#the hater in me is quelled

[feartheoldblog]

6, 11, 20

fuck it we being positive

Shoutout for making me be positive 🙏

6. Has fandom ever made you enjoy a pairing you previously hated?

I had to think a lot about this one because I am a dedicated hater (/j) so I’ve never really managed to enjoy a ship that I’ve previously hated. However, I have previously been completely indifferent about ships until the fandom influence hit. For me, the one that stands out is Yanagi x Ichika from Collar x Malice. It felt totally mid to me (typical strong silent type x MC) but some fanart made me see it in a light that made me enjoy it. For a Soulsborne specific ship though I’d have to say Rykard x Tanith. I’d never really considered it on an emotional level until I saw fanart/lore pieces and now it is one of my favourite ships!

11. Is there an unpopular arc that you like that the fandom doesn’t? Why?

Soulsborne characters don’t really live long enough to have numerous character arcs and I can’t really think of any examples right now, apologies! Something I did love though was Alex from GANGSTA’s ‘confidence’ arc, I guess you could call it. The transition between someone that was wary and uncertain to an individual that’s self-assured.

20. What is the purest ship in the fandom?

In Bloodborne, it’s (surprisingly) Valtr x Yamamura. I don’t think I’ve seen the slightest bit of extreme angst for them. The fanart is so sweet and the fics I’ve read are adorable.

[v-a-t-i-o]

i feel like i need to make a taylor swift hate blog to purge this constant anti-loving-kindness that interacting with her fans fills me with

[harmonysanreads]

I'm not sure if requests are still open since it's early in the morning where I'm from and idk how our timezones work, please delete this if it isn't orz. If it isn't too much trouble, a dainsleif fic mayhaps 🙏😔? I miss him so much and he didn't come home this patch, can be a short drabble ^^.

Not sure if it's leaning on your "things in consideration" list, but the prompt can be:

You've been under his radar for years but now that he's tracked you down, an unknown child who mirrors his blue Khaenriahn eyes guards you with his small and very fragile life. Those eyes... They're eerily familiar.

(side note: Dain isn't the type who thinks children automatically have a heart of gold lolol. He's kinda a hater when it comes to children cept for Yaoyao /jjjj, maybe that's some extra spice to add for the reason why reader is so terrified and left as soon as she had the opportunity?)

Reconteur

yandere!dainsleif x reader

cw(s) : yandere, implied female reader (the narrative is not gender specific but the word 'mother' has been used once)

wc : 1.7 k

this was an interesting challenge for me because this is one theme i've not done before, with a character i've also never written for! i'm extremely sorry for the wait as i got distracted by hsr :') and thank you so much for requesting<3

a delightful illustration by the loveliest person <3 (spoiler alert!)

Stories are truly spectacular.

They're capable of preserving bygone memories ; changing, adapting and sometimes, becoming far too distant from reality. Like saplings of the tree which extends its roots throughout Teyvat and, their seeds are welcomed by the flighty wind, soon to be cultivated by the torrents of time. The present will one day become history and that history will be archived for posterity to learn and criticize. One such story inspires much intrigue, dressed in charming rhetoric and is thus cataloged among fairy tales : a bittersweet tale of a Knight and an Angel.

And in classic format it goes — once upon a time, a defiled Knight cried out to the heavens, for he could not win against the temptation of seeing the forbidden pearl. This blatant defiance earned him but a curse of eternal agony and soon, he begged the skies for salvation. The clouds softened and sent him a little Angel, who quelled the fires of his pain bit by bit, until it became an infinitesimal dot in the Knight's soul. Brimming with gratitude, the Knight offered his very being to the Angel's service and of course, they lived happily ever after.

Now suppose, fundamentally speaking, if fairy tales are but stories and the retelling of history follows the same pattern — who are the storytellers?

The victors, of course.

The dull thud of pages colliding shut assuages Dainsleif, for the story which now finds itself beside children's bedside tables serves no other purpose than to instigate dulcet fantasies, losing credence before the trials of history. It brews a litany of feelings in his numbed heart until they intertwine and transform into a yarn of befuddling human emotions ; echoing in his ears that this is what his past has become.

Albeit, this hardly astonishes the Bough Keeper. When a war ends and the winners hoist their flags, they'd obviously be privy to recounting their glories — none of them would ever write that the Knight in the story had never begged the heavens for forgiveness and no such Angel was sent. Instead, he'd seen fit to snatch the Messenger that'd implored him to return to his right mind and one would think that Celestia had taken great offense in this act, but no one batted an eye.

That is because the Messenger, too, was forsaken by their home, a fallen angel with no wings and no divinity left. Whose existence became synonymous to that of a firefly and the Knight, became the darkness that allowed it to glow. When two broken individuals unite, they either complete their flaws or destroy one another and sadly, in his case, it was the latter.

But is it such a sin to wish for a normal life? Dainsleif muses as he passes by giggling groups of unassuming humans, desperate vendors trying to sell their wares and many more individuals who might carve their places in the next epics of Teyvat. Often is it said, you only learn to value things after they leave your grasp and while his memory does erode day by day, he'll forever remember that Angel's — your countenance, how the corners of your lips used to curve before they did no longer, how every word of yours bewitched his decaying mind and built it anew.

He was an ant chasing after the fragrance of sugar, a mindless bug blinded by a speck of light, an apophyte clinging desperately to the bough, a sinner. And sinners do not deserve luxuries called normalcy, love or a home. The aftereffects of the Cataclysm that befell his homeland drove uncountable masses to nihility, some embraced their hatred while others rotted in corners of this world. It is testament to Dainsleif's willpower that he'd not been conquered by insanity yet. Indeed, he's always practiced rationale and patience ; which have also aided him in his prolonged search for you.

He investigated till every rock of this wretched world became his acquaintance and he kept on hanging to the last traces of your existence. But, as every expedition led to a dead end, he was forced to accept a lamentable realization, that he missed you. He missed you so much. He'd vowed to never kneel before those who took everything from him, at this point in his life though, he found himself one breath away from begging that floating island — if only it'd bring you back to his side.

Rain. It'd rained before that catastrophic day and on the eve you trespassed in his life as well. Would you laugh if you saw him in this state? Or, would you coax him up from his knees and shield him from the rain? A hoarse chuckle leaves his lips, how shameless does one need to be to still expect comfort from the being they hurt repeatedly? He'd rather not hear the answer.

“Mister?”

The sky growled at his misery but he could not differentiate it from a mocking sneer. He blinked upon feeling the absence of raindrops falling on his person and raised his head to stare.

It is as though the stars gazed at him back, “Why are you kneeling on the ground on a rainy day, mister?”

Dainsleif stared owlishly, his mind momentarily ceased to comprehend the present. The boy that'd reach his knees at most if Dainsleif had been standing returned his gaze in equal interest. Though the man failed to decipher those familiar eyes, it seemed that the boy had reached a conclusion.

“Oh, you must be in pain! Here, take one of my apples.”

The Bough Keeper jolted at the fruit that was shoved to his hand, in the blur of his confusion he'd not taken note of the bag full of apples clutched by the boy's other hand.

“My mother said that an apple a day would keep the pain away—ah, or was it the doctor? Anyway, please take it and don't look so sad. I should really be returning now…!”

Dainsleif opened his mouth (To protest, to question or to thank? He didn't know.) as the boy dashed away, the pitter-patters of the rain lulled his footsteps and left the man a great deal dumbfounded. He looked at the apple, now glistening with rainwater and recalled the boy's words. On normal occasions, he'd be tempted to immediately evacuate the vicinity after that mildly embarrassing encounter but, the memory of the starry gaze that rendered him speechless implored him to follow the boy's tracks.

At this point, his mind was operating on instinct, tracing the footprints of an unknown child without purpose would be the farthest thing he'd put on his agenda in his current state. The dense forest swallowed his form until it finally gifted him with a clearing, a small source of light peeked past a half open window and enticed him closer.

“...re…were…y…?”

The man only came to his senses after hearing muffled voices, standing before what he assumed was the door to the thatched cottage. For a second, he debated whether to continue this rendezvous but resigning that he'd come too far, he decided to take a peek through the window.

The rain lulled just enough to not be an outright nuisance, succinct yet unforgettable — there you were, separated by but a weak wooden structure and Dainsleif's stupefied mind. You are there. Are you really there? Right before his eyes, emerging out of nowhere after he turned Teyvat upside down just to find some reassurance that you're still alive? Your eyes narrowed in that familiar frown and rubbing a towel through a boy's hair—

Wait, what?

Fine strands of blonde clung to Dainsleif's forehead, a few drops of water dripping down to join the small puddle under his feet. He gaped like a fish at the scene and at the boy who led him to this epiphany, completely forgetting vigilance.

“Did you talk to anyone, son?”

Flowers bloomed in his heart at the sound of that familiar lilt and his breath hitched as he processed the contents you uttered. Son. You called that boy son. In the light of your humble abode, he noticed the boy's golden locks of hair that he'd previously foregone and a conclusion crawled its way to his mind. He has a child. He has a child? Dainsleif knew you have a knack for unpredictability but this level of surprise was not what he was expecting upon your first appearance after all these years. He dwelled on the question of how it was even possible for a while, he recalled the boy's eyes ; those characteristic star-shaped pupils would never lie. Voices reached his ear again and he decided to cast aside these questions for a later time.

“I did, but the man looked so sad all alone in the rain! So, I gave him one of the apples because I didn't know what else to do. I promise I didn't talk too much!”

You paused for a while, a cautious query followed, “What did he look like?”

The boy copied your silence this time, finding great interest in your nails before exclaiming, “Pretty ordinary!”

Dainsleif didn't know why but that gave a sting to his heart, he looked back to you to see the unreadable expression on your face slowly shift to a soft smile. You affectionately ruffled the boy—his boy's hair, the action somehow softened the ache in his soul. Until he remembered that he was ignorant of his own son's name. He was one who preferred to form his opinion of everyone from a neutral point of view and while he's not one to excuse children's behavior just because of their age, seeing his own son speak half-truths at this stage raised many more concerns to be dropped in the pile.

You're not someone who'd preach dishonesty to a child but considering the situation you are currently in and the things this child must've seen, he found himself understanding. The skies rumbled and Dainsleif barely pushed back the urge to kick down the door and take his family to where they belonged. But seeing the smile that he'd yearned for so many years, he hesitated. You'd fought hard to earn this little happiness and acting on his impulses now, however justified they might be, would be dishonoring your efforts. And judging by your reactions, he can already sense that you won't just sit idly by for him to pounce on.

So, he'll be patient for bit longer and when the time is right, it'll seem as though his family returned to his arms out of their own volition.

[princessleechan]

“Choi Seungcheol must die” Chapter 29 WRITTEN CHAPTER

Masterlist

📌chapter tags: SMAU, inspired by “John tucker must die”, John tucker!seungcheol, college au, revenge fic, written chapter (1.6k w.c), conflicting situations, the final wrap, villian era!reader, haters

Thank you @wonwussy for helping me out a bit!

taglist: @silvsie @christinewithluv @stayinhellevator @aiforyuu @2youngsworld @justcruisingalonguntilbamkpop @asyre @simpxxstan @anzellll @hipsdofangirl @plskillme22 @lirtha97 @lixiel0ver @notevenheretbh1 @leah-rose03 @woozarts @expensive-idiot @doveblackboat @the-boy-meets-evil @tamakis-bbyy @freshdetectivenight @mrsdacherry @smilechannie @alltheshineofthestars-blog @ocyeanicc @horanghaezone @wonuqrtz @leewonkyeom @horangboosadan @kkooongie @myghobi @wonunuwoo @wonwootakemyheart @shuasunshine @dinonuguaegi @ckline35 @miriamxsworld @itsokaytobedumb00 @seokgyuu @nishloves @bmkgemz @conwunder @kawaiimusiccollection @humankimbap @huening-kawaii @writingbarnes @strawberryya

You stand several feet away from the breathtaking couple, unable to resist fixing your gaze upon them. Junhui and Haru are wrapped in each other's arms, creating an intimate scene as if the room exists only for them, their smiles emanating warmth and pure bliss.

If not for your emotions, you might marvel at the sight, but instead, a sense of despondency washes over you. Your gaze wanders, intensely fixed on their intertwined figures until the surroundings blur, like watercolors melding on a damp canvas. Once again, you feel like a mere backdrop, perpetually an observer, never the focal point. Meanwhile, they revel in their joy, achieving a happiness you long to grasp independently.

Before you know it, your feet carry you in their direction, a sense of disbelief settling in despite the joyous tweets on your timeline that you have been avoiding. The realization dawns that there was never a chance, rendering the many efforts you made utterly in vain.

That is until you feel an arm firmly wrap around your bicep, pulling you in their direction. Frantically, your eyes meet with a sympathetic Seokmin, who looks down at you with concern.

"Don't look," he softly instructs. "Just don't."

With his hand on your back, he gently guides you away from the situation, softly hushing you to soothe the unfathomable range of emotions coursing through your body. His voice, though soft and sweet, fades into the background as you choose to focus on the gentle stroke of his hand on your back, quelling the sobs that threaten to escape.

"I'm okay, I'm okay. I promise." You turn to look at him and see the doubt in his expression.

"Are you sure?"

You could melt beneath the gaze of his honey-coated eyes, the warmth helping you transition into a mood more serene than moments ago. However, you nod your head softly, gently pulling away from his tender touch.

"I need to find Seungcheol."

Momentary disappointment briefly grazes his face, swiftly before a resolved nod is met in your direction. "You got this."

You mouth a "thank you" before moving with determination to find the man of honor, deliberately steering clear of what had caused you distress earlier. As you scan the room for what feels like the first time, you recognize many faces you have only heard of but never seen in person. Seokmin has retreated to his friend group, while Mingyu is not too far away with his own circle, evidently not having resolved whatever ordeal they had faced.

Chan, however, appears to be nowhere in sight, possibly taking a breather after the sight you both witnessed. On the other hand, there's Boo Seungkwan, who winks in your direction with a drink in his hand, looking as smarmy as you always imagined. Your eyes glaze over him in subtle disdain, before they find the man bouncing in childlike joy.

His smile widens, reaching from ear to ear, as he sprints in your direction to envelop you in his arms, twirling you joyfully in the air. "You're here!"

You chuckle, feeling a hint of discomfort, gently pushing him away as you regain your footing. "Of course, it's your special night. I wouldn't miss it for the world."

His smile grows wider. “OK well you know Jeonghan and Josh up there on stage, Changhyuk and Hyungwon helping serve drinks, Yeonjun and Soobin are somewhere entertaining other people, I’m sure. Now that just leaves me and you.”

If you didn't know better, you might believe he was sincere. It seems as if he genuinely relishes sharing you with the world—his world—and perhaps he does. You are aware that this would make the plan even more effective. More humiliating. There is more reason for him to never inflict pain on another person again. That's why you have to keep going.

You accept his hand and interlock yours with his as he leads you up to center stage. A conveniently placed microphone comes to life as Seungcheol taps against its metallic head. Smiling, he announces, "Test one, test two. Can everyone hear me?"

The audience below erupts in a resounding "Yes!" as he proceeds to take the mic.

"Are you all having an amazing night?"

Their affirmation comes again, even louder this time.

"Well, tonight we are celebrating another one of our beautiful university’s achievements—the victory of our basketball team in the final games!"

They cheer, brimming with spirit.

"We take immense pride in having such invaluable members on our team. Even though I was announced MVP not too long ago, I can sincerely attest that every individual on this team is extraordinary and deserves this award just as much as I do."

He turns to you in a hushed manner, reciprocating the smile you wear for appearances, drawing closer to take your hand. “However, if I may be so selfish, I’d like to do something I’ve had my mind on for as long as it started.”

He endeavors to close the gap between you, ensuring you receive as much attention as he is garnering. "Throughout this year, I encountered someone incredibly special to me. Someone who undeniably alters my perspective on how I perceive the world. While there's still much to discover about her, there's nothing I'd like more than to demonstrate how much I value her, just as much as I value anyone on my team."

As the melody envelops the surroundings, gradually intensifying as it draws nearer, you discern the enchanting tunes of the college orchestra, featuring woodwinds and delicate string instruments. They gaze back at you with expectant eyes, weaving a musical tapestry of grace and elegance. Seungcheol, with sincerity emanating from his eyes, clasps his hands together and extends one before you as an earnest offering. "Will you do me the honor of being my girlfriend?"

You take a deep breath, pressing both palms against your chest. A weight lifts, and it seems like you step into a scene from a film. Initially unsure how to react, you stumble, forgetting your purpose, until you catch a glimpse of them–the couple that stirs a twinge of jealousy--staring back at you like a spectacle.

As you finally cast a glance back at Seungcheol, regaining a foothold in reality, you make your way towards him. You clasp your hands together, exhaling through your nose the heat festering inside you. “Wow, I don’t know what to say…except maybe: why would I ever want to be with someone as pathetic and intolerable as you?”

As if a taut string has suddenly snapped, the entire performance comes to an abrupt halt. The one who has just confessed now wears a bewildered expression in response to your unexpected reaction. "…What?"

You scoff. “Did you actually think that you had even the slightest chance that we’d be together? Do you think I would subject myself to that? To someone like you?”

Shaking his head in disbelief, he stammers, “Wait, I did this all—“

As you gaze at him, your attention is momentarily diverted by Junhui, who stares back at you, his expression mirroring the puzzlement and confusion evident in the room. "I can't stand you. Not a single damn part of you."

Descending the stairs of the stage, your movements convey a mix of determination and finality. "Wait, Yn, please. Tell me what I—"

With a decisive turn, you face him once more to deliver your parting words. “Never try contacting me again. We’ll waste both of each other's time and you’ve already wasted so much of mine.”

You gracefully exit the stage, and the crowd involuntarily parts to make way for your bold departure. However, amid the polite shuffling, you can't ignore the subtle undercurrent of disdain in the soft mutters that accompany your exit. Dark-eyed glances, filled with a mixture of surprise and disapproval, follow you as you make your way through the dispersing audience.

As you walk away, the murmurs linger like a haunting melody, a symphony of disapproval and whispered judgments. It's evident that the spectators exchange more than just casual remarks; there's an air of collective distaste that seems to swirl around your name.

Out of their immediate view, a wave of relief washes over you, and you feel as though you can finally breathe. Unbeknownst to you, your buzzing phone in your purse signals the concern of your other conspirators, each message a thread of support woven into the complex fabric of the night. With a nervous swallow, you tightly shut your eyes, momentarily escaping the weight of the situation and entering the cool breeze of the outdoors.

"Hey." Your eyes scan the surroundings until they home in on the source of the voice, eventually meeting a pair of red eyes framed by tear-stained cheeks. The weight of unspoken emotions lingers in the air, creating a palpable atmosphere that envelops you both.

You release a shallow breath, a disbelieving smile playing on your face. "That's where you were hiding, huh?"

Chan shrugs his shoulders while resting against a pillar, unfolding his arms, and a soft laugh of surrender escapes his lips. "I didn't want to hear about it, let alone see it in front of me."

"We're both going through it, I guess." A solitary warm streak leaks out of the corner of your eye, and you let it fall, embracing the wall behind you.

He observes in a momentary silence, as though seeing his reflection in a mirror for the first time—realizing the shared sadness and pitiful state of both himself and you. "Do you…" he starts to ask, sniffing timidly, self-conscious of his emotional state, "wanna get out of here?"

"…Yeah."

Your hand slips into his with a sense of urgency, a desperate clutch seeking solace. Feet hurriedly fall in step as you follow him, driven by an eagerness to escape the tumultuous emotions lingering in the air. Regardless of how this night unfolds, the only certainty is the shared desire to flee. You know it couldn't get worse than this.

[preceriisblog]

THE ATLAS COMPLEX SPOILERS ‼️‼️

Seriously don’t read if you don’t want spoilers.

Okay so I think I’ve scrolled through all of tumblr. All thru Goodreads. Read all the terrible reviews and rants and still nothing has quelled my anger. I feel so rageful. Nothing has ever pissed me off more than this ending

How could Olivie Blake set up something as amazing as academic rivals to lovers, binary stars, meant to be soulmates in every universe AND FUCK IT UP? ARE YOU SERIOUS? HOW COULD YOU TEASE ME WITH THAT AND NOT. GIVE IT TO ME.

And the same with Novacaine??! At the very very very very least you could have at least had Tristan be the one who kills Callum.

and of course. OF COURSE. MY TWO FAVORITE CHARACTERS IN THE ENTIRE SERIES ARE THE ONE WHO DIE. are you kidding me? H O W DOES THIS CONSTANTLY HAPPEN TO ME?? AM I CURSED?

ALSO HOW ARE THERE NO FIX-IT FANFICS YET?? i’ve only seen like one new nicolibby fanfic on ao3 and like two new novacaine ones but that’s not enough to fulfill me??! what happened? did y’all rage quit (cannot blame a single soul??)

so yeah. I feel incredibly betrayed and I need to scream and cry and dig a hole and give Nico and Callum fucking Nova a hug in the afterlife because GODDAMNIT NO ONE DESERVED THEM

One last note: I have always been a Nicolibby shipper, but I would have been happy with a throuple or if Nicolibby had at least kissed once. But you couldn’t even give me that Olivie Blake??

I am shattered. I will never trust again. Use this post to rant about anything you hated about the book in the comments please. I am 100% a hater right now and I have no shame because that ending was downright malicious and fucked.

[p-redux]

Yesterday, someone woke up and decided to be a dumb, dumb bitch...

Pretty much every day for the last year or so I've gotten an Anon or Anons sending Sam Heughan hate to my Inbox. I haven't posted any of it because I didn't want to give the Sam haters the satisfaction. BUT, yesterday one of the haters decided to be a dumb, dumb bitch...well, dumbER, and forgot to click the "post anonymously" option when sending me an Ask. Oopsie. 😁

I first get this in my Inbox. 👇 It has her Tumblr name attached to the "nasty nasty" Ask about Sam. I thought, well that's interesting, I wonder why she decided to live dangerously and identify herself. 👇

Immediately after, I get THIS in my Inbox, but this time it's Anon. 👇 It's obviously from the same person, given the same type of wording "nasty, nasty." And they were sent one right after the other. I guess Einstein here doesn't realize that just because she turned on Anon for the second Ask doesn't mean I didn't get her name with the first Ask. 👇 Doh 🤦‍♀️

I click on her account and I can't see it. She must have realized what she did, freaked out, and immediately blocked me. 👇You dumb, dumb bitch.

So, I sign out of Tumblr and go look at her account via browser. And LOOK at what the first "like" is on her account. Quelle surprise. NOT. 👇 She "liked" some of the worst Sam haters, haters in general accounts.

Up until yesterday only your family, friends, coworkers, fellow basement dwellers knew you were a dumb, dumb bitch @leighseesforme today EVERYONE does. *waving*

[heftbyjapanesebreakfast]

it always pissed me off so bad as a kid that peeta volunteered for jaymitch for the quarter quell like what a stupid bitch??? he thought he could protect katniss better than haymitch could?? the haters are right that peeta is kinda useless in the arena. i don't know it just always bothered me like if u love her and want to be with her why on earth would u do that😭😭 katniss is more than competent and doesn't need his physical protection

[pansyfemme]

keep saying stupid and horny things dont let the haters quell your horny t4t flame

they just hate me because im soooo right about everything

[voracita]

"Il sacro vincolo"

Continuando dal post precedente, la seconda storia invece, che intitolo "Il sacro vincolo", è quella più fresca nel tempo, e che mi arreca un senso di lieve disgusto, oltre che di pesante tristezza.

Tutto accade qui, nel giro di una decina di giorni.

Un po' dal nulla, perchè i miei post trascorrono quasi sempre ignorati da tutti, compaiono alcuni like da un blog a me ignoto, poi un messaggio, in cui "lei" mi chiede indicazioni approssimative sulla mia età. Rispondo sinceramente anche se restando sul vago, nel frattempo sfoglio questo blog, che è di quelli che Tumblr definisce per adulti, cercando di capire chi, probabilmente un vecchio "hater", stavolta intende perseguitarmi... Il blog sembra uno dei tanti blog porno anonimi, ma poi, scavando di più nel passato, capisco che si tratta di una persona che è qui da tanto, che pubblica tante cose diverse, senza mai, però, esprimere in modo esplicito qualcosa di personale, qualcosa su di sè. Sarà una donna, un uomo, una comitiva boccaccesca?

Inizio a darle credito, a commentare qualche suo post, a insinuare qualche domanda, a rispondere a qualche sua curiosità, a mostrarle delle parti di me, quelle più intriganti, forse, come faremmo tutti, il dorso di una mano, il desiderio più urgente e più vorace. Lei risponde con la devozione con cui compila un sudoku, con la curiosità di una adolescenza in ritardo, con una, almeno apparente, crescente eccitazione che la porta a collegarsi per chattare e a scrivere sempre di più, a qualunque ora.

Poi, sorprendentemente, mi chiede: posso sentire la tua voce? Erano passati solo due o tre giorni, eppure io, stanco davvero di passare da un social all'altro come in un perpetuo tentativo di sfuggire alla verità delle mie urgenze, le dico: chiamami, in qualsiasi momento, questo è il mio numero, e le do il mio numero, quello vero.

Chiama quasi subito, lei, da un numero privato. Ha una voce suadente, non così infantile come l'avevo immaginata, ed è così che inizio a capire, e più che capire è un deja vu, l'ennesimo, uno dei tanti schemi che nella mia esperienza sui social ormai ho finito per riconoscere sempre meglio, sempre prima.

Numero privato, non vuole sapere il mio nome, non vuole dirmi il suo, mi permette di inventare un nomignolo con cui chiamarla, si parla di nebbia e di spiagge, è tutto ciò che mi permette di esplicitare per localizzarci in qualche modo, lei potrebbe essere di Milano o di Padova o di Torino, non sono bravo con gli accenti e il suo, come il mio, sembra essere influenzato da una vita imbastardita, trascorsa a contatto con luoghi e persone diverse, e forse anche da studi che hanno ripulito le tossine della geografia, scartandole dal suo eloquio.

Si emoziona, tanto, mi emoziono anche io, ci raccontiamo cose inutili, sembra esserci davvero una intimità quasi naturale, ovvia, inesorabile. Inizio a confidarle delle cose, a piccozzare il muro della mia diffidenza, prima ancora di aggredire la sua.

I giorni passano, talora il lavoro concede più spazio alle conversazioni in chat, talora meno, ma continuiamo a sentirci, a parlare molto di sesso, di desideri, di fantasie, a codificare un linguaggio comune, che in questo caso è una lingua pulitissima, igienica, una lingua in cui la fica e il cazzo semplicemente non esistono, eppure esistono i desideri, i bisogni, i più selvatici, i più turpi.

Lei, bruscamente, confessa. E' sposata. Lo dice come confessando un peccato mortale e chiedendo una penitenza, una assoluzione.

Le chiedo perchè sposarsi, perchè non convivere semplicemente. Mi parla del vincolo, dell'importanza, della necessità del vincolo, l'essere umano, dice, ha bisogno di vincoli. Non parla di legami, parla di catene.

Come fosse una risposta, e invece non lo era affatto, la avverto della mia intenzione di avere un rapporto occasionale, nei giorni a venire, con una donna che vedo, solo per sesso, di tanto in tanto.

Lei lotta: fieramente, orgogliosamente, con i suoi sentimenti, con le emozioni di rabbia, di gelosia, con l'invidia per lei, con la curiosità, col desiderio di sapere tutto e con il desiderio di zittirmi, di cancellare questa cosa, di cancellare anche la nostra confidenza, se necessario. Vorrebbe mordermi il palmo della mano, vorrebbe graffiarmi, si morde da sola e continua a rovinarsi le labbra staccandosi le pellicine, e mi chiama, di nuovo.

Capisco, sempre meglio, ciò che ormai mi era chiaro come un cadavere sul tavolo settorio: non ci sarà mai nulla di reale, nulla di concreto, nulla di onesto, in questa relazione in cui la mia lealtà e onestà, per lei, è un punto di orgoglio, ciò che la attrae di me e ciò per cui si strugge. Lei non cerca altro, come un lungo elenco di altre che ho già conosciuto qui e altrove, prima di lei, che una forza oscura, un terzo immateriale, astratto, disincarnato, una forza da modellare a suo piacimento, con cui puntellare un matrimonio che è nato morto, un aborto di legame umano che lei chiama "vincolo" solo per disprezzarlo e potersene nutrire, a mo' di escremento dell'amore, alla maniera della beata Alacoque. Non faccio in tempo a dirglielo, tutto questo, però, perchè ci travolge ancora il lavoro, la quotidianità un po' più pesante, finchè si arriva a una chat in cui, chissà come, chissà perchè, lei se ne esce con un "sì, capisco", che è nulla, il punto zero della nostra comunicazione, e perciò mi induce a dire, senza infingimenti o diplomatici rinvii, semplicemente ciò che penso.

Che "capisco" è la parola che detesto, che "capisco" è la parola di quelli che non capisco nulla, affatto.

Che sono disprezzabili i capisco e i mi dispiace e tutto il campionario degli "scusami", dietro cui giocare a nascondino, magari, all'infinito, senza mai tirare fuori un'emozione, senza mai dire "vorrei innamorarmi davvero", senza mai dire "chi sei, voglio sapere tutto di te", senza mai dire "sono tua", con tutto quanto e non solo con la maschera dell'anonimo, senza mai uscire dall'indifferenza per diventare qualcosa di concreto e di effimero, finalmente.

Dice, lei, ancora: "mi dispiace". Dice "è quello che ti meriti".

Già, rispondo. Più tardi, prima di prendere la pasticca per dimenticare: "che schifo".

E sparisce la catena. E sparisce lei. E non sparisco io, sempre più sgomento da tanta bellezza che sprecate così, incenerita nella più volgare mediocrità.

[compo67]

human resources management

so tonight i started my HRM course(s). you technically take 3 classes at a time, but break it up into thirds throughout the semester. this third is about Strategic Human Resources Management. it's a lot of networking and "making connections."

y'all, i hate networking. i hate self-promotion. i hate talking about myself in 30 seconds or less. i hate small talk. yep, whole ton of hate. just call me a hater.

i really just... want to go back to my graduate program. but i can't afford it and it's not leading me anywhere except academia, which is a whole other issue. there is always work in HR.

i wish i was one of those people who knew exactly what they wanted to do and went out and did it. like my friends A and G, who are both librarians and knew that's what they wanted to do and did it. or people who just know what they want, do it, and are successful-happy about it.

i've always been a creative person. when i was a kid, i wanted to grow up to be an artist or a writer. well, i am both of those things in a way... it's just not my career. and i don't know how to make it that. i don't think i would want to be a full-time writer or artist, which is why i never formally pursued either of those things.

sigh. i just felt like a little kid in a room full of adults. and i was a bored little kid. not to mention that i sat there in pain because of course it's been a pain day. this is day 3 of a flare. there's so much fog in my brain, it looks exactly like the fog we got going on outside. all i want to do is sleep and i can't even do that correctly. i always wake up in pain and feeling more exhausted than i did going to bed the night before. i can sleep 10 hours and still have it be not enough.

taking these classes also reminds me of going back to work, which i'm not ready to do yet. i know i have to/need to go back to work. i just don't want to. not yet. then part of me is scared that i'll never go back to work.

idk. i'm really torn about these classes and this path. i know i need to give it more time. maybe if i sleep better i won't be such a hater.

tonight i'm going to try a muscle relaxer before bed.

maybe tomorrow i'll have a better day overall and things won't feel so overwhelming. maybe if i start on some homework, it'll quell some of this anxiety.

i'm supposed to hang out with the gals tomorrow night, but i think i'm going to skip in favor of doing homework and watching the game. but then again, i do need some socialization.

bleh. everything is bleh. i didn't write or paint today. i'm behind on both.

everything is awful and i'm in pain and i just wanna cry.

[tizianacerralovetrainer]

La risposta di Jolanda Renga, figlia di Ambra Angiolini e di Francesco Renga, a tutti quegli hater che ogni giorno la offendono. Riflettiamo perché è davvero triste che una ragazza debba affrontare tutto questo. Davvero inaccettabile. Jolanda sei una meravigliosa guerriera.

"Ciao, sono Jolanda, la figlia brutta. ‘Sei brutta' è una cosa che mi dico sempre, da quando sono piccola e mi vedo allo specchio, da quando mi vedo nelle foto. 'Sei brutta, hai il naso brutto, il sorriso brutto, il neo brutto, le gambe brutte, tutto brutto’.

Devo dire che all'inizio ci sono rimasta male, molto male, quindi oggi, al posto di dirmi così, ho deciso di chiedermi scusa. Scusa perché ho dato importanza alle parole di queste persone. Il mio sogno per fortuna non è essere bella e neanche essere la sosia dei miei genitori. Il mio desiderio nella vita è fare cose che contano. Mi piacerebbe migliorare il mondo, quindi sono felice di me stessa perché ogni giorno cerco di fare qualcosa, dando il massimo. Ho sempre pensato che le cose più importanti sono quelle che non si possono vedere, quindi tengo molto di più alla mia anima anziché alla mia faccia, perché non resterà per sempre, invece il mio cuore e la mia anima sì e dovranno restare belli e puliti.

Penso che, se la cosa peggiore che si dice di me è che sono brutta, allora posso stare tranquilla. Di certo non si può dire di me che sono cattiva o egoista. Io vorrei dire a tutti quelli che si sentono come me che, finché avranno cura e rispetto di se stessi e degli altri, brilleranno sempre di una luce diversa. Le persone gentili sono belle per davvero. Non permettete agli altri di cambiare questa parte speciale e unica di voi, anzi rendetela un punto di forza".

#Respect #piuamore #donnefelici

[philtstone]

My kingdom for hopeful-verse Miles and Kamala (platonically preferred) - any prompt you want, but I think 43 could be nice?

#43 -- piggy back rides part of this au im like 394834 years late answering this but i do finally have something to offer. what was originally meant to be a touching scene where the gang finally runs into kamala's family ended up as ... this ... because the pacing was a disaster and i couldnt salvage it. hopefully i will eventually write the other thing. thank u to @foolgobi65 and @firstelevens for being good friends and talking me thru some of my "uuuugh i hate writing" moments. we didnt quite make it thru but something definitely was achieved.

They break into Walmart through the smelliest part of the garden center. Miles has to carry Kamala piggy back style to do it, and so almost doesn’t catch AJ when he slips and falls face-first towards a big bag of fertilizer. AJ starts giggling upside down beneath the greenhouse window, one leg held up by last-second webbing and the other gripped in Bucky’s right hand. 

When Miles has pictured post-apocalyptic Walmarts in the past, he’s always imagined them to be abandoned. Like maybe some trashed empty shelves, or flickering lights. Spooky wind blowing through the place. That kind of shit. If they wanted to enter one, they’d break the door down, badass style, with the butt of their cool post-apocalyptic rifle.

Miles played through The Last of Us with Uncle Aaron and only got creeped out like, twice; he knows how this stuff works. 

They’d sneak through the empty place all vigilant (that’s a word Dad loved) and he’d grab all the Tylenols from the top most shelf no one else had reached while Peter or Bucky or Sam kept a careful eye trained on their surroundings, and if bad guys showed up, they’d do badass stuff and then drive away tires screeching in their cool getaway pickup truck.

Miles – who should really know better, given the multiple months of this world he’s lived through by now – thinks the reality of life is exponentially more stupid.

“Exponentially,” recites AJ, who has recovered from his near-fall (though Bucky still looks stressed) and is evidently getting more and more bored of holding tightly onto Aunt Sarah’s hand by the minute. “When somethin’ grows by means of a ma-the-matical component.”

He sing-songs mathematical, though he’s a smart enough kid to keep it all to a whisper. While AJ drags his feet, Aunt Sarah, who has been tense since they stepped foot out of Madame G’s house five hundred cross-country miles ago, and is tenser now post AJ-in-fertilizer disaster,  continues flicking her eyes around sharply. She’s fisted her free hand in her hoodie pocket where Miles knows she keeps her knife. Miles wants to tell her that he’s sure his spidey sense would notice if there were any bad guys behind the ant-be-gone displays, definitely, but a niggling little voice in his own head is also stressed out. 

“Is that right, baby?” she asks in an absent whisper.

“Momma, you gotta tell me if I got exponentially right.”

“You got it right, AJ,” says Miles.

AJ heaves the quietest Loud Sigh Miles has ever heard, “Like, we are exponentially not finding any drugs.”

“Pain medication,” Kamala mutters immediately, from over Miles’s shoulder. She twisted her ankle when they all jumped off the moving train.

… Yeah. Life’s been pretty crazy recently. Miles wonders what Dad would say about it.

“I don’t need drugs.”

“That’s exponentially false,” AJ offers.

“Technically,” agrees Miles, “ibuprofen is a drug.” 

“Um, there’s a total difference between necessary medication and drugs?” 

“Morally?”

“Yes,” Kamala hisses. Then she frowns. “No! Wait, no. Sometimes. Ugh – Miles!”

“You’re the one bein’ a hater,” he says, low voice, grinning. “It’s okay, we’ll steal you Tylenol instead.”

“Good,” she mumbles.

“... Which is also technically a drug –” 

Miles gets the last word before all three of them are quelled by Bucky’s silent raised eyebrow.

The reality of life — so much less cool than Miles’s imagination and video games — is that while the old Roxxon big box by the pier in NOLA had been ransacked and half cleaned out ages before Miles and Peter started sneaking in and out, this place is stocked. 

There’s stuff from the floors to the ceilings, and it’s making Miles a little dizzy with the sensory feedback. 

“Maybe it’s ‘cause we’re almost in Texas,” Kamala whispers wonderingly into his ear, as they peer around a corner at a giant car tire display.

It’s not like there are customers inside or anything, which makes the whole thing stupider. Just a big ass Walmart full of shit being guarded by bad dudes with guns, but just for that, they gotta sneak around.

“B.”

“Hm.”

“You know I don’t like splitting up,” Aunt Sarah’s voice comes out in a tense whisper.

They’re camped by electronics, trying to map their route. Miles can’t sense anyone in the aisles immediately close to them but they can still hear the occasional walkie talkie sound off and the distant opening and closing of the warehouse doors on the other side of the building, where the real action is happening. 

Aunt Sarah’s expressed this sentiment before, twice by now actually. The first time was when the whole idea was introduced. Like, hey, wouldn’t it be easier if we split up, and you guys grabbed groceries and jacked one of the big cargo trucks they’ve got sitting in the back lot with GreatValue: Part of Your Community plastered over the side, while we got Kamala’s pain meds? 

There was a whole thing where everyone argued about who was the best at hotwiring trucks. Peter and Sam eventually won out over Bucky, who Miles has a niggling suspicion wouldn’t have left Aunt Sarah and AJ and Kamala anyway. Ned and MJ are doing groceries, with the help-slash-protection of their new and terrifying Wakandan friend Captain Ayo, who Miles thinks actually probably has great taste in snacks.

“I know,” Bucky says, a very quiet statement out of the side of his mouth. His eyes are on the aisle in front of them, and the giant tire display, but something about the way he says it is like, he gets something Aunt Sarah isn’t saying that none of the rest of them can. Kamala claims they’re madly in love, which she told Miles about in the strictest confidence. Kamala is a big believer in being madly in love. Miles isn’t so sure, but the exchange does remind him of his mom and dad, which is an emotion so strong Miles’s already tripping senses stumble over themselves to cope with it, so he shoves it down and ignores it entirely. 

He focuses on Kamala’s uncomfortable squirming instead. The piggy-back ride is because her ankle hurt too much to walk on, and Miles figures it’s probably really sore by now.

“You okay?” he whispers, just to her.

“Ugh,” she admits. She wouldn’t have said anything like that to the adults, he knows.

“So I shouldn’t put you down?” She’d spent ten minutes arguing that she was too heavy for him, outside.

“I’d have a really bad limp,” she sighs, sounding miserable. Bucky’s still kind of limping too, on account of getting mauled by a giant rat thing. That’s what Sam said, anyway.

“Besties in limping,” Miles says, which is worth it for Kamala’s quiet giggle. Aunt Sarah hears them and reaches out her free hand to rub Kamala’s back.

“Escalator route,” Bucky decides on finally. AJ looks up with large and solemn eyes, hopeful that they’re finally gonna get a move on. “There by the freezers, there are enforcers. We go behind the escalators, we won’t run into anyone.”

Aunt Sarah stares hard at the frozen foods aisle, then at Bucky. “How do we know, behind the escalators –?”

“Miles,” Bucky whispers. It’s so low Miles could pretend not to hear him if he really wanted, which is kind of impressive given that they’re sardined so close together Miles is basically breathing in the poor guy’s ear.

“I don’t sense anyone,” Miles says, maybe a little less confidently than he means. Kamala shifts her hands nervously where they clasp around his neck, and the plastic beads from one of her bracelets dig into his collar bone. He clears his throat. “Remind me again why I couldn’t have just grabbed us this shit on my own and got out?”

“Zappy invisibility doesn’t make up for the power of friendship?” Kamala offers.

Bucky shoots them another look over his shoulder. 

“No. Interstate is on the other side of the lot anyway. Going around would’ve been more dangerous.”

“Dude,” Miles says, “how do you do that. You’re like barely moving your mouth.”

“Uncle B used to be a ninja,” AJ whispers solemnly from the floor, now completely resigned to his boredom.

“It’s ‘cause his mom was from New Jersey,” says Kamala. “Everyone from Jersey has mad skills.”

Bucky makes a face, like, why did I ever tell a bunch of kids about my life. Miles is sympathetic.

“I think being from Jersey should count against you in a court of law,” Miles says. “Anyway, no way, B’s a New Yorker.”

“His energy gives matrilineal skill adoption,” Kamala whispers.

“What’s matrilinear?” asks AJ.

“Jesus fucking Christ,” mutters Bucky.

Miles and Kamala grin; AJ makes a shocked Pikachu face at the cuss.  

Aunt Sarah looks tense again. “James.”

He sighs, recalibrates, turns to her: “We’ll be fine.” The hard staring thing resumes. After a second Bucky’s mouth moves, and this time no sound comes out at all, except it kind of looks like he’s saying honey. At any rate, Aunt Sarah’s expression softens. Miles feels Kamala breathe in sharply and dig her fingers into his shoulder like dude, dude, see?! 

Bucky turns back to look at them and Miles tries to school his expression into something totally chill and not interested in the grown-up drama.

“Clear line of sight. You guys good for the rear?”

Miles puffs his chest out a little. “You kidding? With our combined powers?”

“Me and Miles are like a quadruple threat for government watch lists,” Kamala whispers, a crooked tilt to her grin.

Miles tries very hard not to snort out loud. He makes a dumb choking sound instead; Bucky sighs.

The reality of dystopian Walmarts might suck, but it's kind of nice that he has Kamala around, to make dumb jokes about it with. With that thought, they plow forward, to secure the drugs.

"Pain meds!" Kamala hisses, and Miles grins.

[biostris]

Could you do Peepers & Hater in a poly relationship with villain S/O?

A/N: overwatch gave me an aneurysm but an odd spark of determination to write some more, so let's go! also they dont have a lot of gifs with peep and H8r being domestic huh.

: Cpeeps x Villain!Reader x Hater Poly hc's:

Who knew villains could fall in love? Wander, Wander did.

After all the chaos and stuff that Lord dominator did Hater was more than heartbroken even with things going back to normalcy, and peeps didn't like his boss being too sad.

they are bisexuals, your honor.

It didn't take long for Wander to butt into all of ya'lls lives, It started with the orange fuzzball leading Hater through the healing galaxy to a small planet where you dwelled.

TLDR love at first sight for all of you.

Initially, you felt bad for crushing on both boys, but in the end, you can only have one, or so you thought.

Space doesn't have laws against marrying more than one person since no one technically owns space (much to haters' dismay and failed attempts to claim it as his.)

It started with you and Hater, You both decided to test the waters with this relationship, both of you being as gentle as you can be as you figure out your partner. Hater has severe trust issues and while he goes on tangents and gushes over how cool and deadly you are he is usually reeled back by flashes of memories usually featuring lord dominator demeaning him.

You two eventually found your niche, though something still felt empty, Luckily hater had some harbored feelings for his commander that he never admitted and still denies so it is HIS idea to invite him into the relationship.

You both went to him, a private room, and just popped the question/ Peepers likes to keep things professional but at that time he couldn't help but let his eye go wide with awe.

TLDR Hater: you and hater tend to be loud, especially around each other, you are more level-headed and try your best to keep him cool when the (loveable) fuzzball and his trusty steed lead you guys on a chase. He loves to call you his Queen or Lady, but he sometimes uses Babybones when it's just the three of you. He tends to just call peepers peeps or commander, sometimes he will call him love.

TLDR Peepers: due to you being more level-headed, especially when it comes to conquering planets, his outbursts of rage have quelled themselves and he finds himself less stressed. He calls you Darling, and dove, he is very romantic with his actions such as knuckle kisses (nussles??) and small gifts. He usually addresses Hater as his lord or liege. Despite the feelings they had towards each other before, be honest it's gonna be a little weird dating the man who is your boss.

you guys are all broken in one way or another, and that makes your bond strong as well as the common goal of universal conquest. However, now that you are all together that plan has been on hold for a while now, hopefully, Wander didn't rub off on ya'll now ;]

[heedmywarnings]

Mysterious Voice

Chapter One

“Autumn leaves, in daylight’s breeze..”

“My yearning could be ever so strong”

“Your voice echoes in my mind like a bird’s song”

“Ugh… I don’t think that fits well” Aether huffed in annoyance, “I think it was alright” Zhongli reassured with a smile, getting up from the chair he was sitting on.

“That reminds me… Aether, do you plan on being apart of a band or becoming a soloist?” The taller male asked, “Mm, not really sure. As long as the band fits my vibe, I guess I’m alright with a band” Aether answered, “But I don’t think anyone is gonna let me be apart of their band, since I’m still an amateur and stuff, y’know?” Aether continued, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly.

“That’s where you're wrong, your voice competes with that of 4NEMO,” Zhongli said, the younger male didn’t buy it, So… you’re telling me I can take on 4NEMO?” Aether repeated, the amber-eyed man hummed in response, “Are you crazy? There’s like no way I could even get up to their standards!” Aether laughed at Zhongli’s comment, “But it’s true” Zhongli kept on trying to convince his nephew.

“Hm, then, why don’t I add your voice in 4NEMO’s unreleased song? It did lack something and maybe you could fill the gap” Zhongli offered, “Alright, alright… bet” Aether agreed, he knew it was silly but he complied, after all, it’d be such an honor to be a part of a 4NEMO song. 4NEMO is a very popular T-Pop band, everyone adored them and their songs. So, who is Aether to refuse?

“Besides, I don’t think they’ll even notice your voice that much” Zhongli commenced, he could never be so wrong…

“OMG, NEW MEMBER?!?!?!?!?!?”

“WHO’S THE MYSTERIOUS VOICE?”

“OKAY- BUT LIKE WHY IS HIS VOICE SO ANGELIC”

“MOVE TF AWAY VENTI I’M INTO THIS GUY NOW”

Social media blew up after hearing 4NEMO’s new song “Mondstadt Hills” which was released yesterday, “I THOUGHT YOU SAID THEY WOULDN’T NOTICE MY VOICE?” Aether screamed in panic, pacing back and forth as his uncle sits, drinking tea, calm as ever. “I didn’t know they’d love your voice so much, it proves my point about your voice a week ago,” Zhongli said before taking another sip, his nephew could swear he was smirking behind the porcelain cup.

“Also, Lumine is coming home today. but unfortunately I will not be present for today as I need to attend 4NEMO’s matters” Zhongli informed Aether before he stood up and left the room.

‘At least Lumi is coming home…’ Aether thought to himself, Lumine was a famous actor, always in another country, never in one place for more than a month. Lumine got hired by a fairly large company thanks to Zhongli. Lumine is likely to visit Aether because of the song. Lumine could recognize her twin brother’s voice from anywhere, he did sing for her when they were kids.

Aether sighed and opened his phone to check if the chaos on social media has quelled, no, no it did not.

The small groups of haters or people who do not like 4NEMO are quickly switching up after hearing Aether’s voice, ‘they better thank me…’ Aether thought switching his phone off.

“Zhongli! Zhongli!!! Just tell us! Not like we’re gonna tell anyone!” Venti whined to the older man, as Zhongli rolled his eyes, “I hate to agree with Venti, but yeah” Heizou said, as Kazuha nodded. “Have you idiots ever considered thinking about his privacy?” Xiao spoke up in his usual harsh tone, “Oh c’mon Xiao! Acting like you aren’t you curious, huh?!”Venti said looking back at Xiao who was leaning against the wall.

“I’m curious but-” “See! You’re in this together!” Venti smiled, his usual shit-eating grin presented on his face.

“I still do not have the consent to reveal his identity,” Zhongli said, pushing Venti away who was tugging at his hair. “In that case… why don’t we organize a live show? Wouldn’t that force our anonymous voice to stop hiding?” Heizou said, with a closed-eye smile, sometimes, his intelligence scared Zhongli. “I could always pre-record his singing” Zhongli fired back.

“Oh”

[gcorvetti]

Essere o non essere?

Mi sono guardato la schiena allo specchio e confermo che sembro essere stato assalito da una piovra gigante, perché ieri la massaggiatrice ha, oltre a strizzarmi a dovere, usato quelle ventose in plastica morbida che lasciano succhiottoni appunto da piovra. Dopo il massaggio sono andato a pranzo con la piccoletta e come al solito chiacchere e risate random, poi le ho chiesto se la noia che mi portano i miei brani quando li suono, non so se è proprio noia ma chiamiamola così, sia un qualche segnale? Risposta, si, dice che il mio percorso di studi degli ultimi anni mi ha portato fuori da quello che è il mio ambito musicale, che sia il blues o il progressive, la musica classica o la composizione, e mi ha detto di lanciarmi in quello che sento di più sia vicino al modo in cui voglio esprimermi. Le amicizie quelle belle, in realtà pensandoci è vero, l'ho scritto anche ieri mi pare, che sono stufo di fare quei brani non solo perché sono datati ma anche perché dentro di me è nato qualcosa che va oltre, che esce dalla confort zone musicale. John Cage docet "La musica è in continua evoluzione", parte di una frase che ho scolpita nella mente oramai.

Ho letto oggi un articolo interessante che mi ha catturato per il titolo, un pò lungo e un pò bla bla, però ha degli spunti di riflessione niente male, come il fatto di sdoppiarsi in ambiti diversi, come la vita reale e quella online, speravo fosse più approfondito sull'argomento di come ci percepiscono gli altri, ma l'articolo in realtà parla di altro. Però l'aspetto di come ci vedono gli altri in rapporto a come siamo è uno dei punti salienti della nostra vita, soprattutto adesso che i social danno una versione di noi distorta basta una foto o un post o anche un commento per essere fraintesi, per dare al prossimo una visione di noi completamente irreale, come nell'articolo, si crea un doppio, avvolte voluto ma spesso no, almeno per quanto mi riguarda. Ho sempre pensato tra me e me che le persone non hanno la voglia di approfondire la conoscenza del prossimo, non solo la mia, e che non hanno neanche, spesso per niente, l'occhio per i dettagli, la dico così anche perché non mi viene una terminologia adatta, mi spiego : a me capita di capire, anche se non profondamente, una persona dalle azioni che fa, da quello che dice e dai suoi comportamenti sia nei miei confronti che nei confronti degli altri, diciamo che in un certo senso profilo le persone, più che altro per capire con chi ho a che fare, ma la decodifica spesso è difficile proprio perché quella persona non si mostra per quello che è ma è un suo doppio, un carattere che recita, in certi casi molto bene.

Questo lo lego alla falsità che ci circonda giornalmente, al politically correct degli ultimi anni, anche se mi sono reso conto di questo già dagli anni 90. Penso che nella seconda metà degli anni 90 sia iniziato tutto quello che oggi abbiamo di più squallido, quando ancora i social non esistevano dato molto importante, ricordo per esempio un tizio che veniva ai concerti e quando scendevi dal palco ti veniva incontro con un sorrisino ebete e ti dava gratuitamente palate di merda, tipo "Hai fatto schifo proprio sta sera", oppure "Ma perché suoni se non sai suonare?", al che un giorno ha preso mazzate da una band di metallari, ben gli sta, ma quello stesso tizio, che oggi etichettiamo come hater, e che quando ho visto suonare ho capito il perché del suo comportamento ostile, tutta invidia, era il prototipo di tutte quelle persone che oggi dietro una tastiera (quindi rischio di pestaggio zero) si permettono di insultare il prossimo, spesso per il gusto di farlo, si anche un pò bulletti ma sempre e rigorosamente da remoto.

Discorso complessissimo mattutino, quanto me piacciono i pipponi, ma che si allaccia sempre al mio percorso di vita, alle mie scelte di diventare mio malgrado un musicista propenso all'arte che come tale guarda la società con la sua lente d'ingrandimento per scrutarne le venature più profonde. Eccovi l'articolo se siete curiosi come me.

[binaryeclipse]

Oh you know what I’m gonna ask— OBIKIN FOR THE SHIP ASKS

QUELLE SUPRISE! 😂 Thanks so much 💖

002 | Send me a ship and I will tell you:

When I started shipping them: Techincally 2005 right out of the theatre but it was sort of a low-key kind of shipping when you like something but you're not actively seeking the content for it. My second rewatch of the Clone Wars changed everything. Thank you, 2020.

My thoughts: As a ship it has everything you can possibly want. Friends to Lovers. Idiots to Lovers. Lovers to Enemies. Enemies to Lovers. Setting each other on fire. Trying to kill each other. Decades of history between them. Its got 'oh my god they were roommates' vibes. Its got "hot for teacher" vibes. Defining their relationship is impossible, which is what makes it so good. Its got drift compatibility and dyad vibes. It has absolution, ON BOTH SIDES. What more can you want from a ship? What other ship can do what they've done?

It's also just sexy as fuck. This ship can fit so much kink in it. It's got so many haters and that's why it's hot. If your ship is not deemed problematic in some way it's just not sexy enough.

What makes me happy about them: Everything about them.

What makes me sad about them: Everything about them.

Things done in fanfic that annoys me: There's a specific take on Obi-Wan, where he is just very soft and sweet and kind and sugary and needs to be protected and it makes me gag. I don't have time for it. Like, if that's your jam, have fun but it's not mine. As far as I'm concerned, Obi-Wan Kenobi is a bossy mean bitch who will kick your ass and snark at you the entire time. He's kind and wise but he is not nice.

Also I bail the minute I see someone having Obi-Wan call Anakin "Ani". No.

Things I look for in fanfic: If they're not orbiting around each other like two violent stars, what's the point? I want them obsessed with each other and making it everyone else's problem. Obi-Wan Kenobi Series was a gift in that respect.

My wishlist: A world where Mustafar didn't happen because Obi-Wan dommed the hell out of Anakin and he was getting the touch, attention, and correction he wanted/needed.

Who I’d be comfortable them ending up with, if not each other: I don't know if we saw the same movies but I'm pretty sure they do end up with each other at the end of RotJ.

But Padmé has rights, I guess. To both either them 😏 Anidala and Obidala my belovèds 😌

My happily ever after for them: 😌 living happily ever after together for an eternity in the Force 😌