#Bus Booking Script

[t4le-4s-0ld-4s-t1m3]

If I hear "the book is green propaganda" one more time... Bitch, based on what ? The author supposedly lived during Robert's reign, he's collecting first hand accounts and trying to make sense of them. And he's very open about that, citing all the conflicting accounts. Is there bias ? Of course there is, he's only a man of his time. If they didn't write down their plans/motivations/feelings then he can only guess, and he might not be as fair as he should be. But what evidence do you have that he's outright fabricating things ? Ryan Condal's excuses for his nonsense ? Why is his word stronger than Martin's ?

I feel like it shouldn't need to be said, but a relatively faithful adaptation of the source material is actually a very normal and reasonable thing for both an author and that author's fanbase to want. People can sneer about book purists all they want but it's the rare adaptation that surpasses the original, and HotD does not even come close.

[lily-wisp]

Look Outside Unimplemented Interactions

I was poking around the game files and stumbled upon some cut/unimplemented interactions between some characters. Keep in mind none of this is canon unless at some point it is implemented (which might never happen!). I just thought they were cute and wanted to share!

(If you would like to look at these yourself, you can open up the game in RPG Maker MZ. They are in Common Event#0096.)

In the game files it is implied that Lyle was at one point able to join you in your apartment, potentially as a party member? The only interaction I was able to find with him though was a few short ones with the rat baby, who I named Sam Jr in my playthrough so whenever the script would use the baby's name I will just put Junior. Lyle/Rat Baby Interaction 1

Lyle cautiously approaches Junior and takes a picture.

Lyle: "I'll develop this tonight!"

Lyle Rat Baby Interaction 2

Lyle gives Junior a little photo album with only one picture inside, on the first page.

Lyle: "Here you go, the start of some precious memories!"

Lyle/Rat Baby Interaction 3

Lyle brings Junior more pictures of things he photographed nearby and begins a little show-and-tell with the child.

It also seems like Aster was intended to be in your apartment at one time. Same as Lyle the only interactions I was able to find were with the rat baby, although Aster's are more developed.

Aster/Rat Baby Interaction 1

Aster tries to approach the child, but loses his nerve and walks away. He holds some kind of image that he wants to show it.

You can tell he feels bad for losing his nerve. He avoids your gaze for a little while.

Aster/Rat Baby Interaction 2

Aster finally summons the courage to approach the kid. He clutches an image of the solar system in front of himself... mostly to keep the child from view.

Aster: "Y-you see this? L-look."

Junior grasps the image with a tentacle and yanks it from him.

Aster is visibly startled and seems like he might flee again, but manages to keep his composure this time.

Aster: "That's the sky. You see it? L-look at the stars..."

Taking a deep breath, he sits down near the child.

He almost goes on autopilot as he blathers about the solar system and its planets. His comfort zone.

(if Joel is recruited) Joel sits cross-legged and listens in on Aster's little astronomy lecture.

(if Sophie is recruited) Sophie adds helpful trivia for each planet. Venus has giant worms on it, she says. BIG worms the size of a BUS. She seems very knowledgeable. Aster makes no effort to correct her.

The child calmy sits through the whole thing, occasionally tugging at Aster's robe. The astronomer flinches every time, but he is obviously making an effort.

When Aster is done, he looks down to see Junior has fallen asleep, swaddled in his robes and clutching his leg.

He carefully lifts it off the ground, holding the little abomination in his arms for a few moments.

Aster/Rat Baby Interaction 3

Aster approaches the kid again, this time with a little astronomy picture book.

He seems to have mostly gotten over his fear, though he still winces when Junior climbs onto his lap.

if the rat baby can talk: The child manages to stay awake for the full lecture. Aster teaches it new words, helping with pronounciation.

if the rat baby CAN'T talk, instead: The child manages to stay awake for the full lecture. It laughs and points at various images in the picture book, which Aster patiently explains in plain words.

At the end of the lecture, you notice Aster doesn't wince at all when the child gives him a little hug.

there is a lot of interesting stuff in the game files. At one point it looks like there was a whole mechanic around raising the rat baby in different ways which would influence which KIND of rat baby you'd get, similar to like. Pip from Chrono Cross? Different interactions raise different hidden attributes for the rat and depending on which ones you get it had different forms? Or presumably different combat stats and skills. Instead the rat baby we get has a single skill which is from the Baby Teeth enemy for some reason that only does anything worthwhile if the user is Teething... which the rat baby can't do. And they only get half the attack from melee weapons! I obviously still love my child and would make the sacrifice for them every single time, but I do wish Junior was a bit more interesting as a party member. Maybe something more will be implemented in the future!

anyway I've hardly used tumblr but I love this game and want to see more fanart and discussions about it thank you all byyyyye

[riverianepondsims]

SimPrint | Newspapers, payphones, and extras for TS3!

The SimTimes finally found room in their budget for color printing of their newspapers! The bad news is, no one reads them anymore. Maybe they'll start now? In other news, The SimNation Telecom Company has been required by law to reactivate disconnected payphones to promote accessiblity to phone connectivity for all. Here's a quarter - go tell someone who might care! Important info and download 💾 under the cut:

This is an assortment of items that I worked on in 2022 and 2023. Most of this is comprised of different newspaper default replacement sets, the textures of which I converted from a few different creators. Additionally, you will find a few different things here... STC Payphone - Network Connected Original creator: Grande Lama I made this phone fully functional, and added geostates for when the phone is in use and when the handset is back on the hook. I also made this phone available in the in-game world editor, and it's flagged for use in CAW as well, so you can place it in your CAW metadata and use in worlds. It does function off-lot (as photographed!)

Crosley Simlish Serenity Payphone Original creator: ArwenKaboom (for The Sims 4 @TSR) I converted this phone and made it fully functional, and like the abovementioned phone, added geostates. I also added Simlish textures for all of the details and writing on the phone. I included the English ones too for those who might prefer them.

Functional Newspaper Stands and Dispensers Original creators: ATS3, phoebejay, alienpod, Episims, VeganKaktus, Budgie I figured I'd add the textures for the various newspapers to newspaper stands and dispensers that alienpod converted and added their textures to. They require the actual script from PhoebeJay to work. Without it, they will be decorative items. They can also be placed off-lot in the in-game world editor or in CAW. PhoebeJay's mod Simlish Bus Texture Override Original creators: FreshPrince, Lyralei As someone who probably spent half of their uni years on public transit, I was so excited for Lyralei's Bus Manager mod and was happy to test it out while testing my tennis mod. At some point I did a quick Simlish recolor override for the signs, license plates, and side-wraps, and I figured I'd share it now with this set! Lyralei Bus Manager Mod I also threw in a few deco book objects I converted from TS2 quite a while ago that I enjoy using in my lots! The newspaper default replacement texture varieties come from the following TS2 creators: Alienpod: Newspaper Defaults Epi's Sims: Newspaper Default Replacements VeganKaktus: Newspaper Default Replacement

I included replacement textures for both the reading version and the folded up versions of the newspapers. Please note that, like with my tennis default replacements, you can only have one active newspaper default replacement in your game at once. Each default includes both the reading and matching folded version. The variety is there in case you would want to switch it up between different saves and/or worlds! Making these made me so nostalgic for the early 2000s...walking to the store with a payphone outside to make an important call and getting a coke ICEE for the journey to visit grandma who has a Crosley phone in her kitchen...our sims deserve that.

Previews, additional credits, location, prices, and download links: 💾 Download Catalog: SimPrint - riverianepondsims

📰📞🚌

[nouvxllev]

Hi, just wanna say I love your stuff! I was wondering if you’d do a Jenna x reader who is the daughter of Winona Ryder and Jenna meets her on the set of Beetlejuice 2. Winona acting as a wing woman for Jenna.

head over heels, your hand over mine

Pairing: Jenna Ortega x Fem!Reader

Summary: ^ request!

Words: 5.0k

Warnings: longer than i intended it to be

a/n: first of all... tysm!!! and second of all, thank you for the request!! means alot to me and i wrote it to the best of my abilities, hope you'll like it!!!

seq. || masterlist

Shit, shit, shit...

Jenna cursed under her breath as she practically hammered down the first-floor button as if that was going to make it go faster.

She glanced over to the indicator right above the door, the numbers slowly inching towards the ground floor. Her foot kept directing her side to side in the elevator, a stressed back-and-forth pace she caught herself on all while she gripped the Beetlejuice 2 script right in her hands, the paper almost being punctured with holes and such.

Jenna could almost blame herself for this.

Actually, she does. She damned herself so much she wouldn't be surprised if she got hit by a bus, really.

It wasn't any other day you'd get a role in Beetlejuice, 2, might she add, and even landing the role of the daughter of Winona Ryder who is possibly one of the most outstanding actresses out there and a 90s icon.

And now she's just slightly fucking it up with first impressions with how she's atleast 10 minutes late to their set because she spent her entire night in reading and rereading the script over and over until she perfected her lines to the point it's probably better if she'd just make Beetlejuice herself.

When the doors slid open, Jenna bolted out until she made her way to the entrance, her hand tightly clutching that damn script and her other gripping the strap of her bag.

Fumbling with her phone to call an Uber, she couldn't help but grimace at the thousands upon thousands of texts saying that she was late and her alarm clocks repeatedly being turned on to snooze just minutes before.

Of course, this day of all days just so happened to be the day that the universe decided that it had a grudge on Jenna for whatever reason because all Ubers were somehow booked and it would probably take atleast 30 minutes for another one.

So, like the hardworking actress she is determined to get a first impression even with punctuality falling behind her, she ran.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

It wasn't long, thank-fucking-god, till Jenna got to set. She slowed her pace a little when she saw the cameras and people surrounding a particular area.

She took a moment to compose herself as she approached them, smoothing down her pants and fixing her hair all while she tried to catch her breath before possibly collapsing on the ground. The crew members spared her a glance, how comforting, even if they all had concerned looks on their faces.

Jenna always worked with such talented actors and directors, and now here she was working with Winona Ryder meanwhile she was looking like she ran a marathon on the side while going to set.

"You're here!" Winona called out, lowering the script in her hands while she offered a warm smile. "We almost thought there were some complications in your schedule."

The young actress offered a sheepish smile, embarrassment flowing in her mind as she offered a weak hand gesture. "I'm so sorry, all Ubers were somehow booked and I woke up late." She admitted before introducing herself. "I'm Jenna. Ortega." She added.

Winona chuckled, "No worries. The tech team is sorting out some equipment issues, so it's a bit of free time right now." She explained, offering a handshake. "Winona Ryder. Your mother. Well, on-screen." She joked while Jenna laughed with it.

"God, sorry if I look worn out. I really admire your work, it's all so amazing." Jenna took her hand, reciprocating the gesture. She was almost going to add something until a figure approached Winona, looking like a split-perfect resemblance of her. And oh how she did the fastest double-take in her whole life.

"Oh, right!" Winona pulled, possibly the most prettiest and gorgeous, girl Jenna has laid eyes on in her 21 years of continuous breathing by the shoulders and pushed her in front of the young actress. Now life without you suddenly looks like something she just completely wasted her precious time on.

Just by looking at Winona and how excitement reflected in her eyes, Jenna could tell how much she beamed with pride for her daughter; it made her heart swell.

"Meet my daughter, Y/n."

There were things Jenna should do when she meets someone. She introduces herself in a calm manner and maybe engage in some friendly talk with them whether if it's the most awkward-est thing in her life or one of the moments she'd like to spend forever in.

What she shouldn't do is slowly have a mid-introduction nosebleed, completely throw out the knowledge that she has the ability to speak and say words while her mouth is half-agape and her eyes wide and never blinking. This rule seems to be more strict when she's convinced she has met the love of your life.

It's safe to say that Jenna checked all the boxes on the latter.

Jenna met your gaze, and oh how that was the stupidest decision she had ever made in her entire life. She felt a blush creep up her cheeks, breath caught in her throat, she tried to speak for a second but nothing came. It was like she was drowning but in the best way possible. And also falling head over heels in the worst way possible.

It's concerning how she almost wants to drop down and marry you on the spot; she's already rehearsing her vows inside her brain.

Jenna raised her hand, a shaky one at that, to offer a handshake. "I'm Jenny," she managed to squeak out, her cheeks burning with embarrassment at fumbling her own damn name. "I mean, Jenna! Sorry, not Jenny. I'm Jenna. Jenna Ortega." Oh, fuck, please just slit my throat already.

In every bad and awkward introduction, there's always someone from the other line slightly concerned but plays with it.

Your eyes crinkled, a bright sight to see that would put all sunrises to shame, and your lips parted like how the clouds part after a gloomy day, letting out a laugh that calmed Jenna's heart almost immediately. It was still running and skipping a fuck ton of beats per second, but your laugh seemed to warm it all.

"I'm Y/n, of course." You held Jenna's faltering eye contact as you reciprocated her gesture, "I'm really only here to accompany my mom," you explained. Please stay here forever. Better yet, be with me. Jenna almost said.

You shook her hand in the most softest way possible, her palm fitting right into yours. "Can't believe I met you, honestly." Jenna heard you mutter under your breath, a squeal following it.

Oh, if falling head over heels over you was a sin, she'd gladly be the epitome of something so mortal.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

And that was only a week ago. Just imagine how much internal panic she goes through whenever she sees you now.

Jenna repeatedly cursed under her breath, staring at the reflection of herself in the mirror as she gripped the cold parts of the sink, glaring at herself in complete thought.

Almost so serious as if her mind wasn't battling with something so completely stupid she'd rather drown in self-pity and misery.

Jenna Ortega, deemed as America's #1 IT girl who practically swooned all seven continents by now, almost had a near anaphylactic shock when her hand grazed over yours and how you gave her possibly the most sweetest and soul-crushing smile with that stupidest crinkle in your eye to ever exist on this damned earth, holy fuck.

Why should she be so head over heels for you?

She lowered her head in defeat, a heavy sigh escaping her as the same image of your smile flickered in her mind, and now a stupid grin from your stupid image graced her lips.

It was only a week in being on the Beetlejuice set, and she damn near lost her mind.

You were always there, well of course you were there since you were Winona Ryder's daughter, but she didn't expect to be so obsessed with you to the point she needs to go to the bathroom to silently scream whenever she hears or sees your intoxicating smile.

It's sweet. Almost endearing to her.

As if she even has the right to even think about you in that way.

Jenna stepped outside, patting her hands dry by the hem of her shirt. her name already being called out by the directors, their voices only getting louder and louder until it dwindled down to nothing and she could only assume that Winona stopped them, it was still her break after all. She was almost like a real mother to her, a comforting one at that.

She started to take a pattern in her steps before she saw you sitting on the railings of the trailer. More importantly, Jenna's trailer.

Okay, she shouldn't have seen this as a sign from the universe that you liked her back, but she did and that was all the hope that the fate or whatever deity could do because she was too desperate and too drunk on the lack of attention and attraction you were giving her.

But how could she not do that when you look so perfect just being... you? Being everything she wanted? Needed? Just being so damn perfect almost feels like Jenna could die.

"You like my daughter, don't you."

Jenna looked behind her, the sudden voice that crept being Winona, the mother of the daughter she had been smitten for, a noticeable faint smile on her lips. It was more of a statement than a question. A fact, really.

Jenna could almost deny it if it wasn't so accurate. But what was she supposed to say? "Yes, I do like your daughter, in fact, I love her so much I would absolutely give up my very career to buy her the most expensive wedding ring to ever be created from the hands of a human, or even a Greek God perhaps, to show that she owns my entire heart, body, and soul."

Panic was evident, Winona could clearly tell by the way Jenna looked like was scramming to think up of a half-assed excuse.

"Yes—I mean, not like like. I love her, really. She's talented, hardworking, and passionate in the things she talks about. But that's really it; I love Y/n, in a friendly way." Jenna stammered. Even if she was spouting complete lies and nonsense about how she doesn't have a massive crush on you, her gaze was stuck on, of course, you yourself.

Winona arched an eyebrow, "Jenna, I know when someone is horribly in love with my daughter and who’s not."

"The both of you were always somehow joined together, even if none of you were talking. You’re always finding a reason to bring her up in a conversation even if no one was even talking about her. Also, everyone takes notice of how your gaze was always focused on Y/n. Even on scene, you couldn’t take your eyes off of her for a second."

Yeah, that seems about right.

Jenna sighed, her line of sight never laying off of you. It's amazing how you still haven't noticed she and your mother was staring at you like a bunch of stalkers.

"Y/n deserves someone like her, someone in her league," she turned around, now walking in the opposite direction to her original one. She almost sounded like a teenage boy who realized they couldn't get with the popular girl. "She looks like someone even from the heavens above couldn’t fathom they created her from their own mind and hands."

Winona's expression softened as she caught up to Jenna, now walking beside her. "If you, The Jenna Ortega, fail to get her attention and love then it's all over for us." She never heard someone talk so romantic about her daughter, it's truly unfair how the ones who love the most always fall short.

Jenna's steps slowed, her body slumping against the fall as her gaze was fixed on the ground. God, why was she acting like this over you?

The young actress nodded, her hands going up to her face and sliding them down as she spoke, "She's like this incredible and unattainable dream you want to continue after you wake up, Winona." She mumbled through her hands, "Y/n's gorgeous, gentle, charming, and just… perfect." She let go of her face, her hands now on her sides. "It's intimidating just by looking at her, knowing she's the essence of beauty and perfection. Like, how do you compete with that? Overall be someone who she wants to stick by her side?"

The actress observed the young one, Jenna's head down and fidgeting with her rings. Winona could almost say that this was the most vulnerable sight she ever saw from her. "You don't have to match her perfection, let alone measure yourself up to that; you just need to be the missing piece she didn't know she needed. "

Jenna took a deep breath, her head slowly rising, "I just don't want to mess it up. She deserves someone as awesome as her, and if she ever likes me back, I'm afraid of waking up and realizing I'm not enough for her to be someone she loves."

Winona tilted her head, crossing her arms, "Tell you what, I don't know much about my daughter now. She's not closed off, but she isn't open either." She could see how Jenna flicked her head upwards, listening attentively. "But I do know that she's been watching all of your movies and shows up to this point."

Jenna's eyes widened in surprise. She doesn't wanna take any risks, but she doesn't wanna lose any chances either. "She... she has?"

Winona nodded, a soft and warm smile playing on her lips, just like the one you always have if not more comforting.

"I could never hear the end of it. She says you have this genuine charm whenever you speak, you're calm but you're also being true to yourself. Y/n admires you so much, I almost get sick of it," she laughed that pulled a chuckle from Jenna. "You're perfect in her eyes, but that's not what she likes about you. She likes you because you're authentic, yourself." She reached out for Jenna's shoulders, giving it a reassuring squeeze, "I'll be your wingman. I'm sure you're the perfect girl for my daughter."

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

And that was maybe two to three months ago.

Now Jenna's thinking that you might be the most oblivious person to ever roam this entire globe. She's been dropping hints everywhere you go and you still wouldn't catch up that she has feelings for you!

Ever since Jenna got into Winona's wing, she knew everything that makes you happy. Your music taste, what type of flowers you like, what type of outings you like, clothes, scents, foods, colors, even legos, just basically everything under the sun she gave to you within a heartbeat.

Jenna gives you flowers everyday, hell even bouquets if she's feeling fancy. Reads and writes you letters, and ever since Winona gave her your number, she's been sending you voicemails of your favorite songs every morning as some goodmorning text. She's been nothing but romantic to you! Was she just missing something?

The only thing that really progressed was something of strangers to friends. The two of you were as close as ever to the point if one of you were needed, somebody probably would need to surgically remove both of you.

But that was it! No nothing, just friends. It was selfish for Jenna to want something more when she has the love of her life close to her as a friend, sure, but she needed just a little bit more before she mentally goes insane.

"I mean, come on!" Jenna complained to Winona, sitting across from the other chair just right beside her trailer, script in her hands but she was paying more attention to Jenna. "Flowers, letters, voicemails… I'm practically screaming 'I like you' at this point." She slumped over the table, "or maybe she's just really ignoring them."

"I think you're thinking too deeply, Jenna," Winona stated, looking over to somewhere far, "maybe you should confess. She's right there."

Jenna was about to stand up and say it all out and die in a hole if she gets rejected until she realized you were wearing something so... fucking gorgeous? stunning? breathtaking? ethereal? She needed a stronger word than all words combined.

It wasn't your everyday casual wear, in fact, it was something you'd wear to go on a date. A date that meant something, a date that you'd go with another person and to confess their love.

Oh, don't fucking tell her she was too slow to confess and some random dude confessed earlier.

"I don't..." Jenna stammered, she could sense that agonizing feeling of her heart sinking, a stinging pain but it was mixed with immense pressure, like she was almost drowning. "I don't really think it's the right time."

Winona let out a sympathetic sigh, "she did tell me that she was going somewhere important." She waved in your direction, grabbing your attention. "Y/n!"

Jenna didn't know it was possible to drown without having any bodies of water near you, now she was fully experiencing it by how her heart sank even further as she heard Winona's words.

She shouldn't be surprised, after all, somebody actually had the guts and mindset to actually confess to you personally without having to hide behind a facade and without having to drop a fuck ton of hints instead of saying it out loud.

It stung. Thinking that someone out there was that one for you. And how that someone was never Jenna. But it was sweet. She winced.

Jenna couldn't shake the pang and sting of disappointment as she watched to walk over to Winona, a smile on your lips like you've met the most wonderful person to ever be in your life. She couldn't read if it was real, and she hoped to God it was fake.

"What's with the get-up?" Winona asked, standing up while giving Jenna the look.

"Going on a date with this guy, he asked me." You smiled, yet again, but it was even brighter.

Yeah, she figured. When did she even assume that you liked women anyway?

"Can I borrow your car, mom, please?" You asked of her, your puppy eyes going in action while you mentally crossed your fingers.

Jenna wasn't the one to brag, but she could drive a car! Not that idiot guy who couldn't even take whatever vehicle to fetch her as a nice gesture. Hell, it was a date for godsakes!

Winona sighed, glancing between Jenna and you. "Sure, you can borrow the car," she stated before digging into her pockets and fetching her car keys, plotting it down to your hands, "but make sure to bring it back in one piece."

Jenna bit her lip, suppressing the urge to completely pull herself out of her chair and scream 'I love you so goddamn much, Y/n! Can't you see I'm the one for you and not some guy who couldn't even go the mile to drive you to the damn date!?' But no. Instead, she stayed in her seat, nodded as a goodbye, and forced yet another smile.

"Thanks for the flowers by the way, Jenna! I should really pay you back sometime." You chuckled, before hugging her head as your way of goodbye. "I'll tell you all about it when I get home."

"Don't worry about the flowers. No need to pay me back," Jenna replied, doing her damn best to keep her tone light and her knuckles not so light. As you hugged her, Jenna couldn't help but savor the moment, imagining that it wasn't a goodbye to go off on some date with some random dude but rather a lovely gesture. "I'll be waiting to hear all about it."

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

That was atleast three to five hours ago.

Jenna never knew how a 2$ caesar salad bought from a suspicious vendor on the sidewalks could be so depressing but still mock her on how she just lost the love of her life to someone who actually had the guts to confess until she actually experienced it.

It was a slow day on set. Probably because it was already so late at night. There were still some scenes being recorded, but most of it was Winona's.

So along those hours when Jenna wasn't with you or she couldn't text you through the phone, all she could really do was stare from afar and hope that you'd magically have some miraculous change of mind mid-date and maybe you'll soon believe and realize Jenna was the one for you after all.

Of course, life wasn't like a damn movie and that damn date was still going to happen no matter what she does.

Winona sat beside Jenna, offering a sympathetic look at how Jenna was poking around her lettuce. "You know that's her quote-on-quote I don't really give two shits outfit but I still need to look good for a requirement that is people's feelings."

Jenna let go of her fork, damn even it looked sad. "But she looks beautiful."

Winona could almost roll her eyes if not for the young actress wallowing in her own thoughts. "It's because you're head over heels for her, Jenna. She could wear some obnoxious color-clashing clothes and she'd still look like a goddess for you."

Jenna sighed, picking up her fork again and halfheartedly stabbing a folded lettuce leaf. "I mean, don't you?" she asked, glancing at Winona. "You're her mother."

Winona shrugged, "Her clothes, her choice, but I still absolutely would not." She laughed, and her smile brightened when Jenna allowed a smile to crack through her lips.

Jenna could almost face-plant herself into the salad bowl if not for a notification pinging in Winona's phone. A notification that Winona only applied for you.

"...Or you could tell her that she's much better off with you rather than some guy that stood her up." Winona showed the phone to Jenna, your message illuminating on the screen.

y/n

mom can u pick me up? karaoke room 217 stood up on me lol come quick, pls. thx

Jenna would've been lying if she said she wasn't jumping, screaming, throwing up in literal joy.

Well, of course, she was mad that you of all people were stood up, but she was semi-glad that you were.

Jenna's urgency was visible as she scrambled to get out of her seat, grabbing her bag with such hast and making a sudden beeline for the exit.

"Tell her that you can't go! I wanna surprise her," She yelled to Winona, her excitement in her voice echoing through the room. It's almost weird and insane how happy she was about how you were stood up.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

You waited for 2 hours.

It wasn't disappointing. You already knew it was just some sort of dare or a prank that one of his friends pulled, but you showed up anyway. Not like because you wanted to play with his feelings; you couldn't do that if you didn't have any.

In fact, you had feelings for Jenna.

Ever since she showed up on your screen, she was the only actress you could ever think about. She was charming, alluring, the only person who could make the daylight so dark if her smile was out of place.

You didn't know her, personally then, but you loved her. You were willing to start wars with the world, may it be against you or may all odds and fate oppose you, you’d do everything for her even if it kills you to be someone who would take all her hidden suffering and plead for tears with your palms locked and thrown away.

And now that you were working with her on set, you couldn't help but be someone you're not. All thanks to you and your mother on reluctantly giving up on the idea of not bringing you to set. You wanted to confess, you really did. It was just a silly little crush like you'd always have but this one with Jenna seemed real and your life would've ended if your feelings were rejected.

Though, even after all that, Jenna was the one you wanted to be with. The one you hoped would walk through that damn door and hug you until your worries and thoughts all disappeared, only met with her voice and her comforting arms.

That would've been a fleeting memory, wishful thinking. That is until the very girl that made you go insane rushed into the room.

What the fuck.

She was exhausted, you could tell by her chest rising and falling as she caught her breath, you couldn't help but smile at the sight of her; looking like she had gone the extra mile and maybe even drove a car on the way instead of running, just to be there with you. You could almost start laughing and be that snarky person you've always been to her if not for everything else fading into the background until Jenna was the only one left.

Without hesitation, she pulled you into a tight embrace, wrapping her arms around your body as she tightened the hug as if you'd die if she ever let go of your body. The warmth of her touch, the comfort in her soul, and her very being brought something so grand as you hugged her back. You feared that letting go would mean losing her forever, and she thought the same way.

"I love you." She murmured on your shoulders, closing her eyes. You notice how her voice cracked with vulnerability and almost sorrow as you tightened your hold on her.

"I love you," she whispered yet again, as if you didn't hear her the firs time. "I love you, I love you, I just love you." She dug her head under your neck, her breath warm on your skin as you waited for her to finish.

You could feel Jenna's heartbeat against your chest, fast and beating while it synced with your own. "I love you, Y/n. You don’t know how many lifetimes I would kill myself for you to look into my soul, everything beneath, and even the darkest parts of my heart so then you’ll see how I perceive you to be everything I look for. I can't understand how you don't understand how much you mean to me. How much your laughter was something I didn't know would be the cure to whatever terminal illness I had in life, your actions being my motivation, your soul being my guiding light, and your smile being something so bright that not even the sun could beat its glory."

Jenna slowly pulled away from you, her eyes searching yours for a reaction. The room was always so silent, but it never felt like it was the funeral of sound itself.

"I'm sorry—That—That wasn't... I didn't—" she stammered, her body already getting up and pulling away from you.

Gently, you reached out and cupped her face with your hands, your thumbs brushing away the newly formed tears that had welled up in her eyes and dripped from her cheeks. You could feel the warmth of her skin beneath your touch, her freckles, and everything that made Jenna her was right beneath your palm. You want nothing but to cherish it.

You couldn't think of a reply. You could, but it would never beat the confession Jenna had for you. It was more than a mere confession, but something out of a book that would put every writer to shame.

"Is this okay?" Your eyes searched for Jenna's consent in hers as you leaned in ever so slightly, her breath lingering on your skin until Jenna's lips met yours in a hesitant, gentle kiss. The touch of her soft lips against yours sent a shiver down your spine, her hands coming up to cradle your face as she melted into you while your own hands found their way to her waist, pulling her closer as the kiss deepened.

Life felt like something you wasted without her lips touching yours. How you felt everything and how you were everything under her soft touch, her presence. It was if every moment before her had been leading to this one. Every heartbeat, every breath, every time you've experienced something happy, sad, or even something conflicted was building up to the moment your lips finally met hers. You felt whole, alive, reassured, and comforted.

Her touch felt like a warm embrace from something so indestructible, a star so far away that only you could see it shine from afar but yet you could feel every inch of its presence.

Then it stopped. The both of you pulled back.

But your heart never did.

"You know I asked for your mom to be my wingman."

"Please don't destroy this moment we have by mentioning my mom, Jenna. I'm serious."

Jenna chuckled, her eyes twinkling, "give her some credit. I never would've confessed to you without her."

You couldn't help but smile, realizing she was still the Jenna you fell in love with. "I guess, but I don't really want to talk about my mom after I just got stood up and then kissed the girl I love."

Jenna's chuckle turned into a soft giggle, her hand finding it's way to your palm as she intertwined her fingers with yours. "Also, for the record, that guy was an idiot."

You nodded after shared laughter. With everything that's going around between the two of you, you almost miss how Winona arrived just in time. Standing by the door with a smile on her face.

But even with Jenna's hand over yours, she'd still fall head over heels for you.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

just some fuckass aftermath dialogues:

W: "You finally confessed." J: "Did she tell you?" W: "Well for one she's been awfully cheery and gave me a questioning I love you mom and offered me to go shopping with her."

[gazbarlow]

“And so we made amendments to a bit of the script. But that’s the weird thing about, if you’re lucky enough to be around this long, you prolong your career by talking about the past, and you use documentaries and books and films, to remind people that you’re here. But when you talk about the past, my past happens to be contentious, and I was a different person then and I thought in a different way, and so did Gaz. In this film it sort of brings all that up again, so it’s super odd and I can understand how it would be triggering for him. Everybody else in the movie that I throw under the bus, though, fuck ‘em.”

Robbie Williams in The Graham Norton Show

[peliginspeaks]

Standing at a rainy cold bus stop and thinking about recipe books in the Neath. Battered old things from the Surface that perhaps sat in a cupboard for a good few years until their owners accepted that they couldn't afford the import on those ingredients now, and started crossing them out and replacing them with mushrooms, lichen powders, and the less dubious local meats. Glossy-covered ones titled in looping script, printed on something not quite unlike typical paper, trying to call on the tradition and elegance of a sunlit kitchen and not quite getting all the way there. Books that embrace the Neath entirely, with indexed guides to avoiding toxic ingredient lookalikes and descriptive flavour profiles entirely without comparison to Surface fare. I want to peek inside a PC's cupboards. let me see their recipes.

[pitchsidestories]

part of me wants forever II Sara Doorsoun x Barça!Reader

masterlist I word count: 1672

a/n: hi, it's inspired by this request here, we hope the time jumps aren't too confusing. Let us know what you thought of the oneshot.

This was how it all begun. You didn’t expect your love story to start on an ice-cold evening in November after your team has played a Champions League group stage game against Eintracht Frankfurt, but it did.

“Sara, this is y/n. Y/n, this is Sara.”, Ingrid introduced you to each other, her eyes were shining as the stars above you in the night sky. Maybe it was written somewhere up there, what would be happening in the following days, weeks and months.

You knew the person you fell for would say that it was fate which brought you two together. But for you it was Ingrid who did.

 “Hi, Sara, nice to meet you.”, you greeted her smiling.

“Nice to meet you too.”, the older defender replied. The brown eyes who wee looking back at you were so beautiful like the person to whom they belonged too, they were something you could get lost into if this wasn’t an away game and you’d have to leave soon to the hotel you were staying at.

“You guys played really well.”, you complimented Sara in an honest tone. It was true, especially in the first half they had a stellar performance, in which Laura Freigang scored the opening goal, but in the second half your team turned it around and you won fairly comfortably with a 3:1.

“Thank you. So did you.. obviously.”, the german player answered with an amused grin on her lips.

“Y/n, we got to hurry up!”, Mapi reminded you impatiently.

“Don’t worry, Mapi. I’m coming.”, you reassured her, trying to shake off her fingers on the hood of your jacket.

“See you soon.”, Sara waved at you.

“I literally can’t wait.”, you told her. Even though you only shared some polite words with each other you had a feeling that this wasn’t the end of your script together.

On the next day your team was on the way home, the bus taking you from the Barcelona airport to the place where your cars have been parked.

 “Y/n?”, Ingrid looked up from her phone to turn her attention towards you who was sitting on the seats opposite of Mapi and her.

“Yes?”, you responded, lifting your gaze from the book you were currently reading.

“Sara messaged me.”, the Norwegian informed you, wearing a mischievous smile on her face.

“You mean Sara as in the cute Frankfurt defender.”, you replied innocently.

“Who else, genius!”, Fridolina laughed, sitting right behind you, she and Ingrid had to play with the player during their times in Wolfsburg.

“Do you know how many Sara’s there are?!”, you asked the Swedish player.

“Yes, but none of them looked at you the way she did. So, what was in Sara’s message, Ingrid?”, Fridolina stated.

Ingrids face split into a wide grin as she read the message on her phone screen: “She asked for her number.“

“You know what? You can give her my number.“, you said in a burst of courage that made Ingrid only smile brighter.

“I’ll.“

“Thank you.“

You watched the Norwegian type on her phone. “You’re welcome.“

Sara had immediately texted you that night. And as the months had passed, texting her became a daily habit for you. From good morning to good night, you shared your free-time with her. You haven’t felt that connected with someone for a long time.

One day you decided to jokingly text her about your shared taste in music, not expecting anything from it.

“Fletcher has a concert in Barcelona. You should come with us, Sara.“

“To a Fletcher concert?“, she wrote back, seemingly unimpressed.

“Yes, Jana got tickets.“, you answered.

You waited impatiently, the three dots appearing as she typed.

“I can’t say no to that.“, appeared on your phone screen.

You smiled happily: “Perfect.“

A few weeks after your text conversation, you found yourself at the concert, singing along while Sara had her arms wrapped around you. It was a casual gesture as you swayed from side to side with the rhythm.

Jana rolled her eyes: “Ugh, stop, you two lovebirds!“

“We’re doing nothing!“, you laughed, full of innocence.

“Literally.“, Sara agreed, continuing to move you with her.

Jana pulled out her phone: “Wait, let me at least take a picture of how annoying you two are.“

She snapped a few photos, a fond smirk on her face. You turned your attention back to the singer. This night was perfect and you wanted to enjoy every moment of it.

The Fletcher concert was something you liked to think back to during your busy football season.

The same was true for the biggest game of the season, the Champions League final. As expected, it was a tight game, Lyon made it hard to get through their defense. Only Aitana and Alexia found a way. So when the final whistle sounded, you were overcome with a mix of relief and happiness.

You hugged your teammates tightly, still processing what you had just achieved when Ingrid tapped you on the shoulder and pointed towards the stands. “Y/n, look who came.“

You only blinked at her for a moment before your gaze finally followed the direction of her hand gesture.

Saras face grinned at you from the stands. The sight of her was enough to make your heart pound in your chest.

You left Ingrid standing and ran over to Sara, stopping right in front of the Frankfurt defender: “Sara, I thought you couldn’t be here?!“

She only flashed you a wry smile: “Change of plans.“

“That’s amazing.”, you muttered, exchanging a short, but soft kiss with your girlfriend.

“You’re welcome.”, Sara smirked at you, as she wrapped her arms around you into a hug.

Mirroring the happiness Laura Feiersinger appeared next to her former Frankfurt teammate:” I almost lost her at the place when they sold the cake.”

“Very typical.”, you giggled, it was no secret that your lover has a sweet tooth.

Nervously Sara put a loose string of hair behind her ear:” That’s not true.”

“Sure.”, the Austrian midfielder smiled amusedly.

“It just looked so delicious.”, the German player defended herself, while a blush crept onto her high cheekbones.

“To be fair it did.”, Laura admitted.

“See?”, Sara responded satisfied.

“Well, I do.”, you tuned into their conversation, before your girlfriend kissed you, to celebrate the Champions League win properly.

Having Sara with you during all the chaos which was going on in the night was very special to you. In the morning you two chose to go on a walk to see a bit of the city. It amazed you to watch your girlfriend being so in peace with herself.

The defender was a warm person and over the weeks you’ve been together she started to share some pieces of herself and her history which you found admirable. Her late coming out, a father who wasn’t saying anything against that, but also didn’t like to talk about it anymore.

The heartbreak Sara felt when the first woman she fell for broke up with her. It impacted her so much that during an important game she scored an own goal. And her questioning if she could ever fall in love like that again? The German player knew the answer now, she was capable of loving again, you showed her how.

Fast forward and it was time to be with your national teams again, you both couldn’t wait for the upcoming free days afterwards which you planned to spend together.

“Sara, we got to talk.”, Lena Oberdorf yelled at the older woman who just sat down with Felicitas Rauch in the dining room of the hotel they were staying at.

“About what?”, Sara frowned who didn’t know her best friend in the team knew what the young midfielder was thinking about.

“I was suspecting you fell in love again, but now Obi found proof of it multiple ones.”, the fellow defender who played in the USA explained with a cheeky smile on her lips.

“What are you talking about?”, the Frankfurt player asked her teammates innocently.

“You and y/n, who football wise is so out of your league.”, Lena replied grinning.

“Beauty wise too.”, Felicitas added in a teasingly tone.

“Excuse me? That’s not what friends are supposed to say.”, Sara protested, her mouth formed to a little pout.

Felicitas smiled apologetically: “Just kidding… but playing wise not. She’s at the best football club in Europe!“

“And she and her team won against you this season. Twice.“, Lena added, rubbing salt into the wound.

“I’m aware of that.“, Sara shrugged unimpressed.

“Just a friendly reminder.“, Lena said.

Sara rolled her eyes: “That doesn’t mean we can’t go out.“

“True. I guess she’s the reason you can’t visit me in the US in your free time?“, Felicitas asked, casually changing the subject.

“That’s not true! You’re always busy!“, Sara protested.

Her best friend raised her eyebrows: “So are you apparently!“

“It’s not because of her. I’m still a football player.“, Sara explained, cringing at the thought of how packed both of their schedules were.

“I know that. So when will you introduce me to her?“, Felicitas continued.

Sara only groaned in response.

In the evening, you were on the phone with Sara as she recounted the details of the talk she had with her teammates.

“So they know about us now?“, you concluded, a smile on your lips.

“Yes, apparently we’re on Ingrids photo dump.“, Sara replied with a laugh.

You shook your head about your Norwegian teammate: “Ingrid might have done that on purpose. Sorry for that.“

“Typical.“, Sara sighed, slight fondness for her former teammate sneaking into her voice.

“She said she had a feeling when she introduced us and I believe her.“

“There’s no way!“

You sucked in your breath in feigned shock: “And I thought you were the romantic!“

“Oh, I am. I just like to think that it was fate.“, Sara replied. You could almost hear the wink through the phone.

Lowering your voice, you whispered: “Me too. I want this to be forever.“

pictures are from pinterest.

[girlfriendsofthegalaxy]

tuesday again 3/11/2025

job acquired :) not a well paying job with good benefits but an inside job sitting down and not a public facing job :)

phil is celebrating by meticulously cleaning her toes approximately three inches from my face

listening

you know when a guy is So popular it’s kind of annoying but they keep churning out bangers? i feel this way about monsieur bébé sans argent

-

reading

this is both a very funny problem to have and a very charming article

“His publicist said no,” Dixit said. “But Jeremy said, ‘Wait, you’re from Wikipedia? For the love of God, please take down that photo. You’d be doing me a service.’ So he stood and posed, and I got a shot of him.” Strong’s old photo was from 2014.

DNF, bc the author and i have fundamentally different ideas about paragraph breaks, and i suffered through four chapters before bailing bc the situation did not improve.

im beginning to think Bella Books and i have fundamentally different ideas about editing and books as finished products. next week i might do a blitz through the five or six i have left and we’ll see how that shakes out/how many we have left total. i intended for this project to go at least up to pride but maybe it ends earlier and that’s fine. maybe i go back to the gay thrift and see if there’s anything new in. maybe i trawl through some early lesbian pulp? i meant to read a lesbian noir this week after i bounced off this one but i simply did not have time :(

-

watching

https://www.tcm.com/video/221132/ride-lonesome-original-trailerh

Ride Lonesome (1959, dir. Boetticher). i promise i picked and started this without knowing lee van cleef was in it.

(Criterion) Mysterious motivations drive taciturn bounty hunter Ben Brigade (Randolph Scott) to capture a wanted murderer—but his quest is complicated when he is accosted by a pair of outlaws who have their own inscrutable reasons for riding along. Masterfully scripted by Burt Kennedy, who weaves a complex web of ambiguous loyalties and motives, and featuring supporting turns by genre icons James Coburn (in his film debut) and Lee Van Cleef, the first of the Ranown westerns to be shot in CinemaScope makes striking use of the enlarged frame—with a final shot that stands as perhaps the single most unforgettable image in the series.

a barely feature length b-western that punches far above its weight vis-a-vis actor performance and cinematography. unfortunately it’s real fucking weird about women. everyone is openly salivating over this poor young widow. now, her figure is insane. it looks like she has a fucking eighteen inch waist. this one is so much more blatant about being weird about women, well past winks, innuendo, and a sort of chivalrous courtliness: a real line i stopped and jotted down: “…the deep lonely need only a man can get at about a woman.”

another line from Pernell of Bonanza fame (so weird to see him in a non-Bonanza context): “Those Indians are only shooting at us cause we’re white :( “. i think i am enjoying Randolph Scott performances over Gary Cooper performances in ye olde american westerns, mostly bc gary cooper does not have the tired but vaguely puckish air of my favorite great-uncle.

why’d i watch this? short. poob had it for me.

-

playing

-

making

porthos socks by caoua coffee in patons kroy on size 2 bamboo DPNs. these will eventually be for my brother, it was so fucking satisfying to nail the gauge on the first try after not knitting socks for four years. this is a pattern that is just interesting enough to keep my attention but not too spicy to take on the bus, which i will do as soon as i get my badge bc i do not relish taking this through security at work. they took the sewing kit and tailor’s tape (for thrifting when there are no dressing rooms) today bc apparently the tape can be a garrote??? i have learned more ways to harm people from venue and building security than i could have ever dreamed up on my own.

[gloomy-prince]

Original vs New RAINBOW! comic comparison!! It's not completely exhaustive but I've given some insight on the original version, just because it's fun to compare and they actually still have a lot of similarities despite it all! There's going to be a lot of jumping around though as some things happen in a different order. This will be long too, so it's under the cut!

I will preface this by saying that even the newer pages are still a few years old and have been edited for the book release, but I couldn't be bothered to find where I saved them, so these versions are a little out of date. The most obvious difference is that Boo has pink eyes in them, where as now they are green. So, enjoy that tidbit I suppose.

Boo recalls why she was demoted from waitressing

She was demoted for the same reason, though in the original, Boo is explaining this to the audience as she talks about her job. The original version had much, much more internal dialogue from Boo. The way that our comics work is that Sunny writes them in a novel form and I adapt them into a comic, rather than them being comic scripts from the get-go. This allows us to both work our own creative muscles in the process. So originally, I had not yet learned that different mediums call for different means of storytelling and I just copied a lot of her thoughts outright and put them directly into the comic, where as in the new version, I add in her internal dialogue pretty sparingly. So get used to lots of Boo's thoughts in the original.

Also, fun fact, in the original Boo has spilled coffee on me, Sunny, and one of my friends @mxbloodybooart on the left.

Boo daydreams of dancing with a prince

Her daydream is much shorter and less immersive in the original version, only lasting a single panel. A lot of telling and not showing in the original due to getting so much of Boo's direct thoughts. She also bumps into Milo, but doesn't cause him to drop anything as she does in the new version.

Mimi shows up at the cafe

In the original, this is Mimi's first appearance, where as now, Boo has already seen Mimi punch someone and her imagination has gone completely haywire over her, so she is pretty nervous to interact with her. Since Boo doesn't have any of this context in the original, she is merely intrigued by someone who has a style that stands out as much as she does, even if it's in a different way.

Drunk Debbie sleeping on the couch

Our first style change in the original version! Really a style evolution though.

Technically this page is pretty similar, but with a much more devastating line from Boo in the new version along with several cans around to imply Debbie probably passed out drunk, where as in the original you really only see her asleep on the couch. Boo also still has the same cute little teddy bear backpack in the original.

Boo takes the bus to school

Boo is implied to be bullied in the new version and utilizes her imagination to drown it out, while in the original she merely talks about feeling different. The bunny head on her shirt is a callback to the bunny shirt she's wearing in the original. Sunny and I are cameoing in both versions as the students sitting in the seat in front of Boo, featuring egg!me in the original version as I was probably 15 when I drew it. It also still apparently rains on her way to work in the original version, although this is never seen because she takes the bus to work rather than bike as she does now, so who knows why she called that out.

Boo daydreams in class

Boo daydreams that her classmates are monsters, though in the original, she also dreams that she is a princess. Some of the monster designs were kept. She doesn't get in trouble for calling her teacher a witch (even though she does still say that, it's only in her imagination) but for laughing and spacing out during class instead.

Boo sees Mimi at school

Originally Boo does not see Mimi punch another student, but rather hears her arguing with the principal after the fact about why she did it and then sees her leave the office. This is also not the first time she's seen Mimi, so she recognizes her, where as this is Mimi's first appearance in the new version.

Boo meets with Mr Dahl

Since she was not a witness to the altercation between Mimi and the other student in the original, her visit with Mr Dahl is much shorter, only concerning her getting in trouble in math class. Mr Dahl is the same character, but in the original he was the principal, and now he's the dean. Also Mimi apparently KNOCKED SOMEONE'S TEETH OUT in the original, where as now she just gave him a bloody nose, so let's just hope Boo is exaggerating here.

Boo mistakes another student in the hall for Mimi

Pretty similar, though the student she bumps into is more of a jerk in the original.

Boo is plagued by daydreams of Mimi

Pretty good example of how the over reliance on internal dialogue diminished the actual story. Originally there is only one shot of Boo seeing Mimi at school, which very well could have been the real Mimi, and Boo simply saying she was seeing her when she wasn't there, so we have to take her word for it. In the new version, she might plausibly think she is seeing her at first, only to start seeing more and more of her to the point of seeing multiple Mimi's in the same place, making it clear that they can't all be real, or that possibly none of them are real. The only dialogue is Boo expressing confusion.

and oh, look at that! another cameo of egg!me and Sunny in the original, waving at each other in the hallway! I am also cameoing in the new version as a student sleeping at the desk in the fourth period panel, but Sunny is not.

Milo tries to cover for Boo

Art style change again! You might notice this one is finally starting to look more similar to my current style than the previous ones, as it all evolved from here...

Originally, Milo accidentally scares Boo and causes her to drop some plates, where as now, Boo bumped into Milo while having her princely dancing daydream and made him drop the plates. Clarice was originally pretty eager to accept Milo's lie and allow Boo a second chance at waitressing while now, Clarice asks Boo to admit the truth before she is willing to give her any chances. Clarice now is also dressed in green to differentiate her as the owner/manager.

Boo gets to be a waitress again

An obvious homage to the original version, the layout is almost exactly the same, and even some of the customers are the same. Another really good example of how much internal dialogue there was in the original compared to now.

Boo serves Mimi her coffee

This one is not all that different aside from the fact that originally, Boo was already delivering the coffee before she knew who it was for, just which table, where as now, Boo knows beforehand that it's for Mimi and is nervous the whole time. This is the final page in the original version, so I made the final panel in the new one as an homage to it. The color scheme was also finally really starting to expand on this last page compared to the colors in the beginning.

[the-heart-of-leo]

Nick's so far under the bus that they might as well change the oil while they're under there.

Okay, because I'm a bit of a masochist and I have adblockers...

I'm going to count how many times James throws Nick under the bus:

@2:40 – 'This fell upon Nick as well, as a non-binary person on the ace spectrum, they wanted to include asexuality and non-binary representation to our videos. But because Nick's experience is not universal – There is no universal experience – people felt that we were delegitimizing their own experiences because we focused on Nick's.' (The reason we were acephobic was because we (meaning Nick) didn't think other ace people had problems and when it was pointed out to us by The Ace Couple that ace people did, in fact, face discrimination and conversion therapy, we (meaning James) accused them of homophobia and sicced their followers on them.)

@6:38 – 'The work Nick and I were doing on the channel...' (Because Nick was here too! Not just me!)

@10:46 – 'I was much more interested in the production of the videos than the writing of them, at this point. So after three or four videos, I brought Nick on as a main writer for the channel. The idea is that they would write the vast majority of the scripts. I would film, voice, and edit the videos and we'd split the money that came in.'(Nick was the main writer for the channel! In case you forgot...)

@14:40 – 'And then my mom died... and I became completely useless. I couldn't think straight, at all, so Nick had to completely take over writing duties.'(DID I MENTION NICK WAS THE MAIN WRITER. ALSO MY MOM DIED; FEEL SORRY FOR ME)

@19:44 – 'When Nick got back, he believed the script needed a first page rework. This was also when he told me he was going to be moving back to Ontario permanently soon as he wanted to live closer to family and live in a bigger city with more opportunities. This was a punch to the gut for me. We'd been living together since 2015 and had become quite dependent on each other. I felt like there was no way I could make this movie without him.'(We couldn't make the movie we promised because SOMEONE DECIDED TO MOVE and since I'm co-dependent on him, I moved with him and screwed up everything. Oopsie.)

@26:32 – 'But by accepting as many sponsors as we did, which became very important when Nick and I started living apart and suddenly had two rents to pay, we ended up needing to produce even more videos. Which, along with the work on Telos and making sure everything was okay with my dad while living thousands of kilometers away meant I had even less time for writing – putting more stress on Nick and leading to even more copy and pasting from me.' (See what you did, Nick?! We have to pay TWO rents now and we need to make even MORE videos. I'm not creepily co-dependent on my asexual ex-roommate at all!)

@32:50 – 'I know what misinformation had made its way into our past videos. That was not something we intended; in some cases it was information I was told by people I considered experts. In other cases it was information that we had researched. In other cases it was things that Nick had learned in university.'(Nick told me some of this stuff! ((which is fair because NICK ADMITTED HE DOESN'T DO RESEARCH)) In other cases it was because I assumed I knew what happened because I'm the smartest person I know so of course Lesbians had it easier! I just forgot that Radcliffe Hall's books were banned and destroyed because of that head injury I talked about earlier.)

And here's an honorable mention where the smug “I'm smarter than you” BS comes to visit:

'To those who say I plagiarized the plot from the novel Final Girl Support Group by Grady Hendrix – Read the book. It's nothing like the plot of the movie. And 'The Final Girl' is a trope in horror movies so if using the Final Girl trope is plagiarism then basically everyone who's made a slasher movie since Texas Chainsaw Massacre owes the Toby Hooper estate some money.'

So, much like how James doesn't understand why people aren't upset at him because of citation issues, he doesn't understand that it's not the fact that he's using the 'Final Girl' trope... it's the fact that he stated the book as a favorite of his and then... suddenly he's writing a movie about the aftermath of the Final Girl. And given the plagiarism, it can not be taken in good faith.

First off, if you just google 'First Final Girl', it just says Texas Chainsaw Massacre is one of the earliest examples. Another possibility for the 'First Final Girl' was actually Black Christmas which was released the same day in Canada so it is literally tied.

Secondly; the final girl trope is not required for slasher movies. One of the first 'proto-slasher' movies was actually Psycho so there were a few good decades between that and Texas Chainsaw Massacre. (I could try and make a case that Lila Crane should count as a Final Girl; maybe even Mrs. Bates/Norman as a subversion... but I'm not that invested or interested.)

So... James was true to form, he just wanted to be a smug asshat and try and seem smart over something easily googled.

[phoenyxshifts]

Things to script!

Less/no ads

Streaming services are cheap

Streaming services allow password sharing

All your favorite shows are available on whatever streaming service you have, and are never removed

Your wifi never goes out

Unlimited data

No dead zones (you always have service wherever you are)

No lags

Flights are never cancelled

You never miss a connection (connecting flight, bus, train, ect)

Tickets are cheap and affordable

No toll booths

Movies based on books/comics/shows are accurate to the source material

[theshiftingly]

Twilight DR

Me:

I moved from my hometown to forks with my mom because she is seeing Charlie. I move in a little bit before Bella does, my bedroom is the attic. I have powers I'm meant to be kinda like a hunter. Created to keep anything supernatural in line but I didn't know that until later on. The vampires gifts don't work on me like Edward reading minds (I was NOT about to let the guy in there)

Timeline:

Eventually the Cullen's and Pack find out I'm not totally human. I kinda wanna script I find out about my powers because like the wolves they got triggered by the supernatural when I moved. During the vampire research I find out about my own thing.

Charlie got me a fishtank when I first moved in because he really wanted to be on my good side and he knew I love goldfish.

Jasper:

Okay so with Jasper he's still his character but I changed a couple things.

Of course he is a Union Soldier.

He's country emo. I gave him a much more country and emo/punk style. With piercings and everything

He's very much "Im in love with you, I cherish the ground you walk on"

I catch him around us a lot and usually mention Edward and Jasper out for their behavior. Never to their face but ik they can hear me say it to Bella or Jessica. "Is it just me or is Edward like... staring into our souls..."

It follows the regular line, I'm just there. Instead of Jasper losing his control around me it's the opposite so he can control around me. It leads to him being a little stalkerish, but it's a little excused because of what's going on between Bella and Edward. I like Jasper and all that but I also always headcanoned that I love to mess with the Cullens so I do that. Especially with the on running joke in the fandom that people think the Cullen's are a cult or something.

I go with Bella to the book store. We both have been talking about the Cullen's weird behaviors especially Edwards (I love to bully Edward). I help her throughout her trying to figure it all out journey. I do pick a fight with one of the guys that gang up on us. Also Jasper is with Edward I get stuck in the back seat with him. It's cute because he's all protective even putting my seatbelt on for me but also a little awkward after everyone calms down.

I'm indecisive if I wanna be friends with Emmett by this point or wait.

When Bella is about to get hit by the car I try to rush over to her but Jasper holds me back. I push him off after Edward gets to her, surprises them all because he's a vampire I shouldn't be able to do that.

I get stuck on the same school bus as the Cullen's and I just wanna sink into my seat because I can feel them watching. I don't know if I wanna take this moment to interact with Emmett.

I go to leave with the girls but Jasper stays stuck to my side and then Bella decides to stay I sigh and stay. We get a separate table from Edward and Bella. Jasper admits he wasn't planning on following me but since Edward was already going to do so with Bella he tagged along. I get him to reveal that he is an empath. "So you feel calm around me? That's why you keep close?"

I have Daddy issues so I have a moment with Charlie where he shows he sees me as his daughter. It's after his friend dies he gives both Bella and me pepper spray. I may not be is bio kid but I'm still a daughter to him.

Add On:

I don't have a dramatic "I know you're a vampire scene" I just let Bella have that but she makes me join in on the dinner. I'm totally gonna go off on her for doing that. "You left me in that kitchen! Don't get me wrong the cooking was bomb...but you still left me with a bunch of vampires!"

I do go to the baseball field with the Cullens. As much as Jasper hates it I stay behind with Charlie. I was his reassurance and to make sure he didn't try go after Bella. Just for drama I'm indecisive if I should know about the plan. Like actually think Bella is gonna leave because they didn't tell me about the plan for safety reasons. "Why the actual fuck would you say that to Charlie?! You can't just leave because you argued with Edward in the car! Bella it's safe! You're safe here." Then maybe she'd say something about me not being her sister because of the plan.

The next time I see the Cullen's when Bella is in the hospital they explain everything to me. Of course I have a sweet moment with Bella after and express my concerns.

For the dance I don't really have anything other than having fun with Jasper and all them.

My main goal is to be besties with Emmett and Rosalie. They are my favorite Cullens so I scripted so many fun outings between us. You can usually find us driving listening to music.

Emmett is Jaspers and mine number one shipper

I might script that there is a BIG mall like an hour or so out. I wanna go shopping with the Cullen's it seems fun.

I like scripting TikToks for my DR so I tend to casually drop stuff. It's all fun and silly sometimes it's about me liking Jasper. The only moment it's not fun is when Jasper leaves in the second movie. It's me throwing strays at him because IK he's watching.

Like I mentioned I love to bully Edward but it's all fun and games. I bully him he doesn't really bully me but he has his comments. He finds it entertaining especially because he never knows what I'm going to do.

I do music as a side thing. There's not plot to that and there's no face to my music it's just to give DR me something while the Cullen's are gone.

I am besties with Jacob I kinda have him as one of the girls. He's invited to girls night.

I like to script scenarios from fanfic I've read.

[ferret-propaganda]

Was saved from the siren song of tiktok by this video getting muted for copyright. Thank you tony blair, you cunt 👍

A few notes under the cut for you:

Important disclaimer: I think Tony Blair especially and Gordon Brown much less so but also are bastards and I do not like them.

This video uses the actual font that the labour party uses! The font colour is slightly different though bc capcut doesn't allow you to type RGB or hex codes in. Yes I went onto labour's branding guide for this fan edit. God help me.

I have discovered a slightly unnerving skill I seem to have now, which is the ability to, at will, summon from my mind an episode and scene from life on mars matching every situation. I kept going through the getty image search for tony blair going "oh, he's on a bus there. Sam stands in front of a bus in the episode where they get taken hostage." GET OUT OF MY BRAIN

The first quote is from The End of the Party by Andrew Rawnsley and the photo of it is from this post as I don't have access to the book atm and I cba to pirate it. I'm also too much of a coward to ask for permission to use the photo and there is a non-zero chance OP'll see this. Hi 👋.

Second quote is from the Life on Mars pilot script. It is available online.

Last clip is from the Rory Bremner 1998 Channel 4 special "From Blair to Here". You can find it on youtube.

[ddagent]

"Opposites Attract"

Matching March Day 05

"Check the coordinates again."

Sergei promptly did so, but he already knew the answer. His sisters, the youngest barely five, joined him in searching the globes and the atlases and every map they possessed, confirming the answer to the code branded in unfamiliar script on the inside of his wrist. It bore the location of his soulmate. The other half of him. The other half of him – located in the United States of America.

Ilyana Nikulova sighed as Sergei confirmed that his soulmate was, indeed, American. Her gaze flickered to her own soul mark - an incomplete line of Russian literature; the other half printed on his father's wrist. "Sergei, you must—"

"—I know. Not a word."

To think he had been so joyous to wake that morning and find his wrist aching, the complicated logarithms and mathematical equations suggesting that his soulmate had a passion for science and engineering. Only now there was no chance of ever meeting her. No chance that they would have a happy life together, with him in the Soviet Union and her all the way in America. Huntsville, Alabama, to be precise.

His father squeezed his shoulder as his mother ushered his sisters upstairs. "Call me but love and I'll be new baptized." Sergei frowned. "It will not be forever, my boy. Do not lose hope."

But hope was a rare commodity in the Soviet Union and Sergei had never had much in the first place.

--

Over time, Sergei stopped looking at the calculations on his wrist. They varied day to day as his soulmate moved, but she never left Huntsville. Not that he travelled far – the bus to Star City was as far as he ventured. Then, in '66, the calculations changed completely. He waited all of five days before he returned to his parent's home and, accompanied by his three sisters, found her new location.

"Houston!" Natalya nudged him. "Perhaps she is working at their space program!"

Sergei shrugged. "Or, perhaps it is a mere coincidence."

His sisters stared at him. Natalya just shook her head. "It is not, Sergei. She is a boring engineer, just like you."

They laughed, and teased him, until their parents returned and agreed it was most likely that his soulmate worked at NASA, or one of the many other aerospace firms that called Houston home. Hope began to well inside Sergei. But he remained stubbornly in Moscow, and she in America. As '66 ticked over into '67 and he stared at the same calculations every long working day, every endless night sleeping in his office, he thought it might be enough. Just to know that she was there.

He was wrong.

--

"She's here!" Sergei whispered into the receiver in the lobby of the Athena Hotel in London. "She is at the conference!"

There was a flurry of activity over the other end of the telephone. It was 1980 and he was in a position now at Roscosmos where they had permitted him to attend the IAC conference in London. He had wondered, in an indulgent moment, whether she would be there. He had never thought to see the calculations on his wrist veer wildly on the plane journey over, suggesting that she, too, was heading out of Texas. Out of America.

A quick pitstop for an atlas at the airport had told him all he needed to know: she was here.

Anastasia, his youngest sister, was the first to get to the phone. "Are you sure? What does she look like? Is she pretty?"

"I...I do not know. I know she is here—" Desperately, Sergei looked out onto the foyer at the sea of conference attendees. Any one of them could be his soul mate. The blonde by the bar. The brunette by reception. The redhead, with her nose in a paperback book. "—I do not know where to start."

"Maybe she will find you, Sergei!" Anastasia's smile was clear through the phone, so excited at the prospect of her brother's fairytale romance. But as an American engineer, she would have her own reservations. Her own concerns. "I am sure she's pretty. And smart! And likes music and dancing—"

"—excuse me." Sergei paused his conversation. The redhead who had been sitting by herself, enjoying her book, now stood in front of him. She held out a page of conference notes that he had dropped in the furor of his phone call home. "Thought you might want them."

"Yes, thank you."

And then she was gone, and Sergei was being given a list of unattainable attributes his soul mate would have in order to please his sisters, and the redhead's soft smile quickly fell from his mind.

--

"Sergei Orestovich Nikulov."

"Margo Madison."

Apollo-Soyuz. The joining of the United States and the Soviet Union. And Sergei's first, and perhaps only, opportunity to find his soulmate. When Korolev had suggested he lead the project, he had practically bit his hand off. His sisters had been giddy at the prospect, helping him choose sweaters to wear and a brand new turtleneck ("In case you go dancing!") and making him feel altogether rather nervous about the prospect of going to Houston, Texas. Sergei soothed himself with his orders, to make the Americans work for every scrap of information offered, in order to quell his nerves of meeting her.

But he had not anticipated Margo Madison.

In the dimly lit bar of 11:59, the two worked together to design the Apollo-Soyuz docking module that would act as a bridge between their two nations. As they worked, Sergei stared at Margo's handwriting, pressed into the soft paper of the napkin. He knew it almost as well as his own. Sergei met her gaze. She'd noticed his, as well. If he was truthful, he had known it before he'd recognised her writing. The pull towards her was immediate; the way they worked together was if they had been collaborating for years.

In some ways, they had.

She didn't say anything. He didn't either. What could they say? Sergei enjoyed his work at Roscosmos – and he certainly would not leave his family and defect by himself. He knew little of Margo but he did not foresee the Director of JSC abandoning it all for a man she had known less than twenty-four hours. So they would say nothing.

But after leaving 11:59, after meeting Aleida (that reminded him so much of his own sisters), after creating the module and sleeping in Margo's office, after fooling both the Soviets and the United States, something had to be said. They were bound, after all, in shared secrets as well as their souls.

Margo spoke first. Barely looking at him. Barely acknowledging him as he stood in her office, about to leave for the day. "I'm glad its you."

Sergei's heart drummed wildly against his rib cage. He beamed, mouth stretched from ear to ear, as he offered her his heart. "I am glad it is you, too."

Later, back at his hotel, Sergei called his family to inform them that he had met her. That she was everything that he had hoped she would be: brilliantly intelligent, driven, dedicated, beautiful, with values that matched his own. It was just a shame that their meeting would be so brief, that so many things were keeping them apart.

And then, the voice of his mother on the other end. Offering hope where none had existed before. "Send us the coordinates. We will be there."

[mariacallous]

It didn’t take long for me to recognize the low bar awaiting me as a new father. In the early, bleary days of parenthood, I was congratulated for relaying the vaguest details of my son’s whereabouts and received pats on the back for explaining the origin of his name. New moms were rarely granted the same level of enthusiasm; they couldn’t delight a crowd by remarking on whatever precociously cool song their kid smiled along to. Meanwhile, I had only the faintest grasp of my son’s diaper size. I remember the approving nods I received from strangers when I folded his stroller or produced a clean pacifier from my pocket. As he grew into a state that one is contractually obliged to call “cherubic,” people would offer their seats and a sympathetic smile when we boarded the bus, my son wielding a remote control, for some reason.

It’s nice when random people smile at you, yet few of these interactions felt truly meaningful. They merely confirmed a basic competency, an ability to not completely flub my lines. How we behave, at home or in public, is a product of our innate impulses and feelings in concert with the expectations of our surroundings. For the modern-day American father, prescribed identities can be contradictory. On one hand, there’s probably never been an age that so values a kind of chill sensitivity among fathers; witness the dawn of the #girldad, the think pieces about new frontiers in hands-on fatherhood, the mainstream rejection of the withholding, stoic paterfamilias archetype. And, yet, I’ve never been bombarded with so much frothy anxiety around masculinity and testosterone. In an age of declining global birthrates, it is, in the eyes of figures such as Elon Musk, about fathering, rather than fatherhood.

Perhaps it’s safest to keep expectations low. For a while, Sarah Blaffer Hrdy, a professor emerita of anthropology at the University of California, Davis, hewed to the belief that males were simply wired differently; one of her initial forays into academic research explored the penchant for infanticide among male langur monkeys. She spent much of her career studying the behaviors of primates, particularly the reproductive and resilient survival strategies of females. In 1981, she published “The Woman That Never Evolved,” which argued that traditional views on evolutionary biology hadn’t accounted for the ways in which female primates had developed instincts for competition, independence, and sexual assertiveness. In 1999, she published “Mother Nature,” a history of mothers and infants, in which she explored the idea of the “allomother,” a term she popularized to refer to anyone other than the birth mother who helps to care for an infant.

“Father Time,” Hrdy’s latest book, picks up where “Mother Nature” and “Mothers and Others,” published in 2009, left off. Her interest lies in how external forces shape what’s happening inside our bodies, and vice versa. She contends that the emergence of more egalitarian norms of parenthood aren’t just changing society; they could change the biochemical makeup of men, too.

Hrdy writes of the researchers Katherine Wynne-Edwards and Anne Storey, whose “shared interest in what renders males caring” spanned species. Wynne-Edwards had studied the mating habits of Campbell’s dwarf hamsters, found in China, Russia, and Central Asia. Male hamsters don’t just stick around pregnant females—already a rarity—they are integral parts of the birthing process, nuzzling with their partners and “oh so delicately” assisting with delivery. Wynne-Edwards found that levels of prolactin, a hormone that’s responsible for lactation and that affects a mammal’s immune system and metabolism, rose in the male hamster as his mate’s pregnancy progressed.

Storey’s work focussed on female meadow voles, which seem to be capable of spontaneous abortion if they sense danger—by catching a “whiff of pheromone from a strange male,” for example. Storey wondered how females determined whether prospective mates would respond “aggressively or benignly” toward her pups, and what behaviors could turn disinterested male fathers into nurturers. Key to her study was the idea of “sensitization,” first described in the nineteen-thirties, when researchers had noticed that male mice would either attack or ignore unexpected pups. Over time, presented with pup after pup, the mice began to tolerate, and eventually care for, them. This sustained, intimate exposure had profound effects. “Even without the hormonal priming of pregnancy and birth,” Hrdy writes, “the neuroendocrine pathways for nurturing . . . could also be activated in male or female group members other than the mother.”

Wynne-Edwards and Storey began exploring these dynamics among humans in the nineteen-nineties, discovering that the prolactin levels of expectant fathers rose in the weeks before their partners were to give birth; as Wynne-Edwards explained, these men could “experience a muted version of the endocrine changes of pregnancy.” At the time, few studies had focussed on the hormonal changes undergone by new fathers. Research by Ruth Feldman in the twenty-tens showed that levels of oxytocin, a hormone which contributes to feelings of security and intimate warmth, rose in new fathers, as well.

These examples of changing neuroendocrinology—or brain regulation of the body’s hormonal activity—confirmed something that Hrdy had noticed in her own life. While the book draws on her academic expertise, it was also inspired by changes she noticed within her own family. When she and her husband had their first child, she doted on her daughter, keeping her close by as often as possible. Although her husband wasn’t much for “hands-on care,” he was far more engaged than most “professional men” of their generation. By the time they became grandparents, she was in awe of how intensely engaged fathers had become. “From the first hour after birth,” she writes, her son-in-law “took on equal, sometimes more than equal, responsibility for his son.”

These stories—and the occasional family photo—are threaded through a broader story about mammalian evolution. To a lay reader, some of Hrdy’s examples can be hard to appreciate as anything more than a memorable anecdote. But patterns emerge, as well as a sense that parental roles are less fixed than we might assume. “Anthropologists have long been aware that societies where men spend more time in contact with mothers and children are less bellicose and exhibit lower rates of violence,” Hrdy writes. “Social psychologists tell us that men exposed to cues from babies tend to be more other-regarding and generous.” Presumably, this might have something to do with the fact that new fathers experience a decline in levels of testosterone, the hormone often attributed with combativeness and competitiveness. How might a future of more baby-exposed men evolve norms around masculinity and manhood? All of a sudden, Hrdy seems to suggest, our culture’s obsession with testosterone seems not just peculiar—maybe it’s against nature.

There’s something faintly reassuring about the trajectory of Hrdy’s book, her optimistic perspective about how fatherhood among humans might continue to evolve. She writes approvingly of a survey that showed that nine out of ten American fathers living with one or more children under the age of five had helped bathe, diaper, dress, or assist them in the bathroom several times a week, if not every day. And yet hopping over low bars can feel a bit like a scam, a kind of patriarchy multiplier effect, where men get extra credit simply for not being awful.

I became a very different person when I became a parent. Once nonplussed about the choices of others, I now push unsolicited advice (but only about parenting). Where I once felt drawn to radical, improvisatory models of life and art, expediency—and a selfish desire for more sleep—dragged me back down to the most tried-and-true scripts. And, rather than nurturing my private neuroses, fashioning them into an engine of sorts, I’m now too tired to reflect deeply on any aspects of the self, positive or negative. There are also many aspects of being a dad that felt instantly natural to me—the hats, the jokes, the cautionary, look-both-ways ethos.

But I’ve never been too curious about the general experience of fatherhood, partly because it seems to change every day. One moment, you’re hyper-attuned to the frequency of your child’s specific cry, and you find it comforting that you know them so well; a short while later you’ve reverted to finding all children’s cries annoying. There was a fleeting moment when I thought my son had somehow acquired a singular sense of taste, preferring the Cure to “Baby Shark,” through no compulsion on my part. A week when I feared that our lax attitude toward “tummy time” had done irreparable damage on his ability to dribble a soccer ball; turns out he simply couldn’t be bothered. I still wonder if he might not actually be left-handed.

Except for this last one, none of these micro-periodizations really mattered in the long run. Once my son ceased to be a surface for projection, it felt like a charade to assume he was ever so moldable. (Another truism: the days are slow, while the years are fast.) The inner tumult of the contemporary dad, full of unprecedented new highs, lows, and targets for neurotic speculation, is the subject of Lucas Mann’s “Attachments: Essays on Fatherhood and Other Performances.” It is an intense, poetic, and almost uncomfortably honest book about what he describes as the “mundane enormous terror of watching a child grow.”

Mann, who has previously published books about minor-league baseball, reality TV, and the effects of addiction on his own family, writes with a mix of bliss and dread, all of it suffused with a relentless sense of self-scrutiny. Like many in their mid-thirties or forties, cis-het men with progressive viewpoints and vaguely middle-class leanings, he aspires for an approach to fatherhood in rough agreement with his politics. And, throughout “Attachments,” he returns to the various forces that prepared him for this moment—the signals from society, the novels or art works that once gave him pause, the examples of friends and family—until he realizes that none of it properly readied him for the work at hand.

In the eight years I’ve been a dad, the past four of which have finally afforded me the time to return to nonessential reading, I’ve largely avoided books like “Attachments.” They were about episodes of life that were either too far in the rearview (why would I want to experience sleep-training again?) or too imminent—I’d rather go at things spoiler-free. Perhaps what I was resisting was the way in which a book about fatherhood is also, inevitably, a book about masculinity and social expectation, as well as nostalgia and family, real estate and taxes, and the reproduction of privilege, all things I think about, anyway. Third-grade homework is hard enough.

Mann tries his best to keep those larger anxieties at bay. And so, before all that: the fantasies of who a child might become. Perhaps this is the last time that a life can seem so wide-open, since yours no longer is. “In this fantasy,” Mann writes, one of a series, “it’s Wimbledon,” and his daughter is seeking him out in the crowd. In another, he imagines her wedding toast; in another he is dying; in yet another, he becomes “a different type of person,” and imagines almost assaulting someone who has hurt her. “I lose her in the crowd at the largest march I’ve ever seen,” he writes, “not in a scary way, just like I’m no longer needed; the top of her head is one of many, then it’s gone.”

Writers are probably more invested than the average person in capturing the everyday in words. And one of the book’s most powerful motifs is Mann’s confrontation with the limitations of language. We want to cordon off our own, unique experience of a larger cliché. He writes of a “banal observation” that he includes as a caption to an Instagram post, and how it still “feels more important and real to me than anything else I could write, despite its speed and ease and exact similarity to the posts of every other parent I know.” He muses on an argument with his students about “Harry Potter,” which worms toward some thoughts on loneliness—until thoughts of his daughter’s “toothless smile” intrude. “There is nothing good enough and also nothing new to say about what this feels like.”

There’s a free-associative, digressive quality to Mann’s book, until the moments when he seems interrupted by insight, the equivalent of a child screaming during your important Zoom meeting. A reminder, on the page, that time is no longer yours. He listens through the door as his wife reads “Goodnight Moon” just before bedtime and, somewhat inexplicably, begins contemplating those other parents who boast of their children’s love of Kendrick Lamar, “which I think is such a transparent projection of the people they want to be onto a small, blank semi-human that hasn’t yet had the chance to become corny like them.” This spirals into anxiety about how quickly he has defaulted to singing “the least controversial Bob Marley songs to his baby,” a kind of self-consciousness he wasn’t prepared for. Meanwhile, mother continues to read, daughter continues to live in a state of bliss.

Becoming a parent creates a new context for Mann’s “writing life,” within which he’s always been able to impose “order and calm” on the page. Of course, this is a different kind of book from his previous ones, filled with attempts to capture a blur, a character whose personality changes by the second. The perspective ranges from the small and acute to the general and all-subsuming. He’s particularly curious about the new scripts we’ve been given as enlightened fathers—in his case, the celebration of the #girldad, a figure meant to stand in defiance of stereotypes and stigmas. He describes a moment when a stranger high-fives him in the bathroom as they’ve both got their daughters to pee, and wonders about the substance of this solidarity. “Helping keep a kid alive shouldn’t be, isn’t, enough to foster a coherent collective point of view,” he writes.

Mann sounds like a very thoughtful parent—one of the good ones. But he’s attuned to how the new norms of good parenting (good fathering, especially) fall short. While there are serious, necessary cultural conversations about the sacrifices of motherhood, Mann finds that the world of the “online dad” often defaults to irony, laughing at the dad who acts like a “total prick” and indulging in “at least we’re not that” grandstanding. What passes as honesty among fathers, Mann writes, obscures an enduring difficulty to fully acknowledge insecurity or inadequacy, fear or doubt. Instead, he writes, there’s the archetype of the bored dad, a kind of humblebrag that one is excessively present, to the point where there’s little to actually do. “Boredom,” which “occupies outsized space particularly in the language of dads . . . because boredom is a riskless emotion—not even an emotion, but rather a way of articulating the opposite of whatever seriousness the presence of emotion implies.” You start to wonder if we’re just doomed to the old clichés.

An evolutionary scientist like Hrdy might say we’re already doing good by looking to parenthood as a source of meaning and fulfillment—perhaps we are changing our own biochemistry. But the broader, mammalian crawl toward new norms doesn’t provide much solace in the here and now. I remember a moment of crisis, explaining to my son that I’d never been a parent before—that we were learning how to be parent and child together—and the look of terror on his face. I’d told him, possibly ten years too early, that adults don’t have all the answers.

Whereas “Father Time” is written with a kind of late-career retrospection, “Attachments” finds Mann at a professional crossroads. He writes movingly of a moment, while visiting his parents, when his daughter sees a newspaper clipping announcing his first book, published in 2013, years before she was alive. “I hadn’t thought of myself as the person in that picture in a long time, hadn’t written a word in even longer, and had gotten most of the way to a fabrication of my personality in which I would disappear professionally, dedicate my life only to her care, and be fine with it. In an instant, that was gone.”

Perhaps this is the most destabilizing way in which parents might become different people after children enter their lives—we move forward by forgetting as much as we remember. Some of it is by necessity. My wife once speculated that forgetting must be evolutionary, for, if women could recall the gruesome exertions of childbirth, they would never want to do it again. And some of it is just a reëvaluation of what we once thought mattered. Mann recalls attending a dinner with some esteemed writers, and reflecting on the culture of artists, usually men, obsessed with suffering, reaching “for a darkness that feels ancient, mythic.” These were not men like Elon Musk fretting about virility as some bulwark against extinction. But they held a view of what made art serious or meaningful that no longer spoke to Mann.

At some point when my son was two or three, I read an article about when we are truly ourselves. I seem to recall that the author was discussing questions of how we might protect ourselves from the constant onslaught of information and expectation. It took me a while to finish reading it, since my son kept interrupting; I was initially annoyed. But then the notion of figuring out my true self independent of another’s minute-by-minute needs was not a question I’d be able to ponder for some time, if ever again. One of the most difficult things to teach a child is the size and scale of the world, its age and density, the speed at which humans adapt to convenience. (Often, this comes up when my son gripes that YouTube is loading too slowly.) Mann considers what it means for a child to grow into vast, unimaginable contexts. “She doesn’t have a frame of reference for what is worthy of wonder, what is saddled with the weight of former commonness, what she should feel lucky to see, what she can see every day until she stops looking, what she might never see again.” It’s a line that’s at once innocent and weighty, rejoicing in his daughter’s bright, child-size vision while lamenting its inevitable loss. Mann’s horizons are different now. The old ways of thinking about art or being a man no longer hold purchase; they might soon be forgotten. He is her father, yet she is his teacher. 

[tj-dragonblade]

[FLUFFBRUARY FIC] A Sweet Romance Beginning In a Queue

Rated: T Word Count: 4551 Tags: Fluffbruary, Fluffbruary 2024, fluff, human AU, rain, writer!Dream, professor!Hob, song-based meet-cute, clumsy metaphors

Notes: This is springboarding entirely from Bus Stop by The Hollies; shoutout to @valeriianz for suggesting this song would make a great Dreamling fic many many months ago. I thought Fluffbruary Day 3 would be a good opportunity to bang it out real quick but uh. It didn't want to flow, so I've just been rolling additional days into it all month. Also went a wee bit off-script from the song but. I'm pleased enough with what it's turned out to be. Prompts listed at the end.

Summary: Bus stop, wet day, he's there, I say, 'Please share my umbrella'

On AO3

It's the first day of the new term and the sky is overcast, threatening rain as Hob steps off the bus at his connecting stop. He's got his umbrella and his overcoat and his bag is water-resistant; his stop on the other end is very near the college and he's feeling well-prepared should the weather follow through on its threat.

Which of course it does, not half a minute later, and Hob deploys his umbrella with a sigh. There are a handful of other people waiting at the stop who do the same.

And one who does not.

He's pale and pretty, and tall, and dark—dark trousers, dark peacoat, dark hair, which is well on its way to getting thoroughly soaked as the skies open up in earnest. He appears to be lacking an umbrella entirely. Hob, who these days makes conscious effort to be a Good Samaritan whenever he can, and who also maybe thinks that attractively-pale men dressed in black who forget their umbrellas are worth at least a 'hello', moves quickly.

"Share my umbrella? Please." He's holding it over the guy as he speaks, but they'll have to squish up a bit to get maximum benefit for either of them.

"…Thank you," the guy says, shuffling closer; their shoulders touch. He is stiff, awkward, and yeah okay Hob can understand; courtesy in rainy weather or not, they're still complete strangers.

"Hell of a day to forget your umbrella, yeah?" Hob rolls his shoulders and shifts, putting himself more or less back-to-back with the guy so they fit better.

"Quite," comes the answer. His voice is low and rumbly, pleasantly dark without being bass-deep; it's oddly appealing.

Hob shrugs. "We've all been there. And hey, I'm glad to share."

"Again. Thank you." There's a touch more warmth this time, and Hob smiles to himself.

They pass a moment in silence, save for the drumming of rain against the umbrella and the splashing of cars in the street, and then the bus is pulling up to the stop. The guy steps toward it, first in line, and Hob follows with the umbrella, then lets the other three people board ahead of him.

Which means, once he's boarded and tapped in, the only open seat is serendipitously next to his slightly-soggy goth stranger. Who makes eye contact and holds it as Hob approaches, scoots just that little bit closer to the window to make clear he doesn't mind Hob taking the seat beside him, and Hob is quietly thrilled at the subtle welcome.

"Are you a conversationalist, or a ride-in-silence enthusiast?" he asks, as the bus lurches into motion.

"Ordinarily, the latter," the guy admits, glancing briefly at Hob. "But, as I stormed out with neither book nor earbuds, and I find myself with a chivalrous seat partner, perhaps I could be persuaded to the former just this once."

"Very kind, thank you," Hob says, with a smile. "'Stormed out' doesn't sound promising; feel like unburdening to a friendly ear? I'd be happy to listen, if so. Or find something else entirely to talk about if not."

His stranger turns to the window, watching the rivulets of rain trailing over the glass; there is a brief lull before he speaks. "I find myself creatively blocked, and my sister's attempts to be helpful. Were not." He sighs. "I left the house to clear my head, before saying anything truly unkind."

"Smart," Hob agrees. He could listen to this guy talk all day, his rumbly words and his dark-velvety voice.

"'Smart' would have been making certain to grab more than just my phone and wallet." There's a pretty little scowl accompanying the words, that rosy mouth plumped out in the faintest pout visible in his reflection in the window, and Hob is smitten.

"That may be, but then I'd hardly have had reason to say hello, and we'd both be sitting here reading our books politely ignoring one another. Silver lining?"

"Perhaps," the guy says, but it sounds agreeable enough. Hob likes to think he's a decent judge of unspoken communication and that he could tell if he was being a bother. Currently his stranger is glancing over Hob's bag and his attire with a curious and observant eye, posture reserved but not closed off, and Hob figures he's doing alright.

"Where are you headed, then—work?" the guy asks.

"Yeah, I teach at the college, medieval history, now and then a class in medieval lit too."

The guy's attention goes from merely polite to genuinely interested. "Oh?"

"Yep!" Hob's heart rate bumps up a notch at the light in those (gorgeous) blue eyes; the sudden intensity of this stranger's focus is heady.

He's turned in his seat, angled to somewhat face Hob, gaze bright, expression open. "I imagine that is a difficult sell to many students."

"Oh my friend, you have no idea!" Delighted with his good fortune, Hob launches into tales of his most recalcitrant classes and the victories he's won in inciting and maintaining student interest. He's good at talking, and enjoys doing it, and this pretty stranger is paying genuine attention to him, and so Hob prattles on enthusiastically as the bus trundles steadily through the rain.

~ "This is me," Hob says, as the bus pulls up to the college stop. "It was delightful chatting with you, and I hope your day improves from here!"

"It already has, thank you."

The tiny smile that the stranger offers in parting buoys Hob's spirits all the way to his office.

~ Tuesday is miserably wet again and Hob checks for his stranger at the bus stop, hopeful (yes alright, perhaps he's got a bit of a crush), but there's no sign of him. It's earlier than it was yesterday though, on account of his 8 a.m. lecture this morning, so there's no reason to think he'd be there again. Plus he'd talked about 'storming out' and 'clearing his head'; it wasn't like this stop was a daily transfer point the way it was for Hob.

Chances were good they'd never cross paths again.

~ Wednesday it's less a downpour and more a light shower, but it's still enough that an umbrella is practical.

And Hob is absolutely delighted as he steps off his first bus to see that Mr. Tall-Dark-and-Emo is there again, and again without an umbrella, hunched ineffectually into the collar of his coat and resembling nothing so much as a disgruntled wet cat. He perks up distinctly as Hob approaches with his umbrella angled forward in offering.

"You gallantly come to my rescue yet again." He tilts his head and glances up through lush black lashes, just this side of coy. "I thank you, sincerely, Mr…?"

"Hob, I'm Hob. Just Hob. You can call me Hob." Not his most suave, certainly, but this blatantly-flirtatious greeting atop his own delight has somewhat stolen his functioning brain cells.

"Hob," the guy repeats, unhurried, like he's savoring the taste of the name in his mouth, and smiles just a little bit. "You may call me Dream."

"Pleased to run into you again, Dream." Hob dimples brightly, delighted with the turn his day has taken, delighted that they've made proper introductions. "How was the head-clearing, the other day?"

"Effective." The guy—Dream—crowds close under the umbrella (Hob's largest, which he had pulled out yesterday just in case) and smooths the clinging water from his hair with one hand. His (damp) shoulder is firmly pressed against Hob's and his profile is absolutely beautiful, this close. Hob tries not to stare.

"Got your creativity flowing again, did it?"

"I managed to finish a very troublesome chapter Monday evening, yes."

Hob perks up at this new tidbit of information. "You're a writer, then?"

He gives a short nod, staring out into the rain, then glances sideways at Hob. "I have you to thank for my progress, also."

"Me?"

"The stories you shared…you inspired a direction for the scene that was plaguing me. I came out yesterday, with intent to thank you, but you were not here…?"

His voice lilts up just a touch on the end of his sentence, curiosity expressed without actually voicing the question, and Hob just smiles. "Yeah, Tuesday's my early-morning class. Sorry I missed you."

"No matter. I have now left the house three days in a row and my sister is distressingly pleased about it. She says it is good for my mental health."

"And what do you think?"

He sighs, heavily. "She is not incorrect." He glances sideways at Hob again, eyes narrowed prettily. "But I am not going to admit it to her."

Hob laughs; he can't help it. "You are so completely valid for that," he says, and when Dream smiles in return his spirits soar.

~ "Remembered your umbrella this time, I see!" Hob ignores the little pang of disappointment; just because he doesn't need to share his umbrella with Dream this time doesn't mean they can't still have a conversation.

"My sister reminded me, yes," Dream answers, and then to Hob's great surprise he lowers and closes the umbrella. "But I would prefer to share yours, if you're amenable." His eyes flick up, just a hint of hopeful uncertainty showing there.

"Of course." Hob moves close, brings his umbrella over Dream's head, heart thudding in his chest with delight. He hopes the great spreading grin on his face doesn't put Dream off; he can't quite get it under control.

If Dream notices, he gives no indication. "This routine is working well for me," he says, and it takes Hob a second to cotton on to what he means.

"What, catching the bus in the rain every morning?"

"Yes," Dream says serenely. "The company is. Refreshing." The corners of his mouth tilt up the smallest bit.

"Nicest thing anyone's ever said to me," Hob says, making a valiant effort to sound normal while something warm blooms in the vicinity of his heart. He shifts the umbrella, making sure they're both still sheltered.

"Writing flows more easily when I return home after our morning conversations," Dream says, as if this is something they've been doing for weeks instead of just days. "I shall have to credit you in my author's notes."

Hob laughs, absolutely delighted. "That is extremely flattering, my friend, but wholly unnecessary. But if I'm at all helpful? I'm glad."

One day maybe he'll ask if he can see Dream's writing, when they've been acquainted for more than a week; one day further, perhaps, he'll ask him on a date. It certainly seems he'd be amenable, but Hob knows himself and his tendency to rush in full-tilt and tells himself there's no harm in just. Seeing what happens, for a little while.

~ "Share my umbrella?"

Dream looks askance at him, hair fluttering prettily across his forehead in the breeze. "It is not raining, Hob."

"Well no, but. Bit windy, isn't it? Wouldn't want you to suffer any windburn. Umbrella makes a decent wind-break." He has oh-so-smoothly said 'wind' three times in ten seconds, and it is the flimsiest of excuses to begin with, but Dream only smiles as if he's said something profoundly wise.

"Indeed. Truly, I am fortunate to receive your continued chivalry." He crowds in close to Hob, who angles the umbrella behind them to keep the wind off, and smiles.

~ The other patrons at the bus stop are giving Hob weird looks as he opens his umbrella, but there's only one person here whose opinion matters.

Dream tilts one eyebrow up, amused. "The sun is shining today, Hob Gadling. Yet still you offer your umbrella?"

"It's tradition, at this point. And besides—got a very fair complexion, haven't you? Bit of shade will do you good."

"…As you say." His smile is radiant as the sunshine, and Hob's heart thumps happily. "Thank you."

~ It's been about a month since that first meeting when Hob leaves campus for the afternoon and finds Dream waiting at the college bus stop. The morning's rain has cleared throughout the day but now rises again as a light drizzly mist; Dream is huddled into the meager shelter offered over the bench while pulling out his umbrella. Hob hurries over with his own already deployed, playing into their established pattern.

"Fancy meeting you here?" he greets, smiling. He's delighted to run into Dream outside their developed routine, and the way that Dream kind of blooms to see him is very satisfying.

"Hob. At last," Dream smiles, ducking under Hob's broad umbrella.

"Been waiting long?"

"…Somewhat. You see. I have. A question, I would like to ask you. An important one." The gravity in his tone is clear, and Hob might be worried if it wasn't so plainly obvious that Dream was nervous. "But I do not know your schedule, beyond your morning commute, and so…"

"Have you just been hanging around half the day waiting for me to show up?" Hob is equal parts appalled and delighted.

Dream meets his eyes briefly, glance flicking away again too quickly to interpret as anything other than confirmation. "Perhaps."

Hob laughs, aware he should possibly be alarmed by what any normal person would read as stalking behavior but utterly charmed by it instead. "Your patience has its reward, then. What was it you wanted to ask me?"

"I…ah." Dream colors prettily, the faintest pink flush across his cheeks as he stumbles over actually speaking his question, and Hob is rapidly escalating from 'charmed' to 'enamoured'. "I am not. Good, at—at—"

"Obviously it was important enough to identify my most likely location and wait hours for me to show up, right?" Hob cuts in gently. "Go ahead. I promise I won't judge you." He can hear the fondness seeping into his own voice, and apparently so can Dream. He lifts wide eyes to Hob, lips pressed together resolutely, and heaves a fortifying breath out through his nose.

"I wish to ask. Would you like to have dinner sometime. Or. Or coffee, perhaps."

The bus pulls up at that exact moment, disgorging a single passenger; Hob barely hesitates before waving the driver on.

"That was our bus?" Dream states, lilting up in such a way that it's clear he means Why did we not board, why are we still standing here?

"Well, yes," Hob agrees, very aware of the size of the dopey grin on his face. "But you see, a very dear friend of mine has just asked if I might like a bite to eat with him, and I know the most amazing little spot right around the corner."

"That. That is 'yes', then? Now?" Dream seems delightedly flummoxed, and it ratchets Hob straight up to 'besotted'. How could Dream think he'd ever say anything else? Although it occurs to him belatedly Dream might have other obligations for the evening.

"Well 'now' is certainly 'sometime', yes? If you're free, that is. If you've something else you have to do—"

"No. Nothing else," Dream cuts him off, and the warm smile spreading over his face makes Hob's heart skip a beat. "There is nowhere I should like to be more, just now."

Of course not, not when he'd dedicated the bulk of his day to waiting for Hob just to ask him out. "Wonderful. Shall we?" He offers his arm, angling the umbrella to keep the misty sprinkle off them still.

Dream tucks a hand into his elbow and falls into step beside him.

~ "Wanna try mine?" Hob offers, plucking a crispy slab of cheese from his plate with a bit of everything on it and holding it out, other hand cupped underneath. They are talking over plates of halloumi fries; Hob had gone for his favorite—smothered in pomegranate molasses and za'atar yoghurt with pomegranate arils and fresh mint garnish—and Dream had taken his drizzled in honey and sprinkled with sesame seeds.

"Thank you, I am fine," Dream says, rote politeness in his voice but curiosity in his eyes, and Hob arches a brow.

"Worried you'll have to spend a month stuck with me for each pomegranate seed?"

"That would hardly dissuade me," Dream replies, with a sweet little smile that hits Hob straight in the gut. "Very well, since you offer so generously." He leans forward, grasps Hob's wrist instead of the proffered food, and bites through the warm-crusted cheese while Hob's still holding it, lips brushing Hob's fingers as he pulls back.

He chews, making a contemplative face, and gently plucks the rest of it from Hob's hand while Hob is still scrambling to reboot his poor blue-screening brain and not make a fool of himself.

"Do you know," Hob blurts, grasping for anything, "whatever Persephone might have eaten in the underworld, it would've bound her there the same? It wasn't just because it was a pomegranate?"

"I did know that, yes," Dream replies, and Hob feels the flush of having said something fairly stupid rising into his face. "The pomegranate is a tidy choice for enumerating the months she stays below, I think, with the countable seeds." He plucks one of the ruby-red arils from the cheese that Hob had given him between two delicate fingertips and places it in his mouth, eyes on Hob in a way that makes him lose his brain again.

"Yes that's. Good point," Hob tries, and thankfully Dream pops the rest of the halloumi fry into his mouth without any fanfare or continued eye contact.

"I can see why you like this," Dream says, once his mouth is empty. "It is a wonderful blend of flavors. But the honey-sesame remains my favorite." He takes a bite from his own plate, and Hob tries not to fixate on the casual way he licks the honey off his rose-petal lips.

"I wrote an alternate version of Persephone's story, once," Dream says then, eyes not exactly meeting Hob's or even on his face, darting between his shoulder and his sternum and dropping back to his plate. "I made it her choice; they met and fell in love long before the abduction, which was closer to an elopement. She ate the pomegranate seeds deliberately so as not to be taken away from the partner she had chosen. In my version, it was the pomegranate specifically that would bind her."

"That sounds brilliant," Hob says, feeling a little starry-eyed; Dream has never really talked specifics about his writing before. "I'd love to read it sometime."

"It. Was many many years ago, before I ever considered publication," Dream admits, barely glancing up at Hob, still a little skittish. "I thought it a unique idea at the time, but there are dozens of Persephone remixes to be had and I have never felt it warranted the effort of reworking it from my current skill level or attempting to publish."

"Well for what it's worth, your version is the remix I'd be most interested in reading," Hob says, utterly sincere, smiling from ear to ear. "If you ever wanted to share, that is." He bites into another halloumi fry and speaks around it. "I would never pressure you to let me read your stuff if you don't want to. But I'm always interested."

"…Thank you." Dream covers his awkwardness with another dainty bite from his own plate, a hint of pink dusting across his cheekbones. When his mouth is empty again, he offers, "Mostly I have written. Romance."

"Oh?"

"Not under my own name. But yes."

"See it's fascinating that pseudonyms are so prevalent through the ages, and for so many reasons," Hob starts, and as the conversation turns in this new direction Hob does not miss how Dream relaxes to have the focus shifted from the vulnerable personal glimpse of himself he'd offered.

And Hob maybe falls a little bit deeper.

~ It's still lightly raining three hours later; they've talked about so many things, they've had dessert and then had coffee since neither of them were ready to leave yet. It's dark by the time they finally head back to the bus stop; Dream presses up against Hob's side beneath the umbrella and Hob thrills at the warmth, the closeness, the graceful slide of Dream's hand into his and the way he doesn't let go until the bus shows up.

~ It's raining again the first time Hob kisses Dream, pulling him close beneath the umbrella outside the theater, one finger tipped beneath Dream's chin; the kiss is tentative, but Dream's mouth is warm and the way he lists gently forward has Hob coming back again, soft and sweet and smiling helplessly.

~ Three straight days of rain are clearing on the afternoon that Dream takes Hob to the bookstore and leads him to the romance section, points him to a shelf in the 'M's where there are a dozen or so titles by Morpheus, mononymous. Hob doesn't make the connection for a second, and then he does.

"Is this you?" he asks, reaching for one of the hardbacks, and sure enough there's Dream's photo inside the dust jacket, solemn and styled and somehow less authentic than the Dream standing nervously next to him.

"Yes," Dream confirms, and soft warmth floods Hob's chest. Dream has been very reserved about his writing—"It is one thing to publish for strangers, but I find it…much more difficult to share, when it is someone whose opinon matters to me personally," he'd said once, and being trusted, opened up to like this—Hob is not oblivious to the privilege of it.

"You've certainly written a lot," he says, warmth and fondness curling in his chest. "And you're okay with me reading any of these?"

"Yes; however—" he reaches into the messenger bag slung over his hip, withdraws a large clear envelope with what looks like a manuscript inside. "If you wish to read my writing, I would have you begin with this." He hands it to Hob.

Hades and Persephone: The Morpheus Remix the paper proclaims through the plastic, and Hob looks up at Dream, delighted. "Is this—?"

"It needs a proper title." Dream shrugs, hunches into his coat a little bit. "I would like—perhaps you might help me come up with one, as it was you who inspired me to revisit and update it."

Hob cannot for the life of him stop the broad smile that overtakes his face, is not even trying. "I would be honored."

~ It is raining buckets the night that Dream comes home with Hob, and even the umbrella is not enough to prevent their getting a bit wet. But that's alright, Hob thinks, with Dream's eager mouth warm and hungry on his as they move in the direction of his bedroom, it's not like their clothes were staying on anyway.

He lays Dream gently in his bed, covers him with his own body, makes love to him with slow and ardent urgency while the rain lashes against his window. Later, after, when the winds have calmed and thunder rumbles soothingly in the distance, he holds Dream curled against him, asleep, and he thinks. He thinks about umbrellas, and shielding, and guardedness, and how Dream has slowly gifted so many of his vulnerabilities to Hob; he thinks about the duality of potential in that realization, the power it gives him to either harm or protect, and vows to himself that he will always be Dream's metaphorical umbrella when it's within his capabilities.

~ It's sprinkling just a little when Hob realizes that he's going to marry Dream.

It's early Autumn and they're at the park; Dream is under his own umbrella (look, sometimes sharing just isn't practical, as much as Hob still loves faithfully carrying on their schtick), scattering peas and grapes for the ducks and Hob is hanging back, watching him with an aching fondness in his heart.

Dream is beautiful, and thoughtful, and engaging. He is guarded and private, but so warm and emotional and giving once he has let you in. He is smart, and witty, with the driest sense of humor and the most endearingly terrible laugh and Hob has fallen desperately in love with him along the way.

He watches as a particularly bold duck comes close and snaps up the pea that had fallen directly at the toe of Dream's boot; watches the soft delight that steals over Dream's face, and he knows.

~ It is the following Spring before he asks. They are at the bus stop where they first met and it's a bright sunny day; Hob's got the umbrella up and they're shoulder-to-shoulder beneath it. Dream is animated, excited, talking about his editor's latest feedback on his Persephone remix (The Seeds of Fate, they had decided to call it), and Hob is listening, very much interested but so so nervous. The little velvet box on his pocket is weighty, not physically of course but he can't stop touching it, hoping Dream will say yes, believing Dream will say yes.

At last, Dream turns to him, a little wrinkle of concern between his brows. "You feel…distracted; is everything alright?"

Hob smiles at him, entirely and wholeheartedly in love. He hooks the hand holding the umbrella with Dream's so their fingers are tangled together around it; he leans his forehead against Dream's, closes his eyes. "I have a question, I'd like to ask you. An important one." It's a deliberate echo of how Dream had asked him out more than a year ago; Hob can picture the way Dream smiles to recognize it, can feel one eyebrow lifting against his own.

He takes a deep breath, pulls the little box from his pocket and clicks the lid open. "Will you marry me?"

It's a quiet request, pitched low so the other couple people at the bus stop don't overhear, so that if Dream does wish to say no, he won't be under the public pressure of strangers to say yes for appearances' sake. Not that Hob expects him to say no.

He hopes he doesn't say no.

Dream pulls back and Hob opens his eyes, meeting the surprise and delight and disbelief in Dream's. Dream looks down at the ring in the open box in Hob's hand, touches a fingertip to the velvet-covered lid delicately, looks back up at Hob with joy blossoming in his face.

"Do you mean it? Truly?"

Hob swallows down the nervous lump in his throat, squeezes gently where his hand is tangled with Dream's around the handle of the umbrella. "More than anything," he murmurs, entranced by the gathering shine of happy tears in Dream's eyes. "Marry me. Please."

Dream makes a joyful little noise, wrenches his hand free and throws both arms around Hob's neck, kissing him soundly. Hob manages to snap the ring box closed and swing the umbrella low, wraps both arms around Dream's waist and kisses him back.

"Yes," Dream breathes wetly when they part a moment later. "Yes, of course yes, a thousand times, yes."

~ They marry in the park in August, the clouds high and the breeze warm. Hob puts up the umbrella when they reach the crux of the ceremony; he holds its history over them while they say their vows, while they slip rings on one another's fingers, and then they seal their marriage with a tender heartfelt kiss beneath its promise of care and protection.

= Started: 2/3/24 Drafted: 2/24/24 Posted: 2/25/24

Fluffbruary 2024 Prompts Day 3: umbrella seashore mist Day 4: camera lush beau Day 5: rescue inertia lullaby Day 6: tie embarrassment* dessert Day 7: potatoes blue glass Day 8: shower blessed layer Day 9: urgency kneel rural Day 10: flush angel owl Day 11: reflection water apology Day 12: graceful volcano blanket Day 18: suave cologne gradual* Day 19: teacakes flood feature Day 20: smooth glitters queen Day 23: rhythm chalk humor Day 24: spring fuzzy silky

*The word did not get used but the concept is very much in there

✨✨✨ Sequel: Love Rain Down On Me ✨✨✨