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ravengards-rogue · 6 months

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i thought of you so often.

arthur morgan x reader.

✧ tags : fem!reader (gendered language, explicit use of she/her in reference to reader), children / planning on children, generally sappiness, fluff, au where nothing bad happens to arthur hdskjsdkfhsj.

✧ wc : 2.4k (???)

✧ a/n : arthur morgan.... save me arthur morgan....also not a super original thought but i can't Stop thinking about it.

✧ synopsis : a collection of love letters, all unfinished, tucked somewhere you aren't meant to find them. oh, arthur loves you more than you knew.

.𖥔 ݁ ˖˚☽˚｡⋆

You try to keep out of Arthur's belongings.

He's owed some privacy, for one. More than that, you've never felt any reason to look into it. Arthur isn't a man of many words, though you catch moments of his introspection should you pry. He isn't stoic, neither. And above all things, he's kind. Really truly kind in a way that makes him different from other men.

You don't have any complaints about him is what you mean. Unlike the men you've loved before, there are no short-comings of Arthur that would drive you to wanting to investigate his own personal things. Especially something so personal like his journals, prior or present.

On top of that, you were there with him through everything. You were part of the gang and stayed by him when it all fell apart. It was towards the end of that that Arthur came to you near frenzied, told you his plans, his thoughts. Confided in you and no less than begged to go with him where he ran.

You loved Arthur enough to stay, and so things ended - and you ran. There isn't much his journal could tell that you couldn't surmise on your own.

It's been years now, and you've long since left that life. You live with Arthur quietly, peaceful in the moments with a garden and kitty sweet as sugar.

It's a good life. An honest, quiet one sometimes to the point of being boring. You rarely miss the action, though occasionally you'll take up a bounty just to feel alive and make some money.

Mostly though, you live as unassuming folk. No bloodshed, no wardens, no gunslinging.

Been talk between you both about having a baby, recently. Serious talk. You've made some money between here and there, and you've got a good life. You've traveled too. But it gets a little lonely, and you don't really get your fill with just Jack when John and Abi are ways away.

Before anything like that, though - you need to clear some space. Empty out some belongings and things collecting dust. Living in one place for too long creates all sorts of mess, you find. When Arthur is home to help, he does - but he's been busy lately figuring something out with Charles. Some business venture related to ranching that you know nothing about so far. They'll tell you when its ready.

Usually when you're tidying, you keep to just your things, or your shared things - but Arthur has lived more life than you. It shows in that big closet space filled with nick-knacks he has yet to toss.

You'd mentioned it to him not too long ago and he'd given you permission to go through them.

(A kiss to your forehead from chapped lips and hands holding your waist, Arthur hums in acknowledgement as you ask his permission.

"Ain't nothing I gotta hide from you. Do whatever you need.)

But like you said - you try to keep your nose out of his business if it's not necessary for you to be in it in anyway.

You weren't trying to look through his things, really. You started cleaning, worked your way to that last box. Up on a shelf in his closet, a little too high for you to reach easily. You made a misstep and dropped the damn thing. It barely missed your head as the whole thing fell open, and out came journals and papers and photographs.

You've always known Arthur to be sentimental, so none of it has been particularly surprising. A photo of wolves and him on a horse, the picture from John and Abigail's engagement. Some other scraps of sentimental value.

And then there was a journal. Not Arthur's journal that he's always using, but another you've never seen before. You know Arthur journals, seen the thing plenty though you never look unless he shows you first.

A journal with a dark brown stained leather binding, fallen open and your name scrawled out in pencil lead at the top of it.

The curiosity got the better of you, okay? Not your damn fault.

So you're thinking on it.

The fabric of your skirt is pooled out underneath you as you hold the thing in your hands, sitting down on the ground surrounded by things. You've stowed away everything else that fell out from the box after ensuring it was intact, including Arthur's journals. Everything with the exception of the one you're holding.

Some guilt eats at you. You don't wanna upset him potentially by having looked. Even if he gave you permission, looking in the damn thing is a little different. But your name was there so clearly, and well - you didn't think he wrote about you. Apart from here and there, maybe.

You hold the book out in front of you with a sigh, looking fondly at his name ingrained in the leather. You press your forehead against it with, resigning yourself completely.

"Lord forgive my pryin'," You mumble, hoping it's enough to absolve you.

Your heart feels funny as you let your fingers trace over the hard edge of the front cover, one eye shut as you start to open it slow.

The first few pages are nothing special.

A page outlining who the journal belongs to and when it was started, and some doodles of yarrow and oleander. The pages after that filled with mundane entries. About people he met or things he saw, all endearing to you. The corners of your lips tug up slightly.

You really love this man helplessly.

You flip through a few more pages, many of them blank before writing starts to appear again. Little by little, you find passages. You look to the dates up at the corner (though not all of them have one) and trace the timeline. This is from all the way back in Horseshoe Overlook.

It feels like ages ago now.

You look at a page with no date, and reading the writing in it. There's doodles of flowers and trees along the bottom of the page. The words are easy enough to make out - because Arthur has the most unusually beautiful handwriting.

There's some entries about you. At first, they all include your name in some context. Mentioned in the same way Arthur might mention Hosea or Abigail. The further you go, the less you see it. The more you become her and she.

It's a trend. The longer you read, the less there is about anyone else. Just you and all your silly idiosyncrasies tucked between pages. Something lovestruck and foolish lights its match in you.

Saw a body hanging at the tracks at Valentine. A gruesome sight. I told her about it and she laughed. Asked me to take her to see it. A strange woman, by all accounts.

You feel yourself smile a little as you continue to flip through the pages.

She joined me riding into town today. Said she had some business to attend but would not tell me any details. After, she came with me to purchase a new gun. I engraved a snake into it's handle, per her request.

Another few pages littered with drawings of delicate berries and waterfalls before you stumble across more writing. The more you flip, the longer the passages become you.

You can't tear your eyes away.

Rained today. Nothing too terrible or worth mentioning, except that she nearly caught a cold playing in it. I brought her coffee to keep her warm, but could not scold her further upon seeing her delight.

Another passage, this time written with messier hand writing. A coffee stain splatters on the white of the page.

Your heart tugs on itself. Swells about a thousand sizes. To think he wrote so much of your time together between these pages.

You read and read and read - and each passage is a little more mundane at the last. Some pages go on in vivid detail, but others are so short you aren't sure what to make of the fact he wrote them at all. As if such little details were important enough to keep in mind.

I picked a flower for her. I thought it would suit her taste. It was white with delicate petals. I did not know the name.

She wore it in her hair this evening. I find I can't stop grinning.

One passage on the next few pages, longer than the rest, catches your eye. From later in your time together, written when you were in Leymone. Near Scarlett Meadows and before the mess in Saint Denis.

After Arthur had been kidnapped.

I have gone on and on about the business with Colm O'Driscoll in many entries before this one. Yet, I find it difficult to forget. Many times I have come close to death, and still no experience lingers on my mind quite like this one. Everyone has done their best to look after me. For that I am grateful, though I do not care for being looked after. What use am I like this, I wonder? Perhaps, I should simply be grateful to be alive and in one piece, if a little uglier than I was. Alongside Miss Grimshaw and Miss Tilly, she has been by my side while I recovered. Such a carefree woman and yet I have seen her cry and weep over me countless times in the last few weeks alone. The decent man in me is apologetic for causing sorrow. Perhaps, it is the outlaw in me that feels some strange relief or satisfaction. Her fussing does not give me any grief. If anything, I find myself all the more endeared. Such a decent woman does not belong in a place like this. I hope she is able to go somewhere far away and live peacefully. I am not so shameless to want anything more. The time together we have spent, I will make sure to cherish.

Something painful and pitiful tugs at your heart. Even when Arthur admitted his feelings for you, he had started it on a similar tangent. You tell him often that you're the one who feels out of bounds with him. That a man as decent and as honest as him often feels like too much for you to have so easily.

A tear slips from your eye and you laugh at your own sentimentality, wiping it away before it can splatter onto the pages.

The further you read, the more sporadic entries become. You find that there are pages filled with sketches of you, but many of them are scratched out or half erased - like he did not find them good enough. Of your side profile, of your hands, of you pointing at a target with a gun. You feel a strange feeling of love wash over you.

Instead of concrete thoughts, you're met with Arthur's abstract. Subtle complexities and studies. There's honest tenderness in the way he sketches you and the words he chooses to caption each with. Lighter, thinner lines. Smaller doodles like stray daydreams caught onto a page.

You've never doubted Arthur in his love for you, quiet man he is - but it proves to overwhelm when presented to you in such a way.

You get to back pages. There, you're finally met with more writing. Except, instead of journal entries, there's the start of letters. You find your name at the top of the page.

Over and over. Love letters, all unfinished or scrapped. Written over and over and over, but not completed. There's tens of them at least. You've never received a love letter from Arthur before, though it's nothing you fault him for.

Now you're almost glad. You like this much better.

My darling girl My muse The better half of me, I must find some way to tell you all of what I think of you. It seems no words do it justice, I'm afraid. Still, it is in my best interest to try.

Damn that man.

When you find yourself starting to weep, you don't fight the feeling. You merely shut the book closed and set it in your lap before crying into your hands.

Such overwhelmingly happy tears. You feel off balance. If the whole world turned on its head this very minute, you're unsure you'd notice. What a decent, honest man you've come to love. What a tender one.

In the middle of your crying, you don't hear the door open or close. Nor do you hear Arthur's heavy footfall until he's in the doorway, with a voice worried half to death.

"Sweetheart, what in the hell?"

You turn your head to look at him, watching his eyes widen at your tear stained face. You clamber to your feet hurriedly, book dropping onto the ground next to you as you throw yourself at him as soon as you can.

Arthur is a steady enough man not to stumble when you do, though you can feel his apprehension. Eventually, he circles his arms around your waist. His hugs are strong. Bout strong as him and then some. An arm wrapped around your waist, the other crossed over your back all around your shoulder. Full pressure as he squeezes you tight, patting the back of your head.

"I leave you alone for a few hours. What has gotten into you, little lady?"

You pull back and and look at him, wet lashes and all, before leaning up to kiss him. Arthur meets your lips chastely at first before making a noise of surprise as you kiss him further. You use both hands to grab his face as you do, scruff scratching against your skin. His lips are soft, welcoming. He melts into the touch, so easily - blue eyes lovestruck as you pull away.

"You know I love you, don't you Arthur? More than anyone in this crazy world we live in,"

His face softens visibly. He smiles at you, touching his head to yours.

"Somehow, I do. Though, I'm wonderin' what the hell brought this on."

You tuck your face against his chest, feeling his laughter reverb through you at the way you cling to him so fervently. You sniffle as you talk.

"Found your journal. The one about me,"

He goes stiff, then silent. When you look up again, he's blushing red. He pinches his brow.

"Lord, I'd forgotten all about it,"

You shake your head.

"Ain't nothing for you to be embarrassed about. You are so wonderful,"

He pouts at you. Your heart swells. "You ain't helping with the embarrassment."

You hold him further. Hug him so tight, worried he'll disappear if you don't.

"I love you, Arthur."

"You already told me once, didn'tcha?"

"And I'll tell you one thousand times over," You emphasize, pouting at him. "Really. I love you,"

"I love you too sweetheart," His hand cups your face, thumb brushing along your waterline. "Don't cry no more. Spoils that pretty face."

"I'll try but I don't know if it's all out of me,"

Arthur laughs, pressing a kiss against your hairline. "Guess I'll just have to wipe your tears."

.𖥔 ݁ ˖˚☽˚｡⋆

#zero.writes #rogues love letters #arthur morgan x reader #arthur morgan fluff #rdr2 x reader #rdr2 fluff #red dead redemption x reader #this is so lovesick and silly i feel so miserable #I AM A JOHN GIRL. BUT. well that deadbeat father and bastard isnt gonna write you love letters like arthur im afraid

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do-you-ship-it-polls · 2 months

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Do you ship it?

reason under the cut!

People say Kavetham is a good ship because they're roommates who bicker all the time and are basically a married couple already, but it goes so much deeper than that.

What if we met in grad school, where we were instantly drawn to one another because of our diametrically-opposed, perfectly-mirrored ideologies? What if we spent our days embroiled in intellectual debates with one another, fascinated by the way each other's minds worked, all while bonding over our similarly fucked-up family situations and the pervasive sense of loneliness we shared? What if you were a relentless altruist, and what if I was the kind of person who valued self-preservation above all; you, an artist and architect, and I, a linguist and historian; and what if we were so sure that our differences were the strength of our relationship that we decided to pursue a joint research project?

What if that all fell apart, because one day I could no longer bear to see you drive yourself into the ground for the sake of other people, and I said things to you that I could never take back, and it made you walk away from our friendship forever? What if, from that day on, we were no longer on speaking terms, and as we grew older and graduated and became successful researchers with jobs in completely different fields, our only form of communication was firing passive-aggressive shots at each other's worldviews through academic journals and tavern message boards?

And then what if, many years later, your self-sacrificial nature finally got the better of you, and you gave up everything to create your magnum opus? And, while everyone around you celebrated your victory, you were secretly at rock bottom, homeless and drinking yourself to death? What if that was when I found my way to you again? What if, in a moment of weakness, you confided in me about everything you had been through since we had parted ways, and I offered my home to you, then? As a temporary place to stay, maybe, while you got yourself back on your feet.

And just like that, what if we started living together, trying to work our way past the festering, unresolved bitterness between us, picking through the suffocating feelings of regret and yearning and the "I-hate-to-admit-it-but-I-still-care-about-you"s and the constant reminders that we once considered each other family in the absence of our biological families? What if we spent every single day since then trying to gather the shards of our old relationship and reassemble it into something on at least vaguely civil terms? What if that's not an easy task; what if, despite caring for each other so deeply, we have forgotten how to hold a conversation that doesn't devolve into an argument?

But what if, over the course of our story, we were each put into situations that make us realize that we are too precious to one another to keep wasting our relationship away on miscommunications? For example, what if you learned that all your mother wanted for you was to have a companion who would support you unconditionally (even when they didn't fully understand you), just as your parents supported each other -- and you realized that I am the one who fills such a role for you? What if, as we continued to face conflicts with stakes both big and small, we slowly got over our communication issues, and grew content with calling our shared house a "home"?

So, what I mean to ask is: what if we were roommates who bickered all the time and were basically a married couple already?

tag: @kanon-kun

#genshin impact #genshin #kaveh #alhaitham #kavetham #poll #polls #video games

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glorified-red · 2 years

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Petnames (Damian Wayne x Reader)

summary: Damian calls you by your name while grocery shopping instead of the usual petnames, you're not a fan.

word count: 1,330

warnings: a vaguely suggestive sentence This is entirely based off of a TikTok I saw, I wish I could link it but I lost it. I really wanted to go more into Damian's Arab culture so this is the start :)

You rolled the cart forward, leaning your body weight onto the handle bar. Shelves stacked on top of shelves obscured your vision, aisles filled to the brim with expensive foods you didn’t even know existed.

Who cooks with saffron? Like seriously.

Damian insisted on going grocery shopping today and you didn’t hesitate to tag along, enjoying the peaceful company that his presence always brought. He was currently sifting through the tiny bottles of herbs in front of him.

Sesame seeds were gently placed in the cart alongside the lemons he picked out earlier, taking his time finding the perfect one for later tonight. Cumin found its way in the cart as well, set down right next to the yeast.

Damian’s cooking was one you had come to adore. He spared no expense when it came to providing you with a proper meal. He was fueled by his desire to provide, the act of service lover in him thrived on the sensation. So as he began to explore his culture’s cuisine, you were a constant support for him.

His new favorite pastime was experimenting with different flavored spreads, trying to perfect his own recipe so he could write it down in the household recipe journal right next to Alfred’s iconic banana bread and Tim’s new tofu recipe (created the second he learned Damian steered clear of animal products as much as possible, a vegetarian leaning slightly vegan if he could).

Damian had spent hours trying to learn how to craft dough from scratch, the fragile pita was a task he was willing to overcome with patience. Each time his hands would be covered in flour, the kitchen turned into a warzone of attempts. One batch was cooking, one was cooling, one was in his hands, and one was set aside to rise. You’d join him every time, sitting pretty on the counter while he worked, listening to the soft hum he let out as he concentrated.

Damian would kiss you in between, his cheeks dusted with flour that he barely noticed.

“You’re gonna get flour all over my clothes,” you’d whine in the kiss, complaints falling onto deaf ears as he kissed you deeply. His hands would settle onto the counter on either side of you, caging you in with his body.

“I’m sure you’ll manage just fine,” he’d smirk.

His sleeves would be rolled up after you insisted he wore an apron, he refused until you put it on him yourself. You’d tie the apron around his waist, the second you finished he’d pull you into a kiss in thanks. You’d blink and his hands would be under your thighs, lifting you onto the counter with the soft words of “I’ll need a taste tester.”

He’d hand you a small spoon every so often, watching your reaction with so much intensity it almost made you laugh with how serious he was about this. His eyebrows would furrow into the scowl as he waited for your feedback while you tasted the creamy hummus.

“It tastes amazing,” you’d gush, the flavors bursting to life on your tongue with how all the spices meshed together.

The satisfaction on his face was always worth it. It was small, but the pride blossoming inside of him was always so endearing to you. Your word of praise sunk straight into him until his heart felt lighter.

You’d flick flour at him as the night trailed onwards, smearing wet dough right on the tip of his nose so you could see him go cross-eyed.

“Oh you are going to regret that.”

“Am I?” you’d feign, holding back your own laughter.

By the end of the night, you’d be out of breath with giggles, socked feet sliding across kitchen tiles as he chased you. He’d always nab you, wrapping you so tightly against his body with no hope for escape. You’d fight until your clothes were covered in just as much flour as he was.

He’d smell of freshly cut herbs and the feeling of home. His tongue would taste of his marvelous cooking, an addicting essence you’d chase after well into the night while your dirty clothes lay discarded as an afterthought.

The clink of glass against the metal cart brought you straight back to the grocery store. You could feel the tingle on your lips from the memory. You coughed, looking up to find Damian deciding between two types of chickpeas. They slowly became a staple of the household, an easy protein substitute for Damian alongside tofu.

“Y/n, did you end up liking this one?” He turned to you, holding up the lightly colored kabuli package. The peas rattled against each other as the bag shifted.

You went to respond but your brain stuttered to a stop.

“What?”

Damian quirked up an eyebrow before repeating himself: “Did you enjoy the last hummus I made with these or did you prefer the other kind?”

“No, before that.”

Now Damian was really lost. “I said nothing before that, we haven’t spoken since I last asked you about the oils.”

You remembered, debating between the traditional olive oil or the more expensive avocado oil.

“You said my name.”

Damian nodded slowly, looking at you with a bewildered expression, one he used when he was trying not to call you a fucking twat.

“I did, yes.”

“Why did you call me that,” you almost pouted. “Are you mad at me?”

He scoffed, taken aback completely. “No,” the syllable raised with his surprise but he held it firm, reassuring you solidly. “It’s just your name.”

The chickpeas were long since forgotten, his hands falling beside his thighs as he leaned against the cart.

“What did I do?” you asked, your heart sinking.

Damian couldn’t tell if you were being serious or messing around with him. He spoke slowly, “Am I not allowed to say your name?”

You fully pouted, your words feeling embarrassing the more the conversation continued. “You just always use a nickname like beloved or love, you only ever call me by my name when you’re mad at me.”

The corner of his mouth twitched upwards, a playful feeling settling behind his eyes. He didn’t realize how much those names meant to you, he’d remember that next time.

“No I don’t,” he remarked, the playful retort falling from his lips easily.

“Yes you do!” you laughed, if you were closer you would’ve punched him in the shoulder (not like he would’ve moved or anything, but it got the message across all the same). “Cmon, Dames, what did I do?”

“You didn’t do anything,” Damian said. “I merely wanted to grab your attention so I could know which flavor to buy.”

“Then take it back,” you huffed, crossing your arms over your chest.

Damian looked at you with a bored expression. “Excuse me?”

“Take it back,” you demanded, standing firm in your words. “Call me something else.”

“Is that really necessary?”

You pleaded with your eyes, willing every ounce of puppy dog sadness into your gaze. Damian narrowed his eyes in return. You were playing a dirty trick, knowing his weakness and exploiting it. He stood unwavering for a single moment, staring straight into your eyes with his own.

But in the end, those eyes would always make him cave.

“Fine,” he sighed, rolling his eyes in feigned annoyance. “Beloved, darling, love of my life, habibti,” the arabic term of endearment rolled off his tongue with ease, it always made your chest flutter, “What flavor would you prefer?”

You smiled wide, a big toothy grin that made your eyes sparkle.

Damian tsked, “Are you satisfied now?”

“Yes,” you beamed, your hands falling from your chest and back onto the cart handle. “And the desi one, it’s creamier.”

Damian plopped the bag into the cart. “You are such a dork.”

You hummed, “You love me, don’t lie.”

“Do I, Y/n?” Damian smiled, turning away to exit the aisle.

“Aye!” You followed after him, hearing the soft chuckle from afar.

Taglist ♡

@anothertimdrakestan

@cherry-dropp

@missredrobin

#Damian Wayne x reader #Damian Wayne x you #Damian Wayne x y/n #Damian Wayne #robin #robin x reader #robin x you #robin x y/n #dc #dc comics #batfam #batfamily #batboys #fluff

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thatsoanjie · 7 days

Text

Hometown

Sebastian Sallow x Muggle born! reader

Summary : Sebastian visits you and your family home the summer after your sixth year. You sort through childhood trinkets, share a moment you thought you weren't prepared for, and more ensues.

Word count : 7.6k

Notes : Dual POV! Chose West Sussex for this one lol. Also your muggle parents' names are Thea and Gerald.

No warnings! Just some good fluff lol.

Read my disclaimer and fair use notice here

The sun hung low in the sky, casting a warm, golden glow over the rolling hills of West Sussex. The air was thick with the scent of blooming flowers and freshly cut grass, a stark contrast to the harsh, windswept moors of Feldcroft. Sebastian Sallow stood on the edge of your family garden, gazing out at the landscape with a mix of wonder and curiosity. It was his first time visiting your home, and he found himself captivated by the serene beauty of the countryside.

"It's so different from Feldcroft," he murmured, more to himself than to you.

You stood a few paces away, turning to look at him, a hint of amusement flickering in your dark eyes. "Not used to all this greenery, Sallow?"

He grinned, his eyes meeting yours with a playful glint. "It's not that. Feldcroft has its own kind of beauty, but it's… harsher, I suppose. This place feels more… peaceful."

You nodded, a small smile tugging at the corners of your lips. "West Sussex is like that. It's always been a place where I could escape, especially when things get overwhelming."

He watched you for a moment, noticing the way the evening light softened your features, making you seem almost ethereal. "I can see why you'd want to escape here," he said softly.

You looked away, trying to maintain your usual cool exterior, but there was a slight flush to your cheeks that you hoped he wouldn’t notice. "Come on," you said briskly, turning on your heel and heading toward the house. "I want to show you something."

Sebastian followed you inside, his curiosity piqued. Your home was a charming, old-fashioned house, filled with the kind of warmth and character that only years of happy memories could create. The walls were lined with framed photographs, many of them showing a younger version of yourself with your family, your smile more open and carefree than he had ever seen at Hogwarts.

"Your house is lovely," he remarked as you both climbed the stairs to the second floor. "It's got a lot of personality."

"Thanks," you replied casually. "It's been in the family for generations. My grandparents used to live here, and my parents inherited it when they passed away."

You led him down a narrow hallway to a small, cozy room at the end. The walls were painted a soft lavender, and the shelves were lined with books, trinkets, and other mementos from your childhood. A large, antique trunk sat at the foot of the bed, its surface worn with age.

"This is my room," you said, your voice tinged with a hint of nostalgia. "I've had it since I was a kid."

Sebastian glanced around, taking in the details that gave him a glimpse into your past. "It suits you," he said, his voice soft.

You rolled your eyes, though there was no real annoyance in the gesture. "Don't get all sentimental on me, Sallow."

He chuckled, crossing the room to stand beside you. "Wouldn't dream of it."

You knelt beside the trunk, your fingers brushing over the worn wood as you opened it. "I thought you might like to see some of the things I’ve kept from when I was younger," you said, your tone casual, though there was a hint of vulnerability in your words.

Sebastian crouched down next to you, his interest piqued. "I'd love to."

You began pulling out various items, laying them on the floor between you. There were old, dog-eared books, a few stuffed animals, and a collection of pressed flowers, each one carefully preserved between the pages of a faded journal. As you worked, you explained the significance of each item, your voice growing softer and more thoughtful as you reminisced about your childhood.

"These were some of my favorite books," you said, handing him a well-worn copy of The Secret Garden. "I used to read them over and over again. They were my escape, I suppose, before I knew there was a real world of magic out there."

Sebastian took the book from you, his fingers brushing against yours for just a moment before you pulled away. "I can imagine you with your nose buried in a book," he said with a grin. "Even before Hogwarts, you were always the serious type, huh?"

You huffed, though there was a faint smile on your lips. "I wasn’t always so serious. But I guess Hogwarts brought out a different side of me."

He studied you for a moment, noting the way you seemed more relaxed here, in the safety of your childhood home. "I like seeing this side of you," he said quietly. "It's different, but… it suits you."

You felt your cheeks warm at his words, and you quickly busied yourself with the trunk, pulling out the next item to avoid meeting his gaze. "Here," you said, holding up a small, wooden box. "This is something I haven’t looked at in years."

You opened the box, revealing a collection of small trinkets—shells, stones, and other bits and pieces that you had gathered over the years. Sebastian reached in and picked up a smooth, blue stone, turning it over in his hand.

"This is pretty," he remarked, his voice thoughtful. "Where did you find it?"

You smiled, your expression softening as you remembered. "I found it on a family holiday to Cornwall when I was seven. I was convinced it was a magical stone, like something out of one of my books. I carried it with me everywhere."

He chuckled, holding the stone up to the light. "It’s not magical, but it’s got its own charm."

You watched him for a moment, feeling a strange mixture of affection and nervousness. There was something about the way he handled your old belongings, with such care and interest, that made your heart ache in a way you weren’t used to.

"You know," he said, his tone turning more serious, "it's moments like these that make me realize how different our lives were before Hogwarts. You had all this… this warmth, this history. Feldcroft was… well, you know what it’s like. It’s hard, isolated. Anne and I didn’t have much besides each other."

Your gaze softened, and you placed a hand on his arm. "You had each other, and that’s something. I didn’t have a sibling, but I always wanted one. I’m glad you had Anne."

He looked down at your hand, his expression unreadable for a moment before he smiled, a bit of the old mischievous glint returning to his eyes. "You’re different," he said, his voice low and teasing. "I’m not sure I’ve ever met anyone quite like you."

You quickly pulled your hand back, trying to maintain your composed exterior, though your heart was racing. "Don’t start, Sallow," you warned, though your tone was more playful than serious.

But he was undeterred, leaning in slightly, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "Start what? Telling you that you’re intriguing? That I enjoy spending time with you?"

You rolled your eyes, though you couldn’t stop the small smile that tugged at your lips. "You’re impossible."

He grinned, clearly pleased with himself. "Maybe. But you like me anyway."

You tried to give him a stern look, but it was difficult to keep your composure when he was so close, his familiar scent filling your senses. "You’re awfully sure of yourself, aren’t you?"

He shrugged, his eyes twinkling with amusement. "I just call it like I see it."

For a moment, the room was filled with a charged silence, the air thick with unspoken words and feelings. It was a moment of vulnerability, of closeness, that neither of you had quite expected. Your heart raced as you struggled to keep your cool, while Sebastian’s gaze softened, as though he were seeing you in a new light.

Finally, it was you who broke the tension, reaching for another item in the trunk. "Here," you said, your voice a bit too bright. "I want to show you this."

Sebastian watched you for a moment longer, as though considering whether to push the matter, but then he relented, leaning back to give you space.

You pulled out an old, leather-bound journal, its pages yellowed with age. "This was my first journal," you explained, your tone more subdued now. "I started it when I was eight. I used to write about everything—my dreams, my fears, the things I wanted to do when I grew up."

He took the journal from you, flipping through the pages with a gentle touch. "Did you ever write about magic?" he asked, his voice soft.

You nodded, a wistful smile on your lips. "All the time. I didn’t know it was real, of course, but I was fascinated by the idea of it. I used to imagine that I was a witch, living in a world full of magical creatures and hidden powers."

Sebastian’s gaze flicked up to meet yours, his expression thoughtful. "And now you’re living that dream."

"Yes," you agreed, though your tone was tinged with a hint of melancholy. "But it’s different from what I imagined. The reality is… more complicated."

He nodded, understanding the weight behind your words. "It always is. But that doesn’t mean it’s not worth it."

You looked at him, your heart aching with a mixture of emotions you couldn’t quite name. There was something about Sebastian—something in the way he looked at you, in the way he spoke to you—that made you feel seen in a way you hadn’t been before. It was both exhilarating and terrifying.

"Thank you," you said quietly, your voice barely above a whisper.

"For what?" he asked, his brow furrowing in confusion.

"For being here," you replied, your gaze dropping to the floor. "For understanding."

He reached out, gently lifting your chin so that you were looking at him again. "I’m glad I’m here," he said. "And I’m glad you let me in."

For a moment, you simply stared at each other, the air between you charged with an unspoken tension. Then, slowly, almost hesitantly, Sebastian leaned in, his gaze dropping to your lips.

Your breath caught in your throat, and for a split second, you considered closing the distance between you. But then, at the last moment, you pulled back, your heart pounding in your chest.

"We should… we should get some rest," you said quickly, your voice trembling slightly. "It’s getting late."

Sebastian blinked, surprised by your sudden change in demeanor, but he didn’t push it. Instead, he nodded, a small smile playing at the corners of his lips. "Yeah, you’re right. Tomorrow’s another day."

He stood up, stretching his arms over his head as he prepared to leave. "Thanks for showing me all this," he said, his tone genuine. "It means a lot that you’d share it with me."

You managed a small smile, though your heart was still racing. "I’m glad you’re here, Sebastian. I really am."

He nodded, his gaze lingering on you for a moment longer before he turned to leave. "Goodnight," he said softly, his voice carrying a warmth that sent a shiver down your spine.

"Goodnight," you replied, watching as he left the room, the door closing softly behind him.

As soon as he was gone, you let out a shaky breath, your hand coming up to rest against your chest as you tried to steady your racing heart. You had managed to keep your cool, but just barely. There was no denying the pull you felt toward Sebastian, but you knew you had to be careful. You couldn’t afford to let your emotions get the better of you, not when there was so much at stake.

But as you sat there, surrounded by the remnants of your childhood, you couldn’t help but wonder if maybe—just maybe—there was a future for you two beyond friendship. It was a dangerous thought, one that you weren’t quite ready to entertain. But it was there, lingering in the back of your mind, a quiet whisper of what could be.

And as you finally settled into bed, your thoughts drifting to the boy who had become so much more than just a friend, you couldn’t help but smile, knowing that whatever the future held, it was bound to be anything but ordinary.

·····

Sebastian’s POV

Sebastian closed the door to the guest room quietly, letting out a long, slow breath as he leaned back against the wood. His heart was still pounding in his chest, a mixture of adrenaline and something else—something that had been building for years, ever since you had walked into his life.

West Sussex was nothing like Feldcroft. It was peaceful here, almost idyllic, with its rolling hills and lush gardens. The kind of place he might have daydreamed about as a kid, before the world had gotten so complicated. But it wasn’t the beauty of the countryside that had him restless tonight. It was you.

You were unlike anyone he’d ever met—mysterious, guarded, and yet so incredibly captivating. From the moment you arrived at Hogwarts in your fifth year, you intrigued him. But it wasn’t just curiosity anymore. The feelings he had for you had deepened, grown into something he wasn’t quite sure how to handle.

As he moved to the small window in the guest room, looking out at the moonlit garden below, his thoughts were consumed by the events of the evening. He could still see you there, sitting on the floor of your childhood room, surrounded by memories you’d chosen to share with him. It had been a rare glimpse into the side of you that you didn’t often reveal—a side that was vulnerable, human, and so beautifully real.

And then there had been that moment—that moment—when he’d almost kissed you.

He could still feel the warmth of your breath, the soft brush of your fingers as they’d touched while going through your childhood things. It had taken every ounce of restraint not to close the distance between you, to lean in and finally see what it would be like to kiss you, to taste the lips that had haunted his dreams for so long.

But you had pulled away. And that, more than anything, had left him reeling.

Sebastian wasn’t used to feeling uncertain. He was usually confident, even cocky, but you had a way of knocking him off balance. You had a coolness about you, a way of keeping your emotions in check that made him feel like he was always chasing, always trying to catch up.

But tonight, in that room, he’d seen something else. A flicker of something in your eyes, a moment of hesitation that told him you weren’t as unaffected as you pretended to be. It gave him hope—a dangerous, exhilarating hope—that maybe, just maybe, you felt the same way he did.

He ran a hand through his hair, feeling a surge of frustration. He was good at reading people, but you were a puzzle he hadn’t yet solved. Every time he thought he was getting close, you pulled back, retreating behind that carefully constructed facade of yours. It was maddening, but it was also what drew him to you even more.

Sighing, Sebastian moved away from the window and sat down on the edge of the bed. He knew he should get some sleep, but his mind was too wired, too full of thoughts of you. The way you’d looked at him, the softness in your voice when you’d thanked him for understanding… It was a side of you he wanted to see more of, a side he wanted to bring out of you, even if it meant pushing a little harder, taking a few risks.

But then there was the other side of it—the fear that if he pushed too hard, he might scare you away. The last thing he wanted was to lose whatever it was you had, this delicate balance of friendship, flirtation, and something deeper that neither of you had quite dared to name.

Sebastian leaned back on the bed, staring up at the ceiling. The room was quiet, the only sound the faint rustle of leaves outside the window. In the stillness, his thoughts drifted back to Feldcroft, to the harsh, windswept landscape that had been his home for so long. It was a place that had shaped him, hardened him, but it was also a place full of memories he’d rather forget.

Coming to your hometown was like stepping into another world, one that was softer, warmer, and so full of life. It was a world he wanted to be a part of, a world that you had invited him into, even if you hadn’t fully realized it yet.

He closed his eyes, the image of your smiling face lingering in his mind. There was a part of him that wanted to rush things, to make you see what was right in front of you. But there was another part—perhaps the wiser part—that knew he had to be patient. You were worth the wait, worth the effort, and if he wanted to win you over, he’d have to do it on your terms.

But damn if it wasn’t difficult.

He felt the weight of your journal in his hand, the one he hadn’t quite been able to let go of after you handed it to him. It was a piece of you, something deeply personal, and he found himself opening it, flipping through the pages with care.

The entries were written in a neat, precise hand, filled with the thoughts and dreams of a younger you, a girl who hadn’t yet been touched by the complexities of the magical world. He smiled as he read about your childhood fantasies, your belief in magic long before you knew it was real. It was like seeing a part of you that had been hidden away, a part that was still innocent and hopeful.

He paused on one entry, written in faded ink, the words barely legible. It was a dream you’d had, about a world where everything was possible, where you could be anything you wanted to be. You’d written about wanting to be strong, to make a difference, to find your place in a world that often felt too big, too overwhelming.

Sebastian felt a pang in his chest as he read those words, understanding all too well the feeling of being lost, of trying to find your way in a world that didn’t always make sense. But you had found your way, and you were stronger than you realized. It was one of the things he admired most about you, one of the things that made him want to be by your side, no matter what.

He closed the journal, setting it gently on the bedside table before lying back down. Sleep still felt distant, but he knew he needed to try. Tomorrow was another day, another chance to figure out where you both stood, to see if there was something more between you waiting to be discovered.

But as he tried to fall asleep, one thought remained clear in his mind: he was falling for you, and there was no turning back. Whatever happened next, he was in this—completely, utterly, and without reservation.

And he could only hope that, in time, you might feel the same way too.

·····

Your POV

The water cascaded down in a steady stream, warm against your skin as you stood under the showerhead, letting the heat soak into your muscles. But no matter how soothing the water was, it couldn’t wash away the frustration that churned inside you.

Why had you pulled away from him? The question kept circling in your mind, relentless and unforgiving. You’d felt it—the moment, the one where the air between you had practically crackled with tension, where the closeness, the intimacy, had felt like a fragile thread just waiting to be tugged. And yet, at the last second, you had stepped back, put distance between you and Sebastian, the boy who had somehow, over the past year, managed to get under your skin in a way no one else ever had.

You turned off the water with a sharp twist of the knob, the sound of the showerhead sputtering to a stop the only noise in the bathroom. The silence that followed was deafening, filled with the echoes of your own thoughts. You were angry—angry at yourself for being so guarded, for letting fear and caution dictate your actions.

You stepped out of the shower, grabbing a towel and wrapping it around yourself as you stared at your reflection in the mirror. The person staring back at you was composed, calm, the same mask you wore every day. But beneath that exterior was a storm of emotions you didn’t know how to control, a whirlwind of longing, confusion, and something else—something that scared you.

You wanted him. There was no denying it anymore, no point in pretending that you didn’t feel the same pull, the same desire that he so clearly felt. But you had always been so careful, so determined to keep yourself in check, to avoid the pitfalls of vulnerability that could lead to heartache.

But now, standing there in the dim light of the bathroom, you realized that maybe—just maybe—being careful wasn’t enough anymore. Maybe it was time to take a risk, to stop holding back and let yourself feel, let yourself be open to whatever it was that Sebastian had been offering, had been waiting for.

Your heart pounded as you dried off, slipping into a soft, comfortable set of pajamas, your mind racing as you made up your mind. You had pulled away from him once, but you didn’t have to keep running. Not from him. Not from what you wanted.

Wrapping your towel around your damp hair, you took a deep breath and made your way to the guest room where Sebastian was staying. The house was quiet, the only sound the creaking of the floorboards beneath your feet as you padded down the hallway. With each step, your resolve strengthened, and by the time you reached his door, you were determined to finish what he had started.

You hesitated for only a moment before raising your hand and knocking softly. The sound seemed to echo in the silence of the night, and you held your breath, waiting.

There was a pause, and then you heard his voice, soft and questioning. “Yeah?"

"Sebastian," you replied, your voice steady even though your heart was racing. "It’s me."

A few seconds later, the door creaked open, and there he was, standing in the dim light of the guest room, his expression a mixture of surprise and curiosity. He was still dressed in his clothes from earlier, though his shirt was rumpled, and his hair was slightly tousled, as though he had been lying down.

"Is everything alright?" he asked, his brow furrowing slightly in concern.

You took a deep breath, your eyes meeting his as you stepped closer. "I’m sorry," you said quietly, the words coming out more easily than you’d expected. "For earlier. For pulling away."

His expression softened, and he stepped back to let you into the room, closing the door gently behind you. "You don’t have to apologize," he said, his voice low and soothing. "I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable."

"You didn’t," you assured him quickly, shaking your head. "That’s not it. I just… I’m not used to this. To feeling like this."

He studied you for a moment, his eyes searching yours for any hint of hesitation. When he didn’t find any, he nodded slowly, his voice tender as he spoke. "Neither am I, if I’m being honest. But I don’t want to rush you into anything you’re not ready for."

You felt a pang of guilt at the thought that he might be holding back for your sake, that he was willing to put his own feelings aside just to make sure you were comfortable. But more than that, you felt a surge of affection for him, for the way he had always been patient with you, even when you had given him every reason not to be.

"Sebastian," you said softly, taking a step closer until you were standing just inches away from him, "I’m ready. I’m here because I want to be. With you."

His breath hitched slightly at your words, and for a moment, neither of you moved, the tension between you palpable, charged with the weight of everything unspoken. Then, slowly, as if afraid you might change your mind, he reached out, his fingers brushing against your cheek, the touch so gentle it sent a shiver down your spine.

"You’re sure?" he whispered, his voice thick with emotion, with a tenderness that made your heart ache.

You nodded, your own voice trembling slightly as you replied, "I’m sure."

That was all the encouragement he needed. In the next moment, he closed the distance between you, his arms wrapping around you and pulling you close, his warmth seeping into you as you melted against him. It was the first time you had ever allowed yourself to be this close to him, to let your guard down completely, and it was intoxicating.

He pressed his forehead against yours, his breath warm against your skin as he whispered, "I’ve wanted this for so long."

You closed your eyes, leaning into his touch, feeling the steady beat of his heart against your own. "Me too," you admitted to both him and yourself, the words soft, almost fragile.

He pulled back just enough to look into your eyes, his expression tender, almost reverent, as if he couldn’t quite believe this was real. His hand slid down to cup your cheek, his thumb tracing the line of your jaw with a gentleness that made your chest tighten.

"Tell me to stop, and I will," he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper, as if he were afraid to break the spell that had settled over you.

But you didn’t want him to stop. You didn’t want to go back to the way things had been, always holding back, always pretending that you didn’t feel the way you did. So instead of pulling away, you leaned in, your lips brushing against his in the faintest of kisses.

It was soft, tentative, as if you were both testing the waters, but it sent a jolt of electricity through you, a spark that ignited something deep inside. Sebastian let out a shaky breath, his hand tightening slightly on your waist as he deepened the kiss, his lips warm and insistent against yours.

You responded in kind, your hands finding their way to his chest, feeling the steady rise and fall of his breath beneath your fingertips. It was all so new, so overwhelming, but at the same time, it felt right—like this was where you were meant to be, in his arms, with his lips on yours.

When you finally pulled away, both of you were breathing heavily, your foreheads resting against each other as you tried to catch your breath. The room was filled with a heavy silence, but it was a silence that spoke volumes, that said all the things you hadn’t yet found the words to say.

"I don’t want to hold back anymore," you whispered, your voice trembling with the weight of the admission. "I want to be with you, Sebastian."

He let out a shaky laugh, his breath warm against your skin as he pressed a soft kiss to your forehead. "You have no idea how much I’ve wanted to hear you say that," he murmured, his voice thick with emotion.

You smiled, your heart swelling with a warmth that you hadn’t realized you’d been missing. "Well, now you’ve heard it," you replied, your tone light, but your words filled with sincerity. "And I mean it."

He pulled back just enough to look into your eyes, his gaze soft and filled with a tenderness that made your breath catch in your throat. "I want this too," he said quietly, his thumb brushing against your cheek in a gentle caress. "I want you."

There was something in the way he said it, in the way he looked at you, that made your heart skip a beat. It wasn’t just about the attraction, the physical pull you felt toward him. It was deeper than that, something that had been building between you for months, something that neither of you had been willing to acknowledge until now.

It was a connection, a bond that went beyond friendship, beyond the flirtation that had danced between you. It was something real, something that had the potential to be so much more if you were both brave enough to let it.

And in that moment, as you stood there in the quiet of the guest room, you realized that you were ready. You were ready to take that step, to let yourself feel, to let yourself be open to whatever it was that you had with Sebastian.

Sebastian’s POV

Sebastian had barely settled into the guest room, his thoughts still a tangled mess from earlier, when there was a soft knock on his door. His heart leapt into his throat, recognizing the sound immediately—your knock.

"Yeah?" he called softly, not entirely trusting his voice to stay steady.

"Sebastian" came your reply, a quiet affirmation that sent his pulse racing even faster. "It’s me."

For a moment, he hesitated, a whirlwind of emotions storming inside him. He had convinced himself that tonight was over, that whatever had been brewing between you two would have to wait, maybe forever. But here you were, standing outside his door in the dead of night, and he could hardly believe it.

He crossed the room in a few quick strides and opened the door, finding you standing there in your pajamas, your hair still damp from the shower, your eyes searching his face with an intensity that made his breath catch.

"Is everything alright?" he asked, the words coming out before he could think them through. The last thing he wanted was for you to think he was anything less than thrilled to see you there.

You took a step closer, your eyes never leaving his, and in that moment, Sebastian felt the air between you crackle with that same electric tension you had shared earlier. "I’m sorry," you said, your voice so soft and vulnerable that it cut right through him. "For earlier. For pulling away."

Sebastian’s heart twisted at the sight of you like this—unsure, almost apologetic, when you had no reason to be. He stepped back to let you in, closing the door behind you as a wave of protectiveness washed over him. "You don’t have to apologize," he said gently, trying to reassure you. "I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable."

"You didn’t," you insisted, shaking your head. "That’s not it. I just… I’m not used to this. To feeling like this."

Your words hung in the air between you, and for a moment, Sebastian was struck silent by the raw honesty in them. He had always known that you were different, that you kept your emotions close to your chest, guarded by that cool facade you wore so well. But hearing you admit that you were struggling with these feelings, that you were feeling just as conflicted and overwhelmed as he was… it made him want to reach out, to close the gap between you and tell you that you didn’t have to go through this alone.

"Neither am I, if I’m being honest," he confessed, his voice tender. "But I don’t want to rush you into anything you’re not ready for."

It was the truth. Sebastian had always been drawn to you, fascinated by your quiet strength, your intelligence, the way you carried yourself with a calm confidence that made others take notice. But he also knew how easily you could retreat behind that wall of yours, and the last thing he wanted was to push you too far, too fast.

"Sebastian," you said softly, taking another step closer, until you were just inches apart. He could feel the warmth of your body, the faint scent of your soap still clinging to your skin, and it made his heart race all over again. "I’m ready. I’m here because I want to be. With you."

The words hit him like a bolt of lightning, electrifying every nerve in his body. For a moment, he simply stared at you, hardly daring to believe that this was real. But the sincerity in your eyes, the way you were looking at him, was all the confirmation he needed.

His breath hitched as he reached out, his hand trembling slightly as he brushed his fingers against your cheek. "You’re sure?" he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. He needed to hear you say it again, needed to know that this wasn’t just a fleeting moment.

You nodded, your eyes never leaving his. "I’m sure."

And that was it. The last thread of restraint inside him snapped, and he pulled you close, his arms wrapping around you as if he could somehow shield you from everything else in the world. The feel of you against him, soft and warm, sent a shiver down his spine, and he pressed his forehead against yours, closing his eyes as he let the moment wash over him.

"I’ve wanted this for so long," he whispered, his voice shaking with the intensity of his feelings.

You leaned into him, your hands resting against his chest, and he could feel the steady rhythm of your breathing, the rise and fall of your chest against his. "Me too," you murmured, the words so soft that they barely reached his ears, but they were enough to make his heart swell with emotion.

Sebastian pulled back just enough to look at you, his eyes tracing every feature of your face, memorizing the way you looked at him, the way you seemed to glow in the soft light of the room. His hand slid down to cup your cheek, his thumb brushing along your jawline with a tenderness that he didn’t think he was capable of.

"Tell me to stop, and I will," he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. He needed you to know that you were in control, that he would never push you further than you wanted to go.

But instead of pulling away, you leaned in, your lips brushing against his in the faintest of kisses. It was tentative, hesitant, but it sent a bolt of electricity straight through him, igniting a fire that had been smoldering for months.

Sebastian let out a shaky breath, his hand tightening on your waist as he deepened the kiss, his lips moving against yours with a hunger that he could no longer deny. The world outside the room seemed to disappear, leaving only the two of you, caught in the whirlwind of your emotions, your desires.

Your hands slid up his chest, fingers tangling in his shirt as you responded to his kiss, your movements just as desperate, just as full of need. It was everything he had imagined, everything he had dreamed about, but it was also so much more, so much deeper, because it was real.

When you finally pulled away, both of you were breathing heavily, your foreheads resting against each other as you tried to catch your breath. The room was silent, the only sound the rapid beating of your hearts, but it was a silence that spoke of all the things you hadn’t said, all the things you had been too afraid to admit.

"I don’t want to hold back anymore," you whispered, your voice trembling with the weight of the admission. "I want to be with you, Sebastian."

Sebastian felt his heart swell at your words, felt the last of his doubts melt away in the warmth of your confession. He let out a shaky laugh, his breath warm against your skin as he pressed a soft kiss to your forehead. "You have no idea how much I’ve wanted to hear you say that," he murmured, his voice thick with emotion.

You smiled, and it was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen. "Well, now you’ve heard it," you replied, your tone light, but your words filled with sincerity. "And I mean it."

He pulled back just enough to look into your eyes, his gaze soft and filled with a tenderness that he had never felt for anyone else. "I want this too," he said quietly, his thumb brushing against your cheek in a gentle caress. "I want you."

And it was the truth. He wanted you, more than he had ever wanted anything in his life. But it wasn’t just about the attraction, the physical pull he felt toward you. It was deeper than that, something that had been building between you for months, something that neither of you had been willing to acknowledge until now.

And as he stood there, holding you close, feeling the warmth of your body against his, Sebastian knew that he was ready. He was ready to take that step, to let himself feel, to let himself be open to whatever it was that you had together.

So, when you leaned in again, your lips finding his in a kiss that was deeper, more certain, he didn’t hesitate. He kissed you back with everything he had, pouring all of his emotions into that one moment, letting you know without words that he was all in, that he wasn’t going to hold back anymore.

And as your arms wrapped around his neck, pulling him closer, he knew that this was only the beginning.

Whatever the future held, he didn’t care. All that mattered was that you were in this together, and that was more than enough for him.

Because in this moment, with you in his arms, he knew that he had found something real, something worth holding on to.

And he wasn’t going to let it slip away.

****

Your POV – The morning after

The morning sun filtered through the curtains, casting a warm, golden light across the room. You blinked slowly, the events of the previous night coming back to you in a rush of emotion. The memories were vivid—Sebastian’s touch, the tenderness in his gaze, the way he had held you close as if you were the most precious thing in the world. You turned your head on the pillow, your heart swelling at the sight of him beside you, still sound asleep, his breathing soft and even.

For a moment, you simply watched him, feeling an overwhelming sense of contentment. Last night had been more than you could have ever hoped for—filled with intimacy, trust, and the quiet understanding that whatever had been brewing between you had finally found its place.

You shifted slightly, careful not to wake him as you slipped out of bed, your feet touching the cool wooden floor. As you stood, wrapping yourself in a robe, you couldn’t help but smile at the thought of what your parents would say when they saw the two of you together this morning.

You were certain they had been waiting for this moment almost as long as you had.

The house was quiet as you made your way downstairs, the scent of freshly brewed coffee wafting through the air. You found your parents in the kitchen, your mother, Thea, standing by the stove while your father, Gerald, sat at the table, reading the morning paper.

“Good morning,” you greeted, your voice a bit softer than usual, as though you were afraid to break the gentle peace that had settled over the house.

“Good morning, darling,” your mother replied, turning to you with a warm smile. “Did you sleep well?”

You felt a blush creep up your cheeks, and you quickly busied yourself with pouring a cup of coffee. “Yes, I did. Thank you.”

Your father glanced up from his paper, a knowing smile playing at the corners of his lips. “So, where’s young Mr. Sallow this morning?”

You nearly choked on your coffee, the blush deepening as you shot your father a look. “He’s… He’ll be down in a bit.”

Your mother exchanged a glance with your father, her smile widening as she turned back to the stove. “I had a feeling it wouldn’t be long before you two finally sorted things out,” she said, her tone light but full of warmth.

You stared at her, a mix of embarrassment and surprise flooding through you. “You knew?”

Gerald chuckled, setting his paper down. “It was fairly obvious, love. The way you two have been dancing around each other for the past year… It was only a matter of time.”

You felt your heart skip a beat, a mixture of relief and amusement filling you. “I didn’t realize we were so transparent.”

Thea turned to face you, her eyes soft and full of understanding. “It’s alright. We’re just happy that you’ve found someone who makes you so happy. That’s all we’ve ever wanted for you.”

You felt a lump form in your throat, the emotions of the past day catching up with you. “Thank you,” you said softly, your voice thick with emotion. “That means a lot.”

Before your mother could respond, you heard footsteps on the stairs, and a moment later, Sebastian appeared in the doorway, his hair still slightly tousled from sleep. He hesitated for a moment when he saw you standing with your parents, but then he offered a sheepish smile. “Good morning.”

“Good morning, Sebastian,” your father greeted, his voice full of warmth. “I trust you slept well?”

Sebastian’s eyes flicked to you, and you could see the faint flush on his cheeks as he replied, “Yes, very well. Thank you.”

“Good, good,” Gerald said with a nod, clearly enjoying the moment. “Breakfast is almost ready. Why don’t you sit down and join us?”

Sebastian glanced at you, a small, tentative smile playing on his lips, before he nodded and moved to sit at the table. You followed suit, taking the seat beside him, your heart fluttering at the thought of how natural it all felt—sitting there with him, with your parents, as though this was how it was always meant to be.

Your mother set a plate of eggs and toast in front of you both, her eyes twinkling with barely concealed amusement. “So,” she began, her tone casual, “how long have you and Sebastian been… you know?”

You nearly dropped your fork, your eyes widening in shock. “Mum!”

Thea laughed, a light, musical sound that only added to your embarrassment. “What? I’m just curious. It’s not every day my daughter brings home such a charming young man.”

Sebastian chuckled beside you, his usual confidence returning as he glanced at your mother. “I think we only just figured that out ourselves, Mrs. Williams.”

Your mother beamed, clearly pleased with his response. “Well, it’s about time, if you ask me. We were starting to wonder if we needed to give you two a little nudge.”

Gerald nodded in agreement, a mischievous smile on his face. “We’ve been watching you two for a while now, and I have to say, it’s nice to see you finally getting on with it.”

You felt the heat rise in your cheeks, but there was no denying the warmth that spread through your chest at their words. They had always been supportive, always encouraged you to follow your heart, but hearing them speak so openly about their approval of Sebastian—it meant more than you could put into words.

Sebastian reached under the table, his hand finding yours and giving it a reassuring squeeze. You glanced at him, finding his eyes filled with that same tenderness that had been there last night, the one that made your heart swell with affection.

“We’ll try not to disappoint,” he said with a grin, his voice teasing, but there was an underlying sincerity that made your heart skip a beat.

The rest of breakfast passed in a blur of light conversation and easy laughter, the kind that came naturally when you were surrounded by people who cared for you, who wanted nothing more than to see you happy. And as you sat there, hand in hand with Sebastian, you realized just how lucky you were—to have him, to have your parents, to have this moment.

When breakfast was finished, your parents rose from the table, your mother patting you gently on the shoulder as she passed by. “We’ll leave you two alone for a bit,” she said with a knowing smile. “Take your time.”

As they left the kitchen, you turned to Sebastian, your heart full to bursting with everything you felt for him, everything you hadn’t yet had the chance to say.

“They knew,” you said, shaking your head in disbelief.

He chuckled, pulling you closer, his arm slipping around your waist. “They did. They’re smarter than we gave them credit for.”

You smiled, leaning into him, feeling the warmth of his body against yours. “I guess we weren’t as subtle as we thought.”

“Apparently not,” he agreed, his voice soft, a hint of amusement lacing his words. “But I’m glad. It feels… good, doesn’t it? To finally be here, with you.”

You looked up at him, your heart swelling with love for this boy who had somehow become so much more than just a friend. “Yeah,” you whispered, your voice trembling with the weight of everything you felt. “It feels perfect.”

And as he leaned down to kiss you, slow and tender, you knew that whatever challenges lay ahead, whatever uncertainties the future held, you would face them together—with the love of your parents behind you, and with Sebastian by your side.

***

This one was funnn!! Thank you for reading, requests are open. Hope you're having a good september!

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indigosunsetao3 · 8 months

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Go...Don't Go

Another submission for for @glitterypirateduck's ‘SoapItUp’ challenge.

I just can't stay away. I came into this story just wanting to do something with the "you deserve so much more" prompt and have it be Captain MacTavish. I went with it and wrote it in about two hours.

Title: Go...Don't Go

Pairing: Captain Soap/Reader (female)

Warning: Angst. Anger Issues. Fluff.

Summary: When John comes home it's supposed to be a few days of paradise, but it always turns into fight. This time you both wonder if you can come back from it.

Prompts: "You deserve so much more" "I'm going to marry you"

Word Count: 2.4k

Another fight. That’s all that seemed to happen these days between the two of you, even with weeks and months of separation due to Soap’s deployments. You yearned to have him home, counted down the days on the small calendar that hung on the fridge, and anxiously cleaned the house as if you were nesting leading up to his arrival home. And yet that happy bubble of breathless kisses, holding one another’s hands in the car so tight you thought your knuckles would pop, ended so quick you wondered why you wanted him home in the first place. Then as his next deployment crept closer, you’d tenuously make up, the fragile truce created as you said your goodbyes growing stronger as you awaited his return.

It was a never-ending cycle, but you both told yourselves it would be better next time. Next time you’d talk through it, have more time to figure it out and truly fix everything. You made plans, wrote in your journal things to discuss and try to work on. Because talking to him about it while he was gone, if he could even communicate, was too much. He was busy and stressed enough with staying alive that trying to figure out why you fought over the fucking curtains and didn’t talk for two days was not a concern then.

But this time was different you swore to yourself. You even brought the journal in the car with you to pick him up. Hoping to keep it present and within eyesight would help you get around to the conversation faster, before a fight broke out. Because, dammit, you wanted to fix things and get back to the beginning when everything was soft, gentle and fun. What you didn’t account for though is the moment you saw his face waiting for you at the airport arrivals all that anger and pain you wanted to discuss was thrown out the door as you flew out of your seat to hug him. The journal stayed in the backseat of the car as he dragged you into the house with promise and lust in his eyes.

And the journal stayed there for the next three days. Completely forgotten as you both lay in bed together laughing for hours, going down to the rocky beach in the freezing cold morning fog for a walk and to the local pub to catch up with friends. You thought about it of course, thought about what you needed to talk about but damn things were going so well. Why ruin it with that? Maybe your rough patch was over and things were better without having to drudge everything up.

Then everything erupted. You don’t even remember what started it this time, or how it got so far but the familiar pain and rage was back for both of you. You saw the look in his eyes as you stamped your foot and yelled at him to just fucking listen to you for once, so fed up with trying to get a word in between his ranting that you’d try anything to get his attention. His resolve snapped at that and he swiped hard at the glass on the counter so it went flying into the wall not far from where you were standing and exploded into dozens of tiny glittery shards. The ringing silence after that had both of you staring at one another as the amber Scotch ran down the wall.

“Get out,” you breathe after a second, feeling the tears welling up behind your eyes. Tears of frustration, anger, and maybe a tinge of fear. Soap had always been loud, boisterous, when he was happy or when he was mad but he had never done anything physical in front of you aside from the occasional door slam. He had always been careful to never let that side out with you because that was his work and he didn’t want to bring work home.

“Lass, I-“ Soap started as he took a step toward you. All the anger and fight seemed to have deflated out of him like a popped balloon. But he stopped moving when he saw you step back from him and raised his hands up a bit in surrender.

“Get out, John,” you say again a little more firmly as the sound of dripping liquid hitting tile fills the silence. The Scotch had made it to the floor now and was puddling gently on the tile and you glance at it to see it running into the grout to create a proverbial line between you and him. “Just…go,” you say again feeling the tears fall now and you are furious that he’s seeing how he made you feel.

“Of course,” he answers in almost a whisper, looking horrified with himself as he takes a step backward, then two. Turning heel, he quickly grabs the car keys from the awful lopsided bowl your niece made you for Christmas and is out the side door to the driveway. He didn’t even pause to grab his jacket despite the rain before he’s in the car and pulling away.

You stood in the silent kitchen for a long while, letting the tears fall as you tried to figure out what went wrong. How could all of this come to be? How could you two fit together like two halves of the same soul in the beginning turn into angry strangers? Perhaps it was all your fault, you were the one that changed and made things difficult. He was still the same old John that you met, the reliable Captain and genuine man that would sacrifice everything for those he loved and his country.

You though, God, you always nagged him, didn’t you? Always needed him and resented him in those dark depthless nights when he was gone. Cried to him while he was gone because you couldn’t take another night alone in that big bed. Maybe you were the issue and you were ruining everything, he couldn’t take care of his men and you at the same time. You needed to be strong and let him come home to you whole but you always needed something from him. You just couldn’t let him be.

By the time you bent down to clean up the spilled alcohol and glass, it was a sticky mess and you gasped as a shard nicked your thumb before you tossed it all in the trash. There were no tears left as you sat in the silence of the living room with a bottle of wine, no need for a glass, and just stared blankly into the small fire thinking. The wine addled your brain until your thoughts were just a muddled mess that didn’t make any sense and you needed to sleep.

When you awoke with a small jolt the clock on the nightstand reflected it had been three hours since your fight. Rolling over you saw John’s side of the bed was still untouched and cold. Fuck. With a groan you sit up and grab for your phone to see if he messaged you but all was quiet there. Calling out from the bedroom door to see if he was downstairs was greeted with silence as well. Your head was already throbbing as you crawled back into bed, knowing you should get some water and advil but the exhaustion was too much and you let sleep take you again.

Sometime later you felt the telltale dip in the bed of Soap climbing in and despite everything that had happened you roll over to reach for him. You need the comfort of him, even if you were still so confused because he was the only thing that could make you feel better. He has you first though, his hands grabbing desperately for you as he drags you over to his side of the bed to wrap you up tight against him. He’s shirtless and you nestle your head down into his chest as one of his hands holds the back of your head, the other arm wrapped around your waist.

“I’m sorry,” he says into the dark, his voice a desperate crack as he takes a breath. “Lass, I’m so sorry,” he states again.

You can’t answer, the tears you thought you had run out of were back and you were sobbing into his chest. It felt like this was the moment, the moment things would be made whole again or irrevocably broken and you weren’t ready to face it. Instead, your hands scrabble to cling to him, to grab anything you can and hold on tight afraid it would be the last time you’d get the chance. He smells of cigar smoke and Scotch and the cheap goddamn soap he insists on using because he ‘doesn’t need the fancy shit’.

“Don’t go,” you breathe as he tries to pull back after he sufficiently calmed you down with gentle whispers of affirmations and soft kisses to your hair. “Please don’t leave. Don’t leave me. I’m sorry I’ll do things different, I won’t..” you continue before he cuts you off.

“What are you on about?” Soap asks as he pulls back and softly tilts your head up to look at him. His hand slides to wipe away some of the tears that are still tracking down your face. “You don’t ever apologize to me for something I did, it’s not like you made me act like a fool. I scared you and I’m a goddamn idiot for that,” he says quietly, his eyes searching your face. “I should be begging you not to leave me. You deserve so much more than me, than how I’ve been.”

“I kept pushing you though. You deal with so much on your job, I should have just let it go…” you try to argue.

“You should do no such thing,” Soap answers a bit fiercely, “I deserve to get my ass handed to me now and again. Especially when I’m being a prick” he grins a little bit in an attempt to get you to smile as well. “I never want you to not fight back and tell me how you are feeling,” he smooths your hair back a bit off your hot and flushed face. “You know what I’ve been up to?”

“Drinking at the pub,” you answer a bit sheepishly, having smelled the alcohol and smoke.

“Aye, for a drink or two to calm down,” he answers with a small chuckle before twisting away from you to reach behind him. You let him roll, looking over his shoulder at what he was reaching for before he comes back with the small little notebook in his hand. Your journal you had left in the car. “But mostly I’ve been sat down at the beach reading this.”

You wince a bit, the journal was for talking points but you hadn’t intended on him seeing all of it. Not that it was a secret but it was a vulnerable little thing full of your thoughts and drabbles and maybe even a sappy poem or two about John. You glance at it for a second longer before looking back at him as he shifts to lean up against the pillows on the headboard and he pulls you to lay on his chest. He reaches over to click on the bedside lamp before flipping open the journal and turning a few pages.

“We don’t need to talk about this now,” you say feeling a blush creep up as you advert your eyes from the page as he scans down the bullet points before finding what he was looking for. This section had been a late night stream of conscious session and of course he would want to talk about the sixth point.

“You mean this?” He asks as he points to the line about marriage. About how you dream of what life will be like when he finishes his last mission and comes home to you for good. “Because I really want to talk about this,” he smirks and lightly taps your arm with the journal to get you talking. “Or this one, this one is nice,” he teases flipping a few pages where you had written out all the things you love about him, the words ‘back muscles’ are underlined.

“John,” you bemoan as he laughs a bit before closing the journal and sets it gently on his stomach. “I don’t want to push you into anything. I feel like all I do is push you and you just push back harder and we get nowhere. I’m not going to force you into talking about anything, maybe that’s why we’re in the mess we are now.”

“Oh, we’re going to talk about all of it. We’re going to go over every line in that little journal, I added a few of my own notes, hope you don’t mind” Soap answers. “We’re going to make all of this work because I’m going to marry you one day,” the words are casual but the tone is a promise. “But not until we get everything right until I’m a better man for you.”

“You’re already a great…” you start but Soap cuts you off with a sideways look. “Fine,” you finally give him a small laugh. “You’re a great start,” you tease.

“I’ll take it,” he answers as his fingers trace up and down your bare arm. “I know you’re tired, I found the empty bottle of wine halfway up the stairs,” he laughs. “But we could get started now.”

“Now? John, it’s four in the morning, I’m not going to start having deep heart to heart conversations this moment,” you answer him pushing up on your elbow.

“Oh no. This doesn’t involve much talking, well…intellectual talking. I found that small back of the page scribble you added about halfway through,” he gives you a very feral smirk as he grabs the notebook again and flips it to that page. He had placed the small ribbon on the journal in that spot as if he had marked it to save it and go back to later. He turns the notebook for you to read, watching as your cheeks redden more as you read it over and see where he had added a few things.

“You really did read it cover to cover,” you say as he reaches up to click the light off, dropping the journal to the floor beside the bed.

“Mm, I did,” he answers before his lips capture yours in the dark.

#soapitup #call of duty #captain john soap mactavish #captain soap mactavish #johnny soap mactavish #john soap mactavish #soap mactavish #soap cod #cod soap #soap call of duty #soap modern warfware #call of duty fanfic #my fic #fanfic

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2024-grimoire-challenge · 3 months

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June Week 4: Grand Ideas

This week we’re going to focus on some ideas like the differences between sacrifices and offerings, local and worldwide folklore, creating sacred spaces, and ways to harvest (not physical harvesting). So let’s dive in.

Monday- Sacrifices and offerings

New page/ research- define sacrifices and then define offerings. In a spiritual sense. What are they? What purpose do they serve? How do we perform them? Why do we perform them? When do we perform them? What is the difference between them? Can they be the same thing? What can we use for each one? Look at other practices, religions and spiritualities. What sacrifices and offerings are used in those practices?

New page/ research- herbal study- pick another herb from your list and go crazy! Learn all you can from the magical to the mundane, to what it’s got in it and how it is used!

Tuesday - Local folklore

Research/ new page (if you want) - do you know if any local myths or legends? About places, people or things in your immediate area? What are they? Where do they stem from? What’s the history behind them? Research as much as you can, looking into actual history and the plants/ animals/ people/ events that could have influenced the folklore.

Practical - let’s do some magic! Find a spell or make a spell and perform it! Record it in your lab notebook, steps ingredients and purpose. That way you can tweak it afterwards!

Wednesday - Worldly Folklore

Research/ new page - now think about folklore from around the world. Is there any that has inspired you? Any one particular thing you believe in, like the Loch Ness monster or Bigfoot. Magical or not, think about how this has helped influence your beliefs in other things.

Research/ new page - gem study - pick a gem or other thing you’d like to study and look into it. What is it made of, how is it used, magical and mundane associations. All of it!

Thursday - Creating a Sacred Space

Research/ new page - what is a sacred space? What is its purpose and how do they function? What is in them? How do you make them or change them? Why do we have them, if we do? What are the magical and mundane purposes? What does it take to make them? What is it that makes a space, any space, a sacred space, to you?

Practical - make your own, recharge, re consecrate, clean or update your sacred/ altar space.

Friday - Harvest

Journal/ meditate - this isn’t a physical harvest of plants of anything, but an internal harvest. At certain points through the year or even once a year, it is good to look back at all that has happened to us and learn from it. Or harvest. You can do this as often as you’d like, or as seldom as you like. It’s kind of like journaling, though some people don’t even use a journal, they just meditate or think back on things that occurred to them and try to find the lessons. What lessons have you learned this year? What scraps of wisdom and knowledge can you find when you look back? Anything from actions that taught you lessons to just words that have shaped your beliefs and actions through time.

Now that last topic can be pretty heavy. But it is important to look back and find the wisdom in our lives. I can’t even say how many times in my 34 years people have dropped odd pearls of wisdom on me that have stuck with me. As simple as that”to be early is to be on time” from my band director in high school, words that have shaped my work ethic through my entire life. It’s important to understand how and why these lessons are important to us. But we’re only halfway through the year! We’ve got so much more to learn!

Good luck and happy crafting witches!!

-Mod Hazel

#2024 grimoire challenge #grimoire #grimoire challenge #witchcraft #witchblr #paganism #book of shadows #2024 gc #dark academia #occultism #witchy challenge #witch challenge #grimoire info #grimoire pages #grimoire stuff #grimoire inspo

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myobsessionsspace · 11 months

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Who is Kim Young Jin?

The man behind the looks, bringing BTS' vision to life, from photo-folios, to music videos to high fashion magazine photoshoots.

Kim YoungJin and his team have worked with the members as a group and as individuals on their concerts and everything in between.

“Seoul-based stylist Youngjin Kim has been obsessed with fashion since he was a child, saving up his pocket money to buy magazines. “It was so special to me,” he remembers. After majoring in photography at college but leaning into the looks just as heavily, somebody suggested he give styling a go and well, the rest is history. These days, he’s working with BTS, but can also be found dressing the likes of NCT 127, Super M and Daniel Kang for cover features, campaigns and album artwork.”

ID Magazine - VICE Interview (March 2022)

👤What was your entry point to styling?

“I worked as an assistant to [Korean actor] Jin Oh Jeon’s stylist for about five years and came to understand the overall system of the Korean fashion scene. Looking back, that time was so precious; time that brought me to this moment, I guess.”

The man himself, Stylist @kimvinchey on IG

Kim YoungJin styled BTS and Bang SiHyuk for their TIME Magazine 2022 photos.

Kim YoungJin has been head stylist for MVs such as 'My Universe', styling Jimin for 'Vibe', j-hope for 'On The Street' to name but a few MVs

👤Tell us about the type of work you do.

“Styling for albums and projects such as “My Universe” by BTS and Coldplay is receiving tremendous attention on a global scale. Whenever I style an idol group, I think of a designer creating a collection. I mix and match clothes from different Japanese brands such as Comme des Garçons and Yohji Yamamoto, and I express my own aesthetic with styling to fit each concept. I also style various editorials for fashion magazines. I consider myself a fashion stylist, and when I first took on the role of an idol stylist, I was proud of demonstrating what kind of visuals could be created if a fashion stylist takes on an idol.”

Kim Youngjin has worked with the members on the brand ambassadorship endeavours, such as styling for mag shoots like the Valentino photoshoot with SUGA

👤Of course, a stylist doesn’t just ‘style’. You’re often a bridge between celebrities and brands — a look you introduce to an idol could quickly become a trend.

“Exactly. In many cases, celebrities or models with good momentum are recommended to brands or magazines, and if the celebrity is an ambassador of a fashion house, they communicate more closely with the fashion brand.”

👤What do you think is the most important thing in styling?

“I try to combine the latest fashion trends with classic items. For instance, I like pairing Levi's denim and casual sneakers with a Saint Laurent blazer. As details are crucial for men's clothes, the overall outfit is often impacted by details such as perfect length and sleeves.”

In Chapter 2 of BTS' journey, Kim YounJin has been part of many of the members solo projects that were even released post enlistment for some, such as j-hope LV campaign and styling for Esquire Magazine

👤Do you have a favourite brand or designer?

“I’ve always loved Givenchy by Riccardo Tisci, which has had a huge impact on me as a stylist. I have such respect for a person who has accomplished what they’ve wanted to do for a long time — I think Miuccia Prada and Raf Simons are both great in that regard too.”

“I’m 32, so I was in elementary and middle school in the 1990s, which was when I started getting into fashion. Since I was really young, like 10 years old, I used to go downtown to buy clothes by myself. In elementary school, I wore baggy sweatshirts and jeans like this Balenciaga ensemble. I liked hip-hop and K-pop even back then and would dress up like this and dance at school festivals. Retro fashion is back in style, so it doesn’t at all look out of place or time to dress like this again.”

Mr Porter - The Journal Interview (Oct 2020)

💜

Special Mention:

**Though Taehyung has worked with Kim YoungJin with group projects the Head Stylist for Taehyung (V) during Chapter 2, in particular his Layover Era has been @HIJIBIN, Taehyung's personal stylist.

Info on Kim YoungJin:

https://www.mrporter.com/en-sg/journal/fashion/youngjin-kim-contemporary-fashion-classic-style-k-pop-1445414

#Jimin #Jungkook #BTS #RM #Namjoon #Jin #SUGA #Yoongi #Hoseok #j-hope #Taehyung #V #Kim YoungJin #Fashion #Stylist

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hannahssimblr · 6 months

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And so, begins an intense drive for work like I have never experienced. Perhaps work is the wrong word, as not much about creating art feels that way. Never before with ordinary, academically focussed work have I adopted this kind of extraordinary discipline to the point that I simply get through the motions of the ins and outs of my ordinary days, looking forward to the moment that I can lock myself away in my bedroom and draw for the evenings and into the night.

I draw everything in sight. I study fabric; the crinkle of the duvet, the crease in my pillows and the piles of discarded clothing on my bedroom floor. I draw the curtains from ten positions, then ten more. I study the exacting edges of man made objects. The hard, smooth ceramic of the mugs I should have brought back to the kitchen days ago, the individual keys of my laptop, a tastefully arranged stack of books from dad’s library that he surely won’t notice are missing unless he has a sudden urge to read about the battle of the bulge or Haguenau for the thousandth time.

Mostly I study myself, my own anatomy, feet, legs, arms and fingers and all of the weird little bits of me that move about beneath the skin. I fill pages and pages this way, so many that I run out of paper and start drawing in between all of the drawings I’ve already done, overlapping like the work of an obsessed madman. Maybe I am.

Have I eaten today?

Often I pull up a mirror and study my own face in different ways. I pull different expressions or control the lighting so that I can create soft, diffused light in the early morning, or cast angular shadows over my cheek with the artificial glow of a desk light when the sun sets and the room around me is black like spilled ink.

At school when I lay my work on the table for Miss O’Reilly I’m embarrassed by how many drawings of my own likeness cram the bursting pages of my sketchbooks. They look like the journals of a raving egomaniac to me, but to her it resembles art. She tells me that I show a lot of real promise, and that I have more to learn. I agree with her, and spend lunchtime in the library.

Art and science, it seems, go hand in hand. Hunched in a dark corner where nobody can see how uncool I have become, I pore over anatomy diagrams and look at muscles and tendons and bones. I learn what everything is called and the shape it makes when the skin is pulled taut over it.

When it is curved on one side, it’s straight on the other, I observe, as I draw my finger down the length of an illustrated thigh on page sixty four of Biology Plus for Leaving Cert, trying not to think about how this is probably the closest I’ve come to intimacy with another human being in months, and as someone as uncontrollably and constantly horny as I am it’s becoming difficult to ignore. Maybe I should text Tara Neary and ask if she’ll help me study biology…

No.

I hastily skip over the pages about reproduction and start reading about something called the Cephalic vein instead. Sexy.

I even log into the library computers and watch disgusting medical videos of dissections which make me feel so ill that I think I might lose my lunch, but they are informative as much as they make me feel like I am displaying psychopathic behaviour and worry that I am on a slippery slope towards becoming one of those people that murders cats and rabbits just so that he can cut them up and peer at their insides. What’s next? Robbing graves?

“Look up blue waffle next.”

I jump, and spin around to Jen who is leaning over my shoulder, and I quickly close all windows from the Video Atlas of Human Anatomy website. “And that’s fucking sick, whatever that is.”

“Jesus, Jen, you scared me.”

“Only because I caught you looking at something you shouldn’t.”

“It’s just biology,” I grumble, and she pinches my arm before pulling up a seat and slumping into it, “I didn’t think I’d find you here of all places. The elusive Jude Turner.”

“Is that what they call me now?”

“I’m afraid so. But honestly I thought you were doing something way more interesting with all your alone time these days.”

“I’m studying.”

“Do you know how to study?”

“Clearly.”

She sighs, “Well can you give it a rest? I miss you. We don’t hang out enough lately.”

“It’s not because I hate you or something…”

“I know, you’re busy, busy, busy, drawing all the time. Ugh. I get it. Is this how you’re going to be all summer too? Down on the beach in Wexford drawing scabby seagulls?”

“If you wanted to hang out you could always come over to my house and let me draw you again, as long as you won’t move around so much this time.”

“I can’t not move!” She says in outrage, and as the librarian promptly shushes her she lowers the volume, “It’s so boring just to sit there and do nothing, I can’t think of anything worse. Oh no wait, I can, it’s hanging out with Michelle and Evan without you there to laugh at them with me. And now that it’s getting warmer and the days are longer I just want to be outside, but my only options are to sit in the park and watch them kiss or go for a sad walk all on my own, Judie,” she takes my hands, “Please, give it a rest. Down the pencils, I’m begging you.”

“I just really like learning about this.”

“Yes, but can you like it six days a week instead of seven? Can you give me a day? A measly day for old Jenny?”

“I see you Tuesdays still,” I point out, though I know that grilling her with maths questions while she groans in despair into her pillow isn’t exactly her definition of fun, but can’t she see that this is important to me? I can’t forgo my Ivy duties or rugby, so I must forgo my social evenings instead. Something's got to give, and now it has, and for the good of my future I have stopped texting everyone back.

“We’re having a bonfire night at the weekend, will you come?”

“Who is?”

“Me and my friends.”

“The emos.”

“Yeah, the emos. What other friends do I have? Now that it’s finally semi-warm-ish we thought we’d have a fun night up by the beach and just sit around and chat by the fire. Doesn’t that sound nice?”

“Well, yeah,” I admit reluctantly. “I do like a bonfire.”

“Of course you do, my little arsonist. So come. It’ll be good for you to get out and do something. You’re an extrovert, you’re not meant to be so cooped up.”

I begin to protest that I don’t feel cooped up, even, astoundingly, when I’m at home with my family. I feel alive and free in my artistic pursuits since I’ve unlocked this new exciting part of myself. I’m capable of focussing on something, doesn’t Jen understand how significant that is? But then again, maybe she’s right. Maybe it’s abnormal not to socialise with other teenagers for three weeks in a row.

“Alright, I’ll come then.”

“That’s more like it,” Jen ruffles my hair, no doubt getting it all out of place, but it’s fine, I’ll fix it later in the mirror when I’m back drawing my nose or my chin for the umpteenth time. “We’ll have a lovely time! I’m excited now!”

“Yeah, don’t get too excited, I feel like the librarian might have something to say about that.”

Jen peers around to see the daggers being shot her way, “Okay, fine. I’ll leave you alone.”

“You promise?”

“Yes! Look, I’m going!” She untangles her legs from the chair and does a whole show of sneaking away as quietly as humanly possible while watching the librarian with performative caution, “Hey,” She hisses from the door, just when I had started to believe she was truly gone, “Don't forget to look up blue waffle. Trust me.”

“Get out of here!”

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#lucky boy 2009 #if you don't know what blue waffle is istg do NOT look it up #kids of the 00s will know <3 #and have never forgotten the horrors #we used to send it around during computer class and we would SCREAM #tw: sex mention

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worldsokayestmagicalgirl · 7 months

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The first batch of pictures for Amoré's character journal are here! Also I have been so super sick that I've literally had nothing to do but to work on this for like almost 2 weeks so...

The cover to cover tour officially starts here. All I can say about the front & back is that I lament my lack of experience with my Cricut when I made these decals. I only had 2 "fun" colors to work with at the time & I was still getting comfortable drawing in Procreate, so my silhouette art leaves a lot to be desired compared to some stuff I've made recently. I also found it's incredibly easy to burn this leather book.

But she's volume one, everything with her is a learning experience, & I realized as much as it helps to have a mini heat press for tight corners & small spaces, the cloth barrier they suggest you use between the vinyl & the iron tends to make things harder to press on this scale. So instead I gotta quickly tap straight on the transfer film & hope I don't burn anything around it :(´◦ω◦｀):ﾟﾟ

So at the risk of thoroughly exposing my inner theater kid, Amoré set the precedent with how I went forward creating campaign characters. I started off collecting 5 songs to make a mini story arc (almost like a show choir set list 🙃) that helps me figure out an outline for the kind of story I wanna give them.

Somehow Amoré ended up with a truly horrendous blend of rock & theatre. Absolutely incredibe. No wonder she's always such a dramatic bitch.

It was a lot easier to go in & add little decals around these lyrics. I'm definitely cursed with the Too Much™ gene, but I enjoy the little pops of color they give ✨ plus it justifies me hoarding all these vinyl scraps printing stuff this small lol.

Stat sheet!

In all honesty, as my first character I had no fucking clue what I was doing when I placed these & if I could go back & change one thing I'd probably swap her Intelligence & her Wisdom. She’s definitely more people smart than book smart.

But everything else is...very accurate. She has all the upper body strength of a chicken nugget. Plus on top of the (already) negative I traded disadvantage on everything DEX for magic crystal shoes that can be periodically harvested. Just a way for her to carry around the family fortune without actually having to return to the vault✨

For something that started so average, her CON became a monster & always comes in clutch for her alcohol tolerance. I've played variations of her across a few different one shots & I always manage to roll well for anything alcohol related. The dice do respect a bit 🤣

Spells on the other hand, I floundered with a lot at first because we’re not a combat heavy game, but then I found Chaos Bolt & that was that. It’s essentially Amoré in spell form & I’ve had a ton of fun with it over the years. Also Mage Armor cuz my girl is SO DISTRESSINGLY SQUISHY.

Cantrips were more or less a bit of a toss up. Message was fun for the sheer idea of her using it to talk shit during social events without being caught. But aside from Light serving fun backstory purposes the other 3 are kinda just what looked fun ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ unless you count the idea that she would absolutely delight in zapping handshakes.

From there, I wanted to extend the world map made by our wonderful DM @cappierong into a full scroll. Ya know, for the aesthetic ✨

Our campaign started in Civania, where Amoré's main Estate is. I just wanted a quick mock up to reference, so I edited a preexisting picture I found that checked all the boxes (large, on a plateau, accessible only by bridge) and then absolutely smothered it in flowers.

But anyways... This is primarily where Diana & Amoré grew up together in their decade of backstory ✨

There was probably waaaay to much back & forth trying to keep the continuity between stuff I've already drawn & this big reference. But I think it turned out pretty ok? Not like if I make a mistake anyone will really know lol.

Scaling was also another big issue I had, & I moments where I thought something was too big I just kinda handwaved it away like "ehhhhh she's from a stupid rich family." But now I have a NEED to draw baby Diana & Amoré around like, the statue gardens or something cuz I feel like certain parts of this place are definitely ominous 👀 especially for children...

And lastly we have the back cover & the High Noble political relationship map! I normally have this closer to the front but for layout purposes it'll be here. I kinda feel like I need to do more for the decoration of it but I can’t think of anything else to add at the moment.

Sam if u read that no you didn't.

But now! Other than a family portrait that I've always wanted to draw, I think I'm ready to move onto the art for Season 1 : Arc 2. It's a pretty hefty amount of art in comparison to others, so I gotta get busy. Especially since I think I'm gonna have to draw a few comics *sobs*

If you made it this far, thanks so much for reading! I'm always excited to talk out our little idiots so thanks for indulging me ❀(*´▽`*)❀

#duo rong #dungeons and dragons #dnd character scrapbook #duo chronicles #amore bellridge #diana blackthorn if you squint #dnd #dnd character #dnd pc #dnd oc #character creation #character study(?)#dnd backstory #season 1 #dnd art #dnd campaign #campaign art

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perpetual-stories · 2 years

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how can I know what I want to write? I'm just trying to write and I don't know what I can write, when I write like ijust delete it quickly because I don't like it :(((

How To ‘Write What You Know’

Hi, Anon! Thank you for sending in your question! I know writing can be overwhelming sometimes but hopefully these tips can help you “know what to write.” I hope this helps!

What Does ‘Write What You Know’ Mean?

“Write what you know” is a piece of writing advice that many aspiring authors are probably sick of hearing but it’s one of the most common advices there is for a reason!

Writing about what you know can take many different forms depending on your writing process and the sort of creative writing project you’re working on.

Writing what you know can range from your expertise in a favorite movie, tv show, book, anime, manga, etc. that’s why often a lot of the time fan fiction is an easy go to. However, it doesn’t necessarily have to be the few mentioned, if you like tattoos and know a little bit about them maybe writing characters or a quick sentence revolving around that can be a great idea too! Remember: what you’re familiar with and know is one step closer to fleshing out an idea inspired off of your knowledge.

Even if you’re not a complete expect on tattoos, jellyfish, card tricks or whatever you’re interested in don’t be afraid to try and write about it and do research! A lot of great and established writers are never afraid to do research.

Don’t be afraid to just write/ type out whatever pops in your head, there’s a reason why successful writers have multiple drafts. Don’t be harsh on yourself from the start allow yourself to write the silliest thing in your mind and roll with it. Word vomit on the page!

Buy writing prompt books,. There are a million of random writing prompts that can inspire you to branch off of their single sentence idea and create your own story!

4 Ways to Write What You Know

Writing what you know at its simplest level can involve writing about your own life and first-hand personal experiences. If you’re writing fiction or pieces outside of your life experience, it can take a bit more know-how and hard work to find how you relate to your subject matter.

Follow emotional truths. As a good writer, it’s your job to find a way into the material. One way to do this is to focus on the emotional realities of the characters in your piece and look for common ground. J.K. Rowling has very little in common with the fantastical life of Harry Potter, but that doesn’t mean she can’t relate to the universal experience of a teenager trying to find their way in the world during their high school years. As you start writing, especially if you’re a first-time nonfiction writer or are tackling your first novel, look for emotional common ground with your characters.

Reflect on a period of time in your life. Take some time apart from your work to think about a specific time in your life. This can help you find a way into a piece you are working on. Fiction writers like Ernest Hemingway often take direct inspiration from autobiographical events then loosely fictionalize them to use in a novella or full-length novel. First-time fiction writers might find that taking a specific event from their lives and fictionalizing it will demystify the fiction-writing process and help them break through writer’s block.

Freewrite. Freewriting about your own life, whether it be in journal form or something more abstract, is a great way to figure out connections between your personal life and your writing. At first you may not see how deeply personal your work is because, on the surface, it feels so separate from your personal life. Taking the time to write about your writing and the way it intersects with your life can help you see links and forge a more personal connection with your work

Place yourself in your character’s shoes. If you’re having a tough time relating to your work, take a moment to fully inhabit one of your characters and think about how you would approach whatever situation they find themselves in. You’ll always want to empathize with your characters, but setting aside a specific time to reflect on a character’s motives can help you understand them more deeply. What would you do if you found yourself in your character’s position? In what ways is it reminiscent of situations from your past?

I hope this help you Anon or anyone else who might have trouble!

Please follow and reblog for more!

#writing #writing advice #writing tips #original writing #writers on tumblr #writersconnection #writerscommunity #short story #storytelling #writersupportingwriters

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thedomesticanthropologist · 7 months

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Here's sad Sivvus things

He was an early writer and journaled almost every day up until he turned 18

After the Hag Deal (which he doesn't really remember much of) he began to pull away. A few decades later his mum asked if she could have his old journals

He agreed, and she reads them sometimes, remembering who her son used to be, how hopeful and kind and sweet he was.

His family doesn't know why he went sour, except Idun, his older brother, who knows something went down but hides it because it's his fault (he was supposed to watch Siv)

Sivvus never lost the love of his family, he just stopped seeing it and being able to receive it

They respected his solitude but would even send letters of invites to all the things. The letters would pile up outside his door

They spent decades trying to get him to engage with them, but he only ever performed out of obligation, like there was a wall between him and others.

Eventually his magic fed into his emotional issues, creating an energetic shield that causes others to keep their distance, disregard him, or 'slide off'. This effectively stopped people from trying to help, because when they got close their minds would get fuzzy and the idea would go away.

Though he is a druid, he keeps his emotional so sheltered that he fails to connect with his plants or animals on a deep level. They all love him, and flock to him, but he can't feel it. Like watching a video of a cat vs petting one, there's always something in between

The Hag took all of the emotions attached to his childhood memories, and a few memories as well, in exchange for making him powerful. Sadly, with no connections in his heart, he had no reason to use his power, and the trick of the Hags Deal was sealed. He may be one of the most powerful druids in the Feywild, but he sits alone in his garden and rots because the world is Uncomfortable Now

Siv never actually lost the ability to feel, the Hag just drains his emotions when they are strong. After a few bad experiences, he began protecting himself from her by trying to simply... not feel.

90 years of increased isolation, slowly pulling away because all feelings and experiences felt sharp and new and he balked against it, he ended up losing all of his childhood friendships as well as his fiancee

He doesn't even recognize this as a loss because he can't remember what it feels like to care about someone

Being wiped clean like a slate having the chalk brushed off, Sivvus placed himself upon a shelf and became the orchestrater of his own mouldering existence

There are still a few paintings of the family when he was young. In them, he's always smiling

His younger sister is only 60, she never knew him as any different than he is now. If she did, she would have been the only one to never give up trying to get him back, because his magic shield doesn't work on her

It doesn't work on her because she spent 20 years in Faerun, and intra-planar travel interrupts Sivs defenses

If he went to Faerun, his Hag couldn't reach him anymore and the emotion-sucking would be permanently broken. He doesn't know this, because he never traveled. He could have broken the curse decades ago.

If he pushed through the Hags draining of his emotions he could use his powers to block her out, but because he shies away and hides from it, it enables her to continue what she's doing

You don't know what you don't know, and sometimes that means you hurt yourself more than the bad thing that happened to you could ever hurt you

Sivvus is a metaphor

#sivvus #sivvus the fey prince

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thecurioustale · 1 year

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My 6-Week Tumblr Return Trial Period Is Up

Happy Autumn! Today is the Autumnal Equinox. (That is, if you're in the Pacific Daylight Time zone or earlier; it's actually tomorrow, the 23rd. The moment of equinox is 11:49 pm PDT this year.)

I came back to Tumblr six weeks ago (actually a little shy of seven weeks but six is the highest whole number) and said that I was going to give it consistent effort till the Equinox to see how I felt about it. Well, that day is today!

I've decided to significantly reduce my Tumblr presence, but not go back to zero like before. I still plan to post at least once or twice a week, and more whenever the fancy catches me. I don't want to slow-roll you, so there's the bottom line.

For those interested, I thought I would talk about my experience since returning.

Why I Came Back

A few years ago on my birthday I set myself a challenge of posting in my journal every day for a year—which I more or less did, and then promptly stopped because it had been a laborious thing for me with limited rewards.

This year on my birthday I decided to try that challenge again, except this time "soft": no formal public announcement, and no penalty if I missed a day. Good thing, too, because I missed a day right away! 😅 But I definitely was doing more and better writing on my journal than I had been, and I liked that. Maybe there was a sweet spot between the strict artifice of one journal entry every day and the sad default of no entries for weeks.

Then, a few days into the challenge, I got the idea of diverting this energy away from my journal and into social media, to try and begin the long process of building an audience for my creative works. I recognize with some dread that when I eventually do finish my next novel, no one is going to read it—because no one is going to know it exists. But that's not set in stone; this is something platforms can help with! And you can't just build a platform overnight. You have to start well in advance. In this post-mainstream-publishing era where independent artists' only hope is to create their own following, I knew that I would have to at least try, if I wanted people to actually read my work.

Building a platform is something I had done years ago, around the time the Prelude to After The Hero was coming out, and I was hugely successful at that time in creating lots of content and lots of channels—i.e. the platform part. But I didn't actually get anywhere in building an audience. Then my life fell apart from multiple catastrophes in a short period, and for many years I had no ability to pursue "platform growth" at all.

But I have that ability again, at least temporarily, and maybe this time I could do better.

Marketing and being social are very hard for me. They don't come naturally to me and I am not good at them. But what I can do is write about my creative work, my life, my take on the world, and anything else that comes to mind. With any luck, that would attract some eyeballs. It's the same thing I was doing eight years ago in my platform-building work, but I could be smarter about it this time, and learn from my past mistakes, which involved a lot of wasted effort that no one ever saw. This time I could try going specifically where the people are: social media! Social media was a part of my original platform-building push eight years ago, but only on the periphery. This time I could put all my platform-building into it, and not all the different channels at once, but just in one single place. Concentrate all my effort on a single point!

So I chose Tumblr: the only social media platform that still seems to reward long-form, thoughtful content. (Not counting YouTube video content.) Facebook is definitely on the way out as a relevant social media network, Twitter was unusually toxic even before the idiot took over, and TikTok to put it politely is not my jam. But Tumblr...I still use Tumblr! I still read several people's pages, and have done so for many years.

I was never actually active on Tumblr as a creator myself. As far as posting my own content goes, my social media home has always been on Facebook (and, for a while, Google+). My "return" to Tumblr this summer wasn't really anything of the sort. Even though my account is many years old, this summer was my first time making a big effort here.

And here's what I learned.

What Worked and What Didn't

I went in with very low expectations. In other words, I didn't actually expect anyone to see my work. I expected to put in my six weeks, toil away in obscurity the whole time, and leave.

But a couple people did notice my return, and reblogged my early posts, and between them they had enough followers that their reblogs got me a small influx of followers. (Hi!) So there were eyeballs, at least. I wasn't talking to the wall. It was a good bet that anything I wrote would at least have a chance of being seen by multiple other people.

A good start!

I set about trying to learn about the Tumblr algorithm and people's usage patterns. I learned that there is a very strong signal to set apart the content that people enjoy seeing and the content they don't. On the scale of Zero to Fire, a lot of what I wrote was either hard Zero or pretty decently Fire.

In the Zero category: My short-form humor was dead on arrival. So was my Tolkienian vocabulary series. My fat liberation essay—by far the biggest effortpost I made during my six weeks here—attracted a single troll and no legitimate engagement whatsoever. At 7700 words I doubt many people even read it. Cool art reblogs were also pretty much a Zero. The people in my tiny audience don't want to see any of this stuff, at least not from me.

In the Fire category: People liked my hot takes on copyright law, left-handedness, rationalist-adjacent topics and framings, some personal anecdotes (but not others), and—most promisingly—some of my discussion about the mechanics of authoring and writing, including topics such as redemption arcs, body diversity representation, losing interest in one's own stories, and long sentences. To the extent I am going to attempt to build a larger Tumblr following over time, this "mechanics of authoring" area is probably where I will focus my primary aim.

Not everything was Zero or Fire. There were also some posts in the middle. My posts actually discussing my own work, The Curious Tale and Galaxy Federal, landed in this space. They mostly fell flat for my general audience, but did noticeably better than the hard Zero stuff due to the consistent engagement of a tiny handful of fans. (Thank you, especially you Fip!)

In terms of financial support, six weeks of content creation on Tumblr yielded no book sales and no new patrons on my Patreon fund, though I did get one pledge increase from an existing patron! This isn't a big surprise, since I didn't make any push to attract new patrons and have made no attempt to hide that my book is also available for free. Still, zero is a noticeable number.

What Tumblr Feels Like

I'll be honest with you: I don't really "do" social media. I never have. I don't like social media. I am a creature of individual websites, web journals / blogs, and message forums. Facebook is the social network I use most (if you don't count YouTube), and my Facebook is set up more like a walled garden than a social network node—i.e., it is almost completely restricted to the people on my deliberately-short friends' list. I use it to look at cool pictures of clouds and landscapes, learn about things going on in my city, and keep in touch with friends. I've never really been one to use social media the way it is intended these days.

Nevertheless: Of all the social networks, I've always had a comparatively positive view of Tumblr. Tumblr is where freaks and weirdos come to be freaky and weird, and I love it. (Sometimes in principle more than practice, but still.) There used to be a tumblr called "Fuck Yeah Fat Upper Arms," and that was what I would point to whenever I had to explain to someone why I love Tumblr.

I also know there are notorious amounts of drama and pettiness on Tumblr, but in my experience it isn't so hard to just sidestep it most of the time. Also, I don't follow all that many people, so I probably just don't see much of this stuff in the first place.

When I returned to Tumblr I am pleased to say that it was basically what I hoped for: lots of wonderful niche and countercultural stuff; really thoughtful discussions that get a lot more depth here than almost anyplace else I've seen; and amazing art and fanart. There were lots of takes I didn't like, of course. Lots of stuff that rubbed me wrong. And the drama is definitely alive and well. But that's just life, right? As amplified by social media in all its unnuanced might. On the whole, I have enjoyed my time spent browsing Tumblr these past six weeks.

One thing actually did bring down my spirits about this place, though, and it has nothing to do with drama or takes I don't like: Tumblr feels kind of addictive. Like a giant industrial vat full of churning slurry, and if you fall in there's no getting out. I have an addictive personality, not to booze or drugs (as far as I know) but to content sources, specifically "content-firehose" websites that always have new things to read. I was stuck on GameFAQs for years back in the day, long after it had become a net-negative for me. Right now my big content addiction is Reddit, and it's definitely a net negative in my life for all the time it wastes for so little in return. And there have been many other content addictions in the years between. It's very hard for me to leave a content-firehose website once I've gotten sucked into it. And I really, really don't want to get sucked into Tumblr.

Like, this place is genuinely cool, but it doesn't "do it" for me like it did the last time I paid close attention to it. Fuck Yeah Fat Upper Arms is gone, and with it the innocence of my youth. Social media just isn't my scene, and returning to Tumblr has definitely given me the impression that I've "outgrown" it altogether. (I wrote a few days ago about one of the reasons why I think this.) I don't particularly want to spend a lot of time here. I don't have that content addiction to Tumblr yet, and I can feel myself actively straining to avoid developing it every time I'm on here. That's why I've only been reading my dashboard a few times a week.

I'm not saying social media is something juvenile that everyone is supposed to outgrow; I'm just talking about my own preferences and issues. My ideal use case for Tumble is to check in with Tumblr periodically and see new Samus Aran fanart and hot takes on cool things I've never heard about or thought deeply enough about. But, in practice, reading my Tumblr dashboard feels like dipping my feet in that vat of slurry I mentioned: It's very time-consuming and a lot of the stuff I see I don't really "need" in my life.

This six-week experiment has actually helped me to realize that, going forward, I should be looking to use social media less in my life, not more. It isn't just all-consuming and energy-draining; it has become kind of evil over the years. Tumblr isn't nearly as bad as some of the worst offenders, but on the whole we're slowly being pushed to use these services in very particular ways, ways which degrade us, and it's nefarious. Not just the abuse of our personal information and privacy, but the way we spend our time and think about the world. Social media seems to be making society actively worse on the whole, and that's down to the profit motives of the people who make the rules about how these services operate. It's probably not a coincidence that Tumblr, as one of the least-problematic major social networks, is also not particularly profitable.

I have lamented for years that I wish we would go back to individual people's websites and enthusiast–owned-and-operated message forums. I really think that this viewpoint is not just my nostalgia glasses talking; I think the individual websites paradigm was a better way of experiencing the Internet and interacting with each other. But while I can't do much to change society's patterns in general, I can at least be deliberate about how I engage with social media myself. And I think I'm going to be doing less of that as time goes on.

My actual public face is my Live Journal, even though it has languished for years. Either it or some successor blog is likely to be an ongoing constant for the rest of my life. I hope people will gradually find me there.

The Long Game

You're not gonna build an audience in six weeks. I know that. Also, in my time here, I've only done one of the two things that one needs to do to build an audience on social media: I've created content. I think my content has been more or less decent. (You can tell me if you think otherwise.)

What I haven't done is heavily engage with other content creators. I haven't done many reblogs; I've done zero asks; and I don't follow other tumblrs in a businesslike mindset of network—I only follow the ones I think I might like to read.

If I were to continue, the next step in my trial period would be a 3-month experiment. I've had enough success here in the past six weeks to justify dedicating another three months of my life to daily Tumblr posts if I want.

In that time I would need to focus more on the "networking" side of social networking. On the content side, I would continue trying to figure out what people like to see and what they don't. But it's the networking stuff that would be next in line for my full attention.

I'm also aware that all of my data are biased by the small size of my audience and the nonrandom composition of it. There is a danger in optimizing for that, from a long-term scalability and optimization standpoint. My social networking efforts would have to be geared toward diversifying my audience as much as growing it, because the truth of the matter is that I don't know yet who "my" audience truly is. Most of the people here now are people who are here because they like other creators and respected those people's recommendations—not because they necessarily like my art. The poor showing of my posts discussing my art kind of speak to that point.

So the question is, do I have a 3-month trial period in me? Or even just another 6-week period?

And that's a really tough question. I need to be writing my books, and I need to be paying my rent, and when I'm here on Tumblr I'm not doing either of those things. The best-case scenario is that by being here I'm setting myself up to pay future rents and have more available time for future creative writing. But in the meantime there are rents coming due in the immediate future, and my mental bandwidth is sickly and limited.

Is Tumblr even the place to build my audience? It might not be! It might be YouTube. It probably is YouTube. But Tumblr isn't nothing, and writing short essays is a hell of a lot faster than producing videos. A few loyal Tumblr followers might be just the pop I would need to get a future YouTube effort off to a running start.

One of my flaws as an entrepreneur is that I hate thinking like one when it comes to this whole sales / engagement / audience-building / marketing stuff. I like thinking about people as people, not as economic partners whose tastes and needs I must carefully accommodate to in order to hopefully earn a living from this someday. And I don't like thinking about my own content here as "content." I hate that word. But I am under no illusions about why I am here. I am not here for fun. I've done my Live Journal "for fun" for twenty years (as of last month!) and I have no audience to show for it. Growing an audience is not about having fun. Bonus points if you can manage to have fun along the way, but what it's really about is giving people an experience that they enjoy and want more of.

Social media is a hungry beast, a dehumanizing force (in my view), and an algorithmic rat race. I would much rather create content on my own terms, rather than try to play the social media game. This is one of the many reasons why I am so bad at the whole marketing side of building a business. Successful entrepreneurs dive right into it and give the people what they want. Like that "emotional damage" mate on YouTube: He gave an interview talking about how he just tried different schticks, not even comedy per se, until he found something that worked on people.

In an ideal world, when my next book is finished I could just press a button and everyone in the world know about its existence, and everyone who is interested could buy it and read it. But in the real world, you have to peck and scrape your way to attention, and I'm just so bad at this that it discourages me from even making the attempt.

So, adding it all up, what I come up with is that it would be wasteful for me to just abruptly give up on Tumblr as suddenly as I returned to it. I've started a ball rolling here, and I can build on that beginning if I want. But I also don't think that people need to hear from me on a daily basis. I'm probably not doing myself any favors by posting effortful content every day, not just in terms of my own sustainability but in terms of the algorithms of Tumblr and the mental bandwidth of my readers.

So I've come to the conclusion that Tumblr is probably not where my audience is going to be built, if indeed I ever manage to build one. But there is some potential here, and, more importantly, this is where the vast majority of my current fans are.

Ergo, going forward I will be reducing my posting frequency to a target of once or twice per week, plus whatever extras I see fit to add. I will continue to test out different types of content to see what catches interest. And I will start playing that social networking game that I dread so much, and try to engage more with others and hawk myself far and wide without looking like I'm trying to hawk myself, because for all that we claim to live in an age of sincerity we absolutely don't, and we will see where things go.

I will revisit this at Halloween, and see how I feel about it.

In the meantime, I will try to take some of this bandwidth I am freeing up and allocate it to other audience-building work. More on that as I have it for you!

If you made it this far, thanks for reading and for giving me some of your time. Please please please do give me some feedback if there's anything you want to know or want to see me discuss.

#Meta

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