#you can wiggle different meanings out of it but it’s important that both these people that the fandom likes to pit against each other

[bucksboobs]

Btw I think it’s incredibly important to the long term of BuckTommy that both Tommy and Eddie encouraged Buck to mend things with the other. Tommy doesn’t want his presence to interfere with BuckAndEddie as a unit and Eddie wants Buck to be happy with Tommy, and both those things are spelled out in back to back episodes.

[woso-dreamzzz]

Visit

Hardersson x Child!Reader

Fridolina Rolfö x Child!Reader

Part of The Big Adventures Universe

Summary: You visit your moster

Heat training for Chelsea happens in Spain this year.

You don't really like it when you have to get on a plane for heat training. It sucks but this year you're going to Spain.

That means you get to see moster Frido.

"Her schedule is tucked into her bag," Morsa says to moster Frido as Momma hangs up your coat and puts away your shoes," And no sweets or sugary drinks. She can't come near kiwi, bananas or avocados. No latex either. Her epipen is in her little bag and you need to keep it with you-"

"Magda," Frido laughs," I know how to look after her. Go, you've got to make it back to Madrid tonight."

"Be good for Frido," Momma says to you, kissing the top of your head," Use your manners and be nice. I love you."

"Love you," You chirp back, giving her a big kiss on the cheek before doing the same to Morsa.

"We'll call you tonight," Morsa says," Love you."

Momma and Morsa are practicing in Madrid but you wanted to see moster Frido in Barcelona so they brought you over to stay with her for a few days.

"They're gone," Frido reports as Momma and Morsa get in the rental car," Do you want cake?"

"Cake!"

Three slice of cake and a tummy ache later, there's a knock at the door.

"Ingrid!" You cheer.

You don't know Ingrid as well as you know moster Frido but you still like her a lot. She used to play at Wolfsburg with Momma and she's very fun.

"Hey, y/n!"

You run into her arms and she hoists you up in the air. You peek over her shoulder to see a smaller girl behind her. You cock your head to the side.

"This is Mapi," Ingrid says," She's my girlfriend."

"You've got words on your neck," You tell Ingrid's girlfriend," And pictures on your arms."

"They're tattoos."

"My Momma and Morsa have tattoos," You say," But you have lots."

You wiggle out of Ingrid's arms to stand by Mapi. She crouches down next to you and points out all of her different ones.

"Ingrid," You say," Your girlfriend is so cool!"

You pull Mapi all the way over to the sofa, pushing her to sit on it before scampering off to bring the rest of the cake. It's on a big plate and you have to walk carefully so you don't drop it.

"Careful," Frido says, taking it from you to put on the table.

You nod and wedge yourself between Mapi and Ingrid. You point at a few of Mapi's tattoos, tracing them over with your finger with a tilted head.

Ingrid's girlfriend Mapi is very cool and you like that she's explaining all of her tattoos to you, even taking off her socks so you can see the ones on her feet.

"Ingrid," You say when Mapi takes a break to get a drink," She's so cool."

Ingrid and Frido both laugh at your wide eyes.

"Thanks," Ingrid says," She is very cool."

"Who's cool?" Mapi asks as she returns.

"You, apparently," Frido says as she lifts you up and ushers you out the back door," Come on, monster. Zećira says you need to keep practising while you're here."

You follow after her as she retrieves a ball. "You're not a keeper," You tell her," Zećira says a keeper is the best to train a keeper."

"Well, we'll just kick the ball around for a bit, won't we?"

"Okay!"

Mapi and Ingrid come back frequently during your visit and you sit at Frido's table with Mapi drawing. Your days are fairly structured with moster Frido.

You wake up.

You get up and eat breakfast.

You play football out in the garden.

You eat lunch.

Then, Mapi and Ingrid come to visit.

You pant as Frido nudges another ball towards you. She kicks different than Zećira kicks but that's because she scores more goals than Zećira ever will.

You think that's important. You can't be a good keeper if you don't train against people who actually score goals.

It's tiring though and you sit on the floor as you guzzle down your water.

Moster Frido sits down next to you, fixing your ponytail.

She's a lot more competitive than Zećira is and she scores more goals against you.

"You did very well." Moster Frido says though," Those were some pretty good dives."

That makes you happy. Zećira always said that it doesn't matter if it goes in, so long as you've tried and you've definitely tried today. It's nice that Frido notices that too and you climb into her lap so you can get a hug.

"Alright," She says, standing up with you in her arms," Lunchtime for the little monster and then Mapi and Ingrid are coming to visit."

You stare in confusion as the pair come in a few hours later. Moster Frido hasn't been going to training because she tweaked her ankle and is meant to be resting.

Ingrid's in her Barcelona training top looking like a pretty princess like she always does. And Mapi...Mapi is wearing a Barcelona shirt too.

You frown.

"Is something wrong?" Ingrid asks.

"Mapi," You say," Are you pretending to be Ingrid?"

Mapi frowns now too. "Huh? What do you mean?"

"You shouldn't steal Ingrid's clothes," You say," My Momma says it's very mean."

"I haven't stolen Ingrid's clothes. What are you talking about?"

You point to the top she's wearing. "That's Ingrid's," You say," Because she plays with moster Frido at Barcelona and that's a Barcelona shirt."

Mapi laughs. "I play for Barca too."

You shake your head. "No," You say like she's slow," Ingrid and moster Frido's jobs are to play for Barca. Your job is to cheer on Ingrid and get tattoos."

Ingrid bursts out laughing at how red Mapi goes and Frido starts giggling too.

"I can have a job outside of Ingrid!"

"Why? Ingrid's great."

"I play football too!" Mapi says," I do! Frido, tell her that I play football!"

You ignore her. "I think it's cool that your girlfriend wants to be you, Ingrid!"

[jennamoran]

The Far Roofs: Systems

Hi!

Today I’m going to talk a little bit more about my forthcoming RPG, the Far Roofs. More specifically, I want to give a general overview of its game mechanics!

So the idea that first started the Far Roofs on the road to being its own game came out of me thinking a lot about what large projects feel like.

I was in one of those moods where I felt like the important thing in an RPG system was the parallel between that system and real-world experience. Where I felt like the key to art was always thinking about the end goal, or at least a local goal, as one did the work; and, the key to design was symmetry between the goals and methods, the means and ends.

I don't always feel that way, but it's how I work when I'm feeling both ambitious and technical.

So what I wanted to do was come up with an RPG mechanic that was really like the thing it was simulating:

Finding answers. Solving problems. Doing big things.

And it struck me that what that felt like, really, was a bit like ...

You get pieces over time. You wiggle them around. You try to fit them together. Sometimes, they fit together into larger pieces and then eventually a whole. Sometimes you just collect them and wiggle them around until suddenly there's an insight, an oh!, and you now know everything works.

The ideal thing to do here would probably be having a bag of widgets that can fit together in different ways---not as universally as Legos or whatever, but, like, gears and connectors and springs and motors and whatever. If I were going to be building a computer game I would probably think along those lines, anyway. You'd go to your screen of bits and bobs and move them around with your mouse until it hooked together into something that you liked.

... that's not really feasible for a tabletop RPG, though, at least, not with my typical financial resources. I could probably swing making that kind of thing, finding a 3d printing or woodworking partner or something to make the pieces, for the final kickstarter, but I don't have the resources to make a bunch of different physical object sets over time while I'm playtesting.

So the way I decided that I could implement this was by drawing letter tiles.

That I could do a system where you'd draw letter tiles ... not constantly, not specifically when you were working, but over time; in the moments, most of all, that could give you insight or progress.

Then, at some point, you'd have enough of them.

You'd see a word.

That word'd be your answer.

... not necessarily the word itself, but, like, what the word means to you and what the answer means to you, those would be the same.

The word would be a symbol for the answer that you've found, as a player and a character.

(The leftover letters would then stick around in your hand, bits of thought and experience that didn't directly lead to a solution there, but might help with something else later on.)

Anyway, I figured that this basic idea was feasible because, like, lots of people own Scrabble sets. Even if you don't, they're easier to find than sets of dice!

For a short indie game focused on just that this would probably have been enough of a mechanic all on its own. For a large release, though, the game needed more.

After thinking about it I decided that what it wanted was two more core resolution systems:

One, for stuff like, say ... kickstarter results ... where you're more interested in "how well did this do?" or "how good of an answer is this?" than in whether those results better fit AXLOTL or TEXTUAL. For this, I added cards, which you draw like letter tiles and combine into poker hands. A face card is probably enough for a baseline success, a pair of Kings would make the results rather exciting, and a royal flush result would smash records.

The other core system was for like ... everyday stuff. For starting a campfire or jumping a gap. That, by established RPG tradition, would use dice.

...

I guess technically it didn't have to; I mean, like, most of my games have been diceless, and in fact we've gotten to a point in the hobby where that's just "sort of unusual" instead of actually rare.

But, like, I like dice. I do. If I don't use them often, it's because I don't like the empty page of where to start in the first place building a bespoke diced system when I have so many good diceless systems right there.

... this time, though, I decided to just go for it.

--

The Dice System

So a long, long time ago I was working on a game called the Weapons of the Gods RPG. Eos Press had brought me in to do the setting, and somewhere in the middle of that endeavor, the game lost its system.

I only ever heard Eos' side of this, and these days I tend to take Eos' claims with a grain of salt ... but, my best guess is that all this stuff did happen, just, with a little more context that I don't and might not ever know?

Anyway, as best as I remember, the first writer they had doing their system quit midway through development. So they brought in a newer team to do the system, and halfway through that the team decided they'd have more fun using the system for their own game, and instead wrote up a quick alternate system for Weapons of the Gods to use.

This would have been fine if the alternate system were any good, but it was ... pretty obviously a quick kludge. It was ...

I think the best word for it would be "bad."

I don't even like the system they took away to be their own game, but at least I could believe that it was constructed with love. It was janky but like in a heartfelt way.

The replacement system was more the kind of thing where if you stepped in it you'd need a new pair of shoes.

It upset me.

It upset me, and so, full wroth, I decided to write a system to use for the game.

Now, I'd never done a diced system before at that point. My only solo game had been Nobilis. So I took a bunch of dice and started rolling them, to see ... like ... what the most fun way of reading them was.

Where I landed, ultimately, was looking for matches.

The core system for Weapons of the Gods was basically, roll some number of d10s, and if you got 3 4s, that was a 34. If you got 2 9s, that was a 29. If your best die was a 7 and you had no pairs at all, you got 1 7. 17.

It didn't have any really amazing statistical properties, but the act of rolling was fun. It was rhythmic, you know, you'd see 3 4s and putting them together into 34 was a tiny tiny dopamine shot at the cost of basically zero brain effort. It was pattern recognition, which the brain tends to enjoy.

I mean, obviously, it would pall in a few minutes if you just sat there rolling the dice for no reason ... but, as far as dice rolling goes, it was fun.

So when I went to do an optional diced system for the Chuubo's Marvelous Wish-Granting Engine RPG, years later, to post here on tumblr ... I already knew what would make that roll fun. That is, rolling a handful of dice and looking for matches.

What about making it even more fun?

... well, critical results are fun, so what about adding them and aiming to have a lot of them, though still like rare enough to surprise?

It made sense to me to call no matches at all a critical failure, and a triple a critical success. So I started fiddling with dice pool size to get the numbers where I wanted them.

I'm reconstructing a bit at this point, but I imagine that I hit 6d10 and was like: "these are roughly the right odds, but this is one too many dice to look at quickly on the table, and I don't like that critical failure would be a bit more common than crit success."

So after some wrestling with things I wound up with a dice pool of 5d6, which is the dice pool I'm still using today.

If you roll 5d6, you'll probably get a pair. But now and then, you'll get a triple (or more!) My combinatorics is rusty, so I might have missed a case, but, like ... 17% of the time, triples, quadruples, or quintuples? And around 9% chance, for no matches at all?

I think I was probably looking for 15% and 10%, that those were likely my optimum, but ... well, 5d6 comes pretty close. Roughly 25% total was about as far as I thought I could push critical results while still having them feel kind or rare. Like ...

If I'm rolling a d20 in a D&D-like system, and if I'm going to succeed on an 18+, that's around when success is exciting, right? Maybe 17+, though that's pushing it? So we want to fall in the 15-20% range for a "special good roll." And people have been playing for a very long time now with the 5% chance of a "1" as a "special bad roll," and that seemed fine, so, like, 20-25% chance total is good.

And like ...

People talk a lot about Rolemaster crit fail tables in my vicinity, and complain about the whiff fests you see in some games where you keep rolling and rolling and nothing good or bad actually happens, and so I was naturally drawn to pushing crit failure odds a bit higher than you see in a d20-type game.

Now, one way people in indie circles tend to address "whiff fests" is by rethinking the whole dice-rolling ... paradigm ... so you never whiff; setting things up, in short, so that every roll means something, and every success and failure mean something too.

It's a leaner, richer way of doing things than you see in, say, D&D.

... I just didn't feel like it, here, because the whole point of things was to make dice rolling fun. I wanted people coming out of traditional games to be able to just pick up the dice and say "I'm rolling for this!" because the roll would be fun. Because consulting the dice oracle here, would be fun.

So in the end, that was the heart of it:

A 5d6 roll, focusing on the ease of counting matches and the high but not exorbitant frequency of special results.

But at the same time ...

I'm indie enough that I do really like rolls where, you know, every outcome is meaningful. Where you roll, and there's never a "whiff," just a set of possible meaningful outcomes.

A lot of the time, where I'm leaning into "rolls are fun, go ahead and roll," what it means to succeed, to fail, to crit, all that's up to the group, and sometimes it'll be unsatisfying. Other times, you'll crit succeed or crit fail and the GM will give you basically the exact same result as you'd have gotten on a regular success or failure, just, you know, jazzing up the description a bit with more narrative weight.

But I did manage to pull out about a third of the rolls you'll wind up actually making and assign strong mechanical and narrative weight to each outcome. Where what you were doing was well enough defined in the system that I could add some real meat to those crits, and even regular success and regular failure.

... though that's a story, I think, to be told some other time. ^_^

[anonymous-dentist]

The world ended 16 years ago on what Cellbit vaguely remembers was a Tuesday morning. It was quiet, just for a moment. And then it was loud.

Cellbit was ten when the apocalypse happened. He doesn’t remember anything from before the Earth split open. All he remembers is the silence exploding into screams as Those From BELOW crawled out of the crack in the ground and took flight.

(There was a white room, and there were machines. And there was Cellbit, and there was the daemon.)

But, really, the end of the world has been pretty chill, all things considered. Avoiding the Gates is easy enough once you know what to look out for- smoke, and fire, and bones. Killing daemons is even easier- the only real difference between them and humans is that (most) daemons are uglier.

The real problem with the apocalypse isn’t the collapsed power grid or the lack of infrastructure, and it definitely isn’t Those From BELOW. It’s the people, Cellbit included, who are somehow still alive even after the introduction of Hell to Earth.

Case in point: the man squirming on the ground in front of Cellbit’s feet. His hand has been… divorced from his body, but it’s somehow still holding the key Cellbit needs. His hair is white, just like every other bastard Cellbit has killed over the past five years, and he needs to die.

His name doesn’t matter. What matters is that he’s wearing a necklace of human ears around his neck, and that that’s fucking gross. But, well, he is a Fed. Ear necklaces are pretty normal by their standards.

“You bastard,” the Fed spits, blood dripping down his chin. His eyes are red from the BELOW’s influence, and his teeth are sharpened to an unnatural degree. (That much, at least, is normal to see these days.)

Cellbit kicks the fucker in response. He scoops up the Fed’s detached hand and gets to work uncurling its fingers, tucking his machete under his arm as he does so.

“Uuuugh,” Roier groans, sat on the ground by the Fed’s head with his legs crossed and his mouth twisted into a bored frown.

He throws his head back and closes his eyes.

Cellbit hums apologetically: “Desculpe, guapito. We’ll be done soon.”

He pulls at one of the Fed’s fingers so hard it comes off. It falls to the ground right in front of the Fed’s nose, making him scream, but making Cellbit let out a triumphant little laugh.

“Got it!” he announces.

He manages to wiggle the key free, and then he holds it up for Roier to see.

Roier cracks two eyes open and smiles.

“Vamos!” he cheers. “This guy sucks!”

“You can kill him,” Cellbit says. He absently tosses the Fed’s hand onto his body and turns his full attention to the key. “He isn’t important enough to be a hostage or anything.”

“Excuse me?” the Fed demands.

Cellbit ignores him. What happens next is none of his business.

“Shhhhh,” Roier says. “Close your mouth, holy shit, your breath stinks! What have you been eating, man?”

“I think you know what. Daemon.”

Cellbit kicks the fucker again.

But he’s right, and both Cellbit and Roier know it. Consuming daemon blood makes a human stronger, and nobody has been abusing that fact like the Federation. That’s why their workers all have white hair: the stress.

That’s why the Earth split open: the stress.

(There was a white room, and there were machines. And there was Cellbit, and there was the daemon. There were two cages, and there was blood.)

“What happened to just taking drugs, man?” Roier complains. “Or those little, uhhh… gummy things…?”

“Vitamins,” Cellbit supplies.

Roier snaps his fingers. “Vitamins!”

The key is more old-fashioned than Cellbit had expected: it’s a literal key, not a keycard like Cellbit is used to seeing the Feds carry around. It’s small and bronze and engraved with the letters ‘P’ and ‘R’ and a coupon of numbers that Cellbit doesn’t know the meanings of. (Yet.)

“You wouldn’t understand,” the Fed sneers.

“Eh, maybe, maybe not,” Roier responds.

And then, to Cellbit, he asks, “Do you want to keep any of him?”

Cellbit shakes his head. “Nah, he’s toxic as Hell.”

“Hey! Be nice to Hell!” Roier protests.

“I’m just saying that he’s got, like, shit inside of him. I don’t want any of that in me.”

He vaguely gestures towards the Fed’s entire self.

The Fed wiggles indignantly. He’s about to protest when Roier leans in and snaps his neck in one quick, smooth motion.

He accidentally snaps the Fed’s head clean off his body, which drops the ear necklace onto Roier’s lap, which makes Roier make a weird grossed out noise and drop the head and skitter backwards in the grass like a spider.

“Auough!” he screams. (Or something like that, anyway.) “What the fuck?”

Cellbit finally looks up from the key, fixing Roier with a cheeky grin.

“What’s wrong, guapito?” he innocently asks. “I can’t hear you.”

He bends down and picks up the ear necklace and holds it next to his own ear.

Roier does not look impressed.

“Fucking gross, Cellbo,” he flatly says.

Cellbit shrugs and drops the necklace onto the Fed’s chest. It is fucking gross, but it’s not something that Cellbit isn’t used to. He’s seen some gross shit. He’s done some gross shit. An ear necklace sucks, like, a lot, but it could be worse. It could be eyes- eye jewelry is fucking disgusting.

“Come on,” Cellbit says, going around the corpse and offering a hand down to Roier. “We’re losing daylight.”

Roier takes his hand, stands, and doesn’t let go. His claws dig in slightly, juuuust slightly, and it hurts, and it’s grounding.

He squeezes Cellbit’s hand. Cellbit squeezes back.

When the sun sets, the daemons rise from the BELOW. Roier will be fine, but Cellbit doesn’t want to risk it. He’s too close to.

(There was a white room, and there were machines. And there was Cellbit, and there was the daemon. There were two cages, and there was blood. And there was Cucurucho, and there was Elena.)

Cellbit slips the key into his pocket and slides his machete back into its sheath. He raises Roier’s hand and kisses his knuckles and smiles as Roier leans in to kiss his cheek.

“Don’t worry, baby boy,” Roier teases, “I’ll keep you safe.”

He cackles as Cellbit roughly pushes his away and starts walking towards the sunset.

“Não, gatinho!” Roier cries. “Come back!”

He runs after Cellbit and retakes his hand, swings it between them.

“You’re so clingy,” Cellbit sighs. He’s still smiling, anyway.

“Wow, it’s almost like we’re soulmates or something,” Roier says. “Craaaazy.”

Daemons, much like humans, have souls. Cellbit is probably the only human being that believes that. Everyone else is either dead or xenophobic. Just because daemons come from the BELOW doesn’t mean that they’re soulless, hellish abominations hellbent on destroying mankind.

No, they’re just assholes.

Case in point: Roier. And Cellbit wouldn’t have him any other way.

(And there was Cellbit, and there was the daemon.

When the smoke cleared and the screams stopped, it was just the two of them surrounded by corpses.

The daemon was free. Cellbit was not.

The daemon flipped him off. Cellbit started crying.

The daemon opened the cage. The daemon hugged him: four arms, strong hug, the first hug that Cellbit can remember ever getting.

The end of the world was quiet in that room. It was just the two of them, as it would forever be.)

[zaebeecee]

Drowning in Stardust

🦌 RadioDustTober: Short Story Edition 🕷️

Day 08: That Tickles!

Canon-compliant (queerplatonic/romantic)

CWs: Tickling?

Alastor and his shadow are one and the same, or so the Radio Demon claims. Angel Dust wants to see how true that is.

Word count: 1005

•••

Alastor’s shadow was widely known, throughout the Pride Ring, to be something of a creepy fuck. Frequently seen alongside its master, the shadow most always wore a grin even more sinister than Alastor’s own and had a level of independence that meant it could wander on its own. It was both a means of surveillance and a threat that the Radio Demon might be anywhere at any given moment, and while it wasn’t exactly typical to see it around Pentagram City, the people who lived there knew its shape and, more immediately, knew to be wary of it.

When Angel Dust and Alastor had first begun growing closer as friends than as simple casual acquaintances who saw each other around the hotel sometimes, Angel had asked about his shadow. Alastor hadn’t been shy at all, telling him that they were technically one entity, if capable of occupying two completely different spaces at a time. “I may not always be directing its actions, but it obeys me. I can see through its eyes; I can hear through its ears; I can summon it to my side at any moment, and if I choose, I can move through it like any other shadow.”

For the first several months, Angel thought of the shadow as a threatening omen that warned the Radio Demon might be watching him. Soon after that conversation, however, Angel started noticing certain oddities where the shadow was concerned. It, like Alastor, was infinitely curious about the world and seemed to get inordinately excited if it was addressed in a positive manner. Once Angel started greeting it in passing like he would any other member of the hotel, it went from confused to intrigued to simply following him around if it didn’t have anything more important to be doing.

Alastor was the one who made the mistake of mentioning this new development to Angel one evening. It got Angel thinking: if Alastor and his shadow were connected through sight and hearing, what other senses might they share?

Pretty early on in his befriending of Alastor’s shadow, Angel had discovered that he could touch it, kind of; it seemed to exist in a space where all shadows were tangible things, and if Angel’s own shadow made contact with it, it was as though it could feel his touch through that.

In Angel’s defense, he hadn’t thought it would actually be that bad when he finally decided to conduct his experiment. (He later stated, when pressed, that it was Alastor’s fault for never giving him an opportunity earlier.) he had a very specific plan in mind, and that plan required Alastor’s shadow to be somewhere it rarely was: namely, attached to Alastor himself. His first opportunity just happened to come in the hotel lobby, while Alastor was going over business matters with Charlie. Angel didn’t have any interest in their conversation—the details of the day-to-day business of a struggling redemption hotel was far from engaging to him—but that wasn’t why he stayed in the lobby. No, he stayed because Alastor’s shadow was cast up on the wall, looking bored, the blackness at its base running across the floor and attaching to Alastor’s feet.

“Could we reschedule for Monday?” Charlie was asking as Angel waved to the shadow. It perked up, smile spreading and curling at the corner, and raised its own hand to wiggle long, spindly fingers at him.

“No, my dear, you already have quite the full schedule for Monday,” Alastor answered. Angel moved closer and raised his hand, crooking his finger a couple of times to beckon the shadow closer.

“I do?” Charlie asked, put out. “Okay, what about— oh, no, it has to be before Tuesday…” The shadow looked towards Alastor, seemed to determine it wasn’t needed, and swooped along the wall to hover near where Angel stood.

“Friday will be your best opportunity,” Alastor said. Angel raised his hand and watched as his own shadow did the same, fingers extending to trail over the shadow’s pointed ear, making its grin widen and its entire body shiver. “But if you’re that reluctant, I could BE—!!!!” Alastor’s voice pitched up into a squeal, and Angel snapped his head around just in time to see the Radio Demon suddenly slam both of his hands down over his ears, his eyes wide and his grin strained as he looked around sharply.

Charlie’s own eyes were wide, her hair poofed out a bit like a startled cat. “What the fuck, Alastor?!”

Alastor didn’t answer. His eyes briefly landed on Angel, but they were twenty feet apart, so he appeared to decide the spider was innocent and kept looking around. “Did you see something… touch me?” he asked, his voice deeply layered with radio static and suspicion.

“…no…?” Charlie’s expression morphed to one of concern as Angel reached out again, fingers extending for the shadow’s side this time. “Alastor, are you feeling okay?”

“Yes, of course, I’m FINE FUCK!!” It was hard to tell if the words were a giggle or a shriek, or perhaps both, as Alastor bent to protect his side from an unseen enemy. He spun around, his microphone staff appearing in his hand as he did so.

Angel bit down on his lip so he didn’t start laughing himself. It was only a matter of time before he was caught out, so… he reached out once more, this time going for a full-on, four-handed tickle of Alastor’s shadow. It looked like it was laughing, flailing and distorting but not making any effort to get away.

Almost immediately, Alastor started cackling, the sound definitely unhinged; Angel knew he had been caught out when Alastor’s shadow was suddenly gone, like it had been sucked away. Angel looked at Alastor as he tried to catch his breath, his eyes wide and his sclera black. “Angel…” he hissed warningly.

“Uh-oh.” Angel turned and started running, shrieking as he heard the sounds of Alastor chasing him down.

“Don’t get blood on the carpet, please!” was all Charlie yelled after them.

•••

[pll-reimagined]

Pretty Little Liars: reimAgined

Hello Liars of tumblr!

I am a huge nerd for the Pretty Little Liars franchise – I adore the books (I’ve been reading them as far back as the original release of ‘Killer’), and while I love the show, I've always been more than a little disappointed that it wasn’t closer to the source material. During spooky season, I began both rereading the books and rewatching the show, and it gave me the creative inspiration to blend together the best bits of each canon into one cohesive narrative, start to finish. With that said, I present to you all my passion project, 'Pretty Little Liars: reimAgined', as what a retooled, more faithful adaptation could look like.

My primary goal is to tackle the books’ canon and adapt it to span across a number of 'seasons' in an episodic fashion - currently my plan is a 7-season format with around 13 episodes apiece, leaving wiggle room for more as I progress. I intend to weave in some aspects from the original show that were either invented FOR the show, or ones that it particularly excelled in translating… but not necessarily the ones people might expect. This will range from minor storylines and interactions to entire episodes from the OG - albeit through a different lens - if I believe it will help to flesh out characters and the tapestry of Rosewood at large, however this is not the priority. I may periodically condense, expand, omit, and/or change the order of storylines and arcs to make them stronger, and so as to cut down on unnecessary filler. I want for there to be nods that both book and show fans alike can appreciate while also keeping them in suspense over how events unfold; it'll feel familiar, but won't be a twin copy.

My overall creative concept is a period piece set in 2006 (so I'm keeping as much of the niche style and dated references from the books as possible), with a sense heightened reality and a focus on themes such as symbolism, luxury, and indulgence. Think less ABC Family/CW vibes and more HBO/FX, American Horror Story vibes: big on suspense, a dark and gothic aesthetic contrasting expensive and chic high society, somewhat realistic yet simultaneously a bit larger-than-life or fantastical, can range from slightly eerie to downright unsettling, and doesn’t shy away from vulgarity or adult themes and imagery, but does so tastefully and in moderation. Rosewood should absolutely DRIP with exorbitant wealth, lust, disdain, competition, and secrets, but in the flavor of Old Money. My vision is of a nice suburb in New England, where every yard has a white picket fence to hide the imperfections from your neighbors, and petty, political cold wars matter to your social standing at the country club.

The rewrite will have a more serious and mature tone: less teen romance (though, as it IS present in the books, there will still be some) and more focus on psychological torture, thriller/horror tones, the mystery surrounding the disappearance of Alison, the identity and motive(s) of ‘A’, and what ‘A’ puts the Liars through.

As of now, I have a very rough draft of the major story beats that I plan on covering, as I think the story starts to fall apart when you don't have your long-term mystery road mapped well in advance. My goal is for each story arc/season to feel well-balanced and important to the over-arching narrative, and the 'A' reveals are a large part of this. The 'A' thread is the most meticulous and delicate, as any misstep leads to inadvertent plot holes, which is exactly what happened to the show. Most importantly, the 'A' motivations need to make sense in relation to the Liars - that means no Shower Harvey's running amok in this fic!

I’m also going to fix some aspects of certain storylines, and the timeline in general, that were either rushed, dragged out, unnecessary, unrealistic, or flat-out didn’t make sense, adjusting the pacing where I deem it necessary (RIP Never Ending November). This is less so with the books, although they do have some instances - Sara Shepard wtf do you MEAN THAT ARIA STOLE THE STARRY NIGHT - and more so what I use from the original show. I want to give the story the proper room to breathe and the space to gradually build suspense, ensuring a structured flow for every episode within each season’s narrative arc.

I’m aging everyone up slightly, so the start of the series will take place on the last day of 9th grade (making the Liars around 15), and the time jump will be about 2 years, to the end of the summer before the girls’ senior year (making the Liars around 17). Hopefully this will make some of the plotlines a little less icky and statutory grapey when it comes to age.

I’ll also be combining book and show characters as I see fit, giving preference to the books. In particular, I'll be utilizing the ensemble of Rosewood Day students in a much larger capacity than the show did, so to increase the number of suspects while cutting down on extraneous random characters, effectively creating a small community of socialites not dissimilar to Gossip Girl. These people have largely known one another since childhood, and that should be reflected in their interactions.

I'm retelling the story through the mind and voice of none other than Alison DiLaurentis, and she will operate in a way similar to Mary Alice Young from Desperate Housewives: secretive, slightly omniscient, gone yet still very much a part of the Liars' world despite her absence, and playfully watching over her friends as they navigate past her disappearance. She serves as a narrator for the Liars’ inner thoughts and monologues, but will frequently provide her own insight on situations, occasionally injecting some dry humor into the series.

Lastly, the Liars will actually... y'know... lie lol. While the show captured their positive traits, it suffered from the fact that the girls either didn't do bad/selfish things at ALL, or they were coerced to by outside factors. The girls in the books are much more self-serving, petty, and willing to do bad things to achieve what they want. There will still be 'A' manipulation, however I want the general sense that the Liars are victims of their own actions. They should be much more uncomfortable in maintaining and balancing their social lives with the threat of ‘A’ always looming, poised to knock them off the top of the totem pole should their secrets be exposed. The outward appearance of perfection should be, at least initially, the driving force for the Liars. They’ll be more rational and cautious, making less immediate boneheaded and/or out-of-character decisions like the show portrayed, and a bit more reluctant to trust one another until after things have unraveled and bound them together.

I’m currently outlining the details for the first 'season', and I'm about halfway done with the prologue, which I plan to post by the end of the week to gauge interest. I'm open to feedback, so please let me know what you all think of my little passion project!

[cyberneticlagomorph]

You don't know when you fell asleep or how but that's largely unimportant, what is important is the contents of your dream. For as long as you can remember, you've been having basically the same nightmare every night with the occasional slight variation.

A city in ruin, streets empty and weed-choked. There you were in the center of it all, surrounded by destruction that you could do nothing to stop. Not the end of the world, but the End-of-Everything, the Mother of all Cataclysms.

The sky turned into a green-gold mirror, broken, reflecting everything that ever was and everything that would ever be within shards of Dreams that fell like verdant rain and distorted the landscape around you as they crashed haphazardly to the ground like glass meteors, shattering on impact. 

Before you normally stood a Nameless Thing, many headed and serpentine. 

But not tonight.

Tonight you're somewhere different, somewhere neat and clean with smooth tables covered in half completed board games and mindless crayon scribbles barely confined to their papers.

Black walls and bowling alley carpet full of triangles and zigzags, no ceiling though, just void. A stranger sits perched on a nearby armchair, sipping tea and humming a familiar song under his breath.

His skin is a darker brown than yours, the top half of his face obscured by large circular purple shades, kinky-curly-bedhead-spikey yellow hair sticks out from underneath the brim of his top hat. Instead of a tie, a well behaved atlas moth sits at the hollow of his throat, the human eyes on its wings blinking wetly.

"Y'got a name kid?" Says the stranger without moving his mouth, he drops a handful of dream pearls into his cup and watches the spoon stir itself.

"... Jack." You glance around like a cornered animal looking for a way out before it has to resort to violence.

"Jack? You look more like a [nickname], can I call you [nickname]?" The stranger asks, taking a sip of his tea, a singular yellow eye glows at you from behind the lenses of his shades.

The sound [nickname] makes isn't a word, or really a sound? It's the absence of both, but hollowed out from... something both tangible and intangible so you're left hearing the shape of where something Was.

"No, and how the fuck are you doing that with your mouth?" Your skin itches like there's something underneath it.

He's suddenly in front of you now; floating a few feet off the ground, cane in his hands, cup hovering where he left it. The moth at his throat looks at you with something like pity, something like sorrow, and something like jealousy in its horrible eyes.

The stranger just smiles at your question, golden fangs and yellow stained teeth glistening with wetness that might be spit but probably isn't. "[Nickname] you of all people should know how I think."

"Who are you?" Your skin crawls, inside and out of the dream. Hackles raised as you edge away from the stranger without meaning to, he offers a hand to shake in a way that SHOULD have be friendly but most certainly was not.

"Most folks call me Bill, but you can call me Zilch, your friendly neighborhood oneriophage."

You look at his hand like it might jump off his wrist and bite you, Zilch waggles his fingers bonelessly and changes the colors of his claws as if that will tempt you into touching him.

"You're a Cipher."

"That I am! In fact I'm the resident Cipher of this misbegotten corner of the multiverse, nice to meetcha kid." He wiggles his fingers again.

"What do you want?"

"Bold of you to assume I want anything other than to stop by and say hi." Another smile

"You're a bad liar Zilch."

"Well... at least I CAN lie!"

"What do you want?" Your eyes narrow.

"I'm bored and you look fun to play with, so how's about I help you with your boy trouble?" Zilch waves his hand and a pixelated version of your husbeast idles on his palm before vanishing.

"I don't make deals with demons."

"I mean, you MARRIED a demon and marriage is very much a legally binding deal between two consenting individuals." Zilch gives you a Look over the rims of his shades. "You're cute and all, but I'm not planning on taking an arrow to the knee any time soon so let's just shake on it and get this over with."

"Let me clarify," your ears flick with annoyance. "I don't and WON'T make deals with YOU, any alts of you, or you adjacent entities."

Zilch pretends to swoon, growing another set of arms just to clutch them to his chest as if he'd been shot there. "Oh [nickname] you WOUND me! I'm not like those other Bills and deep down you know that..."

"Do I?" You say, deadpan.

"You do! I know you do! Believe me, I just wanna help." Zilch bats his luscious yellow lashes for emphasis. "Sometimes I wish someone could have shown up and miraculously saved my relationship like this, then maybe Sixer would still be with me." A single pitch black tear rolls down his cheek as he sniffles.

"I'll pass."

"C'mooooon, it doesn't have to be a full deal, how about just a little widdle pinkie promise?" Zilch holds out his hand again, pinkie extended and other fingers curled.

"I said no."

"D'aww, someone thinks they've got a choice." He tilts his head, the corners of his smile stretching so far they disappear into the corners of where his eyes should be. "I'm gonna give the people what they want, whether you like it or not." Zilch taps his cane once on the ground and the floor beneath you vanishes.

You reach up without meaning to, and Zilch grabs your hand as if trying to save you; your joined hands wreathed in blue flame, your skin melting away like wax, the metal beneath it starting to glow with the heat. Zilch takes off his shades with an extra hand and grins down at you, the entire right side of his face is made of teeth and eyes and abyss that chatters and whispers and cries.

"It's showtime!"

[pokemoncaretips]

The seviper

A classic poison type and a sharp jump in challenge for those looking to take their poison type keeping to the next level.

General notes: The seviper is fairly common in grassland areas and savannahs. In Hoenn it is commonly located in the foothills of meteor falls. Before we move on to the rest of the care guide, let me be clear on one thing:

No, your seviper is not stretching out to measure you before it eats you.

This comes up ridiculously often. Though the seviper is both a poison hunter and a constrictor, it is also an ambush predator. Stretching out to measure its prey in the wild would wind up with it either starving to death or being attacked when it's noticed. If you wake up to find your seviper stretched out in bed next to you it's because you're a steady source of warmth. Too many friendly sevipers get rehomed because of this belief.

General care: Seviper need whole prey and can't eat kibble. They lack grinding molars to break it down. As live prey can defend themselves and potentially cause injury, frozen thaw is the best way to feed them.

A meal should be no more than 10% of your sevipers body weight, and no larger than the widest point of its body. Seviper have slow metabolisms, and can go months between meals in the wild. However, there is a difference between surviving and thriving. Here is a rough table for how often you should be feeding it:

Newborn-6 months: every 10-12 days

6-12 months: every 10-12 days

12-18 months: every 12-14 days

18-24 months: every 2-3 weeks

2-2.5 years: every 2-3 weeks

2.5-3 years: every 3-4 weeks

3-4 years: every 4-6 weeks

4+ years: every 4-8 weeks

If you're worried about it starving, don't be. Remember, it has a slow metabolism and doesn't process food as fast as us. It's actually healthier for a seviper not to eat too often. And as a fun bonus, this chart also applies to a fully evolved arbok as well!

There is significant wiggle room in these times, allowing for individual differences, seviper who battle frequently and need a bit more food, gravid seviper, etc. Keep an eye on its condition and don't be afraid to ask for advice. If the spine is easily visible, it isn't eating enough. If the spine is rounded and gently triangular, that's generally a good indicator of health. If you cannot see the spine at all and the seviper is round, it's overweight.

Seviper need warmth, as they can't thermoregulate. Seviper are most active around 32 degrees C, but what is equally as important is shade. A warm basking spot is great, but they also need somewhere dark to cool off. As they grow, a terrarium becomes impractical. Remember, these pokemon can be over 8 feet long and are SOLIDLY built. You may need to consider adapting part of the house to suit its needs.

A sevipers fangs are on a hinge. When hunting or fighting, those sabres are present. When at rest, they tuck into the jaw for safety.

Seviper need a whetstone for their tail. Keeping it sharp is important for their enrichment. Provide a large stone for it to use.

Around two or three times a year, seviper shed their skin. The indicator for this is a dull look, a lack of appetite and their eyes taking on a blue cast. It's tempting to help, but the new skin under the old one is still delicate. Only offer assistance once the skin is actually being removed, and avoid handling until then. If your seviper is approaching you and rubbing its snout against you it's asking for help. Hold the ends of the old skin steady and allow the pokemon to slide out at its own pace. It will likely need a big feed after, and will be perky and cheerful.

Serpent pokemon have a lot of care requirements to consider, but large communities means there's always people to ask for help. Care rating: Orange

Training: Seviper take to training well, and are generally good battlers. A note of warning, though.

This pokemon cannot be allowed in the same room as a zangoose. It doesn't matter how well it's trained. It doesn't matter how well the zangoose is trained. Once they spot each other, instinct kicks in. All of their training and restraint will be gone. They will just try to kill each other. Any good gym will step in if they see you have these pokemon on your team and will stop the battle from happening in the first place. If they do see each other in other locations, pokeball it immediately and leave. It may try and force it's way out of the pokeball. Just keep recalling it. DO NOT PHYSICALLY INTERVENE.

Other than that, the most important part of its training is "the dry bite", where you teach it when to release its venom or not. Having a seviper that knows this makes it safer to battle or even just to have roaming about. The process is pretty long, involving training dummies and food rewards. You're better off looking up guides on line or contacting your nearest poison gym. They can advise you the best and safest ways to teach this. Honestly, if it weren't for their venom, I think you'd see more sevipers around. They learn pretty well. Training rating: Green

Safety: It's a poison type. And a pretty nasty one at that. Though an adult seviper with years of good training under its belt can in theory be safe around small children and even small pokemon, you won't find any responsible trainers who will allow that to happen. Even if it doesn't feel inclined to bite, the blade on its tail is razor sharp and often carries traces of venom. It's strongly advised to cap it when out in public.

They are most dangerous when they're hatchlings, as they lack ANY training about dry bites. Though many pokemon have vastly different personalities, you have no way of telling the difference between an anxious newborn who will nip if you move wrong, and a chill calm little guy who will curl up and nap in your palm. Consider any and all newly hatched seviper "hot" and pick them up only with serpent handler tongs if you ABSOLUTELY must. Once you start getting a feel for their personalities, you can graduate to a thick glove. Any that are too nervous or aggressive should be rehomed. Many cities have facilities that "milk" seviper, ekans and other venomous pokemon to make antivemon, and they have a pretty good life there. Any hatchling too nippy to safely handle should ideally be sent to these farms.

Seviper venom affects the bloods ability to clot. If nipped or scratched, IMMEDIATELY seek medical aid. Safety rating: Red

Overall ranking. Though seviper have cool personalities and are often quite friendly, they need a LOT of safety precautions. Ideally, they should be kept by poison type keepers with the needed experience, and are considered to be of medium difficulty, and a step up from beginner level poison types.

[gatheredfates]

SYSTEMS, ENGINES & RECONNAISSANCE SERVICE | Evelyn Rivers

Do you want to read all of my FFXIVWrite prompts? You can do that here!

CLEAR. free of cloud, mist, or rain.

The sun was shining, the birds were singing, and Evelyn Rivers was waking up from a stupor.

Or, if you were to ask her, a bender — to which she would sigh and say not a lot of people bothered, meaning they missed out on her pearls of wisdom such as a myriad of ways to people to fuck off and weird techniques on how to brew moonshine out the back of a boat. Nevertheless, when the announcement rang clear through Ul’dah’s airship hangar that they were expecting a record sandstorm, thus all the air travel was promptly grounded, she seriously considered just how long she might be banned for if she decided to bugger it and break the rules. One quick assessment of both her liquor cabinet and the weather both, a strange kind of common sense broke through that risked her liver rather than her life.

Yes, she knew her liver was connected to her life. Not the point. Something, something, lesser of two evils.

“SERS —” She croaked from beneath a small pile of glass bottles, sea-glass green and tinkling as she moved. When she received no answer, she wet her lips with her tongue and spoke louder.

“SERS! Oh for fuck sake, why do I have this stupid —”

“Hello, Designation Evelyn. How may I assist you?” A small screen to the right of her head illuminated, displaying the pixelated image of a fire. As the AI spoke, the flame wiggled back and forth in time with its tempo.

She tried to smash the first one, not realizing Firelight had installed at least six throughout her ship. Sometimes she liked to moon it, just in case someone was watching. 

“Took you fuckin’ long enough. What time is it?”

“It is exactly fourteen thirty seven.”

“Rhalgar’s fuckin’ nutsack — speak STUPID, SERS.”

“Ah! My apologies, Designation Evelyn. It is two thirty seven in the afternoon, if you’re going off local time.”

It was the afternoon? Huh. Last time she was awake she was singing along to her orchestrion and swinging around on her bed like she was a pole dancer. It was the little things. 

Eve pushed herself into a sitting position, smoothing jet-black hair out of her face as she squinted bleary-eyed at her surroundings. The interior of the Junker stared back, a hodgepodge of titanium, steel and carbon fibre; a physical and literal nest of blankets and shiny objects — most worth absolutely shit all. But they were her things, that was the most important, and she rubbed the sleep out of her eyes and let out a loud yawn.

“Fuck me, m’beat.” Though it felt weirdly still, all things considered. Her brow narrowed.

“SERS?”

“Yes, Designation Evelyn?”

“What’s th’ weather?”

“Today’s weather is warm with clear skies but, the evening should cool —”

“The weather is WHAT?” Her head snapped to attention to the pixelated hearth, not that it had the capacity to feel the knives in her stare. Oh no, SERS continued to speak amicably, as if though she had merely misheard or was unfortunately going insane.

“The weather is warm with clear skies —” “FOR FUCK SAKE, SERS!” Bottles went flying around her like dangerous confetti, clattering harmlessly across the floor as the woman staggered and bolted (as much as one could when they were hungover, though she still did have a bottle in her hand) towards the top deck. “Systems, Engines and Reconnaissance Service my fuckin’ ass cheek—”

“I am very sorry you are displeased with my service, Designation Evelyn. I sounded off the alarm every hour to try and inform you —”

Evelyn didn’t give a rats. Her hand slammed against the railing as she looked out towards the desert, where glittering sand stretched endlessly to a pale blue sky. Below, the multi-faceted jewel of Ul’dah reflected a thousand different colours like light caught in a diamond, and the highlander let out a loud scream of delight and threw her bottle clean off the side of her ship…

…And into a nearby window. Well, shit.

“Oops. SERS! SERS! IT’S TIME TO GO!”

[magdaclaire]

the one that wins

tangybug fic

anxiety and anxiety attack cw.

find it on ao3

He’s chasing Ladybug around the flat before he can stop himself, following the other man as he picks up his belongings. He’s still yelling for fuck’s sake, like he’s unable to control himself for how the words keep spilling out. He’s not even sure what set him off this time- maybe his shitty attempts at making eggs, or perhaps the way that Ladybug had gotten him a glass of water before setting his medication in his hand, both the antibiotics and the mood stabilizer he’s been on since- well. Lemon had said he should see somebody for his nickin’ problem. Tangerine hadn’t expected to be given a mood stabilizer for his troubles. He hardly takes it half the time anyway, flipping back and forth between convinced he doesn’t need it and angry that he does.

“Sweetheart, I’ll come back when you’re feeling more like yourself, okay? Take your meds. I gotta go before you say something we both regret, alright?” Ladybug says, not even turning back to look at Tangerine as he gathers his coat to his chest. Something in Tangerine heaves, unable to stomach the fact that Ladybug is leaving. As if he doesn’t deserve it.

“Of course, you’re going to bloody fucking leave, aren’t you? Everyone does, don’t they, everybody just fucks off as soon as my mouth gets too hard to deal with- you seemed to fucking appreciate my mouth last night,” he spits, everything just coming out so fast and angry he can’t fucking stop it. Ladybug spins around, grabbing him by the shoulders, jacket dropped into a chair unceremoniously. His next words catch in his throat. It’s the first time Ladybug’s touched him since they got out of bed. Tangerine rocks with it.

“Tan, you’re being mean,” Ladybug says slowly, as if he’s trying to communicate this to a very small child. Tangerine shakes him off.

“Oh, am I?” he asks, his voice cracking into the hard tone once again, his rage coming back up to a boiling point. Mean. As if that’s a descriptor anyone older than ten uses. Mean. He ignores the cold ball in his stomach that tells him that Ladybug is right, that Lemon has said this before, that he’s off on a tantrum and perhaps he should come down before he burns the entire flat down. He clenches his jaw around an apology that wants to wiggle its way out.

“I don’t know why you’re mad, and if you don’t tell me, I still won’t. I can only make things better if I know what’s wrong,” Ladybug says, his tone still that calm smooth-over bullshit that makes Tangerine want to start swinging when anybody else uses it. And ain’t that the fucking problem? It’s only when other people try to talk him down that Tangerine gets angrier. With Ladybug, it’s- everything is different with Ladybug.

“Who says you can make it better?” he chokes out anyway, humiliated by the prospect of tears pricking at his eyes.

“I don’t know, baby, but maybe telling me will help anyway,” Ladybug says. Rage sizzles even higher than before at the pet name, and yet still Tangerine feels his resolve crumbling beneath the weight of it, which pisses him off even more. Baby. Tangerine wants to rip his fucking hair out.

“Don’t- don’t call me that,” he stutters out. Ladybug’s expression shifts from confusion to concern, just that quickly. As if he said something important.

“Baby? I’ve called you that before- how long has it bothered you? I don’t have to ever use that one again,” Ladybug says, and a brick drops itself on top of that cold feeling in his stomach at the idea of never being Ladybug’s baby again. Fucking hell. He doesn’t want Ladybug to stop, but. Jesus fuck, he can’t deal with it right now.

“No, it- I’ve liked it. Before,” Tangerine grinds out, the need to clarify stronger than his anger for this one second. He wants to be- he likes to be called baby, sure enough, but not right now, not when every little thing feels like a transgression against him. Everything feels like nails across a chalkboard right now, and he can’t for the life of him figure out why.

“Before what?” Ladybug asks patiently. The rage spikes again.

“Before I was angry!”

“You’re always angry, Tan. I’m gonna need something a bit more specific-” Tangerine can’t help himself but to interrupt.

“Why do you stay then? If I’m always like this, what’s worth staying for, huh?” Tangerine says, his voice coming out so much hoarser than he intends, with so much more to lose. Ladybug places careful hands on either side of his face and Tangerine tries his damnedest not to relax into his grip. Despite all of it, or maybe because of it, hell, Tangerine needs this. Needs Ladybug to touch him, to hold him, to… to forgive him. Even when he’s not sure he’s earned it. Maybe especially then.

“B- Sweetheart. No matter how angry you get, no matter how much you yell, and even when you skip your meds, I still love you. That’s not up for debate,” Ladybug says, switching so quickly from that word- from baby- that Tangerine almost doesn’t notice it. The whole sentiment makes him feel as if he’s chewing glass, like he’s bashing his head through the back of that bullet train again.

“But- you- why?” he asks, his voice coming out smaller than he means it to. Ladybug’s thumb strokes along his cheekbone.

“Because… because you yell at me when I get fucked up on a job. Because you’re bad at making breakfast. Because no matter how many morning afters we have, I’ll still be happy to see you in my arms when I wake up. Because you’re sweet to me when you want to be, and even sometimes when you don’t. I love you. Do you get that?” Ladybug leads, but Tangerine does not follow. He doesn’t know how.

“No!” he exclaims instead, “I don’t fucking get that!” He’s unable to stop himself. He doesn’t fucking get it. That’s the problem, right? Ladybug loves him without expectation, without want of Tangerine doing anything more than he does without trying, without want or need or view of results. He doesn’t want anything that Tangerine isn’t willing to give. And it terrifies him, how much he’s willing to give away. How much he loves Ladybug back, even if. Well, he’s never said it, has he? He doesn’t know that he ever will.

“Oh, sweetheart. It’s okay,” Ladybug says, pulling Tangerine in. Tangerine lets himself be pulled, lets himself be maneuvered until his face is against Ladybug’s throat, vulnerable, and finds himself relaxing into the hold. Fucking Ladybug. Ladybug wraps himself around Tangerine like a blanket, making soothing sounds every once and a while, and it’s only when he notices the sounds that Tangerine notices that he’s crying. He’s fucking crying. That’s goddamn embarrassing.

“Don’t-” he starts, but he cuts himself off with a gasping breath.

“Don’t what, angel?” Ladybug coaxes, stroking up and down Tangerine’s back with a steady hand. Tangerine presses his face against Ladybug’s collar more fervently, wanting to wipe his face but not wanting to pull far enough away for Ladybug to see him, to see him crying. It wouldn’t be the first time, but other circumstances, well, they were most definitely more favorable than these. He’s never flipped shit like this, not in front of Bug. He told himself that he never would.

Only Lemon has seen him break down like this. Only Lemon has stayed.

Ladybug’s fingers are still making their way through his hair. For some reason, it doesn’t seem like he’s going to leave. The very idea terrifies Tangerine to his bones.

“Don’t leave,” he whispers anyway, words dropping from his lips unbidden, untethered, hopefully unheard. Ladybug’s arms wrap tighter around him, so that’s out the window as soon as he thinks it. His hand is fisted in Ladybug’s shirt hard enough it’s hurting his hand, but he can’t make himself release. Ladybug tucks Tangerine’s head even closer against his chest.

“I’m not going anywhere, sweet thing. You’re safe. I’m not going anywhere,” Ladybug repeats, his lips pressed into Tangerine’s hair in such a way that Tangerine can feel him speak. Tangerine sinks even further into Ladybug, letting himself be held and holding in return. He feels sort of… fuzzy when he finally pushes back from Ladybug’s chest, smoothing out the creases of his button up shirt. He’s dressed down still, only in his trousers and undershirt, his button up still unbuttoned and his suspenders unclipped, no plan of a vest today. It’s morningtime still, he thinks, but he’s not entirely too sure. He’s only quite sure of one thing.

“Well, that was fuckin’ embarrassing, wasn’t it?” he asks, his hand scrubbing down his face. Ladybug holds him still by the hips, his grip loose but definitely there.

“Sweetie, I think you just might have had an anxiety attack,” Ladybug says. An incredulous noise rips itself out of Tangerine’s throat before he can help it.

“No, no, see, I don’t have those,” Tangerine says quickly, almost retracting himself from Ladybug’s hold completely, but unable to convince himself it’s worth the dramatics.

“Anybody can get one, you know. It’s what your body does to keep you from having an aneurysm or from your heart exploding. How do you feel most of the time?” Ladybug asks. As if that isn’t the hardest fucking question in the world.

“What the fuck do you mean how do I feel most the time? That’s vaguer than shit, love,” Tangerine says, his frustration moving to exasperation moving to exhaustion. It’s still morningtime. Why does he feel as if he’s ran a marathon?

“I mean, do you typically feel worried during the day? On edge all day? Irritable? Trouble relaxing?” Ladybug leads him, and this time Tangerine finds himself able to follow.

“You know all of that is true, what the fuck are you on about?” he asks, raising an eyebrow. Ladybug squeezes his hip.

“Tan, that’s anxiety. Those are anxiety symptoms, dude. You totally need to bring that up to your therapist,” Ladybug says, his tone showing no sign of joking and his expression serious. Tangerine can’t help his immediate snort.

“What am I supposed to say? Hello doctor, my boyfriend armchair diagnosed me with anxiety, do you reckon we need to change my head pills for that?” Tangerine asks, half sputtering in his incredulity. He still blushes when he says the word boyfriend aloud. That’s not really the point though, is it?

“I mean if that’s how you wanna put it-” Ladybug starts. Tangerine doesn’t bother to let him finish.

“No, that’s not how I’d fucking like to put it!” he says, his fist still tangled up in the bottom of Ladybug’s shirt tightening back up for just a moment.

“Listen, Barry explained it to me like this- if all anxiety is on a scale from 1 to 10, there are no people who live in the 1-3 range anymore. Everyone is anxious all the time, whether their anxiety is useful or not. How I see it is, you having a lot of anxiety in this line of work, that could be a good thing. Could keep you alive. I’m thinking you might be so aggressive all the time because you’re constantly stuck at a nine,” Ladybug expounds, squeezing Tangerine’s hips in intervals where he would typically be gesticulating. Tangerine sighs.

“And what the hell does that mean, exactly?”

“Well, Barry says that 4 to 5 is the new normal, right, so my anxiety has me at a constant 6 or 7, just regularly up in anxiety. An eight is something that a lot of people skip right over, it’s tearfulness, so if somebody gets irritated because he doesn’t wanna cry, he might skip right into 9, which displays as irritability and aggression. And that’s where I think you might live. Irritable because you’re worried all the damn time.”

It's fucking irritating when Ladybug sounds like he might be making sense. Especially when it’s about something Tangerine doesn’t want to look in the mirror and see quite yet. He doesn’t know that it’d ever be easier to see this. He dips his head down against Ladybug’s collarbone, leaning against his boyfriend heavily.

“If- If I think any of that sounds- well- like me, how do I make it better?” he asks, his voice hoarser than a second ago, but still clear enough to be understood. Ladybug moves a hand to scrub through Tangerine’s hair.

“Well, I’m glad you asked, sweetheart, that shows real growth. There are breathing exercises that might help, and grounding exercises for when things get as bad as they were a few minutes ago. I think the best thing, though, would be to tell your therapist about it so that you two can develop some coping mechanisms that work for you. I can tell you what works for me all day but learning what works for you would probably help a lot more.” It’s a lot to process all at once, and suddenly, all Tangerine wants is to take Ladybug back to bed. He wants to lay down and he wants to be held, and he wants to be loved, and for once in his goddamn life, he just wants to relax.

“Fuck it, teach me a- what did you say? A breathing exercise? Teach me one of those later,” he acquiesces, willing that to be the last of it.

“It might help you calm down if you wanna do it now,” Ladybug suggests. Tangerine shakes his head.

“I just want-” he cuts himself off, embarrassed. Ladybug’s thumb strokes along his temple encouragingly.

“You want what, Tan, you can tell me,” Ladybug says, affirming and sweet. Tangerine still doesn’t want to answer. He does anyway.

“I want you to call me baby and hold me for a little while,” Tangerine says, groaning into Ladybug’s shoulder. It’s embarrassing. Saying it aloud is the freest he’s ever felt.

“You’re my baby again?” Ladybug asks, just the slightest edge of teasing in his tone, and Tangerine turns red all over again.

“Always your- fucking hell,” Tangerine interrupts himself, turning away from Ladybug to lead him back to the bedroom. Ladybug follows easily. They get into bed more carefully than usual, Tangerine tucked close to the wall in the way that he’s grown accustomed to and Ladybug on the outside, guarding him from the door. He’s never really understood why Ladybug makes him feel so safe, laying between him in the world. They lay facing one another, Tangerine’s mouth level with Ladybug’s jawline. Ladybug turns to press his nose into Tangerine’s hair, nuzzling into him.

“Always my baby?” he asks quietly, near to a whisper. Tangerine nuzzles into Ladybug’s throat instead of answering, placing soft kisses and gentle bites along the skin there. He chooses not to answer because he’s afraid of what the answer might be, what might come out of his mouth in this safe space of their bedroom, in this moment where he feels like he and Ladybug are the only people in the world.

“Hold me,” he reminds his partner, tangling their legs together roughly.

“Yes dear,” Ladybug says in return, pulling Tangerine into his arms.

[fangirlwriting-stories]

Before I Go

Chapter One

AO3 Link

Chapter Five:

Remus makes sure Roman is in his room when Virgil gets there for a multitude of reasons.  Yes, Virgil’s not the biggest fan of him, but more than just that, he also wants a little time with just Virgil and him and Janus, which Roman seems to understand.

So when the knock comes on the door, the two of them are alone in the living room.  Remus hops up instantly, keeping a hand on Janus’ shoulder so he knows Remus is going to get it.  Janus has been fragile all day, and Remus is going to take off his plate what he can.

He pulls the door open and is met with Virgil standing with his hand poised to knock again.  He blinks a couple times when he sees Remus, looking lost.

“Uh,” he says.  “Hi.”

Remus rolls his eyes, reaches out and pulls Virgil into a hug.  “Moron.  Get in here,” he says.

Virgil wraps his arms around Remus and squeezes him tightly.  “I missed you,” he mumbles into Remus’ shoulder.  “I’m so sorry.”

“Shush,” Remus says, pulling Virgil inside the apartment and shutting the door after them.  “Come sit.”

Virgil pulls back from Remus with a small smile, only to stop a second later when he sees Janus.

Janus doesn’t say anything, just looks at him.

Remus groans, grabs Virgil by the arm, and drags him over to the couch after him, then plops him down in between himself and Janus.  “So.  Hi.  How’ve ya been?”

“Uh,” Virgil says.  “Better?  I think?  I… I’m not so scared anymore.”

Remus smiles at him.  “Good,” he says, nudging Virgil in the side.

Janus scoffs and leans back into the couch, and Remus shoots him a look.

“You found a new place to live, right?” Remus asks, and Virgil turns back to him.  “You can stay here if you have to.”

Janus turns to stare at him, and Remus pointedly ignores it.  Like he’s going to let Virgil stay on the streets.

“No, I did, I’m fine,” Virgil says.  “I’m staying with my roommate Logan.”

“Ah, but are you roommates, or are you… roommates?” Remus says, wiggling his eyebrows.

Virgil rolls his eyes.  “We’re roommates,” he says.  “And good friends.”

“Nice,” Remus says with a grin, meaning it.  He’d been worried about Virgil when he left.  He hadn’t been in a good place.

“Oh for pete’s sake, are you two finished?” Janus says, glaring over at both of them.  “You said you came to apologize, didn’t you?  We’re waiting.”

“Janus,” Remus snaps, crossing his arms.

“What?  Why do I have to sit here and listen to this?  I have other things I could be doing!” Janus snaps back, pushing himself up off the couch.  “If you two just want to catch up you can do that without me!”

“Janus,” Remus says, standing, but Janus storms off before Remus can stop him, down the hall and slams their bedroom door after him.

Remus groans and plops down on the couch again.  “Sorry about him,” he says, still glaring off after him.

“It’s okay,” Virgil says.  “I kind of expected him to be angry.  He’s Janus.”

“He’s just… on edge,” Remus mutters.

“I can’t exactly blame him,” Virgil says quietly.

Remus shakes his head.  “It’s new,” he says, turning back to Virgil.  “He was different before I brought Roman here.  I think it’s freaking him out.  We were supposed to ignore it until we couldn’t.”

Virgil snorts.  “Sounds right up his alley.”  He pauses, and looks at Remus for another second.

“I really am sorry,” he says finally.  “I should have just been happy for you guys when you said you were dating.”

Remus shakes his head.  “You were scared,” he says.  “It’s okay.  Besides, people have done much worse to me because they were scared.”

Virgil narrows his eyes, seeming annoyed at the reminder.  “Yeah, where is that prick anyway?”

“In his room.  I’m giving you both a day of reprieve to get used to the idea of each other before I introduce you.”

Virgil tips his head curiously.  “That’s not like you.”

“Yeah, I’ve got more important things to think about than my entertainment,” Remus says, giving an overdramatic sigh as he leans back on the couch.

Virgil’s gaze turns suspicious.  “Like what?”

“Don’t worry about it,” Remus says, waving it off like it doesn’t matter.  “Tell me how you met Logan.”

“We met at a bar,” Virgil says.  “He’s crazy smart, Re.  He’s a chemist.”

“A chemist, you say?” Remus says, leaning in towards Virgil and starting to grin.

“No, he cannot show you how to make a bomb.”

“Boo!”

Virgil shakes his head, smiling at him.  It fades a second later into concern though, giving Remus only a second to brace himself before the inevitable questions start.

Sure enough, Virgil pulls his legs up on the couch to turn and face Remus.  “So, how are you?  Janus said you’re about a year along, right?”

Remus nods.  “Honestly, so far the most annoying part is that I can’t laugh without breaking out into coughing,” he says, shrugging like it’s not a big deal.

“Re,” Virgil says.

“Virgil, I have bigger things to worry about,” Remus says.  “Like the fact that you won’t let your badass chemist friend show me how to make a bomb.”

“Remus.”

Remus groans.  “Come on Virgil, I don’t want to talk about it.  The deciding to ignore it until we can’t thing isn’t just for Janus.  I’m not done living yet.  I’ve got more stuff to make and more things to do.  Let me make and do stuff.”

Virgil is quiet for a minute.  “Have you thought about what happens after?” he asks, looking hesitantly at Remus.  “Who gets what, who you want to do the service, how you want to be remembered?”

“Virgil.”

“Do you want me to handle it?”

Remus blinks.  “What?”

“I don’t know what’s been going on with you,” Virgil says.  “And I may not know exactly what you want.  But… I know this priest, Patton.  Who wouldn’t refuse to do a ceremony for you.  It would have to be a secret one, obviously, but he’d do it.  And I can make some choices based on what I know, that you can change if you want as it gets closer to… well.  It… can be an apology.  You know.  For not being here.”

“Hey, no,” Remus says, reaching out and taking Virgil by the shoulders.  “I don’t want you to do that to yourself.  I told you, I forgive you.”

“I’m good with death,” Virgil counters, pulling his hands down.  “I like death.  I can do it.”

“You like horror movies.  That’s very different.”

“Remus,” Virgil says quietly, looking up at him.  “Let me do it.  I want to do something for you.”

“No.  You’ve got something else you can do for me.”

Virgil blinks, seeming caught off guard.  “What?”

…

Virgil left late in the afternoon, and Roman finally came out of his room, only to find Remus alone in the living room, writing something in a notebook.

“Where’s Janus?” he asked.

“He gave up like a little baby,” Remus called.  He didn’t bother to keep his voice down at all, so Roman wasn’t surprised when Janus yelled “Hey!” from the back room.

“You know it’s true!” Remus yelled back, before turning back to his notebook.

Roman glanced down at it to find Remus was writing a poem, which wasn’t something he remembered Remus doing a lot when they were younger.

“What are you making?” he asked hesitantly.

Remus stuck his tongue out for a second, clearly concentrating.  “It’s for Janus,” he said, which was a little hard to parse out since he didn’t stick his tongue back in his mouth.  He stopped suddenly and turned to Roman, and this time he actually did stick his tongue back in his mouth.  “Don’t tell him,” he said, lowering his voice, his face suddenly serious.

Roman nodded.  “Can I sit?” he asked, gesturing to the seat on the other side of Remus.

Remus shrugged and nodded at the seat, so Roman walked around and sat down.

“Hey Re— mus?” Roman added on quickly.

Remus stopped writing for a second.  “You can still call me Re,” he said quietly.

Roman swallowed past the lump in his throat.  “Re,” he said, squeezing his hands together on his lap.  “How did you meet Virgil?”

Remus smiled a little bit.  “He and Janus were the first people I met when I got here.  I snuck into gay bars I was too young for, and met them in one of them.  They were also too young, so we kind of stuck together that night and just… clicked.  Janus’ parents were accepting of him, so he let me crash with him a lot once he learned I didn’t have anywhere to stay.”

“Were accepting of him?” Roman asked hesitantly.

“Yeah,” Remus said, smile falling.  “They died in a wreck just after Janus turned eighteen.”

“I’m sorry,” Roman murmured.

Remus shook his head, but squeezed his eyes shut, and for a moment Roman saw something pass over his face.  He looked terrified.

“Re?” Roman said quietly, reaching out and putting a hand on his arm.  Remus shook him off and shook his head again, though it seemed to be more of him shaking himself.  He opened his eyes and turned back towards the poem he was writing.

Okay, so.  He clearly didn’t want to talk about it.  But Roman didn’t just want to leave him there.

“Remus?” Roman asked hesitantly.  “Can I hug you?”

Remus dropped the pencil and launched himself into Roman’s arms.

Roman wrapped his arms around him and squeezed tightly, and the two of them stayed there for a while.

...

Chapter Six

[toastedcatbread]

🌟Zine Making🌟

So, having completed @sefikurafanzine as the co-head mod, there are quite a few thoughts I’d like to share. Either for those preparing to make your own zine or those who are planning on joining a zine.

It’s a hell of a commitment.

Moderating is different than contributing. It seems obvious, but it’s something that I think a lot of people forget. It’s not a “one and done” thing, it’s continuously checking up on the server and people’s progress. It’s encouraging people when they share their progress. It’s keeping an eye out on the schedule to make sure that things are progressing smoothly. It’s sharing information with other moderators and contributors (when necessary) and giving advice or feedback.

The job of a moderator isn’t done when “all the contributor pieces have been submitted” or “the layout is done”. It’s over a year’s worth of moderating. As a mod, you can’t claim “cluelessness” and must respond to inquiries. If not personally, you do need to make sure that someone on the mod team responds.

The timeline can be tricky. 

You may not want it to last a year (or over a year), but it’s better to plan for extra buffer than to run into the situation where things get pushed back again and again. Too many delays causes people to lose confidence in you as a moderator and in your project. Consider what a buyer may think, if they were to look at your timeline and it gets repeatedly pushed back. If you are constantly adjusting for delays, people may not buy your product since they aren’t sure if you will deliver.

That is why, one of the earliest things the mods and I had to consider was how large we wanted our zine to be. How many pages and how many people to take on. More people meant more time needed and more buffer needed to accommodate them all. The more people you have, the more accommodations you need to make (contributors have lives too!). 

Having said that, LAYOUT PLANNING IS CRITICAL!

I think one of the reasons we were able to complete successfully and within a timely fashion, is because we already had some idea of what the layout would look like. Even as early as before opening contributor apps, we knew how many pages each writer had on the layout. The more pages you have, the more it costs to produce.

Depending on the size of the pages (A5 paper vs standard 8.5x11in), you can only fit a certain number of words on each page. The fact is that writers hold more weight in zines than artists, so, unless you’re planning to have a zine full of nothing but writing, limiting writers is how you maintain a proper page count. There is far more wiggle-room with artists, as they typically only take a page or two, whereas a 1,500 word fic can be 5 pages on A5 paper.

Taking on too many contributors can sink your ship. You NEED to limit your contributors, both for artists and for writing. “How many people can you handle?” is a question that a lot of people don’t seem to consider if they accept everyone. Yes, other mods are there and will help moderate, but it’s still a pain to have to chase down contributors for their part.

This also runs true for mods. Too many mods can sink a ship.

Having more hands on deck for moderating sounds great, but that also means decisions need to filter through more people. It takes longer to respond to inquiries and those asking can and will be frustrated without an answer. Too few mods means that you may largely be doing the work yourself, but too many mods means it takes a long time for everyone to see the announcement or notice.

Too many mods also runs into another issue: Do you trust everyone you are working with?

Bringing on all your friends as moderators sounds great, but can you work together with them? Working together and being friends with each other are two very different things. It’s important to realize that you may not be able to work with some people, even if you enjoy their company. It’s important to trust the people you work with.

Mostly because, unless it is a free, digital zine, YOU ARE HANDLING REAL MONEY!

The responsibility of finances is not a light one. Money is being exchanged for a product that is being delivered (either electronically or physically). Then that money goes somewhere. Not everyone can handle their own finances, let alone a whole other project worth. Experience may not be enough to say that someone is capable of handling finances. A lot of zines run into money issues because the planning of finances is often tricky.

As a baseline, when I looked at our finances, I wanted us to be in the positives before we went to Leftover sales. That meant, the cost of production of the zine book and the merchandise needs to be less than the amount we made during preorder sales. This can often be tricky, as you won’t always know how many people will buy your product during preorders, but you still need to price it. There is also taxes and fees that are deducted, as well as the cost of shipping physical copies that must be accounted for. It’s not an easy task.

There are also other hidden costs that people don’t necessarily consider when they plan for zine production. Merch tests, zine book tests, shipping of merchandise from the manufacturer to you, those all cost money. Unless you’re willing (and able) to cover the costs out of pocket, your preorder price needs to reflect this. 

Artists advertise better than writers.

Speaking of preorders, advertising is important. Depending on the platform, this may vary, but in general, artists draw more attention to their work.

Having a lot of writers seems nice. But other than the page count issue, where writers take up a lot of space, writers also do not advertise as well as artists. This is especially important if you are making a zine to sell (for charity or for profit; it doesn’t matter). Art draws more attention than writing, as it can cross language barriers and cultures far better than writing can. 

Learn to say no!

This is a personal lesson in life. We, as people, want to do our best to accommodate everyone and anyone, even if we don’t have the ability to do so. You have to say no. You have to learn to make the rules and stick to them the best you can. Making 50 people wait on a single person isn’t fair to everyone.

This also applies to applications. There were a lot of applicants that were good, but we had to choose, due to the limitations of the zine. Having a lot of people apply is amazing and wonderful, but we just couldn’t bring everyone on. 

I’ve mentioned it before on my Twitter, but rejection isn’t a reflection of your craft. It’s a reflection on your person. How you deal with it defines you. And no matter how successful and amazing someone’s craft may be, I would not want them on if they handle rejection and disappointment poorly. 

And finally: YOU WILL RUN INTO FANDOM DRAMA.

The fact of the matter is, no matter what you do, you are dipping into the pool of the fandom when you create. People will create fandom drama on principle, no matter how hard you try to avoid it. I experienced rumors and people spreading nasty accusations, just because they didn’t bother to ask questions like “why did you make this a SFW zine?” and “where can I find the mods?”. Questions that were easily answered by looking on the linked carrd on our profile page.

People will stir the pot, just because they can. Not everyone will take rejection well and it’s important to be able to brush it off. How you deal with the drama also defines you, so pick the battles you want to fight.

ALL IN ALL:

It was a fun experience. I’m grateful I got to meet a lot of new Sefikura fans and see their work come to life through our Zine. I’ve reiterated many times in the server that this was our (contributors and mods) project, not the mod’s project. I learned a lot about how to run an online project and the skills needed for future ones. If I had to do something differently, I think I’d like to plan out more graphics and posts earlier and use the scheduling function that Twitter and Tumblr have. That way, people can expect consistent posts and news.

[reblogthiscrapkay]

Travel Tips

In talking to people I realize that I have some really specific things I do while traveling that make my life easier that people don’t seem to know about. Here’s a list of those things. Planning: Plug everything into Google Maps beforehand. Whether you’re driving, walking, or taking public transport, when you plan a daily itinerary, always check how long it’s going to take to get from place to place. You may have vastly overestimated how much you can actually do in the time you have. Leave a little space. I’m a habitual overplanner so I frequently have to remind myself that I should make sure that after I have the couple things I really want to do properly fit into the day, I should just leave some wiggle room. This is especially true if you are doing anything involving nature. Maybe you’ll not want to rush off the beach. Maybe you’ll take a little detour on your hike that seems fun. Have backups for weather. Depending on the trip, the weather can really mess with your plans. On a recent Nevada/Utah trip, our plans to see Bryce Canyon full of snow were thwarted by thick fog. Thankfully, we were leaving out of Vegas and we had plenty we could do there instead. Always have an alternative.

Food: Buy a little extra food with breakfast. I suggested to students on my DC trip that when we went to Dunkin’ in the morning they didn’t just think about what they needed right there, but also that they pick up an extra bagel or doughnut for when they need a snack before or after lunch. Apparently this was genius. Act like restaurants will all be closed by 6PM and plan accordingly. I recently messed up on this one and arrived at 8:30PM in a town in Nevada with two restaurants that both close at 8. Needlessly to say, breakfast was incredible. This is less important if you are going to a big city on a day that isn’t Sunday, Monday, or Tuesday but still worth considering. Just bring some bars. Granola, Clif, Luna, whatever. Just bring a few for emergencies. Packing: Don’t overpack!!! Everyone always does but I’m so serious about this. If your trip is 1-3 nights, you just need a backpack. If it’s a week, you can take something more like a duffel. You only need a small suitcase if it’s over a week, and if you crawl into your suitcase you better be going somewhere for over a month. Create a standard packing list. To save myself the stress of creating a new one each time and also to make sure I can cull things or add things with experience, I have one standard list. It has the categories of “toiletries” and “technology” which are universal for any overnight, “cold weather” and “hot weather” depending on the time, and a section called “circumstantial” which has some generic items I may need depending on the trip (like a book, a bathing suit, or feminine hygiene products) and two subcategories of “international” and “car travel” for if I’m going overseas or if I’m road tripping in my own car. Even in confusing situations like Iceland in the summer where I needed both a bathing suit and a rain jacket, it’s super helpful. If road tripping, bring an empty backpack. One of the more brilliant tactics I have came from a four week long road trip across the west and southwest. Obviously I needed a full suitcase for the journey but we were staying at different hotels almost every night. Instead of bringing in the suitcase every day, I could just keep my toiletries, chargers, and PJs in the backpack and add a new outfit every day. Then in the morning, I would put my old clothes in my dirty clothes bag in the suitcase and replace the outfit with tomorrow’s. Do laundry. I don’t even mean pay for laundry services. When I did a Greece and Turkey trip that lasted three weeks I only packed half that amount in clothes and just washed things in the hotel sinks. I got so sweaty every day anyway that I did it almost daily. Travel size shampoo, conditioner, and soap are necessary for international travel. Unless you are staying in nice accommodations (and I often am not), bringing little bottles of these things is really good to have as they are not always provided. I also steal them from nicer hotels I stay at to have a little supply at home.

[hannahwatcheshorror]

X (2022)

💁‍♀️Strong Female Lead

A sex positive movie with slow pacing in the beginning and middle. Interesting city folk with Southern charm met with creepy old heads in the farmlands. The events are played out realistically enough that you would be concerned about yourself falling prey to most of the characters' fates. I find it more unsettling when it feels like there is less wiggle room in trying to figure out how to survive the events of the film. Yes, there is always the option of choosing a different path than the characters, but say you picked their path, what could you have done within that path and lived. This film also poses an interesting question about trauma and if it begets trauma, if it has to.

⭐⭐⭐.5

“It’ll be our little secret”

I have to admit the movie sort of dragged in the beginning and only really got good in the last 30 minutes or so. There is so much that can be done during the slow build up but I just found myself bored at times with the pacing. It wasn’t until we found out the old woman is Pearl that things got interesting because before that she was just a strange old woman but now, she’s Pearl. We have not yet seen Pearl (as at the time of this movie Pearl has not been made) but the importance here is on establishing her now as a named character. If they would have introduced that just a tad bit earlier I would have been a little less devastated at each death because they felt so random before (like a random, angry, old lady killing people off).

Shout out to RJ who just didn’t have the emotional capacity to say to his girlfriend, Jenna Ortega, “I care about you and our relationship so please don’t make me watch you sleep with another man, close up, and through a camera lens.” He got no support from anyone around him and then was just supposed to go to sleep next to her like nothing happened but he was really sad! So he showered and left but not before he tried to help Pearl out, but she’s being creepy and wants to tongue him and RJ, again, doesn’t have the emotional capacity to say “Hey, while I appreciate that you wanna get all up on this, I just watched my girlfriend sleep with a man with a considerably large dong and it has really messed me up psychologically, I would just like to go home now.” The thing is, Pearl doesn’t have the emotional capacity to say, “Listen, kid, I was supposed to be a big star but life had other plans so now I gotta stab you 6-17 times,” so, instead, she just stabbed him 6-17 times. 

I must say it is very frustrating/sad that both Pearl and her hubby constantly attacked and killed the crew who were very nice and helpful to them, I mean, Brittany Snow offered Pearl her blanket before being death rolled by an alligator that I’m pretty sure Pearl summoned because she was standing on the dock for some time before Britt got there (so she must be a witch). Kid Cudi was bonding with the husband over them both being veterans and got blown away by the shotgun, Jenna Ortega gets locked up with a dead body while trying to help find Pearl, and how come the barn has three crawling level peep holes the same width apart as a pitchfork?

All and all it had good cinematography, it had spooky images, the pacing was not great, the story wasn’t my favorite, but the characters' motivations made sense and felt real. Knowing this is part of a three part series is exciting as it has good building blocks.

[joltcomfort]

Tips to Choose the Best Running Shoe Manufacturers

Jogging is a type of exercise that is taken by many people, as it brings great health advantages. If done correctly, this can lead to improved performance as well as prevent injuries, which are some of the benefits associated with running shoe selection. Deciding on which manufacturer to go for when it comes to running shoes may at times be quite complicated because of the vast market. Here, you can get information on how to select the appropriate running shoe insole manufacturer, especially those dealing in running shoe insoles. At the end of this article, you will be able to decide on a good Goodyear tire for the occasion. 

Understanding your needs 

As you are preparing to take a look at the tips on how to choose the appropriate running shoe manufacturer, one has to ask yourself some questions first. As for footwear, individual needs differ significantly depending on the pronation of one’s foot, the individual's running style, and the surfaces covered.

Assess your foot type. 

Flat Feet: The shoe must have superior arch support. 

High Arches: To safeguard the foot from impacting the ground, there is a need for shoes that have cushioning. 

Neutral feet may be useful since they could take advantage of a wide variety of shoes. 

Identify your running style. 

Overpronation: heel squints on the ground; consider stability shoes. 

Under pronation (supination): phototropic sprawl of the feet; use shoes with soft soles. 

Neutral: appropriate; can choose a range of shoes, for example, both shoes and sneakers. 

Consider the running surface. 

Road running: This is very important, especially good cushioning and support for the foot when walking or standing for a very long time. 

Trail Running: Shoes should be non-slip shoes with good protection from the outside environment for increased durability. 

Research the manufacturers.

The next step is to look into various companies that produce running shoes in an attempt to understand your needs.

Reputation and reviews 

Customer Reviews: Another practical guideline is to analyze reviews from running individuals to determine their level of satisfaction. 

Expert Opinions: Check reviews and recommendations made by other running professionals, for instance. 

Brand Reputation: Select manufacturers that have earned good reputations and are not afraid of pushing the boundaries of their creativity and technology. 

Technological Innovations 

Cushioning Technology: Technological improvements that are impacting comfort and effecting impact. 

Arch Support: increased features and cushioning that accommodate various kinds of foot shapes and sizes. 

Material Quality: Always prefer high-quality, long-lasting materials.

Specialty in Insoles

Since insoles have the primary function of providing comfort and enhancing the efficiency of a running shoe, choosing to look for manufacturers who offer professional running shoe insoles is relatively relevant. 

Insole Technology: Particularly, search for broad producers who will provide proper insoles for your foot type and type of running. 

This means that even the best of styles cannot be produced when the shoes do not fit or are uncomfortable. 

Try before you buy.

Physical Stores: For physical activity, make a point of going to stores and attempting various shoes. 

Test Run: Before moving out, try and wear them for a while; for instance, do a small running activity to feel how they are like to use. 

Size and Fit 

Proper Sizing: Make sure that the shoes do not tightly fit your feet or are too loose to avoid further complications. 

Toe Room: The shoe must provide ample room for toe wiggles. 

Heel Fit: The heel should not be loose but rather hold comfortably on the foot without twisting around. 

Material Quality 

Upper Material: Since it will serve as a means of protection, it also should be strong but at the same time should allow for some airflow.

Outsole Material: It should provide good adhesion to the substrate, and it mustn’t deteriorate quickly due to abrasion. 

Construction Quality 

Stitching and Bonding: Consider shoes that have excellent workmanship, especially at the seams and joints, to have good bonding. 

Warranty: Warranties are some of the incentives that are provided by some manufacturers as a clear indication of the sturdiness of the wholesaler’s equipment. 

Consider the price. 

One should avoid a tendency to choose inexpensive shoes because affordable shoes often mean that the shoes aren’t of good quality. 

Value for Money

Balance Quality and Cost: The idea is to look for the highest quality of the product that you can afford within the provided budget. 

Cost of Customization: It should be speculated whether the given manufacturer provides reasonable prices for custom insoles and included options. 

Long-term Savings 

Health Benefits: Wear appropriate shoes as a reminder that it is possible to avoid these harms at their earliest stages, thereby helping to spare healthcare expenses. 

Look for cleanliness and staff intrepidity.

Despite technical advancements in shoe design, good customer service will further complement your buying experience and help in case you run into problems with your shoes.

Return Policy 

Easy Returns: This is because manufacturers who offer easy and flexible return policies will mean that your customers will also return your commodities more easily. 

Exchange Options: See if there’s a possibility of getting an exchange for the wrong size or fit.

Customer Support 

Responsive Support: Make sure that the manufacturer has adequate customer support.

After-sales Service: Always consider those shoes that are backed by good after-sale services that include elaboration on how to clean the shoes and recommend some good polishes. 

Conclusion It may be difficult to determine which running shoe manufacturer can best suit your requirements, and to be able to distinguish the nuances between different products requires time for research and thought. It is also important to survey manufacturers based on their reputation, technological advancement, and core competence in running shoe insoles, which can help inform your choice. Before making the best decision, one has to ensure that it is comfortable and has the right fit, consider the durability of the shoes, look at the prices, and finally, consider the good customer service, or rather, the reputation of the shop. In conclusion, therefore, it can be said that getting the best running shoe inserts for running shoes or getting the best running shoe inserts would be quite beneficial in increasing the comfort of the run and avoiding injuries.

[proceduralbob]

like the thing about professional wrestling is that it exists as this intersection of athleticism and theatre and soap opera that is really fascinating

(i'm no supereyepatchwolf so this is probably not as well composed as i'd like but. shh.)

wrestling detractors will say things like "but it's fake". well like. so is most fandom that people get into. they are actors performing from a script that someone wrote to entertain. but it would be a weird thing to say if someone was like "i'm getting really into breaking bad" and you said "you know that walter white isn't real, right?" second of all like it's "fake" in the sense that the storylines including match outcomes are predetermined and that the moves they do are designed to look more painful than they really are. but people aren't "faking" doing a backflip off something high. they are demonstrating athleticism -- they just aren't demonstrating fighting.

these are people putting on a performance to entertain a crowd in line with a scripted story. in that respect it is not much different than live theatre or ballet or any other live performance of script and skill.

but there is a pretty important difference between professional wrestling and most of those other things and that's that it has a storyline that carries on from show to show. and that storyline will be written either by a creative team or by the wrestlers themselves or some combination of both -- depending on the promotion. and that storyline, if it is written well, is going to be impacted by things happening in the real world in real time.

one of the things that has really drawn me into local indie wrestling and away from big promotions is how a small intimate crowd will have greater interaction with the wrestlers and influence the story in small ways. a wrestler from a big promotion being really "over" with the crowd [in wrestling talk that means the crowd is loving them] may influence the story to get them more matches, because if fans love them, they will pay more money to see them. but in a small promotion it's basically a guarantee that the crowd reaction is going to influence your booking every time, because you don't have much wiggle room with a small crowd.

that isn't to say that booking is, or should be, always about giving the fans exactly what they want. if you're good at booking and good at storytelling you know when to give the crowd what they want (e.g. give more show time to an undercard wrestler who is getting a huge positive reaction) and when to not give them what they want (e.g. a popular underdog losing to an underhanded bad guy can develop more fan reaction as now they really want to see the bad guy get their comeuppance).

and also, sometimes things happen in real life that affect the story and you have to be able to adapt your storyline to suit that. a wrestler might get injured and be out of commission for a while. or an international pandemic could occur and close down all in person gatherings for months or years. just random hypotheticals here.

i dunno guys. with wrestling you can come in at any time and enjoy a show but then you watch show after show and watch storylines develop. people get together as a team or break up as a team. people betray each other. people strive for things that might be beyond their grasp - and then they finally get there. or don't get there. performers will have chemistry with each other or with the crowd. some peak moments of the night in a small indie wrestling show are when the wrestlers engage with the crowd in ways no one could have scripted.

idk guys i just really like wrestling