#and to the growth... of my... mindset? yeah

[makelifeyourbitch42]

Realism ≠ No Mansion

So I saw a confession on the Creepypasta Confessions blog and I am pissed.

First off, to be clear: I’m not trying to attack anyone personally. But I am extremely tired of people throwing around takes like this and calling it “realism” because it’s not. It’s uncreative and borderline gatekeeping.

This is gonna be a long one. Buckle up:

🚫 Saying “Jeff would kill everyone”

That’s not realism. That’s avoiding the question of why he might not. You’re dodging character complexity in favor of edge.

👁 Saying “Eyeless Jack only sees others as prey”

That’s not realistic. It’s ignoring that even monstrous characters might have nuance or boundaries, or that he might recognize other cursed beings as more than meat.

🎮 Saying “BEN Drowned only sees others as pawns”

You're writing off any chance of him forming actual relationships or attachments.

🎪 Saying “Laughing Jack sees them as entertainment”

Again, yeah… until he doesn’t. What happens when the entertainment fails? What happens when he connects? Explore that.

💋 Saying “Nina only cares about Jeff”

Okay, and what about after? What about growth? What about disappointment or found family? You’re locking her character in amber.

⏰ Saying “Clockwork and Toby are too insane to get along”

So… you’ve never heard of shared trauma bonds, dissociation, or neurodivergent kinship, huh? They're more than their instability.

👧 Saying “Sally won’t trust anyone”

Great. That’s the start of a story. What about the arc? Who does she learn to trust? What brings that wall down?

🌲 Saying “Slenderman isn’t a father figure to everyone”

Sure. But why can’t he be one to someone? Who sees him that way? What does he feel about that? Explore the dissonance, not just the denial.

🔥 “Realism” Isn’t an Excuse to Be Boring

I’m sorry you couldn’t think of ways these characters might grow, clash, bond, or just coexist without stabbing each other, but don’t act like that’s realism.

Here’s some so-called “realistic” reasons for why Slenderman might have a mansion just pulled out my ass just right now:

Maybe it’s not his, it’s just a convenient base

Maybe he built it to contain or protect his proxies

Maybe a proxy built it for him

Maybe it’s just a house from when he was human, if you roll with that theory

Why might Jane and Jeff exist in the same space?

Slenderman's forcing them to

Jane’s forgiven him, Jeff doesn't have to stay evil

She’s forgotten what he did, Slenderman gave Toby amnesia why not her?

You can write any of this in a grounded, character-driven way. “Realistic” doesn’t mean “everyone is alone and evil forever.” It means understanding why they’re not.

💡 This Mindset Hurts New Creators

What pisses me off the most is that someone who wants to write a “realistic AU” might see this garbage take and think:

“Oh… I guess I can’t do that.”

YES. YOU. CAN. If you want to write a mansion AU? Do it. If you want to make them friends, enemies, exes, reluctant roommates? Go wild.

Just ask yourself why it works. Get creative. Build the bridges. Tell the story. Stop saying "this can't work." And say, "How can this work?"

Don’t let boring people kill possibility and call it "canon."

[sleepless-crows]

26. a song that taught you a lesson

wowww 알 수 없는 마지막 !! 그래서 더 아름다운 !! my life !! 껴안아 실패마저 I keep going yeah !!!!!!!

[ilkkawhat]

you know what? it's 2025 and I'm not gonna let the anxiety win

[im-smart-i-swear]

guy trapped in a hell of his own creation: haha ive never done anything wrong in my entire life. and im always right:] anyway. why did my little brother move out:(

its so funny to me that at first glance tashi seems like hed be the most 'normal' out of all the clones but at least all the others are slowly healing n shit while hes just getting more and more insane each day and one day hell snap and explode and maim someone

[dreamertf]

Follow the Instructions

/hello! Hope you enjoy this one, im gonna start tagging ai as #ai tf so if you dont want to see any ai images in your tfs you can block that tag. Ill also be putting a disclaimer at the top of each post that has ai.

/contains ai images & video

/includes; muscle growth, suggestion tf, straight to gay tf

"Yeah, Im feeling fine!"

Jason was tired of how weak and scrawny his best friend Max stayed throughout their time in high school and now, college. So he had given Max a new black market roid that promised to "make him a bro." He crushed up a few of the pills without looking at the instructions and baked it into a cookie he gave Max.

Jason wasn't so bad himself, 6'4" and muscular, with a charming face. Little did he know that his height that he had since he was a sophmore in highschool would be changing.

Jason stared at Max as his skin started to ripple and shift.

"Are you sure?"

"Never better, bro."

Max ripped his shirt off as his muscles swelled. A deep canyon of rippling abs leading up to two giant slabs of muscle. He flexed and stretched as his biceps filled out.

"Sorry, im feeling a little hot." Max said non chalantly. His muscles continued to grow as he flexed them.

"Oh my god it worked"

"What worked?"

"Oh nothing, dont worry about it."

"Ok brah"

Their surrounds changed from school as it turned into a living room, a living room Jason had been in so many times before, Max's living room. All of a sudden, Jason felt a pull towards Max. He couldn't stop looking at him, like literally. He traced Max's outline as each muscle became more prominent. He stared at the giant as he grew taller and taller, but something wasn't right. It was like everything around Jason was getting taller too.

Unfortunately, Jason hadn't looked into how the roid actually worked. On the back of the small blue box, it read ;

Are you tired of being weak and nerdy? We got you covered. We believe the human mind is a powerful tool, and our Bro Pill helps you to use it to your full potential! Not only does it shift your mindset to be more focused on sports and the bros, but it also changes various other aspects of your life in order to fit your new you! We recommend taking one pill weekly until desired affects.

WARNING: taking more than one pill a week may intensify the effect you have on other people

Jason panicked as he felt himself losing muscle and height. His features softened as he turned from a rugged man into a young 20 something twink. It looks like the god of Jason's creation has type cast him as his twinky boyfriend. Making Max a jock apparently didn't override his sexuality.

"What are you doing to me?"

His voice was still deep, too deep for someone like him.

"Make that voice a little higher, and can you please quit being so worried brah? Be like me, stop thinkin as much little guy huhuhu."

A wave of relief came over Jason as he collapsed onto the couch. His body continued to shrink as he lost his height, becoming about 5'6" compared to Max's new 6'8". His musculature toned down more, not as defined anymore.

"Whatever you say babe" Jason giggled, his voice much higher and more flamboyant.

"Thats my pretty boy." Conversely, Max's voice became much deeper and demanding. Jason felt himself starting to get hornier.

"I'm so happy i couldfind you. Your ass was like made for my dick huhuhu" Max said as he spread his legs wide as his pouch grew bigger. He had one more explosive growth as his shoulder broadened and his pecs filled out more. Jason shifted in his seat as his ass grew more plump and muscular.

"What do you mean?" Jason feigned innocence, turning the ditziness all the way up.

"Come here and I'll show you, slut."

[geeinthejungle]

captain discipline.

Summary: In his first season as captain, Auston feels the pressure and goes to extreme measures to prove his dedication to the team’s success.

Warning: smut

masterlist

The post-All-Star break stretch is when the real season begins. It’s where the pressure tightens, the stakes sharpen, and the expectations skyrocket. Those from the team, the city, the fans, they all start to feel like gravity pressing on your chest.

But the weight Auston feels the most?

It’s the one he puts on himself.

Especially when he’s the face of the franchise.

Especially when he’s coming off the most goals in a single season in over three decades.

Especially when he’s wearing the “C” for the first time.

The boys had just landed back in Toronto, stiff-legged from flights and sore from minutes logged. Four games. Four wins. Nine days. On paper? A perfect road trip.

But they weren’t satisfied.

Not even close.

“We just have to keep our foot on the gas,” John says after practice, “we’re on a good little run here but we need to peak at the right time to make a run in the playoffs.”

Everyone nods, putting their stuff away. Auston suggested a team lunch to talk about everything and the mindset of the guys heading into the most important part of the year.

An hour later, most of the team was crammed around a long, wood-grain table in the private upstairs lounge at Baro. The lighting was low and golden, their plates stacked high with tacos and short ribs and truffle fries they swore they wouldn’t eat.

They talked over each other, laughing too loud, catching up like they hadn’t just shared hotel rooms, plane rides, and post-win card games for over a week.

“We need home ice. Period,” Willy says, mouth full of steak. “And I think it starts with the how we get along with each other. Off-ice chemistry fuels on-ice magic.”

Kniesy snorts, reaching over to pat Willy’s back like he’s proud of him. “Look at you, dropping wisdom like a TED Talk.”

“Quick math, man. Brotherhood equals banners,” Willy says, grinning. “Family meeting life updates, who wants to go first?”

Mitch raises his hand like he’s about to give a toast. “Steph and I are officially in baby countdown mode. Got a few weeks left.”

A round of cheers go up. Max bangs his fist on the table. “Uncle Buds Part Two!”

“I’m gonna buy the kid a drum set,” Bobby grins.

“You’re not allowed near children,” Morgan mutters. He then starts talking about how McCormick is in his mobile phase, crawling around everywhere and taking over the world. The men’s lives are changing—committed relationships, marriage, kids, the whole nine.

Mitch leans forward with a smirk. “Speaking of growth…our boy Tone finally caught feelings.”

Auston doesn’t even flinch. “I’m right here, man.”

“I know,” Mitch says. “That’s why it’s fun.”

Willy sighs dramatically, wiping a fake tear. “You were my ride-or-die. Now you’re just…domesticated.”

“I’m still your guy, Willy,” Auston mutters, reaching for his water.

“Yeah, but now you’re happy and moisturized and probably doing skincare together. It’s not the same.”

The captain shakes his head with a quiet laugh, like he can’t believe half the things that come out of this team’s mouth. He turns his attention to Johnny, who clears his throat and folds his napkin before resting his elbows on the table.

“Look,” John starts, calm and measured as he brings the attention back to hockey. “We’re in a good spot.”

A few guys nod, chewing or sipping from sweating pint glasses.

“But we’ve been in a good spot before,” he continues, eyes circling the room. “It’s not enough. Not if we’re serious about going the distance.”

Knies leans back in his chair, serious now. Auston stays quiet, listening. He’s never needed to be loudest in the room, his presence always seems to speak for itself.

“We’ve got talent. We’ve got chemistry,” John says. “But I think we need something more. Something to light a fire in the room. Every night. Something that sharpens the edge.”

Then Bobby, deadpans, “what...like a blood pact?”

Laughter breaks out, but Max claps once like he’s had a vision. “No. Better.”

He pauses for dramatic effect, eyes scanning the table. “No sex.”

Someone chokes on a sip of their drink. Kniesy starts coughing. Auston blinks slowly.

“What?” he says, squinting at Max like he might’ve misheard him.

Max leans forward, completely unbothered. “Think about it. We’re dialed in right now. Firing on all cylinders. Imagine if we added a vow of discipline to the mix. No distractions. No hookups. No girlfriends. No one-night stands. Just grit, testosterone, and playoff prep.”

Kniesy lets out a laugh and mutters, “You want us to do No Nut November...in March? For team bonding?”

Max shrugs. “Exactly. Makes it harder.”

He flashes a toothless grin. “Literally.”

The table groans. Mitch throws a tortilla chip at him.

“Absolutely not. Steph’s seven months pregnant,” Mitch says, shaking his head. “If I so much as breathe too close, we’re having an Aries.”

Willy lifts a hand like he’s surrendering. “Emotionally, I’m with you. Physically? I’ll die.”

Auston chuckles, shaking his head, but then Max turns to him, deadly serious.

“Unless you don’t think you can do it, Cap.”

The table quiets. All eyes turn to Auston.

He leans back in his chair slowly, mouth tugging into a smirk. “You’re calling me out?”

Max nods. “You’re the standard. Set the tone, Tone.”

Auston tips his head with a small laugh, thinking about it. “Fine. I can do it.”

Willy jumps in. “Prove it. Make it a challenge. Last man standing wins something.”

“What, like a trophy?” Auston asks, even more amused.

Max’s grin widens. “Vacation. All expenses paid. Winner gets Napa in the offseason. Wine. Sun. A full-body reset.”

“Spa package?” Bobby asks.

“If you want it.”

The room buzzes with chatter and mock arguments—some of the newer guys are trying to figure out if this is a joke, some veterans already started listing the reasons their partners will kill them.

Eventually, the list narrows.

The Pact Participants:

Auston

Max

Willy

Mitch (reluctantly, until Max reminds him the countdown clock is ticking)

Kniesy

Bobby (mostly in it for the Napa trip and the bragging rights)

Mo and Johnny are already out. “I have a wife,” John says, shaking his head. “And dignity.”

Everyone raises their glasses. Max lifts his sparkling water and says solemnly, “To strength. To sacrifice. To brotherhood. To...Captain Discipline.”

They clink.

Auston’s smirk fades as the clinking dies down. The laughter continues around him, but he’s already in his head—already thinking about you. The way you always wait up at his condo when he gets home after a long trip. The way you climb into his lap when he’s stressed and trace the 34 tattoo on his wrist.

You’ve never once held him back. Not with the captaincy. Not with the pressure. You’ve only ever kept him grounded.

And now he has to go home and explain that—for the sake of playoff performance and a trip to Napa—he’s entering celibacy boot camp with five other idiots.

He checks his phone to see how much time he has before he needs to break the news.

Across the table, Bobby is already texting Svet with a dramatic “it’s not you, it’s the team” apology.

You know something’s off the moment Auston walks through the door.

He’s sweet, touchy like always, he drops his overnight bag by the door and walks straight to you, pulling you into a hug so tight it knocks the breath out of you. His lips brush against yours with a softness that makes you melt. His hands slide up the back of your hoodie.

But there’s something in his energy. He's constantly adjusting the hat on his head and too casual in the way he drops onto the couch. You feel it in the pause before he speaks, in the way he leans into you without settling.

“So,” he says, voice a little too light, " we get to have a homestand for a little bit. Won on all four on the road. Willy wants to buy a karaoke machine for the plane now. Said it’ll ‘foster joy.’ Mitch seconded it. Kniesy tried to sing ‘Bleeding Love’ and scared half the team.”

You smile, letting your fingers trace over his thigh. He’s warm and real and smells exactly like you remember.

He seems happy. He looks relaxed. But it’s too polished. Too smooth. There’s an edge under the tenderness, like a string pulled tight that hasn’t quite snapped. But it's on the verge.

You glance up at him from your spot curled into his side.

“What’s going on with you?”

Auston meets your eyes for half a second, then looks away with a smile too measured to be real. “What do you mean?”

“I mean something’s off. Like you want to say something but don’t know how.” You sit up, turning to face him fully, your knee tucked under you on the couch. “Aus…talk to me. What is it?”

He lets out a long breath and tips his head back against the couch cushions like the ceiling might give him the words. Or the perfect answers. He stays like that for a moment, jaw clenched, and you reach out without thinking, threading your fingers through his, running your thumb gently across the top of his hand.

His whole body relaxes at your touch. But he still won’t look at you.

“Baby,” you murmur, voice soft. “Whatever it is…it cannot be that bad.”

You laugh a little, hoping to crack the tension. “Unless you gambled away your condo or joined a cult, just tell me.”

He turns to you then, eyes serious.

“Okay. First, I want to start by saying that I love you. Very much. Just want that on the record.”

You narrow your eyes. “I love you too. But you’re scaring me. What did you do?”

“It wasn’t my idea,” he blurts. “It was Max’s. And it’s a team thing. I swear. You don’t have to do anything. I just—”

“Auston,” you interrupt, “what are you talking about? What team thing?”

He exhales through his nose. His thumb brushes over your knuckles.

“We’re cutting out sex. And…anything that comes with it. For, um, bonding purposes.”

You stare at him.

“It’s called… No Nut March.”

You blink again. “No Nut…March?”

“Again, Max’s idea,” he says quickly. “We made a pact. Whoever lasts the longest wins a trip to Napa. Bobby added a spa day.”

You’re silent.

He watches you carefully. “So…you’re not mad?”

You lean back, folding your arms. “Oh honey. I’m furious.”

Auston winces.

“But,” you add, “you’re the captain. And it’d be a very bad look if you weren't the last man standing. So, I guess we’re doing it.”

His brow furrows. “Really?”

“Actually, we’re not doing it. We aren’t doing anything at all,” you correct with a saccharine smile. “For the foreseeable future.”

You watch the slight panic flicker in his eyes.

Because it’s not just about sex with you two. It never was.

Yes, Auston makes you come undone with barely a touch. Yes, he’s gorgeous and massive, in every way that matters. But what undid you from the beginning was how he treated you like an endangered species he was dedicating his life to protect. You weren’t just someone he wanted, but someone he cherished. How his hands knew your body, but his eyes saw your soul. How he could break you open with his mouth and then stitch you back together just by holding you after.

Intimacy with him wasn’t just physical. It was your language. The way he came home from practice and reached for you like gravity. The way you talked with your bodies when words felt too clumsy or heavy. The way he held you after losses. After wins. After nothing at all.

Those things not only made you closer physically but emotionally, you'd never felt more comfortable letting him see parts of you that you thought would never see the light of day. And it was the same for him. He just understood you, took care of you and both worshipped and respected your body in a way that could never be replicated.

And now he was shelving all of that. For the boys.

The betrayal isn’t logical, but it burns anyway.

You inhale deeply, then stand up, brushing your hands down your thighs.

“I hope you told them what they’re really playing for,” you say over your shoulder.

He blinks. “What?”

“Pride, wine, testosterone…” You glance back at him. “And the fact that if you lose, you’re not getting laid ever again.”

His jaw drops slightly, and you disappear into the kitchen, half-smiling, half-seething.

Behind you, Auston leans forward, head in his hands.

He has never felt more like a man on the brink.

And he has no idea how long he can actually do this.

On Day 2, the group chat explodes at 8:43 p.m.

📲Buds on Tour

Mitchy:

boys.

I’m out.

steph asked for a foot massage and started moaning

like moaning moaning

wtf was I supposed to do???

Kniesy:

you were supposed to keep your discipline, man

Mitchy:

she’s pregnant with my child!!

the hormones are out of control!!

I’m just a man!!

Willy:

L + ratio + baby daddy problems

you lasted 48 hours tops

Mo:

God help you in the delivery room

Johnny:

Respectfully bowing out was the right call

Auston rolls his eyes when he sees the messages, tossing his phone onto the couch beside him. You walk into the room with your hair wrapped up in a towel and raise an eyebrow.

“Did someone fold?”

“Mitchell did,” he says, rubbing his forehead. “Blamed Steph’s moaning.”

You snort. “Honestly? That’s valid.”

Kniesy and Bobby fall like dominoes on day four.

They're leaving the arena to pack for the upcoming five-day road trip when Knies, very seriously, announces:

“Look. I’m not trying to be a martyr. But I need to be sent off with love. And Bobby agrees.”

Bobby, zipping up his backpack to head home, nods solemnly. “She wore the grey sweatsuit. The cropped one. It's psychological warfare.

📲Buds on Tour

Knies:

Out. Needed to hit the road properly.

Bobby:

Ditto. Call it superstition.

Max:

YOU TWO ARE THE REASON WE DON’T HAVE BANNERS.

Johnny:

I’m not even in this and I’m disappointed.

The team loses the first three games of the trip. Everyone’s tight. Everyone’s chirping. The only silver lining is that the trip ends with a win—and the locker room celebrates like they clinched the division.

The mood lightens. But the bet doesn’t disappear.

If anything, it intensifies.

“Maybe we do need to be suffering,” Max mutters after the third loss, chucking his protein shake in the locker room. “Maybe that’s the energy we were missing.”

“Or maybe Bobby needs to stop playing DJ and let us warm up without hearing Taylor Swift,” Auston fires back.

“Watch your mouth, Captain,” Bobby grins. “You’re two losses away from being the next one out.”

It's day seven and the locker room is buzzing before morning skate. Auston walks in and finds half the team gathered around Willy, who’s sitting on the floor looking dazed and slightly ashamed. The second he enters, everyone turns to him like it’s breaking news.

“Willy’s out,” Max announces, arms crossed like he’s presiding over a tribunal.

Auston blinks. “What?”

“Forgot the bet was happening,” Knies adds. “Hooked up with some girl last night."

“I remembered after,” Willy mumbles. “In my defense, she looked like Bella Hadid and I had one beer.”

“You have the alcohol tolerance of a freshman in high school,” Mo reminds him.

“Exactly. I wasn’t in my right mind.”

📲Buds on Tour

Willy:

it was an accident

pls don’t roast me too hard

also does anyone know a girl named Sky or Skye or Skylar???

Mitchy:

SKYDIVED OUT OF THIS CHALLENGE

YOU WERE OUR LAST HOPE

Kniesy:

it’s all downhill from here Max and Big Tone

That afternoon, Auston finds Max waiting by the coffee machine, sipping his black cold brew like a man on a mission.

“So it’s just us now,” Max says without looking up.

Auston crosses his arms. “Yup.”

Max glances sideways. “You feelin’ it?”

Auston shrugs. “I’m good.”

“You sure?” Max tilts his head. “You looked a little twitchy during that postgame interview last night.”

“Wasn’t about the bet.”

“Mmhmm. It is day seven. Prime time for withdrawal symptoms.”

“I’m not like you, Max.”

“Oh, I know. You’re Captain Discipline.” Max flashes a grin. “Just don’t forget who coined the term.”

Despite himself, Auston cracks a smile.

Around them, the rest of the team watches the standoff like it’s the playoffs already. Bets are quietly being made. Bobby creates a tracker on the whiteboard, crossing off names dramatically with each new casualty. Knies draws cartoon tombstones with their names beside them.

By day 10, it’s reached a fever pitch.

📲Buds on Tour

Johnny:

boys. ten days. you’re either monks or insane.

Bobby:

Max is doing yoga. Auston won’t make eye contact with anyone. It’s getting dark.

Willy:

this was your idea

Max:

and I regret nothing

Auston:

just remember who you’ll be clapping for in Napa

Max is out two hours later.

Auston doesn’t say anything because winning didn’t feel like winning.

You assumed it would flip a switch. That once Max folded, Auston would relax. That the tension humming beneath his skin would finally give. But it doesn’t. If anything, he seems more wound up.

Still celibate. Still sharp-edged. Still pushing himself too hard.

And you see it.

You see it in the way he rubs at his back at night when he thinks you’re not looking.

In the winces he hides behind common day to day soreness.

In how he hasn’t shaved in days, eyes hollow from nights he lies awake thinking too much.

He’s not scoring like last year, not flying down the ice the same way, and he’s furious with his body for betraying him. He doesn't say it, but you know. The goals aren't coming easy. Sometimes they aren't coming at all. The pressure is louder. He’s playing hurt. And now he's got this weighty "C" sewn across his chest like it might split him open.

And still—he holds.

Because it’s never been about sex.

It’s about control. Purpose. Holding onto one thing when everything else feels like it’s slipping.

The almost breaking point comes on a Tuesday.

Late practice. Long media scrum. His phone hasn’t stopped vibrating since he left the rink—press, trainers, his agent. He comes through your door like he’s been running on adrenaline for a week straight. He drops his bag, doesn’t even take off his shoes before walking into your room and pulling you out of the book your were reading and into his lap.

No teasing. No foreplay.

Just his mouth on yours, a little bit of teeth and a lot of tongue.

His lips are urgent, searching. A rough kind of tenderness. His hand slides into your hair, the other pulling you flush against him like he needs to feel your heartbeat to remember he’s still here. It’s not about lust. It’s about relief. Like kissing you is the only way he’ll keep from unraveling.

You let him take what he needs. His tongue meets yours and it’s frantic, greedy. You straddle his lap and his hands are everywhere, your waist, your jaw, the back of your neck. He groans into your mouth when you tug on his shirt, when your fingers trace the line of his abs.

You can feel him hard under you.

And then—he stops.

Abruptly.

His hands fall away from your body like you burned him.

“Aus?”

He leans forward, breathing heavy. His chest rises and falls in short bursts as he squeezes his eyes shut, fists clenched.

You climb off his lap slowly. “Hey…hey, talk to me.”

He doesn't answer right away. Just stares down at his lap, jaw tight. He takes another deep breath.

“I don’t know what I’m doing.”

You sit cross-legged beside him, your hand resting gently on his thigh.

“I’m exhausted,” he admits, voice raw. “I’m trying so hard to be the leader they want. The player they need. The partner you deserve. I thought this stupid bet would help me prove I could handle it all. That I had the discipline to…compartmentalize. But it’s too much.”

You reach for his hand, threading your fingers through his. He lets you, giving your hand a squeeze.

“I feel like I’m failing. Like no matter how hard I push, it’s not enough. I’m not scoring like I should. I’m not moving like I’m used to. I'm supposed to be automatic and now—now I don't even know what I am.”

His eyes flick up to meet yours, pained and open.

“But then I’m with you, and for a few minutes, everything’s quiet. No fans. No cameras. No pressure. Just you. And I keep thinking…if I can have that, if I can have you and still stay focused, still show up the way I’m supposed to—then maybe I’m not falling apart.”

You brush a piece of hair off his forehead, kissing his cheek.

“You don’t have to prove anything to me,” you whisper. “You already show up. For the team, for the city…for me. Every damn day. You’re allowed to be overwhelmed. You’re allowed to lean on someone. That’s what love is.”

Auston lets out a shaky exhale, folding into your chest. You wrap your arms around his broad back, holding him close, feeling the weight he’s been carrying melt into your embrace.

And in that stillness, in that softness, you feel it.

The strength behind his restraint.

And the love behind his silence.

He cracks when you least expect it.

The team had flown home late the night before after a frustrating loss in Nashville. Auston had been quiet on the plane, headphones in, hoodie up, and you didn’t push him. You knew the loss was sitting heavy. He crawled into bed behind you when you were already half-asleep, kissed your shoulder once, and held you through the night without a word.

You wake up to an empty bed and the smell of something savory drifting up from the kitchen.

By the time you make it downstairs, sleep still in your eyes and his oversized shirt hanging off one shoulder, Auston is already sitting at the island, elbows on the counter, talking softly to his personal chef Chris, who’s finishing up his to-do list.

You pad over barefoot and lean into Auston’s side, pressing a kiss to the curve of his jaw. “Morning,” you murmur.

“Morning, baby,” he says, his voice still scratchy from sleep. You can feel his eyes on you as you move, like they’re tracing every inch of exposed skin.

“Do you need me to add anything to the list before you head out?” Chris asks. “Anything you’re running low on that I didn’t think of?”

You glance at his list and open the fridge, peering inside. “Cranberry juice. There’s like a sip left.”

He nods, grabbing his keys. “Got it. I’ll restock and let myself out.”

“Thanks,” you call, pouring the last of the juice and taking a slow sip as Chris leaves. You set the glass down and roll your neck, an audible crack breaking the silence. “God, that felt good.”

You stretch lazily, arms high over your head, the hem of his t-shirt lifting just enough to reveal a peek of skin at your waist.

And that does it.

You don’t see it, but you feel it—the shift in the air.

Auston exhales a quiet, “fuck it,” and before you can ask what he means, he’s already moving, standing up from the stool, crossing the room with purpose.

He picks you up like you weigh nothing, one arm under your thighs, the other around your back.

Your breath catches. “What is happening right now?”

He doesn’t break stride. “I’ve been disciplined for a really long time,” he mutters, already halfway up the stairs. “And I think I’m done.”

You don’t question it. You don’t want to.

Because his voice is low, controlled, but his grip on you is anything but. It’s needy. Desperate. Like he’s been thinking about this for weeks and finally let the dam break.

By the time you reach the bedroom, your heart is racing.

He sets you down in the middle of the bed and steps back just long enough to look at you. His eyes are dark, jaw tense, chest rising and falling like he’s been holding his breath for days.

You don’t say anything. You just reach for him.

He’s on you in an instant.

The first kiss is slow, but there’s weight behind it. Pressure. Intention. He kisses like he’s trying to memorize you all over again, like he’s making up for all that time.

“I need you,” he murmurs against your skin. “Not just this…you.”

Your fingers thread into his hair, tugging gently as he lowers you back onto the bed. “I’m right here,” you whisper.

He groans, low and rough in his throat, like he’s been trying not to say fuck for a month. He presses his body over yours, his hips between your thighs, the heat of him through his boxers making it almost unbearable.

You wrap your arms around his neck, anchoring him to you. He grinds against you once, slow and torturous, like he’s savoring every second.

And then he stops.

Pulls back just enough to rest his forehead against yours.

Takes several slow, controlled breaths.

You blink up at him, breathless. “Babe?”

He swallows hard. “Just—give me a second.”

You settle beside him as he rolls onto his back, arm flung over his eyes.

“I want you so bad I think I’m gonna explode,” he says, laughing softly but there’s no humor in it. “I didn’t realize how tightly I was holding everything in.”

You lay a hand on his chest, feeling the rapid beat of his heart beneath your palm. “You dont have to hold anything in anymore, Captain. Do whatever you want.”

His arm falls away from his face and he turns his head to look at you.

And when he kisses you again, it’s different.

Softer. Not slower, not weaker—but certain.

Like he’s choosing this. Choosing you.

He peels your shirt off with care, running his hands over your bare skin like it’s sacred, like he needs to relearn every part of you. His mouth follows his hands—along your shoulder, the swell of your breasts, your stomach—every inch savored.

By the time the condom is on and he’s inside you, it’s not about stress relief or easing the pressure. It’s about finally letting himself have the one thing he’s wanted more than anything—you. It’s about how lucky he feels just to be here, with you, touching you, loving you the way he’s been aching to for weeks. It’s about how holding back nearly broke him, and how having you now feels like every piece of the puzzle is being put back together, all at once.

When he bottoms out Auston’s breath catches. There’s no words, just a wrecked, shuddering moan that punches out of his chest. His face buries in your neck, his arms locked around your back like he needs you to keep him grounded. He doesn’t move at first. He can’t. You’re too warm, too soft, too perfect, and it takes everything in him not to break then and there. By the time he finally finds the strength to move, it’s cautious at first—measured, reverent—but his control is wearing thin. You feel the tremor in his body, the way he pants in your ear, completely undone. His rhythm stutters the moment you clench around him.

“F—fuck,” he gasps, voice hoarse, a whimper chasing the end of the word. “God, baby—”

You wrap your legs tighter around him and that’s all it takes. He thrusts harder, deeper, his hips moving with a kind of desperation, every slap of skin punctuated by broken, raw sounds from the back of his throat. Grunts, groans, even the occasional half-sob of relief—like he’s letting go of everything he’s been carrying and giving it to you.

“A—Aus—oh my god…”

Your voice wrecks him. He lets out another low, desperate groan as your body tightens around him, each choked sound from your lips spurring him further. His pace quickens, hips driving harder, but his eyes never leave yours.

His grip on you tightens as his thrusts grow sloppier, messier, the pent-up tension of weeks—months, even—pouring out of him. His face is flushed, brow damp, every muscle straining as he chases that edge with you wrapped around him.

The closer he gets to falling apart, the more erratic his thrusts become, his hips buck involuntarily, soft groans sounding out in your ear. The repetitive tap of his tip deep inside you has you nearly seeing stars; arching your back off the mattress as he caresses your skin, pushing in and out of you, a wave of electric arousal wafting throughout the room.

“Oh—fuck, I’m gonna—” he chokes out, barely able to finish before he’s coming, a broken string of curses falling from his lips as he buries himself inside you one last time. His hips jerk against yours as the loss of control overwhelms him completely.

He pulls out with a soft, broken whine—like the release took everything he had and left him with nothing but pure, molten bliss. His muscles twitch, his breath shallow and uneven, and for a long moment, he just lies there, forehead resting against your shoulder, trying to come back to earth.

His body sinks beside yours, boneless and spent, and for a few seconds, neither of you move. There’s only the sound of your breathing, tangled and uneven, and the way his hand slowly searches for yours in the sheets.

He finds it. Holds it. Kisses your knuckles with a satisfied smile.

After a while, he shifts just enough to kiss your collarbone—slow, tender, like he’s thanking you with his mouth. His lips linger there as he exhales shakily.

“I missed you,” he whispers, voice wrecked and raw.

You glance over at him. “You were only gone for like two days.”

He smiles faintly, eyes still closed. “No, I mean like this. Us. I missed feeling close to you. Missed being able to…breathe.”

His arm wraps around your waist, drawing you into his chest. He presses a few lazy kisses along your shoulder, like he can’t get enough of just having you near, skin to skin, heart to heart.

You whisper, “You okay?”

Auston doesn’t answer right away. He’s quiet—too quiet—and for a second, you think maybe he’s fallen asleep. But then he shifts just slightly, still clinging to you like his life depends on it.

“I didn’t know how much I needed this until now,” he says, barely audible. “Not just the sex. You. Touching you, being held by you. I feel like myself again. Like everything stopped spinning for a second.”

You curl a hand against his jaw and guide his face toward yours. His brown eyes are soft, glassy. Vulnerable.

“You don’t have to carry it all alone,” you whisper. “The pressure. The team. The weight of the city. You have me. You always have me. Plus carrying all that weight can’t be good for your back, it already hurts.”

He swallows thickly and nods, snorting out a small laugh, his bright eyes still locked on yours. Then, so softly it makes your chest ache, he says:

“I don’t want to be anything in this world if I’m not good to you.”

You kiss him before he can say anything else. Just a soft, lingering press of lips. He sighs against your mouth, arms tightening around your body as he pulls you impossibly close. He’s kissing you like he’s apologizing—for holding back, for the distance, for ever thinking discipline had to mean denying what makes him feel most alive.

“Can you just promise me one thing?” You ask him, pulling away for a second and he hums. “No more sex bets. Ever.”

Auston gives a faint chuckle, already nodding. “Yeah, no. Never again. I think I actually saw God for a second.”

“Was He proud of you for your discipline?” you tease, lips curling.

“I think He told me to stop being an idiot,” Auston replies with a dazed smile. “And to worship my girlfriend properly before she dumps me for depriving her.”

You laugh, closing your eyes. “Good thing you listened because I am not surviving another No Nut Anything. I will enjoy Napa though.”

He grins, kissing your forehead. You fall asleep tangled in each other, the bet behind you, the pressure lighter, the love unmistakably, fiercely still there.

[zais-zafu]

Hi, sorry if this is personal, I just wanted to know what you manifested with the help of the loa

hii

hmm, I can't share everything but I am happy to provide some. I have a couple of posts around that but off the top of my head, here are a few:

• appearance change like I got my desired face, body hair loss, clear skin, bigger eyes, longer lashes and fuller brows, different facial structure, fuller lips, faster muscle growth, symmetrical face & body, etc.

• money!!

• full ride scholarship + desired uni

• gifts, just the other day I randomly got a smart watch just because

• dream wardrobe

• massive opportunities that I always wanted to have

• certain situations playing out exactly how I wanted, desired life plot ig?

• people in and out my life — I don't manifest sps & relationships directly but ig working on sc makes you attractive to the people you like + makes things go how you want without you consciously manifesting it

• desired friendships

• desired contact with some influencers

• changing my parents & home situation

• perfect gpa (even tho I don't really study or work hard in my classes) & natural intellect

• popularity within my major

• huge confidence in public!

• princess treatment

• being productive and healthy

• my friend's leg not being broken after being in an accident

• becoming more talented in singing, drawing, writing, and other hobbies without even practicing

• driving licence (even tho I was scared shitless of driving)

• new car on my bday (not for me tho cos I don't like driving lol)

• a fun, exciting & also peaceful life!!

• desired bday

• pretty sure I quantum jumped / shifted a few times cos people look at me crazy when I remember things being different around here lol

• just for fun I did the purple car challenge and it worked + I did the same for lime cars (cos I needed more confirmation lol) in one of my bus trips and I saw one (I still see both lime and purple cars to this day) + recently saw a lime & purple car in the uni so yeah, the law is real 100%

• mental peace — my mindset around life has drastically shifted (no longer in what felt like a rat race) + my mind is a safe space for me now <3

• and a high sc ofc

hope that was motivating to read !!

[milliesfishes]

꣑ৎ౨ৎbilly and his stubble꣑ৎ౨ৎ fem reader x billy the kid

Reaching for one of Billy's shirts, you pulled it over your body and fastened one button, crawling into bed where he was waiting patiently with his arms outstretched.

"Y'know, you could sleep in nothin' at all and it'd be just fine, pretty girl," he murmured into your hair, planting kisses wherever he could reach.

"It's so cozy in your clothes though," you protested, cuddling close.

"Mm, y' see me wearin' anything?" When you looked down you realized he, indeed, was void of any clothes whatsoever.

Laughing, you buried your face in his chest. "Oh, Billy."

Mock frowning at you, he pressed a teasing kiss to the crook of your neck. "Don't see how me bein' naked is any laughin' matter, darlin'."

Shaking your head and still laughing, you reached a hand up to his jaw, stroking the prickly growth. It was a point of comfort for you to touch his stubble because of how much you liked the feel. You lazily commented, "Your cheeks used to be so smooth."

He chuckled, smoothing your hair. "Yeah," he teased. "Then I met this sweet girl who had a thing for scruffy cowboys. Next thing I know I'm not allowed to shave."

You smiled, leaning up and rubbing your face against his jaw, feeling it prickle against your skin. He cupped your cheek in his hand, noticing a little redness from your motions, his scruff leaving a mark on your sensitive skin. "Careful, baby, you'll rub your pretty face all raw."

With hazy eyes, you repeated, "You had such smooth cheeks before."

"Missin' my baby face, huh?" Billy rested his chin on your head. "Ain't I as pretty anymore?"

Your eyes widened as you tried to remedy it. "Nonono-"

Laughing, he tightened his arms around you. "Nonono what, darlin'?"

"You're very pretty." You kissed his neck once to accentuate it. Then your fingers found his jaw again. "Rough."

He smirked. "A bit, yeah." As your fingers continued to rove over it, he shook his head, dipping down to kiss your cheek. "You're fixating on it, sweetheart."

"Do you only keep it for me?" you questioned suddenly, halting the motions of your fingers.

Billy scratched his cheek idly, looking down at you. "Well...I'd be lyin' if I said it wasn't a big part of it," he started, speaking slowly. "You really do love it. I can tell by the way you touch it, 'n react to it." Then he thought to himself for a moment. "But there's other reasons too."

"Like what?" You propped yourself up on his chest to listen.

He smiled softly, chucking you under the chin. "Makes me look like less of a boy. More weathered, maybe. A bit more experienced." Billy got a serious look in his eye. "I ain't a kid anymore, darlin'. I'm a grown man. Don't wanna look like a kid."

Hearing the slightly hardened tone in his voice, you fell silent. As long as you'd known him, Billy had been running from the title forced on him by those supposedly above him. Kid Antrim, Billy the Kid. It was all the same. It forced him into an inferior position even though he'd been fending for himself almost his whole life.

This resistance crept into his actions, his words, and now you knew, his appearance. Billy was well into his twenties now, not a child by any means. He didn't look it either, not to you, anyways.

Reaching up, you fingered his stubble again, a soft look in your eyes. "I think you should shave, if you want to."

One of his eyebrows arched, and he looked confused. "You...want me to shave?" he asked incredulously. "But you love this scruff, baby. You know I grow it for you."

You nodded fondly, leaning in to peck his lips softly. "You...if you want to shave it you should."

Truthfully, you were on the opposite side of his mindset. With his face on every wanted poster in the state, you feared for his life every time he left the house. And the older he got, the more evident that ending became.

His scruff did make him look older, as he'd said. But you didn't want him to be.

Billy traced a hand over your cheek, bringing you back to earth. "Where's all this comin' from, sweet thing?"

You looked up at him, sadness behind your eyes. "I don't want you to look any closer to death."

Immediately, understanding dawned in his eyes. He exhaled slowly, seeming to realize everything you were thinking. "Oh, baby..." Reaching up gently, he took your hand, pulling it away from his face, his calloused fingers wrapping around yours. Billy brought you close so you were right up against him, bundled in his arms.

When you looked up at him, you saw your own pain reflected in his eyes. He leaned down and kissed your forehead. "I understand, baby. I do, I promise."

You fell asleep like that, him half folded over you like a blanket, the comforting weight of him soothing you enough to close your eyes.

Awaking the next morning, you stretched out an arm for him, only to find empty bedspace next to you. When you wandered out into the hallway, you could see him in the washroom through the slightly ajar door. He was shaving.

Pushing the door the rest of the way open, you watched him for a moment before he caught sight of you. Soap was half smeared across his face as he carefully moved the blade against his skin, one side already bare.

Billy noticed you in the mirror and stopped immediately, looking wide eyed at you. There was a long beat of silence as you just stared at him, lips slightly parted.

Pure emotion ran through your body. Everything he'd told you last night about what having his facial hair meant to him ran through your mind. His grief with the name and the image forced upon him, the way it made him feel. And yet here he was. Choosing you over his past.

In a single motion, you moved forward, wrapping your arms around his middle and burying your face in his chest. He exhaled softly, setting the blade down with a clatter and mirroring your actions, his arms holding you safely to him. "Hey, baby," he murmured.

Resting his chin on your head, he got soap in your hair, and you giggled at the feel. He lifted a hand to move the substance to his finger. "Sorry, sweetie."

"It's okay," you smiled, leaning back into him. You nodded at the blade. "Keep going."

He looked down at you so lovingly you could have melted. Billy kissed your hair, getting more soap on it, and lifted the blade once more, making quick work of it since you were wrapped around him.

Sitting on the counter afterward with him standing between your legs, you had your hands on his face, feeling his smooth cheeks. He did look younger, but contrary to his fears, not at all like a boy. No, your Billy was all man through and through.

You leaned forward, nuzzling your cheek against his, and he smiled, nose in your neck. "D'ya like it?"

"You look handsome," you said softly, and he pulled back, kissing your brow. Pressing your lips to his nose, you mumbled, "Do you like it?"

Billy's lips turned up. "Yeah. I do. But most importantly-" he squeezed your hips gently. "I like that you like it."

With your hands on his cheeks, you smiled softly, entranced by the domesticity of it all. Billy kissed both your cheeks, making a point to rub his newly smoothed skin against yours. "'S long as my girl likes it." He slid his arms fully around your waist. "Hope ya like soft kisses."

"I like all your kisses," you giggled, and he started trailed his lips all over your face. "Smooth or scratchy."

[lazysshoebox]

MadoHomu is cool yeah, but I think adding a third gives it some more flavor that it simply won't have otherwise and I will try to sell you on this

Exhibit 1)MadoHomuSaya

This one is fun, real fun, especially so if you spin it in the "most loops she hates me" Homura mindset

A lot of Homura is about looking into the past and learning from it, so if she hammers it into herself, that there's no way Sayaka would tolerate her, that there is no way for them to coexist? That, is very fun

There is the devil angle as well, where Homura gets to have double the guilt of both tying Madoka down AND making Sayaka, who despises her, get involved with her? Really, really fun

Pre loop this ship is just... Really cute, Sayaka and Madoka acting as Homura's protector, one from the mundane while the other from the magical? Super cute

There is also a wraith arc dynamic of the grounded angel (c'mon, she has Madoka's bow AND wings, grounded angel!), the goddess and her right hand angel, maybe both of them sending some signals to Homura so she fights on...

Exhibit 2) KyoMadoHomu

This? This is just plain cute

KyoHomu is... A lot of fun, just love their dynamic so much, adding KyoMado onto that? With the already existing MadoHomu? Perfection

Moemura and Kyoko have a shit ton of fun potential, having Madoka added into it just pushes it even further beyond, Madoka of course being the lead in their relationship

Loopmura having the most trust in Kyoko... Delicious when you add her inherent care for Madoka? Homura, trusting Kyoko to look over Madoka, letting her entire reason to live to Kyoko? Madoka who opens the shell for both of these girls, gripping it and not letting them close up again, not letting them go back into it? Kyoko actually opening up to both of them, letting them in and showing her soft side? Simply, delicious

Wraith arc Kyoko believing Homura and being the only other believer in Madoka? Just shoot me instead

Exhibit 3) MadoMamiHomu

Might just be my OTP

They're just so cute...

Pre loop this ship is just... So darn... Adorable

I have been converted to this by "the soulmate timeline" on ao3, which started with me being drawn into the possibility by "Anti-Mitakihara materials"

Mami having two girls to look after and teach, having two girls who love her, having two girls who care and won't leave her? Madoka both having a teacher and a peer, seeing a girl improve in real time and just being delighted at her company, having two people put her above anything else? Moemura being taken care of, having two people actually CARE about her, having two people delight at her growth?

Woaw...

And of course there's THAT timeline...

It just elevates the ship so much, you don't even know, the potential, the disenchantment Homura carries, yet still, somehow, seeing the best in Mami, despite her attempted murder, despite how fragile she is at the reality of witches, despite her consistently pulling Madoka into this life, despite her not believing Homura? Oh my god being tortured would hurt less

A bonus 4ple just for funsies) KyoMadoHomuSaya

It's gay yearning squared need I say more?

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

RAHH HELLO! just wanted to preface by saying I love the way you characterize everyone in your writing; everything on my dash that I've read genuinely seems like it came straight from the game and it's so very, very impressive that you understand the characters well enough to extrapolate actions and dialogue to this degree. Because I'm sick of Diasomnia (/j /sarcasm. I love them, but two irl years for this book has me up the wall rn), i've been microwaving Book 5 in my brain, and I have sooo many thoughts about how Epel was handled, and I was curious if you have any particularly strong opinions on it. After the motorbike-beach scene, Epel just sort of. Does a 180 and fully accepts Vil's position that being effeminate and cute/overall beauty as a strength-- which I think you've touched on in a post-- and it baffles me that it's so one-and-done, especially considering the writers seems to be pretty good at conveying that change is a slow, and gradual process that, for most of the game, happens behind the scenes. For a hot second, I thought it was because Epel wasn't the overblotter, and therefore, wasn't the main focus and could hypothetically get away with such a sudden revelation being swept under the rug, but when Kalim and Jamil are right there, still working through the effects of their book, the reasoning kind of falls flat.

Anyways, yeah-- apologies for yammering (I hope my brain alphabet soup makes sense) -- have a wonderful day :D

Hello, hello ^^ and thank you for the compliments on my characterization!! bdavvwkskdk I’m quite proud of that aspect of my craft 👉 👈 😳 If you’d like to hear more about how I write dialogue, I talked about it in this post!

It’s about to be 2 years and 10 months of book 7… Can you believe that—

Yes, I’ve previously expressed that I think Epel’s character growth in book 5 + acceptance of Vil’s teachings happens much too quickly. It’s basically a flip of the switch after the beach scene, which is VERY weird considering that 1) these outdated gender stereotypes have been ingrained in Epel for 16 years of his life; they shouldn’t be easily changed and 2) most other character arcs in Twst take place over much longer stretches of time and in ways far subtler than this. Like??? He comes back from the beach and suddenly he’s apologizing to Vil and acknowledging the “power of beauty”??? Even offering to take Vil’s place in their performance after the OB??? Almost proudly claiming that he has “grown way stronger and more charming”??? That’s such a fast turnaround after like six months of being at NRC and being largely against Vil’s ideology.

I think the writers’ intention was to show how Epel’s mindset has changed in book 5 so that it leads into and fuels the eventual development of his UM in book 6. Pre-book 5 Epel would have never developed a more passive and protective spell like Sleep Kiss (Crimson Slumber in EN)?? And then if you look even farther ahead at book 7, Epel has to be comfortable enough with his gender identity to get up on that VDC/SDC stage and sing and dance his heart out to wake up Rook. I should also note that Epel’s dream segment ties for the shortest at a measly 4 parts, which… seems to imply he truly has taken Vil’s values to heart???? Because the muscular version of Epel we see is implied to be a shallow depiction of his desires and we even see his dream!Vil praise him for his beauty in order to placate Epel and lure him back to sleep.

So yeah 💀 Epel’s development definitely feels… rushed to me. It’s part of why I don’t find his character compelling. I get why the writers tried to write him the way they did though; they obviously wanted his growth to happen now to set up for the pay-off that would happen in books 6 + 7, and those pay-offs might not be “earned” if Epel didn’t have his arc beforehand. I think there are better ways they could have done this, though… Book 6 is so long. Surely there was room somewhere in there to have Epel’s development to continue, particularly in the segments where he was traveling with Rook or exploring the depths with his Pomefiore senpai. Book 5 could have also been written in a manner so it feels less like Epel’s total acceptance of Vil’s beliefs and more like him beginning to consider them. The development should have been more evenly distributed and stretched out over the course of books 5 and 6, not all crammed into 5.

[triviallytrue]

"yeah, i attribute a lot of my competitive advantage over my peers to the fact that i was born with a growth mindset and they weren't, and that's never going to change"

[whatifieatedpaperlol15]

Guys guys wait

This is a super messy theory and my grammar is shit but listen

Wwatt self-ish album (also the last tapeworms album not including the live one) song Dr sunshine is dead essentially predicted the events that ensued after the tapeworms era

“For your self portraits, sign another name, well who could I be then if I’ll never be the same” = when his persona took a shift and changed his pseudonym:

Right yeah, that was the entire thing about the song “Dr sunshine is dead, no more of that- here’s will wood” but the lyrics after

“I will be that sunshine” = the normal album era

“I will be that moon at night” = Incase i make it era

“Who else could I be/when I could hardly see” = Slouching towards Bethlehem/Mr wood is dead tour eras

Another noteable thing is the tones, with tna it’s cold and more blues, purples, greens while proclaiming to be “the sunshine” which would contribute incredibly to the two faced American suburbia dare-I-say modern day Christian mindset that is being portrayed with tna. Having the mask of of a perfect life and morels, but behind closed doors being in a living hell. Saying to be the truth and life while essentially hollow and heartless- henceforth cold. Thus giving the vibe of hard and guarded, the real moon at night.

With incase i make it, it’s said to be the “moon at night” while the album has more warm tones like yellows, oranges, and browns. The lyric also would be playing off to the line “what’s the moon made of” in tomcat disposables, which is a rather sad and solemn song that is accepting to death, giving it a soul filling feel. That brings me to the point whereas the portrayal of icimi is more of self exploration, reflection, depression, death, and acceptance, all wrapped up with a warm feeling inside, giving understanding and perspective of life and it’s consequences as well as it’s joys. It really shows the bittersweet nature of life as well as proves there is no permanent state of self, but rather that growth is inevitable, it just matters at what direction you’re growing and how to change that, warm and approachable. This giving the vibe of being vulnerable and tender, the real sunshine.

“I will be the sunshine” trying to prove you’re a great person, you have no faults, you’re always right and always win, nothing matters, we all die and be forgotten in the end.

“I will be the moon at night” accepting that you’re not the best but you keep trying, you have faults and their yours- it’s up to you to make up for them, accept when you’re wrong- sometimes you lose. when someone or something you know dies, remember them and cherish their memory, make something of yourself and/or their memory for life in the world to come.

anyways thanks for coming to my ted talk.

[cleolinda]

Here’s voice commentary over gameplay as I gradually figure out how to stop being scared of fight Pyramid Head. (The jumpiness of the video mystifies me; I apologize. Sometimes OBS does that to me, and sometimes it doesn’t.) For copyright/fair use reasons, I’m going to make anything with actual video of the game public; there’s also a transcript with notes (unlocked) on my Patreon.

(Content: A deceased monster covered in blood near the beginning; a lot of gunfire; syringes for healing; no vomit for once; no gore in the actual combat.)

Handy timestamp guide if you want to skip ahead:

00:00:00 - Warm-up and strategy and being scared to start

(James, honey, we're gonna work together. I'm not gonna scream at you anymore. If you don't do what I want you to do, it's not your fault.)

0:07:28 - First try

[James dies. Every time he gets killed, he collapses in a new and more pitiful way.]

0:08:13 - Second try

They're just like slap-fighting at this point. [James dies.]

0:09:10 - Third try

He's like, just could we—can we go anywhere? No, we can't go anywhere. [We are cornered. James dies.]

0:09:45 - Fourth try

Yeah. Time loop theory? I'm the one responsible for all the dead bodies. That's me. All the Bad Day Jameses, that's—that's all me.

0:10:25 - Fifth try

Okay, now, we are {NAAA NA NA NA NA NA NA NA NA NA NO—}

0:11:19 - Sixth try

I confuse even Pyramid Head. Like, Pyramid Head is not ready for me.

0:12:40 - Seventh try

What is it they say about chess where it's like—it's the—it's the newbies you have to watch out for, because— (NO! GO FORWARD! GO FORWARD!) —if you can't predict what they're gonna do, you can't— {MOTHERFUCKER!}

0:14:00 - Eighth try

Well, okay! Run, run, run backwards, do something, do anything. [James dies.]

0:14:52 - Ninth try

I'm not running away, I'm running towards, and I'm still not FINDING HIM! MMPH! (HIT HIM! HIT HIM! JAMES! YOU CAN DO IT! HIT HIM! NO, HIT HIM? HIT HIM! YOU CAN DO—) [James dies.]

0:15:53 - Tenth try

Where is he? {NO! NO! NO! NO! NO NO NO NO NO NO NO! NO! ASSHOLE, NO!} [James dies.] NOOOO, WE ALMOST MADE IT THAT TIME!!

0:18:59 - Eleventh try

Okay, did you do that? Did you seriously do that. We talked about what not to do and then you did all of it.

0:20:44 - Twelfth try

[A determined yell from James.] Dodge, dodge, dodge!

Something I discuss in the transcript is why I call James “honey” and “sweetie” constantly. Turns out, I realized, it’s partly externalizing a growth mindset @ myself, and it’s partly the way I talk to my dog.

[g1rlsp1ckins]

🥨🌱&🐚 pleaaseeee!!! & any reality your heart desiresss!!!

𝓢HIFTING 𝓐SK ✶ 𝓖AME

for my haikyuu (college) dr

🥨 - TWISTY PRETZEL – what twists and surprises happen in your dr? are there unexpected friendships, plot twists, or new adventures waiting for you?

1. Reuniting with a Ghost From the Past

Oikawa Toru shows up. At Karasuno University.

He started taking a sports science program that happened to collaborate with my university. I found out by accidentally running into him at a ramen shop near campus. The tension is thick—unfinished conversations, unsent messages, and the silent what if that still lingers between us. He’s grown, still as dramatic as hell, but more grounded. And now, we're suddenly… around each other again. Cue emotional whiplash.

2. The Unexpected Best Friend Energy

I randomly ended up seated next to Yamaguchi Tadashi in a lit elective. At first, we didn’t talk much. But then we get paired for a group project, and I start to see his dry wit, his quiet resilience, and the way he works hard without needing validation. He becomes my safe space. We exchange playlists, study together at weird hours, and become those friends who can just sit in silence and vibe.

3. Manager Role? Not Quite.

Though I start helping the volleyball team with drills and stats, it doesn’t take long for Hinata to beg me to “just serve once so we can see it.” I cave, obviously. And it’s a bomb. The entire gym goes silent. Even Tsukishima looks up from his phone.

This kickstarts a new journey—not as a player (not yet), but as a speciality coach for the team. Daichi convinces me to help train the next gen of players—serve techniques, court awareness, and game psychology. I'm still avoiding playing full-on, but I'm in it, and it feels right.

4. Her First Real Crush Since High School

Oof. Yeah, it happens.

I never planned to fall. But I meet a grad student who’s helping out with the psych department, and damn, he’s smart, funny, and sees through my walls in a way that’s unsettling. Think: late-night library talks, unexpected emotional vulnerability, and a “why do I feel safe with you?” kind of tension. Oikawa notices. And things get messy.

5. Rebuilding Her Relationship With Her Old Team

A random group chat revival leads to a full-on Aoba Johsai mini-reunion. Matsukawa and Hanamaki still act like idiots. Iwaizumi gives me that solid hug I've needed for years. We talk about the past—openly. There’s crying. Closure. And healing.

· · ─ 🏐 ─ · ·

🌱 - HOPEFUL SPROUT – what personal growth do you go through in your dr? is there a skill, mindset, or dream version of yourself that you develop over time?

1. I stopped measuring my worth by what I could do.

Back at Aoba Johsai, I was the volleyball girl. Reliable. Strong. Sharp. I built my whole damn identity around that version of me. When the injury took it away, I didn’t know who I was without it. I smiled through it, but inside? I was spiralling, quietly.

Coming to Karasuno Uni, I didn’t just want a fresh start—I needed to figure out who I was without a jersey on my back. And little by little, I started to realise:

I’m still me—even when I’m not winning, even when I’m broken, even when I’m not needed.

That hit hard. It still does. But I’m softer with myself now. Less pressure. Less performance. More just… being. And that’s enough.

2. I learned to stay.

My first instinct has always been to run. If it got complicated, if I felt too much, I bounced. When I got hurt? I disappeared. Oikawa tried to reach out, and I ghosted him. The team? I shut them out.

But here… at uni… something shifted. I started staying. I stayed through the awkward talks, the emotional messes, and the moments where I wanted to shut down. I let people see the bruised parts of me.

Turns out, connection isn’t about being perfect—it’s about being real. And staying, even when it’s uncomfortable, is one of the bravest things I’ve learnt to do.

3. I found my voice—off the court.

In high school, I had things to say. I just didn’t always feel like I was allowed to say them. At Karasuno, I found spaces that actually listened. Lit classes, psych seminars… suddenly, people cared about what I thought. About how I saw the world.

I started presenting research. Sharing ideas. Writing poetry that got published in a little zine with a staple in the middle. People started telling me I had clarity. That I made them feel understood.

I still love the game. But now? I love my mind, too.

4. I fell back in love with the game—on my own damn terms.

Volleyball used to mean pressure. Winning. Performing. Being good enough. But watching Karasuno's team flail and fly and try with everything they had—it cracked something open in me.

They weren’t perfect. God, they were chaotic. But they loved it. And so did I.

I stopped trying to have some tragic comeback arc. I started mentoring. Coaching. Giving what I had without needing the spotlight. And when I stepped back onto the court?

It wasn’t about proving anything.

It was freedom.

5. I started dreaming bigger.

I used to think the goal was just… survive. Graduate. Stay invisible.

Now? I want more. I’m working toward becoming a sports psychologist. I want to help athletes who feel the way I did—lost, burned out, scared. I want to show them there's more to life than medals and perfect plays.

And I’ve started to believe that maybe… just maybe… I deserve good things. Love. Peace. My own joy. Not earned, not bargained for. Just mine.

· · ─ 🏐 ─ · ·

🐚 -  SAFE SHELL – who or what is always there for you in your dr, wrapping around your life like ivy on a wall? a best friend, a mentor, or a deep connection?

Yamaguchi.

Tadashi was the first person at Karasuno who really saw me, not just the “former athlete” or “American transfer” or “that girl who won’t shut up about perfect serve arcs.” We met in some random psych elective, partnered on a project neither of us cared about. He was quiet, but when he spoke? He cut through.

He never asked for the edited version of me. He just let me be—tired, messy, cynical—and answered with warmth. He started sharing his playlist. I started sharing pieces of my past. We built a rhythm. And over time, he became the place I ran to instead of the one I ran from.

He’s not loud about it. But he’s always there.

Coach Ukai.

He’s the one who handed me a clipboard before I even realised I needed one. He saw me watching practice one day, just lingering in the doorway, and said, “You can stay, y’know. Don’t gotta play to matter.”

That gutted me.

Because back then, I didn’t believe that. But he did. Every time I doubted myself, he’d give me a task—scout this team, tweak that drill, fix their damn footwork. He trusted me when I didn’t. He pushed, but never too hard. Always just enough to make me remember who the hell I was.

He became a mirror and a mentor. A calm, grounding presence.

Iwaizumi.

Hajime was my past—Aoba Johsai days, before everything cracked. Back then, he was steady, the backbone of the boys’ team. He was always the one who made sure I drank water after a match or stretched my shoulder after I took too many dives.

We lost touch after I disappeared. But the second he heard I was back in the game, he showed up. No drama. No guilt trips. Just an Iwaizumi hug—tight, quiet, everything I didn’t know I needed.

He doesn’t talk about emotions much, but he shows up. He texts me after rough matches. Checks in on my knee. Sends me ugly memes when I’m spiralling at 2AM. He knows who I was, and he respects who I’m becoming.

He’s my history and my healing.

· · ─ 🏐 ─ · ·

hey so new dr??? yayyy!!

[andreablog2]

When I say my youth is over at 25 that doesn’t mean my life is over. Honestly my youth ended a long time ago and I’m just at odds w how I naturally express joy and my habits/experimental nature in general. I think people get so defensive over this concept of being past youth but for me personally I’m slightly empowered and feel more refreshed by stating I’m in a new place with a new set of goals. It’s like a blank slate in a way. I can’t change who I am by deluding myself to believe I’m still in this fundamental period of growth. It’s fine for me. Yeah I’m still young compared to like general life expectancy but I’m an adult with responsibilities and if I keep this mindset my generation has used to cope w economic precarity I’ll just be a greedy boomer holding onto some prestige title at 60 not letting the actual youth steer their own ship. Its important to be selfless

[cosmicgendershifter]

I don't even know what you can say to the people who somehow missed that all of Ed's violence is a) anti-imperial, b) protective against direct repeated threats to himself and his loved ones, or c) self-destructive in the hopes someone will respond by killing him during his suicidal spiral. (That last example is fairly indirect and performative and comes from a place of severe nihilistic suffering.)

I don't know what you can say to the people who somehow missed that the violence is triggering and traumatic and exhausting for Ed, and that he is desperate for a chance to live differently but has also never known any other life. Stede gave him the one true glimpse he's had of something gentler! Ed didn't fully know how fucked up his life was before because that was normal to him. That's what growing up traumatized does to you.

I don't know what you can say to the people who somehow missed that the suicidal spiral is a result of Ed's circumstances: of Ed being threatened by Izzy after Izzy repeatedly found ways to force Ed back towards the violent life Ed wants so much to escape, of Ed losing his one glimpse at safety and happiness through Stede and now having to face the darkness knowing he nearly found something different, of Ed feeling like the only way he can survive in this world is by being an "unlovable" monster he hates--and then he's confronted by Izzy telling him he's still not getting it right. Of course Ed gives up then.

I don't know what you can say to the people who somehow missed the show's themes about how much harm is caused by toxic masculinity and by masking your true self and by cultures founded on trauma and self-hate and burnout. (You do see the burnout in Ed, yeah?)

I do get why some people might not understand the complexities of Ed's relationship with Izzy--how codependent and enmeshed their identities are--or the layers of symbolism that position Izzy in the story as a metaphor for traditional pirate culture and its harmful impact. (Which is particularly triggering for Ed on a daddy issues level because that's his original trauma.) If you understand those things, the unique nature of the physical harm Ed does to Izzy in this story makes even more sense.

Ed also frequently communicates through metaphor himself. Him cutting off Izzy's toes is not only a show trying to convince Izzy he's playing Blackbeard right and not only a response to Izzy repeatedly threatening Stede/continuing to threaten Ed, but also is meant to physically represent the harm that Izzy has done emotionally to Ed. Ed is communicating to Izzy the only way he knows how anymore: "See how it feels to be forced to lose parts of yourself? Stede was a part of me. My hopes of softness and joy were a part of me. You cut those off too."

There is so much evidence against the thought that Ed is some irredemable, monstrous lover of violence who will hurt Stede someday. Stede would have to repeatedly and directly threaten someone else Ed loves first (which Stede won't do), and even then, Ed would really have to fight with himself.

It's not his nature, y'all, and I'm so frustrated that some people keep insisting it is. I'm frustrated about what that says about people's ability to empathize and consider reasons for or contexts behind behaviors--particularly when the character in question is an openly queer and likely neurodivergent indigenous man. Is it so hard to have compassion and forgiveness for him? Please don't get stuck in that punitive, dehumanizing mindset.

Redemption is so important, which is why I appreciate that Izzy gets a growth arc once he stops centering his entire identity on the Blackbeard persona and clinging to toxic masculinity. (Seeing Stede's impact, how different things could be, vs. the harm caused by the traditional ways, changes Izzy too!) Izzy's time, as a side character and mentor figure and piracy metaphor, does end, but first he gets to live with more meaning and unlearn many of the negative behaviors. That's the goal, right? To move forward.