#once again: inspired by analog media

[bylrndgm]

#build your blorbo ⟿ mike wheeler ◦ born: 04.07.1971 ✧ insp. ✧

[pitchsidestories]

one kiss is all it takes II Laura Freigang x Reader

masterlist I word count: 1616

a/n: Hi, it's inspired by the request here, we hope you enjoy it. <3

Home games in Frankfurt were always something special to you.

But then again, you would never complain about away games either. You knew your traveling fans could make any stadium feel like you were playing at home. You liked that it gave you a few days to only focus on the upcoming game and leave your worries back in Frankfurt.

At least you would be focused, if someone would not point their camera at you once again…

You lifted both your hands, trying to shield your face from being photographed.

“Laura, stop it.“, you groaned. Why did she always have to have that stupid camera with her, even on the pre-game walk?

The young midfielder slowly dropped her analog camera and caught up with you: “Come on, it’s just a photo.“

“You always say that and then I see my face all over your instagram photo dumb account!“, you rolled her eyes at her.

Laura shrugged, a slight crease appearing between her eyebrows: “They always look good so I don’t know why you’re complaining.“

“Good? Sure, Freigang.“, you replied while you continued to walk.

“It’s true. Ask the others.“

You sighed reluctantly before turning to Sara Doorsoun who walked right behind you. Knowing her, she probably had been listening to the whole conversation, so you only asked: “Sara, what do you think?“

The German defender smirked slightly: “With the amount of pictures she is taking of you, I��d say Lau has a crush on you.“

You could not stop the involuntary laughter that came out of your mouth: ��Good joke, Sara. She does that with Syd and Klara too.“

“Sure.“, Sara answered, unconvinced.

“It’s true. You don’t have to sure me.“, you warned her.

“I’ll sure you until you see it too.“ She gently bumped her shoulder against yours.

“The only thing I see is that Lau is the most annoying person on the team.“, you commented, your gaze fixed on Laura who was already a few steps in front of your again and back to taking photos of her other teammates.

Sara raised one eyebrow as she looked at you: “You think Lau is the most annoying person on the team?“

“Yes.“

The defender grimaced upon your answer: “I feel like you don’t hang out enough with the youngsters.“

“I agree!“, Shekiera Martinez’ voice piped up right next to you. “You’re always the first one to leave any party or team event.“

“That’s not even true!“, you protested.

Nicole Anyomi, looking effortlessly cool as always, gave Sara a look: “Right, maybe Sara is even quicker now that she’s seeing someone again.“

Saras cheeks turned slightly red: “Rude!“

“She’s got a point.“, you agreed with the young striker.

“Maybe.“, Sara slowly admitted.

You felt bad for your friend, so you casually distracted from her: “Also, that’s not the topic right now.“

“Right, this is about Laura and you.”, Sophia Kleinherne reminded your temmates with a mischievous smile on her lips.

“No, this is about Laura being annoying with her stupid photos.”, you rolled your eyes at her. You loved your teammates, but sometimes you wished they would care more about themselves than others, especially in this situation.

“You’d miss something if she would just stop.”, Lara Prašnikar threw in with an amused twinkle in her eyes.  

You let out a frustrated groan. Was this so hard for them to comprehend why you didn’t like what the blonde hobby photographer was doing.

“Not really. I like to keep my social media presence private, but she keeps posting me.”, you tried to explain your thoughts to the fellow players.

“Because she can’t stop thinking about you.”, Sara remarked, through the words her romantic being shone through which annoyed you even more.

“That’s stupid, Sara.”, you scoffed at her. Despite your protest, the sentence of the defender would haunt you through the day. Even when you laid down in the hotel room during the break, before you all would travel to the stadium. Could there be some truth to the older woman’s observation? She was never that far off when it came to love, except when it was her own heart which was so breakable unlike yours.

pictogangg why are you hiding your face, pretty girl? @y/n'sinstagramaccount

“Hi, y/n, did you see Lauras post?”, you shrieked while Barbara Dunst asked you this, you haven’t heard or seen her come into the room you shared.

“Yes, I did, Baba.”

“Don’t murder her before the game, okay?”, the Austrian joked laughing.

“Okay, but she needs to stop posting me with such captions. I’m serious.”, you sighed, pressing a white pillow to your chest to underline your frustration with Laura.

“Oh, everyone knows it’s just a joke.”, Barabara reassured you in a warm tone.

“I don’t like when people make fun of me.”, your mouth was formed to a pout.

“She’s not making fun of you.”, she disagreed seriously.

“What do you mean?”, you looked at her in honest curiosity.

“It’s just teasing. She’s waiting for a reaction.”, the midfielder told you in a matter-of-factly voice.

“Isn’t me being annoyed reaction enough?”, you wanted to know from your teammate who was a good friend of the woman who loved taking photos of you whenever she could.

“You mean the one where you’re pouting and ignoring her? No.”, Barbara shook her head.

“Oh.”

“But that’s something for after the game. Want to go and grab a coffee from downstairs, before we go to the stadium.”, the Austrian changed the topic cheerfully.

“I do.”, you told her while she was already on the way to the door, leaving no further room to think about what Laura exactly was waiting for.

Frankfurt won their away game with a hard-fought 1:0. You were relieved that you got the three points because it meant that you secured your spot as the third in the league and in the Champions League qualification. From the way your teammates celebrated around you, you could tell they felt the same way.

As you watched on, Lauras face appeared in front of you. A few stray hairs had escaped her slicked back ponytail during the game.

“Y/n? Good game.”

“Thanks.”, you replied politely.

It was clear to you that the midfielder was not yet done talking, so you waited for her to continue.

Laura took a deep breath: “Also I deleted all the pictures of you on my instagram account as you didn't seem to enjoy them.”

This revelation took you by surprise: “All of them?”

“Yes, I thought that's what you wanted all along.”

“I did. But all of that seems a bit… drastic, don't you think?”, you asked, trying to put your confusion into words.

“No. See you, y/n.”, Laura replied and turned around to leave.

Surprised, you watched her for a moment before you called after her: “Laura.”

The midfielder stopped in her tracks, looking back at you: “What?”

You bridged the gap between the two of you. The things your teammates told you were circulating in your brain.

You gathered all your courage and said: “If you like me, just say that.”

Lauras eyes widened for a second before she admitted: “I wanted to kiss you the whole season… when I scored against Barca, at every team event, when we secured the third place today… but I guess I've to accept that you don't feel the same so deleting the pictures was the first step.”

You were taken aback by her reply. There were a million things you wanted to say but what came out first was: “You should have said something instead of taking these stupid photos.”

“I hoped that way you would notice the person behind the camera.” Laura bit her lip subconsciously.

“I only noticed how much I hate being photographed!”

Your teammate studied your face: “I don't get why. You're just so beautiful and interesting. I love capturing you on film.”

You could feel the heat rise in your cheeks: “Just don't, Laura.”

She nodded slowly: “Okay, I‘ll respect that in the future.”

For a moment, you did not know what to say. She looked beautiful, standing in front of you and apologizing.

“And maybe I'll make an exception for you sometimes. Maybe.”

“Wait, what?” Her eyes immediately brightened.

“I do like a few photos to be honest. They carry some memories.”, you admitted with a shrug.

“Do you have any favourites.”, Laura asked in a genuinely interested tone.

“Laura, I don’t want to talk about the stupid photos right now.”, you groaned, hiding the face in your hand.

“What do you want to talk about instead?”, the blonde responded.

“This is why I hate it. You’re always busy with photography and never focus on the moment.”, you told her frustrated, you never felt the gap between you both by two years, you’re being the older more than in this moment.

“I guess there’s a truth to your words, but when all is over, I want to remember everything and pictures help with that.”, she confessed passionately.

“Can you just shut up and kiss me already.”, you begged her, at this point your patience has been gone, leaving only the yearning for the younger player to touch you.

Much to your surprise Laura did stop talking immediately and pressed her lips on yours, giving you a heartfelt kiss making sure you both would never forget the first one. Little did you know that a lot of firsts would follow afterwards. For now, all you and her did was enjoying the moment.

The first kiss would be one of your favourite memories. In your mind it was like a framed picture, you’d come to love to look at especially on bad days.

pictures are from pinterest.

[sashi-ya]

Once again, disappointed with the OPLA casting, idk why inclusiveness ends when it comes to Arabic actors. Some people seem to be super inclusive until it comes to arabs. I'm not even arab, but I'm disappointed again. And don't come at me with "Iñaki is mexican not brazilian like Luffy" cause is not about nationality, is about ethnicity. Same as "Arabasta is not a real place" or "It is a mix of various places" bitch it is called ARABasta... plus, Oda stated IT IS MODELED AFTER ANCIENT EGYPT (sbs).

I seriously can't understand (i do) how every time there is an arab role it gets replaced for another ethnicity (I have NOTHING against them, is not about the actors, in fact I believe Vivi's actress is by far gorgeous, it is about casting and trying to completely "erase" certain ethnicities from media).

I know this has a hidden background, and we all know which one it is... unfortunately, some nations hate Arabs. They can only be "the bad guys with bombs" for them... we should actually take a closer look to who are really the ones bombing others, don't you think?

Fuck you very much, Netflix. and Oda as well, if you are ok with this. Honestly, I thought you would use this opportunity to make one of you political statements so damn needed right now 🍉🍉

Spoiler: Also, it is obviously inspired on Egypt... NEFERTARI sounds a LOT like NEFERTITI. If you have a glimpse of cultural background you could actually unveil a certain mystery related to the nefertari linage... Lily was probably the analog to Nefertiti, SHE BASED HIS POLITICAL RS IN ADORING A DEITY CALLED ATON (THE SUN)... WHO IS THE SUN GOD? YES, NIKA!!!

[religion-is-a-mental-illness]

By: Stephen Knight

Published: Apr 1, 2024

Once again, an interview with evolutionary biologist Richard Dawkins is inspiring a significant amount of brain melt on social media.

There’s an odd feeling of relief generated by witnessing the man most famous for inspiring global sceptical and atheist movements continue to resist the lunacy of progressive dogma. Especially when so many previously sane people have fallen for it so spectacularly. But I suppose that’s the difference between an actual critical thinker and a poseur.

The interview in question was on LBC. You can watch a clip of the most ‘controversial’ section below:

In the clip, Dawkins reiterates that he is not a believer in the claims of Christianity, and is “pleased” to see a decline in belief in Christianity. He describes himself as a “cultural Christian” however and says he thinks it would be worse if Islam dominated our culture in place of Christianity.

He says he holds this view because he believes Islam to be especially hostile to women and gay rights. He’s also very clear and careful to make the distinction between Islamic ideas and Muslims in general or as a whole.

It’s worth pointing out that despite the celebrations from my fellow culture warriors that Dawkins has finally ‘caught up’ and seen the light—the reality is that Richard Dawkins has been open about his ‘cultural Christian’ identity for a long time. Not to mention his criticism of Islam. This interview does not reveal anything new to those of us familiar with his work.

What is especially telling however is the amount of people now hurling the accusation of “Islamophobe” in Richard Dawkins’s direction, such as Mehdi Hasan.

In doing so, they have inadvertently revealed what many of us have often argued: that they simply use the word ‘islamophobia’ to mean ‘blasphemy’ rather than describing genuine bigotry towards Muslims—given there isn’t a single instance of bigotry towards people in Dawkins’s words.

Richard Dawkins was absolutely right to single out Islam for criticism. Those who are honest in their criticism of religion will have noticed that not all religious ideologies are the same—either due to their doctrinal contents, or the way in which they are practiced and understood in the current day. Some religious ideas really are preferable to others.

I think Sam Harris provided the best explanation of this important distinction with the following sports analogy:

Religion is a term like sports: Some sports are peaceful but spectacularly dangerous (“free solo” rock climbing); some are safer but synonymous with violence (mixed martial arts); and some entail little more risk of injury than standing in the shower (bowling). To speak of sports as a generic activity makes it impossible to discuss what athletes actually do or the physical attributes required to do it. What do all sports have in common apart from breathing? Not much. The term religion is hardly more useful.

And this is a truth that appeared to lead to the complete redundancy of organised atheism, especially in America. It was all fun and games patting each other on the back for mocking those crackpot Christian Republicans or sharing Flying Spaghetti Monster memes—but a lot of balls seemed to suddenly fall off when it came to saying anything useful about the bigger threat of global fundamentalist Islam.

American atheism has been utterly infected with dogmatic ‘progressive’ cowardice—exemplified by the fact numerous American atheist organisations condemned and cut ties with Richard Dawkins for asking some mild questions about gender self-ID.

Online drama aside, this whole discussion about the function of our Christian culture in the modern era does raise some interesting, yet potentially uncomfortable questions for me and my fellow secular atheists.

In the past, I had hoped—perhaps naively—that my fellow leftists would fill our cultural ‘god shaped hole’ with a staunch secular liberalism built on enlightenment principles. Instead, what we saw was the emergence of new godless religions.

These new ideologies are dogmatic and hostile to science, free expression and women in ways that could give conservative religion a run for its money. A vindictive, authoritarian, godless culture of cancellation was born.

And as many of us have previously warned until we were blue in the face, this was always going to have the undesired effect of making Christianity seem more appealing to a whole new generation—as well as inspiring older generations to reconnect with their faith in response to what they perceive to be the replacement of their culture and identity with something far worse.

On a personal note, I have just recently, over the space of a few months attended two funerals for close family members. Both of these funeral services were Christian in nature—including the singing of hymns and readings from the bible by the vicar.

And if I’m being honest, there was something comforting about all of us being unified in a familiar tradition to pay tribute to people we loved. It was a very Church of England affair.

Losing people you love is an especially difficult time. The anxiety inducing, guilt ridden question of “what are we supposed to do now?” is made slightly easier by the existence of a shared, familiar tradition we can all recognise and participate in. We all knew the steps to this dance.

It was a great honour to fulfil the role of pallbearer on both occasions. A tradition with roots in Roman/Christian tradition. Of course, Christianity is not necessary to sing songs and carry coffins—but we absolutely wouldn’t be doing these things, in the synchronicity and understanding with which we did them, were it not for the influence of our Christian culture.

Did I think about god or Jesus at any time? Of course not. That’s all nonsense. And the eulogy I read was entirely secular. But was it deeply meaningful and comforting that a room full of people I cared about united in a familiar tradition to pay tribute to people we loved? Of course it was.

This is the kind of thing Dawkins maintains his affection for—dignified tradition. And it’s very difficult to argue that secularism can, at this time, provide an equally uniting alternative, despite the efforts of humanist organisations to do so.

The simple truth is that Christianity had a head start on our culture, and whether you are practicing, non-practicing or a committed anti-theist, the cultural impact of Christianity appears to be here to stay. And whether this is a good or bad thing compared to the alternatives on offer is a perfectly legitimate topic for anyone to grapple with. 

Despite new “woke” ideology achieving little more than creating a massive PR win for conservative Christianity, we should never be complacent enough to forget how things were when Christianity had the run of it however. As the late, great Christopher Hitchens warned us:

“Many religions now come before us with ingratiating smirks and outspread hands, like an unctuous merchant in a bazaar. They offer consolation and solidarity and uplift, competing as they do in a marketplace. But we have a right to remember how barbarically they behaved when they were strong and were making an offer that people could not refuse.”

So, I will continue to push back on the encroachment of Christianity (or any worldview) in the direction of secularism and liberal freedoms. I happen to be someone who doesn't need Christianity for anything, but it would be dishonest to pretend I didn't understand its value to some people, some of the time. And it would also be dishonest to pretend that Christian tradition—if we are going to have a tradition—isn't preferable to Islam or woke lunacy.

But I’d much prefer an alternative to both options of course—so I once again appeal to my fellow secular leftists to reacquaint themselves with staunch liberal, secular enlightenment values, before it’s too late. If it isn’t already.

==

For years I had to put up with Islam apologists and useful idiots insisting to me that Islam wasn't a religion of totalitarianism, worldwide supremacy and thought control.

Mehdi Hasan has proven them wrong. I was right.

Reminder: it's completely okay to hate Islam. Islam isn't a person. It's a set of ideas, tenets and beliefs, and you can hate it as much as you want without any guilt or shame.

[mikadll]

it is 3am and i am once again feeling very vulnerable as an artist. longass read pulled from my twitter because i want to explain myself here as well

i'm genuinely doing what i can to stay strong and keep on cooking what i have in mind for The Undying Mr. Ludwig but i think it'll involve being less online on social media for the time being and focusing more on seeking out inspo from the story pegs i have for it

genuinely i wish i didn't feel this way but it be do. it's a human thing. it's part and parcel with being an artist. what's more important is that i take responsibility for how i express how i feel. if that makes sense

genuinely grateful that a tf2 fan film got me thinking more deeply about how far i can go when it comes to creating something that i want to put out in the world

i am willing to admit that when emesis blue first blew up i started having self doubt about whether the thing i've been planning for a while now can ever be creative and original. especially since my most popular work has been compared to x or y analog horror series

i am getting better and i no longer harbor any sort of negativity. i'm gonna go back to the roots of the inspiration i laid out for the project. square one type beat

i am genuinely sorry for getting upset whenever a horror idea semi-similar to mine blows up. i know that i don't have a monopoly over that and that should never happen, but please understand that having my work constantly compared to other popular media is exhausting to deal with

[marisoft-paint-adventures]

Pgs. 138-213

Blue John.

Blue John.

look at him smile. little guy.

Serious Business is the best social media app, the hub for all businessmen to give advice about their nice attire. however, best guy fedorafreak has not appeared yet.

in which Rose Lalonde exhibits her incredible therapist bullshit, and also a really good line is dropped.

EB: ok, if that will satisfy your weird ocd complex then go ahead. TT: My Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder complex? TT: Can a disorder also be a complex? EB: in your case, probably!

John you fucking FOOLISH BOY you’re going to BLIND YOURSELF.

TT: Whoops.

comedy gold to think about Rose grabbing and ripping a fucking toilet from the pipes only to then consciously type into Pesterchum “whoops” like she’s a fucking cartoon character.

JADE.

HI JADE.

TT: Oh fuck.

again, cartoonish.

SAY THE LINE, JOHN.

EB: you can see me, right. EB: tell me what is wrong with this picture.

TT: I would look for a stronger signal in another part of the house, but I'd rather not risk an encounter with my mother. TT: I battled through her cloud of gin and derision once already this evening. EB: haha, yeah I hear you. TT: Yes. Cake, jesters, unfaltering love and support. TT: Quite a road to hoe there. TT: Though I suppose I'm complicit for not informing Social Services about your situation.

this is the shit I’m talking about when imagining talking about parents with John, Rose is here talking about she can’t stand her alcoholic weirdo housewife mother and John’s just out here like “haha yeah, reminds me of my dad and his cakes.” John someone has a drinking problem and all you can think about is how much you hate clown people.

TT: I've been looking at the GameFAQ walkthroughs to figure some of this stuff out.

it’s very interesting how GameFAQs remains as 1 of the only real world online platforms to ever be reference in the early comic, yet to me, it doesn’t stick out that much. I’m a big fan of how Homestuck utilizes its own programs and sites as close analogs to tools at the time, Pesterchum, Serious Business, the fake browsers and OSes, and so on. these original clients allow for the comic to not drag itself down and let it age horribly by shoving in very specific styles of social sites or apps. at the same time, I can say something like GameFAQs or YouTube being shown on-screen in a casual manner doesn’t take me out of the story because they’re only there to serve their functions and they’re still adding to Homestuck as a period piece. character needs a walkthrough? well everyone at the time would go to GameFAQs for a walkthrough. character wants to share a video? people at the time would use YouTube to share videos. it also helps that GameFAQs is an unchanging monolithic beast that remains the exact same as it was decades ago. not YouTube, I miss the old YouTube designs.

I say this now because later on the comic introduces more direct social media analogues (sometimes even outright naming them), with more attention drawn to the fact that said social media is being parodied, this all ending with said parodies feeling very dated and way too contemporary. I’m looking at you Tumblr, Instagram, Snapchat, fuckin Vine. yeah, remember when Vine was in the comic???

Seizure Ball.

your fate is sealed.

and then the doll gets prototyped with the kernelsprite and...

I LOVE clown music!!!

I don’t know if you can tell by the clownsona in my main blog, or the fact that I literally said this beforehand,

but

I like

jesters.

evil jesters to be specific.

jesters are looked down as fucking fools and little funny idiots, but the moment you make 1 a villain they become terrifying, maddening, and a destructive force of nature.

so of course, I have to say that Homestuck directly appealed to me by introducing a major jester-esque character, as well as having these jester aesthetics permeate throughout the rest of the comic and informing the designs of other characters, mostly villains.

it worked so well I was inspired by pre-Bec Jack Noir’s transformation for this sona.

who up speaking in Fleur de Lis.

these are the symbols of Homestuck, not the Slimer shirt, not the Sburb house, none of the fucking trolls, no. these, the perfectly generic objects, green fuck-off cubes that are entirely useless and are canonically the physical representation of jackshit. they are a craft.

AH SHIT, IT’S A FUCKING THING.

You figure you've left him hanging long enough.

this simple bit that happens within the 1st 200 pages of this comic both introduces a really good running gag but also fucks up an entire late-game, like, end of the fucking comic late-game, writing decision that I still maintain makes no fucking sense and had no reason to exist, especially being randomly introduced at the very end.

but that writing contradiction also spawned Alternate Session which is a really cool fanventure that you should read.

I ate Gushers as a kid, I never had them in years afterwards, but now they’re sold at my college and they’re both tangy candy thingies and fucking disgusting processed trash.

still buy em though.

oh my god it’s this fucking pesterlog oh my god this is it.

TG: like the size of texas TG: or just rhode island TG: theyre always throwing around these geographical comparisons to give us a sense of scale like it really means anything to us TG: but its like it doesnt matter its always just like: WOW THATS PRETTY FUCKING BIG TG: like mr president theres a meteor coming sir. oh yeah, how big is it? its the size of texas sir TG: OH SHIT TG: or, how big is it? its the size of new york city sir TG: OH SHIT TG: sir im afraid the comet is the size of your moms dick TG: OH SNAP TG: sir are you familiar with jupiter TG: you mean like the planet? TG: yeah TG: well its that big sir TG: hmm that sounds pretty big TG: i have a question TG: is it jupiter? TG: yes sir, earth is literally under seige by planet fucking jupiter TG: OH SHIT

Dave, Daaaave. this is my boy. this rambling fucking nonsense is what I think of when I think Dave Strider, it’s so fucking good. planet fucking Jupiter.

and then Rose Lalonde happens.

[adtricteam]

How to Generate Fresh Ideas for Your Content Creation Process

You sit down at your desk, ready to brainstorm content ideas. But your mind goes blank. Sound familiar? Coming up with fresh, original content creation ideas day after day can be challenging. The good news is, there are proven strategies to unlock your creativity and get the ideas flowing again. In this article, you’ll discover techniques used by professional content creators and copywriters to generate endless streams of content ideas. Some of these methods may surprise you with how simple yet effective they are. By the end, you’ll have a toolkit of practical idea generators you can use whenever you need to create new content. Let’s get started - your next big idea is just around the corner!

Perform Regular Brainstorming Sessions

One of the best ways to come up with new content ideas is to have regular brainstorming sessions. Get your team together, grab some snacks, and start throwing out ideas. Here are a few tips to make your brainstorming sessions as productive as possible:

•Come prepared. Do some research on your target audience and topics ahead of time. The more you know, the more ideas you'll have.

•Set a time limit. Keep your sessions under an hour to avoid mental fatigue. Take breaks if needed to recharge.

•Go for quantity, not quality. Don't censor or judge ideas during the brainstorming process. The wilder the idea, the better. You can always refine and improve ideas later.

•Build on others' ideas. Listen to ideas from your teammates and see if you can add to them or combine multiple ideas together. Some of the best ideas come from spontaneous collaborations.

•Capture everything. Have someone record all the ideas, whether on a whiteboard, spreadsheet, or another shared document. That way you have a master list to refer back to and develop further.

•Revisit and refine. Don't just have one brainstorming session and call it done. Meet regularly to revisit your list of ideas. Build upon the most promising ones, get feedback, and refine them into content that will resonate with your audience.

With regular brainstorming meetings, you'll never run out of fresh content ideas. Keep the sessions fun and productive, capture all ideas without judgment, and revisit your lists frequently. Before you know it, you'll have more content ideas than you know what to do with!

Look Outside Your Industry for Inspiration

Looking outside your industry is one of the best ways to spark new ideas. The world is filled with inspiration if you open your mind to it.

Try reading blogs or magazines in unrelated fields. You might find interesting concepts, stories, or techniques that you can adapt for your own content. For example, if you're in the tech industry, read about travel or interior design. If you blog about finance, explore lifestyle or parenting sites. You never know where a great analogy or example may come up.

Watch videos on a hobby or interest outside your area of expertise. Learn how experts in other spaces think about, explain, or teach a topic. Notice how they structure their content and engage their audience. Borrow some of their techniques or style and put your own spin on it.

Strike up a conversation with someone in a different line of work. Ask them questions about what they do and what types of content or media work best for their industry. Discuss how they keep things fresh and innovative. You're bound to get useful tips and a new perspective.

Once you've gathered inspiration from other sources, combine those ideas with your knowledge and experience. Look for ways to mesh different concepts together or apply them in unique ways for your content. With an open and curious mindset, you'll never run out of fresh material. Your readers will appreciate your ability to bring new angles and insights into familiar topics.

So get outside your bubble and seek inspiration in unexpected places. The cross-pollination of diverse subjects and fields of study is where truly innovative content is born. With practice, looking beyond your niche can become second nature and a continual source of new ideas.

Experiment With Different Content Formats and Channels

Experimenting with different content formats and distribution channels is a great way to generate new ideas and reach new audiences.

Try creating:

Video content: Record yourself talking through an idea or demonstrating a process. Video is engaging and helps build personal connections with your audience.

Podcasts: If you prefer audio, start a podcast. Interview other experts in your field or discuss key topics and trends. Podcasts are easy to consume and popular with many audiences.

Infographics: Use visuals to convey information in an eye-catching way. Infographics are highly shareable on social media and a quick way to communicate ideas. Look for free infographic templates to get started.

Webinars: Host a live or recorded webinar to teach your audience about a particular topic or skill. Webinars position you as an expert and allow for audience interaction through Q&A features.

Social media posts: Share your ideas, advice, opinions, news, and more through posts on platforms like LinkedIn, Twitter, and Facebook. Keep posts short and highly engaging to spark discussion.

Trying out new content formats exposes you to new ways of thinking and reaching your audience. You may discover a new strength or interest, and your audience will appreciate the variety. Stepping outside your comfort zone and diversifying your content creation process leads to an endless source of fresh ideas. Keep an open and curious mindset—you never know where your next big idea may come from!

Conclusion

So there you have it, a few simple but effective ways to spark those creative juices and generate exciting new content ideas. Don't get stuck in a rut doing the same old thing. Shake up your routine, expose yourself to new influences, play around with different mediums, and try out some brainstorming techniques. You'll be churning out innovative content in no time. The possibilities are endless if you make the effort to seek out inspiration. Now get out there and get inspired - your readers will thank you for it! The more you practice these techniques the easier it will get. Creativity is a habit, so start flexing that creative muscle and watch your content creation skills flourish.

[education30and40blog]

Mastodon over Mammon - Towards publicly owned scholarly knowledge

Twitter is in turmoil and the scholarly community on the platform is once again starting to migrate. As with the early internet, scholarly organizations are at the forefront of developing and implementing a decentralized alternative to Twitter, Mastodon. Both historically and conceptually, this is not a new situation for the scholarly community. Historically, scholars were forced to leave social media platform FriendFeed after it was bought by Facebook in 2006. Conceptually, the problems associated with public scholarly discourse subjected to the whims of corporate owners are not unlike those of scholarly journals owned by monopolistic corporations: in both cases the perils associated with a public good in private hands are palpable. For both short form (Twitter/Mastodon) and longer form (journals) scholarly discourse, decentralized solutions exist, some of which are already enjoying some institutional support. Here we argue that scholarly organizations, in particular learned societies, are now facing a golden opportunity to rethink their hesitations towards such alternatives and support the migration of the scholarly community from Twitter to Mastodon by hosting Mastodon instances. Demonstrating that the scholarly community is capable of creating a truly public square for scholarly discourse, impervious to private takeover, might renew confidence and inspire the community to focus on analogous solutions for the remaining scholarly record – encompassing text, data and code – to safeguard all publicly owned scholarly knowledge.

[madeofsweetness]

Book Talk Continuation @2pretty

I honestly loved reading your thoughts (the analogy to junk food was perfect!) and I agree with everything you said. The most beautiful thing you wrote was, "Our time should be spent in a way that makes us love life, not distracts from us living it." It’s the whole conclusion of the book really! I’ve noticed that many people in our generation are almost against the idea of this. They call everything cringe, make fun of people who are happy, disrespect anyone who doesn’t believe their nonsense, and try to drag others down. This is the problem of social media I guess and I’m sure you’ve talked about it before.

Also let me point out, the quote at page 202 is spot on! When I began to limit my sm usage and do No Social Media Sundays (thanks to you girl!), I felt anew. I now do not wanna spend no more than like 20 minutes on apps like twitter and tumblr cause it feels weird😭 Cultivating a life worth living is the ultimate freeing state to be in and a lot of these apps become extremely wasteful, once you start filling your schedule with higher quality activities. It’s just like Outkast said, you need to get up, get out and get something. Don’t let the days of your life pass by! 

I would love to hear about any habits you have or will do as well! But here are my habits I would like to implement after reading this book: 

Calling people instead of texting. Honestly, the only people I call are my family but when I make more friends, I want them to know, calling is my preferred method of communication. I want to be even more human again and only texting doesn’t allow for that. (Reference to page 145 about irl communication vs digital)

Printing or writing out directions instead of using google maps. I love google maps but I want to be able to have an internal compass, know which street will come after the other and be able to ask people around me for help like my parents do, without feeling so sure that “oh my phone will tell me”.

Only accessing social media on my laptop instead of through the apps. The apps are there to make the process convenient and addicting but I’m planning on using these apps for a sole purpose which means, I can’t keep caring about conveniency!

Only looking up words in my physical dictionary. As a kid, I loved reading my dictionary and encyclopedia but as technology progressed, it became easier to quickly open the next tab and search "what does [blank] mean?" without thinking. I honestly miss the feeling of cracking open a hardcover book and scanning through the words until I finally landed on what I was searching for. Plus I think dictionaries are good for truth/historical purpose, it’s not based in emotion ;) hehe

Buy photo albums again!! I still use disposable cameras so that’s not a problem, but instead of keeping my pics digital, I want to print them out from my phone and keep them safe in a beautiful family album like how my other memories are. I also was totally inspired by my mom bcs I seen her photo book from her teen years and it warmed my heart completely. Memories will always be cherished, even the silly ones. 

Praying 24/7. To talk, to reflect, to ask for guidance, etc. I’m realizing that praying isn’t to be done only when in a [blank] state of mind nor is it to be "perfect". (Direct reference to page 95)

Learning to not just whip out my headphones when I feel awkward. On page 100, I felt sooo called out when he said iPods created this way of living that now enables you to have a musical backdrop for your entire day lol. I love music too much to give it up whenever I’m outside especially since it helps with my emotions, but I do recognize that being plugged in constantly will not want to make people talk to me, and I want to look approachable and friendly!!

I eventually want to start taking 2 hour walks. That’s it.

Months ago, I wished badly to have love letters written about me from my future man haha, but I realized I could write myself love letters! I decided that every year I could write about what this year was about for me. I don’t know if I will still do that or if I’ll just write everything down in my journal and label that as my "love letter" but either way, I’m documenting off of my phone.

Just like when I was a kid, I now always carry a current book im reading, my word finder book and a notebook whenever I leave the house. Only problem is I need a bigger bag haha.

As a (Black) American, I think it’s crucial for me to learn the skills that my grandmother and great grandmother knew, things like sewing, quilting, and cooking without recipes lol, are what I want to know how to do as well. I think it’s a wonderful way to honor them and when I have my own family, I would love to teach my children too. These crafts should not be forgotten, it’s culture.

[the-hydroxian-artblog]

I understand of course that there's no artistic shortcuts, and that the only way to learn to do a thing is to practice it a bunch.

But man, every time I see your art on my dash, some part of my wishes I could flip a switch and just mimic that style in one go. How long does it generally take you to do any of your random sketches? And do you have any advice for nailing the sort of. Casual dynamic style you do so well.

Most sketches of just a pose and a half take me anywhere from 25 minutes to an hour, mostly depending on both how detailed the character is, and how ambitious/inspired I'm feeling to draw them.

It's as you said, hard to recommend anything other than "practice", but I detailed my study regimen here. Something I hear is useful but don't do myself is straight up tracing sketches of other artists (for your eyes only, don't go posting them and making claims), mainly to learn and improve your own muscle memory and "get in their head". I've only done that very sporadically as inking practice. That's not me saying it isn't a good idea, I just haven't built up the habit. Feel free to do that with my own work, by the way!

Either way, my "casual dynamic style" comes from honing my eye and muscle memory to the point where I can draw poses more efficiently and visualize them, which my daily study regimen helped me hone. When you "get" to where I am, you'll find that there's only more to learn, though. Think of speedrunners; someone being better than even 90% of players looks impressive, but once you hone your skill to that point, you'll realize there's 10 times as much distance between you and the guy that's better than 93% of players. People who shoot for world records, being the best of the best, wind up making thousands more attempts than others lower on the ladder ever will.

The biggest takeaway is that you shouldn't be expecting yourself to be all that satisfied at any point, IF you aren't drawing something you enjoy. DALL-E 2 images look impressive and even incredible, but after a while the novelty begins to wear off. Training your neural pathways to make better and better art works the same way; you actually dampen your ability to get a dopamine hit off of good art alone, so you try to make it better, and eventually you grow only somewhat satisfied with your new normal. You need to draw stuff that actually makes you happy. That's the sort of thing that will fuel your journey for real. It's why art quality seems to not really matter all that much on social media, as it's work that the viewer and artist relates with that often winds up getting any traction. It's not a great analogy as all art has inherent value, but some kinds of art is definitely more motivating to draw and engage with than other kinds.

It's also why I draw stupid shit all the time. I get more of a dopamine hit drawing stupid shit that scratches an itch. Maybe your thing is cats. Shipping characters. Trains. Buildings. Find something you can't easily get tired of drawing, and study it as often as you can. Not too much to burn you out, but enough that you don't mind taking the challenge again and again. Don't rush it, just study a small amount at regular intervals. It's as David Karp once said: It doesn't matter how slow you go so long as you do not stop.

[clefairymuke]

eloquent | one

pairings: levi x reader | eren x reader (fwb)

word count: 4799

tw: [chapter]: swearing, alcohol consumption, references to marking (hickeys), drunk sex 

[fic]: age gap, professor/student pairing, smut, hate sex, angry sex, casual sex, i’ll add more as i go

themes: modern au, college (grad school) au, enemies to lovers, slow burn (smut is immediate but feelings aren’t), professor levi, authority kink, extremely smutty, i should be ashamed, teasing & edging, pining so hard it's embarrassing, dom levi/sub reader

note from the author: sorry i disappeared i’ve literally written so much of this fic but i had really bad block for the beginning but inspiration struck today i hope you like it

Tick. Tick. Tick.

You recline your head against the cold black leather of the sofa, eyes squinting up at the analog clock on the wall above you. 11:06. You glance at your phone once more for good measure, the reminder banner still bright and undismissed.

September 7, 2021 Advising Dr. Ackerman - Johnson Building R 19 10:30 A.M.

Looking at the great dark oak door across from you sends ice through your veins and unease to your stomach. The receptionist — a rather unkind woman with frizzy blonde hair who wore a nametag that read “Cheryl” on her painfully lime green blouse — has assured you, regardless of her level of sarcasm, that Dr. Ackerman had not forgotten you, and was simply a very busy man. Forty minutes late, though? You ask yourself, your finger twirling idly in the front of your hair. You sigh. Published author or not, he would at least shoot me an E-mail. You glance at Cheryl again and straighten your back, pointing a fake grin her way as her eyes pry at you from behind her thick, round glasses. 

“I’m sure he’s wrapping it up,” she says, her nasally voice shrill in your ears. “Dr. Ackerman entertains a lot of visitors. He’ll get to you when he gets to you.” 

You nod back at her, turning your head away before she can see the look of annoyance on your face. You see the manilla folder on the sofa next to you, a bit too thick to close completely. It was your last years’ work — scattered scenes, chapters, and ideas for your latest project. It was your only project, really, since the sins of your past will likely lie dormant in your Google Drive to never be seen again. This one, however, is your blood, sweat, and tears. You can’t bear to think too deeply about the words on the pages right now. You’re patiently waiting at the gate of the lion’s den.

Your eyes have wandered the walls twice by now, but they’re drawn back to the neatly arranged frames that surround the oak door. Pulitzer Prize in Fiction. Dr. Ackerman in the most expensive suit you’ve ever seen shaking hands with Harper Lee. Edgar Award for Best Novel. Doctorate’s degree in English. Dr. Ackerman, no older than 24, holding a copy of his novel Serpentine on the set of Good Morning America. He’s a fucking legend.

As if that isn’t intimidating enough, he has a reputation. He tends to lose his temper and can be a rather unconstructive critic when presented with the works of others. He trended on Twitter last year when a life-long fan of L. K. Ackerman and indie author sent him their debut novel and asked for his critiques — he tweeted pictures of the pages he disliked most with insulting annotations in the margins, captioned, “Abysmal. Consider a less difficult career.” He proceeded to block most everyone who sent him backlash, including his own social media manager and the First Lady of the United States of America. 

And the cherry atop it all, the thing that’s been crawling underneath your skin and breathing down your neck since you first received your advisor assignment: the signed copies of each of Dr. Ackerman’s novels on the tip-top of your bookshelf, alongside the photo of you and your favorite author, L. K. Ackerman, at a signing for his latest book, and a special limited edition Serpentine bookmark with a note on the back: 

thank you for your support.

if you really dream about writing, never let anything get in your way.

levi

Will he recognize you? That’s a tough one. Sure, you’ve been to multiple signings and have “met” him many times. Still, you doubt people like him remember the faces of people like you. The crowds likely got very annoying, and he probably said the same script and wrote the same note to you as he did every other person in line. At least, you hope so. Dr. Ackerman thinking you’re obsessed with him wouldn’t be very helpful to your teacher-student relationship. You look up to him a great deal, and his books are easily your favorite stories you’ve ever read, but you aren’t obsessed with the author himself. If he does unfortunately recognize you, you hope he’ll understand that. You wince a bit at the thought of him laughing in your face.

The door handle rattles at 11:18. Dr. Ackerman strolls out, a wrinkle-free brown blazer draped neatly over his arm and his pinstripe tie hanging fashionably loose atop a grey button-down shirt. The woman who follows behind him, however, looks rather disheveled; her blonde hair is all but falling out of what looks like it used to be a neatly-braided bun, and little black mascara stains shine just below her lash line. Her tight-fitting blouse has a button blown open right at her chest, which she nonchalantly tries to cover with her cardigan. Your mouth threatens to drop open as she walks by and your eyes catch a deep purple hickey on her left breast. 

This was the meeting that pushed nearly an hour over? You feel your eyebrows pinch together in anger before she’s out the door and you force them to relax again. Fuck it. You think, picking up the file folder next to you. No point in arguing. You lift your eyes to look at Dr. Ackerman again, watching as he takes long strides to the desk where Cheryl, who is training to work the reception desk in Hell, sits and paints her nails. “Tell me I’m done for the day, Cheryl,” he says, his tone both bored and irritated. You want to scoff, but you decide against it. He wasn’t this inconsiderate when it was the fans that line his pockets.

“Sorry, boss, that little bird over there is waiting on you,” she sighs, rolling her eyes and pointing your way. Your gaze moves from her stubby finger to Dr. Ackerman’s disappointed face. He looks at you, his eyes shooting from your head to your feet, and then back to your eyes again. He cocks his head to the side just slightly, jutting out his chin and accentuating the sharpness of his jaw. You feel like all but your terribly dry mouth has turned to jello.

“Oh?” he questions, straightening and taking a step toward you. “What do you need?” The question sounds almost rude, as if he’s rushing you out the door. You try not to take it personally. You clear your throat.

“I had an advising appointment scheduled with you for 10:30 A.M., Dr. Ackerman. Sorry if it’s any inconvenience,” you tell him, ignoring the fact that he’s wasted an hour of your day already. Whatever satisfaction you might get from chewing him out isn’t worth a bad first impression. 

“Am I supposed to already know your name or something?” he asks. You furrow your brow, your face contorting in anxiety. So, he does recognize you. This just became the worst day of your life.

You chuckle nervously, gripping the manilla folder a little tighter than you should. “I was actually really hoping you wouldn’t recognize me. Um, I —” you break off, laughing again. “I’ve been to each of your book signings. But I’m not a fangirl or anything, I promise. I didn’t expect you to remember my name, don’t worry about it.” You wish there was some way to just swallow every word you just said back inside of you. Dr. Ackerman now looks uncomfortable, and Lilith, mother of all monsters, also known as Cheryl, is giggling not-so-silently into her hands.

He raises one eyebrow at you, and then holds out his hand to shake yours. “I just meant you neglected to introduce yourself. If you’re always this nervous, I think a Xanax prescription would be very helpful. Your name?” He asks dryly. 

You take his hand and tell him your name, trying to shake off the pure mortification you’re feeling. “I’m sorry, I just admire your work and I’ve met you a few times as a result. I was worried I’d look like a crazy superfan,” you tell him, the little voice in your head screaming at you to stop talking.

He chuckles and places his hand on the small of your back, guiding you to his office. “My first piece of advice for you is to work on your people skills. You must be awful at networking.” His bluntness shocks you, but you just push the anger away and focus your attention on the room in front of you. Despite the unfortunate events that took place in this office for at least the past hour, it’s utterly spotless. A great mahogany desk sits at the center of the room in front of a tall, black-framed window that sat overviewing Lake Mustang, the unusually large pond that adorns the west side of campus. It’s a beautiful view, and you can tell by the reading nook nestled in the corner that he enjoys it often. Two large bookshelves sit on each of the walls to your sides, brimming with pristinely cared-for hardcover books, old and new. A floral-patterned armchair sits facing his desk, and he motions for you to sit in it with long, slender fingers. 

The romance author in you sees a student who desperately wants an “A” and the dark-academia-esque English professor with dark eyes and slender fingers who could give her extra credit, if. . . 

As much as you may see where the romance author in you is coming from, now is not the time. You try to shake the thoughts free from your skull. Guesses at where Dr. Ackerman laid out the blonde from the lobby poke at the very back of your brain — he probably bent her over his desk (and over his lap), or sat in his big leather chair while she climbed on top. A thought crosses your mind about the versatility of an office space, and you tuck an idea for a love scene away in your mental filing cabinet. 

He sits in his desk chair across from you, holding his hand out for the manila folder you’re digging your nude-painted fingernails into. You suck in a cold breath through your teeth. You hand it to him, loosening your iron grip and trying as hard as you can to shake the nervousness that overwhelms you. You can’t help but assume he’s going to hate it. When the rough yellow paper leaves your palm, it feels like your heart is trying to burst from your chest and go with it.

You put your hand to your mouth and clear your throat, watching carefully as he bends the scarcely attached clasp and pulls the typed papers from the safety of the folder. “The first page is a synopsis of the plot and a table of contents. You’ll see a key for the colored tabs. First are the scenes and excerpts that I feel are my most sound work. I thought that would be a good starting ground.” You search his ash-colored eyes for any signs of opinion, studying his face. He looks very young for his age, his jaw sharp and his skin soft and clear. His eyes are stormy. You don’t think you’ve ever seen eyes so truly grey, nor ones with such intensity. If looks could kill, they would come from this man, you think. Still, his face is charming. Even pushing 40, he’s incredibly handsome.

The sound of the papers thudding against the desk pulls your thoughts back to the present. “I don’t care to read all of this shit when I have the author in front of me. I prefer organic responses anyway,” he states, leaning back in his chair and propping his feet on the desk. “Is this the piece you sent in an excerpt of? I remember your application.”

You freeze, biting at the inside of your lip before opening your mouth to speak again. You remembered your submission; you hadn’t yet titled it, but you called it “The Bane of My Existence” in writing workshops and conversations with your friends. The title had nothing to do with the plot, only your honest feelings about the grueling slowburn that laid claim over three entire years of your life. “Uh, no, sir, I unfortunately abandoned that project a while ago. But this one is much more —”

He cuts you off with a laugh, and you can tell by the tone that it’s at your expense. You shrink. “I’m sorry, I guess we’ll have to reschedule. Pull that project back out and bring me some good pages. I chose you for that piece. I’ll be the one to let you know if you should abandon it,” he tells you, an authoritative edge in his voice. Before you can even register that he’s kicking you out, Dr. Ackerman is up and opening the door, motioning you out with his arm. 

Autopilot overpowers the shock that's moving through your limbs to grab your folder and walk out the door, saving at least a little bit of face on what’s lining up to be your most mortifying experience yet. You don’t tell him goodbye, since the tears pushing behind your eyeballs would surely break free if you did; still, you feel his eyes trained on your back as you pass him. “It was nice to meet you,” he tells you insincerely. “Come back at the same time on Thursday with something I want to read.”

You squeak out, “Yes, sir,” as you pass Cheryl at her desk. You try not to look at her, afraid that she’ll see the tear that’s now traveling down your cheekbone, but the horrible sound as she sucks her teeth and snickers beneath her breath confirms your fears. You silently hope that the devil is ready for her to transfer to his front desk very soon.

The automatic door opens out to campus, and the sunlight feels like pure relief on your face. For a moment, you consider dropping out and heading home — Zeke might be upset to have to find a new roommate, but at least you’d never have to face Dr. Ackerman again. Your friends would be supportive. You could go to cosmetology school, or write for your hometown newspaper. 

You need to call someone before you actually start packing your things and booking a flight. You pull out your phone as you walk down the cobblestone path, dodging incoming grad students on your trek to the parking lot. Leaves blow over your boots every few moments, the breeze slipping through the holes of your knit sweater. Autumn is beginning to settle in. You scroll through your recent call log. Mom (3), Zeke, Eren, Mom (2), Zeke (4), Tinder Jean, and, finally, Mom (2). You sigh. Your social life needs work.

In your defense, your mother is an excellent conversationalist, and your roommate and his little brother should definitely count as friends. Tinder Jean was a mistake, though, and you can’t defend yourself for that. You frown before hitting the FaceTime button next to Zeke’s name. Your eyes fall on the front of your car, only a few feet away. You pick up the pace and grab the driver’s door handle, throwing yourself in and slamming the door. You can cry now. 

Zeke’s face appears on your screen, a pen tucked into the blond hair above his ear and the clear glow of a computer screen in a dark room falling across his face. “Make it quick,” he says, “I think I’m having a breakthrough.” Before you can respond, you see him look away from the computer and at your face, your eyes a little swollen and your lip quivering like a child’s. You hear him mutter the word “Fuck,” before the light switches on and his computer turns off. He picks up the phone from its place on the desk and holds his face square in frame. “What happened, kid?”

-

“I’m sick of this shit, Laura. I mean it,” he said sternly, his voice getting louder and more desperate with each word. He could see her nails digging into her palms. His eyes followed one drop of blood as it flowed from the inside of her hand to the tip of her manicured thumb. His breathing grew ragged. 

Laura, however, didn’t say a word. She knew there was no undoing what she just did to him. Everyone was going to hate her. But she hated him, and she wanted to hurt him, and he deserved it, and fuck everything else. Because Laura is a terribly written character and I would kill her off if she wasn’t half of the romance in this romance novel.

Fuck this scene. This is the worst thing I’ve ever written. Fsadjgfg

You watch the cursor blink a few times before you drag it across the two pages you just wrote and smash the delete button. The Bane of Your Existence, once your proudest work and now your most infuriating. Of course this is what Dr. Ackerman wants. Maybe Cheryl already works for the devil, and his name is Levi.

You groan before fishing your phone from your back pocket, opening Snapchat and tapping Eren’s avatar hesitantly.

party tonight?

Before you can lock your phone again, he’s typing. You stifle a relieved grin. You need to relax.

i’ll pick you up @ 9

Zeke is not a friend that attends parties at your side by any means. You’ve never seen Zeke be more adventurous than bong rips in his bedroom or cheap whiskey on the rocks on the sofa. His brother, on the other hand, is the frat boy of your mother’s nightmares. You’re closer to Eren’s age, anyway, but Zeke — albeit a late bloomer— was the more intelligent brother, and was often your first choice to work with. Once you finished up general education, Eren wasn’t in fiction writing courses anyway. He still attends the state school a half hour away for undergrad, but he and Zeke are too close for you not to see him often. 

Zeke has been holed up in his room since he started working on a new short story last week — he writes horror, and he’s nothing to bat your eyes at. He has an immense amount of talent for creating suspense and making typewritten letters genuinely frightening. You hope he’ll let you sample his new one soon. You smile to yourself when you hear his fingers clicking furiously on his keyboard as you pass his bedroom. Your eyes lock on the oven clock as you enter your kitchen, the bright green digital numbers reading, “6:37.” Not too much time to kill.

You pull the pantry door open by its cool metal handle, rummaging through endless empty boxes until you reach the snack cakes in the very back. You retrieve two before putting back the now-empty box; you and Zeke are currently at war until he starts cleaning up his beard hairs immediately after he trims. It’s disgusting. So, you aim to get his hopes up that his favorite snacks are waiting safely in the pantry only to be met with heartbreaking disappointment. 

You walk through the wide arch that separates your kitchen and living room and plop down on the shitty Wal-Mart futon, grabbing the remote on your way down. You turn on the cooking channel and turn your attention to your phone, opening Tinder and shoveling half of a cream-filled cupcake into your mouth.

The dating pool in this town is rather weak, you decide. Of course, it is a college town directly adjacent to another college town, and you are on what is traditionally used as a hookup app; still, you lament on your limited choices. College and relationships haven’t melded very well for you in the past. Even on breaks, you get far too immersed in writing to spend enough time with your significant other to satisfy them. Your mom tells you that it’s a good thing, and that it shows your motivation for school — but you just don’t care to bother with it. Still, you have needs just like everyone else. And every writer draws inspiration from something. You close it out with a deep sigh before sinking your remaining time into a farming game you saw an ad for on Facebook. You’re debating spending ten dollars of your hard earned money on gems when Eren texts you.

omw

You close out the godforsaken game and retreat to your bedroom to get dressed. You pull on a tight-fitting black sweater dress falling at your mid-thigh; you want to be sexy, but not cold. The breeze had chilled you a bit earlier. You sit on your bed and tug your favorite fall boots just over your knees, taking a minute to lace them before standing again. Your hair and makeup from your advising appointment are passable enough, you figure, looking in the mirror quickly before getting your purse and going to Zeke’s door.

You knock twice and wait a second before nudging the door open and poking your head in. You see him in the same spot as earlier, hunched over his keyboard with the lights turned off. “Hey, I just wanted to let you know me and Eren are going to a party tonight. He’s on his way to get me,” you tell him, already starting to close the door before he can reply.

“Be safe,” he calls out to you. “Call me if you need a ride, Ubers are high around here.” You shoot him a thumbs up before pulling the door shut and turning on your heel. Your phone vibrates again as you walk down the hallway.

here

You take your keys off the hook by the door and make sure to lock it behind you before turning and scanning for Eren’s red Ford Focus. You practically skip down the steps when you spot him, more than ready to put your day behind you. You pull the handle and settle in, breathing in the smell of cigarettes, weed, 5 gum, and the floral air freshener plugged in on his AC vent. Eren greets you with a squeeze on your knee, a cigarette sitting between his lips and his hair falling in his eyes from the half-up bun he’s made his trademark. He grabs the pack of Marlboros and gestures it your way, and you shake your head. “Do I ever accept the offer?” You ask him.

“After a few drinks,” he snorts, spinning the volume dial on his radio until some screamo song is audible. He swings his arm around and rests his hand on the back of your seat as he backs out of the parking space, leaving it there for a few minutes as you begin your journey to Eren’s frat house. The two of you discuss your experience with Dr. Ackerman as you make your way down the highway, and you try your best to keep calm. Try as you might, though, you can’t seem to be an optimist. Your greatest inspiration refused to read your most prized work. A lesser author might jump off a cliff. You haven’t decided how low you’ve sunk yet, but you’re starting to get there.

“Fuck ‘im,” Eren says nonchalantly after listening to you whine for a few minutes. “Bring him the other shit, let him read it, and don’t worry about what he says. Plenty of people have written plenty of books without the help of that fucker.” He looks at you and shrugs his shoulders, and his green eyes look sincere.

You smile and shake your head at him. “I’m stuck with him unless he sticks me with another advisor. His opinions affect my degree progression.” 

Eren sucks his teeth, tossing his finished cigarette butt out the window. “Then make him reassign you. Be a hellish bitch. I’m sure it won’t be that hard,” he teases you, poking your side and making you yelp.

Still, his idea isn’t awful. “Good plan, Eren,” you tell him, and you mean it. “If he already hates me, it can’t be that hard of a push. I’ll just be a hellish bitch.”

Eren bares his white teeth at you in a playful smile before getting another cigarette from his cup holder and lighting it expertly despite the wind. He turns up his music one more time, now a bit too loud for conversation. “I need to get in the zone for the party,” he shouts, accidentally blowing a bit of smoke in your face. You cough. “I need to get laid tonight.”

“Me, too,” you shout back, running your hand through your hair. “I’ll find someone for you if you find someone for me. Wingman me.”

“Deal.”

-

Several hours and drinks later, you aren’t quite sure who you’re dancing on. Although that would typically be alarming, you don’t consider it. The only thing you’re considering is how secure his hands feel on either side of your waist and how warm his lips feel on your neck (and how it feels when he grinds against you, but you’re trying to ignore that part before you get all drunk and desperate). You see Eren — two blurry versions of him, really — drunkenly grinding on a redhead, and you start to stumble his way, the drink in your hand spilling out and your former dance partner shooting a hurt look at your back. By the time you’re halfway there he’s noticed you already, and has nudged the redhead over to the next guy, waving you over with a smile on his face.

“Are you having fun?” He shouts as soon as you’re in earshot, slurring through his words.

“Hell yeah!” you tell him, closer now. You stumble right into him and use his shoulders for stability, causing him to wobble and nearly take you both down. You giggle when you catch yourself, laying your head on his chest and breathing out in relief — relief from what, you aren’t quite sure. 

“Do you want to dance?” he asks over the music, wrapping his arms around you and clumsily trying to turn you around. You oblige him and pull his hands to your hips, turning around and starting to move to the rhythm of the hip hop song blaring from the sound system. You feel his long fingers fasten around your waist, and he pulls you in closer, letting you grind on him to the music. The two of you are too drunk to care, and it won’t be weird in the morning. You two have spent the night together after a few too many parties, but it’s probably better than fucking a stranger and having to go get tested afterwards. You don’t seem to want to have sex with each other when liquor isn’t involved, anyway, so preserving your friendship is never really a concern. 

Not that you’re able to think about this right now, of course. You’re too many drinks deep to focus on anything but Eren’s jeans growing tighter behind you as you rub against him. When his lips fall to your neck, the crowded room starts spinning even faster than it already was. You wrap your arms around his neck as he leans in behind you, securing his mouth on you as you wiggle your hips playfully. You feel his teeth prick against your sensitive skin as he smiles against you. “Come on,” he says into your shoulder. “Bathroom.”

You release each other from your holds and stagger together to the bathroom down the hall. Hopefully you don’t remember how obvious it was in the morning. Apparently all it takes is seven shots to make you try to pull Eren’s shirt off in the hallway in front of other party attendees. Still, the two of you stumble into the bathroom, you feeling around desperately for the light switch while Eren shuts and locks the door. When his lips finally crash on yours, your tongues needy and sloppy and your hands wandering each other’s bodies without reserve, you feel a hunger you didn’t know you were neglecting. You push your hands up his shirt, combing your fingers across his warm skin and toned muscles, letting out a breathy moan. 

With his right hand, Eren grips the back of your thigh, his rough hands warm against your skin as he hoists you against the cold tile wall and wraps your legs loosely around his hips. With his left, he starts at his belt. Fuck, you think, a fleeting moment of clarity before you let Eren really make you forget about everything for a while. Zeke got so pissed off last time we did it. 

But, just like that, the thought is gone again, and he pulls your panties to the side.

last chapter | next chapter

bonus scene [eren x reader | nsfw]

[itslilimethinks]

i see a lot of critique on httyd3 about the (for lack of a better word) infantilization of toothless, specifically in reference to the last two movies and his relationship with the light fury, and i wanna talk about that ig

i do think it lacks nuance and at first glance utterly clashes with the toothless we know and love, but i think there’s a little more depth we can apply here. we see toothless- who previously was a mature leadership figure- seemingly demeaned to a bumbling, infantile character the moment he meets a girl. while i think this is first and foremost a product of general romantic culture in american media, i think it’s also representative of the disconnect between toothless’s human socialization and dragon biological background.

when we first meet toothless he’s aggressive and off-putting, an unfortunate but reasonable result of the vulnerable position hiccup put him in. eventually, hiccup earns his trust, as shown through the recession of toothless’s teeth, a symbol of trust throughout the franchise and the deciding factor in the character’s name. throughout httyd 1 and 2, hiccup and toothless’s relationship is heavily inspired by the classic “a dog is a man’s best friend,” adage, and i’d go so far as to say that their dynamic even transcends the trope. toothless and hiccup become leaders in a parallel arc, and going into the third act of the trilogy, that’s the roles we’re expecting them to fill.

however, httyd3 actively and purposefully subverts the audience’s expectations, and the introduction of the light fury twists everything we know about toothless on its head. as viewers, we usually identify with hiccup; after all, we’re humans, not mythical beasts (even though many of us wish we were). when we see toothless expressing interest in a non-human relationship, we’re accosted just as hiccup is because we’ve been on his side the entire time. when we look at toothless in the third film, it’s the first time we see him stand for himself, rather than- once again, for lack of a better word- hiccup’s sidekick. here, we don’t get the chance to toothless through hiccup’s eyes: the hero, the companion, and the friend. we see him as an independent character, we learn that yes, toothless as all of those things, but there’s one thing he isn’t as well: human. we go on the same journey that hiccup does as he realizes that toothless is tame, but he isn’t domesticated. he wasn’t bred for this. and here that uncomfortable, disconcerting feeling kicks in. maybe...hiccup may have hurt toothless more than we thought.

we see toothless acting “goofy,” or “immature,” as he attempts to woo the light fury, and it seems out of place, but i think that’s important. it shows how much toothless missed out developmentally, because he didn’t get the presumed socialization he would have had if he hadn’t grown up aside hiccup. he doesn’t know what to do because he’s never gotten the chance to learn, and when compared to a presumed peer and potential partner, he’s worse of because of it. i hate that this is the analogy i’m going to draw, but it reminds me a lot of the way the warrior cats novels treat the difference between clan cats and house pets- they’ve got all the same potential, but none of the training. combine that with hiccup’s faulty leadership- think about how quickly toothless picks things up with it’s just him and the light fury- and i come a similar conclusion to hiccup’s. it’s naive to think that toothless turned out perfectly fine in the environment he was raised in.

obviously, i still have critiques about certain parts of this arc, but overall i think it does a very good job illustrating just how out of his depth toothless is when it comes to non-human communication. i’m not a fan of the dumb-and-in-love, puppy-dog-eyed thing they had going on, or the changes to his design, but i think the story they told about the consequences of hiccup’s actions was an important and nuanced one. it brings more depth and emotional maturity to the franchise, which is something i greatly value.

but mostly i just like dragons, so there’s that.

[anjuschiffer]

[Mutuals]

Some more self-indulgent writing! Mainly because of a post @zestyzealot reblogged a while back and inspired this piece. 

(This is the post I’m referring to!)

Enjoy!

-----

P.Tag: @theatreandcomicfreak @damianette-is-life @toodaloo-kangaroo @elijahcrevan

Tag: @polyvirnl

-----

Context: There’s no miraculouses. None. Nada. But the Bats still exist. Marinette uses her time to expand her brand MDC

-----

AO3

-----

Marinette huffed as she placed the last crystal bead onto the hem of the black skirt in her hands. 

Bringing it to eye level, a wide smile graced her lips, a smile breaking as Marinette giggled to herself as she watched her vision become reality.

Finally! After four long and exhausting days, it was done. When she started on Monday night, Marinette wondered if this project would get in the way of her weekly sleepover with Alya. Thank God it didn’t.

Placing the skirt on her bed, Marinette smiled as she took a picture of her latest piece for her new collection: 12 o’ clock.

That’s when the hatch on her floor opened up with a creak, Marinette watching as her father poked his head into her room. Why was he here?

“Marinette, there’s someone here looking for you.” He said, giving a side glance down below. “Please tell me he’s just a school friend and not another boy you asked to model for you.”

“Dad, I already told you, Luka is Juleka’s older brother, he- wait, he? It’s not Alya?” Marinette asked, wondering where her best friend was at. 

Yes, Alya gave her a heads up that she was running late for their sleepover, but she wasn’t downstairs yet? And her father had said ‘he’ instead of a guy friend’s name, so… who exactly was waiting for her downstairs? 

Because despite only saying the name once, her father tended to commit to memory the names of all of her male friends. “What does he look like?” 

“Well, he’s a bit on the short side,” Tom started, “has green eyes, tanned, wearing a turtleneck with some of those suit pants-”

“Slacks.” Marinette helped.

“Those,” Tom corrected himself, “and he has a dog with him.” Tom ended, watching as Marinette mumbled to herself.

Marinette didn’t know anyone with a dog, nonetheless with that type of fashion, causing Marinette to start pacing around her room, racking up some idea as to who it was that was in the living room. “He called the dog Titus, if memory serves me correctly. Or if I heard correctly for that matter.”

That caused Mari to stop in her tracks.

A turtleneck with slacks, a Great Dane named Titus, tanned skin...emerald eyes.

“No. Way.” Marinette quickly motioned her father to go down the ladder, quickly following him into the living room, her eyes widening upon seeing her theory be true.

There, standing inside the Dupain-Cheng living room was Damian Wayne with his dog, Titus.

“Took you long enough.” Damian said, adjusting the duffel bag on his shoulder. Titus wagged his tail as he saw his boy open the bag and give him his toy. 

Just then, the door swung open, Alya panting as she dropped to the floor as soon as she walked in.

“Girl, you wouldn’t believe who I just saw! There, as soon as I turned the corner of where I lived, I saw the Damian Wayne with his dog, and- why is he in your living room?” 

“Seeing as you finally caught up,” Damian said, walking over to Alya, handing her a heavy plastic bag. “Take care of Titus while we’re out.”

“We?” “We?” “We?!”  Alya, Tom and Marinette spoke at the same time, although Marinette’s came out as a squeak.

“Did you forget what you told me?” Damian waved his phone that was in his hand. Marinette watched as he showed her a tweet...her tweet in particular, Marinette now going into a state of panic. “You invited me to egg-” Marinette screamed, her cheeks flushed in embarrassment as she lowered his phone and dragged him out the apartment, leaving behind a confused Tom and a giddy Alya. 

———

“You actually read that?” Marinette asked once more, covering her cheeks as they walked towards the park square. 

“I did.” Damian hummed as he adjusted the egg cartoons under his arm, a dangerous twinkle in his emerald eyes. 

Marinette let out a silent screech, confusing Damian. “Did you think I wouldn’t read it?” When he saw her nod, he sighed. “I read every comment left under any post I write. Sure, I don’t respond to any of them, but your comment… seemed… interesting.”

Marinette wanted to disappear into a black hole. Damian actually read that stupid comment she had left under his post. 

It was a post from earlier that week - a picture Damian had uploaded from the recent animal shelter he was volunteering at (as well as funding). 

Another post about an animal up for adoption, this time, a hamster named Louis. 

Marinette was scrolling through the comments under the post after retweeting it, when a particular one caught her attention.

-

<3 ACNH is Life <3 @eliza_beth 

Replying to @Real_BloodSon I have a pet chicken and just wanted to ask if the candle method is a good method to check for egg development.  If so, then are they safe to eat? If not, what’s a better method?

-

Everyone knew Damian loved to offer help when it came to animals -as it was no secret- but something stupid inside of Marinette thought she should do the only logical thing in her mind.

She commented on it.

-

Deadlines Are Approaching @a_mari_not_bug

Replying to @eliza_beth and @Real_BloodSon If it turns out that it is a good method, can I have some eggs? I’ve been wanting to egg someone's house as of late. @Real_BloodSon care to join?

-

Marinette didn’t think he would actually read it, let alone actually come. Wait…

Damian lives in the US, not France, unlike her. 

So how did he know where she lived, let alone reside?

“How did you know where I live?” Marinette asked, realizing they were finally at the park, right across from the targeted house, not even realizing that she had brought him over to the house in question.

Damian blinked, setting the cartons down onto the bench.

“Tsurugi told me.”

“You know Tsurugi. As in Kagami Tsurugi?” Marinette asked, wondering where he had met her friend. 

Damian nodded.

“We met during the semifinals for the international fencing competition.” 

Oh. So that’s how they knew each other. 

Damian let a smirk grace his lips. “Obviously, I won.” 

Marinette simply looked at him in awe, causing Damian’s ego to soar more. Of course, that didn’t overcome the other feeling he had inside his chest.

After all, there was no way he was going to tell her that he has been following her account for quite a while. 

So using the amounts of aesthetic pictures, selfies, bakery promos and mini photo shoots, it didn’t take long for Damian to pinpoint where she lived. 

That’s not following Damian. It’s called stalking. 

Okay Drake, but in his defense:

1- it was his side account that he uses for his own personal interests.

Damian didn’t exactly like having thousands of people following him because he was a Wayne. He wanted to be followed for being Damian. 

2- he had been following her for quite a while.

Two solid years to be exact. 

After exchanging social media accounts with Kagami, Marinette was one of the few people Twitter recommended to follow.

Marinette peaked his curiosity when Kagami mentioned Marinette being the person behind her “lucky” fencing bag. (Although, she didn’t want to admit that she used it as a luck charm.) It was an all black duffel bag, enchanting golden embroidery that collected to a single dragon. 

Marinette Dupain-Cheng, Kagami had provided. A girl in her grade from her school in France, who designed the most intricate designs Damian had seen. (Yes, he has seen all of her sketches and final products of the things she had designed…yes it did involve scrolling through her photos and accidentally liking all of them as he went…)

3- it was too late to press that “follow” button when he already kinda didn’t do it as soon as she followed his own account. 

When he finally noticed that she did already follow him, he didn’t know what to do. Should he follow her back? 

“Not yet.” Dick had told him. But just how long did he have to wait? He was stupid for listening to Dick’s advice and he definitely wasn’t going to follow her back now. Or should he?

“So,” Marinette started again, looking around the area, scanning to see that no one saw them. “Have you ever done this before?”

“As in egging a house?” Damian watched as Marinette nodded, wondering if this was her first time doing this. “No, but it shouldn’t be any different than throwing snowballs.” Damian compared, remembering last year’s winter. 

Jon had managed to convince the Wayne’s and the Kent’s to do a snowball fight. 

The Wayne’s obviously won. 

“Guess you have a point.” Marinette replied, attempting to vision Damian’s analogy. She picked up an egg and looked at it and then at the window of the person who had been causing her turmoil these past few days. “Are you… are you sure you want to go with this?”

“Aren’t you?” Damian asked, awaiting Marinette’s signal. He had perfectly balanced a dozen eggs into the nook of his arm, one being juggled in his other hand. 

He was ready and from the twinkle in his eyes, eager to throw. 

Marinette found herself smiling, letting out a laugh as she grabbed a few eggs herself and balanced them in her hand. 

“Between you and I, I've been dreaming of doing this for the longest.” Marinette said with the biggest grin Damian had seen her with that night. “Ready?”

“Always.” Damian replied, mirroring her grin as the two looked at the target, Marinette throwing the first attack.

-

Bonus: 

Marinette hummed as she doodled in her sketchbook, her mind wandering to last night’s events. 

She hadn’t known how much stress she had built up thanks to Lila and her constant need to be the attention of everything. 

The messes Marinette had to clean up due to Lila causing disorder during class and after class, all because of Lila and her gazillion and one ‘medical’ problems.

Marinette didn’t realize how emerged she was towards throwing eggs -with great accuracy- towards Lila’s bedroom window until she threw her last egg.

She remembered how satisfying it was to have thrown all of those eggs at the window, that glee when Damian smiled at her. 

How happy she was when Damian complimented her for her graceful and precise throws despite the low lightning of the park lights. 

Marinette placed her pencil down as she finished adding some last minute touches to the coat she had finished designing when Alya slammed her hands in front of her. Marinette quickly looked up at her friend, tilting her head when she was met with twinkling eyes.

“Did you hear what happened to Lila last night?” Alya whispered, causing Marinette to quickly tense. 

“N-no? What happened?” Marinette asked, closing her sketchbook. 

“Her house got egged. Well, her bedroom window did.” Alya corrected herself, watching as Marinette let out a gasp.

“No way! Poor Lila.” Marinette looked over to Lila, watching as she was surrounded by their classmates to gather to listen to her woeful story. “Who would ever do such a thing?”

“Beats me.” Alya said, looking at Marinette, a faint smile on her lips. “You and Damian wouldn’t happen to have been involved-”

“Us?” Marinette instigated, causing Alya to lean forward. “You think Damian and I would do something that stupid and not think of the consequences that awaited us? No way.” Marinette denied, causing Alya to sigh.

“Should’ve known you wouldn’t be up to it. Only you would step down after overthinking about the consequences.” Alya said as she patted her head before taking a few steps from Marinette. “Not like anyone would know who it was since the security cameras of the area seemed to have gone off at that time, strangely enough. Maybe if I hear what Lila has to say about the event, I’ll get some hints as to who it was.”

With that, Alya left to go and listen to Lila, leaving Marinette by herself.

Finally alone, Marinette let out a sigh, feeling her back relax. She felt as a smile rose to her face. 

Giddily, she took out her phone to send Damian a text when a Twitter notification caught her attention. 

She quickly checked it, her smile growing even more. She went back to sending Damian a text.

You bugged the cameras last night?

Damian: A necessary precaution. 

Marinette giggled at his response.

Also, I saw you started following me. Now we’re mutuals! 

Damian liked your message.

Damian: It was only a matter of time, seeing as we egged your enemy’s home.

More like someone I dislike.

Damian: Same thing. 

Damian: Query. Would you like to join Titus and I for a walk at the park? 

Sure! Class ends at 3. Meet you then?

Damian: Titus and I would await you then.

Marinette grinned as she placed her phone away as the school bell rang, signaling the beginning of class. 

She couldn’t wait to spend time with her newfound friend! Who knows what mischief awaited the two!

[anon-rebel-writes]

Something Simple

Hi! Hey! How’s it going? Good? That’s so good!

So I’ve been gone...Ha ha. I feel like I should have an excuse ready, and an apology, and a promise to do better in the future. But honestly, I don’t have...any of those.

Well I do have an apology, I’m sorry that I’ve been gone and kinda just left the internet. I don’t really look at social media as much as I used to (which honestly is super good for mental health, but kinda sucky if you do stuff on social media :P)

I haven’t had a ton of ideas lately, and when I do, I get frustrated with myself because it’s not the most amazing piece that I’ve ever worked on. I had a serious talk with my girlfriend (she’s seriously the majority of my inspiration for most of my works) and she said something that gave me an epiphany.

Sometimes you just have to make some sucky tea until you make the best tea of your life :) (I swear that makes more sense if you read the story lol)

I like domestic fluff. I like short and simple stories. So that’s what this is! I don’t wanna waste my time waiting fro inspiration to strike when I can make something to get me through writer’s block! So if you don’t mind my wacky schedule, I hope you enjoy this simple piece :)

It begins under the cut! <3 Ao3 Link

This should be easy.

It used to be easy for him when he was younger. When he was five, Luka would listen to the waves on the boat and hear a unique tune out of it. At eleven, his mom told him about an old tale she heard and he wrote lyrics based on it. Sixteen, Juleka would idly pluck her bass and he’d come up with three different songs just from the sound. Music was natural to him.

Now it was hard. Nothing inspired him. He was supposed to be a musical guy. How could this tear him down so easily! Maybe his life was too good now. No problems to sing about, no unrequited love songs, no daddy issues. His life was great! What happened to him?

After his dad came back into his life, he appreciated their little relationship. They would jam out and have fun, although it was still awkward to call him ‘dad’, it still seemed fine. He found out a lot of weird stuff with magic and identities when he was younger, but it led to Marinette confessing a huge secret to him. Misunderstandings got cleared up and they ended up reigniting their romantic relationship. After proposing to her last year, they got an apartment that was perfect for them.

Everything was perfect, really. Maybe that was the problem, everything was perfect. Juleka did tease him lately about “losing his edge”. Was his edge gone? His blue dyed hair was barely visible nowadays, any tattoos he got during university were usually covered up by his vast collection of MDC sweaters, even his ear piercings were replaced with whatever colored ones matched his outfit that day!

Maybe he was getting old. He was getting engaged to one of the sweetest people in the world, maybe her sugar-like sweetness rubbed off on him.

Was his music destined to be lost to the winds forever? Did all the talent leave his blood the moment he started settling into a domestic life? Juleka seemed to keep her musical charm, she still did small gigs with Rose in coffee shops every now and then. Ivan even toured around with his new band after university.

All Luka did now was make instruments. Was that even close to musical? His dad supported his career decision, despite intense protests. His in-laws helped him open a little shop. Everything was so easy and simple.

Even now, he waited for Marinette to come home so they could finish watching 'Halloween Wars'. He spends his nights watching reality television. Who has he become?!

It clearly led him here, on his couch, guitar in hand, with no progress being made. He wanted to make something fantastic. Something that Marinette would hear and be reminded of the songs he used to write for her. Luka would sing to her and he would tell himself how he “still has it”.

But nothing came out. No tune, no music, no notes, no lyrics, nothing. Luka sighed and put his guitar on the side of the couch and decided to take his mind off of music, at least for now. A little break should be good! Looking across the living room, he realized the utter mess he made.

Music sheets were scattered across the coffee table, pencils somehow found their way to the floor. Maybe he should clean up, just to have a clean environment to work in.

…

Or maybe he should make himself some tea. Tea always gets creative juices flowing! Not cleaning up, nope. That’s what people do when they’re avoiding stuff and Luka Couffaine does not avoid stuff! Especially not cleaning messes that look like a natural disaster hit his living room. Nope, not avoiding.

So that’s where Marinette found the love of her life two hours later after work. In the kitchen, making tea, warzone in the living room and his heart clearly broken. Opening the apartment door and seeing the utter chaos made her remember just who she was about to marry, but going into the kitchen and seeing the look of despair on his face when he realized they had no honey for his tea was just plain sad.

She took off her shoes and coat and walked over to where he stood, hunched over the counter, staring deeply into his bitter tea. Her arms wrapped around his middle and she let her head rest between his shoulder blades. “Lu? You okay?”

Instead of answering, Luka gently stirred the tea with a spoon and shook his head. “...we forgot to buy honey.”

“And…that’s the only reason you seem upset?”

One quick glance over to the living room definitely made her question if honey was truly the culprit. Then again this wouldn’t be the first time a Couffaine had caused trouble for something small. She’d never forget the shape of the boat after the Captain had lost her favorite headband.

“I… can’t make music anymore.”

Marinette slowly let go of his midsection and turned him to face her. She squinted at his face, trying to see if this was an elaborate joke. “Uh- No offense, but that doesn’t seem possible. I mean… music is second nature to you.”

“You don’t get it. I lost my edge! I’m not cool anymore. I don’t have daddy issues, or love issues, or school issues, or work issues, or-”

“Yeah yeah, you were an angsty boy. But music didn’t come from you because you were edgy. Music is just a part of who you are. Whether you have issues or not. And believe me, the songs you used to write for me were anything but edgy.”

Luka sighed and grabbed his cup of bitter tea. He looked in it and gave it to Marinette. “This tea sucks. It’s like my music. It doesn’t have that ‘umph’ that it needs to be good.” She looked into the cup and decided to take a sip. She let the flavor sit on her tongue for a bit and stared back into the cup, thinking to herself for a second.

“The tea isn’t great, I’ll give you that. But that doesn’t mean it’s bad. It’s just… simple. Nothing too extraordinary, nothing too disgusting. It just tastes like tea. And maybe you just need to make simple tea every once in a while before you can go back to making your delicious Luka juice.”

He chuckled at her analogy and took the tea cup back to give it one last sip. Honestly Marinette was right, although she always tended to be right about these things, the tea wasn’t awful. It wasn’t his favorite, but not every song is his favorite either.

She gave him a kiss on his cheek before heading over to their bedroom.

Luka decided to move back over to the living room to clean the area up a little bit. He put away the massive amount of paper and took most of the pencils from the area, leaving only one sheet of music, his guitar, and a single pencil.

He let out a deep sigh and sat back down on the couch, grabbing his guitar. He sat back and stared down at the music sheet on the table. “Something simple, huh?”

[laciefuyu]

Hey, Lacie! I love your blog and would love to hear your thoughts on the mortis arc and what it added to the mythology of the force, if you're so inclined. Thanks!

Hello, anon! I am glad you love my blog ^^

About Mortis arc, I actually really hate that arc. I only like to see more interaction between Obi-Wan and Ahsoka and an early bit with Anakin, Obi-Wan and Ahsoka but the rest? Not really. 

Since you asked about the Mythology of the Force, my hate actually related to it. I have to remind people of this symbol on the floor in the Mortis arc.

That is not so subtly inspired from the Yin and Yang symbol, and this is once again misrepresentation of using Yin and Yang symbol and its philosophy. 

Western folks, and therefore people who come to know Yin and Yang from Western Medias too, have this tendency to think that Yin and Yang means equal between dark and light or even equating it with good and bad but this is actually a wrong take of Yin and Yang. It’s not about morality in the slightest, it’s more about the cyclical nature of things and coexistence, but in positive symbiosis nature.

The words for Yin and Yang itself when written in Simplified Mandarin 阴 (Yin) and 阳 (Yang) have meaning Shadow/Shade and Sunlight/Sun, and that’s quite self-explanatory. If to put an analogy, it would be Day and Night. When Day exists, then Night wouldn’t until it’s the time and when Night exists, then Day wouldn’t until it's the time. In a way, it’s explaining how the state of nature where things are circular/cycling and coexisting back and forth, and definitely not about moral judgement

Now we have the Force in Star Wars that has the Light and Dark side of the Force. It’s definitely not Yin and Yang. Light DOES equal good and Dark DOES equal bad. The balance spoken of in Star Wars is the Daoist balance, but the light and dark aren’t the Daoist Light and Dark. 

The Mortis arc perpetuates a common misunderstanding about Daoism both within Star Wars and at large. It misrepresents Daoist teachings as cruel without understanding them. Instead what we get in Mortis Arc, I’d say that the “Light side of the Force” is the Daoist balance, and that the “Dark side of the Force” is the Daoist unbalance

Also, Anakin in this arc has the scene where he pulled the Son and Daughter together as if Light and Dark in Dao are two repelling magnets but that’s not it. It’s not on us to hold the Dao like that, instead it’s on us to be on line with the Dao to not disturb the balance. Unbalance in Dao would mean something exists to disturb it and in this case when Sith going in the Galaxy murdering people and putting misery and chaos is the disturbance that causes unbalance. 

TLDR; I don’t have a good opinion about this arc because of this and the addition for the Mythology of the Force with casual misrepresentation of the symbol that drawn from Yin and Yang is bad. 

(There is a thing that the Force itself is drawn and inspire from the Dao and the Qi concept from Chinese Culture, but that’s a talk for another day)

[softtangent]

Is it 2008? I don't think I even remember what 2008 was like, not in this moment- I'd have to spend a bit of time thinking about it- putting the pieces together, letting the smell waft in and fill the room like a big baked pie. When was the last time I baked a pie ? somehow, the metaphor fails me, because I'm not sure I'd think it smelled so sweet. But, it might be worth to try on, to romanticize simply because I like to think of things beautifully.

I could go on for a while, in a waterfall stream of consciousness about the things I don't remember the last time I did or thought about.

it was later than that anyways, I looked in my email to check. This year- 8 days before my birthday, 7 days before lover's- is the 11th anniversary of the birth of a tumblr blog made in high school that was later abandoned. I was 17 years old.

feeling grateful for this time machine- it feels like stepping into a childhood territory, almost like the best place- the wooden castle playgrounds that they don't make anymore because of the splinters in small fingers. the coarse grinding splashes of feet running through a sea of insulating pebbles. at some point they changed those to woodchips- I can now finally appreciate this upgrade- more splinters but softer falls and footsteps. the smell of peat bound up in the summer warmth.

I came back here to write- tipped off by another writer who I so see myself in and admire- without the seeming sacrifice of the potential connection with collective. despite the very felt intertwining with the grand cloud of consciousness, it seems like these days you're less likely to talk to me about the pages of one of my special journals you read in our dream together. Or, no, maybe its that I'm afraid that you won't.

For some months now I found myself in a state of soft boiled discontentment with my lack of discipline. The alleged discipline lacking was my indulgence in platforms of social media- I eventually realized I was just unconsciously endlessly window-shopping at the mall I didn't know I had materialized around me. I always get really tired after being in the mall for a little while. More than tired I find myself now with such fractured attention that I have to actively choose to stay here to write instead of impulsively following my addictive urge to check the message that my doctor sent brought to my attention by my email that I checked at least once while typing. It's like that feeling of fighting to stay awake during a movie at the end of the night, but not so fond, or restful. But, in some way, I can feel myself lighting a candle, to be grateful for the experience and as a departure ceremony. I'm moving on my way.

finding Tumblr again seems to fit what I wanted so perfectly, a place to write out in the open. A platform to access from the laptop and bed. Maybe it feels a little like this place has aged gracefully enough at this point not to feel so gaudy and owns a particular note of nostalgic revival. Instagram has felt like a box getting slowly smaller and smaller, peppered with endless sprinkles of sugary attention crack draining away my intentions of seeking engagement and inspiration.

I don't feel a need to vilify technological 'advancement'. And I don't want to resist the silly allure of self righteousness of putting quotes around 'advancement' - as I enjoy typing on my disk-driver-less laptop- but I can recognize the holy loss of discipline in praying to the metropolis of instant gratification. the polarity of have and not having is a sacred space of tension in intention. The sheer charm of analog attracts me with some unspoken magic, as does the primordial tissue of the digital.

it feels special to be back here and worth some celebration.

such delicious satisfaction- the deep kind felt after a period of stark contrast.