#maybe i should quit writing and be a full time meme page

[osamucide]

dazai dynamics x tweets/text posts

[sempsimps]

Gregory Violet head cannons + NSFW

Season 4 of black butler has me thinking about a certain emo (Gregory not ceil but check out my friend @serve-corps if your into that) but like omfg he's so fine what for and like man wears lipstick I just he's so adorable I've never wanted to own the manga more in my life he's so- I should stop but like aaaaaa so this is head cannons mixed with actual cannon that was on the fandom wiki so that's fun I was thinking of writing a full story later but for now....

this is head cannons, and at the bottom, I'll have a warning for my nsfw thoughts. lol, just remember you're responsible for your Internet consumption, but before i get into this, it's all my opinions. Don't take it as gospel or anything like that, im having fun, alright? okay then.

Little head cannons

-he likes poetry. He gives that vibe like come on...(literally an hour later) Okay, so like, just seen a manga page of him drawing a jabberwocky around ceil like a sleep paralysis demon. a little back story on this particular poem is "a nonsensical poem about the killing of the jabberwocky" in 1871, apparently. this is very relatable to ceil and Gregory alike and like Google it for real (so like I was completely right about that and I didn't even know)

he smells like a mix of charcoal and acrylic paint like dusty but kinda nice, ya know (i go back to this further down)

-why dose he seem like he has autism, i cant explain it but, i have it to, so I'm not trying to be rude, but the bowtie he wears is like a normal tie but looser and nicer. and i hate ties, so i feel that in my soul. he also seems like he wouldn't like synthetic material idfk. also social situations suck, his voice is mostly monotone and quite, its not the typical "not understanding cues or not getting jokes" but its more like a social anxiety thing, and that's usually diagnosed with autism i think? (I'm not a doctor i don't really know. Maybe I'm projecting here a little)

-he's like defo bi or pan or perhaps an ace group. I'm not that educated on that lgbtq+ aspect apologies but that's the vibe (again, that's my opinion)

Dating head cannons male or female [brackets if pointed to someone with tits lol]

-bones. Need I say more? I like bones and rocks soooo be like, otters give him a bone (not like that-) or rocks he strikes me as a rock guy like smooth ones. idk how, but just get one he deserves it.

-painting dates if you struggle, he can easily guide you through it, his hand gently moving to help you use the right brush stroke. he's clearly more skilled in pencil/charcoal works, though we haven't seen much else [that takes skill and I take art like damn that's difficult]

-So apparently the sun and dancing makes him dizzy (it was on the fandom wiki) so definitely have water on hand and well he doesn't seem like the type to like anything plain becuse of the drink mixing so water is a no go to boring and i get that so grab one of those ball tea infusers and make flavoured water he can put the flavours in it like idk lemon slices and let it sit in the water maybe add suger (wait thats just flat lemonade lol whatever I'm a genius ik don't flatter me)

-stolen hoodie? Nah, stollen emo robe looking ass. it seems everyone in purple house has one, and well, yall could swap, or ya know, just wear his. if he has another obvious man is never seen without it, it could be a comfort for him. but like, he seems like he would have a bigger one, and it would smell so nice like charcoal and acrylic paint (that i mentioned earlier). Don't question it, but you can smell that, right? but there's a hint of passion fruit becuse he's trying for you (aw how cute) you can not tell me he doesn't like perfume and like its either passion fruit or cola adjacent like i know it probably wasn't around at the time but like you can see it (maybe i based this on a meme i found but shush)

-you paint each others nails need i say more? and even if you dont like/want to, he would just like to take time off with you to do his own or you do his. oh my god, I just remembered he wears eyeliner the same thing, but he likes you doing it. For some reason, you're better at it, and he doesn't want panda eyes.

-sneaking out at late to hide behind the boarding house, to just chill or chat, looking at the stars. It's a nice area, but yall gotta dodge the house master most of the time. Still, a little thrill never hurt nobody, just maybe given a Y or two if you're caught.

-hiding in your shoulder when the sun or people get too much to deal with. (I feel that so much)

-Gregory is a mix when it comes to pda. Overall, he doesn't like it could be a little overwhelming for him, but when yall with the other prefects, he might hold your hand, he's trying, and we love him for it.

-Gregory seems to observe his friends a lot, and so i think he truly values any relationships he has with anyone. on a whole, he usually draws people that are around him, like ceil, and i think i seen one of Lawrence. (idk i don't have the manga) so i think he would have a lot of sketches of you, be it in his work as doodles, or fully fledge charcoal drawings, maybe even a painting. but he values and enjoys being with you a lot.

-little snacks like fruit and chocolate almost like a picnic in the swan gazebo, but ya know not sharing with everyone unless Gregory wants to, also the fact your with the others in the swan gazebo is becuse, 1 your allowed to be there they've invited others before, 2 you get along with the prefects and drudges and they really don't care, 3 your either his drudge or the first two already applied before hand so you both seen no point in doing that.

okay, so i can't think of anything else wholesome to put down, and i just can't stop thinking, so now this is the warning I REPEAT NSFW BEOYNED THIS POINT!! ALSO HE IS 18-19 ACORDING TO GOOGLE

NSFW head cannons

- some general things, he's a switch or power bottom idk but i can see it so much he prefers you on top, though

-favourite body part would be chest. tits or not [but defo would love them so much like a stress toy] or the space between shoulder and neck, to hide in and bite....(he is a wolf lmao)

-right, so first off lipstick. oh my god... imagining it smeared in places and having prominent marks on your body made by him, like hickeys but removable. and like after he gives head, it would get so messed up on his face or you and just kissing him with it like that, getting some on your lips... (jesus, i need to touch grass)

-he likes art obviously, and well going back to the lipstick and hickeys, he wants to see what colour they turn, your like a brand new canvas just begging to be painted on by him, and honestly vice versa he's too pretty not to mark up..... (no comment)

-this is an all boys school they most likely don't have sex ed here and so you would have to teach him what to do but once he knows it kinda clicks right ya know [another reason i think he would just love titties becuse he wants to learn and i mean like he would get kinda fascinated with them] also he would be really sensitive in general and that's a great advantage to top (but hey you didnt hear that from me 0^0)

okay then that was that and ive run out of ideas now and i need to get this out of me ive got like 2 more things to write about this emo becuse i love and relate to him so much anyway hope that was good i try to be accurate even though this is head cannons and not real at all im still trying to be in character sorry if my writing sucks :)

[decayedhearts]

Tagged by: @muraenide thank you :3

Tagging: any moot who hasn’t been tagged yet !​​

TEN Q’S:

1. When are you usually online?  

I’m kinda online on discord most of the day, because I have it on my phone. I don’t always read messages or reply though. On tumblr I’m online on evenings, but not every day. I don’t have regular online times to be honest :)

2. What verses are you involved in outside of this page?

I have 3402384 verses in my head and not enough time to write any of them. I never counted, I don’t know :) Some are more developed, or plotted with other people, some are just extended headcanons or ideas I haven’t written down yet. I should probably do a verse page sometime, but I am not that organized~

3. What is your biggest RP pet peeve?

Character/ship policing and cancel culture. And on a less serious note, people whose thread RP replies are a summary of my initial post from their character’s perspective as exclusively internal monologue with no new actions for me to reply to in my next answer :)))) That makes me feel like I am writing a fanfiction on my own.

4. Are you drawn to specific types of muses?

Maybe? But I’ve always had quite a variety of muses in all my fandoms. I do tend to make everyone angsty and depressed headcanons though :D So maybe my type just is “secretly depressed”, and I like insane villain characters that I get cancelled for like Viserys, Ardyn, or Wen Ruohan. Oh also, male muses. I almost never write female muses.

5. Are there recurring themes in your writing that people might not notice?

Ehmm, not sure, actually. I tend to recycle tropes that I love every now and then, but those aren’t specific to me. I think with certain characters there are often themes of loneliness and accepting a bitter fate that I like to throw into my stories. But I also usually write happy endings. I always fall into the same h0rny tropes, too. Haha.

6. What are your favorite RP trends?

Meme sentences !! They’re perfect for people who are too busy for full-blown threads, they’re great ice breakers, they make good crack ship moments, they’re just awesome. Dashboard/tag games (like quizzes) are fun too! I actually also really like the icon trend. We used to RP with gigantic GIFs of various sizes haha, icons make everything look very neat.

7. What is your process for starting a new story with someone?  

Usually one of us has an idea, in my case that’s often specific scenes that I then develop a setting out of, and then we yell at each other in excitement, or we plot like mature adults (lol). Lately I have been too busy for rp threads tho, so it’s mostly just been.. memes set in specific verses.

8. How do you feel about duplicates?

I don’t mind them, I’ve always had a least a few friends who wrote the same muses as me. Sometimes it makes me insecure about my own portrayal to see others who are super amazing good at writing them, or are very active while I am super slow, but that is 100% my issue and nobody else’s. I would never want to discourage someone from writing the same (canon) muse as me, and I don’t avoid them either.

9. How long have you been involved in roleplaying?

For almost 17 years now.

10. Is there a muse or verse you wish you could write in, but haven’t?

All my muses and verses, man. I have so little energy to write lately I’m not making any progress 😥 I have a lot of ideas and things discussed and ships in the pipeline but actual writing is not happening lately.

[kurtstinypurse]

for the prompt meme thing: 18. celebrity!au + 9. strangers to lovers + “i’m rambling again, aren’t i?” pretty pls. for the rambling of it all and us etc

so this is way longer than that prompt post had in mind, but. I needed to give this the length it (and you) deserved!!

-

Kurt shouldn’t be checking his Instagram comments, and he knows it.

In fact, he makes a point not to, usually, because he knows what he’ll find - a sea of half-assed compliments and ass-kissing that, as nice as they are, all run together, and a scattering of rude remarks that will inevitably stick out to him and ruin his day.

And so he doesn’t check them, simple as that.

Well - until now, apparently, and he isn’t even really sure why he’s doing it as he opens the app, goes to his own page, clicks his most recent post.

Maybe he’s a masochist looking for reasons to feel insecure and beat himself up, or maybe he’s a narcissist and looking for an ego boost, or maybe he’s bored, or maybe it’s the fact that he’s home alone on a Friday night, two glasses of wine deep - but that part of it is pretty much business as usual.

But regardless, there he sits, scrolling through the comments on his latest picture - a snapshot of a model wearing his newly finished suit, floral and understated, a design he’s content with every stitch of.

As to be expected, the comments run together. There’s a lot of them these days, a larger following than he ever expected to get, back when he was an up-and-coming designer.

He’s not so up-and-coming anymore, though.

He’s established, made a name for himself and kept it, a big name, actually, becoming one of the most sought-after designers to create custom suits for events in New York - and, ironically enough, for most events in the Broadway world, for premieres and awards shows and the like.

It’s a small connection to the very world he once thought he’d be immersed in, but at the end of the day, he’s happy with what he has.

Kurt is scrolling, and he’s scrolling, and then- he pauses.

A blue verified check mark sticks out to him next to one username, and so he stops to read the comment, finding a name he recognizes, one he hadn’t expected to see.

blaineanderson ✔️ this is incredible! your designs are always great, but this one really captured me. fingers crossed I can wear one of your pieces one of these days!

Oh.

It’s interesting, actually, that Blaine hasn’t worn one of Kurt’s pieces before.

Kurt’s been aware of Blaine for a while now, vaguely tracking his progression from a stand-out off-Broadway to an understudy on Broadway to, finally, a full-fledged lead role.

He’s a hot topic, having been labeled as one to watch more than once, and Kurt knows Blaine attends the events and premieres Kurt often designs for, but they just...never crossed paths.

Or apparently they had, and Kurt’s just been missing it.

He blinks, and he reads the comment again, and he takes a long drag of wine, and he swallows, and he blinks, and he reads it again.

He realizes he’s smiling, down at his phone all alone in his apartment, no one to see it, no real reason to be doing it.

There’s no real reason why he clicks on Blaine’s profile, either, and there’s definitely no reason to explain why he clicks to follow Blaine, but if that wasn’t enough -

He clicks again, and he pushes away all room for logical thought, and he composes a message.

kurthummel: hi! this is really random, but I thought your comment on my post was really sweet, plus if you meant it, I’d love to design for you. anyways, just thought I’d say hello and thank you.

He presses his phone onto the couch cushion beside him, and he drains the rest of his wine, and he goes into the kitchen to refill his glass, and when he’s back - there’s a message there waiting for him already, much to his surprise.

blaineanderson: hey, kurt! this message was really exciting to see! I’ve actually been following your work for a long time now, and...wow. do YOU mean it? I’m not sure I’m worthy of wearing one of your designs, but at the very least, I’m so glad you said hi!

Blaine’s gracious, and he’s sweet, and Kurt already knows he’s handsome, and-

Kurt has had far too much wine.

And he has been single for far too long.

But Blaine… In a single comment and a single message, Blaine has managed to make Kurt feel more special than he’s felt in a long time, and he’s not sure why.

It’s probably the wine.

The wine is also why he writes back again - and another time, too.

kurthummel: of course I meant it! and why wouldn’t you be worthy? I actually happened to see the falsettos revival on opening night, and yours might be my favorite interpretation I’ve seen. I’m a big fan of the show, of course, and being such a lover of broadway, too… I’ve seen quite a few boots at this point, but your whizzer might have tugged at my heart the most. and your voice!

And your eyes, and your face, and your smile.

Shit.

The wine, the wine, the wine.

kurthummel: sorry, I’m rambling...

He wants to apologize for a lot more than that, but he manages to stop himself.

blaineanderson: no need to apologize! I...wow. again. you’re so kind, and it means even more because you’re so talented, too. your visions for your designs are just so thoughtful and original, especially that last one, and so I’m sure your ear is just as well-tuned so…yeah. wow. now I’m the rambling one! anyways, whizzer quickly became such a personal role for me, and I’m so happy to hear that shines through even a little bit. 

And they kind of go from there.

They keep complimenting each other for a while - there’s probably a ridiculous amount of compliments traded, actually, but they’re both doing it, and it feels like a creative exchange, almost, on topic and essentially business-related. It’s meant to be a precursor to business, actually, hopefully culminating in a project for Kurt and an attention-grabbing, show-stopping outfit for Blaine.

But then they just...keep talking, about their careers and how they like the city, about how they got to the city and where they were prior, about the songs they like and the shows they’ve seen and the movies they’d managed to miss.

It turns out they have a lot in common.

They keep talking, as Kurt finishes off his bottle of wine, as he moves to the bedroom and crawls under his sheets, burrowing into the pillows and blankets with no light but his phone screen illuminating the dark room.

At some point, he realizes he’s smiling, and he’s been smiling, to the point where his cheeks hurt, actually, but he just kind of lets himself.

Just for tonight.

-

But then it’s the next morning, and Kurt wakes up to a message from Blaine, and the conversation continues, direct messages scattered through the morning, during Kurt’s commute to the office, at work when he has the chance to sneak a moment on his phone.

And he finds himself looking for those moments to sneak a read of a message or a reply to one, kind of whenever he can.

Which is exactly what he’s doing when his boss, Isabelle, pokes her head into his office.

“Why are you smiling at your phone?” she wants to know, raising a curious, knowing eyebrow when Kurt shoots his head up to look at her, phone clattering onto his desk. “A new guy?”

“There’s- There’s no guy,” he stammers, because there isn’t, at least not the way she means, and he’s not sure why his face is getting hot.

Blaine is nice, and Kurt is nice back. That’s all it is, really - it’s nice to have someone new to talk to, to get to know, especially when they’re so- well, nice.

Isabelle hums like she doesn’t believe him, and Kurt suddenly isn’t completely convinced he believes himself.

Blaine posts a new picture of himself on Instagram that night, a classy shot from behind as he watches the sun set over the city from a tall skyscraper’s balcony, and if Kurt falls asleep thinking about the narrow lines of Blaine’s waist and the way his ass looks in those pants, well.

Kurt’s only human, after all.

-

He’s not sure when things start to change, exactly.

He can’t pinpoint the moment, but their conversations go from friendly and sweet to something more - deeper, first, a gentle delve into Blaine’s complicated family, a brief conversation about Kurt’s mom and his stepbrother, and then just- just more.

He’s sitting at his desk at work, poking at his salad with his fork and grinning at a silly picture Blaine sent him when he realizes - he feels light, and he feels giddy, almost, and he feels towards Blaine a sort of way he thought he couldn’t feel, not anymore.

But he’s feeling it, and he’s been feeling it, and he realizes, too, that he just kind of knows Blaine feels the same way.

It’s in Blaine’s messages, and it’s in the compliments that reappear when Kurt least expects it, and it’s in the emojis he uses, and it’s just-

It’s everywhere, and Kurt sits there, and he blinks, and he blinks, and he chews thoughtfully for a moment, and he decides, yeah.

He’s not going to question it.

It’s that night that Blaine asks for his phone number, and it feels like a step, and Kurt can’t help but wonder if maybe Blaine’s going to ask him out for coffee or for dinner or for drinks - they live in the same city, after all, and they know a ton of the same people and essentially run in the same circles, and it would be so easy, so easy to just take another step forward and make this real.

Kurt should be scared of that - and in the past, he would be, with a string of brief failed relationships and over three years of being fully single in recent history. He has no reason to think - well, anything.

But he’s just...not scared.

He’s cooking dinner when his phone vibrates, and he reaches for it with his free hand, expecting to find some sort of question or invitation, but instead he finds-

A video.

Unknown Number: Hey, you. It’s Blaine. I know I haven’t told you about this, but it’s only because I haven’t really told anyone about it. But besides just singing on stage, I like to try my hand at arranging my own songs, too, and I felt like sharing this one with you. xx

The attached video is just about three minutes long, and it’s of Blaine on his couch, dressed down in a sweater that screams cozy, and he has a guitar in his lap, and he smiles shyly at the camera before starting to play and to sing.

It’s an upbeat sort of song, and Blaine sings about being a king, about thinking he has it all worked out but figuring out he’s wrong, about his kingdom falling apart but being okay, about being foolish and unexpectedly falling in love.

Kurt knows it’s not for him - he isn’t stupid.

But his heart is stupid, and it’s racing in his chest, and his mouth is stupid, too, because he can’t force away his grin, and his hands are worst of all, because when the song is over, he presses to replay it, and then he replays it again.

And then he picks up his phone, and he types.

From Kurt: Blaine, that was… I don’t know what to say! The lyrics were so clever, and you’re so wonderful at guitar, and you know how I feel about your voice. I listened to it a few times, honestly, and I already want to listen to it again. Sorry, I’m rambling again, too, aren’t I? I...guess I tend to feel kind of foolish around you, actually.

From Blaine: It’s funny, I wrote this song almost a year ago with nothing to apply it to. But it’s starting to make more sense, I think. Or maybe I’m foolish, too.

From Blaine: Besides, I love to listen to you ramble.

Kurt breathes out shakily, and he blinks, and he reads the message again, and he blinks, and he smiles.

He doesn’t hesitate, and he knows he won’t regret it.

From Kurt: Are you free tomorrow night?

Blaine’s reply is near instant.

From Blaine: For you? Anytime.

-

It’s only been a week, Kurt realizes the next night as he fusses over his hair in the mirror, picks an invisible string of a thread from his vest.

A mere week since he messaged Blaine, a mere week since Blaine messaged back, and yet-

It feels like so much longer, so much more than that.

Blaine has agreed to meet Kurt at a cozy, low-lit cafe a few blocks away, one of Kurt’s favorite spots that’s coincidentally one of Blaine’s favorites, too.

It’s funny, really, how connected they’ve always been, even when they didn’t know each other yet.

Kurt isn’t used to not wanting to cancel at least a little bit. On every first date he’s been on in the past handful of years, he’s had to practically force himself out the door, force himself to try, already knowing nothing will come of it.

But now, he has to force himself not to leave for the restaurant too early.

Of course, time moves forward as it inevitably does, and it comes time, and so Kurt heads out, and he walks down the street with a rush in his chest, pulling his jacket close around himself, ready.

A breath catches in his throat as he sees Blaine waiting outside the restaurant, rocking slightly up and down on the balls of his feet in an impossibly endearing nervous motion, a bouquet of colorful flowers in his hand.

Kurt can tell the very moment Blaine sees him, too, eyes locking with Kurt still about a block away, and Blaine positively beams, radiant and happy and beautiful, and wow, Kurt made him do that.

Once he gets close enough to say hello, close enough to see all of the colors and the softness and the warmth in Blaine’s eyes, close enough to touch, Kurt is pretty much done for.

He isn’t the type to kiss on the first date, particularly not before actually having the date, but he’s not the type to pay so much attention to his Instagram comments or send someone a direct message out of the blue, either.

As he pulls Blaine close and presses their lips together, Kurt finds he’s never been happier to surprise himself.

-

(A handful of months later, Blaine wears a Hummel Designs original to the premiere of the Waitress revival, an adaptation of the very suit he commented on the picture of - with Kurt on his arm, too, there to stay.)

[purity-town]

Little late getting to these -- that's fully the fault of a class project I spent all of Monday/Tuesday and most of Wednesday working on -- but I finished my project and wrote up some long replies to these!

(Apologies for any funny formatting -- I'm trying out the beta for the new post editor!)

Absolutely not.

Nope! There are a few people who do know (other guides Andrew's met before, the Dryad, and I'd imagine the Witch Doctor knows something's up even if he doesn't know why), but none of them live in Purity Town proper, and the Dryad and Witch Doctor aren't the kind to participate in rumors or spread what isn't theirs to share. The old man is also aware just because he and Andrew have talked about their curses, but he's 1) not currently in town and 2) not going to share even if he were.

Most folks don't know much about Andrew in general; Becca probably knows the most out of the townsfolk, knowing a little bit about his family and where he's from (he has some pretty specific skills as a hunter that betray this, but he doesn't talk about his exact town of birth), but no specifics and certainly not time periods.

Andrew is good at keeping things quiet; he has to be.

I would actually appreciate if you didn't post to Pinterest -- usually I'm fine with people reposting with credit (several of the things I've posted to my DeviantArt have found their way to Instagram, for example) but Pinterest has something of a reputation for stolen art (things being reposted from another Pinterest post without credit this time, or credit being hard to view for users not logged in or just viewing through Google). So reposting elsewhere is fine (though if you repost to Reddit or Instagram, tag me at u/Ariibees or @Ariibees)! I'd just prefer my works stay off of Pinterest.

The terminology related to The Guide/Andrew/The Guardian/The World’s Core/The WoF is all confusing because on some level, they’re all the same being. Kind of like trying to talk about Jekyll and Hyde -- same guy, different looks/actions, haha.

For all intents and purposes, references to the WoF being the barrier/core/whatever behind or within which the spirits of light and dark are contained is equivalent to saying “these spirits are held trapped by the magic of the Guardian, who when summoned appears as the WoF.” I do break slightly from the official lore in how the WoF/Guardian/thing holding back these spirits works (mostly because I don’t really like the idea that the Hallow is a “temporary guardian” or whatever), but the basic concept of “these are trapped by [thing that makes up the WoF]” remains unchanged.

If “loony cultist” is a reference to something, I’m so sorry, but I’m lost on it. If you’re just talking about the lunatic cultist in a funny way, then yes, they’re in here as a very plot-significant character!

I had to google what meme you were talking about, but it did make me laugh.

Andrew’s most annoyed by the nickname because people do like to call him Guide, and for someone who’s dedicated his whole life to his role, it can get tiring. He doesn’t really *mind* being called Guide -- it’s fine, that’s what he is and as long as people are respectful of his job he’ll take what he can get -- but at the same time, he’d like for people to stop thinking “Aah! Monster!” or “Weird academic know-it-all” and just...treat him like a normal person sometimes. So he fights to be called Andrew. And...Malik comes along and gives him a nickname that he doesn’t like and doesn’t allow others to use, save for maybe a small group of people of which Malik is not a part. So, not cool, man!

People love to overcomplicate explaining shading/lighting, and if you wanted to you could certainly go on and on about reflections of light off the ground and shading colors and all sorts of things, but as I’m writing this at 1 AM I don’t really care to.

If you really want to get into shading, I see nice ones on DeviantArt or Tumblr from time to time, or you can always watch a YouTube video on it. Really, though, just keep at it, think about how the shadows should look and work, and you'll get better at it eventually and pick up new ideas on how it all works. (And this is coming from someone who is new to making comics and actually started as a painter.)

Purity Town’s shading comes down to this: simplicity. As much as I’d love to spend hours and hours redrawing the panels I don’t like and carefully shading every fold of fabric and painting detailed backgrounds, I’m a full-time college student and will be working full-time over the summer -- I don’t have the time. So, I cut corners: I reuse backgrounds or use brushes (see: bricks, trees, clouds) that make certain details easier, and I try not to obsess too much over panels I’m not fully happy with. Shadows go where they feel right, and light on the opposite side.

For shading, this comes down to making things quick and easy. For these last few pages, character shading/lighting has only been five layers. One hard light layer for the bluer soft shadows, one overlay layer for darker soft shadows, one linear burn layer for hard shadows, one soft light layer for soft lighting, and one overlay layer for hard lighting. I’ll often also make use of glow dodge layers for lighting, or change the color balance or add more hard/soft light layers if there’s a very heavy color filter on the scene (such as a celestial event, blood moon, or outdoors at night).

Using all the different layer types is essentially a cheat code to fancier lighting -- don’t want to use flat black? Boom, hard light or overlay or burn will give you colored shadows. Want to make your light brighter? Glow dodge will make it burn your retinas.

Sorry that this isn’t a very comprehensive guide, but in my mind, shading and lighting is really something that you pick up over time and it’s hard to sit down and write a guide for it without making it into a massive essay on art theory that I don't even know proper terminology for because I'm not an art student. Of course with some googling you’ll find *proper* guides for this sort of thing from art majors and the likes, and those can be super helpful and technical! But for Purity Town, I just sort of go with what feels right and what's easy to replicate.

Firstly, I’m happy to hear you’re liking the comic!

Secondly, those buttons are actually there due to the theme! (For those on mobile who can’t see it, I have the theme set to only display on desktop as I prefer the current mobile layout on phone.) I’m using the simple webcomic theme (a quick Google should tell you how to install it for yourself) -- except I’m not actually using it for the webcomic features; rather, it’s a case of “this is the most simple, nice-looking non-default theme I could find.”

The previous/next buttons are added by the theme with the intent that the blog is being used as a typical webcomic website, with nothing but comic pages being posted. However, I post asks and other art here too, and I do so with the intent that people looking at #Terraria or their dashboards in general will see it. So...I use html formatting to make the first/previous/next/last links, along with an index and chapter-by-chapter viewing (using /tagged/chapter##/chrono) so that no matter where you’re coming from, you can still navigate just the pages!

If you want to add just the previous/next buttons, I can’t really help you -- web development is not my area of study in the slightest. But you can check out the theme that they come from and if you want to install only them, you can surely find a tutorial on it somewhere!

(As a side note, the comments section is not from the theme, it’s from a site called Disqus. I don’t expect many people, if anyone, to leave comments, but since I link back to this site a lot and many folks don’t have Tumblr accounts, it’s an option I like to make available.)

Hiya! My hike was pretty nice; it was a short and easy one, but that was quite appreciated as the trail is unmaintained from November to April, and the trail was covered in fallen trees and quite rocky. Still had fun, though!

And for backgrounds, it depends! For indoors scenes (or outdoors scenes with buildings) I don’t tend to use references, outside of looking up things like “which side of a door is the handle on.” I will, however, integrate real-life textures (see: the quilt and rug in Guide’s house, the wood walls on the building in the background of this week’s page), and paint over paintings from the Terraria wiki.

For outdoors scenes, for simple backgrounds (such as foliage-heavy) ones, I typically don’t need references. I like the difference between detailed, lined indoor/man-made object scenes vs. painted, messy outdoor scenes. But for things like mountains, I do sometimes look up references to help with color choices and the likes.

The town’s layout is a bit strange in that depending on the scene, the background could be drastically different. One side of town faces more mountainside, one side faces the orchards/open hillside, and the other two sides face various degrees of open space and more mountainside/forest. References taken on top of mountains are helpful to get an idea of what degree of foliage I should include between the characters and the sky.

Though this is very specific to the town of Purity -- other towns/villages will have significantly different-looking backgrounds, even the foliage-heavy ones.

That said, what's even more helpful than looking at photos is looking at paintings. Spirit: Stallion of the Cimarron is really good for getting an idea of how to draw grasslands and distant mountains, plus Studio Ghibli movies in general!

[xyliane]

AUgust 7: HAVE YOU SEEN THIS 12 YEAR OLD

PROMPT THE SEVENTH: CHILDHOOD FRIENDS wait how can you childhood friends au killugon, I asked myself, forgetting that I had a whole-ass idea in my drafts already. this one’s a proper fic, too (minus editing cuz l o l it’s an AU writing challenge, not editing challenge). T, aged-up killugon, modern day au. ft ambiguous descriptions of social media, alluka, kalluto, and leorio in killua’s corner, and zushi and spinner in gon’s, brief discussion of getting plastered and dealing with a hangover. 5000 words.

0o0o0o0o0

The first sign that today is going to be an absolutely terrible day, is when Killua wakes up with a hangover.

This does not happen. Killua can count on one hand the number of times he’s gotten so drunk he’s had a hangover, and most of them are the fault of his little siblings. Little siblings who are now living together, whose couch he is currently painfully existing upon, half too hot and his toes way too cold. And the couch is too soft, an old secondhand thing he’d helped Alluka grapple up the stairs months ago after they found it outside an old dorm. He makes a notch in his very sore brain to blame the current situation on them. Kalluto might be kind enough to let a drunk big brother crash with them, but Alluka has a devious streak a mile wide.

Yeah. This is definitely their fault.

One eye slowly creaks open, surveying his surroundings through blurry vision. Nothing out of the ordinary here. He’s in the pajamas he’s left with Alluka forever ago, curled up under an old blanket he gave her for Nanika’s birthday. It’s covered in the Matrix code, all green letters on black wool. It barely covers him from chest to knees, which explains the cold toes.

Sunlight flickers through the curtains, cheerful and bright, and Killua pulls the blanket over his face. He’ll take cold toes over being blinded by his headache.

The second sign that today is going to be an absolutely terrible day, is when a noise like a chainsaw burrowing through a marshmallow erupts from his phone buzzing on the coffee table, just barely out of reach.

Killua attempts to bury himself under the blanket. He’s not dealing with work today.

And then he remembers: He doesn’t have work. Work can’t bother him today. Not just because it’s a weekend—work never respected the sanctity of weekends, no matter that he was at least partially in charge and used to have a fancy degree hanging on his wall. He doesn’t have work anymore. Killua quit.

Which, well. That explains the hangover.

He’s still blaming his siblings.

His phone buzzes loud enough to break the sound barrier, and Killua decides, fuck it. He doesn’t have anything to lose. If it’s the-place-formerly-known-as-work, he can delete everything. If it’s Mom or Father, he can definitely delete everything. And maybe it’s a friendly person, congratulating him on giving up a job that for anyone else would have been an absolute money-making dream. He’ll delete those too.

It takes a few tries to unlock his phone, and it unfortunately involves opening his eyes, squinting against the glaring light of the screen. But once he does, he frowns. Maybe he’s seeing double. Or a hundredfold. Because he should not have this many notifications.

awwww cute, i hope u 2 find each other! the top one says. It has several hundred likes. Why is it in his notifications?

Scrolling down reveals that it’s not an anomaly.

wtf man how can you find a TWELVE YEAR OLD from FIFTEEN YEARS AGO.

Me and my mom went on a cruise around there once, it was really pretty!

this is so sweet T__T maybe this is him?

And then another hundred photos of brown-skinned men with varying degrees of shirt-wearing, all black haired and most of them buff in very appealing ways and all of them beaming at Killua.

“What the fuck,” Killua croaks as he scrolls through all of the images and messages. Maybe this is a dream. A really weird, hangover-induced dream about how little of a social life he has, that his phone is possessed by someone else’s. A warning of sorts, that he should never have installed any social media on his phone ever, not even for hookups.

The reason for all the notifications lies at the top of his own page. Just a few sentences, all-caps, with an image of an old crinkled photo of two boys on a tropical beach, grinning at the camera. Killua sees himself, white curly hair flying in all directions and pale skin sunburned and ruddy with the briny wind, happier than Killua can ever remember being. Next to him, one arm slung around his shoulders and the other holding a bucket full of seashells, is a brown-skinned boy with freckles dancing across his nose and the tops of his shoulders, brown eyes wide and laughing and black hair thick and spiked from some mix of wind and seawater and natural gravity defiance.

He didn’t know he still had this photo. It had followed him from childhood all the way through grad school, a carefully guarded keepsake hidden away from the watchful eyes of his parents and Illumi, before ending up in a box or a bag at some point in the last few years. Part of Killua thought he’d lost it in the move. He barely remembers much about being twelve, about the cruise he’d been forcibly dragged on. But he remembers…

HAVE YOU SEEN THIS BOY? yells the caption. WE WERE BEST FRIENDS FOR A WEEK WHEN I GOT DRAGGED ON A CRUISE BY MY ASSHOLE PARENTS. HE WAS 12 ON WHALE ISLAND 15 YEARS AGO. IF FOUND, DM IMMEDIATELY.

“Gon,” Killua breathes.

He gathers himself, wrapping the blanket around his head in a feeble protection against the morning, and lurches over to Alluka’s room.

He gets to bang on her door three times, confused spite winning out over his own pounding headache, before Kalluto appears out of their room, blinking blearily at Killua. “Shut up.”

Killua kicks Alluka’s door for good measure, and brandishes his phone in front of him like a weapon. “Not until you explain what the hell this is doing on the internet.”

Kalluto pales, then flushes, then pales again. “Oh. Um.”

At that, Alluka creaks her door open, guilty blue eyes far too awake for how close to noon it is. Killua kind of wants to kill her on principle alone. If he has to be hungover, so does everyone else.

“Explain,” he grinds out through his teeth.

The third and final sign that today is going to be an absolutely terrible day, is when Alluka puts on her most winning smile, the kind she uses to ward off angry customers and idiotic faux-academics on the internet. “Congratulations, Brother! I might have made you go viral.”

Killua throws his phone at her.

—————

Today’s going to be a good day, Gon decides. He’s been in the forests of East Gorteau for the better part of a month, which normally isn’t so bad. But this group has been…They’re nice enough, when Gon’s not spending half of his time explaining that, no, that species of plant does not make a good stew, and no, that species is endangered please don’t hunt them, and yes Gon is sure he doesn’t date his clients even after the hike, and no the reason the tent fell over again is because it wasn’t properly set up in the first place—

All of Aunt Mito’s complaints about tourists on Whale Island make so much more sense, now that Gon’s leading backwoods hikes.

But last night had been fun! Spinner had met the group at a pre-set campsite not far from their pickup so Gon hadn’t had to work the whole night, and he could relax with his friend over good food, more alcohol than he probably should have drunk, and not having to explain to Mrs. Yuldvin the difference between marijuana, buckeye, and poison oak again. Spinner had even taken care of the fire, although she had left him to rescue the Podomos siblings from the ruins of their tent with nothing more than a smirk and a wave. Nevertheless, Gon smiled through his headache all morning, because soon he’ll be home, and he can sleep.

Zushi is waiting in the parking lot once Gon’s done packing up the last of the gear and saying goodbye to Spinner, jeep idling while he flicks through his phone, thick eyebrows drawn together in increasing concern. He doesn’t even look up until Gon drops his pack onto the hood of the car, and he jolts so badly in surprise that he tosses his phone in the air.

“Are you okay?” Gon asks, and tries to peek at the screen.

Zushi pulls it up and away, a frantic look in his eyes. It won’t really keep Gon from seeing what’s happening, not if he wants to, but Zushi’s height is enough of a deterrent to make it hard. “You were gone way too long,” he says.

Gon leans against the hot metal of Zushi’s car. It wasn’t an unusual length for a trip, not really—this backcountry needs the length to be able to see and understand the region. Not to mention the Small Billed Swan preservation society keeping the whole place locked down except to authorized guides and trekkers. Zushi knows this. They’ve been roommates long enough that this isn’t even the longest time Gon’s been gone.

“You knew I’d be gone til today,” Gon says.

“Yeah, but…” Zushi’s eyebrows descend even further, scrunching his whole face up in worry. “You haven’t checked your phone, right?”

“No?” Even if he did have cell service, Gon never brings his own phone. He borrows Kite’s satellite phone, because it is more reliable and doesn’t need to be charged constantly.

“Okay. Well.” Zushi takes a deep breath, then another, one of Wing’s old meditation techniques. Despite his exhaustion and single-minded determination to sink into a real bed and sleep for a week, Gon feels a minor pang of worry. On breath three, he unlocks his phone and turns it towards Gon. “You’re a meme.”

On Zushi’s screen is a photo Gon can’t ever forget about. Backed by Whale Island’s sunbleached white beaches and the humid brilliant colors of summer, Gon sees himself—twelve, smiling from ear to ear, hair a mess from swimming and his shirt practically covered in sand from digging up all the seashells in his bucket. He’s got an arm around another boy, who’s caught mid-laugh so his blue eyes burn the same color as the sky, white curls even messier than Gon’s hair. They look like they’ve known each other their whole lives, like they’d still be best friends even if they haven’t seen or spoken to each other since the photo was taken.

Gon hopes Killua thinks so, too.

He cradles the phone in his hand, carefully zooming in on their faces and the errant crinkles visible through the photo. His own faded copy is in a drawer, having survived a whole trip around the world and countless apartment jumps. This one looks just as well cared for, in its own way.

“That…is you, right?” Zushi asks carefully. “Because Wing was asking, and half of Kite’s guide company is yelling about it on your social media page that you don’t even use, and now people are messaging me, and they’re saying the weirdest things, and the post is from last week, so—”

“It’s Killua,” Gon says. A smile spreads across his face, a mirror to the one he’d had when he was twelve. “That’s Killua!”

“Who?” the others ask, but Gon isn’t listening.

He spins, frantically searching his pockets for his phone. “Spinner, can you do me a favor?”

She narrows her eyes suspiciously.

Gon knew today was going to be a good day.

—————

It’s been a week, and Killua has quit all social media forever.

The steady buzz of his phone informing the apartment of his notifications is not his problem. Alluka’s the one who decided to hack into his phone and post something to his old public account, the one he mostly uses for photos of cats and complaining about terrible business precedents. He hasn’t posted much since school, and if anything, it should have simply vanished into the void of the internet.

He finds the culprit fairly quickly, and for once it’s not his sister’s moderate but dedicated video following.

“Old man, what the fuck is wrong with you?”

Leorio lounges in Alluka and Kalluto’s living room, freshly out of his scrubs and looking pleased as all hell. “I just reblogged a fun post from my friend,” he says somewhat defensively. “You were a cute kid, Killua. What happened?”

Killua feels a growl creep up his throat. “You can’t just do that,” he snaps.

“It’s not my fault the people like my well-coiffed but rugged appearance and dedication to social justice in medicine.”

“You have 500,000 followers because you made a joke post two years ago, and some authorized user reblogged it five times. It has nothing to do with your ugly mug.” If Killua squints and plugs his ears, he can even see why people think Leorio’s attractive or whatever: tan skin, lean but strong as hell, actually takes care of his hair, not to mention a damn good doctor with one of the most prestigious institutions in Yorknew who spends most of his free time running health clinics in impoverished neighborhoods. That’s all swell. But then he starts talking, and Killua has no idea where the off button is.

Leorio spreads a hand out, gesturing vaguely with the glass of iced tea that he’d helped himself to out of Alluka’s stash. “It has everything to do with my ‘ugly mug,’” he says. “Which is why I used my powers for good and spread your post. Don’t you want to find him?”

“Not like this!”

“You were not going to find him at all,” Kalluto’s quiet voice pipes up from the kitchen. They have night classes tonight, but Killua has a feeling that even if they were supposed to be attending their Yorknew Uni lectures, they would still be here making Killua’s life worse. “You’ve had that picture for years, and you did not even try to look.”

Leorio gives him a judgmental look over the tops of his stupid tiny glasses. “You haven’t?”

It would be a losing game to bury his burning face in one of the throw pillows, so Killua does his best to cross his arms over his chest and glower instead. “I…tried.”

“And?”

“I don’t even know his last name!” Killua splutters. “I didn’t have his number or where he was from, other than his mom worked on the ship. And that cruiseline went bankrupt and liquidated everything before I could get out of the house, so I couldn’t even look that up.”

Kalluto crosses over from the kitchen and perches like a sweatshirt-wearing crow on the coffee table, their blue eyes carefully neutral under straight black bangs. “Alluka and Nanika would have helped. Or even Milluki, if you had explained the situation.”

“I was eighteen, okay? I just left home, and our parents were still being…shit, themselves, I guess.” He hadn’t even considered asking for help. Then again, he’d tried the moment he could, that first summer of undergrad where he didn’t have to come home and Illumi couldn’t spend half his time breathing down the back of Killua’s neck. He had a general idea of where they’d gone, maps of islands scurried away in the closet with the old photo and a bag full of seashells Gon had given him as a going-away present.

They’d been friends for a week, in the whirlwind way that only kids can be. The cruise ship was massive, and Killua’s parents were in meetings half the time and playing nice with the other rich people on board the other half. Killua had been bored witless, and Gon was everything he couldn’t have possibly imagined: encouraging Killua to go exploring, to stealing food from the kitchens, making him help clean up the decks, playing cards with the deckhands. Sneaking off the boat to visit an island without Killua’s parents while the ship was docked, scrambling over the burning hot sands and dashing through the jungle, diving into the waves fully clothed and competing to see who could find the biggest prettiest shells. Gon’d been Killua’s first friend, his first crush, his first…a lot of firsts.

Then the cruise had ended, and Killua forgot to give Gon his phone number. His address. Anything. They’d been so swept up in being friends, being best friends, it had seemed impossible that they would never see each other again.

Does Gon even remember? Why should he, when Killua hasn’t contacted him? Would they even be friends anymore?

Maybe he hadn’t searched hard enough. But part of Killua thinks he shouldn’t have tried at all.

The phone buzzes loudly, and Killua tries not to flinch.

“Hey, Killua. It’s okay.” Leorio leans forward, hands clasped over his too-long limbs and expression gentle. “If you want me to delete it, I will. Not sure I can help with the viral part of things, except maybe go through your messages and delete the gross ones, or at least find the weirdest ones for you to laugh at later.”

“Alluka and I have been doing this already,” Kalluto says, their posture a little too protective for Killua’s raw nerves at this point. “But perhaps you have some suggestions for what to do next, Dr. Paladiknight?”

Leorio smiles sympathetically. “Don’t read the comments? That said, most of your comments have been much more positive than anything I usually post. The masses seem to be genuinely rooting for you, kid.”

“I have only had to delete a dozen lewd messages for you this morning,” Kalluto adds, not mentioning the hundred or so that Alluka took care of yesterday.

Killua’s traitorous phone buzzes again, and that’s it. Time to bury himself in a pillow. Killua flops onto the couch, narrowly missing Leorio, and does his best to burrow into the cushions. “That’s just great,” he says into the fabric.

A comforting hand rubs against his hair, messing up the curls for a moment, and Killua refuses to admit that it’s nice, that he has friends like Leorio who even bother to care. “It could be worse. You could be dealing with this while still working a soul-sucking job making more money than most of us will see in our lifetimes, in exchange for giving up all of your morals.”

Killua groans loudly. “I’m not having this conversation with you.”

“You’re gonna need to do something, Killua! And hey, I might be able to set something up with my—”

“I already told you, no.”

“But it’s what you’re good at. And you wouldn’t be fucking people over to do it.”

“No.”

“Just listen for one—”

Killua lifts his head enough to glare as murderously as he can at Leorio. It must work at least a little, because the doctor shuts up.

Meanwhile, Kalluto is scrolling through Killua’s phone, poking at the screen occasionally. In the awkward silence, their sharp gasp is loud enough to shatter a window, and they hurriedly shove the phone in the pocket of their oversized sweatshirt.

Leorio raises an eyebrow. “Everything okay?”

Kalluto squeezes their eyes shut for a moment, then carefully places the phone on the coffee table, screen pointed innocently at the ceiling. “You will want to look at this one, Brother.”

“This isn’t another erotic sandcastle is it?” he says.

Kalluto shakes their head, and Killua’s stomach lurches up his throat. Alluka has been the one excited about this whole thing. But Kalluto, as reserved as they are, is a massive romantic. The whole thing might be Alluka’s fault, but Killua knows it’s Kalluto who almost lets themselves believe it’ll work. Despite all of the false positives, the people who send messages that don’t sound right or photos that have the wrong smile.

Killua doesn’t want to hope. It can’t possibly be Gon. But his hands shake nonetheless as he unlocks his phone and finds a new message in his DMs.

It’s not from Gon.

Instead, someone with the icon of a small-billed white swan in a soft small-billed hat and a handle of @flymypretties has sent a photo of a brown-skinned man with spiky black hair absolutely covered in dirt and grime. He’s waving at the camera, a backpacking bag propped against his shoulder and the widest smile Killua has ever seen beaming straight through the screen and into his chest. Next to him and half out of frame, a tall tanned man with massive black eyebrows and a tank top showing off an impressive amount of muscle has his head in his hands. Killua feels a sharp stab of sympathy, somewhere buried beneath the racing of his heart.

look im sorry about this but this idiot can’t find his phone and we r kind of in the middle of nowhere so reception’s shit. he wants to know if you admit he found the biggest seashell on the beach, whatever that means.

For a long, long moment—seconds? minutes maybe?—Killua can do nothing but stare at the screen of his phone. Leorio and Kalluto both look at him with a mix of curiosity and worry, Kalluto starting to slowly reach for the phone.

In a completely childish protective moment, Killua grabs it against his chest, like the image will vanish if he doesn’t keep it close.

“Is it…?” Leorio asks.

Killua swallows heavily, trying to think around the roaring of the ocean in his ears. “I think so,” he says faintly.

Kalluto’s eyes widen, and they spin on their heels towards their room. “I’m calling Alluka!”

—————

“Has he responded?”

“No!”

“…what about now?”

Spinner throws her hands in the air so violently that her hat falls off. “For god’s sake, Gon, it’s been an hour, you don’t even have your phone, and you still need to go home.”

Gon huffs and pouts. They’re still in the parking lot over an hour after the rest of the trekking group has left, and all the exhaustion that had settled into Gon’s body from the tour has been turned into a jittery energy that keeps trying to leak out from under his skin. He wants to go home immediately and dig out his copy of the photo, rub out the old fingerprints he and Aunt Mito have left on it over the years. He wants to find his phone and message Killua directly. He wants to wait right here until Killua responds, no matter how long it takes.

He knows it’s childish, to be this selfish. Spinner has work to do, work that she already put on hold to help with the last day of the tour. Kite probably will want to know what’s happening, or at least why his lead guide and his chief guide organizer have been stuck in a parking lot. And Gon can practically feel Zushi’s obsessive scrolling through social media, frantically trying to navigate Gon’s feeds without actually having access.

Gon needs to find his phone.

“Spinner, what if—”

It’s not that Spinner’s a large woman. Out of the three people standing in the parking lot, Zushi’s far and away the strongest, even if he is about as threatening as a large, muscular teddy bear. And Gon has only packed on weight and muscle over his years of backpacking around the wilderness, no matter that he’s not super tall. But Spinner goes for longer, harder treks on her own than anyone but Kite, and she packs in her own climbing gear on top of that, so when she tosses Gon into the back of Zushi’s jeep, he flies.

“Zushi,” she says in a low exhausted snarl, and he jumps right off the hood of his car. Gon probably would have felt bad for him, if everything wasn’t spinning. “If you do not take your roommate home, I am not responsible for the consequences.”

“What if you hear back?” Gon groans around the aches in his side.

Spinner rolls her eyes, and Gon knows she’s just tired. “I’ll let you know.”

“But what if my phone’s gone? What will I do if someone stole it, or if I can’t—”

“I’ll call you go home already,” she says, and slams the door shut on his face.

For a long moment, the only sound is Spinner storming away, boots thudding heavily in the dirt until her car door slams.

The jeep shifts slightly as Zushi quietly lowers himself into the driver’s seat and puts the key into the ignition. Gon wants to tell him to follow Spinner, so she can yell out the window as soon as Killua gets back to her. But Zushi looks about ready to bolt. So Gon slumps back in the seat, the rumble of tires crunching through gravel making his already jittery nerves shake.

A small voice that sounds a lot like Kite tells Gon that it’s better to wait, that it will be easier to have a conversation and determine if this really is Killua after a rest and a shower.

Gon doesn’t want that, though. He wants…

It’s been a long time since he was on Whale Island. Longer still since he saw Killua. That doesn’t mean he stopped thinking about either of them, during the quiet moments out under the stars. They’re part of him, like his lungs are part of him—essential and irreplaceable, buried so far inside that removing them would change him irrevocably.

What is Killua like now? Is Gon just as important to him as he is to Gon? He has to be. Right?

They make it home without saying anything else. Gon floats in and out between bone-deep weariness and electric sparks of nervous joy, and Zushi flinches every time Gon jolts himself from one to the other.

“Hey, are you…I mean, maybe not okay, but.”

Gon lifts his chin up sharply at the sound of his roommate’s voice, and notices the familiar apartment complex in front of him. Oh, they’re home. “I’m good,” he says, and grins.

“Sure,” Zushi says like he doesn’t believe Gon.

A dubious silence stretches out between them as they gather the rest of the gear, dropping it in a heap on the sidewalk. “You were kids, though,” Zushi finally says.

Gon shrugs and slams the door shut hard enough to make the vehicle rattle. “I didn’t forget. So I don’t think Killua would, either.”

Zushi’s eyebrows wrinkle on each other, like they can’t decide whether to go up or down and settle on some combination of the two. “What if he did?”

“He didn’t,” Gon says, more sure of that than anything else in his life.

Zushi’s eyebrows dance again, but he doesn’t say anything else.

Between Gon’s camping gear and Zushi’s leftover practice pads, it takes longer than Gon’s excitement can take to get everything settled enough to look for his phone. Well, Gon would have liked to look for his phone, but Zushi makes a pointed look at the shower. There are only so many places the phone could be in the whole apartment, after all.

Gon’s just drying off when Zushi knocks on the door. “I found it, but it’s dead,” he says, voice muffled.

“Then charge it!” Gon shouts. After a moment, he adds, quieter and less snappishly, “Please?”

A faint laugh echoes through the apartment.

By the time Gon can make himself a very early dinner of whatever he could grab out of the cabinets without thinking, the phone is charged enough to turn on. Sure enough, there are a wide variety of messages, mostly from Kite’s groupchat asking about the viral post. A few are from former hikers, people who Gon liked enough to share contact info, offering to see if they can get in touch. There are even a few—okay, how did they get ahold of his old social media page? It’s practically defunct, since Gon’s never had a phone capable of more than the most basic apps. And those are…

It’s flattering in a way, but Gon’s not really into that. Or them.

Zushi catches sight of the grimace, and takes one look over Gon’s shoulder before turning beet red.

By the time he’s gone through and deleted the vast majority of what had been filling up his phone, there’s still no message from Spinner, and nothing at all from Killua. Gon sighs and lies his head down on the table with a heavy thunk.

The other chair scrapes heavily along the tiles as Zushi sits, a mug of coffee in his hands. “What will you do? When he messages you, I mean.”

When, not if, an unexpected certainty coming from Zushi. Gon has the best friends in the world. “Talk to him,” Gon says. “It’s only been fifteen years, right? We promised we’d be friends forever.”

“A lot changes in fifteen years,” Zushi says.

“Not that.”

“Then why didn’t you look for him?”

Gon frowns. It had taken a long, long time, but Aunt Mito managed to track down the cruise captain the last time they were in port, tracing through old charters until the right names came up. But when she’d called them up, she’d been met with stonewall after stonewall, pleasant-sounding voices insisting in no uncertain terms that she would never speak with a member of Killua’s family, let alone let her son speak to his friend. By the time Gon was old enough to look himself, he found nothing but a mansion full of people whose eyes matched Killua’s in everything except for his warmth, who refused to even acknowledge Gon’s presence except to throw him out.

That had been years ago. It’s not that Gon stopped looking. Not exactly.

“I did, but I—” Gon starts to say, but his phone buzzes violently against the table, and they both jump out of their chairs.

“Is it—?” Zushi asks, breath in his throat.

It’s a message from Spinner. you owe me big time, kid, she says, followed by a phone number.

Gon rips his phone off the cable, a wide smile spreading across his face. “It is,” he says, and dials Killua.

—————

bzz bzz—

bzz bzz—

bzz b—

“H-hello?”

“Killua! Hi!”

“…Gon? Is that—It’s really…?”

“Killua, it’s you, I thought I’d never—”

“I did find the biggest seashell, and you know it.”

A breath, sharp and astonished. “The blue and white one, with green lines.”

“I found it, and I gave it to you.”

“I still have it.”

A snort of amusement, slightly damp. “I know. You promised you’d keep it.”

“I did. And I promised—”

“That we’d be friends forever.”

A laugh, delighted and teary at the same time. “I knew you remembered.”

“I did promise you that I would.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

(AUgust prompts)

[datenoriko]

Wondering if I could request some reactionary Headcanons for the warlords where MC is a highly trained and skillful forensic scientist?

I’m so sorry this is waaaay overdue and writing-wise is still unsure of the style... I hope this one’s okay though~ TnT

p.s. I tried adding Kennyo & Motonari too, but brain won’t let me ><

p.s.s. Updated masterlist for my random shenanigans here!

*Every one of them thought MC would be scared of a dead body and multitudes of it on the battlefield and beyond it but...

ODA FORCES

Nobunaga

- “Huh, this fireball’s not afraid of the dead?” // “I examine them for a living.” Visibly impressed, a devilish smirk forms on his lips

- The Devil King is fascinated by you actively asking to take her to battles to study the bodies

- “Look at this! With that deep slice on his jugular vein, no wonder he’ll die pretty quickly due to all that blood loss.” // “On his what?” // “T-the blood vessel found on the neck, my lord.” // *is confused*

- Nobunaga considers this carefully and commissions the armour makers to improve their designs, and/or trade for more sturdy materials with the Portuguese (you know… aside trading for konpeito :3)

- Lets you examine more specimens to determine all possible deaths in battle, and then have it discussed at the next council. It’s a great help for them in terms of preparation & strategizing. After all, prevention and preparation is still much better!

Hideyoshi

- A worried mother hen as always, all he wanted is for you to stay away from the worst sights possible and definitely not going straight towards them! “What do I keep telling you?” // “Uh, stay away from the corpses…?”

- Just like how his lord would sneak away to have konpeito, you also tend to get around stealthily just to study “them”

- Being a highly observation person due to your work, you even know which wooden floor in Azuchi will make a creaking sound and by instinct you will avoid it

- But Mamayoshi is just as observant as you are, and he caught you one night

- “I know you were once this ‘forensic expert’ from where you came from, but you are a princess now and must behave like one!” Legend has it that the lecture continues...  

Mitsuhide

- Ah, he loves asking for your suggestions on how to get away with murder treason!

- I mean, he’s surely an expert but an additional piece of advice his little mouse wouldn’t hurt, right?

- “This place’s almost clean, I’d say.” // “’Almost’, little mouse? It scares me so that you have trained eyes for such matters. // “Is that a compliment? Anyway, I saw a strand of hair near the sliding door... and its color is much similar to yours. Care to explain?”

- Now he’s more careful than ever to leave any trace, knowing you can find him even with the smallest of clues

- The tables have turned for him after such a long time of being a sneaky fox

Masamune

- Oh boy, make sure you won’t overwork yourself by being with this man, being a battle-loving man that he is (meaning, more bodies and scenes to check out)

- At the same time, he finds it amusing that you proactively ask him to take you to his trips, campaigns and whatnots

- “It really is fun having you around, lass! Or should I say ‘partner’?” // “Damn straight, partner… now, let’s solve this case!” Cat-like grin commences for you two

- He sees you having fun hanging out at the scouts’ camp, chatting about experiences in the battlefield. your eyes would glimmer the more explicit they describe it. Creepy? Maybe a little, but at least he sees you happy about it… right?

- The One-Eyed Dragon will find this unusual, sure, but it certainly makes him want to know you more

Ieyasu

- Did he care at first? No, not really. He just wanted no involvement at first and to be left on his room alone, reading or eating extra-spicy food

- However, Yatsun gets curious when he finds you taking a peek at his medicinal work on a man he is a bit late to save :(

- “What are you doing here? You better not get in the way.” // “Oh no, poor man though… what’s the cause?” // “I am yet to find that out, if you’ll excuse me,---” // “Can I take a look?”

- He tries to pry you away from the room but being already in and touching the body leaves him no choice but to keep a close eye on you, making sure you’re not doing anything daft.

- “Huh, not bad.” Ieyasu says as you were able to identify the cause of death, deep inside he’s amazed of course. Later on he would let you join him in his post-mortem activities if the schedule allows to, but still keeping an eye on you to prevent any mishaps from happening

Mitsunari

- “Wow, MC-sama is unfazed as we all are in the battlefield! You truly are an amazing woman.” Did you see that sunny smile on his face as he says it???

- Your logical explanation as to identifying one’s death baffles the force’s cinnamon roll (because of the jargon used), otherwise it fascinates him

- Well, he’s never seen a woman who’s into dead bodies work-wise!

- Like some other warlords, he would ask you for advice when making strategies for the next battle

- When you went to his room one time to borrow a book, the first thing you said was “Am I in a crime scene?” when seeing piles of books around, untouched food and seeing a man unmoved in the middle of the room, reading and not even sensing your presence. “Ah no, just a normal room. I see.”

Ranmaru

- While in an errand, he sees you one day looking at a dead body about to be taken away. He is worried that the view might traumatize you for life… in the back of his mind he already has a plan to take you to a sweets shop and let you gorge in manjuu for the rest of the day

- “MC-sama, are you alright? You look shocked.” // “Yeah, I mean it looks to me that someone killed him when everybody says the opposite! I wanted to look into this so badly…” // “My apologies, but… what?”

- Of course it is never the answer he expected, but when you plead to help him solve it, this page is more than willing to do so

- Now both of you are going around the town looking for clues and asking who you think are involved; partners-in-crime!

- You did get to gorge on manjuu (and tea, lots of it) with Ranmaru when the case is solved!

UESUGI-TAKEDA FORCES

Kenshin

- Oh boy, make sure you won’t overwork yourself by being with this man, being a battle-loving man that he is pt.2

- “How dare you try to even speak with MC; draw your swords. Now.” // “Kenshin-sama, even if I’m used to seeing the deceased, please don’t do that. You’re scaring your own men!”

- He has little to no problem in taking her along to the battlefield, too! One more way to keep her in sight at all times

- Sometimes when you two are drinking and think he had too much you just had to stop him, to his slight annoyance. You have seen many deaths due to alcohol poisoning and definitely wouldn’t want him to be in the list… Bunshin Lord Kenshin appreciates the thought though

- Like Nobunaga, he allows you to do some research on the dead bodies, anything useful for the ongoing war

Shingen

- How can an angel such as you be associated with death and decay? He thinks

- But this daddy needs to accept the fact that you are quite comfortable around such! However once your investigation takes a scary turn expect him to nearby, comforting you with soothing words, or a hug… or eating sweet buns as many as you’d like to calm yourself down

- At first he is reluctant to let you get near the deceased, however whenever he sees your expression light up whenever he makes a cheesy comment (albeit in a rather awkward place) he thought of going along with it

- “Hm, this job of yours is unfitting in every way.” // “Oh yeah? How so?” // “You are brimming with life that I do think you are a goddess who descended upon us men.” // “Ah, here we go again…”

- You have to admit, his presence help you keep your sanity as you used to work alone for long periods of time

Yukimura

- “I thought you might be running away now once you see these.” // “As if they’ll chase me! Unless… are they still alive?” // “Weird woman…”

- This tsun does admire how brave you are after even making such joke

- Along with Sasuke, you three are pretty much effective when doing some investigation at the enemy’s base with you giving them (modern) tips of not getting caught. Unusual hiding spots? Hidden weapons? Suspicious people? All checked and cleared! 

- He has been doing that for a long while now, but hearing your strange ideas do sound plausible… especially when ninja friend is highly approving it

- If Sasuke trusts you, he surely starts to trust you (and your skills) too

Sasuke

- Once again, be paired up with Yuki and you three would make a great investigation/espionage team

- When investigating, you and memelord ninja are speaking to each other in partly jargon, partly heavily-memed language

- Possibly having watched and/or read crimes shows or movie you two are getting along so well

- “So here’s our undercover story: husband, wife and husband’s best friend---” // “Wait, do we get cool names too?!” // “Yeah, I’ll get to that part later… or I’ll do it now. Miyako, Tsune and Chozaburo; sounds cool?” // “Noice.”

- As the conversation continues, Yuki is left by himself to wonder how on earth did he get friends like you, shaking his head lightly as your talk no longer makes sense to him

Yoshimoto

- This beautiful mailman sees you one day sketching and as a man of the arts he comes over to look at what you’re drawing

- What he sees is a detailed sketch of a man, possibly a random person. The facial structure, features are all spot on! He is in full admiration mode

- “My, such a lovely piece you are making there. Has someone commissioned you to make him a portrait?” // “Actually Yoshimoto-san, I am making this to be posted around town. A wanted poster of some sorts… he’s a criminal.”

- You explained to him your job as a forensic artist, and he listens to every single word of it. Yoshimoto would find himself asking about your style of sketching as you continue drawing

- When the posters are up he is one of those people who would look at it for a long time; for him it’s not for memorizing the perp’s face, but simply to appreciate the art, fanning himself ever so gracefully

[stuckony-summer-stocking]

Treat Instructions!

The fills have been posted! 90 incredible Stuckony stories for you to enjoy!

For the next week while you enjoy guessing who made them all, we’re encouraging you to put extra treats in people’s stockings. You can do this in two ways: Discord or Tumblr. 

Below the cut, you’ll find a list of the folks who have requested treats linked to their tumblr stocking post. You can reply to/reblog the Tumblr stocking post and share the treat there! 

Or!

You can head over to Discord and share it there. You can do this through DM if the person allows, or @ the recipient on our STB Enthusiasts 18+ Discord server if both of you are there. (Are you? You should be! We’re guessing who created the amazing fills over there all week!) We’ve created a special channel - #stocking-party - just for this purpose.

Treats do not need to be Marvel or Stuckony-themed, but they certainly can be! Here are a few examples for how to make someone’s day even brighter: fic comments, gifs, pictures of animals, recipes, moodboards, and Flame really likes being told she’s pretty - just to name a few. Exactly like the fills, this is open to everyone and anyone who wants to make someone’s day.

Anyone who signed up for a stocking - be sure to check your stocking post for treats! Treats are open until October 3rd. But if you want to keep sending love to each other after that, well, we’re not going to stop you!

Treats are CLEARLY LABELED on the stocking posts as treats, so please be careful to follow wishes carefully! Click through the readmore for the full list of treat requests or click here for the archive of stocking posts.

betheflame - "I love gifs, and jokes, and anything to do with any of my fanworks. Puppies are just joy in photo form to me."

FestiveFerret - "I love allllll animals, especially ferrets. I cook, knit, crochet, and garden. I love pictures of pretty yarn, kind messages, anything to do with any of my fanworks, puzzles and brain teasers."

HogwartsToAlexandria - "Moodboards! Playlists! Love notes! (🥺) Fun pics and thirsty ones! Snippets of your own headcanons about the boys! Additional prompts you think are great! Reclists of shortish fics (anything over 3k I'm less likely to read, sorry!) Links to artsy time-lapses (they're a drug of mine..) and anything that came across your dash you think I might like. Commenting on your favorite of my fics if there's any you like. Stick figure drawings about anyhing at all... I just love gifts 🥺😍💕"

ashes0909 

Bill_Longbow - "Mini Avengers cross stitch patterns"

hundredthousands - "Fanart, moodboards or headcanons of any of my prompts or likes would be loved!"

Corsets_and_Cardigans - "Moodboards, Baking recipes, anything fall or Halloween themed, pictures of cute animals. I knit, sew, cross stitch, and bake, anything themed there."

RedToni - "musicals, books, sims, social work, singing, baking"

DepressingGreenie - "Chickens. Secretary birds. Gardening (I'm particularity fond of: food gardening, native Australian food plants, Food Forests, cottage style gardens, and heirlooms plants). Dragons/Wyverns + other mythological creatures. Snakes with arms or hats... or both. Puns. ...and anything to do with any of my fanworks."

Wiggle - "moodboards, I haven't put up prompt or ask posts in forever come hmu, headcanons, stick figure art, wild AU ideas, gifs of the boys, puppies, and anything to do with my fics/writing"

realityfallsapart - "I do like to bake 👀👀"

Fearlesslexi - "I love pit bulls and reptiles so pictures of those would be amazing"

willidothefandango (nagth) - "Movie and podcasts recommendations (anything mysterie and science fiction themed) and pics of cute cats and dogs (specially weiner dogs!) are all appreciated"

RoseRose - "Kitty pictures are awesome! Really, any adorable animal picture. Dragon pictures. Anything to do with any of my fanworks. Silly headcanons are also fun! Also, fic recs!"

JimmieJive - "I don't quite get this section but, SNAKES, I love snakes. Actually any cute animals are great. Was thinking of trying cross stitch so any beginner patterns are cool too." "

Ruquas - ""I love recipes. You have a recipe that you absolutely adore and would eat only if it was socially acceptable? I would love to try it. And pictures of landscapes. Doesn’t matter from where, with water or without, with animals or without, but I love landscapes"""

Skeeter_110 - "Moodboards, art of any kind, recipes, prompts"

JacarandaBanyan - "Moodboards are always fun!"

goindownshipping - "I love to cook! If you have any go-to recipes, I'd love to try them out. I'm not picky!"

newtypeshadow - "Fanart, foxes and kitsune, wolves and werewolves, dragons, funny pics and gifs, cute animals, anything to do with my fics, recs, headcanons, marvel meta."

Not_Crazy_Just_a_Fangirl - " translations of my fics, book recs, pokemon, fanart, song lists, recipes, dnd oneshots?, anything really"

justanotherpipedream - "I love to cook and always love trying new recipes! Puzzles, animals, gif sets, cat/dog videos, fun crafts, colouring pages."

mayamoksin - "Art would be cool. :) Also interesting but simple baking recipes. Any minimalist tattoo designs would be awesome to see. Maybe an idea for a new tumblr username."

Dodo - "sewing patterns for plushies, and cookie and pie recipes."

asphxdels - "moodboards, playlists"

nativemossy - "PLEASE send me pics of your pets or advise for my garden lol"

ABrighterDarkness - "I love, love, love foxes! I mean, I love animals period but foxes are <3 <3 <3. Moodboards, gifs, anything to do with my fics/writing, got any one-pan/pot-wonder recipes to share? I also love reading and learning the 'weird but true' type fun facts/trivia!" "

Huntress79 - "- cooking recipes (only in German and/or English, please), from wherever in the world you are! - cute pics of baby kittens, dolphins - knitting and/or crochet patterns (again, only in German or English, please)"

Publisher021 - "Mood boards"

iam93percentstardust - "Moodboards! Playlists! Prompts! Cats! Foxes!"

Faustess - "Funny or fandom cross stitch, lower carb recipes, cats, owls, moodboards, gifsets, memes - all kinds of stuff!"

MercurialMagpie - "my favorite animals are foxes, cats of any type, and Western dragons"

seleneaurora - "art, recs, cute animals"

Aquatigermice - "I like dogs, fish (Bettas), Tsums tsums, cake, tigers, snow and coloring sheets." "

OddConfection - "- I am always looking for new things to bake, so recipes are welcome! - Dark fairy tale/witch aesthetic - The moon/space - Mythical creatures. - Libraries"

MassiveSpaceWren - "Recs for the things I like, recs for TV series that are nice to watch without super much attention (for example while drawing). Anything with feathered dinosaurs."

groffiction - "love crafts, art of any kind, stuffed animals, drawing, stickers, horses, cats, dogs, wolves, etc."

lokivsanubis - "fresh laundry, betting on random things, dogs."

LadyUkkey - "Art~! Playlists! Stories!"

[solacefruit]

For the ask meme, 3) and 17), please? And maybe 25) if you're up to it? Irrelevant but I'm the Tormentil- missing/Harrierpaw ruddles from Ailuronymy – I love your writing too, it's amazing! (I'm very excited for a potential Riverclan full-length story, like MAMS, at some point – even if I have to wait quite a while)

Hello there! Thank you so much for saying so, that’s lovely to hear. Please don’t hold your breath for a Riverclan novel, though! It’s not even on my concept list at this point and there’s a lot of other stories, including full-length ones, I’m going to be attempting first. So it’s not impossible for me to write a Riverclan one--it would be pretty neat to have a novel for each clan--but I can’t promise it’ll ever happen at this stage. Maybe! But also maybe not. It’s a mystery for me too.

Now on to your questions!

Send an ask: get to know the author.

3. What order do you write in? Front of book to back? Chronological? Favourite scenes first? Something else?

For all my Warriors work so far, I’ve written from beginning to end. In part that’s just because of the episodic nature of chapters, but also I’d say that’s my default approach for all my writing. When I get into original fiction--and especially big original fiction, novel-length work--I expect I’ll be taking a much more flexible approach, probably jumping around based on the vibe sometimes, but I like linearity because the first draft is really just getting the building blocks on the page. After that point, then you start really sculpting and being clever with it and moving bits around once you have a sense of the whole.

But for me, I think that first stage is more about getting a clarity of purpose and a rough outline--and that can be done pretty well with front-to-back writing. 

17. If you could give your fledgling author self any advice, what would it be?

Don’t sweat it. That stuff you think is important is completely not important at all. You’re doing all this nitty-gritty obsessive researching and “world-building” pointless, mundane aspects of the world because you: 1. are procrastinating actually writing; 2. have been tricked into thinking that’s what the “good” “serious” fantasy writers do, because that’s what a lot of boring old guys you don’t even like to read do and brag about, and you’re still believing can’t be a good fantasy writer without that, because that’s the popular image of a fantasy writer; & 3. are scared if you’re not perfect and exact in every detail, people are going to tear your writing apart for being “inaccurate” or making a mistake. 

That’s no way to live. You don’t like doing it, really. You’re trying to preempt criticism from people who weren’t ever going to like your writing anyway, and I think you know that. You’re trying to imitate authors you don’t even want to write like, because you think what they write is kind of boring and flat and it’s really straight and you sort of hate it, but you feel you should since it’s what’s “right”.

But you’re not being authentic to yourself, or your vision, or your talent, or what you want to write, and you should be. 

It’s really not your fault you feel this way, but you’re going to be so much happier when you realise this version of a fantasy writer is all total hokum and not your style and instead start writing what you want to, the way you want to. People are really going to like what you’re bringing to the table. It’s going to set you apart and you’re going to love writing fantasy that’s a bit weird and kooky and self-indulgent and fun and queer and all the things those old books just aren’t. 

I can’t stress how liberating it will be to put on heart-shaped pink sunglasses and decide that the most important thing your writing has to be is genuine and fun for you. You never wanted to write realist fiction anyway. Secondary worlds forever. 

25. Copy-paste a few sentences or a short paragraph that you’re particularly proud of.

I thought about it for a bit because something I never do here is share any poetry I write, despite writing a decent amount of it. Partly that’s just not this blog’s audience, but also a lot of it I hope one day to put into publication, if only in a little chapbook. That said, I wrote this a while back on commission for someone’s character who was deathly ill and his lovers left behind, so I don’t mind sharing it now. It’s a tanka set (5-7-5-7-7, a bit like a haiku). 

summer has four hands,  he remembers, and twenty  loving fingertips-- and it doesn't end, ever;  it lasts a lifetime--at least, in his heart--even as his own fingertips grew slow and cold, his hands too weak to return a touch, to reach out and hold on, to find comfort in their  warm skin and promise them that he would be okay: each new winter weighed him down with the too-familiar  tiredness of a body with not quite enough life in it, like a garden under the frost, cold and withdrawn at the edges of the leaves, waiting for a sunrise that isn't coming. The ground, he remembers, was solid as stone under the snow that last winter, a final  cruel laugh from the world, as though giving him to the  earth--as though burying a lover--was not hard enough for them already-- but it was a pain that time alone could heal; so he waited, in the place so near and so far away, until the seasons moved once more and time brought them to his open hands, ten fingertips made of light, never to let go again. when he remembers the living world, he thinks of it better than it  was and forgives it for the brevity and falling snow.

[let-it-raines]

Okay, now I know you're accepting prompts for the CMIYC verse, expect a whole lot of them coming from me 😂I'd LOVE to see Emma finding out she's pregnant, and her telling Killian, and just their whole journey through her pregnancy!

This isn’t going to cover everything you asked for @dorisquinn but I’ve got 2/3. You can send me all of the prompts you want. Honestly, seeing your enthusiasm as well as the enthusiasm of others to still want parts of this universe makes me so happy! You guys should see the timeline I just mapped out to make sure everything stays cohesive because I’ve got some more extras to write for you guys 🙈

found on ao3 | here |

-/-

March 2022.

“These boxes are never going to get unpacked.”

“We could have hired someone, you know.”

“I’m not even working full-time right now. There’s no need for us to have hired someone when all I’m doing is sitting at home.”

“You go to meetings…on occasion.”

“I have a meeting tomorrow. Stop making that look on your face, twenty-nine.”

“There’s not a look on my face, besides a handsome one.”

Emma huffs and falls back against the wall, sinking down onto the ground and pulling her knees to her chest. They should have moved as soon as last season ended. It would have given them more time to unpack the ridiculous amount of stuff they somehow accumulated over the past three years, but there was a problem with the closing and then the plumbing, and they officially signed for this place two weeks into spring training. Killian had to fly back from Florida for the paperwork, spent one night in the house with her where all they had was their bed set up, and then he went straight back to the hell that is Florida humidity.

At least they’re not there for months at a time in the summer. Everyone would die. It’s bad enough when they’re in Tampa for a few days at a time.

(Then again, humidity in New York in the summer is no joke.)

She could have flown down and stayed with him, already has for a few days here and there, but they need to get settled before the season starts and things get insane. Things are really never not insane, but there are definitely periods where there is a little more peace.

Off-season is undoubtedly her favorite season.

She loves baseball and the game and working almost every day, but having Killian home for months at a time and being able to sleep in their own bed instead of a hotel bed is so much better than anything else.

Emma definitely wants the off-season back.

And this house to be unpacked.

One of those things is more likely to happen than the other, and it’s not the house getting unpacked.

“I miss you,” Emma whispers into the phone.

“I miss you, love. You know you can fly down anytime, right? There’s nothing keeping you there. It’s been less than a week, but I miss you terribly.”

She flips the camera around to all of the boxes. “I don’t want to be living in chaos. I want, like, some kind of organization. I told myself that when I left my room key with you that I would not be flying back to Florida. I have to get this place functional.”“I know we’ve been married for nearly a year, love, but I don’t think you should be turning into me quite this quickly with all of that talk of organization.”“Technically, as far as everyone else knows, we’re only nine months into this whole marriage thing, so that’s not quite a year.”

“Specifics.”“Ruby was over here yesterday helping me unpack and found the pictures from the clerk’s office. I’m pretty sure she figured us out.”“I think David has known for awhile now.”“Why do you think that?”

“Just a hunch.”Emma groans and scoots further down on the floor. “If David knew, he would have said something.”“Aye, you’re likely right.” Killian smiles, his face slightly pixilated. “Come see me this weekend, Swan. I know you said no more flights, but maybe just the one more. I’ll take you to dinner. Wine and dine you and all that.”“I think there’s a third part of that proposition.”

Killian gasps and holds his hand to his chest. “Dirty.”

“You know it, twenty-nine.”

“I think you mean sixty-nine.”

“Oh my God.”

Killian chuckles and pushes his hair back. It’s too long again. He hasn’t gotten it cut in months, and as handsome as he looks, she’s desperately waiting for him to get it cut. Suggesting it hasn’t really worked out well for her, but if he likes it long, he likes it long. It’s not like she’d appreciate it if he told her to shave her legs or something like that.

“I’ve got to go to workouts, but I’ll call you again tonight, yeah?”

“I look forward to it. I love you.”“And I you, my love.”

The video lingers for a moment, and then it disconnects, only the memory of Killian’s smile there.

She misses him like crazy. It’s ridiculous and stupid and kind of annoying. Maybe she should go down and see him this weekend. It’s not like she has this weekend. Spring training is almost over, and she could wait it out. She really could. That’s what she’s told herself she’ll do, but should she if she doesn’t have to? Maybe if she gets enough boxes unpacked.

Hell, maybe she should just cave and hire people to do it for her, but she put up such a dumb fight when Killian suggested it that she doesn’t want to admit to failure now. Not that he’d ever truly judge her for it.

Okay. He’d judge her a little bit.

Her phone buzzes in her hand.

Elsa: You planning on letting me in?

Shit. The doorbell didn’t sound, and Emma didn’t hear a knock at the door. Quickly, she stands from the ground and kicks a box to the side before hurrying down two sets of stairs to get to the front door. She loves having more space than the apartment, but she doesn’t love all of the stairs. At least, right now. Soon she’ll hopefully kick ass at being able to walk up and down them quickly.

Hopefully her ass will look fantastic because of it too.

Damn Manhattan and its lack of space.

“Hey,” Emma greets after unlocking the front door. “Did you ring the doorbell?”

“I did.”

“Well shit.” Emma leans forward and wraps her arms around Elsa. “I guess our doorbell is broken too. Do you know anything about electrical work?”

“I know how to hook up our cable, but that’s about it.”

“Then what good are you to me?”

“I bring you donuts.”

“Bless you.”

“I know.” Elsa steps inside, closing the door behind her, and immediately walks toward the kitchen where she puts down the bag of donuts she’s carrying and then immediately starts looking around the room. “Have you unpacked any of the kitchen?”

“A few things. Mostly things I use. It’s all Killian’s, and he hasn’t really been here to tell me where to put anything. I don’t know his system as well as I should.”

“Do you have silverware out? Plates and bowls?”

“I have a few things but not all of it.”

Elsa sighs and pulls her shorts up and then adjusts her t-shirt. She took the day off to help Emma unpack, and, really, she should be lounging around watching TV or something. “I don’t mean to go all mom on you, but grab a donut. We’re about to unpack your kitchen. Then we move to your bedroom and your closet so you can at least function. Everything else will come later.”

“As long as I get a donut, this all sounds good to me.”

“You can have another if you finish this room.”

“I’m good with a bribe.”

“Incentive. It makes it sound less dirty.”

Emma laughs. “Deal.”

Elsa is some kind of unpacking machine. It’s actually ridiculous. She knows exactly how to store everything in their cabinets and the pantry, and while Emma is sure Killian will rearrange it all when he realizes it’s not to his specifications, after three hours, they have all of the kitchen boxes emptied. It’s practically a miracle, and Emma didn’t even need an extra donut to make her do the work.

(An extra donut is sounding really good right now, though. Elsa got the good kind.)

All she really needed was Elsa. If they had Anna here, though, Emma imagines the entire house would be finished by now. Well, if Anna wasn’t eight months pregnant. Mary Margaret would probably be the better choice, but she’s got a class full of third-graders to attend to. Ruby, however, would bring everything to a halt because she’d get distracted by the things she was unpacking.

They move upstairs and back to the bedroom after they’re finished in kitchen, and Elsa sticks to the bedroom while Emma works in the closet. She’s got some of her clothes up, mostly her workout stuff, and even though their stuff is boxed in a way that should make it easy to hang up several things at once, Emma keeps getting distracted trying to organize it in a way that’s not something she’s going to sustain.

Seriously. Who is organized enough to keep things sorted by color?

Killian. Killian is. He organizes his freaking t-shirts by how old they are.

The weirdo.

Emma finally decides to just do it by type of clothing, and after she’s gotten all of her dresses on the racks, she decides that she needs some kind of break. She did not sleep last night, and no amount of coffee could wake her up.

Has she even had coffee today?

Or maybe she’s simply bored by having to unpack. That’s a lot of the same thing over and over again, and all Emma really wants to be doing is watching Netflix.

Slowly, she slides back down to the ground and pulls out her phone again, answering her texts and then clicking on Instagram to move away the notifications. It’s all stuff Killian has tagged her in, and she quickly moves through the videos and memes before clicking on his page. It’s been mostly baseball lately, pictures of him, Will, and Robin, but if she scrolls a little further back, there are pictures of Liam and Elsa or Addy and Lucy. And then there are pictures of her. She mostly uses social media for work, but she does like to get on and see what Killian has posted. It’s usually something she’s never seen, and there are at least ten pictures on here that she had no idea were taken.

There’s one in particular that she likes the most. It’s from last November. They were in Portland for Thanksgiving sitting on the swing in Ruth’s backyard, and Killian snapped a photo of her drinking coffee, the sun glinting off of her skin in just the right way so that she looked tanner than she actually was.

My love forever, the caption reads.

That day had been…hard. It had been fucking awful, actually, but Killian had wrapped his arms around her and held her until it wasn’t so awful.

That’s what he does. He makes awful days feel that little bit better simply by being there.

She likes that, likes that she has that forever now.

My love forever.

She has had that love for awhile with David and Ruth, with her friends too, and while she doesn’t like to put some relationships over others, Killian does get the slightest elevation.

It’s good to have all that love. It’s healthy, and if someone asked her twenty years ago if she’d ever have any of this, she would have laughed in their face.

She can’t stop staring at the photo and all of the memories behind it. She had been so sure that morning, and it wasn’t…she wasn’t.

“Hey, Emma, do you have – woah, what’s wrong?”

“What?” Emma sniffles, wiping below her eyes. “What makes you think something is wrong?”

“You’re sitting on the floor sniffling and wiping your eyes. Those are pretty big clues.”

Emma scoffs. “I’m fine.”“You’re a liar.”“Els, I’m fine.”

“I believe you about as much as I believe Killian when he says that.” Elsa walks over to her to and slides down onto the floor next to her, kicking away a shoe and grabbing onto Emma’s forearm. “You want to talk about whatever it is? You know you don’t have to, but I’m a good listener. I couldn’t be married to Liam if I wasn’t.”

“Liam does talk a lot.”

“I think it’s a Jones family trait.”

“I think I might be pregnant.”

She might have that trait too for the way she just blurted that out.

Elsa gasps, and Emma braces herself for it just like she braces herself for it every time this conversation comes up. She’s the one who brought it up this time, but it was kind of inevitable when this is honestly all she’s been thinking about for two days now.

For a little more than two days if she’s totally honest.

“I didn’t���I’m not,” Emma stutters, trying to continue talking before she shuts herself up, “I never thought I would be someone who wanted a baby. I thought I was going to be alone for so much of my life, so when Killian and I decided to try and kept having these negative tests, I don’t know. I, well, it sucks, and it’s been really damn hard. It hasn’t even been a long time, and we’re still so young. I probably shouldn’t even complain because I know it’s harder for other people. It’s just that a part of me feels like I’ve gotten so much good in my life I was never supposed to get. What if this is the thing I don’t get? What if I have this feeling in my gut now because it’s some kind of sign that I should give up before my hopes get too high?”

“Oh, darling,” Elsa sighs as she wraps her arm around Emma’s back and pulls her toward her, rubbing her hand up and down her arm, “you can’t think like that. The world doesn’t give you a certain amount of good and then just stop. You can have more good than you think you deserve. I do. And that feeling of helplessness when it comes to getting pregnant and it not working as fast as you want? I’ve had that too. It’s what happened with Lucy.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. I thought maybe Addison was going to be it for us, and we were like you two. We hadn’t been trying for a long time, but it could still feel hopeless when Addison was so easy. Getting pregnant is hard, and unless you talk to others like this, there’s no way you’d know. All you’d see is the happy announcements and the smiles.”

Emma turns her head into Elsa’s shoulder. It’s a good thing she’s not wearing mascara because she’d totally ruin Elsa’s t-shirt.

“So I’m not some kind of freak show for sitting in my closet freaking out about this?”

“Emma, having a baby, or even the possibility of it, is the most terrifying thing in the world. If you weren’t having meltdowns, I’d be concerned about you.”

“This is so not in my wheelhouse,” Emma mumbles. “I talk for a living, talking about this is…different.”

“Baseballs and babies aren’t exactly in the same category.”

“They are on Family Day.”“Yeah, well, you know what I mean.”

Emma huffs and pulls away from Elsa, leaning her head back against the wall. “This closet is still such a mess. My shoes are everywhere.”

“Oh, I know. I think I’m going to need to borrow those wedges that are caught up underneath the pile of Killian’s jerseys.”

“They are yours to borrow.”

“Not to keep?”

“Nah, I like them too much for that.”

Elsa laughs and twists on the ground until she’s facing Emma, small smile on her face. “You’re going to be okay. You and Killian both. And if you ever need to talk, Liam and I are always here. Anna too.”

“Anna is eight months pregnant with twins. All she does is warn people against getting pregnant. I don’t think she’s ever going to have sex again.”

“Can you blame her?”

“Absolutely not.”

Elsa claps her hands together. “Okay, let’s conquer this closet, and then I’m taking you home with me for dinner so you’re not left in this house stalking your husband’s Instagram.”

“I was not doing that.”

“You totally were. I could see it on your screen when I walked in.”

“I’m taking away your shoe privileges.”

Elsa quickly gets up and runs over to the wedges, picking them up. “Nope. They’re mine now.”

-/-

She’s pregnant.

Or, at least, that’s what the three tests she took this morning said.

Emma had gone over to Liam and Elsa’s last night for dinner, and she’d forgotten about everything. She really had, and it had been nice not to think about it and to be able to know that her life was going to go on no matter what. She knew that. Logically, she did. Her life is not defined by what a pregnancy test says, but when it’s what you want…

When it’s what she and Killian want.

And they might get now.

Oh shit. She is not ready to give birth.

That’s not even happening right now, or in the near future, but it’s going to happen. Emma’s pretty sure it’s some kind of torture device designed to make being a woman even more difficult, but she’s got to stop thinking of that right now.

What she’s got to start thinking about is the fact that she’s in New York while Killian is in Florida.

Florida.

Shit. She’s got to book a flight to Florida.

She said she wasn’t going to do it, but that was before she knew for sure.

That was before.

Where the hell is her neck pillow?

Emma gets off the rim of the tub and walks into the bedroom, grabbing her laptop off the charger and stretching out on the bed while trying to find the next flight. There are a few this afternoon, but she’s got meetings she can’t cancel. There’s one she might be able to make around seven, though, and she quickly enters her information and books a one-way ticket.

She’s never been so excited to go to Florida.

-/-

“Can I get an extra key to room 835?”

“And your name is?”

“Emma Jones.”

The receptionist starts typing on her keyboard, looking up at Emma and then looking back at her computer, her brows furrowed. “I’m sorry. There’s not an Emma Jones in that room.”

“I know. It’s my husband’s room. It’s under his name. Killian Jones. It should be under the block of rooms for the Yankees.”

“Ma’am, I’m sorry, but I can’t give you a key to that room. It’s our policy, especially when it comes to our VIP guests in our suites. It’s for their safety.”

Emma has to fight the urge to roll her eyes. She’s exhausted. It’s been a long ass day, she sat next to someone who snored the entire flight down here, and all she wants to do is see Killian. Why the hell did she leave her key with Killian last week?

Oh, yeah, because she wasn’t supposed to come back.

“If I was some kind of stalker, how would I know his room number?”

“You would be surprised what people know.”

She sighs and pulls out her phone, clicking on Ariel’s name.

“Emma?”

“Ariel, can you get me an extra key to Killian’s room?”

“Are you here?” Ariel squeals before quieting. “Wait.” There’s a mumble and then the sound of a chair squeaking before Ariel’s voice comes back into focus. “Sorry. We’re out at dinner, and I had to move away from the table. This is a surprise, right?”

“Mhm.”

“That is literally the sweetest thing I’ve ever heard.”

“You need to hear more things.”

“Oh, hush. I’ll call the front desk. We’ve got to be back soon anyways because I have to relieve the babysitter for Morgan, so it won’t be too long.”

“That sounds perfect. I’ll probably see you tomorrow, okay?”

“I can’t wait, and I promise that my lips are sealed.”

They hang up, and the front desk’s phone immediately rings. The receptionist nods and smiles and is completely and totally nice to Ariel, typing in a few things on her computer as she avoids eye contact with Emma. Then the conversation is over and Emma is being handed a card.

“This works for both the elevator and the room. Have a nice night, Mrs. Jones.”

“Thanks,” Emma says, forcing a smile. She knows the woman was just doing her job, but it doesn’t keep her from being annoyed. She’s not about to be pissy with her though. “Have a good night.”

Grabbing her luggage, she maneuvers out of the lobby and to the elevator. She knows this hotel better than any other hotel in the country from how much she’s stayed here, and she easily makes her way up to Killian’s room, sliding the card in the door and sighing in relief that the clerk actually gave her a key that worked. She was worried that she wouldn’t.

Killian’s suite is clean, and Emma knows it’s not just because of housekeeping. The man is so damn particular about everything, and even though all she wants to do is curl up in bed and go to sleep, she opens up her suitcase and starts putting her few clothes away, making sure not to mess with any of Killian’s stuff. It’s what he would end up doing later anyways, and if she does it now, it’ll be one less thing he’ll have to focus on.

How the hell is she supposed to tell him that she’s pregnant?

That’s something she should have focused on for the flight down here, but all she could think about was how much she wanted to murder the man who was snoring next to her.

She’s going to be great at the whole getting no sleep thing.

Did she really want this? Did they? Are they crazy? What drives someone to want to have a baby? Yeah, they’re cute, but then they grow up and yell at you for telling them not to eat straight sugar for dinner. And she didn’t have parents. Well, she has Ruth, but she didn’t have Ruth for fifteen years. Killian’s mom died, and his dad is a piece of shit. What do either of them know about babies and being parents?

What do either of them know about kids in general?

Well, they do have nieces and nephews and friends with kids. Hell, their friends have had so many kids. It’s like in the past two years all anyone has done is pop a kid out and –

The door to the suite beeps, and Emma doesn’t even realize she’s been pacing for a long time until Killian’s standing right in front of her blinking with his mouth wide open.

“Hi,” Emma squeaks out.

It’s official. She is not herself today.

“Fucking hell,” Killian mumbles.

“Well, that’s always the greeting a girl – ”

Killian strides forward and cups her cheeks before pulling her to him with his mouth, sucking on her bottom lip before he starts moving and can’t seem to stop. It’s been less than a week. That’s all. It hasn’t even been that long since they’ve been apart. They make it a point to never go more than nine days, but she’s missed him more than she ever has.

Melodramatic and all that.

“What,” he starts, still kissing her, “are,” he continues as his lips move to her jaw, “you,” he sighs against her cheek, “doing,” he whispers against her eyelid, “here?” he finishes as his lips find hers once more while their foreheads rest against each other.

“I really missed Scarlet.”

Killian tilts his head back and barks out a laugh as his hands move from her cheeks to her biceps, squeezing them. Her stomach is absolutely swirling.

“God, I love you. You’re – ” He shakes his head, and his eyes crinkle. He’s gotten darker during training, and there’s the slightest tan line from where he’ll wear his hat backwards during pitching drills outside.

“I’m what?”

“Well, if I were to list all of the things you are, I imagine we’d be standing here forever.”

Emma scoffs and pushes at his chest before moving closer once more so she can wrap her arms around his neck. “Why are you the way that you are?”

“Charming? I believe I was born this way.”

It’s Emma’s turn to shake her head at him. She presses up on her toes and lingers until her breath is ghosting over his mouth. “I love you, twenty-nine.”

“Good. I love you, Swan.”

She finally kisses him then, and Killian slowly backs her up to the bed until she’s falling down on top of it. All thoughts leave her mind as his lips and his hands move over her, and they truly disappear when his mouth is between her thighs and all she can think is how damn good that feels. It almost always does, like some kind of magic that’s bottled between the two of them, and even when it’s not good, Emma knows that there’s no one she’d rather get lockjaw or really unfortunate cramps with.

And weirdly, as Killian swivels his hips and hits just the right rhythm, she knows that no matter how much she’s freaking out about everything, the two of them have got this.

“Did you know the front-desk clerk thought I was a stalker?” Emma asks later. They haven’t changed back into any clothes, and Emma can’t seem to stop twirling Killian’s chest hair around her fingers while his hand dances across her back, tracing familiar words there.

“Really now?”

“Mhm. I tried to get a room key, and she refused to give me one.”

“Ah, well, I have been having an influx of stalkers lately. It must be my devilishly good looks.”

“You’re never lacking in confidence, are you? Even when it comes to joking about something that’s not funny.”

“You would know more than anyone how that isn’t true.”

Emma leans down to kiss his chest before resting her chin there. The air conditioner clicks on, and a cold rush of air runs over Emma’s bare skin. Killian tugs the comforter up over a little more of her back, and they sit in silence as Emma starts counting how fast her heart is beating. If she doesn’t tell him tonight, she won’t sleep. It’ll eat at her until the morning, and with how exhausted she is from not sleeping two nights in a row, she really can’t afford another night without sleep.

She also hasn’t had coffee in days. That has sucked.

“Killian, I – ”

She stops when his finger traces her name into her back. “What is it, love?”

“Nothing,” Emma begins, even if she knows it’s everything. “It’s just…Killian, I’m pregnant.”

For the rest of her life she’ll remember that Killian stopped blinking for a few seconds too long. She’ll remember that his eyes are slightly red-rimmed from his own lack of sleep, and she’ll remember the way that slowly but surely his lips curl from a small smile to one of the brightest she’s ever seen from him.

“Are you? For real? I’m not imagining this conversation?”

Emma inhales and nods. “I think so. I wouldn’t be far along. Like, at all, so anything could happen. But my period is late, and I took, like, three tests this morning that were positive. Peeing on a stick never feels normal.”

Killian chuckles as his free hand comes around to tuck her hair behind her ear. He’s so gentle like that, and she doesn’t know what she did to deserve him. He can be hot-headed and impatient and ready to act on his anger instead of thinking it through, but at his core, Killian Jones is a good man.

“Aye, I imagine not.”

He leans down to glide his lips over hers, and even if Emma had imagined what it would be like to tell Killian they better start reading all of those books so they have some clue what they’re doing, she knows none of it would be better than this.

Calm and content and like they were always supposed to end up here.

“I love you, Swan,” Killian whispers as his hand shifts from her back to her stomach. “I don’t – thank you for being by my side for all of this.”“Always, twenty-nine. Always.”

-/-

-/-

Tag list: @bluewildcatfanatic​ @killianswannn @dorisquinn​ @onepunintendid​ @authorarsinoe​ @stunningswan​ @eala-captian @galaxyzxstark @xellewoods @mariakov81 @ultraluckycatnd @royalswan @shey-starsfury​ @superchocovian​ @sals86 @iam2307 @ashley-knightingale @karenfrommisthaven @scientificapricot @captswanis4vr @ultimiflos @jamif @idristardis @nikkiemms @resident-of-storybrooke @tiganasummertree @bmbbcs4evr @onceuponaprincessworld @jennjenn615 @mayquita @captainsjedi @teamhook @notoriouscs @kmomof4 @ekr032-blog-blog​ @cs-forlife @andiirivera @jonirobinson64 @qualitycoffeethings​ @carpedzem​ @tornadoamy​ ​

[hatsukeii]

Hi! 2, 4, 6, 8, 12, 14 for Kageyama from the headcanons list?? If it's too many, just choose whichever interest you the most! Thank you! 💜

Hhhhh ty for requesting!!

I have so many ideas from Kageyama after seeing the latest few chapters all over my explore page on ig, this should be fun~

Btw just because I crave fluff and made up romantic scenarios I will be including you as a female s/o, I hope you’re fine w that bc I’m terrible at writing same sex fanfics and I feel like including you might be fun too, sorry if it’s not what you prefer, I’ll write up another one if you want!!

(You aren’t mentioned excessively though, so don’t worry!!)

Warnings: Mild manga spoilers that have to do with Kageyama’s backstory, nothing too major though, and angstangstangstangstangst-

2. How are they like on social media?

- Kageyama’s probably one that doesn’t really have that much regarding social media.

- However he would probably have the most common ones.

- Instagram, snapchat, maybe twitter too.

- He also has tiktok now that you’ve basically forced him to download it.

- Definitely uses instagram the most out of everything he has.

- Username: milkboykags

- Followers: 992 (Since he’s pretty popular through playing volleyball.)

- Following: 745 (He tries to follow most of his followers back if they have mutual friends between them, even if it’s a fan.)

- Profile pic: Probably one of those grunge shaky pics of him with a few of the Karasuno team members and you with a dark background and stuff.

- Bio: If you don’t have milk, don’t bother looking for me. ~Me, 2k19 (He hasn’t updated his bio a year lol.)

- His instagram feed is actually pretty aesthetic.

- He has one volleyball post of the entire team at the beach playing beach volleyball while the sun sets.

- He’s way too proud of that post.

- Another one of his posts was taken when you two were on an arcade date (At that time he hadn’t confessed yet, but he asked you out just to do that) and he sneaked a photo of you trying to get a unicorn plush from one of those claw machines.

- That one he’s gonna be keeping in his feed forever.

- He has a collection of highlights.

- There’s one for volleyball practice shenanigans, one for those little dates he takes you on, another one for full on group hangouts, then one of camera wars with random people that try taking photos of him, most likely you or Hinata.

- His feed basically revolves around this filter recipe he made for instagram, which makes his photos look cooler toned and more faded.

(P.s dm me if you want the recipe bc i made it on vsco lmao no I’m not a vsco girl don’t worry.)

- He doesn’t really use snapchat and twitter.

- Only does streaks with you and the volleyball team.

- Tiktok though, is a whole other story.

- Username: givemethecows

- Followers: 1405 (People from both tiktok and instagram.)

- Following: 200

- Bio: I make videos and shit.

- Profile pic: Bass boosted you like jazz meme (Bass boosted but photo if you get me.)

- Kageyama has this whole lowkey eboy thing going on with his tiktok.

- Most the time his videos are just a way to show his weird sense of humour or his sense of style that screams casual eboy.

- Since you forced him to get tiktok, you also forced him to learn dances with you.

- He’s terrible at those.

- Like very bad.

- He managed to break a pair of Tsukishima’s glasses while doing the renegade at break.

- And almost twisted his hips trying to throw it back as a joke.

- Needless to say it’s both hilarious and embarrassing for Kageyama.

- There are also tiktoks of him doing insane volleyball tricks on camera like the demon quick, the synchronised attack, and his jump serve etc.

- Which have gained him quite the following on the platform.

- In conclusion, Kageyama is generally pretty good at social media, but sucks ass at dancing.

4. What is Kageyama’s preferred weather?

- Surprisingly, Kageyama doesn’t like sunny weather. At all.

- For him, it’s the absolute worst thing.

- He think that sunny weather is way too annoying and hot and stuffy and gross.

- Plus, going out for morning runs in sunny weather is like wearing 10 jackets in hell.

- Like you can put on an extra layer if you’re cold but you can’t just strip naked if you’re hot.

- Oh my god he hates it so much it pains him to even think about it.

- He likes rainy days.

- Definitely not his favourite though.

- Rainy days usually mean staying home for the entire day.

- He can just laze around in his house, do whatever he wants.

- The sound of rain against glass windows soothes him.

- The constant sounds of droplets hitting the windows give him a sense of tranquility and peace.

- He will quite literally, fall asleep to those sounds.

- However rainy days do have their drawbacks.

- One of them, is having to stay home.

- Kageyama likes going for runs just to take in some fresh air, but that won’t work when it’s raining cats and dogs now will it.

- Plus, it means everything he does is restricted in his house unless he can get to an indoor gym that’s open.

- Boring.

- So he prefers windy days, when the cold breeze grazes his skin and the sun hides behind the fluffy clouds.

- It’s those days where he doesn’t have to suffer the heat that the sun brings upon him, nor does he have to suffer the feeling of rainwater dripping from the tips of his hair.

- He can do whatever he wants and still feel at ease and comfortable.

- Quite literally everything he asks for in a day.

6. Favourite music?

- Let’s be real, Kageyama probably isn’t good at music.

- He can’t dance or sing to save his life.

- However, he does enjoy how listening to music calms his nerves and gives him a chance to relax, even if he’s in a situation where he should be focused on an assignment or a piece of class work.

- People would expect him to enjoy listening to EDM or alternative rock, but no.

- This boy likes to listen to lofi and love songs.

- This doesn’t mean that his playlist only consists of these two genres, but the majority of songs in his playlist are either chill lofi beats or songs that give you the feels.

- Some of his favourite artists are Jeremy Zucker, Blackbear, Conan Gray, Billie Eilish, Lauv, Clairo, Wallows, Khalid, BENEE, Post Malone, Coldplay, Rex Orange County, Green Day, Shiloh Dynasty, Kina, love-sadKID, and the Arctic Monkeys.

- Has like 5 different playlists for different moods and events.

- One for moody times, one for study beats, one for when he wants throwbacks, one for firing him up before volleyball matches, and one for if he ever has to DJ in the front seat of someone’s car.

- Prefers to listen to music by himself.

- You’re an exception though.

- If he’s with you, you get one earbud, but he’ll be the one choosing the music still.

- You two have pretty contrasting tastes when it comes to music.

- He likes softer songs and lofi the most, whilst you prefer old rock and alternative rock. Oh and also a lot of throwback songs.

- I feel like Kageyama has definitely cried to a few songs when he was going through hard times.

- To him, listening to music is also a way of releasing all the inner conflict and frustrations.

- (Spoiler for backstory) When his grandfather died, he put Fix You on loop for at least 20 minutes.

- He was just numb, curled up into a ball on his bed, staring at the wall. He couldn’t feel anything. Nothing in his mind registered properly. All he could think of, was everything his grandfather had taught him, before he eventually passed away.

- Submerging himself into the melancholy song he was listening to, he didn’t even feel the tears that were now streaming down his face.

- The salty tears were now staining his pillow, creating little wet spots.

- He listened to every single lyric in the song, clutching his sheets harder every time the chorus came up.

- He punched his mattress repeatedly, still unable to accept the fact that someone he held so dear to his heart had just left like the wind.

- It wasn’t long until he was a sobbing mess, shaking and whimpering as he knelt on the bed.

- Silently sang to the lyrics, plopping back to his bed in defeat.

- His sister lingered in front of the door for five whole minutes, eventually leaving to let Kageyama sort out his feelings himself.

- You introduce a ton of new songs to him, since he doesn’t know that much about anything else other than lofi and sad songs.

- Just please no one let him listen to Nickleback. Please. He doesn’t need to know about it.

8. Movie that he would choose for a move nigh?

- The monthly Karasuno volleyball team movie night was finally here, and it was Kageyama’s turn to choose a movie this time, much to Tsukishima’s dismay.

- He’s put a lot of thought into this, not wanting to disappoint his teammates by choosing a shitty movie.

- He basically tried to figure out what everyone wanted to watch.

- However, everyone had very contrasting requests.

- Tsukishima wanted to watch Jurassic Park, Yamaguchi wanted a Disney movie, Hinata wanted something Marvel, Tanaka and Nishinoya wanted a horror movie, (Mainly so they could hit on you whilst you were still single) Sugawara wanted a romcom, Yachi wanted a comedy, and the others were fine with anything.

- He stressed himself out way too much trying to choose one movie.

- He finally got an idea after 3 entire days of thinking.

- And it wasn’t anything the team expected.

- Kageyama pulled up with Pulp Fiction.

- He’s seen that movie at least 5 times already.

- It was the perfect mix of comedy, gore, action, and philosophy.

- Plus, anything that starred Samuel L Jackson was worth a watch.

- Till this day, it remains one of his go to movies, alongside any MCU movie. (Captain America: The First Avenger is definitely his favourite though.)

12. Something small that they enjoy?

- One of the two small things Kageyama enjoys doing is baking cookies.

- Cookies in particular.

- I mean, there really is no detailed explanation.

- He’s pretty good at baking in general, even Tsukishima enjoys the cookies he bakes.

- Plus, he gets to dip the cookies in milk, what’s there not to enjoy?

- Another little thing he enjoys a lot is actually photography.

- Most the time, when he sees a pretty sky, or a city street at nighttime.

- He can’t help himself but snap a few photos here and there.

- Something about a well shot photo just hits different.

- Sometimes, he brings his camera out just to takes nice photos.

- Whenever you two are on dates, he’ll be able to capture candid or motion shots of when you’re just looking out the window of a bus mindlessly, or when you’re twirling around on the street playfully.

- Photos speak a thousand words, and honestly? He lives by that.

14. What is enough to bring him to tears?

- Support.

- Kageyama really needs support from someone he cares about.

- And no, not like support from his teammates.

- That’s different from hearing someone cheer from the stands.

- (Spoiler for backstory) Kageyama’s parents never gave much attention to him, since they were always busy with work. The only person that ever showed support for him was his grandfather, who passed away while he was still young.

- As if that wasn’t enough shit directed towards Kageyama, his teammates abandoned him during a match in junior high not long after the death of his grandfather.

- Which means that Kageyama now has lowkey abandonment issues.

- All through his volleyball journey he never got the support and reassurance he needed.

- He watched in envy as people from opposing teams, or even his own teammates, waved at their family members after they won or lost a match.

- All he could do was stare at the stands, hoping to catch just a glimpse of a family member.

- Nothing.

- Nobody realised how alone Kageyama felt during and after matches, until they watched him break down in tears after a particular match.

- It was the Spring Match against Seijoh, and Karasuno was playing like normal.

- Kageyama was insanely good as usual.

- What he didn’t notice then, was that you had dragged his sister Miwa to the match just so you both could cheer for him.

- In addition to that, you were also wearing his jersey.

- It wasn’t until the final point was scored, did he hear you and Miwa scream from the stands.

- Hearing the familiar voices, his head basically snapped in your direction, scanning the stadium for someone familiar, before landing his eyes on you and his older sister.

- His eyes widened for a hot second, his mind running in circles.

- Nobody has ever cheered for him.

- But here you two were, cheering for him from the stands.

- And you were wearing his jersey.

- A hand went up to cover his mouth, a huge grin spreading.

- One drop.

- Two drops.

- Then came the waterworks.

- The entire team was shocked.

- Like shookth.

- The two of you ran down to the arena, engulfing Kageyama in a huge hug.

- Best moment of his fucking life.

- From then on, the Karasuno team members made sure to notify you of any matches they had against other schools, hoping you and Miwa could go cheer.

- You two haven’t missed a single match since.

Whoooo three hours of work and going straight to Netflix at 2:30am, what a life.

I couldn’t resist I’m sorry casual or slight angst is my favourite genre of hc and fanfic-

I hope you liked this xx😗👉👈

[godofplumsandthunder]

This was written for @the-ss-horniest-book-club​ Freaky Friday Drabble Friday! I barely made the deadline, but am super happy with this idea. Like the title suggests, it’s a body swap theme. So naturally I did a body swap with Bucky Barnes and Lance Tucker. I hope y’all like this as much as I did while writing this. Every page break represents a shift from Bucky to Lance or vice versa. 

James Buchanan Barnes, a.k.a Winter Soldier, Bucky, and Lance Tucker were household names. Everyone knew the assassin, best friend of Steve Rogers, Captain America. Everyone also knew Lance Tucker. Cocky, egotistic, gold medalist who is always seen with countless women. His life seems like a never-ending party.

Bucky Barnes knows who Lance Tucker is. He covets his entire life. For Bucky, Lance represents everything he's not. Bold, socially outgoing, loved, worshiped. Sure, Bucky knows that he has you his trustable girlfriend, but, wouldn't it be better, more fun, to be with hundreds of girls, instead of just one? Wouldn't his life be so much better if he had all of this?

Lance Tucker, who on the outside his life would appear to be wonderful, hates his life. Sure, he has fame, and countless women, and is always seen at a party, but what happens when the high wears off? The easy shag goes home? He's left alone. With no one, he can trust or love. Because Lance learned from a young age that when you are famous, people only get close to using you. Lance hates his life, but in his mind, it's too late to change it.

Both men, secretly wanting each other's lives. But realizing that their wishes will never come true. Or can they? Cause, after all, the universe might have its own agenda.

=======

Bucky feels different. He wakes up without remembering a nightmare. This should have been his first clue that something was wrong. He also wakes up and his left arm isn't hurting. It has not not hurt for over 70 years. This is sign number two. He rolls over a finds some young blonde laying in your spot of the bed. This is when he loses his shit.

"Who the fuck are you?" Bucky starts to go into full Winter Soldier mode, grabbing the baseball next to the side of the bed. Definitely not his bed, he notes.

"Really, we literally just fucked like 2 hours ago, and you can't even remember my name? The news was right about you. You really are a grade-A dick. No one wonder no one wants to be with you. Don't even bother with breakfast." The young blonde, who Bucky still doesn't know how she is, gathers her items, put her clothes on, and slams the front door shut behind her. Bucky needs a long shower, and a nice cup of coffee, if he wants any hope of making sense of what's happening.

=====

Lance wakes up with a body wrapped against him. Not in the "I just fucked the god of gymnastics" way. Rather in a way that radiated love. He looks down at you, and he can tell that you look different than the blonde he invited back home that night. At least Lance thought it was a blonde. He slips out of your arms, determined to figure out what the hell was going on. As he slipped out of your arms, you let out a little grunt, rolled and spooned his pillow. Not wanting to let the scent of him to fade. And this is what confuses Lance the most. Not once, in all of his conquest has a woman, or for that matter, a man reacted how you did when he left the bed. Like they were glued to his presence. Rubbing the sleep out of his eyes, Lance finds the bathroom and looks into the mirror. That's when he noticed he was missing an arm.

"What the fuck happened to my arm?" Lance yell woke you up. It would have woken up the whole complex if it weren't for the noise proof walls, made to withhold the screams of a certain super-soldier. You come rushing over to see the love of your life confused. And this worries you. Bucky hasn't had a really bad day for a little while now.

"Bucky, are you okay?" You thought that maybe your voice and your presence would calm him down. But it didn't, it made him worse.

"Who the hell is Bucky?" This scared you. It's been a REALLY long time since Bucky's had problems with his memory. So you did the only thing you could have down in that situation.

"F.R.I.D.AY., initiate the 'Bucky's lost his marbles' protocol." Terrible name, Stark chose it, but it will get the job done. Gas started to fill the room where Lance was in. His vision started to blackout, and his body went limp.

======

When Bucky went to go take a shower, he was met with one hell of a surprise. Most people aren't ready to look into a mirror and be met with someone else's face. Even Bucky, the former fist of Hydra, who saw pretty much has seen everything, was surprised. Until he realized who's face was looking back at him. It was the one and only Lance Tucker. The world-renowned gold medal gymnast, playboy, and partier. Sure, Bucky should have been worried, but he saw this as his chance to finally have the life he has been coveting for the longest time. Y/N and the other avengers will figure out what happened and fix it promptly. But in the meantime, Bucky, or should he say Lance now, was going to have a fun time.

Bucky gets dressed in some tight and gaudy tracksuit. He grabs the keys to some overly priced car and drives his way to the closest open bar. He's really gonna have fun with this, Bucky thinks to himself.

=====

Lance wakes up with a pounding headache and handcuffed to a hospital bed. He searches the room and sees you, sitting dutifully in the chair next to the bed.

"Oh, good, you're awake Bucky. I have someone that's here to talk to you." She steps outside and brings in a grandpa, of all people.

"Hey, pal, do ya remember me?" Lance's confused face was answer enough to the elderly man. "I guessed you probably wouldn't. I look a little older than the last time you saw me. But it's me. Stevie. Steve Rogers. And you're Bucky, James Buchanan Barnes-" The old man continued to talk, but Lance drowned him out. He wasn't in his body. He wasn't Lance. He was Bucky Barnes. Reformed assassin, and new avenger. "And this is your girlfriend, Y/N." The old man manages to get Lance's attention again with that simple sentence. Lance should probably have been freaking out. But he's been wishing for a new life for the last few months, being sick of what his life consisted of. And it seems that the universe had answered his prayers. He'd deal with the consequences later. But for right now, he'd gladly accept your love and Bucky's life.

====

Bucky probably overdid himself on the alcohol. It was the first time in 7 decades that the alcohol was actually affecting his body. He's been bar-hopping for the last 5 hours or so. Getting absolutely wasted on any substance he can get his hands on. Bucky's currently trying to convince another skinny, fake, blonde to come home with him.

"Come on baby. Don't you want to know what's it like to bed the famous Lance Tucker? You know gymnastics isn't the only event I got a gold in?" It was a terrible pickup line. For most sane people, it wouldn't have worked. But for the blonde, the bragging rights were reason enough to sleep with Bucky, well Lance. So that's how Bucky found himself behind the wheel of his car, extremely intoxicated driving his way back to his bedroom to finally taste that blonde.

Finally, Bucky thought, he was living.

====

With Lance finally realizing what was going on, he was able to convince Steve and you that "Bucky" had his memories back. How he was able to fool Steve was beyond him, but it got him out of the hospital. You called into work saying you were sick so you would be able to watch after "Bucky". He looked fine in the hospital but you wanted to make sure he was really okay. So that's why you planned a Harry Potter and cuddles marathon.

Lance was watching Harry Potter, with you cuddled into his side. His right arm around your shoulders. Sure, this technically wasn't his girlfriend, but he liked this. This felt more comfortable than some cheap hook up from the bar. It felt domesticated in a good way. Halfway through the first movie, you look up to your boyfriend, which talk about dreamboat, and say, "I love you Bucky. I hope you always know that."

Lance, knowing in part that he had to keep up appearances said, "I love you too, Y/N". But even as he said it, as foreign it might have seemed, it truly felt right saying it.

=====

The body-swap continued on for another two weeks. And Lance was loving every single moment of it. He felt love, real love, for once in his life. It was nice knowing that he had friends and a girlfriend who was with him to be with him. Not to worry whether the people who surrounded Lance were with him because they wanted to or if they wanted something. Lance felt like he died and gone to heaven. And he wishes that this will never end.

Bucky, on the other hand, was living in hell. And after the high of newness and excitement of the newness of this situation wore off, Bucky realized that he's the loneliest he's been in quite a long time. He's soon realized that as soon as the buzz wore out, and the dame he picked up from the bar left, he was alone. And this hurts Bucky. He doesn't get to wake up to your beautiful smile in the morning or hear your heartwarming laugh. Hell, he's even missing the stupid memes that Sam would always send to him.

One night, after having one too many drinks, Bucky finally snaps. "God, or whoever is out there, please give me back my life. I've learned my lesson. My life was good. Please," Bucky sobbed himself to sleep, wishing that he was back in his own body and longing for your warm embrace, once more.

=====

The universe has its own plan. And often, it is a way for us to learn something. The next morning, Bucky and Lance woke up in their own bodies again. Bucky woke up with a new dedication to his girlfriend, who very soon will hopefully become his fiance, his friends, his teammates, and even his own body. He recommitted himself to being present and realizing every single blessing in his life.

Lance, on the other hand, woke up with a dedication to change his life around. He would work hard for it because he learned that drinking his way through life was no way to live. He would work hard so that he could have a wife, and a family to come home to after a hard day at work. And, thankfully, Lance would have that one day.

The universe has its own plan. We might not know where we fit in it, but every single one of us is where we are for a reason. Some, like Bucky, need to be reminded of that every so often. Others, like Lance, need to find their own place. The place of true happiness will always be shown if we are willing to look and work hard for it.

[sinsbymanka]

A Drabble to Celebrate 100+ followers?!

I recently noticed that somehow this humble little dragon age blog managed to obtain one hundred followers. Which is just insane to me. I can’t believe y’all like me. I’m going to assume that most of you are here for the memes (as you should be - they’re hilarious) BUT I wanted to give you something to celebrate anyway. It’s not a meme, but it’s an adorable Papa!Varric piece that is pure fluff and domestic bliss. Enjoy!

I also posted this at AO3 cause I really like it

The Perks of Being the Viscount

Being Viscount had remarkably few perks. 

In fact, Varric thought, the perks were usually nearly as bad as the job duties itself. He wasn’t particularly interested in the choice society invitations, didn’t care for the gaudy gifts or sizable bribes that kept showing up, and if he had to accept one more honor at one more boring ceremony, he’d fall asleep into his overcooked chicken dinner. 

But moments like this, when he had a room full of shocked, pompous assholes who could do nothing but stare, agog, nearly made it all worth it. 

As usual, his daughter had started the whole debacle. 

Marguerite Cadash-Tethras sat beside him, book discarded. She told him she was reading one of Brother Genitivi’s histories for her tutors, but now that she’d abandoned the tome to satisfy her own curiosity, he could see she had a copy of the latest popular ballad shoved between the pages. She could be bored with Genetivi and her lessons, but Varric thought it was more likely she’d finished the damn thing a week ago and her tutor had been too daft to notice. 

Clearly, she needed something more challenging. And maybe a tiny lecture about not fleecing her tutors on the regular. 

But, first, he was going to sit back and enjoy the show. He let his eyes flick from his daughter’s profile to the redhead beside her who was suddenly very engrossed in her tea, cheerfully stirring it with far too much vigor. Varric couldn’t miss the mischievous glimmer in Maria’s eyes after all these years, though, and it only meant one thing.

They were both on the same page. This meeting was going to get a hell of a lot more interesting, and they were definitely both just going to let it happen. 

Their daughter stared down the merchant princes from Antiva on the other end of the table like she’d been doing it all of her twelve years on Thedas. And, really, that wasn’t too far off the mark. When Maria was gone, which was far too often for his taste, Mags hated to be separated from Varric. To be honest, he rested a bit easier with his daughter only an arm’s length away too. It became just one more of the Viscount’s eccentricities, that the daughter sat in on so many of his meetings, accompanied him on his duties, and was generally allowed to ask as many impertinent questions as she wished.

Clearly, nobody had warned the Antivans. 

“I’m sorry, milord?” One of the men turned his attention from Mags’s piercing gray eyes to Varric, clearly confused about who had asked the question. Varric fought back his chuckle. Barely.

“Sunshine.” He inclined his head towards Mags, indulgent and amused. “I don’t think the gentleman heard your question. Go ahead and ask again.” 

“If he doesn’t answer you this time, Magpie, we can write it down. Or do a dramatic reenactment. Maybe that’ll do the trick.” Maria whispered theatrically, the words carrying across the table. The ears on several of the merchants began to turn interesting shades of red. 

This, Varric thought fondly, was the only real perk of this job. Bringing one and a half unmanageable women to boring meetings just to see what trouble they stirred up. 

“I asked,” Mags raised her voice, young face quite serious and earnest. “Why are they so cheap?” 

The object of her question, a long broadsword, lay in front of one of the merchant princes. He pulled a practiced, false smile onto his face. One that managed to be just the right amount of patronizing. His daughter pulled her shoulders back immediately, seriousness becoming irritation. “Why, milady, what a clever question. I’d heard you had your father’s mind and your mother’s beauty. How pleased I am to find it so.” 

“But you’re not answering it.” She stated stubbornly, flicking her eyes uncertainly to Varric. He nodded, reassuring, and waved at her to continue. She did. “Why are they so cheap?” 

“We have recently been able to refine our smelting process, milady.” The man droned, eloquent and practiced. “With less waste, we…” 

“But Orzammar has the best smiths, and their blades cost twice as much.” Mags argued, her own color rising, looking helplessly to her mother. “How much is iron ore? Aveline said it was more expensive ‘cause of a flood.” 

“40 silvers per pound right now, love.” Maria answered deftly, lips twitching at the corners as she struggled to hide her own smile. 

“How much do you swords weigh?” Mags asked the merchant. 

The man sputtered, helpless. “Milady, I’m uncertain…” 

Mags sighed, impatient, twisting in her chair to pierce one of the guards at the door with her bright gaze. “Kallen? How much does your sword weigh?” 

Kallen tipped his head to the side, considering. “About three pounds, miss. Give or take.” 

“Thank you.” Mags said quickly, twisting back in her seat. “If a broadsword weighs three pounds, that sword costs over a sovereign alone in materials, assuming your smelting produces no waste. You’re only charging two sovereigns per piece. Why?” 

“As a special offer to the Viscount and his lady…” The merchant began nervously, pointing his eyes back at Varric in a silent plea to end the interrogation. 

“Oh, leave me out of this mess.” Maria muttered into her tea. “I don’t want your bleedin’ swords. The ones Aveline has are fine.” 

“Well, Sunshine.” Varric jumped in, resting his arm on the back of Mags’s chair. “I think you’ve pointed out a bit of a problem.” 

“Milord, you cannot seriously be considering allowing a child to…” The man stepped forward, face growing thunderous with anger. Maria shifted in her own chair, always alert for danger, gently setting her cup down on the saucer and sending a cold, commanding gaze across the room. 

“I think, perhaps.” Maria said pointedly. “You’ve overstayed your welcome.” 

“I couldn’t agree more, Princess. But it’s your call, Sunshine.” He winked down at his daughter’s pinkening face, her temper coloring her skin the same way Maria’s always did. “You wanna make him squirm a bit more?” 

“No.” Mags said petulantly, picking her book back up and curling into her chair. “He can go.” 

“You heard the lady.” Varric jerked his thumb over his chair. “I trust you can find the exit.” 

The merchant and his entourage stalked out of the room, complaining in Antivan the whole time. Maria caught some of it, most likely the curse words, because she laughed softly as the door slammed shut behind them. 

“Nicely done, Magpie.” Maria praised, winding one of their daughter’s curls around her finger. 

“What do you think the issue is with the swords?” Varric asked, curious. Mags scowled into her book moodily, wrenching away from Maria’s clever hand. 

“They’re not iron or they’re not payin’ anyone to forge them.” She grumbled. “Which you two knew before we even got in here, didn’t you?” 

“Guilty.” Varric admitted. “But we needed to give Aveline time to raid the warehouse.” 

“Why couldn’t I go with Aveline to raid the warehouse?” Mags asked, frowning. Maria and Varric shared a tender, amused look over her head. 

“Well.” Maria began, half-laughing. “You are only twelve and we’re trying to get you to eighteen with minimal bloodshed.” 

“And…” Varric quickly reached into the book, pulling the loose papers of the story from within and shaking them pointedly. “Someone has some apologizing to do to at least one tutor.” 

Mags’s sullen expression quickly lightened into something contrite. “I can explain.”

“Make it a good one, Sunshine.” Varric said, settling into his chair. “And I may let you off easy.”

[dragonkitty]

A practice in Word Vomit

It speaks so many volumes that as I type this on my laptop, I’m struggling with keys and using it so poorly. Some is that the keyboard layout isn’t great, but some is that I just... haven’t written. It’s muscle memory in a lot of ways, putting down words. I think of my formal writing, my fiction and my fanfiction and it saddens me because it’s been months. I’ve written pieces here and there, but ultimately it’s been mostly invisible. I feel invisible.

There we go. On a roll.

I’ll put the rest of my Tragic Tale of Allie under the cut, in case you don’t want to read it. You may not care. I’m not offended.

For a while it’s felt like a lot keeps hitting me. My first serious blow was the neck surgery about two years ago. Spine surgery, if we’re being specific. Two degenerated discs bulging and pressing into my spinal cord. I went through PT, two (YES TWO) needle injections into my spine itself that I was fully conscious and awake for. But my pain level was such i didn’t even recognize it. I definitely felt it after. And the surgery took a lot of recovery. I couldn’t sit at my computer, let alone type anything. A lot disappeared and my depression really crept in.

Work was awful after and I lost my job during my attempt at recovery. It was a huge blow and it hurt. Throughout this, I was in Seattle and had also moved to a place where I was more isolated and alone. I was away from family. Everyone. And even after losing a second job (arguably worse), I found a good one, but had to make the decision to go home.

My friend Lindsay had let me live in her house for a while. She swore she saw me as a sister and cared for me. Loved me like family. But when she met her new partner, her days without her kids she spent with him. I respect that, but its so hard coming home to a large house, empty and dark, and being alone. And I kept asking how things were going, if I should be worried about moving. She kept telling me no. Until it was yes, out of left field, while I had been planning to move back to Boston (though not for a few months).

By the grace of... god, or whatever, I had a friend let me stay with her. But the process included a new job (it was good), finding a moving company, finding rental units, figuring out where I’d live... etc. And in that time, I found out my mother was dying which certainly sped the process up.

I spent thousands moving back home to Boston. I don’t regret it, though. Don’t think I do. But I came back with no job and a hard bout of depression that wracked me, knowing my mother wasn’t well. I got a job at Starbucks in October, but it was a solid month and a half of me feeling miserable and unlovable. It had been years since I’d even kissed someone and I felt so alone. How I didn’t do anything stupid I don’t understand.

I got a new job, my current one, doing what I love doing, and covid hit. Living with my parents still, helping my mother through her chemotherapy and general living, I was forced to stay and work from home. I was completely isolated. Completely. Finding an apartment that wasn’t horrible is still a shock to me. But I found one and moved out and thankfully I’m sitting in my Boston apartment as we speak. But work is hard and I’ve been quite mistreated recently, leaving me pretty hurt. 

Of course I was also given the news my mother has, at most, weeks left. I will be losing her shortly.

This sums up two years, give or take. 

I get angry a lot. I don’t trust people but for good reason. People aren’t to be trusted. Life is hard and I understanding quite well it was not a thing designed to be an easy walkthrough. I get that there’s never “a good time” but can we at least agree I’ve had a hell of a go? 

I miss being held. Kissed. Doted on and loved. I miss having my hair brushed back and smiled at. I miss small little kisses against my neck or my cheek, or smiles given when I’m not paying attention. I miss a person sending me texts with my favorite memes attached or a BUNCH ALL AT ONCE. I miss having group chats with friends, too. Being in a circle or a group. I miss being a part of something. Of friends that just share pictures of poorly posted signs or when my cats are lying upside down. I miss being important to people and loved by people. Or someone.

There is a lot I’ve lost in the past few years. A lot of gained, I won’t forget that, but I worry about my brain in a real way. I have to get an MRI now as well, on my brain. I can’t walk straight. I fall a lot, which I wasn’t telling people. Another one of those “Oh wait not everyone falls and has piercing migraines and loses time and is suddenly wrought with intense vertigo?” No. My neurologist wants me seen. He’s worried. Maybe it’s nothing. Maybe it’s an answer. Maybe it’s another fucking thing in my life.

I try not to hold onto resentment. Pain. I had a dream the other night, I’ll post it on its own, but it was so full of love that when I woke I tried to hold onto. Not sure why. Maybe it was some reassurance that I have that capacity inside of myself, to love. To be loved. I think sometimes I don’t have it. Or I won’t feel it again. I hope I do. 

But my creativity has hit such a... well, hit. I haven’t written, as I said, in a long time and it hurts. I think I wrote this hoping it would kickstart that again and maybe it has. Maybe I’ll do my own journaling a bit to get into it again. Get myself in shape for NaNoWriMo. Maybe I’ll tackle that.

I’ve put my dreams on hold, though. My dreams of being a writer. A novelist. Of showing the world the other stuff I write that’s in my head, my hundred pages of a story that’s changed and morphed into something more real and important to me. I’ve stored that away. Because with fanfiction, even if it doesn’t get likes or comments and people don’t engage, I can blame the fandom and try not to take it personally. That’s how I survive, though I assure you I do assume I am EPIC at judging myself and my work. I hate my writing. But I do it. A practice in futility I suppose.

I have my dumb cats right now. Staring at me as I binge Lucifer, on a break from work because I thankfully had time off and my supervisor’s supervisor suggested I take time. After it was divulged to her about my mother dying despite me not giving permission for that information to be shared. But I digress.

If you read any of that, I commend you. It is proof that I am frankly not that interesting and honestly kind of whiny. My life is full of so much more than all that, but I guess I needed to put that part down somewhere in the world. So it doesn’t get lost. Go missing. And maybe someone will read this, even just one person, and finally, maybe, I’ll feel like I’ve been seen. 

[inkstains-coffecups]

Procrastination and writer’s block

And how thwarting one can help beat the other.

[Image ID: Open books on a bed, a notebook opened in pages full of writing, printed papers of information with penciled scribbles, an opened laptop and a cup of coffee next to it.]

I swear I’m not full of BS. Just listen for a sec. I have been writing for half a decade now and I know that while writing is quite a fun and rewarding process, oftentimes it seems impossibly daunting and nothing you write seems good enough. All of these are valid feelings; as fun and rewarding as writing can be, it is also incredibly hard and you may procrastinate yourself into a writer’s block (and I should know, since I’ve done it an embarrassingly high amount of times myself).  The connection between the two might not seem visible from the get-go, so let me elaborate further.

Why do you procrastinate?

You procrastinate about things that make you feel uncomfortable. Yes, you read that well. You think about writing that one scene you are dreading and, bam, the pain centers of your brain light up. So, you shift  your attention to something more enjoyable, like, say, searching writing memes to laugh and commiserate with other writers in the same situation (even the best of us do it). This causes you to feel better at least temporarily. But sadly, the long-term effects of habitual avoidance can be nasty.

Now, what makes procrastination dangerous and hard to break out of is that, funnily, it shares features with addiction. It offers temporary excitement and relief from sometimes boring reality. It's easy to fool yourself, for example, into thinking that the best use of the writing time you’ve assigned for yourself is researching the historical ramifications of X event that happened that one year instead of actually writing the scene.

Breaking down procrastination.

In itself, procrastination is a habit. The thing about habit is that it’s an energy saver for you. It allows you to free our mind for other types of activities. You go into this habitual “zombie mode” far more often than you might think, that's the point of habit. You don't have to think in a focused manner about what you're doing while you're performing the habit. Habits can be good and bad, they can be brief like absently brushing back your hair or they can be long for example when you prepare a cup of coffee before sitting down in front of your laptop to write. You can think of habits as having four parts:

The cue is the trigger that launches you into “zombie mode”. A cue by itself is neither helpful or harmful. What matters is what you do in reaction to such a trigger. Cues usually fall into one of the four following categories: location, time, how you feel, and reactions, either to other people or to something that just happened.

The routine is the habitual response your brain is used to falling into when it receives the cue. Zombie responses can be useful, harmless or sometimes harmful. Your brain wants to automatically go into this routine when you've gotten your cue.

The reward is... pretty self-explanatory, really. Every habit develops and continues because it rewards us. It gives us an immediate little feeling of pleasure. Procrastination is an easy habit to develop because the reward, moving your mind's focus to something more pleasant happens so quickly and easily. But good habits can also be rewarded.

The belief is the crux of a habit. Habits have power because of your belief in them. To change a habit, you'll need to change your underlying belief. You may find that when the going gets stressful, you long to fall back into a old more comfortable habits.

Okay, so how do you stop?

Now, that you understand the problem, we can move on to fixing it. The first thing you should know, and I cannot stress this enough, is that it's perfectly normal to start with a few negative feelings. Maybe you think your writing is absolute garbage and that you’re bothering for nothing and that is perfectly normal. The key here is the way you handle such negative thoughts and feelings. Giving into these dark thoughts is what undermines your efforts, and doing so systematically is what sends you into a writer’s block. Instead, allow yourself to suck from time to time. Re-frame things, put them in a better, more positive light, like saying: “Future-me is going to love me for this.” (Remember that 300 words of bad writing is so much better than no words at all. After all, you cannot fix something that doesn’t exist).

What I want you to learn, though, beyond that, is how to focus on process not product. By process I mean the flow of time and the habits and actions associated with that flow of time. As in, I'm going to spend 20 minutes writing. Product, on the other hand, is an outcome, like the chapter you need to finish. To prevent procrastination you want to avoid concentrating on product. The product is what triggers the pain that causes you to procrastinate. Instead, your attention should be on building processes. Processes relate to simple habits, habits that allow you to do the unpleasant tasks that need to be done.

By focusing on process rather than product, you allow yourself to back away from judging yourself and to relax into the flow of work (which, coincidentally, is also the antidote to writer’s block). Equally important to remember is when a distraction arises, which it inevitably will, you want to just let it flow by. This is when the Pomodoro technique comes to save your ass. You push the distraction, a text from a friend or a notification on Tumblr, away for a fixed amount of time, say, 20 or 25 minutes or even an hour, it’s up to you, and you reward yourself during the break by dealing with it, shifting your focus away from writing. Then, repeat.

We can delve in deeper by analyzing how to stop yourself at different stages during procrastination.

The cue. If you want to stop it before it’s even begun, this is where you start. You should try to recognize what launches you into your  procrastination mode. The issue with procrastination is that, because it's an automatic habit, you're often unaware that you've begun to procrastinate. You can prevent the most damaging cues by locking away your phone or disconnecting from the internet for brief periods of time. 

The routine. This is your best bet of stopping yourself. As in, this is the reaction point where you must actively focus on rewiring your old habit. The key to rewiring is to have a plan. Developing a new ritual can be helpful. Your plan may not work perfectly at first, but just keep at it. Adjust the plan if necessary and savor those victories when your plan works. Don't try to change everything at once. The Pomodoro technique can be especially helpful in shifting your reaction to the cues.

The reward. This can be a powerful way of thwarting procrastination. Doing so, however, can sometimes require a little bit of investigation. Why are you procrastinating? Can you substitute an emotional payoff? Maybe a feeling of pride for writing that scene, no matter how short, a sense of satisfaction. Can you win a small internal bet or a contest about something you've turned into a personal game, like, say, writing 500 words every day? 200? 20? Remember that habits are powerful because they create neurological cravings. It helps to add a new reward if you want to overcome your previous cravings. Only once your brain starts expecting that reward, will the important rewiring take place that will allow you to create new habits. Don't feel bad if you find that you have trouble getting into a flow state at first.

The belief. The most important part of changing your procrastination habit is the belief that you can do it. Belief that your new system works is what can get you through. Part of what can underpin your belief is to develop a new community. Developing and encouraging culture with like-minded friends can help you keep on track. Do you know what that means? WRITING BUDDIES. 

And there you have it, the secret unveiled. As a little footnote, this is information I learned in a MOOC I took at Coursera, called Learning How To Learn.

[daybreakrising]

@crackuzu​ asked: five times kissed // we haven't actually done anything yet but our zombois pls and thank from this meme

Under a cut bc these will all get long.

You get six bc I couldn’t decide which pov to write them from so each zomboi gets three. you almost got ten tbh but I restrained myself

ONE

It was an itch under his skin, a frustrating niggle that wouldn't go away. It had been over a week since their last opportunity to let off some steam and shed a little blood. A week! A week of endless, pointless travel, for a cause he didn't even care about.

Frustrating.

He was craving a good fight, something to get his blood pumping, anything to settle that craving he couldn't shake. Violence was his lifeblood. He was starving without it. All he asked for was a little bit of chaos, something to take the edge off, but so far, he was being denied.

Hidan eyed the broad shoulders of the man stalking ahead of him, face currently buried in a map. He still didn't really know what to make of his partner. He was, by all appearances, possibly the most antisocial man he'd ever known. His only redeeming factor, in his opinion, was his own taste for violence.

A sly smile spread across Hidan's face.

If he couldn't seek out violence elsewhere, he'd just have to seek it here. Kakuzu had a short and violent temper. He'd already poked and prodded at it a few times, but it never seemed to go further than a brief altercation – and that wasn't going to be enough. He needed to do something to really piss him off.

He moved fast, knowing he had a limited window before he was sussed out. He appeared directly in front of the other man, fisted a hand in the collar of his cloak, and dragged him in. His lips met the fabric of Kakuzu's mask for a fleeting second before he was flung backwards, his back hitting a nearby tree hard enough to shake loose a whole heap of leaves and dead branches.

Hidan grinned, rubbing a hand to the ache in his jaw where a fist had struck it. It hurt like a bitch, but it was worth the fury in the other man's eyes. Maybe now the bastard would fight him.

TWO

When he wasn't whining or prattling on about his god, Hidan wasn't so bad, really.

Either that or he was finally going mad after his many long years of life. That was also a possibility. Sure, he got under his skin from time to time and he had definitely considered all the ways he would like to kill him – he was starting to get creative with ideas, too – but… he had his pros to combat some of the cons. Some.

He didn't probe him with questions he didn't want to answer, but he listened when he did reveal even the faintest personal information. He filled silences without pressuring him for a response – mostly – and did, upon occasion, have interesting things to say. He had a sense of humour, which, albeit a little more morbid, aligned with his own.

And, possibly the most important of them all, they were a team.

That had been forced on them, of course, but that was irrelevant. Pushing two people together didn't automatically mean they would work, and they worked. For all their bickering and bitching, they were a flawless team. It had been a long time since Kakuzu could rely on someone quite like he relied on Hidan. That meant something to him.

Damnit. He might as well admit it. He didn't hate Hidan.

He stopped dead, cutting off Hidan's idle rambling about who-knows-what as the other man promptly walked straight into his back. In the midst of the bitching that immediately ensued, Kakuzu turned, grasped Hidan by the chin, and silenced him with a kiss. It was brief, distinctly not traditionally romantic, and possibly quite awkward.

"Shut up, Hidan."

THREE

The blood was like iron in his mouth, in his nose, the stench of it drenching the air around him in a way that couldn't be matched away from the slaughter of a battlefield. His fingers trembled as his skin returned to its regular colour, the curse markings fading as the last of the life drained from his unsuspecting victim.

Oh, and it felt good.

Violet eyes searched the rubble and ruin around him, bodies littered in all directions, the aftermath of their rampage a beautiful sight to behold. At last, he found him, rising over the slumped form of the target they had come for. No doubt, Hidan mused, checking he was in a suitable condition for the exchange. Him and his bloody money.

He watched Kakuzu nod to himself, swiping a hand through the loose strands of hair that had fallen free from his head covering during the battle. The mask hung open, revealing the dark line of stitching that split his face in two. Just looking at it, Hidan could feel the raised threads beneath his fingertips, the ridged edges where they met skin.

It was a curious thing, the way his fingers itched to touch every time he saw them.

Riding on the high of battle, he crossed the distance between them, teeth flashing in a grin as he stepped over the corpse and into Kakuzu's eyeline. Blood streaked the other man's face, a single spray of crimson. His heavy breaths matched Hidan's, the fire in those curious eyes mirrored in his own. This, Hidan knew, was as much a high for Kakuzu as it was for him.

Their gazes met – one beat, two.

Their lips met next, and Kakuzu tasted blood.

FOUR

Hidan was being particularly annoying today.

If he'd stopped talking at all since that morning, it had only been to eat, and even then, that didn't stop him for long. He really had no manners when he chose. To make matters worse, he had even adopted that really irritating whine that he knew drove him mad. Which, of course, is why he did it. Kakuzu wasn't stupid. He knew Hidan was trying to get under his skin.

Annoyingly, it was working.

Not for the first time, he cursed his own foolish self for being weak enough to feel for the idiot. It would be far less complicated if he could still honestly say he despised the little shit and didn't care what happened to him. Although if he kept this up, he might change his mind after all.

It took about another hour before he reached his breaking point.

A hand closed around Hidan's throat, the not-quite-flat rock of the valley wall providing a perfect surface upon which to slam him. He hoped there were some particularly pointy edges at his back. His eyes narrowed as Hidan flashed a wicked grin, a silver brow quirking suggestively only moments before a hand pulled him flush to the leaner figure, and a quick finger hooked the mask down from his face.

Sneaky bastard.

Hidan had barely enough time to whisper out a "Gotcha" before lips closed over his own in a bruising kiss.

FIVE

It was cold, dank and dark.

He had long ago stopped smelling the moist earth, the rot, stopped feeling the tickle of insects crawling over his skin. He couldn't even feel the pain any longer, which was a blessing in itself. In its place was… nothing. Just endless nothing. Endless darkness. Endless silence.

That, in itself, was agony, like a searing light behind closed lids, burning, burning, b-

Light.

An eye cracked open, blinded at once by the shafts of daylight streaming down from above. It hurt after so long in the dark, but for once his pain was wonderful. Pain meant he was alive, still alive, still able to feel. But how-

As his eye adjusted to the light, shapes and colours became distinct from one another. He saw chunks of earth rising, revealing more and more light. It took longer to access the finer details, to see the threads curled around each piece of his earthen prison. Kakuzu.

If his mouth weren't full of earth, he would have laughed. Of course. Of course he'd find him. Was it possible to feel your heart constrict – race – when it wasn't attached to your brain? He closed his eye, basked in the heat of the sun he could feel once again, and waited to be saved.

He felt the brush of threads against his cheek, felt a breeze ripple through his tangled hair. He felt the grass against his skin, felt the familiar sting of the stitches working their way through his flesh. Though his mouth was clear, there were no complaints this time. He would never complain about pain again. Well… maybe.

Fingertips brushed against his cheek, framed his face. Hair tickled against his forehead and, even before he opened his eyes, he could see the face above his own. That darker skin, so contrasting against his, those curiously coloured eyes he had always found fascinating, the raised black threads across the cheeks… Kakuzu. Lips pressed to his own and Hidan felt life surge through him, warming his cold, cold body. He was saved. Kakuzu had come back for him.

Something shifted by his ear, and he stirred with a jolt.

A single eye opened.

It was cold, dank and dark.

And he was alone.

Alone.

SIX

"Oi, Kakuzu…"

A page turned.

"What are you reading?"

He didn't lift his gaze from the page, didn't even falter in his reading. In his head, he counted down from five, and made it to three before a weight leaned on his shoulder and a face appeared in his periphery.

"A book." He muttered, doing his best to ignore what was almost certainly a pout on the idiot's face. "You should try it sometime. You might learn something."

Kakuzu didn't have much experience with cats, but he knew enough to correctly liken Hidan to one – particularly when the zealot deliberately nudged beneath his arm and slid defiantly into his lap, disrupting his vision of the book and, therefore, forcing him to finally pay attention to his partner.

"You're annoying, you're aware?" Hidan merely gave him a shit-eating grin, hands coming to rest on his shoulders. With a roll of the eyes that was almost fond, Kakuzu marked his page and set the book aside. "If I pay attention to you for the next five minutes, can I get back to my book in peace?"

"I don't know." Hidan shrugged. "You'll have to find out, hm?" There was a barely audible murmur of 'idiot' in a tone that was definitely affectionate. Because he knew the little shit would gloat if given the chance, Kakuzu opted to keep him silent in the only way that worked.

-

It was just a discarded page, torn at the edges and trapped in a bush, angrily fluttering in the wind as it clung on for its life. He didn't quite know what had made him think of that moment in particular. Perhaps it was the smear of dried blood, like rust upon the parchment, that had made him think of Hidan. Perhaps it was his freshly awakened mind searching for some familiarity to hold onto, unearthing a memory at random.

Or, perhaps, it was simply because Hidan was the first thing on his mind.

He wasn't with them. He'd noticed because he had looked, because he had searched for the partner who had always been at his side from the day they met. It had been his first thought, even before he acknowledged that he had, apparently, been resurrected from the dead. Where is Hidan?

The wind finally won the battle, the page tearing in two, the separate pieces whisked away in different directions. Kakuzu had never put much stock in symbolism, but even he couldn't deny there might have been something in that.

He smiled. He might have been killed by those brats, but Hidan… Hidan was alive.

And now, so was he.