#the tettings person

[shinakazami1]

TSP ramble: TK and the Narrator's relationship

@stelar-time was thinking about TK and The Narrator so I decided to make a small ramble about one of the ways I see their relationship

TL;DR Narry and TK might actually tolerate each other and have found a common enemy

---

The Narrator seems to look at everything in his Parable as his original creation. TK is no different, as we already have the admission from Davey himself that TK=432. But just like you change the lore of your OCs, the fact the games could be stretched for 10 years does show how much could have been changed in The Narrator's perception.

We meet TK in the form of The Settings Person but the way TK presents himself later - it seems the 432's travel beyond dimension gets him beyond the Narrator's reach too...Which is fair, as we never see the Narrator really interact with the menu- or...does he.

Bumpscosity. One small tiny gag but the implications of it are massive. Like sure - the Narrator and Cookie9 maybe forgot you can mute the Narrator in-menu, but Narry reacts to the level of Bumpscosity you set and has a full achievement for checking all the settings.

Now why would he know only that and not TK's existence? There is that issue of Narry not being omniscient and often showing he doesn't know shit (Broken achievement) but...he made the world of the Parable, possibly. He made all these NPCs and he, in some way, made Stanley, too.

So - why since TSPUD is overall a love letter to both Player and Stanley, let it be to Parable, too? To a representation of the most tormented OC yet? But now - the thing about Memory Zone is that it wasn't meant to be decay. It's what the name says - a sanctuary for memories.

Look *where* it is though. This part isn't in the original Memory Zone. There are reviews that weren't there before and that proves something - that the Narrator purposefully put them. And at the end, at the very end of the road - there it is.

The only room not covered in sand.

And yet somehow - this is the computer TK is in. It could have been any computer at all in the Parable but TK is there, waiting for you patiently, in the room best preserved, with its own light.

For me - the Narrator doesn't hate TK. Even if TK seems to resent him.

The Narrator knows he can't escape. He wants to move on yet - seeing how long he was in the Skip Button, I think he already tried everything. So, when he was waiting for us to return - that was plenty of time to get out of the bounds. To revisit old projects and make new ones.

But look at TK's lines in this part.

Did you read what the developers said?? "Preserve the integrity of the franchise"?! You see, that was the Narrator's problem. He was so obsessed with what people thought of his work. Don't make his mistake. Don't cling to the legacy. Let it burn.

He talks about the Narrator in the past tense. This can be seen as a critique but I think it can also be seen as a warning of something he and the Narrator talked about since the Narrator wanted to let go. He learnt from his mistake.

Why was Narry then so surprised about the broken achievement? He possibly worried about the devs being brought back. About him thinking he got everything in control by making new versions of the endings and already discussing it all behind the camera with TK and then leaving them

But that's just a theory. A shina-way-too-long-once-again-at-2-am-fuck-me-why-do-I-do-this-to-everyone theory.

[bixels]

Jesus man, relax.

[a1asta1r]

All my Love by Noah Kahan is such a pre-redemption Preston and Kathy song

[tankgotstuckinthecircusgate]

last night before falling asleep i thought fuck i so do not care bout approval or disapproval when it comes to my personal work (art writings etc) bc wow i literally do it for my own entertainment it isn't serious things and i dont have any clients to please and work for... this is literally what i do for my own fun & sharing this only bc why not & to keep it somehow organised (i wish blogs had folders option tbh). and this feeling was so sincere & true like wow.... nature is clearing

[oathofkaslana]

i cant put my viet name as my display name bc i just know someones gonna mispronounce it in the most obnoxious way possible

[nebularobo]

I think I might give up on Tumblr

[cld-n]

skrillex is an interesting choice as a headliner replacement. Personally I wouldn’t say he is headliner material especially after frank ocean but I imagine it would be too stressful to have an artist replace him than a DJ

i mean he’s a great headliner for electronic music fests but it was defs an interesting choice for one like coachella but like you said they were probs opting for a DJ rather than artist esp after the drake thing at camp flognaw lol

[kifkay]

Winx & Specialists Dynamics that are so Precious to me

it makes sense that in the show, winx and their non-boyfriend specialists don’t interact much. but!! i’m very insane about codependent found families, and I want them all to love each other. so here’s my take on some tet-a-tet dynamics:

rare pairings:

Musa & Timmy: childhood frenemies. they used to go to the same middle school on Melody, and as type-A tweens do, had an intense, “you’re the only person I match myself to” kind of rivalry. they lost contact after Timmy moved away, chilled out considerably, reconnected in Alfea and had a wonderful banter-filled friendship since. because of how fast they slotted back into a friendship, some of their classmates genuinely thought they were siblings.

Tecna & Riven: got up from a rough patch. from “I dislike you but we both love Musa, so we have to be civil” to “you have more depths to you than I expected” to “now that I understand you, I can’t help but admire certain things about you” to “bitch, you are the only person who is as weird and clueless as I am, ARE YOU READY TO GO TO THE ARCADE AND ANNIHILATE KIDS FOR SHITS AND GIGGLES”

Flora & Brandon: little sister, older brother vibes. of similar temperaments and views, they enjoy spending time over a cup of tea — talking about everything and nothing. it’s therapeutic, almost.

(no one in the group knew that Brandon and Flo were good friends. once, when the two had to team up during a mission, Bloom couldn’t even finish saying: “it would be a good opportunity for you to get to know each ot-“, before the specialist-fairy duo were re-creating the most complicated and choreographed hand shake ever. jaws were on the floor.)

Aisha & Brandon: they are sporties, and they like doing sport things together! they don’t talk aside from exchanging brief encouragements and advice while out, preferring to spend their time in companionable silence. sorta like those dads who never talk to their buddies, but somehow have the strongest and longest bonds ever?

Helia & Bloom: artist besties. Bloom drags Helia out on picnics, where they practice observational drawing (and tiktok trends that Bloom desperately wants to reenact but none of the winx are good at arts); Helia responds by taking her out to see art museums in Magix. it’s a fun dynamic of Bloom being the bubbly gold retriever, and Helia being her black cat.

Tecna & Sky: they didn’t have much of a relationship until year 4. somehow, they both got really, intensely into weaponsmithing and built a joint workshop. they found that they enjoy working alongside each other and value each other’s insights. sky goes to tecna when he needs frank, un-sugarcoated advice, and tecna accompanies sky on hikes and other spirited adventures, for “bonding activities” (because he told her she doesn’t get out of her comfort zone enough). it’s a relationship of deep mutual respect.

Sky & Stella: childhood friends. they knew each other as children and enjoyed playing together (which is how Stella also knew Brandon pre-Red Fountaine). at least, until Stella was unofficially banned from Eraklyon because shenanigans, and they lost contact. they still jokingly call each other “My Lady” and “My Lord”.

Stella & Nabu. Both are flirty and extroverted people, who enjoy the spirit of showmanship. They have a friendly rivalry going of who can fluster the villain of the week the fastest.

canon bf-gf dynamics (dating in canon, open to interpretation otherwise):

Bloom x Sky: liked each other since the first meeting; bonded over being the friend group moms. (on unrelated note: bloom gentle parents her friends, while sky goes all exasperated cig mom on his team and repeats things like: “you better go to sleep right now, or so help me Dragon I will take away your Owl pilot privileges-“)

they are not the most outwardly affectionate couple of the winx, yet they are so wordlessly devoted to each other. sky will follow bloom to the ends of all dimensions, when she gets a calling from powers as mystical as she. bloom will always believe in him and see him as his own man, unlike the many who see him only as his father’s son. they were entwined by fate, long before one had met the other; yet, there’s the trust, the respect, the faith so strong — that could have only come from friendship forged and tested by fire.

Stella and Brandon: the hottest power couple; sole reason behind 60% of all student fairies/specialists/witches queer awakening.

they banter all. the. goddamn. time. these dorks are speaking a whole different language.

they are also most comfortable in each other’s company, being able to be their genuine, less polished selves. stella and brandon are both performers bred and born, playing the roles of a noble princess and a knight. it’s nice, to have a safe reprieve from all that acting.

Aisha and Nabu. their love was one that sneaked up on them. their distance, set by a discomfort at the idea of an arranged marriage, bridged as they transitioned from being reluctant comrades to friendly rivals to unwilling friends to best friends to “if someday the moon calls you by your name, don’t be surprised — because every night I tell her about you”

Tecna and Timmy: partners in crime, ride or die, sunny faith in each other — even when the other person doesn’t believe in themself. I have a whole post about them, go read that ;)

Flora and Helia: they are so. they are. they-

icons. the most romantic couple, the one that sets the standards, the one that gives their friends advice. they are extremely attentive to each other’s needs and tender with each other’s feelings.

flora can recite helia’s poems in her sleep, and trace his drawings with her eyes closed. helia brings mielle presents every time he stops by. flora has tea with helia’s dad every other tuesday; she keeps note of every time helia and saladin are supposed to meet up, to be able to whisk helia away after and distract him from his troubles. helia knows how to care of flora’s plants, and sends her lovingly assorted gift baskets semi-regularly.

Musa and Riven. their relationship is push and pull, is joy then sorrow.

it’s all in a drag of a cigarette, in the vortex of a starless night, in the hoarse laughter. “of all the people in the world, why did it have to be you?” she’ll say and smile.

“ I’m afraid we’re doomed, lover,” he’ll reply, faux-casually, and smile back. both of them will know it’s the truth.

their relationship was not built to last, not for the lack of love or try. maybe they were too similar — both headstrong, unbending, bleeding hearts. maybe they were just different enough not to understand their hurts. nevertheless, it was not built to last — but neither of them would ever bring to regret it. love prevails, no matter in what form in comes, or something like that.

[psychologeek]

prompt 15.08 - Love and Protect

Tim sighs and stretches his arms. One more interview and it's over for today. The last interview for the day is with one Jazz Nightingale, a psychology major.

"So, why did you apply for the Martha Wayne Scholarship?"

...

She's an interesting person. A small town girl with good grades and impressive resume. Yet she's alert as any other batkid - her eyes scan the room, and he's pretty sure she's armed.

Interesting.

They finish the interview, and as they shake hands, she freeze and then start running away.

Interviews ARE stressful, but usually people don't come out running. He check the security feed, trying to follow her, and find a strange scenario:

There's a a small girl in a pink dress, seating on the floor and crying as she hold some stuffed animal (wait... is it a ghost?)

Bruce kneeling by her, quietly trying to question her about her family.

"GET AWAY FROM HER, FRUITLOOP!" Is suddenly ahout as Jazz enter the screen and pick up the crying toddler.

"What happened, dear? Where's your brother?"

"mommy," The toddler start crying louder. "I wake up and you are not home. I think they take you and they cut you and-"

"hush, hush, honey. I'm here. I'm safe". Jazz says as she hold the kid tightly.

.....

Or: Ellie was captured and vivisactwd for a short tet traumatic time. She still has nightmares.

As a way to keep her from melting, CW got her to be around 4/5 years old, and the kids run away.

The Nightingales move to Gotham. Danny (16), his older sister Jazz (19) and her daughter Ellie (5).

The bats find about them as Jazz apply for scholarship.

There identities are fake, but they seem to be under some kind of wetness protection.

(there aren't many reasons that leave a single mom teen and her younger brother in witness protection).

The bats have their theories. Red Hood try to check from time to time about them.

Shenanigans happen.

[I go with anger managment. But I ALWAYS go with AM]

[imorynn]

⋆✩ 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐟𝐢𝐧𝐝𝐬 𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐭 ( l. calderu)

⋆✩ pairings : lilia calderu • fem!reader

⋆✩ warnings / mentions : depictions of mental health struggles, burnout, anxiety, emotional distress, comfort, mentions of nudity, baths, angst, fluff, lilia taking care of you! please prioritize your well-being

⋆✩ word count : 3k+

⋆✩ tags : @madamspellmans-met-tet

⋆✩ a/n : Please remember to be kind to yourself. Take breaks if you need to, allow yourself to feel, and seek comfort in the things that bring you joy and peace. You are never alone in your struggles, and your feelings — whatever they may be — are valid, you matter. This was a little heavy to write, but I hope this brings you a bit of comfort and joy <3

The room languished in dimness, its corners softened by the hesitant embrace of twilight, as another indistinct day bled into obscurity. A chaos of papers sprawled across the desk — half-filled notebooks, annotated drafts, and crumpled failures that bore the scars of fleeting inspiration turned sour. Shards of fractured thoughts clung to the edge of a ceramic mug, long abandoned, its contents a cold, bitter shadow of former comfort. Amidst the disarray, a faint, rhythmic clicking emanated from the keyboard, the cadence uneven — hesitant, then frenzied — as if each keystroke could carve coherence from the labyrinth of your mind.

Your body had betrayed you weeks ago. Sleep came in fits and bursts, cruel in its inadequacy, leaving you more fatigued upon waking than when you had closed your eyes. Standing for longer than a few moments brought on vertigo, the world tilting like a ship caught in a storm. Your legs trembled under you; your limbs would not stop from racketing. Even sitting upright had become an exercise in endurance, your focus slipping like grains of sand through tightened fists. Your day-to-day flow was unmoored, the concept of time fractured into pieces of light and shadow that no longer adhered to the clock. You could not help but feel hideous, an empty shell of the person you used to be. Even your brain, once sharp and unyielding, has turned against you. It demands stimulation, then recoils at the slightest effort, leaving you stultified and overwhelmed in equal measure. The cruel paradox is almost laughable, but you can’t even summon the energy for that.

Your posture betrayed the toll; shoulders curved under an invisible yoke, neck stiffened by hours of neglect, digits quivering with a fatigued urgency as they alternated between scrawling ink onto paper and translating disoriented thoughts onto the sterile glow of the monitor. The screen’s light painted your face in stark relief, illuminating knitted brows and eyes ringed with exhaustion.

Each line you wrote — whether traced by pen or clacked with desperate precision — felt both like a purge and a plea, a futile effort to wrest order from the chaos that churned within you. The words blurred together as you read and reread them, dissecting each syllable, cataloging for meaning in the spaces where meaning seemed to slip away. The soft hum of the computer blended with the shift of cushions beneath you and the whisper of paper beneath your hand, a symphony of toil that bore the weight of an unrelenting inner storm. And still, you could not stop. Could not stop chasing the fleeting promise that, perhaps, the next word might finally bring clarity — or at least silence— to the tempest.

Lilia had been patient — that is, at the beginning. Truth be told, she always harbored such grand patience when it came to you. She had tried coaxing you to bed with the tenderness of a woman who had weathered storms far greater than this, easing the pen from your clutch with soft murmurs that sought to bind you in reason. But reason, elusive and foreign, had long since slipped from your grasp. The days had obscured, each one bleeding into the next, and with them, so had her forbearance. What began as gentle encouragement turned to silent insistence, her words firmer, her gaze heavier, until tonight, she stood at the precipice of your unraveling.

Her figure filled the doorway, the tender light casting shadows across her features, etching worry into every delicate line. The ends of her maroon-tinted mouth, once so quick to curl into the warmest and loving smile for you, were clasped with exasperation, and her dark irises glimmered with something more profound than concern — a tightly woven twine of frustration, sorrow, and love she could no longer conceal.

She found you hunched on the couch, a blanket tangled around your clammy frame, loosely draping over your shoulders. You did not even notice her at first, too lost in the fog of your own misery.

Finally, she moved forward, her footsteps deliberate and unhurried, like the passing of time itself. Her shadow swept over you before her voice, low and lilting with its natural timbre, cut through the oppressive silence.

“Enough.” The utter was a soft command, steady but resolute.

You did not turn. Could not. Your gaze remained fixated on the page before you, though the words had long since dissolved into meaningless smudges. Ink bled into the fibers like a wound reopened again and again, staining your fingertips and every letter typed over, your palms, your very thoughts. “I can’t,” you rasped, barely audible, tone hollow and stretched thin. “I’m almost done.”

Her sigh was soft yet audible, a weight in the room that you couldn’t ignore. She stepped closer, the hems of her skirt grazing the floor before her silhouette draped over your hunched form like a caution. “No, you’re not. You’re grinding yourself into dust, darling.”

The truth in her words landed heavily, a stone descending into still water, the ripples quaking through your chest. Yet still, you refused to meet her eyes, refused to acknowledge her underlying honesty. “I said I can’t stop,” you snapped, the sharpness in your tone cracking under its own weight. “Don’t you get it, Lilia? If I stop, everything— everything, just for one second — it all falls apart. I fall apart.”

“And you think this is holding it together?” she retorted, her voice cutting, each remark peeling back another layer of your defiance. “Look at what you’re doing to yourself. Do you even remember the last time you slept? Ate something that wasn’t cold coffee or a stale bag of chips?” The coolness of her rings bit into her digits when they tightened their hold over the cushions, trembling faintly as if she were holding back something fiercer. “I can comprehend that all those things aren’t easy for you, but you’re killing yourself, piece by piece, and for what? To prove you’re enough? To push until there’s nothing left of you?”

The room seemed to diminish in size, her words closing in around you. The dull pain in your chest spasmed, a visceral reaction to the veracity you attempted so hard in brushing aside even if it lingered, it floated, it haunted. For a moment, the only sound was the faint hum of the computer and the shallow rasp of your breath, the silence all consuming. Anger and despair warred for control when your arms came up to push against the table in front of you causing her to slightly step back. “You don’t understand! — You don’t know what it’s like to feel this… this useless. To not even recognize your own body, your own mind. To fail at the one thing you’ve always been good at.”

Lilia’s expression softened, the sharp brinks of her frustration giving way to something deeper, sadder. What Lilia saw brought nothing but ache and pain to her poor heart. You were unwell, eyes ringed red, and bags beneath them practically the size of a quarter. While your complexion still carried its hue, it lacked the depth the sun and proper rest brought upon you. She moved closer, her movements deliberate but unthreatening, until she stood beside you, one of her hands grappling with wanting to reach out to still your trembling ones. “I understand more than you think,” she declared quietly, carrying the weight of centuries you could not begin to fathom. “But this… this isn’t strength.” Her hand gestured to the mess, to your body curled in on itself, to the dark hollows beneath your eyes.

“I’m not asking you to stop because I don’t understand,” she gently spoke now but no less wavering. “I’m asking because I do. I’ve been there, trying to outrun the weight of your mind, thinking you can carry it all alone. But you can’t. No one can. And if you keep going like this…” Her voice faltered for a moment. “If you keep going like this, I’m afraid there won’t be anything left of the woman I love to save.”

Her words hung in the air, heavy and unrelenting, like a mirror held too close — forcing you to confront the reflection of your unraveling. Your exhale clawed its way up your throat, and your hands finally went still when Lilia’s came in contact with them. The pen slipped from your grip, rolling to the edge of the desk before coming to a halt.

You wanted to argue at first, to push her away, but the fight had drained out of you. The tears came suddenly, unbidden, hot, and relentless, cascading down your cheeks. “I don’t know how to stop,” you whispered, words barely audible over the sound of your sobs. One of your hands came up to bury into your tangled hair, defiance slipping into a broken plea. “I don’t know how.”

The space between her shoulders welcomed your exhausted physique, arms encircling to swaddle you just right because gods, you needed this. Your head bowed into her chest as she drew you into her shawl, her heat, her strength, her homely fragrance. She did not shush you, feed you with false hopes or tell you it would be okay now; she simply held you, her hand stroking your hair despite its matted and disheveled state, her presence grounding you in a way that felt both painful and necessary. The sobs came in waves, wracking your body with a ferocity that left you gasping. Lilia held you as though you were something precious, palms cradling you with the utmost care, her lips falling over your forehead in murmured reassurances.

“Come, my love,” She reached down and she coaxed you gently to your feet. She wrapped an arm around your waist and you wrapped yours around her neck for stability.

She guided you into the bathroom, positioning your body over the closed toilet seat. “Sit here while I draw you a bath. ” You sat down with a sigh, tipping your head back against the wall behind the toilet and letting your eyelids flutter shut for a moment, trying to ignore the pounding of your temples. And although your eyes were closed, your brow remained quirked. As if even in your thoughts you came face to face with the problems you were trying to avoid. You heard the pause of movements before a soft kiss was met with your forehead, somewhat easing all the tightness you were undergoing, and that little smile of yours was enough for her to resume her actions.

You heard the streams of water running, followed by the soft shuffling of Lilia’s movements; she worked with quiet and deft efficiency, adding a few drops of oil that released a grounding aroma in the air. Steam rose around you and softened the edges of the room in gentle swirls, carrying the fragrance of herbs and oils — lavender, chamomile, a hint of rosemary. All serene and soothing within your aching lungs as you inhaled deeply. The tinge of citrine within the atmosphere made you open your eyes, already sensing your lover hovered above you.

Lilia’s chocolate browns swirled softly with compassion and love, leaking reassurance before she crouched between your legs. “Let me help you, my heart.” Her graceful fingers worked methodically to unbutton your shirt, to slip it from your shoulders with such a tenderness that made your throat tighten, blinking back tears at the nickname she tended to call you, your head dipping down. Her touch never lingered too long, never straying from what was necessary. When you were exposed before her, vulnerable in a way that has nothing to do with nudity, she does not gaze at you with pity or repugnance. Only love. Fierce, unyielding love.

She stood from between your legs and held her hands out for you to take, which you obliged. You delicately placed your hands in hers and stood up. She undid the string of your pants and slid them down your lower body as you stepped out of them.

“You don’t have to do anything,” she whispered when your forehead brushed her temple, her fingers moving to tuck a damp curl behind your ear.

You did not resist as she helped you into the water, the soaked warmth enveloping you like a cocoon. A soreness took over, yet you welcomed the capacity of it, the tension in your muscles unwinding in increments as the heat seeped into your aching joints. “I’ll go get you a towel and set out some fresh clothes.”

You trembled from its temperature, and while the act somewhat alleviated your body’s ache, it did not reach or thaw the hollow coldness concealed in your chest. You sat in the center of the tub, knees drawn to your bare chest, shoulders hunched like a battered bird too afraid to unfold its wings. The water glimmered faintly, lavender-scented and calm, a direct contrast to the tempest inside you. You stared blandly at the surface but could not bring yourself to move.

Lilia returned back into the bathroom and was met with your expression. The light pranced across her features — those soft laugh lines, her sharp cheekbones, and her ever-watchful gaze that had always seemed to see you, truly see you. You could not bring yourself to meet those eyes now.

“I don’t know why you bother,” you whispered, your voice brittle as a dried leaf, barely holding itself together. You brought your knees tighter into your abdomen, your gaze intended downward as though the clear dampness of it might envelop you entirely. “This isn’t me. I'm not going to stop — I’m not… that version of a person. I don’t even know who I am anymore.”

She tilted her head, silver locks framing her features in similar shape to a halo, but her eyes blazed with something sharper than sympathy — resolve. “You’re still you, y/n.”

You shook your head vehemently, tears glazing your eyes as you attempted to form the words that gnawed at your chest. “No, Lilia, I’m not. I’m not the person you fell in love with anymore.” The words spewed out, ragged and raw and shameful. “I’m nothing. I stand here, right before the debris of everything I was, and there’s nothing left — I’m nothing. I don’t even know how… how or why am I still existing.”

Her shawl was discarded, kneeling beside you as her hands, holding a washcloth, dipped into the water and wrung it before shuffling closer. “Tilt your head back for me,” she instructed softly. It was neither commanded nor meek — it was a simple request, spoken with the intimacy of someone who knew how to speak to you when words felt unbearable.

You obeyed, streams of warm water dampening your head. You groaned softly at the feel of warm water on your scalp, slowly letting yourself melt against her touch. Grabbing a bottle of shampoo, she poured a generous amount upon her palm before finding its way to your hair. Discarded from her signature rings, her fingers followed and worked through the unkempt tangles with infinite patience, scrubbing away the residue of neglect, her touch both practical and reverent.

“I know it’s hard to stop,” she began, her hands moving in leisured, circular motions. “You think if you stop, everything will fall apart. That there’s no time to rest. But your body is telling you otherwise. You need to learn and listen. You are wrong, you aren't debris. You are not a ruin.”

A dry and bitter laugh emerged, and you glanced at her finally, your tears uniting with the water droplets pelting your skin, not even sparing a care if the burn of suds collided with your vision. “Look at me,” you croaked. “Look at me, Lilia. I can barely stand without falling over. I can’t sleep. I can’t think. My body is falling apart, my mind’s barely hanging on, my heart — the very heart you say that’s yours and that you love isn’t good! You're right, there's nothing left to save! And I don’t — I don’t know how to put it all back together.” Your breath hitched as a sob tore through you. “I don’t know why you’re still here. I wouldn’t blame you if you didn’t — if you didn’t love me anymore.”

“How dare you.”

You blinked, taken aback, oxygen cutting off as you completely met her gaze. Her orbs were moistened, yet they were fierce, unfaltering in their intensity.

“How dare you think so little of my love,” she spoke firmly and loudly and hurt laced every utterance. Foamed fingers wounded around your shoulders and turnt you towards her in one smooth motion. “Do you think my love is conditional? That it’s so fragile, so shallow, that it would shatter because you are struggling? You, who have shown and given me everything — every piece of yourself, every ounce of your light, your soul, who has taught me to find my way back. Do you think I would abandon you now, when you need me most?”

Her words demolished you, the sheer force of them tearing through the walls you had built around your remorse and despair. Streaks of tears once more down your drenched cheeks, her thumbs stroking them away, her fingers swiftly swatting back the mingled water and soap from your eyes as she tipped your chin up and lightly kissed your forehead.

“My darling girl, let me continue helping you. Let me take care of you. You do not have to endure this all alone.”

With a soft nod from you and another kiss from her, this time directed to your lips, she gently turned you around and proceeded to wash your hair, thoroughly swilling every bit.

She then gathered a washcloth and preferred body wash, dipped it into the water, and rubbed it together to get it foamed. She washed you with exact loving care, moving the immersed rag over your tired muscles, cleansing away the grime and the heaviness of the past weeks. She hummed softly under her breath — a melody you do not recognize but find comforting in the velvet brittle of her octave nonetheless — and you close your eyes, surrendering to her ministrations.

"Your hand?" As she uprose fully, without wasting a second you gave her your fingers to hold, and she steadied you onto your feet as you stepped out. She huddled you out of the tub and bundled you in the fuzziest towel you loved. One palm cradled the curve of your cheek while the other steadied upon your covered waist. "let's get you dressed, my love."

You sat at the hem of the bed, partaking in drying yourself up — though she wouldn't allow it — as she smoothed your lotion over your parched skin, gingerly taking in the way the ointment dissolved across your shoulders that was ensued with a soft kiss.

"You are not debris," she repeated as she slid your limbs into fresh and comfy clothes, aware of the way your eyes brimmed with tears. "You are not a ruin, and you most certainly are not 'nothing'." Her movements were unhurried, as though time itself had decelerated and permitted her this moment to care for you.

She does not allow you to lift a finger, guiding you to the bed with a patience that feels endless. The sheets were warm, the pillows plumped just so, and she tucked you beneath the blankets before nestling in beside you. Those cinnamon brown pools engulfed you in their safety assisted with the loving strokes of her fingers upon the side of your face. "If you fall, I will be there to catch you. If you cannot sleep, I will hold you. If you cannot think, then allow me to hold those thoughts for you. If you fall apart, and your mind is barely grasping onto reality, I am going to help build you up again, and again, and again. Every version of you, I love and will continue to love. You are here right now, and that is all that matters to me."

Her arms embraced you in a way that left no ounce for uncertainty —you are hers, and she will care for you, no matter how broken you feel. The pads of her fingers continue soothing patterns on your back, her lips landing in tender kisses on your temple, the crown of your head, your soaked cheeks. “You are not a burden,” The warmth of her words bristled through your shaggy tresses. “You are my love. My heart, do you understand? Let me hold you.”

And so you do. You give her the privilege to hold you, relinquishing to her love. It does obliterate the chaos or untangle the knots within you— it simply cannot, unfortunately. Though in her arms, the compressing load you have carried alone for so long felt just a fraction lighter. The tightness in your chest eased, the burn in your throat subsided, and the tears you have been swallowing for the past days ebbed. You nestled your head in the hollow of her neck, her heartbeat lulled your aching bones, your broken soul, your tender flesh, and you let those tired eyes of yours flutter shut with the feel of her lips grazing your forehead.

[writingwithcolor]

Author with cultural disconnect: How do I write without making it seem as if I hate my own heritage?

Anonymous asked:

I’m a white-passing Asian author, and I’ve never felt all that connected with my heritage. My current story centers on a fairy (re: fantasy-world POC) child and ends with her realizing that her parents are toxic af and her human best friend’s family takes her in. This is the perfect opportunity to sort through my own issues with my heritage and finally convince my monkey-brain that it’s okay to not know how to cook Vietnamese food or celebrate tet or speak Vietnamese… But I also realize that if I’m not careful, this could easily slip into “Hey, I hate my heritage and so should you!” So how can I stop that from happening?

Writing for yourself first, not an audience

I ask you a simple question: why put pressure on yourself to have any sort of non-offensive messaging for a story that hasn’t been drafted yet and is to convince your monkey brain it’s okay to exist as yourself?

That seems like the fastest way to stop the story from being actually cathartic and instead a performance art piece when you already feel hung up on performing as “properly” part of your culture.

As I said in Working Through Identity Issues and Other Pitfalls of Representation, not all stories you write need to be for public consumption. Especially stories you’re using for your own self-processing and therapy, because you’re trying to get a cathartic moment that is rewriting your own story.

At what point does the public need to be involved in that?

I do understand the compulsion to want to post—I have definitely posted some Questionable™ material in my drive to get validation for feeling the way I do, wanting people to witness me and say “same.” It’s a powerful urge. Sometimes it’s worked, but most of the time it’s just made me feel horrifically exposed.

But you really do not have to post in public to get any sort of validation. Set up a groupchat with friends if you want the cheerleading and witnessing—people who will know your story and give you good-faith interpretations and won’t accuse you of anything. Honestly I’d suggest setting up this groupchat anyway; as someone who just got one again after quite a few years without it, my productivity has skyrocketed from being around supportive people.

Let the monkey brain have its monkey brain moment and shut off the concept the story is for the public. Shut off the concept of performing for an unknown audience. It’s for you. Be authentic, no matter how bad it would look to outsiders. They’re not reading it. Part of getting catharsis, sometimes, is being the worst version of yourself, somewhere nobody else can see it.

Deciding to publish the work

If, after you do write it, you find that you actually do want to polish it up and put it somewhere… edit it. Rewrite it entirely if that’s what it takes. Take the story through the same drafting process every story needs to go through, ripping out the unfortunate implications as you go.

Editing can be its own form of healing, as you try to figure out what this character would need to not be hateful. As you realize, once this longform journal entry is out of your head, what was bothering you now that you can see it pinned down on a page. But you absolutely do not need to write with the intention of editing in that healing. When I’ve tried, it’s fallen flat.

The healing will come from being yourself, no public involved, and writing about your feelings in their rawest form. Anything else is extra.

There’s no point in trying to put guard rails on the drafting process, not for a deeply personal piece. And by the time that drafting process is done, you’ll likely have specific scenarios and contexts that you can ask about, and you might even have ideas on how to fix it yourself once the story has a shape to it.

This is 100% a situation where there’s no real sense in idea workshopping something in the plotting stage. You’re doing something for you. Decide if it’s for public consumption later (while acknowledging “no” is a perfectly valid answer), and only figure out how to make the story not overtly harmful if you decide to put it out into the public.

~ Leigh

[sha-lyuzar]

Loghain Mac Tir is my comfort character. It is not often a pleasant thing to admit, and my reasons are complex, and personal, but fundamentally what makes me so attached to him is how human he is. That kind of depth and complexity is what made me fall in love with Dragon Age in the first place. He’s not just a “noble hero” or an “evil villain,” but a fully realized person who embodies good and evil, and everything inbetween, who is shaped by his past and his deeply personal convictions, his flaws, his fears, his fierce love for Ferelden, and, most importantly his tragic mistakes, that lost him everything, and that is what makes him feel so real to me.

He doesn’t have an easy narrative arc. He’s not driven by simple greed, cruelty, or even by misguided idealism. He’s a survivor with wounds that never fully healed, and those wounds shape the way he sees the world and interprets threats. Every heinous decision and tragic mistake is a direct consequence of his loyalty to Ferelden and Maric, and his willingness to bear the burden of horrific choice. He has been bleeding for his cause since he was a child, and it has turned him into the same kind of cruel and cold tyrant He fought against in the first place, and watching him struggle to hold true to his values, and eventually abandon them, as his path grows darker and more isolating, is this profoundly tragic thing that to me is infinitely more compelling than a classic Hero's Journey.

What Loghain did in the Alienage is deeply disturbing and inexcusable. Using Tevinter slavers to control and exploit the elves is one of the darkest points in his character arc. It’s a choice that reveals just how far he’s willing to go to maintain control and secure his idea of Ferelden’s “independence,” even at the cost of his own morality, so He lets in a foreign power to abduct and subjugate the citizens he claims to be protecting. It unveils the extremes of his desperation and paranoia, because in his mind, he’s protecting Ferelden, but in reality, he’s perpetrating the very kind of oppression he once fought against. It is dark, it is horrific, it is unforgiveable, and that is the whole point.

He has to confront the devastation he’s caused, and he can’t simply brush it aside as a “necessary evil.”. If he joins the Grey Wardens, his path involves acknowledging these grave mistakes, taking responsibility, and finding a way to live with the guilt. There is no reconciliation for his actions, his fear and trauma may explain but never excuse what he did. There is no easy way out. Loghain is stained with the blood he shed forever. He has to live with having failed, with the compounded weight of his actions and regrets, and, if he joins the Wardens, he isn't even granted the mercy of a quick and clean death, and instead is exiled from the country he poured everything he had into.

And doesn't this resonate? Does this not perfectly reflect the difficult reality of being human? How people can be fiercely protective, deeply flawed, and driven by complicated motivations, and that these qualities make them more worthy of understanding, not less? Loghain’s arc speaks to me on such a deep and personal level, especially as someone who has been battling the demons of trauma. His story is a vivid reminder that trauma doesn’t always make us better people, but exacerbates our struggles and can lead us down dark paths. i see parts of my own struggles in Loghain, i understand his pain, his fear, the choices his past self would loathe him for, and the gnawing self-hate, regret and grief.

Trauma twists our intentions like that. Instead of guiding us toward empathy and understanding, it clouds our judgment, and pushes us to make decisions we later regret, and become versions of ourselves we hate. My reality of trauma has not been this character building experience, the way it is often depicted in media, but something harrowing and life-altering, that still poisons me, even years later. But seeing a character lose all tether to himself and get lost in his demons is a tale worth telling, and an experience that still grips me, even 15 years after playing DA:O for the first time. Seeing Loghain live through rock bottom in DA:O, and then, ten years later in DA:I find purpose and whatever semblance of peace is possible in his circumstance, is something that gives me comfort. It is deeply personal, and i keep this unforgiveable and irredeemable, this grief-stricken and regret-filled man, this complicated and multifaceted character deep in my heart.

There are spoilers for datv under the cut. Major spoilers about the end of the game. If you have not played through yet, please don't be tempted to look. i thought i would be fine with spoilers, but i am not. You have been warned.

All of this is rendered moot by the ending of datv. By a throwaway line. i have been spoilered by this online, and have not reached this point in the game myself, yet, but it leaves me feeling a lot of ways, and it hits me hard. It feels like everything i found relatable in his struggle, everything that made him so human, is suddenly taken away. If his actions weren’t truly his own, and he was being puppeteered by old gods magic, then what does that mean for the weight of his choices? It feels like a betrayal of everything that made up his character, a character who has grappled with his trauma and made terrible choices, yes, but ones that were driven by his own will and conviction, always.

The complexity of his journey, the depth of his remorse, and the struggle for a new purpose, all become overshadowed by this new twist. It threatens to erase the beautiful, painful, and human truth of what it means to confront one’s demons and seek understanding in the aftermath of suffering, what it means to reassess and take accountability for your actions and do the hard, dirty, and thankless work of bettering the irredeemable, bit by bit, piece by piece, so that one day you may draw a breath and feel just a bit of that weight eased.

But no, he was just a victim all along. He has no agency, his self-actualisation is lost on him, he was never responsible for himself. It feels like one of Dragon Age's most complex characters has been flattened down into cardboard.

[somethinginthewayiam]

The girl behind the bar (Part 3)

pairing: Jake Hangman Seresin x plus-size reader

warnings: banter, fluffy Jake (if you squint)

words: 3.3k

Summary: Jake brings a date to the bar and she is not, well, the nicest person alive. Which is kind of expected of him but still annoying. Thankfully, Maverick convices Penny to close the bar early to sneak off and you close up. You start singing along to your playlist while you cleaned up, thinking you're alone at the bar...

a/n: The songs used in this chapter are Blue Eyes Forever by Charlotte OC and Ceilings by Lizzie McAlpine, if you want to listen to them while you read.

Link to my masterlist

"Can I play something for you, Darlin'?", Jimmy asked on his way to the storage room, passing the Jukebox. The bar had just opened and you and Jimmy were holding down the fort until Penny was supposed to come in later that evening.

"Could I have some Hall & Oates, please?", you mentioned with a smile. "I got you", the old man smiled and pressed some buttons on the old machine.

You make my dreams come true started playing.

"Oh Jimmy, you know me too well", you cooed at him, betting your eyelashes and shooting him a smile.

You started to sing along to yourself while you polished some glasses and put the beer from the box into the cooler. As you were crouched down, you didn't see a new patron approaching the bar.

"You make my dreams come true", you sang as you got up and suddenly found yourself face to face with a grinning Hangman.

"Only if you're a good girl", he said, accompanied with a cocky smile. "Barf", you said dryly and rolled your eyes.

You checked the big clock on the wall behind him. 5:10 PM. "It’s Tuesday, do you not have a job?", you simply asked.

"So, just anybody can give you a nickname but me?", he ignored your question and asked his own. For a second, you didn't know what he meant, but then you remembered that Jimmy had called you Darling just before. You were already so used to him calling you that.

"By god, she's got it! Good job, Eliza Doolittle", you mockingly cheered him on, booping his nose with your finger. He flicked your finger away like it was an annoying fly.

“What can I get you?”, you asked him. “The usual”, he simply stated and put his credit card on the counter, his typical sign to open his tab for the night. “So, a Tet-shot and the morning after pill for whoever fell for your bullshit?”, you suggested and gave him the sweetest smile. “What do you think of me?”, he asked playfully shocked, a hand on his chest.

“Only the worst”, you told him as you put the bottle of beer in front of him and the smile on your lips took the harshness out of your words. He shot you another wink as he grabbed his drink and left for the darts board.

You hated to admit it, even just to yourself, but your shift was always more fun when Hangman was around. Someone to look out for, someone to be excited to see. That this was all just one-sided wasn't even a question to you. Every time you felt that way about someone, as annoying as they might be, it was always one-sided. And even on the off chance it wasn't, you never dared to ask and nobody ever came forward. So, as always, you shot him another glance and kept on working.

Later that evening, the others arrived at the bar, too, as always gathering at the pool table. You brought over a trey of beers that the group had ordered.

"There you go. Phoenix, Fanboy, Bob, Coyote, and Eliza", you said as you placed the last beer in front of Hangman.

Fanboy almost did a spit-take as he had just taken a sip of his drink. "Excuse me, what?", Phoenix asked and she didn't do a great job at suppressing her laughter.

"Just a little inside joke we got, don't we, Lizzie?", you turned to Hangman. He chose to remain silent but the look he gave you let you know that you were gonna pay for that joke at some point.

But for now, you took the win of shutting him up.

For a Wednesday night it was surprisingly full at the bar and Jimmy was not in after requesting a sick-day. You and Penny had your hands fulfilling all the orders. Even though you had some practice by now, you were still lacking in speed compared to Penny.

You spotted your usual group at a table in the middle of the bar, letting other people play pool for once. But you noticed that Hangman was missing tonight. It was odd to you, but you didn’t think much of it.

Until he came in at around half past 9 with a tall blonde on his arm. She was dressed in an expensive-looking short dress and looked totally out of place between the khaki uniforms and informal clothing on all the other patrons. She looked like the type country club, my daddy bought me a horse for Christmas kind of girl. The Hard Deck was clearly Hangman’s idea, who was not wearing his khaki uniform for once but a black pair of jeans and a white dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. If you didn’t already know him as part of the bar’s interior, you would also find his appearance here out of place.

Your eyes followed the pair to the table of Hangman’s colleagues, his date getting introduced to the others. They all exchanges polite smiles and hellos. When the woman sat down, she let her eyes wander over the place, looking a little disgusted. You could tell that this was not the place she thought the night would bring her to. She took off her cardigan and hung it over the back of her chair before she even attempted to lean back.

There was no use of prolonging the wait, you would have to get over there to take their order. Also, the glasses of the others looked rather empty as well. You took a deep breath and walked over to the full table.

“Welcome to the Hard Deck. What can I get you?”, you welcomed the woman and smiled at her politely. She looked up at you with an annoyed face. Her eyes let you know where your place in her world was. You were the help.

“Do you have anything here that costs more than 10 dollars?”, she asked and the tone in her voice could only be described as disgusted. “I can sell you everything for at a least twenty if you prefer it”, you commented, trying to knock her ego down a peg. It wasn’t like you didn’t have any practice with Hangman.

You heard some suppressed chuckles from the others but kept your eyes on Hangman’s date. “Excuse me? You better watch your tone or I’ll will have to talk to your manager”, she snapped at you. And she couldn’t take a joke. Great taste, Hangman.

You swallowed and took a moment to calm yourself before you spoke again. “I apologize. We have a very good Chardonay you might like, Karen”, you said to her instead but couldn’t help yourself at the end. Another round of chuckles behind you. “My name is not Karen, it’s Whitney”, she told you and her tone got more indignant. She looked over at Hangman, looking for support of her outrage.

“She will have the Chardonay and I’ll have a beer, please”, he said, ignoring his date. You nodded and then turned to the others. They ordered another round of drinks and you basically fled towards the bar.

Penny was overrun by a new group that had just entered the bar and you helped her out before you prepared the drinks for the table and brought them over there.

“Here’s your Chardonay”, you said and placed the glass of wine in front of the woman. “About time”, she only mumbled, no Thank you or even eye-contact. Lovely girl, you thought to yourself.

“Here’s your beer”, you placed the bottle in front of Hangman. “Thank you, Y/N”, he said and shot you a smile. You looked at him a little weirded out. The please before was already a little out of character for him.

“What?” he asked innocently. “Nothing, you’re just weirdly nice”, you simply said and kept placing the drinks in front of the guys. “I’m always nice”, he countered and a little mischievous glimpse was back in his eyes as he followed your round around the table. “Oh yeah, I’m always so touched by the empathy you display every time you’re here”, you said and put a hand over your heart, pouting your lips, holding the empty trey in your free hand and letting it hang down your side.

Whitney watched your exchange with a watchful eye and put her hand on his thigh, seemingly displaying some sort of ownership. “Do you come here often, Jakey?”, she asked the man to her left, a warning tone in her voice not to say the wrong thing. Whatever that may be. You and Phoenix exchanged a glance over the heads of the others, both of you biting down a smile.

“No, Darling, only when these knuckleheads drag me here. They can’t have fun without me”, Jake told her and she seemed satisfied with his answer. “We drag him here?”, Coyote whispered to Payback, who was sitting right in front of where you stood.

“It’s true, he’s not here often, but he certainly leaves an impression”, you chimed in before anyone could say something. Hangman looked up at you and you couldn’t tell if he was waiting for you to say something compromising or silently thanking you for having his back in this lie.

“Alright, just yell for me if you need anything else”, you said and finally left their table. It was getting uncomfortable and you were glad that you had a good reason to get out of there. After looking at some of the faces of the guys you could tell that they were just as uncomfortable.

“Come on, Penny. We’ll just sneak out of here”, you heard Maverick say as you came back to the bar circle. “I can’t just leave, not when it’s that packed”, you heard your boss answer but the tone of her voice let you know that she actually wanted to.

“I can finish the evening”, you just entered their conversation and they both shot up like they were planning some secret mission. “No, you can’t handle this many people on your own”, Penny said and took a look at the still pretty well filled bar. “No offense”, she quickly added. “None taken, you’re probably right”, you said and scanned the bar as well. “But you can close early”, you suggested.

“That’s right”, Maverick agreed and you both looked at Penny with raised eyebrows. Your boss looked at your faces and chewed her bottom lip. “It’s your place, you run the show”, Maverick added. You nodded agreeingly. You also wouldn’t mind to get off early. “I’ll clean up, I can definitely manage that”, you offered. “She’ll clean up”, Maverick repeated. Penny contemplated for a few more moments, then she sighed defeatedly.

“Okay, I’ll close early”, she gave in and you and Maverick high-fived. Penny walked over to the bell and rang it. “Last call!”, she shouted and a common groan erupted from the crowd. “Alright, settle down. It’s still my bar”, she added and waved off their protests.

While you were handing out the last drinks of the night, Penny asked repeatedly if you were okay to close up on your own and you waved it off. “I’m working here, aren’t I? And I have to learn sometime. You don’t always want to stay ‘til last call, don’t you?”, you said. She answered you with a smile and handled the register.

When everybody was finally out and Penny had left with Mav, you were suddenly alone. It was weirdly quiet compared to before when the room was filled with people. So, you took out your phone and put on your Spotify playlist while you started to clean up.

You collected glasses and bottles from all over the place. You even found a cardigan on the chair that Hangman’s date was sitting on. You grabbed it to put it behind the bar for when she came back for it. It was a warm night though, so she probably wouldn't notice right away. The urge to wipe the counter with it was almost overwhelming. Instead of following the urge, you placed it somewhere safe as it looked expensive and was probably worth more than your month’s salary.

You continued cleaning up and started to sing along to the song that was currently playing. It was Blue Eyes Forever by Charlotte OC, one of your favorites.

“But when we talk in the middle, in the middle of the night. Oh, we get closer every time. But when we meet in the middle, I feel the clarity rise. Oh, it moves over, straight from your eyes”, you sang as you put the glasses in the basket for the dishwasher. It wasn’t like singing Karaoke with friends or the impromptu concert with Rooster a couple of weeks ago. You got really into it since you were all alone and nobody could hear you.

“Blue eyes forever, oh oh oh. Blue eyes forever, oh oh oh”, you kept singing and grabbed the dishtowel to wipe down the counter

“I actually have green eyes”, you heard from the door and you jumped in surprise. You spun around to where the voice had come from only to find Jake Hangman Seresin of all people standing there.

Shit, did he hear you sing? He must have. Why else would he say that?

“Jesus Christ, you scared me”, you said as you put a hand over your heart that was racing like crazy. You turned away from him again, seemingly to finish wiping off the counter and putting the damp towel back in the small sink behind the bar. You mostly needed a moment to collect yourself. You felt so embarrassed that he had heard you sing. You thought you were all alone for the rest of the night, singing like you only did when you thought no one would hear you.

You heard his steps coming closer, resting his underarms on the bar top when he arrived across from where you were standing. You turned down the music on your phone.

“You have a beautiful voice”, he said and as much as you looked for it in his face, you couldn’t find any hint of mockery. Hangman and an honest compliment? Were you in the Upside Down?

“Thanks”, you said, still startled, and blushed a bit. “What are you doing here? We’re closed”, you asked, still in disbelief that he was nice to you. “My date forgot her cardigan”, he finally disclosed why he was back here so soon. “Ah, and she doesn’t put out if she doesn’t have her precious cardigan?”, you said and a smile creeped on your face, revealing the joke. “The chances are better with it”, he answered, also with a smile, indicating that he wasn’t here purely out of a gentlemanly gesture.

“I’ve got it here”, you said and walked the few steps over to where you put it for safe keeping. You handed him the garment and when he took it from you, his fingertips brushed along your fingers. You were sure he didn’t even notice it, but it sent an electric jolt up your arm.

As soon as he had it in his hand, you pulled your arm back, putting your other hand over the one Jake had just touched, folding it in front of you. Your fingers still tingled. You almost rolled your eyes at yourself for this stupid reaction.

“Thank you”, he said, glad that it hadn’t got lost somewhere else. “Now you can be her knight in shining armor when you bring back her precious cardigan”, you said with a chuckle and grabbed the broom from behind you. You came around the bar to sweep up the peanut shells that were scattered all over the floor. “And you’re Cinderella?”, he asked jokingly, nodding at the broom. “Yeah, well, there are other balls, I’ll dance another time”, you said with a shrug of your shoulders and a light smile.

Jake looked at you for a moment before he lifted his hand for a goodbye. “I’ll see you around, have a good night”, he said. “Yeah, you too”, you answered.

You didn’t wait for him to leave the room, you turned around and turned the music louder on your phone again. Your playlist had kept playing while you talked to Jake. Now it played Ceilings by Lizzie McAlpine, a slow song. The mood to sing along was gone anyway, you were too afraid someone else would show up again.

You started moving the broom over the floor but you only managed to get about three sweeps in before you felt a hand on your shoulder. When you looked up, it was Jake again. Without saying a word, he took the broom out of your hands and leaned it against the bar.

He grabbed your right hand with his left and put his right hand on your lower back. You looked at him with big eyes, too stunned to speak.

“You get your dance now, Cinderella”, he winked at you and started to sway you to the slow music. With his hand on your back, he pushed you closer to him and slowly moved both of you in a circle.

You were aware of every single spot where your bodies touched, beginning with his big, warm hand clasping yours. You were afraid he could hear how fast your heart was pounding.

He removed his hand from your back only to have you spin around which made you giggle lightly and then pull you back in, even closer this time. He put his hand which was holding yours against his chest, pulling your arm with his. He put his hand on top of yours which meant your hand was placed directly on his heart. You felt how hard his peck was beneath his shirt and swallowed. You looked up only to find those green eyes of his looking down at you. He held your gaze while he moved your bodies slowly from side to side. His hand on your back slid a little lower but you almost didn’t notice it because you were so hypnotized by his eyes. Almost.

“Bedsheets, no clothes. Touch me like nobody else does” came out of the speakers of your phone and you suddenly became very aware of the lyrics of the song. It made you swallow hard. You wanted to look away but you couldn’t. Did he notice the lyrics, too?

His fingertips felt like they were burning through your shirt, leaving permanent marks on your skin. Instinctively, you licked your lips. Jakes eyes darted down to your mouth and back up to your eyes. He seemed lost in thought for a moment.

You both got snapped out of your stare as the broom fell over and hit the floor with a loud bang.

As soon as the moment had come, it was over again. The song drained out as the two of you stopped moving. Like you were both snapping back to reality, you let go of each other.

You opened your mouth and inhaled to say something but you didn’t know what, so you closed it again. Was a Thank you appropriate? Did that mean anything? Did he just want to be nice? But Hangman wasn’t nice. Your head was spinning as all kinds of thoughts invaded your brain.

Hangman looked at you for a second longer, then turned around, grabbed his date’s cardigan off the bar top and left the bar for good this time.

With shaky hands you grabbed the broom off the floor and held on to it for dear life. Your heart was still pounding rapidly. You weren’t even sure if it had actually happened or if it was just a day-dream of yours if it wasn’t for the hand you still felt on your back like an echo. That was something you couldn’t dream up.

Next chapter: Part 4.1

[jjoannii]

“Bewitched, Bothered and Bewildered”

I had a vision and ran with it, I’m not sure I’ve executed it the way I would have liked to but here it is!

This took forever, I can’t even lie. Mostly because I kept getting distracted by the genuinely otherworldly fics that came out in the last week or so… ( @aggieharkness @madamspellmans-met-tet, you’re doing the lords work, if you ever need a kidney- I’m your girl. I mean it, I owe you both my life)

Also, thank you to darling @renafisher27 for just being the loveliest person in the world and telling me to keep going with this!! You are a sweet angel sent from the sky!!

(I can’t do hair and nor do I claim to be able to, so please just let it slide or I’ll cry xoxo)

[yourbasicqueerie]

I just want to quickly give a lil shoutout to my beautiful and amazingly smart mutuals, if u follow me and like my gay shit then pleaaaase for the love of god consider following them and taking a look at their things! I adore every single one of y'all! Xx

 @jubshead - I mean how could she NOT be in here! Mother slays everytime

@nyoclosmom - the one and only, their art is top tier and genuinely one of the funniest ppl ever. ALSO MY WIFE GUYS LOOK ITS MY WIFE I LOVE MY WIFE GO FOLLOW MY GORGOUES AND BEAYUTIFUL AND AMAIZNG WIFE I LOVE MY WIFE

@tremordusk - if u want to talk abt having the best incorrect quotes in this fandom they’re the person to do so.

@timeforaneclipse - characterization and storytelling to its finest! 

@lalchimiedecupid - sooooo inherently poetic and for no reason at all other than for fun! My Arabic cousin ily

@endOr4 - BEST FUCKING GIF MAKER IVE EVER SEEN IN MY WHOLE LIFE 

@acricketcannot - my lovely daughter in law who’s almost (if not) as crazy as I am.

@holyblanchett - SUCH a simp, and I mean this in the best fucking way possible!

@multixfan - Patti Lupone extraordinaire, also MAMA THE EDITS EAAATTTTT

@ariascoven - Brazilian pookie with the best teacher fics in town

@madamspellmans-met-tet - darling don’t u get stomach aches from eating every single time???? I need to know ur secret

@sapphicjew - the author of some of the best comments I’ve ever received.

@idkwhatever580 - creator of the besttt fake tweets on the AAA fandom, I cackle every single time.

@morgaynas - Brazilian pookie with unlimited musical theater knowledge.

@confuseuniverse - the original milf shipper, and so fucking funny too.

@literally-lillias-wife - fellow Lilia simper I salute u 🫡

@insane-hag - AMAZING taste for fandoms. And quite literally insane about them too!

@slut4alicewu - THE Alice blog who I have mistaken for an Alice RP account WAY too many times lmao.

@shinramyunnoodles - literally infinite Patti Lupome knowledge and also THE hand artist.

@amethyst-bitch - contrary to this divas name, she's a literal sweetheart!!! 🫶 

@im-a-carnivorous-plant - I don't even know what to say because I'm fangirling to hard to utter words.

@covenofagatha - fangirling way to hard to be humanly possible pt. 2

@valkyriekain - have yet to interact with them but I just love their blog sm!

@nightmare-of-homophobes - THE person to talk with about Reno Sweeney and “blow Gabriel blow” also ANOTHER Brazilian pookie.

@gayalfredprufrock - I mean do I need to explain myself??? The pfp says it all already! Also, great thoughts on avis

@gayestswiftie - mama u so live up to ur name on here! Fellow wife sharer too!

@aggieharkness - I've YET to make the cookies they so generously sent me the recipe of! Other than seemingly a great baker, such a great writer and person too.

@renafisher27 - one of the greatest Patti simps out there!

@gilmoresliarss - their blog name says it all ngl.

@chiefofmilfs - bruh I've got to talk to u!! So so so so fucking funny!

@polaris-likethestar - my beautiful and amazing daughter than can never do any wrong even tho she prefers her other mother.

@mandy-asimp - YOU WANT TO TALK ABOUT LEGENDARY FICS WITH GREAT CARS IN THEM? YOUVE GOT UR GIRL!

@liliastriangle - couldn't end on a better note! The best commenter ever! I appreciate u sm doll 🫶🫶

Thank you everyone for making my day a lil better! Happy (vry late) Christmas to all whom celebrate and an early happy new years for all whom celebrate too!