#not to mention i'm not sure what i ought to focus on

[astriiformes]

Suddenly having a crisis about grad school again. Help.

[medicinemane]

You know, capitalism is another one of those words that sadly is like problematic in that it's functionally useless because people just toss it out and then everyone gets so hung up debating the meaning of the word capitalism that the whole point is lost

That's why I don't ever really use it. It doesn't really matter if it's capitalism or if it's cronyism or... whatever, I think it's bad when companies make record profits while prices go up up up

I think there's probably an issue and it probably needs to be solved (and I'm afraid you can't convince me less regulation is a magic bullet)

I like currency and exchanging currency because it seems like a good way of moving goods and labor around, but I also strongly support welfare and think that any group of more than 50 people is probably starting to get corrupt

Don't trust the government, but sure as hell don't trust corps...

I don't know, my original point is that sadly capitalism gets tossed around too much to mean anything anymore... but I just see too many argumentative people online so I'm tossing out my stances to avoid getting side tracked debating what I mean

What I really really mean is just fucking say what you're saying and don't bother saying capitalism cause you'll just make people argue and miss your point

[librarycards]

Hi! I have a question for you if that's ok. You mentioned hating places that focus on iq and I agree that iq how it is measured and thought of is incredibly flawed. But I also know that there's research that supports that the brains of so called "gifted" people work differently, and have much in common with ADHD and autism. What's your stance on that?

I personally think that "gifted" (hate that term) brains work differently and are neurodivergent but I don't think iq is an at all adequate way of measuring that. From my experience and what I've read "gifted" people are often also highly sensitive, can have difficulty finding social acceptance, have a very developed sense of justice, and have trouble functioning in the world. There's also a lot of overlap between people who are "gifted" and those who have ADHD and/or autism.

giftedness is a social construction tied, you're right, to constructions of a certain kind of 'high functioning" neurodivergent person. as someone marked as gifted and certainly framed as "highly sensitive" as a child, who received an autism diagnosis in adulthood (and should have as a child but did not due mostly to psychiatric misogyny) I'm familiar with this line of thinking.

i disagree with it. what value is there in reifying some kind of binary between the "non-gifted" and "gifted" brains, or the racist and anti-poor metric of "IQ," which is better described as a measure of certain types of reasoning and problem solving than of something as nebulous as "general intelligence"? it seems that the only value society would derive from some definite separation of different cognitive types would be to 1) better exploit them for profit and 2) better segregate the cognitive haves from the have-nots. see: special ed kids being relegated to futurelessness, whereas autistics who happen to be good at niche tasks gain conditional access to abled 'success' so long as they/we perform exceptionally.

i am not interested in the unique intricacies of my brain in comparison to some imagined non-gifted or non-autistic counterpart for the same reason i am not interested in finding imaginary genetic markers for "homosexuality" –– these ontological obsessions are actually very dark & sinister & eugenic at bottom, something you yourself refer to when you claim "autistic senses of justice" (as it were) are "very developed". (i won't go into an analysis of international development discourse in relation to individualized human development, but like....read about colonialism and so-called 'child races' ok?).

sure, i have difficulty functioning in a social world ableist by design, but this doesn't mean i am simply an alien who ought to be living in 3025. it means i share the responsibility of each person to use my unique gifts to improve the world as it is. that is how i want to think about the word "gifted." beyond functioning labels, iq, or these weird delineations between "smart kids and dumb kids". we all have gifts, abilities, and talents unique to us. we have the chance in our lives to learn to use them to build the world we want. but it's only by abolishing hierarchies of intelligence that we can each be the best versions of ourselves and show up for each other.

[moonstruckme]

hi mae!! i saw ur anon earlier abt which characters u have reqs for rn and u mentioned not having any for tasm!peter, which i think is a crime, so i’m here to change that!

i looooved your marauders fic where reader came out as nonbinary (im enby myself) and i was wondering how that would go with peter? maybe during the stage where they both know they like each other, but haven’t officially started dating yet, and reader comes out to him as what they see as a “warning”. i’m openly enby but still present as very femme, so whenever there’s even an inkling of romance between me and a guy i’m always like “oh they dont know im enby. if i tell them they’re not gonna like me anymore, but also, this is who i am”. of course, no need to write this if you aren’t comfortable/not feeling inspired by it!! thank you love 🫶🏽🫶🏽

Hi gorgeous, thank you for requesting! I'm always a bit worried about these because I can only really try to imagine the enby experience from my outsider's perspective, so please lmk if there are any inaccuracies and/or insensitivities :)

tasm!Peter Parker x nb!reader ♡ 1.1k words

You’re constructing your lego flowers at about half Peter’s pace. Peter’s a whiz with everything, and you thought you were used to it, but the way he’s leaving you in his dust is borderline humiliating. He barely even has to look at the instructions, while you’re turning them over in your hands, glancing repeatedly between the paper and the small plastic pieces strewn between you on the couch. 

It might have something to do with your lack of focus. Which might have something to do with Peter being in especially flirty form today. 

It’s no secret that the two of you have feelings for each other. You have for a while, and you’ve both been aware of it for almost as long. Until today, neither of you seemed prepared to do anything about it. But something feels different. Maybe it’s the way he’s looking at you, quick glances through his lashes as he talks, or the way his friendly touches seem more intentional than usual, or the fact that he’d wanted to build lego flowers with you because he thought you’d like it, despite you never having exhibited any interest in legos in your life. 

None of it is unwelcome. You want to enjoy it, but the escalation makes your palms sweat. It makes it seem like something is going to happen, some change, and you haven’t been honest with him yet. You feel like a time bomb. Or a mirage. Peter thinks he’s getting one thing with you, and then you lift the veil to reveal that you’re something else entirely. You feel like you have an obligation to clue him in before he makes any kind of move. And you’re scared of missing your window, but you have no idea when it’s passing. 

“I think you’re missing this one.” Peter’s hand moves over your lap, depositing a lego piece. 

You look up at him, returning his smile. “Thanks,” you say. “This is super unfair, by the way. You’ve got years of experience on me.” 

“It’s not a competition,” he laughs, looking at you in that way again. Warm, sunny, and something else. He holds his finished product out to you, a plasticky snapdragon. “Here, add it to our bouquet.” 

You take it from him compliantly, picking up the vase you’d dug out from your cabinet to hold the growing selection of plastic flowers. You can feel Peter’s eyes on you, and your hands shake a little as you arrange it among the others. If he puts on smooth jazz and starts lighting candles, you’ll bolt. 

“You’re gonna have a whole collection by the time we’re done here,” he says, and you hum in affirmation. His smile fades a bit. “Are you hungry? I could make us some dinner.” 

You aren’t, really, but you ought to be. You suspect your appetite’s just clogged up with nerves. “Sure, I could eat.”

Peter hops up, seeming happy to have something to do. “Okay, sick.” He starts going through cabinets, energy zinging off him in every direction. “We have frozen pizza! Or, uh, leftover thai food, or mac and cheese. Ooh, and we’ve got breadcrumbs! We could crust up the mac and cheese, if we’re feeling fancy.” He looks at you, raising his eyebrows comically high. 

“We can be fancy,” you say, trying to imitate his teasing tone. 

You don’t think you pull it off very well. Peter frowns and sets the boxed mac and cheese down on the counter. 

“Hey, are you okay?” You must look startled, because he softens the question with a smile. “You just seem a little spacey today. Is…are you having fun?” 

“I am,” you say, perhaps too quickly. Your voice is tinged with desperation. You try again, more sincerely. “I am, Pete. This is fun. I’m sorry, I’m just a little out of it.” 

“That’s okay.” He makes his way back over to the couch, folding a leg underneath him as he sits. His eyes are earnest on yours. Reassuring, even though he doesn’t know what there is to reassure yet. “What’s eating you?” 

You try to look casual, make your tone sound offhand. “Have I mentioned that I’m nonbinary?” 

Peter blinks. “Uh, no. I don’t think so.” 

“Oh.” You grin, shrugging. Every move you make feels stilted and embarrassing. “Well, I am. I’ve just been thinking I should make sure you knew, just in case you didn’t.” 

“Okay.” He seems a bit stunned, but he hasn’t broken eye contact with you. And Peter’s not looking at you like he’s seeing through the veil. He’s looking at you the way he always has. “Are you—is this your way of trying to tell me that you want me to use different pronouns for you?” 

“What?” you laugh. “No. I’m not trying to tell you anything, just…I like you, and I didn’t want to, like, trap you in anything if you didn’t know.” The levity saps from your tone as you go on, until your voice is painfully quiet. “I understand if you don’t like me anymore. It’s cool.” 

“What?” Peter repeats you, but the delivery is off. He sounds gutted. “Why would you think that?” 

You shrug. You’re doing your best to look normal, but your face is burning something awful. 

“You’re not—” he shakes his head. “You’re not trapping me in anything. Sweetheart.” Peter surges into your corner of the couch, crowding you as much as hugging you. Mindless of the viscous little plastic pieces biting into his knees. He smells like laundry detergent. “Thank you for telling me,” he says, face an inch from your ear, “but it doesn’t change how I feel about you. Sorry to disappoint.” 

You laugh, the sound embarrassingly choked. He rubs your back roughly. 

“I can tell this is you just trying to get out of things,” he goes on with impressive lightness, “and I really hate to tell you this, but you’re stuck with me. We have a lego bouquet now. Those are binding.” You laugh again, and Peter’s voice drops to a more sincere register. “Thanks for telling me though, really.” He releases you, or partly, hands sliding down your shoulders to rest on the crooks of your elbows. “I like getting to know you. I’ll take whatever new material you want to give me.” 

“Thanks,” you say softly. You muster your confidence, taking his forearms in your hands and giving them a friendly squeeze. “I didn’t realize the lego flowers were a contract, though. I think I may want to renegotiate my terms.” 

Peter blows out a breath, shaking his head. “Sorry, can’t help you. There’s no backing out now.”

[desultory-novice]

Here's a probably bizarre one

Are you into Table Top RPGs? And if so what do you think a Kirby themed one would look like? In just broad strokes at least, not asking you to get in depth with all the numbers or something

I'm trying to actually make one along with a few friends of mine as a "little" group project, we're throwing out ideas, figuring stuff out and what not. Turns out making a proper TTRPG is difficult and requires a lot of thought.

I used to be! In my family, playing D&D (2nd edition!!) was like watching sports for other families! I dropped out of the hobby sometime in my teens, as I started to struggle more with roleplaying ^^; and though I've shown interest in the occasional system and even played in a handful of one-shots, a lot of my knowledge comes from overhearing stories from my siblings, who are still into it!

When I brought this concept up to my sister briefly, she mentioned something (and maybe it was spun off something legendary blogger Prokopetz had said) about trying to "twist" D&D into a system for telling stories it just wasn't keyed to tell! That you CAN do that, sure, but maybe it's not the most efficient way...?

Soooo...

...In that sense two TTRPGs that come to mind when I think about alternate ways you could do a Kirby game other than just "explore dungeon and kill monsters!" (...Note that these might not be perfect fits either, they're just ones I've heard about and caught my interest!)

Magica Logia, a Japanese-only RPG (sorry...! ^^;;) that was really popular on NicoDouga/NicoVideo that is mostly based around playing these magicians with true forms (O~ooh, Soul Forms, you say?) who go around solving magical incidents!

While there IS combat, most of it is about learning what is even going wrong and using your skills (which are more like "concepts" and all HIGHLY interpretable) to detect just WHO has been affected through roleplay scenes that play out in a turn based structure!

It was REALLY popular to do long videos of characters from various games and anime playing versions of themselves via Magica Logia and so I often think that it suits a variety of more story-based settings! (Like, a huge focus on the story of a session is finding out who has been POSSESSED by the evil forces this time and I hope you can see my vision for how well that would work for Kirby!)

Another that I'm slightly less familiar with but I've always wanted to learn more about is Ryuutama, which, to quote the main website, describes itself as "Miyazaki's Oregon Trail?!" XD

A huge focus of the game seems to be around "regular" seeming characters going to new places because they're filled with wanderlust (and Kirby IS a wanderer!) and managing the resources to get there! (How much food you have at any given time feels like it would be a natural fit forany Kirby TTRPG) 

I also like that the journey and the places you go seem to be decided on by the group as a whole, with everyone contributing something! It reminds me very much of how magical various places in Pop Star (or the rest of the Kirby-verse galaxy) can be! And I think that kind of inventiveness would be wonderful.

Do you really want Kirby and the gang to explore a re~gular old cave? If it's going to feel like Kirby, the cave ought to have... Oh, crystal stalagmites in the shape of ice cream! Or that reflect your image like funhouse mirrors! Or the ceiling is covered with moss that acts like glow-in-the-dark bedroom stars!

...Again, I haven't seen this one played before like I have with the other one so I'm mostly going off concepts I find appealing from the product page! It does make you think though!

-

As for ideas of my own, I'm split when it comes to character creation. Either everyone should be allowed to make their own "Kirby"/Puffball and you KEEP it to puffballs, or you pass on playing Kirby and let people choose from a variety of commonly returning ally races (Poppy, Simirror, Birdo, Dee, Chilly, Joe, etc...) The reason I would suggest going either all puffs or all non-puffs is because even though my ideal Kirby TTRPG is not amazingly battle heavy, I still think that would really cut down on any questions of POWER SCALING (my beloathed... :shiver:)

I think that creativity in the interpretation of game mechanics should be emphasized, and that smaller numbered dice would be better (D4s or D6s, a D10 at most??)

I can see stats being more akin to MOODS rather than like, physical prowess and how fast you are/magic potential etc? After all, Kirby is strong enough to tackle on otherworldly horrors...but the comics often depict him as being unable to when he is, say, [Tired] or [Hungry] so having to balance your player character's ~total health~ as opposed to just their HP might make things feel more Kirby-esque, as opposed to just a Kirby-themed D&D reskin! (Not that there's anything wrong with that, if that's where one's interest lies!)

Another thing from Ryuutama that I liked the sound of was each character having a key [Personal Item] that is important to them! Maybe it's not EVEN magical, maybe it's just...emotionally significant?!��Maybe part of the goal of story creation can be discovering what ties these characters together through an exploration of their items! (Everyone declares theirs to the game master and the game master builds the adventure around that?)

Anyway, I think I've made my preferences for a "non-standard" style TTRPG here clear! Sorry if that wasn't your desired direction...!

-

But yes, good luck with you and your friend's project! I'm sure it IS a lot of work! I don't know how much progress you've made in the week it took me to get to this one, but I would love to hear more if you think you've narrowed in on your idea! And I'm sure a bunch of others here would be interested as well!

[liminalpebble]

Lock and Key: Part 1 of 2 (A Professor Pine Story)

Part 2 link

AN: Part 1of 2, older/ instructor/Jonathan Pine x student/agent/femme reader

CW: Minors DNI. Smut in the next part, my loves.

“Again,” said Pine, glaring down at you through the dark frame of his glasses.

You slammed down the lock and picks in frustration, then rubbed at your temples where a headache was creeping in. Your hands reeked of metal and WD40. You'd been at this, stuck in his office, all afternoon.

“It took 10 minutes, Pine! That's not half bad.”

“Professor Pine...and it's not half good either. Ten minutes is too long in field work.”

“Jesus Christ,” you muttered, as he simply stared you down.

Silences never felt awkward for him, never seemed to make him the least bit uncomfortable. He had a way of observing so closely and quietly that it was absolutely preternatural.

“Do you ever blink?”

That actually did make him laugh, a tiny puff of a thing under his breath, the slightest flex of a smile on his unbearably handsome face. He fidgeted with his glasses; one of his few tells. It communicated, without a word, that the stoic Jonathan Pine was deeply concerned.

The addition of lenses to his face was a recent, not to mention reluctant, one. He told himself that was the cause of his frustration, his unease; just that annoying little touch of plastic against his skin, a tiny chafe reminding him that he was older now. He told himself that's all it was, that it had nothing to do with you. He wasn't fooling himself.

Pine didn't think you'd notice, but you did.

You noticed a good deal more than he thought.

He moved toward the stopwatch again, then neatly and precisely placed the utensils back in front of you. His deft, practiced, fingers reset the lock in no time. He raise an eyebrow, his finger hovering over the button, silently asking if you're ready yet again.

You sighed and stretched your neck and back, rolling out a few sharp creaks and pops. You wiggled your fingers and took a deep breath. He tried not to notice the curve of your throat and collarbones as you moved, the way your deep breaths raised and lowered your soft chest in a mesmerizing rhythm.

“Can I at least talk to you this time? It might make it easier to get out of my head...find some kind of flow. I'm overthinking and I'm panicking...maybe...I don't know.”

He grimaced. Ideally, this should be silent. It would have to be on an assignment and he worried about that; about you.

That's why you were here, after all. Pine demanded your attendance in office hours because he was concerned for you...more than he ought to be, more than he had any right to be as your instructor. It had grown into much more than a professional interest.

It weighed on his conscience. In this line of work, he knew better than anyone how fatal attachments could be. You were a firecracker and he watched you in splendid wonder, even though you could burn him to the ground. His feelings for you were his deepest secret, and he kept it guarded like Fort Knox.

Jonathan combed a hand through his curls. They were growing quickly, getting unruly and it irked him. Pine wasn't used to wearing the styles and trappings of another man's life yet; he was a spy...the spy that took down Richard Roper, and now he was a man behind a desk, lecturing to future agents. It felt strange to be replaced in the field. He missed the adrenaline, the pumping blood, the danger...all things he was now beginning to associate with you.

Finally, after the deafening silence of his ruminations, he put his hands on his hips and huffed out a, “sure, okay. But just this once.”

He pushed the button and the clicking began; the regular, measured ticks of the watch versus the more firm and frenzied clicks of metal against metal as you finessed the pins.

“Gently!” he advised placing a hand on your shoulder. The sound of his crisp baritone and his proximity were doing nothing to help your focus. “I'm going to start calling you Attila the Hun!”

“What?”

“You work in a frenzy, you know? You're whip-smart but you're...reckless.”

click....click click

“Hrmm. Well, Director Burr seems to remember a time when you could be reckless too.”

He frowned and stopped his pacing. “She told you that?”

Click. Click. Tick tick tick.

“Hrrmm...not in so many words. I read between the lines. Do you like this new life? Are you less...reckless...*click* these days?”

Pine crossed his arm and resumed his slow journey to nowhere.“We're not here to talk about me, we're here to make you a competent field agent.”

You shrugged. “Well, that's going swimmingly, isn't it? *click click* I don't see why you're so obsessed with this analog stuff. I can bring a Fortune 500 company to its knees with a few keystrokes and you think this is something that I'll need to do?”

“Hacking can't help you if you're beaten and locked in a cellar.”

“Come on, that doesn't happen anymore.”

A needle-sharp, blue-eyed glare met yours.

“Does it? Did it happen to you?”

Tick. Tick. Tick.

“Time” he declared, ending the conversation, to his great relief and your frustration.

You gave a cocky little twitch of your head, meeting his appraisal with a smirk. You gestured to the lock.

“There. Open in five. Acceptable?”

He sat down next to you and brought it closer to his face.

“You've stripped it completely though. You might as well have used a bolt cutter.”

“So?”

“So, it's best not to leave evidence.”

“No one would notice that!,” you argued indignantly.

“I did.”

“You're....you're...an evolutionary anomaly.”

He chuckled, really chuckled this time, and it startled you. “What? I beg your pardon?”

“You're...different, Jonathan. You're too...everything...”

Your mentor sat, scooting closer. You could smell his aftershave. You could see that his pullover was not, in fact, black, but a subtle navy blue...fine and soft. Fine and soft as that vulnerable skin peaking out at the collar, the milky, pale, dip between his throat and his chest.

God, you wanted to touch him, wanted to run you tongue along that valley and devour him, feel his deep groans through the skin and sinew of his long neck as you'd kiss it...suck on it.

Your throat went dry and you cleared it to speak quietly, more uncertain than he'd ever heard you.

“You...you're perfect. You can't understand what it's like to struggle like this.”

“I assure you, I am very far from perfect...If you only knew.” He shook his head sadly, recalling some scar of a memory you couldn't discern.

You turned to face him, mere inches from each other.

“If I only knew what, Professor Pine?”

His Adam's apple bobbed with a swallow and he forced his breathing to slow. “That I am very...very...far from perfect. I'm only human. I make mistakes.”

Those lovely ocean eyes flicked from your eyes to your lips.

“And I think I may be about to make another one.”

@smolvenger and @muddyorbs and @gruftiela this is for you! I don't know who else might give a fuck, but feel free to share if you like it! Thank you for reading! Part 2 (the last one) coming soon. I promise not to leave you hanging too long.

[badaziraphaletakes]

As someone who enjoys reading and writing off-canon takes of Aziraphale, could you just... you know. Start a discussion about that final 20% mentioned by OP whose name is very clearly not included here?

Maybe something to do with "fan art and fan-fiction are produced by individuals reflecting their own values through the lens of the blorbo and these interpretations ought not be subject to blanket criticism based on your individual interpretation of the blorbo?"

Please and thank you.

I'm not exactly sure what OP's point was in the screenshot there, I have some trouble understanding things online sometimes, BUT, about what you said:

"fan art and fan-fiction are produced by individuals reflecting their own values through the lens of the blorbo and these interpretations ought not be subject to blanket criticism based on your individual interpretation of the blorbo"

I absolutely agree.

I hope by now most of our followers have noticed that we never criticise fanart and fanfic in here. It's never been featured on this blog. What we feature here are prejudiced metas concerning the canon. We call out ableist, misogynistic (etc) takes about the canon characters. Takes that are trying to "explain" what happened in canon to other fans using veiled misogyny, ableism, victim blaming and anti-autistic bias. Those can have harmful repercussions irl, and we feel we must fight against those prejudices.

However fanfic and fanart are not that at all. Fanfic and fanart are not canon by definition, and are so subjective that they can have thousands of interpretations, so we feel it's not our (or anyone's) place to judge.

It's like playing with your Barbie dolls. You can do what you want with them, it's mostly harmless. If someone wants to make Aziraphale the villain in a fic? Go ahead, that falls into headcanon territory, and headcanon is not canon, it's anyone's land. I personally won't read that specific fic, but you can write it. I'm pretty sure I'd write stuff someone wouldn't read too, it's all ok. The problem is when they start to spread this as canon.

Now it must be said, of course some fics can be triggering (like every art out there), but in my 4 year experience in this fandom, 99% of fics are properly tagged, authors usually overtag for safety, so if you see a fic with a theme you don't like, it's easy to avoid it. Even fanart is tagged in the GO fandom, which is not something I see in every fandom out there. And besides, speaking of fanart specifically, it's so subjective bc what you see there may be just a metaphorical interpretation of feelings and not literal. So if you start scrutinising that you end up falling into censorship territory and that's shady.

Because of all that, we try to focus on calling out bad takes regarding the canon facts only.

That being said, in order to do that sometimes we try to analyse the overall situation of the fandom, bc many ppl try to impose fanon as canon in those metas, consciously or not. So while doing that, we may make commentaries on some fanon stuff, including the most common portrayals of the characters in fanwork. But trust that this is not a criticism of the fanworks at all. Again, it's just an attempt to separate the canon from the fanon, and to try to study the situation to see where the bad takes are coming from. In other words, fanon can be one of multiple tools to understand the fandom's mindset, and we make use of it. Is it possible that we may have (or will) missed the tone while addressing that and come across as if we're criticising fanworks? Of course, we're human, but trust that's not where we're coming from, and we appreciate criticism so we can be better :)

But honestly, if someone writes a fic where Aziraphale and Crowley are a toxic homophobic straight couple that ends up cheating on each other with the Metatron and divorcing, I couldn't care less. Have fun with your Barbies (but pls tag your fic lol).

I know this is a theme discussed over and over in fandoms, but I tried to give my two cents here, and believe me, this blog absolutely believes in "headcanon and let headcanon". Our problem is with ppl spreading misinformation about the canon.

Thanks for your ask, it's a very important thing to address! I hope I addressed what you were suggesting, if I missed anything, @indigovigilance , please share your thoughts in the reblogs/comments so we can discuss/clarify things. I have a feeling we're both coming from the same place here though 😁

Xoxo,

Mod M 🩶

[gakupo7]

I'm now stuck on chapter six and I realize it's becauseeee Im actually not very sure hoow this new character ties into the larger story I know what her role is in part one and she is a little in part two and then later she's also mentioned by another character waaay later in the story But it just doesn't feel right having the entire chapter six be about introducing her and then not have her be super really important and not even show up in the later parts that's just ridiculous. So either I have to work her into the larger narrative somehow, orrr make chapter six, not just about introducing her, but also about something else important as well. But it's like they literally don't do anything new& important until the next chapter, and I don't really have much to say and make this chapter slow moving without much plot, because that's just silly. You don't understand... I can't say it well enough... Sorry I'm just so tired and not with much blood. 😓 Anyhow ahhh so it's either:

merge this chapter with the next one.

add something more to focus on in this chapter and make something important happen that does not quite involve this new character.

orrr make this character important enough to be worthy of having an entire chapter with much focus on her and worthy enough to have the chapter title be referencing her. Otherwise I'll have to change the title T_T

I think I'll go with the third option... I was actually pondering on how in the end of the story there seems to be more focus on the very important guy characters and there's just not that many really important and irreplaceable to the story & climax women... Except a baby T_T Realizing this, I was not very enthusiastic, it felt a little depressing T_T Honestly when there's not many women it does feel a little depressing overall unless it's the lord of the rings... That doesn't count it's literally the opposite of depressing and the hobbit as well. As a kid I would read Diary of a Wimpy kid and I was like wow such a depressing family. HAHAHA Sorry but... Well maybe it's to do more with their characters than their genders but I always pitied their mom anyway... So anyways, I think making this other lady relevant to the end of the story as well will fix that. Just goes to show how much more thinking one ought to do... Thankyou for listening

[regular-lord-reckoner]

okay, i'm back (for a second anyway, hello)

i'm feeling a bit better since last time i wrote, so that's something.

i finally have some good news for a change!!!

i had my second ultrasound with my gyn and got to actually meet with the doctor afterwards and they went over everything with me a lot more in depth and didn't give me any push back on not wanting kids, they just explained to me what my best option would actually be considering all my symptoms given what's going on

from my second ultrasound they did still see what looks like a polyp so now given that i have a history of polyps an ablation wouldn't really be the best option because if they needed to go in again to biopsy or if there was bleeding it would be harder to tell what was going on because of that and it also apparently wouldn't help that much with the rest of my period symptoms considering it's not a guarantee that it'd stop them completely, it would just lessen it significantly but if i'm looking to stop all of it that's not really going to be my best option

so!! the plan right now is this: on the 9th i'm going to go in and they're going to put me to sleep (FINALLY)

just kidding, but they are going to do a dnc, get that polyp and all that stuff in there out and send that off to be biopsied just to make sure nothing's cancer-y in there and for the time being and while i'm still fucking asleep they're going to stick an iud up in there !!

and honestly......truthfully....if they find something on the biopsy that warrants me getting the whole thing taken out/shut down, that's fine by me as well, let's go.

if not, we'll just....let 41 year old me deal with getting that iud replaced but that at least will hopefully give me a few years peace of mind and hopefully....................less or even no periods, please god

i'm on one currently and i just...no more. i'm not even able to take those big ass pills i mentioned before because i'm off a lot of vitamins and whatnots to get ready for my procedure and that one can be bad for clotting so i can't take it and am getting the full thing this time (i also feel like it just....knows something's about to happen and it's fighting back)

but yeah, i can definitely live with that plan and i feel like i'm in good hands with this doctor so finger's crossed everything goes well and this works out and hopefully too this will help some with my mental health because i do think that's been contributing to some of what i've been going through/feeling lately

i think some of it too is probably just good old burnout as per usual. i realized why i fell into that pattern of taking long breaks from work which ended up screwing myself over, but it was because sitting there for several hours straight and feeling like i have to focus on just this one thing and one thing only and even then there aren't enough hours in the week to get it all done and it just compounds and leaves me drained

like yeah, neither schedule was ultimately doing me any good, but at least i wasn't as exhausted before. i'm sure i'll figure this out eventually even if it does mean changing jobs or just...something.

for now i still thinking getting a second job is going to be my best bet, especially now that i'm adding more medical debt to my plate, like something's gonna have to give or these grocery stores are going to have to lower their prices quickly because it's uh....rough without those extra ten hours every week now.

i'll figure it out and the good news is i have a week off coming up so hopefully that'll help me reset and give me time to really think about what i want my next move to be here as far as managing all of this.

i'll also be taking that time off because it's right around the first anniversary of my dad's passing and i know i'm probably making it bigger in my head than it really ought to be, but it's been like a jumpscare in my head every time i think about how it's already been a year

being that this month is that and then a week later his birthday i just...am not looking forward to it because i know i'm just going to be a mess and while it would probably be a good distraction for me to work and focus on other things, i just....don't want to.

if maybe i can just be really, really fucking sad for a whole week and feel whatever i need to feel and process all of that maybe then i can finally start to get better and get back to myself and life and everything, but for right now i'm just dreading it and bracing myself as best as i can.

anyway, didn't really want to end on a downer note, but i guess that's just what's been going on lately. overall, though, i am excited about this procedure as weird as that may sound and i'm really hoping it'll be a good thing

i'm going to try to continue taking it easy and getting as much rest as i can because that's what my body is begging me for and being that this procedure is gonna have me at the hospital at 5 fucking am on a friday after another long week of work i'm all for that so back to rest mode i go and hopefully next time you hear from me i'll have even more good news :3

hope you're all doing well <3

[brandwhorestarscream]

So, for the Megastar Vosian Political Drama Extravaganza. When the sparklings finally emerge, because I'm pretty sure they're multiples, if they are triplets, do they count as an automatic trine, or is that something that needs to be a conscious choice?

I'd like to think they're all Seekers. Three because Megatron is big and his forge was like one?? Pfft weak. Give me more.

Unless we go full Heavy Cargo and give him sextuplets. I kinda liked the concept of Seekers being restricted to singleton pregnancies.

In my personal canon (and, for the most part, fanon in general, ime) seekers always concieve in threes. Typically, yes, siblings born to the same litter are perfectly eligible to be trines, though it really just depends on what the sparklings themselves want or what their family plans to do, if they're higher caste.

In Starscream's situation, he's the eldest child of the very first litter the current Winglord has, so he's on a fast track to inherit the throne. Because of this, his future trine mates were handpicked as the best of the best--Thundercracker, the son of Vos's finest noble house with a good portion of his relatives being Rainmakers, and then Skywarp, one of the best outliers Vos had ever produced. He's only a commoner, but the ability to teleport anywhere he wants, at any time, under any conscious circumstance is priceless. Pretty much as soon as he was discovered, word spread quickly, and his parents were recieving petitions for engagements from multiple noble houses and even the Winglord himself.

So, these three bitties that Megatron is carrying? As they're only being born to a concubine, they'll hardly have any real political power or use. Marrying them off to spread the royal family's line of influence won't do much, so as a previous ask mentioned, they'll likely become loyal companions and close friends for the seekerlings Starscream will have with his trine. They could be attendants or advisors in the future, and so will still live a safe, rather luxurious life, all things considered.

Idk if they'll ever have more, but the idea of a litter of 6 or 9 or more could certainly be something we explore. But before we do that! We ought to focus on these triplets: what their names will be, and how life's going to unfold for them and their mother 🤭

[izzy-b-hands]

Anise

TW for emetophobia and slightly graphic descriptions of a fairly bad broken leg.

---

"Are you down there Iz?"

Izzy stares up. "No, I fell through the fucking floor and disappeared!"

Ed's eyes light up. "Found him!"

"Oh good," Stede pops over the edge of the broken wooden boards with Ed. "Izzy! This ship is awfully dangerous, isn't it? I got a splinter looting whatever books weren't waterlogged!"

Izzy ponders why the fuck Stede would be mentioning an injury, then looks to his left leg, which broke through the very bottom of the ship as he landed.

Most of it is in the water below, hopefully not about to be nibbled up by anything swimming by.

The bit he can see looks. Wrong.

Then, the pain hits.

"I suppose I shouldn't have said anything," Stede winces. "Just hang on and we'll pull you out!"

"How fuckin' generous of you!" Izzy screams back, less out of irritation and more to let out some of the pain.

"The fuck is going on here?"

Izzy blinks. Roach. Roach is here. He'll make sure they don't kill him by accident while freeing him.

"Hand me a rope," Ed says. "Gonna have Izzy tie it to himself and then we'll pull him up!"

Roach appears over the hole. "Are you hurt?"

Izzy manages a pained cry. He doesn't know if it's simply broken or if it's something worse, but it fucking hurts.

"Okay," Roach says calmly. "Is...Is your leg trapped?"

"Yes," he calls up in a strangled voice. "I don't know how bad it is."

He watches as Roach snags the rope Ed now has in hand, and ties it around his own waist instead.

"Hold this, and do not drop me," he instructs Ed and Stede.

"No, we were going to-" Stede starts.

"I know, and you'd probably brute force his leg off if it's bad enough," Roach interrupts. "I'm going down to assess it first."

He doesn't leave them room to argue, shoving the other end of the rope at them until they take it.

Izzy closes his eyes for a moment, to try and focus on something other than pain. When he opens them, Roach is beside him.

"Hey," Roach smiles. "This is what we get for looting a long abandoned ship, hm? Nasty rotted boards and injuries."

"Found some other things," Izzy says. "Actually-"

"Later," Roach pats his upper arm. "Let me get you out of here and looked after first."

Izzy watches as Roach carefully looks over the trapped leg, plucking delicately at the leather of his trousers.

"You're gonna hate me," Roach grins. "I need to cut these to see how bad it really is. Go on, yell at me for ruining your only pair of trousers."

"Please just get me out," Izzy whimpers. Shouting won't help this and for once isn't worth it. He feels faint and like he might be sick and he just wants to be free.

"Okay," Roach's grin falls immediately. "Hang on."

Roach forces the scissors from his apron pocket through the leather, until all that remains is a short on that leg.

Izzy thinks he might yet keep and wear them. Didn't Ed say he ought to change up his wardrobe a little? Why not leather shorts, handmade by Roach and maybe Wee John, if he asked nicely for John to help hem them.

"Ooh," Roach winces. "Do not look at this leg, okay?"

Izzy immediately peers down and nearly passes out.

Blood. Bone. Not sticking all the way out but considering all of it is meant to stay inside, that doesn't really matter, does it?

"I'll have Buttons swim below and look at the rest," Roach says hurriedly.

"What do you need us to do?" Ed shouts down.

"Get Buttons to swim below and see how the rest of his leg looks!" Roach calls back up. "I need my medicine chest, the smaller one I bring for raids!"

"All the way on the Revenge?" Stede wrinkles his nose.

"Just go fucking get it!" Roach shouts, and it takes them all by surprise.

Stede takes the rope alone, while Ed dashes off presumably to Buttons and the chest.

"Talk to me," Roach commands as he sits carefully by Izzy. " Keep yourself awake for me."

"About what?" Izzy grumbles. "How much this fucking hurts?"

"Sure."

"It hurts and I hate that the only reason I'm down here is because I saw something Ed might like," Izzy says, though low enough he hopes Stede won't hear. "I just want to go home."

Roach's gaze softens. "I'll get you home. I don't leave my patients to die when they're crew."

"And if they aren't?"

"Case by case basis," Roach shrugs.

Izzy snorts and laughs. "And what criteria might determine if you'd leave me here, if I wasn't crew?"

"I don't know," Roach smiles.

"Yes you do," Izzy drawls. He feels delirious, but that makes it much easier to talk. He wants to talk, actually. Talking feels okay, in the weird haze consuming his mind. "I'm an asshole."

"Yeah, you are a lot of the time," Roach says. "But if I left every patient that was an asshole, my rate of dead versus surviving patients would be terrible."

"I'm...mean," Izzy grumbles. "I could do half the chores I shout about but then Ed, Ed he-"

"He asks why you're the one doing it; I know," Roach says with a giggle. "I've seen it happen."

"Yeah," Izzy sighs. "I'm just...trying to be a good pirate, and that means loyalty and Ed loves loyalty and I'm loyal but he doesn't love me."

Roach frowns. "You're very pale."

"Is that part of why too?!" Izzy cries. He leans over to drop himself into Roach's lap. "I never stood a chance."

Roach is shaking with giggles, but Izzy doesn't care. They always laugh at him.

"I'm sure he loves you," Roach says, and Izzy feels a hand gently playing with his hair. "I think Ed loves a lot of people in a lot of different ways. Maybe he just doesn't know how to tell you, or show you."

Izzy sniffles and nuzzles against Roach's leg. He's only giving more fuel for the fire for them to make fun of him, but he doesn't care. His leg hurts and he feels terrible and he wants nothing more than to nap in Roach's lap.

"Or maybe you miss what he does to say that he loves you," Roach continues. "You've been sailing with him a long time. Sometimes we forget those things, or have to relearn them, when we're with someone for years."

"Maybe," Izzy agrees. "I'm going to nap for a bit, wake me when Ed is back..."

"No," Roach forces Izzy up. "No sleeping!"

Izzy flops his head onto Roach's shoulder. "Can I rest here at least?"

"As long as you don't fall asleep," Roach replies. "This is wild, by the way. Never thought I would see you like this."

Izzy tries to snuggle against him more. "Keep me alive and you can see even more of me if you want."

"Really?" Roach giggles. "I bet you say that to all the surgeons."

"Only the hot ones," Izzy says. "When they make coffee just the way I like it and leave me sandwiches and sweets for when I'm on night watch."

"Yeah?" Roach asks softly. "How many of those have there been?"

"Just one," Izzy replies as his eyes flutter shut.

--

The scent of cinnamon wakes him.

He opens his eyes to see Roach, at the counter nearby, busily working some dough and snagging more ingredients as he goes.

Izzy peers down, and realizes he's on the low cot kept in the galley now for medical emergencies (Stede was sick of eating off the same table surgeries might be done on, which was fair.)

He wants to talk, but his throat is painfully dry. Still, he tries to clear his throat a little.

"Hey," Roach turns around, wiping his hands on his apron. "Welcome back."

"Do I still have a leg?"

"For now. If it gets infected...well. We'll cross that bridge when we get to it," Roach replies. "I've got you set and stitched and wrapped and casted, so hopefully that won't happen."

"Thank you," Izzy sighs despite the catch in his throat. "Could I have some-"

"Water, of course," Roach tuts. "I can hear you need some and here I am standing about..."

A moment later Roach is knelt by him with a cup of cold water, a hand helping hold his head up while he drinks.

"Better?"

Izzy nods. "I'll get up and get out of your hair. Can smell that you've got baking to get back to."

"Oh no," Roach gently presses him back down to the cot before he can fully sit up. "You're staying here with me for the foreseeable future. You really fucked up that leg, and I know you won't tell me if you're having trouble with it until it's too late for me to do anything-"

"So you're going to have to babysit me," Izzy sighs. "My apologies."

"I think I'll manage," Roach smiles. "Here, I need a taste test."

He stands and moves back to the counter, picking up something there that Izzy can't see.

"This is just a bit of cinnamon roll," Roach offers the first piece of warm, baked dough.

Izzy takes it and eats more greedily than he wanted to, but now that food is in front of him he's ravenous.

"Good?"

Izzy nods. "Thank you."

"One more to try, and then I have a broth I want you to eat," Roach says. "After that, if you feel up to it, a little more of something sweet."

Izzy knows Roach has given him something for the pain. He feels only the occasional twinge of discomfort, at least until it wears off.

Roach hands him a bit of what looks like a biscuit.

"Anise," Izzy smiles. "And orange?"

"With just a hint of cinnamon," Roach smiles proudly. "What do you think?"

"I think for the next raid, we offer the opposing crew these," Izzy replies. "Then tell them they get more, but only if they surrender and give up their loot."

"No sword fighting?"

"My leg will still be fucked by then I'm sure," Izzy sighs. "Offering them biscuits might be the most I can do."

"We'll see about that," Roach says. "Here, let me get the broth and some more water. You're probably starving by now."

Roach sits on the floor by the cot and together they share broth and water and a bit of bread leftover from breakfast. It's simple, but one of the best things Izzy's tasted.

Aside from the anise biscuits, of course.

"Get some sleep," Roach instructs as he stands and returns their dishes to a spare bit of counter. "I'm right here if you need me."

"You'll leave anything I need for the night before you go, right?" Izzy asks. "I ask only because I doubt I could get to the medicine chest myself right now."

Roach shakes his head. "You don't realise how long you were out with the medicine I gave you. It's midnight, if not a bit past."

"You should be sleeping."

"Later. I want these rolls ready for breakfast, so people can come in and grab them and go if they want," Roach says, hands already back to the dough he'd been working on.

"And when will you sleep then?" Izzy asks. "Because I'm sure you're about to tell me how that gives you extra time to work on lunch, which doesn't sound like sleeping to me."

"I could ask you the same thing about your usual work routine," Roach chuckles. "When do you actually get sleep, Mr. Hands?"

"Apparently only after I horribly injure myself."

Roach cackles. "Are you suggesting we injure you whenever you need a nap?"

"I'd leave it up to the Captains," Izzy replies. "Seems like their call to make."

"Oh really? I'd be the one treating you," Roach says. "Seems more my call."

"And what do you say?"

Roach turns and comes back to the cot, kneeling down to offer another bit of anise biscuit.

"I say I'd like to see you resting more," Roach replies. "I'd be happy to have you hide in here, on this, whenever you need a break. If we pile up some of the crates near it, no one can see you."

"That's a useful secret."

Roach puts a finger to his lips. "One just for us."

"And this stands even if I'm perfectly well?"

Roach nods. "I... would like to see more, of this Izzy."

Izzy nods, and reaches for a flour covered hand.

Roach squeezes back when Izzy holds it tightly, and presses a light kiss to the back of Izzy's hand.

Izzy smiles. "Between the biscuits and that, you'll spoil me with sweetness, you know that?"

Roach blushes and drops himself gently onto Izzy's stomach. "Shut the fuck up. Where has this Izzy been?"

"Seemingly stuck in the bottom of a rotting ship."

Roach laughs against him, and Izzy lets himself relax into the cot, surrounded by the joyful warm sound and the scent of anise and cinnamon.

[enarmor]

Her feet wandered in his direction before she really realized it. Pausing outside his door, bag of gifts against her side, list of names in her hand. She takes a breath, fishes in the bag for a box wrapped in green, and knocks, twice. 

“Hello, Sain,” she murmurs, holding the box out towards him. “I brought you a gift, for the winter festival. I thought you’d like it.” There’s a shy sparkle in her eyes, an undercurrent of confidence that she chose something nice. 

Inside the box are an assortment of fruit-filled chocolates, in different shapes to denote their flavors. Snowflakes filled with strawberry jam, swirls of citrus, and raspberry stars line the inside of the small box, tempting fingers and tastebuds alike. 

“I thought about getting you flowers, in a flowerpot, but I couldn’t find any I thought you’d like...” and roses grow on bushes anyway. 

“I hope you enjoy them!”

Mark is a welcome sight. In truth, he had been on the hunt for her today. The gift he keeps tucked behind his back is one he had to pour a great deal of time and thought (not to mention money!) into in order to be truly satisfied with. It isn't that she's hard to shop for, but rather that being so easy to shop for makes things difficult for him. He's got to stand out, and all.

"My favorite tactician! I take it you've also been busy with festival preparations? You've never been one to sit still." Not right now, either, for almost as soon as he opens his mouth, he's accepting a present. Not that he'd ever complain about one. Especially from her.

He scopes out the shyness in her eyes and tries to project a reassuring glow with his. Forcing their gazes to meet, he tells her it's okay now--that she can focus on him and her worries will melt into chocolate.

"Why, Mark, I'm charmed! How did you know that it is normally I who gives a lady sweet treats, that a humble dream of mine is to have my love given back to me...?" He winks, denoting that he is (mostly) kidding, if still grateful. The box's lid slides off, and he pops one of the gifts into his mouth to sample. His cheeks flush with endearment, savoring the way the richness of the chocolate hitches a ride on the sweet punch of the fruit.

"Oh, they're sublime! Like fluffy clouds rolling over a setting sun! My darling, surely you've tried some for yourself?"

In case she hasn't, he eagerly pushes one under her nose.

Once it is accepted, he dusts his fingers off and reaches back behind him. His gift had been set aside on a miscellaneous storage crate while they spoke: a bit of quick thinking on his part.

"Now, don't think I've come empty-handed either. I imagine you've already received plenty of weapons and games for master strategists, so I had to go elsewhere for my gift."

Sain produces an ornate, black box. A single band of green ribbon is all that ties it together. Loosen that, and the contents will be revealed. Mark receives an opulent dress, like something out of a fairytale the way it is decorated in fineries. Its primary color is green, though the aforementioned embellishments shine a morning gold. The shoulders around the nape stick out--almost imitating armor--but the entire thing cascades into the ground while held at its full length. It was a tailor's grand vision of radiance, which perfectly captures this image the knight has of his tactician.

"Leader though you may be, you're also a lady. And a beautiful lady at that. So why not let your beauty shine in this? I think the green will really bring out the red in your eyes!"

Because truly, what colors marry together better than emerald and ruby?

"Oh, and I hope you don't mind that I learned your size by snooping around your camp. A knight always ought to be prepared!"

[caffeinejournalist23]

Suburban Nightmare The Scariest Part About Moving to the Suburbs is the Fear of Having to Move Back to the Hood

I grew up in the "hood" of Northwest Ohio and throughout my childhood I was repeatedly told by teachers and social workers "you have to have a college degree." To survive, to live a good life, or to go on vacation once a year, they never specified why we needed to have one - the adults just told us this from the third grade onward in a tone that was serious and haunted us as we clawed our way to high school graduation. Well I moved to the suburbs to pursue a college education, received my Bachelor of Arts, but then wound up jobless for the first 2.5 months after graduating, fearing that I may have to return to the life I thought I left behind in the hood.

This is what it was like.

Part 1/3: Restless

The first few days were not too bad.

I finished school on a Tuesday and had the graduation ceremony the following Saturday. Though I was anxious to begin working full time again after taking almost a month off to focus on school, I forced myself to appreciate having a few days to catch my breath after completing the toughest semester of my undergrad career - under the assumption that my boss would call me back to give me my schedule as promised.

But they never called me back.

I texted. I called. I emailed. Nothing.

I reached a supervisor in my department who promised they would make sure my employer called me once they returned from vacation, but the supervisor also warned me "if you get a new opportunity, take it, because I'm not sure what [they] are planning with you."

I texted. I called. I emailed - for weeks.

Still nothing.

Feeling scorned, neglected as an employee, and painfully confused, I knew I shouldn't go back; not only was I completely ghosted, but this happened on top of several occasions prior when I was not paid on time, not paid the proper amount, and even scammed by a company hacker. And I knew I didn't deserve the shame of going back to a place begging for employment where I had already been so mistreated.

So the job search began.

Part time. Part-time remote. Entry level. Entry level temporary. Full-time summer. Freelance. Temporary full-time summer.

The amount of key terms I came up with to expand my search for jobs ought to have earned me a certificate in SEO optimization. Within a matter of weeks I had easily applied for hundreds of jobs; some remote, some on-site, some part-time, some full-time, some freelance, some temporary.

Job applications had just one line to mention my education - school, degree, and major; I have a degree in English and Digital Media Studies. I could generalize my degree to a Bachelor's in digital communications. I minored in criminal and social justice. I took a digital photography class. I've completed course service-learning hours and internships with a variety of non-profits. I took an HTML coding class. I wrote a parody of Shakespeare's Twelfth Night. I graduated with a 3.6 GPA. I got an A+ in a digital journalism class. I wrote a 20+ page essay for my capstone that I plan to expand into a book. My second capstone was a documentary I could submit to a film festival. These extra points of academic accomplishment were bullet-listed in applications where there was a degree description space, otherwise these were only recognized and respected in my LinkedIn profile.

There wasn't enough space in the education history line to explain all of the challenges I surpassed or all of the awesome awards and accomplishments I earned while getting the degree to write in my education history. I started a student org focused on newscasting. I was the VP of our Black Student Union for 2 years and spoke on behalf of the union at a peaceful protest following the death of George Floyd. I won recognition for Student Org of the Year - twice in a row. I became the student manager of the student engagement department. I was an active member of the Latino Student Union for over 3 years. I petitioned for a town-hall meeting for students and faculty to better our DEI awareness across campus. I was invited to a one-on-one meeting with the university president. I advocated for PRISM and LGBTQ+ acceptance across our campus. I hosted and evaluated numerous surveys to better serve our campus community. I participated in a plethora of volunteer opportunities and campus events. I was an orientation leader. I was an RA. I served as a mentor to underclassmen. My name consistently appeared on the Dean's List.

Suddenly it seemed like my degree did not carry much value. Few job postings prioritized candidates with my degree type - "digital communications but a degree in marketing preferred." It's like they wanted the skills earned from my degree as part of the job description, not the qualifications. Most job postings didn't seem to value my degree at all: "remote communications strategist - degree in journalism or other related field a plus, not a requirement." I had slaved for four years; four years of 18 - 21 credit hour semesters while spear-heading a student org and working anywhere from 2 to 4 jobs at a time, and some trauma healing/family drama because the Universe likes to keep herself entertained I guess. I was the first in my family for over 4 generations to earn a college degree. I took out tens of thousands in student loans. I went to an exam on 4 hours of sleep. I closed work at 1am and went to class the next morning at 8. I had nervous breakdowns and still got my 8-page essays turned in by 11:59pm.

But none of that seemed to matter. In the eyes of employers, overcoming all of those obstacles and challenges did not reflect how I was a good candidate for their position.

The only thing employers seemed to really take into consideration was previous work experience; that shouldn't have been a problem for me, as my resume was rich with experience by having to work to pay for school anyway. I'm a previous graphic designer. I was an intern for a local newspaper. I was a full-time social media manager for one summer. I have various experience mentoring kids/students ages 14 through 19. I was a shift leader at Family Video before the pandemic made us close all our stores. I was a remote political journalist during the 2022 midterms. I've been a coffee barista and was promoted to opening shift leader after my first 30 days. I coordinated a friend's wedding. I became a freelance state manager for a remote election reporting company. I managed the student engagement department and adapted our traditional events to a virtual medium. I've filed parking permits and incident reports. I've painted yard signs. I've hosted people to their dining seats. I've supervised. I've lead. I've delegated. I've supported. I've created. And I've always worked so so hard because in any and every job I could not sleep at night unless I did my best.

The few jobs I did hear back from said they chose "a better candidate" - aka someone with more experience. Either places are preferring to hire older people who have had the chance to garner more experience after college, or getting a college degree is redundant - and that notion of my hard work, discipline, and financial sacrifices from the past four years amounting to arbitrary value was what really started to freak me out.

The college dorm I was escaping homelessness in started looking like a haunted house; the frustration and hopelessness was written in the walls. My life started getting scary. Had my hopes and dreams been built on a lie? Was college just a deferment of the demise set for me by being born and raised in poverty?

The vacancy of my roommate's absence was soon followed by my own absence of income, food, and purpose. No meal plan. No job. No savings. No fail safe. No side hustle.

And no idea what to do next.

[henrysglock]

I think birthdaygate is a cool concept, one that I've even posted on re:stolen memories, but I'm not sure if I can see how it fits into the plot besides a type of segue into Connie/Malice.

I can totally see Mike and Will both not wanting to be the first to say anything if they both remembered, and if there's another byler fought it could factor in that way, too. Like, there's 365 days on the calendar, they only mention the date aloud explicitly TWICE and is the same one.

Theories are weird because alot of them make sense while also not contradicting eachother, but if also just feels like A Heckin Lot sometimes. Maybe I'll make some sort of, like, chart to see what's a normal amount of information to aquire per season lol.

Oh it definitely fits, especially with the two different Wills in the vanishing (that's Em's baby though, so that stuff should go to him). We've already been given a replacement birth date: May 22nd.

There's a Will who ended up in a cabin in the woods, and a Will who ended up in the lab, experimented on. We don't have any memories form Will of his vanishing. We don't know which timeline we're dealing with.

Theory 1:

If Connie is HNL-wiped/modified Alice, and Karen is HNL-wiped/modified Virginia...there's no family left to question it. They can be completely rewritten. Will has Joyce and Jonathan and Mike, etc. If he was wiped, they'd have to make him at least close. It's possible that it's not perfect, though, much like how the Creel massacre retellings don't line up. We see Will question what else a bowl would be for other than cereal, as if he doesn't have a bowl cut. We see him ask if the fireworks are "sweet" (read: strong/cool), when Lucas and Max both know they're big ones (regardless of Max trying to get Lucas to focus on El's injury). It's fishy, especially in the season where Karen looks most like Virginia.

It doesn't feel like Vecna would take Will's birthday away from him, because he's in the business of highlighting hurts so he can "relieve suffering", not erasing the hurts from memory. Vecna seems more likely to try to use a mass forgetfulness of March 22nd to get at/isolate Will, and it ought to work. Will already feels left behind, and the birthday would be the cherry on top.

But Will doesn't ever mention his birthday. There's no indication that he himself remembers it. He's upset about being ignored, treated like a third wheel...but he never elaborates on that, even in the heat of the fight with Mike, at which point they're surrounded by birthday parties.

It's possible that Will himself doesn't remember, because he's not the right Will.

Theory 2:

The crew doesn't remember not because Vecna is influencing their memories, but because in that timeline May 22nd is Will's birthday.

This ties in with the two timelines. We also don't know which Will ended up where. We have the Connie/Karen/Alice/Virginia plus Will's kooky knowledge gaps to deal with here too.

tl; dr: I'm sure there are even more iterations/possibilities, but the main thing is: all paths lead to Rome!

[pure-garbage]

Interrupted Rituals: Affections Undulled By Distance

The ship of the Crimson Gull pirates was a galleon of respectable size, christened the Screaming Jenny. While Alan ingratiated himself with the crew, Lana spent her days with single-minded focus, training to the total exclusion of any acquaintanceship the other pirates had to offer.

"You know, love, I'd have thought you would have at least asked out our heist plan by now."

Bracken approached her after a week, interrupting her meditation.

"I just kind of figured you would let me know what I need to know when I need to know it," Lana shrugged.

"I suppose that's fair. Mind if I sit with you?"

"I wouldn't be so bold as to tell you what to do on your own ship," Lana sighed. "Though if it's conversation you're looking for, you ought to look elsewhere. I'm meditating."

"You're training incredibly hard," Bracken noted. "What for?"

"General piracy," Lana replied. As much of a disruption as Bracken caused her, she had no desire to antagonize her host. The mobility of the Screaming Jenny meant that the marines weren't able to hound her anymore, which conveniently left her with much, much more time to train. Not to mention that traveling with a crew was a lot easier than trying to man a boat by herself with only Alan's help. The vessel's size was a nice bonus as well. Storms no longer caused her quite as much anxiety.

"General piracy..." Bracken considered, mulling the phrase over as though the taste of it appealed to him, and he was trying to deduce the recipe. "Say, Miss Avariya? Would you tell me something about your captain? Straw Hat Luffy... is he really as insane as the rumors say?"

Lana laughed.

"I haven't yet heard a rumor that comes close to capturing just how crazy he really is," she admitted. She couldn't help but be amused by the question and the memory of Luffy was always sure to bring a smile to her face. "You're very interested in my captain."

"He's an interesting kid. Rumor has it he died from his wounds after the so-called war of the best at marine ford."

"Hmph."

"No comment?"

"If I found out Luffy was dead, I would be shocked."

"Wow, you don't know either," Bracken mused wonderingly. He'd spent the last week holding his questions in check. Now, they all spilled out in a jumbled mess that Bracken didn't quite have the discipline to hold back or organize. "Won't you enlighten me, Miss Avariya? Why aren't you with the rest of your crew? Where are all the straw hats? What exactly is it you're training so hard for? I can't believe someone so driven is working without a plan. The world is saying that after a year of silence, the straw hat pirates are done for, yet here you are. You're not dead yet and you don't seem defeated in the least. I'd wager the rest of your crew are just as lively."

Lana consider her answer carefully. When she spoke, the words were a wistful sigh.

"Truthfully? I know as much as the rest of the world about the fate of my captain and crew. All my friends..."

She reached up out of habit to stroke Zoro's earring to comfort herself as a swell of sorrow washed over her lonely heart.

"... All I know for sure is this: I will see them all again. Someday. And until that day comes, I'm going to dedicate myself to getting stronger. I'll get so strong that nothing in this world will ever be able to separate us again."

She fixed on a smile and met Bracken's curious gaze with steely resolve shining behind her glistening purple eyes.

"That's why I'm training. That's what drives me. That's my only plan, Mr. Bracken."

Bracken chuckled, admiration overtaking his features.

"And here I thought I might persuade you to join my crew permanently after this heist, love. With devotion like that, I suppose I'm lucky to even have you on loan, eh?"

"You should proposition my kid brother," Lana smirked. "He's thirsty for adventure. Like as not, he'd accept in a heartbeat."

"Maybe so, but young Alan's hardly an impressive fighter, love, no offense intended," Bracken pointed out. "And unlike you, none of his skills have become legend up to now."

"Up to now. Don't write him off just yet. Alan's managed to surprise me a few times, and that's not easy to do after all the insanity I've seen."

Lana noticed the sun was setting. It had gotten late faster than she'd realized.

"You'll have to excuse me, Mr. Bracken," she sighed. "The moon will be up soon."

Bracken nodded his understanding as she stood and strode away purposefully. After nightfall, Lana sought the highest, most secluded point of the ship. Every night, without fail. He didn't know exactly what her ritual entailed, only that she observed it religiously.

Lana settled into the crows nest of the Screaming Jenny, considering the darkening sky contemplatively.

"Luffy, Nami. Sanji, Usopp. Chopper, Robin. Franky, Brook... good night," she murmured. She clasped her lover's earring, her private token, the secret, tangible proof of their bond. Her greatest treasure.

"I love you," she sighed softly, allowing the sea breeze to steal the quiet words, hoping it would carry them far, far away on her behalf. Maybe even far enough that somehow, he would manage to hear them. "Zoro..."

She gave the moment a heartbeat of silent solemnity, then grumbled unhappily, entirely to herself.

"Damn it... I still need to meditate before I can even think about sleeping. Blabbing Bracken. May as well just get it done up here, I guess. What a pain."

___________________________________________

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== First Chapter ==

[cass1x1]

[ DISCOVER ] for receiver to find sender trying to clean blood off themselves - i don't have a main blog i can send this off but ryder/simon and i'm sorry <3

@meowtrash this one...got away from me a little. TW for blood and injury mentions obvi

The light, ultimately, was what got Simon up. A notoriously light sleeper, they'd been simply lying in bed, listening to the soft creaking downstairs and bargaining with themself about what would convince them not to go look. If they disable the second alarm, I won't go look. If they stay in the foyer, I won't look. If they don't go to the kitchen, I won't look. Simon was reasonably certain there was no danger. They were reasonably certain they knew who it was. The only strange part, really, was the light. They slid out of bed, yanking their discarded shirt over their head, and padded downstairs to see what Ryder was up to. They moved quietly through the house, like maybe they were the one sneaking up in the first place.

Their first reaction to seeing Ryder was, naturally, relief. They were glad it was just him. But their second was an apparently audible gasp of confusion. At first, they weren't sure Ryder noticed. He was, after all, apparently reenacting a scene from Macbeth, scrubbing blood from their hands with a ferocity that Simon--a slight germophobe by nature--could understand but didn't expect. But then he turned off the faucet and looked up, using a towel to dry off his arms. "Didn't mean to wake you," was all they said. Their voice was rough.

Simon liked the sound if it more than they ought to, which was on the whole more embarrassing than catching Ryder cleaning blood off themself. "I was already up," they lied, leaning against the door frame. "Do you need help?" Ryder didn't really answer that in any meaningful way, so they stepped closer, fully into the kitchen.

In addition to the blood on Ryder's hands, Simon could see their torso--why is it seemingly always bare when they least expect it?--had a few streaks, but the more concerning spot, which was shining with quite a lot of blood from a cut. Simon frowned, weighed their options for a moment, and then turned. Ryder turned the faucet back on, and based on his reaction when Simon returned with some supplies, he'd thought Simon had meant to leave. He seemed frozen for a moment, rendering Simon's next words a little redundant. "Hold still."

Simon figured it was best to begin with water, so they took the washcloth, soaked it, and began the gentle process of dabbing at the cuts on Ryder's face. They started with the cut above his brow, trying to keep their full attention on the cut. If they squinted, trying to focus in on the jagged edge where the skin ended, they could ignore the rest of Ryder's face, his unreadable eyes and the set of his lips. This was already grossly inappropriate, they suspected, and thinking about Ryder's mouth would only make it worse. So they did, willing the rest of the world beyond the spot they were cleaning to disappear.

Until it was justifiably clean enough, and they had to move to the next spot. A long, thin line from Ryder's temple to their cheek. This sort of task was something Simon could do. They were pretty aware of the fact that they were neither strong nor brave, but when they were in the right headspace, they were meticulous. They started on the long cut, worrying at their lip with their teeth as they ran the now-reddening cloth along it. After a moment, though, Ryder grabbed their wrist, forceful and just shy of painful. "That's enough," he said, voice rough.

Immediately horrified at whatever boundary they'd crossed, Simon dropped the cloth. It fell to the floor with a sad, wet thud. "I--sorry. You probably want…" Their mind began to spin, the way it often did, filling in the gaps of the evening with explanations they had no way to verify. Ryder had been mugged, or in a fight, or fell through a window, or a dozen other possibilities, all of which would have left them tired and in no mood to be put upon by Simon. They felt themself flush, which was probably also unfair as, at the moment, they had more blood in them than Ryder. "Let me just…uh…" Unable to totally help themself, they opened the first aid kit, gesturing at its contents. "There's more, too, in the bathroom." Their childhood warnings about safety and how most household injuries occur in the kitchen or bathroom felt foolishly naive. Ryder hadn't been hurt in the kitchen or bathroom or household at all. And all Simon had to help were his sad little bandaids.

"It's late and I was asleep and that's what I should be doing," they said softly, turning to excuse themself.

They wouldn't look back, but they didn't need to. They could hear Ryder's smirk in his words. "I thought you said you were already up."

They had no answer for that, so they scampered upstairs as fast as their legs would allow, hoping by morning came, Ryder would be gone or they would have learned the ability to disappear from shame alone.