#not like that doesn'T happen in RL | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

vaspider · 9 months ago

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Look. A little advice.

Once you get to a certain amount of Known on the internet or a subsection of it, or even in a subsection of a RL group of people, there are going to be people who will make up a version of you which exists only in their heads and which has absolutely nothing to do with who you are. It might better resemble who you were twenty years ago or it might never have had anything to do at all with who you were then or are now.

You cannot stop this. You cannot prevent this. Once you get a certain number of followers or a certain amount of attention, that's going to happen: people will make up stories about you which either look through a fun-house mirror at some small aspect of who you are and twist it and blow it up until it doesn't resemble you at all, or which just have absolutely no basis in fact whatsoever.

This is just another kind of parasocial relationship; it's the kind which really sucks to deal with, because it's so negative and so pervasive. It's very real, and the frustration you feel about it is very real. Nobody wants to be known incorrectly.

But. You can't control this. It's gonna happen. No matter what you say, no matter how precisely you say it, the people who want to misinterpret you will find a way to do so. This doesn't mean 'don't pay attention to what you say,' or 'don't be purposeful and precise with your language,' but it does mean 'don't obsess over the people who are determined to get you wrong.'

You can be the most anodyne, run-of-the-mill, unremarkable human being, and the people who are determined to hate you will find something that they can point to and say 'ha ha! I told you that Spider danced with the devil at midnight! I witnessed it myself!' (It will not help the situation if you are, say, self-admittedly stubborn as fuck, long-winded, and sometimes kinda fucking obnoxious, but please realize that in the end, it doesn't really matter. This is gonna happen no matter what.)

The people who matter will look at what's being said, wrinkle up their foreheads, and say, 'uh, man, it looks like Spider was actually playing with his dog at 9 am?'

That said, if you don't have elephant-thick skin from being a marginalized-gender human being who's been on the internet since before the web had pictures, there are some things you can do to make it easier when people making things up about you starts to get on your nerves:

Establish protocols for when it becomes too much: have someone read your messages, turn off your notifications, have time where you purposefully disengage.

Establish protocols for how you interact, period: "I will block people without guilt if they engage positively with the people who spread untruths about me." "I will answer everything in public so people can't lie about what I said, because it's right there in public." "I will not answer work-related stuff in DMs, that has to go to the work email." Whatever it is, create some boundaries for yourself. Stick to them. The people who push you to bend them aren't doing that for your benefit but theirs.

If you get someone who really hits your Weirdo Alarm, trust it. Yeah, block and report, but also, take screenshots and store them somewhere that isn't easily erased. I have an 'Internet Weirdos' folder, which makes it a little easier to deal with when people start doing things like 'making threats of physical harm to me and my family.' Don't fuss, just take a screenshot and chuck it in the folder. Having that record makes it easier to just forget that it ever happened, because you have a paper trail if anybody starts doing something Real Weird.

Spend time offline, with people who do actually know you.

Don't get lost in the version of you that someone else makes up in order to make up for the shit that's missing in their own life. You aren't required to play the part that someone else is trying to script for you. It is never to your benefit, only to theirs; you gain nothing by standing in that role for them, and you lose precious seconds of your one irreplaceable life.

You could be using those seconds to look at this video of how to pick up a duck, which I think we can all agree is a better investment of your time.

youtube

#internet #Youtube

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matan4il · 5 months ago

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The other day, I went with my rl bff to the Jerusalem branch of the Museum of Tolerance for an exhibition on the Hamas massacre.

This is the sight that greeted us. "Esthers of the world, rise up!"

It's a poster celebrating two women whose families had lived in Iran, one is Jewish, the other is Muslim, and both women ended up being murdered due to the Islamic regime of that country, even though the Jewish woman's family had escaped Iran and fled to Israel after the Islamic revolution. The face of each girl is actually a composite, made from many smaller pictures of her people who have lost their lives because of the Islamist regime of Iran.

I knew this right away, because I have shared a piece that was done about the poster and how it came to be almost 2 months ago.

"You don't understand!" my bff (who works as a teacher) said, all emotional, "She," my friend points to the Jewish girl on the left side of the poster, Shirel Haim Pour, "is the cousin of one of my students."

There is zero distance in Israel between us and the Oct 7 atrocities.

We go in and join the tour of the exhibition. The guide tells us it was built jointly with Malki Shem Tov, who is a well known name in Israel, if you work at a museum. Malki founded a "creative visual solutions" company with his brother Assaf, through which among other things, they helped build many Israeli exhibitions over the years. "His son..." the tour guide starts to say and I don't need more than that for something to click in my head. I know so many of the names, faces and stories of the hostages, and so Omer Shem Tov pops right away into my mind. I didn't make the connection before, but now I can only imagine what it meant for this father to work on an exhibition that recounts, among other stories, how his son was victimized and robbed of his freedom during this massacre.

There is zero distance in Israel between us and the Oct 7 atrocities.

The opening wall has a huge time stamp, 6:29 in the morning.

The tour guide doesn't have to explain this number to Israelis, or why it's designed to look like an alarm clock display. We were all woken up on that fateful Saturday morning by the alarm clock of Hamas' rockets. And it doesn't matter what we thought or believed the day before, as the full scale and horror of the attack were starting to become known along Oct 7, we were all woken up.

There is zero distance in Israel between us and those atrocities. I know this, and still it strikes me, again and again.

There's an area dedicated to the pictures of one photographer who went to the south soon after the massacre. I knew some of them already, like the pic showing the bodies of 13 elderly Israelis, who were on their way to a tour of the Israeli south on that Saturday.

Some are new, like the pic of the door handle in one bomb shelter. I stop for a second, because now that I've moved into my new place, it hits me that the bomb shelter door was made by the same company. Suddenly, I feel like I'm inside the picture in a reality where the terrorists took a slightly different route on Oct 7. The door was photographed from inside the bomb shelter, and the bullets that pierced it, they had to have hit the personal holding it shut. The handle has blood stains on it, and it's broken off. I can only imagine how many hours this person held, and how much force they had to use, for that to happen. I know one thing, even without knowing exactly who this bomb shelter belonged to... If this person was on their own, they would have probably ended up surrendering rather than keep fighting to hold on to the handle this desperately. This was likely someone trying to keep their family safe.

One note retrieved from the body of a terrorist is on display. It says everything about the motivation of the monsters who committed these atrocities, and every word is purely motivated by antisemitism and religious zeal. The note is actually not in Arabic, as it may first appear, it's in Farsi, the language spoken in Iran, hinting at the source, the Islamist regime there, which doesn't care about the liberation of anyone, it aspires to create a global network of fanatic terrorism.

The translation: "You must sharpen the blades of your swords and be pure in your intentions before Allah. Know that the enemy is a disease that has no cure, except beheading and uprooting the hearts and livers. Attack them!"

There is a section dedicated to women's stories. The exhibition visitors spread out to watch the testimonies, each on a separate screen. It's a not like a forest, you can't really see it for the trees, and it's another moment of feeling overwhelmed because we can't truly get it. It's just not comprehensible, facing so many stories about intentional, face to face cruelty, brutality, sadism and joy in it. Mali Shoshana tells the story of how she tried to play dead while lying shot in a pool of her own blood, but her body wouldn't stop shaking, so she somehow turned on her side to the wall and knocked her injured knee against it, causing herself to pass out from the pain. It saved her life. Ricarda Louk tells the story of the last message they got from her daughter Shani, trusting she was right and there was nothing for them to worry about. Then Ricarda's son started screaming and crying, because he saw the same vid many of came across on that day, of his sister being dragged into Gaza stripped down, mutilated, abused, molested and humiliated, while Gazan civilians were celebrating the public degradation of her body. And there's more and more and more. "You can come back and continue to listen," the guide promises as he moves us to the next segment, but the truth is no matter how many stories I've listened to and absorbed, it still doesn't feel like enough.

There is a wall with the head shots of the victims in Israel who lost their lives due to this war, whether they were murdered on Oct 7 or since, but it's only been updated up until Mar 27 of this year. Even so, no matter what angle I tried, I couldn't fit in all of the pictures.

Interactive screens allow a geographic telling of the massacre's story. They show maps of Israel's south, with dots on them, red for the murdered, dark blue for hostages, bright blue for hostages who have been returned, grey for the injured. You can tap a dot and read a story. Or you can zoom out and try to comprehend how is it possible for there to be that many dots on the maps.

"From darkness to light," reads the exhibition title. That's the perception of time in Judaism. We always move from darkness to light. And there's a section for the light, for stories of resilience, of bravery, of rehabilitation, of mutual support and caring. Filmed interviews that do their best to summarize an incomprehensible amount of good we've seen in response to an incomprehensible amount of evil. It features people from every demographic in Israel, and in that way also serves as a reminder of just how diverse we are as a society.

This part, I think to myself, was included for visitors from abroad. We Israelis, we know.

There's one story I know already. Tomer Greenberg, an Israeli officer, rescued on Oct 7 baby twins from the carnage. He was later killed fighting in Gaza. Like a puzzle, I've heard this story from several angles, including from Tomer before he died. This movie features an interview I hadn't heard yet, with the volunteer paramedic that Tomer handed the twins to. Shalom, this medic, talks about how they clung to him desperately as they got to be fed and feel safe and cared for again for the first time in what's estimated to have been 14 hours. I'm sitting there, thinking of those babies crying, not understanding why their parents aren't coming to feed them, and I don't know how to deal with this.

Shalom shares that the experiences of Oct 7 have inspired him to try and become a combative soldier, something that wasn't on the cards for him before that. I wonder again at people who can act like subjecting an entire (already traumatized) society to a sadistic massacre can liberate anyone.

And I understand Shalom fully. When your family is in the pits of hell, there's nowhere you want to be other than there, with them, doing what you can, rather than sit and watch helpless from afar. Most people would say he did a lot on that day. Shalom must have felt like that still wasn't enough.

At the very end, visitors are invited to add their own little piece of light, through neon notes and pens on which they'd share their thoughts. Nothing feels like it can sum everything I'm thinking and feeling up, but not writing anything feels worse, so my bff and I add a few of our words to the notes.

I don't have any profound conclusions for this post anymore than I did for my note. I just know that this still hurts, that we're still losing people daily, that we can't begin to heal, because we're still in the middle of the wound being inflicted. But I also know that we WILL heal, that even if the wound can't be closed yet, our collective immune system kicked into action on Oct 7 already, that we will continue to share the pain and the comfort and the care, and this massacre and war will probably never stop hurting, that we'll never be the same, but eventually we will be alright. Where people choose to care, there's just no other option.

(for all of my updates and ask replies regarding Israel, click here)

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cuubism · 1 month ago

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Okay but piggybacking off of your the moping Dream park is close to The New Inn post

What if Hob had finished his grading early and, while walking by, happened to see his stranger sitting on a bench, looking Very Sad? Would Hob approach? Or, would Dream notice him walking by?

Suddenly very excited about an idea I hadn't thought of before aaaaaaa

Richmond Green is the moping Dream park now, we're renaming it, it's done 😂 sorry to the people of Richmond

it's entirely feasible that Hob could just be on a walk and happen to stumble on him which is hilarious to me, it's so funny that you don't have to bend RL logic in the slightest bit for that to happen. it's a bit of a walk between the two but by no means a difficult one, I mean I literally did it the other day 😂 so Hob could 100% just be out for a walk on a nice day and be like hang the FUCK on is that actually my twit of a friend moping on a bench over there?

I honestly don't think Dream would notice him first. He was very much in his own head and in his feels. he was not paying enough attention to anything else to notice Hob. but Hob would 100% approach him, I think after all those years he'd have to seize his shot. Dream would be genuinely surprised to see him and definitely didn't consciously realize he picked his moping spot to be near the White Horse 😂 it worked out for him, though.

Hob's out for a walk on a rare, beautiful sunny day when he nearly trips over own his feet and falls flat on his face in the middle of Richmond Green.

Only nearly. Thankfully.

He catches himself, and turns, wondering if he's hallucinating what he thought he saw at the corner of the park.

No. He didn't. He most definitely did not imagine his stranger sitting on that bench. He's hunched and shadowed, where Hob usually thinks of him as stern and proud, and he looks sad, which-- alright, that's not so unusual. But the posture is, the idleness, the listless way he's tearing apart a baguette to feed crumbs to the birds at his feet.

Hob takes a moment to just... watch him. To take advantage of this rare moment when he's alone and doesn't know he's observed. And he looks... God. He really does look crumpled. Is he always like that, when he doesn't know someone's watching?

Possibly Hob should leave him be. But he's rarely done what he should. This might be his only shot.

There's got to be a reason he's here, of all places, right?

His stranger doesn't seem to notice him until Hob's right before him. "...My friend?"

Hob's heart flips as his stranger looks up. He doesn't flee, or call Hob out for saying 'friend'. His brow furrows in confusion. "...Hob Gadling?"

"The same," Hob says, though he doesn't go by that name now.

His stranger is still confused. "What brings you here?"

He really seems like he doesn't know. How is that possible?

Then again, he may remember where the White Horse once was, and have simply not expected Hob to be there, too. Which, if he were a more reasonable man, Hob wouldn't be.

"Just out for a walk," he says. "Nice day and all?"

Bit of a hike here from the New Inn, but Hob likes walking along the riverside, even when he has to pass the sagging form of the White Horse. And the sun's out, the weather's warm, people are out on the green with their dogs, kids are laughing-- who wouldn't want to be out on such a lovely day?

Well. His stranger, maybe. He certainly doesn't look like he thinks it's a nice day.

"Perhaps," says his stranger, and looks down again at the birds at his feet.

"Mind if I sit?" Hob asks, and when his stranger doesn't say no, sits beside him. He's situated himself deep in the corner of the park, under the shadows of the trees, able to see everything but out of the way for any passersby to see him. It would make Hob laugh if it didn't make him sad.

"I live nearby," Hob says, a continuation of his explanation from before. "Got a bit attached. It's not like me, really, stick around one place for long, but." But to leave the shadow of the White Horse felt like he was also leaving the specter of his stranger.

"You are always in London at the time of our meetings," his friend says.

"Wonder why?" Hob says to the air, and then his stranger does look at him.

"Couldn't risk missing it, could I?" Hob continues, rubbing at his ear. "I haven't spent six centuries in one place, you know. But travel wasn't always as easy as it is now. Had to make sure there was a buffer zone."

"It meant so much to you?" his stranger says, and Hob raises an eyebrow.

"Did my once-a-century meetings with the man who gave me eternal life mean so much to me?"

That doesn't really capture the half of it. His stranger looks away again as if conceding the point.

"Anyway," Hob continues, "after you--" he doesn't finish the thought. "I wanted to stay by the old White Horse. Figured that was why you showed up here."

"I had no specific intention when arriving here," says his stranger, which doesn't explain why, when he could presumably appear anywhere in the fucking world using his magic, he's somehow just sitting on a bench barely a kilometer's walk from their old meeting place. Hob really doesn't know what to do with this creature. He feels increasingly certain he was right about his need for friendship, however. And his unwillingness to acknowledge it.

"Well, since you are here," Hob says, "fancy a much-belated drink?"

"Very well," intones his stranger, and follows Hob as he gets up, looking like the entire weight of the world is upon him with each step.

Hob starts to wonder if there wasn't more at play in their missed meeting than his stranger's sullenness. He certainly hasn't seemed to take offense at Hob's familiarity so far. Hasn't run off, hasn't been too proud to stay. And he's here. However unwittingly. Like a stray animal curled on a familiar doorstep where it was once fed.

Hob doesn't take him immediately to the New Inn--besides the distance, he hasn't actually broached the whole our old inn closed down, I made us another one conversation yet--they simply find seats at the pub by the green. Neutral ground, Hob thinks, even as he silently mourns the lack of history.

His stranger gazes out over the sunlit park, lost in thought, as Hob brings their drinks back from the bar. "Here you are," Hob says, sliding the pint across the table to him. "Can get something to eat too, if you like."

His stranger wraps delicate fingers around the glass. "Thank you. But I am not hungry."

Never is, as far as Hob's seen.

"Offer stands," Hob says, and takes a sip of his own drink. He wants to ask. Wants to know why his friend's shown up now, when he skipped their last meeting, disappeared for decades. But he doesn't want to scare him away.

He does ask-- "What brought you here, then?"

His stranger looks at him, gaze piercing. "You do not wish to know why I did not make our last appointment?"

Hob winces. But well, if he's going to broach the topic. "Why didn't you, then?"

But his stranger looks away. "It's a story for another time. But know that it was not intentional. And I came to... regret. Leaving a friend waiting."

A friend. Hob lights up so much he almost misses the other part of the statement--not intentional. It gives him pause. It makes him... uneasy. A instinct that something isn't right.

But asking directly has never gotten him anywhere with his s-- with his friend.

"No matter," he says, with an encouraging smile. "I'm glad you're here now. And as for regret, I regretted how I phrased things last we met. So, I'm sorry."

His stranger looks back up at him, then, with a tiny smile. It feels like being blessed.

"Hob Gadling," he says, "You've lived your life for these centuries... without any grand sense of purpose." It could almost be an insult except he looks very sincere. "How?"

"Well, you basically told me to, didn't you?" Hob points out, and his stranger blinks once, surprised. "I asked why I was immortal, if there was some purpose for it, what I was meant to do... and you said 'just live your life'. What else is there to do, anyway?"

He wonders what it's like to live his stranger's life. It must be quite, well, strange indeed.

"I've got projects and things," he continues. "Occupy myself in different ways. But to be honest... no grand plan has become apparent. Living is the grand plan."

"And you still enjoy it," his friend says.

Hob clinks their glasses together. "Of course."

"Of course," his stranger echoes.

"Look at this day," Hob says, gesturing to the sunny park, the buzzing energy around them. "What's not to enjoy?"

That tiny smile returns to his stranger's face. "Perhaps you are right."

"Are you sure you don't want something to eat?" Hob adds. Now that he's sitting close to him, he thinks his stranger looks kind of... gaunt. Even more than the usual ascetic look he usually sports. "It's one of the things that makes life worth living, you know."

"Perhaps if you have a recommendation," his stranger concedes, and Hob grins.

He has less than zero idea what his stranger might like, so Hob picks up a few staples: chips, halloumi fries, even a salad because God only knows what a creature like this is meant to eat. He'd tried a variety in 1589 and got nowhere, but he's always willing to try again.

His friend studies everything with a critical eye, then delicately picks up a halloumi fry and takes a small bite. His expression doesn't change, but he keeps eating it so Hob takes it as a win.

"Will you tell me of your life this century?" his friend says, when he's finished the fry and picked up another.

"As usual?"

His stranger nods. He's eating the fries faster now, as if suddenly realizing how hungry he is.

"Don't choke yourself," Hob warns, laying a hand on his wrist to still him before he can think better of it.

His stranger goes still, looking down at where their bodies are touching. Hob almost goes to pull his hand away. He doesn't. His heart thumps once, hard, in anxiety-- worried his friend will disappear again.

He doesn't. Just studies Hob's hand for a moment, and then goes back to eating the fries. So Hob leaves his hand where it is.

"Well," he starts, ready to jump into the whole chaos of the last century-and-a-quarter, "I--"

"There you are," says a new voice, and a woman stops by their table, hands on her hips as she looks at his stranger. "I was coming to find you." Her gaze turns to Hob, unexpectedly fond considering he's never met her before. "But it seems like you already found yourself some company."

His stranger goes still, putting down a half-eaten fry.

"Don't think we've met?" Hob says, friendly but made wary by his stranger's posture.

"Not in a sense," she says, cheery, "but I do know you, Hob Gadling."

A chill runs up his spine, exactly the same as when his stranger had first approached his table in the White Horse all those years ago, and spoken Hob's name like he'd always known it.

"Consider carefully your business here, sister," warns his stranger, but the woman only snorts.

"Come off it, you know that's not why I'm here. I just wanted to check up on you. But it's sweet that you've come to care, isn't it?"

Hob hasn't the faintest idea what this is about. Sister is interesting, though. He hadn't ever really considered his stranger could have a family.

"I have not--" his stranger starts, but doesn't finish the sentence.

"Uh-huh," says the woman, and winks at Hob.

Hob still doesn't know what either of them is on about.

"Care to join us?" he asks instead, but she waves him off.

"I've work to do, I'm afraid." But she steals a fry from his stranger. "Mm! These are good!"

"...Yes," his stranger agrees, at length, looking somewhat put out about it. Now that Hob pays attention, they really do have a sibling vibe, and he'd wager his stranger is the little brother. The thought makes him grin.

"I'll come find you later," says the sister, patting his stranger on the shoulder. Then waves at Hob. "Bye, Hob!"

"Bye?" Hob says, a bit whiplashed. And then she's gone.

"Pay her no mind," says his friend with a sigh.

Hob's paying her a lot of mind, actually, but his main priority is not scaring off his friend. "I'm glad you've got someone looking out for you," he says.

"I suppose," says his stranger, looking back down at his fries.

He doesn't seem to want to talk about it, so Hob jumps into his usual spiel about everything that's gone on since they last met. When he's finished the halloumi fries, and started picking at some of the chopped vegetables in the salad as well, Hob takes him for a walk back down the Thames path, towards the New Inn. With every step he expects his stranger to disappear into shadow. But he's always there when Hob turns to check.

His stranger has always been kind of stoic, but this is taciturn even for him. Hob pauses by a bend in the river, just before the White Horse is set to come into view. "Did... something happen?" he finally asks. "Since last we met?"

His stranger considers, walking slowly beside him. "Have you ever experimented with magic, Hob?"

"Magic? Hell no. Got more than enough of a taste just being accused of it, thanks, don't need to repeat the experience."

His friend hums, seeming satisfied. "I would advise you don't, for lately it seems only to drive men to give in to their worst impulses."

"Power'll do that," Hob says. "What's this about, then?"

"It was an amateur sorcerer who kept me captive this past century," he says, and Hob stops walking.

He turns to his stranger, heart suddenly heavy in his throat. "Sorry. What?"

His stranger just looks at him evenly, as if to say, you heard what I said already. Suddenly the air seems colder, the bright afternoon sun some kind of glaring mockery instead of the lovely day it should be. His stranger's face is dappled by the shadows of overhanging trees, his hair tipped in gold, but his eyes are sad. His eyes are always so sad.

So then it wasn't spite or sulking that kept him away? It was something far more horrible? So then, he might have returned and conceded their friendship, if not for--?

Hob feels sick thinking about it. His proud stranger, imprisoned. So affected that while he may not speak much of it, it had left him sitting alone, listless, sad, in a place where he had once been offered friendship.

Hob leans in and, when his stranger doesn't lean away, pulls him into a hug.

His friend doesn't return it, exactly, but neither does he pull away, and after a moment, the tension in him seems to bleed away. He feels, well--he feels exactly like a normal person to hug. Hob doesn't know what he expected.

"An amateur sorcerer, eh?" he breathes, his friend's hair brushing his cheek.

"So he fancied himself." His voice rumbles through Hob's chest. "Though the magics he played with were very real."

"Must've been." Hob finally releases him, though reluctantly. "Does there happen to be a market for amateur sorcerer's heads nowadays?"

Now his stranger's lips curl into a smirk. "There might be, were he not already dead, and suffering eternally in Hell."

"Right. Well, that's something." No vengeance for Hob, then. Not that it was necessarily his to take.

Perhaps the force with which such violent urges rose in him should surprise him, but it doesn't. This is his old stranger, after all. Hob's stepped in to protect him before, though he didn't truly need it then.

Perhaps he needs it now.

"White Horse closed down, you know," Hob tells him, and his stranger's expression shifts in surprise. "But I've got a new place for us. Come along and I'll show you."

He offers his friend his arm, and is still surprised when he takes it. His grip is light, but steady. Hob gives him a small smile, and continues their walk along the path.

"I've banned any sorcerers from the new inn, you know," he says, and his stranger chuckles.

"Have you?"

"Well I certainly will if any show up."

His friend laughs again, a proper laugh this time. "Your defense is appreciated, my friend."

Hob can't help but beam at being called friend. He's a simple man, really. It's all he ever wanted.

"Be damned if a friend of mine ever comes to harm in my place," he declares, and his stranger just hums, eyes crinkling at the corners as he smiles. "Now, we're about to pass the White Horse," Hob continues, "but I warn you, it's not a pretty sight--"

And like that they continue on, the river quietly meandering along beside them.

#a rare fic that's extremely grounded in literal geography #dreamling #my writing #ask #anonymous

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indigosunsetao3 · 3 months ago

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Masterlist

Not many people choose to live in a tourist town. Aside from the busy summer months though, it’s mostly quiet which is exactly what the 141 needs. A secluded spot on an expansive lake to escape, somewhere to recover physically and emotionally. It seems they aren’t the only ones with this idea. A woman who keeps to herself lives in the small cottage next to them. Some locals whisper about the distance she maintains from everyone, assuming she prefers solitude or just doesn't like them. They don’t realize that she’s trying to piece herself together again after a loss; too hurt to let anyone in, too scared to be shattered again. The 141 realize. They see the exhausted shuffle of her steps, the vacant eyes that stare but don’t really see. They know it well. It’s the face of someone who’s seen battle, who’s fighting a war alone and barely surviving. So they try to help. Push against the barriers she’s built, offer a hand to lift her from the pit. It’s a fight, each step a struggle as they break down her walls. And as they help her, they realize she’s healing a part of them, too—a part they thought was long gone, too dead to bring back to life. But even in this small corner of the world, life doesn’t stop; war doesn’t wait. They’ll all be faced with a choice that will either break them further or make them whole again.

I dealt with a traumatic loss a year and a half ago. While I was very aware of what happened I didn’t actually fully accept it and the feelings. I was too busy keeping it together for the person who needed my support the most. But apparently, my brain has decided it's time to work through some of it. And what better way to do that than through writing? This story will be a thing between all my other writing. Updates for this will probably not be my usual 'regular' routine so expect slower than usual on this. Especially given that this is connected with RL situations/feelings...it's probably best I don’t solely focus on it to give myself space.

Chapter 1 It's always interesting when the new neighbor(s) move in. Chapter 2 Waging war over the trash bins. Chapter 3 Biscuits and favors. Chapter 4 Yardwork and yearning.

#poly tf141 #poly 141 #polyamory #call of duty fanfic #cod fanfic #call of duty #cod #my fic #original female character #kyle gaz garrick #john soap mactavish #simon ghost riley #john price #Lifeline

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esotheria-sims · 3 months ago

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Long Overdue Life Update

Whew, the title sounds kinda ominous, doesn't it?

Lemme say right off the bat that this isn't some Big PSA post or anything to that effect. I'm only checking in because I've been quiet for a while and figured an update is the least I can do. 🙂

Nothing major or life-changing is happening on my end; I've just been shitty at finding the time for sim-blogging these past months due to work and other day-to-day rl stuff, though I have been simming a bit in the background. Mostly going on download sprees and sorting cc, but I'm also about two-thirds through my next BaCC rotation and have a few new hair and handswap wips that are share-ready save for previews.

Oh and also: I got a new puppy! She's a 3-and-a-half-months-old Jack Russel mix and the main culprit for the abovementioned lack-of-time for simming. The cute lil' attention hog wants ALL the cuddles! "PC time? What PC time? Pet me instead, hooman!"

Everyone, this is Lucy!

Other things of note in my life, in no particular order:

We've had relatives from Croatia visiting last week with their kids. The kids are super smart and super cute but with the energy levels of a medium-sized nuclear reactor. It's been fun.

I finally went to see a Rammstein concert!!! 🤯 The experience of a lifetime, holy shit. I literally have no words to describe how mesmerizing that stage was. Like, I shit you not, I have 3 GBs worth of concert footage.

Speaking of metal: Gojira KILLED IT at the Olympics Opening! Also: Turkish Shooter Guy and Norwegian Muffin Man are living rent-free in my head. I'm the worst, I only follow professional sports for the memes.😆

I've been moved to a new division at work and am currently sitting in a small office with the two biggest goobers in the entire institution. Between that and me finally having accumulated enough knowledge + experience to have a clue what I'm doing, work's been pretty stress-free for once.

Conversely, my colleagues from the old division are struggling due to lack of staff, too much work, mismanagement, internal strife, and pressure from both within and outside the institution. I feel so bad for them, but at the same time, a selfish part of me is grateful that I'm not there to suffer the shitshow on my own hide.

I have unanswered asks from (probably) months ago and am Very Ashamed of the fact. I'll get back to you guys, I promise! 😰

#text post #non sims #personal #rl

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blazinghotfoggynights · 1 month ago

Text

Buddie? BT? Doesn't matter.

Maybe this isn't how the writers wanted or expected their work to be interpreted, but people pull from RL situations and experience to infer and understand.

As a rational woman of more than 20 years of life on this planet, I've seen and experienced a lot. (Some of that experience is being dated by someone without having a clue they were dating me. Eddie Diaz is not alone. Sadly.) So, here is my interpretation.

1- Tommy was trying to date Eddie. Tommy is not bi, confused, closeted, or shy. He is an out gay man who immediately began monopolizing Eddie's attention and time. Your middle class new friend of a week or two is not flying you to Vegas unless he is trying to get into your pants within the next two weeks. Tommy was trying to impress Eddie and show off. That is not platonic. Tommy wanted Eddie in the naked and moaning type way. You can see his attraction in the way he follows Eddie with his eyes while cheesing when they land after rescuing the cruise ship. Tommy never once looks at Buck until Buck grabs him. Which leads to...

2- Buck was trying to do two things, subconsciously, at once, but for different reasons. Buck was trying to get Tommy's attention off Eddie and get Eddie's attention back onto himself. Eddie had no clue because he didn't even see Tommy was courting him. (I read an A/B/O fic and that word has stuck. Sue me.) Buck couldn't see he was jealous of Tommy and angry at Eddie because he felt he was being tossed aside. Don't forget, this is a Buck who was fresh out of a relationship and watching Eddie get serious with Marisol. In Buck's mind, Eddie was already being taken by Marisol and now Tommy was poaching him, too.

3- Tommy was not into Buck. He took a convenient option that presented itself. That is why that kiss is so sudden, impulsive, and UNSURE. Tommy knew Eddie was a lost cause. But then Buck is begging for attention and right there. So, Tommy made a decision to test the waters and see what happened.

4- Tommy also figured out that he could lead Buck around easily. Remember how their first date was set up? Remember Tommy kicking Buck to the curb literally, but coming back quickly when Buck called begging for a second chance? To young people and people who have never been in relationships, those are classic emotionally manipulative power moves. You can say what you want, but Tommy has figured Buck out and knows how to control the narrative.

If the writers went with sexual identity crisis Eddie, oblivious Buck, and opportunistic and manipulative Tommy, they could easily support all three with canon. Not fanon. CANON.

Bonus: Eddie is shocked Tommy is gay but isn't phased by Buck liking a man. Sure, it throws him a bit when Buck confesses he was on a date with Tommy, but Eddie is completely flabbergasted by Tommy being gay. That explains why he didn't realize Tommy was trying to get at that glorious behind. (For the rest, go back and watch the confession scene. Look for the micro-expressions. Share what you pick up.)

NOTE: I chose not to tag anything in the BuckTommy fandom. Please do not add tags or reblog to that fandom.

#911 on abc #911 abc #9 1 1 buddie #buddie 911 #eddie diaz #evan buckley #buck x eddie #eddie x buck #buddie #911 show #911 #eddie diaz x evan buckley #evan buckley x eddie diaz

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