#maybe I'll post a more finished version later

[eg-tmnt]

@tmaynt day 15: Best Karai!

I went with the original middle-aged ninja boss

[finnm]

AU where Martin gets zapped away at the last moment somehow. Maybe to the Time Room. Maybe to Ooo. And he finds out that was his son! And sort of his daughter! He finds the Fionna & Cake book and decides to make his own story about them, give them a happy ending

[mostlysignssomeportents]

How I got scammed

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/02/05/cyber-dunning-kruger/#swiss-cheese-security

I wuz robbed.

More specifically, I was tricked by a phone-phisher pretending to be from my bank, and he convinced me to hand over my credit-card number, then did $8,000+ worth of fraud with it before I figured out what happened. And then he tried to do it again, a week later!

Here's what happened. Over the Christmas holiday, I traveled to New Orleans. The day we landed, I hit a Chase ATM in the French Quarter for some cash, but the machine declined the transaction. Later in the day, we passed a little credit-union's ATM and I used that one instead (I bank with a one-branch credit union and generally there's no fee to use another CU's ATM).

A couple days later, I got a call from my credit union. It was a weekend, during the holiday, and the guy who called was obviously working for my little CU's after-hours fraud contractor. I'd dealt with these folks before – they service a ton of little credit unions, and generally the call quality isn't great and the staff will often make mistakes like mispronouncing my credit union's name.

That's what happened here – the guy was on a terrible VOIP line and I had to ask him to readjust his mic before I could even understand him. He mispronounced my bank's name and then asked if I'd attempted to spend $1,000 at an Apple Store in NYC that day. No, I said, and groaned inwardly. What a pain in the ass. Obviously, I'd had my ATM card skimmed – either at the Chase ATM (maybe that was why the transaction failed), or at the other credit union's ATM (it had been a very cheap looking system).

I told the guy to block my card and we started going through the tedious business of running through recent transactions, verifying my identity, and so on. It dragged on and on. These were my last hours in New Orleans, and I'd left my family at home and gone out to see some of the pre-Mardi Gras krewe celebrations and get a muffalata, and I could tell that I was going to run out of time before I finished talking to this guy.

"Look," I said, "you've got all my details, you've frozen the card. I gotta go home and meet my family and head to the airport. I'll call you back on the after-hours number once I'm through security, all right?"

He was frustrated, but that was his problem. I hung up, got my sandwich, went to the airport, and we checked in. It was total chaos: an Alaska Air 737 Max had just lost its door-plug in mid-air and every Max in every airline's fleet had been grounded, so the check in was crammed with people trying to rebook. We got through to the gate and I sat down to call the CU's after-hours line. The person on the other end told me that she could only handle lost and stolen cards, not fraud, and given that I'd already frozen the card, I should just drop by the branch on Monday to get a new card.

We flew home, and later the next day, I logged into my account and made a list of all the fraudulent transactions and printed them out, and on Monday morning, I drove to the bank to deal with all the paperwork. The folks at the CU were even more pissed than I was. The fraud that run up to more than $8,000, and if Visa refused to take it out of the merchants where the card had been used, my little credit union would have to eat the loss.

I agreed and commiserated. I also pointed out that their outsource, after-hours fraud center bore some blame here: I'd canceled the card on Saturday but most of the fraud had taken place on Sunday. Something had gone wrong.

One cool thing about banking at a tiny credit-union is that you end up talking to people who have actual authority, responsibility and agency. It turned out the the woman who was processing my fraud paperwork was a VP, and she decided to look into it. A few minutes later she came back and told me that the fraud center had no record of having called me on Saturday.

"That was the fraudster," she said.

Oh, shit. I frantically rewound my conversation, trying to figure out if this could possibly be true. I hadn't given him anything apart from some very anodyne info, like what city I live in (which is in my Wikipedia entry), my date of birth (ditto), and the last four digits of my card.

Wait a sec.

He hadn't asked for the last four digits. He'd asked for the last seven digits. At the time, I'd found that very frustrating, but now – "The first nine digits are the same for every card you issue, right?" I asked the VP.

I'd given him my entire card number.

Goddammit.

The thing is, I know a lot about fraud. I'm writing an entire series of novels about this kind of scam:

https://us.macmillan.com/books/9781250865878/thebezzle

And most summers, I go to Defcon, and I always go to the "social engineering" competitions where an audience listens as a hacker in a soundproof booth cold-calls merchants (with the owner's permission) and tries to con whoever answers the phone into giving up important information.

But I'd been conned.

Now look, I knew I could be conned. I'd been conned before, 13 years ago, by a Twitter worm that successfully phished out of my password via DM:

https://locusmag.com/2010/05/cory-doctorow-persistence-pays-parasites/

That scam had required a miracle of timing. It started the day before, when I'd reset my phone to factory defaults and reinstalled all my apps. That same day, I'd published two big online features that a lot of people were talking about. The next morning, we were late getting out of the house, so by the time my wife and I dropped the kid at daycare and went to the coffee shop, it had a long line. Rather than wait in line with me, my wife sat down to read a newspaper, and so I pulled out my phone and found a Twitter DM from a friend asking "is this you?" with a URL.

Assuming this was something to do with those articles I'd published the day before, I clicked the link and got prompted for my Twitter login again. This had been happening all day because I'd done that mobile reinstall the day before and all my stored passwords had been wiped. I entered it but the page timed out. By that time, the coffees were ready. We sat and chatted for a bit, then went our own ways.

I was on my way to the office when I checked my phone again. I had a whole string of DMs from other friends. Each one read "is this you?" and had a URL.

Oh, shit, I'd been phished.

If I hadn't reinstalled my mobile OS the day before. If I hadn't published a pair of big articles the day before. If we hadn't been late getting out the door. If we had been a little more late getting out the door (so that I'd have seen the multiple DMs, which would have tipped me off).

There's a name for this in security circles: "Swiss-cheese security." Imagine multiple slices of Swiss cheese all stacked up, the holes in one slice blocked by the slice below it. All the slices move around and every now and again, a hole opens up that goes all the way through the stack. Zap!

The fraudster who tricked me out of my credit card number had Swiss cheese security on his side. Yes, he spoofed my bank's caller ID, but that wouldn't have been enough to fool me if I hadn't been on vacation, having just used a pair of dodgy ATMs, in a hurry and distracted. If the 737 Max disaster hadn't happened that day and I'd had more time at the gate, I'd have called my bank back. If my bank didn't use a slightly crappy outsource/out-of-hours fraud center that I'd already had sub-par experiences with. If, if, if.

The next Friday night, at 5:30PM, the fraudster called me back, pretending to be the bank's after-hours center. He told me my card had been compromised again. But: I hadn't removed my card from my wallet since I'd had it replaced. Also, it was half an hour after the bank closed for the long weekend, a very fraud-friendly time. And when I told him I'd call him back and asked for the after-hours fraud number, he got very threatening and warned me that because I'd now been notified about the fraud that any losses the bank suffered after I hung up the phone without completing the fraud protocol would be billed to me. I hung up on him. He called me back immediately. I hung up on him again and put my phone into do-not-disturb.

The following Tuesday, I called my bank and spoke to their head of risk-management. I went through everything I'd figured out about the fraudsters, and she told me that credit unions across America were being hit by this scam, by fraudsters who somehow knew CU customers' phone numbers and names, and which CU they banked at. This was key: my phone number is a reasonably well-kept secret. You can get it by spending money with Equifax or another nonconsensual doxing giant, but you can't just google it or get it at any of the free services. The fact that the fraudsters knew where I banked, knew my name, and had my phone number had really caused me to let down my guard.

The risk management person and I talked about how the credit union could mitigate this attack: for example, by better-training the after-hours card-loss staff to be on the alert for calls from people who had been contacted about supposed card fraud. We also went through the confusing phone-menu that had funneled me to the wrong department when I called in, and worked through alternate wording for the menu system that would be clearer (this is the best part about banking with a small CU – you can talk directly to the responsible person and have a productive discussion!). I even convinced her to buy a ticket to next summer's Defcon to attend the social engineering competitions.

There's a leak somewhere in the CU systems' supply chain. Maybe it's Zelle, or the small number of corresponding banks that CUs rely on for SWIFT transaction forwarding. Maybe it's even those after-hours fraud/card-loss centers. But all across the USA, CU customers are getting calls with spoofed caller IDs from fraudsters who know their registered phone numbers and where they bank.

I've been mulling this over for most of a month now, and one thing has really been eating at me: the way that AI is going to make this kind of problem much worse.

Not because AI is going to commit fraud, though.

One of the truest things I know about AI is: "we're nowhere near a place where bots can steal your job, we're certainly at the point where your boss can be suckered into firing you and replacing you with a bot that fails at doing your job":

https://pluralistic.net/2024/01/15/passive-income-brainworms/#four-hour-work-week

I trusted this fraudster specifically because I knew that the outsource, out-of-hours contractors my bank uses have crummy headsets, don't know how to pronounce my bank's name, and have long-ass, tedious, and pointless standardized questionnaires they run through when taking fraud reports. All of this created cover for the fraudster, whose plausibility was enhanced by the rough edges in his pitch - they didn't raise red flags.

As this kind of fraud reporting and fraud contacting is increasingly outsourced to AI, bank customers will be conditioned to dealing with semi-automated systems that make stupid mistakes, force you to repeat yourself, ask you questions they should already know the answers to, and so on. In other words, AI will groom bank customers to be phishing victims.

This is a mistake the finance sector keeps making. 15 years ago, Ben Laurie excoriated the UK banks for their "Verified By Visa" system, which validated credit card transactions by taking users to a third party site and requiring them to re-enter parts of their password there:

https://web.archive.org/web/20090331094020/http://www.links.org/?p=591

This is exactly how a phishing attack works. As Laurie pointed out, this was the banks training their customers to be phished.

I came close to getting phished again today, as it happens. I got back from Berlin on Friday and my suitcase was damaged in transit. I've been dealing with the airline, which means I've really been dealing with their third-party, outsource luggage-damage service. They have a terrible website, their emails are incoherent, and they officiously demand the same information over and over again.

This morning, I got a scam email asking me for more information to complete my damaged luggage claim. It was a terrible email, from a noreply@ email address, and it was vague, officious, and dishearteningly bureaucratic. For just a moment, my finger hovered over the phishing link, and then I looked a little closer.

On any other day, it wouldn't have had a chance. Today – right after I had my luggage wrecked, while I'm still jetlagged, and after days of dealing with my airline's terrible outsource partner – it almost worked.

So much fraud is a Swiss-cheese attack, and while companies can't close all the holes, they can stop creating new ones.

Meanwhile, I'll continue to post about it whenever I get scammed. I find the inner workings of scams to be fascinating, and it's also important to remind people that everyone is vulnerable sometimes, and scammers are willing to try endless variations until an attack lands at just the right place, at just the right time, in just the right way. If you think you can't get scammed, that makes you especially vulnerable:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/02/24/passive-income/#swiss-cheese-security

Image: Cryteria (modified) https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:HAL9000.svg

CC BY 3.0 https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/3.0/deed.en

[morbethgames]

New Update Is Out!

First and foremost, new update is out! It's kind of a small one, but it's a scene with Hawks where they are debriefing the PC on the case. Lots of variation in those 10k or so words, so you'll probably only see about 2k of it per playthrough.

Well everybody, I had been taking a bit of time. Admittedly, and a bit… embarrassingly… coding like, 30 different variations of Lance's happy-fun-time burnt me out. But, it gave me time to really think about things for the game and scenes that should be in there and where their place in the story is. As well as a scene or two I could probably cut so the game doesn't take another year. It's all about that balance of whether or not you can say a scene happened, versus which scenes need to be shown happening. Maybe it can be added in later, but right now, the priority is definitely the time skip scenes and the main story.

But one thing that is refreshing, and a little scary, is seeing the fact that the first scene for chapter 5 is now set up in the game to start being written in. Chapter 5. The final chapter of the game. It's been 3 years. Now, it's gonna be another few months (few as in upper few) until it's finished because Chapter 5 is going to be the chapter with the most variations yet. Multiple TBI's to code. Multiple endings. Multiple paths. It's gonna be a huge chapter. But I'm gonna be starting it (in between finishing up the time skip scenes of course). It's absolutely wild to think about.

There are gonna be some scenes in the final game that aren't going to be in the demo, so the incentive to purchase the game is still gonna be there, but as of right now, the plan is to fully beta test this game. Including the ending. Because what's important to me is making sure I get it right, and in order to do that, I need people to help test it. Whether or not I'll do that publicly through to the ending here or not is yet to be seen. I may ask a couple people to beta test it in private. I'm honestly not sure yet. Maybe it'll be a patreon thing; who knows?

What I do know is this game has been, and will be until it's finished, a great lesson. I have a habit of starting things and not finishing them. Obviously I wasn't gonna say that before because then people wouldn't be invested in the game. But I think it's quite obvious at this point that I'm absolutely going to finish this project, and that is a huge accomplishment for me. It's proof that I can do something like this and see it through to the end.

But yeah, thanks everyone for continuing to come back and check out the game. Now that the current version of the demo is finished, I'll be posting a bit more on Patreon as well. Snippets and whatnot. I figured since I released the little mini-extra scenes game on there I could take another week or two to focus on finishing this up.

As always, stay brilliant.

-Vi

🛡️Patreon | Forum Page | Demo Link🛡️

[sweeterthanficstion]

— coast2coast (pt. one) || l.s.k

pairing: life guard!leon kennedy x surfer!fem!reader

tags: surfing au! set in malibu, 1998, i wrote this with re2 leon in mind but re4 leon works too, featuring claire (and chris in later parts!), UNEDITED!! so far only fluff (unheard of...) i'll add as i go!

oh actually, my shitty attempt at knowing anything about surfing despite learning everything through youtube, google and malibu rising by taylor jenkins reid (what started this whole thing). i am NAWT a pro --- so if any of you guys actually know a thing or two abt surfing hit me up!!! i'd love to learn more!

summary: Summer is a fickle thing, sticky-sweet and fleeting, gone before you're ready. You've learnt to love it while it lasts. For you, every summer has been the same—surf, sand, salt-water tides and the hot Malibu breeze. But this summer brings a new sort of challenge, a spotlight your not so sure you're ready for, as well as a boy with golden hair, eyes as blue as the waves, and a way of making your heart rattle between your ribs like it’s desperate to break free.

word count: 2.6k

a/n: AHH HI! i'm so excited to post this one!! it's currently summer here in australia and i've been down at the beach nearly every weekend, so it was only inevitable that my fixation on surfer!leon came back full force. i have this big story all set up in my head, but i was too excited to wait to finish writing it so i'm posting it in parts!! ++ oh also i had no idea corral beach was an actual place in malibu so my version is fictionalised. just. take everything in this fic with a grain of salt i have no idea what im doing lol

i also thought it'd be really fun idea since i'm so busy nowadays, that if you guys are interested at all, you can send in little ideas for blurbs for surfer!leon, and i'd love to write them! i'll figure out ways to fit them into the story, just as little extras, but obviously no promises on writing all of them!! i'll likely just pick the ones i think fit best into the plot. i just think that'd be AWESOME!! <3

playlist⭑masterlist⭑AO3 ⭑ series masterlist⭑next part (coming soon)

California is exactly how you’d left it. Exactly how you remember it. Nothing has changed between the sand beneath your toes and the palm trees lining the scorching hot tar roads, their shadows stretching long and thin like sleepy cats in the afternoon sun. The salt-kissed air wraps around you, sticky and warm, a gentle reminder that time moves slower here. Or maybe it doesn’t move at all. 

That’s the thing about California. A time capsule—sun, sand and sky.

June, July, August, Summer melts in your mouth like a sticky popsicle, one into the next, so quick you forget what it tastes like before it’s even passed.

No matter where you are in the world, what waves you're chasing, whether it be in Oceania, the Pacific, the Atlantic, summer melts, fickle and eager.

You’ve learnt to love it while it lasts.

“Another fish and chips!” One of the waitress staff calls from the front—Bunny’s Seafood Diner has been around for as long as you can remember, a weathered little gem perched off the coast of Corral Beach, Malibu. A quick and convenient right turn off the PCH, it’s a lighthouse for road-tripping families and sunburned surfers chasing their next ride.

You flip the fryer around your wrist with a practised flourish, “On it!” You call back, before you dip the metal back in the bubbling oil, the familiar sizzle of golden fries accompanying the bustle of the late afternoon rush. The kitchen smells of salt and grease and the faint tang of fresh-caught fish, a scent so familiar it clings to your skin like a second layer.

Claire breezes past with lazy grace, bumping her hip against yours. “Heading to the surf after?” she asks, her grin as wide as the beach outside, like her mouth was made for holding sweet oranges on hot summer days. She’s balancing a seafood basket in one hand and a plate of fries in the other, weaving through the bustle with the ease of someone who’s done it a thousand times before.

“How’s the forecast looking?” You ask back instead, tossing the crispy fries into a basket lined with deli paper. 

“High tide in twenty,” Claire winks over her shoulder at you, side-stepping a counter corner like it’s second nature. “It’s gonna be perfect.”

You can’t deny that does sound perfect. After a shift as long as the one you’ve worked today, a surf might be all you need to feel alive again. You look back up at the foggy old clock on the wall—ten minutes left, five if you can sweet-talk your manager. You end up counting the minutes in your head, that familiar itch to feel the sand under your feet and the sun on your skin insatiable. 

By the time the clock hits four, you’re halfway out the door, ready to trade the smell of fried seafood for the briny tang of the ocean instead. Claire is hot on your heels, boards tucked under both your arms as she chases you across the tar road that burns under your bare feet, down the splintering boardwalk, and onto the powdered-sugar sands of Corral Beach.

The sun has already dipped far past it’s zenith, and the world feels washed in gold. Golden rays stretch out across shimmering waters, painting streaks of honey over the horizon, the heat settling into a balmy hum that sticks to your skin in a way you can only love.

You follow the shaded path of sycamore trees until the beach opens up to surfer’s paradise—a long stretch of sand, waves that swell and crash, aching to be carved into by hungry surfers. The path curves past a weathered wooden bulletin board, been there as long as you can remember, and you think it might be older than Bunny’s, if that’s even possible. 

“Wait!” Claire stops in her tracks, and you are helpless but to comply. Your eyes stay glued longingly to the beach while Claire’s squint at the array of flyers pinned up—some faded, some fresh. There’s a yoga class, a missing dog poster, and the usual surf report stapled to the corner, its ink smudged from damp fingers. But her eyes zero in on something bright and bold and new. 

“Here we go.” She plucks a flyer off the board, turning it toward you like she’s struck gold. The words Corral Beach Annual Surf Comp are printed in big, blocky letters, accompanied by a grainy photo of a surfer carving into a wave.

“Oh, no,” you groan, already shaking your head.

“Oh, yes,” Claire says, a grin spreading across her face.

Claire’s been singing the same song since you were fifteen and cutting through waves better than most kids your age here on Corral Beach. That you should be out there winning trophies and medals and 10k cheques instead of cleaning out the back of the greasy old fryer’s in Bunny’s. 

“C’mon, you have to do it!” She bugs on, waving the flyer around like some magic wand. 

You laugh, ducking under her arm as she tries to push it into your face. “Claire, come on.”

“I’m serious!” she insists, jogging to catch up with you as you head toward the water. “You’re out here every day. You’ve got the moves, the skill—everything they’re looking for.”

It’s not like you haven’t thought about it. You’ve been surfing since before you could walk. You’d grown up right here on Corral Beach, knew these waves better than yourself. You’d watched your parents chase waves like it was their religion—Bali, Costa Rica, Australia, it was their entire life. Something they loved that was inevitable for you to love too. 

“I’m just not the competition type,” you shrug, gaze drifting out to the waves curling in the distance. It’s not that you don’t want to—well, okay, maybe it is. The idea of standing out there, under the scrutiny of judges, crowds, and strangers, feels about as foreign as the first time you stepped onto a board. Surfing, to you, is about as religious as it is to your parents. An outlet, an art form, the ocean calms your restless soul when you need it most. Putting a score to something like that just doesn’t feel right.

“You’re one of the best surfers out here.” Claire presses, she does it so effortlessly. Poking and prodding, always enough but never so much as to push you over the edge. “Half the people in those comps are just there for a shot at a new wetsuit.”

You meet Claire’s gaze, hesitate, the memory of your dad paddling out at dawn or your mom teaching you how to duck dive flickering in your mind. “It’s not about that. My parents taught me how to surf before they taught me how to say mom and dad. They’d enter comps now and then, but it was never about winning. It was about the waves, the adventure.”

“And you don’t think that’s in you too?” Claire asks, raising an eyebrow as she shields her eyes against the sun.

“Maybe it is,” you say finally. “But that’s their story, not mine.”

Claire’s gaze softens for all of a second before she snorts, shoving your shoulder with her own. “You’re so full of it. You’ve got more talent in your pinky than most people out there. Just think about it, okay? It could be fun.”

You do nothing of the sort.

The second your feet are in the water, you forget all about the comp, all about your job and any other worries on your mind. Salt water seems to have that sort of effect on you. Wasting no time, both you and Claire paddle past the surf, straddling your boards in the ocean, watching as the other surfers before you take off one by one with each new wave that rolls in.

It doesn't take long before the first wave in a gorgeous set comes in, Claire’s all but primed for it. She takes off, gets into position, and pops up on her board, carving into it like it’s breathing. You follow suit as the next one comes in, and just like that, you fall into the rhythm of the ocean.

Wave after wave, you don’t stop until the sun is cotton candy pink, purple, gold. Most of the other surfers have dispersed by now, and Claire’s traded shredding the bigger waves for wading through the calm waters with her back pressed against the flat of her board. 

You, on the other hand, feel like fate is decidedly on your side. You watch as another set rolls in, the first crashing just out of reach. It peels exactly as you’d hoped, slowly to the right, so when the next one rolls in right after, you paddle with it, catch the feeling of the tide underneath you, and like it's simply second nature, get to your feet.

This is where you feel most alive. There is not a second to spare for the other noise in your head, not about the past nor the future nor anything in between other than right here and now. Nothing but the instinctual insistence of how much longer can you stay on? How much longer can you keep your balance? Lean left, right, forward. Better, longer, more, more, more.

And when you’ve finally completed your balancing act, you dance up to the nose, hovering there on the tip of your board, arms out to steady yourself like sails catching wind, and then you close your eyes and let the crash of the wave topple you off.

It’s only once you’ve resurfaced, board nowhere to be seen, that you realise you didn’t feel the familiar tug of the leash around your ankle. By the time you drag yourself to shore, breath heavy and hair clinging to your face, you see it—the measly cord trailing behind you, frayed and snapped clean.

You huff a sigh, not surprised. It had been old crap for a while now. So had the board, but it carried enough summers in its scars to mean something. A history you weren’t quite ready to part with.

Claire’s already gathering her things by the time you meet her on the sand, shaking out her towel and tossing it into her worn tote bag.

“What happened to your board?” she asks, her tone casual, but her raised brow suggests she’s caught the fraying leash.

You lift your ankle and let the cord dangle, the sad state of it all the explanation she needs.

She winces, offering you a sympathetic smile. “Ouch. Guess it’s finally time for a new one?”

It’s only when you’re halfway up the beach that you spot it again. Your board? Your board!

It’s leaning lazily against the base of a lifeguard tower, looking as though it had simply wandered off and decided to wait for you all this while. Relief blooms in your chest, and you call to Claire that you’ll catch up.

It’s only when you’re closer that you notice him.

He’s standing by the lifeguard tower, a red rescue can slung casually over his shoulder. Blonde hair catches the light, tousled and damp like he’s been in the water himself. His broad shoulders are framed by the white-and-red uniform shirt that looks a little too crisp for someone who spends their day in the sun.

You can tell he’s new. There’s a hesitation in the way he stands, like he’s trying to look comfortable in a place he hasn’t quite claimed yet. But there’s something magnetic about him, the way he surveys the beach with quiet curiosity, like he’s soaking in every detail.

And you don’t mean to stare, but you’re caught in the moment, the way he looks like he belongs there despite it all, carved from the same sun and salt as the beach itself.

You’re still staring when his eyes meet yours.

They’re blue, impossibly so, the kind of blue that reminds you of the water when it’s so clear you can see straight to the bottom, the kind of blue you could fall into and forget how to breathe. His mouth quirks into a smile—easy, natural, like he’s been doing it all his life.

For a heartbeat, the world shifts, tilts ever so slightly, like the two of you are caught in some half-remembered dream. Something stirs in your chest, familiar yet unnameable, like déjà vu soaked in sunlight. You freeze, caught like a fish on a line, just before his eyes crinkle at the corners, and he lifts a hand in a casual wave.

“Hey,” he calls out, his voice carries over the sound of the waves, warm and low, and you think there’s a hint of the coast in it—just not this one.

You blink, salt-sticky and sun-drunk, realizing belatedly that you’re still rooted to the spot. “Hey,” you manage, shifting your weight on your feet.

He doesn’t move, but his attention is all yours now, quiet and steady, as though nothing else on the beach exists, like you’re the most interesting thing he’s ever laid eyes on.

“Nice ride out there,” he says, nodding toward the water, his voice dipped in easy admiration. “That last wave—you made it look easy.”

A laugh bubbles out of you, unplanned but genuine, a flush to your cheeks at the notion of being watched and noticed. You hope he mistakes it for sunburn. “Easy? You sure you weren’t watching someone else?”

“Nope,” he says, the smile widening just a fraction. “Definitely you. The board gave it away.” He says, nodding towards the board that’s still propped against the lifeguard tower like a loyal dog.

“Ah,” you say, realising. “So it was you.”

He shrugs, sweet and boyish in his sincerity. “Figured it deserved better than drifting out to sea.”

You glance down at your battered shortboard, the paint long faded from years of sun and surf. The edges are chipped, and the wax is uneven, but it feels like a part of you. “Thanks,” you say, meaning it. “Guess I owe you one.”

And before you can really think it through, the words escape you all at once. “You surf?”

“Not like that,” he hums, tilting his head toward the waves. Not like you. “Still trying to figure out how to make it look as easy.”

“That’s how it starts,” you say, a grin pulling at your lips despite yourself. “You’ll get there.”

He shrugs, a bit sheepish. “We’ll see. I’m mostly here for this,” he hefts the rescue can with a crooked smile. “Started lifeguard training last week. Figured I’d better get to know the locals.”

“Locals, huh?” You arch a brow, a subtle quirk to your lips. “And I’m one of those?”

“Definitely,” he grins, his voice sure now, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “You’ve got that look.”

“What look?”

“Like this is where you belong.”

The words hang in the air, sweet and sticky like the heat of the day. For a moment, you don’t know what to say.

“Well,” you manage, recovering with a nod toward the tower. “Welcome to Corral Beach. Try not to let it chew you up and spit you out.”

He laughs then, and it’s warm, golden—like sunlight filtering through the trees. “I’ll do my best.”

He steps back, making space for you to collect your board, though his gaze lingers, like he’s reluctant to go but knows he should. 

“See you around?” he asks, the question carrying a hopeful edge.

“Maybe,” you say, the word feeling light and easy as you turn toward the parking lot.

You don’t look back, but you feel his eyes linger, and it leaves a quiet sort of thrill in your chest, like the first rush of catching a wave.

likes n reblogs r very much appreciated <3

[lcvebuckley]

idk if anyone else watched manifest on netflix but i'm thinking of a bucktommy crossover au in which buck and tommy had to take separate flights due to a delay and buck took the later flight, which ended up landing 2 (maybe more?) years later.

when he arrived, he found out tommy never moved on and always believed that buck was still alive when everyone else told him that wasn't possible, assuming the plane crashed. maddie, athena and the 118 couldn't believe their eyes when they heard the news about buck's missing flight that landed after years.

buck coming back, confused as hell as to why people were looking at him like they saw a ghost until he realized the date was a few years after he departed and he thought this was some sort of sick joke or that he'd gone crazy.

maddie and chim apparently had their second kid, who's now a toddler and jeeyun is in middle school. athena and bobby finished building their house, hen and karen have moved out of their place to a bigger one for the kids, and eddie moved back to LA with chris.

buck couldn't comprehend what's happening. nothing made sense. just a few hours ago, maddie was still pregnant, bobby was getting a call from michael about the house, hen was still living at her old place, and eddie was in texas. what the hell happened? then he saw tommy.

tommy's curls had grown extremely long, he also has grown a beard which covered the entire half of his face. he was dressed in loose flannel and a sweatpants. he looked very shabby for someone who's always been into the clean, sharp look. his eyes were bloodshot, like he's been crying non-stop or have been getting no sleep.

buck couldn't believe it. tommy didn't look like that a few hours ago when he left, so how come someone can change so much in such a short time? "evan.." he said before engulfing him in a hug, afraid to let him go again.

i want someone else to be on that plane with buck as well so he has someone he can talk to about this hell of a situation but idk who 😭😭 i couldn't separate any of the 118 from their family like that HSHDJS i was thinking eddie at first but then imagine chris thinking his dad died in a plane crash oh my god THE ANGSTTT i don't know if i can do that to myself

i'll probably post a better version of this once i have it written (if i ever do) but ever since i rewatched manifest i haven't been able to stop thinking about this

[kamiversee]

The F*ck List (semi-official) Breakdown.

The following was submitted by my lovely ☃️anon, & I needed to make this it’s own post given how long it is, my replies & clarifications are written in between this breakdown & theory (Ex: A/N > Etc.). 

Here, you’ll find majority of details you may have missed & maybe even more to think about. Enjoy :)

(wc; 5.7k) (content; spoilers ofc)

holy shit Kami. i literally had to take the entire day to process everything. before anything else, i need you to know that you've created an absolute masterpiece. TFL was the first fic i ever cared to keep up with and it has set the bar impossibly high for any other writer out there. please take your time with TFL 2, i'm so excited to read your other work!! also a break sounds like it would be so good for your mind considering how long you've dedicated yourself to this story 😭😭😭 you're seriously impressive. heads up, i didn't proofread this at all bc i finished typing this at 4 am LMFAO so forgive me if it's all scrambled and makes no sense.

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A/N > Thank you for taking the time to write this breakdown, I seriously appreciate it so I wanted to take my time in responding to it & engaging with you :)

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now, on to the yap. i deadass cracked my knuckles before typing all this out.

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A/N > You’re so real for tht ngl

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i reread the entirety of TFL from chapter 1 and my brain is so melted from analyzing that i'll prob find more details tomorrow after i sleep on some theories 😭 BUT HOLY FUCK YOU REALLY WEREN'T KIDDING WHEN YOU SAID YOU WERE HINTING AT GOJO'S OBSESSION SINCE LITERALLY THE FIRST CHAPTER??? the fucking hint being that "Gojo's desire for you is so strong it's almost frightening." GIRLLLLLL 🫵🫵🫵🫵🫵🫵

your foreshadowing and referencing is insane. idk if you intended a lot of it, but a lot of it caught my eye.

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A/N> I TOLD YOU GUYS IVE BEEN DOIN IT SINCE THE FIRST CHAPTER !! Okay not exactly but like there was a vibe I had from the first chapter & when I later came up with the twist & went back and saw that everything would connect perfectly ^.^

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chapter 7; the reader and Gojo have lighthearted banter about how the reader "started this" situation.

"I made a mistake." [reader] 

"A good one." 

"Bad one." You correct.

this was regarding a completely different situation but it baffled me how much it connects to the plot itself; the reader making the "mistake" of leaving her door open, and how it lead to months full of trauma and love. probably completely unintentional, but such a good detail.

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A/N > Very intentional btw, it’s supposed to be known that, in a sense, Gojo x reader is forbidden :)

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Choso's still staring at you intently, "What version of you would someone not like?" 

The way he words his question only furthers that little feeling in your chest. It's almost as though he were implying that any and all versions of you would be acceptable in his eyes. - Chapter 16

THE WAY WE SHOULD HAVE KNOWN THAT CHOSO WOULD STICK BY US REGARDLESSSSSSSS AAAAAA WE'RE SO BLIND!!! i just hope this stays true to the sequel :')

"No, I wish you didn't have to hate me." He says, shutting his eyes again and sucking in a deep breath, "B-But... it's uh, It's okay. I can live with you hating me." - Chapter 21

AAAA WE SHOULD HAVE KNOWN!!!! WE SHOULD HAVE KNOWN THIS WAS FORESHADOWING OUR FUTURE WITHOUT GOJO 😭😭😭 how he can live with the idea of the reader hating him so long as she's happy with Choso, especially considering his later revelations of how twisted his actions were and how if you stuck with him, he'd view you differently. fuck.

You despise the fact that he loves you. To you, it's almost entitled for him to feel like he has that right. How dare he hold such a strong emotion for you? If he felt this way, why is he forcing you to sleep with people for him? It makes no sense. 

Why would someone claim to love you and put you through so much? 

If he's been in love with you all this time, why start the list in the first place? Why couldn't he have just tried to win your heart from the beginning? Why the list? Why the blackmail? You don't understand him. - Chapter 23

i'm crushed. we didn't understand because we didn't know that Sukuna was involved. that could mean a million other things. i have some far-fetched theories about this but hear me out later!!!

the entirety of chapter 23 had me fucking floored while i was rereading. THE FORESHADOWING WAS EVERYWHERE!!! EVERY FUCKING WHERE

"No sweetheart, Sukuna's an asshole but..." His expression flickers and his smile fades away. He swallows and then clears his throat, "I'm pretty sure he'll satisfy you just fine." 

...

You narrow your eyes at him, "Are you sure?" 

...

 "Fuckin' positive," Gojo suddenly sounds pissed and you grow concerned. The arm around you gets a little tighter while he walks you through some crowds and you keep looking at the man confused. 

There's a vein popping out along his jawline because of how hard he's gritting his teeth.

of course he's aggravated because he knows that Sukuna is the one behind the list in the first place 😭😭😭 I'M SORRY WE DOUBTED YOU SATORU, FUCKKKK

——FIFTEEN MINUTES. That was the exact amount of time it took you to seduce Sukuna. The act was way too easy. Actually, it was suspiciously easy.

BECAUSE HE FUCKING KNEW 😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭

"What all did you plan on doing tonight aside from getting harassed by strangers?" Sukuna suddenly questions against your skin. 

You ignore how close he is and the way his lips make you tense, turning your head to face forward. Chuckling at his last comment, "Same thing as everyone else here." You reply, slightly confused by his question. 

"Bullshit," He utters, "Nobody dresses like this without the intent of gaining my attention," Sukuna claims while his hands slide back down along your body.

this 100% could be just him being cocky and Sukuna, but the recent reveal just makes this feel like an extra demeaning interaction. but of course, it's Sukuna.

chapter 24 is so fucking shady too with everything we know. i know you addressed some of these points already bc i brought them up in previous anon messages, but these things still had me paranoid;

the way Sukuna leaves us and tells the reader to go to his room after a certain amount of time (i know he could have just been tidying up real quick but everything about this man has me on edge)

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A/N> A lot of people are on edge about this but I’ll be honest, there’s nothing crazy that happens in between this time period. Not saying nothing happens but nothing crazy— it’ll be addressed later (in the next fic most likely)

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the way he's been consistently on the phone since the reader entered the room, which is shortly after she messaged Gojo saying that she'll be able to cross Sukuna off of this list by tonight which he wasn't happy with at all.

no seriously, he kept diverting his attention to something in the bathroom and then came out, still on his phone. maybe he's talking to literally anyone else but STILL I'M PARANOID

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A/N> This is to show the fact that Sukuna is a very socially active individual, & hints to the theory (I think you later state) that he has connections.

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this happens in chapter 25 but the way he keeps smiling while the reader kisses him is just so smug of him especially considering the original reason as to why the reader's even interacting with him

then the spicy chapters with Sukuna…

the foreshadowing that the lack of knowledge of Sukuna's reputation will come back to bite her in the ass; first with the knowledge that he is abusive, and then her finding out that he is the curator of the list, knowing the full details of her blackmail and even threatening her again.

WHO DID HE FUCKING FIGHT HELPPPPP MY MIND IS BOGGLING there's no way it's Gojo, right? they're both too unscathed in these next few chapters for there to have been a fight between the two of them.

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A/N > It’s not Gojo. 🙏

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THE FUCKING MOMENT WHERE HE CONTEMPLATED SOMETHING WITH THE PHONE IN HIS HAND??? I FUCKING KNEW IT. I FUCKING CALLED IT WAS SOMETHING SHADY AS HELL.

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A/N> The other Sukuna hint I was talking about is right before this moment btw, you’re welcome ;)

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then he has the audacity to hold his tongue right afterwards?? it's such a big hint towards the fact that he knew about the list from the beginning UGHHHHHHHH.

the way he tried to humor the reader about her "job" even though he was in on the whole thing. UGH. SUKUNA WHEN I GET YOU SUKUNA?? 👊👊👊👊 especially with that "whore" joke right afterwards. i can't stand him. i know that it's implied that he has a twisted view on women from having abusive women in his life (his mom and his ex who he punched) BUT STILL. he's so lucky he's fictional and hot.

the fact that we're able to pick up on the fact that it's a "crazy coincidence" that he continues the whore jokes UGHHHHH HE HAS BEEN PLAYING US FROM THE STAAAAAARTT

Gojo got upset at something from Sukuna's party, he didn't want you to call yourself a whore all of a sudden, Sukuna seems to have believed that was your actual job, and you remember how pissed Gojo seemed as he thought about you sleeping with Sukuna- 

Holy fuck. Are the two connected somehow? Is something going on? What does Gojo owe Sukuna? Does Sukuna know you only slept with him as payment to clear Gojo's debt? Is-

GIRL YOU WERE ALMOST THERE!!!! YOU ALMOST HAD IT!!!

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A/N > I love teasing in my narration by nearly spoiling things 😹

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seriously though, these chapters killed me. the official end obliterated my heart. it's so fucking bittersweet i want to scream at the top of a high building. the reader ends up happy and with someone she loves, which is fantastic for her. she deserves that after everything she went through. Choso treats her so, so well.

but Gojo. with the theories i have, i feel horrible. i was so harsh towards him as a die hard Choso girly but these endings changed me. i just hope i'm right.

the fact that his healing journey is harsher than ours makes this ending sting so much. he's healed, and you can see it with his demeanor from the call and the way he interacted with the reader.

we were always made aware of the way he looked at us such deep attachment. the initial gleam shows that he's happy to see us, but that he's not reliant on us for his happiness anymore. he's finding that on his own, and it's a grueling process for him. i wished the reader gave him a hug, but that would probably make me feel even worse.

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A/N> He gave her a lil side hug (with his arm over her shoulder) & was resting his head on hers at the end if that makes you feel any better 😅

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"Through my blackmailing, I fell for you but I also did it because I loved you from the start." i'm gonna throw up bro i'm so sad. i'm proud of his growth. his obsession was so, so strong but he always prioritized the reader's happiness over himself. i know that being self-sacrificial is so core to his personality but it doesn't make it suck any less. i'm devastated. i started blasting mitski in the car on my way to work after reading this.

i thought i was ready for the journal burning. i was so ready for this tie to be severed, for them to finally move on. but i failed to realize that it could ultimately mean a life without each other. it makes sense as to why, but it still sucks.

kami i need that poly ending before i cry my eyes out at 4 am rn. you know i can't handle angst, but bittersweet endings lowkey hurt me even more. i need all my babies to be happy. i desperately need it.

but that alt ending... fuck. in a horrible, sick, and twisted way, i'm relieved. i'm a Choso girly from the bottom of my heart but i can't let this Gojo go omfg. even if he shows up for one more chapter, i think i'll be alright. BUT IT BETTER NOT BE FOR DEATH KAMI!!!! I HAVE A FEW EXCERPTS THAT SUGGEST DEATH FLAGS BUT I AM SIMPLY NOT LOOKING AT THEM. DON'T DO THIS TO ME KAMIIIIIII. i need this boy to be frolicking in a field of flowers or something. my heart can't take this.

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A/N> I know I reference death a lot but that’s just to add a sense of how dramatic the characters are 🫶

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okay, time for my mind-fucky theory. pls bare with me. if it wasn't obvious by my last post, i'm 100% on board with the theory that Sukuna's blackmailing Gojo, which started this whole thing. but the thing that is getting me is how this all connects. i have some assumptions that could make sense, but there are a handful of gaps. here's my thought process;

Sukuna's blackmailing Gojo by using his obsession/love against him.

we are already familiar with the fact that Gojo has liked the reader for years. there was a chapter where Gojo mentioned that it started off as a "crush" but he was so oblivious to his own obsession up until the reader mentioned it to him. it's to the point that he didn't understand what was wrong with the idea of hurting people for the reader. who's to say that Sukuna didn't catch him in some sort of heinous act regarding the reader like stalking?

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A/N > You’re cooking with this one and I almost, almost had to go get the fire extinguisher :D

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Gojo didn't understand the difference between love and obsession until later on in the story. this would be consistent with the implication that Gojo just loved her so deeply that his morals were askew as we have yet to find out how far his love goes.

what if Sukuna caught him in the act of doing god knows what, and brought up the fact that if the reader found out about this, that she'd get super freaked out and would do everything she can to get away from him (considering probably barely knew each other, if at all, at this point). but why would Sukuna devise such a plan over a money bribe? well, Sukuna's already revealed to be wealthy, and maybe he was bored. the same line that Gojo kept repeating to the reader whenever she questioned him as to why he did it. what if Gojo asked Sukuna why he's blackmailing him, and he said the exact same thing; "I was bored." we see how much Sukuna mirrors Gojo's speech by calling the reader "sweetheart" often, what if Gojo did the same thing? 

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A/N > Gojo & Sukuna do have a few parallels in this story & they will be addressed more in the sequel.

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we wondered in chapter 23 how Gojo reaches out to these men to ensure their debt is "paid," but considering how oblivious everyone else on the list is to Gojo owing them anything, it would make sense that he only reports to Sukuna as he is ordered to do so. but two things stumped me on this theory overall.

the reader said that she used to party a lot and get involved with boys before Gojo. if he was stalking her for so long, why did he wait so long to approach her?

what specifically would be the blackmail that Sukuna has on Gojo?

regarding the first point, it's been mentioned that Gojo has been "scared of women" and was shy when it came to approaching the reader. he knew of her for so long, but was able to constantly slip under her radar. considering how much of a pervert he is, it wouldn't have been surprising for him to sneak around and watch in on the reader hooking up with other guys. after all, these guys were probably complete strangers to him and all he cared about was you. remember how Gojo was basically able to tune out his own best friend, Suguru, when the reader was hooking up with him in their living room? it wouldn't be wild to assume that he was able to do the same for your other hookups as he spied on you.

to connect this with second point, what if Sukuna caught Gojo being a peeping tom on the reader during a party hook-up? while being so distracted in the act of spying, Sukuna spots him. the reader wouldn't be alright with the fact that someone who's barely an acquaintance (if that, depending on the time this occurred) to her has been perving around and watching her have sex without her consent. she would do anything to get away from Gojo, and of course that would crush him. Gojo tried to buy Sukuna's silence by any means necessary. so, Sukuna generated a list of people that he and Gojo mutually knew for the reader to fuck. the reasoning for it would be the fact that Gojo has to sit through the process of having the girl he likes fuck a bunch of guys besides him, and the fact that Gojo knew all these men would make it sting more. plus, he has a reputation for hookups. (chapter 8)

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A/N > You’re like RIGHT there with it and yet not there at the same time omg 😟

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but why would Gojo agree to this deal with Sukuna, and why would he also go with the method of blackmailing the reader? it's basically a guarantee that the reader would be scared away regardless. but again, we could recall that Shoko mentioned that he was too "scared of women" to approach the reader at first. this was his chance to finally approach her. plus, "once that video is gone, there is no excuse he'll have to be around you." (chapter 8)

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but the more i thought of this reasoning for the two points, the more bizarre it felt. so what if instead of Gojo being a peeping tom, it was Sukuna. we get so many hints that Sukuna has eyes and intel everywhere. we get an indirect implication of this when he called us out for rolling our eyes during our phone call with him. yes, it could be completely by chance, but it's still a great hint that he "sees everything" and "knows everything." we get an even bigger hint towards this in the alt ending when he directly references The F*ck List.

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A/N > Others have taken note of how Sukuna knew she rolled her eyes but trust me, that’s just to show that Sukuna knows the reader’s body language more than he’s let on & paid attention to her a lot during the time they were together. 

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it wouldn't be too far fetched to assume that he has some shady videos taken of people without his consent, some possibly acquired through other people (like how Gojo was revealed to have sent Sukuna the video of the reader from the first chapter). what if Gojo caught Sukuna with the video, threatened him to delete it, and Sukuna counterthreatened to have it be sent and posted everywhere. it would be highly ironic, but consistent with the way that Gojo and Sukuna practically mirror each other at times. the reasoning for the list choices would still be the same for this theory, too.

---

my citations for these theories ☝️🤓

“You once asked me if I love you because I blackmailed you or if I blackmailed you because I love you and my answer is both,” Gojo confesses as he turns to meet your gaze, “Through my blackmailing, I fell for you but I also did it because I loved you from the start.” - Chapter 56

loved you from the start; his obsession has been consistent from the start (supports Gojo being a peeping tom theory) or he has always had a deep concern for you (supports him wanting to stop Sukuna from spreading blackmail of you instead).

“I’ve sacrificed everything for you, y’know.” 

“How? What’s everything that you’ve sacrificed, hm?” 

“You. I sacrificed the woman I love to make her happy.” Gojo admits, and of all he’s said thus far, that feels like the truest statement. 

“I could’ve been happy with you.” You remind him. 

He laughs, “Yeah well, I’m an idiot.” 

You scoff, “That’s all you have to say?” 

“Yup.” - Chapter 56

is he an idiot for being a peeping pervert instead of just approaching you normally? maybe. how does this make her happy? she ends up finding love through Choso, through the list, through the blackmail.

But deleting the video means ... he has no more leverage over you and can't force you to help him with the hole he's dug for himself. -  Chapter 8

the hole being the blackmail set against him by Sukuna.

Gojo's behind you cursing at himself for being unable to tell you the truth. 

He's so scared that you'll never help him without the blackmail and, well, he has every right to be because you're pretty sure that if it weren't for those videos he has over your head, you wouldn't be doing any of this. - Chapter 9

the videos he's referencing is the original video from chapter 1 and the fake video he lied about with Suguru, but he can't tell the reader the truth because it's too twisted and risky (supports Gojo peeping tom theory).

He silences himself in thought. There are so many ways he could go about answering such a question but the possibilities of how you may react are endless. Plus, you're drunk and if he's going to admit or explain anything to you, it'll be while you're sober. 

"Because..." Gojo's voice gets so quiet that you almost don't catch what he says, "...I don't have any other choice." - Chapter 21

if he didn't go through with his list, Sukuna would have went through with Gojo's blackmail, thus resulting in either you getting as far away from Gojo as soon as possible or Sukuna's video being sent around.

He let something slip abruptly, "W-Wish I c-could tell you everything, sweets..." 

Your brows furrow at that. 

Are you missing something here? - Chapter 22

YES GIRL!!!! SUKUNA'S BEHIND THE WHOLE LIST, HE'S BEHIND THE BLACKMAIL GIRLYPOP

"Anything," Gojo says, meeting your gaze. He's so serious that it's almost dark the way he looks at you, "I'd do anything for you." - Chapter 29

"I meant it when I said I'd do anything for you." 

You follow his motions and then end up right back in his arms, "Right..." 

"I'd sacrifice the very thing I love just to see you happy." Gojo claims proudly. 

You scoff, "Thought' I was the thing you loved?" 

"You are." 

His words bewilder you, "Then that makes no sense." 

"It won't." Gojo shrugs. - Chapter 29

🧍‍♀️

anything. even if it means putting your body, heart, mind, and career on the line. directly supports the theory that Sukuna initially had blackmail on the reader.

"We're the same, y'know..." He suddenly says, his voice breaking again, "We both want someone so terribly bad but our situations prohibit us from getting that person." 

"You could've prevented all this though..." 

Gojo sniffles and you feel a drop of wetness slide down his cheek and slip against your palm. The man was crying? Why? - Chapter 30

this whole time we've been told that Gojo and the reader share more similarities than the reader realizes. what Gojo is to the reader, the reader is to Choso. while Choso now knows of the men that the reader slept with, he doesn't know why. he doesn't know about you being blackmailed. you know that you had to sleep with these men. you don't know why. you didn't know it was because of Gojo being blackmailed.

"For loving me, Satoru. It's not a crime," You say, mocking a comment he made to you earlier, "You're allowed to love me. So, for that, and that only, I forgive you." 

Those words healed so many more wounds in his heart than you realized. It was like that was all he ever needed to hear. If Gojo's mistake was loving you and that's what caused this, then you forgive him. 

If in some twisted way, his feelings started the list, you forgive him.

COME ON NOW.

There’s so much going unspoken but the two of you knew what either was saying, you understood each other more than either of you realized. - Chapter 35

“Well,” Gojo sighs heavily and then draws your hands off his face, leaning down to you a bit, “Sometimes, sacrifices need to be made in exchange for one’s happiness.” 

“Are you telling me that all this was for the greater good?” You quiz as you raise a curious brow. 

“Something like that, yeah,” He shrugs. - Chapter 45

You tell him, “If I had one wish, it’d be that you did that from the beginning.” 

Gojo opens his mouth to say something but then he swallows his words down. He nearly fucked up. 

“All you had to do was talk to me,” Your shoulders raise into a shrug as you move a hand to the doorknob, “Things could’ve been different if you did.” 

“Even if I’ve been obsessed with you since the beginning?” He questions and he’s stepping closer to you again. He can’t possibly wrap his head around that possibility- 

You laugh a bit, “Especially if you were obsessed from the beginning,” You didn’t know it but that statement right there made the man feel as though his world was falling apart, loads of regret tumbling over him as he stares at you with wide eyes, “Satoru I think you forgot but, before all this started, aside from Shoko… I was lonely.” 

Gojo’s throat goes dry and he fails to form a response to that, “I…” 

“If you had just talked to me one time, and more than a hey or how are you,” The way your eyes soften, a slim sheer gloss of tears coating your gaze as you speak to him, “I would’ve fallen for you.” 

He grits his teeth, “Don’t tell me that.” 

“But it’s true.” You say. 

And just like that, Gojo was crumbling all over again. If only you knew how much he regretted everything after hearing you say that. - Chapter 46

if he had just spoke to the reader before all of this, maybe she wouldn't have gone to those parties, hooked up with those people, and caused whatever kind of blackmail Sukuna had on Gojo (or on her).

He wishes he could take it all back, his feelings for you included. If only he could go back and stop himself from ever being curious about you. That’s what started it after all. Because, at the end of the day, Gojo knew who you were before you knew who he was— hell, even before Shoko knew who you were. - Chapter 53

then what is the timeline of his obsession starting? has it been before Gojo? could his blackmail have taken place even before Shoko introduced you two, adding to the weight of the threat that Sukuna held over Gojo's head (regarding the peeping tom theory).

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A/N > The timeline on Gojo’s interest, not obsession just yet, on the reader will be addressed in the sequel so this’ll be answered there <3

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---

but there were certain parts that stumped me and my theories so i have some weird reasonings around them;

It's selfish of him and seriously fucked up but, he's said it before and he'll say it over and over again-- you're all he has. He made promises to everyone on that list, promises of delivering a woman to them at some point, and of course, he couldn't convince anyone he knew to do such a thing. 

So again, the situation with you just happened to be a coincidence. 

The problem is that Gojo hates that it's you. He hates that you're the one he ended up doing this to. - Chapter 8

Gojo's known to be a silly guy so it could make sense that he actually did promise these guys hookups for reasons unrelated to his blackmail. after all, he does have a reputation for getting people hookups. the coincidence is that Sukuna now has dirt on Gojo and wants to toy with him. by making the reader sleep with them the guys he coincidentally owes hookups to, he fulfills his role/reputation and relieves his debt at the same time. two birds, one stone.

┏━━━

A/N > As we later learn that some of the “debt” Satoru claimed to have isn’t real, we can also infer that his reputation & the promises he’s made to these men were done out of coincidence. Take Toji for example; tell me you can’t see an interaction between him & Gojo where Gojo gets a bad grade and wants to get it up so he taunts his professor with the idea of getting him a hookup & Toji would laugh it off considering Gojo’s reputation ;)

┗━━━

another thing that stumped me is why Gojo got so worked up with the reader referring herself as a whore, and the connection to Sukuna. my delulu reasoning is that once Sukuna threatened Gojo with blackmail by either of the two theories/methods i mentioned, Sukuna casually referred to the reader as a whore. that caused a major fight between the two, possibly even getting physical (which can refer back to the implication that Gojo has hurt people for the reader).

the fight could have increased the tension and severity of the situation, so Sukuna decides to add Choso to the list knowing how easily attached Choso gets. in chapter 5, the reader and Gojo were discussing the list and Choso specifically. Gojo was even noted to be relieved when the reader had mentioned that they'll just have to hope that Choso doesn't get attached, as he obviously holds deep feelings for the reader. Sukuna knows that by going through with the blackmail with Choso involved, Gojo most likely will not end up with the reader if Choso get attached and the reader reciprocates those feelings.

also, the counterargument that Sukuna and Gojo are actually friends/allies in this situation just doesn't sit well with me. it would make for a crazy twist but it just feels too out of character for Gojo. but then again, how would Sukuna specifically know about The F*ck List? but idk, it just feels so wrong to me. maybe i have too much faith in Gojo lmfao. after all, he has consistently shown a great dislike towards the guy since chapter 23. but maybe it's my denial speaking. i really don't want to think of Satoru going through this whole arc only for it to reveal that he truly is a piece of shit. pls don't do this to my pookie my heart cannot handle it </3

┏━━━

A/N > Remember, Gojo is a good actor & you go a long period of time in the book not realizing he’s not as much of a villain as he pretends to be 😉 

┗━━━

there's that moment after the reader fucked Sukuna that still messes with my brain. with my theories, my brain's thinking that he contemplated on collecting even more blackmail on the reader. for what reason? idk, to be an ass? to torment Gojo further and add more to his blackmail? but maybe he decided not to because he already has plenty of blackmail on the reader (if the theory of Sukuna having a video of her from way back then is true) and fucking her knowingly made Gojo pissed considering all the dirt Sukuna has.

so why can't Gojo tell her the truth now? why does he want to wait years in advance? maybe he's hoping that by that time, not only will you forget and not care about the situation overall, but maybe Sukuna will forget all about it as well. the chances of Sukuna holding on to the reader's blackmail for that long is slim and the reader would most likely be in a situation where she is completely separated from Sukuna depending on her job and living situation with Choso. the stakes are lower than if he were to reveal everything to you now, at a moment where your life is still so uncertain. it would go against his wish for you to end up happy.

┏━━━

A/N > Maybe Gojo doesn’t tell her the truth because he can’t, just as he said 🌚 Perhaps he’s not allowed to yet. After all, why would Sukuna even tell the reader he made the list in the end? ^.^ Just some food for thought!

┗━━━

---

regarding the future of TFL... fuck, bro. i have no fucking idea. i'm too caught up in the (presumed) past. i'm mourning fr. i love this fic sooooo fucking much. whenever you decide to pick up on the sequel, i will be there. if you choose to publish anything else in the meantime, i will be there. thanks for such a fun and memorable read, Kami. i'm excited to bookbind this soon 🤍🤍🤍 now, i need to watch blue lock to shove these feelings down.

yap fin (for now)

-☃️

A/N > I love you sosoosooooo much for this. These theories are like reading an entirely new fanfic sometimes except, I know all the answers & what’s going to happen next, which only makes me more excited ^.^ Thank you for taking the time to make this, thank you for reading, thank you for supporting, just, THANK YOU.

This right here is exactly what I write for; people like you :)

To the others reading this breakdown & theory, thank ☃️anon because she’s a damn godsend & ilhsm ^.^ (definitely showing favoritism rn, sorry not sorry, ily all I swear)

Edit; Since you’re watching Blue Lock, I can’t wait to bring my Shidou fanfic here because a lot of the drama in TFL has inspo from that fic, which I wrote first ^.^ & I could totally see you enjoying it because not only is it a childhood friends to lovers than enemies & back to lovers troupe BUT it also includes Itoshi Sae x reader which ofc, adds hella drama :))

P.S. It’s two am as I finally post this and omg sorry it took me a while, I wanted to answer other anons first before unpacking this badboy, again, tysm!!

[luverz-exe]

Hey, I was wondering if maybe you could do yandere headcanons for The Riddler from arkahm city? I rarley see anything about the arkahm games. However, If not it's fine, have a nice day or night!

Yandere Arkham City! Riddler Headcanons

...Uh, hi. I'm back. sorry for the prolonged hiatus, I've just been...dealing with a lot at the moment. I'm glad to be back. I'm not gonna be making a full blown post for it, so imma just say my piece here. Don't worry Anon, I'm gonna get to your request soon- just wanna talk a little bit. Requests will be off for awhile, how long, I'm not sure. Going to finish the requests I can, I won't force myself to do them all- because if I can't write it, then I realize I'm not obligated to. A reason that I quit was because I was so overwhelmed with stuff. But that was any of your faults! I am absolutely astounded that I have so much support! Just that sometimes I need to realize that I can't do everything there is out there, because I'm still an amateur writer, there's a lot I can't do and even more that I have yet to get good at. Sorry for rambling, here's your request Anon!!

Slightly suggestive near the end, oopsie doopsie guys. Oh yeah, and he says some really mean words, guys- an absolute shocker 🤯

Here's the thing when it comes to Edward. He's an asshole- a smug, insensitive asshole. Of course, we all know this by now. But this snarky self-absorbed piece of shit is slowly starting to decay, inside out. His mental state fluctuates, and it really is straining on your "relationship". He believes in more practicality, you're here to be his assistant, and he's here to protect your primitive brain (though, less than your peers, just enough for him to take you under his wing and truly try and help you flourish) from combusting. He can make you smarter, you know. You have so much potential, enough to be second best...Just watch, and learn. It's not like you'll have a choice.

Yeah...The first few weeks-months will be tenuous- it's likely you didn't join this relationship of your own volition. And even if you somehow did, it's not going to be any better. He's making you go no contact with the outside world. While you call it a fucked up form of house arrest, he prefers to call it a more civilized form of rehabilitation. Sorry, not sorry- those idiotic, moronic, brain-dead louts would taint you again. No wonder you're so much dumber than him, all your life you've been surrounded by bad influences (so was he, but he's a prodigy, and you're just smarter than average- it's different). You have to stay away from them because any smarts he's been giving you might be sucked up by those braindead leeches!

Good news though- free range of his living space (if you can even call it that)! While he's still keeping his appearance semi-clean, his space hasn't, as he's slowly beginning his descent into the Arkham Knight version. But hey, how about you be a good helper and pick some stuff up- keep you occupied short-term. Because, you try and talk to him, it's going to be a lot longer- and you might want to take notes because he is going to test your knowledge on it later.

"Why are you bothering me? ..Cleaning? No, no, you stop that. If you're going to keep your mind occupied, then I recommend you grab the 11mm crowfoot wrench and get over here." When you didn't move, be it you didn't know where he stored those or a genuine lack of knowledge about wrenches, he peered up from his work. "..What, can't even do that?" He signed, furrowing his brow, but prevented himself from badmouthing further. It wasn't their fault for having an idiot society teach them about these things. "..Just- grab the flashlight, over there on the counter, I'll get it myself- and you better pay attention. This mistake will not be made more than once, I assure you of it."

Pity is a common occurrence, but his sympathy isn't. Oh, your poor pitiful shrunken brain, rotting away from all the bad people in your life. But you should've taken one quick look at him, realized he was your intellectual superior and asked for him to bring your brain to a normal size and to ditch everyone else in your life. That's your fault.

Now, it isn't all bad! Look on the bright side, learning is now your full time job- with him as your teacher (in a non-sexual way, because god-damnit if you think you can get out of learning about the proper ways to build one of his puzzles by giving him a handjob (you can, and probably should to avoid what would be considered a 5 hour lecture over the course of the day)). He enjoys teaching you all that he knows, and he expects you to share that enthusiasm, especially when he talks about batman. When he starts talking about the flying rat that plagues his life, you better listen. You're going to be his assistant someday with all of this 'killing Batman' thing, so you better hop on that train early.

While he does call you an idiot, he's just self-projecting his hatred of Batman (and himself) onto you. No, it's not your fault- it's 100% his own and he won't apologize or acknowledge it in a meaningful way. It slowly dissipates the more your 'nasty' attitude does, but even then it never fully disappears. Depends on the day. He'll never get better, though, not fully. And once you see how bad he becomes in Arkham Knight, you'll realize this isn't as low as he can go.

"You idiot! Can't you do something right? When I talk, you listen! Why do I even keep you around?! You're an absolute buffoon, you know that?...Of course you don't, you see? If you were with me sooner, you wouldn't be like this. We'll get you to the intelligence level you should be, don't you worry, but clearly we're going to need to change tactics if I'm going to get it through that thick skull of yours."

[we-stan-the-stans-27]

Dead Asleep AU?

Okay, so I kind of wanted to write another part/version of that sleeping beauty AU from the other week. But this time, Stanley is the one who gets too suffer! HAHAH!

So, here is part two. Also, I posted both parts up on my Ao3 account and I'll link it here if you want to save it for later or whatever.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/62066953/chapters/158737552#main

And of course, I'm going to @sixerstanley again! Because this was their idea. Now. Let's get into being evil. Heheh.

(I had most of this done on the tenth, but then I basically died and couldn't finish. So, enjoy. That live stream was like crack or something. Idk guys.) (P.P.S. Gonna post this on its own now because I don't think anyone saw it when I reposted it attached to the old post. Rightfully so. That shit was long as hell.)

Truth be told all of Stan Pines favorite and happiest memories took place on a boat. It didn't matter if it was on some crappy litter scattered beach.

It was theirs and nothing could soil those memories. Back then all that mattered was the hot burning sand, maybe the stings of glass cuts across a sole, and tumbling along getting hurt, hand in hand.

Sure, it took forty damn years to get back there, but he's anything if not stubborn. And it paid off.

What's that saying? 'Most gamblers call it quits right before striking it big?'

Good thing he never stopped betting with higher and higher stakes then, right?

The future is much brighter because of it. The deck of the ship has a sharp bite to it now. From one extreme to the next. A hot infected wound, now soothed by a cold compress.

The arctic Ocean.

There isn't a lot in the area for fishing, but there is still plenty of wildlife to watch from the top deck if your patient.

Late at night the sky lights up with the northern lights, or 'Aurora Borealis' if you speak blabbering scientist. It's beautiful and a new flavor of Ford's favorite activity, Stargazing.

Out at sea there is no better place for it without any light pollution. Just them, the universe, and the expansive inky blackness below.

Sitting out on the deck, fish watching with a pair of binoculars, the world is practically blinding this time of the afternoon. The white overcast clouds mixed with the occasional chunk of ice covered in snow lights up the world like being inside a light bulb.

That's not what pulls Stanley's attention from the endless water he's been looking at all morning though. Finally, he sees something!

Off the starboard side from where they've been anchored a group of Narwhals is swimming by, long tusks poking out of the water and interrupting the sleek outline of the waves.

"Sixer, get the hell up here!" He knows his brother won't be nearly as excited about seeing this marvel as he is, but Stan still wants to share it with him anyway.

Just because Ford saw a million different impossible things through the portal doesn't mean whales aren't interesting too. Sure, not what they're hanging out waiting for, but who cares?

When Stanley can't hear Ford immediately running up the stairs, no big surprise if stuck in a book, he stomps on the floor of the deck without looking away from the water. Grinning like an idiot.

"Stanford Pines, get up here! I'm having a heart attack!" Okay, yeah. It's not funny. But that never fails to get him top side no matter what he's in the middle of.

'Boy who cried wolf' Yack! Yack! Whatever. If it works, why fix it?

There are at least ten different Narwhals intermittently breaching for air but the sight is incredibly short lived before they dive again on another breath hold, disappearing from sight below the grey waves.

"Awe, too slow! You missed it!" His booming voice is the only sound on the ship and it makes Stan finally drop the glasses and get up out of his chair with a crack from both knees.

He stomps, again, and then listens with a little more attention to the ship.

There is the lapping of the waves against the side, the slight breeze blowing the fresh smell of sea salt over the vessel, but otherwise its quiet.

Hmm. He could stay up here, maybe even pretend to fall over and really scare his brother. Except the last time he did that Ford almost threw him overboard into the freezing cold water.

Still. It is a little weird that Ford didn't at least yell a few foreign curse words up through the ship.

"Alright, fine. You want to prank me back? I'll bite." It comes out in a mutter and Stan makes his way across the deck after one more glance around at the water.

Through the wheel house, down the steep steps, and around the corner into the room dubbed 'the office' only in the name on the door. It's a glorified science lab that Stan gets to store a shelf of books inside of.

Pushing open the door is a little challenging, like something is blocking it but after a minute of shoving he's able to get enough room to squeeze through to get a look around.

Yep. This is 100% a prank.

The thing blocking the door? Ford, leaning back and looking pretty limp. Stan has got to hand it to him, this is a really convincing look.

"Nice try genius, laying around on the floor isn't going to convince me. Come on, up we go." It takes a lot more work than it should to move Ford from the floor up into the single chair in here.

The only real dead bodies Stan has ever seen have been bloody from being murdered or covered in vomit thanks to overdosing on something. Lots of blood, bruises, stomach acid and empty eyes stained with their last moments.

Ford's open, blank ones, do cause a little bit of alarm, but. It's how damn cold his body is that brings the first real taste of concern to the forefront of his mind.

"I thought I told you to turn on the space heater periodically. You have bad enough circulation as is, you idiot." Ford is very cold, and limp just like a dead body, and his eyes-

To humor Ford, and to reassure himself, Stan does a big show of rolling his eyes and then putting two fingers to Ford's wrist. You can't hide having a pulse, genius.

"................................................................................................................"

Okay. Maybe you can hide a pulse on one arm, if you cut off circulation. Whatever, big whoop?

Stan shifts over to check the other wrist and lets out a tisk of annoyance before raising those same fingers up to Ford's neck.

Same result.

Huh.

Now that's a neat trick.

Ford is doing a really good job pretending not to breathe too.

A really really good job.

That's bad.

"Alright Sixer, good one. I've learned my lesson here, you can undo whatever witchcraft you used to manage this." His confidence that this is a joke is cracking with every second Ford doesn't hop up and start lecturing him.

That's what should be happening. Another long rant about how pretending to be injured or sick isn't funny, not a good way to get attention, and unnecessary.

Yeah. Stan knows all that.

Ford does come topside, eventually, whenever he yells. It's just-

Sometimes Ford gets a little too caught up in his work and needs to be reminded the rest of the world exists. Extremes are the easiest way to do that.

And, yeah. Stanley can admit in the safety of his own head that he enjoys the fretting Ford does, despite knowing it’s a false alarm. It's been a long time since someone cared about him enough for something like that.

Or maybe those memories are what decided not to come back. Eh, his life seems pretty sad. Makes sense.

What doesn't, however, is why Ford is doing this for so long.

Plain and simple, he wouldn't.

But, that would mean something so terrible that his mind still won't accept it.

Because Ford can't be dead. That's not possible. They had this conversation.

Before leaving Gravity Falls, they had a really long and difficult talk about health issues. Ford came up with game plans for emergencies, Stanley had to own up to his numerous health issues, and how does Stanley know with complete certainty his brother can't be dead?

Bill said so.

Ford isn't supposed to die until he's ninety-two of a heart attack.

Now, Stan doesn't trust that demon on much. Or anything. Except this.

Because Bill liked Ford to an uncomfortable degree, otherwise he'd be dead right now. Or, would have at some point during the apocalypse.

So. The devil must have been telling the truth on this one thing, right?

Ford had seemed pretty sure that he wasn't going to be the one needing healthcare at sea, solidifying the belief in Stan's own mind. If Ford wasn't worried, why should he? He's a genius!

But-

What if Bill did lie? Tricking them into a false sense of security only for Ford to drop dead one day. Honestly? That does sound more his style.

Except, it can't be today.

It just can't.

Because if Ford is dead-

That's not a possibility Stanley Pines has ever considered for so much as a millisecond.

Not when Ford went through the portal.

Not for thirty years during the rebuilding process.

Not even prior to rescuing him from Bill and saving the world.

Because he can't imagine a world without Stanford Pines.

Sure, he's been gone before. Missing, but he came back from the portal and they eventually fixed things. They're okay now.

That was six weeks ago.

And, yeah, they still fight, but that's normal. Expected, living so closely after so long apart.

Stan has found himself frozen standing next to the chair simply staring down at Ford waiting for-

The joke to end? The camera crew to jump out? Ford himself to come in from the other room telling him this is a dummy or clone?

That spurs him back into action, rushing out of the room. "You aren't funny, Stanford Filbrick Pines! When I find you, I'm going to give you the worst wedgie in the multiverse!"

There are really only four places Ford could be hiding, given his size. Their bedroom underneath the bunk beds, the bathroom, the tiny kitchen pantry, or the engine room.

The kitchen pantry is bare, as expected. It’s a pretty shitty hiding spot.

Looking underneath the bed is tricky, but he isn't under there either.

The bathroom shower is clear too and he leaves the lights on, doors open, as he yanks the tiny half-sized door to peer into the almost crawlspace-sized room-

Empty.

For good measure Stanley does a second, and third, lap of the ship from the deck all the way back through leaving no chance for his brother to be sneaking around hiding.

In the end he still lands back in the office, leaning against the wall, looking at his brother's freezing cold and lifeless body.

Dead, body-

Nope, nope, nope! Ford can't be dead, he can't be.

Instead of looking at 'Ford' Stan looks around the room at anything else in search of answers. There's a stack of books and some science doohickey on the desk, but that's not all.

When first entering the room, Ford was laying on the floor back against the door. The chair was sideways, almost like he'd fallen out of it.

Down on the floor is a small collection of scattered papers.

It certainly looks like-

"Nope. Not happening." I'm not going to entertain it, not going to think about it. Ford is cold and being an idiot.

Stan busies himself with gathering up the scattered papers off the floor and organizing them on the desk and-

Ford's phone.

Before leaving port they'd both gone out and bought one at the behest of Dipper and Mabel. For taking pictures, calling, texting, and use of the internet.

They have this thing called a 'hot spot' that allows them to use the internet on their laptop for video calls and such. Ford usually sets that up and Stan gets the call going.

Neither of them knows the full process, so they have to work together.

Finding it discarded on the floor fits with the scene Ford has laid out trying to play dead. It's all very convincing, really.

But all that panic and worry remains buried deep, because what else is there?

Losing Ford would probably give him a heart attack, for real, right about now.

So. It's pretty concerning to see the phone open, wasting the battery, to their text chain.

It looks like Ford tried sending him a text up above deck.

'Stanley, I require medical assistance, follow protocol 32-C. Thank you. -Stanford Pines'

Except the text never went through, that red bubble with the exclamation mark 'Not delivered' is obvious enough for even Stanley to see.

Okay. There isn't any ignoring that.

Why? Ford was right here, why didn't he yell or come upstairs, or knock on the ceiling for fucks sake?

Except it does look like Ford might have tried to leave the room-

Real, honest panic claws its way up into the center of his chest from where he's kneeling on the floor looking at the text that didn't go through.

Maybe it was never a heart attack, could've been a stroke-

This text is pretty long and lacking spelling mistakes though, like all the other messages Ford has ever written.

His last words.

"Stanford..." It comes out broken and he ignored the complaints of the floor in the rush to get up, still clutching the phone, and across the room to his brother.

Idiot! Stupid, God damn idiot!

Instead of helping him for one fucking second you decided to play hide and seek!

Nope, we aren't going to cry. Not now, nope. Doesn't matter that there isn't anyone around to-

Nope!

Pulling Ford down onto the floor to assess him is easy with how limp he is and Stan makes quick work of pulling off his gloves in search of-

Something.

There still isn't a pulse, but the skin along each wrist and the neck feels colder than it did earlier. Stan's hands are shaking like he's going through withdrawals, trembling.

Focus.

Despite what his brother might think, he did in fact take the time to review the procedures stored in their extensive first aid kits. Not because any of them are helpful here though.

Ford put that together with Stan exclusively in mind.

What to do in the case of a heart attack, stroke, aneurysms, seizures, and all the small things too. Stuff for stitches, concussions, burns, and there is one small pamphlet on amputations.

The reason he took the time to review them was to put together his own plans, just in case.

If this is a heart attack he can't use to stupid paddles on Ford because of his metal plate. Besides, who knows what kind of effects that might have if it is a stroke-

He's already dead-

"Shut up! Just, shut up. He isn't, not until I say so!" The yell echoes back inside the claustrophobic room. The boat has never felt so painfully small-

CPR it is then.

Thirty-two C is essentially an undefined chest pain. Aspirin, monitoring, and high tailing it to the closest port.

Hard to do any of that when Ford can't breathe, much less swallow. And, you know, being three hours from the closest dock doesn't help either.

Stan has wasted too much time fussing and being useless as is. He knows how to do this. Where the hands go, the rhythm needed and the right amount of pressure to apply. How often to force Ford to take air.

This gives his hands something useful to do, his mind something to focus on instead of pure white-hot panic.

Because that's what he feels.

There is only one thing he could never protect Ford from, himself.

Sickness, and eventually death fall into that same category because the body does those things without considering what you want. Old age would come for his brother someday, regardless of how anyone feels about it.

Stanley had always assumed- no, made damn sure -that he wouldn't outlive his brother.

Because he can't be the one to carry on. That is a world he wants no part in.

He realizes, a while into doing compressions, that he should have consulted a clock before starting to try and keep track of how long he's been doing this.

Whatever, like it really matters.

Stanley continues anyway, long past when his arms started to burn and past hearing two different ribs crack.

What makes him stop is when he physically can't catch his own air enough to continue.

He is, understandably, a mess.

Snot smeared between both faces, tears across the front of Ford's shirt and cheeks, and Stanley himself can't breathe, chest tight and wracked with sobs.

Even if Ford did have a heartbeat Stanley knows he wouldn't be able to feel it because of how badly his hands are trembling and how fast blood is rushing in his own ears.

Six god damn weeks. Is that really all we got? All that time, all those mistakes? So much wasted all because I couldn't control myself for five fucking seconds!

"I'm sorry, I'm so fucking sorry Stanford." It comes out choked, barely real words around his chests arguing efforts to sound like a dying animal and take in enough oxygen to avoid meeting his own end.

The pile of regrets is immeasurable, but not so much about the past.

They've done that song and dance, so those aren't the thoughts that tear into him now.

So many things missed that still need to be made up for.

Christmas. New Years. Drunk nights out. Their birthday for fucks sake!

Now they'll never get to share that, ever again. Forever Seventeen.

Just-

Being together again.

Joking together.

Together!

Not apart.

Haven't they had enough of that? Wasn't four cursed decades of loneliness plenty?

Guess time has a funny sense of humor.

Or the world just hates him specifically.

Stanley Pines isn't allowed to be happy, hopefully everyone got the memo!

He can't remember ever crying so hard or for nearly as long ever in his whole life. Countless nights spent breaking down in the basement, slumped over the desk in the upstairs office, or camped out in some slum across the back seat of the car are nothing in comparison.

Lying across Ford's chest feels unnatural. It's too cold, too still-

Wrong.

It's like someone just broke one of the fundamental laws of physics here in their office and Stanley can't handle it.

When he finally manages to pull away a crazed laugh bubbles up and out into the room without permission.

There is nothing funny about this, but it seems to have a mind of its own, running away with his vocal cords.

What the hell else is he supposed to do? His whole world just died. Ford might as well of snuffed out the sun, causing the whole universe to go out with it. All that's left are stars.

Memories.

That's not fair. None of this is, and he knows that life ain't fair. Why would it be now? Of course it wouldn't, but-

"Why?! Why now, huh?! You couldn't of waited ten fucking minutes? At least let me be here with you? I could of done something useful for once! But no, I always have to fail! It's the only thing I'm good at!"

The humor vanishes, the hysterics of it washed away by anger and grief.

He ends up sitting back on his ass with knees drawn up with both arms wrapped around them, just like when they were kids.

What is he supposed to do?

Ford's dead. Stanford is dead. Sixer is dead. My twin brother is dead-

Repeating the same thought doesn't make him feel any better. If anything, it makes the shaking ten times worse. Unsteady hands, trembling shoulders-

He's shivering all over, goosebumps caused by something other than the cold.

"God, i really am a failure. Can't argue with me now, huh? You died, fifteen feet away from me and-" He can't look at Ford like this anymore, so he brings up a hand to cover his face while trying to regulate his own awful breathing.

Who cares? Why does it matter? Why bother calming down if Ford's dead?

As much as he'd like to give up, because it would be incredibly easy to do so, Stan knows he can't. Not now.

Okay. Deep even breathes.

In. One, two, three, four, five.

Out. One, two, three, four five.

It takes several tries to manage getting past two, but it gets a little easier to stop feeling so light headed the more he focuses on it

He can't give up, because like it or not-

Why not?

Because of the kids? Because of Soos? How exactly would they feel to find out both of us were brought into port dead by the coast guard? Two funerals to attend.

Although they would probably do them together-

That's a nice thought.

Nope, we aren't encouraging that!

"Alright, come on. Get it together. You know what to do..." That doesn't make it easier.

Back up. First onto both knees, then both feet.

Unlike moving Ford into the chair, dragging him around, Stanley takes more care lifting Ford up over one shoulder to carry him from the office across the boat into the bedroom.

Laying him out on the bottom bunk, tucked into the blankets, it looks like he's just sleeping.

Despite barely doing anything Stanley is exhausted already. Arms sore, his back is going to be killing him tomorrow from picking up all that dead weight, so he settles on the edge of the mattress. Just for a minute.

There was once a day when the gun would, metaphorically, already be in his hand.

The world hadn't exactly been kind to him. Not growing up. Not on the road. Not even fully in Gravity Falls. Sure, it was home, but the basement was its own form of torture and suffering.

All of that was supposed to stay off the boat.

Land was pain, the ocean was perfect.

Or at least he'd thought so. If death was going to come for them, taking them into the ranks of lives lost at sea, they were supposed to go down together.

It's tempting. More tempting than ever before.

"I'm sorry." He can't turn and look at Ford, but the presence of his body is comforting in a weird way. Just don't think about how-

"I know you keep telling me I don't need to be, and that we're all good, but I really am. I'm the reason we lost so much time, so maybe it’s just that I have to live with that until my heart gives out." These are the kinds of things he'd never say if Ford was really here.

Or in front of anyone, but what's the harm now? Might as well get it out now before heading back.

From there Ford will be carted off to the closest morgue, body probably cremated, leaving Stanley to bring the ash remains home.

"Maybe I was a damn fool to think I could have it all. Should have known it was too good to be true. I can't-" He has to stop to take several deep full breaths before pushing on.

"I can't do this. Thirty years, forty, all alone. Ruined, and now-"

Things were good, fantastic, for fucks sake!

Having someone to cook and clean with. To get annoyed at when they hog the bathroom. Pointless arguments, bickering, but always getting over it.

It was domestic in a way he'd always wanted but never allowed himself. Always afraid anyone who got close would leave.

In a way, Ford did. Not intentionally, but he did walk right back out the door just like everyone else. Who knows, maybe it would have happened sooner or later anyway.

"I-I know I wasn't great to live with. I'm a pain in the ass screw-up and I guess that's all I'll ever be." Failing to notice something was seriously wrong sooner, not hearing any noises his brother might have made, not getting that text-

Overshadows saving the world. It doesn't matter if the sun keeps rising if his brother isn't here to see it.

He doesn't really know what's considered 'normal behavior' around a corpse. It might be incredibly weird of him to decide to sit up against the wall at the head of the bunk and get Ford situated laying back against his chest, repositioning the blankets.

Stan finds he doesn't care either way. If his brother is dead, the love of his life, he's going to sit with him for a little while before his body gets all stiff and gross and corpsey.

It'll take about two hours, give or take, before then.

Other than the bed being cold it’s not hard to pretend things are okay. Stan's own breathing moves Ford with each inhale and exhale in the otherwise quiet room.

They're both to old to be cuddling, but who's around to judge him? The next closest human is miles away and Ford...

He doesn't really get a say anymore.

Stan lets out a sad and exhausted chuckle, shaking his head and tucking his face down into Ford's hair while keeping both arms tight across his brother’s chest.

It smells of sweat, sea salt, and something chemically that makes his nose burn a little. He needs a shower, gross bastard.

"You have no idea how much I'm going to miss you, Sixer. No fucking clue how much I love you."

Never, ever, would Stan dare be so open in front of anyone, much less his equally emotionally constipated brother. But it’s not like he's going to be able to say all this stuff in front of people.

Not when he heads back to Gravity Falls, tail between his legs. Much less at the funeral.

"I mean, you had to know. One person doesn't dedicate a lifetime to fixing a mistake like that if they don't give a shit. But, well, you know."

He's a corpse Stan, he doesn't know anything. Not anymore.

"It was never the boat. I didn't care that you wanted to go to school. I didn't care about taking the journal. I didn't even care about you being a pretentious asshole. Okay, maybe I did care about that last one a little." It's the first genuine laugh Stan's let out since finding Ford.

"It was the separation I had a problem with. We could have been enlisted in the military for all I cared, as long as we did it together. Talk about codependent, am I right?"

His arms are tired from doing compressions so instead of continuing to hug Ford in a vice grip he settles for holding one of his hands instead.

Cuddling, weird but not outside of things they've done before. Usually after or because of nightmares.

Hugging is practically a daily occurrence at this point, sometimes multiple times depending on the itinerary Ford's always got in his stupid head.

But this, holding hands, isn't something they've done since they were kids.

Hopefully, Filbrick found a special space in hell for yelling at them until they stopped. He was right, socially, of course. But Stan can't help holding a grudge regardless. As if Ford needed more negative press about his perfect hands.

They're cold but Stan pointedly ignores that in favor of savoring the moment.

"It was good we spent time apart, in its own stupid way. Not because either of us had a good time or anything, but we finally grew up. Eventually. Just took the world ending for you to get your ego checked." It's nice having Ford lying back against his chest, their hands intertwined over Ford's cold one under the blanket.

It's sad, and temporary, but better than nothing at all.

You take what you get and you don't throw a fit.

"But hey, it wasn't all bad." Looking around the room the proof is right here. "We did it, eventually. We had some fun, stole some treasure. Never did get any babes though, but-"

The wall closest to the door is covered in a large cork board covered in pictures from the camera Soos gifted them as a housewarming present before leaving port. Original pictures of them back in Jersey pinned at the top with their adventures detailed in the ones below, picking up decades later.

He sighs, bringing up his free hand to straighten out Ford's hair. It's always a rat’s nest. "I was never as worried about that part as I probably should have been, because I-"

Dead or not, is this really the kind of thing he should be saying out loud?

The things he's saying aren't really for Ford, they're for Stanley's own benefit anyway. "Well, heh. You see, about that...I, uh. Really only had interest in getting one babe on board." He squeezes Ford's hand for emphasis, like he's listening.

But even Stan can't help bursting out into laughter at his awful joke, managing to avoid letting out more than a couple tears. "Oh god, that's terrible. I'm terrible, I know. But, you never had to worry about that. You being here is more then I could've asked for. No sense betting it on the bonus word and getting left at a dock when things where good as is."

There. It's out there, in the room, shared with someone who can never tell his worst secret. That wasn't so bad now, was it?

"As it was, I guess. Still can't believe you're gone and our adventure is over before it really got started." It's a somber thought, but he leaves it at that.

What else is there to say?

Time passes, only marked by the slight darkening of the clouds outside the boat and the ticking of Stanley's watch.

He keeps saying 'five more minutes' but that started up about two hours ago. It's been nearly three since settling into bed. His back hurts from staying in the same position, fingers cramped, but he still doesn't want to get up.

That means letting go. He isn't ready for that.

Probably never will be either.

It must be the cold keeping Ford from getting all stiff like dead people should because he's still just as limp and relaxed as when he first died. That thought makes him wince.

"Alright. As fun as this is, I should probably get up and bring us back to port before it gets dark." He says it like Ford will be able to encourage him to do so, like the corpse is going to hold him accountable.

Except, it can't.

Stan finds the willpower to get up and off the bed anyway, leaving Ford tucked in, and heading out into the hallway that is the kitchen and dining room.

Next step is getting back to port, calling the local authorities, and explaining what the hell happened. That won't be fun. None of this is.

He only gets as far as the kitchen before having to sit down.

Who is he kidding? This is impossible. How the hell is he supposed to do any of this?

No matter how hard he tries to cling to the fact that he has other family, because Stanley knows full well how much the kids and Soos care for him, that doesn't make the suddenly unbearable weight on both shoulders any lighter.

The boat is suffocating, cold, and it’s only going to get worse.

When Ford had gone through the portal it was easy enough to rationalize his feelings of hopelessness away using pure denial. Can't be sure Ford is dead if you can't see him.

And yeah, he'd been right, though on all accounts he shouldn't have been.

Stan can't do that here because Ford is very clearly dead and gone.

All those years he'd already been through the first several stages of grief periodically. Denial, anger, and bargaining but had always gotten stuck in the second to last step. Depression.

If people can get past that one, they usually reach acceptance and from there, it’s all about finding a way to live with it.

I can't do that.

How on earth am I supposed to after everything? So many mistakes, miscommunications, lost time, and for what? For it to end here?

What the hell am I supposed to do? Pack it up, return to Gravity Falls, and drink myself to death?

That's probably what he would have done if Ford hadn't been able to make it home. If he'd actually been dead for thirty years and all that effort was for nothing.

It doesn't take much to make up his mind. It’s only a matter of when, not a matter of if.

The painful silence of the ship is interrupted by his watch beeping at him several times, indicating it’s time for his blood pressure medications.

This watch is considerably uglier than his gold one, but its water proof and has some fancy alarm and timer settings.

Ford set it up to remind him.

He all but collapses in on himself with tears escaping easier than before in the office.

This was all he ever wanted, for someone to give a damn about him and now the only person who ever did is gone!

No more bickering about who used all the hot water. Complaining about who's turn it is to handle the laundry. Doing dishes together.

No more laughing, cracking jokes, or arguing over what to have for dinner.

"I can't do this, I'm not strong enough for that." His voice is choked, barely above a whisper.

His own feet bring him to the first aid kit fastened to the wall above the toilet in the bathroom. It's where any medications they might need are kept from ibuprofen to some other more questionable alien junk of Ford's.

Nutrition pills are not a substitute for real food, even when you’re sick of fish Stanford.

Down on the bottom shelf right next to the Aspirin and Tylenol is where his stupid medication is to take-

Except currently there is a small and simple letter propped up on the shelf blocking the several bottles there with 'For Stanley Pines' on the front in neat and actually legible cursive handwriting.

He looks around the bathroom, almost comically, because he really has lost it.

Maybe he actually had his own medical problem while trying to do chest compressions and now he's a ghost or something?

Because this looks like Ford left him a letter right inside their medicine cabinet.

Except he's dead in the other room.

After picking up the letter, and taking his stupid meds, Stan goes back to the bedroom to double-check that the corpse hasn't managed to go anywhere in the last ten minutes.

Nope. Still there.

Okay.... Well, might as well read it then?

He closes the bedroom door first and goes about straightening up the million open doors and all the unnecessary lights left on this whole time, settling against one of the kitchen counters and tearing the envelope open with his pocket knife.

'To Stanley,

If you are reading this letter then you must be in the throes of panic at the moment. As I know well, it’s not very fun to have a brother who continues to terrify you with health scares. I have tried discussing this with you several times, but clearly, you don't fully understand.

Perhaps this spook, over a supposed 'blocked blood vessel', will set the record straight. I do not find your jokes about 'keeling over' to be amusing. Waking me up purposefully drooping one half of your body also isn't funny.

It is for these many reasons I've devised a plan to scare you, briefly. The serum I gave myself to cause the presentation of symptoms should have no permanent or ill health effects. However, it does eventually result in a loss of consciousness, so you will need to administer the antidote.

It is tapped to the roof of our fridge and kept at the appropriate cool temperature until it is ready to be used, with the dosage already measured out in a previously prepared needle. Any vein will do, though it may take some time to circulate and take-"

Stanley doesn't bother finishing the stupid list of instructions Ford may have left him filling out the rest of the letter. In fact, he can't even bring himself to be mad right this second about Ford torturing him like this.

He's alive. That's all that matters.

It’s a rush of slamming open doors, making a mess of the top shelf of the fridge, before Stan is able to find the supposed needle right where the letter said it would be. Back to the bedroom he yanks on the light, tearing off the blanket.

"I knew it, I fucking knew it-"

Or at least he hopes this is real and not some hallucination caused by grief. Seems a little too good to be true, but he'd be willing to gamble on giving Ford sulfuric acid if he left a note saying so right about now.

Sure enough, by the time Stanley is able to yank Ford's closer sleeve up he can see a big X drawn with a sharpie over the vein along the interior of the arm where you'd have blood taken. Or shoot up heroin.

How long does he have to give the antidote? Could it be too late? That letter was probably supposed to be opened hours ago.

Whatever.

No time like the present.

He's done this plenty of times on himself, so it’s not hard.

Using one of Ford's ties out of the closet (a ridiculous thing to bring on a boat) he's able to create a tourniquet without having to go back to the bathroom.

The cap gets removed with his teeth and once the vein is visible, he carefully presses the needle in under the skin before pushing down the plunger and injecting whatever the weird black medication is.

Only after putting the needle aside does he run off to get dressings and gauze to patch up the injection sight and stop the bleeding. The same amount you'd expect from a live body.

A weird sense of euphoria takes hold in the time it takes to secure the gauze over the injection site with some medical tape.

And a little bit of hope.

Rightfully, he should be beyond pissed. What the hell was Ford thinking in the first place? Okay, yeah. They suck at talking, and he hadn't been the most open to Ford's previous complaints about his 'death jokes' and such.

Dark humor. But he hadn't expected Ford to do something this extreme in retaliation.

Talk about a prank war getting out of hand.

This is worse than when they got into a closet territory war in high school and it had ended with them both getting yelled at, and grounded, when some itching powder accidentally ended up in the wrong laundry.

Later he can be upset, but right now Ford will probably be waking up in enough pain over his own stupid choices. Being given CPR is a rather violent experience, his chest is going to hurt considerably for a long while.

That's revenge enough, and-

Okay, maybe you could consider this lesson learned.

Stanley is left to wait, with bated breath, for Ford to wake up.

It's pretty safe for Ford to say that this whole experience turned out to be a lot more traumatizing than it should have been.

Maybe he was a bit of a dick, planning on scaring Stanley a little, but that's all. Just a tiny scare to get his brother to stop being so-

Difficult, let's go with that.

Pain in the ass would be more accurate

Regardless, absolutely nothing had gone to plan and it had very nearly ended in the worst possible way. Him dead, and Stanley heart broken.

What was supposed to happen was pretty simple.

Starting with sending the text, which Stanley would get above deck. Meanwhile, below deck, Ford would cast the spell meant to slow his pulse to an unsteady rate on top of accelerating his breathing. Mimicking something close to a heart attack.

Just for a little scare, with no real consequences.

Then Stanley would come downstairs, freak out, but follow the procedure.

Which is when he would have found the letter, stopping the whole scene before everything got so out of hand. Easy.

But, no.

The text hadn't gone through, because their signal was spotty at best out here.

No problem, because the spell does technically leave a window before putting you into stasis.

Or, it’s supposed to.

Thirty-two and a half seconds isn't nearly enough time to do anything useful, as Ford found out the hard way.

The results were him being left waiting on the floor for Stanley to find him and being left fully aware of every second without being able to do anything to stop it.

Having chest compressions done when your heart is fine, just old, is not fun. Very not fun. One of the more painful experiences he can admit to participating in.

This whole thing, in fact, is up there with one of the top five worst moments in his life.

All because Stanley wouldn't listen!

No, it's because you’re an idiot who seems to only know how to hurt your own brother-

Shut up!

That's not helping anything.

The slow-to-restart heart rate, which never fully stopped, is more painful because of the time left lying around. Not a surprising response to his apparent death, but-

Two broken ribs, and some pretty bad bruising, but otherwise physically he'll be fine.

Just as soon as every vein stops burning from the antidote.

Truly that's a just punishment for the time he's left waiting after feeling the injection up until he's able to breathe and move again.

There is a lot that he could unpack here, but that would involve facing everything that he just caused. Which is terrible.

Better to focus on the one damn good thing to come out of this whole mess.

Stanley loves him.

Not only in the 'brotherly love' kind of way, but it certainly sounded like it had been implied romantically, hadn't it?

The spell or the cold he'd been experiencing couldn't have made up a hallucination like that.

It's logical if you think about it.

Stanley was under the impression he was dead, so why not own up to all kinds of gross and sappy crap? Taking time to mourn everything that was, could have, and is.

Brother, best friend, and-

Lover is a rather big leap to make from some simple implications on their own, but-

Was it two or three hours of straight-up cuddling and holding hands?

That might be as much evidence as Stanley would ever willingly provide without being physically tortured out of it.

Knowing that his own feelings are returned is actually worse than being trapped inside your own skin, because what the hell is he supposed to do with this information?

If they can't talk about Stanley no longer making jokes, how is he supposed to bring this up in a way that doesn't make his brother jump off the boat to drown?

Ford can't help but let out a quiet pained groan with the first gasp of air, taking away the option of saying something first thing.

It's better than screaming, which is what he feels like doing from the pain.

Not the first time an experiment resulted in such poor results, it'll be fine.

"Stanley," is the first thing Ford forces himself to say just as soon as it’s not going to come out sounding too pained. As if either of them needs to feel worse at the moment.

Stan hadn't so much as gotten up off the bed after dressing the injection. He brought up a hand to steady Ford when he tried to sit up too fast. "Woah, take it easy there, Sixer. The world's not going anywhere."

Now is not the time for jokes, Stanley. This isn't funny.

His brother’s ability to compartmentalize traumatic events and the emotions associated with them is astounding. Must be a shared trait.

Trying to talk is like swallowing tacks but he managed to make a motion towards the water bottle they kept hanging from a hook above the bedside table halfway between their bunks.

Relief was about all Stanley could feel getting up only enough to grab the water bottle for Ford before settling back next to him on the bed.

He's still cold, but very much alive.

It's visible in the tense set of Ford's shoulders when he's awake, the crease and possibly only wrinkle on his whole stupid perfect face between his brow from worrying or fretting over something, and the strong grasp around the bottle when taking a drink.

It's almost enough to make him cry again, except Ford is awake now, so he keeps a better lid on those feelings by shoving them back in a closet. Hugging Ford as soon as he's had a drink also allows for a good expression of his worries while actively hiding any stupid emotions (or tears) his face could be doing against his will.

No matter how much it physically hurts (maybe at least one of those ribs is broken, rather than cracked) Ford wholeheatedly returns it while trying to lubricate his mouth and throat enough to say something, anything, useful.

"Did it work at least? Do you understand now how physically upsetting it is to have you faking health scares? That pure terror is what I feel every single time, regardless of if you’re kidding. It's not funny." His voice is still ruined and dry with an edge of ache, but audible.

Stan lets out a dry chuckle, but it's forced and tight. "Yeah, yeah. Alright, you got me. But for the record, I knew it was a sham. I could smell it from a mile away!"

Both eyes are also a little dry from the extensive time spent open up until Stan closed them, which gives a good excuse for why he blinks at Stan like an idiot.

What, does he think I'm stupid?

Sure, Stanley seemed fooled for a while, but the last several hours of panic and grieving-

He doesn't know.

Oh.

Well, that's. A perfectly rational assumption given that's what the letter said, the spell was supposed to end in unconsciousness in a form of slowed metabolism and heart rate in a form of intense hibernation.

"I was awake." The reaction is immediate feeling the hand on either shoulder tighten momentarily with several emotions passing over Stanley's face too fast to read.

Panic is all he catches before its smothered with the rest.

Shit. Shit. Shit.

Well, that is almost worse than Ford being dead, because what the hell is he supposed to do now?

They're three hours from port, without anyone around, and no internet connection.

Ford could easily kill him and no one would ever know the difference.

Because that is certainly what's about to happen. He knows, he heard, he saw for fucks sake.

If it wasn't for the physical and literal beating Ford would have already had him in a headlock on the floor.

Watching Stanley physically, and not so subtly, recoil is heartwrenching and Ford won't stand for seeing any more pain on his brother’s face.

There has been enough of that in one lifetime, and tonight.

"Hey, I'm not upset." He has to physically stop Stanley from getting up off the bed by grabbing one shoulder and the closer hand tightly, pulling him back to sit again.

This might be the absolute most embarrassing moment of his whole life.

Worse than the teasing they got as a pair over Ford's kissing bot in high school, which previously held the top spot.

Maybe I should just throw myself overboard to get away from this conversation.

Sure, I'm not dead, but living with 'being let down easy' and then everything spiraling into the most awkward friend zone of all time is much worse.

Death would be kinder.

Stan's whole face flushes bright red but otherwise his expression remains mostly neutral and steeled waiting for whatever comes next. Though its still tempting to run.

Very, very tempting.

This is terrifying, but not nearly as scary as thinking Stanley was going to do something drastic while left to his own devices. In comparison, this is easy.

If you ignore the fact nothing has ever been easy for them.

"I'm, you could say that- I understand." What the fuck was that? He tries again, pushing on because that didn't make any sense. "I mean, I've visited more dimensions then I can count, I'm certainly not- I've grown out of my own reservations, so you could say. But, obviously, I never thought..." He does another lame motion with their linked hands, hoping Stan will read his mind and end this painful moment.

Okay, now this is definitely a hallucination triggered by some sort of mental lapse or stroke.

Ford being dead absolutely did get to him.

Enough to make up a whole letter and shoot up a corpse with some random chemical and now some sick hallucination.

That seems more likely than what Ford is trying to imply or suggest.

But the hand in his, with six fingers enveloping Stan's five, certainly feels real.

And there is the small, helpful, argument-nagging details coming from the back of his head that Ford never actually pissed himself or anything like most dead people do.

Stanley must have picked up the habit of laughing when he's nervous over the last several decades because, from Ford's perspective, nothing about this conversation is funny.

It's very serious and raw, so why the hell is he laughing so hard?

At least he isn't pulling away. That's good?

"For fucks sake, Stanley, can you take anything seriously for one whole minute? Why the hell do I even fancy you? You’re an ass!"

"Fancy me, what are you, a British nark?" Jesus, Stanley can barely breathe trying to calm down but doesn't let Ford pull his hand away an inch.

"I'm going to kill you, just as soon as I can breathe without my whole chest convulsing, I'm going to-"

"Oh, I'll show you being unable to breathe alright." He does not know where the boldness comes from exactly, probably the high from the recent near-death experience, but either way he snatches Ford by the shoulder with his free hand to pull him over into a proper kiss.

He ignores how it tastes of stale water and snot.

[certifiedlovergirlsstuff]

Hiii I have a request!! Ok it’s kinda long cause it’s all a dream I had

Jake sully x reader

Ok let’s say reader and jake were married before everything (when he was still human) and she got knocked up by him and lates say like in the movie jake falls for neytiri and reader finds out and during the war reader gets injured and they take her to eywa, eywa saves her baby but it’s transformed to a Navi baby (let’s say it’s neteyam) while reader is stuck still being human so yk Jake and neytiri takes care of the kid it’s angsty especially with neteyams death

hey bestie, so i saw that you sent this same exact request to another writer(same exact wording as well). was thinking about not posting it now, but i wrote this at work and finished it so you’re getting two versions. but not very happy about this IMO, not very nice to go to different writers so you can get more/different versions of your request

pairing: jake sully x human fem!reader wc: maybe almost 1k warnings: blood, infidelity, mentions of pregnancy

masterlist / jake sully

this trip to pandora was pretty much your's and jake's honeymoon. away from home and family, now living on a foreign planet surrounded by scientists and the military. dream destination spot.

"this place is marvelous. a true beauty." in awe while the helicopter flew your small group over the pandorian forest. the lush green of the thriving trees mixed with the spectrum of colors was outstanding. only used to the muted palette of your dying earth.

jake sat beside you with his hand in yours, being oddly quiet for the chatter-mouth he normally is. "everything okay. handsome?" leaning into his space even though you have radios to hear each other.

jake looked away from the jungle and peered at you with shallow eyes. "yeah. yeah, all good."

-

two days after the ride they set jake up to test his avatar. he went into a pod structure and then about an hour later you saw him as a nine-foot blue-striped alien with feline features. his human features still showed through, your jake staying present.

when he came back to your shared quarters the both of you got handsy and frisky, acting like a pair of teenagers. the next morning both were naked and awoken by a loud pounding on your door.

"let's go jarhead! don't have all day!"

groans from jake and light giggles from you. he rolls over to press multiple kisses scattered over your face until he leaves a deep and final kiss upon your lips.

"i love you." his sparkling blues looked over your face. he steals an encore kiss, "I'll see you later." and he grabs his clothes from the floor before getting into his wheelchair.

"i love you too. be safe." called to him before the door shut closed.

-

"you're pregnant." jaw dropped involuntarily. "are- are you serious? i- I mean, are you sure?" your heart pitched up in speed on the machine.

max nodded while keeping a neutral expression. "I'm sure. three months along."

your hands cupped over your mouth as your vision blurred with tears, "holy shit."

"is... is that a good holy shit? or a bad holy shit?" max stepped forward while clinging to his clipboard.

a nod of your head, "a good holy shit. a very good holy shit."

later that night when jake returned from his training you broke the wonderful news.

"you serious?" and he sounded the farthest from happy. you faltered for a second before bouncing back. "yeah, max said I'm three months along. isn't this exciting! we can start a family on a thriving planet-"

"and start one on an alien world where everything is deadly. everything is dangerous here. the plants, animals, the locals! the natives hate us and they are barely warming up to me with these hours of training. a kid is not safe here!" jake's voice rose to a sharp yell causing you to flinch in both shock and fear.

"well, we'd- we'd keep them in hell's gate until then. wait until their of age." trying to get jake to warm up to the concept just a little. "aren't- aren't you at least a- a little happy? you're gonna be a father!"

you wrapped your arms around your elbows, protecting yourself from any harsh words to be thrown. jake scoffed while shaking his head.

"no. i'm not. my father was shitty, treating my brother with his respect while I was just dirt. now I'm gonna end up repeating that cycle!" rubbing his hands over his face in stress.

you jumped quickly to his defense. "no you're not. you'll be a great father, gentle and caring. i know it, they'll love you." setting slow steps toward jake, stretching a hand out to comfort him.

-

four months have passed. you were showing more each week and even found out it was a boy. jake was still training with the omatikaya clan to gain their trust. having two separate lives, exploring the world of pandora as one of the people, and at night he's back in his human body that’s getting weaker each day. it's caused the two of you to hit a rocky patch in your new marriage.

jake barely spoke to you when he came to bed, still giving his touches but those have been lessening each night. he can’t keep eye contact with you now, you miss gazing into his clear eyes as you get lost in dreams. he would avoid any of your questions about his day, especially ones that involved her.

that gut feeling told you he didn't love you anymore. ever since the pregnancy announcement he's been completely different. it caused tears to sting your eyes when you think about the possibility he fell in love with her, dreams about her while he’s beside you.

"jake?" calling his name before he could slip away from the day. he stopped just before the door, keeping his back to you.

"do- do you still love me? cause if you don't just- just tell me. it's breaking my heart to just take this silent treatment, having you slowly retreat from me. just tell me you don't love me, that you love her now. just tell the truth." cracked voice and hiccuping breathes. you thought you were on the verge of passing out with your ragged inhales.

he still didn't bother looking at you. if he did you would see how his eyes are screwed shut and his mouth twisted in a grimce. small tears staining his skin as he replied in a cool and collected voice.

"i don't love you anymore and i'm sorry." jake left before you could say anything, leaving you to sob alone and hold your bump in a cradle.

-

a week later all hell broke loose for every species on pandora. a war between the greedy corporations and the locals of the planet. you, max, and trudy helped free grace, norm, and jake from their cell. it was a race against time, too much happening at once to process the damage taken.

both you and grace were shot, losing blood and slowly dying. jake said he was gonna take the both of you to the spirit tree to have mo'at save the three of you.

"it's gonna be okay, baby. everything is gonna be okay." jake's voice broke as his hands caressed your paling face. tear rolling in drops to his cheeks. you tried smiling for him, showing you were fine.

"it's okay, handsome. just save the baby. be his father." jake sobbed, "i- I can't do- do this without you."

you shushed him while running a heavy hand over his head, "yes you can. you have people around you and- and you have neytiri. someone who loves you." jake scrunched his face, 'i'm sorry, baby. so so sorry." giving a rock to your body.

your skin was feeling colder and you could feel your heart slowing. "jake... can i- can I have a- a kiss? for goodbye?"

"you're not leaving. you'll be okay." his thumb smoothing over your skin. eyes dimming in shine. "of course,' words getting breathy, "I still want a kiss, handsome." sleepy eyes taking in all of your husband's details. for the final time.

jake stared into your shrinking pupils before leaning down so his lively lips connected with your bloody ones. "I'll always love you, jake sully." whispered to his lips with your last breath.

-

almost a month after the fire had settled, most of the humans were taken back to earth, and the clans began rebuilding. jake is now the lead for the people of the omatikaya clan. toruk makto gone until he is needed again.

jake was out by a stream collecting fish for the communal meal later that night. the quiet always helped him at times and allowed him to reminisce on the past. flashes of your face or smile, small bites of your laughter ringing within his ears. thinking of how he should’ve treated you better, wishing he could have a second chance at human life with you.

jake knew he didn't deserve your final words, but he held them close in his heart.

"ma jake." neytiri's soothing voice filled the silent air. he turned on his heel and smiled as she came closer. "yawne," holding a hand out for her to grab. he pressed three kisses upon her knuckles.

neytiri's lips parted in a smile. "i have blessed news, ma jake." he waited for her to continue, eyes taking in her glowing face.

"i am with child."

and instead of that gut-wrenching feeling he was expecting to feel the first time this news dropped, it was only solemn. a sad happiness crashing over him in waves.

but he didn't need to force a smile, it came with ease was he whispered, "that's- that's wonderful news."

-

a/n: i fridged the reader i know! (if you don't know where fridging a female character came from look it up)

jake sully taglist: @singular-itae / @websterss

[mrs-gauche]

Hey guys! 🙂 It's the end of 2024 and I realized today I haven't posted on here since finishing Veilguard.

Well, to make it short.. since then, I've spent a lot of time thinking about it, replaying it, watching my friends who are DA casuals and not into fandom play it (which was very enlightening but also hilarious 😂), so now.. I feel like I'm at a point where I know exactly what my issues with this game are and I've made peace with it. I still love Dragon Age! And I love parts of Veilguard and I had a ton of fun playing it (though probably for all the wrong reasons 🥲). When I first finished the game, I cried tears of happiness that after ten years my favorite character actually somehow got a beautiful Happy Ending and closure, but also tears of sorrow that this marks the end of the story that was set up back in 2009.. and tears of mourning that this story had all the potential to be so so SO much more.

Dragon Age is a very weird franchise in that all the games have been, in many ways, vastly different from each other and to be a fan of the whole series means to recognize all its flaws and changes, but still loving it because of its unique core elements that glue it together and make it so special. I could sit here for hours trying to put into words what I think went wrong with Veilguard, but I know many people have already done so far more eloquently than I ever could. This blog was always meant to be just a positive little corner to share my love for these games and silly VA stuff with other people and I'm sure I will eventually reblog all the two million posts I've liked over the past month, both positive and critical. But for now and the new year, I want to focus my time and energy on just being creative, getting back to drawing and trying to realize ideas about DA I've had for a looong time and that's my way of "emotionally recovering" (that sounds so dramatic 😂). 💜

With that being said... What a crazy decade year it has been for me personally in this fandom... So I want to look back at it, just some rambling under the cut, 'cause I'm a little sentimental now, I guess. 🥲

Before I created this blog, I was mostly just a lurker on here for many years, despite being a fan of BioWare games since.. uh.. forever? lol But I was always waaay too insecure about my English, let alone my own art. I also have social anxiety, so maybe that was part of the reason why I decided to finally create this blog at a time when the fandom was at its most dormant? lol (There is also a whole separate post for another day about how Mass Effect influenced me personally and how it made my biggest dream come true, the enormous honor to voice a few NPCs in (the German version of) Andromeda. Still the craziest thing to ever happen to me. lol)

So, seeing all the crazy excitement and the fandom fully revived this year and all these months leading up to Veilguard was both incredibly overwhelming, but also the most fun I've ever had as being part of a fandom! This year also marked the first time I posted my own art online and I can't even put into words how crazy it was seeing the response to that and I still can't believe that Trick Weekes not only commented on but also reposted it, that is still f*cking insane to me and I'll never forget the morning I woke up to see that. lmao

So yeah.. THAT happened. Followed by what I think has to be one of the weirdest, craziest marketing campaigns I've ever seen. lol Going back to 2022, we truly had it all...

A title announcement on a random Thursday that was probably done so that it would not be confused with the Netflix series announced a few days later. A tie-in comic more than a year before release that was... a little pointless? lol A vinyl collection that spoiled the composers a year before release. A title change literally two days before the first trailer. A reveal trailer that left many in shock because of its tone shift and complete lack of the former title character. A line of Game Informer articles that left us often times with more questions than answers. Every single article being deleted the very next month due to GI shutting down. An actor panel at SDCC happening right as Sag Aftra went on strike. A "fandom" party that had nothing to do with Dragon Age. Jason Derulo. An artbook that accidentally revealed the release date with its pre-order, which was then deleted. Twice. Memes about roadmaps. A second trailer that in hindsight probably should've been the first one. An audio drama by a different writing team with some baffling (but funny) lore mistakes. A combat showcase starting off with a disclaimer that "footage had been edited due to spoilers"... followed by THE biggest spoiler in literally the first ten seconds. The first IGN video with super spoilery dev commentary. A hand-on preview event with 140 people leading to spoilers galore... Did I mention spoilers? lol

That was when I stopped looking at stuff online, so I don't know what happened after that, but WOW, what a crazy ride that was. 🥲 Truly a DA4 Summer to remember and I'm unironically so grateful to have witnessed it in real time with all of you. 😂

Then finally, after ten flippin years of tinfoiling, speculating, reading crazy development stories and clowning around at every gaming live event, Veilguard was finally released and it will probably go down as the most emotionally charged Halloween of my life. lmao

Then it was time to actually play The Veilguard. Which took me about a month.

A month filled with what I can only describe as a crazy rollercoaster of conflicting emotions. Aside from everything having to do with Solas, I'd say my personal highlights of the entire experience was seeing Felassan (I screamed), the PHOTO MODE and even one hilarious "breaking the fourth wall" moment, where I would frantically run around in Elgar'nan's trap in "Blood of Arlathan", to a point where I would yell at the screen "SOLAS, I COULD USE SOME HELP NOW, HELLO???" and hearing his flippin voice literally two seconds later going "Yes, you called?" and I freaked out so hard I dropped the controller. 😂😂😂 Also, as someone who romanced Alistair in my first playthrough of DAO and brought him to the final battle not knowing he would sacrifice himself, you can imagine my flashbacks when I saw Davrin dying at Tearstone.. who I had romanced. 💀 Or the Dark Ritual flashbacks when I saw Morrigan wanting to talk to me right before the final mission. lol Getting the Felassan rune actually made me tear up a little. There are many little moments like that that I loved or that made me emotional, but ultimately.. Veilguard is a game that, for all the amazing graphics and cutscenes and flashy combat.. the more I think about the story and the lore (or lack thereof), the more I end up confused and trying to figure out what it is that's breaking the immersion to me in a way that the previous games didn't.

But anyway... I finished Veilguard, though the DA craziness of 2024 wasn't over just yet and I didn't know that the best was yet to come in December. lol

So.. Years ago, one of the main reasons I created this blog was to make silly "appreciation posts" about Solas' German VA and ramble on about my love for his performance.. I even remember making a post on here like three years ago talking about how I would sadly never EVER get a chance to meet his VA personally, because that man never ever goes to any fan conventions or public events. lol

Well... GUESS WHO I MET AT THE GERMAN COMIC CON EARLIER THIS MONTH!!!

YES GUYS, without sounding like a weirdo (because despite my obsession with voice acting, I don't care for VAs social accounts or anything beyond their work as a VA), but after years of jokingly referring to this blog as the "Ozan Ünal Appreciation Blog", and kinda the reason I made this blog in the first place, I finally met the man himself and it was probably the best friggin fan experience I could've wished for. 🥲🥲🥲

See, I've met a lot of different VAs at Cons before, who were all super nice and awesome to talk to.. but let me tell you, this guy has such an incredibly contagious positive attitude and charm!! lol Me and my friend were literally the last to stand in line at his booth before the event closed, there were TONS of people (there were quite a few VAs at the Con, but his booth had BY FAR the most people in line the whole day lol) and yet he made sure to take the time to talk with every single person, asking questions, was genuinely interested in our opinions, joking around and just generally SO FRIGGIN NICE. And he's just a very chill and funny dude? lol

And it was so funny, because there were SO many people and yet apparently I was the only person that day to talk to him about DA and Solas and he was SO excited about it 😂😂😂 (I bet like 90% of the fans talked to him about his VA work on Vampire Diaries, The Big Bang Theory, Gravity Falls and Nicholas Hoult lol).

And of course, because DA4 happened so recently, it was still fresh in his memory. He told us that he even watched some Let's Plays and asked what we thought of the game and I'm still laughing so hard, because he was literally like "Oh yeah, the lore is MASSIVE and it was so overwhelming and I could barely keep up with it, the whole time I had no idea what I was talking about.. like, what exactly IS Mythal??" LMAOOO His performance for Solas was so good and so convincing and now I'll always have to picture him standing in the recording booth, no flippin clue what he's actually talking about. lmaoo And then my friend was pointing at me like "She's actually a walking lore encyclopedia" and then he was like "Oh, you should've been in the booth then!" lol

And I'm actually quite upset on his behalf now, because he also told us how, when the English VAs were officially announced, he had actually made a post on social media about how he was returning for Solas in DA4 and how he got in so much trouble for that because EA told him they were going to make an official announcement.... AND THEN THEY NEVER DID??? Like, I was desperately waiting for an announcement about the German voice cast and they simply never made one, we literally had to wait for the credits to be published? (Also, the German and French version have only one female and one male voice for Rook and no one knows what happened there, we tried to contact them about it, but no response so far?? It's like they don't even care.) That's EA for you...

Anyway, we then chatted a bit more about his other work and stuff and he recorded an audio for me (I actually got him to say the "Vir shiral malasa, bellanaris" GUYS AND IT SOUNDS SO GOOD, like I was so nervous, asking "Could you do elven..?" and he was like "Sure, it's been a year, might be a bit rusty" and then he just knocked it out of the park?? lmao So I have both Lavellan's AND Solas' WEDDING VOWS NOW. 😭😭😭❤❤❤❤❤)

So yeah, that was my meeting with Ozan flippin Ünal and what an awesome guy and amazing VA and what an "epic conclusion" of this year of the Dragon (Age) 2024. lol And the timing feels so strange now, because, in a way, it feels kinda like coming full circle?

Like I said in the beginning, for years I was always mainly a lurker in the fandom and the reason why I created this blog was to join in on the hype/speculation train for DA4 and to talk about Solas' German and French voices and share my silly edits and gifs. And now I've played Veilguard AND I've met Ozan Ünal.. both things that, at some point, I wasn't sure were ever going to happen.....

So.. In terms of my fandom experience, this year was crazy and whatever 2025 brings and whatever happens with this blog or DA in general... I love this fandom (especially my little Solasmancer bubble <3) and I love Dragon Age and whoever's reading this, here's to 2025 and I hope you have a Happy New Year!! 💜💜💜💜💜

[mottsfiddle]

Hazbin Hotel Murder Drones AU: Master Post

I love both shows so much and someone on twitter suggested that my Alastor w/ mic-tail looked like a Murder Drone and I just was compelled to draw it.

It's very indulgent and I'm sure some characters would fit better with others, but this is what I came up with and I'm running with it! (If anyone wants to take their own spin on it, please lemme know I wanna see)

It's a Radioapple AU, with minor Adamsapple

It's also got flavors thrown in from a few popular theories

Character sheets, art and more below

Alastor is the Uzi Character, I vibe a lot with the idea of Alastor in the Eldritch!Form

A normal worker drone infected with Absolute Solver (which is Roo in this au!) Yes I gave the microphone teeth. I am so sorry. I imagine these versions of the characters are adults, instead of high schoolers to more vibe with Hazbin's character pool.

Here's a fully rendered art I did inspired from Episode 7. I really wanted to draw the lantern in the mic-tail's mouth

Lucifer is in N's position

An outcast among the Disassembly Drones. He has the biggest crush on Adam at the beginning of the story, but eventually develops feelings for Alastor

I like to think the Cyn in this au which is Eve/Roo gave him more wings then everyone else because he was nice to her.

Also look at him, he's baby, I wanna million of him

Adam takes V's position

He fucking LOVES being a disassembly drone, but after Al and Lu drag him into things he very quickly adapts and eventually becomes a part of the team. He ends up becoming the cool guy at the Worker Drone Colony

I went though a few incarnations before I found my final design for Adam:

Lastly for characters whom have art that I have finished here's Lute in the 'J' position.

She's sent down with Adam and Lucifer, and later is helping the Tessa character (who is Lilith). She's definitely the least fleshed out at the moment, and I might branch away from MD canon with her, but I do like her coming back with Lilith.

Like Adam figuring the exact style took a few tries:

Other cast members I have worked out include:

Tessa - Lilith

Cyn/Absolute Solver - Eve/Roo

Alice - Pentious (my beloved snake boi I'm so sorry maybe I'll save you in the au somehow)

Beau - Frank

[skyfallscotland]

Hi! I'm Amy (She/Her)

I write fanfic, which you probably already know if you came here from my AO3 page (where I go by hurricane).

Currently I'm writing for Fourth Wing.

My favourite colour is green, I love Taylor Swift and Fall Out Boy, and I hate spicy food (but love spicy books).

Below you'll find links to my work/fandom masterposts & some FAQ

✧ Fandoms/Works

Fourth Wing

ACOTAR

✧ FAQ

Do you have an update schedule?

Not really. Sometimes it's once a week, sometimes twice, sometimes not for weeks (though I try to only do that in between projects), it really depends on the hyperfixation.

How do you write so much?

I get super anxious about starting things and not finishing them (and then having people asking me about them) so I try to write ahead before posting, so it isn't always in real time. I do however write on average (based on year to date) 2.5k words a day, which I guess is a lot for most people? The simple answer is I don't work full time and I try to write everyday.

What's your writing process?

I prefer writing either in the morning or later at night. I always write in bed, propped up against the headboard. Sometimes if I'm home alone I'll venture out to the kitchen and feel supremely uncomfortable for no reason, so I quickly return to my low-lit cave.

I just write what I'm inspired to write when I'm inspired to write it. I've learned not to force it, that just makes writer's block worse!

Do you have any writing advice?

I do! I get asked this a lot, so I wrote a masterpost: Part One—the advice & Part Two—the resources

Can I bind your fic?

At the moment my stance on fic binding is that it’s fine if it’s only for personal use and not for sale, profit, distribution or commission. Please don’t use commercial companies like print houses (due to legal issues). I feel very strongly about fanworks being and remaining free, and the way fic-binding has been commodified recently worries me 💖

Do you allow translations of your work?

You’re bilingual, that’s so cool! I appreciate you asking 💗 I believe in fanfiction being accessible to everyone. I would request however at this time that any translations of my work be kept on AO3—there’s a checkbox you can tick to link it as a translation.

Can I use a scenario in your fic for my own or write something inspired by your fic?

Mostly, yeah. See my in-depth answer/thoughts on this here.

Can I use your characters for a fic of my own?

I respectfully ask you not to at this time. All my original characters from my series' are very close to my heart, especially Remi (the one people ask about the most) and their stories are not yet finished! So there's more you guys don't know about them. At the moment, I'm a bit sensitive about it and I'd like to keep them close. If you do still write something inspired by them, it's also highly likely I won't read it, at least until I'm finished the series. Thanks for understanding.

What else are you working on?

I have a dozen fic ideas for Fourth Wing, at least four of which I've already written bits and pieces of while working on Basgiath (Remi's Version). I don't run on any kind of schedule though, they'll see the light of day when they do and if they don't, then they won't!

I also have two original novels I'm writing, one of which I hope to finish in the next couple of months (it's in the plotting stage!) 🥰

Will you ever come back to ACOTAR?

I plan to at some point, hopefully this year! I just want to get through some of these Fourth Wing ideas while I'm still inspired and eventually I'll come back to write Callie's story and maybe some Feysand, or an Eris fic. It's tough because I've been writing that series in third and my FW works have me in first person mode. I find it very hard to switch between them.

Do you have any fic recs?

I do! Only for Fourth Wing at the moment, you can see them all here. I'm slowly adding to the list/collection 🌟

Where do you get your dividers?

They're mostly all @saradika-graphics 🖤

[jojo-oliver]

How to tumblr for artists… my own version

A collection of things that have been working for me, but may not work for everyone

~~~ your posts ~~~

!!!reblog your own stuff!!! you need to reblog your own stuff, there is nothing morally wrong with reblogging your own stuff regularly. in fact, it is morally right to allow the chance for more people to see your artwork.

~~~ queue it!! ~~~ my queue is 500 posts strong. maybe don't try to make your queue hundreds of posts strong in the same day omg but like… once every month or two i'll go through my whole blog and just scroll and "add to drafts" to every one of my own posts i have. then i'll use the "mass post editor" to add content warning tags. and add to queue, and shuffle. and then I write down what the date was for when I last added my posts to be reblogged on queue. this is helped by turning on timestamps for posts in tumblr "dashboard preferences" settings.

queueing is necessary and life saving for me. It takes out so much work with decision fatigue and the anxiety around posting. It also guarantees that even if I suddenly need time off or away from my phone, I don't just disappear and lose all traction. It also breaks the instant-gratification cycle that you expect when you finish an artwork. It's hard to keep creating when you post something and, when you're expecting to get that gratification, you get none... If you queue your new artwork to come out at a later time, you've separated that expectation - with time. It hurts less and contributes to a more consistent gratification thing instead of peaks and troughs.

~~~ tag ya stuff ~~~ when you're making a new post, the first 20 tags are what gets put into the searchable tags. do not feel shame for using lots of tags. shame is the mind-killer. tags are hard. hard to know what to tag a post with. hard to remember the tags. so I found some ways to help myself. maybe they'll help you too. dedicate some time towards just figuring out what tags you want to use. i have a list in my phone notes that i add tags to and reference whenever i'm making a new post. i have the phone right beside the laptop while i'm tagging so that i can just look at it and scroll. tags are the only way for people to find your artwork, other than people manually coming to your blog because they saw you somewhere. there is no algorithm. posting without tags, until you have an established fanbase, is throwing something into the void.

When I'm doing tag research, I look at what people seem to use - when you put something in the search bar, tumblr recommends you some that have a higher following, typically. Looks like this on desktop:

if you like one tag, look at what other people who use that tag also tag their posts with. Observe and learn how this tag is used. search through a bunch of them and write them down.

here's what i got in my notes, for the specific kind of art I post and look for:

these tags are sort of specific to me and the kind of art I make. You'll want to research your own tags, but this is an example of how I keep them organized to make posting more effective. I generally only write down a tag when it's got more than 2k followers. You might be tempted to use the tags with millions of followers, but I've actually found those a lot less functional for small artists. If your stuff doesn't immediately get a bunch of notifications, you're drowned out and pushed to the bottom much faster. But the bigger tags are better than no tags, so I keep them if I can't think of anything else to tag something with.

~~~ post at the right times….? ~~~

fridays and saturdays is when I post fresh new things... usually. every website has it's own peak hours, and you can find those hours in many different online articles that try to sell you social media growth services. tumblr is unique in having later hours.

here's some random graph from google images:

please don't over think this. please don't let this consume the idea of when to post, preventing you from posting at all. it doesn't mean too much - if you post during very active hours, maybe your art would just be pushed down the feed faster. if you post at the end of hours, maybe everyone's going to sleep… if you post at inactive hours, maybe there's less 'competition'… if you post at the beginning of active hours, maybe that's just more time for your post to circulate for the day, if you have enough people reblogging it once it drops....

this also is in EST. So fuck the other time zones, I guess. I'm over here in europe knowing that the "best" time to post would be like 2-3am or something. It's like this for most english-speaking majority sites - higher traffic in north american time zones.

it's also worth mentioning that this is scattered as heck, compared to other social media sites. and it's not like, the activity times of your followers. it's not the best time to post for your niche. this is just tumblr, broadly. all of tumblr.

~~~ Plan ahead for annual dates ~~~

Your artwork will get more circulation if it's posted on a celebratory day. You could just put them on your calendar and if you're wondering what to make, look on the calendar for what's coming soon. For example, asexual awareness day, trans day of visibility, location-specific holidays, etc. Here's my phone notes thing with my own recorded annuals:

I got these dates from googling and reading different articles, but I find that I still miss dates, and then I add them for next year. If you know of some I missed, tell me and I'll add them please <3

~~~ reblog other people's stuff ~~~

tumblr is sorta about ecosystems. things get passed around within groups of people that are all following eachother. to enter this ecosystem, you must engage and reblog other people's stuff too.

if you reblog other artists' stuff, sometimes they'll come over and reblog your stuff too. sometimes they'll follow you back. this is called becoming a mutual. I'll search specific tags for the kinds of people I want to follow and the kind of art I like - those are listed in the screenshot of my tag note under "Tags for finding new people".

I see a lot of blogs out there that are very clean, posts are tagless, and are only for the artists' content. like scrolling through a portfolio. I imagine this is good for people who are migrating to tumblr but already have their own established fanbase from elsewhere.

you don't need to do reblog other people's stuff on your art blog, you can do this on a separate blog. but if the two don't look very closely correlated, it's hard to tell who you are when you're interacting. and hard to make sure people know that you are the same person as your art blog. and you gotta remember to promote yourself on your personal blog.

~~~ have an art tag ~~~

make your blog easy to search!

if i go to your blog, and you've written 'artist' or 'sometimes art' in your bio, i wanna see it… it make me so sad when i don't get to see it. i want to reblog it. please let me reblog it :(

to make a tag on your own blog searchable, you don't need to repost it to add a tag. you don't even need to reblog it. you can actually just go back to the original post and edit it to add your tag. I've seen post people just have their art tag be something like #(blogname)art . you can see my own in my tags image above. if it's very unique, then it'll work tumblr-wide. I think that's good, since the tumblr search function is really weird. Otherwise it should still work if it's not entirely unique, people just have to make sure they're searching specifically your blog to see only your stuff.

I like to have a link in my pinned post where people can click to have immediately searched for my art tag. Convenience is king. Keep in mind that most people are on mobile, and if something isn't immediately clickable, they often won't find it.

~~~ be consistent and be patient ~~~

!!!this time will pass anyway!!! how many notes you have is not correlated with how good you are as an artist. wanting to earn something from your art means you essentially have two jobs. two potentially full time jobs. this shit's difficult. most of the job is promoting yourself. don't undersell how hard it is to do… don't feel bad for not immediately succeeding. I would write about how hard it's been to promote myself, but it would just be long and sad I think.

This isn't a full guide, please feel free to add more!!

I'm sure in another year I'll disagree with a lot of this, it will become irrelevant with time, and I'll have a lot of different opinions. Chip in and share what you've been doing? Teach me? This is very overwhelming. Don't do it all at once, just like, try one thing at a time, and see how it works for you. Your niche might be different. One size does not fit all. If you're confused about some of the things I talk about in here, you might be on mobile. I do most of my queueing and posting from the desktop browser version.

I will update this with more as things change, but I think you'll have to click through to see the updated post

[suzukiblu]

Ko-fi thank-you sentences for @this-was-a-terrible-idea behind the cut; mirrorverse!Clark and Kon's daddy issues both get some. Full disclosure, I was trying to wrap up the fic with these sentences so I stopped counting and took a looooong time getting them done, and then I realized I had gone WELL over and there was notably more fic left to write than I'd previously realized, so yeah, haha, never mind that, apparently, I'm just posting what I was supposed to and I'll have to finish it later. I TRIED, I SWEAR. ( chrono || non-chrono )

“You mean it?” Kon asks, trying not to hate himself for it. 

“Of course I do,” Superman says, then kisses down his neck again; pets up the line of his hip again. Kon kind of wants to cry some more, but honestly doesn’t think he could if he tried. “You did so well for me. You were everything I could’ve asked for and more.” 

Never mind. Kon apparently can cry some more. 

“Thank you,” he chokes, lifting a hand to help him hide his face even as he turns it towards the mattress. Superman keeps petting him. Keeps kissing him, little scattered presses of his mouth dropped here and there against Kon’s skin. 

And keeps talking, too. 

“Oh, you’ve thanked me plenty, Kon-El,” he hums contentedly into the corner of his jaw, tracing the “S” on the shoulder of the jacket that Kon’s somehow managed not to lose, and all Kon wants is to give him everything he wants. He’s not stupid enough to do that, obviously, in the sense of if Superman asked him to kill or betray somebody for him he wouldn’t, but he is stupid enough to be in this bed with layered bruises shaped like the other's hands and mouth. Kon doesn’t bruise often, for obvious reasons. Even when someone can hit him hard enough to affect his Kryptonian biology, there’s still the TTK to get through. 

The only thing his TTK’s done since this Superman first touched him is fucking collapse, though. 

Superman traces the El crest again. Kon is very, very aware that the actual reason he never lost his jacket through the whole process of getting his brains fucked out and very literally breaking the bed is because Superman wanted him to wear that crest through that whole process. 

Wants him wearing it even now. 

Kon wants to cry about that too, and maybe does a little. Superman presses a kiss in behind his ear and slides a hand down over his stomach. Or–under it, a little more like. 

Kon’s stomach is flat, obviously. The six-pack version of “flat”, but flat. 

Superman’s hand is positioned like he’s cradling it, though. Positioned like . . . 

"You'll take care of your daddy's baby, won't you, sweetheart?” Superman murmurs, pressing another kiss to the back of Kon’s neck as he splays his big broad hand across his stomach. “Raise them to be good like you? Proud to wear my crest?” 

"Y-yes, Daddy,” Kon stutters, digging his fingers into the mattress as something painful stabs him straight through the heart. 

"That's my boy,” Superman praises with obvious satisfaction, and tugs his face to turn so he can kiss him again as he slides a hand down to hook his fingers inside his cunt. Kon whimpers into his mouth, and feels Superman smile against his own. 

It’s a long time before Superman’s done with him, again. Kon gets fucked, and kissed, and then Superman takes him to the little adjoining bathroom and fucks him again in the shower, and then he . . . then he cleans him up, to the point he even washes his fucking hair for him. Kon feels like a thing, feels like a whore, feels weak and defenseless and like–like–

Superman kisses him again as he presses their bodies back together and coaxes him into both riding his fingers and fucking his fist, into begging for more despite how sore and exhausted he is, and Kon doesn't know how he feels at all. 

He comes for it, though. 

And he kisses him back, obviously. 

Kon almost cries again when Superman dries his hair for him after they’re done. 

“Such a treasure,” Superman murmurs admiringly as he sweeps Kon's hair back off his face, sounding exactly like Clark does when he talks to Jon, and Kon does, in fact, cry a little more. Just a couple more tears, but . . . 

Superman kisses those tears off his face with a soothing hum, and Kon shudders. 

“Daddy,” he rasps hoarsely, his voice still a little too tight, and Superman kisses him again. Kisses him slow and sweet and tender, and holds him like he's something worth holding on to. Something . . . precious. 

Kon fucking hates himself. 

His TTK field still won't come back up, and he doesn't know if any part of him has even tried to compartmentalize any of this. Not even a little bit. 

Superman strokes his fingers down his stomach, lingering and possessive, and Kon shudders again. 

[bluujae]

Ａ post in which I tell you about my beloved system, which runs The Lobby

I don't feel like I gave The System enough credit in my original post on my single DR. It actually does a lot and essentially runs the entire lobby, so I'd like to expand on that.

The System is basically a very big super computer/AI. If you're any familiar with LLM models, you'll know that how 'smart' they are is measured. Like how an 8b model will always fare worse than say a 70b model. Consider The System far past anything we have in this reality. It's main purpose is to study me, and use what information it gathers to constantly construct and play skits in ways that will always be enjoyable for me.

The easiest way it can gain it's data is from something I like to call the Control Skit.

Back in my wee years of Shiftok - IknowIknowIknow - I had read somewhere that it would be easier to get to your Better CR or your waiting room if you made it closer to your Current CR. Obviously we know it's all bullshit now, but it's something that stuck with me regardless, but not in a way that makes things 'easier'. Rather, whenever I shift back, in The Lobby it's really just me running a completely identical skit to my CR/BCR. This is where The System is able to gain its data.

This is also why I can note and log things from my CR/BCR and be able to come back to them when I shift to The Lobby. For example!

Y'all already know that I love making skits based on dreams. When I have a dream I want to come back to later, or that contains something I'd like to take a better look at but woke up, I'll ask The System or Desmont to log it. If you've ever had a lucid dream, you'll know that even when you're looking at something and can control the dream-- it can still change. The System helps me get around that.

When I shift to The Lobby, I'm able to have it pull up that dream as it's own skit, and rather than things changing on a whim, it then 'finishes' these structures or objects for me in the way that I wanted, but my dream wouldn't comply with.

The System adapts, of course. People change and so do their interests and passions. I am no exception.

You'll find that even when I'm running a skit with well known characters, like my Marauder's Era skit, they might act a bit different than expected. Which is because I've more fallen in love with the idea of these characters. With the way they're portrayed in fanfiction and posts here on Tumblr. I've never picked up a Harry Potter book in my life. I couldn't tell you the deep set lore. I've seen the movies and yeah, read copious amounts of fanfiction. Things may not always be portrayed perfectly. Or maybe I’ve just fallen in love with a different version of them that exists somewhere else.

The System adapts them to my idea of them. It's built to please and exceed expectations-- and I love the damn thing for it.