#edit: yes the link becomes a link automatically
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vanteguccir · 1 year ago
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ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤFAKE SMILE * CHRIS STURNIOLO
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SUMMARY :: Where Chris records a TikTok with Tara after many requests from both fandoms, but fans reacted contrary to what he expected, generating questioning thoughts in Y/N.
FEATURING Chris Sturniolo x reader REQUESTED? yes.
WARNINGS :: crying, comparison, fighting.
AUTHOR'S NOTE :: that is my work, I DON'T authorize any form of plagiarism; copy, "inspiration" or translation! | english isn't my first language, so I'm sorry if there's any grammar error.
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The morning sun beamed beyond the half-open curtains in the living room, painting the room with orange and gold tones. Sitting at the kitchen table, Y/N immersed herself in her books, trying to focus on her notes as the sounds of Nick and Matt echoed around the house.
At that moment, Chris was absent. He had gone to Tara's house, a new friend of the triplets and, consequently, of Y/N, who had recently become a frequent figure in their lives. The objective was to record a video for Tara's channel since after the large group's social media post together, both fandoms started begging for collabs.
As Y/N immersed herself in her studies, a notification flashed on her phone screen. The girl looked up at her device, seeing the new message.
pretty boy: hi baby!! look, we did a tiktok! I look so cool: link.
A smile curved Y/N's lips as she clicked on the link, curious to see the result of one of Chris and Tara's creations. The video started, and she immediately recognized the song as one of her favorites, humming softly as her eyes captured the funny dance and interaction between the two.
A laugh escaped her lips when she saw Chris shaking his head in the lyrics "Would you get down on knees for me?", remembering all the times the song played when they were together, and exactly in this part, Chris always got down on his knees in front of Y/N, making her laugh.
For a moment, Y/N allowed herself to relax and enjoy the scene. It was a genuine demonstration of their new friendship, and Y/N felt grateful to be part of that dynamic.
However, her joy was momentary.
As the video came to an end, Y/N scrolled through the comments, eager to see the reaction of Tara's followers. What she found left her cold.
Among the funny and complimentary comments, there was a barrage of messages that cut like sharp knives. Ardent fans of both Tara and Chris were heavily shipping them, completely ignoring Chris's long-standing and public relationship with Y/N.
"Chris and Tara are so cute together!"
"I so wanted them to be a couple 😭"
"I'm sorry, Y/N, but you don't hold a candle to Tara. Chris deserves someone like her."
The words echoed in Y/N's mind, like a distant echo of an approaching storm. She felt a tightness in her chest, a mixture of sadness, anger, and confusion.
How could they be so cruel? How could they judge their relationship based on fragments of a distorted reality? Y/N felt vulnerable, exposed to the relentless cruelty of the virtual world.
Her thumb moved automatically as she left the comment box, sliding the screen to the TikTok below the one she was watching, craving a quick distraction. But her hope was suddenly dashed when she saw that the next video was an edit of Chris and Tara's TikTok and all the others after.
She knew the fans were fast, but at that moment, she wanted them to be as slow as possible.
Y/N closed the app with a heavy sigh, fighting to hold back the tears that threatened to spill. It was difficult not to let the strangers' words and opinions get to her.
With a determined effort to forget about it momentarily, Y/N turned her attention back to the books, seeking refuge in the comforting familiarity of the printed pages, forgetting to answer Chris.
     ༻﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡༺
The day was coming to an end. In the room shared by Y/N and Chris, the atmosphere was filled with a silent energy, interrupted only by the gentle slide of Y/N's fingers over her phone screen, and the low sounds of various videos.
She was lying in their bed, having already taken a comforting shower, but her mind was still shrouded in a haze of dark thoughts. As she scrolled through her TikTok's For You, romantic edits of Chris and Tara popped up with disturbing frequency. Y/N's expression was a mixture of sadness and self-questioning, her eyes reflecting an inner storm.
She felt her mind defeat her with thoughts of comparison. She knew she would never reach Tara's beauty, humor, and even body.
The heavy atmosphere was interrupted by the sound of the door opening gently. Chris entered the room, radiating an aura of euphoria. His eyes sparkled with joy, and a smile spread across his face with ease.
"Hi, my pretty girl!" Chris greeted, closing the door behind him. "You won't believe how amazing the video with Tara turned out. I can't wait for her to post it so you can see it!"
"Hey, baby! I'm so happy you had fun." Y/N looked up from her cell, forcing a smile on her lips, trying with all her might not to reveal her current state - the last thing she wanted to do was ruin Chris's excitement, but the sadness still hovered in her eyes.
Chris immediately noticed the change in her expression and approached the bed, worried.
"What happened, babe?" He asked in a worried tone, frowning and sitting down next to her.
She just shook her head slightly, unable to put her tumultuous thoughts into words. Chris reached out to caress her face gently, seeking to comfort her with his loving touch.
"You didn't answer my text, I really thought something was happening... You know you can tell me anything, right?" Chris continued gently. He didn't want to force anything out of her.
Y/N nodded, feeling a lump form in her throat. Before he could say anything else, Chris noticed the phone in her hand with almost silent sounds escaping from the speaker, leaning over to peer at the screen.
Romantic edits of Chris and Tara filled Y/N's device. He swallowed hard, instantly connecting the dots.
Chris's comforting touch on Y/N's face seemed to turn cool. His eyes narrowed slightly, and a sigh escaped his lips before he could control it.
"Y/N, are you really upset because of these silly edits?" The boy questioned, his voice filled with disbelief. His touch against the warm skin disappeared within seconds, the boy removing his hand from her face before sitting down on the bed.
Y/N flinched at the accusation implicit in his words, feeling suddenly exposed and vulnerable. Tears threatened to overflow her eyes as she struggled to find a coherent response.
"It's not just because of the edits..." She, her voice shaking with turbulent emotions. "Did you see the comments? They-"
Chris shook his head impatiently, cutting her off abruptly, frustration beginning to seep into his expression. He couldn't understand why something as trivial as fan edits could affect his girlfriend so much.
"Y/N, this is ridiculous!" He continued firmly. "These edits and comments don't mean anything. They're just fan jokes. It's not the end of the world." His voice came out louder than before, his posture now rigid.
His words hit Y/N like a sharp knife, making her feel even more inadequate and misunderstood. Anger bubbled inside her, a simmering mix of resentment and hurt.
"You don't understand, Chris!" She snapped, her voice shaking slightly. Her right hand worked to lock the screen of her phone in one quick motion, tossing it aside. "This isn't just about the edits. It's about how I feel about being compared to Tara, about how it's making me feel inferior to her! How would you feel if people started wanting to see me with a man other than you? While I'm in a relationship with you!"
Chris rolled his eyes dismissively, his patience beginning to wear thin at the intensity of Y/N's emotions.
“You’re so tiring sometimes, Y/N.” He snapped without thinking, his voice tinged with irritation, not giving a damn about how his girlfriend felt. "I can't deal with all this insecurity all the time. It's fucking exhausting."
The words hit Y/N like a punch to the gut, leaving her breathless, her rigid posture quickly crumbling. She felt tears run down her face without force as the painful realization settled in her heart.
She was tiring. She was insecure. She was too much for him to handle.
The pain of rejection burned in her chest as she retrieved her phone again, ripping the comforter off her legs. Her lips were pressed into a thin line tightly in an attempt to stop the ugly sobs that she wanted to let out. She wouldn't give herself the luxury of showing Chris how much he hurt her.
The girl got up from the bed in one quick movement, grabbing her pillow and heading towards the bedroom door.
"Where are you going?" Chris's voice echoed harshly behind her, his body rising from the mattress quickly.
"I'll sleep in the living room." Y/N responded curtly, turning the handle with ease before walking through the door, slamming it, feeling more alone than ever amidst the multitude of turbulent emotions.
She could feel her heart being crushed a little more when she didn't hear Chris call for her again, let alone try to reach her.
The stairs leading to the living room were silent, and her pillow clutched to her chest as a last vestige of comfort in a world that seemed to be falling apart around her. Each step up echoed like a lonely echo in an emotional void that seemed to swallow her whole.
Upon reaching the living room, Y/N found refuge on the empty couch. She curled into the soft upholstery, hugging the pillow tightly as tears continued to roll down her cheeks silently. The phone rested next to her, emitting a dim light that wouldn't turn off, almost begging her to pick it up again.
Hours dragged by like centuries as Y/N fought the ghosts of her own mind.
At some point, she had given up resisting and was on her TikTok again. The algorithm seemed to hate her, delivering her frequent videos of Chris and Tara, which were like a sharp dagger in her heart.
They would really look beautiful together.
Dawn fell heavily upon her, but sleep refused to welcome her into its comforting arms. Instead, she found herself trapped in a whirlwind of torturous thoughts, her mind pounding incessantly with doubts and questions about her relationship with Chris.
Until her brain shuts down completely, letting tiredness win.
At 3 a.m., in the darkness of the night, a familiar figure appeared at the entrance to the room. Chris was there, his tired face etched with worry and regret.
His eyes quickly found Y/N's figure lying on the couch, already asleep, curled up and shivering slightly from the cold. Her eyes were closed, but he could see the swelling that surrounded them, the traces of tears on her cheeks and her still damp face. Next to her, her phone repeatedly played one of the videos she had watched before falling asleep.
A lump formed in Chris's throat. He intensely blamed himself for not having thought before acting and, much less, noticing how much his actions had affected his girlfriend.
With hesitant steps, he approached her, feeling the weight of his own anguish on his shoulders.
Gently, Chris turned off her phone, cutting the endless cycle of pain that had consumed Y/N. He then crouched down beside her, studying her peaceful face with a mixture of love and pain.
With a resigned sigh, the boy carefully took her into his arms, hooking them around her back and behind her knees, feeling the weight of her fragile body against his own chest. Y/N hummed softly in response to his touch but didn't fully wake up.
Chris carried her down the stairs and back to their bedroom, where the soft light from the lamp bathed the room in yellow tones. Tenderly, he placed her on the soft mattress, covering her with the comforter carefully so as not to wake her.
Y/N shifted slightly under Chris's touch and the new surface beneath her limbs, her eyebrows furrowing in an expression of discomfort. She looked restless, as if she were immersed in a nightmare.
Chris watched her for a moment, feeling the weight of his own harsh words weigh on him like an anchor. He knew he had hurt Y/N deeply, and the pain of seeing her suffer was almost unbearable.
With a heavy sigh, he sat down next to her, his hand reaching for her with a tentative touch. Y/N stirred slightly, her eyes finally slowly opening to meet Chris's. She fought the urge to get up and leave the room again, her anger at Chris's actions and sadness in her mind, making her want to avoid him.
For a moment, they simply stared at each other, sharing a silent understanding that transcended words, Y/N making the decision to let him say what he wanted.
“Y/N, I’m so sorry.” Chris muttered, his voice thick with regret. "I was insensitive and selfish. I didn't want to hurt you, I acted on impulse and completely without thinking. This whole situation is not silly if it hurts and bothers you, and I promise that we can talk better about what you saw and how you felt, and solve this together... Just please, give me this chance?"
Y/N blinked slowly, her eyes locked on Chris's as she processed his words. For a moment, she felt the weight of hurt and disappointment pressing against her, but then she saw the sincerity in Chris's eyes, the pure, unconditional love he had always offered her.
And in that moment, she knew that forgiveness was the only good choice to make. With a sigh, she squeezed Chris's hand tenderly, feeling a weight lift off her shoulders.
"Just one chance. I want you to fix what you did and do it right this time."
© vanteguccir
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squea · 1 year ago
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edit: i didn’t realise that sims4me also uploads to curseforge. i had previously checked but made a mistake in my search as well as their CF not being linked on their website so that sucks
specific mods i recommend from sims4me. use the search function to find the mods but the mod names have no spaces. so burnout tweaks becomes burnouttweaks etc. yes its a busy website.
auto wedding ring - just automatically adds a wedding ring to ur sims when married with different flavours for what ring you like
burnout tweaks - just makes burnnouts less annoying!
less stinky green hygiene - saves the green stink cloud for only the stinkiest of sims!
more death surprise - sims have a chance of not dying of old age even when life bar is full
trait overhaul - one of my faves and does quite a bit. certain traits do better with certain careers/skills. traits affect autonomy better and how well 2 sims develop relationships. a lot of other little things too!
unstrange strangerville - just adds an interaction to the library in strangerville to immediately solve the mystery and remove the effects.
they also have an entire category dedicated to difficulty enhancing mods which if (like me) struggle to stay entertained in a game that feels a lot easier than previous installments is great!
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yukipri · 2 years ago
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I joined Threads! Unfortunately my reach on Insta is still the most limited of all of my socials, and that’s the account Threads is directly attached to.
If you’re on either Insta or Threads, would love if you could stop by🙏
Direct linking to Threads doesn't seem to work...so here's
my Instagram
through which you can find my Threads account!
Edit: You actually can link to Threads, ironically through the icon at the top of individual Instagram account pages on desktop. Though Desktop viewing is currently limited to individual pages, and you can't necessarily scroll the feed. So here's my Threads page!
~~
Next, some initial thoughts on the platform for those who are kinda curious what this new thing is. Not at all an expert, just some info I've gathered myself, that I'd personally have liked to know before joining:
On Threads
・It launched July 5~6, 2023. Rollout varies by country.
・Twitter's already upset about it, apparently there's a lawsuit. So I guess it considers Threads a possible threat.
・It's run by Meta, same folks as Insta and Fb.
・The accounts are directly linked to Instagram, which has its pros and cons. You need an Insta account to make a Threads account, but if you already have an Insta account, it's very easy to make a connected Threads account. However, once linked, they're linked; you can't disable your Threads account without also disabling your Insta account. You can also automatically follow all the accounts you're already following on Insta, to be activated as they make Threads accounts. You can also share Threads posts to your Insta stories.
・Currently only on mobile app, hoping the'll make it desktop accessible soon
・The current audience mostly seems to be folks who have come direct from Instagram. This means yes, a lot of official/influencer accounts, but also a lot of artists/small creators too.
Functionality
・Right now, the "feed/dashboard" is a hot mess. It's just one massive algorithmic spew, no way to curate it, no way to see just the posts by the folks you're following, not even chronological. These are things that i personally require in a social media, so yeah it sucks rn. HOWEVER, they did state that they're working on a "followers only" feed, much like the one on Instagram. If they implement a Followers Only feed like Insta, it'll at least be much better than Twitter's current "Following" feed. There has been no timeline provided on when this may launch.
・It functions much the same as Twitter, with options to create new posts, and like, retweet, quote retweet, and reply to posts made by others. (There's still a lot of floundering about the exact terminology to use, since it's not twitter so you can't "retweet" etc)
・500 Character word limit per post, which is much more than Twitter, ey!
・Up to 10 images per post, doesn't seem to cause image quality reduction either. Rather than being able to arrange the images like on Tumblr though, they're all automatically in a carousel that you can see by swiping.
・Your bio can be the exact same as what's on your insta, but currently only shows followers. In order to see who you follow, you tap "followers" and then when the menu opens, swipe to "following." Then, you can tap on the individual accounts to view their pages. This is currently the only way to ensure you see the posts from certain accounts, because there's no guarantee they'll show up on your feed, and it's a huge pain. But again, they're hopefully working on a fix for this.
My understanding is that the app rushed to launch now, since Twitter is a dumpster fire and people are fleeing. (why is it a dumpster fire? Well, Musk implemented a randomly fluctuating tweet view limitation, which is dumb af, but means it's essentially become unusable to folks who use the platform a lot)
I'm hoping that there'll be improvements to Threads and it'll become a viable Twitter alternative, but until then...yeah we'll keep an eye on it.
Now that I've probably completely turned you off from downloading the app, if you do, a nudge that again I'd appreciate if you stopped by my account, YukiPri_Art on Instagram, and/or YukiPri_Art on Threads!
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soraka-in-warhammer40k · 2 years ago
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They really dropped the ball on balance in those first months of 10th edition - and it is mostly everything the fault of Eldar being strong. It essentially becomes a game of "who can bring enough bullshit to the table to just not care if there's eldar or not", and Custodes and Knights are prime examples for that.
GSC meanwhile only shines because their deepstriking potential combined with the more fragile nature of Eldar means they can really get them where it hurts - and at the same time they are essentially a "how much map-presence has your army"-check which makes them obviously a counterpick to Custodes and Knights. My guess is that you probably don't even need to touch GSC in any way balance-wise - the moment the meta shifts away from Eldar and the factions that can stand up to it, they should become weaker automatically.
But looking at the bottom... that's crazy. I do get the 35% Votann, they are essentially half an army right now. It's not like World Eaters that can grab from the general chaos bin to fit their playstyle, they really have a toolbox much smaller than everyone else to draw from. Not sure if you can fix that with balance without making the few tools they have actually totally broken like in 9th edition, but them being on the low end is not entirely unexpected.
And then you look at T'au and you can just feel the weight of their lazily written Index that's keeping them down. It is essentially "What if we gave the shooting only faction actually worse shooting that other nonspecialized factions can bring to the table". There's just... nothing there. You know, I went through the DG datasheets because my usually sparring partner plays that and I was like "hmm yes this can be wonky but I see the pieces and combos that can make it work".
Meanwhile at T'au, a faction that was heavily reliant on sub-faction modifications to make their units even remotely functional, just got nothing. Their synergies are absolutely nonexistent, their abilities sometimes absolutely counteractive (Longstrike giving a Hammerhead Railgun [Lethal Hits] essentially disables the chance to proc mortal wounds if it goes off) - there's just nothing you can actually do with the units. Chaos players be rolling Dark Pacts left and right, Sisters be praying on them Miracle Dice, meanwhile T'au needs to put in the work to get their shooting on marginally a better level than everyone else and even that only from turn 3 onward because all the guns were nerfed to accomodate for that. Everything got tougher, but Fusion Blasters are now wounding most vehicles on a 5+ (from previously 3+ most of the time). Sure some guns got [Twin-Linked] but no relevant abilites to synergize with it and those weapons had their shot-numbers cut in half for that. A bunch of stuff in the game lost one point of AP, but half the T'au mass-fire arsenal was defined by having that one point.
Seriously hoping the September balance update brings some changes because as of right now as a T'au player it's just sad, and as a GSC player I get blamed for meta-chasing when it's not my fault the stuff I counter by design got horribly overtuned.
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artharakka · 2 years ago
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Are you okay with people using, reposting or editing your art with proper credits? :3
(I'm sorry if this has been asked, I can't find anything mentioning this!)
Thank you for asking 🧡
Hmmm I think it depends a bit of the case? I think you here have good intentions, but since "using" is very broad term I'm going to answer kind of broadly here and not just yes/no in case someone else would refer to this ask at another context.
So, all of my works are copyrighted under Finnish/EEA copyright laws. The copyright is created and valid automatically from the moment of creation of the art piece (and it also includes sketches I've posted on Patreon, for example). My answers are based on those copyright laws and on my personal preferences within those.
(under cut as this got long)
USING: I'm ok with most personal use. That is, for example, printing out a single image for personal use or using a picture on your blog header or as personal playlist (spotify etc) cover art AS LONG as it is not a piece commissioned by someone else.
If you own a print you have ordered from me, you have also right to display it publicly (i.e. posting a photo of it). Owning a print doesn't however mean that you get right to print more copies for sale.
I'm not ok with my art used in buyable products or copies of my art sold by others than those I've individually authorized. I have copyright even to commissioned pieces, so even those cannot be used in products without my consent. If you'd like to use my art on products/covers or otherwise do some kind of collaboration, send me an email at artharakka(at)gmail.com and we can discuss prices and royalties.
REPOSTING (public display): Usually I'd say I prefer people reblogging (through the little arrows at the bottom of the post) rather than reposting it (meaning making your own original post with it). If you'd like to post it on other social media sites besides tumblr, I do have Instagram (also @ artharakka) where I post my art and I'd prefer if no new art of mine ends up on twitter/x/whatever.
However, if you'd like to do a collab of my art or with my art, to do reference/shoutout post or a moodboard for your characters etc., I'm ok with reposting as long as I'm mentioned as the artist. Though here you are also bound by the laws' moral obligations which means no putting my art "in context that could be offensive to the artist" (very broad and case by case point but I bet mocking me is not your intention)
I'm also ok with using my art in noncommercial contexts i.e. as figures in articles or school projects.
EDITING: I'm ok with most edits, again, as long as it isn't offensive to me. (And offensive meaning mostly not aiming to mock me or use in contexts that would show me in bad light, but also don't draw smut of my characters without asking). Im ok with, for example, removing a background from some piece, but in that case you have to remember that I still own the copyright. If the edit / modification of the idea is original enough, it might become it's own piece with own copyrights (again, I don't own themes or ideas and sometimes I also borrow compositions/themes from older art).
TLDR: I'm ok with most things not offensive and that you don't aim to earn money with. Credit is welcome and I prefer as direct link as you can provide. Commissioned pieces are off limits without the commissioner's consent.
For individual case questions you can send me message, email or another ask!
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sanityshorror · 2 years ago
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you are one of the most talented writers...where on earth did you learn to write so well?! im new to writing and look up to yours, can I ask you for advice? what kind of writing classes would you recommend taking and if it's okay to ask, what's the general price range? love you, have a great weekend!
Oh my gosh 🥺🥺 you have no idea how much this means to me!! Thank you so much💖
As far as my advice for newer writers, I have posted my 10 pieces of most important advice for new writers/creators here
As for how I learned to write...I'm self taught lol. I've been writing books since I was a little kid. However I have so much room to improve and so much to learn. I am published, yes, and make money from book sales so therefore a professional but that by no means makes me automatically an amazing author. I guess I'm good for my age? I wrote MWTSN when I was 25, I'm 26 now and my next book is definitely much better writing wise, I think.
Unfortunately I have absolutely no knowledge about writing classes or prices because I've never taken any. Though I do teach writing basics and story telling myself online, you can contact me on KoFi or Buymeacoffee to sign up for classes, if you're interested! I've taught six people over the past half year and I do enjoy it! I teach over Discord or Zoom, whichever the student would prefer. I also offer editing services and beta reading, again, you can contact me on KoFi or Buymeacoffee for those! Links are in my pinned post.
Thank you again so so so much, this means the world to hear :'> I'm sure you will become a very successful author with time so long as you dedicate yourself and stick with it. "Just write dude, even if it's bad, JUST WRITE!!" XD
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etes-secrecy-post · 11 months ago
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Hi, before I explain my post, I want to say something important.
• What you see my blog has become a major overhaul. And despite the changes, I decided that my 2nd account will be now my artwork blog with a secret twist.
⚠️NEW RULE! (W/ BIGGER TEXT!)⚠️
⚠️ SO PLEASE DO NOT SHARE MY 2nd ACCOUNT TO EVERYONE! THIS SECRECY BLOG OF MINE IS FOR CLOSES FRIENDS ONLY!⚠️
• AND FOR MY CLOSES FRIENDS, DON’T REBLOG IT. INSTEAD, JUST COPY MY LINK AND PASTE IT ON YOUR TUMBLR POST! JUST BE SURE THE IMAGE WILL BE REMOVED AND THE ONLY LEFT WAS THE TEXT.
⚠️ SHARING LINKS, LIKE POSTS, REBLOG POSTS, STEALING MY SNAPSHOT PHOTOS/RECORDED VIDEOS/ARTWORKS (a.k.a. ART THIEVES) OR PLAGIARIZING FROM UNKNOWN TUMBLR STRANGERS WILL IMMEDIATELY BE BLOCKED, RIGHT AWAY!⚠️
😡 WHATEVER YOU DO, DO NOT EVER LIKED & REBLOG MY SECRET POST! THIS IS FOR MY SECRET FRIENDS ONLY, NOT YOU! 😡
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Okay? Capiche? Make sense? Good, now back to the post…↓
My Wangan Maxi Tune Career Returns 2024 Edition [Timezone Arcade SM City North Edsa, and TZ Trinoma] - Part 6 [Second Half] (Recorded: May 29th, 2024; Plus forgotten recorded: Jan 10th, 2024)
Hey, hey! It’s me! 😁 And welcome back for another installment of "My Wangan Maxi Tune Career"! I returned in 2022, and now I'm continue it, this 2024. Yes, it's been a while. I haven't shared my WMMT's play progress in this current year, with the last record I posted was on May 31st, 2023 (Pls, go check it out in the "previous" section) before it went into troubles. And by that, I'm talking about my PC desktop problem. *sigh* 😫😔 Nevertheless, I have now SO MANY photos and screenshots that need to be uploaded on my current social media sites right away before I move on to my current update.
Once again, If you want to see my last 2023 recorded (Part 5 [third/final half] (Recorded: May 21st, 2023)), then please check out my "previous" down below.
IMPORTANT NOTE: Once again, no #OnThisDay throwback post for this date.
So, without further ado, time to continue with "Second Half".
[May 29th, 2024] 📷📲: ↑↓
• So, as I said, it is time to bring out "The Speedster Twins" (Spot & Riya), their Impreza cars 🐶🇯🇵🚘🟥🔵🌸🐰🇯🇵🚘, and also their experiences. 🙂 With that, take it away, "Speedster Twins"! 😊
Spot 🐶🏎️ & Riya 🐰🏎️ [wearing Teenager Dogday's attire w/ Teenager Dogpressed's jacket & Teenager Hoppy and Teenager Catnap's clothes combined respectively]: Thanks, creator! 😄
Spot 🐶🏎️ [wearing Teenager Dogday's attire w/ Teenager Dogpressed's jacket]: Ladies first, Ri? Because you have many wins on your "Story Mode". 🙂
Riya 🐰🏎️ [wearing Teenager Hoppy and Teenager Catnap's clothes combined]: Awww, you're such as gentleman you are, Spot! Thank you, sir! 😊 Before we continue our "Story Mode", me and my twin bro decided to set our transmission from "Manual" to "Automatic". The reason we do that is because we want a focus on holding our steering wheel. We've been there when it comes to using manual shifts for years. But, don't fret, it is only for "Story Mode", so unless if we want it go battling "online ghost" then we have to change our shifts. Right, Spot?
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Spot 🐶🏎️ [wearing Teenager Dogday's attire w/ Teenager Dogpressed's jacket]: Uhuh, uhuh! Been there done that, Ri! 😁 Nonetheless, we continue our story journey with "Garage ACE first half" from chapter 62 to 65. And while we're not discuss the story detail based on the Anime/Manga, we rather discuss our driving experience. So, our mind are "Spoiler Alert Proof"! 🚫📖😉 All spoiler aside (no pun intended), we've managed to finish the first half of the "Garage ACE", with me has "5 Wins", and Ri got "41 Wins" streak! DAMN, GIRL! What are those?! *Riya punches Spot's side shoulder 🐰👊🐶* Ow! That hurt! Hehe... 😅
Riya 🐰🏎️ [wearing Teenager Hoppy and Teenager Catnap's clothes combined]: Easy for you to say! 😏 At least you're in good spirit. 😊 *pat on his back* And what's our reward for finishing the first half of "Garage ACE"? I've got this awesome "Helmet" theme for my name plate from the Wangan Navi App Scratch! 🪖⚔️😁 I claimed and equipped right away from the terminal, and it is gorgeous! 😄 What about yours, twin bro!?
Spot 🐶🏎️ [wearing Teenager Dogday's attire w/ Teenager Dogpressed's jacket]: Mine? I got the title called "Silk is better"! Neat, right? 🙂 Although, my thread (gifted by my fan favorite, DogDay. 🥰🐶☀️🤗) is fabric material, so I could change it into silk shirt for a shiny bling wear! ✨🧵👕😁
Riya 🐰🏎️ [wearing Teenager Hoppy and Teenager Catnap's clothes combined]: You bet, twin bro! But wait, you have a single PVP battle match, right (Me 🇵🇭: Happening at the TZ SM North Edsa)? And the forgotten item you claimed (Me 🇵🇭: Happening at the Quantum SM North Edsa after browsing a cheap GPU Card, on Jan 10th, 2024)? 🤔
Spot 🐶🏎️ [wearing Teenager Dogday's attire w/ Teenager Dogpressed's jacket]: Ah yeah, that PVP battle match was easy peasy. Actually, I forgot to switched to "Refuse VS" while I was finishing the "Story Mode". So, I got three stars! ⭐⭐⭐😅 Also, it is quite sweet to claim that new circle sticker, but I'm not a fan of putting stickers onto our car windows except putting letters. 🙂
Riya 🐰🏎️ [wearing Teenager Hoppy and Teenager Catnap's clothes combined]: Ah, I see. Nonetheless, so far the first half was done, and we're proceed to the second half of "Garage ACE". We're only have 15 chapters left before our Impreza cars were finally fully tuned, once again! 🐶🇯🇵🚘🟥🔵🌸🐰 It takes time, so we're not holding our breaths. 😁 Well, that includes our WMMT diaries, back to you creator! 😊
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Screenshots from Wangan Navi App 🖼️📲: ↑
Me 🇵🇭: Thank you, twins! And here are what the cars look like, so far. However, nothing is changed from equipping auto body parts after playing it. Plus, I updated my license photo in all blue glory, including Riya's new name plate! 🥰💙🚘 And uh... I almost forgot, on that same date of May 29th, 2024 the mall's power went out while I was playing 🕯️😱, and we had to remain sitting without leaving the premises. And I did so because I was playing the aforementioned Maxi Tune arcade. Then, a fellow Maxi Tune player chatted with me about our experience, while he/she was checking the stats on the Wangan Navi app. The reason why there was a blackout was because of an early monsoon season in May. Usually, June to July hits the rainy season, and I love rainy days for staying at home and taking a nap for long hours without worrying ⛈️🏠😴😪. All rain aside, the mall's power suddenly came back, so the only thing we waited for now was the entire arcade machines. 💡😃 Before that, the aforementioned Wangan Maxi Player gifted me a free coupon for TZ Power Load worth ₱200. Damn! That's something I need to play more Maxi Tune! 🎫💳🕹️😃 However, I can't redeem this coupon, as I need to go to a specific branch to claim my free ₱200 TZ Power Load. And you know what, that's fine. I could make another plan for another day, as long as this coupon did not pass the expiration date. 😊 So overall, we're satisfied with our comeback experience, once again. And I have plenty of photos and moments to discuss before I proceed to my recent Wangan Maxi Tune update. 😁🚘🌃
Well, that’s all for now. More Wangan Maxi experience, coming up soon.
If you haven’t seen my 2019 Wangan Maxi Tune 6 & Wangan Navigator app (on the alternate blog), then I’ll provide some links down below. ↓😉
My Wangan Maxi Tune 6 Experience:
My WMMT6 Progress (2019): Part 1, Part 2, Part 3 , Part 4 , Part 5, Part 6 , Part 7, Part 7½, Part 8, Part 9, Part 10, Part 11, Part 12, Part 13, Part 14 [Final] (The Last WMMT6 Update)
My Wangan Navigator app (2019): Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8, Part 9, Part 10, Part 11, Part 12, Part 13, Part 14 [Final]
My WMMT6RR Progress (2022 - present): Part 1 [Nov 19th, 2022], Part 2 [Nov 19th, 2022], Part 3 [Nov 19th, 2022], Part 4 [Final] [Dec 28th, 2022], Part 5 [first half], Part 5 [second half], Part 5 [third/final half], Part 6 [first half]
Also check out my previous Maxi Tune installments:
• WMMT5DX - [CLICK ME! #1], [CLICK ME! #2], [CLICK ME! #3], [CLICK ME! #4 (The Last 5DX Update)]
• WMMT5DXPlus (All in chronological date) - [CLICK ME! #1], [CLICK ME! #2], [CLICK ME! #3], [CLICK ME! #4], [CLICK ME! #5], [CLICK ME! #6], [CLICK ME! #7], [CLICK ME! #8], [CLICK ME #9], [CLICK ME! #10], [CLICK ME! #11], [CLICK ME! #12], [CLICK ME! #13], [CLICK ME! #14], [CLICK ME! #15], [CLICK ME! #16], [CLICK ME! #17], [CLICK ME! #18], [CLICK ME! #19], [CLICK ME! #20], [CLICK ME! #21], [CLICK ME! #22], [CLICK ME! #23], [CLICK ME! #24], [CLICK ME! #25], [CLICK ME! #26], [CLICK ME! #27], [CLICK ME! #28], [CLICK ME! #29], [CLICK ME! #30], [CLICK ME! #31], [CLICK ME! #32], [CLICK ME #33], [CLICK ME #34], [CLICK ME #35], [CLICK ME #36], [CLICK ME #37], [CLICK ME #38], [CLICK ME #39], [CLICK ME #40], [CLICK ME #41], [CLICK ME! #42], [CLICK ME! #43], [CLICK ME! #44], [CLICK ME! #45], [CLICK ME! #46], [CLICK ME! #47], [CLICK ME! #48], [CLICK ME! #49], [CLICK ME! #50], [CLICK ME! #51 (The Last 5DX+ Update)]
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lovethegoalies · 1 year ago
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Get to know me
Tagged by @dewvorce-flowers <3
(3 days late because the end of the year is crazy 👍👍)
Do you make your bed?
Yes, most days. I like to work or organize stuff on my bed so its better to have it made. Plus my bed is visible from the outside, so I like to have it made.
Favorite number?
4 because of my birthday. The number 4 is also heavily linked to death in many culture so 👍. Also one of my favorite football player number is 4. Also I've 3 siblings, so 4 of us.
What's your job?
I am a language assistant and I am finalizing my master degree to become a language teacher. Was supposed to be done in September last year, but I believe for September 2024.
If you could go back to school, would you?
Technically, I'm not out of school because I'm still in Uni and I am working in secondary education and even a little bit with primary.
In some case, I would think of it to study something really different like geopolitics or statistics.
Can you parallel park?
I think... I have not driven since August. Can comeback to edit this, if not in like a month.
Do you think aliens are real?
I mean in the way they are portrayed in movies and stuff: obviously not. But I do believe there is life on other planet / solar systems in our galaxy: yes also obviously.
Can you drive a manual car?
It's the only type of car that I know how to drive 🤷. I've tried driving automatic cars but they stress me out, there is too many informations.
Guilty pleasure?
I like to take two showers a day which I know is bad for the environment so I try to do it less.
Tattoos?
Want to but I have commitments issues. I love them but welp can't commit to things.
Favorite color?
Green 💚. I recently discovered I really like purple 💜. And I'm bullying myself into liking yellow 💛 and orange 🧡, because of a Tumblr post. The yellow liking is growing but not really orange.
Favorite type of music?
I guess the longest style of music I've liked is rock, metal core. But I have also been into Kpop for quite a while.
But I'm just into a lot of different genres of various languages
My current top three is :
У мамы есть секрет by Monetochka
Anything > Human by Bad Omens (w/ Erra)
Маніфест by Artem Pivovarov
Do you like puzzles?
Yes, but I'm either really into it or get frustrated.
Any phobias?
Slight agoraphobia. Coulrophobia (clowns) and automatonophobia (human like figures [dolls, mannequins, ...])
Favorite childhood sport?
Archery and equitation, also football in defense. And rugby was really fun too.
Do you talk to yourself?
Yes, and out loud a lot of the time.
Tea or coffee?
Neither. Not even, hot cocoa anymore because of my lactose intolerance.
First thing you wanted to be growing up?
Astronaut. And I wanted to be in the military until I was 9.
What movies do you adore?
Addams Family Values (1993)
Battle royal (2000)
The Virgin suicides (2000)
Train to Busan (2016)
Thank you so much for tagging me. I'm tagging (do it if you want and if you have the time)
@dontknowhockey @mkaugust @mimi-landgraab
Also if you see this and want to do it, tag me :)
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an-ruraiocht · 2 months ago
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#hear me out but I feel the same way about martial arts movies
not only do i completely agree but this is also sort of what i was thinking about when i posted this quote of all the quotes in this article! (adding the link since this is the pre-edit version of the quote that's still circulating so doesn't have it, rip) except because i'm me i was thinking about it in the context of medieval irish literature rather than modern martial arts movies but one of my original tags was
#it's the ballet-as-clessa energies of it
which is referring to the medieval irish hero cú chulainn's martial feats/tricks which are basically incredibly elaborate things he does with weapons that are somewhere between juggling, gymnastics, and warfare. like he's leaping ten feet in the air and throwing around balls and apples and darts and also killing people. and these very elaborate tricks rely a lot of complex and possibly supernatural training to obtain
and when i wrote a modern AU fanfic of this a few years ago i decided to represent them by making him a ballet dancer, because it felt like something that best expressed both the athleticism and the grotesqueness at work in a lot of these uses of his body
which is why this quote spoke to the part of my brain that thinks about fighting and ballet and monstrosity all at once, mediated through the character of cú chulainn. and, probably like irina dumitrescu (who is also a medievalist), i think about monstrosity in the medieval sense of being beyond/outside of/transcending nature. monstrous is not automatically bad or horrible, but excessive and strange. things that are monstrous are Too Much, they are taken to extremes, they are everything with its sliders up to 11 to the point where it becomes abject. which is yes, a very accurate description of both ballet and also martial arts movies/performances
and indeed i can only think that cú chulainn would be a prime candidate for a martial arts movie. but in terms of body type i still think he'd be best represented if he were played by a ballet dancer. so if we could put a ballet dancer in a martial arts movie about medieval irish literature i think that would really bring us full circle here
Ballet, like opera, is wonderful because it is monstrous, the hyper-development of skills nobody needs, a twisting of human bodies and souls into impossible positions, the purchase of light with blood.
Irina Dumitrescu, "Swan, Late: The unexpected joys of adult beginner ballet."
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marketingprofitmedia · 1 month ago
Text
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Unlike quiz makers that force you to design and format your questions, QuizzAI takes care of everything for you. You only have to upload a PDF or paste a URL or write in some text, and the AI will quickly turn it into a professional quiz.
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defense-witches-archives · 1 year ago
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Defense Witches Past World 2 - Part 2 (Memu Method)
Heyo, congratulations on making it past part 1 :D Here it gets rather complicated, but I'll do my best to explain and show the process thoroughly. If you haven't checked out part 1....
LINK TO PART 1
That being said, if you get stuck, find this too complicated, or just want to play this on your phone without the hassle, here's the easy method.
LINK TO EASY METHOD
Again, this tutorial is based on this video by Kinac the Frog
youtube
Now, continuing where we left off....
Changing Files
Here is where it gets really complicated, as we are now changing and altering gamer files. This and you may run into an issue the uploader to the video didn't encounter themselves but others have reported, however, I found a possible solution
While it might not be necessary for all, if your data folder is locked (access denied) here, you may need to (click the three dots in the top right corner, configuration, root access, and super user) in order to gain permission to edit the folder.
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Set up your left and right boxes for data overwrite
Left Box
Make Sure Your on Root (Like In Part 1)
Click on data
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Click On User
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Click on 0
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Click on jp.newgate.game.android.dw
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Right Box
Click on Internal Storage
Click On Download 
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Click On app_data
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2. Making Sure Blue Arrow up top is pointing left click copy and ok
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3. When this box shows up move the switch to do this for all and click overwrite
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Once the download is finished there you go you have access to the game and the ability to progress and unlock witches and worlds on your own :D However if you did this method your after more right? Well not to worry theres more :)
Optional Bonus
Words can't describe how awesome DW Nicola is for sharing their data with us and Kinac is for sharing this process. This game and what down below would of been lost to time. To them I can't say this enough Thank you words can't descibe the happiness I felt when this worked.
Leftbox
Click Checkmark by Game.sqlite
Click Delete
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Click Checkmark By Backup
Click on Rename
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Rename to game.sqlite
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Close File Manager
Open Defense Witches
And Enjoy :)
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A Couple of Heads Up
If playing the game at your own pace (without doing the optional step to unlock everything), Unfortunately, the Bingo Board to unlock Super Daisy doesn't work as the servers shut down back in 2017. [Thanks to @meitachibana1234 for bringing this to my attention]
If you want to summon Super Daisy you have to go into settings and turn on confirm unit when you summon (DW Nicola has it off) (Only works if you follow the optional step to unlock everything.)
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The manga and hint button is hit or miss on weither it will show the manga. Sometimes it does sometimes it doesn't (sorry manga fans >_<)
Things like Flare Tickets, Rewind Tickets, and Kala's Time Stop Ability doesn't work (no service)
Yes Full Power Works, Yes you can use it but be careful orbs don't recover automatically (since you know... no service and the run around method doesn't work cause uhh... all characters are max level >_<;)
(Edit) Lmao the solution to the orb problems come from the character I happened to land on to show that all characters are maxed out. Yuiko has the ability to spawn red chests which sometimes contains orbs
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Special Thanks
Just a reminder this process wouldn't be possible without these people :D
Kinac The Frog - For making this tutorial and making the video tutorial. Without it I wouldn't have know how to do this to make this written tutorial
DW Nicola - This tutorial wouldn't exist at all if Kinac didn't get the data they needed from DW Nicola. Being there essentially since the beginning of the game, helping many people with their gameplay through each stage, DW Nicola has become essential to preserving this game and its characters; otherwise, many people wouldn't have the chance to experience.
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railroad-migraine · 3 years ago
Note
Could I request how each of the mighty Nein (including Molly) would react to havinga crush on a circle of stars Druid
I think I had another Circle of Stars request a while back but tumblr ate it up before I had the chance to draft it. I haven't written for Campaign 2 in so long, so it's nice to revisit these guys! 💜
Edit: Jester Version Here
We had a circle of stars druid in a two-shot in college, so I took a few creative liberties inspired by them x
~ Poet
Crushing on a Circle of Stars Druid
Beau
She becomes clumsy, babbling over her words and making awful attempts of being witty just so your eyes can meet hers. They sparkle and, dare she say, twinkle, and she almost retches at her smitten internal commentary. The doubts she has seem to melt away when you laugh at her antics, though.
You distance yourself from enemies when skirmishes break out, which is reassuring to her when she's at the front of the action. She keeps you safe, and you her, and the way that you're working together in tandem so easily is flawless - the compatibility really does something for her.
There's a point, an hour or so before sunrise, where you begin to glow bright with the astral power you possess, regenerating magic flowing through you as night turns to day. She peeps open an eye from where she's curled up in her bedroll, exhausted but so eager just to catch a glimpse of you at full magic capacity. You sigh in relief, feeling clean and refreshed, and look over to where Beau rests. Caught staring, she freezes and flips over to face the other way, face burning when she hears you chuckle fondly.
Caleb
He's simply enamoured. The cosmos speak to you, and while he is lonely during those long watches at night, his gaze trails from you to the darkened horizon and the stars overhead seem to glow that little bit brighter. Frumpkin poofs next to you and licks your palm while you softly snore among the rest of the party, and it fills the silence and sadness in his chest with something other.
Please. Tell this man all you know about constellations. Explain their lore and the legends connected to them, the stories surrounding their existence and one's you make up on the spot. The Creatures, the Siblings, the Gods, the Royals, the Loners and the Lovers. He gets so invested in your words that eventually all he can do is focus on you.
Idly, Caleb lays back in the grass next to you, fingers flexing at his side, itching to link his pinky with yours. He settles for your voice and presence, warm and soothing after a day of shenanigans courtesy of the Nein. With his hair fanned out about his head, he shuffles that bit closer to you. For now, it's enough, shoulders brushing against each other, and the Lovers above twinkle in approval.
Fjord
The calm current of the shore laps at your ankles, and you stare up at the night sky, trying to convey something to the stars overhead and Fjord is left almost breathless. He wants to reach out and hold you, and just as he manages to gather some courage, you glance at him and your eyes shine. He swallows thickly and instead agrees that yes, it is a beautiful evening.
He scrambles to your side and attempts to sweep you off your feet, a flirtatious lilt to his tone as he quickly adds the stars do not shine as bright as you. There's a moment where he winces and regrets what he just said, but you smile and punch his shoulder lightly, bashfully, and he thinks maybe it wasn't all in vain.
Brandishing his sailor skills, he navigates the ship with you at night, the sky a natural map that you both are dearly familiar with. It's an excuse to spend time with you, be close to you, and he resists the urge to take your hand in his, suddenly nervous with the intimacy of being alone with you. You grab his arm though, dragging Fjord to the bow of the ship with you, effectively surprising him but having him break into an unfiltered grin.
Molly
He automatically assumes that most people that claim to have celestial callings are talking nonsense, and simply rolls with that idea. But time and time again you prove to him and the party you possess something special, something so good and primal. Your magic isn't granted through favours or beliefs, but by the stars themselves. He wants to experience it all with you. It's selfish, yes, but Molly proudly states he wants to be selfish with you.
Already having ties to the moon, he felt drawn to the way in which your magic is harnessed by the night sky. He sits with you by the fire, eyes closed, imitating meditation, while you do the real thing a few feet away. He peeps open an eye, watching you with a cheeky grin as you talk to the stars. You're wonderful. You're weird. He likes that, and dare he say he can grow to love that.
He tries to convince you that in some way you and him are just like shooting stars that, by chance, collided and have the opportunity to burn bright together. Your face lights up at his lighthearted analogy, and he doesn't care if you take it as a joke or something serious. He just wants to see that smile again, and wants to be the reason for it time and time again.
Nott/Veth
Somewhere deep down inside her, Nott is relieved to have found someone so pure as yourself that's shown her unconditional kindness and shared your wisdom.
You possess a grace she is both unfamiliar with and a little envious of, but it is no match for the fondness she has for you and your talents. She is easily amused when you cast simple spells connected to your relationship with the stars, gasping, oohing and ahhing while starlight twinkles at your fingertips.
She begins to swipe shiny trinkets from vendors on her travels, and instead of hoarding them away to herself, she leaves them by your bedroll before you take watch. Should you confront her about her kleptomaniac tendencies, she simply admits they remind her of you.
Yasha
You are bright and mystical, literal starlight above guiding the party along long forgotten paths when you take charge, almost as if following your example. The heavens seem to follow you, and she can't ignore the feeling of the warmth that spreads through her when she looks at you.
Bad weather, clouds and heavy rain, seem to occur less so at night. A whisper of thanks to the stormlord is uttered under her breath when she steals glances at you from across the camp fire, glowing in the stars' company.
Can and will hoist you up onto her shoulders to provide a closer look at the stars while travelling at night. She holds you in place with care, listening to your stories of ancestors long forgotten, but along the way she's beginning to pay more attention to how the moonlight elegantly hits the top of your head and highlights your profile. Stumbling over her words, she assures you she heard what you just said after you comment that she looks in a daze.
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onecanonlife · 4 years ago
Text
careful son (you got dreamer's plans)
Wilbur gasps back to life with mud between his fingers and rain in his eyes.
Wilbur was dead. Now, he is not. He can't say that he's particularly happy about it.
Unfortunately, the server is still as tumultuous as ever, even with Dream locked away, so it seems that his involvement in things isn't a matter of if, but when.
(Alternatively: the prodigal son returns, and a broken family finally begins to heal. If, that is, the egg doesn't get them all killed first.)
Chapter Word Count: 8,506
Chapter Warnings: swearing, blood, major injury, seizure, character death
Chapter Summary: In which the sun rises.
(masterpost w/ ao3 links)
(first chapter) (previous chapter) (next chapter)
Chapter Twenty-One: morning sun
He has a lot of thoughts on poetry. Poetry, he often finds, is just music without the tune. The rhythm is there already, and the words can be their own melody, if they’re written right, with a shape and a contour and a buildup and a decrescendo. He knows poetry. And poetry can tell stories, too, can tell whole narratives, can show a hero’s journey from the beginning to the bitter, bitter end, because something he noted a long time ago is that in the old stories, the old poems, in the meter and rhyme, there are few heroes who get happy endings. There are few stories that end with the hero growing old and finding peace. The heroes in the stories he was drawn to, the stories that Technoblade told him as they grew from children to lanky teenagers to adults, the heroes in those stories come to tragic ends.
So, he knows poetry.
Is there poetry in death?
Once, he would have said yes. Once, he would have said that death, perhaps, after a long fight, after a struggle lost, after all the world goes caving in and the hero stands alone knowing how far he has fallen, knowing there is only so much further to go, knowing that every cliff has its bottom and every sea its floor, after all of that—once, he might have said that death, after all of that, was the most poetic thing of all.
But he thinks he knows better now. He thinks that death is not poetry at all. He thinks that death is pain and suffering and hurting those who were left behind, and death is an ending that cannot
(is usually not, and perhaps he needs to examine that, too, needs to start considering himself lucky for the second chance that no one else ever gets, because he gasped back to life with mud between his fingers and rain in his eyes and there has been so much pain since then but there has been beauty and now revelation)
be revised once the pen has left the paper, and all the best stories are edited before they are consumed.
But life is not a story, and he is a person, not a role, even if that thought turns everything upside-down, forces him to consider everything he thought he knew about the axis on which the world spins.
And dying cannot be poetry, because he thinks he is dying, and there is nothing lovely about it at all. Not now.
(and not then, either, though you were not ready to know it)
“Shut up, you’re not fucking dying,” Tommy says, and with the words come a wash of cold clarity, focus that he clings to desperately. It might be a mistake, because the pain comes back to the forefront, too, sharp and everywhere and overwhelming and he wants to retreat from it, and he thinks he’s going to retreat from it, if it keeps on like this, so it’s a matter of how long he can manage to hold on.
He’s only just recovered his footing. He’s not going to let himself slip away. Not when he’s only just figured out he wants to keep standing.
And then his heart spasms, sending a burst of hot pain ricocheting in his chest, and he is reminded that he might not have a choice in the matter. He tries to draw in breath, and finds his airways blocked. He tastes iron on his tongue. He tries to draw in breath, and he can’t, and his lungs are burning, burning—
“Turn his head,” Tubbo says sharply, “turn it, he’s choking—”
Someone wrenches his head to the side. He coughs, once, twice, and then he’s wracked with them, curling in on himself as best he can, hands coming up to clutch at his chest, his throat, and he can feel the blood spilling from his mouth, pooling in his cheek and splattering on his lips. Blood. It waters the vines, the vines that are turning to dust. The blood vines are watered, and nothing at all happens, because the vines are dead.
The vines are dead, and he is dying, because he’s pretty sure that his internal organs are all giving out.
“He’s coughing up blood,” Fundy says, near hysterically, “why is he coughing up blood, what’s wrong with him—?”
“The Egg hurts you when you hurt it,” Tommy answers, matching his tone, his high pitch, his fear. “The Egg—and I fucking forgot, oh my god, why did I let him do it, we should’ve figured this would happen—”
“Does anyone have pots?” Tubbo demands. “Does anyone have pots, because I don’t.”
“I didn’t grab any,” Fundy says, “it all happened so fast, I didn’t think to grab any—”
“Wait, shit, I’ve got one,” Tommy says. “Here, c’mon.”
He feels hands on him, gently pushing him out of the position he’s folded himself into. And then, he’s leveraged to sit more upright, and he groans, something in his abdomen screaming in protest at the shift. He doesn’t have the strength to keep his head up, so he lets it fall back, and it hits someone’s chest. He’s propped up against someone, and as his vision clears, just a bit, he sees Fundy crouched to one side, hands hovering over him, and Tommy kneeling right by him, tugging on the cork of a potion, so it’s Tubbo that he’s leaning against.
“Here, Wilbur, just,” Tommy starts, and then the glass is being held to his lips. He parts his lips compliantly, and he feels the liquid slide across his tongue, but there’s too much blood in his throat for it to go down smoothly, and in the next second, he’s coughing again, sputtering, trying to suck air into a throat that’s too clogged and lungs that won’t quite inflate. He jerks, and Tubbo’s arms come up from behind him, grabbing his shoulders and holding him steady even as his body tries to escape the inescapable.
“C’mon, Wil, please,” Tommy says, and his eyes are wide and so very blue, and there’s a sheen across them. Tears. He’s making Tommy cry. “Please, you’ve got to swallow.”
He can’t get in a good enough breath to be able to tell him that he’s trying, that he would very much like to swallow, it’s only that absolutely nothing seems to be cooperating with him at the moment. But surely Tommy knows that, knows that he would if he could, and he’ll keep trying, even though—even though everything hurts, and really, there’s no other way to put it than that. Everything hurts, every inch of him, like his skin is being stretched too tight and he’s boiling from the inside out.
(but then again, Tommy doesn’t know the realization he’s just come to, he just sees his brother limp on the ground and fading away before his eyes and coughing up the potion he’s given him, coughing up what might be the best chance they have to save him, and that is what Tommy sees, so is there any wonder that he automatically assumes that)
No. No, he needs Tommy to know. He needs all of them to know that he doesn’t want this, that he doesn’t want to go, that he’s not giving up.
Tommy presses the potion to his lips again, desperate, insistent. He parts them again, and this time, some of it goes down. A bit goes down the wrong pipe, in fact, setting him to coughing again, but that burn is nothing compared to everything else. He can feel the magic begin to take effect right away, racing inside of him, trying to repair what has been broken and torn apart, and because he can feel it at work, he can feel exactly what’s wrong, can feel it try to patch holes inside of him that the Egg’s death throes ripped open, can feel it surrounding his heart, trying to encourage it to beat in a steady rhythm again, can feel it in his lungs, trying to reopen one that has half-collapsed. He can feel it all, and he knows that even if he managed to down the whole flask, it wouldn’t be enough. Not for this.
Because magic can only do so much. Because magic only goes so far.
Despair pools in his chest along with the fire, but he bucks against it, because he doesn’t want
(he doesn’t want to die and it took him so long to decide as much to understand himself enough to realize it and he doesn’t want to die but his body is giving out even as he fights to stay and this cannot be how it ends, it cannot be, because the world is cruel and the world is unfair but he cannot believe that it would be so unjust as this, so unjust as to take away what he has only just realized he wants to keep)
(but then again, the world does not often listen, does not often care for what is good and what is fair, because the world simply is, and that was a lesson he learned long ago, chased from the podium, the arrow in his back, betrayal and desperation playing a counterpoint melody, and it would never have happened if fairness was something the world at large took into consideration)
(but then again, does the universe not listen, when it well and truly counts? though to say as much would be to imply that it never counted before, when it did, did and still does, still does, because perhaps he can heal if given the chance but he will not forget and neither will anyone else)
to die. He doesn’t want to die. And if ever there was a moment to fight against despair, to fight against despair and win, for once, it is now. It is now.
“I’m trying,” he gasps out, and then immediately has to stop, has to struggle for air again, his chest heaving. He’s shaking, his bones trying to flee his skin.
“I know,” Tommy says. “I know, just come on—” The potion is back, and it’s the last of it, and he manages to force down some more. His vision sharpens, his breathing becoming just ever so slightly easier, but it’s not going to be enough. His heart falters, skips several beats, sends deep pangs shooting through his ribcage, and he knows it’s not going to be enough.
“I am trying,” he insists, as soon as he has enough air for it, “I am, I don’t—I don’t want to go—”
He coughs. Something inside him shifts, grating against other things, and fuck but that hurts, and there’s blood dribbling down his lips again. Hot and sticky. Damning.
“Okay, okay, that’s good, you’re not going anywhere,” Tommy says, “you’re not, we’re not gonna let that happen—”
“Comms are still down,” Fundy says. “I’m not getting through to anyone. Should I—should I go and get someone? I’m a fast runner, I can make it there and back.”
No.
No, no, he—it makes sense, what Fundy is suggesting, but he doesn’t want his son to leave him, because what if he leaves and he—he never gets to tell him all the things he wants to say, all the things he should have said a long, long time ago, what if he leaves and the last that Wilbur sees of him is his retreating back and that’s all, that’s all there is for either of them, what if he dies here and now and he never gets to—
(a scene, imagined: the sun setting over the water, a warm, lazy breeze rustling his hair, and they are sitting side by side, quiet and companionable, and they are fishing, their lures bobbing together in the lake, and all is not fixed and all is not forgotten but there is peace and forgiveness and an opportunity to repair the once-burnt bridge and he wants that he wants he wants)
He moves his arm. The first time, it flops back down uselessly, but he tries again, expends far more effort than he should, and he hooks his fingers into Fundy’s sleeve. Fundy stills, and Wilbur looks at him. Really looks. Meets his eyes and keeps his gaze there. And he doesn’t know what he looks like, doesn’t know how bad he must appear at the moment, but though there is worry on his son’s face, there is something else there, too, something more complicated.
“Wil?” Fundy says softly.
He might not get another chance for this.
“I love you,” he says, and he can feel the words sliding into each other even as they leave his mouth, but he hopes he’s comprehensible. He prays, because he needs Fundy to know this. “I love you, and—I’m so sorry I wasn’t there. I’m so sorry. I wanted to be better this ti—”
His heart squeezes, like it’s doing its level best to collapse in on itself, and he breaks off with a strangled squawking sort of noise. And Fundy makes an odd noise of his own.
“Shut up,” he says. “You’re not—you’re going to be fine. Stop talking like you’re going to—you can’t leave again, okay, you can’t do this to me again, you can’t—”
He’s hurting his son. Hurting his son just like he has all along, and he’s powerless to stop it, powerless once again. And there is some measure of gladness in it, in knowing that Fundy does not want him dead, but he is hurting him, hurting him when he never wanted to do so again. When all he really wanted was a chance to make things better, if he could. If he would be allowed.
He tightens his grip on Fundy’s sleeve. Fundy’s face shutters, and then he reaches over with his other hand and pries his fingers off, and Wilbur thinks that actually he might die right here and now.
Except then, Fundy takes his hand and intertwines their fingers, clutching them tightly. He tries to squeeze back and only manages a flutter, but it’s enough.
(because all is not well between you and perhaps it never will be, but know this, know that your son still loves you)
“I’m so sorry,” Tubbo says suddenly, and he can’t crane his neck to look at him, so he has to settle for listening to the words. “If I hadn’t used the totem, maybe—”
“Oh my god, don’t fucking say that,” Tommy snaps, and Wilbur quite agrees, because if Tubbo hadn’t used the totem, then perhaps this would feel very different, and perhaps he would not be terrified of the sensation of his life slipping away from him, because he would have death’s most effective preventative measure resting in his hand, waiting for his heart to still in order to repair the damage. But if Tubbo hadn’t used the totem—and he didn’t see exactly what happened, occupied as he was, but he can guess well enough from the still-present echoes of terror on Tommy’s face—then Tubbo would be dead. And that is not an acceptable loss.
“It’s the truth,” Tubbo insists.
“No,” he forces out, “no, that wouldn’t—that wouldn’t be any better—”
And then, his muscles seize. His back arches, and he hears himself cry aloud, and then the world goes away for a bit.
When it all returns, it crashes in on him at once, and he feels disoriented, exhausted, like his brain is seeking anything recognizable, anything to help make sense of what’s happening, and coming up with nothing. It takes a moment for him to remember where he is, what’s just happened, and even then, he feels dazed, almost outside of himself. He still hurts, but it’s distant. Like it’s happening to someone else.
He’s lying fully on the ground. There’s something soft under his head. A jacket? There is no one holding his hand, and a low keen rips itself from his throat. But no one’s listening—sound filters back in, and it takes effort to parse the voices from each other, speaking over themselves as they are.
“—going,” Fundy is saying, and Fundy, Fundy, he’d like Fundy to come back and be next to him, but he forces his head to flop to the side and sees that Fundy is standing now, standing with the rest of them. “I’m going, we need help, he’s—he’s literally dying right now—”
“He’s not fucking dying,” Tommy says, “would you stop saying that, he’s not—”
“If you’re gonna go get help, then go and hurry up up about it,” Tubbo is saying at the same time, and—
That’s right. He’s dying. He might have just had a seizure. That’s probably what that was. Caused by—seizures can be caused by traumatic brain things, right? Injuries? Having the Egg fucking around in there probably counts, and even beside that, he felt it die, felt it as the power of the universe flowed through the sword in its hand and tore it apart, even as it took him down with it.
(and there are some things that a mortal mind is not meant for, and surely, surely, the universe in its glory and its infinity is one of them and yet it is in your head always humming always there and it will not leave even when you do not pay it heed)
So that’s that. He’s just had a seizure, and he thinks his body’s gotten to the point where it’s given up on trying to fix anything, because the pain is fading, fading back into numbness, as if all his nerves have collectively decided that this situation is a little too fucked up and there’s nothing they can do, no point in working on it anymore. No point in signaling that anything’s wrong when nothing’s being fixed.
He’s dying.
(he doesn’t want to go)
“No way he gets back in time,” someone says. “You’ve got minutes at most.”
He’s not sure who spoke, but he agrees. Short of a miracle, he’s—he’s dying, and he wants to cry, because he doesn’t want to go. His surroundings blur.
He’s alone. Why isn’t anyone next to him? They’re standing, around him but not with him, talking to each other, voices so frantic and scared, and they’re just kids, and it’s so unfair that any of this is being put on them at all, and he doesn’t blame them for it, of course, but he thinks that if anyone was going to go for help, it should have been done right away. Not now. It’s not going to do any good now.
If he’s going to die, he doesn’t want to be alone.
(he intended to die alone, at the end of it all. he intended for himself to be the only one to be hurt. that’s one of the only reasons why he didn’t blow it all to hell sooner, because people were there, people talked him down, people like Quackity, people like Tommy, and they didn’t talk him out of wanting to do it but their presence reminded him that he didn’t want them to be hurt, he only wanted himself to hurt, because that was what was fair and that was what was right)
(but he didn’t die alone, at the end of it all. Phil held him, and he felt a little less afraid under all that relief, and the last thing he remembers from that day is warmth overwhelming, and if he’s going to die again, he doesn’t want to be cold, alone, alone)
He tries to talk, to say something, but he really is having trouble breathing now. His chest rises and falls in quick, short pants, too shallow to supply enough oxygen, too little to support his voice. He tries to move to get their attention, but his limbs don’t respond to his commands.
And then, Fundy’s taking off, running for the entrance, and no, no, no—
He finally manages to meet Tommy’s gaze. Tommy’s crouched by him again in an instant, and Tubbo is, too, grabbing his hand, and he’s glad of it, glad for the contact, but—
“It’s okay,” Tommy tells him. “You’re gonna be fine, Wilbur, Fundy’s gonna go get someone, and they’ll bring more pots, and, and another totem, too—”
His vision is darkening. He wants Fundy to come back. His heartbeats are growing more erratic, slower, weaker.
“Tommy,” Tubbo says, voice small, and stops. Tommy goes silent for a moment.
“No,” he says, then, and his voice is a sob. Wilbur wants to comfort him. He can’t move. “No, no, this isn’t fair—”
He knows. He knows, and he can’t do a thing about it.
“I—” he manages, pushing the word out with what little air is circulating through his lungs. “I don’t want—”
He can’t finish.
“I know you don’t want to go,” Tommy says, “I know, so, so you won’t, you won’t, you’re going to be fine—”
“We’re here, Wilbur,” Tubbo says. “We’re right here.”
He’s glad. He wants to stay with them.
“Jesus, Wilbur.” There’s that voice again. Not Tommy’s, not Tubbo’s. Soft and exasperated, and perhaps a little bit concerned, but he’s not sure. His ability to think, to reason, is slipping from his grasp, and one some level, that terrifies him, but on another, he can no longer care. “You giving up?”
The peculiar combination of derision and amusement is familiar. He opens his eyes; he hadn’t realized he’d closed them. Above him, a face hovers, upside-down from his vantage point. Dark hair, scruff, chipped horns, a blue sweater. Schlatt.
How long has he been here?
“Is this how you’re gonna go out?” Schlatt asks him. “Taken out by a—whatever the hell this was? You know, I’m still not clear on that. None of you assholes ever explained it to me. Some kind of demon bullshit. But you’re just gonna let this happen?”
Somehow, his voice cuts through the haze that’s filled his mind, cuts through even where Tommy and Tubbo’s voices have blended together, becoming one with the background. Perhaps it’s the sudden burst of annoyance, an energy he thought he no longer had; of course he’s not letting this happen. There’s just not a whole lot he can do to fight against acute organ failure. Does he look as if he planned this?
“You don’t want to go, though,” Schlatt says. “I heard that. Good on you, I guess. Deciding that life’s worth something after all. I’m real proud.”
He tries to glare at him. He has no idea whether his face is doing anything or not. If it is, he hopes that the boys don’t think he’s mad at them.
“Okay,” Schlatt says. “Okay, you know what? Let’s give this a try. You’re a real jackass, though, you know that? I want to make sure you know that. I need you to remember that to the end of your days. I want you to put it on your tombstone when you do finally kick it. Here lies Wilbur Soot, he was a real jackass.”
He doesn’t understand what Schlatt is trying to say. He’s rambling, as if to himself. And the world is sliding away again.
(he’s trying to hold on but there’s only so much he can do if the entire cliff face gives way there’s only so much he can do to fight against it there’s only so much)
But then, he feels it. The tether. The rope that binds them. The trailing connection. It opens up, pulling like gravity on his heart, and there’s that familiar sensation, energy leaving him, flowing down the line, except this is energy that he truly doesn’t have to spare, and the last embers of his panic flare up again, because surely Schlatt can feel it, can feel that he has nothing to give, that this is only going to kill him quicker, within seconds if he keeps this up and he may not have much of a chance here but he doesn’t need Schlatt making it worse—
“Holy shit!” he hears Tubbo say, backed up by, “What the fuck are you doing?” from Tommy an instant later. He can’t see them. He can’t see anything. Their voices are far away, and he’s trying to reach them, but he’s falling, and he can’t stop it, can’t stop himself, and the void is close.
(and he’s scared)
“Hey Tubbo,” he hears Schlatt say. Distantly, from a long way away, and getting quieter. Everything is dim. He’s floating. “You deserved better than me, kid, you really did.” A pause. “Tell Fundy the same thing, would you?”
His heart beats. Once. Twice. And then does not beat again. He’d be in pain if he could still feel it. But it’s all gone. All falling away, and the void is close, the void is reaching out to him, and he is—
And then, the tether reverses.
Energy flows back into him. What Schlatt took, and somehow, inextricably—more.
He slams back into himself all at once, gasping for air, back arching off the ground as he is hit with—everything. Sensation, in his fingers, in his toes. Pain, in every inch of him, every atom. Lungs that inflate, barely at first and then more fully. Ruptured places repairing themselves. A heart that starts again, and beats, beats, beats.
“C’mon,” Schlatt is muttering, over and over, and though Tommy and Tubbo are still talking, it’s the only voice he can latch onto. “C’mon, c’mon.” His hand is splayed across Wilbur’s chest, firm and solid, pressing down. “C’mon.”
He has sight again. Schlatt is still there, is still leaning over him, strain written on every line of his face, and Wilbur doesn’t understand, doesn’t understand what he’s doing, doesn’t understand where this energy is coming from, doesn’t understand how it’s—healing him. It’s healing him. Though—Schlatt is a ghost, is usually intangible, has to rely on Wilbur’s lifeforce if he wants to do anything, but perhaps that doesn’t mean Schlatt has none of his own. Perhaps it’s just not enough to sustain him. Perhaps it’s not enough to form him a body, not enough to create life from death.
But perhaps it’s enough for this.
Just as he works through it, Schlatt loses his solidity. His hand slips down, passing through Wilbur’s chest, and he shudders at the sensation, tingling and cold. But Schlatt doesn’t pull away, and the energy keeps flowing, and then, Schlatt starts to flicker, his form wavering in and out of reality.
And finally, Wilbur thinks he understands.
(reciprocity is something they both know well, and a connection once opened can flow both ways)
“You’re giving too much,” he says, though he’s practically mouthing the words, so thin is his voice.
“Yeah, well,” Schlatt says, his voice echoing and distant and staticky. Like a snowfall. “Maybe I want you to prove me wrong.”
Prove him wrong?
(a sunny day, flowers twisted absently in his hands, blue flowers to match the blue sweater, blue sky above, and Schlatt’s voice saying, people like us don’t change, and he once believed that, believed that his role was set and there was no going back, and he believed that for Schlatt as well, believed that for the both of them there could be no redemption, but now he isn’t so sure, and he looks into Schlatt’s eyes and he thinks that perhaps)
“Schlatt,” he whispers, and Schlatt gives him a long look. Hard, but not cruel, measured, but not mocking, considering, not dismissive. And perhaps, just perhaps, there is a little bit of regret there, too.
(regret for the boys they once were, full of life and ideas and hope, tongues sharp and minds sharper, and what good friends they used to be, in the days of their youths when they were free and unburdened and war was a tale from the past and politics a distant future and betrayal a joke and a game, when they were young, when they were young)
“Prove me wrong, Wilbur,” Schlatt says, and then, he is gone. He winks out of existence, and there is no shimmer of blue in the air, no feeling of being watched, of eyes on him, and the tether breaks, snaps apart, and he lets out a soundless shout as the backlash hits him, like a rubber band snapping back into place. The energy stops, and there is nothing in its place, and he reaches out, instinctively, searching, and finds nothing. Where the ghost was, there is blank space. Only the world, and no hum of the stars.
(the hum of the stars is in your mind and your mind only and you are alone inside of it and there is no other not anymore)
And he is alive.
“What the fuck,” Tommy is saying. His hands paw at his neck, pressing up to find his pulse, and Wilbur can feel it. The touch is warm. “What the hell did he do to you, that fucker—Wilbur? Wilbur, c’mon, answer me, man, are you still—”
“Here,” he says, and Tommy falls silent. “I’m here.”
He is here. He is lying on his back, staring up at the ceiling, and the vines are still turning to dust above him. He is here, and he hurts, still, deeply and acutely, every inch of him aching, but his heart beats steadily, his lungs expand when he breathes, and there is no catch in his throat, no urge to cough, no churning in his stomach, no convulsions wracking him, and his vision is clear.
“Wilbur?” Tubbo asks. His voice shakes.
“I’m here,” he says again. “I’m not going. I’m still here.”
“Oh my god,” Tommy says, and then, Tommy’s all but on top of him, lying on his chest, wrapping his arms around him, knocking the breath right out of him, and Tubbo follows a short second behind, taking up all of the space that Tommy isn’t. He wheezes, but it’s a good sort of wheeze, even if it hurts. It definitely hurts. But he’s hardly about to get them to stop.
They pile on him, grabbing onto him like their lives depend upon it,
(or like his life depends upon it)
and he feels warm, and present, and here. Still here.
(safe)
(alive)
“I’m sorry,” he whispers. That’s about all the volume he can manage; his throat feels shredded. “I’m so sorry I scared you.”
“You’d better be sorry,” Tommy chokes out. “I thought you were gonna die.”
“I thought I was too,” he says. “But I didn’t want to. I fought it, I swear. I don’t want to go. I mean that.” They’re on top of his arms, pinning them. He gives them a nudge, experimentally, but they don’t give an inch, so he’s going to have to settle for not hugging them, apparently. “I’m staying right here. I don’t want to die.”
The words are novel. He thinks he’d like to say them over and over again, just to test them out, to feel the truth in them. He doesn’t want to die, and more than that, he rather thinks he wants to live. What a revolutionary thing it is, to want to live.
“You dickhead,” Tommy mutters, and buries his face in his shirt, which becomes damp in short order. He won’t call him on it.
“Please don’t do that again, though,” Tubbo says. “That was actively terrifying.”
He manages a laugh. The sound of it surprises him. “I’m not planning on it,” he says.
Despite the heavy weight of two teenage boys resting on him, he feels lighter than he has in weeks. Since he woke up in that forest, rain falling on his face, and turned to the arctic, to the snow and the tundra and the promise of family that he didn’t know how to feel about, the promise of a family that was scattered and broken into too many pieces. Since seeing his brother again a scarce day later, standing in the rain, the notes of the guitar fading in the air. Since the Egg, since the prison, since arguments and tentative reconciliations and everything that’s happened between now and then. And the thoughts still lurk. He can sense them in the shadows of his mind, ready to swell forth again, ready to tell him all about what he deserves and how he will be betrayed and how everyone hates him and he hates himself but for now—
For now, in this moment, he wants to live, and he wants to live well, and he pushes aside the whispers of what he deserves and lets himself be, and lets himself love.
(and lets himself be loved)
And then: footsteps. Several pairs, rushing down the corridor. He can’t get a good look, and the boys don’t seem inclined to take much notice, either. But he has a feeling as to who it is, and his suspicion is confirmed a moment later, as Fundy’s voice floats toward him, saying, “—bad, I mean, it’s really bad, I really think he’s literally dying, and I don’t, I just don’t—” He sounds as though he’s been keeping up this litany for some time, perhaps more as something to say than anything else, something to focus on, something to distract him a bit. His voice gets closer, and then stops. “Oh my god, is he dead?” His voice pitches upward, and overlaps with a sharp inhalation—Phil’s, he recognizes.
So there’s only one thing to do.
“Help,” he rasps, “I’m being crushed.”
There is a long moment of silence, and he almost wishes that Tommy and Tubbo would get up so that he could see the looks on their faces. Almost, but not quite. He’s content to stay like this for a good while longer.
“Oh my god, he’s alive,” Fundy says, and there is a sharp exhalation, also from Phil.
“You fucks,” Phil says, relief audible. “Do you know how scared I was?”
“I wasn’t,” Techno says. “I wasn’t worried at all.”
Finally, Tommy stirs, lifting his face from his chest and glaring off in the direction of the entrance. He also lifts a hand and flips them off.
“Fuck off,” he says. “We’ve just had a traumatic experience, we have. Are you going to stand there and be—and be twats, or did you bring anything useful? Like—” He stops, looking back down at him. His face is vaguely tear-stained, though Wilbur’s pretty sure that most of it is in his shirt. “Do you still need some pots? Or did—what the hell did he even do, anyway? How did that—you were definitely dying, and then he was there, all, all like that, and then he disappeared and you were better. What did he do?”
“Changed, I think,” he murmurs, and judging from the expression on Tommy’s face, he doesn’t get it. But that’s alright.
“Okay,” Phil says, and then he’s sweeping toward them and kneeling. His wings are on full display, he notes, no effort at all put toward hiding them, and maybe it doesn’t really mean anything, but he can’t help but feel glad. Phil should never have to hide his wings, no matter what condition they’re in. “Alright—here, Tubbo, could you move over a bit?”
Tubbo shifts off of him, too, his breathing unsteady. His eyes are slightly red-rimmed to match Tommy’s. He doesn’t say anything, just shuffles to the side so that he’s sitting next to Tommy. Phil shoots a quick smile at him, one that’s probably supposed to be reassuring but comes off as strained, and then, his hands are on Wilbur’s shoulders.
“You think you can sit up, Wil?” he asks, and Wilbur tries. He tries, but immediately gives it up as a lost cause as all his core muscles cry out in immediate protest.
“Sitting up ability is currently on strike, I believe,” he says, and Phil’s brow furrows in concern, but he takes it in stride. Behind him, Fundy and Techno are both hovering—though Fundy’s far more obvious about it. It is a bit funny how they’re both doing it, though, and the contrast between them, Techno’s bulk and general everything next to Fundy’s fidgeting. Fundy keeps casting glances at Techno, too, nervous ones.
Phil pulls him into an upright position, and he moans, his head swimming for a second before the lightheadedness abates. He hunches forward, letting gravity pull him back down a little; he thinks he’d flop over like a ragdoll if it weren’t for Phil steadying him.
“Where are you hurt the worst?” Phil asks, voice quiet. “Fundy said you were coughing up blood. And that you had a seizure, I’m guessing, judging from what he told us.”
He can still taste it on his tongue. Sharp iron. And his limbs are all very sore.
“A bit everywhere,” he admits. “I’m pretty sure all my organs were giving out on me at once, so I don’t think there’s one specific area that needs attention.” Phil’s expression widens into open dismay at that, and something very much like fear, and perhaps he shouldn’t have phrased it quite like that. Perhaps he shouldn’t be so blasé about his imminent death in front of the man who he begged to take his third life and definitely emotionally scarred in the process. But he’s still a bit wrapped up in the fact that he’s alive at all, alive and glad to be so.
“Okay,” Phil says, in a way that implies he definitely does not think that it’s okay, but he’s trying to keep it together. “Okay. That’s—okay. Do you think you could get down a regen?”
He pulls a face, but nods. Regen potions have never been his favorite; their magic is rough, unsubtle, far more concerned with function over comfort. But he likely needs one, or two, or several, or as many as his body can keep down, because he is alive, but probably far from alright, still; the continuing ache is evidence enough of that, and he’s fairly certain that if he tried to stand, he would tip over immediately. Phil has no reservations, bringing out a pot from his inventory and holding it up to him, a mirror of Tommy’s actions a minute before. Only this time, he brings up a shaking hand to help support the glass, even if he can’t hold its full weight, and he swallows all of it without coughing.
It gets to work. He winces, and then decides that he’s been on the ground long enough. The energy from the pot is more than enough for him to attempt to get up.
“Whoa,” Phil says, “wait, Wilbur—”
He’s up. His vision blacks out for a second, but when it clears, he’s still up, if woozy. He imagines he might need help to walk any significant distance, but he won’t need to be carried, at least. Which is nice. Being carried is undignified.
“You should absolutely not be standing up,” Tommy snaps, and he raises an eyebrow.
“And yet,” he says, spreading his arms. Once again, he gets the impression that he’s being far more casual about all of this than he should be. He imagines that it will hit him later, the horror of it, seeing Niki’s face twisted in rage, letting the Egg inside his mind once again, almost being unable to pull himself out, almost dying right after he figured out that he didn’t want to. It will all his him, he’s sure, but for now, he would like to walk out of here under his own power, his family by his side, everyone alive and unharmed, the trouble dealt with at last. “I’m alright. I actually mean that. I’m not going to keel over.”
He inhales. Wrinkles his nose. Actually, it doesn’t smell very nice in here.
“Is the rest handled?” he asks, glancing at Phil. Phil is standing very close to him, wings flared, likely ready to catch him if he needs it. He won’t, though he appreciates the gesture.
“We felt the Egg go,” Phil says. “It was like—like the world itself distorted for a second, and then patched itself back up. We were already on our way here when Fundy came to get us. In a nutshell, yes, it’s handled. Dream was still up when we left, but the rest of the Egg people just sort of—stopped. And nobody on our side went down hard. Eret and Puffy got the worst of it, but they’ll both be fine, last I saw.”
“But Dream was still up,” he says. Beside him, Tommy’s shoulders hunch.
“Not for long,” Techno says. His gaze is fixed behind them, on the Egg. “We would’ve stayed if we weren’t sure of it.” His eyes drift to Tommy’s for a second. “The others are handlin’ it. But we can go see.” And then, to Tubbo: “The totem came in handy.” A statement, not a question.
“Yes,” Tubbo says, expression inscrutable. “It did. Thank you, Technoblade.”
Techno shrugs. “I gave it to be used,” he says dryly. “Let’s not make a habit of it.” And that is a Techno way of saying you’re welcome, of burying the hatchet as much as he is able, and it’s not nearly enough, but it’s a first step. And then, Techno literally steps forward, and Wilbur is a little too concerned with the way that Tubbo stiffens to notice exactly what his intent is, which is why it takes him by surprise when Techno takes his head in his hands and presses their foreheads together.
Just for a second. But it’s an old gesture, a familiar gesture, and not one that he ever expected to receive again. His breath catches.
(you were kids the first time he did this, the first time he butted his head against yours, impossibly gentle, tender in a way you hadn’t realized Techno knew how to be, and it wasn’t until later that Phil explained it to you, explained piglin instincts and the concept of a sounder and how Techno always, always feels far more than he lets on, and always, always cares, perhaps too much, and he still does, despite everything, he still does)
And then, Techno walks forward, past them, to the husk of the Egg that lies behind, and the moment is over. But it was there. It was there, when it didn’t have to be, when Techno would still be well within his rights to hold back from them, from him, to keep his distance. But here he is, displaying open affection, and he’s not naive enough to think that means it’s all fixed, but—
Hope is a dangerous thing, but he feels in the mood to indulge. And beside him, Tubbo relaxes, and Tommy, just for a second, wears an expression that suggests a bit of hope of his own.
He turns to watch Techno as he roots through the dust, a crumbling, greyed-out monument that barely holds any shape. A reminder, and nothing more. An empty shell, and that, too, will disintegrate soon enough, leaving a room of dust and lava pools, and statues long abandoned.
Techno huffs. Reaches down. And from the middle of the Egg, he pulls out—
“Is that fucking Skeppy,” Tommy states, flat as a fucking pancake.
He blinks. Because it—is. Somehow. Fucking Skeppy. Though he looks different; parts of him are the same blue, but many patches are discolored, greyish white, and as Techno hoists him up, Wilbur thinks he sees red slipping off of him, like runny paint.
“Oh my god,” Tubbo says. “Was the Egg Skeppy this whole time?”
“I was wonderin’ where this guy got off to,” Techno says, and throws Skeppy across his shoulders in a fireman’s carry, apparently unconcerned. “He hadn’t been by to bother me in a while. And BadBoyHalo kind of just sat down and started cryin’ about him, which, I won’t lie, I had no idea how to handle, not my area, but I thought he might be here. Are we leavin’ these two here, or takin’ them?”
Niki and Jack. Both on the ground, chests rising and falling. Free of the Egg, now, but he’s not sure where that leaves them. Though it would likely be—
“Leave ‘em,” Tommy says, startlingly vehement. “Just, we’ll come back, leave ‘em here for now.”
“I don’t think he meant to,” Tubbo says quietly. “I think it just happened really fast.”
“Don’t care,” Tommy says. “Leave ‘em.”
He looks back and forth between them. Gold still dances across Tubbo’s skin. And he wasn’t turned around, didn’t see what happened, but he thinks he can guess, based on everything, based on Niki’s sword at Tommy’s throat and Jack pinning Tubbo to the ground, based on their desperate, misdirected need for vengeance and the way Jack shouted and a boy who would do just about anything to ensure Tommy’s safety. Hears I don’t think he meant to, and thinks about other times, darker times,
(and meaning does not always matter, because intent is washed away in impact, and he never meant to hurt them)
and he decides not to ask. Not now. Not yet. Though it should be addressed. A lot of things should be addressed, a lot of things that they have not, yet, because there has been no time, because everything has been moving at a breakneck pace, but the pace will be slower now. The pace will be slower, and they will have time.
He looks to Fundy. Fundy stares back, not saying anything at all. His eyes are wet.
“I’m glad you’re not dead,” Fundy murmurs. Quiet enough that he doesn’t think anyone else hears it.
“Me too,” he says. “And I’m glad you’re here.”
A start. A first step. There are so many of those that still need to be taken. For now, Fundy’s lips curl into what might be the ghost of a smile.
They will have time.
***
The scene they return to is this: some are standing, some are sitting, all gathered in the courtyard of the castle. The gates lie wide open. The vines are gone. The sun is rising.
There is Eret, standing tall, though blood still runs down from a wound on their shoulder and another long gash on their arm. Their crown is blood splattered, their glasses still perched on their nose, though slipping down, and Wilbur glances away before he can take in something he’s not meant to see. There is Puffy, kneeling, her blood on the grass around her; it is her leg that is wounded, though it is difficult to tell how badly. There is Sam, shifting, uncertain, a lost look in his eyes as his fingers flex around his trident. There is Purpled, on the outskirts, on guard but perhaps an ally, though he has no reason to be. There is BadBoyHalo, sitting, curled into himself, tears running down his face, which is less ashen. The other members of the Eggpire cluster around him, seemingly in various states of shock. None of them move. They are mostly ignored.
There is Ranboo, also sitting. His eyes are wide. Tears are streaming down his face, too, and a bit of steam rises from his skin. He pays no mind. He’s trembling, occasionally gasping for breath through a sob.
There is Quackity, still standing, hands clutched around an axe like it’s the best protection he knows how to have. He wonders if there’s any truth to that; Quackity has never been one for fighting, though he tries.
(he wonders if Schlatt wanted to say anything to him, too. wonders if it would have done more harm than good)
And then there is Dream, lying on the ground. There is George, crouched by his side. There is Sapnap, kneeling, all his weight on the sword piercing Dream’s chest. Dream’s chest rises and falls, shallow and slow, and nobody moves. Sapnap’s face is flushed, tears in his eyes, and whether they are from anger or grief, he can’t tell.
Dark smoke puffs out from under Dream’s mask and dissipates in the air. Tommy makes a small sound, and Wilbur fits his hand into his. Tommy doesn’t look at him, doesn’t look away from the sight in front of them, but his fingers curl around his.
Sapnap moves as if to draw the sword out. Dream’s hand comes up and wraps around the hilt, stopping him.
“No,” Dream says, voice a reedy whisper, free of shadow. “You need to be sure it’s gone.”
And so they stay. The only sound is crying, and Sapnap’s harsh breaths, hitched and desperate. Both angry and grieving at once. George’s hands inch forward until they’re curled into Dream’s hoodie. It’s like a painting, the three of them. The sun crests the walls of the castle, and the rays fall on them like a caress, and the smoke stops appearing. The sigils carved into the sword dim.
Dream stops breathing. Quietly, and without fanfare. Like a sigh.
As one, more than a dozen communicators chime.
Tommy exhales shakily.
(is this closure? is this what he wanted? he doesn’t know, but there is no going back, no going back to the old days, when they were all still friends and the war was a game)
(and after everything that Dream did perhaps it feels wrong that this should end so abruptly or that he should not shove the sword in his chest himself for what he did to Tommy or that Tommy should have no say in his fate but at the same time perhaps it is right and perhaps this is the way the circle breaks at last)
Techno sighs, walks over to where Bad sits, and dumps Skeppy in front of him. As if a spell has been broken, Tubbo moves, too, crossing to Ranboo and crouching before him, speaking to him in low tones. Several others start moving, like the world was on pause and has only just resumed. Sapnap draws the sword from Dream’s chest, but he remains there, kneeling by the body.
Dream looks peaceful. Though with his mask still on, it’s impossible to tell. No one motions to remove it.
Tommy presses close to him. On the other side, Fundy steps closer. Against his back, he feels one of Phil’s wings brush against all of them, a promise of shelter, of safety. Perhaps this time, it will be kept.
Just like that, it is over. Can it be over?
(is it ever truly over?)
(but in every ending there is a beginning, and the world still spins, and the grass still grows, and the sky is still blue, and finally there is more reason to look forward than back)
The sun rises. Is rising, has risen, will rise again and again and again. And he’s lived to see it.
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hotpodsummer · 4 years ago
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Welcome to the 2021 Hot Pod Summer Exchange! Hot Pod Summer is a fic exchange challenge focused on Crooked Media podcast hosts, contributors to Crooked Media podcasts, real-life partners of pod hosts, and/or Crooked Media employees.
Rules:
You can nominate anyone who is a Crooked Media podcast host, a contributor to a Crooked Media podcast, any real-life partners of pod hosts, or any Crooked Media employees.
You can request between 3 and 6 relationships, and offer between 4 and 10 relationships.
Your assignment must be a complete textual story (no WIPs, please) of at least 1,500 words.
Your work must be archive locked so only registered users can access it.
How do I get in touch with the mods for this exchange? You can email us at [email protected]
Schedule
Nominations: April 30th-May 6th, 2021
Sign-ups open: May 7th, 2021 
Sign-ups close: May 16th, 2021 at 11:59PM EDT (what time is that for me?) 
Assignments go out: May 17th, 2021 
Default deadline: July 11th, 2021 at 11:59PM EDT
Assignments due: July 18th, 2021 at 11:59PM EDT (what time is that for me?)
Staggered reveals: July 25th-30th, 2021
Author reveals: August 5th, 2021
FAQ
Nominations
What can I nominate?
You can nominate relationships that include anyone associated with Crooked Media as a podcast host or contributor, a real-life partner of a pod host, or a Crooked Media employee.
A relationship can include two or more people. Please note that romantic relationships are denoted by / and platonic relationships are denoted by &. Thus, if you’d like to see a romantic story between person A and person B, you’d nominate that relationship as A/B. If you wanted to receive purely platonic fic without any romantic components, you’d nominate them as A&B. You can also combine & and / and nominate, for example, A/B & C, in which case A/B would be romantic and C would be a platonic part of the ship.
How do I nominate relationships for this exchange?
Go to the tag set! You're allowed to nominate up to 5 relationships during the nomination phase.
Sign-ups
How do sign-ups work?
On the collection page, find the button that says ‘Sign up’ and follow the prompts. You can request and offer any of the previously nominated relationships (no matter if you nominated them or not). You can request between 3 and 6 relationships for which you’d like to receive fic, and can offer to write between 4 and 10 relationships.
Do I have to write a letter to my author?
No, you do not have to write a letter to your author, though you are absolutely welcome to write a letter with optional details, prompts, or whatever else strikes your fancy. Leaving your author optional details in the sign-up field is not required either, but strongly encouraged. The details are optional, but some authors find it helpful to know what kind of story you’d like to receive, which tropes or prompts you’d really like to see written, or what your Do Not Wants (DNWs) are.
How does matching work?
The Hot Pod Summer exchange matches on relationships. Your assigned recipient will have requested at least one relationship that you offered to write. If you have entered optional details or DNWs in your AO3 sign-up boxes, these may also be taken into account when matching. Once matching is done, you will receive an email with your recipient’s AO3 username and their requests.
Assignments
What are the requirements for the story I’m writing?
Your story must feature at least one of the relationships requested by your recipient. It must also be a complete story (no “I’m posting chapter 1 now and other chapters later”, please!) of at least 1,500 words.
If I offered more than one ship that my recipient requested, which one do I write? If I want to write a ship they requested that I didn’t offer, am I allowed to do that?
As long as your story features at least one of the ships they requested, you’re good. If you offered more than one of their ships, which one you end up writing is totally up to you.
Is my assignment a secret?
Your assignment is a secret until authors are revealed. Please do not discuss the story you’re writing publicly, we all want to be surprised on reveals day. :) If you need to contact your recipient because you have a question about their sign-up or for whatever other reason, please do not contact them directly, even anonymously! Instead, email us at [email protected] and we will contact your recipient to ensure anonymity is maintained.
What if I can’t complete my assignment before the deadline?
Please reach out to us. We’re here to help, but we have to know if there’s a problem. We have a default deadline set for a week before assignments are due and while we understand that last-minute things can happen, it would really help mods with planning if we got a heads-up from you a week before your assignment is due if you think you won’t be able to turn in a story -- just hit the ‘default’ button on your My Assignments page if you need to. That way, we can send your assignment to a pinch hitter and ensure your recipient doesn’t go gift-less.
Am I guaranteed to receive a gift?
If you signed up for the exchange and turned in a story, you are guaranteed to receive a gift. If you default and your author does not, you will also receive a gift. If you default and your author defaults as well, you may not receive a gift, depending on availability of pinch hitters.
Can I make a fanmix/video/draw fanart instead of writing a story?
This is a writing exchange, so for your assignment, please stick to writing a story of at least 1,500 words. You’re welcome to add art, music, etc. to the story you wrote, but this is primarily a fanfiction exchange.
Can I write more than one story for my recipient?
Oh my god, you overachiever! :) Yes, you totally can. In that case, you’d post the extra gift as a treat, but you’re of course only asked to write one story.
What is a pinch hitter and how do I become one?
A pinch hitter fills in for somebody else who can’t complete their assignment and writes a story for that person’s recipient. A pinch hitter may be somebody who’s already participating in the exchange, but if you aren’t formally participating in the exchange and would like to pinch hit instead, you’re more than welcome to. If you’d like to pinch hit, please fill out the form any time after sign-ups begin (it will be linked here and/or posted on social media) or email us at [email protected].
Can I write treats?
YES. All requests will be made public after assignments go out and if you’re inspired by one (or more!) requests that aren’t your assignment, you’re welcome to write a little bonus story (=a treat) on top of your assignment for anybody else who signed up for the exchange. You may also write treats if you aren’t officially participating in the exchange. Treats do not have to fulfill the minimum word count and may be multimedia.
How do I find a beta reader for my story?
If you’d like another pair of eyes on your story before you publish it, you can email [email protected]. In the email, please tell us: the ship you’re writing, the word count of your story, and what kind of beta you need (for example: SPAG, structure, canon, special knowledge of [certain subject or matter], etc.) and we’ll try our best to connect you with someone to look it over for you, though we can’t guarantee it.
I would like to beta someone else’s story!
Great! Sign up using this form here and if anyone needs a beta, we may contact you with their request.
Posting
How do I post my assignment?
In the top right corner of AO3, where it says “Hi, [your username]”, select “My assignments” from the dropdown menu, find the Hot Pod Summer exchange and click “Fulfill”. You’ll be taken to a form where you can input your story, title, etc. Preview it, make sure it looks how you want it to, and click on Post. Your story will automatically post into the Hod Pod Summer collection as a gift to your recipient. It will remain unrevealed in the collection until an admin reveals it.
Can I edit my story after the deadline?
Yes, you can edit your story until it’s revealed, but please do not upload an unfinished story.
How do I post a treat?
Posting a treat works a little bit differently than posting your assignment. In order to post a treat, you have to visit the Hot Pod Summer collection page (you’re probably on it now if you’re reading this FAQ) and click “Post to collection”. This will take you to a posting form that has the collection name already filled in, so it’ll be posted in the right place. From there, fill in the AO3 name of your treat recipient manually and then input your title, story, etc., preview it to make sure it looks the way you want it to look, and then click on Post.
Story reveals
What are staggered reveals and why are you doing them?
Staggered reveals mean that we’re only publishing a small number of stories at a time every day, thus, you might get your gift on any day during the reveals period. We’re doing this so every story can get the attention it deserves and readers aren’t overwhelmed by a lot of stories dropping at the same time.
How do staggered reveals work?
We will email you the night before the story you wrote will go live (please check your email!). That way, you’ll have the chance to put that day’s date on your story and make sure it appears at the top of the collection once your story is revealed.
Do I have to comment on my gift?
Look, we can’t mandate it, but please comment on your gift. It’s the polite thing to do if somebody else took the time and effort to write a story for you. 
Any other questions?
Email us at [email protected] and one of us will get back to you.
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whoistheasshole · 4 years ago
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How do I get out of this unsatisfying life I’m living?
Anonymous asks: So the thing is that I feel incredibly stuck - I have all the basics of life which I'm grateful for but also that was my BIG dream as a kid, to get tf out of my parents' house - but now I have that and idk what to do for the rest of my life. Like, if I try those "visualize your future" things I'm just like, "I'd like to sleep for a month, maybe longer" & it feels like I don't really WANT anything so I can't plan, you know? Just flailing here honestly. Pretty tired of it.
I wrote back: I got your question. To pinpoint my answer a little better, can you tell me about your current situation, like how long has it been since you moved out? Which are the things you have in order to your satisfaction? Some vague idea of your age range would also be helpful, but I can work without it too if you’d rather not share.
Anonymous answered: Ah, sorry. I was trying to fit in the character limit & also whenever I think about this my mind just goes flbbbbth. It's been about 5 years? That's about the only thing I'm truly HAPPY about, I'm not thrilled with my social/love life, career, etc & have pretty much been just coasting tbh. I'm almost 30. Thanks for entertaining this.
Alright, thanks for adding some background. I will come at this from different angles and you can pretty much pick and choose what sounds helpful and leave the rest, okay?
First, while there are people who have it all figured out, methodically planning their next career step or fully certain that there is no greater joy than raising a child, there are tons of other people who just, to quote, go „ flbbbbth“ when asked about their next steps or, god forbid, their life plan. I would say I fall in the latter camp, but I don’t mind because I think there is nothing wrong with that. I let myself be guided by the things I need to be happy (more on that later) and by current necessities – if my job becomes shit, I need to find a new job. If a friendship goes sour, I need to end it respectfully. But I couldn’t tell you specific career or personal goals, except...
... let’s talk about the „later“ now.
I’m an organizer, maybe even a worrier, and therefore I like lists. And for that reason I made a list a while ago that I still have and expect to keep for a long time. It is a list of everything that I need to be satisfied with my life. It consists of 29 entries and has three of them checked, though several others could be counted as half-checked. I wrote down everything that came to mind, paying no attention whether it was reasonable or feasible to want. That wasn’t the question.
It covers stuff like a clean flat (not checked), restful sleep (not checked), friends that I see regularly (checked) or a job with purpose (not checked). This list is my guide. Well, generally my needs are my guide, but it can be hard to be aware of your needs sometimes, so I got this list. And if I wonder what I need or want to focus on, I can turn to it and choose one of the entries and see what I can do about it. I can also look over the list every few years and see if things have developed in the right direction. Little progress is no reason to chastise myself, but helpful information to see whether I need to re-direct my focus.
Please note that I wrote „satisfied“, not „happy“. Being happy is a passing emotional state. It is completely normal and okay not to be happy all the time. But quiet satisfaction with where you are or where you are going, that is pretty achievable. It certainly is a process, but an enjoyable one.
This list is not a race and it is not really a to-do list because most of the things I wrote down aren’t easy to accomplish with a single action. They take months and years and, for some items, I can only try and hope it works out some day (see anybody who ever purposely looked for a partner).
So maybe this kind of list could be an exercise for you. Maybe it provides you with some insight, maybe it doesn’t. Maybe it’s not the right point in your life. But if you sit down and the only thing you can come up with is „cry forever“ or „sleep forever“ then, you know, that’s a sign.
Which brings me to my next point: Journaling or automatic writing. This method is especially helpful for those „I feel some kind of way and I couldn’t even tell you how“ moments – so maybe exactly where you are right now. Captain Akward has introduced me to a website called „750 words“ and I’ve used the principle of „morning pages“, though not the website, since then whenever I felt like some emotions were starting to boil over.
I sit down, ideally in the morning, and just barf it all on the (digital) page. There are only two rules: 1) Don’t edit or judge yourself, write everything as it comes to mind (that’s the automatic writing part) and 2) Don’t stop before you’ve reached 750 words. You are not looking to write anything readable or clever or lyrical, you’re looking to get all the weirdness out so you can move on. Repeat this as many days as you feel queasy or weird or confused or angry or sad. Each day, as soon as you’ve reached the 750 words, you can walk away. Heck, you could even delete/burn the document if that feels right. It’s just about giving your thoughts the room they need so you can continue with your day, hopefully feeling somewhat relieved.
While we’re at writing, I also have a question for you: Where is the pressure coming from to „do something with your life“? Is it truly coming from inside you or are there outside factors? Are people in your life asking you when you’ll have kids? Do you live in a culture where it’s expected that everybody does something of note, works certain prestigious jobs? Do you compare yourself to the people around you and feel like you’re „late“?
Maybe mull this over on a leisurely walk or write about it, using the method above. No matter where it’s coming from, the feeling of pressure won’t go away just by knowing its origin, but the knowledge can help you keep it under control. And if you find it is truly your own wish, you will have tools to shape your life according to your needs.
So, next, sleep: Maybe do that?
You wrote "I'd like to sleep for a month, maybe longer". I understand this was half a joke, but also … it was probably more than a joke.
How are your energy levels? How does life feel? Are you trying to jog through jello most of these days?
If we’ve been overachievers or had a tough home life or needed to take care of ourselves pretty early, we can become accustomed to everything being difficult. This feeling and behavior can become a way of life, even when circumstances change and we have a chance to act differently.
Do you feel rested? Do you have regular moments of quiet in your life that let you breathe? If not, this is where I would start. Forget about lists, though morning pages might be a helpful accompanying tool (if they don’t become a task to punish yourself with if you don’t find the energy).
Take some weeks or months, maybe even a year to make rest your priority. You will have to find a way that works for you. Yes there is a lot of clinically proven stuff out there, but you will not see me do yoga or meditate. Though feel free if that’s up your alley. If you love cycling or taking photos or drawing or just plain lying on your bed and staring at the wall, see where you can add more of that to your day. Whatever brings you closer to yourself and makes you feel like you can exhale and stand still for a moment, that’s the way to go. Do this as long as sleeping seems like a fine choice. And for good measure maybe a month longer. You are ready to stop when you cannot wait to do something else goddamnit I’m bored!!! (you might say)
If you are in this picture, please start here. Any kind of life plan, next steps, strategizing, solving of riddles would set you back and perpetuate your exhaustion. Rest is not time wasted, rest is how you get your life back.
If you are in this picture, you will likely find that if you really pull through, if you truly rest, as long and boring or even scary as it may be, the other questions will probably have an intuitive answer afterwards. Not like „this is my 20-year career plan“, but „I feel like doing x this week“. And that is enough. Because you won’t need to strain to hear your needs through the fog of exhaustion anymore.
Finally, some practical information and links for when you do have the energy and inclination to tackle your job and social life. I am not saying you need to change anything if that’s not what you want to focus on. These are just some tips, in case they become relevant.
For your social life, I recommend what others have recommended before me: Pick an activity that you do with other people and stick with it long enough to become a familiar face, see also here and here (yes, meeting gay people is similar to meeting other people). If you try out new stuff, go there at least 5 or 6 times before you decide it’s not for you – of course assuming nothing bad is coming up like racist or abusive people in the group. Shop around if the first group/activity doesn’t work for you until you find something that you’d like to do permanently. Maybe you’ll gain some friends, maybe you’ll find a romantic opportunity. In any case, if it’s something fun that you like to do anyway, you will have found an outlet with a social group attached. It is absolutely not as easy right now, with Covid and all, but if nothing outdoors-y comes to mind, you could also use this time to brainstorm what sounds like fun for when things are safer again.
Of course you can also look at opportunities online, like Discord servers, online interest groups etc but I do understand if that’s just not appealing right now. I am certainly over sitting in front of a screen.
To round this up, don’t sneeze at contacts that you already have. Are there acquaintances, friends of friends, colleagues, family members who you would like to get to know better? Then go do that! Suggest a time and place to meet up and see how they react. Say yes to the potential friends.
Speaking of which...
The Year of Yes by Shonda Rhimes might also be interesting. Sure, it’s a little pop culture positive thinking kinda stuff, but I did like the impulse it gave me to consider when I say no to opportunities out of anxiety or worry. It made me accept some social invitations from colleagues (… in the before times) that I would not have otherwise considered. I did not gain life-long friends, but I did learn another valuable info: That my FOMO wasn’t justified for these events ;)
It also lead me to the decision to do one new thing every month – visit a new place or try a new activity or cook a new food. If the concept sounds appealing, just think about what sounds interesting and achievable to you.
And finally, the advice blog recommendations that I’ll always have. For social life, love life, and general life planning turmoil: Captain Awkward. For everything job-related, including how to write a good cover letter or interview well and, of course, how to get out of the dreaded current job you have: Ask A Manager.
To sum it up:
1) Figure out if you even have the energy to tackle any of this right now.
2) Figure out your pillars for a satisfying life – nothing big and shiny, just … basic needs, wishes, social needs.
3) When you feel like it, pick what you want to tackle next and see where it leads you.
4) Stay flexible. This is your life and it’s okay to go where it takes you, even if it doesn’t look „cool“ or „impressive“ from the outside. All you need is to make it your own.
And if you want to, let me know how it goes some time. :)
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miss-musings · 4 years ago
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Here’s why Sessrin personally doesn’t bother me:
1. The Mythology
Granted, I’m not an expert in Japanese mythology/folklore, but I do know that there were beliefs that male dog demons could be tamed by human women who offered them food. At that point, the dog demons would become loyal to their women and protect them (and in some cases fall in love with them). (EDIT: link to a video about the folkloric roots of Inuyasha here.)
This is exactly what happened between Sesshomaru and Rin. He was hurt; she offered him food; and he revived her and protected her thereafter.
Now, I don’t know if dog demons in the Inuyasha universe are bound by this rule or if this is just an allusion to mythological beliefs. If the former, Sesshomaru either consciously or unconsciously has no choice in his loyalty to and care for Rin.
It might be like — and I hesitate to use this as an example — imprinting in The Twilight Saga. It might be that her offering him food forced his “center of gravity” to start shifting from himself and his ambitions to her and her well-being. Granted, I don’t think this is exactly like imprinting (and I’ll talk about that more in a bit), but it might be like it in that Sesshomaru had no choice in the matter as he was bound by the magic that governs his kind, so that when a girl offered him food, he became attached to her.
But even if it’s just an allusion to the mythology and Sesshomaru isn’t automatically bound to her by way of his demon nature — which the flashback to her smile before he revived her kinda hints at — her kindness still won him over to the point where he does something he’s never done before and shows compassion for a human.
So, it might be that Sesshomaru is “bound” to Rin in some form or fashion, whether by the magic that govern his demonic nature, or simply by virtue of her kindness softening his heart (much like Gohan did to Piccolo in Dragon Ball Z).
2. Undefined, Evolving Relationship
OK, so the reason I say it’s *like* imprinting but not it exactly is that you can see that the level to which Sesshomaru cares about Rin clearly evolves between when he first meets her and the end of The Final Act.
When she’s first abducted by Naraku, Sesshomaru hardly bats an eye. Maybe he’s upset, but if so, he doesn’t show it. Jaken even thinks that Sesshomaru could forsake her by not going to rescue her, and even Rin wonders whether Sesshomaru will come for her. However, he does, although his motives are clearly mixed. Maybe saving Rin was a secondary motive and he mostly wanted to destroy Naraku for insulting his pride, or maybe it was the other way around. We don’t know exactly, but Sesshomaru does confirm that he’s not there *only* to save Rin. In fact, he completely forgets about her until Naraku uses her safety as his ‘ace in the hole’ while he escapes. And, again, despite being told that Rin’s life is in danger, Sesshomaru only looks miffed and it takes him a second to decide to set off to save her. Even as Kohaku is about to cut her down, Sesshomaru just stands there.
Now, compare that to how Sesshomaru acts when Naraku abducts her right before the final battle in TFA. He’s clearly upset when he first hears about it and immediately flies off to save her. When he enters Naraku’s body, his first priority is to save Rin. And I always loved how, even once he saved her, it took him a while to finally pull out Bakusaiga and finish Naraku off. Personally, I would’ve done that the second she was safe, but oh well. It’s almost like he forgot he had a sword that could destroy everything in a single stroke. 😂
OK, so the point is that, even if Sesshomaru is automatically bound to Rin, it’s different than how the wolves in Twilight are bound to their imprintees. It wasn’t immediate, first of all, and he doesn’t act like someone whose entire ‘center of gravity’ has shifted even by the end of the series.
While he definitely cares about her well-being, he also doesn’t become overly affectionate with her either. He mostly treats her with a kind indifference, unless she’s in danger. She’s free to do whatever she wants, but he often leaves her and Jaken behind. I personally believe this is both because he doesn’t want them in the way *and* he wants to keep her out of danger.
We also know Sesshomaru hesitated in having Rin as a traveling companion in the first place.
Even if you don’t count the Forever With Lord Sesshomaru episode because it’s filler, Sesshomaru admits in TFA 9 that he should’ve left Rin in a human village for her own well-being. However she apparently wanted to travel with him, so he allowed her ... for whatever reason. (As I like to say, “Because, plot!” Sesshomaru needed character development and someone to get kidnapped to motivate him to do things.)
Even by the end of TFA, I’d argue that Sesshomaru has finally grown to the point where he’s able to let go of Rin and see that it’s best for her well-being if she *doesn’t* travel with him. Sure, he still visits her and brings her gifts, but he’s not so blindly attached to her to the point where he can’t let her go. (At least to live somewhere else; dying is a different story.)
OK... so that begs the question: who is Rin to Sesshomaru? How did he see her during the Inuyasha series? In what capacity did he care for her?
Going back to the imprinting deal, the wolf and imprintee are regarded as soulmates. Even if the wolf imprints on someone way younger than himself, he will always want to be in her life in whatever capacity is necessary and appropriate (brother, protector, best friend, etc.). Then when she’s old and mature enough, the two will have romantic feelings for each other.
We can already see that this is far different from how Sesshomaru treats Rin, at least initially. Again, he thought about leaving her in a human village after reviving her and eventually did leave her at the end of TFA. He recognizes that he doesn’t need to be in her life and shouldn’t be, either because it puts her in danger or she needs to be around other humans, but probably a bit of both.
So, is this just Sesshomaru waiting around until Rin is old enough to be a romantic interest for him, as is the case with the wolves in Twilight? I argue no, because again, he was never overly affectionate with Rin.
I think Sesshomaru sees her as someone who is under his protection in a very general way. When she’s in trouble, he will save her. If he can’t be there, he ensures Jaken and/or A-Un stays with her. While Jaken says that Sesshomaru treats her better despite Jaken being his loyal servant for decades, I think that’s because Rin — as a human and a child — requires protective attention that Jaken doesn’t need as an adult demon.
Otherwise, Rin seems to fend for herself. Sesshomaru doesn’t teach her, doesn’t provide for her (other than maybe finding that orange kimono for her off-screen, but that’s speculation), and generally doesn’t interact with her much other than protecting her.
He doesn’t seem like a father or a brother, and I don’t think *he* thinks himself in that way. At the very least, others in-universe don’t. Kagura labels Rin as Sesshomaru’s ward and Inuyasha calls her a companion. Even Jaken doesn’t give Sesshomaru and Rin’s dynamic a label in TFA 9, other than saying he treats her better than he treats Jaken (who has his own reasons for being jealous of any attention Rin would receive from Sesshomaru even if it’s because she’s a human child who needs protection in a way Jaken doesn’t).
So, anyway; what I’m trying to say is that Sesshomaru is attached to Rin in a way that’s unique and powerful, but also seemingly undefined in the Inuyasha series. He wants to keep her safe, and he definitely cares about her to the point where he risks himself to save her on multiple occasions and feels that her life was priceless compared to growing stronger by training with Tenseiga.
Now, did The Powers That Be definitely hint that Sesshomaru and Rin would end up together romantically one day (namely by pointing out similarities between her and Kagome and Izaiyoi)? Sure, but you can’t necessarily blame Sesshomaru for that.
Is a girl getting married and pregnant at 16/17, even if it was a different era, something I wish the Yashahime writers would’ve avoided? Yes.
Are people allowed to feel uncomfortable that a male demon knew and looked out for his future wife while she was still a child? Yes.
Do I understand why people are upset about Sessrin? Yes, but I personally am not.
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