#you don't get a new thread until you actually answer things!

[thefixeraa]

... starter call , @parieur : accepting .

a cool demeanor , a nonchalant air ... chaos thrived in these tense moments , and yet it doesn't seem to bother her at all . the fixer felt more at home here among the stress and uncertainty . she was always used to the way change comes with time ( as opposed to the other party , who can't deal with the slightest inconvenience . ) whether it put her in a good or bad position , it was mia's ability to stay on her feet at all times and always , BE ONE STEP AHEAD OF EVERYONE ELSE . it figures a man so rigid and by the books , could not afford for anything to go ass up . everything needed to be perfect , even if it wasn't . mia's duffle bad sildes off her shoulder , and in it goes into the trunk with an audible thump . head bobs along with his words ( she sniffs the air and all she could smell was the coming storm . BLOOD WAS SURE TO BE SPILLED . )

mia goes to shove her duffle bag further into the trunk of the car . when the gps was put into her view , " no roads and armed men , in the ass end of where ever the fuck we are ? " her head nods off to the side and then chuckles , " sounds like a fuckin' party . " her body straightens and leans against the car , the seriousness that pertains to this job is quite evident in marcel's voice . " can't forget the reason why you dragged my ass outta bed , just to cover yours . " naturally the little jab is said with humorous intent , becuase it can't always just be serious . which will be expertly protected while she was there , so he needn't worry too much about it . plus ... SHE'S HERE TO LIGHTEN THE LOAD . " is there any particular group of people i have to worry about more ? "

[vaspider]

Since I just turned off reblogs on another post that quickly went from "let's have fun" to "this is fucking awful, I'm taking away this toy," please read this BlueSky thread from rahaeli, who I don't think is on here.

Most of it I've c/p for ease of readability bc BSky's threading sucks.

Okay, it's time again to talk about what the experience of having a social media account with a bunch of followers (*) is like. (* "a bunch" of followers is platform dependent. I'm getting irritating shit at 2k on Bluesky I didn't get until 10k on Twitter.)

(Ugh, wait, nevermind, I hit 3k while I wasn't looking. Anyway.) Someone who has never had more than 100 followers literally cannot comprehend the sheer volume of the responses you get. Even if individual posts don't get a ton of replies, if you post with any frequency, it accumulates.

Once you hit the first degradation threshold, your experience gets a little bit shittier. It's overwhelming volume, but the people who are following you are mostly ideologically, socially, and culturally aligned to you. You have the same concept of social media manners.

You'll get a few duplicate comments, because nobody reads the comments before they reply, but they're mostly from cool people, so you just roll your eyes a little at the same joke five times. You still make friends. You still have fun and can wind up finding neat new people.

And then those neat new people retweet your stuff, and it starts reaching out to an audience of people who are less aligned with what you think of as social media manners. You start getting some replies you find obnoxious: they're in good faith, you can tell, but they just grate on you sometimes.

And then *those* people start reposting your more viral threads, and you get people following you who are three degrees of separation from the people you are most likely to vibe with. And three degrees of separation is the second degradation threshold.

The second degradation threshold is where you start getting the constant, low-grade sand-in-a-pearl annoyances. The person who wants to argue with everything. The 15 people making the identical shitty "joke" that's actually just doing the exact thing you're complaining about, "ironically".

The people who look at a post that contains no question marks and think "there is an implied question here and I will answer it!" and leap to offer the most basic advice that you already thought of because you have existed for more than three seconds and can, in fact, think of the obvious answers.

The people who are spoiling for a fight no matter what, because you used one word in the post that is their particular berserk button and they're going to scream at you for hating waffles because you said you like pancakes even though you never mentioned waffles.

It is constant. It is never-ending. You cannot escape it. Every time you post anything at all, opening the app means wading through twenty garbage replies for every reply from someone who is actually cool and you'd vibe with just fine if you chatted with them.

You want to bitch about a minor annoyance? There will be 40 people all giving you the same useless advice. You want to squee about something you're enjoying that's making you happy? There will be 40 people coming to scold you because that thing isn't morally pure enough.

Every post. Every day. About 75% of the time you compose a post, you will get halfway through writing it and think "I can't deal with the replies this will get today" and delete it. You stop talking about things you enjoy, because you're tired of people shitting on them.

You stop complaining about the tiny annoyances in your life that you want to bitch about, because weirdly enough you already HAVE tried the first fifteen obvious suggestions you're going to get, and you don't want to spend an hour explaining why they won't work to everyone who's "helping".

(But you can't just ignore the "helpful" posts and not engage with them, because then you start getting accusations of being "elitist" and "standoffish" and jesus, lady, we're just trying to help here, why do you have to be so fucking rude and stuck-up, you full of yourself bitch.)

If you are any less gracious to the 40th person than that person thinks they deserve, there is a very good chance they're going to call you a cunt and drag allot their friends in to dogpile you and make the site unusable for at least three days.

The third degradation threshold is when you start needing to regularly call your local police department and politely remind them there are people who get very mad at you online and will try very hard to have you murdered by armed agents of the state and you'd appreciate it if they didn't do that.

I first had that conversation with my local police department in 2003. It's gotten faster now, at least? You usually don't have to start by explaining what social media even is.

Bluesky has tighter thresholds than Twitter did. On Twitter it was nicely exponential: the breakpoints were around 1k, 10k, 100k. Bluesky is running faster. I'm getting Twitter 10k annoyances at a Bluesky 3k. I am trying very, very hard not to switch over into Twitter 10k defensive posting.

I want to leave the defensive posting back on Twitter. I really do. I want to be able to bitch about a thing without having to wade through 20 "go try [extremely obvious thing]". I want to post about a thing I enjoy without 20 people yelling at me I'm bad for enjoyjng it.

There's a difference between arguing about an idea (which I love) and the onslaught of constantly infuriating replies plucking at your last goddamn nerve. And the more "last goddamn nerve" replies you get, the crankier you are, and then people lose their shit at you because you snapped at them.

So maybe let's all start keeping a few principles in mind: 1) if there's more than one reply, check to see if your point has already been covered. If it has, you don't need to repeat it.

2) Even the funniest joke gets old after the 20th time you hear it in 3 hours.

3) "I'm going to jokingly do the exact thing you just were complaining about because ha ha the real joke is I would never do that asshole thing" is never funny, and it is indistinguishable from you actually doing the asshole thing.

4) If there is no question mark in the tweet, think twice about offering "helpful" advice unless you and the poster know each other *mutually*, not just parasocially, you know it's likely to be new info for them, and you ask "do you want to hear how I handle this?" first and get an affirmative.

5) If you are going to ignore 4, ask yourself "is this a suggestion that someone with a reasonable level of generalized adult knowledge would think of trying within the first 15 minutes of approaching the problem?" If so, do not suggest it.

6) Do you really need to nitpick that grammar, spelling, or word choice? Did you understand what they were trying to say before autocorrect mangled it or they blanked on the exact word they wanted and found a close one? If you understood the meaning, don't be their volunteer copyeditor.

7) Is someone excited about a thing you hate? Are they having fun with the thing? Is the thing a front for white supremacist recruiting or organizing the overthrow of the US government? If the answers are yes, yes, and no, respectively, shut the fuck up and let people enjoy things.

8) We are all occasionally That Commenter. If someone you have a pre-existing relationship with replies to you and lets you know you're being That Commenter, it's because they have a positive enough impression of you they don't want to go straight to block. Treat this like the warning sign it is.

9) It deserves repeating: remember the Law of Large Numbers. Even if you only commented once, you may be the hundredth irritating comment that person got that day. Bluesky's terrible threading makes this worse: people don't keep a single thread of mounting crankiness the way they did on Twitter.

9a) If someone's top tweet sounds really annoyed at something, maybe check their timeline or follow back their nested self-QTs to see what level of irritable they're at and over what so you don't step straight on the same rakes they've been dodging all day.

10) However, remember that BSky also doesn't show replies made by people the OP has blocked in a thread. If they post about a pattern that's making them cranky and you look and don't see anything, they probably already blocked the worst of it. They still saw it in their mentions in order to block.

I really cannot overstate how absolutely exhausting and soul-destroying the experience of having a large account can be. It's also somehow still rewarding, or we wouldn't do it. But especially if you're a woman or a person of color or a female POC, that balance is really, really close most days.

And of course, the ones who stay are the ones who do find it still rewarding enough to keep doing it despite the constant irritations.

From here, the thread moves into a conversation about stuff specific to BlueSky, but the majority of the thread is truly applicable to Tumblr as well.

You may be the first person to comment "op lives on a planet without music," or "op has never heard of [thing OP didn't mention for whatever reason]," but you're probably not, and at a certain point, it becomes like someone tapping a sunburn.

So yeah.

[brucewaynehater101]

I know there’s a bunch of stuff about Bruce being oblivious about Tim being his parent. I want to see the moment of dawning realization. (This might have been addressed.) I don’t know if it’s a slip of the tongue where he calls Tim “Dad” or someone in the know casually asking Bruce about his parent (referring to Tim and maybe even Bruce answering without thinking about it and then realizing what he said). I want to know if Bruce freaks and tries to establish himself as the parent, only for it to backfire horribly, or if he makes a family tree and stares at it until he starts to have those optical illusions behind his eyes that you get when you look at things too long.

In the Tim is Bruce's parent AU, there is a semi-established point where Bruce finds out. It's after the BruceQuest. I'll go more in depth below, but I wanted to acknowledge that I'm totally chill if people utilize any of the ideas for their own fanwork (and thus have a different "discovery" method). Feel free to write or draw about whatever scenario inspires you most.

Anyways, the semi-established one already cooked up occurs because Tim has a famous reddit account. From years of receiving and then finally giving advice to other parents, he's established himself on a few parenting threads. His account has become something of a legend, especially for his advice with superpowered kids. He hasn't asked for advice for a few years and mainly just helps other parents out. From his past requests and his more recent advice giving, everyone knows that the kid he is raising is quite the handful. The kid sneaks out, gets hurt often, doesn't sleep, doesn't eat, destroys things when mad, screams, pushes away others, and isolates. The legend account states that they adopted their kid and, after establishing rules and open communication, have been doing much better with the extremely traumatized child.

Bruce, who's returned from the timestream and realized how important family is (and how much of a lacking dad he's been), goes to reddit for advice. He finds this really famous account with an extremely traumatized kid and realizes a lot of the advice (and perspective of where the kid is coming from) is helpful to Bruce's relationship with his own kids. Tim and Bruce befriend each other unknowingly until Bruce asks for advice that is pretty similar to Tim's siblings.

Tim suggests Bruce implement specific advice to deduce that Bruce is the account he's befriended.

Tim has a mental breakdown for a bit cause of that.

Bruce notices that his online friend is being distant and becomes a bit sad. He's suspicious, but he's trying to respect boundaries now. Besides, this account is at least five years old (Tim is eighteen now and started when he was thirteen).

I don't have quite the method of discovery set, but Bruce finds out both that it's Tim's account and that the "kid" is actually Bruce (although feel free to add misunderstanding shenanigans and angst where Bruce thinks Tim's been hiding his kid from him for that long).

Bruce, understandably, does not take this well. A child should not parent an adult. The fact that Tim did is a failing on Bruce's part. Bruce tries to correct this by suddenly being a parent to Tim (and ignoring some of the advice/habits Bruce has picked up from Tim). This is frustrating for both parties. Tim is an adult and has always been allergic to parenting/authority. He would rather have a fake uncle than a parent who tells him what to do (I know this isn't the actual reason for the fake uncle). Bruce doesn't know how to parent a child like Tim either.

Suffice to say, their relationship falls to part for a bit while they both try to work through the new dynamics and emotions. Tim is trying really hard to let Bruce be a parent to Tim, but it's just not their relationship. Tim has always been the parent. It feels condescending, belittling, and restrictive.

The entire time Bruce is trying to change their dynamics, he's getting the sense that Tim is only letting him do this in the way that a father let's their kid make mistakes or decisions so that they learn a lesson or practice. It doesn't feel genuine.

Eventually, they manage to figure out the new limits of their relationship and new boundaries. Bruce will always be Tim's child, but Bruce doesn't have to acknowledge Tim as his dad. He never did before.

But, yes. Bruce does spend many days after the realization blankly staring in space as his entire worldview shifts, and he goes over every interaction he's ever had with Tim

[lizzieisright]

Moon peppers (3)

(2)

Palestine: what can you do

were!Abby x witch!reader

Summary: Abby runs away from her (former) pack and into your forest. You're not happy with your new (woods?)mate.

Tags: fantasy au, sloppy worldbuilding (fuck it we ball), fem!reader, alpha!abby, witch!reader (so not an omega), sentient forest, stubborn idiots in love who annoy each other.

Notes: near-death experience, Caitvi being the cutest.

Taglist: @abbysbae @poxismind @sidefanficaccounttohidemyshame @pjmispunk @herdelreydear @lmaoo-spiderman (if you want me to tag/untag you for the whole series dm me please)

-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-

Annoyance prickles you all the way home. You feel a little exhausted after having your shields around yourself for so long, and if it wasn't for the stupid wolf, you'd be fine. You can't shake your irritation: you even offered the wolf peace, and it still attacked you! You keep in mind that the wolf might not be lucid - like it was with the bear, and you had to bring it back to the human form while avoiding getting killed - but on the other hand, it moved away when you threatened it with magic. 

“Fucking weres.” You spit and trip on a root. “Ouch. What, you have a soft spot for them?” 

The woods don't answer and you huff. You're used to the forest’s weirdness and mood swings, but sometimes you don't understand them. Who would have thought you can have an argument with a forest? But you had, on multiple occasions, and it showed that the forest remarkably worse at communicating than an emotionally stunned man.

When you see your hut, you let your shields down and take a long, tired breath. The wolf destroyed your sense of safety in the woods, and it makes your blood boil from fury, but you take another breath and try to calm down.

After all these years your anger is still the hardest to control. You still shake with the desire to just hit something, but it is still better than the desire to choke someone until they go cold and stiff. But it's hard to let go of this irritation and you haven't found a way to let it out-

Oh. Actually, you know a way. 

You sigh and slump on your porch to take a small break and recharge. The shields around the hut are not powered by your flow of magic, rather than by the bunch of stones and threads underground that you have to charge from time to time, so at least this is not draining you right now.

Fucking werewolf. 

You look over the edge of your shields and get angry again at the wolf. Your anger springs you into action, and you go inside your hut to get your things together. You take the fish out and put it in the chest full of ice - you're not cooking dinner today, you have no patience for it. 

You put another bottle of special tincture and head out, eager to go somewhere where there's no crazy werewolves. You're grim and the woods feel it, and they're rightfully offended by your attitude, but you can't bring yourself to care right now. Your mood is not directed at them rather than at one furry monster, and you know the forest knows it too, so you don't bother with sorries or excuses: you are not going to lie about your feelings, and you're tired from bottling up your anger.

As if not feeling anger is a goddamn requirement to be a good person.

When you're out of the forest, the sun gets closer to the horizon, and the evening's lights are beautiful enough for you to forget your spite for a moment. 

Then you continue stomping your way down the path and past the village, until you reach the odd house. 

You knock, shifting from foot to foot, and wait for someone to open the door. It takes a moment, but then Vi opens the door and the suspicion on her face turns into surprise when she sees you. 

“Damn, what happened to you?” 

“Can you spar with me?” You ask impatiently and come inside when Vi lets you in. 

“Is it a bottle in your sac, witch?” The dwarf grins and you roll your eyes. “I'm always happy to kick your ass, don't worry.”

“Thanks.”

Vi leads you to the kitchen where Caitlyn is cooking something and you shiver when you feel her magic: elven magic comes from stars, so it always feels cold. It's unnerving and makes you feel deep loneliness, and you don't know how Caitlyn deals with it. Do all elves feel as lonely as her magic makes you feel? 

But then Vi leaves a quick kiss on Caitlyn’s cheek and you chuckle. Vi, as any other dwarf, works with fire and metal, she always runs hot or is covered in coal, so you guess she balances Caitlyn and keeps her warm. 

“Darling!” Caitlyn smiles and hugs you, sending another wave of shivers down your spine. “You came back earlier than I expected.”

“She is going through some shit.” Vi immediately tells on you and you throw her a nasty look. “Listen, I didn't come here and ask to spar instead of saying hello.”

You huff and sit down on a soft chair, unloading your sac on the table. Vi grabs the bottle right away, but Caitlyn gently takes it and places it on the shelf. 

“Did anything happen?” The elf asks carefully and you let out a depressed snort. Caitlyn pours tea for all of you while Vi grumbles that she wanted her booze, but she still takes a sip.

“Another fucking were.” You say, defeated.

“No fucking way.” Vi groans. She was the one who had to deal with the bear after you brought it back and let's just say, they both didn't enjoy the experience, cursing and cussing at each other nonstop.

“It chased me to the hut, tried to jump me at least five times, refused to change back into human form and took Sevika's den. And when I warned it that she will come back and kill it, it made me walk backwards until I was out of its territory, growling and snarling at me. Un-fucking-believable.” You sigh. “And I'm so anxious my magic became unstable. I almost boiled myself alive.”

Caitlyn's face is so full of sympathy and concern it's hard to look at, so you look at Vi instead. She looks puzzled and just as annoyed as you are. 

“Is it a bear? Again?” Vi asks and it's almost funny how she is still full of spite after the werebear. “Why do you always get the crazy ones?”

“They fucking sense my own crazy.” You grump. “It's a wolf. A giant one, I've never seen them this big.”

“Probably an alpha, then.” Caitlyn says. “It's strange. Wolves live in packs.”

“Well, this explains the aggression.” You try to joke, but you sound more anxious than before. “I fell into the river today because of it.”

Vi cackles and you want to punch her. 

“So I'm angry. This is why I want to spar.”

“I think it is not wise for you to spar with Vi when your magic is unstable. I much prefer my starlight healthy and happy.”

Vi is clearly embarrassed by being called starlight - as always - but Caitlyn's loving look stops her from complaining and you from teasing. Elves are infinite and their love is too big and encompassing for mortals, however long they can live (Vi has another 500 years ahead of her, you think), and it's too much sometimes. 

“Have you been meditating like I showed you before?”

You feel stupid. 

“No.” You sound embarrassed, as you should be, but again - your anger management is still work in progress. 

“Well then. Let us go to the garden and I will guide you through it. Then you can spar with Vi, if you still wish to.”

You nod and follow Caitlyn. 

It's dark when Abby wakes up, and she feels better. The food and sleep helped her recover, and now she can finally change into human form to treat the rest of her wounds. 

The problem is, she doesn't have any supplies, since you took all of the moon peppers. So she will have to find something that will help her before she returns to her human form. 

For a brief moment she considers talking to you, since you are too weak to be a threat, when she gets better, but then she remembers you standing next to her blood stains near the den and the consideration is forgotten. 

So Abby cautiously shows her nose out of her den and takes a long sniff. Thankfully there is no one around who can hurt her, so Abby gets to her feet and goes for her search. 

Her wolf nose is more sensitive and she can smell more plants and animals around her than when she is a human, and it takes her less time to get to a comfrey bush. It's not in bloom, but Abby can still use it on her injuries to help with some of them that still bleed. 

Abby takes a breath and turns into her human form. She stands on her fours, shaking and grunting as the new level of pain washes over her body, but it slowly subsides. Abby is breathing deeply through it until her head stops spinning and the shaking goes away. Then she is able to sit down and check herself. 

Abby slowly raises her shirt up and winces in pain. Her right side has three deep long scratches that have been closing but not fully, so her shirt is soaked in blood, but that is what comfrey can help with. Her left thigh and calf have seen better days, and the hole from the claws stings painfully when Abby tries to move. It might be infected already, and this thought terrifies Abby. She thinks about going into the village to see their healer, but she might give herself away, so she will have to deal with it herself. 

Abby slowly breaks a few stems and starts turning them into mush - it would have been easier if she actually had a mortar, but alas, she has to adapt to her current situation, so she just kneads the stems in her hands until it's as gooey as it could get. Then she applies it to her side and moans in pain. 

“Fuck.” Abby whispers, but the mush helps immediately: her werewolf healing is way faster than anyone's in the world and her wounds finally close for good. It doesn't mean it's healed fully, but at least Abby stopped losing blood and avoided infections. 

Abby smells her former packmates one second, and the next second she is back into her wolf form. They're surrounding her from every direction and Abby tries her best not to panic, but somewhere deep in herself she knows she is not going to make it this time. There are obviously more wolves than before, hell, did Isaac bring the whole pack just to end her?

Abby hears growling from behind and turns around to face her threat, but the blow comes from the side, and Abby falls. She expects them to immediately go for her throat, but the wolves step away, clearly waiting for her to get up. 

Oh, so this is going to be a whole humiliation party, Abby thinks, but stands up anyway. They want to make an example of her - well, she is not going to let it happen. If Abby is going down, someone will go down with her. 

Abby narrows her eyes and tries to pick up Isaac’s scent and attack him, but he is nowhere to be found. Abby then moves to her closest target and attacks the wolf, going straight for their neck - it's a weaker one and Abby is sure she is going to kill it, but they're quick and Abby misses, falls on her feet again.

Someone jumps on top of her and bites into her shoulder, but Abby throws them off and leaves a nasty bite on their stomach - even if they escape, they will die on their way home. That brings her some satisfaction, but it's short-lived: another wolf jumps and bites her scruff. It hurts, but Abby throws them off again.

Then they're relentless: she throws off one wolf and another attacks her. Abby is getting exhausted and it's hard to get up now, but she still does. Her hind legs are shaking and her just closed wounds are open, but she snarls at her previous packmates, not giving up. 

Abby is happy she doesn't pick up Manny's scent among them. 

Suddenly wolves stop and step away, and Abby smells Isaac. Fucking coward waited until his wolves tired Abby out so he would stand a chance against her. He'd never win in an alpha on alpha fight, and everyone knows it. It makes him look pathetic and Abby knows wolves can smell her contempt and feel how Isaac's presence triggers her alpha’s pheromones. Some wolves whine, scared of her even when Abby is so weak she takes two tries to stand up, and Abby's smells like boasting. 

Isaac growls and shows off his own pheromones, but Abby overpowers him by a mile, which in return pisses him off and he lunges at Abby. 

They clash and Abby puts all her strength into most fatal attacks, clawing at his most vulnerable spots, but Isaac gets away from her.

Abby is panting and shaking, she is getting dizzy as her body starts to give up, and Isaac feels it. He lunges again with more force and keeps biting and clawing, waiting for Abby to slip up. 

And Abby slips up. 

Fangs sink into her throat and Abby whines as a piece of meat gets ripped out of her. She can't breathe, she is choking on her own blood as everything starts to fade away. 

Her former pack leaves only when all of them are sure Abby is dead and her heartbeat can't be heard and her scent can't be smelled. 

Isaac huffs in triumph at Abby's lifeless body and leads his pack out of the woods.

“So, do you still wish to spar with Vi?” Caitlyn asks after you finished your meditation. It's not the most comfortable experience and you'd really like to have some hot tea now, but you feel calmer and the flow of magic in your body is more stable. 

“No. Thank you, Caitlyn.”

The elf smiles gently and leads you back to the kitchen where Vi is already sipping your tincture. 

“You can't be left alone, can you?” Caitlyn sighs lovingly and Vi grins. 

“Try it. It's great. Not to your posh elven standards, your majesty, but you will like it anyway.”

Caitlyn huffs, embarrassed, and lightly slaps Vi's bicep. She just chuckles, catches her hand and leaves a gentle kiss on her palm. 

“You're adorable.” You coo and Caitlyn smiles at you. “I think I'll be going now. The forest wasn't happy with me.”

“Just like that?” Vi complains. “Next time bring two bottles.”

You laugh and leave after saying your goodbyes to the odd couple. 

It's dark outside now, and you come back to the forest with a lighter heart than before. The forest is silent, but you don't feel any anger towards yourself, so you're a little puzzled. 

And then your path suddenly makes a wrong turn. You don't question it and just follow wherever the forest leads you: it happens from time to time and you're always happy to help, especially now, when you're in such a good mood. You get suspicious when you recognise the path leading to Sevika’s den, but then it takes a different turn and you calm down. This is the way to comfrey and you walk confidently since it's familiar.

You reach the bushes and then you see blood on the ground. Oh, this is not good.

You follow the blood and you see the big shadow of the wolf on the ground. You flinch, scared it will attack you again, but it doesn't make a sound and it doesn't move. You come closer and now you can see it’s covered in blood and its back doesn't rise like it's supposed to if it was breathing.

“Fuck." You whisper. "Hey!” You call, but the wolf doesn't react. 

You make a few steps closer and then you run to the wolf when you exactly how much blood is there. There's a giant hole where its throat is supposed to be and you feel the cold dread crawl on your back. 

“Fuck. Fuck! What do you want me to do?” You ask the forest angrily. “I'm not powerful enough, I can't do shit!” You're on the verge of tears: yes, the wolf is annoying and scary, but it doesn't deserve to die! 

The woods respond with a gentle warm breeze and you take a deep breath as your fingers grip wolf's fur. Okay. Okay, there is an option which you're afraid to use, but it will work. Well, if the forest agrees, of course.

“Give me one of your trees and I'll be able to save the wolf.” You say quietly, knowing you have no right to ask for it, knowing the woods have no reason to trust you or believe you won't become dangerous again, but it is literally the only way. 

You're also afraid and you don't trust yourself, but the wolf is dead and you can save it. You can bring it back to life. You have no idea what happened to the wolf, but it simply doesn't deserve to die. 

You sigh and go around the wolf to the tree behind it. Your hands are shaking but you firmly put them on the bark and gasp: you feel the life energy flow in it, the forest will let you do this. It's so much your breath hitches but you calm yourself and begin to drain the tree.

You hear the rusting of the leaves as they turn into ash and your body gets filled with the life force of the tree. It's exhilarating and you can't help your surprised giggle when you feel your magic grow. Fuck, it's been so long since you felt so powerful and you feel alive.

The half of the tree is gone and you now notice that your hands are glowing. But it's not your hands that are glowing, these are your tattoos and runes. It makes you flinch in terror as memories flow through your head, but you keep going and try not to pay attention to every line and letter and patch that glows through your clothes. You haven't seen them in years and you'd much prefer not to see them ever again, but alas, the power comes with consequences. 

Everything now is covered in ash and you feel like you're going to burst from this amount of life energy in your body, so you quickly come back to the wolf and hold its head between your hands, and then you start pouring the energy into its lifeless body. Your tattoos stop glowing so violently as time passes and you see how the wolf's throat grows back and gets covered in fur. The wolf finally exhales loudly and inhales again, and you feel its heart restart. 

You sigh, relieved, and sit down, still holding the wolf's head and putting more energy into it, but now you're calm: the wolf breathes and gets warmer with every second. 

You murmur a spell that will let you continue giving the energy to the wolf and then you cast another one that makes the wolf float and follow you to the hut. 

You notice the blood on your hands and take a shaky breath as an ancient temptation gets the hold of you: you can put this wolf in debt, you can make it leave you alone (which is a not a fair price, but you have priorities), you can do whatever you want since you have its blood. 

You swallow sickly and shake your head to calm down. 

When you get to your hut you're not sure where to place the wolf: it will take a night and a day to finish healing, but the moment the wolf wakes up it will try to kill you, so you need to do something. It's not your greatest idea, but you really have no other option except to leave it outside and risk the wolf running away and breaking the bond. So you go to your stillroom, put all the protective spells you know on everything so the wolf won't trash the place, and summon some furs so the wolf won't be lying on the cold floor. You stand there for a second and cast restraints on the wolf - again, stupid idea, but it's for your own safety. Tomorrow, when the wolf wakes up you'll explain everything and release it, of course, but if you want a chance on said explain, the wolf should be restrained. 

When you go to bed you become aware of just how much energy will stay in your body after this, and it makes your heart sink. 

You only hope it won't drive you mad.

[eg4mccc]

First Call, Sims 4 Infants Patch is Coming Soon!!

(graphic credit: Bonxie)

It's almost time, the Infants are Coming!! Before the patch on March 14 breaks mods and custom content in preparation for the March 16 Sims 4 Growing Together expansion pack, I thought I'd run through a few things you'll need to know about, ahead of time.

When you load up after the patch, Mods and CC are going to be disabled by EA. This is fine, we're expecting a lot of things to break, and this time, it most likely will include MCCC.

We on Deaderpool's Discord recommend taking all of your mods/cc OUT, not leaving them sitting "turned off" (disabled) in your Mods folder. There's no guarantee the game can't see them anyway, so for the cleanest test, we always say to move the files out into a folder on the Desktop. You need this "game only" benchmark to see how things are supposed to behave, or to see if what isn't working properly is a problem in the game code, itself. 

Most of the time, we would actually recommend a "mc-vanilla" test, which means to ONLY leave MCCC in your mods folder... but in the case of a Big Patch, until Deaderpool has a chance to evaluate (and hotfix) MCCC for code changes that might cause the mod to give you unexpected issues in game, "true vanilla" (mod/cc free) would be where to start testing.

By the way, if you need help getting your files organized ahead of the patch, you can find a downloadable Mods folder template here, courtesy of Shino Nox.

Without benefit of MCCC's mc_lastexception.html error file to help dig for errors, once you have your game-only test run completed, the next thing to do would be a 50/50. Make a copy of your save file, to safeguard against accidentally saving while your mods and cc are not in the game. (Don't worry, if you DO happen to save your main file this way, just come right away and ask us on Discord how to recover from it.)

One tip we've learned over the years is that you might be able to rule out entire sections of files with two basic tests: 

One test with all of your cc & no mods (except MCCC, as long as it's working properly)

One test with all of your script/game-changing mods, and none of your extra custom content. (You would need to keep all of a mod's pieces together, both ts4script and package files.)

If either test results in any kind of error, you'll need to drill down through those files with the 50/50 technique, to find what's broken.

Luth's forum posts and Scarlet's mod list are both excellent resources. You may notice I'm not linking to any specific forum post. The reason is, Luth/luthienrising starts new patch threads in the section I did link, as needed. You'll be able to spot it once she has created it.

Last month, our team on Discord celebrated our sixth anniversary of helping players.  Don't panic once the patch is live, just swing by and see us for help.  If you can't get in, because you've been banned for some reason, our appeal process is outlined here. 

Most questions you might have are probably answered in the #server-info channel. PLEASE read it, before approaching us in support. It will make everything easier, for both of us. 

Thanks for your time, and, good luck with the patch!!

[antimony-medusa]

HEY MCYTBLR HAVE YOU HEARD OF YULETIDE?

What's this? I have come once again to your dash to tell you about an exchange? Absolutely I have. And let me tell you, this one is a doozy.

Yuletide is The Big Multifandom Exchange. It is the king of exchanges. It happens every year, and the works reveal on December 25th, and de-anon on the 1st of January. Last year over 1,800 people took part in the exchange. A lot of people only do Yuletide from the roster of exchanges. It is literally so big that it's the reason we have the Ao3 matching algorithm, because the Ao3 algorithm was built to handle Yuletide, because you have to algorithm match that one, it is simply unfeasible to hand-match an exchange of this magnitude.

What makes Yuletide special is that it is an exchange for rare and tiny fandoms— specifically, fandoms with less than 1000 fics on the archive. So all these niche book fandoms that get 10 fics posted in them a year— these people sign up for Yuletide, and they get matched. And people sign up with SUCH small fandoms.

Commercials.

Tumblr posts.

Art.

Songs.

Reddit Posts.

TikTok skits.

Web comics.

Twitter threads.

Books published 30 years ago.

Anthropomorphic concepts.

Niche tv shows.

Video games.

You can look at the tag list last year to get an idea of the sort of fandoms that show up in it. I did it last year, and I signed up with two book fandoms, SMPEarth, anthropomorphic apple products, and the "humans are space orcs" tumblr post as my fandoms.

Wait, SMPearth? And yes, we have come to the point of why I am specifically talking to MCYTblr. I do the MCYT on Ao3 stats dive every month, so I happen to know that there are 35 canonized MCYT tags that are eligable, as they have less than 1000 fics.

Pirates SMP is eligable.

Ivorycello Prison Escapes is eligable.

Karmaland is eligable.

Rats SMP is eligable.

Witchcraft SMP is eligible.

New Life SMP is eligable.

SMPLive is eligable.

Mianite is eligable.

The list goes on.

So. Do you want to do Yuletide 2023 with me?

Please Please Please Please Please. It's just a 1k minimum and they give you six weeks to work on it. You don't even nead a canonical tag to nominate, you can nominated non-canon fandoms! Please Please Please so funnnnnnn.

They are in tag nominations now, so until 28 September, at 9am UTC, you can nominate the tags you want to match on. I just nominated SMPEarth Emduo and Worldbuilding. It's a fun time. Join Meeeee.

IMPORTANT TECHNICAL NOTES:

Yuletide is a BIG EXCHANGE and everyone there is very professional, but that also means that they have very specific rules for how things should be run. I would say read the rules, maybe twice, before you submit anything. If you have any questions, message me and I will do my best to answer them.

Yuletide blog here.

Yuletide collection here.

Nomination rules here.

(Especially take note of the stuff about disambiguation, and use mcyt best practice of using gamertag and not tax filing name, none of the | pipes and multiple names in there.)

Eligability rules here.

Nominate on the Tag Set here.

If there is something about your fandom that makes you think they might not accept it, you can explain your arguments here.

Note that people who have had over 1000 fics written about them in RPF are not eligable to be nominated in a RPF fandom, so depending on your guy, you may need to pop a message on that post to explain that Afterlife SMP is not actually Video Blogging RPF for example, and Smajor1995 (Afterlife SMP) is not the same as Smajor1995 (Empires SMP).

Go forth! Participate in a great exchange!

[mintheleaf]

Second Lead Syndrome, Patient Name: Gojo Satoru. (cw: Mentions of character's death, canon compliant, there might be some slight ooc on Gojo's characteristic, fem!reader due to mention of pregnancy, brief Nanami x reader, only up to the Shibuya arc as I don't want to possibly spoil those who haven't read the manga or seen the spoilers, apologies if I do miss any warnings.)

Word count: 1193 (my hands-)

Gojo Satoru, a man who shifted the balance of the world when he was born onto this earth. A man who had people cowered in fear when he graced them with his presence, a man who had admirers falling to their knees for a chance with him, a man who had everything in the palm of his hands. Almost everything.

Year 2006,

Warm and sunny, the air was ringing with the sounds of laughter. Satoru, Suguru, Shoko and yours. The laughter lingered in the air like the lingered gazes Satoru had sneakily made to you. Your eyes welled with tears as you clutched your stomach from laughing too hard at Suguru's awful attempt at a joke. Satoru's heart skipped a beat, maybe two. Cheeks rosy as he lets you lean onto him for support. This is nice, the close proximity was nice, everything was just perfect. Until... it wasn't.

"Since you all promised me you won't laugh, I'll tell you... I really, really like Nanami," you bashfully admitted under a starry night to the other three. Suguru and Shoko were egging you on regards to your feelings for the sombre junior, but Satoru was on edge. How? How can a monotonous boy who rarely smiles swoop your heart first? How can he, the Gojo Satoru, the strongest of all, lose to a mere man like him? Ugly thoughts reared in his mind, gnashing it's teeth, demanding for answers. Satoru quickly tucked it away as you brought his attention back to reality. "You guys would make a great couple." "Why do you sound so paasive aggresive Satoru?" you feign hurt as you playfully pout at him. Satoru could only fake a chuckle as Suguru and Shoko looked at each other with a knowing worry. Blue eyes turned green, and things went for the worst for Gojo Satoru.

Year 2007

The news of Suguru's betrayal shook both you and Satoru's hearts, your best friend betraying you, Satoru and Shoko was the last thing you would imagine. After the failure of protecting Riko Amanai last year, Suguru and Satoru drifted apart as Satoru began working on mastering his techniques and standing alone as the strongest sorcerer. Although you did tried your best to be the thread that kept the friendship together, it was broken apart albeit your attempt. Guilt stricken and in mourning of the loss of your friendship with Satoru and Suguru, you had found solace in Kento as he too mourned over Haibara's death. With Kento unable to blame Suguru as he understands his feelings, your attraction to Kento deepened. Satoru saw this, and despite his emotions telling him to reconnect with you, his ego and his need to stand alone as the strongest won over. Occasionally talking to you became into awkward greetings as you and Kento stuck to each other by the hip.

With Kento's departure from the world of Jujutsu right after he gratuated, you followed along while maintaining contact with the others. Years went by when Satoru finally had the right mind to contact you, he was instead greeted with a call coming from you. "I didn't expect you would pick up actually, but since you did I'm glad. I actually want to invite you to my wedding, me and Kento initially planned to send you a card but-..." Satoru mind went blank as you continued on your talk, unknowingly that your conversation with him was one-sided. The only thing repeated in his mind was "you're... getting... married..." When the day of the wedding came, he knew he wasn't ready to face you. The people around him was buzzing with happiness for the new couple, unable to see or feel how he felt. When he saw you in your dress, he knew that his time was up. But oh how beautiful you looked in that dress and how he wished it was him waiting for you by the altar instead of Nanami. When you caught his gaze in the crowd, you smiled. It felt like the world had slowed down as his heartbeat picked up. The only thing he could do was smile back as he watch your make your way to your future husband.

Year 2018

Things weren't exactly going as smooth as Satoru had hope. Not only had he lost the chance to win your heart, he lost his best friend, his moral compass, his emotional support. As an added insult to the injuries, you've announced your departure from being the school's teacher due to your pregnancy. How can he forget, you were a married woman for a few years now. A married woman that is not his to love and care, a woman that is not carrying his legacy with him, a woman that he is still oh-so-hopelessly in love with.

You looked so radiant, so beautiful with the glow of motherhood despite just starting it. Satoru wished it was him, he wished it was him who had Nanami's life. But he can't blame him, to be with a woman like you is something that Satoru would kill a thousand men for. He would carry the weight of the world if it meant he gets to stand by your side till death parts him and you away. The ugly thoughts never left, it had been the one to kept him accompanied in his darkest days. Feeding off from his jealousy as he scrolled through your socials, admiring your domestic life with Nanami. With a heavy sigh, he walked away from the students that had surrounded you, wishing farewell. Blue eyes that turned green had deepened its shade.

October 31st, 2018

Chaos, chaos was around and thriving in Shibuya station. Mangled humans, humans that turned into cursed entities, blood and death was eminent in the air of the subway station. Yet your radiant gaze was the only thing in Satoru's mind. It mingled with the disgusting feral thoughts of killing intent as Satoru demolish curses after curses. Hanami's death brought nothing but joy to him. Yet the poor man was rendered into a speechless boy as the voice of his old, and deceased friend rang into his ears. Memories came back, ignited by the spark of "Suguru's" voice. The memories of you, Suguru and Shoko, the time spent between all four of you came crashing into his mind. Before Satoru could do anything, he was trapped. Trapped by the binds of the prison realm. Everything happened too suddenly, he didn't even had the time to tell you how he felt, how he was a fool without you, how he cannot live without you.

Not even his Six-eyes could predict this, he knew that this was not Suguru, his Six-eyes tells him. And yet, there's nothing he could do for now. As the gates of the prison realm slowly dawned upon him, enclosing him in darkness, the only thing he could do is stare into the eyes of his old friend as his mind raced to tell you things that could not be reached to your ears. How ironic for the one with everything was trapped in a cage where the things he wanted are out of his reach.

A/n: Ngl, I kind of hate how I ended it and I'm not sure if it can be classified as Second Lead Syndrome. But, ehh mistakes are meant to be made as a way to improve in the future. Hope you enjoyed and look forward for the other stories of this series :)

[concreteburialplot]

Cool About It // 02

02 - Scott Street

Pairing: Noah Sebastian x OFC [Amelia]

Masterlist: here | Crossposted: ao3 | Word count: 9k

Warnings; childhood best friends, mentions of underage drinking, mentions of past character deaths, being drunk, feelings panic, secrets, lots of flashbacks + lore, REMINDER: this is set in the winter lol sorry, 18+ MDNI

Summary; Amelia agrees to a midnight adventure with Noah in the hopes of getting answers to a decade’s worth of questions. Nicholas, Noah and Amelia then find themselves caught up in a game that fills them with nostalgia.

a/n: this is au, fictional, and follows no actual timelines/events, and uses oc's for family members. noah & nick are the same age here.

thanks to @sacredthefran for helping me edit this chapter 💞

don't like it don't read it. don’t be mean for no reason & let others enjoy things thnx :)

Do you feel ashamed,

When you hear my name?

Anyway, don’t be a stranger

Anyway, don’t be a stranger

Don’t be a stranger

- Scott Street // Phoebe Bridgers

The days after Amelia and Noah’s reunion began a thread of texts back and forth between the two – catching up on things that you miss within a 10 year separation like music they’ve discovered over the years, memes, stories from Noah’s tours or Amelia’s time in college, all in tandem with random occurrences that happened throughout the day. Noah was hungry for any information she spilled and soaked it right up like a sponge. 

He’s just bored – Amelia thought – big rock star from LA probably bored out of his mind bouncing from Vincent’s or the Ruffilos’ couch. She didn’t find herself particularly entertaining or interesting, it absolutely had to be his boredom that was fueling their reignited friendship. She was convinced that once he flies back to California with Nicholas that she’d dissolve back into the sky like a flickering star inevitably burning out. However, she intended to bask in the attention and fleeting nostalgia he gave her for as long as she could.

She too was thirsty for knowledge, asking so many questions that it was almost hard for him to keep up. The need to relearn him was too strong. She was curious about everything - the band, touring, recording, it was all so interesting to her compared to her tiny life in a snowglobe of a town.

There was a topic that Amelia had always wondered about over the years – his abrupt departure from their town in the middle of junior year. Her curiosity was just as strong then, asking too many questions that landed her in conversations thickly outlined with stern words and excuses. Not even Nicholas or his family would divulge the information. Not getting any knowledge, not even whispers about the situation in such a small town was odd. If it was one thing Amelia absolutely hated, it was being out of the loop and uninformed. Over time the mystery dissolved into a weird thing of the past, eventually getting overwritten by college exams, new friends, and different jobs, until Noah stepped back into her present. 

Now, Amelia had the opportunity to get the answers she had been seeking directly from the source. She just didn’t know how. She knew it had to be a sensitive topic with the amount of secrecy around the event and the fact that he hadn’t even returned home when his parents passed. It was hard for her to not steep in curiosity now that he’s made an appearance for the first time in years since then.

Amelia was snuggled up on her couch with a warm blanket and a cup of hot cocoa, accompanied with an entire bag of marshmallows to replenish as she drank. She nearly jolted out of her skin and choked on a mallow when her phone abruptly rattled against the coffee table. Her brows furrowed wondering who on earth could be calling her so late.

She picked up the device to read Noah’s name lit up across the screen. Her finger slid across the glass before putting it up to her ear. “Hello?” She pulled her shoulder up to support her phone while her hand rifled through the marshmallows to grab a couple and dropped them into the mug. The steaming liquid immediately began dissolving the sugary puffs.

“Scout!” Noah greeted cheerily.

“Hey?” She replied cautiously, “What’s up?”

“Whatcha doin’ right now?” His tone indicating that he might have an impeding invitation.

“Um…” She looked down at the mug clasped in her hand then towards the tv that was playing Little Women in the background. “Pretty high-level stuff actually.”

“Weeeeeelllll,” He dragged out the word, “Would you wanna ditch your ‘high-level’ stuff for a night adventure?”

Her teeth tugged at her bottom lip mulling over his offer, then pulled her phone from her ear momentarily to check the time. “Noah, it’s 11 pm!”

“Soooooo? The night is young!”

She sighed a little, saying no to him was never her strong suit. “What were you thinking?” She asked, entertaining the idea for a moment.

“Hm…. Some wine? Some good ol’ fashion meandering?”

She chuckled at his word choice, “Meandering?” Her thumb grazed over a missing chip in her snowman-shaped mug.

“Meandering!” He repeated as if it was an obvious and normal suggestion.

A soft huff left her lips, “Fine. But we can’t be out too late.”

“Whatever you say grandma.” He teased and she could hear the smile tugging at his lips as he spoke.

“Hey!”

“Sorrrryyy.” He hummed into the speaker, “Just meet me at the skatepark, okay?”

She agreed and ended the call with him, falling back into the cushion supporting her. She laid her phone flat on her chest, taking a moment just staring at the ceiling. The hollows of her ribs filled with an anxious feeling, something not quite like butterflies but more akin to moths. Amelia had always been drawn to Noah like a moth to a flame. He burned so bright that it singed anything and anyone around him. If you wanted to stay close to him, you needed to master the art of resilience. The one she saw navigate it the best was Nicholas; it was like the fire never even affected him. He wasn’t necessarily a moth to Noah’s flame, but rather a firefly – someone who comfortably hovered in his warmth, soaking it in for what it was, all while glowing a joyous, blinding brilliance of his own right alongside Noah. They complimented each other perfectly, like puzzle pieces created in a factory, made to live next to each other forever. If there was anyone who loved Noah more than Amelia, it was definitely Nicholas.

It suddenly dawned on her that she’d supposed to be getting ready the entire time she’d been lost in her thoughts. She sat her mug down on the coffee table and jumped to her feet, just then realizing she had no idea what to wear to an abandoned skate park at midnight. 

After going back and forth on how she should dress, she decided to prioritize comfort over casual. She threw on some dark joggers with a cream-colored crewneck that had a small teddy bear embroidered on the upper left side. She stopped by her front door to check herself in the mirror that hung above a coat rack. Her finger roughly slid up the corner of her eye to wipe away the mascara that had fallen throughout the day. A sigh escaped her when she fully took in her own appearance. While she had no idea what sort of girls Noah dated after he left, she could only imagine. Visions of stereotypical LA girls suddenly filled her head and stole a bit of her excitement of going to see him. It had to be some fucked up super power that came with being a woman - the ability to pinpoint at least 3 things to be unhappy with within a split second. Her eyes focused on her lips that weren’t overly full with filler, then her lashes that were coated with some fancy mascara she bought on a whim, and finally, her cheeks rounder than the defined faces he was probably used to seeing. And he didn’t dare think about all the girls that scream for him at their shows. It was only then, as she picked apart her face, that it dawned on her how he seemingly had endless choices much better than her. She wasn’t just competing with girls from a high school or a small town anymore, but something much grander, something bigger than she would ever be.

She caught herself in her insecurity, wondering why it was even upsetting her that she couldn’t compare to others. It didn’t matter if she couldn’t measure up because she wasn’t even an option, she never was. 

Side by side Noah and Amelia aimlessly walked around the small, quiet town handing a bottle of white wine back and forth. Amelia wasn’t a big fan of wine but Noah seemed to have grown a liking to it. Well, thinking about it now, maybe Noah’s always had a taste for the bitter liquid. As she watched him take a swig from the bottle, for a split second, it was like looking directly into the past. She saw 16-year-old Noah taking a hefty chug from a stolen bottle of Barefoot Moscato. Even underage with limited accessibility, Noah always made sure to grab the only wine that made Amelia’s face twist the least. That crisp October night was originally supposed to include Nicholas until he bailed last minute for a brunette from his math class that needed “study help”. It was adorably hilarious watching a bright shade of pink adorn his cheeks as he tried to explain why he couldn’t make it. 

When Amelia looked back on that night, there was always a feeling she couldn’t quite place. It was something sweet that often comes with youthful midnight quests but also vaguely like being out of the loop about something she was unaware of. Noah was quieter than normal, not by much, but enough for Amelia to notice. Usually, alcohol had the opposite effect on the boy, however that night was different. There was hesitation beneath every word he spoke - a detail Amelia hadn’t picked up until years later after dissecting the night a million different ways in her head.

Noah wrapped his arm around her shoulders, pulling his best friend down to sit at the bottom of the cemented ramp with him. The sky was particularly bright that night, the stars looked closer than normal with shinier twinkles. 

“Look at that one, Noah! It’s so pretty!” Amelia exclaimed, sitting up a little bit, finger pointed out towards the sky. 

“Eh, it’s okay.” He shrugged.

She twisted her body towards him sharply. “‘Okay’?!” She turned back to the sky to admire the glittering star she was defending. “What could possibly be prettier than that?”

Amelia could hear the boy mumble something behind her, even though she couldn’t make out his words, she could still sense the thick apprehension laced between them. In the moment she just took it as fear of upsetting her with an opposing opinion. Peaking over her shoulder, she found Noah watching her with a gentleness she often found in his gaze. She offered the only viable option she could think of since it was the largest and brightest thing decorating the night sky. “The moon?”

A blush flooded her body when the boy chuckled, shaking his head and leaning forward to steal the bottle from her again. “Yes, Amelia. I’m talking about the moon.” He said in a tone that would normally accompany an eye roll. He brought the half empty bottle to his lips. She eyed him intently watching the bottle meet his mouth. She never knew it was possible to crave being a chunk of glass - yet there she was wanting nothing more to be the object touching his lips.

Walking beside him now made her realize that Noah had aged just like wine. Even from very early on he always held the dichotomy of being sweet and savory while simultaneously having the ability to leave a bitter, sour taste behind. When he was younger it was more subtle yet scattered, now it was the same, just stronger and refined through control. Wine isn’t wine without the intricate layers, the undertones, the top and bottom notes, all of it contributes to the integrity and skeleton of the liquid that creates something worth savoring. It’s impossible to separate the complex layers from each other and still claim it’s sophisticated wine. Noah was exactly that, elaborate and labyrinthian. If you wanted him whole, you needed to take every part, every layer. Back then, Amelia naively believed she knew, had and understood every layer of her best friend, her other half. It wasn’t until the morning after that adolescence-filled night that she got the worst awakening that she couldn’t have been more wrong. Overnight he somehow slipped from her grasp without even a goodbye or explanation. He disappeared into thin air. 

He was just, gone.

After a couple months went by with radio silence and no sight of return, in some twisted way, she mourned him while he was still alive. She had Nick of course, who was doing just as poorly as her but they grew distant over time and especially after graduation, she lost him too. Whenever she went back to the memory she would always wonder if she had known he was leaving for good, would she have told him how she felt. Would she have told him that she loved him and that she was jealous of every girl who had gotten the privilege to even hold his hand in the hall or share a kiss at a locker. Would her confession have made a difference? Would it have kept him from leaving?

She wondered if she’d still love him the same now — and if she did, would she tell him this time? Would it make a difference? Could it change or rewrite their history? Would it make up for lost time? Or would it just complicate their vastly different lives? Maybe some things were meant to stay hidden in the comfortable shadows of the past, even if they resurface.  

The scattering sound of Noah kicking a rock ripped her back to the present. She shook her head of the fuzzy memory. 

“So, you spend a lot of time ‘meandering’ in LA?” She teased, tilting the glass bottle backwards to slosh the light liquid into her mouth. The familiar sweet astringent taste caused her to twist the bottle in her palm. Barefoot Moscato.

“No.” He rolled his eyes with a smile and kicked a pebble across the empty skate ramp. “There’s nothing interesting in LA.”

She scoffed at his jaded statement. “Yeah right. And this old dusty skate park in your tiny hometown is more interesting than Los Angeles?”

He shrugged and took back the bottle. “Now that I’m back here? Yeah, definitely.” His inked fingers wrapped around the neck of the bottle to take a sip of his own. “Everything in LA is the same. It gets really old, really fast.”

“Right.” She said skeptically, stuffing her freezing fingertips into her pockets. “Well, everything here has been really old for a really long time.” She wasn’t quite sure why she was being so combative about the sleepy town, most nights she prefers it that way. Whatever’s out there must be a better home for him to be so absent for so long. She knew he had his reasons, valid ones, but 10 years seemed excessive to avoid people who aren’t even alive anymore.

“Sometimes you don’t know what you have until it’s gone.” He stated the popular phrase as if he didn’t believe it before that night.

“Oh, what?” She scoffed playfully, the alcohol riding her cadence. “You missed little ol’ me?” Her words slipped past her lips before she could think twice, and asked it more as a joke than a genuine question.

His flow of speech hiccupped a beat before he replied. “Yeah, and what if I did?” He inquired gently, but intentional in the way he kept moving forward slowly.

Her eyes flickered up at him from where they had been glued to the ground. She quickly mulled over what to say back – ‘I missed you too’ felt too vulnerable, too honest. “Then I’d ask what took you so long to come back.” Her voice was quiet and meek, lacking the confidence it really needed to land a punch.

His next step faltered, clearly not anticipating her rebuttal. “Well I-” He began without knowing how to answer. It wasn’t til he lifted his head that he realized where they had ended up in their aimless walking.

“Noah?” Amelia asked, curious at the reason for his abrupt pause.

His demeanor shifted significantly, the conversation they’d been having previously was nothing more than a memory now. His spine straightened and his shoulders squared, his eyebrows sunk along with the corners of his mouth.

Amelia studied him curiously. His facial structure became so harsh and angular, most people would think he was furious, but she could tell by the weight behind his eyes that it wasn’t so. He was sad, maybe there was anger mingled a bit as well, but it was mostly dejection in the darkness of his eyes.

At first, she thought maybe she’d crossed some line or breached some boundary, but it was the way he looked at their surroundings that told her otherwise. Her eyes bounced around them wondering what could possibly be upsetting him so much. They’d wandered into some random side street with colorful graffiti all over the walls. Her head tilted in the same way a dog's would at a peculiar noise and her eyes drifted to the nearest street post.

Scott Street

It was technically the same street Nick’s house was on, just much further down. This offshoot of Scott St. intersected with 13th Street which was a notorious adolescent hangout spot, at least it was back then. The trio would often spend time there years ago while the street was more nefarious. The boys would drag Amelia there, usually when the summer’s sparkle began to dull, and they ran out of things to do. While she never saw either of them spray painting, she had a sneaking suspicion that they’d leave their mark while she wasn’t with them. 

Most days they’d sit around the asphalt drinking alcohol disguised as energy drinks while Nicholas sketched on the sidewalk with chalk. His works were usually elaborate art pieces of the most obscure fixations of his. One of Amelia’s favorite Nick chalk art installations was when he decided to sketch different album art covers of his favorite artists. After watching him sketch Deftones, The Cure, and Prince, Amelia made a request for Lana Del Rey’s Born to Die album which Nick was resistant to. 

“That’s not real music.” He retorted with a roll of his eyes which landed a smack on his arm from Noah outing him saying, “Shut up you always sing along to Off To The Races in the car.”

“Whatever.” He’d wave off the admission and proceed to create the most beautiful installment of his album series. Amelia was over the moon at the result, taking a bunch of pictures and making them semi-famous on Tumblr.

Another of her favorites was their 16th summer where Nicholas had taken up trying to master flowers. It was rare that Noah jumped on any artistic band wagon that Nick drove, but flowers for some reason was one of the lucky ones. It was quite a sight, seeing them both hunched over themselves in the Virginia summer heat chalking elaborate flowers into the concrete. Nicholas naturally always out-did Noah in the art department, but this go around Noah was able to keep up fairly well and his flowers came out just as pretty as Nick’s.

The corner of Amelia’s lips peaked up remembering how beautiful the sidewalk looked filled with colorful pastel flowers. Her eyes fell to the asphalt and the pickaxe of time chipped nostalgia into her heart at how the chalk hadn’t magically remained engrained in the cement.

Even though the city had cracked down on the law enforcement in the area to “raise the city’s value” they somehow failed to stop the constant layered graffiti work on the grey brick wall. Most days Amelia forgot the street even existed despite driving past it every day to work.

She shook her head to break herself from the memory only to catch Noah walking away from the scene. “Wait where are you going?” She called, quickly walking to where he was.

“C’mon let’s get out of here.” He grumbled which only confused her further.

“Oh, well, I,” She started but fell short, not knowing what to say.

After walking a bit in silence vaguely in the direction of Amelia’s house, she cleared her throat. “Are you okay?” She asked quietly, fidgeting her fingers together nervously. Despite having history with Noah, she still got nervous whenever he was like this. At least when he was younger, he could be… explosive at times. She was never particularly scared of him, he’d never hurt her or anyone, it was just almost painful to see him like that. When he’d get that upset, it was quite rare to get him to share what was truly disturbing him. She didn’t have much hope this time, especially since they had just been reunited. Noah was a tough cookie to crack, she wondered if time had mended all the years of hard work on him.

He remained silent for a while before answering. “I’m fine.” He dismissed the insinuation that he wasn’t, even though his demeanor hadn’t improved.

Amelia pressed her lips together and nodded. “Got it.” Her thumbs wriggled against each other as she walked and decided that curiosity was stronger than her will to stay silent. “It’s just… you don’t seem fine.” Her speed picks up to keep with his increasing velocity.

His fists curl at his sides. “Can you just fucking drop it Amelia?” He snapped. 

It wasn’t often that he cursed at her or used her full first name, especially not in such a serious tone. She knew that when he did it was serious.

Her eyes widened at his response and she nodded again. “Okay.” She replied meekly. “Sorry.”

The remainder of the walk back to her home was quiet and uncomfortable. It was mainly made up of the sound of their sneakers scuffing against asphalt.

When they reached Amelia’s fence it was reminiscent of that first night after breaking into Nick’s house.

“I’m sorry I snapped at you.” He said quietly but genuinely. Noah could be volatile at times but it was always followed up by an apology once he calmed down.

“It’s okay.” Reassured Amelia. “I shouldn’t have pried, it wasn’t my business.”

He sighed. “It’s not that necessarily, I just didn’t want to talk about it.”

Amelia let a pause settle between them before speaking again. “You know that you can talk to me about anything, right? I mean…” Her eyes fell to her scuffed up Converse. “I mean, I know it’s been a while. And you probably don’t trust me like you used to but, I’d still never judge you or anything.” 

Noah’s heart sank at her words, at the implication that she doesn’t hold his trust. But she was right. Ten years is a long time and 16 is such a tricky age. Nobody is a complete person at 16, there’s so much change that occurs between then and a whole adult version of the same person. And yet, it was as if no time had passed between them. His whole life Noah had only fully trusted two people, and one of them was standing right in front of him. She never once gave him any reason to question her trust. The minute he laid eyes on Amelia in the bakery last week, he trusted her all over again. However, this wasn’t a matter of trust.

“That’s no-.” Noah hesitated for a second, inhaling a deep breath that forced his cheeks to puff out while his eyes stared blankly at the sidewalk where he stood. “Scout, I know you would never judge me. It’s just not important.” 

“Are you sure? It just seemed like you went somewhere else in your mind back there. I just,” Amelia exhaled, feeling a tinge of warmth coat her cheeks. “I just… worry about you. Sometimes.” She squeaked out. 

Noah’s eyes snapped up from the cement to Amelia’s eyes at her confession. Her gaze immediately darted from his hold, feeling the heat on her cheeks grow into a burn. Valleys formed between his brows in curiosity, “You worry about me?” He couldn’t help but ask - it had been so long and so much had changed, there was no way she still even thought about him in any real capacity before their reunion. 

“Well,” Her hands anxiously pulled down her sleeves to cover his freezing hands. “Yeah? Duh.”

His stomach filled with swirling butterflies as he took in the girl in front of him. Of course he thought about her too, all of the time. Guilt twisted his intestines knowing that he was keeping this secret from her. As kids, they never kept things from each other, there were no secrets between the three of them unless it was necessary. But this, this was definitely necessary. How could he in good conscience tell her that she was the reason he got distant on the nostalgic street, how could he tell her that she’s the reason he had to leave in the first place. 

Well, it wasn’t necessarily her fault directly, in all honest reality it was his. It was Noah’s fault that he was a rebellious teenager and doing everything under the sun to get him in trouble - with both his parents and the law. He didn’t know why he did it, in therapy he’s told it was for attention. Maybe that was the truth. Maybe he wanted his parents to acknowledge his existence even a little bit. Or maybe acting out landed him in mandatory escapes from home. He liked that reasoning the best. He wondered if perhaps that was why he dragged Amelia and Nicholas into every scheme. If they all got caught, they’d be forced into detention - forced to spend time together regardless of parental schedules or permission. Being home and being alone were the things he ran from the most. He should feel guilty about it, he thinks, for getting them in so much trouble - but for the most part, he can’t. They were his only lifeline, he wouldn’t have survived without them. He took the brunt of the punishments anyway, always taking the fall for them. He paid more than his fair shares of his dues for the choices he made. At the time it seemed worth it but looking at it now, he wasn’t sure. 

“Oh,” His hands fidgeted before meeting her soft eyes again. He could barely stand looking at her while she watched him with such kindness and concern for him in her eyes. “I didn’t,” He exhaled in order to compose his thoughts. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to upset you. I’m okay Scout, I promise. I just, must be hangry or something.” He joked to break up the tension, his favorite coping mechanism. 

“Okay.” She replied quietly with a small nod. They stood in silence for a moment, the weight of unspoken words heavy in the air. Amelia shifted on her feet and wrapping one arm around herself then brought the other to her lips, biting down on her thumbnail. “So, the Ruffilo Christmas party is still on for this weekend, right?”

Noah’s expression softened at the shift in topic. “Yeah! You still planning on coming?”

“Yeah, of course.” A smile formed on her lips. “How could I pass up a Ruffilo party?”

Noah couldn’t help but match the grin that painted across her lips. “It’ll be good to hang out like old times.”

“Yeah, I’m looking forward to it.” She admitted softly. Her tummy that had just been twisted with anxiety was now buzzing with excitement. 

“Me too,” Noah agreed, his own smile widening. “It’ll be fun.”

“Yeah. Definitely.” Amelia nodded, scuffing the heel of her shoe against the pavement. After a quiet pause, she took a step back, glancing toward her small home. “I should get inside. It’s getting late.” She rubbed her own arms with a chattering smile. “And it’s really fucking cold.”

“Yeah, you should do that.” His smile fell a bit. “See you in a couple days?”

“Mhm.” She nodded, unlocking her wire fence as she waved at him. “Goodnight, Noah.”

He waved back, “G‘night, Scout.” His voice not as strong as before, sounding almost defeated.

The weekend arrived faster than Amelia was prepared for. After cycling through various outfits in the mirror, she landed on a mid-thigh length dark emerald velvet flowy dress paired with a bow in her hair of the same shade. The dress was adorned with bat-wing sleeves and a scooped neckline.

Between the anxious, panicked outfit changes and the flurries of butterflies in her tummy while waiting at the front door, it reminded her all too much of 7th grade when she attended one particular Ruffilo Christmas party. That year for some reason wasn’t the same as the ones before, things had shifted. She was growing into her body and suddenly boys looked a little different. Her stomach started feeling fluttery through all their hangouts, but she dismissed it as being due to the cute friends the boys kept around. 

She texted Noah, letting him know she was there and adjusted the bow in her half-up hair. Not long after, a tipsy Nicholas swings the door open wide. “Scout!” His grin reached his eyes, and he wrapped his arms around her, giving her a tight squeeze. “You know you could’ve just let yourself in, silly.”

She let out a content sigh, suddenly feeling much more at ease. Her arms wrapped around him, reciprocating the tight embrace, clinging onto him mostly because she genuinely missed him too. It had always been the three of them, not just Noah. “Nice to see you too Nicholas.”

He pulled back keeping her shoulders in a grip, “Augh my mom is gonna be so happy to see you!”

Walking into the two-story home felt like stepping into a time machine. The home was covered floor to ceiling with the same Christmas decorations she grew up seeing every year. Mama Ruffilo loved herself a good holiday, never passing up on an opportunity to decorate and celebrate something. Birthdays were treated as sacred holidays in their home – whenever anyone close to them had a birthday, that week was blocked off on their calendar. She took it upon herself to throw them a huge party with everyone they knew invited – even if you didn’t really know them. Their parties were grand and extravagant and lasted all day long. She pumped out delicious homemade food the entire day and ended it with a giant cake perfectly curated to the birthday person’s taste. Mama Ruffilo filled every event with enough love to go around for everyone, even the straggling strangers.

Their home was gorgeously dated, built in the early 1900’s and made up almost entirely out of wood. It was spacious but with a tight floor plan.

After some overdue catching up with Nick’s parents, the two of them made their way upstairs to meet up with Noah. The pair made sure to bring nearly overflowing solo cups full of Mama Ruffilo’s famous sparkling cranberry cocktail, an extra re-up for Noah.

The upstairs loft area was their domain, where all the kids used to hang out. The space was decked out with a couch, a couple bean bag chairs and a TV with every gaming console you could imagine. The Ruffilo’s were by no means wealthy, but they tried to give their kids as much as they could, and for the most part they succeeded. The loft area looked the same, as if it hadn’t been touched since the last time she had been there. It’s funny how there are moments in live, where you don’t realize that you’re experiencing something for the last time. Amelia would sometimes think about the last time she saw Noah that starry night at the skatepark, and how she had no idea it’d be their last.

Noah was sat on the couch playing some shooter game.

“Hey.” Amelia said meekly, giving him a little wave. Since the night at the park suddenly she felt shyer around him than before their reunion in the bakery.

“Hey Scout.” He said uninterrupted with his brows furrowed and his tongue stuck between his lips with his thumbs flying over the plastic controller. His gaze flickered up to her in a brief moment of respite, the look was fleeting as his eyes immediately went back reflexively to the game. It seemed as though his brain processed what he saw after the fact, his eyes snapping right back at her, lingering this time as he gave her a once over. It was clear he did not expect her to show up in a short dress that so perfectly accentuated the curves of her body. Of course, logically he knew she had grown up, but something about the way the fabric laid on her body clicked something in his brain. That was a woman standing in front of him, not the girl he used to call his best friend. The realization sent a buzzing warmth down his body that he didn’t anticipate. His focus stayed on her a couple seconds too long, and the sounds of defeat blared from the tv speakers.

“Fuck.” He mumbled, pausing the game and setting down the controller on the coffee table in front of him. He shook his head from the swirling thoughts and pulled himself up to his feet. He wrapped his arm around her, pulling her in for a half hug. “Glad you could make it Scout.” He smiled down at her.

She looked up at him, forgetting how much he actually towered over her – the top of her head barely reaching his shoulder, even with the almost two inches of added height from her shoes. “Thanks for inviting me.”

The boys gathered on the couch while Amelia opted for the matching armchair beside them. The trio spent some time catching up, sharing more stories of their time spent away from each other. Though the boys’ success stories seemed to outshine her modest life running a bakery, they still made her accomplishments seem just as significant and grandiose as their own.

Amelia watched the boys play a couple rounds of their shooter game while she was once again playing catch up to their drinking. She forgot the burn that came from the strong cranberry cocktail but that didn’t stop her from finishing 2 cups of it while now nursing a strong 3rd. The alcohol was quickly spreading tingly heat through her veins already reaching her fingertips.

Her eyes drifted to a corner of the room where a play tent used to sit, and a grin spread across her lips. Clear as day she could see herself at 9 years old hiding in it with her legs tucked up into her chest held tightly by her arms thinking it was the best hiding spot in the house.

“What’re ya smilin’ about?” Asked Nicholas, setting down the controller as their match ended.

She laughed and shook her head, “Nothin, just thinkin’ about how I’d always win at hide-and-seek.” She smirked with pride, straightening up before taking another sip of the fruity drink.

Noah scoffed, “Yeah fuckin’ right, I always won.”

“I don’t think so, not the way I remember it.” Amelia countered with a propped brow.

“Well, you’re definitely remembering wrong.” He challenged.

“Well, why don’t we find out?” Nick suggested with a playful glint in his eye. “For old times’ sake.”

“Fuck it, fine.” Amelia laughed, the nostalgic innocence of it all just as prevalent in her system as the alcohol.

“Sounds good to me.” Noah boasted and pointed a finger at her, narrowing his eyes. “You’re goin’ down, Alastor.” Noah was known to have a strong competitive streak and it showed when he began pulling last names out.

The trio gathered in the middle of the upstairs hallway just as they had years ago.

“Okay, 3 for 3?” Nick confirmed as that was their tradition.

The three looked at each other and nodded in agreement. They all downed the last of their drinks before the game began. Nick leaned against the railway of the foyer with covered eyes and began counting down while Noah and Amelia darted in opposite directions in search of their perfect hiding spots.

It felt silly, running around as 20-somethings looking for their old tried and true hiding locations assuming Nicholas wouldn’t remember them. But the rush of pure child-fueled adrenaline was too good to pass up for the pair, feeling better than they ever remembered. Whether it was the magic of the old house imprinted with their childhood wonderment or the alcohol swirling in their chests that fueled their fun, they couldn’t tell, but it was thrilling all the same.

In the first round, Amelia weaved through the downstairs crowd, somehow picking up another glass of cranberry cocktail along the way to warm her journey to her first spot. She was grateful no one was around to catch her sneaking into the coat closet below the stairs. Noah on the other hand, discovered that finding discreet hiding places now that he was lanky and 6’3 wasn’t the easiest thing to do. In a desperate last-minute attempt, he chose to hide behind some floor-length curtains in the living room. Noah was glad that the people around him were too drunk to question it.

Obviously, Amelia won that round.

By the second round, the trio were way past their limits on the wicked cranberry elixir. Their cheeks were rosy, their fingers tingly and their lips numb. Silly giggles and drunken fumbling were what gave away Amelia’s position, giving Noah the victory of the 2nd round.

Finally, after a sloppy team meeting downstairs, Nick began counting down, though he kept having to start over due to him tripping over his numbers and forgetting his place. Amelia and Noah split in separate directions, but they took advantage of Nick’s extra time. The brunette circled around downstairs but the racing urgency in her heart convinced her that she was running out of time and to give up and try upstairs. A brilliant idea bloomed in her mind like a light bulb in her head, an absolute genius spot she thought. She rushed her way through the traffic in the stairway and almost broke through the door of her destination with the force she ran into it.

She flicked the light on and took in the room, it looked so perfect, like it hadn’t been touched in the past 10 years. Nick’s bedroom was just as cluttered as she remembered it being, every surface covered with something – books, vinyls, figures, old instruments. Three of his walls were dark blue with one accent wall of chalkboard paint black.

She closed the door behind her and stumbled slightly as she turned to take in the chalkboard, covered with messages they'd left over the years. The notes stretched all the way back to an old Girl Scout schedule of hers. She walked towards the board, touching the chalk, reminiscing about that very first day. She rolled the blue powder between her middle finger and thumb remembering it as if it was yesterday. It was at the end of a Girl Scout meeting, and she was helping a younger girl in her troop with her sash. Just as she got it perfect, two older boys ran up to inform the dark-haired girl that their mom sent them to find her and that she was impatiently waiting in the car.

“Nice sash, loser.” Sneered 8-year old Nick with crossed arms.

“Amelia helped me with it.” The younger girl retorted proudly. “She said it’s cool.”

Nick scoffed at the idea, “Yeah right.”

“She worked hard for these badges, they’re special.” Amelia raised her brow, eyeing the small boy up and down. “I don’t see you with anything special.” She sassed.

“I like yours.” Squeaked Noah with wide eyes blinking at Amelia, not even looking the sash he was complimenting.

“Thanks.” A tiny smile formed on her lips, taking in the slightly taller boy with kindest brown eyes.

“I’m Noah-“ He began before getting cut off by Nick yanking his arm towards the exit.

As Noah was getting dragged away by Nick, he gave Amelia a big goodbye wave, “Nice meeting you… Scout!” He called back with a giant smile to the unnamed girl.

“You gonna hide or what!” A voice whisper-yelled from the closet, snapping her from her nostalgic trance.

Her brows furrowed and followed the mystery voice, yanking the closet door open.

“Hey! You’re in my hiding spot!” She whined spotting Noah in her genius idea.

“Finder’s keepers, find a different place!” He said competitively even though there was no real malice in his tone.

“No – I don’t think I will.” She straightened up, “I thought of it, I’m sitting in here.” In her hazy mind, the logic made perfect sense and, in that moment, sitting in her genius hiding spot might as well have meant winning the game.

Noah knew better than to challenge a drunk Amelia and just groaned with an eye roll, tucking his crossed legs further into himself. “Augh, fine, just get in before he walks in here.”

Amelia giggled proudly and plopped herself across from him. She was much smaller than Noah so her fitting into such a small space wasn’t much of a hassle. She brought her bent legs up, wrapping her arms around them and resting her chin on her knees looking at him.

The edges of Noah’s lips quirked up into a wide grin as he looked over her, taking in how adorable she looked with her cheeks flushed and lips stained cranberry-red. “Oh, you’re drunk.”

The redness on her cheeks grew as she giggled at his words, bringing her long sleeves up to her face to hide her face. “Shut up, Noah!”

He let out a laugh at her reaction, finding it quite endearing.

“Hey! So are you!” She snapped at his laughter and smacked him with the access of her bell sleeve.

He shrugged, “Nick’s mom is a great bartender.” He chuckled, convinced that even drinking straight liquor couldn’t get him as drunk as that dreaded juice.

“Too bad Nick didn’t get any of that magic in his genes.” She quipped back with a grin beginning to spread.

They both erupted into a fit of cackles remembering the monstrous concoctions Nicholas would create at any given high school party they were at.

“No, he really didn’t!” Amelia couldn’t keep it together as she shook her head vigorously, almost making her dizzy.

“And you wanna know somethin’?” Noah leaned in and waited until she reciprocated in matched anticipation. “He still doesn’t!”

Amelia’s eyes filled with tears from how hard she was laughing, reaching out and grasping Noah’s arms for stability, pattering her feet as well as she could while sitting down. She shook Noah hard as if the more she moved him the easier it would be to breathe through her drunken laughter.

Noah didn’t help, only laughing harder because of her over-enthused amusement. The feeling of her delicate hands gripping him ignited some warm feeling in his chest that he couldn’t explain, or maybe it just didn’t make sense, or perhaps it was a feeling he forgot came with Amelia. The longer her hands lingered on him, the more familiar it became and in the pit of his stomach he realized that he remembered it vividly. Sitting on floors, wrapped up in fits of laughter always felt like that with her. It was electric and euphoric but soft like velvet and cashmere. Safe and exciting. Perhaps, maybe, it might be what people say home feels like. It seemed alcohol only amplified that feeling. A part of him thought that maybe if he kept her laughing, she’d never leave.

The pair suddenly perked up and their laughter ceased at a loud sound from past the room worried them that it might be Nick finally getting close to finding them.

“Shit!” Noah straightened up peek through the slats of the closet.

“What?”

“You didn’t turn the light off before getting in here.” He hissed.

Before Noah could stop her, she cracked the closet open and shakily pulled herself to her feet.

“Scout!” He called after her in a whisper and fell short of grabbing her wrist.

She sprinted across the room, flicking off the light casting the room in deep darkness.

“Fuck.” She muttered, not really thinking through the fact that she’d have to find her way back in the dark.

“’Melia.” Noah groaned letting his head fall back, pinching the bridge of his nose, suddenly remembering how ditzy she could get when intoxicated. “Just follow my voice and try not to knock anything down.”

“S’kay!” She slurred a bit and if on cue, she bumped into his dresser. “Ow!”

Noah covered his face with both hands, watching the vague movement in the dark through parted fingers like it was a train wreck he couldn’t look away from.

Her hands landed carefully on every surface she came in contact with, though the numbness that made home in her fingertips did not aid in that quest.

“I believe in you Scout, c’mon.” He chuckled, now tracking her with his light-adjusted eyes.

“I’m good, I’m good, I got it!”

By the grace of god, the girl made it back to the closet in one piece. However, it seemed that the precarious feat of finding her way back to her spot in the crowded closet was much more complicated in the darkness.

She stepped in just fine, “See, told you I got it!”

“Yeah, after you bumped into every piece of furniture!”

His comment starts the chain reaction of their drunken laughter. From all the combined laughter of the night, Amelia’s abdomen actively ached and when she couldn’t catch her breath, her midsection failed to support her weight any longer. She lost her balance and stumbled forward. She tried to catch herself, but the darkness and her tipsiness got the better of her. 

Amelia somehow landed in Noah’s lap and it’s only once the giggles died down that they realized her position on him.

Their smiles fall slowly once they notice just how close their faces were to each other’s.

“Hi.” Amelia breathes out quietly, being able to see him clearer with her eyes finally adjusted to the dark.

“Hi.” Noah replied, just as delicately as her. He shifts a bit beneath her, stretching his legs out allowing for her position to settle better. Each knee nestled at his sides, and she rested on his lap gently. Her palms found themselves on his chest, seeking warmth to ground her. A buzz laid claim across her skin and a prickling at her fingertips. She couldn’t tell if it was just the alcohol playing tricks on her but could’ve sworn that she could feel his heart thumping quickly beneath her hand. If it was his heart she felt, hers was racing just as fast.

It’s Noah’s eyes that first flickered down to her lips and that’s all it takes to prompt Amelia to do the same. It’s a game that went on for what felt like an eternity to them, but in reality, it wasn’t even a minute. Noah doesn’t think, he just does, following his drunken impulse to close the gap between them. Amelia’s eyes widen at the unfamiliar feeling of his lips.

It was barely a millisecond before they recoiled away from each other. Their eyes darted back and forth trying to read the other’s expression. It’s Amelia this time that rejoins their lips. It was awkward, neither one of them thinking fully about their actions but understanding it was foreign.

This kiss lasted longer than the previous with their lips locked. When it became clear that neither one of them wanted it to end, Noah advanced by placing his hands on her hips hesitantly. Her hands delicately made their way up to his throat, tenderly cupping the sides and letting her fingers rest on the nape of his neck. He took the gesture as invitation to proceed to something that made him nervous, a heavy pit sitting in the deepest part of his belly. It was something that would cement and advance the alcohol-fueled moment into something more real. He cautiously swiped his tongue against her bottom lip asking for entrance and much to his surprise, she obliged.

Their tongues cautiously met in the middle and began to explore each other. One of Noah’s hands made its way up her body to cup her cheek and pull her in further to deepen the kiss. His touches were delicate and careful, like she was made of glass.

If they had been sober, their minds would have surely been racing with all the paranoia and implications of their actions, but there, wasted on cranberry cocktails, and in the bubble they always seemed to create, there was nothing on their minds except each other.

It doesn’t take long for the kiss to heat up. Amelia’s arms wrapped around his neck, pulling him closer and adjusting to be further in his lap. Amelia’s thumping heart jumped into her throat while his dropped into his hips. Their clashed lips were a messy display of suppressed frustration and drunken bliss - hungry and curious, but soft and cautious.

Her dainty fingers threaded into roots of his lengthy hair as her hips began to just barely roll against his lap. Between the alcohol and the buzzing that made home between her legs, he was about all she could think about. In her drunken state it made perfect sense to follow the urge commanded by the ache in her core.

Noah however being slightly less drunk than her, held the whisper of unrequited adoration in the back of his mind. Emphasis on whisper, his brain was too woozy and fogged up from the girl lazily moving herself against him to care all that much. He thought, if being loved by her only came like this, just one time while they were drunk, maybe it was okay to let her lips grace his just this once. He had no real plans to actually escalate the moment past a heated kiss. She didn’t know what she was doing and would probably forget tomorrow anyway, there was no harm in a kiss.

Amelia pulled away, letting reality drip into her brain just a bit. Her eyes bounced between his own, who looked at her with a look that didn’t waiver like before, completely down for whatever the night was delivering.

When the bedroom door abruptly opened, it was as if their bodies were ripped apart from the way Amelia instinctively flew back into her spot. Her chest rose and fell quickly with her heart racing so fast it threatened to shatter her ribcage. Her cheeks burned the way a child’s would with fear of getting caught breaking rules. Even though there were no rules that stated otherwise, she felt as though she’d broken some invisible law. She wouldn’t necessarily classify it as wrong, just perhaps forbidden.

From all the loud chaos of her fleeing from him to the opposite side of the closet, it was a dead giveaway for Nick of their hiding spot.

Amelia squeezed her eyes shut at the sound of his sneakered footsteps making their way to the closet. She thought maybe if she stayed completely still, by some miracle he’d second guess his trail.

The closet doors creaked open in an instant and light from the hallway flooded the dark room. From the way Nick’s face dropped, it was clear that he wasn’t expecting to see both their faces in the same spot. His expression shifted from knitted confused brows to a wide victorious grin.

“Ha! Y’all made it easy. Two birds, one stone, you lose!” He declared as if he won the olympics, which didn’t really make sense since he didn’t win either. It was a tie between the three of them with each winning a singular round. They all won, they all lost.

“Sorry I um,” Amelia cleared her throat and struggled to leave the closet, crushing old shoes and letting boxes tumble behind her. “Sorry, I just need to leave.” She mumbled quickly, brushing past Nick nearly knocking him backwards.

Her legs couldn’t keep up with her speeding around the house to gather her belongings to leave. She threw her jacket under her arm and tossed her crossbody purse over her shoulder. Her feet stumbled over the steps of the staircase and barreled through the bustling party to land on the cold front door handle. A harsh cold smacked her face immediately triggering her teeth to chatter. The freezing winter wind was vicious and relentless across her pale skin as her legs propelled her forward to a full-on sprint home.

It wasn’t until she bursted through her front door with her back against it that she finally felt a semblance of safety. Her back was so heavy against the door that when she tried to pull herself from it, her spine felt like magnetized concrete. She let out a weighty sigh before forcefully kicking herself off.

Even though the holiday cocktail was still rushing through her veins like vicious waters, she stumbled her way into her kitchen. Her legs ached from the drunken sprint home and her chest was sore from the heavy breathing. Her head spun like a basketball on the tip of a player’s finger.

The fridge light burned her retinas when she pulled the door open and quickly found her target, an old, gifted bottle of red wine. Her eyes landed on the cabinet door that hid her wine glasses but deemed the task too exhausting and pointless. There was a hollow echo from pulling the cork harshly from the bottle’s mouth. The sanguine liquid flowed past her lips and into a greedy gulp, leaving behind a dry bitter burn. Her face scrunched at the taste, disappointed that even at her level of intoxication the beverage was still horrid.

Amelia rested her hands against the granite edge of the countertop, letting the weight of her entire body pool into her palms. Her mind was a fuzzy blur, nauseatingly turbulent with the memories of the past few hours. The thoughts came in relentless waves, giving her brief moments of drunken distraction before crashing back in. She hoped she’d forget tomorrow after a good night’s sleep, and she hoped the same for Noah. God, she hoped the same for him.

A/N; thank you so much for reading 💗 i hope you enjoyed even though it is definitely not christmas time lmao 💗 let me know what you think ! 💗

Taglist; @lma1986 @alastriaa @missduffsblog @xxkittenkissesxx @ladyveronikawrites @baddestomens @measuredingold @jilliemiw86 @vinyardmauro @laurpartyprogram @somebodyels3 @silentglassbreak @thepastelfae

[cleighwrites]

Sam/Dean - exploration ;)

Thanks, Buffy!! This one kinda got away from me (1100 words!) I took some liberties, I hope you don't mind! Enjoy!! Fluff ahead!

Read about Dean's (19) dilemma and Sam's (15) curiosity under the cut!

They were in the backseat of the Impala, because where else would they be with their dad doing interview for his job and they hadn’t checked into their motel yet. They were sleeping in after driving through the night to get to this new city, curled up around each other in the back seat. 

Dean was getting tall enough he had to bend his knees to fit in the back, but Sam was still small enough to fit without too much geometry involved. Dean had his back against the back of the seat, while Sammy laid in front of him with Dean’s arm draped across his middle holding him securely on the bench seat. 

This wasn’t the first time they’d been left sleeping in the car. It was, however, the first time being left alone in the car after The Conversation that Sam tried to have with Dean a few days prior. Dean had shot it down so fast, hardly giving it any thought. Of course, that had led to having to share a car with a very grumpy, 15 year old Sam.

“It’s just a kiss, Dean, it’s no big deal!” he’d whined in his pubescent voice. 

“It is a big deal, Sammy, and I’m not going there with you, end of story, so drop it!”

That conversation had happened two days ago and Sammy had barely talked to him since. Even John had noticed that something was up between them. His baby brother had asked him to teach him how to kiss, which was sweet in its own way, but Dean would be too fucked up to take Sam’s first kiss. That should be with someone special, even if you don’t know what you’re doing. It was a right of passage. 

Sam grumbled and rolled over, tucking his forehead against Dean’s shoulder to block out the sun streaming in through the cracked windows along with the early spring breeze. He nuzzled his nose against Dean’s skin and Dean brought his hand up to cup the back of his brother’s head. He secretly missed when Sammy had been so little that he’d have to carry him, and even when he was a baby, Dean would have to cradle his head to keep his neck right. Soon enough, his little brother may likely be bigger than him. He was not ready for that to happen yet. 

Wrapping a leg and an arm around Dean, Sam pulled himself closer, snuggling in tightly to Dean. He was sleeping, so Dean let him get away with it. When he’s awake he’s had to start putting up boundaries, there’s just certain things they couldn’t do anymore now that they’re older. Certain things people that weren’t them, wouldn’t understand. 

Sam let out a little noise, and Dean started running his fingers through his hair. He really needed to get the kid a haircut, and soon. 

Dean jolted into the back of the seat when Sam’s lips pursed against his collar bone. His shirt was thread bare and the neck was so loose it hung down to his shoulder when he laid on his side. So the feel of Sam’s lips on his skin was a shock. He didn’t think anything of it, because Sammy was asleep; until it happened again, this time with purpose behind it. Sam was kissing his collar bone. 

“Sammy,” Dean said in quiet admonishment. 

“Let me,” Sammy begged in his cracking, whinny voice. “Please, De. I just want to see what it’s like.” 

His plea broke Dean’s heart, and if he hadn’t been sleeping and holding him in his arms for the past few hours, he probably would have had the balls to tell him “no.” As it was, Dean could never truly deprive Sam of anything he needed. And right now, it seemed, that this was what he needed. 

Pulling his face back so that he could look down at his baby brother, Dean lifted Sam’s chin so he could look him in the eyes. “You get one kiss, then I’ll answer any questions you have, but you only get one shot.” 

Sammy’s eyes lit up like he’d just found Santa putting real presents under their actual Christmas tree. “Deal,” Sam quickly agreed. He licked his lips then rushed toward Dean’s face. 

Dean put a hand on his chest and held him at bay. “Easy, Tiger. There’s a few things first.” 

Sam went to sit up, but Dean shook his head with his hand on his shoulder, telling him not to. 

“There are cues to look for if someone wants to kiss you. You can test these cues. One way is to lick your lips. If they watch you do it, and they keep looking at your mouth, they’re thinking about kissing you. If someone licks their lips while looking at your lips, they’re probably testing to see if you’re looking at their lips to know whether or not you want to kiss.”

“You lick your lips all the time though,” Sam pointed out. 

“Yeah, well, I have dry lips. That’s not the point.” Dean licked his lips, out of habit from talking so much about it. He watched as Sam followed his tongue with his eyes, then licked his own lips in response. 

This was a dangerous game they were playing.

“So when you know you’re gonna kiss someone, you can lick your lips again if you want, because you want your lips to be a little wet so they don’t just rub together and get stuck.”

“Can I kiss you now?” he asked in the way only an innocent fifteen-year-old could manage. 

Dean rolled his eyes, but cradled Sam’s face with one hand. He held his eye contact until he licked his lips, then he let his eyes flutter to Sam responding by licking his own. Slowly, so slowly, because he couldn’t believe he was actually going through with this, he leaned in and gently pressed his lips to Sam’s. 

His gut tightened, but not in a bad way, and the light flickered behind his closed eyes. Sam pressed just as hard as Dean did, and when Dean moved his lips, Sam mimicked him. Everything Dean did, Sam did. He was a quick study, and when Dean flicked his tongue out to goad Sam into doing the same, Sam’s tongue was right there, exploring and figuring out what to do with this new found skill he could develop. 

Dean was going to go straight to Hell, but helping his little brother explore his mouth with innocent, greedy kisses was probably one of the best decisions he’d ever made in his life.

[mumms-the-word]

Dani & Gale's Wedding

Not to answer my own prompt list but I'm obsessed with them and I already have a bunch of this planned so LET'S FRICKIN' GO

Don't worry. Not only is it all under the cut for your sanity and convenience, but I'm making it a thread so you (and I) don't get overwhelmed. Plus it gives me more content throughout the week as I have another busy week ahead <3

But first, a quick summary!

Dani and Gale get married in a garden/park in Baldur's Gate in what can be described as a "relatively modest affair" (Gale's words) or "the best damn garden party this city has ever seen" (Dani's words). They were surrounded by family, friends, and former allies, as many as they could convince to join them, but the ceremony and reception were far from elaborate. Dani and Gale incorporated both Baldurian and Waterdhavian traditions, like Baldurian bard dances and Waterdhavian wedding rings, but ultimately they skipped out on a lot of traditions because they just wanted to have a fun ceremony/reception surrounded by their favorite people. They both were more interested in a ceremony that reflected love and commitment, and a bangin' reception where everyone was well-fed, well-entertained, and well-loved. Their wedding also ends up being like the bard-iest wedding ever because Dani knows so many bards and insists on using so many of their traditions (which I made up and are not actual dnd lore).

Details under the cut!

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Before the Wedding

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Wedding, or something else?

Dani had always considered marriage one of those idealistic things that only happen to madly in love people, or else it was a political arrangement. Her mother never married and her sort-of-foster-dad/mentor never remarried after his wife died, and she didn't expect to ever fall into a long-term romantic relationship. Gale changed all of that and the moment he proposed she realized she wanted nothing more in the world than to be his wife and officially become part of his family.

Proposal

Gale proposed to Dani, obviously! I've dabbled with the idea that maybe they had a different proposal than the one shown in the game, but I find that it works really well for them. I like the idea of them waking up the next morning after saving the city, and he says those lines, "I understand your purpose lies here, but I fear if I return to Waterdeep alone, my heart would remain here with you. And so, if you're at all amenable to the idea, I thought I could, perhaps, stay. There might even be room for two Dekarioses in Baldur's Gate?"

I love that it's a little informal, that he doesn't have a ring to give her, that all he's asking is that maybe there could be the two of them, a new clan of Dekarioses there in Baldur's Gate. Dani doesn't need all the bells and whistles, she just wants family all around her. So a sweet, informal proposal in the middle of an Elfsong Tavern room, well, it suits her just fine.

Bachelor/Bachelorette parties?

Dani absolutely has a hen do/bachelorette because her foster sister, Liara, positively insists. But it's less of a hen do and more like a party for Dani, her mom, and her Merry Rovers to celebrate together before she officially gets married, so it's not girls-only or anything. Shadowheart, Lae'zel, Astarion, and even Jahiera join for parts of it, and Dani desperately wishes Karlach and Wyll could be there, but otherwise it's a fun night of drinking, games, stories, and music for Dani and her bard family.

Gale gets a somewhat less chaotic stag do, which he probably prefers. If Wyll were around, Gale would have had a much wilder time (you know Wyll would be dragging Gale out for a traditional pub crawl like any former bachelor's best friend would do), but since he's not, he simply goes out for some drinks, planning on a relatively quiet night...until Shadowheart and Astarion find him and drag him over to join the Merry Rovers and Dani, officially turning their separate stag/hen dos into a mutual "celebrating the last days the two of us are not married" kind of event. Fun for all!

Pre-Ceremony Events

Gale does formally ask Maeva, Dani's mother, for her blessing, but it's mostly out of a sense of tradition. Maeva just laughs and says her blessing is only worth so much when Dani has such an independent streak, but she gives it willingly. Brann happens to also be there, and though he sometimes insists he doesn't have any "real" family ties to Dani (a lie that no one believes because he's basically her adopted/foster dad), he offers to bless their marriage too, if only as one bard to another. It's difficult to say who gets more teary-eyed during Brann's blessing, between the four of them in the room.

Dani also goes to meet Morena before the wedding, spending a few days in Waterdeep. She asks her and Tara if they're all right with her marrying Gale and she's a completely nervous wreck about it because she's convinced she won't measure up to Morena's standards, but she needn't worry. Morena is delighted with her (though a little sad that they're going to be living in Baldur's Gate and not Waterdeep).

It’s also customary (in my head) in both Waterdeep and Baldur’s Gate to send a letter, poem, or song to each other the night before the wedding (often hiring a bard to do so, so that everyone in the street can hear the declarations of love). Dani goes to stay with her mother for three days prior to the wedding so they can finish alterations on her dress, while Gale stays in his and Dani’s new home in the Lower City. Just as Gale is sitting in their upstairs bedroom, penning this romantic, elegant, beautiful poem to send to Dani using a mirror image of himself, she shows up outside his window in the street below with her fiddle, serenading him with a love song that is both sweet and cheeky, romantic and raunchy.

Gale is caught between a tiny bit of burning embarrassment (the whole street can hear her singing about, well, some specific physical features of his) and an even more burning desire to pull her upstairs and have his way with her, but she ends her song with a wink and a little blown kiss and then disappears (handy invisibility spell). Gale returns to his desk and resolves to edit his poem to be a bit more spicy before sending an illusion of himself to stand outside her mother’s house and recite it for all the world to hear. Dani thinks it’s the funniest and loveliest thing ever.

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Part 2 coming soon!

[ingravinoveritas]

You've probably got a thousand things to say about the latest "The Kiss" info, but I have been thinking about it all morning, especially about the way there seems to be no need to acknowledge it between the two of them. They just went for it, and then they didn't feel the need to talk about it. Idk about everyone else but to me that just feels like to them, this was just a kiss among perhaps many. They knew the song and dance around it already, so there was no need to mark it as different other than it being in characters rather than out of.

But those are just my thoughts. So excited to hear about yours if you have any :3

Hi there! Oh, yes…yes, I do have so many thoughts about Michael talking about the kiss, and The Assembly in general.

Something I'm not sure I've mentioned on here (at least not in a long time) is that five years ago (in June of 2019), I wrote a thread on Twitter about fanfic and why it was so important to me as an autistic woman, as well as the role it played when I began to discover my sexuality. I received a lovely comment from Neil, and on top of that, Michael reposted it from me, which was entirely unexpected but delightful.

So when I first heard about The Assembly, I was anxious, apprehensive, and uncomfortable--mainly because of how the autistic/ND interviewers would potentially be depicted on screen. By the end of the show, however, I was in tears--and for once, in a good way. Michael did not let me down for one single second (which I did not think he would), and I loved how he and everyone else just held space for each other during the group singalong to "Here Comes the Sun."

(The only thing I haven't liked is seeing some of the response on social media that suggests Michael did an extraordinary thing just by talking to autistic/disabled people like we are human beings. It shouldn't be special when he or anyone else does that, but it's depicted that way because it is unfortunately still so rare...)

In terms of Michael talking about the kiss with David, it was of course so lovely to see his expressions and listen to him talk about what it was like. For me it was the fact that he actually didn't say that much that was so revealing. It was perfectly in line with what was reported about what Michael said a month ago, about it being "everything you dream of." With the Assembly, we could now see and hear him talking about it and that same carefulness with which he gave the previous answer--a carefulness borne not out of wanting to hide something, but wanting to keep something about the kiss private. Just for him and David.

I also feel like some folks might have misunderstood what he meant when he said, "We never talk about it," though. I think the unspoken part after that is, "We never talk about it, not because we don't want to, but because we don't need to"...

And I agree with you that it was exactly that--one kiss out of many, something so tried and true that neither David nor Michael had to give it much thought. It also makes me think of previous discussions about comments from David about how, between the sunglasses and the contact lenses for Crowley, he couldn't see shit, yet he only needed one take to find Michael's lips. It's like needing a GPS when you drive someplace new, but then it quickly becomes familiar, and after a while you don't need anyone to tell you how to get there. Because you already know the way home.

Talking about the kiss like this almost gives a feeling of domesticity, of something deeply intimate, beyond the physical. I'm thinking of it as well in tandem with David's comments from prior to the BAFTAs, about it being "another day at work" and saying that Michael had "brushed his teeth." There are so many examples from movies or TV shows where a couple wakes up in bed together in the morning and when one person goes in for a kiss, the other stops them and says "Not until you've brushed your teeth" (or something to that effect). And it just makes me picture them getting up to film that day and sharing a good morning kiss, after which David gently reminds Michael to brush his teeth before he gets to the set. (And he does, because Michael never forgets anything David tells him.)

The last thing that I wanted to mention that stood out to me was Michael talking about how moved everyone was--both the people who watched the kiss be filmed on set, and the fans who watched it in the show. You could actually hear the way his voice caught in his throat, hear him become emotional just from remembering that. And it made me think back to when GO 2 came out last summer, in the midst of the Writers Strike (and then SAG-AFTRA) and how Michael was probably reading all of the fan reactions online and feeling very much the same way, even though he couldn't say anything about it.

So it becomes even more poignant and compelling that now, when he finally can say anything he wants at all about the kiss, he gives us so little. Or maybe just enough, with a small, knowing smile on his face. Because he's found a boy he likes, and he has his photo.

Those are my thoughts on Michael talking about the kiss on The Assembly. I know it's been a week now, but hopefully everyone has had time to process it too, so I'd love to hear what you all think. Thank you for writing in! x

[iwaoiness]

Tooru's love life

Oikawa has become a public figure whose name has gone around the world. He has been featured in a multitude of magazines, both sports and fashion. He has appeared on various talk shows and participated in some entertainment programmes. He is the new face of Nike and every week he promotes world-renowned brands on his Instagram account (with almost 9M followers). On TikTok (with more than 6M followers) he usually shows his daily life and joins the funniest and most extravagant trends.

He is charismatic, intelligent, flirtatious and charming, and journalists are dying to get the tiniest tidbit of information about his private life, especially his love life, because Oikawa Tooru, despite everything, has learned very well (too well, in fact) how to dodge questions about his non-professional life, which he wants to keep under lock and key. The only thing that is known for sure is that he is originally from Miyagi and studied at Aoba Johsai, otherwise everything is a mystery (in fact, they tried to interview some of his former classmates, unfortunately running into Mattsun and Makki whose answers were a repertoire of "maybe yes", "maybe no", "I don't know", "who knows", "will this go live?", "Oikawa likes milk bread although he doesn't tolerate lactose, isn't it funny?"

But one day everything explodes.

Oikawa's name becomes a worldwide trending topic for weeks, millions of his fans flood the social networks with screenshots and kilometric threads, gossip magazine journalists go crazy camping outside the luxury flat block where Oikawa lives to corner him and bombard him with questions, his manager (who is torn between asking for a pay rise or an early retirement despite his 30 years old) tries to control and defuse the situation.

And the reason is his new TikTok video, with the black and white filter, where he appears lying face down on his king-size bed, recording his reflection in the room's wide mirror. Behind him, with his head resting on his bare back, is Iwaizumi Hajime, gently and slowly caressing his back, alternating those caresses with small kisses on his skin.

A song plays in the background for the first seven seconds until Tooru speaks and a soft Hajime comes from his lips. Iwaizumi lifts his head and, when he sees Oikawa with his mobile pointed at the mirror, he looks at the reflection of both and smiles (the playful, lopsided smile that turns on Oikawa as fuck) before winking. His hand, always firm and warm against Tooru's skin, slowly descends further down, his fingers tracing over the bare skin until they reach his nike sports shorts, caressing the fabric of the garment before his hand opens and wraps around his ass.

And there the video cuts off and starts again. In the caption, it reads: upss hehe (ノ≧▽° )ノ

Days later, when everything is still on fire, Matsukawa and Hanamaki are (surprisingly) called again to be interviewed by a young intern (judging by his dark circles under his eyes, the dried coffee stain on his pants and the endearing stammering in his questions) for a program about celebrity scandals to be aired later. This time, however, they decide to be more benevolent and Issei and Hiro look directly into the camera, with an aura of mystery and secrecy.

"Well, Tsubaki-kun"

"I-it's Subaru, Matsukawa-san."

"Well, Subaru-kun, you're in luck, we actually came with the intention of bringing a very, very important exclusive."

"R-Really?" Subaru blinks, incredulous as Makki nods energetically.

"It's something that even Oikawa himself isn't aware of, right, Issei?"

"Totally, Hiro. Are you ready, Subaru-kun, ready to know the truth and only the truth?"

Both, Subaru and the silent cameraman, nod their heads, totally expectant of what two of the people closest to Oikawa-senshu may finally reveal.

"Well, here we go, Hiro. Do the honors, you're the best at this."

"You flatter me, honey, it will be my pleasure." Makki clears his throat, cricks his fingers, exhales and inhales deeply, squares his shoulders, settles back on his seat and finally opens his mouth to say "Did you know that Oikawa Tooru is dating Iwaizumi Hajime and, exactly five days ago, Oikawa uploaded a TikTok (very un-family-friendy if you ask me) where he confirms their relationship? It's scandalous, right? I'm sure no one saw that video, but know that it exists."

That same night, during the weekly video call shared by the four former Seijoh members, Tooru's ramen comes out of his nose in a fit of laughter and Iwaizumi is unable to control his when Mattsun and Makki recount how they were banned again for the rest of their lives from (now) eight TV stations and two radio stations.

[triflesandparsnips]

(eta 10/10/23: Having just realized that this is now a very easy to google explainer, please also see the full end-of-game roundup here: "when something is definitely not a game, but most definitely a gift" or my related #definitely not a game tag. We now return you to your regularly scheduled nonsense, currently in progress.)

So... so.

So this just dropped.

And listen. LISTEN. For people who haven't been following this Our Flag Means Death-related alternate-reality-shenanigan fest, the following will make no sense to you-- or, wait, fuck it--

A Brief History of the Javid Denkins Alternate-Reality Game

(I didn't intend "overly long essays about in-depth fandom-related shenanigans" to be my brand, but by god I'm here now and I will make us all suffer through it.)

Reality (As We Know It)

Established and verified gay pirate showrunner David Jenkins is a regular shenanigineer on twitter: retweets fanart, retweets cosplays, calls fans sluts (endearment), has ongoing fight with medieval cats.

Back in 2022, David Jenkins implied heavily that he had joined tumblr, but did not cough up his account name.

This is the sum total of real and actual events and identities.

Through the Looking Glass

Fans started looking for David Jenkins's tumblr. What fans found is the tumblr of one Javid Denkins, who appeared to be new, had a variant of Jenkins's twitter icon, and seemed to be cheekily maintaining an incognito by steadfastly asserting that he is definitely not David Jenkins.

Fans got weird about it, because that is the nature of fandom. I said something about it here, because I have Feelings about the Rules of Incognito and also about Not Being Weird About People Who Make the Content We Like. I put it as a reblog to the post, as per regular tumblring, no response requested/required because babes, if I'm going to be perceived, I want it to be organic. (ahem... FOOTNOTE 1)

I kept a cursory eye on things, because it can be Really Lonely to be a famous person who just wants to have a regular online experience, and if that's what whoever was on the other end wanted, then that's what they should get to have imo. Unlike a regular tumblr that I might reply to directly or engage with on a same-level kinda way, I let them set the rules of engagement because unless/until they came clean, they would always be Schrodinger's Showrunner to me, and therefore subject to my internal Don't Be Creepy ruleset.

My second Javid reblog was pretty much what I would do to any other newbie tumblr person (as they professed to be): adding on to a gag by referencing the "color of the sky" meme and also a seagull, for OFMD-related reasons (which fit within the ruleset, because Javid was actively connecting himself with OFMD type things). And Javid reblogged it, so hey, I was winning at tumblr interactions, a thing that is normal to want and possible to achieve.

Time passed. Javid dropped (what will be revealed to be the first of many) photo manipulations. (FOOTNOTE 2)

On the same day, Javid posted what looked like an accidental smashkey. I reblogged with a seagull, because again, established rules of engagement and me winning at tumblr interactions. He reblogged himself, though, with what looked like another smashkey, but was actually a goddamn Caesar cipher-- and started using the tag #definitely not a game.

From there, Javid started up a stream of fairly fun puzzles. I didn't keep up with it fully, but since it looked like Javid wanted people to interact, I interacted (while trying to ensure that other people could keep having fun too). He also started subtly changing his icon, his tumblr header, etc., expanding the bounds of the puzzle space, as it were. (And if you want a complete rundown of the puzzle history and the associated answers, this twitter thread is enormous and thorough, thank you @eefaevie.)

The seagull made an appearance every once in a while; I threw together various season 2 bingo cards in response to these potential spoilers; I spent my time largely keeping back so I could eat popcorn and Not Be Creepy. But... but.

The thing was, Javid's method of posting (in a "heeeere fishy fishy fishy" manner) seemed, to me, to be the actions of someone trying to play with the audience and/or provide enrichment for the enclosure. So after some thought and, again, remembering the loneliness of being a Creative Person but trying to be mindful that this person was still incognito and could be the actual dude, I started using the seagull to reblog extra content, links, whathaveyou, with the tag #enrichment can go in BOTH enclosures-- with the idea that, if Javid wanted to look, he had the option to do so-- and if he did, he'd be rewarded with, again, no demands on him or his attention, but just: some content. Some enrichment. Some fun. A "picking up what you're putting down" kind of vibe from one person to another, both of whom are, at the very least, interested in communicating with an audience.

To be clear: For me, at the end of the day, it had to be a choice. I needed to provide room for Javid to choose to enter the magic circle of my additional game play-- but I also wasn't going to hold my breath about it. This was Javid's space, with intentions and purposes I had no way of knowing (nor should I)-- I was just, metaphorically, bringing another set of dice and maybe some graph paper with an extra room drawn on it that he could easily enter if he wanted, to play in a space intended to complement his. He was putting in a shitton of labor for what was essentially just a gift; I wanted to show appreciation for that labor, while putting in some of my own to gift back.

So when the first round of puzzles ended, and a new one began, I linked the answers to one of his anagram puzzles inside some seagull gifs-- but I figured, why not add something extra? I used his pigpen cipher to dare him to use a book code next. To even see the dare he'd have to want to decode the gifs-- and if he ultimately didn't want to engage, no skin off my nose. (That's why there's a border around the magic circle with clear entrances and exits.) Either way, I was having a nice time.

The next puzzle type was a stereogram. (Neat.) The puzzle after that, though? I get tagged and informed that Javid has, in fact, posted a motherfucking book code. (FOOTNOTE 3)

Enter the Thunder Parasocial Dome

This is the point where I first have to be pulled down from the curtains by rational people who have only my best interests at heart.

(Having a whole Thesis Statement about why I was engaging with Schrodinger's Showrunner is one thing. Having possible evidence that my engagement was, like, actually engaged with is quite another.)

By sweet and loving friends and family I was reminded that:

Other people are, in fact, allowed to be clever about things too.

That all sorts of pre-planning may have gone into all this, and that therefore the timing was a coincidence.

That there are a limited number of easily accessible ciphers out there, so the code type could also be a coincidence.

And that either way I still have my important Don't Be Creepy code of ethics.

So. I took a deep breath. Cool. I was totally and absolutely cool about this.

...And in a totally normal manner I proceeded to lay an elaborate trap.

AHAHAHA JUST JOKING what I mean is: I replied to the tagged post, acknowledging that the sphere of potential puzzling had now expanded beyond tumblr. I used Javid's own fake-link trick to link to a seagull laugh. And in the tags I threw in a lot of potential internet-related alternate reality stuff.

But also, crucially... some more ideas for Javid to use. (FOOTNOTE 4) If he wanted them. If he was actually looking.

Since I was now playing In Earnest, I spent some time putting together a youtube channel, an alternate tumblr, a neocities account -- a whole new field of play, if Javid wanted to engage there. I pulled out the dusty memories of a Yuletide fic I wrote several years ago that used similar shenanigans to tell an interactive fiction story about Monty Python. (Hilariously enough, my first RPF.) I continued to play with all these new and fascinating toys.

A Strange Ship on the Horizon

What with one thing and another three years pass, a Javid puzzle eventually lead to an AO3 account-- which to me definitively opened Schrodinger's box: maybe this was a member of the production playing with fire, more likely it was a clever fan whose brain is fucking fascinating, but it most definitely was not David Jenkins.

But. Javid was still in incognito. And I still don't know if I had been perceived.

I read the fic the Javid account is writing (which is still a work in progress and pretty great ngl)-- it's a fandom AU, where Ed and Stede are fans of a gay pirate romcom called Blow the Man Down, featuring Sam Bellamy and Olivier Levasseur. The showrunner is named Javid, who doesn't have social media but gets cornered into agreeing to join twitter (rather than our universe's tumblr). And Ed decides, on a lark, to start a fake twitter account, tag it #definitelynotjaviddenkins... and then freak out because a large contingent of fandom shows up on his metaphorical doorstep saying HELLO, JAVID.

As if this weren't enough: beyond the fic itself, suddenly a whole multimedia alternate universe suddenly appeared, with multiple twitter and AO3 accounts beyond just Stede and Ed, forming an entire fucking fandom, Goncharov-style, around Blow the Man Down. It was and continues to be fucking wild. It's also amazing. And the porn is surprisingly approachable. (BUT SEE AGAIN FOOTNOTE 1)

Grappling Hooks Breaching the Parasocial Divide

The thing is, though. The thing. That is.

I have officially reached Level 2 Curtain Clawing.

As I read the fic and the accompanying universe, I started to. Notice things.

References to soap (but... but surely that's normal. Many people talk about soap, not just amateur history enthusiasts like myself).

References to obscure scents (LABDANUM. Someone referenced labda-motherfucking-num. But surely. Surely it is not an entirely unheard of thing; I am not the first person to discover it or the fact that it gets combed from goats jesus christ the goat thing I forgot about that--)

References to the drilled coin from the wreck of Sam Bellamy's ship, which appeared as a random bit of possible future lore for Javid in this bit of enrichment (but I put in lots of possible lore! I had a whole thing going about figureheads! Bad luck to kill a seabird! I had a whole thing for a while where I thought maybe the digraph code Javid was hinting at was actually a Playfair cipher! I have been wrong many times before and added lots of random possible narratives. SO SURELY THE COIN IS A COINCIDENCE).

References to... okay not really references, and I've never articulated it quite like this (though this is definitely my vibe), but references to the idea of these puzzles and enrichment being a conversation in and of themselves, held at a remove and existing entirely in call (Javid) and response (the audience).

Finally... I started to notice that Stede decodes/interprets Ed-as-Javid's puzzles in a long twitter thread (like... like the one linked above) but also... sends back puzzles. Like, well, me.

"But STILL," I screech from the top of the curtain rail. "This could ALL BE COINCIDENCE," I yowl as friends and family try to bat me down with a broom. Even, by god, today's drop... which uses a password-protected url shortener. The exact same one I used in an earlier enrichment. But! It's not like there are a lot of those! Maybe this was just the first one that cropped up for Javid, just as it was the first that cropped up for me! (BUT THEN AGAIN, MAY I REFER YOU BACK TO FOOTNOTE 4)

The fic is at chapter 14. There are, if AO3 is to be believed, 7 more chapters to go, plus who knows how much additional extra-universe material. There is so. much. here.

...And so many more opportunities to climb all the curtains.

“It's a great huge game of chess that's being played—all over the world—if this is the world at all, you know.”

So at this point... what, in fact, is happening?

I'm inside a Schrodinger's box whose sides are entirely composed of parasocial uncertainty.

Maybe Javid is here. (HELLO, JAVID.)

Maybe he isn't! (HELLO, THE MIRROR IN MY ENCLOSURE.)

Maybe I'm not actually being referenced at all, but the writer of that twitter thead, @eefaevie, is (HI EEFAEVIE WHAT'S UP HOW'S THE PARASOCIAL AIR IN YOUR ENCLOSURE DOIN')

I don't know. I can't know. Unless someone opens the box.

and my god, what if they never do?

tl;dr. This is the most enriching fun I've had in months, and if the magic circle is going to widen to include me, then friend, I intend to BRING MY A-GAME.

---

FOOTNOTES

1. During the course of that mini-essay, I say the following:

"If it's someone who is not the dude but just a tumblrite who managed to catch on really quick? Well goddamn, good for them, and also A+ Wink-Nudge acrobatics. Real dude can have a peaceful time reading critical analyses of Goncharov, Javid here can quietly start introducing strange lore and running gags and other fun-with-plausible-deniability shenanigans".

One day later Javid starts answering questions about characters with enigmatic season 2 spoilery things; a little less than ten days later, we get the first fake link (which, imo, is the real start of the game).

2. This is now only 24 days after my "strange lore and fun with plausible deniability" post.

3. My dare: January 26. Javid's book code: February 4.

4. My tags on the post wherein I acknowledge that the dare has, possibly, been taken up, read: #you know what's cool? besides how #enrichment can go in BOTH enclosures #is how much you can do with html #like sure sure we've all seen the embedded links #but I remember the days of hidden source code messages #websites with delayed redirects #passwords hidden on one site to open the locked contents of another #you know #~normal things~ #I'm certain none of this will become relevant #because this is #definitely not a game

[ludiharambasha]

While I am not against the idea of Aang not killing The Firelord, and instead imparting justice for the genocide of his people on his own terms and in accordance with his culture per se, something about that narrative thread and how it was explored in the series rubs me the wrong way. It was apparent that AtLA was a rather neolib narrative from the get-go, and this choice is one that is but a culmination of this twisted mindset.

The thing is, killing The Firelord was always meant to be a symbolic action rather than a literal one. The Fire Nation started its military campaigns and conquest long before Ozai was even born. Killing The Current Firelord is not an immediate band-aid fix to a hundred years of oppression the other nations suffered through. While yes, The Firelords stand for the Fire Nation's imperialism, the people of the Fire Nation directly attributed to these campaigns. Ozai didn't kill the Waterbenders of the Southern Water tribe, nor the Airbenders, and neither did Sozin. People of the Fire Nation and its soldiers did.

And killing Ozai would have been a fine narrative choice, as Ozai is nothing more than a symbol of the Fire Nation, and his death would symbolize the death of the Fire Nation itself and its ideology. One could argue that that would have been a rather simplistic choice, but a completely fine and appropriate one for a children's cartoon. After all, children's media rests upon these personified or metonymic representations of abstract things, substituting them with something concrete. While it would have been an oversimplification of the conflict, it would have been narratively more effective than what the series actually offered.

When Aang refuses to kill Ozai, it brings forth all kinds of complications into the narrative, by completely shattering that symbolic aspect of the entire ordeal. The entire series hinged on Aang going against the Firelord, and the audience's engagement was based on this suspension of disbelief that killing the Firelord is in essence, killing the Fire Nation.

Now, when you decide to take this route you have to engage with the literal implication of their fight. Killing the Firelord isn't the end, as the people who actively upheld that system are still alive and did not answer for any of their crimes against humanity. So naturally, defeating the Firelord would only be the first step in that direction - but the writers of the series did not engage with that choice, not really. The series did pretty much end with Aang defeating the Firelord and taking away his bending, and reinstating Zuko as the new Firelord. The people who up until yesterday murdered or fully supported the murder and annihilation of the other nations, just magically started supporting and accepting peace, and aside from Azula and Ozai, no one answers for anything.

Nevermind that Iroh was also a military commander and killed many innocents, nevermind what Zuko did, nevermind that people that tortured Hama and their ascendants are walking scott-free, never mind that we never see what happened to the police officers in the Boiling Rock or the Fire Nation's soldiers that didn't die during Sozin's comet. No one ever pays for murdering Jet's family.

I truly don't understand this choice. You either make the narrative more simple, or you dabble in the more complex implications of it, you cannot have your cake and eat it too.

The people of the other Nations are supposed to just make peace with the people who butchered their loved ones for an entire century.

[katy-l-wood]

What are the questions you ask yourself when you're writing?

It really depends on the project! But usually it's usually some form of "If Thing 1 is true, then what does that mean for Thing 2?" And I try to ask the questions in a way that will lead to more questions. Then I just keep asking questions until I've got a book.

Let me use my book The Pits (which comes out on Halloween!) as an example. The very first question with that one was, actually, inspired by that tumblr post about forests in place of oceans and things getting weirder/bigger the deeper you went in the same way things do in the watery ocean. So, the actual question was: If there were a forest like that somewhere in the world, what would the effect on that world then be? There's this mysterious deep forest that is full of Weird Shit and, unlike the ocean, you can just walk into it. But what happens when you do? Do people embrace it? What sorts of myths might form? Would people fear it? How would different cultures react? How did that forest even form in the first place?

Alright, so there's our core question, and it has started to form the world around it a little. It's also started to hint at character types with the questions of culture and beliefs, so let's pull on that a little more. If we have giant forest oceans full of strange creatures, some cultures are going to embrace that, some are going to fear it, so let's have some characters from each side, and at different levels of each side. How would these characters interact with one another? How would they act on their beliefs?

Cool, now we're starting to get some plot, because those character aspects are going to come together in interesting ways. So let's pull on THOSE threads a little. If we have two characters, one who embraces the strange ocean forests and one who doesn't believe in their strangeness, what's going to happen when they interact? Will they fight over it? Agree to disagree? What happens if one or the other is proven wrong? How will they react to this new information?

On and on you go until you've got a world, characters, and plot! And you don't have to start with the world, either. You can start with any sort of question. My series Glory is Poison started with the question of "if there was a world ruled by vampires who couldn't be recorded in ANY manner, so the only people who could act in movies/TV/radio were humans, what sort of people would those actors be?" (The answer is not good ones!)

Coming up with the initial question is the main trick, honestly. It's a skill you have to hone, and studying other books and media can help a lot. What's the main question of Good Omens? Our Flag Means Death? Stranger Things? Avatar the Last Airbender? Sit down and really analyze your favorite stuff and start trying to figure out the questions it asks, then you can start applying it to your own works.

Hope this was helpful!

[astercontrol]

In regard to that previous reblog-- and other notes in that thread discussing just how much hearing aids actually can or can't do, and vision problems that can't be corrected to 20/20, and other not-correctable disabilities--

...my thoughts are running off now into the fuzzy areas, which are places I... really tend to get uncomfortable.

Especially now, because I'm currently in a fuzzy place myself -- a state of health where I do not know if my impairments can be fully corrected -- and whether or not they can? may depend a lot on things like, will I find a doctor good enough to know what's going on? and, how bad will this new job be for my body?

and it stresses me out a lot to think about how I can't know the answers to any of that right now-- and that's about all I can handle, even without the added stress of trying to determine whether this makes me "legitimately" physically disabled.

Eyesight is only one small part of it. My main worry right now is that I have hardly any sensation or muscle control in my right calf and foot. With good shoes I can walk, without cane or crutches-- pretty far before my limp becomes noticeable-- but it does.

My legs are visibly different sizes, with my left calf taking on all the muscle, while my right is atrophying. And my foot "drops," noticeably, the outer side dragging to the point that I had to learn how to avoid tripping on my own foot. The PT says I'll likely need an orthotic brace called AFO to support it.

He doesn't know the cause. I won't know the cause until at the very least a couple weeks from now, when I get to see the spine specialist who'll look for causes further up in my muscular and nervous system.

I have a new job. It's gonna be mostly at a desk, but since this problem started while I was working a desk job, I wonder if sedentary life makes it worse. I haven't ever been able to drive (that was a different neurological issue in my teens) so I have to walk to work. If I stop being able to walk that far, I won't be able to keep doing this job. But for now I can. For now, for that distance, my walking almost passes as normal.

I don't know how close to normal that orthotic brace will get me. Or whether the exercises the PT is having me do, or anything the spine specialist can do, will restore any of that sensation or muscle. I don't know if there's any kind of correction that's gonna get my leg back into a range comparable to eyes that see 20/20.

And the eyesight part, at the moment, feels pretty much the same to me.

I just got new glasses. They help a lot, but they don't fix my problem focusing on close-up things-- I keep having to take them off and back on when reading, but my eye doctor said I didn't need bifocals, and none of the available prescriptions of reading glasses help either, and it seems to be getting steadily worse.

And I don't know if this is all just something I can get back up to 20/20 by finding a better eye doctor, or by getting better about my reading and screen use habits, or if it's something more serious that is never gonna get better.

And I have no idea if all the data entry im going to do at my new job is going to exacerbate it, or maybe it's just going to get worse for whatever other reason, until I can't get any glasses that'll make it good enough to do a job like that?

I don't know.

I don't want to call my eye problem, or my leg problem, a disability on the level of needing hearing aids or crutches. Because I want to think it can be fixed to the point I can forget about it.

But is "not wanting" a good enough reason to say this doesn't count as disability? Is it just denial?

Which is why I am kind of regretting even reading that previous post I reblogged. Because where even do you draw that line? And that's just for physical disability. I'm not even getting into my neurodivergence, and all the places that fuzzily shades into what's considered normal.

*sigh*