#may reopen requests within a month or so

[silksongeveryday]

Drawing Hornet everyday until Silksong comes out - Day 347

Request by @/aqua-sys !

Ghost is here as well attempting to absorb the burger like it’s soul

[doyoulikethis-videogame-song]

Hello,

I'd just like to clarify a few things going forward, because I think a few people might be upset or confused, and this is a silly gimmick blog, so I don't think there's any need for that.

I post submissions exclusively in the order I receive them. I have only added or inserted songs in three cases:

The first two songs posted on this blog.

#69, where I inserted 'Weight of the World' from NieR:Automata.

The song would not upload to tumblr, and I have typically replaced it with a random fromsoftware song off the top of my head, because I already have the OSTs on my computer.

When I receive multiple songs from the same game in a row, I try my best to space them out between multiple songs. This has typically been every 4-6 songs in the past. I am going to extend this number further as it appears to be a source of frustration for some. When I space out songs, I do not consider DLCS/Extras as new games, so they will be spaced out. I DO consider new entries in a series as new games, so they will not be spaced out. This means you may get a song from Dark Souls I and Dark Souls II right next to one another, but never two songs from Dark Souls I.

I also understand that many are upset that their submission has not been posted yet. At the time of creating the google form, I already had the first 1000 slots of this blog lined up. I now have 4581 additional submissions from the google form, so please understand that it will probably take me a while to reach your submission.

As for how I should remedy this:

Posting more songs each day. I am planning to increase the number of songs I post each day soon. However, I would strongly prefer to not exceed more than five songs a day. This is entirely a personal preference: I often found myself annoyed when my feed was filled with nothing but polls from the same blog, that would post 7, 10, 15 polls a day or even within the same time slot. I love poll blogs, but I also wanted to be able to enjoy taking the time to listen to the music on each one. I created this blog primarily because I wanted to hear new music and find out about new games I've never heard about before, and I wanted others to share that experience. In my opinion, if you don't have the time to listen to each song posted, then it sort of defeats the gimmick of the blog itself. That being said, I will increase the number of songs posted sometime within the next two weeks.

Closing Submissions. I did not want to ever have to close submissions (because I didn't really see a reason to if I was going to post all the submissions eventually), but I now understand it may now be necessary. Starting on 9/7/2024, I am going to close the submissions box, and I am going to reopen it for the first week of each month, every month, only. The google form will remain the only way to submit requests. Hopefully, this will allow individuals who are especially excited to see their request posted gain a bit of an upper hand.

In the end, there is only so much I can do. I am only one person and I do have a life of my own. I am very happy so many people are enjoying this blog, and I will continue posting for as long as I can. If you are not enjoying this blog for any reason, feel free to unfollow it, block it, and make your own. It's nothing personal.

[silovsmenot]

You Can't Win Alone | Artūrs Šilovs

SUMMARY: After the EDM/VAN game seven, Artūrs is struggling with his emotions and needs a hug. WARNINGS: Just the depression we're all currently feeling, lots of fluff. PAIRING: Artūrs Šilov & reader. NOTES: I'm sad and got carried away, although it definitely could've been longer. And it's 1000% not edited, I may make edits a little later but this is fuelled by my depression. Under the circumstances, my submission box is reopened for any NHL one-shot/imagine requests... and expect more. WORD COUNT: 1209

You watched every shot with bated breath — hands gripping the sleeves of the crimson jersey. You and Artūrs had only recently become public with everything going on. You'd been together some months, but you knew well, Arty was a private person and these weeks had been a whirlwind since his call up.

There was no playoff jacket for you like the other wives and girlfriends but that didn’t matter, you had his bronze medal jersey. And you wore it with pride.

You held tight upon the sleeves with every shot that he faced in that first period, but he beat every one. You were beaming with pride as they returned to the ice for the second period, watching his masked face rise to try and find you in the crowd, but even in that crimson he’d struggle.

And as the shots started firing at him again, your confidence wavered. Not in him, never in him – but the team around him looked rattled. They weren’t playing like themselves, like the whole rink knew they could.

You exchanged a look of concern with a few of the other ladies, the wives and girlfriends who had immediately taken you in and made you feel welcome. Their faces were etched with equal concern, which hardly put your thoughts to ease.

It happens just as you turned back to the ice. The slapshot from the point with men in front, and your eyes tightly screwed as the quiet cheer of Edmonton fans rippled through the arena, the sighs of Vancouver fans. He couldn’t see you, but with a short breath, you looked back with a tender whisper.

‘You’ve got this, Art.’ 

You watched as his confidence returned with every save. The smile of your own confidence returning as you told yourself it was only one goal. But there was the ring of the post, the arms of Edmonton players thrown up in celebration and the murmurs once more. The team in blue looked more deflated than ever.

But there were flickers of hope, you clung to every one. Your hands hidden beneath the crimson sleeves as you held hands in front of your mouth, silently pleading for a goal for the home team. Just one goal to shift the momentum, but an open back-door on a penalty kill would put the score to 3-0 and you watched Artūrs head dropping that little bit . . . and it hurt to see.

Natalie Miller gave your hand arm a little squeeze, some confidence as the buzzer for the second period blew and all breathed a breath of relief. Surely, the third – they’d come out with confidence and snatch this thing. You hoped so desperately, everyone in that arena and watching on screens did.

And as the team skated out for the third, there looked to be a difference. A fire had been lit and they woke up. They’d come back from this before, they could do it again.

Garland shot and the arena erupted. You were pulled into arms and shouted in relief, cheering till your mouth was dry. This was it – they could do it. And then there was two, Hronek with a slapshot and nobody was in their seats. They were within one, and you could see how it lifted Art’s shoulders.

But as the clock ticked closer and closer to zero, no shots able to find the back of the net, the end was in sight. The buzzer finally sounded on a desperation shot from centre ice, and the Canucks dream of round 3 was over.

You could see the disappointment in Arty from your seat. You didn’t need to see his face clearly to know that he felt the loss, that he’d blame himself for it, at least to some degree. And as hands shook, your heart was breaking to see him so deflated. To see them all so deflated.

It felt like a long walk to the Canucks area beneath the seating, where you’d wait for him with the other wives and girlfriends. Embraces exchanged and plans being made for the summer months – nobody knew yet who would still be there next season, but that was the life of the hockey partner.

You waited in the crowd, sharing a small smile and nod of encouragement to each player who emerged from the changing room and into the arms of his partner. You waited and waited till all had emerged except for your boyfriend and Clarkie … You were just glad that Artūrs was not alone in there.

But even Clarkie would poke his head out eventually, a hand beckoning you inside with a look of concern. You did not hesitate, nor did you need to speak as you entered. As you entered, your eyes couldn’t miss the only remaining body. Still wearing his pads with hands clasped in front of him – his face was red, the ice pack on his head had melted to a bag of cold water, and his eyes were full, you couldn’t tell if he’d been crying or had been fighting the urge ever since … it didn’t matter, it broke you to see him like this.

With a shallow breath, you crossed the room in a rush. Dropping everything you had in your arms, you crouched before him with tender hands intertwining with his. It took him a moment to look at you, meeting your eyes with a sorrowful look like you’d never seen from him. You knew that this would never be easy, but difficult was an understate as you looked at him.

“Talk to me, Art.” You finally whispered after moments of silence, giving his hands a soft squeeze before they were raised to your lips. A soft kiss upon his knuckles, never breaking from his solemn gaze.

“I should’ve done better, we could’ve won.”

Arty whispered, his gaze faltered to look upon your tangled hands. His teeth biting upon his lips in an attempt to stifle any emotion from breaking through his ice-cold demeanour … but you could see right through it.

“Art, you can’t win a game on your own. You kept them in it tonight, just as you did every other night ... the guys just struggled to find the net –” You sighed. Pulling a single hand free, it came to place upon his stubbled cheek where you’d guide his eyes back to you. “I’m so proud of you.” 

Silence crept back in as he simply stared at you, your gaze watching as he battled every emotion that sought to break free. You couldn’t even begin to imagine how he was feeling, but you were here to remind him that he was never alone.

“Lets get you out of that gear and get you home.” 

Silence broken again, you waited for his nod of agreement before digits began to undo the various buckles and ties of his leg pads. Pulling them free, he leaned forward to pull you into him. It wasn’t a comfortable embrace as you knelt, reaching up with arms around him, but you would stay there for as long as he needed you.

“I love you, and I am so proud of you.” You finally whispered, planting kisses wherever you could without breaking the embrace.

“I love you too, y/n.”

[3terna15unshin3]

I NEED MATTY PROPOSING TO ESTE AND/OR THEIR WEDDING I BEG 🙏🙏

Dedication

The proposal

1420 words

—

a/n: thank u sm for this request bc i loved dreaming this up !!! also slightly inspired by charli and george’s little tea tray bc that broke my heart. wedding blurb may come in the future but for now here's the proposal :))) anyway sorry if this is bad i haven’t written in like over a month😭😭 but i kind of love it so enjoy lmfao love u

Read the main fic here!

—

It’s late in the evening, the summer sun is dim and almost hidden by the horizon. An orange and pink and lilac sky surrounds the mosquitoes that buzz about. Este sits at the small table in their backyard and lights a citronella candle to stop them from nipping at her. It makes the air smell like fond August memories.

She can hear Matty shuffling around the kitchen as he makes the two of them cups of tea. He’s been out at the studio most of the evening, so they ate dinner separately. On nights like these, they almost always share sweet and lazy conversations over a brew afterwards, to make up for that missed time. Their sometimes foggy minds or tense muscles need a way to find solace before resting each night—and Matty and Este find that in each other.

The glass doors reopen to reveal Matty and the two mugs. He had a book tucked under his arm, too.

“Thank you, love,” Este says after he sets hers down. The table is small and round and flush against the concrete wall, so he sits on the left and her on the right. They lean against the house with their teas between them and peer at the sunset, taking leisurely sips.

He hums in response to say ‘you’re welcome’ wordlessly. Then, he hands the book over to Este. “Got you something while I was out.”

Once it’s in her hands, she recognises it to be a copy of And Our Faces, My Heart, Brief as Photos by John Berger. It makes her smile since it’s a favourite of hers. Este had never seen the cover design before.

“Is this a new edition?” She asks, admiring its colours and typography and the way they perfectly align with her taste. 

Her eyes break contact with the book to look up at Matty, who gives a nonchalant shrug.

“Not sure,” He says, “Maybe the inside cover will say.”

Matty’s right; the publication information is typically listed within the first few pages. She has to flip and find it quite often for work. Este likes his suggestion, a smile still pinned on her face from the nice surprise as she opens it up to feel its pages. They feel thick and durable and have rough, haphazard edges.

She drags her fingers over them to appreciate their character, then flips past the first page that reads its title, and sets her eyes onto the small text on the opposite side. Before they find any answers Este is looking for, they settle on another—much more important—spectacle. It makes her heart stop. The dedication. She stares at it in shock.

The book is one she’s reread plenty of times, so she remembers John Berger’s small blurb that formally thanks some institutions and few people who helped him put together the prose to follow. But it doesn’t say that. Instead, it reads,

For my Este. I’d like to make you my wife if you’ll let me.

Matty’s knee shakes from the other side of the table. He watches her mouth fall agape and smiles nervously. He isn’t sure why the nerves are there, since he’s never been so sure of anything in his life. But they race through Matty’s body as he waits for her to say something.

He slides the ring in an open velvet box across the table to her when she finally looks up. 

“Are you fucking joking?” Este’s voice quivers. 

She can tell there are words threatening to spill from his tongue and every emotion possible washes over her when she imagines how beautiful the words will be. She has to stop herself from jumping out of her seat and tackling him in excitement and pure adoration.

Tears well up in the corner of her eyes at the expense of those thoughts swirling in her mind and Matty reaches over to wipe one away when it escapes. He does the same to his own when they eventually fall. More rush down her cheek when Este realises that he’s crying too, but of course he is.

“Course I’m not joking,” he starts, voice equally as weak. “There are a million ways I could explain how much I love you and why I am so desperate to marry you, but one that feels so authentic to us is with this. This book is so special. Not only because I know how much you love it—that’s the reason I read it in the first place—but also because it sort of changed me,”

Este reaches across the table to set her hand over his and rub her thumb back and forth against his skin. 

“When I was falling in love with you, so much of that time was spent away from you. It was the busiest year of my life. And in moments—not in doubt, but just in fear of tainting how significant your love was to me—I considered that to be an opportunity for weakness to grow. That maybe one day, that distance could wedge between us. But when I read this, it showed me just how important every aspect of those times are. The far and close. It says,”

‘When you are away, you are nevertheless present for me. This presence is multiform: it consists of countless images, passages, meanings, things known, landmarks, yet the whole remains marked by your absence, in that it is diffuse. It is as if your person becomes a place, your contoured horizons. I live in you then like living in a country. You are everywhere.

In the country which is you I know your gestures, the intonations of your voice, the shape of every part of your body. What changes when you are there before my eyes is that you become unpredictable. What you are about to do is unbeknown to me. I follow you. You act. And with what you do, I fall in love again.’

“And yes, I did memorise that for the purpose of reciting it back to you,” They both laugh. “But it wasn’t hard, because it felt so true. You are everywhere, Este. Even when we aren’t face-to-face, everything I know of this world is through what it means to love you. And all I want for the rest of my life is for you to keep doing and for me to keep falling in love with it.”

By now, the neckline of his t-shirt is dampened with the tears. Matty gets up from his chair to kneel between her legs and hold Este’s waist. The rise and fall of her breathing is unsteady from all the crying but it still calms him. She cups his face like it’s the last time she’ll ever have the chance to.

“Marry me, please,” She utters desperately and brings his face up to kiss him. Matty’s lips taste of salt and English Breakfast tea. They can feel each other’s grins.

“I think I'm supposed to say that,” he argues, leaning his forehead against Este’s.

“Took too long.” She jokes. Matty stands and lifts her into an embrace. Her legs wrap around him and he spins with joy, then sets her down. 

“Was the speech too cheesy?” asks Matty, half-serious.

Este shakes her head. “You are everywhere, Matty.”

They stand and stare, wiping the last of the tears off of each other’s faces. He turns to reach for the ring and she lets him slip it onto her finger. She admires its chunky bezel and the way she hadn't seen an engagement ring quite like it before. Este kisses him once more, and studies his hysteric smile. His eyes are squinty.

And then, they go about their evening. They sit back down, each in their usual chair; and though their teas are a bit cold now, it doesn’t bother them. 

Matty explains that he found a local Manchester book binder to design a cover for And Our Faces specifically for her, and to bind the proposal into its dedication. He even chose the font, paper, and roughed edges that he thought she'd like the best. Este expresses how perfectly loving the gesture is and grips the book—now the most prized in her collection—with passion.

Excited discussions of a ceremony (its venue and her dress and his suit and how soon they can do it) are exchanged over their now empty mugs as what's left of the orange summer sun washes over them with charisma.

Somehow it can’t make the moment any more beautiful than it already is.

[obsixwi]

How to Order From Antique Beast

I've noticed a number of people have various Antique Beast items, primarily the Black Cat Headdress, on their wishlist. I've also seen instances where these headdresses are heavily scalped on secondhand websites, so I just wanted to put out a PSA - Please don't buy overpriced secondhand Antique Beast! They still open up their shop regularly, and while it was quite difficult to snag items the first couple of times post-2020 that they reopened their shop, the demand seems to have returned to normal, and it's not nearly as difficult to buy items before they close the shop again.

The way Antique Beast works is they will send email list subscribers an email one day before their shop is set to open. They will also update the website to include any one-offs or new releases. They will then open up the webshop at the scheduled time and close it once they reach their maximum quantity of orders.

The easiest way to make sure you don't miss updates is to subscribe to their mailing list, which you can do here! It's also best to create an account so that your mailing information is saved for faster checkout. To create an account, click here. If you can't read Japanese, Google Translate is sufficient for helping navigate the website.

Buttcape of Stephano.me also has a tutorial on how to order from Antique Beast from 2017, which you can read here. It includes information about signing up for the newsletter and how to register an account.

You might be wondering, "Ok, if there's already a tutorial, why are you making this post?" For one thing, since this tutorial is a few years old, people may not be aware of it if they're a newer lolita! Another reason is because I wanted to add a few notes on faster checkout and customization.

As I noted before, sometimes Antique Beast will post one-off items on their shop. If you fall in love with an item deeply and want to be first in line for checkout, you can enter items into your cart and enter your customer info before the shop opens. Once you reach the shipping selection page, there won't be any options to choose from until the site officially opens, so you can hit refresh until a shipping option appears - from there you can just check out regularly!

Another thing that's not talked about a lot is that Antique Beast offers size customization and fabric customization. To ask for something to be customized, just leave it in the notes section before checking out. For sizing, they can only offer a limited amount of increase or decrease from the original garment, presumably because they're working from one pattern. For fabric options, you can ask for different colors (I've seen multiple colorways of the Cat Headdress) or different types of fabrication! So far I have asked for items to be made in velveteen and organza, and I've also seen pleather variations of items. Since these fabric options aren't available to purchase on the site directly, just add the item that you want customized into your cart, and make a note of what you want changed in the notes section.

According to the FAQ, you can also customize the types of trim or ribbon on an item, or you can ask for things like sleeves to be made like that of another item. You can also do things like ask for skirt versions of dresses, ask for a headband or comb instead of ribbons, etc.

If you make a customization request, the owner will email your back within a few days to confirm your request, as well as the price, since there is typically an extra charge for custom items. She may also email back to verify how you want something to look. For example, when I asked or an organza headdress, she asked for details about how I wanted it constructed and how translucent I wanted the final version to be:

The owner uses translation software to write emails, but I've never had a problem communicating with her in English. She will also include an estimated time of departure for your package, which usually takes around one or two months. The amount of time it takes for the package to reach you depends on the shipping method you choose.

Hope that helps anyone who had questions about how to purchase from Antique Beast!

[twistedtummies2]

COMMISSION UPDATE + NOTES ABOUT THE FUTURE

Hello, everyone! This is just another commission update Journal. As usual, people keep asking me if I’m open for comms, or when I will be, and now that I’ve completed another round, I want to keep everyone posted. This will be split into a “Short Answer” and a “Long Answer” section (the latter coming after the “Keep Reading” line). Read as much as you care to. HERE IS THE SHORT ANSWER: I haven’t got even the START of an idea of when I will publicly reopen. I also have decided to stop accepting requests to place on the Waiting List. (I will get to why that is in a bit, if you want to keep reading into the “long answer” section.) I am going to work on finishing a trade, and writing two special stories, before I jump into the next round. The people who are on the next round will be contacted in the near future. They are as follows…

@trashytummies

Buffalo20 (FA)

Grimsaurus (FA)

ph0220 (FA)

@clouddreamer101

If any of the five above drop out, then someone from the Waiting List will be rotated into place. I may give the names of the people on the Waiting List in the future, but not here and now (for no other reason than this post is going to be long enough). If you want more details on things, you may continue reading into the next section. Otherwise, you may leave now. I know business matters can be dry. :-p

HERE IS THE LONG ANSWER: For the past several years, I have been fighting increasingly severe backlog, combined with an increasing demand, with tons of people coming to me for stories and not having enough time to finish everything, due to a combination of various elements I won’t get into here. (Again, this journal is going to be long enough as it is.) As the current situation stands, there is no way I am going to be able to complete the next round of commissions, plus everyone on the waiting list, PLUS other obligations and pieces of writing before the year is out. It’s just not going to happen; even if by some miracle I DO complete everything there before 2025, I am going to be SEVERELY worn out when it’s all over. So, what does this mean? It means that a lot of people on the waiting list will need to wait till next year to get their stories done. It also means that, at the moment, I sincerely haven’t got an idea when I’ll reopen, and anybody who asks is going to get that answer: there’s just no way I can predict it at the present time. That’s going to depend on a lot of factors, most of which are not within my power to control, frankly. If you want to know what those factors are, ask me in private; I am not boring everybody with my personal life issues here.

It ALSO means that, WHEN I DO REOPEN, once again I’m going to make changes. I really, REALLY don’t want to, but I just kind of have to. This time, however, the motivation behind it is going to be different: if this year’s severe backlogging, combined with the disastrous attempts of the past two or three years, have taught me anything, it’s that I physically cannot fight the fact backlog is going to happen. It’s just not going to be possible. With everything else that is going on in the present, has gone on in the past, and is most assuredly going to happen in the future…there is simply no way I can fight it. SO…instead of FIGHTING the backlog, I’m going to ACCEPT it, and I’m going to try and figure out a way to manage my commissions that will allow me to manage things with the full expectation it’s going to happen. I may also start looking into other ways to gain funding; I have considered perhaps opening a Patreon account (more on that later), or seeking other avenues of revenue in general. Rest assured, however: at the present moment, I have no intention of stopping commission work. It’s just a matter of how to do it better, so that I don’t have tons and tons of people waiting months upon months for stories to get done. However, I won’t be able to figure all that out till AFTER I get through everything already on my plate. Having said that…as I said, I will be releasing all the names on the Waiting List in the future. If you see your name there, when I do, and you no longer want a story for any reason - such as the long wait, or financial situations changing - then you are welcome to remove your slot. If I’ve guaranteed one to you in private, and you already know this, you are welcome to contact me privately, in turn.

I think I’ve said all I can say, or feel comfortable saying (a bit of both), for now. I know this whole mess is a colossal pain in the rear end. I know it makes a lot of people anxious or frustrated, and I know that it probably has made a lot of people cross with me. Believe me when I say, I am as agitated as the rest of you, as well as, frankly, a little depressed. If I seem a bit short when answering messages related to commissions, as a result, I apologize in advance. I’m just trying my best here, people; I’m only one man, and with a lot on his plate. I’m sure others are the same, so I ask you to continue to be patient and know that I am working my hardest to manage things and get the job done. I want to thank everybody here for your patience and for your continued support. Also, if you’ve made it all the way to the end of this journal, thank you for your support. Bless you all.

[cindylouwho-2]

RECENT ECOMMERCE NEWS (INCLUDING ETSY), Early June 2024

I am really slammed at the moment, so instead of a long intro, I'll hop right into the latest ecommerce news, including a ton of things going on at Etsy.

TOP NEWS & ARTICLES 

Incorrect Etsy shop suspensions continue at a hot pace right now; I wrote about another one here on LinkedIn, and made an Etsy forum thread. The shop was reopened within 24 hours of my post. There was also good news in the story of HeatherJordanJewelry. Etsy has decided to refund her the money she lost on the 2 cases opened after Etsy closed her shop. 

Still think Etsy isn’t serious about sellers who ship after their processing times? The corporation is now sending shop owners warnings that they will be deindexed in a month if they do not improve their shipping metrics before then.  

I’ve reached out to the seller for more details but haven’t yet heard back. 

eBay is testing Venmo as a payment option. They are also removing American Express as a credit card option.

ETSY NEWS 

A small number of Etsy sellers are reporting their items showing as sold out when they are actually available; Etsy is looking into it, but upping the quantity (when available) seems to fix the issue. 

In what may have been an accidental early release of a new Etsy feature, sharp-eyed sellers noticed that Etsy was inserting a video slot into some shops’ listings even when there was no video. Here is a screenshot (courtesy PriddeyThings):

When sellers clicked the “Request a video” button, they were told a request had been sent, but the seller did not receive anything. This is such a bad way to encourage more videos. Some sellers already receive pretty disgusting Messages asking for shots of them posing with/wearing the product for sale, and now they get to deal with video requests as well? 

Etsy Ads costs are all over the place for some sellers recently, oscillating back and forth by day [post by me on Patreon]. 

Etsy is testing AI overviews of reviews, and they are about as popular with sellers as you might guess [Reddit thread; includes screenshot]. The good news for OOAK and most vintage sellers is that they only appear on items that are listed in multiples. 

While non-US sellers have been reporting issues with Etsy’s new listing page and the domestic pricing tool for a year now, there are now some US sellers complaining of both listing price changes not sticking, and of shipping profile errors. 

No, the Etsy "new shop boost" does not last very long - and I have the citations to prove it. [post by me on Tumblr]

If you are having trouble installing the latest version of the Sell on Etsy app, make sure all previous versions have been removed from your phone 

Sellers in the EU who have been unable to opt out of Offsite Ads should try again, as this seller in France managed to get Support to help out.

Etsy is surveying sellers on their shipping practices and marking items shipped, but it is unclear why [post by me on LinkedIn]. Some sellers who were asked about specific orders are concerned they might be in trouble due to carrier delays or errors.

An Etsy staff member posted what can be described as a “newbie guide to Etsy Messages” in the Etsy forum. About a year too late to prevent many of the scams…

Sadly, this NPR podcast [podcast with transcript] has a lot of errors in it - e.g., vintage and supplies were on Etsy since the beginning - but it is correct that the fight between investors and sellers is at the core of what is wrong with the site today. 

Any Canadian seller wondering how Etsy deals with GST/HST, provincial sales taxes and even income taxes will find this article useful. My older blog post on the GST debacle is still valid on the GST/HST questions, but it is rather long due to highlighting the issues rather than just explaining what a seller needs to do. 

Is Josh Silverman overpaid compared to CEOs of similar-sized companies? We’ll see what happens at the next AGM. 

ECOMMERCE NEWS (minus social media)

Amazon

Amazon has FAA approval for flying its delivery drones longer distances. “Amazon is set to “immediately” scale its operations in College Station, Texas, so it can fly more drones and make deliveries in more densely populated areas that are farther out.”

eBay

eBay is testing AI searches; at least they admit it may be inaccurate. 

As of July 8, eBay is banning use of Bluecare Express and Aquiline as shipping carriers, which some sellers have used to circumvent dropshipping rules. 

Coming soon: the ability for US sellers to use eBay’s International Shipping services to ship domestically to Hawaii, Alaska, and Puerto Rico. 

Shopify

Shopify’s “Shop” app - which allows consumers to look through many different sites that run through Shopify - had  a “Shop Cash” promotion in the US last week, allowing users to earn extra credits towards future purchases. The Shop app is getting successful enough to start being counted as a marketplace-equivalent. 

Shopify now owns “Checkout Blocks”, an app that helps with easy customization of the checkout process. It will now be free to all Shopify Plus members. 

All Other Marketplaces

GoImagine has been sending out invites to lapsed sellers, boasting of better dashboards, and offering 2 months free. They still do not seem that interested in seller concerns about poor traffic, as this Reddit thread demonstrates. [It's worth noting that Etsy had only 7 million sellers in the first quarter; GoImagine seems to be using figures based on all 3 of Etsy's marketplaces (including Depop & Reverb), but badly out of date ones, as active sellers on all 3 marketplaces were 9.1 million in the first quarter, not 8.3 million. Not exactly inspiring confidence!] 

Temu’s user numbers mean it now will have to comply with the EU’s Digital Services Act as a Very Large Online Platform (VLOP). “DSA obligations for VLOPs include assessing and mitigating systemic risks related to their services such as the listing and sale of counterfeit goods, unsafe or illegal products, and items that infringe intellectual property rights.” This might be good news for businesses who have had their photos stolen and posted there.

Payment Processing

PayPal is building its own ad network. “The company plans to expand [“Advanced Offers”] to sell ads to brands outside of its merchant network that could be displayed across the web and connected TV.”

Do you have any hot ecommerce and Etsy news you would like to see me cover? Email me, and I promise to keep the source confidential if you want me to!

Get these updates plus my website blog posts via email: http://bit.ly/CindyLouWho2Blog Get all of the most timely updates plus exclusive content by supporting my Patreon: patreon.com/CindyLouWho2

[fahadventure]

My TEFL Journey In a nutshell

Alhamdulillah, by the grace of Almighty, in the 2nd last year (2021), I have passed the 198 hours Level 5 TEFL certification course (168 guided hours + Teaching English online 30 hours) from The TEFL Academy. For those, who might want to know, Teaching English as a Foreign Language (TEFL) involves teaching English abroad or online where English is not the primary language. TEFL educators can work for international and global schools, foreign companies, international organizations and associations, and internationally recognized universities, just to name a few. You can read more about my adventures in  Fahadventure.

I have been thinking about doing this since 2018, just after my Graduation from the Institute of Business Administration, Dhaka University (IBA, DU), Bangladesh, but could not really focus much as I got involved in corporate culture, after joining an event management company, namely Asiatic Experiential Marketing Limited. Later on, in May,2019, I joined a locally reputed bank, BRAC Bank where I continued to work for two and a half years. In the meantime, the overall lockdown phases during 2020 and 2021 finally came as a blessing among all those office workloads, few trips and some personal hassles which motivated me once again to work from home and pursue my dreams. This certificate is just like a passport to travel the world while I'll start working on attaining the visa i.e jobs abroad once it reopens. For now, I am exploring the online possibilities to start with. Check out the vacancies for better exploration.

Just after leaving the job of my previous organization, BRAC Bank, I got the opportunity to join a global platform within few months, named as "Native Camp" where my everyday work nowadays involves teaching and talking people online, mostly from China, Japan & Taiwan and I can't even explain how happy I am right now to have those sessions and exchange our thoughts with fun while doing so. I am also an avid learner and traveler with interest in knowing cultures and norms from all around the globe. I have worked for a very short time in this period with Lingua Roma, a global teaching company where I had to work with South Africans, Russians, French, Kenyans etc. Apart from that, while traveling in various parts of India and Thailand, I resided in the local hostels and houses to mingle with mixed races and know more about them. You can have a look at my teaching profile.

Being a TEFL tutor is a great way to build transferable skills, like communication, creativity, adaptability, critical thinking, problem solving, and leadership etc. It's been a tiring journey with lots of obstacles since I didn't know who to connect with for suggestions; specially anyone from my country. So, I had to look for international blogs, knock random people and gain idea on this. I would humbly request to expand my knowledge if anyone wants to know & explore this beautiful world together. I'll be writing other detailed posts about my journey and other tefl course online, tefl jobs in the coming days. For now, you can look the official website if it fits your budget. Please keep me in your prayers so that I can smoothly advance towards my dream journey, not just by sitting at a corner of the office. Thank you all. Soooo excited! 🤩

Read the full article again and know more about my adventures in  Fahadventure.

[lily-of-rabanastre]

Minfilia/Galbana Lily Bodyswap Excerpt

Gonna workshop that title, lol. This teaser isn't quite the best slice of the fic to present. But I write linearly, so it's literally all I have done at the moment. Just wanted to show I've made some progress on the promised story. Without further ado.

As the sun hung low upon the western skyline, a cool summer breeze slipped into the port of Valnain from the southern bay. Night would soon fall on the people of Dalmasca, the stars twinkling to life far above Valnain’s wooden and stone piers. It was a sight Minfilia had never grown tired of seeing no matter how many years passed, and tonight was no exception.

A week short of three months ago she had come back from the dead, her soul carried out from the depths of the aetherial sea in the bosom of her shining beacon of light—the Warrior of Light, Galbana Lily. After reuniting with the body Hydaelyn had crafted for her, she remained in Sharlayan for a time, that she might acclimate to mortal life once again. But restlessness was quick to set in for the both of them, and after just two short weeks they departed by sky for these distant lands.

They had been here for about nine weeks now. If they weren’t fighting in skirmishes between the Dalmascan resistance forces and the scattered remnants of the IVth Legion, then they were putting their minds and means to good use supporting Princess Ashelia’s restoration efforts. Just a week prior, they aided in putting down an attempt to seize the docks by the remaining soldiers under the command of Origa rem Brunyasch—an aging Hrothgar lioness and veteran of countless battles across Ilsabard’s southern seaboard.

With her defeat, the ships needed to reopen trade with the outside world remain in Dalmasca’s possession. More than that, Ashelia and her entourage were able to set sail for Thavnair, where they could begin laying the groundwork for a brighter tomorrow.

That’s what they were here for, more than anything else. Whatever glory there was to be had in fighting the IVth Legion paled in comparison.

All that said, it was rather refreshing to be out on the frontlines for a change. To step out from behind her desk, from behind her duty, and live a life all her own. So she didn’t mind it too much that Lily—or Ktjn, rather—suggested they set aside their names for the occasion. She swore it was just an alias, and Minfilia saw no reason not to humor her. But it was amusing, seeing her get flustered whenever she mispronounced it.

And as for herself…

“Ascilia, look over there!” exclaimed the soldier beside her—Zulal was her name; an Auri farmgirl with teal blue hair, a passion for winemaking, and a mere twenty-two summers behind her. “I think I see a ship on the horizon!”

At Zulal’s request, Minfilia had transferred to her unit two weeks prior. Before then they weren’t even acquaintances. They hadn’t even met, in fact, and while Zulal knew of the mercenary calling herself a Warrior of Light through gossip, Zulal herself was just another rank and file scout and sniper. If not for a fortuitous encounter Minfilia might never have met the girl, nor learned of her gift.

“Hold a moment,” Minfilia told her as she reached for her pack. After producing from within it a simple but high quality spyglass—a parting gift from her brother, Thancred—she brought it up to her right eye and peered across the horizon to the southwest. “... You’ve a good eye, Zulal. ‘Tis indeed a ship, and it’s flying our colors, too. Seems Her Royal Highness has concluded her business in Thavnair.”

“Really? May I see?” As Minfilia silently handed her the spyglass, Zulal took it and peered through the crystal lens on the small end. “Oh thank Faram. When I’d heard where the Princess had run off to, I was worried sick. Er, do you think she’s alright, actually? That’s where the Final Days kicked off, after all...”

“According to my partner, Thavnair managed to weather the Final Days better than most afflicted nations,” Minfilia explained, recalling the stories her kith and kin shared of the event. “But if you’re truly curious, why not listen in on them?”

Zulal gave her a quizzical look. “Weren’t you the one who stressed using my power responsibly?”

“Setting your mind at ease is a very responsible use of the Echo,” Minfilia answered, nodding sagely and giving the girl her most innocent smile. “Though if you feel you’d be crossing your own boundaries by doing so, then put the thought out of your mind. We must simply imagine the Princess safe and sound.”

Handing the spyglass back to Minfilia with a heavy sigh, Zulal turned to face the ship in the distance and closed her eyes, appearing to concentrate. Her mind was elsewhere now, a curious manifestation of her Echo. Where most could only glimpse memories of the past, she was able to experience them as they were being made. Power such as this would ordinarily require specialized equipment and powerful magicks—yet for an ordinary girl like Zulal, it was almost effortless.

But it was not always so, nor could she control it when her Echo first awoke in the tail end of the FInal Days. The girl had shared plenty of stories of losing consciousness for hours at a time, her mind adrift like a leaf on the wind. Yet through Minfilia’s own guidance and training, she was able to master this sliver of power bequeathed unto her by her own sundered soul. Even better, she was able to make good use of it in her duties to the Resistance.

Well, most of the time.

Several minutes had passed before Zulal’s eyes fluttered back open, her cheeks flushed red as her gaze slid to the floor beneath them. “W-well, she’s safe and sound, alright. But I think that surly attendant of hers might have a few words for me after they make landfall…”

“What makes you say that?” Minfilia asked, her curiosity piqued. “Whose mind did you anchor yourself to?”

“Princess Ashelia’s,” Zulal admitted, tapping her forefingers together sheepishly. “She, um, was sleeping. And cuddling a little stuffed lion.”

“That’s adorable, hm hm,” Ascilia softly chuckled. “But surely that wouldn’t trouble you so much. What happened?”

“Her attendant was glaring daggers at me the whole time,” Zulal began to clarify, looking Minfilia in the eyes like a scared doe. “At first I thought she was just keeping a close eye on the Princess, but as I was leaving she, she called out to me.”

“... By name?” Minfilia asked, somewhat incredulously.

“Mhm.” Zulal nodded. “I didn’t think she even knew who I was.”

“Mayhap she knows you better than you think,” Minfilia offered, though another possibility came to mind.

If this attendant was able to identify the presence of a wandering mind by name, then it suggested a unique talent in her own right: The power of soul sight. A gift able to be replicated, just as Zulal’s projection, but not quite to the extent the attendant had demonstrated. Of course, this was no more than an educated guess.

“Anyroad, don’t worry yourself sick over this,” she continued, clapping her young friend on the shoulder. “If she comes asking, state your case calmly and be sure to mention my role in getting you to spy on her, alright?”

“Thank you, Ascilia. Faram help me, I could face off against a dozen IVth Legion dastards, but the thought of getting on Her Majesty's bad side…” With another heavy sigh, Zulal shook her head. “We’d best stop slacking off. Only an hour left ‘till shift change. Any plans for the evening? One of my friends invited me to play cards, and you’re welcome to come along.”

“Actually, I was planning to seek out my partner,” Minfilia beamed. She wouldn’t have minded joining Zulal, of course. But it had been some time since she and Lily had been intimate, and she was feeling a little needy tonight. “Would you mind looking around the city for her? I’ll repay the favor next chance I get.”

At this, Zulal’s skin began to pale. “Y-You want me to spy on the B-Black Vulture? But d-doesn’t she have the Echo? She’ll see me for sure!”

But Minfilia merely shook her head. “Ktjn isn’t that gifted. So long as you don’t try anything funny with her, she won’t even notice.”

“O-Okay…” With a heavy swallow, Zulal turned around, scanning the breadth of Valnain’s rooftops. “Shouldn’t be too hard to find her, at least. Even someone like me could make out a soul with a presence like hers…”

[uhmusingmon]

looking beyond the presenting problem

two months ago, I moved into a new apartment. I was excited for the freshness it offered me. And I was excited to terminate with the former property management. I knew I had left some damages and I did not leave it sparkly clean as their move out instructions requested. so I wasn't quite expecting a return on the security deposit.

what I did expect, however, was to receive notice within 45 days per state law. 45 days passed, and nothing. a little irritated, because I had to comply with their move out timeline, that they have failed to comply with the law. so I left a voicemail, and not to my surprise, it was not returned. so I called again. I was given the number of the manager in charge of the property, contacted them, and they told me they would follow up the next day..........nothing.

a week passes, I call again. I leave a message and the call is not returned. I call the office and speak with someone who said they will have the manager reach out to me. and you guessed it...nothing!

And then comes the email. The email that lists their vague charges for general cleaning and labor. At this point, I'm furious because they fail to abide by the law, their communication is shit, and they face no consequences. if I were to move out 8 days past my scheduled date, I would face retribution. Why should they be free from this!? ugh, f**k capitalistic garbage behavior profiting off the disadvantaged.

I couldn't shake my frustration, and my nervous system fell out of wack. This lead to frustration with myself for allowing it to trigger an emotional spiral. The privileged must be held accountable!

Now, while all this is upsetting, I did not understand the dark looming cloud over my head the next day. "why can't I shake this?" I thought. Conveniently, this was also therapy day.

Oh, therapy. this current therapist is about a month and a half new to me. and boy, do I have a tendency to wear my "life's tough but I've got this" mask into session. I wore it all up until this point. Maybe I shed a few tears here and there, but I kept it pretty controlled. (Mostly because I criticize myself out of crying over something that's nOt ThAt SeRiOuS or NoT tHaT bAd). This session was not like the rest.

I did not want a dark cloud following me the rest of the day. I knew I had to get comfortable with an honest display of my emotions if I wanted to change it. So I went in knowing I've gotta utilize this therapy thing (and I didn't have the energy to mask). One of the last things I texted my friend before I walked into the building was, "I hope she has a lot of tissues ready."

the session began. we got to talking. I brought up my capitalistic garbage drama and soon began the waterworks.

as I continued to talk about the situation, I began to realize -- while yes, screw capitalistic garbage (and that anger is valid) -- I was really mad about the lack of communication and no one following through with their word. it awakened an old wound for which I could finally articulate in words: my existence doesn't matter.

it was intense and a relief as I identified other events that echoed that same fallacy. I thought I had already understood the impact of these events and was aware of the lies they taught me. but not quite. this was a new layer that has been waiting to be uncovered. even though the wound has existed for years and been reopened a few times, I did not have these exact words to express the pain I felt. I had other variations, but none so blunt and to the point.

my existence doesn't matter.

cognitively, I know that is not true. but subconsciously, this wound reinforces a block in my pursuit of an authentic life and actualizing dreams. it feeds the depression, the anxiety, and self-sabotage.

by naming this once hidden thought, I can cancel it out with truth: my existence matters. I matter. I have purpose. I belong here. those who do not value me may not appreciate my existence, and their lack of appreciation does not diminish my power, my place, my purpose.

when I'm having big feelings over a presenting problem, I am reminded I can either spend energy trying to solve/fight it OR I can use it as an invitation to dig and explore to find its roots. Editing this post 8 months later to say, both can be done. Digging helps to decide which problems are worth solving.

When is the last time you felt worked up about a situation? What do you think your feelings were trying to show or tell you?

[merakiui]

May I request a one shot Yandere! Diluc with reader or Lumine (basically the traversed) and how he’d react to her desires to return back to her world? Diluc hasn’t acted on his feelings and is practically one-sidedly pining ❤️

Matchstick

yandere!diluc x (female) reader art credit - emoemone on twt cw: yandere, unhealthy behaviors/thoughts, mentions of cauterization/branding/fire, blood, broken glass

“I’d like to go home.”

The declaration disturbs the silent, empty tavern like a warmonger among the common folk. Diluc pauses his ministrations, a damp rag poised within a wine glass, and glances in your direction. You’re sitting in front of him at the bar, having decided to keep him company as he closes the tavern. For a moment, his eyes search your face for any indication of a jest or lie, as if he expects you to come clean with a hearty laugh.

Your expression is grave, filled with a longing that has only become more potent with each day spent in Mondstadt. Had he been delusional, Diluc might have assumed that troublesome bard slipped something into your grape juice. And yet you’re perfectly sober, speech clear and intact with steady motor skills to boot.

“Really?”

He arches a brow, curious as to what brought this on. You must be out of your mind for wanting to leave such a generous city that has welcomed you with open arms. It’s a city of freedom and yet you want to throw everything away for the sake of returning home. For the sake of severing your bonds with the people of Mondstadt; it’s so dreadfully cruel.

“Yes, really! As great as Mondstadt is, it just isn’t the same. And...I miss my brother. A lot.” Forlorn grief spreads across your face and you lean your elbow upon the counter, sighing heavily. “I’m hoping I’ll be able to find some clues if I retrace my steps.”

“You’ll just be wasting your time.”

“Maybe. But if it’s for him, I’d gladly do it.”

His eyes narrow, two pools of impossibly deep red that threaten to burn you at the stake if you speak anymore nonsense. Like a witch who whispers treacherous poison, you’ll be swept up in a horrendous blaze of your own making—as you are the matchstick and he is the wavering flame. Diluc is well aware of your situation. He knows your purpose is to search for your lost sibling; you’re a traveler, for Archons’ sake. That’s practically what a traveler does: bouncing from land to land in search of boundless treasures, intriguing legends, or, in your case, a missing brother. Of all the people in Mondstadt, he should be the one to sympathize with you.

After all, he lost someone near and dear to him and that guilt has made a feast out of his memories.

“And what will you do once you return? You can’t be certain he’ll have left any signs for you—if he’s been taken somewhere else entirely, that is. And even if he has, wouldn’t that god just erase every clue in order to keep the both of you apart?”

“I don’t know... But I haven’t gotten any closer to finding him while I’ve been here! Every time I think I’ve found something, it leads to a dead end and I’m back at the very beginning. So I’m going home.” You pause to weigh his words, a frown twisting at your lips at the implication of that meddling god. “It’s better to keep trying.”

“You’re going to waste your time,” he repeats, sounding uninterested as he resumes polishing the glass. “You’ll have better luck in another land than somewhere you’ve already been.”

“What else am I supposed to do? I’m getting desperate...”

You’ve only been in Mondstadt for a few months—hardly a year—and yet your presence has added more fuel to the dangerous fire residing within his furnace-like heart. You’ll be cauterized long before you find your sibling. That might be for the best. A wound should be fixed properly to avoid reopening it, and a recurring issue should be dealt with as swiftly as possible. When simple words won’t work in his favor, perhaps physical intervention will solve such a troubling problem. Perhaps even an abnormal traveler will burn just as bright as the infatuation locked away within his scalding heart.

The glass shatters in his choking grip, crystalline shards splaying across the shiny countertop like precious jewels bursting from a chest. A few dig into his gloves, tearing the thin fabric and drawing blood. It stains the damp rag in his hand in a color that’s as bold as the very fire he wields.

Oh.

“Master Diluc!” Your gasp alerts him at once, and he finds himself staring into your eyes rather than at the glass shards probing his skin. “Are you okay? Let me find you a clean cloth. Ah, bandages! Do you have any here? Those would work better than a flimsy cloth.”

You’re rambling as you bolt up from your stool, stumbling around the tavern like a crazed drunkard. Diluc thinks it’s rather cute to watch you fumble through your nervous rant, as if you believe a few minor scratches could seriously wound him. But you’ve always been a caring person, constantly looking out for those who might need help. Your reputation with the townsfolk is outstanding as a result of that, but he wouldn’t expect anything less of someone so virtuous.

“I’m fine.” He peels the gloves off with ease, careful to pluck the shards out before they can burrow any deeper. His hand, although bloodied and riddled with minor indentations, raises for your wary gaze. “See? This is harmless. Just like a splinter.”

“I suppose so, but we should still treat it. You don’t want it to get infected.” A smile quickly softens your once hardened expression. “Imagine what Kaeya would say if he found out. He wouldn’t let you live it down.”

“Hm.” The sound of another man’s name on your lips is utterly sickening, and for a twisted fraction of a second he considers imprinting his name onto your skin. Surely it’ll serve as a reminder that you should only think of him—only speak his name in that sweet voice of yours. But that would cause you an intense amount of pain and he would never dream of laying his hands upon you in a violent manner. “I agree. That would be troubling.”

These sudden ideas of destruction concern him greatly. He doesn’t want to hurt you, nor does he ever want to lose you. But it’s frustrating when you stand before him, cradling his hand and dabbing the blood away with a handkerchief, and he can’t muster the proper words. If he were to confess and spill every single sentimental thought like a raging waterfall, his emotions would finally come to fruition. Thinking about them is something akin to fantasy, but saying them aloud is like cementing an odd reality into place.

He likes you. Do you like him?

It’s such a simple question that can either mend his entire being or slice it in half. He’ll never receive an answer because he refuses to ask. And you’ll end up leaving him behind in Mondstadt. In a city renowned for its precious freedom, are you truly free if he wants to keep you for himself, safe and completely untouched by the horrors of this vast world? Surely he deserves some semblance of peace if you intend on hollowing out his soul with the spoon that is your desire to abandon him.

Not exactly abandon, per se. That’s not your true intention, but thinking that way doesn’t soothe the fire any less.

“Thank you... You really didn’t have to help, but I do appreciate it.”

“It’s not a problem! Although I wish I could’ve healed you. That would make this a lot faster.” Your smile turns bitter as you recall every moment in which you would patch up your brother and he would do the same when you found yourself on the precipice of harrowing injury. “It’s getting late.”

Ah, the universal cue of indicating a routine need for sleep.

Diluc nods as he gathers the glass shards into the rag, emptying them into the trash so they won’t cause anymore harm. You’re already heading to the door and this could be the last time he sees you. Your final interaction would have been bittersweet and unfair.

“(Name).” His voice stops you in your tracks and you turn around, somewhat surprised to hear him call for you. You assume he’s going to bid you a good night, but he manages to leave you surprised. “I would like to help you find your brother. Although I’m needed here in Mondstadt, I hope you’ll reconsider your current plans.”

You’re flattered he’d offer his help, but you’ve heard those words nearly a hundred times now. It’s become a dull cycle that bears rotten fruit. Maybe, if you were to give it another chance, something good will happen. You’re not entirely faithful in that sentiment, but it sounds pleasing to your brain. Perhaps you’re too tired to make a wise decision.

“Thank you! I think I’ll take you up on that offer, Master Diluc. It wouldn’t hurt to stay another month or so, if only to make sure I haven’t missed anything.”

And like a matchstick, you incite an inferno that’s destined for a hazardous future should it remain cooped up inside the depths of his soul.

[theofficersacademy]

Into the stagnant world of Memory of the Hills, to the screams of a dying dragon beneath the rubble of a collapsed tower, through a grim, smog-filled city, to the cries of a young baroness over an unspoken love, you have been thrown from one mysterious world to the next. There is no way out that you know of, and the last rescue mission had ended in failure.

The Projectionist, of course, has a new idea. With her magic, she can write you into the enchanted books. Perhaps if you make it to the end, you can help break the spell that keeps your classmates bound within?

What’s Going On?

Welcome to Unscripted, the third anniversary event for the Officers Academy! Please continue reading below for information and rules.

This will be an evolving event. Instead of a traditional mission board, each of the six groups will be given a setting to explore. New information will come to light weekly, and situations will shift as time moves on. Use what your muse knows (or doesn’t) about the book they’re in and the role they’ve been given to navigate the plot.

Muses who are not participating in the event will be left behind in Garreg Mach. There will be no mission board this month so these muses can either catch up on past threads or thread together about their classmates and colleagues who have left for the event.

Unscripted General Rules

If you have not signed up to participate in the event yet, please take this quiz. Given the design of this event, sign-ups will permanently close at 11:59PM EST on August 3rd. If muses drop throughout the month, we may reopen signups to fill their places. Please message the mods if you sign up otherwise we won’t see it.

Teams will be announced as the groups are posted, and this spreadsheet will be unlocked later for viewing.

You will not be allowed to switch teams, but you’re allowed to make adjustments to your inventory until 11:59PM EST on August 3rd. Please send all inventory adjustment requests to the masterlist’s inbox.

You may only start Unscripted threads between August 1st and August 31st. Event threads may be continued after the event, but no new ones may be started. Likewise, only IC posts made between 8/1 and 8/31 will count toward prizes.

Unlike past events, your muses are already inside the books for the Prologue period. That means that all event interactions should be with your teammates. No time to spend saying your goodbyes at the monastery this year.

We encourage creativity and exploration. This is not an event that will solely be focused on combat. The roles your muses have been assigned also have important functions in the storybooks, so pay attention to who you are and how the NPCs react to you.

We also highly encourage “Paralogue” threads. These are mini threads focused on character development or exploring something that interests you or your muse, parallel to whatever main objective your team is after. Paralogue threads enrich your campaign experience, so thread away as the inspiration strikes!

Please tag all event-related IC posts with #Unscripted[teamname]2022.

This event will allow muses to die. This can happen at any point during the event. However, dead muses will respawn at their starting point until a specific point in the campaign. If you don’t wish for your muse to actually “die,” you can also write them as being knocked unconscious. Regardless of what happens to your muse, you will still receive all prizes at the end.

Unscripted Schedule

August 1st - 3rd : PROLOGUE August 4th - 10th : ?? August 11th - 17th : ?? August 18th - 24th : ?? August 25th - 31st : ??

Discord

There is a new lobby channel for general event discussion and a new #openthreads channel for event-use only. Additionally, there are six new plotting channels, one for each team. Please use these channels for event-related discussion or planning.

Prizes and How to Get Them

Two sets of prizes will be awarded for the Unscripted event.

PARTICIPATION PRIZE.

All muses entering the event automatically receive one of these prizes upon joining. You may message the masterlist as soon as you have made your first event post.

Canon Lord characters: You are granted access to your exclusive promotional class. This class will have mastery requirements of a Master Tier class and will also require rank A in Authority and a drabble. Please message the masterlist to claim it. To see muses that qualify and their corresponding prizes, please refer to the fourth page of this sheet.

Non-Lord characters who joined after prior Lore Events: You will be allowed to claim your Personal Skill. Please refer to this post for instructions on how to create and claim your Personal Skill. If you need help designing your skill, please ask for advice in the personal skill workshop channel in the Discord server. All personal skills must be submitted to the masterlist’s inbox to be approved though.

All others: If your character participated in past lore events and has already received all participation prizes that they are eligible for, you may claim an additional ability that you qualify for from the ranking chart.

If you prefer to hold off on choosing your prizes (i.e. waiting on skill points, etc.), you may do so. However, keep in mind that you may only feature any new abilities in threads after claiming them.

GRAND PRIZE.

This will be awarded at the end of the event to any muse who reaches a minimum of 10 IC event posts. Contains:

One free skill point

Two choices from an event-limited selection of prizes

And a third prize — unknown for now

More information on that will come at the conclusion of the event, so for now, set aside your House differences and work together to explore these enchanted books!

And as always, feel free to message the masterlist or use the Discord if you have any questions.

- The House Leaders

[thusspoketrish]

Words Are Very Unnecessary

TW: Dark fic; Angst; mental illness; mention of past suicide attempt; implied self-harm; scarring; psychiatric ward; unethical medical practices/harm; inappropriate patient/doctor/staff interactions; shifting tenses

Created for the prompt Pretend for @drarrymicrofic

Title taken from Depeche Mode’s Enjoy the Silence

3.3K words. This is something that I may consider coming back to expand on in the future. READ ON AO3.

A heartwarming thank you to @starlitsilvereyes for the thorough beta!

When Healer Robins announces that Harry will not be carrying out his final rotation at St Mungo’s, he’s shocked. He’s done everything he can within the last few months to prove himself capable: he’s completed his clinical rotations with commendations, he’s saved lives, he’s brought coffee and donuts in from his favourite bakery in Diagon every Friday, and he’s even played nice with the first-year Trainee Healers. But as Healer Robins announces his fate, Harry not only feels the bottom of his stomach fall—he can practically feel the smug smile burning a hole into the back of his head from his colleague, competitor, and overall pain in his arse, Blaise Zabini.

“I’m sorry Harry, but Blaise has already proven quite successful with some of the patients in Janus Thickey. I’m afraid that if we remove him, many of the patients will respond negatively to the change,” Healer Robins says, aiming a warm smile at Zabini.

“And you have a muggle vehicle, that James Bond-looking thing, am I right, Harry?” Zabini asks.

Harry turns to face him. He hates to admit it, but Zabini looks attractive in the lime green robes—but everything about him is stylish, with his broad shoulders, his fancy clothing under his robes, his stylish haircut. Too stylish for a Healer, Harry thinks glumly, staring down at his beat-up trainers he’s had for three years now. Harry grimaces as the other man smiles widely at him. He’d wager his entire Gringotts vault that Zabini has charmed a tooth to twinkle when he smiles like that.

“Yeah, why?” Harry grunts. He doesn’t want to show just how disappointed he is over missing out on the Thickey Ward, but he’s never been that great at compartmentalising his feelings.

“You’ll need one where you’re going,” Healer Robins says.

--------

As soon as Harry pulled his sleek black ’52 Jaguar XK-120 (a result of his quarter-life crisis earlier in the year) into the driveway of St Peter’s Asylum, the 16th century estate sends a chill up his spine. He exits his car and ambles around the property for a while, wanting to gain a better sense of his new work environment. There’s a 25-mile-long anti-Apparition ward surrounding the property and no Floo Network connection. Everything about the property felt duplicitous. The beautiful large bay windows were covered excessively with sharp, pointy metal bars, stained-glass depicting religious iconography were covered in grime and spiderwebs. The columned archway framing the front entrance has cracks in them and are covered in rotting foliage. Behind the estate is a crematorium where ominous black smoke currently poured from the vents, spilling upward into the grey sky. He should have known then that something was amiss.

After a confusing meeting with Head Healer Madison, a quick introduction to the nurses and orderlies, Harry is shown to his small, gloomy office. Settled in, when he finally glanced through the files of his new patients, he nearly spilled his coffee on the pile.

He did not expect to see Draco Malfoy on his rota.

He can recall the last time he saw Malfoy, right after the trials, when Harry’s testimony wasn’t enough to save him completely from time in Azkaban, but anything after? He can’t. He does not recall exactly how much time Malfoy served—had it been three years or four? Did he receive early release or was that his father? How had Harry simply put Malfoy out of his mind after everything they had both been through? How had Zabini not warned him Malfoy would be in a psychiatric ward? Did he even know?

All these questions left a sour taste in Harry’s mouth. He had asked Healer Madison to give Malfoy’s file to a different Healer due to the conflict of interest, but there were no other Healers that would take Malfoy, and so Harry was left with a quandary: either help Malfoy or they’ll send him back to Azkaban, untreated, to serve out the rest of his sentence.

Malfoy’s file was as depressing as Harry imagined it to be.

Malfoy was considered a permanent resident on the ward, but the history is muddled as to why he’s been labelled permanent if his psychiatric care was part of his early release requirements from Azkaban. The threadbare treatment plan had no end goals or date to reintegrate Malfoy into Magical society. The file simply read of an attempted suicide in Azkaban, manic depression, and tendencies towards excessive violence to not just himself but those around him when angered—this was one of the reasons Healers refused him care. He had apparently injured the last three, one almost fatally. He’s been kept heavily medicated, but lately has been refusing treatment. The nurses have been providing the necessary potions intravenously.

Malfoy also hasn’t uttered a single word to anyone—not staff or other patients—for over two years.

From the gossip that the nurses regularly indulged in, Harry was able to learn that Malfoy befriended a young Scottish man named Ziggy and an elderly woman named Lottie that was also considered mute and antisocial. Ziggy had died exactly over two years ago under mysterious conditions and his body was sent to the crematorium instead of autopsied by the local Medical Examiner. When Harry had brought this oversight to Healer Madison, he had been scolded and suspended for three days for viewing files not assigned to him. She threatened to send him back to St. Mungos if he continued to work on the files that have been sealed by the Chief Healer, which would result in him failing his final rotation.

This, of course, further fuelled Harry’s interests.

-------

Harry began to watch Draco’s condition much more closely.

The other man still wouldn’t utter a word to Harry, and sometimes he wondered if Draco even recognised who he was sitting in front of, his eyes unfocused, body slumped in his chair with his bandaged arms wrapped around his body, his long blond hair falling to his shoulders in messy clumps.

Harry began to discover bruises around Draco’s wrists when they’d meet for sessions. When they began to appear around Draco’s neck, and finally, his left eye, Harry calmly enquired about it, and this sent Draco into a silent, violent frenzy. Draco had shoved most of the contents on Harry’s desk to the floor, thrown books at the walls, and ripped one of his bandages free to viciously dig his nails up and down his arm. Harry had to call a CODE RED as he scrambled to unlock his wand from the warded drawer of his desk to Stupefy Draco before he reopened all his wounds. It was the first time Harry had seen any kind of real reaction from the other man and quite frankly, it scared the hell out of him. He had watched helplessly as the orderlies rushed in to gather Draco’s limp body from the floor.

Later that day, he approached Healer Madison.

“I’d like the evaluation forms for any other medical treatments Mr Malfoy is having here,” Harry had demanded. She had popped her gum in Harry’s face before rolling her eyes at his request.

“Those records are private, Potter. For the Chief Healer’s eyes only,” she had said.

“Well, I need the evaluation forms as well. I should be aware of any changes in treatment methods, considering Malfoy is one of my patients.”

Healer Madison patted Harry on the shoulder. “Relax, Potter. No need to be such a bloody worry-wort. Code reds happen all the time here. You’ll soon come to realise how we do things at St Peter’s.”

-------

Harry left the hospital at 5pm every day. Like clockwork, when he’s just about to get into his car, he’ll look up to the third-floor window of the recreation room where he’ll catch Draco staring down at him through the slats of the bars. Each time, the monster in Harry’s chest that’s begun to grow with Harry’s concern and affection for Draco, roared to life. He knew it would be just a matter of time before Draco ended up dead if Harry did not figure out what’s going on in this hospital.

--------

On a particularly cold, grey day in October, one month into Harry’s rotation at St Peter’s, Harry enters the third-floor recreation room. All of Harry’s patients have been improving greatly, Draco in particular. Intravenous treatment ended a week ago as he’s now more cooperative in taking his medication by mouth. His self-harming had eased somewhat, but there were still bad days that Harry monitored closely. Draco interacts with staff and his friend Lottie again, sitting next to her to watch the Muggle telly or just holding her wrinkled hand as they both stare out the window. His grey gaze seemed stronger, more focused, determined, even. It made Harry happy to see a sliver of the person he once knew shining through, and he hoped it would just be a matter of time before Draco speaks, so Harry can help him.

Harry glances around the room. Soft music is playing from off the telly. There's plenty of places to sit, but he opts to walk over to the window where Draco is sitting and playing chess by himself. The man’s wrists are bandaged again, no doubt from picking at his scars. Harry can see a patch of blood through the gauze and wonders why none of the nurses have been around to replace them. He wishes he had his wand (which is locked in his office for safety reasons) so he can replace the bandage himself.

“Draco,” Harry starts warmly. “How are you doing today?”

Draco looks up from the board and Harry gasps. There’s another brutal black eye around his left eye, and the top of his lip is split. Harry reaches out, his fingers lightly touching Draco’s lips before grazing along his jaw. Draco remains very, very still under Harry’s touch, his lips parting slightly as his chest heaves. When Harry remembers himself, he snatches his hand back as if he’s been burned.

“Who did this to you?” Harry hisses.

For a moment, Draco’s eyes turn incredibly bright as he exhales a phlegmy breath before his gaze shutters. Harry sits on the opposite side of the board, staring down at it as Draco takes one trembling hand to move his black bishop to E5. Harry sighs.

“You can tell me, Draco. I…I want to help you. I know there’s something terrible happening in this hospital, and I know someone is hurting you. Please, Draco—”

Draco abruptly stands from his seat, startling Harry. Draco doesn’t pay him any notice as he stretches his long, rail-thin body before strolling up to the nurse’s station. He taps on the glass divider several times before Nurse Mathilde slides the panel open.

“What is it, Mr Malfoy?”

Draco mimes smoking a cigarette.

Nurse Mathilde purses her lips. “The Chief Healer has given you permission to smoke again, but not until 5pm and especially not without an orderly present. You’ll have to wait until then. No exceptions!” she snaps before slamming the panel shut.

Draco doesn’t come back to his board game, nor does he glance over at Harry.

Harry watches as he instead sits next to his friend Lottie who is staring at the only plant in the recreational room. He lifts her wrinkled hand and entwines it with his own before settling in to watch the plant with her.

---------

At approximately 5pm Harry exits the asylum, briefcase in one hand and car keys in the other. When he passes by one of the gnarled oak trees, he notices Draco leaning against it, blowing tendrils of smoke from his cigarette. Harry slows down to watch him.

Draco’s hip is cocked out, his hospital shirt bunched up slightly, exposing a sliver of pale flesh and a titillating v-line that disappears in his thin cotton hospital pyjamas. He’s properly beautiful—all long lines and sharp edges carved in delicate, alabaster marble. Harry has noticed just how clearer Draco’s eyes are now, how the grey is piercing, brimming with cleverness and an intelligence that reminds Harry of the boy he knew in Hogwarts.

Harry’s suddenly startled out of his reverence when he glances around and notices that Draco is currently unattended.

Harry decides to approach him.

“Draco. Are you out here by yourself? Where is your attending orderly?”

“He was recovering from the blowjob I gave him before I did this—” Draco says, his voice thick and raspy. Harry is so shocked to hear the familiar drawl that he stumbles forward, his eyes widening, realises too late that Draco has lunged towards him, left hand raised high to strike Harry on the side of his head with a large, jagged rock.

When Harry comes to, it’s with a sharp groan and with the sound of a string of complex Latin filling his ears. He grits his teeth as a burning sensation wraps around his wrist. He realises that he’s frozen on the ground by a particularly thorough Petrificus Totalus. Despite his throbbing head, he focuses enough to catch Draco at his side, hissing as a thin, red bracelet appears on his left wrist, the bandages now gone. Harry hasn’t seen his left arm exposed before, and he cries out as he takes in the horrific scarring over the Dark Mark, as if someone had tried to peel the Mark off with a scalpel and failed to dig deep enough. There were healed and freshly scabbed cuts from his wrist to his elbow on both arms.

Draco appears above Harry then. “Oh, good. You’re awake.”

There are streaks of dirt across Draco’s face, his hands, and under his nails.

“Please, Draco, whatever it is…don’t…don’t…”

Draco snorts. “What, don’t hurt you? Don’t kill you? Why would I harm the person I’m currently Bonded to?” Draco asks, lifting Harry’s wrist to his face. The red bracelet there matches Draco’s.

Panic seizes Harry immediately. Had he not been completely immobile, he sure he’d be shuddering. “What the hell is going on?” Harry asks, his voice shaking.

Draco drops his wrist and instead lifts a thick, taped together manila folder covered in dirt. “You’re helping me get the fuck out of here, Potter.” A smile breaks across Draco’s face then, making him look both incredibly beautiful and deranged. “It was as if you breathed life back into me, the day you walked through the doors of St Peter’s. I knew then that I had to hold on just a bit longer because surely it was a sign that my initial hard work wasn’t done in vain. You see this file here? I used to sneak out documents I’d gather from Madison, the Chief Healer, and the nurses proving the abuse. Some of the orderlies will let you do whatever you want if you can…provide the right services…and they would often leave me alone long enough for a smoke. I would hide the files here, Potter. But after Z-Z-iggy—” Draco’s excitable tone falters, a veil of sadness falling so quickly over his face Harry experiences a sense of whiplash. “They killed my friend, Potter. They treated Ziggy well before, even let him play Bowie when things weren’t so bad. They killed him during the experiments…”

“What experiments?” Harry asks, shocked.

Draco’s expression shifts once again to happiness. “I knew you wouldn’t be involved in something so gruesome.” He holds up his scarred arm. “On the Dark Mark and Purebloods who have come from Dark families. They’re trying to figure out how Dark Magic is entwined in a person’s DNA and…I don’t know…undo it.”

Harry’s eyes widens, mind beginning to race. “What?”

If the Healers here were literally using human flesh and blood to somehow recreate or understand the links between DNA and inherent Dark Magic, who knows what kind of torture and body modification they’re causing their subjects.

Draco eyes become manic. “You have to help me. You have to get me out of here in the next five minutes. My outdoor time is only half an hour and the orderly is currently passed out—”

“—Draco,” Harry whispers, interrupting Draco’s spiral. “How many others are there…how many other victims?”

“I don’t know, I swear. I just knew Ziggy personally but there would always be screams, so much screaming, so many voices…” Draco says, closing his eyes and swaying on the spot. He mutters softly, incoherently, to himself for a few moments before he opens his eyes, so grey, intense and bright. Harry is overwhelmed with shock, horror, and above all, disgust. Disgusted that the people he’s been working alongside for a month now, the people who have vowed first to do no harm, have been torturing their patients, vulnerable patients.

“Draco, I want to help you, okay? I will help you. You just have to undo the Petrificus Totalus. We’ll get in the car and just drive. I’ll take you wherever you need to go.”

Draco holds up Harry’s wand, points it at Harry’s face. “If you betray me, Potter, you’ll regret it. We’ll get in that fancy car of yours and you’ll drive until I say stop. If you do anything to prevent me from getting these files to the right people…if you try to get help from the Aurors or let your friends know what’s going on, I’ll off myself. And this bond here, this bond will take you with me. I’m the only one that knows the counter, and once we get to my final destination, I’ll release you. So, don’t you dare fucking try me.”

Harry bites back a gasp.

Despite his very real fear, Harry’s desire to help Draco outweighs it. He nods.

“Okay, whatever you want. I’ll do it.”

Draco’s face, dark with suspicion, slowly starts to slide towards something lighter. He bares his teeth. “I hold onto the wand. You’re not allowed to touch me, period, or else I might get the wrong idea that you’re trying to get your wand back, and I don’t want to have to hurt you, or worse, hurt myself.”

“Yes, okay.”

With a wave of Harry’s wand, Draco undoes the spell. Harry sits up slowly, so as not to alarm Draco, who has quickly scrambled to his feet, the dirty file hugged to his chest, wand still trained on Harry. Harry follows after him, head throbbing and legs unsteady.

Draco casts a healing charm his way before strengthening a Disillusionment Charm around them.

Feeling much steadier, Harry exhales. “Thank you.”

“I’m sorry I hit you in the first place. I had no other means to incapacitate you.”

“You could have just told me what was going on.”

Draco shrugs. “I had to make sure you were trustworthy. And honestly, I’ve wanted to knock you out for years, so this very much fulfilled a boyhood dream of mine,” Draco says, his lips tugging upward. Harry pauses to look at him. The monster in his chest is awake, thrashing about as affection and desire feeds it.

Harry knows he’s fucked.

They make their way towards Harry’s car after checking on the unconscious orderly. Once settled in, Harry starts the car and drives, past the gates of the asylum and onto the stretch of empty country road. He glances at Draco, not at all shocked to see the tears that are streaming down his battered face.

“Where to?” Harry asks softly.

Draco continues to stare out ahead of him as he answers, “the only safehouse I know. A house on Spinner’s End, Cokeworth.”

Harry draws in a sharp breath.

[wanderinginksplot]

Will your requests be opening soon?

That is a really good question, anon! As always, brevity is not my strong suit, so I'll put the long answer below the cut, but the short answer is: soon-ish. And when they do reopen, the process may look a little different than it did before.

As you may know, I closed my requests last December. When I closed it, I had almost 30 open requests. Even writing at top speed, that's almost four months of writing time to fulfill those commitments!

It's not a secret that I love one-shots. I love experimenting with different scenarios and characters without committing to a full-length series. I treasure one-shots for what they do in developing my writing abilities. That being said, that many requests started to weigh on me.

First of all, I have a full-time job that makes me work very odd hours. I didn't like the idea that I was taking months to fill requests. Second, I started worrying that I was going to burn out. I was spending every free moment writing, down to writing before I fell asleep and on breaks at work. I think I put more effort into filling those writing requests than I did on doing my college assignments!

I am a series writer at heart, and filling requests meant that I didn't have any time to work on my own projects. Right now, I have four open series and another concept I'm working to develop. That doesn't leave a lot of time for requests.

On a more personal note, I'm having a few health problems. Nothing life-threatening (hopefully), but enough that I have to put time, effort, and money toward solving those rather than writing. On top of that, I'm seriously considering a career change, which would cut into writing time even more. I'm reluctant to reopen requests since I don't know what kind of fulfillment timeline I'd be looking at.

I do still plan on reopening requests, but I probably won't be promising timelines or full-length fics. If someone has an idea for me to use when I'm writing a drabble to get back into a writing mood, that's fine. If someone wants a full-length fic (4k-5k words) on a certain timeline, I might check out options for having them commission me instead.

Anyway, that was a very long-winded way of saying: I'm not sure exactly when I'll reopen requests, but it won't be within the next month or two, and it will probably be a bit different than how the process of requesting a fic from me worked before.

Thank you for asking, anon, and for letting me ramble!

[lumosandnoxwriting]

a lil announcement about requests!!

hi everyone!! I hope everything is well for you guys!! I've basically been on a hiatus for the past few months while I prepare for the bar exam, but within the next week the test will be behind me and I’ll have nothing to do for a few months but wait for my results, and I plan on using that time to write! I have a lot of requests sitting in my inbox and a lot of them are either for characters I just have no motivation to write for the requests just aren’t really that inspiring to me. And that’s not to say they’re bad requests or ideas, they just don’t spark anything for me personally. So I’m going to clear my inbox and start fresh! Requests are open again for a limited time, as I’ll be only accepting the first 10-15 I receive. I’ll make a follow up post when they are closed again!

I do have a whole post about request guidelines which you can find here, but I wanted to outline one briefly. Moving forward I will only be writing for Fred and George. When I first started this blog I wasn't sure who I wanted to write for so I kept it pretty open. But after writing for the twins so much I’ve decided that’s what I want to stick with! I may reopen for some Harry requests at some point, but for now I’m sticking with the twins!

so feel free to send in a request!! please be sure to check out my request guidelines first, and if you need a bit of inspo I’ve also created a prompt list!

thank you guys for sticking with me and I look forward to getting some fresh requests! im also thinking about starting to write for Star Wars?? idk if I wanna post those works on here or just on ao3 so if you have an opinion let me know!! If you ever have any questions or just wanna chat, my ask box and dms are always open!! 

[taetaespeaches]

“I can’t think of a life that doesn’t have you in it.”

jimin x reader (or oc) genre: fluff; angst word count: 2.2K

a/n: well, this is inspired by “cardigan” off of taylor swift’s new album, folklore. I also turned it into one of the requests from the last drabble prompt requests I did. So yeah, this is a continuation of Jimin and Dear’s rough patch, after they drive out to a random spot together in an attempt to reconnect (“I don’t know where we go from here, Dear.”) Thank you all for reading, and I hope you enjoy :)) 

THE bed was almost too warm, but mostly, it was comfortable. That was the best you’d slept in months, and more specifically, since before Jimin left for tour. You both had lost your ways, and looking back, you weren’t sure how it all went so wrong.

It’s hard to balance selfishness and selflessness when you know you need yourself, but the person you love needs you too. How do you help someone else when you can’t even help yourself? And was it really possible to give yourself to someone if you were still trying to figure yourself out?

You told Jimin it is possible. What you didn’t tell him was that it was his dedication to being there for others, even in times when he couldn’t be there for himself, that convinced you of this. His conviction through his actions became yours. Neither of you were ok but you were getting there. And maybe you were tired of waiting to be ok before you could love him again. Maybe that’s how he ended up in your bed last night.

There was no sex. You were texting each other, which became part of your routine ever since he took you out to one of Taehyung’s random spots, when he told you he missed you. You missed him too. So, you asked if he would come over.

Jimin was at your place within twenty minutes. There was a mere 2 second delay between Jimin knocking on your door and you opening it, welcoming him inside.

“Hey,” you greeted with a hint of a smile. It was just one more second before he was stepping inside, and pulling you into his arms, holding you tightly against his chest.

You knew the feeling of his embrace all too well. With one of his hands resting on your lower back, his fingers threatening to slip beneath your sweatshirt, and his other hand at the back of your head, comforting you as you dipped your face into the crook of his neck, you knew he was desperately trying to change the ending he nearly gave your relationship. And though the text didn’t end things, it left a bloodstain on your union that could never be removed.

The night you met Jimin, you were stuck in the on and off again status with another lover, and Jimin respectfully befriended you despite the romantic connection you both felt. That night, you left the club together, both of you drunk on mixed drinks and high on the energy your laughter gave each other. Taking your hand, he led in a slow dance under the night sky and neon signs. You didn’t know at the time that drunken dances would become your thing.  You could never have predicted how much Jimin would mean to you, but you quickly realized him as your once in a lifetime.

You’d never loved anyone like you did Jimin, and you never would. But you didn’t always know how to love him. Both of you developed from different childhoods, fell into different experiences, and displayed opposing emotional responses and needs. It took about one month of knowing Jimin before you told him about your dad leaving. As you shared with him how you sometimes disconnect as a way to deal with your past, needing time away from everything to work through your feelings and thoughts, he assured you he’d always be waiting for you to come back to him. You knew him. You believed him.

The way you treated him wasn’t always fair. You both knew that. But Jimin breaking things off was something you didn’t see coming. Over your time with him, as friends and lovers, he had taken you, with your faults and all, and made you feel worthy of a love that lasts, and a relationship with someone who stays. He had given you the love and care you needed to learn to trust and believe in yourself. He made you feel as though you were capable and worthy of being part of something that doesn’t end in someone choosing to leave.

Breathing in his scent, standing comfortably in his embrace, you reveled in the safety he provided you. For so long, he had held your hand as you walked along the tight rope in your mind, helping you stay balanced. When he let go, the fall was steep, and though you rose to your feet, you were still navigating that slim rope, teetering on the edge with every step you took. But here he was again, offering his hand once more. All you had to do was take it and trust in the love he had for you.

You knew him. You knew his struggles, his needs, his regrets, his intentions, and his heart. You knew he’d dominate your memories just as he’d linger in your future. You knew your anger was valid, as was his. You knew for the past month you’d both been figuring out how to come to terms with the pain, forgive it, and move forward. And maybe you knew all along he’d come back. Maybe you were waiting for it. Counting on it. And maybe he knew he had to give you the space and time without him. Perhaps he knew you’d invite him back into your life when you were ready.

You didn’t speak much that night. Instead, you gently led him to your bedroom, the same room that was basically his room just a few months earlier. You crawled under the blankets, Jimin standing beside the bed as he watched you tentatively.

“Get in,” you told him, gesturing to his side of the bed.

“Dear,” he started, not wanting to cross a line you weren’t ready for.

“Just come here, Chim. I want you to hold me,” you told him, a soft smile appearing on Jimin’s face. “I’m so tired,” you sighed, Jimin’s eyebrows pulling together in thought. The simple statement held so much meaning. Tired from lack of sleep, yeah, but tired of being angry, tired of being broken, tired of being you, tired of living without him. And he knew. He understood.

Slowly, he crawled into the bed next to you, immediately placing his arm overtop your abdomen as he settled the side of his face against your shoulder. “I’m tired too,” he whispered.

Neither of you spoke for the rest of the night. Soon, Jimin’s breaths became increasingly heavy, and his slumber started lulling you into a peaceful state.

Before Jimin, you found it hard to believe anyone would continue to choose you every day. When you realized Jimin was doing that, choosing you, it was overwhelming. And though you were thankful, and it felt nice to be wanted so deeply, you couldn’t help but think it wouldn’t last. That fear hung over you for the longest time. After the breakup, it seemed to confirm that no one could ever love you unconditionally, forever.

However, throughout the month apart, you realized you had been pushing him away. Your fears tainted the relationship, trapping you both into a corner. The text that night wasn’t him giving up, it was him losing hope that you’d ever let him love you completely. It didn’t excuse his actions, but with him next to you in bed, no intentions other than to be together, all remaining anger evaporated.

Yours and Jimin’s legs were intertwined when you awoke, your bodies facing each other, your forehead pressing against his chin. Pulling your head away slightly, you inspected his features, admiring the plushness of his lips and the softness of his cheeks. His arm was draped over your waist as your hands were situated between your forms, one of your fingers curled around the neck of his t-shirt, tugging on the material so it exposed his collarbones.

Maybe you should have moved your hand away. Instead, you flattened it against his chest, feeling the soft beat of his heart on your palm. The small movement of your hand was enough to wake the man, his sleep-filled eyes fluttering open. As he took in his surroundings, you at the forefront, a soft smile overtook his features.

“Morning Dear,” he spoke softly, thick with sleep.

“Good morning,” you grinned lazily. You both stared at each other for a moment before Jimin’s arm curled around your waist.  

“What are you thinking?” He asked, his eyes heavy but sparkling in curiosity.

“Mm,” you hummed, “I’m thinking about how I just got the best sleep I’ve had in months.” A pretty smile formed on Jimin’s mouth, his eyes crinkling in the corners. “And about how I missed this.”

“Yeah?” He asked, his eyes flickering to your lips quickly but lingering long enough for you to notice.

“I think I may have missed you,” you told him, dragging your hand down his chest, pausing on his abdomen.

His eyebrows raised in a flirty manner, licking his lips before they spread into that same pretty smile. “You think?” Nodding at him, he let out a light chuckle. “Well in that case, I think I missed you too,” he admitted, his eyes traveling across your features.

Looking at him in that setting of intimacy after so long, hearing his sincerity and observing his confusion in how to proceed with all this love muddled by mistakes, you suddenly wanted forget the past few months because it didn’t matter anymore. He mattered, and you mattered, and the way you made each other feel mattered.  

“You know I’ve forgiven you, right?” You questioned, an attempt to assure him. You placed your hand to his jaw, lightly tracing your fingertips over the bone. “I’ve forgiven you.”

He leaned into your touch, slowly closing his eyes at the simple embrace. “I know,” he told you. “I just don’t know if I’ve earned it.”

Jimin’s eyes reopened to meet your soft glare. “That’s not up to you to decide, my love.” Holding each other’s eyes, you studied one another, searching for answers to unasked questions. “What are we waiting for?”

His eyes fell to your lips again as he asked, “what do you mean?”

“Why are we still punishing ourselves?” You asked, moving your hand to his plush cheek.

Jimin shrugged. “I want to move forward,” he assured you. “With you.” You both stayed silent another moment, eyes carefully scanning each other’s faces for any signs of apprehension or uncertainty. “I can’t think of a life that doesn’t have you in it,” he broke the silence, his eyes glistening with emotion. “Dear, I never gave up on us, I just-”

“I know,” you whispered, nodding your head. With a glance at his lips, you decided you weren’t waiting any longer. You refused to hold onto the past when he was right there trying. You leaned forward, craning your neck to reach his mouth, and he met you, pressing his lips to yours for the first time since he left for tour all that time ago.

Months had gone by since you last had him like this, but you slipped right back into the feeling, embracing it and wearing it like your favorite sweater.

“You feel like coming home,” you whispered against his lips, Jimin pausing as he leaned back to look at you. His eyes were soft and affectionate as he stared at you.

Softly, he placed a kiss to your nose. “You are my home,” he told you, resting his forehead against your own. “You always have been.”

Moving his hand further down your back, he slipped his hand beneath your sweatshirt as he pressed another kiss to your mouth, the warmth of his hand on your skin satisfying a craving but making you hungry for more. More of him, his mind and heart and body and soul, you wanted it all.

“I love you,” he confessed, his lips hovering yours as you positioned your hand to cradle his face, the other slipping underneath his top to feel his abdomen. “I never stopped, you’re my favorite, Dear.”

“Will you love me like this forever?” You asked him, placing a soft kiss to his cheek before lifting your gaze to meet his.

“Of course, I will. I couldn’t stop if I wanted to, and I wouldn’t want to,” he assured you. “I need you to believe that.” You took a deep breath, taking in his words. He loved you, you knew that. “Not only do I love you,” he added, “but you’re deserving of being loved.”

Tears formed in your eyes, fluttering shut as you breathed out shakily. “I’m sorry for running like he did. I never ever wanted to hurt you like that,” Jimin told you, a tear sliding down his face, pooling on the side of his nose, another tear dropping onto the pillow beneath his head.

“You didn’t run, Jimin. I didn’t-”

“I did though,” he interrupted. “Maybe I didn’t run, or I didn’t give up, but I left you. However you want to describe it, that’s what happened. I did what he did.” His voice was laced with regret as he glared angrily, though none of the anger was directed toward you.

“You’re nothing like him,” you whispered, running your thumb along his cheek. “You and I both fucked up, but you came back, and I invited you here. That’s all that matters to me now.”

Jimin sighed, his eyes quickly bouncing from feature to feature along your face. “Are we ok?” He asked, hopeful. Hopeful for a new start, with an eventual new ending. He moved his hand from your back to push a piece of hair behind your ear.

“Of course, we are,” you gave him a small smile. Your decision was made as you reached for his hand, intertwining your fingers with his. If you had to keep walking the tight rope, you wanted him there. “We’re us.”