and pretend the guy was Will, and he’d fall for his own brain’s tricks, if only for a minute. After that minute was up, and he’d remember that Will hated his guts… he would drink. A lot. He was the life of the party… with a side of alcoholism. His temper got worse, his fuse got shorter, and his overall outlook on life became so cynical that he sometimes even contemplated dying, and not the kind of dying involving bones snapping and eyes exploding. But he’d never followed through with anything in his entire life, so he knew he wouldn’t be able to kill himself even if he wanted to.

The tears that previously poured out of his eyes like waterfalls had dried up, their presence remaining evident in the stiffness on the surface of Mike’s cheeks. He hiccuped, the sharp intake of air causing him to develop a cramp under his ribcage. He grimaced in pain, sitting up and lowering his feet to the linoleum floor. He shuffled to his wardrobe and opened it, sifting through some oversized sweatshirts, a windbreaker, and Will’s godforsaken yellow sweater before he found what he was looking for. It was over. This was it. He’d had his chance, and he lost Will for the third time in his life. He picked up the bottle of whiskey, unscrewed the cap, and raised it to his lips. Fuck Will Byers. Fuck everything.

The sun had traveled up and down across the horizon a few times following The Phone Call™ when he’d startled awake to a shrill ringing in his ears. He checked his alarm clock to see the time, and he rolled his eyes. He extended his arm out to grab the phone without having to move the rest of his body. “Bitch, I swear to God, you better be either pregnant or broken up with by Nathan, because it is two o’clock in the goddamn–”

“Mike. It’s El.”

Mike sat up then, his eyes wide with conviction. “El? Jeez, I’m so sorry for that incredibly blunt greeting. My friend Alex tends to call me around this time with all her latest life crises, so… I just kind of assumed.”

El hummed in understanding. “It’s okay. Let’s hope your friend Alex doesn’t actually get pregnant or broken up with, though.”

“Yeah, that would not be good,” Mike agreed with a laugh, leaning back onto his pillows and staring at the ceiling. He’d missed the sound of El Hopper’s voice. It had been way too long. “So, uh, what’s up?”

“I was hoping you’d be able to tell me,” El replied, and Mike’s reminiscing came to a full stop. Of course Will had called El. They were siblings who told each other everything. Even back when they were kids, especially after Joyce and Hopper finally got married, Will and El were joined at the hip.

“What happened?” she asked him, and Mike scoffed, lifting his free hand to run it through his hair, regretting it immediately when his fingers got caught in one of the many knots, since Mike hadn’t washed his hair in nearly a week.

“Wouldn’t it be counterproductive for you to hear the same story twice?”

“I want to hear it from your perspective,” El told him, and Mike clenched his jaw.

“Okay. Fine. Where do I start?”

“From the beginning would be great.”

So Mike told her. He started at the beginning, all the way back to when Will and El had just moved back to Hawkins in April of 1986. He told her about how he and Will hadn’t spoken for the whole six months that he’d been in California. He told her about how he had, in fact, written letters to Will; he’d just never sent them. He told her about the distance that Will carefully maintained between the two of them throughout the entire duration of the Vecnapocalypse, up until when they’d almost kissed in the Upside Down. He told her about how Will–

“And then a few days ago I called him to wish him a happy birthday and… El, I genuinely think he hates me. He hung up on me and… I don’t know. I don’t fucking know. I can't undo the past, and I can't get him out of my head.”

El remained silent for a few seconds, and Mike feared that their call might have been disconnected and he’d been talking to no one. But then, he heard the faint sound of El breathing, so he continued, “If any of this gets back to Will–”

“Why do you think I called you, Mike?” El cut him off, and Mike sat there in silence, unable to reply. “I called because I care, and because I want the best for both you and Will. Not just Will. I think you did the right thing letting him know you’re still there if he wants you to be.” Well that was… unexpected. And really kind, considering that this was the first time they’d spoken since she moved to Nashville. He truly had no idea why El still gave a shit about him after everything. He’d been a shitty boyfriend and a shitty friend, and these reasons alone were appropriate grounds to cut him out of her life. But El stuck around.

“Oh,” Mike whispered. “Thanks.”

“I just…” she trailed off. Oh no. What now?

“Just what?” he pressed, and he heard El sigh. Greeeaaaaat.

“I just think you shouldn’t have called so soon.”

“So soon?” Mike repeated, horrified. “El, it’s been seven months since I last spoke to him! When do you think should I have done it?” Should he have waited until they were out of school for the summer? Should he have waited until they were both out of college? Should he have waited until Will had forgotten about him?

“You should have let him call you,” El said to him, her voice strangely calm. “Or not called him on his birthday of all days. I don’t know, I’m just throwing ideas out there.” Yeah, no shit. Mike reached over to his bedside table again to pick up the bottle of whiskey, which still had about half left, and took a gigantic gulp, instantly regretting it when it scorched his esophagus.

“I don’t see how the fuck this is helping, Eleven,” he spluttered, wiping his mouth roughly with his sweatshirt sleeve. Sometimes, Mike wished El’s powers extended beyond telekinesis and telepathy, and, like, contained the key solution to all of his problems. That would be ideal. But no, she had to be all vague and mysterious and just throw ideas out there.

“Okay, well, if you want to be that way, then fine,” El’s tone turned cold. “I highly recommend you consider hashing it out in person.” She had no idea what she was talking about. The Will she had spoken to must have been a figment of her imagination, because Will had made it abundantly clear that he wanted absolutely nothing to do with Mike. As far as Mike was concerned, he’d never see Will again. But then El spoke once more. “I hope you and Will can eventually get your heads out of your asses and admit that you still love each other.”

With that, the line clicked, and Mike was alone with his thoughts. Or rather, one lone phrase, as the rest of his mind faded to nothingness: You still love each other. You still love each other. You still love each other. You still love each other. You still love each other. You still love each other. You still love each other. You still love each other. You still love each other. You still love each other. Those words played on a loop in Mike’s mind as he finished off his bottle of whiskey. From that moment on, “sobriety” and “Mike Wheeler'' would not appear in the same sentence, not until—

Woaaaahhhh! Livin’ on a prayer!!! The key change of the Bon Jovi song woke Mike back up with a start. This had already happened a few times, but thankfully, the loud rock music on Will’s mixtape would startle him awake each time he nodded off behind the wheel.

Mike concluded that he couldn’t blink anymore. Though his eyes were incredibly dry, due to lukewarm air blasting through the vents and directly hitting his corneas, blinking would cause Mike’s heart rate to lower and the rest of the world to move in slow motion. If only for a few seconds of his life, he’d trade out the mental torment, the anger, and the loneliness for tranquility, quiet, and warmth… then his eyelids would droop closed.

Mike pressed his foot a little harder on the gas pedal, trying not to get distracted by the corn fields that seemed to sway to the music with him. Hopefully Mike would get his third wind sooner than later (his second one was fleeting, and died out as soon as it began). The sun was coming up, which was definitely going to help keep him awake. The song ended, followed by a few seconds of suspended quiet between songs before a familiar guitar riff met Mike’s ears.

“Oh, fuuuuck me. Goddamnit,” Mike indignantly announced to the universe, gripping his fingers tighter on the steering wheel. The voice of Joe Strummer began to shout alongside the wailing electric guitar. Now, Mike was very awake. His mind became a film reel, playing back memories he thought he’d blocked out a long time ago.

Darling you’ve got to let me know / Should I stay or should I go? 

Once everyone had been debriefed on what was happening in Hawkins, Will and Jonathan immediately went to work on making customized mixtapes for everyone. Mike sat on his father’s La-Z-Boy in the living room and watched in awe as the brothers put their minds together and churned out each tape as if it were second nature. He couldn’t help but feel a little jealous of Will’s extensive musical knowledge, for one, as well as the strong sibling bond they shared. Having grown up surrounded by sisters, Mike often felt like the odd one out. His parents shamelessly and openly favored his sisters over him, which further excluded him, whether it was intentional or not, on their part. He couldn’t imagine what it would be like if they ever found out he was gay. That would be a disaster.

If you say that you are mine / I’ll be here till the end of time.

While Will and Jonathan were out getting more cassettes, Mike got a hold of and sifted through everyone’s handwritten lists. He had no idea Dustin enjoyed metal music so much; most of his list consisted of songs by Black Sabbath and Metallica. It wasn’t much of a surprise to him, considering how much of an impact Eddie Munson had made on the two of them. He still couldn’t believe he was gone. Part of him refused to accept it. Eddie could still be alive. He was just in the Upside Down somewhere. They could still save him. There was still time. There had to be time. Mike’s subconscious must have known he’d needed a distraction from the subject of Eddie— not dying— yes, dying, because he found Will’s list. To Mike, this list was a small glimpse into Will’s mind, so he decided to memorize it. He’d do anything to get closer to Will, even if it meant racking his brain in the process.

“You like my mix?” Will’s deep vocal timbre demanded Mike’s attention, and he swiveled his upper body around to see Will leaning over his shoulder, his hands planted on either side of Mike on the back edge of the chair. When did he get back home? That didn’t matter, because Will’s arms looked amazing in Mike’s blue and yellow striped shirt, stretching the short sleeves in all the right places. Was that a vein on his bicep? Mike gulped loudly, becoming flustered at their very close proximity. God, he needed to get ahold of himself. Pining over his best friend like this was not—

“I can make you a copy if you want,” Will said, and Mike’s eyes lit up in surprise. Will would really do that for him? Mike realized then that he hadn’t said any actual words during this entire interaction, and borderline blushed at the thought of Will rendering Mike speechless, but he needed to talk. Now.

“Really?” he asked, and Will nodded. “That would be amazing! Thank you!”

“Of course. I’ll have that ready for you in about an hour,” Will smiled, pulling out of Mike’s space, but not removing his hand from the recliner. Mike took this moment to shift in his spot to face Will, placing his hand atop his friend’s before he could walk away. Will turned back in Mike’s direction, eyes frantic yet welcoming. 

“You’ve always had the best music taste of the Party. I’ve missed it,” Mike had a sentimental streak, what could he say?

“You have?” Will squeaked out, seeming surprised at Mike’s confession. 

“Uh, of course! Why wouldn’t I have missed it?” Mike asked, and Will shrugged.

“I dunno, just… you’ve always liked synth pop stuff more than punk rock. Like, your first song on your list is ‘Smalltown Boy’ by Bronski Beat… which I’m not entirely shocked by? But I always thought you liked that kind of stuff over my taste.”

“Well, you thought wrong, Byers, because your music has always been my favorite to listen to,” Mike quipped, his voice infected by his ever-growing grin. “You taste top tier.”

Wait, did Mike just… What did he just say? He said, quote, “You taste top tier.” As in Will Byers, as a person… tasted top tier. What if… Mike’s mind meandered into treacherous territory as he wondered what Will tasted like– NO! Not now! He was just about ready to pass away right then and there. Mike could just imagine his headstone; Here Lies Michael James Wheeler. Cause of Death: Inability to Formulate a Fucking Sentence.

“Oh, do I, now?” Will raised an eyebrow, a smirk lifting a corner of his gorgeous mouth. Mike nearly fell off the chair. Could his egregious mistake have given him a little bit of leverage in the flirtation department? Will seemed to think so.

Mike played it off casually with a simple, “Yeah.”

“Cool,” Will remarked, placing his other hand over both of theirs, sandwiching Mike’s hand between Will’s palms. So Will liked being (accidentally) flirted with. Note to self, Mike thought, fuck up more often.

Mike smiled so big that his mouth nearly fell off his face. “Cool.”

So you gotta let me know / Should I stay or should I go?

It was the summer of 1989, and all was well. Hawkins was no longer nationally renowned as an extra-terrestrial hybrid between earth and hell, but simply as a small town in the middle of nowhere, Indiana. It was the summer of 1989, and Mike was lying on the basement couch with his legs hanging off the edge. His eyes were closed, and he wore his headphones which were attached to his Walkman, playing Will’s mixtape on repeat, just as Mike had from the second it fell into his hands back in 1986. He felt the thumps of the opening and closing of the basement door, followed by light footsteps treading down the stairs. He cracked a singular eye open, but opened them both fully when he registered that it was Will who was entering his space.

“Mike, we’ve gotta talk.”

It's always tease, tease, tease / You're happy when I'm on my knees 

“Okay, what’s up? Are you–” Mike sat up, pulling his headphones fully off his head and resting them around his neck. Then he saw the look on Will’s face. He looked livid.

One day it's fine, and next it's black / So if you want me off your back / Well, come on and let me know / Should I stay, or should I go?

“What the fuck are these?” Will spat. Mike’s eyes widened at what Will held in his hands. How did he–

“SHOULD I STAY OR SHOULD I GO NOW!!!” Mike cried out, cranking the window down with his free hand and letting the wind rush through his long, black hair. His sobs broke into a maniacal, rueful laugh as his hair violently whipped into his eyes. He lifted his left hand and extended it out the driver’s side window, feeling his fingers being forced apart and back together by the rippling sea of oxygen and carbon. Rock bottom felt like the top of the world.

“IF I GO THERE WILL BE TROUB-ALLLLLLL,” he yelled through the thick strands, spluttering a bit as some pieces made their way into his mouth. He tugged them away, but to no avail, as the wind obviously had a mind of its own, but Mike continued on with his tirade of near-incoherent screeching, face full of loose curls. “AMIFF I SHTAY ISHWILLBEE DUBALLLL!”

The road took a slight bend, and Mike obliged to the demands of the pavement. The sun was bright enough that it burned into his retinas. He pushed his hair out of his face once more to view the scenery, only to be met with a pair of bright yellow headlights belonging to a tractor trailer. Only now did he perceive the loud noise of the truck’s horn; his car radio had been blocking it out. He also noticed that he was in the opposite lane, and about to collide head-on with the trailer if he didn’t move fast enough,

With enough adrenaline to fuel a thousand demodogs, Mike swerved to the right and dodged the truck with only seconds to spare. He took a moment to process the fact that he could have died. He knew his hands held the steering wheel, and his foot was still on the gas, but the rest of him was thoroughly detached from reality. “Should I Stay or Should I Go” blared on through the speakers, but Mike could only feel the vibrations rumbling from the floor of the car. He could have died, but he didn’t. But he felt his heart stop, and it felt simultaneously comforting and cataclysmic..

Mike knew that he couldn’t continue on, not like this. As if the road could read his mind, a small lookout area appeared within his vicinity, and he took this as a sign to pull over onto the shoulder to regroup. He parked his car, turned the music down, and clasped his hands in his lap, waiting a few more seconds before turning the car off, unbuckling his seatbelt and opening the door.

The actual sun had begun to rise. The air was crisp, and the wind chill slightly nudged it into even colder temperatures, sending a shiver down Mike’s spine. He hastily cowered back into the lingering warmth of his vehicle, searching the passenger side for… there it was. He pulled a crimson colored University of Indianapolis sweatshirt from behind him and shoved it over his shoulders, zipping it up. He did a double take at what the block-style letters spelled out, rolling his eyes and laughing bitterly to himself at the sheer irony. He continued to laugh as he opened the car door once more, heading towards the lookout.

Mike stood at the top of a steep cliff, guarded by a rusty guard rail that looked like it would fall apart with the next gust of wind that hit it. The trees below him were bare, their branches contorting every which way, slicing the air around them like an army of spears. Beyond the line of trees he could see the miles-wide stretch of farmland, and the miniscule house that sat on the corner of the property, chimney smoking. In an atmosphere as peaceful as this one, Mike stood idly at the edge of the lookout, thinking about how this would be a beautiful place to die. If he were to lift just one leg over the rail…

Mike, don't do it! I don't need my baby teeth, twelve year old Dustin’s voice echoed from the back burner of his mind. Seriously, don't do it, man! Of course his thoughts traveled back to that time at the quarry. How could he ever forget? Even as a child, he’d been completely wrecked without Will. If this memory proved anything, it proved that history repeats itself.

Dentist's office opens in five, young Troy’s voice began, and Mike glanced down. This time, he wouldn’t be able to turn back. Four… This time, El wouldn’t be able to save him. Three… This time, no one would be there to grieve for him. Two…

“What are you doing, Mike? Is this a joke?”

“No, Will, I’m in love with you.”

“Don’t say that. Please don’t say that. You don’t mean it.”

“But I did mean it!!!” Mike screamed into the silence, startling a flock of birds below. He lifted his hands up to his face, covering his bloodshot eyes. He heaved out a low growl, raising his voice until it hit the top of his range, cracking with an agonizing shriek. “I meant all of it! I love you! I always have! Fuck, Will, why couldn’t you just see that?!”

He let out a quiet sob, but no tears followed; he’d cried the rest of them out over the course of the past few hours. His throat felt like it had been rubbed with coarse sandpaper. He took a step back from the ledge and kicked a few of the rocks at his feet, watching them fall. Mike decided he didn’t want to die that day; not by alcohol poisoning, not by tractor trailer wreck, and not by jumping off a cliff. The only way he could die was if he did all he possibly could to get Will back. He turned his back on the trees, briskly walking back to his car.

I’m gonna make sure you, William Jacob Byers, know that I meant every single word.

About half an hour later, Mike walked into the convenience mart of a gas station. His hangover headache was beginning to form, and his intermittent yawning had become more and more frequent, so he figured some coffee would solve both of those problems. He stopped at the entrance, looking down at the stack of newspapers to his right. Mike recalled himself making a mental note back at the frat party to check his horoscope, so he leaned down to pick one up, searching for Aries when he found the page.

December 15th, 1990: Do expect some appreciation for the efforts you've put into recent days, dear Aries. However, do not get your hopes too high, because your actions may not lean towards gratification if you expect too much.

Well, Chicago Sun Times, it’s a little late for that, Mike thought, tossing the paper back onto the pile and walking to the refrigerator to grab a bottle of water, and then to the coffee station. He filled a cup and dumped about seven packets worth of sugar into it before capping it off and heading to the register.

The clerk behind the counter, an older man, looked like he’d been having the best goddamn morning of his life. He beamed from ear to ear, and Mike could feel the positivity radiating off of this man from a mile away. When he got closer, he noticed a singular studded earring on his right earlobe.

“Hi, how’s it going?” The man smiled at Mike, crows feet forming in the outer corners of his eyes. Mike tried to mirror the expression, but failed miserably.

“It’s going,” he sighed, setting the water and coffee down on the counter and watching the clerk type in the prices on the register.

“Looks like it. You look rough, kid,” the man sympathized, pulling the money Mike slid onto the counter towards him and counting the bills. Mike shifted from foot to foot, anxiously waiting for the cashier to hand him his change so he could get out of there.

“Wanna talk about it?” he quirked an eyebrow, and Mike stopped his fidgeting. He looked up at the clerk, took a deep breath, and–

“Yeah. God, you don’t know the half of it. So I’m gay, right? And, like, that’s cool. And I’m in love with this friend of mine who I’ve known since kindergarten. He’s… he was my best friend. For years. And we went through this major thing that nearly killed us, but somehow it didn’t, and that was great, because then I was able to tell him how I felt. Right? Wrong. So, like, he moved to fucking Chicago without any kind of warning, or maybe, I don’t know, a Hey Mike, you hurt me because you said or did A, B, and C, and this is why I’m leaving. Something that could represent ‘the end’ to me. Because I’m not that great at picking up on when to quit beating a dead whore– horse. Horse. Jesus. I’m not beating any whores, I promise. But anyway, I went to U of Indy, and that was fan-fucking-tastic, because I was finally okay with who I am. I’m pretty good at the gay thing, and other guys seemed to really dick– uh, dig that. And by that, I mean, well… you can put two and two together, right? Right. Okay. So, even when I was with all these guys, I always thought about Will. All the time. He’s a part of me, you know? I couldn’t imagine life without him. So when I called him up on his birthday in March, which was about seven months into the not-talking-to-each-other thing, which I never signed up for in the first place, he basically told me to fuck off and never speak to him again. And then I realized I had to live without him, so I kind of spiraled, and now I can’t fucking sleep without drinking, and I can’t function without some form of physical touch from another man, but I’m never fucking fulfilled because it’s not Will who’s doing the physical touch, and I fucking love him, and I need him more than he needs me, and now I’m fucking driving to Chicago to find him and… Oh my god, I literally just poured my heart out to a stranger. I’m still kind of loopy. I’m so sorry.”

“That you did. I’m happy to listen, though,” the cashier merely chuckled, waving his hand in friendly dismissal. “You’ve really been put through the wringer, kiddo.”

“Well… thank you,” Mike softly smiled as he took his change from the counter, and shoved it into his pocket before turning around in preparation to leave.

“Best of luck in your travels! Go get your man!” the clerk called after him, and Mike laughed as the glass door slowly fell shut behind him.

Pulling onto the campus of the American Academy of Art was not something Mike had expected to be on his Sunday agenda, but here he was, pulling into a visitor parking spot next to the Admissions office building. He got out of his car, slamming the door, and smoothing his jeans over his thighs, feeling slightly self conscious about how they’d been crumpled up in a ball in his back seat after his most recent midnight excursion with Wyatt Bowman. Although, if he were being honest, anything was better than those denim cutoffs. Especially considering the mission he was currently on. Speaking of.

At first glance, this was not a traditional campus. There was not a single quad to be seen. There were no outdated buildings or directories, let alone any form of indication of a college campus, aside from the little rectangular flags with the school’s logo that hung from every other lamppost lining the sidewalks. All of the academic buildings were dispersed amidst other buildings belonging to different businesses and companies within a specific limit of blocks, which would make it much more difficult for Mike to figure out where the hell Will could even be within this organized chaos. Mike figured it would make the most sense to head into the Admissions office building first, so he could at least get a map.

The interior of the building was bright, with students’ art framed along the walls. He walked over to the nearest painting in the room, pausing to admire the work. There was a Monet-inspired landscape closest to the door, and a cubist portrayal of a still life stationed beside it. Mike could see why Will chose this school. They cultivated the talents of their students and turned them into true artists. Nothing could have prepared Mike for the next piece that caught his eye.

It was him. It was Mike; large in scale, vibrant, and full of life. Mike held his breath and stared back at the incredibly detailed, realistic portrait. He knew he didn’t need to look at the label that was tacked to the bottom of the painting to know whose work it was, but he couldn’t help himself. His eyes dragged downward and nearly passed away when he read the title: William Byers (b. 1971), “The Heart” (1989). Oil on Canvas. Mike’s chest swelled with pride, but quickly deflated at the looming, deafening voice in his head that routinely reminded him of what he’d lost. But that’s where everything stopped making sense.

The label stated that Will had painted “The Heart” in 1989, the same year that Will left Mike without turning back. He’d begun attending the American Academy of Art in September of that same year, leaving only three and a half or so months of the semester to complete the painting. So why would Will, after he completely erased Mike out of his life, still refer to Mike as the heart? And which heart was Will referring to? His own, or the one he’d shattered? Mike hadn’t realized he’d zoned out, so when a middle aged lady appeared next to him, he nearly leapt out of his skin. Her outfit, a floor length dress paired with a shawl, made her look quite ominous out of the corner of his eye.

“This is one of my favorites,” the woman stated.

“Yeah… mine, too,” Mike hummed, unmoving. 

“Have we met?” she began, but didn’t give him a chance to reply. “Perhaps you’re one of my lecture students, I can never quite put a name to a face. But I must say, you look quite familiar,” she told him, turning back to the painting with her arms crossed over her chest, deep in thought.

“Probably because I’m the guy in the painting, heh.”

“Oh gosh, silly me!” the woman exclaimed, flushing red as she put a palm to her forehead. “I didn’t even make the connection! So I assume you’re close with the artist, then?”

“Yeah, I know…” Mike began, then cut himself off with a grimace. “Knew him.”

“How nice!” Luckily, she didn’t pick up on Mike’s vacant expression. Instead, she continued on, “If you’d like, I can connect you with some students if you’re interested in touring the school.”

“Uh, no thank you, ma’am, that’s alright. I was just wondering if I could have a map if there’s one available?” he asked, and she nodded, turning on her heel to open a drawer of the front desk.

“Of course! And no need to call me ma’am, Miriam works just fine.”

“Well, thank you very much, Miriam,” he smiled at her as she handed him two pieces of color-coded, glossy paper; a campus map, and a map of Chicago.

“You’re very welcome, Mike. And when you see him, tell Will that I ordered those brushes he needed.” He didn’t recall ever telling her his name, or mentioning Will in their short conversation, but Mike became hyper aware of the fact that Miriam likely knew something he didn’t. Will had evidently told her about him. Apparently it wasn’t too slanderous, though, so he felt cautiously optimistic.

“Um… I… okay,” he rushed out, backing out the door as politely as he possibly could. “Thanks! Bye!” As soon as he was out of the Admissions office building, he ran down the street. He was so close to finding Will. Now, all he had to do was find the dorms.

Mike looked down at the map in his hands, then up, trying to find the building number, then back down again to confirm if he was even on the right street. The map said the boys’ dorms should be there, but all he could see was a brick wall in front of him. He was just about to rip all his hair out before he felt a tap on his shoulder.

He turned to see two girls looking up at him, concern etched on their faces. One of the girls wore a ski hat over her blonde hair, paired with a pink windbreaker, while the other girl donned a sherpa denim jacket and a beanie that still allowed her to show off her impressively long box braids that cascaded down to her hips.

“Hey man, are you okay?” Sherpa Girl asked. His gaze traveled down to notice their intertwined hands and he blinked, looking back at the two girls and nodding. At least he was amongst friends. He gripped onto the map in his hands for dear life, hoping they’d just leave him be so he could be disorientated in peace.

“Yeah, fine. I’m fine,” he shook his head, forcing out a smile. “Thank you though.”

That didn’t seem to cut it for Sherpa Girl, because she shared a knowing look with Windbreaker Girl. “Do you think he looks fine, babe?” she looked up at Mike with narrowed eyes. “I don’t think he looks fine.”

“No,” Windbreaker replied to her girlfriend, “He most definitely does not. Also, he shook his head ‘no’ while saying he was fine, so… busted.”

“Okay, what of it?” Mike waved his hands around in the air in frustration, pacing in a small circle before returning to face the two girls. “I’m just walking around this… very complicated campus.”

Windbreaker let out a giggle at that, leaning into Sherpa’s shoulder to muffle her laughter, which melted Mike’s heart a little bit.

“You’re obviously lost, dude,” Sherpa pressed. “At least tell us what you’re looking for, maybe we can help you.”

Mike let out an exhale of defeat, awkwardly shoving his hands in his sweatshirt pockets. “Any chance you know of a guy named Will Byers?”

Sherpa’s worryful expression shifted as she exclaimed, “Oh yeah, Will? He’s the cleric in our D&D club!” Mike’s brain short-circuited at the weight that sentence held.

“…He still plays D&D?”

That was when Windbreaker Girl’s eyes widened in recognition. “Wait… are you Mike?” Mike felt like he was being charged with a crime, but he nodded anyway. “Thee Mike? As in Mike Wheeler?” she asked again, and he couldn’t refrain from feeling a bit embarrassed by the implication that her vocal inflections gave off.

“Unfortunately,” he muttered, but was completely caught off guard when Sherpa did a little jump in place, her face splitting into a wide grin. Wait a minute. They didn’t despise him? He was so confused.

“No. No, this is great!” Sherpa elaborated, letting go of Windbreaker’s hand in order to reach into her purse. Huh? “I’ll give you his address.” Oh.

“He lives off campus with our friend Kate, but she’s usually at work all day on Sundays,” Windbreaker explained while Sherpa found a fancy, expensive-looking art pen and scribbled the address onto a grocery receipt. She handed it to Mike, who read it, then had to read it one more time to make sure he wasn’t dreaming. 7 Maple Street, Chicago, IL.

He gulped loudly, peeling his eyes away from the piece of receipt paper. He nodded in thanks, as no words seemed to come out of his mouth when he attempted to speak.

“My name’s Ivy, by the way, and this is my girl Hannah,” Sherpa– Ivy– said, wrapping an arm around Windbreaker– Hannah’s shoulders, pulling her into her side as they walked past and away from him. “Tell Will we said ‘you’re welcome’!” he heard her call back to him. He wouldn’t even try to decode what the fuck that meant.

Mike eventually found his car after wandering around aimlessly for a few more minutes than he’d have liked to admit, and landed in the driver’s seat with a thud. He pulled the map of Chicago out of his pocket and dug in his middle console for a pen, locating Maple Street in seconds. It was about a fifteen minute drive away. Okay. He could do this.

As he drove, Mike thought about what to say. How could he even begin to explain why he was there, on Will’s doorstep? How could he justify his batshit insane motive? I got drunk for a year and moaned out your name while hooking up with a guy named Carter? I was driving under the influence and decided to come to Chicago instead of going home? I almost killed myself on multiple occasions on the way here, but made it out alive just to tell you that I love you? Mike groaned. He didn’t want to be a stuttering mess, so he figured he’d at least try to plan out his… speech. But he had never really been much of a planner in respect to his social life. Give him a few monsters, and he’d be golden. But his crumbling social life was far from an apocalypse, and Will was no monster. He’d just have to wing it.

Will’s house was pretty. It was a small Cape Cod style, yellow with blue shutters. It had a small plot of grass in front, with a few stairs leading up to the doorway. The doorway that Mike stood in, lifting his knuckles to the door.

Mike knocked.

previous part • next part

homepage

[chireikiden]

If Remilia's fate powers do exist, what limitations would you give them to not break the setting?

Hm. Now there's a thought exercise. That said, it's gonna turn more into rambling about fate powers in general than anything really relevant to Remilia or even Touhou. Take it or leave it. It's not going to be an answer to "how would you, personally, prefer to write Remilia's fate powers" because realistically I'd probably just maintain the ambiguity if anything.

Typically, there's two main knobs to tweak for any magic of this sort: capability and requirements. If someone has the ability to "manipulate fate", and we assume fate to mean "what happens", that's certainly fancy and all, but "manipulate" doesn't mean "have complete and at-will control over". It could be that the changes one can make are very minor, whether that means the physical change required or the significance of it (for example, altering a coin flip that decides life and death is physically small but very significant). You might only be able to control inanimate objects, nonsapient creatures or sufficiently random third parties. You might only be able to cause or ensure outcomes that were already plausible enough. Or it could be that the conditions required to use that power grow more forbidding the bigger changes one wants to make, whether that means energy, time, materials, rituals, position of the stars, consent of all parties, contracts signed in blood etc.

Or the issue might just change completely if fate means something else, like "what you're supposed to do" or "what The Heavens expect you to do", however that actually manifests in practice. People defy fate all the time in fiction, and in reality it just doesn't exist (hot take). Can't really say much on those hypotheticals without a working definition of what it means.

On another tangent, you do see luck and fate manipulation type abilities a lot in tabletop RPGs (or other games with similar mechanics), and whether strong or weak, never do they mean complete control over reality. When not just a straight-up bonus to do better at things, they most often manifest as the ability to reroll or simply choose the outcome of a die roll or equivalent. That's a little hard to translate into story terms, but basically means "the ability to try and turn a failure into a success" and "the ability to turn a possible outcome into a guarantee" respectively. However, neither of those (but especially the former, a random chance to affect random chance) are necessarily that thrilling in a non-game context, as random chance and possibilities are already illusionary in a scripted story that someone's writing with an outcome in mind.

Which brings up the final possibility: Make it meta, I guess?

[advisorsage]

I'm scared. Terrified even.

Things are happening really rapidly with my mental health that I don't understand and that terrify me. My hallucinations have gotten more frequent and I have a new kind (physical sensations) and I've just started having these weird paranoid thoughts? Ideations? I don't know what to call them. They don't feel like delusions. And it's all progressing so fast. I started seeing the slide about a month maybe a month and a half ago. Then a week ago the sensation of bugs on and in my skin started. Two days ago the paranoia/paranoid thought patterns started. About eight (ish?) hours ago I started feeling needle stabs in my skin. I used to only have some hallucinations occasionally. I'm terrified at how fast this is progressing. I see my psychiatrist in just under 2 weeks but I'm afraid something is going to happen before then. I just don't know what.

Today is October 7th, 2024 and as of writing this it's 2:40 AM.

When I have a chance I'm going to record a video describing my history weekly hallucinations and I plan to start documents my symptoms daily. Today is day one of that documentation. I hope that if something happens I'll at least have this to look back at to see the actual chain of events.

I really don't know what to do cause I can't miss class so I don't want to go to the psych hospital but if something happens that's where I'll end up.

This feels like drowning on an airplane. It's not the right place.

And while I know that the diagnosis I'm afraid of does manifest at this age and I do have the environmental factors for it plus an extended family member with it I'm hoping that it isn't that.

I don't know if I'll come out of my appointment on the 18th with a new diagnosis but I do know I'll probably have a new prescription. Yet another pill to add to the collection. Not like there isn't enough I have to take.

Oh and another thing. My compulsions have been worse since August. I don't know if that's connected or not. But my tourettes doesn't seem to be affected so whatever this is isn't hitting everything. Just most of it.

I'm so scared of what's happening in my brain. I feel like I'm becoming a different person and not in a good way.

Also I swore a little bit ago (I said Jesus out loud) and something in my head answered and when I was like. Stop it. Shut up. it said no. So that's not fun.

This will probably be posted after 3am and I won't be able to go back to sleep for an hour (i can't sleep unless i go to the bathroom immediately before and i can't get myself to feel safe leaving my room between 3 and 4 am so I'm trapped in my room for that hour no matter what) so it's likely no one will see this but I needed somewhere to record all of this and I don't feel comfortable doing the video with my parents (at least my dad) able to overhear. Having them as landlords and caretakers is weird and not something I want but it's what I have to deal so the video explanation may take a while or not happen realistically. I may just need to force myself to film on the patio.

If you've read this entire thing then thank you. Please don't point out what the possible diagnosis could be. I already know. I don't want to say it. Me being so scared of a diagnosis is a little mean to the people who have it (including my cousin). I'd rather not have this post in the tag for that diagnosis cause that could be harmful for them. These are my genuine feelings and I need to express them and be able to look back at them but I also don't want to harm an entire portion of the population. Especially since they experience symptoms I'm at least somewhat familiar with (for at least some of the symptoms) or have worked with people with those symptoms.

In fact if you could avoid tagging any mental illness or disorder on this post that would be great. I already know which ones I have and this isn't really the place for speculation on what my new diagnosis could be. I don't want to put my fears in spaces that should have resources and actual things about specific diagnoses. This post has mostly been a catalog of my hallucinations and fears so if anything leave it untagged beyond my tags that I'm going to use to find it again later.

I don't know why I'm so worried about that. It might just be more paranoia. Great first I'm paranoid about things at home now I can't trust my tumblr. Fuck my brain. (Ew that's a bad mental image)

I'm going to stop typing before I start ranting. Thanks for reading this shit.

[hiswitchcraft]

if you feel like answering, what is manifesting? how does it work? what can you manifest? admittedly i haven't really looked into bc it hasn't caught my interest yet so i'm curious to see what you have to say abt it

What is Manifesting? From a witch who's critical of the new age community

Disclaimer this is just my opinion and based on what I was taught/my experiences.  Manifesting is a technique you can use to get what you want. I caught myself wanting to use some concerning buzzwords but in reality manifesting is for getting what you want. The woo woo new age/spiritual people don't like to word it like that. In my opinion this is because new age people like to stick to the idea that they're here to raise people's vibrations and only do the utmost good. If they do dabble with magic, it's "white" (I hate that term) magic only so they say manifesting is for "bringing your most important desires into your reality." It's for getting what you want y'all. Or what you want for someone else, just like spell work. 

Anyways like spell work, you can use manifestation to get what you want. Where it differs from spell work is that spell work can be made up of many components, often physical ones, where manifestation is mainly a mental technique.

I would also say it differs in what you can get as well. Spells you can use for more vague or abstract concepts like "bringing luck" where with manifesting you kind of need as specific of a goal as possible. I’d also recommend having as specific of a goal as possible when doing a lot of or certain magic, but that’s besides the point. You really can’t even attempt more vague ideas even if you wanted to try with the kind of manifestation I’m talking about. 

In order for something to be attainable through manifestation I’d say it has to have these 3 qualities:

You really need or want it 

It can be visualized 

It’s at least somewhat realistic it will actually happen to you/around you/to someone else, etc 

As far as how it works goes? I'm still figuring that out. I was taught how to manifest and at its core it's just you thinking about scenes of what you want to manifest in as much detail as possible and for me it works. New age people would say it's because of something like the law of attraction/assumption, but I find those concepts harmful, so I'm still working on developing the how behind the result. Maybe just bias? Who knows. Could be. Like I said I’m still working on it honestly. 

Thanks for giving me a chance to info-dump! 

[rakeshouseparty]

Lover post incoming

Hcs that I like seeing

When people depict Slenderman and others like him as fragmented, rustic of some kind, with carvings like wood or wrinkles, shits always so fuckin cooollll as hell! I love seeing it

When people hc some pastas being much older, like 30+ years old, pattin myself on the back with this one a bit, I just like it when they are more aged, im sick im the sickest man alive

Another pat on the back for me is when people draw EJ as more monstrous and not human-y?/non-origin EJ, love that version of them n love to see it when it does pop up i ckick my feet n giggle

When people make Rake sapient and is capable of understanding and speakin back, idk wtf happened between Rake when they first popped up to now, but Rake losing their sapience in that time sorta drove me to centre my blog around Rake (and other reasons heh) , SAme can be said about Seedeater, Both these freaks actively are horrid n possibly manipulative and threatening to get the results they want from humans and thats soooooooo sexxyyyyyy!

Both funny cartoon emo boy jeff and more realistic depictions of Jeff rock so fucking hard, which is crazy bc i dont like emo boy EJ? My brain and its pickiness ig

Also i fuck w/ that old anon that said something about rake not being physical(?) but more of a fear manifestation whoch is also such a coolgodly idea

when ppl also hc Slender and others they see like him, like as a whole species A being asexual because they reproduce an entirely different and unique way , and i know its confusing considering my hater post, but there’s a difference between this and hc the only character that may have a higher chance as being seen as autistic as asexual

Seeing whacky versions of laughing jack rocks, people draw them either a bit closer to canon or make em really different but still can be seen as LJ which rocks hard i love seein it

I’d put grande here too but i dont see a lotta hcs that have personally snagged my brain, tho they r all fine hcs Imm sure!! Uh i guess grande hc where he sucks Me Off

[drawing-cards]

Money Magick - Theory of The Importance of Practicality and Setting Realistic Expectations

No matter what path of magick you take on, it is always important to understand how practical your practice is, and what expectations to have when you practice anything dealing with money. It is very easy to get lost in the fantasy of casting money magick and envisioning money coming to you on a silver platter, but that's not how things work. You see guides and manuscripts on how to cast these spells and perform rituals to invite prosperity into your life, but never tell you what to expect.

Money magick has existed throughout time and has been shown in many literary works belonging to iconic people in the community. We see examples of prosperity workings in books like Damon Brands "Magickal Riches" and "Magickal Cashbook", Frater Malaks' "Mystic Grimoire of the Mighty Spells and Rituals", and other literary workings like "The Sixth and Seventh Books of Moses." Each book is filled with respective rituals and incantations to bring you fantastical amounts of money. But things like context, financial standing, expectations, current needs, and mental state are all important when it comes to money magick.

When it comes to context, it is important to understand your location, positionality, and financial standing. If you live in the United States, a highly capitalistic society, the chances of stacks of money coming to you magically are significantly low. When you perform money rituals, the result may manifest as a job opportunity or someone asking you to do a task for them for pay. It could even manifest as a couple of dollars you might find out on the street. This form of magick could aid you in finding a long-term job you want the most or maybe even other freelance opportunities where you could get paid by workload.

Financial standing and mental health work in tandem with this sort of magick. If you don't have good control over your mind, judgment, and impulses, that may actually affect your mental state even further. The gallery of magick teaches this concept called "the lust for results" meaning that the more you think about the ritual you just did and the results you want from it, the less effective the ritual will turn out to be. You might get the supplies to cast many spells and rituals meaning that you may be wasting money on magick instead of saving. This may be more likely to happen when you are not in good financial standing. Being at and below the poverty line destroys you atomically, and even though money magick may sound like a good thing to take up, it may be more harmful to you than beneficial. It's always good to ground yourself and take it slow so you don't hurt yourself and your finances even further. The same could be said about people who are well off financially. There may not be a reason to practice financial magick since they are well off unless a change in jobs is needed or they want to be able to support a different lifestyle, but delusions can come into play for both situations due to expecting money to come to you in a way that is not realistic.

Lastly, your current needs are just as important as everything else. You need to be able to take care of yourself as a person. When there are needs to be taken care of and you are aware of it and have a work plan, financial magick is your best friend! Chances are, you have bills to pay and groceries to get, so asking local spirits, genius spirits, and other spiritual beings to support you financially is a good option, especially if you're dedicating yourself to your work.

If you can do that, avoid lust for results, and think/manifest realistically, money magick will work wonders for you and you can be one of the witches that stands on business. But if you feel like you can't get your spells and rituals to work, don't be worried! Chances are, the magick is taking time to work for you. If you don't believe that, when you get done with a process of your choosing, take your tarot deck, remove the major arcana, and pull 3 cards from the stack. These three cards are going to tell you what you have done, what you should look out for, and what your result may be.

In later posts, I will be doing book reviews on some of the Gallery of Magick books to encourage people to read them and start the occult science journey.

[edwinspaynes]

Predictions

I think Better in Black will be in chronological order.

I think that therefore it will be flanked by Herongraystairs ships. The first story, an immediate Post-TID Wessa (in Paris)! And the last will be a very recent, TWP-is-imminent Jessa (that features some Kit, too).

I think that there will be 5 historical-era ships (including modern-day Jessa) and 5 modern-era ones.

(NOTE: The stories that I am gunning for hard are Thomastair, Wessa, and Jordelia. If I get those three ships, nothing else will really bug me).

I think that there is about a 0% likelihood of any non-Herongraystairs TID ships. I also think that the chances of Ghostwriter are very low for TLH. I think that the chances of Matthew/LI are quite low, but higher than Ghostwriter. I really want Matthew/LI, so please manifest with me. But it's not my realistic projection.

Chronologically/in the order I think they'll appear, my realistic prediction is as follows. I put in parenthesis what I think will happen in the story, though please treat that as a seperate prediction than story order.

Wessa -> Adjusting to their engagement, spending some time in Paris, perhaps visiting ATOTC-related venues.

Jordelia -> Second wedding runes, probably the most NSFW content in the book, some outings (hopefully) of them out in London and some scenes of them planning their honeymoon. I do really hope to see them in Constantinople, but I don't think that's in the cards. I want to see some of their chess playing, too.

Thomastair -> Honestly, I think we probably will get to see some of them playing with Zachary <3 though I think he'll still be a baby-baby. I imagine it will be some of them babysitting and some scenes of them moving into the Cornwall Gardens house. Honestly I am well and truly satisfied with anything about them, I cannot think of a single story I would not enjoy. Thomastair is my #1 priority for Better in Black.

Arianna -> Perhaps some scenes of them in India, meeting their child for the first time and bringing her back to London to acclimate. Scenes of them adjusting to being mothers. I hope we can see Matthew and his love interest in this one, perhaps they run into them in India. I am excited for this because I felt like their story was unfinished, and I still have some doubts about Anna's character arc. This could lay my doubts to rest. (I really want to stan AriAnna)

Clace -> Skip a hundred years. Perhaps them being engaged.

Malec -> This one's gonna be a huge winner. I think it's probably going to be them with their family and really cute. But if it were my choice, I would write about Alec hanging out with the other warlocks (Catarina, Ragnor, and Tessa) here. Get to know his family a bit, you know?

Haline -> Holiday on the continent? (I also feel like this guess is optimistic and it will probably be Sizzy, but sue me. I want more Haline content.)

Jemma -> I lied when I said I think Jordelia will be the smuttiest story. This one will.

Kierarktina -> Polyamorous Faerie Cottage.

Jessa -> Possibly some setup/teasing for TWP, we will see Kit, there will be domestic Jessa. Basically it'll be a repeat of the last GoTSM story's fundamental purpose lol. But it'll be different. I bet this one has quite some spice, too.