#I’ve never drawn kid link before

[bahbahhh]

Got to do this MM mini comic (with a TP reference!) for the DTIYS winner on my Instagram. @/ loz_short_stories in IG and ao3. From their work “The Fabled Mask”

Working on the prize comic for @mistresslrigtar next!

[chickenparm]

Never Have I Ever (Childe/afab!Reader) (1)

Silence settles, the stars spin in the sky, and the moonlight glints off the fire-water as Childe’s cheeks burn bright and he takes a quick pull from the bottle. Your mouth falls open, and you hurriedly push yourself to sit upright, the world shifting on its axis thanks to your inebriated vertigo. “You’re kidding.” “I took a drink, didn’t I?”

AO3 Link Next Part (TBP)

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Childe/afab!Reader (part 1 can be read as gn!Reader) 5,549 Words - NSFW (virgin!Childe, handjobs, blowjobs, first kiss, first.... everything, mentions of alcohol, mild somnophilia for about 45 seconds)

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If a friend will join you outside in the bitter cold to drink Fire-Water and chat together, you know they're the kind of person you want with you on the battlefield.

That’s the simplest explanation for how you ended up here, sprawled in the grass near some unknown lake at night, the stars of Liyue above you, a bottle clutched in your hand as you hold it out for the young man at your side. Your joints ache a bit after your last bout of sparring with him, and you’re certain he’s faring no better, but the fire-water being passed back and forth dulls it all down. 

It’s not bitterly cold. In fact, it’s the time of year where Liyue’s nights are balmy, almost even a bit sticky with humidity. But Childe had pulled you aside before you left from your little mock fight, asking if you wanted to sit back and unwind with him for a bit before the two of you went your separate ways for however long. 

And he’d looked so earnest, full of anticipation like he expected you to say no, that you couldn’t do anything but readily agree and follow him to wherever he carted you off to. 

Childe gulps down a sip from the bottle, then lets out a quick sigh as if he were refreshed rather than cringing from the harsh drink. Carefully, he passes it back to you, and when you don’t take it right away with your sluggish movements, he pointedly takes your hand with his own and wraps your fingers around the neck of the bottle. 

“Calling it quits already, huh?”

“Not used to drinking,” you answer, pressing a palm to one eye to stop the stars from spinning above your head. “I’m out of practice.”

“It’s not as if you forget how to have a drink. Maybe you’ve never had one at all,” Childe taunts you, pushing up on one elbow to look down at your serene expression, the gentle rocking of the world making you a bit sleepy. You know it’s an obvious bait to get you to try and defend yourself, but there’s little point in it. 

But you do jab back, just a little. “I’ve had enough. You’re the one that’s probably lacking in life experiences.”

It’s weak, but you don’t miss the way his expression shuts down for a moment until he can figure out how he wants to respond to that. A nerve has been hit, and you slowly turn your head to look up at him fully, alert now that your attention has been drawn in. “You’re hiding something.”

“I’m not,” Childe promises, and it’s an empty one. “I’ve had plenty of life experiences. More than you, I’m sure.”

“Oh, yeah?” Now you’re curious, unable to get a hold on your slippery, drunk impulses. “Alright, since you wanna be a kid about it, let’s be kids. Never have I ever. Sound familiar?”

“Are you going to make me sing nursery rhymes, too?” Childe settles a little deeper on that elbow, shoulder pressing up into his cheek until his right eye squints from the pudge. “Fine, since I’m so immature in your eyes. Loser takes a drink.”

A slow grin crawls across your face. You abandon the bottle, pushing it back to Childe as your hands lace across your stomach and you start off with a quick jab, intending to follow it up with something a little more hard-hitting. “Never have I ever had sex.”

Silence settles, the stars spin in the sky, and the moonlight glints off the fire-water as Childe’s cheeks burn bright and he takes a quick pull from the bottle. Your mouth falls open, and you hurriedly push yourself to sit upright, the world shifting on its axis thanks to your inebriated vertigo. “You’re kidding.”

“I took a drink, didn’t I?”

“You could’ve been thirsty. Never have I ever had sex,” you say it again, looking down at him as he whips his head to the side and takes another sip, avoiding your direct gaze. Just to make sure, you lean closer. “Never have I ever had sex-”

“Stop saying it, you’re cheating. I’m not drinking for that one.”

“I mean, unless you got laid in the last 5 seconds, you have to,” you point out, and he gives you a withering glare this time. No longer shying away from you, he takes another sip that’s even quicker, barely wetting his lips. “You’re really serious. Not even once?”

Childe doesn’t answer, but his knuckles are bleached white with the grip he has on the bottle, something unfamiliar on his face. You want to say it’s embarrassment, but you’re not even familiar with what that looks like on him. Childe is normally so unabashed and confident that up until now, you were convinced he didn’t even know how to be embarrassed. 

It’s his turn now, but you disregard it in favor of pressing onward. “Never have I ever had a handjob.”

The liquid sloshes as he takes a drink, and all the air leaves your lungs in a disbelieving huff. No way is he that green, right? Childe travels the world, doing all sorts of unscrupulous things, and he’s still a virgin? Taking your turn again, you ask with sudden quietness, “Never have I ever been kissed.”

Childe’s throat bobs with another sip. Your lungs empty in astonishment. This cannot be allowed to continue. 

“I’m going to kiss you. Right now, it’s about to happen, so put the bottle down.”

Before he can even contemplate doing what you asked, you’re already leaning forward to cradle the back of his head with your hand and press your lips to his own. It’s as you expected. Childe stiffens, unresponsive as his exhale trembles across your cheek. Despite this, you don’t pull away. There’s ample room for him to do so, but instead he just does… nothing. 

Nothing at all. After that initial sigh, he doesn’t even breathe, doesn’t even move as you tilt your head a little to the right, slotting your mouth more neatly against his own in an attempt to coax him to do something. Push you away or try to reciprocate, you don’t mind which. 

The longer it goes on, the more you start to second-guess that this was a bad idea. It just struck you as some kind of cosmic injustice that someone like Childe had gone unkissed for this long. Maybe it makes a little sense - he’s certainly busy enough to not mess around. But not even casually? Not once?

You find it hard to believe. But he did take the drink, and there’s no way he’d concede to defeat if there was any way he could fight his way back. Getting him to admit he’s a complete virgin must have been a crushing blow. 

Just as your grip on his hair loosens and you’re ready to call it quits, his chin tilts up. The first tentative step to doing anything, and he opts to very carefully reciprocate. The first few movements are an obvious mimicry of your own, using what he’s immediately learned to try and keep up with you, even if you’re going painfully slow about it all. 

Childe inhales deeply, breathes you in before the tiniest sound leaves from the bottom of his chest, the base of his lungs, into you like a quick hit of his own. Childe tastes like fire-water and something vaguely sweet, and you relish it as he nearly whimpers when you nip at his lower lip. Pulling back, you take in the state of him; flushed, eyes wide, lips parted in quiet awe. And it strokes your ego, just a little. 

He must have enjoyed it, and you’re just glad you were able to give him a good one to start him off. Childe doesn’t say anything beyond a little mhm when you mention you’re going back into the city. It’s not as if you expected him to walk you there or anything like that, but it’s odd that he stares listlessly out toward the water as you get up and dust your clothing off. 

It’s a shame you won’t see him for another week. 

---

And that week comes and goes. You briefly leave Liyue to head to Mondstadt for a few errands, catching up with some of your oldest friends before wasting an entire day lounging about Dawn Winery. Armed with a bottle of Diluc’s finest vintage, you return to Liyue with little fanfare in the dark of the night. 

You’ve missed your usual meetup with Childe by at least twelve hours. It’s not the first time, and you’ll just make up for it next week by letting him use his delusion, or beating the hell out of him until blood is running from his nose and staining his teeth and there’s a look in his eye that almost scares you. 

As you lay in the dirt between two rows of grapes, staring up at the sky that seems more blue in Mondstadt, you wonder when it was that you started to notice little things like that about him. 

You’ve always known he had a sort of battle-induced mania, but when were you able to perfectly imagine the giddy laughter that wheezes from him when you land a good hit to his diaphragm? When did you memorize the way his arms sprawl from his sides as he collapses back on the ground and concedes you’ve gotten the best of him? How long have you been able to calculate the precise milliseconds it takes for his pupils to dilate when he realizes he’s about to beat you?

Ugh, what a pain. 

The lamps light your way as you make your way through the streets to the inn you’ve held your long-standing reservation at. Paid in advance, you find comfort in knowing that there’s always somewhere in Teyvat that you can call your own space, even for a little while. The key is at the bottom of your bag after having been gone for the past week, and you have to take a moment to fish it out in the darkness of the hallway. 

The room is just as dark, and you make for the window immediately to open it and allow some of the moonlight in. The first beam of it through the cracked shutters lands across Childe who is laying sideways on your bed, legs over the end, hands laced together behind his head. He’d been waiting - and now he’s sleeping. 

Eyes closed and breath coming in slow rises and falls, he doesn’t even stir as you approach silently and stand over him. His jacket is tossed to the side, crumpled near the pillows on your bed with the metal accessories snagging on the cases. Both feet are squarely on the floor, keeping his boots from dirtying your bedspread. Considerate of him, you note. 

But there’s a reason he’s here, a reason he came to wait for you rather than accept an extra week of waiting. So you reach out and prod a finger into his stomach at the little window of skin near his belly button. It’s warm and firm; not entirely unexpected with the way he lives his life. Surely someone from Snezhnaya has to run a little hotter than most. 

Childe stirs, nose scrunching in irritation at being bothered. It’s cute, you think, so you poke him again, letting your fingertip press a little more insistently into the smallest peek of his hip bone over his waistband and belt. Childe snores a bit in response, a quick little huff that gives you pause and makes your lips curl in a smile. 

Still a pain, but he’s kinda cute. Really cute, actually. How embarrassing for you. 

Giving up for now, you cross your arms and look down at him as he selfishly makes himself at home. At least if he were laying the other way, you could lay with him and try to get some sleep. For now, you make a sound of annoyance with your tongue and teeth before turning around to quietly unpack the few belongings you brought with you, and to safely place Childe’s wine on the table. 

Very pointedly, you avoid thinking about how you brought back no other souvenirs for anyone else. Xiangling will be put out, and Zhongli will subtly try to guilt you before you mention his gifts are the meals you keep unwillingly treating him to. Yaoyao will be insufferably sweet and tell you that it’s A-Okay! 

Having stalled for enough time, you turn back around to see if your movements did anything to wake him. Unfortunately not, you realize immediately, and he seems almost more comfortable than he’d been when you first approached. Comfortable enough to have unlaced his hands and thrown an arm over his face, the other arm tossed to the side to take up even more previous real estate. 

The exasperation is almost distracting enough that you don’t notice the outline in his lap, laying across to the right with enough definition to be unmistakable. Your fingertips tingle with an unheeded urge, and you clench them into fists as you hear your own words knocking against every corner of your brain. Never have I ever had sex, never have I ever been kissed, never have I ever had a-

It’s wrong, already you know it and you haven’t even let the thought fully form. There’s no telling what he came here for. For all you know, he could have come by to tell you that he didn’t appreciate you kissing him like that, even if he had reciprocated. That doesn’t mean much, especially after having time to think on it, and you’ll profusely apologize if it comes to that. 

But his cock grows harder, his stomach tensing a little as the softest huff leaves his lungs. What’s he dreaming of? Maybe it’s something mundane and this is just a normal reaction to nightly cycles. Or maybe he’s just that damn repressed that he dreams of an act he’s never partaken in before. 

The floorboards creak under your knees as you lower to them, your hands curling around his thighs to steady yourself. You’ll just touch him a little through the fabric, make him feel nice in those dreams of his, then apologize a thousand times in the morning when he awakens and you confess immediately. 

The firmness of his length seeps into the pads of your fingers as you run them from tip to base, gauging his length with bated breath. As you map out what you’re not allowing yourself to fully see, you fixate on the smallest damp spot on the fabric of his pants where his pre cum already soaks in. Enraptured, you run your thumb over it and push in until it spreads, enough to slick your finger. 

The taste of him blooms on your taste buds as you press your thumb to your tongue. Closing your lips around the digit, you stare at the bulge in his pants and already feel your willpower crumbling. Just over the fabric, you try to remind yourself, but the buckle of his belt seems so easy to open.

But also, if this would be the first time someone puts their mouth on him, you want him to be awake for it. You want to see how his fingers grab the sheets to steady himself, his lip pulled between his teeth. If you’re going to do this for him, you want him to look you in the eye with all the desperation he can muster. 

Just like he’s doing right now. 

You freeze, saliva still pooling on your tongue from the salty taste that you’d stolen for yourself. The arm over his face had darkened things enough that you hadn’t noticed the way his eyes cracked open and his gaze trained on you with enraptured anticipation. He’s awake and he’s watching you, he’s waiting for something to happen. Anything. And so are you. 

Childe cracks first, arm sliding over his eyes as if he wants to hide, his lip slipping from between his teeth as he whispers a quiet, “C’mon…”

More than once, he’s used that same little phrase to egg you on in a fight when you’re not giving it your all. To use it now, in this context, is like a blow to your psyche that you have trouble recovering from in any meaningful way. You brace yourself with your hands on his thighs, eyes staring up his body at his covered face. In the shadows you can see the darkness of his blush, his throat bobbing with a harsh swallow, the fingers on his hand flexing rhythmically. 

Anticipation, desire, and no small amount of nervousness. You don’t blame him - it is his first time with this, after all. 

So, you slow down a little. Rather than grab at him and yank his clothes off to sate your own desires, you nail it into your head that this is hardly for you. You’ll enjoy it deeply, but everything going forward needs to be framed with him in mind. 

Especially if you want him to come back. Luring him to return to you to finish out what you’ve started by taking it all from him requires a bit of lavishing on your part. Something about the idea of being his first - his only - burrows into your every thought. How you’re the only one who has kissed him, tasted him, and hopefully will be the only one to feel him. It’s more enticing than any battle with him could hope to be. 

Childe tenses when your fingers reach his belt, and stays that way until you’ve worked it free and unclasp the fastenings. There’s no point removing anything further than what you need, and as cute as his blush is, you really don’t want him distracted by his own nakedness. This will do just fine, you think as your labor pays off and you open his pants enough for his cock to spring free off its own tension. 

The tip glistens with the smears of his own readiness, and even your inhales are tinged with the same saltiness that you’d tasted only moments ago. It takes more than a single swallow for you to fight back your saliva, and only when you’re prepared do you look up at him curiously and finally pressure him for a little more than being a passive participant. 

“Wanna keep going?” 

One blue eye looks at you, near-crazed as it’s complemented by the red of his cheeks and the dots of his freckles interspersed through the flush. “Don’t stop. Am I dreaming?”

Childe doesn’t want you to stop, then asks you a question that requires you to pause. A silly train of thought, but by the way his cock twitches suspiciously close to the timing of a heartbeat, you think there aren’t very many thoughts going on in there at all. “Do you dream about this sort of thing often enough for that to be a worry of yours?”

“You have no idea.” It’s said with a laugh, but there’s no humor in it. Childe almost sounds wry - dejected even. Elation blooms in your stomach alongside arousal when you realize you might already have him on the ropes and you just never noticed. Did he ever pop one while fighting you? Next time you’ll pay better attention. 

Slowly, first tucking the base against the webbing of your thumb, you wrap your fingers around him one by one. Avoiding the head for now, you simply give him a little squeeze and watch the way he’s already ruined from what amounts to hardly anything at all. The amused huff you make breezes against his cock, and you provide him one more squeeze, stroking up a bit at the same time until another pretty bead of his pre cum wells at his tip. 

When your tongue drags against the slit, Childe’s hips buck up from the bed with startling speed, the hand he had flung to the side slapping palm-down on the mattress. Just as swift, your palm presses against his hip bone, grasping at it to push him down again while murmuring, “Relax. I’m not going anywhere.”

“You’re not?”

Childe’s voice shakes. Both eyes peek down at you now, and perhaps he thinks this is still a dream. Always so stalwart and confident, and all it took to reduce him to uneven footing was to tease the tip of his cock. With slow movements, you stroke your hand along him now, feeling with your palm how he instinctively tries to roll his hips up to meet each one. 

Celestia themselves wouldn’t be able to drag you away from him right now. You’d be damned before you even entertained the thought of not seeing this through. 

“I’m gonna use my mouth on you, is that alright?”

“Is that alright?” Childe’s head lifts, disbelief as plain on his face as the blush he’s relentlessly carrying. “You’re killing me. I’ve been thinking about this since we met and you’re asking if it’s alright?”

Well, you were trying to be considerate, but that’s out the window and replaced with the knowledge that Childe has been lusting - or maybe pining? - after you for months. Months. How many of those dreams has he had? Instead of asking about it, you shelf it for later and instead lean forward to firmly press his tip against your tongue once more. 

Your lips wrap around him next, pouting around the ridge of his head to hold him there while your tongue swirls in lazy circles. Childe fills your mouth rather nicely as you take him further, pushing your tongue to the bottom with each bob of your head that works more and more past your lips. It takes all your effort to focus on making things feel good rather than the litany of sounds he’s making above you. 

Childe doesn’t even muffle them. He doesn’t bother to cover his mouth, or keep his volume down as he moans your name, little pleas, prayers to a god he doesn’t specify but you suspect it’s the one he serves. Does worshipping him like this count as an offering to the Tsaritsa? His cock nudges the back of your throat as his voice cracks in a tortured groan, and you think you’d be just fine making this sort of pilgrimage more than once. 

The weight of him drags against your tongue, slick with your saliva and his own copious excitement. It coats your lips, drips down your chin, dirties you in a way that only riles you further. And through it all he still hasn’t touched you, hasn’t crossed that boundary despite having your mouth on his cock. Not for lack of wanting; you see the way his fingers flex and the muscles of his forearms twitch and relax with each abandoned movement. 

Blindly, you reach up with one hand for his own, instead of pulling it toward your head. Childe meets you halfway, letting you guide his hand toward your head in silent invitation. You want him to be a little more forceful, more active in taking his pleasure rather than just laying there and receiving it. But he doesn’t grab at you, doesn’t push or pull you to increase your pace. 

Rather, Childe’s hand drifts down the side of your face, cupping your jaw and brushing his thumb over the bulge in your cheek from him filling your mouth. Childe pushes a little, feeling himself move inside, and a little expression of satisfaction moves across his face. And you get it now. 

He’s not just laying there and taking it because he’s unsure, but because he wants to be lavished upon. Childe is enjoying having you do as you please. Probably as much as he’s enjoying feeling the goosebumps rising along your skin in the wake of his thumb’s movements. 

Fine, you think. If he wants you to have all the control, then you’re just fine with that. For a moment longer, you bask in the slow tenderness before you close your eyes and push forward. Just as your throat instinctively gags around him, Childe makes a choked sound from above, and you treasure that single noise. It’s going to keep you company in your head for a long, long time. 

The pace you set is steady, your focus narrowed in on how deep to take him before your reflexes protest. It’s surprising how easily he comes apart for you, hips straining up against your hand until you throw your forearm over his hips to keep him from getting too greedy. The hand on your jaw falls away, gripping his own thigh until his knuckles are white and you’re sure he’s giving himself bruises that you’d like to see later. 

Every sound feels like a little victory, and you’re glad to keep winning and winning until he completely surrenders. His head snaps up, eyes looking down at you with wild eyes that say more than his stammering could ever hope to. You know he’s there, he’s about to finish, and you’re more than happy to spoil him by taking him to the base and letting that first pulse hit the back of your tongue. 

And another, and another, each accompanied by a tortured sort of groan that he couldn’t hope to stifle even if he bothered to try. You’re so, so glad he doesn’t. If the knowledge that no one has done this to him before wasn’t enough of a reward, then those unfettered sounds would do just fine. But you have both, and you’re immensely satisfied as you let his cock fall from your mouth, wet and heavy and starting to soften. 

On your knees, you stay there for just a little longer as his breath heaves with deep breaths, his eyes stare unseeing somewhere on the ceiling. The hair across his forehead has fallen back, leaving nothing for him to hide behind even if he wanted to. If he even tried, you’d force him back out. But he doesn’t, and you’re allowed to crawl up the bed to settle next to him, leaning your weight on one hand while the other reaches forward to cup his jaw and stroke his cheek in the same manner he’d done for you. 

Words well up from your chest but none of them feel quite right. So, you say nothing at all, and just watch as his mind works to bring itself back together. It feels as if the entire night’s passed before his tongue darts out to wet his lips and he asks, “Still not a dream?”

“Not this time, no,” you tease, pinching his cheek a little. Wiping your mouth on your sleeve, just to be safe, you bend down and press a kiss to his cheek. “Tell me the next time you have one, though. I’m interested how it’ll go now that you’ve had the real thing.”

Childe’s short laugh is more surprised than anything, and he finally looks at you with clarity in his eyes and the remnants of his blush on his cheeks. “They haven’t been anywhere close to that. Not even a little.”

And maybe you’re a little proud of that. Self-satisfaction blooms in your chest as you gently pinch his jaw. “Good to hear. Go clean yourself up, then come to bed. Whatever you were waiting to talk to me about can wait a little longer ‘til morning.”

With a little groan, he gets up and wanders off to the bathroom without any further direction. You’re glad he doesn’t question your executive decision for him to stay here for the evening. It’d be a little embarrassing to explain that you want to know if he’s a cuddler or not. 

When he returns, he’s far less dressed than when he left. His shirt, boots, and pants are abandoned, and he avoids your eyes as he slides into bed with you with little fanfare. It’s strange how you’ve begun to notice these little habits about him when he’s in a situation he’s unsure of. The quiet avoidance, the stalwart attempt to pretend nothing is amiss. It’s cute. 

Childe is cute, and that thought isn’t as annoying as it had been during your lazy day at Dawn Winery.

When things fall silent and he’s laying stiff as a board by your side, you make another sweeping decision that this is not about to be an awkward night. You sucked his dick for gods’ sake, the least he can do is spoon you. So with a huff, you roll away from him and back yourself up until you’re pressed against him, then clear your throat a little. 

Blessedly, he takes the hint. 

Childe has grappled with you many times. None of them are in this context, but you’re surprisingly used to the feeling of his chest against your back as he slides an arm around your waist and molds himself to your form. With a little wiggle, you get comfortable, and his arm tightens around you. “Please don’t.”

“Don’t what?”

“Move so much?” Childe says it as a question, like he’s asking himself if that’s what he meant. Obviously not. “My dick is against your ass, you know what you’re doing. Don’t play with me.”

And for the first time tonight, you realize you’ve done something to him without purpose. Really, you had only been getting comfortable, making sure the two of you were nestled together nicely. Despite your gnawing hunger for wanting more from him tonight, you weren’t going to push for it. No, you wanted him to come back for it. 

You want him to ask for more. 

So, you quietly apologize and fall still, and the sigh against your shoulder is one of relief. Childe’s nose brushes along your skin for just a moment before he lets his head fall to the pillow the two of you are sharing. Less awkward now, you think. But he’s still pretty tense behind you, so you bring a hand to the arm around you and start to idly run your fingertips against his skin. 

In little increments, he concedes his nerves. 

“Actually, I don’t want to wait until morning,” Childe murmurs, so quietly you wonder if he’s practicing his words before he says them to you. But he doesn’t repeat them, so you just nod along and let him get things out. “I was going to say something when we met up today, but you weren’t there.”

It’s not said as a jab or out of hurt, it’s just a simple fact. The two of you hold odd schedules sometimes. Childe swallows audibly, coming to the point where he actually has to say what this is about. “Are we together now?”

Your teeth sink into your cheek as you inflict pain on yourself to keep from laughing in surprise. Maybe you should have waited on sucking him off. Surely that didn’t help his confusion on the matter. Only when you’re confident you can sound normal and not amused, you ask, “Because I kissed you?”

“Well, yeah. That was my original reasoning but then, y’know…” Childe trails off, then clears his throat a little. “If you don’t want to, then say so. I’m not the type to hold a grudge if you really only did all of this because you felt bad for me.”

“Now you think I kissed you and sucked your dick because I felt bad?” Now you sound amused, as much as you don’t want to. Really, this situation needs to be handled with a little more care. But Childe has never really liked being coddled anyway, so… “No, I didn’t do it ‘cause I pitied you. I did it because you’re cute, and I think it’s a shame you haven’t done any of this yet. And I find it kind of hot that I’ve gotten to be your first a few times now.”

Childe is silent for an eerily long time. At first you think maybe he’s fallen asleep, but his breath has picked up a little and you feel something twitch against your backside. No, definitely not asleep. Maybe even more awake than ever. There’s a slight tremor in his voice as he asks, “You think I’m cute?”

“Yeah, honestly I wished I’d kissed you sooner but I didn’t have a very good excuse.”

“You don’t need an excuse to kiss me,” Childe’s voice is all steadiness now, his arm wrapping tighter, your backside pressing against the unmistakable rigidity of his growing cock. “Could do it again. If you wanted, of course–”

“I will,” you promise, and his lungs expand against your back in excitement that you quickly temper back down. “In the morning. And then tomorrow evening you’re going to take me to dinner and we’ll have a nice date. Then we’ll go back to your place or mine, and we’ll play it by ear.”

Something brushes against the back of your shoulder through your shirt. You think it’s just him moving, getting comfortable, but then you can feel his words against your skin as he mumbles, “Yeah, okay. I can do that.” 

“...Never have I ever been on a date?”

Even without seeing it, you can feel Childe’s sheepish smile as he doesn’t answer you. 

[siryouarebeingmocked]

"All art is political because I can really, really reach to find some sort of political link about anything." -some idiot. 

I've asked (rhetorically) if kids drawings are political before. I wonder if this is a response to that. 

Also, notice the implication that drawing a trailer home (or not) is political, somehow. They never actually explain it. Just assumes the point is obvious. 

This is precisely the sort of smug jerk who people complain about when they say someone is "making everything political". 

This is like arguing that all art is medical, because it's mostly drawn by humans with medical issues. 

And you’d go, "Well, what about AI art?" 

And my hypothetical person says "That is also a medical issue because AI art allows people with limited physical or mental capabilities to "create" art."

Notice how neither case involves the art itself, just the context people claim it's in.

[hhoneyglasss]

retired from sad, new career in business

notes: hiya. here is cutie.

i hope u enjoy.

pairings: geordi/cutie

pov: cutie — first person limited

word count: 1.4k

ao3 link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/46497778

!! TWs {these begin under the cut} !! slightly graphic imagery, metaphoric mention of vomiting, discussion about current specialized therapy, & mentions of past relationship troubles. if any of these topics are triggering to u, please proceed with caution or do not interact with this work.

reblogs r v much appreciated !

The days were quiet now.

It wasn’t an unpleasant silence—at least, not in the way that it used to be. I've come to like it a lot, actually. Sometimes being the only noise in the house wasn’t so bad—at least not as bad as I used to think it was.

Before now, I’d hated silence since I was a kid. I was almost never around it—my childhood home was always full of the (mental) voices of my family. Never a quiet moment, save for when I was alone, but even then, I’d always have music on or the TV turned to an audible but low volume in the background. I’d do anything to fill in the empty space that silence has a nasty habit of making.

When I grew older and moved out on my own, I always lived with somebody. The buzz of their thoughts would always echo their reverb, and I got used to the noise.

There was never a moment when I was truly by myself. Even when I was asleep, I could hear someone else’s dreams being acted out just a second behind mine. Their thoughts were always playing on a silver screen, one that I wove for myself and only I knew about.

But things were different with Geordi. Now, I had someone else aware of the screen, sitting right next to me as the movie played out before us.

He didn’t like the film, though, and suddenly, I didn’t either.

That’s when the cassette tape’s casing splintered and the roll of film tore. I watched as the screen I’d made ripped apart, threads upon threads coming undone until I was drowning in them.

The only thing left in my theater was a single spotlight that now aimed all of its blistering light onto me. The title of today’s film changed, and suddenly I was the opening act.

Except there wasn’t anybody in the audience. Rows upon rows of empty leather seats stared down at me and the only thing I could focus on was the deafening silence filling up the room.

The only thing clear to me through my tears was Geordi standing at the left side of the theater. His face was dimly lit with the red light of the emergency exit sign, and I opened my mouth to scream to him, but nothing came out. I screamed and screamed and screamed until my throat had been ripped raw, only to choke on the silver pouring from my mouth.

Through the threads dripping with silver, I reached out to Geordi, even when the better judgment of silence told me that I didn’t deserve it. But when I wiped the silver tears from my eyes, the only thing left in his wake was his ticket, now torn to shreds.

I turned slowly to look directly at the spotlight, ignoring the burn in my eyes. I turned again to look at my captive, empty audience, and I screamed again. I wailed and hollered and shrieked until I was dripping silver and I collapsed on the stage, distant claps sounding as the curtain was drawn in a final flourish.

It had been three months since then. Three months since we’d separated—or broken up? Maybe taking a break is the best word. I know I couldn’t tell you.

I’d started seeing someone not long after—maybe two weeks had passed before I’d found an empowered specialist working under D.U.M.P. After our initial appointment, we’d begun meetings three times a week.

Now, two and a half months later, we’ve reduced it to one meeting a week. My specialist, Dr. Almar, said that I’ve been making a lot of progress. She even dared to say that she can see the effort I’m putting in. I still have trouble believing her sometimes.

In the beginning, I felt that same urge I did with her that I had with Geordi. That awful want to look into her thoughts because the other option—not having a clue as to what she was thinking—seemed impossible. I resisted, though, and only five minutes into our first appointment, she asked, “Are you listening to my thoughts right now? Have you at all since we begun talking?”

“No.”

“Good,” she had said, a small smile pulling at the corner of her lips, “That’s the first right step.”

Those words specifically had stuck with me; first right step. From then on, I tried to make those right steps, and I’ll admit they didn’t always go ‘right’. Sometimes I made wrong ones, but I learned that that’s okay. I learned that instead of staying stuck there, standing, I would keep marching forward.

So I did.

I hadn’t talked to Geordi at all in the time we’ve been separated. I waited for him instead, letting him come to me when he felt he was ready to talk again.

I’d already fumbled enough threads—now it was his turn to work the needle.

Today, I sat on the railing of the balcony. It was finally beginning to be warm again, the short days of winter having already passed us by. The sun was setting slowly, its rays painting wide strokes of pink, orange, and purple across the sleepy sky.

A warm breeze blew past me, and I let out a heavy sigh. The city was quieter today than usual—the common hustle and bustle of cars was gone. Instead, I just watched. I saw a couple ride bikes towards the beach, towels almost being sent flying before they both caught them and laughed. I watched as the lights of stores flicked on, their twinkling mimicking the stars that had begun to appear in the sky.

I heard my phone ring inside, and I hopped off of the balcony to head back in. I slid the doors shut before picking up my phone and reading the contact.

Geordi’s name appeared on the screen.

I thought at first that it was a mistake, an accidental clicking of my contact when he meant to call someone else. After the third ring, though, I figured that it wasn’t.

I answered with a deep breath, “Hey, Geordi.”

“Hi,” he greeted.

I paused, unsure of what to say next. Every phrase I could come up with didn’t sound right, everything just slightly off. I let him take the lead.

“How are you?”

I smiled a little. “I’m okay. How have you been?”

“Good.”

The silence came back again before he said, “I just wanted to tell you that I miss you.”

I smiled a little wider. “I miss you too.”

Silence followed once again, but it was natural. Neither of us tried to fill it until the moment felt right. It was new, but it wasn’t bad. I didn’t mind it.

I said next, “I’ve been talking to someone—an empowered specialist. I like it. It’s nice.”

“I’m glad,” he replied, and I loved how I could hear the smile in his voice, “I’m happy beyond words, cutie.”

The old nickname pulled at my heartstrings, and I got a little dizzy. I sat down on the couch.

He spoke up again. “If you’re ready to talk, I’d like to meet up whenever you’re free. I’d really like to see you again, but only if you’re comfortable.”

“No, I’d—I’d really like that, too.”

“Okay,” he said, “What about the coffee shop on Glassglow Boulevard? The one we used to go to?”

“That sounds great,” I answered, “Are you free tomorrow? Maybe around six?”

“Yeah,” Geordi agreed, “It’s a date, then.”

“It is.”

A few moments of silence passed by before I added, “And Geordi, I—I want you to know that I know that things aren’t gonna go back to the way they were, and I—I think that’s a good thing. I think that’s a really good thing, actually. I’m ready to begin our next right step with you, as long as you are.”

“I’m ready, cutie,” he said, “I love you. I love you more than you know.”

“I love you too, Geordi.”

—

We ended the call not long after, both of us confirming the date, time, and location for tomorrow with each other before exchanging ‘good night's' to one another.

I set my phone on the couch and leaned back, turning to look outside. The sun had fully set now, the sky now lit with countless stars. Moonlight lounged across the railing and spilled onto the living room floor.

Liquid silver was now shining back at me, its luminance reflecting off of every surface in the open room. I was surrounded by it, but this time it was different.

There was hope in this silver, a certain glimmer to it that wasn’t there before. There was something in it that told me things were going to be okay—all I had to do was be patient.

It told me that I was making the right steps, and for the first time in a long time, I believed it. I believed in myself.

The room drifted off into silence, and I let myself be enveloped by my spools of silver as they led me back into my theater.

It told me I was making right steps, and for the first time in three months, I believed it. So I welcomed it, and I let myself be enveloped by it as it led me through the night.

[the-dog-watch]

Whimsical, chancy, female, lunar: yaoi and yuri in the Aubrey/Maturin series

the inherent yuri of the sea and the inherent yaoi of the sailor is the most ancient queer solidarity

- twitter user caranthirs. I would link to the tweet, but their account appears to be suspended (RIP)

This essay was born from a discussion prompt asking about the relationship between yaoi and reality. In answering I was reminded of the above tweet. Tongue in cheek as it no doubt is, it’s always really resonated with me and my own personal experience with yaoi, yuri, and queerness, such as it is.

First of all, it’s a truth universally acknowledged that there’s something kind of fruity about the ocean. A great deal of boat media, which is a term that I’m using to encompass everything from Moby Dick to One Piece, from Muppet Treasure Island to the Titan submersible implosion incident of 2023, is intimately concerned with this. One thing I’ve always been intrigued by with boat media is the inherent constraint, the inherent loss of control; even in our modern day, the ocean is an unpredictable element, and to this day it has depths that are literally unfathomable to science. There’s a certain powerlessness one has to give oneself over to to board a boat, and of course there’s timeless romance, endless stories and art and music associated with the sea.

I’ve been to the ocean maybe four times in my whole life, and I’ve always lived in an area of the United States that’s about as inland as it’s possible to be on the planet Earth, but I’ve long been fascinated with boat media, though I was not always conscious why I was drawn to it. When I was growing up I had a persistent autoimmune disorder that destroyed the vision in my right eye and from a very young age I was forced to sit still for various eye exams, procedures, surgeries. Because I was so young when all this started, I never exactly rebelled against it; if I was a fish, then this near-constant constraint placed on me was the water that I swam in. I was a kid who lived in my head a lot, and my head was filled with fantasies of escape. I used to make up stories and tell them to myself before bed, a kind of self-soothing ritual that saw me off to sleep. In more difficult times in my life, especially as an adolescent, this quite literally got me through the day; I would look forward to my little bedtime story, and sometimes not.

The stories differ greatly, but the one thing they’ve all had in common is they’re always about at least two characters who are trapped together, undergoing some kind of external trauma or abuse or privation, and together are trying to escape, but they never succeed. The reason for that is that the stories have no ending, by design; the “end” comes when I fall asleep. Sometimes there are self-inserts, but usually they’re about other characters, usually male characters. For a long time I didn’t exactly understand or think much about why I identified so strongly with these stories, which were sometimes original and sometimes elaborate works of fanfiction, sometimes erotic and sometimes not.

I was something of a late in life yaoi adopter; I was immersed in Western media fandom spaces and I viewed a lot of slash fandom initially with contempt, but based on what I’ve described above it’s maybe not greatly surprising that I became a big yaoi fan when I was around 19 or 20. I found it both enticing and alienating at once; I was a cis girl but I felt like I was a failure as a woman, and reading about or trying to identify with women didn’t always do it for me. There was something about viewing male as the default that was attractive; I remember as a kid, pre-internet, I would consciously look for books about male protagonists, though as an avowed feminist I felt obscurely ashamed of this.

Shame was an essential component of all of this, by the way. Both eroticized shame and the more down to earth, un-fun kind. There was always the question in the back of my mind: did I wish I was the man, or did I desire the man? There were similar questions about my attraction to women, which were even more disquieting in what they did or did not say about me: did I desire a beautiful woman, or did I want to be a beautiful woman? Shame was inextricable, and constant; shame about my nascent queerness, shame over how poorly I performed my own gender, and shame about being into all this yaoi shit in the first place. I had internet friends by this time, but I didn’t tell any of my real life friends about my online activities. I had an absolute horror of being seen as the type of straight girl (or bi girl, as I identified at the time) who fetishizes real life queer men.

Currently, I’m in the middle of reading Patrick O’Brian’s Aubrey/Maturin series. I fucking love it, and something about it has helped me square some of the circles involved here; discussing these books, with other fans online and with unwilling victims loving friends and family members has led me to reflect on some of the above in ways I never have before. It feels freeing in a way I never even knew I was constrained. To bring it back to the quote from the beginning, and also add a passage from the eighth novel in O’Brian’s series:

“‘With the wind as it lies, I believe we may look for them the day after tomorrow,’ said Jack. ‘But tell me, Professor, is not this a most prodigious wearisome ride you are undertaking?[...]’

'No doubt,’ said Graham, ‘but the sea is an uncertain chancy whimsical female lunar element: you advance one mile upon its surface and at the same time the whole body of water has retired a league. I prefer the honest earth, where my advance is absolute, however arduous…” - The Ionian Mission, ch.11, paragraph 50

This character, a haughty diplomat our protagonists are forced to deal with while battling it out with the French in a Grecian port, is not very important in and of himself. Unlike the two principals of the Aubrey/Maturin series, he is no seaman and has no affinity for shipboard life, and his uneasiness while onboard the ship is tinged with a misogynist mistrust of the Mediterranean itself. I prefer to take a horse, like a man, he seems to say, but you and Maturin, feel free to stay here in your gay little boat. 

(Sidenote/fun fact about Jack Aubrey: he has pretensions of being a horseman whenever he’s on land for any length of time, but he is in fact really bad with them and while riding is frequently unseated nearly but not quite as often as Stephen falls out of the fucking boat.)

That is one and this is another of the many, many ways Jack Aubrey and Stephen Maturin get kinda fruity with it; our two main characters are differentiated from landsmen (lubbers!) in this way throughout the series. The sea is dangerous, of course; Jack and Stephen, who face naval battles, sickness and disease, shipwrecks, storms, and volcanic eruptions on their voyages throughout the series, know this better than anyone.  As different as Jack and Stephen are, as different as two men can possibly be, what unites them is a niggling, persistent discomfort with life on land and this, coupled with their very great affection for each other, is why they choose to sail with each other over and over again. Though they came to it by different means, each of them finds that their true homes are on the sea, and with each other. 

The essential yaoi of the seaman, the essential chancy, lunar, yuri element of the sea…. There’s something about it that makes me smile. Yeah…the ocean. She’s a little gay with it. Who isn’t?

[local-redhead-bookworm]

I just got back from seeing Avatar: Way of Water and I’m about to make it everyone’s problem.

First off, the movie was absolutely visually stunning. The planet, the locations, the animals, all of it was gorgeous. Some of the most gorgeous shots I’ve ever seen.

I loved the Metkayina designs. They were clearly designed with water life in mind—the wider tails, wider arms to allow for better swimming. I also noticed inspiration drawn from Māori tattoos for their facial markings.

I loved all the kids, but Spider is definitely my favorite. It just makes me so sad that this kid has grown up never fitting in with the humans or the Na’vi and has been barely tolerated by most adults in his life. I have a lot of thoughts on Spider, but that’s a whole separate post. Basically I love him, I want him to be safe, and he’s a kind kid with a big heart and I’ll defend him to my dying day.

Kiri is a close second favorite. I was literally thinking “are there autistic Na’vi?” Before watching this and I kind of got my answer. Yes, i do 100% see Kiri as autistic. Also she’s canonically epileptic, which I thought was interesting. I just want more disabled characters that are interesting and contribute to the story, and she delivers. I also think it’s so cool that they gave her such a close connection with Eywa (no I don’t have religious trauma leave me alone). My only complaint is that Sigourney Weaver’s voice doesn’t…sound like a teenager’s voice to me. She plays the part very well, but her voice throws me off a bit.

I think it’s very interesting what they’ve done with Quaritch’s character. By making him a clone, you basically start over. He’s got all the memories but basically only a year or so of life experience and a lot of that influences how he interacts with the world, especially Pandora since he’s experiencing it from a new angle. He also noticeably softens toward Spider and while it may have started as manipulative, I do think he genuinely cares for Spider by the end. He reminds me a bit of early-show Zuko, and I can see him getting redeemed through his bond with Spider. I really want to see him link with a Spirit Tree, the existential crisis it would cause would make for great writing.

I don’t feel that Jake has been super poorly written, but I feel that we’re seeing him acting in survival mode so I don’t know what his relationship with his kids is usually like. I understand why he would revert to military training in a time of crisis.

I do feel like Jake has forgotten what it was like to be human in some ways, like he’s forgotten that he wasn’t always Na’vi. He does great his boys like they’re soldiers under his command, and I feel like his treatment of Spider shows just how much he’s forgotten what it was like to be human. What it was like to live in a world that wasn’t compatible with his body.

I also feel like Jake doesn’t have a full grasp of Na’vi culture still, and he sometimes overrides Neytiri when he should listen to her experience. Again, I understand the reasoning, it just annoys me.

Neytiri got shoved to the side a bit, in my opinion. She was in character, and I understand all of her responses, but I felt that Jake didn’t always treat her as an equal or value her knowledge enough. I don’t quite have words for how her emotions impact her character, but they’re all very impressed words. Just wow.

The tulkun are so cool to me. It started out as just kind of a whaling story, but you realize that these creatures are sentient, they’re capable of thought, they’re deeply intelligent beings. They’re people, plain and simple. And seeing the whaling analogy paired with the fact that these creatures are people, it made me nearly cry. Seeing them being murdered and their bodies desecrated for a tiny bit of profit had me cringing in my seat and made me so angry.

Random thoughts in no particular order:

Tsireya is so pretty I love her. She reminds me of a fantasy Elf for some reason.

Quaritch attempting the “death by thighs” move was unexpected, but not entirely unwelcome. I’m used to seeing femme fatale characters use that move, and I’m pretty sure I was blushing.

All of the Sully boys have daddy issues now, and Spider also has mommy issues

The “why so blue?” dad joke and Spider getting the one “fuck” of the movie made me laugh

[time-gear]

A commission for manny__grsk of their latios OC on a ferry! This one was a challenge, but I think I pulled it off c:

If you want a commission like this, all the information + contact can be found here: https://timegear.ink/commissions/

They included a small snippet of their story to go along this! Here's a link to the full version if you'd wanna read more.

As I get onto the deck, the crisp ocean breeze immediately assaults my sense of smell, and a stray gust flicks my unkempt hair to the side. And in front, at the edge of the deck, floats Vien with a mug of his brew clumsily held in his large Feral claws. A few moments pass by before I break the silence, “You good Vien?”

Vien’s ears twitch, signifying he heard my question, and he turns around, taking a long and drawn out sip. “Oh. Hey. Yeah, I’m fine Santo”, he gruffs out in my mind, an expectant smile on his face. “I just got a good feeling about this, and it’s kept me up since the storm let up”.

I give the Feral a chuckle, “Must be a pretty good feeling if it’s got you, the heaviest sleeper I know, up before sunrise.”

At my teasing jab, Vien spits the coffee he was just drinking out to the side. The markings on his wings and paws deepen and flare up in color, sort of like a signal flare “Hey! I am not that bad!”

“I don’t know Vien, when you and Pas reunited four years ago, she went on and on about how you two were kids in Unova’s Dragon Village you could easily sleep a whole day and a half away without a second thought”, I continue smugly, pushing the Feral’s buttons in way only his elder sister or myself really could.

“Alright, alright. Maybe I get a LITTLE carried away with sleep. But c’mon, a few extra hours never hurt anybody here and there. Besides, I’ve pulled my weight when needed anyways, so I think I deserve to sleep in a bit from time to time.” was his rebuttal.

I can’t resist the urge to chuckle at it, “I guess you’re right. You have pulled your weight during the Academy back in Alola. And you’re basically the only reason I know exactly what Sapo and Kouga are saying, so I guess you can sleep in here and there”. I take another sip of my coffee, and again wince at the bitterness. “Man you like it real strong and bitter, dontcha Big Guy?” I half feign a look of disgust.

“Nah, you just like it too dang sweet!” was Vien’s rebuttal, a mirthful laugh filling my mind. “Seriously, only person that likes it sweeter than you, Santo, is your uncle! Seven cream, seven sugar… BAH! How he drinks something like that daily without developing diabetes is beyond me! Same thing with that one food, what was it, Pizza? How can you like pineapple on it? The two flavor profiles don’t mix!”

“Well, I'm not the one that likes his Tauros meat well done, now am I? I’d say that’s the real food crime here” I return his lively chuckle with one of my own, only that mine is actually audible to the outside world.

[chthonicgodling]

(April’s)Huevember - Day 7!

featuring: Maci (right) & (left) Oiolyka

[in which I’ve made my very own #Huevember wheel this year (that you can use too! Pls tag me I’d LOVE to see!) - unabridged version continues, including a wide array of Elysium’verse characters across the rainbow!]

GIRLS NIGHT! an elusive yellow-hair-down Maci makes an appearance today along with one of her besties — WHO?????? A new friend?! Actually no!! one of the OLD Elysium cast members who’s fallen in the cracks over the years bc of me - an obscure blast from the past w Miss Oiolyka! NOTESSS

back in the early early early Elysium’verse days when Maci and Tory were first dating - before Tory was even a god! - exploring Elysium together they’d met a new friend named Glaukos, a god with a mermaid tail who i. Also literally never draw. (HINT HINT REMEMBER THAT NAME FOR… REASONS)

eventually Glaukos met a cutie patootie sea nymph and took her home to befriend Maci & Tory too - and that was Oiolyka!!!

punky adjacent enough to move to the depths of the Underworld though she and Glaukos - who did eventually start to date, then eventually got married 🥰 - live in the waters of the Blessed Isles specifically , a beach resort in the middle of Elysium lmfao though it, like everything else down below, is gothy don’t worry. black sand… etc

Oiolyka was a regular cast feature up til around the time Maci and Tory got married, cause right after that she and Glaukos actually got pregnant - with QUADRUPLETS aahhhh. That was in literally 2010 and to this day I have never ONCE drawn the quads which is on my to do list for post Huevember OOPSSSS

but after the kids were born she moved to the blessed isles as mentioned above and only makes cameo appearances every now and then to hang out!!

and so - as one of my rare Elysium yellows - Here she is hanging out! gal pals 🤪 …..Maci’s slept with her obviously but. that’s just how she treats all her closest friends 🥰😘 mwah

Day 8 tomorrow with another obscure pair! Shifting into the greens and cool colors means lots of people from the woodwork tbh lmfao YAY “NEW��� FACES! Or at least like, rare faces

Maci’s mine but Oiolyka belongs to @fenixethekid - click the link up above to see the whole Huevember wheel - feel free to use the tag AceprilHuevember if u want to play too - and my tag this year can be found here!!

[golvio]

Headcanon rambling ahoy, inspired by my thoughts from a Twitter thread that I had no room for, about a topic that people might not be interested in/care to hear contrasting headcanons about.

Again, this is a headcanon, not a theory or assertion I expect anyone to take as fact. These are my personal opinions on the matter, feel free to ignore them if you disagree with them.

Am I the only person who doesn’t really see Ganondorf as “dad” material? Besides the fact that he seems absolutely uninterested in procreation, much less marrying a queen or even having girlfriends. It feels like all the popular headcanons I’ve seen involve him having a gaggle of concubines and a million biokids, or he’s constantly adopting the younger iterations of Zelda & Link after being overwhelmed by paternal instinct, but…I just don’t see it. Like, I get that one scene with him tucking in an unconscious Tetra in Wind Waker resonated with a lot of people, but I feel like whatever sympathy he felt for Tetra was a very special case, given how he’s drawn to people he feels he has something in common with, particularly some sort of loss or denial of one’s ambitions or potential by The Gods/fate/Hylia herself/the royal family/whatever.

His aversion to/complete lack of interest in cishetero entanglements in every game he’s been in is to the point where, even if he’s not necessarily not attracted to women, I feel like there’s something about Gerudo culture that means marriage or even a totally informal romantic/sexual relationship with a woman would severely limit his personal and political autonomy as king. Also, the guy intends to live forever. He can’t really do that when he has a bunch of snotty, spoiled little blood descendants getting all uppity about their inheritance and trying to off him because he won’t get his ancient butt off that throne. Why on earth would a guy concerned with that carelessly spray his gametes around like some medieval European monarch?

The guy’s not even willing to marry a woman for political reasons! Not even for a land or cash grab from a rich and powerful family, or to stabilize relations with a warring kingdom, or to solidify his claim to a land he conquered, which was the only reason why nobles ever got married back then. He has kidnapped Zelda a million times, but has never once breathed a word about marrying her despite his whole schtick being the ultranationalist “Big Scary Foreigner Man Threatens Our Nation’s Fair, Nubile Women.”

I really do believe that one of the big reasons he keeps cutting ties with the Gerudo, beyond the political disagreements and murder and starting/continuing multiple wars, is that he cannot stand the pressure put on him as king to marry and make babies. He loves his culture. He loves his position. He loves his people (provided they respect him, keep their hands to themselves, and let him be in charge of everything). But he does not love the prospect of being passed off to someone like a prized breeding bull just because the elders of every tribe in the Gerudo region got together and decided she’d be the best candidate for queen.

And then there’s my general read on his personality. I can see him being the owner of many dangerous pets who he spoils rotten. I can see him tending a garden outside his castle full of brightly flowering ornamental plants (which are also very dangerous and would probably kill anyone who didn’t take the proper safety precautions). But I can’t see him raising a kid, whether from infancy or adopted at an older age. If he tried, he’d probably be really bad at it. The guy’s practically oozing generational trauma instead of sebum from the oil glands in his skin, getting it on everything he touches. He’s gotta sort his own business out before even considering taking on someone else’s. 😅

[unproduciblesmackdown]

transcribed some parts of this fun & informative podcast interview of will roland’s that i thought were especially so, but also the entire thing is great so feel free to check it out in full via the link in the source:

(re: The Panic of ‘29)

Charles: When you're working on a play like this that's set in a very specific period, how do you sort of do research, and were there any specific people that you based this character on, or...?

Will: Um, y'know, the character is, uh—is loosely based on, uh, [laughs] loosely based on a character that I played in another show? I sort of imagined, uh, Jimmy to be a younger version of, um.... Every year, uh—well, not for the past few years, but for many, many years, uh, we've done, uh, with Joe Iconis, we've done, uh, a big Christmas Extravaganza. Uh, and one of the recurring characters in that, uh, is a character named [in Mr. Macabee voice] Mr. Macabee, the old-timey barkeep! [drops voice] And he's, uh, y'know, he's a sort of mystical barkeep, uh—uh, who sort of serves as a—a spirit guide in that show, and I thought, like, "Oh, I wonder if Jimmy is like—if a young Jimmy Armstrong becomes a—a Mr. Macabee as—[laughing] as he gets older," um, and so, uh, it—it began sort of there...

—

(also re: The Panic of ‘29)

Charles: And have there been a lot of changes made to this play, or—or any changes since you've started with it?

Will: Um, y'know, since—since we started, uh, there have been—there have certainly been some changes? Y'know, some—some little stuff here, reacting to what actors are doing, um, y'know, they added a scene, uh, while we were in rehearsals? Um, y'know, there's, uh.... Without spoiling too much, there's a large explosion near the end of the show, and I think that, uh, one of the things that they wanted to do for clarity was they added a scene, uh, wherein we meet, uh, the people who are responsible for that explosion. That was not in it when we started.

—

Charles: And so now I would love to go all the way back to the beginning to ask you: how did you first become interested in theatre?

Will: Oh, how'd I first become interested in theatre—I think that, um, I have always had a sort of performer's streak? Um, I think, y'know, even as a little kid, uh, my family would identify sort of—I loved sort of singing and playing pretend and—and—and I was a very animated, (Charles: [laughs]) and—and—I—always a storyteller, um, I did, uh—I've always loved the film It's A Wonderful Life? Uh, it's one of my favorite movies ever, uh, and I used to do, like, a George Bailey impression when I was like, five years old. 'S a very—'s a very strange thing for a five year old [laughing] to latch on to, but I—but that was what sort of got me going, um, and then, uh, as I got a little older, um, I started doing theatre in school, y'know, in middle school, and I—and I think that...it started out as, like, 'Oh, I'll give this a try,' and then, as I did it, ah, the thing that kept me there, I think, was less, like, the theatre per se, I think it could've been an—any activity, but I was really drawn to the community, and I was really drawn to the kind of spirit of collaboration, and, uh, y'know, I think I loved being in rehearsals, and building sets, and—and—y'know, doing runs of shows; I think all of—all the people, and the social aspect really appealed to me? Um, and then as I got a little older, um, y'know, as I was starting to go to college, and—and think about where I was applying, and what I wanted to study, um...it sort of occurred to me, and I was like, 'Oh, maybe...I would like to try to be a professional actor.' Which—which is sort of a thing that had not, uh... It wasn't that I'd, like, never thought about it, but it was not, like, I wasn't, like, ten years old, being like, 'I'm gonna be on Broadway someday!' That was not my, uh, trajectory. Um...and I think that, uh, I—I have been very blessed, I—I've had a really wonderful career, um, I didn't really do anything professionally before I graduated college. I was—I was fully nose in the books, um, y'know, doing educational theatre for many, many years. Um, and—and once I graduated college, I sort of tried my hand, uh, working professionally. And—and my first job was actually, uh, here! At 59E59. So. I'm returning to the scene of the crime, as it were. [Laughs]

Charles: And when you made this decision about being a professional actor, were your parents and people around you supportive of it, or, how'd that sort of go?

Will: Yes. I'm, uh, I'm very lucky. I—I have, um, I have a group of, uh, my family especially, uh, is incredibly, incredibly supportive, has always been incredibly supportive, um, it's one of those things that, um... Everybody has their own journey through this world, and I have always sort of marvelled at folks who have done it without family support? I just don't know—personally, I don't think I—I would have the strength. (Charles: [laughs]) Because there are so many...people and forces in this—in this life, in this career, uh, who are telling you, uh, 'You can't, you shouldn't, you're not enough, you're incorrect, if you just fix this one thing, blah blah blah blah blah—' Some of them are trying to be helpful, some of them are not. But there's a lot of energy, uh, that sort of says, like...is not supportive, overtly. Um, and my parents have always been a no questions asked [laughs] unconditional support element. I could do bad work, and they will say it is good. And I think that it is, uh, I think if you're gonna embark on this kind of career, anything where you have to put yourself out there this much, um...you gotta have somebody who is just like, 'You're good!' no matter what. No feedback, no qualifiers, no...like, y'know, helpful criticism, just 'You're good! You're doing great, keep doing it,' because there will always be people who are telling you, uh, what you can fix, and—and what you can improve, um, and I'm—and I think having a group in my life that is just positivity has been a real bedrock of my progress in this life.

—

Will: My high school theatre program was a really exceptional place, run by, uh, really—really smart, wonderful people, um, who understood theatre as a tool for building community, um, which I thought was really great, uh, because they, um... Y'know, I think there are a lot of programs out there that are about, like, training young people to be professional actors? Um, I think that's really valuable, but it was not the kind of training that I needed or wanted, um, and so I'm sort of glad that I didn't, uh...I didn't have that experience. Oh my god, his name is Jimmy Powers! (Charles: Ah!) No wonder I thought it was Jimmy Armstrong, I was like—and then I went back to City of Angels. I was like, Jimmy Powers. So yeah, that was my—my first role in high school... Um, and then in college, uh, I—I got really lucky, um... Every time I tell my story about, like, how I got here, there's a lot of moments where I say, like, 'Yeah, I was really lucky!' (Charles: [laughs]) Um, I—I reflect on that luck, uh, a lot. Um, and, uh, so, a few weeks into my college experience, um, I had a professor named John Simpkins, who's a director, he runs the program at Penn State now, he's an excellent guy—um, and he brought in, uh, a frequent collaborator of his, uh, who is Joe Iconis. (Charles: Oh...) Who I have since had a very long collaboration with. And I met Joe when I was eighteen years old, y'know, six weeks into my freshman year at college, um, and I immediately fell in love with his music, um, and it was the first time in my life that I started to think about, like, 'Oh...like, when you go see a musical on Broadway...if it's not a revival, then it's a new musical! (Charles: [laughs]) And, like, someone made that musical—like, someone wrote it, and, like, all those actors that are in it, like, they...they were the first people to ever play those roles,' and I—I became immediately very, like, taken with that. Um—I—it really—and I, uh... Most of what I have done in the last ten or twelve years, uh, has been development of new musicals. So I was lucky enough to work on new musicals at NYU, um...and also do some great revivals, we did Violet, uh, we did a show called The Fix, which is, like, a weird mid-'90s Manchurian Candidate musical... Um, uh, what else did we do in college? We did Bat Boy, which is my favorite—a—all-time favorite shows, which is so, so, so great... Um...man, I'm trying to remember my—the college stuff, I have much more vivid memories of the high school shows. But a lot of the college stuff was about, uh, sort of discovering my love for new musicals. And—and—and getting to...try my hand at some development. And then...since graduating, I—I've really—that's really where a lot of my energy has gone.

—

Charles: And, so, before The Black Suits, I believe, was The Bus at 59E59—(Will: Yes!)—and, so, what was that play about, for those who...?

Will: Um, The Bus, uh, which was—which was seen by dozens of people eleven years ago, [laughs] um, uh, The Bus was a play about, uh, two young men growing up in a—a sort of nondescript, uh, Midwestern town; it's not clear if we're in Kansas or Ohio, or—but we're sort of somewhere in the heartland of America, uh, and it is basically a love story, uh, between these two adolescents.... Um, it unfortunately does end tragically, um, but one of the things that was sort of exciting about that production was that, uh, it was produced by, uh, this fella named, um, named Nate Phelps, who is the estranged son of Fred Phelps, who is the Westboro Baptist, uh, minister, so, you know, like, y'know, the—the "God hates F-words," y'know, the—(Charles: Yeah.)—notoriously loud, anti-gay church. Um, so this was produced by this estranged son who escaped from this—this cult, um, and so after we did the show at 59E59, we actually went, uh, to Topeka, uh, and we did a performance in Topeka and a performance in Wichita, um, and we were, you know, picketed by Westboro Baptists, it was very exciting, it felt like, um, it felt like—well, what was very cool was that it felt like it got to be a—a show that sort of blended some political beliefs within the show with some real-deal bonafide activism, uh, at a time when, y'know, I mean, this feels like ancient history now, uh, but like, in, y'know, in 2011, like, gay marriage was not legal in this country, and...y'know, it was—the climate was different, uh, than it is now. And so, uh, it—it felt like we were really sort of, uh...fightin' the good fight. Um, so that—that was a really wonderful experience for me. And for that to be my—my first professional job gave me a real sense of purpose and meaning, uh, in the work that I do, and in the power of my work to effect change in the world.

—

Charles: And so, to go to, um, The Black Suits, I'd love to ask: what is your collaboration like with Joe Iconis, and what makes him such a great collaborator?

Will: Um, my collaboration with Joe is hands-down my favorite artistic endeavor of my entire life. Um, I have never met a writer who understands and is so excited by all the dimensions of me, as an actor and a person; I've also never met, uh, a songwriter whose words and music I find quite as exciting as what Joe writes. I—I think Joe is simply the best musical theatre writer alive, um, that—I know it's a big statement, and—but, y'know, it's just—it's just one man's opinion. Um, I think that—I think that what Joe writes is so human; he is so interested in, uh, like, regular people, and regular experiences; he's so interested in—in portraying—in musicals that allow people to be ugly, and human, and sort of warts and all, uh, and he's interested in, uh, y'know, he always tries to fill his shows with people that look like people you might see on the street, uh, but then they sort of open their mouths and all of a sudden they're these incredibly talented actors and singers and dancers. Um, and I think that his—his fixation and his passion is a love of people, uh, and a love of language, and, uh, I think whenever I get the opportunity to see his work or read his work, um, I'm just so...uh, transported by it. Um, it feels so...relatable, and pedestrian, and normal, but also it feels—the stakes feel huge. It feels like Greek tragedy presented in, y'know, sort of regular, everyday speech.

—

(re: The Black Suits)

Will: What happened, was, uh, y'know, there's the—there's a local paper out there, the L.A. Times, Charles McNulty writes for the Times, uh, he real—he really didn't like the show at all! Um, and he wrote a really bad review, and—y'know, there were a couple, like, at—at the time sort of like, blog reviews were not...as present as they are now? And, y'know, so there was like, the L.A. Times, then there was a bunch of stuff that nobody read. Uh, and the L.A. Times hated it, and all that stuff that nobody read, uh, liked it, um, and so what ended up happening was, y'know, we had a six-week run, and every day it was, y'know, a half to two-thirds full, um, and all of those people had an incredible day at the theater. Um, and—and it was, uh, a really sort of difficult and a valuable learning experience, where I was doing this show that I loved, this role that I loved, uh, y'know, all this stuff was—and we knew it was good, because every night, people would—would lose their minds for this show! They'd leap to their feet for this—this like, weird play about, like, boys in a garage band. Um, and, y'know, and I—it—it was this sort of reminder that this—this industry [laughing] can be incredibly cruel, um, at moments, and, y'know, I sort of came back from that show, and...a—a little bit dejected, and a little bit like, oh, I've spent the last couple years of my life really thinking that this show was gonna take me to the next level, um, y'know, and it—and it did in certain ways, internally and emotionally, um, and it really prepped me for what was coming next in my life, but, uh, y'know, in that—in that time between...y'know, I came back in November of 2013 from doing The Black Suits, and then in the summer of 2014 I started working on Dear Evan Hansen, so it's like a eight-month stretch, where I was, uh, like, really, really bummed out. Um, but I think I was primed in a—in a very good way to walk into the Dear Evan Hansen process and—and really sort of, like, y'know, bring my A-game, and—and—and be grateful for what—what was happening there.

—

(re: Dear Evan Hansen)

Will: But I think what started to happen was, uh, with the group of actors that they had in the room, and with the score that Benj and Justin had written, uh, and the—and the way that Steven Levenson, in being a good writer, was really humanizing all of these people, uh, it became harder and harder to poke fun at them? Uh, and—and as time went on, the show became more interested in...like, what is grief, and what is grieving, and...what needs to be true, and what can occur with sort of false truths, and I—I think the show was really interested in saying, like, how much healing can come from a bad act? And I think that's the main question of the show, and—and I think what we see on stage is that...almost all of the characters in the show, uh, end up better off? Because of this terrible thing that Evan has done? Uh, and—and—and I—I think the show is really fascinated by, like, what—what is the harm there, and what does it mean, and—and—and how d—like, wh—uh, what does truth mean? And what does grief mean? And how do they intersect? And I—I—I think that, uh, that was the sort of biggest change, was the way that it really...embraced the healing that people feel, uh, y'know, when a celebrity dies, and they—and they write a Facebook post about it, like, th—we can sort of make fun of that, y'know, being like, "Y'know—you didn't know that celebrity," but...the parasocial relationship means something to the grieving person. And so they—y'know, Dear Evan Hansen is like, [laughing] what if you had a parasocial relationship with someone you knew, and grieved for them in that way. So, that—that was the big—the big shift.

—

(re: Dear Evan Hansen; Michael Greif)

Will: The way that he led that process, of discovering the soul and humanity of this show, and then putting it onstage in a way that was effective and efficient and—and—and really, like, uh—uh, worked for people. Because I think that...it—nowadays, you're like, "Oh, Dear Evan Hansen, it's a big hit, everybody likes it," but I think when we started doing this show it was not so obvious that this sort of...very funny, but also very touching story about this boy who does this terrible thing after this young man dies, and, it, like—we were sort of like, "Are people gonna go for this? Like, is this gonna work?" It was not, like, an obviously good idea for a musical on paper, um, and I think that, uh, Michael especially was—was the one who...knew which way to take it so that it did work, and so that people did take the ride. Um....dyeah I like him so much. He's also a good friend.

—

Will: It's humbling, and it's strange. It's the kind of thing that you don't, um.... There are many talented, successful actors and theatre makers in this world, who have long, successful careers, and never have the experience like we had on Dear Evan Hansen. It's a very strange, sort of black swan event, um, and...I think that it was, it—it—when things like that happen, it's a sort of unique combination of the show itself, and where the culture is, when the show sort of hits its maximum prominence. So, I think that, like, Dear Evan Hansen arriving on Broadway in the fall of 2016, uh, with sort of where American culture was, and where cultural conversation was, created a really specific moment for this show to sort of thrive and explode. Um, and—and I think that—I think at the end of the day, it's—it's—it's really good, it's like a really well-written, well-made, well-produced show, um, but there lots of those out there that don't hit in the way that Dear Evan Hansen did, and I think it's sort of, um.... I, personally, don't have such an ego as to say that, like, "Well, the reason Dear Evan Hansen is what it is is because it's that much better than other shows"—[laughs] that, y'know, um, and I—and I—I don't think it's that, but I think that there is a sort of zeitgeist, there is a sort of spirit, um, and—and what was sort of strange was...uh, y'know, we opened Dear Evan Hansen on Broadway in the winter of 2016, uh, and so...2017, the first sort of six months of that year leading up to the Tonys was the big...sort of time when it all blew up. That's when the album came out, and that's when I went from having, y'know, four thousand Twitter followers to having sixty thousand Twitter followers, and things like that, y'know, that all happened in, like, a six-month span. And at the same time, that was happening with two other shows. That was happening with Heathers, and that was happening with Be More Chill. Um, and—and it was really fascinating to watch the sort of, uh, way that tastes are made, and—and—and influence sort of organically passes back and forth on the internet. Because a lot—a lot of Dear Evan Hansen's success was within traditional theatre success? It's, like, a—a nice review in the New York Times, a bunch of Tony nominations, like—y'know, very traditional ways to succeed, and—and—and—and become spectacular. But it also, uh, infiltrated all of these, uh—these—it—uh, nontraditional, uh, venues. Which is—social media, uh, and all that stuff—and so it was interesting to see the nontraditional path happen for a few shows at once, while our show was also on the very traditional path, um, to being a hit. Uh, and I think that it—it—it really made me aware of...how the shows that I know about, from, say, twenty years ago, came to me through a very specific filter, of, like, did the New York Times critic like it? Did it do well at the box office that season? Did it win Tony awards? Like, these are very.... The shows that I know about, from the ‘70s and ‘80s and ‘90s, usually had those things happen to them. And it always makes me wonder about, like, what are the other shows out there that I don't know about, that I probably would love, if those people had decided they liked it.

—

Charles: And, so, as an actor yourself, how do you sort of balance the having so many followers on social media from Dear Evan Hansen and from Be More Chill with—with just, like, going about life and all that, and...?

Will: Um...I mean, I'm—I'm lucky in—insofar that I'm not, like, uh, I'm not like, famous-famous? You know what I mean? Like, I'm not, like—I can—I can walk out my door, and... (Charles: [laughs]) I can walk down the street, I'm not—I'm not, like, Beyoncé. [laughing] Um, you know, but, uh—uh—uh, it is—uh, it—it's interesting, with social media, I...uh...I—I'm, uh, I—I'm thirty-three years old, um, and I view, personally, like, everything that is on social media is a performance? Um, I think that individuals posting about their...sandwiches at—at lunch is per—is performance, and the stuff that I put out on my, uh, Twitter and Instagram is also performance, um, and—and I think that, uh, y'know, I'm—I'm a—I'm a pretty private person? Um, y'know, I—folks who've met me at the stage door know that I'm—I'm sort of, like, I dunno, I think sometimes I come off as rude, and I don't mean to, but I just sort of, like, am—I get really overwhelmed, by, uh—y'know, when—especially—especially, like, stagedoors being inside of those barricades, uh— (Charles: Oh, yeah.) Sort of—sort of makes my heart race, and—and—and gives me anxiety, and—and I—I don't, uh, I don't like that experience? I'm grateful for the people who are there, I'm grateful for their support, I'm grateful that they're, y'know, that—that they—that they want to see us, um, but it definitely is, like, com—this specific environment is, like, not for me. Um...and so I—I sort of use—I use social media as a way of sort of performing in that sphere, uh, without, uh...uh, putting myself in bodily—physical harm. (Charles: [laughs]) Um, y'know, 'cause most people are very nice! Y'know, there's a lot of nice people out there, and I have no, like...I have nothing but gratitude, um, y'know, for their support, but at the same time, like, sometimes the ways that it is shown makes me go, like, [mimics hyperventilating inhale/exhale]

—

Will: And I think that Dear Evan Hansen is a—a character study in—in grief, and in sorrow, and in truth, um, and what is true.... I think that Be More Chill is a celebration of all types of diversity; I think it is a celebration of—of different personalities, and different interests, and body types, and races, and cultures, and genders, and neurodivergent folks, and I think that it's like, the show is so, uh, it—it—it—it's.... Be More Chill is not ever telling anyone, like, "I know it's sad now, but don't worry, like, it's gonna get fixed later." (Charles: [laughs]) Be More Chill says, like, "No, this is it. And it's time to celebrate what this is." Um, and I think that the finale of the show especially—I think "Voices In My Head" is the ultimate sort of, like...everyone in the company shares their strange, eccentric truth with one another, while our protagonist acknowledges that, like, "Well, this is my lot in life. [Laughing] Um, and—and I'm gonna choose to celebrate it and choose to meet it with joy and choose to love myself, um, even—even on the hard days." Um, and I think that, uh, all of that is—is only made possible when none of the characters onstage are an archetype or a stereotype or a caricature or a device. They have to be real, complicated people.

—

Will: Making sure that, uh, we had enough moments to check in with Jeremy, our protagonist, and...learn what he's thinking about, and learn why he's doing what he's doing, and—and, uh, y'know, that's one of the things that Dear Evan Hansen does really well, is all of the song moments and all of the conversations with Connor, is, uh, that's when you learn why Evan is doing what he's doing. And so, then, I think that—not, like...nobody was talking about Dear Evan Hansen in the room, but I was sort of reflecting on that at the time, it was like, "Oh, yeah, it's good that the audience be given opportunities to meet our protagonist who is doing dumb things, (Charles: [laughs]) and learn why he's doing these dumb things."

—

Will: It was very important to me that we see him try. I was like, there's a lot of text, uh—in the score, and on the page, where Jeremy sort of complains about how nobody likes him, and how he's so uncool, and nobody understands him, and I was—I—I said to Stephen Brackett, our director, and—and to Joe—the Joes, Joe Tracz and Joe Iconis—I was like, it's so important to me, and I want you to—y'know, help me with this—that the audience see Jeremy attempt to be a part of these social circles and be rejected. Because I think if he doesn't—if we don't see him try and try and try again, then he's just like, kind of a whiner. (Charles: [laughs]) Um...and—and so I think what I—what I did was I sort of did my best to, as we went along, really internalize the way that the other characters onstage were treating me? Um, and then, I—I think...ultimately, the Jeremy that I came to was Jeremy believing all the things that people say to him in the first, y'know, half-hour of the show.

—

Charles: So, Be More Chill and Dear Evan Hansen, of course, as we discussed before, were musicals that had a lot of following on social media and all that, but, um, Dear Evan Hansen was sort of able to run for a lot longer on Broadway, and do you think that was another example of the sort of time thing, or—what do you think that was?

Will: Um... Y'know? I think the, uh, I think the—the tricky thing about, uh, that whole process, uh, was—and, y'know, I was talking before about how, uh, there—there are plenty of good musicals, but maybe they didn't get nice New York Times reviews, or Tony nominations, or—or sell a lot of tickets? Um, I think that, uh, Be More Chill was—was, uh, a moment where certain sort of gates were closed to us? And, y'know, especially by way of, like I said, like, reviews, I mean, uh...the New—the New York Times was not kind. Um, and then I—I had this experience very often, after the show, where I would meet someone, uh, y'know, normally there was a younger person, a person in their teens or twenties, they were accompanied by an adult who I perceived to be in their forties, fifties, sixties, um, and the adult would say to me, 'Oh, y'know, I really didn't think I was gonna like this, (Charles: [laughs]) I didn't think it was for me, but I had a great time!' And I would sort of ask them, as politely as I could, like, 'Why didn't you think this was for you?' Um, and—and a lot of times they would say, like, 'Oh, well, I—I read in the Times that it was for kids,' and...I—I was sort of, like, 'Well...we don't think it's for kids, and, y'know, tell your friends.' Um, and I think that, y'know, it—it was—it was a really interesting, uh, y'know, and—and then the—the Tony nominations came around and—and it sort of felt, uh, y'know, kind of cruel, the ways in which the show was not acknowledged, and it sort of felt like, uh, a small group of people, at a few moments, had really sort of, uh, acted to, uh, sort of counter the love of a very large group of people. Y'know, we had, like, hundreds of thousands of fans online whose support, uh, y'know, made this show happen, and they showed up at the theater, I mean, every night they were screaming, it was like a rock concert. Um, and...y'know, it—but, unfortunately, we weren't able to get over these sort of, uh, gates that were—that were set up for us. Um, and so I think that's what ultimately led to—I mean, y'know, the show closed because it—didn't—I—Broadway shows close because they don't sell enough tickets. (Charles: [laughs]) That's the, like, beginning, middle, and end of it, and at the end of the day, like, we were discounting too many tickets to remain open financially, and I think a lot of that had to do with, uh, y'know, the—the sort of, uh...headwinds that came at us from within the industry.

[rosetinted-selfshipping]

Yoooo it’s your girl, this girl 🤠

So I’ve finally done the impossible,

I’ve gotten into Proseka!

I’ve done NOTHING as you can see but I feel like after over 5 attempts (Attempts being me redownloading and deleting the game for reasons I can’t remember) THIS is the timeline I finally get into it!

Only reason I haven’t pulled at all yet other then the 4 star Ruki I was amazingly lucky to get they’re having an event banner with my least favorite group I’m waiting to end (Pulls in my experience are hard to save up in this game so sorry group I don’t like that much whose name I can’t be bothered to spellcheck rn)

If I had to rank the groups in this point in time it’d be

1. More More Jump!

2. Wonderland x showtime

3. Leo need

4. Vivid bad squad

5. 25 something 🫠

I’m a giant Mitchie M fan and More More jump just HAPPENS to have all my favorite vocaloid songs like- literally also I’m a slut for Idols so 🤷‍♀️

With wonderland x showtime it’s pretty much the same thing as More More jump just to a lesser degree I like Tsukasa’s “star factor” and I just find his whole “I wanted to cheer my little sister up” thing endlessly endearing (I’m a sucker for a good big brother idk) Rui Is handsome, Nene is adorable and I like Emu’s energy!

I like Leo Need’s characters and story more then their music tbh ya see as you can probably tell my personal experience with Vocaloid before this game plays a lot into my opinion of the groups and while I love J-rock and the like I never ventured much into that sphere with Hatsune Miku but I’m pretty much an infant when it comes to this whole “Sector” of vocaloid but I do like it! Especially “Roki Roki” it’s my favorite! Also Saki and Ichika are my favorite Proseka girls (My other two favorites being Minori and An)

With Vivid bad squad I think they’re cute but they don’t do much for me, but again I love An, I think Touya is cute and they do have songs I like just not as many as other groups! (Ready steady and drop candy to name some!) but dang it An is cute! I wanna eat the Candy in her hair! *Noms at nothing*

25 nightcord does absolutely nothing for me I’m sorry everybody, I have failed every emo in the classroom. You see as I’ve said previously my past experience with vocaloid plays a lot into my experience with the groups of this game and they represent a lotta different vocaloid “Sections” really well! The hip hop inspired stuff the stuff trying to be more Idoly or cheerful and even rock! And of course, Emo vocaloid (I say this with affection) It’s part of our culture damn it! But like I found vocaloid as a kid and as a kid… I was drawn to shiny pink bubblegum stuff (L.O.L was my anthem as a kid) So the emo stuff flew under my radar very easily I didn’t hear Rolling girl until last year (And I did myself a favor it’s a masterpiece!) But other then one or 2 I can’t think of I can’t think of a single 25 song I like and the characters haven’t done anything for me YET (I hope this will change)

Anyway I’m also gonna talk about D4DJ mix cause as much as I’m enjoying ProSeka I’m enjoying that more lmao

(Link to D4DJ post cause they’re sisters I guess)

[hatchetfield-bang]

Lonely Parade

Author: Ember @the-spaced-out-ace

Artist: Owen @unowers

Beta: Teddy @sweetlycharlotte

Rating: T

Pairings: Minor Pete Spankoffski/Steph Lauter

Warnings: Past Major Character Death, Graphic Depictions of Violence

Peter was six years old the summer he met his brother. What he hadn't initially known is that Ted was a ghost.

Excerpt below the cut!

Pete sat at the fence cross-legged and still facing the front yard. For several minutes, he tossed his bouncy ball up and down, trying (and usually failing) to catch it in the air. This went on, over and over, seemingly in an endless, mindless loop, only broken by the teenage boy walking away from the porch and reentering Pete’s field of vision.

He stared at the teen, still wondering who he was and why he was there. He looked upset, Pete noticed. His Grown Up Affairs must not have gone well.

The teen boy caught Pete’s eye and stared right back. After an awkward moment of silence, Pete stood up and called out, “Hello?”

The teen looked a little startled at the sudden call from Pete, but approached the fence anyway. After a few seconds of clearly trying to choose the right thing to say, he replied, “Ah, what’s up, um...kid?”

“What are you doing in my front yard?” Pete asked timidly.

“Yours?” the teen repeated. Again, that brief look of shock. He collected himself and said, “I used to live here. It’s...been a long time. I think. But I find myself drawn here occasionally. Today was the first time I actually tried to pay a visit.”

“Oh.”

“It’s just...really weird. I don’t really remember where I was before I got here. The last few days have just felt like a blur. As if I didn’t exist at all in all that time.”

“Oh.” Pete said again. Then he eyed the teen suspiciously. “Are you on drugs—?”

“What? No!” the teen interrupted.

“—because Daddy says that weird, spacey teenagers use drugs,”

“Kid, do you even know what a drug is?”

“Not really,” Pete answered, rather timidly. “I just know that they’re apparently really bad.”

“Smart kid,” the teen replied. “Hey, could you tell your parents that your doorbell is broken? I couldn’t get it to ring at all, and I tried about fifteen times.”

“They’ll ask how I know and I’ll have to tell them I was talking to a stranger. I’m not supposed to talk to strangers.” Pete said.

“You’re the one who started talking first, kid,”

“Oh, right.”

The two boys fell silent, staring at each other from their own side of the chain link fence and occasionally almost saying something else before awkwardly shutting their mouths again. After a few minutes, the teen finally continued with, “I’m Ted, by the way,”

Pete supposed some sort of confused look came over him, as the boy (named Ted, apparently. Should Pete know that name? He felt like he should know that name) said “So we’re not exactly strangers, and your parents won’t be as worried,”

“Oh,” the younger boy replied. “My name is Peter. My mommy calls me Pete, though.”

“Alright. It’s nice to meet you, Peter.” Ted smiled.

“You, too,” said Pete. “When did you live here?”

“When I was about your age,” Ted answered. “Well, all my life, really. Up until recently.”

“I’ve lived here all my life, too.” Pete explained. “Why’d you move?”

All the color seemed to drain from Ted’s face, and then some. “I...I don’t remember,” he mumbled, but quickly (and more loudly) corrected with, “Or know. I mean, I don’t know. Like I said, everything feels like a blur.”

“Oh,” Pete said again. “What was it like here when this was your house?”

“I didn’t really like it,” Ted began dryly. “I didn’t really get along with my parents. Or my stepmom, once she came into the picture. And I spent a lot of nights alone in my room not doing anything. But I still miss this house. I wanted some closure, I guess.”

“I think this house is cool,” Pete said.

Ted grinned sadly. “Then I hope it never stops being magical for you.”

Pete’s mom’s voice rang into the backyard. “Pete, come inside, lunch is ready.”

Pete wanted to ask Ted more questions about himself. He stared up at the teen, wide-eyed and reluctant, but Ted said, “Go on inside, kid.”

“Okay,” Pete replied.

“Hey, maybe you’ll see me around,”

“Okay,” Pete repeated. He began to walk to the house’s back door, but when he was about halfway across the yard he turned around and exclaimed, “Bye, Teddy!”

Ted let out a quiet chuckle under his breath.

“Bye, kid,”

[gloriousmonsters]

I am (as always) very intrigued by "monsters"! Can I ask more about that one?

So I searched around and found that I actually have a pitch for this story (it's an original WIP) still up from earlier this year, so I'm gonna link that here for context and then just go ahead and give an excerpt with the first title drop :P

“Did he come up with The Bedtime Country?” Max finally asked. 

“Not exactly. It was both of us… but I pitched the initial idea, the first time we really sat down and talked.” 

She can’t help a small laugh escaping. “Weren’t you a business major? Did you just have a children’s show pitch in your back pocket?” 

Blythe’s expression is distant, for a moment; it’s hard to tell what emotion is turning his dark eyes flat and withdrawn. After a moment, it clears up into his usual smile. “Something like that,” he said. “I don’t want to bore you with the details, but my career path at the time didn’t excite me much. I’d had the idea for Bedtime Country for… a long time, since I was a child. But I’ve never been… artistic, creative in the right way. I couldn’t do anything with it. It took Des to bring it to life.” 

Max rubs her fingers free of salt, a sudden awkward curiosity overwhelming her. Before she could chicken out, she asks, “You sent me those materials once, so have you… have you ever seen my art?” 

His eyes grow warmer. “I have. You’re very talented; just like Des.” 

It makes a small, weird flower of warmth bloom inside Max’s chest to hear that. She’d spent all of her life so detached, moving too often to make real friends, unable to ever connect with Jess in the ways daughters and mothers were supposed to. Lonely, weird little kid with a gappy memory growing into a lonely, weird teenager with no particular interest in the past.

But her father had been an artist like her. 

It’s a tiny thread tethering her to the world. 

“Was his art anything like mine?” she asks. “The style, I mean.”

“Your styles are different,” Blythe says, “but you’ve both drawn a lot of monsters.”

[iansolko]

CHARACTER DEVELOPMENT CHALLENGE 2: JAM SESSION

(link to spotify playlist here)

1. Karma Chameleon CULTURE CLUB

I'm a man (a man) without conviction I'm a man (a man) who doesn't know

2. Reality In Motion TAME IMPALA

There's no one else around you Not that I was waiting, vision ever fading Making such a promise Only leads to heartache, closer to an earthquake

3. Voulez-Vous ABBA

People everywhere A sense of expectation hangin' in the air

4. Silent Running GORILLAZ, ADELEYE OMOTAYO

Stop, 'cause you're killing me You brought me back and made me feel free Rowdy waves and your energy You pulled me fragile from the wreckage Well, I got so lost here Machine assisted, I disappear To a dream, you don't wanna hear How I got caught up in nowhere again

5. If You Leave ORCHESTRAL MANOUEUVRES IN THE DARK

I touch you once, I touch you twice I won't let go at any price I need you now like I need you then You always said we'd meet again someday

6.  Ghost HALSEY

My ghost Where'd you go? What happened to the soul that you used to be I'm searching for something that I can't reach

7. Kids MGMT

The memories fade like looking through a fogged mirror Decision to decisions are made and not bought But I thought this wouldn't hurt a lot, I guess not

8. SUPER BOARD STRAY KIDS

Fly high into the sky Not gonna stop until the day I die Rising up to the sun, yeah You can call it my heart

9. Libre ANGELE

Free, here I am, this is my way, there The suite in music, on stage, behind the scenes Free, here I am, but without you, there

10. Sun TWO DOOR CINEMA CLUB

Drawn apart New York and London All I see now Are distant drumlins

11. La La Land DEMI LOVATO

Well, some may say I need to be afraid Of losing everything. Because of where I Had my start and, Where I made my name. But everything's the same In a la la land machine. Machine. Well, I'm not gonna change In a la la land machine Well I will stay the same In la la land

12. RUN HAN (STRAY KIDS)

(Pretty much the whole song but) Escaping to somewhere Where is my confidence? All the problems and a lot of things make me a fool They made me a scaredy cat The clock's ticking suffocates me // I frowned when I stared at the stars in the night sky The loud alarm is full of irritation, shall I throw them all now? I'm just going to walk around, wherever it takes me, I don't want to care about the people watching me I don't care where the destination is, but I'll run as hard as I can

13. Bored TESSA VIOLET

It's 4 a.m. again You think that I could sense a trend I'm stayin' up too late, just so I can stay awake Wish I weren't so self-obsessed (oh-oh) Wish that I could be the best (oh-oh, oh) Excited with my words But I'm nervous and I'm bored (bored, hey!)

14. Binary Mind RA RA RIOT

This body that I own It's got no use anymore But to go to rack and ruin, oh This body that I own I can't tell you what it's for

15. Luv, Hold me Down DROWNERS

In a simple skirt, you caused a ricochet Of courting boys who watched you walk away But I don't live my life like you do No, I don't live my life like you do

16. Heaven Is A Place On Earth  BELINDA CARLISLE

In this world we're just beginnin' To understand the miracle of livin' Baby, I was afraid before But I'm not afraid anymore

17. Chinese Satellite PHOEBE BRIDGERS

I've been running around in circles Pretending to be myself Why would somebody do this on purpose When they could do something else?

Took a tour to see the stars But they weren't out tonight So I wished hard on a Chinese satellite I want to believe Instead I look at the sky and I feel nothing You know I hate to be alone I want to be wrong

18. True SPANDAU BALLET 

So true, funny how it seems Always in time, but never in line for dreams Head over heels when toe to toe This is the sound of my soul This is the sound I bought a ticket to the world But now I've come back again Why do I find it hard to write the next line?

[jdetan]

A Destiny, Retold in Time - Chapter 21

The latest chapter of my most complex fic to date- an alternate retelling of Ocarina of Time in which Zelda joins Link and Ganondorf goes beneath the castle to find a withered mummy...

Six Years after the Calamity

Planning and arranging everything took them a year. A year that the people of Hyrule had to suffer under the thumb of Ganondorf. A year that Link and Zelda spent preparing, swearing never to be caught off guard again. “Are you sure, Link? This could be dangerous.” Impa warned. “Last time…” “Last time I wasn’t prepared for what we’re going to face.” Link looked over at Impa. “What about you?” “I won’t promise that we’re all going to be safe.” Impa sighed, looking at the package Zelda had prepared. “This is likely to draw his attention, like we hope for… but that leads to greater danger.” “Kid, I don’t know what’s going to happen, but…” Captain Tulas walked over and shook Link’s hand, fiercely. “You’re the finest person I’ve ever trained. I have every faith in you, Link. Even if we all lose our lives, I want you to keep going.” Link nodded. “I will. I’ll defeat Ganondorf and the Calamity, no matter what.” “Good man.” Captain Tulas took a deep breath and grabbed the packages. “After half a day, get moving.” He looked down at the packages– several enchanted items meant to emulate the burst of light energy that Zelda had let loose a year ago, which would hopefully draw Ganondorf’s attention away from the Temple of Time. “And don’t look back.”

When Link and Zelda were halfway to Castle Town, a huge beam of light shot up into the air near Kakariko Village. Almost immediately, the monsters they saw began moving towards it… and so did Ganondorf, riding his flaming steed, weapon at the ready, screaming for their blood. “I hope they’re going to be alright…” Link whispered, seeing the army disappear into the distance. “We have to have faith in them. That’s all we can do.” Zelda whispered back, pocketing the telescope. “Come on. Let’s hurry.” True to the plan, they entered Castle Town and made their way to the Temple of Time with no interruptions. “Here it is. The Master Sword.” Zelda said, walking into the gallery. “Once it’s drawn, the Sacred Realm will open… and Ganondorf will probably come running.” “Yeah…” Link muttered, staring at the Sword in the pedestal. “It’s been a long time since we were here last…” “It really has.” Zelda paused for a moment, remembering that day their lives had changed. “Draw the sword, Link. It’s what Father asked of you.” Zelda said, the image of Gustaf’s comforting face seeing them off burned into her mind. “I’ll make sure the Sacred Realm stays shut.”

Link nodded, wrapping his hands around the hilt of the Master Sword. I’m doing this for everyone. For Navi, for Impa, for Tulas, for Gustaf… and for my Zelda most of all. I’ll make this into a world where she can smile freely again. He began pulling on the sword, feeling the strain as he was tested by some divine force, until finally…

Shink . The strain stopped suddenly, and Link felt more powerful than he ever had before. He pulled harder, a light beginning to shine around the blade. Shink! The sword slipped out further. It was almost free…

SHINK! With one last soft grind of metal against stone, the Master Sword slid free and into his hands, feeling shockingly light to wield and perfectly suited to him. He held the blade up towards the sky, and it glowed softly blue.

At last. Hello, Master Link, my oldest and dearest friend. I have been waiting for you for so long. The world is threatened once more, and the hero is needed, correct? The sword had a voice, a soul… and a name, one that somehow, Link knew without being told.

“It is, and I am. It’s good to meet you for the first time in this life… Fi.” Link whispered, holding the Master Sword’s hilt to his forehead.

Read the Rest on Ao3!

[jonathankatwhatever]

Totally unsure where I am later on 7 July 2023. I feel unsettled, up in the air, which is literally true for you, and I wonder what the connection is even though I see it every day, like the way I hear your lyrics to certain melodies which aren’t even the ones you set them to, like I’m hearing you writing the same as I write now.

I am drawn to this topic because I’m caught in an oscillation, a Coordinate Rotation, which has put thoughts of death in my head exactly in relation to my realizing that not only can we link gravity to quantum through grid squares, but that I had this all correct the first time through, but couldn’t prove it was correct in sufficient detail. This makes me wonder if I could have taken another, less self-critical path, but I don’t see how that would have worked because the work I do on this side is way off the charts creative mathematics. I’ve understood that at some levels before, but it’s never made sense to me because I have to wonder if I’m crazy, and then prove that I’m not. The question I continually ask myself is whether this is enough. Can I truly say it is proved? What would I like to know better? I’d like to be able to translate the ideas of modular forms better because I see it is a very technical field connected to elliptical forms and I need to get deeper there.

As I remember, we treated elliptics as a gs space and I think it was a cubic space, which is why it becomes a hole, that it’s putting an edge to that space which it generates. So they’re trying to connect that to a modular form, which is a group connected to IC, meaning 2x2 matrices. You can string these together to make LC, and so on. Yes, I need to accept that this means fCM occurs, which you already know because IC invokes fCM, which gets at the local-global issues. What’s the disconnect? What can’t I accept? We have grid squares and that makes grid boxes, which are cubes. That’s the real linkage between the forms, right? I mean now they’re versions of gs, which of course makes complete sense because we’re constructing a D3 Space when we look at x^3. I think that’s a hangup, meaning a place where the 1Space understanding isn’t efficient and thus doesn’t spark accurately across. There’s a lot in that sentence, including pain. So accepting this could be really useful.

Oh, I see: the issue is the divergence of x^n and 2^n, where the former counts multiples of itself and the latter doubles with each iteration. That conception is Halving. And we generate that out of Triangular, using the midpoint line, with that then occurring in various forms in higher dimensions, but the same folding conception in which an End is split into 2 Ends and a 3rd End is the Observer and Halving occurs over the midpoint line. This enables folding and folding and folding, both within an object and using it with other objects or in relation to them. It’s identity: SBE where S and E foldover to make the 1 they are except for the existence of B, which forms Triangular and gs. Should we note here that this means an ordered process in certain spaces, meaning Noetherian, if I spelled Emmie’s name right. I’ve been thinking about Hilbert more lately.

I get the idea of 0’s of polynomials because 0’s are where you match 1’s, which means a potential universe of 1’s in the contexts which demand and fit. I mean from 1 to gs primes as 1’s, to Irreducibles as 1, to Things as 1, which means a lot of Things within a 1, and so on. These all require a lot of 0’s to exist.

I just realized I’m not kidding. Any object, any tangible Object or tObject, is surrounded by 0’s or it lacks a Boundary, at least within our perception. An electron occupies a certain amount of D3-4 Space, which means there are grid squares. If I’m not mistaken, the mass of an electron is a 16 of some small size, which indicates it is a cloud because it represents different states which represent Irreducibles, but I haven’t put any thought into it because mass represents stuff like quarks, which we can conceptually explain as being equivalent to, thus manifesting f1-3. I assume that this mass accumulates to this very fCM looking value because this is a fundamental particle and it isn’t massless like a photon, so it fits to the simple form. I doubt I’ve put 5 minutes of thought into this in 20 years.

But of course, apart from physics, the conceptual arrangement is necessary: we need 1’s and 0’s because the 0Space has to connect to the 1Space. That’s one of the lessons I learned in the Family Storyline: the more I struggled, the more completely the wall, the barrier, the net entangled me.

————-

Continuing. I hope. Yes, I want this to be unassailable. It needs to be. And I know I’m not entirely there, but it’s inexorable. And full of pain for me. I don’t like that part.

Just had an interesting realization that didn’t lead anywhere at all. So I’m dropping it. Not even bothering to erase the words to make it look like I didn’t make a mistake. A mistake of this kind is different from a result mistake, meaning the calculations return a wrong value directly. This kind is indirect, so there’s a 1-0 flip occurring. I hope I can explain that.

So, imagine there’s a tape machine and you put data in and run one of the basic operations you can run and you get an answer at each step. I can see wrong answers emerge as the non-choices among roots. It sounds a lot like the old idea, which I think I picked up from Latin, that you would read an entire sentence only for the meaning to flip at the end when you reach the verb with the subject made clear, when the action which has pended over the construction of the sentence takes an unexpected form by the choice of how the verb and subject meld. How can you get the wrong answer? A misreading or miscount. Or maybe because of rounding. A miscount can occur like counting chickens before they hatch, which isn’t actually bad unless you do it naively, because you should estimate yield. But the idea is counting at the wrong time. How many soldiers do we have? Look at the paper strength of units or look at their actual strength? That’s counting at the wrong level, which is a form of wrong time, meaning you count before the depth you need to reach. Having everything become gs process is extremely clarifying.

I’m leaving out the melancholy about not seeing you.

See how intimately connected the work is to you? I’d love to be able to fit groups in my head to this better. That would be a big help. I often find myself puzzling: how do they do that? I understand there are permutations and thus ones that work, ones that form symmetries, which to me means a transit and thus transitive.

———————-

Forgot to keep thinking about errors. I worry about them a lot. And I make plenty. An indirect error would be a correct process but the value is not the fit. That’s again about a layer enclosing the prior layers, which constructs using CR